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07 January 2007 @ 07:24 pm
That's Some Cat!  
Place: Thorsten's Studio/Apartment
Date: Sunday, August 13, 2006

Nearly silent--damn cat, always managed to get up too close before he noticed him. Sitting on the lid of the toliet, contentedly laying on the clothes Thorsten had stripped off before he'd gotten in the shower. Felt those damn yellow cat eyes staring at him before he raised his head to look over.

(Water's getting cold. No more steam.)

"Thanks, I hadn't noticed," Thorsten muttered. Leaned forward, turned the cold water off, so the shower would stay hot longer. The suddenly almost too-warm water made his skin prickle and burn. He leaned back against the tub again, brushed the wet hair out of his face, behind his ear now, and looked back over at the cat.

(Touchy bastard.)

"Leave me the fuck alone tonight or I'll get your balls cut off."

The cat licked its lips and resettled itself. Eyes drifting half-closed with the look of all the arrogance in the universe. As if this little human boy here could even so much as think about harming him.

(Time to go out again, I think. Almost time to hunt up a new toy to play with. Make him cry a little?)

Thorsten ground his teeth together, felt his hands in fists. That strange burning in his mind somewhere--need need need--want want want. Denied it for too long this time and it was burning its way down, over his shoulders and his arms, settling in his belly like a disease and nothing was going to stay the impulse this time.

"Not hardly," he retorted. "Some people were born with a degree of self-control."

(You not being one such person. Go out and find yourself someone. Fuck them until they cry--bring them here, I'll help.)

"How fucking kind of you. I don't particularily want to find someone to fuck, thanks." Water chilling out again, the prickling was gone and now it was some strange soothing lukewarm. He leaned into it, away from the eyes of the cat, felt the water beating down on his head, soaking his hair, his back--closed his eyes.

(Then find someone to fuck you until you cry. Been too long and you're not too picky to start with--ought to be easy.)

Thorsten looked back at him. "I am capable of abstaining for longer than six days. There are other things in life than just sex."

(Abstain? You? The very thought is amusing. Even if its been almost three months--)

"I've had my most faithful companion to keep me company, thanks." And he pumped his left hand up and down in the shower randomly, saw the cat's eyes glance at it and then look back at his face.

(Yes, and the sheer number of repetitions of that company should indicated to an intelligent person that your left fist isn't going to satiate the need. Go get fucked--you'll feel better.)

"Maybe if I got my right fingers involved I could just pretend some hunky japanese guy was grunting over me. With that vivid imagination I have and all that bullshit."

(Practice a little quality control, then. You sell yourself far too cheaply.)

"One of these days I'm going to get a dog and teach him to hump you instead of the pillows--wouldn't that make you feel better?"

Not even so much as impressed or amused. Just that same straight yellow stare. (Wear the white pants--no, you got paint on them last time. Wear the charcoal pants, no underwear.)

"Those damn pants are too tight," Thorsten objected, leaned foward between his knees and turned the water off. Too cold now and the air was too sharp and chilled too. He stood up grabbed the towel. Dried his face and his chest and then his legs.

(That, of course, being the point. They're supposed to show off your ass and they do--quite nicely.)

"I don't have any shirts to go with those pants, anyway." Dropped the first towel on the floor and grabbed the second one off the sink, leaned forward, shook all of his hair so it was hanging around his face and set to rubbing it dry.

(Then don't wear one.)

"Some us aren't egocenteric assholes, you know." Done with his hair, tossed the towel at the cat, who hissed in annoyance as it landed on him with a wet smack. Had to fight his way out from under it and emerged with a highly displeased look. Thorsten ignored it, turned his back to that cat and walked way. Feet padding over the chilly floor, to his bedroom. Pulled open the closet door.

Heard the cat run after him, slip between his ankles--give a little rub there--and then look up at the clothes.

(Black pants. That clingy transparent shirt. And take condoms with you this time.) Then the cat turned and walked away. As if his command so obviously had to be obeyed.

Thorsten considered it--resisted it, more like. Couldn't obey some cat that shouldn't have a fucking voice in the first place. (Nothing's wrong with being a little crazy, right. Talking to a cat, that's not so bad. He was an artist, a little crazy was perfectly expected.) Felt his belly tightening up again, and that burning in his mind-- Hard to ignore it, tried, tried harder this time than he had before. Couldn't figure out why, resistance was futile and the same such stupidity.

(NOW you realize that...think of all our wasted time.)

Thorsten tugged the pants off their hanger. Felt them slide, slick smooth fabric and pulled them on his legs. Not snug on the legs, clingy across his thighs, a little, too snug across his ass. But that was the point, of course. Buttoned them and felt them settle nicely on his hips. Inches below his belly button.

And the shirt. Lost somewhere in the back of the closet--he'd bought it but he'd never worn it. Pulled it out. Ridiculous thing, made with a zipper rather than buttons--easier to get off in a hurry he figured--and it was damn near see-through. Supposed to be of course, easily see-through with the right lights. Pulled it on, zipped it half way up, stopped at his collarbone.

He always hated things on his neck.

Turned away from the closet and grabbed the hair brush off the desk. Ran it through his hair, tugging it all back away from his face--except his fucking bangs that fell back into their place, almost getting in his eyes--held the brush between his teeth and plucked a hairband out of the pile.

(You should leave it down once in a while.)

"Gets pulled," he mumbled around the brush. Finished the pony tail--loose, his hair was going to fall out of it all evening. Didn't matter, if things went like they needed to his hairtie was going to get lost on some guy's bed or in some bathroom or alley anyway. "Should cut all the fucking shit off anyway."


Thorsten stood there, looking at himself in the mirror. It felt wrong--the reflection. His hair was freshly green--two days ago--eyebrows too. The red had started to grow out, shown through. Had to dye it back again. But it hadn't felt right this time, felt like it was hiding somehow, and standing here now, looking at himself. Knowing what he was going out for--knowing that he could get it and easily--it felt like he was lying. Hiding from the truth.

Wanted to find someone to hurt, not someone to fuck. (Fuck 'em until they cry.) Could--had--wanted to now. Always wanted to when he held it back too long and it always felt good. Satisfying.

Felt like the truth.

"Fuck," he breathed out.

(Yes. Maybe more than one. Let your inner whore free.)

Thorsten felt the smirk spreading across his face--didn't feel like his own--and turned his head to glance over at the cat. "Bring 'em back here, so we can play for real, right? One to top, one to bottom, me in the middle and you whispering those nasty little nothings into their ears?"

The cat's ears twitched, flicked and then laid flat back against his head. Something nearly vicious in the way he stared at him from his own pillows. (Yes. Exactly.)

"Hm," Thorsten said. Shook the bangs away from his eyes, but they fell right back anyway. "I'll consider it."


Thorsten shoved the cat off the bed, heard him land--on his feet of course--and collapsed agianst the pillows, wriggling under the covers with a yawn. Eyes closed, floating off to sleep almost instantly until that damn fucking cat jumped back up on the bed and walked over his head to reclaim his rightful spot.

(Forgot some things.)

"Here," Thorsten murmured and turned his head to look at the cat, fingers extended under his nose. Watched the damn animal sniff at them and chance a little taste.

(Tears? Interesting.)

Yeah. Tears--but not interesting. Boy damn near cried just at the thought of it. Wanted the fucking, sure, but for his own angst driven reasons--wanted to forget something, and up on his knees on his own bed--couldn't forget his little sobby story even for a minute. Rubbed his face in his pillow and squeezed out his tears in time with pace of the sex.

Thorsten had just turned the boy's pretty face out to rub his fingers in the trail of salty tears, felt that grin spread across his face and something that might have been that kid's thoughts murmuring somewhere in his. (No, no, that would be *crazy.*) And the boy had looked at him, just briefly, over his shoulder, then turned his face away and back into the pillow. Urgently pressing back--trying to kill the memory.

(Naughty.) The cat murmured, content and sleepy. Settled down on his place and gave Thorsten's fingers another short lick.

"Yeah--whatever," Thorsten yawned. Promised himself that he'd feel bad about it tomorrow--maybe. Think about feeling bad about it.