Embers - Chapter Twelve (sfw/very light nsfw) (Patreon)

Can you believe that this story is nearing 20k words now in total? It's going to start winding up soon, in the next chapter or two, so if there's anything you'd like to see happen between these two, don't forget to tell me - either on here in the comments or on Discord, or Tumblr (Anon if you're shy or otherwise - I really don't mind how you get in touch!)

 (In case you didn’t notice it before, Old Trollbridge is based on Cambridge, UK. Also, in the UK, the first floor is what Americans call the second floor; I only remembered this difference after my recent trip to Boston, so I thought I’d mention it, haha…) 

No warnings, mostly sfw with a bit of very light kissing, and about 1700 or so words.

The night of the fundraiser rolled around eventually and you decided that since Mikaeïl would be helping to set things up beforehand, you would simply meet him there. Old Trollbridge was an ancient city, its history stretching back nearly a thousand years, and the university structure was unlike almost anywhere else, except for perhaps Oxenford or Dunholme, with almost thirty individual colleges where students were based and where some of the learning was based, while the majority of their lectures took place in the larger department and faculty buildings. Mikaeïl’s college - where the dinner was being hosted - sat on the old, sluggish, shallow river which coiled lazily through the buildings of the city which had grown up around it over the centuries. 

More than a little outmoded in many ways, and highly intimidating to the uninitiated, the college which had been chosen for the evening was one of the oldest in the university. It was here, in the fellows’ dining room, rather than the communal hall, that the dinner was being hosted in order to raise funds for two charities supported by the Law Faculty, and more specifically, the criminology department. 

Despite having worked in Old Trollbridge for the past five years, both as a free-lancer and part-time for the graphic design company, you had never set foot inside one of the colleges. It felt like sacred ground somehow; inaccessible to your profane feet. This one was built of a mix of warm sandstone and weathered brick and flint, and as you stepped into the archway that housed the Porters’ Lodge, a large minotaur wearing a dark green waistcoat with the college insignia exited the office and smiled out you. “Here for the dinner?” he asked, glancing at your smart outfit. 

“What gave it away, the nerves or the clothes?”

“Both?” he laughed and raised his hand, pointing at an archway across the grassed court from the lodge. “Head over there. Follow the signs, and you can’t go wrong.”

“Thanks,” you said, swallowing the huge lump in your throat. Your heart raced. This was not your usual environment. At all. 

It was Mikaeïl's, however, and somehow it didn’t seem so intimidating then. He made his home within these walls, and had done for over a century apparently. He even had a set of rooms in college, but he rarely used them. You began to look around you more closely then, at the mullioned windows and the Virginia creeper climbing up the drainpipes in the corners of the courtyard, and at the faces of the one or two students who passed you by as you made your way around the paved courtyard. 

A gnoll with a chunk missing from one ear gave you a wide, toothy grin and a friendly wag of her tail, and a moment later a naga slithered out from a doorway, looking a little unsteady, with a dryad at his side, laughing loudly. The pair were more than two sheets to the wind, but it was a Friday night and you supposed that they worked hard here; they deserved a night off like everyone else. 

A moment later, however, and you were walking through the doorway into the part of the college usually reserved for fellows and lecturers only, and a rather nervous looking young human, again wearing the college colours, stepped forwards to take your ticket from your hands. “It’s on the first floor,” she said, indicating the lift and the staircase which sat side by side. “Can I take your coat?”

“Uh, thanks,” you croaked, shrugging out of it. “Is everyone else here already?” 

She shook her head. “A couple more to go,” she smiled, taking your jacket and hanging it on a rack to one side. 

Nodding, you headed upstairs. 

Pausing in the doorway to the panelled dining room, which was immediately opposite the lift, your breath caught in your throat. Mikaeïl was standing the far side of the room, talking to a handsome, young-looking orc in a manual wheelchair, and both had exquisitely beautiful champagne flutes in their hands. While he looked like a classical statue come to life, Mikaeïl had been right when he’d warned you that he would be almost a different person when you saw him in this context.

His back was ramrod straight, his mouth was set in a hard line, and he looked like he was about to breathe fire all over the poor orc. You recognised the signs now as intense social discomfort, and your heart went out to him. Bless him, for all his two hundred years, socialising had never become something he had learned to enjoy. Perhaps it was because his kind had been hunted almost to extinction by orcs and humans about five hundred years earlier, and shifters like him had learned to keep to themselves. 

The moment you entered the room, however, he shot you a quick sidelong glance, reptilian eyes drawn to the movement, and then did a very unsubtle and obvious double-take. His shoulders dropped an inch, and his breath caught in his chest. Well, that was an ego boost for you for sure. Smiling, you made your way around the beautifully laid table and stood shyly beside him. 

“Hi,” you murmured, glancing nervously between him and the orc. 

“You look incredible,” he murmured, leaning close and kissing your cheek before introducing you as his partner to the orc. “This is Gharak. He’s halfway through a PhD in geophysics.”

“Wow. Nice to meet you,” you blurted, shaking the orc’s enormous hand before sliding your own around Mikaeïl’s waist. He tensed beneath your touch, but then laughed softly. 

“I think we’ll be starting soon. Almost everyone is here…”

The murder mystery dinner wasn’t quite what you’d expected, but it was mostly pretty fun. The people who had bought tickets were… astonishingly wealthy. Like… you’d thought that Mikaeïl with his inherited wealth was well off, but most of these people were in a different league. The food was sublime, unlike anything you’d ever tasted even at Kiriavin’s cellar restaurant, and you found it an effort to wrench yourself from your meal to play along with the loose ‘script’ of the evening. 

Mikaeïl was seated across from you, beside an older human woman who wouldn’t stop fawning all over him. If it hadn’t been your boyfriend, it might have been funny, but as it was, your heart went out to him. He’d whispered to you during the pre-dinner drinks that she was a major benefactor, not only to the department but to the university itself, and knowing this, you knew he couldn’t rebuff her attentions. 

He did his best to weather it, but at one point he caught your eye and the look in his hard, golden gaze was so miserable that you found yourself instantly mouthing the words ‘I love you’ to him across the third course of the dinner. 

At that, his cheeks flushed gently, and he mouthed back, ‘thank you’. 

When it was finally over, and the mystery - such as it was - had been solved, you bid goodnight to Gharak, who had been sitting next to you and who had been an absolute blast, and crossed to Mikaeïl. He was standing with one hand gripping the back of his chair so hard you could hear it splintering beneath his fingers, and as you placed your own hand over the top of his, the tension washed out of him. 

“You alright?” you asked. “I think that went pretty well?”

He nodded. His hair was tied back in a severe bun, with what looked like a solid gold hair pin topped with a dragon holding it in place, and his dinner jacket fitted him to perfection. He looked like the subject of an oil painting, and just as uncomfortable still. 

“Mikaeïl?”

He inhaled, his nostrils going wide. And then his hands were on your jaw and he kissed you so hard you saw stars. The room was empty now, and as the two of you kissed, he growled softly in that low-frequency rumble that you could feel in your ribcage. It filled the room and made the glasses rattle and ring on the table. His hands began to shift again, copper claws growing as colour rippled up his forearms beneath the crisp white shirt, talons pricking into the fabric of your own clothes before he could stop himself. 

“Mikaeïl?” you murmured again. “Let’s go?”

He nodded. 

“You want to come back to mine or…?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I just want you. I can’t believe how amazing you were tonight.”

“Me?” you asked. “I barely did anything… I just played my role of poor starving artist - hardly imaginative, I might add -” you said with a playful glint in your eye, “And the others solved the mystery themselves…”

“Not that,” he snarled dismissively, his lips rising on one side to show his elongated canines. “You knew…”

“Knew what?” you chuckled affectionately, bringing your fingertips to his slightly pointed ears and tucking a wayward strand of his fiery hair behind it, gently enough to make him shiver visibly. 

He swallowed and kissed you again in answer. When he was done, he pulled back and said, “You knew when I got overwhelmed. How?”

You had to laugh at that. “Your body got all tense - well, even more tense than usual - and you looked like you were considering incinerating her where she sat…”

“I wouldn’t want to destroy a Chippendale,” he said flatly and you burst out laughing, tipping your head back. A second later, he raked the very tip of his clawed thumb down your throat and your laugh changed to a groan. 

“Let’s get out of here,” you said, and he nodded. 

“Your place is nearer…” he added, nipping your thrumming pulse with his teeth as he kissed your neck. 

You didn’t argue. 

“By the way,” he added as you took his hand and left the college behind you. 

Glancing up at him, you smiled. “Mmm?”

“Are you free next weekend? I have a surprise for you…”

Your eyebrows sailed high. “What kind of surprise… You know I’m not wild about surprises…”

“Bring something warm to wear,” he said. “That’s all I’ll say for now.”

To be continued next week!

Remember that previous episodes are listed in my Patreon masterlist here, along with everything else that's unique to Patreon.