Fifty, and frisky [R'nd]

B’jin had never been particularly against birthdays, and had even looked forward to them for most of his life. As a youngster, each passing year had brought him closer to first his assumed mastership, and then an end to his Weyrlinghood days when Larrikith had joined in the rollercoaster that was his life, and then they were just birthdays for a while. Sometimes they were indications of how much time had passed between other events, such as the Plague, but mostly they were meaningless to B’jin.

Then he had realised, with horror, that the turn before he had celebrated – well, that was being generous – his forty-ninth birthday by curling up quietly on the hut roof with Larrikith and watching the stars in the clear sky above. The greenrider wasn’t entirely sure who did and did not know when his birthday was, but he had been pleased to pass that day in relative silence. Wing practice had been the day before, if he recalled correctly, and he had been thankful; R’nya hadn’t been the type to work them days on end which meant he’d had the day to himself. Luckier than R’nd, who had been fretting about Wingpractice a few days later on what B’jin had learned was Kerrin’s birthday. Well. He was still Kerrin then, he’d celebrate his first birthday as K’rin in a few days.

Realising he had turned forty-nine had been more than a little terrifying. When had he gotten so old? Then, as that thought slowly wandered away, he had been hit by one even more terrifying: the following year he would be fifty. B’jin didn’t want to be fifty! He didn’t care that bonding to Larrikith had kept him many years younger in appearance than if he had become the Masterharper he had dreamed of becoming. He didn’t care that if not for Larrikith, he’d probably be on his deathbed, because he’d be fat and lazy and playing music all the time. All he cared about was the fact that he was steadily approaching fifty, and that was terrifying.

Larrikith, who had kindly reminded him that R’nd was still in his twenties, had been highly amused when her rider had visibly warred with a panic attack. What would he do, when R’nd realised how awfully old he was, and found someone closer to his age? B’jin was ridiculously fond of the bluerider (Larrikith laughed quietly at the way B’jin shied away from the word ‘love’. The one time he’d uttered it had frightened him in retrospect, and he was terrified of saying it again and R’nd actually running away instead of nearly dying on the couch.) and he really didn’t want to lose him just because he was old. He didn’t actually look old, right? That was what was important!

Not the fact that B’jin had enough turns sitting on him to easily be his lover’s father. That was a thought Larrikith had a great deal of fun pointing out to her distressed rider, and she laughed softly when he groaned in horror. He did not need that beoing pointed out to him, and he certainly didn’t want R’nd thinking it, ever that was – B’jin’s nose scrunched up dramatically and he dipped under the bathwater to scrub his hair clean of suds. It was getting quite long, falling almost to his shoulder blades.

As a Harper, B’jin had always kept his hair lengthy, often around shoulder length and pulled back classily. After Impressing Larrikith, his Weyrlingmaster had made a point of making him shave it off, and B’jin had spent since then with very short hair, often styled into messy spikes with lavender scented was, and usually made the same time he made oil for Larrikith’s hide. When R’nd had made a quiet comment about liking the longer hair, B’jin had decided to let it grow out a little for his lover’s enjoyment. He had assumed R’nd would let him know when it was at a length the bluerider preferred, and as such had not done more than get it trimmed occasionally by Par’a when it was getting scraggly – something she usually told him was happening. He was probably due for another trim. Maybe he’d let her take off a few extra inches of the dark honeyed locks this time.

Leaving the tub, B’jin shook his hair out and wrapped himself in a towel, frowning mildly at his reflection in one of the small mirrors set up in the bathing room he occupied. Teaching weyrlings was treating him much kinder than being a weyrling had, or even a wingrider. He wasn’t forced to undergo exercise any more, but tended to join his Weyrlings when they were doing their required jogs, mostly as an excuse to spend some extra time with Talian – T’lain – even if neither of them did a whole lot of talking in those moments. The boy was just as sour about being a Weyrling as B’jin had been, but at least he was quiet about it. B’jin had been very vocal, and it hadn’t ever turned out well for him.

B’jin had never been particularly buff, despite the fact that his body shape would have allowed for it if he had been so inclined. But he supposed he could have done a lot worse, considering his new age. He still looked to be in his early thirties, and his limbs were toned and clean, his stomach flat, and all of him home to a little more than just a hint of muscle definition. He didn’t have anything worth flaunting, especially with some of the blueriders that were running around, but he certainly wasn’t some sticky little pansy either. That was fairly important to B’jin who, despite his turns in same-sex relationships, had issues with the whole concept when he took the time to pause and think about it. Hold and Hall opinions had never been very kind, and B’jin had been raised a narrow-minded and arrogant type.

His nose scrunched, and he threw the thought out of his mind, wondering absently why he was analysing his (lack of) relationship or his body which he’d been stuck with for fifty turns before he heard Larrikith’s voice slide like silk into the forefront of his brain, and B’jin paused as a shiver trembled down his spine. Happy birthday, love. Larrikith purred, and B’jin’s eyebrows drew together. Thank you, Larrikith. There was a small pause, and then the same sultry tones were whispering into his internal ear, I love you, Benjinamor.

B’jin was frowning now, one hand rising to sweep damp blonde hair out of his face, drops of water flying at the action, while others were running down his back. “I love you too, dear,” he murmured aloud, the frown now one of confusion. Why was Larrikith telling him she loved him? She very rarely spoke to him like that, and he hadn’t heard her speak in that tone of voice for quite some time… He couldn’t rightly remember the last time she’d sounded like that. She was quite obviously up to something, but B’jin couldn’t figure out what that could be.

I have a gift for you, B’jin, she was still purring softly in his ear, but he could feel the warmth of the early morning sunlight on her mossy hide as she shifted on the rooftop where she’d been soaking in the light while B’jin had been soaking in the warm water below. Goosebumps rose along his arms, the hairs standing on end in sudden anticipation. B’jin blinked. “You do?” What in Faranth’s name could his dragon possibly give him for his birthday? She’d never treated his birthday any differently than any other day before, and they’d been together for almost thirty turns now.

His head tilted slightly when she simply purred softly, the rumbling sound strong in his own chest, despite the physical distance that was between them. B’jin walked blindly to the bathroom door, and unlocked it, but he didn’t go out. You need to feel special, she whispered, soft and sweet, to feel loved. B’jin frowned again, “but I am loved?” He was confused, but his voice was vague and accepting; he still hadn’t quite caught on to what was happening and was rapidly losing the function to figure it out. You are, Larrikith agreed gently, mind reaching out to touch against Ayyonth.

No other would fly her, not this day. It wouldn’t be a contest, or a game. It was a gift to B’jin, and she knew of only one pair that was capable of making what she envisioned true. Her silly rider needed to stop fussing about such ridiculous notions like being too old, or R’nd not wanting him anymore. So, she would give him R’nd for his birthday, and she would make it his best flight in available memory.