The Seventh Wing - 7. Chapter 7

Eight.

Eight was the number of days that passed before reality set in.

Eight days.

J'day stared at his clothes chest. He had no more clean shirts, other than the carefully wrapped packages that contained his Gather clothes. The worn breeks he wore when he didn't care what he looked like or intended to get dirty sat, still carefully folded, on the bottom of his chest. Otherwise, there was nothing else. He pulled them out and put them on. Slowly, he stood and began to move around the weyr, picking up his discarded clothes. He would take them down to be cleaned today.

But maybe later.

Thirteen was the number of days that passed before J'day gave up and asked for a drudge. He was entitled to have someone come into his weyr and clean, someone to take his clothes down to the washrooms to be cleaned and pressed. He had just never seen the need before. There had never been much to advertise the presence of two men in the weyr; F'rian's belongings were generally contained to his papers and paint. And his shoes. How a man who didn't care what he looked like, so long as he was clean and his clothes pressed, could have so many shoes, J'day didn't know, but there was no longer a collection laid out neatly under the sleeping couch. F'rian had taken everything that belonged to him, except for the pots and crocks of medicines and the clothes J'day had gotten him. J'day found it strange how the weyr seemed so empty, even though the only obvious change was the blank wall where Lioleth's painting had hung, and the solitary items where pairs had been before, like Gibbrenth's harness hanging beside a bare peg where Lioleth's used to be. Only one shaving kit adorned the little shelf by the pool and J'day left it on the floor one morning out of pure cussedness.

That would have driven F'rian to a temper.

Fifteen was the number of days that passed before D'cor decided to intervene. J'day knew he was being deliberately provoked, but he couldn't summon the energy to care. He let his mentor speak his piece, and then left. He did his duty and he knew he was learning how to handle his responsibilities, but there was no interest anymore. He felt hollow, as empty as the night T'rar stood him up in front of the whole Weyr and assembled the new wing. He'd learned a thing or two about masks from F'rian, and he'd put on a show then, as he put on a mask for everyone now. 'I'm proud and I am powerful,' said his face. 'I am a Bronzerider and a Wingleader of Igen Weyr. Do not mess with me.'

His eyes told a different story.

Twenty-one was the day that J'day started to live again, though he didn't realize it at the time. He woke up on the 22nd day with his ass burning like it was on fire. His lower back hurt, too, and not in a good, tired-muscle kind of sore. He lay face-down on his sleeping couch and when he turned his head, the resulting pain felt like weyrlings were clanging pots together right over his head.

"Ugh!" he groaned, and dragged a pillow over his head to block out any stray light. While familiar with the after-effects and sensations of over-indulgence, what really had J'day reeling and wanting to weep was the emptiness. He felt every inch plundered and exhausted. He also felt bruised and raw, all over.

He started to turn over and stopped, hissing. His upper thighs clammored with his back in protest, muscles seizing and sending new, jagged spikes of pain throughout his body. J'day clamped down on his misery, both physical and emotional, not wanting to rouse Gibbrenth. The bronze dragon would not understand and would worry unnecessarily. Really, all J'day needed, he told himself, was a long soak in the bathing pool and a chance to scrub off the disgust he felt for himself.

Slowly, cautious of any movement that might provoke his sour stomach, J'day reached behind him with one hand and explored his backside. His hips were tender, bruised, most likely. He scrunched his eyes closed even tighter as he felt the dried fluids on the back of his thighs.

I am such a--

"J'day!"

He flinched, the angry voice piercing the thickness of his head. He recognized the voice instantly for D'cor's and instantly knew he must have missed the morning's counsel with the Weyrleader. He'd heard the other Wingleader this furious only a few times before and sighed quietly, knowing he deserved every last bit of whatever was coming to him. He still couldn't quite bring himself to call out to the man, however. J'day bit his lip and held the pillow tighter, his free hand struggling to cover himself, but he searched in vain. The bed was almost completely bare.

The curtain to the sleeping alcove slid back with the warning rumble of thunder. "I don't care how much you've -- Faranth, boy!" gasped D'cor. "Don't move."

J'day groaned into his pillow, swallowing against the bile that rose to the back of his throat. D'cor's footsteps faded back across the weyr.

He remembered little from the previous night and turned his attentions to that problem rather than brooding on how foolish and lonely he felt just now. He'd retired to the Lower Caverns that night, sitting by the hearth while an impromptu musical group played and sang for the inhabitants of the Weyr. Propping his feet on a second chair, J'day had leaned back and slowly sipped chilled wine until his mind had disassociated from both his surroundings and his internal turmoil. He didn't know how long he had sat there, growing warmer and relaxed while the room quietened around him. He'd been alone, but he didn't object when company came and sat beside him. He hadn't cared enough to tilt his head and see who it was, either, only murmuring a thanks when he'd lifted his glass to find it full once more.

From the status of his head and his fuzzy memories, J'day figured he'd drank most of a wineskin. The rest of the night was a blur, a few scattered scenes, an argument with one of his wingseconds, and a deep voice and firm grip on his arm. What he didn't remember could bleed an inkwell dry. He'd obviously not come back to his weyr alone. That drunk, he couldn't have managed it anyway.

Hearing boots on stone again, J'day abandoned his pillow and, blinking groggily, tried to slide edgewise off the sleeping couch. He felt far too embarassed and exposed in his current position. Too bad his body felt otherwise. He halted again with a groan, submitting to the inevitable and watching to see who would come in.

D'cor, well, that was to be expected. He looked both very cross and very concerned. With him was Master Healer Okato. J'day frowned, worry shivering its way up his spine.

"Er, I'm fine, sir," he stammered at D'cor, his eyes flicking from one man to the other. "I'm sure it's noth --"

"You can't see what we can see," the healer remarked caustically. "Now just hold still while I have a look."

"Have a -- whoa-ah!" J'day clapped a hand over his mouth as stabbing pain lanced up his backside, taking his stomach along for the ride. Leaning his forehead into the furs, he panted quietly and shivered.

"We'll be discussing your stupidity later, J'day," said D'cor. "For now, I must go talk to the Weyrleader. Anything you wish I should tell him?"

"Er," mumbled J'day, squinting at his Flightleader, fellow wingleader, and friend. He blushed furiously. "No. Just -- ah!" He grasped a tight fist in the furs. "J-just my apologies. I have no excuses."

"Hmm, well, your present circumstances might argue otherwise. I'll inform your wingseconds to conduct drill without you this afternoon."

"Oh, no, that's not --"

"Tomorrow will be soon enough to ride," interrupted D'cor. "You can continue lambasting yourself in private for now."

"Yes, sir," sighed J'day.

"Anything you want to tell me?"

"Sir?"

"J'day." The older man sat down on the edge of the sleeping couch. "You got yourself very publicly intoxicated last night. Why did you not come back here to drink? Or come to myself or T'rar? We could at least have kept you from embarassing yourself. And the Weyr."

"Seemed like a good idea at the time?" J'day offered, wincing. He dropped his gaze. "I hadn't intended for things ... er, to end up this way."

"I'm sure." D'cor sighed. "What happened?"

"I wish I could say, but I don't remember."

"If you change your mind, do let me know."

"Change my ...? I really don't remember anything."

"Then we shall leave this at 'This behavior is not acceptable,' shall we?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you shall have all day to think, I should imagine. You will report to the Weyrleader first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir."

"Now." He turned to Okato. "How bad is it?"

The healer's voice was calm, but he sounded relieved. "Not so bad as it looks. A good soak will help with a great deal of the discomfort." He poked J'day in the back of a knee. "Can you apply the unguents yourself or will you need assistance?"

Flushing again, J'day answered, "I can do it, I just don't know if I can walk right now."

"Then we shall assist. D'cor?"

Going vertical sent stronger, deeper thrusts of agony into J'day's insides. He clenched his teeth and closed his eyes, fighting nausea. When the room stopped spinning, he nodded slowly and, on legs that shook and wouldn't bear his whole weight, staggered into the bathing chamber. The hot water stung but his muscles relaxed almost at once. He didn't realize that the other two had entered with him at first. When he did, he tried to push away, but D'cor held him firmly to his chest, arms under J'day's while the healer cleansed buttocks and thighs. J'day sagged against D'cor and tried not to puke.

Partially standing there while someone else cleaned and tended him was probably one of the most mortifying experiences in J'day's life. He wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look the healer in the eye again. Or D'cor, for that matter. At least they were considerate in their care, Okato only speaking to warn J'day when he moved to different areas. D'cor didn't speak at all. He hadn't undressed, J'day noted absently when he opened his eyes a crack to stare down. The bronzerider's boots were probably ruined.

There was blood in the water, too, J'day saw. He closed his eyes again. The bathing and trip back to the sleeping couch was thoroughly exhausting. Lying there in the semi-dark once the other two men were gone, J'day cursed himself for a dozen different kinds of fool. He was going to be walking funny for several days, even with the creams that had even now rendered his ass cool and numb. He only wished he could numb the rest of himself.

Gib?

The bronze's mind-tone was distinctly annoyed. I was sleeping.

J'day rolled his eyes. Liar. He sighed. I'm sorry, Gibbrenth. I've been ignoring you.

No, I -- J'day stopped, thinking that over. He wasn't, he realized. Being like this made him consider other things he'd never even though of before. He knew in his head what had happened to him, but the missing details pained him in ways he didn't even know how to express. Although he was now wrapped up in fresh bedfurs, he still felt exposed and vulnerable, in a way he'd never felt before, as if his outer bravado and pride had been totally stripped away. It wasn't that he wasn't used to being taken; true, it had been awhile, but even as a lusty youth, overcome by sexual desire, he'd never felt like this, so ... used. Used and discarded. He had a sudden strong desire for his foster mother, from times he'd been sick and she'd cared for him.

Pushing such thoughts aside, he rested his chin in his arms, thinking hard. Control during a mating flight was difficult. A dragon's lust could blind a rider to anything else, leaving them exhausted in sleep, oftentimes with little memories of the event. He could suddenly imagine how his first time might have gone, if he'd Impressed a green rather than a bronze dragon. If he'd woken up feeling the way he had now, without the benefit of a weyr upbringing, without memory of what had happened ... shards! How did greenriders do it?

He knew what his mother had said: "We counsel all new greenriders to experiment with sex before their dragon's first flight. Girls or boys, it makes no difference, a rider should not be a virgin for their dragon's first flight. Too much room for uncertainty or fear, especially in those not weyrbred. But, there are always some. There are the young ones who don't know any better or who may be too shy; and then there are the romantics, the ones who think that love factors into a mating flight somehow, that if they just wait, they'll find their true match, or some such nonsense."

J'day could almost hear her sigh. "Would that all flights were like harper tales. But since they are not, it is up to the male in charge, be he ride blue, brown, or bronze, to know his partner and control the proceedings."

"Why don't they talk about this in training?" J'day remembered asking.

His mother had smiled and ruffled his hair. "Would you have listened?"

Not likely, he thought now. It had been embarassing enough just listening to his mother without anyone else around. Gibbrenth's mind brushed soothingly against J'day's. He embraced his dragon mentally, grateful beyond words for his loving support. He felt rather sick, and not because of the wine still curdling in his stomach.

T'skel had said, and so had D'cor, that F'rian's first time had been anything but pleasant. V'tos' brown Toryth had flown Lioleth's first flight.

J'day wanted to leap up out of bed and find the brownrider, but he could barely move. He drummed his fingers on the bed, thinking. He loved his greenrider, and, he suddenly decided, he wasn't going to let him go without a fight. He didn't know what kind of welcome to expect, but he doubted that F'rian was going escape Joreena's notice as the time approached for Lioleth's next flight. J'day's mother had a tunnelsnake's senses for troubled riders. He could count on her, should have asked her advice long ago, and if he was going to help F'rian, then J'day needed to know everything he could. The first thing he was going to do was to talk to V'tos.

Since he had nothing else to do at present, and since he was likely to be working off demerits in every bit of his free time for the next several days, J'day figured he might as well start right away.

Brownrider V'tos came at mid-day, on the heels of the healer who brought a tray of food and checked J'day's injuries. He also fixed some tea. J'day was just re-situating himself in a heap of cushions with the tray over his lap, when Gibbrenth announced the brownrider's arrival.

"Thank you kindly, Jeter," he told the healer, grimacing at the bitter taste of the tea.

"You're very welcome, sir," he replied, gathering his things.

"Will you let V'tos in on your way out?"

"Of course."

The brownrider strutted into the sleeping alcove like he owned it. Without even so much as a by-your-leave, he sat down right at J'day's side. J'day had seen possessive looks before, both directed at himself and at others, and he shivered now, shifting back against the cushions.

V'tos was brazen as he leered. "Ready for more already, Wingleader?"

Shock lent J'day strength. Lunging forward, tray falling unnoticed to one side, J'day roared in rage and punched V'tos along his jaw. Anger washed away any pain as J'day knelt on the edge of the sleeping couch, oblivious to his nudity, and cursed the brownrider until he ran out of breath. If he'd had a knife he might have forgotten himself and challenged V'tos right then and there.

V'tos, for all that he'd backed up a pace or two, was unfazed. Hands on hips, he laughed. "You can't deny you didn't like it," he said, when J'day had to pause in order to breathe. "You asked me for it."

"No! I was drunk, you had no right!"

"You were well enough in your own head to blacken R'dan's eye in order to stay with me."

"I ...!"

"Such a sweet, tight ass, too, pressing up against me, begging for more."

"Shut up!"

"Could it be you don't remember any of this? Or are you just denying that those pert lips of yours could scream so loud in ecstasy?"

Snarling, J'day grabbed a handful of fruit from the overturned tray and threw the pieces at the brownrider. He missed and V'tos started laughing again. He stepped towards J'day.

"I can see the lust in your eyes even now." The brownrider's voice deepened. "You were watching me all evening, your eyes making love to me, begging me to take you. Even now I can see you still want me."

J'day's hands went to his crotch and his half-hard cock. He glared at V'tos, glad that he was already flushed from anger. "This has nothing to do with you!"

V'tos was smug. "I know. You like being told what to do, being commanded by a larger, stronger man." In one swift, fluid move, he pressed J'day's shoulders back into the furs, pinning his legs, crushing their lips together in a bruising kiss.

"Get off me!" shouted J'day, struggling, ignoring the pain re-awakening in his lower body. He pushed upwards against V'tos' chest, only to have his wrists captured and pinned above his head.

"I wonder," the brownrider murmured into J'day's ear, "which one of you tops? Hmm? It is hard to picture, either way."

J'day scowled. "That's none of your business!"

"You're definitely prettier, but F'rian has those long legs, mmm." He smacked his lips together. "He's like a fine runner, but refusing to be broken to saddle."

J'day shuddered as V'tos leaned down to mouth a nipple. "You had him first," he ground out, feeling nauseous.

"Mm, jealous, are we?"

"He's stronger than me."

"Yes, I can't hold him with one hand, and he doesn't scream like you do."

"He doesn't scream at all." J'day tried to make that a statement, rather than a question.

V'tos chuckled. "Ah, frustrates you, too, I see. No, he is a silent lover, but he does like to tease."

J'day let himself be kissed, his stomach in knots. "What do you mean?"

"F'rian ogled me for months, but spurned all my advances. I had to wait for his dragon's flight before I could claim his body." He hummed in the back of his throat for a minute, idly caressing J'day's chest with his fingertips.

The image of F'rian sitting on Nerat's beach came to J'day's mind. "You hurt him," he stated.

"What of it?" asked V'tos, shrugging. He genuinely looked puzzled. "F'rian likes pain even more than you do. What, have you not discovered that about your mate?"

"I'd heard the rumors."

"Ha-ha, yes, and he kicks like a draybeast, too," he continued in his low growl, kissing along J'day's shoulder.

"You're a snake, V'tos."

"Hmm, it's never been called that before," mused the brownrider, amused, looking down at himself. "Thought I'd heard everything by now."

"How many times?" he asked. "How often has Toryth won Lioleth's flights?"

"Worried about the competition, now are we?"

"Of course," he lied.

"Almost all of them," V'tos replied. "Though we've never lost twice in a row before. Soon to be three times, now that he's at Fort. He'll be mine again the next time."

"He's mine," said J'day.

"Perhaps. A flight is a flight, after all."

"I can have him anytime I want."

V'tos laughed and kissed J'day again. "Oh, I don't think so, J'day, or he'd be here with you now. No, that man is as elusive as a fire-lizard."

"Maybe for you."

"You are trying to get me angry, aren't you?" He grinned and reached down to palm J'day's flacid cock. "So, the struggle turns you on, I should have guessed."

J'day caught his breath just before he could whimper. That hurt! He ground out, "I'm sore! Leave me be!"

The brownrider smirked, tonguing along J'day's breastbone. "Yes, but that's the idea, isn't it?"

"I'm saying 'No!'" cried J'day. Enough was enough. Gib!

Gibbrenth roared in draconic rage, sounding twice his size. Stolid brown Toryth's high-pitched whine catapulted V'tos off J'day and towards the ledge, shouting back epithets. J'day just rolled painfully over onto his side, wrapping his arms around himself. Gibbrenth crooned soothingly in his head.

Oh, F'rian, thought J'day. You must have been so frightened.

Treated like that, time after time, it was little wonder he fought so hard. T'rar had said, all those months ago, that the greenrider's injuries kept getting worse. Then he'd run, that first flight with J'day. What might he have attempted next? Why didn't he ask for help?

He answered his own question: Because he'd thought that that was how it was meant to be.

F'rian had said he'd kissed before, but he didn't really know how. He hadn't known what was happening that second flight, and he had that queer aversion to touch, as if ....

As if he expects to be hurt. J'day slapped his forehead. Oh, shells!

That last time they'd been intimate, J'day had touched F'rian without warning and he'd panicked. J'day frowned a little in thought. Had he always been that way? Or had that begun with Lioleth's first flight? He'd said he wasn't inexperienced, as hard to believe as that was. Could there be more? He would have to talk to N'tom, the weyrlingmaster, next.

But that had to wait a few days. As he'd thought, Weyrleader T'rar placed J'day on report for his actions, getting drunk and brawling in the Lower Caverns, and then dereliction of duty, as well as putting his dragon in jeopardy by knowingly harming himelf. J'day didn't argue. He took the reprimand unflinchingly and worked his punishment details without complaint. For two sevendays he toiled to work off T'rar's anger before he got a chance to speak to brownrider N'tom.

"Weyrlingmaster!" he hailed him as they watched their dragons bathing in the lake one evening.

"Wingleader," the brownrider replied easily. "And how are you faring?"

"Oh, well enough, I suppose."

"All recovered, then?"

J'day grimaced. His humiliation had made the rounds of the Weyr within hours of his interview with T'rar. The truth was hardly recognizeable now, but that made little difference in the tiny community of Igen Weyr.

N'tom laughed lightly, his creased, weather-beaten face losing years as he smiled. "Better to have the news come out like that," he said, "rather than everyone speculating about why your name was on report."

"I suppose," replied J'day, giving the older man a wry smile. He scratched his head sheepishly. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"That's true."

They watched their dragons swim for a few more minutes, and then, J'day asked, "N'tom, can I ask you a ... uh, kind of a personal question?"

"Of course, Wingleader, but that's not to say I'll answer."

The brownrider's easy-going and teasing manner set J'day instantly at ease and he could see why this man was the Weyrlingmaster. "It's about F'rian."

"Oh?"

"What was he like, as a weyrling?"

"Well, much as he is now, I guess," he replied slowly. "He smiled more."

"He didn't have any friends? Wasn't close to anyone?"

N'tom lifted an eyebrow curiously. "No, not that I recall. He was a good student, didn't cause trouble, or much, anyway," he amended with a chuckle. "He didn't stand out, except in formation practice, but I've always considered that to be more Lioleth's influence. She has always been a bossy, demanding creature."

"I remember," chuckled J'day.

N'tom laughed, too. "F'rian tempered her exuberance by demanding perfection. He said to me that he couldn't very well countenance her insistence on leadership if she couldn't do the maneuvers better than anyone else." He snorted softly. "They had a lot to catch up on, when they started training with the others, so I suppose it was as much a desire to fit in as anything else."

"So he didn't socialize?"

"Outside of class? No, not really." He gave J'day another long look. "He was the eldest in the group. The others looked up to him, but there was always distance. F'rian could talk strategy and dragoncare well enough, but he would always fall silent when the conversation turned to other things."

"D'cor said he requested F'rian be assigned to him. He said that surprised you."

N'tom shrugged. "Yes. They drew interest for their skills, but the wingleaders didn't want a green who thought she was bigger than she was. I had been considering putting them in T'rar's wing, he's always had a soft spot for F'rian."

"Really?"

"I don't believe he'd like that to be common knowledge, but, yes, he does. T'rar loves his troublemakers." N'tom rolled his eyes. "Says he admires their spirit. I think he just lives vicariously through them. T'rar was quite the imp as a youth. I'm sure he misses the freedom that came with just being a dragonrider and not a Wingleader and Weyrleader."

"You're old friends, then?"

"Yes. Same weyrling class." His eyes faded with memory. "Me, T'rar, and D'cor. We've been close friends for many turns. Our children have been fostered together." He shook himself. "So, any more questions for me, then?"

"I've heard that F'rian likes to duel, but I've never seen --"

"Ah. That. F'rian killed a man."

"What?"

"To celebrate the weyrlings' successful completion of learning to go between, I took them to a Gather at Igen Hold. Apparently, a group of young men surrounded F'rian and provoked a duel. 'Old friends,' they said." He shook his head sadly. "What a mess that was. F'rian took everything so seriously. If it started out as teasing, like they said, he certainly didn't think so. Were it not for the witnesses who spoke on F'rian's behalf, things could have ended very badly. As it was, with one young man dead and the remainder seriously injured, F'rian is forbidden to return to Igen, and he has essentially not left the Weyr since."

"What was the cause of the brawl?"

"Well," drawled N'tom, giving J'day a significant glance, "considering your relationship with him, I'd think that would be fairly obvious."

"Oh." J'day thought about that. "I'm not sure I like that."

"No," sighed N'tom, "it was a bad business all around. The boys were runners together, before F'rian came to the Weyr. I'd say he had a difficult time of it, if he'd taken a fancy to one of those boys and they'd given him grief about it."

"But he didn't favor anyone here?"

"I didn't say that, but if he fancied anyone, he kept it to himself. He never said, one way or the other, about his preferences, before or after that incident. Guess he was just waiting for you."

"Er, thanks, I guess, but you know I twisted his arm in the beginning."

N'tom laughed. "That story never gets old, Wingleader!" He sighed. "A tale for the harpers, that one. Hidai's been working on turning that tale into a ballad."

"Er ... he is?"

"F'rian will act like he hates it, of course, but you know he's greedy for any kind of praise."

Really? thought J'day, surprised. He nodded absently.

Are you done talking now? asked Gibbrenth, splashing N'tom's brown Zhomath. I itch.

Yes, come on then, J'day told him and gave his thanks to N'tom. They parted amiably and J'day turned his attentions back to his dragon. He had awhile to go yet in working of his demerits, but J'day was determined to finish as quickly as possible. The time was drawing ever nearer to Lioleth's next flight, and, by the Egg! J'day was going to be there.