Dragon Country, part 5

[pensnest]

Lance opened his eyes. In the enclosing darkness there was a glow of golden light. He blinked, and it resolved into candle flames, eight of them.

Where on earth am I? he thought.

"You're safe."

"Adam?"

Adam's hands caught his. "It's okay now. It's okay." He gathered Lance into his arms. "I've got you."

Lance clung, hardly believing his own eyes. "How? I mean—what happened?"

"You called for help."

"I…" he had called out, he thought, but he hadn't known there was anybody to hear him. Where had Adam been hiding? Had he seen everything? At least he had been wise enough to stay out of the dragon's sight. Both dragons' sight, since they'd fought over him. Lance felt sick. But—"What about the dragon?"

"It's gone. It went elsewhere."

Perhaps it had followed the golden one, to continue the fight. He took a deep breath, and felt some of the fear drain away. "Are you sure? I was so—so scared, Adam, it was—" He couldn't say it. He pushed the terrible image of himself broken and burning firmly out of his mind. An image of a lake, cool and tranquil and surrounded by mountains, came to him instead, the antithesis of golden flames, and he held on to it gratefully. Adam's hand stroked his hair. It felt so very soothing. Lance hid his face against Adam's neck and tried to understand how he could possibly be here, safe, wherever here was.

"I think you fainted," Adam said. "And it was raining, so I brought you here. Are you warm enough?"

Lance seemed to be draped in a velvet blanket—no, it had a gathered end. A cloak. "Somehow it doesn't surprise me that you have a cloak," he said.

Adam snorted. "I brought your silver blanket, if you want, although seriously, a cloak is way more stylish. I brought your jacket, and your bag too, but there wasn't anything else to put in it. There was a map, but it was so soggy it fell apart when I tried to pick it up."

Lance hadn't thought about his things, such of them as had survived the—"Thank you." He was not going to think about it. He looked around, not that he could see much beyond the edges of the candleglow. Here and there, something gleamed, and he squinted to make out—a glitter of diamonds, a metallic curve, an old black telephone. They were in the dragon's cave. Panic surged again.

"We're not safe in here! This is its treasure, dragons guard their treasure, don't they, it'll come back!"

"I promise you, you're safe here. Besides, this isn't treasure. This is—this is just stuff."

"Just stuff?" One of the candlesticks was clustered with gemstones, and might be gold. Another, with five candles held proudly above the rest, was intricate with filigree and colourless enough to be silver. All right, the other two were plain black and probably wrought iron, but still. Stuff? "That one's gold, isn't it? That has to be valuable."

"Dragons don't value things the way humans do," Adam said, and Lance was reminded that Adam knew more, much more, about how dragons worked than he did himself. Adam had known enough to stay out of the dragon's sight. Lance had been so entranced that he was almost—no.

"See, candlesticks are useful because you put candles in them, and candlelight is prettier than candlesticks, and also, even more useful."

"Seems like an odd reason to collect treasure," Lance said, trying to sound as if he was in control of himself.

"No, what I mean is, this isn't treasure. A dragon's treasure is the most precious thing in the world, something a dragon would never abandon or forget or allow to come to harm. This," he waved his hand vaguely, "is just stuff. Don't get me wrong, dragons like to have stuff, and they don't take kindly to having it interfered with, but it's not the same thing."

Like me, Lance thought. "I was stuff, wasn't I? That golden dragon, it thought I was just stuff, that it owned me and if it wanted to break me or burn me, it was entitled." No different from his box of matches.

"That dragon was a fool." Adam squeezed him, gently. "You aren't stuff, Lance, you're treasure."

I'm actually a person, Lance thought, crossly. He wasn't sure he wanted to be treasure any more than he wanted to be stuff. "I always thought a dragon's hoard was treasure."

"Common misconception," Adam said. "There are way too many stories about dragons for them all to be true. You're safe here, I promise you. I promise."

Lance did feel safe. It was odd, really. Here in the most dragonish place he could be, he felt safe. With Adam. Adam, who knew way more about dragon country than Lance did, who'd given him the dragonlet and shell that—"Did you find the snowglobe?" he said, sitting up. "I don't want to lose it. The dr—it rolled into the fire."

"I'll get it back for you, but not right now. Right now, I think we should get you home."

"I really don't want to lose it. I don't know if I can do the dimensions thing without it," Lance said, suddenly worried that he might not be able to get home at all.

"We'll do it together," Adam said, with such confidence that Lance couldn't help but believe him. "Let's go outside."

"I'd better put my waterproof on." Lance's fingers were unsteady as he zipped it, and it was very hard to ignore the talon-wrought rip, but he managed. "You could use the blanket to shield you," he suggested. "If it's still raining."

It was still raining, but not the driving downpour of earlier. They moved a few paces from the tunnel mouth, and Adam said, "I think this will do. Where shall we go? How about your back yard?"

"We can do that?"

"Of course. We just walk through to the right spot."

"Huh. I never knew that. I mean, I wondered, but I always came through in the same place as I was." Except for this time, Lance thought. I was over that way… "Except this time I was thinking of, of…" A golden dragon in the sky.

"It's easiest to transit if you do it somewhere familiar. Staying in the same place was an obvious call," Adam said. "But now, think about your back yard, and hold it in your head. Take my hand." Lance closed his eyes and thought of home. "Now, remember the snowglobe and the way you move between dimensions."

Too many right angles, Lance thought, and they stepped forward together, only the nauseated feeling didn't come, and Lance was almost afraid to open his eyes in case it hadn't worked, until he realised that it wasn't raining any more, and his dogs were barking ecstatically around his legs.


Lance cooked dinner. It was comfortingly normal to dip chicken pieces in seasoned flour, and peel potatoes. Adam hovered, interested, and made himself useful by keeping Lily and Foster out of Lance's way. After dinner, they snuggled on the couch, knees and feet blanketed by happy dogs. The dogs' minds emitted firm love and comfortableness, and hazy approval of Adam, who seemed to impress them. Lance, too. Adam was strong and warm, and Lance felt wonderfully secure.

"It might help to talk about it, a bit," Adam said, tentatively. "I'm guessing you have questions?"

Lance did not want to talk about what had happened—or almost happened—to him. He didn't want to think about it. But Adam had a point. If Lance was going to be able to sleep tonight it would probably help to let the dragon stuff out, to settle some of the questions and try to make sense of things. He didn't think he could talk about—about—about the visions the dragon had put in his head, but there were other matters, and Adam seemed to have the answers. "I never knew dragons could change shape."

"Dragons can change into all kinds of things, although mostly they don't. Humans are good, it's interesting being a human, you know? Dolphins, too."

"Dolphins? Seriously?"

"Yeah, well, dragons mostly aren't very sociable, so if a dragon does want company, dolphins are less complicated than humans. And swimming is a lot like flying, at least, so I'm told. I've never actually been a dolphin."

Me neither, Lance thought. But it seemed plausible. "So when you read stories of people swimming with dolphins, they might be swimming with dragons?"

Adam laughed. "I don't think there are that many dolphin dragons around. I mean, most of the dolphins in the world didn't start out as dragons."

"I guess not." Lance sighed. "I was so amazed when that one turned into a human, right in front of me."

Adam levered himself sideways to look earnestly into Lance's eyes. "That's not what happened. The golden one may have taken human form, but it was never human. It was always dragon. And not, not a nice dragon."

No kidding. "I'd always believed dragons were, I don't know, good. Noble." He'd known they could be destructive, sure, but not… "I expected them to be different, because dragons, you know? But not evil. And I'm not even sure it was actually evil, if it just didn't see me as a person, if it thought I was a thing it could play with, like the box of matches. I guess dragons are just too far different from us."

"Dragons are like people," said Adam. "Humans are all different, and so—"

"So I was just unlucky to meet that one?" Lance said, eagerly. He didn't want to believe that all dragons were so—so devoid of humanity. That wasn't quite the right way of putting it, but it'd do. "I guess it makes sense they'd all be different." It wasn't much consolation, but it was something. It wasn't dragons that were wrong, it was that one dragon. And the black dragon that had fought it, too, just as appallingly possessive and overwhelming.

The odds of meeting a gentle dragon seemed pretty slim.

"I don't know if I can go back," he said. But oh, I want to. It was hard to give up on the dream, even in the face of reality.

"You can. I'll come with you."

"I guess, I'd feel safer if you—" Lance said, and paused. Adam was protective. Adam was feeling protective, and Lance was picking up on that. How long had that been happening? He thought back. Had he been able to sense Adam's feelings in the cave? Had that certainty that he was safe been because Adam had been certain, and Lance shared it? Now he thought about it, it probably had, and he'd been too shaken up to notice.

"Is everything all right?" Adam asked, and Lance could tell there was an overtone of worry, of not-quite-security, of how-does-Lance-feel-about-me, along with the strength and the… love. No more adamantine shield.

Lance moved Dingo off his feet, and knelt on the couch so that he could kiss Adam properly. It was even more wonderful than before, and he was in no hurry to stop, although they did have to rearrange after a while so that Adam was sprawled across the couch with Lance straddling him, and the dogs in an aggrieved heap on the floor. They kissed for what probably wasn't hours, but time didn't seem relevant, only the joy of it. And, inevitably, the desire for more.

"Adam, will you stay?" Lance said, abruptly.

"Stay with you? You mean, tonight?"

"Yes."

"Of course. Whatever you need. Um, what exactly...?"

"I don't want those things in my head." Spitted, helpless. "I want you. I want something wonderful."

"I can do that. I think." Adam smiled up at him, a huge, beautiful smile, and he was filled with delight.

"Right," said Lance, getting to his feet. "Dogs, bed! Come on, Lily, be a good girl, off you get." He herded them into their room, checked the water bowls again, and closed the door. "So. Shall we go upstairs?"


Adam was beautifully careful with him, his hands so assured as they slid over Lance's skin. Lance felt cherished, lying there to be worshipped with hands and mouth. Joy swelled within him and pushed the terrible memories away, elsewhere, and there was just this, just now, and it was wonderful.

There was a crackle of flame at the edge of his mind as he drifted towards sleep, but Adam held him closer, petted him and whispered words of love in his ear, and he was filled with certainty. He was safe.

*

Something was tickling his chest. Lance opened an eye. Adam was smiling down at him. Lance opened the other eye and blinked his vision clear. In the early light edging in around the drapes, he could see that Adam was dangling the dragon claw on its leather thong, trailing it across Lance's chest. Lance's head was full of joy, so full there was hardly room for his other thoughts, like You are incredibly hot, and, Last night was amazing.

"I'm so pleased you found this," Adam said. "You got part-way through the dimensions, didn't you."

"I think so. I can't remember exactly how," Lance said. "It was before I figured out how to do it. But finding the claw was my first real clue that I wasn't—wasn't just kidding myself. About dragons."

"How long had you been walking into the hills to find dragons?"

"I'm not sure. A couple of years, maybe. Not every weekend, but quite often."

"When you found the claw, I was sure. Almost sure," Adam said.

"Sure of what?"

"Sure that you were my—my—I can't think of the word for it. My perfect one, my heart's mate."

"Wow." Lance smiled up at him. "It's probably a good thing I didn't know what you were thinking back then. I'd probably have decided you were crazy."

"You were so beautiful, and with your dragon ornaments and the way you got angry when you saw my boots, I knew you cared, you really cared about dragons. So I hoped, right from the start. And when you found the claw, that was why I gave you the snowglobe. I knew it would help you transit properly."

"I don't know how anyone managed to make it like that, so you can see the baby dragon is coming from—from elsewhere. But it did help, a lot."

"I was so proud of you when you got through," Adam said, sliding the leather thong over Lance's head so that the claw rested on his chest. "I thought the black dragon would be your first one, but then when you told me you saw the golden one, I—well, I was jealous. Because you were mine, you know?"

"Jealous. Okay."

"I had it all planned. I waited until the sun was low, so you'd see your dragon in silhouette. Well, I had to, because we were rehearsing that afternoon, but after, I had some time. Did you—did you realise there were two dragons? Or did you think the one you saw at the end of the day was the same one you saw earlier?"

"I—I thought it was the same one," Lance said. He felt oddly chilled.

"And then you got into the hoard, which, you know, that never happens. It might have been because you were wearing my claw and carrying a piece of my shell, but," he smiled, beatifically, "I like to think it was because you're my heart's mate. You didn't get into the golden one's hoard, you know, that cave didn't open up for you. And you took the ring, and you left the compass, and that was just such a perfect thing to do."

"I don't—your claw?"

"From the last peel. I knew there was one missing. You know, when I was hatched I was bright red. I got darker with every peel, and now I'm pure black, which I love. It's so me, you know?"

He couldn't—this couldn't be what it seemed to be. It couldn't be.

The pressure of joy in Lance's head was beginning to be oppressive.

"And when I heard you, when you called to me, it was—I was terrified, of course, because you were in danger, but I knew beyond a doubt that you were mine, when I heard you call. That's what happens, you see? When a dragon meets its heart's mate, they can mindspeak. No barriers."

"I thought… I thought you were hiding close by," Lance said. His mouth was so dry he could hardly scrape the words out. Mine, he thought.

"I was at the movies. But your signal was so clear it was easy to find you. And I was in time." He lifted his hand to stroke Lance's cheek, and Lance jacknifed off the bed and was across the room so fast he might have transited right there in his bedroom.

"You. Are a dragon."

"Yes. But I'm human, too."

Lance's whole body shook with the memory of that terrible fight. Adam's joy thundered in his head, with flashes of astonishment, and Lance's mind was not his own, all that was left at the edges were the images of himself broken and burning. The dragon possessing him, playing with him, destroying him wantonly.

"No, no, treasure, that's not, I would never—"

Not your treasure! Lance shouted the words in his mind, and Adam flinched. "Get out of my head!" Lance yelled, "Get out! Get out!"

"I—I can't. We're linked—I can't shield you any more."

"You can't do this. Get away from me. Go away!" I don't want you, Lance thought with every ounce of strength he could muster. That, or the shaking terror in his head, finally convinced Adam that he meant it.

"Lance, please. Please!"

"No," Lance said. "I can't."

The dragon understood that, and its pain and shock reverberated inside Lance's mind. And yes, he felt that same loss, something so perfect that was shattered, but how could he stay with a dragon, when dragons were flame and agony and fear?

"I'll go." Adam gathered his scattered clothes, and his dragon-hide boots. "I will never hurt you," he said. Lance looked at Adam's devastated face, and could only think, how can I ever be sure?

Adam stepped away, and Lance was alone in his room and in his head.

*

"Good morning, La—what happened? What's wrong?" Lisa's alarm was unmistakeable.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, sharply. "Leave it."

Her eyes widened, and she thought shutting up now, so clearly she might have said it aloud. Lance went through to his office and closed the door.

After a moment, he picked all the dragon ornaments off their assorted shelves and dropped them into the wastebasket. He couldn't dump Britney's red and green dragon picture, but after a moment's thought he swapped it for the innocuous landscape that hung behind his desk. He didn't have to look at it.

*

Tuesday went no better, but he managed to fend off Lisa's worried thoughts and bury himself in admin work. On Wednesday he had to deal with actual people, with a couple of prospective clients, a theatre booking agent for a meeting in the office and a casting director over lunch. Lance did his best to be sincere and charming while catching all the clues he could as to what the two women were really looking for, and seemed to have managed well enough, as they both signed up for his service before they left. He spent the last half-hour of the day writing up the meetings and working on index cards.

"Lance?" Lisa looked worried, but not as worried as she felt. Lance really didn't want to deal with it, since it was about him.

"Is it urgent?" he said, unencouragingly.

"I was just wondering if—"

The telephone rang, and Lisa paused.

Lance picked up the receiver. Better a phone call, whoever it was, than trying to evade Lisa's concern.

*Lance?*

His breath caught. "Adam."

*I needed to know… are you all right?* Adam chose his words with care, acknowledging that Lance might put the phone down at any moment. He should put the phone down, Lance thought, but he didn't.

"I'm all right," he said. It didn't sound very convincing, even to himself.

He looked up to see the door closing behind Lisa.

*It's just that, uh, you have nightmares. I can't help knowing that. I know you aren't trying to send them.*

Lance didn't know what to say to that. Yes, he had nightmares. He woke up drenched in sweat, his heart beating so fast he thought he'd die, and imagined pain cramping his fingers. The dogs, delighted though they were to sleep on master's bed, didn't know how to deal with his terror even though he hugged them for the comfort of their warm, solid bodies. All that seemed to help were the cool, calm images his mind reached for, the tranquillity of the mountain lake where there was no spike of flame consuming him.

There was silence, except for very careful breathing. *Is it all right that I called?*

No, I'm trying to forget you. "Yes."

*I thought, at a distance. You wouldn't be overwhelmed.*

It was true. Out of Adam's actual presence, the overwhelming press of his thoughts was not apparent. "But you still hear my thoughts."

*Only the ones you send, not everything. Not unless I'm there with you.*

So Adam could still hear his thoughts. But it did not sound as though Adam's head got filled to bursting, not the way Adam's thoughts pushed everything else out of Lance's head. It wasn't surprising, Lance thought, resentfully. Who could possibly expect a relationship between a human and a dragon to be on equal terms? "Plus the nightmares," he said. "No, I'm sorry, I know it's not your fault."

There was another silence.

*How's business?* Adam was obviously trying to make this feel normal.

"It's fine. And, uh, you've been recording?"

*An album. Yes. They're getting the single pressed, it'll be out soon.*

"That's great. Really. I'm sure it'll do well."

*Thank you.*

"I should get back to work," Lance said, because this was very hard to bear.

*Yes, yes, of course. Sorry. Lance, take care of yourself. If you need me—*

"Sure." He put the phone down.

It was a lot easier to take care of himself when there were no dragons in his life, treating him as stuff and invading his mind. Was he sending that to Adam? He didn't know. He wasn't sure if he even cared.

* * *

The weekend stretched ahead, empty and pointless. He'd wanted to find dragons for so long, and now he had found them and he couldn't go back. He couldn't go back, and yet he remembered the sanctuary of that cave, of Adam's cave of treasures, how safe he had felt there. Lance tried his best to keep his thoughts small, keep them inside his head and not let anything out to Adam. It wasn't Adam's fault that he was what he was, or that Lance didn't understand why there now seemed to be a link between them that he would have thought impossible back when Adam had a shield and Lance could sense nothing from him. He hadn't realised how lucky he was, then.

On Saturday morning he took the dogs for a long walk in the open hills to the north, and ended up carrying poor Jackson most of the way home. It was a hard life, being an elderly Yorkie.

Back home, he let the dogs settle around him as he sat on the couch. He'd have lunch in a minute.

The telephone rang, but he ignored it. He should probably get up and do something.

Maybe a drink of water.

When the front door knocker sounded, the dogs barked excitedly and scurried to the door. There was a leap of joy in Lance's heart, followed by dread. Did he even want to answer it?

The imperious knocking kept going, so he dragged himself up from the couch and went to see who was there.

It was Chris and JC. Lance blinked. When did it get dark?

"Gonna let us in, Bass?" Chris said, motioning him to step aside. He was laden with carrier bags.

"Sure." He opened the door wider, and the two of them entered, to be greeted by a welcoming committee of wagging tails and importuning noses. They fought their way through to the kitchen, where JC promptly put the kettle on the stove and declared his intention of making tea.

"Although you look like you could use a double brandy," Chris said, examining Lance.

Lance considered. It might help him to stop thinking. But JC was already tutting and telling Chris not to be silly.

"When did you last eat?"

"Uh," Lance said. "I had breakfast." A piece of toast, at any rate. Although Foster had eaten quite a bit of it. Most of it, really.

"Right, then." Chris set his bags on the counter top. "Out, out, go sit down. You'll just get in the way." He brought out onions, and cans, fresh peppers, pasta. JC ushered Lance to the high stools on the other side of the counter and they sat. Lance watched, faintly bewildered, as Chris spread bowls, chopping boards and ingredients across every available surface in his kitchen.

"We saw Adam," JC said. Lance looked at him sharply. "We were having lunch at Fatone's, and he came in. He said you… might need someone to talk to."

"Did he," Lance said, sourly. He hardened his shields. All that concern, all that fretted anxiety, it was too much. He'd keep it out.

"Actually," said Chris, "he said you needed a friend. And it looks like he was right. You look like you died and forgot to lie down."

"Thanks," said Lance.

"Not quite like that," JC said, directing a frown at Chris, "but, man, you look pretty rough. Are you going to tell us what happened?"

Somehow, Lance found himself clutching a glass of wine—where had that come from? The kettle started whistling, and Chris claimed it for his pasta, so JC huffed and refilled the kettle for his threatened tea. Lance sipped his wine. Huh, it was good. By the time JC came back and settled next to him, he'd more or less emptied the glass. JC refilled it.

"So," said JC, sitting down next to him. "What happened?"

Lance looked at them, and they both looked back, and they both looked pretty implacable about getting the story out of him.

Might as well tell them.

"I found the dragons," he said.

A pause. "When you say, you found the dragons… what, exactly..?" JC asked, carefully.

"I mean, I found dragons. I found my way into dragon country and there they were."

"Um. How?" That was Chris, looking very worried.

"Actually, you helped," said Lance, his eyes on JC. That was quite nice, that wine. He gestured for more. "You remember how we talked about your work, and not having enough dimensions to express it properly? And I didn't tell you, but I felt weird when I looked at them. Too many right angles. Turns out, that's what you need to do to get into dragon country."

"No, still not getting it," said Chris. His racing thoughts were a tangle of worries and disbelief, and there was not a shred in there that seemed to understand that Lance was telling the truth. Of course Chris had never realised that Lance had been hunting for actual dragons. He'd thought it meant shopping for trinkets, or else it was a metaphor for chasing rainbows. Or was that already a metaphor? "What do you mean, dragon country?" Chris said.

"Ask Adam fucking Lambert!" Lance snarled. "Maybe he'll take you there himself."

"Adam knows about this?" JC said, startled.

"Oh, yeah."

"He's been to, uh, dragon country himself?"

"You don't get it," Lance said, tired. "Adam comes from there. He has," he started to laugh, weakly, "a cave. A hoard." His glass was empty again. Lance grabbed the bottle and filled it.

"Maybe you've had enough," JC suggested, and reached for the wine bottle. Lance refused to let go, and there was a silent, polite battle, with JC—who was more polite than Lance—finally admitting defeat. Defiantly, Lance swallowed a large mouthful.

"See, I found stuff. Weeks ago." How many weeks? He couldn't remember for sure. "I found a claw. And then Adam gave me the snowglobe, damn it, he said he'd get it back for me, I want it back. It's mine. And I got it, you know? Your crazy sculptures and the snowglobe, I just had to think of too many right angles and I was there. No ruby slippers required. It's like here, only better. Brighter," he amended. Not better. "No, get your own bottle. And then I saw it in the sky, far away, and the next time I went it came and spoke to me. And I found the cave. Look. I got this," and he thrust his left hand forward. He hadn't taken off the ring. He couldn't bear to, even though it broke his heart to look at it. The claw, too. "Adam said it was all right that I took it because I left him my compass. He must have known it was his ring when he saw it. He said it was just stuff." There didn't seem to be any point refilling the glass when he could just drink from the bottle.

"You saw a dragon? A real, live dragon?" That was Chris, and he was doubtful and envious all at once. His thoughts were going really fast. Lance couldn't keep up, but he didn't want to. Chris could think what he liked. This wine was really good.

"Of course a real live dragon," he said. "It spoke to me. It was surprised. Especially when I peeled. It rained," he explained, "and my clothes were all wet so I tried to dry them by the fire. And then it wanted, it wanted to…I can't. I can't."

"A dragon talked to you," JC said, and it sounded like he believed it. Sort of. "What—what was it like, the dragon?"

"It was beautiful," Lance said, sulkily. "And evil. No, not evil, really, but it thought I was stuff. It threw my matches on the fire."

"It didn't think you were a person?" JC seemed to be getting it. "Did it—did it hurt you?"

"It wanted to," Lance said. "It was going to, only another dragon came, a black one, and they fought and the black dragon won and it was Adam."

Chris and JC looked at each other. Lance wasn't sure what they were thinking, it all seemed kind of blurry, but he didn't really care. He felt a bit strange.

"I think you should eat something," Chris said, and put a heaped bowl in front of Lance. Pasta, and tomato sauce, and colourful squares of peppers, and peas, and onions, and other things. It smelled tempting, and Lance picked up the fork that had mysteriously appeared next to the bowl, and took a bite.

The three of them ate in silence for a few minutes. Chris's thoughts were still whizzing, apparently he was wondering if Lance was losing his mind, which was charming. JC's anxiety was definitely permeated with wonder, so it felt like he believed it. That was good. It was good to be able to tell them, even if he couldn't tell them about—it was good that they knew. JC set a tall glass of water on the table, which was silly because he had a whole bottle of wine to drink, except the wine bottle seemed to be empty now and Lance was still thirsty, so he drank the water.

"You're telling us that dragons are real, and that you met one." Chris was making quite an effort to sound calm.

"Two," Lance said. "Try to keep up. The golden one, and the black one that's Adam. I knew he was hiding something, right from the start. Never guessed he was a dragon, though."

"Dragons are real, and Adam Lambert is a dragon," stated JC. He got up and busied himself with the kettle.

"Ask him," Lance said. "At least, I don't think he goes around telling people, but it's true. I suppose that's where he got the boots. His own skin."

"What I'm not getting," Chris said, "is why you're so miserable. I'd have thought a boyfriend who was a dragon would be your dream come true."

Lance would have thought so too, once upon a time. Eight days ago, he would have thought so, too. Eight days ago, before a dragon had overwhelmed him with its mind and filled him with terrible images of his own torture and death. Eight days ago, when he hadn't realised that having a dragon's thoughts beating down on your brain was unbearable, impossible. But how could he explain that? He didn't understand it himself, and they weren't receivers so how could they possibly get it? And why were his cheeks wet?

Chris passed him a Betty Boop-patterned handkerchief. Lance wiped his face, and blinked.

"Here. Have some tea," said JC. He was radiating concern and tenderness, comforting as a hand-made blanket.

The tea was foul, but Lance drank it anyway.

Lance was feeling a bit more in control of himself now he'd had something to eat, and remembering why he usually didn't drink except after meals. Not being alone with his thoughts didn't hurt, either. He loved Adam, and he couldn't bear to be near Adam, and he was going to have to learn to live with that, but he also had friends who were good people and who cared about him and… about… He stared at JC, then at Chris. Yes, it was definitely there. He'd been too sunk in self-pity, and then too drunk, to pick up on it before, but it was definitely there. No wonder they'd been having a meal together.

Aside from a pang of envy, he was glad for them. If two of the nicest people he knew could be happy with one another, the world was a better place.

Chris was watching him in what seemed to be admiration. It seemed they shared an opinion of JC's tea, and likewise, neither of them was going to tell JC how vile it was. "We brought pastries," Chris said. In his mind was extreme eagerness to eat said pastries, so Lance smiled and said they were the best friends ever, and Chris brought out a box in the Fatone's colours and the pastries were, naturally, delicious.

After that they moved to the couch, and once the dogs were properly distributed over everyone's feet and Chris's lap (Lily, always the flirt), Lance decided to address the issue that was now burning in JC's mind so clearly that JC's natural shields weren't anywhere near hiding it—what were dragons like. He told them about his first visit to dragon country, and showed them the claw. He told them about finding the cave, and seeing the golden dragon in the sky. He told them about the hoard in the cave. He faltered over the encounter with the golden dragon, and how Adam had rescued him—he couldn't talk about it, he just couldn't—but did his best to explain how it felt to have a dragon's thoughts overruling everything in his head. How it was impossible to resist and impossible to live with it.

They were both quiet. JC got up and went to the kitchen, presumably to make more disgusting tea. Ah, well. The motorised rush of Chris's thoughts was quietened to a hum of disquiet and sympathy. Lance hoisted Jackson onto his lap, and the little dog stood up—ow! mind the delicate bits!—and licked his chin a couple of times before settling comfortably. The dogs were all radiating gentle, undemanding love and contentment. They helped, they helped a lot.

When JC came back, he'd made hot chocolate, and even discovered Lance's marshmallows.

Chris received his drink with relief. "You are the best," boyfriend ever, Chris's thoughts continued, quite plainly. Lance suppressed a grin.

"So," Lance said, feeling that a complete change of subject would be a good idea at this point, "how's it going with Britney?"

They both had plenty to say on that subject, so Lance just settled down to listen. The conversation helped him to corral his dragon-related thoughts into a tiny pocket of his mind, where he had some chance of ignoring them. He could be honestly happy about the success of his two placements, which were working out spectacularly well. Chris was loving his job, JC was delighted with his new role as artistic mentor.

"And Britney's been seeing that Timberlake boy," Chris said, fondly. "He's a good kid."

"Romance is in the air, apparently," Lance said as blandly as he could, and did not smirk as the two of them looked at each other sappily.

"Uh, since you mention it," Chris began, but Lance, suddenly weary, held up his hand.

"Look, guys, there's something I need to tell you, but could we do that in the morning? I think I might be able to sleep if I go to bed now. Will you stay? The spare bed's all made up, and you won't mind sharing, will you?" Disingenuous of him, but from Chris's reaction, not at all unwelcome.

"You don't wanna tell us now? Get it off your chest, whatever it is?" JC suggested.

"No, not now. I'm still a bit drunk," he said. Besides, he'd need to work out what to say. They deserved to know, but… "If there's anything you need, help yourselves, okay? You know where stuff is." Chris, at least, had stayed with Lance before.

He went to bed.

*

The next morning Lance awoke with a warm body on either side of him and an array of dogs about his feet. It was ridiculously hot in the bed. He definitely had not gone to bed with Chris and JC… no, there it was, the memory of nightmare, and being rescued and cuddled by both of them, rushing in to his room in their boxers. Okay, that was embarrassing. He looked fondly down at them both. It was strange to see Chris so peaceful, not to hear his mind racing. JC's eyelids flickered, but did not open. He was still fast asleep.

Lance eased himself out from between them, and the dogs followed him hopefully to the bathroom, and were waiting for him when he emerged. He took them downstairs, sorted out their breakfasts and scrambled some eggs. The mild ache in his head reminded him that it was a bad idea to eat nothing all day, particularly if you then drank whatever tasty alcohol you could get your hands on, so he drank a glass of water and half a bottle of orange juice.

There was still no sign of movement from upstairs by the time he'd finished his breakfast, so he left a note on the counter and took the dogs for a walk. It was a grey morning, slightly oppressive. He wondered if it would be raining in dragon country, or brightly sunny, and was very careful not to think of too many right angles. He couldn't go back.

JC and Chris were polishing off toast with jam when he got back, and there was a fresh pot of coffee, so Lance sent the dogs through to the back garden and settled down to make his confession.

"I've been lying to you," he started.

"Not about the dragons!" JC sounded horrified, and rather upset.

"No, not—nothing to do with dragons. It's about me. It's about what I can do. I, um. You've heard of empaths?"

"Sure," Chris said. "People who can tell what other people are feeling. It's why you're so good at your job, right? You're an empath?"

"I've sometimes wondered what that would be like," JC said, "being able to understand what other people are feeling without having to guess. It must be awesome."

Lance was startled. There was pride coming from Chris, and triumph in his own guesswork, but apparently he wasn't the least bit worried about Lance being an empath. And JC seemed pretty calm about it, too. Of course, empathy was probably the most well-known gift around. Empaths got all the best press—for being great therapists, tender nurses and the like. Lance suspected empathy was even rarer than people thought. He'd met a fake empath once. She'd had the most amazing reputation, yet her thoughts were all cynicism and not a trace of a true gift. He hadn't said anything, because how could he? He was something different. "Yes, but, um. That's not all. Empaths only get emotions. I get… more." He looked at them. "I can get thoughts, too. Not—I don't go sneaking into your minds, I can't hear your secrets or anything, but. I'm a receiver."

Oh, crap, Chris thought with crystal clarity, and then, That's crazy. Lance knows what I'm thinking, and he's still my friend? "So you know what I'm thinking—"

"And I'm still your friend. Yes. No, of course I don't think you're a lunatic. Yes, I can hear what you're thinking right now, trombone playing orangutan, okay, I take it back, you are a lunatic."

JC was a lot more dubious about it. "Are you really saying you can read my thoughts?"

"Not yours," Lance told him. "You have a natural shield, all I get from you are emotions, like a regular empath would." The relief that followed that was a little bit dismaying, but he couldn't blame JC for not liking the idea of a receiver. Lance wouldn't want to meet one, either. "I don't pry, I don't try to get inside your heads, either of you, but sometimes it, uh, makes things easier, because I know a bit more than you tell me." He was getting a parade of most peculiar images from Chris. "Would you stop doing that?" Chris couldn't help being obnoxious about this stuff, but there was only so much Lance's techniques could do to protect himself, and he was getting a headache. Cut that out! he thought, as loudly as he could, but naturally it didn't get beyond his own skull.

Ah, but it's fun! Chris thought. Seriously, I can communicate with you like this? How awesome is that?

"Not fucking awesome at all, Chris, you're making my head hurt. And in case you hadn't noticed, it's all going one way which is not what I'd call communication." That set Chris's thoughts spinning, but in the more usual way, which he could cope with. "Mostly I try not to listen, except professionally, because it really helps me to get people placed if I know what they really want to do and what the clients who're hiring really want me to find. Chris is unusually open," he explained to JC. "But I, er, picked up on the two of you last night. You felt all… glowy." JC did spare Chris a glance of helpless affection at that, even though he was still uncomfortable. "I thought you should know."

He let them both think it through for a few minutes, toying with the idea of escaping to the simple comfort of his dogs, out in the garden, but deciding in the end that whatever his friends might want to say to him, they had the right to say it.

In the end, it was Chris who spoke up, and he was trying, clumsily, to keep his head quiet as he did so. "We knew you had a gift," he said. " I mean, we thought you were an empath, because I'd never heard of anyone being able to read minds, not really read minds. But it's okay. Like I said, you know what I'm thinking and you're still my friend."

"Thank you for telling us," JC said, a bit formally. He was still processing, Lance knew, and that was fair enough. "I never really thought about it, but when Chris said—well, it made sense. I am kinda glad you can't hear my thoughts," he admitted. "But I don't think you ever took advantage, not in a bad way."

"And it's not like other people can't tell how JC's feeling by just looking at his face," Chris said. His thoughts were a jumble of worry and embarrassment, now, as he was beginning to think through exactly what Lance's special ability might mean.

"You don't need to be ashamed of anything," Lance told him. "You're always totally honest. There's no conflict between what you say and who you are. Plus you think so fast it doesn't really register before you're on to the next thing. Just don't send me any more animal pictures, okay?" For a disturbing moment, a rhinoceros in a French maid's uniform paraded through his mind, but Chris thought Sorry, sorry! and quietened down again.

"So why are you telling us this now?" JC asked.

Lance sighed. "It's because… it's because of Adam, I think. I tried to tell you last night, but maybe it's easier for you guys to see why I can't be with Adam when you know I'm a receiver. Chris just now was making me dizzy, but when Adam is anywhere near me he takes over my mind, his thoughts, his emotions, there's no room inside my own mind for me . I can shield against regular people, put up a mental barrier so their thoughts don't come in, but a dragon is too powerful for my shielding. I have no defences and I can't, I just can't deal with it. So I have to get over him."

"Was that what you were dreaming about last night?" Chris asked.

"No, that was…" He couldn't tell them, not that. "Dragons are—they aren't like us. I was so frightened. Powerless, you see? I don't think Adam would do that to me, but he could, and there wouldn't be anything I could do to stop him."

To Lance's surprise, JC got up and wrapped his arms around him. A moment later the comforting warmth of Chris enfolded him from behind.

It really helped, having friends.