A Courtship of Dragons: Part 40

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.

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And a very sleepy update *yawns*

40
Surrender

MASTEKH WAS SO tired. Six days of sitting around boring meetings, taking notes, fetching meals and doing nothing, followed by whole evenings of standing around, serving food, waiting for the next course and doing even more nothing, should not have been so exhausting – yet it was. This wasn’t the first time he’d been through meetings like this, but it was the first time he had somewhere else he would far rather be: anywhere else with Estenarven.

Sighing as he entered Elder Blazeborn’s suite, Mastekh rested a hand over the pocket by his hip. There they were – two wooden figures and one shell. At first he’d wanted to stage his own candlelit dinner for Estenarven before presenting him with his sixth gift, but over the last few days his ambitions had been steadily whittled down. Any spare moment in which they could be alone together, breathe for a space and exchange gifts would do. Yet even that seemed too much to ask.

Elder Blazeborn had tried to take pity on them by only taking one each day to the meetings, but Mastekh and Estenarven were stubborn and refused to be shown up before the other aides. Besides if Estenarven was busy, Mastekh had no interest in being left behind.

So he’d made a decision. Since it looked increasingly like they would never be allowed a moment alone again – at least not for the foreseeable future – Mastekh was going to give Estenarven his sixth gift anyway. Which was why he’d hurried back to the suite this evening, aiming to arrive before anyone else and before his exhaustion overtook him and landed him face down in his bed.

With the help of the dracos, he’d slipped away after the last course had been served and now here he was, alone in Elder Blazeborn’s suite, moving through the shadows until he reached Estenarven’s room.

He’d never been inside before. Estenarven had invited him, of course, but Mastekh had wanted to build up to the big moment. When he slept with Estenarven properly for the first time – their naps on the suite floor and by the waterfall didn’t count, since they’d been in different forms at the time – Mastekh wanted it to be special. He wanted candlelight and wine and romance and…

He rubbed his eyes, unable to remember what else he’d wanted and why it had to be so important. Nerves, most likely. He was too tired for nerves tonight and pushed open the door to Estenarven’s room.

It didn’t look all that different to his own, unsurprisingly. Narrow and gloomy with a stone bed. Estenarven had a big travel chest tucked underneath it and a pile of blankets disarranged on top. Sibling Water, they looked comfortable.

Yawning, Mastekh reached into his pocket and pulled out the two wooden figures. It was too dark to see them clearly so he rubbed his thumbs over them, trying to work out which one was battle-scarred and old and which was just roughly made. Tricky.

While he tried to sort it out, he climbed onto the bed, intending to leave the gift on Estenarven’s pillow, but his foot caught on the hem of his robe and he slipped, landing face down in the blankets.

Dust and musk and Estenarven.

By the Family, those blankets really were comfortable.

“No,” he told himself, struggling up onto all-fours and shaking his head. He had a task to do. Leave his gift for Estenarven.

On the pillow.

Now.

He reached out in the dark, fumbling for the pillow. Then he paused, sinking down until he was on his knees and elbows, a figure clasped in each hand. Which one was it again? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t see. He could barely think.

His eyes kept closing, they felt so heavy. He couldn’t even remember why he was bothering to keep them open. Why was he fighting? He couldn’t remember.

So soft. The blankets. It wouldn’t matter if he just lay down for a while, surely? No one would object.

Snuggling into the folds, he yawned again and curled up, the wooden figures clasped in his hands. Then he surrendered to the undertow and let sleep sweep him away.

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