* * * *
Campion smelled cooking meat. That seemed important. So did the protests from his bladder, which apparently was too well trained to empty itself when he was lying down. He was definitely lying down, and on rather softer grass than he remembered landing.
Grass.
He was also definitely naked.
Though his head hammered with the effort, he opened his eyes. Grass indeed, at very close range. He blinked a few times to see if that would bring any of the rest of the world closer. A crisp wood fire blazed a little distance away, its heat washing toward him with the fitful breeze. The animal roasting within the piled limbs looked suspiciously horse-shaped.
"Care for a bite?” said a melodious deep voice somewhere nearby.
Campion lifted his head, squeezing his eyes shut against momentary vertigo. “Is that...?"
"The horse that dumped you on your head? Consider it the ultimate reprimand. Surely you'd thought of it before? Besides, he'd broken a leg in the tumble."
Campion, eyes still closed, considered the voice and its words. Had he found a scholar in the woods, perhaps a noble's younger son? Would the gentleman be offended if he didn't stagger very far to relieve himself? He pulled himself up on hands and knees, waited for the world to stop spinning, and opened his eyes again. Though the voice sounded close, he saw no feet in the corner of either eye.
"Do you need a hand?” said the voice, almost directly above him.
He turned his head a little. No feet, at least not the sort he was expecting. A pair of taloned claws, and a long scaly tail. Aches forgotten, Campion dropped and rolled away by reflex, scrambling upright at what seemed a marginally safer distance.
"I suppose not, then.” The dragon gestured with the proffered upper limb and dropped down to all fours. Its wings folded in neatly atop his back.
Campion tried several sentences all at once, along with a few exclamations and the odd oath, but what eventually came out was, “What did you do with my clothes?"
The dragon looked momentarily puzzled. Campion made a motion toward his bare body, not sure he wanted to call attention to his defenselessness, but acutely aware that he could hardly make it more obvious. “Clothes. I see. The soft ones started the fire well, and the hard ones are excellent appetizers. Would you care for a bit?"
The hard ones...
Campion gulped. Looking around, he spied his armor in a torn and untidy heap, shredded into what he realized were bite-sized morsels for the dragon's long jaws. He supposed he should be glad not to spy himself in a similar heap of morsels, realized he wasn't making sense, and shook his head once to clear it. The ache made the world settle a little. “Not just now, thanks. Glad you like them."
The dragon showed some back teeth. Reaching out with one long forelimb, it took up another piece of metal and tipped his head back. A gush of flame engulfed the end of the strip, and the dragon opened its mouth wide. Metal dripped into the back of its throat. The display was impressive. Campion realized he'd never wished before to wake up to find himself adder-bitten and alone.
"Delicious,” the beast said. “Are you sure you wouldn't care for some?"
Campion shook his head. He didn't trust his voice.
"I find your kind makes more sense without all that covering. I can see what you're thinking.” The dragon cast a pointed glance toward Campion's hips. “Though at present you look a bit contradictory."
Campion remembered that his bladder didn't really have room for his balls to climb in beside it, though they seemed to be trying. “I need to piss,” he admitted bluntly.
"Ah.” The dragon cocked its head in an interested way. “Don't let me stop you."
Campion took a few steps toward the nearest tree. The dragon kept pace by changing its angle, long neck stretching.
"Do you mind?” Campion asked, realizing he was to have no privacy.
"Not at all,” the beast replied in a contented rumble.
"Looking away, I mean."
"Oh. Now that, yes, I would mind."
Campion's knees were too shaky to carry him much further than the first oak. He'd pissed in public before. The dragon's neck made any angling and fidgeting pointless as trying to hide himself from an unusually curious snake anyway. He sighed in relief. “What's so bloody interesting about it, anyway?” he asked when he turned back.
The dragon backed up a few paces. “It draws your eye when I do this.” It shot a few small flames from its muzzle. “Doesn't it?"
"Well, yes. It's fire, for heaven's sakes."
The dragon rocked its weight to its back legs to do something that Campion eventually recognized as a shrug. “Well. It's water."
Campion nodded that yes, it was, puzzled.
"Your kind seems to be made of it, to the point that there's extra. It's fascinating."
"Oh.” Campion wondered if he would have an audience for every leak he took for the rest of his life. Then he wondered if he would find himself roasting beside his worthless horse as soon as his conversation grew dull. He wasn't up to trying to run, and he was fairly sure that, like a snake, the dragon would simply dart its head forward and seize him.
"You look wobbly,” the dragon said in a friendly manner. “Sit down."
Campion felt wobbly, and it wasn't just the blow to the head. Very few companions found him interesting to chat with for more than a few hours. He sat near the fire and watched the meat crisp. After a while, the dragon reached in and pulled a few ribs out, then presented them on what had been the horse's breastplate. They were too hot to eat, and the heat went right through the metal to Campion's lap, but they smelled good. He set the plate aside on the grass and said, “In a moment."
"Still dizzy?” Now the beast sounded outright solicitous.
Campion shrugged and looked around. He was where the villagers had reported their dragon, and there was a dragon here, which raised other questions. He was pretty sure about what had happened to the livestock, but the other commodity had an immediate relevance to his own future. “What happened to the virgins?"
"Virgins? Perhaps that was why they were such silly wretches. I suggested I would like a bit of appropriate company, and the fool villagers brought me a screaming girl who promptly bolted off a cliff in the cave.” The beast gestured casually over his shoulder. “A week later, they brought me another who made some bold speech about her virtue and stuck herself in the chest with a dagger."
Campion mulled this over. “I think the virgin for the dragon is traditional."
"In that case, I can only be glad they seem to have run out. Useless chits.” The dragon puffed a cloud of smoke from its nostrils as if to indicate its opinion of girls and their source together.
At loss for another answer, Campion nodded. He'd never seen much use for virgins either. “Give me a good whore any day."
The dragon threw back its head and spouted tiny flamelets in what Campion came to recognize as laughter. “I thought knights preferred pages?"
"Pages are as useless as virgins and too small by half. Knights and squires, not pages."
The dragon licked laughter-flames from its lips with a long forked tongue. “Presumably they value their whores too greatly to let me have one."
"One may be all they have. It's a small village."
The dragon puffed out smoke once more. “Perhaps it's time to try another, perhaps a little larger, perhaps a little smarter-looking. Unless you think this is as nice as I'm likely to find."
Campion looked around the grove and considered the land he'd passed on the way. He took up a rib to gnaw while he thought. The dragon was a good cook. “It's not bad, I must admit."
"This nice clearing for basking, a good little cave not far off for shelter and storage...” The dragon looked very coy for a moment. “Not bad at all."
The beast took up what Campion realized a moment too late was his sword. The tip drooped and dripped down the dragon's throat, and then the mighty jaws closed so the hilt rested on the end of the muzzle, glowing
slightly in the evening light. After a moment, it took away the hilt, the blade gone altogether, and held out the grip in an appraising way. “I hope you didn't pay too much for this gilt work."
Campion shook his head, feeling a little numb. If he'd stuck that in the brute's side, would he have accomplished anything other than serious burns? The dragon reached into the fire once more and drew out a leg, then sat back on its haunches and nibbled daintily. For all its power, Campion realized, the beast wasn't that much larger than he was—at least, not from shoulders to hips. The neck and tail added quite a bit, as did the wings and the long snout, but the creature was narrower through the shoulders than a man. He wouldn't be surprised to discover they weighed around the same amount—at least, before the dragon had enjoyed a metallic snack.
Muscles rippled beneath the scales, which the firelight caught in a pleasing manner. Campion felt his thoughts drifting back to the fuzzy state he'd awakened in, minus most of the headache. He'd been worse places than beside a dragon as they companionably shared what was left of his horse. He stripped the meat off another bone, felt a certain dryness, and considered the contents of his saddlebags. He considered whether he still had saddlebags.
"Looking for something?” the dragon asked after swallowing.
"The horse had a couple packages on it behind the saddle."
The dragon pointed to a dark shape at the edge of the woods with its claw. “Something essential?"
"Brandy. I think. Cheap brandy, but decent enough for washing down horse. And some bread."
The dragon fetched the bags, dangling them neatly from its jaws, as though it thought Campion might try to flee if he left the fire. Campion couldn't see well enough or walk well enough for any such thing, and was just as glad not to have to get up. “Thanks. There's not really enough to share, I'm afraid."
"Quite all right. You already provided the meat and the side dish."
Campion spared a moment to wonder what he was to do without clothes, armor, or horse, and then had a good pull of brandy. It was a worry for later. For now, he'd settle in by the fire for the night and hope to wake up in the morning. If he didn't, he would have been the midnight snack. The brandy made its warm fuzz through his middle.
The dragon was an elegant beast, he decided, and with better manners than he would have expected. Now it was flicking grease from its claws with a long forked tongue. It caught his regard and canted its head sideways, then rolled to display itself to better advantage. Its bronze-brown body gleamed in the firelight, the scales so tiny as to be nearly invisible on the upper body, broad on the belly. Campion grinned and took up a more comfortable position lounging on one elbow himself.
The dragon puffed a little smoke in amusement. Campion decided he was probably not that impressive to the beast, but knew he wasn't bad, neither overly fat nor overly hairy. He thought of his earlier ambitions for a fireside companion and had to smile. The meal had been decent enough, and the conversation likewise; what more could a knight-errant really ask?
He considered his earlier thoughts of Hunt the Adder and couldn't help scoffing at himself a little.
The dragon stretched and rolled a little further. A year ago, still a very junior knight, Campion had spent some time guarding the king's treasures on display for some visiting nobles. Among the faceted gems and gold, the piece that had truly drawn his eye was a raw opal, a swirl of fire and milk through a bronze-colored stone. For just a moment, he thought the dragon was now displaying something similar to him.
Then his mind shifted. That was no gem. Still, he coveted it, wanted to touch it, and couldn't help wondering if dragon cum boiled.
A few pointed teeth gleamed in the firelight. Campion had a little more brandy, uncomfortably aware of a stirring at his own groin. Fooling around with a dragon seemed risky at best. And yet the beast patted the ground in a gesture of invitation, and Campion found himself rising to unsteady legs to join his new friend. His eyes were drawn to that iridescent swirl of color.
Years ago, when he was old enough to be desperate to soothe his overeager prick and young enough to be shy of the wenches who smiled at him, his own knight had set him up with a girl to dance with half the night, then dallied with Campion himself. Erect to desperation, Campion had learned to accept being buggered by Sir Agravaine as the price of easing himself when no other opportunity seemed available. He'd been trained young, raised in an orphanage, not to touch himself. He'd come hard in the older man's hand, eager for the relief of it and obscurely proud to be pleasing his hard-to-please master. Now, he wondered what exactly the dragon would expect of him and how it would repay him its own satisfaction.
Lying face-to-face, he felt anxious about the sharp claws running lightly over his shoulder. They didn't quite tickle. They didn't hurt. Still, they made him shiver with something deliciously like fear while his prick jumped to life. His fingers discovered that a dragon's flesh felt only a little warmer than any other, somewhere between a sun-warmed rock and the fever of desire. As he stroked where he barely dared to stroke, an ashen powder coated his hand. It too was only pleasingly warm. The long shaft had a slight ridge along its underside, knobs of harder flesh throbbing under his fingertips. Campion relaxed into the touches as claws were joined by the leathery palms of dragon hands.
The dragon tucked its head between them. Campion felt something like a slick, slender belt slide down his prick and then divide. The cleft ran along his shaft as the two ends danced into an embrace on the way back up. The dragon's forked tongue made rings and loops as it played over him, making him groan with the wash of heat rising from his loins. Was that in part the dragon's breath? It didn't matter. The beast hummed a note almost like a purr as it licked away the first drop of his imminent climax.
Then it pulled away to look at him. Its claws tugged ever so lightly at his shoulder, suggesting that he roll over. No, Campion decided, demanding that he roll over. He was in no position or state to argue, wriggling to his back and then his other side submissively, wanting the dragon inside him, wanting desperately to finish.
The slick powder eased the passage of the dragon's prick into him. He knew the greatest pleasure would occur for him as the head of the cock passed some secret inner point; it had been the true benefit of Agravaine's entries. He hadn't thought about the knobbed underside of the dragon's cock. Now each knob was a new entry sliding over that secret place, making him shake and moan at every new inch.
The dragon twisted above him in a serpentine coil to lick at him once more. Campion had never been buggered and licked at the same time, never mind by a single partner. That long purring note seemed uninterrupted by breath, transmitted through the forked and dainty tongue, which now wrapped itself around his shaft in two clenching coils before the tip danced against him. The grip was tight, slowing what would have been a passionate and rapid response.
"Please,” Campion gasped, the dragon now fully inside him and still. The dragon's withdrawal was as slow and deliberate as the entry, making a steady rhythm of the throbs that amazing ridge produced. Campion writhed against the scaly embrace, trying to speed them both, barely able to move. He was rewarded with a quicker thrust, still far more patient than he could have been himself, and a more vigorous flicking of the tongue against the last inch of his prick. “Please?"
Now the beast rocked against him, quick and shallow movements that made a single knob rub over and over. Campion felt the spasm gathering in his balls, ready to force past the tight coil stopping it. He moaned something inarticulate, hoping for nothing but release, his hands clawing at the turf before him.
The dragon pulled away suddenly, the tongue unwinding in a flash. Campion had only an instant's resentment at seizing himself in his own hand to finish despite a moment's fear greater than that of the claws, before the dragon bellowed a great gush of flame into the sky. Campion's own cries were lost in the roar. He felt his own heat rush into his limbs in the moment of pleasure, felt the pressure yield to wet ecstasy. For a mad moment, he tho
ught he might come forever.
He couldn't, but he was still enjoying little shivers of dribbling pleasure as the dragon coiled down to the ground behind him. They were still tightly together, the wonderfully nubbled prick still inside the man. He found himself rubbing his buttocks back against his partner for the sheer joy of it, something he'd not done before. With his knight, in his own squire days, he'd tolerated the act, even enjoyed the hand-not-his around his prick, but never had it been like that.
Claws coiled around his hip, giving him another nervous shudder at having those diamond tips so close to his precious and contented parts. Even that shudder thrilled him for another moment. The amazing tongue flicked playfully at the rim of his ear.
"Enthusiastic tonight, are we?” The beast's breath was smoky.
Campion relaxed his last few tight muscles, sagging deeply against the earth. “That was—the best. Ever. With anyone."
The dragon gave a more contented-sounding version of his earlier purring hum.
"I hope you don't eat your mate when you're done,” Campion said, half in jest and half in the hope of a jest.
"You may have noticed I'm a male. How impractical would that be? Female dragons, now—there's a reason I prefer a knight if I can have one.” The tongue flicked once more at his cheek in something eerily like a kiss.
Campion sighed in contentment, the dragon's breast scales cozy against his back, grass fragrant so close to his nose. “You have one. And really, if I had known dragon hunting turned out like this, you wouldn't have needed to eat my horse and burn my clothes to get and keep one."
"I cannot vouch for every dragon."
The beast rocked his hips from side to side in settling, giving caresses to that secret spot within once more. Campion gasped at the sudden resurgence of arousal the small movement produced in him. His ebbing cock halted and reversed itself, throbbing in the loose grip of his sticky hand. Deliberately, he loosed himself and wiped his hand on the cool grass.
Like Magnets, We Attract Page 15
