Chapter Seven: Walk Long Enough

My name is Wonderland.

For a moment there was silence as the Cat's words echoed in the air. Dimly, Theodore realized just how absurd that was. There should have been a crash of thunder to back up that pronouncement.

When he finally collected himself enough to speak again, he could barely manage one word. "W—what...?"

His voice was weak, pathetic in its thinness.

"I am Wonderland, Theo," the Cat said quietly. "I am the idea of our realm given form. I am the agent through which it carries out its will. I am part of it and it is part of me."

No, that wasn't possible, it was just too much...

"It's possible, Theo. It's true. I know everything, I see everything. I am everything—and I am everywhere."

"No...," the Rabbit whispered. "No, it can't be true..."

"Yes, it can," the Cat said softly. "That's why I can disappear and reappear anywhere. That's why I know things I shouldn't. That's why I can change things and bend the world to my will. It's me, Theo... we're one and the same."

Chesh was talking, but Theodore wasn't listening. He couldn't listen. His head was whirling, puzzle pieces slotting together, the walls of the possible crumbling around him and reforming into new passageways. Everything fit. Everything fit, but it couldn't be true, because if it was true then the Cat was right—it was his fault. He had hurt Theodore. It was as good as if he'd done it with his own hands.

"No!" he cried suddenly, shoving Chesh back with both hands. The Cat looked startled.

"It's not true, Chesh! It can't be true!" He was fighting back tears, struggling not to let it sink in. If he could just hold out long enough, Chesh would tell him it was a lie, he'd say it was a lie and he could hide in his arms and everything would be okay—

"It's true, Theo," the Cat said. There was no sharpness in his voice, nothing that could be considered anger or irritation or even denial—there was only an overwhelming guilt. "It's true, and I'm sorry."

And then suddenly the Rabbit felt his growing fear swamped by something hot and strong and unfamiliar. He latched onto it gratefully, using that strength to keep himself on his feet, and it was only when he embraced it that he realized what it was.

Anger.

"You bastard," he hissed.

The Cat's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to reply, but Theodore cut him off.

"You're sorry? That's the best you can come up with? You've let your realm go to waste, you've let your people destroy themselves, and you're sorry?"

For once in his life, the Cat looked too shocked to even answer.

"Why did you do it? How could you have let things get this bad? Did you just not care? Are you that heartless?"

"Theo, no—"

"Then what? Did you think it was fun? Did you like watching us lesser beings hurt each other and run in fear? Or was it more like a project? Studying all the ways people can go wrong?"

"No, Theo—I would never—"

"Don't call me that!"

For a moment, Chesh was silent. Theodore's scream still rang in his ears, still echoed off the nearby trees; the birds had been startled from their singing, and everything was eerily quiet, save for the Rabbit's rough breathing. The world was holding its breath, waiting for his answer.

"Nothing seemed to matter anymore," he said at last. "After I lost Benjamin... I just stopped trying. I couldn't fix him, Theodore, and I saw no reason to try to fix anything else. All I cared about was watching, playing games, waiting to see what would happen. The world stopped mattering to me. And slowly but surely, the world started to reflect that. The King, the Queen, the Hare, the Duchess, even the Caterpillar—all their little eccentricities were magnified and multiplied until they took over. They lost their empathy, they became increasingly unstable, they stopped caring about anything but their own amusements, they started to hate everyone. It was all a reflection of me—and I just didn't care."

Theodore stared at him, red eyes burning. "You said you didn't—"

"I know," Chesh cut in. "Just listen, please! Yes, I'd stopped caring, I'd become unstable and self-centred and I'd even started to hate—but then everything changed, Theodore! Everything is different now!"

"Why?" The Rabbit was guarded. He didn't want to trust the Cat again, but he had to hear the explanation.

"Because I met you!" Chesh was halfway between laughing and crying, hysterical enough that for the first time in his life, he really did seem mad. "I met you and I started to care again—suddenly I had someone I wanted to protect!"

"But you didn't! You didn't fix everything you ought, you didn't keep me safe—"

"I know!" the Cat yelled. "I know, and I'm sorry, Theodore! I can't say anything more than that—the past is over, and while I may be powerful, I'm not powerful enough to change it. But I can change the present, and I swear—I'll do whatever it takes! I'm not going to fuck this up again!"

The Rabbit was shaking—whether from nerves, anger, fear, or all three, he couldn't say. "It's your fault everything bad happened in the first place, Cat," he seethed. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I love you."

It was spoken evenly, steadily, with no uncertainty and nothing to prove, but Theodore found himself suddenly trembling anyway. Chesh met his eyes; there was no fear in them. No doubt.

"The night I saved you from the Caterpillar, I swore I would keep you safe," he said quietly. "I meant it."

Distantly, Theodore acknowledged that his knees were almost weak enough to give out, but he paid them no mind. His entire world had narrowed to the violet of the Cat's eyes.

"I'm going to keep protecting you," Chesh continued. "I'll do it from afar if that's what you want—but if you'll let me, I'd rather do it from your side."

"Chesh...," the Rabbit said.

"I really am sorry, Theo, more sorry than you could possibly know... but if you give me the chance, I think I can redeem myself."

Crying weakly, Theodore collapsed against his chest; the Cat's strong arms came around him, steadying him, and he found he could only cry harder.

"Don't ever leave," he begged, clinging to Chesh's shoulders. "Don't ever go—I need you, Chesh, I need you—"

"Shh," the Cat soothed, pressing his forehead down against the Rabbit's.

"I love you," Theodore sobbed.

Chesh made no reply except to tip the Rabbit's face up towards his, and before he could think, before he could even consider what he was doing, Theodore had pressed up against him, pressed his lips to the Cat's, and Chesh was pressing back, his tongue flooding into Theodore's mouth, his lips soft and hard against the Rabbit's at the same time, and it was everything he remembered and more, everything he had ever wanted, filling him up with a swelling joy and stealing his breath away all at once.

He lost himself in the kiss, sinking into it blissfully, feeling at last that, while he may not have come home yet, he was finally on his way.

Theodore shut the door gently behind him, then collapsed against it, a breathy smile playing across his lips. He wasn't sure how long he had stayed out on the front porch with Chesh, the two of them just silently holding each other—long enough for whatever was left of his dinner to have gone cold, certainly—but somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care. His lips still thrummed with the pressure of the Cat's kisses; when he lifted his hand to them, he wasn't surprised to find them sensitive and swollen. They felt softer—not the surface, but the flesh itself, almost as if they had been bruised. Just the brush of his fingers left him wanting more.

After what had happened with the Caterpillar, he had never thought he'd be lucky enough to taste Chesh's lips again. But now—

Now what?

He opened his eyes, biting his knuckle as he started absently at his striped wallpaper. Now—Chesh wanted him, didn't he?

Yes, of course he did. He'd kissed him. He'd said he loved him.

He'd kissed him for the first time months before, when they'd barely known each other a few hours. Kisses didn't prove anything.

Chesh had kissed the Hatter, too. He'd probably kissed a lot of people.

Yes, but did he tell a lot of people he loved them? a little nagging voice asked from the back of his mind. Theodore pushed it aside, blinking back sudden tears.

Chesh might have said he loved him, but how long would it last?

Shoving himself away from the door in a sudden burst of restlessness, Theodore began pacing up and down his front hall, still chewing on his knuckle. Chesh might say he loved him, might be willing to kiss him, but there was no way he'd be willing to go farther than that. How could he, when anything more than what he'd already done had already been contaminated by the Caterpillar? It was getting easier to think about what had happened that night, but Theodore's skin still crawled with shudders every time he remembered that filthy touch. He could barely think about his own body for fear of dwelling on the defilement that clung to his own skin—how could he expect the Cat to look at him—to touch him—without thinking of it, too?

Chesh would be disgusted with him. Sooner or later, all his promises of love and protection wouldn't matter anymore.

And all Theodore could do was put off that day for as long as he could.

He didn't know what to think anymore.

Chesh had thought that with no more secrets, things might at last have settled with Theodore. So he had laid his cards on the table—and everything had, seemingly, gone very well. He had thought that was the end of it—that the Rabbit would stop being distant, would stop denying what was obviously true, would stop hiding, would smile again. But the very next morning, when the Cat had appeared in front of his house to take him to the Palace, Theodore had pulled back from his kisses—Theodore, who had pressed his lips so enthusiastically against the Cat's just the night before, had hesitated.

And now...

It seemed that the Rabbit was always busy, always working late, and even when he wasn't, he was tired and didn't seem to have time for him. Chesh knew that life at the Palace of Hearts was different from the way things were before—so maybe he really was expected to stay longer. Maybe he really did have more to get done. But after the third night of being told to come at seven and waiting until almost eight before he could take Theodore home, he had stopped showing up. Aside from one brief comment the next morning, the Rabbit barely seemed to have noticed.

Theodore had said he loved him. He'd practically begged him not to leave him alone.

So what was he missing?

"Come home early tonight."

He'd blurted the words without thinking as soon as they'd materialized on the front steps of the Palace, and now that they'd been said, he couldn't take them back. And, on further reflection, he didn't really want to. It was a good idea.

He wanted Theodore to himself for a while.

"Early?" the Rabbit said, blinking up at him, one hand still curled against the Cat's chest. "Why?"

"Because I want to see you more," Chesh said, leaning down to nuzzle into the side of the Rabbit's neck, just below his hairline. Theodore stiffened slightly, but he pretended not to notice. "We can have dinner together, and I'll stay for a while. Even overnight, if you'd like."

The Rabbit started trembling slightly. "I—I—I can't, Chesh, I have to work—there's so much to do—"

"Theo, please," the Cat said, pulling back to look into his eyes. Theodore looked away. "You've been working late every day for the two weeks."

"The Queen's ball is in eleven days, Chesh, I can't—"

"Why won't you look at me?"

Theodore froze in his arms, stammering. "Ah—I—it's just—"

"You keep pulling away," the Cat said. He was almost begging. "Why is it so hard to be alone with me?" His unspoken question hung in the air between them. You do love me, right?

"It's not," Theodore said weakly. "I just—I have to work, I can't come home early—"

"Then I'll stay the night. Please, Theo—"

"No!"

Chesh stopped, staring. Theodore looked just ask shocked as he felt, as if he couldn't believe that the word had come from his own mouth.

And then suddenly Chesh understood. The Caterpillar.

Of course that's what it was. How had he not seen it before? As much as he might like to pretend it had never happened, Theodore had suffered a traumatic experience at the hands of Evan Savage. He had almost been raped—and here Chesh was trying to push him into letting him stay the night. No wonder he didn't want to be alone with him. The Cat had been lucky to even get the chance to kiss him, and he was already pressuring for more. The guilt he had thought he'd finally left behind swamped him again.

He let go.

"No," he said. "You're right. I'm sorry. I'll let you get to work. Do you want me to come pick you up tonight?"

Theodore hesitated. "N-no... I'll just be late again."

"It's okay," Chesh said, trying to smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Y-yeah..."

The Cat stepped back before he could change his mind, thumbs hooking into his waistband. "Have a good day," he said. Theodore blinked up at him.

He disappeared. He didn't see the stricken look Theodore sent after him, the outstretched hand he raised as if to call him back. He didn't see the tear that fell silently down the Rabbit's cheek. Theodore was left staring after him, heart thumping in his ears.

Chesh had left without a kiss goodbye.

By the time he was finished work, Theodore was a wreck. Once the King and Queen had become stable again, he had begun to think that his days of leaving the Palace shaking and terrified were over, but fate, apparently, had other plans. The only difference this time was the source.

Chesh hadn't kissed him. Why hadn't he kissed him? Was it because Theodore didn't want to let him stay the night? Or was he already starting to get sick of him? Theodore hadn't seen revulsion in the Cat's eyes when he backed away, but he was the Cheshire Cat—who was to say he couldn't make him see whatever he wanted?

Mary Ann had already finished his dinner and left by the time he made it home; though it smelled delicious, he barely picked at it, his thoughts consumed by Chesh. When he finally gave up on eating and stumbled up to bed, it was all he could do not to collapse in tears. It was falling apart already, and it had barely been two weeks.

"Chesh," he whispered, hoping the Cat couldn't hear him, praying that he would. "Chesh, if you can hear me, I need you."

But the Cat didn't appear, and Theodore finally fell into an exhausted sleep.

It was a drained and haggard Rabbit that greeted the dawn the next morning. Despite his early bedtime, sleep hadn't done him any good. His emotions had run down. He dressed in silence, woodenly making his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. His hands were shaking as he set the kettle to heat over the stove.

"You're sad."

It was a mark of how tired Theodore was that he wasn't even startled. He turned.

The Cat had appeared next to the window, hands twisting in front of him. He looked like he'd just woken up.

"You're sad," he repeated. "I could feel it in the air. What's wrong?"

To his surprise, Theodore felt an uncharacteristic flare of anger alight in his chest. Chesh hadn't come when he wanted him last night, but now he'd appear out of nowhere to check up on him?

"Nothing," he snapped, turning back to his cupboards. "Nothing's wrong."

"Theo, don't do this, please," the Cat begged. "You were fine when I left you yesterday. I fell asleep, and when I woke up, you were miserable. What happened?"

The flush of embarrassment joined the anger already tinting Theodore's cheeks. If Chesh had been sleeping when the Rabbit had called for him, then he had no reason to be upset with him. But that thought just made him feel more defensive. Chesh was the one drawing away from him, and he had the nerve to ask what was wrong?

"You should know what happened. You did it."

"Well, for whatever I've done, I'm sorry!" Chesh snapped. "Now will you tell me what the fuck it was?"

"Don't act like you're confused!" Theodore said, rounding on him. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

For a moment, Chesh said nothing. Then he jerked away, clenching his fists so tightly that his claws cut into his palms.

"Fine!" the Cat cried. His claws were red, his hands welling with blood. "Fine! I get it! I pushed too far and you can't deal with it. You should have just told me you didn't want me!"

"I don't want you?" the Rabbit asked, voice suddenly shaking as he clutched at the counter to steady himself. Why was Chesh so good at putting him off balance? "W-what are you talking about?"

"You keep pulling away!" Chesh said, and Theodore could see now that there were tears in his eyes. "Whenever I suggest anything more than a kiss, you draw back! I know what you've been through, Theo, but I'm not like him—and if you don't want me, or if you can't deal with me wanting you, you should have said something instead of letting me think I had a chance! I'm sorry that I asked too much, but if you don't want me suggesting it I need to know!"

"I'm not saying you can't—I didn't want—you were the one who wouldn't kiss me!" the Rabbit cried. "And now you're saying I don't want you—I don't understand, Chesh—"

"I was trying to give you some space—"

"—I thought you didn't want me!"

The kitchen was silent for a moment save for Theodore's shuddering breaths and the simmer of the heating kettle. Chesh took a step forward.

"That's what upset you?" he asked hesitantly.

"What else would it have been?" the Rabbit sobbed. "You didn't kiss me and I got scared—I'm so scared, Chesh, I keep thinking you're not going to—"

And suddenly the Cat was there, arms wrapped around the trembling Rabbit, rocking him softly and stroking his hair. "Shh... okay. It's okay, Theo..."

"You promised you wouldn't leave," Theodore whispered, clutching at him.

"And I won't," Chesh soothed. "I think you'd better tell me what you're scared of."

The Rabbit whimpered. "I feel so unclean," he said, his voice as raw as if he'd been screaming. "The Caterpillar put his hands all over me and I feel so dirty, Chesh, every time I think about it—and now you're here and I don't understand how you can want me when he left me so... contaminated. Every time you get close to me I'm scared that you're going to remember that, and you're going to pull away with disgust on your face, and I couldn't bear that, Chesh—I'd rather have you like this than not at all—"

"Theo," the Cat said, cutting him off. The tension was seeping out of his shoulders, and when the Rabbit looked up at him, he was smiling faintly. "You don't disgust me, Theo. What the Caterpillar did has nothing to do with the way I feel about you, and it never will."

"Then why didn't you kiss me?" Theodore asked weakly.

The Cat's Cheshire grin only grew, and he tipped his head down to cover Theodore's mouth with his own. "Because I thought I was upsetting you," he said when he finally pulled away. The Rabbit's eyes fluttered open, blinking up at him. "I thought you were scared because you didn't feel ready yet, and I felt guilty for wanting sex when you'd almost been raped. I thought you were tense around me because the way I was touching you reminded you of him."

Theodore looked up at him in surprise. "You're nothing like him!"

"I know," Chesh said, nuzzling into his neck. "Theo... I want you. I really, truly do. You're not contaminated, you're not unclean, and I am not and will never be disgusted by your body." He pulled back, letting out a deep breath. "And I'd like the chance to prove it to you."

The Rabbit suddenly felt short of breath. "O—okay...," he whispered, hesitant, but unable to look away.

"I'll come by tonight, after you've finished work and had a chance to eat," Chesh said, brushing his hand over Theodore's cheek; his hands had already healed, the magic of Wonderland looking after its lord. "I'd like to take you somewhere that no other creature in Wonderland has ever been."

"Where is it?"

The Cat smiled. "My home."

After the Cat had dropped him off that morning, Theodore's nerves went into overdrive, but this time, it was the good kind of nerves—anticipation and eagerness, shot through with flashes of nervousness and desire. He was jittery all day, running anytime he had to get anywhere; eventually the Queen got tired of almost banging into him as she went around the corner and sent him off to deliver messages, checking up on the progress of everyone who was working to keep the organization of the ball running smoothly. It was busywork, but he didn't mind. At least it took up time.

Chesh showed up fifteen minutes after he'd finished his dinner, as promised. He smiled at the Rabbit like he could see his nervousness written on his face—and knowing him, he probably could. Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and Theodore took it, fingers trembling with excitement.

"Are you ready?" the Cat asked, his voice low. Theodore nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Chesh smiled again, pulling him against his chest, and the Rabbit sucked in a giddy breath. Before he had let it out, they had materialized again.

They were standing in front of a giant tree, surrounded by forest on all sides. From his place in the Cat's arms, Theodore stared up at it; it wasn't much taller than the rest of the trees, but it was the biggest around he had ever seen in his life. Higher up in the branches were several large, circular gaps into the darkness at the centre of the trunk, and in front of them the pattern of knots in the wood looked peculiarly like it would open.

"Where are we?" he whispered, hesitant to break the expectant hush that surrounded them.

"The heart of the Tulgey Wood," the Cat replied, equally softly. "The centre of the centre. My home."

Chesh moved forward, guiding the Rabbit with an arm around his shoulders, and Theodore wasn't surprised to see the bark peel back to let them in. The lamps inside lit up with a welcoming glow as soon as the Cat stepped under the lintel, the light flickering warm and buttery over the polished oak walls, and the Rabbit looked around, taking in everything that made up the Cat's life. It was small, but not claustrophobic, filled with soft chairs and thick blankets, the walls decorated with framed paintings and shelves full of curiosities—a bottle of coloured sand, an antique lock, a model of a ship, pressed flowers, a glittering stone, the skull of a bird. A solid bookshelf circled half the wall, filled to overflowing with notebooks and novels and heavy tomes written in foreign languages.

The Cat led him by the hand up a spiral staircase; it climbed through the centre of the tree, splitting off here and there into other rooms—a cluttered kitchen, a comfortable study, a small bathroom with half the room taken up by a carved bathtub sunk into the floor. At the top of the stairs there was a tiny landing and two doors; Chesh pulled him through the first one and closed it quietly behind them. The room inside was small, much smaller than the one downstairs, and the ceiling curved over them in ripples and natural knots. There was just enough room for a wardrobe, a nightstand, a shelf—and against the far wall, a wooden-framed bed.

"Chesh," the Rabbit said softly, looking up at him.

The Cat's eyes were warm and understanding. "It's okay to be nervous, Theo," he said, lifting his hand to press a kiss to the Rabbit's palm. "As long as you're sure you want this."

Theodore bit his lip, sucking in a shuddery breath at the feeling of the Cat's mouth against sensitive skin. "I... I want it." He closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard. "Do you?"

"I do," Chesh whispered, his voice husky. "I want it very much."

And then the Cat's mouth was on his and his hands were on his waist, fingers sliding under his vest and pulling his shirt from the waistband of his trousers—Theodore could feel the calluses on the pads of his fingers, could feel his claws as they pressed against his skin, and he melted into Chesh's mouth, hands gripping his chest and his shoulders and his neck and sliding into his hair. The Cat turned him easily, letting him settle on the bed, lips dropping to the curve of his jaw and pressing gently pulling kisses down the side of his neck as his dextrous hands undid his tie, his vest, his shirt. Theodore dropped his arms, letting him go just long enough to toss his clothes aside, and then Chesh pushed him back, bending over him to trail kisses down his body. The Rabbit arched back with a sharp gasp as the Cat's mouth closed around a nipple.

Oh, god, he hadn't known lips could feel that good—

"Chesh," he gasped, fingers threading into the Cat's hair, rubbing at the bases of his ears—his skin was on fire, every touch was fire, and his head was spinning—he had lost his glasses somewhere, but they didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was the roughness of Chesh's tongue and the softness of his hair and the warmth of his body. The Rabbit let out a moan and he was almost surprised that his throat could make that kind of sound, and then Chesh pulled away, discarding his gloves, his collar, the flimsy fishnet thing he called a shirt, and Theodore looked up just in time to see him slide his striped pants from his hips—his length already flushed and hard—

"Chesh," he whined, reaching for him with desire twisting in his belly, but then he hesitated and—

And the Cat's hand was on the button of his trousers, his breath was on his throat, and his mouth was murmuring, forming sounds against his skin—

"I'm yours," he moaned. "I'm yours to touch."

Theodore let out a choked cry, hips arching up against the Cat's touch, and his hand wrapped around him—he heard Chesh groan, felt him buckle above him, and then his own pants were gone, his underwear was gone—Chesh was stroking him—

Had he been thinking clearly to remark on it, he would have observed that this was nothing like the Caterpillar's touch. Chesh's hand was soft and dry, warm with the pulse of his pounding heartbeat; his touch was gentle, seeming to know all the perfect places to caress and rub and tease, and his fingers felt so good against his skin, so right—

As it was, he was in no condition to do anything but scream.

The Cat let out another moan, his lips pressing into Theodore's jaw; he shifted, letting him go and reaching for something on the nightstand, sitting up. Theodore opened his eyes, dazed and wanting, missing Chesh's touch, but when he opened his mouth to speak, all that came out was a soft whine.

"Just give me a moment," Chesh said, his voice low and raw. He was pouring something on his fingers, something that glistened faintly yellow, and the Rabbit's sensitive nose twitched, smelling a sweet, fragrant oil—and then the Cat dropped his hand and he stopped thinking, because Chesh's fingers were inside him, slipping easily in and out with the coating of oil, and he bit back a yelp of surprise and pain and desire, desire at the pleasure he could now feel spiralling outward from Chesh's touch, making his head spin and his hips jolt.

And then the Cat's hand was gone and his hips were beneath him and he was pressing forward—Chesh was inside him—

He forgot everything else, letting out a sharp cry as he arched towards the ceiling. His legs had come up, wrapping around the Cat's hips, and Chesh was leaning over him, bracing himself on one elbow, his other hand sliding down Theodore's side to squeeze his rear, pulling his body closer—and then he started moving, and the Rabbit's entire world narrowed to the man above him, the warm, strong, powerful body rocking against his, the lips on his throat and the mewls and groans the Cat was making against his skin.

"Ahh-hahh—Chesh—" he cried, knotting his fingers into his hair, his hands moving in time with the strokes of the Cat's hips, the thrusts he was eagerly meeting—he had never felt anything as good as this—

"Theo—fuck—" Chesh moaned, scraping his tongue up the Rabbit's neck to the hollow beneath his jaw, sucking and licking, and Theodore could tell there was a bruise there but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when the Cat's every touch and every movement sent him whirling, set his mind reeling with pleasure so that all he could to was moan and whimper and move back against him—

"You're so beautiful, Theo—"

And then the Cat's hips shifted and the Rabbit's world exploded into a white-hot blaze, and he cried out in desire and wanting and need—he couldn't stop now if he wanted to, he was hanging by a thread, and dimly he felt Chesh's hand wrap around him as he sped up, and his hips jolted back against him, every stroke sending his mind spinning in ecstasy—

"Ah, ahh—Chesh, Chesh, please—oh god oh god oh god fuck!"

And then his vision went dark and he screamed—the fire was in his nerves, in his blood, and it was racing through his body in waves and it felt so good, and he could feel the spasms of Chesh's body as he reached his peak, howling his release—

He spilled himself over the Cat's hand as his hips jerked violently against him, spiralling up to the greatest high he had ever reached.

Chesh collapsed against him, and, dazed, he opened his eyes, fingers loosening, gradually releasing the Cat's hair. His entire body tingled and his hips felt pleasantly numb.

Chesh looked up, a sated smile on his face; gently, he reached up, smoothing the Rabbit's damp curls back from his face.

"You're beautiful when you let yourself go," he whispered, nuzzling into Theodore's jaw.

The Rabbit couldn't think to say anything—he was so overwhelmed with happiness and love and relief. Chesh saw nothing dirty on his body. Chesh wanted him. He had proved it beyond a shadow of doubt.

"Thank you," Theodore whispered, tears of joy dropping softly and silently from his cheeks.

Chesh smiled, catching his lips in a deep, soft kiss. "I love you," he murmured.

"I love you too," Theodore breathed, closing his eyes.

He fell asleep with the Cat curled around him, the thick, downy quilts enfolding them both.

For the first time in a very long time, he did not dream.