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Matt’s mother is going to hate this sweater.
He already knows she will, can already hear her carefully pointed comments about this color washing him out, the fit being all wrong, the pattern too loud.
It’s most of the reason he’s wearing it.
He gives his topknot one last tightening tug and then takes a deep breath, hand on the knob of his front door.
Is he sure he wants to do this? Poking his mother by wearing an unsuitable sweater is one thing, something he can probably get away with. Bringing some guy he hasn’t even met yet to a family dinner for the express purpose of horrifying his family is another thing entirely.
Last time Matt went to one of these, his mother asked how he was ever going to find a boyfriend if he insisted on being like that all the time.
Matt twists the knob.
The guy's car is unmistakable, this horrid beat-up white van splashed in garish paint at the end of Matt's driveway. He grins to himself as he walks down to it. His father is going to have to deal with this monstrosity, parked outside his house , for the whole night.
The guy himself looks just as out of place, leaning against the van and blowing cigarette smoke out like he's the most comfortable he's ever been. Matt's mother would never let him out of the house looking that—he can hear it in her voice, even in his head—in that scruffy, worn leather jacket and jeans with a hemline so tattered that Matt almost wonders if it's on purpose. He looks like he works for a living.
The guy—he'd introduced himself as Mox, over email, which, weird name, but that'll probably just piss his parents off more—gives Matt a once-over as he approaches, and then grins at him.
"You my guy?" he asks, tossing his cigarette butt to the ground and grinding it out with his heel.
God, he’s perfect.
“Matt,” he offers, and he automatically extends his hand for a handshake, like he’s been taught to, and only after he’s already done it does he realize that this is probably not a handshake sort of man.
He’s about to drop his hand when Mox’s grin widens, and he reaches out, taking Matt’s hand and curling his fingers around it, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the backs of Matt’s knuckles.
“Mox,” says Mox. “Nice to meet you. I got the directions you sent me punched into my GPS thing, so we’re ready to roll. Nice sweater,” he adds, his eyes giving Matt a scan that Matt thinks he might feel underneath his clothes.
"Thanks," Matt mumbles. He's very warm. He can feel his ears twitching, which is stupid, because he needs to save that for when he's in front of his mother.
He hesitates. He's not really sure how this sort of thing is supposed to go. "Um," he says, a little helplessly. Mox's grin only gets wider, which doesn't help, and he raises his eyebrows. "Do you—want anything? Before we go? A glass of water, or something?"
Mox actually laughs now, and it's not raucous the way Matt expects it to be, just this kind of rumble that comes from his chest. Almost a purr. "There's a lot I want, princess. Maybe you can help me out with that later." He—he actually winks at Matt, like that's a thing people do. "But right now we should go. 'less you wanna be unfashionably late."
“No, no, yeah, totally,” Matt says, his head bobbing in a nod that he’s sure looks as flustered as he feels. “The only thing my mother hates more than lateness is earliness.”
“Perfect.” Mox’s head jerks toward the van as he leans off of it. “Get in my van.”
Matt’s parents are going to hate him.
Matt is so effing excited.
He practically skips to the passenger side door, and when he opens it, a fast food cup rattles out and settles in the sewer grate. Matt sighs happily, sliding up into the well-worn front seat.
“Safety first,” Mox says around another cigarette as he fastens his seatbelt. The car smells like smoke and aftershave. “So, what do I gotta know about you to pull this off?” he asks as he turns the key in the ignition.
Matt blinks, pausing mid-fastening his seat belt to glance over at Mox. "I'm Matt Jackson," he says patiently. He'd only introduced himself by first name. Maybe Mox hasn't made the connection yet.
Mox just raises his eyebrows. "Full names, huh? Okay. I'm Jon Moxley."
Matt frowns. "No, I mean I'm—I'm Matt Jackson. You know."
“Ohh, Matt Jackson,” Mox says, and Matt’s about to graciously field his astonishment, when Mox says, “I’m Jon Moxley,” in the tone of someone having fun at someone else’s expense. At Matt’s expense. He did not agree to that.
“The Jacksons?” he leads. Mox takes his eyes off the road to give Matt an amused shake of his head. “We’ve been Entertainment Weekly’s Family You Wish You Had three years running?” he prompts. “People Magazine did a piece on us last March?” Another shake of his head. “I won Cutest Cat in Cucamonga every year I entered!” he says with something like desperation.
Mox actually looks a little considering at that. Finally, Matt thinks, letting out a breath.
"Who won when you didn't enter?" Mox asks, instead, that amused little smile still playing at his lips.
Matt huffs. "That doesn't matter!" he insists. How can this guy have no idea? "You really haven't heard of us?"
Mox laughs again. Matt kind of wishes he didn't like it as much as he does. “Kid, the only cats I know are the mangy ones."
Well, Matt can tell from a glance that that makes a lot of sense. He takes a deep breath. “My parents are very rich and very traditional and very particular. I have a brother—his name is Nick, you’ll meet him there. My mother likes obedience, politeness, and neatness, in that order.”
“Cool,” says Mox. “Now tell me what I gotta know about you.”
“Oh,” Matt says, startled. “Uh. I.” He swallows. “I haven’t brought someone outside our circle to one of these in a while, so people will probably be surprised anyway, even without all the—” Matt does a general hand gesture in Mox’s direction. “I like—coffee, and my brother’s my favorite person in the world. I think tiramisu is gross, but it’s my father’s favorite dessert, so Mother always makes it for these.”
“You call your mom Mother?” Mox asks with this little bemused smile. “Wow, you’re like those rich cats in the city, huh?”
Matt sighs. He'd really thought Mox was getting it. "We are those rich cats in the city."
"Yeah, yeah, that's clickin’ now. Keep talking." Mox waves a dismissive hand, but he glances over and gives Matt a little nod, like he thinks he has to encourage him.
"Uh," Matt says, eloquently. "Mother will probably want you to call her Mrs. Jackson. Or ma'am. But her first name is Susan, she'll hate that. Um, I don't know. What else do you want to know?"
Mox takes a drag of his cigarette, half-forgotten in his fingers. "How'd we meet? How do you people even meet people?"
“Um, events, mostly,” Matt says, biting the side of his lip as he tries to recall the last new person he met who wasn’t just a handshake and an immediately disregarded name. “Well, do you work? Could we have met there?”
“Yeah, I work at the auto shop on East 9th,” says Mox, steering with his wrist as he makes the next turn. The neighborhoods are starting to look more ostentatious. They’re getting close. “Mechanic, mostly, though they throw me on front desk whenever they want a real good laugh.”
“Oh, maybe that’s how we met, then,” Matt says, perking up. “I don’t really drive, but that just makes it more believable that I’d get in an accident, or something. Maybe I got in a wreck and you fixed my muffler, or whatever.”
Mox gives him this sideways, leering look. “And then I fixed your muffler,” he says, making it sound like something filthy.
Matt thinks he's probably going very pink. His cheeks are hot, anyway, and he wrinkles his nose, flapping a hand at Mox. "Well, if you have to be crude about it, I suppose."
"You wanted me for crude, didn't you, princess?" Mox says, unapologetic. "You want me to say I fucked you over the hood of your car instead?"
"No!" Matt exclaims, horrified, and then he thinks about it for a moment. Father would be disgusted. He hesitates. Mox is going to laugh at him. He's so sure of it. "...Well, maybe," he allows.
Mox does laugh at him, long and loud.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, tossing Matt another one of those sideways grins. “Is that the level we’re tryin’ to hit, then? I can play anywhere from mildly obnoxious to criminally insane. About where are we falling on that spectrum?”
“Don’t— hurt anyone,” Matt instructs. He pauses again. “Well, you can hurt my Uncle Gary,” he admits. “He got so drunk last Christmas that he took a swing at Nick.”
“Noted, pop Uncle Gary in the eye,” Mox says. He peers at the GPS. “Which of these driveways should I be aiming for? I can never read these stupid things.”
“Oh, it’s the big white one with the gazebo out front,” Matt says absently, looking out the window. The Coles have had a pool installed. Above ground, he notes critically.
“There’s two of those, sweetheart; you’re gonna have to be more specific,” says Mox, car crawling down the street.
“Okay,” Matt huffs. “The Andersons have a trellis, because they think they’re wine connoisseurs, but they’re totally not, they just drink a lot. That is not a gazebo.”
Mox doesn't say anything for a minute. Matt half-wonders if he's offended him, briefly.
"Sure, yeah, totally," Mox mumbles, after a moment. Matt can't see if he's rolling his eyes, but he kind of thinks he is. Matt doesn't know why; he's right.
But then they're pulling up to Matt's parents' driveway, and Matt's nervous-frustrated-scared all over again. He takes a deep, only slightly shaky breath, adjusts his hair again, adjusts his sweater. Claps his hands together.
"Right," he says, a little breathy. "Shall we?"
But Mox is looking at him—kind of weird. Concerned, maybe, but Matt's not sure why he'd call it that.
“Yeah,” Mox says slowly, and he shoves his keys into the pocket of his jacket. “Sure. Just so we’re clear, I do anything you’re not cool with, you double-tap me.” He lifts his hand to tap the back of it twice. “This is your show; I’m just a real method actor. All good?”
Matt swallows. “Got it,” he says softly. This is his show. He gets to decide.
When they meet at the front of the car, Mox immediately slides his hand across Matt’s back—it’s warm, his hand, warm and confident—and then down, down, past the waist of his pants, until it settles, firm, assured, on the curve of Matt’s ass.
“Oh, nice,” Mox says. “I like when I actually got something to hold onto.”
Matt's blushing again. He tries to stop himself, keeps reminding himself he signed up for exactly this, but he's still blushing. Mox is really—assertive. He's very assertive. It's different from how everyone around Matt asserts themselves. Matt thinks he likes it.
"Thanks," he mumbles, and then reminds himself Mox is supposed to be his Boyfriend, so he leans in. Mox's arm doesn't pull back, the way Matt was a little worried it might. Mox kisses his head, almost absently, like that's a thing they do, and squeezes his ass.
"Showtime, princess?"
Matt takes a breath. He can't wait to see the look on his mother's face. Mox doesn't even have the right ears.
And it's that thought that makes him just bold enough to ask, "Kiss for luck?"
This smile from Mox is slower, almost lazy. “Sounds good,” he says agreeably, and he uses the hand on Matt’s ass to pull him closer, then gives it a rub. “For luck,” he murmurs, and the fingers of his other hand are tipping Matt’s chin up—he’s tall, taller than Matt, and this close, he still smells like cigarettes, but he also smells like something woodsy. He smells kind of like a campfire. Not that Matt’s ever been camping.
Mox is assertive in this, too, Matt notices immediately. He notices immediately because Mox’s tongue is immediately in his mouth, and he’s kissing Matt so hard that Matt almost wants to call for a do-over, because he is not at all up to his usual kissing standards. But then his brain ping-pongs back to oh-kissing-nice, and he cranes up against Mox to kiss him back.
Mox makes an approving sound, gets a hand in Matt's hair, and Matt spares a second to hope he doesn't mess it up too much before Mox pulls and Matt forgets he was thinking anything at all, and whines into Mox's mouth.
As he's pulling back, Mox bites Matt's bottom lip, and Matt exhales all at once. He feels a little dazed, and more than a little breathless, and Mox still has a hand in his hair, and that's—a lot, all on its own.
"Easy, babe, we got the whole night to do that," Mox says, low and amused, but he gives Matt another peck before he starts leading him up the driveway, so Matt thinks he's probably not judging him too much.
"Yeah," Matt says happily. He wonders if he could kiss Mox at the dinner table. That might get him disowned. It might be worth it.
Mox ignores the doorbell, and the beautifully designed knocker, and just knocks on the wood of the door. He's perfect.
Even the silence that precedes the door opening is somehow irritated, and his mother’s pinched face coming into view is familiar, if not exactly welcome.
“Matthew,” she says, though she isn’t looking at him. She’s only got eyes for Mox, big and scruffy and—chomping on gum? Matt was just kissing him, how did he—? “Who is this,” his mother says. It’s more of a demand than a question.
“Mox,” Mox offers, and he inspects the palm of his hand, then wipes it off on his jeans before offering it to Matt’s mother. “Great to meet ya, Susie. Matty’s told me all about you.”
He winks at her.
He winks at Susan Jackson.
Matt's not sure he's ever felt this specific mix of emotions before. He's horrified, mostly—he doesn't think he's ever seen someone speak to his mother like this in his life—but he feels like, like jumping for joy. His mother is incandescent. Her ears are standing straight up. Behind her, her tail is swishing angrily.
Matt isn't going to smile. He isn't.
"Charmed," Mother says coldly. She doesn't even take the offered hand. If Matt were in Mox's place, he'd be cowering. "And why did you bring this... gentleman, this evening, Matthew?"
Okay, Matt's going to smile a little bit. He's rocking, kind of, heels to tiptoes back to heels again. Mox's arm is still warm around him. "I told you I have a boyfriend, Mother."
“You—” It comes out in a whisper gone tremulous with rage. His mother takes a breath, her tail a constant flicker behind her. It’s beneath her to show such strong emotion, but she looks ready to hiss. “Darling, your father and I were under the impression that you had mended things with the Omegas’ boy.”
“I told you that Kenny and I decided to stay friends, yes,” Matt agrees. He tips his head against Mox’s shoulder, and Mox absently leans down and kisses one of Matt’s ears.
Matt goes shivery-shuddery all down his spine, down through his tail, which flicks to wrap around Mox’s ankle automatically. He’s so distracted he almost doesn’t notice his mother calling for his father in a tone that could conceivably be called a screech.
Father comes—not quite running, but only in the same way Mother's not quite shouting. He's even breathing a little heavy when he gets to the doorway, stands beside Matt's mother. A united front. As always.
"Yes, de—oh. Hello, Matthew." He blinks at Mox. Mox grins at him. "Have you upset your mother again?"
Matt shrugs. "You asked me to introduce my boyfriend next time. So I did."
Father's face goes wooden. It's his We're-Going-To-Talk-About-This-Later-When-There's-No-Company face. Matt swallows hard.
"You gonna feed me, or what? Matty told me this was a dinner."
The look his mother gives Mox could make a flower wither and die.
“You’re early,” his mother says through gritted teeth. Her eyes are icy. “I’m afraid all that’s out are the canapés until the main courses are served.”
“Oh, I love a canapé,” Mox says. He pronounces it like ca-nape. And then he pats Matt’s ass. “Come on, babe, lemme feed you crackers.”
Matt doesn’t even have to force the breathy little laugh he lets out. “Okay,” he agrees easily, curling farther into Mox’s side. Mox starts moving through the door before his parents have even stepped aside, and he can tell his mother was debating whether to step aside at all.
Matt presses a secret little smile into Mox's shoulder. His tail has the same idea, still wrapped around Mox's ankle, and he really should let go but he's finding that he doesn't want to.
"Alright, sweetheart, where's the kitchen?" Mox asks, giving Matt's hair a little ruffle. It's sweet, even as he's horrifying Matt's parents. He kissed his ear.
"Oh, um, it'll be in the dining room. Turn right."
"What, I can't even get my own beer?"
"We have waitstaff for that!"
“Christ alive,” Mox mutters, and he squeezes Matt’s ass again, then gives it another pat, almost fond. His hand moves, then, to Matt’s tail, fingers stroking through the thick, fluffy fur at the base of it. Matt’s tail twitches excitedly, and he rubs his face against Mox’s shoulder.
“Do you want me to introduce you to people?” Matt asks, privately hoping the answer is ‘no.’ Mox gives him a look like he just suggested he down a bowl of spiders.
“Told you, I’m feeding you crackers,” Mox says. He snags an hors d'oeuvre from a tray and eyes it critically. “I think this is a little piece of toast, but that’s basically the same thing as a cracker.”
He lifts it, then, and holds it to Matt’s mouth, brushing his bottom lip. Matt can’t look away from his eyes as he opens his mouth to delicately take the food into it.
Mox is patient, holds the bruschetta steady—Matt realizes half a bite late that he should've told Mox what they were really called before his mouth was full of bread and tomato—as Matt takes a bite, and bats his hands away when they come up to try and catch the crumbs. Mother will be livid if the floor is a mess.
"There you go," Mox says quietly, watching intently as Matt licks the crumbs from his lips. "Cute. I see why you won that cutest cat thing."
Matt preens. He is the cutest cat in Cucamonga. And then Mox glances at the bruschetta again, and Matt forgets to think about anything but how he can hear Mox's breathing, just for a minute.
It's good bruschetta. It tastes better from Mox's hands. When Matt swallows the last of it, Mox's fingers are still at his lips, and he looks—interested, still. Expectant.
Oh.
In for a penny, Matt supposes. He brought Mox here for a reason.
He lets his lips part, kisses the crumbs from Mox’s fingertips, never looks away from him. His tongue brushes the blunt edge of Mox’s fingernail. They may be early, but there are still guests scattered around the room, and Matt knows they’re watching. People always watch him. Matt takes two of Mox’s fingertips into his mouth, sucks the buttery remnants from his skin. He looks… almost impressed. There’s a little smile on his face, anyway.
“You want another one?” Mox asks, low, almost—his fingertips are moving slightly, like he’s, like he’s petting Matt’s tongue. “Still hungry, sweetheart?”
Matt's halfway through mumbling a muffled "Uh-huh," Mox's fingers still in his mouth, when he realizes he—shouldn't. They still have to sit down to dinner. If he has too many canapés, his mother will make one of those little comments that make Matt want to throw up.
"Um," he says, pulling back, instead. "That's okay, actually. It was good, though; you should have one."
Mox is giving him a strange look again, like he wants to say something. He must think better of it, though, because he just shrugs. As a waiter walks past, Mox snags a bruschetta and crams it into his mouth whole, giving Matt a thumbs up.
“Tasty,” he says with his mouth full. A friend of his father’s wrinkles his nose as he passes them. Matt tucks his smile into Mox’s shoulder. “What do rich people do at these things, anyway?”
“Stand around and try to one-up each other about how much money they have, mostly,” Matt says, leaning against Mox, whose hand settles on his ass again. “And drink champagne.”
“Well, I can do that part all by my lonesome.” Mox hums, and then he—he kisses Matt’s ear again. His Aunt Miriam gasps. Matt very nearly gasps himself. “There some sorta cat etiquette I don’t know about?” Mox asks conversationally. “Only, couple people are lookin’ at me like I just bent you over the dinner table.”
Matt shivers. He knows Mox can feel it, as pressed together as they are.
"Kind of," Matt mumbles, ears twitching. Even they want Mox to kiss him again. "It's more—it's, I guess it's like you just dipped me. Sort of. It's really—intimate."
Mox leers. There's not another word for it. He leers at Matt, and squeezes his ass. All he says is, "Intimate, huh?"
Matt shrugs, chewing on his lip. His cheeks are still very warm, like they get after he's had a few glasses of champagne. "Well, and it's—we don't. It's not really. For humans, to do."
"What if a human dates a cat? 's it okay then?"
"That's, ah. Frowned upon." Matt smiles a little. "It's not just you."
“Wow, how speciesist,” Mox says. He snags another bit of bread and meat from a tray, popping it into his mouth. “So is it that I’m a human, or that I’m doing it in public?”
“Probably both.” Matt’s having a good time. He never has a good time at these. He always has to find Nick and stick by him the whole time, or, if he can’t manage that, commit to being miserable for several hours.
This is better. This is much better.
“Any other cat crimes I can commit in front of your parents?” Mox asks. His eyes flick to the side, and his mouth curls in a smile. “Hey, what if I did this?”
He leans in and licks Matt’s ear. Grooms him right there, in front of everyone, in front of—yes, Matt’s ears tell him as he hears the sound of his mother’s horrified gasp, in front of his parents.
Matt's beaming. His face kind of aches, a little, from how wide he's smiling, and he can't bite it back, not when Mox smudges another absentminded kiss to his ear, and then to the other one, like he's making sure it's not left out.
Except when he looks up, Mox is looking at him a little weird. "You good, kid? Tap if you gotta, remember?"
Matt frowns. He's having the best time he's had in ages. He doesn't know why Mox is worried.
Mox must see it on his face, because he says, "You're makin' a weird noise."
Oh. Oh, shit. Matt realizes, way, way too late, that the rumbling purr he's been hearing is coming from him. He coughs, tries to cut himself off, but his cat's too happy.
"It's—I'm, I'm all good. All good."
Mox is still peering at him, probably because Matt’s still effing purring, quieter and more wavery, but he’s definitely still purring. His tail’s wrapped itself around Mox’s ankle again.
“Are you,” Mox says slowly, his mouth twitching. “Are you purring?”
“Oh my God, shut up,” Matt mutters, glaring down at himself. He doesn’t even know if he’s talking to Mox or to his voice box, which is still rumbling away.
“I’m changing my mind on cat people,” Mox says, and he pats Matt’s ass again. “I’m starting to get the appeal.”
“I need a ginger ale,” Matt announces, his face hot. “Do you want anything?”
"Want a lot, princess." Mox winks again, but he lets go of Matt's ass, so Matt thinks he's just being salacious on purpose. "Grab me some champagne, though, doll."
Matt exhales all at once. He makes his way over to the drinks table and grabs a ginger ale and a flute of champagne. He hopes Mox is finding ways to scandalize everyone without his hand in Matt's back pocket.
Someone sidles up next to Matt. He tenses, for a moment, before he looks over and sees it's just Seth.
"Who's the weird guy?" Seth hisses, low so neither of their parents hear. Matt allows himself a grin.
"He's my boyfriend," he whispers back conspiratorially, takes a drink of his ginger ale. "I think Mother wants to kill both of us."
“You have a boyfriend now?” Seth asks, filling up his glass of ginger ale as slowly as he possibly can. “One you let groom you in front of your fucking parents?”
“Oh, you saw,” Matt says, delighted.
“Everyone saw, Matt; I thought your father was going to start hissing,” Seth mutters. He lifts his glass to his lips. He hesitates, then, uncharacteristically softly, he says, “He treats you right, though?”
Matt doesn’t smile directly at him—wouldn’t risk being that familiar with both of their parents here—but he smiles down at the drinks table.
“Yeah,” Matt says. “You big softie,” he teases, and Seth scoffs.
“Try not to give your mother a heart attack,” he offers. His tail very quickly taps against the back of Matt’s leg. “As funny as it would be, I think she’d probably find a way to take you out with her.”
Matt laughs. Seth's probably right, but Matt won't tell him so; he'll be too annoying about it. "See you around," he says instead, and his tail flicks Seth's as he makes his way back to Mox. Dinner won't be too long now, thank God.
"Hey, babe," Mox says as Matt slots himself back against his side, too loud to be tasteful, hand settling back on his ass as the other one takes the champagne flute. "You were a while. Thought you'd got lost."
"Nope," Matt shrugs. "You horrify anyone else while I was gone?"
"Not any more than I have by being here. Thought you said you had a brother?"
“I do,” Matt confirms. He was really expecting Mox to smell weird. He’s glad he doesn’t. “He’s younger. I like him, though.”
“Sounds like a little brother,” Mox comments. “You gonna introduce me, or am I gonna have to pretend to be drunker than I am and go up to random people asking if they’re your brother?”
“As fun as that sounds,” Matt says, and he’s not even being sarcastic—that sounds incredibly fun to him, anyway, “I can introduce you. He’ll probably be down soon.” Matt rolls his eyes. “He always waits until the last minute so his bump’ll last through dinner.”
Mox's eyes widen, just a little, and he laugh. "You're tellin' me your rich bitch brother does drugs?" He shakes his head, mock-serious. "That's not very proper, is it?"
"Can you blame him? You've met my parents." Matt sighs. It's not like he doesn't get it, but it's —he wishes Nick could get through these without it. "I used to, in college. Stopped, though, once they gave me a house of my own. I'm hoping Nick'll do the same."
"They gave you a house?” Mox echoes. "I changed my mind, you're covering my rent as payment."
Matt's halfway through nodding his agreement—it seems only fair, after subjecting Mox to his family—when Mox rolls his eyes. "Are you fuckin’—I'm joking. God, cat people."
“Hey,” Matt says with no real heat. Honestly, sometimes he finds himself going ‘God, cat people,’ too. It’s exhausting to be one of them. “It was a graduation present,” he reasons. “It was that or a car, and they already gave me the car I really wanted for my 20th.”
“Jesus Christ,” Mox says mildly. “I’m gonna need more champagne,” he says, his hand tucked snug into Matt’s back pocket. “You wanna show me around? Got any priceless vases you want me to conveniently bump into?”
“Actually, there’s a lamp my great aunt gave us years ago that’s so ugly it causes me physical pain,” Matt says, perking up a little. His ears droop as he sighs. “But it’s almost time for dinner, so it’ll have to wait.”
Indeed, the staff have almost finished bringing in the platters, and Matt can tell it’s about time to sit down because he finally spies Nick, bright-eyed, edging through the doorway like he hopes he won’t be noticed. Unfortunately for him, their mother is supernaturally capable of noticing her sons, and she waylays him before he can make it three steps into the room.
Matt sighs and nudges Mox. "We gotta rescue Nick," he says, apologetic, and he's already walking when he hesitates for a second. "I mean, I have to rescue Nick. You don't have to."
"Nah, you're good. You think if I mess with your ears again it'll take the heat off him?"
Matt might be in love. There's a tiny, tiny possibility. "I think that'll work."
They arrive behind Mother just as she's working up a head of steam in her "you're late, why weren't you downstairs earlier, you learned this behavior from your brother, we'll talk about this later" monologue, and Mox does something Matt's only dared do three times in his life.
He interrupts Susan Jackson.
"Hey, Susie," he says, perfectly sleazy, and Matt's privately delighted at how she jumps and rounds on them instead. "You gonna tell me where to sit, or is it free choice?"
His mother’s mouth actually twitches into a snarl, like she was a second from hissing. Oh, seeing Mother lose her composure is worth the talking-to he’ll inevitably get later.
“The head of the table is reserved for family,” his mother says, her voice so cold that Matt feels tempted to shiver—but Mox is still so warm, and it’s soaking into Matt’s bones.
“Perfect,” Mox says with a grin, and his hand lifts from Matt’s ass, but Matt doesn’t even have time to miss it before it’s landing again with a loud smack! that seems to echo. “Any family of Matty’s is family of mine. C’mon, babe, I’m starving.”
Mox nudges Matt, who probably needed the nudge, honestly—Nick is staring at him with a wrinkle-nosed look of disgusted appraisal, and Matt doesn’t want to know what look is on his mother’s face—and then steers him with the hand on his ass toward the head of the table.
Matt's almost giddy. Still, though, there are lines they shouldn't cross. "Three or four chairs down," he hisses, and Mox shrugs like it doesn't matter to him either way.
He doesn't pull Matt's chair out for him. Down the table, Matt sees Seth's eyes narrow a little. Mox sprawls when he sits, slouching, legs spread, and he nods at the chair next to him. "You gonna sit, or you wanna sit in my lap?" he asks, like he'd actually let him. Even Matt's almost gaping as he sits in the chair delicately.
Nick sits across from him, leg bouncing a little, and his tail taps Matt's under the table. Matt tilts his head. Nick glances at Mox, raises his eyebrows. Matt shrugs and takes Mox's hand, almost defiant. Nick thinks he doesn't belong here, but there's enough amusement in his gaze that Matt knows he's willing to see how this goes.
Mox lets Matt hold his hand, on the table, even—so brazen, and his mother still looks furious as she sits in her own seat, tail bristling. He thinks it’s only his father’s hand on her arm that keeps her from exploding. Even still, she’s glowering as Matt’s father taps a glass with a spoon to begin his boring pre-dinner speech.
Thankfully, it’s a short one tonight, and soon enough, the meal can begin. Matt’s stomach is growling—must be from Mox talking about how hungry he was for the last half hour. The food smells delicious. Their cook has been with the family since Matt was young, and she’s always made beautiful meals. This one is no different.
He uses his free hand to grasp the end of a serving spoon, scooping a few Brussels sprouts onto his plate. He considers his options carefully. The potatoes are full of starch, way too many carbs for him to justify. The roast looks delicious, but he’s really trying to cut down on red meat. Maybe the salmon… Ugh, such a fatty fish, though…
Matt takes another half scoop of Brussels sprouts, frowning at his plate. He scoops one off with the serving spoon and deposits it back in the bowl, then nods. Satisfactory.
When he looks up, delicately cutting a sprout in half, Mox is looking at him weird again. Matt worries for a moment that he's taken too much, but Mox doesn't seem concerned that he's being greedy. For his own part, Mox's plate is full—he took some of the roast and the salmon, and Mother is going to look pinched about that, when she notices—and he's already munching on a potato.
He's chewing with his mouth open, naturally, and his mouth is still full when he waves his fork at Matt's plate and says, "You sure you don't want more?"
Matt tries to smile. It even feels genuine, with Mox’s act lifting his spirits. "I'm okay." If he takes more, Mother will just make a comment, anyway, and then Matt will have to excuse himself to the bathroom, and he doesn't want to deal with it.
Mox keeps chewing. His eyes, Matt’s just noticing now, are really—intense, kind of, when he’s looking right at you.
“Suit yourself,” Mox finally says, spearing another potato with his fork. He pops it into his mouth, chomping down on it. “These potatoes are great,” he says, bits of potato spraying from his mouth. He salutes Matt’s mother with his fork. “My compliments to the chef.”
“I will let her know of your admiration,” Matt’s mother says stiffly. She takes a sip from her wine glass, then a longer one.
Mox gives her a big smile, potato in his teeth, then turns, and Matt nearly startles aloud when Mox’s gaze settles on Nick, and his smile slides into something far more indecent.
“You wanna pass me that rice goop, hot stuff?” Mox asks Matt’s brother, in front of his parents.
He might owe Nick, a little bit. He’ll get him back somehow.
Nick looks frozen, for a moment, and then he looks at Matt, wide-eyed and disbelieving. Okay. Matt gets that. He shrugs, and that clearly frustrates Nick, but he does pass Mox the risotto.
This time, Matt expects the wink Mox gives Nick. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he says, mouth mercifully potato-less, and Nick dips his head in a nod. His ears twitch.
“So, Nicky, what do you do for a living?” Mox continues, undeterred. At the head of the table, Matt sees his mother’s grip on her fork go white-knuckled.
“Um,” Nick says, glancing between Mox and Matt again. “I don’t work?”
“Ah, livin’ the dream,” Mox says cheerfully. “Then again, if I didn’t have a job, I never would’ve met this sweet little flower.” He lifts Matt’s hand and loudly kisses the back of it.
“Yes, where did you meet?” Matt’s mother asks through gritted teeth. The way she stabs a sprout on her plate, Matt’s surprised she didn’t crack it. “I’m so curious.”
“Well,” says Mox, patting Matt’s hand with his free one. “My buttercup’s not so hot behind the wheel, is he?” he says conspiratorially. “Brought in that beaut just about falling apart. Just needed a firm hand, didn’t she?”
He smiles at Matt. There’s a glint in his eye.
Oh, God.
Matt, somehow, manages to smile back. “That’s what you always say,” he mumbles, because the idea of saying it any louder is just about unconscionable.
“Say it about a lotta things. Anyway,” Mox grins at Mother. “I fixed his muffler.”
It sounds filthy, even the second time. Matt can only imagine what Mother’s thinking. She drains the rest of her wine. “Fascinating,” she grits out, already gesturing for a waiter to refill her glass, and then pointedly turns to Nick. “Nicholas has been doing some charity work. Haven’t you, dear?”
Nick’s ears are almost flat against his head. He nods, just about. Grimacing, Matt taps his calf with his foot as his tail curls around his ankle. Silent reassurance.
“Yes, Mother,” Nick manages. “I’ve been working with the cancer society.”
Matt stops paying attention. The only reason Mother asked was to brag, or maybe to remind Matt that he’s an awful son, and either way Matt doesn’t want to hear it.
He concentrates on his food. Spears one sprout, pops it into his mouth, crunches down on it. It’s nice, not mushy or flavorless like the sprouts he’s tried to make since he moved out. Chew, then swallow. Mox is still holding his hand. Matt can concentrate on that, too.
“I think it’s about time for a smoke break, babe,” Mox says suddenly, dropping Matt’s hand. Again, Matt barely has time to miss it before it’s settling on the back of his neck. Actually, he doesn’t think he’s spent much of his time here without Mox touching him in one way or another. “Wanna come with?”
“Oh, uh,” Matt says. His ears are twitching. His parents must be apoplectic at such a blatant show of disrespect. His ears twitch a little faster. “Yeah,” he says, not daring to look away from Mox. “Yeah—Let’s go.”
Later, his mother will probably crush him under her foot.
But right now, all he’s looking at is Mox.
Mox does step outside, at least, lets Matt lead him to the shaded patio and takes a long look around. Once they’re in the open air, Matt feels like he can breathe easier. He rolls his shoulders, slow, one after the other. These dinners always make his back hurt; he has to hold himself so still and straight for hours.
He hasn’t heard the click of a lighter yet, so he glances over at Mox, a little confused. Didn’t he want to smoke? But Mox is just looking right back at him, focused and intent.
“Little better?” Mox asks. Matt nods, only a little shaky, and Mox beams at him. “Good. You looked uncomfortable.”
Mox still doesn’t reach for a cigarette. Instead, he pulls Matt close, just like he had outside, and then he’s kissing him again.
Matt makes a surprised noise into his mouth, but his body already wants what his brain’s trying to catch up with. He cranes up against Mox, tilts his head, opens his mouth. Mox tastes like rosemary and sage and potato, a little bit, but his hand’s back on Matt’s ass, and then his other hand’s there, too, and he’s using them to haul Matt up against him.
Mox kisses a little like he’s trying to fight Matt. He’s touching him like he’s entitled to, even here, with nobody watching. Matt has to rest his hands on Mox’s chest for lack of anything else to do with them.
The kiss lasts until Mox winces, a little, and his mouth slips from Matt’s. He bites Matt’s lower lip almost absently, then kisses him again, short but hard.
“You’re pokin’ me,” Mox murmurs, and to Matt’s horror, when he looks, his claws have popped out, and they’re extending into Mox’s chest as his hands knead.
“Oh—oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” Matt takes a step back, separating them completely. His hands miss Mox’s warmth. He thinks the rest of him does, too. He flexes his hands a couple times, hoping Mox isn’t too weirded out—Matt’s been with humans before, and the claws tend to be a too-far or a fetish. “I’m, I didn’t realize, I’m so—”
Mox is—Mox is laughing, and taking one of Matt’s hands, looking at his claws like he’s curious. “Relax, kittycat, you’re all good.” He tilts his head, whistling low and quiet. Matt’s brain is still stuttering over kittycat when he continues, “I’ve never seen claws this long. Could do some serious damage with these.”
He says it like a compliment. Matt bites his lip. “I try to keep them looking nice, is all. I’m, God, I really didn’t mean to—”
“I know you didn’t, princess. You wanna use ‘em, you can scratch my back as much as you want, cool?”
“Oh—Oh,” Matt stammers. Mox sounds—serious. Or not serious, but… honest, maybe. Like he would let Matt. And not all weird and lecherous, like he’s heard from other people. Just kind of intrigued, and accepting. “Yeah. Cool,” he adds.
“All right,” Mox says, like that’s that. “Now get your cute little ass back over here; I wasn’t finished yet, and your mom just rocked up to the back window.”
“Oh,” Matt says again. He doesn’t look. He just drifts back toward Mox, and lets him pull him into another kiss, sighs as Mox’s hands slide down to his hips.
He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to kissing Mox—not that, not that he’s gonna do it a lot, after tonight, but still—it’s all intensity, Mox’s hands back on his ass (where Matt’s starting to feel like they belong), Mox’s tongue in his mouth, his warmth, the smell of cigarette smoke, god, Matt could do this for hours. He’s more careful with his claws, this time, wraps his arms around Mox’s neck so he won’t be tempted to claw at his chest, and as Mox pulls back to bite his lip he figures—why not at least try, right?
Mox groans into his mouth as Matt drags his claws down his back, and he hauls Matt impossibly closer, like he’s trying to, to claim him, and Matt can’t help the little breathy sound he makes in response. He feels so—shivery, so held, like he’d let Mox do anything, in his parents’ garden —Mox must figure Matt’s gone pliant, because he murmurs, “Good boy,” against his mouth, and then pulls back, kisses his jaw. “How d’you feel about hickeys?”
Matt’s pretty sure the way his breath catches is answer enough. “Good,” he says anyway, faint over the rush of blood in his ears. “Good, yeah, good, it’s. Yeah. Please?”
“Good.” Mox’s voice is so low, almost raspy. He trails kisses down Matt’s jaw, and Matt tips his head—he’s purring again—and Mox’s mouth fastens to his neck just below his ear, sucks hard on his skin and then bites. The sting is sharp, and Matt inhales hard, draws his claws back down Mox’s back. Mox growls against his neck, sucks on the mark he must have made and then bites him again where he’s already sore.
It’s way above the collar of his sweater, and with his hair up like this, it’s going to be so obvious on his neck when they go back in. He feels sixteen again, making out behind the shed in the backyard, except Mox kisses so much better than any of the people Matt kissed when he was sixteen, and Matt is much more aware of how to get what he wants.
“Please,” he breathes as Mox moves down his neck a little, leaving kisses and bites as he goes. “Please, Mox, please,” he whispers.
Mox pulls back, just a little, just enough that there’s some breathing room between them, thumb stroking the side of Matt’s neck. “What do you want, princess? Just gotta tell me, and it’s yours.”
Matt’s—Matt wants a lot, none of it doable in his parents’ garden in the middle of dinner. But, god, he feels like he’s flying, a little, like Mox’s audacity has given him wings, and he tips his head back, bares his throat. “Want,” he whispers, his voice barely a breath. It barely interrupts the purring. “Want—god, fuck me, can I—” He scratches down Mox’s back again, almost experimental, and Mox exhales.
He’s smiling again, that filthy grin he flashed earlier. God, it’s hot. Matt thinks he’d die for Mox to fuck him. “Can’t do that right now, sweetheart,” he says, and softens the blow with another kiss. Pauses for a moment, looking Matt over. “Tell you what. You behave for me for the rest of dinner, we’ll do something that’ll really piss ‘em off on the way home.”
“Behave?” Matt repeats, his eyes fluttering shut as Mox kisses the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the line of his jaw.
“Mhm,” Mox replies. Matt tilts his head hopefully, and Mox chuckles, presses his tongue flat to one of the aching spots on Matt’s neck and draws it up in a lick. The night breeze is cool on the damp spot. “Be a good boy for me.”
Matt makes another noise, and Mox bites the curve of his shoulder.
“Ohhkay,” Matt mumbles. He bites his lip. “We should—probably get back inside. Unless you really wanted a smoke break—?”
“Mm.” Mox presses one last kiss to Matt’s neck. “No. No, you’re plenty. Let’s get back inside.”
Ohh, that’s—he’s not really sure what that means, but it makes him feel. Bubbly. He wonders, distractedly, if Mother watched the whole time. She’s not at the window now, at least. He’s going to get so, so yelled at for this.
He kind of doesn’t care. Mox’s arm is still around him. For a moment, he wonders if Nick would give him something to make him fly a little higher, but then they’re walking back into the dining room, and an icy silence falls.
“How was your smoke break,” Father says. It’s not a question. Nick’s staring at the mark on Matt’s neck, and he’s not the only one; Seth’s eyes go wide as saucers when he sees it. Matt preens.
“Oh, he was great,” Mox says lazily, pressing a kiss to Matt’s cheek. “Real relaxing. Is it time for dessert, or what?”
There’s silence at the table for a long moment. Matt slips into his seat. He feels all-over warm, flushed and sparkly. He almost feels good enough to not notice his mother’s frigid stare. Almost.
He can’t dodge the way Nick’s tail thwips against his leg under the table, or the disbelieving pointed look on his face. He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do later. But right now, he can just enjoy the flabbergasted looks down the table, and let Mox put his hand on his thigh.
Dessert is tiramisu, of course, and Matt is grouchy about it right up until the moment Mox cuts a piece off with his fork and holds it to Matt’s lips, crumbs tumbling down to the floor.
“Oh,” Matt breathes, leaning forward and letting Mox feed him the bite. Nick’s tail smacks his leg again, and Matt’s pretty sure that if he makes eye contact with either of his parents the force of their glare will burn him to ash. But Mox is smiling at him, and brushing some cocoa powder from the corner of his mouth, and Matt can’t find it in him to be upset about it.
“Good,” Mox croons when Matt swallows the bite, and Matt’s stomach feels—fluttery. He’s being good. “More?”
Matt hesitates. It’s—if Mox is going to feed him—but he shouldn’t, dessert is already so many calories—but while Matt’s trying to figure out if he can stomach a little more Mox has already cut another piece for him.
Down the table, Matt’s sure he can feel Seth staring. There’s muttering going on, even, and Matt can’t even be that conflicted about the second bite when Mox’s gaze is so warm on him and he can feel the outraged disapproval from all around him.
He opens his mouth without Mox even prompting him, and Mox rewards him with a smile.
“Good,” he says again, low, like it might just be for Matt. Matt doesn’t know how it feels both like everyone is looking at them and like they’re the only two people in the room.
He presses the fork into Matt’s mouth, and Matt closes his mouth around it, feels it melt on his tongue. He still doesn’t like it, but it tastes better from this fork than it would from his own.
Mox is already going to cut another piece when Mother’s voice, sharp and pointed, cuts through the air.
“Matthew, aren’t you filming tomorrow?” she asks, with what could be concern but isn’t. That’s all she says.
Mox has paused. Matt swallows the last of what’s in his mouth. It tastes like sand.
“Yes,” he manages, stilted. Dinner is sitting heavy in his stomach. “Yes, I’ll be—I shouldn’t, really,” he says, dialing up his apologetic smile, tucking his lips into his mouth.
Silence, for a moment. Even the muttering has stopped. It always does, when Mother has to set Matt straight. He gives himself a second, then risks a glance at Mox, whose eyes are narrowed now.
Mox looks at him for a moment longer, and then shrugs, eyes flicking over to Nick. “You want this, then, gorgeous?” he offers, grinning, and Matt wishes he could be amused by the horrified look on Nick’s face. He can’t even excuse himself.
“No, thank you,” Nick manages, faint and strangled, and Mox—winks at him again.
Mox eats the tiramisu himself, and Matt’s selfishly glad. If he gets home in the next hour, he thinks he can get rid of enough that nothing will show on camera. Hopefully Father isn’t planning on holding court for too long tonight.
The rest of dessert goes by as normal, or as normal as it can be when Mox is still there, chewing loudly until he drops his fork with a clatter and lets out a loud belch.
“Tasty,” he says, settling a hand on Matt’s thigh. Matt feels a little brighter, somehow, with Mox touching him again. “Just like my cupcake,” he says in a mutter that isn’t a mutter, giving Matt a half-smile, half-leer. Matt can’t help the way it makes his insides feel wriggly in a different way to the uncomfortable wriggle in his gut.
“Alistair,” he hears his mother hiss to his father as everybody begins to excuse themselves, and his stomach twists even more.
“Do you want to see the gazebo?” he asks Mox, hoping that the air of desperation he feels isn’t obvious on his face. “I can turn the lights on; it’s really beautiful at night.”
“Sure, princess,” Mox says, disarmingly genuine. Convincingly genuine. Matt’s not sure which, but it still makes him feel—makes him. Feel. Mox’s attention on him is so much just on its own. And then Mox leers again and says, “Or we could keep the lights off,” and that’s a whole different kind of Feel.
The blushing kind, specifically. Matt’s cheeks are hot again. He slips his hand into Mox’s, ducking his head. “Let me show you,” he insists, tugging Mox along as he stands up.
They escape the dining room before Mother can deploy Father. Matt breathes out. He’ll still get the lecture, just not tonight. He can’t do it tonight.
Nick’s quicker than their parents, though, grabs his wrist as he’s opening the front door. “What are you doing,” Nick hisses, more rebuke than question. “Mom’s gonna kill you!”
“I am showing my boyfriend the gazebo,” Matt replies in the same tone, hushed and haughty.
“Oh, eff off, Matty,” Nick says, frowning at him. If he still had whiskers, they’d be bristling. “Tell me what’s going on,” he demands. He flaps a hand at Mox without looking at him. “What is this?”
Matt presses his lips together, and he can feel the sulk drawing at his face. “Can’t I just have something nice?” he asks, and it comes out harsher than he means it to, harsher than he ever speaks to Nick these days. And God, that’s it, he just wants something—nice, even if it’s just for pretend, he wants someone who doesn’t give two you-know-whats about what his parents think. Someone who’s there to do what he wants.
Nick frowns, glancing between them. Next to him, Mox shifts his weight, rests a hand gentle on the small of Matt’s back, and Matt exhales. He really likes Mox, he thinks. Or he could, if he knew him better. He swallows.
“Okay,” Nick’s saying, slow, relaxing, just a little. Like he gets it. He does, Matt knows. God, he does. Matt doesn’t live here anymore to take the brunt of Mother and Father’s—everything. “Just—just be careful.”
Like he knows this is fake, somehow. Matt shouldn’t be surprised; Nick always knows. Nick would’ve been the first to know if Matt really did have a boyfriend. He swallows the guilt at the back of his throat. “I will,” he mumbles, and it’s all but an admission. Nick’s ears twitch, a tiny movement, almost unnoticeable under his hair.
“Good.” Nick leans in, kisses Matt’s cheek, which means he’s mostly forgiven. Gives Mox an appraising look.
But he doesn’t say anything, just slinks back inside, tail swishing fussily behind him.
“He seems well-adjusted,” Mox says, his hand settling a little harder against Matt’s lower back. “You gonna show me this gazebo or what?”
“Yes. Right.” Matt does his best to perk up, automatically grasps for Mox’s hand when he leaves the warmth of it behind, and leads him to the ornate white structure that takes up a quarter of the yard. “It’s better with the lights on,” Matt assures, and he’s going for the switch when Mox takes his other hand.
“Leave ‘em,” Mox murmurs, and he tips his head down.
Matt’s already purring before Mox’s mouth even touches his.
It’s just as intense, this time—maybe, maybe even more, Matt thinks as Mox’s thumb nudges his shirt up a little, skin brushing bare skin, and Matt can’t help but gasp into Mox’s mouth, press himself closer. Mox keeps pressing little kisses to his skin even as he’s pulling back, Matt’s shirt still rucked up, Mox’s hand warm and comfortable under it. Matt exhales shakily.
“You wanna go home? Seems like you might wanna go home,” Mox murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth. It’s a cold night, but Matt’s very warm. He nods, dumbstruck.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbles, chasing Mox’s lips, and Mox laughs but he indulges him, kisses him again, lingers close. “Take me home?”
“Course, princess.”
It’s starting to sound like something… sweet. Soft. Matt shakes himself.
Mox holds his hand all the way to his van, and Matt has a hand on the handle, ready to get inside, when his mother’s voice stops him in his tracks like it always does.
“Matthew,” she says, and her tail is stiff, unforgiving as she folds her arms, backlit by the windows of the house. “That was unacceptable.”
“What was, Mother?” Matt asks, his hand tightening on the metal handle. It’s cold. He’s starting to feel cold, too.
“Embarrassing me like that.” Her voice is sharp as a whip. “Making a fool of yourself in front of everyone. Lord knows why you can’t be more like your brother.”
Matt doesn’t flinch. He stopped flinching a long time ago.
“I have to go home,” he says, instead. He wishes he could reach for Mox’s hand, but he’s already at the driver’s side. “Like you said, I’m filming tomorrow.”
Mother’s mouth is pressed into a thin line, but her eyes are flashing. He’s seen her angrier than this, but not recently. “Very well,” she says, haughty. She’s poised to snap. “See that you don’t embarrass the family tomorrow as well.”
Matt holds himself as straight as he can, but he can feel his ears twitch. Weakness. She’ll remember. “Yes, Mother,” he says, without venom. It’s not worth it to snap at her.
“Good.” She nods, once, clearly unsatisfied. Her tail swishes again. “One more thing, dear.”
That’s the thing about her, Matt thinks. She deploys endearments like weapons. Matt swallows, and stays silent. Even his tail is still.
“You may not bring that boyfriend of yours back.” She turns on her heel, then pauses. Looks back at him. Matt braces himself. “That is, if he even stays until next time.”
And then she’s stalking back to the house. Matt stays very, very still for a long moment, counting three deep breaths, in and out. His face hurts. It always does, when his parents want to Talk to him.
He counts the last exhale to five, and then plasters what he can manage of a bright smile on his face and turns back to the van. “Shall we?”
Mox is looking directly at him, his mouth set in a line, his eyebrows pulled together.
“She shouldn’t talk to you like that,” he says. It’s not at all what Matt expected him to say.
“I,” Matt says. The smile is getting harder to keep on. “Family, you know?” It's feeble.
Mox nods, slowly. “Sure,” he says. He nods again, toward the van. “Go ahead and get in. I got some old paint in the back if you wanna throw it at their windows.”
It surprises Matt into a laugh, creaky and uncertain, but a laugh when sometimes his mother makes him feel like laughter is something nostalgic.
“That's okay,” he says. The smile is easier to pull up. “Thanks—thanks.” He doesn’t know what else to say.
Mox nods, still frowning, and Matt deflates a little. Gets in the car, quiet so he doesn’t bother him, and he’s going to put his seatbelt on when Mox puts a hand on his arm. Matt glances up.
“So, if you want me to come to the next one of these, I’m totally down. You got my number.”
Matt blinks. If he—? “Oh,” he says, laughing a little shakily. “That’s—I. Shouldn’t.” He hesitates. “But—maybe?”
“Let me know.” Mox grins. Starts the engine, and he’s looking straight ahead when he says, “I think you were a good boy for me. Earned your reward. You want it?”
“Do I—“ Matt stops talking, for once in his life. Reward. Good Boy. It’s—making him feel. Funny. Like he wants to laugh, but not really— just like something is bubbling up inside him which has only ever been laughter, but is now something different, something new. “Yeah,” he says, soft. “Yeah, yes, I want it.”
Mox didn’t put his seatbelt on. Matt can’t help but notice.
He can’t help but notice the way he warmed right up once it was just him and Mox again, the only two people, just. Boyfriends.
He has Mox for the night, he thinks firmly. He's allowed to pretend for the night.
“Good,” Mox says, low, velvety. Matt thinks if he could purr, it’d sound like this. He glances over at Matt, and it’s dark, but Matt thinks there’s a spark of—something—in his eyes. “So I’m gonna drive you home.”
Matt nods, wide-eyed. There’s something building in his chest, in his gut.
“And you, princess,” Mox taps Matt’s nose, light, gentle, and Matt makes a little happy noise. “You’re gonna suck me off. How’s that sound?”
“Ohhh,” Matt breathes. It sounds… It Sounds. “Yes. Yeah. Please?”
Mox is smiling. It’s a little like the sleazy smile he’s been leveling at Matt all night, but it’s… different, somehow. “Don’t gotta beg, baby. Told you, you deserve it. You earned it.”
“Oh,” Matt whispers. It’s barely even a sound. His gaze keeps drifting down from Mox’s eyes, like they can’t help it, drifting down to the spread of his legs, his thighs parted in a sprawl that looks casual. He knows Mox noticed, too, because that smile on his face is wider, and he shifts in his seat, cocks one hip a little, his fingers going to the buckle of his belt.
He undoes it slowly, like Matt’s mouth isn’t watering, like Matt isn’t half a second from knocking Mox’s hand out of the way and doing it himself. Mox gets his buckle undone and draws down his zipper lazily, the snickts of the teeth loud when all Matt can hear is his breathing.
Mox puts both hands on the steering wheel. He’s still looking at Matt.
“Take it out,” he says softly. It’s not a suggestion.
Matt licks his lips, and it's not even deliberate, just—God, he wants, he can't wait. But Mox notices, and raises his eyebrows, glances down at his lap like Matt's keeping him waiting. That's the last thing Matt wants; he ducks down, quick, doesn't mumble the apology on his tongue but he hopes the little kiss he presses to Mox's shoulder serves the same purpose.
He tugs Mox’s jeans down—Mox graciously lifts his hips to help—and he's reaching for the waistband of Mox's underwear when he tuts, like Matt's done something wrong. He goes still, glancing up.
Even Mox's gaze is warm. He shakes his head. "Not with your hands, baby. Got a mouth, don't you?"
Matt—does. He does. He's not sure he can get Mox's dick out without his hands, but Mox wants him to, so he will. He takes a moment to just mouth at his dick through the cotton. God, it's so close, he's so close; Matt's not sure he's ever wanted something in his mouth more.
He sucks at the shape of Mox one last time before he lifts his head, kisses low on Mox’s stomach. He gets the waistband in his teeth, hooked behind his canines, and he tugs, pulling at the fabric.
It stretches, but not enough. Matt sinks his teeth in more to keep it from snapping back. He makes a soft, frustrated noise, then pulls again, and Mox lifts his hips a little at the same time so that the fabric drags down enough that Mox’s dick slips out, already half-hard. Matt’s almost drooling, unable to swallow with the elastic in his mouth. He gently lowers the waistband, until it’s snug under Mox’s balls, turning his head enough that he can see Mox’s face when he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the base of his shaft.
Mox is smiling. He settles a hand on the back of Matt’s head, then looks behind him, looks forward, and puts his foot on the gas pedal.
Matt licks up the shaft, slow and careful, keeps his eyes open even though what he really wants to do is close them and just taste . But he's never given head in a moving car before, and he wants to get his bearings before he really commits to shoving Mox's dick down his throat.
Mox scratches the back of his neck, just light, and it feels like a tease. God, he's been so—so much, all night, so good, and Matt wants so badly to pay him back. He sucks one of Mox's balls into his mouth, presses his tongue to it, tastes skin and sweat and Matt always—he forgets how much he misses this, when he doesn't have a dick in his mouth. Sucks, hard, and above him Mox lets out a slow exhale.
"That's it, princess," he says, low, and Matt has to strain to hear over the noise of the car. "Knew you'd be sweet once you got a dick in your mouth."
The noise Matt lets out is unintentional, a shuddery exhaled sound that kind of sounds like the whir of the car’s engine. He licks, slow and deliberate, draws his tongue up that soft, delicate skin back to the hardness of Mox’s cock, trails up and up until he can mouth over the head and gather the damp there on his tongue. God, the taste. He’s missed the taste. It’s been too long since he got to taste, and he sucks hard again, presses his tongue underneath, flat and soft.
Mox’s hand has tightened on the back of his neck. He’s not holding him down, but, but Matt would let him, he’s realizing. If Mox wanted to. Usually, he gets grumpy about that—he will be the one controlling the pace of this blowjob, thank you—but he would let Mox.
He thinks he’d kind of like it, even.
“Fuck,” he hears Mox mutter under his breath as the van rocks on a turn. His thumb strokes Matt’s neck, just under his ear. “Been looking at your mouth all night,” Mox says, and Matt tucks his canines under his top lip so that he can sink down more, his jaw stretching in the way he likes, the way that makes his brain tingle. Mox’s voice is strained when he says, “Been thinking about getting your mouth on my dick since you got in the car.”
Matt makes another soft little noise, humming around Mox's dick. he feels—accomplished, kind of. Mox thinks he's pretty. Mox has wanted his mouth all night. Matt wants to, to prove him right, show him he should want his mouth. He pulls back a little, sucks at the head, almost a kiss, and then the car hits a bump in the road and very, very suddenly, Mox's cock is nudging at the back of his throat.
Fuck, Matt's tearing up, dull ache in his throat that he loves so much, his mouth stretched so wide around Mox, and then Mox's hand does press down, just keeps him there, swallowing frantically.
"God," Mox breathes. "That's it, sweetheart. Wanna keep you here forever, you know that? Keep that pretty mouth on me."
Matt's—he's not humming, anymore, but he can feel himself making noise. Mox lets him up, just a little, and Matt takes a wet, gasping breath, and it's only now that he realizes he's fucking purring on Mox's dick.
Mox has taken his eyes off the road—the car doesn’t feel like it’s moving, just rumbling, so they must be at a stoplight or something—Matt doesn’t care—to look down at Matt, rumbling like the car, a soft rRrRrrr that Matt knows Mox can hear. He thinks he’s flushed from more than not being able to breathe, now.
“Fuck,” Mox says again, his hand in Matt’s hair, fingertips stroking the back of his head. “Fuck, love it, don’t you? Look at you, purring for me, so sweet, aren’t you? Fuck,” he repeats, his hand tightening in Matt’s hair as he eases onto the gas and he’s in Matt’s throat again.
The rumble is muffled now, and Matt’s careening toward not caring, anyway, so he gets back to work, tongue tracing patterns on Mox’s skin, his mouth inching down until he really can’t breathe. Even without air, though, he can hear his purrbox rrring away, little vibrations. The cock in his throat jerks a little.
Mox's hand tightens in his hair, keeping him down again, and Matt feels like flying, he feels transcendent, he's making Mox feel good and he can feel it in his mouth, in the way Mox's breathing is getting more strained. and it's—he's good at this, he knows he is, but right now all he wants is to be good at it for Mox.
The car's still moving, and he can feel it, notices whenever Mox moves the wheel, but Matt doesn't care at all, focus narrowed to the only thing that matters right now. He wants Mox to come in his mouth. God, he wants it.
Hesitantly—Mox had told him not to use his hands, but it's, Matt knows he can make it better, make Mox come—he cups Mox's balls carefully, rolls them in his hand, and it must've been a good instinct because Mox shoves him down on his cock until he's choking again.
The stretch, the insistent nudge at his palate, the hand in his hair, it’s all Matt can think about, all he can feel. The car eases to a stop again, and Mox lets Matt up to breathe, panting, dick still in his mouth, but not his throat.
“Pretty kitty,” Mox murmurs. He gathers Matt’s hair in one hand. Matt sucks, can’t help it, and Mox bites out a curse. “Got a mouth made for this. Close, sweetheart, think you can finish me off?”
The engine revs as Mox hits the gas again, and Matt is back in the best place, with the best feeling: the taste of dick on his tongue, how he can feel his voice getting raspier.
But Matt has tricks. Matt has lots of tricks to get what he wants, and what he wants now more than anything is to feel Mox come down his throat.
He takes a deep breath in through his nose, as deep as he can, and then he relaxes his throat all at once, sinks down so suddenly until his lips are pressed to the base, his nose mashed against Mox’s thigh, and there’s a dick so far down his throat that it feels like it might never leave.
He starts purring again.
"Fuck," Mox grits out, hand tightening in Matt's hair, and Matt can feel it when his thighs tense. "Yeah, princess, just like that. God, perfect."
Matt presses his tongue to Mox's shaft again, flicks his tongue along it, the closest he can get to begging with his mouth full. Hurts in the best way, ache along his jaw, lips raw and stretched, Mox's hand pulling his hair. Matt swallows around him, again, and then, finally, finally, Mox is coming down his throat, the best reward he could earn, the only thing he wants.
"Fuck," Mox repeats, much breathier now, guides him up carefully. "So good, sweetheart, that was so good. Can you sit up?"
Matt makes a displeased sound, a quiet little mrr, but he pulls himself up, and he's still a little out of it, so he doesn't expect it when Mox—kisses him. Matt makes a surprised sound—is he sure he wants to—he must taste—but Mox isn't pulling back, doesn't seem hesitant at all, so Matt lets himself relax into it, hazy again.
"Good?" he asks as Mox pulls back. His voice sounds awful. It feels like an accomplishment. Mox beams at him.
“Perfect,” Mox confirms, and Matt barely notices that they’re parked on his street, that his house is just outside. He’s inside. He’s here, with Mox. “Don’t mess up your sweater,” Mox murmurs, thumbing under Matt’s lip, smudging aside spit and God knows what else. Matt bites his lip lightly, then winces. Bad idea.
“You’re… so hot,” Matt mumbles, turning his head enough that he can kiss Mox’s thumb, press his lips to his thumbprint. “You didn’t… mention.”
His voice sounds horrible. Nick better not call him later.
Nick’s definitely going to call him later.
Mox chuckles, and it’s warm like the rest of him has been. His eyes, his hands, his laugh. Warm.
Matt is so cold all the time.
"Well, neither did you, sweetheart," Mox points out, tapping his thumb on Matt's bottom lip.
Matt frowns for a moment, and then catches up with the conversation. "Oh," he shrugs, blushing. "Sorry."
Mox laughs. "Tell you what, pretty, I'll forgive you if you forgive me. Yeah?"
"Sure." Matt presses another kiss to Mox's thumb, for good measure. "Sure. Course." He feels a little at sea, but Mox is warm and nice and steady, and Matt isn't ready to let go.
"I'll let you get home," Mox says, pulling his hand back and kissing Matt again. "But, hey, you ever wanna fool around, you got my number. I'd be down to fuck sometime."
And then he—he leans forward, and he licks Matt’s ear again, and Matt can’t help it—
“Mmrow?” He blinks wildly, his ears twitching. He’s been grooming his own ears for years, carefully slicking down tufts, brushing and combing and pawing at them to get them to look—like someone loves him enough to groom them for him.
Matt Jackson has perfectly groomed ears.
Matt Jackson is perfect.
"Ohh, you're fuckin' adorable, aren't you?" Mox murmurs, quiet like it's to himself, kisses Matt's ear.
Now that he's let himself once, it's like Matt can't bite back the noises, lets out a quiet questioning mmrrr? as his ear flicks against Mox's mouth. His eyes are so, so wide. He can't look away. Nobody's even touched his ears since—well.
"Course you are." Mox kisses him again, on the mouth this time, and when he pulls back, he looks almost regretful. "You gotta get home, kittycat. Go on, now."
Matt nods, flustered. Even his tail is straying toward Mox. He clears his throat. "Thanks," he mumbles, ducking his head awkwardly as he fumbles at the door. "I, um, I'll text?"
“Please do.” Mox props his arm on the steering wheel. His dick is still out. He doesn’t seem bothered by it. “This is the most fun I’ve had in months.”
Matt’s smile feels too wide, too obviously pleased. He tucks it into his mouth, popping the door.
“Thanks,” Matt says, and he surges forward, kisses Mox on the cheek quickly before he shoves the door the rest of the way open and slides out. He closes it behind him, scurrying around the front of the van, shoes tap-tapping on the road.
He feels Mox’s eyes on him until he closes the door of the house behind him.
He feels them for a lot longer than that.
His house feels even colder than normal, once he closes the door. Like the warmth is draining from his bones.
He's still shivering when he gets in bed, freshly showered, and when he stares at his phone, thumbing over Mox's contact, and when he shoves it under his pillow.
It takes a long time to fall asleep.