H - 7: I Am Having a Really Strange Day (Patreon)

Kaln’s wives smiled at him, so brilliantly it made his heart pound despite the obvious glint of cold avarice in their eyes.  Emeralaphine actually licked her lips, and there was nothing in the expression he could mistake for lust.  They were getting something they wanted: a source of power.

Assuming they kept to their end of the deal, he couldn’t begrudge them that.  He was also getting power—and more importantly, survival.  And…other incentives.

“Welcome home, then, husband,” Emeralaphine said, rising and—as usual—smirking.  “I advise retiring to rest at your earliest convenience.  You appear rather more bedraggled than I like to see in a male I have acknowledged as my lord and master.”

“The difficulty of an achievement is relative to the one who achieves it,” Tiavathyris countered, also standing.  “Kaln has accomplished what few mortals could dare dream, and that at the end of what was clearly a long journey.  The dust and sweat of a hard road are badges of honor.”

“Well and good, but he is no longer a mortal, and I have my standards.”  Emeralaphine waved a hand languidly at him, her white scales glistening in the muted light, and the power in him surged as it did in her.  Not defensively, as her intent was not to attack, but focusing as was its nature when a dragon was casting powerful magic at him.  Somehow, it almost seemed to translate the intent into terms sensible to his brain.  Kaln found his thoughts focused on that even as his body was briefly engulfed in swirling winds and a flash of light.  “There!  Much better.”

He looked down at himself, finding that his ragged, travel-stained clothing had been switched for…what was this?  Some kind of toga?  The loose white garment was unfamiliar to Kaln, but it was surprisingly comfortable.  Even his belt pouches had been swapped for far more elegant counterparts in gilt-edged, white-dyed leather.  Thanks to his surprising mental awareness of her power, he knew his humble belongings had been smoothly transitioned into their new and better housing—and also knew how much more difficult that had made the spell.

In addition to clothing, he was now clean, as if straight from a bath.  Even his hair was soft, neatly brushed, and free of the sheen of grease that had become regrettably omnipresent during his trek.

“Icould have done that much,” Izayaroa said with a hint of irritation.

“Not as well,” Emeralaphine rejoined smugly.

“He does clean up rather nicely, though,” Tiavathyris remarked, her eyes wandering slowly up and down him.  She looked…surprisingly appreciative.  Perhaps one of them, at least, wouldn’t consider those privileges to be an imposition?  That was important; Kaln was no dragon, and didn’t think he had it in him to impose his attentions on a woman who wasn’t wholeheartedly interested in them, no matter what the terms of their agreement.

But first things first.

Emeralaphine blinked, leaning backward in surprise as Kaln stepped right up to her.  She didn’t resist, though, as he took one of her scaled hands in his own, lifting it and pressing a kiss into the palm, the courtly gesture well-practiced; Haktria had not only taught it to him, but drilled him to the point he could impress any well-bred lady of Rhivkabat.  Her scales were smooth, an odd combination of iron-hard and flexible as silk, bending with each tiny movement of her hand.

“I thank you, my lady wife, for the courtesy.”  Still bowing his head slightly over her hand, he smiled up at her—again, in exactly the pose he’d been taught.  “To use your magic so generously on my behalf…  I knew the legends of your power before I ever came here, but I am awed to learn of your beauty, and particularly your graciousness.”

“Oh…my.”  Emeralaphine’s eyes had widened; she looked outright perplexed.  And then, to his delighted surprise, somewhat flustered.  Her pale complexion made even the very faint pink tinge that rose in her cheeks transparent.  The ancient dragon cleared her throat, drawing her hand back from his gentle grip.  “Well!  I can’t say he is not properly respectful.  I had my misgivings, but this is in some notable ways already an improvement over his predecessor.”

Behind her, Vanimax snorted loudly, then turned and stalked away toward one of the side doors of the main chamber.

“Your original point was correct,” said Tiavathyris.  “Husband, you should acquaint yourself with your new quarters, and take your ease.  Nothing in Atraximos’s living arrangements would be comfortably sized for a human, but he must surely have everything a mortal man would need somewhere in his hoard.  Izayaroa…?”

“Yes, I shall be glad to help Kaln find and select some proper sleeping accouterments,” Izayaroa agreed.  She stepped up alongside him, taking his hand and smiling down at him—now fully upright on her talons, she stood head and shoulders taller than he.  Her fingers entwined with his in a more intimate gesture than he’d expected, cool scales pressing against his palm and murderous claws teasingly grazing his knuckles.  Kaln lost a moment to sheer surprise, but swiftly decided to play along with wherever she was taking this; he tightened his own fingers in response, gently rubbing his thumb along the back of her reptilian hand.

Her eyes crinkled subtly in an inviting smile, and she stepped forward, leading him back along the cleared path through the bones strewing their palatial lair.  Back, at a walking pace, down the full length he had just crossed in a single flicker of thought.

Well, it wasn’t too terrible.  He was strolling hand-in-hand with the Golden Empress herself—his wife now, suddenly, somehow.  In fact, that was downright heady.  Kaln couldn’t even object to having to lengthen his stride to the verge of discomfort to keep pace with her long legs.  Or the less physical discomfort of passing under an almost arch formed by the long necks of Vadaralshi and Pheneraxa, who stared quizzically down at them as they passed.  At least Vanimax had absented himself.

“Pardon me if this is a silly question,” he said, “but what makes you think Atraximos has…sleeping arrangements?  That would suit me, that is.  I didn’t see anything in there which looked like furniture, except for some of the Timekeeper artifacts.  Some of the enchanted armor would fit me, I suppose, but none of it looks awfully comfortable.”

She glanced down at him again, once more smiling.  “Oh?  Do you not fancy taking the spellthread-inlaid robe of a vanquished archmage as your dressing gown?”

“Sounds…ostentatious.  Does this robe still have the archmage’s blood on it?  Because that would be a deal-breaker.”

Izayaroa laughed, softly, and the throaty alto stirred something to life in his chest.

“To answer your question, husband, we dragons are collectors.  Oh, we each have our areas of special interest, and our own habits of acquisition, but the hoard of any dragon is bound to contain some shockingly mundane objects.  We have a tendency to pick up anything remotely interesting we come across, and are loath to part with anything in our possession.  Atraximos, in particular, was something of a pillager.  Over the centuries, I have seen him carrying in various pieces of furniture from castles and manors he despoiled—or perhaps looted from merchant trains, I can’t say I troubled to keep track of his comings and goings.  All of them the most elaborate, gilded, embellished…generally expensive examples of their type.  At least in appearance.  If you disdain ostentation, husband, you may wish to redecorate.”

“I will definitely take that under advisement.”

They climbed the steps dividing the huge chamber, continuing down the central path toward the great arched doorway to Atraximos’s personal lair.  Well, Kaln’s lair, now.

“I’m certain we can find you a nice solid gold lounger in the Rhiva fashion.  Or perhaps a grand Evervales-style four-posted bed.”  She glanced down at him again, golden eyes glimmering.  “There must be something offering…sufficient room.”

Kaln was too taken aback to answer.  Her claws tightened on his hand for a moment, her thumb caressing the back in a reciprocation of his own earlier gesture.  That was an unsubtle hint, but…  Why?  They idea that she actually just wanted him didn’t seem worth even considering.  He would have to step carefully, here.  Above all else he must avoid giving offense, but the idea of having her out of some sense of obligation on her part made him feel queasy.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t leap at the chance to bed the Empress, but…  Such a thing must be done right.  If it happened in a way that made him ashamed of himself he would never be able to look her in the eye again.  How to suss out her true feelings without affronting her dignity?

He was distracted from his ethical dilemma by a more practical one.  As they stepped across the threshold into the hoard chamber, Kaln’s nerves jangled with a sudden, alarming pressure.  Something crashed down upon him, seemingly from every direction in the vast room.

Ah, right.  This time, he didn’t have the Entity’s protection, and Atraximos’s defenses had not died with the dragon.

“I feared this,” Izayaroa said, suddenly terse.  She stepped backward, pulling at Kaln’s hand.  “Husband, come.  In his absence, Atraximos’s wards and spells are active against any intruder, especially—”

“Wait.”  Kaln held his position, right on the threshold, still holding onto her clawed hand.  He frowned in concentration, feeling the power washing over him.

And rising within him.

He knew almost nothing of magic—knew that, were he able to sense these vast enchantments in whatever the normal way was, he would never have been able to make sense of their intricate flows.  But this magic had been laid by a dragon, and that meant Kaln could cheat.  Even without understanding it…he understood it.  Intuitively, not intellectually.

Ironic that Atraximos had apparently done this himself; from what Kaln had picked up of the hints the dragons had dropped, by forcing the power he’d just acquired to protect him from dragon attack, he had locked it into countering dragons.  Apparently that worked against anything they did, from claws and fire to the most subtle of magics.

Now it was as simple as reflex; he no more needed to understand intellectually what he was working with than he needed to know the internal anatomy of his own hands to flex his fingers.  Kaln reached out to the encroaching power with his will, pushing back, drawing it in…adjusting.

The alarming sense of pressure faded as the powerful and elaborate magical protections shifted to acknowledge their master.  Kaln, not Atraximos, was now the lord of this domain.  In fact, he probably had more intuitive and direct control over the magical defenses than their creator had, a most unfair development since he definitely didn’t have the expertise to have built them in the first place.

Still holding Izayaroa’s hand, he turned and bowed, smiling up at her.  “Forgive that little distraction, my lady wife.  I apologize if you were at all discomfited.  Please, consider yourself welcome in my home.”

The smile had faded from her features; the narrow slits of her pupils darted, examining the huge space before her as if she could see the flows of magic—which it was quite possible she literally could.  They settled back on Kaln’s face, and he didn’t love the new wariness in her expression.

“That was…terrifying, husband,” she confessed.  “It is one thing to see a godling prevail over a dragon in a contest of brute force, but to command such intricacy with so little effort…  Well.  I implore, husband, that you summon me to your chambers when you desire to take your pleasure.  I suddenly find myself nervous at the prospect of having you in my own.”

That was another of those sentences containing a lot to unpack, but Kaln focused immediately upon her unease.

“My…  Izayaroa.”  He stepped forward, back out of the chamber and into the corridor, and raised their clasped hands between them.  Gently, he extricated his entwined fingers from her claws, and lowered his head to lay a courtly kiss on her palm.  The sensation of hard scales under his lips was still new, but strangely pleasant.  More importantly, unlike Emeralaphine, Izayaroa presided over the culture in which this gesture was traditional and could probably appreciate it more.  “It should go without saying that your will is law in your own space.  If you do not wish my presence, you shall not suffer it.  But should you think to change your mind, be assured I would never dream of laying a finger on any of your treasures unless you invite it, nor of disrupting the arrangements of your protection.  I will not see you discomfited in the slightest way, if it is within my power to ease your troubles.”

“My, my,” she said, her voice surprised but not displeased.  Kaln raised his eyes to find her smiling down at him, her expression bemused, but approving.  “What a silver tongue you have, husband.  And you were trained as a scribe in my court?  I would more expect such a gracious turn of phrase from a courtier.”

“As befits a scribe, my lady wife, I have a love of learning.  If the odd skills I have picked up here and there please you, then the effort of acquiring them is more than rewarded.”

She stepped forward, linking her fingers with his again as she drew abreast, and they stepped side by side into the chamber, this time to no reaction from the wards.

“I look forward to experiencing your skills in full, husband.”  Her glance at him lingered just a moment too long, her smile just a hair too knowing, to leave any doubt that the innuendo was deliberate.  Even as it warmed Kaln’s blood, his own discomfort heightened.  Was she serious?  Just manipulating him?  That he would actually be pretty comfortable with; if she felt this was simply her obligation, though, he would have to find a way to call a halt to these developments without offending her.

How to figure out the truth?  Well…he could just ask, but…  That was not how sophisticated people did things.  Kaln could hear Haktria’s scornful laughter in the back of his skull at the very idea.  The well-bred communicated in implication and allusion, not in the vulgar clarity of plain speech.  No less than the Empress deserved only his most graceful of verbal maneuvers.

“It has been some years since I was in here,” Izayaroa mused, gazing around the room.  “He would change up the portions of his collection on display as whims came and went…  Alas, there appear to be no furnishings in the main area at present.  Well, fortunately Atraximos was fond of order and organization.”

She stepped over to the neatly-labeled chamber map, eyes scanning it, while Kaln trailed along with her, frowning.

“Main area?  This isn’t the whole of it?”

“Goodness, no, husband.  As head of this household, you naturally have the most spacious quarters.  We never have figured out what this facility was originally meant to be, any more than the purpose of most Timekeeper edifices, but this suite is the largest.  Past those doors in the far wall are more rooms containing easily this much space.  I know not how full they are, but I suspect you will find them just as orderly but far more densely packed.  We shall simply have to figure out where he kept a sufficiently padded surface.  Unless you wish to make a pile of enchanted coats here in the front chamber.”

There was certainly a sufficient space in the front part of the room; Atraximos had left the area just inside the main doors clear as his own sleeping spot.  It made a section of bare floor bigger than the average house in Rhivkabat.

“That seems rather…disrespectful,” he said solemnly.  “No reason to take it out on the collection, just because their previous owner was a brute.  The historical value of some of these items must be inestimable.”

“How refreshing, to learn you hold such a regard for history,” she said, again gracing him with that vulpine smile.  “It seems you will have some tidying up to do, then.”

“Ah…yes,” Kaln agreed, following her gaze to the section of racks that had been knocked over during their tussle.  Hopefully none of that was fragile.  “Hang on…I wonder…”

As she turned an inquisitive gaze upon him, Kaln concentrated inward—and outward.  The heavy layers of enchantment covering this space responded instantly to his will, relaying data.  In fact, it was rather disorienting; suddenly he could sense the entire layout of the complex, as well as the entire contents of every room.  Izayaroa was right, Atraximos’s section alone was enormous, and three quarters of it densely packed with more treasure—densely, but neatly.  The sensation was a little like his brief ascension beyond his boundaries, a whole new layer of perception added to his own.

“Husband?” she asked, gently squeezing his hand as he staggered.

“Sorry.  I’m fine, just…  Acquainting myself with the wards.  Spells…whatever they are.  Ah, yes!  I knew there was no way he carried everything back and forth by hand, not if he changed the displays as often as you suggest.”

The function was built right into the wards.  Kaln only had to concentrate to sort through the vast inventory and locate a suitable target, and then pull.

An enormous bed appeared in the center of Atraximos’s sleeping space, teleported from where it had been idling away in one of the rear storage chambers.  In a condition as perfect as the day it had been brought here, the dense layers of enchantments upon this hoard forfending not only decay, but dust, and even the effects of gravity.

“You were right,” Kaln acknowledged.  “What an…odd thing to have collected.  Evidently it belonged to a warlord up in Mvanidell, the centerpiece of his own chambers in his fortress.”

“You don’t know the difference between wards and spells,” she murmured, reaching out to gently run her claws over the bed frame, “but you control them so deftly.  I have lived long and seen many things, husband, but I begin to believe that assisting in the growth of your own power will prove a test of my faculties.”

“I look forward to sharing that experience with you,” he said gallantly, stepping up onto the bed’s attached dais, “and many others.”

It truly was a palatial thing, covering more floor space in total than Kaln’s entire room back at the Royal Archives.  Just the bed part was huge, but it came attached to an entire platform surrounding it on three sides, rising two steps up so that the bed itself loomed over its environs as if on a pedestal.  The whole thing was crafted of polished ebony, carved with intricate engravings which had been inlaid with silver and pieces of tiger’s eye, all of it gleaming under the illumination of Timeglass.  Incongruously, for actual bedding, there appeared to be only thick piles of furs.  Very thick, in fact it looked quite comfortable.  It just seemed odd, next to the exquisite workmanship of the frame.

Whoever had commissioned this thing had an enormous opinion of themselves.  Small wonder it had appealed to the dragon’s sensibilities.

“Ahh, yes,” she purred, stepping closer.  Kaln’s position on the bed’s ostentatious built-in ledge meant she only stood half a head taller than he, enough of a difference that as she now leaned in, her soft chest only pressed against his collarbone, rather than engulfing his neck.  By all the gods she was soft, and warm, and…that scent was like nothing he’d ever experienced.  Smoke and incense, with notes of hot metal and a dusty undertone like parchment, or cats…  “We will share many experiences,husband.  I believe I know exactly with which to start…”

“Wait,” he burst out, actually retreating from her.  She paused, her expression thankfully just surprised rather than insulted.  Kaln had to stop when his legs hit the bed, but he’d gained enough space she at least wasn’t actively pressing against him.  That proved crucially necessary for his ability to think.

Yeah, finding an elegant way to broach this was a lost cause.  He simply had to rip the bandage off, or he was going to stumble into a depravity for which he could never forgive himself.

“I am…  All right, I can only beg your indulgence for putting this so gracelessly.  I only know what you’ve told me of the ways of dragons, but…Izayaroa, you don’t have to do anything.  Okay?  If this is just…an expectation, there’s no need to indulge it.  It’s not that I don’t want to, but…  The idea of imposing myself on someone who doesn’t eagerly desire it just…it sickens me.  We have plenty of time to get to know each other, and…decide how we’ll…relate.  Please don’t feel any need to impose any…personal duties upon yourself.  I couldn’t bear it to be the cause of any indignity inflicted on you.”

Golden eyes gazed into his own, wide and curious.  Those narrow pupils shifted minutely, flicking as she took in every detail of his face.  Subtly, she tilted her horned head to one side in an inquisitive gesture.

“And that…is truly how you feel.  Strongly enough that even that remarkably smooth tongue of yours begins to falter in your delivery.”

“Sorry about that, in particular,” he said, grimacing.  “I’m normally quite deft with a turn of phrase.”

“So I have already noticed.”  She raised her eyebrows, then smiled.  Her pupils began dilating as he gazed into them, slowly widening until they were almost round.  Izayaroa again took his hand in her claws, but this time, laid it against her opposite wrist.  Kaln instinctively closed his fingers over it.  For a tall as she was, and as powerful an impression as her cool, impervious scales made against his skin, the limb itself was quite slender.  Almost dainty, under his hand.  “I honor your consideration, husband.  And I shall take no offense at a misstep made out of respect for my person.  You labor under several misconceptions, however—and no doubt shall for some time.  Unfamiliar with the ways of dragons as you must be, we shall perforce have many of these little misunderstandings to smooth over.”

“I can only be grateful for your patience with me,” Kaln said, managing a playful smile even as his own heartbeat was thudding in confused anticipation.  This was going…somewhere.  He could barely guess what she was leading up to, but he certainly had his hopes.  In that moment, they both knew she had him in the palm of her hand, all but literally.

Her smile widening by minute degrees, Izayaroa began slowly pulling his hand up her arm; sliding over her scales, he felt the smooth texture of each, the strange blend of suppleness and rigidity.

“A dragon’s hide is armor, no more and no less.  My scales are impervious to all but the most titanic of physical forces, and the most potent of magics.  Nature designed them for protection, and at that task, they are without peer.  It is not without its downsides, however.  Those scales can feel almost nothing.  In our greater forms, we are nigh-indestructible.  And, unfortunately, somewhat…numb.  But skin…”

She pulled his hand gently up and across the bend of her elbow.  He felt the slight ridge where golden-edged black scales gave way to silky brown skin.  Izayaroa closed her eyes, drawing in a shuddering breath as he, no longer needing her to pull his hand along, slowly ran it up the smooth curve of her upper arm.  Her expression was almost…rapturous.

Those eyes opened, blazing with heat, and she bit her full lower lip for a second before continuing.  Kaln was suddenly acutely aware of the deep, throaty quality of her voice, the subtly smoky scent of her breath.

“So it is, to have dual forms.  The greater is mighty beyond compare…but only the lesser able to truly experience being alive.  Every sensation is so categorically different.  Even scent—at my full size, I can detect the same chemical traces upon the air as you.  In far greater acuity, in fact.  But the experience is utterly alien.  It lacks the resonance with emotion and memory, to the point it might as well be a different sense entirely.”

She leaned forward, closing her eyes as she lowered her head.  One of her horns grazed his cheek, the roughness of it a contrast to the tickling of the tight curls of her hair as they feathered across his skin.  And then Kaln was covered by a wash of goosebumps as she pressed her face against the side of his neck for a moment and inhaled, deeply.

The Golden Empress was sniffing him.

To judge by her deep purr of approval, she liked what she smelled.  Part of Kaln, a distant part, entertained a very rational concern he was about to be eaten, but by far the greater part of him was fully preoccupied with the growing certainty that this was going in an entirely other direction.

Izayaroa pulled back, and a shivering gasp was drawn unwillingly from his own mouth as she retreated, far enough that he could see her warm, golden eyes again.  His hand was still resting on her skin—in fact, now clinging to her shoulder.  She lifted her opposite arm to rest her clawed fingers over his own.

“There are some among dragons who thus avoid the smaller form as much as possible—and avoid, in particular, the acute sensory experiences of which it is capable.  They deprive themselves, considering this…resonance with mortal experience to be somehow beneath the dignity of a dragon.  Atraximos was one such…joyless prude.  I should forewarn you, husband, that Emeralaphine is another.  But I…”

She smiled, heatedly, biting her lip again, and with agonizing slowness, pulled his hand further down.  He felt the change in texture as the fabric of her simple garment slid under his skin.  She kept pulling, and it was Kaln who, to his own embarrassment, was the first to gasp as she pressed his palm against her breast.  The sound it wrought from her was a deep, slow sigh, her eyes drifting closed in an expression of appreciation.  Subtly she arched her spine, pressing herself into his grasp.

She was…so soft.  So much. She…  She filled his awareness.  Her warmth, her scent, her presence, the sight of her impossible beauty.  Kaln really felt he ought to have something smooth to say at a moment like this, but once again his wit failed him.  At that moment his brain was getting less blood than it was accustomed to.

Izayaroa opened her eyes.  They were full of promise, and desire.

“I deny myself nothing.  And it has been a long time.  I will not command you as your Empress; I am a dragon, my husband, and I have yielded to you.  But I have lived long enough among mortals to know their ways.  And speaking thus as your wife…”

She flowed forward, and suddenly he was drowning in her as she stepped up onto the dais with him.  Slender arms were around him, clawed hands caressing him—one cradling the back of his head, one pulling the small of his back to meld their bodies together.  Her tail twined fully around one of his legs as she dipped her head to nuzzle down at his temple, cuddling his face into the abundant softness of her chest.  His every sense was filled with her, with her heat and her spicy scent, with soft flesh and hard scales.

“I demand what is mine,” Izayaroa growled into his ear, and then bit it.

Power roared inside him, rising up to meet her.  A dragon was making him the focus of her entire consciousness.  But she was not attacking, and so she was not flung off.  Instead it brought him a burst of clarity and control.

Kaln wrapped his own arms fully around her body, so slim and soft and curvy even as she towered over him, his hands roaming over satiny skin and cool scales.  He tilted his head to grant her better access as her plush lips began questing down the side of his neck.  Then, with a deftness that he knew had to come from his dragon-reactive godling power, he hooked one foot behind the talons on which she stood, spinning them both around as he swept her literally off her feet.

Izayaroa laughed in delight as she was whirled and landed upon the thick furs with her husband atop her.

Kaln pulled himself up to gaze down at her for just a moment, drinking in the sight.  Her avid expression, eyes practically aglow with hunger as she was spread out for the taking beneath him.

“It shall be as my lady commands,” he promised, and surged down upon her.

***

He couldn’t have said how much later it was, and didn’t at all care; the minutes had been too fully occupied to bother counting them.  But he was sprawled out, now, upon the most delicious softness, his head resting upon her shoulder.  Cool claws gently stroked the back of his neck, trailing through sweat-dampened hair.  Where their legs were tangled together, her tail had once again wound fully around one of his, the smooth scales lightly rubbing his skin as the tip moved gently up and down his calf.

Kaln was not the least bit embarrassed at being so utterly out of breath; her own chest rose and fell just as deeply under him.  He had rendered a dragon breathless.  That seemed like something to be proud of.

“You are not new at that,” Izayaroa said finally, her voice throaty as she was still catching her breath.  “Never mind experienced, I might suspect you had been trained.”

That was…basically true.  He pushed the sudden memory aside.  That was the absolute last thing he wanted to think about while lying in her arms.  In fact…

“As I said,” he replied, still recovering his own breath.  “I have sought out interesting experiences.  If the results of them enable me to bring you satisfaction, then everything was more than worth it.”

“Mmmm.”  Her arms moved, pulling him more tightly against her in a hug.  “And I trust I pleased you, as well.”

It was barely a question—she’d been present to see the effect she had on him—but he took it seriously nonetheless.  Kaln braced his hands against the furs and pushed, her claws sliding off him as he rose up off her body to look down at her.

Dragons didn’t sweat, it seemed, and her skin was too dark to show much of a flush, but the dishevelment of her hair and the sated expression upon her lovely face were truly satisfying to look upon.  Pleased him?  She was…no words in any language he knew encompassed how magnificent she had been.  That had been more of a religious experience than his actual, literal apotheosis.

He dithered a moment too long, letting the silence stretch out as he sought the perfect phrasing to tell her.  But it didn’t matter; whether it was his mystical awareness of her as a dragon, or the lingering intimacy they were still sharing, he could read the nuances of her expression perfectly as her smile widened in smug delight.

She knew.

“I,” he finally said, “am having…a really strange day.”

Izayaroa laughed in sheer glee, and rose up against him to begin again.

***

A/N: So, as members of my Discord community who've been following the development of this story already know, Hoard's original concept was going to be high-fantasy smut.  I ended up dropping that angle as I decided to make this my low-stakes, good-feels, burnout-recovery piece; that's no time to be experimenting and I've never written erotica before.  But the story was late in its development process by the time I made that decision, so a certain amount of eroticism is baked into its DNA.

This chapter is basically as explicit as it's going to get.  If you found it too much, well, be warned, there will be more like this.  If you wanted more, hop on AO3 and don't let your fanfics be dreams.  If you were worried about having to read outright smut, nope.  What you just saw is as hard as Hoard is going to go.