Work Text:
“What are you doing here?” Edwin snaps when he turns around in their office, engrossed in one book and reaching for another, and finds the Cat King suddenly there instead, standing very much in Edwin’s way.
The Cat King doesn’t answer at first, looking around curiously and smirking as he brushes past Edwin. Far too close for propriety, of course. He runs his gloved hand across their desk and picks up one of the knick-knacks that Charles has collected over time. A harmless one, thankfully; a heavy sleeping bear that Edwin uses as a paperweight. His other hand is bare for some reason, the glove poking out of his jacket pocket.
“Rubbing some fur the wrong way,” he murmurs eventually, quietly enough that Edwin wonders if he was supposed to hear it. “You haven’t come back to visit,” he admonishes, “I wanted to see what was so interesting that it would keep you away.”
“We’re very busy,” Edwin tells him stiffly, “We have quite the caseload and I never said I would, besides.”
The Cat King puts the statue down, on a cabinet instead of the desk where it belongs, and sidles closer. “You never said you wouldn’t, either,” he points out.
It’s a fruitless debate to have. “What did you mean, ‘rubbing some fur the wrong way’?” Edwin asks, deciding to redirect the conversation.
The Cat King shrugs one shoulder with a laconic elegance that Edwin couldn’t hope to replicate. “I didn’t exactly ask permission from the potentate here before deciding to drop by.”
Edwin frowns at him. “Are you invading someone’s territory?”
“It’s not invading if no one knows I’m here.” He winks and puts a finger to his lips. “It can be our little secret.”
The last thing Edwin wants is to get involved with another cat, king or otherwise, never mind a spat between rulers. “You should go.”
“But I only just arrived! And I missed you,” he chides. “Didn’t you miss me?”
“I haven’t even thought about you.” It’s not quite a lie. They have been dreadfully busy, after all, between the night nurse and new cases and Crystal trying to sort her life out. She’s out with Charles at the moment, in fact. On a date, Edwin thinks, despite neither of them having said so. They’re trying to protect his feelings, but really, it’s hardly necessary. Edwin has loved Charles so dearly, for so long, that the only thing he knows how to want for Charles anymore is for him to be happy. And if Crystal makes him happy, well. Edwin has grown rather fond of her himself; he’s certainly not going to mind if she has another reason to remain with them.
“That,” The Cat Kings says, and steps into Edwin’s space, “hurt my feelings.”
He taps two fingers against Edwin’s mouth in rebuke and the sudden burn of it is startling. Edwin jerks back, hissing, and is entirely caught off guard when the Cat King presses their mouths together, sliding his bare hand around to cup the back of Edwin’s head and keep him there.
When Monty had kissed him it had felt much like everything else in the world did. Which is to say, like nothing very much at all. The memory of touch, the awareness of resistance without sensation. It had been equally unexpected, and entirely unmoving, though Edwin had been sorry for the confusion he’d inadvertently caused, of course.
This, however… through the stinging Edwin can feel the kiss. For several long moments he can feel pressure and warmth, and a lick of wetness when the Cat King curls his tongue as he draws away that cools as his breath blows against the delicate skin of Edwin’s lips. He stares at the Cat King as the sensations fade into tingling before vanishing entirely.
“What?” asks Edwin, rather stupidly, but in his defence he hasn’t quite managed to regather all of his cognitive faculties.
The Cat King takes a step back and raises the hand he’d touched Edwin’s mouth with, waggling the gloved fingers demonstratively. “Iron filings,” he announces smugly, “embedded in the leather."
“It hurt,” Edwin says, trying to sound annoyed.
“It’s a good thing you have such a tolerance for pain then, isn’t it?” he says. Edwin can’t help but track his hand as the Cat King lowers it and tucks it behind his back, along with the other. He blinks at Edwin slowly and grins, like the proverbial Cheshire. “You’re right, though. I really should go.”
“You. Yes. You should.”
The Cat King turns and walks to the door of their office, opening it to leave in a way he very much didn’t to arrive. He doesn’t have a tail in this form, but Edwin can almost see it anyway, swishing back and forth in a taunt. Or perhaps it’s an invitation as he pauses at the threshold to look at Edwin over his shoulder.
“I’ve had a mirror installed in the warehouse,” he says, before disappearing, “In case you want to come by and hurt my feelings again.”
*~--~*
Edwin puts the encounter firmly out of mind. Which is easy enough for a few days when Crystal inadvertently touches a piece of jewellery at a thrift store and sends them all harring across the countryside, searching for the source of a series of mysterious deaths along a river.
A kelpie, it was a kelpie.
And if Edwin never has to see another one of those creatures again, it will still be too soon.
He’d left their little celebratory party early, with the excuse that he wanted to write down the details of the case while they were all still fresh in mind. And he’d meant to do just that, truly. He’s been sitting behind their desk, pen in hand hovering over a blank page in one of his notebooks, staring at it. Correction: He’s been staring at their mirror, pen in hand, notebook on desk, mind a million miles away. Or however far Port Townsend is from London.
He shouldn’t. For a variety of very good reasons. Not least of which is the way Edwin feels about Charles. Pursuing something else would feel almost like a betrayal. Not of Charles. Edwin is perfectly aware that Charles would be thrilled for Edwin to find someone of his own, though perhaps not quite so thrilled if he knew whom Edwin was considering. No, it would be a betrayal of the feelings themselves. Feelings that had grown despite himself, that Edwin has only very recently even come to understand. Hardly less is that the Cat King is lonely and bored and looking for a new toy to keep his attention, and Edwin would be an absolute fool to offer himself up for a plaything.
He can’t stop thinking about the kiss, though.
The way it had felt. That he’d been able to feel it at all. He could, of course, simply apply the effect himself. A little bit of iron and a willing partner… But it’s not just that. There’s something enticing about being subject to the Cat King’s attention. Clever and manipulative and self serving attention, undoubtedly, but utterly focused. Edwin has, for one reason or another, caught his interest and after that innovate kiss Edwin would be lying if he said his own hadn’t piqued.
He isn’t very good at lying to himself, not once he understands a situation. Edwin isn’t very good at lying at all, quite frankly. So he doesn’t have the luxury of telling himself that he’ll just pop by, just to say hello, just to see. He finds himself standing in front of the mirror despite himself, fingers brushing the silvery surface and seeking the connections beneath. If he goes to Port Townsend, he’s going for a very specific reason.
He closes his eyes and slips through the spaces between, a breathless moment of vertigo. Here one moment, there the next. When he opens them, the Cat King is sat upon his throne, languid and smirking. His hands are bare and his gaze is fixed on Edwin, yellow eyes hooded.
“I think a change of location is in order,” he murmurs and snaps his fingers. Another moment of disorientation, purple flame, and his throne has turned into a bed. The Cat King sprawls backwards and lets his knees fall slightly apart. “Hello, Edwin. Come to visit?”
The question is facetious and Edwin frowns at him. “I’ve come to negotiate.”
“You’ve come to strike a deal?” The Cat King snorts. “I’m a cat, not a crossroads devil.”
“No more bracelets,” Edwin says firmly, “I’m to come and go as I please.”
He considers this, pursing his lips. “I don’t think I need to resort to those kinds of measures anymore, do you? Fine, no more bracelets.”
“Or anything else like it.”
“Or anything else like it,” he echoes obediently.
“And we’re not dating. I’m not in love with you.”
“Yet.”
Edwin clicks his tongue, “I don’t want to be in love with you. This is just-”
The Cat King stands up and circles around the bed to stand in front of Edwin. He pulls one of the gloves he wasn’t wearing out of his pocket and Edwin watches as he tugs it on. When he’s done he presses one of his fingers to his own mouth and darts his tongue out to wet the fabric.
“A little bit of pleasure?” he suggests. “Maybe a little bit of pain to make things feel… Real.”
Edwin exhales, a little more unsteadily than he would like. “Quite,” he licks his lips and makes himself continue. “You’re to stop if I say so.”
“Of course.”
“And this isn’t. This isn’t something you bargain with or use against me. It stays separate from everything else.”
“I’m offended, I would never,” the Cat King opens his eyes wide, aping dismay before winking. “It’s our little secret, I won’t breathe a word of it. Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“That hardly means much when you have nine lives,” Edwin points out.
“Six, now. But who’s counting?”
“Do you agree?”
The Cat King leans forward, invading Edwin’s space. He can’t feel the breath, the puff of air against his ear that would accompany the words. “Am I allowed to add a term of my own?”
“That depends on what it is.”
“Tell me, when it’s over, don’t just leave. Humans have a nasty habit of abandoning cats.”
“It’s a good thing, then, that I am a ghost.”
The Cat King laughs softly, and draws back. His eyes are fixed on Edwin’s mouth. “Do you agree?”
“Yes. Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Then I would very much like it if you kissed me again,” Edwin says, feeling bold and undeniably eager now that he’s set himself fully upon this path. He can feel the odd resistance of the bare hand that slides into his hair, the knowledge that something is there that he could slip through, if he chose to. He’s anticipating the burn against his lips from the Cat King’s other hand, but even so he gasps, the sting of it lighting up long dead nerves. Edwin closes his eyes to better concentrate on the way it feels when the Cat King presses their mouths together, his body made real in that one place through iron and pain.
“More, again,” he insists breathlessly when the sensations fade and the Cat King groans into his mouth, pulling back only far enough to slide his fingers between them. Edwin can’t help but whine, it hurts, it hurts, the leather pressing between his teeth and petting his tongue, but he can feel the Cat King’s tongue chasing between them, rougher than his own, until his entire mouth is aching and alive.
“Oh, this is so much better than anything I imagined,” the Cat King moans, dragging Edwin’s lower lip down to expose the inside. He darts forward to lick the blood rich tissue and Edwin briefly wonders what he tastes like, if he tastes of anything at all. “Get on the bed, lie down, on your back. I want to get your shirt off.”
“Yes, yes, all right,” Edwin agrees and sits himself down to start unbuttoning his shirt.
“No. No, let me, I want to do that,” the Cat King tells him and pushes Edwin’s hands out of the way, crawling onto the bed after Edwin and forcing him to scoot backwards to make enough room. The bed is unnecessarily large, but it does mean that Edwin can lie flat on his back without his feet hanging off the edge, which he appreciates. He also appreciates having the Cat King straddled across his thighs, popping buttons with both hands. The gloved one keeps brushing Edwin’s skin as he bares it, agonising little touches that make Edwin squirm. He cries out at the far more intentional touch, when his shirt is finally open and pushed to his sides, of a thumb swiping over one of his nipples, followed by the Cat King’s mouth. Sharp teeth catching on the bud and tugging before he sucks. Edwin curls his hands into the Cat King’s hair and arches into it. He had no idea his nipple was attached to, to certain other places, or feelings, but it very much is and arousal, of a sort, sings through him.
“Oh, that. Yes. Please. I-,” Edwin can’t quite remember how to string a full sentence together, but it does suddenly strike him as odd that he doesn’t know the Cat King’s name. “What should I call you? King?”
The Cat King leans back and hums, “You could always call me sir.”
Edwin scoffs. “I think not.”
“Thomas, then.”
“Thomas?” Edwin is strangely surprised, “That’s a very normal name.”
“I’m a very normal cat,” he says, mouth curling at the corners, amused, “Just like you’re a very normal ghost.”
Edwin understands the implication, but as far as he’s concerned he is a very normal ghost. One with, perhaps, unusual circumstances, but normal in all the other ways. Maybe that’s true for the Cat King, too. Abnormal by circumstance, rather than nature.
“All right. Thomas. Now do that again.”
Thomas laughs; an honest laugh, Edwin thinks, if the snort is anything to go by. “I knew you’d be bossy,” he says, and doesn’t give Edwin a chance to retort, rolling Edwin’s other nipple between gloved fingers and setting the delicate skin on fire.
It isn’t that Edwin loses track of time, exactly, so much as his focus narrows down entirely to those places that Thomas touches. Those places where Edwin’s body solidifies. Where he can, for long aching moments, feel the way he’s being touched, the drag of Thomas’ cat rough tongue, the prickle of his stubble; all through a film of the pain that makes Edwin writhe, his self preservation trying to twist away from the burn, and his arousal turning into it. He feels caught, strung between intensities, reduced to nothing but those moments and the mindless chasing of sensation.
He feels quite pathetically desperate when Thomas brushes the shell of Edwin’s ear and presses his lips to it, murmuring, “Say yes, Edwin. I want to suck you.”
Edwin is already pushing at his shoulders before he can catch his breath enough to say “Yes. Yes, please, oh.”
Thomas makes quick work of Edwin’s trousers, opening them and shoving them down around Edwin’s thighs, trapping his legs together. Whatever protest Edwin might have made dies a quick death when Thomas holds his penis steady with his bare hand and taps just the tip of it with a gloved finger. He uses the weight of his body to hold Edwin down when Edwin reflexively bucks, trying to escape the touch, and then laps at the slit.
Edwin can hear himself making a garbled noise, incoherent nonsense. He isn’t prepared when Thomas grips him firmly and strokes, leaving agony in his wake, and then just as quickly swallows Edwin down. Edwin doesn’t know the etiquette for this sort of situation. He thinks that he might be being rude, his hands clawed into Thomas’ hair, somehow trying to both pull him off and push him down and managing neither. Thomas doesn’t give these sensations a chance to fade, either, pulling off with a wet, sucking pop and taking Edwin in his gloved hand.
“Easy,” he pants, voice rasping, “I’ll stop if you say so.”
He almost says yes. It’s on the edge of too much, he wants to cry. “No. No, don’t stop. I want, I want to.”
“Good. Good, I’ve got you. I’m going to make you come so hard you forgot your own name,” Thomas promises roughly and finally lets Edwin go, replacing his hand with his mouth again. He takes Edwin right down to the root and then pulls off with a long, slow suck that soothes the burn somewhat. Edwin honestly doesn’t think it’s going to take long, he can feel the pressure that’s been building in his pelvis start to peak and he has no desire to hold it off. He won’t be able to actually ejaculate, he doesn’t have the fluid in him for that, but he doesn’t think that’s going to matter much. Not with the way his toes are curling and muscles tightening, with the heat set low in his abdomen that suddenly intensifies and then melts, leaving Edwin a shuddering, gasping wreck.
“Gods, look at you.” Thomas sits up and shuffles forward on his knees until he’s positioned over Edwin’s groin. He fumbles with his own trousers and pulls himself out, stroking almost desperately. Even after everything they’ve just done this feels almost embarrassingly intimate, but Edwin can’t look away from the plump, red head of Thomas’ penis, glistening wetly, disappearing into his fist again and again until he grunts and splatters ejaculate over Edwin’s belly and chest. He looks quite debauched, Edwin imagines, if Thomas is anything to go by.
He slumps forward and presses his forehead into Edwin’s breastbone, and then moves his head in quite a strange way. It isn’t until he shifts further down that Edwin realises Thomas is licking his own ejaculate up, cleaning Edwin’s skin of the evidence of his orgasm.
Edwin understands, very suddenly, exactly what Charles meant when he said he couldn’t feel it physically, but that he could feel it ‘up here’. Edwin’s brain feels static-y with how much he wants, inarticulately and intensely. “Kiss me,” he gasps, “I want to taste it.”
Thomas moans into the stretch of Edwin’s belly, pressing his face into it. “You can’t just say things like that,” he admonishes breathlessly. “Open up.”
Edwin does and Thomas slides fingers into his mouth and out, the iron filings still as searing as the first time, and kisses Edwin, open mouthed and sloppy. It reminds him of the one time he’d tried oysters, briny and slimy. It’s not exactly a pleasant taste, but Edwin chases every last bit of it until they’re panting against each other, not so much kissing anymore as sharing space, sharing breath.
“Well,” he says shakily, “That’s was.”
“No kidding.” Thomas chuckles, and Edwin can hear the way he starts to purr, a little more literal for a cat than it would be for a human. A deep, satisfied rumble reverberating from within his chest.
“I. I can’t stay,” Edwin admits, with more reluctance than he’d anticipated feeling. “I didn't tell anyone where I was going.”
“Mmm,” Thomas growls, but he rolls to the side, propping his head up on a hand. “Free to come and go,” he says, “but do come back. I have so, so many more things I want to do with you.”
Edwin nearly groans. He’s not going to be able to think of anything else, now. “You’re going to be a terrible distraction, aren’t you?”
“Like I wasn’t already.”
“Don’t be smug, that wasn’t a compliment,” Edwin tuts, but he can’t quite keep from smiling fondly.