Fly High, Pretty Green
Was in the mood for dragons and virgins.
Ormonth catches Sith for the first time. P'tero/M'leng.
Sith’s broad green wings pumped strongly as she flew upwards, so high, on a path so terrifically twisted that the two browns chasing her fell back without a fight. There would be other greens later on in the day. The blues flew on, Sith screeching at them as green Tazikath blooded her first herdbeast.
M’leng grinned, his eyes closed, his face alight with fierce joy as they flew. He felt Sith’s strong muscles flex into tight cords before she beat her wings down, her emerald tail flicking, changing her course smoothly and quickly, almost too quickly for the blues to follow her.
They had been flown by browns before and M’leng had learned how to avoid the huge beasts. Slightly smaller than the great bronzes, browns were the dream mates of many greenriders. Not M’leng, never M’leng. Browns were large, bulky, with heavy muscle. They had stamina and strong reason, their riders the kindest men in the Weyr, but browns held no interest for the pale Telgar rider.
He wanted blue for his Sith. Sith deserved a small blue who could follow her every elegant twist and mid-air turn. Only a blue could follow her, fly her, the way Sith wanted and needed. A blue would not hurt her with his bulk or smother her with his paternal instincts. A blue would fly her in a tangle of green and blue hide, not supporting her with his strength but delighting her with his speed and clever flying. They needed no support. They needed an equal.
M’leng’s grin turned feral as he felt the blueriders closing in around him, touching him, pressing against him, their heated palms and hot breath waiting to capture him should their blues win his Sith.
Sith shrieked and M’leng laughed. His darling pumped her wondrous wings and trilled back at Ireth. He bugled, thinking he had her, and Sith dived. She slid gracefully past his grabbing claws and continued down, trilling at the blues still in pursuit. They roared, hoping to catch her. M’leng felt her great heart pounding within her beloved chest. He waited, feeling Sith tire of her game. She was aroused and needed her release. Who would it be this time? M’leng wondered, barely registering the men around him.
Cool hands touched his shoulders and held on, waiting for Sith to make a mistake or slow that tiniest bit needed to catch her. There would be no anger in this flight, not this early in the mating season. The browns were already rising again to follow Tazikath. Heroth, one of Sith’s pursuers, fell back and returned to his Weyr to rest and try again. Sith shrieked a protest, taunting Heroth to return and try to catch her. The blue shook his weary head as his rider walked out to meet him, stroking his great muzzle to Sith’s amusement.
Heroth does not catch me! She laughed to M’leng. He cannot! See how he falls! None can catch me!
M’leng smiled, baring his white teeth as Sith bared hers. Together, they challenged the blues, Gisoth and Ormonth, asking who of them could catch bright Sith. M’leng took no notice of K’len or P’tero, their riders. He was Sith, flying high above the blues only to twitch her long tail and turn, wings whirling, into a new direction. Sith spun and dove, twisted and dodged, challenging the blues to match her. They could not, they would not, not if she did as she wished.
But Sith was tiring. Her instincts told her to fly on and ignore the dragons chasing her but she had done this before, flown this way before, and she knew how this would end. He, whoever he was, whichever dragon managed to catch her and stop her fast course, would twine his longer, stronger neck with hers and they would fall in a slow tangle through the air to the Weyr floor. Sith looked back over her withers to see the two following her. Gisoth. Ormonth. Neither had she known before. Either could be better, either could be worse. But Gisoth was old, twenty Turns her senior. His rider, K’len, was no match for her mine. Mine deserved better than K’len.
She saw her chance then, her opening to position herself so that Ormonth, not Gisoth, would catch her. Sith arched her back, turning muzzle over tail in an emerald arch. She bent at the last moment, her tail’s green tip whapping Gisoth’s spine to distract him. Gisoth turned, reaching up with his front claws, but Sith was gone, spreading her wings into the wind to slow herself as she hovered beneath Ormonth’s blue hide. Ormonth reached out and grasped Sith’s wing joints. He secured himself unsteadily, twining first their tails, then their necks, roaring out his triumph as he penetrated the lithe green.
M’leng gasped and arched up from the bedframe as P’tero followed Ormonth and entered M’leng. He slid in smoothly, the thick salve the healers had provided easing his passage. He pulled out and thrust back in, brushing against the spot inside M’leng that reduced him to goo instantly. M’leng moaned, losing control as the muscular bluerider thrust into him faster and harder, both of them suffused in dragonlust, barely noticing each other as they acted as vessels for the greater emotions filling them.
Ormonth bugled, announcing his victory over Sith and his new claim on the green to the entire Weyr. P’tero groaned, thrusting once more as he squeezed M’leng’s member, the two of them reaching their peaks. P’tero collapsed on top of the greenrider, gasping into M’leng’s long hair as he murmured sweet, nonsensical words of love and lust. M’leng smiled and closed his eyes, Sith’s exhaustion overwhelming him. They could talk about this later, once Sith and Ormonth had rested.
“Shh,” M’leng murmured, opening his eyes lazily and pressing a finger to P’tero’s fast-moving lips. “Later.”
The bluerider nodded and moved off of M’leng, pulling the sweaty furs out from under them and tossing them to the side.
“Do you want me to…?” P’tero asked, motioning to the door as if he meant to leave.
M’leng frowned in confusion. The boy was acting as if he’d never done this before. M’leng tried to remember how old he was. The boy was certainly not weyr-bred, M’leng would have known him if he had been. M’leng scratched at his hair, still confused. How old was Ormonth?
“Three Turns,” P’tero said uneasily, using a fur to cover his nakedness.
M’leng grimaced. He hadn’t said that aloud, so Sith must have relayed his question to Ormonth, and that meant Sith was more than a bit interested in the blue.
“How old are you?” he asked, sitting up to look at the slight man.
“Sixteen,” P’tero said quickly, a touch of pride in his voice.
M’leng gaped at him, shocked.
“Shards,” he finally groaned, putting his face in his hands. He peered at P’tero through his spread fingers. Sixteen Turns? M’leng had guessed this had been P’tero’s first flight, not his first time. He had just deflowered a virgin rider. A virgin rider at sixteen Turns with a three Turn old dragon?
“Is there something wrong with you?” M’leng snarled.
P’tero looked hurt.
“No.”
“You’re a virgin.”
“Not anymore.”
That made M’leng laugh and eased his growing anxiety. The boy had a sense of humor and a good dose of self-assuredness, besides. He was either a dimglow of a wherry brain for entering a mating flight without any between the furs experience or he had guts of stone. Regardless, he wasn’t backing away. M’leng might as well take what he was offered, especially when what he was offered was so delicious.
“Right you are, weyrling. Welcome to manhood,” M’leng said drily, smiling crookedly.
P’tero smiled back.
“Great Faranth,” M’leng swore, tugging the boy to him, not that P’tero was exactly resisting, the way his manhood was standing. “Well, scorch it, my name’s M’leng, rider of green Sith,” he said, taking P’tero’s hand and shaking it. P’tero’s grin widened.
“P’tero, rider of blue Ormonth. Nice to meet you.”
“I think we’ve already got the meeting down, P’tero, rider of blue Ormonth, so why don’t you come over here and let me teach you something new? Make that scrubble on your chin mean something.”
P’tero chuckled and laid a bold kiss on M’leng’s shoulder.
“I guess I’ll have to take you up on that offer, M’leng, rider of green Sith,” he laughed.
M’leng smiled at the boy’s eagerness and pulled him down into a deep kiss. They had all day to do whatever they wanted and M’leng wasn’t above ‘educating’ an attractive bluerider before noon.
Ormonth catches Sith for the first time. P'tero/M'leng.
Sith’s broad green wings pumped strongly as she flew upwards, so high, on a path so terrifically twisted that the two browns chasing her fell back without a fight. There would be other greens later on in the day. The blues flew on, Sith screeching at them as green Tazikath blooded her first herdbeast.
M’leng grinned, his eyes closed, his face alight with fierce joy as they flew. He felt Sith’s strong muscles flex into tight cords before she beat her wings down, her emerald tail flicking, changing her course smoothly and quickly, almost too quickly for the blues to follow her.
They had been flown by browns before and M’leng had learned how to avoid the huge beasts. Slightly smaller than the great bronzes, browns were the dream mates of many greenriders. Not M’leng, never M’leng. Browns were large, bulky, with heavy muscle. They had stamina and strong reason, their riders the kindest men in the Weyr, but browns held no interest for the pale Telgar rider.
He wanted blue for his Sith. Sith deserved a small blue who could follow her every elegant twist and mid-air turn. Only a blue could follow her, fly her, the way Sith wanted and needed. A blue would not hurt her with his bulk or smother her with his paternal instincts. A blue would fly her in a tangle of green and blue hide, not supporting her with his strength but delighting her with his speed and clever flying. They needed no support. They needed an equal.
M’leng’s grin turned feral as he felt the blueriders closing in around him, touching him, pressing against him, their heated palms and hot breath waiting to capture him should their blues win his Sith.
Sith shrieked and M’leng laughed. His darling pumped her wondrous wings and trilled back at Ireth. He bugled, thinking he had her, and Sith dived. She slid gracefully past his grabbing claws and continued down, trilling at the blues still in pursuit. They roared, hoping to catch her. M’leng felt her great heart pounding within her beloved chest. He waited, feeling Sith tire of her game. She was aroused and needed her release. Who would it be this time? M’leng wondered, barely registering the men around him.
Cool hands touched his shoulders and held on, waiting for Sith to make a mistake or slow that tiniest bit needed to catch her. There would be no anger in this flight, not this early in the mating season. The browns were already rising again to follow Tazikath. Heroth, one of Sith’s pursuers, fell back and returned to his Weyr to rest and try again. Sith shrieked a protest, taunting Heroth to return and try to catch her. The blue shook his weary head as his rider walked out to meet him, stroking his great muzzle to Sith’s amusement.
Heroth does not catch me! She laughed to M’leng. He cannot! See how he falls! None can catch me!
M’leng smiled, baring his white teeth as Sith bared hers. Together, they challenged the blues, Gisoth and Ormonth, asking who of them could catch bright Sith. M’leng took no notice of K’len or P’tero, their riders. He was Sith, flying high above the blues only to twitch her long tail and turn, wings whirling, into a new direction. Sith spun and dove, twisted and dodged, challenging the blues to match her. They could not, they would not, not if she did as she wished.
But Sith was tiring. Her instincts told her to fly on and ignore the dragons chasing her but she had done this before, flown this way before, and she knew how this would end. He, whoever he was, whichever dragon managed to catch her and stop her fast course, would twine his longer, stronger neck with hers and they would fall in a slow tangle through the air to the Weyr floor. Sith looked back over her withers to see the two following her. Gisoth. Ormonth. Neither had she known before. Either could be better, either could be worse. But Gisoth was old, twenty Turns her senior. His rider, K’len, was no match for her mine. Mine deserved better than K’len.
She saw her chance then, her opening to position herself so that Ormonth, not Gisoth, would catch her. Sith arched her back, turning muzzle over tail in an emerald arch. She bent at the last moment, her tail’s green tip whapping Gisoth’s spine to distract him. Gisoth turned, reaching up with his front claws, but Sith was gone, spreading her wings into the wind to slow herself as she hovered beneath Ormonth’s blue hide. Ormonth reached out and grasped Sith’s wing joints. He secured himself unsteadily, twining first their tails, then their necks, roaring out his triumph as he penetrated the lithe green.
M’leng gasped and arched up from the bedframe as P’tero followed Ormonth and entered M’leng. He slid in smoothly, the thick salve the healers had provided easing his passage. He pulled out and thrust back in, brushing against the spot inside M’leng that reduced him to goo instantly. M’leng moaned, losing control as the muscular bluerider thrust into him faster and harder, both of them suffused in dragonlust, barely noticing each other as they acted as vessels for the greater emotions filling them.
Ormonth bugled, announcing his victory over Sith and his new claim on the green to the entire Weyr. P’tero groaned, thrusting once more as he squeezed M’leng’s member, the two of them reaching their peaks. P’tero collapsed on top of the greenrider, gasping into M’leng’s long hair as he murmured sweet, nonsensical words of love and lust. M’leng smiled and closed his eyes, Sith’s exhaustion overwhelming him. They could talk about this later, once Sith and Ormonth had rested.
“Shh,” M’leng murmured, opening his eyes lazily and pressing a finger to P’tero’s fast-moving lips. “Later.”
The bluerider nodded and moved off of M’leng, pulling the sweaty furs out from under them and tossing them to the side.
“Do you want me to…?” P’tero asked, motioning to the door as if he meant to leave.
M’leng frowned in confusion. The boy was acting as if he’d never done this before. M’leng tried to remember how old he was. The boy was certainly not weyr-bred, M’leng would have known him if he had been. M’leng scratched at his hair, still confused. How old was Ormonth?
“Three Turns,” P’tero said uneasily, using a fur to cover his nakedness.
M’leng grimaced. He hadn’t said that aloud, so Sith must have relayed his question to Ormonth, and that meant Sith was more than a bit interested in the blue.
“How old are you?” he asked, sitting up to look at the slight man.
“Sixteen,” P’tero said quickly, a touch of pride in his voice.
M’leng gaped at him, shocked.
“Shards,” he finally groaned, putting his face in his hands. He peered at P’tero through his spread fingers. Sixteen Turns? M’leng had guessed this had been P’tero’s first flight, not his first time. He had just deflowered a virgin rider. A virgin rider at sixteen Turns with a three Turn old dragon?
“Is there something wrong with you?” M’leng snarled.
P’tero looked hurt.
“No.”
“You’re a virgin.”
“Not anymore.”
That made M’leng laugh and eased his growing anxiety. The boy had a sense of humor and a good dose of self-assuredness, besides. He was either a dimglow of a wherry brain for entering a mating flight without any between the furs experience or he had guts of stone. Regardless, he wasn’t backing away. M’leng might as well take what he was offered, especially when what he was offered was so delicious.
“Right you are, weyrling. Welcome to manhood,” M’leng said drily, smiling crookedly.
P’tero smiled back.
“Great Faranth,” M’leng swore, tugging the boy to him, not that P’tero was exactly resisting, the way his manhood was standing. “Well, scorch it, my name’s M’leng, rider of green Sith,” he said, taking P’tero’s hand and shaking it. P’tero’s grin widened.
“P’tero, rider of blue Ormonth. Nice to meet you.”
“I think we’ve already got the meeting down, P’tero, rider of blue Ormonth, so why don’t you come over here and let me teach you something new? Make that scrubble on your chin mean something.”
P’tero chuckled and laid a bold kiss on M’leng’s shoulder.
“I guess I’ll have to take you up on that offer, M’leng, rider of green Sith,” he laughed.
M’leng smiled at the boy’s eagerness and pulled him down into a deep kiss. They had all day to do whatever they wanted and M’leng wasn’t above ‘educating’ an attractive bluerider before noon.