There were many conflicting emotions bubbling through Zac as he followed Bune to the dining room for breakfast. The outfit was not what he expected.
It was not a set of satanic mage's robes, all dark silk and mysterious hoods. It was not a full plate of spiky black armor that screamed 'minion of darkness.' Zac would have even approved of a suave, red tuxedo to really go for that sophisticated, 'deal with the devil' look. That would have been kinda cool, and surely Marchosias would have found a tailored suit acceptable for a boy-wife.
But what he got… what he was currently wearing… set off wildly conflicting emotions.
He caught his reflection in a tall, ornate mirror as they passed it in the hall. He was wearing a fleece, leopard-print, zip-up onesie. It was complete with a long, swishy tail and a hood that had two perky little cat ears stitched onto it. Bune had been adamant that Zac put the hood up, insisting that otherwise, the uniform was not "regulation."
It was fucking cute as fuck.
Zac knew this for a fact, because the moment he'd put it on, Bune's pupils had dilated, and the dragon had started making a low, rumbling, purr-like sound. The comfortable, warm fabric was incredibly soft, and it felt like it had been tailored just for him. Bune had even told him it was woven with soul-thread, making it surprisingly durable and resistant to stabbing.
Of course, that comfort was immediately undercut when Bune had added that the suit could still become a "human soup bag" if the wearer was bludgeoned with enough force. But by then, Zac was already focusing on the real negative.
Ose.
That pussy-ass little shit was a leopard. And now, every time Zac looked down, he was reminded of the bored, handsome, naked demon who had sentenced him to a life of enforced celibacy with the threat of creative, eternal torture held against his head.
'Dammit,' Zac thought, filled with undefinable melancholy, his new tail swishing behind him. 'Why does leopard print have to give off such slutty bottom energy?' He sighed, a quiet, mournful sound escaping his lips.
"Meow."
"Did you say something, Avatar?" Bune's Left Head asked as he pushed open the dining room door.
The Right Head looked back at Zac and let out a sound that was dangerously close to a squeal. "Oh, you finally look at home! It was so sad seeing you in those drab robes, so out of place. Now you look like a proper demonic avatar!"
Zac just shook his head, feeling the fleece ears flop around ridiculously. He entered the dining room. It looked the same as the night before, but without the epic battle of good and evil swirling overhead, it just felt… empty.
At the head of the table, Marchosias was fast asleep, his head pillowed on one arm, a plate of untouched, perfectly cooked steak sitting in front of him.
Zac walked in, his slipper-like footie pajamas making him utterly silent on the stone floor. He gave Bune a nod and gestured toward his previous seat, where a plate with a few sad-looking waffles sat waiting.
"Be right there," he mouthed.
He checked to make sure Bune was distracted, directing a zombie waiter to polish a candelabra. The moment the dragon's back was turned, Zac bolted.
He moved with the silent, predatory grace of a housecat about to knock a glass off a table. He didn't run, he flowed, a blur of leopard-print fleece. He rounded the end of the long table, his target in sight.
With a final, silent leap, Zac landed directly in the Captain's lap.
The wolf stirred. He shifted, a low grumble rumbling in his chest. "Who…?"
Marchosias's eyes slowly fluttered open, amber pools of confusion and sleep. He looked down at the leopard-print figure nestled on his lap.
"Ose…?" he mumbled, his voice thick and slurred. "What… what are you doing? I told you I wasn't interested in…"
"Morning, Captain," Zac chirped, leaning his head against the wolf's broad chest. "Sorry, I didn't realize this seat was taken. You don't mind, do you?"
Marchosias stared, his brain slowly, painfully, booting up. This wasn't Ose. This was smaller. Softer. And it was purring. He was purring. Oh god, he was purring.
Marchosias's eyes opened wider, the sleepy confusion slowly being replaced by a dawning, frantic awareness. His hands, acting on some primal instinct, settled on Zac's waist, the rough pads of his fingers pressing into the soft fleece.
His voice was becoming firmer, losing its drowsy slur. "Did… did something happen? You look…" He trailed off, leaning in, his muzzle pressing against the crook of Zac's neck. He inhaled deeply.
Zac's heart hammered in his chest. The feeling of those rough, calloused paws rubbing his obliques, the hot breath on his skin, the wolf's bedroom eyes still heavy with sleep… it stole his voice. His brain bypassed all thoughts of sex and went straight to a fantasy involving a summer home in the Hamptons, a shared golden retriever, and contentious arguments about thread counts.
"Meow," he managed, rubbing his tailed rear into the Captain's lap. "Do you likey the kitty?"