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Setting the stylus aside, the young tiger grunted as he flexed his forepaw carefully. He'd been at it for a little too long today, and even though the art commissions were doing well for him these days, he knew that he should take a break from them soon. His husband kept warning him about developing everything from tendonitis to arthritis, and although he didn't think that too likely at his tender age, he really didn't want to take the chance. Creating art was too important for him to risk not being able to continue.

"Ready for dinner, lovely?"

The artist looked about to find the handsome black wolf leaning in the door frame, smiling at him with a look that never ceased speaking of the love story that they shared. His lean, solid build, covered only by a large apron, matched that of the tiger, a result in no small part of the affectionate battle they waged to keep each other going at the gymnasium. The wolf's muzzle and tail had begun to show the occasional bit of gray as befits a venerable fur of his age, but the difference in years between them had never been a concern. He was a writer of talent and standing similar to the tiger's stature in the world of graphic art, and they inspired each other... in more ways than one.

"Nice timing," the tiger grinned. "I was just thinking that I'd found a good place to stop, at least for now. What's to eat?"

"Not just eat. I have some ideas in mind for you. It's about time that you had a proper pampering, especially with all the work you've been doing." Still with a grin on his muzzle, the wolf tsked a bit. "Sneaking out of bed to put in a few hours above and beyond. Naughty, naughty!"

"Did I wake you?"

"Not really. I just notice when you're not there."

Ears splayed slightly, his tail looping about his hindpaws, the artist murmured his contrition, even as the wolf stepped up to him and bent over to kiss his shoulder-length headfur.

"As punishment, you're to make sure you've got all your files saved and tools put away for the evening. And if you try to sneak out of bed in the middle of the night, I may have to see about tying you down."

The tiger grinned. The wolf chuckled and kissed him warmly.

"I didn't say that would be punishment." He knelt before the tiger, taking his forepaws into his own, kissing one after the other, finally looking into his eyes. "Night... danke, mein geliebter Mann."

"What brought all this on?" he chuckled softly. "In one of your American sitcoms, this would come right before an announcement that you wrecked the Smart Car."

"Nope." The wolf grinned. "Just me wanting to spend a little extra time with the most wonderful male in the world. Tonight's all for you." He stood, the tiger's paws still in his own. "This way, honored one. Your sensual treasures await!"

Night stood and let himself be led into the living room where, to his great surprise, everything was lit only by the several dozen candles placed in strategic locations throughout. Music played softly through the home-theater speaker system, gentle etheric music that the wolf called "ambient electronica." The coffee table had been cleared of the usual magazines and detritus of daily life and covered with a beautiful caramel-colored cloth, itself decorated with what looked like hand-woven black leather placemats. In the center, a slim silver bud vase contained a single rose - purple, to symbolize enchantment and love at first sight.

"Tristan...!" the tiger breathed his husband's name, his heart stirring deeply in his chest.

"Sit, my lovely ... right here."

"We're not eating at the table?"

"Not yet. Appetizers will be here." Another grin from the wolf. "I've been planning for a bit, as you can see."

The tiger settled himself into the pillows that had been carefully arranged on the sofa, realizing that Tristan had made for him what he once described as a "tiger nest." He giggled slightly, wriggling himself into the small pile of supple yet firm memory foam cushions which they had laughingly slipcased in the six colors of the gay pride rainbow. Their guests never failed to notice, and some few even took it as a hint... happily enough.

"Now you settle in, and I'll be right back."

Tristan moved toward the back of the house, returning soon with what looked for all the world like a small deep fat fryer with its cord dangling. He chuckled at the tiger's reaction.

"I truly hope you appreciate this, not in the least because my German is still awful, and I had a terrible time making myself understood what it was that I wanted. I've tried it on myself, so I know that the temperature control works well, and the wax will come off the fur just fine. So bring that brilliantly artistic forepaw over here."

The writer set the paraffin bath device on the table and then removed a plastic squirt bottle from the large pocket in his apron. Kneeling nearby, took Night's arm and kissed his forepaw softly. He produced a dollop of lotion from the squirt bottle, rubbed it between his paws briefly, then proceeded to massage Night's paw with care and tenderness.

"This is both to help your pads stay supple and to help me get the wax off when we're done. Also gives me a chance to massage your paw a bit, and you know what a paw slut I am."

Enjoying a brief tingle up and down his spine, Night grinned. "You said it first."

"Okay. I'm going to guide your paw, and we going to dip three times. It's not too hot, about 50. Now, just let your paw go limp. Your wrist too - that's why we fags love it so much."

The tiger laughed as he let himself trust the wolf to take over. He felt his paw dip slowly into the melted wax, grunting a little.

"Too not?"

"No, fine, just surprising."

"Okay... going on, then..."

Tristan continued until the paw was dipped entirely up to the wrist, then pulled back up again. After letting the wax drip for a moment, he dipped again, and then a third time. It felt like a comfortably close-fitting and rather stiff glove, and the heat penetrated right into the bones. The wolf then reached into his apron pocket again and withdrew a small plastic pouch and what looked like a square oven mitt. He placed the tiger's paw into the plastic first, then into insulated mitt, using a drawstring at the wrist to tighten it like a child's mitten.

"That should help keep the warmth in for even longer. Now ... t'other paw. But first..." He kissed the forepaw tenderly, then kissed the wedding ring there. "We need to take this off, love. I'll make sure it doesn't run away."

"Just as long as you don't run away."

"Never, my lovely."

Night bent to kiss his husband's muzzle softly, then lay back again as Tristan repeated the process until the tiger sat back on the sofa with both forepaws encased in gentle warmth. He found himself relaxing already. "This may delay dinner a bit."

"Not the appetizers." The wolf grinned. "You'd be surprised at what the honored guest will be able to enjoy. Wait right there. Melt a little; it's good for you."

The tiger was not one to disobey such agreeable orders, so he let himself continue to relax as Tristan bustled back and forth with several dishes, each set upon their own placemats on the coffee table. A glass of Night's favorite tea, properly iced and with a long and convenient straw for sipping, competed the staging. The wolf introduced each of the three appetizers, then took up a pair of chopsticks and grinned.

"If I can manage to avoid dropping anything into your lap, or poking your eye out with one of these, we should be able to start the evening well. Where shall you begin?"

After a long and healthy laugh of sheer enjoyment, Night spoke up and began with small cube of leberkäse, with a dot of hot mustard to give the marjoram a run for its money. He chose randomly from the bits of cheese, the chunks of broken Bavarian pretzel (which, having more smoothness to the surface, turned out to be the biggest challenge to the wolf's skill with chopsticks), and the occasional grape, apple chunk, or slim slice of banana. Tristan also enjoyed the tidbits, occasionally cheating and using his fingers for himself.

"You know," Night observed, "you could just feed me with your fingers too."

"And risk losing a finger in that scary tiger's maw?"

"You're willing to risk other things in there..."

"True." The writer paused, a smile spreading across his muzzle. "And it's sooo worth it...!"

Laughing, Night asked about Tristan's day, and the wolf about the tiger's. Chewing happily, listening to the descriptions of a new project that the writer had recently begun, the artist felt the deep welling of contentment and excitement in his heart. His husband had been a source of inspiration from the time they first met (and vice versa - their illustrated novella collaboration proved that beyond doubt), and it was always exciting to be the first to hear of his new ideas. When Night spoke of his own work, he was touched by the rapt attention in the wolf's eyes. He would never lose his art as long as those eyes and that heart was with him.

After about twenty minutes, Tristan set down the chopsticks and gently freed Night's paws from their happy constraints. He peeled the plastic bags off gently, then rolled the wax off of the artist's paws like very special gloves. The wax itself went back into the spa, along with the already cooling mass left behind. "There now," the wolf said softly. "How do those paws feel?"

The tiger shook his head gently, smiling and looking at his paws. "Downright newborn. I kind of overdid it today, and my paw started to get a little cramp, but it's completely gone now."

"If we catch it early, the cramp won't have a chance to set in." Reaching into his pocket, Tristan retrieved Night's ring and returned it to it proper place, kissing the ring and paw with what felt like nothing short of adoration and worship. Gazing into the tiger's eyes again, a warm smile on his salt-and-peppery muzzle, the wolf got to his hindpaws and reached out for his mate. "Ready for dinner?"

"After all that nibbling, I'm not sure! I hope it's something light."

Grinning, Tristan nodded. "I anticipated that. We have grilled mahi with sweet mango salsa, green beans amandine, and something special for later."

"What might that be?"

"If I told you now, it won't be as special later." The wolf grinned toothily. "Let's eat."

Night took his place at the table as Tristan retrieved the chafing dishes from the warm oven, presenting two perfect portions of fish and vegetables for each. Conversation continued through the meal, topics flying back and forth along with the laughter. Night sometimes wondered if he'd ever laughed his much in his life as he had with Tristan. It's not the sole criterion for a good mate, but it certainly is one of the most important. Even Jessica Rabbit said that she loved Roger for being able to make her laugh.

Having completed dinner and letting it settle for a bit, Tristan stood and extended his paws to his husband. Night took the paws, grinning. "And now what, my wolf?"

"Now, mein Mitternachtstiger... we continue your fine relaxation."

The tiger found himself guided back to their bedroom, which was also set about with the soft light of a half-dozen or so candles. On the bed, yet more pillows waited for the tiger to make a new nest for himself. He grinned. "This can't be right," he said teasingly. "It looks like there's only room for one."

"For now," said the smiling wolf, guiding his husband to the bed and helping him get comfortable, assisting with the removal of shirt and pants. The canine did his best to ignore the fine, large black cock, subtly twitching and slightly enlarged as if in anticipation. "Nest," he commanded gently. The tiger happily complied, letting himself be covered with the comfortable, king-sized quilt that they often shared on the cold nights and the warm. Tristan padded to his own side of the bed and, turning on the single, tightly-focused spotlight lamp that he used for reading, proceeded to get a book out of the drawer of the bedside table.

"You've been wanting to start this book for a while now, and now that we've finished reading the latest Nero Wolfe, I think it's about time." He settled himself on the bed, opened the book and began to read aloud...

I heard the mailman approach my office door, half an hour earlier than usual. He didn't sound right. His footsteps fell more heavily, jauntily, and he whistled. A new guy. He whistled his way to my office door, then fell silent for a moment. Then he laughed. Then he knocked. I winced. My mail comes through the mail slot unless it's registered. I get a really limited selection of registered mail, and it's never good news. I got up out of my office chair and opened the door. The new mailman, who looked like a basketball with arms and legs and a sunburned, balding head, was chuckling at the sign on the door glass. He glanced at me and hooked a thumb toward the sign. "You're kidding, right?"

Night chuckled as his husband continued to read from the first chronicles of Harry Blackstone Dresden, Chicago's own Wizard for Hire. With almost a dozen books in the series, starting with Storm Front(which Tristan was now reading to him), they had plenty of material to enjoy right through the winter months and beyond. The tiger snuggled down into his warm nest, enjoying his talented mate's voices and reading style, which he had honed over his years as a voice actor. He let himself get swept away into the wizarding world's own version of Philip Marlowe until they got to the end of the chapter. Tristan marked the place and set the book on the table.

Night smiled softly and contentedly. "Usually, you read to me before we sleep. Is it that time?"

"Nearly enough. But one more surprise. Stay just as you are."

The writer turned off the small reading light, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of the candles, and padded out of the room. After a few minutes, the tiger's sensitive nose caught the whiff of smoke, realizing that Tristan must have extinguished the candles in the living room. Whatever was to happen, it was to be here. The wolf finally returned bearing a plate with a perfectly shaped bundt cake positively erupting with entire quarries of sugary crumbs.

"I must have listened to seventeen different ways of making streusselkuchen as I was gathering the ingredients. I made sure that I created whole veins and pockets of sugar-cinnamon swirls; they may in fact be still a little bit sauce-like - extra butter, unsalted of course. I hope it's good..."

Night wasn't sure what part of his body would win the battle to control him - his eyes, which wanted to begin watering in joy... his muzzle, which actually began watering for entirely different but equally joyous reasons... his belly, comfortable but glad to accommodate easily a shtick streusselkuchen on any occasion... After only a moment of hesitation, his voice won out over them all as he produced a deep, resonant, passionate purr that might rattle the windows.

Tristan grinned. "Pre-sliced - go ahead."

"I don't want to spill any crumbs in bed."

"First of all, I'm doing laundry tomorrow. And more importantly..." The writer bent down to lick the tiger's chest suggestively, his thick, nimble wolf's tongue simultaneously massaging the muscle and cleaning the fur. "...I think I can get most of it."

Grinning broadly, Night carefully selected a slice and, before bringing it to his muzzle, tapped a little of the streussel onto himself. "Oh my," he intoned softly, "I'm so clumsy."

"I know, how terrible!" The wolf grinned and set his tongue to work, closing his maw to nibble at bits of the crumbled mixture... or perhaps that was the tiger's nipple instead? Night moaned softly, both at the loving attention and at the melt-in-your-maw texture of the perfectly made kuchen. There was no doubting that someone had imported Indonesian Makara cinnamon into their small German town, and Tristan had found it. The flavor was distinctive, spicy-sweet and with just a bit of a bite to it. The swirls were gooey and powerful on the taste buds. Night had the passing thought of another use for it, wondering how it would blend with the wolf's deep musk...

Despite the temptation, the tiger knew that he'd best stop with a single slice of the magical cake. He had an idea what Tristan might have in mind, and it wouldn't do to have a too-full stomach before engaging even in the most pleasant of exercises. He looked down at his husband licking and nibbling the last crumbs from his white-furred chest, and his rumbling purr softened and deepened. He pet the wolf's head tenderly, grinning. "Not that this evening hasn't already been utterly perfect," he murred softly, "...but what next?"

"Oh, I have lots of ideas about that," the mischievous writer replied. "I couldn't make up my mind, so I made this." From underneath the bed, Tristan pulled out a large stiff card with a penis-shaped spinner in the middle of it and seven equally-sized and spaced cards around the exterior, each with a bright green question mark that would have made The Riddler proud. "Spin for your prize, my darling one. It's all about you tonight."

With a chuckle, the big cat flicked a finger at the proud indicator in the center of the card and waited for it to slow and point to about four o'clock on the dial. Tristan pulled off the card that the turgid tool pointed to and handed it to Night. He opened it and read: Anything that my beloved husband desires of me.

"Well?" the wolf asked, a grin on his muzzle.

"Wait a minute..." One by one, the tiger opened the other six cards, to find the identical message. "Weighted in your favor, wouldn't you say?" he laughed.

"Or yours." He bent to kiss Night warmly, pulling away only after nearly a full minute had passed.

"Tristan, my love..." He stroked the wolf's cheek tenderly. "I'm not complaining in any way... but really, what brought all this on?"

"You deserved a little pampering," the writer whispered. "You always do, actually. But I remember once when you said that we never really brought each other to bed with a romantic flourish."

The tiger blushed a little. "I didn't mean..."

"I know you didn't. It's just how we are with each other. I get an erection just thinking about you, and like most canines, I want to start doing something about it quickly. And we fall madly in bed with each other, or wherever else suits our immediate needs, and I've never complained, nor will I start now. Night, my best beloved, every moment that we're together is making love, even when it's fast and furious. Like that time you got a muzzle-full of fresh wolf sauce in the shower in, what was it, about ten seconds?"

"Closer to a whole minute, I think," the tiger teased.

Tristan laughed. "And other times when we manage to tease each other for an hour, or two, or even more. It's all magnificent, sweet tiger." He smiled and pet Night's headfur softly, gazing into his eyes. "I just wanted to make love differently tonight, by giving you this evening of treats, all for you. It's been wonderful for me to do all this for you. I was making love with you during every part of the process, from planning and shopping to preparing and baking, and it was an absolute joy for every single moment. You are my beloved mate, and I love you with all my heart and soul, mein Mitternachtstiger."

The wolf smiled softly. "So what is your will, beautiful tiger Master?"

"Would you think the evening still a success if I said that I wanted to curl up and go to sleep, without having sex?"

"Yes," Tristan nodded, without hesitation. "It's a success to give to you what you want. Whatever it may be."

"Even the Ferrari?"

"Not in the budget, but a great idea."

The husbands laughed together, and Night reached a forepaw to Tristan's cheek. "Come to bed, my lifemate. Put out the candles, undress, and come hold me in the sweet darkness. Whatever happens after that, it will only be perfect."

...and it was...