Dreamspinner Press Year Six Greatest Hits

by JD Ruskin

  “Would you like to come in?” Kate offered without warning, making Arthur jump. She pushed his bike back against the wall before he could respond.

  “Ah. Yes, if you don’t mind. It’s rather brisk out here.” Bertie glanced at Arthur before he stepped inside and then stopped past the threshold to look at Arthur again. His eyes had Arthur hypnotized. Bertie was waiting again, waiting for Arthur to do something. Arthur absently closed the door and then stood there, watching Bertie look around the little apartment.

  Arthur knew what he’d see: the couch that was clearly also Kate’s bed, the tiny kitchen, the lack of any other real furnishings except for the bed in the tiny bedroom, which was just visible since they’d left the door open.

  It wasn’t much warmer inside the apartment than outside. Bertie shivered again and finally looked over at Kate, but it was only for a second and then his eyes were back on Arthur.

  “Arthur,” he said again in a low enough rumble that Kate might not have heard it. Arthur looked back at him and then cleared his throat. He let his bike helmet fall to the floor.

  “Bertie.” He squared his shoulders and moved back and out of the way so Bertie could come forward. Then he turned to look at Kate, who looked at him like she’d never seen him before. It made him feel warm, as if there was something different about him now that Kate could see and that she liked.

  There wasn’t anything Arthur wouldn’t do to keep her happy, no matter how much it might terrify him. He swung his gaze back to Bertie.

  “Bertie.” The name was soft in his mouth, but Arthur could hear the weight in his words that said he was offering up his treasure. Kate might not understand it, but he knew Bertie would. “Bertie, this is my sister, Kate.” Bertie must have heard and understood, because his expression brightened with interest as Arthur went on and said the rest. His hands, his pockets, his mouth, all felt empty without Bertie there. He shivered. “Kate, this is Dr. Philbert Jones.”

  “Please, call me Bertie,” Bertie told Kate and took his eyes off Arthur again to study her. Arthur kept his gaze right where it was, watching the wicked grin grow wider when Kate hesitated but then extended her hand for a handshake. Bertie looked over her messy, pillow-styled blonde hair, stared for a moment longer into her blue eyes, and then dropped the grin for a real smile. He didn’t lick his lips, but he did inhale. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to meet you.”

  Kate didn’t say anything to that, not even to agree to call him Bertie, but when the handshake was over she stood there for another second to frown at him. If anything, that only made Bertie seem more pleased.

  “Arthur wouldn’t steal anything.” If Kate was afraid of the fire-breathing creature in front of her, Arthur couldn’t see it. He didn’t know if Bertie could, because Bertie wasn’t looking at him. He inclined his head at Kate, the way he had when Arthur first met him and promised to work hard for him.

  “Have you tried telling Arthur that?” Bertie asked Kate seriously, though his attention was on Arthur. Arthur flinched and scowled at him.

  “I wouldn’t,” Arthur insisted again, finding his voice at least. Bertie’s smile drifted away.

  “I know, pet.” He didn’t seem to see Kate’s lips part at the nickname. “You wouldn’t, and you wouldn’t need to in any case.”

  “What do you mean?” Arthur’s heart was racing. He had yelled at Bertie that he hadn’t intended to steal the scale and Bertie had implied that he’d known that all along. Now Bertie was telling him something that would probably make perfect sense to a dragon and no one else.

  For the first time in a few minutes, Bertie licked his lips and looked hesitant. He held out his hand and offered it, palm up, to Arthur. “Why would you steal what I would give you?” He spoke formally but rolled his shoulders in an uncertain gesture and Arthur’s eyes wandered over his shoulders, thinking of his back, of the dozens of large scales and the one that was missing, and if that was true.

  Arthur shook his head. “I don’t want one of your scales. Not that one, not any of them.” Another thought occurred to him and he put a hand to his stomach. “Don’t,” he ordered fiercely. “Don’t pull one out for me either.” Just the idea of Bertie ripping out a scale for any reason made him sick. He shook his head again. “Even if it doesn’t hurt”—though somehow he was sure it did—“don’t. I would never ask you to.”

  “It’s little more than a fingernail clipping, Arthur,” Bertie remarked, his voice low and rich with something he wasn’t saying. Arthur snorted, because he doubted that losing a scale was anything at all like clipping a fingernail, but then Bertie blinked and didn’t say anything else and Arthur realized he was still waiting. Waiting for something, some reaction from Arthur that Arthur couldn’t say now.

  He looked over at Kate, who had a strange expression on her face, as if she didn’t know what to make of any of that. But she finally shut her mouth and stared back at him. Her cheeks were slightly pink, her expression a little flustered.

  “I’m going to make breakfast, but I am going to shower and get dressed first,” she announced, loud enough to bring Bertie’s eyes back to her. Then she crossed her arms over her chest in a vaguely self-conscious move before she stepped back and hurried out of the room.

  “I really shouldn’t be so surprised, but you continually surprise me, Arthur,” Bertie whispered once she was gone. “She’s another pearl, isn’t she?”

  “Yes,” Arthur answered without thinking, then realized Bertie was referring to him. After this morning, Arthur was still his pearl. He stopped and looked up. This close and without Bertie’s interest aroused by everything he was smelling, Arthur could see the brown in Bertie’s eyes and it made him look more human. But he wasn’t, and Arthur needed to make sure they understood each other. All the things Bertie kept saying, if Bertie meant them, then Arthur should speak to him the same way.

  He shifted and watched Bertie watch him. “But she’s mine.”

  It got him a nod, as though that was only natural. “Then we should take good care of her, shouldn’t we?” Bertie agreed easily. Arthur nodded back at him, though his thinking was getting slow and his legs were getting wobbly. They would take good care of her, because Kate was Arthur’s treasure, and that was what one did with treasure. Treasure was held and cared for and protected.

  Arthur swallowed. He was grateful Kate had left the room so she wouldn’t see him like this. He always felt different around Bertie, but this weak feeling was new. He hadn’t felt this naked when he actually was naked. He bumped into the wall and realized he’d taken a small step backward.

  “I thought you wanted me to leave,” he said, because he had to say something. “The house… I felt it move.”

  “Arthur. Darling. My house and any magic in it do what I want, and when have I ever wanted you to leave?” Bertie took a second to obviously compose himself and answer patiently. It made Arthur feel pretty brainless, but then, he deserved it. He’d had his clothes and shoes on and Bertie had come downstairs and must have thought Arthur had been sneaking away. Then Drew showed up, angling for treasure, and Arthur kicked him out and afterward Arthur started babbling about stealing from him and then….

  And then Arthur had practically told Bertie that he loved him and run out the door. Perfect. When he failed a test, he failed spectacularly. He shut his eyes for a moment and then took a breath and opened them again.

  “Never?” he guessed carefully, though he knew the answer. He had a feeling the house had been trying to keep him, that Bertie had been so upset the shaking had just happened, an uncontrollable reaction to Bertie thinking Arthur was leaving. He shook his head just in case Bertie thought he might still leave. He wouldn’t, not ever.

  “Never.” Bertie agreed with another nod, then paused. “Well, perhaps in the beginning, when I thought you were delicious, but let’s just say I had no greater designs on you than perhaps someday getting you naked on my couch. Then, perhaps, I wouldn’t have begged you to stay quite as much as I would now, but in
my defense, it didn’t take me very long to see how special you are, Arthur.”

  “Special?” Arthur couldn’t breathe, couldn’t focus. “Begged?” he repeated blankly. Bertie had asked, but Arthur hadn’t thought of it as begging. Then again, this was a dragon, an aristocratic dragon, as Bertie had often pointed out. Maybe asking that much was begging to him. If Arthur hadn’t been so scared, Bertie would never have had to ask at all.

  Bertie made a sound of frustration, a small growl, not quite a roar. Arthur’s knees went weak. He leaned into the wall, but it didn’t do much good, so he put his head back. Bertie took a step closer and Arthur abruptly hated the jacket he’d thrown on earlier because he was so hot. He shrugged it off without caring where it landed. Bertie’s eyebrows went up.

  “I’m sorry,” Arthur apologized in a dazed whisper, though there was a small smile at the corner of Bertie’s mouth now, and he was in Arthur’s space and studying him intently. The raised eyebrows made him look imperious, and he must have had a cigarette in the car because he smelled like sharp, potent herbs.

  “Arthur,” Bertie began, probably wanting to know what Arthur was apologizing for, but his voice was a heavenly rumble just above Arthur’s ear. Arthur, as he had since the beginning, nearly fell to his knees and only didn’t because Bertie was too close now and he couldn’t.

  He wanted to beg Bertie to let him stay, not that he had to. He was free to stay. Bertie had begged him, and though that made no sense, Arthur wasn’t going to argue it. But the fact that Bertie had begged, had done it for Arthur’s sake, made him apologize again.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Grovelly was the word Bertie had used once, and Arthur made a vague note to himself to let Bertie use it whenever he wanted; the publisher could deal with it if it wasn’t a real word. It felt real enough to him. He’d do anything to make it up to Bertie, anything at all to make him happy. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I shouldn’t have left. I’m sorry.”

  “Forgiven.” Bertie growled it as if he needed Arthur to know he meant it. Then he smiled and moved; his hands hovered over Arthur’s ribs. “But the rest of what you said, Arthur. The rest of it. That’s what I need to hear. Please. I have been waiting for so long, wanting for so long, since you looked at my possessions and saw the worth and not the cost. You don’t know, Arthur, the things I want to do to you, how I would keep and protect you, how it burns to watch you leave. But if you wanted to leave, I would not stop you.”

  Arthur tried to think of those words as a dragon would hear them and not a small, skinny human. He wanted to ask what things Bertie would do to him, but there were already marks at his wrists—enough of a hint—and anyway his sister was around and he knew that if Bertie started to tell him, Arthur might want to do them. So he gave a small shake of his head and stayed where he was.

  They touched, through Arthur’s T-shirt at first, and then Arthur shifted to make it ride up and to feel Bertie’s hands on his bare skin. But they stayed still and Arthur lifted his chin just as Bertie pulled back to look at him.

  “Would you really like to be mine, Arthur?”

  Arthur couldn’t tell which of them was shaking. He thought maybe they both were, though Bertie might be hiding it better. Arthur’s chest was so tight he sucked in a deep breath. There was a safer answer than the one he could give.

  “If you want me.” That was what he could say. But Bertie wasn’t looking away and there was something unsteady and weak in his voice and his hands were holding onto Arthur as if he was scared Arthur would run away again, the way Arthur already had more than once.

  Arthur curled his hands and leveled his gaze to Bertie’s. “Yes.”

  For one long moment Arthur’s pulse was loud in his ears, almost as loud as the noise of the shower and the barely suppressed roar from Bertie who pushed forward to crush Arthur against the wall. Arthur shivered at the change in temperature but couldn’t make himself mind anything else, not with hot lips at his ear.

  “My boy.” Satisfaction deepened Bertie’s voice, made it rough, and it hit Arthur somewhere primal. He shut his eyes and didn’t protest when Bertie, not quite human Bertie, pressed him to the wall. His voice was bestial. “Then I would hear you say it, Arthur.”

  “Say it?” Arthur swallowed and opened his eyes, confused only for the second until he saw the depths of darkness in Bertie’s eyes. He tilted his head up so their mouths were close. “I’m….” It was unexpectedly difficult. “I’m your treasure.”

  Bertie’s lips brushed his. The growl was slow and aroused and Arthur tried to remember his sister was nearby so he could control himself. Bertie had other ideas, sliding one hand down his chest. “Again, pet,” he ordered without looking away.

  Arthur shivered. “I’m your treasure.” It was easier this time, easy to imagine saying it with Bertie inside of him again, easy to want to say it. “I’m your treasure.”

  Bertie’s kiss was hard and wet and starving. Arthur took handfuls of his hair to make it last longer.

  “Are you sure?” Arthur asked him a few minutes later, his lips fat and buzzing and wet from Bertie’s kisses. Bertie’s hands were achingly slow under Arthur’s shirt, tracing over his ribs to leave the skin flushed and warm before wandering away to leave Arthur panting.

  “Very sure,” Bertie affirmed, scraping his teeth along Arthur’s jaw, petting down Arthur’s stomach to the light trail of hair. When Arthur shifted forward, Bertie took his hands away, and Arthur couldn’t even frown.

  Arthur felt like he was coming apart. Breaking apart, he realized, over his loud, pounding heartbeat, but Bertie kissed him again slowly, and he didn’t go anywhere.

  Kate couldn’t take that long of a shower, Arthur thought, but distantly, and then couldn’t hold back a moan. It was just Bertie’s mouth and that voice, slow and intense and constant, as though he had all the time in the world when he didn’t, he couldn’t.

  Or maybe he did, because Arthur had said he wanted to be his. His boy, or his pet, his everything. That’s what dragons did, what Bertie did: they devoured everything.

  “Your pearl?” he asked, breathing raggedly at the build of heat.

  “Pearl,” Bertie exhaled over Arthur’s cheek before kissing him again. He murmured against Arthur’s lips and groaned quietly when Arthur parted them and pushed up for more.

  Arthur hadn’t expected Bertie to be trembling too, or to be breathing just as hard as he was when he finally, really pulled back.

  Bertie’s eyes went all black, the pupils swallowing up the brown as he watched Arthur dart out his tongue for more.

  Arthur could still hear the shower, but he doubted Kate was in it. She probably just wanted the noise. Later, when he could think again, he was going to be embarrassed about that. He was also going to blame Bertie.

  “Kate is going to make breakfast,” Arthur remarked as he extracted a hand from Bertie’s hair and slid it down to Bertie’s chest. Bertie made a soft, grateful sound and nodded to encourage him. “You could stay, if you want….” Arthur glanced down and then back up. “For a little longer?” he finished quietly, joking and pleading at the same time. Bertie’s grin was sharp and his stare pinned Arthur to the spot. Arthur couldn’t move, but then, he didn’t want to, not for a long, long time.

  Bertie must have had the same idea, or read his mind and his scent, because he wet his bottom lip and then leaned in to whisper his answer into Arthur’s ear.

  “As long as you like, darling,” he promised, and he was so hot he might as well have been breathing fire. Arthur slid his hands to Bertie’s back and held him close.

  “Yes, love,” Arthur whispered back so Bertie wouldn’t hear and pressed in closer to let the fire take him.

  FACTS ABOUT DRAGONS:

  1. They have existed since before the first written human records in almost every human culture.

  2. They “came out” around the turn of the last century when the other magical Beings started to emerge from hiding both during and after the First World War, thoug
h many did not come into public view until the mass exodus of Beings from the countries torn by war and strife during the Second World War. This includes Russia, China, Northern Africa, the islands of the Pacific, and most of Europe.

  3. Like fairies, they are said to possess powerful magic.

  4. Because of their rumored hoarding of treasure, many who don’t know dragons value them only for the perceived financial gain to be found in taking advantage of, or even killing, a dragon.

  5. They often but not always give their children powerful names.

  6. They can and will intermingle with humans or other Beings, up to and including sex, marriage, and children.

  7. They often have a “type” when it comes to human lovers (“Bold of purpose, fair of face, pure of heart.” “Pure of body” entirely optional, though often preferred.)

  8. Like werewolves and other weres, dragons can shift form at will.

  9. They can definitely breathe fire.

  10. They like stories of all kinds.

  11. They are protective and possessive about their treasure.

  12. They define treasure as anything that they love, and love deeply.

  13. They long for someone that feels the same way.

  14. They are pretty fond of back rubs.

  R. COOPER has been making up stories since she was a wee R. Cooper. She has a weakness for strong-minded characters doing unspeakably hot things to each other and thinks margaritas are perfectly lovely. If she listed all of her turn-ons, it would take up this whole bio, but they include smart people, tailored suits with serious ties, shoulder holsters, funny people, sacrifices made for love, power struggles, the walking wounded, bravery, and good old-fashioned shameless sluts.

  She also can be found frequently crying over pretty actors on her Tumblr. She’d question her life choices more, but every time she tries, she gets distracted by all the shiny love stories begging to be written. Mostly she just wants people to be happy. And pie. Pie is great.