Chapter Fourteen
Mabon
“This isn’t working.”
Mabon set his coffee cup down hard enough that the porcelain cracked.
Rux and Urien looked up from their respective positions - Rux sprawled across the sofa, tracing where the claw marks were healing on his chest, Urien examining the scratch on his ankle where Basil had turned him into a chew toy.
It was late at night, but because of the cat drama, none of them were keen to go to bed.
“Obviously,” Rux muttered.
“No, I mean…” Mabon stood, pacing the length of the library. His dragon prowled beneath his skin, restless and frustrated. “Nothing is working. It doesn’t seem to matter what we do. The gifts confused him. The conversations…”
“Were disasters,” Urien supplied.
“And the cat wants us dead,” Rux added helpfully.
Mabon stopped pacing, turning to face his mates. “Sam doesn’t understand we’re courting him.”
“To be fair,” Urien said slowly, “we never actually said we were courting him.”
“We brought him gold.”
“Anonymously.”
“I gave him my phone number.”
“Then ran away before he could respond.”
“I brought vegetables at dawn.”
Rux snorted. “Which is definitely the internationally recognized signal for romantic interest.”
Urien threw a cushion at him.
Mabon resumed pacing. His heart stone throbbed steadily, a constant reminder that their mate existed less than three miles away, completely oblivious to the fact that three dragon shifters had spent weeks trying - and failing - to court him.
“We need something unmistakable,” Mabon said finally. “Something he can’t misinterpret as friendly gestures or newcomers trying to make connections.”
“The internet calls it a grand gesture.” Rux sat up, wincing as the movement pulled at his scratches. “Apparently, some humans need big, public declarations to understand romantic intent.”
“We tried big.” Urien gestured at himself. “I brought an entire basket of heirloom tomatoes... well, three of them, but other stuff, too”
“That’s not…” Mabon pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not what grand gesture means.”
“Then what does it mean?”
Mabon pulled up his laptop, typing rapidly. The three of them had consumed hundreds of articles about human courtship over the past week. Surely one of them had mentioned…
There. The Grand Gesture: When Words Aren’t Enough.
“‘A grand gesture demonstrates commitment and sincerity through action,’” Mabon read aloud. “‘It shows your romantic interest that you understand them deeply and are willing to put their needs and desires above your own comfort zone.’”
“So...more vegetables?” Urien asked hopefully.
“No.” Mabon scrolled further. “‘Examples include public declarations of affection, elaborate surprise dates, meaningful gifts that demonstrate you’ve paid attention to their interests…’”
“We’ve paid attention,” Rux interrupted. “We know where he lives, what coffee he drinks, what books he reads, his work schedule…”
“That’s stalking,” Mabon and Urien said in unison.
Rux slumped back against the sofa. “And, we’re back to being terrible at this.”
Silence settled over the library. Outside, rain began pattering against the windows. Mabon’s dragon clawed at his control, demanding he fly to Sam’s cottage right now, shift, and show Sam exactly what they were. Except that was insane. Sam would run screaming, or worse, call the police.
“We need something unmistakable,” Mabon repeated quietly. “Something that makes our intentions crystal clear. Something he can’t possibly misinterpret.”
“Without revealing we’re dragons,” Urien added.
“Or getting mauled by Basil.”
“Or looking like stalkers.”
Mabon closed his laptop. “So, a grand gesture that clearly indicates romantic interest from all three of us, doesn’t involve supernatural revelation, bypasses the homicidal cat, and doesn’t make us look like creeps.”
The three of them looked at each other.
“We’re definitely doomed,” Rux said flatly.
“No, we need data,” Mabon announced. “Empirical evidence of successful human courtship strategies.”
Rux lifted his head from the sofa with a groan. “More internet articles?”
“No.” Mabon grabbed the remote for the television they rarely used. “Something more...comprehensive.”
Twenty minutes later, all three of them sat in the media room with takeaway containers scattered across the coffee table. The television displayed a menu of romantic comedies, each poster featuring couples in various states of dramatic embrace.
“This feels wrong,” Urien muttered, but he’d already claimed the oversized armchair and pulled Mabon down to sit on the arm.
“It’s research,” Mabon corrected, scrolling through options. “We’re studying successful courtship patterns.”
“We’re watching people pretend to fall in love while eating noodles at midnight.”
“That too.”
Mabon selected the first film - something called 10 Things I Hate About You. The opening credits rolled while Rux distributed chopsticks.
Two hours later, Mabon sat forward, nearly knocking his empty container to the floor. “Did you see that?”
“The singing? On the stairs? In front of the entire school?” Rux had migrated from the sofa to sit on the floor between Urien’s knees, Urien’s hand absently running through his red hair. “Hard to miss.”
“It was a public declaration,” Mabon said, rewinding the scene. “Clear and unmistakable. He sang to her in front of witnesses.”
“We are not singing to Sam.” Urien’s tone brooked no argument.
“I’m not suggesting…” Mabon paused. “Actually, can any of us sing?”
“No,” Rux and Urien said together.
“Right. Next film.”
Love Actually featured multiple storylines, each couple navigating obstacles toward their happy ending.
Mabon made notes on his phone while Rux leaned back against Urien’s legs, tilted his head, and pressed a kiss to Urien’s knee.
Urien’s hand stilled in Rux’s hair, then continued the gentle motion.
“The sign confession,” Mabon said, pausing on the scene where a man declared his feelings through handwritten cards. “Silent but clear. No misinterpretation possible.”
“He also showed up at her house on Christmas,” Urien pointed out. “While she was with someone else.”
“Details.”
“Important details.”
Rux twisted to look up at Urien. “You’re thinking too hard.” He reached up, pulling Urien down for a proper kiss. “We’re researching, not planning a siege.”
“It feels like a siege,” Urien murmured against Rux’s mouth, but his shoulders relaxed.
Mabon watched them for a moment - the easy affection, the comfortable intimacy they’d built over nearly a century together.
They’d courted each other properly, taking decades to understand the depths of their bond.
Now they fumbled through courting Sam like hatchlings who’d never seen another dragon - although, to be fair, Sam wouldn’t have seen a dragon before either.
“Next one,” Mabon said, selecting The Proposal.
This time, Rux climbed onto the sofa properly, sprawling across both Mabon and Urien. Mabon shifted to accommodate him, one hand resting on Rux’s shoulder while Urien’s arm draped across both of them.
“Fake relationship becomes real,” Mabon summarized as the credits rolled. “Not applicable.”
“The bit where he stops her at the airport, though.” Rux grabbed a spring roll from the last takeaway container and offered half to Mabon without looking. Mabon accepted it, took a bite, then passed the rest to Urien. “That was in public with clear intent and couldn’t be misunderstood.”
“We’d need an airport,” Urien deadpanned.
“Metaphorically.”
They watched three more films in succession.
Notting Hill, where a man chased after the woman through the London streets.
Crazy, Stupid, Love, where a grand gesture involved the protagonist’s entire family.
When Harry Met Sally, which seemed to suggest that declarations should happen on New Year’s Eve after years of friendship.
“We don’t have years,” Rux pointed out. He’d shifted positions again, now tucked against Mabon’s side with his head on Mabon’s shoulder. Mabon’s arm wrapped around him automatically, thumb tracing absent patterns on Rux’s bicep.
“We have…however long it takes,” Urien said quietly. He’d moved to the sofa’s other end, legs stretched across both his mates’ laps. “We’re not human. We have time.”
“Our dragons don’t have patience,” Mabon corrected. The only thing keeping him seated, instead of flying in the rain toward Sam’s cottage, was the warm weight of his mates beside him.
Rux turned his face into Mabon’s shoulder. “Your heart stone’s going mad, isn’t it?”
“All of ours are.”
Urien’s hand found Mabon’s free one, lacing their fingers together. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Before or after Sam decides we’re completely insane?”
“Possibly after.”
Mabon huffed, but he squeezed Urien’s hand.
This - the three of them tangled together on the sofa, takeaway containers scattered around them, ridiculous human films playing on the television – it worked for them.
They understood each other, anticipated each other’s needs, and offered comfort without having to be asked.
How did they translate that to Sam?
“There’s a pattern,” Mabon said, starting another film. About Time, where a man could travel through time. “Every grand gesture has the same elements.”
“Time travel?” Rux asked hopefully.
“No. There always seems to be a public declaration, with very clear communication, demonstrating an understanding of the person’s desires.” Mabon paused. “And witnesses. There are always witnesses for some reason.”
“Sam works in a coffee shop,” Urien pointed out. “There are always witnesses there.”
“Good point.”
They watched the protagonist travel back through moments with his beloved, choosing her again and again. When the film ended, Rux had tears on his cheeks. Urien reached across Mabon to thumb them away gently, leaning in to press a kiss to Rux’s temple.
“We already chose each other,” Rux said thickly. “Now we need Sam to choose us.”
“He will,” Mabon said with more confidence than he felt. “We just need the right gesture.”
“Tomorrow?” Urien asked.