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With Wings as Emeralds

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The dragon's skin possesses certain unique qualities.

It manages, somehow, to be a rich and vivid green while reflecting a brilliant crystalline-tempered gold. The moonlight plays off it and gives it the veritable appearance of firelight. As Mordred drags his fingertips across the scales he shivers at their inherent softness, for he is certain that the finest silks in all of Albion could not compare to them.

He muses upon this as the creature carries them swiftly through the night, getting lost in his own thoughts. It's unexpected when Merlin wraps his arms around Mordred's midsection from behind and presses a gentle kiss to Mordred's earlobe. Mordred jumps in Merlin's arms, startled back to his current and incredulous reality.

"She likes you. Are you pleased?" Merlin asks softly, his breath warm against Mordred's skin.

Happy laughter bursts forth from Mordred's mouth and a nod is all he is capable of. It's enough for Merlin who, in response, merely squeezes him tighter as though he never intends to let him go.

Mordred fervently hopes that's the case.

"Are we safe?" Mordred asks as the dragon turns sharply to the left, his stomach flipping with gentle nerves at the sudden movement. Merlin's easy laughter calms him instantly, though, as he reassures Mordred that they are, indeed, safe.

"I like her too," Mordred grins, turning his face to the sky so he can bask in the blanket of stars above him. Warm, heady night air envelops them, and for a moment Mordred wonders if Merlin is as warm as he is in this moment. Merlin turns Mordred in his arms, taking care to hold onto his brand new beloved tightly as the dragon soars over violet hills before beginning a tempered descent.

"What is her name?" Mordred whispers as Merlin gently presses him down into the supple skin of the dragon's back. Mordred shifts his legs to accommodate his lover, Merlin making himself comfortable as the dragon comes to rest in an open meadow bathed in moonlight. Mordred's arms link immediately around Merlin's neck, as has become their custom lately.

Merlin looks into Mordred's eyes, brushing away a couple of unruly curls with his fingertips as he leans down and whispers his reply into Mordred's ear. He pulls back, as though to gauge Mordred's reaction, and seems pleased when Mordred smiles yet again.

"I like it," he replies with a whisper that Merlin's mouth soon swallows. Mordred marvels how such true and pure happiness in life can be found in the simplest of moments. He kisses Merlin back with a fervor that makes Merlin's knees weak.

Yes, Mordred thinks to himself. This has been a wonderful night.

She settles in for a well-deserved rest as her two passengers share gentle kisses atop her, and if Versilia could hear Mordred's thoughts she would, in her own indomitable dragon fashion, agree.