by JD Ruskin
“Don’t be. You were breathtaking, pet. To think one such as you…. I would have waited much longer for much less. For you, Arthur, I would wait until Doomsday, don’t you see? For you I’d serve.” His lips teased the spot where his teeth had been. Arthur moved his head, following that hand, that voice, without thought.
“Please.” The one word cracked, but Arthur said it again, “Please, Bertie,” and shuddered when Bertie nudged his head aside and whispered, “Then say it, Arthur, say what you are,” beneath his ear.
“I’m….” Arthur couldn’t finish. Bertie had marked him and it wasn’t enough. He arched up into Bertie’s hand. “I’m….” Bertie’s heat covered him but it was the coaxing at his ear that made him shudder and shoot his come into Bertie’s hand.
Arthur couldn’t see for a few minutes. Maybe he was unconscious, maybe his eyes were just closed, but when he finally blinked, it was at the awareness of Bertie releasing his hands and moving over him, shifting just a second before what had to be his tongue swiped along Arthur’s stomach.
Arthur shivered, the sensations rocketing through him way too strong for anything else, and looked down at the top of Bertie’s head and the pink tip of his tongue. Fairy semen tasted like sugar, and yet Arthur had never seen Clematis do anything like lick up their mingled come.
Bertie had a small, warm, wet towel in his hand too, and Arthur frowned a little because he didn’t remember Bertie getting up to get that at all. After a few more licks, Bertie started cleaning Arthur up with the towel with soft, slow thoroughness that would have done Arthur proud if he’d been restoring a piece of a priceless collection to its former glory. He looked up when Arthur couldn’t stop a small, discomfited murmur at some of the more intimate places the towel went. Bertie seemed quite pleased, and Arthur felt the embarrassed heat spread down from his cheeks to his neck. He opened his mouth.
“Not a word. I’m enjoying this.” Bertie spoke before Arthur could think of anything to say but turned away from him to throw the towel away. Arthur took the moment to scoot up and get his body fully on the bed and ease his tired muscles into a new position, but he stopped when Bertie focused attention back on him. A half second later and Bertie was climbing over him, taking deep breaths under Arthur’s chin and then coming up to place a small kiss just to the side of Arthur’s mouth.
Arthur’s thinking was still annoyingly cloudy, but he frowned a little anyway and tried his best to be serious. “You aren’t kissing me again until you brush your teeth,” he warned softly, though it wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all. Bertie only gasped in mock outrage.
“Such an unromantic soul! Your breath isn’t exactly peachy either, Arthur.” He flopped over onto his back, rocking the bed. Arthur had a second to adjust to the sensation of being abandoned before Bertie slid an arm underneath him to pull Arthur over on top of him.
He might claim to be a small dragon, but he moved Arthur’s weight easily and didn’t even grunt when Arthur landed, spread out, over his chest. It made Arthur feel as light as a fairy, as if he should spread kisses as sparkling as glitter along Bertie’s skin. He would, if he wasn’t so bone-tired.
“What?” Arthur started to ask. Bertie’s hands smoothed down his back and Arthur couldn’t help but think he was being petted, and then about how much he liked it. He didn’t stretch into it like Bertie would have done, but he didn’t pull away.
“So I won’t crush you this time,” Bertie explained after a few minutes of stroking Arthur’s back. He made it sound as if it was only natural that Arthur would sleep with him in his room full of treasure and his only concern was that Arthur be comfortable. Arthur wanted to tell him that he wouldn’t mind Bertie’s weight if it meant he knew Bertie was there, that he could wake up to it happily as long as Bertie was with him, but the words felt like too much. He settled for moving his head so his mouth was against Bertie’s skin.
“You’ll turn dragon again?” Arthur’s voice was husky and his words were slow, but at least he got them out. The earth… Bertie… moved underneath him, carefully breathing in and out. “Does it….” Arthur thought of the version of Bertie he had brought out by demanding to be taken, but then couldn’t think of exactly what he wanted to say and tried to sum it all up. “Did that feel okay to you, as a human, I mean?”
“Okay?” Bertie’s laugh made Arthur shift and slide their legs together to stay where he was. “I love my scales, pet, but there are several advantages to having skin, and feeling it against yours is one of them.”
“Oh” was about all Arthur could manage in response to that. He shifted again, enjoying being skin to skin too. If he moved his legs to either side of Bertie’s body, he’d be straddling him, almost like he had downstairs. He licked his lips at the idea and thought of something else he’d never had a chance to try. “Can we do that again?” he asked against Bertie’s throat, his face still burning up. “But like this?”
He couldn’t believe he ever asked that Bertie take him. He didn’t feel that certain now. He couldn’t forget Bertie pleading for the chance to prepare him next time, or Bertie whispering to him as he made him come. He trembled at the idea of demanding anything from Bertie again, even if he knew Bertie would probably give it to him.
Bertie patted his back so slowly that Arthur knew he was thinking about Arthur’s past experience. “Of course, Arthur,” he agreed. “I’d be delighted. However I think I will eat your fairy friend after all.” Bertie was too quick, especially now when Arthur could barely think. He took Arthur’s request as a criticism of the way Clematis had treated him. Arthur tried to speak, to explain, but got shushed again. After a few minutes of quiet, Arthur’s muscles stopped shaking. He shifted to get more comfortable and Bertie’s hand curved over his back. “I would give you anything, pet. Haven’t I made that clear?”
Arthur tried hard to think about that, but it only made him tremble and sigh into Bertie’s heat and give up. He could think about it tomorrow.
“But dragons don’t share,” he agreed halfheartedly and frowned when Bertie let out a pained laugh that shook the bed.
“So you understand my predicament,” Bertie answered at last, then smoothed his palm along Arthur’s back to lull him back to sleep. “Now rest. You’ve certainly earned it.”
“Yes, my lord,” Arthur answered obediently and rubbed his cheek against Bertie’s shoulder as his eyes closed.
IT WAS not a surprise this time to wake up hot and naked and not entirely clean, though turning to find a sleeping dragon taking over his pillow was still jarring. Arthur must have rolled off Bertie while asleep, because Bertie was curled up on one side of the bed with his head flat on the pillow Arthur had been using.
Arthur stared for a moment longer, trying to reconcile something that looked almost like a sleeping puppy, a giant sleeping puppy, with the lover who called him “darling” and who had fucked him senseless only a few hours before, and who would probably offer to make breakfast when he woke up.
If he still wanted Arthur around, that was. Bertie had said he would, that he wasn’t like any fairy, but people said a lot of crazy things during sex while they felt good. Arthur shouldn’t take those particular words seriously, no matter how much he wanted to. He shouldn’t even be lingering in bed. This was a workday despite last night, and he had things to do. Like clean up and see to Bertie’s tea and call his sister and then finish editing the sections he hadn’t been able to focus on yesterday after reading that story.
Not that he thought he’d have much luck focusing on them today either. Not with his skin tingling, his body stretched and sore, and a weak, raw feeling hiding just beneath the surface of his thoughts. He did what he always did when the feelings were too much: he thought about work and what had to be done, and then he made himself move.
The mattress was so soft that the whole bed rocked as he slid to his feet, but Bertie’s breathing stayed even. There was no sign Arthur had disturbed him, so after a short pause, Arthur padded over to the bathroom, minding the
coins that they must have strewn farther over the floor last night, and closed the door behind him.
He didn’t take a shower despite the temptation. He didn’t think Bertie would mind, but the noise it might make left him anxious. He should wake Bertie. He knew that. He should wake him the way he wanted to, with a careful touch to the top of his head or by whispering his name, and then he’d know the second Bertie opened his eyes if Bertie still wanted him around as more than just his assistant.
Instead, he washed up in the sink and looked around until he found toothpaste to finger-brush his teeth. Then he stepped back into the bedroom to see if Bertie’s eyes were open.
They weren’t. Bertie had moved over a little into the space Arthur had occupied and wrapped one gleaming arm around another pillow that he must have dragged up from the floor, but he wasn’t awake.
Tea, Arthur thought quickly as he considered the pillow taking his place, he had to get Bertie’s tea. To do that he had to get dressed. Bertie might wander around the house naked, but Arthur wasn’t that guy. It was unfortunate that he’d left his clothes downstairs.
He hurried out and down the hall to the landing, though he knew no one else was in the house. It was colder downstairs, probably because Bertie was upstairs, but it wasn’t freezing. Arthur shivered to walk barefoot on the kitchen floor, but he set up the pot for the tea before beginning the search for his clothes.
He found his underwear and jeans crumpled on the floor by the couch and wrinkled his nose as he slipped them on. Then he grabbed his T-shirt from the table and his sweatshirt from where he left it, with his bike and helmet by the door. There was no sound coming from upstairs, so he got down onto the rug to find his socks. His shoes were easy to find, sitting side by side with his laptop, but not his socks.
“Seriously?” Arthur complained softly because his toes were chilled from the contact with the kitchen floor, and he ducked down to look underneath everything. His socks were there, balled up together as if they’d been kicked or shoved under the couch in a moment of passion, which he supposed they had been.
They were also wrapped around something flinty and black and edged. It almost cut him when he touched it, and he had a shocked moment of recognition even before he held it up to the light.
It was a scale. One of Bertie’s larger scales, the kind that came from his back. It was roughly symmetrical and see-through from certain angles, then a solid, opaque black from others. There was no blood, no trace of skin anywhere on it, though it must have come off some time last night.
Arthur remembered an uneven, dull patch of skin on Bertie’s back and immediately shoved the scale away when he realized that he must be the reason it had come off at all, the way he’d been running his hands up Bertie’s back. He left the scale on the cushion of the couch as he got up and put on his socks and then his shoes, just in case Bertie didn’t want him around this morning.
Just in case, he told himself again, and kept his eyes on the scale as he finished dressing. He had so many questions about it, like what it was made of, if it was like a rhino’s horn, and why dragons lost them at all and how long it took to grow a new one—questions he couldn’t ask if it looked like he’d been trying to pull the scale out.
He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter, not when all Bertie would have to do was open his mouth to smell Arthur’s guilt. Arthur had come here with that scale in mind and now he had it. He didn’t want it. Just looking at it made him shiver with cold, as if he’d never gotten dressed at all. That it was beautiful meant nothing, because the kind of people who sold things like that, who put a monetary value on them, wouldn’t see anything but how much it was worth.
But it was so incredibly beautiful. Arthur shook as he picked it up, feeling that same faint buzz that he had when holding a piece of stone carved by artists in Ancient Rome. Obsidian couldn’t come close to how smooth it felt, how fragile it seemed when he turned it to let the early morning light play on the surface.
“Priceless,” he said out loud, because it truly was without price, and jerked at the knock on the door. It was early, just after dawn. No one should be at the door. He turned without thinking and walked over. He could make out the shape of a man and frowned as he swung open the door.
Drew was standing opposite him, improbably wearing shorts at that time of the morning. He had his hair slicked back, but he hadn’t shaved. His stubble wasn’t nearly as attractive as Bertie’s ever-present shadow, but it made him seem rougher, slightly dangerous, and Arthur assumed it was deliberate. He was smiling too, a crooked, inviting smile, but it slipped when he saw Arthur. Then he didn’t look happy, or nearly so inviting.
Arthur returned his glare. It was too early for a delivery, even if Drew had his bicep-revealing uniform shirt on. More importantly, they hadn’t ordered any groceries for today. By which Arthur meant that he hadn’t ordered any groceries for today, because it was something else he did for Bertie now, unless Bertie decided on a last minute menu change.
He wasn’t in the mood to deal with any uninvited guest, but especially Drew, Drew with his smirks and his eyes always drifting over Arthur to look at the space behind him. He seemed surprised to find Arthur answering the door again. Maybe Ravi hadn’t mentioned Arthur was still working for Bertie. Of course, if Arthur hadn’t slept with Bertie last night, he wouldn’t have been here now for Drew to find, and that had probably been Drew’s intention.
Drew was there this early because he hadn’t expected Arthur to be there. Arthur was tired and confused, but he didn’t think Bertie had asked Drew to be here. Bertie didn’t like the way Drew smelled, he’d said so, right before telling Arthur he was free to drive away all his pests.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur barked out, not remembering until it was too late to keep his voice down. Drew recovered from his surprise quickly and took a few moments to look over Arthur again. It was a long, slow look that probably didn’t miss a thing and which made Arthur blush again despite himself.
Drew had already made it clear what he thought Arthur was doing here in Bertie’s house the first time they met, but Arthur’s appearance now only confirmed it. He’d dressed quickly, sloppily, leaving his hair the mess Bertie’s fingers had left it. His lips were dark, his eyes shadowed with a lack of sleep, and unlike Bertie, Arthur had marks at his throat that would last for days.
Drew’s smile was suddenly a lot warmer. He looked almost friendly except for the cool look in his eyes. Arthur was reminded once again that Drew looked a lot more like the paintings of knights than Arthur did. But Arthur lifted his chin and just frowned harder.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded again, clenching his hands so tightly that it hurt. Drew’s gaze skipped over him again, lingering at his side before coming back up to Arthur’s face.
“The same thing you are, I bet, only you beat me to it.” He nodded down at Arthur’s hand and Arthur followed the gesture and ended up staring at the black scale wrapped in his fist. He’d forgotten about it, but the early morning light made it seem wet.
“What?” Arthur asked blankly, with the edge in his palm like a shard of glass. It made him think of a blade and the display of short swords on the wall next to him. They were probably dull, but Arthur might like the weight in his hand. If it felt anything at all like holding Bertie’s scale, Arthur might enjoy holding a sword after all.
“The dragon,” Drew explained with a roll of his eyes. “I bet he doesn’t even know. But I got it the second after I saw you, when I saw him and how he looked at you. I guess short and skinny is his type. And now you’ve got that….” He pointed at the scale. Arthur raised it without thinking. “That’s a scale from his back, right? Did he give it to you? It’s worth more if the old lizard gave it to you freely, not that it’s worth nearly as much as his treasure. But you could probably get that too, if you’re good enough.”
Arthur shuddered as something snapped. He wasn’t sure if the sound came from inside of him or from somewhere in the air around him, but it
was the noise the ground made when it broke apart, the half-second warning most people flinched and hid from. The scale in his hand was like the jagged edge of a rock or an arrowhead, like a vorpal sword, though Arthur wasn’t out to slay any dragons.
“Shut up.” It was someone else’s voice, because it was way too calm to be Arthur’s. But the sound of it was familiar, as familiar as the heat around him and the haze over his eyes. He lowered the hand with the scale in it and let Drew look at the sharp, glistening edge of it.
“I could tell.” Drew ignored the warning because he was stupid. He was a stupid jerk, just like his sister’s ex-boyfriend, just like anybody who looked at the world and thought of what they could take from it and not what they could give it. “Nobody would be with a dragon for any other reason,” Drew started and then suddenly, abruptly, went quiet, as if he finally noticed that Arthur wasn’t agreeing with him.
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
“Treasure?” He moved forward, startling Drew into stepping back. “If you think it’s just about treasure then you really are stupid. It’s so much more than that. Gold?” He snorted and gestured with the hand holding the scale, watching the sharp edge of it and how it gleamed in the light. Drew took another step back. “Gold?” Arthur asked again, almost spitting the word. “You saw him and you thought about gold?
“He is—” Arthur briefly couldn’t find the words. “—power and beauty and knowledge and compassion and you wanted to see some jewels?” Arthur nearly tossed the scale at him out of pity. But then he remembered what someone like Drew might do with a piece of Bertie and narrowed his eyes until Drew was off the front steps.
“Leave. Leave now and don’t come back.” He took another step forward to follow, putting one foot across the threshold and for a second felt a swirling rush of warm air around him, pulling him back and pushing him forward. It made him think of Bertie and he got a sick, cold feeling in his stomach.