And I need a dragon icon I think. Hmm.

On behalf of Bertie (the other Bertie, aka, Dr. Jones, dracologist and scion of two glorious dragon houses) Happy New Year! Happy Year of the Dragon!!!

I think I might buy myself a little purple dragon e-gift thing to decorate this bitch, because it's cute and because Bertie would find it amusing.

And just because I need to get back in the mood so I can finish this thing and work on expanding it:


"Can I dust while I look? Or open a window. It's stuffy in here and it's not good for the books."

Bertie's head went back and he looked affronted at the word "stuffy". This time Arthur didn't go nearly as tense as he had before. Bertie looked too pouty again for him to feel too worried.

"But I can get so cold at times, Arthur." It was the last thing Arthur had expected to hear. He looked down at his sweatshirt—it was Fall outside after all—and then over at Bertie's thin white shirt and bare feet. He possibly spent more time studying them than he should.

Bertie's lips were closing around the white paper of his cigarette when Arthur finally looked up. The tang of herbs and smoke filled the air and Arthur felt about as hot as the burning red cherry.

"So wear socks." He knew why his voice was rasping. The man had a tendency to make his throat go dry. He sucked in a long breath and thought about work, his job, looking through every page of every book in this house. "I can buy them for you if you like."

"Socks? You unromantic soul." There was amusement in Bertie's rough, rumbling voice and then Bertie took a drag from his cigarette with a flare of light and fire that was reflected in his eyes. Arthur waited, absolutely certain he was being teased, for Bertie to exhale and then lick his bottom lip. He was not disappointed.

He got his eyes up in time to await more instructions.