Title: Plenty of Fish
Characters/Pairings: Dino Cavallone; Dino/Bianchi, Dino/Byakuran, Dino/Hibari/Yamamoto, and Xanxus/Squalo/Dino
Summary: In which Dino looks for (and finds) love in a variety of places.
Notes: Five possible codas to Cats Have Staff and The Cat Came Back. Adult for smut; 5427 words.

Plenty of Fish

I. The One That Got Away

It's not like Dino can't read the signs; he's not stupid (far from it). He meets Yamamoto Takeshi for drinks instead of dinner, and, well, that's that, right? Sometimes things just happen at the wrong time. Yamamoto's a nice guy, but he's clearly fucked up over the disappearance of his cat. That's a lot for a fledgling flirtation to overcome, so Dino just listens to him and picks up the tab at the end of the night, tells Yamamoto to give him a call when he wants to do it again, and knows that Yamamoto won't.

"Better luck next time, huh, guys?" he says when he gets home and the boys come to greet him. Well, Squalo comes to greet him, anyway, and wreathes himself around Dino's ankles while yowling enthusiastically. Xanxus just raises his head from where he's sprawled on the couch, eyes Dino, and yawns.

Being philosophical about it is clearly the route of wisdom, so Dino makes sure the cats have kibble and water for the night, brushes his teeth, and goes to bed alone, having surrendered the idea of sharing it with Yamamoto.

He gives it a full month of Yamamoto not calling before he takes the flyer off the clinic's front door. He looks it over when he does, takes a minute or maybe two to study the picture of the tiny black cat with no name and an evil personality. He thinks about Yamamoto showing up for that emergency appointment, holding it in the crook of his arm and looking worried, Yamamoto crouched at eye level and talking to it, driving a bargain, and Yamamoto after a few beers, peeling the label off the bottle and missing his cat. Then Dino sighs and drops the flyer in the recycling bin. "It probably wouldn't have worked out anyway," he says to no one in particular as he unlocks the door and flips the sign from CLOSED to OPEN.

Squalo yowls, long and expressive, but it's Xanxus who jumps down from his perch in the window, landing with a heavy thump, and who saunters over to bump his head against Dino's knee like he agrees.

Dino laughs and bends down to rub Xanxus' ears, feeling the subsonic purr that vibrates under his fingertips. "Yeah," he says, and that's that.

II. The One That Stayed

The inconveniences of moving halfway across the country are legion. Bianchi is convinced in her soul that she has experienced each and every one of them, from trying to find a new place to live in a town where no one seems to have realized that it's the twenty-first century now and a web presence is no longer goddamn optional, to wrangling with the utilities companies to make sure that the gas and electric service in her old apartment is going to get shut off when she says and the internet in the new place will get turned on as soon as possible.

And then, of course, there's the business of packing up her whole life and driving it across the country while the cat sits in the carrier in the back seat and complains at regular intervals. But complaining is a cat's business, so Bianchi lets him out at regular intervals to use his litter box and eat and turns up the music whenever he gets too obnoxious. (She would let him out to sit in the rear window, except that he has a tendency towards road rage, and she's not going to drive a thousand miles with him swearing at every jackass who doesn't have any business being behind the wheel.)

But she and Reborn survive the move, and once she unpacks everything in the new condo, Bianchi looks around and finds it good. The doors to the patio overlook the manmade lake that gives the complex its hoity-toity Lakeside Manor moniker, and the lake is home to ducks. After he finishes sulking over his ill treatment and then exploring every corner of the condo, Reborn spends hours sitting at those doors, studying the waterfowl and uttering the occasional chirrup of excitement. Bianchi laughs at him the day that the geese touch down; he refuses to budge from his lookout even when she breaks out the gooshy food for him. "They would eat you alive," she tells him, because while Reborn is a particularly handsome specimen of tuxedo cat, he is also a very compact one.

Reborn merely gives her a long, mysterious look and then goes back to his bird-watching.

Bianchi shakes her head—sometimes she'd swear he understands every word she's saying—and leaves him to it.

He comes due for his yearly shots and check-up about six months after the move. By that time Bianchi has settled in enough that she's no longer dependent on the internet to find recommendations for local services. She asks around at work instead, and one of the account managers pulls out his wallet and hands her a card. "Don't need that any more, I guess," he tells her. "But he's pretty good with cats, and is pretty nice on top of that."

Bianchi doesn't know what the hell to make of Yamamoto's smile—it's kind of weird, but then, he's kind of a weird person in general—but a solid endorsement is not to be ignored. She calls the number on the card and sets up an appointment with Dino Cavallone, DVM. When the appointed time and hour arrive, she wrestles Reborn away from his window hunting and into the carrier, and takes him off to meet his (and as it turns out, her) destiny.

Later, much later, after they've combined households and the cats have reconciled themselves to one another after a set of negotiations that ended with Reborn grooming his whiskers and Squalo and Xanxus looking confused by having been thoroughly trounced by his dainty white paws, Dino asks Bianchi how it was that she chose his particular clinic for Reborn's veterinary needs. When she tells him, he smiles a little ruefully, like there's a story behind it, and after a little pointed questioning Bianchi comes to understand some of the weirdness in Yamamoto's smile.

Well, no matter, she decides. Yamamoto may be the one who got away, but she's the one who's going to stay, and has the rings on her finger to prove it.

III. The One-Night Stand

Byakuran knows perfectly well that things are starting to go off the rails even before Dino looks across the restaurant and goes still, staring. He's looking at two guys, both of them dark-haired. One's tall and lanky and grinning. The other's fine-boned and feline and is currently prodding at the plate of maki in front of him suspiciously. They're leaning towards each other over the table, close and intimate, and the one with the smile looks like he's trying to coax the other along—must be a sushi neophyte, that one, if Byakuran's any kind of judge. After a moment of what looks like some fast talking, plus a hand draped across a wrist, all casually intimate, the sushi neophyte picks up one of the rolls and tries it out, looking doubtful the whole way through.

It's a charming enough scene, but Dino watches it like it's destroying his appetite. Byakuran gives him a little while longer to observe and move on before he decides that he won't be ignored. "See someone you know?"

Dino Cavallone is the decent sort. He tears his eyes from the spectacle in the corner (the sushi neophyte seems to be less put off by the raw fish than the rice, because he seems to be having an animated discussion of sorts as he goes about deconstructing his maki to get at the fillings) and even summons up a smile, though it doesn't quite hit his eyes. "Just a guy I know," he says, faking good cheer pretty well.

One of the guys in the corner must be either an ex or an unrequited crush, so it's basically a good thing that Byakuran already knows that this date wasn't going to go anywhere long-term. Still. He lays his napkin beside his plate and smiles across the table. "Small world, I guess." He folds his hands under his chin and stretches out his legs under the table so he can slide a foot against Dino's ankle. "I think I'm about ready to get out of here. How about you?"

After all, he's never had a problem with grudge sex.

Neither, apparently, does Dino, because his gaze doesn't even waver when he says, "Yeah, I guess I am."

People make it too complicated most of the time, generally by not recognizing what they're doing or why. Byakuran prefers to go into things with open eyes and a clear understanding of what's going to happen (and what is not). He and Dino have had an acceptable conversation over a decent meal, but neither of them has fallen in love over their plates of sushi. Only an idiot would have expected otherwise. But that doesn't mean they can't still wring a little fun out of the evening.

Dino's place is closer; Byakuran spends the drive over with one hand on the steering wheel and the other between Dino's thighs, stroking up and down his inseam and playing with the way Dino's cock presses against his fly. Dino is hissing profanity between his teeth by the time Byakuran pulls into the lot, and Byakuran is pretty sure that he's not thinking of whoever-it-was at all anymore.

That's just about where Byakuran wants him—hard and hot and just a little bit desperate. He kills the engine and they take turns slamming each other up against various flat surfaces on the way inside—first the side of the car, then the front door (external and internal), and the hallway wall—before they finally make it into bed. The grudge sex is fantastic. Dino fucks Byakuran's mouth, holding his hair with one hand and gripping his jaw with the other, just rough enough to make them both groan. Then he rakes his nails down Byakuran's back, clawing scratches over his shoulders that sting as Byakuran fucks him open. And then Dino surprises him by going for another round, one that has Byakuran on his knees, gripping the headboard while Dino slides in and out of his ass, fucking him right into the mattress.

It's that second round and the rosy prospect of a possible third that keep Byakuran in Dino's bed for a post-coital nap instead the sensible thing—the polite goodbye and promise to call soon while he gets himself gone. But he doesn't do that and goes to sleep instead, and that's where it really all goes wrong.

He wakes up because he can't breathe—literally cannot breathe. There's a weight on his chest and his eyeballs feel as though they've been coated with sand and then glued shut. His nose and sinuses are streaming, and when he finally pries his eyes open, he finds out why: there's a giant demon cat sitting on his bare chest, staring at him.

Byakuran sneezes almost on reflex, which doesn't even budge the cat. It merely continues to stare at him, its nose mere centimeters from his, eyes glowing red in the light that filters in from the streetlights outside, and its ears laid flat against its skull. Byakuran would swear before a judge that he has never seen that kind of contempt on an animal's face before now.

He sneezes again and starts to reach for the cat to shoo it away. The very instant he does, he freezes, first because the cat opens its mouth and shows off a set of impressive fangs, and second because all of a sudden Byakuran can feel four sets of pinpricks. Two sets dig into his chest, and the other two press against the tender skin low on his belly.

Dino makes a sleepy sound next to him as he sneezes three times in a row. The cat continues to stare at Byakuran the whole time, not even flicking an ear when Dino slurs out, "He bothering you? You can just move him, he's a big softy."

The demon cat doesn't look anything like a softy to Byakuran, who watches its expression turn smug as Dino flails a hand over and begins to rub one of its ears. Byakuran sneezes again, feeling the places where the monster's claws are digging into him already beginning to itch and welt up. "I didn't know you had a cat," he manages. "I'm allergic."

"Oh," Dino says, sounding much more alert and awake, "shit, lemme just—" He lifts the cat off Byakuran's chest.

After that, it's all over except for the getting dressed and driving himself home at two in the morning, sneezing and itching the whole way. At least he knew from the start that was more or less where it was going to end, Byakuran reasons as he downs an antihistamine and deletes Dino's number from his phone. Good thing it was fun while it lasted.

IV. The One Who Didn't Get Away After All (And His Plus-One)

Squalo prefers to sit in the high spots because they offer the best vantage points for conducting observations and reconnaissance. There's a clear spot on top of the dresser that he particularly likes and that their human keeps clear just for him. He can reach it with a good run-up and a single leap, which he does now, and it offers an excellent place from which to curl his tail around his paws and survey their human's bed.

It doesn't make any more sense from this angle than it does from the floor. But then, human mating behavior never does, really. They have such a broad range of things that they do together, so many ways to bend and contort themselves, most of which don't seem to serve any procreative purpose whatsoever.

And apparently humans do take more than one mate at a time after all, though this is the first time their human has done so, at least to Squalo's knowledge. He would have expected it to involve more fighting than it does, somehow.

Though maybe the fighting happened elsewhere, before this. Their human has smelled strange and stressed this past little while, his scent an uncomfortable, prickly blend of wanting and confusion and something that smells like anger but isn't, exactly. He's spent more time than usual staring at Squalo and Xanxus, too, for that matter, and a lot of time shaking his head and muttering about impossibilities on top of that.

Humans seem to have a great many things that they classify as impossible, all for no good reason that Squalo can see. Honestly. Give a species opposable thumbs and they lose all touch with reality.

Their human seems happy enough now, though. Through slitted eyes, Squalo studies the humans grappling with each other on the bed—that seems rather precarious to him, though the little feral one who's elected to trade a life for a new form seems to be finding it satisfactory enough, based on the sounds he's making now. Perhaps that's the real point of having two mates at once—taking advantage of the opportunity to penetrate and be penetrated at once instead of having to take turns or use special tools.

If that's the case, Squalo is going to have to rethink his taxonomy of human behaviors. How annoying.

Xanxus comes padding into the room while Squalo grooms his shoulder, settling the fur there in order and thinking at a furious rate. It's not that he's overlooked an important facet of human behavior; no, he's simply been careful not to theorize in advance of his data. There. That matter settled, he turns his attention to Xanxus and trills a question at him.

Xanxus merely flicks his tail, declining to join Squalo on his perch—no actual surprise there. Squalo twitches the tip of his tail in anticipation, watching Xanxus eye the shaking bed (their human and his two mates are thrashing around in earnest now, raising enough racket to hurt the ear—no, there they go, their human first, the feral one after that, and finally the other human, the three of them filling the air with the heavy, lazy scent of their mutual satisfaction). There's not much room on the bed, but Xanxus never pays any mind to such things, as is only proper.

Squalo purrs, admiring the smooth line of Xanxus' body as he leaps onto the bed and the precise landing he makes. Xanxus has no need for running starts. Evidently he approves of the other human's scent, because he chooses to land on the one corner of the mattress not currently occupied by the tangle of human bodies and merely sits there, watching the humans as they pant and groan and gasp for breath.

It's the other human who recovers first, because he's the first one to move, rolling onto his back and showing his stomach as though he wants to trap someone into trying to rub it. He nearly falls off the edge of the bed, but recovers with an admirable set of reflexes and laughs. Squalo flicks his ears at that demonstration of a lack of propriety, even though humans don't place nearly enough stock in dignity. The other human is also the first to catch sight of them—clearly the feral one has traded a lot in his movement from feline to human—and laughs again. "Your cats are staring at us."

Their own human makes a sound from beneath the feral one, muffled. "They do that."

The other human looks from Squalo to Xanxus, blinking slowly, and the next thing he says is perhaps not as startling as it could be, considering the mate he has brought with him to their human's bed. "Are we being evaluated?"

Squalo flicks the tip of his tail when Xanxus swivels an ear in his direction, gratified to be correct after all. This other human is perceptive where it counts.

"They do that," their human sighs again. He raises his head and flaps a hand at them. "C'mon, guys, a little privacy here?"

Xanxus gives that all the consideration it's due (none) and wanders up the bed, collecting a series of interesting grunts every time he puts his paws down on bare skin, and finally sits on the other human's chest. He swishes his tail back and forth while the human stares back at him until the feral one lifts his head, too.

Xanxus' purr of approval is so low that Squalo wouldn't be at all surprised if none of the humans could actually hear it. Xanxus flicks his ears again, demonstrating his satisfaction that these two will do for their human, even if he does think humans spend too much time preoccupied with mating.

The feral one just sniffs at him. "Of course you don't understand," he says. "You've been altered."

The humans make sounds that are somewhere between horror and laughter, but Squalo drowns them out with a yowl of protest.

It may be true, but there's no call for the feral one to rub it in!

V. The Ones Who've Been There All Along

In Xanxus' opinion, humans think too much and don't do enough in the way of direct action. If they just stopped dithering so much, they'd all be a lot happier and get a lot more done. Making the shift to a human life doesn't really change his opinion at all—the three of them spend a lot of time talking right after, first to persuade Dino to let them in, then to persuade him that they really do know him, then to persuade him that they're who they say they are, and then to persuade him that he's not having a psychotic break. Whatever that is. It's all very boring and pointless—either their human believes them or not—and it doesn't end until Xanxus initiates another direct action (he has had enough of their human trying to mate with people who either smell wrong or are already mated to someone else and then smelling miserable when each new attempt fails).

Squalo is the one who has made the study of human mating behaviors, but Xanxus has watched too, sometimes, and he knows how to get things started. It feels strange at first when he puts his mouth on Dino's, but it shuts him up (the goal) and also feels good (surprise bonus number one) while it stirs his blood in new and exciting ways (surprise bonus number two). Squalo immediately slides down the couch, insinuating himself closer to Dino and twining long arms around him, wanting to try too. This Xanxus finds he does like watching, Squalo all pressed up against their human, kissing him greedily while Dino grips Xanxus' shoulder and makes surprised sounds when Squalo swipes his tongue against Dino's chin. And really, Xanxus wants to try, too—he reaches for Squalo, taking hold of his nape like he would have closed his teeth on his scruff before, and kisses him while Squalo makes pleased sounds against his mouth. Squalo's mouth is different from Dino's, but no less good, and the sounds he makes send heat crawling through Xanxus.

He misses the ability to purr but settles for humming instead, and slides his arm around Dino, running his hand down Dino's back and finding the natural place to settle it, right at the small of it.

Dino's changed color when Xanxus pulls away from Squalo's mouth. He's gone red and is licking his lips. "This is a very sexy psychotic break," he says, his smile shaped strangely. But he hasn't tried to stop them or pull away, and looks back and forth between them for a moment. For a moment, everything hangs in the balance. Then he just shrugs and says, "Might as well go with it, I guess."

That's enough to be starting out with. So is the way Dino leans into the two of them and presses his mouth against the side of Xanxus' throat. It should feel like a threat or a ploy for dominance, but instead it feels good, like being scratched in just the right spot. Xanxus angles his head, inviting more of the soft-wet brush of Dino's tongue against his skin, and pulls Squalo closer so he can kiss him again.

Somebody, he doesn't know which one of them, flattens a hand against his back, which is also good but not enough. Xanxus presses against Dino, feeling too hot for the layers of his clothes, too hot for the confines of his skin, and bites at the corner of Squalo's jaw.

Squalo understands, because Squalo always understands, and starts by pulling back and dragging his shirt off over his head. Dino makes a faintly stunned sound—Xanxus doesn't know why. Squalo has always been good to look at, lithe and pale, and his human form is no different. Xanxus hums again, watching Dino turn a little to look at Squalo and touch him, spreading his fingers against Squalo's skin and stroking them over Squalo's ribs. Squalo slits his eyes and sighs; he'd be swishing his tail and purring for that right now, in his other form.

Xanxus strips off his own shirt while they're busy with that, then drags his pants and underwear off, too, because they're too tight and uncomfortable. Dino glances at him when he grunts his satisfaction at being bare again; his color darkens. "Jesus," he says, staring, but the way he says it sounds good, not bad.

"Clothes are stupid," Xanxus informs him. Squalo's already with him on this and starts working on the buttons of Dino's shirt while he's distracted.

"Not when it's below freezing out—hey!" Dino yelps when Squalo starts trying to pull the shirt off his shoulders. "Jesus, we're still in the living room!"

"Never stopped you before," Squalo points out, ignoring the way Dino is trying to bat his hands away.

"There was the one who smelled like dog," Xanxus agrees, remembering her and wrinkling his nose. "And the one who yelled a lot." He'd been particularly distasteful and had lasted entirely too long. They'd both been glad to see the last of him.

Dino opens his mouth, then stops himself, then starts again. "That's—the couch is not big enough for this," he says, finally.

"If you insist." Xanxus stands and stretches—they both make interesting sounds as they look up at him while he does that—and heads for Dino's bedroom.

"God," Dino says, which definitely sounds like a good thing and not a bad one. It makes Xanxus want to purr, though that's not really possible, when he hears the sound of the couch's springs creaking and feels the vibration of the floorboards beneath his feet as they stand and follow him, and he pauses in the doorway to look back at them.

Squalo is quick, following his lead, and is shedding his clothes as he goes, leaving a trail of clothes from the living room to the bedroom as he follows their human along. Dino is slower, looking dazed—not unwilling, precisely, but like he hasn't managed to believe that this is quite real yet.

They had said that might be a possibility.

Xanxus claims the bed and stretches out to his full length against the sheets, feeling complacent at that prospect. They're not going anywhere. They've got plenty of time to bring their human around.

The way Dino stops on the threshold of the room and stares some more seems like it's going a long way towards making that happen. Xanxus stretches again, long and lazy, and wishes briefly that he could still scent Dino properly, just to be able to savor what had surely just been a spike in his arousal, but maybe this way is better. This way he has something he can do about that, and he does. He reaches down and curls his hand around his cock—mm, that does feel good, maybe the humans are right to fuss so much about this—and watches Dino swallow hard as he pumps his hand up and down.

Squalo presses himself against Dino's back and sets his chin on Dino's shoulder, peering into the room to see what Xanxus is doing. His expression immediately brightens. "Oh, are we starting there?" he asks, already skimming his hands down their human's chest, stroking his skin, and lower to palm the place where Dino's cock is pressing against the front of his slacks. Dino's eyes glaze over when Squalo does this, and he makes a sound that twists something low in Xanxus' gut.

"Don't see why not." Xanxus moves his hand over his cock slowly, savoring the way each pass tugs pleasure along his nerves, even better than he'd expected it to be.

Dino makes a garbled noise, one that doesn't make any sense it all, and doesn't take his eyes off Xanxus even when Squalo gets his slacks open and starts working them down his hips. He's definitely hard, and he groans when Squalo takes hold of him, wrapping long fingers around his cock to stroke up and down until Dino flails out a hand and grips the doorframe.

Xanxus likes how they look together, Squalo with his arms around Dino, holding him and craning his head over Dino's shoulder to watch his hand moving over Dino's cock, likes the way Dino leans back against Squalo, expression going unfocused as he groans and the color spreads down his throat and over his chest. Squalo makes pleased sounds and nuzzles against Dino's throat; Xanxus can see the pink of his tongue when he flicks it against Dino's skin, and that's when Dino comes, arching against Squalo and crying out as his hips jerk against Squalo's fist.

Xanxus has to take his hand off his cock while he watches that, because just the sight of it—Dino arching and then relaxing against Squalo, making those sounds for him—makes sensation spike through him, almost enough to overwhelm him. He feels another of those spikes when Squalo lifts his fingers to his mouth and grooms them clean again, and at the sound Dino makes, hoarse and shocked.

"Come here," Xanxus commands them, tired of waiting, and they do. Dino stumbles like he's had too much of the stuff he drinks sometimes—alcohol, that stuff—and is hindered by the way Squalo tries to finish undressing him as they go.

Dino falls into bed, bouncing against the mattress and jostling Xanxus, and makes a sound like laughter when Xanxus immediately pulls him closer. "Jesus," he says. "Maybe sanity is overrated anyway."

Xanxus snorts—it feels like the right response, the equivalent to flicking his ears in disdain—and kisses Dino again just to keep him from saying any more stupid things. It's better without clothes. Dino's skin is warm against his, and when the mattress dips even further under Squalo's weight and Squalo reaches over to run a hand over his shoulder and ribs and hip, it gets even better.

Dino goes along with it, kissing back with an open mouth that Xanxus explores, and he groans when their bodies slide closer together, nudging his cock against Xanxus'. It feels like he's even starting to get hard again, which Xanxus takes as a sign that they're doing this right. He makes another sound, like a gasp, when Xanxus takes hold of his ass and pulls Dino tight against him, grinding up against him in response to the heat pooling in his veins. He rocks against Dino, short and fast, panting for breath as instinct takes over for him, moving his hips for him until pleasure overwhelms him, raking through him and shocking him with how much it is as it sweeps all his awareness away and leaves him groaning.

"God," Dino is saying when Xanxus' head begins to clear again. "Oh my God."

Humans are so remarkably free with the names of their gods.

Squalo is making quiet, hungry sounds behind Dino's shoulder, his eyes gleaming. "Yeah?" he asks, throaty as a purr.

"Yeah," Xanxus agrees. He raises himself up, feeling surprisingly shaky, and leans across Dino so he can kiss Squalo again. Dino makes a breathless sound beneath him, and the bed shakes as Squalo moves restlessly, rubbing himself against Dino's ass and groaning his hunger into Xanxus' mouth, at least until Xanxus reaches down for him. The angle is all wrong and too clumsy, but Squalo's cock is hot and smooth in his hand, and it doesn't stop him from groaning again or moving, rocking into Xanxus' fingers until he shudders and comes.

That's messy, messier than Xanxus really likes, but Squalo makes good noises, muffled as they are against Dino's shoulder, so Xanxus just shrugs and grooms his fingers clean, slitting his eyes thoughtfully over the flat, salt taste of it. Dino makes another garbled sound. "That's way hotter than it should be," he says when Xanxus glances at him, curious.

Whatever that means. Xanxus shrugs it aside and stretches himself out again, feeling as pleasantly relaxed as he ever has when lounging in a good sunbeam, and kisses Dino again while Squalo catches his breath. "That was good," he says when Squalo finally stirs again. "What should we do next?"

"Next?" Dino echoes, like he doesn't quite believe what he's hearing.

Xanxus ignores that—he can feel and see that Dino's already hard again—while Squalo lifts his head and grins. "I've got a whole list," he says, gleeful at the prospect. "But we can probably only get through part of it tonight." He wrinkles his nose. "Humans only seem to be good for a couple of rounds at a time. Three at the most, but I think he's only ever managed that a couple of times."

"That's all right," Xanxus says while Dino sputters. "We're not going anywhere."

Dino goes still and quiet between them. When Xanxus checks on him, his eyes are wide. Wondering a little, as though he's started to believe this might be real. Or hope for it, at least.

So that's good.

"Right," Squalo says, decisive. "I wanna try mouths next, that always seems to go over well." And as he begins to prowl down the bed, all full of purpose, their human begins to laugh.

Xanxus smiles, pleased, and pulls him close. Yeah. This is going to work out just fine.

end

And that wraps up the catverse, I think. As always, comments are lots of fun!