Tag: Mastekh

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.

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 ||

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

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

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

4
Banquet I

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Estenarven and his side of the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cheers, m’dears!

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 ||

Breathe, Mastekh. Just breathe.

3
The Dinner Bell

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

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

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

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

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

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

Did Estenarven even know they were a courting gift?

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

Breathe, he counselled himself. Breathe.

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

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

Oh, but…

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

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

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

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

Oh, no. Oh, no! He couldn’t breathe!

Stop.

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

He was stronger than this. Better than this.

Elder Blazeborn expected better. He would be better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Estenarven’s chest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take care, my lovelies.