Rally the Troops
If I'd been more awake, I'd probably be amazed at the engineering that went into making Cory's cat—the amount of irritation Lola was able to produce was far greater than the sum of her tiny furry parts.
I woke at the asscrack of dawn, for the fourth time since I went to bed, to a small paw batting at my nose and her small, but insistent, meows. She'd perched herself on my chest, somehow resting all her slight weight on one front paw, directly over a bruise I hadn't realized I had, in such a way as to cause maximum discomfort. I had a hard time imagining my little sister being able to be this much of a nuisance.
However, Lola had been making a worse racket the first time I woke up.
I had laid awake then, tracking the sound of her bell racing back and forth on the bedroom floor. Thanks to the nightlights Cory insisted she needed ("Yeah, cats can see in the dark, but they still need some light, mi lobo."), I caught her doing that pre-attack butt-wiggle thing cats do before she pounced on one of my shoes and chewed the fuck out of it. Then, something else had gotten her attention, and she made to bound off after it, despite having a claw stuck in the shoelaces. Her ears turned back, giving her what looked like little devil horns in the meagre light, as she jumped back and proceeded to kick my shoe's ass.
And, God help me, I laughed.
I wasn't laughing a couple hours later when I'd woken up, needing to take a leak, and found where Lola'd flung kitty litter all over the bathroom floor.
Which I was not going to clean up since I already had to clean up where I'd missed the bowl.
That stupid bell was supposed to be some kind of advanced warning system, but fat lot of good it did me when she'd snuck up on me and put her cold, wet nose on the back of my leg. She got pissed at me when I jumped in surprise and started bitching at the natural consequences of being startled mid-piss, but what did she expect? Cooing and cuddling?
Later, I woke up to the sound of her plucking at the comforter with her claws and crying her head off (on my side of the bed because she'd already discovered that I could be woken up). I asked her what she wanted, the futility of such an act not hitting me until she meowed louder. I knew damn well that she could climb up herself, but still found myself picking her up so she could cuddle with her boy all sweet and cute, like she hadn't just been raising ten kinds of hell earlier.
Another meow, long and loud, but nevertheless diminutive, pulled my attention back to the present. I narrowed my eyes at Lola, who thumped my chest with her tail in annoyance. I turned my head, fully intending to wake Cory up so he could deal with his cat himself, but the bed was empty.
Goddammit.
"I don't want to pet you," I told Lola.
Lola meowed again before licking my nose, then rubbing her face in my stubble.
Just as I was about to call for my boyfriend to come get his cat off me, the door opened and he popped in, coffee and snack in hand.
"Gotta get up, vato." Cory handed me a mug, looking more like himself than he had last night. "Coach wants us in the viewing room before ten." Lola tottered over, trilling happily, as he sat down on the edge of the bed. "Yes, I see that," he told her. "Good girl!"
"Good girl?" I asked.
"Hm?" Cory gave me a look so innocent that it verged on collapsing in on itself forming a black hole of ill-intent as he made little kissy noises into her neck.
I suddenly remembered a voice hissing "go get him" before Lola was set on my stomach and the bedroom door clicked shut.
And that was when I realized how truly fucked I was.
The hellion follows his orders.
~*~*~*~
Given how Efrain and I found Preston and Indie when we returned from Thanksgiving, I shouldn't have been surprised at the erotic tableau playing out in the kitchen.
Indie sat on a barstool with my best friend between his knees, one hand massaging his perky skinny jean-clad ass. The other hand had disappeared up his shirt doing who knows what to his back, but judging by the reaction, it had to be good. Preston writhed in the amorous embrace with both hands shoved in Indie's hair as each man did his best to maul the other guy's face with his mouth.
They were still going at it by the time we'd changed into more comfortable clothes, and I'd picked up Lola (who disliked being left alone today as much as she had yesterday, and left a slobbery catnip mouse on Efrain's pillow in retaliation), the only change being that Preston's whimpers and Indie's moans had increased in volume. I assumed that it had something to do with the hand that was no longer on Preston's ass, but rammed down the front of his pants instead.
Efrain looked at me, and I wondered if I should interrupt them, or if we should leave and pretend we hadn't seen anything. Lola seemed to be the only one bold enough to say something when it became apparent that stripping and throwing down was imminent. The lovers sprang apart at her fierce little meow. I tried not to laugh as Preston hastily buttoned up his jeans, and Indie rearranged his sizable cock. Both men were flush, their lips swollen and wet—they'd been at it for a while.
"Damn, considering how we found them last time," Efrain laughed, "this is an improvement."
I snickered. "Hell, maybe when we come back from Spring Break, they'll be chastely holding hands."
"Whatever," Preston said testily.
Indie looked at my hands and grinned. "So, you really did gay adopt a cat from a drag queen," he said. Preston chuckled and reached out to take her. Lola warmed to him instantly.
"Yeah," Efrain said. "Thanks for telling JJ all about that."
Indie smirked, and I was reminded of the other things Indie had shared with JJ (who shared with the rest of the Brain Trust). I hadn't planned on telling others about being kicked out, mainly because I didn't want to talk or think about it at all. However, I had arrived at the locker complex yesterday to find that all six of them had been kept abreast of the issue.
The constant pats on the back and understanding looks from the Brain Trust threatened to undermine every mind trick I'd pulled on myself just to get my shit together long enough to make it through practice without falling apart. I'd spent the whole damn practice trying not to tear up while my moods swung violently from one extreme to the next. My performance was absolute shit, which only made the problem worse.
And any hope I'd harbored that no one would notice fled when even the guys on the other side of the locker room noticed the difference in me. Mac, one of the guys on the D line, asked me if I was okay as we changed out. Of course, Paul had to blab about my dad throwing me out of my childhood home.
"Dude, that's fucking shitty," Mac had said.
I shrugged my shoulders, trying not to look at Efrain, but still catching his nervous look my way.
"What happened?" Beau, our place kicker, asked.
"His dad had a problem with someone he's dating," JJ said, and I silently thanked him for covering for me.
"She black?" Mac asked.
"Something like that," Mitch answered, and nothing more was said. However, I then received even more understanding looks and pats on the back today—including one from Coach Vuis when he pulled me aside to ask how I was holding up and offered to listen if I needed to talk. There were even some awkward bro hugs thrown in that made everyone feel uncomfortable.
