I looked back in time to see him crouched down, cat ears prominently displayed on his head as he swiped again at the door. He meowed again, but he stayed on the carpet instead of crossing into the bathroom. I chuckled. “Just a minute, kitten,” I told him. “Then we’ll play some more. Maybe your yarn, hmm?”
He meowed again as I started to wash my hands, though whether it was agreement or not was entirely up in the air. I didn’t know what the little meowing noises he was making meant. I wasn’t even sure if he did, for that matter.
When I dried my hands off, he retreated back into the bedroom, and I caught sight of the tip of his tail before he disappeared onto the other side.
Without the distraction, I was all too aware of the fact that I felt like I was getting sick. I didn’t have the time to be sick, and I couldn’t take care of him if I got ill either. I’d justhave to will it away and hope it didn’t happen. Just a bit of sleep would take care of that, though it was harder to sleep all day now than it once had been.
I wanted to spend my time with him, not lost in dreamland.
I exited the bathroom just in time to see him roll onto his back. I thought that was a puppy thing, but he meowed again, more insistently.
I went to him, cautiously reaching down to touch his stomach, but he instantly latched onto me with his fingernails. I yelped, yanking my hands back, and stared, startled, at him. He’d just attacked me. He hadn’t drawn blood, but he’d definitely attacked. What the…
He rolled a little, still on his back, and pawed at the air.
Again, I tried to pet him.
Again, he snatched onto my hand, and this time when I didn’t immediately pull away, he brought it to his mouth and started to nibble on my fingers.
Realization dawned on me slowly, too slowly, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
“Naughty kitten,” I chided him. “You obviously want pets. Am I not petting you right, hmm?”
Just like a cat.
I gently pulled my hand away, and his fingernails dug into my skin. It wouldn’t leave marks, but it was still surprising. How could he possibly know I’d be okay with this?
That was when I saw it.
There was a tiny little smile on his lips, something so minute it almost wasn’t there at all… but it was there all the same.
I stopped immediately, staring at him, and the smile vanished just that quickly.
“No,” I said hoarsely. “Please.”
I reached down again, but this time I sought out his hair. I scratched behind his ears then patted his head, smoothing my fingers through his soft hair, and that time, he let me do it without grabbing for me… for a moment.
Then he pawed at me again, trying to bring my hand toward his mouth. I chuckled, shaking my head a little as I teasingly wrestled against him. His fingernails dug into my skin a little more, but I was enjoying the game too much to care.
Because he smiled, really smiled, the next time he got my hand to his mouth and he started nibbling again.
The hints of nausea started to get stronger, but I tried not to show him that I was struggling. He was… enjoying himself, impossibly, and I didn’t want to see that crash and burn because I wasn’t feeling well. I had to chase this, to see where it would go. I had to play with him so I could see more of that smile.
“C’mon, kitty,” I told him, bopping him on the nose. “Let me pet you.”
He meowed, and the next time I reached down to stroke along his chest, he let me touch him. He shivered when my fingers neared his belly button, and I traced circles around it before letting my hand drift south.
I stopped just shy of touching his half-hard cock, though it was a near thing. His breath caught, and he watched me intently, his eyes never leaving my face. I wanted to touch him, damn near needed to touch him, and the hardest thing I’d ever done was to pull my hand away.
“Good kitten,” I praised him instead. “Very good.”
He rolled onto his side, curling up, but he headbutted my leg as he got comfortable. He was still so playful, yet there was something more there, something almost…
Warm.
For the first time, I felt like I was seeing him — not the angry young man who wanted to lash out at me, but something much more genuine. He’d smiled for me, and he was half-hard for me, and I wasn’t taking advantage of him.
Granted, it was partially because the nausea was damn near overwhelming, detracting from the perfection of the moment, but I also wanted to believe I’d have left him alone anyway. Maybe I would have, and maybe not, but in that moment, I let him have his space instead of invading it.
