This fic is spoiler-free, with no references to any revelations made in the game, so you may proceed without fear even if you have not played or completed it.
Additionally, no physical descriptors are made about Cross, so feel free to project your own avatar onto him, if applicable. It was kind of a bummer that I couldn't incorporate the glasses or beauty marks that mine has but it's fiiiiiine.
Cross shifted the weight of the bundle in his arms when he reached the door to the modest condo he rented in NLA's Residential District, inserting the key in its lock. BLADE members were supplied spartan living spaces in their own barracks, but Cross liked having a more personal and domestic place to retreat to on his off hours. The other members in his unit also appreciated the space, as it occasionally served as a party space or relaxing environment for simply hanging out.
And, as particular relations grew, it also came to house a wonderful little arrangement – one which Cross knew would be happily waiting for him on the other side of this door as soon as he stepped in.
Surely enough, the next sound inside the living space after the latch clicked closed behind him was the pleasant chime of a small bell. The sleepy lump on the couch had uncurled, yawning wide and arching its back into a stretch. Bare toes lowered to the floor, and then padded the distance from the living room to the door where Cross was still getting himself settled in after coming in from outside.
Phog had been rubbing sleep from his eyes as he walked, and so blinked with surprise when he finally noticed what Cross carried in the crook of his arm.
"More flowers?" he gasped. "You don't have to keep buying these for me..." Phog bashfully tilted his head down as he blushed warmly, his modesty at odds with the rest of his salacious style of dress for the evening. Much of his skin was revealed, only sparsely covered with crisscrossing straps of armor, and even then, most of that was on his legs. The set was among the standard armor options available for BLADE use, but Phog's choice of accessories gave it an erotic slant.
"I wanted to," Cross shrugged, "Especially since I know you worked to the bone this week. Have you rested up?" His fingers lifted to brush through Phog's feathery hair as he nodded, and the motion made his touch graze over the soft headband that held those white cat ears in place, closely matching the coloration of his hair. Phog nuzzled appreciatively into the petting as Cross' fingers lowered to cup the side of his face. "Good," Cross smiled at the tender sweetness of Phog's display, and gently encouraged, "You are so good, Phog. You've done so well." The heat of Phog's cheek grew warmer against his palm.
To spare poor Phog from melting into a puddle on the floor right there, Cross decided to move further into the room. A vase became the new home for the bouquet of white flowers, which Cross placed on the low table in front of the couch. He spent a moment fluffing them into shape before falling back onto the sofa himself with an involuntary groan of breath, exhausted from the day's events. There had been that reclaiming mission this morning, which took way longer than anticipated as indigens kept interfering, and ended up lasting nearly into the evening; and then he needed to go shopping in the Commercial District – probably the only downside to owning his own place outside of the barracks was that he needed to keep it stocked himself. But, it had given him the opportunity to pick up those flowers, and that was always worth it. When Cross opened his eyes again after rubbing his brow bone to relieve some of the soreness there, he saw Phog perched beside him, cradling his chin in his hands as he leaned forward to admire the bouquet. Definitely, unquestionably worth it.
Cross used the controls built into the arm of the sofa to flick the TV on, its screen projecting in front of the wall in a single holographic layer. This was another advantage that the Residential District had over the barracks. The only viewing material in the Administrative District were endless prompters for missions and BLADE news. It was essential, sure, but if Cross had to read just one more word of it today, he feared his skull would split open. The entertainment available to civilians, on the other hand, was limited only to what had been recovered from Lifehold archives – reruns, in other words, but heck if they weren't appreciated.
He remembered the day NLA rejoiced when a huge archive of filmography was recovered, and the Disney movie marathons that ensued. Elma in particular seemed especially moved by them, transfixed as if watching them for the first time, while Lin's mouth silently moved along, perfectly timed with every word. Lao had excused himself from the room several times, suspiciously just before any emotionally-charged scenes began, and reappeared again only once they had safely ended.
Cross just wanted something mindless for now, and it wasn't long after his lap was made available that Phog curled into it, resting his head over his folded arms on Cross' thighs. Idly, Cross lowered his hand onto Phog's head, stroking his hair again. He trailed his fingers down the back of Phog's neck and lower, relishing the yielding touch of the warm, bare skin of Phog's back as he traced the gently curving shape of his spine.
If he kept following the line of that spine all the way down, Cross would eventually reach the tail that was plugged into Phog's backside. It was fluffy and white, constructed of the same material as his ears – and wearing it inserted meant that some modifications had to be made to the armor, rendering it unwearable for regular missions. Cross kept expecting that tail to twitch and flick like a real cat's would, especially when he caressed Phog like this.
Whether Phog dressed in this attire all day or only changed into it before Cross came home, Cross did not know, although he would not be terribly surprised to learn that it was an all-day affair. Assuming the role of housecat had exhibited remarkable healing properties for the fretful Phog. His constitution did not match that of his fellow BLADE members, and his perceived slack drove him to work twice as hard to make up for it. Those facts combined cruelly, resulting in BLADE work that exhausted and overwhelmed him if prolonged, Cross knew. When a day off finally rolled around, Cross understood that Phog needed those precious hours to recuperate.
And what role could possibly be more restful and devoid of stressors than that of a sleepy, cuddly kitten? Cross saw no issue with allowing him this, especially when it had such clearly rejuvenating effects. These sessions strengthened Phog, visibly so when the next day rolled around and it was time to gear up and tackle whatever BLADE missions came their way. He was certainly more prepared for them now than he had been before this practice; it was not with happiness that Cross remembered how worryingly skittish Phog used to be in their earliest encounters, and his hesitance even to take on missions that sounded too difficult.
Phog's confidence had skyrocketed since his partnership with Cross, and this therapeutic arrangement that they practiced when they had the opportunity to be alone together. That was demonstrated in the most important outcome from this of all: Phog actually smiled now, and with great frequency.
He was smiling even now, Cross could tell, from the way the muscles in his cheeks were pulled as he brushed his fingers over Phog's face. One of these days, Cross was not going to be surprised to hear a purr from him.
Amazingly, Phog did release a pleased little sound then, although it was recognizably human – just a hum. He roused a bit in Cross' lap, and Cross wondered if Phog might be trying to get his attention. Amused, he simply returned his attention to the TV and continued stroking Phog's hair and back just as he had before. Not even a minute had passed before Phog did it again, this time turning his head enough to look up at Cross from the corner of one eye.
"Did you miss me today?" Cross asked fondly, tilting his head and resting it against his curled knuckles as he leaned against the arm of the sofa.
"Well," Phog looked shyly away, "I know you had work to do, so I oughtn't complain. Really hard work, and that's really important, so..."
"I know. You were very patient. I'm sorry it took so long. I wanted to come home to you, too." Cross sat up a little straighter, as well as he could with the upper half of Phog's body in his lap. With his new leverage, he leaned a bit over Phog and brushed aside some of his hair so that he could see his face, even if it was only in profile. "You did so good waiting for me. You were very good today."
Cross loved watching Phog react to that. Heat tickled across his cheek bones, and he curled up a little tighter in the middle, where he reacted with warmth there as well. Cross' smile pulled a little bit further.
"I was good today," Phog repeated quietly, turning over so that he faced up toward Cross, who nodded as he brushed his fingers through his thick hair. Gravity made it easier to push Phog's long bangs further to one side of his face, uncovering his other eye from its demure hiding spot behind the pale strands. Cross loved revealing Phog's eyes and adoring their aqua color, and he looked down at them with incredible fondness now. This, too, always made Phog blush, embarrassed to be scrutinized, but he was braver now and did not look away.
"Good," Cross punctuated one last time, easing back. Phog recognized this as an invitation, and rearranged his own weight, folding his legs underneath him to straddle Cross' lap. Cross' hands comfortably found their spot on either side of Phog's strong waist, although he took the briefest of moments to tap his fingers over the TV's controls to turn it off. Upon sparing the time to do even just that, Phog gave an impatient little wiggle in his seat, which incidentally happened to be Cross' crotch.
"I know, I know," Cross laughed, and Phog's thin lips tugged into a smile as well. God, Cross loved seeing him smile. Phog was a needy little thing, which delighted Cross to know because there were so few other people, if anyone, who would know that about him. He appreciatively slid his hands down and then back up Phog's thighs, fingers wavering over the crisscrossing straps until they met his belt. Normally, this set of armor included shorts underneath, but Phog's purposes called for much of their fabric to be cut away. The backside was empty, and the front only just covered his groin, and right now that fabric was straining against his erection. Cross worked his fingers under the armor to move the fabric away and free it.
"Cross," Phog breathed, his face getting heated. Cross' hand was at the back of his neck in the next instant, pulling him down into a powerful kiss. The bell at his neck jangled with the jarring motion. "Uah," Phog grunted, even as their mouths mashed together.
Cross used the moments while their mouths were occupied to undo his pants and push them at least partially down his thighs. With himself finally free, he released his own grunt at the sinful sensation of his dick sliding up against Phog's. Phog, clearly feeling the same thing, bucked his hips forward to grind them together.
Cross would have been happy to continue like that, but used his strong grip on Phog's hips to hold him still. Phog knew why Cross was stopping him. He shifted on his knees, perking up his butt. The embedded tail hung between his legs, and he could feel the lightest, featheriest tickles from its fur on his highly sensitized skin.
Cross' fingers crept back, inching for the stretched hole, and the thick glass plug held in its embrace. Phog was heated, panting, the skin on his bare chest beginning to look dewy as sweat surfaced. He straightened slowly as Cross' hand closed around the base of the tail's attachment.
Cross always thought that when Phog went into this pose, he looked more like a cat than ever. His hands curled in front of his chest, just underneath the collar he wore around his neck. It was a reserved, shy position, as if his hands were over his heart. He probably didn't at all mean for it to look like cat paws, but Cross thought that it did anyway.
He pulled the base. The ring of muscle hugging around it resisted. Feeling the tension, Phog groaned, eyes shut tight as he grimaced. Cross arranged into a better grip and readied to pull again. His voice was deep, more like an intonation, as lust made him breathy, "Relax for me. You can do it." The cry that escaped from Phog's throat was surprisingly high in pitch as the plug stretched him, escaping the hole in an instant after the wide knob passed through. His cock throbbed upward in response, spurting a single clear strand. It was only precum, Cross knew – the same had reliably happened every previous time they did this.
There wasn't much preparation needed after that. Phog's hole was slick with lubrication from getting the plug in there in the first place (but a little more, just in case, couldn't hurt), and he was certainly stretched. Cross only needed the quickest covering over himself, manipulating the lube with practiced ease after retrieving it from its drawer in the coffee table beside them. They were quick to move forward, and Cross lined up his cock below him – and Phog descended on the whole length the moment he lowered his weight on it. His head snapped back to feel something fully embed inside him that fast, and Cross gasped, too, having his full length enveloped in one motion.
"Aah," Phog's voice creaked. He returned his gaze to his lover, his expression looking dreamy while his chest heaved. He wriggled his hips again, settling onto the hard, thick length that connected them. His ass was beginning to normalize to its size, tightening again now that the plug wasn't holding it open. "It feels... so... good."
"Nh," Cross hardly more than grunted, feeling that hole adjusting, gripping his most sensitive area. "God, does it ever," he agreed. "You feel great."
Phog smiled again at that. He inched his knees further forward, until he could not move any closer into the back cushions of the sofa. Then, he eased back, clasping his hands around the back of Cross' neck for balance, and lifted his hips and lowered them again.
"Ohh," Phog moaned, closing his eyes.
Cross grunted again, enjoying the sensation of Phog's hot cavity moving up and down his length, the ring at the entrance tighter now that it had shrunk to his size. He rested his hands over Phog's hip bones, but did not do much gripping or guiding. Phog had that under control. And he knew that Phog liked having that control. It was so incredibly bold and lewd of him to bounce his hips like this, to be the one with power in this situation. This act, Cross knew, was yet another manifestation of Phog's newfound confidence.
He was so strong, he radiated with it. When Cross looked up at him, he thought that Phog glowed golden. Maybe in reality it was a combination of the room's lighting shining through his pale hair and sheening off the sweat coating his torso, but Cross saw Phog as something powerful and beautiful. If everyone worked as goddamn hard as Phog did in all aspects, then maybe BLADE – and humanity by extension – would do all right.
As Phog began moving with rhythm, the bell at his neck rang in time with it, bouncing against his collarbone. Its chiming made for a beautiful background melody as they made love. It sent Cross' thoughts to the memory of Phog first presenting that collar to him, shyly requesting that Cross be the one to clasp it into place around his neck. He remembered how Phog had shivered as Cross' rough fingers grazed the tender skin of his nape, then slid along the edge of the choker around to the front of his neck again. He had lifted the bell to let it ring softly as it dropped, hitting the center of Phog's clavicles, all while Phog smiled up at him with his chin tucked modestly down.
After that day, Cross noticed that Phog wore the collar even with his usual armor, both during missions and around NLA. The bell was removable, so at those times it was spared from ringing distractingly. Cross wondered if it brought Phog some distraction anyway, as he often caught sight of him bringing his fingers up to touch it during mission briefings. It was only during these hours off, spent together, that the bell was hooked back into place.
Cross returned from his reverie when he felt one of Phog's hands leave his shoulder. Phog had curled his fingers and put them up to his own mouth, gnawing on the knuckle between his teeth. Cross grinned, remembering how much Phog loved stimulation in his mouth. He raised his own hand, so that Phog could suck his fingers instead of making do with his own. Phog hungrily took Cross' fingers, lapping at them with his tongue before finally closing his lips around them. Seeing Phog with his mouth full and eyes closed in reverence reminded Cross of their very first passion-induced endeavor... After a very shaky confession had come some even shakier oral, which Cross had been bewilderedly aghast to hear Phog propose, but he was very enthusiastic about trying it and Cross would have had incredible difficulty dissuading him.
It was reaching the point where the wet sucking sounds from Phog's mouth weren't the only ones in the room. Phog was bouncing his hips faster now, and the abundance of lube they'd used was making a dripping mess. Cross couldn't hold his own hips still any more, and timed his thrusts with Phog's bounces to bring them together forcefully in the middle. Cross felt vibrations through his fingers as Phog moaned.
"I'm gonna come soon – Phog, you're so hot – I –" Cross grunted between breaths.
Phog whined, his cries muffled behind Cross' fingers and too much saliva. His hands grasped for purchase over Cross' body, until finally, his back straightened.
His hips gave some final, shuddering bounces, making that muscled ring pull Cross' cock along its length, milking its bursts. Their heavy lubrication job allowed for a trickle to escape Phog's hole as he was filled, spurting out behind him. His own orgasm sprayed Cross' torso, gluing his shirt to his body.
Cross gazed dreamily up at Phog's taut body, who finally released the breath that was held in his chest, making it heave. Cross' fingers fell from his mouth, trailing saliva. Phog's tongue drooped along with them, his face looking incredibly fevered, which not even the mussed bangs that fell over half of it could hide. Even as Phog panted, Cross ran his hand through that hair to push it aside, rubbing his cheek with his thumb as he brushed past it.
"That was so good. You're beautiful," Cross insisted breathlessly. Phog's mouth closed and he swallowed. He rubbed his face against Cross' palm, sliding his hands up Cross' raised wrist until he could intertwine their fingers.
Cross wrapped his arms around Phog's shoulders when he fell into him, content just to hold him and rub his back. The two recovered like that for many minutes, and Cross listened to Phog's breaths as they slowed, until they reached the point where he wondered if the other might have fallen asleep. He lowered his hands, seeking the hole where his softened cock was still weakly embedded.
He hesitated when he reached it. There was a lot of fluid in there. His fingers were already sliding over the excess of lube.
Phog roused, perhaps detecting his hesitation and intention. The sound he made reminded Cross of that affectionately-called 'cat activation noise.' Phog shifted in his lap, maintaining their connection even as he sleepily reached over the cushion beside them for their previously discarded toy. He retrieved the tail plug, and then went about rearranging his weight again curiously.
Cross watched Phog swing one leg over his lap, so that he was no longer straddling him. Instead, Cross was presented with the nice view of Phog's lean body twisting around to insert the tail once more, this time working against a steadily dribbling stream.
Cross realized that his eyes were wide as he took in the sight, as Phog smiled over his shoulder with shy mischief. He hadn't even had any idea that Phog could be mischievous. But he was certain that Phog must be feeling devilish as he cozily curled up again in Cross' lap just as he had when they watched TV before, apparently ignoring the mess. Cross was faintly bewildered as he sat up to resume petting him, eying that innocent-looking white tail and marveling at its ability to hold that volume in place.
Maybe being a "good" kitty was not accurate to Phog after all.