Chapter Six #6
I take it from him just as solemnly. “Thank you. I wouldn’t have wanted to miss out.
” Turning it over, I marvel at the ridiculous color, but have to admit it’s a good size—not unrealistically big, but enough for a good stretch—and has a pretty comfortable grip.
This isn’t a cheap piece of crap. They must have spent a fortune on these.
The laugh bursts out of me unbidden, but it takes only seconds for everyone to join me.
My friends balance me.
I thought I was prepared for multiple cakes, but I really wasn’t. My jaw is so far dropped that I’m pretty sure I resemble that clown game from carnivals—you know the one, where you have to put balls in the clown’s open, moving mouth.
The cakes just keep coming.
Maybe I don’t balance my friends as much as I should.
I mean, I knew Andrew had a thing for cake, but I didn’t think he was this out of control.
And I thought Alistair said there were only six?
I may not be an expert mathematician, but even I can count to six, and there are definitely more cakes than that.
Thankfully, none of them is very large, but we’ll still be eating leftover cake for days.
“Is it customary for there to be so much cake?” the king asks from beside me, his gaze fixed on the admittedly delicious-looking feast before us.
If I’d known there would be this much, I probably wouldn’t have had quite as much of the other food.
“What is the tradition? One cake for each landmark span of time? Or one for every—” He glances around, then back at the table, frowning.
“I was going to say one for every ten people, but there aren’t that many people here. ”
“One cake is customary,” I tell him. “But Andrew loves all flavors of cake, and I believe he had difficulty making the selection.”
“Do you mean each one is different in more than appearance?”
Say what?
I turn slowly to face him and Caolan. “Don’t you have something similar to this in your society?”
They both shake their heads. “Our sweet foods are smaller,” Caolan says.
“The texture is different too. I had my first cake only a few days ago, when the clearance came through that all Earth food is safe to eat. Aidan bought it for me, but it was only this big.” He traces a circle on his palm, and I guess that Aidan took him to the coffee place down the street and got one of those individual-size cakes they have.
I feel a slight pang that I missed sharing that experience with him.
If I’d known, we could have had coffee and cake together, but I spent most of that day in meetings with the migration team and didn’t even learn about the clearance until we got home that night and Caolan asked if we could try “the pizza Alistair told me about” for dinner.
“Cakes can have different textures,” I tell them. “Though I’m not sure that we’ll have that much variation tonight. I can see a carrot cake, though, and that one looks like mud cake, and—”
“What?” The startled exclamation comes from both of them.
“You make sweets from mud?” the king asks, and I grimace. I know better—I should be more careful.
“No, sorry. It’s chocolate cake, but a very rich one with a high fat content. Ah, there’s—”
Once again I’m interrupted, but this time by Alistair calling me forward. I sigh in resignation. “Did they tell you about the birthday song?”
Caolan nods. “Alistair taught Dustin the words, and he taught the rest of us. We’ve been practicing.”
Great.
The candle-blowing and cake-cutting go surprisingly well, and I manage to dodge Alistair’s suggestion of a speech by announcing that cake is new to elves and dragons.
At first I think Andrew might faint, but he rallies and declares that they should try a piece of each type of cake.
I snag myself a piece of cheesecake and one of lemon and coconut pound cake and then slip away to enjoy it by the pool.
My moment of peace won’t last long—there’s a pile of presents stacked beside the cake table—but that’s okay. This is one type of chaos I can handle.
Ten minutes later, Caolan comes to find me. “Mud cake is excellent, but only in small pieces,” he informs me, planting himself in a deck chair. There’s a smear of chocolate on the side of his mouth. “I think I like the lemon drizzling cake the best. It was sweet and sour.”
“Lemon drizzle,” I correct, because he’s asked me more than once to help him get things right. “You have chocolate ganache on your mouth.”
Rather than wiping it away himself, he picks up the napkin by my plate and hands it to me. “Please?”
I chuckle, but obediently clean him up. Then, unable to resist, I kiss his soft pink lips. “Mmm, delicious,” I tease.
“Chocolate or lemon?” he asks, and I smile at him.
“Neither.”
Heat flares in his eyes, but he only smiles back. I love his smile, especially when he’s not wearing his human disguise. Don’t get me wrong, he’s hot as a human, but his natural features suit him best.
“What other flavors did you try?” I ask.
“Raspberry and white chocolate—that was good, but very sweet. I liked the cheesecake, but it wasn’t what I expected. It’s not much like cheese.”
“Different kind of cheese. We’ll get some next time we go to the grocery store, now that we know they’re all safe for you to eat. There are lots of different cheeses.”
“That would be fun. I also liked the carrot cake. I didn’t think I would, since carrots taste weird, but it didn’t taste like carrot at all.”
“It’s got lots of other good stuff in it,” I agree. “If you want, we can try cooking carrots in different ways, see if you like it better. How have you had it so far?” I try to remember if we’ve eaten carrots together, but I don’t think we have.
“It was in my salad at lunch one day,” he says. “In really thin strips.”
“Raw, then. Yeah, that can be an acquired taste. It’s sweeter when it’s cooked.”
He shrugs. “I liked it in the cake, so I might like it cooked other ways.” He hesitates. “Is it customary for the pinata to contain sexual aids?”
I clear my throat in an attempt to hold back the laughter. There are still a few unclaimed dildos scattered around and some in the pool, which someone will need to fish out—I’m betting Andrew. Noah will probably watch and make snarky comments about diving for dick or something.
“No,” I reply. “Chocolates or other candy or small toys are more customary, although you really can put anything you want in there, as long as it’s not too large or heavy.”
He’s silent for a moment. “It’s not possible to keep hellhounds and dragons apart, is it?”
I snort. “I’ve already considered that, and no. We might be able to manage it initially, but ultimately, the dragons will integrate more fully with our population. It’s going to happen eventually, so we may as well ease in slowly. Surely it won’t be that bad.”
A shout from across the pool draws our attention. Two of the dragons appear to be playing tug of war with the plate containing the last piece of mud cake, with two more dragons and four hellhounds egging them on. As we watch, the hellhounds start chanting “fight, fight, fight.”
The first piece of cake gets thrown.
“Or I could be wrong.”
Fortunately, Andrew steps in then. He would have let them fight it out and just watched, but wasting cake is a cardinal sin in his book, so he breaks up the fight with fangs and claws out, hissing viciously when one bolshie dragon objects.
The dragon backs down. You don’t want to go head-to-head with Andrew over cake.
There’s a ripple of unease now, the happy party vibe wavering a little, so of course Alistair leaps into the breach and announces that I’ll be opening presents while everyone enjoys their cake.
I go over to the pile and reach for a small one on top, but Alistair shouts, “Do mine first!”
“Which one is yours?”
He points to a brightly wrapped gift halfway down the stack. “That one. Do it first. Here, I’ll help you get it.” He rearranges the stack of gifts. From the corner of my eye, I notice Andrew nudging Noah, a broad grin on his face. Ellie has her phone out, holding it up to record.
Whatever this is, I may not like it.
“Here!” He thrusts the present into my hands. I look down at it, then squint. I missed it the first time around because the background is so garishly orange, but the print on the wrapping paper is tiny erect penises.
I snort. “Love the paper.”
“Thanks,” he says proudly. “It took ages to choose the right one. Aidan picked the card, though. I wanted the one in the shape of a dick.”
I open the envelope and slide out the card, which is a nice generic happy birthday one. “Is there a reason you’re so fixated on dick right now? Or is it something about me that prompted the theme for this party? Are you trying to tell me what you really think of me?”
A low laugh runs through the gathered guests as Alistair shrugs.
“Nah, you’re the best. Now that I’m getting a good dicking on the regular, it’s hard to think about anything else.” Aidan’s groan rises above the jeers and heckles.
I put the card aside and rip open the paper.
“Look at him go!” someone shouts. “Not gonna save the paper, David?”
I’m too busy staring at what I’ve revealed to answer. A sound bursts from me—I’m not sure if it’s a laugh, a groan, or both.
World Of Wangs is emblazoned on the box in my hands. I know what this is. After the first time Sam got teased about it, I looked it up. There is no way, absolutely no fucking way, I am opening this box here.
“What is it?” someone yells, and I hold it up. Those who recognize the name catcall, although I hear Sam cursing. The majority, though, seem confused.
“It’s a set of interspecies dildos,” I say calmly.
“Interspecies?” one of the elves asks.
“Most Earth species have different-shaped cocks,” Brandt explains blandly, and I flashback to him telling us about his wild youth on Earth.
“Ooooohhhh,” chorus the elves and dragons. Eyes widen, and the crowd edges closer.
How is this my life?
“Let David open all his presents first, and then I’m sure he’ll let you play with his cocks,” Alistair bargains, using what has to be the most unexpected sentence ever.
“Nobody plays with David’s cock,” Caolan growls.
“You must be doing something wrong, if Alistair thinks David needs a box of sex aids,” someone—I want to say Hagen—jeers.
This is the weirdest birthday I’ve ever had.
“Next present, please!” I say loudly, but can’t resist adding, “And believe me, Caolan is doing nothing wrong. That box won’t get opened.
” No need to tell them I’ve got a drawer full of dildos and other toys that Caolan and I are already making full use of.
Sex without toys is like plain vanilla ice cream.
Delicious, but monotonous if that’s all you ever have.
Caolan flushes pink as the teasing picks up, but he’s grinning now and winks at me.
Alistair passes me another gift, and we get into a present-opening rhythm.
It’s really sweet that people brought gifts at all—I wasn’t expecting that.
My close friends, sure, but not from everyone—even the elves and dragons.
Although I’m surprised when I open one and find a laminated printout of a local bus timetable.
“Uh, thank you,” I tell the elf it’s from.
His smile is relieved. “Caolan said you like schedules. Alistair took me to the office supply store”—he says it carefully, as though testing the words out—“but all the schedules there were empty. So he suggested this.”
Of course he did. I very carefully don’t look at him.
“Well, I don’t have this one, so it was an excellent choice,” I assure the elf. I don’t want to embarrass him in front of his colleagues, but I will definitely murder Alistair later.
“This one next,” the cheeky hellhound says, pushing a small box toward me and studiously avoiding my gaze. I take it from him.
This one doesn’t have a full-size card, just one of those little gift-tag ones taped to the pretty old-gold-colored paper. I flip it open and recognize Noah’s handwriting.
I wish I’d been able to show you more. Happy Birthday.
Underneath, in painstakingly printed letters, is Caolan’s name.
My heart clutches, but I’m not sure why. I look at him, and he’s smiling, but it’s a tentative thing.
I tear off the paper and open the box.
And blink against the glow.
Nestled against black tissue paper is a leaf from the tréghel tree.
It takes me a second to notice that it’s been preserved somehow—there’s a clear film over it.
That likely explains why it’s still glowing even though it’s not attached to the tree.
Threaded through a hole at one end is a chain with oddly geometric links made from a material I don’t recognize.
My head spins.
He noticed how much I liked the tree. He remembered. And he went to the trouble of preserving a leaf for me.
A leaf from a tree that will soon be extinct. A relic from another dimension. A piece of his home.
As gifts go, you can’t get more priceless than that.
Taking the box with me, I stride over to him and kiss him with all the confusing feelings I have in me. I ignore the shouts and catcalls. I ignore the laughter and suggestive comments from those standing beside us.
His arms come up to pull me against him, and we keep kissing, just us, mouth to mouth, and with that kiss, I show him all the things I’m so afraid to admit.
When I finally pull back, we’re both panting, but smiling.
“Thank you,” I tell him.
“Anything for you.”