Disclaimer: I own nothing—this is just random fun~


The Start of Everything

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[I mean: Everything Returns to It's Origin]

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...Have you ever heard the tale of how a dragon fell in love-so completely, so intoxicatingly in love-that he didn't know how to existence-how to endure-her death beyond raze the world to the ground?...

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A dragon was in the sky, circling above the mountain in descending spirals until he could land on the ledge jutting near the peak of the sheer face. Massive weight settling on onyx granite with a rumble force that seemed to be felt within every stone, a welcoming cry home after over a fortnight departure. Stretching powerful, sinewy limbs, red eyes slowly closed as a deep breath swelled his powerful chest in preparation for what was to come…

Metal platelets of scales shrank and transformed from blinding metallic and into naked, tawny flesh.

Wings folded into the blades of broad shoulders.

Claws trimmed to nails.

Fanged snout diminished into a thin-lipped mouth full of teeth with potentially devious points.

When crimson eyes opened once more, a man—tall physique toned with muscles that almost seemed to be carved from stone itself—stood where there had been a ferocious creature a blink before. Wild tangle of black hair, hanging near the small of his back, periodically risked getting caught in one of the numerous piercings that covered his face. These, studs in his ears and loops through the bottom-side portion of his lower lip and strung at the tip of the opposite bow, were the only tell to him being a part of something more.

More than mortal flesh and blood.

Bare feet padding across the landing, no sign of self-consciousness on being out in the open air stark to the world, he casually hefted open the intricately embossed and etched platinum doors that usually required half-score men to wrench inward.

The interior beyond was far more welcoming than the rigid features of the hall's exterior. Lanterns of stain glass cast flickering scenes of famous narrations fueled from the cheery flames within. The effect alleviated the harsh nature of the stone walls, causing them to serve as a canvas for the tale.

Plush, silver rugs ran from the doors' threshold and down the corridor, sharing the floor space with exotic blooms nestled in tall vases or scattered on wrought iron bookcases that would have been bent under the weight of the tomes housed there if made of any other material.

At the corridor's center, stood a cloaked figure who shared in the dragon-lord's height if not species. Like his master, he held a human's shape but lacked in the ability to better blend. Heavy muscles were covered in glossy black fur while the head that rested upon a thick neck was that of a panther.

A panther with a wicked scar cutting across one brow.

"Welcome home, I take it that Marvel eradicated the illness and—therefore—you were released of your obligation to assist."

Walking past, the dragon-lord barely acknowledged the greeting nor the accompanying inquiry. His strides were quick with an unnamed sense of determination. "Have a bath prepared…and her sent."

"Gajeel—"

"PantherLily." He interrupted the aspirated eye-roll with a warning of using a full name rather than a shortened endearment created from years of friendship.

A warning Pantherlily deemed appropriate to ignore. "She will not react well to being summoned…to you…while you bathe."

"Have a bath prepared and have her sent up." Gajeel repeated, this time leaving no room for counterance, having reached the end of the corridor, he descended the gently coiled stairs awaiting beyond the arched barred door, a feature-like so many accessories about the keep-created in the forges at the mountain's heart.

Snorting, Pantherlily snapped his fingers, awakening the spirits that dwelled within the very stones. Announcing their master's return. "You heard him, prepare the water and notify her of his...strong request. Best not leave him waiting."

By the time Gajeel arrived at his bathing chambers, the cast-iron tub—the size of a small pool to accommodate the user's height—was filled with steamy water. He stepped in with a withheld sigh and sank down to his neck, gripping the sides. Hair floating about his shoulders.

Closed eyes opening at the faint stirring in the air, indicating a trespasser.

Well, not a trespasser per-say, but rather a summoned guest.

A young woman, barely within her twenties, lingered in the doorway a defiant expression etched on her heart-shaped face, which only deepened when Gajeel released his hold on the tub and curled his fingers in, as if the movement would pull her closer.

Sitting up fully, he rested an elbow on the tub's lip and his chin in the cupped palm, not vexed at her charming refusal but to take a moment to enjoy the sight she presented.

Short, over a foot shorter than him, but with undeniable curves of a woman, the heat of the room was slowly plastering her sheath dress to her chest and deliciously ample hips. Thick blue waves were tied back in a satin ribbon yet a rogue lock still fell into her brown eyes, which remained narrowed in irritation.

"You summoned me?" The words were colored with an insubordinate lift of a pale brow.

Arms crossing along the tub's edge and head lowering to rest his cheek on his forearm, he could only smile in impish delight.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like, just because you are the Iron Dragon, you can just snap your fingers and anyone will strip down and service you."

His lips pursed at the inordinately crass language that come from such sweet lips, which he spent a good deal watching. "Not anyone, just you."

"I am not some harpy—"

Water splashed along the flagstone floor, trickling towards the grates lining the room's walls. The woman, who had been preparing to storm away, squeaked in surprise when calloused hands cupped one of hers, preventing her huffed departure, and found the dragon-lord kneeling before her.

"Please, forgive me. That was nowhere near my intent." Lips brushed over her knuckles. Such a chaste gesture somehow still able to make her tremble in desire. "It has just been too long since last time I had you in my arms—"

"And you just thought to skip the pleasantries and romanticism?"

He lifted his eyes, showing their pleading depths. "It has been three weeks since I have been inside you, with only my hand for an intimate companion. The yearning might have caused me to...forget propriety."

"You mean common decency." Her voice remained stern, but he could see the softening in her expression.

His smile slowly braved another appearance with a faint shrug. Moving closer, but remaining on his knees, to her when she did not immediately chastised him further, he loosely wrapped his arms about her. When she did not step away nor try to break contact, he allowed his hands their will to sink into the swell of her back side. Gently kneading as he rested his face against her stomach, he slowly lifted the hem of her dress. Revealing that she wore nothing underneath.

"Let me make amends." His voice was colored with a mischievous chuckle.

Before she could inquire his intent and meaning, her soft gasps of delight over his hand administrations transformed into unbridled moans. Delicate hands frantically searching the door-frame for support as she found a leg draped over his shoulder and his tongue and teeth buried between her thighs. Nails threatened to break from her perchance against the door's structure while those of the other hand scraped at his scalp as fingers dug into his hair.

The time apart hadn't been torture for him alone.

When her limbs became liquid, no longer able to create a semblance of support, she allowed him to scoop her into his arms to be carry into the tub's still streaming contents. Her dress cast off and abandoned on the floor so bare breasts pressed against the contours of her torso as she straddled his hips and lowered herself onto his waiting erection.

"If you ever…ever presume to order me about again…" she groaned out, trying to concentrate on words as he urged her on with hands cradling her hips. "Again…oh…oh gods..." Teeth sank into her lip as he, nodding along to agree with whatever she said—though he was long past hearing, licked the column of her neck and nipped at an earlobe. "Just because…gods, yes…" Blood welled under where she scratched along his shoulder blades, arching her back so he could take a hardened nipple between his teeth before suckling the snowy mound.

Further attempt at conversation forgotten as he reversed their positions, leaning her against the tub's opposing wall and angling her left leg over the side to gain a better angle. Only when her sensual cries were echoing off the walls and her body had turned to pliable metal under his attentive caresses, did he allow himself to follow her.

Both gasping for air, he reclined back, taking her with him to nestle against his chest.

"Sorry if I hurt you." He muttered, pinching a wet curl between forefinger and thumb. Not sure if he meant at the unintentional insult or the rougher way he treated her during their love making.

A willing participant in the latter, she brushed her lips against his collarbone. "We've been married for over a year now." The gold band on her finger pressed to his heart. "When are you going to realize I am not a possession, but your equal."

Cradling her face, he lightly tilted her chin so their eyes met. "I will never question you being my equal but, while I don't see you as property, it is my very nature to be possessive."

She scowled without true heat. "And we both know that excuse holds no weight. Not after all the strides you've taken since we first met." Pushing away from his chest, she looked down her pert nose at his sheepish expression. "Never attempt to summon me to you like some whore ever again, or your hand will be your only companion for some time."

Head nodding in a solemnness not touched with mockery, he held her challenging gaze. "Yes, M'lady."

Eyes never leaving his, she slowly caressed his inner thigh. Water rippling from the subtle movement of seduction before she braved standing to climb out of the tub. Rivets of water streaming along her figure, pooling her in navel and catching her in tight curls, as she sauntered away, towards their bed suite beyond.

Once more, a flood of water splashed about as Gajeel scrambled in pursuit.

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There was a dragon in the sky.

Levy shaded her eyes with a gloved hand—the cold causing her breath to curl and whirl through the frigid air, so crisp that there was a sharp clarity that seemed to purify each intake and release—to watch it's trek without breaking stride during hers.

Not an unusual sight—not when the village was within fifty miles from the region's mountain keep…one of seven strategically placed throughout the lands, but one that was far from welcomed. Not when, for the past several centuries, the dragon-lords of ancient times—immortal beings tied to the very elements—had lorded over the world of men in a manner no better than petty mobsters. Including, but not limited to, holding entire kingdom's hostage whenever rulers were not able to pay tithes.

It was said that the beasts once lived amongst men in harmony, allies even. The dragons would keep to their mountains and only interfere with the events of mortal happening when invited. Tales depicted plagues being cured in days, volcanic destruction being subsided, lethal storms abated, and even precious gifts of knowledge being disbursed along to the humans who, in turn, would gladly pay homage in whatever offerings they had available.

Never demanded but never turned away, both sides perceiving any decline as a slight.

All of which changed over…Well, that was a topic of strong debate within certain academic circles.

Such as the owner of the bookshop she stepped into, bell chiming her entrance.

Freed barely glanced up from his station behind the counter. Wire-rimmed glasses perched at the edge of his nose, leather apron draped over slacks and sweater, he presented the same picture that he did every other day.

Most in the village were beginning to question if he ever actually moved. If, in fact, he was some creature from ancient times of lore that needed neither substance nor rest. Remaining behind the counter to prevent others from noticing that—from the waist down—he was potentially part bull or something of the like.

The notion caused a considerable amount of giggles twittered in clustered gaggles of local maidens, seeing the speculation in a more scandalous light. None immune for his studious good looks nor any above petty jealousy over the easy-friendship that struck up between him and Levy from nearly the moment she wondered into the village half a season before.

"I'm going to start charging rent," he muttered as she passed, hitching a very human hip to the counter as he watched her make way to a table she had set aside in the corner. "How much longer are you going to set-up camp in my shop, keeping paying customers from making purchases?"

Levy managed to unwind her scarf with one hand and unbutton her jacket with the other. "When a paying customer comes in, not a starry-eyed bar wrench wanting to see if the rumors are true or a child working on a report and intent on you doing the majority of the work, I will gladly relent any materials they may demand regarding the historical myths regarding our overlords."

"Think you mean jailers." Freed was not one to sweeten words on his thoughts of the dragons' status in modern society. When he had learned that Levy was traveling about for research on her on-going dissertation centered on the dragon-lords' true origins within society's current hierarchy, uncovering what exactly had occurred so many hundred years ago to tilt co-existence…or even if there had actually been such a thing, Freed had talked himself hoarse informing her how the tithe system was an outdated practice and that—being within such an age of self-sufficiency—it was time for the humans to stand united against the demands of certain 'beasts.'

At the time, she had managed to divert the onslaught by pointing out the ass of the man walking past the shop. Which had not only worked but also confirmed speculation she developed within seconds of meeting him…and everyone else in the village remained willingly blind to.

"I'm too tired to debate." Levy was able to speak on both sides, that being the nature of her unbiased academics, but did enjoy getting a row out of Freed on unraveling his logic of the negative stance. On any day that she did not go a perceived sleepless night.

It wasn't that she failed to gain slumber. The opposite, in fact. She, most likely, appeared to be in a deep sleep, but her mind was far from restful. Instead, filled with a kaleidoscope of vivid dreams that left her exhausted on waking. Dreams that were becoming uncomfortably frequent.

Hanging her satchel off the back of her chair-accompanying her outer garments, Levy meandered into the aisle of book shelves to gather up her materials. Freed allowed her to research without purchase—most of the materials used she could only dream of affording, with the understanding that he would be compensated at the end with whatever funds she had on hand, but demanded that she cleaned up after herself each night.

Inconvenient, yes.

An inconvenience she was willing to endure for access to the rare tomes and missing volumes Freed somehow managed to have in stock.

Climbing up onto the ladder that ran along the rails of the shelves built into the shop's wall, Levy was still required to stand on tip-toe in order to reach one of this particular treasures.

"Excuse me, Miss—"

Startled, a squeak ripped through her mouth as she found herself tumbling from her perch. Spared collision with the glossy floorboards by the grace of arms snatching her back and placing her on her heeled-booted feet. The action causing her black skirt, high-waisted and flared to draw attention away from her pear-based hips, to ride up against her blue and orange stripped tights and untucked the front of her slate-grey blouse into exposing a strip of her stomach.

Blush burning her cheeks, she tugged her clothing back into sorts before lifting her eyes to thank both the cause of her fall along with being her accidental savior.

Breath hissing back on realizing how close he was. She could have blamed that on his sheer size, comfortably over six feet of lean muscular power, or his imposing appearance, tangled mane of black hair tied back by a strip of material so old and worn she couldn't discern its origin and harshly angular face covered in unfashionable piercings…but, not, he was, in fact, very close to her.

Hands, sporting fingerless gloves, gripped the ladder on either side of her with an intensity that caused the leather to audibly creak.

Close enough that she could smell the oddly metallic spice coming from his tan skin.

Head lowered a degree so said inky locks cast his eyes in shadow, but there was not dampening the fiery depths of his oddly crimson eyes. Unnamed emotions, dark in nature—if she were to hazard a guest—and to the faintest of blinks twisted with such pain she could almost feel the heart-wrenching sensation, battled with whatever cage she sensed entrapping his person.

Close enough that she could feel the heat coming off him, coursing through the white shirt stretched across broad shoulders and catching on the tones of his torso without intent. His knee, peeking through the hole of his jeans, nearly nudging against her thighs.

"Levy," Freed's voice cut through the mysterious tension. Her head snapped to look at where he stood at the aisle's start; the man's head remained straight on her. "Is everything alright back here?"

Meaning: Dis she need help from a potential rapist?

"No," though she wanted to scream the opposite, skin singled from where she knew the man was still lingering on her. Oddly, she felt his attention on her face, not raking about her body like the few men who made their interest known had on meeting. "Just a bit of a fright." Turning back to the man, she inclined her head in thanks and sidled to the side, hoping he let her pass.

And felt several degrees colder when he didn't hesitate to comply.

"Thank-you for catching me."

His jaw worked, teeth faintly snapped, as if he had to work through the words before releasing them. "Sorry for scaring you." Something in how he said it caused her to want to ask what for, feeling that it was something deeper beyond the fright. Words she bit back and, instead, concentrated on the comment's carrier. His voice was a low growl, as she somehow expected, but also held a hint of a grating gravel that indicating rare use. Flexing and straining his hands, he nodded at Freed. "I'm looking for any Tyme you may have."

"Poetry," Freed gave the stranger, an uncommon sort in these parts, a once over and did not hide his conclusion of clear wanting, "really?"

"Yes." One syllable, a complete challenge.

"Come this way." Freed nodded towards the opposite side of the shop. "And might I recommend you refrain from scaring any other young women from falling in need of rescue." Not as terse, but equally as threatening.

The man did not reply.

Nor did he give Levy another glance as he followed Freed.

An hour had come and gone before Levy's heart-rate started to calm.


A/N: So, this is chapter one of a HIGHLY experimental piece. My intent, and I hope it came across as such, is to show past and present events.

Hope that, if you are reading this, you enjoyed such thus far and are interested in more.

Feedback—for good or bad, experimental pieces mean that there is plenty of room for growth—is much appreciated, and please excuse any/all typos-posting before I lose my nerve and simply delete everything.