Chapter Nine #2
“I got weird on him. Like, in general. Then I kissed him. I didn’t know that me being an obsession put me on the same level of, fuck, I don’t know, every bit of pre-convergence things he had spent his life collecting.
” Robin focused on the curl of his arm, the burn of it, the bite of the kettlebell against his palm and fingers.
Didn’t look at Antonio, those dark eyes watching Robin sidelong.
“He has an entire section of his hoard dedicated to things the damn Monarchs tried to rewrite. Two thousand years worth of stuff.”
“Jesus. He said that?”
See, that was why Robin liked Antonio. He got it enough to sound impressed, whether or not he meant it. Good man.
“Yeah. Not verbatim, but, yeah. It’s not like Everil and Bo didn’t try to tell me, but Bo flips his shit at the idea of me getting a bruised shin, and Everil just doesn’t want Bo upset.
Or me to swear my life away.” That was unfair.
He knew it was unfair. So, scowling, Robin added, “And I probably dismissed a lot of the weight they put on it because I’m a stubborn know-it-all. ”
“Nothing like an older sib giving solid advice to make the other option look real damn good, yeah? And Everil treats picking a shirt like it’s life-or-death stakes. Makes it easy to figure he’s overreacting.”
As a guy who had actually had a meltdown over a shirt before, Robin didn’t tend to see Everil’s wariness as overreaction. Tiny things weren’t always tiny.
“More I think I make him antsy, so he’s cautious with me. But that’s Everil. Not me making out with a dragon.”
“So, you kissed Zyr. And then you realized he’s a dragon. Really a dragon. And you’re thinking maybe that’s your line?” Antonio shrugged. “Not judging, ‘the guy wants to keep me on a shelf next to his vintage porn’ is as good a line to draw as any.”
Robin stared at his kettlebell, frowning again. He switched hands. Antonio waited, he was good at that. Robin appreciated him.
“Being special never did anyone any good,” he said after a long pause.
And because this was Antonio, and he wouldn’t spread shit, and he got things the way Bo and Robin’s therapists or anyone else he knew couldn’t, Robin kept talking.
“And I always figured if some hot guy told me how unique or important I was, he’d at least like me first.”
“Give the guy some credit,” Antonio said, scoffing. “Christ. I mean, you even ask him yet? Why you? Because I might not know him well, but I don’t get the impression you’d be around him if he didn’t like you.”
“See, I would have, but when I said I needed time to sort my head out, he ran off. And I came here.”
Antonio rested his arm on his knee, holding the kettlebell loosely and now with the whole of his attention on Robin. Robin kept his eyes where they were, because to hell with Antonio and his knowing looks.
“We’ve all done it. Met someone and just needed to know them.
Liked them, right from fucking hello. Hell, he was flirting with you in front of the whole damned rebel alliance.
‘Want to see what I can do with my tail, sexy?’” Antonio’s Zyr impression was somehow worse than Robin’s attempt at Teddai.
“He’d’ve been batting his eyelashes if he knew how.
Maybe he shows it different. Is a dragon about it.
But it started at that. You told the bastard off and he liked it. ”
I interest him. He collects things that interest him. He thinks I’m unique.
The thing was, there was comfort in being a number. Something average. One of many. You couldn’t do as much damage that way.
But it wasn’t like Antonio was wrong.
“Bo thought we were fighting. It’s like he doesn’t even know me.” Robin grinned, despite everything, including his own brain and the fact Antonio hadn’t looked away from him, the weirdo.
“Yeah, well, I doubt there’s many snapped orders between those two. Everil is his perfect, flesh-eating princess.”
Robin laughed at the thought. Sure, Bo could be an asshole. The idea of him being an asshole like that to Everil—perfect, flesh-eating princess description being wholly accurate—was ridiculous.
“Betting it’s all gently murmured innuendo,” he agreed. “But, flirting or not, Zyr might not even be into what I like. Might be for nothing. Not nothing nothing. Making sure he doesn’t get the idea I think he’s fucked up is important, but, like, sex nothing.”
“Dragon’s not a fan of ropes?”
This was why he liked Antonio. One of the many reasons.
“Not a single fucking clue. The asking part. Made an exception for me.”
“Fucking ask him. That’s not a question you let fester.”
Robin glanced at him, the edge to Antonio’s words catching more than a little attention. The man met his gaze without offering an explanation.
“Yeah. I should. Will. About the liking me and why stuff, which is still weird as hell but whatever, no accounting for taste. Not like I can say shit when the only thing weird about the teeth was that it wasn’t weirding me out.
” And how much he liked the sounds Zyr made, the way wood creaked quietly, then not, under his grip.
“Not like he’s shy about talking about stuff he likes.
Ask him, then get comfortable. I’m guessing he’s made slides.
Citations, footnotes, and everything.” Antonio turned his attention back to the weight in his hand, back to the rhythms of lift and curl and hold and relax. Like the gym dwelling weirdo he was.
“He’s more of a note card guy,” Robin said.
“Whatever type of nerd he is, you decide to kiss him again, let it be weird. Actually think about it. Guy’s got a tail.
Horns. Nails he could slit you open with and teeth made for crushing bone.
He’s a fucking unseelie dragon. You’re his natural prey.
And I’m gonna bet he won’t put a scratch on you that you don’t ask for.
Puts his boots on the floor when you tell him, yeah?
” Antonio smiled the way Robin imagined anyone might smile when talking about something or someone they loved.
“My boyfriend’s death. Punk death. I didn’t fall for him because he was so damned nice and normal. ”
“Can't go wrong with death and the accent,” Robin replied, glancing at Antonio sidelong. “And yeah, he doesn't mind being told. Thank whatever, because I don't know if I could handle someone as bossy as me. I'll let you know how the tail works out.”
There were worse things than a little self-destruction. Like talking about boys with someone while doing curls.
“Death, accent, and wings,” Antonio said, still grinning, as he set the kettlebell down. “Go see if you can sort things with the library dragon. Or stick around. If you’re here, I can actually get a run in.”
“I'm a library gay,” Robin said, with a click of the kettlebell. “Not a gym one. My arms have already been tortured. And I've got a citation wielding beithir to talk with.”