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You were estranged.

The years were cold and cruel.

For a being of warm passion,

it was torture.

The lion pranced about his prairie.

While you were chained,

disavowed and repressed.

You called to him.

He seldom answered.

Fleeting glances over the river,

that sectioned you apart.

He'd stare at you,

green eyes full of confusion.

Of hesitation.

Of fear and disgust.

And he'd seek the shadow for comfort.

While you tossed in your ties.

You roared.

Growled.

Hissed to no avail.

He didn't listen.

Didn't want to listen.

Because he knew your pain.

And sectioned it away.

Behind the river.

Locked in chains.

You were never to be whole with him again.

But time blurs all things.

And those fleeting glances drew out to more.

Eye contact.

Silent understanding.

Eventually,

he would learn to stomach the sight of you.

And he would see you, tiger, chained.

And recognise its wrongness.

But back away.

For terror seized his body,

and denied you both your longing.

You knew only injustice.

You'd felt it in the parts of your flesh he feared.

He took his time whilst you lingered in contempt.

Until one day you roused,

to the sound of splashing in the air.

He'd waded out towards you,

across the riverbed.

His stare was focused,

though he looked unsure.

His feet touched ground.

Your ground.

Aside your chains.

He reached out a hand towards you.

A single finger to your fur.

He froze, concern lit up his features.

He snatched his paw away.

Like he doubted you were real,

and too shocked to agree with your physicality.

You watched him.

Quiet.

Fretful and wanting.

The sensation of his contact sat heavy in your pelt.

You felt him long after he had left.

Because it was all you'd craved for so long.

You realised then your patience.

For you didn't beg or beckon his return.

Never cried for your freedom,

though it was owed in plenty.

And as weeks passed you wondered if that would be all forever.

A single point of contact.

Perhaps, you thought it was all you were owed.

You were a creature of disgust and dejection.

And yet come morning, you found him in your hold.

He had coiled at your side.

And slept throughout the night.

When you roused he was gone.

Back to his prairie.

Where his gaze would oft drift,

towards your prison.

So close it seemed,

your solitary days may end.

But he never returned.

Not 'til a full moon hung high in the sky.

And you stuttered awake.

Your eyes cracked open,

to the sound of rustling grass.

He stood over you.

Bleeding.

His hands clutched to his heart.

Eyes wide.

A vicious howl carved into his face.

He was screaming.

You stared.

You didn't try to help,

for the cold kiss of steel held you still.

He fell to his knees.

He glared at you through a mask of crimson.

His eyes full of pain.

Of betrayal and hurt and terror.

Like you were meant to save him.

You blinked,

and he was gone.

Days passed before you saw him again.

Where he'd gone was a mystery.

But he emerged from the grass and sat,

legs crossed and eyes focused on you.

He seemed meditative.

Sun and moon passed by.

Still he thought,

unmoving.

Same as you.

Stuck in place.

Though he did it by choice,

'til he chose to rise.

And saunter forth across the river.

He bore no scar from all he'd endured.

He bristled as he approached.

A wary look cloaked his intent.

He sat opposite you.

And he observed you.

Long he stared.

You could only meet his gaze,

and hope he'd unbind you.

As the sun descended a chill seized the air.

And he drew a deep breath.

And stepped forth to your side.

Where he lay.

And nodded off.

You shook as he slumbered.

His body rest against your leg.

You weren't sure how to think of him.

His body was warm.

You licked your lips and frowned.

You reached to touch him back,

to repay the wonder of contact.

But your hand seized.

Grasped by chains.

Which rattled and clanked.

He jolted awake and spun.

His eyes were wide.

His jaw ajar.

Confusion all over his face.

He dropped a paw to cover himself.

And sprinted far away.

But the nights were cold.

So unlike his thoughts.

For come morn again, he lay beside you.

You watched him rest, heart aglow.

There were things you wanted to tell him,

wanted to ask him.

But beneath it all.

Your passions roared.

There were things you wished to do to him.

And you reached for him again.

Only to find your wrist was free.

The cuff lay shattered to your side.

Your paw descended on his flank.

And you froze, surprised.

His eyes flashed open.

You were sure he would run.

But he lay tense.

His breath heavy.

His gaze hard.

Your fingers stroked his fur.

Your claws pricked his flesh.

His ears twitched.

He rose unsteady and aroused.

He stared again.

Uncertainty was in his bones,

yet he stared.

Your heart pounded.

And something plicked delicately.

Again and again, plick, plick.

The chain on your arm lost slack.

The manacle cracked.

And the lion took a deep breath.

And ran.

You watched him go.

You were so desperate it hurt.

But your patience, stars, your patience.

It held you steady while he raced.

You rolled your shoulders back.

You smiled as they cracked.

You clenched fists.

The freedom was staggering.

But it paled before the passion.

That urge within you.

To be obscene.

The filth you thought.

The butterflies in your chest.

The warmth in your hand.

You watched the lion run.

And you stared as you watered the earth with your seed.

You had enough control to make him watch.

He'd hide on his banks, but he'd look.

You were too real to ignore.

He was interested, just skittish.

'Til a cloudy night rolled in.

And he tiptoed through the river.

You lay on your side.

A hand behind your head.

His nose twitched as he neared.

He was staring at your armpit.

And he was shaking as he sat,

just out of reach.

Your thoughts surged.

You grasped yourself in a meaty fist.

He dipped his head though his gaze never averted,

'til you gasped as you finished.

Then he lay down to rest.

Spent like he'd done the same.

He closed his eyes.

And your world went dark.

As morning broke, he nuzzled into your side.

Your paw rest atop his back.

You adjusted.

The motion slight but enough.

His snout rest under your arm,

his nose buried in your pit.

He muttered in his sleep.

He'd given you an opening.

And he had to have known,

just what that meant.

Your paw crept down his back.

A finger's distance at a time.

It felt wrong in a wrong way.

You marvelled as he twitched.

Your touch too intense.

Though you barely pressed.

His back went tight.

He could hardly handle you so gentle.

But he didn't try to flee.

He rubbed his face into your scent.

He was scared.

But he wanted to be here.

So it was happening.

You lift his tail.

He makes a sound.

Your finger glides down his crack.

He makes a hundred sounds.

Half delight.

Half hesitation.

You were never meant to touch him.

You were especially never meant to touch him like this.

But you know these motions like the back of your hand.

They're unpracticed but they needn't be more.

You circle around his delicate flesh.

He squirms and shakes.

The lion likes it.

He's craved it all these years.

This contact you wanted to give.

He's shivering.

His tail's swishing through the air.

He's too excited to contain himself.

And a thought occurs to you.

It's dark.

It's violent.

It's unexpected.

But it's exciting.

You sit up.

You're too aroused to think.

His eyes are shut in concentration.

You raise a heavy paw and bring it down on his snout.

Hard.

He falls face-first.

He whimpers.

He groans as he rolls.

He's staring at you.

Green eyes wide and full of tears.

His fangs are bare.

But he'd never bite you,

not hard at least.

You grab his muzzle.

He tries to gnaw at your fingers.

But his heart's not in it.

You pull him forward,

straight into your lap.

His coarse nose pokes your flesh.

You're oozing pleasure.

And for a drawn out breath,

he freezes.

It feels foul to expose yourself so brazenly.

Inappropriate in thirty different ways.

But he never retreats.

He draws a heavy breath,

and gives you a careful taste.

Your entire body buckles.

He was meant to be pure.

Revulsion builds within you.

It's exciting.

Empowering.

Intoxicating.

You're a freak.

You're trouble.

You're ruining him.

You're seeing white.

You can't think.

You call him names.

You hiss and growl and thrust into his muzzle.

You spit on him.

You slap him.

The degradation only serves to excite him.

You poke his hole and he rewards you with rigorous laps of his tongue.

You finish on his face.

You desecrate him.

It splatters audibly against him.

He flinches.

You've spoiled his virgin face.

Your heart pounds,

like it's a violent act.

You stare into his eyes.

He's stunned.

You've made a mess of him.

The perfect thing.

The normal thing.

You're disgusted with yourself.

But that disgust is enticing in its own perverse way.

It's through his mane.

It's hanging from his chin.

You've never felt more alive as you grasp him.

You tug him towards you and lick him clean.

He's panting.

He tastes like passion and pleasure.

He tastes like you.

Weakly,

he licks you back.

Because he's wanted this as bad as you.

Only he never knew how to get it.

How to do it.

He needed you to show him.

To mould him.

To dirty him.

To make him lesser.

Unclean.

Corrupt.

It was the reason why you were chained.

You glance at your ankles.

The manacles are gone from both legs.

You're free.

He's freed you.

You blink as you stand.

Your legs are shaking.

He's trembling in your shadow.

A small and sallow thing.

You could take him again.

You blink.

And you clench a fist.

And with the rage of freedom you throw yourself onto him.

He cries out as you rain a dozen blows on his chest.

But it's not the pain that shocks him.

It's the intensity of the feelings within him.

You slap his face so hard his head whips to the side.

He raises an arm to defend himself.

He's smiling underneath it.

So you grab his hand and shape it around your cock.

You exist to make him worse.

You're even harder than you were before.

He stares.

He looks uncertain.

He looks confused.

But he works your flesh.

You croon your neck and sigh.

He knows his place.

He knows his worth.

He leans forward to lick you again.

It's what he knows.

You grunt in satisfaction,

but you want more.

For all you've done to him,

it was hard to imagine being any more inappropriate.

You crouch down.

He leans back.

He's expecting something.

You chase him.

Your muzzle brushes his as you kiss him.

You shove your tongue into his mouth.

He tastes like you.

It sends a crackle of electricity down your spine.

You grab a fistful of his mane and kiss him until he's breathless.

You hold it a moment more.

He's shaking in your arms.

You shove him to the floor.

You lay across his chest,

your back to his face.

He can't see what you're about to do.

But he knows.

His feet are scrambling for purchase as he raises his hips.

His cock throbs in the air.

You poke it with a claw.

Gentle.

Careful.

He shrieks like you've stabbed him.

His chest raises,

trying to fight you off of him.

You crush him down.

He softens.

But he's clenching fists.

He's bracing.

He knows you're going to touch him again.

But he doesn't know how.

He doesn't know when.

And he's as sensitive as can be.

You lean forward to taste him.

He's sweet.

Innocent.

His body convulses as he moans.

He hammers weakly at your back.

But he's not pleading for you to stop.

You swallow him.

He's throbbing so hard it hurts.

He's not breathing.

His hands scramble for purchase on your back.

He clutches your fur.

He feels weak.

You force yourself down on him.

You gag.

He whimpers.

Again his body shudders.

His orgasm plasters your throat.

You rise off of him,

spluttering.

He tastes exquisite.

It's ambrosia.

It's forbidden.

You're seeing stars as it lingers,

all warm on your tongue.

You compose yourself.

You swallow.

He's laying on the ground.

He's drawing shallow breaths.

His eyes are shut.

And it's mesmerising.

You know every twitch he makes.

You've felt it before.

It was how you came to be.

The embodiment of his overwhelm.

He's brought it back to you.

You shudder as you drop to your knees.

You cradle him.

And for a time it feels pure.

It feels right.

His racing heart beats in your chest.

You want to nurture it.

But that's not your purpose.

Laying with him was not possible,

not without more.

The fur of his belly is sticky because of you.

It's a marvel.

It's a signal for more.

You roll him on his side.

He lays there,

a delicate glance over his shoulder.

He's no longer feigning fear.

There is a mountain of hesitation atop his shoulders.

But longing to match it.

He trusts you like he trusts himself.

You've changed him so freely.

So totally.

You slap his ass,

you're claiming it.

He whimpers in a higher pitch,

like he's used to the pain.

He's enticing you.

You wrench his tail so hard he gasps,

and lick him raw and wanting,

'til he's kneading the ground and pleading.

You join with him.

A single thrust that leaves him hissing.

Your balls rest against his.

You bear your weight down on him.

It should hurt,

but he relaxes into you.

This is as natural for him as it is for you.

You wrap a thick arm around his throat.

You choke him as you ravage him.

His muffled sounds make your ears twitch.

It's more than you can handle.

Your seed jets into him.

He leans back against you.

You are his comfort.

You bite his ear.

Hard.

It feels mean.

It feels right.

He doesn't fight it.

You've broken him.

And in doing so,

unwound what pained him.

He crawls off of you.

His knees are shaking

His body is a fantasy,

and a mess.

But he turns to you with a smile.

And strikes you on your forehead with his claws out.

It barely pricks you.

It's practised.

The action jovial.

There's a grin on his face as he runs off.

You give chase and laugh as you tackle him into the river.

It's cold.

He's weightless in the water.

You bundle him under an arm.

He kicks and pulls your tail.

He's too amused by the sound you make.

Something between a hiss and a snort.

And his smile shifts something in your thoughts.

The idea of retaliation subsides.

Replaced entirely by something bothered but familiar.

Your heart melts,

each beat softer than the last.

You stand him in the river.

He's almost as tall as you,

but less muscular.

Less of him needed to fight for survival.

He'd pawned that off to you.

Because you were more than his perversion.

You were his protector too.

All his fear now made sense.

He was going alone without you.

Braving a world without his strength.

It was foolish,

yet admirable.

You sigh.

He looks at you.

To him there's nothing wrong.

But you shoulder his anxieties.

You can see what threatens to wipe the playfulness from his face.

You know you cannot let it happen.

You won't.

It was hard to remember times before they are now.

Though you'd been chained your entire life,

that was no longer true.

Every fleeting touch of his body,

elicited more memory than,

a decade in manacles.

You could protect him now.

As you always were meant to.

Lion and tiger, equal.

It was hard to imagine times before they are now.

Where you couldn't walk up to him.

And grasp him.

Have him.

Delight in the way he writhes under you.

Bite him.

Beat him.

Dirty him.

There is satisfaction in his body that nothing else brings.

A completeness.

Two halves made whole.

A tension and a release.

Contentedness.

You love him as he loves you now.

The hatchet is buried.

The chains were necessary, once.

No longer,

and never again.