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Edwin comes to an abrupt halt two steps out of the mirror tucked into a corner of the cannery – a new addition after his first few visits – as several dozen pairs of bright cat eyes turn his way upon his entrance. He takes a second to register that they’re all sitting in a semi-circle before the Cat King’s throne – and the sleek black cat sitting atop it – and realizes that the Cat King is…holding court, or whatever the cat kingdom equivalent is. And as Edwin continues to receive a rather poor reception from the cats of Port Townsend thanks to the magic leash incident, being the focus of so much feline attention is more than a little unnerving.
He retreats into polite formality, and offers a short bow, taking a quick step back toward the mirror. “My apologies for interrupting, Cat King. I will return another time.”
“Whoa now, hold your horses,” the Cat King calls across the space. With an elegant and truly impressive leap over the crowd of cats, he lands lightly and trots over to Edwin, ears and tail both held high. In a rush of purple flame, the Cat King stands human in front of Edwin, a little too close to be polite, grinning his trickster’s grin. “What brings my favourite ghost to my kingdom today, business or pleasure?”
Edwin gives him a quelling look, but the Cat King is clearly unaffected and merely winks. Giving up on the attempted admonishment, Edwin nonetheless can’t quite bring himself to say the latter out loud in the hearing of a roomful of cats, and settles for, “Personal, not business. But it’s clear you’re busy, so I’ll come back later.”
The Cat King reaches up and tweaks at Edwin’s bowtie, just a little. “The cats and I are almost done, if you don’t mind waiting.” He adopts a pleading pout, which is far more endearing than it should be. “After that, I’ll be all yours.” He even bats his lashes, looking up at Edwin, and damn it all but Edwin is weak.
“If you’re certain it’s not an imposition,” he manages to say. He doesn’t actually want to leave, hard as it is to admit.
“Not even a little,” the Cat King replies, stepping back with another wink. “Make yourself comfortable. I won’t be long.”
Edwin blinks against the disorientation as the space seems to bend around him, and when his vision clears he’s in the Cat King’s chambers yet again, this time alone.
He hovers uncertainly in the middle of the room, but gives in to his curiosity and looks around. Though he has visited the Cat King several times over the past month, they have primarily spent their time in the main floor of the cannery, and he’s therefore seen little of the rest of the place.
His first time here in the Cat King’s private space, he’d been understandably preoccupied and remembers little of the room aside from images of the bed with the Cat King lounging on it, bared chest gilded in neon red and blue from the glowing sign. The second time, he’d been focused on their conversation, trying to ensure he expressed himself clearly – and, again, caught in the pull of the Cat King’s magnetism.
This time he can actually give his attention to his surroundings, and is somewhat surprised to find that the space is rather cozy. There is the bed in the center, of course, piled with pillows and plush blankets, all of it invitingly rumpled. An arrangement of crates and planks along one wall form shelves and nooks with an assortment of trinkets and other things tucked away – including, in what Edwin flatters himself to think is pride of place, the pretty cloisonné box containing his gift of catnip and valerian. But there are also nets draped between support beams and hanging glass balls that Edwin thinks are old-fashioned buoys or lures, all of it obviously deliberately arranged.
The room is also clearly used only as a bedchamber for sleeping and, presumably, trysting – or whatever the modern term would be – given there’s only the bed and no other furniture such as chairs or a table. Not exactly surprising, given the hedonistic nature of its primary occupant. Or, it occurs to Edwin that he doesn’t know how much time the Cat King spends in human form as opposed to cat; perhaps chairs and tables would simply go unused. Or perhaps he merely has a sitting room elsewhere.
The whole space offers a bit of insight into the Cat King, and Edwin tucks the new knowledge away with the other things he’s learned.
Lacking other options, Edwin deigns to settle on the bed, but stays fully dressed aside from removing his gloves and shoes, and sits cross-legged, back straight, hands folded in his lap. It’s ‘adorably proper,’ if the Cat King is to be believed. He’s not entirely certain how he feels about the way the Cat King says it, sensual and flirtatious in a way that doesn’t quite match the otherwise innocuous words. But he certainly doesn’t dislike it.
He wonders if he should arrange himself in a more casual manner, but lounging about is the Cat King’s specialty, not Edwin’s. And the Cat King has indicated a certain appreciation for Edwin’s rather fussy manners, so. Proper it is.
The Cat King appears with his typical magical suddenness, sly grin on his face and arms wide. “I’m yours for the night, sweetheart.” He is, of course, the farthest thing from proper. Another of his kilts drapes his hips and thighs, this one a deep green and black plaid, paired with a deep green button-down vest so sheer that Edwin can see the golden tones of tanned skin – not to mention the Cat King’s bare arms or how the vest is unbuttoned nearly all the way, baring chest and abs and Edwin is forcefully dragging his gaze away before the Cat King notices.
He’s obviously unsuccessful, given the smirk pulling at the corner of the Cat King’s lips.
Before the Cat King can start in on his usual teasing, Edwin attempts to divert him. Even aside from the obvious change of subject, Edwin has been curious as to how his gift worked. “Have you tried it? The catnip.”
The Cat King casts him a knowing look at the subject change, but hums, pleased. “I did. Very potent. You do good work, not that I expected anything less.”
“Well, it was quite fresh. I suppose that makes a difference.” Edwin hesitates, but then asks one of the questions he’s been wondering ever since delivering the gift. “What does it feel like? Ghosts, of course, are unable to get intoxicated, and I never had the opportunity while I was alive. I find myself…curious.”
Prowling closer to stand at the edge of the bed, the Cat King looks down at Edwin. Resolutely Edwin keeps his gaze high, above the Cat King’s shoulders and not on the chest revealed by his open shirt or the strong calves below the hem of today’s kilt. “I’m a big believer in satisfying curiosity. Did you want to see, sweetheart?”
“See…? Oh.” Edwin swallows, hard, as he realizes what the Cat King means. “See you…like that.”
“Mmhmm. Seems a shame for you not to enjoy the fruits of your labour.” He leans forward, planting both hands on the bed on either side of Edwin’s knees. Not touching anywhere, but so close and Edwin is captured by golden cat’s eyes. “See me all soft and loose and warm. Would you enjoy that, Edwin?”
“I wouldn’t ask you for that kind of…vulnerability,” Edwin replies. It feels like too much, surely is too much.
“I know. Which is why I’m willing to offer it.”
“What would—” His voice catches on the words, uncertainty warring with the ever-present spark of interest when it comes to this man. “What would this activity entail?”
The Cat King grins. “Whatever you want. You can sit there, all pretty and proper, and just watch me. You can touch me, if you want. I’ll definitely want to touch you, if you’ll let me.” He shrugs fluidly. “Push me away if you don’t.”
“Touch me…how?” Edwin asks, because while he is undeniably…not uninterested…he doubts he is ready for the entirety of what being touched by the Cat King might involve.
“Anything you want,” the Cat King repeats. “Only what you want.”
Edwin sways forward slightly, unconsciously, like a magnet drawn to iron. Or perhaps as a moth to a flame, irresistible despite the threat of destruction. He doesn’t mean to ask, it seems too needy, but the words slip out anyway. “Will I feel you? When you touch me? If I…touch you?”
“Oh yes,” the Cat King purrs the words. “We’ll both feel it. And it will feel so good, sweetheart. I promise you that.” He pulls back just a little, enough to look Edwin straight in the eyes. “Tell me what you want, Edwin, and I will give it to you. But I need to hear you say it.”
“I want to see you,” Edwin says, throwing himself into the fire of temptation because he does, he wants it so badly. “I— I want to touch, to feel…you.”
The Cat King makes a low, pleased noise deep in his throat. “Thank you, sweetheart. We are going to have an excellent time. Make yourself comfortable.” He adds a teasing wink. “Maybe lose the suit coat.”
After a moment’s consideration, Edwin lets the outer layer of his outfit dissipate, leaving him in waistcoat and shirtsleeves. He raises a brow in a wordless, Better? and gets another wink in return, followed by a thoughtful hum.
“If we’re going to do this, you really should call me Thomas.”
“Thomas?” Edwin blinks at the unexpected statement. “Is that… That’s your name?” Then a line from one of the books he read about beast kings gives him pause and he gives the Cat King a stern look. “Surely you weren’t just so cavalier as to give me your true name.”
The Cat King shrugs carelessly. “It’s one of my names. And no need to get your knickers in a twist, it’s not my true name.” He punctuates the phrase with an eye-roll and finger-quotes. “But it’s one I’ve been using for a while, so it’s as good as anything else. And I’d like to hear you say it in your posh little accent.”
Edwin lets out a relieved breath. A beast king’s true name, like that of most supernatural creatures, is a powerful thing, and not at all a responsibility that Edwin wants at this stage of whatever relationship he and the Cat King – or Thomas, apparently – are building. It’s an oddly, charmingly prosaic name for such a creature as the Cat King presents himself to be, one who is all swagger and ego, flirtation and seduction. The contrast is such that Edwin finds it hard to reconcile the two. He knows the Cat King; he doesn’t dare to assume he knows Thomas.
But all he says is, “I’m hardly posh.”
The Cat King shakes his head, giving Edwin an adorable pout. “Edwin. Sweetheart. Maybe it’s just my uncouth American ear, but your voice is the poshest thing I have ever heard. I’m terribly fond of it.” He winks again. “Especially when I can get you to say something rude and wonderfully improper with your pretty mouth.”
“I don’t believe anything I’ve said to you would be considered ‘improper’ in the way you’re clearly implying,” Edwin says. He chooses to ignore the pretty mouth bit.
With a teasing, hot look, the Cat King leans just a little bit closer. “Must have just been in my fantasies, then.” And Edwin…doesn’t much know how to respond to that. It must show on his face, because the Cat King smirks.
Drawing back from Edwin he straightens, slowly, then crosses the room to where the pretty cloisonne box sits on its shelf. He strokes the smooth surface, tracing the design before opening the lid with careful hands, slowly running his fingers over the small sachets within. Contemplative, but out of the corner of his eye watching Edwin watch his hands. “I didn’t say it before because we got a little…sidetracked with all the serious talk. But do you have any idea how arousing it is to know that you made this for me with your own two hands.”
Selecting one of the sachets, he clicks the lid closed. Slinks back toward the bed and rolls himself down to lounge at Edwin’s side, head near Edwin’s knee. “To know that you touched every leaf to grow and pluck and grind.” Closing his eyes, the Cat King raises the catnip to his nose and inhales slowly, lips parted just enough for Edwin to see a hint of teeth and tongue. A full-body shiver goes through him, tensing muscles for a fleeting moment before he goes lax and stretches lazily, rucking up the bedding.
Edwin watches, as though mesmerized, as the Cat King breathes slowly and evenly with the little bag close to his face. After a few minutes those golden cat eyes open to gaze up at Edwin, and he is fascinated to see the change; slit pupils instead gone wide and black with the gold only a thin ring around the edges.
A little ‘oh’ slips out of Edwin at the sight, not entirely on purpose. “That is…quite something.”
The Cat King smiles wide, showing slightly-too-sharp incisors. “Told you it was strong stuff.”
“And this is…good? For you?”
“It feels so good,” the Cat King sighs and settles deeper into the bed, blinking slowly at Edwin.
“You look…” Edwin trails off, unable to find the right words. Relaxed. Intoxicated. Sensual. Beautiful. All of them, yet somehow even together they are not quite enough.
“What does it feel like?” Edwin asks again, voice barely above a whisper. It’s not much out of academic interest this time. Instead, he wants to know what about this makes the Cat King shiver and stretch. What makes him look as though all the rough edges and sharp words and attitude have been smoothed out.
The Cat King responds with a low, rumbling moan, his free hand sliding into his hair, mussing it against the sheets. “Like everything in me is relaxed. Warm. But sensitive, too.” His wide black and gold eyes haven’t left Edwin’s. “Makes me want to be close. To rub up against everything just to feel it.”
Edwin hears the unspoken words, feels them in the Cat King’s gaze. Be close to you. Rub up against you. And that is…a thought. Because the Cat King said Edwin would feel it. The weight of hot flesh and hard strength, pressing against him, pressing him down into soft bedding…
A low laugh pulls him from his thoughts. The Cat King is grinning lazily. “What’cha thinking about?”
Ghosts can’t blush, but Edwin almost feels like he might. “As though you can’t guess.”
“Maybe I want to hear you say it,” the Cat King replies, but he doesn’t wait for Edwin to try and say anything. He rolls over onto his front, burying his face in his crossed arms for a moment before raising his head enough for golden eyes to peer at Edwin over a taut bicep.
It’s quite adorable, really. Edwin can imagine that were the Cat King to have a cat’s tail, it would be curled upward and twitching invitingly.
Of course, the thought of tails has him glancing down the length of the Cat King’s prone figure and promptly being distracted by how the change in position has twisted the fabric of the Cat King’s kilt, pulling it tight across his arse and slightly spread thighs. Seeing the backs of the Cat King’s knees feels unexpectedly intimate, and the dusting of hair on strong calves appears as though it would be soft to the touch—
“You’re looking,” the Cat King teases with a playful hum. Edwin blinks and yanks his gaze back to the Cat King’s face.
“Sorry,” he says reflexively. It only brings an amused glint to the Cat King’s eyes.
“No need to apologize. You know I like it when you look.” He lowers his voice as though imparting a secret. “I do it on purpose. Because I know you like looking.” He crushes the little sachet of catnip gently between his fingers and inhales slowly, letting the breath back out with a shivery little noise that makes Edwin a little shivery, too.
“I’m also selfish and a little mean,” the Cat King says, rolling over again and running one finger down the open row of buttons on his vest, nimble fingers undoing the final few and letting the edges of the garment fall open entirely, framing his chest and torso. Edwin’s eyes follow the motion helplessly. “I like teasing you because I like seeing you fight against it, trying not to look, to imagine. Because one of these times, you’ll break and give in, and then, Edwin Payne…” His words trail off into an absolutely obscene noise, something between a breath and a moan, that has something hot flipping and twisting in Edwin’s core. He can’t tear his gaze away from the Cat King’s hand spread against the taut muscles of his stomach, fingers toying with the waistband of the kilt.
“You’re looking,” the Cat King teases again.
“How can I not?” Edwin replies helplessly. No point in dissembling or attempting to deny it.
“Well, I am extremely sexy.” The words are lazily matter-of-fact. “So are you, and I very much like looking.”
Edwin huffs derisively. “Hardly.”
“Oh no, my pretty ghost, you are plenty attractive. With your tight manners and tidy clothes and bitchy mouth and that gorgeous mind.”
“I am not bitchy,” Edwin exclaims, indignant.
“He said, bitchily,” the Cat King immediately adds, snickering as he stretches into the bedding, visibly pleased with himself at his sass.
“Wretched creature,” Edwin scolds, but there’s no heat behind it, only a fairly noticeable amount of affection. He’s secretly rather charmed to see the Cat King behaving this way. Teasing and innuendo and flirtation, certainly, there have been plenty of those in their interactions. But tonight is the first time he has seen the Cat King being…well, rather playful. Even a little bit silly. It’s terribly endearing.
“That’s me,” the Cat King agrees with a little wiggle of his fingers. He blinks slowly up at Edwin, once, twice, licking his lips before biting them, sharp teeth tugging at the flesh as it slowly slides free, then biting again. Humming a little, pleased and low and just on the edge of Edwin’s hearing.
Edwin recognizes what this is; an invitation, a temptation. What this whole display has been from the start, really. Yet knowing that doesn’t stop him from reaching out, slowly, until his fingertips brush against the Cat King’s lips just enough to tug reddened flesh from beneath a too-sharp incisor.
Except Edwin gasps soundlessly, because he felt it. Warm skin and the scratch of stubble and hot breath against his hand. Being told he would feel the Cat King is nothing compared to the reality of it. He pulls back in surprise, but not quickly; reluctant to lose the sensation, too startled to keep the contact. But the Cat King chases the touch, following the retreat of Edwin’s hand, until his cheek and chin gently butt up against Edwin’s knee.
But instead of leaning away the Cat King rubs his cheek back and forth in a slow nuzzle, stubble catching a little on the wool of Edwin’s trousers, warmth bleeding through the material, and Edwin feels all that, too. “How?”
“Cat King, remember.” He gazes up at Edwin even as he presses his cheek a little more firmly against Edwin’s knee. “All cats can walk between worlds. Cat Kings have other magic, too.” His lips are parted, just enough for Edwin to see a hint of teeth, and for a slow second he tilts his head enough to drag his mouth across fabric in not-quite a kiss. “Which means I can feel you, and you can feel me.” Without warning he opens his mouth and bites.
It doesn’t hurt, but it’s hard enough that Edwin twitches in surprise at the feel of sharp teeth pressing through wool, the point of a fang digging just a little deeper into the flesh above his knee. “Ah!”
His instinctive shocked reaction is to push the Cat King away, but before he can do anything he’s released and the Cat King rubs his cheek and chin against the sting.
“You bit me,” Edwin says, incredulous. “Why on earth?”
A lazy shrug. “Wanted to. You’re very bite-able.” The Cat King nuzzles into Edwin’s knee some more, eyes half closed in clear enjoyment. “Did you like it?”
Edwin shakes his head in bewilderment. “How am I meant to respond to that?”
Another shrug. “However you want.” The Cat King opens his eyes to gaze up at Edwin. He parts his lips again, the tip of his tongue wetting them, then slowly – eyes never leaving Edwin’s, giving him plenty of time to refuse – sets his teeth in the meat of Edwin’s thigh and bites down again.
The bite is a little harder this time, still buffered by the wool of his trousers, but nonetheless electrifying. It isn’t pain at all, nothing even close to what Edwin has endured before, yet the fact that it is the Cat King’s mouth and teeth and breath hot against his thigh, the fact that he can feel it at all—
His mind is filled with static and heat, and before he realizes it his hand has slipped into the Cat King’s hair, curling around back of his head, whether to pull him closer or shove him away Edwin can’t decide. But the feel of soft strands against his fingers, the warmth beneath his palm, is equally startling, equally distracting, and so many conflicting sensations at once abruptly becomes a bit overwhelming. He gently nudges at the Cat King’s temple, and immediately the pressure of teeth is gone.
“That is…enough of that for now, I think,” Edwin says shakily. But he doesn’t move to push the Cat King away, doesn’t remove his hand from the Cat King’s hair. His proximity, feeling the weight and warmth of him against Edwin’s thigh is too enticing. He doesn’t want to give it up.
Patiently, the Cat King waits to see what Edwin will do. When Edwin only drags his fingers through the Cat King’s hair again, he grins and twists around onto his back, settling his head more comfortably on Edwin’s thigh. Almost in his lap.
Hesitantly, Edwin continues to stroke the Cat King’s hair – petting him, his mind supplies – tracing the crown of his head, slipping to rub gently behind his ear. The tension of earlier, from the flirting and innuendo and the biting, slips away to leave quiet enjoyment. The Cat King’s gone pliant and relaxed, eyes nearly closed with only a thin glint of gold peeking out from beneath his lashes.
A low noise just on the edge of audible catches Edwin’s attention for a brief moment. He can’t quite identify it, but is quickly distracted by the Cat King shifting slightly to press up into Edwin’s touch. Everywhere his stroking hand goes, the Cat King shifts enough to follow and it has Edwin growing bolder – just a bit – to see what reactions he gets.
Fingers carding through messy hair or scratching gently behind an ear gets a nudging nuzzle against his palm and wrist at the motion. Rubbing firmly along the tendons of the Cat King’s neck earns a soft moan and a twitch of his hips, the drawing up of one leg enough for the kilt’s hem to slide higher, revealing more smoothly muscled thighs – and Edwin’s mind immediately notes that one for later consideration.
Stroking fingertips along stubbled cheek and chin results in parted lips showing the edge of teeth and tongue. He’s not quite daring enough bring his fingers to those lips again, to that tongue, but he wonders how they might feel. Hot and soft and wet.
Distantly, Edwin recognizes that he is very nearly as intoxicated as the Cat King, but on sensation rather than the scent of catnip. He can’t focus on anything but what he feels – mesmerized by the warm weight of the body resting against his thigh and hip, the soft panting breathes that brush his fingers, the beating pulse beneath hot, golden skin of a bared throat.
The more he touches, the more he wants to touch. And he has permission. Whatever you want. You can sit there, all pretty and proper, and just watch me. You can touch me, if you want.
But his touch slows, hesitant, when the Cat King blinks up at him slowly with wide, hazy eyes. His expression looks pleased enough and extremely relaxed. But the little twist of worry, now that it’s made itself known, makes Edwin want to be sure.
He taps his fingers gently but quickly against the Cat King’s collarbone, a bid for attention. It’s reassuring that the Cat King’s focus sharpens easily, pupils still blown wide but his gaze more alert. “All right, Edwin?”
“That’s what I wanted to ask you,” Edwin says ruefully. “I am afraid I became rather lost in the moment, and you seemed…very quiet.” He runs his fingers along the Cat King’s collarbone to the hollow at the base of his throat. “I know you said earlier that I could… Touch you. But you seem quite affected by the catnip. I wanted to be sure that this was still okay.”
“You are so wonderful,” the Cat King smiles up at Edwin, and the only way he can describe it is sweet. “It’s very okay. I may look like a puddle on the bed right now, but I’m well aware of what’s happening.” He strokes a hand up Edwin’s arm, kneading gently through layers of clothing that Edwin rather wishes he wasn’t wearing.
Not that he wants to be…undressed. Exactly. He’s not— That’s definitely not something he could possibly do— He just wonders. What it would feel like. To have the Cat King’s hand spread wide and warm and skin to skin around his arm. Fingers pressing into muscles and tendons, stroking—
A low chuckle snaps Edwin’s attention from the Cat King’s hand to his sly grin. “What are you thinking about, to put that look on your face.”
Edwin chokes slightly when he tries to speak, the words catching in his throat. He can’t possibly bring himself to share these thoughts. By the widening of the Cat King’s grin, however, it’s clear he doesn’t need to say it aloud for the Cat King to know exactly what Edwin’s thinking.
But he doesn’t speak a denial, either. Doesn’t pull himself from the Cat King’s grip, does not push the Cat King away.
Instead, holding the Cat King’s gaze, Edwin resumes the gentle movements of his fingers where they rest against the Cat King’s throat. Watches as those golden-ringed eyes slip closed again. The Cat King’s warm hand slips away from Edwin’s arm, draping instead around Edwin’s knee, cradling it like a pillow as he nuzzles his cheek into Edwin’s thigh. The Cat King’s other hand has slipped back down to rest at his hips, toying with the waistband of the kilt again. Edwin keeps sneaking glances, away and back again, too many things calling for his attention.
Edwin feels tiny vibrations as he strokes down the Cat King’s throat, expects him to speak but though his lips part on a long breath, no words come out. Yet the vibrations continue to rise and fall, and as Edwin dips his fingers in the hollow of the Cat King’s throat, he realizes the sensation becomes more noticeable.
He hears, too, the low humming he noticed earlier.
Or, no. Not humming.
Edwin spreads his fingers wide, flattening his entire palm against warm skin and stroking down until he’s pressing firmly against the center of the Cat King’s chest. The tiny vibrations grow to a rumbling crescendo, rising and falling with the rhythm of his breath, audible and obvious now to Edwin’s ears. “Oh.”
The Cat King is purring.
Not just the low rumble that colours the Cat King’s voice when he’s being especially flirtatious or pleased, but a true cat’s purr, emanating from deep in his chest and so strong now that Edwin can feel the vibrations through the bed as well as beneath his hand.
“You’re purring.” He didn’t entirely intend to say such an obvious thing, but the words slip out in his surprise.
The Cat King snickers. “You know I’m a cat, why so shocked?”
“I suppose I just didn’t expect it,” Edwin replies. He strokes his hand slowly up toward the Cat King’s throat again, then back down to the taut skin over his ribs and diaphragm, fascinated by the way the purring strengthens and deepens in response to his movements. “Nor the intensity.”
“Well, I’m feeling very good right now, so it’s not at all surprising to me,” the Cat King teases.
“That is…immensely flattering, actually,” Edwin says consideringly. This whole evening is, really. That the Cat King would be so open with his affections, would reveal this side of himself, and to Edwin of all people.
“You should be flattered.” The words are arrogant, teasing, but there is sincerity beneath the smile. “I wouldn’t do this for anyone else.”
Edwin wants to say more, but the words get tangled in his throat. So instead, he presses his hand firmly to the Cat King’s chest, dragging it up in a slow stroke to his shoulder and around to the side of his throat, then reverses and repeats the motion. Then again, up and back down. The Cat King slowly flexes under and into the pressure, the volume of his purring rising and falling on each breath.
Edwin loses himself, a little, mesmerized by the feel of the Cat King beneath his touch. The flex and twitch of muscles, the texture of soft skin and silky hair. The different reactions beneath the flat of his hand, or the scrape of his nails. Testing different touches all across the Cat King’s chest and ribs and abs, up to his shoulders, along the edge of his throat. All of it accompanied by soft pleasurable noises, and that rumbling purr against Edwin’s hand and the thigh beneath the Cat King’s head.
After more than a century of feeling only pain or not being able to feel at all, Edwin is consumed by sensation, as intoxicated as the Cat King is from the little bag of herbs.
He isn’t sure how much time has passed while he and the Cat King have been caught in this hypnotic give and take. Edwin is a little dazed yet strangely focused; the Cat King is breathing deep and fast, purring and dark-eyed and lax.
Edwin’s hand slows to press against the Cat King’s chest where he can feel the quick heartbeat beneath muscle and bone, a pounding counterpoint to the rumbling purr. The feel of this strange, gorgeous, living creature, the feel of life beneath his touch, is overwhelming, like a fire in his very core, and before he realizes it Edwin is quietly gasping out the only words he can find. “Oh god, Thomas.”
At the sound of Edwin’s voice, the Cat King’ mouth drops open and he makes a sound decidedly more obscene than the last, a drawn-out shivery moan cresting above the purring, accompanied by a sharp stretching arch of his back to press into Edwin’s touch, head tipping back and baring his throat.
Edwin pauses in surprise, but doesn’t pull away. His eyes flick over the Cat King’s face, but the prickle of worry fades immediately; Edwin might be inexperienced, but he’s read several of Niko’s risqué manga comics and moreover he’s not blind, and that is not an expression of displeasure.
The thought has Edwin’s gaze travelling helplessly along the Cat King’s body until—
Oh.
Definitely not displeasure.
His voice trips over itself when he tries to speak. “You never said the catnip would make you…excited.”
The Cat King pants out a breathless, teasing laugh. “‘Excited’ he says, god I love your prim little mouth. The word you’re looking for is ‘horny,’ sweetheart, and I never said it wouldn’t, either.”
“You’re indecent,” Edwin says, but the words are breathy and distracted because he can’t take his eyes off the Cat King’s hand toying with the hem of his kilt at his raised knee, where the fabric has slipped up his thighs from all his shifting about. The Cat King’s…interest is obvious, visibly lifting the rumpled material.
“Ah, but we both know you like it, don’t you Edwin?” His voice lowers to an enticing growl. “And anyway, this—” he gestures to himself, “—isn’t because of the catnip. It’s because of you. Because you’re letting me be close to you, touch you. Because you’re letting me see what all this touching does to you.”
Even having wondered if that might be the case, hearing it so bluntly gives Edwin a shivery feeling at his core. He still doesn’t entirely understand why the Cat King is so fascinated with him, but seeing the Cat King like this, feeling him like this, Edwin cannot deny that the Cat King’s interest is genuine.
Edwin’s silence must have gone on too long, because the Cat King winks playfully. “Don’t stress, we don’t have to do anything about it. I promise you my dick will be fine if you ignore it.”
“So vulgar,” Edwin scolds breathlessly, but he’s not fooling either of them. There’s no way Edwin can ignore this. Can’t even pretend, when he so obviously cannot look away.
And the Cat King knows it, too. “You’re looking,” he teases in a low growl, preening and flexing, clearly pleased at the effect he’s having on Edwin.
“I know.” The words are almost soundless, and Edwin knows now that he’s lost, caught by the lure of the Cat King’s temptation and the snare of Edwin’s own desires. Knows that this is where they’ve been headed all along. Knows that he doesn’t want to escape.
The Cat King smiles, sultry and knowing, like he can read it all on Edwin’s face. Maybe he can. He licks his lips, flicking the tip of his tongue against one pointed incisor. “Did you want to see?” His fingers tug suggestively at the kilt as he slowly raises his knee higher, causing the material to slip a little farther, revealing a more of his muscled thighs.
Edwin’s voice catches on a gasp, and yes part of him wants that, but, “No, I— That would be too much. I think. I just—” He breaks off, searching for the words. The images his mind insists on supplying aren’t anything he can bring himself to say aloud, but— “I want you to enjoy yourself.”
“Oh, I am.”
“No, I mean—” Edwin starts to say, but the words stick in his throat.
A low chuckle. “I know what you mean.” The Cat King sets his free hand against Edwin’s stomach, toying teasingly at the buttons of his waistcoat. “But do you want to tell me?”
Edwin tries, he wants to, he opens his mouth to speak but can’t manage to give voice to the words pounding in his chest. He makes an annoyed noise, mostly directed at himself, and the Cat King’s smirk softens around the edges.
“Relax, sweetheart, we can come at this from the other direction if that’s easier.” He’s still fiddling with Edwin’s buttons, tugging gently with an inquiring look. When Edwin nods — the thought of fewer layers between them has become remarkably appealing — the Cat King starts slipping buttons through buttonholes. “You just tell me if I’m on the right track, here.”
The last button comes free and he slides his warm palm beneath the edges, pushing the material aside. Traces a line slowly up the center of Edwin’s abdomen, the heat from his touch sinking easily through the linen of Edwin’s shirt. Edwin’s eyes fall shut at the sensation, and he almost wishes to feel that touch skin to skin.
Not— He doesn’t want to be unclothed, necessarily, just. Touching.
He sets his free hand on the Cat King’s forearm, sliding along golden skin until his fingers curl around the Cat King’s wrist. His thumb rests against the beating pulse, feeling the quick rhythm beneath the skin. He presses the Cat King’s hand tight against his chest for a long moment, where his own heart would beat if he still had one to do so, before gently tugging it upward until those hot, slightly calloused fingers cradle his cheek. The wonder of the touch consumes his focus. He presses harder into it as though he could imprint the feeling into his skin.
The Cat King is much easier to read like this. He finds Edwin’s daring pleasing, if the increased volume of his purring is anything to judge by. The blatant expression of enjoyment makes Edwin press a smile into the Cat King’s palm.
With a warm little growl, the Cat King shifts his hand enough to rub his thumb against Edwin’s bottom lip. “Look at you, fuck, you’re so distracting.” He shifts a little further onto Edwin’s lap. “Okay. So you like what we’re doing, like what we’ve done so far? The touching, the talking. All good?”
Edwin nods, his grip tightening on the Cat King’s wrist, keeping the contact. The Cat King was right; it’s easier to respond with “Very good,” than to try and articulate his own whirling thoughts. How he wants more, wants closeness, touch, warmth.
“Good.” The Cat King grips Edwin’s chin lightly and gives it a gentle shake. “That changes at all, you tell me. Got it?”
“Understood,” Edwin replies with another nod.
The Cat King slides his hand from Edwin’s chin around to hold the back of his neck, warm fingers kneading gently. Edwin leans into the pressure, focused on the feeling and the sly, tempting smile on the Cat King’s lips. He feels surrounded in the best way, the warm heavy weight stretched half across his lap and the hot line of a strongly muscled arm burning along his chest, calloused fingers and the slightest prickle of claws against his neck. All of the feelings underlaid with the sound of that gorgeous purring and the subtle thrumming presence of what Edwin now knows is the Cat King’s magic. His left hand still rests on the Cat King’s chest; his right he slowly buries in the messy waves of dark hair.
The Cat King blinks slowly at him, pleased. “Now tell me if I’ve got this right. You want me to enjoy myself, and I am, I very much am. Seeing all of me,” he grins, teasing and seductive and feral, voice thick with innuendo, and rolls his body in a slow flex of shoulders and abs and hips that draws Edwin’s eyes along the length of him to where his fingers have tugged the kilt another inch higher, “is too much. But you still want to see me enjoy myself.”
Edwin exhales shakily, both thrilled and unsteady at how easily the Cat King reads him. Merely a word, a touch, a sound, and he sees the shape of all the secret desires Edwin hides deep inside.
“Have I got that right, sweetheart?” the Cat King prompts, tracing the line of Edwin’s neck. “I’m gonna need you to say it for me.”
“Please, I—” Edwin breathes out, caught in those black and gold eyes. “That is what I want.” An echo of that first reunion, what started them down this road. And then he has no more words, only a silent plea that this is sufficient, that the Cat King will take his agreement and take the lead and give Edwin everything he’s asking for but cannot say.
“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” the Cat King groans, showing a flash of teeth in a fierce grin. “Don’t you worry, I know how to put on a show.”
He settles his shoulders a little further onto Edwin’s lap, gazing up with gold-ringed, blown-black eyes.
His left hand remains curled warmly around the back of Edwin’s neck, kneading against the muscles there, soothing out the tension. His right hand lifts to Edwin’s mouth, hovering but not touching, and he gives Edwin an inviting look. Drawing on courage fueled by desire, Edwin closes the scant distance to press a kiss to those warm fingertips, delicate and slightly awkward in his inexperience. But the Cat King’s gaze goes hot and dark, so Edwin must be doing it well enough.
The Cat King pulls his hand back with a slow stroke against Edwin’s lower lip, and brings his fingers to his own mouth. Winks as he presses his own kiss to the same fingertips that Edwin kissed only moments before. Edwin watches, mesmerized, as the tip of a pink tongue slips between parted lips to touch those fingertips, slowly lapping at the skin, each time a little longer, a little wetter, until Edwin can hear the faint sound of that rough tongue against skin, can see the spit-slick shine of the Cat King’s palm.
The vulgar messiness should be off-putting, Edwin thinks distantly, but it’s very much the opposite. His own lips part slightly on a nonexistent breath as he watches the movement of that pink tongue. Wonders what it might feel like against his own skin.
“Mmm, sweetheart, the way you look at me,” the Cat King says with a growling chuckle. “I really do like it.” He lowers his hand to drag two fingers down his own chest, leaving a glistening trail from between his pecs and down across his abs. Edwin’s eyes follow helplessly. “Any other time you’re strung so tight and so far behind your walls, but when I get you to look at me like this I can see everything and it is so sexy.”
Wet fingers trace over the back of Edwin’s hand where it rests against the Cat King’s stomach, leaving a streak of warm dampness that rapidly cools. But the touch doesn’t linger, and Edwin watches, entranced, as the Cat King’s hand drops to the edge of his kilt and then slips under it.
Edwin expects to see him discard underwear; when he doesn’t, Edwin realizes the lack means the Cat King has been bare beneath his kilt all this time, rolling about rucking up the material while Edwin stared at his arse, oh lord. If it were possible for ghosts to combust Edwin would be aflame. “You’re not wearing—” he gasps out involuntarily, and the Cat King laughs.
“Only one way to wear a kilt properly, sweetheart.”
An arresting thought immediately follows, the memory spoken in breathless words. “The first time we met. You…”
The Cat King only winks.
The rustle of fabric and the soft, wet sounds of skin on skin underscore the images that Edwin’s imagination supplies for what he cannot see; the shifting material hiding what he knows to be the movement of calloused fingers wrapped around –
A hitching, purring moan has his attention snapping to the Cat King’s face. The usual sharp angles of his expression are softened by pleasure, lips parted and panting, golden eyes heavy-lidded and trained on Edwin. “Yeah, that’s right, look at me.” Hips flexing into the hidden touch; a throat bared with a long moan. “God I love the feel of your eyes on me. It’s all I want anytime I’m near you. Your attention. Your – ah – your desire, your want. Edwin. I want it all, everything you’ll give me.”
Something hot and intense fills Edwin as he listens to Thomas’ pleasure-thick voice, and this is Thomas unmasked in his arms, revealed within the Cat King broken open, bare and unguarded.
Edwin wants a thousand burning, conflicting things all at once, with every gasp and groan and flex of the body beneath his hands. Wordless, impossible things – except they aren’t impossible at all, the Cat King, Thomas, is offering them up on a silver platter with every moment. Edwin’s grip on hot skin and soft hair tightens; he wonders if his fingers will leave bruises.
Thomas moans and uses the hand still clasped behind Edwin’s neck to lever himself upwards, hip beside hip and chest to chest. Edwin instinctively shifts his leg enough to support Thomas’ back and keep them balanced, and his hand slides from Thomas’ abs to curl over the taut skin of his hip. Their faces are only inches apart, Thomas’ golden-green-ringed eyes half-closed in pleasure but locked on Edwin’s, lips parted on his panting breaths. Edwin doesn’t have to breathe, but finds himself imitating Thomas’ panting rhythm, chest rising and falling in tandem as he feels the hot rush of Thomas’ breath against his own lips.
The movement presses Thomas closer, and Edwin’s palm slides around to his lower back, fingers slipping against sweat-damp skin just above Thomas’ waistband. Muscles bunch and shift beneath his touch with every stroke of Thomas’ hand beneath the kilt, and maybe Edwin can’t see it but he knows exactly what Thomas is doing.
The sounds and sensations are overwhelming, all just on the verge of too much but in the best of ways. Yet even as part of Edwin wants more, wants to drag his hands down, to press his lips to flushed cheeks and hot skin, the rest of him understands the tease, the anticipation. That both of them can want the same thing and draw out the satisfaction of it. That he doesn’t have to do everything all at once. Because it’s not the only chance he’ll have.
Edwin lets his eyes fall closed, the last of the uncertainty holding him back slipping away as he gives himself over to what he’s wanted all along, and what he wants right now. Hell, Thomas even said it himself, earlier. I like teasing you because I like seeing you fight against it, trying not to look, to imagine. Because one of these times, you’ll break and give in, and then, Edwin Payne…
Thomas makes a quiet, inquiring hum, and slows his movements. “You okay, sweetheart? Too much? Do you need to stop?”
Apparently, this is what breaking feels like. Edwin opens his eyes, dazed with pleasure even as he burns with focused energy. He takes in Thomas’ flushed cheeks and dark eyes, and shakes his head. He raises a brow and smirks a little, breathless. “I thought you’re giving me a show?”
Thomas groans through a laugh with a toothy grin, hips flexing along with the renewed movement of his hand. “Yeah, that’s right sweetheart. Though I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t going to be a short one.”
Edwin slides his fingers deeper into messy waves at the nape of Thomas’ neck and tightens his grip, tugging just enough to make a point, distantly surprised at his own daring. “Let me see you.” Because he wants to see it, how Thomas looks in the throes of pleasure, this beautiful, strange, wonderful creature.
“Fuck, Edwin.” Thomas’ mouth drops open on a panting moan, the motion of his hand beneath the kilt speeding up. He tries to pull himself closer, but the hold on his nape keeps him exactly where Edwin wants him. His eyes are wide and black, only the thinnest ring of gold still showing. “Ah fuck, I’m not gonna last.”
“You don’t have to last,” Edwin murmurs, gaze flicking between Thomas’ eyes and mouth. “You just have to show me.”
“Ohh, fuck.” Thomas groans desperately and curls as close as he can to Edwin, faces only inches apart. “Yeah, yeah, I will sweetheart, watch me.” His hand finds a steady rhythm, hard and fast, hips snapping with every stroke and Edwin moans softly in response because Thomas looks so, so good. Half-dressed and flushed and panting in Edwin’s arms.
It isn’t long before Thomas’ gasping moans take on a desperate edge. Edwin tightens his grip in Thomas’ hair, holding his gaze intently, and has the glorious privilege of seeing those gold-rimmed eyes go glassy with pleasure. He realizes he’s whispering his own litany of please and show me and let me see. Raising his voice, he gasps out, “Thomas, please.”
“Edwin, ahh fuck—” Every muscle in Thomas’ body tenses for a beautiful endless moment as he comes, hard, head falling back in Edwin’s grip as his pleasured shout slides into a sharp-toothed, satisfied grin. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as the tension fades and he slowly goes lax in Edwin’s arms. His eyes never once leave Edwin’s.
Edwin gazes at him, rapt, taking in sex-flushed cheeks and glassy eyes and sweat-damp skin. He feels as dazed as Thomas looks, as though he’s filled with fizzing bubbles and static and sunlight. He wants to speak but has no words, so contents himself with a smile that no doubt looks a little stunned.
Thomas blinks slowly, turning his face to nuzzle against Edwin’s wrist, pressing warm lips to the place where a pulse would beat if he still had one.
And Edwin can’t resist any longer. He chases the touch of Thomas’ mouth, dragging his fingertips along stubbled cheek and chin. He traces his thumb across Thomas’ lower lip, lingers over the scar at the corner of his mouth. The softest request. “May I?”
A nod in assent, and Edwin leans in to carefully, gently press a kiss to Thomas’ lips. Thomas makes the softest, sweetest sound as he leans into the contact, parting his lips and sliding his fingers into Edwin’s hair. One kiss becomes two, three, more, short delicate things sharing breath and warmth. Eventually Edwin pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Thomas’, thumb stroking soothingly across his cheek.
There are so many things he wants to say, but he doesn’t have to try and say everything now. They have plenty of time.
Eventually, the emotionally-charged silence is too much for a restless cat and Thomas huffs a quiet laugh, leaning back enough to see Edwin’s face.
“Wow, so. This is not a complaint, just to be clear. But good fucking god, Edwin, where did that last bit come from.” And while his words are teasing and his smile sharp, the mask isn’t complete; neither can quite hide the vulnerability in Thomas’ eyes.
Edwin allows the tease to smooth over the emotional weight of the last few minutes, because Thomas isn’t the only one feeling a little flayed open at the moment. “Oh? And what bit is that?”
“You know what bit!” Thomas growls playfully, putting on a poor imitation of Edwin’s accent as he repeats, “I thought you’re giving me a show. That was so fucking hot.”
Edwin smirks, enjoying the return to their verbal games. “Oh, Thomas. I might be inexperienced and quite literally repressed to Hell and back, but darling, whatever gave you the impression that I would be shy?”
Thomas’ eyes go wide at the words, and Edwin does his best to stifle his laugh.
“Ohhh fuck me, what have I created?” Thomas groans melodramatically, but it’s all right because he’s laughing too.
“Not just yet, I think,” Edwin teases. “And I don’t think you created anything so much as…opened the door. You saw it all inside me right from the start, after all.”
“You are both a menace and a delight,” Thomas grins looking, indeed, delighted.
Edwin scratches his fingers through the hair at the nape of Thomas’ neck, and sighs. “I confess I’m not sure what to do now. After, well. All that.”
With an indulgent look, Thomas returns the touch with one of his own, palm curled around Edwin’s neck just where it meets his shoulder, a comforting weight. “Well, I got off pretty fucking great, so if you want, we can figure out how to return the favour with your ghostly self. I’ve got a few ideas on how that’ll work. Or we can sit here and make out for a while, what do you Brits call it, a snog?” He winks suggestively, and Edwin take a moment to consider. But while both suggestions are…terribly appealing, and for all his talk of boldness, he’s honestly feeling rather a little raw and exposed.
“Perhaps not right now. That was…a lot,” he sighs, a little disappointed, and a bit worried that Thomas will be disappointed in him, too.
But if Thomas feels that way, he shows no sign of it, merely nods in understanding. “Well, then, after sex I personally like a good cuddle. When it’s with someone who matters.” He blinks slowly, smiles invitingly. “If that’s a little more your speed right now.”
A cuddle sounds…very good, actually. And much more manageable to Edwin, in his current state. “All right.”
He’s barely got the words out and Thomas is curling close, arms sliding around Edwin’s waist, and shifting to shove his face against Edwin’s throat. He settles with a final sigh, a warm weight surrounding Edwin. Tentatively, he slips his own arms around Thomas’ back, one hand sliding up to stroke through softly messy hair, something quickly becoming a favourite action. Resting his cheek on Thomas’ head, he lets his eyes close.
“Okay?” Thomas rumbles, nuzzling a little closer. The purring from deep in his chest picks up again, low and so, so contented, Edwin aches with it.
“More than okay,” Edwin replies softly. Almost immediately, Thomas goes somehow even more lax in his arms, and Edwin lets himself drift to the sound and sensation of his lover’s low rumbling purr.
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