The Value of Silence

This was written as part of a fic trade with the wonderful Midnighttread from DeviantArt, who wrote me a loverly fic in return. This one contains some fluffy Misto/Coricopat slash and a bit of smooching.

Disclaimical: T.S. Eliot created these kitties, Andrew Lloyd Webber made them sing and dance. I just make them kiss and stuff.

Mistoffelees couldn't quite tell when he had begun to notice the mystic cat. That was the problem, in a way; Coricopat, and by extension, his twin sister Tantomile, had a manner about them that resulted in both being ever-present about the junkyard, and yet simultaneously unremarkable.

It was unusual, especially in the midst of a tribe of cats who all craved attention. Perhaps that was the part that made the mystic twins intriguing; while everyone else clamoured for the spotlight, they were content to sit on the sidelines and watch, speaking when needed, when absolutely necessary.

And so, because of this, Mistoffelees had obviously always known that Coricopat was around the junkyard. He just couldn't remember exactly when he had begun to notice him.

It was perhaps Coricopat who'd truly noticed him first.

Like most Jellicles, Mistoffelees liked being noticed. It was in Jellicle nature to be a natural performer, to dance under both the sun and moon and to caterwaul pleasantly for all to hear. It was not unusual for cats to share an impromptu dance or to harmonize on a moment's whim, as much to invite others to join as to simply entertain them.

Mistoffelees was a gifted dancer and made no secret of it. Others enjoyed watching him, trying to copy his moves and dancing alongside him. He'd often found himself teaching others what he knew, or gently competing with the other toms; more than once Tugger or Alonzo had tried to show him up. The young queens loved to watch him. The young toms too. He found that putting on a bashful and aloof air actually brought him more attention.

However, Coricopat and Tantomile never spent much time watching him. They never spent much time watching anyone; come to think of it, the pair never looked bored, or restless. They would quietly pad around the junkyard, looking for all the world as though they had very precise things to do, and exactly the correct amount of time to do it in. Everything about them was poised, and try as he might, Mistoffelees had never drawn an impressed glance or murmur from either mystic.

He chalked it up to their genuine aloofness, and stopped trying to attract their attention.

However, dancing wasn't the only preternatural skill which Mistoffelees possessed. For some time now, the small tom had been increasingly aware of the restless energy of magic within him.

He had discovered the magic purely by accident, shooting out a small spark one day after being startled by a dragonfly. It had seemed like such a small thing, a small bolt of electricity that left his hands tingling for hours. Mistoffelees' first instinct had been to ignore it—chalking it up to nothing, to a fluke, maybe something funny he'd eaten. But soon enough, he became curious and interested in cultivating this unusual gift, if only to see exactly what he could do with it.

But practicing this gift required… discretion.

He was young, still. No longer a kitten, but not quite a full tom yet. Old enough for anything that mattered, as far as the tribe was concerned. But most importantly, he was old enough to understand that others expected to see strange powers in older cats, in strange cats, and that to find it in a youth was unnerving, unsettling.

So he did his best to hide it. He would have to be a self-taught student, retreating to hidden corners of the junkyard to set up tin cans and crumpled balls of paper and seeing if he could make the lightning happen again.

He couldn't. Or rather, he could, but it seemed to happen by accident, unpredictably, after he'd stared and strained with his paw splayed out towards a can and willing the energy inside him to surge out, to strike it. The magic seemed to pop out randomly, like a lightning strike during a storm. He hadn't yet figured out how to make it consciously happen, no matter how much time he spent with his paw tensed and his mind trying to force the magic to come forth.

He was having a particularly frustrating session; he'd set up an empty salmon paste can over a small pile of wood and had been standing a few paces away, trying his very best to strike it down with a small bolt of lightning. He'd been at it for hours, with no result, and was once again growing impatient and exhausted. He was following what seemed like logical steps in his mind—he pictured the magic inside him, building up, concentrating, traveling down his paw and through the air to bump the can away from its seat. Whenever he thought he could feel the magic prickling in his paw, he would then lose it.

"You think too much."

Mistoffelees yelped and jumped. Well, that did it. The shock of hearing a sudden voice made Mistoffelees flinch and release a bolt of electricity. He missed hitting the can, but at least he'd managed to release it.

Miffed, he turned in the direction of the voice and was surprised to see Coricopat. The mystic spoke so rarely that Mistoffelees hadn't recognized the sound of his voice.

"What did you say?" Mistoffelees huffed. He was surprised, also, to notice that Coricopat was alone, without the ever-present Tantomile at his side. He calmly sat on his haunches on top of a short pile of wooden crates, coolly observing Mistoffelees' futile efforts.

"Too many thoughts, too many steps in your mind," Coricopat said. He smoothly rose from the crates and walked over to the small tom. "Learning to master magic is not so different from learning to hunt."

Mistoffelees frowned. "But I already know how to hunt."

"Of course," Coricopat said, coming to a stop at Mistoffelees' side. "So how does one hunt?"

"Well, you… you just do it, I suppose," Mistoffelees shrugged.

"What are the steps?"

"Er… you'd pick up the scent trail of whatever you want to eat, then follow it, then when you find it, you… try to be quiet, make yourself unseen, then pounce and break your prey's neck. I guess that's right, I don't really think about it when I hunt."

"Yes, exactly," Coricopat nodded slowly. "You wouldn't think about it. Too many thoughts would distract from your goal. You simply know what you want the end result to be. Magic is the same way."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said. He looked down at his paws. "But… but I'm not sure how to get to that point."

With a quick, appraising cock of his head, Coricopat moved behind him and, in a strangely intimate manner, grasped Mistoffelees' arms. He was so close that the smaller tom could feel the heat from his hatched fur.

"Relax," Coricopat instructed. "And clear your mind. What is it that you want to do?"

Mistoffelees swallowed hard; it was difficult to clear his mind with the other cat so close to him. No one had ever touched him so closely and casually before. "I-I want my magic to work," he stammered.

"In more practical terms," Coricopat said. "What is it that you want to do?"

"I want to knock over that can of salmon paste."

Coricopat nodded slowly and reached for Mistoffelees' wrists, motioning for him to hold his arms up in a certain way. The small tom wondered if Coricopat knew how unconventional this physicality was. Then again, he did always seem rather physically close to his sister at all times.

"Focus on the end result," Coricopat said. "Not the steps leading up to it."

He was having a hard enough time focusing away from Coricopat's presence, but all the same he drew in a breath and obeyed the instruction, his eyes fixed on the tin can. Instead of trying to bodily force the magic out of him, he pictured the can knocked off its crate and landing on the ground.

No sooner had he formulated the image in his mind that he felt the prickling heat in his palm. He splayed his claws out of instinct and a second later, the salmon can was arching through the air and bouncing off the side of a junk pile before clattering to the ground. Mistoffelees had barely even noticed the arc of electricity jutting from his palm and he blinked, surprised, at what he had just accomplished.

Behind him, Coricopat slowly slid his hands away from Mistoffelees' arms. The small tom excitedly turned to look at him, expecting a word of praise, but Coricopat only nodded.

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said. "That's the first time I've been able to do that so easily. Er, I didn't know you had magic like mine."

"I don't," Coricopat admitted. "Neither does Tantomile. But magic comes in many forms, and manipulating it requires the same level of concentration."

"Well, thank you all the same. It's more than I've been able to figure out on my own."

Mistoffelees looked down at his paws; the residual energy was already beginning to dissipate, leaving him eager to try it again. "Coricopat?" he asked, coughing a little nervously. "I was wondering if… well, would you be willing to teach me more? About how to manipulate the magic? If you want to, that is."

"Just me?" Coricopat asked. "Or Tantomile as well?"

"Just… just you."

It could have been just a twitch that met the edge of the other cat's fur pattern. It could be that it only looked like Coricopat was smiling, ever so slightly. "Then I will gladly teach you."

Coricopat's scent had a timeless quality to it; like the lingering smoke from a candlewick, a mix of spice and incense. No other Jellicle smelled like that. Not even Tantomile.

Mistoffelees often found the scent to linger, on his fur and in his memory, shortly after their lessons. Though Coricopat showed him no more familiarity in the junkyard outside of their lessons, Mistoffelees found himself watching the mystic cat whenever he could, watching him move quietly with his sister, or speak in hushed tones to other Jellicles.

Coricopat hadn't seemed to share the information of their lessons with anyone, with the possible exception of Tantomile, which was something Mistoffelees enjoyed. He felt privileged that Coricopat had this secret with him, that these private lessons were something only the two of them shared. It felt almost as though—dare he think it—the two were sharing a secret romance.

Mistoffelees almost giggled to himself at the thought. He sat on the boot of one of the many rusted old cars in the junkyard, watching from afar as Coricopat climbed down from a pile of broken, stacked furniture, Tantomile just behind him. To think of anything romantic about the mystic cat was just silly. Hilarious. Besides, Coricopat just seemed above such things. Too cool, too aloof. Too… dignified.

Though Mistoffelees had to admit, the sight of the mystic moving languidly under the glow of the moonlight made his heart race a little faster. And admittedly, he found himself rather captivated by the mystic's physique. He was not as broad and powerful as Munkustrap, not as lanky and sensual as Tugger; but there was an irresistible quality there, a careful grace to every step, a willowiness to his manner.

His constant proximity to Tantomile forced a comparison between the two; to most, with their unobservant eyes, it would appear that the two were always perfectly matched, always in synch. But the more Mistoffelees watched the two, the more it became apparent that Coricopat had the greater strength, the greater ethereal presence, as though leading every step of the dance. Perhaps he was biased in thinking that Coricopat was the more beautiful of the pair.

Though he had no reason to be biased; he certainly wasn't interested in either Coricopat or Tantomile, and had no reason to want to look at them.

No reason at all.

They continued these lessons in private for the most part. Though Mistoffelees had not exactly asked Coricopat to keep it a secret, the mystical cat seemed to understand the desire for privacy. More often than not, he would be the one to find Mistoffelees, approaching him smoothly from the shadows to begin their lessons, no matter the time of day or night. True to his word, he was always alone, with Tantomile nowhere in sight. Mistoffelees sometimes wondered where he sent his sister off to during these times.

Through Coricopat's gentle coaching, his magic soon grew stronger and easier to control. Coricopat's advice had been correct; the less he focused on the individual steps, and the more he focused on the results he wanted, the better his skills became. Soon, it became second nature, much like hunting for mice.

Coricopat was so knowledgeable that it was difficult to remember he didn't possess magical abilities just like Mistoffelees. He definitely possessed a sensitive sense, however; and, as far as Mistoffelees was concerned, he also possessed the uncanny ability to move more soundlessly than a gentle breeze, so that he was practically on top of Mistoffelees before his scent announced him.

"You need to make more noise," Mistoffelees said with a smile one day, after the mystic cat gave him a bit of a jump by quietly padding in from behind a stack of wooden crates, ready to begin that day's lessons. "Or say something to announce yourself. You're much too quiet for me."

"Words are not so important," Coricopat said with an elegant shrug.

"Maybe a scratch, then? A cough? A quiet belch, if you wouldn't mind?"

He often tried to make Coricopat laugh; he still wasn't quite sure if he'd ever seen the mystic smile, or if it was all an illusion because of the colouring of his fur.

"If my approaches make you nervous," Coricopat gently said. "I can teach you to feel any approaching cat."

"I already know how to smell-"

Coricopat raised a paw. "I mean feel, not smell, or hear. This is something you can do to feel the presence of any Jellicle no matter how far you are. Give me your hand."

Mistoffelees blinked and did as instructed, handing Coricopat his white hand and watching curiously as the mystic brought it closer to his hatched chest, so that Mistoffelees could feel the warmth through the fur, the beating of Coricopat's heart.

Mistoffelees swallowed nervously, an odd flush warming his face. He had stood close to and been touched by Coricopat many times; why was he suddenly feeling flustered about this?

He met the other cat's eyes. Coricopat had a surprisingly profound and inscrutable gaze; perhaps, when one decided that words had little importance, the eyes would suddenly be able to speak volumes.

"Can you feel me?" Coricopat asked.

A surprisingly forward question; it made Mistoffelees' pulse race just a little faster. "I… I can feel you. Your fur, your warmth…"

"Don't feel it with your paw," Coricopat said. "Feel it with your mind. And your heart. Close your eyes."

Mistoffelees did as instructed, trying to ignore how good the proximity felt and trying to focus on this new lesson. After a few moments, a new sense of warmth began to flood his mind, like a small cloud passing through. At once, he felt every sense that told him Coricopat was near—his scent, the near-quiet tread of his paws, the heat of his body, the sight and feel of his fur—and soon it coalesced into a single presence, tucked away deep inside his mind.

It was so vivid that Mistoffelees couldn't understand how he'd missed it before. The presence was surprisingly comforting. He opened his eyes to see Coricopat still staring at him with those deep eyes, and this time, he was certain there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

"Now, do you feel me?" the mystic asked softly.

Mistoffelees could only nod. His hand was still pressed beneath Coricopat's as the two stared at one another, and it was probably for the best; he didn't want Coricopat to see how badly his hands would tremble, how deeply and wonderfully he had been effected by the feeling of the other cat inside his mind.

"That is me. Now you'll be able to feel me, no matter where I am."

To his chagrin, Coricopat released his hand, though his disappointment was short-lived as the mystic cat reached up to place his palm flat against Mistoffelees' face. His eyes glazed over for a brief second, as though he were concentrating, before focusing on Mistoffelees again.

"And now," Coricopat said. "I'll be able to feel you, no matter where you are."

The moment that followed was strange; Coricopat's hand was still pressed against Mistoffelees' cheek, warm and comforting, and their eyes were still locked in that deep, inscrutable gaze. The fact that Coricopat's presence was now so firmly ingrained in his mind, and vice versa, made the moment surprisingly intimate. Mistoffelees found himself staring at the mystic's mouth, telling himself he was only looking for a smile, and not because he wanted to move closer, just a bit closer, and-

"Shall we continue our lessons?" Coricopat said, suddenly dropping his hand from the small tom's face.

"Oh," Mistoffelees coughed, blinking a little dazedly at the loss of contact. Had Coricopat been able to read his mind just now? His heart? "Of course, let's get to it."

It was strange now, to be so wholly aware of the other cat. Even when Coricopat moved away from him, letting him work the magic out on his own, it still felt as though the mystic's body was all but pressed to his, guiding his every movement.

The sky had been dark and filled with heavy rainclouds all day. Coricopat had not sought him out for a lesson, and Mistoffelees reasoned that it was most likely for the best. The wiser Jellicles had decided to stay in their dens, away from the imminent rain, and while Mistoffelees and some of the younger cats were tottering about, he figured Coricopat was already huddled away someplace safe, probably with Tantomile, ready to wait out the approaching storm.

Definitely for the best, Mistoffelees thought, as a flash of lightning rent the sky, quickly followed by a loud rumble. He should have gone looking for shelter earlier, and now if he wanted to avoid the steadily increasing raindrops, he would have to squeeze himself into the closest dry spot.

He found himself a spot inside an upturned bookcase, something that was too small and cramped to serve as a den, but just fine for a miserable cat to get out of the rain. Mistoffelees sighed as he watched the downpour from the entrance to the bookcase; his fur had only gotten a bit damp, but the air was chilly and he already felt a bit cold.

Laying his palms together, he concentrated on the end result of the magic – I want to feel warm—and second layer, a wonderful heat began to spread from his tingling hands all the way up his arms and chest. The small surge of heat helped his fur dry and instantly he felt better, ready to wait out the storm so he could get back to his den.

Now somewhat comfortable, Mistoffelees curled his legs up close to his chest, watching the rain barrel down through the entrance. The patter of the rain had nearly lulled him into a doze, when his ears perked up suddenly, his heart racing just a little.

In these last few weeks, he had become quite adept at sensing approaching Jellicles. Not with his nose or his ears, but with his heart, as he'd been taught. And ever since he'd picked up the ability, there'd been one Jellicle's presence that always stood at the very pinnacle of his consciousness.

It was the sense of spice, warmth, and timelessness, and Mistoffelees moved himself out of the way a few seconds before Coricopat stumbled into the small shelter.

"M-Mistoffelees," he quickly said as a greeting. His fur was soaked from the rain and there was a noticeable tremble in his limbs.

"I could tell you were coming," Mistoffelees said, though this clearly wasn't the best time to try and impress his teacher. He wondered if Coricopat had found the shelter after sensing his presence within.

Coricopat was miserably wet and looked chilled to the bone. He gave a small shake to try and kick off the excess water, then sank down on all fours into a tight little ball.

"I'm surprised you, of all cats, got caught in the storm," Mistoffelees said. He laid his hands on Coricopat's back, feeling the other cat's spine tense at the contact.

"Storms leave my senses unsettled," Coricopat briskly said. "The air becomes so charged, it becomes difficult to—oh."

It may have been the first time that Mistoffelees was the one to quiet Coricopat. With his hands still on the mystic's wet fur, he began to focus on what he wished his magic to accomplish – I want Coricopat's fur to be warm and dry—and immediately a soothing heat began to spread from his hands and into the other cat's fur. He began to run his hands up and down the smooth, elegant back, leaving the fur soft and dry as he went. As he moved over to Coricopat's arms and legs, Mistoffelees could have sworn he heard a quiet purr. Surely it was just the rumbling thunder.

When he was finished, Mistoffelees sat back on his haunches, watching with enjoyment as Coricopat looked himself over with a look of pleased surprise in his eyes. He was dry all over, without so much as a shiver now.

"Thank you," Coricopat said, his poise strangely absent. "Thank you for warming me. And for sharing your shelter."

Mistoffelees nodded slightly, trying hard not to smile. He had never heard the other cat so genuinely grateful. Evidently, Coricopat was capable of strong emotions, especially given the fear he'd been feeling when he stumbled into the bookcase.

"You really don't like storms at all, do you?" Mistoffelees asked.

"No," Coricopat said, a little shyly. "I never have. They make me feel unpleasantly tense. Nervous. As though-"

"It's all right," Mistoffelees said, holding up a paw. To his own surprise, it wasn't shaking; Coricopat's presence, especially so close, usually did that to him. "You don't have to speak. We can just sit."

Coricopat gave a small, grateful nod, and the two cats fell into a comfortable silence as the rain continued to pour. Graceful as always, and without a single word, Coricopat slid his arm around Mistoffelees' shoulders and gently pulled the small tom closer.

To share heat. To share comfort, as the thunder continued to rumble and the lightning continued to strike. Or so Mistoffelees told himself, sighing contently as he nestled his head against Coricopat's shoulder. He wouldn't have asked the mystic why he'd felt the need for such an intimate gesture, since speaking always seemed so unnecessary. Instead, he decided to enjoy the closeness while it lasted, knowing that Coricopat would be able to sense his heightened pulse and his raised temperature, and wondering what he would think of it.

The storm continued for a good hour, and neither said a word until it was over.

Well over a week had passed since the storm which had driven the two cats into the same bookcase. Though Coricopat continued their magical lessons without comment, Mistoffelees had been unable to focus on anything else.

Coricopat had never been reserved about touching him for their magical lessons, but the time they'd spent huddled together, away from the storm, had had exactly nothing to do with magical lessons. Of course, now whenever Coricopat would lay his hands on him, Mistoffelees' heart skipped a beat and he waited to see if the touch would lead to anything more.

He wanted it to. He wished for it dearly. He just had no clue if Coricopat, inscrutable as ever, had any interest in him at all. The mystic always seemed so cool, so above any base instincts like lust and desire. But he was still only Jellicle, wasn't he?

Of course, these thoughts made a mess of their lessons. Coricopat's hands were on his elbows, gently guiding him as he practiced his levitation skills, but as much as Mistoffelees tried to focus on wanting the spoon to float towards his palm, all he could think of was wanting to turn around and kiss Coricopat, and wondering what that would do to his magic.

The spoon rattled on the ground and flopped about pitifully. While Coricopat didn't exactly sigh in disappointment, Mistoffelees could feel the other cat's reaction to the small failure, a by-product of his constant awareness of Coricopat's presence.

"Your mind isn't focused today," Coricopat simply said, releasing Mistoffelees' elbows.

"Well, you're… you're right about that," Mistoffelees murmured. He turned to look at the other cat, who only cocked his head in slight puzzlement.

"Is something troubling you?"

If Mistoffelees hadn't known about Coricopat's lack of proficiency for humour, he would have sworn the other cat was kidding. At the same time, his heart fell a little; if Coricopat genuinely couldn't figure out what was on his mind, then obviously their closeness during the storm hadn't made the slightest impression on him.

"You could say that," Mistoffelees said. He tried his very best not to sound glum, though Coricopat did not give up, still gazing down at him.

Oh, for the Everlasting Cat's sake, Mistoffelees chided himself. Just say it.

"Um, Coricopat?" Mistoffelees asked, resisting the urge to nervously look away. "Is… is anything happening between us?"

He'd expected Coricopat to ask what in Heaviside he was talking about, or maybe to cock his head again and stare at him with a perplexed expression.

He was surprised when Coricopat blinked slowly and knowingly and said, "Perhaps."

Of course, Mistoffelees thought with a frustrated sigh. Those who don't say much also love to make their words as cryptic as possible.

"I don't mean anything like you being my teacher," Mistoffelees said. Maybe the direct approach would be better. "I mean like what happened during the storm last week. We were close—I mean, we're usually close, I know that, you like to touch me while helping me work my magic, but… it was different during the storm. It was nice. Not that it isn't always nice when we touch, but…"

Well, now he was just nervously babbling, and it didn't help that Coricopat was still gazing at him, entirely too coolly for Mistoffelees' tastes. Would it kill the other cat to look at least a little flustered about everything Mistoffelees was saying? To have some kind of reaction, so the small tom would know whether to keep talking, or to shut up already and never mention these feelings again?

"Say something," Mistoffelees pleaded. He hated feeling like a stumbling fool. "Tell me if there's anything here."

Coricopat calmly said, "You could sense with your heart, and see what is there."

"I could," Mistoffelees huffed. "Or you could just tell me."

And Coricopat answered him loud and clear, though not with words. With his customary elegance, he wrapped his arms around Mistoffelees' waist and pulled him close; before the small tom could protest, or acquiesce, the mystic's lips were on his.

The first thing that came to Mistoffelees' mind was that Coricopat tasted exactly like he smelled—spice and incense, warmth and timelessness. Any further thoughts turned to a jumble as he savoured the kiss, having to lean further into Coricopat as the mystic's tongue gently caressed his mouth, making his legs suddenly unsteady. His hands threaded through the soft fur of the mystic's arms, reminding him again of the brief moments of silence they're shared in the shelter during the storm, of his hands warming Coricopat's fur.

The kiss ended much too quickly; it took Mistoffelees a few seconds to remember to draw in a breath. This time, there was no mistaking the small smirk on Coricopat's face as he took in Mistoffelees' dazed, needy look.

"Words," Coricopat said. "Are not so important."

And as Coricopat leaned down to kiss him again, clever paws working through his fur and gently pushing him down towards the ground, Mistoffelees understood the value of silence.

The End! Thank you for reading!