Chapter Twenty-Seven
Varis
Why Ghreid had decided to take on a construction project in their nesting chamber when he was swollen, heavy, unable to eat, and barely able to fuck?
He had no clue, but with all of the aforementioned, he’d become additionally burdened by masonry dust and incessant clacking. “Why the fuck is all this necessary?”
“It just is.” Ghreid crawled into their nest on hands and knees, scooting over to give his mate a soft kiss and a gentle stroke to his full belly.
Metallic chipping noises grated at his ears and made muscles in Varis’s belly jerk defensively as dust floated about, drifting precariously close to his precious silk cushions.
Gilded rods lay on worn horse blankets, ornate and paired with a pile of mountable brackets to hold them.
Varis grumbled and sat up a little more. “Please tell me you’re not going to put tapestries on the walls! They’ll molder and—”
“Yes and no. There’ll be carved wood behind it to give breathing room.” Ghreid took Varis’s hand and kissed it. “It’s necessary.”
A new set of footsteps raised Varis’s hackles as he glanced over, face twisting into a scowl until Falustus leaned against the doorway, two steaming mugs in his hands. “You two fuck so loudly that I’m getting an inferiority complex, love. He’s putting in something to baffle the sound.”
Varis’s cheeks burned in a quick flush that faded the moment Falustus approached their nest, mug in an outstretched hand as a peace offering.
Something sweet, floral, and fruity threw an alluring trail through the air, backed with honey.
“Graylan isn’t up yet, but this is said to be soothing for nesting males. ”
“Thank the fates.” Varis reached out, hands cupped as the scalding mug warmed his fingers.
He drank deeply as sweet nectar bathed his tongue, backed with floral and fruity notes that made him sigh with pleasure.
“And all this, right this instant, because you are afraid someone will hear us fucking?”
“That ship has sailed, love. Everyone’s heard it.” Falustus blew on his tea, an entirely unnecessary gesture for a creature imbued with fire.
“These walls are plenty soundproof.” Varis blinked up at him in disgust.
“No, they’re not,” a quiet voice called out from down the hall, Slath’s.
“They most certainly are not,” another voice, Graylan’s, piped in.
“And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear them coming from the same bedroom.” Ghreid sighed heavily.
“Who’s going to stop me?” Once more, Slath’s muffled voice.
“Stuff it, the both of you! Slath is an adult. Graylan is a creepy old man,” Varis grumbled and leaned over, brushing masonry dust off the edge of a silk cushion.
“I’m not creepy!” Graylan’s voice echoed down the hall.
“You are kind of creepy,” Slath’s voice mumbled after him, their quiet conversation petering off.
Varis caught Ghreid’s gaze. Ghreid gave him a raised-brow expression as if to say, See! I told you!
Varis huffed. “Fine. Soundproof away, my love.”
“Thank you!” Draenvir’s voice called from somewhere else in the estate.
Varis blinked slowly and shook his head. “I’m hungry and horny and I cannot imagine putting a single thing inside of me. I’m so full.”
“It’s not that bad, dear.” Falustus sipped on his tea and blanched when Varis lifted his tunic. A quick glance showed his brother-in-law that full dome of his belly, the shape of it lower in his hips and rather vulgar in shape, something odd bulging about it. “It won’t be that bad for long.”
“Sooner than later, one hopes.” Varis tugged his tunic back down and sighed. “Graylan and Asha both say they’ve not seen someone carry this way before, but everything feels fine.”
But as he said it, he hid a wince as a sharp pain radiated down his side, stabbing into his hip like splinters. “Mostly fine.”
Ghreid didn’t give him a second glance, though, turning his attention back to the mason putting stakes in the walls to hang tapestries.
Where he’d procured tapestries of that quality so quickly, Varis had no idea, but wouldn’t have been surprised if Falustus had brought them.
And, as they unfurled, the imagery on them depicting Baltheirian religious iconography, he glared at Ghreid.
“It’s temporary until the dye-houses and textiles get up and running once more! Procuring new things is incredibly difficult. I could order from Sauria, but that wouldn’t bring new money in.” Ghreid huffed and stared at a tapestry of Baltheir standing in an array of light with golden robes.
“Well, I can fix this.” Falustus left and returned a few minutes later, holding a paint cup in one hand and a brush in the other. “I’m no Slath, but I can make him much more interesting.”
Varis watched with interest as Falustus kicked a chaise over to the wall where he stood atop it and at just about groin level, with a shade of gray and black, began to outline and paint a facsimile of his robes being tented in a rather impressive erection.
“You know what, that is more interesting. But like, is this safe for our eggs to be around?”
“Cockstands are natural. Sex is natural. Hatchlings understand a degree of sexuality by right of instinct. When it happens, they know to go elsewhere.” Falustus waved his hand ambivalently.
“We’re much less prudish about autonomy.
We find that a good education oftentimes removes the mystery that causes a whole lot of heartache in young ones. ”
“Meaning?” Varis furrowed his brow as Ghreid stepped from the room, off to tend to whatever business needed him more than Varis.
“Meaning, you cannot take advantage of innocence if the innocents have sharp claws and know what is appropriate. Dragonkind doesn’t stigmatize speaking up, rejection, communication, or bodily autonomy.
Rarely is a child abused, and rarely does an offender have a chance to act twice.
” Falustus stared at the positively priapic Baltheir and smiled, the grin not meeting his eyes.
“And this prudish beast has connived generations of humans to cry silently for fear of judgment. Dragons do not hide our anguish. We cry loudly.”
“But still, we fear for our young,” the soft voice of Graylan piped up from the doorway. “Sometimes we’re overprotective.”
“Or just the right amount of protective.” Lapryda gave Graylan a hard stare.
“Nothing untoward has ever happened between us, not without—” Graylan flinched when Lapryda spit a flicker of magenta flame.
“Slathar should have a bedservant. He should have his needs tended to by someone who can’t hurt him.” Falustus stepped down from the chaise and pointed the brush at Graylan almost threateningly.
“No human is capable of pleasing a bearer the way they need to be pleased. And for that matter, no human has any interest to one. But I won’t wax poetic that I am necessary to him, but I know he makes me happy.” Graylan tugged his tunic into place as he approached Varis’s nest.
“Aww. Same.” Slath scooted his way in and took a seat on the recently moved chaise. He glanced up at the aroused Baltheir and raised a brow. “This is what you borrowed my paint and prized stoat hairbrush for?”
“Worthwhile, no?” Falustus wiggled the brush in his hand and gave Slath a halfhearted smile.
“Don’t they normally depict Baltheir with an itty bitty?” Slath frowned at it.
“Artistic freedom?” Falustus grinned.
“Wishful thinking.” Slath stood and bypassed his brother and Graylan before flopping face-first in Varis’s nest. He paused for a long second, body tensing.
“You just realized we fuck here, didn’t you?” Varis glanced over, and Slath nodded before sitting up, wearing a twisted expression. “Revenge for fucking in our guest bedroom.”
“We haven’t fucked in your guest bedroom. Besides, it’s close to the full moon.” Slath grumbled as if he lamented not being able to fuck freely.
“Then I apologize dearly.” Varis reached over to pat Slath’s head and earned a lackluster sigh and flop of gentle weight onto his side. “Poor dear.”
Slath pouted, and Varis shifted his weight as another round of that sharp pain shot down his side. Soft cushions and silken covers rustled as Slath rested his head on Varis’s thigh and snuggled in. “It’s exhausting.”
“Sounds like it.” Varis patted his head as the pain grew in intensity, and an uncomfortable wetness blossomed at his backside.
Varis was nearly certain labor should feel different, so he said nothing until Slath sat up abruptly. “I smell blood. Varis?”
Varis glanced about as Slath tugged at his tunic and glanced in places Varis couldn’t see and hissed. “Gray! Get over here.”
Alerted by Slath’s comment, Gray scuttled over and eyed the blossoming wetness that Slath had exposed. “When did you start bleeding?”
“Apparently just now?” Varis rolled onto his side, and Slath helped him from his tunic while Graylan fetched some washable linens.
“Move him to the bathing chambers, I’m telling you. His element is water, and he will birth better there.” Lapryda lounged on the chaise and crossed his legs, unbothered by the prospect of blood that had Varis’s heart racing in his chest.
“We should at least get you cleaned up and see what’s going on. Can someone get Ghreid and please get the stonemason the fuck out of here? Can’t be good for the eggs.” Graylan leaned down to aid Varis in standing, and for some reason, his legs didn’t want to move, body partially numb in places.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news bu—” Varis’s legs quivered.
“Egg is pressing on vital pathways in your body that transmit sensation and pain. Also transmits movement like a puppet string from your brain.” Graylan leaned in and scooped Varis up, the warm sensation growing as he carried him into the bathroom.
As the lighting changed and Slath ran ahead, speaking faster than Varis could understand, his eyes focused downward on a small trail of dark-red droplets. “That isn’t good, is it?”