Patrick’s mind was being consumed, swallowed by this undesired need, this lust. It was wrong, it was sinful, so why did it feel right? It felt like, if he didn’t let this torrent consume him, it would drown him, giving him no quarter, eating away until there was no Patrick left, just a hollow shell with animalistic needs. And then what would happen? To him, to Lolli, to the children? To Zoey, when she sees the man she loves is consumed by two things and two things only. Survival, and reproduction. What would she do? The boy couldn’t think anymore, and a small growl of approval comes from feral lips as Zoey responds.

Patrick blinked bleary eyes. He looked down at the sleeping Zoey. She was snuggled up to him, and for a second, the boy was about to scream and leap away. But, when he makes himself freeze, the pale boy realises that it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it’s quite…comforting. The boy smiles sleepily, kissing the top of Zoey’s head. He slipped out of the covers, placing a pillow where his body was and pausing a moment, hoping Zoey didn’t wake. Happy that the sleeping girl will stay sleeping, he moves off into the adjoining room, grabbing a pair of boxers and slipping them on. He steps into the room, freezing slightly as grey eyes meet golden ones. Patrick breaks eye contact first, looking down ashamed at his three beautiful children. He’d never wanted kids, had never seen himself having them. Haptephobia had never occurred to him when the equation of children came to mind. It was more the idea that, he didn’t think he was…compatible. Sure, there had been girls that had liked the way he looked, but they always touched him. And, like anyone who’s spent a few minutes with Patrick will know, that’s bad. And the quickest way to loose him as a friend. He lowers his head, moving to sit before Lolli. A pale, slightly feminine hand pushes long black locks out of stormy eyes, a sigh coming from slightly parted lips.
I’m sorry Lolli. I…I don’t know why I did that.
The boy sighed sadly, and the Tigress’ boiling anger cooled slightly. She knew, knew it wasn’t Patrick’s fault. Maybe that was why she was being so hard on him. If she were ahrd on him, got him to hurt her, then finally she would be punished for allowing her other half to do that again.
Never Lolli. I wouldn’t harm the air you breath, you know that.
Angel stirs, blinking tired, young eyes.
Daddy, hello.
Shhh, go back to sleep baby. Back to sleep. Daddy’s fine.
Angel looked at Patrick for a moment, before smiling and nodding his head, laying it back down, the small twins curling up closer to the larger body. Lolli sighed deeply.
You’ve got so good at lying Patrick I almost believe you myself.
Her voice sounded older, more worn and tired. Patrick turned silver eyes to her, placing small hands on the Sabre Tooth’s large cheeks, rubbing his thumbs up and down affectionately.

His grey eyes looked deep into gold ones, but they could not return the gesture. Patrick’s cloudy eyes had shut off, becoming large metal doors clamped shut.
The best lies are the ones that everyone wants to hear.
No one will question you if: no they don’t look fat in that dress; yes even though they’re on a diet, once piece of chocolate won’t hurt; yes, of course you’re fine, why wouldn’t you be. Tell the world what they want to hear, and no one will question you.
His voice became so sorrow laden, Lolli almost shut their mental link, she nearly couldn’t cope.
I’ll always ask Pat-Pat, you know that.
The boy nodded, and the large prehistoric cat blinked, before rubbing her large head against his, clawed paws pulling him as close as possible, gentle and soft, yet strong and forceful.
It’s the children that’s got you like this. The children and the curse. Paddy it’s not you’re fault.
He tilts his head, smiling bitterly. But before he can say anything, the sound of Zoey stirring causes them both to freeze. Patrick disentangles himself, standing up and sneaking back into the other room. He smiles at Zoey, his grey eyes in agony, before swiftly moving around the room, picking up her clothing, and placing them on the bed beside her. He grabs some jeans, starting to tug them on, eyes casting about for a shirt to hide the suddenly hideous scars that mar his skeletal body. He’s ghastly thin, turn him sideways and you’d loose him forever. Ribs jut at odd angles, his spine trying to rip free from his flesh. His skin stretches tightly over a 16 year old frame, every movement making his bones groan and sigh in protest at being so thin. Oh well, at least his children aren’t hungry.

*patrick

And it's not a cry you that hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah