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Date Posted: 00:16:44 01/18/06 Wed
Author: Raskith & S'kar
Subject: >Blue for luck<
In reply to: Riorth || N'deau 's message, "Quiet but Serene..." on 20:12:52 01/15/06 Sun

((S'kar just heard the word "weyrmate" and tried to do a runner. *laughs at him* He'd stick around a couple of sevendays while the dragon infatuation wears off, but commitments just not his thing, and even less Raskith's; he prefers lots of "friends with benefits" to one exclusive lover. 'Cause you'd have to lock S'kar up for the rest of his life to keep him from sleeping around. ^_~))

Seeing Loveth look back, Raskith croons at her, eagerness bright in his eyes and his mind, joined with lust and desire and sheer admiration for this beautiful green that he chases. He's just done the barrel roll, but with her looking on, the big blue can't resist showing off a bit more while he knows she's watching, his wings racing through the complicated motions that send him into three swift loops in a row before leveling out again. A corkscrew or something like that would be better, he could make them far more spectacular than a few flashy but ultimately simple loops, but those are more vertical displays and Raskith is moving on impulse and adrenaline. He doesn't want to be left behind going up and down when every cell in his body screams out with the need to get even closer to the glowing prize upon which he's fixed his gaze. If he was human, he'd wink at the observing green, but instead the blue beats his wings harder, trying to move faster and close the gap further, and sets up the humming croon again. In his opinion, Loveth deserves the wordless praise, needs to hear how much he loves and wants her here and now. But even as he's recovering what little ground he'd lost during the showy aerobics, Loveth changes course again, her unpredictability simulataneously beautiful and frustrating in his desire-fogged mind. Raskith starts to follow her into the turn, then realizes that she's going up as she turns, the lovely minx. Fire surging through his veins, he rumbles his appreciation and determination and forges upwards as well, taking advantage of this sudden movement of Loveth's to do one of those other maneuvers he'd contemplated - a tight, rapid corkscrew, spiraling up as quickly and narrowly as his wings will allow. At least this way, he'll rise practically straight up, not at an angle, and when she levels out - if she levels out, the way she seems to be going! - he'll have kept one eye or the other on her for the entirety of the spin and won't go through the anxious moment of not-finding that he'd felt the last time she rose like this, through the clouds. Her abrupt rise stops, but even as Raskith reaches that point in the sky, she's already rising again, relatively slower this time but still wickedly fast with the heat of her flight-power behind her movements. She's to his right now, not where she'd started out before, and the blue sails cleanly out of the corkscrew to take the more traditional slanting route upwards as he continues his pursuit.

Between his show-off aerobics and the sheer energy he's now flinging into his attempts to catch up and keep up, Raskith is burning his limited stamina far faster than S'kar, intellectually, knows he should. At this point, though, being intellectual is far beyond S'kar, so far into the flight and Raskith's mind that he's thinking of himself as dragon rather than rider. Only the last, desperate remants of common sense cross his mind and therefore the blue's - there's little or no barrier between them, united in the powerful, overriding desire to win and possess the green - and they exert little if any restraint on the driving fire in their joined minds. Even here on the ground, S'kar twitches a little during Raskith's aerodynamics as if trying to move wings he doesn't have, little shifts of balance echoing the dragon's tiny movements and adjustments that compensate for wind and air currents and turbulence. His dark brown eyes are glazed over, and what reaches the slight, brown-skinned man's brain is actually twinned. Loveth, beautiful and silver-green and shining with her own glow in the last orange-gold rays of the setting sun, is indistinguishable in his and Raskith's shared thoughts from S'non, handsome and delicate and the pale brightness of morning sunlight. Seperating the two is unnecessary for S'kar/Raskith, though, because right now both are equally vivid and desirable to the blue and his rider. They might not have much more time left before they fall behind, but as long as Raskith still has the energy to power his wings, they'll burn hot and bright and maybe even win the day before their time runs out. Yes, Raskith prefers short flights; he's a sprinter, not an endurance racer, and even when thinking clearly they're not too good at pacing themselves. But it doesn't mean that they're weak, or that they'll give anything less than their all for such a glorious prize!

With some slight dismay, Raskith realizes that he's not alone; for all his efforts, the brown and the other blue are close to him, heads almost exactly even on outstretched necks even if their laboring bodies vary in size. Raskith's never been a thinker, though, and while some dragons and their riders might consider size, stamina, and agility in thinking through their next moves, the blue doesn't even bother. Instead he chooses to ignore them; even if they've kept up with him, he has no more desire to think about them than he did in the beginning. Loveth deserves his full attention, not these unworthy fellow suitors. As they begin to draw closer, Raskith fixes his full concentration on the glowing green, enraptured by her beauty and hungry to touch her, even a brush of wing or tail desirable, though of course his body aches for fuller contact. Closer, closer still, and he doesn't look at Riorth and Myth and wants to pay them no heed, but if they get any closer Raskith knows they'll be impossible to ignore. Thinking tactically never was his forte, and he can only be glad that the green chooses, and he can't imagine a dragon who would dare try to challenge that right; he certainly never would, half of the joy of winning a flight is knowing that he won out of her desire to have him, as well as the other way around! But even as he once again takes up the loving croon, louder and more forceful now, Loveth makes another move. The bugle startles him, and the blue's wings skip a beat, his head arcing back with more abruptness than grace in his surprise. Then he cries out in answer to her bugle - and in delight, that his beautiful green is not giving up the day so easily. It should be a challenge to the end, a proper flight. Crying out again, half-bugle and half-scream, a sound of raw joy and anticipation (You're clever and beautiful and I will meet your challenge and more, because I want you and want to prove it to you!), Raskith lets the fire in his blood power the pumping of his wings as he forges upward after her, high into the sky. His blood sings, and he can feel the growing, dangerous ache in his flight muscles and spreading to the rest of his body, the thin air sapping what's left of his strength. If magnificent Loveth stretches this out much longer, Raskith knows that he'll face the loss and humiliation of falling behind, his fires spent - but he'll face it with grace and style, for her sake, and at least let her know that he'd given her his all. Bellowing again, the wind of his own passage tearing the sound away even as he utters it and less air entering his lungs afterward than when he'd drawn a breath for the sound, Raskith pursues Loveth into the highest stretches of the sky. It's all he can do, a blue helplessly in lust with a green.

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