Work Text:
Petey slouched deeper into the couch cushions, a science fiction novel propped open against his knees. The words blurred together on the page – something about interstellar travel and improbable physics – as his mind drifted toward the mundane reality of a Tuesday with nothing to do. He'd already reorganized his lab (twice), alphabetized his collection of old villainous manifestos, and even dusted the bookshelves, all before noon. The clock on the wall ticked with maddening precision, each second stretching like taffy in the quiet of their living room.
"Ugh," Petey groaned, flipping the book over to examine its cover. The book was rather interesting, but there was only so much heartbreak the main character could endure until Petey had to take a break from it. He tossed the novel aside, where it landed with a soft thump against the arm of the couch. Days off were supposed to be refreshing, not soul-crushingly boring.
The front door clicked open, bringing with it a gust of autumn air and the familiar jingle of keys. Dogman – or Greg, as Petey had grown accustomed to calling him in private – stepped inside, his gray shirt and black sweatpants slightly rumpled but his phantom tail wagging contentedly.
Petey straightened, ears perking up at the sight of his... what was Greg to him now? Partner? Boyfriend? Co-parent to Li'l Petey? All terms felt simultaneously too formal and not formal enough for what they'd become to each other over the past few months.
Greg's hands moved in the fluid motions of ASL that Petey had worked hard to learn. “Li'l Petey is at school. He has art class today. Very excited.”
"Did he remember his lunch? Last time he 'forgot' it was because he wanted to trade with that tadpole friend of his." Petey made air quotes around "forgot," his whiskers twitching with amused suspicion.
Greg nodded, his dog-head tilting slightly in that way that always made Petey's heart do a little flip. “Made him show me before we left. No trading today.”
"Good." Petey swung his legs off the couch and stretched, his back arching in a decidedly feline manner. "So, what should we do with our day off? I can't just sit around reading all day." He gestured dismissively at the abandoned sci-fi novel. "My brain will calcify."
Greg's paws paused in mid-air, head cocked to one side in confusion. “Day off?”
"Yes, Gregory, a day off. That thing normal people have when they're not fighting crime or plotting to take over the world." Petey's tone was dry, but his eyes sparkled with affection. "I've reformed, you're not scheduled for patrol, and Li'l Petey is safely ensconced in the educational system until three o'clock. We have approximately—" he checked the clock, "—seven hours and twenty-two minutes of freedom."
Greg's phantom tail began to wag more vigorously as understanding dawned. He seemed to consider the question seriously, his paws moving through several false starts before finally signing, “Could teach you self-defense.”
"Self-defense?" Petey raised an eyebrow. "I've been a super-villain. I think I know how to handle myself in a fight."
Greg shook his head. “Different. Not attacking. Protecting.” His hands paused, and something vulnerable flickered across his canine features. “Worry about you sometimes. If someone tries to hurt you.”
The admission hung in the air between them, weighty and unexpected. Petey felt a warmth bloom in his chest, spreading outward until even his fingertips tingled with it. Greg worried about him. Stupid feelings.
"I..." Petey cleared his throat, fighting back the emotion threatening to crack his voice. "Fine. Teach me your tricks. But don't expect me to go easy on you."
Greg's whole body seemed to light up with enthusiasm. He immediately moved to the center of the living room and began pushing the coffee table toward the wall, creating a clear space in the middle of the room.
"What, right now?" Petey asked, though he was already getting to his feet.
Greg nodded, then pointed at the couch. “Help move?”
Together they pushed the furniture against the walls, creating an impromptu training area on the faded area rug that had seen better days before either of them had moved in together. Petey watched as Greg rolled his shoulders and stretched his arms, preparing for their lesson with the same seriousness he brought to his police work.
"I'm starting to think you just wanted an excuse to throw me around the living room," Petey commented, trying to mask his sudden nervousness with sarcasm.
Greg's eyes crinkled at the corners – his version of a smile – and he signed, “Ready?”
"As I'll ever be," Petey muttered, standing awkwardly in the center of the room. "What's first, Sensei?"
Greg positioned himself in front of Petey, close enough that Petey could smell the faint scent of the station's coffee that always seemed to cling to him. Slowly, deliberately, Greg demonstrated a simple escape move, showing how to break free if someone grabbed your wrist. His movements were precise and controlled, a stark contrast to his usual boundless energy.
“Now you try,” Greg signed after walking Petey through the motion a few times.
Petey nodded, offering his wrist for Greg to grasp. The warm pressure of Greg's hand around his wrist sent an unexpected shiver up his arm. Focus, he told himself sternly. This is serious business.
When Greg tightened his grip, Petey executed the twist and pull movement exactly as demonstrated, breaking free with surprising ease.
“Good!” Greg smiled approvingly. “Natural talent.”
"Of course," Petey preened, unable to help himself. "I've always been exceptionally coordinated."
Greg rolled his eyes good-naturedly and moved on to the next technique – how to escape if someone grabbed you from behind. This required more contact, with Greg standing close behind Petey, arms wrapped around his midsection in a hold that, under different circumstances, might have been considered a hug.
"This is getting cozy," Petey commented, trying to ignore how his pulse quickened at the proximity.
Greg huffed a soft sound that might have been laughter, his breath warm against the back of Petey's neck. He demonstrated the escape – a sharp elbow movement combined with a twist and duck – then released Petey to try it himself.
To Petey's satisfaction, he executed this move perfectly as well. And the next one. And the one after that. Each new technique Greg introduced, Petey absorbed and replicated with uncanny precision. Years of villainous acrobatics had given him a body awareness that translated well to self-defense.
“You're a quick study,” Greg signed, looking both impressed and perhaps a little disappointed that the lesson was progressing so rapidly.
"What can I say? I'm a cat of many talents." Petey stretched his arms above his head, feeling a new confidence in his movements. "What's next?"
Greg's expression turned more serious. “Put it all together. Real situation.”
"You mean sparring?" Petey asked, a flutter of anticipation in his stomach.
Greg nodded. “I'll attack, you defend. Don't know which way. Have to react.”
"Bring it on, Dog Breath," Petey said, settling into a ready stance that he hoped looked more confident than he felt.
Greg circled him slowly, his movements suddenly predatory in a way that made Petey acutely aware of the difference in their physical strength. For all his agility, Petey couldn't match the raw power in Greg's muscular frame. The realization was both intimidating and... something else Petey wasn't ready to examine too closely.
Without warning, Greg lunged, grabbing for Petey's arm. Petey reacted instinctively, twisting as he'd been taught, but something went wrong mid-movement. He hesitated a fraction of a second too long, and instead of breaking free, he found himself off-balance.
Greg capitalized immediately, sweeping Petey's legs from under him with a controlled movement that sent them both to the floor – Greg on top, pinning Petey with his weight. Their faces were inches apart, Greg's hands holding Petey's wrists against the carpet.
"That wasn't fair," Petey sputtered, very aware of every point of contact between their bodies. "I wasn't ready."
Greg's eyes held a gentle challenge. “Bad guys don't play fair.” He got off Petey and helped him to his feet, his hand lingering perhaps a moment longer than necessary against Petey's.
Petey brushed imaginary dust from his fur, trying to collect himself. The momentary defeat stung his pride, but more distracting was the memory of Greg's weight pressing him into the carpet, the closeness, the strange thrill of being temporarily overpowered.
An idea formed in Petey's mind – devious, perhaps, but when had he ever claimed to be completely reformed?
"Let's go again," he said, eyes narrowing with new determination.
Greg nodded, resuming his circling stance. This time, he attacked from behind, wrapping his arms around Petey's chest. Petey began the escape movement correctly, but at the last moment, he deliberately fumbled the execution, allowing himself to be taken down to the floor once more.
"Darn it," he muttered, feigning frustration as Greg helped him up. "One more time."
They reset, and on the third attempt, Petey again engineered his own failure, this time letting out a convincingly surprised yelp as Greg pinned him against the wall instead of the floor.
Greg released him, looking concerned. “You were doing better before. Getting tired?”
"No, no," Petey assured him quickly. "Just... taking time to process. Let's keep going."
Each subsequent attempt followed the same pattern – Petey would execute the beginning of the defense perfectly, then deliberately sabotage himself at the crucial moment, resulting in Greg restraining him in increasingly varied ways. The wall, the floor, against the back of the repositioned couch – each "failure" giving Petey another excuse to feel the secure pressure of Greg's body against his own.
By the sixth attempt, Greg was looking genuinely worried. “Maybe we should take a break,” he signed after helping Petey up yet again.
"No!" Petey said, too quickly. "I mean, I've almost got it. I can feel it. One more try?"
Greg hesitated, then nodded, though his expression remained uncertain. He moved into position, and this time when he lunged, Petey was ready – not to fail, but to succeed spectacularly.
With a fluid grace that belied his previous "struggles," Petey executed a perfect counter to Greg's attack, twisting out of the grab and using Greg's momentum against him. Before either of them could process what was happening, their positions were reversed – Greg flat on his back on the carpet, with Petey straddling his chest, paws pinning Greg's wrists in perfect mimicry of how he'd been held earlier.
Greg's eyes widened in shock, his body going completely still beneath Petey's.
"Gotcha," Petey said softly, a triumphant smile spreading across his face.
Understanding dawned in Greg's eyes, followed by a flush of color that spread visibly beneath his fur. “You were faking,” he signed after Petey released his wrists.
"Maybe," Petey admitted, making no move to get off Greg's chest. "Or maybe I'm just a really fast learner."
Greg's body shook with silent laughter, his eyes accusatory. “Sneaky cat.”
"You have no idea," Petey murmured, and before he could overthink it, he leaned down and pressed his lips to Greg's in a kiss that started gentle but quickly deepened with all the tension they'd been building throughout their ‘lesson.’
Greg's hands came up to Petey's back, holding him close as the kiss extended, neither willing to be the first to break away. When they finally separated, both were breathing harder than any of their sparring had caused.
Petey looked down at Greg's flustered expression with undisguised satisfaction. "Well," he said, climbing off Greg with deliberate slowness, "I think that concludes today's lesson, don't you? I should probably start lunch." He stretched languidly, fully aware of Greg's eyes following his every movement. "Can't have Li'l Petey coming home to find us... neglecting our parental duties."
He sauntered toward the kitchen, leaving Greg still sprawled on the living room floor, fur ruffled and expression dazed. Petey allowed himself a private smile as he opened the refrigerator. Days off, it turned out, had their merits after all.