Solo army-crawled forward until he could reach the treat smear with his tongue and lapped it up. I let out the breath I’d been holding a little too loudly, and he startled, staring at me for a long moment, and then apparently decided I wasn’t a threat and returned to licking up the treat. Jamison pulled his hand off my leg and squeezed a bit more onto the tip of his finger of his other hand, then extended that hand to the edge of the bed. “Come on, Solo. There’s more here for you.”
Solo regarded us with suspicion, and Jamison’s free hand returned to my thigh, squeezing anxiously. Seconds passed, and finally Solo crawled the rest of the way to the edge of the bed and lapped at Jamison’s finger. “What a brave boy,” he complimented the cat when his finger was clean. “Can I pet you?” He set the treat packet down and reached his hand slightly closer to Solo. The cat flinched but didn’t withdraw, and soon Jamison’s fingers were in his ruff, stroking. Solo remained focused on the treat packet and slunk forward until he could reach it. He began licking at the torn edge of the packet, and I sat back on my heels, picked it up, and squeezed a bit more of the paste to the opening so Solo could get to the good stuff.
By now, the cat was completely out from under the bed, though I noticed that one foot was stretched backward as if he was prepared to leap away at a moment’s notice. Jamison continued to card his fingers through the fur of Solo’s neck, and I just kept squeezing up more and more treat paste.
Without warning, Solo clambered up Jamison’s side, dislodging his petting hand, and perched on his back. He was now perfectly positioned perpendicular to me, the better to get at the treat paste I was dispensing; Jamison, on the other hand, was pinned in place by ten pounds of furball. He made aneepnoise and started to turn over, but froze when Solo dug his claws in to keep from being dislodged.
“I think you might be stuck there for a while,” I told him dryly.
Jamison sighed and propped his chin in his palm, looking over his shoulder at me. “I think you might be right. How is it that I’m being held down by a cat who weighs a fraction of what I weigh?”
I grinned and squeezed up more paste. The packet was almost empty now, Solo’s licks growing more frantic as he chased the flavor. “That’s the magic of cats. I saw a t-shirt once that called it ‘purr-alysis’: the state of being immobilized because there’s a cat on your lap and you don’t want to disturb it.”
“Purr-alysis,” Jamison mused. “I like it. Though technically…” He wiggled his butt. “There’s not a cat on mylap.”
Did he really have to draw attention to his ass like that? I tried not to drool at the tight, pert little thing shimmying in front of me. “I think the term can still apply,” I said through a slightly dry mouth. I went to squeeze up more paste and discovered the packet was now completely dry. “All gone,” I told Solo. I swear the cat frowned at me then, and he let out a peevish meow, pawing at the packet in my hand. “No, really.” I unfolded my legs so my butt could hit the ground and sat back, holding the packet out to him to sniff. “There’s no more.”
Jamison, moving carefully and slowly, managed to turn over onto his back, with Solo moving with him like someone standing on a rolling log. The cat ended up sprawled on his stomach, and Jamison raised a hand to pet him again. “Poor starving boy.”
I snorted. “Hardly starving, going by his bowl.”
Jamison adjusted himself again, this time moving so he could lay his head on my thigh while he continued to recline on his back. The cat surfed his movements, miraculously - or maybe not so miraculously, given that he was a cat - staying in place. Jamison sighed and nosed the seam of my jeans affectionately. “We got him out from under the bed.”
I set down the empty treat packet, wiped my hand on my jeans, and touched his hair, taking comfort in the companionable touch. “We did. We're awesome cat whisperers."
"Hell yeah, we are."
16
Henry
Week 8 - Friday night
Solo, apparently quite happy where he was, settled down into the loaf position on Jamison’s stomach, purring. I was pretty sure that if Jamison could purr, he’d have been doing the same. Hell, me too, for that matter. It was just a moment of contentment for all of us, I guessed.
Jamison closed his eyes and rested his hand on Solo’s back. “I can feel him vibrating under my hand,” he said with a lazy half-smile.
I stroked his hair again, unable to help myself. There wasn’t a whole lot of it on most of his head - Jamison kept his hair pretty short other than in the center of his scalp - but what there was of it was soft and silky to the touch. “Mmm,” I murmured encouragingly, just wanting to savor the moment.
He turned his head and planted a gentle kiss just above my knee. Through my flannel pants, by rights I should hardly be able to feel anything but a slight pressure, but I would have sworn his lips scorched me right through the fabric. My soft dickgave a twitch in response, and I winced, not wanting to get hard right under his head. That would be…I didn’t know, something between ‘rude’ and ‘embarrassing’.
Jamison, oblivious to my struggles, turned slightly onto his side and nuzzled deeper into my leg, Solo equanimously along for the ride and settling into his new position without protest. “You’re warm,” he said into my leg, his voice slightly muffled.
What was the correct answer to that? “Sorry?” I ventured cautiously.
“No, s’nice.” He pressed another kiss to my thigh, higher up this time. “Missed you this week.”
My hand tightened in his hair for a second before I forced myself to loosen my grip. He’d missed me? I wasn’t sure what to say to that. That I’d missed him too was a given, but I hadn’t wanted to push him and make him feel smothered, and now I wasn’t sure if returning the sentiment would be too…toosomething. Needy? But he’d said it first, so maybe it wouldn’t be.
“Hen?” he said, turning his face up to me and opening eyes that had been closed. I realized that once again, I’d been silent for too long. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
“No!” I interrupted him before he could finish apologizing. “You’re fine. I just, um, wasn’t sure what to say to that.” Jamison opened his mouth, but before he could get out whatever he was about to say, I went on, “I missed you too. A lot. Like, enough that it was probably a little weird. So I wasn’t sure if I should say that.”Word vomit. Great job, Hen.
Jamison’s solemn face transformed into a smile and he met my eyes. “It’s not weird. I feel like we’ve…I don’t know, bonded? Between the HIV thing and then the cats, and just talking and hanging out…I feel close to you. Which is maybe a little weird considering how we met and that we’re technically still in the middle of an HIV scare.”
I’d managed to almost forget about that for long periods, and then it would come rushing back to me in a flood of anxiety. Oddly, this was not one of those moments. I didn’t tense up, and I didn’t feel a sudden surge of renewed worry. Whatever happened, Jamison and I were in it together. I stroked his hair back from his face. “It doesn’t feel weird.”
He lifted the hand that wasn’t resting on Solo and tangled his fingers with mine just above his head. “It doesn’t,” he agreed. “Not sure what that means.”
