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Everyone had been looking at them. That was all Inaari could think as she all but dashed up the stairs into the weyr she shared with Ianath after one of the quickly-dwindling Weyrling lessons. They were less than a month away from graduating into fully-fledged riders and the time had come: the restriction against physical interpersonal relationships had been lifted for Weyrlings. It had been almost seven months since the disastrous moment where the buoyant passions between the bruenette and her glassmaker boyfriend had panicked both of their dragons, neither of them allowing themselves to be alone in a private place in that whole time.

Inaari could admit easily that though being able to see and at least be chastely close to T'ron in that time had been nice...but not enough. Not enough by near measures. Eirlyn had reminded the brunette, somewhat cryptically, the day before that she would be very interested and should pay attention to her next lesson with the Weyrlingmaster. Now she knew why, what had to be done, the reasoning for it laid out like a perfectly drawn map by the Masterharper. Ianath seemed to instinctively understand, for once in her great gold life, that Hers needed to be alone in the weyr right now. Almost as soon as the red-faced weyrwoman-in-training had run out of the lessons room the junior queen had summoned her Knight in Shining Scales Cavenath, the gathering of other dragons that were bonded to Inaari's friends, and flown off to go sun themselves.

Everyone, it seemed, was going to have private time this afternoon.

Naari knew that Ther had reached out to try and snag her sleeve or skirt before she could run, she knew why, and knew he probably wasn't far behind her. Leaning against a wall right inside her tapestry, hands pressed against her heart and her mind whirled.

Now what?!

Why also had quite a lot to do with the fact that being blissfully taken up against the wall of the Weyrlings' lesson room was probably not the best way to show that she was a competent werywoman. She wasn't entirely sure if that would have happened, yet her body was telling her rather insistently that it would have been more than happy to accede to such a plan, so she had felt it prudent to move somewhere private. Immediately. Ianath was there, a weight in her mind, as the gold always was yet she was removed. Ianath knew, Ianath understood, and taking all the others away had been the only blessing the gold knew how to give.

Did she approve very much of T'ron? Well he wasn't a bronzerider which was potentially a problem but he was Cavenath's. Ianath would do nearly anything for Cavenath, so close were the pair of shining creatures, and it made her rider so incredibly happy to be near the rather large man. The Senior Queen had explained, very clearly, that there were going to be times that Ianath was not going to Rise and Hers was going to be, well, proddy. Humans were like that sometimes, especially for those that they found as appealing as Ianath found her mysterious mental bronze, so it was best the dragon learn to accept it now. It was an Important Thing.

Fingers curled into the fabric of the tunic, feeling the strong pounding of Ther's heart under her slim fingers, rich bistre eyes sliding up to meet his obviously interested ones. Was she nervous? When wasn't she nervous?! This was another important thing, another important step, for Inaari the Weyrwoman as well as Inaari the Woman. "Ther, I love you." It was a very quiet, dire thing to say before lips quirked into a wry smile. "Is it possible to be too eager for something?" Without waiting for an answer fingers gripped his tunic, crumpling the fabric as she hauled herself into his arms for a kiss hot enough to rival the Sands.

Heated glass. Never was there a more perfect metaphor for what Inaari was as she twined through his hands, molded by even the gentlest of his touches against her. Therion was experienced at his craft, able to shape the images he could see into his head into something beautiful, something tangible, and everything about the dark-haired young woman was ready to be molded by him. Molded onto him.

Originally, when the pair had decided that it was best they not spend any more time alone in dark places or quiet rooms, it hadn't been as easy as they'd thought. Part of the problem was that in the silver rider's estimation of things his girl had the finest a** the Weyr had ever seen, perfectly cupped and accentuated by the tight leathers they used for riding. Innocent hugs and light embraces had turned to long, clutching affairs as hands wandered, reverently caressing her curves. Trying her best to counter this, making it harder (and Therion had laughed when she'd explained) for him to become 'inspired' by what he saw, the goldrider had started to wear oversized tunics that covered as much as possible.

It hadn't really helped.

Yet they were comfortable so she'd persisted in wearing them still, something that now only aided those work-roughened hands molding themselves to her. Naari found her own fingers loosening the tie on first her vest, then his own so that her own hands might wander as he held her. Each kiss was like drinking hot klah, shooting hot and burning through her system to invigorate every nerve ending. She found her hips rising up to press against the firmness of his thigh, rubbing there lightly before the girl could realize what she was doing. It seemed the most natural, most suited thing in the world that one of her legs prop itself up against Ther's hip so that she could get ever-closer.

It did not pass her notice that he thought she was beautiful, that he loved her, but what resounded most through every part of her was that he said my. His. Only his, she murmured to him between breath-stealing kisses, her voice pitched low in the shadowed privacy of their own little world. More importantly...only hers.

Shards but his hands felt good! Inaari had grown up indoors, the caged bird whose pathetic little song had never been heard, so desperate to escape that she'd thrown herself at the first chance to get away. Then she had been tried to be raised as a proper lady, taught how to care for that 'flawed' skin of hers. As a result those calloused, burn-scarred giant hands were sliding over perhaps the softest, most pampered female body he'd ever held. Naari took her bathing very seriously and had even snuck some of the oil that was supposed to have been rubbed into the dragonets for herself; no one would begrudge a goldrider requisitioning more for her massive partner.

Her own hands roved, a bit surprised to discover that Ther's chest was at least half as densely covered with hair as his arms were! Her nimble fingers danced over his stomach with unsure, inexperienced touches that grew more sure of themselves as her need blossomed. "Too long." It wasn't until his hungry mouth slid down to nibble at her neck that she was able to gulp enough air to pant it out next to his ear. "I've wanted your hands on me again for months. It was killing me to even see 'em. Shards!" His teeth cleverly raked against where neck met shoulder, pear-shaped body arching hard into his solid one with the shock of pleasure.

Ladies liked to tell stories about their magical first times, the romance, the giggles and dreaminess associated but all Inaari could feel was driving need, pumping heat, the desire to have something happen. Oh she knew the logistics of it all, somewhat, but how did they get there? "Shards Ther, touch me, touch me. I need it so badly." Romance might very possibly have to wait for neither of them seemed wholly inclined towards it in that moment. Headstrong Naari knew exactly what she wanted, exactly who she wanted to do it, and exactly when.

Right now.