Roland woke up first. He smiled and languidly stretched, relishing the smoothness and the heat of Asagoroth’s palm before he opened his eyes. He stared at the tall, arched ceiling, proud of what they’d accomplished since arriving at the temple. They’d managed to repair almost all the holes and cracks and crumbling pillars by using materials from the Middle Realm. A few demons with familiar faces had helped when they saw Asagoroth flying low near the trees. Unfortunately Bune wasn’t among them, though Marax and Ronove were positively cheery to see him and greeted him with surprisingly warm hugs.
Also, during that time, he’d managed to gather a small hoard of his own consisting of paint supplies. He was determined that every square inch of this place be covered in murals. The freedom he had to create whatever art he wanted was intoxicating. Asagoroth had no suggestions of his own but was continually pleased with Roland’s choices and took great pleasure in helping where he could.
Who knew such a dragon could be so easygoing?
Roland snorted softly and crawled off Asagoroth’s palm, his bare feet slipping a little on the loose gold coins. Asagoroth’s breath was heavy and warm, fluttering over Roland’s skin and ruffling his hair. He was dead to the world. Roland sent him a fond look before climbing down the pile of treasure and striding into a smaller chamber filled to bursting with trees and bushes, flourishing with life and food. The spell Asagoroth had chanted to sustain the garden was truly a strong and ancient one. No life should have thrived in a place so far from the sun and warmth.
Now that he’d moved away from Asagoroth, he felt a slight chill and rubbed his arms. He reached over and grabbed a long, thick robe Marax and Ronove had gifted him days before on his last journey to the Middle Realm. It wasn’t as soft as angelic-made robes, but it was gentle enough not to scratch his delicate skin, and it was also thick enough to warm him sufficiently when he wasn’t pressed against Asagoroth. He picked some berries from a bush and chewed thoughtfully, not for the first time missing home. Missing his family. He always would.
Despite his happiness he would always miss Emphoria and those he cared about. What would Gabryl think of him? What had Anpiel said? What had Sabrael and Bethor told the high chancellor? Had his parents disowned him?
What of his students?
A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold raced down his spine. He swallowed hard and nearly choked. He’d tried to keep busy so as not to dwell on things he couldn’t change. Even if he were to abandon Asagoroth and beg for forgiveness, his own people would brand him a traitor and execute him. He could say Asagoroth forced himself upon him, but such a vicious lie would never fall from his tongue. Even if he tried to lie and claim he’d never been intimate with Asagoroth, they would smell the dragon on him. There was no way to fully scrub off the scent or remove the damning bite mark that was a dark welt against his pale skin.
He was happy. Immensely happy and free, and with someone who wanted him just the way he was. Sacrifices had to be made, and much had to be risked if anything worthwhile was to be gained.
He didn’t regret his decisions that had led him here. He only mourned for what he’d lost.
Taking a deep breath, Roland forcefully shook off such dreadful thoughts and returned to Asagoroth. He climbed over one large forearm to push against one side of his face. He kissed him gently below his large eye before reaching up and scratching his eye ridge. In a moment the tip of Asagoroth’s tail twitched erratically, and his claws dug into the gold, flexing with muscle spasms. A low rumble of approval echoed out of his chest as he leaned into Roland’s touch, eyes still closed. He slanted his head down a bit, and Roland didn’t have to stretch as high to get at his target.
Laughing, Roland continued his scratches along the entire eye. When his fingers and arms finally tired, he stepped back. Asagoroth let out a groan before lifting his head and shaking it. A few gold coins that stuck to his chin rained down on Roland’s head. He lifted his arms to protect his face, still laughing.
The first time Roland had done that, he claimed he owed Asagoroth for flinging his entire body into his eyeball. Asagoroth had laughed and said it was the bravest and stupidest thing any living creature had ever done to him.
Roland decided to take that as a compliment.
“Mate,” Asagoroth said, purring as he opened his eyes.
Roland smiled. “If you’re that itchy, maybe I need to clean under your scales. Especially the newly grown ones.”
Other than helping clean the blood off Asagoroth’s scales when they’d first arrived at the temple, Roland had yet to help Asagoroth properly preen. He wanted this relationship to thrive, and the only way for that to happen was if they both trusted each other without any hesitation or doubt. He wanted the intimacy.
Asagoroth lifted his head again and tilted it to the side to keep Roland in his sights.
“You wish to groom me?” He sounded pleased.
Roland grinned. “Yes, I would. How about you?”
In answer all the scales on Asagoroth’s body sprang out, exposing the shiny blue skin underneath. Roland’s heart jumped as he walked over to Asagoroth’s other side, the one that was the most damaged during the fight with Vedra. He carefully checked the skin and each scale and was relieved to find everything healing and growing the way it should. Asagoroth turned his head to the other side, and with his tongue, carefully licked his own skin and under the scales.
Being in the Upper Realm and far away from any other living creature had proven beneficial to Asagoroth’s scale health. The lack of other dragons also allowed him to fully heal. Roland checked Asagoroth’s entire side, brushing his fingers over the tender skin, and found no mites or skin rash or any other afflictions. Asagoroth shuddered a few times when he touched the blue skin, but the continual purring let Roland know it was with pleasure, not pain.
When Roland reached his tail, he paused and looked back down Asagoroth’s considerable length.
“Do you ever regret our decision?” he heard himself ask. He blinked at his own question, but it was too late to take it back. Besides, if he asked it, he must have had some doubt or worry niggling in the back of his mind despite his best intentions.
Asagoroth swung his head around and sent Roland a narrowed look, eyes gleaming with searing light.
Roland raised his hands in placation. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to offend.”
Asagoroth grunted and snapped his scales down. He twisted his body and neck, reached toward Roland, and with the very tip of his snout, poked Roland none too gently in the stomach. The move was unexpected, and Roland staggered before falling on his butt. Some of the wind had been knocked out of him, and he scowled, rubbing his stomach.
“What was that for?”
Asagoroth eyed him, his gaze still narrowed. “I am with you, Roland. I am happy. Why would I regret that?”
Well, there was the answer.
Roland sighed and sat up, holding out his hands. Asagoroth pushed into them, and Roland laid his cheek on his snout. “I understand, Asa. I am happy too.”
“You ask me that question. Now I wonder if I should not ask you the same.”
Roland rubbed his cheek against smooth scales. “I don’t regret. Not a bit. I just miss my family and my studio, my friends. I can miss them and not regret.” He pulled back and met Asagoroth’s gaze. “I love you.”
The tension that had been gathering in Asagoroth relaxed, and he rumbled in satisfaction.
Roland stood and made a show of dusting off his robe. “Now you want to help me paint the final upper half of the wall, or what?”
With eyes gleaming with humor, Asagoroth glanced at the only part of the four walls of the treasure chamber not yet complete. The mural stretched across the entire chamber, depicting several scenes from their mating flight. Roland decided battle scenes shouldn’t be in the place where they slept. He would save those for the larger chambers.
“As always, I would be honored to help.”
Roland gathered his tools and sat on Asagoroth’s snout. Asagoroth then carefully lifted him up and up and up until he was level with the blank stone. He scooted closer to the edge of Asagoroth’s snout and got to work. Yes, he could hover while trying to paint, but that would cause his lines to be shaky and ruin the beauty of the pieces. Asagoroth proved to be an invaluable assistant since he could hold as still as a statue in one position for hours without flagging. Asagoroth expressed a fascination in watching Roland work, and this was the first time Roland didn’t have a problem with someone observing him as he painted. Even Gabryl knew better than to try to hover as he set paintbrush to canvas.
There was another, deeper reason Roland was compelled to cover every square inch of stone with murals. He wanted Asagoroth to remember him. He wanted there to be a visible reminder of what they’d shared, of what happiness was. If Asagoroth was the last dragon standing, then he was immortal. Roland was not. That was simple fact. And if the unthinkable happened and Asagoroth was killed by another dragon, then Roland wanted the murals to remind him of what they were to each other.
So much of the future was still unknown. But this? This right here was something he understood: art. Creating something, giving life to what he imagined in his mind. Sharing that life and that beauty with someone he loved, with someone who could appreciate it.
Roland patted Asagoroth and got to work.
They were frequent visitors to the Middle Realm and often met up with demons there. Sometimes by chance, sometimes design. Roland traded portraits for robes and blankets and other angelic trinkets to fill their temple home. He refused to take anything for free and was more than happy to offer his skills for trade.
This continued for years, and Roland found himself going weeks without thinking of his family or of angels at all. He made friends with demons, and they accepted him, and not just because of his relationship with Asagoroth.
Though there was one time, perhaps two years after they bonded, that Roland encountered two angels quite by accident. He was collecting more supplies for paint and became separated from his demon companions. Asagoroth was off hunting for food, so he was very much alone when he stepped into a small meadow and froze. Two angels, females, turned and appeared as shocked as he was. It was obvious they recognized him by the way they gaped.
For a moment they simply stared at each other. Then Bune, from a fair distance behind him, shouted his name. Roland flinched, and the two angels seemed to come to their senses at the same time.
“Traitor!” One pointed at him.
“What are you doing here?” the other said.
He winced and took a step back. “Living my life, just as you are.” It was so strange to see angels after years of only demons.
“I smell the dragon on him,” the first angel said. The other one looked disgusted.
“Roland!” Bune yelled again.
Gritting his teeth, Roland turned and ran. He didn’t know if there were other angels in the area, and he didn’t want to find out. He nearly ran into Bune as he cleared some bushes. Bune’s green eyes popped wide, and he gripped Roland’s arm.
“You scared me,” he said in Middle Dimoori, the language which Roland used frequently now. “Do not wander off like that.”
“Angels are here,” he said, shaking off Bune’s grip. “We need to leave.”
It scared him how not strange it seemed to run from his own kin.
Bune shouted orders at the other demons and, along with Roland, flew to the other side of the globe. Roland didn’t want to leave the Middle Realm without Asagoroth, and he doubted the two angels were part of a much larger group. They were likely part of a scouting party. They wouldn’t come after him since they knew he had a dragon at his side considering his entourage of demons. They were ill-prepared to take him on but he also didn’t want to test that theory.
Roland sat on a fallen tree and stared at the ground, hands dangling between his legs. Bune and the other demons stood guard, on high alert for any attack.
Asagoroth wasn’t pleased to learn about the angels, and though it wounded his pride to flee, they did and returned to their temple. That was the first and last encounter he had with angels for three more long years.
He and Asagoroth continued to split their time between their temple and the Middle Realm. He’d even managed to convince Asagoroth to fly him to the Lower Realm. Once. It was too hot and dark and smoky for Roland’s taste. What a strange place to grow up. He enjoyed the beach in the Middle Realm and their temple the best. They’d spend days basking in the sun’s golden rays, watching the tides of the ocean sway in and out. Or they’d swim to the deepest depths of the ocean, fascinated by the creatures that called it home.
“I love your scales under this light,” Roland said and stroked a scale currently flashing lavender.
Asagoroth grunted and looked rather annoyed. “Cursed sun. It is the one thing that stains this place of perfection.”
Roland rolled his eyes and kissed the scale. “Well, I like it. My rainbow dragon.”
Asagoroth huffed a breath. He didn’t mention it at all after that, and Roland knew it was because he liked it. But he’d caught a few glances over the years as Asagoroth sneered at the color-changing scales.
The forests were grand on this world, the trees tall and thick. The creatures were diverse and beautiful in their innocence and primal motivations. Roland transferred such beauty upon the walls of their temple and duplicated the night skies upon the ceilings. Soon the temple resembled the Middle Realm, the stone warmer because of the murals of life.
He and Asagoroth grew closer, oftentimes needing no words to communicate. A mere look or touch was all that was needed to express a thought, a desire. He also saw Bune many times over those years, and they became good friends. He even met Bune’s wife and five children. He’d fastened Asagoroth’s scale to leather straps that wrapped around his chest, an obvious proclamation of importance as well as a way to make sure it was never lost.
Asagoroth fought two other dragons during that time, then nothing. He kept feelers out among the demons loyal to him, but no one reported anything back for years.
Was Asagoroth the last?
Roland was certain the rumors of his victories had reached the angels. And even among the demons, he was starting to be referred to as “the great dragon.” And he belonged to Roland.
Panting, sweating, Roland lay on his back on the stone floor, jerking his head from side to side. He dug his fingers into the stone, unable to find anything to hold onto as the pleasure whipped mercilessly through his body. Asagoroth growled as he took Roland’s cock deeper into his mouth, the vibrations doing torturous things to his sensitive tip. With one large hand, he held the base of his cock while he played with his ass with the other, two thick fingers deep inside, pressing and thrusting them against that painfully pleasurable spot inside.
“Asa, Asa,” Roland whimpered. He spread his legs farther and bent his knees closer to his chest, granting Asagoroth as much access as he desired. The beast was drawing this out, and Roland’s throat was raw, his breaths ragged from the assault.
He’d been innocently sketching out another mural on the lower half of one of the remaining blank walls when Asagoroth and snuck up and attacked. No warning, no hesitation, just like a predator stalking prey.
Bless him.
Asagoroth lifted his head, his smile smug, as he pumped and fingered Roland, watching him unravel.
“In-inside me. Inside me!”
Asagoroth grunted and pulled out his fingers. Roland barely felt the emptiness of the withdrawal before Asagoroth pushed his hard shaft inside. Roland’s breath caught, and he gripped Asagoroth’s arms, meeting his gaze. He really didn’t know how Asagoroth could appear so calm when his own need had to be raging through his blood just like Roland.
Now Asagoroth’s breaths became slightly ragged, and before he could really start to pound, he shimmered his wings insubstantial and rolled them until Roland lay on top.
“What?” he panted, disoriented by the sudden reversal.
“Ride.”
The command shivered down his spine. Roland sat up, his body still trembling from the foreplay. Asagoroth had paused in his stroking and now took it up again, gaze fierce and demanding.
Roland shimmered his wings visible and spread them out, enjoying how Asagoroth’s eyes widened in wonder. Then he moved, riding for all he was worth. Asagoroth gripped his hip tight enough to leave a bruise. Good. Roland liked those bruises. Asagoroth thrust up with his hips, and they instantly found a rhythm, their bodies too in tune and knowledgeable about the other to be awkward anymore.
It wasn’t always Asagoroth to ambush Roland. Sometimes Roland could make the great dragon beg for mercy.
Asagoroth squeezed and twisted his wrist, causing Roland to come first. He cried out and squeezed his inner muscles, forcing Asagoroth to come with him. Roland collapsed limply on his chest, gasping for air and violently trembling. Asagoroth grunted at the impact, his own lungs working hard to breathe.
Beyond the roaring of blood in Roland’s ears, he thought he heard another creature roaring in the distance. He frowned, his brain still mushy after the orgasm. Asagoroth went still and silent underneath him. His tension was tight, a predator about to pounce.
The roar came again. Closer this time.
Asagoroth sat up, one arm around Roland’s waist. Roland made a sound of frustration and clung to Asagoroth’s shoulders. He pressed his face into his chest.
“It’s not,” he said softly, urgently. “We’re both hallucinating.”
Asagoroth lifted a hand and covered Roland’s mouth. He cocked his head, intent on the noise. Another roar echoed in the thick air, and there was no mistaking it.
“We are the last,” Asagoroth whispered roughly. “He and I are the last. The demons have reported true. It ends now one way or another.”
Roland surged up and kissed him hard, wishing he could transfer whatever strength he possessed to his dragon. Then he pulled back and gripped Asagoroth’s face between his hands, holding his gaze.
“Come back to me, Asagoroth. Come back to your angel.”
The fierce light of love and pride blazed in those immense blue eyes, and Asagoroth grinned widely, showing off gleaming white teeth.
“Your dragon will always come back to you.” He pressed their foreheads together. “Always.”
They both stood, and with a crack in the air, Asagoroth morphed into his natural shape, large and imposing, gleaming black and fiercely strong. He spread his wings and looked up at the only hole in the ceiling, a natural entry and exit point. But before he left, he sent Roland a last glance, and dark clouds roiled overhead as thunder and lightning rumbled and struck in the ensuing darkness.
Lightning the same color as Roland’s eyes.
Roland swallowed his tears of worry and smiled broadly. “Do what you do best, my dragon. Then come home.”
A hungry smile curled Asagoroth’s lips before he turned and launched out of the temple. The storm clouds dissipated as he soared away, swiftly disappearing. Roland pounced after him and crouched on the temple’s roof. He stayed there for a long time, eyes locked in the distance, heart hammering against his chest.
Now they would both learn if Asagoroth was, indeed, the great dragon. He would either rise or fall.
Roland bowed his head, and a single tear escaped his control and splashed against the stone.
Four days passed, and still no word. Roland flung himself into his art once again since standing around crying and worrying wouldn’t help in the least. Asagoroth would come home, and then they could finally live their lives free of the shadow of other dragons. Then it would only be the shadow of their disparate lifespans. He should have spoken about such things earlier, but the topic was sourly depressing, and he very much doubted Asagoroth would let it go too far before he distracted them both with sex.
Roland sighed and stepped back from the wall. He absently cleaned his brush, looking over the mural, lacking any enthusiasm.
“Roland!”
He whipped around and gaped. “Bune?”
Bune landed roughly on the floor and ran to him. “You need to leave, now!”
Blood drained from his face, and he staggered in sudden weakness. “Asa—”
Bune grabbed his shoulders to steady him. “The great dragon still fights. I saw it with my own eyes. No, I am here because of angels. I saw them as I came to report the battle to you, and they are not far behind.”
“What?” Roland shoved Bune aside and flew out of the temple. He landed on the roof, and his eyes bugged out of his head. The glint and shimmer of starlight reflected on the armor of legions of angelic soldiers as they bore down upon the temple.
Roland froze for the span of a minute, though his mind raced with thoughts. He couldn’t run. He couldn’t fight. They obviously expected to fight a dragon, considering their size, but all they would find was one angel artist and a single demon soldier, whom they would promptly kill.
His reckoning had arrived.
Roland tensed, and his sight went blurry. I’m sorry, Asa.
“We need to fly, now!” Bune gripped his shoulder. “You can hide in the Lower Realm. They will not follow.”
“No.”
“What?”
Roland stood and spun to grip Bune’s face. “Listen to me. They will hunt me to the end of all realms. I will not escape, and you can’t protect me. Not by yourself. You need to fly away, my friend. Find Asagoroth. If he is victorious, Light Bringer willing, tell him what happened. But also tell him this—angels live again. I will die, but I will also be reborn. Do you hear me?”
Bune’s eyes were wide and round as he nodded.
“I will return to him. I swear to the Light Bringer, I will come back. He can’t kill all the angels. If he does, I will never return.”
“Roland,” Bune said, his voice cracking.
Roland gripped him in a tight hug before pushing away a moment later. “Leave. Now. That is an order, soldier.”
Bune’s eyes glistened as he nodded and launched away. He dove sharply and disappeared into the light-gray clouds that separated the Upper Realm from the Middle Realm.
Roland stayed where he was and waited for his brothers and sisters to come for him.