Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/387966.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Homestuck
  Relationship:
      Davesprite/John_Egbert, John_Egbert/Dave_Strider
  Character:
      Davesprite, John_Egbert
  Additional Tags:
      Complete, this_had_a_bunch_of_tags_before_but_they_all_disappeared?,
      which, kind_of_sucks, Feral_Behavior, Dolphin_Vagina, Orgasm_Delay/
      Denial, Orgasm_Control, Scratching, Catboys_&_Catgirls, Multiple_Orgasms,
      not_that_anyone_had_trouble_finding_it_even_without_the_tags, Biting,
      Blood, Dubious_Consent, Anthropomorphic, Bondage, Overstimulation
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-21 Words: 4963
****** Experimental Phase ******
by laughablyunimportant
Summary
     Being a sprite is cool and everything, but Dave is just missing some
     of his, let's say, equipment. John tries to help him fix that.
     Oh god what was he thinking why did he let John anywhere near him.
     In which Dave gets thrown for a loop, John gets served a heaping
     plate of karma topped with kitty ears, and they have sex.
     Repeatedly.
Notes
     I_have_lost_control_of_my_life.
          "What the fuck, Egbert."
          "I'm sorry!"
          "What. The actual. Fuck."
          "I didn't know, okay? But I'm pretty sure I can fix it."
          "Pretty sure? Pretty sure? Do you see what you did to me?"
          "Daaaaaaaave, it's fine! Look, see, I've got the next gene sequence
all queued up—"
          "Fine? Fine?"
          "—all we have to do is push this button and—"
          "Don't push that button, don't you dare—"
          "—it'll infuse the new pattern to your existing dna structure—"
          "Stop talking like you know what you're doing because you obviously
know jack shit about ectobiology."
          "So if you'll just stop being a pussy about all—oof!"
          The tackle came out of nowhere, Davesprite barreling into John and
driving him to the floor, the air whooshing out of his lungs when he slammed
into the ground. John flipped Dave over as soon as he recovered, and then it
was push, shove, claw, slam, Dave phasing in and out of existence to dodge
blows and John pushing and pulling the air to give himself the advantage. It
went like that for a couple minutes, and might have continued for another half
hour, if Dave hadn't hurled John into an array of equipment and slammed into
the button that initiated the next sequence of the genetic manipulation array.
          "Oh shiiii—" was all John got out before the glass case curved down
and sealed him in, filling rapidly with thick, pale-green vapor.
          "Hey, Egbert. Egbert!" Davesprite slammed his fist against the glass.
He was pissed off at John, yeah, but he didn't want anything bad to happen to
him. And judging by how well his last attempt to genetically modify someone had
gone, Davesprite knew whatever was going on in that case, it couldn't be good.
          "John!"
          He could phase in, but that wouldn't get John out. What he really
needed was…his eyes drifted over to the control panel.
          Bingo.
          He skipped the delicate work and went straight for melee, picking up
a lab chair and slamming it against the panel until something shorted out, and
with a jerk and crackle, the glass case unsealed behind him and lifted about a
foot off the floor before sparking again and stopping.
          After hesitating for a second, Dave reached into the gap and groped
until he got ahold of John's arm and hauled him out. He pulled John's limp form
far away enough to clear the vapor before examining the damage.
          Oh my god.
          Oh my god.
 
 
 
          John woke up to the sound of Dave laughing at him.
          He shot up, feeling dizzy for a second and putting out an arm to
brace himself against Davesprite, then swatting him when he kept laughing.
"Shut up! That could have seriously messed me up."
          Dave laughed, if possible, harder, caws and chirps breaking up his
gasping breaths. John felt something twist in the pit of his stomach.
          He launched to his feet, overshooting and stumbling to a mirror,
mouth dropping open at what he saw.
          He, he had ears. Cat ears. There were cat ears on either side of his
head, black fur blending seamlessly into his hair. He brought his hands up to
his face in shock, then pulled them quickly back when he realized the backs
were covered with fur, and his nails felt more like claws. Actually, not that
he thought about it, his shoes felt kind of tight—oh fuck. Kicking them off, he
discovered his feet looked more like paws, fur starting as his ankle---no, it
was creeping up as he watched, still changing. He was still changing.
          A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye made him realize he
had a tail. A long, sleek, black tail, swishing back and forth behind him.
          He was a catboy.
          Holy shit.
          He was a catboy.
          Another flicker of movement, further away this time, and John's eyes
locked onto Dave's image in the mirror, watching as he shook with laughter, as
his wings bobbed and jerked with sharp movement every time his muscles flexed.
Dave drifted over, laughter finally dying down.
          "I can fix it," he said, high-pitched voice grating on the other
boy's nerves. Was that supposed to be John? "Don't worry Dave, just let me mess
with your DNA a little and everything will be fiiiiine."
          Dave lifted an arm, John can only guess to poke or prod or punch him
in the way both of them have gotten used to, but he spins and snatches Dave's
wrist before he gets the chance. There's a second for him to look shocked, and
then he's darting away, and John's got no choice, really, but to chase.
 
 
          It turns out that running away from a cat is a lot harder when said
cat can fly.
          He can spot Dave in the dark, too, which probably isn't necessary
since Dave's glowing brighter than a Hero of Light. And John's faster, reflexes
sped up almost to Strider level. Hearing, smell, and some sort of weird
extrasensory thing that seems to sense where Dave is, even when there shouldn't
be any way for him to tell. The only way Dave can be sure to lose him is to
phase through walls in rapid succession, and even that's more a stalling tactic
than anything else.
          Eventually, he wonders, why the hell is he running?
          Then John catches up to him and pins him to the wall, and he
remembers, oh, this is why.
          He goes to phase out, but John's grip on him loosens, just a little,
and he stops, curious.
          John's breathing hard against him, body pressing into his and fingers
wrapped around his wrists. "Don't run," he says, and Dave stiffens, surprised
at the strain in his tone.
          "Got it, totally good chillin here." John seems to slump a little in
relief, but he's still keeping Dave against the wall, and after a while he
speaks up again. "So, what's the gameplan here?"
          "I uh…I kind of want to. Bite you."
          "Then what are we waiting for?" He expected some kind of hesitation
from Egbert, a start and stutter and maybe a blush, but one hand let go of his
wrist with a brusque "Don't move," before winding in his hair and yanking back
to bare his throat. He felt his heart kick up a notch, little bird body trying
to react to the danger, but hey, he's got this, he's an image of stoicism. Then
John's teeth press against the skin of his throat, sharper and more predatory
than anything attached to John Egbert has any right to be, and a startled chirp
bursts out of him as he goes semi-solid, sending John tumbling through him and
straight into the wall.
          He darts a few feet away, pausing in open air to give him the option
of escape, but doesn't run just yet. John whirls to face him, reflexes fast,
but when he sees Dave just floating there, still, he freezes in response, eyes
wide and tail swaying back and forth behind him.
          Dave licks his dry lips before asking, "What's going on here?"
          "Run," John says, but Dave's smarter than that. "Please, run." He
drifts a little closer, moving slow, trying to be nonthreatening but not prey
at the same time.
          "Can't do that, broski. You'll give chase again." Dave stops about a
foot short of John, watching the way Egbert's nose twitches and his eyes dart
all around, looking for an opening to attack. "Let me hunt you," he says, and
Dave wasn't expecting that husky undertone, almost verging over into a purr. He
noticed John's fingers flexing and relaxing, sharpened claws sliding out and
retreating from hands that were starting to look more like paws.
          Dave swallows, silently thankful for his ability to hide his
nervousness and keep utterly still. "C'mon John, even you've got to see that
that's a pretty terrible idea. Hunt me down once, tear me to pieces, then
what's there left for you to play with?" A flicker of uncertainty in John's
gaze at the mention of tearing Dave to pieces, and Dave takes it as an
opportunity to halve the distance between them. "Don't you want to hunt for
something with a little more reward to it?" And here's the gamble, just under
the surface, waiting for John's reply. He's still changing and in flux, as far
as Dave can tell, and his predatory instincts are going through the roof, but
maybe, if Dave can distract him, channel it into something else until things
settle down, everyone will all be in one piece long enough to set their
respective genetic sequences to rights.
          "Like what?" John asks, and Dave has to make sure he doesn't smirk,
because bingo, John's taking the bait. "Like this," he says, leaning forward
slowly, slowly, to press his lips to John's.
          There's a pause, a second of stock-still surprise under him, then a
snarling hiss and John's driving him to the floor with a level of ferocity Dave
wasn't prepared for, but can certainly roll with. Sharp teeth catch at his
lower lip, and he feels John sucking it into his mouth, pulling at him as the
other boy's hands rove across his body, finding Dave's wrists and pinning them
above his head. Dave groans at his aggression, arching up into the weight of
John's body, tail working its way between his legs and winding around one of
his thighs. John released his lip, drawing back to nuzzle against Dave, pushing
the top of his head up into the hard line of Dave's jaw, breath hot against his
throat.
          One of the hands pinning Dave's wrist slips away, trailing down his
skin to stroke his side, eliciting shivers of heat that run down his spine. He
wriggles a bit, shifting to give himself better access to, well, anything, but
then John's at his throat again, low growl rumbling in his chest as he lets the
weight of his body pin Dave to the floor. Wet heat presses to Dave's neck, lips
closing around his beating pulse as John's rough tongue plays with the jumping
skin, the bird in Dave going crazy at the implications of teeth scraping over
such a vulnerable place. For a moment, he worries that John really is going to
tear his throat out, gone feral when Dave wasn't paying attention, but no, his
teeth aren't sharp enough for that yet (or if they are, the other boy is
holding back). Still, the sharp of pain makes Dave gasp as a familiar-but-
strange sensation builds in the pit of his stomach, like a gathering of
pressure and tense muscles in his lower abdomen. He'd say he was getting
aroused, but it felt off somehow, and besides, the whole point of John's failed
experiment was that he didn't have anything down there anymore, and they
(mostly John) thought tinkering with his DNA might change that. The dork had
screwed even that up, somehow not noticing that the dolphin DNA sample was
female, not male, giving Dave—
          Oh. Right.
          Well shit.
          He wriggles under John again, tugging an arm free but otherwise
allowing Egbert free range. Teeth dig into his skin and the hand at his side
sprouts claws, raking against sensitive skin. But when Dave's hand reaches the
bulge in John's pants, cupping his erection through the thick fabric and
applying pressure, John gives a whimper and a respite, drawing back enough for
Dave to sit up and undo his pants.
          He gets the belt and fly undone before John's hands join him, shoving
the pants and boxers alike down and kicking them off. Dave grabs the hem of
John's shirt and twists it off over the other boy's head, tossing it aside and
taking the opportunity to run his hands across John's chest, slick with sweat.
At least this part of him is still pretty human (and yeah, Dave totally gets
the irony in him saying that about someone else). A quick feel is all John
allows him before he's grabbing Dave's wrists and twisting something around
them (the belt from his pants? How—?), pulling tight and tying it off, leaving
Dave feeling more than a little vulnerable. Still, he can always phase out if
things get too rough, and he goes to do that, make his wrists semi-corporeal to
give him some wiggle room—but they won't. He tries in earnest then, tugging and
thrashing, but the stupid belt won't come off.
          He stills, panting, and notices John watching him, having phased
through the other boy and drifted away in his exertions. A smirk is pulling at
John's lips in a way that is far too smug for Dave's liking, and he almost
considers running away and leaving John to his own devices after all, when he
realizes that if he can't phase out of the belt and he can't make it phase with
him, he's trapped.
          There is absolutely no way he's admitting how much that turns him on.
          He gathers his suave back up to utter an even-toned "What did you do"
that Egbert seems to ignore completely, stalking over in a way that's
unsettlingly predatory, definitely feline (did the joints in his knees reverse
at some point, because that is creepy as fuck, just how cat is Egbert going to
turn?). He grabs ahold of the belt binding Dave's wrists and yanks him up to
whisper in his ear, "A junior ecto-hunter is always prepared," the throaty
laugh at the end making heat coil under Dave's skin.
          "Did you know that ghosts can't pass through silver?" John continued
in a conversational tone. "Even belts that have just been lined with silver
thread. And that common, everyday tablesalt grounds them completely."
          Dave had time for his eyes to widen and a strangled "Egbert, don't
you dare—" before John pulled something from his sylladex and flung it at Dave.
          Dave tried to pull away, but John still had a solid grip on his
wrists, and the open saltshaker hit him full in the chest, dispelling its
contents and clattering to the floor. Dave sagged, almost falling to the floor
but for John still gripping his arms, straining at suddenly supporting all of
Dave's weight.
          And Dave felt heavy. He could feel gravity pulling down on him, feel
each grain of salt where it had hit his skin and stuck, grounding and freezing
him in place. He wanted to brush it off, shake it off, get it off him, but
every place the salt had touched was immobile, and John had ahold of his arms,
the largest part of him to escape the assault.
          "John," he said, and fuck no, his voice did not just waver, but it
didn't matter really, because Egbert wasn't going to give him the opportunity
to talk. John looped Dave's arms over his head before slipping his own arms
back around Dave's shoulders, pulling him in tight for a kiss. They toppled
over, Dave not really in a position to support himself, and John not in a
position to care, just working a leg over Dave's tail, still wiggling feebly at
the end where it had managed to escape the salt, after they landed on their
sides. His claws dug and scratched at Dave's back, Dave crying out when they
finally pierced skin and drew lines of iridescent orange across his shoulders.
He watched as John drew back and slid one of his bloodied fingers into his
mouth, tongue lapping up the neon blood, slitted (when—?) eyes watching Dave
for a reaction. The bird boy shuddered, need rising in him hot and fast, and
decided, to hell with it.
          "Just for the record," he rasped, "you're the biggest screw-up in the
history of screw-ups." That earned him a hiss and a starburst of pain in his
shoulder, where one of John's paws was still gripping tight. "But even if it
was an accident, might as well use the equipment while we've got it, right?"
          John blinks at him several times, head tilting as he tries to work it
out. Then his eyes widen and his tail flicks and he's running the hand not
clawing up Dave's back down his abdomen, like he's searching for something.
Dave squirms under him, or tries to, but there's still salt locking him in
place, and all that really happens is that muscle coils and tenses under skin
that won't move. Finally John's fingers find the newly formed slit, somewhere
below and between Dave's hips, about where you'd expect to find the crotch on a
human boy. Dave hisses an intake of air as John runs a finger around it,
shrugging out of Dave's encircling arms to sink down and get a closer look.
          Dave tries to crane his neck, to see what John's doing, but even with
his arms to himself there's not much he can do. He feels skin brushing against
him, fleeting and barely there. He thinks to warn, "Watch the clawahhh, aaahn,
nnnhohmygod—!" cutting off with a garbled moan when instead of John's fingers,
he feels his tongue, lapping at the firm bulge at the top of his slit that he
can only guess must be the dolphin equivalent to a clitoris because fuck.
John's laugh drifts up to him, and he whimpers, arms twisting uselessly in
their binding, eyes squeezing shut and opening again with all the force Dave
wants to put into thrusting but he can't. "Get back up here," he growls, and
John obliges, stretching out along Dave with all the tightly-coiled danger of
an apex predator and fuck if that doesn't make his heart race. "Untie me," he
demands, but John ignores him completely, mouth going to his throat again and
biting down and oh god that feels good. Then there's skin brushing against his
slit again, and he doesn't have time to wonder how when both John's hands are
occupied, one stroking his side and the other wrapped in his hair and pulling
just enough for it to hurt feel amazing, before he's sliding in, John is
sliding inside him, John is inside him.
          He whimpers and chokes at the feeling, at the feeling of someone else
so close, of someone else connected to him in such an intimate way, and this
time when he tries to move, he feels something respond. Muscles he's never used
before, that he's never had before today, move inside him, untouched by silver
or salt or whatever other shenanigans John wants to pull, squeezing and
stroking along John's length. John whimpers against Dave's throat, pinching
skin between his teeth, and like hell is Dave going to stop now. He can feel
every inch of John inside of him, and he squeezes, setting up a steady rhythm
of pulsing and stroking, giving an especially hard rub with the muscles deeper
in, applying pressure to the head of John's penis.
          John groans against him, trying and failing to shift to a position
better for thrusting. All he manages is a steady rocking forward and back,
better than nothing but still infuriatingly little. Dave squeezes the head of
John's cock again, following up with a rub along the underside of his length,
and John almost sobs into his mouthful of Dave's skin, redoubling his efforts
to thrust now, moving their bodies together at a frantic pace he can't seem to
control. The pulsing of muscle surrounding him is getting faster and tighter,
fluttering sensation and cock-strangling pressure all in one, and that's it,
John's reached his limit, shuddering and stiffening as he comes inside Dave,
walls pulsing around him to milk out every last drop.
          Dave's still moving, still stroking him, even when he's done, and
he's so sensitive it almost hurts, but when he tries to pull out Dave's arms,
looped around his head, press him flush to the other boy's orange chest as a
ring of muscles clamps down below and he says, "Not just yet, Egbert."
          Dave continues to stroke John, relishing in his whimpers and cries,
oversensitive flesh stimulated beyond limit. John bats at him and mewls, weight
heavy atop Dave, but eventually, somewhere along the way, Dave stroking him
goes from too much to fuck yes, and John's hardening again, wild and on edge,
having never really been allowed to come off his first ride.
          Six times. Dave manages to ride John through this six times. By the
seventh time John hardens inside him, the sweat and physical exertion have
taken their toll on the salt, rendering most of it ineffective and letting Dave
thrust back. His tail wraps around John's leg, anchoring them together. Lower
down, the end strokes the insides of John's thighs and curls around behind him,
trailing across his cheeks and prodding between them. John's wild by now,
savaging Dave's throat and collarbone, licking and sucking and biting hard
enough to leave crisscrossing blossoms of bruises and trails of puncture wounds
oozing iridescent blood. He's thrusting so hard that Dave's certain he'd have
trouble walking for weeks, if he was still a walking kind of guy. He's hissing
and growling, fingers pinching nipples or pulling hair, stroking Dave's sides
(and raking them with claw marks, more often than not) or digging into his hips
in turns, leaving Dave a twitching moaning mess beneath him, shuddering and
broken and loving every minute of it.
          But as much as John's dominating things physically, it's Dave who has
control over their responses, stroking John repeatedly, squeezing along his
length and releasing, running finely-controlled muscles along the ridge at the
underside of John's head, using a pulling motion to draw John deeper inside,
then squeezing at the base of his cock to leave him unsatisfied. His tail,
meanwhile, plays at John's entrance, stroking John's decidedly less-voluntary
ring of muscles before finally pushing inside, earning Dave a loud, rumbling
moan from John, and enough pressure from a (thankfully) mostly-lip bite to cut
off his air for a few seconds. His tail curls inside John even as the muscles
inside himself curl around John's length, and he starts up a rippling motion,
tightening at the tip, then working his way down to the base, before reversing
direction and working his way back down to the tip.
          A whimper tumbles out of John's throat, this time accompanied by a
hot splash of tears, and Dave decides he's played with him long enough.
          His tail thrusts in and out of John shallowly, narrow tip doing
little more than teasing the sensitive muscles around John's entrance. His hips
pound into John's at the same time, allowing John to pull out and thrust back
in, Dave's walls shuddering around him on the way down and up, movements so
fast and intense it blurs into rapidly pulsing pleasure. Stroking, along his
length, at his tip, up the underside, squeezing at the head, while he thrusts,
almost all the way out and then slamming back in, driven wild and out of his
mind, every nerve on fire and screaming at him more, more,
moremoremoremorefuckingMORE.
          Dave's yelling by now, an insensible string of "God, fuck, yes,
JohngodfuckingyesJOHN" interspersed with moans like bottled sex, whore-in-a-
can, only $9.99 and fuck Dave, get your mind off of porn for one second because
this is real actual sex you are having and it's basically blowing your fucking
mind.
          John gives another of those rumbling possessive growls and Dave
arches into him, meeting every thrust with one of his own, and he can feel John
quivering, the way he did the last six times, tightening and tensing, so he
clamps down on John's base to stop him and gets teeth sunk into his shoulder as
his reward, gets a muffled sob and more tears and claws drawing blood from his
already damaged back. He gets a "Please, please please please," whispered and
hoarse like a man that hasn't spoken in ages, has forgotten how to speak, a man
at the end of his sanity, teetering on the edge too long to keep track of.
          So Dave lets up, and all at once, tightens all along John's length,
lets up, and tightens again, keeps them locked together and rolls, rolls and
now he's on top, bound hands planted against the floor above John's head,
trembling shaking arms, fluttering of muscles, exhaustion, dripping with sweat,
but it's worth it for the look in John's eyes, the look that says he's lost and
found and he wants, he wants and wants and wants. His mouth drips with orange
blood and his pupils are blown so wide his eyes look black, lips swollen-
bruised and then he snaps, snaps his teeth up at Dave like a wild, feral thing
and Dave rocks against him, tail teasing and inner muscles tensing and rippling
and he watches, he forces his eyes to stay open as pleasure crashes down on him
and John and tangles them up too tight to pry apart. He watches John's mouth
drop open and his head strain back to leave his neck bare, ears flattened
against his head and every inch of him taut. He watches those wide, feral eyes
glaze over and roll back, feels those furry hybrid hands scrabbling across his
chest for purchase, finding none and so squeezing on nothing, clutching and
spasming in a twitching rhythm. He feels John empty himself inside him as he
continues to buck and squirm, feels the walls of John's own inner muscles
tighten and pulse around his tail in the throes of orgasm. He watches John ride
it out, feels every pulse of pleasure and matches it with his own. And then,
when he's finally done and John is completely spent, he pulls away, finally
allowing John to slide out of him, withdrawing his tail and uncurling it from
his thigh to roll over on his back, lying next to John and looking at the gold
ceiling far above.
 
          It's a few minutes before either of them say anything, heavy panting
filling the air between them. And even when the silence breaks, it's Dave,
demanding, "Untie me."
          John looks over at him, uncomprehending, the effort of turning his
head feeling like a herculean task. Dave shifts and shoves his bound wrists in
John's direction, and the other boy just looks at them for about half a minute
before finally, slowly, pulling Dave's wrists over to him to work the knot
loose. His eyes are still blank, still black (though the black is shrinking
back to reveal bands of blue to either side of his slitted pupil), and after
Dave's wrists are free, while he's trying to rub some life back into them, he
asks, "Are you okay?"
          He gets a quiet and hoarse "Yeah," and has to be content with that.
          He scoots over, propping himself up on one elbow and running a hand
through John's hair. John doesn't look at him, just closes his eyes, and when
Dave begins scratching around his ears, purrs, deep in his throat.
          Dave drifts, watching John breathe, listening to him purr, managing,
through supreme effort, to not think about much at all. After a while, long
after he'd assumed John feel asleep, John says, "Sorry."
          Dave pauses in his scratching, not sure if he's supposed to reply,
before resuming his motions without saying a word.
          "I don't think I want to be a cat anymore." He opens his eyes at the
end of that one, and the startling blue striations around a paper-thin slit of
black are so startlingly alien, they take Dave's breath away.
          "We'll get Harley to fix it. Not you." Dave pokes his forehead on
'you,' and John crinkles up his nose, whiskers (whiskers—? Ah hell, why is Dave
even surprised anymore) shifting with the movement.
          "Fuck you. I'm good at this, I swear. It's all the weird symbols that
I can't read that mess things up."
          "Tell that to my brand new dolphin vagina," Dave says, and that shuts
John up, his mouth pressed in a thin line and brow scrunched in what Dave can
only assume is guilt.
          "I'm…sorry about that. Too." His eyes flick up to Dave at that,
begging pleading please forgive me. "About all this. I…I wanted to tear you to
pieces, and then I wanted…and you—and I tied you down and I. I'm really, really
sorry."
          Dave shrugs, fingers tracing the curve of John's furry ears, watching
them flick and flutter in irritation. "It's okay. Case you didn't notice, I was
kind of into it. Could'a done without the salt though." John blushes and looks
away, but the downturn to his lips says he's still blaming himself. "Look,"
Dave says, finger under John's chin guiding him to suit actions to words, "We
were in a tricky situation. You needed something, I wasn't objecting to
fulfilling that need. It doesn't have to mean anything."
          John's quiet for a while, gazing in Dave's direction but seeming to
stare at nothing. Then his eyes focus, and Dave's fingers scratching his head
still. "What if I want it to mean something?"
          Dave stares back at him, trying to curb the emotion inside himself as
he sorts out an answer. All he comes up with is, "Oh."
          Then, "Yeah, okay."
          Then, "Cool."
          John searches his face, eyes tracing his expression for half a minute
before he finally smiles, closing his eyes and relaxing, as though that settled
things. Dave scoots closer, carefully curving his tail over John's legs as he
continues to scratch at his head, eliciting another string of soft, thrumming
purrs.
 
          When Jade finds them like that hours later, tangled together and
sleeping, she's gracious about not asking just what in the hell happened.
Though she does snap a picture and mutter "Great, now I owe Rose twenty bucks."
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