When Ian, Geoffrey, and Matthieu at last said farewell to Snorre and his lovers, it had been decided that, for now, the best course of action was to wait to see whose eggs Matthieu would lay. If they had been sired by Ian, Erik had pointed out when he was allowed to get a word in edgewise, there would be no tells to the outside world that anything was amiss, and it would give them enough time to plan the best course of action.
If the eggs had been sired by Geoffrey, well…
Matthieu had three months to plan how they’d prepare for that.
After some debate in the car on the way back to Aurora, they agreed that Geoffrey’s residence, with its lack of staff and unannounced Topaz visits, was more ideal for the three of them, but there was the issue of having a sufficient excuse for Ian and Matthieu to need alternate accommodations. In the end, it was decided that a massive redecoration effort at the Topaz consulate should commence, and that it would turn out that Matthieu was made ill by the paint fumes. Geoffrey, who owned all the brownstone townhouses in Drake Commons, would let one to Ian. It was, of course, the one that adjoined his own, and was used largely to contain his hoard.
Ian installed a very sizable bed into the largest hoard chamber and spent as many hours as possible covering Geoffrey and Matthieu in gold, gemstones, and his love.
Also his semen.
Matthieu tried to use as much time as he could reading his way through Geoffrey’s library of draconian law books. The three of them spent most evenings by the fire in Geoffrey’s study, poring through his ancient tomes in the hopes they’d find some loophole, while Geoffrey and Ian rebounded potential solutions off each other that always started out promising, but ultimately ended in disappointment. Between the two dragons, Matthieu found he was learning quite a bit. He wasn’t sure when, if ever, he’d make it to law school, but at least he was getting an education. It was something.
When Matthieu wasn’t occupied with preparing their defense should their eggs be born Amethyst, he contemplated his pregnancy. If he hadn’t known he was carrying eggs, Matthieu wouldn’t have been able to guess it from his own physiology. He felt fine. Sometimes a bit crampy, but that was all. His stomach barely showed.
It was, to be honest, somewhat anticlimactic.
He said as much to Harry when Geoffrey took him to Everard’s medical office for a gestational checkup.
“From what I understand and have observed, that’s perfectly normal, Mattie,” said the young man, his ever-present lizard perched on his shoulder. Harry wore a crisp, clean lab coat completed by khaki pants and worn canvas shoes. The iguana also wore a lab coat, although he was pantsless. A very small pair of lab safety glasses sat on top of his head, supported by his spines.
The lizard flicked his tongue at Matthieu. Matthieu stared at him.
“My name is Matthieu,” Matthieu reminded Harry.
“Oh. You’re right. We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we? I’m sorry, I forgot.” He smiled, then pushed his glasses up his nose and approached the examination table Matthieu was seated upon. Matthieu shifted a few inches to the side, causing the sanitary paper covering the table to crinkle beneath his thighs. The lizard looked unimpressed. “It was the conversation where I told you to call me Harry instead of Harrison, wasn’t it? When we first met. I’m sorry if I was a little too informal. Everard has been trying very hard to teach me bedside manners. He said that I should try to get our patients to call me Dr. Lessardi, or even Dr. Drake, but I don’t know. It seems a little too impersonal that way, you know? I don’t want anyone to think that I’m not friendly. Besides, there are already so many Mr. Drakes that it wouldn’t take long to get confusing. So, all things considered, Harry suits me fine.”
“Oui. I will call you Harry if you call me Matthieu.” Ian sometimes called him Mattie, and in truth, Matthieu rather liked the pet name, but he didn’t want to share it with strangers. Not even strangers who were, perhaps a little bit, becoming his family.
Harry flashed him a dazzling smile that Matthieu only partially saw. “It’s a deal, Matthieu.” The iguana had bobbed his head, and his tiny glasses slid down to rest on the bridge of his nose, perfectly centered over his eyes.
“Oh!” Harry said. “Look! Steve is ready for science. Are you ready for your exam?”
Matthieu furrowed his brow, unable to look away from the iguana. “Steve? Oh,oui. I forgot.Le lézard.”
“Exactly!” Harry beamed while he petted the top of Steve’s head with his index finger, seemingly smitten. “If you have concerns over whether iguanas are sanitary, let me assure you that Steve is regularly bathed and only eliminates while he’s in water, so there’s no risk to the lab, or any of its sterile equipment. Everard and I wouldn’t allow anything to potentially harm your eggs.” Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Although, perhaps it will only be me today. It’s not like Everard to be late. I thought he was right behind me, but perhaps he got caught up talking to Geoffrey and your Topaz companion.”
“Ian,” Matthieu insisted.
“Oh, yes, thank you. Ian. I think we’ll do another ultrasound today and see if we can get your eggs to cooperate. Everard swears he senses six eggs, but we only saw five on your last visit. I know it’s more invasive, but would you object to an internal ultrasound? The results will be more accurate.”
Matthieu was a bit sore from a bout of particularly acrobatic sex the previous night. First he had taken Geoffrey while Ian took him, and then later both dragons took him together, like they had that first night. Ian and Geoffrey had been very careful, but Matthieu still winced, then hissed with discomfort as Harry carefully inserted the well-lubricated probe into his rectum.
“Careful, jelly donut,” a voice advised. Everard had joined them.
Ian growled in soft warning that Everard ignored.
“You, too, bronzie.” Everard said in a low voice. “If you don’t check that attitude, your omega might not be the only one with a pain in his ass.”
Though he was on his back and couldn’t see a lot of the room, Matthieu heard someone draw nearer, then felt both Geoffrey and Ian beside him. Ian took his hand. “Are you alright, sweet?”
Matthieu nodded, but reconsidered only a second later. A warm, gloved finger probed into him alongside the cool wetness of the probe. Matthieu had taken plenty of knots, but the strangeness of being poked at for science rather than recreation made him uncomfortable.
“No,” Everard said, “He’s not. There is some minor tissue damage here. Give me a moment and I’ll repair it. Dumpling, please step back. Thank you.”
There was a sensation of tingling warmth, then all discomfort disappeared. Matthieu relaxed when Everard removed his fingers.
“You may proceed, pork pie. Our omega has been put to rights. I’d do the same for Geoffrey, but…”
