What It Takes: Experience (3/4) (PG-17)

Writers: Corrin, Yvonne
Date Posted: 11th April 2026

Characters: Sybana, F'lin
Description: Caught up, Sybana lingers longer than she meant to...
Location: Dragonsfall Weyr
Date: month 2, day 22 of Turn 13
Rating: PG-17

Sybana

In that moment just after the catch--as the mating passion of the queen surged to its fiery zenith--the hall outside the flightroom churned with people. Expectant moths, there for a thrill. Thwarted suitors, ravening for relief.

Sybana stood at the edge of it all, overheating in her leathers and borrowed knots, her helmet pulled low. The flight had seemed so _distant_ compared to the inferno of her own Galgath's rising. She thought she'd feel a taste of the same hunger, the same defiant rage her Galgi had started with, but if it was there, she couldn't sense it. Not around the awful, gratuitous _need_ in the air. Maybe it was Panitath's individual temperament, or maybe that was simply the most important thing for a gold to project. Maybe it was how they drew their mates. Whatever the reason, the lust was _not_ distant. It roared through her like a torrent. A pleasure-pain far stronger than anything she had felt with Zaphare-- and void of Galgaith’s influence.

Dimly she could sense her gold slumbering back in Dragonsfall where it was not yet dawn. The last time--the first time--Sybana had experienced this sort of desperate need it had been impossible to tell where Galgi ended and she began. Now it was painfully clear. Panitath may have fanned the flame, but without a dragon in the flight, her thoughts remained her own.

And she had not thought she could _want_ so much on her own.

Later, Sybana would reason that it had been _right_ to stay, that her clutchmates said she needed to find out what _she_ was like in moments of passion; that the whole point of the excursion was to experience a goldflight as thoroughly as possible; but for all her high-minded goals, in that moment, all she really wanted was to catch and be caught like the dragons in the sky.

So she reached out and--

---

The room was small and cramped, one of the offshoot alcoves carved out to offer a modicum of privacy for thwarted chasers to lick their wounds and slake their lust.

They had started against a wall and ended up on the narrow bed, though Sybana could not have said exactly when the shift had happened. One moment there had been cool stone pressed against her back and the weight of him driving the breath from her lungs, the next there had been rumpled sheets and a bedframe that creaked faintly with every movement.

Sybana meant to leave once she’d explored her pleasure and the golden lust began to ebb--long before her partner-chaser's wits returned--but it crept up on her. She was astride his lap, in his arms, relishing the warmth that bloomed where they touched and the hungry way he kissed. She didn't notice when the kisses turned from desperate need to languorous and lingering. She didn't notice when his grip relaxed to an embrace. She only noticed when--

"Aw shite," he muttered, then rested his forehead against her shoulder. Her dark hair curled around him like a curtain as their bodies pressed together, slick with sweat. "Hello. Are you all right?"

Sybana had been rocking carelessly, greedily, against him, carding her fingers through his hair as the echoes of Panitath's mating thrummed thickly through her. She was intoxicated by the way he felt, by the solid, unyielding press of his chest against hers; the heat of his breath feathering over her collarbone, over the soft rise of her breasts.

But then his words sunk in and her movement stuttered to a halt.

He was speaking. Words, real words. More than the possessive growls or grunts. That one gentle question suddenly felt far more dangerous than the raw rutting they had just shared. She had lingered too long.

“Y-yes,” she managed, breathless half from shock and half from pleasure as she struggled to wrench her wits in place, even as her body lagged treacherously behind.

"Good." He tightened his arms around her for a moment. Gold flights were always intense and this was one he hadn't planned for. His dragon had tricked him into staying the night with friends, knowing that he'd have pulled them home if he'd known Panitath was rising in the morning. Thank Faranth his dragon hadn't caught her.

But for now, in the flight room, he could avoid all that for a little while. And he really didn't want to go. "What's your name?"

Her heart leapt at his question, at the way the circle of his arms pulled her against him anew.

"Zariah."

It was the first name that came to mind and she regretted it instantly, but Sybana took some comfort that he was even asking for a name. He hadn't recognized her then, and why should he? She'd only been to Dolphin Cove briefly and spent almost all her time ensconced with the other goldriders.

"Zariah." He tucked a curl behind her ear and studied her as his heart began to slow. She reminded him a bit of the paintings that used to hang in the halls at Topaz Sea Hold or the ethereal portraits he'd seen of Lady Holders at the Weaver's Hall. Delicate and somehow familiar, even though they'd never met. She had to be several Turns younger than him as well, and he felt a twinge of guilt as he asked, "Well, Zariah. Pleased to meet you. I don't have anywhere in particular to be... do you?"

She turned instinctively into his touch and met his eyes for a perilous instant. They were hazel and already all too clear. The realization shot cold and quick through the residual lust in her veins and she lurched back--out of his arms, off of his lap--stumbling to her feet on shaky legs. She caught herself on his shoulder and then--as though scalded--the headboard instead. “I do,” she stammered, spinning away and groping for her clothes. “I have… sweeps.”

"Sweeps?" Unlikely-- and certainly something that could wait for a goldflight. Maybe he'd hurt her somehow, although she certainly hadn't seemed like that when her legs had been wrapped around his waist and her mouth wet and hot and eager. "I-- I did hurt you. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." But intent didn't erase it. "I... can I get you something? Water, a healer...? Or call someone for you?"

"No!" Panic gave the word more force than necessary. "No, no one. I'm fine, honestly. I just-- sweeps." She yanked the first shirt she found over her head. It billowed loosely around her, brushing her bare thighs in a way that made her skin prickle-- his shirt. It'd have to do. The pants she'd grabbed were at least her own and she hopped awkwardly into them, anxious to escape the weight of his gaze.

"Are you sure? I don't want to..." he trailed off, feeling awful. "I don't want to leave you if you're not alright. Gold flights can be pretty intense."

He hardly needed to tell her. She still felt the phantom force of his hands, the weight of his body and how it moved against hers. She still ached in a way that had nothing to do with how he'd had her against the stone wall. It would be so much more comfortable to stay, to ease down from the flight together.

It would be so much more reckless.

"I'm sure," Sybana insisted, dressing faster than she ever had before. She jammed on her boots, her helmet. Only then did she dare look back. Green eyes met hazel and her breath caught at the concern--and hunger--she saw there. "I have to go," she said, backing away. It was as much an apology, as an explanation, as a plea. Grabbing her jacket with its borrowed green knots she whirled and raced out the door.

He watched the door close before flopping back onto the bed and covering his face with his hands. He owed N'vanik an apology for being there and Zariah an apology... for what? "Shells," F'lin muttered. He felt like his Wingsecond's knots had dissolved and he was nineteen and screwing up again. **This is your fault,** he told Seneth.

}:I am ready to go back now.:{ Seneth's reply was still laced with disappointment. }:I should have won.:{

And _that_ was the only outcome that would have been worse. F'lin groaned and dressed, wincing at the feel of his flight jacket on bare skin. As an afterthought he picked up Zariah's tunic and tucked it into an inner pocket. He'd have it laundered and sent back to her. It was the least he could do.

Last updated on the April 26th 2026

Welcome to Triad Weyrs!

What It Takes: Experience (3/4) (PG-17)