Oh look, another USUK cat story. (Added bonus: Cameo from the Bad Touch Trio) (Yeah, I dunno about the name- I couldn't come up with anything better.) Enjoy!
"Sacrebleu, that has to be the ugliest cat I've ever seen in my life!" Francis proclaimed, staring with drunken frustration at the drenched orange and white Scottish Fold huddled up close by a dumpster.
He, Gilbert, Antonio, and a slightly unwilling Alfred had gone out for a few drinks and now they were going home. The Frenchman was close friends with the German and the Spaniard, and the American had tagged along for distraction. It had started raining during their drinking, and none of them had an umbrella.
"Oh Gott, you're right!" Gilbert, the drunkest of the quartet, stumbled up to it and prodded it unceremoniously with his boot. Being so drunk, the nudge turned out harder than he intended.
The cat came to life with a yowl, and it huddled even closer to the dumpster. It was soaked through completely and its fur was matted.
Antonio snickered at it along with the other two, but Alfred stayed silent. The American's blue eyes were locked with the cat's impossibly green ones for a moment before the cat looked away and tried squeezing farther under the giant metal trash can.
"What do you think, Alfred? Can anything get anymore unawesome than that?" Gilbert asked.
"Uhh...no. Heh...guess not." Alfred muttered unenthusiastically. "I...I should probably be getting back home. G'night." He was the most sober of them, and putting his hands in his pockets, he turned and walked away.
He didn't go far, though. He rounded the nearest corner and waited there, surreptitiously watching. He saw Francis, Gilbert, and Antonio insult the cat for another couple of minutes. They prodded the cat a few more times, hard, before they finally got bored and walked off, singing drunkenly as the rain soaked them even more.
Once they were out of sight, Alfred slowly walked to the cat and crouched down before it. It hissed weakly and shrank away.
"Hey, hey, easy there dude. I'm not gonna hurt you." Alfred told it softly, hesitantly reaching out with a hand.
He received a scratch for his efforts.
"Ow- fuck!" Rainwater dripped down and mixed with the blood from the cut, but Alfred paid it no mind. The cat had jerked back at the sudden curse. "Shush, I already told you, you're fine with me! Don't do that again though, that fucking hurt." Great, he was talking to a cat now.
Said cat didn't look impressed.
Alfred decided to change tactics. He pulled on a bright smile and reached out to the cat again. "It's okay, it's okay." he murmured the entire time.
This time, the cat let him touch him, and eventually Alfred got the feline away from the dumpster. He hefted the cat up and zipped it up in his jacket so it was resting against his stomach and out of the rain.
Alfred's house wasn't too far away and he walked there quickly, head bowed against the downpour. When he was inside he made a beeline towards the bathroom and got the cat into the bathtub.
Turns out the cat really hated being bathed. It raised a terrible racket and it took Alfred almost an hour to wash off all the mud and get it dry. By the end of that hour, the American acquired a multitude of new scratches was thoroughly exhausted.
"You're quite the little spitfire, ain't ya?" He chuckled tiredly, and then sat up. "Spitfire! That'll be your name!"
Happy, he let the cat out of the bathroom and fed him some chicken- he'd discovered the cat was in fact male during the bath- and then went to take a quick shower.
Spitfire was in the middle of the bed when he walked into the bedroom. The cat looked much happier and was no longer trembling. His bright green eyes, unlike any other cat's eyes Alfred had seen before, watched the American unreadably, but it seemed like there was a bit more trust in them.
"Oi, I gotta fit on there too." Alfred lightly moved him off to the side and climbed in. "I'll take ya to the vet tomorrow, kay?"
Spitfire bristled at that, and Alfred could swear it understood him. But then, after the man got comfortably settled down, he climbed up onto his chest and began purring. It started off as a rough, broken rhythm, almost as if the cat hadn't done so in a long time, but eventually it evened out.
Right then, Alfred decided he was going to keep the cat. Screw Francis, the Scottish Fold was cute in its own way, and Alfred was already attached to it. Besides, he was getting kind of lonely, and what better companion than a cat?
"Don't worry, it's just for a check up. You're stayin' here." he said, scratching him behind the ear. He fell asleep to the sound of purring.
When he woke up the next morning, Spitfire was curled up against his side. He scratched the cat behind the ear to wake him up and then dressed.
The Scottish Fold was washing himself in the kitchen by the time Alfred came down. He received some more chicken, which he ate with a look on his face that said, 'it'll do for now'.
Alfred glanced at the clock as he booted up his laptop. 9:30. He reasoned that most vets would probably be open by 10, but he had no idea where the nearest one to him was. So off to the internet.
Within minutes, he found someone not ten minutes away on foot. "Dr. Arthur Kirkland, hmm? What do you think, buddy?" he asked the cat. He was ignored. "Him it is, then."
Then, he faced a slight dilemma. He didn't have a cat carrier or a leash, so he wasn't sure exactly how to transport the cat to the vet's. In the end, he simply carried the cat like he had the previous night.
The vet's office was a small white building, located conveniently right next to a pet supplies store. There were three cars in the parking lot before it, so Alfred figured it wasn't that crowded. He was right.
The waiting room was empty, and the secretary looked as if she was playing a game. The only other living thing was a fat white cat asleep on the desk. A bell above the door tinkled as the American walked in. The cat opened his eyes to reveal bright blue orbs and stretched. There was a ring of fluffy brown fur around its neck, something that Alfred found weird, but cool.
"Hi there. Can I help you?" the secretary asked, looking up from her computer.
"Yeah. I found this cat yesterday, and I want to get him checked up. If he's sick or something."
"Are you going to keep him?"
"Yup!" Alfred said brightly, and scratched Spitfire's ears again.
The secretary looked a bit surprised, but she nodded. "Okay then. Dr. Kirkland is currently busy with another patient, but he should be out to see you soon. I'll need your name."
"Alfred F. Jones."
"Take a seat, Mr. Jones."
Alfred nodded and plopped down on one of the chairs, moving Spitfire from his jacket to his lap. The other cat perked up at this and slowly wandered over. Spitfire had closed his eyes, so therefore didn't notice until the white cat was beside him and yowled loudly.
Even Alfred was surprised at the amount of noise the cat was able to produce. Spitfire jumped up, fur fluffed out and claws digging into Alfred's thighs. Alfred winced, but then Spitfire recovered and the claws retracted. The orange and white cat instead glared at the fat one.
But the white cat was undeterred and nuzzled forward curiously. Spitfire hissed at it, but was ignored. Pretty soon Alfred had two cats in his lap, neither one of which would settle down. The American tried shoving one, then both of them off, but they refused to leave. The fat one let out another loud yowl and half-climbed up Alfred's shirt. Upon closer inspection, Alfred discovered the blue of the cat's eyes were an almost identical shade as his own.
After a while he gave up and just let the cats sit there. Spitfire finally settled down, and they shared the task of making Alfred's legs go numb.
A little girl and her mother suddenly came through, heading outside. She had a small kitten in her arms and looked very happy. Alfred smiled at her, and she smiled back before she left.
"Hurricane, you bloody fat arse, what are you doing?"
Alfred glanced to where the girl had come from to see a short blond man standing in the doorway, green eyes narrowed and focused on the white cat. Hurricane mrowed in response, looking pleased.
"Hurricane?" Alfred asked, his heart jumping a bit when the man focused on him.
"World War II fighter plane. Plus, he's exceedingly large and destructive." the man replied briskly, his British accent highly prominent. "Apologies for him. Here, I'll get him off." He strode over and picked the cat up, setting him down on the floor.
"No problem, man. Are you Dr. Kirkland?"
"Yes, but if you are an adult, you may call me Arthur." Arthur stuck out his hand. "Mr. Jones?"
"Yeah, but you can call me Alfred." Alfred shook it and noticed no wedding band. That made him really happy, for some reason. He also noticed that Arthur Kirkland was pretty cute...aside from the massive eyebrows, but they worked for him. "And here's Spitfire." He presented the cat to him.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Spitfire?"
Alfred grinned crookedly. "World War II fighter plane. Plus, he's got a hell of a temper." He showed Arthur the scratches on his arms.
Arthur immediately turned serious. "Come on. We have to get him tested."
"Why?"
"If he has a disease, it could be transferred to you through those. Come along now." Arthur turned and marched off to the examination rooms.
Alfred followed and settled Spitfire down onto the metal table. Arthur thoroughly examined him and took blood samples. There was a bit of a commotion then, but the vet was skilled and no unnecessary blood was shed. While the blood was getting tested, he insisted on cleaning Alfred's scratches with a strong disinfectant.
"No harm in it." he explained when the American asked.
The test results came back soon after that, and Arthur went to go fetch them. "You're in luck. He's perfectly healthy. And what a good looking fellow he is." Arthur said, scratching the cat's ears.
"He's not the only one." Alfred replied, taking a chance. He looked intently at the Englishman's face, his eyes sharp.
Arthur paused in his motions and glanced up, his gaze meeting Alfred's. "Pardon?" His cheeks turned pink.
Alfred winked at him.
"O-Oh." Arthur quickly stepped away and cleared his throat. "Mr. Jones, I assume you're keeping him. Do you have the proper equipment?"
"Equipment?" Alfred's heart sank a bit as Arthur moved away, but he made sure to keep the emotions off his face.
"Yes. Cat carrier, scratching board, food, bowls, the like." Arthur explained. "Here, I'll write you a list." he added, starting on the list when Alfred shook his head no.
There was a slightly awkward silence as he wrote down the items he had named and then a few more.
"Hey listen, I'm sorry about before... I get if you're not into guys and all." Alfred began awkwardly.
Arthur stilled briefly again. "Not a problem." He seemed quite recovered by that time. "Wasn't expecting it is all." He gave him a small smile.
Alfred's eyes widened a bit. "Really? So you'll go out with me then?"
"That's- That's quite sudden..." Arthur half-muttered, and then his eyes snapped to Alfred's face. "How old are you, even?"
"Twenty. Almost twenty-one. Why?"
"I'm twenty-four." Arthur told him, raising an eyebrow.
"And? S'that supposed to scare me away? Older men are cool." Alfred moved closer to him. "Pleeeeaaase?"
"Pleading won't get you anywhere." Arthur said flatly. "You sound like a child."
Alfred pouted slightly. "I can be serious." he promised.
"Well..." Arthur thought for a moment and looked him over critically.
At first, Alfred squirmed under that gaze, but then straightened out and looked openly back at him, trying to communicate with his eyes how badly he wanted to be given a chance. The American normally didn't believe in love at first sight, but there was definitely a certain attraction there.
"Alright, alright." Arthur finally said. "I can check when I'm free-"
"Thank you!" Alfred couldn't help interrupting. His shoulders went slack with relief, and there was a blinding smile on his face. He wanted to hug the man before him with happiness, but felt that that would be taking it too far. Especially since they'd just met.
"W-Well..." Arthur trailed off with a blush, smiling a bit in response and nodding. He leaned over the list and added his phone number to the bottom of it. "Here you go. They should have everything next door. Call me in the evening, and we can set something up."
"Okay. So that's it? He's all good?"
"Yes. He's completely healthy, and you can have him neutered, if you so desire, some other time. My secretary will take care of the paperwork up front." Arthur said, nodding a bit awkwardly. "I'll erm, see you around, then."
"See ya, Artie!" Alfred picked up Spitfire and flashed Arthur another brilliant smile before leaving.
The paperwork didn't take long at all, and surprisingly, neither did the shopping. Alfred could barely settle down all day, his stomach buzzing with excitement about hat evening. Finally, the time arrived.
"Oh, hey Arthur. It's Alfred. So when are you free...?"
Alfred woke up early, which was a small miracle. He glanced down and smiled softly at the sight of Arthur next to him in bed, one of the Englishman's arms across his stomach. There were faint dark circles under Arthur's eyes, but that was normal since he worked so hard.
A few moments later, the alarm clock started screeching and Arthur opened his eyes. "Good morning." he murmured as he lifted a hand to shut the alarm off.
"Mornin'." Alfred replied. He pouted a bit, mourning the loss of the arm across him. Once there was silence in the room again, he pulled Arthur closer. They'd been living together for over three months now, and Alfred never tired of waking up next to the vet.
"Alfred, let me go please. I have work, and you need to feed the cats."
Almost as if to reinsure Arthur's words, Hurricane and Spitfire leapt up onto the bed, settling down right next to the men.
"Work can go screw off, an' the cats can wait." Alfred muttered sleepily.
"Alfred-"
"Call in sick. I wanna cuddle with you."
"Alfred I-"
"Seriously. You haven't had a day off since you moved in. You need a rest." Alfred shoved his nose into the crook between Arthur's neck and shoulder and tightened his grip.
Arthur stayed silent for a while. "I suppose one day off won't cause the end of the world." he finally said. "Williams can hold off on his own for today. Hand me my phone."
Alfred grinned as he passed over the device. A few minutes later, the two of them were right back to just holding each other and cuddling. Francis had been wrong. Spitfire was the most beautiful cat Alfred had ever seen, because he led the American to Arthur.
A/N: Leave feedback in reviews if you so desire.