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Wakefulness had never been slow to come to Jacquol. Life on the high seas was erratic and tempestuous at best, and since thread had returned any moment you might hear shouts of 'all hands!'...heavy sleepers got dumped from their hammocks, and usually were not so hard to rouse after. While snoring had never bothered the young woman, faint movement, or anything sounding like words had long had the power to have her fully alert in no time.

She hadn't really minded when the feeling of someone shifting beside her in the bed (and a bed alone was an odd thing to wake up to!) had her cat-like eyes flicking open long before the sun rose. Warmth and darkness suffused the cavern-room around her, faint light from an oil lamp left burning in one far corner (did rounded rooms have corners?) brightening it just enough to make out the line of a coiled, slumbering dragon. A rider? She'd gone and reeled in a big fish, hadn't she? On that note, she felt blissfully well-sated. Privacy was hard come-by on most ships, though not unattainable. The hasty fumblings she'd partaken of seemed lackluster now—satisfying at the time, but only in the way one who'd never had cake thought of a redfruit as a dessert.

The (wonderfully soft...and worth considering taking, when she inevitably made her escape) bed furs slid over her bare skin as she rolled towards the other body, scooting towards him (and it was a him!) to peer through the near-blackness at her slumbering partner. Tousled hair, light enough that in the light of day it might be blond...handsome enough, though nothing a harper might write an epic song about. Hooking a leg over one of his left her ankle brushing his knee...so he was tall, certainly. At least half a foot, if not a whole one, taller than her. She lifted a hand to tuck a few stray strands of dark hair out of her eyes, then let it drift across the bedding to his exposed chest and shoulders, trailing over a faint line, almost invisible in the low light. Touch revealed more, a long-healed groove from what had probably been a sword. The touching finger became a palm, and dragged slowly, steadily down one side of his chest as she propped her chin up with the other, watching him intently through the gloom as she slowly mapped out the story written in the nicks and gouges in his skin.

His smirk caused her roving hand to pause, stilling perfectly atop the expanse of skin directly above his navel. Ticklish? She didn't feel him twitch or pull away in that subconscious avoidance most who were exhibited though. By the time his eye peeked open to roll across the dark expanse to find her she had resumed her stroking, a rather cocky slant to one corner of her mouth making the small metal hoop through the lower lip briefly catch the light, shining liquid and golden.

"Did I wake you?" Her voice was young, but slightly rough--husky from days and weeks and months spent shouting across the deck of a ship, yelling above the roar of the sea. And it was entirely unrepentant for potentially rousing him. A subtle shift pressed her better to him, her stomach flat against his side and her chin sliding from her fist to lightly jab at his pectoral as she settled half beside, half atop him. Her eyes were dark even on the brightest of days, and in the very early morning they were far too inscrutably so to be easily found in her face, but for the faintest of shines of that lamp reflecting in them.

He seemed an alright sort so far. Her body certainly had no complaints. His muscles were firm, though as he was a dragonrider that made sense. She'd never had a rider before. Her breath whuffed out her nostrils in an almost imperceptible huff of a laugh as a small voice in the back of her mind insisted on chiming in that she'd been the one doing the riding instead. Perhaps it was that lightheartedness mixed with some lingering lust from the flight and certain heated memories, but she let the urge take her. With a rippling movement of her form, she surged upwards, to snatch the grin from his lips in a fierce and completely open-eyed kiss that trailed off the corner of his mouth to n** at his jaw almost playfully.

For a half beat, the question of if 'the mighty dragon' was really how Weyrfolk reffered to it hung unanswered, Jacquol's eyes lighting up with a wicked need to ask, to make the horrid innuendo known. Brighter eyes however answered her question, glowing blue through the dimness of the weyr and fixed right on the two of them. To her credit, she starred unabashedly right back. Riders shared their dragon's minds, right? She had nothing then that the dragon hadn't technically already seen—and probably wouldn't care about either, being, obviously, a dragon and not a man. Suddenly hearing the large form's voice in her head was much more surprising though. She'd only even heard Jacomus' dragon, Kraketh's voice, in her mind once or twice over the turns.

"Beylith?" She thought she'd said that right. She tugged Ambrin's hand back her way in turn, nipping gently at his wrist before she twisted around, releasing him to be able to sit, putting her back to him and propping herself up on one arm to better face the dragon. The furs had pooled down nearer to her waist by then, but it made no matter. It was still dark, and though it was slightly chilling outside the covers, it was only a mild early autumn coolness, and not the biting cold of winter. Invigorating, more than anything. "Mmm, funny." She reached back to find one of his hands and pull it around her middle, pressing back into him languidly. "I'd expect a proper weyrman to give a lady his own name before his dragon's...Beylith, would you be gallant enough to share, maybe?"

She was clearly teasing, and the continued drag and swirl of her thumb over the back of his hand, the one she'd pulled around her, served hopefully as a balm against her prodding. "Did we wake him?" She glanced back and up at the man she was reclining against. "Not that I'd mind if he wanted to watch..." Again, even if he was half of Pern away, he'd still be able to see through his rider. From what she understood, they shared everything, every experience, anyway. And she was blatantly not shy about this sort of thing.

Ooooh my! now that was a voice that would give a girl the shivers! Slightly long nails scraped across his scalp as she reached up and over her shoulder to drag them through his hair. The early morning was certainly not going to go to waste at this pace! "Ambrin," she repeated, though it came out on a half-sigh, some sound that made it sound more like 'Mmmmmbrin', and entirely too pleased to finally have a name to put to the form pressed up behind her. "Is that how it works then? Maybe not the exact experience, but the sensations, the satisfaction, that gets shared? So if I were, say, to kiss you again, he'd not suddenly know what having lips is like, but he'd be able to tell how much you liked it?"

She was slightly playful in her asking, but clearly curious. And since she was asking, it would be clear that she herself was no rider. the conspicuous lack of any other dragon sharing Beylith's ledge might also have hinted at that though. "Poor fellow. If he's anything like as...accomplished...as I'd say you are at this sport, I'd say whatever gold rose missed right out." She winked through the darkness at the brown, cheeky despite that he probably couldn't see it through the low light.

"Though if he'd won, I suppose you'd be pressed so nicely up with some other lady, and so I can't say I'd rather he have. You're all mine, now." Those lightly grazing nails scraped just a bit harder, taunting along the place behind his ear, along the back of his neck. "Which I'll admit is just how I like it. A pity for Beylith though..." But then again, if the dragon shared his rider's sensations, then maybe not. If he was half as sated as she was...well. That ought to do for even a flight-spurned male, shouldn't it?