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Public transportation was not the ideal place to be stuck in his shifted form as a cat.
People who were in a hurry could care less about some scraggly little kitten who kept tailing hopefully behind anyone with particularly long legs and black jeans on.
A few people cast him a glance every now and then, mostly children who’d pull on their parent’s hands asking to pet the kitty, but luckily they always got pulled away and scolded to not touch animals without knowing where they’ve been. Which, for one, is incredibly rude, but Tommy absolutely does not want to be smothered with some toddler’s sticky fingers today, so he’ll take what he can get.
Usually Tommy would never be out on his own, especially shifted, without his older brother Wilbur being there with him. It was sort of an agreement between them. To keep each other safe, they’d keep each other in sight and make sure no one can take advantage of them vulnerable or out of control of their rather rare disposition. The older was also a cat shifter, though it was hardly fair when as cats Tommy came up to about his belly, and Wilbur was a fucking massive Maine Coon.
At the very least if the two ever found themselves shifted in public, people were much less likely to try and pick up the three foot long bitch-faced Maine Coon than the tiny blonde tabby kitten that was maybe a third of that.
How the hell Tommy had managed to lose that massive son of a bitch was a wonder to him as well. In human form he was no less massive for fuck’s sake, towered over everybody and still had a good four inches on him at least, even though Tommy was much more reasonably sized as a human teenager than a baby kitten.
He just could not find a way to get away from people here. He’d tried getting off at one of the stops, people would load in and he’d scamper about trying to desperately dodge their trodding, but ultimately he’d get pushed back every time. About the fifth attempt he’d gotten so close , but the dip between the train car and the platform was still too fucking wide for his tiny little body to stretch across, and he was too scared to make a jump for it, not knowing if someone would run out of the train car in dramatic fashion last second and knock him into the rails. He shuddered at the thought, bundling himself up in the corner beside some battered up old seat, with the leather torn and the fluff hanging out, and piled lazily up on the floor. He used it sort of like a barrier between him and the midday traffic of the tube, and just hoped that eventually Wilbur would notice he was taking a particularly long time getting back from the bathrooms and come looking for him.
They were hanging out at the park today, which is why Tommy was in his shifted form in the first place. No one bats an eye at an owner and their cat playing around in a park, and so when one of them wanted to get out and stretch their legs, a lot of the time the other would come as well to accompany them and to ensure no one tried any sort of cat-napping.
Tommy, unfortunately, has an incredibly overactive bladder apparently. He couldn’t go a couple hours without having to dismiss himself to go take a piss. A bit dramatic, sure, but in this particular situation, he was rather annoyed at himself for not just holding it and waiting to get back home.
But no, he had to go and use the public bathrooms at the train station they’d been sitting near, and Wilbur had to go window shop at some nearby antique store, and Tommy had to have decency and not just piss outside like any normal cat would.
Fucking sucks.
So now he’s on this train. Whether he’d entered it in a daze or a confused hurry, he’s not quite sure. Though by now it’s probably been like an hour so he was definitely far off course from where he was meant to be right now.
It worried him.
He doesn’t like being too far from Wilbur. Not without knowing where the man is at least, and Tommy had left his phone and his fucking brain apparently back with Wilbur when he’d thought this would be a quick in-and-out situation.
Fuck.
The intercom on the train, which had been grating on his overly sensitive ears this entire ride, had become background noise at some point. He’d tune in every once in a while, when he felt the momentum of the train stop, to try and see if he could recognize where the fuck he was at any given moment, but each stop he knew just took him further and further away from where Wilbur was.
He was starting to worry his options were wearing thin, but then he gets an idea, and it’s so brilliantly simple he immediately hits his head to the ground with a dull thud. He makes a noise, what would be a grumble if he were human, but comes out as a pathetic whimper as a cat, and picks his head back up, scanning the train car and its occupants.
He could try and get one of them to take him out with them.
Fucking duh.
All he needed to do was wait for someone new to enter (someone who hadn’t seen him lurking eerily in the corner of this rundown train car,) and lay the charm on thick. He could do that. Tommy was nothing if not one charismatic son of a bitch, or at least he likes to think so.
The train gradually slowed, Tommy crept out from the corner of the car. Braving the middle once more. People talk and collect their things around him, but he tries to ignore them and puts on his best pitiful kitten face as he waits for some sorry sucker to step in from the other side of this door and be his ticket out of this limbo.
The train puffs with the sound of doors unlocking and air falling out its sides and Tommy only sways a little (a lot) with the sudden jolt of it settling into place at the station. He sits back on his hind legs, thoroughly embarrassed at being knocked about so easily, but concentrates his stare unblinkingly at the doorway.
It clicks, then slides open.
A tall man walks in, Tommy finds he’s too tall for him to see his head from where his view was angled. He puffs out a breath in annoyance, but then he angles his head upward and freezes with his tail hung in the air.
Wilbur.
It’s fucking Wilbur, and he looks like a fucking wreck.
The man sees him almost immediately as well, his eyes already on the floor the second he enters the doors. His eyes land on Tommy’s and his jaw unclenches. His shoulders slump forward in one dramatic motion and he audibly lets out a sigh of relief. “Holy shit.”
A few people in the car give him weird looks, but he ignores them in favor of walking straight up to Tommy, crouching down and holding out his hand to scoop him up, muttering, “Tommy you fucking bastard. I was so worried.”
Tommy feels his body be lifted up and into the air and he meows, curling himself up to fit more securely in the man’s palm and nuzzling his head down into it, and between the man’s thumb that’s blanketing over his back, he feels them start to move.
Wilbur walks them right off the train again, stumbling around a few stray passengers entering the train still, and holding Tommy securely to his chest. Right in the nick of time too, as the doors close almost right after they’re securely off the train and seal with a loud mechanical slide.
Wilbur lets out a long sigh of relief, thumb stroking over the top of Tommy’s head as he calms his racing heartbeat. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” He whispers. He presses his face to his palm and kisses Tommy on the top of his head. Tommy meows back at him in a complaining manner and Wilbur laughs breathily. “Lets get the fuck back home now.”
Tommy can’t find it in himself to disagree.
—
The sun’s set and they’re about twenty quid poorer by the time they get home.
Tommy elected to stay as a cat the entire journey home, though technically he could’ve shifted back and made it so Wilbur didn’t have to carry him the whole way, one scare today was enough for the both of them. And honestly, Tommy just wanted to be held for now, the swaying motions of Wilbur’s long gait soothing him into a half-asleep state.
The gate in front of their home squeals when Wilbur opens it. He cringes, cradling Tommy just ever so slightly softer and moving forward with steps ever so slightly more delicate. Like holding a sleeping baby. Tommy’s back rises and falls with his exaggerated breaths in that endearing clumsy kitten kind of way that makes Wilbur’s heart melt.
“Almost home.” He whispers, mostly to himself, though Tommy’s ear flicks in irritation at the air blowing into it. He pulls his keys from his back pocket, had shoved them haphazardly in there in his hurry, and unlocks their front door. The sound of old wood and their creaking doorframe welcomes him as he gets inside, finally able to drop Tommy’s bag off his shoulder and deposit it to the ground. With one hand he begins trying to tug his shoes off, but as he leans down to pull at the heel of one, Tommy’s small body writhes in his hand and he makes a small sound like a barely awake mutter, but that sounds like a tiny squeak. Wilbur’s heart squeezes and he straightens up immediately. Whatever. He can deal with having his shoes on, he’ll just go lie on the couch instead.
He glances down at Tommy, hoping he hadn’t disturbed him irreversibly from his sleepy state, and meets the beady-eyed glare of a tabby kitten on its back. He smiles, though he knows it only pisses off Tommy more. He meows, and Wilbur can’t help but feel like it’s an insult.
“Fuck you too.” He mutters, keeping his voice low and walking them much less hurriedly over through the hall and into their living room. Tommy’s chin juts up in the air, and he rotates his body back to the side, limbs curling back up to himself and head finally falling down without the support to keep it facing up.
His mind croons and suddenly Wilbur very much wants to shift and be a cat right now too.
But a cat would be useless to get Tommy fed and make sure he isn’t hurt, so human Wilbur delicately places Tommy onto the couch, then drawing his hands back begrudgingly, leaves to grab them something from the kitchen.
Tommy mewls pathetically, not out of particular sadness or instincts overrunning his brain, (though they were getting there,) but mostly out of the desire to make life more difficult for Wilbur at any given opportunity. He snorts internally at the way Wilbur hesitates in his step, glancing back at him with a glare and poorly concealed worry, before putting his shoulders back and leaving.
He knows it’s sort of mean of him, Wilbur’s instincts have always hit him the hardest after all, and Tommy was being incredibly unhelpful by instigating them. But today’s been stressful, and Tommy wants to relax, and for Wilbur to be able to relax and not worry so damn much about everything. And the best way to do that is to make the man let go and fall into his comfortable instincts.
So that’s what Tommy intended to do.
Wilbur’s fully disappeared into the kitchen, so Tommy has perfect opportune time to plan out his worst.
For a start, he flings himself off the couch and onto the floor. Landing with a dull thud and freezing as he waits to see if Wilbur heard it. The shuffling in the kitchen continues without a hitch and he lets out his breath.
What’s the best way to force Wilbur into his instincts? Tommy contemplates, hobbling back up onto four paws and pacing back and forth in a tiny circle. Then he’s struck with an ingenious idea, and he’d be grinning if he were human as he runs out the living room, stalking past the kitchen deathly silent, then all the way up the stairs in what must be his new personal best time. He huffs, heart racing from the exertion, stairs are fucking hard to climb when you’re only a few centimeters tall with the grace of a baby elephant.
Step one: accomplished. Step two: underway.
Once he finally catches his breath he sets off for Wilbur’s bedroom. The one place in the house which holds all his most valuable possessions. Namely: his sweaters.
Now maybe Tommy just wanted an excuse to have one for a little while. Maybe the warmth and smell of it comforted him, and even in the absence of his older brother’s overwhelmingly safe and comfortable presence he could still fall into a sleepy haze in an instant. Maybe . But this wasn’t about that, this was about getting Wilbur to chill the fuck out. So as he’s swiping one of the ones off the drawer in the closet and begins dragging it out of the room, he pauses and thinks better of it. He drops the fabric from himself, only pausing momentarily to gag at the fabric taste and fuzz it left on his tongue, and sets off beelined towards the absolutely ridiculous little pile they keep in their hallway of cat toys. Most of them Wilbur bought to tease Tommy with, acting all smug like as he taunted him with a mouse on a fucking fishing line, or a fucking pipe cleaner. (One day Tommy was going to catch that thing and tear it to shreds.) But he would always pull them out of Tommy’s reach at the last possible second and it was the most infuriating thing the man did ever.
What Wilbur didn’t know, however, was that Tommy was very aware of the fact the older liked to keep the stuffed squeaky ones and bat them around when he was alone in his room. Like, well, a giant oversized cat playing with a tiny squeaky stuffed mouse toy.
He searches for that one specifically. Miraculously he finds it right by the side of the pile, (probably recently returned) and he scoops it right up into his mouth to take with him before he catches a glimpse of their 1 (one) offensive laser pointer. He nabs that too, taking it with the side of his mouth as he struggles to shuffle the mouse over, and feeling the cool metal clink uncomfortably against his canines. His face scrunches up as he resists gagging again.
This better be fucking worth it.
Depositing his haul all neatly on top of the now floor-dragged sweater, Tommy bundles it up best as he can without posable thumbs, and takes it in his mouth, dragging it miserably behind him as the weight of it almost matches his own.
Then finally, with a huffing breath and an increasingly irritable attitude, he makes it to the edge of the stairwell. Though the moment he looks down he freezes, holding as still as possible as if he wasn’t seeing Wilbur clearly looking him in the eye with his phone camera in his hand.
He narrows his eyes and Tommy narrows his right back at him.
“Tommy…” he scolds, shifting his weight on his hip, but not putting down his phone. Tommy hisses at him. Wilbur glances down at the pile at Tommy’s side. “What’s that?”
Tommy will not be subjected to a mockery after trying to prepare something nice for his brother. He just won’t. He meows back, as if that means anything to the man as he smiles and finally taps his phone and puts it away. Stupid motherfucker trying to make Tommy the subject of some stupid ass home video tape.
“Are you gonna come down here and get something to eat?” He bargains, as he steps out of Tommy’s line of sight to the kitchen. There, very distantly on the counter, sits two bowls of some vague soup he doesn’t remember them having. He meows to disagree, but his stomach rumbles anyway.
Wilbur smiles up at him, “You sure?”
Tommy’s tail flicks. He turns around and drags the sweater closer into Wilbur’s line of sight instead and meows again. Wilbur looks at it, then back at him.
“Why do you have my sweater?”
Tommy swats at it, trying to be as obvious as possible with his request. He just doesn’t want to trip and fall flat on his face dragging this downstairs, and this tall-arse is doing nothing to help him.
“Tommy… I’m not helping you steal my things.”
Tommy feels mildly indignified, but he puffs out his chest, hair prickling slightly on end, and chomps back down on the sweater. Beginning to drag the thing backwards down the stairs.
“Fuck! Tommy, no!”
He feels about with his back paw, not quite finding a footing with how short his legs are, but he decides, “fuck it,” and drops all his weight down anyway.
He goes tumbling down in one massive heap. The clothing landing on top of him and the weight from the objects inside pushing him down even more. He vaguely hears Wilbur gasp, he’s about five steps down the staircase now and he feels a little like crying and a little like throwing up from the washing machine motion of it. Then the fabric unfolds and catches beneath him as he lands with a loud, thump , onto a stair and halts his momentum finally.
“Tommy!” Comes the horrified shout from Wilbur, hauling up the stairs and scooping him up the second he comes near. “Tommy, what the fuck!” He shuffles the fabric aside from Tommy’s face. Tommy winces, but meows up at him, something like a smile pulling his mouth up. Then, he chomps down on Wilbur’s closest finger, still not far from the ground as Wilbur flinches and Tommy goes to make his escape from Wilbur’s protective hold, landing back down with all his feet this time. He begins searching for the cat toys which must have been flung from the fabric when it tipped over. A few steps above him, he spots the stuffed mouse, and all the way at the bottom of the stairs and still rolling is the laser pointer. “Please Tommy, what are you doing? Can’t you shift back and we can talk together? Then you can walk down the stairs just fine, yeah?”
Well, he could do that. But that completely disregards Tommy’s whole purpose, and he’s no quitter. Tommy rumbles a displeased sound and Wilbur sighs, catching Tommy’s line of sight and standing up to grab the cat toy and his sweater out from under Tommy’s skittering form. He offers his hand out to him as well, holding it palm up and level over the side of the stair Tommy’s stood on and Tommy very hesitantly takes the offer.
No way Wilbur would take all the things back upstairs if he’s got Tommy to hold as well.
He’s a fucking genius (he doesn’t want Wilbur to worry.)
They reach the bottom of the stairs and Tommy protracts his claws into Wilbur’s hand.
“Jesus fuck! Stop doing that, man!” He hisses, “what is it? Can we not just go lay down?”
Tommy looks to him stubbornly, then to the ground, shiny silver laser pointer sat innocently smug against the side of the first stair. Wilbur sighs, seeing it too.
“Fine.” He reaches down and scoops it up, gathering all these things to his chest and then finally making his way through the hallway and into the living room without any complaints from Tommy. He sits down, laying the sweater and its contents on top to the side as he curls his legs up on the couch and delicately places Tommy down atop his ankles. “You’re in big trouble, mister.” He scolds half-heartedly, though Tommy knows he’s looking him over for injury at the same time.
Tommy creeps forward over his legs, Wilbur’s arms following close behind to ensure he doesn’t fall, and presses his head into Wilbur’s stomach. He purrs, rubbing his head up and down and Wilbur moves his legs to hang off the side of the couch. He sighs, stroking over Tommy’s back with two fingers and cradling him against his stomach in a tenacious hold. “What am I gonna do with you?” He sighs fondly, scratching gently at Tommy’s chin as Tommy leans up into it and purrs louder.
Distantly, he realizes the soup he heated up for the two of them is definitely going cold now. Presently, he’s been scared out of his mind about the well-being of his brother all day now, and if he had to stand and do another task he might just burst into tears.
Tommy trots over his arm and Wilbur lets him, watching him closely as he tumbles over onto the sweater, picking up the grey mouse toy and squeezing it between his teeth, making it squeak. He stares, thoughts fizzling just slightly for a moment.
Tommy grins internally, watching Wilbur’s eyes lock onto the mouse and dilate slightly. He tumbles over onto his side with it. Pointedly batting at it and tugging at its ear, trying to get Wilbur to come play. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Wilbur’s fingers twitch by his side.
Come on man.
Tommy picks up his purrs in volume, mimicking the comforting rumble —though pitched up at least three octaves— which he’s heard his brother do countless times when Tommy’s stressed. He releases the toy for a moment, rolling onto his back and wriggling his head around on the sweater’s fabric beneath him. Then, a stifled sigh stutters from Wilbur’s chest and he hears a slight shuffle, the couch rising up from its dip in weight, before large steps approach him and Tommy knows he’s won.
He peeks open his eyes, and meets face on with the giant brown Maine Coone that is Wilbur Soot. He meows delightedly at him as Wilbur steps forward, head lowering in his direction.
Then, just as Tommy starts raising his head up to look back at him, Wilbur darts forwards and steals the mouse right from under him. Tommy meows out in offense, struggling to his feet as he unwinds himself from the fabric which had folded about beneath him.
Quickly, Wilbur darts away. His long fluffy tail smacks Tommy in the face as he runs to the other side of the couch. Turning around in one speedy pivot, he places the mouse right in front of himself, just on his paws, and looks directly into Tommy’s eyes, challenging.
Oh, this bitch wants to fight? He’ll give him a fight.
Tommy bares his teeth and crouches down playfully. Then, he goes bounding over to Wilbur. He’s suddenly swatted down into the cushions with one quick swipe of Wilbur’s paw, and he gets tackled beneath Wilbur’s whole foot, pressing him down. He abruptly lies on top of him. Tommy writhes and tries to bite at Wilbur’s paw, but Wilbur just watches him amusedly. He licks Tommy over the top of his head with his massive prickly tongue and Tommy exaggerates a gag. Flailing his front legs out above him and complaining loudly through the muffling of Wilbur’s long fur, he gets completely ignored.
Though his purring never lets up, and he delights in his brother’s attention as Wilbur snuggles his head down next to his. His large purr thrums and begins to meet his own, except Wilbur’s purr rocks through his chest, much stronger than Tommy’s even capable of. Tommy’s completely pushed beneath his chest, and so it buzzes warmly against him. It’s comforting, and Tommy’s starting to feel a bit drowsy. Weighed down on the comfortable cushion by the warm soft fur of his older brother, completely surrounded by his pacifying purrs and feeling the day’s events catch up to him again.
Wilbur lets up his paw, a large breath of air Tommy hadn’t known had left him returns and he clumsily wriggles up to his feet with no specific purpose in mind. He doesn’t really know where to go, he’s sort of entered that hazy state of mind which is completely content on swallowing all conscious thought whole and just leaving him a defenseless little kitten, just wanting the safety of his brother. He fights against it ruthlessly.
Wilbur watches intently as Tommy’s flurried form stumbles about, calculating and cautious about his kit somehow hurting himself again. Tommy huffs and pants, catching his breath as he attempts to glare at Wilbur. Wilbur could roll his eyes. He lets out his paw, this time just hovering it in the air between them, and observing curiously as the overly dramatic kitten jumps back in caution.
He extends his arm, flicking his paw a few times, beckoning the little one over. He’s gone too far away from him. His mind buzzes anxiously the longer the little one stays away. He just wants to keep him close and shield him away from everything. His sweet little baby, he just needs a protector.
Though, Tommy knows better than that. The hazy buzz of instincts still clambering steadily over his mind, but his own thoughts scream of revenge and rebellion. He hangs tightly to those as he watches Wilbur stretch out his torso towards him. Laying on his side and covering his face incidentally with his arms as he reaches them out aimlessly above his head. It’d be funny if it weren’t so damn inviting. Finally, when Wilbur settles in his position, arms outstretched over his head but belly exposed to the ceiling and lying completely still, Tommy decides it’s safe to strike again.
He ducks slightly to the side where Wilbur’s arm semi-blocks him from view. Then, as he’s backing up slowly, winding up to get a good leap on him, he knocks into the abandoned gray mouse with his paw. He blinks at it, momentarily confused as his gears turn painfully slow. He lets out a quiet meow as he looks at it, deciding, “yeah, this’ll do.” And snagging it with his mouth once more.
The purring from Wilbur lets up minisculely, but he doesn’t move from his stretched position. Even though it sort of kills him inside, all his thoughts are screaming to let the baby come to him. Let him prove he can trust him. To be gentle with his fragile little one. All worries conscious Wilbur doesn’t have. But conscious Wilbur wasn’t here right now and instead this dream-like state of relaxation washes over his being.
Then he hears the slight squeak of the all too familiar mouse toy and his head swivels around just a little too late. Tommy’s tiny body crashes into him. Right on top of his stomach, though the weight feels no more than a beanbag, just enough that Wilbur can feel he’s there. Completely involuntarily, his purrs stutter to a start again. Heart caught fluttering into his throat. Oh. Sweet little one. Absolutely precious.
He gently lays his paws around him, pulling Tommy up further towards his face. His expression looks frazzled, and as they meet eyes, Tommy’s pupils dilate from half expanded to nearly his entire iris. Wilbur purrs at it, licking Tommy’s nose before nuzzling his head atop his. Tommy purrs back in response, snuggling in and leaning longingly into each press of contact. Wilbur tips them over, Tommy jolting slightly in his grasp as they suddenly thump over onto the cushions and Tommy’s securely half beneath Wilbur again. Though this time his fight lets up and it seems he’s got himself entirely worn out.
Their purrs together thrum to sound like a motor starting, or a lawnmower running. Something loud and rumbly and fully surrounding the space it occupies.
Tommy, face stuffed securely in Wilbur’s chest, two times his size, keeps stuttering out mews and calls that drive Wilbur’s instincts crazy.
He rubs Tommy’s head beneath his chin, and wraps his arms around him. His thick fur shrouds his entire form as he looks down at him, and he’s down for the count. Heart bursting with love that he can’t find any outlet to express to its fullest. Instead he leans and nips at Tommy’s head, then at his ear, drawing a complaining sound from him, but his big black pupils meeting his own makes him feel euphoric joy all over again. Tommy. His lovely, lovely boy. His wonderful baby, his treasure, his son…
He pauses, tongue hanging stupidly out of his mouth as he stops licking Tommy over top of his head. Tommy, who was practically grimacing the whole time, blinks up at him as he suddenly just decided to stop. He tilts his head, ear flicking and his tail shuffles to free itself before also flicking in the air. They meet eyes adoringly, Wilbur’s gaze so full of fondness and strictly human tears welling unnaturally along his waterline. Tommy worries, meowing and tapping his paw on his face. Wilbur exhales through his nose and it blows against his face and makes Tommy squint.
His tail thumps a few times unnaturally against the couch. His heart thumping in his chest along with it. Tommy settles back down, this time with his hands atop Wilbur’s snout. He coos internally. So fucking small. And licks the best he can at Tommy’s arms where he jolts and swats Wilbur’s face before returning his hands back where they were before. His eyes curve up, contentment and joy lining his features as he watches his baby’s eyes slowly blink. He’s falling asleep on Wilbur’s fucking nose. It twitches under Tommy’s soft paws and Wilbur can’t help it when he wraps the rest of his body around the frail little kitten. His tail strokes over Tommy’s side and he purrs deeper when Tommy shuffles to lay on top of Wilbur instead of just leaning on him.
He slowly lowers his head, tucking his hands delicately under him as Tommy’s whole weight remains supported by only Wilbur alone. He noses Tommy off of him until his body tips to the side and off his nose, and Wilbur delicately catches him with the tops of his paws. They settle down, Tommy’s back rising with soft quiet breathing and Wilbur’s instincts to protect slowly softening as he observes the little one, safely in his arms and by his side. The quiet slowly gets to him, the lull of Tommy’s monotonous purrs and the still warm air of the room makes Wilbur start to fall asleep.
—
When they wake up a few hours later, Tommy’s shifted back. His chest still rising and falling with deep breaths, and his head cushioned by Wilbur’s body. He huffs amusedly. Still wondrous of the way Tommy fits perfectly in his hold, in or out of cat form. His tail flicks and the poof of fur drags over Tommy’s face. His nose twitches and Wilbur finds it adorable. He twists his head just slightly to the side, lightly able to tap his nose to Tommy’s cheek. Their breathing is quiet again, though in the early hours of the morning, birdsong greets them from outside. Very far in the very back of Wilbur’s mind, he entertains the idea of running out to chase them.
Then Tommy turns over, ear to Wilbur’s side and their noses connect as Tommy’s eyes flutter opened.
They make eye contact, Tommy’s soft and sleepy and his pupils are constricted back to normal, but Wilbur’s make Tommy snort as he watches them relax and then slowly expand again. Tommy swats at his arm, the closest thing to him that he’s not already lying on, and Wilbur blinks hard as he’s startled. He shakes his head side to side before glaring at Tommy, eyes back to normal.
Tommy grins, teeth shining and eyes squinting in soft crescents as he pats Wilbur’s arm where he’d swatted at him. Wilbur huffs a breath, and then closes his eyes, flicking his tail as he starts to shift. Tommy freezes.
Oh fuck.
He struggles to sit up, hands running uselessly over the couch cushions, legs tangled in the cracks between cushions as he fails to push himself up in the seat. Suddenly, the couch dips behind him and two much larger much stronger arms wrap around his torso and seize him. He laughs, letting out a string of curses, wriggling and pushing himself forward, trying to escape.
Wilbur tuts. Brown curls falling over top of his brow as he uses Tommy as leverage to push himself up and rest his chin on Tommy’s shoulder.
“Tommmyyyy,” he whines, “I should have at least another twenty minutes of Tommy Time!”
Tommy tries to tug his way out by swinging his arms. “No! Fuck off, you’ve had Tommy Time!” He twists, breathing a little spent as he pushes down at Wilbur’s arm. The only thing keeping them both up right now is Wilbur’s body still laying securely over most of the couch, the lanky fucker. “It’s my time for Tommy Time now!”
Wilbur giggles, a little evilly, and strains his neck to lean up some and kiss Tommy on the cheek. Tommy suddenly stops struggling as his breathing hitches, and Wilbur takes the short moment of no resistance to finally fall backwards with Tommy in his arms. He squeals as he goes down and it makes Wilbur laugh.
“You’re such a fucking child.” He teases, smiling into the crown of his head. Tommy seethes, crossing his arms over his chest, but only effectively holding Wilbur’s arms in place.
“You’re such a fucking ass.” He twists again, but this time Wilbur lets him, as he turns around to stare Wilbur in the eyes.
He’s a bit dizzy, a lot of movement and core strength this early in the morning was certainly not something his body was prepared for, not that he regrets it. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.
Wilbur only smiles wryly, readjusting his arms to wrap tighter around Tommy’s waist and leaning down much more easily to leave a kiss on Tommy’s nose. He feels it this time, when Tommy’s face goes red. Tucking his face snugly to the side of his own. His throat rumbles in a strange habitual imitation of a purr. It makes Tommy have to stifle a snort.
“Big pussy.”
Wilbur squints his eyebrows and peeks his eyes open just slightly. Tommy’s arms have found their way under his armpits and around his back, grasping at the shoulders of his sweater. He looks embarrassed. Eyes opened but just staring at the couch. Wilbur’s so incredibly fond. He nuzzles Tommy’s cheek and Tommy pulls back from him, acting affronted but really just making space for himself to move. He lowers himself so that his arms now wrap loosely around Wilbur’s torso and his head sits comfortably against the older’s neck.
Wilbur lets him settle, then mutters rather childishly under his breath, “you’re the big pussy,” almost like he’s pouting and Tommy barks out a loud laugh.
“That is just not true, Wilbur Soot.” He starts. “I think you’ll find that I am actually not at all a pussy, and I am comparably much smaller than you anyway, so,”
Wilbur softens, hands rising up from where they rested on Tommy’s back to instead cradle his head. Delicately twisting some curly strands around his fingers. “Yeah,” he whispers, almost breathlessly, “you’re my little baby.”
That finally gives Tommy pause. Then after a few thumps of their heartbeats, he whines, burrowing best he can into Wilbur’s neck. Trying to, ironically, hide from the man. It’s so unbearably sweet, Tommy feels suddenly lightheaded.
… “You’re an arsehole.” He mutters, fondness and warmth dripping from his voice. Wilbur, unable to look down, has to direct his overwhelming adoration to the ceiling above them and hope it translates.
“I love you too.” He murmurs, stroking through the soft hair on the back of Tommy’s head and cradling him there just slightly tighter. His legs rotate to tangle with Tommy’s, tipping them over slightly on the couch and making Tommy shriek a bit. Wilbur giggles and really, what could be more lovely than this.
—
“What were you planning on doing with the fucking laser pointer anyway?”
Tommy cackles, falling backwards, just barely catching himself against the counter. “I, I thought,” he huffs, eyes crinkling up, “ha, I thought if I couldn’t get you to go cat mode then it would be the next best thing.” He laughs, leaning back on both elbows and staring up at Wilbur’s blank expression.
Wilbur’s eye twitches, he smiles a bit incredulous. “What the fuck. Tommy, the fucking, laser pointer wouldn’t make me go fucking ‘cat mode’ you motherfucker.” His fingers tap at the sides of his legs and Tommy watches them, eyes glinting knowingly. “The fuck’s that look for?”
Then Tommy rushes out of the room, past Wilbur, and shoulder checks him just to be a bitch. Wilbur startles, glaring at Tommy’s retreating form as he rubs at his arm.
Not two seconds later Tommy slides back in, quickly pressing his hands behind his back. “Oh, Wilbur.” Wilbur raises an eyebrow at him.
“Are you seriously going to do what I think you’re going to do.” He asks, but not as a question, more like he’s already resigned to taking Tommy’s antics on head-first. Tommy chuckles evilly.
“Oh, Wilbur Soot, what-Ever could you mean by that?” He clicks a button behind his back. Wilbur, curiosity getting the best of him, glances down at the sudden flash of light. This was his first mistake. Tommy grins wide.