Seeing is Believing (41 page)

"Then let's try, 'worship your guardian,'" Lóng told him, nudging his legs apart with a well-maneuvered knee. Zhou groaned, his head falling back a little as Lóng's lips found the sensitive spot just below his jaw, back towards his ear.

"Shut—
ooh—
shush, dragon," Zhou scolded, tugging Lóng's shirt off. Lóng's hands abruptly dropped away from Zhou's chest to curl around his thighs, and a moment later Zhou wasn't standing on the floor anymore. Wrapping his arms around Lóng's neck before he could lose balance and topple from his arms, Zhou did his best to hold on while Lóng carried him over to the bed and dropping him heavily to the mattress.

The dragon followed, pinning him to the bed with his weight, and Zhou grinned, kissing him because he was too close to not.

"Mmm, but—" Zhou broke away, tilting his head before Lóng could steal all of his words. "You're explaining to my parents."

"Whatever," Lóng growled, displeased with the interruption. "Now stop talking and let me kiss you."

Zhou snickered but obliged, happily letting Lóng kiss him again because, really, he'd wanted to have Lóng indoors with him for ages.

"Ulgh, rain," Zhou complained, flicking the water out of his hair at Lóng. The dragon smirked, glancing up at the sky.

"I hear it's bad to stay in wet clothing." Lóng smirked, tugging at the back of Zhou's soaked shirt.

"You made me come out here." Zhou pressed closer, shivering a bit. "Cold rain, too."

"I should've gone in," Lóng decided, wrapping Zhou in his arms. "We'll go in, now."

"Good," Zhou muttered, shivering again. "I hate being wet."

"I'll warm you up," Lóng promised, drawing Zhou back towards the building. His features were changing slowly, morphing into the human version of his face. "Inside."

Zhou mumbled under his breath, happy now that they were heading back towards warmth. He'd spent ten minutes looking for Lóng outside before he found the dragon curled up in one of his groves. Lóng didn't seem at all affected by the rain, and Zhou was drenched, dripping and cold and irritable.

Except that Lóng's warmth was soaking through his wet clothes, almost as quickly as the rain had minutes before. Zhou wondered if Lóng could change his temperature on purpose or if it was simply him being so cold that even Lóng's arm around him felt warm.

"Next time stay inside." Lóng's voice was quiet, and Zhou shivered again, pressing closer to his warmth. "I can come find you."

"I'm going to catch a cold," Zhou complained, sniffing miserably as Lóng led him into the corridor where his bedroom was.

"I hope not," Lóng replied, tugging him out of the thick tunic he wore on top. He had three layers of shirts on, but he was still soaked to the skin. "You're cranky when you're sick."

"I love how concerned you are for my health," Zhou muttered, letting Lóng pull off his second shirt as they approached his room. "I feel cared for, especially after I soaked myself looking for you."

"Poor princeling," Lóng cooed, getting a firm grip on Zhou's wrist and tugging him around. Zhou opened his mouth to protest, but Lóng was kissing him, pressing close and slipping the third layer of Zhou's shirts off his shoulders.

"I'll warm you up," Lóng purred, breaking away to push Zhou against the wall. Zhou gasped, narrowing his eyes. Lóng didn't seem to care, pressing further, even as his hands explored Zhou's cool, clammy skin. Zhou gave in, letting Lóng kiss him, because it was warming him up.

Zhou sniffled, nearly wiping his nose with his sleeve before catching himself, arm half-raised. Mother would
kill
him if he got snot on the formal jacket. Though he'd probably die of suffocation first. He couldn't breathe properly. His nose was stuffed. His lungs ached. He kept coughing raggedly, earning dark looks from whichever of the stupid windbags happened to be speaking at the time.

It would serve Mother right if his nose was dribbling snot. Just to complete the fine image he made, pale and sickly and probably looking half-insane as he tried desperately to not sneeze on his plate. Or on either of the overdressed brats he was sitting next to, no matter how dearly he wanted to.

He wanted tea. Simple tea, not the stupid over-steeped stuff they were serving. Tea and bed and Lóng. A contrite Lóng, since it was the blasted dragon's fault he was sick anyway.

"Ah-choo!
"

Zhou glared miserably at the girl to his right as she not-so-discretely edged her chair away. He made a note to sneeze on her next time, instead of into the embroidered handkerchief his mother had pressed into his hand earlier. It had little golden dragons on it, and Zhou managed a wobbly smile.

He could deal with a non-contrite Lóng. He just wanted to be in bed. Unfortunately, his presence was required, since his father and brothers were off doing … something, and hadn't gotten back in time to welcome the daughter of one of the neighboring counties. So he was being the male presence, since Lóng had requested he stay here.

Another of the ministers stood up, and Zhou stifled a sigh, picking up the bad tea and sipping at it. The steam was good, at least. Sniffling again, Zhou set his tea cup down and tried not to cough.

"Excuse me, Prince." A soft touch to his shoulder, and Zhou turned to stare blearily at the servant. "You're needed in the hallway."

Zhou blinked, but nodded anyway, excusing himself and trying to not sneeze on the expressions of relief his seatmates wore. Following the servant slowly, Zhou tried to not wobble but had the distinct impression that he was failing miserably. It wasn't until he reached the hallway outside the banquet room that he wondered why he'd been pulled from the feast.

The servant left him outside the door with a quick bow before returning to his duties inside, and Zhou stared blearily around the hallway for a moment before he managed to focus on Lóng's somewhat amused and concerned face.

"Bed," Lóng ordered firmly, and Zhou nodded.

"But Mother—" he protested feebly, letting Lóng take his arm and lead him towards his rooms.

"Would rather you were in bed than sneezing and coughing on her guests," Lóng replied with a drawl that normally Zhou would've smacked him for.

"Erg," Zhou replied eloquently, leaning on Lóng's arm. "Will you get me good tea?"

"I suppose," Lóng declared, rubbing his hand soothingly up and down Zhou's back. "You'll have to do something for me, though."

"Oh?" Zhou asked, in what normally would've been a suggestive tone, but it was far too congested to come off that way. Lóng snickered at him and Zhou rolled his eyes, poking his side. "Not funny. I hope you get sick."

"Dragons don't get sick," Lóng declared, smirking, and Zhou glared.

"I hate you," he decided, and then promptly sneezed on the front of Lóng's shirt.

"Ew," Lóng grumbled, but he didn't push Zhou away, just stroked his hair gently and continued to pull him along to the bedroom.

"Sorry," Zhou mumbled, feeling too hot again. Lóng hummed thoughtfully, but didn't pause until they were in Zhou's room. He helped Zhou out of the thick, warm formal wear quickly and then tucked Zhou into bed, snickering softly over the handkerchief. Zhou relaxed, but he didn't fall asleep until Lóng crawled into bed and wrapped himself around him.

Zhou shut his eyes, struggling to breath evenly and not loudly. Lóng was laughing quietly in his ear, his hands moving slower but not stopping as they slid along Zhou's front. Zhou glared, smacking Lóng lightly on the arm.

"What?" Lóng purred, pressing his lips to Zhou's cheek.

"Shhh," Zhou hissed, narrowing his eyes. He squirmed a little as Lóng's sneaky, agile fingers slid beneath his shirt. His mother's voice didn't change in tone or pitch, so she probably hadn't noticed that the family guardian wasn't really paying attention to her monologue.

"I am going to—" Zhou started, cutting off with a mostly muffled squeak as Lóng's fingers brushed teasingly against a nipple.

"Going to what?" Lóng asked, sounding smug, and Zhou smacked him again. His mother paused in whatever it was she was going on about and Zhou froze, glaring more intently at Lóng when he just snickered again.

Luckily, it seemed she was only pausing for breath, and not pausing because of suspicious noises from behind the guardian's statue, for she started up again after a moment. Something about Zhou's oldest brother and his wife, Zhou decided as Lóng kissed his cheek.

"This is the third time this week she has come to complain about your brother's wife," Lóng divulged, his hands still and warm where they were pressed against Zhou's ribs. "Your father complains about your mother. Your brothers complain about your parents."

"I complain about you," Zhou said smartly, almost laughing out loud as Lóng nipped at his jaw with his sharp teeth—instead of the not-as-sharp, almost-human teeth he sometimes used.

"Don't leave marks," Zhou muttered, tuning his mother out and shifting beneath Lóng's weight. "I have to do some diplomacy training later."

"It is my right as—"

"If you say guardian, I will make enough noise to get mother back here," Zhou threatened, poking Lóng pointedly.

"As your paramour," Lóng finished smugly, and Zhou barely managed to laugh quietly.

"My paramour?" Zhou repeated, making sure to sound as skeptical as he could. "Aren't you taking liberties there?"

"That is my right as guardian," Lóng replied promptly, kissing him before he could smack the damn dragon. Zhou made a note to get back at Lóng for that later, but let himself be kissed into acquiescence for the moment.

Leon fought a smile as he ducked into the little wood behind the castle. His mother wouldn't notice him missing for a few hours yet, unless by some chance she decided to rouse him from the 'nap' he'd excused himself for. Hopefully that wouldn't happen—Leon had had more than enough scolding for this trip, and normally he'd be playing good boy for longer, but the lure of summer strawberries was too much to resist.

They came out to this castle once a year, for a month, and Leon personally thought the strawberries were the best part. Ripe and lush, they grew in thick bushes in the woods behind the castle. Every year, without fail, Leon dressed in his commoner's outfit and snuck out to gorge himself.

Though the pants were getting a little short—Leon frowned down at them as a branch scratched lightly at his bared ankle. It didn't help that he was wearing simple sandals, but he liked them so he wasn't going to protest a few scratches.

Smiling cheerfully, Leon slipped through the trees, heading for the grove where the strawberries grew. It didn't take long—it wasn't too far from the castle, and Leon marveled that no one else had stumbled upon it yet. Pausing outside the little strawberry bush choked clearing, Leon grinned. The strawberries were at their usual peak, red and thick and making the bushes dangle with their weight.

Wading through the bushes carefully, Leon picked a relatively clear patch of forest floor and sat down comfortably. His fingers reached for the first berry, plucking it off the stem and he sank his teeth into it. Sweet, tart juice gushed out, and Leon let his eyes shut, savoring the taste as he chewed the berry slowly. Truly this was the highlight of their stay here.

"Enjoying yourself?"

Leon froze, his eyes snapping open as cold, sharp steel slid along his neck to stop under his chin. His assailant was behind him, and Leon swallowed his bite of berry and hoped that the peasant guise was working.

"Well? How are the strawberries?" The tone was conversational, but Leon didn't move, afraid that the wrong answer would leave him headless. The sword moved away a little and Leon glanced up as the swordsman circled around him, somehow managing to not step on any of the plants. He was
beautiful
, and Leon stared blatantly at the silky golden hair that fell to the man's waist, the slight slant to his eyes and their brilliant green color, and the soft, amused smile on the man's lips.

"Surely you have something to say about them," the swordsman continued, letting his sword fall away and digging it a few inches into the dirt. Leon blinked, flushing a little as the man knelt down, peering at him curiously. "You've been eating them for years, after all."

"How do you know that?" Leon asked, wide-eyed, and earned a laugh.

"I've been watching you." Soft, gentle fingers brushed the unruly hair off Leon's forehead, and Leon couldn't do anything but stare, dumbfounded. "But I have yet to learn your name, my dear little strawberry thief."

"Thief?" Leon repeated, then shook his head rapidly. "I didn't know they weren't—I thought they just grew here, I didn't know they were yours."

"Your name," the man repeated, and Leon paused, keeping himself from panicking.

"Leon," he offered, confused and unable to figure out what was going on.

"Leon," the man repeated, rolling the name off his tongue slowly. "I am Temke."

"Nice to meet you?" Leon offered. Temke smiled again, looking amused, and Leon did prefer amused over angry and homicidal.

"So. Leon," Temke drawled slowly, his eyes roving over Leon's front. Leon flushed, fighting the urge to hide the half-eaten strawberry behind his back. "How do you plan to repay me for the strawberries you've stolen from me?"