Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  He made a note to use the change Bertie had never asked for to buy more toilet paper since that seemed safer than poking around the rest of the house looking for a supply closet. He had to admit that he didn’t know enough about dragons to know how complete their physical changes were when they shifted to human. It was possible Bertie didn’t use his own bathrooms and so wouldn’t know he was low on toilet paper. It wasn’t something Arthur wanted to ask about, exactly, but he did want to know. Maybe not about that so much as how human Bertie’s body was—not that he had a way to ask that wouldn’t give away the reason for his interest.

  He ought to stop thinking that way in any case. It wasn’t going to happen. Arthur had admittedly attracted a fairy once, but it wasn’t like anyone had been beating down his door since then. The few looks of interest thrown his way hadn’t lasted once people realized he’d have no time for them.

  He had time now, he realized suddenly while looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and drying his face. But he instantly pushed the thought aside because it wasn’t going to happen. He sighed as he headed back out to the kitchen.

  The kitchen was empty. Arthur took a moment making sure he looked composed before he went searching for his employer. Bertie was in the main room, leaning against the couch with a large bowl of fruit resting on the table behind it. He had a bunch of red grapes in his hand. Of course he did. And of course he was eating them one at a time and licking his lips after each one.

  Arthur approached carefully, stifling his second sigh because he should have been comforted to see a dragon eating fruit and not people. Comforted, not turned on.

  There was a pomegranate in the bowl, surprising him, but he left it where it was, not wanting to make a mess over a rug he couldn’t afford to replace. He avoided the bananas too—no way could he take Bertie’s response to those right now. He chose more grapes and tried not to push too many in his mouth at once when he realized they were seedless.

  “God.” It slipped out with the first bite, breathless and edgy. It had been a long time since he had fresh fruit. He really shouldn’t be making noises over some grapes, but they were so good. He popped a few more into his mouth before he forced himself to slow down and eat properly, then he looked over at his employer.

  “Poor, hungry Arthur.” Bertie breathed the words without looking at him. He was glaring at the fireplace as though annoyed to find no fire burning inside. “If you won’t feed yourself, you’ll force me to do it.” When Arthur stopped chewing, Bertie glanced over at him. His eyes, though still full and black, lacked their usual glitter. “Humans are so—” He gestured as if starting to understand something that he didn’t feel like explaining. “—fragile.”

  Arthur’s eyebrows drew together. He wasn’t fragile. He knew how the world worked better than Bertie did—he was willing to bet on it. The world with money and magic was a lot different than the world without it.

  “While we’re on the subject,” Bertie said as though he’d read Arthur’s protest before he could voice it, “there are guest rooms here, Arthur, as well as this couch, which is very comfortable. You are welcome to stay if you find yourself here late. I’ve seen what you call transportation.” He turned up his nose at the very thought of Arthur’s bicycle. “Riding a bicycle isn’t very safe at night even with those reflective lights.”

  Arthur bit his tongue before he could point out that he delivered food all over town on that bike: at night, in the rain, on busy streets. He had a feeling that the less Bertie knew about his other remaining job, the better.

  “My bike keeps me in shape.” It was an invitation for Bertie to look him up and down, and Bertie did not waste the opportunity. Arthur fought not to shiver as those eyes took their time traveling from his shoes to his face as if Bertie was imagining what was hidden by Arthur’s clothing. Arthur didn’t think of himself as a strong man—he was too little for that—but he could ride up hills other delivery boys couldn’t manage and could carry most heavy loads without losing his breath.

  He closed his hands under Bertie’s stare and saw Bertie’s eyes go back to his forearms. Bertie exhaled and then his lips curved up. Arthur went on quickly before Bertie could say anything about what he thought of Arthur’s shape.

  “I’ll be fine, really. There’s no need to….” The word worry stuck in Arthur’s throat. His eyes burned for a moment. “You barely know me,” he whispered, then tossed his head and looked at his feet when Bertie looked like he wanted to say something. This wasn’t a normal job, but Arthur didn’t deserve that, not with part of his intent in coming here so… dishonest. It didn’t matter that he would never take anything from Bertie. The fact that he ever considered it, as if any part of Bertie was for sale, made him feel terrible. “I’ve looked after myself for a long time.”

  “Not bloody well enough.” It was the most British Bertie had ever seemed. He sounded like an old colonel. “Now eat.”

  Arthur ate another grape before putting the remains of the bunch down. There were tiny oranges too. He laid two aside to take home later and then discovered almonds under the fruit. He should have asked whether Bertie was a vegetarian dragon or why he got so much fruit, but he didn’t. He crunched almonds and then ate a few more grapes. He wouldn’t say he felt better when he was done, but his stomach didn’t feel nearly as tight, and the heat of the room didn’t seem so overwhelming.

  Bertie watched him, though whenever Arthur glanced back at him, the dragon would slide his attention back to his cold fireplace. After a couple of missed glances, he coughed and put his arm up along the back of the couch.

  “It pains me to say it, but maybe you ought to go home for the day, Arthur.”

  Bits of almond stuck in Arthur’s throat. He swallowed them all, not without pain.

  “You’re sending me away? I can work harder.” He came around the table to stand in front of the couch only to freeze when he received Bertie’s full attention. He immediately turned to all the books, all his piles, his plans. He hadn’t done nearly enough.

  “Arthur.” Bertie’s lips were parted, just a little. “You can always stay.”

  “Then why…?” Arthur changed his mind after he asked. First he was told to stay and eat, now Bertie wanted to send him home. He didn’t want to go. Bertie hadn’t even seen a fraction of what he was capable of yet.

  His own desperation to impress wasn’t nearly as confusing as his sudden need to stay. His paycheck hadn’t even been his first thought.

  “Do you want me to go?” He didn’t like how quiet his voice got or the puzzled look Bertie shot him, as if he honestly didn’t know how to answer Arthur’s question.

  “Of course not,” he rumbled, sounding more like himself as a lizard than as a man. “I simply thought… perhaps… you were overwrought.”

  “Overwrought?” Arthur repeated the Victorian-sounding word in disbelief.

  “Exhausted?” Bertie changed it quickly. “Weak with hunger?”

  “Oh.” Arthur’s breath rushed out of him. Bertie had been worried. His earlier thought returned and hit him hard. “You were worried about me?” He stopped himself from asking more. “Oh,” he said instead. “I just… I just need a break. I don’t need to go home.”

  “That’s a relief.” Bertie drummed his fingers along the back of the couch and Arthur caught a whiff of acrid smoke. “You have no idea how irritating it is going against your instincts, even for a little while.”

  “I have an idea,” Arthur defended himself without thinking, remembering the fantasies he’d had about Bertie talking to him in that fire-and-smoke voice while he pressed Arthur facedown to the couch cushions and fucked him the way Arthur would beg him to. Then he blinked, because that last comment hadn’t made any sense. “Wait, what?”

  Bertie turned away, his nose up in the air as if Arthur wasn’t worth an explanation or he thought Arthur wouldn’t understand one. The warmth in Arthur’s stomach vanished.

  “We really are speaking a different language. Beings,” he
muttered under his breath. He wanted to flop down onto the couch, but he couldn’t with Bertie there and wouldn’t have anyway because that couch was made from a velvet so fine that just touching it once had made him sigh.

  Bertie turned back to stare at him and raised one eyebrow, which meant he’d heard that remark. Arthur hurried forward only to stop once he was a foot from the couch. Bertie’s gaze stayed on him, and though his pose was relaxed, like some kind of emperor, a few grapes still in his lap as he lounged, the very air around him seemed hot and still.

  Whenever the air had been that hot and still, Arthur’s mother had used to call it earthquake weather, which Arthur had never understood. Not as a child anyway, though he was getting it now. At this exact moment, he suddenly understood how the potential for a disaster could be felt in the air. It was almost as if the house itself was watching him.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t… I haven’t read your books yet.” Actually, the two he got from the library didn’t seem to be about dragons at all, and what he looked at on the library computers hadn’t said much. The information on trolls and werewolves and demons was far more complete. He supposed they were a bigger threat and had needed to be studied more. Dragons… no one knew for sure how to classify them: lucky protectors or fearsome beasts. Maybe both. “I don’t know about dragons. Are you… typical?”

  “Are you typical for a human?” Bertie idly picked up the grapes and dropped them onto the table behind him without looking to see where they fell. Arthur couldn’t read his expression and tell if he was angry or disappointed or teasing him again.

  “That…. I know there’s no such thing as typical.” He’d never tripped over his words so much but he never meant to hurt anyone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like a jerk, it’s just that I’ve never met anyone like you.”

  There was no change in Bertie’s face, but something in his posture seemed to ease. He melted back into the velvety cushions. The air around them no longer seemed to portend disaster, but Arthur wasn’t breathing any easier yet.

  “Do you mean someone who doesn’t like watching a person suffer needlessly?” Bertie sat up just for a moment to twist around and flick open the silver chest so he could take out a cigarette. “That is sad, Arthur.”

  Arthur’s mouth opened and closed for a moment.

  “That isn’t what I meant,” he protested, but of course Bertie had known that. He’d said it too pointedly for it to be a mistake.

  “Ah, so you mean someone who flirts outrageously with you?” Bertie stuck the cigarette in his mouth and winked at Arthur’s slight squirm and subsequent frown. “Or do you mean a Being? Surely you must have met a few.”

  “There was a fairy in one of my classes.” It just came out. Arthur wasn’t sure why, because Bertie and Clematis weren’t alike at all, and Bertie was hardly going to be interested in a fairy Arthur had known once.

  “A fairy?” Bertie instantly proved him wrong, settling in on the couch again to study Arthur. He seemed to know the whole story already, and it made him frown. “And did he or she like you?” His voice deepened.

  “Yes.” Arthur wasn’t sure where this was going and answered as carefully as he could. “Yes, he did.” Clematis had eyes like a cappuccino, swirling shades of warm brown, and long wings like green Depression glass, and the broad shoulders of a swimmer. Despite his muscle, he weighed almost nothing at all when he pounced on Arthur for that first kiss. His glitter rained gently down on Arthur, his come tasted sugar sweet, and his body felt almost fragile under Arthur’s clumsy human fingers.

  Then he was gone. Arthur frowned and focused back on Bertie.

  It wasn’t that he wanted to make his orientation clear, to let Bertie know he was available and possibly interested. Even if both of these things were true. He hadn’t been planning to talk about himself at all, but after being so insensitive, it only seemed fair to offer Bertie something of himself in return.

  He didn’t think it was that big a deal, not with Bertie admitting that he’d been flirting, though Arthur still didn’t know whether his flirting was personal to Arthur or just a habit. This was a college town after all, and Bertie was a man of learning and intelligence and unlikely to be a bigot about Arthur being gay. Anyway, dragons, like many other Beings, didn’t have the same hang-ups about morality that a lot of humans did, or at least, what morality they had was different.

  “Yes.” Bertie stared at the unlit cigarette in his hand. “About that….” His pause was heavy and his slight frown made him seem pained again. “You should watch yourself around Beings, Arthur. Some of us have a definite type when it comes to humans. A taste, if you will.”

  He raised his head and met Arthur’s shocked, wide-eyed stare. Arthur couldn’t quite process what Bertie’s look was telling him. He thought faintly that if Bertie was trying to say Arthur was the preferred boyfriend material for creatures of unbelievable magic, power, and beauty, then that was ridiculous because he wasn’t anything special to look at. He’d never be an underwear model even if he ate normally and gained some weight back. He was a good student who loved his choice of career, if he ever got back to it, but he wasn’t a genius. He was, he thought tightly, a skinny kid with little to no free time who usually had his snub nose in a book when he wasn’t working.

  His conversation was lacking, too, and not just because some dragon seemed to enjoy rendering him speechless. He closed his mouth, at least, so he wouldn’t ask if that’s what Bertie meant, and if so, why, because he’d already put his foot in his mouth once in the last few minutes, and he didn’t want to do it again.

  Bertie shook himself and broke the stare.

  “Were you sad when the fairy left you? He did, didn’t he?” He rose in one fluid, restless motion and went over to the fireplace. With his back turned, Arthur only saw the spark and then the thin trail of smoke rising from the cigarette.

  Yes, Arthur thought but didn’t say out loud. He was sad when Clematis left. Sad and lost because knowing a fairy would leave was something he’d chosen to ignore during their time together. Frankly, he’d been so swept away, grateful, and happy to be with someone that he hadn’t wanted to think about it.

  Arthur’s stomach rumbled, the snack reminding him that he did need to stop, and he ought to find some real food if he wanted to make it home without passing out.

  “Yes and no.” He shrugged for show, though Bertie couldn’t see. If Bertie was tasting the scents in the air, all he had to do was lick his lips to sense Arthur’s distress at the memory of waiting for a call that never came and looking for those green-glass fairy wings in his classes, only to realize Clematis must have left the school completely. But Arthur had been an undergrad then—it was years ago. He hadn’t had time to think about it since then, not really. It only stung now instead of making him cry. “He was never going to make it through the history program,” he dismissed it as evenly as he could. “He had no focus at all.”

  Bertie gave a soft snort before turning around again. Arthur couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were old and sharp, more than human. Of course he wasn’t surprised the fairy left. Why shouldn’t a fairy have left Arthur? It was pathetic that Arthur would even try to deny how alone he’d felt afterward, how bereft. It was nice to feel loved by someone other than his sister, and he hadn’t wanted it to end. That was the truth. Having a fairy to teach him things was almost a bonus, like a dream come true—for a while.

  He did his best to focus on the present and to keep his face blank, but those eyes were still on him.

  “Is it true that no one can fool a dragon?” Arthur was rough and loud again, and swallowing did nothing for his voice. “Because when you look at me like that, I feel like you’re weighing my soul, or at least reading my mind.”

  Arthur couldn’t believe he’d said it. Maybe it was the embarrassment of talking about his fairy ex-boyfriend or the pity he knew Bertie had to be feeling. He really was soft-hearted for a fearsome dragon. He already offered to feed Arthur. Arthur sho
uldn’t be dumping his problems on him too. He’d humiliated himself enough as it was. If he kept this up he’d be telling Bertie about the dream he had last night in which a gleaming lizard held him down by his shoulders and then slowly, slowly lowered its head until Arthur woke up, breathing hard.

  “Would you mind if I was?” The question startled him and he jumped. “Would I find something you wouldn’t wish me to know, Arthur?” The question curled slowly around him, like the trails of gray, spicy smoke.

  Arthur looked over—into those eyes, at the shining hint of scales at his throat, at his mouth—and then looked away, nearly gasping in relief when his gaze landed on the piles of books.

  “Are your books that successful? To pay for this house I mean.” Arthur stepped back and went over to the table. He wiped his hands on his jeans and took some more almonds.

  “You might say I have family money with me, but yes, the books do well enough in certain circles.” Amusement—it had to be amusement—made Bertie’s voice even rougher, but he came away from the fireplace, slowly sauntering in Arthur’s direction.

  Arthur moved again, though he didn’t have a destination. Bertie stopped by the arm of the couch.

  “You mean with Beings. There aren’t many books on them that weren’t written by humans.” As Arthur discovered during his trip to the library. The Internet wasn’t much better. He’d mostly found a bunch of anti-Being hate sites full of ignorance and misinformation, and human/Being fetish sites with message boards advising him to get a werewolf lover if he could.

  He’d really rather not. He had enough problems. But he replayed Bertie’s words and forgot all about FangandFur.com because Bertie had meant the treasure. His mythical but very real dragon’s treasure.