From the Archives: Tybalt
December 20th, 2008
For as long as I’ve been writing him, Tybalt has been a creature of the YaoiCon Fiction Anthology. I’m almost finished with his latest, long-delayed story, First and Last and Always, so I emailed Anne to see if she would like to reserve it for next year’s anthology, if it happens. I say if it happens because the Anthology has not been published for two years running.
I suspect, much to my disappointment, that there are no plans for further issues. It’s been about a month since I emailed Anne, and I noticed that her contact information has been locked at the YaoiCon site.
This doesn’t mean much, if anything, for Tybalt’s future. The past two Anthologies have paired me with Tammy Lee, and I don’t think we have very good creative chemistry. Tybalt remains one of my favorite (if most demanding) characters, and I’m sure he’ll continue to slink into my writing life whenever he has a story to share.
For now, I’ve been sidetracked by an interesting little experiment (you can expect it in time for Christmas), and First and Last and Always will go back to the top of my stack once it’s done.
December 25th, 2007
Well, it is a present for most of you. I think perhaps that some of you will not want it.
Just in time for Christmas, Tanko has given her permission for us to post the first Tybalt pictures ever! She drew them for The Tears of Anael when it was published in the YaoiCon 2004 fiction anthology.
Tybalt is very pretty, but in these pictures he is also very naked! Please use your best judgement before you click on the story.
Thank you and Merry Christmas,
~Catboy! =^.^=
November 17th, 2007
N.B. The copy of this story in Envy, the YaoiCon 2006 anthology, contains a number of misprints and editorial errors. I am very sorry for the inconvenience.
Yellow-throated songbirds pecked at the bars of their tiny, gold-wire cage, blinded and too fat to fly, searching in vain for the trays of millet and grapes, oats and figs that someone had taken away that morning. A soft mewling startled them, but they soon forgot it, oblivious to the sleek, golden-skinned cat-prince watching them. Tybalt licked his teeth contemplatively, sprawling in the Roman couch beside the cage. He flicked open the top and plucked out the fattest, laughing quietly at its futile squirming. It amused him for a moment, but soon he grew bored again, and he thrust it, head first, into a glass of brandy.
It didn’t take long. The bird drowned in minutes, its struggles against his hand growing weaker and weaker until they stopped altogether.
“That’s cruel, Tybalt, even for you.” Tybalt’s guest, a gentle sylph of a boy, just barely a man, tried to look away, but the beautiful tragedy entranced him, somehow, and he could not.
“Well, I miss her, and their suffering eases my own.” He plucked the bird’s feathers deliberately, one at a time, tossing them back into the cage. “You wouldn’t deny me that, would you, Methyst?”
Methyst buried his face in his hands, running his fingers back through his short, dirty-blonde hair. “Still her, even now… Tybalt… It’s been seven hundred and fifty years.”
“Seven hundred and forty-nine, two hundred eighty-seven days.”
“Even still.”
November 16th, 2007
For Anne and Trece and Tanko, who brought me to YaoiCon. And for Kez, who drop-kicked me into their hands to begin with.
Somewhere out on the distant, fuzzy edges of the world, Tybalt, Prince of Cats, whose subjects were once as gods and have never forgotten, was begging for a bite of fruit. He made sad kitten faces up at the tall, delightfully boyish girl who held him pinned to the sand, kissing at her fingertips when she finally pressed the crisp white wedge of peach-flesh between his lips. She settled against him, letting his arm curl across the small of her back. They fed each other, stopping now and again to kiss and share the sweet, delicate aftertastes that lingered on their lips.
She kissed him a little harder, pressing her tongue against his own, sliding it along his smooth, pointed teeth. Then she was laughing and teasing, gone in an instant, running down the beach until he ran her down, bringing her to the sand and holding her as though he wished never to let her go.
Cool surf washed up around them, making the black silk of her dress gleam wet against her skin, like India ink against the finest porcelain. She kissed him again, scratching behind his ear, always amazed by the smooth, perfect blend of sleek black cat and golden-skinned youth. He closed his eyes, purring his contentment to her, and the world faded away.
The kisses felt different when the world returned, as light and timid as feather touches. Tybalt found himself in his bath, cradling a lithe little creature, not so much unlike himself. His name was Adam, he remembered, some priceless gift from human folly. His hair was white and pure as milk, and his eyes were sparkling, cobalt blue, bright and full of endless, perfect love. Tybalt smiled and held his subject tightly, pressing a kiss between his ears, remembering those early times. First like a child and then like a man, Adam had learned each day a new saintly virtue, and each night a sweet and secret sin. Most of all, Tybalt remembered the way Adam loved to snuggle close, sliding his naked, perfect skin against his prince’s own, first in innocence, then in desire. But then the angels had taken him away.
The angels had taken him away.
He bolted up in bed, panting heavily as his heart raced to bring him out of slumber. His sheets were damp with sweat, and no one slept beside him in the darkness. “Only a dream,” he breathed, over and over again, trying to calm himself. Adam had been lost to him for half of a thousand years, like the girl whose name he could still not bear to speak. The realization settled in, curling its icy coils deep in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes narrowed to slits. His roar echoed in the empty halls.
What bothers Tybalt this time? Read more to find out.
November 9th, 2007
Ta’avahiel drew a deep breath as he walked through the hallway of cats, flinching every time another tabby or calico rubbed itself against his leg and streaked another line of fur across the immaculate white of his gown. The air was thick with the smells and yowls of a thousand cats doing their thousand feline things, hunting, playing, sleeping, mating, all shot through with the fine food and drink of the Prince who ruled them all. One low purr rumbled differently from the rest, spilling out into the hall from beyond a half-open door. The angel rolled his eyes, folded his wings carefully, and slipped inside.
A cat-eared youth lay sprawled in folded a bed, his tanned, golden skin gleaming with sweat as it lay against the watery blue sheets and the sleek, powerful leopardess who shared them. The jungle cat yawned, baring her great, sharp teeth, and Ta’avahiel stopped his approach, waiting as she nosed her companion awake. The youth barely seemed to notice his presence, as though members of Heaven’s Choir came daily to his door, and drew the great cat’s head to him, kissing her between the eyes.
“Tybalt…”
The youth’s ears twitched a little, as though expecting Ta’avahiel to continue, and the kiss slipped lower, until his lips met the cat’s, lingering there in a deep, gentle touch of affection.
It was pointless to argue. “Tybalt, Prince of Cats, whose subjects were once as gods and have never forgotten…”
The kiss broke for a moment as Tybalt peered over his companion’s head, narrowing his bright green eyes to slits. He considered the angel with slow, lazy confidence, twitching his tail beneath the sheets. “You forgot ‘each equal to any king’, but that may pass.” The kiss resumed, dying off into a show of warm, contented nuzzling, as if he enjoyed watching Ta’avahiel squirm in discomfort at their open, bestial affection. “Go, Remi,” he murmured, sending his subject away, and the leopardess stalked from the room, glaring at her master’s visitor for his intrusion.
The angel closed the door, unfurling his wings once more. The gesture would be lost on the Prince, he knew, but it always felt better to speak bathed in His glory. “If a man layeth with any animal, he must be stoned.”
Tybalt yawned, in his peculiarly feline way, running his tongue across the edges of his teeth. “Higher than a kite, Tavah, but I am both and neither, and the rules bear little upon me, as well you ought to know.” His ears folded flat against his head, as though in demonstration.
Ta’avahiel bristled a little at the Prince’s defiance. “That was an abomination, before the eyes of God.”
A low chuckle served as an answer. “You saw only a kiss, little bird. Leave it be.”
“Judas betrayed the Son with the same.”
The Prince stretched, letting the sheets fall around his body as he raised his hips, cracking each joint in his back in a slow, lazy rise to his hands and knees, then fell over to his side again, considering his visitor. “You didn’t come to lecture me, Tavah. You want something from me, and it must be something that no one else can give.” He thought for a moment, gesturing to a small pouch on a nearby table. “It’s probably not the catnip, but you’re welcome to some if you want.”
Ta’avahiel shifted awkwardly, trying to recover his dignity from beneath the Prince’s idle, uncaring gaze. “Something only you can bring me, yes.”
