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pecanwriter · 3 months ago

Text

Fatty Fat Kitty Cat (M/M)

Words: 5688

Summary: A lonely man is adopted by a strong-minded cat.

Themes: Hurt/Comfort, Comforting with Food

The staircase light didn’t work. Yaro flipped the switch up and down two more times, just in case he simply didn’t put enough emphasis on his desire to see the first five times around.

“Kurva…” He muttered under his breath, letting the smooth stream of invectives flow from his mouth as he climbed up to his flat in the dark. Theoretically, he could light up a match or use that old brick of a phone for a flashlight, but it just always seemed wrong. He paid rent, he paid taxes, didn’t he at least deserve a working light bulb?!

The door creaked loudly as he opened it and the echo of the sound vibrated down the dingy staircase. It was cut short only by another curse word muttered angrily by Yaro as he nearly tripped over himself, trying to take off his sneakers without undoing the shoelaces.

After a long and exhausting day at work, he needed three things. Dinner, a cigarette and a drink. There was a chance, although a very slim one, that he still had some pierogies left after visiting his babushka out in the country last Sunday, he’d been thinking about those beauties the entire bus ride home.

“Of course” Yaro scoffed, standing face to face with the disappointing contents of the fridge. He stared daggers at the horridly expired carton of milk, a singular egg with an unknown expiration date, three beers and a piece of sausage that was starting to develop its own ecosystem. He shut the fridge, refusing to clean it out purely on principle.

Yaro had yet to encounter a problem that couldn’t be made at least a little better with a cigarette, so he pulled out the pack. He, once again within a minute, found himself gravely disappointed, staring into the empty package.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He muttered to himself, reaching under the sink for the rubbish bin. By his logic, if he went down to throw out the trash and simply bought cigarettes while he already happened to conveniently pass by the store anyway, that proved that he wasn’t addicted, he just simply enjoyed smoking.

“Come on..!” Yaro groaned when the rubbish bag started promptly leaking foul-smelling juices of unknown origin all over the kitchen floor and his socks. Hopping to the door, as if that would help, and holding the bag in front of him in an outstretched hand Yaro pulled on his shoes and half-jogged, half-stumbled down the stairs.

He threw the trash into the equally smelly disposal at the back of the apartment building and was about to go back around to the street side when something moved in the corner of his eye. Yaro was “thinner than a twig” as his babushka was fond of saying, but you didn’t survive in Eastern Europe for twenty-six years without staying on your guard in back alleys after dark. With the power of his Slavic ancestors pumping adrenaline into his blood, Yaro turned around, ready to throw punches and trade insults with whoever… He dropped his hands. It was a cat. A bloody cat. The yellowish-green eyes were staring at Yaro in the dim light of a distant lantern.

“Stupid puss, I was ready to punch you…” He spat. As a reply, the cat let out a long, pathetic meow and padded over, starting to walk around Yaro’s ankles in an eight-pattern.

“Stop it, you’re dirty,” Yaro grimaced, trying to move away without stepping on the animal. The cat firmly ignored him, going from circling to rubbing against Yaro’s calf “No, no way! Go away, puss!” Yaro gently pushed the animal away with his sneaker and began walking back. He didn’t even manage to turn the corner before something brushed against his leg again. “No, stop it, bad cat, stay here!” Yaro ordered, pointing at the cat with an accusatory finger, hoping that would somehow convince it. It didn’t. The cat softly padded behind him all the way to the door of the convenience store. Yaro saw its big yellowish-green eyes stare at him through the glass as he closed the door. The expression on the cat’s little face could only be described as deeply wounded.

“Good evening, Mrs Petrova,” Yaro bowed to the elderly cashier. She was an old gossiping crone, if anyone asked him, but it was much easier to just feign respect than get into a petty neighbourhood war with Janka Petrova. He was pretty sure that on that one memorable occasion when he managed to have a guy over, she was the one who spread the rumour all over the street. It wasn’t like Yaro was particularly liked by any of his neighbours before, but making them aware he liked to stick it up other guy’s asses did nothing to improve his popularity. Naturally, it didn’t work out between him and Boris, who proved to be more than a little “loose” in terms of what counted as “cheating”, but still, the fact was that the old hag spread the rumours, he was certain of it.

“Yaroslav, your door is creaking again!” She called as he disappeared between the shelves “Get it fixed!”

“Good evening to you too…” He muttered under his breath. After a moment’s hesitation, he took two packages of beef pierogies and a stick of butter out of the fridge. He knew the store-bought pierogies could never compare to the ones his babushka made, but it was better than nothing and he’d been craving them since leaving work. After close consideration, he also took a piece of ham and walked over to the bread section to take half a loaf of already not the freshest sourdough bread. He promised his babushka he’d start eating breakfast and he was pretty sure that woman could see deep into his soul to check if he was lying.

“And two packs of red Pall Mall, please” He added as Mrs Petrova rang his items up at a glacial pace.

“ID?” She demanded, looking at him from under her silver eyebrows with much more sharpness than the speed of her movements indicated.

“Oh come on, Mrs Petrova, we’ve been neighbours for four years, you know me!” He protested.

“That’s beside the point, Yaroslav” She scolded, her gaze turning into a glare.

He decided not to argue that she knew his name, address, sexual orientation and exactly what he ate every single day as she sold it to him, and somehow claimed to still not know his age. With a sigh, he presented his ID to her.

As he stepped out of the store he nearly tripped and fell, just barely avoiding sending his entire back of groceries into orbit. When he looked for the source of the disturbance, he wasn’t surprised to see a pair of yellowish-green eyes staring up at him.

“Shoo, puss, I have nothing for you!” He swatted at the air to scare off the cat, but the animal, instead of getting spooked and running off, began to sniff around his grocery bag.

“If I feed you, will you go away?” He asked, rubbing his temple.

“Meow.” That was what the cat said, but to Yaro, it almost felt like he could hear the “Probably not, but you can try, fool” behind that single syllable.

“Oh for Fuck’s sake…” He muttered, taking out his pocket knife (which he wore for protection, but only ever used to open beer and letters from the bank) and cutting a small piece of ham.

“Here, and now leave me alone,” Yaro said, crouching down and offering the meat to his oppressor. He was fully aware that he shouldn’t be holding it in his fingers, rather offering it on an open palm, but it gave him more satisfaction to somehow prove that he was trying to be civil, it was the cat that was the problematic one.

The cat looked at the offering, then up at Yaro. “Really?” It seemed to be saying, “You think the way you hold it carries any significance to me?” The cat snatched the piece of meat while, oddly, keeping eye contact with Yaro. All cats were shameless assholes, to his knowledge, but this one seemed to be on another level. He watched for a while as the animal chewed loudly and with obvious relish.

“Now, leave me be, aye?” Yaro cocked an eyebrow. The cat kept staring at him, giving no reply. Shaking his head in resignation, he got up and slid inside his building without another look back.

Yaro let out a heavy sigh before opening the door to his flat, the key already in the lock, but yet not turned. He turned around, with a resigned frown. Only the cat’s eyes were visible in the nearly complete darkness.

“I’m not letting you in, go away.” He once again shook his fist at the animal, but it remained, predictably, unphased. “No way, you’re dirty.” The cat still didn’t react. “I have no space for a cat.” No reaction, just eyes in the dark.

With a sigh so heavy and tortured only a pure-blood Slav like himself could produce, Yaro opened the door. He stood with the door open while massaging the bridge of his nose as the cat calmly sauntered inside.

“Why me?” Yaro groaned, closing the door behind himself.

“Still hungry? Where does all that food go?” Yaro asked, looking at the cat who had finished his second helping of ham and was currently playing with the bowl next to Yaro’s leg.

“Meow” The cat confirmed, looking up.

Yaro shook his head but cut one of his pierogies in half and placed it in the cat’s bowl. Once again, the animal began loudly chewing with obvious relish. Yaro took a closer look at the cat. It was male and visibly adult, although on the petite side for a cat. Its coat was that of the generic house cat; brownish-grey fur with black stripes and a few dark spots. Its tail was thicker than a household cat's and Yaro knew that meant it was probably a hybrid of a European Wildcat and a regular domestic. His babushka had several of those on the farm and taught him how to distinguish between them through coat, tail thickness and size. The fact that this was a hybrid made its small stature even more unusual. The cat had a white patch on its neck and half of its mouth, and one of its front paws also had a white patch. It wasn’t only petite, but scrawny; evidently, it didn’t manage to secure much food while living outside. Yaro was staring so intently he didn’t even realise the cat finished eating and was now staring back up at him.

“Are you going to go away now?” Yaro asked.

“Meow.” The cat said, seeming to say “Hell, no, you idiot”. As if to prove its point, the cat jumped up and started settling on Yaro’s lap.

“Oh, no, no way!” Yaro snatched the animal up by the scruff of the neck “If you refuse to leave, then you have to be washed.”

The cat cried bloody murder and tried to fight, but Yaro wouldn’t yield so easily.

“Don’t stare, it had to be done,” Yaro said. The cat just looked at him before theatrically turning its head away. It was sitting with all its paws tucked under it on the towel Yaro put out for it on the couch so it could dry out after the bath. “I’m the one bleeding, so stop acting like you’re the one suffering!” Yaro spat, once again examining the scratches on his arms.

After a moment a stripy head appeared in his line of vision and soon, a sandpaper texture of a cat’s tongue rubbed against his reddened skin.

“God damn you,” Yaro muttered, scratching the cat behind the ear.

The cat meowed a little short meow and continued to lick his arm.

“What should I call you? Stripy? Whitepaw?”

The cat hissed, swatting his arm with a paw, claws retreated. Yaro rolled his eyes.

“What then?” The cat hissed again “What? Should I just call you Cat?”

The cat replied by settling itself in on Yaro’s lap.

Once again, rolling his eyes the man turned on the TV and settled in for the evening, scratching the cat behind its soft ear.

Cat emerged from the flat, stretching its tiny body and flopping its tail lazily.

“Good morning” Yaro rasped, exhaling a cloud of smoke. He was crouching by the door on his tiny balcony and having his breakfast cigarette, staring over the roofs of other old, grey houses with peeling plaster and graffiti spattered all over them. The old lady on the top floor of the nearest house over was watering her plants with a head full of rollers and the transition of the morning mass blaring from her tiny radio so loud it could probably be heard all the way down the street. The young guy two floors down was smoking in the window, rubbing his shaved head. Someone called to him from inside the flat and he yelled back a few rather uninventive curses before disappearing inside. A pigeon landed on the rail of Yaro’s balcony and he swatted at it.

Cat sat down next to him.

“You’re lucky you don’t have to go to work,” Yaro said, taking another drag of his cigarette.

Cat let out a sound Yaro could’ve sworn was a snort of disapproving laughter.

“You cats think you know it all” He muttered to himself. Cat made a sound between a snort and a harumph. It didn't take a genius to interpret that as “Yes, we do”.

Yaro let out his own disapproving snort. For a moment they sat there in silence, the man smoking a cigarette, the cat swinging its tail lazily, both listening to the sounds of the early morning in town, soundtracked by the poor quality church music coming from the tiny radio across the yard.

“Alright,” the human said, standing up and making all his joints click “Let's have some food.”

“Meow.” The cat said, leading the human into the apartment, as if it belonged to it, not the man.

“I'm going to work, you're not coming,” Yaro informed Cat, who was standing by the door and watching him put his sneakers on.

“Meow,” Cat informed in an admonishing tone.

“Oh yeah?” Yaro said, glancing at it “You have business to attend to?”

“Meow.”

“Very well, it's not like I'm going to miss you,” Yaro opened the door, letting the cat out first and following behind it.

“Meow.”

Yaro rolled his eyes. He turned around to say something else after locking the door, but the hallway was already empty.

He stuffed the keys into his pocket and trotted down the stairs. By the time he stuck a cigarette in his mouth at the foot of the stairs and emerged into the street, it all began to seem like a dream. And yet, when he lit the cigarette it tasted suspiciously like loneliness.

“Meow.” Cat admonished, its tail swinging impatiently behind it, brushing over Yaro’s doormat.

“Sorry, I missed the first bus…” Yaro murmured. He leaned down to drop a piece of kielbasa on the doormat, but before it fell Cat snatched it up. Yaro opened the door to the sounds of the cat chewing loudly. He couldn’t suppress a tiny smile from stretching the corner of his mouth.

“How did your business in town go?” He opened the fridge, glancing away just for a moment to check if the cat was following him into the kitchen. Of course, Cat was standing right there by the table, looking at him very carefully with its giant eyes that today seemed more green than yellow.

“Meow,” Cat seemed to shrug.

“Oh yeah?” Yaro mused, putting a piece of ham in his mouth while considering how to fix up dinner.

“Meow!” Cat demanded.

“Jeez, fine, fine…” Yaro snorted, dropping a piece of ham and watching Cat snatch it up. “Fine, I give up, I’m not gonna cook,” He retrieved the second packet of store-bought pierogies and set a pot to boil.

Knowing that a watched pot never boils - as his babushka was fond of always reminding him, Yaro went out onto the balcony. It was getting dark and he could see a glimmering reflection of his own lit cigarette in the dark window across the yard. The old lady on the top floor was blasting the Evening News at full volume, and the young guy two floors down was yelling at someone while having a smoke, the middle-aged couple one window to the right from him was having dinner. The wife put a bowl of what seemed to be cucumber soup in front of the husband who nodded. Well, no, it couldn’t really be considered nodding, he performed a very minor twitch of the neck. She sat down across from him and asked something. He replied with another minor twitch of the neck.

Yaro startled, as a small ball of fur suddenly materialised in his lap and started settling in.

“Do you think they’re happy?” Yaro asked, absent-mindedly stroking Cat behind the ear and staring at the middle-aged couple.

“Meow” the cat replied philosophically, licking its one white paw.

Yaro took another drag of his cigarette, still unable to take his eyes off the couple eating cucumber soup “I know you’re not just a normal cat,” He heard himself say.

Cat froze, but only for a fraction of a second. He continued to lick his paws and then rolled into a ball with his back to Yaro. The man let out a sigh, patting the animal's back.

“Fine, you can pretend if you want. We all wish we could sometimes.”

Cat didn't come back the next day. Yaro didn't care, of course, he didn't even like the damn thing. He stuffed the cat bowls he bought at the nearby pet shop deep behind all his cluttered cooking pots and pretended they were never even there. For dinner, he ate dry sandwiches and drank disgustingly bitter tea because he forgot to take the tea bag out in time.

He sat on the couch, watching TV and drinking. A few times, his hand would lift mindlessly and he’d reach out to scratch something that wasn’t there.

Yaro turned off the TV, almost smashing the remote on the coffee table. His steps thumped on the floor dully as he walked to the balcony. The old lady across the yard was blasting religious radio again, the middle-aged couple was not there. Well, the woman was, crying with her face buried in her chubby hands. The buzzcut guy was in a fighting match with his father. Yaro looked at the middle-aged woman crying as he smoked. He inhaled so deeply the smoke burned his lungs and he coughed loudly, his eyes filling up with tears.

From the smoke, of course.

Later that night, the bed felt cold. He brought in another blanket from the living room, but it didn’t help. Eventually, after hours of tossing and turning Yaro fell into an uneasy sleep, his hand twitching at his side to scratch something that wasn’t there.

They fixed the light bulb. Yaro climbed the stairs feeling stupidly validated; he did pay the rent, after all, he deserved to have a working light bulb!

The bag in Yaro’s hand almost slipped out of his grasp when he made it to his floor.

“What happened to you?!” He hissed, crouching down by his doormat, looking at the little pathetic creature, the greyish brown fur speckled with red.

Without waiting for an answer, he scooped Cat up into his arms, the cat letting out a little pathetic meow, full of hurt.

“Kruva…!” Yaro muttered, dropping his keys and trying to retrieve them with one hand while cradling the cat to his chest with the other. His little furry body was shaking.

They fell into the apartment and Yaro kicked the door closed, his heart suddenly speeding up. Without even taking off his shoes, he rushed to place the cat on the couch. There was a chunk of skin missing from the cat’s right ear and there were bloody gashes on his tiny chest which moved up and down rapidly.

“What happened?” Yaro demanded, trying to touch the cat, but the damnable creature wouldn’t allow it, letting out a tiny hiss and jumping to its feet. Cat jumped off the couch. It stumbled a couple of steps but collapsed into a small heap on the carpet. Yaro noticed the cat couldn’t put any weight on his right back leg.

“Stop it, let me see” Yaro demanded.

Cat let out something between a hiss and a meow.

“That’s enough. Pretending is all fun and good, but you’re hurt. I need you to tell me what happened, so stop this farce.” Yaro demanded.

The cat looked up at him, the greenish-yellow eyes unreadable.

“Now.” Yaro demanded.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then the air began to vibrate slightly, or so it seemed. It suddenly got hot, incredibly so, the heat was so pleasant and overwhelming it seemed to fill Yaro entirely. He realised, out of nowhere, how exhausted he was. Closing his eyes was all he could think about, just for a second, even less than a second… When he came back to himself, the greenish-yellow eyes were still staring at him. Only, the face they were staring out of now was no longer a cat’s face.

There was a long moment of complete silence as Yaro and the naked man crouching on his carpet stared at each other. The moment was broken by the man wavering, clutching his side.

“What happened?” Yaro uttered.

“Can I have some clothes?” The man asked. His voice was slightly raspy but very soft. Somehow Yaro could tell that if he wasn’t on the brink of death his voice would be butter-smooth.

“Don’t you think it would be better to clean off that blood first?” Yaro suggested.

The man opened his mouth to respond, but his bright eyes lost focus and Yaro managed to catch him just before he fainted.

“Alright, that’s enough” he muttered. Without much effort, he took the man into his arms and carried him into the bedroom. He was really tiny. Short and skinny, way too skinny. His fragile body was shaking and Yaro tried swallowing the tightness in his throat.

After placing the man on the bed Yaro put a pair of boxers on him before starting to examine the injuries. There were deep, bloody gashes on his side, evidently dealt to him by another cat. Not only that, but his side was showing severe bruising. Yaro was no doctor, but it was easy to guess that he had at least one broken rib. There was blood on his neck and chest, but he soon realised it had dripped down from his mutilated ear. Without thinking much of what he was doing, Yaro climbed under the bed and retrieved the chest. Momentarily, he stopped, brushing his fingers over the beautiful botanical carvings on the dark wooden lid. The chest was full of small, meticulously labelled bottles. Each label was filled with his babushka’s handwriting and seeing that slanted, elongated handwriting made him feel a little more like himself.

With slightly shaky fingers he browsed the bottles, the sound of glass rubbing against glass was barely penetrating through the thumping of Yaro’s heart in his ears.

“Here you are, you fucker” Finally snatching the right bottle, Yaro sat next to the unconscious man on the bed and carefully opened it. A tiny sliver of smoke escaped and a thick, heavy aroma of herbs filled the bedroom. He tilted the bottle the slightest bit, his hand far from steady. A drop of dark liquid fell onto the first of the gashes on the man’s side and he let out a tiny groan.

“It’s fine, it will make you feel better, I promise…” Yaro ensured, letting another drop fall on the second gash.

After spreading the potion on each of the wounds and dressing them, Yaro pulled the covers over the man.

Feeling like he’d just aged twenty years, he stumbled onto the balcony and inhaled the cigarette smoke so aggressively it made him gag.

“Why couldn't I just adopt a regular fucking cat?!” Yaro groaned, wiping his watering eyes.

Yaro wasn't going to sleep on the couch, especially not because of a stupid cat. He was too tall to fit on it comfortably anyway. Carefully, he crawled over the unconscious man, pushing himself as close to the wall as he possibly could. He couldn’t help his curiosity and before turning off the light, he took a closer look at the sleeping figure.

It was impossible to tell how old he was; he might’ve been twenty, but he might’ve also been thirty. His hair was a shaggy mane of curls, the colour was brownish grey, the same as his fur. He had dark, beautifully arched eyebrows and long lashes that appeared slightly damp as they rested against his cheeks. Where he had white patches as a cat, in his human body there were birthmarks, visibly lighter than his slightly pinkish skin colour. One spread from his mouth down his chin and the other started at his neck and went down to his chest.

For a moment, Yaro put a gentle hand over the man's chest to check if he was breathing. Somehow, when he felt himself drifting away, the hand was still on his warm chest. The man was snoring softly, one could almost call those little rumbling sounds… purrs.

Waking up somehow felt different than usual. He was so warm and cosy, slightly sweaty, but in a pleasant, comfortable way. Yaro nuzzles himself against the shaggy hair pressed against his face…

Suddenly, the events of last night flooded back into his head and he jerked awake. The sudden movement woke up Cat and he jumped nearly half a meter into the air, instantly on guard. A hand slashed through the air and Yaro managed to cover himself just in time for the sharp fingernails to slash across his forearm, not his face.

“Hey, woah, easy, it’s me! You’re safe!” Yaro shouted, rubbing at the scratches on his arm.

Cat was crouching on the bed, teeth bare, the bandage Yaro put over his head to cover the mangled ear came loose and fell comically over his face. His yellowish-green eyes were wide and with their colour, how far away they were and the slightly almond shape Yaro struggled to imagine someone could possibly look more like a cat in a human body.

“Cat, it’s okay.” Yaro tried again, reaching out a hand.

Cat’s eyes dropped down from Yaro’s face to his arm. Slowly, he moved in closer, gently grabbing the arm with his. After a moment of examining it, he rubbed his cheek against the scratches.

“It’s okay, no big deal,” Yaro smiled gently, scratching the man behind the ear. Cat purred so softly Yaro barely heard it “Do you talk?”

Cat looked up at him again. After a moment of staring, he nodded. Yaro chuckled.

“Well, will you?” He asked with an amused smile.

“Thank you,” Cat said. As Yaro guessed the day before, his voice was butter-smooth. Somehow he could feel the undercurrent of a purr in every word. Cat suddenly seemed to realise he wasn’t in pain and grabbed onto his side, looking at it with obvious confusion. His human face was as expressive as his cat one.

“A healing potion,” Yaro explained.

Cat’s brows furrowed “You’re a witch?”

Yaro chuckled again “Don’t they teach you cats anything? Only women inherit magical abilities. I come from a long, long line of witches. My mother, grandmother, great-grandmother… You get it. I was the first son born in the family for centuries. I have no magical abilities myself, but I know a lot and I can prepare potions, but my grandmother has to magically infuse them.” Yaro stopped, feeling like he’d been talking for hours. Actually, he couldn’t remember the last time he said so many words at once.

Cat muttered something, pursing his lips “So that’s how you knew I wasn’t a regular cat.”

“You’re really shit at hiding it” Yaro smirked.

“Hey!” The man bristled.

“I’m Yaroslav, by the way. Yaro.” He outstretched a hand.

“Andrei,” Cat said, clasping the hand in a steel embrace. “Can we eat?”

Yaro laughed.

“You’re one hungry cat, aren’t you?”

Andrei shrugged philosophically.

Yaro stared as Andrei inhaled his third helping of ham sandwiches.

“What?” The man asked with his mouth full, hunched over the plate.

“I’m just wondering where all this food is going” Yaro said, sipping his tea, looking at the man’s skinny arms.

Cat’s eyes wondered “I don’t get to eat often” He mumbled, before stuffing the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“Are you…” Yaro started, unsure if he should push it “Are you going to tell me what happened to you?”

Andrei gulped down half of his tea in one long sip. He glanced at Yaro but quickly looked away again.

“I tried to convince my father’s tribe to accept me.”

Silence fell. Yaro pursed his lips; he knew how territorial and close-knit the Wildcat tribes were. And how fucking racist, too. That was evident enough, judging by the amount of half-breeds on his babushka’s farm.

“There’s no more bread, but I can make you eggs if you’re still hungry,” Yaro suggested with a half-smile.

Cat looked up at him. His bright eyes twinkled and he flashed a wide smile at Yaro; his canine teeth were noticeably elongated.

“Yaroslv! Control this damnable animal!” Mrs Petrova was holding a tubby cat up in her outstretched hands “It tried to steal my hot dogs!”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Petrova, cats, you know? They do what they want” He shrugged with a grin, accepting the cat into his arms.

“Does Mrs Morova know you have a cat? You better believe I’ll call her if you don’t control him!” Mrs Petrova called behind him, shaking her fist in the air after him.

“Did you have to?” He mumbled, carrying the cat up to his apartment.

“Meow” Andrei answered philosophically.

Yaro let out a resigned sigh. “Don’t be flippant or I’ll put you down and you’ll have to walk by yourself.”

“Meow!” Andrei objected loudly.

“I know, tubby.” Yaro grinned and swiftly avoided the paw directed at his nose.

He put the cat down before opening the door. As soon as they were inside an angry little man was standing in front of him, his fists clenched.

“Don’t call me tubby!” Andrei objected.

“Well,” Yaro crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the healthy layer of fat that had covered Andrei’s skinny frame since he’d decided to adopt Yaro as his own.

“I don’t like you” Andrei pursed his lips and sauntered away. Yaro couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of his decidedly more prominent ass jiggling with every step.

“Hey, come on, I’m sorry, tubby…” He said, running after him.

“You are so fucking rude!” Andrei’s mouth was agape with outrage.

Yaro shrugged, walking up closer, wrapping his arms around the smaller man to cup his fleshy ass.

“I never said it was a bad thing, did I? I think cats are way cuter when they’re fat” He smirked, leaning down to kiss Andrei’s grimacing face.

“I’m not fat!” He objected, pushing Yaro’s face away.

“Not yet, anyway,” Yaro said, squeezing his ass and enjoying the softness.

“Stop insulting me and go make me dinner, I’m hungry.”

Yaro laughed, leaning down again, kissing Andrei softly and then letting him go to obediently prepare food. By the time he was at the living room door, the tubby brown cat was already curled up in a furry ball, softly snoring on the couch.

“What the hell happened to you now?!” Yaro dropped the shopping bag on the table haphazardly. The jars in the bag knocked dangerously against one another, but he paid it no mind. Pickles were of significantly less importance than Andrei’s black eye and busted lip.

“Nothing, I’m fine” He muttered, swatting Yaro’s hand away.

“Like hell you are! Did you go to the tribe again?! Why do you keep trying, if they only hurt you, you stupid cat?” Yaro raged, not letting Andrei wiggle out of his grasp.

He swore under his breath as the air became overwhelmingly hot and seconds later he was fighting with a cat. Andrei slipped his grip and bolted it to the bedroom. With a heavy sigh, Yaro followed. When he opened the door Andrei was curled up into a bowl on the bed.

“Come on, talk to me…” Yaro pleaded, climbing onto the bed and smoothing the cat’s messy coat.

Moments later, he was resting his hand against a human shoulder. Andrei stubbornly remained facing the wall.

“I just want to have a tribe,” Andrei whispered so softly Yaro almost missed the pain in his voice.

He let out a sigh, wrapping the man in an embrace, rubbing circles with his thumb on his soft shoulder.

“You know, it’s one of the best parts of life that we get to choose our own tribe.” He kissed the naked shoulder.

“Are you saying you want to… Be my tribe?”

It made Yaro’s chest tight to hear the surprise in his voice.

“I already am, tubby.”

“Don’t call me that!” Andrei objected half-heartedly.

“It’s a good thing” Yaro said, rubbing Andrei’s soft belly that had not been flat in quite some time “It means you have someone to feed you. It means you belong to someone who takes care of you.”

Finally, Andrei turned around. His yellowish-green eyes were reddened with tears.

“I’m…” He bit his lip, looking away hesitantly.

“I know. Me too.” Yaro pressed his forehead to Andrei’s and closed his eyes, enjoying the low rumbling purr that escaped him.

“Are you going to make me dinner?” Andrei asked after a while.

Yaro laughed. Thank the Gods he didn’t adopt a regular cat.

#mmromance #paranormalromance #soft!feedism #mm

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