Dragon Scales, Dragon Tears

Dragon Scales, Dragon Tears


Author Note: Some quick context since I’m not going to do a lot of worldbuilding or backstory in this piece. Nazrin is the distant descendant of an ancient dragon-slaying knight. Diodore is a dragon who had once been magically sealed inside that ancient knight’s sword. Upon inheriting her father’s estate, Nazrin finds her ancestor’s sword and accidentally releases Diodore from his centuries-long magical imprisonment. Diodore, terrified of the modern world he’s found himself in, uses his magic to stay in human form and ends up living with Nazrin, much to her chagrin. This story contains explicit sex. If you’d like to read something else, return to the stories page.

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As soon as Nazrin toed out of her boots and stepped into the living room, something sharp slid up through her sock and into her sole.


“Fuck!” She hopped onto one foot, cursing as she grabbed the other. Plopping down on the couch, she lifted her foot up and eased the sock off. A red circle darkened the worn cotton. She peeled it away gingerly then drew out the offending object: a scale, the size of a quarter. Opalescent pink stained in her blood. “…the fuck?” she muttered to herself, then raised her voice, “Dio? Where are you?”


“In here.” His small voice, tense, echoed from the direction of the bathroom.


It was odd, he’d usually be out in the living room, ready to greet her as soon as she got off work. Nazrin took a minute to keep pressure on her cut before hobbling to the bathroom. She rapped a knuckle on the door, an ember of irritation growing in her–this was her house, why did she need to ask to go into her bathroom?


“Dio, I’m coming in.”


Steam wafted out as she opened the door, a pleasant contrast against the cold evening air she’d just escaped. Sitting miserably in the steaming bath was Diodore, his slight palepink frame folded into what Nazrin thought was the smallest amount of space possible he could take up. His arms were looped around his flushed knees and his chin rested between them. Nazrin had seen him in all his forms: as an unassuming human man, as a fully-fledged dragon and this current state, a mix of the two. He still looked somewhat human but adorned with draconic elements; thick stretches of scales ran along his back and down his limbs. Two curving horns protruded from his forehead and long serpentine tail coiled around in the bathwater, restlessly undulating.


Despite his appearance, what really struck Nazrin was his mood. His overall bearing seemed…sulky, which was different from the usual spectrum of expressions he wore which ranged from pleasantly needy to excitedly nervous.


“…I didn’t know lizards liked baths,” she said, stepping in and closing the door behind her to trap the heat.


“I am not a lizard. And I do not like baths.”


Yup, she thought, definitely sulky.


She closed the lid of the toilet and sat down, resting her ankle on her knee to tend to her foot. “Alright, spit it out. You sick?”


“I am not sick,” he mumbled, sinking into the water. “I am simply moulting.”


“That makes sense.” She lifted the scale that had been in her foot. “This just went right in me. Didn’t realize how sharp they were.”


“Oh!” Water splashed as Dio sat up and leaned out of the tub, clawed hands clutching the rim. “Gods, Nazrin, are you alright? I attempted to clean up after myself but it seems I missed a few scales.”


“I’m fine.” She waved him off and fished around in a drawer for gauze and medical tape. “Why are you moulting though? You’re telling me you’re still growing? Aren’t you like a thousand years old?”


“I haven’t had occasion to grow, what with being held in your ancestor’s sword.” Diodore folded his legs up again, the unusual violet blush staining his cheeks. “I’m still relatively young for a dragon, you know. Middle-aged, I believe, is the term I’ve heard you use.”


Nazrin gave a short huff of amusement. “Have you tried scrubbing your scales off?”


Diodore lifted a shredded cloth and dish sponge helplessly. “Usually I’d rub against oaks and rocks until I was fully shed but…”


They were in the city and the nearest forest was a good thirty minutes away. She could drive him but he’d shred the car to pieces.


Nazrin sighed. “Let me see what I can find.”


After a few minutes digging around the pantry, she found a suitable tool: a barbeque grill brush. She peeled off her work button-up and shucked off her jeans before settling on the edge of the tub. Diodore shrank in the bath, tail squirming around the water as Nazrin began to gently brush him down. The steel brush bristles were firm enough to coax the scales loose and flexible enough not to catch on the newly sprouting scales underneath. Near an hour later, shining iridescent scales sparkled on the floor of the tub and Diodore’s skin shone with fresh translucent scales, so new they still flexed under her fingers.


Nazrin set the brush to the side and stretched with a groan, a pang of discomfort shooting up her back from hunching over her dragon. The dragon, she corrected herself. “So,” she cleared her throat, “Feel better?”


Diodore looked over his shoulder at her, face serene, a sleepy smile on his face. He was always so perfectly and unintentionally coy. “Yes, very much so. What I’ve done to deserve a knight like you, I can’t imagine.”


“Not a knight,” Nazrin said, rolling her eyes. Standing, she grabbed a towel and gestured for Dio to step out of the tub. Water sheeted from his body, rivulets catching the fluorescent light in the ripples and divots where lean muscle and bone pressed up against skin. His long hair, usually a light grey, had a lilac sheen to it in this form and long swirls of it stuck wetly against the small of his back, around his pecs. He kept his hands in front of his crotch, another oddity; he didn’t usually care about nudity. The steamy air took on a second weighty dimension, settling on her like a urging, heavy hand. Nazrin grit her teeth as she toweled him dry even as her cunt clenched suddenly in time with her heartbeat, clit giving a warning pulse. It was frustrating how quickly the color of her emotions could shift, like a filter being snapped on and off a camera lens, hardly any transition at all.


His hand touched her jaw, so gently it shook away the rising wave of dismay.


“Naz?” That small voice again, quiet but gravelly. His hand drifted from jaw to throat, throat to collarbone, then paused. “Naz…” Not a question this time, not asking, but telling. The familiar needy tone. “I wasn’t completely truthful earlier.” He removed his hand from his crotch and rested that one next to the other, claws gently pricking at the top of chest. His cock stood up prettily between his legs, a warm rich pink from his soak, the head a shiny rose. His head dipped down in embarrassment, eyes landing at the top of her breasts. “I’m not sick but…I am in heat.”


Nazrin stared down at him, a rush of saliva filling her mouth.


“It’s not the season for it but,” he shivered from the cooling air, “it seems my body believes it to–”


Nazrin swallowed whatever the end of Dio’s sentence was, sealing his fanged mouth with hers, wrapping her thick arms around him and pressing him back into the wall. Dio, crushed under Nazrin’s brawn, scrubbed at her bra with his chest, lapping into her mouth with no thought to come up for air. His claws caught in the cotton of her underwear and pulled uselessly as he rubbed himself against the crisp trail that led into the thin fabric.


With a grunt, Nazrin shoved away from him. His hands fell to his sides, whole body heaving with every inhale. “Bed. Now,” she said, finding her voice again. Her heart felt like it was cutting its way out of her chest with every beat. Diodore stumbled out of the bathroom obediently. Counting her breaths, she peeled herself out of her sweaty bra and underwear then joined him in the bedroom. He sat on his heels, cock standing brightly and obscene between his pale thighs, and watched her pull on her black strap.


She stepped towards the edge of the bed, hand outstretched. Meekly, Diodore leaned forward until his hand rested in the crescent of her palm. She squeezed; his eyes fluttered shut. A scattershot of electricity bounded down her stomach, between her legs and down to her toes. She lifted him by the throat, forcing him up to his knees, and closed her mouth around the column of his throat, gently biting into the muscle. He smelled like cheap flowery body wash and his usual dragon-y musk, like river rocks and a weak breeze laced with smoke.


“Handsome, fearsome creature,” Diodore breathed, breathing in the ripe wall of whiskey-scented muscle, the smoke caught in her dark hair.


Nazrin shoved him backwards onto the bed, paused to admire the lovely splay of dragon on her bed. His ribs expanded insistently with each breath, the scales there capturing the wan moonlight, blue-violet and shining. His tail writhed eagerly, the thin tip coiling around her thigh. A spike of want jabbed through her lungs, whited out any thought of restraint. She dug her fingers into his hips and hoisted him up until his ass rested against her chest, pushed her face between his cheeks and dug her tongue into his hole. Diodore whimpered and spasmed, tail constricting around her waist, his bent legs twitching and kicking in the air. A thread of precum dropped between his pecs as she bit and sucked him until painful tenderness. She spent her time swiping the sensitive skin around his hole, chin nestled perfectly into the crease. When his tail tightened too hard around her stomach, she drew back and smacked his ass hard, surprising a drizzle of precum from him.


“Naz, please,” he whined. The abbreviation of her name, an informality he didn’t take lightly, meant he was getting desperate.


She bent his cock towards her, pushed it against his hole and licked both of them again with wide, firm strokes of her tongue. Diodore wailed, face contorted in wondrous agony. That pitiful sound had her cunt clenching again, juice dripping between her thighs. She let Dio drop then grabbed for lube, coating her cock in it before lining up the glossy black head and pressing in. The dragon moaned and squeezed at her hips with his knees, hands clawing for purchase at her shoulders. She drove into him with short rapid punches that broke his cries into staccatos and then, after a deep thrust, pinned him against the bed by his throat.


“You look so pretty right now.” She drilled into him slowly, keeping a steady pressure on his windpipe. “But I know what you really look like. A big fucking monster.”


Dio gasped but didn’t go for her hand. His hips jerked up against her violent strokes, his cock leaking into his belly button. He knew what she wanted and he let himself go to give it to her; pain and panic began to crumple his expression. His mouth, open and gasping for air, began to grow his true teeth–armor-crushing fangs. A soft glow lit in the back of his throat, a banked ember. Nazrin grinned and let him out of the vise grip, lunging forward to clamp her mouth over his. Tears streamed from Dio’s eyes as he swallowed the lick of fire, trying to keep his teeth from nicking Nazrin’s tongue. The heat of his mouth, the sharp line of his teeth on her lips, sent a seismic ripple through her body straight to her clit.


“P-please, a little more, Naz, I’m so…so…” he whined, digging his heels into her ass for more.


She slid out then, pulling a frustrated groan from him before slamming in again, enough to bunch the muscles in his abdomen. Nazrin milked his flushed cock, fist slipping up until the crown bulged. “Come. Then open your mouth.”


Nazrin pumped him in time with her strokes, swirled her thumb around his slit, every movement earning her a tortured cry. In moments, the dragon dissolved into a mess of tremors and contractions, constricting around her cock hard enough to keep her from moving. As soon as he relaxed, she slid out of him and crawled over his come-spattered belly until her cunt his hovering over his face. Dio hummed and sealed his mouth over her clit, lapping at the stiffness.


“Fuck, Di.” Nazrin ground down against his face, growling as his chin dug into her cunt. Plucked at her nipples while she rode the dragon’s teary face. Dio slithered his forked tongue inside her and purred against her clit, gripping her thighs for leverage though he hardly needed it. White-knuckling the headboard,  Nazrin ground her teeth together and came in one long violent shudder.


She toppled to the side before she collapsed on his face, breathing hard through her mouth. Dio, still panting for air, squirmed to her side and began locking the sweat from her sternum, nibbling at her breasts. A careful clawed hand began stroking through the liquid heat of her cunt, drawing out a series of shivery aftershock orgasms, making her mouth contort in a mild grimace.


“Dio,” she husked out, fisting a hand in his long silky hair in warning. She watched his fingers between her legs, admiring the slick stretch of their cooling bodies, his soft cock nestled against her hip. “Greedy dragon.”


He smiled, a small docile curve, before sticking his fingers in his mouth, sucking her juices from his claws. “Ah, my gallant knight, no one knows my nature as well as thee.”


“What’d I say about Old English in the bedroom,” she muttered then tugged him up by the hair, taking his mouth with hers with a disapproving hum.


Greedy fucking dragons.



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