DOUBLE UPDATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

TWO CHAPTERS OF VIRION, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THEM!

LIKE AND COMMENT IF YOU DO!!!

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Here he was. Back in the hut.

It was a blessing that Virion no longer loathed the space, though he still found it offensively small in expanse. Even so, one could admit that Zirkhlon’s nest had its attributes: its warmth, inexplicable sturdiness, and plush furnishings. Those traits had come together to erase the loathing, but even so, Virion harboured a certain degree of emotional strife with the unanimated space.

It had nothing to do with the hut itself, he realised. It was more so what it signified, which was that Virion’s earlier outburst might truly have been a moment of ‘dramatics’, as Zirkhlon had so graciously deemed it.

A mere hirt ago, he’d sworn to himself that he would never return to this place. That he would rather die than do so. And yet here he was, seated quietly in the hut on his preferred lounger, where he’d settled upon after another delightful bath.

It was a disgrace Virion would carry in silence.

Shifting restlessly, Virion struggled to keep himself from peering over the spine of the lounger in search of his confusing host. Zirkhlon had told him that he was fetching the wine after they’d each emerged from a much-needed soak, but that had been some time ago, and there was no trace of the dragon other than the occasional shuffling.

Some still-viperous part of Virion thought this waiting game was meant to be a recompense, though that seemed unlikely. They’d seemed to have squashed their conflicts in the heart of the storm. The fact that they’d managed to walk back to the safety of the hut without falling into a single clash of words was proof of that.

Yes, Zirkhlon was earnest in his appeal for fresh beginnings. Virion was certain of that, but surely he could not still be looking. The dragon’s chambers were not that big.

Virion hated to wait on any given day, but more so when he felt so horribly bare.

Silks caressed his skin once again, and though they were just as fine as the previous ones Zirkhlon had loaned him, it was the spill of his hair that made him feel so exposed. The night prior, Virion had braided it back, reluctantly exposing his face while devoid of its usual fineries. This night, he’d left his hair to its own devices, which was not something Virion did in the company of others.

Virion’s hair was the only wild part of him.

It was why he spent a hirt each night tending to it, but he could not do that now with all his necessary vials locked away in his stowed carrier. He could braid it again, but that would leave his face exposed, and after two days of only using Zirkhlon’s mystery bar of soap, Virion found himself inclined to hide some of his bare skin with his unmanned hair.

“I was promised wine,” the prince announced once he could not bear the lone silence for a second more.

“That you were,” the dragon called back without venom but something akin to the amusement he had begun to share frequently with Virion since their collision in the woods. “I am simply selecting one to match your tastes.”

Virion could not help his huff as he smoothed out the silk draped over his thighs, “What do you know of my tastes?”

“Nothing, in truth. I’m left to make assumptions.” There’s an air of indifference that accompanies Zirkhlon’s response that Virion can picture without any trouble. “And my assumptions of your tastes are that it is rather refined. You have a preference for a rich blend— something with a story that has accompanied its age. Yes?”

Virion’s fingers fidgeted once again with his clothing, though this time, it came as a result of the dragon’s rather astute assessment of him. Now, the prince felt naked not only in appearance but in soul.

Before he was forced to reply, however, the dragon’s shuffling morphed itself into sure steps that returned him to the prince’s flustered company. In Zirkhlon’s strong hands, a wine glass hung between two knuckles, and two well-fitted decanters clunked together in the other.

It was the decanters that garnered Virion’s focus, not the golden-crusted edges of the glass, but the decanters, which are each enchanting in their own ways.

The first was a twisting, almost liquid vessel. Translucent, except where it was dusted red from the broken glass that had been added during its making. The other was black in hue and strangely robust, except where its elongated neck led to a small snout at the top. They were the kind of decanters his mother plucked when they shopped through the rich markets within the deserts of ImFell. Decadent.

Virion eyed them with the same disbelief he’d eyed his clothes the night prior, and once again, he wondered how this strange, and yet exceedingly fascinating dragon, owned such precious items.

“Dragon’s wine,” Zirkhlon announced as he settled himself on the seat opposite Virion’s, the same one he’d claimed the previous night. It seemed to be his preferred seating, and yet, the one in which Virion favoured was the one most steeped with the dragon’s musked scent.

Virion clapped his hands in delight, just barely managing to stifle his groan, “That will do nicely.”

“For me,” Zirkhlon stated as he held onto the darker cruet before setting the other in front of Virion, along with the lone glass. “For you.”

Virion intended to ask where the dragon hid his glass, but before he could, Zirkhlon brought his decanter to his lips and gifted himself a bountiful gulp.

Virion forced himself to smile to hide his grimace because while the sight of Zirkhlon drinking straight from his decanter was a horrifying one, the dragon did not seek to subject him to the same humiliation, and that was thoughtful enough.

With nimble fingers, Virion grasped the pretty thing whose contents already smelled wonderful to his nose, and poured himself a greedy measure. The polished wine sweetened the air without effort, hinted by traces of sugar and cinnamon.

The glass found itself upon his lips before he could think twice, but he did think twice when he found the dragon watching him from over its rim.

“This is safe,” Virion breathed, or rather asked, before he dared to take a sip. “I can drink dragon’s wine, but I do not want to see myself incapacitated simply because you wish to see me in such a state.”

The fiery wine the dragons consumed was not usually Virion’s first choice, but he’d travelled to the isles enough to have tasted and enjoyed the delicacy on more than one occasion. It was a strong thing that soothed the fire in its makers and stirred the fire in others, but it always made for a nice time, and right now, Virion desperately needed such. He only did not wish to see himself undone as a result of trusting a dragon he barely had begun to learn.

Zirkhlon smiled another sharp-toothed grin that had begun to confuse the prince’s senses. “I have long outlived such petty behaviour.”

“Pettiness remains at any age,” Virion retorted. He was a breathing example of that.

“I suppose,” the dragon allowed with a nod, “but I do not wish to harm you. That would bring more trouble upon myself than I’d ever want.” He gestured to the glass. “Try it. I think you will enjoy the flavour. I uncorked it for you.”

Aged wine from a dragon? Virion threw caution to the storm’s faithful winds and took a tentative sip of the wine. Flavour exploded within his mouth, as sweet as he imagined and then smooth, as if to coax the initial rush.

Virion could not quiet his pleased hum as he closed his eyes and took another sip from the decadent glass, and then another.

Purified pleasure washed through him for the first time in what felt like an entire era. This whole experience, from the news his mothers had pelted onto him, to his journey within the storm, and his disputes with his present company, had wound him uncharacteristically tight, and the wine was already undoing the effects of those horrors.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” Zirkhlon asked, bringing him back to the present.

“Yes,” Virion replied, with a true smile. It was not the feigned thing he gave to his adversaries or the unperturbed one he shared with his brood when they sought to tease him, but a true, honest smile that Virion found himself hardly adorning as of late. “It’s quite lovely.”

Zirkhlon’s eyes stuttered over the prince’s face, drawn in for a moment by the sudden light that filled his cheeks, adding a sweetness to his complexion that dotted out the sharpness. It took a moment still before he was able to remember himself.

With a stiff nod, he raised his mistreated decanter in a mock toast, “To a very unpleasant feen.”

Virion could not keep his lips from parting into an even wider smile.

He was used to his siblings’ quick wit, but never that of another— all too respectful of his station for such things. Zirkhlon, however, was far too quick for his own good and seemed inclined to show it in a friendlier manner.

“To a very unpleasant feen,” he agreed before adding, “and even more unpleasant company.”

Zirkhlon barked a raucous laugh, his red-rimmed eyes glowing, “Iy.”

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“A question for you,” Virion spurred from behind the rim of his glass that he had already filled thrice over.

“Only the one?” Zirkhlon retorted, claiming another one of Virion’s smiles.

The dragon had unlocked the playbook in doing so and was yet to grow bored of seeing it through again and again, just as Virion was yet to tire of making him laugh without restraint.

In the bellows of the storm, where no others within the realm could reach the unlikely pair, conversation had sprouted and, watered by wine, grown parsimoniously.

Virion had already shown his most unbecoming self to the dragon, and Zirkhlon had admittedly been absurdly honest from the start, but he was slightly friendlier now, and the changes from them both allowed them to develop some—… It could not be called friendship. It was too soon for that. They had only known one another for a feen— two now as they unknowingly delved into early morning hours.

Comradery? No. Neither would acquaintanceship do.

It was hard to name what had developed between them, but it was easy to describe.

It was pleasant. Warm. Amusing. Unfamiliar. Addictive. Slightly infuriating still, but in a way that made them both laugh. It seemed they were incapable of not jabbing at one another, but it no longer sent the other into rage; rather, begrudged amusement.

In his liquored mind, Virion guessed it was the wind that eased them, or perhaps, the events they’d shared thus far. Whichever it was, they no longer bit at one another in a manner that was meant to cause pain. Smiles sailed between them, along with laughter, and as Virion found himself slouched along the lounger’s length. He could not find it in himself to care.

“Are you going to ask the question?” Zirkhlon asked with some impatience.

“When I am ready,” Virion had been about to ask it, but he waited now a little longer just to incense his company. Teasing the edges of his glass with his fingers, Virion allowed the seconds to tick by before finally, he blurted the question out, “What was your first impression of me?”

Zirkhlon huffed a laugh, “You need me to answer that?”

“Before we spoke, before the rudeness,” Virion corrected with a wave. “When you first saw me,” he paused, watching the dragon closely, “…what did you think of me then?”

Zirkhlon’s laughter did not come this time as he stared at Virion, frowning slightly as if he did not understand the question. Virion knew he did, so he stayed quiet and waited, so that the dragon would be forced to answer.

Lowering his near-empty decanter, Zirkhlon kept the prince’s curious gaze for a few more moments before he offered the truth.

“You should know that I was going to turn in for the night when I felt your presence. I knew it was not any of my kin because no other would be so foolish.” Virion rolled his eyes but returned them quickly to Zirkhlon’s piercing gaze. “When I saw you…” The dragon’s gaze was unrelenting, refusing to let Virion’s stray once again.“…It felt like a test.”

“A test?” Virion repeated.

“A lost prince in my land with no means of escape,” he explained with a tsk. “It is not often we dragons stumble upon such unprotected jewels.”

Virion found himself frowning from confusion he could not quite decipher. As he recalled, he had hidden his jewels away, and dragons did not have any superior sense to know such things were present without seeing them. Had he looked within his carrier when he’d moved it?

“And you?” Zirkhlon asked before Virion could piece together that he, with his purple eyes and meticulously maintained everything, was the jewel. “What did you think of me?”

“A rugged wildling,” the prince deadpanned.

There was a moment, a beat of silence, where it could prove either adequate or disastrous, and this easy, wonderful night could be smothered out. Virion regretted his honesty in that moment, which made him realise that he was enjoying this night terribly.

But then Zirkhlon’s rich laugh filled the stretch of the hut, adding to its warmth, and similar warmth kindled within the prince’s chest. Virion was growing rather fond of those unbridled laughs; more than that, he was beginning to seek them out.

“Though it would be unfair to class you solely as such with your fineries,” Virion continued hurriedly. “Your clothes are torn, but the tailoring alone of what you’ve given to me is quite exquisite.”

The dragon hummed a note of appreciation.

“Add to that the decanters and the wine, and I do not know what to make of it or…” Virion’s tone fell into a softness he wanted to keep reserved but found that he couldn’t, “…what to make of you.”

Zirkhlon’s gaze kept his once again, claiming it with the same intensity it had in the woods when he’d been crouched protectively over him. To Virion, it felt as if they were back out there, except where he’d been battling the winds, he now fought against his heart that hammered harder the longer they simply stared at one another.

Their gazes refused to part, like they were incapable of doing anything else– as if they were trying desperately to signal something to the other without knowing what it was. It was intense. Too much. Odd for them both.

One of them should make some smart comment to smother the fresh flame flickering between them. Fire was dangerous, more so when left unattended. But Virion found himself incapable of doing such a thing.

Luckily, Zirkhlon seemed to manage just fine.

“So you like my clothing?” He teased, adorning a new smile that was not quite like the others. This one came forced, and Virion found himself despising its appearance. “I thought I was abysmally dressed.”

“You are,” Virion replied, allowing the change in subject. “But what you’ve given to me has been fine indeed.”

“Given?” The dragon retorted as he lifted a sardonic brow. “Remind me— when did I ‘give’ you my clothing?”

“Right now,” Virion retorted without missing a beat.

Zirkhlon released a haughty laugh, “Is that so?”

“Yes,” the prince replied with a nod while he carefully set his wine glass down. He was greedy for more, but he had taken notice of the way he began leaning forward, how his eyes sank heavily onto other parts of the dragon other than his face, and he was disinclined to fully lose his wits. “Where did you acquire it? These random fine items amongst all the rest?”

“I am a dragon, Virion,” his companion replied as if he were slow-minded.

“All the dragons I have come to meet would never allow themselves to be seen in the items I’ve witnessed on you.”

“I suppose we should thank Ythene that I am not like most dragons,” he replied slowly while his gaze slitted, becoming almost amorous. “I do not believe you are so open with other dragons.”

Virion passed his tongue over his lips as they tugged up, “The situation saw to that.”

“Yes,” Zirkhlon’s agreement came as a husky thing, drawled to caress the prince’s ears. “I find myself ever grateful for the storm.”

“You enjoy my company now?” Virion teased with a loose chuckle.

“Yes.”

They’d been destined for a collision from the moment they’d met. Though now, Virion questioned what type of confrontation that would be.

Virion had expected a slighted denial, more of the combative playfulness they’d begun to ease into.

Virion did not expect a plainly uttered, entirely serious ‘yes’, nor had he expected himself to be so thoroughly pleased to hear it. His pleasure showed, wafting over him and through the air, and the dragon sensed it immediately.

For a moment, neither dared to breathe.

How could they when their gazes once again sought the other out and knitted together from across the table. A fire festered between them, one that rivalled the one crackling beside them and made their hearts beat loudly in equal want.

Virion could feel his skin heating. He could feel the warmth rising rapidly, and paired with such force that not even his glamour could hide, the thin vale shattered, exposing him to the predator in his midst.

Like this, Zirkhlon saw the prince as he was, behind all the glamour and prettying. Zirkhlon saw Virion’s bare, creamed skin as it was, slightly dotted by minuscule blemishes that no other knew were there, ones that he could barely glimpse before they were lost amongst the heat inflaming Virion’s face.

The heat raced up Virion’s neck, all the way to the pointed tips of his ears, making the prince look less like a polished jewel and more like a hidden gem… and undiscovered treasures stirred every dragon.

Virion’s heart beat tirelessly as Zirklhon slowly rose to his feet, making him truly notice for the first time just how much power was coiled within this body. Power that seemed barely restrained as he stepped around the table and moved towards the prince.

Virion tensed. Zirkhlon stilled.

Fair moments passed with only the fire’s dance to fill them before Zirkhlon dared to take another step. This time, Virion did not move an inch.

Slowly, so very carefully, the dragon stalked towards him, as if he was trying not to scare the prince away, although Virion was already terrified. Not of Zirkhlon— no— but of himself.

He should have stopped Zirkhlon by now. He should have told him that the wine had not dulled his senses that much— because it hadn’t— and to discard that inflamed look in his eyes. To stay far from him, and that he could never dream of touching him… because that was what he intended to do. Virion could see it in his eyes.

But Virion did not say any of those things. Virion found that he could say nothing at all as his rugged companion stopped before him, his body so incensed by lust that, this close, it warmed Virion more than the fire did.

“Zirkhlon,” Virion whispered his warning between bated breaths, but it did not quite carry the same power it did when he was with others in this situation.

There were things Virion was used to when he allowed another to pleasure him.

He was used to gratefulness. He was used to pleas for more, and he was certainly used to a complete understanding that there was not an inch of his body they were allowed to touch unless he declared as much.

What Virion was not used to, were mighty arms wrapping around his middle, forcing him up on his knees so that his lips could be claimed in a scorching kiss, but that was what Zirkhlon did— he claimed Virion.

Virion’s moan of surprise found itself muffled against the surprisingly soft lips that slid over his. Zirkhlon’s lips were supple, unlike his coarse beard that scratched at Virion’s skin. The contrast ignited a frenzied lust within his body that made him concerningly pliant in the dragon’s arms.

Virion made a plea for air that would certainly allow him to think, but parting his lips only allowed Zirkhlon, in his assured claim, to take more. And that he did, sliding his hot tongue within the prince’s mouth.

Virion lifted his thin-fingered hands to push the all-too-confident dragon away, but all they did was hover and shake above his massive shoulders as the creature took every inch of the prince he desired, never once stopping to ask for it.

It set Virion ablaze. That confidence. That hunger.

It made his trembling hands settle on flesh and cling tight as he parted his lips with a strangled moan, allowing the dragon in for more, and then shivering all over when he did so with a deep, pleasured groan.

Arousal rushed into his trousers, filling his cock and making him ache as rough hands passed over his body, gripping and pulling, and taking.

It was a while before they managed to part from one another, breathing deeply as they tried to refill their lungs, though it proved a challenge when they remained pressed so close.

It was a while still before their eyes met and the full weight of what they’d just done began to seep in, reminding them that they were strangers; that Virion was a prince, and Zirkhlon, a lone, unkept dragon.

That even more time would pass before the storm would end, before they’d part and likely never speak again; before this peculiar meeting would be nothing but a distant memory.

That was why Virion lurched forward, and precisely why Zirkhlon did the same.

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….all I can say is enjoy the ride in Chapter 7