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“I can’t help it! It’s in my DNA. I’m the fastest dragon that ever did live.”
“That’s not what the DNA results said.”
“But that’s what I heard.”
“Of course it is.” Rowan got his arms under his ridiculous mate and pulled him up, shielding his naked form with his body, even if it was from his hoard.
“Don’t I get a kiss to make me feel better?” Milo pouted up at him.
“Is that why you smashed your face into a pole?” Rowan asked, but he bent down and placed two neat kisses on the bridge and tip of Milo’s nose anyway.
“I nearly got that trick right. If the pole hadn’t suddenly sprung up from nowhere I would have slipped right past and landed,” Milo said through the kisses.
“Well they don’t call you the Slippery Bullet for nothing.”
Milo slapped both hands over Rowan’s mouth in an instant, eyes blazing. “I thought we agreed never to say that name out loud,” he hissed, looking around for anyone who might have heard. “The betrayal! Mate betrayal! Betrayal of the highest order!”
Rowan’s chest shook with his laughter.
Milo fumed. Well, iced. Puffs of icy steam rolled off his body and the ground froze under his feet. He hadn’t quite gotten control of either ability yet. It explained his beautifully wintery scent though. Rowan should have guessed well before the DNA test came back.
“They updated that hideous name and you know it,” Milo said. “That’s the outdated and archaic one.”
Rowan pulled Milo’s hands from his mouth then leaned down and kissed him, mumbling against his mouth, “They did, my little Sky Frost.”
Milo purred happily, losing all his previous frosty edge and trying to snake his tongue into Rowan’s mouth.
Rowan pulled back with a blush, glancing over his shoulder at all the oldies, who weren’t paying them a jot of attention as they bustled about in their sun hats and floral gloves. Glenn had a bonnet on. It was quite fetching on him.
“No fair. You can’t call me that and then not give up the goods,” Milo complained, placing his hands on Rowan’s chest and squeezing. “You only ever call me that to turn me on.”
Rowan blushed harder. He didn’t, Milo just got turned on by everything Rowan did, it seemed. “I’ll give up the goods when we finish the garden. Your hoard has been looking forward to it all week and the weather finally cleared up.”
Milo scrunched his red nose but relented when he peeked over at his hoard. “Fine. I’ll get changed from work and meet you back up here.”
Rowan glanced down at his naked body and the tattered remains of his work clothes at their feet. “You might need to put another request form in for a new uniform.”
“The boss is going to kill me.”
Rowan grumbled, smoke curling from his nose. “He can try.”
“Down, boy.” Milo laughed, but he was always pleased by Rowan’s posturing. He gave Rowan’s chest one more cheeky squeeze before scampering off toward the rooftop entrance.
He slipped on his own ice patch about halfway there and Rowan lunged to catch him, blowing hot air at his feet to melt it.
“Where would I be without you?” Milo cooed, looking at him upside down. “We’re a perfect match.”
“Still chained to a tree?” Rowan said, but his insides were squirming happily.
They were a perfect match. A completely dysfunctional, perfectly wonderful match.
He let Milo head off to the private apartment they kept here and got back to work on the garden, letting the familiar motions of his favorite activity lull him into an easy sense of peace.
When Milo returned he had a canvas lawn chair under one arm, oversized bug sunglasses perched on his nose, garish Hawaiian-style shorts and shirt on, and was sipping from his dented neon cup. He never used any other one and was fiercely protective of it. No one else was allowed to so much as wash it for fear of compromising its structural integrity.
He set up his chair and coffee before walking up and hooking his pointy chin over Rowan’s shoulder, hugging him from behind. He kitten-licked a bead of sweat from Rowan’s neck and Rowan had to fight not to react.
Milo sighed happily and settled against him. “The place looks great, Ro.”
