Title:        Cat-Walk
Author:       Claire
Pairing:      Not telling 
Rating:       NC-17
Spoilers:     None
Feedback:     charlton@cobweb.com.au
Disclaimer:   Yeah, yeah, not mine... (No-one ever said life was fair.)  The
              honour still belongs to Thames Television / Pearson.
              Incidentally. I no longer care.

Dedicated to: Talitha, Misato, Shinji, Stimper, Methos (& friend...), Bob,
              Willow, Fluff and all other cats owned by slash fans. 
Thanks to:    Kel for the beta...

Comments: This was written as a present for Tracey's birthday last year and
is meant to exist entirely on aesthetics alone.  So basically, don't go
looking for characterisation here... 

------------------------------------------------------------------
"We're so wonderfully, wonderfully, wonderfully
Wonderfully pretty"

The Lovecats - The Cure
----------------------------------------------------------------

========
Cat-Walk
========

The Detective Constable unlocks the front door and walks into his house.  He
has only one thing on his mind.  His treat.  His once-a-year special treat,
lying on his bed.  Lying on his bed unloved and waiting for him, and him
alone.

Ignoring the pile of mail just inside the door and the flashing light on the
answering machine, he walks down the hall.  He pauses only to pet his pure
bred Burmese cat who goes by the rather unfortunate name of Prada.  Not that
she minds her name though.  She is of the opinion that Prada is a hell of a
lot more acceptable than the other offering, Gucci.  Now, that is a stupid
name as far as Prada is concerned.  It sounds like the bizarre noises the
humans next door make to the miniature human they wheel round in that
perambulator thing, "Gucci, gucci-coo..."  Definitely not a good name for a
cat of her obvious taste and distinction.

Prada purrs happily as the Detective Constable lavishes affection on her.
She loves the man she lives with.  The man she chooses to reside with - not
*owner* as that stupid Corgi down the street tried to tell her.
Indisputable proof that dogs are stupid, as much as she cares for him, he
could never *own* her.  What a ludicrous thought.  Prada loves him because
he is attractive (even though he does constantly change his fur...) and kind
and loves her back.  He only ever buys her good food and never gets angry
when she decides that as of this exact moment - half-way through an open
tin - she hates it and refuses to eat another bite.

The man pets her for a few moments longer before falling prey to a vagueness
that she associates with him usually heading off to the bedroom.

Straightening up, he loosens his tie and continues on his way to his
ultimate destination.  His bedroom.  His treat.

Prada watches him ascend the stairs before settling down in the doorway of
the living room.  From this position she can see the front door and is
hopeful that her housemate may soon be joined by one of his gorgeous
friends.  She doesn't think that it's right that he should be alone on his
birthday.

Once he reaches the bedroom he walks in, puts the light on and drawing from
a well of willpower, refuses to glance at the bed.  He isn't ready yet.

Still making a concentrated effort not to look, he makes his way to the
bedside table and using the remote control, turns on the stereo.
Immediately the trip-hop strains of Massive Attack waft through the room.
The volume isn't overly loud but still, the bass set-up of the stereo is
such that he can feel soft vibrations under his feet.  Next he moves around
the room and lights the candles in the two, elaborately designed, black
wrought iron candelabras.  This completed, he turns the light off as a
shiver of anticipation washes over his body.

Perfect.

He strips off his clothes, carefully hanging up the suit and tie in the
black lacquer wardrobe before casually throwing his shirt, socks and purple
silk boxers into the unintrusive clothes basket.

Naked, he stares at himself in the full-length mirror.  Even though the
reflection is distorted somewhat through the flickering of the candles, he
is happy with what he sees.  A tall, slim man with dark hair and no
imperfections.  No sign that he has just turned another year older.
Excellent.  A self-satisfied smile tugs at his lips as he turns away from
the mirror, his gaze finally falling on his treat.

There it is.  Lying on the bed where he carefully placed it this morning.
Beautiful.  Truly an irresistible sight.  He loves it so much but is aware
enough of the dangers of fetishism to only indulge once a year.  Besides,
more frequent drycleaning would be detrimental to its life span.

He remembers clearly the day he purchased it at Petticoat Lane.  It was the
first thing he saw when he got there.  He tried to forget it as he wandered
around the market, truly he did.  But he couldn't forget it.  With every
step he took, with every cheap souvenir he saw - he wanted it.  He had to
have it.  As far as he was concerned, it was predestined.  It was made for
him.  Eventually he gave in and one bullshit story ("It's for my
girlfriend.") and forty five pounds later, it was his.

The coat of his dreams.

His dream coat that is lying on his bed, waiting for him to love it.

He walks slowly over to the bed and reverently hovers his hand over its soft
fur.  Extending his index finger he trails a path from its collar to its
hem.  Electric shocks of sensation course through his body.

Electric shocks that only get more pronounced as he carefully picks it off
the bed and cuddles it.  The silky soft synthetic fur rubbing against his
torso and rapidly hardening cock is exquisite torture.

He holds the coat close to him for a few moments and sways in time to the
music.  He is totally lost in the sensation, the fur caressing the hard
leanness of his body.   He snaps out of it a little as the CD changes
tracks.  Snaps out of it long enough to complete the next stage of his
treat.

Reluctantly releasing the coat from his embrace he holds it away from his
body for a few seconds and simply admires it.  The luxurious leopard print
fur coat with its rich brown satin lining.  Too beautiful...and all *his*.

His to put on.  His to wear.

Eventually his willpower falters and he puts the coat on, slowly pulling it
on, one arm first and then the other.   His body is now subjected to a new
sensation, the coolness of the lining caressing the skin that can still
remember the touch of the fur.  Pulling the collar up and wrapping the coat
around himself, he is in heaven.  The lining teases his sensitive skin as he
rubs both hands over the fur.

His cock is so hard that it is bordering on painful, but he refuses to touch
himself.  Not yet, anyway.  He doesn't want to and nor does he need to
hurry.

He feels his legs becoming weak and, after pulling the duvet off, lies down
on the bed, the coldness of the black satin sheets under his feet and legs
adding yet another sensation to his experience.

Closing his eyes, he strokes the length of the coat, from his neck down to
mid thigh.  Carefully he avoids actually touching any of his flesh.

He is so lost in pleasure that he is oblivious to the fact that there is now
another person in his house.

Fortunately for him, Prada is more alert than he is and is aware of the
newcomer.  However, as she watches him slip quietly into the house she is
momentarily concerned as she can't immediately recognise who it is.

Whoever it is though, he looks fucking incredible in her opinion.

She watches him as he pauses in front of the hallstand, pushes a few of the
copious number of coats out of his way and looks at himself in the mirror.
She can't for the life of her understand why he sighs as he looks at his
reflection.  You don't *sigh* when you look like that, you purr...

Turning away from the hallstand he is about to go up the stairs when he
notices that he is being watched.  Crouching down, he looks straight at
Prada and whispers to her.

"Hey, Prada, don't you recognise me?  I can hardly recognise myself
either...but I'm still *hurt*...you never ignore me..."

Prada nearly loses one of her nine lives in shock when she realises who it
is.  Oh my Goddess! It's him!  He normally looks good...but not this good.
He usually wears bland, bordering on boring clothes.  Although, if she
thinks about it, there was this one time that he arrived in his uniform...
That was nice.  *This*, mind you is something else entirely.  He has
excelled himself.

High gloss boots, leather trousers, untucked, half-unbuttoned silk shirt.
All in black.  Even Prada, who is colour-blind, knows that his clothing is
all in the purest of black.  He's even outlined his eyes in kohl like those
clever, ancient Egyptians who used to worship cats.

No wonder she didn't recognise him.

She is about to run over to him when she remembers who (and what) she is and
slows her pace down to a casual stroll.

"Aaah...recognition!"

He gently strokes her body as she begins to purr her appreciation.  She
likes this one and is a little disgusted with herself for not recognising
him.  Sure, he looks different, but he smells the same.  She likes him more
than that other, short man with the freckles that visits occasionally.
Prada isn't overly fond of that one and associates him with the smell of
paint and sawdust.  Not to mention the peculiar *furry* patch he has on his
chest that she saw one day as he and her housemate did Goddess knows what on
the stairs.  She prefers the sleekness of her housemate, and the intruder
for that matter, and loves nothing more to be cuddled up to the smoothness.

Prada is disappointed when he stops patting her but realises that it would
be selfish of her not to share him with her housemate.  Getting up, he
whispers to her confidentially, "Now, not a word of this to *anyone*...I'd
never live it down..."

He then laughs softly as he starts to walk up the stairs.  He can hardly
believe that he is here, dressed more or less like bloody Zorro, let alone
that he was talking to a cat.  Nor can he hardly believe that once he got
over his shock of putting these clothes on in the first place, that he is
actually *enjoying* wearing them.  Not the eyeliner, mind you, that's only
because it is a birthday surprise after all.

Prada watches him as he moves gracefully up the stairs.  Her eyes stay glued
to his firm, leather-clad backside until he disappears from view.  She knows
from experience that this one never stays long and that he will be coming
down the stairs shortly.  She'll just wait here until he does.  She feels as
though it is her duty to say farewell to guests...

Reaching the bedroom, the intruder pauses for a moment and, placing his hand
on the wall, feels the slight vibrations of the music coming from the
stereo.  Taking a deep breath he then turns into the room and leans casually
on the door-frame.

Once his eyesight is accustomed to the candle-light he is rewarded by the
vision on the bed.

A vision of a dark haired, lightly tanned man wearing a leopard print fur
coat and splayed out on black satin sheets.

His lips part to release a soft hissing sound that alerts the other man to
his presence.

The man on the bed immediately opens his eyes and turns his head towards the
intruder.  He feels no embarrassment at being discovered like this but is
momentarily disappointed that he has been interrupted.

This disappointment passes the exact second he focuses on the man in the
door way.  He opens his mouth to exclaim in delight but, noticing the man
bring his finger to his lips and gently shake his head, doesn't make a
sound.

He watches in incredulity as the lithe, taut man walks slowly over to the
foot of the bed.  His mind then nearly switches off altogether as the man
gets onto the bed and crawls between his spread legs.

The coat is forgotten as, without a flicker of hesitation, the intruder
lowers his head and extends a wet, cat-like tongue on to the torso in front
of him.

The man in the coat begins to writhe as each of his nipples are subjected to
the intruder's rough tongue and mouth.  What starts off as a few seemingly
casual licks, escalates into a full on assault that culminates in each
nipple being nipped between his teeth.  The intruder licks a slow, sensual
path down the other man's body once he is satisfied that the nipples are
extraordinarily hard and sensitive.  A wet path from the sternum, past the
navel and flat stomach before coming to a momentary halt at the patch of
dark pubic hair.

A brief smile crosses the intruder's face as he sits up and listens to the
quiet whimpers and moans coming from the man in front of him.

The intruder backs down the bed a little, and lowers his head again.  The
whimpers from the man get louder as he teasingly flicks his tongue out and
tastes the pre-come of the hard cock in front of him.  He then licks the
entire length before covering the tip of it with his mouth.  He uses his
tongue to play with this for a moment, then begins to suck gently. Gradually
he gets more and more of the man's cock between his lips as the man gets
closer and closer to climax.

All too soon the man in the coat feels himself losing control and raising
himself a little off the bed, comes hard into the mouth wrapped around his
cock.  Closing his eyes and flopping back onto the bed, he sighs contently
as he feels the intruder's lips leave him.

All of a sudden he is completely exhausted and just wants to sleep.

He makes an effort to open his eyes as the intruder gets off the bed and
walks up to the side of it.  Smiling, he watches the man gently stroke his
coat for a second before leaning over him and capturing his mouth in a deep
kiss.  He is not unaware that he can taste himself in the intruder's mouth.

It is the intruder who breaks the kiss.

He pulls back and starts to walk out of the room.  He is half-way out of it
when he stops, and speaks for the first time.

"Happy birthday, Rod..."

There is no response from Rod as he is already asleep, innocent expression
on his face, coat pulled tightly around him.

Steve smiles as he watches this and wishes that he had a camera.  The sight
is oddly endearing.

He then turns out of the room and walks silently down the stairs, pausing
briefly to pat farewell to Prada before slipping into the night.

Once she is sure that he is gone (and unfortunately *not* coming back),
Prada starts to walk up the stairs.  She is going to sleep with her
housemate and is hopeful that the gorgeous coat that was on his bed today -
that she slept on for most of the day - is still there.

~end~