Title: Dirty Hands
Fandom: FFVII (post-AC)
Pairing: Denzel/Cait Sith
Summary: Cait reads Denzel's palm, and finds the text surprisingly steamy!********************************************************************
dedicated to moist towelettes
“Only girls play with dolls,” Denzel told the little robot cat. It had been hanging around the Seventh Heaven ever since the world got mostly all-right again, and Tifa didn’t seem to care much because it didn’t scrounge in the trash cans like a real cat. He supposed it was keeping an eye on Cloud or something. ********************************************************************
“I’m not a doll!” Cait huffed. “Don’t be fooled by my cuddly exterior, young man, I assure you I’m much more sophisticated than that!”
“Sure you are,” Denzel said, flipping to the next page of problems in his math book. He’d been doing homework on his bed when the cat came in. Homework sucked, there was no doubt about that, but at least when he was done he could go out and play stickball. Talking to toys just made the work take longer.
The cat made a clucking sound with its tongue. Then it hopped right up onto the bed, nearly knocking the book off, and plucked the pencil right out of Denzel’s hand. Daintily, almost fastidiously, the cat bopped him one on the nose with it.
“Hey look,” Denzel snapped, rubbing his nose in disbelief. “Go bother Marlene or something. You hit me.”
“I have uncanny powers of divination,” the cat told him, ignoring the request. “Uncanny, I tell you! The secrets of the universe are an open book to me, and for you…I shall read aloud.” It brandished the pencil.
“Whatever,” Denzel grumbled, dropping his attention to his scratch paper and reaching out to take the pencil back. The cat danced away on its hind feet like a fencer, easily avoiding the swipe. “Gimme my damn pencil back.”
“Language!” the cat chided, before scampering around the side and up behind his shoulder to perch on his back. “I will read your fortune, yes indeed I will, if you would be so good as to give me your hand. And after you have attended me upon our dizzying flight through the veils, oh, the most profound veils shrouding the sweetest mysteries of the heavens from your eyes, then you may have your pencil back.”
Veils and sweet mysteries, huh? What. Ever.
“Just do it fast, all right?” Denzel folded his hand back over his shoulder and felt the cat gently uncurling his fingers and tracing around in his palm. He’d expected it to have paws that were hairy or something, but they felt more like one of Tifa’s gloves.
It took a minute for the cat to say anything. It seemed to be happy just sitting up there playing with his hand, humming to itself. Then it snickered, and Denzel wondered what the hell about his hand was funny. It wasn’t even dirty.
“Ah! The signs all point toward a grand, overwhelming passion—a love affair for the ages, undoubtedly. Anyone could see it!”
“With who? It better not be Marlene.”
“Not Marlene,” the cat promised, and Denzel could feet it rub a caressing circle in the center of his palm. “But I can see you have a complicated life ahead of you! Oh yes, this will take a few more minutes to foretell properly. Relax!”
He tucked his other hand under his chin and settled down to think about the stickball that was probably even now being played without him because the other kids weren’t being pestered by a stupid robot cat. The cat was shifting its weight slowly from foot to foot back there, and it actually did feel kind of soothing—like someone rubbing his shoulders or something. He yawned.
Could have been a few seconds or a minute or two later when he realized he’d drifted off. His head had slipped to one side and there was probably a math problem smeared on his cheek now. Kinda embarassing. The cat was still up on his shoulders, though he’d stopped shifting around. He was purring instead. It sounded more like a human trying to do a cat purr than the real thing, and that was just a little creepy.
Something was tickling between his fingers, and his hand was wet why was his hand wet what the hell
“GET OFF!” He nearly knocked the bed over in his haste getting off it, and once he was back on his feet he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to grab the cat and smash it against a wall or just get the hell out of there so he ended up not doing either—just standing there making stupid squawking noises, wet hand stuck way out because he was not wiping that on his pants before he knew what it was.
The cat had bounced across the room and was picking himself up. “Ah fuhtoe,” it said, before pulling its tongue back into its mouth.
“I foretell,” the cat corrected himself hastily, “that you are a young man of magnificently upright principles who soon shall act upon these principles! Very soon indeed!” It started edging toward the door. “Oh yes, I can definitely see the halo of heroism surrounding you!”
The nasty little thing had been licking his hand. It had been tongue-screwing his hand.
“I also foretell that I’ll be going now,” the cat said, and made a break for it. Denzel tore down the hall and then down the stairs after it, screaming at it to GET BACK HERE and also DAMN IT and that it was a FUCKING PERVERT BASTARD and that he would rip it IN FUCKING HALF if he caught it, but the little thing was fast and when he got past the the trash cans in the alley behind the Seventh Heaven he stopped because he had no idea if he was still chasing it or not.
He propped his hands on his knees to suck in a few lungfuls, and remembered one of those hands was still covered in cat spit. What the hell. He scrubbed the wet off on his pants as best he could, but he knew he’d feel much better if he could just boil everything from the elbow down to make sure.
Still had to finish his math assignment, too—why had Cloud even bothered to save the world when it was the sort of world where a guy could get molested by robot cats and still have to do homework afterwards? There was no justice.