Fic: Domestic Short-Hair (J2. PG-13, Crack!fic) 1/?
AN: Okay, so I couldn't imagine a cat named Jared, so I used his middle name and shortened it. And, Um, this is totally crack.
Ongoing fic of undetermined destination.
His phone rings for the fourteenth time in an hour, and Jensen decides this is a great reason why he shouldn’t have one-night-stands with people who have his number.
Okay, so truthfully he hadn’t thought it was going to be a one-night-stand when it all started, and he thought he’d want the guy to call him later. Then they’d gone back to Bill’s house and (after the not-so-good sex) Jensen had seen all the creepy statues and ugly antiques and wanna-be satanic crap and decided that maybe this guy was a little weird for him. A little too serious about his freaky little hobby and what kind of name is “Bill” for a “Dark Lord of Unimaginable Power?” Less than a day after Jensen said that maybe they shouldn’t see each other again the calls started, pleading and threatening by turns, and no amount of reasoning or anger on Jensen's part has seemed to make a difference.
All he wants it to have a quiet night and work on this new project his office sent him, and this stalker won’t stop calling him. He leans back in his desk chair and rubs his eyes. There’s a “Briip?” call by his knee and he smiles and pats his chest. Trist puts one paw on his knee, no claws at all, and bounces up into his lap, pressing his dark little kitty self flat on Jensen's chest. The little tag on his collar glints in the light of the desk-lamp, shiny and silver.
With a new source of comfort, Jensen decides to answer the phone one last time.
“What do you want, Bill?” He tries for rational, tries to keep the aggravation out of his voice.
“I want to know why you’re being like this,” Bill’s somewhat whiny voice answers, and why did Jensen never realize before how unsexy that is? “I want to know why you won’t give us a chance. I could be so good to you. I could be the perfect boyfriend.”
Jensen tries not to laugh, he really does, but the snort of laughter is out before he can stop it. “Are you kidding me? Bill, you’ve been nothing but a self-centered asshole since I met you.”
Trist flicks his ears back at Jensen's tone and tries to bite the phone. Bad plastic-thing. No pets for you.
Jensen grins and scritches Trist’s ears. It’s hard to stay mad in the face of such utter affection. “My cat would make a better boyfriend than you, you egotistic freak.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Bill huffs into the phone. Trist nuzzles in against Jensen's stubble, purring like a V8 motor revs in his chest.
“I hope the two of you are very happy together,” says Bill, not making much sense.
“Whatever,” Jensen says back and closes his phone. Crazy fucker.
Okay, so the next part’s a little confusing. One second Jensen's sitting in his chair petting the only pussy he’s interested in spending time with. The next, the chair falls over and a couple hundred pounds of naked man smushes him into the floor.
“Fuck,” he groans, trying to figure if he broke any ribs in that fall. His head feels like a piñata, and he hopes he doesn’t have a concussion from hitting the floor. He blinks up into the startled face of the young man, trying to figure where to put his hands to push him up.
“Brrow?” Says the guy, and surprise turns to distress. He scrambles off of Jensen and crawls as fast as a person can, over to the corner and tries to push himself into the crack between the couch and the wall. That doesn't work, and before Jensen can stop him, he rushes around the living room on all fours, finally ending up huddled under Jensen's desk, wild-eyed and breathing hard. And naked.
There’s a slender black collar around the young man’s neck, a chromed tag shining like a beacon against the hollow of his throat.
Jensen feels a little redundant, but the only thing he can make his mouth say is “Fuck.”
“Trist?” he offers and the man turns. God, he’s so scared he’s visibly shaking. Slow, so slow, Jensen crawls across the floor, one hand outstretched for--sniffing. Or something. His freakin’ cat’s a person, what kind of guy has a plan in place for that?
“Hey--hey,” Jensen says, being as soothing as he knows how. Trist lets him touch his hair, and for a second he just leans there and shakes. The next, he rushes into Jensen's lap again, trying to curl his not-small self up into a ball and hide his face in the crook of Jensen's elbow.
With one arm pinned by cat-boy, he fumbles his phone open with the other hand and dials a number he thought he’d never willingly call again in his life.
The other end of the line picks up, and there is a long moment of silence. “Jensen?” asks Bill. He sounds--weird. Cautious or something.
“What the hell did you do?” Jensen asks, his voice so cold and hard he doesn’t even recognize it. It was one thing when Bill was fucking with him. Fucking with a man’s pet, that’s gotta be off-limits.
“How are you using the phone?” Bill says instead of answering the damn question. “And. I mean. I didn’t think you’d be able to talk.”
“What are you talking about, you crazy shit?” The last of Jensen's patience is fading.
“You were supposed to be a cat by now.” Bill sounds perplexed and a little annoyed.
Jensen snaps the phone closed. Fuck. But he supposes if his ex really is a Dark Lord of Unimaginable Power, at least he’s incompetent at it.
Ongoing fic of undetermined destination.
His phone rings for the fourteenth time in an hour, and Jensen decides this is a great reason why he shouldn’t have one-night-stands with people who have his number.
Okay, so truthfully he hadn’t thought it was going to be a one-night-stand when it all started, and he thought he’d want the guy to call him later. Then they’d gone back to Bill’s house and (after the not-so-good sex) Jensen had seen all the creepy statues and ugly antiques and wanna-be satanic crap and decided that maybe this guy was a little weird for him. A little too serious about his freaky little hobby and what kind of name is “Bill” for a “Dark Lord of Unimaginable Power?” Less than a day after Jensen said that maybe they shouldn’t see each other again the calls started, pleading and threatening by turns, and no amount of reasoning or anger on Jensen's part has seemed to make a difference.
All he wants it to have a quiet night and work on this new project his office sent him, and this stalker won’t stop calling him. He leans back in his desk chair and rubs his eyes. There’s a “Briip?” call by his knee and he smiles and pats his chest. Trist puts one paw on his knee, no claws at all, and bounces up into his lap, pressing his dark little kitty self flat on Jensen's chest. The little tag on his collar glints in the light of the desk-lamp, shiny and silver.
With a new source of comfort, Jensen decides to answer the phone one last time.
“What do you want, Bill?” He tries for rational, tries to keep the aggravation out of his voice.
“I want to know why you’re being like this,” Bill’s somewhat whiny voice answers, and why did Jensen never realize before how unsexy that is? “I want to know why you won’t give us a chance. I could be so good to you. I could be the perfect boyfriend.”
Jensen tries not to laugh, he really does, but the snort of laughter is out before he can stop it. “Are you kidding me? Bill, you’ve been nothing but a self-centered asshole since I met you.”
Trist flicks his ears back at Jensen's tone and tries to bite the phone. Bad plastic-thing. No pets for you.
Jensen grins and scritches Trist’s ears. It’s hard to stay mad in the face of such utter affection. “My cat would make a better boyfriend than you, you egotistic freak.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Bill huffs into the phone. Trist nuzzles in against Jensen's stubble, purring like a V8 motor revs in his chest.
“I hope the two of you are very happy together,” says Bill, not making much sense.
“Whatever,” Jensen says back and closes his phone. Crazy fucker.
Okay, so the next part’s a little confusing. One second Jensen's sitting in his chair petting the only pussy he’s interested in spending time with. The next, the chair falls over and a couple hundred pounds of naked man smushes him into the floor.
“Fuck,” he groans, trying to figure if he broke any ribs in that fall. His head feels like a piñata, and he hopes he doesn’t have a concussion from hitting the floor. He blinks up into the startled face of the young man, trying to figure where to put his hands to push him up.
“Brrow?” Says the guy, and surprise turns to distress. He scrambles off of Jensen and crawls as fast as a person can, over to the corner and tries to push himself into the crack between the couch and the wall. That doesn't work, and before Jensen can stop him, he rushes around the living room on all fours, finally ending up huddled under Jensen's desk, wild-eyed and breathing hard. And naked.
There’s a slender black collar around the young man’s neck, a chromed tag shining like a beacon against the hollow of his throat.
Jensen feels a little redundant, but the only thing he can make his mouth say is “Fuck.”
“Trist?” he offers and the man turns. God, he’s so scared he’s visibly shaking. Slow, so slow, Jensen crawls across the floor, one hand outstretched for--sniffing. Or something. His freakin’ cat’s a person, what kind of guy has a plan in place for that?
“Hey--hey,” Jensen says, being as soothing as he knows how. Trist lets him touch his hair, and for a second he just leans there and shakes. The next, he rushes into Jensen's lap again, trying to curl his not-small self up into a ball and hide his face in the crook of Jensen's elbow.
With one arm pinned by cat-boy, he fumbles his phone open with the other hand and dials a number he thought he’d never willingly call again in his life.
The other end of the line picks up, and there is a long moment of silence. “Jensen?” asks Bill. He sounds--weird. Cautious or something.
“What the hell did you do?” Jensen asks, his voice so cold and hard he doesn’t even recognize it. It was one thing when Bill was fucking with him. Fucking with a man’s pet, that’s gotta be off-limits.
“How are you using the phone?” Bill says instead of answering the damn question. “And. I mean. I didn’t think you’d be able to talk.”
“What are you talking about, you crazy shit?” The last of Jensen's patience is fading.
“You were supposed to be a cat by now.” Bill sounds perplexed and a little annoyed.
Jensen snaps the phone closed. Fuck. But he supposes if his ex really is a Dark Lord of Unimaginable Power, at least he’s incompetent at it.