21

AMY
Dressingup a dragon is far more fun than I thought it would be. It's completely distracted me from the ache in my pelvis and the general awfulness I feel while on my period. I don't think Rast shares the same feeling I do, though. The only words that can come to mind for how he's acting this afternoon are “extremely tolerant.”
We hunted up and down the highway for a store that might have clothing. The only ones we found for a while were boutique-type stores that had women's clothing and nothing else. I picked up a few skirts and tank tops, and a second pack to tote around. Still no tampons or pads, so I've been switching out my panties and rags at every stop, which is just as terrible and obnoxious as I feared it would be. It takes some time before we find a store that has men's clothing, and it's an old department store, the doors shattered and covered with shopping carts as if someone tried to barricade themselves in.
No fresh scents,Rast tells me as we approach. Whoever was here is gone now.
“Probably because there was no food or water,” I tell him. I recognize the name of the store and remember that they sold trendy clothing, jewelry, and shoes, but little else. In the After, that's just a temporary shelter, not a real home. You stop, you grab a few things, and you continue on your way. We land and Rast helps me down, and I grab one of the loose, rusty buggies from the jumble. “Let's take this into the store with us.”
Inside, things aren't much better. It's dark, so Rast helpfully blows out a rush of flame…and sets a rack of winter coats on fire. At my terrified squeal, he knocks the rack into the center of the aisle, away from the other racks of clothing. It already smells better in here, he says grumpily.
Yeah, my dragon is not a fan of this plan at all. But he's going along with it, which tells me that he knows I'm right. I squeeze his hand. “Help me find the menswear.”
We wander through the store, gazing at things of a past world. There's a back-to-school section, filled with backpacks and pencil boxes and new shoes, all in small sizes. There's a dusty jewelry counter, still filled with rings and earrings of every kind imaginable. I peer at them for a minute, and then leave them behind. Diamonds are pretty but useless now. I can't eat a diamond, and no one would trade a haunch of meat for a pretty bauble these days. Now if the case had been filled with charged batteries…we'd have been rich. Oh well. I'm not looking for a big score anyhow, just some clothes.
I do pause by the lingerie section in the hopes that there's something I might find for my period woes, but there's nothing useful, so I grab two packs of cotton panties, toss them in the cart, and head on.
The blankets section has been ransacked. Same with the home goods. There's an area of sparkly prom dresses that looks untouched, and I sigh wistfully at the sight of the floaty creations, because I never got to go to prom or dress up.
Rast hears my sigh and pauses. You like these?
“I do,” I admit. “They're completely impractical and useless and I never got to wear one.”
He moves forward and takes a pink dress off of a rack. It's got two slender straps over the shoulders leading to a beaded bodice, a long pink scarf that artfully goes around the wearer's neck, and layers and layers of pink tulle for a princess skirt. So wear this now.
“It's not practical,” I protest. “There's no point.”
You can wear it here. When I pause, he adds, you can wear it for me.
I hesitate, but then I take the dress and hold it up against my chest. Way too small. I move toward the rack and look for something that might fit me, caught up in the fun of playing dress up. If Rast wants to see me in this, it might be fun to wear for an afternoon.
I look over at him with a shy smile, and he gives me a nod of encouragement. Wear all of them if you like.
I giggle at that. “You're only supposed to wear one at a time.”
Then wear the best one.
I pull out another one of the pink in a larger size and admire it. I'm forgetting all about being bloated and miserable in the face of an afternoon of pleasure. “Do you like this?” I ask him.
I like you best naked and moaning.
I smack his arm, chuckling. “That's not what I asked.”
He studies the dress. It is soft and pretty. Like you.
I nearly melt at those sweet words. Beaming at him, I shrug off my practical sundress and bra and quickly slide the prom dress over my body. It's a tight fit, and I can't do up the line of buttons in the back. I turn toward Rast. “Can you do this for me?”
He frowns, a look of concentration on his face as he studies the two sides of the bodice back. I do not understand how this works. At the mental image I send him, he snorts with derision. Humans are strange. Why have thirty ties when one will suffice?
“Because it's stylish,” I tell him, holding my hair up so it doesn't snag in the buttoning.
It takes him some time to finish fumbling with the buttons, and I’m pretty sure he misses a spot or two, but when he’s done and the bodice is fitted, the skirts flowing down to the floor and hiding my bad leg…I feel like a princess. And because I’m feeling princessy, we head back to the jewelry counter and I load my neck and fingers with a bunch of useless, sparkly jewelry.
You shine beautifully, my mate,Rast tells me. These things make you happy?
“It’s fun to feel pretty,” I admit to him, holding my hand out and admiring the wealth of sparkle on each finger. “It’s something humans used to do a lot and now we’re lucky just to survive.” I lower my hand and slip it into his. “It’s nice to have an afternoon where we can pretend that the world’s not a nightmare. Where it’s just us and we can do whatever we want without having to worry.”
We can do whatever we want anyhow,Rast tells me, but leans in and gives me a light kiss. And you are lovely. Your smile is brighter than all of the things you wear this day.
How can I not love the guy for things like that? I can tell just how sincere he is because I can read his thoughts, and it makes the words all the sweeter.
I feel like a princess as we wander around the store, my long skirts swishing around my legs. Rast is silent, but occasionally reaches out to caress my arm or touch the back of my neck, silent signs of his affection that I live for.
I know he isn't keen on getting human clothing, so I want to make sure we get him something decent. I'm a little vain, too, because I want to dress him up and show him off to other humans. I've never had a boyfriend—much less a lover—and I'm proud of how handsome he is. Maybe it's a little selfish to want to parade him around, but I'm just so happy, I want to broadcast it to the world.
But first, clothes.
We find the menswear in the back of the store. I pick through a few racks of denim jeans. They look sturdy, but they also look tight and uncomfortable. Something tells me that Rast isn't going to be a fan of skinny jeans, no matter how practical. I head toward the athletic wear instead and pick up a pair of blue track pants. “These might work.”
For what?He sounds openly skeptical as he reaches out and touches the fabric. Why does it feel slippery?
“It's for running. The slick-feeling material is popular. It's nylon or something.” I hold it up to his waist, trying to judge his size. He's big and brawny, but not fat in the slightest. “Let's find you some underwear and you can try these on.”
You like these?He looks down at them with a frown.
“I think they're great. Very practical. Why?”
He reaches out and touches my dress. Something flowing would be less confining. Easier to fight in. I need something like yours.
I bite back my smile. “Really? You want to wear a dress?”
Is that bad?He seems surprised. Do males not wear such things? He sends me a mental image of a pale, pale golden man in a long, flowing white robe. The Salorians were the only ones who wore clothing in my land and this is what they wore.
“No, men don't wear them here. You would really, really stand out if you wore something like that. I'm sorry. We have to blend.”
He grunts and runs his hand along the stripes on the side of the track pants. How is a warrior supposed to fight in this? It is cut all the way up to my sac. He reaches down and holds his cock in his hands. It will get caught if I move.
I bite back another giggle that threatens. “That's why guys wear underpants.” I throw a couple pairs of the track pants in our cart and then head over to the underwear section, then grab a pair of boxers from a hanger. “Like these.”
He squints. These will not hold anything. My cock will get tangled in this as well. He glances back at me. Do you jest with me, my mate?
I'm trying so hard not to laugh and I doubt I'm succeeding. “No jesting. I promise, people wear them.” I grab a packet of briefs and offer them to him instead. “These might be better?”
He takes the package and stares at the picture. These look like yours.
For some reason, that makes me erupt into giggles. “I promise you, I’m not wearing men’s underwear.” I open the package and shake out one pair. “Just give it a try, okay?”
He does try them. I can feel his silent mental complaints as he slides the briefs up his legs and adjusts them, then puts on the pants. We find a shirt next, an overlarge long-sleeved T-shirt with a basketball logo on it, because most everything else will be too tight on his broad shoulders. Next is a pair of shoes that fit and a baseball cap to cover his horns, and I give him a pair of sunglasses I’ve been holding on to. And then I step back and study my work.
This is the first time Rast has ever been in human clothing. His form is slightly hunched, odd considering his sheer size, as if his entire body is waiting for the moment he can rip the clothes off of himself. How does it look?
The clothing is baggy and his face is hidden, his long, golden hair pulled back and tucked away. He doesn’t really look like himself. If anything, Rast looks like he belongs on one of the teen posters I used to have on my wall back before the Rift.
He looks as if he should be in a boy band. I can’t help but smile. “It looks perfect.”
Rast grunts and tugs at the collar against his neck, clearly uncomfortable. Is this what you prefer? That I am human?
It’s weird, because I should like seeing him dressed “normal” but I don’t. All his beautiful untamed savagery is gone. Everything that makes him special is hidden, and when he’s like this, I can’t see his incredible body or the lovely golden glow of his chest. I can’t see the whirl of his eyes. It just looks wrong. “No, actually. I like you the way you are.” I move forward as he tugs at the collar again, and smooth a hand down his front. I can’t feel his warm skin like this and for some reason, seeing him “trapped” in all these layers of clothing really bothers me.
I don’t want him to be anything other than who he is—proud, fierce, and just a little wild.
Good, because I already cannot wait to take all of this off. I can feel the disgust rolling off of him.
“We don’t have to do this,” I murmur. I’m torn between wanting to help the people in need, and wanting Rast to be happy. He’s been against this plan from the start and it’s beginning to worry me. Perhaps I’m not thinking logically about this and should be more worried.
We will do this,he reassures me. You need female supplies and you want to help them. I wish to help my brother that is in need. There are reasons to go, even if what I must wear is…unpleasant.
I smile up at him. “I appreciate it.” I put my arms around his waist and hug him, pressing my cheek to his chest. “Thank you.”
Do not thank me. We are a team. We do this together. His hand rests atop my head as he holds me close.
“All right, well, when we get in the city itself, keep the brim of your hat pulled down low, try not to make eye contact, and let me do the talking.” I’m nervous, but also oddly excited.
He grunts. It is not as if I wish to speak to them anyhow. You are the only one I care to communicate with.
Is it bad that hearing that gives me a little thrill of glee?