musicalluna | 023 Cat - One Hundred Reasons

Title: 023 Cat - One Hundred Reasons
Fandom: Psych
Author: MusicalLuna
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Lassiter/Polly
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Complete: Yes
Summary: One of my responses for my 100 themes collection revolving around Lassiter and Polly.
A/N: GAH! I GIVE UP! I SUBMIT MOTHER NATURE, YOU WIN! I'M MOVING ON! I CAN'T #^$&@! TAKE IT ANY MORE!
Disclaimer: I don't own Psych or it's characters.

"Let’s get a cat, Carlton," Polly says quietly one evening, her ear against his chest as they sit watching television in the living room.

His face contorts into an expression of disgust. "Why on earth would we want to get a cat?"

She smacks his chest lightly and cranes her neck back to look up at his chin. "Cats are perfectly wonderful pets, Carlton!"

"Yeah," he agrees, "until they vomit in your shoes and shred your favorite pants and shed all over your favorite chair."

"You don’t have a favorite chair," she reminds him, smirking.

"That’s not the point," he grumbles. On the screen, a chef does something obscene, but oddly appealing-looking to a chicken breast.

"You can help pick the kitten out," Polly tells him, as though this is somehow supposed to placate him.

"Now it’s a kitten?" he says incredulously. A little thrill of smug satisfaction passes through him when she wrinkles her nose.

"I suppose we could adopt a grown cat, if you like."

She sounds so disgruntled, he has to laugh.

They’re quiet for a moment, watching as the chef dices a tomato in mere moments.

"We’re getting a cat, one way or another, aren’t we?" he says and sighs.

She smiles and snuggles up closer to him. "I love you."

He growls and draws her over his chest, throwing her into fits of giggles.

"Carlton, no!" she cries, flailing around and generally making the process more difficult, but more enjoyable. "I have to see what he does with the tomatoes and mozzarella!"

"It’s feta," he informs her, "not mozzarella," and she grins, looking up at him through her eyelashes. This only makes him scowl.

Then she kisses him, despite his attempts to avoid her mouth and the playful embrace becomes something more. They stretch out languidly on the couch, their legs tangling together. Polly is soft and pliant and manipulating him like a willing perp, but really, he could care the hell less.

"You’re evil, that’s what you are," he says when she finally pulls away, leaving him a little breathless. Polly smiles and gently strokes the hair behind his ear.

Two weeks later they’re sitting in the same place at the same time watching the same show, but now curled up in his lap is a dark gray kitten, no bigger than the hand Polly sits stroking its tiny spine with.