It was during one their usual (fondly) derisive conversations that Dorian spied Lady Grey from the Dean's office window. She was tall, with dark mahogany hair and a splendid figure, and Dorian felt the immediate stirrings of want.

He interrupted whatever Maltravers was saying (not that Dorian was listening) to ask, 'Who is she?'

'Who?' The professor glanced out the window, expecting Dorian to be making another comment about the riffraff being let into the school. But the Lady was hard to miss. 'She,' he said to Dorian, 'is Lady Elizabeth Ashton-Grey, and if you have any sense, you'll be on your best behaviour while she's here. And you'll keep your Dandelions in check too. The last thing we need now is one of our primary investors being upset by your club's embarrassing antics.'

They watched in silence for a moment as Ashton-Grey crossed the courtyard toward them.

'She's fit, though.'

Maltravers snorted. 'Bit old for you isn't she?'

The younger man smirked. 'I don't discriminate by age… or marital status.'

'What do you discriminate by?'

'The Stinson Scale. And bank balances.'

'Well, Dorian, this is one eight you won't be notching on your bed post.'

'Eight? Nine.' He looked again at the tall woman outside and gave a little grunt of appreciation.

Maltravers frowned. 'Seriously Dorian. She'll eat you alive.' He pulled on his jacket. 'Best greet the dragon at the gates.'

Dorian followed him out and down the corridor, planning a charming first impression.

They met the Lady by the fountain. The Dean smiled effusively, but was met with a cold stare. 'Lady Grey, how lovely to see you.'

'Maltravers.' She shook his hand shortly.

The Dean introduced Dorian, who turned on his most winning smile, took the lady's hand and kissed it. She looked him up and down. 'A Dandelion.'

'The President of the club,' said Maltravers.

She rolled her eyes and turned from Dorian to the Dean. 'Let's get this over with.'

Dorian caught the amusement in Maltravers' eyes at Grey's complete immunity to his charms. The Dean escorted Grey up the steps, leaving a stunned Dandelion by the fountain.

Maltravers attempted to make pleasant small talk on their way to his office, but was met with abrupt answers or noncommittal "hmms."

He ushered her into his office and shut the door. It clicked loudly behind them. Neither said another word.

Back in the courtyard, Dorian glanced up at the Dean's window. He wouldn't see anything at all from here. Was she any nicer to the Dean? Was she calling him on the carpet? He'd like to see that. Decision made, Dorian too made his way up the stairs.

Edmund crossed the two steps between them in one long stride and without preamble pressed Elizabeth against his desk. He hiked up her skirt as she pulled his shirt from his belt and set about unbuckling him. His mouth was on her neck when she sought to correct their omission; with a hand in his hair she pulled his face up to hers. A moment of eye contact was all that was needed before he pulled her close and kissed her. Passion took a back seat to affection for a while as they expressed without words how much they'd missed each other.

With a final press to the side of his mouth, Elizabeth leant back to look at him. She smiled, a hand stroking down the satin of his tie. She could feel his grip on her hips, and a shared thought resulted in him lifting her to sit on the blotter as she wrapped her legs around him. He bent back to her neck, and she returned to his fly.

It was in that position that Dorian ambled in upon them: thankfully still clothed, but well into the process of becoming less so.

'Dean, I must say: Respect, old man. Respect.'