a/n: Warning: there's a rant at the end of this. This is my obligatory hormonal boys fic. If you didn't see it coming, you should have. Their ages range from thirteen to fourteen, where Tugger is younger than Munkustrap.

Notes: No incest. Implied Bombalurina/Tugger. Guys kissing. Unedited.

"Munkus."

"What?"

"Ooh. That was cold." The Tugger smirks. He lies on his stomach on a dishwasher, perched above Munkustrap, watching the silver tom with mirth in his eyes. He swiftly shifts, and less-than-gracefully hops down onto the crappy old SUV Munkustrap's sitting on, and winces when his knee lands uncomfortably on a rather pointy patch of rust. He mutters a little curse before adjusting himself to sit next to Munkustrap, making sure to burst his personal bubble in the subtlest of ways.

"Yes, yes. But really, I'm kind of busy." The silver tom replies, making a grand gesture towards the entrance of the 'Yard. "I'm on duty. I'm patrolling."

"And you're doing a wonderful job of it. Sitting on your ass and all." Tugger smirks, mocking Munkustrap's gesture and aiming it at the car. "But, you do realize that the front entrance is like the most douche baggy place to patrol?" – air quotes – "I mean really, what villain would use the front entrance? Even Mac has enough sense to use the northeast entrance when he sneaks in from wherever he's gone."

"Shhh," Munkustrap hisses, even though in the back of his mind he almost agrees with him. But then he gets this awesome idea, "But – if the front entrance is the last place a villain would enter, and we expect them to come through other parts of the junkyard, they'll know the other parts are guarded more heavily. Understand? So then, they would use the front entrance under the pretense that it would be less guarded."

"Touché. Dick." Tugger says, still grinning cockily. "I'm still right though, totally. Your logic is dumb." He then remembers what he approached the silver tomkit for, and flails his hands as if erasing a slate. "But, whatever. Besides the point. I actually needed to ask you a favor."

Munkustrap groans and sighs melodramatically, gripping his knees. "Can't it wait?"

"It'll take a couple seconds. I think. Please?"

"I don't even know what I'm consenting to." Munkustrap says matter-of-factly, crossing his arms. He'd much rather 'patrol' than speak to Tugger right now. Even if he was a little butthurt over their little debate. At least Deuteronomy assigned him a post in the first place. Tugger would still have to wait a few months before he was old enough to be on patrol, and even then Munkustrap was sure Old Deut, as the Tugger called him, wouldn't trust him enough to allow him a post. That is, if Tugger wanted one. Which he probably wouldn't. And even if he did, he wouldn't do it because it would be afford to him and God – Tugger is confusing. At some point, Munkustrap was certain, he would get a song in the Jellicle Ball just because he was so freaking confusing.

"If I told you, you wouldn't do it." Tugger says obnoxiously, making a point of over-enunciating his words, as if Munkustrap isn't a freaking inch away from him and can't hear his every breath.

Munkustrap scowls, his eyes narrowing. "Well, now I'm certainly not doing it. Go away, you're breaking my focus." Or, well, his focus was long broken, but no matter. Even if there wasn't anything to look out for, his little roost was really quite comfortable. The sun was positioned just right, and it wasn't hot, just toasty and comfortable. He could watch people drive and walk by, making unattractive faces at the stench. For some reason, the Jellicles seem to be immune to it. "And this really isn't taking a couple seconds."

"Fine, I'll tell you."

Pause.

"Well, what the hell is it, Tugger?" Munkustrap says, tapping his fingers on his forearm. His patience is wearing very, very thin.

"I need you to kiss me." Tugger says, a sheepish, open-mouth smile on his face. He looks absolutely goofy, making stupid hand gestures as if they would make the request any less awkward.

"What the – fuck no!" A vicious, warm blush creeps on to Munkustrap's face as he scoots away from the maine coon, nearly falling off the hood of the SUV in the process. "No, no, no, no! You know I like Demeter!"

"Whoa dude – I'm not asking because I want you to! I want to end my date with Bomb tonight with a kiss, and I don't know if I'm good at it!" – Munkustrap was one of the few cats (actually, he was one of two) who knew that Tugger wasn't actually the preteen playboy he made himself out to be.

"Then – then – ask Cassandra! Or… even Alonzo, for Chrissakes!" Munkustrap shrieks indignantly, his leg hanging off the side of the vehicle in a totally uncomfortable way.

"No way! Trust me, I thought of it –"

"You could have even asked Macavity –"

"No, man, he'd rip my lips off. But, shut up, I thought of asking Cassandra but I knew she'd laugh at me. And Alonzo would push me and tell everyone. I've gone over this very carefully." He says. At that moment, Munkustrap notices that as he slowly slides off the car, Tugger follows suit, arching his back in a really girly way. "So, pretty much, you are my only hope. Only."

Munkustrap bites his lip, his eyebrows furrowing. "…How long?" he asks, because, well, he's never kissed anyone before either, and if he's very, very honest with himself, the prospect of kissing the Tugger really isn't too bad. But he'd never tell anyone that.

"Till I get the hang of it?"

"I'll ask again. How long?"

"I guess…ten seconds? That's how long kisses last, right?"

Munkustrap takes a deep breath, feigns experience. "It depends. But, fine. I'll be counting – ten seconds."

"Yes! Thanks!" Tugger says all to excitedly, grabbing Munkustrap's arm and pulling him back on to the SUV. "You won't regret it, I promise. Or, I won't. Or – thanks." The words flood out of his mouth, and Munkustrap wonders why exactly he's getting so worked up about this kiss thing.

"Yeah, sure. So, lean in or some –"

He's cut off by Tugger's eager lips. Needless to say, he's caught off guard and nearly falls of the SUV, but this time, Tugger's hand is on his back, pulling him forward. Even though Munkustrap hasn't got anything to compare Tugger to, he's fairly certain the tom kisses better than someone who's never done it before. And then there's Munkustrap, who has absolutely no idea what he's supposed to do, so he just moves his lips and tries not to click their teeth together.

One, two, three, four, five – at this point, Munkustrap opens his eyes a little, pulls back slightly so as to catch his breath. And judging by the little gasp he emits, Tugger needed a little breather, too. But as soon as Munkustrap's lungs are full of air, he goes back to kissing Tugger because honestly? It's kind of nice – six, seven, eight, nine, ten.

The kiss doesn't stop on time, and neither of them really care. But then it gets a little awkward, and the two pull back, eyes wide and lips parted.

"Um, thanks," Tugger says with slightly bated breath, their faces still centimeters away from each other. He leans back, and Munkustrap realizes Tugger was sort of on top of him – which was weird. Not that he was complaining about it.

"Yeah, no problem, I guess," Munkustrap says, avoiding Tugger's eyes. He scratches the back of his neck, and is tempted to whistle just to break the silence. "Good luck with Bombalurina tonight."

Tugger almost looks surprised, like he forgot about the impending first date. "Oh, uh, yeah – thanks. Good luck with Demeter, too." He says, starting to scoot off of the SUV. Once his feet touch the ground, Munkustrap leans forward and speaks up.

"We'll never speak of this again, all right?"

"'Course not. Bye, dude."

"Bye."

Tugger just stands there for a moment, his brown eyes locked on Munkustrap's blue ones. And then he says the unthinkable – "Let's do this again sometime."

Munkustrap is surprised to hear himself say, "Yeah."

The two exchange quick grins, and then he's left watching Tugger walk away, waving lazily even though he knows the tomkit can't see him. A smile plays on his lips, the ones that were just pressed against Tugger's moments ago, the ones that'll be pressed against Tugger's a lot more.

a/n: I actually kind of liked that, even though the ending was cheesy and rushed. Anyway, here's that rant I warned you about, in italics in case you want to skip it.

I am deeply saddened by the unpopularity of Munkus/Tugger. Like omg. (Even if a lot of that could be accredited to the popular belief that they're siblings.) And how it seems that in my and some authors' absences, the fandom has grown a prevalent pairing: 'Mistoria.' And I'm giving myself a lot of credit, and I don't really care that it's Mistoffelees/Victoria, I just miss clicking the CATS page and finding a cesspool of pairings. ): Now, it's OC/Canon, Tugger/Misto, or Misto/Victoria. Or, I think that's the case. Usually I just glance at the front page, scowl, and look up Munkus/Tugger. (I'll never catch on to these pairings names.)

I was a fan of Tugger/Mistoffelees for a while, but my slash-fan-ness has gone from top/bottom to two tops or a switch pairing. Aka Munkustrap and Tugger. By the by, a switch is someone who tops and bottoms. WHY DO I KNOW THIS.

Anyway, I need my crack, babes! :,D Especially if it's pedophile-y (Macavity/Pouncival or Tumblebrutus? Plato, even. I could get into that) or involves to masculine toms aka not Mistoffelees. I'm not a Misto hater, but all the…Tuggerstoffelees? LOL NO. Anyway, all the Tug/Misto writers make him such a chick. D: He may sparkle, but he still possesses a penis, y'know? Let's keep from making him chick-out and make Tugger talk about his feelings.

This author's note is long and shall end now. Hope you enjoyed!