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When Malcolm was still but a kit, his mother often warned him about making silly faces, saying that he might wake up one morning to discover that his face had "frozen" that way. At this particular moment, he wondered if it might be true after all, as he had no idea whatsoever if it were even possible for him to wipe the eminently satisfied grin from his muzzle. The expression had been put there only minutes ago, after he had completed the highly successful drawing of a fifth seed-filled climax from his young lion lover in something under 24 passion-wrought hours, and the rich and salty taste of it lingered decadently upon his tongue and lips.

The freshman tiger's other senses were equally in full cry. Bobby's bed-sit room in the jock dorm was thick with the combined musk of the two felines, the scents complimenting and blending in a way more erotic than anything Malcolm had experienced before. He memorized the lion's deep musk, knowing finally what a lion smells like up close and personal. Knowing what this lion smells like. He knew that he could pick out that scent while blindfolded and left in a locker room filled with a score of steaming jocks... a fantasy he'd never really considered until now, and he was most certainly enjoying the idea, just as long as it ended with finding Bobby in his arms again. He reveled in the feeling of the footballer's slim, muscular form curled up with him, the luxuriant russet mane cascading over the tiger's chest. He ran his fingers through it, his eyes catching the flecks of golden highlights occurring naturally in the beautiful ruff of fur, its thick strands flowing luxuriously through his softly attentive paws. The sound of Bobby's deep rumbling purr, accompanied by an occasional throaty snarl of intense satisfaction, was a symphony to the tiger's ears.

No wonder he couldn't stop grinning.

"Mal," the lion grunted through his bouts of uncontrolled purring, "you have exactly ten thousand years to stop being so good to me."

"Eek, help, police," the tiger whispered, continuing his attentions without missing a beat. He giggled slightly when Bobby turned and wrapped his arms around him, crushing him close and burying his muzzle into the crook of his neck - a spot which the lion had quickly learned was a prime location for licking, nibbling, and nipping. His breath quickening, Malcolm enfolded his lover into his embrace and fought the urge to unsheathe his claws slightly in the passion of the moment. The entirety of his vocabulary was reduced to brief yips and coughs of raw ecstasy, a flood of sensations and emotions such as he'd never known before in his short life, and which he fervently prayed would not be lost to him when this landmark day had passed.

"You make me so hungry," the lion rumbled in his ear, offering it a lick with his strong, nimble tongue. "I know you'd probably dock points if you read this in one of my papers, but it really has never been like this for me."

"Clichés exist for a reason." The freshman turned to kiss the searching muzzle, his tongue darting out to wrestle with Bobby's own. "And yeah, it's better to avoid them in a formal paper. But here..." He smoothed a forelock of mane out of the lion's face with a tender paw, gazing intently into his eyes. "Here, you get bonus points for romance."

"It's so unlike me." The footballer's expression was a curious mix of lost, found, confused, wondrous, childlike. "We've been together here for... a full day at least, the sun's already set. We've slept and talked and ordered in some food and... how would the poet describe it?"

"Boinked."

Bobby laughed, kissed the grinning tiger again. "Okay, boinked. We've boinked together more times than I ever have with any one fur. And I know we probably need to separate, for a little while at least, but I gotta tell you, Mal... I really don't want to. Right now, I just want to stay here with you until someone sends out hunting parties to look for us, and even then, I want us to stay together and run and hide from them, just in case they try to tear us apart. Does that make me crazy?"

"If it does, I'm crazy with you." Malcolm put his paw to his lover's chest, as if trying to touch his heart directly. "I feel like I want to make plans with you for some incredible future, to move in with you, spend every waking moment with you, forever. And if we stop long enough to think about what that really means, we'd probably end up scaring the crap out of each other." He smiled softly. "Somewhere between romantic dreams and cynical reality, there ought to be some road we could travel."

"Together?"

"I sure hope so."

"Me too, browncoat."

Sighing, his heart nearly bursting, the tiger gave in to the long, deeply emotional kiss, his forepaws caressing the lion's silken mane tenderly. When at last they paused, he was disturbed by the pained look on the footballer's face.

"Bobby? What is it?"

The lion sat up slowly, moving to the edge of the bed, tucking his legs under himself, his tail coming to wrap around them, its thickly furred tip sketching nervous taps against the bed. "I feel like I just had an attack of being an asshole." He tried to smile, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mal, I've never been good at being... well, 'responsible' is a word I've heard used a few times. I don't think about the future too much, and when I do, it's got a lot of things that I've probably taken for granted. Don't take this the wrong way... feels like you just stuck a big wad of gum in my gears."

"Is this to do with what we were talking about last night?" Malcolm levered himself up, sitting near but resisting the impulse to reach out to his lover, just for the moment. "All the questions about being out, about the sports world and your family and all?"

Bobby nodded miserably. "I know you said that we didn't have to face all that right now..."

"And I stand by that. We can keep this to ourselves for now."

"Can we?" The lion looked into the tiger's eyes, and Malcolm felt an intense shudder go through him. The weight of the world lay in that look, and the lion seemed to know it. "Is it fair to you to go through our daily lives, sneaking around, not being seen together too often, maybe not even daring to have lunch together again?"

"If we have to." The tiger thought about his words a moment, then added, "I only mean that I'm ready to do whatever we must, for now. Just as long as I know that we still want each other."

"What's crazy is, that's the only thing I really feel sure about." Bobby reached out and took Malcolm's forepaws in his own. "We met several months ago, and I got to know at least a little bit about you during all that time, more than just being tutor and pupil. I've talked more in the past day or so than I have in maybe months. So much, talking to Parker, to Jerry, and especially to you. It's been like rewriting the book of my life in one sitting. And it's one helluva plot twist."

Chuckling, the tiger squeezed his lover's paws. "Good way to put it."

"Mal, I don't know what to do. I'm scared of all this change, but I'm damned if I'll run away from the best thing that's ever happened to me. And yeah, I'm so full of clichés that I squeak! But it's really what I'm feeling. I would never have paid attention to what I feel before, not like this. I really was being the dumb jock, just doing whatever was next, or maybe even whoever was next. Everything's easy when you behave like a stereotype, like the script was already written for you. It's when you start writing it for yourself that it gets weird, as if..." The lion broke off, wanting to say more and not quite able to find the words. He looked into the freshman's eyes and suddenly the tiger was overwhelmed by the sense that the lion's soul was completely opened to him. "Mal, I have to be responsible for who I am."

"Yes," Malcolm whispered intensely, shivering. "Yes, Bobby! That was what Aiden said to me. Those were the exact words he used! On that night, when he stopped us from going any further... he knew about me, and he was just discovering himself, and he said exactly what you did just now. He told me that I had to make the same choice, if we were going to spend a night together. It was almost a week later, and I thought about what he said all that time. That's why I say that I wasn't molested, wasn't coerced or 'turned' or whatever other people call it. Aiden treated me like an adult, because he knew I was ready for it."

The lion snorted gently as his muzzle twisted into a smirk. "Ya think I'm ready to be all growed up, Mal?"

"Not that easy, Bobby." His smile felt more than a little sad, and he saw it reflected on the footballer's muzzle. "It never is, and I'm not exactly any more 'growed up' than you are. I'm only trying to tell you that, for whatever it might be worth, I hear what you're telling me - telling yourself - and I believe in you."

For a long moment, neither cat moved. Malcolm waited, hoping that he'd said the right thing, that he wasn't hurting more than helping. A tiny seed of fearful desperation curled, hot and burning, in the pit of his stomach. Was he being selfish, wanting Bobby to be his lover, perhaps ultimately his lifemate? The emotions were so strong, the passion so high... and yes, the sex so damned good, and if literature and life were anything to go by, lightning like this strikes rarely enough, and twice even more rarely. Is it wrong to pursue what you really want, or who you really want? Is it unfair to make this demand of someone whose entire life would change if they...

What is love, a familiar voice whispered in his ear, if not the greatest reason for change? And from deep in his heart, Malcolm felt the needful, powerful embrace of the greatest mentor he had ever met; the thick warm fur of the polar bear was the most comforting quilt he had ever known before this day, this life-changing day, and the wisdom he imparted was far greater than any book of godly fan-fiction could ever try to explain. I can only give what I have. I can only give love by being love. I must take responsibility for who I am... and then I can give who I am to the world.

With a speed made famous on high school and college gridirons, Bobby jumped from his place and forcefully, tenderly, unreservedly tackled the freshman and pulled him close, kissing his muzzle feverishly through tears that splashed onto Malcolm's face, igniting tears of their own. Through sounds of sobs and laughter, they held and squeezed and kissed until they collapsed into each other's arms, panting and trying to recover themselves.

"What is it with me and crying?" the lion huffed, smiling. "Is that part of the package of finding out you're gay or something? We're here, we're queer, we've got tear ducts?"

"To quote one of my favorite movies... A little advice about feelings, kiddo: Don't expect it always to tickle." Malcolm tenderly kissed away the remains of tears from Bobby's cheeks. "Sometimes, you just have to let it out. And I'll be here anytime you need me." He smiled. "And you don't have to tackle me keep me around."

"It's only fair," Bobby grinned. "You've spent a whole day sacking the quarterback."

* * * * *

"...coming back slowly now... rising like a beautiful bubble to the surface of these calm, still waters... perfectly relaxed, perfectly aware..."

Eoin luxuriated, eyes closed, his entire body nearly as fluid as the suggestion that Benedict purred into his ear. He was a warm puddle of long-furred Saluki, held in the sensitive embrace of the great crimson dragon, riding on a wondrous floating airship of complete contentment. As the dragon counted slowly upward, the pup felt more and more of his mind returning to his own control. He remembered the entire session clearly, just as Benedict had promised and reinforced, and the tender transfer of the reins of consciousness was as loving and fulfilling as the sensations of the drake moving slowly against him, around him, within him. He was right - only the deepest relaxation had enabled him to take so much of the dragon's estimable length and thickness, and he was happy, with every fiber of his being, to have given himself to his lover so fully.

"Welcome back."

He pressed his back against his lover's chest. "Never left."

"Everything all right?"

"A lot more than all right." Languidly, the pup raised his leg upward and behind to drape it across Benedict's beefy leg. The adjustment revealed a slightly greater access even than before, and the dragon didn't fail to take advantage of the hint. Eoin moaned lustily as he felt himself even more full than before, and with only the slightest discomfiture. This was not a new exercise between them, but without being so crude as to produce a ruler from his architectural drawing table, the Saluki was willing to wager that his relaxation had enabled the additional penetration of a good dozen centimeters of heretofore unburied dragon cock into his tailhole, and the sensation was unparalleled in its delight.

The drake nuzzled and nibbled at the Saluki's neck. "I'm almost afraid to move," Benedict purred into his ear. "You're so warm and snug around me... you could coax my climax at any moment."

"You mean, like this?" Eoin flexed the tight ring of his tailhole in a slow and powerful rhythm that made his lover groan and shudder until, giggling, he squeezed the pup close and hard against his chest.

"Fiend!" the professor declared. "Thee might bear my soul to Hell!" He kissed the top of Eoin's head. "Not that I'd mind, at this point!"

The Saluki chuckled low and deep, easing his torments gently. "I want you just like this for a while longer. Gods above, below, and in-between... oh Benedict, I may resort to common cliché before much longer. It's only true - I've never felt like this beforrrreeeeOOOOOO!"

He gasped sharply, feeling his lover moving slowly, pulling back a short distance, and pushing back in again, knowing exactly where to stop, aiming the deep pressure of his girth against the pup's prostate, causing ripples of trembling pleasure to course through him. He whimpered like a whelp, his arms enveloping those that held him, holding on for his life as he felt the dragon continue moving so very slowly, with such infinite tenderness, impaling him as never before. He pulled at the drake's right arm, bringing the forepaw up to his muzzle, licking and nibbling and sucking in passionate abandon until Benedict pulled it away, moving it to pet his head softly.

"You really will make me cum that way," the dragon breathed, so hot that Eoin had a fleeting fear that there might actually be flame in it. "Do you want that? Or do you want us to stay this way for a while?"

Panting, still holding Benedict's arms closely around him, the Saluki shook his head. "Stay," he managed. "I want you like this when you tell me..." He paused, gathering his breath and his wits. "We started out for other reasons, didn't we?"

"Yes." The dragon's voice had changed slightly. "Are you sure you want to go into that now?"

"Especially now. I'm safer nowhere else than here in your arms. I feel your love around me and inside me, completely protected. Nothing can hurt me here." He grinned and flexed his tailhole quickly against the welcomed invader. "Nothing that I didn't want, anyway." Pausing, he examined his feelings once more, then looked back over his shoulder to catch the dragon's eyes. "Tell to me, O Best Beloved."

Benedict lowered his muzzle to nuzzle the pup's, his tongue licking affectionately in what Eoin had always teasingly called "puppy kisses." He laid his head to rest on his shoulder and spoke softly. "What you can name, you can control, at least within yourself. The name you're looking for is Konstantin Trofimovich Polyakov."

The Saluki breathed evenly, the tiny wisp of panic quickly quelled. He was safe here. "How did you come to know him?"

"Many long years ago. It's not true that all dragons know all other dragons, but it's easy to figure that our lifespans make it far easier for us to cross paths eventually. You should know from the start that he isn't evil. There are times when I find his actions questionably moral, but he's not one whose purpose is to harm for his own nefarious gain. To make the joke, he's not a super-villain, but he could play one on television."

"His voice..."

"Yes." Benedict pet his lover tenderly, reinforcing the calm. "When Frank Herbert talked about 'The Voice' used by the Bene Gesserit witches of the Dune novels, he took the idea from several sources. Dragons seem to have a greater ability than most other species, but it's more a quality than something innate. It can be taught. Konstantin's presence is intimidating enough; he's larger even than myself, his scales a nearly pearlescent ebon, and his voice is his most powerful tool... or, if need be, weapon. It has a quality that fascinates some to the point of mesmerism, others to a sense of creeping dread. It's one of the few times that I don't use the word 'intimidating' lightly."

Eoin let himself move gently, the drake's length easing out a bit and then back in again, to keep the member firm and fulfilling. "He mentioned places... Cairo, Reykjavik...?"

"Faraway places, with echoes of my sometimes less-than-stellar past." The great crimson dragon sighed, cuddled the pup closer, expressing need and a touch of fear. Eoin bent down to kiss the arms that held him, reassuring. "The details would take some time. Cairo was about antiquities; Reykjavik really was about chess - the annual Chess Open matches are celebrated throughout the world. He also mentioned Pimpri-Chinchwad. That's in India."

"Negotiator?"

The young Saluki felt the dragon's great head nod slowly. "Konstantin and I were consulted regarding the kidnapping of a diplomat's child. The result was... mixed. The child lived, but information about the diplomat himself was leaked despite our best efforts. The kidnappers were killed - or, to use the term found on the official reports, 'succumbed while in custody' - before any trials, in order to contain that information, but it was far too late. It wasn't justice, in any form; it was purely vengeance. There was a lot of covering up, some of it ... unorthodox. Konstantin and I were probably the only ones to get out with our memories intact." The drake paused, still petting his lover tenderly. "Do you want to know?"

It was Eoin's turn to shake his head. "And the O Fortuna?"

The snort was one of amusement. "We sang the Carmina Burana together, as part of a worldwide chorus, at Covent Garden. His voice can be used for more than intimidation. He's an amazing basso. The Queen and Prince were clearly impressed, as were their various guests and audience members. I promise you, it wasn't hypnosis; we really did sing that well."

"I don't doubt it." Smiling softly, he squirmed again as he gently kept the dragon's member from losing interest. "Do I want to know about the rest of it?"

"There is no one else I would trust with this." Benedict kissed the pup's neck from behind. "Konstantin apparently was responsible for Parker's psychic imprisonment. I don't know the when, how, or why; Parker may not even know that, but I'll find out when - and if - he comes to me for help. What Konstantin gave to me in that message were the keys to Parker's hypnotic induction. Keys always have two parts - visual and audible. Sometimes, they can have a physical component, such as touching a very specific part of the body, but that can be risky. Dragons who practice hypnosis regularly have created a very subtle visual key. I carry mine in the form of a ring, one that I rarely wear. You saw it when I went to visit Parker this morning."

"I didn't think I'd seen that before. Is it safe?"

"It's a ring, my sweet lad, nothing more." The voice chuckled softly in his ear. "We didn't use it to hypnotize you tonight, so any fascination you may have with it will be entirely your own. With Parker, the same design was used as part of his post-hypnotic control. If I know Konstantin, it probably depends from a platinum necklace, worn about his neck as a conversation starter."

"And if someone has that symbol as part of their hypnosis, wouldn't they react to it if they happened to see it in some random context?"

"Thus the second part of the key - usually a series of words or a phrase not likely to come up in ordinary conversation. Either, separately, might cause the person a moment of uncertainty or confusion, nothing more; together, they allow entrance directly into the mind, or more accurately, into that part of the mind that the therapist has created as a safe room."

The Saluki frowned. "Safe room?"

"A good therapist will provide a mental context for the patient to relax in during sessions. It's a place where pain or unwanted memories can be kept away, avoided. They're only accessed and examined when patient and therapist can work on them together. Or at least, that's what's supposed to happen."

"What was it that this Konstantin did to Parker, then? Or is that too close to patient privilege?"

The drake shifted himself slightly, bringing forth a fresh moan from his lover. "Truth is, I don't know exactly what it was that he did, my lovely... and when I do discover it, it probably will become something that I won't be able to talk to you about. For now, all that you need to know is that you're safe - Konstantin isn't after you, nor anyone else, truth be told. I've given you a little safeguard of your own, should you need it."

"Thank you, love." The pup remembered a vivid instruction for a means to calm himself, to regain his composure in any situation that felt threatening, by invoking an image and a few unusually placed words. Honestly, he hoped he'd never need them... but it was good to have the safeguard available. "And I want to thank you for helping Parker."

"Why do you say that?"

Eoin breathed out slowly. "I know that you said that Konstantin isn't evil. But there was something in that voice... just hearing it, without being put under any hypnosis from him... it shook me, Benedict, more than anything I've ever experienced. The thought of that voice actually controlling me... controlling Parker..." He felt himself shiver, then took in a deep breath and pressed himself even more tightly against the dragon, a brief cry issuing involuntarily from his muzzle.

"Eoin!" Benedict's voice held surprise and concern. "What is it, what...?"

"Love me."

"Eoin, I..."

"Take me," the pup breathed out heavily, pulling on the drake's arms, his upper leg pulling as hard as it could as if to press more of the thick cock into himself. "I want you, Benedict, I need you, take me, love, take me now..."

The dragon readjusted his arms to better contain the writhing pup and moved himself with a purpose, slowly at first, until Eoin's repeated cries and urging made him increase his thrusts with more and more vigor, building swiftly to a climax that made them both cry out into the night, chorusing in the lustful harmony of lovers united in the passionate need for the security and safety of one another...

* * * * *

Dean Nelson Williamson punched his pillow with a low grunt and tried once more to get comfortable. His success was negligible.

"That'll teach that pillow what for," a nearby voice observed.

The wolverine sighed heavily. "I'm sorry, cara mia. I didn't mean to keep you awake as well."

"It's only been nineteen years of marriage," she replied, with a smile in her voice. "I'm sure I'll get used to it eventually." Rolling over, the pale-brown furred Angeline put her arms around her husband and hugged him warmly. "Want to talk?"

"What I want is to sleep, but that option seems to be off the table at the moment." He adjusted her embrace a bit, rolled himself over to face her. The irritated scowl that he revealed was in no way meant for her, she knew well enough. When tired, or even just when he allowed himself the luxury to let go of a bit of his all-too-famous control, he could be moody, petulant, grouchy, ill-tempered, and somehow behind it all was something that still held a touch of charm. For this reason, she was able to gauge just how flippant she could be and still get away with it.

"Dare I even guess what this is about?" she asked him.

"You need to guess? Tomorrow is not only Monday, it's a Monday after a major crisis at the university. My office isn't open on the weekend, so tomorrow is when all of the calls, comments, emails, editorials, and other opinionated detritus will flood in. And as the Prophet Murphy reminds us in his Law of Probability Dispersal, whatever it is that hits the fan will not be equally distributed." He sighed with something between annoyance and resignation.

"Should I remind you that rather asked for this? I mean, being Dean and all."

His body tensed, and he looked at her sharply. His eyes narrowed dangerously for a moment, after which he produced a particularly juicy raspberry and laughed when she tried to wipe off her muzzle. She giggled as he continued to produce raspberries against her cheek, her ear, her neck, finally breaking off when her laughter threatened to rise high enough to escape the confines of their bedroom and wake the boys. He pulled her close to him to help her stifle her glee against his thick black chest fur. It took a minute or so for her to calm herself enough to risk raising her muzzle to his and kissing him tenderly.

"You've handled crises before, Nelson. What's got you so worried about this one? The publicity? The act itself?"

"All of the above, most likely. And Benedict."

"He's a big dragon," she said softly. "He can handle it."

"I really didn't want to put him in the middle of this." The wolverine sighed heavily, rolling onto his back. "It's not like last time, I know that, but... Emily, it's just not fair to him. To anyone, I guess."

She nodded, curling up against him and putting her head on his chest. She remembered the old story well, and she knew it would do no good to point out all the differences in the two situations, not right now. She knew her husband: He would worry until he could see just how bad it might be, and then he would bring his estimable mind to bear on the problem, and he'd bring it under control again. This was that horrid in-between time, when old thoughts and pernicious memory created phantasms of the most terrible possible futures. This was part of the darkness that lived in him, part of what made him brilliant, and part of what made him vulnerable. The fact that Benedict was involved only made him more vulnerable. He still loved the old dragon, fiercely and without reservation, and that only made the worry more insidious.

Emily listened to the tickings of her heart for a moment, her emotions turning over lazily as they often did when the topic of Benedict came up. She knew all about his and Nelson's history together. It had happened years ago, before she and Nelson met, when her handsome husband was a graduate student wrestling with his academic work, his family, himself. The redoubtable Professor Spenser had been impressed with the young wolverine's abilities and his struggles, and what began as casual social counseling became a love affair of genuinely astonishing dimension. It was Nelson who was most particularly astonished, as he'd had no sexual interest in males, before or since, nor did his homosexual congress extend beyond Benedict himself. The relationship was completely transformative. Through the dragon's intervention, the proverbial diamond in the rough emerged sufficiently polished to achieve the rest of his transformation on his own. Intelligence became brilliance, academic ability flourished into true scholarship, tact blossomed into diplomacy. Nelson Williamson was a shining example of promise fulfilled.

"What is it that you're most worried about, love?"

She listened to his heart beat a few dozen times before he answered. "The circumstances are different, or at least they probably will be. With Wendell, Benedict became the target of completely untrue accusations of abusing a therapist-client relationship. It was started by Wendell's parents, who had their hyper-religious fur rubbed the wrong way."

"I remember. One of the earliest crises in the career of a new Associate Dean." She pet him softly in the dark, hoping to ease some of his worry. "You made the best possible choice, in spite of controversy. It's what you usually do. But this situation really is different, after all. Benedict doesn't have a relationship with Parker, does he?"

"No." He shifted a little, his forepaw returning her affections by stroking her back tenderly. "But the whole incident is linked to violence due to, in a way, gay bashing. The gay element is going to be part and parcel of the commentary, no doubt about it. Religious and political conservatism is reaching far and wide in its death throes. Eventually, it will shut up and be recognized for the counterproductive nonsense that it is, but in the meantime, the filthy blood tide of misguided zealots continues to make as much noise as possible. Which makes Benedict's notoriety a potential problem."

"But he isn't interacting with Parker because he's looking for a lover; it's because he's one of the best therapists in the world, and you appointed him for that reason."

"If only all the world were as rational as a pair of wolverines."

The Dean grunted as his mate expressed her opinion with a sharp nip to his chest, then chuckled. "That'll larn ya," she said.

"It will indeed." He lowered his muzzle to hers and kissed her warmly. "Thank you for understanding, cara mia. I can always count on you to help me through the madness."

"Think you can get some sleep now?"

"Perhaps. I could always get some warm milk and honey."

Slowly, with her eyes locked on his, she moved her forepaw sensually down his chest and flat belly. "That's an option, certainly."

He shifted, a small grunt escaping his lips, as her paw ventured lower still, tenderly yet firmly rubbing against his sheath.

"That," he acknowledged, squirming a bit, "could also be an option."

"Entirely your fault, you know." She moved closer, her paw moving precisely the way he most loved it. "You said 'warm milk,' and I had this mental association..."

"Did you indeed?" He closed his eyes, hissing an inhalation through his teeth, his own forepaws caressing her back and shoulders. The years had been kind to them both; her touch brought forth the desired reaction swiftly enough, demonstrating his continued, powerful desire for her attentions. "I suppose that it would save a trip to the kitchen."

"Mmm," she agreed, licking her lips lasciviously. "Of course, there might only be enough for one serving tonight."

"I would make that sacrifice for you, my lovely one."

"Or perhaps I could share. If you," she held his hardness in her paw, licking teasingly at his muzzle, "would like me to?"

"Your generosity," he whispered, his tongue chasing after hers, "knows no bounds."

"None."

She bent down, pushing aside the covers, rediscovering that his happy habit of showering in the morning rather than the evening had continued. She sniffed at the deep, damp warmth of his crotch, the first hints of his powerful mustelid musk released into the close spaces. The hard, blood-engorged member burned scarlet in the dim light of the bedroom, like a beacon which she honed in upon with eagerness and an addict's craving for the feeling and the taste of him. Within seconds, she had engulfed him in her muzzle, bringing forth a cry that was barely stifled by the ancient instinct not to wake the bairns. He transferred the expressions of his pleasure from verbal to physical, caressing her headfur with both forepaws, his hips beginning to move himself lovingly in and out of her hot, wet muzzle.

Emily gave herself over entirely to the joys of pleasing her husband. Some years ago, she had doubted her abilities; no matter how much Nelson had assured her, pursued her, expressed himself in any number of ways, she always wondered if she was as good as the dragon who had helped his transformation so very much. Perhaps males truly did know more about what pleases males than females could ever really know through their trial and error. She had no such doubts now about whether or not Benedict could please Nelson better than she could. Not only had Nelson chosen her as wife and mate and lover, not only had they married and had children and built an amazing life together, but Emily had also taken the dragon's advice at his word. She asked him for the secrets to Nelson's pleasure, and Benedict had not been stingy with the information. A bit of practice upon her wholly astonished husband, and the lady wolverine had doubts no longer. The proof of her expertise was visited upon her yet again after only a very few minutes.

Reforming his apparent desire to cry aloud into a series of strong and forceful exhalations, Nelson trembled and shook violently in his release, as Emily restrained herself from the temptation of hilting his respectable length and taking the copious amount of hot seed directly down her throat. She felt him slowly regain himself, the pulses grow fewer, the jets dwindle to final drops. Pulling her muzzle off of him slowly, carefully, she used her strong tongue to pick up any and all remnants that might linger, and moved her head upward. Her mouth was on his in mere moments, and he opened himself to her, and they shared his warm, salty, thickly oozing love. The one mystery left to her was whether or not it tasted like the dragon's own essence... but it was a mystery that she could live without solving.

They kissed and nuzzled and shared his gift until, slowly, he began to show signs of being ready for sleep. "Better than warm milk?" she whispered.

"Always," he murmured thickly. His eyes opened halfway, looking at her with so much deep emotion that she felt whole and safe and perfectly loved. "Marker?"

"Absolutely." She kissed him fondly, still amused by the way that they had solved the problem of sexual gift-giving. Instead of his losing his perfectly drowsy state by making a show of wanting to return the favor, of not wanting to be selfish, of being tired but still wanting to make sure that she was likewise taken care of, he had only to make the promise of future attention in a single word. She too had taken advantage of being thoroughly spent after one of Nelson's superlative oral demonstrations - he was an excellent student, and she had taught him well, to the point occasionally of wondering if she would ever cease trembling, or if perhaps her over-stimulated clitoris would actually explode from its hyper-swollen sensitivity. (She had long since decided that it was well worth the risk.)

"Grazie mille, cara mia," he whispered sleepily. "I love you, Emily."

"I love you too, Nelson." She kissed him tenderly on his muzzle. "We'll be all right. I promise."

She had to smile a little as he began to produce the lightest of snore only seconds after. I still got it, she thought. She moved slowly and carefully to disentangle herself from him. Age had made it more likely to get actual sleep when separated from him by just a short space. He was still warm, still close, and by this time actually snoozing quite well. She sighed lightly, readying herself for sleep. Everything would work out all right, somehow. Whatever would hit the fan would do so tomorrow; right now, time to rest. Benedict would be all right, and Nelson would be all right, and she too would be just fine.

Strange, she thought as she began to drift off, how it sometimes seemed as if the great crimson dragon were there in bed with them. And even more strange that she never seemed to mind.