A/N: Trigger warning on this chapter for thoughts of suicide.

As always, feedback is appreciated.

Catherine did not fall asleep as he had hoped. Rather, she gazed at him from under heavy lids, her eyes filled with love and longing. Even as her breathing slowed, he noticed that the peaks of her nipples became taunt once more. Inside her core, a new ache began to build, and Vincent lamented that he must contain the demands of his body a little longer.

Reaching out both of her hands to touch his fully clothed chest, Catherine asked, "May I loosen these?"

Before he could respond she had unbuttoned his vest and eased the leather ties around his wide belt. Her fingers slid against his clothed abdomen, and for a brief moment, he thought all restraint might be lost.

"Catherine, please," he breathed, an admonition to stop not making it past his lips.

But she hesitated anyway, pausing to give him leave to refuse her touch.

"I only want to give you the same relief you have given me," she entreated, moving closer to him.

Before he could respond, her bare breasts were pushed against his sweater, her heat radiating more strongly than the hottest of fires. Her legs came into contact with his, one sliding between his thighs, her hip brushing against his raging desire.

Vincent's breath caught in his throat at that moment, that stray touch which nearly electrocuted him with wanting. Each intake of air came as a shallow pant, and he waited for her reaction. He wondered if she even knew the part of him she had touched, the illicit and primal section of his body which put her in the greatest danger of defilement.

Defilement…

Swallowing tightly, Vincent thought about what he had done. He had put his lips and mouth and tongue on her most precious, secret region. He had stirred her to climax, like a lover should do…

Nausea swept through him as he imagined that moment from the outside, as a casual observer who only saw a beautiful woman ravaged by the deformed body of a man with animalistic features, with fur and claws. The wrongness of it hit him full-force, and Vincent remembered the full weight of his existence, the limitations of his life. This sort of love had always been denied to him for a reason. And now, that reason manifested itself so fully in his conscience that he could experience nothing else.

"Catherine, we must stop," he managed to whisper.

She was already about to kiss him when he spoke, and his entreaty seemed to fall on deaf ears as she pressed her lips against his anyway. That delicate touch tore at his resolve, and he could not deny her as she deepened the kiss, making love to his mouth as gently and easily as he had her body. The warmth and intimacy of her kiss mirrored the emotions he felt from her through the bond. Love, excitement, enjoyment… She was alive with a happiness he had never felt from her before.

For so long, Catherine had always kept a tight rein on her feelings in this regard. While she let her passionate thoughts be felt through the bond, never did she dwell on them for long. Rather, she typically pushed them aside or bottled them up, always conscious of how her own feelings might bother him. Only recently had he experienced the full force of her desire, and truth be told, he reveled in it.

He also hated himself anew for making Catherine live so long without these touches. Having now experienced what she felt during climax, he acknowledged to himself that a relationship without physical love like this was a paltry substitute. By committing herself to the dream of a life with him, Catherine had given up this manifestation of love, and she had done so for his sake. But dooming her to a life of celibacy now, having experienced the ecstasy she could - should - be experiencing… He truly was a monster.

Breaking away from her kiss, Vincent held up a hand to push her away. Catherine immediately stopped, the look of confusion on her face swiftly followed by a wave of self doubt.

"We must stop," he said again, more strongly this time. "This must go no further."

The joy which emanated from her just moments earlier turned immediately to disappointment, and he could have wept from the expression on her face. But just as quickly, she schooled her features to hide the reaction, although her attempts to sublimate what she felt inside were not as easy to master. But after closing her eyes for a few seconds, Catherine looked at him and smiled.

Through the bond, her love shone much stronger than any other emotion. Love and acceptance poured out of her, and beneath those, a deep and continuing desire. Just as he suspected, she was resetting herself and her expectations, willing to stop for his sake, to give him more time. And if this was all the farther they might ever reach, she would accept it.

"If this is my fate… I accept it - gratefully."

Sitting back, Catherine gathered the sheet up to cover herself, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. The moment her body left his, he felt a wave of coldness like he had never before experienced. The chill permeated into his bones and ran through every blood vessel, every nerve before settling into an icy mass in his chest. The feeling seemed to freeze his heart from the inside out, and Vincent's breath hitched painfully.

With skin flushed and glimmering with a light sheen of sweat, her long hair mussed and her lips swollen from kissing, Catherine was the picture of feminine beauty. The sheet she had gathered about herself hung both modestly and enticingly over the flawless skin it still revealed, including her entire nude backside. Vincent's body responded to her despite him, and he reached for her even before he could stop himself.

The sight of his gloved hand as his fingertips touched her bare shoulder stopped him anew. Those gloves covered deadly claws, he reminded himself. Those hands had ripped apart men's flesh with ease.

Peter's voice floated in the back of his mind, calm and skeptical. "Have you ever once even scratched Catherine's skin?"

The answer was still no. But he could not help but think about Paracelsus' lies, the images they had evoked in his mind.

"She takes greater care now because she knows you'll ask questions. But if you were to see them - they are covered in scars. Some of the wounds were so fresh that… I had to stitch over old wounds not yet healed."

Her skin on shoulders remained flawless, as perfect as every other aspect of Catherine's body. Vincent focused on that fact as he allowed himself to take a ragged breath.

Turning at the sound, Catherine looked even more concerned. Sadly, she offered, "I'm sorry if I pushed you too far tonight. I just wanted to give you some of the same pleasure you gave to me."

His groin swelled painfully as he imagined what she offered. The thought of her mouth on him as his had been on hers sounded… immensely pleasurable, he had to admit. But as much as his body longed for exactly what she offered, he felt guilty for even entertaining such a disgusting notion. Despite what she likely believed to be simple reciprocity, the idea of Catherine performing such an act was not the same as what he had done for her. Once again, his mind filled with the thought of defiling her, of degrading and debasing her purity.

Vincent held no delusions; he knew Catherine had been in intimate relationships before. But those relationships had been with men, not with… whatever he was.

For a very long moment, he simply struggled to put together the words for his feelings, for his raging doubts and equally raging desire. The tightness of his jeans had become physically painful, but he made himself embrace the discomfort, letting it reinforce physically what it was doing to him emotionally. When he finally looked up at Catherine and spoke, his voice sounded harsh and devastated.

"Catherine, I worry about more than just... harming you."

Her eyebrows wrinkled into a soft expression of concern, and she asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean… I cannot see beyond what I am. I am not a man, not truly. And if I were with you like this, in the way we both want, I would be…"

Speech failed him. No matter what he said now, he knew she would argue. She would declare him beautiful and refuse to look beyond what they both knew to be tremendous, unchangeable differences. He would always be what he was, but if he shared his body with her, he would sully hers as well. He would spoil her by making her his own.

Shaking his head, Vincent found himself frustrated with his own inner thoughts. Nothing quite encompassed his feelings because he knew Catherine could never be ruined, not like that. Her body was her own, meant for life and enjoyments of every kind. But by having a physical relationship with him, he would be asking her to make love with someone who wasn't human. And that thought alone bothered him beyond all measure.

"I'm sorry, I cannot explain myself," he confessed. "No words are adequate to what I wish to say to you."

Catherine reached out and took his gloved hand in hers. Just the difference in the size of their fingers stood out to him, but he struggled against his fears.

"I love you," she offered simply. "And like I told you before, we can go slow. Tonight was a big step, for both of us, and I don't want to push you for anything you aren't yet comfortable with."

Hanging his head, Vincent asked, "And if I'm never… comfortable?"

He expected a hitch in the bond, a pang of despair or even a shadow of sadness. But instead, he noticed a wave of resolve.

"Vincent, if this were the other way around, how would you feel?" she posed.

"I don't understand…"

Bringing his gloved hand to her chest, gently folding his palm against the bare skin at her chest, Catherine explained, "If I were the one who was inexperienced and unsure, and you were the one who wanted our relationship to go further… What would you say to me if I asked you that question? Would you say that you'd wait forever? That nothing else mattered except how much we love each other?"

Sighing heavily, Vincent answered with a measure of frustration. "Catherine, of course. But what you sacrifice is not comparable to what I would give up, were that the case."

Again, his response left her confused, but only for a moment. Within seconds, her feelings swung wildly into indignation as she fully understood his meaning. Hoping to forestall her, he quickly spoke again.

"You are… everything. Everything, Catherine. I can never hope to be worthy of your love. I have always known this, and yet I selfishly allowed us to grow closer. Rather than standing by your side as no more than a friend, I allowed us to dream. A beautiful and impossible dream, Catherine."

He tried to pull his hand back away from her, but she refused to release him.

"It isn't impossible," she stated blankly.

"I cannot give you-"

"You have given me everything."

Very deliberately, she took his hand and pulled off the glove which hid his more hideous differences. While Vincent did nothing to stop her, he did gasp as she moved to place his now bare palm back against her chest. In so doing, the sheet she had used to cover herself had slipped down, giving his eyes as free access to her naked breasts. For a long moment, he could not take his eyes off of them. They mesmerized him with their intense, sensual beauty.

"If I were Shakespeare, perhaps I could properly extol your virtues, Vincent, but… you are quite simply amazing. In every way. Your spirit is so beautiful. You are giving and compassionate and thoughtful and kind…" Shaking her head, Catherine smiled as she looked down. "And physically? I know you look different from other men, but those differences make you unique. They make you beautiful in an entirely different way."

"I'm not-" he began to interrupt, but she stopped him by rapidly shifting her position. Dropping his hand, she moved closer to him, and before he knew what was happening, she had straddled his hips. The sudden change in position put her very close to the part of himself which was causing so much trouble, the part which longed to connect with her in that forbidden manner, and Vincent gasped. But she gave his reaction no notice.

The sheet had been half lost already, and only a scrap of it still covered her below the waist, treating him to an almost complete visual of her sitting astride him, naked. But she did not stop there. Instead, she reached out her hand to touch his chest. Still fully clothed, she encountered several his last remaining layer, but before he could say a word, she had pulled down the edge of his sweater until her hand encountered his bare skin.

At least, she would have felt skin had he been fully a man. Instead, she found fur - dense and dark, much like the fur on his hands. She had seen this part of his body before, he reminded himself, and just as before, she delighted in the softness. Without prompting, she traced his sweater to the bottom edge and began pulling up on it, intent on removing the rest of what shielded his upper body from her eyes.

"Catherine-" he sighed, in dismay and nervousness.

"I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, Vincent," she told him pointedly, glancing down at her own nudity. "Not that I mind. But I would really enjoy getting to see more of you."

Taking a shaky breath, he reminded himself that he did indeed have the advantage of her. Not only had he seen and touched much more of her body than he had ever hoped, she had not glimpsed more than a few inches of his bare chest. Perhaps if she did, she might realize how impossible the way forward would be for them.

And perhaps she would not mind what she saw, as she had obviously not minded what she had already beheld.

Unable to form a coherent argument, Vincent found himself complying. With short, careful movements designed not to disturb her position across his lap, he pulled the sweater over his head.

Even as he could not bring his eyes to look at her face, he felt her reaction through the bond. It stunned him so entirely that he wrenched his gaze up to meet hers. But instead of focusing on his face, he found her staring at his upper body, her lips slightly parted in an expression which mirrored the feelings in her heart. Far from being disgusted or afraid of his appearance, she stared at him with undisguised awe and appreciation.

Vincent glanced down, as though to ensure she saw the same dense fur he himself saw every time he entered a bathing pool. And indeed, the fur had not magically vanished. But Catherine obviously did not mind it so much as he had anticipated.

"May I… touch you?" she asked quietly, her reverenced tone startling him.

"Yes."

He spoke automatically, a little confused at her obvious fascination as he attempted to work out her lack of abhorrence at his appearance. But then, he felt a sudden flash of something through the bond, and for one very short moment, he saw himself as she saw him.

Strong and powerful, his muscles stood out like chiseled stone under the layers of fur he found so abhorrent. In some places, the fur was long and dense, whereas in others it lightened in both color and texture, mirroring the downy texture on his face. His broad shoulders formed the top of the famed masculine triangle of beauty, leading down to a slimmer but well defined base. His stomach boasted less fur than the rest of his body, although a dense patch grew just below his navel, leading down into his jeans towards a part of him he had no wish for Catherine to see on this particular occasion.

Her appreciation of his physique surprised him, and Vincent searched the bond between them for any sense that she was projecting untrue emotions or hiding ones she did not wish him to feel. But he encountered no artifice from her. She found nothing about his appearance objectionable. Rather, his power and strength ignited real excitement, and Vincent noticed once again that spicy scent he had learned to attribute solely to her renewed sexual desire.

When he granted her leave to explore with not only eyes but with touch, Catherine had taken a moment to survey the landscape before testing out that newfound permission. But now, she reached out with eager fingers, letting them caress the planes of his pectoral muscles.

Slowly, her hands traveled across every inch of him, careful not to disturb his fur by ruffling it in the wrong direction. She seemed fascinated by the very shape of him, as if the extra padding of his clothing had left her in complete shock as to his actual build.

"My God, Vincent," she said finally, her voice full of appreciation. "You are even more beautiful than I imagined."

With the bond fully open between them, he knew she spoke utter truth. The reverence in her tone had not been colored by love or kindness. Instead, her appraisal sounded more like thoughts on a sculpture or a painting in a museum. While Catherine might have heard the subject described by critics and friends alike, her own amateur review both amazed and delighted her.

Her praise left him feeling hot and embarrassed, as it usually did, but Vincent could not fight against the flush of pleasure he felt at her assessment. Desire swelled within her, her that reaction to him unmistakable. And at the tender brush of her fingers against him, he recognized a fast-building ache in his own body. That part of him which wanted nothing more than union with her pulsed painfully against its cloth prison, and Vincent suddenly felt helpless to stop it.

Catherine shifted closer, intent upon her physical inspection, and before he understood what was happening, she replaced fingers with lips, hot and moist. Time suddenly stood still as her mouth ignited within him a fire he had not allowed to grow beyond a single flame for years - decades.

He needed her. Like water. Like air.

He needed to feel her around him, surrounding and encompassing him. He wanted nothing more than to drive himself into her, again and again-

Time slowed and Vincent realized their positions had changed. Rather than sitting splayed across his legs, he found Catherine under him, his still-clothed legs finding a home between her naked thighs. His teeth and tongue were alternately teasing and soothing her poor breasts, and Catherine clung to him as though for dear life, her head flung back far enough to expose a delicious expanse of skin along her neck. His hands gripped her hips tightly, and he barely noticed that both gloves were now gone, his bare fingers finding easy purchase against her naked flesh.

More than anything, he wanted the horrible confines of his jeans to be gone - so he could take her, swift and hard, as nature intended. As both of their aching bodies demanded. A low growl emanated from deep inside his throat.

But just as his hands reached down to pull off the offending garment, Vincent's eyes fell on a section of Catherine's breast which stood out to him. A portion of skin seemed pinker than usual, the ruddy hue obviously different from the rest of her flushed complexion. And then he saw it - a small abrasion, barely enough to break the skin, but as he stared he could make out the tell-tale line of blood slowly making its way to the surface. Vincent knew immediately the scratch must have come from either his teeth or his claws.

With a flash of clarity, he was able to witness the scene outside of himself. But rather than witnessing two lovers caught up in a moment of heated desire, he saw the exact opposite. He saw himself, a furred and muscled brute, putting clawed hands and sharp canines on the purest of beauties. Rather than focus on her obvious enjoyment of the moment, his eyes saw only her irritated patch of skin which the previously been unblemished. He saw a man-beast, poised to release a most despised sexual organ on an unsuspecting woman, and the thought of it wrenched him suddenly and painfully out of the moment.

Vincent stumbled back so quickly, he fell off the bed and nearly crashed into the wooden louvered doors of Catherine's closet. His head felt thick and heady from the night's events, but losing physical contact with his beloved seemed to restore him to himself just as a bucket of cold water might. Catherine, suddenly bereft of his warmth and ministrations, opened her eyes to search for him and instantly noticed his wide-eyed alarm.

"Vincent!" she called out to him.

But even as she reached for him, he pulled away, distancing himself from the woman who formed the beginning of his desire. He needed to stop himself, Vincent thought with growing panic, fighting the urge to return to her bed, to her welcoming embrace. In a moment of weakness, he almost did so, his body aching to be free of his offending garments - free to take her. The urge washed over him so strongly that he felt almost helpless to resist it.

But then, amidst his physical and mental confusion, that most despised inner part of himself came out, the part which emerged whenever Catherine needed his protection. That wild and feral part of his psyche took charge, and for one aching moment he feared what it would do outside the bounds of his fragile control. Even as he growled, Vincent looked at her with terror-filled eyes, unable to stop himself.

And then his feet took him to the balcony.

As he moved to flee, Catherine moved quickly as well, intercepting him before he could leave the bedroom.

"Please stop," she begged.

Holding up her hands, she stood bodily between him and lights shining distantly outside her French doors. Even as he leaned forward, she made contact and pushed him back, the warmth of the contact between them breaking through the fog which had filled him moments before.

Until that moment, Vincent did not quite realize his purpose. But as he encountered Catherine's iron will through the bond, he recognized what she already suspected. His movement was not intended as a simple retreat. Rather, from the beginning, he had instilled within himself a very simple failsafe if he ever felt he might be putting her in danger. If he were ever in a position of harming Catherine, his last, most desperate act to save her life would be to wrest himself from attack and hurl his body over her balcony.

The plan, crude as it was, had been in the back of his mind from the moment he had found her again in the world above. If he ever felt her fear of him, so strongly that he knew he had lost himself in some primal rage, he could keep her safe by dooming himself. To the extent that his mangled and crushed limbs might ever be examined too closely, the authorities could never tie his death to her apartment. And more importantly, she would be safe…

In front of him, Catherine's nude form seemed to shift and change. Before, she was like a nymph, gleaming with sexual energy and desire. But now she appeared more like a Valkyrie, strong and defiant as she barred him from leaving her apartment.

"I won't let you!" she declared, pushing him roughly back. "I won't let you…"

Vincent did not struggle as she guided him back to her bed, knowing as he gave up the fight that something strange had changed within Catherine in those few moments. Her resolve had hardened, like clay baked in a fire. The backs of his knees made contact with her mattress, and he collapsed onto it weakly before allowing an extreme wave of fatigue to engulf him.

As an unnatural sleep drew him deep into its dark and cold embrace, the last emotion Vincent noticed coming through the bond from Catherine was, inexplicably, a tidal wave of guilt.

TBC