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There is a leash around the Cat King’s neck.
It’s not visible to the people around him. It’s not even visible to the person who put it there. But he knows it’s there, he can feel the pulling and tugging on his neck, can feel the hand that’s holding it.
They are at a Farmers’-Flea-Small-Business-Market, and Thomas is trailing behind Monty, who is busy snapping pictures of the different stalls and people around them. The local newspaper has recently lost their regular photographer to a project in Maine, and the editor in chief has recruited Monty as a replacement, so now he occasionally gets called to take photos at community theatre premiers, beach cleaning actions, and markets like this.
Monty looks so fucking hot. The way he is moving through the crowd, the way he fumbles with his camera, the way he gently but confidently directs the people to get the perfect shot, the way he pushes his hair behind his ears. Thomas is lucky Esther send him after that British ghost, because he totally would have fallen for it. Even though he could smell the witch’s stench on him from thirty miles away, one look from these big brown eyes and Thomas would slit his own throat to make them sparkle.
Someone bumps into him while attempting to squeeze by and mumbles a quick apology. The Cat King doesn’t love crowds, they get overwhelming after a while, all the bodies and noises and sensations crashing in on him. He feels the urge to turn into a cat, but he knows that that will attract the attention of every child and ovulating woman at the market, and he really can’t put up with that today. No, he is only here for his little crow.
The leash pulls him forward and almost without his own doing, the Cat King walks through the crowd and towards Monty, who is busy tinkering with his camera.
“Pictures looking good?”, he asks and slides his arm around the boy who is a crow from behind.
“Yes,” Monty leans into the touch and it makes Thomas’ knees weak, “I think I caught almost all the stalls now, the only ones left are the pottery guys and the baby clothes lady.”
“Sounds like you deserve a break!”, he hums, “Why don’t I get us some lunch and we sit down, hm?”
“Good idea,” Monty hums and turns his head to steal a kiss. The Cat King lingers for a second, breathing in his scent and feeling the tickle of his hair on his nose. Then he reluctantly steps back and lets his boyfriend head to complete his photography assignment.
With a small sigh, Thomas himself takes off, for a specific stall on the other end of the market. It sells home-made jewellery and is maned by two young women, who interrupt their chat to greet and smile at him when he comes up to their table.
“How much for that one?” he asks and points towards a necklace pinned to a corkboard.
“All these necklaces are twenty bucks,” one of the girls says.
“I’ll take it, please,” he says and reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve a twenty-dollar bill. The girl gives him another smile and packs the necklace into a small lacey bag together with a business card with the store’s Instagram handle.
“Is it for your boyfriend, the photographer?” she asks cheekily as she takes his money. She has probably seen him follow Monty around the market and definitely remembers Monty running his fingers over the necklace with the old coin pendant before remembering that he’s here to take photos.
“Maybe,” Thomas says, choosing to remain mysterious, which has the desired effect of making the girls giggle and wish him a nice day. With the necklace secured, he makes his way over to one of the food trucks who are catering the event and gets two hot-dogs from a guy with a loud voice.
When he finds Monty again, the boy who is a crow is sitting at one of the few free picknick tables that have been set up in the market area, scrolling on his phone and sipping an iced latte.
“How many of those have you had today?” The Cat King asks in a mock-strict tone as he sets the cartons holding their hot-dogs down on the table.
“I’m working, I need them to keep me awake!”, Monty protests and reaches for his food.
“You are a bird; you have a tiny heart that will explode if you continue to drink all those!” Thomas chastises him and sits down across from him. The proximity makes their knees touch. He watches Monty eat more than he eats himself, watches his mouth open and close, sees how mustard and ketchup clings to his lips and almost moans when he licks it away with his pink tongue.
God, he is down bad for this boy.
“Rosie said that there might be a new full-time photographer moving to town soon, so she might not need me as much anymore”, Monty says, unbothered by the fact that Thomas is melting away in front of him, “I’m gonna miss it, but it’s also kinda exhausting to always be on assignment on events like this. I’d love to just be able to browse the stalls in my own time with you.”
“Well, if you’re done, we can do that after we’ve eaten” Thomas takes another bite of his food.
“Yeah, you’re right. One of the stalls had a really cool necklace, I think I’m going to get that!”
Now that you mention it…
“The one with the old penny?” Thomas feigns ignorance, “I think someone beat you to the punch, babe, that one’s already gone.”
“What? Damn it!” Monty pouts and puffs his cheeks in frustration, “Fuck, I wanted that one so badly! I should have bought it immediately when I had the chance.”
“Well,” Thomas reaches into his coat pocket to retrieve the pouch the girl gave him, “The guy who bought it might give it to you if you ask him real nice.”
“Is that?” A smile spreads across Monty’s face, “You fucking asshole! I was actually really sad for a moment.”
With that, he leans across the table to capture the Cat King’s lips in a kiss, and Thomas lets himself be captured, lets himself fall, lets Monty tighten the leash around his neck.
*
The cannery is lit dimly, but as a cat, Thomas can still see everything. The floor, the bedstand with the lube, and – most importantly- Monty, naked and lying across his lap, ass pink from his spanking.
“Be good for me,” Thomas’ voice is gentle, but firm, “We’re almost done.”
He does not wait for a response but lets his hand zip through the air once again and gives Monty’s bum another smack, which elicits a delicious whine from his boyfriend. Two more, and he can feel something wet on his thigh. Monty’s precum is dripping down into the sheets.
“Good boy,” he coos and Monty sobs. He can rarely hold still during their sessions but today is especially bad. Thomas constantly has to warn him not to wiggle out of his lap, which has given him an idea. He knows how to make his little crow feel good, if only he lets him, “do you want to keep being good for me?”
“Y-yes,” Monty chokes out and lets Thomas turn him on his back and shuffle him into the middle of their expansive bed. Every contact his ass or cock make with the sheets or Thomas’ hands makes him whine again, and it almost makes the Cat King come on the spot.
“I don’t think you can…”
“I can!”, he sounds petulant, exactly how Thomas wants him.
“Let me finish. I don’t think you can without me helping you,” he lowers himself down to pin Monty to the bed while summoning something from the ether, “I think we need this tonight, don’t you think? To keep your hands where I want them.”
He runs the cord now in his hands over the sensitive skin on Monty’s forearm, causing him to shiver. The boy who is a crow willingly lets his boyfriend tie his hands to the bed post, surrendering and giving over control, and Thomas internally promises to always take good care of him, to never betray his trust, to be good for him.
“Now,” he positions himself between Monty’s thighs, his voice low and husky, “You are going to come untouched tonight, understood? And you’ll ask for permission before you do.”
“Yes” Monty sobs and strains against the bondage, his erection bouncing desperately.
“That’s why I had to tie you up,” Thomas explains slowly while reaching for the lube on the bedside table and squeezing some onto his fingers, “to help you be good for me.”
Gently, he slips one finger inside Monty, then another and then another, always carefully listening to the sounds coming out of his bird’s mouth. Once he is sufficiently stretched, Thomas spreads the remaining lube on his dick and sinks into Monty, which makes both of them moan.
“Be good for me,” he grunts as he begins to rut into his boyfriend, who arches his back as much as the cord will allow, “So fucking good for me.”
He picks up the pace and focuses on Monty’s face, on the way his mouth opens to let out moans and whines. With a grunt, Thomas lets himself fall forward, propping himself up with one hand and using the other to grab onto Monty’s hair, eliciting another delicious moan from him.
“Good boy,” that’s all he can choke out, he is so focused on rolling his hips but not letting his stomach touch Monty’s dick while pulling his hair enough to be pleasurable but not enough to hurt him.
A lot of work goes into a good fuck.
“Can you be good for me just a little longer?” he whispers into his ear and hears a sob in response, so he pushes himself up again and changes his angle, which makes Monty start to beg.
“Please,” he moans and squirms under Thomas, “Please Thomas, I can’t, I can’t…”
“One more minute,” Thomas groans out with gritted teeth, “I need you to be good for one more minute. Can you do that?”
Monty doesn’t answer and instead bites his lips so hard the Cat King worries he’ll hurt himself. He picks up the pace and can feel both of them coming closer, an intuition curtsey of his parentage and years of experience. Just before he can feel them tip over the edge, he leans forward again, grabs onto Monty’s hair again and whispers into his ear:
“Come for me, baby.”
The boy who is a crow follows the order with a deep moan and only when Thomas feels the warm, sticky wetness of his sperm on his stomach does he allow himself to follow his boyfriend over the edge.
A few minutes later, the Cat King has untied Monty and cleaned him up, and now they are holding each other close and listening to the wind blow around the cannery. After sex, Monty has two moods: Chatty, which is when he talks so much, he muddles his words, about himself and Thomas and the cats and his work and his school and everything else that crosses his mind, or he goes borderline non-verbal, curling up in Thomas’ arms and just making short noises when his boyfriend checks in with him. Today he is falling into the latter, his eyes half closed, lazily focused on the Cat King’s fingers which are tracing invisible patterns on his naked skin.
Usually, Thomas would fill the silence in this situation, but today, he is quiet too, thinking about new ways to bring pleasure to his little bird. Even when Monty is pressed into the sheets beneath him, when he is tied to the bed unable to finish without permission, he still has a firm grip on the leash around the Cat King’s neck, and he probably doesn’t even know it.
*
It’s the time of year when the nights are still warm and Thomas doesn’t mind picking up Monty, even if it meant waiting in the cold. He leans against a street lantern and watches the local high school, focusing on the few illuminated windows. It is almost time, and two cars pull into the parking lot, presumably also waiting to pick somebody up.
A few months ago, Monty has started to take evening classes at the local high school to eventually get his high school diploma. He told the teachers a sob story about being homeschooled with just enough implications of a shitty mother that they didn’t ask too many questions, and it has been wonderful to watch the boy who is a crow flourish in his school work.
The school’s doors open and a handful of people walk out, making conversation with each other or staring at their phones. Monty has probably told him their names, but the Cat King doesn’t really care to remember. The humans shuffle into cars that are waiting for them or parked on the car park, a few leave the grounds to presumably take the bus, but Monty takes a whole five minutes more to appear. When he does, he is practically skipping and wears a giant smile on his face.
The Cat King is very invested in his reputation as a mysterious, elusive creature, and as such a creature, he would of course stay where he is and let Monty come to him. But the little crow tugs at the leash and so Thomas has no choice but to give himself a push and meet his boyfriend halfway.
“You are looking happy” he remarks after he has lifted Monty up and given him a mandatory kiss.
“That’s because I am happy,” the shorter boy laughs and waves a man goodbye who is leaving the building behind them, before he and Thomas interlink arms and leave the school’s carpark.
“Are you going to tell me why or…”
“So…” Monty drawls out the vowel, which signals to the Cat King that he is excited about something.
“I was just talking to Mr. Josephs and he said that my progress is looking really good. He thinks if I keep it up, there’s not reason for him not to let me take the finals in six weeks, and no reason for me not to pass them.”
“That sounds amazing, baby.” The Cat King is a shapeshifter older than the United States, so he normally would not give two shits about meaningless paperwork like a high school diploma, but because it is his boyfriend, this is unbelievably exciting to him.
“And…” Monty pauses dramatically, “He also said that the school has gotten special funding for a photography lab next term, and if, IF I get the diploma, I could come in once or twice a week to supervise the dark room and support the teacher. If I want to.”
Thomas doesn’t have to ask if Monty wants to, the 10,000-volt smile radiating from his face tells him all he needs to know.
“Fuck, that… that’s amazing. You can be really proud of yourself for that.”
Monty blushes.
“I am really proud of myself.”
And the leash pulls the Cat King’s head down to press his lips to Monty’s.