On Wings of Passion

by M. D. Grimm

  When Asagoroth moved up his body, Roland shimmered his wings without being told, trusting Asagoroth to hold him up. Without hesitating, Asagoroth molded his body to every curve of Roland’s and pushed inside. He wrapped one arm around Roland’s waist and the other around his chest before Asagoroth began to move. He flapped his wings steadily despite the pleasure that had to be coursing through his body. Roland cried out with each plunge, Asagoroth nailing that sensitive point inside that bordered on this side of pain.

  Asagoroth nipped at his neck, little spikes of pain that were lost in the pleasure.

  “Asa, Asa,” he chanted as Asagoroth growled his name in response, thrusting harder and faster.

  Then he gripped Roland’s cock in his large hand and stroked in time with his thrusts, demanding Roland’s orgasm.

  “Give me your pleasure,” he growled before biting Roland’s bruised flesh.

  Roland gasped and came with a scream. Asagoroth came a moment later, snapping his hips up, burying himself completely inside Roland.

  “I love you,” Asagoroth said roughly.

  Unable to speak, Roland panted raggedly and gripped Asagoroth’s hand, twining their fingers. A purr and a soft nuzzle indicated Asagoroth understood.

  Chapter Eleven

  ROLAND WOKE up first. He smiled and languidly stretched, relishing the smoothness and the heat of Asagoroth’s palm before he opened his eyes. He stared at the tall, arched ceiling, proud of what they’d accomplished since arriving at the temple. They’d managed to repair almost all the holes and cracks and crumbling pillars by using materials from the Middle Realm. A few demons with familiar faces had helped when they saw Asagoroth flying low near the trees. Unfortunately Bune wasn’t among them, though Marax and Ronove were positively cheery to see his face and greeted him with surprisingly warm hugs.

  Also during that time, he’d managed to gather a small hoard of his own consisting of paint supplies. He was determined that every square inch of this place be covered in murals. The freedom he had to create whatever art he wanted was intoxicating. Asagoroth had no suggestions of his own but was continually pleased with Roland’s choices and took great pleasure in helping where he could.

  Who knew such a dragon could be so easygoing?

  Roland snorted softly and crawled off Asagoroth’s palm, his bare feet slipping a little on the loose gold coins. Asagoroth’s breath was heavy and warm, fluttering over Roland’s skin and ruffling his hair. He was dead to the world. Roland sent him a fond look before climbing down the pile of treasure and striding into a smaller chamber filled to bursting with trees and bushes, flourishing with life and food. The spell Asagoroth had chanted to sustain the garden was truly a strong and ancient one. No life should have thrived in a place so far from the sun and warmth.

  Now that he’d moved away from Asagoroth, he felt a slight chill and rubbed his arms. He reached over and grabbed a long, thick robe Marax and Ronove had gifted him days before on his last journey to the Middle Realm. It wasn’t as soft as angelic-made robes, but it was gentle enough not to scratch his delicate skin, and it was also thick enough to warm him sufficiently when he wasn’t pressed against Asagoroth. He picked some berries from a bush and chewed thoughtfully, not for the first time missing home. Missing his family. He always would.

  Despite his happiness he would always miss Emphoria and those he cared about. What would Gabryl think of him? What had Anpiel said? What had Sabrael and Bethor told the high chancellor? Had his parents disowned him?

  What of his students?

  A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced down his spine. He swallowed hard and nearly choked. He’d tried to keep busy so as not to dwell on things he couldn’t change. Even if he were to abandon Asagoroth and beg for forgiveness, his own people would brand him a traitor and execute him. He could say Asagoroth forced himself upon him, but such a vicious lie would never fall from his tongue. Even if he tried to lie and claim he’d never been intimate with Asagoroth, they would smell the dragon on him. There was no way to fully scrub off the scent or remove the damning bite mark that was a dark welt against his pale skin.

  He was happy. Immensely happy and free, and with someone who wanted him just the way he was. Sacrifices had to be made, and much had to be risked if anything worthwhile was to be gained.

  He didn’t regret his decisions that had led him here. He only mourned for what he’d lost.

  Taking a deep breath, Roland forcefully shook off such dreadful thoughts and returned to Asagoroth. He climbed over one large forearm to push against one side of his face. He kissed him gently below his large eye before reaching up and scratching his eye ridge. In a moment the tip of Asagoroth’s tail twitched erratically, and his claws dug into the gold, flexing with muscle spasms. A low rumble of approval echoed out of his chest as he leaned into Roland’s touch, eyes still closed. He slanted his head down a bit, and Roland didn’t have to stretch as high to get at his target.

  Laughing, Roland continued his scratches along the entire eye. When his fingers and arms finally tired, he stepped back. Asagoroth let out a groan before lifting his head and shaking it. A few gold coins that stuck to his chin rained down on Roland’s head. He lifted his arms to protect his face, still laughing.

  The first time Roland had done that, he claimed he owed Asagoroth for flinging his entire body into his eyeball. Asagoroth had laughed and said it was the bravest and stupidest thing any living creature had ever done to him.

  Roland decided to take that as a compliment.

  “Mate,” Asagoroth said, purring as he opened his eyes.

  Roland smiled. “If you’re that itchy, maybe I need to clean under your scales. Especially the newly grown ones.”

  Other than helping clean the blood off Asagoroth’s scales when they first arrived at the temple, Roland had yet to help Asagoroth properly preen. He wanted this relationship to thrive, and the only way for that to happen was if they both trusted each other without any hesitation or doubt. He wanted the intimacy.

  Asagoroth lifted his head again and tilted it to the side to keep Roland in his sights.

  “You wish to groom me?” He sounded pleased.

  Roland grinned. “Yes, I would. How about you?”

  In answer all the scales on Asagoroth’s body sprang out, exposing the shiny blue skin underneath. Roland’s heart jumped as he walked over to Asagoroth’s other side, the one that was the most damaged during the fight with Vedra. He carefully checked the skin and each scale and was relieved to find everything healing and growing the way it should. Asagoroth turned his head to the other side, and with his tongue, carefully licked his own skin and under the scales.

  Being in the Upper Realm and far away from any other living creature had proven beneficial to Asagoroth’s scale health. The lack of other dragons also allowed him to fully heal. Roland checked Asagoroth’s entire side, brushing his fingers over the tender skin, and found no mites or skin rash or any other afflictions. Asagoroth shuddered a few times when he touched the blue skin, but the continual purring let Roland know it was with pleasure, not pain.

  When Roland reached his tail, he paused and looked back down Asagoroth’s considerable length.

  “Do you ever regret our decision?” he heard himself ask. He blinked at his own question, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, if he asked it, he must have had some doubt or worry niggling in the back of his brain despite his best intentions.

  Asagoroth swung his head around and sent him a narrowed look, eyes gleaming with searing light.

  Roland raised his hands in placation. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to offend.”

  Asagoroth grunted and snapped his scales down. He twisted his body and neck, reached toward Roland, and with the very tip of his snout, poked Roland none too gently in the stomach. The move was unexpected, and Roland staggered before falling on his butt. Some of the wind had been knocked out of him, and he scowled, rubbing his stomach.

  “What was that for?”

  Asa
goroth eyed him, his gaze still narrowed. “I am with you, Roland. I am happy. Why would I regret that?”

  Well, there was the answer.

  Roland sighed and sat up, holding out his hands. Asagoroth pushed into them, and Roland laid his cheek on his snout. “I understand, Asa. I am happy too.”

  “You ask me that question. Now I wonder if I should not ask you the same.”

  Roland rubbed his cheek against smooth scales. “I don’t regret. Not a bit. I just miss my family and my studio, my friends. I can miss them and not regret.” He pulled back and met Asagoroth’s gaze. “I love you.”

  The tension that had been gathering in Asagoroth relaxed, and he rumbled in satisfaction.

  Roland stood and made a show of dusting off his robe. “Now you want to help me paint the final upper half of the wall, or what?”

  With eyes gleaming with humor, Asagoroth glanced at the only part of the four walls of the treasure chamber not yet complete. The mural stretched across the entire chamber, depicting several scenes from their mating flight. Roland decided battle scenes shouldn’t be in the place where they slept. He would save those for the larger chambers.

  “As always, I would be honored to help.”

  Roland gathered his tools and sat on Asagoroth’s snout. Asagoroth then carefully lifted him up and up and up until he was level with the blank stone. He scooted closer to the edge of Asagoroth’s snout and got to work. Yes, he could hover while trying to paint, but that would cause his lines to be shaky and ruin the beauty of the pieces. Asagoroth proved to be an invaluable assistant since he could hold as still as a statue in one position for hours without flagging. Asagoroth expressed a fascination in watching Roland work, and this was the first time Roland didn’t have a problem with someone observing him as he painted. Even Gabryl knew better than to try to hover as he set paintbrush to canvas.

  There was another, deeper reason Roland was compelled to cover every square inch of stone with murals. He wanted Asagoroth to remember him. He wanted there to be a visible reminder of what they’d shared, of what happiness was. If Asagoroth was the last dragon standing, then he was immortal. Roland was not. That was simple fact. And if the unthinkable happened and Asagoroth was killed by another dragon, then Roland wanted the murals to remind him of what they were to each other.

  So much of the future was still unknown. But this? This right here was something he understood: art. Creating something, giving life to what he imagined in his mind. Sharing that life and that beauty with someone he loved, with someone who could appreciate it.

  Roland patted Asagoroth and got to work.

  THEY WERE frequent visitors to the Middle Realm and often met up with demons there. Sometimes by chance, sometimes design. Roland traded portraits for robes and blankets and other angelic trinkets to fill their temple home. He refused to take anything for free and was more than happy to offer his skills for trade.

  This continued for years, and Roland found himself going weeks without thinking of his family or of angels at all. He made friends with demons, and they accepted him, and not just because of his relationship with Asagoroth.

  Though there was one time, perhaps two years after they bonded, that Roland encountered two angels quite by accident. He was collecting more supplies for paint and became separated from his demon companions. Asagoroth was off hunting for food, so he was very much alone when he stepped into a small meadow and froze. Two angels, females, turned and appeared as shocked as he was. It was obvious they recognized him by the way they gaped.

  For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then Bune, from a fair distance behind him, shouted his name. Roland flinched, and the two angels seemed to come to their senses at the same time.

  “Traitor!” One pointed at him.

  “What are you doing here?” the other said.

  He winced and took a step back. “Living my life, just as you are.” It was so strange to see angels after years of only demons.

  “I smell the dragon on him,” the first angel said. The other one looked disgusted.

  “Roland!” Bune yelled again.

  Gritting his teeth, Roland turned and ran. He didn’t know if there were other angels in the area, and he didn’t want to find out. He nearly ran into Bune as he cleared some bushes. His green eyes popped wide, and he gripped Roland’s arm.

  “You scared me,” he said in Middle Dimoori, the language which Roland used frequently now. “Do not wander off like that.”

  “Angels are here,” he said, shaking off Bune’s grip. “We need to leave.”

  It scared him how not strange it seemed to run from his own kin.

  Bune shouted orders at the other demons and, along with Roland, flew to the other side of the globe. Roland didn’t want to leave the Middle Realm without Asagoroth, and he doubted the two angels were part of a much larger group. They were likely part of a scouting party. They wouldn’t come after him since they knew he had a dragon at his side considering his entourage of demons. They were ill-prepared to take him on but he also didn’t want to test that theory.

  Roland sat on a fallen tree and stared at the ground, hands dangling between his legs. Bune and the other demons stood guard, on high alert for any attack.

  Asagoroth wasn’t pleased to learn about the angels, and though it wounded his pride to flee, they did and returned to their temple. That was the first and last encounter he had with angels for three more long years.

  He and Asagoroth continued to split their time between their temple and the Middle Realm. He’d even managed to convince Asagoroth to fly him to the Lower Realm. Once. It was too hot and dark and smoky for Roland’s taste. What a strange place to grow up. He enjoyed the beach in the Middle Realm and their temple the best. They’d spend days basking in the sun’s golden rays, watching the tides of the ocean sway in and out. Or they’d swim to the deepest depths of the ocean, fascinated by the creatures that called it home.

  The forests were grand, the trees tall and thick. The creatures were diverse and beautiful in their innocence and primal motivations. Roland transferred such beauty upon the walls of their temple and duplicated the night skies upon the ceilings. Soon the temple resembled the Middle Realm, the stone warmer because of the murals of life.

  He and Asagoroth grew closer, oftentimes needing no words to communicate. A mere look or touch was all that was needed to express a thought, a desire.

  He saw Bune many times over those years, and they became good friends. He even met Bune’s wife and five children. He’d fastened Asagoroth’s scale to a strap that wrapped around his chest, an obvious proclamation of importance as well as a way to make sure it was never lost.

  Asagoroth fought two other dragons during that time, then nothing. He kept feelers out among the demons loyal to him, but no one reported anything back for years.

  Was Asagoroth the last?

  Roland was certain the rumors of his victories had reached the angels. And even among the demons, he was starting to be called the Great Dragon. And he belonged to Roland.

  PANTING, SWEATING, Roland lay on his back on the stone floor, jerking his head from side to side. He dug his fingers into the stone, unable to find anything to hold on to as the pleasure whipped mercilessly through his body. Asagoroth growled as he took Roland’s cock deeper into his mouth, the vibrations doing torturous things to his sensitive tip. With one large hand, he held the base of his cock while he played with his ass with the other, two thick fingers deep inside, pressing and thrusting them against that painfully pleasurable spot inside.

  “Asa, Asa,” Roland whimpered. He spread his legs farther and bent his knees closer to his chest, granting Asagoroth as much access as he desired. The beast was drawing this out, and Roland’s throat was raw, his breaths ragged from the assault.

  He’d been innocently sketching out another mural on the lower half of one of the remaining blank walls when Asagoroth and snuck up and attacked. No warning, no hesitation, just like a predator stalking prey.

  Bl
ess him.

  Asagoroth lifted his head, his smile smug, as he pumped and fingered Roland, watching him unravel.

  “In-inside me. Inside me!”

  Asagoroth grunted and pulled out his fingers. Roland barely felt the emptiness of the withdrawal before Asagoroth pushed his hard shaft inside. Roland’s breath caught, and he gripped Asagoroth’s arms, meeting his gaze. He really didn’t know how Asagoroth could appear so calm when his own need had to be raging through his blood just like Roland.

  Now Asagoroth’s breaths became slightly ragged, and before he could really start to pound, he shimmered his wings insubstantial and rolled them until Roland lay on top.

  “What?” he panted, disoriented by the sudden reversal.

  “Ride.”

  The command shivered down his spine. Roland sat up, his body still trembling from the foreplay. Asagoroth had paused in his stroking and now took it up again, gaze fierce and demanding.

  Roland shimmered his wings visible and spread them out, enjoying how Asagoroth’s eyes widened in wonder. Then he moved, riding for all he was worth. Asagoroth gripped his hip tight enough to leave a bruise. Good. Roland liked those bruises. Asagoroth thrust up with his hips, and they instantly found a rhythm, their bodies too in tune and knowledgeable about the other to be awkward anymore.

  It wasn’t always Asagoroth to ambush Roland. Sometimes Roland could make the Great Dragon beg for mercy.

  Asagoroth squeezed and twisted his wrist, causing Roland to come first. He cried out and squeezed his inner muscles, forcing Asagoroth to come with him. Roland collapsed limply on his chest, gasping for air and violently trembling. Asagoroth grunted at the impact, his own lungs working hard to breathe.