An unfinished snippet from a chapter from my fic, "The Things We'd Do For Love".
Eret stopped mid-sentence.
“You know, after this little… accident we had, I was thinking a lot. And, well, I thought it might be time for me to…”
The words died in his throat.
The Rumblehorn stood utterly still near the hearth, his green eyes wide, fixed entirely on him. Not angry. Not frightened. Something deeper. Something that rooted itself beneath Eret’s ribs and held on.
Slowly, the dragon’s gaze travelled across his body.
Over every bruise mottling his skin.
Every old bite mark and warped scar tissue twisted pale beneath the firelight.
And then it landed on the brand burned into his chest.
Eret’s stomach dropped as he understood what was going on.
“Oh. Uh…” He stepped back quickly, scrambling for literally anything to cover himself with. “Sorry, Skullcrusher. I didn’t mean to, just…” A strained laugh escaped him, thin as paper. “Shouldn’t really have done that, should I? I’ll just go put something on and…”
Low. Deep. Resonating through the wooden floorboards.
Skullcrusher moved toward him slowly, carefully, each heavy step deliberate. The dragon’s nostrils flared as he approached, taking in the scent of old blood, healing wounds, burned flesh. Hurt. Hurt everywhere.
He had seen glimpses before. A scar beneath his shirt. Marks exposed during work. Fragments.
Now it lay before him like a map carved into skin.
Too many places where pain had settled and never fully left.
And that thing burned over Eret’s chest…
That mark of hate and ownership.
The dragon let out another sound, quieter this time. Not a growl. Not even really a rumble. Something softer. A sound Eret had never heard him make before.
Something inside Skullcrusher ached.
The instincts came swift and ancient as dawn.
Eret didn’t move as Skullcrusher finally reached him. He looked stunned more than anything else, caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.
Cautiously, the Rumblehorn lowered his head.
Like approaching something wounded enough that sudden movement might make it bolt.
His snout pressed gently against Eret’s chest.
The breath that left Eret trembled apart before it fully escaped him.
Warm air rolled across scarred skin. The steady heat of dragon breath seeped into him, grounding him, anchoring him there in the flickering firelight.
And something inside him cracked wide open.
Not because of magic. Not because of destiny.
Because after so long, he was being seen.
Not the hunter. Not the trapper. Not the man he used to be.
Skullcrusher had already dragged him through nightmares, grief, guilt sharp enough to split bone. He had stayed through all of it. But this…
Now the dragon could see every ugly part laid bare beneath the firelight, and he did not recoil.
Eret’s knees finally gave out beneath him. Slowly, he slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floorboards, breath uneven.
Skullcrusher followed immediately, curling partway around him without thought, his massive body shielding him from the room as naturally as drawing breath.
“…Skullcrusher, I…” Eret whispered.
The dragon huffed softly against his shoulder before nudging his chin upward.
Then, carefully, he began tending to him.
The first touch landed over the brand.
Eret flinched instinctively as the dragon’s warm tongue brushed against the warped white flesh there, slow and deliberate. The sensation was strange. Familiar in the way dragon grooming had grown to be, yet unbearably intimate like this.
For a second, he pulled away.
Skullcrusher immediately stilled.
The pause shattered something in Eret far more thoroughly than pain ever could.
Slowly, shakily, he leaned back in.
Another low rumble rolled through the dragon’s chest, vibrating against Eret’s ribs like distant thunder. Contentment. Reassurance. Mine to protect.
The difference nearly undid him.
Skullcrusher moved slowly from there.
Over older scars first. The ones silvered with time. His tongue swept carefully across each mark, patient and methodical, the same way dragons groomed torn scales or old battle wounds within their groups.
Every touch made Eret twitch.
Not because it was unpleasant.
Because he wasn’t used to tenderness arriving where pain usually lived.
Again and again, he flinched instinctively beneath the warmth and wet pressure.
Again and again, he leaned back in.
Skullcrusher never rushed him.
Each time Eret recoiled, even slightly, the dragon would still immediately, waiting with quiet, aching patience until Eret settled again. Only then would he continue, rumbling softly beneath his breath.
The newer wounds came next.
The split skin along his shoulder burned beneath the dragon’s touch, and Eret sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth as Skullcrusher cleaned the injury with slow, deliberate care.
His body tried to pull away automatically.
Years of instinct screamed at him to hide hurt, conceal weakness, survive first and feel later.
But Skullcrusher’s rumble rolled through him like distant thunder against stone.
Then Skullcrusher reached his ribs.
The dragon paused immediately.
A low sound vibrated in his chest, deeper now. Distressed.
Carefully, he nosed along Eret’s side, feeling the bruising hidden beneath skin and flesh. Eret tensed hard at the contact before he could stop himself, pain flashing white-hot through his side.
Skullcrusher stopped at once.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then the dragon drew back slightly, eyes fixed on him.
The realization hit harder than the pain did.
No one had ever stopped before.
Not when his body gave warning after warning.
Eret swallowed hard before, slowly, carefully, he leaned sideways into the dragon’s touch again.
The rumble that left Skullcrusher then was so soft Eret almost felt it more than heard it.
And when the dragon finally tended the bruised rib, impossibly gentle despite his size, Eret let his eyes fall shut against the sting.
But beneath the pain was something warmer.
For once, being touched did not mean being harmed.
And maybe that was why Eret’s hands shook when he finally reached up and placed them against the side of Skullcrusher’s jaw, holding on like a drowning man clutching wreckage after a storm.
Not because he was breaking.
Because, very slowly, he was learning he no longer had to survive alone.
And for the first time in years, Eret did not feel the need to hide.
Not the marks they had left behind.
Eret closed his eyes as the dragon curled more firmly around him, warm and steady as a living hearth.
