Misto is yet again thinking on Tugger.

This story doesn't have much of plot structure, and might never get one. But I still enjoy writing it, so write it I shall.

Just a note on my characterization of Tugger - while he's a playboy and an all around sex god, I believe him to be intelligent. He's self-serving and knows what he's doing. I really detest fanfics that portray him as a lusty idiot (usually until Misto or Bombi knocks some sense into him.) I sincerely think that Tugger is a smart tom. he just hides it well.

Anyways, this one's a little shorter, but I hope you enjoy it. Please tell me if you do.


A curious cat? I suppose that's a good description of him. He arouses my interests with the smallest movement. A twitch of his tail and I'm his.

What's horrible is that he KNOWS I'm his. If only I could hide it from him, keep it locked inside like I do with everything else. Let's face it - as Mistoffelees or Quaxo, I'm not the most emotive of cats. As Quaxo, unless it's during a dance, I try to stay out of the limelight. As Mistoffelees, I'm the center of attention, but it's a cold and distant pride.

But he just brings out this side of me that no one else sees. It's his view and his alone - his treasure, he sometimes calls it. I don't see how it's a treasure - my body weak at his touch, my mouth swollen from kisses, my breath short, my words muffled, and sometimes, my eyes teary. I'm not at all my usual self, but some different being.

He loves for me to be that way. I recline on the pile of coats that serves on my bed, or on the ground, or on the old desk I dragged to my shelter. He crawls over me, trailing kisses up and down my stomach. I stifle any reaction until he reaches my lips. Usually he hesitates before kissing me. His breath glides over my face. "You coy thing - stop being so demure. Give me what I come for, the treasure only I can see."

Being the only one to see me in such a state fills him with so much pride - knowing that only he can make me react that way. It certainly doesn't help his ego. That smirk he gets when he sees me - so infuriating, so alluring.

"It's like being the only cat who can see living in a house of blind cats." He told me once. I scoffed at him, but he just continued. "Only I know the beauty of what's to be seen. But it's responsibility, too. I'm the guardian and protector, of something I can't explain. Words can't get it across, Misto."

I swatted at him, but my blush gave me away. He captured my paw and kissed his way up my arm until he reached my mouth.

I just melt into him and let him do as he pleases. If he wants treasure, then he gets treasure. He gets anything he wants.

What does he want? To see me, sprawled helplessly beneath him, back arching as he shadows my outline with his paws, shuddering with pleasure at every kiss. I give that sight to him every night he asks for it. I would even if, for some bizarre reason, I suffered a stroke of stupidity and didn't want to. It's just that way he has - to make me subservient.

I've tried holding everything back but he breaks through every wall I have like he's facing gossamer scarves. With no effort he has captured me and I am slave to anything he wants.

And, even though I am a proud and independent cat, I am happy with my place, and once he's pulled me into our little world - the world that used to be just mine until he invaded - I strive to please him.