Devana, F'kan and Quaverilth


A month after their first date, F'kan is trying to figure out how best to find Devana, a woman with no fixed address.

Strong Sexual Overtones
Heavy foreplay
FTB ending


It is late afternoon of the sixteenth day of the eighth month of the thirteenth turn of the 12th pass.


Cave Entrance, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 03 Apr 2018 04:00


devana_default.jpg f-kan_default.jpg

“I ought to slap ye for makin’ me think I was losing my mind!”

Cavern Entrance

The stifling, stale air of the catacombs opens up into this lush rich section of the jungle. It's too densely populated by plantlife to be reached by dragonback and secluded enough that it likely hasn't been heavily traveled by hunters. Cool blue waters pool in front of the caves opening, tumbling over age worn stones into an active stream that leads down into the river below. The expanse of Southern's bowl wall looms overhead, contributing to the shadowy atmosphere of the area. Mossy rocks cluster around the water, soft and inviting to a person that's just spent too much time underground in the dark. An enterprising person has begun the work have chopping a path around the wall, leading to the main drag of the weyr's territory.

The Erdou have made their way back north to the Weyr side of the Azov after a few sevens at Southern Barrier Hold, though going from biting cold to cold and rainy isn’t much of an improvement in Devana’s mind. She’s back to her solo hunting and medicine-gathering outings, and while her tent is perfectly capable of withstanding the rain, there’s hardly a time for it to dry out in this weather. The cave behind the waterfall near the Weyr has become a favored hideout for her, somewhere relatively obscure, sheltered, with a ready supply of water for drinking and showering in (albeit briefly).

So here she is, just as evening begins, dark hair damp from a quick dousing in the cascade just outside, her tent set up just beyond easy detection and a small fire crackling before it, a small wherry quartered and baking in the coals beneath it. She sits upon a fur before it, her bow set close at hand along with her arrows, which she is currently inspecting. At the moment, she’s carefully honing an arrowhead, painstakingly knapping the edges of the flint point with a small wood and stone tool against a flat-topped piece of shale.

It’s been almost a month since F’kan and D’ex were attacked by felines while working on an evaluation. The scratches on Quaverilth’s hindquarters were healing nicely though he would always have some scars. The brownrider still remembers how helpless he felt when he saw that feline about to attack his wingmate and all he had in his hand was his belt knife. It was only by pure chance that his knife even hit and they got away without any more damage. But ever since that day, a certain wildling woman and her bow kept coming back to his thoughts and not only because of the rather successful date they had gone on mere days before the feline incident. He kept thinking that he was woefully unprepared for dealing with the large predators. And so the idea to ask Devana to teach him to shoot a bow slowly coalesced in his mind. Now the question was how to find the wildling woman.

This particular evening, after a hearty meal of meat and veggies, F’kan is pacing along the ledge of their weyr, his brown’s lithe form curled up as he watches the light rain fall just outside. Curled up between Quav’s forepaws are Reaper and Lil Bro, his brown and bronze flirelizards respectively. They were supposed to be useful little creatures, but so caught up was he when he first impressed them, having to go back and complete weyrlinghood over again, his training of the two wasn’t very extensive. He could get them to come to him when called, but sending them off to find someone was hit and miss. How could he find the wildling woman again? « What if I tried to reach out to her? We’ve met enough times, I know her mind’s touch. » Quaverilth’s voice invades the brownrider’s mind with its youthful timber as he tries to be helpful. A considering look crosses F’kan’s features as he weighs the pros versus the cons of such a bold move, and he finally responds with a shrug, “At least she can’t shoot at us if you startle her.” he quips in tacit approval of the venture.

Staring out to the evening sky, Quaverilth reaches out with his mind concentrating on the feel of the wildling’s mind. When he thinks he’s caught it, first the mist will slowly invade, getting thicker until it finally clears to reveal a mirror flat lake in bright summer sunlight slowly banishing the fog to a faint haze. His voice follows after a mental clearing of the throat. « Excuse the intrusion Devana. F’kan would like to come and see you. If that is acceptable, if you could just picture where you are, he can. » His rider is standing nearby, arms crossed and one foot tapping nervously,

It’s a common enough occurrence for thoughts to drift in and out of the mind while focused on a task that’s become nigh habitual. So it goes for Devana as she works upon her arrows. Therefore, she’s not at all puzzled by the random thought of mist over a lake, coming into focus in her mind like a long-forgotten memory. She pauses, contemplating whether or not she knows the place, smiling gently when sun turns the mists to gold. Where was it? She feels a little drowsy thinking of it, the memory feeling…heavy somehow. Then the voice comes, and she sits up with a start. She looks around at first, this way and that, trying to see who’s caught her here unawares. No one! Mention of F’kan pulls her up short, and her thoughts swim wildly with the possibility of what she’s hearing. “…Quaverilth?” This is how she’s come to understand the way dragons speak, isn’t it? “It’d better be you, beast, or else I’m going sharding mad. Shells, I probably already am.” She presses her hands to the sides of her head, rubbing at her temples. The image of the waterfall near the Weyr as she saw it on approach comes to her mind unbidden, the sight so familiar to her by now. “The cave behind the waterfall, and if that’ll suffice, kindly leave my head to me, aye?” She’s fearful that it won’t leave her, that she really is experiencing a break of some sort. Startled eyes dart to her pouch. Did she accidentally sample something hallucinogenic? Nothing for it but to wait a moment and see what happens!

When Quaverilth feels the surprise from Devana, his mindvoice is completely apologetic. « Yes, it is I. Sorry for barging into your thoughts like this. F’kan will be there shortly. » and with that the mist thickens again, obscuring the lake before dissipating and retreating from the wildling woman’s mind completely. Following on his brown’s side of the conversation, F’kan looks eager to hear what she said on her end.

« She’s in the cave behind the waterfall near here. And I think I may have startled her a little bit, so please apologize for me. » Quaverilth relays to his rider even as the sandy blond man is shrugging into his riding jacket. “I’ll bring Lil Bro and Reaper with me to meet her and then we don’t have to do that again.” With a thought towards the two firelizards once he has the jacket on, he calls them to him and they comply with soft warbles of protest at going out in the drizzling rain so he soothes them with scritches before he climbs up Quaverilth waiting leg.

The brown takes them as far as he can go and then lands just long enough to deposit his rider who also pulls his wet riding straps from him. no point in him waiting out here in the cold and wet for what could be a lengthy visit. With one final assertion that the brownrider should pass on his well wishes to Devana, Quaverilth flaps open his galaxy-painted wings and is off in the direction of his weyr. With the straps over his shoulder, F’kan heads through the dense jungle in the direction of the waterfall. He’s thoroughly soaked through when he finally makes it through the waterfall into the cave beyond, looking a little sheepish with a bronze and brown firelizard squawking at him, riding straps dangling from his shoulders. He gives Devana what he hopes is a charming smile, but it probably looks more half-drowned as he runs a hand through wet hair. “Hi.” is the only thing he can think of to say as his bright blue eyes settle on the wildling woman.

Now that she knows she’s not actually going crazy, Devana takes a few moments to collect herself, shaking her head clear of a lingering impression of fog. With a huffed sigh, she lays the arrow she’s been working on across her piece of shale and stands, giving a long stretch and looking toward the cave’s entrance. Even that little bit of distance from the fire compels her to pluck up her jacket, and she throws it on over her jumper without fastening it.

When F’kan appears, she can’t help the way her eyes dance and her lips curve despite the brisk
way she approaches him. Then she promptly swats his arm. “D’ye have any idea how…unsettling that is when he’s not in sight for me to know the source?” Her discomfiture is real, but the brownrider’s presence is outweighing the fact now. “I ought to slap ye for makin’ me think I was losing my mind!” And for a moment, it looks like she’s seriously considering it. Then she grabs a handful of his jacket and tugs him toward her, landing a firm but heated kiss upon his lips that ends far too soon for her liking…but she isn’t done speaking yet. “That’s far more preferable, though.” She tilts her head a bit, looking him over. “Best come to the fire, then. Ye look half-drowned.”

F’kan finds himself chagrined to have caused her any distress and he holds up his hands in defense when she swats him on the arm, which causes his firelizards to launch themselves to get away from the onslaught their humanpet has brought down on himself. Wincing when she talks about slapping, the brownrider is just about to pipe up with an apology when he finds himself being pulled into that heated kiss which pulls a soft groan from him with it’s firmness as he reaches up and sweeps her hair back from her face with curled fingers, his thumb trailing softly over her cheek as he does so. The sandy-haired man is also of the opinion that the kiss ended far too soon, her words earn her an apologetic chuckle as he looks down at her, blue eyes searching her brandy-bright ones while he un-curls his fingers to sink into her hair while thumb continues to trace her cheekbone with featherlight touches.

“Our sincerest apologies, Wild One, mine and Quaverilth’s both.” His voice is low and husky, trying for a soothing tone. “I wanted to see you and I couldn’t think of any other way to find you. Quav said he might be able to reach out to you. I’m sure that was unsettling as you say, but I assure you, you are not losing your mind. And besides, that’s what I brought them for.” He nods to the brown and bronze firelizard who are now circling the fire, warbling and trilling over the smells of roasting wherry causing F’kan to roll his eyes at the pair and sends a mental nudge for them to settle down which they do in short order, finding perches on the rough walls of the cave. “So next time I need to find you, I can just send one of them after you instead.” And then he leans in close, his lips almost grazing hers, where he rumbles softly, “Do you forgive me beautiful?” before pressing his lips against hers for a softer, apologetic kiss. His half-drowned status will be addressed once he is assured of her forgiveness.

F’kan’s response to her kiss is well worth that toothless bit of a threat she makes, in Devana’s opinion. In fact, it just about makes her forget the unexpected exchange with Quaverilth entirely. She doesn’t need the soothing, though she does very much like listening to him speak in that husky tone. It does a better job of warming her than her jacket, she thinks. She glances up at his firelizards with a smirk, nodding as she looks back to him. Chuckling at his last, she threads her fingers into his hair in anticipation of meeting his lips again, her arm slipping up around his neck and a soft hum of approval rising for the character of the next kiss they share. “How can I not when ye apologize so well?” she answers huskily in turn, staying close. “No harm was meant, I know. Ye couldn’t’ve found me save for happenin’ by here on foot, I suppose. Tell Quaverilth I forgive him, too, aye?”

Well pleased at the response his apology is getting, F’kan relays her words to his dragon, which is met with a warm feeling of relief from the brown already back on his ledge and settling down for a nap, leaving his rider to his distractions. And how distracted the brownrider is finding himself as he smirks down at the wildling woman, eyelids heavy over lust-darkened blue eyes, rumbling softly over the feel of her fingers in his hair. So distracted in fact that his actual purpose for visiting Devana almost completely slips his mind as he pulls her close again for a kiss meant to delve deeper and taste all of her.

Only after several long moments, and with a groan of regret, does he pull back, his hand trailing down to cup the back of her neck tenderly. “As much as I would love to keep this apology going, I do have a reason for coming to see you beyond your undeniably mesmerizing company. And I should maybe get myself dried off before I catch cold and get myself yelled at by my wingsecond.” His look is still heated but with a softly sheepish quality added as he adds helpfully. “Trust me, I would not be stopping right now unless it were important. Besides, I would hate for you to burn your dinner.” He adds with a tilt of his head in the direction of her fire as he takes a step back, dropping his hand.

Considering the way Devana so avidly responds to being pulled close for yet another melding of their lips, it probably won’t be difficult for F’kan to discern that he’s been on her mind since their date. Trekking back around to the jungle leaves long stretches of time for the imagination to work within, after all. She likes the feel of being against him, her body becoming more and more pliant against his the longer their kiss carries on. Just when she thinks her reason might end up completely obliterated, he ends it, and her eyes flutter open to meet his, considerably darkened and flecked with dark gold that the heat in her blood has brought to the surface.

“There’s always later,” the huntress murmurs, her lips curved into a suggestive smirk. She’s heard him, however, and nods, taking his hand when he drops it and leading him toward the fire. “My dinner has another half a candlemark to go, so no worries there,” she informs him, gesturing to the fur she’d been occupying earlier in invitation. She takes up a long stick with a charred end and stirs the embers at the base of the fire, the ash parting to tease glimpses of something buried within. “I did figure it must’ve been important if ye decided Quaverilth doin’ what he did was needed. So.” She sits back, shrugging out of her jacket and setting it to the side before looking up at him. “What do ye need?” There’s a glint in her eyes that quietly teases, a double meaning easy to infer…but beyond that she’ll behave, genuinely interested in his answer.

One sandy-blonde eyebrow hikes up appreciatively at her mention of ’later’, and F’kan echoes her suggestive smirk right back at her to show how he approves of that suggestion. Happy to be led over to the fire, the brownrider takes an appreciative sniff of the cooking food, “It smells really good. Freshly caught I’m assuming.” He says once she's lowered herself onto the fur but her invitation to join her will have to wait until he’s divested himself. First Quav’s straps are laid out nearby so that they have a chance to dry and then his riding jacket is shrugged off and likewise spread out nearby. That leaves him with a knit sweater, with a v-shaped neckline and his wherhide pants which are only slightly damp and can dry as he’s wearing them.

Finally, he sinks down onto the fur next to the wildling woman, crossing his legs under him, hands extended towards the fire, warming them effectively as he rubs them together periodically to get the blood flowing more effectively. “So about a month ago, shortly after our date,” And he can't help his smile widening at the memory of the evening they spent together at the Ice Hold before he continues, “A wingmate and I were attacked in the Jungle by a trio of felines. We all got out with most of our hides intact, although…” and here F’kan trails off briefly, eyebrows knitting over blue eyes for a moment before he sighs, “Quaverilth did get a set of scratches on his haunches and they got the other dragon’s wingsail. But there was a moment I was watching one of these felines charge my wingmate, all I had was my belt knife. So I threw it and by sheer luck it struck. And, don’t laugh, but all I could think of in that moment was you…and your bow of course, and how I am woefully unprepared for dealing with some of the wildlife in these parts and I really need to change that.” His voice is strangely even, none of his usual playful or charming tones interwoven into his rich voice. Another heavy sigh accompanies a shake of his sandy-blonde head before he looks at her again. “I know you told me you’ve been using it since you were a child, and I have no hopes of ever matching your skill, but would you teach me to shoot a bow Devana, please?” His voice is husky once more, but raw as well, tinged with the fear that remembering that moment has dredged back up.

“Aye, freshly caught. Though I was lucky to find any in plain enough sight to shoot in this weather,” Devana says of her now-cooking kill, pulling off the soft leather boots that’ve picked up a bit of dampness even here and setting them closer to the fire. She stretches her feet closer as well, sitting back to brace on her hands as she listens to F’kan explain. Mention of a feline attack immediately sends up a flare of concern and she straightens somewhat, frowning when he mentions that Quaverilth was injured. She doesn’t laugh, but is caught a bit off guard. Mention of the bow, however, brings up a tilted smile as she discerns where things are going.

“Gainin’ skill of your own isn’t about matching mine, F’kan,” she tells hims as she sits forward to come level with him. “It’s about ye wanting to protect and defend. No need to compare so long as you can. Now, if ye find you enjoy it,” she goes on to say as she shifts to her knees and comes around in front of him, “and want to take up hunting and such…well. Then maybe ye can work at bestin’ me.” She winks at him and reaches for his hands, her gaze appraising as she studies them in hers. Her hands move to his arms then as she continues appraising him, pressing lightly at his forearms, then his biceps, then his shoulders, which of course brings her leaning close. Abruptly, she chuckles. “I don’t know why I’m checking anything. It’s clear enough ye have enough muscle to handle it,” she notes wryly, and settles back onto her heels, still right in front of him.

“I can teach ye, but you’ll need your own bow. Mine is fitted to me. It’s enough to start with, though,” she declares with a nod, and comes to her feet with her hands offered down to him. She waggles her fingers, indicating he should take them, and smirks teasingly down at him. “If ye mean to have a lesson right this moment, that is.”

F’kan listens intently, nodding along with her words as a smile spreads as she re-positions herself in front of him, willingly handing over his hands for inspection as he takes the chance to watch her face closely, his blue eyes drinking it in as if he could burn it into his very memory, the way the firelight dances over skin and brings out the subtle auburn highlights in her hair that gives her a subtly ethereal quality as she goes about inspecting the strength of his arms. When she works up to his biceps, leaning in close, he can’t help the quickening of his pulse at her close proximity, her laughter garnering a rumbled chuckle of his own. “I wasn’t going to stop you. And you can feel free to inspect whatever you wish lovely.” he offers a playful wink and a smirk in her direction as he takes her offered hands in his and lets her help him to his feet again. Once there though, he pulls her close, hands dropping hers to capture her waist in one quick motion, as he brings her in for a crushing kiss giving her a perfect chance to feel that muscle pressed tightly against her. “Well, we don’t have to do it right at this moment.” he rumbles into her ear after he breaks their kiss and nuzzles into her neck with firm kisses along her soft skin.

The dancing of Devana’s eyes in counter to F’kan’s first suggest that that might be a slightly dangerous freedom to allow her…not that she expects he’d protest. As she helps up him, it becomes quite apparent that one little tug could send her forward onto him rather than become something she could resist. She’s quite strong, but there’s still less mass to her, and she has to lean quite a bit to be an effective counterweight.

Fortunately, he reserves any such thing for when they’re upright and balanced. Her nerves sing in anticipation of another kiss, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. The way he kisses her, however, garners a gasp and a little squeak of surprise. Then she finds herself melting against him, the heat in his lips and the pull of his hands taking some of the steadiness from her knees. And she is suddenly quite aware of the hardness of his body somewhere between the two layers of fabric that are their clothes, memory of their time in the springs at the Barrier Hold easily conjuring the sight of what’s beneath at the forefront of her mind. A yearning moan vibrates in her throat as her arms loop around his neck again, pulling her tighter to him still before the kiss breaks.

She’s catching her breath as she tilts her head to allow him easier progress along her neck, brandy-hued eyes now desire-darkened and heavily hooded. A hand slides up into his hair again, curling gently against his scalp as he speaks, and she chuckles breathlessly. “That might be best…considering I’m not sure I’ll be able to think now,” she agrees huskily. “And…it will be easier…with your own bow…” She may even have some thoughts about how best to acquire one if there isn’t a dedicated fletcher at the Weyr…but she really doesn’t want to bring it up right this moment. She has wanted this far too much over the past month to distract from it now!

The sounds that the wildling woman treats F’kan to rouse his ardor in no time, especially that little squeak that tugs deep down and he finds his pants suddenly a little too tight for comfort. His arms slip to her back when he feels her melting against him, holding her firmly in place to counteract any weakening of her knees. As his kisses continue their trail down her neck, he rumbles softly when she speaks, lips vibrating against her velvety soft skin, a rush of heat flowing to his center and bringing out his own moan of need to match hers. “Then let us leave all thinking to later, Wild One. Because I haven't been able to get you out of my mind since our date.”

Moving back up her neck, his lips hover at her ear, hot breath tickling her lobe. “But I think that is quite apparent.” And with that, his large hands slip down and cup her rear before pulling her hips sharply against his, where she can feel his intensely aroused state for herself. This elicits a sharp and husky groan as he nips gently at her earlobe. “I need you Devana.” He murmurs before pulling back and looking down at her with a lusty dark blue gaze, eyes searching her gorgeous brandy-hued ones, feeling drunk at the mere sight of them.

The way F’kan rumbles in response to her words causes gooseflesh to prickle all along Devana’s arms and shoulders, and a soft, breathless chuckle answering his first. It’s been the same for her, after all, though she’s not voiced it to anyone who’s noted her occasional distraction. Mentioning such fascination with a dragonman would not be received well among her people at large, after all. It makes her grateful for her ability to sojourn alone from time to time…and right now, fascination is quite free to transform into desire without any concern whatsoever.

She gasps once more when he takes a grip upon her rear and pulls her hips to his, the hard bulge of his arousal catching her in quite an effective way and leaving her humming with the satisfaction of being the cause. The feel of his teeth upon her ear sends a subtle but intensely pleasurable shock down her spine to add to the heat pooling deep in her center. The darkening of her own gaze brings out flecks of tarnished gold in the brandy-bright hues, easy betrayal of the want that’s come to the surface for her in turn. “Then we’d best tend to it for us both,” she murmurs, plying his lips with a comparatively quick but fiery kiss before stepping back from him, and small, sultry smile playing upon her lips.

She reaches for her stick again, thrusting it into the embers and pulling the ashy, leaf-wrapped packets of her wherry toward the cooler edges and leaving them there for a longer warming. Then she drops it and takes F’kan’s hand, pulling him the few steps to her tent and holding the flap aside for him to enter. Once he is, he’ll find he has to stoop a little to stand; it’s tall enough for her, but only barely. Otherwise, it’s warm, simply furnished with things easily portable, smelling faintly of herbs and leather and earth. Where she sleeps is quite obvious, a bedroll spread atop one fur and covered over with another, while yet another is rolled to serve as a pillow.

The rest of the evening - and well into the night - is spent in a most athletic exploration of each other with the culmination of sweet satisfaction, leaving them both feeling as if something deeper has begun to stir between them. Neither awaken certain of what to do about it, exactly…though the fact that this will happen again is a given. Time alone will tell what it becomes down the road.

Add a New Comment