Logs:Conquests
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| RL Date: 28 April, 2012 |
| Who: Iolene, K'del |
| Involves: High Reaches Weyr |
| Type: Log |
| What: Even in the aftermath of her own flight, Ysavaeth has fingers in pies and plans afoot. |
| Where: Iolene's Weyr, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 18, Month 8, Turn 28 (Interval 10) |
| Mentions: Tiriana/Mentions |
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| It should be no surprise that Ysavaeth takes full advantage of her conquest, maneuvering herself to make this moment last as long as she possibly can by drifting their bodies against an updraft and curling her wings upwards as if in an embrace and then back down again to provide more vertical lift. She promised secrets -- to unburden her draconic soul and ambitions upon Cadejoth, shared now in sensual images of a possible future for the two -- her pale golden frame cozied up warmly against his green-bronze, their tails curled about each other and their minds linked with a perfect, shared agenda. Of those human emotions, love and devotion, that he might be able to draw upon. While Ysavaeth works Cadejoth in the air, Iolene just gives in to the rollercoaster of pleasure and feelings their dragons are sending the pair through, aided by an urgency wrought by a week of withholding. Curled fingers give traction for sweaty palms against K'del's back, as she wants and demands more of the Weyrleader. And when it's over, when Ysavaeth's pale, spent form alights onto the ledge outside with Cadejoth at her side, Iolene releases a shuddered breath and falls backward onto the rug. What? You think they would've stayed on the couch in between all the acrobatics of dragon-bolstered lust? Love. Devotion. Home. When has Cadejoth ever shied from such things? Hasn't he always seen the Weyr as his family, his pack? With the last of his strength, he works with Ysavaeth's movements to keep them aloft and to promise, without words, just how much he wants what she's offered. She has, of course, touched on exactly what he's always wanted-- and there's no ice, now, to stand in their way. On the ledge, he stays twined with her, his wings sheltering her from the afternoon, his head nuzzling contentedly, tiredly, against hers. During the flight, K'del maintained wariness, conscious, always, of the trouble he was setting himself up for. Afterwards, though, there's no room left in his brain for such thoughts, and he is as eager and desperate a participant as Iolene herself -- giving everything he has to take her to those heights, and to take himself along too. As Iolene falls backwards, he drops alongside her, shifting to the side so that he can rest his head alongside her, legs tangled, one arm draped across her. Breathing. This takes effort. Content, Ysavaeth's lowered form allows her lean neck to press backwards into Cadejoth's hide and lift her nuzzle up to pet under his maw, even daring, to snake out a tongue to tickle and if dragons sweat, wick some of that moisture away. The clanging cacophony of pre-flight has become a light peal of melodic fulfillment, whispering in the lightest dance of sound in his head. Home -- this is where he belongs, and she'll be his Queen (and that capitol is all but visible) if he'll be hers. Breathing might be difficult for both of them. Moving too, as Iolene attempts to draw a knee up and, in failing, ends up dropping it back to the ground. "Tired," she exhales. "Tired," she repeats, making those minute adjustments so she might turn on her side just enough to warm his chest with her breath, her tongue poking out to tickle and trace sweat, much like the dragon outside administers her own affections. Murmured, past a slow growing smile, "I could sleep forever." His rider may live to rue the day, but for Cadejoth, there is no question: he is hers, hook line and sinker. Where once there was an undercurrent of ice and cold, now there is only sated, contented warmth. Even the buzz sending shivers through his chains has settled, now, leaving only a quiet clattering of contentment as he threads his thoughts through hers - though her tickling tongue sends through another shiver. Ysavaeth, his thoughts say, without words. Ysavaeth. He's never had a queen to caress; now, his tail twitches against hers in a quiet caress. K'del is ticklish in a way his dragon is not, but aside from a subtle twitch as Iolene's tongue connects, he stays still; there simply isn't energy there for more. It makes him smile, though, with fondness reserved for Iolene alone as that arm lifts from her so he can push back sweat-limp hair from her face with gentle fingers. "Me too," he admits, more like a deep exhale than proper words. "Should I find a pillow?" That would require moving, of course, but the question seems earnest enough. Pleased. For now, all Cadejoth will hear or feel is her pleasure, delight, love and how, going forth, she'll be by his side. But Ysavaeth wouldn't be Ysavaeth without already thinking of her next move, or stretching out through a network of allies and friends, to find out how Iovniath might be taking the news. His answer is fond in the push forward Iolene's body does, to press in closer into his body and entangle her limbs all the better. Maybe some flights end in sleep, but linked to a dragon such as Ysavaeth, who thinks constantly, Io finds no such peace, and it manifests in her continued, blurred, but wakeful state. "Isn't this nice?" Wouldn't you like this all the time? "Are you-," the voice hesitates, cracked with fatigue and momentary thoughtfulness, "Happy?" Cadejoth is too simple a dragon to even contemplate such a thing; too simple, too, to bother himself with thought of Iovniath when there is an Ysavaeth beside him to curl up against, to rest upon. All, in his world, is well. K'del can, at least, take a hint: he uses both arms to wrap around Iolene's body and keep her close, and makes no move to withdraw. Not for pillows, and not even for her question, which has him sucking in a breath that is slightly more thoughtful than those prior. At least his "It is. It's very nice," is genuinely heartfelt, and comes with a smile to match. "And yes, I'm happy." He has more hesitance for that, and it comes with an amendment. "Worried, but happy. Tiriana will--" He breaks off. The body wrapped in his arms stills at the mention of the name and Io's thin face lifts to look up and spy his every reaction, or what she can manage from this angle. "Would it be so bad?" she ventures after a quiet moment. A foot slides up along the inside of his legs, rubbing up and down in a soothing fashion. That foot is a distraction, if not the kind that will eventually prompt a more obviously bodily reaction - not yet. K'del leans in to press a kiss to Iolene's head, but waits until he's drawn his head back up before answering. "Rather depends on what you're imagining is going to happen. It's not going to be pretty, regardless." Iolene dares, even as her sliding foot wriggles through his two legs and she pushes against him further so she'll end up draped on top in an effort to pin him in place, should her daring find a less than pleased audience. "It would be nice for High Reaches to have peaceful leaders." Her hands fold over his chest as a rest for her chin and those big, dark blue eyes look up at his face. Effectively pinned, though perhaps he could release himself if he really wanted to, K'del tilts his head so that he can meet Iolene's gaze more easily, and coils his arms around her neck. "It would," he agrees; she'll find no argument there. "Still not sure I entirely understand what that dragon of yours is playing at, though. Io. Tiriana's the Weyrwoman. Mostly, this's just going to piss her off." Iolene's eyelids drop, her breath pacing slowing, but as the dragon outside rouses, shifting her position beneath Cadejoth's wings, so too does the dragon's rider shift. Those eyes flutter open again and she looks up again at K'del, a rueful turn to her expression. "She can't find fault in dragons doing what they will, can she? If you had tried to stop Cadejoth, in the end, all the lessons say it would end poorly. And there wasn't a knife to stab yourself with this time. But," as much as the tease falls too easily from Io's lips, it isn't quite jovial enough to hide a girl's insecurity, "Would you have? Didn't you... what about me?" "Oh, Io," says the bronzerider, suddenly aware of that insecurity, and perhaps, too of his own dragon's sudden, if muted confusion. "No, I didn't mean it like that." How much closer can they get, when she's already pinning him so? Not much, in the end, but K'del tries it anyway, grabbing tighter still so that he can meet her gaze squarely and without pretense. "Even if there had been a knife, I wouldn't have. Cadejoth wanted Ysavaeth, and I-- wanted you. Tiriana'll rail, but it'll work out. It'll be fine." Even if she didn't actually intend to change the subject, subject effectively changed. What is that dragon of hers playing at? Ysavaeth isn't telling: the mate by her side, or the rider delving in her head, though the latter definitely gets more crumbs than the former. "It will," is said in a voice that is completely dubious. This is Tiriana after all. "But I can handle a knife." Because that's not ominous at all, even in Io's youth-filled voice. "You should stay. Giorda... told me yesterday that no one will expect me or the flight's winner to do anything the day of the flight. Stay?" The voice, the eyes, the body that shifts again with a knee parting his legs and a hand drifting down to see if she can evoke enough reaction for a second, non-dragon-linked, act -- it all entreats K'del. Stay. "It will," says K'del, as if by force of will he will make it so, though there's no hiding the flinch that follows reference to that knife. His expression can only remain troubled for so long, however, and that's only partially because Iolene's hand is doing wonderful, awful things to part of him that still has a teenager's recovery time. If the way he grabs onto her, pulling her face up for a kiss, is any indication, he will have no hesitation in putting aside those problems for another day-- and tending, instead, to something more immediately gratifying. With her rider distracting and distracted quite happily, Ysavaeth's limbs rest a little more easily and drops her nuzzle to the ground, her hind quarters nudging at Cadejoth to follow suit. Maybe now is a good time for a nap in summer's afternoon sun. Naps? Cadejoth loves naps! It's not quite so simple-brained as that, but still, the bronze needs little prompting to curl himself up alongside the queen - and rest.
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