An Immortal Love

The Dream

He stirs awake to the gentle press of something nudging his face, soft and persistent. A groggy grumble escapes his lips as he turns away, seeking the solace of sleep once more. But then, a voice—melodic and delicate—breaks through the haze of his mind.

"Hubby, I'm hungry," the voice says, sweet and plaintive.

His eyes snap open, wide with shock. That voice—it's unmistakable. His breath catches as the sight of the dragon's face fills his vision, mere inches from his own. The dragon's lips form a pout, his expression tinged with an almost childlike petulance.

"You rode me all night last night. It's not fair," the dragon whines, his tone laced with an uncharacteristic vulnerability.

Yijun's eyes widen further, his mind scrambling for comprehension. The words hit him like a thunderclap, rendering him utterly speechless. His lips part as if to respond, but nothing comes out. Instead, he simply stares, frozen in place, as the dragon fixes him with soft lavender eyes brimming with injustice.

How? When? His thoughts race wildly, but his body remains still, his gaze locked on the dragon's unguarded expression. There's no trace of the imposing creature who commands storms and obedience—only this strange, tender being lying beside him.

Panic flares as he tears his gaze away, casting about for some sense of reality. The hut is gone, replaced by an unfamiliar bedroom bathed in the pale light filtering through paper-paneled windows. The room is modest but cozy, with cabinets and drawers tucked neatly into one corner and a washing stand resting in another. A thick quilt, soft and heavy with down, covers them both.

The dragon's whimper draws his attention back, cutting through his disoriented thoughts. Moisture glimmers in those lavender eyes, threatening to spill over in delicate tears, while his pretty mouth trembles. Yijun gapes, his breath hitching, as he struggles to process this startling display of emotion. His throat tightens, his voice caught somewhere between shock and disbelief.

He tries to speak, but his tongue stiffens and no words emerge. Then, suddenly, he hears his own voice—a warm chuckle that feels foreign yet natural.

"Ah, I'm sorry," he says, the words flowing out easily like water. "Have you been waiting long for me to wake up?"

His hand moves of its own, reaching out to the dragon. His thumb brushes gently against the dragon's lips, a soft, fleeting touch that carries with it a strange sense of intimacy.

!!!!!!

The dragon nods timidly. 'He' laughs again and wipes his thumb on his lip. Then his head leans forward and he gives a peck on those soft lips.

!!!!!

His lips meet the dragon's, soft as if brushing against the tender petals of newly bloomed flowers. The sensation is exquisite, delicate, and fleeting, yet it lingers like the echo of a cherished melody. He breathes in the dragon's scent—a clean, fresh aroma intertwined with the faint, ethereal fragrance of lotus blossoms. It wraps around him, intoxicating and serene, like the heady perfume of a lotus lake stirred to life by gentle rain.

The dragon's hair glimmers like spun moonlight, so fine and translucent that it catches the sunlight in a delicate halo. Yijun can't help but press closer, his lips exploring the kiss with quiet reverence. The dragon's lashes flutter, brushing against his cheek like the soft patter of rain on leaves, sending a shiver coursing through his body.

A heat rises in him, blooming across his face and down his neck, until it feels as though he might ignite. Panic prickles in his chest, and before he can lose himself entirely, his body betrays him, pulling his head away. He stares for a moment, breathless, his eyes fixed on the dragon's face.

It is a face carved from dreams, serene yet radiant, as though it belongs to something not quite of this world. Yijun's gaze traces the delicate features—the curve of his cheek, the gentle line of his jaw—before it falls to the collarbone, peeking from where his white silk robe has slipped from his shoulder.

!!!!!

Ahhhhhh his eyes!!!!

He peeks through his fingers and sees some strange little bruises dotting his collarbone. His hand reaches out and pulls the dragon's collar up to cover them. He pats his arm for reassurance then with the other hand, reluctantly lifts up the blanket.

"Alright then. I'll get up now to cook breakfast. Anything for my beloved wife," he hears himself say to the dragon lying on the bed.

His feet swing off the bed, seeking the ground, but as his toes meet the chill of the floor, a jolt courses through him, dragging him abruptly awake.

The dream vanishes like smoke. Above him, the rough weave of the hut's thatched ceiling greets his eyes, a stark contrast to the ethereal vision he just left. His back protests against the hard earth beneath him, stiff and aching. His skin feels cold; the threadbare, scratchy blanket offering little warmth to his body, and his leg, exposed to the cool night air, feels the crumbling texture of the soil beneath the mat.

Yijun sits up, his heart a drumbeat of panic in his chest. His eyes dart to the lake. Through the open doorway of his humble hut, he sees the familiar figure floating on the water, shrouded in quiet stillness, as always.

He sighs in relief. He was about to start thinking about the dream when he suddenly feels awkward at the lower part of his body.

He freezes, half-sitting up, looking at that part of him. How in the world am I having a reaction when I'm not even married yet?! he screams in his head. And to him, of all people. He's not even a woman!

He rolls all over the floor, screaming in his head until it softens. Then he stops, lying on his side, gathering his strength. He did remember the dragon was married to a man but he was a god so he didn't think over it too much. A god's business is not his business and him being married to a man is not the most surprising thing he's learned in his travels with him.

But it is different if he is married to him.

Gods, he wishes he is married to him.

His cheeks surge even hotter when that thought passes through his mind.With a sudden determination, he raises his hands and delivers two sharp slaps to his cheeks. "Wake up, Yijun," he mutters to himself. "Do you want to die? It's bad enough riding the tiger; now you dream of marrying it too?"

The stinging heat spreads from his cheeks to his ears, a shameful burn that lingers even as he lowers his hands. He massages his reddened cheeks as he starts again to think about the dream.

Was that a dream? Or was that a memory the dragon unintentionally gave him when he striked his head?

He couldn't arrive at an answer as his mind betrays him again by replaying the dream in vivid detail.

The dragon's face, so near, so impossibly beautiful, flashes behind his eyelids. His hair, silken and radiant, flows like a river of silver into the pillow. His eyes, soft and pleading, transform his austere features into something divine—a vision worthy of reverence, not the vengeful deity he knows.

Despite himself, Yijun feels his lips curl into a reluctant smile. To be fair, he muses, the dragon truly is lovely as a married man.