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Who would’ve guessed. As you held him close, the thought rang in your head like a stupid coupon slogan. Three boyfriends, for the price of one!
Pabit laughed against your skin, mischief unable to be stifled for more than a minute with Habit’s fuzzier half. Definitely not his better.
Habit, or… Boris was Pabit. They were one and the same. They were nothing alike. Pabit was a snapshot in Boris’ teeth-ridden past, yet grew with him, sometimes feeling older than Boris. They were simultaneous, along with the shadowed form you’d see on lucky occasions. Same personality, different levels of particular traits. You stopped trying to make sense of it all after your first anniversary.
All of this to say this was a routine thing for you both, something Boris was very well aware of. But Pabit always tried to make everything a game anyway. Made your days alone with him more fun, and the ones when you weren’t alone even more so.
Adjusting his position in the cramped closet, you remembered how weirdly sized he was. Larger than you could’ve estimated by your boyfriend’s old PSAs alone - the thing’s head out-scaled yours. You kept him steady between your arms. Didn’t want him in your lap. Too far away. Too close at the same time.
Felt hands, also weirdly large, left your shoulders and met your face. Lips met fabric again. Breath clung to his material, warming the contact. Cloth pills brushed against your skin, momentarily filling your brain with static. Like hiding your face against a scratchy sweater…
Despite the headaches he’d indict on you, Pabit was a comfortable presence. Like the pressure of his foam base on your skin, he grounded you with his material, reminding you to stay here, in the moment. He took an alternate approach to his shadowy persona, a calm comfort in silence, or the original Boris, articulate and able to guide you to a solution. Pabit had a different strategy; where he overwhelmed your senses to the point you had no choice but to sit there with him. And much to his satisfaction, it was working right now.
You twitched as his hand grazed your ear, you smelled nothing but dust and lilac. You could feel the heat inside him. Almost burning against your heightened senses.
He tilt his head to meet yours better, and opened his mouth only slightly. Your hand flew back to the carpet you sat upon, keeping yourself steady. You felt dizzy. You shouldn’t be feeling dizzy. Maybe you shouldn’t be feeling a lot of the twisting feelings scattered across your body.
He laughed again at your sudden movement, Boris’ deep, rumbling voice with a hint of playfulness, buzzing in the haze and vibrating against you. For a moment, everything melted away. Sensations seeped through your skin, and you didn’t dare move. All you could feel was warmth, safety, constraint , like a sheep's neck between the jaws of a wolf. You hoped he’d take the hint already and snap it.
The mood crashed as you heard a creek of the door. Of course, as was his god-given right of the homeowner, Boris was in his own room. In an instant, as if you weren’t a grown adult able to have volume control, Pabit firmly pressed a felt paw against your mouth, shushing through his. Your head tilted back involuntarily and you met the gerbil’s eyes. Glowing baby blorange against your own. His pupils mimicked Boris when he was excited about a new floral catalog in the mail. Blown out.
You both turned to look through the closet’s shutters. Boris was humming to himself, rummaging through a drawer. Misplaced something? You’d offer to help if Pabit wasn’t so adamant on hide-and-seek. You looked down at him, furrowing your brow. He looked up. Smiled.
A sudden, incidental flinch at your arm. You quietly yelped, only then registering the faintest bit of pain. Was the fucker pinching you?
Your suspicions were correct. One hand pressed to your mouth, the other sprinkled pinches across the arms holding him, your arms. Luckily his felt fingers could do little to harm you, but the firm armature beneath had enough power to inflict a response. You winced silently under his hand and wished you could throw him a glare and leave it at that. But he was just so good at annoying you.
You involuntarily let go of him after a painful jab and used the opportunity to wrastle him into an easier-to-hold position. And as you accidentally spiked his face to your collarbone, childishly, that resulted in you putting him in a headlock. You blamed him for making this almost tender moment into a wrestling match.
He bit your neck in return, in the least charming way possible. If Boris looked your way, he’d see Kermit taking his anger out on an unsuspecting tree.
Boris’ rustling stopped. Pabit stopped. Boris found what he needed, pulling the gardening glove from his drawer. And with the shut of a door, he was gone.
You sighed and relaxed your grip, enough for Pabit to wriggle back. Fabric creased with his grin. Smug little charmer. You weren't done being immature and stuck your tongue out. Big mistake. His paw shot up, gripping the muscle between his index and thumb.
You reeled back, he followed, and your back met the carpet. Dust latched to your clothes as he adjusted closer to your face. Streaks of light from the shutters hit him, burning eyes glowing down at you. He squinted. He was hesitating. Thinking.
He smiled, made up his mind. Leaning down, the puppet’s eyes closed, and a mop of auburn felt brushed your cheek. Your tongue, delicately, transferred from his hand to his face, as he gave you one last pinch, between his jaw and his skull.
Alone with him, you allowed yourself to yelp.
You held there. Felt hands paralyzed you, sliding down your face and mockingly tracing your bruised neck, as he showed his peculiar version of tenderness. Your chest rose, his weighted clothes following the motion, and fell. A proud little hum escaped him. His hand traveled lower and met your collarbone. He broke away for a moment, and you gasped a breath of air. Embarrassingly, you kept your tongue out.
“ O-o-o dear… Habit would be so-o uppy-set ,” he sighed, lying through his smile. Shut up about Boris! Granting your wish, he caught your tongue again with a nip, and warmth spiked through your chest. You were upset at how predictable you could be.
Your heart shouldn't be pounding. Your hands shouldn't be escaping the carpet they clung to, traveling up to his hair and following the brim of his stupid little hat. One hand had a mind of its own, and slowly, tentatively, met the jaw keeping you captive.
Curiously, your thumb wedged inside, pushing his smile open. Tongue freed, you wet it in your mouth. His eyes shot open. The hand at his head pressed down, bringing him closer.
Puppets can’t breathe, but you tasted his nonetheless, as your tongue trailed the blue fabric within. He gasped. Settled.
Tremorred hands gripped your shirt, eyes closing, and you recognized a sound he made as unmistakably debauched. It cracked a pitch higher when you pushed his body up to access his lower mouth, and you couldn't help but smirk at his noise, grazing your teeth in reply.
You stilled on his lip’s edge, and he piped down, waiting for your next move.
You bit the foam there, getting back for your bruise. You felt him tense. Exhaling a downright pitiful whine, his hold tightened. The sound stirred in you.
Your grip turned to a soft pet down his scalp. Your mouth let go.
You didn’t notice the trail of drool until it split. His eyes met yours, and for the first time that night, you got a good look at the mess you made of him - fabric burning, spit lining his mouth, hair a mess, and pupils blown. He inhaled. Then, feigned a giggle.
He wiped his sleeve against his mouth. He had no tongue to lick it off.
“Ha-bit’s going 2 notice that. : - ) “