Sythyry (sythyry) wrote,
Sythyry
sythyry

[The next dozen or so entries are what you might expect from the title 'Mating Flight'. Don't worry, it'll stop being the least bit romantic soon enough. -BB]

I am so glad we’re going to leave Hove pretty soon. Preferably without ever meeting any hovens socially. Their main impression of me will be as “The dragon who fornicates in the sky. Badly.”

Because, well, it was pretty awkward. I had been planning a sweet romantic first time. Ythac should have been first, then maybe Greshthanu, then Osoth. After Csirnis showed up, he’d’ve been first, and Llredh in there somewhere too. In a big fat cave. Lying on lots of precious coins. With lots of licking each other first. I can’t feel, but I can smell just fine, so licking should be nice, shouldn’t it?

It’s hard to lick someone very much in the air. I took a few desultory flickers at Nrararn. He tasted very nice about the genital slit. And that is really all the intimate detail I want to write down.

Except that coupling in the air isn’t nearly as easy as it looks from underneath. So I when grabbed him with my tail and we squirmed around a lot in the air, we started by plummeting. But Nrararn caught us with a cute updraft spell. And we squirmed around some more.

Osoth was laughing. “It appears that my esteemed co-fiancé is just as good a lover when he has not actually achieved intromission.”

“This is foreplay, jealous death lizard,” said Nrararn.

“It is? I thought you’d mounted me!” I said.

Nrararn hissed at that, to be sure. I am the most ungracious fiancée ever.

I swatted him in the side, not that it would do much to a dragon wearing the Hoplonton. “Don’t hiss! You know I can’t feel.”

Nrararn obviously could feel the swat, though. He said, “Right that. Well, I’m ready whenever you are.”

I had no idea where either of our bodies exactly were, or not exactly enough for coupling anyways. So I cast a scrying spell. I know that Arilash doesn’t need to do that. Maybe she did the first time. It was rather dizzying, scrying on my own tailbase.

Then he was in me, according to both the scrying spell and the rather self-satisfied grin on his face.

So we writhed around in the air. Nrararn looked fairly well pleased. Osoth looked amused and tolerant. I tried not to look too bored. But it really wasn’t very interesting or fun.

I scried on what was going on with our genitalia. It was mostly squooshy and very biological. Dragons look more elegant from the outside than the inside.

Some minutes later, Nrararn looked distinctly happy. I scried some more, and, yes, he was squirting properly into me.

Osoth gave Nrararn long enough to enjoy that part, and three more seconds besides. Then he thwacked him with his tail. “Sky mage, I do believe that your helpfully elemental skills are the most-appropriate ones for our current situation.”

“What, what?” asked Nrararn, blinking at his rival.

“Seven very large and very fast aircraft are coming towards us. They are armed with missiles of moderate power, and with guidance systems of amazing finesse. One of them has killed two hundred and eighty-four hovens, and their ghosts follow it in a dismal train. Shall I destroy the aircraft with arcane secrets and the hungry spirits of the dead? Or will you turn them aside in some gentler way, and thereby give them less provocation to intrude upon our idyll?”

So Nrararn got out of me and called for a horrible windstorm. Osoth and I mated in the air, which was even more awkward than with Nrararn, and took a fair while longer for technical reasons. Next time I’ll bring a book along.

Oh, that’s ridiculous. This mating flight is twelve years long. I can spare a boring third of an hour, or a whole hour, to be marginally polite to my fiancé.

Anyways, Nrararn provided a sandy tempest, and blew the planes around and away from us. That was fun to watch. I wish I had had time to learn some grownup magic, so I could do that sort of thing myself. Osoth satisfied himself inside me. I did my best to be politely enthusiastic, even if I spent more time watching the sky magic than I did to my necromantic lover. It wasn’t the most interesting part of the day. Better than waiting for the drakes to come back with some food, but not that much better.

But I had a trick against boredom. «OK, I’m not a virgin anymore,» I wrote to Ythac.

«Good for you!» he wrote back. «How do you like it?»

«It feels just as good as having my back broken,» I wrote.

«Oh, sorry to hear that,» he answered. «I was hoping it wouldn’t just be about feeling.»

«No, it’s mostly about feeling. I’d just as soon not bother anymore ‘til I’m trying to have children. But that wouldn’t be polite to you and the other drakes.»

«And Arilash. She’s copulating enough for two dragonesses. I don’t think there’s enough time in the day for three though.»

So I scribbled some apologies about how terrible a fiancée I was being. He scribbled some lack of fretting about it. Which passed the time before Osoth’s climax, at least.

When we untwined, Osoth said, “I thank you, O my fiancée. Your embraces are sweeter to me than hervetical vinegar. And a single drop of that rare and exquisite vinegar holds more than three drops of honey.”

Yes, he talks like that. I think he’s making it up about the vinegar though. At least I’ve never heard of it, and I pay attention to food.

And then we flew back.

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

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