Stealin' Away
Stealin' away on a sunny, August day ...
... and not even ashamed at all.
How many times before, in the past, had he been secretly ashamed of ... various forms of love? Afraid to show it? Admit it? But stuck to it ... all the same. Like an innocent lightning bug caught on a sticky fly-strip. Wasting away in a trap. How many ...
... years ago. But that was YEARS ago. When he was younger. Even younger than twenty-two (was that even YOUNG anymore?).
Back when he didn't know.
The past and its tendrils, though. He'd been steadily, for months, years, cutting them off ... slicing them off. They grew back. He gnawed them, viciously, with his teeth, and scurried.
They gave chase.
He'd finally stopped. To face them. Faith a shield, and ...
... here he was. Stronger.
Oh, here he was. In a present time. He'd kissed his past goodbye (and hadn't lingered on its inconceivably tempting lips). The present was brighter, was bluer. And the future, too.
New company.
New.
Was this what they called 'healing' ... ?
Him, the mouse, walking with her (the bat, his mate) ... through the countryside. Rural Indiana. Very well could be the back-streets of heaven. He could well imagine. Maybe this farmland, this open space, the fields, the spotted woods and winding, lazy creeks ... maybe they hadn't the majesty of mountains or oceans, but ... you could LIVE with yourself here. And ...
... walking. The two of them. The mouse and his mate.
Funny. How, at times, it could feel like you were falling. Through questions and ... more questions. Like ... 'why'd she fall in love with me in the first place? And what would happen if we just packed a suitcase and ... kept going?' How far would they get before one of them would stop and beg the other to stay?
How far was too far from home?
Maybe they would never find out. He hoped they'd never find out.
Homeless by choice? Too shallow to lay roots? Some furs. Some scurried. Some ran. Some burrowed in distraction.
Again, his past. Used to be him.
But he'd wised up. After all ...
... what was it they said? Only lonely hearts liked to roam? Because they were yearning, desperately looking.
He now knew better.
And he needn't look any further than to his right. A few feet to his right, and ...
" ... remember that time," she said, eyes toward the creek. Toward the still water. "Remember when you wrestled that snapping turtle to the grass? You didn't know it was a snapping turtle ... "
Field giggle-squeaked, looking at the horizon. Squinting. "Yeah," he said quietly.
"Turtle." Pause. "That's a. ... good word to say. Turtle. You know?"
The honey-tan mouse nodded again. Looked to her. Adelaide. His mate. The pink-furred bat.
She looked back. Her pink eyes bright. Shaded so right. And she didn't look away.
Field giggle-squeaked. "What?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Well ... "
"Can't I look at you?" she asked.
"You can," he whispered, looking away, swallowing, his cheeks flushed (beneath his fur). And his ears a rosy-pink.
"Good," was her response, after an amused pause.
They weren't really out here, wandering the land, for a good REASON. Just to walk. To get some fresh air, some movement. With each other. To let their thoughts and feelings air, and maybe find some place to sit down and nuzzle and ...
... but noon was in an hour. They would soon be getting hungry.
But not yet. Not for food.
For each other?
Keep walking. Keep talking.
Watch as her paw hangs by her side, fingers brushing the wild, orange flowers. As she spreads her wings ... to let the soft, filmy material of them ... to catch the wind and sun. Like a solar sail. Watch as her eyes follow each and every dragonfly, and you can see her tongue through her slightly-open lips. Linger on those fangs, and what they do to you ...
Tease her (a bit) about how bats eat bugs.
"At least I don't have to obsessively sniff EVERY bite of food before I eat it."
"We've been over this before," was Field's smiling, restrained response, trying to see if that bird he'd just heard ... was, INDEED, an oriole.
"We have," Adelaide agreed, now behind him. Paws going to his sides. "Slow down," she whispered.
Field's pace went down a notch.
"No," she whispered gently. "No, I mean ... stop."
He did.
She stepped around (in the uncut, wilder grass), and went to his front, head tilted a bit. Smiling. "You okay?" Still whispering.
"Yes," he whispered back.
"Good."
A pause from him. A whisker-twitch. Ears swiveling. Those WERE orioles. "Why ... why are we whispering?" he asked.
Her nose to his. His nose sniff-twitching, and her nose a bit ... quieter. "So the breeze doesn't steal our words."
"But ... but, if we whisper, if our words are lighter," Field reasoned, "it'd be EASIER for the breeze to whisk them away. I mean ... right?"
"Field, you're trying to make sense of the nonsensical." A bright, toothy grin. Showing her fangs. "We're whispering cause ... it's more intimate. Cause I want to."
"Oh."
A squeeze of his paw. And a deep breath, and she looked around, the sun reflecting off her carnation-pink fur. The pinks of her. Utterly feminine, and yet ... she was, in all regards, a stronger, more confidence personality than he ever was (or ever could be). "Is it going to rain?"
"You asking me?"
Looking back to him. "You've the nose."
"You've got a nose," he said, and he nosed it. Nosed her nose! WITH his nose.
A little giggle-chitter. "Mine's not as good."
"I like it. I like your nose."
"What I'm saying," she said quietly, eyes to his. Separated by inches. "Is that I can't smell rain ... you can. It's hazy over there." Her head tilted to the west. "They said it was gonna rain later. Or, at least, that's what the back of the paper said ... but the paper's always wrong."
"Then watch the news-cast."
"They're always wrong, too." A smile. A pause. "I trust your nose."
Field let out a breath. "Well ... " His whiskers twitched. "Mm." A pause. "I don't know." And a look to her, changing the subject. "I should've brought my camera."
"Well ... "
His camera was back in their room. Back at the white farm-house. Back a quarter-mile to the west (where that same, distant haze was looming). "You know what ... "
"What?" Her voice was barely audible. She'd sidled right up, pressed her front to his. And was leaning her head on his shoulder. Was closing her eyes.
His arms, at first not knowing what to do ... quickly held her. Not tightly. Not to squeeze. But ... loosely, simply. But that didn't last. And COULDN'T last. No, the squeeze came. He held her tight.
That was the only way to hold someone you'd give your life for, wasn't it?
Tightly?
That was the only way to hold to ...
" ... Field?" she whispered airily. With a bit of concern.
"Mm?" A blink. "Oh, I ... "
" ... was gonna say something?" Her winged arms were wrapped around his back. An exhale.
"Yeah, I ... was just gonna say ... I wanna take your portrait."
"Portrait?"
"Yeah, like ... make portraits of you. With my camera."
A smile, and ... she pulled her head back. To look into his blue-grey eyes. "Mm? Yeah?"
"Yeah, like ... you in a white/pink spring dress. Straps on the shoulders, and ... bare foot-paws, and ... a glass of pink lemonade."
A giggle-chitter! "Yeah? I detect a theme there ... "
"And you'd be leaning against a tulip tree," he whispered.
"Yeah?" she whispered again.
"Yeah ... "
"In color, I presume? Pink doesn't take to black-and-white."
"Both ... just ... I'd take albums of you. I'd show them to everyone," he whispered, feeling romantic. And when he was romantic, he felt ... lively.
"That's sweet ... " Her head leaning back on his shoulder. Holding on.
As he held to her.
As they stood there.
As the breeze went by on all sides. As the sun, warm, getting hotter, and that distance? " ... does smell like rain," Field confessed. Sniffing. Sniff-twitching. Whiskers twitching, and ... " ... rain."
"How long?" was her breath.
"Uh ... "
"How long, Field?"
"Forty minutes. Maybe half an hour." His eyes strayed to the west. "I guess ... "
A nod. A nod that he could feel ... with her head next to his. "Mm." A swallow. "Well ... let's get under cover of the woods."
"We gonna stay for the rain?" Field asked, whiskers twitching. What if it thundered? What if there was lightning?
" ... we'll go inside before," she assured, reading his mind (with her telepathy). "No, but we've time." She took a step away. And paused. And turned back. Held out a winged arm. A pink, blunt-clawed paw. "Come on," she whispered, her eyes loving. Her eyes playful. "Let's go."
And he held his paw out.
And she took it.
And toward the woods they went.
Talking while walking.
About ... " ... orioles. The orioles are here."
"You heard them?"
"Mm-hmm. They're in the, uh ... " He gestured with his free paw. " ... sycamores."
"Well, the hummingbirds were goin' at it this morning ... I don't remember them doin' that before. Every day. They're like dueling spirits."
"I think we've an extra pair this year. Or maybe they've nested closer to the house." A quiet nod. "But, yeah, I noticed ... mm ... glad they're here."
"So do I. I just wish the starlings, though, would stay out of the chimney. If I have to pull ONE more bird out of the chimney flue ... "
A giggle-squeak. "Thought you'd have sympathy for fellow winged things!"
"I do!" she insisted, tugging on his paw, pulling him ... " ... I do. I love birds. I may not be a 'twitcher'," she said, referring to him being a bird-watcher, "as much as you, but ... hey, I just don't like PEST birds. I don't like them in my chimney. The SAME ones ... fall through all the time. They don't learn."
"Well, maybe they'll figure it out sooner or later." A pause. "Sometimes, you gotta be made to feel stupid before you wise up."
A tilt of her head. An eye-shine. "True," she whispered. And she took a breath, and ... let it out, and looked around. And stopped moving. And let go of his paw. "Anyway, birds may be winged things, but I'm a mammal. I'm a mouse with wings. Not a grounded bird."
"Mouse with wings," he whispered. Liking the sound of that.
"Mm. But ... I think," she whispered, suddenly shy, "this'll do?" A pause. "Yeah?"
Him, the always-shy ... would get this warm shiver at seeing her (if for a moment) suddenly shy as him. Made her even more real. Made her ... even more ...
"Field?"
A nod! A nod ... " ... yeah. It's ... fine ... "
A breath. "Alright." She swallowed, and ... lifted her arms up, and taking her shirt with it. Letting it fall to the grass and the weeds.
Both of them (mouse and bat) beneath the shadow of the breeze-kissed trees. The house just within view, and the barn, too, but ... far from any sentient eyes. Alone with the land, and with other, and with God.
And, Adelaide, as she always did ... got over her momentary shyness. Real quick-like. And was showing a toothy grin ...
... as Field unbuttoned his white, button-up t-shirt ... as he shrugged his shoulders backward (to let the shirt slide off).
"Mm." The bat chittered from the throat. And stepped forward. Him bare-chested, and her still wearing her bra. Her fingers went forward. And she ran them through his honey-tan fur (which was a bit lighter on his chest and belly ... than it was on the rest of him). A sigh. Her pupils wide. Dilated.
As were his. " ... um ... "
"Mm-hmm," was all she replied, breathing deep. Nose right up in his neck-fur. Exhale. Breathe ... of mouse. Of your mate. Make sure he's filling ALL your senses. Touch him, smell him, see him ... taste him ... with a mouthing of his shoulder. With a slight saliva-wetting of his fur, and ...
... he couldn't take his paws off her. They were on her sides. And going round to her arching back. As she raised to the tips of her foot-paws. Stepping out of her shoes ...
... 'til they were both in bare foot-paws.
... 'til her bra was unclasped, and it fell away.
... 'til his paws delicately, warmly lifted her breasts, cupping them. As head tilted. Muzzle meeting muzzle. For a kiss. A kiss.
Both of them swallowing. A bit heated.
Words weren't coming all that readily now. But, then, words weren't needed.
They were mates.
And when you were mates, so head-over-tail in silly love (oh, silly love!) ... well, when that was the case you could ... not ASK for it. You could KNOW when he wanted it. You could see how his eyes would dart and steal glances at your body. You could intuit when the bulge down there wasn't just the fabric of his jeans, but ... his arousal. His want. His need. You could tell when he started stammering ... when he was distracted.
She could read his mind.
And he could tell ... when she went suddenly quiet. Suddenly shy. For a moment. When the capillaries in her filmy wings swelled with blood. Her pupils went all wide. He could tell ... and ... his nose could sniff it. Sniff it out. Oh, she was on his radar.
And him on hers.
No asking. No awkward guessing. No pauses and anxiously hoping the other was in the mood ... no hesitantly hopeful whispers of, "You, uh ... wanna yiff?"
Sex wasn't a question for them. It was a statement.
An art. A holy affirmation of commitment and intimacy. God-given.
And both knew the other well enough to know when the other was needing to proclaim ... that statement. That.
This.
This kiss ... initiated by her. And continued by him.
With her paws fumbling at the button of his jean-shorts. Undoing it. The sound of a zipper, and her blunted claws digging beneath the band of his white briefs, and pulling pants and underwear down in a single motion.
The mouse breathed faster. Gave a squeak.
"Sorry," was her flushed, panting whisper. She did that almost HALF the time. In her excitement (while undressing him), she'd snag his tail in his clothes.
A soft chitter-squeak. A breath.
She untangled his tail, and watched it snake and wriggle away. Pink, bare, thin, ropy ... with clear, invisible hairs. It stood up in the air behind his body. Just as excited as the rest of him. And his remaining clothing around his ankles.
She licked her lips.
He stepped out of his clothes ... now completely bare. In the fur. In the realms of nature. And next to her. Her paws fumbling at her own clothes, and she, too, joined him in a bare, exposed state.
"Mm ... "
Sigh!
Paws in fur, limbs brushing, bellies pressing ... muzzles melting into each other. Noses flaring. Nothing between them, and nothing holding them back.
How in love could two furs be? How fiercely could they show it? How could they rescue the art of love-making from the dirty clutches of the callous and the wanton? And restore its place as a part of blessed, Christian grace? How could they restore the purity of this act?
How ...
... to love each other fully. Heart and soul. Leave nothing on the table. Nothing behind. Commit to it, and don't look back. Breathe of ...
... freedom. Right now, in this ... they were free from worry. All those responsibilities, the problems, everything ... everything that would come back to peck and pelt at them later ... was, now, numbed.
Just make love.
That, in this moment, was their only purpose. Only thought. Only ...
... making love.
She sank to her knees in the wild grass and dirt. And possessively gripped his hips. Licking her lips, muzzle moving forward.
He drew a squeaky, wispy breath. Squirming on his foot-paws (a tiny bit). As her nose bumped his semi-erect penis. Bump ... bump ... moving it left and right with her nose, and then kissing the side of the shaft. Then her tongue touched, and ... and ...
... she felt his paws on her shoulders. His body hunching over.
She let his cock marinate for a minute. Lying in her saliva, the wetness of her muzzle ... letting it tick slowly harder. Before she gave the first suck.
"Uh ... " His sound was sharp. And one of genuine sensitivity.
Suckle, suckle-suck ...
" ... hmm, mm!"
... the essence of male sex in her muzzle. The taste and texture. That beautiful organ ... on her tongue, so close to her teeth, bulging her cheeks. The mouse's cock was sheath-less (cut at birth), and modest. Just nearly five inches. But she'd long since banished any self-conscious thoughts ( ... 'it's too small ... it has no sheath ... ' ) from his mousey mind ... and, though he'd never admitted it, she knew: when she gave him THIS kind of attention, and did this to his body ... his self-image skyrocketed. He felt attractive, wanted ... felt good ... as silly as it sounded, he always swelled with pride when she sucked him. Not to mention pleasure! And the feeling lingered.
And she loved doing it.
Win-win!
Running her tongue along the underside of his shaft, and pressing up. Pushing the top of his shaft to the roof of her muzzle. Suck. Suck. Pre-cum trailing down her throat. Swallow. Suck. Fumble with his tightening ball-sac ... tug it 'til he moans. Bob on his length, the whole wet, warm shaft of it, and ... stop. Pull off to pant, to pant, to just ... look at it. To let your heart beat a little faster, and then ...
... " ... mm! Mm!"
... suckle JUST the head. With her lips and the tip of your tongue. Only cover the swollen, blunted head, and suckle. Make it so sensitive that he squeals.
Squeak! Mm ... mm!
His paws gripped her shoulders frantically.
And she let up. Let up ... and ... bobbed a few more times, eyes closed, sighing through the nose. And, finally, she pulled off.
"Uh ... huh," Field panted, throat dry. Eyes half-open. Huff. Huff. Penis angled upright, glistening in the dappled light of the shadows, and ... he eyes her, and ...
... she nodded, swimming with arousal. Still tasting him. Still WANTING him. In her muzzle. In her body. Just ... to be filled. To want him, and ... and ... she shakily stood, and he, in turn, dropped to his knees. With a bit of an 'oomph' ... the wind had been taken out of him, a bit, by her ministrations. But he'd yet to cum, and was so, so hyped ...
... to the point of wasting NO time in going right for her.
Her pussy.
The mouse's favorite. He loved ... giving her oral. More than he loved getting it from her. He was a submissive soul, and ...
... she raised her muzzle upward. And sucked air. Eyes barely open. To see the stirring tree-leaves. And the greying sky.
Full, lingering kisses (turned sucks) to her vulva, her pouting labia ... her fleshy, pink pussy-lips. Tongue-tasting licks around her pussy. He focused on that thin perimeter where her fur stopped and the flesh started. Where that pink fuzz was, and ... above her hooded, erect clitoris ... where the fur was more tufted, thicker, and ... putting his tongue-tip on her clit. And just pressing. As best he could. With his limited tongue, he did his best ...
... and she chittered. In response. Letting him know that, yes, you're pushing my buttons. Keep pushing!
Tongue-tapping, and licking down and up the length of her lips, and ... wriggling through. Trying to tongue-fuck her. But ... his tongue wasn't long enough. He had to settle for just lapping at her vagina. And that ... that was ... nice. Nice enough. To make him not stop.
Ravaging the essence of femme sex.
He was overdosing on femininity.
And when the bat's breath shook with pleasured, rising sensitivity, she ... huffed, and ... took a shaky step back, leaving him panting, lip-licking, and ...
... she sighed and sank to her knees again. So that they were both on the ground. And she leaned forward. Nose on his shoulder. His neck, and ... sliding with him to a horizontal lie-down in the grass. And the dirt. Stray burrs sticking to their fur ... little bugs buzzing around here and there. A butterfly going by.
The orioles ... could be heard.
The mouse, sniffing, operating on animal instinct and love and need ... he sniffed down her body, wriggled around, and resumed lapping at her pussy. Lap-lap ... lap ...
... Adelaide sighed heavily, but swallowed, and rolled away, getting to all fours.
Field's nose twitched. Wet. As were his lips.
The bat growled lightly from her throat and pinned him to his back. And started to straddle him, lifting up ... " ... mm ... mm," she went. Reaching. She wanted him to position his cock.
He did so. Coiling his tail round the base, directing it ...
... to her lowering vagina. Which parted, took him in. Into its slick, heated, wildly wet and wonderful warmth.
She sank down. Paused. Rose up. Sank. For a minute, just riding him. Waiting for his pre-cum to mix with her pussy juice, to cause a reaction to ...
... trigger her biting instinct. Her fangs felt wonderfully itchy. And began to drip with overflowing, milky fluid.
"Uh ... uh ... " Field's wispy sounds of pleasure. Her pussy walls massaging his shaft.
And Adelaide leaned forward ... to continue intercourse while lying, somewhat, atop of him. Licking his neck, her tongue giving off a numbing agent ...
... the mouse squeaked lightly. Felt his neck go still, go numb.
She, drooling, bit. Delightedly sank her fangs into her mate's neck. She bit deep. Feeling her sensitive, white fangs embed in blood and muscle. And her mating milk seeping into his veins.
Field quivered. Felt her mind move into his ... felt her body's sensations as if they were his own. On TOP of his feelings. And he heard her thoughts in his head ...
... linked. Joined. One fur. One flesh. One mind.
Thoughts mixing, unveiled.
Abstract flashes of ... moments ... of feelings ... transferring between them:
The joy of discovering good music. Something lasting, something mature. Making cookies. Playing basketball. Holding a hummingbird in your paws. Getting a letter in the mail ... and spending a lazy-day afternoon writing your response.
Umbrellas. The sound that raindrops made when they patter-patted onto the fabric of umbrellas. The sound of windshield wipers. Tractor engines. The radio-call coming from Turn Four on the last lap of an auto race ... down to the line. The wire. A kingbird on a wire, smart and handsome ...
... a kingbird trying to get into Field's room, once, back when he was younger. On spring break. It had latched to the screen of his open window. He'd locked eyes with it.
Adelaide, soon after they'd met ... needing to get on a plane to go back to be with her family for Christmas. Field, terrified of planes ... almost working himself to tears at the thought of her being on one. What if something happened? What if it wasn't safe? The things that happened to planes ...
... and him making hot chocolate on the stove, in a pan. Stirring it. No marshmallows. And sipping it.
Cream of broccoli soup. Macaroni cheese. The tastes of things. Finding out that a food you've avoided for years ... isn't all that bad.
The feeling of discovery.
The first time the mouse had pawed. He was fourteen, and the feeling ... floored him. Had been so sharply ... good.
When Adelaide had broken a wing when she was little. How it'd taken months to heal. How fragile the body was. And even more fragile: the mind.
Yellow tornado warning boxes on the television.
Field sobbing in the dark.
Traumas from him, and ... from her.
And joy! What joy!
What learning, what ... maturity ... what growth. From him. And her.
How far had they come?
A year together. Four seasons.
The snows, and ... the mighty winds. And the baking sun, and ... the waking up to find the world shrouded in fog.
Shooting stars while on your back outside, on an old wooden bench. A shooting star punctuating your prayer to God ... and the tears that followed.
Being a witness to the Light.
Surviving.
Enduring.
All these things (feelings, thoughts, sensations, circumstances) mixing in their minds. Their thoughts bared. Their memories. A wave of it all, and ...
Pants, pauses ... the mental merge gave way to the physical.
A rising, rising pleasure. A steady, heated need ... to breed. To be closer, closer. To bring this about.
... her pussy quivered, and he gasped.
His penis got hugged by her walls, and she shivered.
Motion, motion ...
... faster. With dual purpose.
Her nipples, hard, rubbed in his chest-fur. Making them squeak in unison. Her fangs still in his neck. Him still on his back, with his arms hugging her down atop of him, and ...
... both of them weakly, pleasurably grinding their hips. Up and down. Gyrating, and ...
... and ... and!
And!
The mouse's hips, instinctively, made a sudden, upward jerk. His penis throbbing inside of Adelaide, spurting, spurting his warm semen into her waiting, wanting body ... each jerk that ejaculated his seed ... jerking his whole body with joy. Oh, pleasure! He writhed beneath her, squeaking to the heavens ... knowing, with their link, she was feeling it, too, and ... she was huffing sharply, each throb of his penis making her grunt aloud ... and ...
... his orgasm led to hers. Led to the tremors, the flying, rippling flutters of her femme muscles. Her pussy was wracked, milking his cock ... milk ... milk ... male's milk! Femme juice and semen dripping from the spot of their union. While she endured her pleasure spasms ...
... Field gurgling happily as he felt the femme orgasm.
"Hmm, mm ... hmm ... "
"Oh ... uh! Huh!"
Squeaks and chitters, and her fangs pulling out, and ... she sighed heavily as she pulled off his shrinking, spent cock. And, matted with sweat and sex, and feeling wonderful, she flopped beside him in the grass. Half-draping over him. A wing over his chest, and tangling one of her legs between his.
"Mm ... "
Sighs.
"Well," she whispered. Huff ... chitter ... " ... well ... wow, hmm? Mm."
"Mm," was his sound of agreement. Was his eyes-closed, "Thank you." Was his breath.
"Thank you, too," she mouthed back. And a pause. So nice. Oh, so nice. "We beat the rain," she finally said, knowingly. Smiling. And, looking up, they could both see that the grey was almost upon them. But no rain. Not yet. And, after a minute of lying with him, she sat up ... " ... mm ... we better get dressed. Better head back to the house."
"We'll get wet," Field assured, sniffing the air, smiling. "We won't make it back in time." He was in a good mood. And no wonder!
"Might save us a shower," was her wink. "Or not." She was havin' him in the shower ... whether the rain soaked them or not. And they both knew it.
The mouse giggled, pulling on his clothes, and ... when both were dressed, they walked, paw-in-paw, back into the greyed-over clearing. Sprinkles misting their ears and noses, and ... giggle-squeaking as they took their time.
As they let the rain come.
As it fell harder.
And began to soak them and weigh down their whisker-tips. As the water slid down the curves in the mouse's tail. And as it clung to her wings.
As nature cooled them down.
As they giggled and playfully pushed each other, chasing each other home ... almost slipping along the way.
To be caught in the rain. To LET yourself be rained on. And not retreat inside to watch it from safety.
Alive, in love. And scurrying, squeaking, into the porch, the screen door creaking shut behind them (on its hinges).
Bat and mouse. Both a mess, but ...
... oh, blessed!