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jeriendhalA little gift fic for my sometimes cover artist Naziha Zahed, featuring her characters Draco and Anya, a transformed Dragon and Dagron respectively.
Draco felt Anya's grip on his arm tighten as they passed through the western gate of the city, the high walls encircling it rising thirty feet in the air. He kept his free hand on the pommel of his new sword, a gift from Anya to replace the one he had broken. His eyes darted around, searching for pickpockets trying to fleece newcomers, but felt nothing. His glare and their unusual appearance was enough to drive off potential robbers, at least for the moment.
They made an odd pair, he was forced to admit. He had the appearance of a dark skinned elf with deep green hair, dressed in a plain tunic and trews, leather bracers laced tight to his forearms and a heavy scimitar at his side. Beside him, Anya was his polar opposite, her skin and hair pale white, her form slight to his muscular bulk, and wearing the purple robes of a scholar or a mage-adept. The only thing they had in common were the extended tips of their ears, longer than any true elf's.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, as he guided her through the crowd.
"There are so many humans, people rather," she said, catching herself. "Sorry, I keep thinking of them as prey still."
"It's an easy enough mistake." Once upon a time he barely paid attention to humans at all, concerning himself rather with matters of war between the various dragon clans in the world, humanity being very much beneath him, except for occasional fool adventurers who tried to raid his lair. "We need to find an inn to stay at, then I can look for work dockside."
"Lead on, Protector of Hens," she said, an impish smile crossing her face. She let him guide her deeper into the city, through the great market squares that fed the teeming populace, to an inn on a side street. It wasn't one of the great hotels with separate stable yards and such, but the windows were clean, the walls were recently whitewashed, and the sign outside advertised proudly that it had the new flushable gardrobes, which promised a level of sanitation the older section of the city would lack.
He caught the eye of the innkeeper as they entered, manning the bar in the common room. The clientele was mixed, male and female, one or two members of each of the humanoid races scattered through the large chamber. Another good sign. "We need two rooms," he said gruffly.
"Two?" Anya asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, two," he replied.
The innkeeper did a quick evaluation of Draco's rough appearance, then of the valuable looking sword at his back, and Anya's much more presentable, er, presentableness. The dragon could almost see the abacus clacking in his mind as the human upped the prices for a wandering scholar and her bodyguard, from a distant enough land that their race was not familiar. "That'll be a silver a day for each, sir and madam."
Draco glared at him. "I know for a fact that the rooms in an inn like this go for a silver a week. Don't try to pad your pockets too much."
"A silver every three days then," the innkeeper said without rancor. "And that's a fair rate. The gardrobes and hot water heater are brand new, and cost a pretty penny I might add. You won't find an inn with better accommodations at the same price."
He was about to walk away, flush toilets or not, when Anya gave a brief tug on his arm and whispered, "I can pay him."
"It's not the money," he whispered back. "He's a thief."
"We need someplace to nest, and this is as good as any." She smiled up at him, and the rest of arguments he'd been marshalling died in his throat. He followed meekly as the innkeeper led them upstairs and showed them a pair of narrow rooms, each just about big enough for a single narrow bed, and a dresser with an oil lamp resting upon it.
"Gardrobe is down the hall, and the bath is in the cellar," the innkeeper informed them.
"Ah," she said dubiously, her hand reaching up to grasp Draco's elbow once again. He could feel the tension in her fingers as she asked, "Do you have anything… roomier?"
"We have a suite with its own private bath and gardrobe at the top, but it's more expensive."
"How much more expensive?" Draco asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
"A gold piece a week."
He opened his mouth to shout thief, but Anya's warning look shut him up. "We'll have to see it of course," she said.
"Naturally." The innkeeper led them up another flight of stairs to a locked door. It opened to a single large room that occupied the entire floor, aside from an area marked off by sliding paper panels where presumably the wash facilities were. Thick rugs padded the floor and a large iron frame bed sat on one end of the room, and a dining table and couches at the other. Two large glass framed doors led out to a wooden balcony that looked over the street three stories below. It was, Draco was forced to admit, very reasonably priced for the size.
"We'll take it," Anya said, before Draco could open his mouth to voice an opinion on the matter.
"I'll need the week an advance," the innkeeper said.
"Of course." Anya opened his belt pouch and retrieved a heavy gold coin, which she placed in his waiting palm. The innkeeper nearly dropped it in surprise. "Is that too much?" she asked innocently.
"I mean a gold Galleon, milady! That's an old gold Sovereign. For this you can have it for the next six months!"
"With free board," Draco inserted quickly, before the innkeeper could close his hanging jaw.
"Of course, sir." Then innkeeper headed down the stairs, nearly dancing a jig.
Draco let his pack fall heavily to the floor, glaring at Anya again. "You keep flashing money like that around, we'll be swarmed by thieves and beggars, or worse, politicians."
"Poliwhats?" she asked.
"An infectious disease, that seems to occur with the rise of city states." He pulled out a chair and sat astride it, resting his arms on the back. "Anyway, what was wrong with the rooms downstairs?"
"Too small," she said, walking over to the balcony doors to throw them open and let in the breeze. This high up, the stink of the streets wasn't as noticeable. "I would have felt trapped."
"Ah, there's that." He winced, remembering how he'd first found her in her dagron form, caged tightly by the villagers who had tricked and captured her. "I'm sorry, I should have realized."
"You're sweet, dear General." She lifted up his headband and kissed the top of his forehead, then looked around the room. "What are you plans?"
He set his headband back, careful not to rub away the kiss' touch. "Find work, not that I suppose I need to if you have those kinds of funds. There are always jobs to found guarding cargos at the docks and in warehouses. What about you?"
"Books," she said eagerly. "I want to find books. Not just spellbooks, but books about… I don't know, ordinary things. History, people, love plays, that sort of thing. There's so much to learn from humans, now that I'm small enough to not crush them if I walk by." She paused, looking thoughtful. "First clothes though."
"Clothes?"
She twirled around briefly, the hem of her robes rising around her ankles. "I magicked this up when I created my humanoid form. I can't go about wearing it forever. I'll need something else."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to just create another dress?" he asked.
"It's not simple to create nothing out of mana, and wasteful if I'm in a position to just buy regular clothing. Besides, creating this form," she paused, waving a hand down her humanoid body, "drained a great deal out of me."
"Ah." He thought for a moment. "I can find a seamstress' shop for you, so you can have some more made for you."
She smiled. "Excellent idea." The smile and praise did not make his heart skip a beat, but merely grow stronger.
* * *
Which was how four hours later they found themselves walking together down the Street of Garments, after finding a suitable seamstress whose rates weren't outrageous. Or at least Draco hoped they weren't outrageous. Whenever he needed new clothes he generally bought them from second-hand shops, not caring to pay dearly for something that would probably end up with blood on it eventually. At any rate, the seamstress' service had been engaged, with a promise of three robes of similar quality to the one Anya currently wore to be delivered by the end of the week.
"Now we need to get something for you," she said. She was getting used to the crowds at least, not clinging to his arm quite as tightly, merely keeping two fingers on his elbow. She was not he thought to himself, adding him to her personal hoard, like those idiotic human stories about dragons and princesses.
"What I'm wearing is fine," he grumbled.
"You look grubby."
"Two days ago you knew nothing about human fashions, and now you're criticizing my appearance?"
"Dagrons adapt quickly. Besides, you're choosing to be the sell sword to my mage scholar, correct?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"Then you need to look the part. I can hardly move about in mage society with… er…"
"A bodyguard who looks like a barbarian?" he supplied helpfully.
"Something like that," she said reluctantly. "Besides, wouldn't you want some armor to wear? Our hides are thicker than a human's, but not by that much." She pointed to a shop window, which displayed an impressive looking leather breastplate, dyed a deep red and decorated by abstract patterns in gold stitching. "Something like that, for example." Before he could stop her, Anya turned and headed through the doors of the shop.
The signboard above it read Kincaid's Crafts in the local tongue, with the symbol of a saddle crossed by a sword, indicating the leather craftsmen there provided both civilian horse tack and military grade armor. Draco was about to follow Anya inside, when he noted the small coiled whip under the other symbols. He swallowed and hurried in after her.
He found her staring at a leather busk, dyed royal blue with yellow cinching cords, with cups at the chest for a generous busom. It was very… regal… looking.
"I don't see anything like that can offer proper protection to a warrior," she said, looking bemused.
"Depends on the sort of fight that's going on." An elderly looking half-blood entered the room, her ears not quite as sharply pointed as their own, indicated a mix of human in her recent ancestry. She was dressed in a man's breeches and tunic, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the wiry muscles of her arms, in contrast to the steel grey hair gathered into a ponytail. She smiled at them and said, "Welcome to Kincaid's Crafts. I'm Angela Kincaid, owner, artisan, and guildmaster for this city. What may I do for you?"
"He's looking for armor," Anya said.
"I don't need armor," Draco insisted.
"Yes, he does."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," Anya said firmly. "At least you need a better shirt and pants, perhaps a tunic as well."
"Which means we're in the wrong shop," Draco said, taking the opening he was given. By all the dark gods, he prayed that Anya wasn't in the mood to explore the place. Say, in the next room through the doorway covered with hanging beads.
"I have some shirts and pants available," the shopkeeper said thoughtfully, a sly grin crossing her face. "In silks mostly, though of course I don't produce those myself."
"Through there, I'm guessing?" Sure enough, Anya went straight through the doorway, coming to a halt as she crossed the threshold, Draco and Guildmaster Angela following. "My goodness…"
"We're in the wrong shop," Draco said, coming to a parade rest as Anya's head cranked around, taking in all the items of clothing, among other things, hanging from the wall racks.
"Wrong shop? I'm honestly not sure what all of these things are for." Anya looked back at Guildmaster Angela, holding up a pair of leather wristbands connected by a short chain. "Do you serve the slave trade?"
"Absolutely not," Angela said firmly. "All the items you see here are for use by consenting couples."
"Consenting couples doing what?"
The half-elf blinked, looking confused. "You honestly don't know? You are elves, right?"
"No," Draco said firmly, plucking the cuffs out of Anya's hand and giving them back to Angela. "And we are leaving."
"Not until I find out what all of this is for," she said, snatching them back.
Guildmaster Angela was covering her mouth her hand, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Everything you see here is for use in the bedroom, dear."
"In the bedroom? Oh! You mean it's for sex!" Anya said brightly. Then her expression became concerned. "Humanoid sex seems a great deal more complicated than I realized."
Draco covered his face with his hands. "You have no idea."
"I suppose you're right." She turned back to Angela. "Do you have any kind of instructional manuals?"
* * *
In the end they escaped with two bottles of scented massage oil, a receipt for a down payment on a set of custom fitted brigandine armor, and one medium sized tome that was short on prose but had plenty of illustrations. The leather cuffs had remained at the shop, despite Angela's offer to throw them in gratis.
When they returned to their rented loft, Anya sat crosslegged on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pages of the book, while Draco attempted to do some bodyguard-like guarding by staying out on the balcony.
He heard her light footsteps on the floorboards inside, so he didn't startled when she draped her arms over his shoulders and said, "Do you know what humans call sex? 'Lovemaking.' What a wonderful word. Dragons should adopt it."
He took in a deep breath. "Dragons," he said, "don't know how to make love. Have sex, copulate, take. Not make love." Her body pressed against his back, her warm breath caressing his neck as the sun began to fall below the spires of the city. He felt her fingers slipping under his open collar. She'd dipped them into some of the oil, the scent of jasmine breaking through the stink of the city as they glided over his collar bone.
"We are not dragons, not in these forms," she noted.
"We are still dragons in our hearts."
"If we are, your instinct should be to take me, yes?" Her fingers stopped moving as a shudder ran through him. "Yes?"
"Yes," he admitted, fists clenching, words coming out in a straining staccato. "I want. To take you. Not make love. Take. That is instinct."
She rested her chin on his shoulder. "And I wish you to take me. A fair exchange. Why is this a problem?"
"It's wrong. I don't want to hurt you!"
"Ah." Her fingers withdrew from his shirt, and she lowered her hands, crossing her wrists over his stomach, as if they were bound. "So instead of risking hurt, you would place me on a pedestal, bound there by golden chains."
"No!"
"You contradict yourself, General. You would not do me harm, but neither would you have me live free, as I choose." Her hands rose again, and she took hold his shoulders to turn him about. When he faced her, she demurely lowered her head, clasping her hands behind her back. "We shall go to Angela's shop on the morrow. There I'm sure you can find a comfortable collar for my neck, and a leash for your hand. Then I shall be your obedient slave, and you needn't worry a moment longer about my tempting you."
He hissed in pain, as if lanced through by her words. "Don't… Don't ever lower your head to me, Anya."
She didn't move, but he saw her lips turn up in a smile. "Again, you wish to order me about. Habit, General?"
"A poor habit," he admitted. He reached over to cup her chin, raising her face to meet his, the first time he'd dared to touch her since they had returned to their room. "I'm… trying to get better."
Her eyes twinkled. "Yes, I know. It's a bit painful to watch." She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a deep kiss. When it finally broke, she said a bit breathlessly, "There are a few positions in that book that allow both partners to be… equitably… positioned. I think you would enjoy those best."
"I would like you to show them to me," he replied, his voice growing husky in his throat. "Please."
She turned out to be a very good teacher indeed.
Draco felt Anya's grip on his arm tighten as they passed through the western gate of the city, the high walls encircling it rising thirty feet in the air. He kept his free hand on the pommel of his new sword, a gift from Anya to replace the one he had broken. His eyes darted around, searching for pickpockets trying to fleece newcomers, but felt nothing. His glare and their unusual appearance was enough to drive off potential robbers, at least for the moment.
They made an odd pair, he was forced to admit. He had the appearance of a dark skinned elf with deep green hair, dressed in a plain tunic and trews, leather bracers laced tight to his forearms and a heavy scimitar at his side. Beside him, Anya was his polar opposite, her skin and hair pale white, her form slight to his muscular bulk, and wearing the purple robes of a scholar or a mage-adept. The only thing they had in common were the extended tips of their ears, longer than any true elf's.
"Are you all right?" he asked softly, as he guided her through the crowd.
"There are so many humans, people rather," she said, catching herself. "Sorry, I keep thinking of them as prey still."
"It's an easy enough mistake." Once upon a time he barely paid attention to humans at all, concerning himself rather with matters of war between the various dragon clans in the world, humanity being very much beneath him, except for occasional fool adventurers who tried to raid his lair. "We need to find an inn to stay at, then I can look for work dockside."
"Lead on, Protector of Hens," she said, an impish smile crossing her face. She let him guide her deeper into the city, through the great market squares that fed the teeming populace, to an inn on a side street. It wasn't one of the great hotels with separate stable yards and such, but the windows were clean, the walls were recently whitewashed, and the sign outside advertised proudly that it had the new flushable gardrobes, which promised a level of sanitation the older section of the city would lack.
He caught the eye of the innkeeper as they entered, manning the bar in the common room. The clientele was mixed, male and female, one or two members of each of the humanoid races scattered through the large chamber. Another good sign. "We need two rooms," he said gruffly.
"Two?" Anya asked, raising an eyebrow at him.
"Yes, two," he replied.
The innkeeper did a quick evaluation of Draco's rough appearance, then of the valuable looking sword at his back, and Anya's much more presentable, er, presentableness. The dragon could almost see the abacus clacking in his mind as the human upped the prices for a wandering scholar and her bodyguard, from a distant enough land that their race was not familiar. "That'll be a silver a day for each, sir and madam."
Draco glared at him. "I know for a fact that the rooms in an inn like this go for a silver a week. Don't try to pad your pockets too much."
"A silver every three days then," the innkeeper said without rancor. "And that's a fair rate. The gardrobes and hot water heater are brand new, and cost a pretty penny I might add. You won't find an inn with better accommodations at the same price."
He was about to walk away, flush toilets or not, when Anya gave a brief tug on his arm and whispered, "I can pay him."
"It's not the money," he whispered back. "He's a thief."
"We need someplace to nest, and this is as good as any." She smiled up at him, and the rest of arguments he'd been marshalling died in his throat. He followed meekly as the innkeeper led them upstairs and showed them a pair of narrow rooms, each just about big enough for a single narrow bed, and a dresser with an oil lamp resting upon it.
"Gardrobe is down the hall, and the bath is in the cellar," the innkeeper informed them.
"Ah," she said dubiously, her hand reaching up to grasp Draco's elbow once again. He could feel the tension in her fingers as she asked, "Do you have anything… roomier?"
"We have a suite with its own private bath and gardrobe at the top, but it's more expensive."
"How much more expensive?" Draco asked, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.
"A gold piece a week."
He opened his mouth to shout thief, but Anya's warning look shut him up. "We'll have to see it of course," she said.
"Naturally." The innkeeper led them up another flight of stairs to a locked door. It opened to a single large room that occupied the entire floor, aside from an area marked off by sliding paper panels where presumably the wash facilities were. Thick rugs padded the floor and a large iron frame bed sat on one end of the room, and a dining table and couches at the other. Two large glass framed doors led out to a wooden balcony that looked over the street three stories below. It was, Draco was forced to admit, very reasonably priced for the size.
"We'll take it," Anya said, before Draco could open his mouth to voice an opinion on the matter.
"I'll need the week an advance," the innkeeper said.
"Of course." Anya opened his belt pouch and retrieved a heavy gold coin, which she placed in his waiting palm. The innkeeper nearly dropped it in surprise. "Is that too much?" she asked innocently.
"I mean a gold Galleon, milady! That's an old gold Sovereign. For this you can have it for the next six months!"
"With free board," Draco inserted quickly, before the innkeeper could close his hanging jaw.
"Of course, sir." Then innkeeper headed down the stairs, nearly dancing a jig.
Draco let his pack fall heavily to the floor, glaring at Anya again. "You keep flashing money like that around, we'll be swarmed by thieves and beggars, or worse, politicians."
"Poliwhats?" she asked.
"An infectious disease, that seems to occur with the rise of city states." He pulled out a chair and sat astride it, resting his arms on the back. "Anyway, what was wrong with the rooms downstairs?"
"Too small," she said, walking over to the balcony doors to throw them open and let in the breeze. This high up, the stink of the streets wasn't as noticeable. "I would have felt trapped."
"Ah, there's that." He winced, remembering how he'd first found her in her dagron form, caged tightly by the villagers who had tricked and captured her. "I'm sorry, I should have realized."
"You're sweet, dear General." She lifted up his headband and kissed the top of his forehead, then looked around the room. "What are you plans?"
He set his headband back, careful not to rub away the kiss' touch. "Find work, not that I suppose I need to if you have those kinds of funds. There are always jobs to found guarding cargos at the docks and in warehouses. What about you?"
"Books," she said eagerly. "I want to find books. Not just spellbooks, but books about… I don't know, ordinary things. History, people, love plays, that sort of thing. There's so much to learn from humans, now that I'm small enough to not crush them if I walk by." She paused, looking thoughtful. "First clothes though."
"Clothes?"
She twirled around briefly, the hem of her robes rising around her ankles. "I magicked this up when I created my humanoid form. I can't go about wearing it forever. I'll need something else."
"Wouldn't it be simpler to just create another dress?" he asked.
"It's not simple to create nothing out of mana, and wasteful if I'm in a position to just buy regular clothing. Besides, creating this form," she paused, waving a hand down her humanoid body, "drained a great deal out of me."
"Ah." He thought for a moment. "I can find a seamstress' shop for you, so you can have some more made for you."
She smiled. "Excellent idea." The smile and praise did not make his heart skip a beat, but merely grow stronger.
* * *
Which was how four hours later they found themselves walking together down the Street of Garments, after finding a suitable seamstress whose rates weren't outrageous. Or at least Draco hoped they weren't outrageous. Whenever he needed new clothes he generally bought them from second-hand shops, not caring to pay dearly for something that would probably end up with blood on it eventually. At any rate, the seamstress' service had been engaged, with a promise of three robes of similar quality to the one Anya currently wore to be delivered by the end of the week.
"Now we need to get something for you," she said. She was getting used to the crowds at least, not clinging to his arm quite as tightly, merely keeping two fingers on his elbow. She was not he thought to himself, adding him to her personal hoard, like those idiotic human stories about dragons and princesses.
"What I'm wearing is fine," he grumbled.
"You look grubby."
"Two days ago you knew nothing about human fashions, and now you're criticizing my appearance?"
"Dagrons adapt quickly. Besides, you're choosing to be the sell sword to my mage scholar, correct?"
"Yes," he admitted.
"Then you need to look the part. I can hardly move about in mage society with… er…"
"A bodyguard who looks like a barbarian?" he supplied helpfully.
"Something like that," she said reluctantly. "Besides, wouldn't you want some armor to wear? Our hides are thicker than a human's, but not by that much." She pointed to a shop window, which displayed an impressive looking leather breastplate, dyed a deep red and decorated by abstract patterns in gold stitching. "Something like that, for example." Before he could stop her, Anya turned and headed through the doors of the shop.
The signboard above it read Kincaid's Crafts in the local tongue, with the symbol of a saddle crossed by a sword, indicating the leather craftsmen there provided both civilian horse tack and military grade armor. Draco was about to follow Anya inside, when he noted the small coiled whip under the other symbols. He swallowed and hurried in after her.
He found her staring at a leather busk, dyed royal blue with yellow cinching cords, with cups at the chest for a generous busom. It was very… regal… looking.
"I don't see anything like that can offer proper protection to a warrior," she said, looking bemused.
"Depends on the sort of fight that's going on." An elderly looking half-blood entered the room, her ears not quite as sharply pointed as their own, indicated a mix of human in her recent ancestry. She was dressed in a man's breeches and tunic, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the wiry muscles of her arms, in contrast to the steel grey hair gathered into a ponytail. She smiled at them and said, "Welcome to Kincaid's Crafts. I'm Angela Kincaid, owner, artisan, and guildmaster for this city. What may I do for you?"
"He's looking for armor," Anya said.
"I don't need armor," Draco insisted.
"Yes, he does."
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do," Anya said firmly. "At least you need a better shirt and pants, perhaps a tunic as well."
"Which means we're in the wrong shop," Draco said, taking the opening he was given. By all the dark gods, he prayed that Anya wasn't in the mood to explore the place. Say, in the next room through the doorway covered with hanging beads.
"I have some shirts and pants available," the shopkeeper said thoughtfully, a sly grin crossing her face. "In silks mostly, though of course I don't produce those myself."
"Through there, I'm guessing?" Sure enough, Anya went straight through the doorway, coming to a halt as she crossed the threshold, Draco and Guildmaster Angela following. "My goodness…"
"We're in the wrong shop," Draco said, coming to a parade rest as Anya's head cranked around, taking in all the items of clothing, among other things, hanging from the wall racks.
"Wrong shop? I'm honestly not sure what all of these things are for." Anya looked back at Guildmaster Angela, holding up a pair of leather wristbands connected by a short chain. "Do you serve the slave trade?"
"Absolutely not," Angela said firmly. "All the items you see here are for use by consenting couples."
"Consenting couples doing what?"
The half-elf blinked, looking confused. "You honestly don't know? You are elves, right?"
"No," Draco said firmly, plucking the cuffs out of Anya's hand and giving them back to Angela. "And we are leaving."
"Not until I find out what all of this is for," she said, snatching them back.
Guildmaster Angela was covering her mouth her hand, trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "Everything you see here is for use in the bedroom, dear."
"In the bedroom? Oh! You mean it's for sex!" Anya said brightly. Then her expression became concerned. "Humanoid sex seems a great deal more complicated than I realized."
Draco covered his face with his hands. "You have no idea."
"I suppose you're right." She turned back to Angela. "Do you have any kind of instructional manuals?"
* * *
In the end they escaped with two bottles of scented massage oil, a receipt for a down payment on a set of custom fitted brigandine armor, and one medium sized tome that was short on prose but had plenty of illustrations. The leather cuffs had remained at the shop, despite Angela's offer to throw them in gratis.
When they returned to their rented loft, Anya sat crosslegged on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pages of the book, while Draco attempted to do some bodyguard-like guarding by staying out on the balcony.
He heard her light footsteps on the floorboards inside, so he didn't startled when she draped her arms over his shoulders and said, "Do you know what humans call sex? 'Lovemaking.' What a wonderful word. Dragons should adopt it."
He took in a deep breath. "Dragons," he said, "don't know how to make love. Have sex, copulate, take. Not make love." Her body pressed against his back, her warm breath caressing his neck as the sun began to fall below the spires of the city. He felt her fingers slipping under his open collar. She'd dipped them into some of the oil, the scent of jasmine breaking through the stink of the city as they glided over his collar bone.
"We are not dragons, not in these forms," she noted.
"We are still dragons in our hearts."
"If we are, your instinct should be to take me, yes?" Her fingers stopped moving as a shudder ran through him. "Yes?"
"Yes," he admitted, fists clenching, words coming out in a straining staccato. "I want. To take you. Not make love. Take. That is instinct."
She rested her chin on his shoulder. "And I wish you to take me. A fair exchange. Why is this a problem?"
"It's wrong. I don't want to hurt you!"
"Ah." Her fingers withdrew from his shirt, and she lowered her hands, crossing her wrists over his stomach, as if they were bound. "So instead of risking hurt, you would place me on a pedestal, bound there by golden chains."
"No!"
"You contradict yourself, General. You would not do me harm, but neither would you have me live free, as I choose." Her hands rose again, and she took hold his shoulders to turn him about. When he faced her, she demurely lowered her head, clasping her hands behind her back. "We shall go to Angela's shop on the morrow. There I'm sure you can find a comfortable collar for my neck, and a leash for your hand. Then I shall be your obedient slave, and you needn't worry a moment longer about my tempting you."
He hissed in pain, as if lanced through by her words. "Don't… Don't ever lower your head to me, Anya."
She didn't move, but he saw her lips turn up in a smile. "Again, you wish to order me about. Habit, General?"
"A poor habit," he admitted. He reached over to cup her chin, raising her face to meet his, the first time he'd dared to touch her since they had returned to their room. "I'm… trying to get better."
Her eyes twinkled. "Yes, I know. It's a bit painful to watch." She wrapped her arms around his neck, drawing him down into a deep kiss. When it finally broke, she said a bit breathlessly, "There are a few positions in that book that allow both partners to be… equitably… positioned. I think you would enjoy those best."
"I would like you to show them to me," he replied, his voice growing husky in his throat. "Please."
She turned out to be a very good teacher indeed.
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Date: 2012-08-26 12:57 am (UTC)