Ah-ah-ah... let's not be hasty, now. No breakfast until we've finished with dessert, and dessert isn't gone until we've used up all the whipped cream. -- Flight Air

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Date Posted: 04:40:06 04/02/05 Sat
Author: Vitaliath
Subject: Ah-ah-ah... let's not be hasty, now. No breakfast until we've finished with dessert, and dessert isn't gone until we've used up all the whipped cream.
In reply to: Hroth 's message, "Ooooooh breakfast!" on 04:04:28 04/02/05 Sat

Time seems to be suspended, that breathless moment of anticipation stretching on and on as Vitaliath writhes through the sky, the glow of her green hide so bright that one expects to see trails of phosphorence winding through the sky behind her to mark the trail that she's blazed. But instead of a ribbon of light streaming out behind her, her path is traced by a powerful and handsome beast, dappled by moonlight above and blotting out the stars from below. Something is bound tight within her chest, holding her heart with iron bands, wrapping around her lungs and making it impossible to draw breath. The green's body vibrates with the tension of it, the endless, precarious moment on the cusp of realization, teetering on the edge with the abyss open below, but neither stepping back nor quite tipping over. A'dian's mind is at once locked firm with hers and separated by an unbridgable gulf, taut with the same breathless waiting, yet in fierce motion against the same surf that tosses A'lan about like driftwood.

Hroth's proximity is almost unbearable, his raw scream plucking at every nerve in the green's tensed body, the flicker of his wingtip against her ribs nearly sending Vitaliath over the edge right then and there. Yet she can't make herself close the gap, can't eliminate the space between them, can't even bring herself to flick tail or wing against his brown hide. This is not a tension that can be broken with a simple affectionate touch. Her emotions are raging higher, encompassing her in a wild spinning storm of want and need that tears through her rider's body as well as her own, and he clings to the brownrider in his bed as if A'lan is the only solid thing left in the world. The bindings in her chest draw suddenly tighter, the string given a hard jerk.

And then Hroth is screaming her name, or perhaps it's A'lan crying out, and an answering shriek breaks from human throat and draconic mind as those bonds, drawn too tight, snap. Wings are pulled tightly against Vitaliath's flanks, legs drawn close the the belly, and neck and tail go straight and rigid as she plummets downwards, picking up speed as she falls towards the restless sea below. She practically lights the sky on her own, grass-green hide transformed to brilliant glowing emerald, and she can barely feel her own mind amid the roaring urges that fill her body. But one word makes it through, and whether it comes from her mind or her rider's is of no importance. Hroth!

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Replies:

Kinky! -- Hroth, 11:10:54 04/02/05 Sat