A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.
|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||
Sorry again! Wednesday’s are just crazy busy right now – well, every day is. I promise to have next week on time.
In the meantime, anyone for dinner?
33
Dinner
MASTEKH’S WIDE EYES shone as he drank Estenarven in before turning to stare at the table in the centre of the suite. There had been a moment or two when Estenarven had worried that it was all too much. Not the meal, because that was his handmade gift, but the dripping candles – a most impractical human invention, far too fiddly for his bulky Boulderforce hands, but thankfully Elder Blazeborn had still been around to help set them up – the table cloth, the fine china and his own courtly outfit.
One look at Mastekh’s face as he took it all in, however, was enough to reassure him. No, not too much. It was perfect. All of it, perfect.
Well, apart from the food.
Trying not to grimace and give the wrong impression, he strode across the suite to offer his elbow and escort Mastekh to the table, where he seated him and poured a large glass of wine. His Rainstorm would need it to choke down the food.
“Would my lord care to serve himself or be served?”
Mastekh opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, overwhelmed by the occasion, so Estenarven took pity on him and served him himself. Which was what he’d hoped to do anyway. This way he could pick out the best of the vegetables and the better cooked pieces of venison.
Which he swiftly did and placed it before his Rainstorm with a theatrical flourish.
“Enjoy.”
“You d-did this?” Mastekh murmured, staring down at his plate as if he’d never seen food before. “All of th-th-this?” He looked around the room, eyes slightly glazed as he returned to scan Estenarven’s face once more.
Unable to resist preening just a little under the attention, Estenarven turned side on and bent a little lower than necessary to fill his own plate, aware of how the breeches tightened in all the right places.
Mastekh whimpered.
Smiling, Estenarven carried his plate to his own seat, flicked out the tails of his coat and sat down. “I made the meal, at least, with my own two hands.”
“Esten,” his Puddle whispered, clearly overcome that someone had gone to so much effort for him.
“Don’t thank me yet, not until you’ve tried some of it.” So saying, he picked up his cutlery and sawed at his venison. Hmm, not as terrible as he’d feared. A little chewy, perhaps, and rather overdone, but manageable.
“I…”
Putting down his knife, Estenarven reached across the narrow table and squeezed Mastekh’s hand gently. “It’s only food, Puddle. You bake for Elder Blazeborn and me all the time. I thought it was time to return the flavour, but it turns out that I’m no good at sweet and fiddly things. So I cooked you a roast. The dracos helped.”
Mastekh turned his hand beneath Estenarven’s and raised it to his mouth for a kiss. “You’re w-w-wonderful.”
“Say that again after you’ve chewed your way through this mess. If neither of us ends up poisoned, I’ll gladly claim the victory.”
Mastekh’s smile was tender as he ducked his head and cut into a carrot. Then he proceeded to clear not just his plate but a second and third helping too, despite never having had a particularly large appetite.
Which in Estenarven’s eyes was a greater show of love than anything he’d prepared that evening. And left him almost as starry-eyed as his Rainstorm as they finished off the wine, gazing happily at each other in the candlelight.
He could almost hear Jesral gagging at the pair of them and their soppy ways, but Estenarven smiled and didn’t care a bit. Because his fifth gift had been received.
Only two more to go and Mastekh would be his.
“Happy fifth gift,” he said again, weaving his fingers between Mastekh’s and stroking the pads.
“Oh!” Mastekh leapt up and dashed away before Estenarven could register he was even moving. But before he could grow too alarmed, Mastekh was back, a glass dome cradled in his arms.
“Happy fifth g-g-gift, P-pebble,” he murmured, placing the dome in front of Estenarven and backing slowly away.
Then it was Estenarven’s turn to be overwhelmed and speechless as he gazed down at what Mastekh had found for him.
More next week. On Wednesday.
I mean it!
(I’m scheduling it right now to make sure.)
Take care, my lovelies.
Becca Lusher 
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