A Boy and His Dragon (14 page)

“What would you think of a houseful of little hatchlings, Arthur? Are you fond of children?”

“Children?” was the only word Arthur could manage for a moment. Maybe it was the image of Bertie with a female of his own kind that rendered him speechless. “I didn’t know you were… that you liked women.” He’d been thinking that dragons must be like fairies, open to any gender and experience, or that Bertie’s flirting was merely habitual after all. Bertie started coughing and wasn’t able to stop until he had some water.

“Lovely creatures,” he whispered at last, and then shuddered so much that Arthur saw it from the corner of his eye. “But
yech
, no.

No, pet, I do not like women. At least, not when they’re naked. You have no worries on that score.”

“Worries?” Arthur wasn’t able to deny it, not that Bertie gave him a chance to.

He slid back over to stand next to Arthur, scoop up his onions, and then drop them in a pan to caramelize them.

“Arthur,” he began almost hesitantly, then stopped himself. A moment later he handed Arthur a cool, wet towel.

“For your eyes, love,” he explained with no sign of a grin, and then turned back to stir the onions.

About the only thing to be grateful for about the whole conversation, aside from confirming where Bertie’s interests lay, was that the overwhelming scent of onions and fresh bread must have hidden any trace of the momentary confusion and hurt Arthur had been feeling. Imagining how terrible he must have looked with A Boy and His Dragon

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red, watery eyes was bad enough; Arthur didn’t need to know if he’d smelled pathetic too.

He wasn’t sure if he could ask Bertie anything else about dragons now, not when one answer had left him more confused than ever and pretty sure he’d made his crush even more obvious.

If he wanted to keep this job for as long as he could, he ought to stop fantasizing about his overly flirtatious boss and find someone else instead. If Kate got that job, he could quit delivering food, and then maybe he’d have some time where he wouldn’t feel too exhausted. He didn’t think his crush on Bertie would go away, not with Bertie being the smartest, kindest, sexiest thing he’d ever seen, but at least it should be manageable if he got laid once in a while.

It all seemed reasonable enough to think about, right up until Arthur fell asleep, then it was Bertie kissing him, sucking him off, fucking him, and then he’d wake up and imagine it all over and over again with cheap, bedside lotion on his fingers and his knees bent so he could push in and think of Bertie. Then he’d come into work and catch a glimpse of that tongue before Bertie would beam at him and wish him a “Good morning, Arthur” as if he’d been waiting impatiently for Arthur’s return, and Arthur couldn’t help smiling back at him until he remembered himself and what he’d been doing just an hour before.

He honestly had no idea what to say when Professor Gibson e-mailed him to ask how the work was going and to let him know he’d sent Bertie a copy of his thesis. When Kate asked, her eyes narrowed, Arthur could barely resist the urge to tell her… if not everything, then enough of it. It would only alarm her, he told himself, and anyway, so far his feelings hadn’t interfered with his work.

That was what he should focus on, the work and keeping this job. It might lead to more work in this field, and he needed the experience if he was ever to go back to school. That was what was important, that and providing for Kate. Anything else was something that Arthur should leave to his dreams, because it wasn’t going to happen to him in real life. Nothing that amazing ever had, or not for long anyway.

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AS IF to prove him right, he felt weak and got a scratchy throat on the last weekend of his first month in Bertie’s house. The rain had been coming steadily down for two days, and he’d been working seven days in a row and biking back and forth across town until late the night before. It was only a matter of time until he got sick, he knew that, but he’d tried to stay home and rest last night, bundling up next to Kate to keep warm and drinking as much water as he could.

It hadn’t mattered. He was still so weak the next morning it took him twice as long to ride to Bertie’s part of town, and when he got to Bertie’s house, he was shivering despite his efforts to make himself stop.

He almost fell in the door and had a moment of relief that Bertie wasn’t there to see it, or to see him quickly stumble to the couch and put his laptop on his lap. He was fully prepared to work, whatever Bertie was going to say about it when he saw his pale skin and the dark circles under his eyes.

He should have stopped in for tea, but he realized his mistake too late when Bertie came out of the kitchen. The room was as warm as ever, but he couldn’t stop shivering.

“Arthur? You’re late, is everything— Dear.” Bertie came to a halt, and Arthur frowned dizzily in his direction and saw the absolutely stunned expression on his face. Arthur was tired enough to want to laugh at it, but too tired to actually laugh.

“I’m sick.” He stated the obvious, but only because he knew he looked awful and possibly a bit green. He hadn’t eaten much except for a piece of toast the day before. He shouldn’t be surprised that he looked awful. He only hoped he didn’t look too pitiful; if Bertie sent him home, he wasn’t sure he could make it back across town right now, not without a rest first. This house was so warm and Bertie’s couch was so soft, if he had to get up now, he might pass out—or cry. It was another horrifying thought he was too wrung out to react to. At least not until Bertie said something.

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“You look terrible.” Bertie let his hands fall to his sides for a moment. He was wearing that university sweatshirt again, the one that always looked worn and comfortable and that Arthur had vague fantasies about wearing someday. Arthur belatedly realized that he was still in his damp jacket and moved to shrug it off, and when he looked back up, Bertie was scowling at him.

“Did you ride here on your bike?” he demanded. “In the rain, feeling like this? What did your sister think of that?” Arthur had known he was going to regret telling him more about Kate the other night during dinner. Bertie looked ready to call her and ask her himself, and probably would have if he had her number. He picked up Arthur’s jacket and then tossed it aside with a shudder when he saw how wet it was.

“She wasn’t happy,” Arthur sighed. “But it’s okay, I can work on your notes.”

“She wasn’t happy,” Bertie repeated with a snort. “Look at yourself, pet. Your sweatshirt is soaked too.” Arthur turned his head to look too fast and saw stars. He put a hand up as Bertie shot forward, but it didn’t hold him back. Warm hands landed on Arthur’s shoulders and tugged at his clothes.

“It has to come off, Arthur,” Bertie insisted softly, which Arthur knew, but he shook his head and squirmed anyway. Even sick, the idea of Bertie undressing him was enough to make him burn. “Off,” Bertie said again but let go at the same time. Arthur shivered as Bertie moved away and then felt the sudden whoosh of air and heat as the logs in the fireplace caught fire.

“
Arthur
.” He’d never heard Bertie’s voice so stern, so Arthur shut his eyes and pulled his sweatshirt off, shaking in just a damp white T-shirt until something heavy was thrown on top of him. He opened his eyes to the same blanket that Bertie covered him with before and pulled it closer without thinking. He let the laptop slide to the side.

“Do you want to go home?” The rumbling, angry question drew Arthur’s attention back to Bertie, and for a second he thought he saw him as a dragon again, with a flicking, furious tail, but R. Cooper

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whatever expression was on his face made Bertie pause and his imaginary tail stop flicking. “It’s raining, Arthur,” he went on before Arthur could answer yes or no.

“I know.” He meant it to be sarcastic, but it came out on an exhale. Those big dark eyes turned to liquid again.

“Oh, pet.” For a second, Arthur thought Bertie was going to cry and quickly sat up, but Bertie sat down next to him instead, so close Arthur shut his eyes again. Later, when he wasn’t sick, he was going to think about how close they were and cringe to think of what he looked like. At the moment, however, all he could think was how warm Bertie was and how close and what it might feel like to lean into him and fall asleep.

He wanted to
fall asleep
on someone who looked like that? He must be sicker than he thought.

“We really should try to work today.” Arthur wet his lips. “I mean, you should. There’s no reason
you
can’t work today. I can rest and then go home—”

“As if I could concentrate with you so unwell.” The instant response made Arthur open his eyes to slant a look sideways. Bertie probably just wanted to get out of work. Arthur struggled to look as earnest as he could.

“You’re teasing me, but I’m going to let it go. I think I’m too tired to frown,” he announced, not sure why, and Bertie’s eyes went wide. His hand, no the inside of his
wrist
, was suddenly pressed to Arthur’s forehead.

“Arthur.” His voice shook. “It must be serious if you can’t frown at me.” He made a
tut
sound and pulled his wrist back, though how he would know if Arthur was too hot, Arthur couldn’t begin to guess, and when he asked, he got another worried look. It only lifted when Arthur heard himself trying to explain.

“But you’re already so
hot
,” he mumbled but gave up when Bertie choked on a laugh and his name.

“Arthur, do stop arguing, please. Just lie there and feel better.

Really, there’s no need for this level of sacrifice on my account.” A Boy and His Dragon

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“But….” The pay… the food… Bertie… Arthur was already enjoying this job too much. He wasn’t doing nearly enough work to demonstrate how much. Another impatient sigh shut him up.

“I’d ask when was the last time you rested, Arthur, but I have a feeling I won’t care for the answer.”

For someone who wasn’t asking, he managed to make Arthur feel guilty anyway, as if he’d done something wrong when he hadn’t.

“I have to make money.” He gritted his teeth and hoped the pounding starting behind his eyes wasn’t going to get worse. “And don’t say I can’t do that if I’m dead. I’m sick, I’m not going to die of a cold.”

“
Is
it a cold? You don’t look well.” Bertie abruptly stood up.

“Your little human nose and cheeks are red, the rest of you is so pale that I can see the blue of your veins. And those shadows….” He reached out, not quite running a dark fingertip under Arthur’s eye.

He pulled back before Arthur could remember to and then he looked away. “I’m going to bring you tea and perhaps some medicine if I have any.”

“I don’t need you to—” Arthur could frown after all, but only as he tried to chase down the distracting thought. “Medicine?” Bertie ignored his protest and misunderstood his question.

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was imagining the gray smoke that Bertie exhaled, but even with his mouth dry and his nose and throat raw, he could feel the searing realness of it when he inhaled.

“Try not to be a pain, Arthur, and let me do this, please.” It was a hoarse rumble, like the dragon voice that had first called Arthur into this house. Bertie’s eyes were intense, and after a second, Arthur gave up and looked down. It got him another sigh, but Bertie’s tone grew less fierce. “When was last time you let someone take care of you?”

“Years,” Arthur answered without thinking. “When my parents were alive.” He swallowed after it came out and glanced up again, unsurprised to see the shining light in Bertie’s eyes but captivated by R. Cooper

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it anyway. He was in no condition to fend off his feelings for his tenderhearted employer. He should never have come in today.

The steady, soft-eyed stare held him still, made him try to control the faint tremors running through him as if he wasn’t warm enough even in this house with a blanket over him. He knew what would make him warmer and right as he pictured Bertie curling up with him, climbing over him, pushing closer, he saw Bertie’s lips fall open and that pink tongue dart out to taste the air.

Arthur wondered if Bertie was having the same thought, but he must not have because he suddenly took a deep breath and seemed to push himself away and toward the kitchen.

“Pull your blanket closer, Arthur, for my sake if not yours,” he shouted from behind the swinging doors, and only once they stopped swinging did Arthur let his shoulders sag.

Okay, he was more exhausted than he’d thought, and sicker too, too sick to deal with the concern in Bertie’s voice. He should go home, where he wouldn’t embarrass himself. If only he could make himself move.

He pulled the blanket closer, up to his chin, and sighed at how pathetic he must look, though Bertie said nothing one way or the other as he hurried out of the kitchen and went up the stairs.

Arthur stared at the fire, at the fire he didn’t remember Bertie starting with any kind of match or lighter, and thought about heat and smoke until his eyes closed. The kettle whistling from the kitchen started him awake, and he reached for his computer without thinking and waited for it start up before he pulled up the file he’d labeled with numbers so Bertie wouldn’t accidentally find it. Then he stared at it.

Facts About Dragons

1. They have existed since before the first written human records in almost every human culture.

2. They “came out” around the turn of the last century when the other magical Beings started to emerge from hiding both during and after the First World War, though many did not come into public view A Boy and His Dragon

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until the mass exodus of Beings from the countries torn by war and strife during the Second World War.

This includes Russia, China, Northern Africa, the islands of the Pacific, and most of Europe.

3. Like fairies they are said to possess powerful magic.

The numbers after three had been added recently.

4. They like to flirt. (Possibly unique to Dr. Jones.) 5. They often give their children powerful names.