milliways_bar | (no subject)

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When Autor steps through the door today, his clothes remain the same: white pants, oversized gray sweater, and glasses. What changes are the ears. Not his, necessarily--those still remain human--but he sprouts fuzzy, gray, and pointed kitten ears on top of his head with a soft, "Oh!" The tail is also new, and telegraphs his body language as the tip curves upward in agitation.

"Really?" he calls up to the ceiling. "Come on!"

Experimentally, he brushes his fingers against one of his fuzzy new appendages--and tears his hand away, blushing. They point in different directions, moving independently of one another to show his ambivalence with the costume.

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"You." She grins with her usual bluntness. "You really are quite adorable."

"Oh, nooo," Autor says, covering his ears with his hands. His tail wraps around his hips. "I'm not really that cute, am I? That's awful."

"Tooth-rottingly sweet." Katya confirms, trying to tamp down her grin, but ending up with a smirk. "Vodka to ease the pain?"

"No, thank you," Autor says, holding up a hand. His ears flatten against his head. "I'm not so bad off that I need to drink my suffering away. How are you, Katya?"

Katya raises an eyebrow at his flattened ears. Sassy kitten.

"I am well, even if Bar has questionable taste tonight in vodka."

"Questionable tastes?" Autor says, his tail wrapping around his hips. "How so?"

"She keeps offering French vodka." Katya huffs with no small amount of scorn.
Honestly. French. Ugh.

"I wasn't aware there was a difference," Autor says, his ears swiveling about. "What's the problem with French vodka? Is Russia your country of preference when it comes to alcohol?"

"When it comes to vodka, yes, we made it first." Katya huffs, waggling her bottle with it's Cyrillic label. "But not everything, of course. You wouldn't expect Scotch to be made in Russia."

"I don't know what to expect when it comes to drinks," Autor says, tilting his head. His tail points straight up, but the tip twitches. "Can't you just request Russian vodka? Or is Bar exercising her sense of humor?"

"Eh, what's the fun in that? She's sentient, she can pick her own drinks." Besides, who else is she going to debate vodka with? After all, this bar seems startlingly dry, considering.

Autor smiles a little. "Fair enough," he says, his ears pointing straight up. He reaches out to tap her wrist. "I've missed you, Katya. The bar is boring without you."

Look, she's never claimed that forbearance is her strong point. In fact, it's been a publicly known problem area for a long time.

So of course she's going to scritch his ears. Ear scritches are awesome and amazing, why wouldn't she? And she has a century's worth of practice, though admittedly she's more used to playing with ursine ears.

"I know, you all must languish without me."

Autor jumps at the contact, but is soon reduced to a puddle of contented, purring catboy. "Oh! Don't stop," he says, leaning his head into her hand despite the blush on his face. "Please."

Katya chuckles, the sweet-tart taste of strawberries on her tongue.

"What, no one told you about the ears? This is criminal. That'd be like no one telling you about the tail."

Autor's purrs come from deep in his throat as he slumps, boneless and relaxed. "What about the tail?" he says, his eyes drifting shut under her attentions.

Katya doesn't stop scritching his ears - she'd have to be a much more moral Other than she is to do that. Honestly, he's like cup of high-octane coffee for an Other like herself.

But there's still scritches at the base of his tail.

"I don't think you have enough petting in your life."

Autor thought the ears were amazing, but they're nothing compared to the tail. He gasps, clinging to Katya's shoulder. His purrs grow in volume, shaking his throat, and he arches his back under her touch. "T-This feels ridiculous," he stammers. "And of course I don't get enough petting; I'm not usually equipped with the e-ears for it."

"Ridiculously good, you mean - Bear would owe me scritches after a bad patrol if I had to rescue his fuzzy behind." Katya snorts, settling in for a good petting session.

Autor wriggles against her, making himself comfortable. He nearly bites through his tongue, he's so pleasure-addled. "Yes," he gasps, "ridiculously good. So good."

He tries to focus enough to ask a question about Bear, but he can barely breathe, much less think.

"Shhh, ребенок ученый, shhhh, it tends to go better with breathing, mmm?" She rumbles softly. The scritching settles into a steady rhythm, well-practiced and confident.

Autor draws deep breaths through his nose, his cheeks flushed and his head spinning. "Breathing is a good idea in general," he says, "but it's so difficult right now. You're distracting."

He pushes his glasses up and leans his head on her shoulder, melting into her.

"I thought that's what you liked about me." Katya teases cheerfully, tucking him against her, the gesture both comforting and protective.

Autor embraces her fiercely, clinging to her and breathing in her scent of wild things. He twitches under her fingers, easing into a sleepy, contented state. "Yeah, well," he says drowsily, his words slightly slurred. "That's part of what I like about you. But not all. There's a lot to like."

"Mmm, do tell. A girl always likes hearing good things about herself." Katya chuckles, tweaking a lock of hair before returning to the scritches.