FSE

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Yes, I am actually capable of writing more than smut. This story means a lot to me and has been in the works for a long time; this is what I intended Dragons' Release to be, so comments are very, very much welcome. There will be five parts in all. Enjoy.

It was 3:00 AM and Michael was crying again.

Ethan lay on his side and listened to the muffled whimpers and gasps from his roommate as he cried into his pillow. Ethan had already been awake by the time Michael started cryingâ€"his mind had gotten so used to being woken up at this hour that it got to the point where his brain anticipated it and woke him automatically, like when a person goes to bed at eleven every night and then can never get to sleep until after eleven. As usual, he faced away from Michael and waited for the crying to stop.

He felt the familiar urge to wake Michael up and ask him what the bloody hell made him cry every night for the past two years, followed by the familiar reminder that Dad had told him never to bring it up, that Michael would discuss if and when he was ready.

He felt his eyes droop and knew the crying would stop soon and Michael would sink to a restless sleep. He rolled onto his back and waited to embrace the approaching silence and the sleep that would follow.

***

They got up to the alarm and got dressed. Michael flitted through his dirty blonde hair with his hands, the extent of his preparation, and Ethan, as usual, found him waiting by the door by the time he was finished getting dressed.

"Sleep well?" Michael asked.

"Same as usual," Ethan replied. "Ready for the test today?"

"I'm never ready. You?"

"Knowing Dad, he'll have a curb ball thrown in that nobody will expect."

They left the room and left the dormitory, exiting to a view of the endless ocean. The ever-present smell of salt water that flooded Ethan's nostrils both calmed and excited him, even after two years of living on this island.

"You ready?" Michael said.

"I'm never ready," Ethan replied with a wink.

Michael dropped on all fours and transformed, his human body replaced by a smooth, silver frame. His head elongated and became a hairless snout, two horns on the top, and two wings and a tail formed from his back. His blue eyes changed into bright gold and his body expanded to the size of a large van. When he was finished, the dragon shook his head.

"Do you want to ride today?" Michael asked, his voice deeper and more pronounced in his dragon form.

"Want" was hardly the word Ethan would have used, but the alternative was definitely pretty far from "want" territory. Reluctantly, he accepted Michael's offer, climbing onto his back and gripping his muscular neck. He could feel Michael's throat swallow and hear his heavy heartbeat.

"Let's go," he said.

And Michael took off. The initial leap from the precipice lurched Ethan back like on a roller coaster dive, followed by a smooth leveling out that Michael had only managed to master after many bruises and broken bones. The dragon gained altitude with every flap of his large wings, and soon they were high in the air, looking down on their little world.

The island of Apalala stretched out below them, its terrain a faint mixture of brown and green and blue. The island resided in the Bermuda Triangle, uncharted by humanity thanks to some help from dragons in the American and Mexican governments as well as the island's own military defenses. This island, this safe haven that doubled as one of very few colleges for dragons, was the reason for so many disappearances and conspiracies surrounding the Triangle.

There were other dragons in the air, flying to their classes or just stretching their wings. Ethan kept his head down, his face in Michael's back. He thought about that and chuckled. All he had to do was slip and he'd die a horrible death, yet up here he was more afraid of being seen riding another dragon.

He felt Michael begin his descent, the change of height and the feeling of being lowered. When they reached the ground and he slid off Michael's back, the dragon changed back into his human form, his silver skin and powerful body reverting to its gentler human features, his clothes replacing themselves.

They were in front of the Liberal Arts and Sciences building, a massive structure and one of the largest and oldest buildings on the island. Students were gathered all around it, talking, preparing for classes. A few looked at Michael and Ethan and quickly looked away, laughing.

One student, a greasy-faced gino wearing worn-out jeans and a leather jacket over his white T, called out to them.

"Aww, look at the basilisk and his pony! What a happy couple!"

They ignored him.

When they were in the hall, Ethan looked at Michael and said: "Thank you for carrying me around."

"It's not a problem," Michael said as he walked.

"No, really, that's a huge thing for you to do for me; it means a ton."

"If you mean those assholes who call you ‘basilisk,' then I have far more important things to think about than their worthless opinions. I had idiots like him back at home, too, before we. . .before we left." His head dipped and his eyes took a thousand-yard stare like it always did when the subject of home came up. "Worrying about their nonsense. . .all of it. . .it's worthless."

Ethan said nothing.

They entered the classroom, a great auditorium filled with rows upon rows of seats, rows that went so far back that the back ones had microphones so students' questions could be heard, not that the room was ever that full. Philosophy, Dad often said, was a suffering science in a world too full of technical difficulties.

They took their seats and waited. There were human'formed and dragon-formed dragons in the class; Dad didn't mind how someone looked as long as they could think. They sat next to eachother, like back home in high school and before then in middle and grade school when Ethan was teased for his white hair. Michael would say it was awesome and he wished he had hair like that, and once when Ethan put mud in his hair to make it brown, Michael put vanilla ice cream in his hair to make it white.

Ethan remembered how happy Michael was then, even just three years ago when they were seventeen, when they would pull stupid Halloween pranks on eachother or tease Nataly for her latest clothes. Now Michael always looked distant, concentrating, and there were his nightly cries. . .

The chattering in the class had reached its peak, then suddenly died down as Dad entered the room. He wore his same round spectacles over a white button-up shirt and red tie. He placed the briefcase he was holdingâ€"the one that presumably held all their testsâ€"and placed it on the large desk at the front of the room.

"Good morning, everyone. Sleep well?"

A murmur of "yeah"s and "no"s and "so-so"s rang up around the room.

"What, no enthusiasm?" Dad said with a sarcastic smile. "But this is a test! To show me how much you've paid attention!"

Some chuckles.

"Well, let's get this over with. We'll begin with a quick warm-up and then I'll tell you how you'll be tested. Who can tell me Aristotle's modes of persuasion?"

A bronze-skinned dragon raised his clawed hand. Dad nodded to him. "Mister Vane?"

"Ethos, pathos and logos," Vane responded.

"Correct. What are their properties?"

Vane hesitated. "Um. . ."

Dad shook his head. "I can spot a textbook-skimmer from a mile away, Mister Vane, didn't I tell you? Is there anybody here who read more than Aristotle's Wikipedia entry? How about you, Mister Archen?"

The class looked at Michael, who held his head in his hand and paid more attention to the wall than the teacher. His expression was one of sheer boredom.

"Ethos is the affirmative position's morality and competence, pathos is the appeal to the emotions of the listener, and logos is the use of logic and data to enhance the ethos," he said without appearing to acknowledging the class's existence.

"Very good, Mister Archen. Who can tell me what the guardians in Plato's Republic represent?"

Nobody raised their hands this time. Ethan knew the answer, but of course he knew: he was the teacher's son.

"Anybody?" Dad asked, a mocking expression barely concealed from his features. "This was kinda required reading, people."

Ethan saw Michael roll his eyes. "The guardians represent our emotions, which, according to Plato, guard our souls from corruption and violence provided that they don't clash with our reasoning, which can harm both body and soul."

"Correct again, Mister Archen. Last question for the class, then we'll start our test: Who isâ€"

But a group of students were committed to a loud conversation that cut Dad off. Such interruptions were frequent throughout the semester, and it wasn't long before some students would "SHH" them until they were quiet.

Michael was visibly annoyed. Ethan saw him close his eyes, saw his brow furrow. They had been dealing with that group all semester.

When various "SHH"s failed to silence the group, Michael yelled in his dragon voice: "SHUT. UP." His voice reverberated throughout the auditorium, his command echoing over and over again: "UP, Up, up. . ."

The whole class, now suddenly very quiet, shifted their looks toward him, and some students laughed. Ethan patted his back and saw that Dad was smiling.

"Thank you, Michael, we needed that. I think we've had enough warmup; obviously some of you are eager to get going." He moved to his desk and opened the briefcase. He pulled out several large stacks of paper and placed them on top of eachother on the desk, creating a massive stack that threatened to topple at any moment.

"Every single one of these pages is blank," he said. "Here is your test: you will take as many of these pages as you think you will need, and you will write on those pages what you think God is."

Whispers abounded through the room.

"I do not care how much or how little you write, nor do I care about how well it is written. Here's what I care about: no matter your answer, you must use every single page you take and you must demonstrate clear logical reasoning and philosophical contemplation for why you think God is what you think God is. And when I say ‘God,' please keep in mind the Greek and Roman gods, not the contemporary definition of ‘God.' I do not want an answer like ‘A bearded man in the sky who watches over us.' I don't want a description of God; I want to know God's properties, what God actually *is*. And no, you may not say ‘God doesn't exist,' as by the Greek definition of the term, there is no such thing as an atheist; all sapient beings believe in a god of some sort, and if you've been paying attention, you'll understand exactly what I mean. Now come get your papers and leave; I don't want you to return to me until you've done this. This is your final assignment. Have a good life."

Slowly, the class got up and went to get their papers. Some students took three pages, some took five, one took ten. Ethan took seven pages and saw that Michael took only one.

"I have to get to combat," Michael said. "See you later."

"See ya," Ethan said. He stayed behind to wait up for Dad, who was dealing with students' questions.

When he finished and the students all left the room, he came up and hugged Ethan.

"How you doing?" He asked.

"Fine," Ethan answered.

"Did you. . ."

"I rode Michael today, Dad."

"Ah. So how's Michael doing?"

Ethan noted the way Dad quickly changed the subject. It was an utter embarrassment for both dragons involved for one to ride the other, but Ethan's case made it necessary sometimes.

"Michael's the same as he's been the past two years."

"Hm. So he cried again last night?"

"Yep."

An awkward silence followed.

"I wish you'd just tell me what's wrong with him," Ethan said at last.

"We've talked about this, Ethan."

"I know, but two years of this? Michael's never been the same since we left Florida and you obviously know what's wrong with him, but nobody wants to tell me? How is that fair?"

"Listen, Ethan, I promise you that Michael has a valid reason for his depression; he's been through more than most people should ever have to go through. I know you're frustrated, and I know you're curious, but if you will be told then you will be told by Michael and not me; you finding out before he's ready could only hurt him more, understand?"

He didn't understand. It wasn't exactly an understandable thing for your best friend to show up at your house in the middle of the night, covered in blood and his arm broken in three places, but he looked into his dad's green eyes and nodded anyway. He'd just have to be a little more patient.

"Good," Dad said. "Now, the mating season's coming up soon, andâ€"

"Dad! Not this discussion again! I've been through four mating seasons since my first transformation; I think I can handle myself at this point."

"I wasn't going to tell you THAT," Dad said, a slight tone of apprehension in his voice. "I was just going to tell you that you might want to let Michael know you're gay. I know you think you can hide it forever, but you can't, especially from a man who lives with you. He won't care, Ethan; I've seen him talk about gay people and he doesn't mind it at all. And being open with him about that might even convince him to open up to you."

Ethan looked down. He didn't want to confess that Michael not caring was not the reaction he wanted. "I'll think about it, but I'd rather not tell him now, okay?" If he told Michael just before the mating season, he'd think Ethan was hitting on him, and then what?

Then what. . .

***

They were going over their papers later that evening. Michael had come back to their room smelling of sweat and dirt, and Ethan was careful to keep his crotch area under something to prevent Michael from seeing his responses to such smells.

"You kick ass again today?" He asked.

"Got some of it myself," Michael answered.

"You have higher grades in combat than anything else, though, so it must be paying off."

"You're not so bad in it yourself, I heard."

Ethan looked down at his page. Yeah, his grades were good in private tutoring, where he could have a break or a minute to change.

He decided to change the subject. "So what do you have for this God paper?"

"Hm? Oh, I forgot all about it. I don't know."

"I'm not sure either. See, I can't do what most of the class is going to do and write a bullshit paper; Dad'd see right through it."

Michael sat down at his desk. "Well, he said to think of it in terms of the Greeks. Their deities were considered to be real, physical entities, but they also represented something. Athena represented the ultimate wisdom, Ares was the ultimate warrior. When the Greeks prayed, they prayed not only for the gods' blessings but also for the gods' properties. I think Dr. Lewis wants us to figure out what God's "ultimate" is."

"I don't think I'm following you."

"Ever hear the expression ‘God is love'? I think we're supposed to assume the expression is literal. God doesn't just love; God IS love itself. Get it? I think we're trying to see what God is in terms of Greek thought."

"Hmm." Ethan looked down at his blank page. He knew what Michael meant, but it was hard to determine such a thing. . .and he had to use five pages. . .

He brushed the pages aside and shrugged. "Eh, I'll think about it later."

Silence covered them. It was a loud silence, the kind that screamed "I have to tell you something."

"So," Ethan started, "the mating season's coming up again."

Michael palmed his forehead. "Aww, damn it, not this shit again."

Ethan chuckled. The mating season was like the appendix: a residual thing that evolution had yet to take care of, without much use except to be there and annoy everything with its presence. Dragons long ago needed it to get horny and get offspring, but sapient dragons of the now had no need for a specific time of the year to have sex.

"Hate it too, huh?" He asked Michael.

"It's distracting. I can't concentrate on things when my entire system is screaming for sex."

"Have you ever had sex?"

It dawned on Ethan that such a question would be considered awkward amongst human cultures.

"Me? No. I came close, once, but. . .it was only a moment of weakness. I'm still a virgin. What about you?"

This is it, Ethan thought. "Nah," he answered, trying to sound normal. "I would have, but. . .there's nobody who would mate with someone like me. . .and besides. . .males don't typically attract for eachother. . ."

He let his last sentence hang over the room, not looking at Michael. He never imagined coming out to him like this.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "If someone wouldn't be with you just because of your condition, you're better off. Any guy in the world, human or dragon, would be lucky to have you."

Ethan registered the tone of casual acceptance in his voice, the way Michael pretended to ignore his coming out as something so trivial and meaningless to their friendship that it didn't even bear discussing, and the way he comforted him for his condition.

"Thanks, Michael."

"Yeah. I'm going to bed. Don't make too much noise thinking, please."

Ethan looked at him and saw that he was smiling a sad, regretful smile.

***

Michael cried again that night, and as usual, Ethan was awake to hear it. It was more than just annoyingly awkward now, though, to hear him cry; it hurt him to listen and be unable to do anything about it.

***

Two weeks went by. Ethan would start on his paper, writing down a draft on another page, then throw it away and start again ever the more frustrated. Michael had apparently forgotten the existence of the paper, devoting most of his time to combat.

The mating season hit like Elin Nordegren with a 9-iron, and the dragons were Tiger Woods. Every single dragon on the island had either an erection or wet legs. Classes that weren't cancelled altogether were lowered to elementary-level mush for the brain due to the inability for either the students of the teachers to concentrate. The males were separated from the females and the stench of both carried on the wind.

Ethan was a funny case. Being a male, he couldn't go to the female side of the island, but being gay, he couldn't be with the males. When they decided that he was hardly capable of successfully raping a "normal" male dragon, they decided he could stay with the males.

And every moment around Michael was torture.

He wanted him. He could see that now, though he knew he was probably thinking with his penis. Michael's acceptance of Ethan opened a door he always thought was welded shut, and behind that door was something scary and wonderful: fierce attraction to his best friend. Ethan caught himself looking at Michael's body with less-than-ethical desires more and more; seeing the naked dragon form of the man, with his shiny silver skin and strong, liftable tail barely concealing that reptilian prize made Ethan jizz in his pants twice. It didn't help that dragons, unlike most reptiles, were warm-blooded and thus could sweat in all the right places. . .

It was useless, of course. He knew Michael was straight; Nataly's existence was proof of that. And while it certainly wasn't unheard of for straight dragons to get together during the mating seasonâ€"desperation combined with lack of females would do thatâ€"Michael would view it as a stupid waste of time and energy at the best.

Ethan sighed and fapped for the seventeenth time that day, the only hope of release he ever had of getting.

Despite the fact that combat had been cancelled due to some of the fighters abruptly changing from combat to intercourse in mid-fight, Michael still managed to find time to train and was rarely around. Ethan would sometimes eat lunch with Dad and learn about all the ways he planned to torture students next term. Dad was a little more irritable than usual, his mind occupied with sex just like anybody else.

"I told Michael that I'm gay," Ethan said.

"Oh?" Dad replied, a look of mild interest on his face. "What did he say?"

"He was fine with it."

"See? I told you he wouldn't care. How's he handling the mating season?"

"He's off fighting some ghosts. He said he hates the mating season because it distracts him."

"From what?"

Ethan shrugged. "Training, I guess. He has the highest interest in combat of any I've ever seen."

Dad looked down at the table between them, lost in thought.

"Ethan, has Michael ever. . .well, has he ever talked about things like death or. . .suicide?"

"What? No!"

"Not even in a casual or joking manner?"

"No! Why would he?"

"Maybe it would be better if he had," Dad whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

Dad's eyes came up and Ethan recognized the look he had, the one where he was about to tell him something important. "Ethan, have you ever heard of Damian?"

Before he could answer, a commotion from outside drew his attention. Several dragons were gathering around. . .someone.

"Ah, pubescent angst multiplies a hundred-fold with the mating season," Dad said. "Let's go see what the problem is."

The dragons were gathering around Michael and the same greasy-faced twit that mocked them before. Grease was shouting.

"Where's your girlfriend, Archie?"

Michael looked bored. Ethan and Dad pushed through the crowd.

"What's going on here?" Dad said.

"Ah," Grease shouted, pointing at Ethan, "here she is! Pussies are on the other side of the island, basilisk. Couldn't get anybody to fly ya?"

"That's enough," Dad said. "I know you're probably on edge with the mating season, butâ€"

"On edge! Not everybody's as flaccid as you, Teach; I'm way over the edge here."

Ethan put his hand on Dad's shoulder, whispered: "How heavy are violence penalties during the mating season?"

"Well, usually they're minimized due to natural levels of aggressiveness. Why?"

"Just wondering."

Ethan took two steps toward Grease and punched him in the nose. He fell on his back, looking completely shocked at what happened.

"Oh, now I'm mad, basilisk."

He got up and transformed. His dragon form was dark brown with black stripes, and his skin still looked oily. The crowd around them backed out. Ethan noticed Dad shaking his head with a knowing smile on his face.

Michael stepped up, but Ethan put a hand on his chest.

"You wanna see what private tutoring taught me, Mike? Just stay back a bit."

"You not going to change, basilisk?" Grease said, his voice deeper in dragon form. "Oh, that's right, by the time you do, you'll be dead."

"I only transform when it's necessary," was his response.

It was enough. Grease charged, swiping his front right claw. Ethan jumped over it and to the side, avoiding Grease like how a matador avoids a bull. Grease spun and lashed his tail at Ethan, which he took, positioning his body in just the right way to take the attack and suffer only a bruise. The impact launched him several feet away, onto his back, jumping up almost as soon as he landed.

Grease charged again, this time bearing the horns on his head like a rhino.

Idiot.

When he was close enough, Ethan reached out and grabbed the horns. Grease lurched his head up, flinging Ethan onto his neck. He gripped the dragon's neck with his legs and held onto the horns.

Dragons laughed as they watched Grease try unsuccessfully to shake Ethan off.

"This must be so embarrassing for you!" Ethan shouted into his ear. "A basilisk riding a dragon!" He swung on the horns and launched his feet at Grease's nose, using the dragon's momentum against him. He felt the crack of a tooth or two break beneath his kick, and the dragon roared a cry of agony. Instinctively the dragon changed back to human form, where his teeth were undamaged and the pain nonexistent. Ethan landed on top of him and pinned him to the ground.

He stood up on Grease's back, caught his breath and addressed the crowd: "In case you missed anything," he said casually, "I, a basilisk, a GAY basilisk, just kicked the ass of a dragon in his dragon form without changing. Remember that if you want to piss me off."

He stepped off Grease and walked back toward the dorm while Dad took Grease to the hospital. Michael came up behind him.

"I didn't know you could do that," Michael said. "It was awesome."

He didn't know if it was the thrill of the fight still running through him or the fact that Michael was there, in private, complimenting him, but whatever it was, it was enough to make him plant a kiss flat on Michael's unsuspecting face.

He must have held it for five seconds before realizing what he did.

He abruptly pulled away. Michael's eyes were wide, but otherwise there was no indication that he knew what just happened.

"I. . ." Ethan began. "I'm sorry, I didn't. . .I'm just. . .sorry."

He turned and quickly walked back to the dorm, not looking back.

***

He didn't want to get out of the shower. Ever. He wanted to drown, wanted the drain to plug up and the water to rise until the room filled and he was submerged.

And, of course, he was horny as hell.

But he turned the knob anyway, his body moving of its own accord (it seemed to like doing that), and he dressed and climbed into bed, exhausted and aching from his fight. Grease's tail had left a nastier bruise than Ethan expected, and just breathing hurt. He thanked God (whatever the hell he was) for dragons' quick healing.

He had hoped he'd be asleep by the time Michael arrived, but that fortune wasn't allowed him, either. He heard the door open in the darkness and debated whether or not he should pretend to be asleep, let Michael go to bed and face all the problems in the morning.

"I know you're still awake," Michael said, not turning on the light.

Crap.

He sat up in the bed, winced at the bruise on his chest. He turned the light on.

Michael was standing by the foot of the bed, looking at everything but Ethan. He sat down at the foot of the bed.

"Michael, I'm sorry, the mating season and, just, everything, it wasn't right and I didn't mean toâ€"

"I liked it."

Ethan stopped midsentence, his mind trying to register the words that just entered his ears.

"You. . .what?"

Michael looked at him, his blue eyes reflecting the light of the room. He got up and crossed to where Ethan lay. His hand brushed his face, and he held it on Ethan's cheek as they kissed.

Ethan, shocked to silence, accepted the kiss and proceeded to explore Michael's mouth, his tongue and teeth clashing against Michael's, all the sexual drive of countless generations building up within him.

And he transformed.

He felt the pain immediately, the nerves of his body reacting in a way they shouldn't, firing signals that told his brain he was on fire. He cried against the pain, feeling every inch of his body changing and agonizing, his fingers, tongue, eyes, hairline, everything burning.

Then it stopped, and he was a dragon. He opened his eyes and saw, in clear draconic vision, the detailed outline of Michael, who had also changed. His golden eyes seemed to emit their own light, shining in the darkness like an angel's.

"I don't understand," Ethan breathed, his voice hoarse and foreign to himself.

"You're so beautiful in dragon form," Michael said. He lowered his head and kissed Ethan's muscular neck. He loomed over Ethan, his head down, his body lowering. And he felt the pressure of Michael's penis pressing down on his, gently, carefully. He felt Michael's tongue on his chest, licking up toward his face, where he embraced it with his mouth.

Michael thrusted against him, and he thrust back. Their virgin movements were awkward and out of sync, but he didn't care; they danced in the night, rolling and kissing and licking, their only communication the growls and grunts and gasps of two males hot in coitus. Ethan reached down and grabbed both members and rubbed, feeling the throb of Michael's hot tool in his hand and against his own, slipping against the warm wetness pouring from their tips.

Their wet, hot thrusts turned into full pounds, Ethan's body rocking under the power of Michael's hips, his saliva covering his face, their minds and bodies simultaneously locked in a primal state of instinctive lust for climax that could only be called "animal."

He could feel it: the bestial surge building within him, the hot fire long forgotten by dragon-kind working its escape. Their grunts turned into roars, their growls into a sonata of feral snarling, and they released together the hot magma within, and it all gathered on his chest. The hot life-fluid of two males mixed on his body, coating him with the miasmic scent of power, lust and maleness derived from their dance.

The smell of pure, unadulterated SEX.

Their panting died down, and Michael moved to get up, but Ethan held onto him. "Stay with me," he said.

Michael lay down next to him. "I never told you, but I'm bisexual."

"Really?" Ethan said with mock surprise. "I never would have guessed. Next you'll tell me you're a dragon."

They chuckled. They rolled to face eachother, and Ethan gazed into those bright golden eyes.

"So," Michael said, "Not bad for a virgin, eh?"

***

He woke to the same sound.

Michael's face was buried in the pillow, human formed, muffling his cries as best he could.

He reached out and touched his head. His dragon paw could wrap up the entire thing and crush it like an overripe plum.

Michael stiffened, his crying abruptly stopped. Slowly, he looked at Ethan, his eyes wide and searching, as though he didn't know where he was.

"Michael," Ethan said.

He didn't say anything. Michael just sat there, stared, his eyes red and his face wet.

"I've heard you every night," Ethan said. "Every single night for two years. I know you don't want to talk about it, I know, but I can't hold back and let you suffer anymore. I want to know why you do this."

His eyes widened in. . .what? Anger? Realization? It looked more like fear.

"No," he whispered. "No, no, no, you can't, I can't!" He put his head back in the pillow like a child too afraid of going to the doctor's to get a shot.

"Please, Michael, I want to helpâ€"

"You can't help!" He darted up out of the bed, began pacing around the room in a frantic, erratic motion.

"Why not? Why do you feel like you have to suffer alone?"

"You don't understand, you can't understand, what I have to do!"

"Why can't I understand, Michael? Do you think I've never had it bad? That I don't know what it feels like to suffer? I'm a fucking basilisk, the fact that I lived past age five is a miracle, and you think I can't understand your problems?!"

Michael stopped pacing, looked at Ethan with a frightening expression of soldiers who had seen too much at war.

"You've never, ever experienced anything I have," Michael said. "What you call ‘suffering' I would trade everything for, and what you call ‘problems' are nothingâ€"NOTHINGâ€"like anything you could comprehend. No, Ethan, basilisk or not, you can't understand."

He sat down on the bed, his head in his hands. Ethan sat there, unmoving for what felt like hours but registered on the clock as only a few minutes. He slowly got up and moved toward Michael. He wrapped his arms around his best friend's shuddering chest, saying nothing, doing nothing but breathing deeply through his fist-sized nostrils.

"I have to kill someone, Ethan," Michael whispered at last. "I have to kill him. He stole them from me." His voice broke and his shuddering turned into full spasms. "AND HE'LL TAKE YOU, TOO! Damn it, Ethan, he'll take you, now, too!" He collapsed in Ethan's arms and sobbed.

Ethan held him, unsure of what to say or do. He had no idea what Michael meant. He didn't ask. He comforted his mate as best he could.

"Shh. Nothing's going to take me from you, ever. I promise, Michael, nothing will ever take me from you or you from me. I'll always be here. I promise."

He held Michael for the rest of the night, sobs reverberating on his chest.