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Darting Tongues and Rattling Scales

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Sometimes, Lucy really wanted to tell every single one of her well-meaning but not-exactly-educated ladies in waiting on where they could stick their dragon ideas.

Dragons weren’t exactly well-known. Most people just experienced them as mysterious beings who lived in the mountains and occasionally came down to spit fire at people. Having one not only stationed in court but as good as married to the queen and her consort was... intimidating, for many.

It meant that there were a lot of rumors about them. And it was understandable, really.

But if Lucy had to deal with one more question regarding Flynn’s, well, anatomy, she was putting signs all over the castle informing everyone that when a dragon took on a human form, EVERYTHING was human. EVERYTHING. NORMAL. HUMAN. JUST WHAT YOU’D EXPECT FROM A HUMAN MALE. There were not two of them, there were no ridges, it was all. Just. Normal.

Well, and a rather pleasing size if you asked Lucy but she’d be the first to admit that for her ‘pleasing’ and ‘intimidating’ were synonyms.

“You know,” Flynn observed at one point, “sometimes I think you’re having sex with me out of spite.”

“I am not having sex with you out of spite,” Lucy replied.

“She’s being loud out of spite,” Wyatt added. “Ow! Lucy what the hell—”

So really, everything was fine and dandy and extremely enjoyable, thank you, no complaints, and if Flynn had an unusually high body temperature and sometimes took on an otherworldly growl and had a tendency to get distracted by sparkly and/or shiny objects in the room, it was no more than what many other couples had to deal with (Wyatt had taken to getting Flynn’s attention from far away by taking off a metal gauntlet and holding it up so the light caught it, causing Flynn to drop whatever he was doing in pursuit of finding The Shiny).

And then there was that... One Night.

Lucy had held her first official ball in order to celebrate her ascendency to the throne. She’d put it off as long as she could but after the proper mourning period for the king, and for her mother (she was not even going to pretend to be mourning Emma), it couldn’t be ignored any longer.

Personally, she didn’t think that she was anything all that special to be celebrated. There was still a lot of work to do, many of King Nicholas’s laws to be undone and reworked. And the court was as scheming as ever. But given that she had a) named a lowly knight as her consort and was b) openly sleeping with a dragon on top of said knight—sometimes literally, as Flynn liked to joke—she knew she had to make some concessions.

She’d chosen to wear a dress of dark red, thinking that it made her look intimidating and regal, the way that she wanted to look. It had gone well with her dark hair and eyes, and while she had made it just a little low cut on purpose (Wyatt’s slack jawed stare never got old), she hadn’t even thought about what the color might imply until she entered the great hall and saw Flynn’s reaction.

He looked like he wanted to devour her in the best way.

Lucy shivered but kept her face calm and placid. She’d grown used to hiding her emotions, growing up with Carol for a mother.

“What are you wearing?” Flynn growled, more than a little of his dragon voice starting to seep through.

“A dress,” Lucy replied. “I hear they’re all the rage nowadays.”

Flynn’s eyes flashed with telltale fire. “You’re wearing my scale colors,” he said, his voice sounding almost strangled. “And we have invited Queen Denise and other dragons to this celebration.”

“Yes?” Inviting the dragons to promote interspecies harmony was only fair.

“Lucy,” Flynn said, honestly looking like he might have a heart attack, “you might as well be waving a flag that says you’re my mate.”

“Well, I am your mate, aren’t I?” she asked, stepping a little closer.

“Yes, but—” Flynn seemed at a loss.

“Then what’s the big deal about it? Everyone already knows you’re ours and we’re yours.”

Flynn swallowed hard. “I’m not sure you know what that means to our kind. How—how important that is.”

“Is it as important as marriage for humans?” Lucy asked. Flynn could not be married to her or Wyatt given that he was a dragon, and because according to the laws of the land one couldn’t take more than one spouse. But that was how she thought of him—as her husband, just as much as Wyatt was.

Flynn’s jaw worked for a moment. “Yes,” he admitted at last. “Dragons are... private creatures. Solitary, usually. Mating is usually a private bond, done just between the two dragons, no witnesses. Dragons can mate and then sever the bond, all in privacy. To openly declare that you are a dragon’s mate is... it’s a declaration of... permanence.”

Well. This certainly wasn’t what she had been planning when she’d picked this dress out, but she couldn’t say she wasn’t happy with the result. Lucy held out her hands, which Flynn automatically took.

“In that case, perhaps you would like to help me find Wyatt so that you can introduce us properly to the dragons here,” she said. “I had him wear a suit to match my dress.”

“Jesus Christ, you two went to whisper in a corner?” Wyatt said, appearing as if she’d summoned him. “You’re leaving me to the wolves out there.”

Flynn looked like he wanted to drag them both somewhere private. Lucy just squeezed his hand. “Go on, Garcia. Lead us out.”

Wyatt looked a little confused, so Lucy leaned in as Flynn started leading the way. “We’re wearing his scale colors in public. Equivalent of dragon marriage.”

“I thought we already were married.”

“Don’t ask me.”

Flynn led them out into the crowd, and Lucy could immediately tell who the dragons-disguised-as-humans were because they were the ones who immediately all froze and went a little goggle-eyed.

Lucy raised her chin up. That’s right. She was Flynn’s mate and so was Wyatt and it was staying that way for the rest of her goddamn life.

The party went relatively well, if you ignored the way the dragons tended to stammer a bit around her.

“Is it really so odd that two humans would choose to willingly mate with a dragon?” Lucy asked Denise at one point.

Denise looked fondly over at her mate, the human queen Michelle, who was chatting with Wyatt. “It’s not just that, although it’s rare enough. Flynn’s known as a... bit of a hothead, in our community. After he lost Lorena and Iris he went off the deep end a little bit. Our kind are known for being... dignified, wise, emotionless.”

Flynn wouldn’t know ‘dignified’ or ‘emotionless’ if they hit him over the head.

“I’m glad he’s not like that,” Lucy replied. Her Flynn was a messy disaster who was sharp and sarcastic with other nobles but soft and warm with her and Wyatt, always teasing, his emotions be they happiness or anger plain on his face. She wouldn’t have him any other way.

Denise smiled at her. “I can tell. But I think most of them are wondering how he managed to land the two of you. Some of them might even have thought that you and Wyatt had him around only for his use in protecting the kingdom.”

Lucy felt a prick of possessive anger warm up her stomach. Flynn was perfect. She’d march over and kiss him right then if it wouldn’t have caused a huge scandal, if only to prove to the other dragons that she was with Flynn because she loved him, loved him fiercely and unconditionally.

“But given your little stunt tonight with your outfits, I doubt that will be much of a problem.” Denise’s eyes flashed with blue flame. “Was that intentional?”

“It wasn’t, but now I’m glad it was done. Flynn is my mate just as much as Wyatt is my husband. They’re both my consorts, even if only one of them can have it in name.”

Lucy looked over at Flynn, who had walked over to join Wyatt and Michelle and had apparently just said something that made Wyatt elbow him, blushing. Flynn caught Wyatt’s elbow and used it to pull him in, saying something low in Wyatt’s ear. Wyatt shoved at him playfully but said something in return with a wide smile on his face, unconsciously curling in Flynn’s side. Wyatt had spent his whole life protecting Lucy, especially once Emma came to court with murder in her eyes, not to mention it was his job as a knight to fight for the kingdom, and whether he would ever say it out loud or not, Lucy knew Wyatt loved that there was someone he could relax around, someone who would protect him the way he’d always had to protect everyone else.

She’d have them both right now if she could.

But there was the party to wrap up, and dignitaries and nobles and dragons to speak to, and overall being a queen was exhausting. By the time they were able to retire to bed Lucy thought she might sleep for a week.

Except for the way that Flynn was looking at her and Wyatt.

The moment they stepped into their bedchamber—the servants dismissed and told that the queen and her men could get out of their clothes on their own, thank you—Flynn grabbed her and hauled her to him, kissing her like it was all he’d been thinking about doing all night.

Lucy ran her hands over his chest, yanking at the buttons on his coat to try and get it off. His skin burned like fire but in the best way, the way that matched the heat quickly building inside of her.

Wyatt came up behind her, kissing along her neck, starting to undo the buttons on her dress—but Flynn shot out a hand and grabbed Wyatt’s wrist, stopping him.

“Do you have any idea what it was like?” he asked, pulling Wyatt in and kissing him as well. “To watch you two looking like that all night? Wearing my colors? Telling the whole world that you were mine?”

Lucy loved watching how Wyatt went pliant in Flynn’s arms, how he kissed back eagerly, pressing himself up against Flynn until Flynn had to get a little rough with him.

She understood now that Flynn didn’t want her to take her dress off, so she reached up under her skirts until she could undo the extra fabric that made it billow out and carefully hid her legs from view, shoving it all to the floor, taking the chemise off until she was only in the burgundy silk. The dress clung to her like this in a way that would be utterly scandalous in court, her curves simultaneously hidden and on display.

Wyatt succeeded it getting Flynn’s jacket off, at which point Flynn started walking Wyatt backwards towards Lucy and the bed. They were still kissing and so neither of them saw her at first, until Flynn pulled back, eyes bleeding red, and then he caught sight of her.

Lucy smiled, sliding her hands over her curves, her breasts, her stomach. “You did seem to want me to keep the dress on.”

She could have sworn she saw the faintest bit of smoke curling out of Flynn’s mouth as he stared at her for a moment before pressing her down into the bed, kissing along the soft skin of her chest and throat that was now almost completely exposed with the chemise gone.

She started undoing Flynn’s pants, gasping and arching as he sucked at her nipple through the thin fabric of the dress. She might have been imagining it just then, but she almost thought she felt the prick of—fangs?

Flynn’s teeth, as a dragon, where purely carnivorous. Pointed, serrated, deadly in every sense. One of his teeth was the size of her hand. But as a human his teeth were just like everybody else’s.

She had to have been imagining it.

Flynn pulled back as Wyatt crawled over to him, having stripped at some point, lightly holding onto Flynn’s shoulders so that he could kiss along them, making Flynn rumble low in his chest.

Lucy spread her legs apart, shivering as Flynn slid his hands underneath her dress, dancing his fingers up her thighs. Oh, fuck yes, she was already getting wet just thinking about—

She frowned.

The only light was from the moonlight shining through the large tower window, since with Flynn’s warmth they didn’t need a fire, so maybe it was as trick of the light but it almost looked as though...

And then Wyatt pulled back with a “whoa.”

Flynn looked at him. “Everything okay, rasvim?”

Dragons had their own language, a rough and ancient one, that always sounded awkward in the mouth of a human but somehow rolled deep and powerful out of Flynn’s mouth. It had taken a while before Flynn would admit just what the meaning of certain words were—namely the words he would call her and Wyatt. Rasvim meant ‘treasure’ and was apparently a common endearment among dragon kind for mates and hatchlings.

Wyatt tapped lightly on Flynn’s shoulder—where there would normally be skin but was now...

“Scales,” Lucy blurted out. “Flynn, you’ve got scales.”

A patch of burgundy scales now ran over Flynn’s shoulder and down his chest. Lucy knew that Flynn could partially transform, but she’d thought it took him concentration.

Apparently, not all the time.

“Ah.” Flynn actually looked... nervous. “Sorry, I won’t—I’ll fix that.”

The scales started to disappear, and Lucy surprised herself by sitting up and saying, “No!”

Flynn paused. “...no?”

“I mean... I just...” Lucy looked over at Wyatt for assistance.

Wyatt’s gaze roamed over Flynn, taking in the patches of dark red scales mixed in with the skin.

Then he bent down and very deliberately kissed Flynn’s shoulder where the scales were.

Lucy grinned, sliding her hand into Flynn’s hair and pulling him down so that she could kiss him, her other hand roaming over his chest, feeling the strange transition from skin to scale and back again. The scales were smooth and warm to the touch, and while she definitely wasn’t going to ask Flynn to fully transform any day soon (that would be a little hard for even her adventurous determination to deal with) this little quirk was the opposite of unwanted.

“If I’d known you had a thing for it,” Flynn rumbled against her mouth, amused, “I would’ve let go a long time ago.”

“Mmm, let go?” Lucy pulled him into the middle of the bed, spreading her legs so that he was cradled between them. She could feel the hard, hot length of him through the fabric of her dress and she wanted him so, so badly.

Flynn got occupied kissing Wyatt for a minute, but then he answered, “When I’m... transforming requires a strong emotion. Like anger.”

He had told her how he had killed her grandfather. “So you focused on your anger, for that.”

Flynn nodded, a little preoccupied as Wyatt got more adventurous and sucked on the scales, making Flynn shudder. “During every day, routine, it can be difficult. But when I’m here...” He got his hand between Wyatt’s legs and Wyatt immediately whined, burying his face into Flynn’s neck, clawing at Flynn’s back and chest. “It’s... it’s a bit of work to stop some of my true form peeking out.”

“But normally you manage it.”

Flynn gave Wyatt a squeeze and Wyatt groaned. Flynn kissed him and then turned burning eyes onto Lucy. “Tonight isn’t normal.”

It clicked and Lucy grinned at him. “Why, Garcia Flynn, are you saying we drove you a little crazy? And all it took was wearing red? I’d have worn this a long time ago if I’d—”

He kissed her, shoving his tongue into her mouth, stealing her breath away. His kiss was like fire and Lucy gasped into it, bucking her hips up, wanting him to consume her.

Flynn pulled away, smirking at the undoubtedly overwhelmed look on her face. “Athear.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” Lucy replied, smiling helplessly. Flynn was rather... awkward with his words in English but in Draconic, he had no problem with piling endearments on the both of them. It had taken her a while to get used to being called things like angel and my treasure regularly, but now it just warmed her chest, another sign of Flynn’s love.

Flynn kissed Wyatt again and Lucy moved back until she was resting properly against the cushions. Flynn growled when he noticed she’d moved out of his reach, but Lucy shook her head when he reached for her.

“Go on,” she ordered, feeling every inch a queen. “I want to watch.”

Flynn grinned savagely at her, his eyes all dragon now, glowing golden. Then he turned back to Wyatt, hauling him into his lap, the two of them running their hands all over each other.

Wyatt was clearly enjoying this, shuddering in Flynn’s arms as Flynn got his hands around Wyatt’s hips and started guiding Wyatt’s thrusts, running his hands over the scales and grinning breathlessly into Flynn’s mouth when it made Flynn growl.

Lucy shoved her skirts up out of the way, touching her breasts through the fabric and starting to slide her fingers through her folds, touching herself lightly. “You like this,” she noted to Flynn. “Does it make you more sensitive?”

Wyatt bit down on the patch of scales at Flynn’s neck and Flynn’s hips jolted and, well, that answered that question.

Lucy twisted a finger inside of herself, biting down on her lip as she watched Wyatt start to lose control, Flynn sliding a hand back down between them to stroke Wyatt’s cock until Wyatt was resting his forehead on Flynn’s shoulder and panting, eyelids fluttering. His nails dug into Flynn’s scales and Lucy added a second finger, panting a little herself as she started to rock her hips.

“Go ahead,” Flynn growled in Wyatt’s ear. Wyatt was always a sucker for Flynn talking dirty but Flynn’s voice was unnaturally deep now, his dragon voice, and Lucy felt another shiver run through her. “Xyr rasvim, go ahead, let me feel you.”

Wyatt clawed at him desperately, letting out a helpless moan as he jolted and came, staining both his and Flynn’s chest with it.

Flynn kissed all over Wyatt’s face, murmuring soothing praises, xyr isk, xyr rasvim, vorel, as Wyatt slowly came down from his high, running his hands along Flynn like he couldn’t stop touching the scales, staring a little slack-jawed at Flynn’s golden eyes.

Lucy let out a little whine, corkscrewing her fingers in and out. “Garcia,” she gasped out. “Garcia, come here.”

Wyatt moved to the side, stretching out by Lucy and running his hand through her hair as Flynn crawled over to her, settling between her legs again.

Lucy hitched her leg around his waist, letting him get his knee over her other hip. “Pin me down,” she ordered.

Flynn looked at her for a moment, then took her wrists in one of his hands and pinned them over her head. For a moment, shrouded in darkness and half-lit by moonlight, with the scales and the golden eyes, he really did look like the dangerous creature everyone feared he was, the feral animal who tore down castles and killed kings.

Lucy arched against him, feeling him right close to where she wanted him, right in the crease of her hip. “Fuck me,” she whispered. “Go on, Garcia.”

Flynn ran his free hand gently over her curves, his eyes running over her body still encased in the dress. “You look like mine,” he whispered, his voice awed and reverent, his eyes gleaming gold. “You both looked like mine tonight.”

“We were always yours,” Wyatt said, his voice still a little hoarse. He kissed Flynn’s shoulder and Flynn turned his head to gently bump their foreheads together for a moment before turning back to Lucy.

She smiled up at him. “Always.”

“I know.” Flynn bowed his head to scrape his teeth over her jaw as he slowly began to enter her. Lucy made a helpless ungh sound as she felt that familiar burn and stretch. “But—in front of everyone like that—”

Lucy thought she knew what he meant. It was one thing to say I love you, we belong together in the safety of the bedroom. It was another thing to have it be silent, understood, shown through gestures and actions in public. And it was yet another thing to declare it to the world.

“We’ll wear it every day,” she whispered, rolling her hips. Wyatt lifted her up considerately and slid a pillow underneath her lower back, changing the angle and making her cry out.

Wyatt grinned at her mischievously.

“Every day,” Lucy repeated. “If you want us to.”

Flynn growled, starting to roll his hips into her. “Xyr miirik, just hearing you say that’s enough.”

Lucy growled in her own turn. “Then fuck. Me.”

The corner of Flynn’s mouth flickered upward in an amused smirk. “Since you command it, my queen.”

Wyatt snorted in laughter at the sass, but Lucy didn’t even have time to snark back at him because Flynn started moving, fucking her hard and fast the way she wanted, keeping that grip on her wrists. Lucy had always been a little loud, which had been a problem when she’d been a princess who—on her rare forays into sexual relations—had to keep it quiet.

But now she was a queen and could sleep with whomever she pleased, so she saw no reason to keep her voice down. Flynn and Wyatt certainly seemed to enjoy it, and Flynn buried his face in her neck as he thrust into her, a constant growl emanating from his chest. Wyatt bent over him, tonguing the scales on his back, running his hand down Flynn’s spine, driving Flynn even crazier.

Xyr isk, Flynn growled in her ear. “Vorel, xyr isk.”

She knew the sentiment if not the words, and the tone in which they were said, the deep forceful growl, only made her shudder and strain against his hold, loving the burning feeling of being held down, of being taken, that edge of danger even as she knew he was only doing it because she had told him to. 

Lucy could feel Flynn’s unnaturally hot breath on her neck, hear and feel the vibration of his growls, his tongue darting out to scrape along her neck and it wasn't his usual tongue, it was long and rough and forked and oh God she wanted that between her legs next time, she could see the scales all over him and fuck, she hadn’t fallen for him out of any weird fetish but fuck if it all wasn’t driving her insane and she came so hard she thought she saw sparks.

She tightened around Flynn and he let out a final growl, biting down hard on her shoulder, and she wasn’t imagining the prick of fangs this time—nor did she think she was imagining the upward furl of wings, there and gone in the space of Flynn’s climax.

They all lay there afterwards, a tangle of limbs, Wyatt idly kissing along Flynn’s scales and skin. Lucy just rested her head on his shoulder, basking in his warmth, loving that one of her husbands was basically a walking personal heater.

“Question,” Wyatt said after a while. “Your tail.”

Flynn cracked open an eye, which was back to its usual dark unfathomable color. “What about it.”

Wyatt blushed, and Flynn let out an amused groan. “Next time, Logan, now lie your ass down and go to sleep.”

Lucy closed her eyes, felt Wyatt settle against Flynn’s other side, his arm stretching across to tangle his hand with hers, and fell gently into sleep.

It wasn’t until morning that any of them noticed that at some point, Flynn had burned the bed curtains.