Acts of Infinity
"You have been in here all day."
The snow-mouse turned (a bit), with a smile. "Have I?" His tail snaked, with a bit of playfulness, in the air behind him. As if stirring something.
Arianna stepped fully into the room, looking around analytically (as snow rabbits often did). "This is cargo bay two."
"WAS cargo bay two."
She blinked. The doors (eventually) gently whooshed shut behind her. "Was?" A pause. And, "Where did you get all these chairs?" A few rows of chairs had been set up ... a table or two, as well.
"From here and there." A coy pause. "Anyway, the bay was totally empty ... made more sense than using guest quarters. Quarters are too small."
"For what?" she finally asked, doing a head-tilt.
"A church." He smiled. "For the crew."
Still looking around. "The simulation room would've been far more efficient. There are countless programs of church interiors that you could've ... "
"Ah, I knew you'd say that," was his interruption. Ollie stopped what he was doing, bare foot-paws padding toward her. Stopping, body resting at its casual contrapposto, weight focused on one hip, continuing, "But I wanted something, you know ... real. Any-fur can come here at any time of the day. I mean, the simulation rooms are constantly being used, you know ... and ... anyway, it was just ... " He trailed, spreading his paws. "What do you think?" he asked hopefully.
Arianna looked around (yet another time). There was nothing impressive about the arrangement ... it was too makeshift. But she couldn't say that ... she knew his feelings would be hurt.
"I have Aria's permission," the mouse added quietly.
A nod of approval. "It is agreeable."
A bit of a smile. "I know it's not ornate, but ... it's the spirit of the place that counts. I mean, and I replicated some Bibles, some hymnals ... you know ... "
The snow rabbit nodded. "Mm ... "
"What?" he whispered, nose sniffing. Whiskers twitching.
"I doubt my species will make use of it."
"Aria will. And ... I hope you'll come, too ... right?" he whispered, biting his lip.
"I will," she assured.
He smiled. That recent smile of innocence and hope growing fertile in love. Was this the same mouse who'd been drunk on the day of Arctic's launch? Oh, yes ... and, oh, the darker things he'd seen, and how tempting it would be to go wallow, but ... no time. Not with her. Not with this. Not with ...
"I am just advising you ... that my species will react with indifference." A pause. "Are YOU doing the preaching?"
"I'd planned on it, yes." A breath. "I've done a bit."
"Preaching?"
A nod. "Back where I, uh, come from ... but, uh, that was a bit different." His eyes went blank. He blinked. Blinked again, and the look was back to normal ...
"What will you be preaching about?"
"Something different every week, I'd imagine. But ... generally: the Way. The Light."
"I mean specifically ... "
"If you're trying to say I should tailor my words just to ingratiate myself with every-fur on the ship ... to not offend anyone ... "
"I am saying to be reasonable. Pliable." She raised her brow. "What is the saying? Attract flies with honey?"
"I think flies are generally considered a bad thing." A giggle-squeak. "You comparing us to flies?"
"You understand what I meant. Forms of attraction ... "
"I know, but ... the truth is never sexy. I mean, It's not concerned," he said, "with being an 'easy sell' ... " A bit of a head tilt. "I'll minister as I will, with what comes into my heart. And, yeah, maybe I'll say a few words ... that'll rattle a few nerves."
"Like what?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Like 'sin' ... and 'faith alone'," he whispered with conviction.
Arianna nodded quietly. Giving a soft, little eye-smile. "Very well."
"There are definitive TRUTHS," Ollie said, rearranging a chair. "I won't twist them ... "
Another nod. "And I greatly respect that. You do have my love," she reminded, helping him line up the chairs.
"Do you believe that, though?" he asked his mate, quietly. He stood up.
"Believe what ... " She kept arranging the chairs. Making sure they were all symmetrical. Her bobtail flicked. Her ears waggled.
"That there are definitive truths ... ways to live. Spiritual fulfilment. Do you acknowledge it intellectually, or do you BELIEVE it ... inside?" His whiskers twitched, nose sniffing, too.
"Your fire," she said, "leads one to believe it ... inside."
"Darling ... "
"I believe," she said, meeting his eyes. Standing upright. Unblinking. "I do."
A tiny nod. He bit his lip, as if not entirely convinced, and as if ... that was, deep down, a problem. But he, for now, let out a breath, putting a smile on his muzzle. And his paws on her sides. His own ice-blue eyes (the same color as hers) running over her neck, her shoulders. "I do love you, too," he said, closing those eyes.
"I do not doubt it," she responded.
Ollie blinked and looked up at her. "Uh ... why'd you come here, anyway?"
"I was looking for you."
"Well, I know THAT, but ... "
"It is my lunch break."
"Ah ... mm." His ears turned a bashful rosy-pink. And they picked up with the swivel-swivel. "A bit of the, uh ... eat-and-breed," he whispered, suddenly tingling.
"Yes." A healthy eye-smile.
"I hadn't realized it was lunch-time." A pause. "I was supposed to meet you in our quarters," he realized, eyes on hers.
"Yes," was her repeat. So solid a personality. So stable. Betraying nothing that she didn't wish to let out ...
"I'm sorry ... " A shy flush. "I got carried away," he whispered. "I didn't mean to lose focus of you, and ... mm ... " His tail snaked.
"It is alright," she assured, putting her nose to his. Her nose did a twitch. His nose did several twitches. "You must hush."
A little nod. A swallow.
"Are you up for it? Our quarters are not far ... "
"I'm definitely," he whispered, so close, so quiet ... " ... up for it. Maybe, uh, we can combine the two."
"The two?"
"Lunch and ... breeding."
Her ears waggled, and she padded toward the door, tugging him along, paw-in-paw. "That is doable," she declared, in a clipped, eager tone. Snow rabbits weren't able to feel a lot of things, but they could feel impatience!
So, they went to do some doable things.
His breaths, with a frantic in-and-out, matched his body's remaining rhythms. Rising, holding ... losing traction, sliding toward a helpless collapse. A wanted breakdown. And, yet, trying to stave it off ...
... not yet ... not yet ...
She, beneath the wriggling weight and warmth of him, snowy-white bobtail pinned to the dark-blue sheets, kept her limbs secure around the slender, twitching trunk of him (her mate).
The vole huffed ... huff! Huff ... hips pulling back, hips grinding forward. A bit of gyration. Pull-grind ... pull-grind!
He hadn't started (on this blissful, bodily friction) until sure of her readiness ... her full arousal. He wanted her to simmer in his affections, and, in turn, to melt in hers. Slowly, he'd caressed her fur, kissing her belly, and suckling, fondling her breasts, and each kiss that came was sweatier than the last, a rising sense of never-rest ...
... not yet ... not yet ...
... and only then, having worked her up, had he slid atop her, in this intimate, eye-to-eye mount. And he took the position with such relish, such heart-hammering. And such confidence. Used to, never topping ... he was a mouse, a natural sub. But he was growing now, maturing now ... how he'd actively nibble on her ears, paws groping at her rear.
Taking just as much initiative as she did. Wielding his unique sensual skills ... to woo her. As she used hers to woo him.
He'd evened up the playing field.
And she had no objections.
Her huffing, now, was quick and rushing, matching his. She recalled just a bit earlier (minutes? hours?), being spread-legged on the edge of the bed, sitting, with him on the floor in his shy, little way. Licking and lapping and sniffing at her femininity like it was the light of day.
But, now! Now!
Everything blurring, now, reasons, styles, senses ... all swirling into a stumbling, fumbling finality of motion and moment.
The meadow mouse to a sloppy, breath-baited hilt of her. His orbs swollen in his tight, drawn-up sac. Penis quivering with blissful build-up, the pink flesh of the shaft glistening during his final, animal-like hump. Oh, but ... but ... he had to bury (his foot-paws pushing off the mattress to give him every millimeter of vaginal purchase) ... bury.
And surrender.
The snow rabbit, fur matted to a damp, sweaty state, her breasts heaving beneath his chest, hardened nipples nestled in his muddy-brown rodent-fur ... she ... she felt her tremors start. And the huge sighs of relief came. Oh, the sighs. Oh, the ... t-tremors. The vaginal squeezing and milking of his penis. Her muscles clamping to the shaft of male flesh ... blinding sensitivity! Bestowed to both!
Both ... both ...
... losing it. Her with a ticking, twitching, head-turning, squeeze-your-eyes-tightly-shut series of actions. The milking she was giving him, a result of her peak. The throes of a muscular rippling, fluttering waves of warm, wet pleasure through her lower half. Causing her to mew-moan. Mew. A singular rabbit-bark, loud enough to be heard through the walls (but, then, when you served aboard a star-ship, you were used to yiff-sounds through walls) ... bark! Again ... bark ... back to mews. Her pleasure-tides reaching the rest of her ... huff ... huff ...
The meadow mouse, ears gorged with blood, flushing his cheeks, making his whiskers droop ... his thin tail, silky-pink, trailed behind them both, between their legs (and loosely wrapped around her ankle). He writhed, as rodents do ... squirmed. Huh ... huff! Huh ... chitter-squeaking in rapid-fire manner. A verbal declaration of orgasm's pleasant infliction. Mouse-hood, stiff and slick, still buried in her pussy ... genitals locked together, bodies pressed, sweating together. Almost primal.
So close to primal ...
... had their intentions not been of such dazzling purity. Such lofty innocence.
He squeaked weakly, beside himself, the unbelievable biological satisfaction of sowing his femme ... pleasing his hazy mind, as well. Their bodies worked in an understood tandem ... to milk him of every drop, to bring the seeds to fertile soil. Jerk ...
... jerk.
Spurting white teaspoonfuls.
Her cervix dipping down ... dipping into it ...
Aria, not in heat (and yet to be successfully fertilized, though they'd wishfully tried), nonetheless admired ... the nature of it all. What a thing. What a thing that ... oh, that imprinted his soul to hers! That made them as one. That made for such unions ...
... an act of purposeful, expanding infinity: life, love, pleasure ... oh, and love! Mention it again ... love ... oh, God-given gift ...
... what kind of force was this?
This was eternal. This had no half-life. It WAS life.
Ross swallowed, panting audibly, eyes hooded ... " ... oh ... " Squeak. Mousey squeak. "Mm ... "
"Hmm," was her soft, recovering rabbit-purr. Her antennae ears waggling on the pillow. Her brow damp.
"Oh ... Aria ... " His nose to her soft, soft neck. Breathing in. "Oh ... " Exhale. So warm, so warm ... oh, her cool, beautiful scent. Oh, cool and beautiful her!
Her paws roved over his lower back, fingers tracing the line of his backbone ... ruffling his muddy-colored fur. Her foot-paws lazily brushed his. Toes touching toes, saying hello. She, flushed, swallowed. A bit light-headed. "Th-thank you ... "
"Darling ... "
"Mm ... "
"I love you," was his fragile-as-china whisper.
"As I," she breathed, with evident passion, "love you ... I ... "
" ... water," he said for her, understanding. Snow rabbits dehydrated quickly, and needed a larger intake of water than other furs. The meadow mouse, eyes closing, shuddered, giving an airy squeak as he pulled back and out of her (with a soft, little squelching sound of lubricated flesh). "Oh," he breathed, as his still-sensitive penis-head pulled out of her slippery-pink pussy lips ... leaving, upon exit, a trickling trail of semen, which dripped to her fur and to the sheets ...
... and his still-tightened sac warmly dampened with her femme juices.
He slid off her body, finally.
He breasts rose ... and fell. Bare, loose, supple, like snowy mounds in a tundra, with pink, firm peaks.
He reached over and thumbed a nipple as his other paws stretched for the water bottle at the bed-side.
A soft, soft mew.
He leaned back to her, using his teeth to open the bottle-top, and he presented it.
She took it (with both paws) and drank heartily, eyes closed and gulping, gulping, nose flaring ... and then licking her cool, wet lips upon finish, leaving just enough water in the bottle for him (and, though he didn't need as much water as she did, he surely needed it, all the same).
Aria, eyes still closed, breathed slowly, softly, trying to stabilize ...
... while Ross watched her, moving onto his knees, his shins, and looking down at her (with a dear expression).
One of her eyes opened, as if in cheeky fashion. The other remaining closed. "Are you not," she said, lying there, bare, "itching to groom?" She knew that, after any act of exertion, mouses couldn't stop themselves from licking their own fur ... an instinctive grooming habit. Rather cute.
"I am," he admitted, swallowing, pupils dilated. Whiskers twitching.
"But?"
"But I ... I just, uh ... wondered what you'd think," he whispered, "if I groomed you, too?"
Her other eyes opened. "You wish to groom me?"
"I gotta groom. I gotta lick fur until ... until my brain tells me I can stop. Since I can't help it, anyway, I ... might as well groom you, too."
A dawning eye-smile. And she nodded her head lightly, which made a rustling sound on the pillow. "That would be welcome."
A flushing smile from him. And, not able to hold it back, he ... dove into the motions. Raising his own arm a bit, and lick-licking at his fore-arm fur. Wetting it, matting it with his tongue. Licking his paw, and turning his head, eyes shut, to lick at his shoulder ... whatever he could reach, meticulously matting the fur. And working on the other arm, and ...
... she watched him. Watched as he, on his knees, did what mouses do. Watched as he'd gotten all of his own fur (that he could reach) ... and as he knelt down and licked at the snowy-white fur on her arm, smoothing it all in one direction. Licking in the same ways. First against the grain of the fur ... and then with it. Hunched over her, licking away ... mainly focusing on the limbs. Arms, paws, et cetera. He'd just finished her other paw when ... the instinct lessened its hold, subsiding, and he sheepishly sat up, ears a rosy pink.
"Satisfied?" she asked, eye-smiling.
A shy, little nod. "Yes ... thank you," he whispered.
"I enjoyed it. As I know you did ... it is no problem," she assured, squeezing his paw. "Now, we must shower," she reminded him quietly. They'd eaten a quick meal earlier, before starting their breeding ... so, lunch was taken care of. "Will you start the water?"
"I will," he said cheerfully, slipping out of bed ... and standing in one place for a moment, so as to regain his vertical bearings. And then he scurried the short distance to the bathroom, turning the shower on. Letting the water warm.
Aria slowly, sensually, with snow rabbit poise, slid off the sheets, out of bed, and padded after him. Her bobtail giving a flicker or two. A flicker-flick.
And Ross, shower curtains draw, had a paw under the stream of water, and he turned his head. Whiskers twitching on his beaming muzzle. "Already warm."
"Good." She eye-smiled, and approached the shower, and ... took a readying breath ... and stepped in, the warm water immediately soaking into her fur, matting it, making it appear an off-white. And when the vole stepped in, his muddy-brown fur appearing darker as it wetted, and he leaned into her, hugging her tight.
She hugged back.
Just a standing, sopping hug. Neither letting up on it. For seconds, seconds more, and ... finally, Ross loosened his grip, and pulled his head back. So he could look her in the eyes from this close. "I love you."
She eye-smiled, brimming with happiness ... at him and his words. "As I love you," she responded in her prose-like way.
A kiss to her cheek! His twitching whiskers brushing her less-active ones.
Her arms around his lower back, and slipping down to his rump. Gripping his rump cheeks. Her eyes closing, and still feeling up that pert rump of his ... with an occasional, lazy swipe at his tail, which, currently, was like a wet spaghetti noodle.
He, in turn, had one paw around her back, holding them belly-to-belly, and one paw trying to play with her breasts ...
"You like those?" Aria asked playfully.
"Mm-hmm," was the meadow mouse's wide-eyed, wet response. Paw cupping a breast, and fingers tracing across the mound of it ... gently stopping to tweak a nipple. He swallowed, and leaned his muzzle forward ...
... and she didn't stop him or say anything ...
... as he gave a little suck and a lip-tug to each nipple. Huffing out, and pulling back ... " ... we better shampoo and soap up," he realized.
"We had better," she agreed, with a laid-back tone.
Ross reached for the shampoo ... " ... back," he said.
And Aria complied, turning so that her back was to him. Allowing Ross to lather up the shampoo all over her back-side fur. Including her bobtail (and how he loved to shampoo that!) ...
... but on and on they went. Snow rabbit and meadow mouse. The Captain and her mate. Relishing togetherness, and how, at times, life was nothing less than great ...
"J-jinx," she breathed (very softly).
"Mm?" The skunk's jet-black muzzle, lips pursed, with the tip of his tongue pressed to her nipple ... gave a suck-suck.
"Jinx," she breathed again.
Suckle-suck. And stop. He, very gingerly pulled away from her warm, freed breast. "What's wrong?" he whispered, massaging the squirrel's belly, claws through her fur ... scritching her.
Ezri, sitting in the skunk's lap (at the Tactical station), nodded at the view-screen. "The butterflies are back.," she whispered. She and Jinx were the only two furs on the bridge. Everyone on lunch-break, and ... all that. They still had a good half-hour left.
They were newly-mates.
It just sorta ... well, happened. Hadn't been love at first sight, or some deeply immediate or emotional thing ... really, it was born out of circumstance. Convenience.
They'd, simply, both been mate-less. And, really, shouldn't it make sense that they coupled? After all, both worked on the bridge, both were senior officers. All that time, in these first few weeks of Arctic's mission ... they spent all day in the same room, and, suddenly, he'd taken to giving her little glances.
She'd taken to blushing and ... returning them.
One day, they'd had a quiet conversation in a corner of the mess hall. She'd giggled, and he'd smiled so handsomely ...
... which had led to a kiss in the lift.
Which had led to taking up mating vows with each other (there was no good reason not to).
Which led to him playing with her breasts on the bridge.
"The butterflies ... "
The skunk took a breath and looked to the viewer. "Captain said not to bother them. They're friendly ... and curious, is all."
"A little TOO curious ... "
The butterfly 'pods,' as their ships were called, were lazily circling the stationary Arctic, and were sticking mechanical tubes (each one like a proboscis) onto the hull. As if 'tasting' the ship. The 'pods' were multi-hued, almost glowing. They MOVED like how a butterfly would move ... though Ezri had never seen a butterfly before. Only in pictures.
"Baby ... " The skunk's muzzle went back to her rich-brown fur. Lips brushing her other nipple. Until a ... suckle-suckle ...
"Jinx," she breathed.
"Mm ... " Suckle-suck ...
"Ah," she went, arching in his lap ... " ... g-gosh ... "
Muzzle busy, eyes closed, the skunk's paws stroked her luxurious, bushy tail. Softly suck, and softly stroke, and softly suck, and softly stroke ... fingers pressing to her tail-base, going in the tiniest circle.
Her paw-pads weakly patted at his bare chest, his chest-fur dazzling white, and his sides night-black ... pat, pat, grab. Paws clutching.
As his own paws ... his fingers slipped below the elastic of her panties, and he slowly worked them down her furry, feminine hips. She had to wriggle and shift to aid him ... but, soon enough, panties were with pants: on the floor, kicked away by her foot-paws.
His briefs were already off ... " ... here we go," he cooed. "Here, baby ..." Paws on her sides, helping her to change positions, her legs spreading and going out behind the chair they were in ... sitting, but facing him.
The squirrel's breathing was soft, and a bit irregular ... " ... j-just ... come on," she pleaded. "Come ... "
" ... uhn." A slippery-slide, and he was easily in. Locking them in a snugged and sitting intercourse.
"Uh ... " An inward breath. Holding it ... one paw around his neck, and one paw between them, poking around at her clitoris. And, it was about now ... that Ezri was able to more easily shove aside the thoughts that 'you don't really love him, do you, already?' ... shove aside any doubts. She saw the passion that Ross and Aria had. Or the fervent personalities of Ollie and Arianna. She and Jinx ... they weren't like that.
Yet. We're not like that YET ... she told her mind. The part of her mind that feared being hurt. That feared broken love. That feared rejection.
Give it time, she told herself. This is young ... and so are you ...
But what if ...
What if ...
What ...
... rational thought could be sustained in a rising, physical onslaught?
You didn't have the be the universe's greatest lover to make love. But, dammit, if the skunk wasn't good at this ...
"Mm ... mm ... " Her lips to hers, in a sweet, loosened kiss.
His tongue peeked out and prodded at hers.
While the butterflies continued to bumble around Arctic.
Barrow as alone in sickbay.
In his office.
And he closed his eyes. Don't do this. Please, just ... look at something. Or go to the simulation room! Better idea, that. But ... not real ENOUGH.
Not real enough for him.
Not as real as this ...
... as he, eyes kept shut, opened his mind to souls around him. Other minds. All those thoughts, and all those feelings, and ... oh, what many of them were doing right now, and ... Barrow had learned (from other, less-adjusted bats ... bats that were nothing but trouble, and were probably in exile now) how to do this.
How to slip into the very back corner of someone's mind.
Without them knowing.
You had to be careful. You could trip a conscious strand, and ... bam. You'd get caught. And, though, there wouldn't be physical, tangible PROOF of the violation, the suspicion would be enough to brand you. And that often led to other things ... he'd seen it happen. Soon, fear would well ... against all things telepathic. And then no one would trust you. For how could you ever PROVE to them that you weren't stealing from their heads?
So, no ... no getting caught ...
Anyway, it wouldn't happen to him. He was careful. And it's not like he was addicted to mind-invasion. It's not like he did this all the time. Just ... every now and then. To keep his skills sharp. To FEEL things that he, himself, couldn't feel ...
And it made him less lonely. He was mate-less. And he couldn't paw with Ollie, his best friend, cause Ollie was off with that snow rabbit ... the one with the A-name. Too many A-names.
He sighed, craning his neck a bit. Eyes still closed. Snow rabbits ... they were, though, rather fascinating. So hard to figure out. And that made them very appealing to someone with telepathic abilities ...
... mysteries. Putting your mind into new things. Finding out pleasures. Brightness. And darkness, too ... some furs on this ship were keeping such secrets. Ross, for instance. The vole tensed whenever in the bat's presence, as if fearing Barrow would figure something out ... but the periwinkle bat hadn't pursued it any further.
After all, didn't a line have to be drawn somewhere?
There WAS a line. There is a line ... maybe you crossed a few other lines, but ... no, not this one, okay?
Stealing secrets and prodding into memories was too much.
But piggybacking on furs' love-making sessions? Sharing in that joy? What was wrong with that?
It's too intimate ... they wouldn't like you intruding ...
... and that's why I'm not letting them KNOW, the bat told himself. Now, shut up and enjoy this ...
Search, search. For someone to mentally piggyback with.
Alabaster. There was an A-name. He was in engineering ... so were a few other snow rabbits. They were all doing the same thing. Too obvious.
Too distracted to even BEGIN to feel the bat slip in.
Barrow reached out his emotional feelers, his tendrils, and through Alabaster's eyes ... felt the snow rabbit's own heartbeat. Own pleasure. As if feeding off a redirected transmission.
"Ah," Barrow breathed, arching. Everything Alabaster was feeling, several decks down ... the bat was now feeling, too. And, with eyes closed, he could even SEE through the snow rabbit's eyes ... in his own mind's eye. Oh, he was ... oh, with ... mm ...
Very intricate, this. Very complicated. But very stimulating ... very erotic.
And the bat, drawing a breath, arching in his chair, let out a huffing breath. Pleasure growing ... his bat-hood, too, stiffening. He fumbled at his clothes, getting them off, and ...
... be-beep! Be-beep!
Barrow jerked unpleasantly, jarred, blinking, and ... poof! The link was broken. And he swallowed, heart pounding, and pants half-down. Almost fully erect. He licked his dry lips and tapped at the audio comm. "What?" he asked, a bit irritated. He swallowed again.
"It's Bic," said the voice. Bic. She was a chipmunk. A lieutenant. She ran the science lab.
"Yeah? What?"
"The butterflies want our physiological charts ... for each species onboard. They want to know about our bodies."
"Why?" The bat leaned forward in his chair, squinting (even though the channel was audio only).
"They have a thing for mammals." A pause. "Personally, I think we turn them on ... " The tone of her voice indicated she was smiling. "But they're insects, so ... they don't have bones and stuff, you know. We're just different. And they want to know more."
"They said that?"
"Well, that's what I ... read from their tone. Mind you, their language is being filtered through a computerized translator." A pause. "Anyway, I don't see the harm, but I gotta clear it with you. You're the doctor. All that physical stuff, all those medical files ... "
" ... well, it's fine, as long as it's not invading anyone's privacy." He stopped after saying that. Damn, aren't you a hypocrite? "Yeah, give 'em what they want." A pause. "So, they haven't gone away yet?"
"They're curious," said Bic again.
"Yeah ... aren't we all," the bat replied, with a bit of ... something. Some tone. "Uh ... yeah, you can handle it, I'm sure. Give 'em the stuff."
"Sir ... "
"What?"
"Are you okay? You sound ... a bit preoccupied ... "
"I'm fine." A swallow. "You sound surprised."
"Well ... "
" ... it's lunch-break for the day-shift. We're all 'preoccupied' ... "
"Well, I can't be 'preoccupied'," she replied smartly, "until the butterflies drift off ... "
"Mm. Think you can hold out?"
"I think it's none of your business," was her reply.
Barrow bristled. He hadn't meant to be ... crude.
"But, to answer your question ... I can last another fifteen minutes ... "
Barrow nodded. And then remembered she couldn't see the action. "Okay. Um ... anyway, thanks."
"Sure you're okay?"
"Just a little tired ... uh ... yeah, talk to you later," he said. And cut the channel. And he paused. Talk to you later? Why'd he say that? He and Bic rarely conversed ... why'd he say that ... and he sighed. By this point, body priming, pulsing ... and he continued pawing, but this time, he stayed out of anyone's mind.
Stay out, stay out.
Bic. She was fairly pretty ... if not a bit stocky, and a bit feisty. But she WAS a chipmunk ... mm ...
Stop it. Stop thinking about her. You're just making this worse ...
The bat swallowed, bringing up some videos and images on his desktop computer. And his heart pounded. It was tempting. It was tempting to ... to use his telepathy. But, interrupted by Bic, he suddenly felt guilty. Like he'd been 'walked in on,' if that made any sense. Of course, she had no idea, but ... still, he had to be able to look every-fur in the eye.
I'm a GOOD bat, he told himself earnestly. Quietly. I have faith, and I ... try not to sin ... but, oh, temptation!
He kept pawing, resisting using his telepathy ... this time.
And he couldn't promise that he wouldn't do it again. For he knew he would. If Ollie were here, he could go into his head ... Ollie, the first time, had let him. And continued to let him. But he and Ollie were close friends. And it was easy to find a mouse's buttons. Not that Barrow manipulated the mouse, but ... he massaged his mind in the right ways.
To give them both pleasure. And, again, what was wrong with that?
Who drew the lines, anyway?
Just paw, Barrow. Paw, paw ...
... and sigh, and sink into the singular, solitary act. And forget about rules and forget about facts.
And lean back.
Paw.