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It is said that the flowers found at the mouth of the cave are left there as offerings by the courting couples of the village. It is said that young men possessed by the first ravages of young love say nightly prayers for the great beast’s return. It is said that many a maiden longingly scans the horizon for a dark, winged shape.
Roger finds that all a bit dramatic.
Yes, the sudden turning of blind eyes to all sorts of escapades strictly forbidden at other times is quite nice. The fact that parents everywhere have taken to leaving their unwedded sons and daughters alone in the house unsupervised for long stretches of time makes things a lot easier. He doesn’t miss having to spend most of a rainy night hiding away in a bush outside some lovely lady’s house because her father just wouldn’t go to sleep already.
But really, he thinks as he watches the young men and women of the town scurry through the streets, faces radiating with glee and barely hidden excitement, have some guts. Why wait for the return of an unpredictable magical creature when you could have had your fun all along? The last time a dragon had shown its ugly mug in these parts, Roger had still been a child. Did they honestly expect him to sit around twiddling his thumbs for the next fifteen years?
Luckily, a couple of the more adventurous girls in the village - and neighbouring area - shared his views, but he had been rebuffed more than once because some stubborn beauty insisted it wasn’t ‘The Time of the Dragon’. His point that she might well be married with four kids the next time that lazy git showed up was countered by a cool, “Is that a proposal then?”
Of course, you could always just get married. If you were really desperate. Or boring. Or both.
“Yes, Roger, I get your point, thank you,” Brian interrupts him with an eyeroll and pushes himself up from his chair. “Guess it’s time for my boring, desperate self to get back to my wife.”
Roger makes a face at him. Chrissie is nice, and the two of them are happy (and although he’s not going to admit it, Roger can’t wait to meet the baby that’s on the way), but honestly, life had been a lot more fun when his oldest friend didn’t have to be home by midnight.
Brian turns in the doorway, shrugging on his coat. “Why are you so cranky anyway? Haven’t you always looked forward to this? I’ve heard of…” A bit of colour comes into Brian’s face. “...quite unspeakable things happening in Farmer Deacon’s haystacks.”
Roger grimaces. “Oh, it’s no fun when it’s allowed,” he scoffs, smoothly glossing over the fact that he would have jumped at the opportunity if it had presented itself a year or so ago.
“Really? I had no idea it was that part you enjoyed about it.”
The annoying thing is that Brian is absolutely right. Roger should be having the time of his life. But somehow, it all seems stale. And as much as he hates to admit it, even to himself, he knows exactly the reason why.
Not that it’s any of Brian's business.
Roger leans forward in his chair. “”Want me to tell you all about which parts I really enjoy?” he asks, letting the corner of his mouth curl up in a leer.
It has the desired effect.
“Nope! Gotta go!” Brian throws up his arms as if he was prepared to fend off Roger’s words with his bare hands. “See you tomorrow!” And with that, he hurries out the door.
Brian only ever voluntarily listens to Roger’s tales of conquest when he is very drunk, and even then the details almost make his ears burn up. To this day, Roger isn’t sure how exactly he and Chrissie ever got over their combined awkwardness and conceived a child.
Oh well. That really isn’t something Roger wants to dwell on.
He gets up and stands by the window. Night has fallen, but there is still an unusual amount of hustle and bustle going on. He should feel the urge to go out there and join them, to celebrate this atmosphere of permissiveness that he might never experience again in his lifetime. The great dragons are disappearing after all.
It will all be over tomorrow. The dragon will come down from his cave and demand his sacrifice, and finding all the suitable candidates either gone or, well, not suitable anymore, it will grudgingly accept the offering of a heifer instead.
That’s the good thing about magical creatures: They’re bound by rules which humans are very, very good at bending. It rarely happens that a dragon gets lucky these days, usually by stumbling over some hapless fellow who somehow missed the memo.
He has no idea what the dragons think about that. They've probably resigned themselves to their lot long ago.
As everyone does.
A knock on the door makes him jump. It’s not a polite rap, but loud and urgent, the kind that immediately makes him think of unpaid debts and wrathful fathers.
“Roger? Roger, are you there?”
His heart jumps at the sound of that voice and he hurries for the door. “Freddie?”
“Oh, thank god!” Freddie storms inside. Even in the light of the hearth fire, Roger can see that he is looking a bit pale around the nose.
“What is it?” he asks, but before the words are properly out of his mouth, his stomach sinks. “Did anything happen to the trek? Have you heard something? Clare, Kash, mum, are they-”
“No, none of that.” Freddie stands in the middle of the room, wringing his hands. “I haven’t heard any news, so I suppose they’re alright.”
“Fuck, Freddie.” Roger breathes a sigh of relief. “Almost giving me a heart attack here.” He turns towards the hearth to put the kettle on and add another log to the fire.
The trek had left almost as soon as news of the dragon heading their way had reached them. It consisted of the teenagers, old enough to draw the dragon’s attention but too young to join the fun, and the old crones who didn’t think their marital status was anyone’s business, least of all some filthy dragon’s. A number of men and women from the village, Roger’s mum among them, had volunteered to accompany them, to take care of those too old or young to be on their own, and to protect them from the dangers of the road. It’s a long way to the next town, after all.
“What’s the matter then?” Roger asks. It’s not like Freddie to be so quiet, and there’s a tension in him that Roger can feel even from six feet away. It’s only then, when he takes a closer look, that he notices the large duffel bag Freddie has put down on the floor next to him. He doesn’t linger on it for long though, because his eyes are soon drawn to the riding breeches clinging to his friend’s legs. “Freddie?”
“I have to go,” Freddie blurts out. “I have to go now, but I don’t even know the way, and night has fallen already, and I can’t take Java because father needs him for deliveries, but I’ll be too slow on foot, and I got out of breath just carrying this stupid thing here,” he kicks at the bag, “and, and, I just don’t know what to do!”
He looks close to tears at the end of the outburst. Roger is frozen on the spot, staring in bewilderment at his friend. “What have you done?”
To his surprise, Freddie huffs out a snorting laugh. “Nothing! I have done nothing, and that’s exactly the problem!” He presses his hands to his face, then rakes them through his hair. Roger can’t help but notice how it dishevels the carefully combed back curls. Freddie lets his hands fall down at his sides and looks at Roger with a pleading expression. “Will you help me?”
“Of course I will help you!” In that moment, Roger would agree to take on the bloody dragon bare-handed if that is what it takes.
Freddie blinks up at him, looking surprised at his vehemence. Had Freddie doubted him? What had Roger ever done to make him doubt him? He lets the kettle be and walks over to his friend. He slings an arm around his shoulder and leads him towards the battered old armchair, the one closest to the warmth of the fire. “What’s going on, hm?”
“There’s no time for this,” Freddie murmurs, even as he follows along and sits down. “I should be on the road already.”
“What on earth would you want there?” Late at night, alone, and with no proper course? Roger puts his hands on his hips and narrows his eyes at Freddie. “Have you been getting into mischief without me,” he asks in a put-upon tone.
Freddie doesn’t crack a smile. He just sits there, looking glum.
Roger sits down on the footstool in front of Freddie and fixes him with a stern glance. “Freddie,” he says as calmly as he can. “You're my friend. I’ll help you, whatever it is. But I’ll also strangle you with my bare hands if you don’t tell me what in all the seven hells is wrong!”
That does earn him a weak smile. Freddie purses his lips, looks down at his hands for his moment, then back up at Roger. “It’s the dragon,” he says after a moment.
“The dragon?”
“Yes, it’s… I… That it, I didn’t realise it would…” Freddie crosses his arms in front of his chest and huffs out a frustrated sigh. “If I’m still within the bounds of the county come morning, I’ll be served up for breakfast.”
“You…” Roger runs the words through his head a couple of times. “You… what?”
“Surely you understand the implication,” Freddie says sharply.
He does. Of course he does. There is only one circumstance in which a dragon would harm a human being. It’s just that it doesn’t make sense. Not one lick of it. “You?”
“Yes, me. Now will you help me get out of here, or-”
“But you…” Roger stares at Freddie. Freddie, who drew the eye of every girl in town when he and his family settled here. Freddie, who has seen so much of the world that Roger was green with envy for a month. Freddie, who appeared shy at first, but whose sparkle and wit could bring an entire room under his spell in minutes.
He doesn’t say any of that. It would seem a bit... Well. Best not dwell on it. “You went out with Rosemary for half a year!” he points out instead. Pretty, free-spirited, red-headed Rosemary, who wouldn’t give Roger the time of day, but who was so keen on Freddie that her blouse kept losing buttons anytime he came within sight.
“She was just a good friend.” Freddie looks a bit sheepish.
“Yeah, you kept saying that, but…” Roger stares at Freddie, disbelieving and, he realises, quite a bit angry almost. So all those months he had seethed with jealousy over nothing? “You actually meant that?”
“Women and men can be friends, Roger,” Freddie has the gall to lecture him.
“What about the Miller’s girl? I know you sneaked into an empty barn with her a couple of times.”
“We just… we made drawings together.”
“Drawings?”
“Yes. She’s quite talented, you know? Her parents think it’s a waste of time, but I think she should…”
“Okay, right. I believe you, it’s just...” Roger’s mind is reeling as his entire word view is being rearranged. Freddie, who appeared to have a girl on each finger and moves like sin on legs, is an honest-to-god virgin.
Suddenly, the shadow of the dragon lying in wait in his cave seems to grow a lot darker.
Freddie’s fingers dig into the arm rests of the chair. “Do you get it now,” he asks. “Before the sun rises, I have to be far away from here.”
“I get it,” Roger mumbles. There’s not a lot of time left, but something still gives him pause. “Wait, you’ve only remembered that now? News of the dragon has been around for days!” Freddie could have joined the trek! And if he didn’t want anyone to know, he could have come along as a volunteer, to look after his sister! He could be a safe distance away already.
“I didn’t know!” Freddie groans.
“Didn’t know you were a virgin?” This is one of those things about themselves that Roger always assumed everyone had a pretty good grip on. Left- or right-handed. Likes pickles or hates them. Got laid or not.
“I didn’t know that your dragon worked like this!”
“My dra- How else is it supposed to work?”
Freddie throws himself back into the armchair. “It’s different where I’m from. The last of the great dragons disappeared more than fifty years ago, and when it was still around, it didn’t care for men at all.”
“Oh.” Roger had never thought about there being different kinds of dragons. Neither had Freddie, apparently.
“I just assumed they were the same everywhere.”
“That was… quite sexist of him, wasn’t it.”
“How do you know it was a he?” Freddie raises his eyebrows at him, half mocking, half challenging.
Roger can’t help but laugh. “Ah, fair enough.” To be honest, he’d never given much thought to the gender of dragons either. They were dragons, which he always thought was all the description one needed.
“Anyway, that’s why it didn’t even occur to me to worry, until I heard the blacksmith make a crack about the Thatcher boy just now, and when I asked him to explain…” Any trace of mirth vanishes from his face. In one fluid move, he gets up from the armchair and starts pacing the floor. “So I have to get away from here, and fast.”
“Where would you even go?” Roger asks.
“I don’t know. I thought I’d just follow the road. With a horse, I could ride hard until I caught up with the trek. But father needs Java, I couldn’t take him away for long and-”
“You can’t ride through the woods alone at night!”
“But…”
Roger shakes his head. Do not go into the woods alone. Do not go into the woods at night. It has been ingrained in Roger ever since he was little. And it wasn’t just scare stories to keep children from running off on their own. He grew up seeing the gnarly scars where his uncle’s forearm used to be. He felt the eyes boring into his neck and the whispers mounting in the trees when he was out late and the shadows grew longer around him.
He saw Pete’s body - or what was left of it - when they found him at dawn after that terrible night.
“There are worse creatures out there than dragons.”
Freddie gives him a bit of a sour look. “I have to try at least, don't I?” He takes a deep breath, then he crouches down and starts rummaging in his bag. “This is all I have,” he says, holding out a small leather pouch. “I know it’s not enough for Ziggy, not even close, but if you could lend him to me…”
“No.”
Freddie’s face falls. “Right,” he mumbles, his gaze returning dejectedly to the floor.
“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Roger hisses. He marches over to Freddie and grips his forearms, hauling him back up to standing. “There are other alternatives than being torn to shreds by werewolves or serving as a dragon’s luncheon!”
Freddie is looking at him, wide-eyed and with an expression veering between hope and apprehension. Since Roger still hasn’t let go of his arms, there is not much space between them, and Roger can feel Freddie’s gaze searching his face. A wild idea plops up in his head fully formed, a solution so much grander than the one he had intended to propose.
Freddie’s lips part, drawing Roger’s gaze, perhaps because he wants to ask a question. Perhaps because he has seen exactly what is going through Roger’s head.
The thought that Freddie can read Roger’s most secret thoughts breaks the moment. Roger forces his eyes away from Freddie’s lush red lips and rearranges his expression into a non-committal smile. “We’ll find you a girl,” he says. He claps Freddie’s shoulder and takes a step back on legs feeling shaky with the rush.
“A girl?”
“Yes,” Roger says, trying to ignore the bitter taste the words leave in his mouth. “Should be doable tonight of all nights.” In his mind, he’s already going through a list of the unmarried girls of the village. “Most of them will have paired up with someone already, and I doubt any of the guys would be too happy to, er, share with you.” Freddie looks both offended and sickened by Roger’s trail of thought, but Roger ploughs on, because that way he avoids any other thoughts. Thoughts only a horrible sort of friend would have in a situation like this. “Pity that Jennie lives in the next village, I’m sure she’d have been up for it… Perhaps we should just take a walk about the town - we might run into someone who’s also running a bit late? In a pinch, I reckon we could go door to door, I mean, this is your life at stake, so someone should…” He can’t bring himself to say the words ‘take pity on you’, so he trails off.
“I’d rather take the werewolves,” Freddie says, and he’s looking dead serious.
“Well, they can’t have you,” Roger replies, just as sincere.
For a moment, the only sound in the room is the crackling of the fire.
“Then what do we do,” Freddie asks, finally, and again there is that expression on his face that Roger would almost call hopeful, if the situation weren’t so...
He realises that of the many questions he didn’t ask Freddie earlier because it seemed irrelevant given the circumstances might actually be quite important. “Freddie…”
Freddie swallows hard. “Yes?”
“Why didn’t you make a move on Rosie?”
Freddie grimaces and turns half away. “I did,” he says. “Or rather, I didn’t refuse hers.”
“But then, what was the problem?”
“It didn’t… work.”
“What didn’t?”
“It.” Freddie’s face is burning now as he looks pointedly down at his crotch.
“Oh. It.” Roger feels his own ears heating up, and he has a fleeting moment of compassion for Brian. “Probably just nerves.”
“Yes, probably.” Freddie is half cast in shadow, but Roger can see his throat working.
It’s impossible that he’s thinking what Roger thinks he’s thinking. And what Roger really shouldn’t be thinking in the first place.
“This might sound absurd, but I’ve been thinking that…”
“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but…”
Roger laughs and rubs his hand over his chest nervously. “You first,” he says.
But Freddie shakes his head. “Never mind,” he mumbles, and then, as if there was a single chance Roger would let him go ahead with his imbecilic plan, picks up his duffle again.
“Give that here,” Roger grumbles, and roughly takes the bag out of Freddie’s unresisting hand. He does his best to hide the fact that it’s twice as heavy as he thought. The fact that spindly Freddie had less trouble picking it up than him makes him not a little angry. “Look. The house is empty, I have fuck-all else to do all night, and I sure as hell don’t want to drag your mangled body out of the woods tomorrow. So.”
On some level, he realises it might not be the most romantic overture he is capable of. As far as pick-up lines go, it’s only slightly above “right, we’ve five minutes until the parson returns, so buckle up, Buttercup.” But at least it’s not going to make Freddie think he’s doing it for personal gain.
Which he’s not. He would have spent the night begging some girl to do the deed if that’s what Freddie wanted.
“I couldn’t ask this of you,” Freddie stammers.
“You’re not asking, I’m offering. And you’re my friend,” Roger says as he takes a step towards him. “Anything for a friend, right?”
Freddie doesn’t meet him halfway, but he doesn’t shrink away either. Roger comes to stand in front him, not close enough to touch, but definitely closer than he would during a normal conversation. His heart is hammering away in his chest as he realises what he’s about to do. He lifts one hand and places it on Freddie’s shoulder, his thumb brushing just slightly against his collarbone. A gesture almost passing for friendly, but suggesting something more than that. “Right?” he repeats, and for all that he doesn’t want to exploit his friend’s plight, everything in him yearns for Freddie to nod and tell him yes, and alright, and please.
With a shuddering sigh, Freddie lowers his head and nods.
Before he can waste any more time fretting about it, Roger cups Freddie’s chin with his fingers, lifts it gently, and leans in.
Freddie’s lips are as soft as he’d imagined them. Roger can’t get enough of the way they brush against his, the hint of teeth as he sucks on his upper lip, and the taste as he licks into Freddie’s mouth. For one long yet too-short moment, Roger allows himself to forget about everything else.
When he pulls back, he nervously observes Freddie’s face. His eyes are hooded, his mouth slack and wet. Roger only gets one second to marvel at the view, because suddenly, Freddie leans back in, fingers clutching the front of Roger’s shirt as he pulls him close.
That’s the sort of reaction that would usually make Roger look for the nearest horizontal (or vertical, in a pinch) surface, but this isn’t usual. “Let me just,” he mumbles against Freddie’s lips, unwilling part with him again. “Let me just get some bedding.”
That gets enough of Freddie’s attention to make him pull back and blink at Roger, his brows knitted with confusion. “Bedding?”
“It’s warmer down here. Trust me,” he says with a wink, “I know what I’m doing.” Then he practically runs up the stairs to his chamber and strips his bed off its feather mattress and blankets.
It’s all done in a matter of seconds, but he’s still irrationally scared that he’ll find Freddie gone upon his return.
Freddie hasn’t moved an inch. He quietly looks on as Roger spreads out the bedding on top of the rug covering the floor. Roger then goes on to close the shutters in front of the windows - he prefers not to have an audience for this - and turns up the old petroleum lamp that is flickering away on a shelf.
“What are we going to do?”
Roger turns around. Freddie is still standing where he left him, looking good enough to eat with his dishevelled hair and kiss-reddened lips - and utterly clueless. Roger’s heart sinks. “Well, we... I thought we were going to…” Is it possible that Freddie has completely missed the point of what Roger has been doing? Has he somehow been too subtle? “We’re going to have sex. That is, if you’re still-”
“Oh yes, yes!” Something about Freddie’s eagerness makes Roger’s heart swell. Perhaps not just his heart. “I was just wondering what would be required, technically, to make me not a… I mean, I suppose it’s simple when a girl is involved, but since we’re both…”
Oh. Roger hadn’t really thought that far. He hadn’t thought to put it in terms of technical requirements. But there has got to be a rule, right? That’s how magic works. There’s always a rule.
“What if it doesn’t work if it's just us?” Freddie is looking a bit worried now. “What if it has got to be… the traditional sort.”
“I don’t know. I mean…” Then a thought cuts through Roger’s worry like a bright beam of sunlight. “No. I do know it’s gonna work!”
“How?”
“You know the Helsgard sisters? The two spinsters, down by the brook?”
“Yes?”
“Well, they’re not actually sisters.” He gives Freddie a couple of moments to let that sink in. Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure why everyone calls them that. Perhaps it’s just a term of politeness. “They haven’t left town,” he adds pointedly.
“You… You mean they…”
Roger shrugs. It’s not like he ever asked them for details, but he has lived in this town all his life. It’s just one of those things everyone knows. “So whatever they’re doing, it must be enough to ward off a dragon.”
“I don’t suppose it should be very polite to drop in and ask them.” A shy little grin appears on Freddie’s face.
“Nah. Besides, if they can figure it out, so can we.” His confidence somewhat restored, Roger saunters up to Freddie. “Luckily, you’re in the hands of an expert.” It helps, thinking of it this way. He is doing a friend a favour - the fact that it also happens to be something he’s been dreaming about for months is hardly his fault. And if it were within his power to just make that dragon disappear, he would do it in a heartbeat, he’s sure of that.
He’d also spend the next week or so banging his head against the wall and cursing the gods, but he would do it.
That makes it alright to enjoy what comes next, doesn’t it?
Freddie has gone completely still again, observing him with his beautiful dark eyes.
Roger runs the back of his fingers over Freddie’s cheek, and watches in rapt admiration as his eyelids flutter shut and his lashes fan out over his cheeks. He is so gorgeous, Roger almost doesn’t want to close the gap, since it would mean he can’t look at him any longer.
He’s going to make this good for him, Roger vows. It might be a necessity, but perhaps he can make it something Freddie can look back on without too much sorrow. Perhaps even fondly.
He keeps his kisses light for now, soft brushes of his lips against Freddie’s. His hands settle on that slim waist, just holding him close for a moment. When Freddie sighs and lets his lips part slightly, Roger can’t deny himself any longer. He licks into the heat of Freddie’s mouth and lets himself sink into the sensation.
Freddie’s hand comes up to the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer, only to break away from him a moment later with a choked gasp.
“What,” Roger whispers. He can’t help but press his forehead against Freddie’s, not ready to give up that closeness yet.
“I’m just…” Freddie clears his throat, and gives Roger a small, nervous smile. “It’s working.”
“It’s… oh.” Roger looks down, and yes, there is a tell-tale bulge in Freddie’s breeches. Something inside him is preening at the sight. So much for bloody Rosemary. He looks back up at Freddie. “Well, that’s good.”
“I say.” Freddie bites his lips and grins up at him, half-embarrassed, half-proud.
They stare at each other for one breathless moment, then Freddie’s eyes wander to the bedding on the floor.
“Yeah, come on.” Roger takes his hands and leads him there, only letting go at the last moment to take off his own shirt before he kneels down on the feather bed.
Freddie stares down at him, his chest rising and falling. Just as Roger is starting to get worried he might have second thoughts, Freddie tears off his own shirt and sinks down next to him. Or rather, right into his lap, blindly falling forwards, until their lips crash together again. Roger moans at the unabashed fervour, the clumsy eagerness of Freddie’s passion. His lips are so, so soft, softer than any girls Roger’s had, or perhaps he’s just biased, because this is something he wanted for so long yet never dared to hope for. He slides one hand up to cradle Freddie's face as they kiss, while the other explores his chest, the hair unfamiliar yet enticing under his fingertips. Then up, into Freddie’s lovely hair, a shade of black rarely seen in these parts. He lets himself sink back, pulling Freddie with him, until they’re lying down, stretched out in the warm glow of the hearth. The kiss is sweet and deep and slow, and for a while, Roger just lets himself float away in the bliss of a dream come true.
It’s just a small movement that causes his leg to slip between Freddie’s, but it changes everything. The proof of Freddie’s excitement touches Roger’s hip, and Freddie lets out the sexiest noise Roger has ever heard, something of a whimper and something of a groan. It makes Roger buck up and rub himself against Freddie shamelessly.
“Oh my god,” Freddie moans helplessly. “Roger, oh.”
Roger slides one arm around Freddie’s back and presses him closer, just to feel all of his lithe body against his own for a moment. Then he plants his foot and in one swift moment turns them both around, wedging his thigh more firmly between Freddie’s. Freddie throws his head back, exposing the long column of his neck, and Roger presses his lips to the skin there, kissing and sucking a bit harder than he probably should, but he just can’t help himself. “Does that feel good,” he murmurs against the feverish skin.
Freddie nods, the muscles in his neck moving under Roger’s lips.
Roger shifts a bit to the side to give himself some space. “Can I touch you?” He lets one hand slowly trail down Freddie’s stomach, feeling his hitching breath.
Again, Freddie nods. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and there is a deep line between his eyebrows. Roger wants to etch the image into his memory forever. His heart is pounding as he nestles Freddie’s trousers open. Freddie arches his back when Roger wraps a hand around his hard length. It’s odd to touch someone else in this way, familiar and alien at the same time. Completely irresistible, too.
He strokes Freddie, marvelling at how silky-soft the skin is to the touch. There is a bit of wetness at the tip, which he spreads it around with his thumb. Freddie sucks in a sharp breath, then lets it out again, shuddering. Roger decides he absolutely has to find out all the noises he can get Freddie to make. He grips him harder, then lighter, lets just the foreskin glide over the head, trails his fingers up and down with the slightest touch. Eventually, they develop a rhythm together, Freddie’s hips bucking up anytime Roger’s loosely curled fist pumps down.
As Freddie’s moans become more urgent, Roger worries this might be over before he even had the chance to taste him. Gripping him tightly, he leans down to lick a stripe over the exposed head of Freddie’s cock. He barely has time to savour the taste before Freddie’s hips jerk up, pressing the head into Roger’s mouth. Reflexively, he closes his lips around it, sucking it in, and then his mouth is filled with spurts of Freddie’s hot, bittersweet release.
He stays like this until the tremors in Freddie’s body subside, then props himself up on his elbow. Freddie is a picture of debauchery, his hands buried in his hair, his slender body flushed and stretched out on the bedding. If Roger had his will, they would start again right this second.
Freddie’s eyes slowly blink open. He looks up at Roger, a little dazed. “Is that it,” he asks.
“Uhm, yes,” Roger says, not sure how to take it. Perhaps the experience wasn’t quite as overwhelming for Freddie as it had been for him.
“No, I mean. Is that going to be enough to satisfy the dragon?”
“I reckon.” Roger starts to get up, trying not to feel humiliated. This whole thing was a matter of necessity for Freddie - and Roger was stupid to allow himself to think it would be anything more.
Freddie’s hand closes around his bicep, keeping him from getting to his feet. “Are you sure?”
Roger frowns at Freddie. He just got off with another person. Deed done. Shouldn’t he be eager to get dressed and put this episode behind him?
“I’m just thinking…” Freddie gentles his grip and lets his hand trail down Roger’s arm, over his hand, until it reaches his thigh. “Well, I haven’t really done much, have I?” Freddie licks his lips, nervously, and looks up at Roger from under his lashes.
Roger’s pulse speeds up again. “I’m not sure that matters,” he says, then immediately wants to kick himself. What is he doing, discouraging Freddie like this? “I mean. If you want to make absolutely sure…”
“Just to be on the safe side,” Freddie says, and moves his hand further towards Roger’s groin.
Roger nods eagerly. “Better to err on the side of caution, that’s my motto.”
Freddie’s lips twitch into an excited grin, just for a second, before he pulls his lips over his teeth to hide it. His fingertips graze over the outline of Roger’s cock, still half hard in his trousers. Roger sucks in a sharp breath as relief and arousal bloom in his belly.
It is better to be safe than sorry, he thinks, as he shucks the rest of his clothes and lies down on the bedding. If he were in Freddie’s place, he wouldn’t want to take any risks either. But there must be something more to it than pure precaution, because there is no need to kiss down Roger’s chest like that, or run his fingernails over Roger’s thighs until he breaks out in goosebumps, or to moan like he is tasting the most exquisite honey as he takes him in his mouth.
“You’ve seen so many places before you came here.” Roger’s fingers draw lazy circles over the skin of Freddie’s shoulder. “You must have met so many people.”
“Hmmm.” Freddie’s breath is warm against Roger’s chest.
“People - men - who wanted this. Who wanted you.”
“Yes.”
“Why haven’t you ever tried it before?”
When Freddie answers, his voice is quiet. “I wanted it to mean something.”
“Oh, Freddie.” Roger squeezes him a little closer. By now, he doesn’t doubt that Freddie enjoyed what they did, but “I have to have sex otherwise I’ll be eaten by a dragon” isn’t exactly the most romantic of circumstances. “I’m sorry.”
For a couple of heartbeats, there is silence. Then Freddie raises his head and looks at him. His expression isn’t downcast or wistful. Instead, he looks peeved.
“What?” Roger asks.
“You-” Freddie breaks off and shakes his head. “It meant the fucking world to me,” he fumes.
Oh.
Oh, that’s…
“It did?” Roger daren’t quite believe it yet. He likes to think himself an optimist, but this is too good, too precious to accept it.
Freddie looks away and pushes himself up to his knees. “Forgive me. Never meant to burden you with that knowledge.”
“Freddie.” A gentle hand cupping his cheek is all it takes to stop Freddie from pulling away, as if he had just waited for something to make him stop. Roger pushes himself up on one elbow. “You mean everything to me.”
Freddie’s eyes are fixed on his face, so large and deep Roger feels lost in them. A faint, hopeful smile blooms on his lips. “Yes?”
Instead of an answer, Roger leans up and presses their lips together.
“Are you absolutely sure this is enough, though?”
Freddie groans and rolls onto his side. “Roger, I’m sure we’ve done more in one night than most people get around to in fifty years of matrimony.”
“Alright. Just checking.” Roger keeps still for a moment, but then his hand inevitably gets drawn to the smooth skin of Freddie’s hip again.
“Stop that,” Freddie mumbles, but makes no attempt to move away.
“I’m just trying to make sure there aren’t any loopholes we’ve overlooked.” He lets his voice drop to a hoarse whisper. “Would be a shame if you got eaten by a dragon now that you’re finally mine.”
A shudder runs through Freddie. “Am I?" he whispers. "Yours?”
“Oh yes.” Roger comes closer and brushes his lips over Freddie’s neck. “Shall I show you again?”
“Yes,” Freddie sighs. “Show me again.” His hands wind themselves around the back of Roger’s neck and pull him in. “Just to make sure.”