The Tales of Two Seers

by R. Cooper

  He left his mouth soft and open, to be kissed often, and finished, sudden and hot, for the whispers of praise against his lips. Arthur shuddered in pleasure and humiliation for spilling like this with only one hand on his stomach and another at his back. He had not even been touched, not truly, but he was kissed for that, too, before embarrassment could make him pull away to stammer an apology.

  “The rarest of pearls,” was hot against his ear, like the man’s lips as they brushed Arthur’s neck before returning to his mouth to tease Arthur into moaning.

  When the man finally let Arthur catch his breath, still trembling while sitting on the man’s lap, Arthur shook his head. “I should—”

  “We have time.” The rain continued to pour down. That must be what the man meant. One night, at least, unless Arthur would see him again. He might. The man had to live somewhere nearby.

  The man resumed stroking Arthur’s skin. Arthur arched into it, perhaps a cat himself.

  “You are too kind,” he praised the man in return, and wished for more, although it was likely impossible. “Is the Duke as kind?” His tongue was thick on the words. The hands petting him stopped. “Would he have a use for me?” Arthur blundered on, his thinking too slow yet to allow him to say what he meant.

  But the petting resumed, and with it, more kisses along Arthur’s throat. “Would you like to stay here? Is that what you are trying to say, pearl?”

  “I…” Arthur should not ask, and yet he hesitated. “I should speak to the Duke, if I can, warn him of the plans for war. Prove myself to him, if I must. I could discover the dragon for myself. Find out if it is malevolent or good, if this lord wishes me to take care of it.”

  “This lord,” the man echoed him, huffing.

  “I may have no lord now,” Arthur realized aloud, with a chill banished by more kisses.

  Another huff followed those, this one hot and pleased over Arthur’s collarbone. “The warriors of the Duke call themselves Those Who Belong to the Dragon. Would you be one of those?” His hands came to Arthur’s shoulders to push Arthur’s shirt away.

  Arthur opened his eyes to see the man devouring the sight of Arthur flushed and wet with his own seed. “Belong to the dragon?” Arthur asked.

  A dark gaze snapped to meet his.

  “Yes.” It was nearly a hiss. “There are many dragons. But if you stay, you would only know this one.” He watched Arthur for another moment, then slowly lowered his head to brush kisses over Arthur’s chest.

  Arthur had never been seduced, and could not be expected to think clearly or speak above a whisper. “I… would have to know the Duke.” He tightened his fingers, disturbing such lovely hair. “And the dragon. Before I would give myself to them.”

  The man’s satisfied growl carried through Arthur’s warm, strangely pliant body. “Yet you give yourself to me.”

  “This is not the same.” Arthur tipped his head to the side and received a soft, approving bite beneath his ear.

  “Is it not?” The man watched raptly as he removed more of Arthur’s clothing. “So, you will have to meet them, the Duke and the dragon, and make up your own mind. You will judge them and decide if they may have you?”

  That sounded arrogant. “I was not—"

  “That is what they say it feels like to have the dragon’s eyes on you. You will be judged.” Arthur thought he felt a smile against his skin. “I think you will do well.”

  “Do well?” Arthur noted that distractedly. “With the Duke? Or the dragon?” He shook his head. “Will you be there?” he asked a moment later, obvious. “In the Duke’s house? Or another close by?”

  “Ah.” The man sighed it. Smoke stung Arthur’s eyes and made them close, but he did not protest as he was gently laid down upon his bedroll. For a scholar, the man was very strong. “You ask me if you will meet me again. How careful you are when you should not have to be. No one in your land has thought to have you or keep you?”

  “My sister would miss me, and I would miss her,” Arthur admitted, and opened his eyes when he realized he was denying himself the sight of the man undressing. “Though she is far from my current thoughts,” he added, wanting to cover himself, yet too enraptured at the sight of bared skin and the shining, wet bead at the tip of the man’s cock. He reached for it, his touch admiring and without intent until the man exhaled with warm pleasure. After that, Arthur did not resist the urge to bring the drop to his lips. A powerless younger son could make mysterious, beautiful lords tremble with one flick of his tongue. Arthur did not know what to do with this knowledge except touch that cock again, and raise his eyes to meet a gaze of shimmering heat. His tone was shy but his words were not. “You have been patient with me and all my questions, indulgent and good. I… I wish you would have me now.”

  It would be rough in this cave with no provisions except a thin bedroll, but Arthur found he did not care.

  The man fell onto his hands and knees above him, making hoarse promises in between kisses that lit up Arthur’s blood. “I will shower you with all my treasure.”

  A lord would have treasure. Arthur was not surprised to learn for certain that he had a lord in his arms. But he only shook his head and pulled the man down so they were chest to chest. He should have blushed for it, but heat in his skin was pure desire. He dragged his hands up the man’s back and tangled his fingers in the silky black hair he had already disrupted. He let his eyes slip closed when this earned him a pleased growl.

  If, the man seemed to whisper to him again and again, promising feasts, riches, knowledge. Anything, if only you would choose.

  “You are a great lord and I am a younger son.” Arthur tried to answer, gasping between each word. The man, a lord with robes of the softest cloth, rocked against him, showing Arthur how it would be, or asking, perhaps, if Arthur wanted that or something else.

  Arthur wanted it all. He moaned and bit his lip to keep the sound in, failed when this only made the thrusts fiercer. He bent his legs, lifted his hips, scratched lines into smooth shoulders.

  “Bear-prince,” had the sound of another growl. It made Arthur’s heart pound. “Bear-prince, name it and I will give it to you.”

  Arthur opened his eyes as he was pinned down onto rock that seemed softer than a pile of straw. The darkness above flashed with light, like stars winking through fog. “Only more of this, if we could.”

  “You give more of yourself to me?” The ferocity in the question burned into Arthur’s skin, like the fingers bruising at his hips and the teeth at his throat. Arthur nodded, eager for more of the strange sensation, wanting and awe together, and something stronger that stole his breath. “I would take it,” the man said, but then pulled away. Arthur did not understand why, and shamed himself with a small protest that fell to nothing when warm hands pushed his thighs open wider. “I will give it,” the man added, his voice rough despite how careful his fingers were. They felt slick and warm, and that, Arthur did not understand at first, either. It should have been impossible in this stark cave with no provisions, but then those fingers were inside him.

  The air left him. Arthur shut his eyes, seeking calm, wanting to offer welcome. His muscles trembled despite his efforts, his breathing returned, but harshly.

  Lips brushed over his, adoring. “No?” the man asked in a whisper.

  Arthur clasped a hand to the back of the man’s neck to hold him there. He nearly expected the second gentle kiss, and moved his legs impatiently and lifted his hips to encourage a deeper touch.

  “Yes.” Arthur had never been so willing. “I wanted… I only wanted to feel it more.” He did not think his answer would make sense outside of his own mind, but the man dropped his head to offer earnest, rumbling vows against Arthur’s shoulder, more promises Arthur barely heard, except for Anything.

  The heat of the body settling between his legs was like ovens for baking pottery, hotter than the fire only an arm’s length from them. If there were stones beneath Arthur’s back, he could not feel them. His thighs were slippe
ry, now, his blood singing, his neck damp with kisses.

  He looked up at the large, gleaming figure bent over him, and pulled his knees up higher. The feverish word as the man pushed inside of him barely registered. Arthur echoed it, strained and quiet, a soft, Mine, that was soon lost to moans and whatever other sounds he made as he was taken. Slowly, but he should never have expected quick. Not with this man growling for each noise he drove out of Arthur and how pleased he was when Arthur shook in his arms and finally came again.

  The man pulled out to spill over Arthur’s thighs, and rubbed his spent cock there, too, before giving a great, contented huff and pinning Arthur to the ground with his body.

  Arthur once again tangled his fingers into silky, disheveled hair, wanting to hold onto this for as long as he could.

  He closed his eyes as he wondered sleepily if the man had a similar idea. The man growled softly against Arthur’s shoulder and whispered, “Mine,” before rolling onto his back and pulling Arthur with him. His body was far more comfortable than the ground, and his fingers trailed down Arthur’s spine until Arthur sighed and relaxed against him.

  “My lord,” Arthur murmured in return, and was soothed to slumber by the gentle rumbling through the cave floor.

  WHEN ARTHUR WOKE, it was to the realization that it was quiet, as if the rain had stopped. Then that he was warmer than he had thought to be in this cave, and then, oddly, that he was colder than he had been when he had fallen asleep.

  He rolled to the side, struggling a little against the volume of blankets tucked around him, and tried to blink his eyes open.

  He froze, then opened his eyes all the way.

  He had never seen a dragon in the flesh but he unmistakably gazed upon one now.

  A long, dark, sleek body stood poised at the end of the cave, which Arthur distantly noted was glowing with morning sun or the light of the fire behind him. It also shined with the reflected sparkle of thousands of gemstones embedded in the massive cave’s stone walls. Rubies and sapphires cast their light back onto the black scales of the dragon, who, even with its head lowered to observe Arthur, nearly reached the ceiling.

  The cave had not seemed so large last night, in the dark. The rooms beyond the first had not been visible.

  Arthur drew himself up onto his knees, the blankets gathered at his waist, and took one last look at the dragon’s elegant snout and black beard, the sharp claws on its great feet, before he lowered his head respectfully.

  His heart was racing, his muscles stiff, but he reminded himself that he had not been attacked. The dragon had waited. It had not even blocked the mouth of the cave. Arthur could run if he wanted.

  In the silence following his gesture, Arthur remembered the rest of the night. He jerked his head up, scanning the space for a sign of the man who Arthur might have called lover. But there was only the dragon… and several trays not far from Arthur, heavily laden with fruit and buns and what looked like a roasted duck.

  Arthur had heard no servants, and had not woken to any sounds of the man from last night leaving. He also did not think a dragon poised to attack would have laid out a meal.

  Arthur trembled but stayed on his knees, kept himself as covered as he could, and finally stared back.

  The man had said looking into a dragon’s eyes was like being judged.

  The dragon had dark eyes, and a gaze that was not quite ancient, but learned and patient and almost fond. Arthur had seen that look before, many times over the course of one night, and did not fail to blush for it once again.

  “I see,” he murmured, because these blankets had also not been here when he had fallen asleep. He had slept on something, someone, much warmer. He had been given smooth pleasure instead of discomfort, and could still feel sticky oil and seed between his thighs. Arthur might have left this cave ignorant of what had truly happened, but instead, he had been presented with this moment.

  With this choice.

  If you would choose to be mine, that was half of the promise that had been whispered to him so many times even before the dragon had taken him. If you would choose.

  As if Arthur was known. As if the dragon had judged Arthur’s value and craved more of his presence. For that alone, Arthur would have offered his service. But the dragon had beaten him to it.

  “I am not sure I have an interest in treasure,” Arthur said at last, quietly.

  The dragon blinked, then lowered its great head even more, watching Arthur with a mournful air.

  “But,” Arthur could not help himself, thinking of the dragon’s lonely tears, of his own, “it was warmer with you next to me.”

  A wisp of smoke left the dragon’s nostrils, like a laugh. Then, in a slow, undulating motion, it uncoiled itself and took the steps to stand directly before Arthur and peer down into his face. Its breath was hot and smelled of lightning and fire.

  With a heavy, but pleased, sigh that nearly swept Arthur to the ground, the great dragon lowered itself to the floor. It curled its tail with it, tugging Arthur and all his blankets against the dragon’s hot, oddly soft belly.

  Arthur stared for another moment, then twisted around to face the creature still gazing at him. When he extended his hand, his palm was nuzzled, so very carefully.

  “You choose to be mine?” asked the man, in a newer, louder voice, although the tone was the same, pleading and proud. “Though I am a beast? Will you allow me to serve you?”

  Arthur startled, withdrawing his hand before he recovered and dared to run his hand over the regal snout. “I’ve no desire to control you, Great Lord Dragon of the Mountains.”

  The man, the dragon, permitted himself to be petted with obvious pleasure, but paused to make something clear. “That is not my name. Not for you, bear-prince.”

  “Ah.” Arthur was shaky and was not sure when he would cease to be so. Perhaps never. He had not intended to become the dragon’s lover, but it seemed he had, and the dragon wished to keep him. “Then what do I call you, Great Dragon, Lord of These Caves?” Giant teeth were close to his hand, should have been terrifying, and yet Arthur had loved the feel of those teeth last night.

  The rumble that shook the ground turned out to be the sound of the dragon’s delighted laugh, as if the answer had been in front of Arthur’s face all through the night, which perhaps it had been. The dragon’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “You may call me Beloved, my pearl.”

  Arthur blushed hot, and held the name to chest where it would continue to warm him.

  The One That Would Be

  Without opening his eyes, Edgar could see strong Red Wolf trembling, fighting to restrain himself. Red’s every breath was torture. The moon was full behind him, encircling him, large and white and low in the sky. It both called to him and separated him from what he wanted the most.

  Small, human, and oblivious, Rum was positioned a few yards away. Damaged, mentally frail Rum in his disheveled uniform was smiling for once, perhaps at the beauty of the moonlight.

  It was winter 1943, and Rum was a human born to fight, but slowly losing pieces of himself to the war. He still didn’t understand what it meant to fight alongside a wolf, and he was still a human who didn’t recognize love as beings do. In the bitter cold, somewhere behind enemy lines, Rum was a human standing beneath a full moon with the werewolf who loved him, and that werewolf was in agony.

  Edgar almost couldn’t breathe. He knew how he wanted the story to end, how every fan of the Red Wolf and Rum graphic novels wished that scene had ended. But already, Edgar could see the thousands of possible twists and turns ahead, all of them exquisite, most of them as painful as the actual moment in the book.

  But today, he wanted Rum to look up. Today, Rum should look up in time to catch the longing on Red’s face and for once understand it, and be strong enough to accept it.

  Edgar would prefer that Rum then leap into Red’s arms, but considering he had written a 9k college/coffee shop AU of them last week where that had happened, he supposed he should wait.

 
Anyway, the mood was wrong. The many possible variations of the story vanished one by one as Edgar contemplated that one crystalline moment between them. If he made Rum turn around when Red Wolf was the most vulnerable, something bad would happen. Most likely, one of them would run away. They weren’t ready, no matter how much Edgar wanted them to kiss.

  Edgar sighed. After four books, the fans deserved some kissing. But he wouldn’t get it today, not for that scene. Maybe he could go back and do a quick porny sequel to the coffee shop AU. He always felt silly for sharing those sorts of stories, which were probably laughably bad. But Edgar could while away whole afternoons thinking about what sort of passion Red might reveal, or all the little ways Rum would show affection.

  Soft kisses from Rum would leave even the fiercest soldier weak.

  Edgar hummed as he felt it, the spark, the absolute certain knowledge that when M. Greenleaf finally let the boys get together—as she must—that it would be Rum who took that step. And though Edgar could, and had, imagined violent passion between them, it was that first gentle kiss that would take the great Red Wolf’s strength and leave him even more firmly bound to his mate.

  And then, if she were cruel—and good—she would tear them apart again, for a while, for long enough to take her readers’ hearts and keep them for her own. And M. Greenleaf was just that good—and cruel.

  Edgar reached blindly for the cup on the table at the end of the couch and drank the last of the cocoa although it had gone cold. When the two mates finally reunited, Red Wolf would claim Rum. Edgar might die of feelings.

  He shivered and nearly dropped his cup as he set it back down. Werewolves were so different. He could not imagine how Rum would feel in that moment and he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Edgar was dragon and so no one would ever claim him. But oh, to know without a doubt he was wanted, to feel such strength over him, he would—