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Both cats huddled together in their cage while the other animals shrieked and rattled the gates. After some time, they heard a loud noise that repeated every other second, then footsteps and the yelling of humans close by. It was dark, loud, and difficult to breathe but at least they were alive, were together.
A human in clothes they’ve never seen before used something much bigger and totally different than what their usual humans used to let them out. They were placed in carrying boxes only big enough for one, separating for the first time since birth. These cats, labeled Spot and Spotless, were found with their mother and litter then sent for an adoption that never came. Spot eventually made his way to a neighborhood where one house always smelled of the sea. If he could talk, he’d tell you his nose carried him there. Somehow, in the mix of spices and meat, he could smell a familiar loneliness.
Spotless, on the other hand, was taken to another place with cages just like their old home. But it stayed cold and sterile; making her angry, bitter, and hostile. If Spot wasn’t to join her, then no place could be home and no one could be her human.
“This is some good eatin’, Figaro,” Sam says to the Calico once called Spot. It showed up on his balcony one morning and Sam’s been feeding him ever since. It’s curious, to Sam, that he seems to be the exact cat Sam intended to adopt before the shelter burned down. Initially considering dogs, this cat stole his heart unexpectedly. He hasn’t bothered to have Fig’s microchip matched to the pre-adoption paperwork. He’s sure this was the one all along.
“You know how many other cats would love a plate of fresh grouper and veggies?” Figaro yowls during a stretch then takes his sweet time walking over to the food dish Sam set out for him.
“You might just be my best friend, Fig,” Sam laments, eating next to the preoccupied feline. “What? I’m yours too?” Sam says to the back of Figaro’s head. “I know. We found each other just in time. I was in the market for a best friend and there you were.”
Figaro finishes his meal, rubs the top of his head against Sam’s arm, then trots down the stairs, leaving the sad scene on the balcony like it’s beneath him.
“Asshole,” Sam calls out to the space left in Figaro’s absence.
---
“Owning a pet can increase opportunities to exercise—not that you need any—getting out of the house, and socializing.”
“The serum pretty much takes care of exercise. I haf’ta leave the house for groceries and I don’t need to socialize,” Bucky says, annoyed. This is his second-to-last therapy session before this woman fucks off for good.
“Have you given any thought to others wanting to socialize with you?” Dr. Raynor asks.
“No,” Bucky says, rolling his eyes, then regretting it. He knows it’s childish; he sort of feels like a child. It’s just that he really doesn’t want to and doesn’t feel he should have to do anything.
“I won’t force it. You’re nearly done with the sessions mandated by the feds so, I’d prefer we talk next steps.”
Dr. Raynor provides Bucky with a list of therapists he can contact, once their time ends, and a stack of pamphlets from local pet adoption centers and people who foster pets in their homes.
After he’s eaten dinner and settles on the couch, he feels restless and keenly aware that he’s lonely, which is new. He flips through the channels on his tv, scrolls nonsense on his phone, then finally grabs a book though eyeing the same sentence for twenty minutes hardly counts as reading.
He’d been using one brochure as a bookmark but follows an urge to open it and look through it. He eventually lands on a white American Shorthair with blue eyes that mirror his own. It’s like something cosmic is heightening his senses, making him long for the companionship of this cat. So, the next day, he adopts her and names her Alpine.
---
“Sam, I swear I didn’t know you lived here.”
“Uh,” Sam starts, but is forced to search his apartment to find Bucky’s cat that sprinted past his legs. Bucky steps forward to follow but jerks himself back into the hallway since Sam hadn’t invited him in.
“Are you a vampire or can you cross the threshold without me having to ask?
“I was trying to be polite.”
“The hell does it matter now? Come help me find your cat.”
“Alpine,” Bucky yells, calling for the little monster who’d suddenly rushed away from him, breaking the clasp, and leaving her leash in his hand.
“What made you go with that name?”
“This is hardly the time to hash that out, Sam. I need to find her and get out of here.”
“Clearly she doesn’t want to be found so you might as well stay for dinner.”
“I’ve been feeding myself just fine, no need for a pity meal,” Bucky argues while watching Sam walk away. Nice view.
A timer had gone off and Bucky follows Sam and the sound to the kitchen. Or, at least he caves to some will, seemingly outside of his own, that compels him to be near Sam. Has he ever really looked at Sam before? Maybe. But today, now, Sam’s face looks prettier than the Louvre all lit up at night. His intense focus on stirring the contents of his stockpot and transferring the food to a nice container makes Bucky want to kiss a smile there instead.
Oh no, not again. Bucky just got over the budding beginnings of a crush on Sam, too old to be bothered, and now look. This shit is happening again. But it’s so much stronger and weird this time. He shakes his head hoping he can keep his eyes from drifting down to Sam’s lips as he talks about something or other. Bucky hasn’t listened to a single word.
“Earth to Buck!”
“Steve called me that.”
“Yeah? Well, so do I,” Sam says, placing a bowl of crawfish étouffée over rice at a place setting opposite his own on the table.
They eat silently with the exception of Bucky’s foodgasm and Sam getting up to refill their glasses with white wine and placing bottles of water on the table for real hydration. After dinner, Bucky stays to help Sam wash dishes and straighten up the kitchen.
“I guess this was one way to get you to hang out with me. Guess I should’ve skipped the calls and texts and just shown up at your doorstep,” Sam says.
“About that—”
“It doesn’t matter anymore. It’s been nice to see you, by the way.”
“Nice to see you too, I guess.”
“See? Did that kill you? It seems you survived remembering my company ain’t so bad.”
“I told you…” Bucky starts, then lets his words linger because what he’s going to say is evidence against him. He’d told Sam to let him know if he had a lead, effectively opening the door for future communication, then ignoring Sam’s attempts to reach out. Again. “I’m sorry, really.”
“Ah,” Sam says, swatting the notion away with his hand. “Ain’t the first time you ghosted me—”
“It’ll be the last.”
Sam looks up from wiping down the countertop to find Bucky’s a hell of a lot closer than he was minutes ago. So close now that Sam smells his aftershave. He isn’t sure what madness forced it but he moves just enough to brush his lips across Bucky’s for a soft kiss.
Whatever it is has Bucky just as rapt because he’s kissing back. He slips his tongue out to make sure it’s Sam’s whole mouth he claims and they stay that way for however long. Bucky slides his hands underneath Sam’s t-shirt and lives long enough to caress Sam’s pecks and nipples. To Bucky’s surprise, Sam hasn’t pushed him away or taken him out using Redwing.
So, he allows Sam to unbutton his jeans and they eventually move from the kitchen to the living room floor before Sam and his big ass mouth ruins the whole vibe.
“Oh, hell no! Hell no! You’re not getting a piece of the round brown this easy. No.”
“We should probably talk about this,” Bucky offers, agreeing but also stiff as plywood in his boxer briefs and foggy in the brain from lust. The same symptom spreads to Sam because not only does Bucky get the entire round brown, he gets hot breakfast the morning after. In all that time, they don’t hear or see a peep from either cat.
---
“We’re under some kinda spell, man.”
“What makes you think that?” Wong asks Sam, eyes fixed with concern.
“We’ve been having sex—"
“Lots of sex,” Bucky adds.
“It’s great too, babe. I think maybe we shouldn’t have led with that.”
“You’re probably right, sweetheart.”
“Alright!” Stephen yells, ending whatever that was. “I’ve seen enough and even if Wong and I had time to sort all this out with you two … whatever you are’s … this isn’t our type of magic.”
“Magic comes in different forms?” Sam asks.
“Here’s the name of someone who’s much more interested in helping you out. Good day, gentleman,” Stephen says while circling a portal into the middle of the room so they can meet with the sort of witch who handles their type of problem.
The entire place is spooky in a Halloween decorations type of way and not a this-witch-gon’-kill-us type of way. They walk, slowly, over the dirt entryway which appears to be smoking. The sound of critters creeping along any and every surface makes Bucky’s skin crawl. Sam is digging a crater into his waist as they walk, arm-in-arm, towards the front door.
“Agatha?” Bucky calls out after receiving no response despite ringing the bell and waiting twice. The front door swings open into a bottomless pit and they’re sucked into the home, no control over their bodies, and plopped into chairs. It looks like a typical home now and they’ve seen enough shit not to flinch at this.
“Visitors, after all this time,” Agatha says to the men. She’s seated on a chaise across what appears to be her living room. “I’ve been told you’re under a spell.”
“We think so,” says Bucky.
“And, it’s nice. Not complaining, but something outside of us is drawing us together.”
“Close. Together.”
“Very close together,” Sam adds.
Agatha stands then plucks a hair from Sam’s beard and pulls a strand from Bucky’s scalp. She leaves the room, probably to do some unnerving witchy shit so, the men wait until she returns without chancing more than the necessary breaths and eye blinks while she’s away.
“I checked twice, no spells.”
“What?” Bucky asks.
“There’s gotta be some explanation for this. I can’t quite control myself, Ms…” Sam waits for her to supply a surname.
“Harkness.”
“Ms. Harkness.”
“I’m sorry that answer doesn’t satisfy you but it’s the truth. You are not under any spell.”
“Before the cat showed up, before Bucky showed up, we didn’t even talk.”
“Now, we talk and do other things. Lots of other things. And there was no build up, just straight to bed, right away.”
“With no end in sight.”
“You wanna stop?” Bucky whispers in Sam’s ear, who steals a kiss after shaking his head ‘no’.
“Tell me about this cat,” Agatha requests, forcing them to remember why they’re here at all.
“My cat, Alpine, took off one day and ran straight toward his door.”
“Then my cat, Figaro, must’ve shown her one of his hiding places and they hid from us for days. We’ve been together all this time.”
“We basically moved in. Me and Alpine, that is.”
The same way Figaro’s nose carried him to the loneliness filling Sam’s house, the answer to that loneliness reached out to him from a few miles away. When Figaro would leave Sam’s balcony, it was to search the streets for the other half of his bond. He’d been venturing further and further away until he caught a hint of a something he used to know well.
Not wanting to get lost, Figaro would return to Sam’s house—his house—every night until he memorized the route. Eventually, he discovered that Alpine had found a home just a few miles away.
Agatha explains to Sam that when a familiar finds its master, it’s capable of learning their deepest longings and carrying out their will. At first just wanting someone around, Figaro set out to find them; however, he ended up finding his former littermate. He and Alpine conspired to connect their soulmate guardians so they’ll never experience separation again.