Anticipation built in Vincent throughout the morning and into the early afternoon. His mind kept going back to those precious minutes he and Catherine had shared in his chamber the day before. While her touches had been almost innocent in their intensity, they were still imbued with the deep and abiding love he felt from her whenever they were together. And she had already told him what she hoped for on their next encounter.

She wanted to see him.

The thought left him a little terrified, but he could feel her excitement through the bond. Catherine had a fair idea of what to expect, he reasoned, but the fear of disappointing her remained at the forefront of his mind. After all, she was the personification of beauty, and not just to him. Everyone below had remarked at one time or another on her attractiveness, if not in his hearing, then to each other when they thought his attention was elsewhere. No one ever actually commented on the disparity, but Vincent understood what they did not say aloud.

How had someone so beautiful as Catherine found herself in love with him, of all people? That question had always existed in the back of his own mind, but now it had taken root firmly in the forefront of his thoughts.

Still, he knew her love was real. The bond between them confirmed it every moment of every day, a constant and casual reminder that in addition to her beauty and courage, Catherine could see beyond the physical grotesqueness of his appearance to the man beneath.

He arrived at her balcony a few hours after dusk, having taken particular pains to dress for the occasion. He wore his usual vest and cloak, but instead of a heavy wool sweater, he had chosen a thick shirt with small buttons up the front. Mindful of her wishes, Vincent hoped the buttons would afford her the glimpse of his body she sought without requiring him to remove all of his clothing above the waist.

The air outside held a late spring chill, but Vincent was unsurprised when she greeted him at her balcony in a silk nightgown and robe. His delay had allowed her enough time to shower after a long day at the office and to dry her hair.

"I'm so glad you're here," she told him, immediately capturing his hands in hers.

Vincent surprised himself as he leaned towards her, dipping his head low enough to press a light kiss to her lips before straightening up to his full height again.

She beamed at him, also shocked by the liberty he had taken, although from her expression alone he could see it was not unwelcome.

"Will you come in?" she asked with a quick glance behind her.

Vincent followed her gaze and noticed for the first time that the lights in her apartment had been dimmed. Or rather, the electric lights were completely off, the only illumination now made by an array of candles on nearly every surface.

For a long moment, he hesitated. He had only been in her apartment a few times, and those instances were of necessity only. Catherine's apartment was her own space, a refuge he had no wish to violate with his presence. And he could not deny that it made him nervous, being somewhere with only a wooden door and deadbolt separating him from the rest of her world.

But she asked it of him, and he realized how little a request it was and how long he had been denying her. With a fresh wave of guilt to spur him on, Vincent allowed her to lead him into the apartment.

She took him to the living room and he found a small fire already blazing cheerfully in her fireplace. Her couches and coffee table had been pushed back, giving them space on the floor where Catherine had already spread a blanket for them.

"I thought we could have a picnic," she said, gesturing to the cozy setup.

"That sounds wonderful."

He smiled and took a seat before the fire as she went to the kitchen to bring back whatever food she had in mind for them. During her brief absence, he focused on the emotions he sensed from her through the bond. She felt nervous, he noted uncomfortably, although the feeling was so entangled with hopefulness that he suspected that her worries were entirely about whether she was pushing him too quickly. But she returned before he could examine that realization too closely.

"I didn't cook, but I have some fruit and cheese I thought you might enjoy."

She set the tray on the floor beside them and he noted that it contained a variety of treats. Fresh fruits and vegetables were not always easy to come by below, especially not the more expensive varieties. But in addition to at least three types of cheeses, Catherine had acquired strawberries, cherries, raspberries, and even some fresh pineapple. With a deliberate grin, she reached for a piece of the yellow fruit and popped it into her mouth.

Noticing that the cherries had been pitted, he selected one and paired it with a piece of hard cheese. The two flavors married nicely together, and he hummed in appreciation as they danced across his taste buds.

After they had eaten a little more of the small feast Catherine had put together, she suggested he remove his cloak even as she took off her own silk robe. While Vincent complied without resistance, he still felt a gnawing fear within him. Without her robe, Catherine's shoulders were completely bare, and for a long moment, his eyes could look nowhere else but at the unblemished skin there.

Remembering the visions his mind had conjured when he believed Paracelsus' lies, Vincent briefly saw the crisscross of healed and fresh scars on that skin, and he shuttered at the memory of thinking he had caused such marks. But with great effort, he pushed those awful images aside and focused on the beauty of the woman in front of him.

Catherine regarded him with an enigmatic smile as she stood up to move the now empty tray out of their way and place it on the coffee table behind their picnic area. At the same time, she returned with some sort of fabric in her hands. Settling down on the blanket, closer to him now, she leaned into him as she held it out for his inspection.

The fabric turned out to be two very light weight, silky scarves. One was a deep scarlet and the other an array of cooler colors. He examined them carefully, unsure of their meaning.

Finally, Catherine enlightened him. "Your reminders," she said quietly. "If you still want them."

With a sigh, he handed the flimsy material back to her. "Catherine… while I appreciate the thought, those won't be strong enough-"

Before he could complete the thought, she had put one finger to his lips to silence him. Then, without further consultation, she replaced her finger with her own lips, catching him unawares in a shy kiss. But this time, she permitted her mouth to linger, sliding her mouth across his in the barest hint of exploration. When she encountered the cleft on his upper lip, she paused, but the bond betrayed nothing unpleasant in her emotions. Rather, he felt elation from her, as though she were finally permitted to touch a part of him she had long wished to feel for herself.

Just as he began to feel a stirring of desire at the sensual feelings Catherine was inspiring, she pulled away from him. But while he struggled to calm his now ragged breathing, she took one of his hands. Gently, she used it to guide him backwards until his back was flush against the side of her sofa. Then with equal care, she tied one of the scarfs around his wrist and secured it to the leg of the same sofa. After she had done the same to his other hand, she sat back to admire her work.

Through the bond, he felt a sudden shift in her emotions, something she was careful not to convey in her expression. The feeling was not one he often felt from Catherine, and it took a moment to identify. But as she forced herself to smile despite that deep, inner conflict, he finally recognized it.

Shame.

Beneath her excitement and anticipation, beneath even her appreciation for his willingness to go along with these encounters, he felt a deep and jagged sense of shame inside of her. Confused, he focused on it in an attempt to discern the source of such an unexpected emotion. But as it happened, he did not have to wait long for the answer.

"It feels wrong to restrain you, Vincent," she confessed, "because I know in my heart you would never hurt me."

"Catherine," he breathed, once again ready to both reiterate that he had no such faith in himself and that the so-called restraints she was using were utterly inadequate anyway. But before he could say more, she edged closer to him.

"If at any point you want me to stop what I'm doing, that's all you have to say: stop. No matter what we're doing, just say it and I'll stop."

A profound sense of his own guilt welled up within him, an aura of self loathing which had been growing to a crescendo his entire life, and Vincent struggled to answer her. Eventually, he had to acknowledge that words had failed him, and he simply nodded his understanding.

Catherine rewarded him with a smile, and he noticed unshed tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes. "I love you," she assured him before leaning forward to kiss him once more.

She returned her mouth to his upper lip, as if drawn instinctively back to that specific spot. As one of his more obvious differences, the shape of his mouth had always left him feeling especially self conscious. Some of the other children had even teased him unmercifully in his youth, and those wounds would never truly heal.

But Catherine's attention suddenly threw all of those old memories into the garbage. Her love and adoration surrounded him like a familiar and comfortable blanket, warming him without smothering, allowing him to relax as he experienced new and thrilling sensations. And the feeling of her lips against his was both new and thrilling, a tantalizing promise nearing fulfillment.

Just as he began to worry about losing control, Catherine paused in her ministrations, sighed in contentment, and pulled away from him.

"I've wanted to kiss you for so long," she confessed, and Vincent felt his heart skip a beat at the raw emotions flowing from within her. Her thankfulness seemed at odds with his own raging emotions, like the sun thanking a flower for the privilege of sharing its sunshine. But before he could put words to his thoughts, she smiled again with a distinctive air of mischief.

"Do you remember what I asked you last night?"

"I remember," he managed.

Taking his words as consent, Catherine brought her fingers up to the laces of his padded vest. Using both hands, she was able to untie them much more quickly, and as she pushed the layer back, she arrived the buttons on his sweater beneath. He could not fail to notice her hum of delight before she turned her eyes back up to his once more.

"May I?" she asked, tracing the top button with the pad of her thumb.

The sensual tenor of her voice stirred his body, and he shifted slightly to accommodate the physical manifestation on his own growing desire, giving him both space and time to process what she was requesting. Her unwavering patience allowed him a minute to breathe and to process the multitude of sensations she inspired from his body. Finally, summoning his courage, he nodded his ascent.

"Catherine, I am… at your disposal."

Grinning with amusement and delight, she returned her fingers to his sweater. The buttons were not large but made of polished wood, the sort of utilitarian fasteners which could be made in batches and applied to a multitude of garments. But Catherine treated them with exquisite care, sliding the first through the nearly invisible hole in the wool sweater and then the second and third in close succession. She paused then, taking in the nearly two inches she had exposed running from the base of his neck downward.

As he had warned her, she found a broad expanse of increasingly dense hair. But like a true explorer, she gloried in the discovery. Her fingertips reached out to make contact, barely brushing against the patch of auburn-hued fur. The ephemeral nature of her touch sent a shiver up his spine, and Vincent drew in a sharp breath of air.

The next three buttons followed much the same, giving way to Catherine's eager eyes and rewarded for their exposure with the caress of her fingers.

By the time she had made her way mid-way down his torso, Vincent's breath came out in fitful bursts, ragged and uncertain. But she surprised him. Instead of exploring the newly discovered landscape with her hands, Catherine leaned forward to press her lips to his chest, unmindful of his dense pelt.

He gasped aloud and pulled against the silken bonds which held his hands away from her, but they stayed firmly in place and Vincent writhed against the sensual feel of her warmth against him, so near and willing and utterly beautiful.

He lost track of her hands as the rest of the buttons were eased open, too immersed in the feel of her mouth trailing down his chest. But as she neared his belly, his body responded too strongly, and he said in near panic, "Catherine!"

While he had not told her to stop, she did so anyway, pulling away from him so she could look up into his eyes. Hers were dark with desire, and he felt an even more uncomfortable tightening in his trousers as his own need grew.

"Do you want to take a break?" Catherine offered gently.

In truth, he knew not what he wanted. Vincent's body and mind were at war with each other, the former wanting nothing so much as for her to continue with what she had been doing, and the latter utterly terrified of where that might lead them. Mindful of the silk scarves around his wrists, he took a moment to test himself against them.

He knew they were not strong enough to stop him if he had a mind to use his full strength. Truthfully, her furniture itself could be easily torn apart by Vincent in a moment of pure fury. But he did not need to know if the scarves would hold him. He needed to be sure that he could keep himself in check. Gently, he tested the flimsy bonds and found that they were firm but not unyielding. And then, very deliberately, Vincent relaxed his muscles until they slackened completely.

He decided in that moment, that if he were to pull against them again, he would put a stop to Catherine's explorations. If he could not trust himself to be restrained by a few silk threads, he could not trust himself at all.

Catherine sat near him, quietly waiting for his answer. Not sure if he could speak without his voice cracking with emotion, he simply gave a quick shake of his head. Tentatively, she moved a little closer to him.

"May I touch you?" she asked.

He nodded, but when she waited for more, he managed a rough, "Yes… you may touch me."

At his ascent, she inched closer still, this time laying her head against his shoulder. With deliberate slowness, she reached out her hand to move across his bare chest, gliding across his fur and skin to that spot above his heart which seemed to have become a favorite touchstone for her. Closing his eyes at the feel of her, so soft and warm against him, Vincent filled his other senses with her.

She smelled divine. Beyond the typical remnants of her hair care products and perfume, he noted a more natural, feminine scent which he had been noticing from her more than usual in these more intimate sessions. With a start, he realized it was the smell of her own arousal, and somehow, that knowledge actually comforted him. She wanted him as much as he wanted her...

Before he could do more with that realization, Catherine leaned closer to him and pressed her lips against the skin of his throat. Taking a deep breath, he sensed through the bond that she was taking in the scent of him just as he had of her, and she reveled in it just as he had. A perverse sense of pride welled within him as she once again communicated silently her appreciation for his physical self. If Catherine could find him attractive, then perhaps…

Her hand moved from its place at his chest, skimming downward this time until it found the hard planes of his abdomen. But even as she explored his bare upper body with her hand beneath the edges of his open sweater, she moved her mouth to nibble on the skin along his throat, using the slightest touch of her teeth one second, and then soothing the same area with her hot tongue the next.

The sensations she inspired within him could only be described as exquisite, and Vincent permitted himself to enjoy them. Focusing on keeping his arms relaxed so he did not pull at those silken bonds, he let Catherine do as she wanted even as he both feared and hoped for more.

"I love you, Vincent," she whispered, her voice entwining within the spell she was making with the feel of her hands and her lips. "I want you… so much."

Barely trusting his voice, he whispered, "I love you, Catherine."

Even as he uttered the words, he felt an almost overwhelming need to touch her. But determination kept him in place, even as he focused on her feelings through the bond. With every touch of her skin against his, she awoke flesh which had not known the touch of a woman since he was a child. And even then, those touches were at the hands of nourishing, maternal stand-ins. Women like Mary and Sarah had looked after him, but Vincent had never known a mother.

And he had never known a lover… not until now.

But even past the utter intensity of his feelings, he could feel Catherine's need to be touched in return. She wanted his hands to explore her body just as hers made their way under his own clothing. He could feel the longing for his unique lips against her skin, caressing her body with the love and longing she was showing to him. Her desire for that reciprocity filled the bond so fully that Vincent could focus on little else. Finally, he realized that she was channeling those feelings to him, sending to him her wishes so he would reconsider the bonds which held his hands away from her.

But while he suspected Catherine only wanted to affirm for him her love and desire, Vincent found his heart plummeting into his stomach, every sense suddenly overpowered by regret and remorse.

Catherine was loving him. She touched and caressed and kissed him, but what did she receive in return? He could sense her desire through the bond, a bone-deep ache which she always held in careful check to spare his feelings. Nothing of what she was doing to him in any way relieved her needs. None of it brought her real pleasure, only a aching lack of fulfillment.

Just as his body responded to her questing fingers - they had just found an area of nearly hairless skin along his side - Vincent imagined what it would be like for her to feel his hands on her. He pictured her perfect, silken skin, lovely and unmarked. And then he imagined his clawed hands, covered in rough fur, touching her. To him, she would feel wonderful - warmth and sensuality personified into the most beautiful woman he had ever known.

But she would feel… roughness. He thought of his hands, remembering the fear in Lisa's eyes as he'd refused to let her go.

She would feel… sharp claws. Even if he did not scratch her, she would still feel them trailing against her skin. Those nails had drawn more blood than most men would see in a lifetime, and she would feel them against her bare flesh-

"Stop."

The word erupted from his mouth without thought, and Vincent immediately felt the cessation of Catherine's body as she moved away from him.

"I'm sorry," she said in confusion, obviously mistaking his inner turmoil for something she had done. "I shouldn't have gone so far-"

"No," Vincent interrupted her. "You did nothing wrong."

He glanced to the side, and Catherine quickly reached around him to untie his hands. As soon as he was free, he stood up and retreated to the safety of Catherine's balcony, not even bothering to grab his cloak.

The cool air helped to sober him against the heated desire of his body, but it did nothing to quiet the revulsion his own mind had conjured at the thought of Catherine being touched by his hands.

She followed him, as he knew she would, and hovered just outside the French doors of her apartment, still wearing nothing but her silk nightgown.

They stood like that for a long time. And as the minutes ticked by, Vincent felt the cold of the night permeate through the bond from Catherine. She gave no notice of the temperature, focusing instead on his emotional state. Her confusion and nervousness were strong, but she kept them reined in, as though behind a haphazard curtain to hide what she did not wish him to see. But she allowed her love and concern through, and Vincent hated himself anew for accepting from her so much while yet again giving so little in return.

Finally, when he felt steady enough to trust his own voice, he spoke.

"I wish I could give you what you need, Catherine. I would give anything to be able to…"

The wave of his emotions crested unexpectedly, and his words gave out as a sob welled up inside him. Catherine stepped closer, just close enough to reach out for him, but she waited for him to say more. The chill had begun to sink into her skin, but Vincent could not bring himself to whisk her back into the apartment, not while his mind was still in such turmoil.

"Your touch is like nothing I have ever felt before," he managed after a moment, ignoring the tears which now stained his cheeks. "But I have no right to accept such love from you when I can give nothing in return."

For a few seconds, she only stared at him in confusion, but when his meaning finally sank in, Catherine assured him, "You have every right, Vincent."

"No, I…"

She reached for him then, taking his hand in hers. He turned then, and as she met his eyes, she said more strongly, "Every right."

With those words, she put his hand against her breast, the thin veneer of silk the only thing separating his coarse palm from her flesh. The movement stunned him, and while Vincent would have pulled away, she stepped closer to him, keeping his hand in place.

"Catherine," he gasped, but she would not budge, would not let him free. And in the wake of her dominant assertion, he felt from her emotions she did not hide.

Lust. Desire. Longing.

The warmth of his hand on her stirred in Catherine a deep and unrelenting ache which he sensed could be filled by no else, and that knowledge both frightened and emboldened him. Whether it was the cold night air or the warmth of his own hand, he noticed that a pebble of flesh stood out in the center of his palm. The eroticism of what he felt mirrored back to him through the bond. The barest change of pressure against her sent an electric charge through her body, and Catherine took a sharp intake of breath.

"Vincent," she said, speaking carefully, as if to a timid animal who might run away at any moment. "I have no doubts that you will be a thoughtful and giving lover, should you ever allow us to reach that point. But make no mistake, when you let me touch you… that is its own gift, one I am so very thankful you have allowed me."

Though he knew she spoke her own belief of the truth, his doubts crept forward from the shadows, shrouding him in renewed darkness of spirit. The reaction of Catherine's body to his touch only confirmed what he already knew: that she needed more than to put her hands on him. She needed to be touched in return, and by hands which were more suited to the task than his.

And yet, some inner voice inside him reflected, his mouth was not so very offensive. She had shown no aversion to the cleft upper lip which set him apart from other men, and kissing him had elicited from her no feelings of revulsion or disgust. So long as he kept his teeth, particularly his extra sharp canines, away from her skin, perhaps he could bring to her some form of pleasure that way?

"Catherine, would you…" He paused with a sigh, wondering if the bold notion which had taken shape in his mind was really such a good idea after all.

"Would I what?" she prompted.

The chill night air had turned her bare feet into blocks of ice, Vincent realized with a start, even as the breast she had encased with his hand seemed to be on fire.

"We should go inside," he suggested, but Catherine shook her head.

"I don't want to go inside. I want you to tell me what you're thinking."

With that last statement, she let go of his hand, and he instantly withdrew it from her body. Bereft of his warmth, he felt a fresh wave of coldness rush through her, renewing his sense of urgency to get her inside.

Hastily, he managed to put forth his thoughts.

"I was going to ask if you would let me… touch you. Give to you the way you have been giving to me… Not with my hands, at least not… I cannot countenance touching you with my bare hands, Catherine. But if you would let me touch you with…"

The enormity of his request suddenly hit him, and Vincent felt the inescapable need to flee the situation entirely. But Catherine stood opposite him, her eyes locked with his, her expression full of serious inquiry.

"Vincent," she said his name, and like an anchor, he was locked back in place, unable to go. "Are you offering to touch me… with your mouth?" she asked softly.

The way she phrased his request, he felt the need to correct her. "I'm asking if you would… allow me."

"Yes."

Speaking without hesitation, Catherine imbued the word with a wave of love and gratitude, as if he had offered something precious rather than making a bold and impertinent demand on her love.

"Tomorrow?" he managed, knowing he would need more time to rebuild his shattered self control. He would also need to wear his gloves. While he had no intentions of deliberately touching Catherine with his clawed hands, he did not want to risk a stray rake of fur or claws against her perfect, ivory skin.

She answered him with a smile, and before he could say more, she had pulled him back into the warmth of her apartment. Nothing more was said about what had occurred between them earlier nor of their plans for the next evening. Instead, Catherine pulled out a volume of poetry and they took turns reading aloud.

By the time Vincent was ready to bid her good night, a sense of calm had been restored between them. While an undeniable current of desire ran just under the surface of their shared feelings, Catherine focused less on the physical course of their relationship and more on the emotional. Waves of love and understanding emanated from her through the bond, assuring him that whatever might happen between them, they would face it together.

TBC

A/N: I'm pleased to see a few hits on this story. I haven't received any feedback, so if you're enjoying it, I'd love to know.