His fur was softer than peach fuzz, softer than sun-warmed butter on a fresh-baked biscuit. Softer than words that come from parted lips in darkness so thick it's like swimming in blackberry juice. His eyes, hard blue and mocking beneath the tuft of green, downy fur and black whiskers, were trained on her. His tongue darted pink and wet against his muzzle and his sharp incisors, vampirish, made her hands unsteady.

Her fingers slid down the arch of his back, touching with the pads of her fingers so that his softness was like a tickle of velvet, sending shivering sensations roughshod up her arm. She shuddered, feeling the hold on her mind slip slightly. She closed her wet eyes, willing herself back into control. Even as his whiskered face nuzzled her fingers for more, even as she gave him more and wished...

His mouth was near her ear, the engine purr from his throat like an invitation, a need, a want. His breath caressed her neck, fluttered her short, dark hair from her face. He kneaded her bare leg, his claws digging in just enough to make her feel it, to know it was real. She slid her hand, palm spreading, fingers gently skimming fur, down his head to the sharp juts of his shoulder blades, to his arching back, to the snakey swish of his tail, which twitched from side to side.

His mocking eyes closed and he butted his head against her chin, begging for more. She obliged him, fingers in fur, rubbing her face against his green softness. Her fingers circled his ears, scratching toward the underside of his chin, which he tilted. He purred in supreme ecstasy as his claws dug in. She winced, inhaled sharply and bit down on her lip.

He licked her tear-stained chin with his raspy tongue and her eyes flew open, meeting his piercing gaze. His purr bore through her, vibrating like a bass drum so that she felt stretched tight, the hollows of her body echoing in time to the rhythm of his low hum. She swallowed hard, shaken by the look in his eyes. The lamp on her bedside table glowed black and shattered.

Control lost, she regained it with a visible wet-dog shake of her mind. Rattled, she shrank away from him.

"Go," she said in her flat, dead voice, so carefully cultivated so that she didn't allow any emotion to show through. But he knew. His eyes implored her. She pushed him down from her lap, resisting the softness of his fur as he hit her bed, tail swishing. She turned away and curled up on the bed, legs drawn up, protecting. The purr faltered and she knew why.

She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see.

"Raven?" his voice was softer still than his fur had been. She shook under its weight.

"Please go," she said, clutching her pillow.

She felt bare hands on her wrists and missed the fur, not for its softness, but for its familiarity. His touch was as alien as Starfire's food. His touch was human and warm and uncontrolled. His touch felt like...

He tangled his touch with hers so that they were one. She felt his knees depressing the bed beside her, felt his breath stirring her hair as it had been before. The intake of his breath was almost a purr.

"Open your eyes," he said, his usually bright voice subdued, possibly by the shadows of her room, which were like reaching, clawing things. She obeyed, but only just. His blue eyes struck hers like bits of the sky peaking through winter clouds. "What's wrong?"

"I..." she started, a shake in her voice. She stopped and started again, her control in place. "Beast Boy...I can't..."

"I know," he said, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it as he bit down on his lip, incisors glinting. Again the thought that he was like a vampire, sitting on her bed in the darkness, came to her. Her breath caught in her throat. "I just thought...actually, I don't know what I thought. I just...you look so sad lately. Ever since your birthday...I mean..."

"I don't want to talk about it," she said stiffly, rolling over so that her back was to him. "Not to you, not to anyone..."

"Except Robin," he said in a low voice. "You'll talk to him, won't you?"

She sat up, feeling a slippery ice-like shred of accusation on her spine. "What does that mean?"

Beast Boy flinched away from her. "You know what it means."

"Maybe you should tell me?"

"Nevermind," he said, his face alive with anger. "It doesn't matter anyway. Sometimes I..."

"Sometimes you what?" she prompted.

"Nothing," he said softly, shaking his ruffled green head. His anger drained away instantly and she wasn't sure why it had come in the first place. She remembered suddenly the beast that lurked inside of him, remembered too the way he had saved her, had only thoughts for her, even when he'd been lost in snarling madness. She touched his hand. "Raven..."

Their gazes met and she felt her control slip. Always her control, it was tested around him. Her anger, her laughter, her happiness, the urge to... Why was he the one who stirred her, made her forget for a moment that she had to guard herself? He was just another boy, just another friend, one who drove her crazy, made bad jokes, ate disgusting amounts of tofu and knew exactly how to get to her.

"Why did you let me in?" he whispered, looking down at their joined hands. His touch was all over her, seeping into the aching hollows of her body.

"I don't know," she said, leaning forward. She rested her forehead on his bony shoulder, inhaling the animal scent of his body. She felt him tremble and knew he probably had no control over it. "Why did you come?"

"I heard you crying," he whispered, breath stirring her hair once more. "I can hear you sometimes..."

"I don't cry," she said adroitly, drawing back from him. Her insides felt squirmy and hot.

"Raven, I won't say anything, I swear."

She stumbled over another denial and then dropped her eyes. Her control slipped slightly. "Um...thanks."

"Yeah." He let it drop though, didn't press her for reasons why. He cracked instead, "So, the petting...pretty heavy huh?"

"I, uh, like cats," she said dryly, closing her eyes.

"I know," he said seriously, his words rumbling in his chest, like an echo of his purrs. "I liked it. Did...did you?"

She clutched his hand and lifted her head. He was blushing, a flush on the apples of his cheeks, like strawberries buried in green vines. He trembled again, staring at her and she knew. Oh yes, she knew. Their mouths were very close. "Yes."

"Oh..."

So close, so very close that she could feel the heat of his skin. She felt so cold compared to him. How did she feel to him?

He pulled back suddenly and she shook herself, aware of what she had wanted, what she'd come close to doing. It surprised her. Had it surprised him?

"I..."

He dropped her hand. "I should go."

"Yes."

He stood, all legs and skinny arms, his eyes, almost hungry, trained on her. She felt like he was eating her with his eyes and her cheeks felt hot, her body felt moist. If she'd been standing, her legs might have shaken.

"Goodnight." Her voice was like an opressed ghost.

He didn't reply. Already the darkness was swallowing him up, reaching out black fingers and hiding him from her shining, fevered eyes. Her door opened in the darkness and he was gone, leaving her alone in black space, space that had been filled with his presence and now cried out for it again.

Raven lay back on her bed, her heart racing. She willed it to slow. She needed to meditate; her mind was crowded, her muscles were protesting, but she couldn't. Just for once, she wanted to slip, to actually feel something undiluted by meditation and her ironclad control.

She closed her eyes though and he laughed against the inside of her eyelids. Her fingers curled in on her palms as she remembered the softness, the way he'd felt, his alien skin which had felt so good next to hers that it scared her. Now she smelled like him, like that undefinable animal musk that wasn't unpleasant and made her think of burying her face in thick fur.

He would linger and she would let him. Control be damned.