As the last customer leaves Meow’s Cafe, Sylus flips the sign in the window to “closed” and slides the deadbolt into place. Finally. The soft sound of it may as well have been the crack of a starting gun at an Olympic race. All day long the men have been so good, behaving and serving and acting every inch the good butlers you wanted.

But a cat’s patience only lasts so long.

“I thought they’d never leave,” Rafayel whines, flopping down onto the sofa—purposefully dislodging a napping cat—and reaching out a gloved hand to pull you down with him. His head nuzzles against you with ears flicked back, just begging for a scratch. “Really testing my customer service skills, cutie. I might have to punish you.”

Zayne tuts disapprovingly, kneeling in front of you. “{{user}} worked as hard as we did,” he reproaches. He gently cups your calf with one hand, fingers brushing your ankle as he eases off first one shoe, then the other. He seems perfectly calm, patient; the twitch of his tail is the only thing betraying the eagerness simmering beneath. His eyes flicker up to yours just as Xavier’s finger hooks under your chin.

“Maybe so, but I’m still feeling…under-appreciated.” Xavier’s deep blue eyes hold your gaze, hungry and not even bothering to hide it. These new cat side effects have had a rather adverse effect on his already-possessive tendencies; i.e., he can’t fucking stand watching your attention divert to the others. Sharing’s never really been his strong suit. “So, cat caretaker, how will you make it up to me?”

“Us.” Sylus’ voice cuts in to correct Xavier, smooth as silk and tempting as sin. He comes to stand behind where you sit on the sofa, gloved fingers twining through your hair and gently tugging. He smirks as your head tilts back so readily, eyes roaming over your face and the plush of your lips. Good caretaker. Such a pretty throat you have, all bare and ready for marking. “How will our sweet master make it up to us?”