He avoided her for the next few days.
He did not find it patently ridiculous and he did not call it avoiding per se; he just ensured that he and she were not in the library at the same time. He was not hungry, so he did not need to eat either, so he was not really avoiding her at mealtimes. He just found it unnecessary to partake in a meal that he had no need for.
He spent his time like he did before those idiots decided to trespass his land, he lay buried in his gold, enjoying the feel of the stones and coins and crowns of long forgotten dwarf kings sliding against his scales, stretching and folding his wings and ignoring the back room in his mind palace, where a petite human wearing a green bare backed dress was locked up.
He thought he was being very clever, staying in his dragon form. She would not dare approach him like this. And anyway, he had not given her permission to come down his hoard.
No one dared to disobey him. (Except John, but then, hobbits were not really his area of jurisdiction. He so missed his hobbit, maybe one day he could- he shut down that thought as quickly as it came. No point in getting sentimental about things.)
He snorted and burrowed down, until only his red, scaly snout and the black and gold ridges of his back and tail stood out from the pile of glittering gold. He closed his eyes and prepared for a nap. If his memory was right, and it always was, Molly should be deep in her studies of the human flesh and thus by the time he woke, the library would be empty.
The twinkling sound of metal jerked him awake.
His first instinct was to think the burglars were back again, but then a flowery-spicy reached him. He shifted so that his head was visible, and growled, "You are not supposed to be here."
Molly had shrieked a bit, a purely instinctual response to the terrifyingly magnificent vision of the fire-red dragon raising its head out of a sea of gold, and had sat down on the stairs leading up to the door.
She sounded remarkably composed, staring at the one, large amber eye that was visible. "You have been avoiding me. Have I done something wrong?"
He blinked once. "You flatter yourself if you think you are so important to me." He smirked inwardly. That should put this female in her place.
Molly kicked absentmindedly at a gemstone, and he tried not to feel offended. "You really are not subtle, O King."
She used his title as a name, and he wondered what it would feel like to hear her say his name, his true name.
He snorted defensively, and tried to burrow back in.
"So, I will see you at dinner?" she asked again and he could hear the sly smile.
"Fine, Molly." Anything to make her leave him at peace.
From then on, he made it a point not to avoid her. He was there at the library, both of them working on their respective studies, (Molly pored over books of every topic, the ancient writing of the elves, and the more recent writing of man, even the rough sketches of the dwarfs) and he was there at mealtimes (he was not hungry and refused to eat, making her uncomfortable with his staring).
He had been deep in his mind palace (looking for a way to ensure Molly's room never surfaced to the forefront) when a giggle made him look at her.
Molly had been sitting on the futon for a while now, reading what looked like an ancient scroll written by man. It must not have been a worthwhile scroll, for he could not seem to remember it. He must have read it and then erased it from his mind.
She caught him looking at her and bit her lip in an attempt to stem the laughter falling from her lips. Her were glowing brighter than any piece of gold in his hoard.
"And what exactly, may I ask, is so funny, Molly?"
She was still trying to hold back her giggles; she patted the seat next to hers, indicating that she wanted him to sit next to her. He tilted his head to her over properly, her sparkling eyes, a bright red flush on her cheekbones, her lips curved in a smile.
He sat down beside her before he even knew he had moved.
She moved closer to him so he could read the scroll properly, and all he could think about was the way her body was so close, he could shift a few centimeters and he could feel the cool human flesh, hear the beat of her heart, the spot on her neck where her scent was heady and strong…
He shook his head violently (ignoring the surprised look she gave him). He had been alone for too long, and now his mind was deluding him into thinking this lowly human would make a worthy companion.
He was throwing her out the moment she said something moronic, her father's punishment be damned.
He focused on the piece of writing she was showing him, though her eyes were fixed on him, no longer laughing.
"'- the crow of the rooster is fatal'," he read aloud, "'to whichever dragon who hears'- What is this rubbish?"
He watched the girl laugh out loud now, no longer containing her mirth, her face open and free and glowing; he did not know what to feel. He settled for petulance. Shoving the scroll back to her, he said, "This is obviously written by some low grade superstitious priest or quite possibly a rooster salesman looking to make a quick coin."
She laughed again, turning to face him properly on the futon, pulling her legs up, hiding them underneath her skirt (frayed a bit at the edges, worn often, her favorite). He was suddenly even more aware of how close she was. He could count every freckle across her cheeks, every individual lashes on her eyelids.
"You look nicer," she said softly, her words ghosting over his lips as if in a soft caress. "You look nicer when you are joking around."
He couldn't answer. His throat was suddenly very dry.
"It makes you seem less…lonely." She was so close.
Her hands cupped his face, thumbs caressing his cheekbones, the faint traces of his scales around his eyes, the trails of gold framing his face. (What was the matter with him? He couldn't move.)
Her face (a sweet, open, human face) became a blur and soon he could feel nothing except for the sweet taste of her lips pressed chastely to his.
It was like a dam had broken inside of his mind.
They struck up an odd routine that he found himself to be quite pleased with, even if he did not understand why.
He was still uncertain about how he felt about this, her curling up against him boldly every time they sat on the futon together, her slender fingers sometimes twisting the curls of hair at the nape of his neck in thought as she read. He was not sure if he entirely minded it, it was not an unpleasant sensation.
And sometimes, they would lie entwined together, him reading to her from an ancient language she did not understand but insisted on him reading to her anyways. She would press soft kisses long his ears and his trails, sometimes nipping at his jaw line before she turned his head to kiss him, an innocent kiss whose meaning he did not know.
She would tell him stories in return; of life in the lake town she was born. She would tell him of growing up with an ambitious Lord for a father, of being groomed for marriage to a wealthy Duke from a very early age (his arms would tighten possessively around her then).
Some days she would talk about her mother and her eyes would fill with pain. Those were the days he looked least forward to, even though kissing her tears away made him feel a strange sense of pride.
He allowed her innocent explorations, letting their tongues, his forked and reptilian, hers blunt and so very human, tangle in a sweet dance, him tasting everything cool and sweet about her while his body warmed hers and made her writhe against him in glorious ways.
It was no surprise that after two weeks of her teasing him, her minx like smiles every time he would pull away from her, overwhelmed, the high level of pent up sexual tension snapped.
She bit her lip and he almost groaned as she slowly, painfully unbuckled and unlaced his pants, pushing at them ineffectually. He smirked but otherwise forced his face to remain impassive, his tongue flicking out to tease her breasts before moving swiftly down, sucking red blotches into the pale skin of her abdomen and hips.
He took care not to bite her, but the temptation was strong, to mark her, claim her, so that all of dragon kind would know she was his. The heady musk of arousal emanating from her made his mouth water, and he had to have a taste of her.
She keened as soon as his mouth connected with her center; he worked her wet flesh until a hoarse cry erupted from her, her back arching as her body grew taut at the apex of her pleasure, before falling back into his gold a tad painfully. He rose to meet her lips again, making her taste herself on his tongue, one of his hands rubbing at the back of her head to ease any discomfort.
He allowed her hands to continue their trek around his body, following his golden trails and lingering in places where his scales showed, unhidden by magic. He pushed off his pants and pulled her closer, his cock teasing at her dripping entrance. Her hands came to his chest, and she pushed him back.
"Wait, wait-," she whispered urgently, and he reared back.
"If you are not ready-," he felt like a fool, she was a pure innocent and he was about to defile her forever, with as much thought as an inferior animal rutting in instinct.
"No, no, I am," she said, smiling and burying her hands into his reddish-black hair, pulling him closer for a kiss. "You have been so kind to me…I just want to go a bit slower."
He nodded, a small smile breaking free. He kissed her again, their tongues meeting in their familiar dance before he went to her neck, nipping at the soft skin there.
Her small hand encircled his cock.
He nearly saw spots, and had to bat her hand away, clasping it in his and entwining their fingers instead.
"My sweet Molly," he growled, a truly wicked smile forming on his face, "you are not as innocent as you seem."
She muffled a giggle, one of her legs coming up to hook around his hips. He hooked her other leg into the crook of his elbow, spreading her and slowly, torturously slowly, eased the tip of his length into her. She breathed in deeper, and fixed her brown eyes onto his golden ones. He tried to distract her from the discomfort, kissing her deeply and sweetly as he buried himself deep within her.
She clutched at the hand holding hers, and he saw the pain flit across her flushed face.
"Move, move," she ordered through clenched teeth. He went slowly until she was arching up against him, making him move deeper into her, all traces of pain gone and replaced with pleasure.
She came again, another cry ripping from her and he wondered again what his true name would sound like spilling from her lips at the height of pleasure.
Her body clutched at him, her orgasm milking his, and he kissed her clumsily, sloppily trying to show his affection for her, his trust in her and how much he valued her, this girl he stole, more precious than any of the jewels and crowns in this palace.
He lay awake afterwards, long body curled up around her, one hand cupping a bare breast possessively.
He was surprised at how quickly he had changed his mind about her, and he wondered if he should be worried. If he should restart building his defenses, before what he felt for this girl in his arms destroyed his carefully garnered mental discipline.
Before he hurt her and sent her running, because in the end that is what he does, he breaks things, sets them on fire and destroys them to charred pieces.
Princesses were never meant to be with dragons.
But dragons are selfish creatures, he thinks as he draws her in closer, knowing that he should move her to her bed if she is to be comfortable (he is more comfortable here, in the true bed of a dragon). He kisses her and she turns around in her sleep, burrowing into the crook of his shoulder and pressing her lips to the flesh there.
Later, he thinks. Everything could be tackled with later, when he did not have his arms full of her softness.
He barely closes his eyes when he hears it.
The sound of the drums.
A/N: Remember when I said there will be two chapters of this? I lied. The story ran away from me and formed a plot. Oopsie. But thank you all so much for the comments and giving this Smauglock a chance, because I thought you would chase me out of the ship for it.
Love to Laura for her opinions and without her a great portion of this would be in the rubbish bin. Love also to Aditi, for her thoughts and comments, even though I went and porned it up. Sorry, love.
And finally, a great big hug to Broomy, for whom this story exists, and I'm just so glad she likes it.
Leave a comment or kudos or a review guys! I read them all more often than I read my Law texts, they are that important to me.
P.S: And yes. Intentional references are intentional.