Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: Midnight, Texas
Character/Pairing: Bobo/Fiji, Mister Snuggly
Challenge/Prompt: 1_million_words Monday Flash Challenge: Dance Like There's No One Watching and prompt_in_a_box: Dance
Word Count: 894
Date Written: 3 June 2018
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to their rightful owners, not the author, and are used without permission.
The earth was hot, hard, and thirsty. It had sorely needed the rain that was now gently pounding all along its surface for weeks. Flowers opened their buds, and trees and grass alike reached up, seeking more of the Gods’ given, natural refresher. Fiji watched the rain pour down from inside her small home, shifting her weight uncertainly from one foot to the other and back again.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” her familiar spoke behind her, washing a ginger paw. His tail gently tapped his catbed. “It’s a good way to get sick,” he added, sniffing disdainfully, “nothing more.”
“You used to love to play in the rain when you were a kitten!” Fiji reminded him, turning her doorknob and cracking her door open just a bit. The downpour beat a gentle rhythm, calling to her soul.
“You never knew me when I was a kitten,” he reminded her, his tail lashing out and striking empty air. “But I’m not a kitten, any more, any way, am I? And you’re not -- “
His words of sage advice were lost on his human, however, as Fiji streaked out into the rain.
The ginger cat’s tail struck his bed again. “Silly girl! Don’t come sniffling to me when you get sick!” But she was gone, and she wouldn’t have listened to him any way.
Outside, in her little, front yard whose garden she tended so carefully every day, Fiji was beginning to spin. Mud squished between her bare toes, but she paid it no heed. She tossed her head back and let the rain pour down onto her, flushing pass her heated skin to refresh her very soul.
Across the street, Bobo was lost in his brooding thoughts. He barely even heard the rain for the voices from his past echoing inside his mind. Every person with whom he’d grown up, just about every damn member of his family, had told him he was a traitor. He was a traitor to his kind, to his family, to his nation, and yet -- He didn’t feel like a traitor. He felt better than he had in years, and he had his best friend to thank for it all.
He glanced across the street at Fiji’s and froze in surpirse as he saw her spinning in the rain, dancing as though no one was watching. In the small town of Midnight, Texas, there was always somebody watching, but they took care of their own here. He had many good friends in this small town, and they watched over each other and protected one another far better than his own family ever had. He didn’t feel like a traitor at all; he felt, instead, like he was finally being loved and accepted for himself.
And he felt a burning need beginning deep inside his loins as he watched Fiji. It didn’t matter that her skin was darker than his. He didn’t see the color of her skin as he watched her spin and laugh. He saw only a beautiful woman, delighting in something as simple as a much-needed Spring shower. He saw his best friend, a woman whose bravery and determination had saved his life not once now but twice. He saw the woman with whom he was quickly falling in love and who, he suspected, had loved him for far longer than he deserved, not that he deserved even one day with her kindness and grace.
Bobo was walking before he realized it. His jean-clad legs quickly ate up the distance between their homes. He swung Fiji’s gate soundlessly open and continued up the pathway to her. She was spinning now in a delightful array of colors, her peasant skirt swirling around her slim, beautiful frame. He boldly, instinctively caught at the sides of her colorful skirt and pulled her close to him in the pouring rain.
She looked up at him in surprise. “What?” he asked. “Can’t two best friends dance together?”
“They can,” she answered with a smile, “especially when they’re more than friends.” She leaned up, closing the distance between them, and pressed her lips to his. What had surprised her were his hands grabbing at her peasant skirt, and after a long, sweet, and passionate kiss in the pouring rain, she found herself murmuring aloud, “Olivia said men don’t like my skirts.”
“Really?” Bobo asked in surprise. “Let me show you how wrong she was.” And how wrong they were, he thought to himself. He was not a traitor. He was a man in love and who was finally, finally being loved back in full. He showed his best friend every bit of the growing love he had for her as he caressed her smooth, satiny skin through the thin layer of her skirt and drew its swirling sides closer around his muscular legs.
Soon, they were but one entity dancing in the rain together in perfect sync and letting not just Midnight but the world see how much they loved one another. He was not a traitor at all, Bobo thought again as he let himself sink into and be surrounded by the feelings Fiji evoked inside of him; he was a man who’d finally come home, a man who’d finally stopped lying to himself, a man who was and would remain right where he belonged there with her.