by Kasia Bacon
You? he asked.
“Oh,” I said, taking to this form of communication, “I’m Laahn.”
Rago cocked his head, oozing approval.
I laughed.
He puffed out another message. This time, he pointed at me.
Mine.
I flailed my arms a little, while the tips of my ears grew hot. My heart drummed a jig. Puzzled by my unwillingness to challenge this sentiment and the thrill it triggered in me, I offered up no response.
That didn’t seem to satisfy Rago, who stomped his foot and with the single-mindedness of a drunk, belched out the same, if less legible, set of letters.
Mine!
“All right, all right,” I murmured in the end, abashed, yet pleased nonetheless. “Sheesh. I read it fine the first time, thanks.” Rubbing my chin, I heaved an exasperated sigh. “In a spare moment, we might have to work on your romantic routine. You sure are a forward kind of fellow, Rago.”
He rewarded me with a mischievous nod, taking that as a compliment in no uncertain terms.
All I could do was shake my head. “Right,” I said, keen to change the subject. A huge yawn I concealed behind my fingers split my sentence in half. Gods, it’d been a long, odd day. “What, err, are we going to do now?”
I meant my question in a broad, philosophical sense, as in What the fuck? But my interlocutor proved to be focused on the immediate here and now.
A new wonky note floated up in the air.
“Gleep?” I frowned in confusion. “What’s that?
The dragon’s forehead knitted below his little horns. With some impatience, he used his tail to wave away the remnants of the cloud and replaced it with:
SLEEP.
“Ah,” I said. “Why yes, that makes way more sense. But what do you… Shit!!”
My world tilted as Rago snatched me up in a bridal carry and transported me over to the stack of practice mats piled in the corner. Never letting me go for a moment, he lowered us gently onto that neat heap. Two of his exhales, one aimed at each side of the hall, extinguished the torches, which died out accompanied by little fizzing sounds. Rago proceeded to wrap his silky wings around me, blanketing me inside them like in a cocoon.
Hands fisted, I waited for the panic to set in.
I hadn’t much cared for darkness paired with confined spaces. Not since my days in captivity a few years back, when after having been apprehended by a Barbarian patrol scouting on their side of the border, I’d spent a month stuck in Ghadarra—the infamous pit they used for slaves and prisoners of war.
I should’ve felt trapped, being cooped up like this. It should’ve been discomforting. Upsetting. Intolerable.
It was none of those things.
Far from distressed, I didn’t struggle against Rago’s embrace. I welcomed the comfort he offered. His warmth seeped into my bones, banishing the chill from the night. Insane as it might’ve seemed, I relaxed, cherishing the state of being looked after, no matter how foreign it felt. Save for combat situations, I’d rarely trusted others to guard me. Yet relinquishing control to Rago came naturally and without hesitation.
Fatigue whacked me over the head; too many late shifts and not enough rest taking a toll on my body. My eyes failed to stay open. I yawned once more, shifting around to claim an even more comfortable spot within my cushy bedding.
The dragon gave an approving rumble, dragging a sleepy smile out of me.
Listening to his heart, which beat a calming, steady rhythm, I sank into oblivion.
For once, anguish and dread didn’t invade my dreams.
I came round to a sensation of feeling warm and deliciously well-rested. This rare occurrence put me in good spirits right away.
Upon opening my eyes, the sight of vast space crowned with a high vaulted ceiling and dark beams gave me pause. I contemplated the way the crescent-shaped windows filtered the morning light in grey, symmetrical beams.
What the fuck was I doing passed out on the floor in the fencing hall?
Oh. Ooooh.
I rushed to assess my sleeping arrangements.
Sergeant Rago Eerik—deep in his slumber and starkers as you like—served as my mattress, pillow and comforter all-in-one. Nice and heavy across my back, his arms enfolded me in a tight, protective hold.
Lying on my side, partly sprawled on him, I’d draped my leg over his thighs. My cheek rested on his chest. And my right hand, as I realised to my utter horror, clutched at the man’s… important bit.
Which was hot and swollen. And not small by any standard.
Ooooooohhh.
I went rigid everywhere, anticipating sudden death from mortification. However, I continued to fare fine and dandy, breathlessness and a dizzy spell aside. Those, I attributed to my cock draining my brain of a considerable share of blood supply by going for full salute at the speed of magic. I blanked out, reacting on reflex. All that registered revolved around the veiny silkiness palpable in my grasp and how good it felt to, well, palpate it. The more I stroked and squeezed, the more the firm and sleek texture goaded me into keeping at it.
Rago rolled his black-haired head towards me. In a flutter of lashes, his eyes flew open, their irises reduced to edgings of green.
Flicking his tongue along his parted lips, he gave a low groan. “Lieutenant Ĉortez,” he rasped. “What the… Mmm. Ohh, gods.”
Immediately, his mellow, chesty voice enthralled me. I could listen to the man talk—or moan—all day.
“Good morning,” I managed stupidly.
“Damn right it is. But you, aaah, probably shouldn’t be doing this, sir.”
I didn’t argue. Rest assured, I shouldn't be. Yet somehow I didn’t—couldn't—stop. My hand worked away, gliding up and down his generous length as if tomorrow didn’t exist. Stunned and aroused by my brazen actions, I breathed in synchronised gasps with Rago. I arched into his muscled frame with more vigour, unable to break eye contact.
“It will get, aaaaah, messy if you carry on,” Rago grunted through clenched teeth, a muscle jerking in his cheek, “and pretty damn quick. Like right about now.”
The man proved true to his word. His release coated my fingers on the last syllable.
My mouth dry and my balls achy, I shivered and panted, as if I were the one to reach completion.
Rago’s body relaxed against mine.
I started when he reached to thumb my lower lip, ever so gently. Placing his hard, warm hand at the back of my head, he guided me towards his mouth.
Our teeth clicked. The kiss—deep, dirty and voracious—dazed me. But even more, it had me tearing up. Twenty-nine winters to my name, yet I didn’t know such kisses existed. How could I? No one had kissed me like that before—with a riveting combination of tenderness, impatience and controlled dominance. No one had ever needed me that way, as if doom would claim the world if we separated a moment too soon.
Luckily for the world—we didn’t. Not for a long time, at any rate.
Chest full, I sensed the change in me. It flooded my veins with something light and floaty. Magic, perhaps? I couldn’t name the phenomenon any more than I could understand it, but I knew the odd sensation to be true. And it made me so happy I wanted to burst into song.
I resisted the impulse, thus saving Rago’s—no doubt—extra sensitive hearing from sustaining extensive damage. Instead, I studied him in adoring silence, utterly dazzled.
Rago misread my reaction. Alarmed, he drew back, slipping away from my embrace. His face tightened in a stricken expression.
At the sight of his eyes dimmed with dejection, I panicked. “No!” I protested and held on to him without thinking, shamelessly chasing his touch, upset at the mere thought of him at a distance. And distressed to have caused him distress.
At once, Rago stilled in my arms. “No, sir?” he said, peering down at me.
During the pause that followed, I tried to find a way to confess my confused yearnings, wishing he’d quit calling me sir when my hand was still sticky with his seed. “
No. Don’t move. I… I need you close,” I blurted out with all the subtlety I could muster.
His lips stretched in a rapid smile—a smile that would be the death of me, I could foresee that much. “You do? All right.” He sobered just as fast, though. “You’re certain?”
It sounded a simple question. But somehow I became aware that by giving Rago an affirmative answer, I would bind our paths forever.
My decision must’ve been reflected in my eyes because his face lit up. “You know what that means, Laahn, don’t you?”
Hangover or not (did dragon shifters get hangovers at all?), he remembered my name. The reverie in his tone had me shivering. My pulse quickened and my face heated under his watchful gaze. I nodded once and then twice, for good measure.
Did I understand the gravity of what I’d agreed to? What I’d accepted? Not entirely, in all sincerity. But it mattered not, because I wanted that regardless. It felt honest and essential to a degree that made everything else appear superficial and negligible. I couldn’t wait to figure it all out with him in the future. Gradually. Slowly. And later. Much later. After more kissing. More touching. More… paying attention to my dick, which had been straining for the Empire, for the gods’ sake, hard as steel, throbbing and ready to burst.
“I do,” I confirmed, shifting around and poking Rago in the hip with the bulge in my trousers. By accident, for the most part.
Having purred with contentment, Rago pulled me upwards. His palm slid down to apply blessed pressure just where I needed it.
And not a moment too soon. Simply having some friction there made me sag with relief, but it promised to get better still when he breathed against my lips, “Would you like help with that? Eh, Laahn?”
A pathetic, needy whimper coupled with a hump of my pelvis served as my response.
Rago managed a little chuckle before I quieted him by pushing my tongue into his mouth.
He groaned, letting his free hand roam across my body. It made me resent every item of clothing I wore for robbing me of raw, unveiled sensation.
“Strip me. I want to feel you. I want to feel everything.” The words flew out before I had half a chance to think them through. I hardly recognised myself. How had I become the very definition of wanton and barefaced in the last hour? Something about Rago unshackled this new—and quite thrilling, I had to admit—element of my personality.
Rago, however, didn’t look unhappy with the development. His cock jutted up in an immediate resurrection.
I whistled, impressed by his recovery time. “That a shifter thing?”
“No. A Laahn thing all the way, sir.” Rago flashed me a crooked smirk.
He lifted himself and advanced on me, helping me out of my uniform with such speed and dedication that it resulted in a few tears and buttons flying away. Nothing the garrison tailor couldn’t fix in an hour.
Next thing I knew, I lay exposed, showing off my wares without a shred of my usual self-consciousness.
He stilled above me, staring openly and running his tongue over his teeth like a predator about to dig into his hard-won meal. The guttural, possessive growls he produced spiked up my senses with a new wave of arousal.
I was neither an eyesore nor the god of beauty. Pale skin, stubborn, straw-coloured hair, hazel eyes. Nothing too striking, apart from the two long scars marking my left thigh and a smaller one curled across my abdomen—souvenirs from the ‘kind’ guards at Ghadarra I kept for life. Without being coy, I knew I had a good physique if one liked the slim and compact type. Fencing and running did sculpt muscles in a certain way, and I did enough of both to be in top form. Nonetheless, I’d never seen such tremulous want, such intense awe in the eyes of any of my previous lovers, however few. As for myself, I could say that I hadn’t hungered for anyone with the potency I desired Rago just then.
“Perfect. Beautiful. Mine,” he rasped.
My cheeks sizzled, but I met his green gaze straight on. My hand disappeared into his soft, dark waves and I pulled his head downwards.
Just as he started lowering himself upon me, I caught a fleeting change in the shape of his pupils. They reverted from vertical to round in a moment.
His mouth latched onto mine, his sweet and spicy taste already familiar. And moreish as hell.
The sensitive skin of my jawline and neck tingled under his fervent, lingering kisses.
“It’s almost too much,” he whispered and nuzzled the hollow of my throat and moved onto my chest and nipples, taking me apart with little licks and nips. “Your scent. Your shimmer.”
“My shimmer?” I held onto his shoulders, digging my fingers into his steely muscles. Needing more of him and to be closer still. I’d have crawled right into him if I could.
He gave a wobbly laugh. “You have no idea.”
Unable to speak any longer, I resorted to guiding him by moaning and arching my body with the newly gained flexibility of a snake.
Rago’s hot lips—merciless and untiring—continued their descent. His wet tongue caressed the scar on my stomach, my navel, my groin. Progressing down, where I longed to experience its deft treatment the most.
I was a goner the instant he took me into his mouth. Bloody hell, did he know his way around my cock.
He had me pleading and writhing underneath him with pathetic abandon embarrassingly fast, yet I didn’t care. I felt no shame, just bliss. He was gorgeous and he set my balls on fire—not much beyond that mattered.
“Please,” I panted. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Dear gods, no.” His voice sounded strangled. “There’s nothing I want more. But not like this. Not here. We’ll take our time with that. For now, though…”
I wanted to object, but my protest died when he flipped me onto my side as if I were weightless.
The tip of his damp finger teased me there, just playing around the entrance, pushing in, prodding. Not deep enough. Torturous. Excruciating. Glorious.
I gritted my jaw. “Hurry,” I said. “I won’t last long.”
Infuriatingly, Rago withdrew.
I hardly had time to whine before he positioned himself behind me, his chest glued to my back, tickling my nape with ragged breaths. The hot head of his cock brushed my arse crack a couple of times, then slipped in between my thighs.
Ooh.
He puffed, “Squeeze it for me, darling.” His teeth sunk into that meaty spot where the neck meets the shoulder.
Quivering, I wedged my legs together as tight as I could around him. Three thrusts in, and I fully supported the concept. More so when Rago’s large palm kneaded my hip and sneaked to the front to wrap itself around my pulsing hard-on.
From the get-go, he pumped it good and proper. Forget finesse, think crude proficiency. At the same time, his hips rammed into me, announcing we were done fooling around.
Sweet gods, I didn’t complain—it was high time we got right to it.
I shoved back against his groin, humping once, twice… until I came all over his hand just as he heaved a hoarse groan and marked the inside of my thighs with his warm slickness.
My heart pounded. I trembled, utterly spent. Exhausted yet invigorated.
I felt Rago’s little shudders against me.
Neither of us moved nor spoke for a bit. We rested, breathing in slower and slower intervals.
Rago must’ve rolled me over at some point, because I found myself lying face to face with him, entangled in his arms, his gleaming eyes locked on me.
We grinned at each other.
After a while, the loud growl of my empty stomach punctuated the companionable silence.
He made an amused sound.
“I’m starved,” I admitted. “I missed the evening meal last night.”
Rago rubbed at my abdomen, caressing my scar with gentle fingers. “One day I’m going to ask you about this,” he murmured.
“And one day I’m going to tell you,” I replied, shocking myself with that answer. I’d never talked about Ghadarra. Not to anyone, apart from relayi
ng dry military details to my commanding officer, who’d cared about my ordeal purely from the strategic perspective. “So, what are we going to do now?” I said, echoing my words from yesterday.
“Now?” Rago’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Visit the food hall, of course. And eat.”
“Right. Course.” I snorted. More and more, I’d come to appreciate Rago’s practical streak. Nothing seemed to ruffle him and I—being the complete opposite—considered that one hell of an attractive trait.
All of a sudden Rago stilled, his head turning towards the door. I could’ve sworn his left ear flicked a couple of times. “Perfect timing. Someone’s coming,” he said.
I’d heard diddly squat, but taking his word for it, I got up and scrambled to reach for the crumpled heap that was my trousers, rushing to pull them on.
Rago stood, too.
Considering the terrible racket the intruder made while unlatching the gate, I’d say he wished to alert us to his arrival.
Dakoi’s bird nest of a hairdo appeared in the doorway first, followed by his bearded face. His lanky body emerged last. He held an unfolded uniform, waving it around like one would a white flag in request for negotiation.
“Mo-morning,” he said with a crooked smirk and entered the hall. “All good in here, lads?”
He soon halted to stare, his mouth going slack.
Granted, we must’ve painted quite a scene, standing around our makeshift bed like a couple of statues with a pair of trousers between us.
Dakoi’s eyes bulged out of their sockets, wandering back and forth from me to Rago. “Having f-fun, I see?”
I squirmed with unease at being observed in such a dishevelled state.
In contrast, Rago appeared unbothered. He picked up my jacket, brushed it off and handed it to me with a smile, collected as you please. And still very naked.
I mumbled my thanks, touched by his courtesy, and hurried to throw the garment onto my back, leaving the near buttonless front flaps undone.
Meanwhile, Dakoi’s glance lowered to Rago’s crotch. His eyebrows arched. “Blimey, Se-sergeant. You could use that in lieu of a weapon.”