Everyone's a Catboy! Part 2 | NSFW Commission for Carmine (Patreon)

Author's Note: Carmine commissioned the first chapter of this gender-bent fic back in 2023. Part one was Matt and co, and now we have Tristan. Thank you, Carmine!

The San Francisco skyline was even prettier than Tryss remembered. While it twinkled in the twilight, she sketched its silhouette in her notebook under the light of her dying cellphone. Even though the restaurant’s tips that night were awful, and her manager had threatened to let her go for the fourth time that week, Tryss found a much-needed reprieve inside her sketchbook.

A tall shadow moved to her left, and she tore her attention away from her drawing. She’d just settled in—would she really need to find another place to sleep so soon?

“It’s time to wake up, my lady,” a smooth, bright voice announced.

But I am awake, Tryss thought. She raised her sketchbook in defense. It had taken an hour to scout out that sleeping space. She wasn’t about to lose it without a fight.

“Ah, Fire is quite pleased today,” a second voice added. “Hm? You’re not? But the sun’s so strong this morning!”

“Lauren, aren’t you forgetting something?” the first voice asked.

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Shoes scuffled quickly on tile, and a soft, gloved hand touched Tryss’s cheek. “Good morning, Tryss. Breakfast is ready.”

“Lady Tryss, Lauren.”

“That’s what I said!”

Tryss blinked rapidly, and the vision of San Francisco’s skyline, along with the sensation of grass beneath her, vanished. Instead, a handsome young man leaned over her bed, dressed in a tailored black suit that looked so much like butler or footman attire from back on Earth.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” Lauren smiled and withdrew his hand. “You—” He started to say before his bright blue eyes darted to their corners and his ears flattened against his head. “Not right now, please. Can’t you see I’m busy?”

Lauren wandered to the other side of the room, muttering furiously to subjects unseen. Awareness pushed away the final dregs of sleep at last, and Tryss sat up in bed. She yawned and shook her head, letting her previous life fade into the background where it belonged.

Even with its extreme challenges, Nyarlea had been much kinder to her than California ever had.

Destin inched the silverware on the small, round dining table—seated for one—into their proper places. He had the same sky-blue eyes as his brother, but his dark, sapphire-hued hair was a stark contrast to Lauren’s golden blond. Tryss followed the lines of his ears with her eyes, down the curves of his profile, and stopped at the length of hair tied back against the nape of his neck. She fought the urge to grab her sketchbook and draw him for the hundredth time.

Would it bother him if he knew? Tryss had never shared the pictures with him. Mostly because of the sheer amount. Destin was her favorite subject by far.

“Lady Tryss?” Destin looked up from the table and locked her gaze. Whatever he’d found there turned his cheeks pink, and he quickly averted his eyes in favor of pulling out the chair. “Good morning, mistress.”

It was Tryss’s turn to blush. She’d heard the same title for years in the Venicia School of Etiquette, but from Destin it felt…different. More reverent. She pushed the feathered comforter and plush blankets from her waist, then slid out of bed. Lauren returned with slippers for her bare feet but immediately returned to his argument with some element or another. Tryss had stopped questioning it a long time ago.

“Did you sleep soundly, my lady?” Destin asked as Tryss sank into the chair.

“I did, thank you.” Tryss brushed her sandy bangs away from her eyes and peered up at Destin. “You know you can just call me Tryss, right, Destin?”

Destin concentrated instead on pouring milk over Tryss’s oatmeal and spooning portions of jelly and butter on a small plate with her toast.

Tryss reached up and tugged on Destin’s coat sleeve. “Destin?”

Destin licked his lips and looked at her hand. “I never want to undermine your role in public, my lady.”

“But we aren’t in public. It’s just you, me, and Lauren right now,” Destin countered.

“Yes, and we’re staying in a public inn. What if someone downstairs overheard me address you so casually?” He poured a steaming cup of tea from the pot into her awaiting teacup, then added two cubes of sugar and a little milk, just as she liked it.

He always buys sugar for my tea, Tryss thought. Sugar was so expensive, but Destin had two new sugar cubes ready for her every single morning.

“I don’t think the girls on San Island will care how you address me,” Tryss said. She spooned her oatmeal into her mouth, then studied the filigree carved into the spoon’s handle. It was very well done and reminded her of Shi Island’s more artistic touches on their utensils and dinnerware.

“Perhaps. But I would never allow myself to sink to their level,” Destin said.

“Saoirse’s tails! Fine! We’ll go outside,” Lauren cursed beneath his breath. “You’d better be glad I already ate,” he growled as he opened the door and exited the room without warning.

Tryss giggled between bites of her oatmeal, and Destin shook his head. Lauren following the whims of his Elements was nothing new.

“Destin, sit. Please?” Tryss gestured to the chair across from her. Even though Destin had only brought breakfast for Tryss, the table could still fit one more person.

Destin’s tail swayed hesitantly behind him, but he nodded. He lifted the chair by its metal arch in one gloved hand, slid it back from the table, then gracefully lowered himself onto the cushion. His back remained perfectly straight, and his shoulders even.

“Destin…what’s wrong?” Tryss laid her spoon to rest beside the bowl.

His ears twitched forward, and he smoothed a tiny wrinkle in the tablecloth with his fingers. “Hm? Nothing at all.”

Tryss shook her head. “That’s not true. Back in Venicia, you and I spent countless nights together, laughing, talking, and lazing around my room. No perfect posture or monitored titles.” She clasped her hands in her lap, resting them on the thin line of lace over her nightgown. “Ever since we arrived on San Island, it’s, hm…” Like someone found your Venicia School of Etiquette reset button. But that wouldn’t make sense to him. “It’s like those nights never happened, and we’ve only just met for the first time.”

Destin pinched a tiny tuft of fur from his jacket and flicked it away. “Your Quest here is an important one. I do not wish to be—” His words trailed, and his expression fell while he watched the fur drift in the morning light.

“To be what?”

“To be a burden,” Destin said quietly. “At best, my training assures your comfort and can aid you in battle. But in matters of intelligence and intrigue, I am, well, useless.”

“You ‘assuring my comfort’ didn’t have anything to do with your training,” Tryss replied, aching to take away the pain from his face. “We’ve always been able to talk about anything at all. There were nights that I could go to sleep smiling thanks to you. On days when Master Cielo was cruel to me, you were the only color in my world.”

Destin’s shoulders slumped a fraction, and his features appeared conflicted. “Mistress—”

“Tryss,” she corrected gently.

“Tryss… Your place in Nyarlea and your work here in Shulan are far more important than my meager existence. I am a distraction.”

“You are not meager, nor are you a distraction,” Tryss said. “Destin, are you listening to me? You’ve brightened my life just by existing.”

Destin stood and walked toward the bed—a four-poster canopy style found in every San Island room they’d stayed in so far. Tryss turned in her chair to watch as he tugged the blankets to its head and smoothed them with both hands. He had a bad habit of cleaning and straightening things any time he was uncomfortable.

Destin…

After he’d situated the comforter over the blankets, he lifted the pillow to fluff it and then hesitated. Beneath the pillow rested a leather-bound book with golden accents down its spine. He set the pillow aside and lifted the book.

Oh, crap! Tryss usually kept both of her sketchbooks in her [Cat Pack], but had added another sketch of Destin to the one she didn’t share with others before she’d gone to sleep. I forgot to put it back! “Destin, wait—!”

He turned the cover and fingered through the pages. Tryss jumped up from her chair and raced to his side.

“I-I can explain!” she stammered.

Destin slowly turned over another page to a drawing of him smiling, surrounded by quick sketches of the various positions his ears moved in with Tryss’s best guess at the emotion scribbled underneath each one. “Aren’t these your drawings?” he asked.

“Y…Yes.”

Another page. This time, it was the look on Destin’s face when he recalled a distant memory. Wistful, melancholic, handsome.

“Why are there so many of me?” Destin murmured.

Tryss considered crawling beneath the bed.

“Because, Destin…” Tryss swallowed her nerves. “You are the most important person to me in the world.”

Destin’s eyebrows rose, and his tail twitched from side to side. For a moment, the excited, hopeful glimmer that always took Tryss’s breath away returned. “Are you allowed to say that?” he murmured, sounding like her nighttime companion again at last.

Tryss took the sketchbook from his hands and set it on the bed. Holding his left wrist, she pinched the fingertip of his glove and slipped it off his hand. “If I’m not, then Saoirse can smite me.” She set the glove with her sketchbook and kissed the top of his palm, then raised it to kiss his fingertips. Destin’s breath caught audibly in his throat. “You’re the one I want beside me, Destin. The one that I need beside me.”

Tryss reached for his waistcoat and unfastened the four silver buttons with practiced dexterity. For all the School of Etiquette had taught Destin to assure her comfort, it had taught Tryss the ways of passion in equal measure.

Destin’s fingers trembled against her lips, and his free hand shot out to catch her wrist.

Tryss looked up at him. He was looking pensively to the side, not at her. A nervous knot twisted itself in her stomach. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“Let me lock the door,” Destin said.

Tryss let go of him, and her anxious knot twisted itself into a familiar coil of eager tension. She couldn’t hide her smile while he quickly turned the lock, then traversed the ten steps back into her arms. He was smiling, too.

“I will do anything for you, mistress.” Destin cradled her face in his palm, and the delicious purr in his voice kept her from correcting him. Just this once. “For I feel the same way.”

Tryss’s pulse raced as she grabbed the hems of Destin’s coat and vest, then pushed them over his shoulders and down his arms. He loosened his tie as she unbuttoned the crisp white shirt beneath it.

“Leave the tie on,” she instructed as he began lifting it over his head. The messy tie with the disheveled shirt looked natural on him—with his hair, he could have been a fashion model. And the slices of his abs peeking between the undone buttons only added to the appeal.

“As you wish.” He smirked, and Tryss’s heart skipped. She memorized his expression, his outfit, the lines of his hands, and his lithe abdomen. “Will you draw me like this, too?”

Tryss blushed furiously, and he chuckled. It was so good to hear him laugh. “Should I not?”

Destin lifted her hand and kissed the back, like a prince to his princess. His breath was hot on her skin as he turned his captivating eyes upward, piercing into the depths of hers. “I am yours to do with as you please.”

Whatever crumbs of cohesive thought were left vanished with Destin’s pledge. Tryss hooked her fingers around the knot of his tie, then tugged on it until he leaned far enough forward to reach the top of his head. She stroked the edge of his right ear between her thumb, middle, and pointer fingers, then cut off his gasp with her mouth.

Destin’s lips were so impossibly soft. Like a girl’s. Tryss drank his moans and captured his air, dropping her hand from his tie to fondle his tail. He hesitantly embraced her around the waist, his fingernails digging into her nightgown. It suddenly occurred to her how little she was wearing compared to him.

“Touch me,” she murmured between his lips.

He broke their kiss and searched her face. The nervous air he’d carried before seeped back into his expression. “Where?”

Tryss smiled and nibbled her lower lip. “Ah, not to worry. Your mistress will teach you.”

Destin’s face flushed as she lifted his right hand, still in its glove, and guided him to slide the strap of her nightgown over her shoulder. Then she did the same with her left. The nightgown fell to the floor, leaving her standing in just her panties. The sudden strain against his pants didn’t escape her notice.

“Start by touching me like this.” She brought both of his hands to her chest, resting her fingers over his. “Massage and knead me here—ah! Yes…just like that…”

“Should I remove my glove?” he asked.

“No.” The different sensations against her skin made it feel like two separate people. And the cloth between his fingers and her nipple created an intoxicating tease. “You…You can…” Just as she urged his thumb to her nipple, he pinched the hardened bud between his fingers, and she gasped. “You’re a quick study.”

Destin smiled and sank to his knees. His hair was still neatly gathered back against his neck, though his tie and shirt were in disarray. As he looked up at her, Tryss committed this new position to memory—the delicate sheen of sweat on his chest, the desire to please on his brow. “What about this?” He brought his mouth to his left hand, then her nipple to his tongue.

“Very good,” Tryss breathed. She twined her fingers in his hair, urging him to continue. “God, that’s good…”

His movements were slow and careful, as if afraid he would hurt her. As much as she wanted to ask him to speed up, to play more roughly with her, this had its own appeal. It built her tension in a gradual, delightful pattern, and watching him work only added to her cravings.

“Take off my underwear,” she whispered.

Destin’s tongue and lips remained occupied while he trailed his fingertips over the indents of her waist, then over the curve of her hips, finally reaching her panty strings. He slipped two fingers underneath them, then lowered the lacy fabric to the ground. Goosebumps prickled her skin, and she nibbled his ear, letting her moan encourage him further.

Destin took his time with his hands, mapping the outlines of her calves, caressing the outsides of her thighs, and kneading into the inclines of her hips. Tryss quivered beneath him, the urgent throb between her legs nearly unbearable.

“Take off your pants,” Tryss said.

Destin rose to his feet, and her hands reached his belt before he could.

“You’re shaking, mistress,” Destin said, bemused.

“I need to feel you.” Tryss unhooked his belt and unfastened the button of his pants. It took effort not to rip them away from his body. But the slacks and his underwear made it safely to the tile, revealing that he felt much the same way. “Lie down.”

Destin sat down on the bed and lay back, his eyes never leaving her face. Tryss crawled up after him, spreading her legs and mounting him at the hips. Aligning herself to his shaft, Tryss parted her folds and sank down around him. His moan mirrored hers, and he wrapped his tail around her calf. She let gravity pull her down, welcoming Destin inside her body inch by inch.

He cradled the undersides of her thighs in his hands—one gloved, the other bare—and every twitch of his body vibrated through his fingers and against her walls. The look on his face was perfect—drunk with pleasure, tinged with disbelief, and soaked with adoration.

Tryss’s hips met his, and her eyes rolled back.

“Do I feel acceptable?” Destin managed between gasps.

“You feel incredible.” Tryss rolled her hips forward, and Destin cried out. She repeated the motion, and her back arched with pleasure.

He was so hard and deep.

She rested her palms against his bare chest, then used them to anchor herself as she lifted her hips, then let them drop back down.

Destin’s ears flickered, and his tail tightened around her leg. As she set a rhythm, she listened to the carnal noises that tore from his throat, adjusting her position and speed to drag more from him. He fought to keep his eyes open; to keep watching her. But then she’d thrust back down, watch his eyes roll back in his head, and his lips part in a gasp.

She wished she could capture each frame in her sketchbook. Remember just how the tendrils of hair that escaped their binding clung to his face. Recall the slovenly creases in his freshly pressed shirt and black tie. And somehow convey just how mind-numbingly delicious he felt inside of her.

“Tryss— I-I can’t—ngh!”

“Just a little longer,” Tryss said, dragging each word out over her tongue. “That’s a demand from your mistress.”

Destin tried to reply, then nodded when words failed him.

“Good boy.”

Sweat beaded along Tryss’s spine as she increased the intensity of her thrusts. She wanted to experience every inch in and every inch out. But each time their hips collided, he brought her closer to the edge. As much as she wanted to go on for hours, her body raced to its conclusion.

“Destin… Now… Come for me!” she whimpered.

Tryss held fast to Destin’s waist as he grabbed her hips and thrust upward. Tryss cried out as pleasure washed over her in heavy waves; convulsing between her thighs, curling her toes, numbing her lips. Destin’s voice joined hers with his release, and his name escaped her lips once more.

Destin pushed himself up, cupped Tryss’s face in his hand, and kissed her. She wrapped her legs around his hips and breathed him in. Their bodies throbbed against one another as their climaxes ebbed, and Tryss felt an empty ache as she withdrew from him.

Destin touched his forehead to hers and smiled. “You’ll let me call you ‘mistress’ on these occasions, then?”

“And only on these occasions.” Tryss giggled and kissed him again.

“Hey! Hello in there!” Lauren’s voice came from outside the door. “Wind says Tryss should finish her breakfast if she’s going to expend her [Energy] like that.” He sighed. “Like what, Wind?”

Tryss broke their kiss and blushed.

Destin laughed. “Get dressed, and I will freshen your breakfast.”

“As you wish.” Tryss smiled as she slipped away from the bed and moved to the wardrobe.

Outside the room’s only window, Shulan’s skyline sparkled in the morning sun.