Making a Home
Ximeria and Nora_Charles





WARNINGS: parasites



Jim first noticed when he walked down the stairs. It was a combination of the stench of spit-washed back alley and the eyesore of cat-hair-covered furniture. Automatically, he dialed up, and heard the scritch of claws and the rapid thumping of a little heart under the loveseat.

He wondered if Blair had let it in this morning to demonstrate how it was his home too - he had seemed more than usually pissed off last night during their now weekly house-rules discussion. Maybe he had stepped a little over the line.

Apparently Blair had, because he now noticed the folded up paper placed on the linolium of the kitchen, and the bowl of milk on the counter.

Jim frowned. If Blair wanted a cat, why couldn't he at least make sure that it was cared for adequately? Mentally he put together a list of things he'd have to get. A covered cat tray with odor-eating cat litter, sturdy food and water bowls to be placed on the floor and a scratching post.


Blair first noticed when he lay down on the cat. His first clue that something was different should have been the cold, cold glare Jim greeted him with when he came back from school. He had hoped that Jim's mood would have improved since last night's stupid argument, given that he'd had the day off because of overtime. But he didn't really think anything of it, until he put his head on a very pointy, bity cat.

He wondered if Jim knew that the cat was there.

He realized that as a sentinel, of course Jim knew that the cat was there.

He decided to throw out the cat and close his door. He discovered that the cat was currently curled up, hissing and spitting, under his bed; gave up and went to sleep.

Next morning, he woke up with the cat on his face.


The next few days were tense. When the cat walked on the table, Jim would give Blair a pointed glare, which Blair took to mean: 'it's my loft, and I can have a stupid cat if I want to'.

When the cat swatted Blair's notes off his desk and chased them under the closet wherefrom he had to fish them out with a bent wirehanger, Blair would give Jim a surly, accusing stare, which Jim took to mean: 'it's my home too, and I can have a disgusting, mangy, smelly beast if I want to'. And since Jim reluctantly had to agree, he said nothing.


Then the fleas moved in.

Blair suffered the most, since the cat slept on him. Jim thought he suffered the most, since he felt them, saw them, heard them, smelled them, and on one particularly unpleasant occassion, tasted them.

"Don't you think you ought to buy a flea collar for the cat?" said Jim with frosty politeness one morning soon after.

Blair, despite the blatantly unfair demand, assented as a gesture of good will, and in the silent hope that Jim would no longer feel the need to shut the cat in Blair's room at night.


After countless nights of being rudely shoved out of bed, poked in the nostril and bitten on his freezing, blanketless toes, Blair had had enough.

Three hours of work at the PD, five hours in his office at Rainier and four hours in the library: Blair was tired. What he wanted was to sleep in his bed. What he found was the torn flea collar lying on his tattered pillow, and his blankets snarled into a nest for a scowling, claw-flexing cat.

Upstairs was an unoccupied, queen-sized, satin covered bed belonging to a totally unfair and inconsiderate roommate currently on an all-nighter. The solution was obvious. Jim could sleep on the furry couch.


When Jim came home at 4AM, after an uneventful, yet depressing stake-out, he really needed his friend. The last few weeks of strained silence between him and Blair had worn upon him. But he wasn't fool enough to try to wake Blair at this hour.

That, however, solved itself as Jim crawled into his bed and found his dear and insightful partner waiting for him there. Jim was astounded at the caring and depth of understanding Blair displayed. He admitted to himself that he had behaved like a real jerk over the whole cat thing, despite telling himself that he was really showing Blair that he considered the loft Blair's home too.

Blair had forgiven him, and Jim was ready to start over.

He woke his new bedmate with a kiss, and then they had sex.


Next morning they dropped the cat off at the pound, and lived happily ever after in their shared home. Pet-free.


Authors' notes: Sorry! We love cats, honestly! And we love gay sex too!





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