A/N: First fanfic I've done for Cats in a long while. Bashed out in under an hour and probably the result of rereading old stories.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any profit.
She peeled the layers back one by one, analysing each word and each pose. A dissection, tearing apart the pieces of them that made her what she was. Examining, discarding. What was so important to protect? A giggle, a face too quick to blush? The constant rejection still stung, bringing tears to her eyes, numbing her everywhere except the parts that were most important.
She knew it was a kindness, twisted justification in the eyes of her elders. A give and take that made his behaviour acceptable, careful laws laid down to stop him from developing any unnatural affections.
Unnatural. The word sounded bitter to her even without forming the sounds aloud. Unnatural affection. Queen and tom, love and sex. A natural give and take that transcended barriers of race, class and origin... But not of age.
He followed the rules, never touching for too long or anywhere other than her paws, shoulders or headfur. He didn't get too physically close, never flirted with more than a smirk or a more G-rated version of the shows put on for older, acceptable queens.
Everyone conveniently ignored how she was growing up, how the kitten was not just a kitten anymore. She was stuck, perpetually viewed as 'the baby'. What was to blame, she wondered. A rounded face? A dusting of freckles across her nose seemed to negate the body that had developed into smooth feminine curves. Maybe it was the giggle, sounding too young for the body it came from. Maybe they saw her blush, heard her cute little laugh, and assumed that her mind had never progressed beyond the most basic of understandings.
Evey so often she might catch him looking at her when the elders were occupied, or when the other cats were too busy to notice the way his eyes would linger. Inapropriate. She could imagine the thought passing through his head, of paws running over her body, tongue brushing against her fur... Dismissed after an instant because she was still too young, far too young to understand or participate in the love games that he played.
She tried everything, and failed. The direct approach was quickly shot down and horrified matrons admonished young toms and queens who were not at fault for talking about such things in front of her. Slow seduction was purposefully ignored, and eventually flat-out rejected with a deep, tired sigh and the words "you don't know what you're doing, kit".
"I'm not a kitten. I know what I'm asking for."
"No, you don't. You don't know, and I'm not going to be skinned alive for touching you anyway."
Rejection. She fumed, raging at the features she had been born with, the 'kittenish' smile and the way the tribe ignored all evidence of her adulthood. She may be young, but she was not a kitten anymore.
Night time clung to her coat. She approached the darkened den with her head and tail held high. She entered without announcing herself, slinking through the shadows and presenting herself to the single occupant by rolling to the ground and displaying her body. Legs spread wide, arms stretched above her head, she gave the tom a reassuring smile.
"And what are you doing here?" He asked, his voice a curious drawl. He was nothing like the tom of her dreams, nothing like the junkyard jellicle tom that rejected her. "Here," he repeated, circling her splayed form, flashing green eyes raking her body from head to toes. "In this place, at this time of night... I didn't think kittens were allowed out so late."
"I'm not a kitten," Etcetera said firmly, arching her back to show him more of herself. "I'm sick of being called a kitten. I'm told," she continued, watching him as he watched her, "that you do nasty things to kittens. I'm told you don't have the same reservations that nice, well brought up toms do. You're a criminal, a thief, a murderer and a rapist. I don't want to be a kitten my entire life."
The tom stops pacing, sinking down to his knees between her splayed legs. He leans over her, paws circling her wrists, body flush against hers. Foul breath hits her face, tangled headfur brushes the side of her face as he whispers into her ear; "You came to the right place."
He is not gentle. He is not nice. Etcetera feels her body twist and writhe under him, bruised by teeth and paws and the crush of his hips against hers. He is all sharp angles and nothing tender. He does not treat her like a kitten.
"This means nothing," he tells her afterwards when their fur is damp with sweat and her body is aching.
"Good," she replies, and bites his shoulder. He arches, hissing. "I want to stay here."
"This is no place for a kitten," he needles, mocking the words of cats far nicer than he.
She bites him again, this time on the other shoulder. "I'm staying here," she repeats firmly.
"You're not a kitten," he says, pushing her away and stuffing a gag in her mouth so she can't bite him any more. The gag tastes like dirt. She is rolled onto her side, clawed paws sliding around her waist. Etcetera can't smile as she imagines the scandal in the junkyard. For the moment, she has a new favourite tom.