A/N: To everyone who has left me feedback on this story, thank you. Your continued support means the world to me.
"Does it disgust you, when I touch you?"
Catherine turned fully toward him so she could see his face. Through the bond, he felt a strange stillness within her, as though she were trying hard to control her emotions so they could not reach him.
Finally, she said, "No."
The word came out so crisp and clear, he almost worried that he had imagined it. But then she added, "Nothing about you has ever led me to feel disgust. Nothing, Vincent."
She stared at him long and hard, her expression open. But he could not force himself to meeting her eyes, those clear green eyes, so empty of judgment and full of love. As Vincent dropped his gaze, his chin dipped and he fought against a rising sense of shame which fell about his shoulders like great weights.
Of course she would deny it, part of him insisted.
But Catherine does not lie, another voice inside him pointed out. You must trust her.
And what if she lies to herself?
Perhaps sensing the internal war within him, Catherine moved to touch him. She had shied away from reaching out to him for weeks now, he knew, and this time her growing hesitance stayed her hand once again. He sensed her inner doubt as she shut down an almost visceral need to connect with him, to offer him the soothing press of her touch against some part of him.
After a moment of further indecision, she simply drew closer - near enough for him to touch, but not so much as to make him feel cornered. And then she spoke.
"At first, I didn't understand my own feelings. I thought what was between us was only a very strong and close friendship. When I realized the depth of my own love… It scared me," Catherine admitted. "And then, when I almost lost you…"
He felt a tension within her, like a string pulled too tightly, so taught as to be just on the verge of breaking from the tension. She needed to touch him. But she kept that longing at bay, refusing to give into it. For his sake.
Before Vincent could give into his growing need to pull her into a loving embrace, she spoke again.
"I've always known our relationship would be fraught with… challenges. But my attraction to you was there from the start. If anything, I worried about you being disgusted with me."
She made the comment off-handedly, but it startled him all the same.
"How could such a thing ever concern you?" he asked in confusion.
Looking down shyly, Catherine took a breath. "Because you can feel my feelings. You know my thoughts. For so long, I tried to be like you and keep my love pure, free of physical desire. But sometimes... I couldn't help myself. Sometimes I dreamed of what it would be like - to be with you. And I worried-" She sighed, shaking her head. "I didn't want to disappoint you. And I didn't want my weakness to taint what we have."
Vincent immediately corrected her. "Your desire was never a weakness. And I'm sorry I allowed you to believe I did not share in it. For so long I believed there was nothing I could do to fulfill that need within you."
She allowed a single heartbeat between them before asking, "... and now?"
"Now…" He looked up and graced her with the smallest of smiles, one just playful enough to betray a hint of flirtation. "I know better."
Catherine grinned despite herself, and he admired the color of her cheeks as she blushed. Glancing down at her, he realized that he no longer needed to wonder how the rest of her body would look in such a flushed state. His memory held those images now, and some deep part of his psyche reveled smugly in the depth of his knowledge.
As she looked up at him again, her smile fell away and he felt a seriousness overtake her.
"Vincent…" she said slowly, "I don't ever want to push you or make you uncomfortable. But I want you to know this. My desire for you extends beyond what you have already given me so selflessly. I will always want to share it with you. It isn't a condition of our love, but..."
Very deliberately, she let her eyes rake over his body, from one shoulder across to the other, down his broad chest, and across his waist. The feelings in her during that studied perusal of his form were awash with wanting even as she masked her exact thoughts from him over the bond. A moment later, her eyes returned to his, and they sparkled with mirth and mischief.
Coyly, Catherine added, "If ever you want to explore more of what can be between us, I would be delighted."
With that, she gave him one more appreciative glance before leaning forward to bestow a chaste kiss on the lips.
Vincent nearly followed her as she moved back from him, but a sound stopped him. They both froze as the distinct echo of voices preceded some other couple down the tunnel towards the mirror pool. He reacted before she did, standing up from the floor and drawing her up to stand beside him.
Glancing at her, he murmured, "Perhaps you would like to go-"
Before he could complete the question, she affirmed. "To your chamber. Yes, Vincent."
Taking care to leave by the other tunnel so as to avoid whoever might have interrupted their privacy, they slowly made their way back to Vincent's chamber. The hour had grown late but he felt no overriding need to escort her back to her apartment threshold. Added to his hesitance, he sensed from her a similar desire to stay below. And while the guest chamber stood ready, he had no wish to suggest she leave him.
They had shared a bed for several hours the night before, Vincent reasoned to himself, and he had managed to find a some rest despite the raging passion which had burned through his body after their… interlude. He shied away from the term "making love" even though he felt it was descriptive of their time together. Drawing out from Catherine a heightened sensuality, so robust and bursting with pleasure that she almost could not contain it, seemed to Vincent like the sort of experience to inspire poetry. Music. Art. What other creation could compare to the waves of ecstasy piercing through her at just the touch of his mouth and hands?
But at the same time, they had not been together fully, not in that way which he knew Catherine longed for their completion. Nor, he knew, had their union qualified for the "biblical sense," as he had heard it described.
Still… even if nothing occurred between them on this night, Vincent thought about how warm and comfortable she would feel in his arms. Her scent tantalized him, and he felt momentarily lost in her presence. Only when he recovered himself did he think to let her decide.
"Catherine," he said slowly, "I could take you to the guest quarters to spend the night. Or…"
"Or?" she asked, her voice and heart full of hope.
Dipping his head with the sort of embarrassment befitting a teenager, he managed to offer, "Or you could stay here… with me."
"Yes."
She breathed the word out perhaps even before considering the full extent of his suggestion, he realized. But as she stared at him openly, he sensed her taking time to weigh the implications of what it might mean to spend the night in his chamber.
A few moments later, Catherine smiled. She spoke with more thoughtfulness this time, murmuring softly, "I would prefer to stay here tonight with you, Vincent. So long as you will be able to sleep."
He took his time in considering the condition she added. So often, he found himself utterly restless in her presence. When she had come below after her father's death, her nearness pressed at him uncomfortably, making sleep difficult even as the guest chamber where she stayed had put physical distance between them. Now…
"I think I will."
He said the words with wonder, as though suddenly finding a truth in them he had not realized was there. The usual turmoil in his body and spirit when in Catherine's presence had quieted of late. And while he still longed for her, to hold her and touch her, that metaphysical ache no longer frightened him.
Before he could second guess himself, Vincent produced for her a clean nightgown - the one she had worn below before. He did not explain why he had kept it in a drawer in his chamber, and before she might think to ask, he absented himself so she could change. By the time he returned, Catherine not only wore the tunnel garb, but she had also taken to his bed, drawing up the covers around her.
Cognizant that she might feel the chill of the tunnels more distinctly than he did, Vincent retrieved another of Mary's quilts from a chest before extinguishing all but the closest of candles. Only then did he sit down on the edge of the mattress, his back to her.
Suddenly, a new worry pressed at him, one he knew she had not considered.
"There are few secrets in our community below," Vincent whispered to her in the near darkness. "I would not subject you to unwelcome speculation…"
Even as his voice broke, he could feel a swell of amusement from her. As he looked up, her green eyes reflected the flame of the candle.
"Vincent," she said, fighting to suppress a heart-felt smile, "the last thing I'm worried about is what others might think if I spend the night in your chamber."
In point of fact, she seemed ready to welcome the gossip and make it known that whatever outward appearances they made of a pure and stately love, that she and Vincent were a mated pair. A matched set. A union of souls that no mortal could ever tear asunder.
"Please," Catherine entreated, holding out one hand to him invitingly, "come and rest with me."
A cold chill swept through his body at her invitation, but it was followed swiftly by a wave of fatigue. Vincent had slept little the night before, and rising before the sun had left him more than a little tired. With a deep sigh, he grasped her hand and moved into the space beside her. After growing used to her nearness for a moment, he turned towards her. Without a word, Catherine accepted the invitation and curled into his warmth. They fit together so perfectly. Vincent closed his eyes, allowing every part of himself to embrace the deep well of tranquility he felt at the press of her against him.
Before he could think to put into words the heavenly awareness she inspired within him, sleep pulled them both into its enticing web.
Catherine awoke in near darkness, although the warm, half-blind comfort of Vincent's chamber surrounded her despite the lack of illumination. She could feel her lover's body beside her, his limbs wrapped up in hers so thoroughly that she knew could not disentwine herself without waking him. The candles Vincent had left burning beside the bed had long since gone out, but a gentle illumination leaked into the chamber.
Looking up, Catherine realized that some sort of weak electric light must have been installed behind the stained glass window above Vincent's bed.
Mouse, she thought to herself with a smile. While those below hated bleeding electricity from the city grid so as to avoid unnecessary inquiries from those above, certain small things would go unnoticed. In this instance, an electric light would explain why the window always remained lit so clearly. Candles would cast shadows and display the art of the glass imperfectly. Besides, an electric light would require less maintenance, and who would want to risk damaging so beautiful and treasured a possession of Vincent's by repeatedly lighting candles behind it?
Catherine dozed as her thoughts on the window meandered through various stages of consciousness. The relative silence confirmed her suspicions that it was still early yet - before messages began to sound on the pipes. The subways still rattled by far above, but far less frequently. Catherine noted that she had nearly learned to tune them out altogether. Instead, she focused on Vincent's quiet, even breaths beside her in the stillness.
For a long time, she simply allowed herself to remain cocooned in the warmth of the moment, like a pocket outside of time and reality where they could simply be together and she enjoyed his nearness openly. No other concerns distracted her, and she could think of nothing else requiring her attention. Forever more, if Catherine were ever asked to describe how she might imagine an eternal reward, her contentment in that moment would be the only answer.
Perhaps sensing her emotions, Vincent began to stir beside her, and she shifted so he could see her face as he awoke fully. While she could make out little more than shadows, Catherine knew his eyes were far more acute, and she wanted him to witness as well as feel her emotions. As he shifted against her, she smiled contentedly, hoping against hope he would not pull away from her.
"Catherine."
He said her name like a prayer, soft and thoughtful, and she shivered at the tingles it sent up her spine.
"Vincen-"
Before she could even complete his name, his mouth found hers in the darkness, warm and insistent. His lips moved hungrily, full of passion and need. Pleasantly surprised, Catherine relaxed into his kiss, letting sensation overtake her.
Even as he shifted to put a bit of his weight on her smaller frame, Catherine felt him run a hand along the edge of her gown, beginning low on her thigh. Slowly, he moved upward atop the fabric, tracing the swell of her hip to her waist and finally finding a home on her breast. The warmth of his touch ignited a flame of desire within her, and Catherine moaned as he softly cupped and kneaded her tender flesh over the gown.
"Oh, Catherine," he whispered as he broke their kiss.
Catherine whimpered when he shifted slightly, letting his body rest more fully against hers. She felt the evidence of his physical desire hard against her thigh even as he dipped his head to kiss and taste the skin along her collar bone.
A deep ache opened within her, and Catherine sensed that he was about to make love to her again - with his mouth and hands, if not the rest of him. Inside, she longed for his touch and treasured the amazing sensations of his hot tongue against her skin. But a deep and quiet part of her wished she could feel him in return.
Boldly, she reached out and encountered the patched wool of his nightshirt. He momentarily froze as she reached down to pull up the edge, hopeful for the opportunity to touch him.
"Vincent, may I…?" she asked, sensing his sudden unease.
For a long moment, he said nothing, and Catherine held her breath waiting for his response.
But rather than answer her, he sighed deeply and began to pull away, taking his lips from her skin and his hand from her breast.
"Wait," she begged, grasping his shirt tightly in her hands, "Don't go!"
She clung to him desperately, suddenly filled with terror at the possibility of driving him away again. "I'm sorry, Vincent," she reiterated. "Please don't go."
Slowly, Vincent stopped, reaching for her hand which tightly clutched his shirt. Gently, he took her fingers into his own hand and to her surprise, placed a kiss into her palm.
"Do not fear, Catherine," he reassured her. "I'm just going to light a candle."
This time, she let him go as he pulled away from her. A moment later, a match flared brightly, casting a small but magical glow. He lit the candles next to his bed first, and then used one of them to extend the light to a more on his desk. He left the larger torches unlit, keeping the illumination in his chamber small and intimate.
As she watched him in quiet bewilderment, Vincent rejoined her in bed. But before he touched her again, he paused. Taking several deep breaths, he looked down at his hands, and he knew Catherine wondered at the thoughts going through his mind.
Before she could question him, Vincent reached behind him to grasp the fabric of his nightshirt and with one quick tug, he pulled the shirt up over his head. He completed the motion so quickly that she barely had time to prepare herself and Catherine gasped aloud at the sight of him.
Vincent's bare chest looked as perfect as when she had seen him before in her apartment - amber fur failed to hide his defined muscles, and every inch of him exuded as much sensual masculinity as she remembered.
"You're so beautiful," Catherine said, smiling shyly as she fought to rein in her emotions.
The first time she had seen him so thoroughly unclothed flitted into her mind, and she could not set aside her memories of that night. Her impatience had almost cost them everything, and nothing could ever rectify that. But this was a second chance, once she had hoped for so desperately.
She would not waste it. Nor would she hurt him with the cheap, unworthy desperation of her body. No, Catherine wanted him to experience a taste of pleasure, and she would not pollute this opportunity with her own desires.
Vincent glanced away at her compliment, and Catherine sat up slowly, careful not to frighten him with any quick movements. Gently, she reached out a hand to touch his cheek, urging him to look up at her.
When he reluctantly met her eyes, she opened up her emotions as fully as she could, allowing feelings of love and gratitude and even a thread of sexual desire to flow through her.
"You are beautiful," Catherine told him again. "I hope you can feel through the bond that I'm telling the truth."
Vincent breathed in a deep breath and then expelled it sharply.
"I can," he admitted. "I don't know how it is possible, but I do feel it."
"Maybe in time," she suggested, "it won't seem so impossible."
While she wanted to pull him to her, Catherine quashed the instinct and instead sat back from him. Mirroring his earlier movement, she crossed her arms over her chest and in one fluid movement, she pulled her own nightgown over her head.
Beneath the patched and softened garb, she wore nothing. Removing the garment left her breasts as bare to him as his chest was to her, and Catherine shivered as the cool air of the tunnels plucked at her skin.
Vincent's eyes were momentarily enchanted by her nakedness, and Catherine noted to herself that despite her not being as well endowed as she might have preferred, he was definitely a "breast man" when it came to features of the opposite sex. However that amused feeling translated through the bond, his head snapped up to meet her eyes.
"Would you like to lie down with me?" she asked.
He gazed at her so openly, so lovingly, she almost felt her heart break.
"I'm not sure that such perfection should be marred by… what you see before you."
She sighed before answering. "What I see before me is its own perfection. Perhaps a little different than the people of my world would admit, but…"
"Catherine…"
"I won't push you," she promised him, afraid of how he would react if she did. "But I can't think of anything I could want more right now than to feel you pressed up against me."
With that, Catherine closed her eyes and laid back with her head on his pillow, her heart full of hope and longing as well as patience and love.
After an uncomfortable period passed, she felt Vincent lie down on the bed beside her. Very tentatively, he placed his fingers against her skin at a sensitive spot along her side, and she nearly jumped at the contact.
Her startled response immediately led to the withdrawal of his touch, and Catherine's eyes opened to watch him. While Vincent did not move physically away from her, she saw him holding his hand outstretched towards her, now frozen with indecision.
"I love when you touch me," she assured him.
But Vincent seemed not to hear her as he stared at his own hand, transfixed. Finally, her words registered and he shook his head as if to clear it.
"I'm sorry, Catherine."
Shame seemed to fill his eyes and she feared he would run from her again. But Catherine knew she could not reach out to him, not physically, without the very comfort she wished to offer spooking him further.
"You have no reason to apologize. Nothing needs to happen between right now. Please, at least lie with me. We can talk a while."
The invitation appealed to him and Vincent placed his head on his pillow, their bodies separated by only a foot of aching distance.
For a time, he said nothing. But eventually, he confessed, "Sometimes, when I see my hands on your body, I feel this overwhelming sense of… revulsion."
"Revulsion?" she repeated, both shocked and concerned.
Suddenly, for one aching moment, things became clear to her. Catherine's entire world turned on its head and shattered in that moment.
Of course, she scolded herself severely. How have you never considered this? How selfish are you to always think it was only his body, so beautiful and perfect, that might be offensive?
For all their focus on Vincent's differences, they had never discussed her own differences from him. And for the first time since meeting him, Catherine wondered at how ugly and misshapen she might appear to someone such as him. Her skin was pink and nearly hairless. Her face bore smooth skin with defined features. She had none of his graceful, lionine looks, his golden, downy fur. Her teeth were not so sharp, her thin nails manicured into dull planes rather than deadly talons like his. In her world, she was a great beauty, but compared to him...
No wonder he had so much trouble making himself touch her, Catherine realized. The thought of him fighting past revulsion to touch her nearly broke her heart, but she pushed through it, hating herself for never having even considered this perspective before. How horribly conceited of her to always assure him of his beauty in her eyes rather than consider his need to accept her own differences.
"Oh, Vincent," she sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I should have realized-"
Overcome with shame, she reached for the extra blanket at the foot of the bed to cover herself. Tears were already escaping her eyes as she fought hard to get a handle on her emotions.
"Catherine!" he exclaimed in alarm, as he tried to process her rush of feelings.
Nausea swept through her as she thought of their lovemaking attempts so far. No wonder he had always had such trouble pushing this boundary. She had always assumed it to be a fear of harming her. But she should have considered the other side of that fear. Perhaps with a worthy mate, someone strong and muscular like him, he would have no concerns about her fragile, too human body-
"No…" He whispered desperately, his ability to read her thoughts and emotions finally coalescing her response into a clear picture.
Now he'll rush to reassure me, Catherine realized with dread. He had held these feelings to himself for so long, afraid of her response, and she had reacted exactly as he likely feared. Cursing herself anew, she tried to force down her feelings, to shroud herself in numbness.
But this last attempt only disconcerted him all the more. And before she could process his actions, he had reached across the bed and pulled her into his arms, the blanket still clutched around her.
She felt his body against the full length of her, his arms wrapping themselves around her completely, holding her as close as he possibly could. Even more, he possessively slung one leg over hers as well, completing the contact between them. While she had turned away from him and could not see his face, she could feel the tension in him.
"Catherine," he whispered, nuzzling as close to her ear as he could through the mass of her hair. "I'm so sorry to frighten you. That isn't what I meant, not at all. You are…"
Vincent sighed deeply, clearly overcome with emotion, and she felt him tremble even as he gently squeezed her entire body.
"You are the most enchantingly beautiful woman I have ever beheld. When I found you in the park that night, there was so much blood, but even then… And yet, I could never have imagined. When I came to you on your balcony months later…" He broke off for a moment, and she could feel his hot breath as he panted lightly, trying to regain himself. "Not even the most talented artist could ever hope to capture your loveliness. Your face, your body… Every facet of your physical self is as perfect as your spirit, Catherine."
The way he spoke the words, she knew them to be true. Her crisis and alarm over what she thought had been a realization of his true feelings began to evaporate until she remembered the statement which had started it all.
"Then why do you struggle with so much… revulsion?" she asked, pronouncing the word distinctly.
At this, Vincent froze, his breath hitching for a moment, and the only thing she felt from him was the distinct beat of his heart.
A few beats later, he exhaled. "I look at you, at your flawlessness. And when I see myself about to touch you, I can't-" He broke off, his voice gruff and clipped. And then, as though a dam were breaking, he managed with a rush, "I can't bear to debase you with the hands of… a beast."
The word slices through both of them like a knife, and Catherine could feel that it hurt him as much to say it as it did her to hear it. While she had never thought of their relationship in such terms, the word brought to mind the old fairy tale from her childhood. But unlike that magically altered prince, her love could never change Vincent's nature.
But nor would she want it to.
"Vincent..." she began.
"I have never seen another like me," he told her quietly. "I do not know what I am, whether a freak of nature or an experiment gone wrong or… something else entirely. But all my life - nothing about how I look has ever appealed to me. I would have traded almost anything to be normal, to have a chance at a normal life."
Catherine ached for him, for the pain he had endured ever since realizing the extent of his differences. For as long as she had known him, she had always tried to ignore those differences, to treat him as though he were normal, or at least to show that his differences did not matter to her. But even her acceptance could not give him the life which fate had stolen.
Vincent continued speaking. "And then, that day I rescued you the first time from those men who wanted to kill you, I realized that being able to protect you was its own gift. Were I a normal man, I would never have been able to feel your fear nor to reach you in time. And you would have been lost to me so quickly."
Catherine tried to turn around so she could see his face, but he kept a firm hold on her, as though he did not want her to move. She wondered if perhaps he found it easier to say these things without her scrutinizing him.
"To ensure you remain safe," he said, his voice tight with emotion, "has become my reason for being. Safe and loved, as much as I can love you. But Catherine - you have always needed more love than I can safely give. Even as you subsist on the tiny crumbs of affection I can offer you, I can feel you starving for it - for passion and touch and... ecstasy."
She did turn to him then, pushing past the resistance he offered so that she could see his face, his eyes. He gave way to her like a house of cards, offering none but the most token resistance.
His eyes were dark in the candlelight, but she knew they were the most clear blue of any 'normal' man she had ever known. If someone's eyes truly were windows to the soul, as the saying went, his were as open and inviting as a cottage overlooking mist-swept mountains. And the view of his soul was just as breathtaking.
"Your love," she told him firmly, "has been more substantial than anything I have ever known. I'm not starving, Vincent. The only hunger in me is to know you better. And I can live without that."
The last few words came out more desperate than she intended, not only a plea for his understanding but a vow to accept whatever he could or could never offer. While she gloried at his explorations of physical touch, he was what she loved - his heart and spirit, not just his body.
"And you aren't a beast, Vincent." With her own deep sigh, Catherine reached out to take one of his hands into both of hers. As she did so, she remembered that night when he'd related the memory of his horrible experience with Lisa.
These are my hands, she had told him, after he'd divulged his most inner secrets, after he'd stated that his hands were incapable of giving love.
"Nothing about your hands or your body is wrong," she assured him aloud. "You are simply… different. And I truly wouldn't change anything about you."
"I do believe you, Catherine," he assured her. And yet, his own doubts, recriminations and limitations spread over a lifetime, could not be dismissed so easily.
Looking down shyly, Catherine said thoughtfully, "And if you don't see anything wrong with finding me beautiful despite my differences, why should I feel otherwise towards you?"
TBC