A boy and he's dragon

Title your Story Part

Story dedicated to Steph-Jeff for being the one to help me puch my spirits to finish the draft.
SO THANK YOU STEPH-JEFF
if it was not for you're comment this chapter would not have been updated.
Keep commenting it keeps me active and happy seeing people who read the story and like it.
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Chapter 3
IF THE dust didn't kill him, the lack of organization would, Arthur thought fiercely and not for the first time. Just piling the books into some kind of order without stopping to read or glance through them had taken up most of his first two workdays.
While many of the books were obviously loved and well-read, they were also so thick with dust that whenever he moved one he had to pull his head back to avoid the shower of dust motes that followed. To make it worse, Bertie must have been eating or drinking while reading a few of them, somehow getting a few thick leather covers wet; and combined with the heat of the room, there were now spots of mildew on them.
It was completely unacceptable. How Bertie had ever found what he was looking for was a mystery to Arthur, because although there was evidence that Bertie's books had once held some sort of order, or attempt at order, it was clear that Bertie put books wherever there was space for them regardless of title, subject, or author.
Arthur fully intended to correct that problem, as soon as he'd been through every book in the house. So far, he hadn't even made a dent in the main room. It didn't help that in addition to trying to create stacks to help separate the books and wiping them down and setting aside the ones in need of repair or replacement, he had to flip through them all page by page to find any scraps of paper with notes on them.
There was a pretty sizable pile of notes so far, actually. Arthur was kind of proud of it, though not nearly as happy as he was to see his hard work starting to pay off. The room might someday look almost like a real library.
He glanced at the evidence of his hard work again. Not all of the He glanced at the evidence of his hard work again. Not all of the
notes seemed to be about dragons. An edition of Psychopathia Sexualis had had two notes in it, one reading simply "move 7 to 2" and the other quoting an entire passage from Ovid. Arthur found the Ovid later and checked it; Bertie must have been quoting it from memory because he only got one word wrong. They were probably lost notes from a previous book, and so far there was no obvious rhyme or reason to which books they might be in, or why.
"Poetry quotations in a copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales printed around 1930 lying on its side underneath three volumes of a travel series," Arthur muttered to himself because the house was quiet.
Bertie didn't keep the fire going when he was out or not spending his time in the living room. Right now he was in his study writing, or pretending to, or just staying out of Arthur's way.
Bertie had tried, halfway through the first day and early on the second, to distract Arthur, probably so he wouldn't feel bad about not working while Arthur was working. Arthur's face and hands were streaked with dust, his arms were full of heavy tomes, and he'd once again skipped breakfast. He usually did, but it still didn't put him in a good mood, and dragon or not, Bertie took one look at him on both occasions and disappeared into his study with a chastened look on his face.
"He should feel bad," Arthur huffed as he straightened and stretched. He'd found a sliding ladder for the bookshelves that had been being used as a kind of coat rack, and going up and down on it all day was making his tired muscles shaky. "Nobody should treat books this way, I don't care how brilliant they are."
"You're quite right, Arthur." The cheery note in Bertie's voice and the fact that he'd heard Arthur complaining made Arthur stop where he was and wet his lips before turning around. It got him a mouthful of dust that made him gag. It was hot in the room even without a fire. Arthur was very conscious that he was red-faced, sweaty, and dirty. His fingers looked like he'd been fingerprinted with black ink. He knew without looking in the mirror in the downstairs bathroom that his hair was sticking to his forehead in a vague wave. He'd stopped being too concerned with wearing just a T-shirt and jeans the moment Bertie had made it clear he planned on leaving Arthur alone while he worked.
It was a completely appropriate thing for an employer to do, and Arthur liked working alone; he got more done. He didn't know why it had made him frown to see Bertie disappear into his study without commenting on Arthur's bare arms or remarking on how his body looked with fewer clothes on or giving him any kind of flirty wink, but it had.
Okay, Arthur did know why it bothered him. Even not wanting to risk anything, even knowing that it was just flirting and didn't mean anything, he wanted Bertie to say something nice about him again in his heated, seductive voice with that cultured accent. He wanted Bertie to stare at him and call him a pearl.
Arthur really, really needed to get out more, because his crush could no longer be denied, and he was only going to embarrass himself if he kept on like this. He scowled at the thought, and because he was itchy, tired, and hungry, and he'd made a lot of progress and Bertie hadn't said anything. Arthur realized he was starting to whine internally just as Bertie darted out his tongue to wet the corner of his mouth.
Bertie had on jeans and a large, floppy sweatshirt with the university's logo on it. It looked comfortable and soft and like it had cost more than Arthur's jeans. Knowing that the sweatshirt, that all of Bertie's clothing, was for his benefit only made Arthur scowl harder.
"It's a mess now, but when I'm through with it you should be able to find things without too much trouble," he insisted as the silence went on. Bertie blinked but followed the direction of Arthur's hand as he pointed at the stacks. Arthur's heart was beating hard. "Some of these are expensive. All of them are valuable. You shouldn't let them get dirty," he explained slowly, hearing the irritation creeping into his voice but unable to completely suppress it.
"Of course, I-" Bertie began. Arthur thinned his lips and Bertie shut up.
"This stack has mold. I might not be able to save them." Maybe it was because he'd never seen books in this condition, but Arthur flung one hand out accusingly at the books under discussion.
"The other stacks are either volumes that belong together in a collection or pieces I have yet to classify." He wasn't even going to go into the dried leather bindings on the older books.
He would swear his snappish words echoed through the room.
He wiped at his face, probably smearing sweat and dust all over it.
Bertie watched him with wide, shining eyes. He wet the corner of his mouth again, but this time it looked more like a gesture of uncertainty. It didn't seem very dragonlike, but it reminded Arthur of who, of what, he was dealing with all the same, and he abruptly shut his mouth and shook his head.
"I mean, I can arrange them however you like, if you give me time to devise a workable cataloguing system that suits your needs...." His voice lowered as he gestured at the books again. He couldn't make himself apologize, not with the state of this room when he started. But Bertie wasn't speaking, so he had to. "And you should have space on your shelves when I'm done, for more books, or... whatever." He gave another small wave, this time at the pile of dusty knickknacks he hadn't looked at or tried to clean yet.
"It's a good room," he added, not sure why, though it was a nice room. Someone, probably Dr. Jones, had the bookshelves built in so it looked like the library of an old mansion. He looked back over to see if Bertie was angry and caught the lift of his eyebrows.
The eyes below them were getting warmer by the second. Arthur tugged at the collar of his T-shirt and wondered why he'd ever missed those stares when they only made him feel like he was on fire with blushes.
"You're awfully flushed," Bertie announced after a moment. "Perhaps you should open a window."
"You're awfully flushed," Bertie announced after a moment. "Perhaps you should open a window." R. Cooper
42
Arthur would love an open window.
"Really?" His surprise was genuine and probably all over his face with the dust, and it left Bertie upset with him, judging from the chiding noise he made.
"I'm not a monster, Arthur." As though to prove it, he smiled.
Not a grin but a real, wide smile. Arthur could feel his lips curve up to match it, because it was a nice smile even if the man couldn't take care of his books. Arthur's smile was probably a little dopey, but Bertie was pleased with him after all and Arthur... didn't know how to react except to smile goofily in return, but then he hadn't eaten much today. He felt the smile disappear from his face when Bertie peered at him for a moment longer and then scowled. Arthur had no idea why his smile would make the other man frown, but one second he'd been delighted with Arthur and now he just looked disappointed.
"Arthur." He hadn't thought Bertie could sound stern. Fierce and scary, outrageous, and sexy he could do, but stern was new. It was also, like many things about his new employer, interesting. And by interesting, Arthur meant hot. He waited and Bertie threw up his hands. "You didn't eat, did you?" He wasn't really asking, Arthur could tell from how Bertie didn't pause for an answer after the question. "I was willing to let this go the other day, but this is quite enough. You've been taking the phrase 'starving student' a little far, I think."
"I have not." The denial was instant. Arthur wasn't even sure where it came from because he was busy watching a dragon put his hands on his hips to scold him. "I'm not starving myself on purpose here."
The protest was overridden with a wave of one hand."I have something I'm sure. Cheese, if not bread. Fruit. You might need something more substantial." Fruit. Arthur almost drooled.
He was so hungry his stomach had given up on growling to get his attention and turned itself into a solid, aching knot, and he forgot to bring his cup of soup today. He'd wanted to forget it. The taste, the smell, all of it. He never wanted to eat instant noodle soup again.
It was bad enough filling the Styrofoam cup with hot water in the kitchen and slurping it down quickly so Bertie wouldn't see him eating it. Arthur had had a feeling that the dragon would have something to say about his diet, and now he was right.
"I can eat at home, it's okay," he tried, not sure what the protocol was when your employer wanted to feed you. It had never happened to him before, though he did sometimes get the cancelled orders and mistakes on the nights he delivered food. "I just forgot to bring my lunch." And eat breakfast, but who was counting?
Bertie must have been, even while hiding out in his study. Or he could read minds, but it wasn't something Arthur could contemplate at the moment.
"Really," he tried again, putting some force into the words and raising his chin, "you are already being more than fair."
"Are you frightened that it's a trick? I thought you better than that, Arthur."
It stopped him.
"Trick?" Arthur smoothed his hands down his pant legs.
Bertie's eyes narrowed. "A serpent offering you food doesn't always have to be anything malevolent." With his arms crossed, he looked indignant and Arthur suddenly understood what he was referring to. He hadn't thought about it like that at all and hurried forward to make up for his cultural insensitivity.I'd love some fruit," he started, and then caught the look on Bertie's face, a bright, mischievous one that he didn't do a very good job of hiding. It had been a trick, only he'd been tricking Arthur into feeling guilty so he would eat. Arthur stopped short and pursed his lips.
It was embarrassing to be caught like that, but he couldn't seem to feel any spark of anger. "I don't suppose you have any apples." He changed his tone as smoothly as he could, and Bertie confirmed that he had been playing with Arthur when he snorted a little at Arthur's reply. "Or figs," Arthur went on, "or pomegranates for that matter, since there are several theories about what that
forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden was, as I'm sure you know.
It's never identified as an apple in the story."
"Excellent." Bertie drew out the word of approval with a sibilant hiss and briefly closed his eyes. He turned the moment they were open again and led the way to the kitchen. "Come with me, precious, and we'll find you a treat." ARTHUR had been sent to the bathroom-a small half-bath just down from the kitchen by the laundry room and a side door that probably led outside to the detached garage-to wash up. The bathroom had a dwindling supply of toilet paper but plenty of issues of National Geographic with address labels still stuck to them. The room was also as dusty as the rest of the house, although it consistently smelled of the lemon verbena in the hand soap.
He made a note to use the change Bertie had never asked for to buy more toilet paper since that seemed safer than poking around the rest of the house looking for a supply closet. He had to admit that he didn't know enough about dragons to know how complete their physical changes were when they shifted to human. It was possible Bertie didn't use his own bathrooms and so wouldn't know he was low on toilet paper. It wasn't something Arthur wanted to ask about, exactly, but he did want to know. Maybe not about that so much as how human Bertie's body was-not that he had a way to ask that wouldn't give away the reason for his interest.
He ought to stop thinking that way in any case. It wasn't going to happen. Arthur had admittedly attracted a fairy once, but it wasn't like anyone had been beating down his door since then. The few looks of interest thrown his way hadn't lasted once people realized he'd have no time for them.
He had time now, he realized suddenly while looking at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and drying his face. But he instantly pushed the thought aside because it wasn't going to happen. He sighed as he headed back out to the kitchen.The kitchen was empty. Arthur took a moment making sure he looked composed before he went searching for his employer. Bertie was in the main room, leaning against the couch with a large bowl of fruit resting on the table behind it. He had a bunch of red grapes in his hand. Of course he did. And of course he was eating them one at a time and licking his lips after each one.
Arthur approached carefully, stifling his second sigh because he should have been comforted to see a dragon eating fruit and not people. Comforted, not turned on.
There was a pomegranate in the bowl, surprising him, but he left it where it was, not wanting to make a mess over a rug he couldn't afford to replace. He avoided the bananas too-no way could he take Bertie's response to those right now. He chose more grapes and tried not to push too many in his mouth at once when he realized they were seedless.
"God." It slipped out with the first bite, breathless and edgy. It had been a long time since he had fresh fruit. He really shouldn't be making noises over some grapes, but they were so good. He popped a few more into his mouth before he forced himself to slow down and eat properly, then he looked over at his employer.
"Poor, hungry Arthur." Bertie breathed the words without looking at him. He was glaring at the fireplace as though annoyed to find no fire burning inside. "If you won't feed yourself, you'll force me to do it." When Arthur stopped chewing, Bertie glanced over at him. His eyes, though still full and black, lacked their usual glitter.
"Humans are so-" He gestured as if starting to understand something that he didn't feel like explaining. "-fragile." Arthur's eyebrows drew together. He wasn't fragile. He knew how the world worked better than Bertie did-he was willing to bet on it. The world with money and magic was a lot different than the world without it.
"While we're on the subject," Bertie said as though he'd read Arthur's protest before he could voice it, "there are guest rooms here, Arthur, as well as this couch, which is very comfortable. You are welcome to stay if you find yourself here late. I've seen what you call transportation." He turned up his nose at the very thought of Arthur's bicycle. "Riding a bicycle isn't very safe at night even with those reflective lights."
Arthur bit his tongue before he could point out that he delivered food all over town on that bike: at night, in the rain, on busy streets. He had a feeling that the less Bertie knew about his other remaining job, the better.
"My bike keeps me in shape." It was an invitation for Bertie to look him up and down, and Bertie did not waste the opportunity.
Arthur fought not to shiver as those eyes took their time traveling from his shoes to his face as if Bertie was imagining what was hidden by Arthur's clothing. Arthur didn't think of himself as a strong man-he was too little for that-but he could ride up hills other delivery boys couldn't manage and could carry most heavy loads without losing his breath.
He closed his hands under Bertie's stare and saw Bertie's eyes go back to his forearms. Bertie exhaled and then his lips curved up.
Arthur went on quickly before Bertie could say anything about what he thought of Arthur's shape. "I'll be fine, really. There's no need to...." The word worry stuck in Arthur's throat. His eyes burned for a moment. "You barely know me," he whispered, then tossed his head and looked at his feet when Bertie looked like he wanted to say something. This wasn't a normal job, but Arthur didn't deserve that, not with part of his intent in coming here so... dishonest. It didn't matter that he would never take anything from Bertie. The fact that he ever considered it, as if any part of Bertie was for sale, made him feel terrible. "I've looked after myself for a long time."
"Not bloody well enough." It was the most British Bertie had ever seemed. He sounded like an old colonel. "Now eat." Arthur ate another grape before putting the remains of the bunch down. There were tiny oranges too. He laid two aside to take home later and then discovered almonds under the fruit. He should have asked whether Bertie was a vegetarian dragon or why he got so much fruit, but he didn't. He crunched almonds and then ate a few more grapes. He wouldn't say he felt better when he was done, but
his stomach didn't feel nearly as tight, and the heat of the room didn't seem so overwhelming.
Bertie watched him, though whenever Arthur glanced back at him, the dragon would slide his attention back to his cold fireplace.
After a couple of missed glances, he coughed and put his arm up along the back of the couch.
"It pains me to say it, but maybe you ought to go home for the day, Arthur."
Bits of almond stuck in Arthur's throat. He swallowed them all, not without pain.
"You're sending me away? I can work harder." He came around the table to stand in front of the couch only to freeze when he received Bertie's full attention. He immediately turned to all the books, all his piles, his plans. He hadn't done nearly enough. Arthur." Bertie's lips were parted, just a little. "You can always stay."
"Then why...?" Arthur changed his mind after he asked. First he was told to stay and eat, now Bertie wanted to send him home.
He didn't want to go. Bertie hadn't even seen a fraction of what he was capable of yet.
His own desperation to impress wasn't nearly as confusing as his sudden need to stay. His paycheck hadn't even been his first thought.
"Do you want me to go?" He didn't like how quiet his voice got or the puzzled look Bertie shot him, as if he honestly didn't know how to answer Arthur's question.
"Of course not," he rumbled, sounding more like himself as a lizard than as a man. "I simply thought... perhaps... you were overwrought."
"Overwrought?" Arthur repeated the Victorian-sounding word in disbelief.
"Exhausted?" Bertie changed it quickly. "Weak with hunger?"
"Oh." Arthur's breath rushed out of him. Bertie had been worried. His earlier thought returned and hit him hard. "You were worried about me?" He stopped himself from asking more. "Oh," he said instead. "I just... I just need a break. I don't need to go home."
"That's a relief." Bertie drummed his fingers along the back of the couch and Arthur caught a whiff of acrid smoke. "You have no idea how irritating it is going against your instincts, even for a little while."
"I have an idea," Arthur defended himself without thinking, remembering the fantasies he'd had about Bertie talking to him in that fire-and-smoke voice while he pressed Arthur facedown to the couch cushions and fucked him the way Arthur would beg him to.
Then he blinked, because that last comment hadn't made any sense.
"Wait, what?"
Bertie turned away, his nose up in the air as if Arthur wasn't worth an explanation or he thought Arthur wouldn't understand one.
The warmth in Arthur's stomach vanished.
"We really are speaking a different language. Beings," he muttered under his breath. He wanted to flop down onto the couch, but he couldn't with Bertie there and wouldn't have anyway because that couch was made from a velvet so fine that just touching it once had made him sigh.
Bertie turned back to stare at him and raised one eyebrow, which meant he'd heard that remark. Arthur hurried forward only to stop once he was a foot from the couch. Bertie's gaze stayed on him, and though his pose was relaxed, like some kind of emperor, a few grapes still in his lap as he lounged, the very air around him seemed hot and still.
Whenever the air had been that hot and still, Arthur's mother had used to call it earthquake weather, which Arthur had never understood. Not as a child anyway, though he was getting it now. At this exact moment, he suddenly understood how the potential for a disaster could be felt in the air. It was almost as if the house itself was watching him.
"I'm sorry. I don't... I haven't read your books yet." Actually, the two he got from the library didn't seem to be about dragons at all, and what he looked at on the library computers hadn't said
much. The information on trolls and werewolves and demons was far more complete. He supposed they were a bigger threat and had needed to be studied more. Dragons... no one knew for sure how to classify them: lucky protectors or fearsome beasts. Maybe both. "I don't know about dragons. Are you...
typical?" "Are you typical for a human?" Bertie idly picked up the grapes and dropped them onto the table behind him without looking to see where they fell. Arthur couldn't read his expression and tell if he was angry or disappointed or teasing him again.
"That.... I know there's no such thing as typical." He'd never tripped over his words so much but he never meant to hurt anyone.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound like a jerk, it's just that I've never met anyone like you."
There was no change in Bertie's face, but something in his posture seemed to ease. He melted back into the velvety cushions.
The air around them no longer seemed to portend disaster, but Arthur wasn't breathing any easier yet.
"Do you mean someone who doesn't like watching a person suffer needlessly?" Bertie sat up just for a moment to twist around and flick open the silver chest so he could take out a cigarette. "That is sad, Arthur."
Arthur's mouth opened and closed for a moment.
"That isn't what I meant," he protested, but of course Bertie had known that. He'd said it too pointedly for it to be a mistake.
"Ah, so you mean someone who flirts outrageously with you?" Bertie stuck the cigarette in his mouth and winked at Arthur's slight squirm and subsequent frown. "Or do you mean a Being? Surely you must have met a few."
"There was a fairy in one of my classes." It just came out.
Arthur wasn't sure why, because Bertie and Clematis weren't alike at all, and Bertie was hardly going to be interested in a fairy Arthur had known once.
"A fairy?" Bertie instantly proved him wrong, settling in on the couch again to study Arthur. He seemed to know the whole story
already, and it made him frown. "And did he or she like you?" His voice deepened.
"Yes." Arthur wasn't sure where this was going and answered as carefully as he could. "Yes, he did." Clematis had eyes like a cappuccino, swirling shades of warm brown, and long wings like green Depression glass, and the broad shoulders of a swimmer.
Despite his muscle, he weighed almost nothing at all when he pounced on Arthur for that first kiss. His glitter rained gently down on Arthur, his come tasted sugar sweet, and his body felt almost fragile under Arthur's clumsy human fingers.
Then he was gone. Arthur frowned and focused back on Bertie.
It wasn't that he wanted to make his orientation clear, to let Bertie know he was available and possibly interested. Even if both of these things were true. He hadn't been planning to talk about himself at all, but after being so insensitive, it only seemed fair to offer Bertie something of himself in return.
He didn't think it was that big a deal, not with Bertie admitting that he'd been flirting, though Arthur still didn't know whether his flirting was personal to Arthur or just a habit. This was a college town after all, and Bertie was a man of learning and intelligence and unlikely to be a bigot about Arthur being gay. Anyway, dragons, like many other Beings, didn't have the same hang-ups about morality that a lot of humans did, or at least, what morality they had was different.
"Yes." Bertie stared at the unlit cigarette in his hand. "About that...." His pause was heavy and his slight frown made him seem pained again. "You should watch yourself around Beings, Arthur.
Some of us have a definite type when it comes to humans. A taste, if you will."
He raised his head and met Arthur's shocked, wide-eyed stare.
Arthur couldn't quite process what Bertie's look was telling him. He thought faintly that if Bertie was trying to say Arthur was the
preferred boyfriend material for creatures of unbelievable magic,power, and beauty, then that was ridiculous because he wasn't anything special to look at. He'd never be an underwear model even if he ate normally and gained some weight back. He was a good student who loved his choice of career, if he ever got back to it, but he wasn't a genius. He was, he thought tightly, a skinny kid with little to no free time who usually had his snub nose in a book when he wasn't working.
His conversation was lacking, too, and not just because some dragon seemed to enjoy rendering him speechless. He closed his mouth, at least, so he wouldn't ask if that's what Bertie meant, and if so, why, because he'd already put his foot in his mouth once in the last few minutes, and he didn't want to do it again.
Bertie shook himself and broke the stare.
"Were you sad when the fairy left you? He did, didn't he?" He rose in one fluid, restless motion and went over to the fireplace.
With his back turned, Arthur only saw the spark and then the thin trail of smoke rising from the cigarette.
Yes, Arthur thought but didn't say out loud. He was sad when Clematis left. Sad and lost because knowing a fairy would leave was something he'd chosen to ignore during their time together. Frankly, he'd been so swept away, grateful, and happy to be with someone that he hadn't wanted to think about it.
Arthur's stomach rumbled, the snack reminding him that he did need to stop, and he ought to find some real food if he wanted to make it home without passing out.
"Yes and no." He shrugged for show, though Bertie couldn't see. If Bertie was tasting the scents in the air, all he had to do was lick his lips to sense Arthur's distress at the memory of waiting for a call that never came and looking for those green- glass fairy wings in his classes, only to realize Clematis must have left the school completely. But Arthur had been an undergrad then-it was years ago. He hadn't had time to think about it since then, not really. It only stung now instead of making him cry. "He was never going to make it through the history program," he dismissed it as evenly as he could. "He had no focus at all."
Bertie gave a soft snort before turning around again. Arthur couldn't read his expression, but his eyes were old and sharp, more than human. Of course he wasn't surprised the fairy left. Why shouldn't a fairy have left Arthur? It was pathetic that Arthur would even try to deny how alone he'd felt afterward, how bereft. It was nice to feel loved by someone other than his sister, and he hadn't wanted it to end. That was the truth. Having a fairy to teach him things was almost a bonus, like a dream come true -for a while.
He did his best to focus on the present and to keep his face blank, but those eyes were still on him.
"Is it true that no one can fool a dragon?" Arthur was rough and loud again, and swallowing did nothing for his voice. "Because when you look at me like that, I feel like you're weighing my soul, or at least reading my mind."
Arthur couldn't believe he'd said it. Maybe it was the embarrassment of talking about his fairy ex-boyfriend or the pity he knew Bertie had to be feeling. He really was soft-hearted for a fearsome dragon. He already offered to feed Arthur. Arthur shouldn't be dumping his problems on him too. He'd humiliated himself enough as it was. If he kept this up he'd be telling Bertie about the dream he had last night in which a gleaming lizard held him down by his shoulders and then slowly, slowly lowered its head until Arthur woke up, breathing hard.
"Would you mind if I was?" The question startled him and he jumped. "Would I find something you wouldn't wish me to know, Arthur?" The question curled slowly around him, like the trails of gray, spicy smoke.
Arthur looked over-into those eyes, at the shining hint of scales at his throat, at his mouth-and then looked away, nearly gasping in relief when his gaze landed on the piles of books."Are your books that successful? To pay for this house I mean." Arthur stepped back and went over to the table. He wiped his hands on his jeans and took some more almonds.
"You might say I have family money with me, but yes, the books do well enough in certain circles." Amusement-it had to be amusement-made Bertie's voice even rougher, but he came away from the fireplace, slowly sauntering in Arthur's direction.
Arthur moved again, though he didn't have a destination. Bertie stopped by the arm of the couch.
"You mean with Beings. There aren't many books on them that weren't written by humans." As Arthur discovered during his trip to the library. The Internet wasn't much better. He'd mostly found a bunch of anti-Being hate sites full of ignorance and misinformation, and human/Being fetish sites with message boards advising him to get a werewolf lover if he could.
He'd really rather not. He had enough problems. But he replayed Bertie's words and forgot all about FangandFur.com because Bertie had meant the treasure. His mythical but very real dragon's treasure.
He almost choked as he swallowed a whole almond.
"Is that in the house?" Unlike before, when it had been a vague concept, now he could picture mountains of gold and jewels strewn about, and the image wasn't reassuring. "You keep your family's treasure in this house? And you don't even lock the door?" Arthur was wheezing as images of armed robberies sprang to mind. People had to know a dragon lived here. "You need to start setting that alarm! What if people find out? They're going to take it and probably kill you!"
He only got his mouth closed when he realized that Bertie didn't seem to be listening. He had his eyes closed and a strange, happy smile on his face. He looked like he was dreaming about something nice and wasn't at all concerned about Arthur's panic.Ash dropped to the floor, ruining a costly carpet. Not that Bertie seemed concerned about that either.
"Oh, Arthur, stay as long as you like," he purred at last, and reopened his eyes. He came forward and around the table to pick up an apple in one hand. He spun it like that globe for one moment and then slowly stretched out his arm to offer it to Arthur. "You will stay, won't you?"
Arthur's concerns caught in his throat. He didn't take the apple, and after a moment, Bertie wrinkled his nose and set it down.He stared at it so forlornly that Arthur felt like he had to say something.
"I... I still have a lot of work to do," he remarked, and the warmth of his flush spread from his cheeks to the skin hidden by his T-shirt. Bertie instantly perked up.
"Wonderful news." He released a pleased little puff of smoke.
"If you're still working around dinner time, we must get something."
"Oh, I don't know." Arthur tried to wave it off, but it was too late. Now that he'd eaten, now that he was agreeing to stay, he was also apparently agreeing to eat again. Bertie stepped away, grinning in a way that made Arthur's heart beat faster. It could have been alarm, but Arthur didn't think so. He was too hot for that.
"So, I'll leave you to it, shall I?"
"You shall," Arthur agreed quietly, trying to figure out what just happened. He'd been insulting, then revealed he had his heart broken once, and now he was to go back to work and maybe have dinner later? He glanced down at the apple as Bertie left the room, going toward his study.
It was a plain red apple, not covered in wax because it was organic-the sticker said so. He had no explanation at all for why it seemed to gleam.