A boy and he's dragon

Chapter 2

Chapter 2
IN THE morning, with the clouds momentarily parted to allow some sunshine and with Arthur no longer worried about being late to an interview, he could take a moment to study the outside of Dr.
Jones's house, which was as old and impressive as the inside had led him to believe.
There were nicer areas just outside of town, higher in elevation the way they were higher in status. Sprawling estates hidden on the edge of the woods, though even the rich wouldn't venture too far into the forest since a pack of weres had taken up residence there a few months ago as part of Thomas Kirkpatrick's Reclaim the Woods movement.
When they were little and their parents were alive, Arthur and Kate used to go hiking in those woods with their family, though Kate had enjoyed it far more than he ever did. Arthur missed his family more than he missed the thought of walking for hours through the dense trees, but he did wonder for a moment about the werewolves, and if they were anything like dragons, as some said they were.
Dr. Jones most likely could have afforded to live somewhere else, in one of those bigger, pricier estates, but this was still a wealthy neighborhood: clean streets lined with orange and brown oak trees that were losing their leaves, a place where doctors and lawyers and intellectuals with family money lived.He would never have thought it was a house full of treasure from the outside. Perhaps that was why Dr. Jones didn't ever seem to lock his door. After knocking for a few minutes, Arthur tried the doorknob and frowned when it turned. It was even stranger to get inside and notice the alarm system keyboard next to set of wrought iron hooks for keys and to read the note: Here is your key, Arthur, and the code to the alarm, in case I ever turn it on. It was as if Bertie was daring people to rob his house.
Arthur shoved the note and key into the pocket of his jeans before edging in past the entrance hall. The probably antique, probably very valuable Art Deco brass lamp above him was on, as was every light inside, though there was no fire in the fireplace. It didn't affect the heat any; it was just as warm inside the house as it had been yesterday. Arthur unzipped his jacket and then paused to listen for Dr. Jones, but there was no dragon on the upstairs landing and no man by the wide table. There were no sounds at all to indicate he wasn't alone.
There was, however, another note on the table, and next to it, held down by the silver chest filled with those hand-rolled herbal cigarettes, a stack of money.
Arthur, the note read-and the cursive had enough turns in it to look like calligraphy- please be a dear and buy me more printer paper and a few packets of things from my herbalist. There was a card for the herbalist on top of the note and a scribbled blur that looked like a printer's serial number.
Arthur stared at the money, certain it was too much as much as it was a test. It had to be a test. He wished he had the kind of money to throw away on tests of his employee's virtue. But after a second, he sighed and zipped up his jacket again before grabbing the cash and the card with the herbalist's address on it.
He stopped to take a long look around, but there was no one, no Bertie. It wasn't exactly how Arthur had thought his first day would go. He glanced upstairs with a frown, just in case, and then sighed before turning and heading back out.
He locked the door behind him, for the sake of those books if nothing else.
ARTHUR'S small backpack normally held a cup of instant noodles and books from the library, but now it was packed tight with printer paper and a large, wrapped bundle of herbs. The herbal place had turned out to be an occult store, the kind of place with premade-purpose candles in the front for magic hobbyists, and serious items for witches and wizards in the back, behind a curtain. The employees obviously knew who the herbs were for when he asked for that combination, because Arthur was suddenly treated to wide smiles and even given his choice of a free candle. When he chose a protection one for his sister despite the array of wealth and fortune candles right in front of him, the old man who must run the place patted his hand.
He was certain the scent of the herbs clung to him as he unlocked the door and slipped back inside the house. He only realized that the scent wasn't coming from him after all when he heard that voice and swung his gaze around until he found Dr.
Jones, lying on his sofa in front of a blazing fire and spinning a small yellow globe in his hands.
He looked the same as he had yesterday. Arthur hadn't been imagining how attractive he was or letting the adrenaline go to his head. The only change was that today the man was dressed in jeans and wore a white shirt unbuttoned at the throat. His feet were still bare.
Arthur quickly looked at the globe, which had the faded colors and faint scrawl of an old map, the kind of map that might have had a terrible sea creature or dragon drawn on it as a decorative warning.
He had the feeling that Dr. Jones would find that very entertaining.
"Here be dragons," indeed.
He knew he was right when Dr. Jones saw him studying his toy and winked at him. Arthur didn't jump, but he could have.
"Hullo, Arthur," he was greeted playfully.
"Hello, Dr. Jones." Arthur stopped with his hand on the zipper of Hello, Dr. Jones." Arthur stopped with his hand on the zipper of his jacket, without thinking why except that slowly easing down any zippers didn't seem like a good idea given how hot those few words had him feeling. He was flushing again, sticky beneath his clothes, and he blamed the fire. "I have your things." He paused.
"And your change." He didn't fail tests.
But if it was a test, it wasn't a harsh one. Dr. Jones nodded, waved it off, and didn't seem even a little interested when Arthur came in and set his backpack down on the table.
"I have to say, Arthur, you are looking scrumptious today.
Perhaps it's the color that being outside gives you. And please, call me Bertie. Or Jones. Anything but Doctor."
"I'm...." It wasn't the fire. Arthur's face was stinging now. He was burning up but still wasn't sure he could take unzipping his jacket with Bertie teasing him like this. He raised his head to meet the man's gaze. There were things he could have said to that.
Comments about it being hot in here, maybe, but Arthur had never had any practice at flirting, and anyway, Bertie's grin clearly meant it had been a joke. Arthur was cute, but he wasn't scrumptious.
He cleared his throat. "I'm pretty sure that's not appropriate coming from an employer." For a moment when the doctor didn't respond, Arthur thought he'd sounded too stern or rude, which made no sense until he remembered what he'd said to Kate about Beings and humans speaking different, if similar, languages. He offered a small smile just in case, though he couldn't quite bring himself to look over and see if Bertie was watching him shrug off his jacket.
There was only the sound of fire consuming wood for a few seconds while Arthur reminded himself that for all he knew, dragons were just this flirty with everyone, and it had been too
long since he had anyone but Kate to tease him. He took a breath and turned back.
The doctor's eyes looked almost black, shining and wet.
Arthur's mouth was suddenly dry.
"Unless you're planning on eating me," he pushed out, since, judging from yesterday, Dr. Jones liked things out in the open.
Arthur barely kept his voice from trembling and licked his lips when his remark made those eyes grow hooded."I make no promises." Bertie took his time responding, as if he was thinking about it after all, and then made a low noise, as if he was pleased by something. He set down the globe, stood up, and either didn't see Arthur's eyes go wide or was pretending not to. He rolled one hand and sighed. "Have you read my books, Arthur? I gather from that comment that you have not." Arthur hadn't realized his shoulders were tense until he let out a breath at the subject change. He shook his head.
"Not yet. I got copies from the library this morning." There was something different in Bertie's smile at that. It made him look less dangerous and more like a kid at Christmas.
Arthur had to stop himself from scuffing his shoe on the floor or smiling back at him.
"How sweet of you." Bertie nodded to himself. "And thorough. As I was saying, as you may have noticed, I'm something of a historian." Arthur nodded too in order to keep the man talking.
"Sadly, I am not a very organized historian." He didn't seem to appreciate the small sound of agreement that Arthur couldn't hold back. Bertie pursed his lips and spent a moment considering Arthur, and Arthur had the strange feeling that now Bertie wouldn't eat him because Arthur was beneath him. He surprised himself by feeling insulted and lifting his chin.
He supposed criticizing a dragon to his face wasn't the wisest
idea. Most people probably wouldn't dare.Arthur wanted to apologize yet couldn't do it. There were inches of dust and no order to those books at all. "I thought I was here to organize things for you." It was as diplomatic as he could get.
"So you are, Arthur. So you are." Bertie, a name Arthur couldn't seem to stop thinking though it was somehow too cute for a man like this, let out a small huff and then nodded. "You're correct of course, but you might have thought of my feelings." Arthur's jaw went slack. Thankfully he kept himself under control when he saw the sparkling glint enter Bertie's eyes.
second later Bertie grinned. It was a joke. Bertie hadn't been angry at all.
That's what Arthur got for being so obviously wary of him.
Bertie was making fun of him. He crossed his arms. Bertie instantly lost his grin.
"Once again, Arthur, you're right. Back to business. I have a bad habit-" When he paused to inhale, Arthur realized his eyebrow was arched. Bertie only sailed on with another low, pleased sound at Arthur's effrontery. "-or two, and one of them is that I write notes about things I want to put into my books as I am researching them, and I tend to leave those notes everywhere. I tuck them into things.
I've found them on the floor, under rugs, even in the refrigerator.
But mainly I leave them in books as I'm reading them." Arthur instantly got what the man was saying. He looked wildly around the room, for a second anyway, before focusing back on the supposedly brilliant dragon in front of him.
"Part of your job will be finding them. Now, granted, I don't always use every idea in them-they're usually things I want to add to keep the text from becoming too much boring prose-but I do like having them, and trying to find them once I'm ready to write can slow me down considerably."
Arthur waited until he was sure Bertie was done talking and
glanced around the room, the mess, again. That his heart was racing at the idea of straightening all those books, looking at them, reading them, and classifying them, didn't matter. It was hardly the work of a research assistant. Or even a personal assistant.
"You're serious?" Arthur didn't move as Bertie came around to get himself a cigarette. He didn't light it, just let it touch his lips.
"You don't want to do it?" The unbearable sadness in his voice reminded Arthur that he promised to do his very best work. Stupid though it was, he'd offered up his services to Dr. Bertie Jones-
crazy, flirty dragon-just yesterday.
He inhaled and considered it. It wasn't exactly like having his own library, but it was as close as he might ever get. He swallowed."Can I dust while I look? Or open a window? It's stuffy in here, and it's not good for the books." Bertie's head went back and he looked affronted at the word
"stuffy." This time Arthur didn't go nearly as tense as he had before.
Bertie looked too pouty again for him to feel too worried.
"But I can get so cold at times, Arthur." It was the last thing Arthur expected to hear. He looked down at his sweatshirt-it was fall outside after all-and then over at Bertie's thin white shirt and bare feet. He possibly spent more time studying them than he should.
Bertie's lips were closing around the white paper of his cigarette when Arthur finally looked up. The tang of herbs and smoke filled the air, and Arthur felt about as hot as the burning red cherry.
"So wear socks." He knew why his voice was rasping. The man had a tendency to make his throat go dry. He sucked in a long breath and thought about work, his job, looking through every page of every book in this house. "I can buy them for you if you like."
"Socks? You unromantic soul." There was amusement in Bertie's rough, rumbling voice, and then Bertie took a drag from his cigarette with a flare of light and fire that was reflected in his eyes.
Arthur waited, absolutely certain he was being teased, for Bertie to exhale and then lick his bottom lip. He was not disappointed.
He got his eyes up in time to await more instructions.
"Very well. Clean if you must." The topic was dismissed as if it were nothing, and Arthur scowled because it ought to matter if the room, if these books, were taken care of or not.
"I must," Arthur insisted, and Bertie's eyebrows rose in surprise. He took another drag.
"But don't disturb anything," he warned a second later. Arthur angled his head at him.
"Could you even tell?" His disbelief was too real for him to worry about being rude. He got a grin for a reply.
"I will give you that hit, Arthur. It was a bull's-eye." He inclined his head graciously and spoke as formally as Arthur had the day before. "You may straighten to your heart's content... straighten everywhere if it please you, Arthur MacArthur."
"Everywhere?" Arthur immediately glanced up the stairs. He hadn't seen any other rooms downstairs yet, but the rooms upstairs were going to be the ones considered more personal and private.
Even if there wasn't a treasure up there, it was where Bertie's bedroom would be.
Arthur raised his hands before he looked back. "I just don't want to end up an entrée."
The lack of humor in Bertie's expression made him freeze. He could see the brown of his eyes now, so much of it, with his pupils narrowed to slits like an angry cat's.
Arthur's stomach tightened. Treasure really was, in his sister's words, srs bsns, to dragons.
"Sensible humans respect a locked door," Bertie hissed quietly, but a moment later he dropped his head and heaved a sigh.
Arthur bit back a comment about how he hadn't known Bertie knew how to lock a door.
"Sorry, I...," he started instead, and Bertie jerked his head up and waved at him to shut him up.
"I'm hardly Bluebeard, Arthur. Nothing behind any of my doors will be as interesting to you as what is out here. I'm becoming very convinced of that." There was a half smile on his face and he seemed to have forgotten that he was smoking. Arthur put out a hand as a trail of ash fell to the carpet. Bertie's smile only grew.
Swallowing while considering the lack of teeth in that smile, Arthur tried a subject change.
"So you're working on a new book then? What's it about?" That smile said Bertie thought the world, or maybe just Arthur, was delightful. Scrumptious. A pearl. Arthur was so hot he wanted to strip his sweater off-not that he would dare, not with those eyes watching him."The Welsh red dragon," Bertie announced slowly, with a flourish of the hand not holding the cigarette.
Arthur snapped his gaze up to see if Bertie was joking.
"No, I'm not teasing you." He was immediately reassured. Though now Arthur had to wonder if dragons could read minds.He hoped not, because then it was only going to take one stray thought whenever Bertie put anything near his mouth and Arthur was doomed.
"Arthur." Just hearing his name on the heels of that thought made Arthur give a whole-body shiver. "I am a Being, and most importantly, a dracologist, and I've been researching the long lost red dragon of Wales for some time now."
"Long lost?" Arthur could do this, he could focus even while in mild shock and with a dozen explicit fantasies about his new boss pressing on the edge of his thoughts.
"They haven't been seen in centuries. Even by the standards of an often-reclusive people, that's going a bit far." The soft, serious tone brought Arthur back to his senses. Bertie turned away to stare at the fire. Even knowing it could be more teasing, Arthur didn't think so. He stepped closer then stopped and studied the edge of black hair against Bertie's neck, the faint gleam of hidden scales.
"Perhaps they are extinct," Bertie spoke to the fire, then twisted to look over his shoulder, staring right into Arthur's eyes.
"Or perhaps they are hiding while they wait for Arthur's return."
"I... um." Arthur licked the corner of his mouth and rubbed at his cheek because he knew it was flaming red now.
"I do shock you sometimes, don't I? Sorry, Arthur." Bertie's laugh was quiet. He faced the fire again. Perhaps he really was that cold. Arthur would have to think of something else to keep him warm while protecting the books. Socks definitely. Maybe those warmed ones; he didn't care how unromantic it was.
"If you can make sense of my notes once you have them, it would be very helpful, but I am sure it's impossible. Simply finding them will take up your time. Other than that, you will be doing odd errands and research. Keeping track of mail... and taking messages, should you find my phone. It's around here somewhere. I don't
know what else to have you do," he admitted, tossing his cigarette into the fire. "My publisher recommended an assistant. I'm afraid I've never trusted one before." Bertie paused, going still, and Arthur didn't think he'd reacted, didn't believe he'd even thought anything out of the ordinary or suspicious, but when Bertie turned his lips were parted and Arthur caught a glimpse of his tongue.
"So," Bertie mused a moment later, his eyes narrowing, "so I don't know quite what to do with you."
"We can work that out as we go," Arthur murmured, though cleaning would take up any free time he had. Free time. He felt weak again. It had been a while since he had much free time, and to be spending it even in a small way, doing something he loved, felt like a vacation. "You're already being more than generous, so really anything you want is fine." He shut his mouth with a click and looked over. But Bertie apparently felt it was too obvious for his form of flirtation, or at least he left it alone and continued to speak with his usual smoky intimacy.
"You are going to be a steadying influence, Arthur. I can tell. You're just what I've been waiting for."
"Okay." Arthur got the word out, that's what mattered to his dignity. He shifted to one side. "Do you... want coffee or something?" Maybe he just was supposed to start going through books now, but Bertie continued to stare at him, even wrinkling his brow in a frown.
"Why?" He seemed confused. "Do you? Well, help yourself if I have any. You do seem tired, pet. And hungry. Did you even get time to eat breakfast before I sent you running around? If there's no food, we'll have to see about getting some before setting to work. I had a housekeeper once who bought my food for me, but she got tired of walking in and finding me naked after I shifted. You'll notice I have donned clothes just for your human sensibilities." He cracked his neck and lifted his arms for a stretch, or to display the clothes he'd put on for Arthur."If it's as bad as you say, I should get started," Arthur said quickly while watching that body move and not thinking about it without any clothes. That was for later, when he was far away and less likely to embarrass himself. "Earn my keep." He almost bit his tongue at his phrasing. This house, this man, seemed to bring it out in him. He'd never been so tempted to put inappropriate slants on all his words before. It was probably because Bertie seemed to find them so amusing. Of course he planned on earning his keep. He wasn't being kept, that was ridiculous. It was just that the pay was already generous. He didn't need to be fed too.
"Work?" The very word seemed to make Bertie tired. Arthur abruptly realized why Bertie's publisher wanted him to have an assistant. They'd probably even tried to hire one for him, some drill sergeant to keep on him task. The thought made him straighten and put his shoulders back, because he had his work cut out for him.
Bertie took one look at Arthur's posture and sighed again. "If you must, Arthur. If you must." He tasted the air once more before sliding closer, his footsteps silent on the thick rug. "Unless...." The same part of Arthur that knew approaching unknown snakes was a bad idea knew that hanging onto Bertie's every word was only going to get him in trouble. It didn't keep him from listening, even if he frowned. "You want to talk some more, or have a bite? Just a nibble?"
Arthur's hunger must have been in the air. Bertie's stare said he could tell that Arthur's stomach was growling and that Arthur hadn't had any breakfast at all. It also hinted he knew what talk of bites and nibbles was doing to Arthur's brain.
Arthur hadn't done anything like that with his one real boyfr-
with Clematis. There was a lot he hadn't done with Clematis that he'd wanted to do, but during all those light kisses and sweet blowjobs, when he wanted more, he hadn't realized "more" might include love bites. He pictured teeth against his skin and couldn't stop his breath from coming faster.
Arthur closed his eyes briefly but kept his frown in place."I'm fine, thank you," he got out before opening his eyes again and watching Bertie tap one dark fingernail against his mouth. It was just as distracting, if not more so, than watching him smoke.
Arthur might have a thing he hadn't previously been aware of for painted nails on men, in addition to his new interest in cigarettes and biting.
"If you insist." A tiny puff of smoke escaped Bertie's lips, like an exclamation of annoyance. "Then find a place to work. I will be in my study if you need me for anything." His raised eyebrow wasn't very subtle. If Arthur hadn't still been red, it might have made him blush. He didn't want to imagine what the air might smell like, but luckily Bertie's tongue did not make an appearance, just another grin. "And I do mean anything." To save himself, Arthur turned on his heel to look at one wall of books and didn't look back until the heat had minutely lessened, the scent of herbs was gone, and he felt that he was alone.
He pulled in several lungfuls of air and tugged at his sweatshirt. Anything to feel cooler. He looked around before yanking it up over his head and felt marginally better in just his Tshirt.
For a second or two, he stared at himself: at his arms with their faded freckles and light hair, at his legs in jeans that were looser than they'd been when he bought them. Then he frowned harder.
Fairies, or at least one fairy he knew from personal experience, weren't really interested in a human's physical appearance as much as people thought. Despite being gorgeous and spending a lot of time kissing him, Clematis had seemed more interested in Arthur's reactions to his attentions than in Arthur himself; in what he could get out of Arthur instead of what Arthur wanted.
Dragons were Beings too, just like fairies. All this attention had to be simply how dragons were. It was at odds with the myths of them kidnapping people and keeping them in their lairs or eating them, but Arthur was suddenly sure the people writing those stories hadn't wanted to admit to getting tongue-tied and flustered when a giant lizard winked at them.At least he was reasonably sure he wasn't going to be roasted alive now, and he had a job with a boss who wasn't going to push him hard or treat him unfairly. In fact, Arthur had a feeling that being frequently red-faced and suffering through various stages of arousal was going to be the most difficult thing about this job... that and resisting the urge to respond.
He wondered if Bertie was that languid about everything, if his soft pet names meant he wouldn't take charge in bed, if Bertie saw Arthur as someone to top him the way other people seemed to, or if Bertie would fuck Arthur the way Arthur had wanted Clematis to.
He was a strong and powerful dragon, but did that mean he would hold Arthur down and push him open the way Arthur had only ever done with his fingers? Would he, if Arthur asked him to and promised to be his?
His breath hitched at that last errant thought. It was too strange to be his. It had to be the house or something he'd read about dragons giving him that idea-maybe one of those old stories about dragons keeping maidens in their lairs.
Just in case dragons could read minds, he shoved the thought away and locked it up tight. The books were in front of him.
Mountains of them. Hordes waiting to be cleaned and alphabetized and put in their proper place, which did not mean near a fireplace.
With a grim smile of determination, Arthur pushed his shoulders back and set forth to bring order to chaos.