It's gone.

All of it. It's fucking gone.

The photo of me with the director after that one bust? Gone. The picture of all my guys from my time in the Corps? Gone. The plaque for five years at the Agency... gone. I think I can see the corner of it in one of the boxes they've hastily stuffed full of my entire life here.

"Hey."

My eyes drag over to Dean, and a surge of anger flares within me. I know, he doesn't want this any more than I do. But... Christ, I've given so much. I've done good damn work here, and...

"Hey," he repeats, in a voice like smoke and sand. "Look, I wish it didn't come down to this, but you know how it is..."

I do, but that doesn't dull the pain of it. Ever since they made pot legal in the twenties - and hell, good on 'em for that, even - it'd been an exciting run. Cartels and tweakers, biker gangs and bathtub crank. No one used to want to be a DEA agent, but for a while, it had felt good.

And then Genetech had finally gone and come up with something in their stoned glory.

Fuckin' catgirls.

"Hey."

I'm starting to get sick of that word. Sure, people would rather have a cuddly, loyal little companion than a hit of rock. My job had gotten easier, before it'd gone away, and now what am I supposed to do?

"Lockwood." My boss - ex-boss - again, and I can hear the ringing of a bell. Tolling out my time at the agency, I guess.

"Look, you've been a good agent, and done good work, and Mary still remembers that time you saved her life in that business up North of here. We... I know it doesn't make it any better, but we got you a parting gift."

And there you are. Christ, they even found you a DEA T-shirt, not that it helps much. Big, brown eyes and hair done up in a braid, your tail fluffing itself lazily in the air as you peek out from behind a chair. Ears twitching in the breeze from the fan, a happy smile when you see me... A figure to die for, all plush in the right places, and even though that shirt has to be a small, it's looking strained, and...

"Is this how you repay me for all I've done, Dean?" I snap, my gaze hard and dark. "I give you everything, and you give me a fuckpet?"

Oh.

Oh, no. Don't cry. Shit, I'm mad at him. I...

"Don't cry," I blurt out, feeling more foolish by the second. Of course they'd not need me; no one would want to be bad if they had you, and I could go back to art, and maybe you could curl up on my lap and I could... You're cute, and sexy, and when you look at me with eyes beginning to gloss over...

Dean's grinning now, and the air goes out of me in a whoosh.

"Yeah," I sigh, barely noticing the door close behind him before I'm patting my lap encouragingly. It worked. Goddammit, it worked.

"C'mere, girl."

Open to all, with a focus on a story that's cuddly and happily sexy.

Kinks: Good girls, happy sex, cuddles, happy oral sex, happy anal sex, cute collars, and curling up in bed eating ice cream together because that's totally what one should do with cats sometimes.

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