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Topics - Z'jan

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Z'jan was getting sick of this. It was supposed to be a fucking adventure. It was supposed to be fun. It started when he'd overheard someone in the dining hall explaining how the Northern Mountains had dozens of springs and hidden caves just waiting to be explored. So, naturally, as soon as he finished eating Z'jan had harassed Ghalath into taking him out here. But she'd seemed exceedingly unhappy about the arrangement. More so than usual, at least.

"Ghalath, I swear to Faranth if you don't stop complaining..."

these rocks... I hate them.

The dark green glowered and glowed from a nearby ledge, her eyes swirling in a mix of anger and anxiety. Z'jan set his jaw. She was being a punk. He had enough on his mind at the moment. Namely, not dieing. Muscles strained against the force, veins bulging in his arms, tendons tight as bow strings, Z'jan was free climbing. His thin leather boots, ideal for this kind of activity, molded into the rock face. He could nearly feel the jagged edges of the stone pressing into his toes.

"I'm not--" but his left foot broke the rock it was perched on, sending a tumble of little pebbles down below. It wasn't a sheer drop, but a 75 degree angle wasn't exactly something to play on, either. "--in the mood right now!" His last words came through gritted teeth as his arms and right leg snapped to attention, tightening, taking the extra, abruptly redistributed weight. He strained, left foot searching for something... anything...!

It touched on a outcropping. It was just enough. With a husky grunt and a red face, Z'jan pulled himself bodily onto the next ledge, spilling onto the moderately flat surface. His muscles relaxed. He flopped back against the cold rock; it felt like the softest bed he'd ever known. "If you don't like it, you can go home. Someone will find me eventually. Or I'll just plummet to my death. Either way." Z'jan was being a dick, again. But he hated whining: people, dragons... didn't matter! Buck up. Get over it. Shards! Ghalath wasn't the only who got to be in a bad mood sometimes.

Ghalath eyed him, peering down from her perch one ledge over and two up. Z'jan met her gaze. Held it. Were they staring off? Both were glaring. Ghalath's eyes were swirling colors Z'jan hadn't seen before. But he refused to be soothed by pretty colors. He wondered what colors his eyes would be swirling, if they could. Black, maybe. With bits of red angry-ness.

Ghalath snorted. Z'jan grit his teeth. This cliff wasn't big enough for the both of them... "Fine! Go then!"

And suddenly, with a resolve Z’jan had never felt from her before, Ghalath did just that: she took off, leaving Z'jan orphaned on his perch. Z'jan could only blink. Despite having just inadvertently commanded it, he was at a loss. His mouth opened… closed again. What had just happened? "Hey!--" he started…but something stopped him. An impact, a hard something colliding with his insides. It nearly knocked the wind out of him. It was like a punch: a dirty, low... aching, firey, intensely desirable, lust-filled punch. Right to the dick.
 
Z’jan’s breath caught in his throat. He shook his head to clear it. But the fog didn't clear. The fog wasn't fog. The fog was clouds. Ghalath saw clouds. Z'jan saw clouds. He saw what she saw, with only a little bit of truth in the periphery. Dangerous truth. Cliffs. Ledges. He snapped back against the mountainside, frightened of falling for the first time in years. "Shit? Shit! Holy shit..." the words came out in quick succession. His heart hammered in his chest. His heart? Or Ghalath's? As she pumped thick green ichor through her veins and drove her dark, mottled body upward, higher, higher...

Only when she was up, dappled by clouds, did she make her call. Her voice, so quiet and distant sounding in Z'jan's mind, now came out in a bold, brassy bellow. It was an angry call. And angry lusty call. Surely this couldn’t be his dragon... his dragon didn’t make noise. His dragon didn’t like to be touched. Z'jan swallowed, mouth dry.

His dragon was rising. His dragon. Rising. Now. Not tomorrow. Not next turn. Very right now.

Z'jan grit his teeth, back pressed against the mountain, digging his fingernails... no, his talons... into the pebbles and mountain silt that surrounded him. His eyes wanted to roll back into his head, to give over all real vision to Ghalath.

Fuck, fuck, fuck... that's all he wanted. That's all she wanted.

And they both wanted it very right now.

Sorry but you are not allowed to view spoiler contents.

2
The Lake Edge / Geronimo! [O'wain]
« on: 22 Aug 2013 at 11:16 PM »
Ghalath’s dive lifted Z’jan up, his seat rising up off her neck. He felt the loss of contact, the blast of air from below. Her dark wings tucked so tightly into her sides that Z’jan was reminded of a terran tortoise; as if her wings were actually part of a shell, instead of vital limbs that kept her airborne. The thought brought a silly smile to his face…

He pulled his feet underneath him, his bare toes pressing into Ghalath’s leathery green hide. He still held onto the riding strap with his hands; it was the only thing keeping him physically tethered to his bonded. Down, down, down… Z’jan’s stomach was in the back of his throat… and he loved every second of it. The water from the lake loomed closer… closer.

Ghalath didn’t have to speak. Z’jan knew it was time. With a forceful push, he extended his legs and released the straps, launching himself upwards from Ghalath’s back. Ghalath, for her part, extended one wing and banked hard to the right. Z’jan was left mid-air, arms circling as though treading water in the sky, and with the reflective surface of the lake only 30 feet below him. 2... 1…

Z’jan tucked his arms to his sides and pressed his legs together. 0… his pointed toes collided with the water, sending Z’jan slicing into the depths like a knife. Feet, legs, crotch, chest, head—the icy water consumed him. Silence.

The wild, loud, windy world above disappeared. Water pressed against Z’jan on all sides, forceful and insisting, arresting his descent. He ceased to sink. Bubbles and pockets of air that had pierced into the water with him now hung suspended, stuck between rising and falling. The sweet spot.

And then, like the bubbles, Z’jan felt himself begin to slowly rise. The air in his lungs pulled him upward. He blinked. It was dark, wobbling, murky… he could use make out the reflections of the sun hitting the water. With a strong frog kick, Z’jan pushed against the deep, dense water. Higher, higher… the light ripples grew broader and brighter. His lungs began to ache from the lack of oxygen, but he loved the ache. Just like he loved the slap of the water against his feet stuck it, just as he loved the numbness that settled over his limbs in the cold depth. He’d stay down here forever, if he could…

Well, maybe. The fall had been pretty damn fun. Maybe he’d prefer to be flying forever…

Either way, it was time to come up. His lungs felt scorched; his gag reflex constricted, trying to force him to breathe, even if it meant breathing water. Z’jan kicked again. The surface loomed.
He broke through with a splash, water streaming from his hair and into his eyes. He didn’t mind it. He wipes his hair back with one hand, then began breast-stroking to shore. Ghalath was hovering by the lake’s edge, her talons punching holes in the soft sand.

sooner would have been better.

Z’jan snuffed water out of his nose and continued the last few stroked into shore. He walked up the shore like a man, but, smiling profusely, casually dropped to his knees  like a canine and crawled the last few steps to Ghalath. Upon reaching her, he slumped and lay belly up in the sand. Despite their strong bond, it always took him a moment to understand what Ghalath meant. “Sure. What was that, 30 feet? Yeah, next time I'll jump sooner." Ghalath rumbled her smile. Her eyes swirled a contented blue-green. But suddenly, an purple tinge of worry: but not too soon...

Z’jan laughed, reaching blindly behind him to fondly pat a green foot. He spanked the sand a few times before finding his target. “Ok. Not too soon.” The sun was high. The water droplets on his chest began to dry, the moisture from his pants dribbling away. Z’jan dug his bare toes in the sand.

So life was good. 

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Happily Plotting For

6 Years 10 Month and 13 Days

M18+ Warning

Untitled Document



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