Tintin the Kitten - Deal With It
“It’s moving,” Michael grumbles from the couch. Lucifer rolls his eyes and takes a long gulp of the beer in his hand.
“That’s what kittens do, brother,” Lucifer drawls.
Michael frowns at the small tabby in his lap and picks it up in his hands. The pot belly and soft ribcage seem like paper to him. The thing squirms in his arms and mewls at him. Michael stares into the brown kitten eyes and squints.
Lucifer snorts and sets down his beer, standing off the floor and dropping onto the couch next to Michael.
“You’re scaring it,” Lucifer chides, pulling the kitten from Michael’s hands and cradling it to his chest. “And hurting it.”
The poor kitten mewls and nuzzles Lucifer’s breast as the Devil’s fingers flutter over it’s small head and soft ears.
Michael watches his brother in silence, happy to sit and watch him with the kitten.
“So, that’s how you handle a kitten?” he asks softly, curling up onto his side and resting his head on Lucifer’s shoulder, eyes directed at the kitten.
“Yeah, it is,” Lucifer smiles, setting the kitten on his lap and turning to face Michael.
“You’ll learn,” Lucifer murmurs, nudging his forehead against Michael’s.
Michael smiles and rests his fingertips on the kitten, softly stroking the light coloured fur and drawing a happy purr from the kitten. Michael smirks and kisses Lucifer.
“I think I’m getting it,” he whispers smugly.
“Oh you dastardly punk,” Lucifer teases, kissing Michael again.
Michael chuckles and the kitten curls up happily in the crook of Lucifer’s hip and thigh.
They named the kitten Tintin. For no apparent reason.
