Work Text:
It was one of those rare days. As in rare days to have sex in the morning. As in sex in the morning between a cat and a dog. As in a cat, who is a werecat, and a dog, who is a spectral dog (taking the form of a weredog). As in a werecat, who is the famous popstar ghoul, Catty Noir and a spectral dog, who is a consulting detective, Devon Baskerville.
Catty stared at the bed canopy, still basking in the afterglow, even if it was just thirteen minutes ago. She smiled as she stretched, feeling her pale pink negligee tickle her fur a bit.
Her attention slowly went to where the bathroom was upon hearing the door open.
Devon emerged, wearing a pair of dark grey cargo pants while the waistband of a Calvin Stein stuck out from underneath. His face was covered up slightly by a towel he was using to dry his hair.
His black fur was pristine save for his left side (i.e. his entire arm, parts of his shoulder, and lower neck) which had none due to a traumatic, childhood event, making it one huge burn scar. The only two markings on the exposed, irritated skin was a stylized G-clef tattoo on his bicep and cut marks on his wrist.
She watched him dry his black and ice blue hair as he made his way to one of the large windows.
Catty’s eyes were suddenly focused on the droplets that have not been absorbed by the fur or towel, sliding down Devon’s back. For someone who was no longer doing sports and mostly did “desk work,” his muscles were still in pretty good shape. Not too buff; not too lithe; not too lean; just enough to still hold the appearance of looking strong.
Remembering what that body was capable of made the black werecat close her eyes and purr.
The shifting of the mattress broke her musing, but she continued to purr upon feeling the back of her head and neck being nuzzled. When the gentle rubbing stopped, she looked up.
Pink met blood red as she sat up, kneeling on the bed in front of Devon, then held his face in her hands. Catty began to softly stroke his cheeks; after a few minutes, a low growl escaped him. ‘And he said he wasn’t one to act doggish,’ she amusedly thought. She practically felt the vibrations of the sound and could not help but smile at this reaction. She leaned forward to brush her nose against his; an Escreamo kiss. She saw her boyfriend return in kind causing her to lightly giggle, finding it a bit ticklish.
“Devon,” she started.
“Hn?” the black dog hummed.
“You were in deep thought while staring out the window.”
“Hn.”
“What were you thinking about?”
“. . . you.”
She smiled at the answer. “Of course.” She kissed his forehead.
“. . . what about you?”
“Me?”
“You were also in deep thought.”
“Oh?” Catty said, unsurprised.
“You had your eyes closed and you were purring.”
“I was?” she coyly feigned.
“What were you thinking about?”
Catty simply pulled his face closer, connecting his lip to hers. At first, it started out slow and gentle. It eventually grew heated, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist, her hands gripping and tugging his ears and hair, and their tails intertwining.
They eventually broke apart, going for butterfly kisses.
“Devon.”
“Hn?”
“Can we sleep in today?” she inquired in between kisses.
He pulled back from her affection, ears twitching as he stared at her. She could easily see the gears spinning in his head. He was not stupid; she, and everyone else who had met him, knew that. The black dog was smart enough, like Ghoulia Yelps, to understand what she was insinuating. He seemed about ready to answer, but she decided to encourage him to the one she wanted.
Catty raised herself up, in order to be taller than him, and took one of his ears between her teeth. The moment she bit his ear and tugged on it, the werecat felt her boyfriend’s fur stand on end and body tense up; a rumbling growl escaping him. She also felt something else.
A sultry smile formed at her lips. “Good boy.”
She heard him mumble, something between French and Gaelic, against her neck before a gasp was elicited from her lips. He had bit her.
With that, the couple fell back onto the bed.
And nobody saw them until dinner.