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Step... Step... Step... Step, this time closer to the wall... Step... Skip the sixth... Step...

Giles' lips moved; the instructions for climbing the steps inaudible. Waking the master was strictly against his rules. Years of bringing him his breakfast had taught him, a man of considerable bulk, how to be quiet in the venerable house.

He knew it well. He had been a servant in the manor since he was just eighteen. He smiled to himself, remembering his days as a footman to the then young master. He remembered how strange it had been serving the recently arrived Svenssons. The old couple had long since passed away, and their young son had been his responsibility ever since.

As head butler, Giles made it his business to keep the household running as old Mister Svensson would have wished it. Everything was done in the proper fashion. The tray he carried was always the same. Eggs, bacon, toast with marmalade, as well as a cup of tea. Alongside the food was a rolled up copy of The Times, the crossword facing upwards. The master was exceptionally good at them.

Deftly sidestepping a loose tile in the parquet, Giles stepped up to the bedroom door, turned the handle, and entered.

The master was lying sprawled beneath his covers, his bare shoulders and neck visible from the door. For an instant Giles' gaze lingered on the exposed skin, before he turned away and busied himself about the room. He noticed that his cheeks were flushed slightly red as he placed the tray upon the dresser. Composing himself, he strode across the room and gently drew back the curtains.

The morning light poured into the room, revealing the master's handsome face. Steeling his jaw, Giles looked down at his master and said, "Good morning, Mister Svensson. Your tray is ready."

His master lay silent for a moment, but then stirred, rolling onto his back.

"What time is it Giles?" he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

"I believe it is a quarter to nine, sir. You instructed..."

"I know I did. Thank you, Giles. Oh, and good morning. You may return at nine to help me get dressed."

"As you wish, sir. Shall I tell the stables to prepare?"

"Yes, that would be a help. Tell them I want to break in the latest acquisition."

"Very good, sir. I shall assemble your things."

Giles turned to leave, catching a glimpse of his master's naked chest in the mirror as he did so. His master was rather lovely; his build strong from exercise, yet not brutish. His skin was as pale, yet the paleness suited him.

Realising that he had paused to stare in the mirror, Giles left the room hurriedly, thankful that his back was towards his master. He could feel the blush rise from his cheeks to his ears. Once he was in the safety of the corridor, he let out a soft sigh. He did not know what had happened over the last few months. He had never thought about the master in such a fashion before; never looked upon him with lust. Perhaps he had just grown old, and his mind was simply searching for a distraction. Not that Giles was old. He was just forty, and still looked closer to twenty.

His black suit strained across his chest slightly. He was a big man. Most clothiers did not make clothing in his size, and as old Mister Svensson had always said, you could tell the quality of staff by their attire. Giles had saved money especially for this suit, and even he thought he looked remarkably respectable in the expertly tailored garment.

Giles moved away from the door, descending into the servants' quarters to fetch the various pieces of the master's riding attire. He took the kitchen boy by the shoulder as he passed through, and sent him off to the stables with the message.

His errand complete, Giles headed back to his master's room, clothing neatly folded over one arm. He knocked before entering.

His master was standing in naught but his undergarments, a pair of long white linen trousers. Giles looked at the floor, desperate to avoid potential embarrassment.

"Is something the matter, Giles? You look a little peaky. Has one of the staff misbehaved?"

Giles hesitated a moment too long before replying. "No, sir. I am feeling a little unwell. Expected at my age." He immediately regretted saying it. The master was young, not yet thirty, yet Giles looked much the same age. The master gave him a strange look before continuing.

"I cannot have you getting ill. You are both my butler and manservant after all. Rather take a day of rest if you need it."

"No, sir," Giles blurted, this time too quickly. "I am sure that I will be fine. Just need a moment to gather myself."

"As you say. Now, help me on with this shirt please."

Giles walked forwards, pointedly avoiding looking at his master. He took the shirt and stepped behind him to hold it open. His master slid his arms into the sleeves, and for a moment, Giles touched his smooth shoulders. A small shiver ran down his spine.

Giles was suddenly eager to be on his way. Any more of this ridiculous behaviour and it would be him who embarrassed the house. Focussing on his task, he swiftly helped the master put on the remaining pieces of his outfit.

"Will that be all, sir?" Giles asked, a little desperately, as he picked up the now empty tray. The crossword was already complete.

"I think so Giles. I shall be back before lunch. Please tell cook not to make that vile soup again. Ever."

"Yes, sir. Enjoy your ride."

Giles left the room and hurried to his own. He bolted the door behind him as he sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. He put his head in his hands and he tried to slow his thrumming heart. He could not understand it. Today was the first time he had permitted himself to imagine removing that light cotton shirt rather than putting it on. The thought had caused him sufficient discomfort that he could still feel himself pushing against his underwear.

He cursed quietly to himself. He had to take control of the situation. Nothing about what he was feeling could be right. The master was far above his station. He had no right to fantasise about him.

Giles was shocked from his reverie by the chiming of the front doorbell. It was a strange time for unexpected visitors. His master was a bit of a recluse, and any guests were generally known about months in advance.

Ignoring his unease for a moment, Giles headed towards the entrance hall. He went via the front parlour, taking a moment to glance out the window. There was no visible transport outside. Perhaps one of the children had been dared to do it. If he found them he would have to have a word. Regardless, he continued to the front door, opening it a little.

The man who stood outside was not the most pleasant looking individual. Dirty, and clad in frayed clothes. There was a peculiar odour about him and something of a rat about his nose and eyes.

"No traders. Please move on," Giles intoned, sounding as bored as possible. He tried to close the door, but the tiny man slid his foot into the gap.

"Now, my man, you don't want to do that," he sneered, his accent coarse and common. "I have important business with Erik."

"Mister Svensson is not available at present, and I doubt whether he would consort with the likes of you. Please make yourself scarce."

"Listen, oaf. If you care about your job, you will let me in. I would hate to have to go to the press."

Something in the man's voice set Giles' teeth on edge. Yet somehow the look on his face suggested that he was being serious.

"Very well, sir. Would you mind coming around to the tradesmen's entrance? You will be looked after in the kitchen."

"Yes, I would mind. Take that carrot out your arse. I'm not afraid of you."

Before Giles could respond, the little vermin turned sideways and slipped into the house. Giles was not a violent man, yet he had balled his hands into fists the moment the pest had crossed the threshold.

Giles composed himself, and in a measured voice asked, "Your name, sir?"

"Now that is more like it. Those are the kinds of manners I would expect from your sort. My name's Douglas. But you can call me Douggie."

"Very well, Douglas. Mister Svensson will be away until lunch. Shall I have some tea brought? Perhaps a slice of cake?"

"Oh that would be lovely. You're a real gentleman after all."

"Thank you, sir. I shall return shortly."

Giles turned on his heel and walked slowly to the kitchens. Cook was sitting at the table, her chipped teacup halfway to her lips.

"Who was at the front door, Mister Hart? Not another peddler was it?" she asked.

"No, but someone equally repellent is now sitting in the front parlour. Please have some tea and cake sent up. Not the master's. Take from the servant's stores."

Hearing the tone in his voice, Cook immediately put her tea aside, setting to work. The tray was soon ready.

"Thank you. Tell the maids to keep away from that end of the house today. The man is not of good character. I instructed one of the footmen to keep an eye on him."

Cook nodded. "I'll pass the message on to the housekeeper. She is out for the morning."

Giles headed back to the parlour, tray in hand. He placed it lightly on the table, before offering to pour tea for Douglas.

"I hope that is to your liking, sir. Nothing but the best."

"Oh, you've changed your tune. Scared?"

Giles did not answer. He simply left the room, closing the door behind him. He drew the bolt, and looked to the footman who had been watching the door.

"Do not let him leave under any circumstances," he said, his voice grave.

Giles made his way to the servant's entrance, passing through the kitchen as he did so.

"I'll be at the stables if anyone needs me. Send the boy for me if the parlour bell rings."

Giles headed towards the stables at a brisk pace. He wanted to be sure that his master knew that there were vermin in the house. The stable lad was mucking out one of the stalls when he stepped inside. The boy spun round, looking a little scared.

"Sir?"

"How long before the master returns?"

"I don't know sir. He headed towards the stream, sir."

"Curses. Thank you. Please give the master this when he returns."

Giles pulled a pen and piece of paper from his breast pocket. He hastily jotted a note, which he handed over to the boy.

"Be sure that he gets it," Giles said, a hard edge to his voice.

"Yes, sir," the boy replied, almost stammering.

Giles returned to the house. The footman was still at his post and a quick word assured him that Douglas was still in the house. Giles, content to wait until his master's arrival, went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of tea.

***

The stable lad burst into the kitchen, nearly bowling over one of the maids. He looked around the room in a panic until he saw Giles. He hurried over.

"Sir," the boy gasped, clearly out of breath, "The master just got back. He read your note, sir. He looked really upset. Crumpled the note up and took off for the house at a run. Thought you should know, sir."

Giles silenced the twittering kitchen staff with a glance.

"I think I shall go and see if the master needs anything. In the meantime, I want you all on your best behaviour. Cook, please prepare a second tray. Use the master's things this time. I shall take it up. The rest of you, stay down here and help with preparation for lunch. No eavesdropping."

Cook put the tray together in record time, and soon Giles was standing in front of the parlour door. He could hear muffled voices, but nothing discernible. He turned the handle, and stepped inside.

Both men were standing, his master at the window, facing away from the door. Douglas was looking, eyes glinting wickedly, at his master's back.

"Seems your man has arrived just in time to show me out. Think on what I said, Erik. You wouldn't want me to go to the authorities, would you?" Douglas' voice was venomous.

The vermin pushed past Giles and into the hall, nearly upsetting the tray. Douglas turned to face him.

"Good bye. If Erik comes to his senses, you won't see me again."

Giles opened the door, barely wide enough for Douglas to leave and shut it with a bang, almost catching the pest's foot. He drew back the bolt, mirthlessly. Concerned for his master, he hurried back to the parlour.

His master was now seated on one of the couches, head in his hands, his body shuddering with what Giles realised were sobs.

"Sir, is everything alright?" Giles asked in little more than a whisper, knowing that it clearly wasn't.

His master looked up, glassy-eyed, with the tears clearly visible on his cheeks.

"No. No it isn't. I am afraid I have done something rather foolish, and now I must pay the price."

"Is there anything I can do, sir?"

"I doubt it. That man is a liar and a thief. Giles, if I tell you what has happened, you must promise that you will never mention it to another living soul. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I will take what you say in the strictest confidence."

"You say that now, but you may be shocked out of your silence."

His master paused for breath, wiping the tears from his eyes and seeming to compose himself a little, before continuing.

"When I was younger, barely more than a schoolboy, I entered into a romantic relationship with someone. I was young, and foolish. I thought that they were magnificent. And I wrote letters. I wrote many inappropriate letters. And it would seem that Douglas found the letters whilst purloining things from an empty house. Now he wants money for their destruction. He wants a great deal of money."

"Sir," Giles interrupted, confused in one regard. "Such letters are not uncommon. Surely they would not be taken seriously?"

"Alas, Giles, I did not tell you the whole truth. The recipient of the letters was not some young society beauty. It was one of my schoolfellows. A man. The punishment for which is incarceration."

Emotion seemed to overwhelm his master once more, the sobs wracking his body. Giles stepped forward, about to embrace his master. He caught himself at the last moment, cursing himself for his poor behaviour. Instead, he placed a large hand on his master's shoulder, gripping it firmly.

"It will be alright, sir. Can we not simply pay what he asks?"

"No, Giles," his master managed between sobs. "We cannot. The estate is currently tied up in investments. It would take months to raise the sum he is asking for. I fear that you should start seeking other employment. This house shall not be mine much longer."

"Sir, with the greatest respect, your news has not altered my opinion of you as a gentleman. There must be a way out of your predicament, and all we have to do is find it. I think I have an idea. I suggest spending the day in your room, claiming illness. This must not be spoken of by the staff. I shall return by evening with news."

"Giles, I do not expect you to do this..."

"Sir, I have known you all your life. You the closest thing I have to a friend. Trust me, sir."

"Alright, Giles, alright. Just don't do anything foolish."

"I shan't, sir," Giles replied, knowing that what he intended was foolish in the extreme.

He left his master in the parlour. A serene sort of calm had settled over him, and as he took his hat and coat from his room, he knew precisely what to do. His master's words were racing through his head. Only one phrase seemed to have any significance to Giles.

"It was one of my schoolfellows. A man."

His master cared more for men than women. Perhaps... No. Giles dashed the thought from his mind. It had been presumptive and wrong to want to hug him, let alone delude himself with hopes of anything more than a cheerful greeting in the morning.

Now appropriately attired, he exited the house via the back door, and began the long walk to the village.

***

Giles rounded the bend, and the village came into view. It consisted of several dozen cottages, a post office, as well as shops, a church, and his destination: the public house. Giles went there only infrequently. He could not stand the noise and drunkenness. But, on this occasion, he was almost certain that his quarry would be within.

He was not disappointed. The vile Douglas was sitting in a corner, making merry with what looked like a bottle of gin. Giles tried to remain unseen, but it was too late.

"Look who it is!" Douglas shouted from his seat. "Erik's faithful lackey. Come! Sit! Share a drink with me. Your employer is going to make me a wealthy man."

"Sir, I very much doubt that," growled Giles, remaining standing. "The master has no money. He explained the situation to me. Whatever hold you have over him, it cannot make him wealthier than he is."

"But you, you oaf, don't know what is in these here letters!" exclaimed Douglas, producing a grubby bundle from inside his repulsive coat. It was all Giles could do not to grab them and toss them into the fire.

"If I took these here letters to the police, you would have no master. And you would be disgraced. So why don't you run off home to Erik and tell him to bring me my money. Or else."

Giles was suddenly aware of the quiet that had fallen in the room. He sensed many a cocked ear. He leaned forward, his frame towering over Douglas.

"I thought as much. Mister Svensson said you would not behave like a gentleman. I have your money, but I will not give it to you in public. Meet me outside."

All Giles could do was pray that Douglas was too drunk to notice the lie. He watched as Douglas rose from his seat, staggering a little from the drink.

"Lead on then, my good oaf. Douglas has taught you your place today, hasn't he?"

"Yes sir. Very good, sir," Giles replied, his voice cold.

The two of them left the building, Giles leading the way.

"Follow me. I know somewhere quiet," Giles growled, trying to keep the menace from his voice.

"Lead on, lead on."

Giles smiled wryly as he turned away. Douglas had clearly been drinking since he left the manor. This was going to be easier than expected. He led him behind the rows of cottages, trying to remain unseen. He was headed to a secluded spot on the edge of the nearby woods. No one would notice them.

"Now where are you taking me? I didn't sign up for a walk. Give me my money!" Douglas complained, struggling to keep himself upright.

"Nearly there, sir. You will get what you deserve shortly."

They crossed a narrow stretch of grass, before reaching the tree-line. Giles turned on the vermin, a dangerous smile playing across his lips. He stepped close to Douglas, so close that the smaller man had to crane his neck upwards to see Giles' face.

"Now hand over those letters."

The bleary eyes looked up at Giles, and he watched as realisation slowly dawned in them.

"You bastard..." Douglas hissed. "You bastard!"

The second utterance had been a shout, but as the last syllable left his mouth, a gigantic hand closed across his mouth and jaw, easily holding it shut.

"Now be quiet, and don't make this more difficult than it needs to be."

Giles spun, pinning Douglas to a tree, lifting him off the ground. He started rummaging through Douglas' coat, though it seemed to be made of pockets. A strange feeling in the hand gripping Douglas made him look up, and he saw the hatred in the vermin's eyes.

Douglas' teeth sank into his palm, and he felt the warm gush of blood running down his forearm. He did not let go, his desire to protect his master dulling the pain.

"Bad idea, Douggie. Bad idea."

Giles withdrew his other hand from Douglas' coat, balling it into a fist as he did so. He could not deny the satisfaction he felt as it thudded into Douglas' face. The vermin went limp, looking more like a dead rat than ever.

Giles let his victim drop to the floor. He quickly removed the coat, and checked the remaining pockets. He found the letters, hidden inside a concealed pocket. Giles smiled to himself as he held them, so small in the palm of his uninjured hand.

He rounded on the rat once more, shaking him awake.

"Are these all the letters?" he snarled, the threat unconcealed.

Douglas was silent and wide eyed. Giles brought his fist up into his gut.

"Are these all the letters?" Giles roared.

"Yes..." Douglas gasped.

"If you are lying to me, I will kill you. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Sleep well."

Giles cuffed him across the temple, rendering him unconscious once more. Realising that the blood was dripping from his fingertips, he hastily took out his handkerchief and bound the wound. Better care would have to wait. He had to return to his master with news of his success.

***

Giles did not bother with the servant's entrance. He ran up the main stairs, pulling out his front door key. He slipped it into the lock and heaved the heavy door back. One of the footmen was startled by his sudden entry. With a gesture, Giles told him to lock up, and immediately bounded up the stairs, mantra forgotten, the old wood creaking terribly.

He paused for a moment, to compose himself a little and knock on his master's door. He did not wait for a response; simply turned the handle and entered.

His master was sitting in the window seat, staring out across the grounds. His face was ashen and his expression sorrowful. Giles was startled to find tears forming in his eyes as he looked at his master. It was a few seconds before he turned to face Giles, his silhouette remarkable in the setting sun.

"Yes, Giles?" he said, quiet, devoid of energy.

Giles tried to keep himself from smiling. It would not be proper, given his master's distress. Yet he could not stop himself, as he gently placed the letters on the table in front of his master.

"I don't think we will be seeing him again," Giles said.

His master looked at the letters, his expression unreadable. He slowly looked up at Giles.

"And you are sure these are all of them?"

"Yes, sir. I made sure."

His master rose to his feet, picking up the letters as he did so. Giles watched as he strode over to the fireplace, and flung the little bundle into the flames. Giles and his master stood watching, as the fire consumed the last of the evidence. The room felt peculiarly silent as crackling of the fire abated.

Giles turned to face his master, unsure what to expect. He definitely didn't expect to feel arms wrap around his chest as he was hugged. For an instant, Giles wanted to push him away, tell him that the situation was impossible. Yet, for the first time in his life, Giles pushed the norm from his mind, and pressed his master to his chest.

They stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace for what seemed like hours, until his master let go and gently pushed Giles away.

"I am sorry, Giles. I don't know what came over me. I hope you..."

Giles did not let him finish. He closed the gap between them in a single stride, placing one finger on his master's lips.

"Please, just listen for a moment, sir. I have something to confess."

His master nodded his head and fell silent.

"I have been a servant in this house for many years. And in all that time I have never had a woman to call my own. I do not care for them. In fact, I have never yearned for anyone's company. Except yours. Please consider this my notice. I will spare you further embarrassment by taking my services elsewhere."

Giles could feel his face, red with the blush of his impropriety. He doubted whether his notice would be necessary. He would probably be thrown out immediately, with no pay. He turned to leave.

His master's hand slid into his, and squeezed gently.

"I think, all things considered, that I shall refuse your notice."

Giles felt his master pull gently on his jacket, forcing him to stoop a little into his master's kiss. It was unlike anything Giles had ever experienced. His master's lips caressed his own, and he felt the gentle touch of a tongue against his lips. He opened his mouth slightly, and it slid into the warmth of his mouth. Giles was lost in the moment, and soon he found himself kissing his master passionately, picking him up to make it easier.

"Master..."

"Please, call me Erik."

"Erik, I..."

"Shhhhhh..."

Erik slid down from his embrace, landing gracefully on the floor.

Giles stood, unable to think, but his instincts soon took over. He stepped up to Erik, and undid the buttons on his jacket. He lifted it from his shoulders, kissing him gently on the forehead as he did so. Next, he slowly removed Erik's tie and collar, leaving him in just his shirt and trousers. Giles noticed that Erik had already kicked his shoes off.

Erik stopped him before he could remove his shirt, and began undressing Giles. His height made things complicated, but soon Giles was in a similar state of undress. Giles could feel his cock, already hard in his trousers. Erik seemed to have the same problem.

Giles, unable to stop himself, stepped up to his master continuing to undress him. He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his strong chest. As the shirt dropped to the floor, Giles ran his hands down Erik's chest, feeling the softness of his skin and nipples. He hooked his fingers into Erik's belt and pushed down, the trousers falling to his ankles. Erik stepped out of them and kicked them away, now completely nude.

Giles stopped, his eyes devouring Erik's magnificent body, from the gentle slope of his shoulders to his rampant cock. Giles could feel himself leaking pre. He had never been so aroused. Erik smiled.

"Your turn."

Erik removed Giles' shirt quickly, before telling him to remove his shoes and belt. Giles obeyed, feeling a little awkward in nothing but his trousers. Erik looked at him, his gaze filled with lust as he dropped to his knees, pulling Giles' trousers down as he did so, revealing the large cock; its tip already glistening with pre.

Erik looked up at Giles, his expression suddenly strange.

"Giles, I have something to show you."

Giles watched as Erik shifted. His pale skin was suddenly covered in white fur with black spots. He grew a little larger, stronger and lither. The shape of his head changed, becoming feline. Giles was now looking down into the face of an adult snow leopard.

Giles began to laugh. It was deep, a low rumble in his chest that slowly grew like the approach of cavalry. It rolled from his mouth and filled the room with his joy. He rested an enormous palm on Erik's head, the fur soft against his skin.

With a grin, Giles shifted, the brown fur running down his body as he grew even larger, his limbs thickening with strength as his face broadened, becoming that of a brown bear. His cock grew a little larger with the change, and was now poised level with Erik's face.

Erik did not make a sound as the smile split his face. Instead, he nuzzled Giles' crotch, his rough tongue lapping against his heavy balls. He slowly sucked one of them into his mouth, bathing it as he would his own fur. He wrapped a hand around Giles, his fingers just closing around the shaft and gently stroked his length. The copious pre dripping from his tip made Erik's hand slide effortlessly up and down. His mouth continued with its gentle sucking and Giles stood, back straight, as he was assailed by the sensation. Giles know he would not last long. He was already too close.

Erik seemed to sense it, but instead of pulling away, his mouth moved from Giles' balls. He licked all the way up his shaft, the pre collecting on his tongue. He looked up for a moment as he swallowed it, the sight sending a wave of pleasure through Giles.

Erik's lips parted as he took the tip into his mouth. Giles gasped at the warmth and softness. He slowly, unknowingly pushed forwards, trying to get the waiting mouth to envelop him. Erik seemed to let him, and he felt his shaft slowly sink in. He could feel the damp nose just above his base.

Giles was startled by the sudden rasp of Erik's tongue against his tip. It was rough compared to the softness of his throat, but that only served to heighten the sensation. The tongue began to circle his tip, like a predator staking its prey. Giles' hips were bucking, gently fucking Erik's throat. He could feel his orgasm building, so close it almost hurt.

"Erik, I..."

It was too late. Giles bucked frantically into Erik's mouth as he came. The thick torrent of come filled Erik's mouth and he could feel his beautiful feline swallowing around him. Giles let out deep growl as his orgasm abated.

They were both still, enjoying the moment they had just shared. Giles looked down at Erik, noting that his cock was twitching with arousal. He helped Erik to his feet and was about engulf his cock in his grasp, when Erik stopped him.

"No, I don't want to finish yet. I want you first."

Giles was uncertain what he meant until Erik pulled him backwards onto the bed. Giles was now kneeling over Erik.

"In the drawer," Erik said, motioning to the bedside table. "There is a bottle of oil."

Giles took it from the drawer.

"Pour a little of it into your palm."

Giles suddenly caught on. He had never even dared to imagine this. He was hard again just thinking about it. He poured a little oil into his palm, before dipping his index finger into the little pool of liquid. He reached down with his slick digit and found Erik's opening. He gently rubbed his finger up and down against it, coating Erik in oil. Hesitantly, he pushed, shocked as his finger slid in easily.

Erik groaned as Giles prepared him. He slowly slid a second finger in to join the first, eliciting another moan of ecstasy from his partner. He could feel Erik's arse gripping his fingers like a vice, tight and warm around them. He longed to mount him, but he didn't think he was quite ready.

With a little effort, he tried to get his third finger in. Erik winced slightly before relaxing around it, allowing Giles to slowly edge it in and work him loose. Erik's cock already looked as though it was about to burst.

"I think I am ready. Just go slowly," Erik said, softly. He was smiling warmly at Giles.

Needing no further urging, Giles withdrew his fingers from Erik and repositioned himself so that his tip was just brushing Erik's opening. He rubbed the oil that remained on his palm into his cock, and pushed firmly against Erik.

They gasped in unison as Giles slid in, his girth challenging Erik. The first few inches were easy, but it was a minute or two before Giles managed to hilt himself in the graceful feline. As the soft fur around his base brushed Erik's opening, Erik let out yowl of pleasure, hissing in excitement.

Slowly, Giles pulled out before thrusting back in, this time a little harder. He quickly fell into a rhythm, his pace increasing as Erik relaxed. Soon he was pounding into Erik with all the passion he had ever felt. Erik was writhing in pleasure, his back arching as his arse clenched and unclenched around Giles.

Erik's cock was dripping pre onto his abdomen, the clear liquid glistening in his fur. He dug his fingers into the mattress, as he exclaimed, "Fill me. Please."

Giles was happy to oblige, pulling Erik up against his chest. The new angle drove both of them over the edge, Giles roaring, Erik yowling. Giles remained embedded in Erik as they collapsed back into the bed. He only slid out when Erik turned to kiss him.

***

The sun had set. The house was quiet, the servants having already retired for the evening. There was nothing to disturb the perfect stillness. In Erik's bedroom, the couple slept, the leopard wrapped in the arms of his bear; the charred remains of the letters still visible in the fireplace.