Total Dream Team

Sinder sat on the floor in Michaelson’s room, surrounded by sheets of paper. He’d turned the bedside table into a cramped workstation where one of his backup laptops teetered on stacked packets. Heralds had begun arriving within an hour of his first text to acting Spokesperson Canarian Evernhold, and they were still arriving at regular intervals.

He’d caught up before visiting Hisoka, but that was different from staying caught up.

Printed reports. Scanned articles. Meeting minutes. Also detailed dictation, all handwritten on Dimityblest paper and protected by sigilcraft, all intended for Spokesperson Twineshaft’s eyes only. Which was fine. Sinder had clearance. He’d been Hisoka’s eyes for long enough to know what to look for.

Sinder was peripherally aware that Michaelson was nearby, moving around the room. At one point, a sandwich had been thrust into his hand. And there was always tea in his cup—hot and spicy and slightly sweet. Much better than the stuff Sinder had been repeatedly dosed with last summer.

Speaking of …! Sinder scanned a report from Torloo-dex Elderbough, which included an update on the allotment of reavers Sinder had helped train. Naroo-soh’s finest had all been matched with Kith partners.

“You’re smiling.”

Sinder dragged his attention from the page, only to wonder where the hell he was. “What did you do?”

“Just a little rearranging. To make you more comfortable.” Timur was dressed for bed, pajama pants and a T-shirt. He glanced around, then shrugged. “Fend helped.”

The idiot had redecorated, just like he’d done at Zisa’s cottage in Wardenclave. Rugs and screens and hangings and lampshades and crystals. Everything in shades of yellow. Sinder’s comfort color.

Belatedly, he grabbed his phone and checked the time. Nearly eleven, which was late enough to be rude. “I’m keeping you up.”

Timur shrugged and shook his head. “Why were you smiling?”

“A pile of shiny new dossiers. Some old friends reached their attainment. Want a look?” He flapped the files invitingly.

Timur lowered himself to the floor at his side and soon sighed. “How can you be happy for them?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“They tormented you.” Timur slipped an arm around Sinder’s back, spreading one big hand over his side. “They scarred you.”

“Oh, don’t be so grumpy. Look at her face.” A young woman was aglow, caught mid-laugh by the camera as her new Kith companion rearranged her battler braids. “She worked damned hard to win that hawk’s good opinion. And this guy. He’s in love, and that Nightspangle wolf’s just as smitten. Total dream team. They’ll do great.”

Timur relented enough to reminisce. Sinder tried not to be distracted when the man’s chin came to rest on top of his head.

“So … where’s Fend?”

“Out. Something about going hunting with his uncle. He’s probably with Catalan.”

“Pretty sure he’s with Hisoka.”

“That so?” Timur didn’t even sound moderately surprised. Or interested. Just sort of … distracted.

Sinder flipped through the rest of the profiles before asking, “Do you actually think you and Fend can take down the Rogue alone?”

“Not alone, no.”

“Then why humor your cat?”

Timur mildly inquired, “Why do you humor my cat?”

Sinder slouched into Timur and suggested, “Self-preservation?”

The man squeezed Sinder’s shoulder. “Come help me warm our wardstone.”

“I’m on rock-baby duty? Hold up. Where’s Gregor?”

“On loan. Papka is trying to acclimate some of our new dragonlings to the feel of a reaver’s soul, so Gregor, Vanya, and Lilya are bedding down in the naproom for the foreseeable future. Normally, I’d be there with them, but … well. I thought we could take advantage of the quiet.”

“To sleep. You need sleep.”

“I don’t need to be awake for you to access my soul.”

Sinder went very still. “Unsafe much?”

“I trust you.”

“I’m flattered and all, but no. You shouldn’t tempt dragons.”

“No?” Timur folded down blankets revealing their wardstone. “I’m very good at it.”

Sinder was catching whiffs of crisp linen and checked the bedsheets. The man had added an electric blanket to the bed, and the thing was cranked to toasty. “Okay, you’re good. Maybe even too good to be true.” He slapped his laptop shut and dove under covers.

Timur pottered around the room longer, and Sinder watched him in a state of limpening bliss. Until it occurred to him that the wrong person was basking in bed. “Are you avoiding your responsibilities? I thought you were supposed to be helping me warm the proverbial egg.”

Without a word, the man doused the lights and slid into bed. A moment later, a hand found Sinder’s shoulder and began to knead. Sinder had expected it. Michaelson had been just as clingy all last summer, but the wardstone was definitely a hinderance.

“Let me try something,” the man murmured.

As the blankets and pillows shifted, Sinder retreated further under the covers, not wanting to lose his pocket of heat.

Eventually, Timur stopped flapping cold air into Sinder’s burrow. “Safe to come back.”

Sinder didn’t resist when he grabbed hold and pulled him into an achingly familiar embrace. Shit, he’d missed this. Might always miss this. Timur might not be a beacon—not technically—but that wasn’t going to stop him from ruining Sinder. And making him want to twine like a tree.

“Put your hand here,” Timur ordered.

“Huh?”

The man guided his hand to the wardstone, which he’d used to prop their pillows. Sinder rested his palm against the chrysalis, which met his touch with a tuneful hum.

“There,” Timur said with satisfaction. “Our little one doesn’t feel slighted, and I can make sure you’re cared for, too.”

Sinder should have been airing protests and reminders that the man needed sleep, but … dunce and double dunce, the guy was good with his hands. There may have been some level of cosseting underway, too. Sinder needed a distraction, so … he got nosy. “What’s Fend’s deal?”

“Hmm?”

“I get why he’s being friendly. Needs my cooperation. Fattening me up for the kill. Whatever. But why’s he keep saying I’m meant for you?”

“Mmm. Probably because he’s decided you’re the ideal candidate for a bond.”

“Okayyy. Maybe you should explain.”

“Well, Fend is Kith-kin.”

“Oh, I figured that out. And I know he’s good at deciding things for other people. I’ll even grant the ideal part, on account of your kids needing a dragon to pick on. But … why bondmates?”

“You know how tending can prolong a reaver’s lifespan.”

“Sure. Plenty of documentation. Not that it’s public information. Yet.”

“Well, Fend wants that for me.”

“He can do it himself. Kith-kin have the years and the means to share them with a partner. You don’t need a third party.”

“Fend would prefer to keep his status as Kith-kin under wraps. If I stop aging, he’ll be outed.”

“Flimsy, Michaelson. He has to have a better reason that that.”

“I suppose ….” And he tried to change the subject. “You don’t think I’m a match for the Rogue?”

“No offense, but my money’s on Juuyu.”

“Your partner.”

“What’s with that tone? You have a partner, too. Juuyu and I work well together. Complementary strengths, and all that. It’s probably not much different from … uhh … actually, I don’t know what you and the fiendish Fend get up to. Not sure I even want to know.”

Timur’s tone definitely went all pensive. “Fend was there for me when times were tough. He calls me his other half.”

Sinder was actually kind of confused. “Sounds like you’re set.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be here.”

“What, like you’re somehow lacking? No way. And don’t you go thinking he prefers me, because that’s not possible. You’re his whole world. Me, he treats me like the family dog—no offense to Starmarks everywhere—but you guys, you’re the family.” Sinder said it again. “Fend’s your partner. You’re raising Gregor together. Just like all those dossiers. Total dream team.”

For a little while, Timur just kneaded.

Sinder spent most of that while going to mush.

Finally, Timur asked, “Why do you think you’re here?”

“Can I take the easy out and say, ‘confluence of destinies’?”

“I’d rather know what you really think.”

“Well, shit.” Sometimes, Sinder hated being good at his job. “Fine. He changed his tune about me because he’s an opportunist. He’s going to take advantage of two things that are way too obvious in hindsight. You have a thing for dragons. And … I’m hooked.”

“I’ve been careful. There’s no way you’ve become addicted to my tending.” He reminded, “I made sure Mikoto looked after you most of the time. And Tenma.”

“Skies and storms, Michaelson! I’m talking about this. The way you touch me. How it affects me.” Sinder fluted wearily. “Look, it’s not a romantic thing, but that doesn’t stop it from being attractive. Even sexy. Though some of that’s probably Fend’s fault. Between the licking and the tending and the purring. It’s damned seductive, even if you’re not trying.”

“You were kissing Fend.”

“Jealous?” Sinder had meant to be flippant, but Michaelson answered seriously.

“I don’t think so. I still don’t feel particularly gay.”

“Still don’t? What, you’ve had your orientation assessed?”

“Jacques was interested.”

“Oh, well. Yeah, that checks out. You did something to make him wonder?”

“Then? No. But now?” Michaelson pressed his thumbs into Sinder’s muscles in a way that made him squirm. “Jacques would probably read all kinds of subtext into how much I want to touch you.”

“Because … I’m a dragon.”

“And I apparently have a thing for them.”

“You totally do.”

“Shut up.”

“Never happening.”

“Unless I shut you up?”

Sinder snorted. “If that’s a prelude to a kiss, I’m out.”

Timur chuckled. “No, but … try something for me?”

“What kind of something?”

“Partial transformation. Bring out your wings?”

“Under blankets?” he asked incredulously.

“I’ll hold them out of the way.”

“Sounds cold.”

“I’ll tuck you right back in again,” Michaelson promised.

Sinder owned that he was curious. Also, this man was a big part of the reason he’d regained the sky. So he sat up, removed his shirt, pulled his hair out of the way, and focused.

“Very good,” Michaelson praised. “Now come here where it’s warm.”

Mostly sprawled against the man’s chest, Sinder soon had his folded wings pinned by blankets. And then warm hands slid up, cupping the place where each wing connected to his back. Timur’s grip tightened, and Sinder hissed.

“Give it a chance,” coaxed Michaelson.

Sinder did, but he spent most of the next few minutes swearing under his breath. Nothing and nobody had ever touched him there before, and it was … well, it wasn’t bad, exactly. Sensitivity made his wings jumpy, and the blankets were starting to remind him a little too much of the nets they’d thrown over him last summer. He didn’t like that part, but when Michaelson stopped, Sinder warbled peevishly.

“Easy does it. Catch your breath. It shouldn’t hurt.”

“Doesn’t.”

“I can feel your distress.”

“Need to lose the blankets,” Sinder admitted.

“Not a problem. Shed them.” And Timur’s hands fell away.

Sinder wrestled free. Straddling Michaelson’s thighs, he flung his wings wide. Flexing was a relief all the way up until he noticed Timur watching him in frank admiration. Which was appealing in its way. Sinder liked being noticed. Liked the attention. Liked this man.

But was that enough? Fend wanted him to bond with his partner. Timur didn’t seem opposed, but Sinder had always assumed that bonds like this were about love. Could compatible goals be equally valid? Could Sinder share his years with someone and stay platonic?

Okay, sure.

Maybe.

But what if Michaelson managed to find the right girl, wanted to marry, start a family, build a life, all while keeping Sinder on the side?

No.

Bigtime no.

Dragons like him were greedy, possessive, obsessive, focused. Sinder had been sent into the heights because he wasn’t as strong or generous as the fathers. Even Juuyu’s recent match had smacked of betrayal, and that was just … stupid. But that was instincts.

“How is nobody treasuring you? If this was mine ….” Sinder left the idea lingering there, unfinished.

Timur huskily asked, “You’d consider it?”

“What? An eternity of pampering on this level? Of course I’m considering it. But you’d be limiting your options in a big way. What if you wanted a wife? She’d have to get through me, and I don’t like her odds.”

“None of the women I … ah. All they wanted was … mmm. Let’s just say that I like that you’re not interested in my biological profile or in our progeny projections.”

“Oh, I like your pedigree just fine. You and your dynasty-class soul have wrecked me for anyone else. Except maybe your dynasty-founding father.” Sinder wryly added, “And progeny isn’t out of the picture. Or did you forget our rock baby?”

Michaelson growled, “Don’t go to Papka.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was kidding. Uhh, Michaelson …?”

“Call me Timur.”

“Sure. Fine. Timur.” And when the man didn’t stop drawing sigils onto his skin, Sinder asked, “What are you doing?”

“Adapting a medical barrier.”

“So … what? You’re marking me? Dibs or whatever?”

“I can be possessive, too.” He shot him a stubborn look and kept right on tracing delicate patterns that sparkled with power. “It’s more like armor.”

“You want to keep me safe.”

“I want to keep you.” He winced. “But I’ll settle for keeping you safe.”

“From danger or from competition?”

“From all comers.” Timur’s smile was wry. “It’s childish, but it’s making me feel better. I think I got my hopes up.”

“Trust for trust, okay? My hopes are up, too, but we need to look at ….” And then the import of Timur’s words diverted him, and his eyes widened. “From all comers.”

“Hmm?”

“Fend.”

“He’ll approve. This whole thing was his idea.”

“This is his idea. Probably. There’s a slim chance it’s all mine, but he’ll take credit. Because it’s brilliant.”

“Fend respects your intellect.” Timur kept right on embellishing Sinder’s torso with pretty patterns. “I think it’s part of why he’s smitten with you.”

Sinder waved that off.

Didn’t want to be distracted.

This was too important.

“You normally ride Fend into battle, yeah? You’re a dangerous combo. A flight-capable, dragon-slaying dream team. But for all his smarts, Fend has his limits. You can’t talk when he’s in truest form, and he doesn’t have a dragon’s reach or dexterity.”

“Opposable thumbs.”

“Comes standard for my clan.”

Timur frowned. “Fend and I have trained extensively. He knows all the attack patterns, and he excels at evasion.”

“I’m not criticizing. I’m improvising. Maybe even improving.” Sinder leaned down, planting his hands on Timur’s shoulders. “Do dragon slayers ever fly out against a dragon … on a dragon? Wouldn’t you prefer a field partner who can get you and your Spomenka know-how and your ambuscade arsenal right up into another dragon’s personal space? Especially one with a direct line to a kick-ass phoenix whose goals align with yours?”

For several long moments, Sinder could tell Timur was picturing it. The man’s heart thudded hard. “You’d carry me? Into battle?”

“Bet you never saw that coming back when you were helping me find my wings.”

Timur whispered, “Oh, Zolottse.”

Sinder was getting embarrassed, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. “We could consider it a bondmate’s privilege.”

Timur pulled Sinder down and gruffly urged, “Bond with me, Sinder Stonecairne of the Icelandic Reach. Be my dragon.”

“If you’re sure then … sure.” Which wasn’t even close to the usual formalities, but theirs wasn’t the usual kind of arrangement. Their bond was more of an intellectual thing, high-minded and forward thinking and … damned if every thought was wiped away when Timur sealed the deal with traditional enthusiasm.

Not that the enthusiasm was traditional.

That was probably just a Timur thing.

But a kiss was traditional, and kissing Timur was nothing like kissing Fend. In large part because Timur’s was mostly perfunctory … and also a prelude. Because he didn’t waste any time baring his soul. All of it. Which was risky and shameless and joyous and … okay, maybe even sexy.

Timur was wooing him to his side, not with a song, but with everything he had to offer. So Sinder let himself be greedy. Voice thick with sway, he urged, “Take from me.”

“Not sure how.”

Which wasn’t a problem. Sinder knew.

Except this was nothing like tending Tenma. Because that had been neutral and polite and restrained, and Timur was none of those things. The two of them were a good match, in their way—greedy and needy and driven and ready.

Sinder was embarrassed to find the bond already there, half-knit and feeble from neglect, but Timur was delighted. He rumbled and coaxed and praised Sinder’s instincts, then managed a tending session that left Sinder dazed and maybe a little drunk.

And just a tiny bit worried.

About what Fend would think.