My Style fluff and short stories

Familiar

The door to a tall towering room burst open making books tremble, falling to their knees on the cold wood floor. A hooded character stood at the rounded door frame arm spread wide hand clenched onto the circular knob. The ghostly moonlight casting a dark shadow, piercing the back of the long frame. The hooded figure limped forward, falling and tripping on itself and the knelt down books.

"Kyle!" They cried, holding themselves upon a desk bombarded with clusters of pages and journals, potions and some sort of warted toe. "Kyle!" They called once more, pulling down the thin but long protruding headpiece. A rounded though firm masculine face was revealed with a cherry tipped nose, thick arched eyebrows, eyes as round as buckeyes but blue like the night sky outdoors, as well as many bloody gashes along his curved pale whitened cheeks.

"Please, I beg of you!" The warlock groaned clenching onto the thick oak beside himself. A 'hunf' was heard beside him and a head turn away there stood a thin, lean, ginger tabby. With big walnut eyes stabbed in the middle with skin-cuttingly sharp slit pupils. The cat kept it's elegant stride all the way to his partner, holding a small bag of earthy green mostly smashed powder.

The cat nuzzled the hand of the warlock while simultaneously dropping the transparent plastic bag labeled something in dark pen, though couldn't be read in only the moonlight.

The warlock pet his cat but hissed in pain, as the feline's fur kissed a cut in his arm dug deep beneath just his skin. Kyle pushed the bag further down the table, and the black haired warlock thankfully took it, grabbing the bandages not too far from his reach. "Fuck," he growled while wrapping the thick rubber like cloth around his hairy arm. The concentration of the herb Kyle gave him was head strainingly strong.

Meanwhile the young warlock was busy wrapping his scar deep wounds, Kyle was curled in his crossed legs singing a loud tune to calm his wounded master's nerves. The melody did certainly ease tensions, Kyle felt the warlock's muscles under him loosen as the song continued.

With a final tug and a groan, the rubbery bandages along with the antidote was securely wrapped together and tucked into a tie. The warlock took a sigh of relief knowing that the hard part was over. He leaned down, looming over his cat like a mother to a child.

The kindly owner put a light hand on the cat, as if it was porcelain China. His best friend, companion, partner. A cat that glowed brilliant orange in the morning sun, a beautiful stretch aching his back. His eyes dig deep below the Earth, exploring farther below than the warlock ever could. The cat seemed to have deep soul serving emotions as well, dedicated to his master and only him.

The warlock smiled like an idiot and found himself eskimo kissing his own cat. Nothing inappropriate, of course it's just eskimo kisses. But it would still catch an eye if you were a bystander. Even if the scratches and bruises burned when Kyle's short thin fur or pink wet nose dolloped across the them, the warlock enjoyed it. It appeared that Kyle did as well, he swayed his small head with his owner's bashfully and—

Poof!

A blanket of dark bronze soot surrounded the pair, enveloping the boy's visions and senses. "Stan?" The warlock looked around in he fading smog, hearing his name. "Hello?" He called back, then without any sort of warning, a pair of unbeknownst arms flung around Stan's shoulders. The warlock lunged forward by a forceful tug of the arms, noticing that the cloud had misted.

Before him, a handsome pale skinned figure appeared. Eyes with piercing brown irises and beautiful fleecy red hair much like a bush in flames. His nose sharpened to the tip as well as his ears, almost as pointed as a needle, and body as thin and lean as paper covered in hair that very much like his head. "Stan," they whispered gently, almost like a purr.