The Shape of Things to Come

Disclaimer: I do not own the world of Pern, nor do I own anything recognizable from the Dragonriders of Pern series. They are the property of the great Anne McCaffrey.

Pyran, Lefre, Irren and Roenna are all my own property. No pilfering. Except Anya, who is special.

A/N: This is an edited and re-posted version. I realized that quite a few details of my character's past were completely wrong. These things have been changed. I'm considering a spot the difference challenge… -grins- Read and review if you would be so kind, m'dears.

Warning: This story contains SLASH. That, for those of you new to the genre, that's two males in a romantic and/or sexual relationship. Now, the first time I posted this up some people seemed to think I hadn't warned them adequately; with this in mind I say: THIS FIC CONTAINS SCENES WITH DESCRIPTION OF A GRAPHICALLY SEXUAL NATURE. There, consider yourselves warned.

---

Pyran swung elegantly around the door, making a quick search of the room before allowing himself to fall all the way across the threshold. Another figure was dragged gently with him, Pyran's hand curled possessively around his wrist. The redhead paused and turned, just inside, causing his unsuspecting companion to walk straight into him.

Well, perhaps 'straight' wasn't the most appropriate word…

Pyran didn't waste the self-made chance to slide his arms around the other's neck, pulling him close and pressing a brief but fierce kiss to the unresisting lips. "Looks like we're alone." The words served only as punctuation between another kiss and a swift, insistent tug on a limply compliant hand. Pyran never turned back to notice how his prey blanched at what ought to have been reassurance – as though he had assumed they would be alone and was most taken aback that his host had not.

Once safely concealed within his room, Pyran wedged a chair against the door to hold it shut and by-passed his hesitant victim to sink down onto the edge of the bed; it was one of the simple, precise movements that his well-trained figure made to such effect. Not, of course, that he practiced them when he was alone, or anything. After all, that would just be sad, wouldn't it…

Leaning back on one elbow, dipping slightly into the soft mattress, he crooked a finger coyly at the other boy and gave him a slow – and not remotely coy – wink of encouragement when he took a nervous step forwards. "That's it, lover. Don't be frightened. I assure you, my bark's not as bad as my bite…" And he probably wouldn't have any cause to make the comparison for himself. Pyran rarely got carried away enough to bite, only with the really special ones; and he never left marks. No offence to the guy, but Pyran could already tell that he was not going to be one of the special ones. Not unless he pulled something very good, very fast. Pyran might be the younger of the pair inhabiting the room – one far more awkwardly than the other – but confidence and experience counted for more than turns. Whatever you were playing those rules stayed the same, and in few games more than this.

Scorchit, this was progressing far too slowly for Pyran's impatient libido to stand. It was falling further behind his usual lightning encounters with each passing second. Evidently, Rishir needed a little… prompting. The boy had frozen over again after his single, depressingly hesitant step nearer and was making no attempt at a second. He wavered infuriatingly, apparently on the brink of losing his nerve and bolting. Something had to be done, or the entire enterprise would have been wasted and that would not do. Pyran couldn't allow it. Nothing he did was wasted – down to the smallest, most innocent movement. Each bat of an eyelid was carefully placed and planned for.

Now, while he draped himself back against the immaculately clean sheets – he kept them clean by the labour of his own fair hands, though he was not by any stretch of the imagination built for such menial tasks, Faranth knew his mother would have kept them spotless, but she covered enough of his indiscretions from Irren without being made to deal with curiously stained sheets as well… - he drew a slim hand down his chest, flicking open shirt buttons as he encountered them, not a long task since there were rarely more than four done up at a time. When a pale line of skin was exposed, from his throat to the band of his trousers, he gave a long, drawn sigh. Come on, Rishir. I can't wait any more…

---

"Time to soothe the wounds of defeat, Lef?" Pyran groaned plaintively, coming up behind the boy, who sat cross-legged on the ground.

"Always." Lefre answered easily, putting aside the stalk of grass he had been chewing thoughtfully. "Back so soon, lover? Things with Rishir not go as planned?"

Pyran shook his head mournfully and dropped himself lightly into the boy's lap, leaning back into the warmth of his chest. "He seemed promising, he really did. But as soon as we got anywhere interesting he completely shut off on me." He let his head fall back onto Lefre's shoulder with a long-suffering moan. "Could it be I'm losing my touch?" There was an unsettling flicker of real panic in the vivid green eyes as he contemplated such a twist turn of fate.

The comforting touch of lips to his cheek and a gentle nip on the ear brought him out of his nightmare. "Of course you're not losing your touch. On that day, Py, the Red Star freezes over. You've got nothing to worry about, I promise you." A current of laughter passed between them and then there was silence, the only movement the light stroke of breath on Pyran's neck. "Anyway," Lefre broke the quiet again. "The day you lose your touch, what hope will be left for the rest of us poor souls?" Then a soft shove in the back landed Pyran off his friend's lap and onto the dry, hard ground. He turned around to complain but the words were kissed swiftly from his lips before they found voice. My, hadn't Lefre been well-trained, thought Pyran proudly. You could get away with anything so long as you possessed the proportionate charm to kiss it better again.

When Lefre drew back, Pyran met a painful smirk of mockery and inwardly trumpeting victory on the boy's face. "We all tried to warn you that he was about as responsive as a dead glow, but would you listen to us? No. Now drag yourself out of this little pit of woeful self-deprecation and find someone to take your mind off him. What you need is someone worthy of your considerable talent and application."

A trademark slant of devilry and intrigue crept back into Pyran's face, arching an eyebrow and studying the other's expression. "Might that be you volunteering, lover?" He didn't need to look long before a matching grin stole through Lefre's features. It was an expression he knew well. Hands twitched under the loose-hanging edge of his shirt and his own fingers wrapped themselves in Lefre's collar as their lips collided. They were wonderfully familiar steps, these, and the best cure for unrequited lust that Pyran had yet discovered. There, at least he would get was he was after once today…

---

A/N: And there you have it, my dears. All edited and slightly extended and everything. –looks at it fondly- Reviews make me sososososososoooooo happy… See where I'm going with this? Thank you for reading, my dears. Fare well all, until next time.

BTW: I have another Pyran fic in the works at the moment.. It will give rather more insight into his life beyond his promiscuous habits. Yes, it does exist. Just. XD