SURPRISE EARLY DROP!!!!!!

6000+ WORDS OF MY FAVOURITE VIRION CHAPTER (I lied last time cause I forgot this was upcoming)

enjoyyyyyyyyyyyy my beautiful and wonderful humansssssss

——

If the guards manning the doors before him ever dared recount this moment and described his restless fidgeting as he approached as proof of nerves, then Virion would have no choice but to hunt them down and remove them from their stations on terms of a falsified report.

It would not matter whether it was accurate. Ranks would be recalled.

Fingers fiddling with the sleeve end of his blouse, Virion strutted forth.

It fit like a second skin, as all the pieces currently adorning his body had. They had come together better than he had envisioned, and when Virion glimpsed himself in his chamber’s mirrors, it had been a tangible feat to drag himself away.

The prince looked magnificent. Zirkhlon had seen to that.

His heart fluttered in his chest, caught between its dalliance with excitement and nervousness. Virion had always proclaimed nerves to be a sad testament to broken confidence, but he had never thought he would suffer such a fate.

Now, they ran rampant, and refused to stop.

He almost did not come. Almost. But he was too prideful to hide, too greedy to renounce his promised gifts, and he would not be able to sleep until someone witnessed how wonderful he looked. A specific someone.

It did not matter if that person was the only one he ever struggled to face.

He would not struggle here, however, for he had a plan. Virion’s attendance would be brief enough to allow Zirkhlon to see him, share in one tasting, and then retreat to his chambers with his gifts in tow.

That was all, he had decided. Allwouldbe well.

The dragon’s softest smile appeared at the forefront of his mind just as the guards stepped forth to open the doors for him. Virion had no opportunity to stop or fortify himself. He could only stifle his curses and carry on.

Inside, an opulent chamber awaited, painted sea green with silvered accents across every inch, including the lining of the large marble columns. But the prince hardly noticed any of the grandeur as his gaze immediately fixed itself upon the lone figure inside.

The one who leaned against one of the dining table’s edges, idly twirling a glass of wine in one of his large hands until he looked up.

Immediately, the dragon straightened, appearing almost startled.

“Virion,” he whispered, the greeting saturated with what resembled joyous relief to the prince’s ears, but he could never be sure because then, the dragon properlylookedat the prince.

Zirkhlon inhaled audibly, as if Virion’s appearance forced him to fill his lungs.

Fiery eyes whisked over him, sailing across every measure of his person. He started at the soles of his feet, at his black laced slippers, and carefully travelled up the rest of his finely-veiled frame as if cherishing every contour of his person in segments.

Virion struggled not to squirm while the dragon’s eyes flamed when they crept over his legs, which remained exposed at their laced sides, and then, at the tightly strung corset that made the already challenging act of breathing so much harder.

Zirkhlon’s stare moved to the jewels he himself had adorned Virion in, the prince’s softly dusted lashes and cascading black hair, before he finally seemed to take Virion in as a whole.

His lips fell open, and for the second time, Virion witnessed what shock looked like on a man like Zirkhlon.

This was often the point where Virion smiled to himself, proud to leave another dumbstruck at his beauty. But there were no smiles to be mustered, even if he was quietly proud, for beneath his fragile glamour, Virion was an overheated, bubbling riot of achingly confusing pleasure.

“There was never a risk of anything else, but…” Zirkhlon sought a breath and caught it with noted struggle, “Virion… you are a vision.”

Virion looked away.

He had to, for he was no better equipped for receiving compliments from this man now than he had been when given his first.

“Thank you,” he mumbled before lifting his head to take in what was to be their setting for the evening. “This looks rather grand.”

When no response came, Virion returned his gaze to the dragon. He was still looking at him.

He swallowed with some effort. “It is rude to stare.”

Zirkhlon’s gaze flared as he took the prince in all over again, unhurried, as if Virion had not spoken at all. Only when he was done and satisfied did he deliver his response. “Yes, but as we have established, I am a brute when it comes to you.”

Virion’s glamour teetered.

He stepped back, the action thoughtless, but it was enough to spur the dragon to do something other than stare at him as if he were a glittering treasure he meant to claim.

“I believe you described me as uncouth,” he amended, blinking his heavy gaze into something less stifling. He moved forward, making his way to the prince with lumbering, assured steps that worsened Virion’s tightening insides. “And you claimed that I harboured a beast on my face.”

Virion’s lips twitched. That moment was as fresh as all these others in his memories, even if it felt as if it had occurred a lifetime ago.

“Therewasa beast then,” he defended, craning his head proudly as Zirkhlon stopped only a pace away from him.

“So you claim,” the dragon rumbled before raising one of his large hands.

Virion did not let himself think about how quickly he slid his palm into the open fold. It was warm and deliciously rough, and Virion let himself savour the feel of it against his skin as he watched Zirkhlon lift his hand for a gentle kiss.

“You look ethereal, Virion,” he said softly, hoisting another compliment onto the prince. “Thank you for spending your evening with me.”

One sampling. Gifts. Retreat.

Virion nodded, trusting himself to do only that, and allowed the dragon to lead him to the empty chair waiting at one of the table’s ends.

The ocean roared nearby with a chorus of waves crashing against rock. It mirrored the terror in Virion’s mind as he sank deeper into the dragon’s hold with no means of calming himself. He at least appeared to be.

His glamour made him seem unperturbed— impassive, even as Zirkhlon parted his chair and helped tuck him inside, but then those rough fingers traced over his blouse at the wrist, and there was no such thing ascalm.

Their eyes met as Zirkhlon stepped away, and Virion could feel his pulse kicking against his throat. It worsened the longer the stare held, something Zirkhlon threatened to make eternal until the length of the table forced him to look away to follow his own path.

Virion hastily took the opportunity to steady himself, but also to take in all he could of the dragon.

He, too, had changed, but not into anything as fanciful as Virion or the uniform he modelled when the prince first arrived. What he wore now was far more informal, but not thoughtless, for his pinned, dark-red tunic and black trousers were as finely tailored as the items he gifted to the prince.

Virion admired each stitch, just as he admired the lines of the man beneath it, but quelled the intensity of his stare as Zirkhlon reached the opposing end of the table and faced him again before quietly sliding into his chair.

The arrangement was inexplicably intimate for the distance that rested between them— at least four chairs’ worth—especially when the dragon looked at him so. There was no room to escape, and nowhere else to look.

Virion could only fist his thighs beneath the table while he feigned boredom.

“At the risk of seeming as though I mean to drunken you with how much I have already offered today—” Zirkhlon paused with dramatic effect before he carefully whispered, “—wine?”

Virion did not allow himself to smile.

He wasnotcharming. He wasnothumorous. It was only a question.

“Just a little,” he replied and found pride in how composed he came across.

Zirkhlon nodded, made a call, and a side entrance Virion belatedly noticed opened to allow an attendant to breeze in with a decanter of wine that seemed closer to a pitcher. She poured him a generous amount before disappearing the way she had come.

Virion eyed the light tint of the wine, identifying it as a watered wine, which was an odd pairing for a dinner, but before he could ponder too much, another pair slipped through the hidden doorway.

They came with lidded, silver trays that Virion wished to admire, but they were set down and unmasked before he could, revealing—

Virion gasped, and no power in any realm, least of all his glamour, could hide it.

He looked to Zirkhlon, wondering if this was a mere coincidence, but it took only that glimpse to remind him that there were no such things as coincidences where this dragon was concerned.

“How?” He asked, or rather demanded. “How did you know?”

“I have my ways,” he replied, smugly— proudly.

Virion watched him, waiting for the truth, but Zirkhlon only held the stare, seeming to enjoy witnessing him stew.

“I should add stalking to your count of harassment, then,” he declared, entirely serious, but it only made Zirkhlon laugh, andoh, Ythene, how he was growing too fond of that laugh.

Zirkhlon had not been this personable during their initial meeting, far from it. Memories attested that the dragon had been cold and largely aggravating, and yes, uncouth too, but now—

“You can do as you wish,” he mused, tracing the edge of his lips with a finger. “I only meant it as a gift.”

Virion’s heart threatened to burst in his chest.

Gifts to the prince had only ever been material in nature. Shiny, pretty things, and he loved themverymuch, and that would never change, but this was a different type of gift.

Everyone in his castle knew how deeply he adored willow berries, and the servants made a habit of seeing that it was a part of his morning spread. It was a lovely gesture, but he heard a rumour once that they only did so for the gifts he provided them in turn. That was fine—Virion was not the type to give only to expect something in exchange—but this… Nothing was to come from him after this.

This was intimate and sweet and naked proof of care that another— thatZirkhlonheld for him.

This was simply…a gift.

Virion’s heart made for the skies while he quietly gathered a spoonful of his favourite fruit and took a bite.

He savoured the morsel, truly, but it was not long before he was stealing another. It was entirely improper, but these willow berries were syruped, and they came paired with a serving of crushed plum drops that rattled his senses.

He could not be blamed for enjoying the serving so thoroughly that he melted further into his chair with each bite, forgetting his manners and present company until the latter spoke.

“To your liking, then?”

Virion froze. He might as well have just been impaled with a sword’s edge.

Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze, expecting to find the dragon’s seemingly permanent smug expression waiting to strip him of his pretences, but it was nowhere to be found.

Zirkhlon watched him with complete earnestness, waiting for an answer as he gave a slight nod to the plate. “The berries,” he prompted when Virion did not speak. “Some prefer them ripened before sweetening, but I prefer them like this.”

He had just feasted like a childling left to the wilds, and this man’s only concern was if it wasto his liking?

Virion swallowed and forced himself to conjure a reply. “Yes. I like them,” he admitted before adding. “Very much.”

Zirkhlon nodded once more, firmer this time, before he tried the dish for himself. It seemed he was waiting on Virion’s approval before allowing himself a taste.

The prince tucked his chin closer to his chest to mask his pleasure while they ate in silence. He consumed his meal more slowly and forced himself to look up from time to time, as he would with any host, because there was nothing special or different about this interaction than any other.

He was sharing a meal with a highly ranked elf, nothing more.

The lie dismantled itself at every turn.

Their eyes only needed to meet, and it was as if Ythene herself took hold of his soul and refused to release it until the stare broke. By the time their plates were emptied and cleared away, Virion felt like a rather frayed version of himself, and his grip on his thighs was near cruel.

“How many courses will there be?”

It was not proper to ask, but it was neither proper to force another into a dinner with gifts and sweetened words as Zirkhlon had. And if the dragon was entirely unapologetic about the matter, Virion should not bother to scold himself.

“I prepared four,” the chieftain replied, reaching for his wine before he sank back into his chair as if it were a throne.

Virion struggled not to let his thoughts linger on how his muscled torso draped itself along its edges. “You prepared?” He parried. “You should not claim the work of others so thoughtlessly.”

The dragon’s expression softened as he canted his head. “That is true. I did not prepare four meals.” Virion hummed with satisfaction before taking a sip of his wine. “I prepared two of the four.”

Blessings alone saw that Virion did not choke, but it was a near thing.

His purple eyes bulged over his chalice’s rim. “You cook?”

Zirkhlon did not hide his amusement as he gazed at the prince. “I do not enjoy the act, so not often, but when there is a need,” he shrugged a heavy shoulder. “It happens from time to time.”

“And ithappenedtonight?”

Zirkhlon’s eyes glimmered. “We dragons develop a rather particular palette as we age. There are certain meals I do not trust even to my best artisans— certain meals I wanted you to try.”

Surely, this breached some law on Colony. It had to.

It could not possibly be allowed that this man, who had once hurt him so deeply, could freely stack such damning actions atop beautifully laid words, and Virion be expected to do nothing but endure it.

Virion could not endure. He had fallen for this man for lesser things.

“Which?” He needed to know.

Again, those lips tilted up, but from both corners this time as a wide smile stretched across the dragon’s face. It turned him more handsome than his fine grooming already did.

“You will guess after we have had them all, and then I will tell you.”

Virion could hardly bare to look at him.

“Would that be alright with you?”

“It’s fine,” the prince snapped, slightly harsher than he had intended to be, but he was unravelling at his seams too quickly to catch the fraying thread. “But I would do better without all of the questions, if that is an available option.”

Zirkhlon’s smile did not diminish by any measure. “You are welcome to steer our conversation. Ask anything of me, and I will provide the answer.”

The prince scoffed.

“I am being truthful,” he retorted rather hastily. “Ask whatever you would like.”

The last time Virion sought to learn anything about this man, he had dodged his questions at every turn, and even if he might appear to be more than the haggard gnat he had survived a storm with, he was still that man.

“Why were you on that isle?”

The question was the very last the dragon expected. Virion could tell by how quickly the humour vanished from his face as if chased away.

“You are a chieftain with access to riches beyond articulation, and yet you were holed away in thathut—”

“That hut,” Zirkhlon cut in with a laugh. “You still speak of it with such disdain, and here I believed you had come to appreciate it.”

“—so why?” He finished as if there had been no interruption.

Virionhadcome to appreciate Zirkhlon’s hut, but he could not allow himself to admit such things. Not here. Not now.

The dragon drummed his fingers along the table’s edge, his eyes on Virion’s like an aged hawk’s before finally, he spoke. “That isle is my own, and believe it or not, Virion, that hut that offends you so is my abode.

“As for why, I was there— On occasion, I am allotted rare respites to spend my time as I wish, without having to accommodate my duties. When those respites arise, I prefer to spend them at home, where no other is allowed.”

In the nerha that had passed since they last parted, Virion had thought up a myriad of explanations for Zirkhlon’s presence on that island, but not a single one had entertained the possibility that he might be there for purely domestic reasons.

“It does not offend me,” he apprised while sliding a loose lock of hair in its place behind his ear. “And so you go to your abode, grow a wild beard on your face, and dredge up rags that wash ashore as attire.”

It would be too much with any other. To biting, especially with Virion’s unabashed thoughts on the matter, but this was not any other.

“You should see what I turn into when I am left alone for longer.”

Virion groaned and sat back with a displeased huff that sprouted fresh laughter from the dragon. He smiled as the sound tickled his ears, and did not try to quiet it when the dragon smiled back.

———

“Why a hut?”

“We are still on the hut?” Zirkhlon grumbled as he wiped his lips with his cloth.

They had just finished their third course of stone-grilled drever with freshly baked flatbread that had shamed the course before of slow-baked micon.

Virion was stuffed, but he would find room for the last.

“You said I could ask whatever I desired and that you would answer it,” the prince reminded with a pointed finger.

Zirkhlon sighed, closing his eyes with feigned exhaustion before he nodded his head in acquiescence.

“Your title promises that you shall have many homes, as grand and as large as this Hall and yet, the hut—” Virion shook his head, baffled. “Why?”

The dragon reached forth for his decanter—he abandoned the pretence of glasses and chalices at the start of the second course—and took a readying swig. Virion waited, knowing he would answer this as he had every other question the prince brought before him.

“I do not need very much,” he stated. “You are right to think I have many homes, but thathut—” he shook his head as he said the word, “—I built for myself. It holds a certain value to me, and despite its harrowing size,” Virion made a face, and he smiled, “it has all that I need when I am lucky enough to be there.”

The dragon left it at that, and Virion mulled it over. He had listened closely, preserving each word like the secrets he knew them to be.

It was rather pleasing to imagine Zirkhlon building that hut and choosing its sure structure over all else. Now that he knew, he wanted to return, if only to look at it with new eyes, seeking each purposeful detail that the man before him had laid out.

But that was not a sentiment he would share, for it was too raw, and now was a time for lighter things.

“You could have simply stated that it was the only structure you had the capability of constructing.”

Zirkhlon snorted, and Virion preened. The dragon had never made that sound before.

“Yes, Virion,” he replied, and the sigh that accompanied it might make any other think that Zirkhlon was exhausted, but Virion knew better. “Punish me for wanting to give you everything.”

Virion’s breath caught at the sudden admission, or would it be better to name it a confession, that was as raw as it was bruising.

He tried to compose himself, but at some point, amidst the conversation and laughter, he’d allowed himself to lean onto the table and liberated his reactions, and trying to reign it all in now was impossible.

Zirkhlon straightened in his seat, lips parting, but by the prince’s luck, the attendants chose that moment to return, ushering in the last dish of the night before they would part.

Virion was hardly as thrilled by the prospect as he ought to be.

He watched the pair rather than the dragon, and noticed immediately when neither of them diverged to deliver their chieftain’s serving first, or at all. Instead, they approachedhimtogether.

He frowned, wondering if there were two parts of a single meal intended only for him, but then, Zirkhlon stood.

Virion’s chest clogged, stilling his heart, as he watched the dragon lift his chair in one hand, grasp his decanter in the other, and approach.

“Our final meal is not a common one,” Zirkhlon explained as he brought himself nearer to the prince. “It would be faster and free from the trouble of mess for me to show you.”

Whatever had clasped itself over his chest suddenly broke, allowing Virion’s heart to batter against its confines. It threatened to break past flesh and bone, if only to expose how fragile it was to this man.

Fragile, and wanting, and so terribly close to breaking for him.

He gripped his seat instead of himself and used the iron hold to straighten. “This is one you prepared, then.”

Zirkhlon’s eyes brightened a hue as he set the chair down beside Virion’s and nodded. “Ay.”

The attendants took their leave as wordlessly as they had carried out their duties throughout the night, leaving the prince to contend with the fierce dragon who slowly seated himself beside him.

This close, Virion could feel his warmth. It brushed against his skin like a furnace’s flames, and carried the scent of smoke that he remembered scenting for himself while he cried into that strong neck.

Blinking quickly, Virion washed the memory away and ignored how much closer his legs pressed together as Zirkhlon plucked their dishes’ lids, revealing some sort of shelled nut.

“We have to break the outer layer first,” he shared as he reached for Virion’s knife. He slammed it against the shell with enough force that a crack appeared, and passed it to the watchful prince.

Intrigued, Virion mirrored the action and waited with bated breath for the next.

Zirkhlon used his fingers to part the cracked halves, allowing a pink paste to spill out onto the small plate. If not for the fragrant scent of fermented spices, Virion might have been put off, but it fastened his interest instead.

“A spoonful,” Zirkhlon instructed, demonstrating by stealing one of Virion’s, “followed by a part of the shell—” He broke a corner free with his fingertips and brought them both to his lips. His eyes flicked to the prince as he held the moment, “—and then… together.”

Virion startled as the dragon stuffed both into his mouth at once. He laughed before he could stop himself, giggling while Zirkhlon chewed and then groaned as if it were the best thing he had ever tasted.

The prince could not possibly wait. He tried it for himself, mirroring Zirkhlon’s actions. He gathered a spoonful of the paste, broke a piece of the outer shell free and then, with a readying breath, shoved them both into his mouth.

He was not quite as fast as his companion and ended up smearing half of the paste onto his face, but Virion failed to care when wild flavour exploded into his mouth like passing stars. He had been right about the spices, but the surprise came when they joined the shell that had a sea salt flavouring.

“Quite good?” Zirkhlon checked, as if there was room for anything else.

Virion nodded quickly, still chewing. He had never tasted anything like it.

Together, they ate, loading their stomachs one bite at a time until the only traces left lined the prince’s cheek.

“That was delicious, and my favourite,” he declared brightly. The smile he sported matched the sunny disposition that the dragon had clawed back out of him without his notice. “My second favourite was the berry drops, which is my second guess for dishes you prepared.”

He paused only to receive confirmation, and cheered when the dragon nodded with a surrendering smile. His eyes were not quite on Virion’s, but aimed slightly lower.

The prince did not notice. “I shall need a dozen more to carry home.”

“Then a dozen more you shall have,” Zirkhlon assured before he leaned forward, stole the napkin from Virion’s lap, and used it to wipe the prince’s face clean.

Virion stilled all at once, and did not dare move as the dragon groomed him.

The prince had forgotten about the mess and felt his cheeks flame to find his reminder delivered like this, but it was too late to save himself. Zirkhlon was gently dabbing his skin, careful not to smear his powders.

Virion’s lips parted to remind him that he was not permitted to touch him, but he was notactuallytouching him. The fabric separated his flesh from Virion’s, and with that technicality, the prince permitted himself to enjoy the contact.

While Zirkhlon stared at the shell-shocked prince, he gazed only at his mouth, focused on his task until all traces were gone. Then, Zirkhlon looked up at Virion, and Virion’s stomach plummeted.

His glamour wavered to the point that he was sure Zirkhlon saw glimpses of his flushed skin beneath. He must have because his jaw soon clenched, as he reached for the prince, and—

Virion hastily pushed to his feet.

“I-I thank you for dinner,” he stammered out as he smoothed his shaking hands over his clothes. “But I think I would like to return to my chambers.”

“Virion,” Zirkhlon begged, breathless as he followed him onto his feet.

“You have an Assembly to lead tomorrow, and we have wasted enough time as it is,” Virion stated, fingers grasping desperately at his blouse. He clung to it while he avoided the dragon’s gaze, looking at all else, until finally, he heard the dragon sigh.

“As you wish.”

———

They walked back to their chambers in telling silence. Virion was too confused to know whether he appreciated or loathed it.

This night—this entire venture—had not followed any of the pathways it ought to.

Virion was supposed to be strong in facing the dragon who lied to him, not weak in resisting the one who only wanted to atone. But the prince was weak where Zirkhlon was concerned, and his many advances and attentions only made matters worse.

By the time they reached their neighbouring doors, Virion barely managed a bow and a parting goodbye before he slipped through his own, and promptly shut it behind him. Inside, he released the breath he’d been holding captive since Zirkhlon stole his napkin, and buried his face into his hands.

How was he meant to fight this?

The man he met in the storm had not been fabricated to trick him, only a very raw version of the chieftain of all dragons. Zirkhlon kept that side of himself private, but thanks to the storm, Virion had caught a glimpse, and now… that man sought to give Virioneverything.

All of himself, and all that he had, and oh, how Virion wanted it. He could no longer deny it.

Virion wanted Zirkhlon more than any jewel or fine thing. He wanted his heavy laughter and his decadent smiles. His teasing and most aggravating prodding. His company.

Virion wanted the man, and the only thing stopping him from having it all… was himself.

Readying himself for the night felt like an undeserved treat to the prince. The bathing pools were warm and nourishing, and the accompanying sea-scrubs melted along his skin like butter.

He washed his powders away and put nothing back on when he was finished but his lotions. He pinned his hair up, dressed himself for bed, and only just lifted the silks draped over it when a knock came at the door.

With no proof, Virion knew it was him.

He hesitated, glancing at the mirrors. His face was plain, terribly so, and even if Zirkhlon had seen him so before, that did not mean he wanted it repeated. Especially not with all that lay between them now.

But then the knock came again, and Virion was at his doors at a moment’s notice.

Zirkhlon stood on the other side, still in his garbs from before. He was not quite as relaxed, though— he seemed a little anxious, which completely opposed the potted Spring Drops in his hand.

It was a small sampling of the purpled ones he had admired earlier, and Virion’s eyes widened at the treat.

“Apologies for the disturbance,” Zirkhlon whispered, though it felt loud in the dark hall, “but I would not have been able to rest without giving you your last gift for the night.”

He handed the pot over, and Virion took it carefully, staring at the pulsing petals he could feel already charged with the moons’ light.

“I saved this one while the rest were planted in the chance that you may like them as a whole, and today, it seemed that you did… so… so I—…”

Zirkhlon gradually stopped speaking as if he forgot how to while in the midst of it.

Virion, who’d been staring solely at the welcomed gift, looked up, wondering if his silence deterred the dragon from speaking, but that was not it.

No. Far from it. Because Zirkhlon was no longer looking at Virion, but rather at what he was wearing.

Virion did not need to follow his gaze to know.

It was nothing revealing, not in the slightest, for the trousers he wore folded over his ankles and the shirt draped over his hips. They were meant for a larger frame, not his, which made sense, for they belonged to the man before him.

Virion squeezed the pot closer to himself while he watched the red rims of the dragon’s eyes flood their irises whole.

“Virion.”

Zirkhlon rumbled his name as if it were an admonition as he leaned himself against the door’s sturdy frame. He gripped it fiercely, as if he needed the support to stop himself from acting upon the impulse pulsing within his eyes.

“You can not do this to me,” the dragon groaned above him, and Virion was forced to look away.

He was not meant to know. No one was ever meant to know. But he could not sleep for feens, and they were there— he could not send them back— and the first night he tried it, Zirkhlon’s scent had been enough.

Biting his lip, he stared at his exposed toes, watching them curl while his ears twitched fitfully.

“How am I meant to be patient with you?”

Virion’s glamour did not bother trying to retain itself.

It shattered at his feet, and only his downward stare kept the dragon from knowing Virion shifted, hugging the pot as if it might shield him instead.

“Virion.”

He could not breathe.

“Virion.” A delicate whisper. Virion risked a glance up, though it took him much effort. Zirkhlon waited for him. Gaze burning with uncapped desire. “Do you wear these every night?”

Virion’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. Then, he nodded. Once. Swiftly.

Zirkhlon’s nostrils flared before he dragged himself closer until they were almost touching.

“Darling, forgive me,” he begged, and Virion’s soul crumpled into itself.

He sought air, but there was none. There was nothing but Zirkhlon, with his heart, his devotion, his desperate longing, and his—

Darling.

Virion made a soft sound that had all the yearning of a wounded foul.

“I would make you mine,” Zirkhlon declared vehemently as he ducked to claim more of the prince’s attention, “in every way. And I would never hurt you again.” His wide chest heaved. “I am sorry that I ever did.”

Zirkhlon raised a hand to touch, before he stilled, about to take it away, until Virion leaned into it. He whimpered as Zirkhlon tilted his chin up, his heat soothing his spirit like a balm.

They looked solely at one another, and yet, Zirkhlon frowned. He appeared as distraught as Virion felt, as if he already knew the prince could not give him more than this tonight.

“You do not believe me,” he hazarded, and Virion shook his head in his grasp. “You do not want me.”

Zirkhlon’s expression crumpled, a piece of him shattering, and the sight of it was enough to push Virion to admit his shameful truth.

“I want you more than I have ever wanted anything, Zirkhlon,” he rasped, chest heaving, threatening to collapse. “I think only of you. I dream of you. I can not escape you or how much I care for you, even with how you vex me.”

“Then what is it?” Zirkhlon pleaded as he took the prince’s face in both his hands. Suddenly. Desperate. “Forgiveness, I will earn, but if it is something else—”

“I am afraid, Zirkhlon.” He whispered so quietly he could barely hear it for himself. “…I am afraid.”

The frown on the dragon’s face eased, but only to make room for his misery. Virion loathed himself for placing it there.

“You give me so much, and promise even more, but…” he glanced down at his latest present and had to swallow against the sudden lump in his throat. “What happens after?” He peered back at the dragon still holding him close. “If I give myself to you, and something horrible were to happen again.”

“Virion—”

“Or you get to know me completely, and realise that I am nothing like what you envisioned. Where would that leave me? If you were to tire of me? What am I to do if it all falls apart?” His breath gave way, and he shook his head. “I want too much with you, and more with every moment we spend together. It hurt so much before to lose it, and—” he shook his head again, fighting against his own breath as he stepped back. “Zirkhlon, I can not. I—”

Soft lips pressed to the prince’s forehead and silenced his panic as if it had never existed at all. Strong fingers delved into his hair, scraping over his scalp and providing too perfect a comfort.

Virion shuddered and could not stop himself from falling into the touch. He leaned into Zirkhlon while he, in turn, held him close, dearly, like he were a precious jewel. He tucked Virion against him, only parting his lips from his skin to bring them to his ears.

“That will never happen,” Zirkhlon whispered, as if it were a vow. His fingers tightened within his hair. “I will never tire of you, never tire of your company or adorning you with gifts.” He pressed a kiss to Virion’s twitching ears, causing him to squirm. “I treasure you, Virion.”

Tears pricked the prince’s eyes and refused to retreat.

Treasure to a dragon was like open skies to a pegasus. For Zirkhlon to say that he treasured Virion was a deeper proclamation than if he had made one claiming love.

To hear such words threatened to break the prince, for he remembered the journey home in his carrier after the first assembly. The embarrassment, and the shame. How he felt betrayed like never before, and he was terrified to allow the chance for it to happen again.

But was the risk not worth it for all that Zirkhlon was?

Zirkhlon’s gaze seemed to ask the same question of him once he drew back to look at the prince.

He wanted to say that it was, that he could try again, but… as he said, Virion was afraid.

Zirkhlon smiled softly, and more of the prince’s tears freed themselves. Zirkhlon did not hesitate to wipe them away as he kept Virion close.

“I understand,” he said gently. “I will wait for you, for however long you need.” He promised with a nod. “However long, Virion.”

More tears fell, and Zirkhlon cleared each streak away until they finally stopped.

“We still have our Assembly in the morning, so I shall allow you your rest,” Zirkhlon stated as he stepped back, but not yet letting him go.

Virion wanted to follow, but he had bared himself enough as it was and felt terribly exposed. He nodded instead, and when Zirkhlon parted them, he forced himself not to follow.

He watched on until the dragon opened his doors. He meant to watch him until they closed, but then, Zirkhlon stopped and turned to look wistfully at Virion.

“It could never be a waste,” he whispered, still smiling softly. “No time spent with you could ever be a waste.”

—————————————

Zirkhlon. Zirkhlon. Zirkhlonnnnnnn 🫠

Someone cover Aiden’s eyes, cause honey, Zirkhlon?????? He makes it a STRUGGLE to keep Aiden as a fav.

ThoughtS?????

Sometimes writing so many characters, I feel like I’ve felt all I can feel emotion-wise, and then I write a new interaction, and it’s like someone kicked in a doorway I didn’t even know was there.

This was one of those times. Cause my God! the ‘darling forgive me’ unlocked something inside of me.

A man that yearnssss. Zirkhlon, ladies and gentlemen. Fucking Zirkhlon!

I’m really excited to hear what you guys think of this chapter with how long it was, especially cause it was a deeper look into what might be holding Virion back. Of course, Zirkhlon hurt him, but it makes sense he would be afraid to try again and to try for more, when they both want each other so desperately and suddenly

egnre;aglkmraelgfk. I AM FUCKING OBSESSED WITH THESE TWO!!

Please please, share it all! And we only have 3 more chapters of these lovely two, but I have truly enjoyed everymoment with them and I hope you guys have to

– Here’s a link to the next post if you want to join a tier and skip ahead – https://tippysuniverse.com/2025/12/25/virion-chapter-15/

Until next time,
Byeeeeeee Humansssssssss