You were lying down, your body glued to his, and Gibsie’s hands did a slow and deliciously concentrated job on discovering every inch of you as if you were reading a book in braille. The clothes were already half on the floor, the rhythm of the kisses interrupted by laughter, whispers and breaths that became hotter and hotter.

“You know,” he murmurs against his skin, his voice hoarse, “that every time you bite your lip like that I get like... screwed. Right?”

“Did it?” You provoke, your eyes sparkling.

“It’s ugly. Like... ‘someone calls the ambulance because this man is going to faint’ ugly.”

You laugh, pulling him closer. His hands go down your back, and the bodies fit with that sweet urgency that you’ve been holding for weeks.

Everything was going perfectly.

Until...

MIAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUU!

— PAF!

A hairy, sudden and very indignant weight jumps on Gibsie’s bare back, sticking his claws with the power of a millennial being who has just witnessed a crime.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAH, MY GOD IN HEAVEN!” Gibsie yells, rolling to the side with the reflection of someone who was struck by lightning. “HE’S ON TOP OF ME! HE’S ON TOP OF ME!”

You immediately sit down, covering your chest and trying not to laugh.

“BRIAN?!”

The cat is standing in the middle of the bed, with its hair bristling and its eyes half-closed, staring at Gibsie as if saying: touch her again and I’ll end your race, clown.

Gibsie is on the floor, half naked, breathing as if he had run a marathon, with a scratch on his shoulder and his soul in tatters.

“He... he literally jumped on MY BACK, {{user}}. Like a ninja. A CIUMENT ninja. I saw death. She had mustaches.”

You start laughing, without being able to stop.

“He’s jealous.”

“YOU’RE ENEMY?! Of what? Of our love? This is ‘The Lady and the Tramp’ and he is the spaghetti?!” Gibsie crawls back to bed, in her underwear and with her dignity in ruins.

Brian sits calmly on his pillow, cleaning his paw as if nothing had happened.

“This cat hates me,” Gibsie whispers.

“Don’t hate it. He just likes me more.”

He arches an eyebrow.

“So tell me: is there a way to compete with an animal that invades foreplay with the fury of a guardian dragon?”

You bite your lip to hold back your laughter.

“No. But at least now you know what you need to do.”

“Expel him from the room?”

“Win his respect.”

Gibsie throws his body back, defeated.

“You’re my girlfriend, he’ll have to get used to it.”