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His heart was racing a mile a minute. Being alone with Douglas always made his heart pound, but ever since they'd started spending quality time at Douglas's house, his heart rate had regularly been somewhere in the speeding vicinity of an F1 race.
And not for a good reason.
Martin eyed his adversary warily. At two feet away, Earhart the cat was closing in on his mental comfort barrier. Of course, a month ago, he couldn’t have handled it…her… coming closer than six feet without breaking into a sweat. The cat favoured him with an arrogant, untroubled slow blink and rolled on its back, an indolent stretch bringing its back feet a foot closer.
“Ah, making friends there, are you? Jolly good.” Douglas brushed a kiss over Martin’s hair and a rub over the cat’s belly as he swept past to pick up the remote.
He could swear the cat smirked. Martin huddled a little further back on the couch, keeping an eye on the furred beast writhing at his feet.
Douglas threw himself down on the sofa next to Martin, flipping channels obliviously, one arm around Martin’s shoulders.
Eahart flipped onto her feet and sauntered out of view. A quiet rattling from the kitchen indicated she was refuelling from the ever-present bowl of biscuits that sat on the floor near the fridge. Martin tried to relax, concentrating on his lover’s warm arm and snuggling closer into his side.
The scrabble of claws on fabric heralded Earhart’s less than graceful arrival on the back of the couch. Martin jumped as Douglas chuckled and Earhart slithered down onto Douglas's knees. Douglas handed Martin the remote so he could pet the cat with long luxurious strokes from head to rump. She hunkered down with a deep purr but kept Martin in view through half-slitted green eyes.
Martin swallowed tightly and tried not to tense too much at Douglas's side. The remote was creaking in his hand from being clutched so right, so he selected a just-started murder mystery and put the controller back on the coffee table. There was nowhere he could put his hand on Douglas without touching the feline, so he balled his fists by his sides and tried not to audibly grit his teeth.
Beside him, Earhart yawned extravagantly then performed a deliberately long stretch that brought her front paws into kneading contact with Martin's thigh. He leapt up in a panic, knowing this manoeuvre usually preceded her all-too-casual attempt to sit on him.
"Coffee?" Martin tried to make his dart towards the kitchen look more like a stroll.
“Sure,” said Douglas, already caught up in the drama onscreen.
Martin shuddered as a soft thump behind him suggested Earhart had hopped off Douglas and was... Yes... Following him into the kitchen.
He filled the coffee machine with water and leaned up to pull down the tub of beans they had ground that morning. He startled as Earhart purred smugly in anticipation of being fed and tried to twine around his legs. He pressed himself up against the counter, practically on tiptoe as the cat pushed closer, making false declarations of adoration.
Martin wiped his clammy hands down the sides of his jeans and tried to side step.
The creak of the couch in the other room was enough to distract the feline and Martin made a dash for the bathroom, resisting the temptation to actually lock himself in (as if the cat could pick locks) and allowing himself a few panicked breaths before gathering himself back together.
There was a mew of indignation from outside the closed door, and a paw appeared underneath, straining and clawing at the tile as if the animal on the other end of it was trying to squeeze through the gap.
Martin shuddered and huddled ridiculously on the floor against the large bath at the furthest point of the room.
Eventually the cat got bored and mogged off somewhere. But Martin obviously lost time frozen in position on the floor because the next thing he knew, Douglas was crouched next to him.
"Are you all right?"
“Yes, of course.” As if he regularly spent hours sitting on the floor doing nothing.
“You've been sitting in here for ages. You didn't answer when I called.”
“I'm fine I just...” Martin couldn't hold back a shudder as Earhart sauntered in through the door Douglas had left open wide. Martin jerked forward as she slunk past and hopped into the empty bath, casually inspecting the drip potential of the tap like a short, tabby plumber.
Douglas rubbed a hand speculatively over Martin’s tensed back and looked at his pet. “Martin... Do you dislike cats?”
“It's not that,” said Martin, unable to resist shuffling further forward, away from the cat’s deliberations at the edge of the tub. Watching as she butted her head lovingly, demandingly against Douglas’s shoulder.
He sagged as he realised Douglas registered not just his move, but its cause. What the hell, in that case...
He moved closer to the door, away from Douglas’s comforting hands but also away from the wily feline.
“You're scared,” Douglas realised.
“No...”
Earhart jumped off the bath to stroll out of the room, point made. Martin hunched back against the vanity. “A bit.”
Douglas exhaled, and ran a hand through his hair. “Allergies?”
“No. I just…” A full shudder escaped now he wasn't holding anything back. “Don't trust them.”
“Well. That's probably fair enough. Earhart is a bit of a thief, for a start.” Douglas grinned. Martin scowled.
Douglas held a hand up. “I'm not teasing. Much. I promise. But why didn't you say something? You've been coming here for months. Is that... The whole time…?”
Martin felt a flush heat his face. “Sorry.”
“No, don't apologise, but why didn't you say something?”
“It's your pet. I didn't... I haven't got any rights here.”
“Of course you do. You're my partner. I'd hoped to... Well, I’d hoped you'd move in, one day... Soon, even. And you always have the right to feel comfortable. Here or anywhere.”
“Yes but...”
“Look,” said Douglas. “I can't deny I love that cat but we can’t be having this.” He waved a hand around Marin’s bathroom sanctuary.
“Sorry,” Martin said again, trying to curl into a smaller, and less frustrating, inconvenient ball.
Douglas shook his head and slid over to where Martin was practically tucked under the sink. This close, Martin knew he would be able to smell the acrid fear sweat that had flooded his armpits. And as Douglas wrapped an arm around him, he knew the slight shiver and gradually slowing heart rate would also give him away.
He knew they did, because Douglas pulled him even closer, not quite kissing, but rubbing his face soothingly over the top of Martin’s head. “Emily’s been on at her mother for months now to get a pet. She adores Earhart…I expect if I had a word in my ex-wife’s ear, we could come to an arrangement that would suit all of us.”
He did kiss Martin’s hair then. Then pulled away to look into Martin’s sheepish eyes. “What do you think about that?”
Martin untangled himself just enough to squeeze Douglas’s knee gratefully, still too embarrassed and guilty to do anything more. “Thank you.”