Who: Jet, M’tan, Kyramith, Sirhyth
When: Month 10, 202 AT
Where: Hideaway Home, High Reaches Territory
What: Kyramith’s flight results in shock and injury.
It turns out that Jet was right when she predicted that Kyramith would rise soon, for it’s only a couple of days after the afternoon in the meadow that her vivid hide begins to take on an even brighter hue. She catches it soon enough that she has the time to pack a bag and take herself off to the ‘Reaches with her lifemate, blinking Between to the house that was locked up and left for so long and has since been thoroughly cleaned and refurnished. What she isn’t anticipating is for Kyramith to decide to take to the skies almost as soon as her straps have been taken from her, with no-one but the two of them there. Only, even that lasts only for a handful of moments, for as Kyramith finds the clouds, three other sets of wings appear on the horizon, all in shades of blue and brown. At least there are no riders for Jet to deal with as she slams the door of the house behind her, but it’s plain that she doesn’t feel safe, for she draws free one of her daggers and sits herself down on the couch in the main room, her gaze fixed on the door. When Inferno finds M’tan, it’s lucky that he’s had no firestone, yet his claws are still good enough to sink into his shoulder as he shares the fleeting image of a distant Kyramith and males in pursuit.
Sirhyth and M’tan are not far behind Kyramith and Jet, the bronze feeling the tug of Kyramith’s proddiness and actively keeping ‘tabs’ on her mental touch throughout the last few days. Even so, he’s not fast enough in Betweening and delivering M’tan to the Reachian home. He nearly dumps M’tan off on the ledge, keeping his straps on as he vaults back into the skies in an attempt to close the distance between himself and Kyramith. He notices the specks of color from the other male dragons and his fury is a rolling wave of pure blackness that he slings out around him. << Be gone! >> he commands, wings pushing and pushing and //pushing// to get the gap between them closed. M’tan’s reeling from Sirhyth’s anger as he slams the door open and enters their home, eyes a haze as he looks for Jet. He notices the dagger in her hand and freezes, hands moving up to show he’s unarmed. “Jet, it’s me,” he calls to her, “It’s me. It’s us. It’s //us//.”
One of the blue specks becomes significantly less of one, at least for Kyramith, who abruptly finds herself at the mercy of a nasty and risky tactic when he decides to jump Between to close the distance between them, reappearing mere feet from her with limbs ready to reach and claim. Unfortunately for the both of them, the blue hasn’t made adjustments to allow for momentum, and while Kyramith hisses at finding him so near, that sound is lost in a shriek as he barrels into her, claws raking through the delicate trailing edges of her wingsails. While she struggles to get free, kicking out at her attacker, Jet launches herself to her feet and hurls the dagger towards M’tan, her response to the pain not allowing her to register who he truly is. It’s lucky that that pain also skews her aim, the dagger burying itself in the wall behind him after sailing past his shoulder. Despite a last ditch attempt to twine himself with her, the blue falls as Kyramith tries to push higher, ichor streaming from shredded wingfibre. She roars defiance, even as she bobbles in the air and begins to fall herself, Jet choking out a sob of a noise. The brown draws nearer, drifting below as though to wait and claim a glowing, wounded prize, while Jet pulls another dagger from somewhere and holds it at arm’s length in a trembling hand.
That nasty trick of the blue undoes Sirhyth. One moment he’s lagging and then he risks jumping into the unknown to close the remaining gap between he and Kyramith. One second, two seconds, three seconds. It’s like an eternity of darkness before Sirhyth’s defiant roar is released to the world as he reappears from Between. He’s //there//, below her, as Kyramith begins to fall. He twists himself in the air and reaches for her as she comes towards him. Swooping wings encase her as he twines his neck and tail firmly against her body. << You are safe >> he promises her, blackness offered as a solace to the pain as they head towards the ground. << I will deal with those bastards later >> The word //bastard// is stolen from M’tan. M’tan does not flinch as the dagger is thrown at him, he does not dare to breathe as he watches Jet, remaining still by the door. “It’s me,” he repeats, desperate to get through to her even as Sirhyth’s mind is encasing his own. He pants with the effort to remain himself. “We’ll deal with those bastards later,” he echos his dragon, “You’re safe. It’s me.”
Though pain rushes through her system, there’s still the same need possessing Kyramith that drove her to the skies in the first place, and though she instinctively flinches away when she suddenly finds bronze hide beneath her, anticipating another attack, she lets her aching wings fold as she recognises Sirhyth beyond the haze of fury and desire. << …I failed, >> cracks through icy earth as she surrenders herself to him, trusting that she is as is says – safe – and that he won’t let her fall alone. She’s much too focused on the more pleasant aspects of falling to manage more, willingly letting them wash away what pain demands her attention for as long as possible. Below, the dagger slips through Jet’s fingers, narrowly missing her toes as it clatters to the floor, that outstretched arm now reaching for M’tan as she stumbles towards him and into his arms, for a moment intent on nothing more than remembering who he is and why she’s safe. Until, that is, other instincts take over and she finds that she has further demands of him than comfort. Or, at least, a much more aggressive form of comfort.
Sirhyth’s grip can only tighten as they fall, the combined effects of relief and release taking him to an adrenaline fueled euphoria he has never found before when mating with Kyramith. << You did not >> he manages to tell her, cocooning her further in all his love and support of her. M’tan’s somehow managed to strip himself of his clothes, near delirious as he fights to focus his eyes in the //here// and //now// of the room his feet are on. It’s the clattering of the knife that sends him moving towards Jet, his arms fierce and his lips demanding as his body searches to press itself as close to her as possible. Aggressiveness is a wanted release, he is more than willing to let her take the control she needs. He is not demure in this acceptance, he has his own demands of lips and teeth and body that will leave their mark. They may end up collapsing on the couch or the floor, but in the meantime, they toss nearly all the remaining objects to the floor as furniture and the wall are used in their passions.
It’s lucky for Kyramith that the shredded edges of her wingsails will only surrender so much ichor before it begins to clot over damaged fibres and stop the flow entirely, though it leaves those tears highlighted by a more threatening green than her ‘sails are. Though she tries, she doesn’t manage to remain conscious for long after she and Sirhyth have found the ground, but it’s long enough for her to curl up against him and loop the tip of her tail around his, soft-voiced as she chooses to share the words, << I love you, >> with a flicker of starlight, rather than keeping to actions as she so often does. When she sleeps, it is a //sleep// and not a passing out, her presence still strong enough that it appears not to disturb Jet. Besides, her rider is still too busy clawing her nails across M’tan’s back, near frantic in what seems more of an effort just to keep him close and over her and //hers// than the mere pursuit of release. She leaves him with a solid bite at his shoulder when she finds it, uncaring of her own hurts or the rough nature of the floor beneath her.
Sirhyth’s alertness has not wavered since he’s delivered Kyramith safely to the rock-strewn shoreline of a nearby lake. << I love you as well >> he tells her, basking in that acknowledged endearment as he spreads a protective wing over her body. He won’t sleep, though he should from his exertions, protecting her from those unknown males that injured her. It will take coaxing from Jet and M’tan both to call both rattled dragons home, Sirhyth unwilling to sleep. His distress calls to him all of M’tan’s firelizards, the little ‘friends’ of his rallying to the cause of patrolling the area around them incessantly. It’ll take Jet and M’tan both to call everyone home to safety – but that is some hours off yet. M’tan is lost in all that Jet is – the feel of her beneath him, the frenzy of her need matched by his own attempts to solace her, her bite draws a pleased, strangled noise from him and a release. He shudders over her and twists to the side to ease down, drawing in air like a drowning man as he pulls Jet up and against his chest. He needs to feel all of her, still. “Closer,” his voice is hoarse, “closer.” He won’t be satisfied until most of her body is covering his.
Even with Kyramith asleep, there’s not much sense to be had from Jet, who easily complies with what M’tan needs of her and fits herself over him without a second thought, nuzzling into the crook of his neck as she makes minute adjustments here and there until she’s sure enough that there is as little space as possible between them. She burrows in against him as if getting close enough just isn’t possible, having to settle for tangling her legs with his and lying with her head tucked beneath his chin, one hand curling over his shoulder while fingertips of the other graze his ribs. For a while, there’s nothing more than that, just the weight of her across him and the press of lips with the occasional touch of teeth as her breathing slows and she’s slowly tugged from a world that demands nothing of her but to embrace her and Kyramith’s shared need to be with their mates. She fights it, not wanting to let the rest of the world filter in, dragging a throw down from the nearby couch to fling over them as though to quite literally block it out, the pain of Kyramith’s wounds drawing a low murmur from her as she tucks it around them. “You saved us,” she rasps against skin.
“I’m going to find those bastards. What were dragons doing this far out? We aren’t nearly close enough to High Reaches Weyr for them to be pulled to her,” M’tan’s got his voice more or so under control, the rasp fading into edges of fatigue. “It was dangerous what the blue did and what Sirhyth did as well,” he sighs and moves to pillow his head with his arm, his other tightening on Jet. “She’s hurt,” he knows, “We’ll have to find them later. Sirhyth’s called all my firelizards to him. He’s completely paranoid now.” He sighs and moves to press his lips against her hair, taking a deep inhale of //her//. “Are you hurt?” he asks as it dawns on him that he hasn’t asked. His body angles up to gaze down at her body, his fingers lifting that blanket to consider her body.
A few moments pass where Jet stubbornly refuses to acknowledge the higher functions of the human world, her eyes closed and face pressed into M’tan’s chest, yet, eventually, she supposes, “…Maybe they live independently. Maybe I should have done better sweeps of the area before now.” But done is done and it’s a much harder thing to wrestle with the guilt of what the whole affair has asked of and done to Sirhyth, her hold on her mate tightening as she tells him an unsteady, “I’m sorry.” She swallows hard and shuts her eyes again. “She goes around as if she can take on anyone… We’ve… //She’s// never felt small. But… she’s little, even for a green. She felt it, today.” As for whether she’s hurt, she automatically shakes her head without considering it, letting him lift the blanket without a fight and without bothering to look at the bruises that blossom over skin. “No,” she says, lie or not, just as unwilling to worry about any hurts he’s delivered as she usually is.
M’tan’s silence is a thoughtful one as he replaces the blanket and relaxes back on the floor, his gaze focused on the ceiling above them. “I wonder how often dragonriders live independently in this time,” he shares with her, not wanting to touch on the subject of hurt and size. “Let’s not dwell on it,” he decides, lifting himself up to gently untangle their limbs from each other. He stands and then bends over to encourage her to her feet. It’s only once she’s up that he sweeps his arms under her and pulls her into his arms. “You’re small too,” he teases, nipping at her neck. “And light as a feather.” He walks from the living room and towards the bathing area, where he settles her down comfortably on the edge of the tub as he moves to run the hot water and add various good smelling salts and oils. “Let’s soak off the whole event,” he tells her, moving to cup her face with his palms. “It won’t happen again,” he assures her, looking into her eyes before he kisses her.
Though she appreciates the bath, Jet plainly more appreciates that she doesn’t have to put any great distance between her and M’tan for a while yet, leaning back against him as they sink into the water, his hands secured to draw his arms around her middle, where she lays her own over his. She manages to stay awake, just about, desiring only to stir and leave the bath when Kyramith begins to drift back to consciousness and there’s effort to be put into drawing home two tired, edgy and hurting dragons. It’s not a flight that Kyramith can make, Between employed when she’s barely off the ground, and while Jet soon washes the ichor from her wings with trembling hands, her wings still need stitching to piece torn fibre back together. It’s not an easy few hours, a dragonhealer located and bribed to silence, Jet swinging between worry for Kyramith and an intense need to keep a stranger from touching her, but they pass. Everybody survives. As the day draws to a close, bed would be more comfortable, yet Jet brings blankets and wine and food into the cave that serves as Kyramith and Sirhyth’s weyr, to curl up with mate and dragons and keep everyone assured that everyone is still in one piece. Still whole. Still together.