The Kitten lay in its basket in the corner of the living room. Snuggled up on a fluffy purple blanket it slept peacefully, a small smile curving its lips. The long, soft, black tail hung over the edge of the basket and one of the ears was a little bit crooked. The whiskers and nose were painted on, but the leather collar around its neck was very real. And so was the shining silver bell that hung from it. The bell that tinkled merrily as the Kitten jerked awake, sitting up in the basket at the sound of its Master's voice.

The Kitten mewled happily and tumbled out of the basket, crawling towards the opening door which revealed a tall, blond, smiling man.

As he crouched down, he held out a hand and called: "Here, Kitty-kitty. Did you miss me? Did you miss your Master?" The Kitten butted its head against his hand and then almost knocked him over, attempting to crawl into his lap.

The Master laughed. "Easy, Kitten. I've only been away a few hours." He tried to hold the Kitten back, but it kept pushing him until he fell on his bum with a surprised grunt. Satisfied, the Kitten straddled his legs and rubbed its head affectionately against his chest, shoulders and neck.

"I know. I know." The man stroked the Kitten's head lovingly, fixing the stray ear as he did so. "Even a few hours feels like an eternity when I'm away, right?"

The Kitten meowed in affirmation and tried to push its head under his arm. The man ran his hand down its back, making it squirm and arch into the touch. Then he grabbed hold of its tail and gave it a gentle tug. The Kitten immediately straightened up, staring at him.

"Slow down," he told it sternly. "I promise we will play. But you have to let me get through the door before jumping me. Besides, it's time for your supper, isn't that right, Kitten?"

The Kitten backed out of his lap and sat daintily on the floor, studying him.

"That's better, Kitten," the Master said, getting to his feet. "That's better." As he walked to the kitchen, the Kitten crawled behind him, the sound of the bell marking its every move.

When the Master opened the fridge, the Kitten rubbed against his leg, purring, but as soon as he took out the bottle of milk it meowed and hurried over to the corner where a purple placemat lay on the floor. It looked back over its shoulder, watching intently as he filled the white plastic bowl and carried it over, gently nudging the Kitten away with his foot so he could put it down.

"Wait!" he told the Kitten sternly as it tried to push past him. He bent down to stroke its head lovingly. "Remember, Kitten… Eat nicely. Don't make a mess this time."

The Kitten meowed, its look bordering on insolent, and he finally let it pass. It hurried to the bowl and bent down, lapping the milk up with its tongue.

The man went over to sit on one of the stools by the counter, watching his pet eat. There was a lot of slurping and huffing involved and more than half the milk got splashed onto the placemat. He did not seem to mind but chuckled at the sight.

When the Kitten was done, it sat up and looked over at him, grinning. The Master laughed at the sight of its pretty face, speckled with splashes of milk. "Don't move," he said, picking up a tea towel and hurrying over to kneel in front of it. Carefully he cleaned his pet's face, taking care not to smudge the nose or whiskers. When he was done, he kissed its forehead. "There you go, Kitten. All clean. Time to play."

The Kitten mewled eagerly and pushed past him to hurry back into the living room. The Master followed slowly, putting the tea towel on the counter as he passed it. He stopped in the door, watching the Kitten rummage through its basket, its triumphant meow muffled by the large stuffed mouse it held in its mouth as it hurried over to the sofa, waiting for him.

As the Master sat down, the Kitten dropped the mouse at his feet and looked up at him expectantly. The man picked the toy up by the tail and held it up in the air, dangling it a little. Eagerly the Kitten got up on its knees and batted at the mouse, not quite able to reach it. Every time it sat down, the man would lower the mouse and jiggle it, making the Kitten surge up again. They played for a while and then suddenly the man tossed the toy across the room.

The Kitten hissed and set off after it, pouncing on the toy and squashing it into the carpet with both hands. It tossed it around for a bit, picking it up in its mouth and shaking it until it was finally satisfied that the mouse was good and dead. With a happy meow to its Master, the Kitten carried the toy back to the basket before returning to sit in front of the sofa.

The Master stroked its hair, fixing the ears again, and praised it in soft tones. But even though it leaned its head into his touch, the look in its dark eyes remained alert. Demanding.

Finally the Master gave in and, laughing a little, nodded his head. "Go on then," he said. "You've earned it."

With a satisfied meow, the Kitten crawled up on the sofa and settled down, its head in its Master's lap. As he began petting it again, it nuzzled his stomach and then his crotch.

Letting out a soft moan, the Master shifted a little. "Haven't you had enough?" he asked, his voice sounding a little out of breath. The Kitten's impatient mew clearly indicated that it hadn't and the Master pushed its head aside so he could undo his jeans.

He barely had time to free his cock from the fabric before the Kitten attacked it, licking eagerly and nipping at the tip.

With a shaky moan, the Master leaned back, closing his eyes. His fingers curled themselves in the Kitten's hair as he muttered how good and sweet it was and how fond he was of it. The Kitten barely seemed to notice, intent on licking every inch of skin.

As the Master's breathing quickened, warning that his climax was approaching, he opened his eyes and gave the Kitten a soft push. "On your side," he told it. The Kitten obeyed, lifting one leg so that the man could reach down and wrap his hand around its half-hard cock. He began stroking and soon the Kitten was moaning and whimpering between licks.

They finished almost simultaneously, the man shooting several streaks of white over the Kitten's face as it spilled in his hand.

The Kitten lay panting, its head resting in the Master's lap again as he pulled off his t-shirt and used it to clean them both. Then, as the image slowly faded to black, he bent down and whispered a thank you before kissing his Kitten deeply.

…

"Holy fuck." Jonathan, one of the cameramen, fanned himself. "I don't suppose I can borrow your cat at some point, Sebastian?"

Sebastian chuckled, tying his dressing robe. "You know how it is with cats. They only ever do as they please, so you'd have to ask the Kitten himself." He smiled down at Jim, reaching out to free him from the collar.

Jim waited patiently, smiling. The cameras were off. It was over. There was no reason for him to stay in character. Except that when they played with the Kitten in Sebastian's flat, the rule was no speaking until the collar came off.

Jim supposed that he could speak if he wanted to. But it would take some effort. Amazing how quickly habits formed.

And it had felt so good. Forgetting responsibility, reason and even dignity as they played and snuggled. The sleek cat's tail didn't really bother him and the collar felt so good. Drinking from a bowl had been the hardest part. But even when he got milk in his nose and eyes he had kept on trying.

Because the look in Sebastian's eyes when Jim became his Kitten was worth every single ache and cough.

They had tried knee pads, but those interfered with his movements and as long as they took plenty of breaks on the sofa, he was fine.

As the collar slipped off him and he became Jim again, he wondered if that was it. They'd done the film and judging from the responses of the crew and other actors watching, it was going to be good. Very good. So there was no need to practice anymore. Right?

He laughed and turned to Jonathan. "I'm sorry, but I'm never doing that again." He took off the ears and handed them to Sebastian. "Now if you'll excuse me, I am going to go get de-tailed and take a shower." He kissed Sebastian's cheek before walking away, not bothering to resist the urge to wiggle his hips and make the tail swing.

…

Sebastian was waiting for him in the dressing room when he came out of the shower.

"You were so, so gorgeous," he said, pulling Jim into a tight hug.

Jim kissed Sebastian's neck and they walked out, arms around each other. He giggled happily, realising he had never felt as good as he did right now.

And then someone pulled the floor out from under him.

The door at the end of the corridor opened and he entered. Exactly like the last time Jim had seen him: cold, beautiful and looking straight through Jim as if he wasn't there.

"Jim?" Sebastian asked, but then he seemed to realise and let out a low growl. "Oh, fuck." He put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Come on..."

Jim couldn't move. Not before Sherlock had seen him. Had acknowledged his existence. After all that had happened, this was the worst. To see with his own eyes how little he meant to Sherlock. Less than little. Nothing.

"Se...Sebastian..." he gasped. "Please..."

Sebastian squeezed his shoulder and then stepped in front of him. "Hey! Hey, you prick!" He stalked over to Sherlock, glaring down at him.

Sherlock looked Sebastian up and down, smirking. Jim trembled as he heard the familiar deep voice: "Can I help you?"

"Help me?" Sebastian repeated. "You cold fucking bastard. This isn't about me, is it?"

"I'm sorry. Have we met?" Sherlock's tone left no doubt in the casual onlooker that he believed Sebastian unworthy of recollection. But Jim knew better. Knew Sherlock better.

He realised that Sherlock knew exactly who Sebastian was. He'd seen their first film, he'd heard all the gossip. About them and about Sebastian's job at the club.

It was like watching two trains on collision course. And there was nothing he could do. But he still had to try.

"Sebastian," he said, rushing to take hold of his arm. "It doesn't matter. Let's just go. You promised you'd cook for me..."

It might have worked if Sherlock hadn't chosen that precise moment to pretend to notice Jim. He turned his head to look down at him.

"Oh..." His nose wrinkled as if in mild disgust. "You..."

"Yes. Him." Sebastian's voice sounded like steel and he smacked Sherlock against the wall with one hand against his shoulder. "Don't you dare act like you don't notice him. He made your fucking career and then you dropped him like a brick."

"Get your facts straight," Sherlock huffed, glaring up at Sebastian. "No one made my career but me. Just like no one ruined your career but you. Don't go throwing accusations around when you've got so many skeletons in your own closet."

Jim decided to step in. "Sebastian's career has just begun! And he's already better than you ever were."

For the first time a hint of emotion was visible in Sherlock. But the glimmer of rage was brief and his laugh was as cool as ever. "Not that career, James. Why don't you ask your boyfriend why he never even made it to Iraq?"

"You know nothing about me," Sebastian spat, his fist rising.

"Sebastian, stop!" Jim managed to squeeze himself between them, looking pleadingly up at him. "He's not worth it. Please, let's just go. We should go celebrate. Right?"

Sebastian slowly lowered his hand, nodding. "You're right. He's definitely not worth it." He sent Sherlock a final glare before letting Jim drag him out the door.

On their way out he was still fuming, now and then letting out a growl, but outside he wrapped his arms around Jim.

Jim held it in for almost 2 seconds. Then he sniffed once before breaking into violent sobs.

"Oh, Jim." Sebastian almost smothered him as he pulled him even closer, gently rocking him. "It's okay. You're safe now. I won't let him come anywhere near you."

Jim clung to him, feeling like he was drowning in all the pain that had been lurking just out of sight these past weeks. "I hate him!" he gasped. "I hate him so much."

"I know," Sebastian said, stroking his back. "He's an arrogant manipulative wanker and he never deserved you."

Jim didn't know how long they stood there, but at some point, Sebastian kissed him and then led him to the motorcycle.

He kept his arms wrapped tightly around Sebastian as they drove through London, the roar of the engine finally drowning out the gloomy thoughts.

Sebastian suggested Jim rest for a bit, but he was starting to feel fidgety, so instead he joined him in the kitchen, probably getting more in the way than actually helping. But when dinner was ready, he was feeling a lot better.

The food was good. It always was when Sebastian was cooking. They didn't talk much while eating. Jim supposed Sebastian had a lot to think about too. Personally he was doing everything he could to keep the thoughts at bay. Every time Sherlock's face appeared before his inner eye, he'd picture Sebastian instead. Every time he heard his voice, he'd make himself remember how Sebastian sounded when he praised him or teased him. And every time the pain threatened to wash over him again, he'd look at the man sitting across from him and smile.

While Sebastian was clearing the table, Jim excused himself. On the way to the bathroom he noticed Sebastian's bag on the floor. It was open and he saw a hint of smooth, black fur. He smiled as he knelt down and opened it. The collar and the ears were there, along with the tail that Jim had left on the table of the dressing room after cleaning it. He had forgotten all about it.

…

Sebastian had finished the dishes and was sitting on the sofa, reading something on his phone, when Jim came crawling into the living room. He'd stripped off his clothes, left the tail and ears on the bed for Sebastian to get and was carrying the collar in his mouth. He couldn't quite meet Sebastian's eyes and he knelt by his feet, putting the collar into his lap.

"Are you... I thought you didn't want to do this again," Sebastian stammered, dropping his phone next to him on the sofa and almost reverently picking up the collar.

Jim didn't speak. He didn't want to. He just wanted Sebastian to understand. Understand that he really really needed to not be Jim for a while. That he needed to feel pretty and sweet. And loved.

Sebastian gave him a nod and held out his hand to pet Jim's cheek, then his neck. "Okay, Kitten. Better sit up so I can put on your collar."