FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cover art by kyokimute.

Chapter 1 - The Golden Hog

It's Oliver's favorite local bar. It's Saturday evening. The place is bustling and brimming with furs of all shapes and sizes laughing and having a good time. And yet ... Oliver has a pit in his stomach that won't go away, and it seems like everyone else in the rest of the bar is going about their own lives while he sits there at the extra small section on top of the bar, completely ignored. Like there's a little pool of darkness amidst all the light, just for him.

And it's not because he's a mere dormouse, a tenth the size - at best - as most of the other patrons. There are plenty of others his size around, including a cute shrew just a couple mini-barstools over. But he just doesn't have the heart to talk to her. And it's not because of anyone here. It's because of someone who just was here: a true titan of the brand new American film industry, Horace Muntz. Getting a chance to talk to that giant in his field - and giant buffalo in real life - should have been the greatest achievement in Oliver's film career so far. Instead, it was devastating. Muntz laughed at him. _Laughed_at the ingenious idea to put film equipment on aeroplanes and shoot a film in the skies. Laughed at him right in front of everyone. Called it 'absurd'.

That's why Oliver sits in his own little circle of misery among all the joviality and laughter of one of the best little bars in New York. Abject failure. The only constant in his life, it seems.

Maybe it's time to face the music: his idea of coming to America and filming an ambitious new aeroplane movie is - quite literally - never going to get off the ground.

A huge glass of beer, easily bigger than he is, plonks down next to him. He looks up.

The bartender - a grizzled old dog with a scruffy mustache - nods out toward one of the tables. "Courtesy of the cat." He looks at Oliver, looks at the glass of beer again. Evidently has a moment of thought ... and then plinks a drinking straw into the beer.

"Uh... Very helpful." As soon as Oliver glances away, looking for 'the cat', the bartender is off again. Full house, after all. He's quite busy. Oliver scans the tables farther back in the bar, until he finally spots her: an almost pure-white cat in a green evening gown under a black sweater, almost all the way across the bar. She spots him looking, makes eye contact, raises one eyebrow and gives an enigmatic little smile.

How is it suddenly so hot in here? Oliver hurriedly turns away, back toward his drink. A cat. Why does it have to be a cat? Who is she? He's never seen her in here before. More importantly, what does she want with him? Why does a cat ever want anything to do with a mouse, a niggling little voice inside him warns.

Even as he stares up at the straw hanging down from that gigantic new drink of his, he can feel her eyes on his back. He doesn't know how. Of course he doesn't believe in stuff like that. But he can feel it anyway. A hot, tingling sensation along his spine. It's hard to resist the urge to turn and look again. But he has to stop himself, doesn't he? Looking would just encourage her, wouldn't it? This night is already enough of a disaster without ... without whatever it was she has in mind for him. This is his favorite pub - no: bar, Americans call them bars, which mostly just means the food is worse - and it's always been a sanctuary for him, ever since he first came to New York. But now, that seems to be changing. The disastrous meeting with that producer, and now this cat... What's she doing? Is she still looking at him? What does she want from him? What could she possibly want?

Despite his better judgement, he glances again.

She's still looking at him! And this time, he can't find it within himself to turn away. She's just so ... something. A little older than him, maybe, and of course much_bigger. Wearing what rightly ought to be a men's topcoat, but she's somehow pulling it off with a rakish style and that askew hat of hers. But what's _truly inescapable is the look in her eyes. Those slanted, deep-peering eyes and their slitted pupils, in a searingly bright blue. It's like a hypnotic transfixion ... or, well, like being a prey animal paralyzed with fear under the gaze of a leering predator. He gulps. Still keeping eye contact, she raises one hand and curls her finger, beckoning him over to her table.

Her table, as if he's a dish to be eaten! Oliver tears himself away from her penetrating gaze, stares back at his drink. Bubbles slowly bobbing to the foamy surface of the golden beer. The chatter and the clatter of the busy, smoky bar come back to him suddenly. Where had it gone? His sides are heaving, but he can barely breathe. It's as if the place has suddenly become a sauna. When did it get so hot and stuffy in here, when only a moment ago he had felt so dark and cold?

Maybe just a sip of that cold beer? It's always served so cold in America. But at the moment, that seems like heavenly relief, and he can begin to understand why.

He has to strain upward in his seat to reach the tip of the straw, and actually sucking the comparatively huge volume of liquid up through it seems a daunting task, but finally he manages it and gets a dose of that sweet relief. Why, putting that much effort into sucking it out forced him to calm his breathing a bit, too...

"Feeling shy, are we?"

Oliver sputters. Chokes. He narrowly avoids being splashed with the beer that was still in the upper part of the straw. A bit of what's in his mouth does_drip out, spoiling his waistcoat. It's her! Right there next to him! She's taken a seat at the bar, right next to where he's sitting _on the bartop itself.

She must be enjoying the look of shock and sudden fear on his face, since it elicits a deeply feminine little chuckle out of her. "My my... I do have that effect from time to time, don't I?"

He gulps, forcing down the remainder of the beer. Quite good, but the taste is the last thing on his mind right now. "Who ... who are you? What do you want with me?" The cute shrew a few seats over has already fled.

"Is that how you greet every belle demoiselle_you meet here, or is this level of charm something you've reserved especially for me?" She gives an enigmatic little smirk. "Though I suppose you _are right. Introductions are in order. My, my. How have I forgotten my manners so soon?"

Oliver gulps. Manners? He feels like he's forgotten _everything_else in the world already. It's as if tunnel-vision is setting in, blocking out everything else in the world except for this enormous cat, far too close to him.

"Selena-Merri Valiquette," she says, holding her paw out as if expecting it to be kissed. "But you may call me Selena if you like ... and certain of my friends may even know me as Sam."

It's not just the proximity to a vicious mouse-devouring predator that has him sweating. As he stares, he can't help but feel his eyes drawn. That sweater of hers has opened in the middle, revealing the green silk gown which only moderately conceals her bustlines. Several_bustlines up the front of her body, each more impressive than the one below. And the topmost ones ... Cheese in Heaven! They must be nearly as large as his entire body! _Don't stare, don't stare! His admonishments to himself aren't particularly effective. It takes a massive effort of will for him to even glance away ... at his beer.

He gulps, tugs at his collar. "Are ... are you trying to get me drunk?"

"Now why would I do a silly thing like that?" She laughs ... which is disarming, until it shows him her mouth full of slender and sharp white teeth. "No, it's simply the smallest drink on my menu."

Still, he stares up at her. At least now, he's having better success in staring _up_at her face, rather than ... lower down, even if it's only because the memory of her teeth sends chills down his spine, despite the oppressive feeling of heat from only moments before. A moment ago, he felt so detached from the world around him. Now it's as if the whole world is crashing down around him, smothering him ... in the form of an impossible-to-ignore cat named Selena.

She must have misinterpreted his stare. "What? I can't see une souris down on his luck and buy him a drink? I'm simply being nice. I'm always_nice." She smiles, showing those teeth again slightly. "Not everyone is trying to get something out of it, you know... Though, if I _were to make a request, would it be too much to ask for a name?"

"Oliver Dee," he mouths, scarcely able to push enough breath out to speak properly.

"I'm sorry?"

He forces himself to say it louder, "Oliver Dee!"

"Afraid I still didn't quite catch that. It is a tad noisy in here, isn't it? D ... what?"

"Just Dee!" he shouts, louder than he meant to. "D-E-E!"

Selena recoils slightly away from him at the vehemence. "Oh, oh my. My apologies. What a cute little name for a cute little mouse."

"You ... you think I'm cute?" A blush heats his round ears; he knows it's showing, and that makes it even worse.

"Well, don't let it go to your head," she says coolly, suddenly leaning a bit away from him, as if perhaps thinking she was coming on too strong. Wait ... is she coming on too strong? Is she coming on to him at all? So hard to tell. He's a mouse - he's been called cute before, always causing the same reaction. But the look in her eyes, what does it mean? Why is she glancing down at him like that? Is as if she might lick her lips at any moment, but she's forcing herself not to.

Perhaps he should...? Well, it would be rude to just leave the conversation hanging, wouldn't it? He glances downward. Bad choice! That leaves him counting the six - or is it eight? - notable bulges in her blouse. No! He forces himself to look away, to look up, into her eyes. What was he going to say? He'd meant to say something. By now, he needs to say something. The pause is growing awkward! "So, uh, do you come here often?"

"Oh, I just saw how that brute of a buffalo treated you, and I thought you might appreciate someone treating you a bit better. That's all."

That ... isn't an answer. He grimaces a little. "So you came to me out of pity?"

"Is pity what you want?"

"What I want is for someone to fund my film!" He catches himself. That was far too much of an outburst. "Sorry, sorry. It's just I've been working _so_hard for it, and nothing seems to work. I've three more meetings scheduled just this week. The Hayworth fight, some shady, high-stakes poker tournament, the opening of the Met's new wing... I feel like I'm running in a wheel, going nowhere."

She looks down at him sympathetically, but also with a quizzical little furrow of her brows. "Running in a wheel?"

"It's a mouse expression." He shrugs ... and he has to admit, the bite of nervousness behind his shoulders is lessening. Still certainly there, but perhaps this Selena-Merri cat doesn't have nefarious intentions for him after all...

She leans in. "So... Tell me about this film..."

"Well, I'm not sure if you'll like the working title..." He glances about the bar, but finds no excuse to delay saying it, despite how insensitive she might find it. "Pussycat of the sky. It's about an aerial acrobat who's always tempting fate, but when he pushes too hard, he--"

"Le Pussycat of the Sky."

Oliver pauses his usual pitch. "Pardon?"

"I do think that makes it sound more romantic and mysterious, don't you? Le Pussycat of the Sky. It's sexier, and believe me, sex sells."

Selena looks down at him. Oliver looks back up at her. There's a slight gleam in her eye. What does she mean by that? Who is trying to sell to whom here, and what might she be selling?

"Well, anyway..." He pauses for another moment, but she's too polite to interject. "This aerial acrobat always likes to play with fate, but when a beautiful woman comes his way, everything goes wrong. Suddenly his family kicks him out for spending the university money on his plane, the plane won't start, and even his--"

"SPAD Twenty, isn't it?"

"Pardon?"

Selena shrugs fluidly and expressively, looking up at the smoke-stained ceiling. "The SPAD Twenty. Fantastic as a stunt plane, with a clever little trick in the carburetors to keep it running upside down. But that makes things too complicated and if the mechanism jams up, there's no flying for you. Now the Nieuport Twenty-eight - that is one bon avion. My personal favorite, if you must know. You'll have to restart the engine after any inversion, but at least you know it will restart."

Oliver stares up at her. "How... How do you know all this?" After all the research he's been doing into stunt flying, even he hasn't heard anything about such things. "Who are you? Where did you learn all that?"

"Oh, I do most of my flying from a charming little arfield in Creil."

He gapes. "As in... Isn't that...?"

"Yes, yes. Just north of Paris. Didn't my accent give it away? I'd love to fly out of Paris itself, of course, but the Aérodrome Nationale àPeteaux is simply outrageously expensive. And the Commandant de Porc doesn't much care for the idea of a female pilot. Seems to think I'm a hazard to all around me just by virtue of these I suppose." She squeezes her uppermost breasts casually.

That draws his eye, yes, but his mind is elsewhere. "You're ... you're a pilot?"

"And you? Where do you hail from, Mon Petit Souris?" Selena reaches to him, lightly touching his chest with one soft-padded finger ... but he can feel the tip of her retractable claw barely touching him. It's electrifying, terrifying, strangely intriguing.

It takes him a moment to catch up to her question. "Oh, um, right. I'm British. From London."

"Really? Hm... I thought by your accent, you'd actually be--"

"Is it that bad?"

She grins. "Oh no. Not at all. I'm sure it's good enough to fool these Americans. But why don't you tell me where you're really from?"

"I'm..." Well, there isn't any real_reason to avoid telling her, is there? "I'm Welsh, actually. From Nefyn - little fishing village on the seaside." He's letting a bit of his true accent out now. Feels strange to be dropping the act, but also a bit freeing, along with a slight pang of homesickness. "It's just easier to say I'm from London. Saves me having to explain the difference between British and Welsh, and saves me having to teach them how to pronounce Nefyn." How can he be speaking to her so freely? He hasn't told _anyone in America about all that. He's only just met her! Why is he feeling so free with her? What's she after?

The bartender happens to come by again. He eyes the cat chatting up the mouse with a bit of suspicion, but doesn't choose to comment on that. Instead, he gruffly says, "Anything I can get you two?"

"I'm all set," Oliver says sheepishly, leaning up to suck another huge mouthful from the enormous glass of beer in front of him on the bar.

Selena, though, touches a claw to her lip contemplatively. "I don't suppose you're familiar with the Amaretto Alexander?"

The old dog rolls his eyes. "Lady, I've been doin' this since the Clawhauser administration. One Amaretto Alexander, comin' right up. Light or heavy on the cream?"

"Well I am a cat..."

"Heavy on the cream it is." The bartender heads over to the other side of the bar, where more of the exotic ingredients are lined like colorful soldiers against sobriety up on shelves behind him. He grabs a clean cocktail shaker. Despite how dissatisfied his voice sounded, it's clear from behind him that his tail is wagging.

Oliver turns his attention back to Selena.

"What?" she says. "You can't blame me for being a cat. The cream is très délicieuse, I can never get enough sweet cream to satisfy me..." That look in her eyes. She's really devouring him with her gaze now ... and he's not quite sure whether that's the sexy kind of devouring, or the devouring kind of devouring.

He gulps. Speechless.

Perhaps she realizes she's pushing a bit too hard. Glancing away, she takes a bit of the pressure off of him. "So... I take it the big brute of a buffalo you were speaking to didn't think as highly of your film as I do?"

"He laughed at me!" Oliver buries his face between his palms, already reliving the awful moment in his memory. It's making him feel sick inside. "Said it was 'absurd,' 'impossible' to have a film camera on an aeroplane." He grits his rodent teeth. "But I know it can be done! It won't be easy, it might not be cheap, but it can be done! And once it is ... once it's done, I'll have a film unlike anything that's ever been seen before!"

Selena holds one claw to her mouth again. Such an intriguing - and also terrifying - little quirk. That claw could do so much damage, not to mention the maw she's holding it so close to... "It can't be that impossible. Weight capacities have only been going up. How much does one of these cameras of yours weigh?"

"I don't know... Depends which lenses you're using, what sort of tripod mount..." Oliver runs the sums in his head, subconsciously counting it out on his fingertips, which seems to amuse Selena. Then he nods. "Ninety, maybe a hundred pounds? Plus the cameraman, of course."

"So only about eighty livres? Ce n'est rien! Some of the mounted guns in the war weighed more than that. Even the Nieuport I brought here could handle that! Monsieur Buffalo hasn't the slightest idea what he's talking about!"

Oliver's jaw drops. "The Nieuport you brought here? You have an aeroplane? Here in the city?"

"Well, it's down a little way in New Jersey, of course. Teterboro Airfield. I had it disassembled, shipped across, and reassembled. At no small expense to me, mind you. But I do have quite the attachment to it, and so far I have found the Americans to be a touch more permissive when it comes to allowing the fairer sex to fly."

The bartender comes back over, slides the pale, milky drink in front of Selena with only a slight grunt.

Selena, though, took the opportunity to slide her hand along the back of the bartender's, even as he pulled away. "Thank you, mon cher. It looks delicious."

The bartender glances back at her for a moment. Grunts again. And he's off to another customer. Selena, likewise moves on quickly, focusing back on Oliver.

"So, the, uh ... Nieuport Twenty-eight, was it... That's a very agile little aeroplane, isn't it? From the war?" He can't decide whether having all the attention of her slitted blue eyes again is comforting ... or supremely discomfiting. "What sort of flying do you usually do? Don't tell me it's actually stunt flying!"

"Oh, I dabble." She winks. "I am by no means what these Americans call a 'barnstormer', and you will certainly never see me doing any of that madness they call wing walking. But I have been known to fly circles around other pilots from time to time ... especially the ones who say a woman can't possibly fly an aeroplane."

He stares up at her, entranced and expectant. Leans up to siphon up another swig of beer without taking his eyes off of Selena.

She lets the suspense hang for a moment. Sips at her own drink. Or laps at it, actually. In very cat-like fashion, she holds the martini glass close up to her mouth, then _licks_the creamy, nutty-colored drink out of it. That tongue of hers! So alien, so frightening, coated in its tiny sharp spines ... and yet, intriguing. Alluring, in a dangerous sort of way. It doesn't help that he can easily imagine the creamy cocktail coating her tongue on its way back up as something else entirely, something he has no business imagining on the tongue of a graceful and dignified lady he's only met mere minutes ago.

Selena sees him. She spots him staring - he can feel it in her eyes. He glances away, but it's too late. She knows what he was staring at, knows what he's thinking about. And yet ... she hasn't slapped him. Yet.

"You know, there was this one time in particular..." She sets her drink back down. "A particularly insufferable German boar named Baron von Huber. Great big tusks and an even bigger handlebar mustache. He'd go on at great length about his dubious exploits in the Great War - poor form, given that it was a French bar - and anytime I was about the airfield bar, he'd go on at great volume about how women were too delicate, too unpredictable, too flighty to be trusted in the air. Flighty! How could being flighty be bad for flying?" Rolling her eyes a little, she picks her drink up and laps at it.

At this point, Oliver knows she's just waiting for a little encouragement, and he's happy to give it to her. "I take it you flew with him?" This cat was one of the most fascinating people he'd ever met, and already that awful buffalo seemed only a figure of the distant past.

Selena smiles, half hidden by the creamy martini glass. "Oh yes. It was spectacular. On a cold, early morning, with the airstrip still soft from rain the night before. I had finally gotten all four ailerons working properly, finally ready to show what my 'Flèche de Chaton' could do..."

---

Oliver shakes his head. It makes him dizzy. How much has he drank? He leans in closer, playfully poking Selena's shoulder with his whole hand. "No! No, you couldn't have! Don't tell me you did it!"

"Oh I did. Selena beams. He thought a barrel roll starting and ending inverted was the most impressive thing possible. I quite literally flew circles around him as he did that, and for the coup de grâce I finished up with the longest and most death-defying tail slide anyone there had ever seen. Nearly tore my rudder off from the force of the wind, but it was worth it to see the look on that gros porc when we met back on the ground."

"You're amazing!"

"Oh stop," Selena says, clearly meaning the opposite. "I simply cannot tolerate flattery."

"I'm se ... serious. I don't think I've met someone so fascinating in all my life." A hiccup overtakes Oliver, and he just narrowly prevents it from becoming a loud belch right in front of this proper lady. "God, how much have I drank?" he thinks, not quite aware that he's thinking out loud.

He stares at his cup. It's a bit ... wobbly, but damned if it doesn't look like more than half of it is gone! Of course, Selena had a few sips some time ago, supposedly just to taste what this bar's beer was like - she hadn't found it agreeable - but she can't have accounted for that much. Oliver's eyes swim with the thought that he must have consumed nearly his whole weight in beer right now. Or is it the rest of the room that's swimming?

"Oh, I'd say you made a fairly good showing of yourself," Selena says, eyeing the glass as well. "I thought you might only drink a sip here or there, but I'm honestly impressed. I've seen men five times your size turn into insufferable brutes with half as much in them."

A warm glow fills him. From her compliment ... or maybe just the heat of the brew inside him.

"In my experience, the drink reveals the truth inside anyone. Usually, taking away the mask of politeness and the little white lies of civility reveals something detestable. But in you..." She bites her lips, eying him with clear intent. "Well, just let me say that I'm pleasantly surprised so far in what I see."

"Last call!" the bartender hollers out to the bar. The mostly empty bar.

Oliver looks around, blinking. How could he have been so focused on Selena that he didn't notice how late it was getting? Nearly everyone else has already gone home, leaving only the die-hard barflies and the dedicated alcoholics. Mousetraps! Is he becoming one of those sad addicts just because some buffalo turned down his film deal? Or is there another reason, something else keeping him here? He looks up at Selena-Merri again. God, she's beautiful.

Oh dear - has he said that part out loud as well? No, from the way she's still looking at him, it doesn't seem like she heard that part. Thankfully. "I don't normally--" he hiccups again, and this time he can't stop it from becoming a bit of a belch "--drink so much ... or so late." It feels very important to make that point. He can't have her thinking he's some dipsomaniacal bar-rat.

Selena glances around, then back at him. "It _is_getting late, isn't it? And I've had quite a few myself. I'm not sure it would be safe for a lady like me, walking home all alone..."

The invitation there couldn't be clearer. And part of him really does like Selena. Not just that part, and not only the part sloshing with beer, either. She fascinates him, in a way he's seldom experienced before. He's never before spent so much time just talking with a woman - of any species - losing hours as he drinks down her every word.

But_he's not drunk enough to completely forget caution, either. The deep, instinctive fear a mouse has for cats can't be washed away with only so much beer. He's a mouse. She's a cat. He's a mouse. She's a cat. He's a _mouse and she's a cat!

It's just too risky!

As fascinating as she is, he can't put his life on the line like this. Of course cats don't eat mice anymore. In theory. But the old instincts don't go away so easily, and there are always dark rumors and old wive's tales of cats who still indulge in the occasional 'treat'. The thought of her claws, her mouth, her teeth ... it's thrilling, but also terrifying, and for very good reason. He has to escape somehow!

But how? After spending so much time with her here, he can't simply turn her down and walk back to his apartment. What if she follows him? He needs to ... aha!

"Oh, yes, of course I'll walk you home," he says, only now wondering what sort of protection a tiny mouse like him could provide a much bigger and more formidable cat like her. "Just, uh, excuse me for a moment, to visit the facilities. It was an awful lot of beer, after all!"

"Of course!" Selena smiles. The tips of her teeth show. "But don't keep a lady waiting."

Oliver hurries off to the hallway in the back of the bar, and into the men's room. He _does_actually need to go. Quite badly. Which, for a mouse his size, involves climbing a small ramp up the side of the toilet, then pissing down over the edge of the seat. But once he's zipped up and washed up, he _doesn't_head back into the bar. Instead, he heads farther down the hallway. There's a mousehole next to the back door of the bar, leading out into the alley behind.

He slips into that dark alley, quiet and tipsy as he patters his way away, safe from any cats ... for now.

Only as he comes out of the alley and into the well-lit street does he realize a flaw in his plan: his hat is still on the rack just inside the bar's door. But he'll have to carry on unfashionably hatless to his apartment. He can come back to the bar later and see if they still have his tiny boater cap on the hook by the door.

Chapter 2 - A Game of Cat and Mouse

Long minutes pass. Goodness, it shouldn't take this_long for a mouse to see to his ablutions! Still, Selena-Merri holds out hope. Surely he wouldn't... No, the two of them have been getting along so swimmingly! There's no _possible way he'd stoop to such dastardly--

"That's it for tonight, folks!" The bartender flicks a switch behind the bar, dousing most of the electric lights. "Three A-M on the nose. Closin' time!"

The only other patron still in the establishment - a bedraggled-looking buck deer - lets out a fretful moan. "Aw, come on, Jeff!"

"It's the law. Bar closes at three every night. You know that as well as I do. Now skedaddle. See ya tomorrow."

Still reeling from the unreal sensation of having been so rudely abandoned at the side of the bar, Selena gets up. Her legs feel a tad unsteady. Is it the drink, or is it the lack of company? She gathers her purse, leaves enough on the counter to cover her tab. This can't be real, can it? Oliver wouldn't really walk out on her like that ... would he? Without ... without even a single word!

It cannot stand! It simply will not stand! She cannot leave it at that! Despite coming to America for a fresh start and a less hostile environment, she's still never met anyone so casually accepting of a female pilot before. And not only accepting, but _interested_in it! He truly saw her as an equal. Not an abomination against some higher power, not a curiosity to be scrutinized and then laughed about, not even as a charity case to be plied with empty encouragements.

And of course, it didn't hurt that he was rather charming, in that nervous little mousy way of his. Cute, even. Despite the obvious differences between the two of them, she had found herself straying into the occasional scandalous thought about Oliver's--

"Miss, we're closin' up. Need me to call ya a cab?"

The bartender's touch at her shoulder startles her. How can she get so lost in thought? This mouse is getting to her, getting under her skin. "No no, I'm quite alright," she says, though on second thought maybe that would have been a good idea. No matter. Because she won't leave it at this. If there's one thing cats are good at, it's hunting mice. And he won't get away from her as easily as that! The first step, of course, is the bartender himself. "Mon chien," she says, her voice sweetened with a flutter of her extravagant eyelashes, "I don't suppose there's anything you can tell me about that adorable little mouse I was talking to at the bar?"

He shrugs. "Comes here pretty often."

Is the bartender hiding something? Trying to protect the innocent little mouse from a dangerous predator? Covering for a regular at the expense of a first-time customer? Fishing for a bribe? "Yes?" she probes. "And do you know where I might find him?" Something catches the corner of her eye, down near the floor by the front door of the bar. With predictably feline grace, she swoops it up. "I do believe he's lost his hat, and I would dearly love to return it to him."

"I got my work to do every night. Don't have much time to be chattin' with the customers." He shakes his head. "Sorry, miss, but I don't think I can help ya."

"Are you sure?" She tries fluttering her eyelashes again, already beginning to believe it's a futile gesture. Perhaps she should skip straight to extracting her pocketbook from her purse?

"Look, lady. I'm sorry and all, but I've still got to clean up before I go home and I got kids at home that are gonna need me in the morning." He nods meaningfully toward the door.

Fine. Selena-Merri knows when to accept defeat. As long as it's only temporary.

Without so much as an 'Au revoir,' she turns and walks out the door, letting it slam closed behind her. The streetlights are shining bright here in the heart of the city that never sleeps, but the dark buildings loom above and shadows hide in every corner. Shadows even her slitted eyes can't pierce. A touch past three in the morning, and her mousey quarry could be anywhere. How long has she been waiting for him in the bar since he left? She certainly won't be catching up to him anytime soon.

But she doesn't need to. She grins, displaying sharp teeth to no one in particular.

Those meetings he'd been complaining about. The baseball game, was it? No - boxing match. Yes! The Hayworth fight. And that 'shady' poker game ... that could only be referring to the Snake Den. She isn't exactly an avid player - she rarely has the opportunity - but even she's heard of the place, and she knows just who to ask in order to get invited to their next monthly game. And then the museum opening. Couldn't be easier to find. It's all over the papers. Oh, she'll have him alright. And whether she'll tear him to shreds for abandoning her or ... something rather more enjoyable for both of them, well, that will depend entirely on how he behaves himself, now won't it?

---

This had all seemed so much simpler when Selena was standing on a dark, empty street at an unholy hour of night. Now, though, amidst the chaos, the shout, and the clamor of the boxing matchup of the year, she's beginning to have her doubts.

How is she supposed to find one little mouse in all this uproariously shouting crowd? The announcer's voice booms from loudspeakers overhead, giving blow-by-blow details of the warmup fight - a shifty tiger going toe-to-toe with a huge burly ox. From the sound of things, the tiger seemed quicker on his feet and the favorite to win as he danced around every punch ... until the ox landed one lucky blow. Now, with the tiger reeling, it's only a matter of time before the ox's next lucky break.

But she's only half paying attention to all that, despite the hefty price of the ticket. Instead, she's shifting through the crowded arena, up and down each row, paying special attention to the smallest seats reserved for the smallest spectators.

The bell rings - the tiger's down for the count!

And that's when she spots him. Far far up in the cheap seats. The only one of the assorted rodents, bats, and lizards who isn't_jumping up. Instead, he's entirely distracted, his eyes darting around the crowd. Looking for someone. Looking for her? No ... why would he expect _her in a place like this? No, he must be looking for that producer of his... But he's about to get quite the surprise.

The crowd quiets a bit as the fight ends, as the tiger's trainer drags the limp, orange-striped fighter out of the ring. This section full of the smallest spectators goes especially quiet. The various mice, rats, squirrels, and chipmunks and the like all go still and quiet, watching warily as a big white cat approaches them.

Finally, Oliver spots her. His eyes go wide, reflecting some of the same instinctual panic of the other rodents. But there's something else. Recognition, of course. Confusion. And ... hm ... what might that slight moment of going misty-eyed mean? That slight quiver and drooping of his ears - is that something mouse-specific, or does it mean the same thing it would on a cat's face? A submissive signal of love ... or lust. Cats don't tend to waste time getting philosophical about the difference between those two.

"Oh," she says in the relative quiet, "how do the Americans say it? 'Look what the cat dragged in'?"

He pauses, glances around as if looking for an exit. Will he run away again? He won't escape her so easily this time. He must know that. Bites his lips. "Um, not quite, I think. Maybe I'm the one who's supposed to say that? But you're not getting dragged in by a cat - you are the--" he gulps "--cat."

Selena kneels down and props an elbow against the tiny stairs in this section, getting closer down to his level. The nearby mice and squirrels all lean nervously away from her. "Hm, yes. Idioms are so confusing sometimes. C'est la anglaise."

"What ... what are you doing here?"

Ignoring the implied, 'And did you follow me?' from the intense look in his eyes that followed his words, Selena simply waved off his question with a flick of her wrist. "I can't come and catch a little morsel of entertainment from time to time? This is a big fight, after all. I've been endlessly hearing about the upcoming Hayward fight for weeks now."

His eyes narrow. He's not buying it. "The Hay_worth_ fight?"

"Yes, yes, of course. But what brings you to such a place? I thought you had more pressing business to attend to?"

Oliver's head drops, suddenly drooping low. "I was _supposed_to. Max Gainsley - of Gainsley Productions - is supposed to be here. But I've never been to one of these big American matches before. I didn't expect it to be so ... big. How am I supposed to get through a crowd like this without being stepped on, or worse? They don't even have stairs my size in the other sections!"

Hm... A chance for the pussycat to prove her worth! "This Gainsley fellow, what's he look like?"

"Great big silverback gorilla," Oliver says, still staring at the floor in front of himself. "Heavyset, and overly fond of bright yellow pinstripe suits."

Well that certainly narrows it down, and Selena already knows that 'heavyset' is putting it lightly. Very diplomatic of her tiny friend to phrase it that way. She's already been canvasing the stands far and wide looking for Oliver, and a gorilla that enormous in a suit that eye-wateringly colorful was hard to miss. Hard to forget as well.

She smiles wickedly. "What if I told you I knew where he was sitting?"

"Everybody knows where he's sitting." Finally looking up, Oliver points straight across the ring to the large yellow blotch in the front row along the other side. "Can't miss him. But there's no way I could get over there, not even if I had a ringside ticket, which..." He gestures around himself. This is about as far away as one can get from the action of the fight while still being within the arena. "I very obviously don't."

She holds out her hand, smiles.

Oliver goes pale. His ears flatten. "You can't be serious."

"What's the matter, Mon Petit? Don't you trust me?"

For a moment, he doesn't move. She fears she's asked for more than he can give and he's going to run for it again. But only a moment. Then he comes to her, profusely apologizing to the squirrel couple he has to step past, and then she feels the touch of his hand against her finger. It's the first time they've truly touched, without intervening clothing. Her fur stands on end a little. She hadn't expected it to feel this ... special.

She's had her share of men before, of course. Some bigger, some smaller, though never quite as small as Oliver. Mostly fellow felines, to be honest. But she's never quite felt anything like this tender little touch against her finger before. Is it only because he's so small ... or is it something else?

The whole way across the arena, as she cradles her precious cargo between her hands, she can't help but wonder at the intensity of that first feeling. Now he just feels fragile and delicate between her hands. Warm and a little soft yes, but she's mostly just concerned with keeping her claws sheathed and making sure she doesn't bump into anyone or trip - nothing that might make her drop him. The big fight - the Hayworth fight - is staging up in the ring, along with much fanfare from the announcer, and it's riling up the crowd even more. She has to be careful. Because this cargo is feeling more and more precious with every step.

What is_this, anyway? She's found him. Why isn't she berating him for leaving her adrift last night? What's stopping her? Is she having ... feelings? No, no. It can't be. She's just ... _concerned, that's all. And she's interested in helping him reach his lofty film production goal. She could, of course, have simply berated him and been on her way, but she wasn't that sort of cat. Who would want to spend time with a cat like that?

But wait ... why is it that she wants this mouse to spend time with her?

"This is the match you've all been waiting for, folks! In the star-spangled shorts, our defending champ, Hayworth the fan-favorite all-American stallion from Montana! Versus ... In the yellow shorts, Donny Muraj, the upstart sensation straight from British India! Don't let this orangutan's hunched back fool, you folks, he's no slouch - he's slippery and smart, no sweet treat to land a hit on, and he's got reach for days_with those long arms of his. Will Hayworth retain his heavyweight title and the love of boxing enthusiasts the world over, or will Donny Muraj have a thing or two to say about that? Find out ... _now!" The bell rings, and everything else is lost in the roar of the crowd.

It's so chaotic that Selena can scarcely reach the huge gorilla producer. _Very_luckily, though, there happens to be an empty seat next to him. Without hesitation, she takes it and holds Oliver up toward him.

He doesn't notice. His eyes are fixed on the ring.

"Excuse me, sir!" Selena shouts, struggling to be heard over the crowd.

The gorilla holds one huge hand out toward him, a single finger raised. 'One moment, busy.' There's no arguing with a gesture like that. She pauses.

"Come on! Get in there and hit him! Stop dancing around and hit him already!" There's rage in the producer's voice, pure rage. "You've got him in the corner, Hayworth! Stop being such a--"

The bell rings. The stallion and the orangutan in the ring separate.

"Coward!" the gorilla shouts up to the ring, loud enough for the boxers to hear. "You have any idea how much money I have on this fight? Get in there and_hit him_ next time!"

A slight pause as the two fighters are given water and toweled off. Selena leaps into the moment of relative quiet. "If I could just have a moment of your time, mister--"

"Gainsley," he finishes for her. "Make it quick. Before my wife gets back."

"This is Oliver Dee," Selena proudly proclaims, "one of the best upcoming filmmakers in Europe!"

The mouse in her hands coughs unexpectedly. Not the greatest first impression, perhaps.

"Oh?" The gorilla finally looks down at Oliver. "First I've heard of him."

"Well, uh, yes," Oliver says, finally finding his voice, "You see, I'm setting out to make a pioneering new film about a--"

"Save me the pitch. What else has he made?"

Oliver gulps. "Well, I actually have made a couple of--"

"Finish him off properly this time!" the Gorilla shouts suddenly as the boxers in the ring go at each other again. "Get in there. Get in there! What are you doing? Get inside his reach! What, are you blind?"

How is Oliver supposed to pitch his film idea if this ape won't even listen? Selena just knows that she's got to do something. This is Oliver's big break! More importantly, it's her chance to impress him with her ability to convince this thick-headed ape.

She set Oliver down on the back of the seat so that she could climb right up the side of Mister Gainsley's bright yellow suit and talk straight into his ear, so he'd be able to hear her over the din of the crowd and the fight. "You definitely don't want to miss out on this deal--"

"Hit him! HIT HIM ALREADY!"

The bell dings again. Round over.

"Idiot!" The gorilla slumps in his big seat. Turns to Selena. "Did you see that? He was wide open, come on!"

"Right, right..." Desperately, she tries to tie it in. "And _we're_wide open for the film deal of a lifetime. Oliver here is one of the greatest filmmakers of our day! Why, you should just see how his current film is doing!"

The ape's eyes narrow. "He's got a film playing right now?"

Oliver's waving at her to stop, but it's too late now. He'll thank her later - she knows better than to let a guy like this call her bluff. She must keep pushing. "Absolutely raking it in with the ticket sales. Raining money. I've never seen the like!"

"Great! I'll go see it. What's the title?"

Oh, oh dear...

He raises one eyebrow. "Who was the producer? What studio did he go through?"

Selena gulps. "Um..."

A tall and curvaceous cheetah woman approaches, in a gorgeous red dress with matching tiny handbag. "Ah, there you are, Max. I hope you didn't miss me." She sneers at Selena. "Though I can see you haven't been lacking in female companionship while I was away..."

The bell rings again, the crowd roars as the two fighters rush toward each other.

"Um... I think we should probably just leave the two of you alone." Selena reaches for her companion. "Oliver?"

"What was that?" the mouse squeaks. "You blew any chance I had with him!"

Keenly aware of both the gorilla and the cheetah eying her, she tries to shrug it off. "Come now, Mon Petit. Without me, you never would have had a chance to say a single word to him, isn't that right?" Maybe a little appeal to the baser instincts would prevail? She leans in close, tuning her cheek and closing her eyes as if expecting a kiss, though she was sure he wouldn't have the nerve. "Though, if you ever wanted to pay me back for that little favor, you might remember that I've bought you a drink and you've never bought me a..."

He's gone. Probably jumped down from the back of the seat the moment she closed her eyes. He could be anywhere in this crowd.

The cheetah clears her throat. "Ma'am, you are in my seat..."

The orangutan crashes down to the floor of the ring. "It's a knockout!" the announcer shouts with glee. The crowd roars, the gorrilla loudest of all!

Selena says nothing. Nobody would be able to hear her over the roar of the crowd anyway. She just quietly walks away. She's not done yet, though. That's twice now that Oliver has disappeared on her. Oh, she'll have him yet...

Chapter 3 - Bonne Chance

When Oliver leaps from his cab out onto the curb in front of the Snake Den the next day, he's still thinking about Selena-Merri. She can be so unnerving, so intriguing ... and so damn smooth about everything.

Especially smooth about casually lying. He frowns. Can he really trust anything she says? She lied so carelessly, so thoughtlessly to Mister Gainsley back in that arena. As if it was second nature to her. No, first nature. Deceit was the first thing that came into her head.

He takes a deep breath. Alright. Pull it together. He'll have to keep his head in the game if he's going to make it through this poker game with a film deal and without losing all the money he has left to his name. A distressingly small amount, even for a mouse. Mice can get by with very little if they need to ... but in this city, even a very little can cost an awful lot. He's supposed to be raising money for a film here, not squandering what little he has left!

Once resolved and _hopefully_clear-headed enough to handle it, he crosses the busy sidewalk and slides into the smallest of the three unmarked doors on this utterly unremarkable building.

Only the outside is unremarkable, though. The interior... Well, the moment Oliver walks in, he feels like he's stepped into a palace from another continent. Plush red carpet, luscious purple draperies, and a giant golden counter right in front of him, engraved with a motif of intertwined snakes. A mink with fur slicked down with grease looks down at him from the countertop, then quickly scurries around the back of it to meet Oliver just in front of the golden monstrosity.

"May I take your hat, sir?" The mink says urbanely.

Naturally, Oliver hands it to him.

"And how much will you be exchanging into chips this evening?"

This is a moment Oliver's been dreading for some time now. But when he hands the mink a relatively paltry sum of three very-folded hundred dollar notes, the mink doesn't make any comment. Not even a snide glance. He simply rushes around behind the counter and returns with a stack of eleven blue chips. Twenty-five dollars each.

Oliver eyes the stack of chips. The mink looks back at him with urbane disinterest, as if daring him to say anything about the lack of a twelfth chip.

This is _not_the sort of place wants to start any trouble in. Particularly if one is as small and vulnerable as a dormouse. Oliver takes his stack of chips, balancing it precariously. That missing twenty-five dollar chip will just have to be the mink's gratuity. Oh well. For all Oliver knows, he might be about to lose far more than that anyway. The money isn't important. The important thing is that he gets into this game and talks to the man he needs to talk to.

When Oliver walks into the opulent and shady back room, though, what he sees nearly makes him drop and scatter the whole stack of chips.

Or rather, who he sees.

Selena-Merri.

There she is, sitting there, impossibly - inexplicably - on the other side of the table, as if she's meant to be there. And she's obviously noticed his entrance. Apparently, she's the only one of the players watching the door. She's the only one to look at him. And oh how she looks at him. That predatory little smile of hers.

Two dobermans in matching uniforms relieve Oliver of his chips. One sets the chips down on the table next to Selena and sets up a tiny chair on the table next to them. The other holds out his hand. "May I assist you, sir?"

They just had to put his seat right next to Selena's didn't they? Well, there's no backing out now. The other players are all looking at him, sizing up the new competition. This isn't the time to look nervous or hesitant. Especially not in front of Jim Jones - the skunk he came here to see. So Oliver takes the doberman's hand and allows himself to be carried around, placed right next to that seat.

All the other players here - including Selena - have mountains_of chips, far taller than him, even when he stands on the table, and in far more exotic colors as well. It makes his own little stack of chips look rather pathetic in comparison. Still, they seem to be a welcoming bunch. There are five total this evening: Jim Jones of course, Selena, an alligator hunched low over the table and staring at him through dark glasses, a black-and-white tomcat, and a tall deer with huge antlers and a studiously expressionless look on his face. Now, with Oliver at the table, there are six. Only the tomcat raises an eyebrow at Oliver's small stack of chips. The rest of them seem to be eyeing him up as some poor country rube to be fleeced and then disposed of as quickly as possible. Jim Jones looks at him with a calculating glare. And Selna ... she's _purring right there next to him. Obviously quite pleased with herself.

The alligator, who seems to be the dealer for this round, pushes a small pile of chips from the center of the table toward Selena, who obviously looks quite pleased with herself for having won the previous round. The tomcat is dealing next.

As he dishes out two cards to each player, Oliver leans toward Selena. "What are you doing here?" he whispers. "Are you playing?" Despite himself, he can't help but let a hint of his disapproval slip into the tone of his voice. How dare she mess up yet another meeting with a potential producer! Can't she leave well enough alone?

"What, haven't you ever seen a cat play poker before?" Selena looks over at him slyly.

Oliver glances over at the tomcat dealing cards from the other side of the table.

"Oh, it's not because I'm a woman, is it? La honte!"

"No, it isn't." It actually isn't! But he can tell from the look in her eye that she doesn't believe him. That she thinks she has something to prove. Oliver grinds his rodent teeth together. "It just seems to be quite the coincidence, that's all."

Selena grins. Oliver shivers, his fur standing on end.

"So I reckon you two know each other?" Jim Jones says in a characteristically Texan twang.

"Not really," Oliver says quietly.

"Oh, Oliver is a dear friend of mine," Selena says much more loudly and clearly.

Jim Jones steeples his fingers in front of himself. "Fascinating..."

"Ante up," the tomcat says, having completed the deal. He slides two blue twenty-five dollar chips into the center of the table, soon matched by everyone else in turn ... including Oliver. It pains him to see such valuable chips disappearing so quickly - will he even get a chance to make his pitch to that skunk at this rate? - but there's no helping it. This is the cost of admission into such circles. It's either pay up or get out.

Oliver's mouth goes distinctly dry as the cards are dealt out ... though he can't quite discern the reason. There are an _abundance_of reasons. Nervousness about meeting with Jim Jones. The imminent prospect of losing what little money he has left. The electric heat of Selena's presence that he can distinctly feel from next to him, even when he isn't looking...

It isn't a good time to be so unnerved. He barely even remembers to peel up the corners of his cards and check what they are before it's his turn to make his bet.

Jack of clubs and two of hearts. Not exactly an inspiring hand. "I fold," he says almost instantly.

That raises more than a few eyebrows around the table. He can feel them dismissing him as an amateur.

"Raise by six hundred," Selena says confidently.

He whips his head around to look at her. She looks back with a sharp-toothed grin just for him.

Oh, so _that's_how it's going to be, is it? Does she really have a good hand, or is she just trying to show off for him, carelessly raising the stakes by more than his meager stack of chips can even afford?

In the next hand, though, things look quite a bit better. Ten of hearts and ten of diamonds ... not bad at all.

When the betting comes around to him, his first thoughtless instinct is to immediately go all-in. It's a good hand. He can win. He'll probably_win. But that's only for a moment, before he remembers why he's here. If he loses everything in one hand, that will be it. He'll be on his way out. Without even the slightest step closer to a film deal. So he shoves just _one extra twenty-five dollar chip into the middle of the table. He has to keep this going as long as he can.

"Is that all?" Selena asks. "From the look on your face, I thought you had a much better hand than that."

He looks over at her, ready to feel ire and annoyance that she'd mess _this_up as well ... but that's not what he feels when he looks into those slitted blue eyes. Not at all. Instead, it's a kind of transfixion. Feeling as if she's turned him to stone with the power of her gaze. It sends chills down his spine and makes his fur stand on end.

"Oh don't look at me like that, Mon Petit. You're an open book to me." She glances away for just a moment. No more than a flicker. But was that ... doubt? Perhaps he isn't as open of a book as she'd like, for all of the intimidating airs she likes to put on.

That realization, at least, is enough to get him in his seat again, but the moment he sits down, Selena grins at him and shoves a rather large stack of chips into the center. There's a fire in her eyes. A challenge. The game is set, isn't it?

The betting goes around the table again, and by the time it comes to him, it's of course higher than his entire stack of chips. But there's also another ten down on the table. Three tens would be a fine hand, a hand that could win. But can he risk everything he's got on it? He should_be folding, shouldn't he? He should be trying to stay at this table for as long as he can, for his chance to talk with Jim Jones, which has more at stake than this whole game. Then again, though ... he's not going to get very far if all he does is fold every round. His already-dwindling stack of chips won't last long at that rate. If he's going to last in this game, he'll have to win _sometime, and it's not likely he'll be getting any better chances than this. The risk, though! If he follows through on this and loses, he'll be out of the game immediately...

The other players are staring at him. They're getting impatient! He has to make his move now!

He shuts his eyes. He can't bear to look - but he pushes his entire stack of chips forward. That's it. He's all in. On the first hand. And all he can think of is how much of a fool he is.

The betting keeps on going round. But, of course, that means nothing to him now. It's all going into a side-pot that he won't be eligible to win. He can only win the main pot - what there was when he went all-in. Even that, though ... that would be seven times what he'd walked in here with. And if the fates have been trying to teach him anything, it's that things that good don't happen to mice like him. He's doomed now. He knows it.

Three of the other players have folded. Now it's the showdown, putting all the cards down on the table. Jim Jones was bluffing! He had _nothing!_The tomcat at the other side of the table has two kings and nothing else. Feeling like he's about to swallow his heart, Oliver flips over his two tens, giving him three of a kind, including the one on the table. The winning hand ... unless Selena-Merri has anything better.

Oh, and she knows it. She's watching him sweat. Slowly reaching for her cards, enjoying every moment of the suspense.

Does she enjoy making him suffer? Why is she doing this? Just flip the cards already!

Finally, she reveals what she has: a ten ... and an ace. Together with the ten and the ace on the table, that gives her two pair, which is - Oliver has to think on it for a moment - yes! It's less than three of a kind. He's the winner of this hand!

And all he can do is stare, mouth gaping, as the dealer pushes a stack of chips much bigger than Oliver himself over to Oliver's spot at the table.

Of course, an even bigger_stack gets pushed toward Selena. As the next highest hand, she wins everything he wasn't eligible for because of his meager bet ... which is quite a lot, actually. She doesn't even look at it, though. She's looking at _him. "Not bad, Mon Petit," she says, "but do you have la vigueur to keep it up all night long?"

He seriously doubts it, but gives the most confident nod he can manage anyway. And ... is it the look in the eyes that's making him hot under the collar and tight in his trousers, or is it just the cleavage of her evening gown showing off the curves of her uppermost breasts? He can't help but shiver when she uses two long, delicately curved claws to fling her cards back to the dealer, still staring directly into his eyes the whole time.

And when he finally looks over at Jim Jones, the skunk is eyeing him thoughtfully, stroking his chin with his fluffy black-and-white striped tail twitching behind him.

Well, that first hand seems to have gotten him attention and some degree of respect from the others at the table. But can he keep it up?

---

The night has gone long. Oliver is still in the game, if only by the skin of his rodent teeth. A close call a couple of hands ago left him with almost nothing again. But he's doing better than most. Only three left in the game: himself, Selena-Merri, and Jim Jones. It's late, late_into the evening, and the game should probably have been called off already ... if it weren't for the stubbornness of the three remaining players. Oliver has to keep in the game in hopes of talking to Jim Jones, who has so far shut down every attempt to talk about any film idea. Selena seems to only be in the game to play with and torment Oliver. And Jim Jones himself? Who knows what perverse reason _he might have in keeping the game going...

Jim is the dealer this round. He's dealing slowly, and he's giving Oliver and Selena some rather odd looks as he sends the cards out their way.

They're all crowded around one side now, Selena next to Jim, Oliver across from both of them sitting on his little chair in the middle of the table. Oliver's eyes dart from one to the other. Both of them are staring at him. And maybe it's just his prejudice affecting him, but he can't help but think of the way he's being looked at as predatory.

"Now," Jim Jones says, slowly and clearly, "how about we make the game more interesting?"

There's a long, pregnant pause. Oliver gulps. "How interesting?"

"Well, let's say I wager that film deal you're looking for..."

How does he even know about that? Sure, Oliver's been trying to drop hints where he could, but he didn't get to say much, and he certainly didn't get into any part of the actual pitch! How in the world can Jim feel confident enough to put a deal on the table without even knowing what the film's about? It can't be real. It can't. Nobody is that daft.

And yet ... Oliver can't not take advantage of such an opportunity... "Wager it against what?" he asks, cautiously.

"The film deal against a night with this lovely girlfriend of yours." Jim leers sideways at Selena-Merri.

Selena gasps. Oliver's jaw drops.

He has to clarify the situation, though. "She's not my--" Or, well, is she? At any rate... "She's not mine to wager!" Whether the two of them are together in any way, he can't truly know. There is, perhaps, _something_there, and the last thing he wants to do is to ruin any chance of it becoming more, but there's also no way he can go through with such a barbaric deal. He doesn't own her!

Selena, though, has her own opinions about it. "Deal!" she says confidently.

Oliver's left even more dumbfounded. This can't possibly be happening. It's insane! Utterly insane!

"Well," Jim Jones says, staring him down, "do we have a deal?"

Oliver reaches for his cards.

Jim slams his hand down on the cards before Oliver can lift them. "No. We do this right. No looking. Are you in on the wager or are you not?"

Well, if Selena is okay with it... But wait, what if it's a test? What if Selena is waiting to see whether he'll risk giving her away or not? And what might she do if she's putting him to such a test and he fails?_It isn't pleasant to think about. What is it that she wants? She's just looking at him with an enigmatically slight smile ... what does it mean? Why can't she be more obvious about what she wants? Is it just a cat thing, or is it something about _her in particular?

"Well?" Jim asks again.

"I'll..." Oliver takes a deep breath. Closes his eyes. "I'll do it."

Jim grins wide. Selena - thank heavens - is still smiling slightly, though she does raise her eyebrows ever so slightly.

Finally, Oliver can look at his cards. A two of spades and an eight of hearts. Just about the worst hand one can possibly get. Wonderful. Well, there's nothing for it but to bluff, then. He can't fold with Selena and a film deal on the line. But ... what good will bluffing be? Jim Jones also has everything on the line - the worst that can happen here is that he'll lose the film deal money ... but that will already happen if he folds.

It's up to luck, then, isn't it? Oliver does his best to hide his nervousness from the other two. He can't let on just how worried he is about this.

What he can't understand, though, is why Selena keeps raising the bet. What does she_have to gain? A film deal that isn't for her? A night with herself? Or is she in it just for the sheer competition of it? Then again, the pot is spiraling out of control. Oliver's left all-in again after the very first round, and by the time the betting is over, Selena is all-in as well. Jim Jones might as well be. The stack of chips remaining in front of him is less than Oliver started with this evening, while the pot is _huge. Whoever wins this round will have an absolute fortune on their hands. And a film deal ... or Selena.

Come on, come on... If ever Oliver was due a reversal in his luck, the time is now.

The five community cards go down on the table one by one. Queen of hearts. Five of spades. Two of clubs. Ten of hearts. Nine of hearts.

"You're first," Jim Jones reminds Oliver.

It's not looking good. He flips over his cards. His two of spades gives him a single pair. Not exactly impressive. But maybe there's a chance that Jim doesn't have anything better.

With a triumphant grin, Jim lifts his two cards and slams_them down on the table: queen of diamonds and queen of clubs. Along with the queen of hearts on the table, that's three of a kind, and all queens. A _far superior hand. "Well well well," Jim says smugly, "looks like the kitten and I have a date."

"Not quite so fast, le mufle."

Both Oliver and Jim suddenly turn to stare at Selena-Merri. She calmly, daintily flips her own cards over: eight of hearts, jack of hearts. Combined with what's on the table, that's a straight flush.

Jim's jaw drops. "Well I'll be... What are the chances?" He makes no move to stop Selena as she rakes all the chips over to her spot at the table, leaving only the dismally small stack for him.

Oliver comes closer to her, walking across the top of the table. "You'll um, you'll give me the film deal, right?"

"Who said anything about that?" There's definitely a playful gleam in her eyes now. "Maybe if you win it from me..."

Oliver slumps. "I'm ... I'm all out."

"You can't simply get a few more chips?"

His cheeks burn with shame. Slowly, he shakes his head no. That was the last he had. He's basically penniless now. Even making this month's rent is going to be a challenge now.

Jim lets out a big belly laugh, holding onto his fine waistcoat as he does. "Now that's_rich!" he guffaws. "Boy, you've got yourself one helluva girlfriend there. But I think you've got the right idea. I'm feeling mighty impoverished myself just now--" he nudges his dismally small stack of chips "--and I figure it's time for _me to call it quits, too. Before I make any worse mistakes."

"Oh don't leave the game now!" Selena says in a teasing tone. "If you just buy a few more chips and stay in, I'm sure you'll win what you want." She winks at him. What does she think she's implying here?

"Nope, nope. I know better." Jim Jones shakes his head. "I know when to run away from the table, and that time is now."

He's as good as his word. It only takes him a moment to collect his small stack of chips and leave.

That leaves Oliver and Selena basically alone in the room, aside from the game attendants and a couple surly-looking security goons.

Oliver whispers to her, "Seriously, though, you're going to give me the film deal, right? What are you going to do with something like that?"

"Why would I? What's in it for me?" Another enigmatic smile, another gleam in her eyes.

For once, Oliver stands his ground. "You ... you totally blew my meeting with Gainsley! You owe me one!"

But she just smiles. "And I'd say you completely blew this one."

"How did I blow it? That's just luck!"

Selena gestures for one of the attendants to take her chips. "Just luck? Please. One should never trust luck. Not without a little help." She winks.

A little help? What's that supposed to mean? She ... she doesn't mean she cheated, does she? Right under everyone else's nose? Impossible! And yet... Everyone had_been watching him and Jim Jones. Had anyone even been looking at Selena? She could have switched out those cards anytime and nobody would have noticed! But she wouldn't really have cheated, would she? She's not that kind of cat. Or is she? It _would explain why she was so confident in wagering herself.

"How about this, Mon Petit," she says, leaning close as she gets up. It just happens to give him a stunning view down her cleavage. "I'll give you the film deal you want ... if you do one little thing for me..."

He gulps, feeling very uncomfortably hot with her so close to him, with that view... "W-what's that?"

Abruptly, she stands back up and turns to leave. "I'm certain you'll figure it out."

By the time Oliver can get one of the attendants to lower him back down to the floor and return his hat, Selena is long gone. She's vanished.

He's left to wander out of the Snake Den penniless, hurt, confused, and with more than a little bit of stubbornly unsatisfied arousal. He sighs, walking carefully down the side of the darkened street. No money for a cab, even if he could find one to hail, even if he could find one that would even notice someone as small as him.

As much as he might _like_to resent Selena-Merri for just vanishing like that ... well, maybe he deserves it. After all, how many times has he done the same to her now? Twice?

By all rights, he ought to be distraught with the idea that he'll likely never see her again. Not to mention the worrying emptiness of his pocketbook. But, somehow, that doesn't feel right. Somehow, he just knows he'll see her again. And whether he wants to or not isn't even a question anymore. Of course he does. But why? What does he think he's going to get from her? Surely she doesn't want him for what his own stupid bodily lusts are craving. She's a cat. He's a mouse. But then why does she keep showing up? It can't be a coincidence. What does she want from him? He's starting to believe there's no risk of being eaten ... but then what?

Chapter 4 - Window to the Sky

The Metropolitan Museum of Art is an intimidating sight for anyone ... but especially for a very small mouse standing at the bottom of the stairs in front of the brand new wing constructed just last year. It looms like a mountain of glass above him, reflecting the gray clouds above.

He approaches with caution, discretion. After all, the poker game last night has left him penniless. He can't even afford a junior-size ticket into the museum, so he'll have to be crafty if he's going to get in and meet the producer he's looking for. The last one on his list. His last chance. If this fails ... there just won't be anything for it. He'll have to scrounge around and look for some odd job just to pay his rent.

But as long as he can get in, he has high hopes for this one. For once, this won't be in a chaotic environment full of distractions. The inside of the museum should be quiet and serene ... a perfect opportunity for Oliver to pitch his new film concept.

There! A massive hippo woman trailed by three huge children.

Oliver runs up the stairs, carefully watching his pace. He needs to time this just right. Thankfully, the hippo's long, billowing skirts provide plenty of cover. All he has to do is keep her between himself and the attendant at the Met's doorway, and he should be able to slip inside without a ticket, and nobody the wiser. There are certain advantages to being small!

Even so, there are disadvantages, too. He needs to take dozens of steps for each ponderous, earth-shaking plod of the mother hippo's feet. His all-out sprint is only just a match for her lazily and distractedly ambling her way up the stairs. He scarcely makes it in time.

At least there's plenty of time to catch his breath. The hippo lady spends what seems like forever_bent over toward the low ticket counter. She seems to think it's dreadfully important to explain to the poor dog working the desk about how she's '_culturing' her little hipplets. If she's looking for a Mother of the Year award, she's not likely to get one from a bored and strained-sounding dog working a menial job at a front desk, but that doesn't seem to stop her trying.

The problem comes, though, when one of her hippo-spawn younglings - already bigger than the dog she's talking to - gets bored and looks around long enough to spot Oliver. The huge child is interested. Too interested. He tugs at his mother's skirts, pointing at Oliver.

No! Come on! If that dog starts to wonder what the hippo boy is pointing at, it will all be over. Sneaking in the first time is hard enough. It will be ten times more difficult if the guard dog is on the lookout for mice skulking about without tickets! And if he doesn't get in, he won't be talking to that producer, and it's really all over!

Thankfully, though, all the tugging on the skirt seems to accomplish is to get the mother hippo moving again.

Oliver rushes along, staying in the shadow of the hippo's voluminous skirts. The little boy hippo is still staring at him, but thankfully, nobody seems to care very much about what's got a little boy so distracted. It is, after all, the natural state of little boys everywhere. So nobody thinks to even spare a glance. And before long, Oliver is out of the guard dog's view and into a hallway lined with the best art New York has to offer. He's in!

After all the excitement and sprinting it's not easy to calm down so quickly. But he forces himself to slowly stroll through the art-lined hallway, no matter how fast his heart is banging around in his chest.

Luckily for him, it's a relaxing place to be. This hallway bedecked with the latest efforts of the impressionists of the day, particularly. So serene, full of landscapes and pastel colors, lovingly gazed at by museum-goers as they whisper to each other in low murmurs. It's easy to calm back down.

Now ... if only he'd been able to stick around in the main lobby and look at the map there, he'd be a lot better off now. Somewhere_in this huge museum is the connection to the new wing, due to be opened for the first time today at noon, debuting with a sprawling statue and sculpture exhibit. And attending that opening will be the producer he's looking for: Euronymous Finch. Not a finch at all, as much as his name might imply - a frog even smaller than Oliver himself. But _fantastically wealthy, even by the standards of much larger species.

Euronymous hadn't quite agreed to a meeting, well his people hadn't. But Oliver knows that he _will_be attending this opening. After all, Euronymous is one of the new wing's biggest donors. And he's been known to finance films from time to time, especially the more artistic ones. Great patron of the arts, that one.

Oh, surely the new wing is around here somewhere. How hard can it be to find? And besides, Oliver _should_have a couple hours yet to kill first. There was a clock in view from the front steps, at the bank across the street, and that had said it wasn't even ten yet. So there should be plenty of time for Oliver to find the new wing. Perhaps he'll come across someone knowledgeable and ask them. Perhaps he'll ask them for the time as well. The Met doesn't seem to bother posting clocks anywhere inside, and as far as Oliver knows, nobody has yet managed to miniaturize a pocketwatch small enough for a dormouse to use.

In the meantime, though, he knows he should be working on practicing his pitch. It needs to be perfectly tailored to this producer, after all. Euronymous won't be impressed with projections of box office sales. He'll be concerned with the artistic merit of Oliver's new film. Thankfully, Le Pussycat of the Sky has artistic merit in spades ... especially if Oliver makes a point to emphasize certain aspects.

"A technical masterpiece that's never been attempted before!" he says to himself in a low whisper, getting the feel of it. "A camera in the sky! It's completely unprecedented!" Not bad, not bad, but perhaps if he had something to compare it to, like an innovative painter or sculptor. Maybe even a photographer...

Ah, but what better place to find such a name!

Oliver grins, beginning to pay more attention to the paintings on the walls. This pitch is going to be so smooth by the time he finds Euronymous!

Of course, it needs to be. If an uninvited pitch is to be successful in landing him the funding for his next film, it must be truly excellent. He needs to keep practicing...

---

There's a bit of a crowd waiting for the opening of the new wing. Of course there is. Oliver stumbled upon it just as he was about to break down and ask someone. Only ... that someone had turned out to be a fox who was also headed straight for the new wing. By the time Oliver got close enough to ask, the question had become irrelevant, leaving him to slink off in slight embarrassment.

Hopefully that isn't an omen for how the film pitch will go.

Now might be the perfect time to make such a pitch ... if Euronymous were here.

There are quite a few well-to-do people gathered around waiting for the ribbon to be cut, but the creme de la creme hasn't shown up yet. Oliver grins to himself ruefully. Why is it now that any French phrase makes him think of Selena-Merri? He's getting obsessed, isn't he? Well, this is no time for it. He needs to keep his head firmly on his shoulders if he's going to avoid blowing this last-chance pitch.

Everyone else here - besides the occasional actual fan of art - is here for much the same reasons as Oliver himself. To meet with the true_movers and shakers of this city. The truly big fish, so to speak, won't be showing up early and waiting. They aren't mere plebians like Oliver. They wait for _nothing. Everyone else here is waiting for them. Time to rehearse the pitch again...

---

It's been ... well, Oliver isn't sure how long it's been. He hasn't any pocketwatch. But it feels like it's been at least an hour now since the opening, and still no sign of Euronymous Finch.

Oliver scampers from statue to statue, from protected spot to protected spot, dodging the giant feet of others as he searches for Euronymous, but it's looking more and more like a lost cause. The speeches are over. The ribbon has been cut. The milling crowd wanes thin. Very few of the minglers_are still here. The few people who now remain are the ones who were here to see the art itself. Precious few of them. Though, of course, Oliver can't really blame them. _He didn't come here for the art, either. And maybe it's time that he left just like the others.

There's no sign of any little green frogs here. Euronymous - for whatever reason - is a no-show.

Oliver's futile film career in America is officially over.

He takes one last, listless look around the gallery, half expecting to finally_see the little point of green he's been searching for this whole time, half knowing that he won't. One last, disconsolate attempt to salvage _some opportunity from this absolute waste of a trip...

And there she is. Selena-Merri. In a _stunningly_form-fitting red dress and a matching jaunty red hat. Walking straight toward him with that enigmatic little feline smile of hers.

"Why so glum, Mon Petit?" She stops in front of him, bending her legs to get closer to the floor with him. She turns slightly to the side, _just_barely sparing him from a glimpse up her skirts. "I can't believe he would turn you down. It should be tout à fait his sort of film, should it not?"

Of course she knows who he was here to see. Of course she's familiar with the frog. At this point, it doesn't even surprise Oliver. He shrugs. "Mister Finch didn't even show up."

"Si vulgaire!" She shakes her head. "I don't care who you are, you don't just cancel an arranged meeting like that without any notice!"

"Well, it wasn't exactly arranged..." Oliver looks up at her ruefully.

"Ah, I see."

"Have you seen all this before?" Olver gestures at the sculptures all around them.

Selena laughs. "Of course not! They just opened this wing, after all."

"Do you want to?"

She smiles. "I would love to, Mon Petit. Let's walk."

It feels strange walking alongside Selena. And not only because she's so much larger that she has to slow down just to keep pace with his hurried steps. Nor because of how he had to carefully keep far enough away from her, lest he easily be able to look up her skirts. Even from this distance, the view up her pale-furred thighs was tantalizing. He had to force himself not to stare in a very unseemly way. No, the reason it feels strange is that it feels so ... comfortable and familiar.

It's a startling realization, but true: since coming to New York, he's spent more time with Selena than with anyone else. She's the closest thing he has in this city to a friend ... or maybe something more? No, he can't tempt himself with fantasies like that. It's too ridiculous. A cat, together with a mouse - who has ever heard of such a thing?

Selena pauses in front of one marble statue - a huge dog with a sword in one hand and a hand axe in the other. Quite nude, and with his teeth bared in a horribly realistic snarl. And for some reason, very visibly erect.

"The Dogs of War..." Selena shudders and looks away. "I don't much care for it."

"I know the feeling."

She looks down at him. "Oh?"

Oh dear. He's backed himself into a corner now, hasn't he? The words come to his mouth so easily, it's a struggle to bite them back: 'That's how I feel when I look at you sometimes.' But that would not be the message he's trying to send would it? All the wrong connotations. But she's looking at him, expecting him to say something.

"Uh..." He glances away. "The world can be a dangerous place for someone so small, don't you think?"

She comes around to the other side of him, bringing herself back into his line of sight. And from the way she looks at him, it's clear she sees right through his deflection. But she isn't cross, isn't disgusted. She's actually smiling slightly, in an understanding sort of way ... and not enough to bare her teeth.

"Come on," she says, "let's see the others."

The two of them pass by a few other sculptures, ones which only draw the eye for a monet or two each. The obvious centerpiece of the collection stands behind a glass barrier just ahead. A true classic that even Oliver can recognize, though he has to read the plaque to recall the name exactly. "Ratto di Proserpina. Italy, seventeenth century. On loan from Galleria Borghese, Rome especially for the opening of the gallery." He frowns up at the statue. He's seen it in pictures before, but never in person. Never realized how huge it is. The crowned and bearded rat Pluto holding aloft the struggling and desperate squirrel Proserpina. It's grossly larger than life, dwarfing even the largest of museum guests. He clucks his tongue a little. "I never much cared for the scene it depicts, but now that I see it in person, I have to admit it's very well done. Just look at the detail of the fur on her thigh where he's gripping it. It's marvelous."

"Oh, I quite like the scene, though."

He looks sharply up at Selena. "You do?"

"You have to look at it as a metaphor." She looks up at the huge statue and smiles. "Not an actual abduction, no. But look at her face. Look how she's struggling. Doesn't life feel like that to you, sometimes? That enormous rat dragging you off to your fate no matter how much you try to fight it?"

Oliver nods a little, looks back up at the statue again.

"Mon Dieu! I know I feel like that more often than I'd like to admit. Sometimes everything feels like a cage, no matter how much I struggle to get free. The only time I truly feel free is when I..." She glances down at him. "Oh, goodness. I'm boring you to tears, aren't I?"

"No, not at all!"

"Come on, let's keep moving then." Selena walks on, at her full pace this time, continuing down the huge hall of statuary.

He has to _sprint_across the stone floor to catch up to her. Even so, he's only really able to catch up when she slows to a stop and looks at a very small piece on a very high plinth. He can't quite see what's up there.

"Ah," Selena says. "Emilio Colombe. I've seen some of his work in L' Atelier Brancusi, but this is a new one. My word..." She leans ever closer to it. "It's breathtaking."

Oliver clears his throat slightly. "Erm, not to be a nuisance, but..."

Grinning wide - showing teeth this time - Selena reaches a hand down toward him. "Would you like to see it?"

He takes to her hand without even thinking about it. Only marveling at his own temerity as he's being lifted up, up, up to the level of the plinth. How could he have put himself at a cat's mercy so easily? She could ... she could do anything to him right now. And probably no one here at the gallery would even notice. And yet...

And yet, here he is, staring at ... a glass orb? But what an incredible one! The outer edge is deep blue, getting lighter toward the center, but by some trick of the light, it seems to glow from the inside. It isn't simply transparent, either. Little puffs of white swirl throughout it and seem to move whenever he changes position slightly, evoking--

"Window to the Sky," Selena reads off the plinth, "glasswork by Emilio Colombe." Now that she's leaned down to his level, her whiskers touch his. It makes his fur stand on end ... but in a good way. The warmth of her hand soaks into him from below, and from where his hands grip her fingers. Is she ... blushing?

"It feels so..." Oliver can't quite find the right word for it.

"So free." Selena sighs, still staring into the small orb. "Bound all around in that little circular shape, but inside, it's so freeing. _That's_how I feel when I'm flying. Like I'm finally free from everything, free from that circle around me that I have to stay inside all the time. Up there, I can go anywhere I want, anytime I want. Not a soul around to tell me otherwise."

For a long moment, the two of them stare at the glass orb. Much longer, actually, than warranted by the artistic merit or absorbing the experience. It's not just the view inside that glass ball. It's being so close to Selena-Merri. Is that why _she's_still standing here, enraptured? Or is it something else? Does she, perhaps enjoy the feeling of him in her hand as much as he's coming to enjoy the feeling of being cupped so gently there?

"Can... Can I tell you something?" he blurts out before he can think any better of it.

She doesn't move away, her face still right next to him. "But of course!"

Well, there's no going back now. The only way through this is to admit the truth: "I... I have to admit, I've been a bit apprehensive. More than a bit, actually. About doing anything more than a bit of a chat in full public view."

She looks over at him a little wanly. "I had noticed, actually."

"It's ... because I was afraid." He hangs his head low. "Afraid of you. I know, I know. It doesn't make any sense. I know you wouldn't, you know, do anything of the sort. But deep down, it's still there. You're a cat and I'm a mouse. Some instincts are just ... really difficult to overcome."

"I know what you mean, Mon Petit."

He looks back over at her sharply. "What?"

"A little admission of my own... You're not the only one with instincts. It felt good, chasing a mouse. The pursuit. The hunt. It felt right_somehow, like I'd finally found my raison d'être." She laughs at herself slightly. "The little mouse who saw me for myself and loved me for it. I _had to have him."

Oliver is left a little dumbfounded at the sound of that one word. "And ... loved you for it?" It ... didn't exactly sound wrong, per se. Just, perhaps, premature.

She looks over at him, her bright blue eyes piercing. "Tell me, Mon Petit. If, perhaps, you were not a mouse - if, perhaps, I was not a cat - how might things be different? What might you have done with me?"

If he's to be honest with himself, then, well ... he'd have asked her out to a date, of course. A real date. Not just randomly chatting with a stranger at the bar, not a highly improbable 'chance' meeting whilst he was chasing after something or someone else. He'd have given her the attention she deserves. But can he be honest with her? He wants to, of course, oh so deeply. But he can tell where this is going. And what sort of date can a mouse like him take a damsel like her in this_city ... when he doesn't have a single penny to his name? He'll never do it justice, and she'll of course be disgusted with him. And he can't bear to think of that now. She seems so central to him now. She's all he has left, really. But he's got to say _something, hasn't he?

Already, he seems to have hesitated for too long. Selena edges her face even closer to him. "May I invite you to come meet my other love: Flèche de Chaton?"

Her other love? Does that mean that she...? Quickly, he rushes to cover his shocked reaction: "Fleshe de Chaton?"

"Flèche, my dear." She smiles a little. "My aeroplane."

His eyes go wide. "You don't mean... No, you can't. You don't actually mean to fly with me?"

"I can't consider you properly introduced if you've never seen her in the air, now can I?" She leans closer still. Her warm breath ruffles through his clothes. "Come with me. I want to show you everything."

With her leaning so close, she already nearly is. He could see quite clearly down the cleavage of her dress if he dared to glance downward. But actually flying. In a real aeroplane! It's been a dream of his for years now, and always seemed so impossible. Even if he'd been given the funds to produce his film, he didn't dare think that he'd have the budget to take joyrides in the planes himself. They'd be too busy filming for such frivolities. But here's Selena-Merri, freely offering it to him. And perhaps offering him more than just that? A heady thought.

And yet, there's still that niggling sense of caution. That instinctual need to escape a cat's grasp, no matter how warm and appealing that grasp may feel. "But ... what's in it for you?" he asks warily.

"Oh, you'll find out..."

The tone in her voice makes him flush with anticipation ... while the words themselves are far from comforting. That deep, instinctual warning bell in his brain will _not_be silenced. It's pealing out as loudly as it possibly can, screaming for him to dart away, to run and never come back to anyone as dangerously exciting as Selena.

He quite deliberately chooses to ignore it.

To hell with wanings, to hell with fear, to hell with danger. He won't run away again. Is she truly interested in him, or is it just that she acts this close - this flirtatious - with everyone she meets? Will she really take him flying, or is she luring him into a trap? Who cares! This is an opportunity he cannot let himself run away from. Not this time. Not again. "Yes!" he says with finality, "I'd like that."

Selena raises an eyebrow. "You'd like to find out?"

His cheeks burn hot. He's really flubbed that one, hasn't he? How can he have lost track of the conversation so easily? "I ... I mean, I would very much enjoy going flying with you, Selena."

She nudges even closer. For a moment, he almost thinks she's going to kiss him. But not quite. Instead she says, "Magnifique! Let's go find a cab. We'll need to move quickly if we're to get in the air before evening comes."

---

It's been quite a long cab drive down to Teterboro Airfield, even by New York standards. Oliver is _profoundly_grateful that he isn't expected to pay the fare. He's able to hop down from the door of the cab to the tarmac of the airfield and just leave that part to Selena-Merri.

He's never been on an airfield before. And to be honest, it's rather underwhelming. Beyond a simple outer fence and an unattended gate, they've come to a broad stretch of tarmac surrounded by hangars of various states of repair all around it. As they've driven here, the weather has turned a bit cloudy and grey, with a stout wind coming in from the Atlantic. Or maybe this is just how the weather usually is in New Jersey. Oliver has never been to New Jersey before, either. It does rather remind him of its namesake - the island he visited with his family back when he was a child. The weather then had been much the same, and it had been equally underwhelming.

The atmosphere does_improve notably, though, when Selena is finished counting out the change for the cab driver and steps out with him. Underwhelming is the _last word he might think to apply to her. Standing there with a level of confidence he hasn't before seen in her, the brisk wind ruffling against her red dress and white fur. The way her skirts move in the wind, it comes so close to showing him something he shouldn't see. Even so, from his low angle, he's overwhelmed with the flawless curves of her thighs. It's quite literally_stunning_. He's stunned by the sight of her.

It's just routine for her, though. "I'm in hangar nine," she says, already heading straight for it. Oliver has to run to keep up.

On the way there, they pass an office of sorts, with two bulldogs lounging in front of it in grease-stained coveralls. "Goin' up today, Miss Valiquette?" one of them asks.

She gives them a curt nod without breaking her stride.

"Have a lookout for that crosswind, would you?" The other bulldog says. "It's likely only gettin' stronger."

Selena ignores the warning. If anything she's said about her prior exploits is true, she'll probably have no problem at all with a little crosswind. And the bulldogs seem to accept her competence readily enough - have they seen her fly before? - they both hop up and follow toward hangar nine.

Once there, she wastes no time in unlatching the enormous front doors, which she does with a calm ease - and hidden strength - that quite literally sets Oliver back a step. Wow! Even for someone of her much larger size, those doors shouldn't be so easy to open, should they? But she makes it look easy, flinging them aside and letting them roll fully open.

And just behind the doors, there it is: Selena-Merri's aeroplane. A black and silver-striped biplane with a smooth cowl over the engine and even with the old machine gun mounts still on it. It looks monstrously huge to someone of Oliver's size.

"Is that..." He gapes at it. "Is that from the war?"

Selena is busy digging in a small steamer trunk by the wall - relatively_small, though it would still be big enough to serve as an apartment for Oliver. "Avec précision!" She looks back at him and grins, pulling an old military coat out of the trunk. "May I introduce you to _Flèche de Chaton. She's a Nieuport twenty-eight, just as she flew in the Great War, aside from the new paint and without the twin Vickers, of course. How do you like her?"

"She's beautiful!"

When Olver sees Selena looking back at him with a sly grin, then_he realizes the perhaps unintended double-meaning. And though it's rather a lot more forward than he's accustomed to being with women, he can't bring himself to take it back or try to explain his original intention. She knows. And despite everything, he _wants her to know. He can feel himself blushing, looking right back at her in that red dress of hers, and he doesn't even look away.

Selena looks back at him, putting the coat over her dress and buttoning it up. It actually hangs down lower than the hemline of her dress, making it look like she's wearing only the coat ... which sends a whole new wave of heat through him. But she's more businesslike: "I wish I had something warmer for you. But nothing here your size."

"It's a pretty warm day..." Oliver says.

She smiles. "Not up there it isn't." There's a hint of her playfulness coming back now. "I'll just have to keep you warm myself." She winks at him!

An actual honest-to-goodness _wink!_That can't possibly mean anything other than what he thinks it means, can it? But he has little time to consider it. The pair of bulldogs is here now. And without any comment, they each head for one of the plane's wings and begin pushing it out of the hangar. It must be lighter than it looks, because they're able to roll it forward with relative ease. The wing moves over his head like he's not even there. Do those dogs even see him?

At least Selena does. She gestures to him as she walks by. "Come along, won't you? Almost ready."

The dogs do not - as Oliver had anticipated - roll the aeroplane all the way out to the runway. They simply go out onto the tarmac, stopping as soon as it's clear from the hangar. One rests with his hands against a propeller blade while the other goes back to close the hangar door. "Ready, Miss Valiquette?"

"Just a moment." Selena turns to Oliver, kneeling down next to him. "Your hat, please. You don't want to lose it, do you?"

After just a moment's consideration, he hands her his tiny boater cap. It looks so small in her hands.

She unbuttons a breast pocket and tucks it in. Olvier's struck with the sudden and intrusive fantasy of being in that pocket himself - just enough room for him to be _almost_comfortable, pressed tightly against the warm swell of Selena's uppermost breasts. The thought is enough to make him gape ... but only for a moment. Quickly, he gets control of himself again. No! What is he thinking? She hasn't made any such invitation, at least not explicitly. He shouldn't be thinking about her like that. And yet ... he can't deny that it makes his breath come short and his mouth run dry.

He looks up at the aeroplane again, hoping to distract himself. But that only brings another intrusive thought. "There's ... there's only one seat, isn't there?"

"Cosy, isn't it?" She holds her hand out toward him. "Come along, then. En haut!"

Oliver hesitates. Is this going too far? Is she trying to-- No. He shuts himself down. He won't allow that line of thinking. Not again. Not now. He knows he can trust Selena-Merri. Willing himself not to worry anymore, he takes hold of Selena's outstretched finger and heaves himself up into the palm of her hand.

Up, up, up she lifts him, right up to her eye level. And for a moment, staring directly into the face of a cat makes him think he was wrong to put his trust in her. But it's only a flash. That tightness in his chest isn't fear. It's ... something else. Something he doesn't dare name yet.

Selena starts climbing ito the aeroplane, grabbing the wing spars with her spare hand, pulling herself up into it.

And that's when Oliver notices the black lettering in the middle of the silver stripe. "Voler comme une flèche, atterrir comme un chaton," he reads, struggling with the pronunciation a bit and hoping he didn't just embarrass himself too badly in front of this native Parisian. "What's that mean?"

She smiles as she climbs into the cockpit, careful not to drop him. So he must not have butchered the pronunciation too_badly. "Fly like an arrow, land like a kitten," Selena says. "It's something my first flight instructor used to say to me. And it's where Flèche de Chaton gets her name." She holds him up to her face again. "Now, I _shall need both hands for this, so..."

Oliver doesn't quite understand. "Then where should I...?" It's not exactly a roomy cockpit, and everything besides Selena's seat seems to be raw wooden spars and dangerous-looking cables or levers.

Rather than answer him verbally, Selena simply deposits him in her lap. It takes him by surprise. He can't help but fall inward until he's resting against Selena's warm, white-furred thighs on either side of him. Where should he put his hands? He doesn't know where to put his hands, but he has to press his hands against her inner thighs, to help brace himself and hold himself in place.

"There, isn't that better?" Selena says, with a bit of a purr to it. Then she leans her head outside the cockpit. "Ready when you are!"

Oliver might have taken the time to ask Selena just how comfortable she is with him being ... where he is. But any thought of getting an answer - or at least hearing any answer - is instantly obliterated by the aeroplane's engine roaring to life.

It's a deafening din, even down as far as he is in the cockpit, and it must be even louder for Selena! How does she manage it?

The whole aircraft jostles as it begins to move, powering its own way toward the runway. Or at least _hopefully_toward the runway. Oliver has complete confidence in Selena's piloting skills, but from down here, he has no way to see. The only way he can see out of the cockpit is by looking straight up past the upper wing, where he can just barely judge their movement as compared to the windswept clouds in the sky. Most of what he can see is simply the fragile-looking wood and canvas interior of the aeroplane itself. And, of course, Selena's plush, white-furred legs. He can feel them moving as she actuates the pedals under her feet.

He doesn't look back toward her, though. He doesn't dare look back toward her. He's basically _in between_her legs right now, and she's only wearing that short dress under her flight coat. If he looked behind himself, he'd no doubt be looking right up her skirt.

Does she want him to see that? Is she ready for something so ... risque? Is he ready for it?

The aircraft makes a tight turn, then stops. Selena says something, but it's drowned out by the din of the engine. He can't make out a single word of it. All he has to go on is the way her legs suddenly tense.

The engine screams! Far louder than before, unlike anything he's ever heard before. And now the aircraft is moving. Really_moving! The acceleration is astounding, making him grip big handfuls of Selena's fur just to avoid falling straight into her open skirt. He's not even thinking about _her at the moment, though, just holding on for dear life! The faster they go, the bumpier the runway seems. Each bump seems to take longer than the last ... until, with a stomach-twisting lurch the final bump turns into an upward arc that just never ends.

It's a sensation unlike any he's ever had before. Sort of like being buoyed up in a boat on a wave, but the wave never ends, just keeps rising and rising. The way the aeroplane moves! It's so ... _strangely_smooth. So disconnected from everything. The only vibration is from the engine itself. It feels like they're wafting higher and higher.

Selena's legs twitch again, even though she's not pushing on the pedals anymore, even though the aeroplane doesn't do anything that might warrant such an excitement so why would she...?

Only too late does Oliver realise where his tail has gone. Despite his grip on her fur, the acceleration of takeoff drove him a bit further between Selena's legs. And now, fascinated by the sensations of flight, he's distractedly let his tail twitch behind him. Twitch against something soft and quite warm...

Instantly, he yanks his tail back, tucking the tip of it under one arm to make absolutely certain it stays under control. He could hope she hadn't felt that ... but he knows she did. What else could that tension in her legs mean? The only question now: will she be cross with him, or will she welcome_that sort of touch? He can't imagine that she'd be ready for such a thing with him, despite any hints she may have dropped. So, is he finally to meet the results of his hubris? Will she tear him to shreds with her claws? Toss him out of the cockpit to plummet to his doom? _Eat him? Those all seem like absolute certainties at the moment.

And it's only all the more confirmed when she reaches down and bodily grabs him, pulling him up from between her thighs. Oh goodness! It's all over!

Selena holds him right up next to her mouth. He squints his eyes shut, sure he's about to be devoured.

"Thought you could use a better view!" She shouts, still barely possible to hear over the constant blast of the engine.

And just when Oliver thinks he can't possibly be any more overstimulated than he already is, Selena flips open a breast pocket - on the opposite side of the one she's deposited his hat in - and drops him inside it.

The view is stunning_now that he's high enough to see past the edge of the cockpit. They're already nearly over the ocean now, with a gorgeous and expansive view of the windswept beach and small communities along it. Everything looks so small and far away down there. It's a view like he's never seen before!_But it's almost impossible for him to keep his mind on the view ... when there's a much more pressing matter much closer. Literally pressing against him from behind. The pocket holds him tightly against Selena's uppermost breast. It's _enormous_compared to him. And even through the coat, through her dress, through whatever sort of brassiere she might be wearing, he can feel the warmth and soft roundness of it. And is that ... is that a hint of a nipple pressing against the small of his back?

Does she know he can feel her like this? Does she realize just what kind of position she's put him in? Does she want_him to touch her like this? He can't risk it though - as much as he might desire to reach behind himself and run his hands across the curve of her breast, as much as he might like to feel more closely and see if that really _is a nipple against his back, he doesn't dare. What if she hasn't realized? He would be making such a heel of himself to touch her like that without her permission... He just can't risk it!

So he stares out over the immensely fascinating view below, keenly aware of the curve of Selena-Merri's breast behind him, but doing his very best not to think about it too much.

He's not very successful in that.

Chapter 5 - Ever the Romantic

Every little motion Oliver makes inside her breast pocket sends tingles through Selena's body. Can he feel the hardening of her nipple against his back? Oh goodness, what if he can?

Such a dirty little thrill, teasing him like this. She knows how keenly aware he must be of exactly where he is on her body. And - of course - she isn't normally this sort of feline. But for him, well, she'll make one of her rare exceptions. There's an innocence to him, a sort of forthrightness and lack of guile that she finds enormously endearing.

Endearing enough for ... _that?_Félin retors! She's experimented once with a fetching Swiss stag quite a bit larger than herself, but she's never before considered anything so physical with someone so much smaller. Not until she met Oliver, that is. What sorts of delights might someone so teensy offer as a lover? It's an intriguing question, and one that makes it even harder to take her mind off of the slight pressure and occasional movement in her breast pocket.

As much fun as it is to tease Oliver, though ... this isn't exactly the best day for flying. It's already getting late, and the weather doesn't seem to be improving in the slightest. The longer they stay up, the greyer the skies get and the stiffer the side winds get. She can handle it, of course. She's landed in much worse conditions than this ... but she also knows that such landings usually don't feel particularly secure.

The last thing she wants to do is sour Oliver on the whole idea of flying by giving him a frightening time his first time up! The little fellow does seem quite excitable and nervous sometimes, after all. A rough landing might excessively alarm him.

"I think you had better go back into my lap for landing!" Selena shouts down at him.

It's unclear if he heard her. He looks up at her face and says something in return, but he might only be aksing her what she said. There isn't the slightest chance of hearing his little voice over the roar of the engine and the rush of the wind.

She'll just have to assume he understands and hope for the best. And hope this doesn't offend his sensibilities too much.

As carefully as she can - while still paying attention to her flying - Selena reaches into her pocket and scoops Oliver up. He goes willingly, even helpfully, grabbing onto her hand. Maybe he heard what she said after all. Maybe he just trusts that she means the best for him. That's a heartwarming thought. And with him clinging to the palm of her hand, it's quite easy for her to lift him out and place him down between her thighs.

Mon Dieu! Does that ever put the most interesting lewd thoughts into her mind... Of course, she can't claim that she's never_thought about the possibilities of a much smaller lover, but being able to simply move him about at will is certainly making her think about it more than she probably should when her other hand is still on the joystick. Mustn't get _too distracted whilst flying!

Oliver seems to accept the gap between her thighs as his new home easily enough. He has been there before, after all.

But for Selena, the thought of it still elicits more than a little excitement. His gentle touches between her thighs - just from him holding on - are quite effective as a tease. Oh dear ... is she becoming wet down below? And so close to him! Can he smell her arousal down there? She must do her best to contain herself. Mustn't be unseemly!

Containing herself, though, ends up being a trickier proposition than she's anticipated. Particularly when she brings the Flèche de Chaton around in a tight circle for her landing approach.

The acceleration draws Oliver inward, ever so slightly closer to where she must now admit she very much wants him to be. He holds on gamely, but of course he can't entirely_resist that inward pull, almost as if her dévergondé feminine parts are drawing him there by sheer animal magnetism. Having him mere centimeters closer wouldn't ordinarily be quite so distracting ... except that his tail is now _directly against her unmentionables.

And it twitches!

She tries to restrain herself as she feels the tip of his tail flicking back and forth right over her clitoris, separated only by a thin veil of silk. Does he know what he's doing? Does he know where his tail is? Or is he doing this by accident? Simply ordinary, absent-minded - or perhaps nervous - tail twitching? He must be feeling the way her fur stands on end as he teases her. He must be aware of it, mustn't he?

This ends up being one of her more difficult landings to perform smoothly. Not because of the crosswind. She's done this enough that she could land in a crosswind with her eyes closed. No ... because it's so damnably difficult to concentrate on a smooth landing with a tease like that going on between her legs! It's a minor miracle that she manages to put her aeroplane safely back on the ground at all.

After making an ungainly haste of taxiing back to the hangar - between the wind and her excessive speed, she quite nearly became airborne again right there on the taxiway - she is quite glad to be able to kill the engine and no longer need to split her concentration between such disparate needs.

Sadly, though, that quickly deprives her of any pretext for keeping Oliver right where he is. She must remove him now. As much as she might like to keep him there for quite an entertaining little while now, that _would_be rather too forward of her, wouldn't it? And besides, the two dogs are back, already chocking the aeroplane's wheels to prevent it rolling away in the wind. Even if Oliver might accept such forwardness, she could never condone indulging herself like that in front of these near-strangers.

So she removes Oliver from her lap, holding him carefully as she disembarks.

At first, she steps toward the hangar to return her flying jacket ... but then she thinks better of it. This wind is a bit brisk, and she might be glad of it if the night goes any longer. If the night goes any longer...

Impulsively, she holds Oliver up in front of her face. "Say, Mon Petit ... might you be interested in getting a few drinks with me again?"

He blushes. He blushes! "You mean ... like a date?"

"A date?" The sound of it shocks her as well. She hadn't been thinking of it that way, but... "Well, if you'd like that. Perhaps at the very bar where we met? For old time's sake?"

"Old times? What was that ... three days ago?" He laughs a little.

"Four, actually." She smiles back, making sure to show a hint of teeth as she does. "And this time, there will be no running off and leaving me alone at the bar, is that clear?"

Oliver kisses her thumb. "It's a deal!"

---

It's already fairly late by the time they make it to the bar.

Of course, given the nature of his size, Oliver isn't able to open the door for her. He could easily use the smaller door next to it, but the larger door doesn't even have a handle within his reach. He is, however, gentlemanly enough to _hold_the door for her once she opens it herself, despite how difficult that obviously is for him. A very nice gesture. One that deserves a small reward...

Quite purposefully, she walks much too close to him on the way in. He'll easily be able to see up her skirt.

But he doesn't. Very respectfully - and a little annoyingly - he turns his head demurely to the side as she walks through, completely missing her little treat for him. Si tragique! Sometimes, that gentlemanly nature of his can get in the way. She'll have to find creative way to get around it, won't she?

Once inside, she heads straight for a vacant table near the back. The very same she'd been at the first night she met Oliver, in fact. He follows her most of the way there, but then offers to fetch drinks for them.

"And _how_would the logistics of that work, exactly?" she asks ... but it must have been lost in the din and bustle of the bar, because he's off without any reply.

So, Selena sits and waits. What else is a cat to do? It isn't as if she can keep track of him. The bar is busy tonight. He's quickly lost among the legs of tables, chairs, and patrons alike. But this time, she's confident that he'll come back. Won't he? Oh he wouldn't. He wouldn't leave her again. He wouldn't dare.

And no - of course he didn't. Here he is now, coming back with two tiny, thimble-sized mugs in his hands.

Selena helps him up on top of the table, where he triumphantly places the tiny drink in front of her. "Just draft beer, I'm afraid. Most bars don't offer mixed drinks to us littler folks, unless it's one that's made just for us."

"Not a problem," she assures him ... though she does have to second-guess herself as she uses two fingers to pinch the tiny glass out of his hands and lift it up to give a look. It _is_just like the other beer glasses she can see on other tables ... only in miniature. The beer inside can't be more than a few drops, really ... with a tiny little covering of foam.

She smiles and thanks him, naturally ... but there's a part of her screaming on the inside: What are you doing, Selena? Messing around with a man small enough to fit in your pocket - what's wrong with you? Can't you find a tomcat your own size? Obviously it will never work between you. Never dropping her smile for even a moment, Selena quashes those doubts. What does size matter, anyway? She brings the tiny cup - smaller than the smallest shot glass - to her lips and sips at it. And despite her best efforts, she empties the tiny glass with one sip. It's scarcely enough to wet her palette, a sommelier's sample. Not bad, actually, though she still can't quite fathom why Americans like their beer so cold.

When she puts the tiny glass back down, she finds Oliver staring adoringly up at her. He quickly looks away with a blush and sips his own tiny glass - much more reasonable-looking in his hands - but the moment she saw him cannot be ignored. He is quite smitten, isn't he?

It wouldn't hurt to tease him a little about that, now would it?

Grinning wickedly to herself, she leans down low over the table, bringing her face close to him. "Oh? What's the matter? Do I have something on my face?"

His blush intensifies - he still won't look at her.

So much fun! Perhaps it's in a cat's nature to play with mice. She certainly is enjoying the opportunity. Oh, but she could be enjoying it so much more... "You know," she says musingly, "it is quite warm in here, isn't it? I don't think I'll be needing this anymore." Without rising back up in her seat, she starts unbuttoning the buttons of her flight coat.

That gets his attention! At the sound of rustling cloth, he glances her way again. And though he obviously tries to look away, he so obviously can't _quite_force himself to do so as she undoes another button and another, revealing her luscious white fur, a hint of her cleavage, and finally the red dress below all. She shrugs the coat off in a way that presses her six breasts out even more eye-catchingly, and lets it hang off the back of her chair.

Oliver quite clearly stares now, all hint of subtlety lost. Poor mouse can't help it. Though he at least has the presence of mind to hold his hands in front of himself in a way that might obscure any ... reaction that might be taking place in his pants.

But it isn't fair for him to get such a view and then deprive her of a nice view, now is it?

She reaches for him, brushes his hand out of the way. "Oh, and what might we be hiding here, hm?"

"It's, it's... I, um... I can explain! I just..."

Oh, he _does_have quite the little bulge down there, doesn't he? Impressive for a mouse, no doubt. Acting on impulse - and knowing he won't truly mind - she quite casually reaches her hand out to him and rubs one finger over his little mouse cock.

"Selena!" he says urgently. "We're in public!"

"I don't see anyone complaining." Leaning even closer to him, giving him a better view into her cleavage, she draws her finger back across the front of his pants. She can feel his little nub against her fingertip! "And if you were to come a little closer, it wouldn't have to be so obvious..."

He does come closer, thankfully. She _knew_he'd be interested! Still looks fairly nervous, though. "Is ... is this normal for a ... date?" he asks, his voice breaking as she strokes him again through his pants.

Selena pauses, her hand still against his pants. "Wait..." Why wouldn't he already know that this is anything but normal for a date, especially a first date? Unless... No. No, it can't be. He must be at least thirty years old. So ... why wouldn't...? Unless it was truly his first date... "Oh. Oh dear. This ... this couldn't possibly be your first date, could it? Not only our first date, but your first date ever?"

Her words seem to stun him. He looks away, drops down to sit on the table, holding his head in his hands.

"What's wrong, Mon Petit?" She rushes in to comfort him, then thinks better of it, stopping just before touching him. What if he's overcome by fear again? It certainly wouldn't help that to suddenly have a cat 'pouncing' at him!

He shakes his head, hands still over his blushing face. "I knew it. I knew it was too good to be true."

"Tell me, Oliver, what ever is the matter?"

"I just _knew_I'd make a mess of things sooner or later. And now..." He looks up at her, tears - real tears! - in his eyes. "Now you know. Selena ... I'm a loser. No good to anybody. I'll never get my film deal made, I've never even been on a date before, I can't even pay for those drinks I just brought! I'm a fraud!"

She laughs.

That seems to snap him out of it for a moment. His hands drop. He stares up at her, looking something between hopeful and terribly hurt. Oh poor thing.

"Is that all?" Selena says teasingly. "Anything else you'd like to confess to while you're at it?"

"You're... You're not...?"

"No bank robberies, no murder sprees?" She touches one claw to her chin. "Ooh! Perhaps a daring succession of jewelry heists? You know, I've always thought I might make a good cat burglar myself..." She winks.

Poor Oliver looks absolutely dumbfounded. "But ... you're not cross with me?"

"Oh my goodness no! Why ever would I be?"

"But ... everything I've told you is a lie! I'm no great filmmaker. And I've never so much as touched a--"

"Oh Mon Petit! Why would I want hands dirtied by the touch of other women, hm? Of course I don't mind. I'm not some silly kitten pining after grizzled tomcats with 'experience'. I have enough experience of my own to know that's tout à fait overrated. You are a very special little mouse, Oliver."

"You ... really think so?"

"I never lie."

He comes closer, almost_ready to embrace her ... though he stops at the last moment. If he'd followed through on his impulse, he would have run up to embrace her just above the table's edge - right across her middle row of breasts. And it seems he still has too much propriety to go _that far ... yet.

"And you know..." She looks down at him deviously. "I wouldn't count out being a filmmaker quite so soon. I myself happen to have an already agreed-upon film deal that I won in a game of chance."

His eyes go wide. "You'd ... you'd give me Jim Jones's film deal?"

"Only if you make it worth my while..." With a sultry gaze, she leans closer, licking her lips. Once again, she reaches for his pants.

The bartender clears his throat. "Can I get you anything, Ma'am? Sir?" He's standing right behind her shoulder!

Instantly, Oliver and Selena separate from each other. She's the first to recover from the unwanted surprise. Cats _do_always land on their feet, after all. "Cafe au lait, if you please," she says smoothly. "With extra milk." Or, smoothly enough, given the circumstances. Nobody could possibly blame her for being a touch startled.

Turning to Oliver, the bartender raises one eyebrow. "And you, Sir?"

"I'll ... just share a little of hers, thank you."

The grizzled old dog gives them one last look, almost a bit of a sneer, over his mustache. Holds the look for just a moment too long. "Very good. It'll be right up." He gives them one more hard look before turning.

The implication couldn't be clearer. They are in public, after all. And this isn't France. Nothing too flirtatious will be tolerated.

It's actually Oliver who rescues her from the awkwardness of the moment. "So, uh, you were saying on the drive back..."

She has to laugh a little. "Oh goodness yes! I had seven brothers and sisters, all of them younger. And if it taught me anything, it's that I've had _quite_enough of caring for kittens already, thank you very much. Which is why - contrary to what you might expect and what my mother might want for me - I've never allowed myself to become too attached to des matous. Strictly outside my own species, thank you very much."

"So..."

"Oh. Oh dear. I do hope you're not the 'settling down' type, are you?"

He grins. "My films are all the babies I need ... and they're hard enough to take care of!" The smile fades. "I ... I never really thought of dating outside my own species before, though. I'd just always been avoiding it because I wanted to focus on filmmaking, and the other mice weren't exactly throwing themselves at me, so..."

"Well, those other mice..." Selena grins and leans in closer to him. "They were fools."

The bartender returns with Selena's drink - a simple cup of hot coffee, though with all the cream a cat could want. He leaves with a wordless glance of warning.

Oliver stares at it. "Isn't it rather late for coffee?"

"Oh...?" She sips. Hmm... Not terrible, especially not bad for an American bar. Sets the cup back down. "Well, I don't exactly plan on getting much sleep tonight."

Oliver stares up at her. Gulps.

She smiles even wider, a bit of creamy coffee still on her lip.

---

Empty cups litter the table like the ghosts of a vanquished army. And though she'd love for some excuse to suggest otherwise, Selena-Merri has to admit that she's responsible for the lion's share of them.

Hm. Lion's share. She does crack herself up sometimes. Now ... where is this lioness's prey? Ah, there he is, half-hidden behind an empty tumbler.

She licks her lips. Oh yes. Quite cute, isn't he? She knows herself well. And she's no stranger to inebriation. But she knows this hasn't quite done it to her. Oh, enough to get a little féline vivacité in her system, of course. And _more_than enough to make Oliver look all the more intriguing and cuddleable. But not enough to rob her of her reason. She's still well aware of what she's doing, and what she intends to do.

"Cat got your tongue?"

She blinks. "Excusez-moi?"

"I've been trying to ask you about that aunt you told me about. The one who's a champion swordfighter?" Oliver raises one eyebrow at her. "But you've only been staring at me for the last five minutes or so."

"Oh. Oh my." It's her_turn to feel her cheeks blushing hotly now. "Ever so sorry, Mon Petit. I must have been caught up in a few thoughts of my own." Okay, so _perhaps she's had a _touch_more than she realized. But then again, Oliver is a bit more worse for the wear as well. Just look at that rosy glow around him - he may not have imbibed more than a few sips' worth from each of her drinks, but for a mouse his size, that's still quite a lot. Oh dear. Hopefully not _too_much! Wouldn't want to ruin the rest of the evening after all. If he should be overtaken by sleep or - heaven forbid - allow la boisson alcoolisée to interfere with the function of his precious little--

"You're doing it again."

Smiling, she waves him off. "Oh, you couldn't possibly blame a silly little pussycat for getting lost in her thoughts now and then, could you?"

He comes closer, propping himself against her most recent glass - the only one with a bit of liquid still inside, and with the lipstick marks around the edge still fresh. And the way he looks up at her. Oh - mon Dieu! It's as if she is suddenly the prey, and he the ferocious predator. That forthright gaze, the slight raise of an eyebrow! "And just what might those thoughts be?" he asks, his voice pitched as if the question was perfectly innocent, even though they both know it isn't in the slightest.

She chokes a little, her blush burning all the hotter. She can't tell him what she was thinking ... can she? No! It would be far too licentious of her! She's not nearly besotted enough - with love or drink - to let herself slip that much!

Thankfully, the bartender saves her from needing to answer. "That's it for tonight, folks! Three A-M on the nose. Closin' time!"

"Aw, come on, Jeff!" the deer at another table whines.

Goodness. The place _does_have its routine, doesn't it? Selena tries to avoid laughing too loudly. Thanks to all the drinks she's had, she's not very successful in that regard.

"Aw," Oliver says, standing up on the table. "We have to leave? And we were having such a good time, too..."

"We have to go, yes ... but you realize we don't really have to say goodbye yet, right?" Selena lets her statement hang in the air, pregnant with implications. She leans in toward him. Very close.

Impulsively, Oliver darts forward and kisses her.

Selena's eyes go wide. She's not even sure how to react at first. Their first kiss, and she didn't even see it coming! But she warms to it quickly. It's only a peck. A fleeting and rather chaste thing. But even so, she's truly enjoying it by the time Oliver pulls back away from her. Oh bon sang! She never knew he had it in him to take the initiative like that!

But he hasn't run out of surprises for her yet. "Could I..." He pauses, obviously hesitating, but manages to follow through with it: "Could I invite you to my apartment? It isn't far."

She lets the question hang for a moment. Oh how delightful it is to see him flustered as she teases him! But she won't overdo it of course. She does genuinely like the little mouse. It won't do to let him suffer too long... "Je serais ravi d'y aller." Grinning down at him, she licks her lips. Subtly, but not too subtly. She wants him to notice, wants him to be wondering what that little gesture might mean.

It doesn't seem to help. He stares up at her, still nervous and fidgeting, despite his liquid courage. "Um... Pardon, but ... my French isn't exactly..."

"I'd be delighted to go," she translates.

The smile on Oliver's face is worth it - worth all of it. She can't look on a face filled with joy like that without feeling a little of its warmth reflected in herself.

---

"It's just in here," Oliver says, pointing at a very small staircase tucked in between two brick buildings. Above it, tiny mouse-sized windows stud the space between the two full-size buildings in what must have once been a narrow alleyway before it was filled with this tiny apartment building.

"Here?" Selena's mouth drops open. The bar is still right behind them, just across the street. It hasn't even turned the rest of its lights off yet. "You can't be serious."

"I know it's not much, but--"

"No. Your apartment cannot simply be across the street from the bar! After all the searching I've done, you cannot possibly live here."

Oliver shrugs. "But ... I do. That's why I go to that bar so often. It's very convenient."

Still, Selena stands and stares. All that work! All that effort! And all the while, he was right here, quite literally a stone's throw from where she'd first met him. It ... it simply wasn't fair! How could life do this to her? It doesn't make any sense!

Of course, it makes quite a lot of sense, actually, but it still doesn't feel right! Had he seen her that first night, coming out of the bar? Did he watch out through his window as she searched the street?

"I'm on the third floor," Oliver says, pointing up at the third row of windows. It's just barely above her line of sight. A thought seems to suddenly strike him. "Oh dear me... Will you ... er, will you fit?"

That breaks her out of it. She shakes herself a little, fluffing her fur and almost dislodging the flight jacket draped over her shoulder. "Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there?"

Oliver nods. "Follow me!"

And she does, despite still being a bit perturbed by what fate has seen fit to tease her with, despite any apprehension about the small size of the building.

The front door is just large enough for her to crawl through. And, thankfully, the lobby and stairway inside are rather spacious by rodent standards. Or perhaps designed for slightly larger species. Not designed for anyone a cat's size, of course, but Selena is slim and flexible, even for a cat. She's able to squeeze and squirm her way up through the staircase along behind Oliver.

He looks back at her. "Are you okay? We could--"

"I'm fine," she says, doubting it even as she says it. "Lead the way, Mon Petit!"

Thankfully, his apartment is on the spacious side ... by mouse standards. Partly because it's a studio: only one large bedroom and an attached bathroom. Though it isn't actually much bigger than her clothes chest back at the hangar. She can just barely squeeze through the door. It makes her glad she's lost a little weight lately, or it would have been even more of a struggle to pull her hips through. And it's fairly sparse inside, as makes sense for a mouse who's only been on this side of the Atlantic for a couple months at most. Not much furniture other than a bed that would be comically small for her and a chest of drawers along one wall. It does warm her heart a little to see that he has a picture of his parents set up on the chest of drawers. My my ... they actually look quite a lot more respectable than she might have expected.

Oliver looks around, at the way she's filling almost all the available space in his apartment. "I ... I suppose I didn't fully think this through, did I?"

But Selena just smiles and pushes the bed against the far wall with one paw, making more room for herself. "Que sera sera," she says philosophically. "How about I just head over and freshen up for a moment ... and slip into something more comfortable."

He has just the cutest blush as he processes the implication of that - she hasn't brought any other clothes, after all.

Laying her coat along the other side of the room, she reaches across the whole apartment and delicately opens the latch of the bathroom door with the tip of one claw ... only to find that the bathroom is actually quite small. She's had purses that were larger. There isn't really any chance of her fitting in there. Not in the slightest.

"Or ... actually," she says, hesitating as she looks.

"I could go into the bathroom and wait until you're ready," Oliver volunteers.

Aw, how thoughtful! But no, it isn't truly necessary, is it? "Don't trouble yourself," she says, fixing her sultriest gaze on him. "On second thought, I don't mind if you watch."

Oliver's mouth drops open. He's speechless.

Perfect. Because, after all, she's had enough talking. It's time for a bit _more_than that. And she doesn't mind being the one to get things started. She's long ago discovered that sitting around and waiting for males to start things means that significantly fewer things will be started. And that isn't to her liking at all.

It's a little difficult in the cramped space, but she manages to unhook the clasp at the back of her neck, beginning to free the dress. And while she would have liked to make a gracefully feline show of sliding it off of herself ... well, she has to work with the constraints she's found herself in. Still, she's pretty sure she managed to slip out of her dress without looking too_awkward about it. Though the part where she bumped her head on the ceiling and the upstairs neighbors yelled down in complaint ... that _did bruise the ego a bit.

The damage to her ego, however, is instantly restored when she sees the way Oliver stares at her. His little eyes are open as wide as they can go, drinking in the sight of her; his jaw hangs slack, in a way that makes her think he's quite in danger of actually drooling. If mice even drool.

Can she blame him? Hardly. She has_dressed to impress, after all - something she's found herself doing a good deal more often since she met Oliver ... just in case. Because if this sort of thing was to happen, she of course _wanted to get such a reaction from him. And now she can finally enjoy the fruits of all that effort. The delicate black lace panties are easy enough, of course, though still a tad uncomfortable, given how small they are and how tightly they cling. It's the brassiere that's the true pièce de résistance: six individual cups in three rows, each one painstakingly sized and fitted back in Paris to match the exact dimensions of her different breasts, largest on top and smallest at the bottom row ... not to mention the nightmare of straps and buckles to attach them all, which could easily become a tangled snarl if she wasn't careful putting it on. Ah, but even she has to admit that all the complicated black straps and lace look _stunning_against her white fur. She preens for him, lying sideways along the floor. One of her uppermost breasts is nearly ready to fall out of its cup ... but that wouldn't be such a tragedy, would it? And Oliver stares at her as if she's the most beautiful thing he's ever laid eyes on.

Of course, she can't let him simply stand and gawk forever. She didn't primp herself up like this _only_to be stared at, after all. Perhaps he needs just a little nudge to snap him out of it? "What do you think, Mon Petit? Très magnifique, no?"

He nods rapidly - too fast - clearly to the point of even making himself a bit dizzy. "Yes! Tres ... très magnifique!"

Oliver takes a sudden step toward her, hands raising as if to grope and ravage her right there on the spot ... but then he stops himself just as suddenly, freezing in place again. The blush on his cheeks grows prodigious. His hands tremble. But he doesn't close that last little distance to her. Something's holding him back.

"I..." His voice trembles even more than his hands. "I'm not sure what... What if I'm...?"

Ah, the nervous virgin, hm? How delightful! Smiling, she reaches out one arm, hooking it around behind his back and drawing him closer, right up to her face. "Why don't you start with just a little massage? Flying always makes me so tense..." Of course, it does no such thing. It's the most freeing experience she can think of. But what's a little white lie here or there to smooth things over? He obviously needs some way to ease himself into it, something not quite so explicitly sexual.

He nods, looking grateful. She's read him perfectly, hasn't she? Of course she has. Drawing him even closer still, she pulls him into another kiss. She just can't help it! He's so adorable when he's like this!

Oliver hesitates at first, doing almost nothing to return the kiss, but that - thankfully - only lasts for a moment before she feels his tiny lips pressing more eagerly against hers, even a bit of his miniscule tongue! That isn't what she squeezed herself into this miniature apartment for, though, and she's eager to move on toward the more interesting parts, so she separates from the kiss - perhaps a touch prematurely - and lies on the floor of the apartment belly-down.

"Are ... are you sure?" Oliver asks.

"More sure than I've ever been, Mon Petit." She stretches luxuriantly. As luxuriantly as she can in the cramped space. "Start with my shoulders, dear. They need it."

Tentatively, Oliver comes over to her side where she lies on the floor. He hesitates, just shy of touching her shoulderblade. "Are ... are you sure you're sure?"

"Oh Mon Petit. So cautious." She stretches sinuously, as much as she's able to. "I promise you I won't bite. Much."

Apparently, that's enough for him. She feels his tiny hands against her fur. Quite suddenly, actually. Quite eagerly. He's pressing firmly and enthusiastically, running his fingers through her fur, feeling every contour of her shoulder ... and it does feel quite nice, actually.

"Make sure you get the other side too," she says.

And to reach, rather than trying to go around her, he climbs on top of her. Oh goodness, the feeling of him scurrying right up onto her back, it's making her fur stand on end! He seems to enjoy the extra little bit of fluffiness, though, kneeling in the middle of her back and rubbing her other shoulder. His strokes are getting longer now, surer ... he seems to be getting used to the idea of doing this.

For a time, Selena-Merri allows him just to stay there and massage her shoulders. It does feel nice. But what sort of cat would she be if she didn't make mice uncomfortable from time to time?

"You could go a little lower," she prompts, knowing full well what the implication to that will be.

He freezes in place, his little hands still on her shoulder. Oh yes, it's fun_feeling the way he trembles slightly, the slight motion of his body suggesting that he's looking behind him at just what's back there, just what 'lower' may entail. "Oh, um, alright..." His voice trembles as he says it. _Lovely.

Slowly, carefully - as if she might roll over and bite him at any moment - Oliver ventures lower, down across her back, massaging between her many brassiere straps. And as slow and tremulous as his progress is, he does make steady progress. He wants it, doesn't he? As scared as he is, he wants it. He wants her. And the thought of that warms her inside, deep in her heart ... and also certain other places less mentionable.

She starts to purr.

It isn't a conscious decision. It never is. And that can be embarrassing at times. For right now, though ... right now, she doesn't mind Oliver being aware of just how much she's enjoying this. Thankfully, it seems to put him more at ease to know how much she's enjoying it. He keeps going lower, his deft little hands weaving their way between her many brassiere straps.

So eager! Already, he's almost worked himself up against her happily waving tail. She wonders what he'll do when he gets there. Has he yet worked up the nerve to go lower still?

No ... not quite, it seems. He lingers there for quite a while, rubbing her lower back with every outward sign of perfect content, as if he'd be happy to continue doing that and only that for the rest of the night. Should she admire his restraint or abhor his reluctance? The growing glow deep inside her - somewhere right beneath where he's working, in fact - tells her it should be the latter. Par les neuf vies du chat! She didn't come here for only a massage, and the night isn't getting any younger!

"Keep going," she says softly. But she knows that her deep feminine voice carries a note of command in it. "I'm ready."

Let him wonder what that means. He'll see soon enough, won't he?

She can feel him trembling on her lower back, just above the cure of her derriere. He's so nervous! But ... he's moving. Her purr grows louder as she feels him tentatively climb the hill of one cheek, but she can still feel his slight gasp as he steps from the black lace of her panties to the big - to him, anyway - curve of white fur.

He drops to his hands and knees. Wondering what he could be up to, Selena raises her head and turns to look at him ... just in time to see him spread his little arms out over her ass cheek and give her the biggest squeeze he possibly can, bunching her soft fuzzy flesh up against himself, rubbing his face along it. Really, truly, finally going for it, as the Americans say.

She smiles. Finalement! His shy reluctance has been truly attirant, but she must admit - if only to herself, for politeness's sake - that it does grow frustrating after a time. She has needs, and it's good to see him getting closer to meeting those needs.

Though, for now, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a lot more. Just look at that big grin on his little face...

"I think I'll take that as a compliment," she says, mid-purr.

He freezes, his arms still wrapped tightly around the curve of her ass ... and the blush on his cheek redoubles in an instant. "Oh, I... I, um... I didn't mean to..." Finally letting go of her, he leaps away as if burned. All the way to the floor of the apartment, completely away from her. Though he's still staring straight at her lace-clad backside. "I was just, um... And well, I thought that..."

She laughs. Titters. "Mon Petit!"

That stops him. He looks up at her face. Into her eyes.

"You don't have to apologize to me. Not for anything." Actually, now that she thinks about it, there are_a few things she wouldn't mind him apologizing for. Abandoning her in the bar the night they first met being foremost. But no matter. It sounded good in the moment, and it will help set him at ease. She rolls over onto her back, making a slow, luxuriant show of it ... slightly marred by suddenly getting a bedpost right against her spine, but she squirms to the side and does her best to play it off as nothing. "Why don't you come see to the _front of my oh-so-tense body, hm? As of yet, I've only had half a massage..."

If he noticed the bedpost incident, he doesn't show any sign of it. Perhaps he was too distracted with the view. His eyes are huge, clearly reflecting the striping pattern of black brassiere cups alternating with white fur. "Is ... is that the sort of massages they give in Paris? Is that what they do?"

"Oh, they do quite a bit more than that..."

He gulps. She can actually see him swallowing. "Such as...?"

Reaching one hand out to curve behind his back, she draws him nearer. "Rapproche toi, Mon Petit ... and I'll show you."

He puts his hands up to avoid getting pressed against her. And all that accomplishes is to place his hands quite firmly against one brassiere cup - the largest, upper row on the nearest side to him. The moment he touches her there, a jolt runs through him. She can feel it through her barely-veiled nipple, which he's almost touching. And surely he's aware of that. The lace is thin. He must be able to see the pink circle underneath it - it's nearly as large as his nose.

"Mmm, yes. Now that's more like it." She starts purring again. "Massage me right there."

"I... I can..." He looks up at her face, though only briefly. "You don't mind me ... touching you?"

She strokes his back, her hand still holding him close. "Mind it? Why I should be sorely disappointed if you didn't."

"R-really?"

"I'm all yours, Mon Petit. Ravish me, if you dare."

Oh, he does dare, apparently. Very much so. He lunges for her breasts much like a starving mouse might lunge for a cupcake, diving in face-first and hugging the black lace against himself.

"Aah!" Selena can't help but break her ladylike composure slightly as the fresh jolt of the erotic touch courses through her. It isn't much, of course, but it's the first real physical pleasure she's felt in days, frustrating days of pursuing this elusive mouse. Now that he's finally hers, now that he's finally touching her, now that it's finally real, she can truly come to enjoy this a little.

Of course, Oliver's enjoying it far more than just a little. It looks as if he's discovered new, transcendent planes of experience, judging from the look of pure rapture in his eyes.

He hefts the mass of her breast - one of her largest and about the size of his whole body - with both hands, delighting in the feel of it, the way it jiggles slightly under her brassiere. He rubs his face along the exposed fur of its upper curve. He kisses her excessively, following up and down the line between brassiere and breast, devoting himself to that exquisite curve. "They're ... they're so big!" he says breathlessly, between his kisses.

"No, it isn't true!" she insists. Well, not by cat standards anyway. She's rather average in size at best. Though she has to admit that for someone of Oliver's size ... well, things might look a little different then, might they not? "Of course, there are five others in need of massaging, and I think you'll find some of the others more your size..."

After all, having him attached to her chest there feels wonderful, but the other five are feeling quite stiff and in need of attention of their own.

Oliver gives her nearest, largest breast one last kiss goodbye before climbing atop her once more. _Now_she can truly let herself squirm against the floor a little, thoroughly enjoying the attention he lavishes upon one breast after another. He can't seem to decide, darting from one to the next, absently resting against one while he fondles another, then suddenly choosing one in particular to adore ... before getting distracted by the next above or below. And Selena wouldn't have it any other way.

The lowest, smallest row of breasts is - by cat standards - not even enough to truly justify the brassiere that covers them. Selena herself might have omitted that part, including it more for symmetry than for any need of support or coverage. She's glad she opted for the third row of cups, though. Her smallest breasts are just small enough to perhaps be rivaled by a particularly well endowed she-mouse.

Perhaps because of that, Oliver seems enamored with them, certainly far more than any male she's ever been with in the past. He spends as much time with them as with her other two rows ... perhaps more. And can she blame him? Of course not. They're _just_the right size for him, aren't they? While he freely reveled in the hugeness of the higher rows, with her lowest set, he can truly play with them the way all males want to play with breasts: grabbing them in his hands, kneading them between his outstretched fingers, pressing them up and together, teasing her nipples through the lace...

And all the while, she purrs, occasionally encouraging him with a soft, feminine moan. _Oui! Finalement!_To finally feel his hands on her, his body against hers! How long has she been going to bed thinking of this moment? It can't be healthy, that sort of repressed desire.

Yet ... only a moment later, he stops. Stops entirely.

She props her head up, looking to see what's the matter. "Mon Petit?"

Oh. _That's_the matter. He's stepped a bit lower in his enthusiasm, then slid down all the way onto her left thigh. And he's staring, staring down between her legs.

All this excitement and anticipation must have given her quite an indecorous level of la nectar féminin. She can feel it. The cusp of her black lace panties is simply soaked with it. And for someone Oliver's size, well goodness ... it must look like quite a lot, mustn't it? She tries to hold her legs closer together, but of course to no avail. She can't quite close the gap between her thighs, not enough to truly hide anything, especially not with Oliver practically standing in it.

"My apologies," she says, doubling over with feline flexibility. She must be careful not to hit her head on the ceiling again. The upstairs neighbors would complain. "I may have gotten rather carried away with my--"

"It's beautiful."

"Come again?"

He looks up at her - only briefly - before staring back down between her legs. "I've ... I've thought about seeing this for longer than I ought to admit. Even ... fantasized about it. But seeing it for real, right there in front of me... Oh Selena! You're ... you're so beautiful! How could you ... how could you ever want to be with someone like me?

Oh dear, he's overindulging in humility again. What's a cat to do? At least he seems to like what he sees. She was afraid he'd be off-put by the indecent sight of her excessive arousal.

How to make sure he maintains the self-confidence necessary to fulfil that arousal, though? Hm... Well, there is one way. One way that seems to work wonders for the confidence of any male she's ever been with, and it certainly couldn't hurt in Oliver's case.

Leaning even closer, she reaches for him. A quick casual caress of his shoulder and down his chest quickly turns to something far more than casual when she traces her fingertips lower still. Oh my ... he's pitched quite the tent in his little pants, hasn't he? It's actually more than a bit impressive, especially for a little fellow his size. Quite brazenly, she holds it between her fingertips. "Mmm," she purrs. "I see I'm not the only one becoming rather enthousiaste."

It seems to only embarrass him - his blush returns more fiercely than ever, and he hunches his shoulders as if to appear smaller than he already is.

That's quite alright. What she has planned for him next should put him in a very different mood entirely. Only one little hurdle to get past first, though. "But I think you have me rather at a disadvantage, wouldn't you say?" She oh-so-casually extends the claw of her pinkie finger, hooking it into the waistband of his trousers. "Why don't you get a little more comfortable and show me." She licks her lips to drive home the next point: "I promise you I shall make it quite worth your while..."

Chapter 6 - Le Point Culminant

Oliver stands for the first time in his life - at least the first time in his adult life - completely naked in front of someone else. Not since he was a young child - too young to remember, too innocent to be embarrassed - has he been so exposed. And never has he felt so vulnerable.

Here he is, over-enthusiastic fool of a mouse, standing without a scrap of clothing on his body anywhere, stubborn erection throbbing proudly, in front of an enormous cat - a cat who's looking at him in a particularly hungry way. Aroused? Perhaps. But her face is nigh-indistinguishable from a cat anticipating her next meal, complete with the licking of her feline lips.

He gulps. What's he gotten himself into now? Fool of a mouse.

The urge to cover himself with his hands is strong, but he resists it. Mostly resists it. His hands still twitch now and then, itching to hide him from the prying gaze of Selena's fiercely blue eyes. Being completely naked right in front of her is just about the most vulnerable he's ever felt. How can she just lie there and stare at him? It's a testament to how worked up he became while 'massaging' her - and to her entrancing beauty - that his erection hasn't entirely withered away. If it had, he's sure he wouldn't be able to resist covering himself.

Rolling on her side, moving closer to him, Selena drinks in the sight of his nude body even more deeply. "Hmm... How about I return the favor?"

"The..." He gulps. "The favor?"

"That was a lovely massage after all, wasn't it?"

"You ... um ... you want to ... massage me?"

She laughs. Titters. Focuses back on him with a knowing grin. "Oh dear me no. How could I possibly give you a proper massage with hands nearly as large as you are?"

He shrugs.

"No... I have something more ... intimate in mind." She licks her lips again. "A feline tradition, if you will."

He trembles as she draws closer. It's obvious she can tell he's trembling too ... but he can't stop it. She's just so ... so ... so close now, her face right in front of him. If he raised his arms, he'd touch her whiskers on both sides.

"Are you nervous?"

He can feel her breath against his naked body. Reluctantly - but honestly - he nods.

"Don't be. Remember, this is just a cat's favorite way to show affection. You trust me, don't you? I would never hurt you, Oliver. Just try to relax as I do it."

"Do wha--? Aah!"

Her tongue flicks out, planting a long, sensual lick all the way from his navel to his chest. He gasps. He's ... he's never felt anything like it! Springy spines coat the surface of her tongue, making it pass through his fur almost like a huge brush. And yet, entirely unlike a brush. Because behind those spines was the soft, warm, sensual mass of Selena's tongue, just slightly wetted with her saliva.

Before he can so much as catch his breath from the surprise - the shock- of being so thoroughly licked, there it is again, again dragging all the way up from his belly to his chest, but slightly to the side this time. Selena reaches one arm out, pressing her hand against his back, pulling him closer and a little more to the side.

And he goes along with it. Despite every instinct in his mousey mind screaming for him to flee the cat's mouth, he offers himself up to her freely.

It's ... nice, actually. It feels nice. Lovely. And she's right, it is oh-so-intimate.

He gives himself over to it completely, letting Selena lick him ... completely. The front of his body, each arm, up and down each leg, his back, even his head! That last is the scariest. As careful as she is, he still gets occasional glimpses of her sharp teeth. Her fangs. It sends chills down his spine. And yet, there's also the time when she was quite literally licking the cheeks of his buttocks, her tongue easily wide enough to cover and curl around the entire curve of it in one stroke. And as strange as that is, he also finds it incredibly - and surprisingly - endearing. Though he's often fantasized about finally being with a woman - usually a mouse woman - his fantasies never once included this feeling of being appreciated, wanted, desired. It's an incredibly heady feeling, and it's something he had no idea he was even missing in his life until now.

And yet ... for all the thoroughness of her tongue bath, there's one particular place her tongue conspicuously hasn't touched. Is it perhaps too taboo even for her? Perhaps she would never lower herself to such a debased act with a lowly rodent such as himself...

Or perhaps she's merely been saving the best for last.

Selena pauses there, her face not quite touching his crotch, his very exposed and throbbingly eager erection. "Are you ready, Mon Petit?"

Surely that's a rhetorical question. The state of his member alone should more than answer it. But he nods anyway. "Yes!" he says breathlessly. "Please!"

"Hmm..." She smiles the eagerness - the need - in his voice must be pleasing to her.

Selena pauses, just for a moment, drawing out the tension. Perhaps she's daring him to take the initiative? It would only take the slightest nudge of his hips to push his cock forward against her mouth. She's right_there. However, it isn't much of a temptation, actually. The fleeting thought is dismissed the moment it occurs to him. One does _not take such risks when one finds one's most vulnerable parts so close to such very large and very sharp teeth.

And, of course, she doesn't make him wait very long, after all. Just long enough to build up that little extra tingle of anticipation before ... before her tongue appears once more, softly and lovingly stroking his entire length and his balls at the same time.

"Selena!" he cries, unable to restrain himself. It's ... it's far more than he could have imagined. Of course he's experimented with touching himself before, and that felt quite good at times. But it had always merely felt good where he was touching. This ... this affects him in a far more deeper, more primal way. It's as if the sensual wet slide of Selena's tongue is reaching not only his cock - where it blooms into a glorious bouquet of pleasure - but also reaches into him, through him. The gratifying feeling of sensual bliss spreads upward through him, straight up through the core of his body all the way to the top of his head, where his freshly-groomed fur stands up on end all over again.

She looks up at him with evident satisfaction, her muzzle still between his legs. "C'est agréable, no?"

"Tres agreable!"

Though he's quite sure he's got the accent wrong, Selena still smiles very appreciatively at his attempted French. The important part, of course, is that she rewards him with another wonderful lick.

He still feels the spines of her tongue, of course, but they're neither as stiff nor as sharp as he feared. The rough, yet springy texture adds a new dimension to the lightning rod of pleasure from his cock all the way up his spine. She licks him again and again; he gives himself over to it. No resistance. No struggle. Only bliss, pure bliss. He's rolling in the waves of ecstasy that - it seems - only a cat can truly give.

After what seems - to him anyway - as only a very short while, though, she stops.

Oliver looks down at her, his eyes begging for more.

But there's a very different desire in her eyes. A more feral one. A dangerous one ... and yet still alluring. "You trust me, Mon Petit?"

He nods.

"Completely?"

A pause. He nods again. How could he not? Even if he had good reason to mistrust her - which he absolutely doesn't - the needy rush of pleasure so recently coursing through him would probably have convinced him to disregard it.

Subtly, she wraps her thumbs around his body. Before, her hands had merely been holding her close to her. Now she grabs him ... and lifts him bodily off the floor. Her mouth opens wide, her tongue poised, arrays of sharp white teeth on full display.

"Selena, what are you--?"

Casually, as if it's nothing, as if it isn't the most terrifying thing a mouse could possibly imagine, she places him legs-first inside her mouth.

"SELENA!" he screams, his whole body going just as rigid as his cock.

And yet ... the dreaded crunch never comes. Her needle-sharp teeth don't_pierce his defenseless flesh. Instead, he finds himself half-surrounded by the wet heat of her maw, supported by the soft pressure of her lips around his midriff. _Everything from his waist down is completely bathed in her, _one_with her. And then there's her tongue. Has she practiced this? Has she been with men as small as him before? Because she's certainly _quite_talented at this! With all due caution, without even a hint of risking her teeth against him, she flicks her tongue over his most sensitive places, from his taint to the tip of his cock, and everything in between, all at once.

He shudders in her mouth. "Selena..."

His only answer is a slight, satisfied-sounding hum from her. The vibration of it seeps into his whole body, becomes part of him, sends him straight up to an entirely new level of ecstasy. The fear is still there, of course ... but now the fear, somehow, is part of it. The extra thrill, the anxious sensitivity, the subconscious scramble to keep from slipping down her throat ... it all feeds right back into the pleasure, intensifying it far beyond what it ever should have been.

And he knows now. He'll never be able to feel _pure_fear of her again. Every chill down his spine will come with a remainder of this moment, of the way this feels. He'll never again shudder at the sight of a predator's teeth ... without also feeling a corresponding rush and twitch in his crotch.

It's the most wonderful gift anyone has ever given him!

Overcome with ... with _love_for Selena, he bends over. Heedless of her upper teeth, he reaches for her muzzle, hugs his arms against her cheeks, kisses the delicate leathery skin of her nose. He wants nothing more than to be close to her, to be one with her. If he could melt into her at this moment and forever become a part of her, he'd do it without a thought.

And all the while, Selena's tongue keeps working its magic between his twitching legs.

The pressure is building inside him, the inevitable approaching. He knows it well. And he doesn't care. He _needs_it, more than anything. And the longer it builds, the more intense his pleasure becomes. His hands dig into the fur of Selena's cheeks. His hips thrust against her writhing tongue. His whole body tenses beyond belief. This is it! Ever since seeing it once in a dirty magazine, he's always had an unspeakable fantasy of cumming inside a woman's mouth. And now, it seems, that's going to happen in a far more literal way than he ever could have guessed. He can only hope Selena won't be offended...

It turns out, though, that he needn't have worried. She draws him out of her mouth _just_before the point of no return, holding his soaked and dripping body just in front of her and grinning as if at a job well done. "So," she says, "how was it?"

He doesn't answer. He can't answer. How can he put that into mere words? Instead, he strains toward her, reaching for her.

Seeming to know just what he wants, Selena moves him a little closer. Their lips meet. Hers are so much larger than his. Comically so. Absurdly so. He kisses her all the same. There's only one way he can show her how he feels, only one way he knows. And that's with his lips against hers, his tongue venturing inside to caress her much larger tip, the mingling of their wet warmth. He can feel her teeth behind her lips and he no longer cares. No - he cares. He likes it. Perhaps she's ruined him. Perhaps he'll never again be able to enjoy the company of a woman who couldn't eviscerate him in a single bite. It doesn't matter. He wants her. He needs her. He loves her. And though he doesn't dare say it in words, he can show it to her through the passion of their kiss.

Despite his small, wholly inadequate size, Selena seems quite taken by the heatedness of his kiss. No matter their differences, his message of adoring passion is getting through, and her slight moan in return tells him that she feels much the same. But that's not all he gets in return. Keeping his lips locked against hers, she rolls to her back again, holding him in place perfectly against her the entire time. Once on her back, she can use her hands to instead grope his body - his back, his ass, his cock, his everything - without breaking the frantically endless kiss in the slightest.

But she's not the only one who enjoys touching, and being on top of her again is reminding him of when he first explored her wondrous breasts.

It's a strain, a monumental effort. He has to stretch out as far as he possibly can. But he does- just barely - manage to reach his feet to the curves of her uppermost breasts without breaking their kiss. And he takes full advantage of that, rubbing his dextrous toes over the wonderfully soft curves, wishing he could reach more and yet never wanting to part from Selena's lips. If only he could have both ... if only he could have both...

Selena solves the dilemma for him. Of course she does. It's incredibly sexy the way she takes the lead, takes charge, takes what she wants. So unlike how all other women - especially mouse women - tend to be. So alluring. She finally breaks the kiss by physically pushing him downward against her chest, onto it, onto her belly. "Allow me," she says.

For a moment, he's unsure what that's supposed to mean ... but then he sees her reaching behind her back with both hands, arching up from the floor to give herself space.

The way that makes all six of her breasts press upward at the same time is very_distracting, and Oliver wastes no time in running his hands across as much of them as he can reach ... but it's not so distracting that he doesn't notice the _click ... click ... _click_sounds of one bra strap being unfastened after another. As soon as they're loosened, Selena lithely, bonelessly shrugs her arms out of the shoulder straps.

And then she removes her brassiere.

For a brief moment, it's simply a mad scramble to avoid being tripped up by all the wayward straps and lace as she pulls it out from under him. But once she tosses it aside - adding it to the pile of clothes that's now filling up an entire corner of his apartment - that leaves him right against her many breasts. Bare fur against bare fur. Nothing in between them. Nothing at all.

With an unbelieving shudder, he collapses against her. All he wants is to be closer to her. To feel all of her, all at once.

He manages to achieve something like that, at least. One nipple - of her gloriously huge uppermost breast - entirely fills_his mouth. It's far too large for him and he doesn't care, suckling away at it regardless. With one hand, he strokes the soft, full curve of that same breast. His other, of course, strains to reach Selena's other uppermost breast, alternating between stroking its softness and exploring the lovely valley between them, something he never thought he'd get the opportunity to even _see much less touch. Meanwhile, his feet strain and stretch as far as they can to touch her lowermost row of breasts, delighting in the soft contact and their tiny, delicate nipples. And her middle row of breasts? Well, once he starts humping against her - he can't help it in his excitement - she oh-so-helpfully presses them together with her hands, creating a wondrously soft valley for his cock to thrust into. He's absolutely bathing_in kitty titties, lost in them, surrendering to them. His whole world is soft white fur, even softer curves of supple flesh, stiff nipples begging for all the attention he can give. If only there could be six of him, ten of him, _twenty of him ... maybe then he could give Selena's wonderful breasts all the attention they so richly deserve.

Of course, there's just the one of him, leaving him quite overwhelmed. And Selena-Merri has ideas of her own about where his attention is needed.

At first, when she starts pressing him downward, he's sure that she merely wants the attentions of his mouth on some of her other, more neglected nipples, so he gladly takes his place one row down, slurping and licking and suckling one in her second row, just a little less_absurdly large for him. But she doesn't stop there, letting him linger only a moment before pressing onward, downard. He's only able to give her lowest row of breasts a fleeting kiss on his way down. On his way down _below her belly ... between her legs ... to the only part of her still covered in black lace.

Soon, Oliver's left propping himself up with one foot on either of her inner thighs, his hands against the black lace front of her panties, trembling both from the exertion of holding himself up ... and from the thought of how he must be about to touch a part of Selena that he's never before dared to expect he might touch of any woman ... much less one as fascinating and alluring as her.

Selena seems to be in no mood to be patient with his reverent awe, though. She simply spreads her legs apart, and now bereft of support, his feet slip down her thighs. He can't help but end up right between her legs, everything to either side of him perfect curves under white fur ... everything in front of him wet black lace.

"S-Selena?" he asks, his voice quavering.

Reaching in with one finger, she hooks the edge of her panties and tugs them to the side. "Don't worry about your technique," she says, "I know you're a virgin after all. Just listen to the sound of my voice. You'll be able to tell what I like."

As her panties pull to the side, a wave of humid heat hits him. And a flood of a smell that's never before graced his nose. The smell of sex. Thick, gooey strands of Selena's clear nectar connect the underside of her panties to her newly freed pussy lips. Though even shorter than his, her fur down here is matted slick with her liquid lust. The aroma is not unpleasant ... but it is overwhelming, making him feel almost dizzy from breathing in the invisible cloud of it.

"Don't be shy," Selena tells him. "I need you, Oliver."

It's as if her words propel him directly forward all on their own. He surely doesn't remember commanding his muscles to move. And yet, here he is, with his hands planted against the pliant wet lips of her pussy on either side, his mouth poised right in front of the deep reddish pinkness of her waiting slit. His heart is in his throat. He can't draw a single breath. His cock throbs insistently, urging him instinctually onward.

His first taste of her is - of course - hesitant, soft, so slight that he's not sure she felt it at all. In fact, he's rather sure she hasn't. So he tries again, making real contact this time. She's so much larger than him that he has to bend at the waist in order to lick her all the way from the bottom to the top of her slit. _This_time, he's sure she felt it. Not because of any screams or theatrical moans, just from a subtle catch in Selena's breath, the slight jolt of tension that runs through her thighs to either side of him. So ... that must have been pretty good, right? Why not try a little more of it...

Again and again he repeats that stroke, assuming it to be perfect. It's not as if he has any experience to draw upon! Before he'd met Selena, he'd foolishly thought this to be a disgusting and degrading act, something he'd only stoop to if it was the only way to get what he wanted. But with her ... there just isn't any question. There's nothing unclean about it - it's Selena. He wants all of her, every part of her, and more than anything, he wants her to feel a measure of the unsurpassed ecstasy she's already given him. She's so much more than he'd ever thought any woman could be, so he laps happily - hungrily - at her slit, reveling in every twitch of her flesh, every slight moan. His cock aches for her, but it's only a distant afterthought. He's chasing her pleasure now, and nothing else in the world seems to have the slightest hint of importance compared to that.

Only ... perhaps he hasn't been as successful at it as he supposed.

"More!" Selena cries breathlessly, "S'il vous plaît plus!" And quite forgetting her own relative strength, she reaches her free hand behind his head and pushes him against herself.

Quite without any choice of his own, Oliver enters_her, snout first. His eyes shoot open wide ... before immediately snapping shut to avoid direct contact with Selena's pussy lips. His _entire_muzzle is lodged inside her pussy now, whiskers and all. The heat is incredible, and of course there isn't the slightest chance of him drawing breath. But the deep-throated moan escaping Selena's mouth makes_any discomfort worthwhile. If this is what she wants, he'll give it his best.

And he does. Does he ever. Eyes still closed, he moves his muzzle up and down inside her, flailing his tongue wildly against her sharply sour-tasting inner walls just for that slight bit of extra stimulation. From time to time he has to pull out of her and suck in deep, much-needed breaths ... and thankfully for his safety, she relaxes the pressure against the back of his head enough for him to do so. But still he gives her as much as he possibly can, even massaging her plush pussy lips with his hands on either side as he continues to let himself be nearly consumed by her hungry entrance.

And his efforts do not go unrewarded. Selena's inner walls continually tighten around his muzzle now. Her moaning voice is music to his ears ... and probably a torment to the neighbors in the thin-walled building. He can't get enough of it. He wants to give her more, more, more! But there's only so much he can do without venturing _entirely_inside her ... which even in his inebriated state seems like far too much of a risk - what if he can't come up for air in time? What a way to go...

That's when he notices it, during one of his brief pauses to breathe. How could he not notice it the moment he opens his eyes, so deep pink it's almost red, all but throbbing_right there in front of his face. That must be ... Selena's clitoris. He used to hate the overly detailed bragging his friends would subject him to, constantly crowing about their sexual exploits. But in this moment, he's actually thankful. Because _several times they mentioned 'finding the clitoris' and insinuated that it was a great challenge, but those who met the challenge would pleasure their women in ways never before thought possible. Finding it sure doesn't seem so challenging to Oliver right now. Maybe that's only because Selena is so much bigger than him? Her love-button seems quite obvious. After all, it's easily the size of his hand!

Well, Selena had said to simply try things and judge by her voice whether she liked them or not. So it's time to truly put that to the test, isn't it? One way or another, he's going to bring her to climax. A cat as lovely as her deserves no less.

This time, rather than plunging his muzzle back inside her entrance, he opens wide and stretches a little higher. He gives her a tentative little lick right on the surface of it.

The resulting gasp and thrumming shock through her body tells him all he needs to know. Almost entirely forgetting everything else, he devotes himself to licking and kissing her fist-sized clitoris. Every time he touches her, it only makes her moan louder and more promisingly. The more he does, the more she seems to like it!

This, of course, eventually leads to its logical conclusion. It's a difficult stretch, making his jaw ache to open so wide ... but he manages it: he stretches his mouth over the _entirety_of Selena's sensitive nub. He suckles it just like her nipples before, lovingly twisting his head around it, swirling his tongue over its surface.

It drives Selena absolutely wild. Her hips flex against the floor, lifting her up, almost making him lose his place on her clitoris. The thick muscles of her thighs tremble with the strain. Over the crest of her mons, he can just slightly see all three rows of her breasts heaving as she sucks in breath after desperate breath.

And yet ... it isn't enough. Not quite. He must give her the climax she deserves!

But how? What else can he possibly do?

Well, he's got his arms, hasn't he? And while he absolutely needs one in order to keep her panties to the side, perhaps he could spare the other. Quickly, he slides it over to her slit - it's quite easy to slide, everything's so wet and slick. And without taking his mouth off of her, he plunges his hand inside. Deeper and deeper he goes, trying to give her as much as he can, trying to use his undersized arm to at least slightly emulate a cock big enough to truly satisfy her. All the way to his shoulder, as deep as he can reach inside her. Is it enough?

Selena tenses, her inner walls clenching hard against his arm. "Oui! Baise-moi, sale raton! Baise-moi! Mettez vos sales bébés en moi!"

And quite suddenly, hot kitty-cum streams out, splashing his chest and soaking any dry fur he might have left. Her inner walls pulse_around his arm as if trying to pull his fist deeper and deeper as she thrashes against the floor. Her clitoris gets yanked out of his mouth with an audible _pop! but it doesn't matter - she's well beyond the point of no return now, fully engulfed in her climax.

Oliver's feeling more than a little bit engulfed as well. Her pussy still holds his arm, showing no sign of letting go, even as he's doused _again_with the liquid essence of her passion. All he can do is ride it out, staring in awe at the first female orgasm he's ever seen ... and getting a much better view of it than he'd ever thought he would.

Of course, a candle burning _that_brightly doesn't burn for long. In mere moments, she's spent. Lying flat against the floor in that uniquely feline way, as if she hasn't a single bone in her entire body. He's finally able to slip his very warm - and very soaked - arm out of her. He rubs it to bring back the circulation a little.

For a moment, the only motion is the rise and fall of Selena's six breasts as she takes deep and sorely-needed lungfuls of air.

Oliver gives her a moment to recover ... but there's a certain curiosity coming upon him... "Selena?" he asks.

"Hmmmm?" She sounds quite content and relaxed.

"What was that you said?"

"I said whaaa...?" Still a little out of it.

He gives her another few moments to simply breathe and recover. No hurry ... despite the urging of his cock and her pussy still right in front of him. But he does want to know. She sounded so passionate about it... "When you were, you know. What did all those French words mean? I ... I couldn't catch all of it." To be precise, he caught exactly none of it. But this doesn't feel like the time to be admitting just how little French he knows.

Her head shoots up, looking down at him over the curves of her body. Is she ... is she blushing? No. Surely she's simply flushed from the exertions of her climax. "Oh, that? That was just..." Her eyes dart about the room.

Is there ... is there something wrong? Perhaps she's still just a little out of it. She's certainly still breathing heavily.

"That was just..." Again, she pauses. Then she smiles. "Merely inviting you to truly have me, Mon Petit." Reaching down to him again, she draws his whole body closer. "Perhaps not in the politest_of terms. But you know, heat of the moment and all that." His body presses against hers. He can feel the heat of her slit against his cock. "But I _meant it, Oliver. You can have me. All of me. Go ahead."

"You're ... you're sure?" Despite all they've already done, it seems like quite a big step.

"I've been sure since the moment I first saw you, Mon Petit."

He's certain that can't be true ... but in the moment, he's willing to believe it. He'd be willing to believe just about _anything_she says when she's sprawled out on the floor in front of him like that, when his whole body's dripping with her juices, when his needy cock is pressed right up against her waiting entrance.

All it takes is a little nudge, just a tiny tweak of his hips to get him in the right position. His cock slides into her.

Perhaps it was only made for his benefit, but the moan Selena makes at just that moment is ever so gratifying to hear. Even more_gratifying is the feeling of his cock sliding up between her hot, slick pussy lips, cradled on all sides by her steamy inner walls. It isn't exactly a _tight fit. In fact, there's ample room to spare, and his cock was able to slide in all the way to the hilt with one gentle thrust. That only makes sense - after all, only moments ago, his entire arm was inside her.

But she's still his first, and she still feels amazing.

Especially given all this teasing and buildup, his cock has been yearning for anything, any contact. And this is so, so much better than just any contact. This is Selena, and she's giving herself to him fully. It doesn't matter if the contact of her inner walls against his shaft is soft and fleeting. It's her. And that alone makes this some of the greatest pleasure he's felt in his entire life.

And, of course, the unfortunate size difference does have its upsides as well... In some ways, the teasing and gentle contact against his shaft feels even better_than it otherwise might. Not that he has any other experience to compare it to, besides his own two hands. And he's free to thrust into her with abandon, as hard as he pleases, as hard as he can. With a girl his own size, he might be worried about hurting her by being too rough. With Selena, he knows he's not _capable of hurting her, freeing him to give her everything he has.

Which he does. He very much does.

Even as he's pounding his cock into her as hard as he can, he still can't quite come to grips with the reality of it. He's ... he's not a virgin anymore. It's for real. He's really inside her! Just that knowledge alone is enough to redouble his pleasure, quickly spurring him back toward the heights he almost reached while inside Selena's mouth.

The memory of that triggers yet another wave of euphoria. Yes! She is so unbelievably sexy! How could he possibly resist her?

His hands splay out over the slight bump of her mons, over her lower belly. If he really_stretches, he can just barely reach her lowest row of breasts ... but if he does, he's not able to move and thrust inside her, so that ends up being a very temporary accomplishment. Instead, he enjoys the fuzzy smoothness of her lower belly as he push-push-pushes inside her, gazing out over her three rows of perfect breasts, each larger than the next. It might be gratifying to see all those breasts jiggling as his thrusts connect ... but of course he's much too small to cause such motions in a body her size. He has to content himself with watching them rise and fall with her breaths, with the slight moans and gasps she gives for his benefit. Or perhaps not _entirely for his benefit? Is that the feeling of he pussy tightening slightly around his cock as it moves? It's hard to tell.

Of course, the light, teasing contact of her inner walls against his shaft - while incredible - isn't nearly enough to bring him to his own climax. He just needs a little more! If only he could...

But wait. What if he can?

Before the sheer audacity of the idea can dissuade him, he reaches one arm downward, plunging it into Selena's pussy right alongside his cock.

She moans again, definitely for real this time.

But this time, it isn't Selena's pleasure he's after. He wants her to feel good, of course, but he _needs_this. Ever since she started licking him, he's been building, building, building toward this release, and now he needs it more desperately than he ever has in his whole life.

Still inside Selena's pussy, he grasps the shaft of his cock and starts stroking it, just like he always has before. Normally, it's enough to sate him in mere minutes. As worked up as he is now, it will take mere moments. Selena's hot inner walls still touch him everywhere his clenching fist doesn't, titillating him with their subtle touch and constantly spreading even more of her slick nectar over his shaft, making his stroking easier than ever. He holds himself still against her now, his cock as deeply inside as possible, his hand stroking it like mad.

"Selena," he says breathlessly, his face collapsing against the fuzzy pillow of her mons, "Selena I'm--"

The familiar pulse of his cock comes, shooting past the constriction of his hand and straight into Selena. He groans, throwing his head back in ultimate ecstasy as the building pressure finally courses through him, out of him, making his head spin in euphoric release.

But Selena has other plans.

After only that first throb, she grabs him and bodily pulls him off of herself, out of herself. Oliver's next pulse strings out thinly along her breasts as she raises him higher and higher along her body. His pleasure-dizzy head can't make sense at all of what she's doing. Why would she...?

And then, before he even realizes what's going on, his cock is inside her mouth. All of his cock. His still-spurting cock.

How could she know about that illicit fantasy of his? Is it something about how he acted while he was in her mouth? Can she truly read his mind? Is she just doing this because she's French? Whatever the reason, Selena somehow, miraculously has seen fit to grant his most despicable wish: pumping his cum straight into her waiting maw.

He cums like never before in his life. He's sure it's not much by her standards - scarcely a taste - but to him, it's stream after stream of eager release, gushing onto her tongue, onto the roof of her mouth, soiling her with his essence, claiming her in a way so primal he never would have dared to ask. And through it all, there's the keen awareness that he's right against her mouth. Her huge mouth. Her ringed with fearsome teeth mouth. And the thrill of danger only feeds back into the carnal bliss of sweet release!

He gives her everything. Everything. All the way until his well runs dry, until he's sure he won't be able to orgasm again for at least a week. And only then does he finally, finally fall limp, still held in her hands.

Gently, almost reverently, she lowers him to her chest, letting him rest in the crook of her neck. He nuzzles her cheek. She strokes his back. And for a long, luxuriant moment. All is right with the world. All is bliss. If he could pause this moment forever and live the rest of his existence this way, he surely would.

Selena chuckles slightly. He feels it against her neck more than he hears it. Her stroking touch pauses for a moment. "Well, I'd say you certainly earned it, Mon Petit."

"The ... the film deal?" He blinks for a moment, his orgasm-addled mind spinning. "Oh right... I'd completely forgotten about that."

"Well I haven't. It's yours, if you want it."

He leans up to kiss her on the cheek. If he's ever been so happy in all his life, he certainly can't remember when that might have been.

In a whisper, she adds, "As am I."

What? Did she just...? Did she just say what he thinks she said? It can't be. Simply impossible. He must have misheard her. She was only whispering, after all. Even if he had heard what he thought he did ... what exactly was she offering? Surely not... No, she couldn't possibly be hinting at marriage already. Her quiet patience seems to expect some response. But what can he say other than, "C-come again?"

"I know, I know." She laughs a little. "And I'm truly not that kind of cat. Not usually. Never one to get attached. But, perhaps, a little attachment isn't so bad after all."

His jaw drops. "Really? You mean, like a real relationship? You're ... you're serious?"

"Entièrement." A sudden uncomfortable stiffness runs through her body. "That is ... if you'll have me."

"Of ... of course I will! Of course I want you! I want you more than anything I've ever wanted in my whole life!" He hugs his arms against her neck. Somehow, it feels entirely natural for his naked fur to rub against hers now. "Selena-Merri, I... Nothing would make me happier. I don't care what anyone else thinks about a cat and a mouse together - if you'll have me, I'm yours!"

She says nothing, needs to say nothing. Instead, she merely turns her head toward him. The angle is a little awkward, but she meets him in yet another passionate kiss all the same. His hands caress her face and neck. Given her far greater reach, her hands are able to be quite a bit more adventurous with his body.

Their lips part, only briefly. "I ... I love you, Selena."

She smiles back at him, still caressing his whole body with her hand.

Epilogue

This time, Selena leads the way, squirming her way down the staircases of Oliver's apartment building. She has to crawl along in order to make headway, which is surely leaving the view from behind her entirely indecent ... especially because she quite deliberately neglected to put her panties back on in the morning.

All for the benefit of Oliver following behind her, of course. What a view he must have! He's certainly being quiet ... as if thoroughly distracted by what he sees up her skirt.

Hm... What if he were to take full_advantage of the moment. She's awkwardly stuck halfway through the stairwell, he comes up behind, lifts up the hem of her skirt, unbuttons his pants and has his way with her, right there on the apartment stairs, where anyone might walk in and see at any moment? Oh the _scandal! The mere thought of it is delicious!

She puts a little unnecessary sway into her hips as she edges forward down the stairs, half-hoping he'll actually do it.

But of course he doesn't. Oliver is a perfect gentleman, isn't he? Why, there's a decent chance he isn't even _looking_under her skirt, which would be a terrible waste. If only she could see behind herself and check ... but the stairwell is far too cramped for that.

It isn't until she reaches the lobby at the bottom of the stairs that there's enough room to look behind ... and a that point, she's faced with a much more pressing problem: a grandmotherly old shrew shrieks at the first sight of Selena.

"Kat?! Kat?!" the shrew shrieks, prodding the dirty end of her broom toward Selena as if to ward her away.

Selena tries to edge past her, to get to the door and finally get out of this mouse-sized building. "Désolé! Je suis désolé! Just trying to get outside, madam! Excusez-moi."

Oliver is finally able to get around her. "Relax, relax," he says. "This is Selena-Merri Valiquette. She's my guest." It's not working well. "Please! Please, stop jabbing that at her. She's going, she's going!"

Selena's very, _very_glad to stand up straight again once she finally gets out through the front door and onto the sidewalk outside. She hasn't been able to _fully_straighten herself since she crawled inside last night. But the shrew is still shrieking at her from inside the doorway. She has certain regrets about neglecting her panties now ... she's fairly certain the old shrew must have gotten almost as much of a view as Oliver while Selena tried to squeeze out through the door.

Oliver squeezes past the old shrew as well, quite deliberately shutting the door behind him, which quiets her incomprehensible yelling.

For a moment, they both simply stand there, too embarrassed to say anything.

"Sorry about Missus Jaunzems," he says finally. "She's... She's, well... Uh, her family is very ... traditional. You know how it goes. And she doesn't speak a word of English. Or French, apparently. She's truly a sweet old lady. It's just they have some ... outdated views about cats."

She grins down at him. "I seem to recall a certain someone quite recently had a few very outdated views about cats himself."

For such a small mouse, he can beam up an awfully big smile in return! "Well, since it seems I've survived the night in one piece after all, perhaps we should try and find some breakfast?"

"I know a lovely little café just a few blocks from here. The owners are not_French, but you'd never guess that from the food. Shall we?" She begins strolling in that direction, on the very good assumption that he'll follow along. After all, she still isn't wearing anything underneath her skirt, and from way down low, he's surely getting more than his share of tantalizing views as he jogs alongside her, trying to keep up with her longer strides. She grins, imagining what he'll be able to see. "You know, though ... I _do think it might be a better idea to spend tonight at my place rather than yours."

He laughs. "To avoid offending Missus Jaunzems?"

"_And_so I can enjoy having more room to stretch than the inside of a steamer trunk." She looks down at him wryly. "Don't worry. I promise I won't let any of my neighbors eat you."

"You, um... You could eat me ... a little ... if you like."

She covers her mouth as if shocked at the notion ... though it also serves nicely to hide the way she licks her lips. "Naughty, naughty mouse! Nous allons voir ce qui se passe."

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