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Meadow, seated on the couch, glanced toward the living room window.

The outside world was dark and quiet, heavy with snow. Had been for hours. Big, fluffy flakes tumbled down from heaven like salt from a slow-motion shaker, made visible by the floodlights outside the house. The ground was almost completely covered, and it wasn't forecast to let up 'til morning.

There was something so romantic about being 'snowed in.' Never mind that forecast had it all melting in a couple of days ...

Meadow knew this because her mate, Fib, was a weatherman. Weekday mornings, Channel 13. 'Fib the Morning Mouse & His Golden Guarantee!'

('We'll settle below freezing for the weekend, and you know what that means, folks! Yes, hashtag 'tail sock weather!')

"You gonna fall asleep on me?" Fib asked, their pink, ropy tails entwining to form a loose double-helix.

"Mm? No, I'm ... I'm still here," Meadow whispered, cuddling up to him.

"You sure?"

"Mm-hmm." Looking at the TV, Meadow smiled. Fib had changed it to the 'Yule Log Station.' A giggle. "I wonder how many people are actually watching this?"

"Millions!"

"I doubt it ... "

"You don't think this is watercooler material?"

"Oh, I'm sure the internet will be abuzz with, um ... like ... what type of tree these logs came from?"

"Birch, for sure," Fib declared. "The consistency of the crackle is a total giveaway."

"Heh! You don't know what you're talking about."

Fib laughed.

"Besides," Meadow insisted, "it's _totally_oak."

"Oak ... mm, makes me think of acorns, which makes me think of chestnuts," Fib replied, free-associating.

"Well, we can't roast chestnuts over an open TV fire, can we?"

"I've never even had a chestnut," he said, after thinking about it. "Have you?"

"No." Meadow curled her fingers, bunching up Fib's shirt. "I doubt they're very good."

"How do you reckon?"

"If they were, wouldn't you hear about them more often? Instead of just a few days a year? You'd see them in ... I don't know ... ice cream or brownies or something. Candy bars. I don't think I ever have."

Fib nodded at her point.

It was nine o'clock on Saturday night, exactly one week from Christmas Day, and the golden-furred harvest mice were relaxing in their warm, cozy house, the air smelling of cranberries, pine, and ginger.

Cranberries from the red, wax candles gleaming from the dining room table in the next room. 'Cranberry toffee.'

Pine for the Christmas tree, a deep-green Douglas fir, over in the corner by the living room window, decorated to the nines. Shiny tinsel, old-fashioned ornaments. Strings of multi-colored, blinking lights.

As for the ginger, Meadow had made ginger molasses cookies earlier. A big batch of them. Crispy around the rims, chewy in the middle. With cinnamon and cloves, too. They'd turned out perfectly, excellent paired with hot cider or mulled wine.

Most of the cookies gone directly into the freezer for her office work party next week, and for their Christmas Eve gathering with Petra (Meadow's rat friend) and her partners. But she'd left a few out for immediate indulgence.

Meadow's eyes flitted to the tree.

"Haven't had a Christmas tree since ... well, it's been a while," Meadow said softly. "A real one, I mean." She lifted her head, pressing her nose to Fib's golden cheek. She wanted to breathe of him. To make sure _he_was real. He was, wasn't he?

"Why's that?" Fib murmured, finishing off a cookie. As errant crumbs flicked off his whisker-tips, his head turned her way. Their sniffy, pink noses touched. Twitchy whiskers brushed. Such a soft, tender intimacy. Meadow could've melted on the spot.

This wasn't their first holiday season as a couple, but this year felt ... different.

She was no longer living alone way out in the countryside. They were engaged, now, living together in their new house on the north side of Indy, tucked away in a small, wooded area with similar-sized homes. I guess I'm a suburbanite, now? She had neighbors she had to (sometimes) interact with. Those included a capybara/chipmunk couple on one side and foxes on the other.

Tonight, though, on the couch in the living room with the Christmas tree glowing, so safe and comfortable, it was ... well ...

Almost too good to be true.

Shouldn't I be ... worrying about_something?_

I always am.

What am I missing?

"Butterscotch?" Fib prodded.

"Mm? Well ... I was, uh, alone in that farmhouse. You know?" She blushed, trying to shake clear of her thoughts. "Cutting, carrying a tree? Setting one up? Was always too much for me to handle by myself."

"What about an artificial tree?"

"You had one at your place, and we've always had one at the office," Meadow said, of the dentist she was a receptionist for. "Felt it would've been redundant to have my own." She closed her sky-blue eyes. "The lights on ours ... at the dentist? Are white. Almost incandescent." Eyes reopening, she hid her face against Fib's cream-colored neck. "It's nice, but it lacks character."

"Mm ... " Fib used his prehensile tail to pick up a half-full wine glass. "You prefer the real thing, don't you?"

"Mm-hmm."

He gave her a lingering look. "Me, too."

Meadow wondered if that was an innuendo.

The fact that you're thinking it is means you want it to be.

Fib took a healthy sip of wine. His lips smacked, and he offered Meadow the glass. She declined, and his tail put it back on the coffee table. "We always had a real one. Back home in Iowa, growing up. That 'pine' scent ... mm, takes me back!"

"Do you think your parents will like me?" Meadow asked.

Maybe that's a worry I've missed.

I knew there was something ...

"Huh?" Fib blinked, caught off-guard by the question. "Why wouldn't they?"

"I don't know." Her blue eyes darted. "They've never met me in person, and--"

"They've talked to you before. Plenty of times! When they've video-called me," he reminded.

"Yeah, but--"

"I can tell when they don't approve of something. They're happy to welcome you into the family!"

Family.

Meadow's parents had passed away when she was very young. She'd been raised by her grandparents, who were gone, now, too. She'd lived in their old house until selling it after she'd agreed to marry Fib. She had lots of cousins in the area but wasn't particularly close to any of them. Only saw them at weddings and funerals, really.

"They don't care that I'm older than you?" Meadow whispered vulnerably. She was 37 and Fib was 31. "Or that I don't want kids?"

"They already have grandkids through my siblings. And you're not old, Butterscotch." Fib giggled, kissing her cheek. "You're perfect!"

Meadow blushed, deflecting the compliment. "You're only saying that cause you're tipsy."

"Tipsy on you!" he countered, kissing her again. This time closer to her lips.

"Heh. You're ... you're so--"

Fib's lips finally surrounded hers, suckling in a twisting, passionate kiss.

" ... mm! S-sweet," Meadow stammered when their lips had smacked apart. He was sweet. Tasted of cookies and wine, sugar and spice.

"I think you're sweeter," Fib said, gently nudging her.

Nudge.

Nudge!

He didn't stop.

Meadow went where he was directing, which was to her back.

The male mouse reached down and caressed her cheek, strumming her whiskers. Eventually, he shifted about, lowering himself atop her, front to front, face to face. Both still fully clothed, their noses touched. "Hello, beautiful."

"Hi, handsome," she replied, sinking down into the couch cushions under his weight. Like she was actually melting this time.

Fib hugged her round the middle, paws roving, rubbing up and down her back.

Meadow sighed. She liked that. His touch, so familiar, laced with affection. She hugged him back, paws moving under his shirt. "You're so warm. I like being under you ... "

"What a coincidence," he whispered into one of her big, dishy ears. "Cause I like being on top of you." He sucked on her cheek-fur. "Think we've--" More sucking. "Stumbled upon something! Should we explore it further?"

Meadow nodded, trying to lick his lips.

He let her do it, discreetly snaking his tail into her pants.

She squeaked!

Rubbing against her clit, his ropy appendage wormed its way into her panties, moving along her petals before the tip poked at her wet, wanting passage.

Meadow kissed her mate. Kiss after kiss. On the chin, on the lips. Anywhere. She had to taste him, _had_to have him.

Muzzles passionately pressing, lips wetly fusing together, their pink paws (and tails) finally got around to removing their clothes, ripping them off like wrapping paper. Wantonly tossing them to the floor, the arms of the couch. The coffee table. Didn't matter. As long as they weren't covering their bodies anymore.

Fib squeaked as he kicked his pants away.

Meadow wriggled and arched, arms over her head. There went her shirt! It landed atop the plate of ginger molasses cookies.

Almost tipped over the wine glass ... !

They finally got to their 'gifts': bare, mousey bodies, warm and wriggling. Gold-and-cream, just like candy confections, the two of them fit perfectly between the arms of the couch even while laying completely horizontal.

As they nuzzled, Fib took to whispering into her ears, privately promising what he was going to do to her.

"Gonna fuck you nice and slow, Butterscotch," he said, "until the only thing your body knows is pleasure. You'll cry out my name when you cum. Mm, I'll make you see stars. Might even melt all that snow out there, as hot as we're going to get."

Meadow lost her breath at this. Shivering needily, she bent her knees and spread her legs. Raised them. She got into 'position' for him.

"Good girl," Fib murmured, easing his trim hips between her naked, furry thighs, eagerly rubbing his sex against hers. He was rock hard, leaving trails of pre against her pink, blushing flesh. "I want you so bad," he breathed, hips grinding, angling himself.

Without further warning, he pushed into her.

She was wet, and he was stiff, and it was a very eager thrust. He was easily balls-deep in a second flat.

Meadow squeaked!

"Ohhh, yeah," he sighed, staying buried inside her for a moment, savoring the feel of his mate.

She huffed, adjusting to Fib's full thickness, his entire package nestled against her. She felt herself squeezing around him. Felt his loin-fur dragging over her clit as he began to grind himself to her, nice and easy.

"Ah ... ah," she panted.

"Mm, that's it," Fib whispered against her chin, nibbling and kissing down her neck. A paw came up between them to grab a breast. He groped it. Thoroughly. Simultaneously, his hips pulled back only to thrust forward again.

Meadow's body rocked into the cushions, grunting at the force of the impact. "Uhhff!"

"Ah, yes ... yes," he muttered, doing it again and again. Rhythmically, now. Not stopping. "Tell me ... tell me how much you want it!"

"I ... I need you. More than ... more than I've ever needed anyone," she panted. "Or anything. P-please ... " She wasn't good at 'dirty talk.' Never had been. She got far too self-conscious.

Fib wasn't deterred, humping her with passionate abandon. "Mmm, mm ... "

Meadow found her eyes fluttering. Her legs were starting to feel like noodles, so she hugged them to her mate's body, digging her heels into his rump. Her paws left his rump and traveled up his back. Eventually, her arms hugged at him. Arms, legs. Even her tail wrapped around his undulating figure. They were connected in every possible way.

Fib huffed, playing with her other breast, now, rubbing her hard, sensitive nipple as he drove her into the cushions, as the couch started creaking beneath them.

"Oh!"

"Ah, that's it ... squeak for me!"

She did.

Oh, she squeaked!

How could she not? _ _

Indeed, the mice produced a medley of festive noises. Slick, squelchy slaps! Weak, breathy gasps! They were inching closer and closer to getting their bells completely rung.

Meadow's rung first, loud and clear.

Peels of pleasure echoed in her brain, her sex in sudden, seismic spasms. It felt so good! Oh, so good! The Christmas tree seemed to tilt, the lights around the room sparking, spinning. Twinkling. He promised I'd see stars! Oh, she had to close her eyes! She had to ... had to ... moan her mate's name.

"Fib ... oh, ohh!"

Fib didn't let up, hips motoring through her orgasm, squeaking in high pitches until he buried inside her hot, sopping sex, shivering hotly as he pulsed uncontrollably and filled her with his essence.

He didn't pull out, not even an inch.

Her body milked him dry.

A minute passed, filled with panting and tiny, dizzy squeaks.

Meadow broke the silence. Blushing, she looked over at the TV and then up into his eyes. "I think we, uh, put the Yule Log to shame ... yeah?"

"Heh! No doubt." Fib beamed, nuzzling cheek to cheek. "Gosh! You were great, Butterscotch."

"You, too," she whispered, reaching for his paw. "My whiskers are still tingling."

"That's how you know it's good," Fib agreed, giving her his paw. Their fingers meshed. "You mean the world to me. You know that, right?"

Meadow's eyes watered. She knew. She'd just felt it, as she had before. As would again. She'd had sex before being with Fib, but it had never been this ... complete. Each time they made love it felt like she was sharing the most special experience in the universe with the person who appreciated it most.

Realizing Fib was gazing into her eyes and waiting for a response, Meadow stammered, "I ... I don't know what I'd do without you ... "

"You're never going to have to find out," he replied softly. "Okay?"

Meadow closed her still-glistening eyes.

"Okay?"

"Yeah." She hugged him tightly, eyes reopening. "You ... you sure like to make me blush, don't you?"

"Just wait 'til our honeymoon," he said with a wink.

"Heh." Meadow giggled, a smile back on her face. "You're so cute."

"Oh, I'm a cutie, am I?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Well, I won't argue that!" Giving her a quick peck on the lips, Fib pulled out of her. Shivering from the post-coital sensitivity, he sighed and sat up. He let the blood drain down from his ears before saying, "Want me to start the shower? Then, after, maybe we can watch an old movie as we fall asleep in bed?"

"That would be nice." She played with his tail. "I'll, uh, blow out the candles in the dining room, then I'll come join you?"

"M'kay," Fib said, getting up and snatching just one more cookie before nakedly padding off.

Meadow, his tail slipping from her fingers, watched her mate go before sitting up herself. Dizzy at first, she took a few deep breaths. Finally getting up, she meandered through the dining room and blew out the candles. One, two, three.

Hearing the shower starting in the hall, she headed that way ... but paused to give the Christmas tree another lingering glance.

"Ready, Butterscotch!" Fib called.

"I'll be right there," she replied.

She couldn't help but smile.

Happy golden days, indeed!