Verdant forested valley gave way; rolling mountains broke the eastern horizon off Zathreigan’s left wing, while the valley river curled away to the right, wending its way to a broad lake on the plains.  Flying low over the forest, he angling toward the roots of the mountain.  A depression in the forest caught his eye, not quite a clearing but open enough to land.  A little gully with just enough space to set down.  He spiraled the spot, sharp eyes on the surrounding countryside as he swung around, bleeding off speed.  No signs of humans. Just wilds and forest canopies. His spiral tightened; he swept right over the gully and flared his wings to catch the full brunt of the air, practically halting in midair to drop straight down.  His powerful hind legs hit first, sinking into soft loam and absorbing the majority of his immense weight before he let his forepaws strike.
Fire shot through his left front paw as it hit the earth; he roared in pain, nearly toppling to his side as the limb gave way. But, mindful of his passenger, he grit his teeth and stayed upright, lowering himself to the mossy dirt to let her dismount.  His whole body quivered with the pain from just the one limb.  
And she wasn’t letting go.
“Mistress…”  His folded wings dug into the moss, supplementing his one good forepaw.  But she still wasn’t letting go. It took him a moment of stillness to realize her body, tiny against his, was shaking. Zath clenched his teeth, a pit in his stomach, and settled onto his belly. Mistress needed time.
She’d just lost everything.  All her enchanted works, her laboratory, her hilltop home. That weird gauntlet was she was so concerned about.  It was a dangerous thing, whatever it was.  And she’d lost it to a truly despicable human, Lord Harkham.
He tried flexing his paw again, grit his teeth through the pain.  Nothing.  Hopefully it wasn’t permanent.  He parted his jaw to ask, but thought better of it.  She needed to rest and come to grips.  So he lay down his head, flanks heaving with a sigh.  Zath knew what it was like to lose everything.
Five years ago…  Six?  Somewhere in there.  She’d found him in his cave.  A few men had already come to try and claim the glory of ousting the young red dragon from his new lair.  He’d left their skulls outside as a warning, but that never stopped Mistress.
It was the first time he’d actually had magic used against him.  He tried to scare her out with a roar, and she hadn’t even flinched.  He breathed a gout of flame, and it all gathered at the tip of her staff.  She threw gleaming crystal orbs that spun about his head.  They flashed and twisted his vision; he couldn’t think straight, and when he lunged, he just hit a wall.  Cold metal on his neck, a tingling over his body, a hushed phrase.  By the time Zath realized what was happening, he was writhing on the ground in a humanoid body.  Tiny, helpless, with her foot on his chest.
“I am Lady Mythara.  You will call me Mistress and do as I say.”
He roared at her, and even that sounded tiny and pathetic.  Zath tried to claw at her shin, but his arms simply wouldn’t move.  He could still move them - he flailed and raged, but the moment he moved with intent to harm, his muscles simply locked up.  The collar.  The collar thrummed with power when he tried.  He clawed at the metal, growled, feverishly raking, tearing the scale and skin at his own neck.
“Do not touch the collar.”
Same thing. He couldn’t touch it.  His claws froze when he thought of it, and he simply dug them into his scales at the base of his neck, as if to tear out his own wishbone.  He was a dragon, and being reduced to this made him tremble with rage.
“You will call me Mistress.  Now!”
“Y-Yes Mistress.”  They were the only two words he deigned to speak to her his first six months.  She dragged him off far from anything he recognized, to a home that for his first few years, he couldn’t help but hate.
That moment it dawned on him…  That everything familiar was gone, and the future would never be the same.  Was that what Mistress felt now?  The pit in his stomach grew heavier.  But he was interrupted by a soft pattering sound. He cast an eye to the gloomy sky and the dark cloud rolling in. It looked to be a heavy rain.
“It’s time to get down, Mistress.  Please.”  He curled his long neck about to look at her, but she neither moved nor looked up. The ridges of her head fins were pinned back. She might have been dead but for the rise and fall of her chest.
Droplets began hitting his scales and wings.  With little choice, the dragon folded a wing out of the way and rolled, unceremoniously dumping his passenger on the ground. She curled into a ball, and Zath rose to three paws and re-situated himself around her.  He would be her shelter through the coming storm, his spread wing would serve as her roof.
He wanted to say something.  Anything.  But he’d never been good with words.  The rain grew to a steady downpour as he wracked his memory for anything Mistress might have said in the early days.  But no.  He’d been quite obstinate at first.  It was her simple system that tamed him given time; he was incapable of harming her or doing anything she expressly forbid, and the more he did as he was told, the more freedom she gave him.  As he moved beyond needing the collar’s restrictions, she would teach him more.  Cleaning.  Cooking.  Reading and writing.  A dragon’s helping of pride was a hard thing to swallow.
Zath should have hated her for putting him through all of that.  And yet…  he felt for her now.  How great the pride of she who tamed the dragon?  He ducked his head under his wing and nosed at her.  “I’m still here for you, Mistress.”
A gust of wind drowned out his words.  Lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the rain fell in sheets.  Zath’s wing and the heat of his flank kept his mistress safe from the elements, but still he felt powerless.
He couldn’t sleep.  It twisted his gut too much, hearing her cry in hers.

* * * * *

Two soldiers tossed the urchin in a puddle.  And there he skulked, knotted mess of hair obscuring most of his face.  The uniformed men about the yard watched him, but nobody told him to get in the box.  He just glared at it - a rough crate bound in iron straps with a couple holes, not even fist-sized.  How many hours he’d whiled away imagining hacking that thing to bits and tossing it on a bonfire.  It still smelled like him.
The square-jawed, square-browed man showed up. He had a new pip on his collar, shinier than the others.  That made him what, captain now? Never knew his name, but he was usually the one Harkham sent.  “Well.  Didn’t expect you to come back.  Thought we’d have to hunt you down after your last job.”  His smile was crooked.
“I know.  Very trusting of em.  And after all I done for em, not even a personal thank you from his Lordship?”
“Oh, he’s very grateful.  This was a very important job to him, after all.  In fact, he’s so grateful…  You’ve won your freedom.”
The urchin tensed.  Square-jaw seemed like the kind of man whose definition of freedom included slit throats and dumping bodies in the river.  But he grinned.  “Aw.  I missed me box.  And some of the lovely things you fed me.”
A chortle from one of the other men in the yard, who elbowed a grimacing compatriot.  One scolding look from their captain and both straightened to attention. Square-jaw leveled the urchin with a very unconvincing grin.  “Feel free to take it with you.”
“Teh. Naw, tough breakup like this, better to cut all ties, me mum always said.”
The captain had a crooked little grin.  “Your loss.”  That was one point in his favor; he did have a sense of humor.  “Now that you’re free, though, you need to leave.  Harkham can’t be seen dealing with swine like you. Folk in this country, they kill your kind on sight.”
It bothered him.  What did they stand to gain, letting him go here?  Safest to play up the gratitude, he thought.  “Still remember yer beautiful face looking in on me cell.  Weren’t for you, I’d have met me noose instead of me box.”
“Stop being cute.  We’re done here.  Now run your little tail out of Ballen before people mysteriously find out what you really are.”
Damn, played it too strong. The urchin rose with a grin, smiled at the guards, and took his first step toward the gate.  Toward freedom, supposedly. He didn’t run, though.  That would just gratify them.  He was going to amble the whole way out of the rich quarter of town.  The hairs stood up on the back of his neck; he felt their eyes on him.  Mum always said never turn tail toward anyone but a lover, but… what choice did he have?
But what were they really after?  Best case, square-jaw really was telling most of the truth.  Avoiding rumors of Harkham having dealings with… non-humans.  Maybe.  Couldn’t stop feeling there was more to it than that.  If Harkham wanted to bury suspicions, all he needed was a shallow grave.  Nobody would bat an eyelash.
Probably best if he did leave town.  He looked up toward the hill, up above the valley.  There was still a column of smoke rising from the tower, the last bit standing of the enchantress’ house, even after last night’s downpour.  
People gave him looks, passing the rich types’ houses.  Well, they gave him looks regardless, but they were specially cutting up here among the high and mighty.  He could breathe a little easier when he got down by the docks.  Fish and chicken droppings were more palatable than the airs Harkham’s stooges put on.  Should he steal a fish?  Nah, he was just being lazy; he could catch one later.  Better to find his way back to the gate. Passing through the market along the way, turnip lady shook a finger at him.
“Ingrates, every one of em?”  He asked the sky. “Can’t have me a fresh start, can I?  That would be too easy.”
He blinked.  Looking up, he was the first to see the dark shape plummeting through the clouds.  That was no bird.
Others noticed him looking up and couldn’t help themselves.  Scattered screams broke out as massive red wings unfurled suddenly over the town of Ballen, a rush of wind slashing droplets of water from roofs, raining on the market all over again.  The dragon alighted just outside the gate, but he was only down for an instant before launching back skyward with a powerful beat of his wings.  His talons were wrapped around something that looked like a giant, seamless block of wood… No way that was natural.  Something what belonged to the enchantress, was it?
A couple of panicked guards scrambled for their crossbows, but only one got off a shot.  It went wide, blown off course by the dragons’ wingbeats.
The urchin watched the dragon wheel overhead once, issue a fearsome roar somewhere over the rich folk houses, and shoot off up the valley.  North, huh?
Was he really thinking of heading after them? He shrugged to himself.  “Teh. Why not?” 

* * * * *

Zath spied improvement: his Mistress sitting up, watching as he circled the gully.  Slowing his final vertical decent with mighty strokes of his wings, leaves and pinecones scattered from the nearest trees across the windswept brush as he set down his payload gently.  Dropping to his three good paws, Zath crouched over the large wooden block, found the tiny etched rune, rapped it with a claw, and muttered the pass phrase. “Empty hearsay.”  The wood creaked, twisted, opened, and reshaped itself into a very simple-looking cart.  Inside, some of the produce seemed to have been pulverized by the strongbox during flight.  
Mistress followed him with hollow eyes and a subtle grimace.  “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever I can,” he spoke softly, walking on his wing-wrists towards her spot; the conspicuous dry patch in the middle of the muddy gully.  The dragon’s footing squished and threatened to slide if he moved too quickly.  “I’m not going to let you starve.  Good to see your eyes open again.”  He lifted his head, peering toward the mountains.  Perhaps he should scout up in the mountains for a dry cave.
Her head shook faintly. “Fly away, you foolish beast.”
Zathreigan tipped his head at her, but settled back on the spot he’d claimed last night, partly wrapping around her.  “And leave you stranded here?  Perish the thought.”
“Why?”  She huffed, rising to her feet and stalking out of the dry circle.  “What’s left for you here?  You have your wings back!  What’s holding you here?”
“You are, Mistress.  I-”
“Don’t call me that anymore.”  She turned to cast a wilting glare on him.
The dragon clenched his teeth. Recalling her unshakable calm, her reason behind every action, every slightest rule, the bastion of structure and order he’d come to know, now seeing her like this… lashing out irrationally.  It was hard to watch.  
“Is this how it is?”  She threw her arms wide.  “You’re just going to gloat while I suffer?”
He dipped his head.  “I don’t resent you, Mis-”  He cut off, his eyes widening.  The collar prickled at his neck, stopping him.  She hadn’t forced an order like that in years.  “My lady.”
“Don’t call me that either.  So what did you do it for?  What did Harkham promise you?”  
Despite years of conditioning, he couldn’t help the irritation welling at her words.  “I don’t know what you think I did for Harkham but I assure-”
“Don’t play games with me, dragon.  Did you think I wouldn’t realize?  I warded the house when we left! And they did nothing to stop Harkham and his men!  Only two people could pass: us.  You went back and disabled the it for Harkham.”
“How, pray tell?”  He sat up, flared his wings, feet planted, claws digging into moss and loam.  “The only enchantment you ever taught me to use was the damn cart! I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how to turn off your wards.  And why would I come back and warn you after?”
She waved dismissively at him, huffing, stalking off.  Toward the cart.  “Isn’t it just a little too convenient?  I told you about the gauntlet and exactly where to find it.  I identified the most dangerous weapon I had, without even thinking.”  She surveyed the bruised produce inside, and ran her fingers across the latch of the strongbox, taking a brief peek at the coin inside.  “And you practically handed it to that swine, Harkham!”
“The accursed thing that did this?”  He lifted his dead paw.  “You gave me no warning.  I thought I could protect you if I wore it, Mis- My la…hrk.  Mythara!  If you get a hold of yourself and think for a half-second, you’d realize I am currently incapable of lying to you!”
She shook her head.  “There are ways around the collar.  Wordplay, twisted half-truths.  Even if I believed you - as if! Because nobody else could have dropped the wards - there’s nothing left for you to protect. I am nothing.  An enchanter without tools is no enchanter at all!  Just a lady with a cart, no horse, and a pile of… rutting turnips!”  She grasped one of the mangled tubers and hurtled it.  Struck squarely on the bridge of his muzzle, Zathreigan roared, rearing back.
He found himself frozen, muscles locked as birds far as a mile away taking wing to flee the clamor.  The collar held him.  Had he…  really intended to harm Mistress?  No, that couldn’t be right.  But as he calmed, he found he could move again.
It didn’t last.
“Leave now,” the enchantress hissed, her tone pure venom.  “Do not seek me out. Do not speak to me, do not speak of me, and do not remain in my sight.”
Zath’s eyes widened.  The collar prickled incessantly at every word.  His jaw opened, but he could force nothing past it.  He staggered back, because it was the only move the collar let him make.  He met her eyes, those haunted golden pools.  He couldn’t bear it, he had to turn away.  He hadn’t the will to fly, so he walked.  Substituting his wings for a bad foreleg - practically crawling, for a dragon.  Brush and thickets scraped at his sensitive membrane as he climbed up and out of the gully.  Yesternight’s rain drizzled across his back as his passing disturbed the leaves.  The pit in his gut he’d felt the eve before was back, and seemed it cut deeper.
Had he controlled himself, perhaps…  perhaps he could have calmed her.  Teeth grinding, he strove for words… even though they would do no good, now.  He’d lost the right to speak them.  Surely something he could have said could have gotten through to her?  No, he had to go and lose his temper!  Way to cement her claims.
He tasted blood.  Grinding his teeth so hard caused his broken one to bleed.  They tended to do that while their replacements grew in.
There was no telling how far he’d stalked through the forest before he finally stopped feeling the urge from the collar to put distance between himself and Mistress.  Damn her.  If he was free as she claimed, couldn’t she have just removed the collar once and for all?
No… no.  Deep breaths.  His temper was just going to get him in trouble again.  She was hurting too.  Just like his first few weeks of captivity.  She spent the first night in complete denial, but she could hardly ignore her situation for so long.  Now she withdrew from help and lashed out in anger.  For Zath, it had been a period of testing the collar’s limits, routinely destroying anything he wasn’t expressly forbidden to touch, and refusing to speak more than two words.  But he remembered it now as one of the most painful weeks of his life, and he had no one to blame for himself.
In her way, Mistress had shown him great kindness; she gave him a new role in a life of relative luxury and gave him more than his fair share of time to learn to appreciate it.  Zath didn’t want to go back to who… to what he’d been before, carving out a stake of land, raiding livestock from human farms, demanding tribute, and murdering anyone who looked at him cross just because he could.  It wasn’t glamorous, but the path Mistress thrust him into was a good one.
But there was nothing good about Harkham stealing or destroying everything she prized.
Zathreigan tipped his head upward, growled, roared, and keened a dragon’s lament for the pain of his mistress. 

* * * * * 

Sooner or later, he had to keep moving.  Some primal instinct of dragon-kind, whispering that a dragon without a home was in danger, insisting he roam far and wide.  But there was no lair that could still his unease, or quench his smoldering worry.
Zathreigan came to the river.  The same river running through the valley and the town of Ballen, no doubt.  Broad enough for small boats and the barges that frequented the town, shallow enough for him to stand in.  The water was chill to the touch, but he didn’t care.  The dragon slid into the river with hardly a thought to the chill; it soothed his bad paw, and gave his wings a rest from being used as crutches.  Letting the gentle tide wash away the mud, grime, and leaves he’d accumulated on his trek through the woods and carry him lazily.  Legs tucked, he let the river take him.  Drown him, if it would…  But no, it washed him up on a sandy bank as the river gently curved, and left him there, lost in the mesmerizing ripple and flow of the crystalline water.  So pure, so impossible to grab onto, despite the deceptive ease they’d carried him.  The sun crept across the sky, graciously showing him all the ways the burbling river could scatter her rays.
He was slowly pulled from his trance by the sense of another’s presence.  Picking up his head and sinuous neck, he spotted the figure trekking up the riverbank.  A scrawny human with matted hair making his way up the beach.  Their eyes met almost instantly; this one knew full well he was walking straight for a dragon, and he didn’t even look concerned about it.  He swept the tangle of hair out of his face as he came to a stop not ten paces away.
“So where’s the lady?  The enchantress?”
Zath clenched his teeth.  The collar wasn’t going to let him speak on the subject anyway.  “Unavailable. And I have little patience for humans right now.”
He grinned.  “Teh, I about had me fill of em, too.” 
The voice was familiar, but it didn’t click for Zath until he caught a whiff; his nose crinkled.  “Oh, I remember you. You’re the miscreant who pushed me over the turnip stand.”
“Suppose I should introduce meself.  Just lemme…”  He stretched, looking about to yawn and showing buckteeth.  But his face contorted into a muzzle, short and sharply angled, and a he shook himself as a fur coat of ruddy brown sprouted over his body, with the exception of his taut, bony hands, feet, and the whip-like tail now thrashing behind him.  He finished the yawn with a lick of his twitching nose.  “There. Proper introduction! Me name’s Slat.”  He swept a hand flourish into a deep bow.
The dragon lifted his head, further from the borderline fetid odor wafting his way.  “I really don’t care what you are. What do you want?”
“At the moment?  Could do with a bath.”
“No kidding.  Take it downwind, would you?  And far away.”
“Ouch.”  Slat tipped his head, grinned, shrugged, and continued along the beach behind the dragon.  “Honest, I don’t make a habit of being this filthy. Wouldn’t want to give me fellow were-rats a bad name.”
Breathing immediately became a great deal more pleasant, and Zath let his head drop back to the sand. 
A soft fwump of clothing made the dragon’s brow furrow, and he picked his head up once more to glare over at the discarded heap of clothes, and the rat, nude, wading into the river. He looked little more than skin and bones, and the water turned to sludge about his fur. With an irate grumble, Zath got his feet under him and scooted up the bank before the muddied water reached him.  “What part of far away wasn’t clear?”
The rat, past waist-deep, ignored him.  Clouds of grime peeled off in the current even before he started working his fingers through the fur.  Zath gawked.  “Gods, what did you crawl through to come out like that?”
“Harkham’s employ.  Not me first choice, mind you.”   It was worse than mud, clingy gobs the rat scraped out of his thick chest ruff.  He stooped into the current, digging his fingers in deep and kneading, coaxing out seemingly endless volume of muck. His cheek curled in a toothy half faced grimace. “Gods, I needed this...”
“Harkham?  H-How…?”
It took the rat a long moment and a weighty glance at the dragon.  At length, he shrugged.  “He pulled me off the gallows and had me stuffed in a box back in Kaldauth.  Poked some holes in it for air and scraps of food. Carted me around like that for… weeks?  Couple months, maybe?  Not quite sure, didn’t see sky too much except when his men wanted a moving target.”
Uneasy, the dragon rose to his haunches, front paws poised between the rear.  However bad his first weeks in captivity, this was a whole new level of cruel, but he held his tongue.  Coming from Harkham, he wasn’t the least bit surprised.
Slat could finally run his fingers through his chest fur without making more mud, so he moved on to scrubbing at his thighs. “He had uses for me particular skills.  Promised if I be good, he’d let me go when we crossed the border. Didn’t honestly expect him to keep his word, but there you have it.”
The enemy of his enemy, he supposed…  “So you know what happened to my mis-  To the enchantress and I?”
“Yeah.  You got reason to hate em.  Inclines me to like you.  What’re you two gonna do now?”  
“First, I need my mis- The enchantress to g-  Gah!”  He bit on his tongue, snorting. 
The were-rat paused, giving the dragon a side-eye with one ear cocked.
“Sorry.”  The dragon lifted a paw, dragging across his collar.  “This thing’s enchantment.  I can’t actually tell you anything about her right now.”
“Shrikes and shackles!”  The rat straightened, tail lashing briefly out of the water.  He scrubbed at his arms, but absently.  “She controls you?  Just like that?”
“Not often, anymore. She hasn’t u-  rck.”  Zath coughed, swallowed.  Every time the collar caught up to him was like having something caught in his throat, however briefly.  He wasn’t used to being so careful with his phrasing.  “The collar hasn’t been used on me like this in years.  But I got to know it’s limits very well. Commands will only last so long unless they’re recited daily. However much I want to be with her… Can’t do a damn thing until tomorrow.”
The were-rat brushed all this hair forward and dunked it, soaking and wringing it out.  His technique certainly wasn’t helping his collection of knots, though. “Not doing too well, is she?”
“Shock.  Anger.  Withdrawal.”  He could say the words on their own if he just thought of them as abstracts.  “Can you imagine someone destroying your house one day?”
“Nope!  Never had a house to call me own.”  Slat was picking his way back to shore, still wringing out his hair, but the water was more or less clear now.  His coat was a noticeably different hue; almost gray. “Seems to me you’re dealing with a fair bit of the same, though.”
“Dragons don’t place a lot of stock in houses and possessions.”   Zath tasted blood, found his jaw clenched.  Forcing himself to relax, he hunched, blowing a heavy sigh, nares flaring.  “Maybe I am.”  It felt wrong to want for the stability of a static life.  The house he didn’t care for, but he was beginning to realize just how much he leaned on Mistress’ once unshaken confidence.
The were-rat took up station beside the dragon’s paws and stretched his arms over his head, leaning left, then right.  “Eh… Just gotta move forward.”
“Can’t do much of that until tomorrow.”
“Well, don’t waste it being all broody.  Really unbecoming.”  Slat flopped back on the sand with a toothy grin.  “Let yourself enjoy life.”
Zath swung his neck over toward his uninvited companion, eyes drawn to the fingers encircling the were-rat’s furry sheath and shamelessly stroking.  “Really?”
“Hey, no humans here to whine at us about modesty.”
“What us?  I have more tact than to paw off right next to a stranger.”
Slat wore a permanent grin.  “What, you a virgin?”
“No.”
“Like I said.  This mope, this brooding thing’s gotta stop… Ye can’t do anything for now.  Accept that.  Let it go, and enjoy whatever you want.”
“You have a point.”  Zath sighed, watching the rat squeeze his sheath, a peep of his pink tip poking free.
Slat grinned, folding his hands behind his head and curling his tail around to wrap around his emerging length.  “You like watching?”
“Mere curiosity.  Never been attracted to males.” 
“Someone else have your fancy?”
He couldn’t help imagining Mistress naked again.  He felt a pang of guilt, thinking of her this way, but… he couldn’t get her out of his head now.  Which also prevented him from forcing a word past the collar.  “Not someone I can talk about.”
The rat’s eyes narrowed, sly.  “Someone with blue scales, then?”
Zath dipped his head, nodding.
“She ever let you fuck her?” Slat’s eyes roamed red scales.
“It’s not like that…”  Paws digging into the sand, he shivered at the thought…  What would she feel like?  “I’m lucky she never forbade me getting off.”
“Lucky indeed,” the rat flashed a grin and licked his lips.  His gaze was leveled squarely between Zath’s haunches.  “If just thinking about her gave you that hardon.”
He shot a glare down at his erection, then over at the rat.   “Now who’s staring?” he huffed.
“Not every day I get to see a dragonhood.  Move your paws, they’re blocking me view.” 
Zath rolled his eyes and ignored him.  At least until the shameless rat sat up and started prodding at him. “Fine.”  Zath broadened his rear footing and lifted his bad paw.  “Enjoying yourself?”
He wasn’t expecting Slat to dive under him, hand wrapping itself around his tip, dragging a gasp from deep in his throat. 
“Oh, am I ever.”  The rat licked his lips, tipping Zath’s member this way and that.  The black shaft was longer than the rat’s forearm, thicker at the base, ridged along the underside and tapered to a spear-like head.  Zath screwed his eyes shut, tail slashing  fitfully across the sandbank behind him while he tried to decide whether he was okay with Slat handling his maleness.
Those fingers slid along his length so gently, sending shivers up his spine and neck.  A push at his shoulder, and he was laying down on his side before he even thought about what he was doing.  He hesitated to meet the rat’s gaze, and the mounting excitement as those black eyes drank in the sight.  
“Maybe you haven’t been attracted to males,” Slat grinned, fingers toying with Zath’s penile ridges and coaxing out a shudder. “But I don’t hear you complaining.”
The dragon whined.  “You just bathed and you’re still a filthy animal.”
“Am I ever.  Some of Harkham’s men?  They weren’t picky about getting head through a hole in a box.”  He dragged his tongue across Zath’s tip.  “Joke’s on them. I loved it.”  
He was still trying to decide if he was okay with these advances.  The rat walked up to his front, cupped his chin and tipped his muzzle downward, a devious spark in his eye tempered by… concern? “You’re being very cooperative.  That’s not the collar’s work, is it?”
Zath swallowed.  “N-No.”
“Good.  A submissive dragon?  Oh yes, that’s good.”  The rat grinned, petting Zath’s snout.  The same hand he’d been stroking with; it still smelled of heady musk and tangy arousal. Slat didn’t linger longer, but withdrew beside the dragon’s rear legs. Still at full mast, he shamelessly stroked himself with one hand, hefting a scaly haunch with the other to better surveying the reptilian pride. “Well since your mistress never laid claim, I’m going to assume you’re fair game.”
“What are you-”  He cut off as hot liquid struck his side. 
“Dragons understand marking territory, don’t they?”  The rat groaned, thumb and forefinger pushing his tip low as he sprayed faintly acrid pee across Zath’s gray underbelly, stream breaking on the dragon’s scales and running down their edges.  “You got a problem with that?”  
He had no words.  As surely as the collar binding him, but there was no magic at work here. Slat was clearly enjoying himself, and tipped his stream at the Zath’s cock, causing a groan of unexpected pleasure from the dragon.  The rat’s stream tapered off; that wasn’t just a marking, the rat had fully relieved himself!
 All the things he expected to feel - indignation, outrage - were absent.  Only a shiver as he realized he wanted to submit.  His life under Mistress had always been easier when he did.  He was a truly pathetic excuse for a dragon… a dragon who belonged in submission.
So when the rat straddled his belly, he couldn’t find it within himself to object.   Slat faced the dragon’s tail, cupping the head of the dragon’s member and pressing his comparatively tiny one against it.   Zath’s haunches lifted, and his tail thwumped into the bank, lashing in tempo with the throb of his maleness.  
Slat’s own whiplike tail curled around the pair of opposing cocks,  freeing those spry fingers to slide along the black shaft.  Zath’s chest heaved as he gasped for breath, tipping his head back, horns gouging the sand. He almost felt… guilty for this pleasure, with Mistress alone and distressed…  But the rat’s touch drove away such thoughts, playing against each ridge of his cock like strings of a harp and gragging a very undignified moan from deep in his throat.
“That’s it,” the rat cooed.  “Just enjoy.”  His fingers slid down to explore the lips of the reptilian genital slit, and beyond, thumbing over a second puckered opening.  “Tailhole?”
“Y-Yes…”   He wasn’t sure how he felt about the rat’s interest in his anatomy, but any progress sorting out his feelings was driven away by the fingers spreading his slit and the small muzzle perusing.  Short, twitchy whiskers teasing the rim where scale gave way to flesh, Slat’s lips and buckteeth raking against his skin, and finally a long and tongue trawling through his vent.  Zath’s haunches pulled up tight, briefly trapping the rat, feeling his peak rising sharply. He was so close…
…And the rat fell still.  Zath groaned, hips bucking for that last little bit, but the rat’s tail fell away and left him humping air.  
“Sensitive dragon.”  The rat chuckled.  “Isn’t it a bit soon for that?”
Zath growled between pants for breath.
“At least try to make it last, why don’t you?”  Slat lowered himself, pinning the dragon’s member beneath his chest as he brought his muzzle back to the dragon’s privates.  A couple questing fingers wormed into his slit, but his tongue found its way to Zath’s tailhole instead, sampling the scaly backdoor.
Zath’s paws curled. The rat’s fur wasn’t the softest against his penis, but he hadn’t known the touch of another for so long, it didn’t really matter. He was rapidly leaking pre between them, even the subtle movement of their breathing tantalizing him. The wet tongue spiraling and lapping at his tailhole opening - that was a new sensation.  Pushing harder, digging deeper with every lick, a pleasured rumble built up in the dragon’s throat.  It was actually quite enjoyable.  That moment the pressure finally overcame the tight muscle and speared inside, he fought for breath against a raspy moan, and his cock jerked up against Slat’s belly insistently. While not unpleasant, falling back from so close to the brink left him aching, panting for anything more. 
The rat made out with the dragon’s tailhole, utterly shameless.  His arms slid around the base of that red tail, and his own furless tail curled straight up, tip aimed skyward.  Zath had an eyeful of Slat’s goods from below the tail to his dangling sack. Was he wiggling his hips like that intentionally? Almost a shame he wasn’t particularly interested in males.
What would Mistress say if she could see him now…? Would she… ever do this to him?  That little thought kept him throbbing far longer than it should have.  It wasn’t enough for Zath to get off, but Slat seemed to be thoroughly enjoying it, if the thick rivulet of pre running from between the rat’s legs was any indication.  It wasn’t until the sensations at his opening started to blur together, when he actually started softening, Slat finally stopped.
Zath shook himself from the haze and lifted his head with a quizzical glance.  The rat sat up now, grinning, stroking his own erection; his groin and inner thighs were absolutely soaked with their combined pre.  Mostly Zath’s.  “Enjoying it so far?”
He opened his mouth, but his throat was completely dry from panting.  He swallowed painfully.  
“Maybe return the favor sometime?”  The rat offered a reassuring stroke of the dragon’s penile head, instantly renewing Zath’s erection.  There was a distinct shlick when he peeled away from the scales he’d been sitting across.  Tail swinging overhead, the rat re-mounted the dragon, straddling the tail and face to face this time. He aimed his narrow cock downward.  “Just gonna make myself at home… Should be plenty of room seeing the size of yours…”
The dragon looked on in bewilderment, uncertain what the rat was talking about.  Until Slat shoved his pointed cock into the base of his dragonhood, pushing into his genital slit.  Zath groaned, claws digging at the ground.  Plenty of room!?  That’s not how that worked…!  But there was so much pre pooled around his genital slit, the rat met hardly any resistance.  He wasn’t asking, he was claiming it with eager thrusts, gripping at Zath’s cock like a handle and holding it firmly to his slick, messy belly while he rutted with abandon.  The dragon bucked with him, no longer caring - all he could feel was his need, his resurgent climax coming on twice as strong as last time and thrice as insistent.  If the rat stopped again, he’d…!
He’d…what?  The scenes invaded his mind, wild, primal images. Roll over, pin Slat beneath him and see how he liked having his tailhole reamed, then stuffed. Would it even fit? Probably not. Just pin down the filthy rat and rub off on that slick mess he’d made of his fur.  Use the rat like a cum rag and roar dominance when he came.  Slat would probably like it anyway…
No.  No, that wasn’t right, he was still on his back, with the rat’s penis planted deep in his genital slit, biting his tongue.  And… he was okay with this. Their eyes locked, and he could see how close Slat was, himself.  “You want it now, don’t ya?” 
That smug grin, the knowing tip of his head, the lazy enjoyment and naked, carnal lust in his eye, all of it set Zath’s flanks heaving, panting for breath. He nodded.  “Do it, please.  Breed me.”
Breed?  Wrong word. Too late to care.
Slat’s fingers twisted around the head of Zath’s penis and clutched at his ridges, but it was the spurts of the rat ejaculating, the bloom of hot semen the rat injected into his slit that set him off.  He didn’t care if his moan was incredibly undignified; he threw himself back on the sand, squirming, every muscle in his body drawing tight.  He didn’t roar so much as mewl when his dragonhood erupted in a fountain of thick white seed.
Riding out the bucking, stroking along the dragon’s spurting penis through the orgasm, the rat leaned back as they fell still.  His own member twitched inside Zath’s slit.  “Teh…  Satisfied by your first male?”
“Almost…”  Zath growled with a devious grin spreading across his muzzle.  The rat gave a startled squeak as the dragon rolled out from under him, but the dragon planted a hind paw atop the rodent.  “You said something about returning a favor…”
Slat’s eyes went wide when it dawned on him. The dragon squatted, hefted the hind paw out of the way, and went.  It took a moment to push through the last dregs of cum; he completely missed, and squatted lower to correct his aim.  The rat was rapidly drenched from chest to groin, his softening cock pausing its retreat while he churred contentedly.  With effort, Zath constrained himself to a slow trickle, drawing it out as long as possible.
The rat was conveniently situated  in a shallow depression where Zath had lain a minute ago, and it served to collect a growing puddle.  Slat grabbed his penis and started masturbating in the middle of it.  Tongue was hanging out, hips bucking into the dragon’s trickle, and rapid stroking squeezed a second orgasm and a few more spurts of cum from the rat.
Zath’s bladder finally ran dry, and Slat lay panting.  “Not the favor I meant, but I’m not complaining…”
“I keep things I enjoy.  Good luck getting that scent out of your fur.” The dragon grinned over him. “You really are a filthy animal, aren’t you?”  
He just grinned.  “Yup.”
Zath flung the rat into the middle of the river, Slat screaming a curse in midair.  Watching a moment just to ensure the rat found his footing and came up for air, the dragon trotted into the water to cleanse himself as well.  The rat whooped, laughed, clearly taking no lasting offense, but aside from his .  .  move downriver, a little further from Ballen and the mess they’d made of the sandbank, and by this time the crickets were out in force, making their songs heard.
“What kind of name is Slat, anyway?” 
The rat’s shoddy clothes hung over his tail as he walked, wet from being washed and wrung out exactly the way he washed his excessive hair. His tailtip curled around to his hand, held to keep the weight from dragging his garments on the ground. “Me mum’s.  Keep finding me way into tight spaces, see. Literally and figuratively.”
“That’s… frightfully accurate.”
“And you?  I never quite caught yours.  Mum always said I should make a point to know that before I cum in ‘em, but eh…”
“Zathreigan.  Zath is fine.”
“Zath?  I like it.”  He pointed out the next bend in the river ahead. “Looks to be a good fishing hole, and now’s the lucky hour. Might stop and catch meself dinner.  You hungry?”
“Mm, not right now.  Think I’ll catch myself a doe tomorrow.  Gods, it’s been years since I flew a proper hunt.”
That didn’t stop him snapping up a fish when Slat offered him one of his catch, fresh off the sharpened stick he skewered it with.
The sky was a blaze of gold, orange, and wisps of purple cloud, and the mountains shadows cast their riverside cove in twilight.  Zath was curled in a circle about the smoldering embers of the campfire, Slat’s warm figure nestled against his withers.  Having Mistress settled in against him would be better…  But he was tremendously grateful something good had come of the day.
The rat’s curious fingers slid over his forepaw.  The bad one.  “So ah, what happened here?”
Zath barely tipped his head.  “Some kind of magic gauntlet. Obviously didn’t know what I was doing.  I’m hoping it heals sooner or later.”
“I hate to break it to ya, but… That’s a lot of dead flesh.  Trust a rat to know.”  Slat prodded firmly into the pawpad.  “Feel anything at all?”
“Nothing.”  Those fingers kept testing and prodding, working their way up the limb.  It was strange to watch those fingers dig hard into his flesh and feel nothing. Nothing, until he yelped at a spike of fire shooting up his limb when Slat dug into his wrist.
“Something’s alive in there.”  The rat chuckled weakly.  “Your lady tell you anything about it?”
“Not yet.  We didn’t exactly have a normal conversation before she… sent me away.” 
“I’ve seen venom do the like.  Or really bad frostbite, maybe?  I’d worry about infection, but there’s no wound… Probably best keep it that way.” 
Zath could still feel some resistance from the collar, imagining going back to her.  It had been a long time since he’d had much practice judging the collar.  “I think I’ll be able to go back to her in the morning.  This is definitely something I need to ask about.”
“Mind if I come with?”
“I don’t.  Hopefully she won’t either.”