Tag: Estenarven

Books, Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 23

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance short novel (approximately 60,000 words) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

*winces*

23
Gossip

ESTENARVEN WAS NERVOUS. It was an exceedingly rare occurrence and he didn’t like it one bit. He couldn’t imagine how Mastekh managed to survive constantly being in such a state. Estenarven found himself pacing and sweating and fidgeting as he roamed the empty suite, wondering where Mastekh was and when he would return.

By the Family, this was awful. He would never go out and forget to tell Mastekh where he was going again. He couldn’t bear the suspense – nor the thought that his Puddle went through such things on an almost daily basis. His heart was pounding at such a rate it left him breathless and light headed. It made him wonder how Mastekh had managed to survive as long as he had.

Clearly his Puddle had a stronger heart than many would have suggested. Except Estenarven had always known Mastekh was great hearted. It was partly why he was being so selfish as to hope he could claim such greatness for himself.

A rattle of the doorknob had him wiping his sweaty hands against his robe as he strode across the room and opened the door, full of anticipation.

“Oh!”

Wide eyes blinked up at him and Estenarven’s shoulders slumped. “What do you want, Jessie?” he sighed, unable to feel anything but disappointment at finding Jesral kin Lightstorm Clan Thunderwing, aide to Elder Leasang, outside the door.

“Well, there’s a fine welcome,” she said airily, stepping forward and no doubt intending to stride straight into the suite.

Except Estenarven didn’t move, so she just bounced off his chest instead.

“Esten!” she protested, laughing. “Why so unfriendly? With all the elders off to dinner, I thought we might catch up. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a season, and I’ve heard the most delicious gossip that I simply have to share with you. You’ll find it ever so funny, I promise.”

In the past Estenarven would have been delighted to sit down and gossip with Jesral. She was light and fun and rather flirtatious, and he found her good company. But he wasn’t looking for good company tonight: he wanted the best. Only Mastekh would do.

“I’m busy, Jessie.”

She wrinkled her nose and smoothed her hand over the white stripe that made her otherwise dark hair so striking. “What, with Mastekh?” she scoffed. “Don’t be silly, Esten. At least with me you can have a proper conversation, and besides, I must share this most ridiculous rumour with you. I know you’ll laugh. It’s so silly that it can’t possibly true. A Rainstorm and a Boulderforce? How in the Overworld would that work?”

Her chatter dissolved into laughter, but Estenarven had long ceased listening. Because they were no longer the only two dragons in the corridor. At some point during the exchange, Mastekh had appeared from the stairwell, tray piled high with treats clenched between his hands.

Eyes wide, the Rainstorm stared at the way Jesral clung to Estenarven’s chest, laughing so hard she could hardly stand.

It’s so silly that it can’t possibly true. A Rainstorm and a Boulderforce?

Her mocking words echoed inside his head and Estenarven’s own eyes widened.

How in the Overworld would that work?

“Puddle,” he whispered, frozen with horror as Mastekh’s bottom lip began to wobble.

The tray rattled between the Rainstorm’s trembling hands. Then, with a great crash, he dropped the lot.

Food smashed against the stone floor, bowls cracked and cups bounced, the wine bottles and teapot breaking open to spill their contents across the hallway.

“Oh!”

Still clinging to him, Jesral stopped laughing long enough to realise they had an audience, but Mastekh was already gone, fleeing in a slap of wet feet and soggy puddles.

“Mastekh!” Paralysis broken, Estenarven shoved Jesral aside and ran. “Mastekh, wait!”

“It’s true? Esten? Estenarven!” Jesral’s incredulous shouts followed him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care about her laughing, her disbelief, her gossip or anything else.

All that mattered was Mastekh.

But as Estenarven reached the door to the stairwell where his beloved Puddle had gone, he hit a dead end. No more puddles, no more slapping feet, only darkness and a spiral of stairs leading both up and down.

“Mastekh!” he shouted, listening hard as his echoes returned to him.

Nothing else. No reply, no footsteps, no indication where the Rainstorm had gone.

Growling with frustration, Estenarven turned and slapped his hand hard against the doorframe.

The stone door frame that was part of the stone stairwell in a tower also made of stone.

And there he was, a Boulderforce, throwing a tantrum like an idiot because he couldn’t hear where Mastekh had gone.

Snorting derisively at himself, he flattened both hands against the wall. “Wretched fool,” he growled, sinking all his senses into the rock under his palms and coaxing the stone to reveal all of its secrets.

More next week!

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 21

Becca Lusher

courtship-banner

A Courtship of Dragons is a M/M Romance novella (I hope, although it keeps growing so who knows where it’ll end up) told in short scenes, between two young dragons, Estenarven kin Boulderforce Clan Stoneheart and Mastekh kin Rainstorm Clan Flowflight. It’s pure fluff ‘n’ stuff and not intended to be anything other than that.

|| First Part || All Parts || Last Part ||

In which Khennik gives some advice. Sort of.

21
Thoughts

7th Storm

ESTENARVEN KNELT BESIDE his bed, studying the meagre belongings he had brought with him on this trip. He’d never been an acquisitive dragon – Boulderforces rarely were – and such a lack of material possessions had never bothered him. Until now. The small stone box inside his travelling case was half full of beans and pebbles, but the sight of them made him smile in memory of all that they meant.

It was the lack of much else that brought on a frown.

A tap on the door made him jump and he instinctively reached out to hide his treasures, only to relax when it was Elder Blazeborn who leant inside.

Sighing, Estenarven sat back on his heels and half twisted towards the door. “Yes, elder?”

Khennik tilted his head, taking in the open box on the bed, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fourth gift?”

Estenarven snorted derisively and glared down at his little box of treasures. He’d thought them so special once. Now he could hardly remember why he’d ever considered any of them precious. Stones and letters and scraps. Nothing good enough for his needs.

The Blazeborn elder took another step into the tiny room and asked for permission to sit with a tilt of his hand. Estenarven nodded, balling his fists against the instinctive need to hide his treasures. Just because Boulderforces were rarely acquisitive, didn’t mean they weren’t possessive. And Sunlords were known for their hoards.

Something about the tension in his body must have alerted Khennik, though, because while he sat carefully beside the box and leant over for a closer look, the elder kept his hands carefully behind his back. “You have a lot of pebbles and beans.”

“Second gift,” Estenarven offered in reply.

“Ah.” Khennik tilted his head and squinted. Moving slowly, he looked at Estenarven for permission before gently shifting some pebbles aside to see what lay beneath. “Well, now. Wherever did you come by this?”

Estenarven wrinkled his nose, laying his palms flat against his thighs to stop himself from snatching the tiny object out of his elder’s claws. “Found it,” he grumbled.

Khennik arched an eyebrow and placed the delicate object on the rumpled blanket covering the bed. “Unusual for a Boulderforce.”

Estenarven shrugged, feeling a touch of heat rising to his cheeks. It was an unusual possession for a Boulderforce to keep, especially as it wasn’t made from stone, but despite its small and delicate appearance, this little object held a raft of memories for him.

Reaching out, he scooped up the little figure, carved out of some unknown wood, smoothed and shaped into the appearance of a well-rounded human, sexless and faceless, with only the faintest traces of when it had once been painted. Estenarven didn’t know where it had originated from or how old it was, but it wore its age in the form of scratches and scars and weathered cracks. He’d found it many, many years ago when he’d been barely a dragonling first venturing out of the safety of his kin nest. He’d been digging with Estenarix, pretending that they were fierce dragon explorers searching for new minerals to mine.

They had uncovered five figures that day, of varying shapes and sizes. Estenarix had thought them ugly and boring and tossed them all aside, reburying them in her quest for something solid, something stone, something shiny and exciting. She’d scoffed at him when he’d said he wanted to keep them, so he’d had to sneak back later to dig them up again. He’d only been able to find four of them that time and over the years they’d each been broken and lost.

This was the only one left. It had been through so much with him, so many years, so many miles, so many changes. Yet despite the memories and centuries they’d shared together, it didn’t look like much.

“I can’t give him that,” he said, instead of voicing all the thoughts running through his mind.

Elder Blazeborn watched him quietly, golden eyes scanning Estenarven’s pensive face. “Does it mean that much to you?”

Estenarven stared at the tiny figure, nestled so securely in his palm, and bit back an instinctive denial. It did mean a lot. Khennik wouldn’t judge him for feeling a connection to such a strange object, but that wasn’t what he was asking. Estenarven stroked a finger over the familiar curves, feeling the smooth patches and the rough places, the scratches and cracks and flaking paintwork.

He sighed. “Not more than Mastekh,” he admitted. “But it’s not much of a gift. Look at it.”

Khennik didn’t look at the figure – he looked at Estenarven. “If it means so much to you, Estenarven, it will mean everything to him. As long as you are willing to share its significance. That more than anything contains its worth.”

Estenarven curled his hand around the precious, pathetic object and nodded. Of everything he owned, of all that he cared enough to carry with him, this was what mattered the most. Except for Mastekh.

“Then I have my gift.”

“So you do,” Khennik said softly, smiling ever so briefly before getting to his feet. “I’ll be out for the rest of the day. Elder Gwyllen has invited me and the other elders to dinner. Don’t wait up.” He slipped out of the tiny room, silk robes whispering in his wake.

Leaving Estenarven to frown down at the tiny figure in his hands and wonder how good a gift it would prove to be.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 20

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 || All Parts || Last Part ||

In an effort to finally push this story through to the end, I’ve been editing and tidying up some of the older sections. Which means part of this update may seem like a continuity error (Mastekh’s gift), but actually isn’t. At least, not in the version I have. It might not even be obvious, but to the people who do notice these things, I am aware and have already tweaked it. Even if I’m too lazy to update the online version just yet ;D

And with that out of the way, following on from the shortest update last week, now have the longest. #hugsforMastekh

20
Courage

6th Storm

DEEP BREATH IN, deep breath out. I can do this. I can do this. Mastekh tried to focus his thoughts in a positive direction, but his hands were shaking and he felt all liquid inside.

He was nervous.

Some might say that wasn’t unusual, but Mastekh knew better. He had a nervy disposition and was often anxious, but full nervousness was a whole other step into the jitters. He was twitchy, jumping at every sound – and considering the thundering storm currently crashing down on top of Highstrike, there was a lot of sound – chewing at his lip, pacing the floor.

All because of the best flight of his life.

Oh, how wonderful it had been to soar through the raindrops with Estenarven by his side. His tail had fluttered accidentally against the Boulderforce’s side at one point, blown by the swirling wind. Before Mastekh could apologise for the shocking breech of etiquette, Estenarven’s tail had returned the caress. Their tails had twined. Only for a moment, only for a breath but, by the Family, Mastekh’s heart had pounded.

A wing brush, a mid-air nuzzle from Estenarven as he’d drifted beneath Mastekh’s chest.

Small touches, barely discernable to any watching eyes. Tame, perhaps. But they had been everything to Mastekh. Everything.

He hoarded the memories inside his chest and squeezed himself now, hugging them close. Such a gift, such a wonderful gift.

Which reminded him that it was his turn again.

“Oh, oh, oh,” he puffed to himself, trying to remember to breathe, breathe, breathe. Steady, slow, deep. Every so often he forgot and snatched a shallow gasp, leaving him light-headed enough to stop pacing and wait for the moment to pass.

He was so nervous.

“S-s-stop it,” he ordered himself, but he couldn’t help it. The third gift was important. He had to get it right.

Something meaningful to Estenarven. Something meaningful… He knew what he wanted to do, had it all planned, but that was the easy part. Now he had to do it. And Estenarven’s gift to him had been so perfect, Mastekh wasn’t at all sure his own could compare.

“No.” He shook his head, aware of a small scattering of droplets flying from his clammy skin to splatter on the table. He needed to take hold of himself. These nerves would not do. At this rate he would fret himself into a panic and Estenarven wouldn’t get his third gift and the courtship would be over and Mastekh would be alone again and no one else would ever even think of courting him so he would be outcast and adrift his whole life, the sad, pathetic, soggy Rainstorm that other dragons laughed at and talked about in low voices and he wouldn’t be able to blame them because it would have been his own fault all because he fretted himself into a fever over his turn to try and give a gift of meaning to the most wonderful dragon he had ever met.

Black spots appeared in his vision and Mastekh breathed in on a giant gasp, aware that panic had sprung upon him and he was swaying where he stood.

This would not do.

Taking himself firmly to task, he scolded his own stupidity inside his head and stomped across the room, forcing himself to sit down. The carpet squelched beneath his feet, but he refused to feel bad about it. He’d been dripping all day, going over and over his plans, preparing for the big moment.

It was almost here and it would do no one any good if Estenarven returned to find Mastekh passed out in a puddle.

So he sat down, clasped his hands firmly on his rigid knees and stared at the blotchy green patches on his grey-blue skin. He’d dispelled so much water today it was a wonder he could still stand. At the very least he must have shrunk a good four inches, and there was no knowing how much weight he had shed. At this rate his third gift was going to be to drip out of existence and, as shocking as it often was to Mastekh, that didn’t seem to be what Estenarven wanted.

He wanted Mastekh’s company, his presence, his touch. Swirling himself down the nearest plughole would be a poor repayment for Estenarven’s thoughtful courtship.

“All r-r-right,” he sighed, flexing his hands and placing them palm-down against his thighs. “G-g-good.” He could breathe again. His heartbeat was only slightly faster than normal and his skin felt only slightly moist.

I can do this. I can do this. It was what Estenarven wanted, the least he deserved. Mastekh could do that.

A rattle at the door as the knob turned. Then Estenarven was there.

“Well, what a merry dance that was,” the Boulderforce grumbled, stomping into the room and slamming the door behind him. “A whole morning wasted. I’ve been all over this wretched crag today, searching for a special set of flowers and herbs on behalf of the ambassador, and when I finally track down something that might just pass muster, I go back and find Captain Wellswen had the special soap in her trunk all along. What a waste of time!”

He slumped onto the stone couch opposite Mastekh with a weary grunt and collapsed flat on his back, eyes closed. “Humans.”

Mastekh dug his claws into his thighs, unsure quite how he was supposed to react. As a favour to him, the Riders had kept Estenarven occupied all morning. While he was grateful to them for that, he hadn’t expected them to return his Pebble in a grump. That had definitely not been part of Mastekh’s plans.

A dark eye opened, pinning him in place. “How’s your morning been, Puddle? Better than mine, I trust.”

Since Mastekh had spent all of it fretting and most of it pacing in anticipation of this moment, he could only nod. Once again his throat had tightened up, leaving speech impossible.

Estenarven didn’t seem to mind, just closed his eye again and arched his back in a lazy stretch. “Good.”

Staring at the Boulderforce sprawled out opposite him, all power and confidence, Mastekh felt his resolve crumble. This was a stupid idea. What kind of a gift was this to offer to a dragon so fine as that?

Estenarven’s eyes slitted open, a black glint amongst the shadows of his face, and he stretched again, slowly, languidly, raising his arms to fold his hands beneath his head. The broad sleeves of his slate grey robe slid down, revealing the taut muscles bulging beneath the skin. Another arch of his back had the top half of his robe parting to reveal the broad expanse of his chest.

Mastekh stared at the display – and it certainly was a display intended for his benefit if the smug tilt of Estenarven’s lips was anything to judge by – and swallowed hard. Sibling Water, but if this was his fourth gift come early, he wasn’t about to object.

“Did you know the Tempestfurys have a hot house?” Estenarven asked, his voice a deeply contented rumble. “They grow roses.”

“N-no, I d-d-didn’t,” Mastekh mumbled, still staring at Estenarven’s chest, though he filed away the interesting titbit in case he might need it later. “How s-s-strange.”

“It’s Elder Gwyllen’s,” Estenarven said, yawning. “Cultivates her own special varieties. Blue and black and lightning white. Quite impressive.”

“Mm,” Mastekh agreed, though in truth the only thing impressing him at the moment was the magnificence of the dragon in front of him. He balled his hands on his thighs again, claws biting into his own palms. He wanted to touch, he wanted to pet, but by the Family, he didn’t know if he should. Would he be welcome? Would Estenarven mind? He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t bear it if his Pebble rejected him.

A dark eye slid open to stare at him again. “Why are you still sitting over there?” he rumbled, low and deep and inviting. “Come and talk to me.”

Even with the clear invitation, it still took a long moment before Mastekh could force his legs into movement. He felt watery and weak, but he wanted to be closer to Estenarven, so he got up and padded closer.

Every footfall was a squelch and a frown appeared between Estenarven’s brows. “What’s the matter?”

“N-n-nothing,” Mastekh replied, perching on the very edge of the couch, careful not to touch the Boulderforce lounging effortlessly beside him. He was trying so hard to gather his courage, trying so hard to remind himself that Estenarven had started this courtship, had led the way with the gifts and now it was Mastekh’s turn again. It wasn’t the best gift in the world, but Mastekh thought Estenarven would like it.

He hoped he would.

He really, really did.

Because if he didn’t…

Not allowing himself any further time to think, fret, worry or panic, Mastekh leant forward, bending from the waist like a wooden doll and planted his lips on Estenarven’s.

Well, he tried.

Only, he wasn’t very practised at this and Estenarven hadn’t seemed to realise what was happening, so he moved his head, and Mastekh’s nose got in the way and bounced off Estenarven’s cheekbone and now it hurt and he was embarrassed – and somehow ended up on the other side of the room, face flaming, hands dripping, while Estenarven rubbed his cheek and looked confused.

“Puddle?” he asked softly, carefully, as if walking on tremulous ground. “Did you… Did you just kiss me?”

He sounded so baffled, so incredulous that Mastekh wanted to wail at his failure. But his throat was tight again and he couldn’t speak. He just wrapped his arms around himself, shook his head and crouched down, turning himself into a ball of dragon misery.

“S-s-s-s-” He tried to spit out the word, but it wouldn’t come.

“Don’t.” Estenarven was across the room in an instant, sitting behind him and hauling Mastekh onto his lap, into his arms. “Don’t you dare apologise. Never apologise for trying to kiss me, Puddle. Never.”

Lip shaking, Mastekh bit down on it and nodded. He wasn’t sorry for trying – he was sorry for failing. For making a mess of everything. As usual.

“The only thing you should ever be sorry for,” Estenarven murmured, a big warm hand running over Mastekh’s bony back and soothing away his nerves, “is stopping.”

Relaxing into the reassurance of his stroking hand, Mastekh risked a peek. Estenarven was watching him intently, eyes solemn, expression blank.

“I m-m-m-missed,” he said mournfully.

“Only because I’m an idiot and moved. I didn’t realise.”

Well, why should he have? It’s not like Mastekh had ever tried to kiss him before. Their entire relationship until this moment had been instigated by Estenarven. Even back at their first meeting, Estenarven had spoken first. He always spoke first. He looked for Mastekh, he touched him, he kissed him. Always. Estenarven was a leader. He had confidence, finesse.

Courage.

Mastekh pressed against the warm, soothing hand on his back and tried to steal a bit of that for himself. Loosening the clasp of his arms around his knees, he straightened and turned towards the Boulderforce whose lap he was seated on.

He swallowed hard over the lump in his throat and reached out, slowly, carefully, saw Estenarven’s neck move on a swallow of his own.

Was it possible? Could his Pebble be nervous too?

Mastekh didn’t think about it too deeply, he didn’t think about anything. He placed his hand on the solid line of Estenarven’s jaw and leant forward again. Still wooden, still awkward, but he moved closer nevertheless.

Estenarven gasped in anticipation and – at the last moment – tilted his head ever so slightly. There were no bashed noses or cheekbones this time, just a slow, incremental, creeping closeness and the warm brush of air across his mouth. Mastekh licked his lips, so close, so very close, and flicked a glance towards Estenarven’s eyes.

They were closed, his eyelashes trembling as the Boulderforce held still, so very still. Waiting. Patient. He’d always been patient with Mastekh, had never rushed him. Not when he was speaking, and not in this. He would never rush him, and if, even now, Mastekh pulled away, fled once again from this gift Estenarven was offering, he would remain patient. He would still wait.

The knowledge settled deep inside Mastekh’s watery heart and gave him the final push to close the last, tiny gap.

He laid his lips upon Estenarven’s, light at first, just a whisper, just a brush. Then again, to take a taste, to savour, to learn.

Estenarven breathed in deep and his lips parted, allowing Mastekh inside for the first time. And he was in control for once, he was leading. Estenarven was an eager partner, but he only followed, only reacted. It was Mastekh’s move, Mastekh’s kiss, Mastekh’s gift.

To both of them.

He cupped his hands around the back of Estenarven’s head and hitched himself closer to the Boulderforce’s chest, revelling in the warm, secure weight of Estenarven’s arms closing around his waist, pulling him closer, holding him tight.

The mouth beneath his widened in a smile and he was soon grinning back, the pair of them laughing even as they kissed on and on and on. Until breathlessness threatened them both and they hugged each other tight, giggling like fools.

“Oh, Puddle, my Puddle,” Estenarven chuckled, rocking them both side to side. “I never dreamed…”

But Mastekh had found his confidence now and wanted to make the most of it while it lasted, so he seized Estenarven’s jaw again and shifted to align them just right. “H-happy third g-g-gift,” he murmured, before falling into their kisses once more.

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 19

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 || All Parts || Last Part ||

Only a short update this week, the shortest so far, but it’s one of my favourites.

But be warned – the cuteness, it burns!

19
Rainstorm

ESTENARVEN WASN’T PARTICULARLY fond of rain. At least, he never had been before. It was cold and clammy and unpleasant on human skin, and in flight it snuck into all the secret places between his scales, reminding him of all the ways water could break down rock if given long enough to work.

But that was before.

Before Mastekh, before this courtship, before attraction and affection and love.

And flight.

It felt like they spent an eternity in the cold, damp, bitter air of the gathering dusk, weaving between raindrops, wingtips touching, tails brushing. The storm stayed away, along with the Tempestfurys and it felt like they had the entire sky to themselves.

Estenarven’s third gift to his Puddle wasn’t anything that anyone could pin down. It wasn’t anything that could be picked up, put in the pocket and carried around. It couldn’t be touched, it couldn’t be tasted, it couldn’t even be heard. It was no object that could be kept or admired or shown off to others.

But it could be remembered – and treasured.

His third gift was a rainstorm for his Rainstorm, shared together in flight.

And Estenarven would never think of rain in the same way again.

<3

Take care, my lovelies.

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 18

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 || All Parts || Last Part ||

In which there is cleaning – and a tiny bit of pouting.

18
Pout

SURELY, IT HAD to be love. Mastekh couldn’t think what else could possibly leave him feeling happy and content as he worked alongside Estenarven, sweeping floors, scrubbing walls, swabbing floors and sweeping all over again. It wasn’t difficult work, but it was quite tiresome, yet Mastekh found himself humming through most of it. He even laughed a time or two, as Estenarven told him what the Riders were up to outside the window, offered up the juiciest bits of crew gossip and even whistled off-key as a counterpoint to Mastekh’s hums.

It wasn’t even as if the work was particularly satisfying, since the cabin was small and cramped and made mostly of dark wood, leaving it looking pretty much the same when they finished as when they started. The windows did gleam quite nicely, but Mastekh couldn’t claim any responsibility for that.

And yet, when the light outside the window began to dim, Mastekh still felt as if he’d had a good day.

“Th-there,” he sighed, sweeping the last of the dirt and dust into the pan, ready to be carried up the ladder and tossed over the side of the deck. “All d-d-done.”

“Perfect,” Estenarven agreed, wiping his cloth over the door handle to provide one last flourish. “I spoke to First Mate Galha earlier. She says she’ll bring some crew in tomorrow to shift the walls about. It won’t give us much space, but there’s some extra crawl space behind here we’re not using.” He knocked on the outer wall with his knuckles. “I doubt I’ll be able to stand up in most of it, but I don’t need to while I’m sleeping.”

Mastekh felt his face warm at the thought of sharing such a tiny space with the big Boulderforce, but he didn’t protest. He wanted to share a room with Estenarven, even if they could do nothing more than sleep in it. As long as they were together. “Sounds g-g-good,” he mumbled, wishing he could be more sophisticated or seductive or knew the words to make everything sound right.

Estenarven didn’t seem to mind. Smiling, he curled a finger beneath Mastekh’s chin and tilted his face upwards. “A space of our own,” he murmured, voice a low, seductive rumble. “I can’t wait.” He brushed his lips ever so gently across Mastekh’s mouth, the tiny kiss sending heat washing right down to his toes.

Mastekh puffed out a tiny sigh, lips parting in search of more, but Estenarven had already pulled away.

“Ready to go?” he asked, winking.

No. Mastekh was ready for more kisses right here in this empty room. He was ready to hear more about the space they were going to share. He was ready for anything, as long as it didn’t involve moving from this spot – nor included Estenarven moving either.

But Estenarven was already gathering up their buckets of dirty water and pans of dust and opening the door. Leaving Mastekh to swallow his disappointment and trail after him in a way that was becoming all too familiar.

Dragging his feet and indulging himself in a tiny bout of petulance, Mastekh allowed Estenarven to pull ahead as he returned their cleaning tools to the galley while the Boulderforce climbed the ladder to get rid of the dust and dirty water outside. Then he gave himself a stern talking to as he climbed the ladder to the top deck in search of his fellow aide.

Estenarven was gone.

Frowning, Mastekh looked all around the deck, but beyond the usual mess of ropes and chains and the occasional skysailor on watch, there wasn’t a single sign of the tall Boulderforce. Mastekh’s frown deepened. Yes, he’d taken a little extra time to get himself up on deck, but it hadn’t been that long, had it? Certainly not long enough for Estenarven to grow bored of waiting and set off without him.

A loud burst of laughter spun him around and he flinched inwardly. Oh, of course. Why would Estenarven bother waiting around for a petulant Rainstorm when there were far more interesting people to talk to?

Feeling dread weighing his shoulders down, Mastekh slunk towards the gangplank, prepared for the sight of Lieutenants Anhardyne and Vish to be flirting with Estenarven again. Possibly even hanging all over him. Mastekh knew he didn’t have any right to feel jealous, he knew there wasn’t much going on between the trio, but it still hurt. Mostly because Mastekh could never match up and it made him feel small and petty and uncertain and insecure.

Another burst of laughter made him twitch, but he squared his shoulders and strode up to the gangplank, ready for whatever would meet his eyes.

“Safe flight!” Anhardyne shouted, charging up the gangplank and almost colliding with Mastekh at the top. “Oh, sorry, Puddle, I almost splashed straight through you.” Chortling at her own joke, she patted him on the arm and hurried away across the deck.

Not that Mastekh was paying her any attention – his eyes were fixed on the sight before him.

Riders surrounded Estenarven, just as he feared, but not in a flirtatious way. No one was sitting in his lap, trying to steal kisses or flirting for his attention. They weren’t even really talking to him, except Lieutenant Nera who was smiling at something Estenarven muttered, a low rumble that turned Mastekh’s knees to jelly as he stumbled his way to the bottom of the plank.

Then he looked up. Up, up, up into the glinting, laughing eyes of the dragon laid out before him. There was a reason why Estenarven wasn’t on the Skylark anymore – he wouldn’t be able to fit. Stretched out in full dragon shape, Estenarven was huge and magnificent and the finest specimen of kin Boulderforce that Mastekh had ever seen.

Winking a large black eye at Nera, Estenarven lowered his great head and nuzzled Mastekh. The touch, even a gentle one, was enough to make him stagger, but a firm grip on Estenarven’s snout prevented him from falling over.

“Ready to go?” Estenarven asked again, but this time Mastekh felt very differently about his answer.

It might not have been a kiss, but it was better than heading straight back to Elder Blazeborn’s suite in the Tempestfury towers.

This was flight. Together.

“Y-y-yes, p-please,” Mastekh bubbled, hugging Estenarven’s snout and pressing his cheek to cool grey scales.

Rumbling a chuckle, Estenarven nudged him away. “Then get your wings on, Puddle. It’s time to rejoin the rainstorm.”

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 17

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 || All Parts || Last Part ||

A trip to the Skylark.

17
Chores

ESTENARVEN COULD NOT remember the last time he had felt so happy. Breakfast had been a delight, teasing Mastekh and being tickled in return had been wonderful, and now he was even enjoying a walk in the rain. Because he had a particular Rainstorm by his side.

Mastekh was humming again; Estenarven loved to hear it. Not that his fellow aide was particularly musical, but the bubbling, rippling sounds only ever emerged when the Rainstorm was happy – and that was a gift beyond price as far as Estenarven was concerned.

So even though he was soaked through by the time the Skylark came into sight, moored at the edge of a vast cave, Estenarven approached the skyship with a light heart.

“Ho, there young dragons, what brings you back aboard my vessel?” Captain Hornvel planted himself at the top of the gangplank, preventing them from taking the last few steps onto the deck. The man was short, even by human standards, but the skyship captain more than made up for his lack of inches with the force of his personality. He ran his ship with a loud voice and a firm sense of duty. Gruff, but not grumpy, the man nevertheless was wary of dragons. And considering how many of them had come aboard the Skylark since the humans had entered the Dragonlands, Estenarven couldn’t much blame him.

“We’re here to clean Elder Blazeborn’s cabin,” he said, keeping his smile to himself since it would be wasted on this man. Estenarven had never met a person more resistant to his charm – thankfully.

The captain eyed the pair of them sceptically, seeming to take extra note of their lack of cleaning supplies. He sniffed. “Think my sailors aren’t capable of cleaning below decks now?”

“N-n-no, of c-c-course n-not,” Mastekh babbled quickly, clearly appalled that the captain might take their presence as a slight.

Estenarven rested a soothing hand on the Rainstorm’s shoulder. “We have every faith in your sailors, captain,” he replied. “But as Elder Blazeborn’s aides, we know our duty. Why should we make extra work for your crew when we’ve time enough to do our own chores?”

Captain Hornvel stared at him for a long, considering moment before inclining his head the tiniest fraction. “Aye, well, see that you do then. We’ll be checking,” he added, standing aside so they could board in peace. “Cleaning cloths and mops and buckets are alongside the galley.”

“Thanks, captain,” Estenarven called, as the man strode swiftly away, already barking a set of instructions to the sailors scrubbing the top deck.

“M-maybe this w-w-wasn’t such a g-good idea,” Mastekh muttered, sticking his soggy hands under his armpits, likely to stop himself from dripping all over the clean deck, as he scurried in Estenarven’s wake. A wasted effort, in Estenarven’s eyes, since the pair of them were already soaked and soggy from walking in the rain. The same rain that even now was getting blown in through the cave mouth and over the freshly scrubbed decks.

“It’s fine. We’re fine,” Estenarven assured him, making for the nearest hatch and catching the faintest smile on the captain’s lips before the man turned away. If Estenarven didn’t know better, he might almost think Hornvel approved of them being here.

Clambering down the ladder, Estenarven was surprised at how quiet it was below decks. It was his first time on the Skylark while it wasn’t in flight, and the lack of crew, Riders and other dragons bustling about made the whole place seem a lot bigger. Lighter too, he thought, passing a golden glow globe that pulsed with the warm heat of Elder Blazeborn’s power.

Now that he was out of the weather, Estenarven couldn’t help but notice the clammy way his silk robe was clinging to his skin. The cool discomfort tempted him to pick up the next glow globe they passed, since the warmth was extremely inviting, but stealing the passage lights would be a sure way to get in Captain Hornvel’s bad books, so Estenarven rolled his shoulders and walked on.

It wasn’t far to the front of the ship, where the great prow cabin had been divided into two, turning a fine state room into a couple of slightly cramped spaces to accommodate Ambassador Jesken and the Rider captain on one side, Elder Blazeborn, Estenarven and Mastekh on the other. It wasn’t a perfect solution by any means, but it certainly beat sharing the rear quarters with Elders Goryal, Leasang and Rishen, plus their own aides and Reglian.

The door to the ambassador’s room had been left ajar, allowing Estenarven to peer in as he passed. The space was dominated by an enormous map table, with a bed and a desk crammed into separate corners either side of the big window. The same window that stretched on into Elder Blazeborn’s room and provided a perfect view of the sunset whenever they were in flight. Which, of course, was the main reason why he had claimed this spot for his elder in the first place. That and the extra quiet away from the rest of the dragons. Elder Blazeborn liked things to be quiet. After a moon of sharing this ship with the Riders and other dragons, Estenarven had come to appreciate a little silence and solitude himself.

“W-w-well,” Mastekh sighed, stepping into the cabin and looking around. “Where to b-begin?”

Estenarven looked around the space and wondered the same thing himself. Unlike the ambassador’s cabin, there was no great map table planted in the middle, taking up most of the space. Instead Elder Blazeborn had a narrow bed stretched out beneath the window and a sturdy desk tucked against the foot. Beyond that, everything else was empty.

When in flight there would be trunks and paper and soft furnishings cluttering everything up, but Estenarven had carefully packed everything and removed it to Highstrike for the duration of their stay. Not because the elder would need all of it, but because it was the surest way to keep everything private and safe. Besides correspondence, maps and personal journals, Elder Blazeborn had a fine set of blankets and pillows, which had helped to make this whole journey bearable for Estenarven and Mastekh – who tended to sleep on the floor of the cabin in whichever corner felt most secure, unless they had moored up somewhere overnight and could sleep outside instead. Even though dragons were hardy and shouldn’t need such things, soft comforts were still nice to have, and Estenarven wouldn’t trust any of his fellow dragons not to steal a blanket or a cushion or even a handkerchief if left foolishly unattended for long. Just because they didn’t need them, didn’t mean they didn’t want them. Jesral kin Lightstorm in particular had very itchy fingers.

None of which was helping him clean the place up. Reaching for the nearest glow globe, which Elder Blazeborn had left glowing softly in the corner, Estenarven studied the grey view beyond the glass and smiled. “I’ll tackle the window and you can sweep the floors?”

Mastekh wrinkled his nose, but nodded. “L-let’s get to w-w-work.”

More next week.

Take care, my lovelies!

Free Fiction, Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 16

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 || All Parts || Last Part ||

Sorry for the delay. Rift should hopefully be out and available by the weekend. In the meantime…

A quiet breakfast in which nobody panics. Hopefully.


16
A Gift of Meaning

5th Storm

THE THIRD GIFT of courtship had to be one of great meaning to the dragon being courted, to show how well the other dragon knew them. Even though Mastekh had only delivered his second gift the night before, he was already fretting over the next one – and also what to expect from Estenarven.

Mastekh didn’t have much in the way of possessions. He’d never needed them before. He wasn’t a very material minded dragon, and he struggled to think of anything Estenarven could possibly give to him, almost as much as he worried over what to give in return.

“Third gift, is it?” Elder Blazeborn enquired, not even looking up from his letters when Mastekh delivered his morning tea. “Any ideas yet?”

Mastekh was so thrown by the idea that the elder was paying attention to his aides’ courtship that he babbled something incoherent and scurried away before he could drip all over the carpets.

It was one thing to have enlisted the assistance of the Rift Rider lieutenants the night before – they were friends of Estenarven and seemed delighted to help – but including Elder Blazeborn would be unthinkable. He was far too busy and important to worry about his aides’ private lives. He was an elder and, more than that, he was working to undo the Cloud Curse that had covered all the world in a thick blanket of cloud.

No, no, Mastekh wasn’t about to draw Elder Blazeborn into his planning. It would be unseemly.

All of which had him flustered and dithering as he finished laying out the breakfast things and sat down to await Estenarven’s arrival.

Placing the beakers and platters down just so, Mastekh reached across and tweaked things ever so slightly before lowering himself onto his knees in front of the table. He drummed his fingers on the polished marble surface, twitched his feet, wriggled to get comfortable again, shifted to sit cross-legged, then stood up with a huff. It wasn’t working. He’d never been good at sitting still, even when he wasn’t waiting.

So he took a quick walk around the table and, when that didn’t settle his jitters, made a lap of the room. Pausing before Estenarven’s door, he half-raised his hand to knock, wanting to get this meeting over with, yet also fearing to disturb the other dragon. What if Estenarven wasn’t even awake yet? Just because both he and the elder were up, didn’t mean the Boulderforce would be too. Mastekh clenched his hand into a fist and paced back the other way.

Passing the table for the third time, he stopped dead as Estenarven’s door swung open and the Boulderforce himself stepped into the main room, arms stretched over his head, mouth open in a wide yawn. Rolling his shoulders, Estenarven rubbed his jaw and glanced sleepily around until he found Mastekh.

He smiled sweetly. “Morning, Puddle,” he rumbled, voice deep and rough with sleep.

Mastekh’s knees wobbled and he folded swiftly down in front of the table again. “M-m-morning,” he mumbled in return. “T-tea?”

“Mm,” Estenarven agreed, sauntering over to join him and settling down on the opposite side of the low table. “Thank you for my gift.”

Heat flooded into Mastekh’s cheeks and he ducked his head. Water sloshed out of the teapot, barely making it into the beakers, so he put it down and took a deep breath. “You’re w-welcome. Th-thank you for m-mine.”

“You liked it?” Estenarven asked, sounding almost shy as he reached for seed rolls, fresh fruit and the honey pot.

Mastekh knew he had to be completely green in the face by now – he felt so warm and his throat was tight with nerves – but he managed a nod.

The Boulderforce let out a soft huff and Mastekh blinked at him in surprise. Estenarven beamed with relief – had he been nervous too? Mastekh couldn’t see why. He was Estenarven, after all, no dragon – or human – in their right mind would ever turn him down. Nor dislike such a lovely gift as the jade pot.

It made some of his own nerves ease, and Mastekh managed to ask, “And y-you?”

Estenarven’s smile this time was pure joy. “I love my gift. Beans and pebbles. The best of you and me. Hope and endurance. It was a perfect second gift, Puddle. Thank you.”

“Oh.” Mastekh ducked his head again, face so warm he almost expected it to start steaming. He was pleased and embarrassed and confused by just how happy such simple words could make him. After all, the gift had been a strange, silly one that he’d had to explain over and over again to the dracos watching him in the kitchen. But Estenarven understood. He liked it.

Flexing his fingers to remove the jitters, Mastekh picked up the teapot again and carefully poured them both a beaker of steaming liquid. He’d gone with honey and lemon today, needing something sweet to help battle his nerves. Estenarven took a deep sniff before he drank and hummed with approval.

After that they ate in silence, but it was a good silence, filled with companionship of a kind Mastekh had never dreamed he would ever encounter. He’d never been good with words, but silence often made him anxious, certain he should be saying something if only he could think of what. But not with Estenarven, never with Estenarven. The Boulderforce had words enough for the both of them, so when he chose quiet it was because he knew there was nothing that needed to be said. It was a relief and a relaxation all in one. Mastekh drank his tea, picked at his blackberries and breathed easily.

This was what he wanted: peace, companionship, quiet. This was what he needed.

Polishing off the last of the seed rolls and shining an apple on the front of his robe, Estenarven shifted from sitting on his knees to stretching his long legs beneath the table. “So, what chores are on the list for today?” he asked, planting his elbows on the table and crunching into his apple.

Mastekh jumped as Estenarven’s feet knocked against his knees. “Um…” He shuffled aside to give the Boulderforce more room, only for a solid ankle to press warmly against him instead. He twitched and rolled off his knees, opting to sit crosslegged.

Estenarven grinned and plunked his feet firmly in Mastekh’s lap, toes wriggling with happiness. “I thought we might clean out the elder’s cabin on the Skylark, scrub the boards, plump the cushions, clean the windows, that sort of thing.”

Mastekh stared down at the Boulderforce’s feet in confusion. He’d never really looked at someone else’s feet before – he barely paid attention to his own. Estenarven’s were long and dark, broad and strong, much like the rest of him. His toes were blunt and tipped with dark pewter claws. Mastekh wanted to touch them… which felt weird.

Was this the beginning of a foot fetish?

“I thought we might also move the walls a bit,” Estenarven continued, tipping his right foot sideways until rested on Mastekh’s thigh.

Mastekh twitched, hands on the floor behind himself, claws scratching lightly over stone.

“Maybe make a side room.” Estenarven flexed his foot, stroking Mastekh’s thigh.

It sent a tingle right through his whole body. It also tickled. He twitched again.

“Which I thought we might, um, share?”

Another rub, another tingle, more of a tickle.

Mastekh grabbed Estenarven’s foot and squeaked as the toes flexed against his palm, tickling even more over his sensitive. “S-stop!”

Grinning, Estenarven tried to pull his foot away, but Mastekh had hold of him now and turnabout was fair play.

Gripping the broad foot with one hand, he ran a claw softly down the centre.

Estenarven’s huffed out curse was drowned beneath the crash of the table as his long legs twitched and bashed the underside, making all the crockery rattle and almost upending the whole lot.

It was Mastekh’s turn to grin. A delighted giggle bubbled out of him as Estenarven successfully snatched his feet away to the safety of his side of the table, and Mastekh hugged his knees to his chest, rocking side to side with triumph.

“I think c-cleaning out the c-cabin is an excellent i-d-dea,” he chortled.

“And the side room?” Estenarven asked, scratching the bottom of his foot and trying to scowl but not quite managing as a smile kept escaping.

Mastekh blushed from his head to his toes, yet somehow managed not to look away. He stared deep into those laughing dark eyes and smiled. “I’d l-l-like that.”

“The perfect gift for both of us,” Estenarven agreed.

Even though Mastekh knew it wouldn’t count for either of their seven gifts, he dipped his head in an agreeing nod. After all, there could be no greater gift – in courtship or out – than the long term companionship of the dragon opposite him.

And just like that he knew what his third gift to Estenarven would be. Now all he had to do was arrange it.

Aw, that’s great Mastekh. Now tell me!
Seriously, I had a writing spurt and got four chapters done and I still have no idea.
But on the plus side, that’s another three weeks of updates done :)

Take care, my lovelies!

Overworld, Serial, Writing

A Courtship of Dragons: Part 15

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 Estenarven doesn’t see Mastekh for a few hours – and panics.

(I really don’t envy Khennik having to live with these two through all of this XD)

15
The Second Gift

4th Storm

IT WAS LUNCHTIME and Estenarven hadn’t seen Mastekh since he’d put the Rainstorm to bed the afternoon before. He knew Mastekh was shy and likely more than a little embarrassed about what had happened the day before, but this long absence was beginning to worry him. Estenarven had been so excited at breakfast, sitting in the suite, waiting for Mastekh to return from the kitchens so he could ask about the gift. Did Mastekh like it? Had it made him smile when he saw it?

Was he willing to accept it?

He’d paced the main room of the suite for ages, fighting the urge to knock on Mastekh’s door – or simply barge inside – just to see if the jade pot was still there. Just to see if it had been accepted. If his courtship had been accepted. To see if Mastekh liked it.

But just as his patience finally broke, someone knocked on the outer door and three dracos entered carrying breakfast. Confused, Estenarven had waved the servants towards the appropriate table to lay the food on and knocked on Mastekh’s door.

No answer.

When he looked inside he found it empty, as expected, but the presence of the dracos implied that Mastekh wasn’t coming back. He always joined Estenarven for breakfast. It was a chance to catch up and sort out what chores they would each do for Elder Blazeborn through the day – well, when Estenarven didn’t have a hangover, anyway.

Except, by the time the dracos had finished putting everything in its place, there was still no sign of Mastekh. When the tallest servant poured out a pungent cup of ginger tea, drawing Elder Blazeborn out of his lair, Estenarven had to accept that his fellow aide wasn’t coming. Clearly, Mastekh had already been down to the kitchens that morning and ordered breakfast, but he had no intention of returning to share it with Estenarven.

Which hurt more than he’d expected it to. Rubbing at the ache in his chest, he’d tried to ask the dracos where Mastekh was, but they’d ducked their heads shyly and giggled behind their hands instead of answering. Sipping his cup of tea, Elder Blazeborn had rolled his eyes, thanked the servants and dismissed them.

“Trouble?” the elder had asked, folding elegantly to his knees before the low table and filling a platter with breakfast fruits.

Baffled and hurt, Estenarven had shaken his head. Elder Blazeborn had ordered him to eat, so Estenarven had joined him at the table, yet his usually robust appetite had fled and he’d only been able to pick at some eggs.

Now it was lunchtime and Elder Blazeborn had dismissed him to take his meal in the grand dining hall, telling him to stop sulking and sighing around the suite and find someone else to mope at. Normally Estenarven would have jumped at the chance to spend time with others, but since a single glance on entering the dining room was enough to assure him that Mastekh wasn’t there, Estenarven didn’t feel much like company.

Before he could think of somewhere else to slope off to, since he’d been banned from the suite and he didn’t know where else to look for Mastekh, Estenarven felt a slap on the shoulder and a friendly arm hook through his.

“Hey, Pebble, why the sad face? Tired of all the storms already?” Vish grinned up at him, while Anhardyne tugged him towards a long table filled with familiar Rider faces.

“Come sit, join us,” Anhardyne urged, pushing him into a seat beside Nera.

“Oh, I, er, was just leaving,” he protested weakly.

“Nonsense,” Vish chuckled, slapping him on the shoulder again. “You’ve only just arrived. A dragon like you needs to keep up his strength. Go on, tuck in.”

Wedged in between the female lieutenants on an already crowded table, Estenarven realised he didn’t have much choice but to stay and sighed. Nera shot him a commiserating smile, and he knew he couldn’t be rude enough to get up and walk away now. Anhardyne and Vish might be a pushy pair, but Nera was a friend. So he gave in and slumped in his seat.

“Try the soup,” Nera said, surprising him with a wink.

Estenarven frowned: Nera was not the winking sort. Rubbing a hand over his head, feeling more than a little out of his depth, he accepted a soup bowl from a passing draco and stared down at it in confusion.

There was something in the bowl – but it wasn’t soup.

“Ooh, what do you have there?” Anhardyne asked, leaning against his arm.

“I…” Estenarven put the bowl in front of him and dipped a finger inside, stirring the contents. “I have no idea.”

“Look like beans to me,” Lieutenant Gharrik remarked from across the table.

Estenarven frowned even harder. Beans? Why would a draco give him a bowl of beans? He stirred the small, dark shapes with a claw and drew in a sharp breath.

Pebbles. Mixed in amongst the dark beans were small, oval pebbles. But not just any pebbles, each one was a different stone, a different colour, but all almost the same size and shape, polished to perfection. A collection, painstakingly made and carefully gathered. And hidden in a bowl of beans.

“Blimey, you could crack a tooth on one of those,” Anhardyne chuckled, reaching for a pebble.

Estenarven smacked her hand away without thought. No one was touching anything within this bowl. No one but him.

“Ow. You could have just told me not to touch,” the blonde lieutenant grumbled.

“Don’t touch,” Estenarven growled.

“All right then.” Hands raised, she shifted as far away from him as possible on the crowded bench, while on his other side Nera snickered.

“Boundaries, Hardy,” Vish murmured. “We’ve talked about them. Apparently other people have them, even if we don’t.”

“That’s because other people are boring.”

Ignoring them, Estenarven stirred his precious bowl again, studying the beans more intently this time. Why beans? Raw, untouched ones at that.

“Looks like quite a crop you have there,” Gharrik said, leaning across the table for a better look. “I didn’t know you dragons cared that much for farming.”

Most dragons didn’t, but a rare few, mostly Rainstorms, occasionally showed an interest. “Ah…” It was starting to make sense now.

Pebbles for him: small, sturdy, permanent. Beans for the future, full of potential and possible nourishment. Mastekh hadn’t just given him a meaningful gift in return, he’d given him hope.

Smiling, Estenarven lowered his hand into the bowl and let beans and pebbles run between his fingers, smooth and rough and small and perfect. A wonderful second gift.

Only five more to go.

Feeling his appetite return with a rush of good cheer, Estenarven placed the bowl carefully on his lap, shuffled forwards and started reaching for the nearest bits of food, his mind already racing.

“So what happens next?” Nera asked, passing him a plate piled high with seed rolls. “I take it you accepted his gift, yes?”

Of course the Riders had been in on Mastekh’s plan – well, one of them, at least. That explained Nera’s uncharacteristic wink. Reaching for the mulberry jam, Estenarven slathered it all over his roll and took a big bite, shrugging.

“Are there more gifts?” Vish wanted to know.

“I hope so, because beans? What kind of a gift is a bowl of beans?” Anhardyne shook her head, making Estenarven smile. If anyone had asked him such a thing just that morning, he would have agreed with her. Now, though, he couldn’t think of anything he’d rather receive.

Swallowing his mouthful, he realised he was the centre of a lot of Rider attention and raised his eyebrows. “Dragon courtships are sacred things.”

“Does that mean you don’t want any help?” Anhardyne asked, nudging him with her shoulder. “’Cause we have a few ideas, if you’re interested.”

He turned an enquiring glance her way.

“We’ve already helped Mastekh,” Nera pointed out, drawing his attention in the opposite direction. “It’s only fair to help you too.”

“If you want us to,” Gharrik added, ever fair.

Estenarven reached for the jam and slowly spread more on a fresh roll, considering the offer. It was true Mastekh had enlisted the Riders’ help in making sure Estenarven sat down to lunch and received the special bowl at the right moment. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if he did something similar.

Licking a bit of jam from his thumb, he considered the next gift on the list and smiled. “There might be something you can do for me. But not a word to Mastekh,” he warned.

Anhardyne and Vish both mimed locking their lips with a key, while Gharrik and Nera smiled. “Not a word,” they promised.

“All right,” he agreed, motioning the four lieutenants closer and gaining a few extras Riders who were also in earshot. “The next gift needs to be something meaningful for Mastekh. I already have something in mind, but getting it and giving it to him might be a bit tricky, so here’s what you can do for me…”

More next week.
After I’ve hopefully written it…

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.