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Tom is woken up to a cold wet nose pressing against him, nudging against his bare skin, and then a tickle of whiskers as the brown tabby cat nuzzles closer to his side. Pete is a heavy weight against his chest, mouth parted and slightly drooling. Their other cat is tucked on top of Pete’s hip, using him as a makeshift perch. Her black fur is a contrast against his pale skin. They all make such a cozy sight. He can’t help the smile that breaks out on his face as Pete’s nose twitches much like the cats’ as he trails his fingers down the notches of his spine.
He loves his makeshift family with Pete that they’ve worked so hard to build all these years. He gets to enjoy the soft moments like this when he wakes up on his day off, cuddled together with his husband (or in his mind, his sweet little wife) in their large and comfy bed with two of the cutest cats he’d ever met. Slider likes to joke that Tom had a penchant for strays, adopting Pete into his life long before the two fluffy heathens (or as Slider calls them —little shits). Tom always tells his former RIO to shut his mouth but thinks he isn’t wrong, remembering how he’d been quick to jump into Pete’s life headfirst after Goose’s accident.
Tom was used to putting his foot down when Pete suggested getting some sort of pet to occupy their time. He was a busy man who didn’t have the time to take care of an animal and Pete was still getting deployed to different parts of the world for the first half of their relationship. They’d end up neglectful and the poor animals would wonder why their owners ignored them.
Then a couple of years back, after one of Tom’s chemo treatments, Pete had encouraged him to take a walk along the San Diego beach with him on the way home from the hospital. Like the angel that he was, he wanted Tom to feel the sand between his toes and feel the salt water lapping against his feet. Lo and behold, tiny meows drifted from the tall grass of the sand dunes not but five minutes after getting there, prompting Pete to go wide-eyed in wonder and trot over, making pspspsp sounds and calls of ‘here, kitty, kitty’. Tom had only watched as the two small kittens ran right up to Pete, sniffing at his hands and head-butting his palms for pets.
When Pete looked up at him from over his shoulder with excitement written all over his face, he knew there was no way he could say no to that beautiful face. After Pete stood by his side through the toughest of times with his constant worrying and stress, he knew this was the least he could do to give his thanks to his wonderful partner. After getting them loaded into the car and Pete running into the nearest pet store on the way home, Tom was left with the two cats. The tabby had jumped onto the dashboard, lounging in the setting rays of the sun, and the black one had settled right on Tom’s thigh, staring up at him with wide eyes and a tilted head. He stared back before scratching behind her ears, listening to the small purr that erupted from her tiny body as she leaned into his touch. He knew then that they needed these cats more than they needed them.
After that, the house came alive with something other than the looming cloud that was Tom’s cancer. Colorful toys were strewed along the floor no matter how many times they were picked up and dark fur had plastered itself to every piece of furniture in the house. But there were more smiles now than there were tears.
They picked out the names together, throwing basic names back and forth as they relaxed in the big tub that Pete had insisted they needed when looking for a house when they’d officially gotten married.
“Delilah,” Pete had hummed. “She looks like she could be a Delilah.”
“I don’t like it,” Tom frowned, voice scratchy and rough. “What about Dennis for the boy?”
“These names suck,” Pete grumbled. “Let’s name them after planes. Can we call the boy Tomcat?”
“After an F-14?”
“Yeah. I might be biased, but I started out in an F-14. It holds a lot of memories. We flew F-14s when we met.”
Tom rolls his eyes despite how full his heart is as he listens to Pete ramble. “Don’t you think when calling for the cat, things might start getting confusing?”
“We can call him T.C. for short,” Pete turns to look at him better, staring up at him with puppy-dog eyes. His hair is wet and plastered to his forehead. If Tom had more energy he’d pull him in and show him how pretty he thinks he is like this. “Please?”
“Fine,” Tom relents as Pete grins and smacks a wet kiss over his mouth in thanks. “But if we’re on board for plane-related names, let’s call our girl Blackbird.”
“After an SR-71?” Tom nods. “I like that. Blackbird and Tomcat. Can we go get their collars tomorrow? I think Blackbird would look cute in pink. What do you think?”
“Anything you want, baby.”
True to Tom’s words, they got Blackbird a baby pink collar and Tomcat a dark green. They’d gotten two circular silver-plated tags to go onto the rings of the collars, engraved with their names on the front and their information on the back in case the cats got out and went missing. Tomcat had run around the house like a bat out of hell trying to get it off as soon as they fastened it around his tiny neck and Blackbird had flopped down onto the ground and rolled from side to side until Pete had leaned down to pet her furry tummy. Tom laughed when she bit him after a couple of seconds.
Now that Tom has been in recovery for almost a year and could have mornings like this without the worry hanging heavy over their heads, life had been better. Bradley was still absent in their lives, but building around that hole in their hearts was something so endearing in its own way. Tom wanted every morning like this with the love of his life and their fur babies.
“That tickles,” Pete mumbles against Tom’s chest, the words muffled. “Who’s sitting on me?”
“Blackbird,” Tom laughs, resuming his strokes up and down Pete’s back. “Tomcat’s by me.”
Pete snuffles, rubbing his face against Tom’s chest. He wiggles in place before swiping his arm out and snatching the cat on his hip. The cat is frazzled, yelping when he pulls her in to cuddle her in his arms against Tom’s side. Blackbird looks around frantically, green-gold eyes settling on Tom and meowing at him.
“Sorry, Birdie. You’re on your own,” Tom looks down at the black puffball with apologetic eyes, hiding his mirth.
“Mew,” the cat seems to respond with ire but then closes her eyes again like she’s over it, pressing her face into Pete’s elbow where his arm is curled around her.
Tom scoops Tomcat up and deposits him onto his chest, watching as Pete extends his arm until he has both cats pressed into one arm against Tom’s chest. Tomcat goes happily, always ready to get some love. Blackbird looks back in annoyance as she’s now squished between Pete and the other cat.
“Now, now,” Pete smiles, “Don’t get huffy, missy. You’re just like mopey daddy over there.”
“I’m not mopey,” Tom hums, using his free hand to pet the cats. His fingers catch around a knot and he makes a mental note to take the brush to the cats later. “We’ve already established that I have a bitch face.”
“Mhm. Mr. ice-cold Iceman. My secret teddy bear with the heart of a saint. My loving husband who treats his wife so well.”
Tom flushes. “Don’t start something you can’t finish. I don’t want to have to kick the cats out of the room.”
Pete blinks sleepily at him, smiling softly. “Later then. Can we have French toast for breakfast? I’m hungry.”
Tom’s head lolls to the side, checking the alarm clock on the bedside table. It’s almost noon. He’s surprised they managed to stay in bed for so long. Usually, the cats are crackheads and have the zoomies early in the morning, stepping on their ribs and jumping on their faces.
“It’s almost lunchtime. Are you sure you still want breakfast?”
“Lunchtime? Already? The gremlins let us sleep in?”
Blackbird who hasn’t fallen back to sleep meows again. She bats her little kitty paw against her brother, causing him to blink at her before meowing back. Tom continues petting them as Pete tightens his arms around them, squishing them further together. Blackbird is trying to fight her way out of his arms, annoyed.
“She’s gonna scratch you,” Tom observes. “Or fight with her brother. Don’t make me say I told you so.”
Pete huffs and lets her wiggle free, yelping when her hind legs push against him as she leaps free. She moves towards their feet, sitting as she watches them. Her eyes are narrowed. In true cat fashion, she lifts her leg and starts licking. Tom just rolls his eyes fondly before shifting onto his side so that Tomcat is between them and he’s able to stare directly at Pete’s face. He places a hand on Pete’s jaw, stroking the morning stubble there. Tomcat stretches between them as Pete loosens his grasp to place his hand on top of Tom’s.
“I pissed her off.”
“She’ll forgive you.”
“I know,” Pete sniffs. “I love you. Can we still have French toast?”
Tom laughs as Pete does his famous puppy-dog eyes. He can feel the metal band of Pete’s ring pressing into his hand, reminding him that they’d finally tied the knot after Tom had finally worked up the nerve to propose after sex that one fateful night years ago.
“I love you too, baby. You making it?” Tom asks with a smirk, using his thumb to swipe at Pete’s bottom lip. “Seeing as you signed on for wifely duties.”
Pete groans, pushing Tom away. “You use that against me every time.”
Tom chuckles, already getting out of bed and wrapping his robe around him. Pete flops on his bed and Tomcat curls into his side like he’d done to Tom earlier. Blackbird is staring at him with a bored expression, meowing at him when he moves to the end of the bed to scratch behind her ears. She arches her back, stretching as her tail swishes from side to side.
“Stay in bed, lazy bones. You want syrup?” Pete hums his affirmative. “Alright, baby. You have to come down and eat when it’s done though. Unless you want to wash the sheets when you get syrup on them.”
“Fine,” Pete whines. Before Tom can make his way downstairs, he’s stopped by the sight of Pete motioning him over with grabby hands. “I’d think your wife deserves a kiss, Mr. Kazansky.”
“Ah, of course,” Tom grins, making his way to the side of Pete’s bed and leaning down with a hand pressed to the pillow beside Pete’s head.
He leans up, meeting him for a chaste and sweet kiss. It’s delightfully domestic. Just as they pictured their lives without DADT in place. Just him, Pete, and their two cats. Tom can already see them on the couch later; watching whatever movie they could find on Netflix with Blackbird and Tomcat nestled closely to them.
On the way out the bedroom door, Blackbird is at his heels. The sight of her mewling at him as she circles his feet makes him feel warm inside.
“Birdie is gonna be the sous chef,” Tom calls as he’s halfway down the hall. “Hope you don’t mind little black hairs in your food.”
He smiles to himself when he hears Pete cackling loudly back in the bedroom.
“C’mon, Birdie. Maybe if I fill your food bowl, T.C. will hear and he’ll come running and your papa will have no choice but to join us in the land of the living.”
She only meows back at him, seemingly agreeing.