Page 29 of Deven and the Dragon
Well, why not? When else would he ever have the chance? If Fiora didn’t mind, anyway.
He held out his hand. “May I?” he whispered.
Fiora’s eyes were the same in this form: golden, and wide, and with the same slit pupils. As a dragon, though, his eyes had no whites. So familiar, yet so shockingly different.
Fiora nodded, and he turned his head a little, exposing the side of his neck.
Holding his breath, Deven stroked his fingertips along Fiora’s scales. They were hot and glassy smooth, like polished rocks left in the sun. Going back the other way, Deven’s calluses caught on the edges, just slightly. Deven’s cock gave a twitch, such an oddly disturbing reaction that it startled him into jerking his hand back. Fiora let out a little huff and turned his head away a trifle more.
Hiding his expression, Deven realized. Fuck. He’d hurt Fiora’s feelings. But it wasn’t as if he could explain why.
“I’ve never felt anything like you,” Deven said, his voice a little rough. “Thank you. You’re — do you have any idea how incredible you are?” Fiora peeked at him with one lovely eye. “Truly. You’re beautiful.”
Fiora’s head lifted a little, and was that a smile? Deven caught a glimpse of his sharp teeth, anyway. He was beautiful, in this form and in his human shape, with or without teeth that could tear Deven’s head off.
“Do you want to change back for a while, though? I’m not sure you can drink from a bottle like this.” Deven stepped back and gestured at the picnic, a wide sweep of his arm like that of an overenthusiastic butler. “Your lunch awaits, Your Excellency! Such as it is.”
Fiora huffed again, this time sounding approving, and stood to his full height, picking his way across the clearing. Where was he going? Up the hill and behind the enormous oak tree, apparently, and Deven suppressed a laugh as Fiora squeezed his bulk around it and mostly out of sight. Only his tail stuck out behind him.
A moment later, the tail vanished. A pause. “Oh, bother,” floated out from behind the tree, a frustrated little cry.
“What’s the matter? Fiora? Are you stuck?”
Deven jogged toward the tree, only to be stopped by a wail of, “Don’t come back here!”
“I can’t help you if I can’t come back there!”
The silence stretched, Deven’s nerves ratcheting tighter.
“I forgot to bring my clothes,” Fiora said sulkily.
Oh, fuck. Fiora wasnakedbehind that tree. How would silky, pale-blue skin look against the fresh grass of the clearing, if Fiora were to sprawl on the ground, smiling, his hair fanned out around his head, his arms reaching up in welcome…
And Deven’s erection would be visible even across the clearing if he didn’t stop thinking about it.
“We’ll — figure something out,” he stammered. “Um. Clothes. You need — clothes.”
Deven looked about him wildly, as if a suit of clothing to Fiora’s exacting standards might appear out of nowhere. He immediately rejected the idea of the picnic blanket. It was scratchy, and even if it had been made out of silk, Fiora wouldn’t sit about wrapped in a blanket. It wouldn’t accord with his vaunted dignity.
Well, nothing about this situation was dignified. Deven looked down at himself, taking stock of what he was wearing. Trousers, drawers, shirt, neckcloth. He’d already set his coat aside, since the day was hot as blazes.
Deven made quick work of his boots and socks and neckcloth, and then stripped off his trousers and shirt. He was wearing new drawers, at least, with no tears or worn spots. They covered him to mid-thigh, and anyway, Deven was far from self-conscious. He could preserve Fiora’s modesty at the expense of his own, which was nonexistent in any case.
“I’m going to toss something for you to wear behind the tree,” Deven called. “I won’t look.”
He suited the actions to the words and then retreated to the blanket, dropping down on the edge of it cross-legged and ripping open the sandwich paper. Fuck, he was hungry. And he had to do something to take his mind off of Fiora putting Deven’s own clothes on all his lovely naked skin.
It took longer than it ought to have for Fiora to emerge, considering he was donning two items of clothing, but at last he peeped out from around the tree. He looked like some kind of wood nymph, with his hair wildly tangled, and Deven forced down a laugh. Fiora wouldn’t appreciate the humor of it.
“I look ridiculous,” Fiora complained, still half-hiding. “These clothes would fit my dragon body better than they fit me like this.”
Deven shrugged. “Roll them up, then, and come get a sandwich before I eat all of it. I hope you like ham and cheese and pickles.”
After a noticeable hesitation, Fiora gingerly picked his way out from behind the tree, setting his feet precisely with every step. It looked like he’d never gone barefoot outdoors before, at least not as a human — and perhaps he hadn’t, Deven realized. Good God, but the nobility were strange, no matter what color their skin was. Deven’s clothes were absurdly large on him, hanging down in every direction. The shirt gaped so much at Fiora’s neck that it was in danger of slipping off one slim, bony shoulder.
Deven abruptly rolled to his feet and went to retrieve the bottles from the stream, needing a moment to catch his breath. When he turned, Fiora was blushing and looking pointedly away. Deven resisted the urge to flex as many of his muscles as he could manage all at once, and hurried to sit down again, hoping it’d hide that he was still half hard. Fiora apparently ogling him when his back was turned wasnothelping.
Fiora carefully lowered himself to the blanket, drawing his knees up in front of him like a shield.
