Chapter Fifteen
Gatlin
A delightful jingle rang out, echoing off the walls of their hoard, sending Viraj into a fitful roll under piles of blankets. Gatlin, asleep nearby, rummaged around for his phone and squinted at the time—four-something in the morning.
“This better be good,” Gatlin muttered as he held the phone to his ear and stepped away from his sleeping mates.
“Ashwin just landed on a plane this morning.” Sile Long’s croak of a voice made Gatlin stand straight.
“Why?” Gatlin ground his teeth so hard, they creaked.
“Visiting all his progeny, he claims. Particular interest placed on Viraj and Ryan.” Sile sighed into the receiver, voice strained. “He came with two attendants, no guards, no reinforcements. He claims he’ll pay off any fines he’s due.”
“I don’t trust it.” Gatlin sneered as Sile’s silence spoke volumes.
“At any rate, no crimes have been committed on American soil, so we cannot go after him for the Hijada. His servants coming with him are Hijada, though. We might be able to save them.” Sile cleared his throat.
“I don’t think Viraj wants to see him, to be frank.” Gatlin rubbed his temples. Viraj was days from laying, and the added stress wouldn’t be good for his eggs.
“It’s unfortunately not an option. I think it would be best if you came up to Camden with him. We don’t want him out of our sight. Ryan has young Dettes who could technically fall under the Vritra consulate’s jurisdiction.”
“He’s going to lay soon! Marc is coming down day after tomorrow!” Gatlin lowered his voice and stepped farther away. “And his nest is here!”
Sile sighed heavily. “I don’t want to do this.”
“Don’t you dare.” Gatlin’s throat clenched, his dragon snarling and pacing.
“I really don’t.” Sile huffed.
“Then don’t! Send him back! Jail him!” Gatlin snarled.
“Not an option! We don’t want him out of our sight. You’re the only coupling that caught a clutch this year in the US. We need Viraj and Ryan to drop authority over him and demand information on the others.” Others. Hijada. Sile never minced words.
“And how is he to do this?” Gatlin did his best not to break his phone.
“Ryan has sired twelve children over the years. You are potentially bringing nine in. Demand a gift to your household to bring good will. Ask for slaves.” Sile’s tone went dark.
“And arrest him once he agrees?” Gatlin hesitated.
“No. It’d be a recipe for an international incident. The wildlands are populated with wild Vritra and Slang. We want an alliance. We want the Hijada to be labeled as dragons. We want him to evolve.” Sile grumbled. “I’m afraid I have to use my authority. I command it as head of the council.”
“What about the Dette council! Viraj falls under their purview! They have to be in concordance!” Gatlin’s heart flopped in his chest.
“Shui is in accordance. Ryan grudgingly agreed. It’s also for his safety.
There are more doctors here, and under our watchful eye, Viraj won’t be as tempting of a target.
” Sile cleared his throat. “It’s not beyond belief that the Vritra would want something like Viraj eliminated. Look at what they do to Hijada.”
Gatlin fought the urge to break down into tears. “He doesn’t deserve to be away from the nest we made.”
“He doesn’t. But there’s time to bring something to liven up your nest in Camden. Better now than two weeks from now when you’d have to lug eggs around.” Sile’s tone softened, and Gatlin sniffed.
“Okay. I’ll… We’ll go. We’ll pack now.”
“Thank you. Be here this evening.” Sile hung up and turned, coming face-to-face with a stoney Teige, eyes hard and full of anger.
“There’s nothing we can do. It’s an official summons.
” Gatlin held up his phone, and they turned as one to face a roused Viraj, sitting up in his taut shirt, belly swollen and full.
He put so many Dettes to shame in that moment.
His build solid and firm, jawline cut. He wasn’t any bit soft in the ways some Dettes were, but he was elegant and with that belly full of life, he was everything to them.
“Why do we need to leave?” Worry glimmered in his sharp features.
“Ashwin arrived in Chicago and is being held at the consulate. We need to leave ASAP.” Gatlin waved his phone at Viraj and flinched when he broke down with a terrified sob.
“Vivi…” Teige sagged pathetically. “I’m sorry.”
He sniffed lightly. “No use crying.” A few breaths later, he stood on shaking legs. “I’ll sleep in the car.”
“Fuck that. I’m bartering a private jet.” Teige turned and shuffled off. “You can sleep in first class.”
***
The private airport on the other side of town had a pilot and plane ready for them within an hour and a half. It wasn’t the fanciest of jets, but dragons had needs. They weren’t the only ones in the area, and it was sheer luck the jet was available so quickly.
Viraj bundled himself in a jacket; the spring heat a little uncomfortable in Louisiana that time of year.
But, at least he could somewhat hide his condition.
Rumor had spread that his designation had changed, and pups were on the way, but rumor and witness were two separate things, especially when the pilot was employed by the Zmei clan.
Fortunately, though, Russians were fairly neutral.
For dragons, at least.
They didn’t make waves. Kept to themselves. Paired for love. Few clutches, but they survived.
Not like the Vritra.
And so, they rode north, taking off with turbulence into a still-rising sun. Viraj held his belly and did his best not to be sick most of the way, skin pale and brow twisted. “Three more hours,” he said.
It became a mantra, three hours, one hundred and eighty minutes. One hundred fifty minutes. One hundred nineteen minutes.
Two rows of seats faced one another near the middle of the plane, the shape of them safe and comfortable with the ability to recline.
A folding table hung from a latched hinge near the window, stowed in case they needed it, and Viraj stared at it, anxiously picking at the hinge as a black and crimson tint came and went from his nails, his dragon wanting to push to the surface.
Still, he kept himself small, Teige at his side resting a comforting hand on his shoulder.
Gatlin hated to see him that way, tucked into himself as much as his tummy allowed. Opposite of them, Gatlin sat with his fingers idly drumming, wondering what to use their time to prepare for.
And as he stared at Viraj, imagining his mate with a clutch of their eggs, all red and earthen green swirls, he thought of the pups they’d have, little Vritra Dettes with tawny skin and bright eyes.
Little rouge-tinted green scales and Teige’s sharp spines, tilted back at that pretty sawtooth angle, tails whiplike and lithe.
And as he indulged himself in the fantasy, images of little ones careening down the halls, knocking over display pieces, sticking talons into light sockets, chewing up wood, scratching wood floors—all of it overwhelmed him.
Piddling on rugs. They had a lot to childproof.
Pup-proof. He needed to ask someone some questions… Ryan, Leo. Shui…
A dozen years ago, asking any of the Dettes about their childrearing or Drakes about their preparations would have yielded him a strange look, rebuke or worse. He had resources, but none of it was right.
Ninety-nine minutes. The word practically hummed in their bond as Viraj chewed his nails and flinched.
Without prompting, Teige did what he did best and pulled Viraj’s face to his own, kissing him with a gentle slide of tongue and a hum that came off as somewhere between haughty and prideful. The confidence made Gatlin’s heart thump madly.
Viraj relaxed in his seat, letting his legs unfold, feet touching the floor.
Gatlin took the cue to unbuckle his belt and slide to the floor before them.
Teige needed no prompting to lean Viraj’s seat back, giving Gatlin full access to his mate’s groin.
Despite the large size of his belly, Gatlin took advantage of the space he could, unbuttoning his trousers to alleviate the strained fastening, letting the zipper rip down with gusto.
No rejection came.
Gatlin tugged Viraj’s pants down, prying the fly of his boxers open to access his leaking cock and tight sac.
He leaned his head to the side, hummed, and went in to wrap his lips around the firm tip, tongue circling the taut hood sliding down to reveal the pink, sensitive skin beneath his darker flesh, a treasure compared to his exposed skin. And there he tasted sweet, tasted desperate.
Viraj had enough length to coat Gatlin’s tongue, to accept the motion of his mouth as the only pleasure he needed. A gentle rocking of his slick tongue against Viraj’s length had him shivering, cock twitching with a warning flush of precum. Sweet and floral, as if nestblossom swam in his veins.
Viraj had kept the tea from Ryan so long ago, using it for himself, but in truth, he needed it.
They needed it. Without the herb, Viraj’s needs were hard on him, and as his mates, they were honor bound to aid him.
And how Gatlin could have confused it with emotional needs and horniness… He felt stupid.
Gatlin sucked as his tongue slipped free, brushing the cinched skin of his sac with a tender flick. “Mmm.”
Viraj’s moans came muffled, filtered through Teige’s mouth.
A desperate hand snatched out for Gatlin’s, and Teige finagled his cock free, urging Gatlin to stroke his leaking hardness.
With a wet sound, he rose, breathing deeply while Viraj moaned Gatlin’s name.
Teige’s swollen lips turned up into a smile, catching Gatlin’s curious gaze toward him.
“Vivi is going to blow first, then take me. Then I want you to kiss him.”
Caramel heat swam in his tones, his watered-down accent growing thicker in his need. His brogue was a beautiful thing that America slowly stripped him of more by the year, so Gatlin treasured it and would obey.
A needy whimper drove Viraj to rock his hips, cock flicking over Gatlin’s hungry mouth, earning a delicious suck and nuzzle. A pulse of precum rewarded him as another sharp moan quieted under what must have been Teige’s mouth.
With one hand, Gatlin cupped Viraj’s sac, and the other, he released Teige’s cock to sink into Viraj’s pants and steal a swipe of slick. The herbal, honeyed scent made Gatlin rumble with desire, roll his tongue, and relish Viraj’s struggle to find his penultimate pleasure.
Teige’s cock throbbed the moment Gatlin pulled his slick fingers free of Viraj’s pants and circled his cock. A slick stroke with one hand, a fondle with the other, and thrust of his tongue along the underside of Viraj’s cock made them break apart and pant his name as one.
Rhythm came easily, tongue and hands moving in concerted effort, playing them like instruments, their noises a song that would never have a perfect tempo or pitch, only chaos and adoration. It was that song that made him sure they loved him.
Gatlin’s thumb traveled the frenulum of Teige’s cock, tracing the crown with alacrity. Every pulse, shudder, and little rock of his hips into Gatlin’s fist made tensions rise, breath shudder, drool pool around his lips.
“Fuuuck that feels good,” Teige’s said, his husky voice cracking.
Gatlin only hummed, focusing on Viraj as his pitch sharpened and body stiffened.
A flick of his tongue and suckle later, fingers grazing his tightening sac, and Viraj thrashed, body shaking as sweet spend poured over Gatlin’s tongue.
Viraj’s cock slipped free, leaking over Gatlin’s chin with an errant stripe and within a panting moment, came down with a soft groan.
Gatlin wasted no time in sliding to the right, cum-slick lips descending on Teige with a rumble of pleasure.
Teige was bigger, whether by virtue of being a Drake or being raised eating whole sheep and terrorizing inbred villagers.
So, it always took Gatlin a moment to adjust his jaw, to accommodate his girth.
The tangy heat of him, the salt and musk, the lightest scent of fresh sweat that hovered in the realm of a fresh-baked loaf of sourdough with the ear singed, a hint of fire to it.
Viraj whimpered his way down the scale of emotions one encountered after a vulnerable moment, and Teige grumbled, his well-kissed lips flattening from pressure as his jawline clenched.
Orgasm wouldn’t be far off. Teige surrendered to the sensation easily, leaning his head back, mouth falling open.
“Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum. Shit!” Teige snarled, and his cock bucked, his only warning before Gatlin’s tongue bathed in salted spend.
Gatlin swallowed as eagerly for him as he did Viraj, licking and sucking him into a lull of complacency. His voice, rough as gravel, broke free after his final gulp. “C’mere, Vivi.”
Viraj adjusted his seat to sit up as Gatlin stood and leaned over, capturing their mate’s lips in a kiss. With Teige fresh on his lips and Viraj’s own spend not too far off of it, the newly discovered Dette melted beneath the assault of tongue.
And as their lips broke, Viraj stared him down with pure hunger. “Let me take care of you. Please.”
Gatlin brought Viraj’s hand to his groin, the bare pressure of his slender fingers over his slacks enough to earn a throb. “Feel this?”
The stiffness in his pants begged for want of touch, and Gatlin very much so wanted Viraj on his knees, Teige behind him, anything.
That wasn’t Gatlin’s style, though. He hated to get off for the sake of it, like a trade or an expectation.
Viraj lightened his touch and despite the pleading expression. “It’s for me, for later?”
“That it is. And when we see Ashwin, you think about what waits you at home. He cannot take that away from you.” Gatlin nuzzled over Viraj’s cheek, his chest swelling with pride because nobody could take their mate away. Nobody had that right.