Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,
Sythyry
sythyry

Re-Seduction of Csirnis (Day 43) (Mating Flight 57/240)

Re-Seduction of Csirnis (Day 43)

This morning I sort of snuck out of my cave in case Tultamaan was lurking in wait for me, which he wasn’t, and then crept outside the drake’s cave and lurked in wait for Csirnis. Which meant conversations with Ythac, Osoth, and Greshthanu, of the form “Good morning, Jyothky, what are you doing now?” — “I’m lurking.” — “Right. Happy lurking!” Or, “Whatever for?”, followed by me looking trying to look simultaneous mysterious, responsible, and elegant. I had better grow two more heads if I’m going to pull that off.

(That’s not a bad idea actually — maybe I’ll do it. It takes a couple weeks to get used to multiple heads though. Maybe I’ll be hideously annoyed with everyone and want to spend that long away from them, and can stomp off to a different corner of the desert and practice seeing everything from three sides for long enough so I don’t run into things and trip over my own feet constantly. Also the thought of watching myself eat is oddly disturbing, I don’t know why. I don’t like having a mirror at table, either, for what that’s worth.)

I prepared a very elegant and eloquent proposition for that most elegant of drakes. It was full of courtly language, and it had three internal rhymes, and enough fancy vocabulary that it looked as if Osoth had helped me write it. I rolled it over and over in my head, and it was delightful.

Finally Csirnis glided out. Yes, he glides when he walks. I don’t know how he does it — he’s only got four legs most of the time.

“Good morning, Csirnis!”

He looked amused in a generally dignified way. “Good morning, Jyothky. What brings you to the drake’s cave so early?”

My whole elegant and eloquent proposition fell apart. It came out something like, “Let’s … us … I mean, you and me … and a desert … there…”

He smiled anyways. “I take it today is my turn?” I nodded with all available elegance and eloquence. He continued, “At the top of Khamrou Elephantodontou is a pleasant spring set about with aromatic afhtherias trees. There, let me give you my love.” He can do elegance and eloquence on a moment’s notice and only half a night’s sleep.

As Csirnis and I flew out, Osoth muttered to Nrararn, “We had been lucky up to now. No more.” Nrararn lashed the ground with his tail.

At the top of Khamrou Elephantodontou, the tallest and whitest and shiniest of the Khamrou Voresc range, there was indeed a pleasant spring, a round bathtub of a spring, warm water bubbling through smooth white pebbles. Lazy orange fish swam there, and a pair of ducks that flew off when we landed. The afhtherias trees filled the air with the scent of sweet resin, and amid their roots star-shaped white flowers bloomed, and rendered the place exceedingly romantic. Of course, a few big clawprints in the grass showed that the romance had already been tested and confirmed.

I flickered my shape around and took out the cubical box of ghee.

“Oh, no, I do not imagine that we will need that,” said Csirnis.

“You know what it’s for?” I mumbled.

“Certain technical details have gotten around among the drakes, I’m afraid,” he said. “But today we may set them aside.”

“Well …it’s your hemipenises in danger,” I said. “Ready?” I crouched to take off, and spread my claspers.

His eyes twinkled. “Let us not be quite so swift. We are not fleeing from warplanes and an artillery barrage here!”

So he wasn’t quite so swift. He danced for me, coiling and twirling in the lower air, and if he didn’t have Nrararn’s perfect sky-mage’s mobility, he had far more grace. Then he called to me and we danced together. I don’t have either the mobility or the grace, but he had enough for two: he taught me a Chiriact court dance for one slow and one fast dragon.

Then we lay by the bank of the pond. “Let me please the senses you have,” he said. We kissed and breathed careful fire and lightning into each other’s mouths, pouring the strength of his whefô into mine and mine into his, which is really delightful. You do have to do it right, or it turns into a very painful attack. I wouldn’t do it with Llredh, say, but this was Csirnis.

(Aside: I am actually more powerful of whefô than Csirnis, though not by much. It’s not that he’s absolutely the best of us at absolutely everything — Llredh beats him in fights often enough, Greshthanu sometimes, and even Nrararn did once or twice, Osoth and Nrararn and Ythac are better sorcerers, and I’m better at breath, and I guess Arilash is the better lover. He’s just a very close second-best at everything that he’s not the best at, and he’s utterly beautiful about it.)

And Csirnis broke some pods of spice-seeds on his belly, enhancing his natural scent just the right way, and we spent some long time smelling and tasting each other. Yum, beautiful musky boy!

Finally he leapt into the air and beckoned for me to follow, and we mated in the sky, and everything on my body worked the way it’s supposed to. Without extraneous additions of ghee, or even needing to consciously spread my claspers. I actually felt like a grown-up dragoness for once.

Well. Everything worked except the parts of me that never work. Csirnis was well-satisfied, by the sight and scent of his body at least. I don’t get any such satisfaction. He had managed to tell my body that there was a beautiful, agreeable drake around, but my body couldn’t tell that she’d actually had him.

So we splashed in the pool to clean off — even washing in water is somehow an elegant joy with Csirnis. Then we sprawled in the hot sunlight and I made him tell me about Chiriact’s court politics until my body gave up on the beautiful agreeable drake that she knew was somewhere around and folded my claspers and grumbled quietly.

Well, it was a very romantic morning, anyways.

Originally published at Mating Flight. You can comment here or there.

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