FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Benedict looked up in surprise at the knock on his open office door. "My dear Dr. Wind Runner!" he offered with quiet yet sincere enthusiasm. "Whatever are you doing in this chilly if venerable building of what we hope will be education?"

The cremello-colored mare smiled wanly. "You'd think the Physical Plant was completely inoperative during the break."

"We still have electric. You can borrow my heater, if you like; I only use it to aggravate the budgeting committees." He rose from his desk chair and indicated another, more comfortable one opposite. "Do sit down. Take your coat off. Or keep it on, as you see fit."

"On, I think, thank you." Cory settled herself in one of Benedict's comfortable chairs as the great crimson dragon himself took a chair across from her, leaving his desk out of their way. She indicated her warm-looking quilted parka, an antique gold that complimented her coloring. "I've kept my coat on the whole time I've been working. I have had to put on my comforter and try to warm myself at my candle."

"Cory, I shall not insult you by suggesting that you failed due to a lack of imagination. Dickens is very much on your mind today, I see. A favorite of the season, no doubt. Did you come in search of warmth? I could make tea. Not a proper tea, mind, but some of the sachets from Teavana are an acceptable nod toward mere convenience."

"I thank you, but just this once, I'll decline." She smiled softly. It was a pretty smile, as it always had been. She'd been in for more than one cup of tea over the years, first as a smitten student who had to be reassured, most gently, that her not being male was in no way a handicap to anything but the dragon's sexuality - his love being unswerving and reassuring - then later as a new member of the academic staff who had come for yet more reassurances when she feared her tail was on the chopping block. Despite the drake's assertion that, although females were perfectly wonderful, they were not likely to be part of the drake's bedthings, they had developed and shared a discreet tenderness over the years. "I won't keep you long, but I do have a question to ask of you."

"My vast, inestimable, and no doubt over-praised knowledge and experience await your calling."

"Operators are standing by," she chuckled, pausing before addressing the subject directly. "We shall be having a new graduate student next semester, and I have already met him. He happened into the Extra Credit, swiftly discovering your favorite brew, by the by. He's from Melbourne, and he's unused to winter in December. Apparently, he's had to make travel plans far in advance of the new semester, so he was rather at loose ends, finding himself in a nearly-empty college town."

"And your estimable hospitality would not allow you to leave him dangling, if I may use the term without making untoward estimations."

"Yes, he's a young stallion."

Benedict leaned forward with acute interest. "Oh, _do_tell me that you've not co-opted him to be your academic slave."

"Not for academics, at this point." The mare blushed so prettily that the dragon was just short of taking pity on her. "However, I can vouchsafe that he's not likely to be seeking a dalliance through your particular gardens, you rakish drake. And besides, how would Eoin take such a thing?"

"How, indeed." The elder professor concealed any emotion that might have wished to cross his face, but he couldn't quite conceal them from himself. "Apart from that, however, I suspect that you have verified this directly?"

"Repeatedly."

"Spare me the details; I'm easily deflated."

"You most certainly are not!" Cory grinned.

"Then let's just say that my hopes are all too easily dashed, especially if I'm certain that I shan't be able to partake." The drake felt himself smiling, and it was neither the least bit unhopeful nor insincere. "Am I correct in guessing that you hope to find some loophole to the fraternization aspects of our draconian teaching contracts?"

"Help me, Obi-Randy Kenobi; you're my only hope."

"That only works if you have a pair of Danishes strapped to your head. Not Danes, however, especially since Victor Borge has passed."

The mare's laughter was always a delight, for some reason even moreso today. This young stallion must be something special to her; whatever glow it is that females manage to get when they are well and truly smitten, Cory was certainly demonstrating it now. Was it mere joy, the drake wondered, or was it something that was after all a female trait that no mere male would ever be able to duplicate? He'd seen it in Emily when she and Nelson had carried their courtship to a point where Benedict was certain that the match was the right one for his former protégé. The Angeline had come to the dragon to ask about the male wolverine's past relationship with him, and Benedict had withheld nothing. He would not have done had he not felt so certain about the rightness of the engagement. Emily's reactions had given him further proof that he was right, and the last many years of wedded bliss between them had only proven the old drake correct. He was never wrong. He tried to remind himself of this as Eoin crossed his mind again.

"Seems you've got a nice young male on your paws," Benedict observed.

"I think so. Hope so."

"Then let's see about your keeping him even after he is presumably forbidden fruit." The drake reclined a bit in his chair, quite consciously imitating Nero Wolfe in clasping his foreclaws over his "middle mound" (not nearly so stout as Wolfe's) and enjoying his status as rule-breaker. "The first rule is that discretion is the better part of no one else giving a damn. Truth told, unless someone really wants to make it a personal crusade, the Powers That Be don't particularly care who you're sleeping with."

The mare seemed to shy slightly at the comment.

"Cory," Benedict offered softly, "that was a long time ago. It's over and done, and we all seem to have survived it well enough. And besides," he went on cheerily, "it's not like your stallion's parents are going to complain either about his sexuality or his good taste."

She chuckled gently, that soft nicker that both amused the dragon's heart and made him long for the opportunity to hear such a sound made by a strong equine male who might wish to grace his bed. It wasn't as if he were trying to tick off boxes on a checklist; his memory was good enough to perform that task without writing it all down, which might end up frustrating his future biographers.

"So no necking in the hallways," Cory allowed. "What else?"

"Are you likely to be his thesis advisor?"

The younger professor frowned. "Not likely. My expertise is in poetry, and he wants to focus on the literary value of the golden age of 20th century British mysteries. The queens of crime, as he called them."

"Oh do tell me, not the holy trinity of Sayers, Christie, and Allingham?"

"Precisely." The mare grinned. "Tell me you knew them all personally."

"While still a young and impressionable lad, I chanced upon them each in those heady days. There may be hope yet!"

"My bicycle," she smiled, repeating the punch line of an old joke. "And I've already told him that you were neither predatory nor stinting in your academic support whether or not the young male has allowed you to probe deeply into his questions."

"Arrg, a touch, a touch, I do confess!" Benedict chuckled gladly. "Very well, then, it clears up the point of your being a thesis advisor, so you've no conflict there. You might still be on his review committee, since the results would not be based solely on your input. He could even take a class from you, provided that another professor or two agrees to look over his papers as well, to ensure that you've not been unduly lenient with him. Any classes he takes in your bedroom could be audited..."

She raised an eyebrow.

"...or not." The drake continued, smiling. "The simple truth, my lovely mare, is that the fraternization rules exist to prevent outright whoring for grades. Without proof of favoritism of the professor toward the student, regardless of who initiated it, there's only smoke. The incorrect adage of 'Where there's smoke, there's fire' is the part to be worried about. The first way to avoid that is discretion; barring that, let him find classes other than something you're teaching, or make sure his papers are audited if you do. The best defense of all, however, is your unfair advantage of being in a heterosexual coupling, you fiendish female. Extremely few cases of heterosexual teacher-student sexual commingling have been registered officially over the decades, much less taken seriously. Us fags are far more controversial, perhaps because of our recruiting drives. We simply won't be sated until we turn all the males of the world to our cause."

The dragon attempted a smile that felt false even to himself. Cory leaned forward, her face showing lines of concern. "Please tell me," she said softly. "A trouble shared is a trouble halved."

Dragons, perhaps especially gay male dragons, are vulnerable to the perceptions of most females. Ordinarily, Benedict would have had all of his armor in place, as inscrutable as his Oriental cousins. When properly armed and appropriately guarded, no one could discern anything that he didn't wish to share, even against the wiles of feminine intuition. Today, however, something... no, not "something." He sighed, hoping to keep it quiet and inward, failing terribly.

"Eoin."

The mare said nothing, waiting. Damn her, she had patience. She also had the upper paw and knew not to press. Had she been male, their meeting all those years ago could have foretold quite a tasty trifle after Wendell had gone his way. It would have been awkward later, however, since Cory had known for a long time that she wanted to stay in this town, with this college. Nelson had been the exception to the rule that ex-lovers should neither be seen nor heard after the dance was done. He had also found himself a fine female to woo, wed, and bear kits with; his dance with the dragon had been quite the passionate tango, but he had, like the others, given and taken what was needed and gone on to become who he was meant to be. Benedict had merely provided a bit of prodding. Granted, a very particular type of prodding, but no one seemed to want to complain, not even Emily.

"He's spent the last several days with young Parker. Hasn't been home once in all that time. I'm worried about his safety."

"No, you're not."

A wisp of smoke escaped Benedict's nostril before he could stop it. He hadn't realized until just that moment how really on-edge he was. First was Konstantin's googly pitch to Royal, with the crimson dragon managing to save the wicket just in time; then parlaying with the black dragon, despite his better judgment; then finding Eoin not at home, and the past days with calls to Eoin and Parker's phones going directly to voicemail... His frustration was not merely from his unsated libido, which in fact had been inexplicably absent of late. It was that...

"Cory, I don't know what to do."

"What is it that you want to do, Benedict?"

He was about to raise the comment about a "shrink question," as well as raising his shields again, but the mare struck him with a look that was sufficiently dragon-like (given their close association) that he shelved the notion at once, heaving a sigh of at least a bushel full of air. That, too, he realized, was an attempt to retreat into a character, into "performance mode," into that safe shell of Benedict-With-a-Capital-B that protected him against most of the onslaught of the world.

"I want to know why he's not at home."

"Do you think he and Parker are falling in love?"

"Falling in bed, possibly, although I'd be more than a little surprised." He shook his head. "No. I doubt that's happening. Parker is... well, not to tell tales, let's just say that I don't think the young pup is quite ready for such things."

"You've told me a little of it - most of what I know is what the papers got hold of. Everyone knows you're giving him counseling, and it's pretty clear what about. And I know what Jerry's told me, which is actually quite a lot." Cory smiled her understanding. "I don't know exactly what happened on the football field, nor do I know the specifics of what you've been counseling him about. I only know that Parker is trying to come to terms with something linked either to his sexuality or to his ability to love. That's actually the way that Jerry described it to me."

The crimson drake considered. "Knowing that much, it's no harm in confirming it. My worry is exactly how that reconciliation will come to pass."

"Why did you say that you were concerned for Eoin's safety?"

"The violence on the football field," Benedict lied with conviction. "Obviously, there's something quite deep-rooted in his homophobia. I don't want Eoin to be hurt."

"It's you who've been hurt."

Only decades of the strictest training prevented the dragon from producing a small fireball. He could feel the pain behind his eyes, his claws just short of ripping his fine Victorian waistcoat. _Damn_her but she knew where to strike. It's said that advanced neurotics can be dazzling at that game, but that was not the case here; Cory was no neurotic. Like it or not, Benedict realized, he'd let her see too much beneath the surface, and her eyes now could see pretty much all they wanted of him. For a female in Benedict's life to see that much was rare, but far from unheard of; the real rarity would be for a male to see that far inside. It was one thing that he'd done all he could to prevent. Considering how close to home the mare had struck, he had just the slightest doubts about his success in doing so.

"Cory, what exactly am I supposed to do?"

"You didn't answer my question. You said that you want to know why Eoin isn't at home. That's not what you _want._Information isn't what you want. So answer the question, Benedict: What do you want?"

The very words seemed reluctant even to leave his snout. "I want to know why he's not at home."

"That's the information. What you want is to know the cause. What happened?"

"Nothing." The word popped out as if waiting for the last turn of the crank on a wolf-in-the-box. The drake was all too aware that he was engaging in the basest, most transparent of evasions. Thankfully, Cory did not hammer the point. Benedict looked at his foreclaws resting on his belly, and he considered what he should say. At its heart, nothing at all had happened. Eoin hadn't complained about anything, hadn't said a word. There was nothing that he could think of that should cause this sort of ill treatment.

The cremello mare shifted gently in her chair. "When you want an answer, you'll find one, or you'll come to ask me." She paused, seemed to come to a decision. "I'll tell you what Jerry told me. Parker had called him just yesterday. The pup seemed in good spirits, very relaxed, possibly even going so far as to use the word 'happy.' And at my own risk of telling tales, it would seem that no small part of this has been Eoin's help over the past few days."

Even dragons can't see their own expressions without a mirror. Benedict had to guess that he managed to keep his muzzle straight (if the term could be forgiven, in the context), since Cory hadn't continued. Inside, he still felt as if he were short-changing both himself and his colleague. He needed to find out what was wrong, why Eoin hadn't come back. He found himself in the unenviable situation of needing to know yet not wanting to find out. None of the characters he'd ever played, including the character of Benedict himself, had really prepared him for what seemed like something between abandonment and ingratitude. Worse still, he wasn't sure whether it was he who felt these things, or if it were someone else, inside his mind or outside of it. It simply wasn't time for Eoin to leave.

"Cory?"

Benedict and Cory both turned their heads toward the voice that had called from down the hall. "Down here," the mare called back, smiling at the dragon. "At least you'll get to meet him."

Despite the old wooden floors of the building generally echoing any tread with the sound of drumbeats, the hoofsteps came softly until the senior English professor's door was filled with as well-formed a stallion as he'd ever seen and not immediately attempted to disrobe. For one thing, Cory had first dibs; second, it wouldn't be nice to ruin him for her.

"Your office door was open..." he began, then turned with more than a little surprise toward the great crimson drake himself. "May I presume - Dr. Benedict Spenser?"

Rising fluidly, the elder professor offered a foreclaw, donning his character as easily as flinging a cloak about himself. "You may presume as much as you wish, my young equine, although my colleague has informed me that you're unlikely to do so."

"Dr. Benedict Spenser, Gabriel Clyde of Melbourne, Victoria, Australia, who is to be our new graduate student next month."

The dragon's analytical mind pushed aside all else as he profiled the newcomer. The young horse's grip was firm, not overbearing, a little too outgoing. For whatever reason that Benedict could not yet fathom, the Clydesdale's desire to meet him was both strong and subverted for a cause not yet detected. The body language was carefully casual, auditioning for a part. Something teased the dragon's sensitive nostrils, faint, familiar.

"Very pleased to meet you, sir. Your reputation precedes you, and I mean your academic reputation, of course."

"And not my carefully-crafted reputation as profligate, roué, and despoiler of young males?"

"That too." The stallion's laugh was genuine yet calculated, as if he had been preparing for his eventual introduction and it had arrived sooner than expected. He turned to Cory, seeming to think better of a kiss to her cheek. "I believe I'm to take you to dinner. Not, of course, to curry favor," he assured the drake.

"Curry not on the menu?" Benedict enquired.

"Perhaps currying would come later," Cory quipped, making Gabriel flick an ear in wholly uncalculated embarrassment.

"I hear you're to be profiling the great queens of mystery."

"I hope to, sir, yes." The Clyde's eyes showed unrestrained interest. This, at least, was a completely genuine response. "I was practically raised on Christie, and I found Sayers and Allingham later. I've loved the style and characters so much."

"And what of your own Kerry Greenwood?"

The surprise on Gabriel's face was also unrehearsed. "Phryne Fisher! Not many have heard of her, outside the territories."

"The natural superiority of one who has not yet succumbed to what Americans call entertainment."

"I'd Gibbs-slap you," Cory grinned, "but you probably don't know the reference."

"I do so!" the dragon affirmed, putting forth a charming imitation of effrontery. "There are a few redeeming qualities to the genre."

The Clyde laughed in genuine amusement. "Greenwood's not from the same era, of course, but Phryne might be considered to be. An interesting contrast to consider! Thank you, Dr. Spenser."

"Please, dear coltish delight - in private company, call me Benedict."

"In private company," the mare raised an eyebrow, "I'd call in reinforcements."

All laughed good-naturedly. Benedict felt his armor fully in place, even in Cory's presence, and he'd taken a preliminary measure of the stallion, filing the information away for later. "In any case, I daresay this fine young female is famished, both for good food and good company. My own may not have been the best this afternoon."

"Not a bit of it," she demurred softly. The look in her eye suggested that the drake could call upon her at any time, even in the presence of her handsome consort. It also suggested a certain resignation that he was, perhaps unfortunately, glad to see; for the moment, at least, his bastions would stand strong. She proffered her forepaw, which he bent to kiss delicately over the knuckles in the style that he felt sure the Clyde would be expecting.

"I hope that I can meet with you again about my thesis, Dr. - em, Benedict." The young stallion again proffered a forepaw, bending with a slight bow as the crimson dragon took the forepaw and bowed as well. This allowed him to confirm what his nose had detected earlier, and it wasn't the fellow's cologne.

"I've an idea about that," he offered magnanimously. "I've not had a decent excuse to serve a proper tea in a long time - a full pot, a selection of treats from my ovens that have not felt a suitable flame since Christmas morning at the least, and a proper welcome to my cousin from Down Under. Shall you both come to my home tomorrow afternoon and let me pamper you with the sensual delights of my kitchen rather than my boudoir?"

"He's a great cook," Cory nudged her date. "I'll keep you safe."

With only a slight nervousness in his laughter (secure in his sexuality; something else was bothering him), Gabriel nodded. "It would be unforgivably churlish to decline. I accept, with great thanks."

"Three o'clock? A bit ahead of the traditional time, but it fits better with the American traditions of taking dinner so early in the evening."

"Done and done," the Clyde struck in Victorian fashion. "I shall refrain from appearing with bells on, for fear someone might think I was drawing a sleigh."

"The fellow has wit, Cory! A good choice for academic studies and dinner companionship as well. I shall see you at my home tomorrow. Cory knows the way."

"Indeed I do. Thank you, Benedict." Cory looped her arm through Gabriel's, and they left with soft chuckles and a discussion concerning locking up her office before departing for the Rathskeller which, by the stallion's comments, had become his favorite place to dine. Their voices faded into the short distance; his ears being finer tuned than nearly anyone else's, the dragon held himself completely still until he heard the mare lock her door, then the slow hoofsteps to the stairs, down, through, and out the doors of the building. He'd heard every word of conversation, every nuance, and even the slow, nuzzling kiss that they had shared before leaving her office. He had heard her chuckle and make the confirmation that he had been waiting for: Anise rings.

He took himself back to his desk, activated his email program, and typed.

FROM: [email protected] <Benedict Spenser> TO: [email protected]<> SUBJECT: Loose Ends

Gabriel Clyde - Melbourne, Vic AUS - relationship to Riddell. Save me some research, for the pup's sake. Your walls may yet crumble, from this trumpet or another. 12-18 hrs please. This is more urgent than either of us can afford to waste time on. Call the house. Eoin may be in danger, not that you care, but I do, and you know how well I carry grudges.

Benedict

The great crimson dragon shut down his computer, disconnected it from the Ethernet, unplugging the power cord besides. He had no more worry about his office being broken into again, not with this short notice, but remote access was best avoided in any case. He locked up and left, creating a mental list of what he needed from the grocery. He would spend the night designing, baking, preparing the best tea he'd made in years. It would push away any other thoughts, whether of Cory, Gabriel, Eoin, Parker, or anyone else. In his concentration on entertaining, the rest of his mind would be able to concatenate the data regarding this muddle into something that he could work with. His heart, in the meantime, would be told to sit in a corner and not interfere. His conscience, he sent on a brief tour of the south of France, hoping that it would rest and forget itself before its return to whatever ruin might be left after he had done the necessary. This was not yet done. Not by half.