Author's Notes: This was written for the May Snail Mail Porn challenge. There are also three small dragon pictures that can be found here, here, and here.
Rating: NC-17 for sexual content, mild language
Pairing: Elliot/Drake
Written: 2005
Once upon a time...
But that was a silly way to start a story. Everyone used once up on a time. It was clichéd. Elliot didn't want clichéd. He wanted to be fresh, original, and innovative. Cliché was so... clichéd.
He was mute with frustration. Back before Elliot made enough money to support himself, he'd shared a two bedroom apartment with three roommates. They could always tell when a story was going well because he talked to himself. Silence meant he was stuck.
Now there was no one to hear him. Elliot had a small house on the edge of town. No one bothered him while he was trying to get his latest book done. His latest book was actually done, sent off the editors to be sacrificed upon the altar of proper use of the comma. What he was working on now was a promise he'd been slaving over for many years.
It was going nowhere.
Long ago and far away...
That was even worse than "once upon a time." Like every other time he'd tried to start this story Elliot wound up with a trashcan full of crumpled pages or, more recently, an open Word document with nothing in it. Time for a strategic withdrawal.
It was hot and muggy outside. Then again, it was always hot and muggy outside during the summer. The sky was piercing blue littered with dirty sock cloud: pristine white on top and dusty gray on bottom. Elliot hadn't bothered to check the forecast this morning, but he was pretty sure it was going to storm in the afternoon.
The walk from his house to town took about an hour. He could take a car but why bother? Walking helped him think and the scenery was pretty. First there was the tree-lined path from his house to the road. In his head Elliot ticked off the trees as he passed them: oaks and maples, poplars and pine. At the end of the path was an iron wrought arch with the words "Wyvern's Rest" across the top.
He contemplated that as he turned and started along the narrow trailed that ran parallel to the asphalt road. Maybe something with dragons? Fairytales had dragons in them. Everyone liked dragons as long as a white knight was there to beat them.
Various plots involving dragons occupied his mind until he came to the bridge. It marked the half-way point of his walk: equidistant from his house and from town. Once there was a wooden bridge that cars could drive across, but that had been moved to a memorial park in town some time ago. Now it was concrete and steel.
His last novel had been set around a wooden bridge. Lovers and clandestine meetings under moonlight, and then a dramatic moment where the hero saved the heroine from the icy waters on the longest night of winter. The final sex scene had come right after that.
Elliot had expected his editor, Gwen, to send the manuscript back with a big "What is this shit?" written on it. Who in their right mind had sex while suffering from hypothermia? Women were still a mystery to him because Gwen had called him a genius. His fans had eaten it up.
As long as it paid his bills, Elliot would write as many romance novels as his publisher could sell. Even if he thought a lot of it was utterly ridiculous. Even if the only way he actually knew what women wanted was by devouring tons of cheap romances himself.
And people wondered why he never wanted to talk about his writing. He'd never live it down if this got out.
So what did he have? A fairytale with a dragon, a knight, and a bridge? Oh yeah, there was a real winner.
By the time he got to town, Elliot still hadn't come up with a plot. He worried it over in his mind, absently waving to someone who greeted him from across the street. All of the stores on Main Street were brightly colored and covered with white gingerbread carvings. The better to sucker in the tourists and help them depart from their money.
The store he was looking for was pale green with a sign out front that read simply "Books." There was only one store in this tiny town that sold books. Given the size of the town, there was only one store that needed to sell books. Elliot pushed on the wooden door. A bell rang to announce his entrance.
"Oh. It's you."
"Nice to see you too, Drake," Elliot said, waiting for his eyes to adjust from the blindingly bright sun outside to the semi-twilight in the shop. "I take it Jon is here somewhere?"
"He's at lunch." Eventually the shadows began to shade in. Drake, the full-time helper than Jon had hired, was giving him a look. It was a shame that someone so pretty could be such an asshole. "Either buy something or leave."
"Who piddled in your cornflakes?" Elliot muttered. Drake's pale brown eyes narrowed, but he didn't deign to respond. "Actually, I haven't eaten myself. I think I'll go over to Lina's and pick something up."
"Fine. Do that." Drake went back sweeping the floor. Elliot beat a hasty retreat. He'd be back. With reinforcements.
Elliot did return with reinforcements in the form of Jon, the storeowner. They were discussing the latest popular novel when they entered the store. Drake had finished sweeping, and was currently ringing up a customer at the register.
His eyes must have lingered on Drake for a moment too long, because Jon said something that he completely missed. When he looked back at Jon, he was smiling.
"I really wish I knew why he took such a immediate dislike to you," Jon said. Elliot had never told anyone he preferred men to women. Jon had guessed. Then he'd guessed that Elliot liked Drake.
He was both right and wrong. Elliot liked looking at Drake. Once he'd seen the other man's personality, the like had disappeared. Still it didn't hurt to look as long as Jon didn't catch him and comment on it.
"I asked him for some books about fairytales. We got to talking. I told him I thought they were ridiculous trash. He hasn't liked me since," Elliot said. Jon winced.
"Ouch. I hope you write better than you speak." Jon had never asked him what he wrote. It was one of the many reasons Elliot liked him.
"I do."
They both went to one of the tables at the front of the store. After Drake was done with the customers, he told Jon that he was going to do some inventory. Jon agreed to watch the cash register while he was in the back.
"Drake doesn't have the best personality either," Jon said after awhile. Elliot hummed, but didn't add anything to the statement. "He's rude, short, and doesn't connect well with the customers."
"Then why do you keep him around?" Elliot asked only because it seemed to be what Jon wanted him to do.
"He loves books. He enjoys working. He's loyal and dependable," Jon replied. "I worry about him though."
"Worry?" Elliot tried to imagine why anyone would worry about Drake. He failed. The guy was an asshole who had once taken down a drunk Harley-driver and sat on him till the town's one cop had arrived. Why the Hell would anyone worry about him? "Why?"
"He never eats lunch unless I buy it for him. When he does eat, he wolfs it down like he expects the food to disappear. His pants are always muddy around the knees. Don't get me wrong, he's clean enough, but he always has to change pants when he gets here. I had to buy the pants he changes into. I wasn't sure he could afford to buy them on his own. He won't take charity either so I wound up telling him that it was part of the uniform for working here."
Elliot sat back in his chair, shocked. He'd never known. Two years he'd been coming here and trading barbs with Drake and he'd never noticed. "Where does he live? Does he need help?"
"I told you, he won't accept help. I have no idea where he lives. It's not in town. He walks wherever he goes... out towards the bridge I think. For all I know he's got a shack out in the woods. It wouldn't surprise me," Jon said. "He takes his pay in books and money. I offered him more money, but he said what he's making is fine."
"I didn't know." Elliot's eyes strayed to the closed door in the back of the shop.
"I know. That's why I told you." Then Jon got up because the bell on the door rang and another customer came in off the street.
It was late afternoon by the time Elliot started home. Thunderheads gathered in the distance, and the wind blew with the scent of rain. Elliot barely noticed. He was too wrapped up in his thoughts about Drake.
He was still trying to decide what he should do, if he should do anything for that matter, when the first drops of rain hit. Elliot cursed and ran. Bolts of lightning leaped from cloud to earth and thunder growled. There was no way he could make it home.
The heavens opened up when he was fifty feet from the bridge. Elliot was soaked to the skin in seconds. He slid down the slope that led to the river and ducked under the bridge. A clap of thunder so close he could feel it through the ground hit.
"What are you doing here?"
Elliot made the most undignified squeak and whirled around.
Drake was standing under the bridge, illuminated only when a flash of lightning hit. He was as wet as Elliot was. Hadn't Jon said something about him walking out towards the bridge?
"I'm trying to not get any wetter than I already am," Elliot replied. Then just because he felt like stating the obvious, "It's raining."
"I noticed." The storm had brought a chill wind with it and Elliot shivered. Drake didn't seem to notice the cold, but it wouldn't be long before he would. How much farther did Drake have to walk before he was home? Elliot's house was at least another half mile and as far as he knew there were no other places beyond it.
"I'm going home after the rain lets up," Elliot said. Drake just watched him, not moving and not commenting. "My house isn't too far. You can come with me and dry off before you head home."
"You don't like me," Drake said. It was not a question.
"No, you don't like me. But that's not the point." Elliot wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm. "I'm not going to let anyone squish home." Drake still looked doubtful. "I have sandwiches."
"I don't need your charity and Jon needs to mind his own business," Drake snarled. He stomped away to stare at the falling rain coming down on the other side of the bridge. A few seconds later he spoke again, "What kind of sandwiches?"
"Roast beef."
"Fine. I'll come."
They reached Wyvern's Rest just as dark was falling. Drake had frozen when he'd seen the gates, staring up and the coiled ironwork that arched over the path. Elliot was use to the reaction. It was impressive the first time you saw it. Then Drake seemed to shake himself and followed Elliot up the path.
"This is my house," Elliot said as he hit the light. There was a lot of wood, very little carpet, and magnificent windows that looked out onto a lot of trees. "A retreat cabin" the real estate agent had called it. "I'll get some towels."
It made Elliot nervous having someone in his house. He'd never had company over before. Not since he'd moved out from the apartment he was sharing with three other roommates during college. He preferred his solitude. Fewer people to stare when he started talking to himself.
When he came back with the towels Drake was standing in the middle of the room, taking it all in. His muddy shoes were sitting near the door and Drake was in his socks. Gray socks. Not white, gray. Interesting.. He took the towel Elliot handed him and began to work on his hair. Elliot was trying not to stare at the way wet clothing molded to Drake's body.
He needed to think of something hospitable and distracting. Quickly.
"I also have some hot tea. Would you like some?" Elliot asked.
"Yes. Thank you."
It didn't look like Drake was going to even touch the couch unless he said something, "Make yourself at home. The bathroom is down the hall." Elliot ducked into the kitchen before Drake could say anything.
The living room was empty when he came back in holding a tray with hot tea and sandwiches. Cold dread settled in his stomach. Logically Elliot knew that Drake could simply be in the bathroom. His gut told him otherwise.
Setting the tray down, Elliot went down the hall. There was the bathroom with the door hanging open. There was his bedroom with the door still closed. Right across from it was the spare bedroom he'd converted to a study. The door was open. There was a light on.
Damn.
Inside there was a massive desk, a laptop sitting in an overstuffed chair, a trashcan full of crumpled sheets of paper, and bookcase after bookcase filled to the brim with books. One bookcase had reference materials. Another had books Elliot actually enjoyed reading. The rest were all filled with cheap, trashy romance novels. A dozen of these were strewn across his desk from when he was finishing his last novel.
As if that wasn't incriminating enough, Drake had fished one of the crumpled pieces of paper out of the trashcan and smoothed it out on the desk. His fingers were tracing the lines and whorls of Elliot's writing.
Drake looked up from the sheet of paper and transferred his gaze to the romance novels. "Romance novels?" He said it as if he were commenting on the fact that Elliot had Shakespeare lying around. No judgment. Elliot blushed anyway.
"Yes. Romance novels." Elliot's tone was defiant.
"You have interesting tastes in books."
"I don't like them," Elliot said. The statement just made Drake look at him questioningly. It made him defensive. "I need them to write."
"Really?"
"Yes." There was nothing but silence as Drake waited with the patience of a predator. Elliot broke first. "You want to know the truth? I write romance novels. I'm a guy and I write cheap, trashy romance novels."
"But not this time. Once upon a time..." he read. Elliot winced. "You are writing a fairytale."
"Trying to," Elliot corrected.
"Interesting." Drake's eyes fell back to the words written on the page. "I think you should stick with this. It's very traditional."
"You would know." It was hard to point fingers at a full-grown man for liking fairytales when you yourself had just been caught with six books shelves full of romance novels.
"You said there were sandwiches?" Drake asked.
"Yes... in the living room."
"Why a fairytale?" Drake asked. They'd finished their sandwiches, and were drinking the now lukewarm tea. Elliot shrugged. He didn't want to talk about it. "There has to be a reason," Drake said. "The market for romance novels didn't suddenly dry up. Why a fairytale?"
"You can't take a hint, can you? I'll say it plainly then. I don't want to talk about it," Elliot said. The subject was closed. Or so he thought.
Drake smiled. "But I want to know. You don't like fairytales. You think their trash. Why?"
"I think romance novels are trash, but that doesn't stop me from writing them. They pay the bills."
"Do fairytales pay the bills then?"
"No," Elliot snapped. Then when it looked like Drake was going to persist, "Fine. You want to know the real reason why I'm writing a fairytale?" Drake cocked his head to one side, obviously waiting. "Once there was this kid named Philip who was missing from school half the time. No one knew why. He was thin and pale, but kind of an asshole. Everyone from school thought he was involved in a gang or in trouble of the police. He got into a lot of trouble at school, didn't care about grades or who he pissed off, so it made sense.
"One day this average kid who was going no where fast and didn't give a shit was goofing off in class and got hurt. Bad. He had to go to the hospital. While he was there he saw Philip. What the hell was Philip doing in the hospital? So the kid got nosey and once he'd been released, went back in to find out."
"Philip freaked. He didn't want to anyone to know he was here. There was almost a fight except Philip was so sick he couldn't even get out of bed. The kid got scared and bolted. Went home, slept, went to school, and realized that nobody knew or cared what happened to Philip."
"The next day the kid went back to the hospital. He started talking to Philip. Philip started talking back."
"Philip had dreams. He was going to go to college, major in English, and was going to be a writer. He loved fairytales. He was going do his thesis on them. What high school kid thinks about what they're going to do their thesis on? It's insane."
"He had a reason for it. Philip had cancer. He was taking chemo... did I mention he didn't have any hair? Everyone thought he shaved it to look cool or be a punk or something... Anyway, they were going to do another surgery because the doctor wasn't sure they'd gotten all the cancer. There was a good chance Philip was going to die."
"As he talked about what he wanted to do and what was happening, the kid realized he had no idea what he was going to do. Hell, the kid had never even thought about it before and here this guy who had everything already planned out was going to croak. It wasn't fair.
"Philip thought the kid might be a writer. Yeah right. That was Philip's dream. The kid was going to do something... else. But Philip was insistent. So the kid went home and wrote something."
"It was awful. Philip pointed out mistakes. The kid got mad. He went back home and rewrote the whole thing. It was better, but still sucked. He rewrote it again and again and again, until Philip said it was good. Then the kid sent it into this contest. He won $5,000 and was published as a great teenage writer."
"Suddenly, this kid realized something. He had a purpose. He was going to be a writer."
"Right before Philip went into surgery, he made the kid promise that he would write a fairytale. A great fairytale. The best fairytale. Why? Who the Hell knows? I've been trying to write it ever since."
Silence followed and Elliot shifted nervously. He'd never told anyone about why he'd started writing. It had always been too personal. Now that he'd spilled his story to someone else... it was amazing how anyone could feel this vulnerable.
"What happened to Philip?" Drake asked his hands wrapped his now empty mug. Elliot blinked at him stupidly. Then he sighed.
"In a good story he would have died and it would have been all tragic and noble that I lived to fulfill his dream." He smiled down at his hands. "In reality, the surgery didn't find anything. The cancer hasn't been seen in over ten years. Philip graduated, went to college, flunked out, married a wonderful lady named Gwen who became my editor, and he became a painter. He's much better with his hands than he ever was at words."
"And you write romance novels," Drake said in his most neutral of voices.
"It pays the bills. I'm good at it. Sometimes I think women are insane, but it's a living." Elliot leaned back and closed his eyes. His mouth was still moving even though he'd thought he was done with the story. "I doubt he even remembers the promise I made him, but I have to write this story. I want to."
"If he doesn't even remember the promise, why do you want to write this?"
Elliot paused for a moment. Oh why not go for broke. It wasn't like Drake didn't already have enough blackmail material on him with the entire study full of romance novels. "Because... because you don't break a promise to your best friend. You especially don't break to first guy you ever loved even if you never told him."
Or anyone else for that matter. Elliot had just come out to someone for the first time in his life. Should he really feel this calm about it? Probably not. Panic would set in later.
The silence this time was longer than before. Elliot swore he could feel every second that ticked by. When Drake set his mug down on the side table, Elliot jumped. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.
He jumped even more when lips brushed against his own. Elliot forced himself to open his eyes. Drake was leaning over him, looking down with serious eyes. All he saw was sympathy and acceptance. "It's never easy to love someone who doesn't love you back."
Elliot sucked in a breath. Drake knew how he felt. He knew. Which was a stupid reason to pull him back down for another kiss, but Elliot did anyway.
Sometime later they stopped kissing and touching long enough for Drake to ask, "Your bedroom is across the hall, right?" Elliot felt anxious and giddy at the same time. This was going to happen.
"Yes," he said. Drake hauled him up out of the chair and kissed him again like he was afraid Elliot would change his mind if given enough time to think. That was probably true. He pulled away long enough to blurt out, "I don't have any condoms." Then Elliot blushed hard because boy, that didn't make it obvious that he didn't do this often or anything.
Drake rolled his eyes. "For once don't think."
"Easier said than done," Elliot muttered as Drake led him to the bedroom. "I have no wish to wind up with an STD."
"I promise you, I'm clean." Elliot shouldn't just trust Drake's word. He really shouldn't. But it was hard to convince yourself of all the reason why not when someone was grinding their hips against you like that.
It was all pale wood and forest green behind the door, and no books. Elliot doubted Drake noticed. He was too busy pulling Elliot him down on the bed. Then it was back to kissing and Elliot was back to not thinking.
Elliot had never had so much trouble getting his clothes off in his life. Either his fingers weren't working correctly or the buttons and zippers had become more complicated since this morning. Drake at least didn't laugh. He didn't help, what with his distracting kisses and lingering touches, but at least he didn't laugh.
Finally they were both naked, and it suddenly dawned on Elliot that he'd never done this before. Any of it. Hell, Drake had been his first kiss. At least with another guy. He'd endured enough from girls to know he simply wasn't interested.
"Um..." This was embarrassing.
"You're a virgin," Drake said. "I can tell."
"Is it that obvious?" Elliot asked. Drake reached out an arm, and pulled him flush against him. That felt really, really good. Skin against skin from shoulder to thigh and it was suddenly really obvious that Elliot was enjoying this.
"It's obvious to me." Drake's breath stirred the fine hairs on the side of his neck. Then his fingers were touching the soft skin of his stomach before trailing lower. "You like this."
Elliot whimpered.
There was heat and sweat and sounds that Elliot would have been mortified to make had he not been so turned on. Drake was above him, kissing him. Then he was pressing into Elliot and there wasn't so much pain and pressure. Enough pressure that Elliot was sure he'd split apart. He clawed at Drake's shoulder even as the other man whispered assurances to him.
Then Drake was inside him. It wasn't bad... it just wasn't all that romance novels had made it into. Maybe it was because they were both men?
Still it was good feeling Drake move inside him. He was still whispering, speaking words in a language that Elliot didn't understand. Elliot kissed all the skin he could find. Good. So very good.
When Drake's hand curled around him, thing became more than good. He came, hard and fast, over his stomach and Drake's hand. Two, three, four thrust later Drake groaned. The rush of warmth inside let Elliot know he'd found his release as well.
Afterwards Drake kissed him, long and deep, before pulling out. He didn't seem inclined to move. Elliot approved. It wasn't long before he drifted off.
Life was good.
Drake was curled up on his side, asleep still, when Elliot got up out of bed. They had slept the rest of the afternoon and most of the evening away. His bedside clock read 11:47 and the pm light was lit. Thirteen minutes till Thursday.
Elliot had the perfect plot for his book.
It was part romance and part fairytale. There was a prince who wanted to be a painter and a princess from a poor kingdom whose best friend was a dragon. The dragon could turn human and loved the princess, but the man who painted the beautiful pictures in the noble houses intrigued the princess. When she met him she didn't know he was a prince, and he didn't know she was a princess. They wfell in love.
The dragon wanted the princess to be happy, but he also loved her. He didn't think a painter was good enough for her. So he kidnapped the princess and held her in his cave. The princess was furious. Lo and behold, the prince comes and rescues her. The dragon and the prince fight, the dragon is injured, and then he concedes that the prince is worthy of the princess.
Prince and princess go off and get married. The dragon attends and is happy for them. Love and smooches and cuddle-wuddles ever after.
Brilliant. If it sold well he could write a sequel where the dragon fell in love with someone.
Three hours later he'd finished the outline and was fleshing out the characters. The princess was named Gwen -- sucking up to his editor never hurt-- and the prince was Philip. Shalimar was the name of the dragon, after some town in Florida where one of his fans lived. Elliot thought it was a nice touch.
"What are you doing? I could hear you talking from the bedroom." The voice was sleepy and rough, but it still sent shivers down Elliot's spine. Enough writing for one night. Time to go back to bed.
"Just getting some ideas down. Sorry about the noise." Elliot shut the laptop. "Don't worry. There's nothing about you in it."
"I hope not," Drake muttered. "I'll never speak to you again if there is."
There was writing and more writing and then when Elliot thought he was done, there was editing. There were long distance phone calls with his editor and once again convincing his publisher that no, he was not interested in doing a book tour to promote his latest novel. There was a reason he went by "E. S. Wyvern." No one was going to buy a romance novel written by one Elliot Samuel Walker. Men simply didn't write good romance.
There were also long nights spent with Drake. Elliot talked about a lot of things: school, friends, his writing, his inspiration. Drake listened. The few times he tried to probe Drake about his past or present, he got deflections or vague answers. After a while, Elliot stopped asking. Drake would tell him when he was ready.
There were walks to the bookstore and lunches at Lina's where Elliot always made sure he paid. If Drake noticed he never said anything. The final version of the manuscript came in. Elliot made the minimal changes needed and sent it back. With a little bit of luck it would be published by the spring.
Winter came with its snow and ice, and faded back into spring. Their relationship had lasted longer that Elliot had ever dreamed. The only problem was that he still didn't know where Drake lived. Whenever he offered to drive him home Drake had him take him to the bridge. He'd get out and stare at Elliot until he drove away.
Spring came with its flowers and birds. The snows retreated once more. Drake was becoming more comfortable around him. Hell, Elliot had even gotten him to smile. More than once. His next goal was to get him to laugh, and if the world didn't end when he did, life would be perfect.
Then his newest novel came out.
Everything went to Hell after that.
"I don't even understand what I did," Elliot said as Jon nodded his head and commiserated over a cup of coffee. "One day everything was fine. The next... he won't even tell me what's wrong. He won't even see me so I can apologize."
Jon hadn't been told anything about their relationship. He just knew about it in that strange way that he'd known Elliot was gay, Drake was interested in him, and that Jenna Colby, the owner of a home made soap shop, was having a long distance love affair with a married man in Tucson, Arizona.
"Have you tried talking to him?" Jon asked. Then he stopped and sighed. "What am I talking about? Of course you have."
"You know I have." Jon had been there when Elliot had pleaded with Drake to speak with him. Nothing. No words. No gestures. Not even an acknowledgement. For the hundredth time, Elliot repeated the phrase that had become his mantra over the last week. "I don't even know what I did wrong."
"You know I don't get involved in people's affairs. Personal life is the one thing I won't touch." Jon waved a waitress over and got a refill. "Meddling never helps."
"I know," Elliot said. This was his problem. He'd deal with it.
"There are always people in the shop," Jon said. Elliot looked up from is coffee. He was miserable and Jon was talking shop? "Drake is very serious about his work. Maybe if you got him alone or on his home turf he'd open up?"
"His home turf?"
Jon rolled his eyes and asked for patience. "His home. Go to his house and talk to him."
"Jon, I don't even know his last name much less where he lives."
"You've been with him for how long and you don't even know where he lives?" Jon asked. Then, as an afterthought, "His last name is Guivre. I think it might be French or something."
French? The language Drake spoke during sex didn't sound French. Of course, there was no way Elliot was going to tell Jon that.
"By the bridge. He always has me drop him off by the bridge." Elliot looked thoughtful. "I've never seen where he goes from there. He doesn't walk towards my place and he doesn't head back into town."
"He might follow the river," Jon said. "If he does there should be a path. Or something."
"He's not going to let me in," Elliot pointed out.
"So don't give him a chance to close the door in your face." Jon leaned back and reached into his pocket for his wallet. "Drake is working at the store today. Go and find his house. Wait for him. I'll give you an hour and then let him go early."
"Thank you," Elliot said. Jon put his money on the table, more than enough to cover both their coffees. "I appreciate it."
"Don't thank me yet. Thank me when you get back together."
Elliot had never walked so fast in his entire life. By the time he got to the bridge he was tired and sweating. Cicadas droned. A bird called from the trees. Storm clouds gathered in the distance, threatening afternoon rain.
He stopped in the middle of the bridge and searched the river's banks. There were no trails that he could see. This was only going to work if he found Drake's house. How was he supposed to find Drake's house if he couldn't find the path?
Grass dried from the early summer heat lined the banks. Elliot found the small dirt path that he had taken almost a year ago to escape the storm. Maybe once he was under the bridge he'd have some idea of what to do next.
It smelled of damp under the bridge and the shade only gave the illusion of coolness. There was too much humidity in the air for it to be anything other than hot. Elliot's shirt clung to his back and his breathing was erratic. At any moment he'd hear Drake's footsteps. He just knew it.
"Nothing." There was a massive pipe that opened up under the bridge. A thin trickle of water clogged with slime dribbled into the river. Otherwise there nothing under the bridge but concrete, girders, and a pair of nasty, muddy sneakers.
Sneakers?
Something Jon had said came back to him. His pants are always muddy around the knees. But his sneakers were always clean. Always. "If..." Elliot said, needing to hear the crackpot theory spoken out loud. "If someone were to crawl through say a large pipe on their hands and knees, the knees of their pants would be dirty. They'd also get their shoes pretty scummy as well."
"Why is there a pipe that empties out under a bridge? No one is going to put raw sewage into the river. There are no diverted streams in this area. So where does the pipe go?" Elliot licked his lips and wondered if all those fairytales he'd been reading for research had rotted his brain.
Two seconds later and Elliot was crawling into the pipe.
The light quickly faded into preternatural twilight within a few feet. His hands were soon coated in gritty slime. Water soaked the knees of his pants. Elliot banged his head against the top of the pipe once, sending a blinding flash of pain behind his eyes. At least the smell wasn't too bad. Damp and mildewy, but with none of the sweet stench of decay.
There was a fork in the pipe. A rusty metal grate blocked one branch. The other branch was filled with a soft golden glow. The source seemed to be a hole in the side of the pipe. Elliot didn't have much experience with underground pipes, but he was willing to bet "golden glows" were not the norm.
As he drew closer, Elliot realized "hole" was the best word he could possibly have used. It looked like something had simply torn through the concrete and rebar that made up the pipe. The edges were trimmed in jagged metal and crumbling concrete. Only the bottom edge was smooth as if it had been worn that way.
One of the things that had always annoyed Elliot about fairytales was the mysterious fact that people could always see everything in caves. Even if the author remembered to have a character in the story bring in a torch or a candle, it was brighter than any halogen lamp. It was stupid.
Now Elliot knew why fairytales didn't bother. The walls of this cavern glowed with a soft light, illuminating everything so that it gleamed in shades of gold. Elliot climbed through the hole and stared. And stared. And then stared some more just for good measure.
The floor was inlaid marble in some geometric pattern that Elliot didn't recognize. Of course the pattern was hard to discern since fine rugs and treasure obscured it. There were millions of gold coins in neat stacks or random piles. Chests over flowing with strands of pearls, loose rubies filled alabaster vases, tapestries shot through with gold thread, bolts of colored silk, and silver tiaras sparkling with diamonds added to the general chaos.
"Holy shit," Elliot whispered.
Walking through the cavern was like walking through a dream. It didn't feel real. There was enough gold and jewels for him to live like a king forever, and it couldn't be real. Elliot had never thought about seeing so much wealth that it stopped being important and just started to seem like play money. He wasn't sure he liked the feeling.
It was on the second circuit of the main cavern --there were side branches but Elliot wasn't sure he wanted to explore them yet-- that Elliot noticed the alcove. There was a dais of three steps, and at the top was a massive curtained bed. Surrounding the bed, in stacks on the floor and piled onto a wooden bookshelf, were books.
Some of them were modern paperbacks. Others were older hardbacks from the 60's and 70's. Still others were ancient: their covers were tooled leather and the words and illustrations inside done by hand.
It was one of these books that Elliot picked up. He looked around for a chair, and not finding one, sat down on the bed. It took him a few minutes to puzzle out the graceful script. Once he did, he was absorbed.
That was how Drake found Elliot over an hour later: sitting on his bed with a book open in his lap.
"What are you doing here?"
"Huh?" Elliot found himself dragged from the story at those words. He blinked. Drake was looming over him. It didn't take much to realize he was pissed.
"How did you get here?" Drake said. He snatched the book from Elliot's hand.
"Through the pipe," Elliot said. There was something... exhilarating about being this close to Drake while he was that angry. He was talking to him. Finally. Elliot licked his lips. Drake's eyes followed the movement.
"I don't want you here," Drake said. "Leave."
Elliot took a deep breath. "No."
He wasn't sure when Drake leaned down to kiss him or how he wound up pressed back against the mattress with Drake above him. All Elliot knew was that he missed this: Drake's lips, his tongue, the smell and taste of him. "Why did you come here?"
"I came here looking for you."
That seemed to be all the answer Drake needed.
Later, as the sweat was cooling on Elliot's skin, he thought about asking Drake why. Why was he avoiding him? Why wasn't he talking to him? What had happened? After all, the best time to talk to Drake was when he was sated.
"You wrote the book about me."
"What?" Elliot asked. Then it occurred to him that Drake was referring to his latest romance novel. "Drake, I made that story up."
"No you didn't," Drake said. "I'm the dragon."
"You're a dragon." It was not a question. Elliot couldn't believe he was hearing this. He'd never thought Drake was crazy before. Then again, he'd also never been through a sewer pipe and into a giant cave with glowing walls and treasure.
"You don't believe me." One second Elliot was lying next to Drake. The next minute scaly black coils surrounded him. There was something very intimidating about being naked in the presence of such a large predator. Especially when the large predator was looking at you will all to familiar brown eyes.
All he could think about was that Drake's bed had to be reinforced to hold up that much weight. It was a ridiculous thought, but if Elliot actually thought about what was happening, he'd have a nervous breakdown. "I believe you," Elliot said. His laughter was shaky." You can turn back now."
The dragon hummed in the back of his throat.
Elliot wasn't expecting the voice in his head. He should have. After all where there were dragons and glowy cavern walls there had to be magic, right?
:Once I was in love with a princess. She fell in love with a painter who painted portraits. I stole her away from him, but she wasn't happy with me. She wanted to return. Her lover attacked and wounded me.: Elliot must have made some sort of noise because Drake lowered his head and nuzzled him.
:The wound healed. I gave the princess my blessing and even attended the wedding. I couldn't stay. I couldn't watch the woman I loved live her happy life with another. So I found a way into another realm and immersed myself in the world there.:
"To forget." Elliot could understand. He ran a hand over smooth black scales, hoping to give a little bit of comfort. "When Gwen and Philip got married, I wanted to run away and forget everything too."
:But you didn't.:
"I wanted to... but I didn't. I wanted to be a part of their life more."
:You are stronger than I.: Elliot didn't agree, but it wasn't wise to argue with a dragon. :One day you will realize that you deserve better than a coward and a liar.:
"I don't want someone else," Elliot protested. It had no effect. Drake had made up his mind.
:Go home. Write books. Find someone else. This will never work.: Elliot felt his throat close up. He could get the words out. He wanted to say something to make Drake understand. Nothing came out. :I'm sorry.:
"Are you still going to work at the book store?" Elliot asked. Even if they weren't together, he still wanted to be able to see Drake. It was selfish of him, but he didn't care.
:You won't tell anyone about this?:
"Who'd believe me?" Elliot said. This hurt. This hurt worse than anything. Worse than a thousand rejection letters. Worse than the time he'd accidentally dropped his laptop without having done a back-up in over a year. Worse than watching his first love walk down the aisle and give his last name to a woman.
:Thank you.:
It was the last words Elliot heard from Drake for eight months.
He couldn't write. Elliot tried, but nothing came out. There were no words. It wasn't like he wasn't trying. There was just... nothing. Why would he want to write about some busty bimbo making googly eyes at her true love when his own love life had fallen apart around him?
On a whim, Elliot looked up what Guivre meant. It was a type of dragon. A little more research revealed that Drake was also a type of dragon. Dragon dragon. Subtle.
Every day he had a flower sent to the shop. Jon assured him that Drake was seeing them. He'd even gone so far as to buy a small vase and keep them there till one withered and died. Then he'd replace it with the newest flower. Sometimes, just to be different Elliot would send something else: a piece of candy, a little trinket, even a book that he thought Drake might like.
It didn't seem to be working.
Late one night, Elliot took out a sheet of paper and a pen and started writing.
Once upon a time there was a dragon that lived under a bridge and a writer whose home was just outside of town. Hours later he was still writing. Morning broke and he was still writing. Elliot fell asleep, woke up, stopped long enough to take a shower and eat, and then kept writing.
Days blurred into weeks, which blurred into an entire month. Elliot finished it in just over a month. He'd never written a novel so quickly in his life. This was the fairytale that Philip had asked him for years ago. Although to be honest, Elliot doubted gay romance was what Philip had in mind when he'd made the request.
Gwen was going to kill him. That didn't stop Elliot from sending it off to her to see what her response would be.
She loved it.
It seemed that recently a new genre had been imported from Japan. Gwen told him the exact word, but Elliot wasn't paying that much attention. Instead he was listening as his editor told him how gay romance was all the rage. With women. With straight women though she'd been told lesbians enjoyed it as well.
All the confirmation Elliot needed that girls were weird.
The publisher had balked. Gwen had pleaded. The publisher had refused. Elliot had insisted. Gwen went to bat for him. Finally, the publisher caved in but they would only publish it through one of their subsidiaries. That was fine with him as long as it got published under the E. S. Wyvern name.
Then, Elliot waited.
It was early spring and raining outside. It had been raining outside for three days. Frost still covered the grass most mornings, and only the bravest of flowers had started to make their way towards the sunlight. Elliot walked around with a blanket on constantly around his shoulders wishing spring would hurry-up and come full force already
One week since his latest book had come out. The critics had torn it to shreds. His fans loved it. Elliot hadn't heard so much as one word from Drake.
He was stupid. Of course Drake wouldn't read the book. Why should he? Just because he'd read the last book didn't mean he'd read this one. Even if he did, why would Elliot think that'd he'd recognize the book for the apology it was?
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupidly in love with a giant lizard with wings that had brown eyes and only smiled for him. Stupid.
Elliot was in the kitchen when he heard the door open. That was odd. If he'd been thinking straight he would have grabbed a knife or something instead of blithely wandering into the living room to see who had just come through his locked front door. He wasn't thinking straight. He hadn't ever since he met Drake.
Who was standing in his entryway dripping on his carpet. Déjà vu.
"You wrote about me again," Drake said. His bangs were hanging in his face and Elliot couldn't see his eyes. "Why?"
"I don't want someone else," Elliot said. It was what he should have said eight months ago.
"I'm still not sure I believe you," Drake said.
"I don't care. It's true."
Silence. Elliot could hear a clock ticking in his house. He still hadn't seen Drake's eyes. Every time he went to speak, the tension went up another notch and the words died in his throat. Drake broke first.
"I'm not always going to live in this world. I have my own place and things I need to take care of," Drake said.
"Okay..." Elliot had no idea where this was going. He knew where he hoped this conversation was going, but it was better not to think that far ahead lest he jinx it.
"I'm not going to change. Don't try to make me into something I'm not. I'll horde
things. I snipe. I yell. I have a temper. I don't want your charity or your pity. I can take
care of myself." He couldn't stop smiling. Elliot tried, but the big grin wouldn't go away.
"I understand."
Drake pushed the hair out of his eyes. Elliot's breath caught.
"Can I stay with you?" he asked.
"Yes," Elliot said. Then he leaned forward and kissed his dragon.
The End.