by Forthright
Propping Gregor against Fend’s flank, he went to fill the tub.
For the first time in days, he ignored the collection of herbs and scents he’d have used to appeal to Sinder. The dragon would be back to work, same as everyone else, once the Dichotomy Day celebrations came to a close at the end of the week. They wouldn’t go to waste, but they weren’t needed now.
Plain water.
Plain soap.
Plain facts.
It was a terrible thing, taking after both parents. Like Papka, Timur easily formed attachments. But like Mum, he guarded them jealously. So he took it too personally when people moved on.
When a glowering phoenix in a fine suit had descended on Wardenclave like a thundercloud, Sinder hadn’t even looked back in his hurry to reach him. Knowing he and Juuyu were partners made Sinder’s vanishing act understandable. Still hurt, though.
Timur should probably be grateful for the reality check. He wasn’t going to find what was missing in a summer friend. Everyone here had lives to go back to. Even him. And he shouldn’t be whinging about what he lacked. Not when he’d struggled through so much in order to gain a son.
Shedding feast day finery, they dawdled through bathtime. Whimsical sigilcraft, cradle songs, and enough exuberant splashing to earn a few hisses from Fend.
Gradually, Timur calmed enough to smile for Gregor. “What is good is hard. But is still good, yes?”
Timur was suddenly awake and seriously confused. The room was dark, and someone was sifting fingers through his hair. He could feel the gentle scrape of claws. “Ginkgo?”
“No.”
Whoever it was licked a long stripe up his cheek.
He didn’t know who it was. Didn’t smell like Zisa. Didn’t smell like a stranger. Who even had access to Waaseyaa’s and Zisa’s haven?
“You aren’t usually this indecisive when attacked.”
“Not sure this is an attack.”
“Full points. It’s not.”
Crisp enunciation and a cultured accent. A flatness that suggested a dry sense of humor. But with a slight lift that was almost … flirtatious.
Timur flipped his assailant.
“Mind the baby,” said the stranger, clearly unconcerned by the arm across his throat.
“Who …?”
“Missed an appendage,” interrupted his captive. Something boffed Timur across the face. “Light a couple of crystals. I’m curious to see what else I have to work with.”
Now he was giving orders? Timur growled, “Who put you in charge?”
“I may not have your bulk, but you don’t have my strength.”
For one disorienting moment, Timur lost contact with the bed. Flipped, dropped, and pressed into the mattress, all he could think to say was, “Mind the baby.”
“I always do.” His captor’s voice was at his ear then. “And I’ve always been in charge. Now, light a couple of crystals.”
Timur hesitated. Because a strange possibility had finally occurred to him.
“You can finally hear my voice. At least have the good grace to listen.”
“Crystals are on the bedside table.”
A long stretch. Warm fingers. Cool stones.
Timur lofted one and then another and stared blankly at an Amaranthine who looked more or less his own age. Brown skin, dark brows, thick lashes, and vividly orange eyes with slit pupils.
He left off studying his claws to fix Timur with a decidedly smug gaze. “Opposable thumbs. I’m thinking they’ll be a game changer.”
“F-fend?”
“I’ll permit your perusal, so long as you keep what we find in the strictest confidence.”
Which was definitely another order.
Timur sat up and helped his Kith partner explore his speaking form. The feline arched his back, wriggled his hips, rubbed his hands together, and flex and retracted the claws in his feet, which were more like elongated paws. Everything must have proven satisfactory because he began to purr.
“Fend?”
“Hmm?” He sprawled limply over Timur’s chest, now clad in boxers and luxuriating in the petting of the velvety panther ears atop his head.
“How long have you been Kith-kin?”
“Probably since conception. All in the genes.”
Timur chuckled. “Fine. How long have you known?”
Fend’s tail, which was exceptionally long and dexterous, flicked Timur’s nose. “About two minutes longer than you.”
“Why, though? Why the sudden change?”
“You were crying in your sleep.”
Timur scratched through Fend’s short hair, which had the same dense silkiness as his fur. “That’s all?”
Fend lifted his face to glare. “What’s so wonderful about dragons, anyhow? Flighty as the winds they follow.”
Unable to resist teasing, Timur asked, “And felines are famed for their constancy?”
“Stop pining after someone else’s partner.” Baring his fangs, Fend said, “You are mine.”
How long had he waited?
To be deeply attached.
To be jealously held.
“Yours,” Timur agreed with an easy smile. “We make a good team, yes?”
“Not good enough. I want another pact,” Fend demanded.
“Yes.”
“Yes?” The feline sniffed. “You haven’t even heard my terms.”
Timur shrugged. “Still yes.”
“Reckless as ever.” Fend bent to rub their cheeks together, his purr gaining decibels. “Trust me, ma moitié. Together, we will be unstoppable.”
THE END
Translation Notes:
Zolottse [zoh-LOHT-she] a Russian endearment (masc.) meaning “golden one” or “precious.” Comparable to “honey” in English.
Ma moitié [MEH moy-tee] a French endearment literally meaning “my half,” implying that one is incomplete without the other. Comparable to referring to someone as your “better half” in English.
never more than
FORTHRIGHT
a teller of tales who began as a fandom ficcer. (Which basically means that no one in RL knows about her anime habit, her manga collection, or her penchant for serial storytelling.) Kinda sorta almost famous for gently-paced, WAFFy adventures that might inadvertently overturn your OTP, forthy will forever adore drabble challenges, surprise fanart, and twinkles (which are rumored to keep well in jars). As always... be nice, play fair, have fun! ::twinkle::
FORTHWRITES.COM
THE AMARANTHINE SAGA CONTINES
She could make a mess of everything. Especially him.
Fairies in the garden. Frost on the pumpkins.
Farmhands at the dance.
