Who: Isolwyn, C’aol, Eosyth, Daeserath
Where: Isolwyn’s Weyr, Fort Weyr
What: Eosyth rises for the second time.
It cannot be said that Eosyth has made an easy time of it for anyone as her hide begins to glow more strongly, Daeserath the only male that she’s permitted anywhere near her – and even him she’s snapped at more than once – as she seeks out solitude and distance from the dragons that look to her as their queen. While Isolwyn has done her best to maintain an even temper, her own agitation when combined with Eosyth’s makes for a wicked and unpredictable mix that’s found her aggravated at the smallest of errors and misunderstandings, her voice uncharacteristically raised to the caverns staff more frequently as the days wear on. After an hour or two of, like Eosyth, managing to shake off all company, she emerges from her hiding place and slinks into C’aol’s weyr to seek him out. Rounding his desk, she stands at the back of his chair and slides her arms around him, lowering her lips to his ear to murmur, “Love me… Now… Before…” with a restless nervousness plainly more in command of her than outright lust. “In-case…”
Daeserath has not made it easy on the other males at Fort since Eosyth’s hide began to glow. He’s as short-tempered and ill-spirited as he ever is, moreso now if he even believes a bronze looks towards Fort’s queen. C’aol has allowed Daeserath to do as he pleases, letting the territory of Fort be claimed ahead of the flight. He’s fielded more than one complaint about Isolwyn’s temper with a smirk and an easy dismissal. He has never been one to cater to complaints. He’s been in his office most of the morning, working on correspondences and reports. He lifts a hand to pat at Isolwyn’s arm as she places them around him. He tilts his head towards her lips at her request and then glances up and to the side at her. “In-case?” he prompts her, reaching his hand to grasp her arm to pull it from around him. He gives a strong tug, drawing her around his chair and positioning her against his desk to look at her closely. “This is no leadership flight, Isolwyn. No foreigners will be here to try their luck. Our people would never dare to claim you,” he tells her, eyes narrowed, “for fear of the repercussions.”
“It doesn’t stop me worrying,” Isolwyn replies, her fingers curling and uncurling in an agitated fashion. “Eosyth’s pull is strong. And she’s not clear-headed now. Nothing is certain, ever. We know that.” Her cheeks are flushed and she must know that she so completely lacks her usual composure, for she can’t quite conceal the taint of embarrassment that goes alongside her reasoning. “It could all change in a moment. If someone else catches her, you’ll be angry and upset and so will I, so before we might all be angry and upset and feeling Faranth knows what about all of it and each other, just… take me to bed. Love me. Please.” Unlike pleas she’s given him before, in play or deliberately theatrical entreaty, there’s a rawness to words that she keeps from adding any physical encouragement to, her arms knotting tightly over her ribs.
“No one else will catch her,” C’aol’s voice is cold and hard as he tells Isolwyn that. Daeserath’s anger ripples out across the Weyr at the mere //implication// that another may dare to try and catch Eosyth. “I may not… be as gentle,” he tells Isolwyn without exposing anything but the same coldness he’s held since the conversation started. “When he is like this,” he shakes his head slightly and looks to Isolwyn. “He’s too much, as Eosyth is, and I may end up hurting you.” It is one of the only times he has ever bothered to preface that side of himself to her. He rises after the warning, noting her rawness, and moves to grip her elbows with his hands. “You will always be mine, Isolwyn. No one may take you from me.” He pulls her roughly towards him and moves one hand to grasp her neck and jaw with as he angles her head towards his to press his lips roughly against hers.
“I don’t mind if //you// hurt me,” is a very specific distinction, Isolwyn’s gaze lifting to his as he rises. “You won’t do it for hurting’s sake. You wouldn’t tell me otherwise.” Her hands find the front of C’aol’s shirt when he grips her elbows and she lifts up onto tiptoe as he tips her head back, her fingers becoming claws that latch firmly into fabric as he kisses her. She claims a kiss of her own after that, her need a soft sound smothered by the press of her lips to his, only then she angles herself past the corner of his desk and steps back with her hands still fisted in the front of his shirt and used to tug him after her with no small amount of force. It could be an answer to Daeserath’s anger or it could be a response to something else entirely when lightning flickers through the minds of Fort’s dragons.
C’aol lets go of any further need to explain himself to Isolwyn as their lips continue to claim each other. He follows after her, moving around his desk. He’s too impatient to wait for her to lead him as he reaches for her and stops her with an abrupt hand to her arm. He draws her back against him and then bends himself enough to swoop her into his arms. He carries her towards his room with quick strides. The door is slammed behind him by a swift kick of his feet before he moves to toss her down on his bed. He unbuttons his shirt and unbuckles his pants as he watches her with an increased sharpness as the lightning flickers into his shared awareness with Daeserath. A rumble of thunder follows after that flicker, spreading out and claiming those weak enough to force them to cower from the sound. C’aol frees himself of his pants and moves over Isolwyn to grab her wrists and haul them over her head before he once more lets his lips claim hers.
Isolwyn makes a soft sound of surprise as C’aol lifts her into his arms, yet she doesn’t protest, for it affords her the opportunity to bare her teeth against the column of his throat before he drops her down onto his bed. Having been all too aware of the likelihood of a finer dress being ruined should Eosyth take to the skies, she has no laces to worry about and simply slips her arms free of the straps of her dress and slides it from her body and onto the floor without really being conscious of the process, her focus too fixed on his shedding of clothes to pay much mind to her own. She might not have intended to fight C’aol when he grabs her wrists, but she supplies resistance and a low growl when his lips meet hers, not immediately aware when Eosyth fully wakes and dives straight down into the pens to spill blood. No attempt is made to free her wrists, so she wraps a leg around his waist, her knee nudging against his ribs as she drags her lips from his and tells him, “It’s now… She’s… Now…” between breaths.
C’aol’s breath is hot and quick against Isolwyn’s as she pulls back to tell him what Daeserath has already shown him. “I know,” he answers and then grabs her lower lip between his teeth in a nip that draws blood. He pulls back, looking her into the eyes as he tells her, “We’re staying here.” He claims her lips roughly then, one hand moving from her side to grab and hold to a breast. Her knee nudging earns her a groan and then he’s pulling back from her lips to claim her breast with his mouth. Daeserath enters the pen with a roar of warning to the males who circle. He rends flesh with no care to how many bodies he leaves in his wake, licking only the barest amount of blood before he turns on his next victim to destroy. He’s watching Eosyth closely, prepared to leap after her when she goes. Those males that dare to risk Daeserath enter the pens and take advantage of the carnage in his wake, lapping at the spilled blood rather than risking a kill of their own.
Isolwyn makes a sharp keen of a sound as blood is drawn, her tongue darting out to capture it when C’aol tells her that they’re not going anywhere, no protest drawn from her until keeping Eosyth in line demands more of her attention and she winds her other leg around him too in an effort to still him and wrenches a hand free to grab a hold on his hair. “…I need to…” is the only explanation she offers, panted as she presses her eyes shut and keeps her queen from hampering her flight before it’s begun, earning a shriek of fury heard across the Weyr. Her hold on C’aol’s hair loosens as Eosyth loses interest in blood, having drained to her liking, and abandons the ground for the skies, the motion one that leaves Isolwyn momentarily pliant beneath him. Eosyth’s game is not one of taunting and teasing, but a pure and simple effort to out-fly and outpace those who pursue her, pushing for height of an instinctive volition or at her rider’s silent urging. While Isolwyn doesn’t seek to keep C’aol from her, what strength she has and rarely brings to bear is seemingly unintentionally exploited in her handling of him, aggression rising as she makes to force him onto his back, fingers twisting back into his hair to bare his throat for her to bruise and bite to her satisfaction.
C’aol’s snarl is in unison with Daeserath’s own as hair is held and their queen is held back by her rider. C’aol finds his hand tightening around Isolwyn’s wrist in answer to her hold, bruising unintentionally as he wars with his bronze. Daeserath launches into the sky after Eosyth, quick to gain height and distance away from those behind him. Only a handful of bronzes dare to fly after Eosyth as she takes to the skies and Daeserath’s warnings ripple out across the Weyr and draw another snarl from the back of C’aol’s throat. “Mine,” he tells Isolwyn, releasing his hold on her wrist to draw his thumb and forefinger in front of her face to hold her jaw in place as he kisses her again. As Daeserath finds himself jostled by another bronze, C’aol’s attention strays to the skies and he is easily flipped onto his back by Isolwyn. He bares his teeth at her as his head is forced back and his throat is exposed. The bronze who dared to try and outpace Daeserath finds himself on the receiving in of the ill-tempered bronze’s fury. Daeserath risks the loss of time as he turns on the bronze and digs deep gouges in the bronze’s flesh before he releases him and returns to the skies. The screams of the bronze as it spirals back towards the ground still the other bronze’s from daring to draw close to Daeserath.
The wounded bronze’s cries distract Eosyth enough that Isolwyn pauses, planting her hands down on C’aol’s shoulders, where her nails dig in as she hangs her head, unable to distinguish herself from her queen as seconds tick by and together the two of them reach a decision that involves letting the bronze suffer his injuries without support or interference. For those seconds, Eosyth coasts, only to suddenly wheel away from her chosen course in an arc that brings her back to Daeserath to slam into him with a force that will need both their efforts to slow the momentum of, all in the hope that he will capture her in his ichor-stained claws. Isolwyn’s arms buckle and she lowers her forehead to C’aol’s collarbone, trying to catch her breath, the kiss she demands when she can look up again edged more with need than aggression. With her senses lost to the flight, there’s nothing to stop her from telling him, “I love you,” more than once with an aching honesty usually all too carefully guarded.
Daeserath had been focused on the bronze and his cries, gloating in the injury he’d caused the other male and so his head was angled downwards as he watched the other bronze land roughly to the ground. He’s taken completely by surprise and turns with prepared anger to rend flesh when Eosyth slams into him. It’s only with a wrenching of his neck that he manages not to clamp his jaws around the gold’s shoulder as he realizes //who// has hit him. He’s quick to twine tail and neck around Eosyth and shift them downwards to plummet beyond the bronzes’ who have so clearly lost. << Mine >> he shares as C’aol says the same to Isolwyn, his mind a gentle caress against Eosyth’s as he holds her close against his chest. C’aol is not gentle as he shifts Isolwyn back and enters her. He hooks one leg about her and twists, slamming her back into the bed so he can have purchase for his arms to claim her as Daeserath has claimed Eosyth. With the marks on his neck, C’aol will leave other marks that bruise parts of Isolwyn’s body for days. It is only as Daeserath and Eosyth find the ground again that C’aol finds his end and groans Isolwyn’s name into her hair as he lowers himself on top of her. He pins her beneath him for some minutes as he catches his breath before he finally pulls himself off of her and settles to her side.
Isolwyn gasps as C’aol shifts her, pressing her eyes tightly closed, only for a note of shock to mingle with what had started to drift towards pleasure as he drops her so abruptly back to the bed. She has little care to protest, however, only intent that he doesn’t stop, the hurts from what bruises will rise ones that serve merely to encourage her to arch closer and move faster in her pursuit of release. She’s trembling beneath him by the time he lowers himself to her, unconcerned by the weight of him as minutes elapse, her fingers idly wandering along his spine while both her knees nudge and settle back in against his ribs. A soft sigh escapes her as he moves off of her, his absence something that suddenly makes bruising more distinguishable, and she lifts a hand to blink at her wrist, a wondering, “Oh,” her only response. On the ground, Eosyth only takes the time to stretch, arching in a feline-like manner before doubling back on herself to curl herself into the warmth and security of Daeserath’s hide and twine the tip of her tail with his.
C’aol lets his fingers trace along his neck, noting points of tenderness from where Isolwyn’s teeth marked him. “The rumors about my… sexual proclivities may return,” he drawls as he turns to look at her. He takes her hand and turns it so he can examine the marks he left on her wrist. He then angles himself upwards on his elbow to evaluate her body for other marks. When he can only note bruises and nothing too large to look like he beat her, he returns to his back and tucks his arm behind his head to pillow it. “I’ll have to check on T’kar’s bronze Jidath,” he tells Isolwyn with a smirk tugging at his lips. “I didn’t get the sense that he’ll be grounded for his injuries. It still won’t do well to ease people’s tempers when they learn Eosyth chose Daeserath.” He tips his head to look towards her. “To have a queen catch a bronze…,” his eyes glint with pride, “will set a new precedent.”
“I don’t think that anyone can reasonably say that you did that to yourself and I was your poor, defenceless captive,” Isolwyn remarks, giving a tiny nod towards the marks at C’aol’s neck. She glances down at herself as he does, eyeing what bruises are beginning to darken past an angry red with a moment’s concern that she dismisses with, “Nothing worth running to the Healers over. It isn’t as if anyone but you is going to see much of this.” Her wrists, however, give her pause, especially as she flexes her fingers and can’t quite hide a grimace when pain makes itself known with nothing else to mask it. Still, she says, “If they’re going to comment about your… proclivities… they’ve enough evidence to suggest you’ve encouraged me to visit them upon you too.” Despite the pain, she reaches for one of his hands to thread her fingers through his. “Eosyth knew what she wanted. She’s always known. People can be as angry as they please, but it can’t have escaped their notice that she only ever spends time with other bronzes when they’re distressed.”
C’aol has to laugh at the idea that he’s somehow transformed Isolwyn’s sexual habits into something darker. “The marks on my neck will make them think you had reason to try and kill me. With your own teeth.” His smile stretches across his face, one of the rare true smiles, all signs of worry or anger are smoothed away from his brow. He moves to draw her against him, sitting up so he can comfortably tuck her against his chest. “Eosyth is a wise and strong queen. Fort will continue to thrive under her and your care. I’m glad to still find myself with my Weyrleader’s knot and you to help me shape this world. If Eosyth wishes to catch Daeserath, so be it. He will not tell her she shouldn’t. People will say he was out of line for attacking and for using his will against them in the first place. He’s not as strong as any gold, that is sure. And yet his mind can cower those who irritate him without much work.” He kisses the top of Isolwyn’s head.
“Can a woman not mark a man as her own?” Isolwyn pretends to question with the arch of a brow and deadpan expression that veers off too soon into contentment for it to be truly effective, curling an arm around C’aol as he draws her against him. She ducks her head and closes her eyes for a few moments, too comfortable to focus on anything else until a spark of humour rises and she smirks, lifting her arm from around him to draw a line across her shoulder with one finger. “Though you missed a spot yourself,” she murmurs, fingertips resting over where the mark of his teeth all too often lies. “Decorum is abandoned in flight. Any who suggest that they wouldn’t have done the same if their bronze were capable would be lying to themselves. Daeserath is strong and the best match for Eosyth; anyone who doesn’t want that for their Weyr is a fool.” She lifts her head to nose along his collarbone. “…I may… have sounded like a fool myself earlier,” she murmurs. “I… stood to lose a lot.”
C’aol lets his fingers trace over the areas of her shoulders that are mark-free with a smirk. “I will make sure not to miss them next time we make love,” he tells her with a courtly air that is heightened enough to be as close to teasing as he has managed. He lets his fingers idly move up and down her spine as she rests against his chest. “None here will question it. They have found stability and growth in our leadership. If they were to be unhappy about my continuing as Weyrleader, I will gladly let them transfer. I have no room for discontent in our ranks.” The hardness is all too easy back in his voice as he adds, “They can go and try Honshu or Southern if they think here is too hard.” He pauses as she noses against his collarbone and drawls, “You sounded like no fool.” He pauses and prompts, “What did you have to lose?”
Isolwyn takes in a deep breath and holds for the time that it takes her to settle her head back on C’aol’s chest, kept at such an angle that it does well enough to hide much of what any flicker of emotion across her features might betray. “…If it had been another, would we have so easily picked ourselves up afterwards and carried on?” she quietly thinks aloud. “Another man in my bed, when you’ve been the only? To have to spend hours with someone else, sit through meetings with a different man, potentially short of the understanding needed to fulfil his role? One who might think I’m what his knot has won him? Someone who isn’t worth talking to?” Her nails graze his ribs and dig in for a fraction of a second before she realises what she’s doing. “I’m selfish, C’aol. The fact is, I didn’t want to lose //you//. I can frame it as being for me or for the Weyr, and they’re equally true, but I didn’t want you gone from my weyr of an evening and I didn’t want someone else at your desk. We have a lot of fun in bed, but I don’t want to //work// with anyone else like this either. I like it this way. I like you. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is.” She huffs out a quiet, irritable sigh and unconsciously curls up more tightly in a defensive fashion.
C’aol lets the silence stretch between them as his fingers pause along her body. He watches as she curls against him and then he settles his arm around her as he turns to hug her against him. His lips go unconsciously to her forehead to press and hold there as he inhales and exhales into her hairline. “If Honshu can get away with the absurdity of having a blue catch a gold,” he begins, hardness in his words, tension entering his body, “then Fort will set a precedent. Our leadership flight will be closed moving forward. There will be no more threat of another in your bed, nor another one to claim Eosyth, unless you will it or she does.” He lets his fingers play in her hair, watching as the ringlets form about his fingers and drop from them as he lets silence fall once more. “I could work with no other goldrider, Isolwyn. I tolerated Rori. I gritted my teeth each meeting, waiting and anticipating for her to mess something up. I’ve had to navigate Aerishani and Dionyza as my Senior when I were nothing but some fools Weyrsecond.” He shifts, moving his fingers to turn her head to face him. “It will be you and I here at Fort. We have plans to take and control other Weyrs. I will not allow another to take my place. We have too much work ahead of us to risk some fool,” his lips curl, “touching you when he shouldn’t.”
When C’aol moves to make her look up at him, Isolwyn lifts her head to do so, then shifts to plant a knee down between his and her hands at either side of him so that she can better meet his gaze, not a moment spent to care that kneeling over him is not the most dignified of things that she could do. “A Weyr is entitled to a fair degree of autonomy,” she says quietly. “That few to none ever exercise the right to manage their home affairs more directly speaks of a fear of reprisal more than anything else. We have no need to fear the words of weaker leaders.” She leans closer to touch her lips to his. “And none can argue that Eosyth and Daeserath are not a suitable breeding pair, if that should be the thought of a rider who believes his bronze would be better. She has risen twice in two years and he’s already sired a healthy queen on her. We’ve no reason not to anticipate another and a strong clutch.” Her gaze sharpens along with the line of her lips, a smirk surrendered to as she supposes, “There will be those who think me a tyrant who’s trapped you for my own gratification, especially when they see…” Focusing finding the marks at his neck, she angles her head to ghost her mouth across a particularly dark one.
C’aol’s smile ghosts along Isolwyn’s lips as she touches hers to his. “Weaker leaders indeed,” he murmurs as he brushes his fingers against her cheek. “We will teach them how Pern should be led,” he adds, letting that smile turn predatory. “And leave a legacy behind us that our future children will be proud to claim.” He sucks in breath as she presses her mouth against one of the darker marks along his neck. “Let us go and clean our wounds,” he tells her as he reaches down and grabs her to flip her over and off of him. He hovers over her, his eyes dark with desire as he claims her mouth roughly and then rises from the bed. He turns and reaches for her hand, gentler than before as he guides her off of the bed and leads her back towards his bathing chamber. C’aol takes his time and tenderly helps to clean her within the warmth of his large bathing tub. He even massages Isolwyn’s neck and shoulders for a time before he finds reason to kiss her and touch and prove that even without a dragon’s desire that he wants her.