Storm Mating

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The Gryphon Breeding the Dragoness

Rain lashed down, striking the gryphon drake's feathers even as he spiralled through the storm, relishing in the grasp of the wind. As much as it strove to strike him down, he was not such a gryphon to be torn from the sky, ripped from it by the hand of God and laid down to rest, no. No, that would have been too soon, far too soon, for his time, his black feathers struck through with grey lines, though there was little detail that could be seen on his hybrid body in such a storm.

Ford snapped at the wilds, lashing out with his claws, exhilaration gleaming in his green eyes, though the gryphon had faced down such storms before. Yet he was not out there with his long, grey tail flickering behind, not much use in balancing the shift of his weight in such high winds anymore, for hunting or anything strictly necessary in his free life. He could do as he pleased, Ford pivoting on a hind leg, spinning with rain racing down his beak, as if even those droplets were trying to chase the storm and escape the solidity of his body. Yet there was nothing in the whole wide world and the mountain range that he loved so much that would make his heart pound as much as flying through the storm did.

The grey gryphon's hide trembled with power and muscle as he darted and practically leapt between lightning strikes, his head smooth like that of an eagle, the soft indents where his ears were keeping them nicely protected from the subsequent resounding booms of thunder. Amid the storm, it was all around him, skirting the underbelly of the clouds to remain where the storm languished the most, caressing his hide as if it yearned to tear it from him. Ford had never been a gryphon, after all, for a gentle touch, not when he could keen and shrill and dance, the sheath tucked up close between his hind legs plumping out with the rise of his cock.

Soon... But not quite yet. As much as the gryphon's desire churned in his aching nuts, dropping and making themselves more visible in the thick, yet soaked, fluff between his hind legs, he could not satisfy it quite yet. There was someone that he was waiting for, up in the eye of danger, threat all around. It was what made him feel the most alive, after all.

There was only one, out there in the wrath of the storm, who could match him, wing beat for wing beat. And that creature was not even a gryphon at all.

She was a dragon. Oh, how the rivalries of their species fell away as she shot into view, rain streaming from her large, leathery wings, beating droplets of water from them with every powerful downward stroke. Aventurine flew as if she was a part of the storm itself, the deep purple dragoness' scales struck through with splatters of deep blue, as if she had been splashed, though the trickles were forever fixed on her hide. Her long, balanced tail was tipped with a large spade, allowing her to direct her motion even more agilely through even the fiercest of storms, and her horns were long and sleek, following the line back of her skull down to her neck. On her body, as lean and powerful as she was, not an inch of her body was spared in anything other than the pursuit of agility and strength, of being every last bit the dragoness that she'd wanted to be since she could think, as a hatchling.

"Slowing down in your old age, Ford?"

She taunted him, though Ford wondered, sometimes, just how much of her taunting was good-natured. The nature of their relationship was not one that he could say he understood, as good as it felt, as if the electricity of the storm shocked through his veins with every flap of his wings and swing of his tail.

Yet he would not be shunned, nor would he be cast aside by his equal, chasing after Aventurine with single-minded intent, the rain lashing his beak. The cold of it did not chill through to his bones, not even at such a height, the mountains far below, even though he could not see them. If he fell from the sky, he would be splintered and dashed on the peaks below, becoming a part of the land once again before his time, though Ford had no intention at all of finding himself thrown to a sorry end.

Her tail whipped before him, the gryphon chasing the dragon with a gleam in his eye. He forced his way on, battling the wind that threatened to throw him off-course, though the strain of his wings held true and fast. More and more, his sheath thickened with his shaft, letting it slip out bit by bit. Of course, having that there in his excitement didn't help him make his tight turns or to be any more aerodynamic, yet it was the little yet important things like that which failed to matter at the peak of emotion. For there was no more intense scenario to play out before him, an active player in his own destiny, as Aventurine's tail flipped up high enough, only for a fraction of a moment, for him to see her slit.

It gleamed with rain and a drop of her moisture, yet the storm washed it away as soon as it was born. He moaned, licking the edge of his beak, wings pumping the air, shaping it to his will, even if the wind tore it away again a moment later. Oh, how he craved her... He remembered the taste of her sweetness, how it was like honey, but lighter, perhaps the dew from a flower only spreading its petals in spring? It was fleeting and it was tantalising, all in such a way that he ached more and more simply to claim her and it for his own.

Aventurine, however, was not to be claimed and neither was Ford the gryphon. He was free and so was she, divine beings in their own right, as much as his cock ached and throbbed, stinging with rain. He yearned for her, even if he could not feel her juices on his beak, not quite yet, the scent of her stolen by the wind. That was the only problem with the storm, even as it sent his feathers rippling, his guts twisting with desire: it took everything, whether sound or scent, from the air, leaving it all up to him and his imagination.

Though the gryphon pumped his wings, chasing her, closer and closer, following every whipping, darting line of her body back and forth. Her beautiful, rich scales called to him and he nuzzled up her tail even as she used it to balance. But they knew the lines of each other's bodies after so many times of coming together in the heat and the brutality of the storm, lusting for what they lusted for, even though neither gryphon nor dragon would have called the other their mate.

That wasn't the way of it for them. And it didn't have to be.

They had one another when they wanted them and that was enough. Not everything had to follow the standard twists and nuances of mating, after all, and they could walk to their path too - or fly to their own storm. If the storm and cheating death turned them on, well, that was all that it had to be for them, moaning and lusting, his beak pressing reverently up under her tail. He knew that she was groaning, the tiny reverberations travelling through her body not from the path of her flight but the tremors of her lust, his tongue lashing out over the slit of her vent.

End preview.

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