Ugh. My ass was killing me.
I slid off the Dragon's back like a sack of stolen melons and sprawled face-first into the grass by the lake. "I think I've cracked my tailbone," I moaned. "I swear one of your spine knobs jabbed right up into my soul."
"You're welcome," the Dragon muttered, slinking toward the water's edge and stretching his wings with a sigh that rattled leaves. "My shoulders feel like they've been pummeled by horny dwarves. You're heavier than you look."
"Excuse me?!" I flipped over, squinting up at him. "That's rude. These curves are luxury grade."
"You're luxury luggage. Dense. Expensive. No handles."
"Then get me a godsdamned saddle!" I snapped. "And maybe a bridle too, so I don't have to cling to your horns like a desperate tavern wench on a goat cart!"
The Dragon whipped his head around, scandalized. "I am not a beast of burden!"
"You are literally a beast," I said sweetly, "and I am a burden. So let's make it official."
He growled. "Absolutely not. Saddles are for horses. Mules. War pigs. I am an apex predator!"
"Yeah, well, so are gryphons. And the Amazons saddle them all the time. Full rigging. Stirrups. Even glittery tassels. Maybe I want tassels."
"Then go ride a gryphon."
"Maybe I will."
"Good luck surviving the first thirty seconds. Those things eat their riders mid-air if you smell wrong."
I rolled onto my stomach and kicked my feet, chin in my hands. "Sounds like your kink."
He ignored that.
"You know what else gryphons have? Bridles. Real ones. I could have reins. Control. Direction. Instead of 'clench and hope I don't fall to my death while you do aerial pirouettes for dramatic effect.'"
"My pirouettes are magnificent," he huffed.
"They're nausea-inducing. Also I'm getting calluses on my thighs. You want to rub ointment on them?"
He froze. "Absolutely not."
"Then we're buying a saddle."
"No."
"Bride and bit."
"Double no."
"Dragon lingerie."
He made a noise somewhere between a cough and a strangled shriek. "What—?"
"You heard me. If I have to ride bareback one more day, I'm getting you a custom-fitted bejeweled leather harness and making you strut through town square. We'll see who's dignified then."
He groaned and flopped onto his side with a thud that made the lake ripple.
I crawled over and leaned against his warm flank with a smirk. "So. Saddle shopping tomorrow?"
Silence.
Then, very quietly: "No glitter."
I grinned. "No promises."
The Dragon gave a weary sigh. "Maybe next time, wear breeches. Or at least something under that tunic. It's indecent. You flap around like a windblown prayer flag."
I sat up, stretched long and slow just to annoy him, then stuck my tongue out. "You're just jealous your ass doesn't look this good."
Then, because I am a creature of dignity and grace, I turned around, yanked up the back of my tunic, and gave him a full view of both cheeks. "Feast your ancient eyes, scaly."
He made a sound like he was dying. "Put it away."
"Make me."
"I should drop you in the lake."
I wiggled it.
He made an actual choking noise. "Do not weaponize your buttocks."
"Too late." I dropped the tunic, grinning over my shoulder. "I've been doing it since Seebulba."
He muttered something about regret and celibacy and the fall of empires.
I plopped back onto the grass with exaggerated satisfaction. "Anyway, I'm still voting for the saddle."
"Still no."
"Then you'll keep getting cheeky surprises."
He growled. I took that as a yes.
I rolled onto my back, arms stretched behind my head, still basking in my triumph. "You know…" I said, all innocent-like, "if I'm a dragon rider now—"
"You are not," he grumbled.
"—maybe I should get one of those iconic scale mail bikinis. You know the kind. Impractical. Pointless. Shiny."
He groaned. "Oh gods."
"I mean, what's the point of clinging to your horns and screaming through the sky if I don't look fabulous doing it?"
"You'd fall out of it mid-flight."
"That's part of the drama." I grinned, picturing it. "Metal bra. Bare midriff. Tiny triangle of chainmail for a loincloth. Wind in my hair. Nipples like polished obsidian. Total fantasy slut armor."
"Fantasy being the key word," he muttered.
I turned toward him and smirked. "You'd look totally gorgeous in one too."
He recoiled. "Absolutely not."
"C'mon," I cooed. "Little bronze crop-top. Tail loops. Maybe a chainmail thong. We could match. Like a sexy war duo."
"I will eat you."
I grinned wider. "Promises, promises."
He buried his snout in the grass with a long, theatrical groan. "Why do I put up with this?"
"Because you love me," I sang. "And because nobody else would look half this good as your accessory."
He didn't answer. But I swear his tail flicked just a little closer.