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This is a story I've wanted to write for years, and finally have the time to do so. I've played with these characters throughout the years: putting them in different settings, changing their personalities, swapping one sadness for another, and I think I've finally found the perfect portrait of these darlings to desplay to you all.

There will be gay sex. There will be blood. There will be tears.

If that does not deter you, I hope you enjoy the story. It's been years since I've written anything, and it's been even longer since I could find the inspiration to do so, so I'm a little nervous, to be honest.

As of today, I will release chapters in weekly installments. Hopefully, I can make at least a few of your Mondays' seem a little less shitty. ;)

Dreaming with Dragons

Chapter 1: Fever Dream

It was loud, the light from the unwanted disco ball was almost nauseating, and it smelled like piss, beer and potential mistakes. In other words, it was everything a college party should be. Noah was solely interested in the beer, be it piss-grade or otherwise. He had abandoned the small group of guys n' gals he had arrived with, leaving them to mingle and mix with the other drunk twenty-somethings as he made his way to the kitchen, then to the fridge, and finally to the wondrous sight of stacks upon stacks of cold, free beer.

Working in a college town had its perks, especially when you're the same age as everyone else in town. You get all the booze, the fun, the debauchery, and all for a fraction of the price. The benefits only seemed that much sweeter when his undergraduate roommates would cram for tests, write papers, or whatever menial drudgery they were forced to endure through the semester, and Noah would simply go to work, come home, and have a beer or five. This particular night was like any other Tuesday night, and started like any other.

"That shit band, Dinosaur Tragedy, is throwing a party at the bassist's place," said Noah's roommate.

Noah glanced at him, frowning and folding his arms, readying himself to ask the ultimate question. "BYOB?"

"Fuck no, they give that shit away. Why else would anyone go?"

And that's why he was there.

He could tell the band was playing in the basement because everyone was upstairs: a testament to their failure, he noted. He could hear the band's terrible excuse for music from the back of the kitchen, where it vibrated through the vents and sort of made him want to vomit.

Noah took the hood of his gray sweatshirt off, adjusting his long-ish brown hair with a quick swoop of his hand, taking an assessment of the people around him. The kitchen was practically empty, save for a few gaggling drunk girls and a guy shuffling around in the cabinets, obviously looking for something.

The bracelet he wore on his right wrist jangled like a pair of keys as he fixed his hair. He knew wearing that kind of bracelet out in public was a foolproof way of getting strange looks, but he was used to shooting down those judgmental stares with his own, in kind. It was special to him, in ways no one else knew, and it was honestly none of their goddamn business - and he'd be the first to tell them.

He heard a snicker coming from the guy messing up the kitchen, and somehow knew it was directed at him. Leaning his shoulders back in an obstinate manner, straitening his posture, he turned, unamused, to the source of the irritating noise.

What struck Noah first about this guy was his age. Too old to be at a college party, yet probably young enough to where no one would question it. It was the look of him that gave it away, and the way he dressed - ripped up jeans, wife-beater, beanie cap, goatee, lame dragon tattoo - it looked wrong on him, somehow, like he should have outgrown it, yet it still kind of fit. The misplaced man regarded Noah with a snicker, motioning towards his bracelet as he idly mixed a slew of alcohol into a large punch bowl. "Ain't charm bracelets for little girls?"

"Aren't dragon tattoos for guys with little dicks?"

The man clutched at his chest and winced, feigning a wound to his pride. "It ain't that little!"

He didn't seem so bad, honestly. If anything, Noah thought as he sipped at his PBR, looking him up and down, he could probably get some of that punch out of the guy. Worth it.

"Actually," Noah started, walking up and next to the obviously-not-a-college-student, leaning and peering into the punch bowl, "I have a soft spot for dragons. I even had a pet dragon when I was a little kid."

The guy's eyebrow raised. Was this guy nuts? "You mean, like, a lizard?"

Noah motioned to the punch bowl, and the older man gave him a curt nod. It was universal bro-code for "go ahead", and that he did, pouring himself a nice, full cup of the toxic green stuff. It smelled of Everclear and a bunch of random juice blends, which smelled like a good time to Noah. He took a swig, shaking his head, kind of grinning, despite himself, at the familiar sting of a strong beverage.

"No, no, I mean, like, an imaginary friend. I was one of _those_kids, you know? Like the kind that read books during recess and wore charm bracelets like a little weirdo." He waved his hand, then, clanking the charms on his bracelet together for emphasis.

Noah got a good look of the guy's face for the first time, then. He was older, yes, but only by maybe five or six years. Thin-lipped, with a strong, angular jaw - he was a man's man, as Noah liked to call them. The contour of his face and the depth of his facial hair, along with the hungry look in his dark brown eyes, reminded Noah of a predator of some sort. A handsome predator. Or was he already drunk?

"I can dig weird," said the un-college student as he leaned forward, gripping the side of the counter as he closed the space between them.

It was universal bro-code for "I want to fuck you".

Noah considered him with an uninterested glance. This guy wasn't too bright, judging from the way he spoke. Handsome, he supposed, but something was off. Noah just wasn't feeling it, or at least not yet. Long day of work, long walk to the party, and plenty of "pre-gaming" beforehand? Maybe after a few more glasses of this paint thinner of a beverage, he thought to himself. Noah turned ducked under the hungry gaze, and under the man's arm, having gotten what he wanted, for now. Dismissing the out-of-place character with a wave of his hand, he left him with a few parting words.

"Oh, trust me. It gets weirder."

It was quiet, the dim candlelight was the only thing staving off pitch blackness, and it smelled like wet, stagnant earth. In other words, it was nothing like a tavern should be. Vladik was certain he had been sleeping in a bed in a tavern, and yet here he was, hogtied in a cave. The cool, damp stone he was currently laying on, combined with the acrid smell of standing water, was enough to convince him of his surroundings without having to open his eyes, which he found to be entirely too difficult.

He had been drugged, he decided. It was probably the young vixen who bought him a drink last night, and whom he brought to his bed. Being a Dragonhide, and therefore unaccustomed to flattery by foxy young maidens, he took the flirtatious gesture without a second thought. His kind, the dragon-men, were notoriously fond of gifts and flattery, and it had been some time for him. She had marveled at the strength of his arms, the array of deep greens and blues that made up his scaled form, his silver eyes. Sneaky bitch, he thought.

He couldn't even remember the sex, he thought to himself, almost managing to chuckle at the thought through his drug-induced atrophy.

Eyes finally open, he gazed around the room and found that, as he expected, he was surrounded by his captors. They wore hooded garments, bearing symbols he was not familiar with, and couldn't quite make out. Their arms were folded under long-flowing, dark sleeves. Cultists, he feared.

Finally able to move, he found his efforts were in vain. He was hog-tied, more or less, and whomever had been given the task of tying him up managed to do an excellent job. He was positioned so that he could not even attempt to scoot away: placed on his side, his arms were bound behind his back, his legs were tied together, and even his tail was bound by the same ropes that confined his legs. There was no getting out of this. He felt his heart sink into his stomach, like a cold stone falling into a lake.

"I'm surprised you awoke so soon, scaled brother."

He tried to look towards the voice, to get a look of his captor's face, but he was positioned in such a way that made it impossible. The voice was raspy and deep, yet somehow still elegant - it was the voice of another Dragonhide. He could only grunt his disapproval, no longer bothering to attempt wriggling out of his fate. He was at the voice's mercy.

"And I am surprised," the bound dragon began, his voice equally deep and rich, a subtle tone of sarcasm in his words, "that you have not disposed of me already. Are you of the Church of the Dawn?" He clicked his tongue, postulating. "Is this because I bedded a fox?"

The other captors, who Vladik now realized were standing around him in a circle, began to interlock their hands. He tilted his head towards the source of the voice, who he assumed was the leader, awaiting a response. If they had found him, it certainly wouldn't have been like this, he realized. They would have hung him in public, as an example.

"No."

Vladik stood still at that, mind racing. Waiting.

"You are known for your summoning prowess, are you not? Vladik, the Phantom Sword."

"I was not aware that I had earned such a title." He smiled at that. It had a nice ring to it.

"Your summoning prowess, and thus your connection to the world of spirits, is the reason we have acquisitioned you. We do not begrudge you in anyway." The masked man grasped the hands of the followers on either side of him, completing the circle. "It is your life that is necessary to complete our goal, to fulfill our destiny, and for our master's sake. For that, I am sorry, my scaled brother."

It was so simple a thing. So matter-of-fact, so honest. He was going to die here, and that was how it was going to be. How absurd, he thought to himself as the ground lit up in majestic, purple lines. He could not see enough of the summoning circle, but from what he could see, it was exceptionally intricate, so unlike the series of events that brought him to his death.

"It will be painless, as if falling into a dream." His captor's words were soothing, apologetic. "You will sleep, and he will awaken, as it was written."

Vladik's eyes were half closed before his killer had finished consoling him, and he barely understood the words he spoke. He did, however, pick out something he rather liked: he would sleep. He hadn't dreamed in years. How nice would it be to explore the dark castles and twisted forests of his childhood, to slay the foes as they came down upon him like a torrent of arrows? If he could have a dream like that again, he felt, he could at least find some peace. It had been so long.

"If I could see you, just one more time," he muttered, softly, talking in his sleep even before his eyes finally closed, his consciousness fading.

It was the pain in his chest that made Noah stop. Not the bad breath, the force which he was being pressed to the wall, or the gawking stares of those around him, but a sudden, terrible pain in his chest. He was also drunk as hell, barely able to keep himself standing against the ill-dressed man he was currently pressed against. He clutched at his chest, pushed him away, and bolted down the hall towards the bathroom.

He slammed the door and locked it behind him, panting and sweating. It was unoccupied, thank god, or he'd have screamed belligerently until whoever was there finally left. It wasn't the normal kind of pain, he was sure of it. It wasn't even really a pain, he realized, sinking to the white-tiled floor, still clutching his chest. It was a terrible warning, from deep inside of him, that something was wrong.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut, willing it to go away. If he was going to have a heart attack, he thought to himself, it was going to be when he was fifty or sixty years old, in some bar or park or something, not in a bathroom at a party when he was only nineteen! He clamped his eyelids closed so hard he could see white flashes behind his eyelids, he held his breath and grasped at his chest. He touched the charm bracelet with the other hand, squeezing it, turning to it for some small sense of comfort, and then the pain was suddenly gone.

He exhaled violently, and finally began to breath in large, winded gasps. He curled into himself slightly, eyes still sealed shut, cradling himself in his diminished posture. Finally calmed down, Noah sat up and opened his eyes. He'd have to go back out there soon and explain himself to his friends. They'd never seen him do anything like that with a man. He wondered if he'd be kicked out.

Except he wasn't in the bathroom anymore. He was outside, he assumed, or at least he wasn't in a building anymore. The sky was white and somehow incomplete, and he was sitting in a field of tall grass that was somehow frozen in time, unmoving and eerie.

"I passed out," he said to himself as he stood, almost as a way of reassuring himself, "I'm... dreaming?"

Calmness overcame him, as it always did in a dream like this. It had been years since Noah had had a dream this vivid. You usually don't dream when you're drunk, he mused, standing up finally and walking forward through the field of stopped grass. Yet here he was. It was like visiting a tree house you returned to as an adult, he decided - it was still just as he remembered it, it felt just the same. The weightlessness, the nonsensical scenery, it was all as it used to be.Something was missing, however, and if he was going to have a dream this vivid, he was definitely not going without the cherry on top, so to speak.

Standing up, at last, he began to think. How did he used to call him? Was it simply by name, or was there a spell involved? They liked making those up together. He couldn't remember, yet wasn't upset about it. He hardly remembered those dreams from his childhood, after all. Just bits and pieces, and maybe an adventure or two. Those memories, however few, were still precious to him.

Noah took in as deep a breath as he could, trying to remember how to call to him. Was it this simple? In dreams, if he remembered correctly, it was all about wanting something so badly that you could have it. And he wanted to see him again, even if he was just a figment of his imagination, even if he was pass-out drunk and only thought of him because of some guy's tattoo.

"VLADIK!"

Noah practically roared his name into the barren field of wheat, mustering all of his intention into the sound of his voice. Yet, he was greeted with nothing but silence. Staring into the distance, he waited to hear his voice. Would he appear older now, he wondered? Would he even appear at all?

And then he felt it. Something terrible and heavy came over him, like he was being pressed down by the weight of the air. It was a horrible and nostalgic at the same time, and he knew what it meant instinctively. A nightmare was approaching, and it was right above him. He took a step back, his head snapping upwards, pale blue eyes scanning the fake sky for the intruder. He found it.

It was a large raven. Massive, it was larger than any tree any other crow had ever stalked within, and its blood red eyes shone like violent rubies. It was a stark and unsettling contrast to the white sky surrounding it, as if it shouldn't be there at all. Noah was sure it wasn't, the realization causing him to clench his fists.

The great bird had something in its talons. The form hung limp within the monster's grasp, appearing beaten and broken. The captive form shook with each beat of the great raven's wings, as if it surrendered its right to move of its own accord to the monster that held it, taken like a rag doll in the clutches of a petulant child.

"Boy," the bird spoke with a voice that rattled like shattered glass, "you dare call my vessel away from me?" Noah didn't quiver or falter, nor did he turn to run away. He just stared, wide-eyed and still.

The great bird had never experienced such a strong pull in all his days, especially not from the likes of a simple human. The boys clothes were strange, his eyes were blue, his skin was pale; was he from the northern continents, the great beast pondered? Blue eyes were uncommon among the human folk, it thought, almost shocked it could recall anything at all of such a simple race. To be pulled from another dream? That is a feat of which few are capable, utterly impossible for a human. The boy must be part of the vessel's dream, then. A kind of last defense against an encroaching darkness. Regardless, he would crush the boy and claim his prize, but not so soon. He had all the time in the world in this place.

The raven called out to the little pest beneath it, attempting to sate the small, budding sense of curiosity that was growing inside. It was like a cat toying with a cornered mouse before ending its life; just for the sake of pleasure. "What will you do, little human? If that is what you are."

The boy began to chuckle, his eyes narrowing insolently, his lips sliding into a confident smirk. An unexpected response, it was the kind of laugh one gave at an inside joke, one the beast was not privy to, and it only served to anger it. The great raven peered down at him, blood-colored eyes turned downward, the sharpness of his gaze demanding a true response.

"Well, you have my dragon." Noah put his hands in the pockets of his hooded sweatshirt at that, as if considering his options. The look he gave the raven was not one of fear, it realized, but one of amusement. It was as if the mouse was toying with the cat. He took one of the charms on his bracelet - a small book, adorned with a silver cross - and plucked it off the chain. "I think I'm just going to kill you."