We’re MileApo Universe Month (MAUmonth): an event for creators to share their love for MileApo + their characters!
For the entire month of November, there will be prompts every couple of days to inspire you! Check out our Twitter/X as well so you can keep an eye out for news!
for @mau-month day 13 - love languages (quality time)
summary:
Chat’s eyes always shine a certain way with the flames so near, glittering with… something Khem can’t quite place. He doesn’t know if there’s a word in their language to describe the way Chat looks at him like he does.
He hopes he finds one.
chatkhem / rated T, 500 words / ao3
Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day.
Long after the dusk has faded, warm reds and purples blending indiscriminately into lonely shades of black; long after the crowd dissipates, the remaining guests now subdued – haze and smoke making them lazy; long after the taphon’s beat had echoed in his ears, synchronizing with the rhythm of his heart, blood rushing, alive.
Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day because he gets to see Chat.
He sees him all the time, but not like he does at night – tucked away and hidden, no one but the two of them, in Khem’s room.
They spend their time talking, laughing, teasing, and bantering with each other over the soft lantern light; Chat’s eyes always shine a certain way with the flames so near, glittering with… something Khem can’t quite place. He doesn’t know if there’s a word in their language to describe the way Chat looks at him like he does.
He hopes he finds one.
Sometimes, the conversation lulls and comfortable silence settles between them: Khem beside Chat, legs spread just enough so their knees can touch, feeling skin through silky linen. Khem’s face still heats at the anticipation that builds – no matter how many nights they’ve spent together like this, how many times he’s had Chat’s lips, and tongue, and teeth – his cheeks still warm, his heart still pounds, and that swelling feeling in his gut still rises, swooning when Chat finally, finally, places a hand on his inner thigh, thumb rubbing soothing circles into it.
Khem shivers and tenses, feeling his breath quicken when he notices him staring – and it’s different this time: his eyes are bottomless, empty, hungry, and he wonders if Chat can read the wanton expression on his own face. He’s sure he looks somewhat like the patrons of Man Suang: dreamy and debauched – face tilted up with eyes only just slit open; if this is the feeling people chase here, Khem can understand why. His entire body tingles from Chat’s gentle touches, wandering hands making his skin vibrate beneath his clothes.
He prays the feeling will never end.
Afterward, when the moon begins to wane in the night sky, still glooming bright with the twinkling stars, they lie together on the futon in a heap of tangled limbs. They talk again, slow, purposeless words with drooping eyelids, Khem’s face buried in the safety of Chat’s neck, feeling him trace aimless patterns, love letters, Chat had teased once, into his shoulder.
They prolong the time as much as they can, dozing on and off in each other’s company until the morning birds wake them at dawn, shattering the illusion they had built in the privacy of Khem’s quarters. Any moment now, the rest of the den will rise, and Chat and Khem will return back to how they usually are – longing glances and secret smiles – until the night comes for them once again.
Nighttime is Khem’s favorite time of day because he gets to see Chat.
for @mau-month day 12 - kink: pet play 😺, foot stuff
summary:
“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead.
Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing.
Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.”
“‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.
kinnporsche / rated E, 1.9k words
Porsche feels winded partially lying on his back, propped up on his elbows and legs splayed wide so Kinn can fit himself in between them as he comes up to the edge of the bed. He feels petty, spiteful, full of humiliation from wearing a damned collar and fluffy cat ears, and before he can stop himself from acting out, he kicks his leg out and Kinn comes to a sudden stop, Porsche’s foot planted squarely on his chest.
Kinn’s eyebrows raise, clearly not expecting Porsche to misbehave, sure of the fact that he’d already broken him down and bullied the fight out of him. Porsche is anything but a quitter, though. He feels ridiculous, dolled up and - he can’t even say it in his head, can’t even fathom the words Kinn has been feeding directly into his ears, the way his fingers have left imprints of their reverence and want in his skin so much that it feels like he’s burning from the inside out with the knowledge.
“Do you think this will stop me?” Kinn asks, grabbing a hold of his ankle. The grip is tight, unforgiving, and cruel.
Porsche wants to bare his teeth in defiance, but he holds back, not wanting to add any more fuel to the fire when it comes to feline characteristics, so he just clenches his jaw instead. It aches, his teeth feeling like they’re shifting in their places with the pressure on them. It stops him from hurling choice words at Kinn for now, at least, or voicing just how much he’s enjoying this despite how much he hates it.
The silence stretches on, Porsche not willing to give up for a second, and Kinn waiting for him to move his foot on his own accord. Porsche knows Kinn would immediately let go if he felt him retreating, but he doesn’t, so the fingers around his ankle get even tighter, digging in until he completes a circle around it. He feels his pulse thump in his foot, his circulation restricted.
They’re at a stalemate, standing off as they stare at each other with calculating eyes, waiting for the other to make the first move. Porsche feels stuck, undecided on if he’s ready to completely give into this new thing they have, or hit the brakes for a bit. He wishes his brain would shut off already, but he can see the ridiculous white frilly socks he’s got on, the colour contrasting with the dark shirt Kinn is wearing from where it’s still planted on his chest, and he feels like he can’t let go just yet.
He hates how he doesn’t hate it. He hates how all he wants is to sink into the feeling and indulge in the way Kinn wants him, even looking like this. The bell on his collar jingles as he shifts, pressing his foot more into Kinn’s chest, the sound of it breaking the thick tension between them. The pink paw pads printed on the bottom of his socks crinkle with the movement, and that sound alone is almost enough to get his hackles up again. Porsche holds his breath, keeping those roiling emotions at bay, realising that Kinn is waiting patiently for him to decide, giving him the time and space to do so.
Something in his chest finally cracks, his bottom lip trembling with splitting his desire open so clearly, and he breathes out. The tinkling of the bell this time is hypnotising as he moves again, but this time it’s to curl his toes, catching on the fabric of Kinn’s shirt.
It’s permission, and Porsche sees the second when Kinn realises it. His expression softens, settling into something more relaxed rather than on edge, and Kinn moves his foot for him. But instead of pushing it away like he assumed, he pulls it higher and higher, until the tips of his toes brush against his lips, and then even higher still. Porsche’s heart jackrabbits in his chest, his breaths getting shorter as it feels like the collar around his neck is constricting his airflow until he’s barely breathing at all when Kinn’s tongue flicks out at his heel, the feeling of it over the thin cotton of his socks makes his whole leg jerk and his stomach bottom out.
“Kinn!” Porsche gasps, unable to hold back any longer. He squirms at the tickling sensation - it’s not like anything he’s felt before, like an itch he can’t scratch, and it’s as if it’s connected directly to his cock as it twitches within the confines of his panties while waves of heat wash over him.
Kinn hums against his skin, the vibrations rippling down his leg and reverbing around his body. Porsche can’t look away, not even to blink, even though his eyes are watering from pleasure.
He worries that he might kick Kinn in the face, but he’s holding onto his ankle so tightly that it doesn’t budge in the end. Once again, Porsche has no power, forced to just lie down and let Kinn do whatever he wants. Each lick and nip Kinn leaves on the sole of his foot as he works his way up makes his calf muscles jump, the place behind his navel tugs dangerously, and his hips twitch. It’s not just his body he can’t control now, it’s his voice: whimpers and mewls spill from his lips, his eyelashes fluttering with each sound.
Kinn grazes his bottom teeth across the arch of his foot, the drag of the sock and his hot breath makes his spine curve upwards, his mouth dropping open so wide, a moan caught in his throat. It’s the wrong move - it shifts the butt plug inside him, forcing it to press down harder on his prostate.
His whole body jolts as if shocked by electricity, throwing his head back as his arms finally give out from holding him up as he collapses onto the bed. Porsche’s brain fizzes out, his skin buzzing with static as he loses himself in angling his hips down to nudge the plug inside him as Kinn continues working, clutching at the bedsheets just for something to hold onto. He knows he can’t touch himself, even though he’s desperate to get a hand around his cock or even palm over it just to feel the scratch of the lace over his length. But he also knows that if he did, Kinn would stop – pulling away and leaving him there with nothing but the disappointed set of his mouth. That scares him more than anything, so he hangs onto the sheets like a lifeline and rides each wave and pulse of arousal that shoots through him.
Porsche can’t help it when his toes begin to curl, hooking over Kinn’s bottom teeth, his mouth open and trying to get enough air in that saliva begins to slide out the sides of his lips, pooling in his hairline and making it feel even stickier than it already was with sweat. He can’t tell if it’s too much - if the way Kinn’s hand around his ankle is too tight, too hot, too heavy, or if it’s the only thing keeping him anchored down to earth.
Mournful noises begin to filter out, dazed and caught between wanting too many things while not getting enough at the same time, but still, Kinn doesn’t stop; if anything he just doubles down – tongue pushing in between his toes as his lips close around the tops of them to suck. The material of the sock is so thin already, and with the added saliva, it’s practically translucent. Porsche’s panties aren’t any better off, ruined and stained, coated in his own pre-come and copious amounts of lube that soaked through the heart-shaped cut out in the back.
Kinn bites as if sensing that Porsche is hanging on by a thread, and he groans in pain. He should find it gross - he’s worn these socks in the bathroom, and then across the plush carpet of their bedroom, but Kinn’s eyes are hooded and impossibly glassy as they stay zeroed in on his face. Each pass of his tongue and graze of teeth tickles, sending thrills through him. It feels like it’s something dirty, something that feels against the rules to like so much, but he does, and that fills him with even more excitement - the type that floods him with shame, prickles at his cheeks and makes more beads of pre-come gather at the tip of his cock.
The sound of when Kinn pulls away from his mouth away from his foot is filthy, and along with his lips swollen and red, thin threads of spit still join them, keeping them connected even with the distance. Porsche has to bite down on his bottom lip so hard that it feels like it’s bleeding to stop himself from coming on the spot. Kinn’s eyes are blown out, his chest heaving just as much as Porsche’s is, his hair mussed and ruined beyond saving, worn and frayed around the edges as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing as his eyes rake over Porsche still splayed out on the bed.
“You don’t like your paws being touched?” Kinn asks, his voice thick and deep. It sends shivers through Porsche, a warmth settling in the pit of his stomach. Kinn watches him, contemplating, and brings his other hand up to curve around his heel, the one holding his ankle moving to pinch his toe instead.
Porsche makes a sad, wounded noise, overwrought and sensitive from the teasing.
Kinn hums, “I guess they are quite a sensitive part of cats.”
“‘m not a cat,” Porsche slurs, his tongue too heavy for his mouth.
Kinn raises an eyebrow at him, his eyes drawn down to the tail that’s draping limply over the edge of the mattress, catching on his ruined panties as he moves them back up to the pastel pink collar fitted snugly around his neck, and then to the pair of ears on top of his head before he finally meets Porsche’s gaze again.
Porsche feels a whole new wave of humiliation redden his cheeks and heighten his temperature at Kinn’s stare, knowing exactly how much his words contradict his appearance. He wants to hide, bury under the covers and call off this whole thing, but -
“You’re so pretty, Porsche,” Kinn’s earlier words echo in his head, his ears ringing. He’d seen Kinn look at him with a multitude of emotions, but the one he had on his face when Porsche first stepped out of the bathroom after getting changed was unlike anything before. He feels that rush again just remembering it: that high, the way he can feel himself preening, wanting to show off and let Kinn experience how lucky he is, how good he has it with Porsche, that the endless depth of desperation comes roaring back to life in him.
Kinn takes his silence as continued resilience, his eyes narrowing down at Porsche and pinning him to the bed with that alone. His muscles seize up, joints locking as his breath catches in his throat with the intensity of it.
“A pity,” Kinn says simply, his voice terrifyingly neutral as he drops Porsche’s leg, letting it fall back down onto the bed as if he’s discarding him, “I was looking forward to you hearing you meow again.”
Porsche has nothing to lose anymore, nothing at all, and if doing that one small thing is what it takes, he’ll do it.
“Meow,” The sound is off-pitch, cracking in the middle, his mouth drier than ever, his head feeling like scribbles on a piece of paper.
---------
if enough people like this, i'll write a whole fic for it! ^^ but for now it's just this scene hehe. lmk what you think on here, or on twitter! 🥰
With November approaching, our carrd’s a one-stop shop for MAU Month’s rules and regulations, and other important information! Feel free to send us an ask here or on retrospring if you have any further questions.
