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Dragons liked to tell people there was no word for arrogance in their language. This was a lie. For dragons, arrogance was simply a state of being that they all accepted. Even now, as Heinrich Moonshadow surveyed the land from the skies above, his blue scales glinting from the noon sun, he could not help but feel arrogant at how little the other mortal races were to him. But this was a secondary thought, one buried by an emotion that dragons did not suffer for long lest those around them risked being turned to ash.

Humiliation.

Mating rituals among dragons were what some might consider barbaric. The so-called ‘barbarians’ got it right the first time. One must show dominance over their mate or be forced into subjugation by the strong. What many did not understand was that strength was not purely physical, only fools considered this. Strength of mind, strength of will, strength of cunning, these were all strengths to put one over another.

Yet as the times changed so did dragons. No longer were the days where a dragon would muscle in on another’s territory to either take the original dragon as a mate, die, or, worse of all, be that dragon’s mate in the failed clash. Given that dragons grew more submissive when ingesting the bodily fluids of another, and even changed to better fit their new roles, albeit slowly, this used to make the most sense. But the smallfolk created this thing called ‘civilization’ where they amassed power that could descend upon dragons like a horde of ants over a slug. Dragons had to change their ways to play along. They formed families, dynasties, and entered civilization off the backs of their massive hoards, becoming distant rulers with luxurious gifts offered instead of taken. Clan Moonshadow, of Heinrich’s bloodline, was one of the bigger clans. He would have been next in line to take control of it if not for his brother being born a minute before him. Were it the old days he’d have killed his brother and ate his body for sustenance not long after, but caretakers deemed they both live.

So, as the spare, Heinrich was offered as a mate to another family. The Sunshade clan. Rivals so ancient to the Moonshadow family that there are still contested arguments to this day over which one copied the other for their clan name. Heinrich cared little for the history and politics of the respective clans. He simply wanted to enjoy his luxuries as a free bachelor. But the bachelor life was over, and now he had to meet his soon to be husband.

Husband. He spat a wad of fire to the barren land below in disgust. Everyone, even his own family, believed Heinrich would be the wife. This wasn’t because Heinrich was weak, though he was runty by dragon standards. No, this was because the mate he’d been forced to marry by marriage contract was none other than Magnus Sunshade; The Noon’s Shadow.

Magnus’s exploits were, as the small folk would put it, absolutely fucking terrifying. Acting as a mercenary, he’d sundered armies with his breath and cast down artillery with nothing but the gale of his wings. Formations would break upon seeing his shadow overcast, which coated much of the land at the sun’s peak in the day. This had elevated him to a status of respect from a position that many dragons found beneath them as many modern dragons did not fight on behalf of the small folk, no matter what riches were offered. To do so implied that a dragon could be swayed by someone weaker than them, which could not stand. Magnus, however, enjoyed the act of violence too much to be bothered by such notions. He was a dragon born in the wrong time period.

If the small folk compared the two dragons, Magnus would be a well decorated soldier and Heinrich would be a basement dweller. None would have said such to Heinrich’s face and dragons didn’t have the concept of basement dwelling failures to call Heinrich that themselves, but he got the impression from how his parents looked at him. He’d spent too much time pondering his orb as it were. “Too much orb would rot your brain,” they’d say. Well, too much orb had given him an idea on how exactly he’d turn the table in his favor for this upcoming duel.

The lair of Magnus Sunshade was situated in a volcanic wasteland. Heinrich smelled the ash and sulfur before arriving, souring his nose. The idea of spending a day in this place, much less a lifetime as someone else’s mate, strengthened his resolve to ensure victory. With the grace of a bird (who copied dragons in flight, a common dragon folk tale), he barreled through the air, landing at the mouth of Magnus Sunshade’s cave. Heinrich snorted, “Even his lair is stuck in the past.”

“Because that’s how dragons should live,” echoed a voice in the cave. Heinrich shivered. What he thought was a shadow moved in the darkness, stepping out to reveal the crimson red scales of the Sunshade clan. Magnus towered over him, his folded wings dwarfing Heinrich’s spread ones. Smiling was not a facial tick that dragons used, but his experiences amongst small folk had Magnus learn it. Seeing his teeth lined up in a curved grin made Heinrich unsettled. A dragon should never be unsettled.

“My, my,” Magnus said with a hiccup, “Aren’t you puny. You sure you’re a dragon and not some wyvern with prosthetics?”

“I assure you, I am very much a dragon.” Heinrich sniffed the air again. “Have you been drinking?”

“In celebration, my dearest wife,” Magnus said, raising a near emptied bottle of wine in his hand. “It is not every day I am handed a victory so easily. Usually I’d take such offerings as an insult to be burned in retribution, but closer kin have reminded me a war between our houses is not worth the effort. So, I drink to not only calm my rage but to be playful for this next encounter. How have you prepared yourself? With stretching, I hope.”

Heinrich let that taunt slide. The first dragon to break was often the weaker in social banter. Ironically if that same dragon overpowered his target of scorn he’d be considered the stronger of the two, cementing that strength was valued over other forms of dominance. Despite his plans to do just that, he need not take unnecessary risks. If he broke out in violence from a social issue and was overpowered, he would not become Magnus’s wife. He’d be his bitch, and no doubt the shame would cast him out of the Moonshadow name.

Frowning that Heinrich did not take his bait, Magnus yawned and ushered him inside. “Come, I am no exhibitionist.”

“Rumors say otherwise,” Heinrich said, offering his own barbed comment. As a host, Magnus would lose too much respect if he reacted to such words, even if he did win in the end.

“Do they?” The red dragon grinned, “I can’t say I’ve heard of any rumors. They must be damning if those who hire me refuse to warn me of them. Tell me, wife, what do the small folk say of me?”

“I am no wife.”

“Not yet,” Magnus cast a lewd glare at Heinrich, “But we both know how this will go. It’s why I had my staff bring out my finest wine before telling them to leave. We wouldn’t want them caught in the crossfire of our ritual.”

A fair point. The remains of small folk were difficult to clean. Mostly on account of other small folk growing faint at the leftovers. “They say you sport three hind legs when you fly over the battlefield. But only two hind feet.”

Magnus paused for a moment. His mouth hung open as he clutched his sides for a big heavy laugh that carried itself across the deep cave. By now they’d traveled deep enough to no longer see the sun and there was deeper still to go. An impressive abode for a single dragon. It made Heinrich’s hoard, which was connected to his parent’s hoard by way of tunneled networks, seem quant. An insult he needed to rectify.

His simmering distaste swiftly turned to awe as they reached the main chamber. Dragons were known for their hoards, but Magnus had what amounted to a rolling desert of gold, with high dunes of coins pressing against flat surfaces of uniform gold bars. Various trinkets of masterwork quality, from weapons with golden and jeweled handles or hilts, to statues or important figures in small folk culture.

“Would you believe the coins are rarer now?” Magnus said, patting Heinrich between his wings, “The small folk are trying this new currency made of paper. Some fools tried to pay me off in it. I am a merciful dragon so their burns were not life threatening, but it did mean that they had to delay my payment. Whilst waiting I’ve been considering melting some bars to make a statue of myself, but I never have the time to find an artist. That will be your first task as my wife.”

“Your confidence is not charming,” Heinrich snarled. He had laid out plans but seeing Magnus tower over him, his gold, and his attitude, made him worry they would not work. How long had Magnus been drinking? How long until it took effect?

“Nor do I care if it is.” Magnus took another swig from his bottle. Finding it empty, he tossed it aside, shattering it on the nearby earth before moving to grab another from a cask of coldness. “I understand that the fates of our societies are cruel to the weak, so I see no reason to coddle you. But I am willing to show some mercy. If you simply lounge upon the nearest pile and raise your tail, I will tell your family you fought valiantly.”

He believed him. For as humiliating as the proposition was, Heinrich didn’t doubt that Magnus would be true to his word. A dragon submitting without question is seen as a great strength for the one they submit to, but it would erase the other’s legacy. Even a bitch had a name, if only to be mocked. To be forgotten was a fate worse than death, and not even Magnus was that cruel.

“No,” Heinrich said. He would rather risk humiliation than irrelevance.

Magnus grinned. He shattered the neck of his wine bottle to better pour its contents down his throat. “You Moonshadows have always been arrogant,” he said, wiping the purple liquid from his chin as he tossed the empty bottle aside. “I love arrogant opponents. I love making them plead for mercy. Prepare to beg, Heinrich, for I will not offer you mercy again.”

He stood on his hind legs. Heinrich did the same, still craning his neck to view the amber eyes of the red dragon. Nerves rippled under Heinrich’s blue scales. He peered between Magnus’s legs and found the rumors were true. They wreathed each other in flames as was tradition, for neither’s flame could hurt the other so brazenly.

Magnus struck out first. Whoever assumed larger meant slower had never seen a predator leap into action. Both hands shot out, locking into Heinrich’s shoulders. Twisting his hips, the red dragon chucked Heinrich like a hatchling, sending the blue dragon tumbling into a mountain of gold coins.

Heinrich beat his wings midflight, twirling to soften the fall. Magnus rushed forward, jaw outstretched for a possessive bite. Heinrich distracted him with a puff of flame and dove under the massive dragon, twisting around to kick both his legs into the soft underbelly. Even the universal dragon weakness felt like iron when it came to Magnus, but the blow was enough to get him off balance.

“Oh? You know how to fight?” Magnus laughed as he caught his landing. “And here I was told you’re nothing but an orb ponderer. Or are these just desperate guesses from instructional divinations?”

Heinrich answered with a stance he’d practiced over a hundred times. Magnus inched closer. “You know, they say martial arts was created by the weak to fight the strong,” Magnus stood on his hind legs and mirrored the exact same stance, “But what if the strong learned it? Sounds like an obvious flaw in the logic, don’t you think?”

Heinrich stood his ground. Magnus’s stance wobbled. Was it from lack of practice, or had the drugs taken effect? He needed more time. “Come then, Noon’s Shadow.”

“Oh, the sweet things you will say in our chamber.”

Magnus lurched forward with hunger in his eyes. Heinrich seized him by the arm and twisted. The shift in weight took Magnus off balance. The red dragon kicked out for a hold, but Heinrich shoved into the dragon’s momentum to send him reeling. Magnus threw out his arm to catch himself only for it to crumble from a lack of strength.

“Good,” Heinrich thought, “The drugs are taking effect.”

Even hindered by depressants, Magnus was dangerous. Swipes missed Heinrich by centimeters rather than inches, keeping the blue dragon on the defensive. In a normal battle of attrition Heinrich would have already lost, but the more this battle raged the faster the drugs took effect. Fast enough for Magnus to realize that his lackluster movements weren’t the result of an alcoholic buzz.

“What is happening?” He said, his voice slurring with every other word. “You’re not this fast. I’m not this…this…”

“Unfocused?” Heinrich said, sweeping Magnus’s leg. The heavy red dragon collapsed into a pile of coins. The metal disks danced on the gold floor in harsh clips and clangs, ringing across the cavern. “I’m no fool, Magnus. I know the difference between us is far too great that, if I were to fight you fairly, I would have a womb before the sun fell. But only a fool fights fair. I had bribed your staff to inject wyvern venom into your wine. Harmless to us as a venom, but if ingested it becomes a potent drug once dissolving in our stomachs. How many bottles did you have before I arrived? One? Two?” Heinrich eyed the empty sockets in the cask and, remembering Magnus’s earlier expression, smiled. “Five. I knew there’d be a risk since if one bottle was too strong you’d notice the taste, but drinking five bottles? Well, you might as well have sealed my victory.”

Magnus tried to stand. His limbs failed him, quivering with each foolish attempt. “Poison? You coward.”

“Venom. Not poison. Though I suppose the act of its use is the same,” Heinrich said, circling his conquest, “And yes, I am a coward. It leads me to think of how best to survive a situation. The small folks have this theory about evolution, which I personally see as utter nonsense because that’d imply we dragons were not always dragons. But there is a logic in it that I like. It is not the strongest, the fastest, nor even the hardiest that survives. But the one who is more likely to adapt. You thought I would be easy prey, and refused to prepare. You intended to get drunk just to make this more fun. I intended to win, for I am no one’s wife.”

It took some effort to push Magnus’s tail aside. Heinrich eyed the dragon’s asshole with a gleeful hunger. He hadn’t particularly cared about dominating Magnus in his plan. This was, initially, just another step in securing himself. But seeing the strong dragon so helpless underneath him made his cock stir with a newfound interest. “Do not worry about your honor, Magnus,” he said, lining his cock up against the ring, “I’ll be sure to tell everyone you fought valiantly.”

He faced little resistance slipping inside. Digested wyvern venom did act as a muscle relaxant but not nearly to the level Heinrich noticed. Suffice to say that Magnus’s exploits as a war dragon had not prevented him from being a catcher. Heinrich taunted the dragon with this, citing that he was just making it easier for Magnus to take his desired role.

“I’m a virgin, you weakling,” Magnus muttered, shuddering with broken breath at the first warm member inside him.

“A virgin? I suppose that makes sense since news of you catching would spread rather quickly. But you’re too loose for just a virgin. You must play with yourself regularly. Dream of being conquered by someone else?”

Magnus took issue with this and tried to beat his wings against Heinrich. He caught them and pinned the dragon tight. With the drugs suppressing his strength all Magnus had to his advantage was his size but Heinrich knew just how to hold him. And, in a way, Magnus seemed to enjoy it. Whether it be from his soft breathing, or the moans slipping from his lips as Heinrich thrusted deep into the red dragon’s ass.

“My, my, is the Noon Shadow enjoying this?” Heinrich teased.

“I will rip out your throat,” Magnus said with a voice that argued otherwise.

“You are. I see now.” Heinrich pressed his weight against the bigger dragon, curling a hand around to clasp the softening shaft just underneath that leaked precum. “This is what you’re into, isn’t it? Being overpowered by someone weaker than you. Because there’s no one stronger than you, you’ve seen that first hand. How lonely it must be to have everyone be afraid of you. How boring it must be to expect any potential mate to bend over just because you say so. I’m sure you believe that mating should only be about producing offspring, but you hope for something else. You want pleasure. You want to enjoy it. And this drug gives you a convenient excuse.”

From Magnus’s growl Heinrich was on point. “You wouldn’t know anything, orb ponderer.”

“And yet your actions tell me otherwise.” Heinrich pet the tail curling around his waist, “You seem eager to keep me close. Blame your drugs as much as you desire, Magnus, but I think you will enjoy being a wife more than you say.”

Heinrich clenched his jaw as the first ropy spurt of his seed shot into Magnus. Magnus’s back arched backward with the sudden sensation. Slowly his body began to shift, growing to accommodate the newfound purpose of his position. His muscles lost mass, his cock shrank, and his insides began to shift from creating sperm to creating eggs. The problem with dragon biology is that this process takes several rounds of a donor's sperm to alter them, meaning Heinrich would need to fill Magnus again and again before the red dragon was capable of laying his eggs. But he had the time, as there was no doubt Magnus would stay cooperative when the drugs wore off. Even as his cock shrank there were telltale signs of pleasure rippling through Magnus.

“We will make a better story to tell our families,” Heinrich said, knowing that one moment of pleasure could not make up for the lifetime of humiliation Magnus would face as the losing dragon. “Welcome to my fold, Magnus Moonshadow.”