They had known for so long this little treacherous adventure would take them nowhere good, nowhere safe. “You should not be here, should not be around me.” The Lion all but whispers, knowing for slaves like them, it wasn't appropriate to try and act on any kind of free will... They had none, and the mistress would surely be displeased, disgusted, if she knew of their intentions.

They would both hurt.

But the Lion would surely hurt so much more… She didn't like him as much, didn't like his eyes, his voice. And she made sure to tell him that, daily.

But the Fox didn't seem to share her ideas, he was always so curiously glancing at him, when they passed him in the garden, sun high but cold, watching him chop down wood and tend to the crops. He could not help but wonder why would the Fox spare him a look when he was what he was.

Just another faceless, nameless hand working under the Mistress’ will, but not like he was, he was not meant for company, he was meant for labor.

“I cannot help but being near you, I cannot help but escaping to find you.” His voice is somewhat breathless, like he has been running, and his fingers shake on his cheeks, fleetingly touching him with cold apprehensive fingers. “I crave, and I know you do too… Touch me, I need it.”

“I can't. This is a mistake.” He sounds urgent, keeping the Fox's hands from him, by his wrists, he lacks the resistance.

“You cannot stop my mind, and neither can she.” Something about him has this urgency, this resolution. Unbreakable. Unshakable. Unyielding.

Different.

From what he is when the sun is shining.

That demure little lamb...

Is a fox.

“What do you expect me to do? I cannot ever touch you, it would condemn us both.”

“If you don't plan on acting on your urges then release me for I will.” Instead of being released, he is held tighter. He would wince but part of him expects bruises he can look at later on, once he's alone again. “You don't have to help me, just stay still.”

“What do you plan on doing?”

“Satiating myself.” He is rather vague, but the Lion isn't so easy to persuade. “Please, I will go mad… Everyday I crave–… I need this one little token of relief. Be merciful.” His eyes are begging, and he squirms, his clothes askew and disheveled. Rosy on the edges, warm and trembling, but none of that taking away the notion, the certainty, that he is, undoubtedly, still a man.

After a second that drags like it has brok