Work Text:
“Um…”
Phainon blinks. Binks again. Brings a fist up to rub at his eyes. The hallucination in front of him doesn’t change. His jaw hangs open in perpetual disbelief.
“Is there a problem?” the hallucination says. Atop its head, one of its ears flick.
Phainon scrubs a helpless hand through his hair and down to palm at his nape. “I, uh…” He swallows. Groans. “I knew I shouldn't've had that sixth cup of coffee…”
“What?” The figure, tall, built, familiar except for the goddamn cat ears and tail crosses its- his arms.
“Nothing.” With a final, long sigh, Phainon rubs at his temples, pats himself awake. Then, chest puffed with his inhale, he takes determined strides to where the man in the doorway stands with a guarded expression on his face.
He watches Phainon’s approach, all the way up until he stops right in front of him. Phainon narrows his eyes, drags his look from head to toe, taking in every detail. The same soft, fiery blond hair fanned out like the sun, the same faintly scowling expression with golden-and-navy eyes, even the outfit matches Phainon’s recent memories.
Without a doubt, this is Khaslana. The very same Khaslana that Phainon lives with, whom he sees every day and works out with and eats lunch with. The only issue being… atop Khaslana’s typically empty crown, are two cat ears, pressed lightly back against his head as though anxious.
And, Phainon leans slightly to the side, there’s a tail too, the exact same pale golden of his hair, flicking and twitching in agitation.
It’s entirely possible that Phainon passed out at his desk and is dreaming the strangest dream right now, but as he meets Khaslana’s confused eyes, he feels a foreign, almost child-like giddiness building up in his chest.
Whether he’s hallucinating, or this is a dream, it doesn’t matter to him. His roommate, friend, and long-time crush has just walked through the doorway with cat ears.
There’s only one possible thing he can do.
Phainon’s fingers twitch at his sides, and as though possessed, his hand raises up and up, reaching until it bypasses Khaslana's face.
It’s when he’s centimeters away from making contact that Khaslana catches Phainon’s wrist, halting his movement, a furrow to his brow. “What are you doing?”
Phainon blinks wide eyes at the secure, real grip. Okay, so the hallucination theory has just been made moot.
“Oh,” he says dumbly, “You’re real?”
“Excuse me?” The grip tightens, reflexively, as if to say yes, obviously.
Phainon lets his arm dangle awkwardly in the hold, eyes snapping back and forth between golden eyes and fluffy, blond cat ears.
Just to make sure, Phainon uses his other hand to grip Khaslana’s shoulder, then his bicep, because usually you can’t touch hallucinations, right? The taller’s cheeks gradually turn a faint shade of pink, but Phainon’s too busy watching the way the cat ears twitch in response to the touch.
“Huh…” he mumbles, and lightly tugs his wrist from Khaslana's grip, who releases him easily. Then, he pinches himself. Hard, because his pain tolerance is high enough to worry most doctors he’s ever seen.
If it’s not a hallucination, then that only leaves the dream theory.
Phainon waits, bravely bears the baffled, unblinking stare Khaslana is giving him, and then exhales quietly when he doesn’t wake up.
His arms drop, limp at his sides. “Say, Khaslana?”
Said man straightens a tad at being addressed— just a minute twitch of his shoulders— and finally blinks after a good minute and a half. “Yes?”
Phainon presses his lips together, cradles his chin as though pondering a grave question. “Are you aware that you’ve turned into a catboy?”
Khaslana’s lips part, though no sound makes it past. He closes them again, then reaches up himself, patting around his head until he feels the ears nestled among the golden strands there. Both the ears and his fingers twitch at the same time when they meet.
Quickly, he reaches behind himself and grips his tail in a fist, tugging it around his body so they can both stare at it. The tip still twitches, like the movement is subconscious, uncontrollable.
“Ah.” It’s silent for a few more moments, both men soaking in the realization that this is indeed real and happening. “So I have.”
Their eyes meet. Phainon speaks first. “What do we… do about that?”
Khaslana looks just as lost. “I have no idea.”
Phainon figures enlisting some outside help is a good start. He calls a friend, brews some tea to lure Khaslana out, and then they talk.
“So,” Phainon rubs at his temples, feeling a headache coming on, “you’re telling me, there is no scientific explanation for this, but there’s theories online.”
He needs some fucking sleep.
Hyacine nods from across from him, at least looking apologetic about it. She did her best to explain to them, and Phainon’s grateful, he just wishes the answer were simpler.
Khaslana continues where Phainon left off, arms crossed. “And… the cases are so rare, that it’s a stigmatized thing, and so there’s no actual basis of knowledge to go off of.”
Hyacine sighs. “Unfortunately not. The most I can tell you is to trust what other people have said, because…”
She trails off, and Cyrene fills in the blank. “You kind of have no other choice.” The words are harsh, but her tone is anything but.
“Right…” Hyacine darts worried glances between the two men. Out of the corner of Phainon’s eye, he sees Khaslana's tail swishing back and forth atop the cushion of the chair.
If there's one good thing about this, it’s that Khaslana has become marginally easier to read.
Phainon sighs, and shakes his head slightly. “I'd rather be positive about this.” He leans slightly towards Khaslana at his side, who meets his gaze sidelong. “The longest case was a week, right? And most people agree on the theory that it isn’t a permanent thing.”
He smiles a bit, unable to help himself. Frankly, he’ll be glad if this lasts a week. Khaslana just looks too cute. “So all that’s left to do is wait.”
Cyrene giggles, at what, Phainon doesn’t know. But the look she gives him makes him feel like she heard his thoughts.
Hyacine perks at the lift in mood, smiling brightly. “Right! And you can always hide your ears with a hood and tuck your tail into your pants, Khaslana.”
Khaslana gives a little huff. “I’m still getting used to it, but…” He catches Phainon’s eye again, gives him a barely-there smile that burns like sunlight in Phainon's chest. “I think it’ll be fine.”
Phainon grins back. “The rest, I guess we’ll just have to find out ourselves.”
“Alright, well,” Cyrene huffs, “I have classes, and Hyacine definitely has work, so you’ll be on your own now.”
She sends a discreet look Phainon’s way. The kind of look that immediately says she knows exactly what Phainon had been thinking earlier, just as he feared. She glances away in the next second.
Phainon valiantly wrestles against the slight heat that wants to rise to his cheeks, and he and Khaslana see the girls out, thanking them as they go.
Hyacine waves. “Call me with updates!” And at Phainon’s agreement, she speed-walks off, the opposite direction of Cyrene.
Phainon sighs as the door shuts, his forehead thumping tiredly against it. Khaslana’s already walking back, collecting their emptied mugs and the girls’ cups of their own drinks and heading to the sink.
Phainon watches his shoulders shift as he washes, smiles at the now-relaxed curling of his tail, the gentle perk of his ears. He leans back against the table after tucking in the chairs, fingers stippling against the wood.
“So,” he starts, one of Khaslana’s ears twitching back towards the sound of his voice, “Are we still going to the gym with Mydei?”
Ah, oops. All that tension comes right back. Phainon barely stifles the immediate laugh building in his chest.
“That’s a no, huh…”
Khaslana smooths his already perfect posture back out. “I didn’t say that.”
“Your ears said it for you.”
He can’t hold back his laugh that time at Khaslana’s disgruntled sigh.
Despite what Khaslana says, since it’s only the first day of this… incident, they opt to skip this particular gym session. Phainon takes the initiative to let Mydei know via text, and receives a single thumbs-up emoji in response.
A man of few messages, he is…
That just leaves the two of them hovering about in the kitchen. Because though they’ve talked it through, there’s still vague unease about this whole thing. Strangers’ words on the internet are hardly credible, especially since every reply treated the people talking about it like they were insane asylum escapees.
Not that Phainon blames them, per say…
But regardless, there’s nothing left to do but move forward. He and Khaslana chat a bit, nothing deeper than simple small talk (in which Phainon keeps getting distracted by every little twitch of those furry little appendages and at one point gets his arm hastily knocked aside whilst reaching for the coffee machine— paired with a ferocious stare, it does the trick; no more coffee for him) and it’s fine. It’s fine.
Phainon’s feeling increasingly dead on his feet but there are currently more pressing issues. Namely, the fact that on a typical day Phainon is very conscious of how much staring at Khaslana he does, but ever since his roommate walked through the door, he hasn’t really been able to stop. At least there’s a valid reason.
The thing is, it makes him notice. More than he normally would, especially the small things.
Like how Khaslana, someone who is usually so sure and confident in his body and movements, hasn’t stopped shifting his weight every ten seconds or so. Phainon could ignore it at first— in fact, the distractions made it easy— but he’s starting to get concerned. It's entirely unlike Khaslana to fidget.
Phainon frowns gently. “Are you okay?”
Khaslana huffs a little annoyed sound. “The tail’s damn inconvenient with pants,” he grumbles.
Phainon’s eyes dart down as if to check for themselves. Oh. He hadn’t even considered that. So that's why his pants are so low on his hips (yes, obviously Phainon noticed that too). Because indeed, Khaslana seemed to opt for resting the waistline just below where the fur begins. Then, the shirt must be to compensate and cover anything up. So, wait, is he wearing underwear?
A thought passes through Phainon’s head, fleeting but loud: Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk around naked?
“Oh.” Comes his late response. Phainon physically feels himself buffer at the thought, and then it gets launched into the stratosphere within the next blink. He watches it sail into the distance with little remorse.
Then, with mounting horror that comes far, far too late, he realizes his mouth is moving before he can stop it.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just walk around naked, then?”
What. Wait, wait. What?
He’s never letting himself get this sleep-deprived again.
Khaslana turns, very very slowly, towards Phainon. He meets Phainon’s eyes, wide with mortification, and does nothing but watch as Phainon’s face gradually goes from white to pink to red to crimson.
He wants to say, Haha! I was just joking! or Ignore that, I think I’m sleep-deprived, or literally anything at all, but he can’t. Composure gone, pride crumbled away.
Khaslana frowns a bit, then says, “Technically, yes. I suppose.” He looks down at himself like he’s genuinely considering it, and a bit of Phainon’s soul leaves his body right then, imagining it.
“Please don’t!” he manages to squeeze out. “I was kidding!”
Phainon’s face might be hot enough to fry something on.
Khaslana’s eyes dart back up to him, just hovering for a moment, and then Phainon catches the twitching of his lips before his composure breaks, and he laughs.
It’s low, under his breath, but it shivers down Phainon’s spine like something tangible. Khaslana’s laughs are so rare, Phainon has kept every memory of them tucked close to his chest. He reminisces upon them occasionally when he’s feeling particularly lovesick.
Heat receding, Phainon exhales shakily, and makes sure to catalogue every single detail of this moment to add to the others.
“I know,” Khaslana eventually says, still smirking a bit. His voice is low and fond, and it hits like a kick to the solar plexus.
“Jeez,” Phainon huffs. “Do you like torturing me?”
“Only sometimes,” Khaslana says, far too genuinely.
Phainon doesn’t grace that with a reply, but he doesn’t fight the grin forming. It's quickly superseded by a yawn, however.
“Alright. Mortal danger passed, we figured it out, you’ll live, I'm going to sleep for forty hours.”
Khaslana watches him leave with that same unreadable stare, soft around the edges. “Sleep well,” he calls monotonously, and Phainon waves lazily over his shoulder.
He’s asleep before his head hits the pillow. When he next wakes up, he’s still half-convinced it was all a dream. And then he accidentally catches Khaslana post-shower with just a towel catastrophically low on his hips to save room for the tail and thinks, amidst the static filling his brain, Nope, it’s real.
Phainon thinks, a few days later, that the two of them are settling well into this new bizarre reality of theirs.
Khaslana opts to wear clothes comfort over style for once, and he takes Hyacine’s advice when going out, so there’s been no complications there.
Phainon’s even managed to get some proper sleep, in between cramming for his double-major and generally being a dirty workaholic. He very staunchly refuses to think about the first day of this whole situation, when he was six coffees in after approximately forty hours awake and convinced he was hallucinating. For his pride, mostly, because what he said still haunts him.
He’s just lucky Khaslana isn’t the type to tease about things days after the fact. Phainon’s not as lucky with his other friends; mainly Mydei, Cyrene, and Cipher. Upon Khaslana’s request, the others don’t know the exact context of what Phainon said or why— that is, only he, Cyrene, Hyacine, and of course Khaslana himself, know about the catboyification (Cyrene’s words)— but that doesn’t stop them from teasing Phainon about it until he’s steaming from his ears.
But that aside, there are no other incidents, and it’s seeming like this whole issue will pass swiftly and quietly.
Well, there’s just one issue… the issue of Phainon’s massive, impossible-to-ignore feelings. Because, even with how calm it’s been, Khaslana still refuses to let anyone touch the ears or tail.
And Phainon really, really wants to touch them. He catches himself clenching his hands into fists so tense his skin bleeds white multiple times just to stop himself from doing exactly that. He should be commended for his self-control.
But, regardless of forbidden temptations, it’s been good. Khaslana seems to have relaxed and gotten used to the appendages, and frankly if he’s happy then Phainon’s happy.
Phainon sighs contently to himself, wringing water out of his hair.
A knock sounds at the door, snapping Phainon out of his slight reverie. “Phainon.”
“Hm?” He shakes his hair out, draping the towel over his shoulders to grab the fresh pair of boxers on the counter. “D’you need the bathroom? I’ll be done soon.”
As he’s balancing on one foot to step into them, Khaslana's voice sounds again, stilted and soft. “I… need you.”
Three things happen in quick succession: Phainon’s entire nervous system restarts, he somehow misses the leg hole entirely, and the flailing foot slips on a puddle of water and sends his balance collapsing like jenga. He crashes gracelessly to his ass with a yelp, just barely catching himself in time to save from braining himself against the wall.
Terrified that Khaslana might open the door to investigate and find Phainon 90% naked on the floor, he stutters out, “H-Hold on!” and then decides to screw pride right now because nobody can see him, and shoves the underwear on right there while fallen on his ass.
He scrambles up— avoiding the puddle— and half-hazardly throws the rest of his clothes on, foregoing buttoning the shirt so he can toss the towel in the corner (he’ll deal with it later ) and yanks the door open.
He’s wide-eyed and panting by the time he actually sees Khaslana, little frown ever-present, hovering right there in the hallway.
“How much of that did you hear?”
Khaslana’s frown deepens. Before he can even respond, Phainon shakes his head. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.” He steps out of the bathroom, shuts the door and his shame behind him, and frantically looks over Khaslana's body.
He… looks pretty normal, all things considered. Though his posture seems more hunched than normal, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Phainon asks anyways, of course. “What's wrong?”
Strangely, that makes Khaslana hunch further, his cheeks turning the slightest bit red. Khaslana’s the type to blush with his ears, but they’ve been replaced with the furry ones at the top of his head, so Phainon’s had the pleasure of watching his cheeks color instead these past few days.
“I don't know,” Khaslana says, low, almost defeated. “It’s… something with the ears and tail.”
Phainon blinks, breathes a bit to settle himself so he can actually help with whatever is bothering Khaslana. “I figured,” he says softly. Frowns. “Is it painful?”
“No,” Khaslana says, then hesitates, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Kind of.” Phainon sets his background stream of consciousness to a steady chant of don’t get distracted don’t get distracted don’t get distracted—
Phainon hums. “Do you wanna… go somewhere more comfortable?” He smiles, small and friendly, “Sit down?”
Khaslana takes a hand out to scratch roughly at the back of his head, a small grimace on his face. The action is so unlike him that Phainon has to blink harshly a few times, as if to clear his vision.
Whatever this is must really be bothering him.
“Okay,” he says on a sigh, meets Phainon's eyes. “Your room?”
Phainon’s heart leaps and starts jumping with joy in his chest, but he tampers his outward reaction to a simple head tilt. Don’t get distracted. “Of course.”
Phainon takes the lead, but he doesn’t even need to see it to be able to tell that Khaslana’s tail is swishing agitatedly, doing more than words can to portray his stress.
Phainon sits at the edge of his bed, calmly, giving Khaslana the option to join him or not.
He doesn’t. He shuts the door, takes a few steps, and then stops in the middle of the room. Looks around, though he’s been in this room hundreds of times by now, probably just giving his eyes something to do while he figures out how to explain his issue.
Phainon watches him steadily. He will be patient. He will.
It can’t have been a minute later that Khaslana takes a deep breath that sighs on the exhale, and his shoulders straighten out of his slouch.
“There’s… an itch I can't scratch. I don't know what it is.”
“An itch?” That’s… not really what Phainon expected to hear.
Khaslana makes a low, frustrated sound. “I don’t know how to explain it.”
“But it has to do with the ears and tail?”
Khaslana’s response is quick this time. “Yes.”
Phainon hums, considering. “And I assume you’re only asking me because you can’t ‘scratch’ it yourself.”
Khaslana nods, steadily, looking more confident now. “Two heads are better than one.”
Phainon smiles. “Well, whatever I can do to help, I will. We’ll figure it out.”
Khaslana gives him a grateful look, something soft that gradually melts as he seems to get lost in his head. Thinking on it, pondering. His brow furrows rather deeply before it smooths out again.
He straightens up, gets up close to give Phainon a firm, determined stare, and says:
“Lay back.”
Phainon blinks, his brain stuttering to a halt. There's one last desperate don’t get distracted! before it all fades to silence.
“What?”
Khaslana’s brow twitches, furrowed harshly. His nose scrunches with it, just for a second, but it’s so endearing with the addition of the cat features that Phainon’s heart skips approximately five beats. Just like a kitten.
“Lay back,” Khaslana repeats, slower this time, like Phainon’s being dumb on purpose. Which, fair, but really, is that necessary?
Phainon wordlessly obeys, scooting up the bed until his back meets the headboard. He's about to ask, Like this? and then Khaslana reaches out and grabs him by the ankle, yanking him down until he’s face up on the mattress.
A bluescreen error flashes faintly in Phainon’s brain. Then a The program has stopped responding popup, followed by The Loading Wheel of Death. Full system buffer.
When he next comes back online, Khaslana’s leant over him, stretched gloriously to reach the pillows whilst still holding onto Phainon’s ankle. He adjusts something, and then continues to manhandle Phainon— by the biceps this time— into the proper position.
Phainon ends up with only his head and upper back against the headboard, this time supported with pillows. It's rather quite comfortable.
Khaslana gives a satisfied nod, still frowning, and then all at once seems to hesitate. Phainon does his best to make himself look appealing, smiling gently and hopefully reassuring.
He's keeping his head carefully and purposefully empty, because if he thinks even a little bit about anything that has happened in the past few minutes, he will… probably explode, actually. Blood and viscera everywhere. Not very helpful.
Khaslana sighs harshly to himself, and shakes his head. His ears press back, jerk forward, and then he’s leaning a knee against the bed. Slowly, one limb at a time, he settles his weight down, the mattress dipping with each shift.
Phainon watches, mouth getting increasingly dry, as Khaslana stalks— he refuses to use the word crawls, lest his soul actually exit his body— closer, until he’s on all fours hovering above Phainon’s very faintly tremoring body.
He halts. “You’re shaking.” Phainon feels the tip of Khaslana’s tail brush his kneecap. The shaking worsens. “Are you scared of me?”
Khaslana doesn’t ask it like a genuine question, but not like a taunt either. More like he’s simply baffled even by the concept. And slightly offended.
“No,” Phainon manages— wheezes, really. “Don't worry about it.”
Khaslana sighs, mumbles something under his breath, and then moves a bit further up Phainon's body, until his knees are either side of Phainon’s, and his hands are braced by his sides.
Phainon’s own are white-knuckled in the sheets, squeezing so hard that the pain isn’t even registering anymore. Which is saying something, considering his tolerance. Or maybe he just can’t feel anything at all, because his heart has stopped and he’s currently dying.
It'll be the best last moments ever.
Khaslana lowers himself, just a bit. Holds himself there, face nearing Phainon’s chest, tense. Then, he takes a deep breath, and every muscle in his body seems to relax in the wake of a shiver that travels from the tips of his ears to the flicking end of his tail.
He sinks down onto Phainon, face-first, cheek pressed to his pecs. Then his chest to Phainon’s stomach, his stomach to Phainon’s hips, all the way down until their legs tangle together. He's a bit taller, but Phainon’s bed is big, so they manage.
It takes a moment for Phainon to realize he’s still alive, and another few until he remembers he can move his body. By then, Khaslana’s already made himself comfortable, and his tail is wrapped around Phainon’s thigh in a light but possessive hold. Phainon tips his chin down to confirm this is actually happening, and Khaslana’s ear twitches against his jaw.
Holy, and Phainon means this with his entire chest: Fucking Shit.
“…Your heart is beating so fast,” Khaslana murmurs, and seems to burrow further into the sensation, until the entire side of his head, cheek to temple to fluffy ear, is pressed to Phainon’s bare chest.
Unfortunately, that only makes the poor thing become more frantic, Phainon helpless to do anything about it. He tries to slow his breathing, but all it does is make him painfully aware of Khaslana’s weight on top of him, rising and falling along with, and it restarts the process all over again.
“I fell on my ass in the bathroom earlier,” Phainon blurts, desperate for a distraction. Then, before he even gets a reaction, “Can I touch you?”
Heat rises so suddenly to his face he thinks he’s about to pass out. He squeezes his eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and chokes on the exhale when Khaslana says, “Please.”
“I—“ Phainon coughs. Tries to swallow the urge back, takes a moment to just get his damn lungs working, and finally settles. All throughout it, Khaslana didn’t move his head from Phainon's chest despite the struggling, which is frankly impressive, and maybe a bit flattering. And a lot embarrassing. “Okay.”
Before he can actually move his arms, however, one of Khaslana’s shifts, brushes a hand up across his sternum and to the side of his neck. He tucks his fingers into the space between Phainon’s nape and the pillow, and then begins rubbing his thumb soothingly at the sensitive skin behind his ear.
It works like a shut down button. One Phainon was not aware he had. All at once, he relaxes. His heart slows— still fast, but no longer frantic and panicky— he starts breathing normally; it’s like his entire body gets a system restart. Khaslana's touch is burning but soothing, his palm a gentle and sure pressure.
Phainon’s eyes flutter shut and he takes a deep, deep breath, the kind that fills your lungs to their full capacity, and lets it out with a long and soft sigh.
His hand lifts like a second thought, settling at the back of Khaslana's head and scratching lightly at the hair there in little circles with his fingertips. Khaslana hums a pleased little sound at the sensation. It makes Phainon brave, makes him slide his nails up to the base of one of Khaslana’s ears. He hesitates there, but Khaslana doesn’t move, so he proceeds, rubbing a thumb along the fur that puffs out and gently sliding it up the blood-hot, sensitive inside.
It twitches at his touch, bends beneath the gentle press of his knuckles, shivers when Phainon caresses little circles into the fuzzy tip.
He’s wanted to touch these ears since he first saw them, so he’s going to indulge until Khaslana tells him to stop. After a few minutes of smiling at each little reaction his different actions get him, he combs his fingers back down. That's when Khaslana shifts, but only so that he has more of his face pressed to Phainon’s chest, giving his hand more access to the rest of his head.
Phainon’s chest goes warm and fuzzy, something bright and buoyant building behind his ribs. He grins, just because he can, and happily accepts the wordless request. He scratches between both of Khaslana's ears this time, in circles and then from crown to nape, like he’s petting a real cat.
His other hand, resting loosely at his side, shifts too, but it doesn’t join the one at Khaslana's head. Instead, it dips low. For now, he rests it there at his lower back, against the fabric warmed from Khaslana’s skin.
“Can I pet your tail?” Phainon asks, a low, warm murmur. His fingers brush back and forth, absently, reassuringly. He watches fondly as the appendage twitches at its mention. Khaslana shifts a bit, slightly further up Phainon’s body, and his tail uncurls from Phainon’s thigh, as much an invitation as anything.
Still, Khaslana says, muffled against Phainon’s skin, “Yes.” His breath is warm, fanning out soft but fleeting.
Phainon hums his appreciation, and brushes his fingers down, lifts the hem of Khaslana’s shirt just enough to reveal where tanned skin gives way to cream-colored fur. Phainon’s curiosity mixes with his longing, and he finds his thumb pressing right at the apex of it, petting over the base in small strokes. A fine shiver traverses Khaslana’s spine at the sensation, his breath hitching slightly.
Phainon brings the rest of his fingers to join his thumb, petting what he can reach of the tail, which is pretty much just the base of it and a handful of centimeters down. Each time the pads of his fingers meet the fur, it twitches, up and down, back and forth, against Phainon’s skin, away from him— it’s so expressive. Phainon loves it.
He chuckles indulgently, and with a final caress, leaves it alone for now, opting to wrap his arm around Khaslana’s broad back. It's then that he realizes Khaslana’s hands are clenched, one tangled in the hair at his nape and the other gripping the fabric at his side, and there’s a faint quivering in his knuckles that runs all the way to his shoulders.
Phainon blinks. His palm flattens, fingers spreading out across his lats. “Khas?”
The quivering stops. Khaslana takes an audible breath. It resumes. “My tail,” he says, voice a low rumble that Phainon feels more than hears, “Scratch it. Please.”
Ah. He had said there was an itch he couldn’t scratch. Phainon didn’t think he meant it literally. Phainon’s hand moves to do just that before Khaslana speaks up again, slightly less muffled this time. “Not literally,” he clarifies. Phainon feels his lips purse against his skin, like he’s fighting against the words he wants to say. “Like how you were scratching my head.”
So, like a cat, Phainon thinks with an amused huff. “Alright,” he says easily, and once again obeys.
This time, he scratches Khaslana’s head and tail at the same time, so that he can mirror the movements easier. He's careful not to be rough around the ears, combs his fingers like he would with any other person’s hair whilst occasionally scratching half circles around the bases.
His other hand dutifully does the same careful but firm movement. Starting from the very base until he can stretch his arm no further, Phainon lightens his touch as he goes like he really is petting down a cat’s back. The more he does it, the more the tail curls towards his hand, and soon Khaslana’s entire body is curling into him, sinking further into his mass like he wants to fuse them.
Phainon would let him. Without hesitation.
Suddenly, a low, rumbling sort of sound starts coming from the body atop him. A sensation that seeps right through his skin and straight to the bone.
Phainon freezes. Is… Is Khaslana growling at him right now? He’s typically great with his words and is never shy expressing his feelings in the moment, but—
Wait. Wait, wait. No, that’s not what it is.
Phainon’s entire system restarts, his fingers twitching as a tingling starts building up and spreading from his chest outwards. Even his toes start buzzing.
His heart thuds, quick and hard, as he comes to a cresting, euphoric realization:
Khaslana is purring.
There’s not a single doubt in Phainon’s mind. The sound is a bit rough, warbling from Khaslana’s throat that is completely unused to making the sound, but it vibrates against Phainon’s bare skin, loud and happy.
Khaslana is purring, against Phainon’s chest, in Phainon’s arms, in Phainon’s bed, because Phainon was petting him.
Oh, Phainon thinks, breath caught in his chest, my god.
“I,” Phainon breathes, completely speechless but lips moving anyways, “I’m madly in love with you.”
Oh.
Wait.
Hold on, he didn't mean to say that.
Phainon’s lips evidently don’t give a fuck what he means to say or not. “Like, seriously. I have been for a while. I would walk through fire and barefoot over broken glass for you.” Somehow, his body remembers his hands work, and he continues his scratching, barely feeling the soft textures over the pulse thudding through every vein in his body.
“You drive me crazy,” he continues, heedless of literally any reaction Khaslana could be having. He thinks the rumbling hasn’t stopped. Maybe he’s fallen asleep? “Really fucking crazy.”
Alright, well, that’s true, but— let’s not spill too much here, okay, brain?
“I would carve my heart out of my own chest and hand it to you, no hesitations, if you asked.”
Welp.
The rumbling against Phainon’s chest cuts off for a second, only to be replaced with a different kind of sound immediately after. It’s more choppy sounding, Khaslana’s shoulders jumping with it, and—
Oh. He’s laughing. Muffled into Phainon’s skin, his lips are stretched in a grin, and he’s snickering in a way Phainon has never heard before.
He’s heard it low, under his breath, chuckles, soft huffs of amusement— but not this.
Slowly, steadily, the laughing gets louder, builds into something breathy and bright, until Khaslana has to tilt his face away to make room for it. His forehead presses to Phainon’s racing heart and he laughs.
Struck motionless, Phainon shuts his dropped jaw only for it to open again like his lips are numb. “Uh…”
Khaslana lifts himself up on one elbow, Phainon’s motionless hands falling off and settling loose at Khaslana’s sides. And when his head tilts up to meet Phainon’s gaze, Phainon swears he hears an angel’s choir start singing in his head.
He’s gorgeous. He’s grinning, his cheeks are a healthy shade of pink, and his eyes are squinted from his amusement, creased with a joy Phainon has never seen directed at him.
Phainon’s lips twist into a grin of their own accord, something wide and shaky that aches. “I hear wedding bells,” he confesses, only half-joking.
The hand that Khaslana was previously resting near Phainon’s neck slides up to cradle his cheek. Phainon’s grin freezes on his face, his fingers grip helplessly at Khaslana’s waist, and then the other warm, warm palm cups his other cheek.
“Would you shut up?” Khaslana breathes between his laughter, and before Phainon can say something dumb again like I wish I knew how, he leans in and seals their lips together.
This time, Phainon knows he feels his heart stop and start again. It's quick enough to ignore, but it does its job in jolting Phainon into movement, into immediate reciprocation. Both hands dart to Khaslana’s nape, cradling the hot skin in his callused palms, linking his fingers together for purchase.
His eyes flutter shut, and he kisses back with an enthusiasm that makes Khaslana grin against his lips again, makes his palms press into Phainon’s jaw to hold him still and angle their faces properly together.
Something in Phainon’s soul settles, clicks into place. He makes a soft, ruined sound against Khaslana’s parted mouth, feels his tongue slide in alongside his own and shivers head to toe.
Khaslana kisses him breathless. Strokes his thumbs back and forth until Phainon is determined to give as good as he gets and presses back, gaining leverage, hands finding the hair curling behind Khaslana’s twitching ears and gripping at it. Not to pull, just to hold.
In a brief interim in which they separate to catch their breaths, Phainon presses their foreheads together and scratches down Khaslana’s head, hands spreading out down over his shoulders until they stop in the middle of his back.
Then, grip secured, Phainon starts to sit up, taking Khaslana with him, who scrambles to get his legs under him until they end up with Phainon's back against the headboard and Khaslana sitting comfortably in his lap, thighs bracketing his hips. This close, Phainon has to tilt his head up to meet Khaslana’s eyes, and then Khaslana is doing it for him, cradling the back of Phainon’s head with fingers burrowed deep in his hair and diving right back in.
Phainon finally, finally allows his brain to properly empty, and sinks readily into the heat of it all. Into the wet slide of Khaslana’s lips against his, into his hot pants, into the rough, low sounds he keeps making in response to Phainon’s whimpers, into the way he kisses like he’s trying to consume Phainon’s soul tongue and mouth-first.
And god, would he let him.
Phainon’s brain has already whited out by the time their lips part with a muted slick sound so he can kiss over Khaslana’s jaw and down his neck, nosing at the scent there and sucking at his pulse. Phainon feels the groan that rumbles from his throat against his lips, slightly ticklish, and he kisses across the skin that bobs as it swallows to suck an eager mark into the other side.
Khaslana’s fingers clench in his hair, grip the strands hard enough to sting, and Phainon has officially ascended the mortal plane. His soul is gone. Lost forever. All he is is warmth and flesh and the feeling of Khaslana pressed tight against him.
I could die here, he thinks, completely sincerely.
“I’d rather you didn’t,” Khaslana says back, his voice a rough rasp that makes Phainon dizzy. He doesn’t even question how or why Khaslana responded, if he’s been mumbling aloud this whole time. Who even cares anymore.
“I wanna try something,” he mutters into the skin of Khaslana's jaw. His hair tickles the tip of Phainon’s nose.
Khaslana nods, gentles the hands in Phainon’s hair so he can pull back properly. His face is gloriously flushed, eyes lidded and hazy. Paired with the ears, he really looks like a content cat with a belly full of cream right now. Phainon’s brain is probably melting out his ears.
“Tilt your head for a second,” Phainon urges, hand already slipping to guide the movement along. Khaslana barely hesitates, and his trust is a heady thing that settles in Phainon's gut like a shot of alcohol— warm and intoxicating.
Khaslana’s head dips down per Phainon’s request, and thus makes it much easier for Phainon to lean in and, with a few quick heartbeats of hesitation, part his lips and lick along the sensitive lining near the tip of Khaslana’s ear.
His entire body twitches, and his breath leaves him in a slight wheeze. Phainon does it again; kisses up the side of it, feels it quiver from his warm breath, and then licks it like he would a human ear. He switches to the other ear without so much as a rest for Khaslana, delighting in the repeated shivers, in the way he’s quivering against Phainon’s chest, forehead pressed to his collarbone.
He's quiet, the only sounds being small hitches of breath or gasps, but that’s fine. Phainon soaks them up like they’re ambrosia all the same.
With a final smirk, Phainon pulls back, rubbing the tips between his thumb and forefinger and watching how Khaslana's tail twitches rapidly back and forth, jerkily curling.
When Phainon lets go and simply smooths his fingers down Khaslana’s head, he feels the way the man slumps into him, panting shaky breaths into the hollow of his throat.
It’s a few moments before he recovers, and then he pays Phainon right back, biting at his throat and down to his chest until Phainon’s groans turn into pitchy whimpers, falling apart halfway through.
Well, the day is young, the afternoon sun only just starting to cast its rays through the blinds. They have time.
It's much later that they’re tangled up together, back-to-chest, Khaslana breathing slow and soft against Phainon’s nape with an arm curled protectively over him.
Phainon sighs happily, Khaslana’s tail curls between his thighs, and he nuzzles into the flush-warmed skin. Phainon shivers slightly at the sensation.
It’s when Phainon’s tipping over into a blissful sleep that Khaslana presses a lingering kiss to the top knob of his spine and murmurs, "I love you.”
Khaslana wakes up three days later back to normal, comes back from the bathroom to Phainon’s disappointed pout, and proceeds to smother him with a pillow.