Practice. It's the first day with the whole band and I've come prepared: new bass in hand, downloaded tablature of a few in their songs in a binder even though I'd already memorized it, and a hand full of picks just in case. I'm Tommy Joe Ratliff, and I am ready.

I arrive a little early and decide to get warmed up. I place a few sheets of tab out on the table and weigh them down with a few picks. Lifting the strap over my head, I look down at my bass with its glossy black body, a scratch-free pick guard, and steel strings that feel smoother than fine silk. Maybe it's the newness of it all, but I feel better about this bass than I ever have about playing one of my guitars. I smile slightly, thinking of how I never would have even tried a bass if it weren't for Adam not telling us that he already had a man for guitar, and start to tune up.

I start out with the bassline to "Fever", letting the low chords fill the air in their weaving patterns to create an almost instant sexually tense atmosphere. My Creepers are tapping out the tempo and my lips mumble the words just loud enough for my feline ears to register. After a few songs, I hear footsteps climbing the stairs and directing themselves towards me. The doorknob to the practice room jiggles a bit and I stop playing, glancing up to see who's coming in. Adam Lambert walks in and I adjust my beanie, pushing it back from where it had ridden low in my forehead.

He cocks a brow at me as he speaks, "Why'd you stop, kitty? You're were doin' great." A faint blush colors my cheeks and I start to play "Strut", my Creepers taping all the way. I can feel him watching me, almost as if he's grading my performance, making sure he picked the right guy to be his bass player. I glance up and see him smirking down at me.

I hadn't realized he was so tall but, now that he's practically towering over me, I notice he's got a good head taller than me. Something in his gaze, mixed with his height is causing me to lose track of the song and I hurry to fix my eyes back on he strings, slowly strumming my way through "Soaked".

"What's with the beanie, kitten?" My eyes flicker towards him at the sound of him advancing on my and I try to remain focused on the song. My ears twitch with nervousness when he stops just to my right, expecting an answer.

I'm half way through "If I Had You" before I answer, "Hides the ears." I forget that I'm supposed to be playing and the bass just hangs from my neck, leaving us in an almost ringing silence, filled only by the noise filtering in through the window from the surface streets.

"Why cover them?" he leans in a bit closer and continues to speak, "Since I know about them, why not just let 'em out for a bit. It's gotta be hell of hot in there." He lifts up his hand and traces an ear through the thick cotton fabric. "Besides, they're kinda cute."

He winks to let me know he's just playing around and pinches the top of the hat, lifting a bit, almost as if he's asking for permission. I reach up and pull the hat off from the side to avoid touching his fingers, leaving his hand to pet at my ears without a barrier.

"So, where is everyone? I could've sworn you said practice was at ten." He smirks and continues to stroke my ears, letting his fingers drift downward to let them play across where they connected to my scalp. I hear a tiny gasp come from him when he feels it, confirming that they are, indeed, natural.

"Well, it's actually not 'til one, but I wanted to get to know you a bit before you had to deal with the band." He's sending a sweet smiling to me in such a sweet way at I can't even be a little annoyed at the fib. I reach down and pull the strap to by bass over my head, forcing him to drop his from my ears, before I move away to drop that glossy bass on the table.

I push it toward the center and sit on the edge, asking him, "Get to know me how?" He moves to stand in front of me, almost between my legs and leans toward me with one hand on my thigh and the other on the table next to me. There's a slight glint in his eye and I realize I'm holding my breath, just a bit.

"Well, I want to know a bit about you, like how you got these ears," he reaches his hand up from the table and strokes one of the furry appendages.

"I was born with them." My voice is low, but I know he'll be able to hear it. I let out a slight purr as he moves to scratch right where my ear and scalp meet.

"How?"

"It was all just there, far back as I can remember." He gets a slightly confused look on his face and I can't help but find it to be terribly adorable. I stand up, knocking his hand from my thigh and am now nearly chest-to-chest with him and reach behind myself to pull my tail from my tight jeans. My tail flicks about a bit before settling down, quickly getting used to the sudden freedom. It curls around me and comes to rest with that black tuft just at his wrist and I sit back down on the table, measuring his reaction.

He's almost grinning at me as he strokes my tail, wonder and amusement sparkling in his ocean blue eyes. I can't quite stop the blush as a look at the floor, staring at my fallen beanie. Nobody had ever touched my tail like this. The girls I slept with thought it was just something that I managed to clip on and they never wanted to ask if it was some sort of kink of mine, too intent on getting laid by a guitarist to a band they thought might get big soon. Adam steps a bit closer and uses the tips of his fingers to tease just behind my ears. A purr loud enough for him to easily hear resonates through my chest, and his hands stutter slightly in their movement before picking up as though nothing had changed. As if this was a normal thing.

"This isn't too weird for you, is it?" His voice is soft and I can tell that he really does want to be sure I'm not uncomfortable.

"Not really. You do this to every guy you meet that has cat ears?" I joke with him a bit, trying to keep the mood light. He chuckles lightly before answering.

"Well, I'm kinda like this with all of my real friends." I glance up swiftly and meet his eyes. "Wanna be my new friend, Kitten?" he almost looks like he thinks I'll say no and storm out, but I can't stop the slight smirk that spreads across my face.

"Sure, Babyboy." He leans forward a bit, closing the slight gap between us and presses a soft kiss to my cheek, just like he had after my audition.

"Good, Glitterbaby." My ears twitch at the sound of people distantly talking about why Adam had scheduled such a late practice and, as they walk up the stairs, Adam drops his hands and steps back just in time for the rest of the band to open the door and walk in.