Dragonlands – Page 8 – Becca Lusher

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 9

January 2, 2017 Becca Lusher

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 ||

Oh, Mastekh…

9
Elder Blazeborn

MASTEKH CLEANED UP the spillage, feeling like a fool. All his happy feelings from the morning had fled in the face of an innocuous question and a dropped teapot. He patted the last pool of water and stared at his hot hand with a sigh.

Wonderful, he was now full of tea. It would take days for the ruddy-ginger stain to fade.

Served him right for being a jumpy, clumsy, overreacting fool. How Elder Blazeborn must rue the day their paths had not just crossed but unfortunately interwoven.

Picking up the pot and swilling the liquid inside, he realised there was just enough for another cup, so he poured it out and placed it on the hearth to keep warm while he got on his knees and made sure he hadn’t ruined another carpet. His very first meeting with Elder Blazeborn was engraved on his memory, never to be forgotten.

His trip to Teirenlai had been Mastekh’s first solo expedition outside of his Rainstorm kinlands. Well, sort of solo, since he’d flown alongside Rishen, his kin elder, but all of Mastekh’s previous trips had been with dragons his own age with older caretakers to watch over them. For all that Rishen was his elder, the dragon hadn’t spared Mastekh much attention during the flight. Which was how Mastekh had preferred it. Rishen made him nervous. Most dragons made him nervous. Most everything, actually.

Carpet checked, Mastekh sat back on heels and paused for a moment, trying to come up with something that didn’t make him anxious or nervous. He would have said Estenarven, except the recent shift in their relationship had caused a few of those old, familiar emotions to bubble up, so not even he counted anymore. Baking and making tea also felt good, but handing them over to their intended recipients usually caused anxious moments – or foolish ones, he reminded himself, climbing to his feet and sighing at the empty desk and the now-seemingly innocent crockery lined up on the tray.

Arriving at Teirenlai Palace had been overwhelming for Mastekh. Too many new faces, a whole new layout to learn, new servants to try not to annoy. He would have hidden in his room and never come out, except he’d quickly found out that he was expected to share it with two other young dragons. Strangers. Ones who already knew each other and were noisy and constantly laughing. Not necessarily at him, though it had felt like it at the time.

Panicked, Mastekh had fled into the labyrinthine corridors until he ended up quite, quite lost. In the end he’d wandered into a sunlit garden where a great bronze dragon was curled up. Not wanting to disturb the sleeping creature, he’d backed as quietly as possible away only to trip over an uneven flagstone. Tumbling down with a splash and a cry, he’d felt a hot, weary sigh pass over him and looked up into glowing golden eyes.

At which point Elder Goryal Starshine had materialised between them, beaming a joyful smile. “Oh good,” they had chuckled. “You’ve met. Khennik, this is your new aide, Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. Congratulations, Mastekh, you’ve been assigned as the aide to Elder Blazeborn as part of the delegation overseeing the visit of the new human ambassador.”

The huge bronze Blazeborn had turned his head to the small human-shaped Starshine elder and huffed out a warm breath. “A Rainstorm, Goryal, really?”

Mastekh had cringed, though he hadn’t disagreed. The Flowflight and Sunlord Clans were not known for their compatibility.

Goryal had laughed and patted Elder Blazeborn’s cheek. “Patience, Khennik. Something you once had in droves. It would do you good to remembered such skills.”

Grumbling, the dragon had curled up again, wrapping his tail tightly around himself and using it to cover his eyes. “Aren’t the humans punishment enough?”

Goryal had laughed their silver bell laugh and rested a hand on Mastekh’s arm. “Ignore him, he’s always grumpy after a long flight. He’ll feel better once he’s soaked up some sun. Come along with me, young Rainstorm, and I’ll show you your new accommodations and introduce you to someone who can show you your new duties.”

And that had been that. Neither one of them had been given any choice, they’d simply been shoved together through the whims of a meddling old dragon. No one knew precisely how old Goryal was, but all the Starshine Clan were over a millennia, though they rarely acted it. They felt it though, with a prickle of power that could grow painful if the dragons forgot to rein it in. Goryal rarely forgot such things, they were too fond of company to risk driving it all away, even if they did frequently meddle more than was good for those around them.

Even so, Mastekh couldn’t be sorry that his path had crossed Goryal’s, nor that of Elder Blazeborn either. Because both had brought him, in a roundabout way, to Estenarven and the night before. Mastekh wouldn’t give that up for all the world, even if he had spent most of the evening hurt and confused. The end had been worth everything that had gone before.

It was still a shame about the tea, though.

Sighing, he picked up the cup from the hearth and crossed to Elder Blazeborn’s door. Where he dithered, not wanting to disturb the elder any more than he already had that morning. Yet he knew of no one else who liked ginger tea and didn’t want it to go to waste.

So he took a deep breath, tried to summon up a little of his morning happiness, and knocked.

“Enter.”

Clenching his free hand into a fist and warning himself to stay in control of himself, Mastekh slipped into the room. It was as spacious as the outer chamber, but with a lot less furniture. A wide bed stood off to one side, while a small desk had been placed beside the fire. Beyond that there was nothing except for three tall, narrow windows much like the ones in the other room. The rest of the space had been left empty as a courtesy to allow the elder to transform into his dragon shape if he so wished.

Thankfully for Mastekh’s nerves, he was still in human form, sitting at the desk, one hand propping up his head while he toyed with his quill and flicked ink over an otherwise empty piece of parchment.

Golden eyes glanced up and the elder froze. He said nothing, didn’t even blink as Mastekh crossed the room in a shuffling hurry, placing the stone cup down with exquisite care on one side of the desk. He then picked up the empty cup Elder Blazeborn had carried in earlier before retreating as swiftly as he’d entered. His silken robe flapped against his legs in his haste to reach the door.

Even so, as he pulled it opened and slipped through, he heard a softly murmured “Thank you,” over the rush of his own escape.

Mastekh paused and looked through the gap of the half-closed door. Elder Blazeborn held the cup cradled between his hands, golden claws glinting at the end of dark bronze fingers. The elder raised his tea in silent acknowledgement.

Ducking his head shyly, Mastekh muttered, “You’re w-w-welcome,” before shutting the door between them.

Taking several wobbly steps into the empty outer room, he collapsed onto the nearest chaise. He felt exhausted and it wasn’t even lunchtime.

Still, he smiled, content that he might have managed to fix any fresh damage he’d done to his working relationship with his elder after another foolish mishap. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

Feeling refreshed, he popped to his feet and gathered the empty pot and unused cups onto the stone tray. Noon was approaching and neither the elder nor Estenarven had eaten anything today.

Mastekh could and would do something about that.

Happy to feel useful once more, he hurried out of the suite towards the kitchens for the second time that morning, a fresh hum rising in his throat. Perhaps the day would be salvageable, after all.

I’ve now come to the end of what I had written.
Hopefully I’ll have a chance to write some more in the next week or so, before I update next Wednesday. This story needs more Esten.
See you then.

Happy New Year, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 8

December 26, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| 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

December 19, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| 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

December 17, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| 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!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 5

December 7, 2016 Becca Lusher

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

While Estenarven is having a fine time on one side of the table, Mastekh’s not enjoying himself quite so much on the other. Poor Puddle.

5
Banquet II

MASTEKH HATED BANQUETS. They were always so noisy, so full of people, so full of food. Sitting hunched in his chair, he stared down at the soup in front of him. It was cold. It had to be by now. Soup had been the first course, the only one brought in by the draco servants. The rest of the food had been piled high in the middle of the table for all and sundry to serve themselves as much or as little as they liked.

Mastekh hadn’t eaten any of it. He couldn’t. He was too nervous, his stomach a mass of confusion and anxiety.

Estenarven sat directly opposite him, across the wide expanse of tabletop, laughing and completely at ease. As well he might be in a crowd such as this. The Boulderforce was naturally gregarious and always popular. Lieutenants Anhardyne and Vish were seated next to him and they made quite the striking trio – young, beautiful, tall, but where the humans were slender and shining, Estenarven was broad and dark and –

Oh, dear. Mastekh sighed and stared down at his untouched soup. He felt like that soup, cold and colourless and utterly unappetising. Why would Estenarven ever want him when he had such a feast available?

Rumour had told him all about the young Boulderforce long before Estenarven had been assigned to Elder Blazeborn as an aide, in punishment for playing too roughly with humans. Mastekh cast him another glance and sighed again. It seemed little had changed, since Estenarven appeared as eager as ever to play with the Riders.

Not that Mastekh could blame him. Humans were vibrant and fun, and those two in particular were extremely flirtatious. And more. Mastekh had heard rumours about them too. Their reputations for excitement and experimentation more than matched Estenarven’s before Mastekh had ever met him. The dragons of Teirenlai had had only good things to say about the Boulderforce, in all areas.

Mastekh shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He wasn’t a prude, nor was he shocked or even surprised. He was a Rainstorm, after all, and all Flowflight dragons were known for being fluid in many aspects of their nature, be it relationships, gender or sexual preferences. But sitting in that hall, watching Estenarven flirt rather outrageously with the humans, made Mastekh feel young and inexperienced and small.

He may have grown up a Rainstorm, but attraction was new to Mastekh. He… he wasn’t like his other clutch mates and fellow fledglings. He’d never been attracted to them, couldn’t imagine ever being intimate with any of them. He’d thought he wasn’t much that way inclined. It happened, even amongst the fluid Flowflights. He’d been happy enough with that thought. After all, he could barely make it through the day without spontaneously melting into a puddle, so throwing romantic entanglements into the mix would surely only make things worse. Not that anyone would ever choose to get involved with him. Why would they? He could barely stand his own company, so why would anyone else ever choose to willingly spend time with him?

But Estenarven…

Mastekh was staring again. He couldn’t help it. Estenarven was everything he wasn’t. People wanted to be close to him, and who could blame them? It wasn’t just that the Boulderforce was handsome, it wasn’t even that he was friendly. There was just something about him that made Mastekh feel safe, made him feel calm, and that wasn’t anything he’d ever encountered before. No one had ever made Mastekh feel safe, no one had ever quieted the doubts and fears that constantly warred and chattered inside his head.

With Estenarven he could breathe.

But that was selfish. What could Mastekh possibly have to offer in return?

Feeling miserable, he stared across the table as a laughing Anhardyne picked up something sticky with sauce and pressed it to Estenarven’s lips. The Boulderforce opened without hesitation, licking her fingers clean afterwards.

Mastekh stopped breathing.

Dark eyes flickered his way, shimmering with the pale blue of the surrounding glow globes.

Mastekh dropped his eyes, fists clenching in his lap. He had no right to feel this way. No right at all.

But the daisy…

He’d baked rock cakes…

Nothing had been said. No promises exchanged. Even if Estenarven had kissed him, there had been no vows offered, no words given. If there was even anything between them, it didn’t mean they were exclusive. Estenarven was a free dragon. He owed Mastekh nothing.

He looked up, blinking away a wash of tears and found the seats opposite now empty.

They’d gone then. Vish, Anhardyne, Estenarven. Off to have even more fun together somewhere secluded and private. Mastekh wished them well of their evening, even if his chest felt hollowed out and his heart trampled beneath their carefree feet.

“They don’t mean anything by it,” a soft voice drew his attention sideways.

Mastekh tilted his head the tiniest fraction to see Lieutenant Nera watching him with compassionate dark eyes. Mastekh twitched his head away, unable to bear her pity, barely holding himself together.

He felt like ice, cold and frozen, but knew that ice was just a thin layer over the roiling waters beneath. If he moved too much or too fast, the ice would crack and all the hurt and fears and unworthiness would come flooding out. He’d lose control and embarrass everyone. He had to hold on. He couldn’t afford to crack.

“It’s only flirting,” Nera continued, her voice low beneath the babble of excited chatter. “They can’t help it. It comes as easy to them as breathing – Esten too. But he’s barely taken his eye off you all evening. They’re just having fun.”

Mastekh’s breathing hitch, almost a sob, but he couldn’t respond. He wanted to thank Nera for trying to be kind, wanted to tell her it didn’t matter. He knew they were just flirting, that it didn’t mean anything. He also wanted to tell her that she was wrong. It was more than flirting and it meant everything, everything bad and hurtful, and proved everything that was wrong with him.

Why else would their seats be empty? Where else could Estenarven have gone, except back to the room the lieutenants would have been assigned, along with a big bed that offered so many more opportunities than the cramped quarters available to them on the Skylark. Estenarven was a big dragon, even in human shape, he would need room to stretch out. More room than he’d been assigned in Elder Blazeborn’s suite. They could offer it to him.

Stone scraped on stone as the chair on Mastekh’s far side was dragged out. He didn’t move, couldn’t, didn’t want to know who was sitting there now. He hadn’t even noticed that the other dragon had left. He’d been seated beside an older Tempestfury all evening, one who had been interested in nothing except the food in front of him. His lack of conversation had suited Mastekh perfectly, but he wished the gobbling old drake hadn’t left so early. He was not in the mood for fending off the conversation of strangers.

A warm, heavy hand settled on his thigh and Mastekh jumped. The ice threatened to crack as he stared aghast at the newcomer.

Dark eyes, pupils blown wide, gazed back, accompanied by a lopsided grin in a broad and beautifully familiar face. “’lo, Puddle.”

Estenarven.

Mastekh could have cried. Estenarven was here. He had come to him. He could have had the pick of the room, he had already had two humans enjoying his company, but no, Estenarven hadn’t chosen to be with any of them. He’d come to Mastekh. He was here. Mastekh breathed in a short, stuttering breath, trying to hold back the tears.

Estenarven smiled at him and he melted.

The ice covering him faded away, but he didn’t break. No flood of feelings poured forth, he didn’t lose control. Instead the waters inside him settled and calmed and he was back, safe inside his skin, wanting to be nowhere more than where he was right then.

“Missed you,” Estenarven mumbled, pitching sideways until his head rested on Mastekh’s shoulder, his face pressed against his throat.

Oh.

The calm waters began to bubble and fizz beneath his skin, sending a wash of heat rushing through him.

He hadn’t expected that.

Just as he didn’t expect Estenarven to half-turn towards him, one hand still pressed against his thigh, the other stretching across Mastekh to link their fingers together. The Boulderforce hummed with contentment, setting Mastekh fizzing and bubbling once more. Their hands were so different – Estenarven’s broad and strong, with thick fingers and calloused skin. Mastekh’s hands were slender and cool and soft – not to mention trembling as Estenarven shifted his grip to Mastekh’s wrist. Then he slid his fingers slowly, slowly down, over fragile veins and tendons, tickling against his palm then teasing between his fingers, where fine webbing extended between each to the middle knuckle.

By the Family! Mastekh shivered.

Estenarven hummed with approval. “Sensitive?”

He swallowed as the Boulderforce’s lips brushed against his throat and nodded. He hadn’t known, he’d had no idea but, gracious, as Estenarven teased his fingertips over the webs again, Mastekh couldn’t restrain a full body shudder. Nothing had ever felt so strange, yet wonderful, and oh, he wanted more.

“Est-t-ten…”

Chuckling, Estenarven slid his other hand down Mastekh’s thigh towards his knee. He circled his thumb slowly, keeping time with his fingers as they stroked the webs, Mastekh’s palm, his wrist, slipping inside the sleeve of his robe and up to the crook of his elbow.

What was he doing to him?

Family have mercy.

“Oh…”

Estenarven opened his mouth against Mastekh’s neck and licked, just as the hand on his thigh began to move upwards.

A loud laugh broke the spell and Mastekh flinched, raising his shoulder quick and sharp and catching Estenarven on the cheek. He also pressed his hand hard against the one on his thigh, stopping it from exploring any further.

“N-not here!”

Grumbling, Estenarven shifted back onto his own chair and rubbed his cheek. “Sorry, Puddle, forgot you’re not one for exhibitions.”

Mastekh hadn’t thought himself one for sensual touches either, but look how wrong he’d been. “S-s-sorry.” He hugged his arms miserably over his middle. Yet another way that he was less than other dragons.

“Don’t apologise,” Estenarven said, clucking his tongue and prising one of Mastekh’s hands loose. He pressed the palm against his lips and sighed. “Never apologise. I’m the one who should have known better.”

Yes, he should have known far better than to have ever expressed interest in an inexperienced, anxious, watery, wimpy, useless excuse for a dragon such as –

“Oh!”

Estenarven smiled against his palm, then licked the web between his fore and middle finger again.

“Oh, m-m-my…”

“Bad thoughts gone?” Estenarven chuckled, lowering Mastekh’s hand.

He shivered all over and stared at the Boulderforce. “Wh-what thoughts?” he asked, dazed and then dazzled as Estenarven smiled at him. It was wicked and sultry and all for him.

Mastekh’s insides fizzed and bubbled all over again.

“Perfect.”

The next update contains scenes of flirtation, inappropriate snickering and mild indignation. See you next Wednesday.

Take care, my lovelies!

A Bit of Me, Overworld, Updates, Writing

NaNo Report: Final Thoughts

November 30, 2016November 30, 2016 Becca Lusher

Well, I did it. Cloud Cursed was wrapped up by Day 19, which left me free all last week to pursue other things. In the meantime I also managed to pass 10,000 words on A Courtship of Dragons, taking my November total over 100,000.

So what has NaNo taught me this year? Not a lot really, since I’ve always been lucky enough to be able to throw a lot of words out if I have a chance to put in the effort. It’s still nice to know I can complete a challenge when I set one, though.

Am I glad I did it? Yep, because now I’m one book deeper into the Dragonlands series and have plenty of ideas to keep carrying me forward. This book also brought out the overarching plotline and coalesced a few nebulous ideas, which is always nice. I don’t know how concrete they’ll prove to be going forward (spontaneous dragons and all), but having the daily word count chasing me meant I kept writing when I might otherwise have taken a few days out to think things over and lost the momentum.

I also didn’t go completely crazy over the last few days. Well, relatively speaking. I wrote as much from Day 13-19 as I’d written up to that point, doubling my word count in a week. But this isn’t unheard of for me when I get my teeth into something, and I didn’t have any 10,000+ days, so I didn’t lose my head completely. Which I’d count as a success judging by my output in previous NaNo attempts.

Overall I’d call this a success. I hit my goals and didn’t keel over from exhaustion or pressure. I started and finished the book I wanted to and also managed to start something else along the way, regardless of world events, boiler breakdowns and other unexpected drains on my time, energy and brain space.

So thanks, NaNo 2016. You were tough, but we made it and maybe I’ll play properly next year.

To finish, here’s the final Snippet List of Progress:

DAY SEVENTEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 19

ANHARDYNE WAS FED up of stairs. For creatures who could transform into thirty to forty foot beast and fly every which way they pleased, dragons built far too many stairs.

– Anhardyne, Chapter 19

Something long and smooth brushed over his wings and Estenarven spun, snarling.

– Estenarven, Chapter 19

Day 17 – 4942 words
Overall – 73,234 words

DAY EIGHTEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 20+21

Without a word, Khennik assumed his dragon shape and curled his longer form around the front half of Estenarven, covering the young dragon with a shimmering bronze and gold wing.

– Khennik, Chapter 20

“We rarely get what we deserve,” Goryal said gently. “Although sometimes, if we are lucky enough, we get what we need.” They opened their clasped hands and the scent of tea filled the air. “Drink?”

– Goryal, Chapter 21

Day 18 – 7804 words
Overall – 81,038 words

DAY NINETEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 22 – 25

“Have faith in yourself. Trust your strength. We are with you.”

– Khennik, Chapter 22

Maegla, it was beautiful.

– Nera, Chapter 23

Tempting though it was to tell the elder to buzz off – rainbow sparkles optional – they were still a powerful, influential dragon and she didn’t think either her captain or the ambassador would be pleased if she somehow offended Goryal. Not that Goryal was easy to offend, but it would be just her luck if she managed it nevertheless.

– Anhardyne, Chapter 24

“What happens now?”

– Reglian, Chapter 25

Day 19 – 8880 words
Overall – 89,218 words

THE END!

Now that that’s over with, I suppose I should return to working on Storm Rising and get that ready for release in the new year. I would much rather get working on book 4 (Burning Sands), but if I just keep writing without releasing things I think people might get fed up of hearing me talking about them.

So next on the list will be Storm Rising edits. Rift Riders has about nine more weeks of scheduled updates to go, then I’ll be prepping that one for release too before deciding what to do about book 3 in both series. Woven in amongst all of this I’ll also continue to work on A Courtship of Dragons, because there will never be too much fluffy dragon romance in the world and writing Esten and Mastekh is pure brain candy for me.

All in all, business as usual. Much writing has been done, too much editing remains and books will appear as and when I can get them ready.

Farewell, November, thanks for the words. To my fellow NaNo participants out there, congratulations! I hope you made it to the end, or if not, then you’re at least happy with what you achieve. If (again) not, well, I guess there’s always next year. I’ll see you then.

In the meantime, take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 4

November 29, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 ||

As of next week I’ll start posting these regularly on Wednesdays. I’ve had a bit of run on writing this over the last couple of days (and broken 100k for NaNo!), so I have a few weeks now stored up. I still have no idea where this is going or how long it’ll turn out, but Khennik joined the POV this morning, so who knows who’ll start talking next. (My money’s on those lieutenants, but I think Jesral will too if/when she shows up.)

I’ll also make a proper page, create a blurb and cover and start posting it on Wattpad at some point. Right now I’m just letting my brain recover.

In the meantime, Estenarven’s made it to the banquet and appears to be in a fine flirty mood.

4
Banquet I

KIN TEMPESTFURY WERE a lively bunch. Especially during the Storm Season, when their powers were high and they seized upon any excuse to throw a party. Hence this banquet, which had been dragged together on short notice to welcome the human ambassador, her Rift Rider guard and the dragon delegation assigned to accompany them throughout the Dragonlands.

Estenarven had visited a few dragon courts in his three and a bit centuries of life, but he’d rarely seen any quite as relaxed as this one. A high table stood at the head of the great hall, where the dragon elders, ambassador and captains of the Riders and their skyship were seated alongside the Elder of kin Tempestfury with a certain air of formality. The rest of the hall was taken up with long tables, a hundred Rift Riders and nearly three hundred dragons, all talking at once, reaching over each other for food and frequently swapping seats in search of a more interesting conversation.

He loved it. This was just his sort of night. Good food, even better wine and friendly people: what more could a dragon ask for?

Well, a seat closer to Mastehk might have been nice. Not that Estenarven wasn’t enjoying his present companions. He’d been seated next to two of the Rift Rider lieutenants, Anhardyne and Vish, who were a lot like him – loud, friendly and frequently flirty. Estenarven had liked them both from the moment he’d first met them, and any dinner spent next to them was bound to pass in laughter and merriment. It was just a shame that Mastekh had been seated with the other lieutenants on the opposite side of the table. One that was wide enough to support Estenarven in natural form and currently piled high with all kinds of delicious food – which had the unfortunate effect of obstructing his view.

It was too wide to share anything more than the occasional glance between platters, but Estenarven had still managed a fair few of at the beginning of the evening, wondering how long it would take before the seat beside Mastekh was empty. However, as time progressed, he noted the way the humans were taking care of his Puddle and started to relax. Mastekh would be safe with Nera and Gharrik. They were quiet and steady and would never drink too much or let the nervous dragon be overwhelmed by company.

Unlike Estenarven and his side of the table.

“A toast!” Anhardyne shouted, now seated on Vish’s lap, her stone goblet raised high. Whether there was much wine left in it, Estenarven was highly doubtful, but he still admired the fine sight the human pair made. She was tawny and gold, her fine blonde hair like a cloud around her head. Vish, by contrast, was dark and dusky, with long eyelashes that he fluttered in his lover’s direction to make Anhardyne laugh.

“To love and friendships and wine and song!” Anhardyne’s words raised a rousing cheer and she leant towards Estenarven, wine goblet first. “Drink, drink!” she urged, almost dropping the whole lot in Estenarven’s lap as Vish reeled her back in.

“Leave the dragon room to breathe, Hardy. You’ll never gain his attention that way.”

Catching the goblet before it could soak him, Estenarven grinned and raised it in a silent response to Vish’s flirty wink. Once he might have taken them up on their not-so-subtle offer. Rumour had it that neither human minded too much who shared their bed, as long as they all had fun, and it seemed that even after the pair of them had finally given into their mutual attraction, they were still open to offers, so long as both of them shared the fun.

He would have been tempted not too long ago. They were tall and athletic and exuberant, everything that Estenarven had revelled in since gaining control of his wings and his changes. But their kind of fun no longer seemed quite so appealing, and all because of the small dragon sitting hunched up on the other side of the table. Estenarven stared at Mastekh until he looked up, then raised the goblet in a silent toast and held Mastekh’s eyes as he drained every last drop, slowly licking the last few from his lips.

The Rainstorm flushed green with embarrassment and looked away, pretending to be interested in something Lieutenant Nera had to say.

A drunken giggle drew his attention to find both Vish and Anhardyne watching him with knowing smirks.

“You do like a challenge, don’t you?” Anhardyne snickered, closing her eyes as Vish ran his fingers up the back of her head, spearing them through her hair.

“I’m pretty sure those are the only ones worth having,” the second Rider chuckled as Anhardyne pressed into his hand, practically purring.

True enough. Estenarven reached across the table for the wine jug and refilled goblets for them all. “To worthy challenges,” he said, raising his drink.

“And rewards well won,” Anhardyne agreed, smiling slyly as she tapped her goblet against his.

Now that was definitely something he could drink to. He smiled and sat back, ready to make the most of whatever else the evening had to offer.

Yes, yes, Esten, but is Mastekh having as much fun as you?
Find out next Wednesday ;)

Cheers, m’dears!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 3

November 22, 2016 Becca Lusher

|| Part 1 || Part 2 ||

Breathe, Mastekh. Just breathe.

3
The Dinner Bell

MASTEKH HAD WOUND himself into a fine state by the time the bell rang for dinner. Anxiety pinched high and tight inside his chest with every step as he paced the narrow confines of his room. He knew such restless movement wasn’t helping, but sitting still was worse.

What had he done? Oh, what had he done?

Courting a Boulderforce, him? What had come over him? How did one even go about courting a Boulderforce anyway?

Mastekh paced and wrung his hands, wondering if he’d done the right thing or made a terrible mistake. Had Estenarven liked the cakes? What if he’d hated them? It could be the sand bread all over again, when he’d tried so hard to impress Elder Blazeborn and got it terribly wrong.

Maybe Estenarven hated him now. After all, rock cakes weren’t normally made with chocolate or so much sugar. But Estenarven loved sweet things. Only rock cakes were supposed to be savoury. What right had he to change an ancient Flowflight recipe?

And what business did a puny little Rainstorm have in courting a Boulderforce anyway?

Did Estenarven even know they were a courting gift?

Aunt Water, he couldn’t cope with this. His heart was beating triple time and he was only pacing his room.

Breathe, he counselled himself. Breathe.

It was unlikely that Estenarven thought it was a courting gift anyway. He probably thought it was just something Mastekh had made while he was bored.

Whoever heard of a Flowflight and a Stoneheart anyway? While other Clans might mix romantically with other dragons, ever since the Curse had covered the lowlands of the world with a thick layer of clouds, Flowflights had kept to themselves. With so many of their kin lost in the water beneath the Curse, they had pulled inwards, determined not to dilute their rare bloodlines any further. Romances were frowned upon, mate-alliances refused. Flowflights learnt to keep to their own.

Oh, but…

Mastekh shook his head and wrung his hands, feeling them starting to drip. He was loosing control. He couldn’t lose control, not in here. His hold on his human form was improving these days, but stress made it worse and he’d always had trouble focusing. If he wasn’t carefully his thoughts tended to spiral and when they went down, they went all the way down, into the depths of anxiety and worry and oh, oh, oh –

“S-stop it!” he hissed at himself, standing still and closing his eyes.

He couldn’t lose control in here. The room wasn’t big enough. If he gave into his fears his human skin would slide off like oil on water and he’d be left cramped and cursing and embarrassed in a room too small to hold him.

Deep breath. In… Out… He had to remind himself that the pinch in his chest was just anxiety, not a heart attack. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if he did worry himself into a heart attack one of these days. It was so hard to breathe at times.

Oh, no. Oh, no! He couldn’t breathe!

Stop.

He clenched his damp fists and forced his heavy tail to vanish again, settling down his rippling skin and pulling in all of the water that kept trying to escape.

He was stronger than this. Better than this.

Elder Blazeborn expected better. He would be better.

Allowing a shaking breath to escape his tight lips, he opened his eyes and sighed. Much better.

“Mastekh?” Elder Blazeborn called from the room beyond. “Are you coming to dinner?”

Oh, no, oh, no, he was making the elder wait.

Panic swept over him again as a knock sounded on his door.

Oh, oh, he hated being a bother. He hated being late. It was so rude, so terribly rude.

He wrenched open the door and barrelled out, bubbling apologies – and slammed straight into a wall.

The wall shifted and two strong hands gripped Mastekh by the elbows, holding him steady when he would otherwise have reeled backwards.

“Oh!” He looked up into a dark, charcoal-tinged face and beautiful, laughing black eyes.

A slow smile spread across Estenarven’s mouth. “Hello, Puddle.”

Mastekh gulped and the anxiety melted inside his chest, warmth seeping in where there had only previously been cold. “H-hello, P-pebble,” he whispered.

“I’ll go on ahead, shall I?” Elder Blazeborn muttered, seemingly aware that no one was paying him the least bit of attention.

The sound of the door slamming shut made Mastekh jump. Estenarven tightened his grip on his elbows – and that was when Mastekh noticed where his own hands were.

On Estenarven’s chest.

Not just on the slate grey silk robe that the other dragon wore, but on his chest. Because Estenarven was careless with how he tied his sash and didn’t much care if he left a lot of skin showing. Mastekh didn’t much care either because Estenarven’s chest was like the rest of him – broad and sturdy and strong and smooth, so smooth. Warm too, with a hint of softness that was missing in the Boulderforce’s much larger and more solid native form.

As a dragon he lived up to his kin name, but as a human he had a little give in his strong muscles. Which Mastekh couldn’t help but notice as he stared straight ahead at where his fingers were flexing… and squeezing.

A low rumble hummed against his hands. Estenarven was laughing.

“Oh!” Mastekh snatched his hands away, staring down at them as if they belonged to someone else, a mortified blush rushing to his face. “I’m s-s-s-sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, Puddle,” Estenarven chuckled again, grabbing Mastekh’s hand before he could scuttle back inside his room and bolt the door for an eternity. “Never apologise for touching me. You can do it a bit more later if you like, but sadly we don’t have time for that now.”

Mastekh could only blink as the other dragon towed him towards the door.

“The banquet,” Estenarven explained, smiling at Mastekh’s blank face. “Elder Blazeborn is expecting us.”

“Oh.” This time he couldn’t hide his disappointment from the small, but eternally adaptable sound. He flexed his fingers inside of Estenarven’s and felt a warm, reassuring, wonderful squeeze in return.

Chuckling again, Estenarven pulled Mastekh out into the corridor. “We’ll talk later,” he promised, brushing a brief yet wonderful kiss across Mastekh’s knuckles.

Heat rushed to his face again, but Mastekh didn’t mind so much this time and spent the rest of the walk through the halls of Highstrike grinning like a fool.

I shall post more on Saturday, if I have any more to post.
As yet I have half a page. Need more.

Take care, my lovelies.

A Bit of Me, Overworld, Updates, Writing

NaNo Report, Part 3

November 16, 2016 Becca Lusher

Things have really started picking up, plot-wise and with the word count, over the last few days. Which is good, because thanks to the boiler breakdown last week and the three days of repairs, my writing schedule was rather disrupted.

I’ve also found out that next week is going to be a bit of a mess writing-wise too. Why does this only ever happen in my NaNo years? In the non-NaNo years November is dull and empty, but as soon as I commit to something, quick, quick, we demand your time elsewhere! This isn’t really a complaint, just a general expression of bafflement.

Anyway, I’m hoping to get the book finished this week. I’m not sure if I’ll quite manage it, depends on how much brain power I have left and how many random directions my spontaneous dragons can erupt in. I can always tell when I’m getting worn out, though, because my characters start to swear a lot. Normally I only let them swear to make a dramatic point, but the f-word is creeping in all over the place lately. This usually shows I’m too busy (or lazy) to think of something better, but at the moment I just sort of stare blankly at the screen for a few minutes, then shrug and move on. So that’ll be fun to edit later.

I’m also having more trouble picking snippets to share without spoilers. Then again, I’m also struggling to figure out if they’re actually spoilers or not when no one knows anything else leading up to this point over the last two books. I’m trying to avoid them nonetheless.

Now all I have to do is gather up all my trailing threads and try to weave them into a coherent ending. In three days. Wish me luck!

Oh, and because of all the above blathering, I haven’t had much time to spare for Courtship. I’ll try and squeeze a few lines out tomorrow, but I’d kind of like to get Cloud Cursed over and done while I have time. Then I’ll have more time to play. I’m looking forward to it. (Although I’m now full of ideas for Book 4 and would love to write that straight after this. I should probably edit No.2 and release it first. Being an indie author is no fun sometimes ;)

In the meantime, here’s the Snippet List of Progress!

DAY ELEVEN
Lost to the continuing Saga of the Boiler.

DAY TWELVE
Cloud Cursed Ch 12

It wasn’t funny and it wasn’t clever. Someone could get hurt – and probably would once Khennik finally tracked down those responsible.

– Khennik, Chapter 12

Day 12 – 3468
Overall – 45, 001

DAY THIRTEEN
Catching up on other things.

DAY FOURTEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 13+14

“Shut up and hand me that naked dragon.”

– *Spoilers* (It’s probably not, I’m just mean), Chapter 13

“You Riders do make life interesting.”

– Korija, Chapter 14

Day 14 – 6538 words
Overall – 51, 539 words

DAY FIFTEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 15+16

It was all Estenarven’s fault.

– Khennik, Chapter 15

He used to play with the hummingbirds when he was a dragonling, creeping through the lush forest groves, enchanted by their jewel-bright feathers and their tiny forms. They had been beautiful, so beautiful.

– Mastekh, Chapter 16

Day 15 – 8151 words
Overall – 59,690 words

DAY SIXTEEN
Cloud Cursed Ch 17+18

Footwear was a serious liability.

– Khennik, Chapter 17

“Ow,” the Rider complained, squirming against his grip. “I was only joking. Gods, you dragons have no sense of humour.”

– Vish, Chapter 18

Day 16 – 8602 words
Overall – 68,292 words

68292 / 80000 words. 85% done!

So close now!

At least, I hope I am, because with where everything ended today I could either wrap the whole thing up in another three chapters, or it could be double that and more. I’m hoping to land somewhere in the middle, but I guess I will have to wait and see.

To all my fellow NaNo participants, hope you’re still on tracking and kicking your word count where it, uh, counts.

And to everyone else, I hope all is well or as good as can be expected.

Take care, my lovelies!

Overworld, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 2

November 14, 2016 Becca Lusher

Almost forgot. I’m not used to posting on Mondays.

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance tale (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.

Anyway, here’s Estenarven’s take on the relationship so far. Also – cakes!

(They don’t really have much in common with actual rock cakes, other than the name. Yes, I may have been hungry when I wrote this. I certainly was by the time I finished editing it, and I’m not really fond of cakes. If we’re talking chocolate, though…)

I will try and remember to do a proper links page soon. In the meantime, if you missed part one, you can find it here.

2
Rock Cakes

ESTENARVEN KIN BOULDERFORCE Clan Stoneheart was hungry. It wasn’t quite time for dinner yet, but he’d missed lunch – and breakfast, now that he thought about it. His day had been all go since before dawn, when a particularly nasty storm had struck the Skylark, threatening to throw the human skyship from the sky and into the cursed Cloud Sea below.

Obeying the orders of Elder Blazeborn, Estenarven had done his best to bolster the ship and keep it airborne, while Mastekh and Jesral kin Lightstorm Clan Skystorm had gone ahead with Elder Goryal in search of sanctuary and shelter.

Which was how they’d ended up here, Highstrike, home of kin Tempestfury. A rocky, spiky, exposed and unforgiving tower that dug down into the crag it had been built upon, while the steep ravine below provided shelter for both dragons and skyships alike.

It wasn’t a place Estenarven would have necessarily chosen to visit or to stay in, but so far the Tempestfury dragons had been welcoming and it was an easy enough place to learn his way around. Getting the Skylark to Highstrike had been only the start of his busy day, though, and Estenarven had spent the rest of it moving Elder Blazeborn’s things to his room, unpacking the necessary blankets, quilts and oddities that would make the elder feel at home, without him even noticing they were there, and making sure he and the other aides knew exactly how best to serve their elders.

Estenarven was exhausted, quite frankly, and his stomach was threatening to take his legs hostage if he didn’t do something about its emptiness soon. Honestly, anyone would think he was still a wingling, needing five big meals a day. He was old enough now that one meal should suffice, but he was a big Boulderforce – even in human shape – and he had been rather busy. No one would begrudge him a mid-afternoon snack to tide him over.

The trouble was, in order to have said snack, Estenarven would have to trudge down fifteen floors to reach the kitchen, and even though it was all down hill, he couldn’t quite face the exertion. Which was why he opted to find his room instead.

Situated off the main area of Elder Blazeborn’s suite, Estenarven’s temporary quarters weren’t much to write home about. He had a bed, an arrow slit window, a tiny alcove that some might deem a dressing area and a wash basin with its own hot water tap. It wasn’t exactly spacious, and too small by far for him to assume his native form inside it, but it would do. He’d had worse and at least he didn’t have to share it with anyone.

Although, he wouldn’t necessarily mind sharing with Mastekh – if only the bed was a bit bigger. Estenarven eyed the item in question now, doubtful he could fit into it on his own, let alone share it with anyone else. True, he was on the larger size for his species, but Tempestfury’s were hardly small. There was no excuse for such puny furniture.

Oh well, he would make the best of it. He usually did.

Filling his basin with warm water, Estenarven washed his face then ran some cold water into his hands for a drink. His stomach gurgled in anticipation, then rumbled its own opinion of such a weak offering.

It was no use, he’d have to visit the kitchens. If not he might start eyeing the furniture and there really wasn’t enough of it for him to pick off a piece here and there. Besides, as a Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart, some might deem a little pebble nibbling to be cannibalism.

Chuckling, Estenarven straightened his dark grey silk robe and left his room, wanting to check Elder Blazeborn’s things one last time before visiting the kitchens.

Warm, sweet, sugary goodness stopped him in his tracks.

Estenarven paused in the doorway, head raised like a hunting hound. He sniffed the air, wondered if he was imagining things and sniffed again.

Food. There was food in the room. Fresh and warm and delicious.

Following his nose, he turned his head from side to side and walked cautiously forward. Knowing his luck this would be a welcome gift intended for the elder – which he wouldn’t be allowed to touch. Except there wasn’t a hint of spice to the scent, nothing fiery or remotely tempting for a Sunlord.

No, this treat was sweet. Not the usual fare one might use to coax a Stoneheart from his lair, but the perfect fodder for this particular Boulderforce.

As he crossed the room, he was drawn to the seating area, where a series of chaises and settees had been arranged to promote conversation. Estenarven didn’t care about that, all that mattered was the table he could now see over the back of a settee.

There was a platter. A stone platter piled high with chunky, round, fist-sized cakes. Flecks of dried fruit showed in one, melted spots of chocolate in another, another was dusted with sugar and icing. They were golden and bulging, and by the Family, he couldn’t resist any longer.

Jumping over the back of the settee, Estenarven landed in a crouch before the table. He reached for the platter, hesitated and glanced over his shoulder.

Nothing stirred. No one moved. He was alone.

He touched the edge of the stone platter and paused again, sniffing cautiously. Cakes, sweet, tempting and delicious, and the faintest hint of dampness and pond lilies. Mastekh.

Chuckling with delight, Estenarven snatched the topmost cake and took an enormous bite. He groaned, shoving the rest of the morsel into his bulging cheeks. There was nothing dainty or delicate about these cakes. They were thick and heavy and doughy.

Rock cakes. Proper rock cakes. The way they should be baked. The way a Stoneheart would make them. Packed with added sweetness.

Snatching up the platter, Estenarven clutched them protectively to his chest and stood up, looking around the room again. Empty. Still.

Estenarven chewed his delicious mouthful and glanced at the door on the opposite side of the suite from his own. It was closed. If it had been open even the smallest crack he might have approached, but it wasn’t. Probably for the best. He still had fifteen cakes to scoff and right now his manners weren’t at their best.

Hording his prize like an ancient drake of old, Estenarven hurried back to his room where he could enjoy himself in peace.

Halfway there, the main door of the suite clicked open. Estenarven paused, his second cake already on the way to his open mouth.

Elder Blazeborn swept inside with a swirl of bronze silk, heat and fiery power. Golden eyes fixed upon Estenarven and slowly dropped to the platter held protectively close to his chest. His gaze narrowed as Estenarven unconsciously hunched his shoulders inwards and half-turned away, the better to conceal his prize.

The elder’s lips twitched. “Hungry, Estenarven?”

Feeling half-foolish, half-defiant, Estenarven cleared his throat. “A little,” he said, voice thick with the last cake he’d devoured.

Elder Blazeborn snorted. “Carry on then.” He waved him away and Estenarven didn’t hesitate to obey. Any longer beneath those knowing golden eyes and his manners would have prompted him to offer the other dragon a cake, which would be awful.

These rock cakes were his. Mastekh had made them for him.

Scuttling into his room like a fledgling on a kitchen raid, Estenarven shut the door by leaning back against and shoved his second cake into his mouth.

Uncle Stone, that tasted good. Chocolate and sugar and doughy goodness. Nothing could compare to this. He slid down the door, propped the plate on his folded knees and methodically worked his way through the stack.

After his tenth cake, he paused. Now that the sharpest edge had been taken off his hunger, he studied the eleventh offering. He could still smell the water lilies, a little more strongly now that the cakes had cooled and were no longer overwhelming his olfactory senses with temptation.

Mastekh had made these for him.

Mastekh had been thinking of him.

While it was true his fellow aide did enjoy cooking, especially for Elder Blazeborn – using his new found skills to try and win the fiery dragon’s favour – he’d never baked rock cakes before. Had never made anything without the sole intent of pleasing their elder.

He’d never made anything for Estenarven.

Until now.

Nibbling on his eleventh cake, Estenarven rested his head back against the door and smiled.

The daisy must have worked.

Placing the remains of the cake on the platter, Estenarven licked his fingers and put the rest of his treats aside. He crawled across the floor and pulled his small travelling case out from beneath the bed.

For ten whole days the kiss he’d shared with Mastekh had been all he could think about, but storm winds, troublesome dragons and aide duties had left him little time for action. Until he saw the daisy.

It had been a feeble effort at best, a spur of the moment decision when they’d paused overnight inside a small ravine surrounded by empty meadows. He wasn’t even sure that Mastekh cared. Oh, they’d grown close while working together to look after Elder Blazeborn, but although the kiss had been an enjoyable joint effort, Mastekh had shown no signs of following up on it. He’d barely been able to look Estenarven in the face since.

Then again, Mastekh was so shy and nervy that this wasn’t necessarily a new development and might have had nothing whatsoever to do with the kiss.

But perhaps it had. Perhaps the kiss had overwhelmed him as much as it had Estenarven and now his dear little Puddle was at a loss for how to act next. Estenarven certainly was. Which was why he’d picked the daisy. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, especially as duties had kept Estenarven too busy to worry about it ever since he’d stolen a brief moment to lay it on Mastekh’s pillow.

Now rock cakes.

Estenarven took another bite and opened his case, digging through his meagre collection of belongings to the small box he’d been certain he’d left on the top.

No matter, he soon found it, nestled in a screwed up blanket. He cracked open the lid and smiled at the contents.

If the last ten days had taught Estenarven anything it was that Mastekh was not his usual type of lover, one as bold and brash as himself, unafraid to take what they both wanted without always needing to ask.

No, Mastekh was quiet, he was sweet, he was shy. He wasn’t a taker, nor was he one to be startled by sudden demands.

He needed to be coaxed, wooed, won.

He needed to be courted.

Smiling, Estenarven shut the box and tapped his fingers over the top. Let the gifting games begin. He bit into another rock cake and began making plans.

I don’t currently have any more to add, since time has not been my friend of late.
However, I shall aim to post more on Thursday.
Which should give me time to write more.
Hopefully.

Thanks for reading!