24.Feb.18, 05:55 AM
Dropping his hand, still blushing, N’mor watched Z’rin come to stand before him and pick up the bag he had dropped. He felt bad for dropping it, as the bluerider picked it up without comment and offered to empty it. Blinking, N’mor opened his mouth to tell him not to bother – the bag had done the rounds by bringing clothes to him from his Aunt – but he was already off. Shrugging, N’mor glanced around, and then trailed after Z’rin, watching the way the tall man’s muscles rippled across his back when he moved. Damnit.
… Oh. N’mor’s eyes opened wide when he realised he’d just followed Z’rin into his bedroom, and he paused in the doorway, staring around with curiosity and another hot blush before his attention returned to Z’rin. He stared frankly at his back as he put away the clothing, and then slipped into a shirt. N’mor frowned as the tanned skin vanished from view. He almost felt like his face wasn’t quite on fire by the time Z’rin was actually dressed, and N’mor opted to lean casually against the doorway, wishing he had his other arm so he could cross them over his chest. Instead, he was stuck with one arm awkwardly picking at the hem of his shirt as he raised an eyebrow at Z’rin.
“I was hardly going to have your clothes going mouldy and making my weyr smell,” he smirked, the expression crooked as one side lifted higher than the other. He was just glad Z’rin hadn’t left his underwear behind; besides how awkward that would have been (N’mor’s blush reappeared at the thought) it would have been mortifying to been caught washing them! To say nothing of giving them back, clearly handled. N’mor lifted his hand to sweep his fingers back through his shaggy hair. It was in need of a trim, but he had not bothered to find the time to do so.
“Ah… sure?” It was definitely said as a question, N’mor frowning as he considered Z’rin. Why was the bluerider interested in him staying? N’mor knew why he was tempted to stay; Z’rin practically oozed sex appeal and the young bronzerider found himself drawn to him like a moth to a damned flame. He knew he’d probably end up getting burned (probably from his perpetual blush; did Z’rin have any idea what he looked like when his face wasn’t some shade of red?) especially since the man was a damned bluerider. Faranth. What was he doing? He should leave. He should really leave.
Despite that, N’mor found himself frozen in the doorway, still leaning against the frame, watching Z’rin with quiet seriousness.
… Oh. N’mor’s eyes opened wide when he realised he’d just followed Z’rin into his bedroom, and he paused in the doorway, staring around with curiosity and another hot blush before his attention returned to Z’rin. He stared frankly at his back as he put away the clothing, and then slipped into a shirt. N’mor frowned as the tanned skin vanished from view. He almost felt like his face wasn’t quite on fire by the time Z’rin was actually dressed, and N’mor opted to lean casually against the doorway, wishing he had his other arm so he could cross them over his chest. Instead, he was stuck with one arm awkwardly picking at the hem of his shirt as he raised an eyebrow at Z’rin.
“I was hardly going to have your clothes going mouldy and making my weyr smell,” he smirked, the expression crooked as one side lifted higher than the other. He was just glad Z’rin hadn’t left his underwear behind; besides how awkward that would have been (N’mor’s blush reappeared at the thought) it would have been mortifying to been caught washing them! To say nothing of giving them back, clearly handled. N’mor lifted his hand to sweep his fingers back through his shaggy hair. It was in need of a trim, but he had not bothered to find the time to do so.
“Ah… sure?” It was definitely said as a question, N’mor frowning as he considered Z’rin. Why was the bluerider interested in him staying? N’mor knew why he was tempted to stay; Z’rin practically oozed sex appeal and the young bronzerider found himself drawn to him like a moth to a damned flame. He knew he’d probably end up getting burned (probably from his perpetual blush; did Z’rin have any idea what he looked like when his face wasn’t some shade of red?) especially since the man was a damned bluerider. Faranth. What was he doing? He should leave. He should really leave.
Despite that, N’mor found himself frozen in the doorway, still leaning against the frame, watching Z’rin with quiet seriousness.