ladyjanelly (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ladyjanelly) wrote2007-10-31 10:54 am
ladyjanelly) wrote2007-10-31 10:54 am
Fic: Domestic Short-Hair (J2. PG-13 Crack!fic) 5/?
Jensen had a cat that became a man--
Jensen's sure he’s the worst cat-owner in the history of forever. He pets Trist’s hair and shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that the man is naked again. Except for his collar, and Jensen should really take that off, except it has his phone number on it and the thought of Trist getting out alone right now terrifies him. He ignores the cat-food-breath and tries not to barf at the thought of a person eating pet chow. Trist is in full-on ‘love me’ mode, making happy little murmurs in his throat and nuzzling against Jensen's chest and jaw.
“Good kitty,” Jensen says, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Trist doesn’t protest as Jensen pulls him to his feet and leads him into the bathroom. Jensen's profoundly grateful for his ex-cat’s boundless capacity for forgiveness.
“Here we go.” It feels silly to keep up this string of nonsense chatter, but Trist seems to like it, his sly half-smile never faltering. Jensen closes the bathroom door and Trist doesn’t freak out. Of course he’s never minded being in the bathroom while Jensen showers, so he figures it’s a bit early to start relaxing.
Tooth-brushing is messy. Trist has serious problems with the whole “swish and spit” process and when Jensen shows him how to brush his tongue he gags like he’s dying.
Jensen's not quite brave enough to try a full bath or shower, but he wets a wash-cloth and wipes down Trist’s face and shoulders, and then indicates where else Trist should wash. He tries not to be a perve and watch, but clearly he has to make sure the job’s thorough, right?
When all is as clean as a sink-bath can make it, Jensen leads Trist back out into the bedroom. “I’m gonna find you some real clothes,” he says, “Even if they don’t fit perfect.” He sits Trist down on the corner of the bed and goes over to the chest of drawers. Hmm. Maybe a pair of shorts? It’s not like it’s cold in the apartment; Trist just needs something to protect his nonexistent modesty and to save Jensen from the constant temptation to be a bad bad man.
He wrangles Trist into the boxers and then heads out to the kitchen to see how much damage has been done. Trist hesitates, wary of leaving the bedroom until Jensen is all the way out and then he bolts for the door to stay in the room that Jensen's in.
The kitchen is trashed, and Jensen counts to ten and then ten again to keep his temper. There’s cat food everywhere, from fridge to counter to wall to door. He sighs and gets out the broom. Trist watches from the entrance. There’s no trace of guilt on his face at all. It goes against logic, but Trist’s lack of contrition makes it easier to forgive instead of harder. It’s not like he made a mess to piss Jensen off.
Jensen sweeps the food into a pile and then calls Trist over. He figures this mess-making will be an easier habit to break if he has to help clean up. He shows Trist how to hold the dustpan down, how to press the angle against the floor. Trist seems fascinated with the process, deliberate in his movements as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the dustpan.
Jensen’s thinking about how Trist might eat cat food out of the trash can if he puts it there, and how he’s not quite willing to leave Trist alone in the apartment for even a minute while he takes it down to the dumpster. The garbage disposal seems like the smart thing and he helps Trist dump the food in, gets the water running and then turns to flip the switch.
Jensen sees movement out of the corner of his eye and he reacts before he even thinks, grabbing Trist’s wrist when his curious fingers are just inches from the drain full of spinning blades.
“No!” he says, or tries to say. It comes out sharper than he’d intended, and Trist jerks away from him, squirming free and running into the living room again. Jensen follows and finds Trist curled up in the corner, his face pressed against the edge of the couch.
“Shhh,” Jensen whispers, reaching out. It’s like when Trist first changed all over again, and Jensen hopes, he hopes to God, that it won’t be like this forever. He starts thinking about the future for the first time, what he’s going to do with a blank slate of a beautiful man and he feels how heavy this responsibility is.
Trist looks up, and Jensen coaxes him to his feet. “Come here,” he says, and Trist lets himself be manhandled back to the kitchen.
“The hole is bad,” Jensen says, and when Trist looks lost, he takes a banana off of the bunch and puts it down the drain. He flips the switch for just a second and the banana spins around. He pulls the banana out and shows the mangled end to Trist.
“It’ll hurt you. Do you understand?” He takes Trist’s hand and holds the fruit up next to it. “Hurt you.” He repeats and Trist curls his fingers defensively away. That connection, the ability to link ‘that gets hurt so I’ll get hurt’ gives Jensen hope. Trist can relate and learn and this situation has to get better.
“Trist is,” Trist says, and stumbles for the word, “Trist is bad. Trist is sorry.”
Jensen wants to kick himself. “No, Trist,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft, “You’re not bad, you just didn’t know.”
A guy that tall shouldn’t seem so small, huddled up against Jensen, his face hidden in the crook of Jensen's neck. It’s not cat behavior, the apology, the shame. Jensen isn’t sure what’s happening, but he can see Trist becoming less catlike. They stand like that for a long time, Trist shivering and Jensen petting his hair. The clock on the stove says four a.m.
Jensen sighs.
“Come on,” he murmurs, “It is so late it’s not even funny.”
He leads Trist to the bedroom and pulls the covers back from the bed. He slides in to his usual spot on the left side. Trist crawls up after him--Trist’s spot is between Jensen and the left edge. He squirms and pushes and Jensen surrenders the territory to him before he gets bruises from Trist’s awkward knees.
He turns out the light as Trist is kneading himself a perfect spot.
Trist is no longer a small furred purring creature, but the sigh of his breath and the warmth of his body bring Jensen more comfort than sharing his bed with anybody born human ever did.
Jensen's sure he’s the worst cat-owner in the history of forever. He pets Trist’s hair and shoulders, trying to ignore the fact that the man is naked again. Except for his collar, and Jensen should really take that off, except it has his phone number on it and the thought of Trist getting out alone right now terrifies him. He ignores the cat-food-breath and tries not to barf at the thought of a person eating pet chow. Trist is in full-on ‘love me’ mode, making happy little murmurs in his throat and nuzzling against Jensen's chest and jaw.
“Good kitty,” Jensen says, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” Trist doesn’t protest as Jensen pulls him to his feet and leads him into the bathroom. Jensen's profoundly grateful for his ex-cat’s boundless capacity for forgiveness.
“Here we go.” It feels silly to keep up this string of nonsense chatter, but Trist seems to like it, his sly half-smile never faltering. Jensen closes the bathroom door and Trist doesn’t freak out. Of course he’s never minded being in the bathroom while Jensen showers, so he figures it’s a bit early to start relaxing.
Tooth-brushing is messy. Trist has serious problems with the whole “swish and spit” process and when Jensen shows him how to brush his tongue he gags like he’s dying.
Jensen's not quite brave enough to try a full bath or shower, but he wets a wash-cloth and wipes down Trist’s face and shoulders, and then indicates where else Trist should wash. He tries not to be a perve and watch, but clearly he has to make sure the job’s thorough, right?
When all is as clean as a sink-bath can make it, Jensen leads Trist back out into the bedroom. “I’m gonna find you some real clothes,” he says, “Even if they don’t fit perfect.” He sits Trist down on the corner of the bed and goes over to the chest of drawers. Hmm. Maybe a pair of shorts? It’s not like it’s cold in the apartment; Trist just needs something to protect his nonexistent modesty and to save Jensen from the constant temptation to be a bad bad man.
He wrangles Trist into the boxers and then heads out to the kitchen to see how much damage has been done. Trist hesitates, wary of leaving the bedroom until Jensen is all the way out and then he bolts for the door to stay in the room that Jensen's in.
The kitchen is trashed, and Jensen counts to ten and then ten again to keep his temper. There’s cat food everywhere, from fridge to counter to wall to door. He sighs and gets out the broom. Trist watches from the entrance. There’s no trace of guilt on his face at all. It goes against logic, but Trist’s lack of contrition makes it easier to forgive instead of harder. It’s not like he made a mess to piss Jensen off.
Jensen sweeps the food into a pile and then calls Trist over. He figures this mess-making will be an easier habit to break if he has to help clean up. He shows Trist how to hold the dustpan down, how to press the angle against the floor. Trist seems fascinated with the process, deliberate in his movements as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the dustpan.
Jensen’s thinking about how Trist might eat cat food out of the trash can if he puts it there, and how he’s not quite willing to leave Trist alone in the apartment for even a minute while he takes it down to the dumpster. The garbage disposal seems like the smart thing and he helps Trist dump the food in, gets the water running and then turns to flip the switch.
Jensen sees movement out of the corner of his eye and he reacts before he even thinks, grabbing Trist’s wrist when his curious fingers are just inches from the drain full of spinning blades.
“No!” he says, or tries to say. It comes out sharper than he’d intended, and Trist jerks away from him, squirming free and running into the living room again. Jensen follows and finds Trist curled up in the corner, his face pressed against the edge of the couch.
“Shhh,” Jensen whispers, reaching out. It’s like when Trist first changed all over again, and Jensen hopes, he hopes to God, that it won’t be like this forever. He starts thinking about the future for the first time, what he’s going to do with a blank slate of a beautiful man and he feels how heavy this responsibility is.
Trist looks up, and Jensen coaxes him to his feet. “Come here,” he says, and Trist lets himself be manhandled back to the kitchen.
“The hole is bad,” Jensen says, and when Trist looks lost, he takes a banana off of the bunch and puts it down the drain. He flips the switch for just a second and the banana spins around. He pulls the banana out and shows the mangled end to Trist.
“It’ll hurt you. Do you understand?” He takes Trist’s hand and holds the fruit up next to it. “Hurt you.” He repeats and Trist curls his fingers defensively away. That connection, the ability to link ‘that gets hurt so I’ll get hurt’ gives Jensen hope. Trist can relate and learn and this situation has to get better.
“Trist is,” Trist says, and stumbles for the word, “Trist is bad. Trist is sorry.”
Jensen wants to kick himself. “No, Trist,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft, “You’re not bad, you just didn’t know.”
A guy that tall shouldn’t seem so small, huddled up against Jensen, his face hidden in the crook of Jensen's neck. It’s not cat behavior, the apology, the shame. Jensen isn’t sure what’s happening, but he can see Trist becoming less catlike. They stand like that for a long time, Trist shivering and Jensen petting his hair. The clock on the stove says four a.m.
Jensen sighs.
“Come on,” he murmurs, “It is so late it’s not even funny.”
He leads Trist to the bedroom and pulls the covers back from the bed. He slides in to his usual spot on the left side. Trist crawls up after him--Trist’s spot is between Jensen and the left edge. He squirms and pushes and Jensen surrenders the territory to him before he gets bruises from Trist’s awkward knees.
He turns out the light as Trist is kneading himself a perfect spot.
Trist is no longer a small furred purring creature, but the sigh of his breath and the warmth of his body bring Jensen more comfort than sharing his bed with anybody born human ever did.
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