"Good morning, Alaus!"
He heard his name, recognized the woman's voice, but deigned not to even roll over. "Go away," he groaned, comfortable where he was.
"Sun's is up already, and you missed breakfast. Vilda will want to..."
He didn't want to hear any more; the noise was chasing away the sleep his body desperately desired. His hand groped out of the enveloping warmth, grabbed something light and soft, and flung it in the direction of the nuisance. He was barely aware of the fwap, ensuing scoff, and scorned steps fading into...
Peace at last...
"Alaus." A man's voice - quiet, but stern.
Father. Alaus' heart lurched, and in a reckless flurry normally reserved for a man whose bed was on fire, he was was on his feet beside it, panting.
Jonnor of Larkhall, Alaus' father: a tall, toned, broad-shouldered man built like a wall. But not the brutish sort - he had the air of a monarch who would ride at the fore into battle. Besides the streaks of white, his hair was the most vivid shade of golden blonde. It reached his shoulders, and his chin was gilded by a full beard trimmed to a respectable inch. He had a distinctive line of silver straight down the middle of the hair on his chin. The only signs of age worn into his face were the crinkles along the deep lines framing his mouth, which was currently a straightened, disappointed line. His eyes matched the shade of a cloudless winter morn's sky, and they were nearly as cold.
 Alaus shivered. There he stood in the gloomy half of his room, his father standing by the door in a shaft of orange light flooding from the window. He'd gone to bed wearing only his skin, and hadn't even thought to take up a sheet.
"You're not going to your studies like that," his father remarked softly.
"No..." With a wince, and a stifled groan owing to his difficulty getting to sleep, he crossed to his wardrobe and pried it open.
"The maidservant was most distressed to have a moldy half loaf thrown at her."
Halfway through struggling into the first pair of trousers in reach, Alaus half-turned, eyes darting to the crust in his father's hands, then to the table by his bed and the remains of his impromptu dinner he'd hastened on his way to bed late last night. He hadn't noticed the cake of sourdough he'd snatched was half covered in blue-white fuzz until he'd gotten to his room, at which point he'd set it aside. "Tell her I'm sorry."
"Should I be the one to tell her this?"
"No." Alaus gritted his teeth. Fumbling with a belt, he shot over his shoulder, "Don't you have somewhere important to be?" His father was always traveling.
 "Has a man a greater responsibility than his only child?"
Alaus reached for a shirt, not answering.
"We have not spoken often of late, Alaus."
"Well, I'm growing up. I hear it happens."
His father's shallow sigh and receding footsteps had to be the most disheartening beginning to the day.
Properly dressed, Alaus' shoes thumped down the creaking staircase into the house's main hall, habitually reaching up to bat the huge, arched rafters as he descended. The place was built like a longhouse - the main hall was two stories tall, wide enough to be a two-wagon road, and twice as long. The end opposite the front doors looked like it ought to hold a throne, or at least a tavern bar. Instead, there was a massive hearth winged by a nearly symmetrical collection of candelabra.
Mounted over the mantlepiece were a burnished steel tower shield and a sword nearly as long, and Alaus' gaze hung on them more heavily than usual this morning. That shield had met dragon fire, and polished as it was, that sword had tasted dragons' blood. All this he'd known, but only recently had Alaus met a living dragon.
 Met! He'd done a lot more than meet Rahamuth! He'd been seduced into jerking off the dragon's maleness, and receiving oral pleasure in turn! He could still hardly believe it. But, there was no denying, he'd enjoyed it. And, after a fashion, had enjoyed the dragon's company even before that. Rahamuth's behavior was... strange, and Alaus still hadn't made heads or tails of him.
At the foot of the stairs was the maidservant's room. The door was open, but she wasn't there. Likely in the kitchen. Though, with knot in his stomach, Alaus decided a proper apology could wait. Preferably until he felt like being proper.
He surprised himself with a mild curse, knowing what Vilda had in store for him. She was the town healer, and he her apprentice. But Alaus found it difficult to stray his mind from thoughts of Rahamuth - he knew his studies would go badly today if all he was to do was pour over her well-worn books and scrolls.
He his way out the doors of his home with resignation.
* * * * *
"And where under the blazing sun were you at yesterday, eh?" Vilda squawked.
 "Exploring, up by the river." Alaus said. It was partially true, and close enough. "I like it up there, by where you sent me to get those mushrooms last week."
Vilda's scowl deepened under her hooked nose. "Half-wit healers never go farther from the village than they have to, and they don't go nowhere without somebody knowin' it and where to find 'em. Wilsett cracked a rib yesterday, and I scrounged all over looking for you, boy, 'cause you were gonna set it!"
"I've never set a bone before!" Alaus yelped.
"Aye, and high time you learned. Wasn't even broken through - and when that happens you'd be glad of the practice, believe you me."
Withholding a sigh, Alaus' eyes drifted over the old, drooping shelves of the healer's back room to one of many sealed jars. The mushrooms he'd gathered were in one, suspended in a foul-smelling preservative. Alaus had pursued this apprenticeship because he was interested in herbs and their uses... but hadn't care to farm or cultivate. Since then, he'd grown to reassess his decision. Herbalism was just a tool in the healer's arsenal, and the more of the real field he was exposed to, the more Alaus was wont to shy from the tasks. Grateful as he was to the old croon after he'd broken his arm years ago, and as much as he imagined it would be nice to be on the receiving end of that kind of gratitude, he'd come to two realizations: rare were the days Alaus minded dealing with most people, and he was unsettled being exposed to others' pain.
 "So, what am I doing today?" He asked, hoping beyond hope that some of Vilda's stock of dried herbs might need replenishing.
But, it was not to be. Hours later, he was alone in the musky room, seated behind the big, old, oaken worktable and flipping through the largest of Vilda's tomes: a comprehensive anatomical library unto itself. The painstakingly copied results of hundreds of years worth of insights on the study of the human body: an incredibly rare sight beyond the most proficient healers and surgeons in the grandest of cities. Vilda was something of a reclusive master of her art. She was occasionally asked to travel to other remote villages of the region, when the local healers were out of their league with a serious injury or plague. Supposedly, Alaus was lucky she accepted him. He also told himself his acceptance had nothing to do with his father.
Allegedly studying the manner in which bones healed, Alaus sighed and dragged his feet up so he sat cross-legged on the chair. Vilda hated that, but she wasn't there to complain. Truthfully, Alaus liked books. He just found the plethora of facts he was expected to know by heart immensely difficult.
 It was made all the more difficult with Rahamuth on his mind, and a raging erection from the memories of yesterday's 'exploration'. Try as he might, the dragon didn't seem to fit into the overall scheme of his life. One moment, there was nothing to be gained from visiting him and doing that again but a transitory pleasure. The next moment, the rest of his life didn't seem to fit Alaus himself. A healer's apprentice? He dreamed of the city, of finding someone who specialized in herbalism, and studying there far away from old Vilda.
But then, Rahamuth...
His head met the tabletop, and he loosed a long-pent groan. A shadow descended over the table - Vilda. Obsessed with eliminating 'unnecessary noise', the hag kept the door oiled, blast her. She was gone and back again like a ghost. Alaus could feel her frown on the back of his head. She'd caught him slacking, and from experience, he knew she was going to sit there and ensure he studied. And that his feet stayed on the floor, not her great aunt's chair. The sole plus to this was an immediate erection-killer. It was going to be a long day.
 In fact, it would turn out to be a long week.
Well, there was one highlight...?
* * * * *
Her cheeks were cherry, banked by a mane of auburn curls that tumbled over her matching scarlet shawl. She was a bit rounder in her features than was perhaps proper, but if so, Alaus didn't care.
Demille was her name, and a surprising number of boys hadn't heard it. Her laugh was so quiet, she may as well have been invisible at the sort of boisterous gatherings where young men tended to notice girls. And the dowery from her father's farm was just insignificant enough that toplofty mothers would not impress upon their sons to consider her. Most of the boys of age would only have considered her one of the fallback option if their friends and brothers got all the desirable women in their community. Alaus, on the other hand, thought she was sweet; that was enough for him.
Of course, she had no idea. Alaus had never worked up the nerve to speak to her.
He'd had a slightly less dull day than usual: Vilda had entrusted a section of her garden to his care, where she grew those herbs that simply had to be fresh to do the trick. Alaus didn't find tearing up weeds by the roots particularly fulfilling work, but it was simple, and putting his hands to use did some good to get his mind off his frustrations.
 On his way home that evening, he noticed she was right there ahead of him on the otherwise lonely packed-dirt street. She was carrying a basket, the contents tucked in and hidden by a red cloth. A quick glance at nearby windows ensured none of the major gossips were at them, no prying eyes to give Alaus pause. He told himself, if he could socialize with a dragon, surely he could manage a farm girl.
"Good evening," he greeted her with a brave grin.
"Hello." She stopped. She met his eyes. "Alaus, right?"
Everyone knew the son of Jonnor. He nodded. "Demille, isn't it?" Even though he knew it was. "I've seen you around."
"Oh?" She questioned with a bit of sparkle in her eye.
"I was thinking," Alaus began, while doing just that very quickly, "We should get better acquainted. Maybe go for a walk sometime."
She smiled. She actually smiled! "You know, I think I'd like that. But..."
Alaus refrained from a wince at that dreaded word.
"...Maybe tomorrow?"
Relief. "That's fine." He eyed the basket. "Busy at the moment, I'd guess."
 "Biscuits, fresh from the oven," she explained. "My family's dinning with the Lusinens' tonight. Ma and Pa are already there. I waited to make sure the biscuits browned just enough before I joined them. I'd best not dally."
"Tomorrow, after my studies, say... right here, then?"
"I'll surely be here," she assured him with that quiet, mousy laugh.
Alaus' chest swelled as he made his way home. And he still wore a wistful grin, when the maidservant met him at the front doors.
"Your father is waiting for you," she informed him stoically, indicating the dining room with a fattened finger.
Alaus nodded. Though the elation of his achievement remained, a measure of his frustrations resurfaced alongside it.
She stood there several moments, statuesque, before stumping away.
About the moment the kitchen door slammed, it occurred to Alaus he should've apologized to her long before now. But, he'd missed that chance, and he didn't want to keep his father waiting. Most of the time, people who waited to see a man like Jonnor of Larkhall; Alaus didn't like being thought of as exceptional simply by virtue of his blood.
 He entered the dining hall, taking in the hot food waiting on the massive table, and the only soul in the room sitting at the head. His father indicated a seat by his right hand, and Alaus took it. There they sat, separated by a marvelous spread of dinner. Neither of them ate.
"Alaus," Jonnor began, "You have had much on your mind of late."
He nodded; more than his father would ever suspect. He hoped.
"Come, speak to me."
With coaxing, Alaus told of his dissatisfaction with his studies under Vilda. His father took it more quietly than he expected. He'd thought to be laden with proverbs of the like Vilda tended to heap on his head when he made a mistake because, by her reckoning, he didn't study hard enough. He also felt marginally better for saying it - good enough to share that he'd managed to ask Demille on a walk. For the most part Jonnor listened.
At last, when evening turned to dusk and Alaus had his fill of cold food, his father asked, "You're sure there's nothing else I should know?"
Their eyes met, and a chill ran down Alaus' spine. He couldn't know about Rahamuth, could he? No, there was no way he could. He was just guessing from Alaus' behavior. And Alaus admitted he'd been testier than usual. He told himself it was a normal phase of growth, and perhaps some pent-up frustrations. Slowly but with certainty, he shook his head. "There's nothing else to say."
 From his dour expression, his father didn't seem to believe a word of it. Nevertheless, he bade Alaus good night.
* * * * *
One more night of fitful tossing later:
"Here, study your way." Vilda said, dropping a bag into Alaus hands.
What Alaus held turned out to be several sheaves of parchment and some bits of charcoal. "What...?"
"I haveta spell it out for you? Fine," Vilda shook her head. "All you grouse on about's getting back out in them woods, so fine. That's everything you need for some simple sketches, so get out and sketch any plants, fungi, or aught else you recognize from your studies. Identify 'em, what they're used for, and write out all whatnots you remember."
Alaus gritted his teeth. His sketches were horrible, and he hated using charcoal... but it was better than sitting around with his nose in his books. And, he realized with a mental groan, his hands would be charcoal-stained for his walk later on this evening. He forced out a response, "Thank you," and turned to leave.
"Oh, and don't dawdle in just one spot. Know you like the falls, but don't spent all day there. I expect a range of herbs, got it?"
 "Right." Alaus took a few steps.
"Oh, one more thing."
"What?" Alaus bit his tongue immediately after; that the retort was sharper than he intended.
"Unless you you ain't got any notion of continuing as my apprentice, I'd best be satisfied with how much you bring back."
Alaus' heart sank into his tightened gut. Here was his first chance in days to get out of the village for any length of time, and his apprenticeship was on the line. Losing apprenticeship in poor standing would be a great shame on him... and his father. And his mother's name, rest her soul.
Standing about wasn't making him look or feel any better about it. Thus Alaus' feet carried him from Vilda's presence, and he trudged out of out of the village. At some point - he was unconscious of when - he slung the bag over his shoulder, and it bounced off his back with the soft rustle of pages demanding to be filled. The crack of the bag's strap accompanied him while his legs worked and the farms, hills, and finally trees passed him by. His thoughts mulled like dark thunderheads - a stark contrast to the stubbornly clear blue sky and the chitter of blithe songbirds.
 When he reached the river, it struck him that it might have been wise to bring a bite for lunch; he'd missed breakfast and would be regretting it before too long.
Alaus cast about the area, looking for familiar plants. He found one, a shrub amidst a cluster of bushes he recalled: the leaves were used in poultices to prevent infections. The name escaped him... He hoped that, and more, would come back to him while he drew it. There was a tree nearby, and he settled himself against it, facing his subject. Charcoal touched paper, and he paused with a scowl.
The tiny plant was so overshadowed with the larger bushes, he couldn't make it out from where he sat. Before he knew it, he was on his feet - parchment cast aside - and grasped the great bush that obstructed his light. With a heave, he tore it up, and promptly toppled backwards.
He lay, staring up at the sky, with the offending bush on his chest and a splash of dirt over his legs. Why under the sun was he doing this? He didn't want to find another plant. No, but neither did he want to draw the one he'd found. Bother; one measly plant wasn't going to be enough to convince Vilda of anything.
 Parchments and charcoal stuffed back in his bag, Alaus set out upstream briskly, hoping his pace would burn off what emotions ripping up flora had not. The distant roar of the falls came and went as he moved numbly where his feet willed, and before long he was staring into the mouth of Rahamuth's cave, the shadows within as gloomy as his mood. He hesitated only a moment before leaving sunlight.
There lay the bulk of the black dragon, right in the middle of the cavernous space, difficult to distinguish from his surroundings. The black shape stirred. As his eyes adjusted, Alaus finally made out which end was which: Rahamuth lay sprawled on his back, wings all but flat on the ground, all his limbs aiming every which way in a luxurious, catlike stretch. From the grunt he gave, Alaus suspected he'd been sleeping.
There was a tiny glint from his teeth as he bared hundred-dagger grin. "Oh, hello Whelpling."
"Oh, stop calling me that!" Alaus snapped. Before he could think, his bag was off his back, and he flung it at the dragon's exposed belly.
 The lightweight package slapped against Rahamuth's scales and dropped to the ground. He regarded Alaus with amusement; the youth spent a moment in struck silence by his own outburst.
Eventually, he sighed, "I-I'm sorry. It's been a hard week." As if the dragon would care. Quickly, he stepped up to retrieve his battered bag and retreat from the dragon's immediate space.
"Sorry?" Rahamuth snorted. "Do not speak such rot as though true."
"I am, though," Alaus shook his head. "Really..."
"Tsk, tsk, whelp. We shall have to do better with you." Before Alaus had a chance to absorb that statement, he added, "Come, indulge a drear dragon's wonder: what ails one such to the point of cast such a paltry projectile, hmm? Surely there is an interesting tale to be had in this."
Alaus threw up his arms in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, nothing. My apprenticeship is doomed, that's all."
"Do tell."
With Rahamuth pressing for details, Alaus related his troubles. He found himself spilling the totality of his annoyances, down to the smallest irk. Far more than he had shared with his father. He didn't care why the dragon seemed to want to hear it all - Alaus felt the better for it, even as he listed Vilda's ills, pacing incessantly up and down a span of the floor parallel to the dragon's length. At last, grievances exhausted, he dropped to the cold floor in a cross-legged hunch.
 Rahamuth mused quietly, "You humans make such troubles for one another. Though, admittedly, one could foresee dragonkind would as well, were we forced to share such space for any great length of time. And yet you do so voluntarily. Why is that, do you suppose? Fear of greater predators? Or perhaps you disagree that interdependency weakens the individuals? Your kind come up with the strangest excuses for such philosophies, sometimes."
"I'm not here for philosophy," Alaus groaned.
"True." In a slow maneuver, Rahamuth pawed the air before his face, claws extended. "Were this Vilda a dragon, I would be overjoyed to put her in her place. Alas. Does nothing fare well in the life of the son of Jonnor?"
The merest chuckle came to Alaus. "I got this girl to agree to go on a walk with me."
Rahamuth laughed. "A walk! Ah, well, I suppose you're not afforded the experience of flight."
"Now wouldn't that be something," Alaus smirked as he imagined, "if our first night together I could show her a dragon..." He dreamed of staging a fight of some kind in mimicry of his father, later to introduce Rahamuth as perfectly friendly, witty... His thoughts were cut short by the dragon's hiss.
 "Don't think you can borrow awe-inspiring beauty to impress others. If she is worthy of you, take her by your own power or guile."
Alaus blinked; looking at it like that made all the traditional means of wooing women seem like paltry attempts to enhance the recipient's opinion of the giver. If he should not borrow the beauty of a dragon, why then should he borrow that of a rose he hadn't grown? Or a bejeweled ring he had not made? Or impress with how many important people he knew at a gathering? Or who his father happened to be? Then and there, he decided it was right for two people to love each other for who and what they were - nothing more, nothing less. No, it wasn't Rahamuth's philosophy, but his perspective was helpful in the larger picture.
It was only after all this Alaus realized he'd thought of Rahamuth as beautiful. It was the scales, he decided: the same kind of beauty he could admire in polished onyx. Nothing more.
"I wish it were easier to talk to girls, though," he confessed, directing his thoughts once more in that direction.
 "If only your kind were not so adverse, you could merely pleasure one another in advance. I've found many a dragoness much easier to understand once sexual tension has been relieved."
Scale scraped on stone while Rahamuth tucked in his wings and rolled into his belly, and Alaus struggled to overcome the images brought to mind.
"Well, I'm supposed to see her tonight. Maybe one of us could be... sated before then." Alaus shrugged, attempting to be casual about it.
Rahamuth rumbled ponderously. "I know something good for callow whelplings like you."
Alaus blinked. "What?"
"A game. Though more often a contest of might between dragons, seeing as how I would easily overpower you, I think it can also be played as a test of will."
"How do you mean? What kind of game is it?"
"There really are no rules. Tell me, would you like me to... sate you?" Rahamuth's tongue snaked out to wet his lips.
"I... Yeah, I might."
"Might?" Rahamuth shook his head. "In this game, your objectives are thus: you tell me what you want from me, you take what you want from me, and you leave. It is as simple as that. So, what do you want?"
 "Well, what we did a few days ago was..."
"Ah-ah, there is no 'we' in your objectives. What do you want from me?"
Alaus flushed, and wondered whether the dragon could see it in the twilit cavern. "I want you to... pleasure me l-like you did before."
Apparently, he could, for he had a gleam in his eye. "Oh, your face is delightful when you are flustered so. Specifically, now. Go on, say it."
"I want you to... use your mouth and... ah..." Alaus averted his face and held up a hand; his face flooded with warmth.
"...and suck your aching manhood?" Offered Rahamuth with a pleased chuckle.
"Yeah..." It really was starting to ache.
"...until you seed my snout at the peak of your pleasure?"
"Yeah..."
"Very well."  Rahamuth stood, drawing his head high to it's full height, twice Alaus' stature.  "Take it, then."
Alaus stared, uncertain what the dragon meant.  "Well, last time I pleasured you, and you pleasured..."
"No, no, and no!"  Rahamuth cut him off.  "This is not a bargain.  Take it - that is the game."
Alaus shook his head.  How was he supposed to take anything from a dragon?  What did Rahamuth expect from him?  He craned his neck up at the silhouette of the dragon's head and horns.  "What do you expect me to do with your snout way up there?  You said this wasn't going to be a physical challenge?"
 The dragon's eyes darted away, to the darn corners of his lonely cavern.  His neck bowed, his mighty aura seemed to drain away, and he did not respond.
Alaus hesitated at Rahamuth's sudden shift in demeanor.  This wasn't like him; it had to be part of the game.  If Alaus was supposed to take his pleasure, and it wasn't to be a physical contest...  He cringed mentally, but knew he could hardly hurt the dragon if he did anything wrong, so he approached.  His hand raised to Rahamuth's neck; he could barely reach it.  His touch bought to reaction from the dragon, though his powerful muscles yielded to the slightest pressure; where Alaus pushed, Rahamuth relented, allowing his neck to be pushed.  It was so unlike him, it caused Alaus to shiver, meeting his golden eyes once so proud, now wide with...  surprise?  Fear?  It had to be feigned, and if so, Rahamuth's performance was flawless.
Realizing he could not reach high enough upon the dragon's neck to lower it, Alaus instead reached for his foreclaw.  A hand at the joint of the mighty limb, and Rahamuth allowed his body to be pushed into a crouch.  He moved jerkily, unsure - as though unsure what Alaus wanted of him.  His hind end remained raised, as if he thought Alaus might actually mount him as though he were a female.
 With wonderment at the ease with which he brought Rahamuth's head low, Alaus began to think that if this was a game, some part of him did enjoy having such control.  Another part worried Rahamuth had been inexplicably struck deaf and dumb, or possessed...  But surely that couldn't be the case?  Either way, Rahamuth's lips parted easily at his touch, his jaws open, and his tongue lay wet in the bottom of his open mouth.
Then Alaus realized he was forgetting something: he was still fully clothed.
"Hold it right there," he bade the dragon.
With a slight gasp as though the order had hurt or surprised him, hold he did.  Motionless, rump in the air, tail limp, and open wide mouth, the dragon's tongue began to dry out while Alaus stripped himself and hung his clothes on a stalagmite.
Again he approached the dragon, eager cock hanging before Rahamuth's open snout, wondering how he was doing to do this.  At length, careful of the dragon's teeth, he reached in and picked up the draconic tongue with two fingers as though it were some mud-covered eel.  It was much easier to think about the Rahamuth doing this to him when he didn't have to think about the saliva, and what it must taste like.
 Rahamuth whined piteously, giving Alaus a start.
He grumbled right back at the dragon, "Well if you don't want me touching it, do it yourself."
The muscle lifted from Alaus' fingers and gave his manhood a quick lick, but quickly retreated.  Rahamuth's eyes were full of doubt.
"That's all?"  Alaus put a note of disappointment on his words, and the dragon cringed.  "Go on, you know what to do."
Indeed, Alaus' shaft soon felt the muscle once more, and he eagerly pressed himself against Rahamuth's snout.  Though his movements were slower, shaky, his tongue lurching to its task and than pausing hesitantly.
"You can do better than that."  Alaus told him.
And he did better - but from time to time his tongue-working became uncertain, and Alaus periodically reminded him to redouble the effort.  But if this game was supposed to be a 'test of will', what kind of test was it if Rahamuth buckled before his every whim?  Still, secure in the knowledge that he was quickly approaching one of his objectives, Alaus could hardly help but thrust into the slick, wet embrace.  Game or no, this was a dragon!  Such a powerful creature timidly allowing itself to be pushed, posed, and used!  It was too much for Alaus, and he sucked in a breath as he spilled his thick essence into Rahamuth's lax maw.
 Panting, Alaus stepped back and observed the dragon, whimpering with spittle and semen mixing in his still hung-open mouth.  He grimaced, a bit disgusted at the display.  "Either spit that out or...  or swallow it."  He'd swallowed it last time, after all.
The dragon's eyes darted around the floor, searching for where such a mess might be permissible.  Apparently dissatisfied with the options, Rahamuth gulped - noisily - and his wide-eyed stare resettled on the human.
Alaus' eyes wandered down the dragon's frame, darting between his legs, helplessly curious.  Blinking, he looked again and confirmed what he saw.  Or rather, what he hadn't; Rahamuth wasn't even aroused, none of his dragonhood had emerged from it's slit.  Alaus felt a pang of guilt for having his way in such a one-sided fashion.  He opened his mouth to apologize, but shut it promptly.  That didn't seem right.  Instead, he stepped past the dragon's neck and shoved at the scale-clad flank.  Still ever so obedient, Rahamuth flopped to his side, ducking his head in complete bewilderment.  Alaus wondered if that spark of confusion might have been more real than the rest of his playacting.  Well, he wasn't going to leave Rahamuth unsatisfied with a hand beneath the dragon's haunch, he raised it and knelt before the dragon's underbelly.
 While his fingers stroked over the smooth scales, and while he ostentatiously ignored Rahamuth's puzzled whine, he searched for the split in the scales that was a dragon's vent.  One of his fingers dipped off the scales into a soft depression; he had found his target.  He sank his fingers into the fold.  It was hot within, and he couldn't help but marvel at the softness of the flesh the dragon's scales protected.  Working his fingers inside, he played at the inner walls in attempt to coax Rahamuth to erection.
Another conviction came to him: twice, now, the dragon had brought Alaus to his peak with his mouth and tongue, and Alaus had only returned the favor with his hands.  If he could physically do more for Rahamuth, he determined he would try.  If he recalled, the tip at least hadn't been that big.  What worried him more was whether he could stomach the taste.  The worry ate at him more than the deed he contemplated, now, and before he knew it he'd pressed his lips against Rahamuth's vent.
Though he had thoroughly explored Rahamuth's mating tool, thanks to it's size, he had never been so close to it's origin that his lesser human senses were able to discern its scent - which almost immediately caused Alaus to withdraw.  It was overpowering, and utterly alien to him.
 But very shortly, something brushed his working fingers within the dragon's body.  Rahamuth made the smallest of appreciative noises as his member peeked from it's hiding places.  It was only an inch wide, and again, Alaus felt obliged; he leaned near the protruding member and, allowing himself only a moment to hesitate, gave it a lick.  It was different.  Strange as the musk, but different; he was prepared this time.  As it emerged like a snake from it's den, Alaus' lips closed over it.  He felt a tremor run through the dragon.  He could do this.
A full foot of Rahamuth's penis surged from his vent in the time it took Alaus to tongue it twice, and try as he might to move with the tip, it prodded the back of his throat.  Instinctively, he gagged and pulled away from the intrusion from his mouth.  The smallest drip of pre-seed on his tongue, though, made him gasp.  It tasted much like the musk smelled, except saltier.  Alaus groaned at how the flavor clung to his taste buds, refusing to be banished, no matter how he tried to dilute it or spit out his affected saliva.  Rahamuth's needy groan brought his attention back, though.  If he couldn't get rid of the taste anyway, it couldn't get any worse if he took more, could it?
 But the first ridge of Rahamuth's cock had been exposed, and recalling how sensitive those had been, Alaus decided those deserved his immediate attention.  Boldly as he could, he licked at it, seeing to it his tongue cupped the feature from every angle.  Rahamuth's breath rose sharply, and the second ridge lurched from its slit.  Alaus' attention shifted to that one until the appearance of the third.  The third he barely had time to touch before the fourth and fifth appeared; the draconic member raged to full erection.
Anticipating it's full length, Alaus had to scoot over so he could still reach the tip, which was sporadically dripping pre.  Bracing himself for the dragon excretions, he managed to convince himself to put the thing in his mouth again.  He could only take four inches in his unimpressive mouth, and were the tapered shaft any wider even there he wasn't sure he'd be able to keep his teeth comfortably out of the way.  It wasn't a tenth of Rahamuth's penis, and yet his raised leg was quivering in delight, expectantly drawing shallow breaths, and struggling to contain periodical moans.  No longer wide-eyed, his head rested on the ground, pivoting on a horn to fix Alaus with his eyes, lids heavy with luscious want.
 The last remnants of disgust at mouthing and tonguing a penis faded gradually as he acclimatized to his task, and he had ideas.  He pulled his head up and dipped back down, settling into a gradual pace while his hands worked the rest of Rahamuth's shaft.  He even relaxed a bit, and noticed he was taking a fifth inch; he could handle more than he thought.  The freely dripping pre in his mouth was something he just had to grimace to, bear, and occasionally force himself to swallow.  His fingers worked the ridges of the dragonhood, but without lubrication, he wondered if he was giving the best effect.  To resolve this, he departed the tip to attend to each ridge in turn with his lips and tongue.
The first time Alaus pleasured Rahamuth, he'd done it first with the promise of having the favor returned.  He found it surprisingly rewarding, now, to be the one returning the favor.  And watching mock fear dissolve into primal desire, he felt amused - a feeling he suspected was a shadow of what Rahamuth himself must have felt seducing Alaus in the first place.  Satisfied with the sixth ridge, Alaus moved back to the tip and admitted it into his mouth, bobbing on it while he palmed the bulging base and his fingers played at the reptilian slit.  Half-unconsciously suckling at Rahamuth's cock, he might have been more prepared for what came next had he noticed how the dragon's breath seized, and the low hiss that followed.  The first sign he took note of was the throb of the organ in his mouth, at which point he merely decided to shift his handwork, slipping them up the sides of the draconic shaft and ride the ridges back down.
 Alaus was unprepared for the first stream of hot viscid fluid shot at the back of his mouth, nor the buck of Rahamuth's hips that came with it; two more inches of dragon meat sank into him, jetting seed through the entrance of Alaus' throat before he could recover and retreat.  He pulled off in mid-spurt, and his cheek, neck, and sternum were slashed with semen.  But that was just the first wave.  Rahamuth's hiss turned growl, and growl to roar, as he thrust his maleness between Alaus' stunned hands and came hard.  Alaus shut his eyes, but felt the force of at least a bucketload of dragon sperm ejected onto his chest, belly, and legs, and he heard still more of the stuff splatter the cave floor beside and behind him.
Recovering from the shock, Alaus shook his head, attention first drawing to the taste of Rahamuth's ejaculate; it was every bit as strong as his pre-seed, but... sweeter, undeniably more tolerable.  A bit of a relief, actually, as it overwhelmed the tangier flavors lingering on his tongue.  Maybe it was even an acquirable taste.  Maybe.  But Alaus didn't think he'd ever get used to being covered in the goop.  It had been something of a pain to wash off, and now he had it in his mouth as well.  Great; dragon cum breath.
 Though he did find an odd plus to the situation: the semen he'd swallowed - a couple mouthfuls, he estimated - was taking the edge off his hunger.
"Well, I regret to inform you," Rahamuth, having rediscovered his voice, spoke between bouts of breath, "that as impressive as your first experience providing oral satisfaction was...  you just lost."
"Lo-"  Alaus coughed, hoarsely.  "Lost what?"
"The game, whelpling."
Finally it hit Alaus: Rahamuth had not made a contest of the game.  He'd just called it a test.  "So pleasing you wasn't one of my objectives..."
"And yet, you did.  How selfless, and utterly out of line with the conceited way in which your objectives were laid out.  Need I any more proof of your worthiness of the title 'whelp'?  I think not."
"You could have warned me or something," Alaus grunted.  Though, looking back, he didn't really regret anything.  On second thought, the lack of regret surprised him.  The quickest way to make sense of it was to remind himself 'what's done is done', accept it as cold fact, and lick his lips clean of Rahamuth's seed.
 "Ahh," Rahamuth sighed, "but you make such a good whelp."  He rolled to his feet, pacing around the fan of sticky white strings across the cave floor.  He chuckled over them.  "How could I have brought myself to remind you your final objective when you were serving so well?"
"Third?"  Alaus wondered.
"Leave."
"What?"
"That is your third objective.  It's time for you to go."  His head jerked toward the cave entrance.  "Unless you prefer the company of cold, sperm-strewn stone, dear whelp.  And I'll thank you that I needn't clean my scales this time.  For this eve, I hunt.  And the plumpest doe to be had will be - given my fortune - far from here.  Fare you... well."  Giving Alaus a final sultry glance, he trotted out into daylight and dove over the trees, catching the wind in his wings and soaring instantly from sight.
The time surprised Alaus; he hadn't expected his time with Rahamuth to drag on for hours.  But the day was indeed forging on into late afternoon.
But a smirk came to him.  He had plenty of time to wash up and make his way back to the village, where Demille would be waiting for him.  And as far as he cared just then, all else in the world could take care of itself.  He gathered his things - including Vilda's assignment, though he was completely unconcerned with it - and made for the falls.  He washed, drank, dressed, and went back to drink again; the enormity of his thirst surprised him, and he wondered just how much of the salty dragon pre he'd actually ingested.  His return trip to the village was pleasant, and he was right on time.  He leaned casually against a wall, waiting, and just hoping Vilda didn't happen across him.
 She didn't.  In fact, nobody did, not for half an hour.  His brow furrowed; it wasn't the most frequented street, but he didn't expect it to be deserted.  What if...  Demille wasn't coming?  Alaus shook his head at himself; he was being silly.  People showed up late now and then, it was a fact of life.
A quarter hour later, though, enough was enough.  Disappointed and scowling at his feet, he left the street.  He thought to go home, but the thought of his father kindled still more annoyance.  Far away, the sunset burned at the mouth of the vale while Alaus plodded away from the village yet again.  And Rahamuth griped about his ill fortune?  Flying a bit further for his dinner?  Alaus kicked a fallen branch.
He was getting very familiar with the path to the falls.
But Rahamuth wouldn't be there - he'd be hunting.  And Alaus wasn't comforted by ideas of a barren cavern at dusk, but he thought the heirsbane glade might be a more comfortable place to rest.  Maybe he'd sneak back home later in the night when he started missing his own bed.  Before he diverged from the river, however, he thought of Vilda.  His apprenticeship was over, that much was certain.  Not willing to carry a reminder of that, he slung the bag - parchment, charcoal, hopes, dreams, and his father's honor - into the gurgling waters and watched it drift away.  If only he could've tossed the lump in his throat after it.
 The glade thrummed with the music of grasshoppers, and as he threw himself on his back, it lulled him into a trance: half brooding, half resoundingly empty thoughts.
The moon was high, and Alaus hovered on the brink where sleep is the most fitful.  The beat of wings hushed the merry noise of a thousand insects.  A heavy landing panicked a score of bats clustered on a fruit tree.  A heavy shadow fell over Alaus, and a heavy sigh; he was not awake for the pacing, nor the way he was regarded with disquiet and conflict.  All he felt, finally, was his limp form being scooped up into powerful claws, warm scales, and the body that settled beside and around him.  He woke to recognize a dragon's foreclaw, wing, and tail around him.  
"Rahamuth?"
"Yes, whelp."  Derogatory though it was, it was tempered by the quiet voice he used - surprising for such a large creature.
"She wasn't there.  She never came."
"Take your mind off such matters," the dragon whispered.
"It's... not easy."
So long did they let the quiet carry on, the grasshoppers tentatively resumed their melody.  Rahamuth began with the softest tone Alaus had ever heard.  "Then let me tell you a story. Concern yourself not with the present.  When this land belonged to my kind, we feared you. Among you who made such poor prey, in all the earth, our fear was the men of Larkhall. They wielded knowledge, that even the mightiest among us trembled to learn of it. These were men who were dragonslayers, but not in the manner of the droves that came to fight us. Nay, they of Larkhall acted by the same design by which the seasons turn; by which the dragons' breath manifest the abyssal flame; by which the merest bird knows to fly south in her time. Few are those who remember the fullness of the truth. 'Ware ye in association with the followers of their ancient order: in the presence of such men, the acts of man and beast invoke Law. Oh, the might of Jonnor of Larkhall was no trickery, nor luck. There is not a dragon of the sky, the sea, nor the eternal dark below who has not heard his name. Even among his own, he was master; he the one we could not bring to his knees."
 Alaus sighed, unsure why Rahamuth would choose to speak of this.  But strangely, these thoughts of his father seemed disconnected from Alaus' life.  They bothered him no more than the fanciful tales of dragon-slaying he was raised on.  And if it was told from the other perspective, well, all the more interesting.  Rahamuth's voice was steady, while not monotonous; powerful, yet tempered.  It was wondrously calming.
Rahamuth quieted himself further, as though he could sense it as Alaus sank nearer to slumped, even as he continued.  "A broken dragon lay before him: the one who dared strike from the shadows at such a man. Defeated, beaten, a scale's width from death. Whatever the waiting flames thereafter life would have been a blessed release... But dear Jonnor, in all the fullness of human mercy, could not find it within himself to take a hapless life..."
Upon a final sound escaping between the dragon's teeth, a sullen "Tch," Alaus slept.