Dragonbound(38)

“That wasn’t me. I’m probably related to them, but I’ve never met them, and I wasn’t even born yet. I’ve never even cast the binding spell. I’m not a paladin, and I’m not like them. And you’re not like other dragons.”
“My father’s the king.”
“So? Are you going to be king anytime soon?”
“I’m never going to be king. I already wasn’t, even before they thought I was dead. Someone like me can’t rule Hawthorne clan.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem is I’m still a prince. I still have responsibilities to uphold. And I’ve shamed him enough as it is.”
“But he already thinks we’re together, right?”
He shakes his head. “Not like this. If he knew how I really felt about you, he’d kill you, no matter how useful you are.”
Which, so far, is not at all. And it seems like every little thing I do here has the potential to get me killed. “He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. What are they going to do, see us kissing? They already think we’re lovers. I don’t see how us actually being together would look any different.”
“Maybe not. But . . .”
“What?”
“You’re not going to be here forever.”
“Oh, so I guess we shouldn’t enjoy the time we do have, then. You know, if it’s not going to be forever. Don’t you want this?”
“I do—you don’t even know how much. I’ve felt like an outsider my entire life. Like I never really belonged anywhere.” He moves closer, so we’re standing only a couple inches apart. “But you make me feel like I belong. With you.”
Warmth spreads through my chest, and I smile at him. “Me, too.”
“But I already don’t want to say good-bye to you, and us being together is only going to make that worse. So much worse, and I can’t . . . I can’t handle the thought of . . .” He backs away, and I think that’s it, he’s made his decision. He’s not going to do this.
But then he squeezes his eyes shut and mutters something to himself in Vairlin—something that sounds like an expletive—and changes his mind. He closes the gap between us and kisses me. Not softly and tenderly like he did the very first time, when we were in front of the court. This is more frantic, like he can’t hold back anymore. He wraps his arms around me, and I slide mine around him. I’m kissing him just as desperately. I like the weight and warmth of his hands on me, and the feeling of being pressed up against him. 
And I think maybe he’s right—this is going to make saying good-bye so much worse. Because I already know that I never want this to end, and I already know that it has to.
Amelrik stands awkwardly next to the bed. We’re in our pajamas, and I’m already under the covers. It should be like any other night, except it’s not. He clears his throat. “Maybe I should sleep on the floor.”
“What? Why?”
“You know why.”
“So, what, now that we’re together, I don’t get to sleep next to you?” That sounds fair.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
He’s the one who seems uncomfortable. “Do you want to sleep on the floor?”
He laughs. “Of course not. The floor is made of rock. And it doesn’t have you.”
I melt a little bit at his words, and I do not want him to sleep on the floor. “Just get in the bed, okay?”
He goes to turn out the last lamp, then crawls in next to me. Well, sort of next to me, because there’s a gap between us. Not that that’s new or anything, but I kind of thought we’d be closer. He’s my boyfriend now, right? I finally don’t have to worry about doing something stupid, like touching him inappropriately. I mean, somewhat inappropriately. Like his back or his shoulders or his chest. Not anything, uh, too intimate.
But if it’s okay to touch each other, then why is he at the far end of the bed? We slept closer than this last night. “Amelrik?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t have to be all the way over there. If you don’t want to.”
“Okay.” He shifts closer, then turns on his side, so he’s facing me. “I’ve never done this before.”
“Done what, exactly?”
“Slept in the same bed as someone.”
“Uh, yes, you have. We’ve been sharing this bed for weeks.”
“I mean someone I’ve kissed.”
My stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. I hate the implication that he’s kissed other people. It’s one thing to know it must be true, and it’s another to have to hear it out loud. “Except for me. You kissed me before, remember?” He better not have forgotten. I know it wasn’t supposed to be real, but it felt real, and maybe it meant more to me than it did to him, but he’s still not allowed to just forget it.
“Of course I remember. But that was different.”
“Because you didn’t mean it?”
“Because you didn’t want me to.”
Oh. “I do now, though.” I want him to do a lot more than just kiss me.
I want to know what it’s like to have sex with him. Well, to have sex at all, really, but mostly how it would be with him. What kind of movements he would make. The sound of his breathing. How safe I would feel with the weight of him on top of me, his skin warm against mine, and what it would be like to have part of him inside me.
I imagine touching the muscles in his arms and his stomach. I think about running my hands down his back. And about kissing the outline of his jaw, and the place where his neck meets his shoulders. I want him to take his clothes off so I can explore every inch of his naked body.
Which probably makes me some kind of pervert, because it’s not like he’s thinking those things about me. And it’s not even that I want to do all that right now. Which is good, since he told me he’s never trusted anyone enough for that. There’s no reason to think I’m the exception, and the last thing I want to do is find out for sure that I’m not. I mean, I kissed a boy, and he actually liked it. That’s enough bravery for one day.So there’s no way I’m going to act on anything that I’m feeling right now. Just knowing what I was thinking would probably freak him out, and even though he’s really close—close enough that I could “accidentally” touch his arm or something—I’m going to keep my hands to myself.
I turn over, just to make sure. And because I feel slightly less guilty for picturing him naked when I’m not facing him. Even though it’s pitch-black in here and there’s no way he could see me and guess what I’m thinking.
And then he moves closer and wraps his arm around me. His chest is pressed against my back, and I can feel his heart beating. He kisses my ear. “You were shivering,” he whispers.
“What?” I don’t know what he’s talking about. If anything, I’m too hot.
“That first night we slept in the woods. We didn’t have a fire, and you were so cold. I woke up at some point, and you were next to me, shivering. That’s why I held you like that. When you asked about it, I lied and said it was an accident, because I didn’t want you to get the wrong idea, but it wasn’t. It was very much on purpose.”
Very much on purpose. His confession makes me feel warm and tingly all over. It makes me feel protected and wanted and happy. “I have to tell you, I’m kind of getting the wrong idea now.”
He buries his face in my neck, and I feel him smile. “If you’re worried about it, I could still sleep on the floor.”
“Don’t you dare,” I tell him, and then I pull his arm tighter around me.
And all the things I used to be afraid of seem so ridiculous now, because I’ve never felt safer than I do in this moment, curled up with a dragon, in his bed, far away from the barracks.
32
AN IMPORTANT JOB
The games take place a few days later, on a drizzly afternoon. The sky is gray, and it’s not exactly raining, but it’s not exactly not raining, either. Despite the sort-of rain, hundreds of dragons fill up all the space on the cliff and around the edge of the lake. You’d think they’d be in human form, so there’d be more room, but Amelrik says it’s because they can see a lot better as dragons. And because participants in the games have been known to crash, and nobody wants to get squashed.
We’re watching from the opposite cliff—the one Amelrik took me to for my birthday. We don’t have as good of a view over here, but there’s no chance that an excited fan is going to knock us over with their tail or anything, either. Plus, we’re alone. Which means we can make out, and I can rest my head on his shoulder, and he can put his arm around me and ever-so-casually let his hand graze the edge of my boob. 
I want to tell him it’s okay to actually touch me there, for reals, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Because what if it really is an accident? I mean, it’s not. I’m sure it’s not. But what if calling attention to it scares him off? And even if he’s not like other dragons, he still is a dragon, and maybe he doesn’t even care about that part of me. And then I’ll look like an idiot. Or like I want this more than he does. And he hasn’t said anything about not wanting me to touch him, and he hasn’t stopped me when I’ve dared to let my hand linger on his hip, or when I’ve brushed my fingers along the bottom edge of his stomach, but I can tell it made him uncomfortable. Not a lot uncomfortable—not like he didn’t want me to—but enough that I didn’t want to push my luck.