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"It's good to see you again, Benedict. How do you feel?"

"I'm all right, Headmaster. Thank you for asking."

"We've all been worried about you." Martin Heatherstone leaned back in his office chair and rested his elbows on the arms. Save for the ticking of the long-case clock on the opposite wall, beside the door, the room was quiet. It was mid-morning, and all the pupils were in class; the school was filled with that particular silence that signifies education. In his office on the first floor, down at the end of the corridor which led to the main entrance of the Great Hall and the wooden Memorial Stairs, Martin felt again the frisson of energy that comes with the mixture of great power and great responsibility.

He studied carefully the faces opposite him. Nearest, in the chair on the other side of the desk, sat a slender dragon, elegantly dressed in shirt, bow tie and a rich dark blue waistcoat that set off both his crimson scales and the silver plates that began below his chin and disappeared at his neckline. The young male's eyes were fixed steadily on Martin, observing the chestnut Shire's movements as the perked, pointed ears took in every sound. Next to the boy, close but not oppressively so, sat two older dragons of the same colouration as Benedict. They glanced at him, watching him as he watched the Headmaster, as the Headmaster watched him.

The clock announced itself and its intention with a soft, apologetic click and a whir of activating clockwork, and a moment later a soft chime of four notes filled the silence. Martin was almost grateful for the sound: of all the interviews he'd given in his career, this was the most difficult, the most uncomfortable. It reminded him of all his days as a student, sitting on the far side of the desk with anticipation and anxiety tying his insides into knots, setting his throat into lumps and his tail to twitching. And yet Benedict was the most calm of all of them, sitting across the wide desk and gazing mildly back at the Headmaster. Daniel and Penelope Spenser, the young dragon's parents, were themselves the acme of simultaneous tense concern and apparent nonchalance, brows lightly creased, tailtips curled together for mutual support and to prevent the inevitable swaying that would betray their feelings.

Benedict continued to say nothing. After a glance at his wife, Daniel said, "Benedict, what the Headmaster is really trying to ask is: do you think you're ready to come back to school?"

"Oh yes!" The answer was so natural, so immediate, and the young dragon's tone so much more bright that the three adults let out a breath that they had not realised they had been holding. "Oh, yes, I think so. I've got quite a lot of catching up to do. It was very kind of you to let me take the semester off from classes, Mister Heatherstone." The boy gave a grin that was as much self-conscious as pleased, and faintly lascivious. "I, uh... I appreciated the time for the theatre group. And, er... well..."

Martin couldn't help the smile. "I take it you spent time with Quentin."

A faint blush coloured Benedict's muzzle; his grin became warm and his eyes distant. A faint deepening of his scent was not missed by any of the others in the room. Oh, to be that young again, thought Martin. And then, as he saw the adult Spensers' mutual glance of sparkling eyes, Or, at least, to be a dragon, and to be young for centuries. "Yes," said Benedict after a moment's careful consideration. "He... he sends his regards, sir."

"Thank you, Benedict. Please remember me to him, and tell him he's always welcome to visit the school."

"I shall do that." With that, and another smile from the young drake, silence returned for a moment until Penelope said, "So, Benedict, do you think you're ready to come back next semester?"

"Yes. I think so, at least."

"Well, I don't think there'll be any problems, Benedict." Martin shifted position, turning his head to consider Benedict more easily. "You kept up with your homework and your classes from home, so your GPA hasn't fallen --- not that it was ever a major consideration, I mean. You're one of our best and brightest, so you could probably do most of it in your sleep."

"I'm not that good, Sir," Benedict replied, grinning. "I just do my best. I can't help it if ---" He broke off, blushing again and looking down. "Sorry."

"It's all right. There's a fine line between honesty, confidence and arrogance, and the draconic ego is not known for its, shall we say, self-concealment." Benedict looked up, glanced at his parents, saw they were grinning and managed one of his own. "Still, I'll say it for you: if you're so much better than everyone else."

"I can't help it." The words came out like a plea. "I couldn't... I could never help it..."

"No-one's asking you to." Daniel's voice, always surprisingly mellow, was even more soft now. He saw the distress building in the young man with the practised eye of the concerned parent, reached out and placed a hand on Benedict's forearm. "No-one's asking you to. We're all proud of you, Benedict. You should never be ashamed to be yourself. Ever. Whatever you are, is right."

"I... I couldn't help it..." said Benedict again. There was a soft sniffle. "I'm sorry... sorry..." The young dragon stood abruptly and reached into a pocket. "Please... please excuse me," he said, turning quickly away and heading for the door. None of the adults missed the droop of the boy's tail, nor the glistening of the single tear that had spilled down the incline of his muzzle before it had been caught in the handkerchief. "Benedict ---" called Martin, but it was too late: the boy had gone and closed the door behind him; then came the sound of clawsteps running down the corridor and the slam of another door.

Of course, the Great Hall, thought Martin as he moved slightly to bring the Spensers into his view. Their awkwardness, the embarrassment at having their teen-aged son run from the room, their concern at his grief and all the other emotions were raw upon their faces. Penelope, too, was close to tears: Martin could see them glistening in her eyes, highlighting the deep green of her irises. Daniel reached over and took her hand, squeezed it, interlaced his fingers with hers; behind them, more of the length of their tails curled more tightly together still.

"I'm... I'm sorry about that, Martin," offered Penelope. "I didn't think --"

"Penelope, please don't apologise. There's no reason to be sorry. No reason at all. Benedict's been through a severe trauma -- all right," said Martin with a shake of his head, "he's been through hell, and he's coming out the other side."

"Our son was raped." Penelope's voice was as quiet and intense as the gaze she levelled upon the equine. "He was raped, Martin, and we put him there! We allowed our son to be raped!"

"No, we didn't."

"Yes, we did! We ---"

"Penelope!" Martin's voice came out almost in the authoritarian bark he would use to quell an unruly class; at the last instant he managed to modulate it. Penelope, shocked, fell silent; Daniel's eyes widened in surprise. "If you're laying the blame on yourself and Daniel, stop right now. Hell, if you're talking about the three of us --- Dammit, we all thought that class was a good idea, me included! So stop blaming yourselves, please!

"Besides, do you think any of us would have willingly put any of our students in that situation? Did anybody, when that damned class was first being mooted, have the intention of placing a minor into harm's way? No, of course not! Did we deliberately hire someone who we knew would act so thoughtlessly? Of course not. It's ridiculous to think that way."

"I can't help but think that way!" Penelope nearly wailed. "It was Benedict, dammit, Martin! Benedict! My - our son!"

"Do you think it would have been any better if it have been anybody else's son?" The horse was leaning over his desk, staring at the two dragons. "Do you really think that would make it any easier, any better, for anyone? And do you think you have a monopoly on grief? on self-doubt? on self-censure? I --- I --- Dammit all to hell, if I could take back time, undo all of this --- Benedict is... Benedict is like a son to me, all my students are, and to think I let this happen --- DAMMIT!" A solid, clenched fist hit the desk with a force that made the objects on the surface rattle, and each time the fist pounded down they rattled anew.

"Martin!" Daniel was leaned forward, tail still curled with his wife's, reaching for the horse's hand. "MARTIN!" he roared again, grabbing the strong fist and holding it tightly. Notwithstanding the slenderness of the dragon's arms and fingers, Martin found he couldn't move his hand at all. The ache from the underside of his little finger and wrist began to filter through. "Martin... stop. Please, stop. It's not your fault.

"And it's not your fault, either, Penelope. Oh, love," he said, his voice soft again, easing an arm around his wife who by now wept openly and turned to rest her head on Daniel's shoulder, "love...

"Martin, it's nobody's fault. It's... it's ours for pushing, it's the Board of Trustees' for allowing it, it's the committee's for not asking the right questions, it's the Review Board for not checking on the lesson plan... and it's certainly not Benedict's fault."

The Headmaster's voice was low. "Damn bloody right it's not. If it's anybody's fault, it's that damned Lansingburgh female."

"Ah, eh, maybe. She was just doing her best, Martin."

"Not damned good enough."

"Perhaps, perhaps. Look, we can sit here and argue and apportion blame all we want. We all know it's not going to help. It's not going to help us, it's not going to help the school and it's not going to help Benedict. We need to move on."

Martin sighed. "You're right, Daniel. Damn you for being always so right."

A fangy grin appeared on the other side of the desk. "I can't help that, any more than Benedict can help being the boy he is."

"Amen to that, Dan. And you both know I wouldn't have him any other way." The dragons, both, nodded, Penelope's head still resting on her husband's shoulder. "But I have to ask... how is he really doing? He says he's ready to come back to school; what do you think?"

There was a silence, during which Penelope lifted her head. Tear-tracks glistened on her muzzle that she did nothing to hide. "Martin, he's... he's not the boy he used to be. He's quieter, now. Less trusting, less open. More cautious. He blames himself a lot for what happened --- no, let me finish. He thinks he should have just left the room, told Mary Lansingburgh that he wouldn't do it, that he's queer and formally didn't give consent. But because she threatened him with a fail ---"

"--- plus, of course, could you ever see Benedict standing up to a member of staff?" Daniel interjected.

Martin shook his head slowly from side to side. "No. He's far too polite and respectful. He never would."

Penelope nodded. "Even so, he still blames himself. It's... it's as though he's in there, but we can't quite reach him. When you talk about work, about the theatre - oh, thank God for the theatre, and thank you, Martin, for giving him the time to focus on it --- and, of course, when you talk about Quentin."

"Even then, when you mention Quentin, he gets a bit of an haunted look. It's almost as if he thinks he's cheated on him - at least, that's the impression we get."

"Are they still close?" asked Martin.

Daniel grinned. "If they were closer, they'd be one person. Quentin has been a brick, really, an absolute brick. He's been so good with Benedict, and good for him, too. Held him, comforted him, loved him... He'd come round in the middle of the night, if any of us asked, just to sit with Benedict and be there for him. And yes, they're still mating."

Martin felt himself blush and his ears tucked slightly, which elicited a grin from the two dragons. "I forget how open your kind are about such things on occasion." The pair of crimson grins became even wider. "No, no, I don't need to know dates, times, positions and distance records. No, I really don't," he added as Penelope seemed to be about to speak, and forestalled her with a raised palm. "What I need to know is where we go from here. Is he ready to come back to school?"

"No."

Daniel and Martin both looked at Penelope in surprise. "Love?" asked Daniel.

Penelope's voice was steady. "No. He's not ready. And, if you want my honest answer, he'll never be ready. For him, this will always be the place where he was... the place where he was raped." The dragoness kept her voice as steady as she could. "It will always bring back those memories. It doesn't matter how good he is in his classes, how much the other children protect him... he'll never forget."

"True. But we can't turn back the clock. And we can't keep him in hiding for ever, wife of mine. That won't do any good at all, and will probably do the opposite."

"You're saying he should just come back here as though nothing happened?" Penelope's voice held a sharp edge.

"Not at all. I'm saying he should come back here in the full knowledge that things have happened, and that we love him and support him. You heard how all the other kids were looking out for him the other day, even, what-his-name, that Spitz fellow who used to keep giving him wedgies all the time."

"Mickey Belling," offered Martin quietly.

"Yes, him. Even Mickey Belling. I saw him as we were walking in, he was talking to Benedict. ... Actually, I think Benedict was helping him with his homework."

"Wouldn't surprise me. Benedict is a natural teacher. He used to help other students whenever he could, which was surprisingly often, actually."

Penelope leaned forward and looked from one to the other of the males. "Anyway, we're getting away from the point, as usual. The thing is, I honestly don't think that Benedict will ever be comfortable back at this school. I'm sorry, Martin, but I really don't."

Martin sighed. "Penelope, be honest with me. How much of it is that you don't think Benedict is going to be comfortable here, and how much of it is that you don't want him to come back here?" Caught off-guard, her expression spoke volumes. "That's what I thought. You don't want him to come back. And, you know what? I don't blame you. I can't blame you. I wouldn't be certain I'd want Benedict back here if he were my son. If I had a son."

"You have lots of sons, Martin," Daniel said, smiling gently, "and lots of daughters. An entire school-full, in fact."

The flick of Martin's ears suggested he wasn't about to deny it. "Daniel, what do you think? Do you think Benedict should come back?"

The smooth lines of the dragon's forehead creased into a frown; that his tail remained curled tightly with his wife's did nothing to stop the very tip from flicking from side to side, and the tightening and relaxing of his thin lips reminded Martin of a story he'd read, long ago, about an overweight genius with a disinclination for work. Finally: "... Martin, as much as I hate to say it... I do and I don't. I don't want him to come back to an environment that's going to continue or worsen the trauma he's suffered. Equally I don't want him to miss out on his education. He's been dreaming of going to university; he's already a semester behind everyone else and I'd hate to deny him his dream."

"Oh, bollocks to that." Daniel and Penelope both gasped and looked up: in their experience, Martin Heatherstone never swore. "Daniel, a high school diploma is a piece of paper. I could sign his affidavit now and get the diploma to him before the end of next week. It's common knowledge that Benedict is the most advanced student in the school: he could go up to university now, if he wanted. I ---" He broke off, a distant expression taking over his long equine face for several seconds. "Daniel," he resumed, canting his head somewhat to bring the dragon clearly into view, "what does Benedict want to major in?"

"Honestly, I've no idea. It used to change every month, as he found something new to delve into. The last thing he was talking about was English literature. Some old Elizabethan poet, I think."

"And psychology, as well," put in Penelope. "He saw something on television about watching peoples' expressions, and it fascinated him."

Martin grunted. "Hunh. English and Psychology. Any idea where he wants to study?"

"Not really. Every student dreams of going to an Ivy, but I don't know if that's right for Benedict. ... Martin, what are you planning?"

Daniel turned to her. "He's thinking that Benedict graduates a semester early, and he goes up to university. Aren't you, Martin?"

The long head of the equine nodded on his thick neck. "Yes. That's precisely what I'm thinking. Daniel, Penelope, Benedict doesn't need to stay here any more. We're only teaching him things that he could learn better at university. And... and you're right. Much as I regret to say it, I don't think he should come back. He needs a clean break, somewhere to move on to, somewhere to heal."

"That's funny. It's what his therapist said."

"Great minds, it seems. --- I never asked - and I hope you won't think I'm rude: Daniel, who's been counselling him?"

Daniel shook his head lightly. "Not at all, Martin. He's another dragon, actually. Specialises in hypnosis. The consultant psychologist thought it would be the best way for Benedict to deal with the trauma without the emotional content of reliving it."

"Hmm. Sounds a little strange to me. I'd think it would do him good to talk about it. A boy needs to get it out of his system."

"From what I understand, he's been using Quentin for that."

Martin gave a very equine huff and his ears flicked. "Then that Quentin's a good 'un, for sure. --- You do realise, of course, if Benedict goes up to university... he and Quentin..."

Daniel was still, but Penelope nodded. "Yes. And it will hurt. And we can't help that, either. Just help him through it." A wan smile formed on her face. "They love each other very much, Martin."

"I know. I know."

The silence which had been so notable by its absence filled the room once more. Outside, the early-coming night had long since fallen and the cold winter stars glittered beyond the window. The steady ticking of the faithful long-case clock filled the room.

"Well," said Martin eventually, "I think... I think what we need to do is find out what Benedict thinks. I hate to be rude yet again, Daniel, Penelope, but if he wanted to go, say, to Harvard or Princeton --"

Daniel smiled. "Don't worry, Martin. We're not Rockefellers, Astors or Carnegies, but we're not dirt poor. And besides," he chuckled, "I think you do us both rather a compliment, and underestimate our age."

To me, thought Martin, you look barely more than thirty, both of you. How old are you? I doubt I'll ever know.

"So it's a non-issue, really. Wherever Benedict wants to go, he can go. Assuming he can get in."

"Oh, I'm sure he will." For him, I'll make sure he does. I'll pull all the strings I have, and some I haven't if I have to, to get him where he wants to go. "He's far too clever not to."

Penelope Spenser gave a little sigh and then a small, wan smile touched her face. "You males. You talk about sending him off to university like it's nothing at all. And, worst of all, of course, I'm agreeing with you." She rose, uncurling her tail from Daniel's and touching his cheek lightly with one hand. "I'll go and find Benedict. It's time we did."

"Penny, my love? what's wrong?" Daniel asked, turning to her as she crossed to the door.

"Nothing, really." The wooden door opened silently, and she looked back at her mate. "It's just... I'd hoped to have him here for a little longer. That's all. Just a mother being silly, as mothers sometimes are." Before the males could answer she had slipped through the door, and her steady footfalls faded in the direction Benedict's had taken earlier on.

"She's right, of course," said Daniel quietly, looking up at his friend. "You know, I'd never admit it, but I know how she feels. Having Benedict go up to university now, a semester ahead... oh, Gods, Martin. I don't know. Until she said anything, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. And now -"

"And now you're thinking like his father. Which, as far as I know, is both perfectly normal and actively to be preferred; an honourable state instituted in the time of the world's innocence. Daniel, I can't... I can't apologise enough for what happened."

"You're no more to blame than either Penny or myself. Or Benedict. Whatever you think you did, there's no reason to. Sometimes things just... happen."

"Please, Daniel, let me finish." Martin leaned forward on his desk, turned his head slightly aside and continued speaking. "I can't... I can't imagine what it's like for you two. When I found out what happened, that day in this office, I think I felt something die inside myself. A little of my... my innocence, I think. So for you two, and for Benedict...

"If I could undo what happened, I can't. It's testament to the two of you that you and I are still talking, that you didn't sue the school within an inch of its existence. If it had happened to me..."

"I know, Martin, I know. Please, don't... No. I can't say, 'Don't worry about it,' because you will, until the end of your days. Just, please... don't do anything rash. Don't become afraid to be brave because of what might happen. Second-guessing yourself is a swift road to madness and inaction, and, if anything, inaction is even worse."

"When did you get so wise?" Against himself, Martin found himself smiling a little.

"Ah. That would be telling. Let's just say I'm a whit and a shade under middle-age, and Penny has a few decades to go before she catches me up. For Benedict, of course, that's a long way off." Daniel smiled, stretched out his legs and then his arms over his head. "Unnf."

"Daniel... are you all right? Everyone's been so worried about Benedict and his health..."

"Perfectly natural, really. But me? I'm fine. I'm fine, Martin, absolutely fine, I --- No. No, I'm not going to lie to you. You deserve a straight answer, and, since you asked, you're going to get one.

"I'm... angry, Martin. I'm angry, I'm hurt, I'm frustrated and I don't know what to do. My boy, my Benedict, was violated, and, never mind what was said, I feel responsible. The ins and outs of the situation - oh, good Gods, what a choice of words! - the facts of the matter are irrelevant. I let my boy get into a situation like this - in fact, I encouraged it! How the fuck d'you think I feel, Martin?!" Smoke plumed from both nostrils and twisted darkly into the air; the dragon's voice had risen as he spoke, buried feelings making themselves visible at last. Daniel noticed Martin's shocked expression, saw the instinctive equine fear of the predator, and an angry one at that, and felt a surge of respect for the male for not flinching away. "I'm his father, Martin, _his fucking father! _ And I wasn't there to protect him! I didn't give him the courage he needed to walk away when he needed to. I told him to respect authority, to believe that those who were given responsibility deserved it, that he should do as he was told... and look what happened!

"So --- you want to know how I am? I want blood, and I can't have it. I want to hurt somebody - anybody! - and I know it would be pointless. I want to, to, to make somebody feel the way I feel... and there would be no use, would there?" The anger that had carried him along had faded, shading into wry, bitter amusement that manifested itself in the form of a wan smile; the violent sway of his tail stilled more slowly, eventually drooping to the floor. "I might as well shout at myself, for all the good it would do."

The equine let silence hang for a few seconds and was about to reply when the door opened. Both males looked up at the sound. Benedict entered slowly in front of his mother, clothes rumpled and the flesh around his eyes swollen from crying. Daniel and Martin exchanged a brief glance, then they both rose; Martin stayed where he was but Daniel crossed to stand in front of his son for a moment before taking him into his arms. Unlike before, when he had tried to project confidence, Benedict leaned into the embrace, settling his head on his father's shoulder. Within a moment, Penelope had come to Daniel's side and put her own arms around her son. Two long tails curled around the boy's legs and squeezed. Martin waited, watching the reconciliation happen and feeling his own heart lighten. I think it really will be all right, now. He smiled as Daniel, then Penelope, nuzzled the boy's hair with the tips of their snouts. For all of them.

Eventually the group broke apart, and Martin pretended not to hear the soft sniffs and sniffles that came from all three of his friends. Slowly the dragons came back to their seats, and it didn't escape the Headmaster's notice that, though it was clear he'd been crying, some of the light had returned to Benedict's eyes, and his voice, though husky, was strong. "Mother tells me that you've been talking about me," he said with a hint of a smile.

"Tattle-tale," said Penelope, without heat, smiling herself.

"Parents' prerogative." This from Daniel.

"Well, it's true," concluded Martin. "We have been, and there's no sense lying about it. Why don't we... Benedict, would you move your chair to your right a little? Daniel, Penelope, bring yours a bit --- that's it. Now we can talk properly." The three dragons were arranged in a small group across the desk, and as he resumed his seat Martin couldn't help but smile faintly at the similarity between them all. Like parents, like son. "Benedict, yes, we've been talking about you. I'm sure Penelope - your mother, I mean - has told you what we discussed."

"A little, yes. You were talking about my r - the incident, and what it means."

"You may say the word, Benedict. I'm not proud, and I'm sorry it happened, but if you can stand to say it then I can bear to hear it."

Benedict's lips curled upwards. "My rape, then." He paused a moment, glanced at the three adults for a moment as though for permission, and then continued. "You don't think I should stay here."

"We thought... We thought you wouldn't want to, son," said Daniel simply. Benedict turned to look at his father, listening. "We thought, honestly, you wouldn't want to spend time here, where it would bring back memories... I know you're feeling better, but you still do have bad days as well as good days." Benedict nodded, and his father went on. "You started the year at the top of your class, and you'd be there still if ---"

"- if I hadn't missed a semester."

"Nothing you couldn't pick up in a few weeks, knowing the way you absorb knowledge," Martin observed. "You kept up with the work informally throughout the fall, and you could pick up everything you needed in another two or three. In some ways, it would almost be a waste of a semester if ---" Martin broke off mid-sentence as Benedict stared at him. When the young dragon spoke, it was slowly. "Everything I would need... for what?"

"What the Headmaster is suggesting, Benedict," said Penelope gently, "is that, if you wanted, you could start university a semester early. If you still wanted to go to university, that is, and you didn't want to stay here."

Benedict's jaw had fallen open, and he looked around in shock at the three grown-ups for several seconds before settling his eyes on the Headmaster, who looked steadily back at the boy with the patience and understanding and Zen-like placidity that were the hallmarks of the Shire breed. Look at him: it's obvious he wants to say 'yes', but he's so torn. Torn between going to school and staying here, pleasing his parents and himself, pleasing me, pleasing Quentin --- Oh Quentin, Quentin, Quentin: right now you're the worst thing that could have happened to Benedict, even if you are the best, as well. "I... I don't know... I mean..."

A second later the clock came to his rescue, whirring and clicking its way into action and chiming the half-hour. Martin spared it a glance and waited for the carillon to fade into the fabric of the room. "Daniel, Penelope, Benedict: it's late. We're all tired, I think. Why don't you go home and talk about it, and you can let me know what Benedict decides."

"There's no need for that." Benedict's voice cut in, and the adults were shocked at how grown-up he suddenly sounded. "I'm going to go to university. Mother - Mum, Dad... I know you wanted me to stay here, but I can't. And you're right, I really don't think I want to stay here - at the school, I mean - any longer. No disrespect, Mister Heatherstone."

"None taken, Benedict. None taken at all."

"But... honestly, I think... I think it's time... that I... moved on. From here. From school, to... to university."

"You'll be one of the youngest there, Benedict. Do you think you'll be able to manage?"

The boy's muzzle split in a wide grin that displayed a plenteousness of fangs. "I don't know, sir. And that's the truth. But there's only one way to find out. And if I can't... well, I can always come home for a semester. Join the theatre again. Spend time with Quentin..." It was his turn to trail off, his eyes becoming distant.

"Yes. Quentin." Daniel's voice was so delicate as to be almost inaudible and filled with tender melancholy. "You'll have to tell him, Benedict."

"I know. I know." The words came out softly and from far away. "I... I love him so much."

"We know."

A single tear escaped one of Benedict's eyes and this time he let it roll unhindered down his cheek to drop silently to the carpet. The hearts of all the three adults ached and went out to him, Daniel and Penelope as they watched their son lose a little more of the childhood that had been stripped away from him with such violent abandon and Martin as he thought about the number of tears that had dripped to the carpet from young muzzles. "I... I do love him," he restated, looking around at them all as though challenging and seeking their approbation at the same time.

"We know, Benedict," his father said again. "We've always known. And you know that, no matter who you love, we'll always love you."

"Thank you." The words came out softly, almost muffled behind a hand that wiped his muzzle. "Thanks, Dad.

"I suppose... I'll just have to make these last few weeks as wonderful as I can." From behind the shine of more tears came a sparkle of teenage playfulness and more than a little bit of lust. "Before I go to Dartmouth, I mean.

"If --- if that's okay?..."

"It's Dartmouth you want to go to, then?" said Penelope, looking over at Daniel for a moment, then Martin, who nodded.

"Yes. They have the best English literature programme. And they're the only ones who offer a joint B.A./B.S. for people who want to major in a science as well, usually something like psychology, since obviously majoring in English and chemistry would be a bit silly. Though they also have a BA in Psychology, so I could always just do a dual major B.A."

Martin couldn't help but grin. "Sounds as though you have it all planned out."

"He's been thinking about this for a long time, haven't you, love," said Penelope, a grin on her own face. Benedict nodded, still smiling. "Well, if Dartmouth's where you really want to go... Martin, what do you think?"

"I think Dartmouth would be perfect. It's one of the best universities in the world, it's got plenty to keep him occupied, and, it's... well, it's... it's, ahem, liberal enough that he won't want for company."

"Don't tell him that," groaned Daniel, "or he'll be thinking about nothing but sex for the next month."

Benedict's grin was even wider. "Too late, Dad," he said, and Daniel groaned again, making a show of burying his face in his paws. "Oh why, oh why, oh why, did I have such a lustful son?"

Penelope's hand patted Daniel on the shoulder. "You know the answer to that."

"True. Too true. Well, Martin," Daniel continued, looking up again, "we'll leave you in peace now. Benedict, would I be right in thinking that you came in your own car, yes?"

"I did, yes."

"Then we'll see you at home later. When we see you, that is. But by tomorrow afternoon at the latest." Daniel's tone held both deep and loving indulgence and the particular edge that parents' voices often take on when they indulge their children.

"Thanks, Dad!" Benedict was already moving towards the door when he stopped, turned and returned. "Mister Heatherstone... thank you. For everything." He put out his right hand and Martin, acting quite automatically, found himself rising and taking it. "I'm sorry I ran away earlier: I didn't mean to be rude."

"Don't mention it, Benedict. Now I think you'd better get out of here before your parents change their mind about letting you out of their sight tonight."

"Yes, sir!" The boy's grin was positively huge and he fairly scampered from the room, tail streaming behind him, leaving a trail of musk in his wake that left nothing to the imagination about where he was going.

Daniel, Penelope and Martin all watched him leave, warm smiles on their faces. The two dragons stood, shook their friend's hand and then looked at each other. "Do you think we're doing the right thing?" asked Daniel.

"What, letting him go and spend some time with Quentin? I can't see why not."

"Well, not just that, but... everything. He seems all right tonight, but tomorrow, or the day after..."

"I think he'll be all right." Martin stretched as the dragons looked at him and tried to encourage the stiff muscles in his shoulders to relax. "Even if he isn't all right sometimes. That's perfectly natural, just like his, heh, that famous dragon libido of his." Daniel and Penelope exchanged glances and tried not to smirk, and Martin pretended not to notice.

"Will he ever get over it, do you think?" asked Penelope.

"I don't know. Probably not, not completely. But the pain of the memory of the event will fade, I expect, together with all the negative feelings and anxieties it's prompted in him, and it will become just another part of his life. Hopefully a productive one, too: something that inspires rather than conspires to diminish him."

"Mmm."

The two dragons turned and began to walk across the room to the door. Martin came from around his desk and followed them, briefcase in one hand and car keys in the other. "You know..."

"Yes?"

Martin turned off the light, then closed and locked his office door. "I could be wrong, but, taking everything into account - the downs as well as the ups, the way he's handled the rape, I mean... given the way he speed at which he just pulled out of the car park, and that scent he left behind him -- I'd say he was a very, very healthy young male, indeed."

*

The two young males lay in each other's arms, broad smiles on each of their faces. Their breath was warm as they panted, tongues lolling, tails draped across one another and even slightly curled around one leg as they rested in the rumpled, untidy bed. Warmth filled them from without and within, and the quiet that surrounded them was rich and deep like the softest of favourite comforters: there, in the cosy nook under the eaves, with the roof sloping down on two sides, they rested together. Light filled two pairs of tired, blissful eyes, and as they rested the two boys began to touch, to kiss, tongues lapping and exploring, teasing and caressing, lightly twining and sharing yet again the taste of each other. A pair of golden eyes with vertical pupils set in a long crimson muzzle opened, slowly, as though upon a dream-world heretofore undreamed, and met the gaze of another pair of eyes, one grey and one blue, that nestled in the soft and downy mottled fur of a broad, blunt-snouted, tawny feline face.

With care and tenderness the cat reached out and cupped the crimson muzzle, stroking gently back and forth, his other hand easing down the plated front, rubbing delicately over the firm plates that were there and the lean lines of the boy's tapering waist and hips, and, slowly, slowly, past the drying tackiness of semen to the sheath and scrotum that half-flopped over the dragon's thigh. Benedict gasped, arching a little, unable to suppress either a grin or the moan that followed shortly after when the tip of a claw eased into the delicate flesh of the sheath itself and teased in a small circle.

"A-already?" Benedict breathed, his eyes drowsy but alight with passion matched in the lion's eyes. "We just ---"

"Mmm, we did just. You noticed." The lion's voice was soft, purring, low and bedroom. He eased a little closer to Benedict, slightly dwarfing the younger male. "Mmm, we did indeed. ... But you know what we lions are like: we take a lot of satisfying."

"Hmf. I've never had any complaints from you before about me in the matter of 'satisfaction'. In fact, I think your final opinion of that 'performance review' you just gave me was probably heard by half the neighbourhood."

Quentin's eyes sparkled as he grinned. "Ah, the power of advertising. And if you've got it, flaunt it... and we both know -"

"- we both know we both have it." Benedict, grinning, his cock twitching and swelling despite his recent, copious, release, purred and leaned in for a kiss. Quentin's muzzle opened willingly, encouraging the younger dragon to slip in his tongue and taste himself, from earlier, there upon the lion's breath. Quentin's hand remained on Benedict's triangular, up-pointed, somewhat equine sheath throughout the kiss: his fingers eased back and forth, gracefully encouraging another swelling of the dragon's member, while, above, their tongues touched, dipped, nudged and licked at each other.

The young dragon broke the kiss, smiling; he leaned back in the bed and carefully put his hand on Quentin's large paw, then squeezed. "Mmmh... Please stop, love."

Quentin's head tilted in surprise. There were already several inches of black, tapered draconic sex there in his hand, and his own sheath was taut around his member, swollen and aching with renewed desire. "Benedict, what's wrong?" he asked, voice low and tender. "Did I do something wrong? Is it -- is it something to do with your... your...?" Still, he eased his hand upwards, from the younger male's sex and onto his belly where the puddle of semen was now dry.

Benedict shook his head. "No, it's not you, my love. Not you at all. And it's not to do with that, either. --- Well... not really. I mean, it is and it isn't, but it's not... not like you think."

Quentin's rounded ears tucked as he frowned, his tail's tufted end flicking erratically. Benedict turned his head to look at him better as the lion eased himself onto his side, head resting on the pillows and his lower arm crooked under them. "So what, then?"

Time, normally so mercurial, hung in that moment suspended: there in that room where the two lovers lay was not the merest sound, not even the ticking of a clock nor the distant noise of road traffic. All around was stillness, as though the bedroom were the whole world, the whole universe, lit by the glow of a couple of small lamps that cast shadows everywhere and provided just enough light for the two males to see by as they shared their tender, passionate love.

Eventually Benedict spoke. "Quentin... my love - oh, my darling, my dearest heart... There's something I need to tell you."