Tag: Mastekh

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 ||

The end! At last <3

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50
Love

28^th Storm Month

IT TOOK SEVERAL days for both of them to get back on their feet. Mastekh recovered first, since he had so much less to recover from. Except the pain of watching Estenarven sleep so soundly, knowing he’d almost lost him.

All for a stupid lightning-struck rock. A lightning diamond. Not a true diamond but still precious to many. Yet it was worthless to Mastekh. He held it in his hand now, turning it this way and that to admire the rainbows permanently trapped within the fissures carved by heat burning its way through the crystal’s structure, scarred and forever changed, beautiful and unshattered.

Glorious in its own way, but it was worth nothing when weighed against the cost of Estenarven’s life.

Mastekh had almost lost everything, all because of a stupid tradition and a ridiculous idea.

“Is that for me?”

Mastekh looked up and smiled at where Estenarven leant against the door of his tiny room. A casual pose, the kind he’d so often seen his Boulderforce adopt, especially when he was in a flirtatious mood. Necessary today, since he was still too weak to stand unaided for long.

Patting the bed beside him, Mastekh moved over to leave a space and looked at the diamond again. Even without being a true diamond, it was rare and precious enough to still count. “Happy s-seventh gift.”

Estenarven lurched from the door to the bed and sat down with a grunt, draping himself over Mastekh’s shoulders with a sigh. “Let me see it.”

Mastekh held it up in front of both their faces.

Estenarven rested his chin on Mastekh’s shoulder and hummed approvingly. “Very pretty. I’ve never seen one like that before.”

“It’s y-yours.” He tucked it into the pocket of Estenarven’s robe and gave it a pat. “That’s the l-l-last of your g-gifts.”

“Does that make you mine now?” the Boulderforce rumbled, wrapping his arms around Mastekh’s waist and nuzzling his neck.

“I always have been,” he replied, aiming for playful and missing by a human mile.

Estenarven didn’t seem to mind as he planted a hand on the bed to support his weight, using his other hand to tilt Mastekh’s face towards him. His expression serious, he cupped Mastekh’s cheek and rubbed his thumb along his jaw.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I’m yours, Puddle, completely.”

“Is that m-my seventh g-g-gift?” he teased, managing to hit the right tone this time.

Estenarven smiled. “Only if Khennik hasn’t eaten the real one,” he murmured, leaning in for a kiss.

Mastekh turned his head aside, suddenly too curious for distractions. “Eaten it? W-why would he e-eat it? What w-was it?”

“Nothing important,” Estenarven grumbled, kissing Mastekh under the chin since he couldn’t reach his lips. “Hardly matters now.”

“It m-matters to me,” Mastekh protested, squirming off the bed and getting to his feet.

Estenarven collapsed facedown in the blankets with a groan.

“What w-w-was it?” he persisted, prodding his lover’s back. “T-tell me!”

“Can’t it wait?” Estenarven’s complaint turned into a very un-Boulderforce-like squeak as Mastekh poked one of his rare ticklish spots beneath his arm.

“G-give me my g-gift,” he ordered stubbornly, tickling Estenarven some more. “Or else.”

“Or else what?” Estenarven asked, rolling over and grabbing Mastekh’s arm before he could poke him again. Yanking hard, so that Mastekh sprawled across his chest, putting them nose to nose, he smiled smugly. “Wotcha gonna do now, Puddle?”

Contemplating the gift that lay beneath him, Mastekh spread his hands across Estenarven’s broad chest, petting possessively. It was still hard to believe that all of this was his to touch whenever he wanted.

“Not so bossy now, eh?” Estenarven chuckled.

“Oh, I don’t kn-know,” Mastekh mused thoughtfully, hitching himself higher up Estenarven’s chest. “P-positions like this g-give a dragon i-d-deas.”

“Oh?” Estenarven enquired innocently, craning his neck and angling for a kiss.

“Mm.” Mastekh obliged, brushing their lips together and running his hands down Estenarven’s chest, then up again. Straight into his ticklish armpits. “G-give me my g-g-gift!”

“Ack!” Estenarven rolled sharply, throwing Mastekh to the floor and barely preventing himself from landing on top of him. “Sneaky fiend!” he laughed. “I don’t think you deserve a gift after that little stunt.”

Breathless but proud of himself, Mastekh popped to his feet and tugged on Estenarven’s arm to pull him up. “Come on. The s-sooner you g-give it to m-me, the s-sooner this is over. You’ll be m-m-mine as much as I’m y-yours.”

“Excellent point.” Estenarven heaved himself up and almost knocked Mastekh flat by leaning on him. “Sorry, Puddle. Just prop me up a bit, thanks.” Between Mastekh and the wall, Estenarven made it back into the main room of the suite, where Elder Khennik was sitting beside the fire, flicking through a book of illuminated manuscripts.

He looked up as they staggered into his peaceful afternoon and raised an eyebrow. “Where are you two off to?”

“Nowhere special,” Estenarven panted, resting most of his weight on the back of a settee, much to Mastekh’s relief. “I don’t suppose you know what happened to the bag I brought back from the mountain with me?”

To Mastekh’s surprise, Khennik sat up, golden eyes aglow. “Finally that time, is it? I wondered when you’d remember. I put it in your room.”

Mastekh’s curiosity increased as Estenarven eyed their elder warily. “Untouched.”

Elder Blazeborn gave an offended sniff. “As I have mentioned to you before, Estenarven, I do have some control. Go, give your gift.” He waved them away and went back to his book.

However, Mastekh noticed that the elder didn’t turn a single page in all the time it took for Estenarven and him to lurch their laborious way from furniture piece to furniture piece and eventually the wall, so that they could reach the Boulderforce’s cramped little room.

“He better not have,” Estenarven grumbled, slumping onto the bed and looking around.

Mastekh waited impatiently in the doorway, trying not to hop from foot to foot. Considering how lacklustre he’d felt about his seventh gift before he gave it to Estenarven, he was suddenly excited all over again about their courtship. He might have already won the ultimate prize of Estenarven’s heart but, well, it was still nice to receive presents. Especially when they were a surprise.

“Ah.” Estenarven heaved a sigh of relief and beckoned him over. “Would you fetch me that bag from behind the door, please, Puddle?”

Curious and a little wary now, Mastekh stepped into the room and closed the door. Then he picked up the ragged bag that was almost as tattered as his own foraging sack. This one was more than a little scorched and, as he carried it over to Estenarven, smelt pungently of charcoal.

“Well, go on, open it,” Estenarven encouraged after Mastekh sat beside him and stared at the bag for a long moment.

This was it. The last gift. After this their courtship was over. After this anything could happen. Estenarven might even lose interest. The courtship wasn’t binding, after all. Their relationship could end in another month. There would be nothing left to keep things interesting between them. Why wouldn’t Estenarven lose interest then? Mastekh was not an interesting dragon.

“Puddle,” Estenarven murmured, running the tip of his nose from Mastekh’s shoulder, up behind his ear, filling him with the most delightful shivers. “Open the bag.” He followed his command with a nip.

Shying away, Mastekh bumped back against him playfully and sighed. “I don’t w-want this to b-be over.”

Estenarven rested his chin on Mastekh’s shoulder and smiled. “Silly Puddle,” he chuckled affectionately. “This isn’t the end, it’s just the beginning. Of everything. Now open the bag before I resort to tickling tactics of my own.”

Warm hands brushed against the spiral patch of scales low on Mastekh’s back and he twitched. Even with a layer of silk between them, it was still a highly sensitive spot – but only with Estenarven.

“All right, all r-r-right,” he yelped. “I’m o-opening it, I p-p-promise.”

Estenarven rumbled another chuckle and rested his palm flat against Mastekh’s back, stroking up and down in long, soothing strokes. “Nothing is more precious to me than you, Puddle, but let’s finish this properly. Happy seventh gift, love.” He kissed Mastekh’s cheek.

Feeling suddenly shy, he nuzzled his Boulderforce in return and finally opened the bag.

“Oh…”

Sticks. Charred, broken, burned-up tree branches and flakes of sooty bark.

“Um. Th-th-thank you?”

Estenarven cracked up, laughing so hard he had to lie down on the bed, gasping in an attempt to get his breath back.

Scowling, Mastekh picked up the sturdiest looking branch and waved it at the highly amused dragon beside him. “I s-see nothing f-f-funny,” he growled, raising the stick warningly.

“Ack, no, don’t hit me with that. Please, Puddle. Don’t waste it.” Estenarven sat up, still chuckling as he seized Mastekh’s wrist and stole a kiss from his angry mouth. “It’s just – your face. Smell the stick, Puddle. Go on, try it.”

“Smell the st-st-stick?” he repeated incredulously. “Is that some w-w-weird Boulderforce g-game?”

Estenarven snorted and shook his head, picking up a piece of bark and inhaling deeply. “Go on,” he urged. “Try it.”

Regarding his lover suspiciously, anticipating a trick at any moment – along with a lungful of charred soot – Mastekh raised the branch towards his nose and sniffed delicately.

Charcoal, yes, but also a surprising sweetness.

“W-what is that?” he whispered, breathing in more deeply and gulping in another gasp, growing more and more enamoured of the scent each time. “It’s like ci-ci-cinnamon, only r-richer.”

“Storm cinnamon,” Estenarven said, looking smug.

“Storm cinnamon,” Mastekh echoed reverently. “Oh.” He looked down at the bounty spilling out of the bag on his lap. “Oh!” He leapt to his feet. “No w-w-wonder!”

“Puddle?” Estenarven lurched after him, but too late – Mastekh was already through the door and running across the suite. “Puddle, come back!”

“Oh.” Mastekh skidded to a halt and, right in front of Elder Blazeborn’s amused eyes, planted a smacking kiss on his lover’s mouth. “I’ll be b-back later. I h-have to go b-b-bake now.”

“I prefer mine in scones, if you please, Mastekh,” Elder Blazeborn called as Mastekh headed for the door again.

He made an agreeing noise and twirled on the spot, storm cinnamon clutched against his chest. As he wrestled with the door handle, too giddy and excited to manage such a simple task, Estenarven caught up and leant against the wall beside him.

“Here.” He twisted the handle. “Don’t be too late.”

“I w-won’t,” Mastekh promised, dancing from foot to foot but knowing it would be rude to simply dash away. Besides there was something he needed to say, something he’d not managed yet and that Estenarven deserved to hear. “I l-l-love you.”

Estenarven’s smile was tender as he reached out and drew Mastekh into a sweet kiss. “And I love you, Puddle. Go have fun.” He nudged Mastekh through the doorway with a wink. “We’ll be waiting.”

“Scones and r-rock cakes for t-t-two,” Mastekh promised, blowing a kiss over his shoulder and dashing down to the kitchens.

Even though their courtship was officially over and life still went on, didn’t mean he couldn’t still spoil his lover whenever he got the chance.

He had to keep Estenarven interested, after all, and if cakes and treats were the way to his Stoneheart, so be it.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

THE END

X ~ X ~ X ~ X

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Thank you for reading!

I think you already know that you can download the ebook now for free. But if you want more Mastekh and Esten (and Khennik, Goryal and Reglian and all the others) you can find them all in the Dragonlands series.

<3 <3 <3

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 ||

Estenarven, at last.

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49
The Seventh Gift

AFTER WANDERING IN the endless darkness, numb and separated from his body and senses, Estenarven felt life in himself again. It burned at first, painful and sharp, zapping through each of his muscles, running through his bones until his teeth hummed with it and his head felt like shattering.

Then he breathed. A shallow gasp full of pins inside his chest, inside his lungs. Followed by the scent of water lilies and moss. It soothed him.

His skin prickled, burning, burning, burning. Until a cool touch drifted over it, tracking across his body and turning pain to pleasure.

His mouth was parched, but water came.

His ears were ringing, but whispers of affection broke through.

His eyes were last. Heavy eyelids, lightened by kisses. A gaze full of black spots and strained muscles, until a beloved face filled his vision.

“Mastekh,” he croaked in a voice of shattered rubble. “My Mastekh.”

A brief kiss, too brief, but full of life and love. “Esten,” a whisper in return.

Estenarven lifted an arm that felt as heavy as the boulders of his kin and cupped that precious face, more meaningful to him than any number of gifts. And he smiled.

Mastekh smiled back, eyes swimming with tears. One escaped, splashing against Estenarven’s cheek. It burned, but in a good way, scouring him clean.

“Sleep,” his beloved urged. “Rest. There’s no r-rush.”

Except… except… Estenarven fought against the undertow threatening to drag him back into the darkness again. “The gift,” he gasped. “I… Did you…? Do you have it?”

Mastekh stared at him, green eyes shining and stroked a cool hand over his face. “I h-have it,” he whispered, looking deep into Estenarven’s eyes. “The only g-gift I’ll ever n-need.”

Sighing, Estenarven sank back and closed his eyes, taking Mastekh’s hand in his and pressing it against his chest, against his heart. “And I have mine,” he murmured, and let the tide of sleep sweep him away.

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~ Last Chapter ~

Or download the ebook – it’s free!

Whatever you choose to do, take care, my lovelies.

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 ||

Wow, so it’s been a while. I’m so sorry it’s been so long, especially when there were only six chapters left! I shall get the last chapters posted over the next few weeks, so if you are still reading along this way then the end is finally, finally, nigh, and I apologise for the delay.

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45
Fury

ESTENARVEN SHOULD HAVE known better than to trust Reglian. The blasted Thunderwing had made it sound so simple. Fly to the top of the mountain in a storm and look for the grove of raggedy trees. According to legend, a very special type of tree grew around here, found almost nowhere else across the entire Overworld. Even then, this special variety could only be found under extremely particular conditions.

“You’re a fool,” he told himself, as he hunkered against the side of the mountain, waiting for a brutal gust of wind to pass. Thunder snarled as if in answer, and Estenarven uncurled enough to crawl forward. Even though his large dragon size made him more of a target in this place of frequent lightning strikes, he was loath to shrink to his human form. At least as a full Boulderforce, he could absorb a direct strike with little more than a few choice swearwords and a new scar for his troubles.

He hoped.

Truth was, it would hurt like fury in either form, but it was less likely to kill him in dragon shape. Unless, of course, he got hit multiple times in quick succession.

The storm chose that moment to punch the ground directly in front of him.

Hissing, Estenarven scrambled back, shaking both front feet and his head as the glancing blow made his ears ring and his claws and teeth buzz. Unpleasant, but not entirely painful. Still, it had barely even brushed him. He’d have to be more careful.

Sinking down, he crawled forward on his belly, looking for these fabled trees and wondering how it was possible for any such thing to survive out here. This mountain range might not be the highest he’d encountered across the Dragonlands, but the sheer number of storms that wrapped themselves around it didn’t make for ideal growing conditions.

Then again, it was the Storm Season, so perhaps it wasn’t like this most of the year. Yet it was also the chosen home of kin Tempestfury, so it probably was.

“Stop waffling,” he growled, aware that he’d stopped moving, allowing his useless thoughts to distract him from his mission. Creeping along like an insect was bad enough, but cowering like a coward under the storm was never going to locate these wretched trees and he’d never find out if storm cinnamon was anything more than a myth.

“Move,” he ordered, and scuttled up the slope like a beetle, scanning the shadows on either side for anything that resembled a tree. He’d originally hoped to fly around the mountaintop, avoiding lightning strikes as best he could while scanning the ground. That idea had failed almost instantly, thanks to the thick, dark clouds that shrouded the peak. Which left him no choice but to land and scuttle.

He should never have trusted Reglian. The Thunderwing had probably sent him on a wild basilisk chase in order to win one of his blasted bets.

“Always question your sources,” he told himself, dashing from one pile of rocks to another and crouching as lightning once more split the sky.

The thunder that followed was close and loud enough to make him flinch, the sound pummelling his scales like a wave.

Another flash, another flinching rumble, but this time something caught Estenarven’s eye.

There. Up on the ridgeline. A tree. No, more. Five trees.

He squinted into the darkness, uncertain of what he’d seen until another flash revealed that there were actually four trees – and a slender figure running between them.

“No,” Estenarven whispered, because surely there couldn’t be anyone else foolhardy enough to come to such a dangerous place at such a perilous time.

Not unless they were also searching for a seventh courting gift, one that was extremely hard to get in order to show their lover how far they were willing to go for them.

“Mastekh!” His roar was drowned out by a boom of thunder, the lightning of which struck right in the heart of the trees.

“No!” Estenarven scrambled over the uneven slope, claws slipping and sliding through the mud and scree as he struggled to get his feet beneath him. Digging in, he opened his wings and shoved himself into the air. It was untidy, ugly, difficult work and barely lifted him off the ground, but he managed to snatch a passing gust of wind to power himself halfway up the ridge. Lightning seared his back, crackling heat all along his spine before striking the ground directly below him.

Estenarven hissed and pushed off again. “Mastekh!” He barrelled into the grove of trees, taking out two of the twisted, gnarled, misshapen things. Charcoal filled the air, along with an unexpectedly sweet scent. “Mastekh!” Estenarven roared, casting desperately around, expecting to see a sprawled and smoking figure cast out along the ground.

Nothing. Only shattered tree limbs and that strangely sweet scent.

Storm cinnamon.

Estenarven held still and breathed in deep. He closed his eyes as lightning cracked against the ridgeline once more, then he moved. Cursing himself for a fool, he shrank to his human shape and filled his bag to the brim with charred tree limbs and scattered bark. He didn’t know which particular bit of it made storm cinnamon, so he took as much as he could and hoped it would be enough.

Then he shifted back to full size and, ensuring the bag was tightly tied around one front leg, cast around for Mastekh again.

Lightning flashed so brightly he had to turn away, convinced his eyes would never be the same. Yet even as he pawed at them, the afterimage burned behind his eyelids, showing the highest point of the ridge and the tiny figure outlined against the dark sky.

“Mastekh!” he roared, shaking off his spotty vision and charging out of the ruined grove. Thunder snarled overhead, the wind shrieked and clouds roiled, but Estenarven ignored them all. He had to get to Mastekh, he had to stop him before he got himself killed.

A Rainstorm dragon was soft enough, with his smooth scales and lack of body armour, but his human form was ten times more vulnerable. If he took a direct hit there would be no shrugging it off. Mastekh was composed almost entirely of water – he’d burst and fry all at the same time. Estenarven had to save him.

“Mastekh!” Desperately clawing his way onto the ridgeline, he scuttled upwards as fast as the treacherous ground allowed, not even pausing when lightning bounced off the nearby rocks and crackled over his scales. It burned and stung, sending his muscles into twitching spasms, but he fought through until his body was his own again. Climbing, always climbing, until, finally, he reached the top.

And found Mastekh scrabbling around at the base of an enormous smoking crater.

Estenarven roared, wordless with fear, and the storm answered.

Lightning struck. Once, twice, thrice. Estenarven lost count of the flashes as he leapt into the crater. The bolts zigzagged before him, bouncing from one set of rocks to another, forming a web of livid, crackling power all heading towards the centre of the crater. Where Mastekh knelt, holding a white rock aloft.

“Yes!” the Rainstorm yelled, eyes widening as he suddenly realised what was heading towards him. His face twisted with horror, one hand reaching towards Estenarven, mouth opening in a cry.

They collided – Rainstorm, Boulderforce, lightning and storm. Everything met in a blast of heat and energy.

Estenarven curled up into a tight ball of agony, praying to the Divine Family that Mastekh was safe somewhere within his hold. He couldn’t feel him, couldn’t feel anything as lightning shot across his scales, charred his senses and sent him plummeting into the numbness of nothing.

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~ Next Chapter ~

If you’re finally sick of waiting and ready to reach the end, you can download the ebook now – it’s free!

Whatever you choose to do, take care, my lovelies.