A/N: Thank you for the lovely feedback. The comments make me want to complete some of my other BatB works in progress so I can post them as well. :)

Vincent dozed beside her, and the candles burning low around them as late afternoon faded into evening. After washing up, he had walked to the nearest pipe and sent a message back to Father to let him know that they would likely be staying the night in the 'honeymoon suite.' He blushed anew as he thought about how many others would hear the message along the way and what they might think about the deepening of his and Catherine's relationship.

Most of those below gave his differences little regard, especially those like Pascal who had grown up with him. Even the newer tunnel residents had, through familiarity, learned to overlook his appearance. And for some - especially the children - he held a special place in their hearts precisely because of his unique nature. They simply accepted him, without any of the baggage that usually entailed for others.

But Vincent knew that when sexuality became involved, the tolerance of others could not be counted upon to hold. While the tunnel community had long ago come to know Catherine as his 'love,' that relationship had been chaste and courtly… until now. Would their feelings change when it became clear that he and Catherine were now together in a deeper and much less innocent way? Having barely pushed his way past his own thoughts of revulsion in order to make love with her, Vincent wondered who else would be met with the same struggle.

Catherine stirred beside him in her sleep, and Vincent froze, not wanting to wake her. She was still naked beneath the heavy quilt, and he worried about her remaining warm enough in the cool chamber. Hesitantly, he moved closer to her until his entire body aligned with hers. While he had redressed before coming to bed, he could feel the heat of her, as though she were made entirely of fire. Her warmth lit something in him, and with some alarm, Vincent felt his body respond automatically with desire.

They had just been together a few hours earlier, he reminded himself archly, embarrassed to feel such a wave of sexual need rising in him so soon. But holding her close, remembering how it had felt to find completion deep within her… he swallowed hard against his physical response. Vincent would not wake her, no matter how great the temptation, even though he knew he would find no rest on this night.

He had begun to contemplate another dip in the bathing chamber's cold spring where he had washed himself earlier when Catherine moved. Still mostly asleep, she turned from her side all the way over until she faced him. While her eyes stayed closed, she melted into his embrace, and he heard her sigh softly before the edges of her mouth lifted in contentment.

Searching the bond, he knew she was dreaming of lovely things. Perhaps she even dreamed about him.

With her turned toward him, Vincent now had a view of her nudity through the gap in the quilt between them. Permitting himself a long look, he stared at her naked breasts. Her nipples had hardened into peaks, likely from a draft of cool air, and he knew he should bring her close again lest she grow cold. But another part of him could do nothing but gaze at her loveliness.

The sight of her breasts, her areolas the most lovely shade of pink he had ever beheld, did nothing to quell the mounting desire of his body. Again, he felt the maddening tightness of his groin against his jeans, and he wondered if he would always have this response to her. Surely she would grow tired of this constant need he felt? While they had already consummated their love in the way he so now wished for, he wondered how often he could prevail on Catherine for such sacrifice.

How often was too often to relieve himself in her body? The thought of it in such terms left him burning with mortification. Catherine herself admitted that she received no pleasure from the act, and what he knew of female anatomy bore her out. And she had gone without completion of such sexual acts for over two years. How could she possibly want him to be inside her again, so soon?

Taking deep breaths, Vincent sought to calm himself and the portion of his anatomy which ached for her anew. He would not succumb to his baser desires, he told himself with impatience and anger. Catherine had given him a gift, one he would always cherish, but he could not presume upon her kindness forevermore. How quickly would she tire of him if he always sought to spend himself in her, like a lustful teenager? Or worse… like an animal.

An animal.

Their earlier discussion reminded him of those teenage years in his life when he had touched himself often, when the need for such stimulation had been like an unrepentant ache which suffused his body at every turn. No sooner had he satisfied one wave of desire than another might take its place. The lack of privacy below had made for embarrassing moments in that time of his youth, and his anger had been quick to bubble to the surface.

Even Father had noticed, although the man had thankfully chosen not to embarrass them both by mentioning his propensity for long soaks in the hot springs and frequent forays to the lower, uninhabited chambers. Only after the horrific night with Lisa, when his desire had harmed another person, had Father said something.

And of course, the aftermath of that night had led to one of the most difficult times in Vincent's life. Fevers had burned through his body, night after night. Father had stayed close, holding his hand and reading to him, but Vincent had little memory of his illness beyond a confusing array of images which verged on madness.

After he had finally recovered, Vincent had pushed away all thoughts of physical need. While he might occasionally experience desire and its aftermath at night, when dreams could not contain the needs of his body, he had shied away from seeking it out. Rather, he allowed months between such moments of weakness to blend into years as time and maturity gradually shored up his control.

Until now.

Now, all that control had evaporated, and he could think of nothing more than the beautiful, naked body of his love laying only inches away from him.

Catherine made a sound in her sleep, and he could tell through the bond that his earlier fear was not in vain. She was indeed getting cold. Moving without thinking, he pulled her into the warmth of his arms, letting her settle against his body completely. The movement was not entirely unselfish as he groaned at the feel of her, so warm and pliant.

The ache in his groin increased threefold at the pressure of her against him, but Vincent ignored it. Instead, he let himself focus on the other tantalizing details of Catherine's presence. The floral scent of her hair, likely remnant of her soap or shampoo, filled his senses. The softness of her as she melted against him left him on th edge of tears. Catherine had always gone out of her way to touch him, to demonstrate her love through as much closeness as he would allow. But this was so much more intimate.

For a long time, they lay together in that way, and he felt her grow warmer from the shared heat of his body. His own sexual need had began to abate, a little, although every time she shifted in sleep, the contact between them brought it back into full force, and Vincent wondered at how he would ever be able to find rest in her presence.

There's a reason you have not tried to sleep next to her before, he reminded himself.

In the past, he had always worried about harming her in a half-awake state, of letting his mind and therefore his control slip while his body remained so close to hers. The nightmares which amplified those fears had not been pleasant, and he closed his eyes tightly against the image of him awaking to find his hands covered in her blood. What harm he could inflict on her in only a moment, if he was not careful. Even now, having experienced all the delicious and delightful sensations their shared love had to offer, he knew he could not trust himself.

What if he tried to take her again? What if he was not careful, not patient as her body struggled to accommodate him? Vincent knew his size was greater than Catherine's previous lovers, but he did not regard the observation he had felt from her through the bond as a compliment. Instead, he worried at how easily he might tear her flesh even without his claws. One thoughtless and hurried movement could cause her excruciating pain, and if he did that…

Vincent shuddered, and within the circle of his arms, Catherine felt the movement strongly enough to rouse her.

Blinking her eyes open, she smiled at him lovingly.

"I'm sorry I fell asleep," she murmured. Glancing idly at the candles around them, she asked, "What time is it?"

"It's late," he told her softly.

He needed no watch or clocks to tell the time. An innate sense within him, confirmed by his years of watching the melting of candles, allowed him to divine the hour with relative ease.

Before he could say more, Catherine stretched, elongating all her muscles and arching her back against him before relaxing once more. But the movement had brought her into full contact with the erection he had been fighting on and off for hours, and the feel of her, even through his clothing, renewed his body's interest in her closeness.

With bated breath, Vincent waited for her reaction. But he closed his eyes, afraid to see even a shadow of annoyance - or worse, disgust - on her face.

But Catherine only paused, and he noted a moment of surprise from her through the bond. Then a flood of warmth and love came from her, and he chanced to look at her face.

Her eyes were waiting for him, patient and kind. She smiled indulgently.

"You should have woke me sooner," Catherine admonished him, mostly in jest. "And you got dressed? Well, I guess that means I get to take everything off you myself this time."

Working quickly, she untied the laces of his vest. He sat up so that she could push it off of his shoulders. She took special care with the small satchel which held the rose she had given him. He carried it with him always and had learned to shield it from harm. He appreciated her doing so as well, mindful of its importance to him, as it had been so important to her as a child.

When she reached for his belt, Vincent felt his desire swell uncomfortably, and he placed his hands over hers, needing to slow down the pace of what she had begun. But Catherine froze uncomfortably at the touch of his hand, and he felt from her a flash of cold, of horror and guilt.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling her hands away. "I didn't mean to…"

"Catherine, please," he begged her, searching her emotions through the bond. But he found there an intense fear, one painted from the memory of that horrible night together when he had nearly ruined everything.

She blamed herself - still. And she had conditioned herself to let him take the initiative in their sexual relationship. As much as she wanted, and she did want him, Catherine would not move a muscle until he gave her his express permission.

But Vincent's hesitation had less to do with the fear of losing control and more to do with Catherine's own statement from earlier.

"I want to make love with you again," he confessed, hating himself as he said the words. "But what you told me before, that you get no pleasure from it-"

Catherine quickly shook her head. "No, that's not what I said. I do get pleasure from it. You have no idea how much, truly. I just don't… I need different stimulation to reach orgasm. That's all, Vincent. I still want to feel you inside me. I'm not sure, even with the bond, if you can understand how much I want you."

She knew it brought him pleasure to be inside her, Vincent acknowledged to himself. And that sort of conventional joining, even if it failed to achieve climax for her, was an important connection for them both. But as he focused on the bond, he realized that his concern had been misplaced. The feel of him did excite her, and the sensation of fullness he gave her produced unfathomable pleasure. The act itself just did not have the capacity to push her over the edge.

"Please…" she said after a moment. "Vincent, I want you inside me again."

As soon as the words had escaped her lips, he moved to claim her mouth with his, alighted with passion and ardor both. Vincent not only kissed her, hard and passionately, but let his hands roam across her body with abandon. She tried to project through the bond her receptiveness to anywhere his fingers wished to venture.

At the same time, she made short work of his clothing, unbuckling his belt and vest before helping him pull his sweater over his head. His jeans came off in a rush and then he was back in her arms again. The fur on his upper chest and arms felt sensuous and exotic against her skin, and Catherine felt a fire grow within her at the hardness of his muscles. While she had never been one for romance novels, she imagined that he could rival give any of the models on the covers.

Catherine felt light-headed and heady with desire as he moved his mouth down her body, first to her neck and then to her breasts, tasting her as he went. But he only spent a bit of time sampling her nipples before continuing lower, obviously intent on providing her with the oral gratification of which he was fast becoming a master. Within a matter a few minutes, he had her nerve endings awash with pleasure, her body seizing with a climax so strong she could barely keep herself together. And only moments later, she felt his naked body against hers once more.

"Please," she whispered frantically, feeling him hot and so ready, against her inner thigh. "Please, Vincent."

Obviously taking her entreaty as consent, he pushed against her, and Catherine's breath hitched in her throat. Her muscles were still relaxed from a few hours earlier when they had first performed this act, but Vincent painstakingly took his time, making sure she could accommodate him at every step of his almost frenzied desire. By the time he had situated himself within her fully, Catherine felt within herself an impatience for him to move.

"Now," she told him fiercely, not caring whether her body might be ready or not. She clutched at his arms, careful that only the pads of her fingers dug into his muscles. "Now, please…"

His first thrust filled her with pleasure. The second closely followed, bathed her in renewed desire. The third and the fourth built on the foundations he had laid in the beginning, and as his rhythm continued, Catherine lost herself in the growing sensations between them. Her eyes closed as she let the amazing feel of him filling her saturate every nerve ending of her body.

His strength was apparent in the care he took with her. Even though he had the capacity to push harder, to let her body absorb the force of him, Vincent held back. He tempered his thrusts, holding her hips tightly in his hands, his grip on her was to keep her in place rather than to pull her against him, to deepen their contact more forcefully.

Vincent had begun to lose himself, she realized, as his thrusts become less steadied and more frantic. A deep growl emanated from his throat, and Catherine understood the frustration he felt. He needed more. He needed to be able to lose himself. But his restraint made it difficult for him to do that.

Catherine placed her hand on his chest, and he immediately stopped. As she sat up, Vincent allowed her to brake the contact between them, watching her in confusion. But as she curled her legs beneath her, Catherine kissed him, wanting to dispel any doubts her actions had borne.

Quickly, she changed their positions, turning over so that he could take her from behind. She had never liked the colloquial term for the position, "doggy-style," considering it both degrading and decidedly not sexy. But it would allow him better access to her while she could simultaneously absorb the force of his thrusts better. Plus, she loved the freedom it gave them both to demonstrate more spirit with their lovemaking.

At her silent invitation to continue, Vincent sank into her again without a word of complaint. A deep groan escaped his lips, and he quickly grasped her hips so he could repeat the movement again and again. Even as he resumed the pace he had set before, Catherine's arms and head collapsed against the bed, leaving her legs and hips where he could reach them. She breathed shallowly as Vincent took full advantage of the access she had granted him, pushing himself deep into her at the same time he pulled her against him, hard.

She felt him so deeply now, filling her even more completely. With each thrust, Catherine sensed the building pressure within herself. He hit her differently here, and she sank into the bed as overwhelming tones of pleasure wrought through her. While she had given herself up to her lover in hopes he would find a deeper release, she had not expected to feel the rising tide of renewed desire within herself as he did so. But the way he pounded into her, the repeated strikes of a well endowed male hitting her inner walls so deeply, Catherine recognized the sensation of mounting pleasure.

Each thrust brought her incrementally closer to another orgasm, but she ignored those feelings. This position had given her tantalizing hints at what it might feel like to share an orgasm with her lover, but none had ever succeeded in bringing her to climax through penetration alone even in this manner.

Pushing such thoughts aside, Vincent focused on Vincent and his increasing frenzy as he pounded himself into her body with abandon. Every motion brought a wave of pleasure, and Catherine welcomed them with gratitude. No sensation Vincent had produced in her had resulted in anything other than joy. Even in this more coarse, physically demanding position, she felt nothing but intense pleasure. The intensity actually seemed greater, although she missed the ability to sneak glimpses of his face.

On a whim, she reached up with one hand and began to rub herself while Vincent moved within her. The added pressure caused her inner walls to clench involuntarily, and he groaned at the added tightness. As he clutched her hips even tighter, she recognized how close he must be to completion, and Catherine leaned into his more frantic thrusts. If his claws grazed her skin as he grasped her hips tightly, she did not notice. Nothing mattered more than the peak of sexual exaltation they both sought to achieve. And within a few bare moments, he wound find it within her.

With a deep roar, Vincent released himself, thrusting a few more times until he growled deeply in satisfaction. Catherine allowed her hand to drop to the mattress so she could use it to maintain her balance, any hope of her own second orgasm abandoned. But the very last movements of him within her set off a chain reaction of sensations, and he continued thrusting forcefully until he had drawn from her a deep and explosive orgasm, the likes of which she had never before experienced.

Catherine screamed wordlessly, the pleasure so intense and expansive that she could contain it within herself no longer. Vincent held her through the elation, moving slowly and belatedly as his own orgasm ended, which in turn shepherded her own sensations through and then down from the platform of physical elation.

By the time it was completely over, she was spent. The experience left her utterly drained of energy, and she collapsed onto the bed, ready for the call of sleep once again. He pulled away from her then, and she moaned softly in regret at their loss of contact.

"Are you alright?"

His voice sounded in her ear, and Catherine almost laughed at the question.

"Mmm, I'm better than all right," she affirmed.

Pulling the quilt back over top of them both, Vincent eased himself onto the bed beside her. He molded himself to her body, putting one arm and leg over top of hers as he surrounded her with his naked form. Catherine sighed in contentment.

For the first time in her entire life, she finally felt complete. Her body lay completely sated, her lover cradling her gently against him. Her emotions were fulfilled past the point of happiness. Nothing else remained. Catherine could not, even with her expansive imagination, think of anything more wonderful in life than her present circumstance.

"If I died right now," she mumbled, mostly to herself, "I would be the happiest I have ever been."

Vincent slept - deeply.

When he awoke, a strange sort of peace filled him like never he had felt before. All but one candle had burned out, and the chamber had filled with darkness and cold. Using his excellent eyesight, Vincent quickly slipped out of the bed and went to the chest to retrieve the remaining blanket inside of it, a large down-filled covering which had seen better days. But patched and permanently stained, the blanket would keep them warm through the night.

Working quickly, Vincent lit a few new candles, not wanting Catherine to awake in complete darkness. But before he returned to the bed, he paused, knowing he should wash himself again. But the thought of the cold spring did not appeal to him as much as the notion of crawling back under the covers with Catherine.

The decision was made for him as she stirred, sitting up slowly as she searched the chamber for him.

"Good morning," she said. "At least, I assume it is morning?"

"It's early yet," he told her.

"Well, I would gladly go back to sleep for a few hours. But first… I think I need a trip to the facilities."

She smiled, her eyes looking away in embarrassment, but Vincent found the expression endearing.

"I was about to do the same," he assured her.

The next twenty minutes were awkward as they gathered their clothes and Vincent lit a torch to escort her to the bathing chamber. Then, they took turns taking care of nature's call and cleaning up before redressing again.

"Next time, we should bring a change of clothes," Vincent said with a smile.

"And some extra food. I'm starving," Catherine agreed.

At this prompting, Vincent rummaged in the bottom of the chest of supplies and produced a can of something. Thankfully, it had a pull-tab lid and did not require an opener, and soon he and Catherine were sharing a small feast of pear halves.

"I should make sure this chamber is better equipped," he murmured, more to himself than for her benefit, but Catherine laughed.

"We didn't exactly plan to spend the night."

"No, we didn't…"

He looked over at her slyly, and Catherine grinned in delight as she looked away, a mixture of embarrassment and pleasure wafting to him through the bond.

"You are… so beautiful," he observed, giving voice to the feelings inside him. Everything about her filled him with joy, from the messy, makeshift ponytail she had arranged her hair into, to the way she blushed a pleasant pink at just a look from him.

His compliment elicited a new flush of embarrassment, and she looked genuinely self-conscious as she answered, "I'm sure I look like a mess."

She put one hand to her hair, the usually well-arranged tresses having been mussed by their earlier activities. But no sooner had she reached up than Vincent had captured her hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

"You look absolutely lovely. As always."

Catherine smiled at him, the tender feelings within her nearly overwhelming.

"You can say that," she told him with amusement. "Your hair never seems to get unkempt or tangled."

As if to demonstrate, Catherine reached out to touch the curtain of hair which he always allowed to hang down around his face.

"I do get tangles," he admitted.

"I can't even tell," she said, gently running her fingers through his hair. He enjoyed the intimate way in which she so casually touched him, and her next question came as little surprise. "Have you always let your hair grow long?"

With a sigh, he answered, "Most of my life. There was an unfortunate experience with a stick of gum when I was a boy. I did not realize that falling asleep would lead to-"

"It getting stuck in your hair?" she guessed, wincing in sympathy.

"Mary tried for a long time to get it out. But ultimately, she had to cut the hair, and to keep from leaving it too uneven, she trimmed all my hair the same length. I looked… comical."

Catherine tried to suppress a grin, but he could tell through the bond that she wanted to say something. Lifting an eyebrow at her to prompt, she looked away even as a giggle escaped her lips.

"Oh, Vincent," she laughed. "Of all the times I wished you had an album of childhood photos, this story makes me long for it all the more."

But even as she said the words, he felt a corresponding sense of sadness and guilt follow them. Her face fell, and she turned utterly serious.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What an insensitive thing for me to say."

Through the bond, he felt from her an intense longing - a wish and desire to give him all of the experiences which had been denied to him in life because of his differences. Just the mere suggestion of a childhood photo album, something she had taken for granted in the world above, was something he would have never considered, growing up below.

"I don't think I've ever had my picture taken," he admitted finally. The shots taken by the reporter Spirko did not count, in his estimation.

While the turn of conversation had affected Catherine deeply, it did not cause him pain. Living below, he only even glimpsed a different life when he ventured above. And the things he had learned to envy from the other children were different - the ability to buy an ice cream cone, when funds were available. The freeness to feed the ducks at the lake in central park. Sunlight. Open spaces. The bustle of the city's streets during morning rush-hour. Shops. Theaters.

Of everything life had denied him by his unusual features, having his picture taken ranked very low indeed. Just as his chamber contained no mirrors, he had no desire to see himself in printed form.

"I know it isn't safe, but I wish I had a picture of you to keep with me," Catherine said, her voice betraying a wistful indulgence of emotion.

Vincent looked up at her, surprised.

"You have Christopher's painting," she pointed out. "Sometimes I wish I had something similar. A reminder of you - of us. But I wouldn't want anything to fall into the wrong hands."

She abandoned the wish as soon as she said it aloud, and Vincent felt a pang in his heart at how quickly she dismissed her own yearnings.

"You know I am with you… always," he reminded her.

With a press of resolve, Catherine forced a smile. "I know," she said quietly. And then, to lighten the mood, she moved closer to him, intent upon snuggling close.

As she did so, Vincent felt his body respond instinctively, a renewed stirring of desire. He sighed against its inevitable onslaught of his body, but he also enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. Together, they slid back down under the covers, content to just be together for a time.

TBC