Category: Free Fiction

Free Fiction, Overworld, Writing

Mountain Blossom: Part 2

Becca Lusher

overworld-short-stories

This is a free short story featuring characters from the Wingborn series.
For more stories and info about the novels, please head here.

|| Part One ||

Milli and Bumble make the most of the fine spring morning.

 

THE DAY WAS beautifully fair, and Milluqua thought there might even have been a hint of summer in the air. From the heights of the noble district, she looked down over Nimbys, with its honey-gold buildings and hidden shadows. Contrasted with the granite grey and bronze of the mountainside, only just sprouting with the first hints of green, Nimbys shone like a jewel. And beyond, the world was all white and blue. The Cloud Sea was luminous today and it hurt her tired eyes to look at it.

Determined only to think of pleasant, wide awake things, Milluqua turned away from the city and headed deeper up the valley. Bumble strained at the lead, eager to go wherever they were going, as long as they went fast. Faster. Or over there. No, here. Here. Wait! Smells! It was a jerky, halting walk as Milluqua passed the dozing mansions of the rich and the noble, until they finally stepped away from the cobbles and onto the dirt path leading to the high meadows.

Once she reached the narrow woodland, filled with oak and birches designed to prevent the pastureland beyond from offending the eyes of the nobles, Milluqua untied Bumble’s lead and let her loose. Yipping with glee, the pup galloped off, nose to the ground, searching for squirrels and voles. Despite her pristine appearance, there was nothing more attractive to Bumble than mud. Milluqua had lost count of the times she’d scolded the pup for wallowing in puddles or rolling in fox sprays.

Even with the constant distraction of the pup – rooting through the undergrowth, growling at nettle patches, chasing squirrels up trees, eating doelyn droppings – Milluqua took time to enjoy the beauty of the woods. Buds sprinkled the oak branches, while catkins already draped the birches and showered the air with yellow pollen. Insects buzzed in the undergrowth and birds whistled in the trees. She glimpsed a nuthatch and had the pleasure of seeing it hop down a tree right in front of her.

Perfectly content with her lot, Milluqua called Bumble to heel as they reached the edge of the trees. Surprisingly obedient for so boisterous a pup, the nakhound trotted up, wafting her smell before her.

“Urgh, it’ll be the mews and a bath for you, my girl, before you come anywhere near my room again.”

Please with herself, Bumble huffed, her pink and black tongue bobbing as she panted.

“Glad we understand one another.” Smiling despite herself, Milluqua walked out of the shadowy wood into the bright sunshine. The gentle slope of the pastures rolled out in front of her, dotted here and there with horsats and doelyn, placidly grazing with only the occasional flick of a tail revealing any possible discontent.

Bumble lifted her head and pricked her ears at the nearest horsat, but a murmured “leave” was enough to keep her at Milluqua’s heels. Which was a relief, since it would be undignified to run headlong through the pastures, hollering at the top of her voice. It had happened once or twice, but since Bumble had attempted to nip a bullwing and earned a hoof in the ribs for her trouble, she’d lost her taste for chasing big animals. Squirrels, rabbits and voles were more her kind of thing these days.

As Milluqua and Bumble hiked up the increasing slope, she waved at a young messenger fetching in his horsat, looking exceedingly smart in his uniform.

“Morning, milady.”

She smiled back. “Going far?”

“Off to Tipfirth,” he replied, grinning at the chance to fly over a thousand leagues to the end of Imercian. She hoped his message was worth it.

“Fast winds and clear skies,” she wished him, but the boy had already caught his mount and was returning to the stables, eager to be away. She watched him go, wondering just what the appeal of flying was. Not even in her childhood at Wrentheria, the greatest feather-winged breeders in the Overworld, had she understood why so many people risked so much to become airborne.

“Give me solid ground any day of the moon,” she told Bumble, who, unsurprisingly, wasn’t listening.

A horsat snorted nearby, the source of Bumble’s distraction. It cropped another mouthful of grass, then raised its head, staring at Milluqua and the dog. One of its big, bat-like ears pointed towards them, while the other swivelled warily behind. It twitched, leathery wings half-opening before resettling on its back. It was a sweet looking chestnut, but Milluqua didn’t like the way it watched Bumble, so she patted her thigh for the dog’s attention and hurried along.

At the top of the field, a second pasture flattened out. Not so big as the first, but not so awkward either, even if it was littered with rocks. Here was the bullwing herds spent each night before being taken to work at the docks or in the quarries during the day. Big, muscular and stupid, the females were docile and easily led, but the males could be a handful. Especially the bulls. Pausing at the fence, Milluqua scanned the grassland. Seeing only females and calves grazing, she opened the gate and carried on.

Her ultimate goal was the scrubland above the pastures, where the grass was fit only for sheep and goats. The ground was covered with rough grass punctuated by tenacious thorn trees and gorse clumps, the perfect playground for young rabbits to scamper about. It was Bumble’s favourite place to visit, and though it took some effort to reach, once they arrived Milluqua need do nothing more than sit back and watch while the pup wore herself out.

There was nothing in sight when Milluqua climbed a small slope to her favourite rock, but Bumble yipped and ran off anyway, soon sending rabbits fleeing down the mountainside. A shower of pebbles and dust rattled in the nakhound’s wake, but otherwise the spot was peaceful, undisturbed and beautiful.

Milluqua took off her pelisse, spread it over a nice, flat boulder and lay on her back, staring up at the sky. Wispy cirrus clouds were all there was to be seen and she folded her hands across her midriff as she watched them drift slowly apart, fading into nothingness under the warm sun.

|| Part Three ||

Thanks for reading!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Writing

Mountain Blossom: Part 1

Becca Lusher

overworld-short-stories

This is a free short story featuring characters from the Wingborn series.
For more stories and info about the novels, please head here.

To while away the wait before Book 3, I thought I’d share a tale or two featuring less well known characters in the Overworld. This three part short story takes place during Wingborn, when Mhysra and co are still in Nimbys at the Selection School, preparing for life in the Riders.

It’s a day-in-the-life look at what Milluqua and Bumble get up to while Mhysra’s at school. There’s also a hint of romance, but you’ll have to wait until later for that to turn up.

For now, Lady Milluqua is attempting to mind her own business while a very lively puppy demands attention at foolish o’clock.

Mountain Blossom

23rd Thaw, 785 CE

THERE COULD BE no surer sign of sisterly affection than to sacrifice one’s sleep to promote the interests of a younger sibling. Or so Lady Milluqua Kilpapan believed one fine spring morning as a cold nose burrowed under the covers at the bottom of her bed. It slithered across her toes, making them clench, before a warm, slimy tongue licked her heel.

“Bumble!” Milluqua shrieked, dragging her knees up to her chest and pulling her feet out of reach.

This, of course, was the best game ever invented – in Bumble’s opinion – and the dog dived under the blankets to give chase.

After much tussling, growling, yips and yelps – and that was just Milluqua – the pup was finally ejected from the bed, the blankets were straightened and the majority of the pillow feathers were brushed onto the floor. Sprawled across her disrupted bed, Milluqua stared at the ceiling, while the nakhound pup clambered back up to lie by her side.

“The things I do for my sister,” Milluqua grumbled, and tilted her head towards the dog.

A remnant of old hunting breeds from the days before the Cloud Curse fell, nakhounds were long-legged, far-sighted, slender beasts. The kind that once might have hunted deer or wolves, who could lollop through snow or briars without feeling a thing. Intelligent, in their way, and quick to train, they were a credit to centuries of human tampering.

Added to all this was a hint of dragon work, which accounted for the fluffy wings. Nakhounds were the last gift the dragons had given to humans before they hid themselves behind the roiling barriers of the Stormsurge and Stormwash. Just like their long-lost ancestors, nakhounds were designed with one prey in mind: the kaz-naghkt. And, as with all dragongifts, what one saw in a nakhound was not always what one got.

Rolling onto her side, Milluqua tickled Bumble’s silky white belly, tracing the black stripes that covered her lower ribs. She was a pretty thing, from her black-barred wings to the pink spots on her nose. Her face was covered in a black mask that spread to her ears, broken by a finger-width of white that started in the centre of her forehead and gradually widened as it swept back over her head and flowed down her neck. Still only a pup, her wings were more fluff than feathers, but it wouldn’t be long before she could fly.

Thoroughly enjoying the attention, Bumble wriggled onto her back, wagged her fringed tail and waved a white paw. Milluqua rolled her eyes and shook it. “You are shameless.”

Bumble sneezed and rolled to her side.

“Good idea,” Milluqua agreed, and shoved the dog off the bed. In the past she might have made the mistake of trying to go back to sleep. However, after four months of this routine, she’d learned not to bother. The moment she put her head down, Bumble would pounce and lick her nose. If that didn’t achieve the desired result – namely, an eager playmate – she would lie on Milluqua’s chest and rest her cold nose under her chin. And stay there. In fact, once settled, she was impossible to move.

Not keen on being flattened that morning, Milluqua got out of bed in a shower of pillow feathers and headed for her dressing room. Once upon a time, she never rose before midday. A society favourite, Lady Milluqua Kilpapan was on the guest list of every family of note and there was rarely an evening that she spent at home. It was not uncommon for her to dance long into the night and return home early the next morning. Many a summer sunrise had been viewed before she had even been to bed.

Not that much had changed on that side of things, but thanks to Bumble she could no longer sleep the day away. Instead she had to get up and go out.

It wasn’t that Bumble was a demanding or fussy dog – she never minded the destination, for example – she was just a puppy and puppies liked to play. Since Kilpapan House was a grand place, full of precious items precariously placed on tables and stands, Milluqua had quickly learnt that playing was much kinder on the nerves – and the purse – if one did it outside.

Using the bowl of warm water in her dressing room, placed there by the servants the moment Mhysra left for the selection school each morning, Milluqua tried to convince herself she was in fact awake. It was a trick she had been attempting to perfect for months, but as yet hadn’t quite mastered.

Before she even had time to ring the bell, her maid arrived. “Morning, my lady,” Jayli greeted, bobbing a curtsey on her way to the wardrobe. “Where will you be walking today?”

Peering at her reflection, Milluqua prodded the unsightly bags beneath her eyes and covered them with a cool cloth. “I’ve not yet decided. Nowhere too busy. My head still rings from the Hemington’s last night. They had the worst quartet I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”

Jayli chuckled from the depths of the wardrobe. “I heard that her ladyship always wanted her daughters to play well. Claimed it would save on expenses at balls.”

“Shame none of them can play worth a pin,” Milluqua sighed, taking the cloth from her eyes and wrinkling her nose at the mirror. “And it is a shame, for they’re good girls, though the youngest is still so very young. Eleven, I believe.” She shook her head at the pale fawn walking costume Jayli was holding up. “Poor girls, to be exposed to such experiences and ridicule. Their mother does them no favours. Nothing too pale, Jayli. The sun may be shining, but it’s still spring and you know what Bumble is like.”

Sighing with disappointment, Jayli put away the light green muslin with the white silk ribbons and didn’t even bother to offer up the buttercup yellow. Once the maid had spent the entire morning picking out her mistress’ clothes for the day, making her the most beautiful woman in the city. Then, while Milluqua paid the requisite calls, or received her own flood of visitors, Jayli would press gowns and prepare a selection for the evening ahead. Now Milluqua picked out whichever dress was most practical, most comfortable or best at hiding stains and left without a second thought. It was then up to the maid to repair rents and snags, remove mud, dust and sleet, and sigh over the beautiful gowns that had been ignored.

Milluqua saw all of this as her maid pulled out a deep violet walking dress that had long been one of her favourites. Jayli thought it dull, but the insets around the overfull skirt were lined with indigo, which flashed when she walked. It was also perfectly comfortable, not to mention two years out of date, making it perfect for taking Bumble outside. Over the top she pulled her oldest, most serviceable brown pelisse and added a lovely brown cap to hold back her hair. All that remained were her matching violet-dyed doelyn leather gloves and she was ready.

Jayli sighed unhappily as her mistress called for Bumble and attached her lead to her collar.

Shaking her head, Milluqua smiled at her maid. “Just a few months more, Jayli, then all shall be as it once was. My new gowns from Beaulei should arrive today and I should like to wear the silver tonight, if you would be so good.”

Cheered up by the prospect of new clothes to care for, Jayli bobbed a merry curtsey. “Of course, my lady. Enjoy your walk.”

“I shall try,” Milluqua replied wryly, with more hope than expectation, and left.

|| Part Two ||

Thanks for reading!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 14

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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 || Last Part ||

In which Mastekh receives a gift – and panics.

14
Sleeper Awakes

SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT. Mastekh lay in bed, staring muzzily at the murky light coming through his narrow window and tried to work it out. He didn’t remember going to bed. In fact, the last thing he remembered was…

His eyes shot open and he sat upright, clutching the cover to his chest.

Estenarven. He had fallen asleep in Estenarven’s arms. On Estenarven’s chest. True, one of them had been in vast dragon form while the other had been a puny, watery human, but still – he had slept with Estenarven.

Groaning, Mastekh slumped flat on his back and stared at the ceiling. He’d slept with Estenarven and he couldn’t even remember it. Although, he supposed, at least this way he was saved the embarrassment of waking up and having nothing to say.

He snorted derisively at himself. As if he ever had anything to say. Grimacing, he lowered his eyes to the window again, beyond which a storm was once more raging, and smiled at the daisy.

The first courting gift, something pretty and insubstantial, designed to show interest.

Or, perhaps, just a sweet little daisy that Estenarven had found and thought Mastekh might like. It might not have been a courtship gift at all, for all that Mastekh had intended his return gift of rock cakes to be one.

How could one tell? Mastekh could hardly march up to Estenarven and ask. He hadn’t even been able to thank him properly. He’d just made rock cakes.

One gift, however sweet and thoughtful did not a courtship make.

Feeling deflated, Mastekh sat up and wriggled down the bed towards the windowsill. And frowned.

Something was different. He had sensed it when he woke, now he was certain of it. Something had changed inside the room – but what?

He reached out to stroke the delicate petals of his daisy and flinched as a flash of lightning lit the room. A shimmer of green caught his attention and he finally realised what had changed.

The stone bowl that had previously held his daisy was gone.

His hands shook ever so slightly as he reached for what had replaced it. Cool to the touch, smooth and pale green – as revealed by another timely flash of lightning – a small jade pot now took care of his daisy. It was simple, plain, polished but uncarved, and utterly perfect.

The second gift, something solid and permanent, to show long lasting intent.

Mastekh cradled the pretty jade piece and its straggly daisy against his chest, closing his eyes and bowing his head over them. Two gifts. Two courting gifts. Estenarven was serious. He was courting him.

A deep breath shuddered out him, full of relief and gratitude. Estenarven wanted him, he truly did. He thought he was worthy enough to court. By the Family, Mastekh had never expected such a thing, but from Estenarven of all dragons…

“Oh n-n-no.”

Mastekh’s eyes flew open and he clenched his hands around his prize. His second gift.

Now it was his turn.

He jerked his head around the tiny room he’d been given, looking over his meagre belongings, trying to think of something, anything that he could give in return. Something solid, something permanent. Sibling Water, what in the Overworld did a Rainstorm have to give to a Boulderforce?

Panic built up inside Mastekh’s chest, his breath growing shallow and fast. He needed a second gift, he needed it fast. He had a day to respond or Estenarven would think he wasn’t interested.

But he was. By the Family, he truly was.

Yet what to give him? What did anyone give a Stoneheart that was permanent and solid? They already were the epitome of such things – what could Mastekh possibly give him that he didn’t already have?

Think, think, he ordered, putting his precious jade present back on the windowsill in order to ball his hands into fists and thump himself on the head. There had to be something he could come up with, something that would show his own intent, while also being unexpected and a bit of a surprise.

He could always take the easy way out and find a pebble or something boring like that. It would be symbolic, if nothing else, but it wasn’t what Mastekh wanted. Estenarven’s jade pot showed thought and caring. It was green, like Mastekh, slightly translucent like water, and practical enough to support his first gift. It wasn’t an obvious, easy gift. It had meaning above and beyond the usual symbolism. Mastekh could offer up nothing less in return, not if he wanted this courtship to be equal.

So he needed to think.

His first gift had been rock cakes, because Estenarven was always hungry and he had a sweet tooth that most Stonehearts didn’t. It had shown that Mastekh knew him and cared about him and what he liked.

Now he had to find a small, permanent symbol of that.

As he sat there, alternately tapping his fingers against his mouth and thumping himself on the forehead, thinking about rock cakes and more permanent alternatives, Mastekh’s belly let out a loud, ferocious growl. Even though he was completely alone, heat flooded his face as he pressed a hand against the sound. He considered when the last time he’d eaten had been and recalled fetching breakfast for Elder Blazeborn before falling asleep with Estenarven.

Which must have been ages ago, he realised, jumping out of bed with a squeak. Here he was, dreaming, thinking and sleeping the day away when he had duties to perform and an elder to take care of.

Oh, oh, he was making such a mess of everything.

Hurriedly securing the tie of his robe around his waist, he ran his fingers through the fluff of hair on his head and scurried from his room.

The main space of the suite was empty, but a fire roared in the grate and a few crumbs dotted a low table, showing that someone at least had eaten here recently. Mastekh walked cautiously towards the mess, wringing his hands together, searching for scraps.

Nothing. Every last plate – and there were enough of them for a feast – was bare of anything but the tiniest of crumbs and an occasional smear of jam.

His stomach snarled in protest. Mastekh pressed a hand against it and sighed, then he began gathering up the empty plates. Since he had to pay a visit to the kitchens for himself, he might as well save the dracos a journey. And perhaps, while he was down there, he might spot a suitable gift.

Biting his lip, he piled his arms full of metal crockery, careful not to make too much noise as he edged towards the exterior door. A mumble of voices sounded inside Elder Blazeborn’s room, but Mastekh didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Willing his belly to remain quiet a little longer, he allowed his tail to slide free and hold the plates while he turned the handle and slipped out into the corridor beyond.

First food, then a gift, then back to work. Nodding determinedly to himself, Mastekh hurried through the tower’s hallways, his way lit by lightning and glow globes and the occasional smile from storm-addled Tempestfurys fresh in from the storm outside. It was a strange and somewhat crazy place, but Mastekh found himself growing fonder of it day by day.

Come back next week to find out just what Mastekh’s second gift will be…

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 13

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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 || Last Part ||

Smooth, Esten, real smooth.

13
Smooth Awakening

ESTENARVEN WOKE SLOWLY, a feeling of great peace washing over him as he steadily rose back up towards consciousness. The pain and hammering of his overindulgence had faded and even the sour taste was gone from his mouth. He felt like a dragon again.

Yawning, he stretched, long and languid, revelling in the ability to spread out all his legs, though when he tried to flexed his tail it seemed to be stuck. And now that he thought about it, only one of his wings was moving.

He frowned at the discomfort and rolled onto his belly. His second wing was instantly free but hit a wall and his tail still wasn’t moving. Grumbling and muttering, he opened his eyes.

And blinked.

“Awake at last, are we?”

Elder Blazeborn sat in an armchair directly in front of Estenarven’s nose. If he’d stretched just a little further in his half-awake state he would have knocked him clean over. Hunching back in on himself, Estenarven drew in his neck, wings and tail.

At least he tried to move his tail.

Scowling, he looked over his shoulder and found the stupid appendage had somehow become coiled and wedged inside the little room he’d been given to stay in.

The room that was part of Elder Blazeborn’s larger suite.

The same suite he should have been taking care of today.

Belonging to the dragon he was supposed to work for, not snore in front of.

Wincing, Estenarven abandoned all attempts to free his crumpled tail and cringed before his elder. “Umm…”

Khennik wasn’t paying him the least bit of attention. An enormous book of maps lay open across his lap, the thick pages of which he turned with a delicate pinch of his golden claws before he spread a hand to flatten out the next picture in order to study it more closely.

Somehow that made everything worse. Here was Estenarven, sleeping the day away, while his elder was forced to entertain himself by studying maps. Not that there was anything wrong with maps, Estenarven had a deep fondness for them himself but…

Oh, what did it matter? He’d messed up, that was the important thing.

He flattened himself to the floor apologetically – and realised that there was something under his chin.

“As enjoyable as abject grovelling is,” Elder Blazeborn drawled, not looking up as he turned another page, “it’s probably best not to do it when Mastekh is under your chin. It rather spoils the look of the thing.”

“Mastekh!” Estenarven raised his head so high and fast that he cracked his horns against the ceiling.

Ow, ow, ow, ow. He might have slept off his pounding hangover, but by the Family, the lightning bolt that shot through his brain now was worse.

“Ow.”

The wheeze that echoed his thoughts had him looking down. Mastekh lay sprawled on the stone floor, flat on his back, a hand pressed against his diaphragm. He looked like he’d been crushed beneath a boulder.

Which, Estenarven conceded as he cautiously lowered his throbbing head, he had.

“I was going to ask if you’d both enjoyed your rest, but I can see the answer well enough for myself.” Elder Blazeborn slapped the heavy book closed and eyed the pair of them. One eyebrow arched as Estenarven curled a claw and hauled Mastekh into a sitting position. The Rainstorm wheezed and bent over, still struggling to get some air into his recently flattened lungs.

This was not how Estenarven imagined he would feel the first time he woke up with Mastekh beneath him.

“At least now that you’ve cleared the door I can finally go out and feed myself.”

Estenarven flinched at this further proof of his neglected duties, and really wished he hadn’t as it sent an answering jolt through his brain and his sore horns.

“I’ll bring you something back, shall I?” Elder Blazeborn smiled ever so slightly as he left his book of maps on the chair and sidled around Estenarven’s bulk to slip out of the door. “Play nicely while I’m gone.”

Estenarven huffed at the wall as the handle clicked shut. There wasn’t even an ounce of play left him right now and a quick glance downwards assured him that Mastekh was even less inclined towards such things.

The Rainstorm was on all fours, attempting to get to his feet, but either his legs were still asleep or Estenarven’s carelessness had knocked more out of him than he’d thought, because Mastekh didn’t get very far.

A quick lift of a foot prevented his fellow aide from landing flat on his face, and Estenarven decided to save Mastekh a lot of bother by picking him up and dumping him on Khennik’s vacated chair. The Rainstorm plopped down on top of the book of maps like a sack of vegetables, looking dazed and unaware of quite what was going on.

Worried about him, Estenarven finally hauled his tail free of his bedroom and shrank to a more manageable size. Crouching in front of Mastekh, he cupped his hands around his face and looked into his eyes.

Watery green-blue stared back, along with a rather soppy smile.

Sibling Stone, it was worse than he’d thought. He hadn’t just knocked the breath out of Mastekh, he’d clearly crushed his wits as well. “Can you stand?”

“Mm.” Mastekh moved forward, but seemed to forget to engage any part of his body in supporting himself. Luckily Estenarven was there to catch him. Mastekh sagged into his arms like a scarecrow missing his stick.

Which wasn’t the worst place he could land. In fact, Estenarven rather liked having his arms full of relaxed Rainstorm. Especially when he nuzzled into his neck like that.

“Mm dreaming,” Mastekh murmured, and Estenarven realised his fellow aide hadn’t really woken up yet. Despite being dropped on the floor, crushed by a Boulderforce and having all the air squashed out of him.

Apparently his Puddle was a heavy sleeper. Just one more thing he’d learnt about him that he hadn’t known before.

And the last thing he would ever take advantage of. Which was why he hauled himself to his feet and hefted Mastekh more securely into his arms. The Rainstorm mumbled something against his neck and snuggled closer, making Estenarven smile. One day he might have fun with this, but not today. Instead he carried his limp burden through the door on the far side of the suit and laid him very carefully down on the stone bed within. The covers had all been kicked off when Mastekh had risen that morning, so Estenarven gathered them up and tucked them all around his sleepy Puddle.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he ran a hand through Mastekh’s fluff of green hair. Turning into the caress, Mastekh wriggled until he was curled up around Estenarven, then heaved out a contented sigh. Estenarven knew just how he felt.

It was right to be here. Right to be next to this dragon. He didn’t want to leave.

He peered around Mastekh’s tiny, private quarters, unsurprised to find it as sparse and cheerless as his own cell on the other side of the suite. Except for the stone bowl on the narrow windowsill, positioned just right so that when Mastekh woke up it would be one of the first things he would see. A stone bowl full of water and containing a single straggly daisy.

The first courting gift. One that had been answered with rock cakes.

It was Estenarven’s move now. He thought back to the box he kept tucked beneath his bed. One that had followed him throughout his life, from his last few years as a dragonling, through his wingling century and onto the wandering ways of his change time. He ran mental fingers through its contents, assessing and discarding each item, until… He smiled.

Yes, that would do nicely.

But not yet. Estenarven looked down at the dragon curled on his side against him, his green hair soft as it slid between Estenarven’s blocky fingers.

No, not yet. He wanted to sit a while longer, enjoying this moment to the fullest. Elder Blazeborn would be back soon and Estenarven would pick up all his dropped and neglected duties, but not yet. Not just yet. He wanted to enjoy this peace for a little while longer, make the most of this gift he’d been given. He’d never seen Mastekh so relaxed and wondered when he’d have the chance to relish such a chance again. If he’d have the chance again. So he sat there, stroking Mastekh’s head, making plans and counting breaths.

Until Elder Blazeborn returned and Estenarven had to leave. But before he joined the elder at the low table, where he was spreading out the food a couple of draco servants had carried up for them all, Estenarven slipped into his own small room and pulled out the box from beneath the bed.

Promising the elder he would join him soon, he returned to Mastekh’s bedside, placed his latest gift on the windowsill beside the daisy, allowed himself one last stroke of his dear Puddle’s hair, then left and closed the door behind him. Mastekh had earned his rest, but Estenarven had apologies to issue and some making up to do.

With the dracos dismissed, Elder Blazeborn watched Estenarven cross the room and raised a golden eyebrow. “Well?”

Unsure quite what he was being asked, Estenarven lowered himself to sit cross-legged at the low table on the opposite to his elder and bowed his head. “All is well.”

The corner of Khennik’s mouth twitched. “Good. Now eat, before I devour the whole lot myself. You and Mastekh have been blocking the door since breakfast. I can’t remember the last time I felt so famished.”

The last tension in Estenarven’s shoulders relaxed and he grinned at his elder in relief. “Shouldn’t we save something for Mastekh?” he asked, even as he picked up a whole chicken for himself. Now that his hangover was gone and his head and horns were no longer hurting so badly, Estenarven realised he was starving too – and with so much food in front of him, it would be rude to feel otherwise.

“No,” Khennik replied, piling his own plate high with pastries and pies and the occasional piece of fruit. “If he wants some, he’ll have to claim it for himself.”

And even though he was courting the dragon’s heart, Estenarven shrugged in agreement. After all, love and romance were all very well in their own way, but he hadn’t eaten anything since the night before. At times like this, it was every dragon’s stomach for itself.

Especially at a time like this, when the pastries were divine and Elder Blazeborn had almost eaten the lot. Resisting the urge to growl at the other dragon – barely – Estenarven snatched two of the last three for himself and hunched over his plate to protect it from the long arm of the elder.

Rolling his eyes, Khennik moved on to the last of the tarts and Estenarven forgot all thoughts of Mastekh in a bid to claim his fair share of the feast. He had to keep up his strength, after all, and there was a lot of him to feed. Slapping Khennik’s grabby hands away from the bread basket, Estenarven seized his share of the rolls and swept the jam and butter dish into his temporary protection.

Elder Blazeborn glared at him over the table before picking up the platter of doelyn slices and slowly placing it on the floor beside himself.

Estenarven narrowed his eyes. So it was to be like that, was it? He reached for the quail eggs and let battle commence.

Who knew Khennik had a playful side?

Anyway, more next Wednesday.
And you may be pleased to know that I’ve finally worked out something of a plot for this thing. Which means I might finally get an idea of how long it’ll be. I would say this is about halfway, but until I write the next few chapters I won’t know.

Regardless, this is finally getting somewhere. Hurrah!

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 12

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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 || Last Part ||

In which Khennik proves yet again that actions speak louder than grumpy reputations.

12
Sigh

IT WAS TOO QUIET. Khennik had worked hard deep into the afternoon, forcing himself to finish his hated report, determined not to let anything distract him. Nothing had.

Which was most unusual.

Standing up from his desk, he stretched out the aches and kinks from his body and glanced down in surprise as his stomach rumbled. He was hungry. He’d almost forgotten what that felt like. Whatever else Mastekh’s faults may be – and they were legion – his aide always made sure Khennik had food, whether he wanted it or not.

Yet here he stood inside his own suite with a belly growling from hunger. Most unusual indeed.

Frowning, Khennik rolled his shoulders as he crossed his bedroom, ready to unravel this latest mystery.

A dragon lay snoring in the main room. No, not just any dragon: Estenarven.

Big and bulky and grey, the Boulderforce lay stretched out across the entire front half of the room, completely blocking the door, his bulk extending from one wall all the way to the other. Resting halfway between his right side and his back, one wing trailed limply across his shoulder and the other was probably crumpled between him – explaining his in-between position.

With his head completely upside down, the end of his nose poking into Mastekh’s bedroom, the Boulderforce huffed and wheezed and sounded rather less than comfortable.

Khennik clenched his jaw. Well, this surely explained why he hadn’t been interrupted or fed all day. With Estenarven blocking the door, there was no possible way for anyone to leave or enter the suite. Poor Mastekh was probably cowering in his room, wondering how best to evict this invading monster who was holding him back from all his duties. Blasted Boulderforce! If he hadn’t drunk so much the night before he wouldn’t still be sleeping it off now, well into the next afternoon.

If his behaviour had unsettled Mastekh in any way, Khennik would –

He blinked.

At some point during his internal tirade, he’d begun marching across the suite, dodging around seating clusters and travel chests, aiming for Estenarven’s head and the ears into which he intended to roar.

Until he rounded the edge of Estenarven’s wing and saw the Boulderforce’s front paws for the first time. And what they cradled gently inside them.

Mastekh. Estenarven had fallen asleep with Mastekh. The Boulderforce was cuddling the Rainstorm like a toy. And the Rainstorm lay limp and smiling as if he was entirely at peace with the situation.

Well.

Khennik rubbed a hand over his bald head, uncertain quite how to feel about this change of events. After all, he could hardly be angry with Estenarven for unsettling Mastekh when Mastekh seemed more than happy with everything. He certainly couldn’t scold the Boulderforce for invading the Rainstorm’s room when the pair of them were sleeping together.

Nor could he get angry over having the entranceway blocked, since the only people Khennik was willing to see on a daily basis were already inside.

Nor could he be annoyed about feeling hungry, since he was constantly trying to get Mastekh to stop fussing over him, assuring his aide that he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself if necessary.

Hm.

Khennik eyed his slumbering aides, unable to deny how contented the pair of them seemed. It made warmth kindle inside his own chest and Khennik rubbed suspiciously at it.

Estenarven heaved a huge sigh and rolled onto his side, curling around until his head rested alongside Mastekh. The Rainstorm stirred just enough to tuck his head under the Boulderforce’s neck, and the pair slept on oblivious.

Khennik ran a hand over his head and rubbed at his chest again. Then he snorted, shook his head and turned around.

Let them sleep. Peace was hard to come by these days, ever since he’d left his desert homelands and especially since he’d been assigned to the human delegation.

Yes, let his noisy, disruptive, ridiculous aides sleep, just so long as they kept blocking the door and keeping the outside world at bay. Khennik could survive being hungry for a little while yet.

In fact, now that his report was finished and no one had succeeded in breaking down his door, Khennik decided to follow his aides’ example. Shutting the door to his bedroom, he shoved his desk and papers safely out of the way, then gave into the urge to release his own true form. He might not have had enough room to sprawl inelegantly from one wall to the other, as Estenarven had done, but there was space to spare to stretch his wings, just so long as he curled himself up first.

Doing just that, Khennik flexed his wings, yawned and settled down for a deliciously unplanned afternoon nap.

More next Wednesday. Hopefully. I need to write it first.
While I’m at it, I guess I should look for an actual plot, but where would be the fun in that?

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 11

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 || Part 10 ||

Some of you may wish to save this for tomorrow, just in case you are in need of something excessively cute and cuddly (literally) to cheer you up.

11
Making a Meal of Things

MASTEKH WAS MERRILY humming an old Flowflight nursery rhyme, singing the odd line where he could remember the words, as he returned to Elder Blazeborn’s suite. The halls of Spire Heights were still rather quiet as a ferocious storm raged beyond the walls.

According to the dracos in the kitchen, most of the kin court were out in it, indulging their Tempestfury natures and revelling in the wild weather. Mastekh had always known Skystorms were loose in the scales, but here was extra proof.

Still, he didn’t much care what his hosts were getting up to, just so long as it meant he – and his elder – were left alone. Those who weren’t out in the storm were likely still recovering from the banquet the night before anyway. Like Estenarven.

A frisson of excitement rippled through Mastekh as he picked up his pace. His arms were starting to ache from the sheer amount of food he’d piled onto the tray in a bid to satisfy the appetites of a Blazeborn and a Boulderforce. Sunhigh would be long passed at this rate, if he didn’t hurry up and get back to them both.

With a light skip in his step and an adventurous warble to his tune, Mastekh finally reached the door of his elder’s suite. Since his hands were fully, he cast a quick glance up and down the corridor before allowing his tail to uncurl beneath his robe. Elder Blazeborn would frown at him for such a move, mixing his human and dragon forms in such a way. He’d accuse Mastekh of losing control or focus, but Mastekh was perfectly in control of himself, he just needed a little extra help.

If he’d been one of the more aquatic Flowflights – a Seadrake or a Riverstone perhaps – he could have used his tail like a tentacle and open the door with it. Alas, he was just a simple Rainstorm, so he propped up one side of the tray with his sturdy tail and used his free hand like anyone else might.

The lock clicked softly and Mastekh hurriedly wriggled his tail back beneath his robe, tightening his grip on the food tray as he twitched his shoulders and forced his extra limb to vanish back wherever the rest of his dragon form went when he was in this shape. The recall sent a shudder right up his spine, and he staggered sideways into the doorframe as he adjusted to the shift in balance.

Straightening up, he twisted his hips to ensure that his robe was lying straight once more, and nudged the door open the rest of the way. Satisfied that there was no sign – beyond a slightly damp line on the hall floor that was drying swiftly – of what he’d done, Mastekh stepped into the suite, humming triumphantly.

He turned to bump the door shut with his hip and yelped as he collided with the massive snout of Estenarven’s native form. Foot slipping on the puddle of drool beneath his slack lips, Mastekh overbalanced. The rounded ridge above one nostril caught him right in the gut, both knocking the wind out of him and toppling him forwards.

The door slammed and the heavy tray smacked down right in the middle of Estenarven’s slumbering face.

“Whuh!”

Up went the Boulderforce, taking Mastekh with him, food tumbling everywhere.

“Oh no!” Mastekh wailed, feet kicking as he was lifted up towards the high ceiling, toes catching on the soft insides of Estenarven’s bottom lip.

The Boulderforce drew in a deep breath, his right nostril sucking Mastekh’s belly in tight. Which was good because as Estenarven’s dark eyes crossed in an effort to focus on what was clinging to his face, his mouth gaped open in surprise and Mastekh began to slip.

Estenarven snorted with shock and Mastekh yipped, fingers scrabbling uselessly against the cold, smooth stone of the dragon’s muzzle. Sharp teeth loomed as he fell passed his mouth and Mastekh pulled his hands sharply back.

And grunted as he landed firmly in the middle of Estenarven’s paw.

Rumbling in confusion, the big Boulderforce placed Mastekh gently on the floor and lowered his head to squint at him. “What happened?” he asked, sounding more than a little sleepy.

Regaining his feet, Mastekh looked down at the food he’d so carefully selected, prepared and carried all the way back now lying ruined and scattered all around the pair of them. His vision blurred and his lip began to wobble, defeat and sadness welling up inside him.

Until a big, cool nose nudged him in the belly.

“Mmm,” Estenarven rumbled, sending delicious tingles racing all through Mastekh’s body and driving away any wobbles with ticklish giggles. “You brought breakfast.”

Pushing Mastekh gently out of the way with another affectionate nudge, Estenarven them proceeded to clear every last crumb, splash and splatter from the floor with barely a pause for breath. Nor did he complain over the unorthodox method of presentation.

Instead he devoured the lot with a litany of contented noises that swiftly overcame Mastekh’s disappointment and even raised a smile.

“Perfect,” Estenarven announced, once the floor was clean and he’d raised his head, licking his lips to savour every last speck. Then he lifted his great head up towards the ceiling and gave an enormous yawn. “Just what I needed.”

A rush of satisfaction that he’d done the right thing filled Mastekh and he stepped aside as Estenarven squirmed forwards, freeing his tail which had somehow been left behind in his room.

“Are you well?” he asked as the Boulderforce rolled slightly to one side and stretched out all four legs like a tired dragonling.

“Mm,” Estenarven murmured, reaching out to snag Mastekh around the waist. Then he curled inwards, tail wrapping around his body, Mastekh clutched against his chest, head turned inwards to cuddle him in closer. “Am now.” He gave a sleepy huff and closed his eyes.

Entirely surrounded by the dozing Boulderforce, Mastekh raised his hands and looked down. Though Estenarven’s hold was gentle enough not to hurt or squeeze him, it was still secure enough to ensure he wasn’t going anywhere. He’d been caught up like a treasured toy. Mastekh was vaguely aware that he should feel annoyed. How would he possibly be able to get any chores done this way? And just think of all the things Estenarven was leaving undone while he lazily slept the day away.

And yet, as Mastekh slowly relaxed into the sure grip that held onto him so tightly, surprised at how soft the inner pads of a Boulderforce’s front paw could be, he placed a hand on the cool scales of Estenarven’s cheek and felt all gooey inside. The dragon holding him was sleeping now, sleeping peacefully and deep, but when Mastekh made a token effort to extract himself, Estenarven muttered a sleepy protest and curled up even tighter, imprisoning his prize between his heart and his cheek.

Mastekh melted, his legs turning to jelly as he sank into the soft support of Estenarven’s grip. A strong heart beat against his back, while ahead of him a charcoal lid flickered over Estenarven’s closed eyes. He reached out, smoothing his hand along the tiny, delicate scales beneath that eye, marvelling that some were even smaller than his human fingertips.

The charcoal lid lifted ever so slightly, revealing a shimmering blackness beneath. “Stay,” Estenarven rumbled, his deep voice making Mastekh’s whole body hum.

As if Mastekh could do anything else. Pressing both hands against Estenarven’s face, he rested his cheek against Estenarven’s and sighed. “Yes.”

Unfolding a wing to cover them both, Estenarven huffed out a great sigh of his own and, curled up in the front corner of the suite, the pair of them drifted into sleep regardless of duty or the storms that raged beyond the walls.

Whoever you are, wheresoever in the world you may be, if you’re reading this I hope you enjoyed it and know you are not alone.

Dragon hugs!

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 10

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8 || Part 9 ||

Very short update today, but on the brighter side, this is the first part I’ve written since November. Yay, the story continues!

Although, I think Esten is slightly less enthused by this…

10
The Morning After

MASTEKH WAS ABSOLUTELY RIGHT; Estenarven did not feel better in the morning. In fact, he felt so awful when he opened his eyes to the pallid light sneaking through the narrow window, that he went straight back to sleep again. Mornings were vastly overrated anyway.

With a head banging to the painful beat of its own internal drum, a mouth in which a bear must have hibernated for the winter and skin that felt dry enough to crack, Estenarven was in no mood to move, even after he woke for the second time. Scales rubbed against the inside of his skin, making his bones ache and his head pound worse than ever. He needed to shift, badly, but this room wasn’t even large enough to contain his tail, let alone the rest of him.

Groaning and cursing his own foolishness, he slithered from the bed. Cold air instantly nipped at his naked body, but there was so many other discomforts assaulting him that Estenarven didn’t much mind it. The hard floor called to him, the old stone calling to the stone within him.

Not yet, not yet, he reminded himself, dragging his aching body over the roughly woven carpet. He considered pausing to stand up, to try and put his legs to use, but the mere thought of raising his head so high from the ground made his stomach churn. With his hold already so tenuous upon his human form, Estenarven opted for speed over elegance.

He had to get out of this room. Now. Before he ended up squashed and stuck or smashing through the walls.

Stone hummed beneath him as Estenarven reached up a desperate hand and scrabbled the door open. He tumbled out into the wider room beyond – and not a moment too soon.

The pounding in his head rose to a crescendo, his dry skin cracked and his stomach revolted as his draconic form burst through his control. Pain, pain, pain. He hadn’t experienced such an agonising shift since his first changeling days.

Uncle Stone! That hurt.

Raising himself up on trembling legs, Estenarven had just enough awareness to realise that his tail did just about fit inside his room, before he staggered forward a couple of steps and collapsed.

Stone called to stone, and he dropped into blessed unconsciousness.

More next Wednesday.
I’d best get writing again.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 8

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 ||

In which Khennik says something innocuous and the expected happens.


8
Tea

SOMEONE WAS HUMMING. Elder Khennik kin Blazeborn Clan Sunlord frowned down at his desk and the report he was supposed to be writing to his Clan elder. The suite was too quiet, magnifying the clatter of hailstones against the windows and the shudder of the window as it whistled around the tower. Lightning flickered and thunder snarled. Khennik attempted to ignore it all as he hunched over his desk beside the fire on the opposite side of the room. Usually the crackle, pop and hiss of the flames would be enough to settle him, but it was early and he was tired after a late night.

And now someone was humming.

Sighing, he dropped his quill and rubbed his eyes as the main door to the suite opened, admitting the hummer with his tray of tea.

Mastekh.

Khennik’s eyebrows rose in surprise and he rested his chin on his hand, watching his usually anxious aide back into the room before turning and closing the door with his heel. Humming.

Mastekh didn’t hum. In fact, his Rainstorm aide rarely made any sound at all, except for squeaks and the occasional stuttered sentence. Not that he was a quiet or restful presence. Mastekh might not have used his voice all that often, but his emotions were often loud. Trembling, shuffling, jittering, wringing his hands, lurking in the background, trying to be unobtrusive and always failing. It had driven Khennik distracted when they’d first been assigned to each other. However, he’d grown used to it over time and occasionally missed Mastekh when he wasn’t in the room.

Khennik wouldn’t have said he was fond of humming, especially wordless tunes that bubbled and rambled without any form or reason, but it was an interesting change. He was almost certain he knew what had put that small smile on his younger aide’s face too.

“Oh. Elder B-Blazeborn. You’re aw-w-wake.”

The happy hum faded, but Khennik was surprised to see the smile remained. Mastekh didn’t smile at him, he was usually too worried or anxious to please, holding himself tense as if always ready for a reprimand or a blow. Khennik tried not to ever give the former and he would never use the latter. The mere prospect of being mistaken for such a thuggish bully had made him often moody and equally tense at first, until he realised that the only way Mastekh would relax was if he relaxed first. So mostly Khennik attempted to ignore his aide, and Mastekh seemed happiest that way.

Not this morning. This morning he seemed prepared for conversation, so Khennik cleared a space on his desk for the tea tray and nodded congenially. “Good morning. I trust you slept well.”

Mastekh bobbed his head in agreement, placing the tray on the table with a lot less clatter and rattling than usual. There weren’t any stray water drops either. Progress.

“Estenarven is still in bed, I take it?” Khennik asked as Mastekh began pouring the tea.

“B-beg p-p-pardon?” Mastekh jumped, sending hot water all over the stone tray and across the desk. “Oh, no!” he wailed, dropping the tea pot with a clatter and flapping over the spilled liquid.

Sighing, Khennik rescued his most important papers and stood before the tea reached the edge of the table and dripped into his lap. “It’s all right, Mastekh. No harm done.” After all, this wouldn’t be the first time Mastekh had almost dumped a pot of tea all over him – nor the second. A part of Khennik had leant to be perpetually wary whenever it came to his aide holding anything in his vicinity, though he had hoped the humming and smiles would herald a new era in their working relationship.

No such luck. One offhand question and his aide had collapsed back into a bubbling, anxious, apologetic mess and Khennik could feel all his old irritations rising. He tried not to get angry, because he knew Mastekh couldn’t help being the way he was, but it was frustrating.

One tiny tiptoe forward, a massive leap back. That was how things seemed destined to always be between them.

“I’ll finish this in my room,” he said, unable to hold back a sigh as he gathered the rest of things into his arms and shook tea from the end of his quill pen.

“I’m s-s-so s-s-s-sorry, eld-d-der,” Mastekh whimpered, patting the desk with his palm and leaving dry stone behind. His hand had darkened to the shade of ginger tea.

The sight reminded Khennik of how thirsty he was, so he piled his things on his dry chair and quickly poured himself a cup with what little liquid was left. Mm, spicy. “It’s all right, Mastekh,” he murmured again, retrieving his things and sipping from his cup. “These things happen, and there was no harm done.”

Mastekh hung his head pitifully. Khennik considered reaching out and patting the young Rainstorm’s shoulder, but he wasn’t a particularly tactile dragon and the last thing he wanted was to make Mastekh recoil. There relationship was shaky enough as it was.

So he contented himself with another sigh – mostly filled with bafflement over what his young aide needed from him – then retreated back into his room. It would probably be safer for all involved if he just stayed there until the Storm Season passed and the Skylark sailed onwards again.

“I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me,” he said over his shoulder, then shoved the door shut with his heel.

What a day, and it wasn’t even midmorning yet.

More next Monday.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 7

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 ||

In which Mastekh is happy.

Unsurprisingly, this is a very short update.

7
Humming

MASTEKH WOKE IN a very good mood, having slept extremely well the night before. He hadn’t expected to. After his time with Estenarven and the kisses they had shared, he’d expected to spend the whole night awake, reliving the sensations and agonising over what it all meant.

Instead he’d slept peacefully – and woke with a smile. Estenarven had been right, everything did look better in the morning. Apart from the weather, of course, but that was to be expected when spending the Storm Season in the Tempestfury kinlands.

Rising early, Mastekh slipped away from Elder Blazeborn’s suite and headed for the kitchens. Time for tea. The elder did enjoy a refreshing cup in the morning and, as Estenarven often joked, Mastekh was good at tea. There were times when he felt it was probably the only thing he was good at, the only truly helpful thing he did for the elder, but not today. Today was not a day for doubts. Today was a day for… humming.

He’d never thought of himself as particularly musical before, but for some reason this morning music kept bubbling up inside him. A rippling little melody like a mountain spring bursting up through rock and ice after the winter thaw.

That was what he felt like – lively, vibrant and new, refreshed after a long period of cold and dark. So he hummed, exchanging shy smiles with the busy dracos who worked around him while he waited for the elder’s water to boil. Normally he felt useless, gawky and in the way of the smaller servants and their industrious work. Today they welcomed him into their pattern, murmuring appreciatively over his little song. They even thanked him when he had finished preparing the tea and headed for the door. As if any draco ever had a single thing to thank a dragon for. The servants always worked so hard – surely any gratitude went the other way.

So he made sure to thank them, in shy, stammering words, then picked up his tray and headed back to the suite. Humming all the way.

More next Monday, when we’ll be seeing things through a completely different dragon’s eyes.

Take care, my lovelies!
And may you enjoy this season in whichever way seems best to you.

Free Fiction, Serial, Updates

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 6

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance (it could be short, it could be a novella, it could be any size, I have no idea) 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.

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 ||

Warning: This update contains a flirtatious and inebriated Boulderforce.

It would appear this is a kissing book. You have been warned ;)


6
Banquet III

ESTENARVEN WAS DRUNK. Oh, he’d known he was been a bit merry when he was sitting with Anhardyne and Vish, basking in the attention and drinking far more wine than was probably wise. It had been right there, though, and it was a very good vintage. And he’d felt Mastekh’s eyes on him, so he may have been showing off a little.

But still, he’d kept his head. Mostly. Enough to enjoy himself while he waited for the gluttonous drake to finally finish stuffing his face and leave the seat beside Mastekh empty. It had taken longer than Estenarven had anticipated – hence the wine.

Still, he’d been fine until after he’d bid the lieutenants and fine and adventurous night and made his way around the long table. He’d been completely in control of himself when he pulled out the chair and dropped into the space.

Then he’d put a hand on Mastekh’s leg to gain his attention… and completely lost his head.

Mastekh was cool and sweet and smelled like grass after rain. The shivers, the closeness, the sounds he made.

Yes, Estenarven was drunk, utterly and completely soused, foxed, pissed, rat-arsed, tap-shackled, scale-shucked, loose-winged and every other description on the Overworld. But it had nothing to do with the wine and everything to do with his companion.

And Mastekh had absolutely no idea, if the way he was blushing was any indication. His poor dear Puddle was utterly green in the face, a darker colour spreading down his neck.

Estenarven stared at where the colour vanished beneath the collar of his robe and couldn’t help wondering how far down it went. Was his chest pale or dark, mottled or clear, was he muscled or slender, where were his scales? Every dragon had them, regardless of form, but they never showed up in the same place. Estenarven had two patches, one small smudge on his left buttock, the other a slender line that spiralled up his right thigh. Where were Mastekh’s? Somewhere naughty, he hoped, since such scale patches were often sensitive. As sensitive as the webs between his fingers? Estenarven certainly hoped so. He couldn’t wait to explore, to uncover his Puddle’s every last secret, to –

“Est-t-tenarv-v-ven?” Mastekh’s shaky breath was accompanied by a sharp, insistent tug.

Estenarven paused and looked down. By the Family, he really was drunk. He’d been licking Mastekh’s hand again, focusing all of his attention on those same webs, eyes closed, lost to the exploration.

Poor Mastekh’s face wasn’t just green now, it was practically black he was blushing so hard.

Estenarven reluctantly released his hand. “Sorry.”

Mastekh’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Poor Puddle, he’d shocked him speechless. All because he was drunk on the nearness of him and had forgotten himself, again. They were in a crowded room, and even though no one was paying them any attention – nor would be shocked even if they were – Mastekh was not an exhibitionist. He had to stop forgetting that, forgetting himself, forgetting where they were. It might not bother him, but it would bother Mastekh and that was not something he should ever forget.

“Forgive me.” He pressed a hand to his heart and bowed his head in remorse.

A cool hand slid over his cheek and he looked up, into green eyes almost swallowed by dark, wide pupils. “D-don’t,” Mastekh whispered, rubbing a thumb over Estenarven’s cheek.

He closed his eyes and leant into the touch, thinking of all the things he could do if that hand moved closer to his mouth. All the things he wanted to do, to start, to explore.

Huffing in frustration at himself, he opened his eyes and forced himself to pull away from the temptation of Mastekh’s hands. He’d never been particularly interested in hands before, not on their own, but with Mastekh everything was different.

He couldn’t resist taking hold of Mastekh’s hand again, but forced himself not to bring it back to his mouth or to stroke it. He just held it pressed between both of his and tried to think sweet, pure, innocent thoughts.

Which was tricky in a room that had grown as loud and as rowdy as this one.

Estenarven frowned, rapidly losing his happy, wine-induced haze and passing into an grumpy, irritated aftermath. “Let’s go,” he urged, pushing back his chair and getting to his feet.

Mastekh’s eyes widened, but he didn’t object when Estenarven hauled him upright.

“We can talk in the morning. Everything will be better then,” he said, weaving through the raucous crowd and making for the nearest door.

“You w-w-won’t,” Mastekh replied, cringing against Estenarven’s side as a drunken party of dragons and Riders attempted to drag him into their dancing circle.

“Won’t what?” Estenarven asked distractedly as he stepped over a passed out Rider still clutching a flagon of ale to his chest. He turned and lifted Mastekh up and over the man without thinking.

Wide eyes stared down in surprise. Estenarven blinked up, clasping Mastekh against his chest and barely noticing the weight of him. He was a Boulderforce, after all. Liking the feeling of keeping his Puddle so close, Estenarven strode the last few steps until they were out of the hall and in the much quieter corridor beyond.

Then he had to put him down, because the temptation to pin him to the nearest wall was just too great.

Mastekh kept his hands pressed against his chest, eyes still wide, barely blinking.

Smiling, Estenarven rubbed his knuckles down the Rainstorm’s cheek and pressed his thumb beneath his jaw to close his gaping mouth. It was simply too tempting left open. “Won’t what?” he repeated, remembering the question he’d asked before.

Mastekh snatched his hands away and folded his arms across his chest, rubbing at his shoulders, face flushed green once more. He shivered and offered up a tremulous smile. “You w-won’t feel b-b-better in the m-morning.”

Estenarven blinked in surprise – then burst out laughing.

Mastekh folded his arms defensively, huffing with indignation. “Well, you w-won’t. After all the w-wine you’ve dr-drunk, you’ll have a t-t-terrible h-headache. And d-don’t come c-c-crying to m-me.”

It was one of the longest sentences Estenarven had ever heard the Rainstorm mutter, and it made him laugh even harder. “Oh, Puddle,” he sighed, draping an arm across the smaller dragon’s shoulders before he could storm off in a huff. “We really have to work on your seductive invitations.”

Which earned him a slap on the chest. “It w-w-wasn’t an inv-v-vitation you l-lout. As if I’d inv-v-vite you anywh-where.”

“A dragon can dream,” Estenarven sighed soulfully, slightly embarrassed to realise his wistfulness wasn’t entirely feigned.

“F-fool.”

“Yes,” he agreed cheerfully. “Entirely. I’m a complete fool for you.” He pressed his lips against Mastekh’s cool cheek, delighted to feel it heat beneath his lips. “And now to bed, before I ravish you right here. I know you’re not one for exhibitions.”

This time the soulful sigh came from his companion. “A d-dragon can d-d-dream.”

Estenarven could only hope his wistfulness wasn’t entirely feigned either. “Don’t tempt me, Puddle. You might not like the outcome.”

“I’ll s-s-save it for wh-when you’re n-not d-drunk, P-pebble. You m-might dr-drop me.”

“Oh, really?” Estenarven roared with mock indignation, spinning Mastekh around. Catching the Rainstorm by complete surprise, he upended him over his shoulder and started running towards Elder Blazeborn’s suite.

“P-p-p-put me d-down, you f-f-fool!”

Laughing, Estenarven ignored the kicking legs and fists thumping his back, knowing full well that if Mastekh really wanted to escape all he had to do was shift and flatten him. “I heard a challenge, Puddle, and a good dragon never turns down a challenge.”

“You’re d-d-drunk!”

Yes, utterly. Completely drunk on Mastekh and the light, silly, foolish feelings he stirred up inside. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was a fool for Mastekh. He would be anything for this Rainstorm, he only needed to ask.

As Estenarven jogged up staircase after staircase, Mastekh’s struggles slowed and stopped, the fists that had been thumping his back having turned to smoothing caresses over the dark silk. By the time Estenarven reached their suite, his breath was heaving, his legs were shaking and he felt rather light-headed, but his back tingled all over from the teasing touches.

Unlocking the door, he staggered inside and carefully lowered his burden.

When he straightened, Mastekh grabbed hold of his head before he reached his full height. Green eyes glowing with determination, the Rainstorm pulled Estenarven down and kissed him.

At first it was clumsy, a hard push that mashed their lips against their teeth. Mastekh clenched his hands around the back of Estenarven’s neck as if afraid he would try and escape.

Estenarven wasn’t going anywhere. Reaching back, he gripped Mastekh’s wrists and rubbed the insides with his thumbs, urging the Rainstorm to relax. Then he slid his fingers over the back of Mastekh’s hands to slip between his fingers and stroke the sensitive webs.

Mastekh gasped, firm grip relaxing.

Estenarven took full advantage, pulling back to take a breath and gain some room, then darting in to slip his tongue into play.

Ah, such play. Mastekh melted against his chest and Estenarven turned their kiss into a lazy, thorough exploration that left them both panting and shaking, holding tight to shoulders and waist in an effort to keep standing.

And they were both still fully dressed.

Estenarven had never felt like this with anyone before – certainly not without naked skin and a solid, supporting surface involved.

It was too much.

It wasn’t nearly enough.

And Mastekh wasn’t ready for more.

Estenarven eased the kiss until he could pull away, cupping Mastekh’s face in his hands. Wide eyes, more black now than green, gazed up at him, kiss-swollen lips trembling with uncertainty, anxiety already draining the passion from his face.

No, there would go no further tonight.

But he stole another kiss anyway, a sweet, delicious sip, before pulling away with a sigh.

“Goodnight, Puddle,” he murmured, resting his head against Mastekh’s.

“G-g-good-n-night, P-pebble,” came his reply.

Then they parted for their tiny, solitary rooms on opposite sides of Elder Blazeborn’s suite.

Turns out Mastekh was right: Estenarven was not going to feel better in the morning. He certainly wasn’t about to sleep any time soon.

But it had been worth every single moment.

And he would willingly do it all again on the morrow.

Next update will be on Monday. Complete with merry Mastekh.

Take care, my lovelies!