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But as he went to pitch forward, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and folded him over the window ledge, one leg up and one planted on the floor. Unwelcome fingers found their way to a place they never should have touched.
“You’re wet,” said a hot voice against the back of Sorin’s ear as those fingers pressed inward. “Finally, you’re ready for me.”
There had been no further conversation.
Sorin had stayed folded in half, staring at salvation he would never be allowed to reach, until his heat took over his conscious mind and made him forget what was happening to him. When he next woke, his heat had passed, and he’d been moved into a room not much better than a prison cell, with windows too narrow to jump from.
Three months later, his nightmare had come to pass.
And a little more than six months after that, the process had started again.
It went on like that until the incident with Unwin, but the pain of what he’d been through stayed with him even after he’d been freed. It wasn’t the kind of thing he could shrug off—the trauma of it was rooted in him, and while over the years the bulk of it had shriveled up, some of those roots continued to thrive. They could not be so easily killed. And after centuries spent trying to weed them out, he knew they would likely always remain.
But they did not define him.
He had grown since then, and while it had not always been for the better, he had learned and adapted and persevered. He had changed. He was not the hesitant omega who had clammed up and been sick to his stomach when Bertram had asked him if they could have another clutch.
He was his own person now, and able to make his own choices.
And while the slick feeling between his thighs made him remember what he wanted to forget, it no longer sent him into the blind panic it used to. He was safe with Bertram. With him, he didn’t have to worry he would be used or taken advantage of, and while the old roots would always be there, sprouting worry when he least expected it, he was ready to plant new memories from which happiness would grow.
So when Bertram, in awe, told him he was wet, Sorin responded not with fear, but with certainty.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he said. “I want to spend my heat with you.”
Bertram’s eyes went dark and reptilian, his dragon stirred by the idea. Still, he did not let himself go. “But that would mean—”
“I know what it means. We discussed it before.”
“During moments of passion.”
“Do those not count?”
Bertram’s lips thinned, and he looked Sorin in the eyes in an obvious state of worry. “They count,” he said. “I just… I suppose I am concerned that you said what you did to placate me. I have made my desire to put a clutch in you transparent, and more than once you have humored me by letting me pretend to get my wish. But this is not pretend anymore. If we do this, there will be no going back. I will take your heat, and I will breed you. I will not stop until you are carrying my eggs. It is not something I want you to do because you feel it is your duty or obligation, or likewise, because you feel you must solely for my benefit. I love you, Sorin, and if we are to do this, I want to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is something you want as well.”
“I’m not placating you,” Sorin promised. He took hold of Bertram’s shirt, not to pull him closer, but for the connection it established between them. He would not shrink back or pull away. Not anymore. “And I’m not doing it because I think it will make you happy, or because my heat is warping my brain. I want this. I want to share it with you. We’re finally in a place where we can live the way we want to, and this is what I want. You and me and our babies. Another chance at the life we should have had. At happiness. There is nothing in this world I want more than to raise more children with you.”
The dark slits of Bertram’s eyes swelled, and through his open shirt, Sorin watched scales tumble over his shoulders and down the sides of his chest. His hands shifted subtly, protecting Sorin from his new claws, and while he didn’t grow wings, something about his posture hinted that he was losing control.
But even as he gave himself over to his dragon, he was no monster.
He was gentle, and he was kind.
He tugged Sorin’s hips forward so his ass was hanging just beyond the edge of the counter, and nudged into that hot, slick space between his legs with the tip of his cock while Sorin planted his hands anew on the counter to keep himself upright. In a few thrusts, he found Sorin’s hole, and pushed forward with just enough pressure to tease before backing off to run the length of his cock along Sorin’s shaft.
Breathless, Sorin looked down his body at their twin erections, Bertram’s cock so much bigger than his own, and glossy with his slick.
It was going to go inside of him.
It was going to breed him.
A thought like that would have destroyed him once, but things were different now.
He wanted it there.
Bertram flexed his hips, rubbing himself against Sorin’s cock a few times before returning to the spot between his legs. He worked himself back and forth, back and forth, until he was drenched and Sorin was nearly out of his mind from anticipation. He clung to Bertram, panting, feeling his heat begin to build, and spread his legs just a little wider.
On Bertram’s next thrust, his cock went in.
