Rose on the Grey  

by V. Mathews

---

I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grey,

The more I get of you, stranger it feels...

(Seal, Kiss From a Rose)

Vincent soaked at his leisure, watching the grey dust embedded inhis fur wash away with each swirl of warm water. The only otherperson with access to this bathing chamber - a warm mineral spring -was Father, who had been bandaged and bundled into bed by Mary. ThatFather had accepted her ministrations without complaint was a measureof his shock and exhaustion. Vincent knew it would take some time torecover from the cave-in that had nearly taken both their lives.

Vincent was still feeling shaken himself. He'd lived Below hisentire life, but never had the rock walls of his home pressed sofrighteningly close as they had today in the Maze. He was amazed tobe in one piece, and felt almost grateful for the bruises andabrasions that proved he wasn't dreaming...or dead.

And that it should be Catherine who had saved him...

Vincent sighed, and the rock dust still clinging to his throatmade the sound more gravelly than usual. It was an irrationalfeeling, but somehow Catherine's heroics on his behalf left him alittle undone. In the short time he had known her, Vincent had savedher life on several occasions, and once his gut-wrenching fear forher had subsided and the gore had been washed from his hands, he hadbeen secretly - pathetically - grateful for the opportunities.Vincent knew all too well that he had neither the right nor theability to court her in any acceptable fashion, so he courted her theonly way he knew how: by preserving her life at any cost. A smallprice to pay for having her in his restricted existence.

But Catherine had gone and turned it all upside-down today, andnow Vincent had not only to be grateful for her presence in his life,but for the life itself. He didn't know the full story behind his andFather's rescue, but one thing was apparent; Winslow's brawn, Mouse'singenuity, and indeed the entire community's efforts would havecounted for nothing had Catherine not bullied and beguiled them intoan effective, cohesive whole. She'd somehow provided the means toblast through solid rock - not to mention blasting away thestubbornness, doubt and panic that had so paralysed the community.Vincent felt humbled by her courageous love. That she should take upthe cudgels on his behalf, when he lived and breathed now just forher...

Vincent's weary blue eyes closed slowly, his eyelids heavy withexhaustion.

*************************

Catherine smiled happily as she sat sipping her tea in Father'slibrary. She was surrounded by her newfound friends Below; theirautomatic suspicion of Topsiders had been tempered by her obviousconcern for Vincent and Father, and was overcome entirely by hercrucial role in their rescue.

Catherine felt welcomed now by the entire community. When he'dbeen pulled from his tomb, Father had said that were no words tothank her, and she'd almost wept to see the approval in his eyes.Maybe there were no words, but Father's people had found plenty ofways to show their gratitude, showering Catherine with tea andcookies and laughter. Apart from Pascal, who had returned to hispipes to spread the good news, and Mary, who was tending Father, itseemed as if the entire Tunnel community had crowded into the libraryto take comfort in each other's company. Even young Eric was hobblingabout on his bad ankle, looking terribly sorry for the trouble he'dso inadvertently caused. Catherine held him comfortingly, soothinghim with gentle words before Sara coaxed him to bed with the otherchildren.

The numbers slowly thinned as the evening wore on. Jamie asked ifshe'd like a guest chamber made up for her, but Catherine, observingthe girl's worn features, refused the offer. Eventually she foundherself alone in the library, waiting with increasing impatience forVincent to reappear; Catherine had received many impulsive embracesthat night, but it was Vincent's strong arms that she needed aroundher most of all.

"Where could he be?" she asked herself softly. Making her waythrough still unfamiliar passages, Catherine found herself inVincent's chamber. Lit only by the candles behind the stained glasswindow, the room was empty.

Catherine was beginning to feel a little anxious. It had beenhours since Vincent had stumbled off on unsteady legs to bathe. Hehad appeared tired but unhurt, and Catherine had expected him toreturn and lead her Above. She knew he wouldn't forget her; thanks tothe mysterious bond they shared, Vincent was incapable of putting herfrom his mind, even had he wanted to. But what if he was ill? Or hada concussion? In the quiet of the chamber, broken only by the tappingof pipes, Catherine listened carefully until she heard the faintmurmur of running water. Tamping down her rising uneasiness, shefollowed the sound with determination.

Through a twisted downward-leading passage, Catherine emerged intoa natural chamber, at the far edge of which lay a pool. Waterreflected in sparkling patterns on the rough stone walls, and amoist, golden haze veiled the chamber. As Catherine's eyes adjustedto the candlelit mist, they followed a dusty trail of clothing to thepool's edge, where they beheld a magnificent sight.

Vincent. He was semi-reclined in the water, his powerful,well-muscled body largely submerged. His rugged arms were bare, lyingoutstretched along the rock ledge against which he leant. Catherine'savid gaze followed the line of his limbs from the sharp tips of hisclaws to the massive set of his shoulders. He was facing away fromher, but his golden head had tipped back and she could see that hehad fallen into a deep sleep. Drops of moisture clung to hisforehead, and Catherine felt perspiration bead her own brow as shedrank in his overwhelming presence.

The temptation was irresistible. Catherine undressed quickly andquietly, letting her dirty clothes join his on the ground. Vincentshowed no sign of stirring; his sleep was profound and healing. Sheeased into the pool beside him, pleased - and rather stunned - tohave breached all his usual defences. She only hoped he wouldn't dieof embarrassment upon waking.

***********************

Vincent came to awareness slowly, his normally quick reflexeschecked by tiredness and a feeling of well-being. He'd dreamt ofCatherine. He'd been drowning in a grey, fathomless lake until shetook his hands. Suddenly he could breathe - even underwater - andthey had swum together to the surface, emerging into vivid sunlightsuch as he had never before seen.

Vincent's eyes opened to discover a lovely, muted echo of hisdream: he and Catherine, awash with a golden glow, bathing togetherin soothingly warm water. Catherine had found the soap in a smallrecess and was lathering up, the action so prosaic that Vincent knewhe must be awake.

"Catherine?" he whispered, his tone full of wonder.

Catherine smiled at the dazed expression in his sleepy blue eyes."I hope you don't mind if I join you. I'm a bit grimy after all thathard rock mining." Feeling absurdly shy all of a sudden, she had tofight the urge to duck her head beneath the water; Vincent hadundoubtedly seen all there was to see of her last April, when he'dfirst saved her life.

Vincent could've relieved her of that notion had he known of it;his recollections of that awful time were a jumble, his empathytested to the limit by a broken, bleeding stranger whose pain seemedto sink into his own flesh. He had helped Father clean her wounds andstrap her cracked ribs, learning her body intimately - and later hewould have been hard-pressed to provide any satisfactory descriptionof her.

Now, seeing her face crease into a captivating smile and herflushed pink breasts bob so enticingly on the water's surface, hiseyes felt permanently scorched by the image; this was a memory thatwould stay with him always, its clarity untainted by pain. But howcould she be here in this place...with him? It waswonderful...unthinkable!

Catherine leant a little closer, and Vincent tried not to flinchas the air between them became electrified. His body seemed to befilled with wanting, the tension - desire - so strong he felt almostphysically ill. There were two equal and opposite urges fighting fordominance within him. The first - to hold Catherine, crush heragainst his body - was powerful, but no more so than the second - toflee, and thus protect her from himself.

Vincent felt at odds with himself on a fundamental level. This wasa battle he'd been waging since she first entered his life, anddenial had become a part of his everyday existence. Yet he was socompletely unequal to the task of leaving her now - her presence suchan unexpected and perilous pleasure! - that he was paralysed.

Catherine beamed her approval. She guessed something of hisindecision; the disquiet in his expression was all too obvious. Thesmouldering heat beneath the anxiety was less evident, but sherecognised it anyhow - despite his attempts to hide his need for her- and knew a powerful relief at his continued presence. A rejectionfrom Vincent tonight, after she'd struggled so long and hard to freehim from danger, would have been devastating to both of them. Yet hewas usually so careful to avoid any hint of physical entanglement -'for her own good', of course, as if it had ever done her any good tobe apart from Vincent - and she knew that under any othercircumstances...

But the rules seemed to have been suspended, and Catherine wasfeeling brave enough to take advantage. She decided to take hisstillness as invitation to further intimacy. Driven by almostirresistible curiosity, her fingers reached for the broad expanse ofhis chest, eager to lather her soap into his fur and find the tenderflesh beneath. She buried her hands in his thick pelt, andimmediately became aware of the strong, tantalising scent rising fromhis overheated body. It was a scent she'd long been aware of, butonly in a rather vague way; it usually eluded her beneath thephysical barriers Vincent placed between them. Now it filled hernostrils, stronger by far than the soap she wielded with suchdeftness, and she wondered how she could have ever resisted hispotent allure for so long.   

Catherine leant over Vincent, careful not to crowd him, althoughthe urge to plaster herself against his body was hard to subdue. Shepressed her face lightly against his chest, inhaling the smoky saltscent that rose above his heart; his was an alluring fragrance thathad haunted her for months, and it seemed almost decadent to bask init this way. Catherine's nose rubbed insistently against his hardsternum, and her hands stroked soothingly over his breast as he tookgulping breaths of air. Questing lips moved slowly up the valley ofhis torso, bisecting its muscular symmetry; Catherine smiled at thedelicious tickle of his moist hair against her skin.

She let her body relax alongside Vincent's, her head falling uponhis right shoulder. With the soap she traced the letter 'C' acrosshis wildly beating heart, and her mark was clearly delineated. Shemet his gaze to find recognition of her possessive act; Vincent'sstunned eyes acknowledged the branding. After placing the soap on theledge behind them, she used bare fingers to erase the mark, confidentthat Vincent would nonetheless feel it there always.

"I've been longing to touch you like this," Catherine murmuredfinally, her right hand tangled in his chest hair, and her curiousnose nuzzling his underarm.

Vincent's flesh was quivering beneath her gentle onslaught,muscles taut and ready to bolt. "I...I know," he said hoarsely. Theirbond vibrated with want, and it wasn't all his, not by a long shot -it was a want that seemed to fill the world. Surely he had to knowthat! But... "But why, Catherine?"

Catherine smiled and shook her head at this obtuseness, her lipsbrushing across the soft skin of his underarm; she was perplexed anddelighted to find that here, where any other man might proudly carryhis most abundant hair growth, Vincent was virtually bare. His armswere still outstretched and tense as he permitted her delicateexploration. "You want to run, don't you?"

Catherine's words fluttered against quavering skin, and she couldfeel Vincent swallow hard before muttering, "Yes...no...I don'tknow..."

"Oh, you want to run, Vincent. I can tell." Her right arm creptfurther across his body to touch an enormous, bunched bicep. Shecould feel the muscles so tense and ready to thrust her away, toflee. Ready to grab her and hold on forever. Contradictory impulseswere holding him immobile, and Catherine could only feel grateful."You want to stay, too, don't you?"

Vincent's only reply was a shuddering groan. God, what she wasdoing to him! Did she realise? Could she possibly comprehend theextent of the craving she provoked with these caresses? As Catherinetrailed velvety kisses across his body, she was chuckling a little -though the humour was shadowed by the terrors of the day. "Oh, how Ineed to touch you tonight, Vincent," she said. "To know you're reallyhere, and not buried beneath a ton of bedrock." Her hands clutched athim compulsively, and although blood coursed wildly through hisveins, creating an almost deafening roar in his ears, her soft voicereached him still. "I was in agony all day. You seemed soimmeasurably far away. I never want to feel that fear again."

Vincent's head fell slightly, enough to brush his cheekcomfortingly against her hair; it was the barest motion he wouldallow his covetous, craving body. He knew about fear... "Now I knowhow it feels to fight for a life, Vincent," Catherine continued, herwords underscored by those whispered kisses which shook him to themarrow. "Just as you've fought for mine, again and again." Impossibleto steady his erratic pulse, but his hands remained stubbornlyclenched at the rock ledge, the rough stone pressing into his flesh areminder of the need to be still. What was she saying? "I sweat bloodand tears for you today, Vincent. Even sold my soul to Elliot, and Idon't mind, not a bit. Just to have this feeling of..." Her headshook slowly as she gathered her thoughts, the contemplative motiondrawing her lips back and forth across his right nipple in adevastating manner. "Possession,"  she said finally, drawing hisnipple inside her hot mouth briefly before releasing it. "For hours Ithought of nothing but saving your life - and consequently my own.Does that make me selfish?" He shook his head, unable to speak, buteager to reassure her, for he understood all too well the tyranny ofthis love they shared, how it eclipsed every feeling that had evercome before. "We truly belong to each other now, Vincent."

With those words, Catherine felt her lingering fear dissipate intothe mist, replaced by an enveloping calm. Extricating her reluctantbody from his, she sat up and reached for the pail on the ledge. Warmwater was soon splashing down gently upon his head, where the hairwas still streaked grey with dust; she wondered if this was how he'dlook in twenty years' time, and promised herself that she'd be thereto see it - she could hardly wait. She washed his mane thoroughly,combing her fingers through his tresses, and untangling the knotswith a gentle stubbornness, whilst Vincent endured her ministrationsin a state of brutal bliss. Although his head ducked almostshamefully to hide their foreignness, her massage soon uncovered thesweet mystery of his ears, and she traced their fine, rather felineoutline, first with eager fingertips, and finally with ardent lips.It was a blessing to know this about him.

Catherine's hands lowered to knead the tight tendons of his neck.Her thumbs pressed lightly along the sides where bare skin layflushed and glistening, whilst her fingers tangled in the long hairat the back where Vincent's mane spread inexorably down his body. Hadanyone ever touched him thus? Her virtual stranglehold should havemade him feel intensely vulnerable, but instead seemed a mark of bothher trust and his, and he accepted the touch gladly. And when herfingernails scraped delicately at his nape, he let forth a shiverysigh...how did she know? The expression on Catherine's face wasgrowing increasingly dreamy as she bathed him...and it made Vincentdream too.

Urging him forward a little, Catherine poured water down his broadback. The movement brought them closer, and Vincent finally let go ofthe ledge and allowed his arms to fall beneath the surface. His righthand brushed against her body in passing, making them both gaspsoftly, but she continued washing his back as though the touch hadnever been. Watching her through the cover of damp bangs, studyingthe play of moisture against her skin and the fluttering pulse at herneck, Vincent wondered whether he would ever sleep again when suchdreams as this were to be had in the waking world. His eyes would notbe denied this sight.

Catherine knew from the tilt of his head that he was watching her.Again and again she lifted the pail in her right hand to create acascade down his back, whilst her left enlaced in the long, silkyhair she found there, determined to learn him by heart. The movementsmade her muscles flex and her breasts tremble, and all the while hewatched beneath hooded eyelids...she had never felt so intimatelyaware of another's perusal. Feeling a blush creep uncontrollablyacross her body once more, she nonetheless let her hand move lowerand deeper until she discovered the tight curve of his buttocks andthe tempting gap between. Before she had time to even bite her bottomlip in anticipation though, Vincent fell back against the ledge witha low growl.

"Too much?" she asked softly, hardly expecting a reply. Theirhumming bond spoke silently of his longing, and she could only hopethat her own pleasure in these caresses reached him in return. Sheeased the fringe from his face to find blue eyes flashing almostdangerously, though she felt little anxiety for his sake, and none atall for her own. Vincent was panting audibly now, the glint of sharpincisors wordless proof of an arousal engendered for once by passionrather than peril. Running a thumb soothingly across his lips, shefelt his urgent huffs of breath press against her sensitive pad, andcried out at the darting, almost supplicatory rasp of his tongue.

The intimacy shook them both. Tension still gripped Vincent'sbody, but any urge he'd had to run had long since faded away, themiracle of Catherine's loving touch imbuing him with a growingpersuasion that he could be with her this way...perhaps touchher...without losing control. Yet until the persuasion becameconviction, he thought grimly, he must keep his invisible tethers inplace. So long as doubt remained - even the smallest uncertainty -these hands would not be allowed their longed-for freedom.

Catherine's hands knew no such uncertainty. Whilst his own handsclenched in frustration, claws biting into his palms, hers wanderedat will across his body. The muscled planes of his chest held firmbeneath her touch, though he shuddered with need as she caught hisnipples between her fingers. Suppressing the urge to touch her mouthto him again - once had been a miracle, and a second time might sendthem both flying apart - she instead let her hands trail beneath thewater to sear a path down his taut abdomen. The dim light denied herthe yearned-for sight of his submerged lower body, but touchsupplemented her starved imagination. Lost in a wet and distractinglyvirile forest of hair, her delving fingers found his navel - he wasan outie, she was charmed to discover - before tracing a path alonghis hipbones.

The massage sent currents of pleasure jolting through Vincent'shelpless body. She had glanced at him rather mischievously afterteasing his navel, but he could barely breathe much less respond.Now, as she moved away slightly to stroke the length of his trunklikelegs, he felt an almost ungovernable impulse to pull her back towardshim. Fighting the urge with all his strength - would there ever comea time when he would feel free to surrender? - he sustained herattack on his overwrought senses in breathless, desperateimmobility.

His legs, though suspended by the water, lay heavily in her hands.Catherine thought longingly of the time when she would feel thesegreat slabs of flesh pressed between her own trembling legs; theimage made her thighs quiver in anticipation. Looking up into hisintent expression, she knew he had caught the drift of her covetousthoughts and was indulging in a few disquieting dreams himself; thetension that refused to be coaxed from his body told her they wouldremain dreams awhile longer.

Catherine felt no disappointment; content to explore his body, shedidn't mind if it took ten years before he felt sanguine aboutdiscovering hers. Their time would come. To sit naked with him thisway, massaging his weary feet - they were heavily furred, with nailsthat felt fatally sharp - was an unexpected wonder to be cherished.There was trust implicit in his stillness, and greater faith was sureto come. She could wait.

Catherine crept up to curl into the curve of Vincent's body,resting her flushed face against the corded muscles of his chest. Therock beneath them was smooth and comfortable, and as she felt hisright arm encircle her - so tentative, yet with an undeniableunderlying possessiveness - she thought wistfully of staying thereall night, just listening to his heartbeat. As her hand idled in hislap, she found him aroused and disconcertingly large; the implicationsent flutters of excitement and trepidation through her. She strokedhim to completion with gentle determination, memorising his size andshape in the drowsy twilight before she fell asleep, lulled by thedeep, rumbling purr beneath her cheek.  

***************************

Vincent held her for a long time, absorbed in the comfort of hernearness. His purr was slow to subside, so utterly content did hefeel - a sort of burbling happiness unknown since his carefreechildhood, before he'd realised he was different. Perhaps he wasn'tso different after all. Catherine's courage - and audacity - werewonderful to him. Through their bond he had sensed many things in hertonight - tenderness, curiosity, desire - but above all he had felther love for him, so strong that it had broken those dull grey chainsof inhibition that separated them. No, they weren't so differentafter all. His heart recognised and shared her every emotion. Andsoon...soon he would find the courage to respond in kind, witheverything that he had.

Catherine's sleep seemed tranquil now, unlike the frustrated,broken rest he so often sensed in her after he had pulled away fromher embrace yet again. To think that she could find such peace in hisarms! In finding the strength to give her this time, this touch -this trust - he was receiving so much in return, so many unimaginablywonderful gifts. There was no telling where her joy ended and hisbegan, and that was the real beauty of their emotional connection.They were truly becoming one.

Vincent stood up, carrying her lax body with him. Catherine'sslight weight was nothing to him after the rock pinnacles he'd borneacross his back today, but it was a precious weight nonetheless andhe cradled her carefully. Water streamed noisily from their bodies ashe rose, creating a sparkling spectacle in the gloom, but Catherinedidn't stir. He wrapped a warm towel around her as best he could -unwilling as he was to let her go for even a moment - and savouredthe sensation as she nestled against the material...nestled againsthim. Her small nose was pressed into his chest whilst her fingerstangled in his fur, and he wondered if he would ever be able toreceive her touch with any semblance of composure; there wasundoubtedly a long and wondrous road to travel before he could reachsuch a point, and for the first time he felt ready to face it, evenembrace it.

Vincent carried Catherine up the short passage to his chamber,imagining with a certain bemusement what sort of pagan picture theymade. A bedraggled one, assuredly! He entered the chamber and lay heracross his bed. The sight of her there stirred him on an elementallevel. From the moment he'd first found her dying in the park andbrought her to this bed, it was as if her life had belonged tohim...just as his soul was hers. And what had begun as a state ofhelpless, hopeless symbiosis seemed to be developing its own sort ofsynergy. He was finally starting to understand that they could notpart...nor should they.

Ignoring his own damp body, he towelled her dry with lovingcaresses. Opening a drawer, he found her old nightgown where he'dhidden it beneath his own clothes - Mary, understanding him all toowell, had never requested its return - and drew it out, welcoming thechance to once again see Catherine in the clothing of his world.

Vincent knelt naked beside the bed, almost in prayer. The flushedpink of Catherine's skin was slowly surrendering to gooseflesh, andhe eased her into the nightgown, covering her soft flesh and rosebudnipples with reluctance. She murmured a little in her sleep at histouch but was otherwise still, the day's anxieties and exertionshaving caught her up with a vengeance. He tucked her under his myriadblankets, intensely gratified as she made herself at home in his bedonce more. Everything was as it should be.

He sank onto a chair to dry off his still dripping coat. It was atask Vincent would normally undertake with rough vigour - his fur wasabsorbent, and somewhat slow to dry - but he wanted to savour theremembered sensation of Catherine's hands on him. She had made himfeel so well-loved with her care for his body. It was a uniquefeeling for Vincent - almost as though he was a rosebud himself, ripeand ready to unfurl -  and he was reluctant to scourge himselfas usual now that he was beginning to believe in this love, thisdesire, that Catherine felt for him. Wasn't it madness to hate andscorn that which she craved? He was feeling many tumultuous emotionsright now, but madness wasn't amongst them, so he towelled himself asgently as she might have, and watched as flickering colours from thestained glass window played lovingly across her sleeping face.

Once dry, Vincent slipped on a nightshirt and crept into bedbeside her, tucking his body protectively around hers. His pulsequivered at the contact, but soon slowed to match hers, and hecuddled her closer as sleep swept over him. Colour danced over themboth in ever more fantastical movements as the candles guttered inthe night, lulling the pair into rosy dreams...dreams in which theyshared a happy life...dreams in which they were one.