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My Kitten and Me	By : firewolf Category: Weiß Kreuz > General Views: 1595 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Weiß Kreuz, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-My Kitten and Me
- 2-Marks of Ownership
- 1
- 2
Just a
little
reminder to readers, please: This is a work of fanfiction. The opinions
and observations as expressed by the characters in this piece of work,
should not be construed as opinions and observations shared by the
author.

DISCLAIMER:
Kyoko Tsuchiya
and
Project Weiß hold the copyright over all names, likeness and
rights
of Weiß kreuz. All these characters and materials are used
without permission, and I'm not profiting from this piece of fan
fiction.

My Kitten and Me

By firewolf

Beta read by
Lori McDonald

July 2001

@>;-'-

The bell-like sound of dripping water peels
softly in the dark room that I'm sitting in. I've always thought that
the
light splash of water delightfully contrasts with dripping blood on the
occasions when I can arrange such an event. It adds a nice touch to the
bleak and gloom.


The thought makes me smile to myself at the
various memories of victims past, for I am so very proud of this room.
It is a room that is ripe for murder and mayhem when I feel the urge
rise
within me. Crawford and Schuldich have yet to wheedle its location from
me. At times, I wonder why they care if I wish to disappear to my own
amusements.
Contrary to what Estet may think, I am not a half-wit who needs
keepers.


I am careful. I am always careful. God's
agents
are ever about. I have to be crafty to avoid them, for they will seek
to
stop my unholy crusade against Him. They do not understand why I dare
seek
to punish Him. He will hurt. I have sworn to it. He, who is the greater
Father of Lies than Lucifer... He, who claimed to favour me by taking
away
my pain and yet chose to forsake me by stealing away my loved ones with
my unintended cooperation... For all His powers, I still exist. But I
nevertheless
must be careful. He is, after all, the Almighty, and His agents are
ever
about. However, his agents, unlike Schwartz, are still ordinary humans.


A smile curves my lips again to think of my
comrades. Talented as they are, even they cannot find me when I wish to
be absent. Does it disturb them, I wonder, that I can come and go as I
please? That the straightjackets are useless to contain me, however
much
they may tighten and secure the buckles.


They amuse me.


A slight movement in the darkness
interrupts
my thoughts and draws my attention to my latest guest; The one almost
luminescent
feature in this shadowed room. Even as he awakens, he stays in control
of himself and makes no sound. Such is what I suppose must be expected
of Abyssinian. I have oft overheard his teammates mutter to themselves
that he is cold, aloof, emotionless-- A marble statue that cannot be
touched.
And-- beautiful... I cannot confess to being more captivated by any
other
until I met him. I had long decided that this Weiß must be a
favoured
son of Adam. And I would ponder how much God would hurt to lose this
beautiful
one. To lose this Weiß kitty, who hunts the dark beasts to
protect
His flock?


I cannot begin to express the eagerness I
felt
earlier this evening when I chanced to come across him alone, without
the
other kittens. He apparently completed his part of their mission and
arrived
early at their rendezvous, unaware that I was already there. God would
hurt for this mistake of letting him wander obliviously within my
reach,
for I am not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.


A glint of amethyst tells me that he's
finally
opened his eyes and is gazing at me from his position on the floor.
With
his wrists securely tied to the pipe over his head and his ankles
manacled
to a ring before him, he knows that there is little chance of escape.
Yet
I feel no fear radiating from him. I find myself surprised. I am not
deaf
to the whispers that gossip of my reputed insanity. Surely he should
feel
some worry at discovering himself lying alone and helpless before me?
But
even when I approach to lean over his recumbent form, he still shows no
alarm. Can he be so removed from his emotions to feel nothing at all? I
admit to having the wind knocked from my sails with his response, or
lack
of it. But I swallow my disappointment and turn my attention instead to
my plans for the night.


He doesn't flinch or utter a word of
protest
when I start to slice off his vest. But even in the dim lighting, I can
see his cheeks turning pink as I completely expose his chest to my
gaze.
Then he stuns me again.


Where I expect to find smooth, unblemished
pale flesh stands a veritable roadmap of scars. Down his chest, across
his abdomen... Scars, old and new, mar what should have been perfect
skin.
What more-- I know enough about injuries such as these to recognise
that
they are all self-inflicted.


I feel cheated. Why? This-- I-- God must be
laughing at me now. I had fantasised about this moment... Plotted and
planned
what I would do to this canvas of untouched skin... And here-- I have
been
swindled! I--


I lifted my gaze to glare at him, but he
has
his face turned away. His cheeks are pink, his countenance filled with
shame... So-- Abyssinian isn't without emotion after all, but why--? An
insight suddenly strikes me. I feel my hand reach over to run a finger
along one of my many scars. An injury I had done to myself when I was
experimenting
with my inability to feel pain. To feel again? Is this why? I caressed
one of his scars lightly and feel him shiver at my touch.


'Emotionless.' That is one of the
descriptions
given of him. 'Unfeeling.' Have they used that word with him too? Does
hearing these words affect him more than he lets anyone realise? There
are so many scars-- to feel...


Without even being fully conscious of what
I'm doing, I raise my knife to his skin and draw the blade along one
scar.
His eyes snap open to regard me as he breathes in sharply, with a
soundless
gasp. I find myself locked in his gaze, my knife moving again to trace
the path of another scar, allowing bright ribbons of blood to form in
its
passage. I feel as if I am drowning in his amethyst depths.


It takes a great deal of effort for me to
drag
my eyes away from his. I do so only to be transfixed by the
swelling
threads of blood crisscrossing his chest, formed by my handiwork over
his.
Without consciously thinking about what I am about to do, I bend to lap
at the blood seeping from the shallow cuts. I'm kissing and sucking at
the crimson lines, letting my tongue occasional flicker over a nipple
whenever
I move my mouth close enough to touch the hardening nub.


My blade continues to flash between us. The
darkness is no obstacle for it to be unerringly guided by the lines he
has drawn across his flesh. His soft gasps are sweet music in
accompaniment
to my fevered worship. This lovely communion between us... God must
hurt.
He must be in agony to know that with my every slice and cut, I'm
laying
my claim on this little kitten. Every wound and scar that I'm
re-opening
and lavishing with my kisses and my tongue... They are all mine now.
I've
drunk his blood, claimed his flesh... Oh, how must God hurt to see him
arch into my kisses.


At some point, I realise that I've opened
every
old wound and scar that he has over his body and I drop my knife to
tangle
my fingers in his red hair. So much blood... I'm quite drunk on it and
it strikes me that I should share the sweet-salty nectar with him. His
lips open willingly to my gentle probes, to allow my invasion and share
in the blood that I've sipped from him. Below me, I can feel his hard
length
rubbing against my thigh as he tries to buck against me. Such a wanton,
sweet kitten... Mine.


His amethyst orbs are glazed over from lust
as well as pain and I am all too eager to answer that lust. But-- not
with
force. No-- God has abandoned this one too. I realise that while He has
given Abyssinian talent, beauty, and grace, He also chose to make him
suffer
a harsh life; taken away his family and thrown him in the company of
companions
that must be unapproachable. Such loneliness in company; what man,
social
creatures as we are, would be able to stand this for very long?


I can read the disappointment in his eyes
when
he sees me sheath my blade and throw it out of my reach. Ah, such a
masochist
he must be to want the pain. Does he want me to be rough too? No, he
shall
not have that of me. I can tell that Abyssinian believes God thinks he
deserves to be forsaken and hurt. But I will not let God work through
me
to punish him for his surrender. I will claim him on my own terms. It
will
hurt God more if I am gentle. It would hurt God far more if I made love
to him.


It is with shock that I realise I am his
first.
He's not quite sure what I want him to do when I present my fingers to
his lips, but he opens his mouth readily to take in my digits and let
me
tease and stroke his tongue with them. As I draw my fingers in and out
of his maw, he soon gets the idea to lick and suck the intruders.
However,
I can see from the expression in his eyes that he still does not
understand
the significance.


Even after I undo his pants, pull them and
his boxers down as far as the tops of his boots, and kneel between his
thighs, he still lacks comprehension of what is to transpire next. He
is
such a sweet virgin, God. You must hate this so. His eyes do widen
quite
comically to see my erect girth as compared to his own still semi
flaccid
member, but I don't believe its registered to him just yet, where I
mean
to shove my rod. He will learn soon enough.


He jumps to feel the first blood and saliva
slick probe of a finger. I quickly distract him from that pain by
rubbing
my erection against his, encouraging him to respond and feel the
pleasure
build within him. Even distracted as I am by sparks of lust, I cannot
resist
the sight of blood swelling in his cuts anymore and quickly bring my
mouth
and tongue back into play. The soreness of my fingers' intrusion is
easy
for him to gloss over as compared to the sting I cause with warm tongue
and sucking mouth over the crimson lesions on his chest. I am
overwhelming
his senses once again with pleasure and pain.


With my little kitten squirming so
erotically
under me, it is a battle not to lose myself in the blood lust. But I am
determined to hold myself back and ensure that he is stretched and
ready
for me. It will be difficult enough to be gentle with blood as our only
lube. Ordinarily it is a poor lubricant, but in such quantities that we
have from my handiwork, I should hope it is sufficient for our
purposes.


Oh God! He is so-- tight and-- so--
perfect--
What sweet violation! Did You want-- something better-- for the
kitten--
God? I would-- dare say You-- would have wanted-- something cleaner
for--
this sweet kitten. Not-- being taken-- in this-- dark-- dank room--
Not--
while lying-- in a pool-- of his own-- blood-- Not-- with-- me...


Does it hurt, God-- to see me kiss and--
nibble
at his flesh-- like a lover should? Does-- it hurt-- to see him arch--
into-- my every-- thrust? Does it-- hurt-- to see-- him try to-- grip
my
hips-- with his knees-- to-- encourage me despite-- the restraints--
that
he wears-- about his ankles? Does it hurt-- to see him spill his seed--
over his bloodied stomach-- and-- smear it-- against my flesh? Does--
it
hurt-- to know that I've-- laid my claim on this-- creature so
thoroughly--
inside-- and out? Can You-- feel-- the exquisite-- pain, God?!


I pull myself back from the explosion of
stars
that fills my vision, catching myself before I collapse over my kitten.
Abyssinian pants raggedly beneath me, looking at me with eyes still
half
glazed in lust. There is such invitation in his stare that I lean down
again to nibble and lick at lips that are stained with his own blood.
He
tries to encourage me, opening his mouth to incite me into plundering
the
depths of that sweet cavern. I nearly give in to his demands, my lust
building
easily to make me harden within him again. Then I notice his heartbeat
fluttering weakly like a dove's wings against my chest. Then the amount
of blood I am kneeling in suddenly dawns on me and I realise that
Abyssinian
is starting to tremble from the shock of blood loss. His eyes can no
longer
focus on me. Their amethyst lights seem to grow dull as I watch.


Abyssinian slips away into unconsciousness
before I am able to finish removing the last of the manacles. I waste
no
time to try and pull up his pants and boxers from where they are
cinched
around his calf-high boots. His hastily thrown on trench coat should be
sufficient modesty for our mad dash to the nearest hospital.


How much blood can a man lose before he
bleeds
to death? How much time have I left to get him to an Emergency Room? He
still bleeds from the wounds I've opened on his chest. Stupid, stupid!
Why did I have to slice open every scar on him? There were too many of
them! So many past sufferings... all of them bleeding... He cannot die.
I will not let him die. He is mine. I will not let God take him from me
as he did my loved ones. He is mine!

@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~


I startle Nagi when he opens the door of
our
abode for me. I well know that our youngest Schwartz is ever wary of
me,
but this morning, I do believe that I've frightened him. I can feel my
lips pull into a smile to see the little urchin fling himself into
Crawford's
arms. No one will blame the lad for reacting that way. I've never
before
returned from my amusements with my garments soaked in blood and blood
also smeared so boldly over every exposed part of me. The nurses at the
emergency ward reacted no better when I dashed in with the kitten and
laid
him on an unoccupied stretcher before I returned to the safe house.


Crawford pushes Nagi behind him as he
stands
to face me. It is so rare to see our leader react as he does, taking
the
part of the protective father or older sibling. He fools no one with
his
stern countenance. I, for one, know that he genuinely cares for the
boy.
Why he bothers to try and stand aloof, I will never understand.


He does not speak to me, so I make no
comment
as I walk past him to head towards my room. I'm quite sure he must have
foreseen this. If he had not wanted me to amuse myself as I did last
night,
he could have stopped me and I would never have realised what I
missed--


"Farf--" Ah, the last of my teammates. I
had
wondered if he'd be in, or if he'd be elsewhere comforting his own
kitten.


Schuldich blanches when I turn to face him.
I can feel him struggling to fight his urge to reach into my mind and
scan
me. We both know that he dare not. He tried once and swore never to
attempt
that intrusion again. I wonder what he told his kitten last night. Did
they fight? Or did they both try to work together to locate me and
their
mutual object of lust? I know how he and that Weiß slut think. I
was hardly oblivious to the gleam that would shine in their eyes
whenever
they regarded Abyssinian. Once, I had even wondered when they would
finally
make a move on him. But they are too late now.


"Abyssinian is mine."


"He-- he's alive?" I suppose he has a right
to be surprised, given how much of the man's blood is smeared over me.


"He is mine. I did not let God take him."


I turn away from him to enter my room and
lock
the door behind me. I know Schuldich wanted to stop me and ask me more,
but I care not to speak with him. I want to be alone, to sit and feel
my
kitten's dried blood flecking off my skin. Alone to drown in the scent
of his blood that has soaked into my clothes... and revel in the memory
of the wanton sex between us.

@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~


Schuldich's kitten is angry. Their lips are
moving too rapidly for me to read them properly from where I stand
hidden
across the park, but their expression is unmistakable. I cannot say
that
I am surprised. There is no rational for Weiß not to believe that
I tortured and brutally raped Abyssinian. I very much doubt that my
kitten
would try to correct their supposition. If he follows true to form, my
kitten has probably closed himself off even more than before. I can
feel
a grin pull at my lips to think of the agony his colleagues must be
going
through in speculation of what I did to him.


I do wonder though what is running through
Abyssinian's thoughts now? Would Schuldich's kitten ask him to take a
peek
into his mind and find out? What will the telepath uncover? How shocked
will they be to learn that it wasn't rape? Will they find out about the
existence of the scars before I took a blade to them? And even if
Schuldich
does learn the truth, will he dare to tell his lover?


I can't help but smile at the private joke
that I now share with my Kitten. I have given him all the excuses
he could have ever asked for. Weiß need not ever find out that he
had hurt himself. He need not fear to have his shame exposed any
longer.
All his scars belong to me now.

@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~


Ha! Just seven weeks since our little tryst
and the Weiß kitties are still protective of Abyssinian. No
matter
how much he bristles at their coddling, they cannot seem to help
themselves.
Each time we meet, one or more of his colleagues step between us and
push
him behind them. But is it any cause for surprise? I'm sure they
notice,
just as I do, that he won't look at me. My poor, lost little kitten...


Is it for me that your façade
cracks,
my kitten? Have I left it too long then? I do consider that perhaps--
it
has been too long. I have already given him time enough to heal. If I
dally
any longer, the sluttish duo will break down his walls and take him
from
me. I have to exercise my ownership.


Do I surprise him, I wonder, by appearing
at
his window not two nights after we met on a mission? On this night of
all
nights, when the storm rages outside and lightning fills the sky? I
know
this is God's work. It is so obvious, isn't it? He tries to keep us
apart
with the disagreeable weather. This night, the streets are not fit for
man or beast. He does not want me to be here this night, so I will, of
course, defy Him.


We stay staring at each other for a time.
Me,
dripping wet and perched on his windowsill; him, warm and dry, enfolded
by the snowy white sheets of his bed. I can feel a smirk pull at my
lips
to notice the sword that he is clutching in his hand. So... apparently,
my kitten is sleeping with his Katana now. Is this because he wants to,
or is it a put on act to keep the others from pestering him about his
'feelings'
of security after the 'rape'? Will he draw it on me then?


I make no movement towards him, tempting
though
it may be to swoop down upon my kitten, knock the sword aside, and take
him in his own bed. I admit to being curious as to what thoughts he may
have about my presence. I let him make the first move and I can feel my
eyebrows lift to watch him crawl off the bed, place his sword on the
floor,
and begin to strip off the sheets. But understanding does not escape me
for very long when I see him take out a new bundle from the recesses of
his closet.


The sweet whisper of silk is the only sound
we hear next. Blood red, silk sheets. I find myself mildly surprised
and
amused by this. Do you feel the knife twist in you now, God? It seems
the
kitten means to make a gift of himself to this demon.


The bed remade, I see his hands shaking as
they begin to undo the buttons of his pyjamas. I leave the windowsill
and
stop him then with my hands over his. I don't feel like being idle any
more. He is shivering, my kitten. But not from fear though, never in
fear.
My hands move swiftly but not hurriedly to release him from the
confines
of his clothes. Why rush things when we have all the time in the world?
I move ever so gently, careful not to touch his skin again just yet,
sliding
his clothes off his frame. For a moment, I do wonder if his legs will
give
out before I am done. But he manages to stand steadfast before me.


Such a glory of pale flesh, it seems such a
sin to cover it. But isn't it a greater sin that it is marred? I let my
rain dampened hands run over his chest and lightly trace the healed
scars.
Scars that I have made mine.


He trembles at the cold exploration of my
fingers,
but it is the feel of my tongue tracing the line of a scar that finally
makes him sag against me. It is little difficulty for me to catch him.
My Abyssinian... so sweetly compliant. Allowing me to explore the
softness
of his skin and touch his silken flesh. His length is already hard in
anticipation
of what we will soon share. But not yet, I have yet to show him what
gifts
I myself have brought. I hold myself back from molesting him any
further
as I lay him in the centre of the bed.


He murmurs a tiny sound of disappointment
to
feel me release him, but makes no more protest as he watches me place
my
pack on the bed between us. I smile at his curiosity as I start to draw
out my equipment for the night.


A Kaiken blade... I grin to see him frown
as
if insulted. Yes, I do know its significance as a weapon of a female
ninja,
or a means given to the samurai ladies of old with which to protect
their
virtue. But isn't he my bitch now? I will not have my property
compromised
by the sluttish duo. We need no words between us for me to convey this
to him. He catches my meaningful look and blushes shyly in
understanding.


A bottle of rose-scented oil... Oh, blood
proved
to be quite sufficient for us that night, but I'll admit that I was
perhaps
a bit too enthusiastic with my blade. I have no wish to risk laying him
in the arms of God again. He is mine to have and keep.


I place the rest of my pack aside. He
doesn't
need to know of my mundane preparations with the antiseptic wipes and
the
bandages. It is easy enough to distract him from what else I have
brought
with the soft, black, silken cords that I hold before him. Good little
kitten. He obediently crosses his wrists over his head and against his
headboard without prompting.


A few loops about his wrists ensure that he
cannot pull free from that tie. A couple of loops around his ankles
allow
me to secure his legs to the foot of his bed. I don't make his
restraints
too tight this time. Enough to limit his freedom, but with sufficient
play
so that he can easily wrap his knees around me, unlike the last time
when
I'm quite sure that, despite the protection offered by his boots, he
bruised
the skin of his ankles to accomplish that. I smile inwardly to think of
the many ways I could tie down my Kitten. Perhaps I will deny him any
movement
the next time and try a spread-eagle position.


Done with the cords, I step back to survey
my pretty little gift. He is beautiful, isn't he, my Lord? Contrasting
so strikingly against the blood-red silk, his pale skin appears almost
luminescent in the fleeting glare of the lightning that still rages
outside.
The black cords look harsh, wound around his wrists and ankles, giving
him an air of vulnerability that makes my lust swell to regard him. He
blushes prettily and draws up a leg to shyly hide himself from my
hungry
gaze. But the action only succeeds in emphasizing the eroticism of the
creature that lies vulnerably exposed on the bed before me. A brief
thought
drifts through my mind in wonder of how he will look if tied with his
legs
splayed invitingly wide. I promise myself to try that with my next
visit.


Ahh, the storm that rages outside seems to
build in fury with each passing minute. Is that You, God? Is this Your
tantrum that we see and hear? Does it hurt You, God, to see this pale
beauty
lying so helpless before me? Does it hurt to know that he is so
willing?


Do You hear his breath, so ragged and sweet
as he watches me lick the flat of the Kaiken blade? Can you not see his
eager anticipation of the pain and pleasure I promise to lavish upon
him?
He is mine, oh Lord. He is mine.

@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~


As I stroke my kitten's pale face, I swear
to myself that I must be more careful next time. I will *not* let God
take
him from me. Control... How pathetic am I to almost lose myself to the
blood lust yet again? It was a close thing. The Master of Lies works
too
deceitfully. I almost forgot myself... made too many incisions... But
peace,
peace, though unconscious, my little kitten still lives.


The shock from the blood loss will past
eventually.
For now, I know that I must keep him warm. I already stopped the
bleeding
and wound bandages over his chest. He smells of antiseptic wash and the
sweet, rose scented bath salts I used to cleanse him of our earlier
exertions.
Wrapped once more in the soft folds of his white cotton sheets, he
sleeps
peacefully, innocent as any child.


God, You would rejoice if he had left me,
wouldn't
You? I would have fallen into your trap and done Your bidding, if I did
deliver him into Your arms, wouldn't I? You shall not have that
satisfaction
of me, my Lord, oh jealous God in the heavens above. You took my loved
ones away years ago, leaving me with nothing. I will not lose this one
to You too. It hurts You that I dare to love him, doesn't it? I know
that.
I made him my creature, and You howled Your impotent fury outside our
window
as we made love. You came close to stealing him from me yet again, just
as You had once used me to kill my loved ones, but I thwarted Your
design
this time. And I know, God. I know what You wish. You shall never have
him back, my Lord. I know now and will remain ever vigilant of Your
temptations.
I will not let You trick me again. He is mine to love and keep.


I stay a while to share with him my body's
heat, but I know I cannot allow myself to fall asleep with my kitten in
my arms. His comrades will not understand. Sighing with great
reluctance,
I prepare to leave. First dragging a duvet from his closet to tuck it
securely
around him and make sure he stays warm, before I lean over to give him
a farewell kiss on his forehead.


I leave my kitten the Kaiken blade, but
take
the stained sheets with me to wash. I know he will not have the
strength
to launder them when the morning comes. I make sure there is no other
evidence
remaining in his apartment of what transpired between us. If he can
conspire
to keep his shirt on, his comrades will never realise anything is
amiss.
If our luck holds, they will think he only caught a cold and let him
rest.
I silently promise him that I will do all that I can to keep this
covenant
between us a secret. His friends will never know.


Well... perhaps one kitten will know of
this
tryst when his lover finally breaks his silence. But he will never be
able
to reveal this knowledge without exposing his little secret too. And I
wonder if Kritiker will be as forgiving as Crawford.

@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~@>;~'~


Despite the late hour, Crawford meets me at
the door. It is no surprise to me that he'd know when I returned. I
have
little doubt he foresaw everything that happened between my kitten and
me. I wonder if he will finally say something about it now.


Dear leader... He doesn't know where to
begin.
It is rare to see him so hesitant and tongue tied, but I suppose this
must
be such an awkward thing to talk about. He knows of Schudich's trysts
with
his kitten and still lets them be. How can he with clear conscience
protest
against my own arrangement? We all know why Schuldich chooses to play
and
it will be of little consequence to halt that activity should Crawford
demand it. But he cannot begin to understand why I do this.


Even if he will not voice it, his eyes ask
this question of me. I feel in a good enough humour to offer him a
glimmer
of insight. "It hurts God to love and keep him."


I leave the man staring after me as I walk
to my room with the silk sheets. I know it will be more difficult for
me
to wash them later if I let the stains dry and set in the fabric, but I
don't mind. I cannot stay with Abyssinian and awaken with him, so this
is the next best thing that I can do. From now until I awake in the
morning,
I can wrap myself in the depths of these stained sheets and surround
myself
with the scent of his blood and sex. I know it will bring me sweet
dreams
of the next encounter between my kitten and me.

~owari~

@>;~'~ @>;~'~ @>;~'~ @>;~'~ @>;~'~ @>;~'~
@>;~'~ @>;~'~

Thanks for reading.

firewolf

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My Kitten and Me