The Affairs of Dragons

[Morgan LaLuna]

Language warning! Oh my.

I would like to give a special thanks to the players of Jaycy and Ettyn's characters for the lovely scene that inspired this story. May the legacy of Flashchaps reign forever!



A night of unsanctioned fighting gone awry found three figures by a simulated lakeside, all sitting together with a case of beer and chattering away about life, love, and… Dragons. The tendency to hoard, and the downfalls of that very impulse. Morgan, of course, did not know the severity of the feeling, the very deep-rooted propensity for keeping things to themselves that dragons had, and so, in a moment fueled by the waning of adrenaline and more than one ale, asked a simple question. Curiosity, maybe. Or maybe trying to make his friend feel better about her fear of the desire to hoard the person her heart was set on. He didn’t want Jaycy to feel alone, maybe. He wasn’t exactly sure why he asked it, Only that he had.

“So… Am I a dragon, too?”

Ettyn and Jaycy had wondered what he meant, and asked for clarification. It took him some time to answer this, but answer he did. "Because that's how I feel about Mart. I don't mind when people... I know people love him. But I want him all to myself. I like when it's just us. I can't even think about how fucking miserable I'd be if he just..." He didn't finish the thought. "I wanna keep him in my pile of blankets forever and ever and read to him while he braids my hair and I want to hold him while he sleeps and..." He took a breath. "You know. Stuff." A flush crept onto his cheeks. He’d had to stop himself, for he was sure that the words that were really about to come out of his mouth would sound so damn… creepy. You don’t just tell people that you can’t stop sniffing someone. What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Morgan LaFey?


"Mm. Fuck him, no shame in fucking."

Ettyn’s words nearly choked him, causing him to breathe in so sharply that the saliva in his mouth got sucked in so that he started coughing, sputtering… And he couldn’t even blame it on anything other than the brash and crass simplicity to the sentiment.

"You don't just... Go into that! He's..." He held out his hands, as if cradling some delicate thing. "I'm perfectly happy... I just..." He dropped his hands, and looked over very, very seriously. "I like kissing him. I like to kiss him so much. And he never asked me. Not once. Never made me feel like we had to. But I do it, and I fucking like it." He’d never told the Moon Elf that it was simply something he’d never really… done. That he placed more stock in that simple exchange than anything else people did when they were together. Kissing meant something. It was intimate in ways that coupling simply did not fill. He never told him, and was content in that knowledge being something he kept close. For now. Let others think it was something light, and done without thought.

Jaycy’s insistence that Mart was no innocent person, her urging that he make the first move stunned him. There were points made in her short tirade. He was an adult. He could make his choices. But the rest was a suggestion that he couldn’t bear to hear. Ettyn’s agreement to the words… Didn’t help at all. He had stood up and took a step away, bent double and trying to catch his breath, when he heard Jaycy threaten… no, offer to text Mart. Morgan froze, and immediately scrambled to drop to his knees at her side, begging her, pleading, literally throwing himself before her.

"Wait. I am definitely... definitely not ready. I don't want to ruin this. I don't want to taint it. I want to marry this fucking man, not ruin him." It was something he couldn’t ask for yet. It was something he was altogether terrified to even think of. Certainly, he would not reject the advances if they came, but to initiate… It would curse what he had. Whereas Midas touched things to have them turn to gold, Morgan’s made things wither, and die. He was intense as the sun, and burned everything until there was nothing left.

"Marriage would ruin him…” it was like the crack of a gunshot, loud and piercing and drowning out whatever it was Jaycy said next. A distracted and thoughtless off-hand comment as she fumbled with her phone caused Morgan to draw back from her as if burned.

Ruin him?

Morgan felt the weight of everything press in on him, and could only hear the rush of his own blood in his ears, muffling the words of both women. To him, they were a million miles away. In his lap as he sat back on his folded legs, his hands wrung together, and fingertips brushed against a band of metal on his left ring finger. A promise without the words that usually accompanied them. The tiny sunstone set in golden rays in the middle caught the light of the colosseum. It was not blinding, but it was painful. It cut through him.

Ruin?

His fingers splayed for just a moment before curling into a tight fist, and he felt his throat closing. There was another. A second band. Pale, and bearing a moon. Another promise that he had given. Not to himself, this time, but to the Moon Elf. Not once had he said the words that often came with the giving of such jewelry, but at the time… He simply could not ask. It was not the right time. Mere months wouldn’t do. And yet, he’d gotten the symbols, because it had not been months. It had been years. Years of waiting. Years of loving. Years of happiness, and of growth and growing together.

The two women before him were settled so comfortably against and within and around each other, and he just felt… cold. His heart was heavy, his eyes prickling… He stood up rather quickly, with all the grace of a cat rising to stalk to some dark and comfortable corner, and retrieved the maroon zip hoodie he’d taken off some time before.

“I think I should go.”

Ettyn seemed to realize his hurt, the effect Jaycy’s words had on him, and spoke with some amount of weight when she said “Home. Home to him.” Even as the Slayer said this, Jaycy reached for him.

"I'm sorry! Don't listen to me! I'm the idiot. You're right. You do you."

Morgan had no words, at first. His throat had no room for them. His tongue was numb to them. He pulled away from Jaycy’s reaching grasp, and turned to retreat, tugging his hoodie on. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets to hide that metallic shine. Even so, he could feel his own hubris burning into his skin. As he walked away in quick strides, he called back over his shoulder, lashing out at the woman who was hurting, herself. “Take your own advice, Jaycy.” His step quickened, the mists rose up from the soles of his feet to swallow his form, moving in the opposite direction of where he knew Mart might be.

Moments later he could smell the ocean. He could see the water, and to his side he saw the looming shadow of his ship. He stared at it for some time, and moved silently up and onto it. The smell of fresh cut wood, of the cooled pitch used to seal and blacken it. Not a word was said to the few who kept watch over the vessel at night. He immediately shoved his way into the cabin he did not need for now, and slammed the doors behind him. He walked slowly to his bedside, and sat heavily on the mattress that was not as soft as the one at home. Home?

Who was he? Who the fuck was he? His hands came from his pockets, and he looked to them, palms up, then turned the left over. He brushed fingertips over the ring, and tore it from his finger, throwing it across the cabin with a throat-tearing scream. He heard the thin metal band clatter and settle, but by the time it had stopped, he had curled on his bed, facing the wall, and covered his head with a pillow. His body shook, but even his tears had no words to express the hurt that cut so deep into the doubts he could not truly rid himself of; those deep and unsettling thoughts that crept up on him and woke him in the night so that he had to reassure himself that the moon had not disappeared, and the tug and pull of it had not been a dream.

He did not remember falling asleep, as often is the case in drifting into the abyss of dreamless and exhausted sleep. Perhaps it was a small mercy for his mind to give him such peace.