Chapter Text
In Woodvale, Friday night means date night.
During football season, it also means Spot and Race get a brief, blessed reprieve from the group of teenagers that maintain a near-constant occupation of their house. Finch is decidedly not a football fan, but he doesn’t have much choice: With Jojo playing trumpet in the marching band, Henry as quarterback (and captain) of the football team, and Mush as objectively the prettiest cheerleader on the squad, his options are fairly limited unless he goes to the game. He’s lucky Smalls is in the same boat, or he’d have no one to sit in the stands with while he stares at his phone until the band performs at halftime. It’s a home game tonight, but even on away nights, Finch sleeps over at Jojo’s on Fridays, a deal Race worked out with his mother almost the moment they returned home from their LA trip earlier this year.
They’d opted for a date night at home tonight, a Spot-cooked meal and a movie, tangled together on the couch. Little Pearl is fast asleep on the blanket that’s folded on the back of the couch, her long tail curled around her. It’s only been about a month since Race brought her home, but he barely remembers life without her. She’s grown but not too much, still fitting comfortably in two of Spot’s hands or perfectly on Race’s shoulder. He doesn’t even realize he’s staring at her, a small smile on his lips until Spot turns his head back toward the TV.
“C’mon, it’s almost over,” Spot says softly, lips brushing against Race’s ear and making him shiver. He settles further into Spot, his back against Spot’s chest, and tilts his head slightly, biting down on his bottom lip when Spot takes the invitation to nose up the side of his neck. He presses a kiss beneath Race’s ear, but his hands stay where they are, splayed innocently on Race’s stomach—per movie night rules. Lips are okay, so long as they don’t distract from the movie, but hands are a no-go until the credits roll.
Truthfully, Race barely registers the last few minutes of the movie. But he can’t be blamed for that when Spot spends the entire time brushing soft kisses to every inch of Race’s neck, slowly but surely driving him insane. The absolute second the movie ends, Race is straddling Spot’s lap, carding a hand through his hair and pulling him into a deep kiss that Spot eagerly returns, hands roaming absolutely everywhere he can reach. Spot nips at his bottom lip and Race gasps, grip in Spot’s hair tightening as he presses harder against him and-
Knock, knock, knock.
They freeze.
“Who’s that?” Race whispers, the pounding of his heart loud in the sudden silence.
“Who cares?” Spot murmurs, pecking Race’s lips quickly and ducking down to kiss at his collarbones, tugging his shirt aside. Race huffs but Spot’s lips are very distracting, and his other hand is under Race’s shirt, halfway up his back before-
Knock, knock knock knock knock-
“Fuck,” Race groans, dropping his head back in frustration. The knocking is ceaseless now, and muffled voices, one deep and slow and one high and frantic. He sighs, looking down at Spot with a fire in his eyes. “Someone better be dead,”
Spot just scoffs and shoves him off his lap. Race curses as he gets his footing, muttering under his breath all the way to the front door. He’s flushed, he knows, and he runs a hand through his hair in a fruitless attempt to lessen the damage Spot’s hands had caused, eager to start and end this interaction. When he opens the door, though, any hopes of salvaging date night go right out into the crisp autumn air.
Henry Corcoran, all six-foot-something of him, stands on his doorstep with a calm expression and one arm wrapped around Race’s foster brother. The difference in their demeanors is stark and immediately evident. Mush’s arms are wrapped around himself in an almost protective sort of way, and it takes a double-take for Race to realize he’s crying, face streaked with dried tear tracks. Panic bolts through his veins in an instant and he steps forward, reaching for Mush.
“What happened?” Race asks sharply, looking back up at Henry with something like accusation in his eyes. He can hear Spot’s footsteps behind him. “Are you hurt? Is he hurt? What’s-”
“It’s okay,” Henry says, voice still remarkably calm compared to the quiet but continuous gasping sobs from Mush. It’s only when Spot appears at his shoulder, placing one hand at the small of Race’s back, that Race focuses on Mush’s hands where they’re curled against his chest. “He’s okay, everything is fine. We just-”
“Wait,” Race interrupts, squinting at his brother. “Is that-”
“-a cat?” Spot finishes the question for him, and Race only just gets his mouth open before-
“He’s a baby cat, Race,” Mush cries, fresh tears welling up and rolling down his cheeks. He cradles the kitten—because it is indeed a tiny, orange kitten, hidden almost entirely in Mush’s hands—close to his face, taking a moment just to sob into its dirty fur. “He’s just a baby he’s too little and we found him and-”
“Come on, come inside,” Spot says, his tone exasperated but leaving no room for argument as he steps aside and pulls Race out of the way.
The boys sink onto the loveseat, Mush still holding the cat tight to his chest while Henry’s arm stays resolutely around his shoulders. Race drops back onto the couch with a sigh, glancing sideways at Spot when he joins him. Spot looks between them and seems to decide that he’ll get nowhere with Mush, still crying as he is, and focuses on Henry.
“Tell me what happened,” he says, voice kind. Henry opens his mouth but Mush beats him to it.
“We- we were- we-”
“Hey,” Henry says softly, pulling Mush against him gently. Mush looks over at him and takes a shaky breath in, nodding as Henry turns back to them. “We were in the alley behind the school after the game-”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Race asks, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees in an attempt to get a closer look at the kitten. Henry tilts his head toward Mush.
“Just us,”
“Just you two?”
“Yeah,” Henry nods. Race grins.
“Doin’ what?”
“Hanging out,” Mush answers, miraculously recovering long enough to squint at his brother. “Before we go meet the team at the diner, you know,”
“Right,” Race nods, smirking. “Just hanging out,”
“And that’s got nothing to do with those marks on your necks, right?” Spot asks mildly, and Race’s grin widens. He’s pretty sure he loves this man a little bit more every single day. Mush flushes, but Henry’s expression never changes, and neither does his voice when he shakes his head and deadpans, “Absolutely nothing.”
“Anyway,” Mush grates out, trying to draw the attention back onto himself. He’s stopped crying but he’s still a mess, nose red and eyes bloodshot. Race feels himself soften when he looks back at him, just a bit. “There was this squeaking and it wouldn’t stop and first I told Henry to ignore it ’cause it was probably a rat but-”
“-I knew it wasn’t, though,” Henry says with a shrug, seamlessly taking over the storytelling duties. “So I told him to be quiet and-”
“-and that worked?” Race laughs, and Spot chuckles and Mush hisses “shut up” and Henry ignores them all and keeps talking.
“-my phone to follow the sound and found him-”
“-in a cup!” Mush exclaims, and promptly bursts into tears. Race raises his eyebrows and shares a look with Spot before turning back to Henry for clarification.
“Yeah, he was stuck in like, an empty soda cup by the trash can-”
“-Stuck! By the trash can!” Mush wails, burying his face in the kitten’s fur again. Race makes a face, resisting the urge to reach out and take the filthy thing straight to the kitchen for a bath in the sink. There’s a small smile on Henry’s face as he gives Mush’s shoulders another gentle squeeze. “I couldn’t leave him,” Mush says quietly, and Race smiles, looking over his shoulder at the still-sleeping Pearl. He knows the feeling.
“So I ripped open the cup and got him out,” Henry continues with a shrug. “And we came here since the twins-”
“-are allergic to cats, yeah,” Race finishes for him, nodding. “But-”
“Can I keep him here?” Mush blurts, glancing desperately between Spot and Race. “Please, Race, just until I figure something else out? You guys already have all the cat stuff and-”
“Honey,” Spot interrupts, reaching out to set a reassuring hand on Mush’s knee. Mush quiets, still panting. “Take a breath for me, yeah?” Mush nods, taking a steadying breath through his nose. “Of course he can stay for now,” Spot says gently, and Mush visibly relaxes into Henry’s side.
“I dunno how Perla is gonna feel about that,” Race says, his tone teasing enough that Mush only rolls his eyes as he cuddles the kitten closer to his chest. Henry frowns, looking confused.
“I thought your cat’s name was Pearl?”
As if on cue, Race’s small grey cat stirs, sitting sleepily before jumping down onto the couch and immediately curling up in Race’s lap.
“It is,” Spot answers with a smirk as he watches Race coo over his cat. “But ever since he got his 23andme results back he’s been Italian-izing everything even though he’s half Irish too-”
“Shut up,” Race mutters, cheeks burning as he nudges Spot with his shoulder. “It’s just pretty,”
“Don’t you mean bella?”
“Spot I swear to God-”
“Mamma mia-”
“So wait,” Mush interrupts, and Race spares his boyfriend a glare before turning back to his brother. “He can really stay here? It’s okay?”
Race sighs, looking down at the little ball of fluff still clutched in Mush’s hands. He’d have been hard-pressed to walk past the little guy, too, and even Spot isn’t immune to his squeaky charms. Race hesitates only until he feels Spot’s hand on his back, rubbing in small, comforting circles, and nods.
“Yeah, he can sta- oof,” He doesn’t even get through the words before Mush shoves the cat into Henry’s hands and all but bowls Race over in a hug. Pearl leaps out of his lap just in time, clinging to Spot’s chest with her little nails dug in his shirt. Race grins at Spot over Mush’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around the boy, who’s still trembling and mumbling thank yous into Race’s chest. Spot chuckles back, expertly detaching Pearl from his shirt and placing her on his shoulder, where she curls up again, nosing curiously at Spot’s ear.
“-thank you,” Mush finishes as he sits up, wiping at his face with a glance over his shoulder at Henry. Race watches his brother, the way he smiles, the way his eyes soften as he looks at Henry holding the little cat in one large hand, carefully petting between his ears with one finger.
“Of course,” Race murmurs, still holding Mush close. “What’s his name?”
“I dunno yet,” Mush sniffles, leaning his head on Race’s shoulder. Henry is completely taken with the kitten, patting his little nose with a finger until he bites him playfully.
“Hey, what’d I ever do to you?” Henry scolds, frowning down at the little cat. Race snorts and Mush giggles, his distress having melted away almost entirely. He sits up, holding his hands out to Henry.
“Here, gimme,” he says, taking the cat carefully from Henry. “Let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”
Mush starts to stand but Race grabs his forearm, tugging him back down.
“Hang on,” Race says, looking past them into the kitchen to read the time on the stove. “It’s almost eleven, you guys should go eat before the diner closes,”
“Oh thank God,” Henry says, on his feet in a second. “I’m starving,”
“I’ll bet,” Spot laughs. Mush turns to Race.
“But he needs a bath-”
“We can handle it,” Race says softly, holding his hands out. Mush nods reluctantly, lifting the cat to press a little kiss to his head before placing him gently in Race’s hands. “Go on, go have fun,”
“Okay,” Mush agrees, voice small as he looks down at the little cat, squirming and squeaking in Race’s hands. He wraps his arms carefully around Race for one more hug before standing and tucking himself back under Henry’s arm. He hesitates, chewing on his lip. “Thank you again,”
“It’s no problem,” Race assures him, standing carefully and making his way into the kitchen.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Mush insists as Henry starts to gently maneuver him toward the front door. “Bright and early-”
“Not too early,” Spot interjects, turning to lounge on the now-empty couch. Pearl climbs down onto his chest and tucks herself under his chin; Race can hear her purring from here.
“He’s fine, Mush, I promise,” Race says, grinning. “Go on,”
“Okay, bye, thank you, love you-”
Race shakes his head as the front door shuts behind them, setting the cat on the large kitchen island. He turns on the water, testing the temperature with a finger, and his heart jumps into his throat when he looks back down and sees the little cat sniffing curiously at the edge of the counter.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, scooping him up quickly and turning around to dig in the cabinets.
“What are you doing?” Spot calls from the living room.
“He’s got a death wish,” Race answers, placing a large mixing bowl on the counter and dropping the little cat into it. His mewls echo in the metal bowl but he’s safe from falling off the counter as Race fills the sink with warm water for his bath. Spot chuckles, rolling his eyes.
“So we’re up to three babies, now?”
“I dunno if Finch still qualifies as a baby-”
“-he does,” Spot confirms.
“-but it looks that way, yeah,” Race says as he looks down into the bowl, where the cat is still trying and failing to escape. He sighs, pulling him out and holding him up to eye level. “So much for date night,”
“Dio mio,”
“Shut the fuck up.”