It was not that Mikleo had not lived his life these past seven hundred years; not as such. He had worked to make their dream a reality, worked to make sure they had a world filled with beauty and bright wonder to explore when he finally opened his eyes. He had lived, had enjoyed life – he had gone out onto the dance floor, even as half his heart waited at a window-seat table, facing an empty seat, still waiting for his partner to arrive (so fashionably late) and allow him to enjoy the rest of the evening; together, again, forever.
Mikleo was not one to pine his heart away. He had lived, he truly had.
But the hand gripping his wrist was so strong, and Mikleo’s heart felt like it was about to burst. What kind of life had he lived if it was a life without him?
Sorey finally pulled him out of the hole, and sat back heavily on his haunches as Mikleo clung to him like a limpet. He felt Sorey’s strong arms around him, and his lips against his temple, just below his circlet, and oh, Mikleo had dreamed of this as often as he could dare allow himself. He’d hoped that it would have been less embarrassing, but while the narrow miss with the pit could have been avoided with more caution, there was no helping the tears, nor the wailing. Sorey rubbed his back soothingly, his lips trailing from Mikleo’s temple, to the line of his cheekbone, to his starving mouth.
“Mikleo,” Sorey whispered against his lips. “I…I’m…”
“You’re here,” Mikleo breathed. His hands slid up to Sorey’s neck, bringing him in for the kiss he’d waited seven hundred years for. “Sorey.”
Their lips came together, electric, bright, and so worth the wait.
Mikleo paused, his tongue halfway into Sorey’s mouth.
Mikleo drew back, and stared at the mortified look on Sorey’s face, trying to parse out what, exactly was happening, and why this kiss he’d waited seven hundred years for was—
Crunch, slormp, cronsh.
--being interrupted by a small, dazzlingly white dragon, tied to Sorey’s back like a baby being carried by its mother. It was very messily eating an apple clutched clumsily between all four clawed feet. Mikleo and the dragon locked eyes. The dragon’s green eyes darted back and forth for a moment, and slowly took another bite of its apple.
Mikleo released Sorey’s shoulders, and allowed him to turn back around. Sorey wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.
“Um,” Sorey offered as an explanation.
“Just grabbed a snack of out the pack while I wait,” explained the dragon swaddled up to Sorey. “Just pretend I’m not here.”
As if this was a satisfactory resolution to the issue at hand, the dragon went back to crunching on its apple.
Mikleo grabbed Sorey’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, and forced him to meet his gaze.
“Explain. Fully and succinctly.”
Sorey looked hurt at the intensity in Mikleo’s eyes, and Mikleo felt the fury in his mind cool, and allowed his expression to soften. He wasn’t interested in fighting with Sorey, not now. He wasn’t interested in anything but showering Sorey in all the love he missed out on over the centuries.
The talking baby dragon was kind of throwing a wrench in the works of that last part, though, and Mikleo thought he deserved an explanation for the unexpected third wheel in their reunion.
Sorey seemed to understand, just from the way Mikleo’s touch moved to a gentle caress on his cheek. Mikleo felt his eyes slide shut, and oh, how did he ever get used to this kind of heartache?
“—well, I…he was still feeling a little weak after we woke up, and I couldn’t just leave him all alone, but I couldn’t make you wait any longer, so I thought this would be a decent compromise?”
Mikleo slowly pieced together Sorey’s explanation, his eyes growing wider by the second. He seized Sorey by the shoulders again and twisted him so he could take another look at their third wheel.
The dragon had finished with its first apple, and was laboriously digging for another in Sorey’s pack while still strapped to his back; not quite able to get a grip on anything in its position. Finally, it gave up on claws and went apple-bobbing with its face. It emerged triumphant from the pack with its jaws strained around its shiny red prize.
“He doesn’t mind being called Mao. Mao, this is Mikleo.”
“Hmmbbfbfbfbfmbfbbfff,” said Maotelus around his apple. His four feet scrabbled for purchase on the fruit, trying to pry it from where it had gotten stuck in his jaws. He finally freed himself with a pop!, sending juice and apple bits flying. He looked at Mikleo with hopeful eyes. “Sorey’s told me all about your ice cream.”
He’d gotten cockblocked by god, after getting cockblocked for seven hundred years, by god. This was definitely not what Mikleo had dreamed of.