The cleaning staff of this establishment have probably dealt with 'messes' consisting of things that are much, much worse than feathers - they may have questions, but they are also well-trained to mind their business.

And she told him that he could be louder, so he is. He does not shout (not yet) but with her mouth and hands added to the mix of touches and friction already between their bodies, it all feels so very good.

"Want all of it," he groans quietly. "Like, like having you close to me. S'cute when you're perched on my shoulder, my talking moggy," he says. "But your hands...hands are good. Your hands are good, touches and kisses..."