I Know Where I Live
" ... gonna quill me, porcupine? Mm?" the tawny-furred, red-maned lion prodded. His paws cuffed together. "Why didn't my old pawing partner come? She's the chief of security, after all. The constable," he said, as titles on space stations differed slightly from titles on star-ships.
"You scare her," was all Nin said, of Petra.
"Do I, now?" Clearly, he already knew this. And, clearly, it pleased him.
Ignoring the comment, the porcupine continued, "And Seldovia didn't come because spraying her bad skunk smell in an enclosed space would make us all sick ... so, I was asked to guard you."
"With a phase pistol? You sure you know how to use that thing?"
The porcupine moved his club-like tail, raising the quills from their dormant, safe positions into vertical, spiny ones. Their 'armed' positions. "I wouldn't mind quilling a lion. Just so you know? I'm not scared of you."
"I guess when you're a walking pincushion, you're not scared of much," was the lion's level observation. "Except fishers." A slow, nasty grin. Fishers were a species of fur. They were predators. They were notorious for having hunted porcupines to near-extinction several hundred years ago. A fierce animosity still existed between the two species today, even though the porcupine population had healthily rebounded.
Nin just glared at his former captain. "I don't know," he whispered, "why I ever followed your orders. Why I ever trusted you at all."
"Cause you were a good officer. And that's what good officers do. They trust their superiors."
"Blindly?"
"I don't think you were very blind about it. Obviously, as soon as I left," the lion said, nodding, "you betrayed me. Switched sides. I come back, and instead of greeting me warmly? You threaten to quill me."
"Are you asking for my sympathy?"
"They're going to give me to the salamanders. The space pirates," he said, voice quiet. "That's treason. I'm still a captain. An officer. Being involved in a plan that turns me over to savages? That goes against your oath."
"You've done many things," Nin replied, "that go against your oath. Don't talk to me about what my 'duty' is. And, besides, since when did Federation law matter out here? The Federation abandoned us. We deal with messes as we see fit, and you? You," he said, "are a mess, and we gotta rid of you." Without killing him, of course. Leaving him as a prisoner for the space pirates would have to suffice. He'd live, anyway. "I'm not taking those cuffs off your paws. You're a skilled manipulator, but you're not gonna manipulate me. And you didn't win yourself any favors by bringing up the fishers, either," was his scowl. Even the mention of fishers was enough to make a porcupine upset.
"You gotta hand it to them, though. They know how to hunt you. Every other species, they're scared of your quills ... and give you immunity because of it. They back of. You're untouchable. But the fishers? They can get past that. They can take you down. They're very cunning, aren't they?"
Nin just sighed, shaking his head. There was no point in answering. The lion just never stopped. He always had some comeback, something to say. He always had to spout off. Always tried to antagonize you.
"Bet you wanna quill me, now, don't you? Am I on your nerves yet?"
"I only quill in defense," Nin whispered.
"How noble of you."
"Just ignore him, Nin," Prancer suggested. "Please. He's an ego-maniac. He feeds off attention."
"Ah, Prancer. So level-headed, so ... "
WHAP!
The porcupine's tail flew, smacking into the seat-cushion Terrence was sitting on. Missing his leg by mere inches. Pulling his tail back, Nin lost a few quills. They remained embedded in the cushioning.
Terrence, eyes wide, just fumed, glaring at Nin. Not liking that the rodent had such confidence. Rodents were supposed to be weak, brittle things. They weren't supposed to have any natural defenses. But porcupines did. And, knowing they were so well-protected by the threat of their quills, they refused to give predators the respect they deserved.
"They grow back," the porcupine said, quietly, calmly. "My quills? They grow back. Takes a few weeks, but ... I have plenty on me. Plenty," he whispered, " to spare." And, narrowing his eyes, he added, "Don't taunt my wife again."
"I wouldn't dream of it," Terrence whispered back. And then, looking to Prancer, said, "It must give you a thrill, mustn't it? To see him so protective of you? Must make you feel loved and wanted ... and all that nonsense?"
Prancer met the lion's gaze. Only saying, "I've met plenty of felines before. Some of them were really nice. They treated me kindly, and I became friends with them. I don't hate felines. I actually like them, but ... you?" she whispered. "I'm trying really hard, but you're just a jerk." A tilt of her head. "That's not very nice of me to say, but I'm not sure how else to put it."
"I should've done something about you, ALL of you," Terrence emphasized, "when I had the chance. When I was still captain of that station. Redwing Station? That what you're calling it now. How poetic." He rolled his eyes.
The two rodents proceeded to ignore him.
"Cold shoulder, huh? You think that's gonna discourage me?"
Nothing.
Terrence gave a low growl from the throat. It did discourage him, truth be told. Half the fun in dealing with prey was making them squirm. Provoking them. Watching their reactions. And when they didn't react? Well, the entertainment became pretty thin. So, the lion sighed, moving to cross his arms. Only to be reminded that he couldn't: his paws were cuffed. And he gave another growl.
In the front of the runabout, Milka was at the helm. Benji in the co-pilot's seat. His controls weren't turned on. The otter was doing all the work. But he wanted to be up here with her, at least. Even if just to keep her company. They'd been traveling for about two hours. They'd soon arrive at their destination.
"It's an asteroid belt outside the system. The biggest asteroid has a space inside," she said, recalling from memory. She'd been there a few times. "I think they bored into it. They use it as a hide-out. A depot. But it's not always attended to ... "
" ... so, we're hoping no one's home?"
"Hopefully. I mean, the runabout here ... we can't fight off a pirate ship in this. We'd have to haul tail. Hide somewhere. I mean, depending on which band of pirates it is, I could bring their shields down, know their weapons frequencies ... " She trailed. "But, yeah, let's hope no one's home," she whispered, her rudder-tail steering back and forth behind her, through the tail-opening built into the back of her chair.
The nutria just nodded, shifting in his seat. His roundish ears perked, whiskers twitch-twitching. And he leaned forward a bit, watching her paws as they slowly slid over the computer consoles. Her paws were webbed. Just like his own. He liked that. She had pretty paws. And he smiled. "You know how to use all this?"
"I'm learning." Her whiskers gave a single brush. Her black, diamond-shaped nose taking in air. Her fur was a richer, deeper brown than his own. "I mean, it's easy to figure out. I'm just not used to Federation design ... " She found the button-pad she was looking for. Gently pressed it. A hum-sound. "Switching to short-range sensors." A moment of silence. Before Milka said, "I hope you're not taking what that lion said to you ... you know, too seriously? He doesn't know what he's talking about." Her gaze got a bit hard. "He's trying to get under our fur."
"Darling, I'm not gonna let my opinion of you be shaped by a feline fugitive. He doesn't know either of us." Earlier, when Benji had been in the back, Terrence had tried to bait him. Had started saying things about his wife. Nothing concrete. Just general accusations. "Besides, he's been saying negative things about all of us. Nin and Prancer, too. Peregrine. So ... "
Milka nodded. And took a breath. Sighing, she turned her head. Their eyes met. "I just have a ... " She trailed. Looking away. "I have a past. I guess we all do. I mean, obviously ... we all do, but I just don't want you to think less of me ... "
" ... why would I?"
"I don't know." She closed her eyes. "You might find out about my mistakes and ... then you might start to think that I'M a mistake."
"Not gonna happen," the nutria whispered, with assurance in his voice. "Mistakes normally don't feel good. They have an unease beneath the surface. They have a resistance that you have to punch through. They have ... you've not been hard for me to love." A tender look. "Not at all." He reached out with a webbed paw. And place it atop one of hers.
The otter smiled happily, relieved. "Thanks, darling. I, uh ... " A sigh, as she leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek. Whispering, "You're the best, you know that?" She pulled back, feeling better. And scanning her read-outs, said, "Tell the others to get ready. We're nearly there."
The naked mouse, on his knees, had to stop for a moment. A whisker-twitching chitter-sound. "Got ... furs," he panted, "on my tongue." Twitch-twitch. He could feel them distinctly, though they were so, so thin. Amazing how sensitive the tongue was. He opened his muzzle, carefully trying to pick them off with his blunted claws. Normally, this wasn't a problem. It really wasn't. But during shedding season? With groin-fur tending to be thicker and more tufted than the rest of one's pelt? Well, simply put, 'giving muzzle' was a bit frustrating during shedding season. He was getting plenty of pussy. But plenty of pussy-fur, too, shedding in loose strands, getting into his muzzle with every lick and suck. "Got 'em ... I think I got 'em all." He smacked his lips, licked the inside of his cheeks, and nodded.
"Hun, if it's a problem ... "
" ... not a problem," he assured, fingers gently prying apart her delicate labia. Those pink-petal lips. A hot, shivering sigh, pupils fully dilated.
Petra had to giggle at his directness. "Someone knows what they want ... " The rat was also naked, sitting, leaning back on their couch. "What do ya want, hun," she breathed, sultrily, reaching her arms out, putting her paws behind his erogenous ears. "Tell me what ya want ... "
The mouse's breath caught. He swallowed, eyes closing. "P-petra ... " His silky-pink mouse tail waver-wavered behind him, veering all about.
"Just relax ... feels good, don't it?"
"Oh," was the simple, effeminate sound.
"Mm-hmm," she hummed, her fingers splayed, blunt-clawed, furry fingertips delicately running over his lobe-flesh. The backs of his big, pink, dishy ears. Softly running her fingertips this way, this way, and then backtracking.
Peregrine remained quite still, breathing quietly, quickly. His whiskers twitched. His ears turned pinker, pinker. Rosy-pink, as blood went upward, filling them. They began to gorge, the capillaries showing the blood. A slight squirm on his part, the heat on both sides of his head making his forehead-fur a bit damp with sweat.
"I know ya wanna eat between my legs, hun, an' you're good at it. I wanna let ya. But I'm sheddin', and you're havin' to stop every thirty seconds to pull my fur from your tongue ... it's not exactly workin' for either of us. You'll just have to wait on that, 'kay?"
His whiskers drooped.
"I know how much ya like it, but ... "
" ... mm ... I wanna," he squeaked. Male mouses had a strong, well-known fondness for, as one might crudely put it, pussy-eating (which had earned them a reputation as 'connoisseurs of muff'). They hadn't the best tongues or biggest muzzles. But they were gentle, eager, attuned to texture, heat, taste, scent. Mouses were exceptional nibblers, of course, and they always began with little lip-nibbles. To the clitoris, the labia. Little-lip nibbles, then little, tentative licks, then little muzzle-pushes, little sucks, little sniffs. Everything little. Mouses weren't the quick, slurping, broad-licking types. They were all about finesse. And the feminine sex was, if anything, delicate. It required finesse. And male mouses had that.
So, it wasn't surprising that they gave good cunnilingus. As for why they enjoyed it so much: well, that one should be fairly obvious.
"Hun," she soothed. "I'm just not as patient as you are ... I, uh ... y'know? It's like bein' teased, you havin' to stop so much. Interrupts the flow of it."
A tiny nod, knowing she was right.
"I'll stop sheddin' soon ... "
"Two weeks," he whispered, whiskers still drooped. Twitching, twitching.
"You've gone that long without eatin' pussy before," she reminded. "I know ya can last."
A little nod. "I know. I ... I know," he said again. A pause. Her paws were still on the backs of his ears, but her fingers had stopped moving. She was letting him catch his breath. Giving him a rest. "Petra," he whispered, in that airy, effeminate voice of his. It almost floated away.
"Yeah, hun?"
"I've been thinking, you know, about command styles. About ... " A sigh. " ... Terrence was obviously a much different commanding officer than I was."
"Tell me 'bout it."
"He was tough, demanding, acerbic. Me? I'm ... quiet, low-key. I mean, am I ... am I good commanding officer?" His tail snaked about, whiskers twitching.
"Course y'are. If you want me to be ... "
" ... I do. I do want you to be honest," he insisted, before she could ask the question. He nodded his head, looking up at her. "I just feel that I'm kinda just like everyone else. I'm no more talented. I mean, the good captains? The really great ones? They have charisma. They have strength. They have drive. And here I am, and ... well, I'm not even a captain," he said. "I'm just a commander. But I'm still in charge. And I don't feel like I'm charismatic or strong or ... "
" ... well, you're you, hun. You don't have to model yourself on a set example. You worried no one takes you seriously?"
"Maybe," was all he said.
"Well, they do. They do take ya seriously. You might not snap them into line with intimidation, but they trust you. You're gentle, easy to approach. They feel comfortable around you."
"I'm never gonna be promoted to captain. Commander's as high as I'm gonna go."
"You're only twenty-three. Ya don't know that. Anyway, you're not that ambitious, Perry ... "
" ... I know. It's not like I need to be a captain. I'm just saying ... "
" ... that you doubt yourself? Look: you've made a dif'rence here. You cleaned this station up, made everyone feel useful, gave everyone hope. Before, we were all just wallowing here, feeling sorry for ourselves. You came in from the outside and acted like this place mattered. Like it could be something. Everyone's come to be proud of Redwing Station, and that's your doing. It's become a home. Not just a place we're just stuck on."
The mouse was quiet for a moment, digesting her words.
"You turned our 'prison'," the rat repeated, "into a home. It's still got a ways to go, admittedly," she said, tilting her head, "but it's getting somewhere. And when those ruins on the planet are gone, we can start focusing on finding resources down there, turning this station into a real stop-over for deep-space merchants and such ... make this place alive again."
"You think so?"
"I know so. And I'll help ya." A smile. "I think your problem, Perry," she said, "is that you look at great commanding officers, and think that in order to be one o' the great ones, you gotta win wars, get medals, be given a flagship ... you're not fightin' wars, and you're on a station everyone's forgotten about. Out on the edge of everything. Makes you think that the Federation doesn't think much of you. That they wanted you out of the way. But, you know what? Who cares what they think? I think," she said, "that you're a good commander for us, and I don't care if you're just a commander. You're a good mouse."
A flush. "Thanks, darling," he mouthed silently.
She just gave him a tender wink in return, caressing his cheek-fur with her fingers.
The mouse closed his eyes, whiskers-twitching, looking so, so cute. Good enough to nibble up. After a while, he said, quite shyly, "What about my 'squeaky toy'?" He was barely audible. As if afraid someone would overhear. He shyly closed his eyes.
"What 'bout it?" she asked, smiling gently, looking down at him. Still sitting on the couch. With him still on the floor, on his knees between her legs.
"Since you're shedding too bad for me to ... to give you muzzle," he managed, trailing.
"Maybe I can suckle your 'squeaky toy'? Give you muzzle, instead?" she whispered gently. 'Squeaky toy' was a euphemism for a rodent's penis. Especially a mouse's penis.
Peregrine just bit his lip, eyes opening. "I'm shedding, too, though."
"With your physiology, it'd be easier to avoid loose strands with you. I'd wager, anyway ... " A smile. "Switch places?"
The mouse eagerly did so, with a scurry in his motions. Soon sitting on the couch, with his wife, now, on her knees on the carpeted floor of their quarters. Between her legs. And she was bigger than he was. A more solid build. And a few inches taller. The mouse was trim, demure. A bit waif-y.
Petra pried his legs apart, her paws on his soft, rain-grey thighs. Her own fur its simple, darker-brown. Own fur looking a bit scruffier. She eyed his masculinity. Pupils dilated. And she closed her eyes a moment, and when she opened them she looked up at her husband, offering an honest, apologetic, "I don't do this nearly 'nough."
"What do you mean?"
Petra, speaking with no hesitation (for they were husband and wife, and it didn't matter how intimate their conversations got), admitted, "I don't suckle on you. I mean ... " Her own ears got a bit rosy-pink. Her whiskers twitched. "You gimme muzzle, hun, every day. More than once a day, normally. I mean, it's like clockwork. You eat me out, and then we have intercourse, and ... every day." A pause. "I only muzzle your 'squeaky toy,' like, a few times a week? In comparison, I ... I'm not really returnin' the favor, am I? You give me a lot of selfless pleasure, and I ... y'know, I don't really give that back," was her fear. Her green eyes looked up to his blues.
"Darling, I don't ask you to."
"Well, it's not 'bout askin' ... you give it to me without me askin', an' it feels SO good ... you don't even know."
"You, uh ... you tend to squeeze your thighs against my cheeks, the side of my head, uh ... when you orgasm. I think I know," he said, warmly, giving her a smile. "You usually let me know how good it feels for you. Your sounds. Your ... the way you grab at me." A pause. "Besides, darling, I'm a mouse. I'm submissive. I mean, I'm ... a total sub, you know? It's not in my nature to make demands of you. It's in my nature to do what makes you feel good."
"But what makes YOU feel good?" she asked.
"Making you ... "
" ... feel good. I know. You're so selfless, hun." She blushed beneath the fur, touched. Humbled. "I know that, but ... I'm always makin' requests to you, or giving you non-verbal hints to do this or that to me, and ... " She trailed, scritching his thighs. "What makes you feel good? Sexually, I mean? Don't be 'fraid to answer ... "
A slight blush. "I, uh ... well, being inside you."
This made her giggle-chitter. "Course. Course," she whispered. "And I like havin' you there. That's a given, hun. But intercourse is the main meal. We do that most every time. You'll get to be in my vagina," she promised. "But what I'm askin' is: what else do you like? I mean, you do so much for me, to my body ... give me so much pleasure, and ... "
" ... you're worried you don't give me as much pleasure as I give you? Just because you control how we make love?"
"Well ... " A whisker twitch. A whispered, "I guess so, yeah. I just wanna hear it in words, y'know, that ... that you're gettin' all you want."
"Darling," he replied, "all I want ... is all of you. The taste, the scent, the heat, the softness of your fur, the curves of your hips ... to mount you, hump you, suckle you, caress you, kiss you. Sweet, full-on kisses, muzzle-to-muzzle, breathless, our whiskers touching. I wanna eat your pussy. I wanna sow my seed in you. I want your kindness, your words, your thoughts, your mind, your love." A hot breath, his throat dry. "I want all of you. And you give it, okay? You give to me every time ... so, I'm getting," he promised, at a panting whisper, "all that I want."
The rat just licked her lips, her heart flooded with emotion. "Perry," she breathed. "You got a way with words, hun ... " She swallowed, licking her lips again. Blowing out a breath. "But, uh ... ooh," she went, trying to calm down. "Well, alright. I guess that's settled. And I'm the dominant partner in our marriage, sure but ... I still want you to tell me if you want somethin', 'kay? You want me to suck on your 'squeaky toy'? Just ask me. You want me to give you ear-sex? Then I'll do it. You're able to intuit my wants without me havin' to say 'em, but ... I'm not as good at that. Sometimes, I gotta be told, 'kay, what you want ... else I don't really figure it out." A pause. She bit her lip. "Does that make sense?"
A nod. "It does," he whispered. "I understand. I'll, uh ... I'll try to speak up," he said.
"Ya don't have to be anything but a sub, hun. Just give me a few hints, sometimes, if there's something you'd really enjoy me don' to ya ... like, say," she posed, trailing before giving an example. Looking up at him, raising her brow.
The mouse blinked a few times. Then got the message. "Oh." A blush. "Oh, I, uh ... "
" ... come on," she whispered, soothingly. "Just tell me ... "
A few whisker-twitches, and an airy, whispered, "Give me muzzle?"
"Mm. My," Petra breathed, going down on him, "pleasure ... " The hot breath of that last word washed over his blunted, very-pink penis-head. Which her lips soon touched. Softly, wetly, before sliding down, in a ring. Dow, down his now-erect mouse-hood. She bobbed a few times, sensuously, her tongue slipping along the underside of his shaft. "Mm ... hmm," were her throat, nose-sniffing sounds. As she had all of him within her muzzle.
"Oh ... oh," was all he could say, hunching forward out of pleasured weakness. His paws went to her shoulders, clutching. "Uh," was the sharp, little moan.
"Mm ... " Petra hummed a bit, slowly pulling up, up. Stopping at the head. And suckling it, pressing her tongue-tip to his slit.
Peregrine squirmed. Massively. Twitching all over, gaping. The mouse squeaked, paws trembling, now, on her shoulders. Too much, too much. And his eyes began to water.
Petra, gently slipping off him, gave a pant, licking her lips. "W-what happened, hun? You okay?"
"I ... it's too sensitive. I don't know. I ... " Eyes still watering. He gave a sniffle. Another sniffle. "I just ... it got too sensitive, and I started to lose the erection," he said, starting to babble. A shake of the head. A sniffle. "I'm sorry," he squeaked, whiskers drooping. "I'm ... "
" ... hey. Hun, hey. Nothin' to be sorry for," she cooed, lifting herself up onto the couch, now, gently pulling at him. "Nothin' to be sorry for," she repeated.
A swallow. "But my ... "
" ... penis is fine. Nothin's wrong with it." The mouse, like all male rodents, was circumcised and about four and a half/five inches when erect. Average size. Male rodent's weren't endowed with barbed, knotted, eight/nine-inch cocks, but those were the cocks that furry society tended to idealize. It made him feel inadequate, sometimes. A bit self-conscious. But Petra wouldn't have any of that. And told him (as she'd told him before), "It gives me a lot of pleasure. It's perfect."
The mouse listened to her, assuaged by her words. And a final sniffle. Saying, "You're ... you mean it?"
"Course I do," she soothed, running her paws across his bare belly. "I find you very, very attractive ... you're a han'some mouse. Han'some all over. And cute as a button." Her lips went to his cheek. She gave a soft, delicate kiss. "And I love ya," she breathed, ending the matter.
Which made him smile. Perking him up a bit. "I love you, too. And you're beautiful," he blurted, cause he wanted to say it. Cause he meant it. And he wiped at his eyes with his paws. He was, being a mouse (and a male mouse), very emotional. Petra, originally, had found this to be a turn-off about mouses. Their emotion. But she'd grown to appreciate it. And to savor it. And to feed off it. And where a more callous femme would've scoffed and laughed at the mouse's moment of inadequacy, Petra hadn't. She hadn't laughed at him. She hadn't rolled her eyes. She'd just patiently told him, point-black, how she liked his male-hood, liked his body. How he was handsome all over. She built up his confidence time and time again. Because that's what true lovers did.
"I'm, uh ... can we try again? I was just too excited, and you started tongue-pressing on my tip, and ... "
" ... you're too sensitive there. I know. I'm sorry. I, uh ... heh. Got carried 'way," she admitted. "Y'can understand that, I'm sure." The mouse got 'carried away' often enough, when in the midst of 'physical activities.' "But I didn't get any loose fur-strands on my tongue, so we're good to go," she said. Giving good muzzle took practice. He'd had plenty of practice on her, had pleasuring her with his muzzle down to a finely-tuned art. But she'd had less practice on him. And she had to admit, "I don't do this 'nough ... I, uh ... we gotta practice it more." She was slipping off the couch, back to the carpet, to her knees, between his legs. "And don't be 'fraid to let me know if I'm suckin' it too fast, or in the wrong place ... I want you to feel as good when I give it to you," she said, "as I feel when ya give it to me."
A shy smile, and a little nod. And a whispered, "Okay ... "
"Heh." A chitter. "That's the spirit. Just relax ... here goes," she said, going down on him again.
"Ohh ... ohn," the mouse squeaked, arching a bit.
The rat smoothly slid up and down his penis, striking the right balance this time. Stimulating him in all the right ways. She began to taste his pre, which began beading out his tip. She felt, with a free paw, that his orbs were swelling in size, his sac tightening and pulling closer to his body. And she heard his breathy squeaks. Letting her know, again and again, that, yes, she was doing it right. He was liking where this was going.
He clutched to her shoulders again, panting, ears hot and swiveling, whiskers twitch-twitch-twitching.
She bobbed, tilting her muzzle a bit. Slow and gentle, up and down, tongue caressing the underside of the shaft. The roof of her mouth making contact with the back of the head. And, knowing his sweet spot (that very ridge on the back of his head), she slid her lips off his mouse-hood, leaving only the penis-tip in her muzzle. And then sliding over the head-ridge again, taking the entire head inside. Then half. Then all of it.
Hot, squeaky shivers, muzzle raising up. "Oh ... g-gosh," he managed, head coming down, eyes hooded. His tail jerked about like a live-wire, his whiskers all a-twitch, all a-twitch. It felt warm, wet, and wonderful. All his motions! All his cuteness!
And, for her, the feeling of his stiff, hot member on her tongue, in her muzzle? Was a thrill. The essence of masculinity, of male sex. And it was in her muzzle. She was tasting it, suckling it like a popsicle. It gave her a feral feeling that she quite liked. Plus, she simply enjoyed doing it. It aroused her greatly. And she liked how his scent was flooding her nose. Liked the taste.
Squeaky-squeak. His squeaks switching to their highest pitches. An indication of oncoming orgasm.
Petra, ears listening, slid off as his pitch changed, panting, regaining her breath. And, looking up to him with a loving lust, managed, "Finish off w-where ... where it's s'posed to go. I need it," she chittered, full of needful lust.
He didn't have to be urged twice. He was already slipping off the couch, Petra lazily flopping to her bare backside on the carpet, raising and spreading her legs, thick tail snaking on the floor.
The mouse, wriggling, pressed his hips to hers, belly-fur meshing. Her breasts sinking beneath his chest, and his mouse-hood slipping forward, dipping into her glorious honey-pot. Her arms going round his back, hugging him down as he bumped, bumped. Hips beginning to grind, that precious, friction-filled in and out.
Oh, glorious. Yes. Love, love.
Love. Oh, yes.
Oh.
Sex. Sex. Love. Yes.
Yes!
"I ... I, uh ... and I didn't look where I was going," Desmond managed, through his tears, through little coughs and shakes. "And I stubbed my toes!" he cried, obviously in pain. The tears spilled down his buttery, toffee-furred cheeks, to his clear whiskers. The whiskers flicking them off, sending them flying.
"Oh, baby, come 'ere. Come 'ere," Hyacinth soothed, opening her arms wide.
Desmond fell into her, clutching at her. The cow having a bigger build than him. And his chest sank against her breasts. Both of them clothed. The cottontail had been rushing back to their quarters. Rushing, of course, because it was breeding-time. He'd been excited, lost in his increasingly-virile thoughts. And he'd rounded a corridor-corner and bumped into some metal equipment. His right foot-paw had smashed right into it. The toes had throbbed instantly. Throb-throbbing with pain. And, unable to help it, he'd started crying as he limped back to their quarters.
"Oh," Hyacinth soothed, her hoof-like hands on the back of his head, running through his head-fur. "Oh, it's okay. It's okay," she whispered.
His nose buried in her soft, muted brown/grey neck-fur, he sniffled. And shook some more. "It h-hurts," he mewed pitifully, his toes throbbing, aching badly. He stood on his good foot-paw and let the other hang in the air. His cottontail flickered a few times and his waggle-ears waggled.
"I know. I know ... it's alright, baby. Come on," she said. "Let's sit you down on the couch and I'll take a look at it."
Desmond sniffled, his tall, slender ears ceasing their waggling and drooping over. As he sank to a sit on their couch, trying to catch his breath.
Hyacinth knelt down, getting to her knees. And took his injured foot-paw in her hoof-like hands, peering at his. She gently massaged it, moving to the toes.
"Ow ... ow," Desmond went, as she tried to wriggle his toes with her fingers.
"Is it all of them?"
"N-not the big toe. The small ones."
"The other four, then," the cow said, nodding. "I can see how they'd be more vulnerable when stubbed ... you were moving fast?"
A sniffle, wiping his pink nose with a paw. "I was hopping back to breed you," he said, with tender innocence.
This made the cow smile. "So, you were hopping pretty fast then," she reasoned. And she resumed massaging his foot-paw, being very gentle. Massaging the foot-paw pad, the top, the arch. Staying away from the toes. "Feel a bit better?"
"I, uh ... I guess," he sniffled. "Prancer's not here right now. What if I broke something... "
"I don't got toes," the cow said. For she had hoofs instead of feet. "But, if I had to guess, I'd say nothing's broken. I'd say you just bruised and banged 'em up pretty good. They might ache for the rest of the day, but ... " She trailed, looking up at him. And she gave a docile, loving smile, her ears flap-flapping. "You want me to get you a hypo for the pain? Make it a bit better?"
A sniffle. "Okay," he said, the tears having stopped.
A small moo from her, as she got to her hooves and moved off, returning in less than a minute. "Here we go," she said, leaning over him from behind the couch. And pressing the hypo to his neck. "Won't make it stop hurting, but should dull it a bit. Prancer can run a scan on your foot-paw when she gets back, but ... "
" ... you think it's okay?" Desmond asked, craning his neck. Looking up at her. Rabbits were very proud of their foot-paws. They were big foot-paws, built for kicking and loping. Rabbits had excellent lower body strength.
"I think it's okay, Dezzy," she assured, ruffling his head-fur with her hoof-like hand. And then letting her fingers slide a bit. To brush one of his tall, slender ears. "You able to make it to the bed?"
"Will you help me?" he asked.
A giggle-moo. "Course." And she giggle-mooed again, coming from the couch and helping him up.
"Mmf ... hmph-mm!"
"Gagging him was such a great idea," Prancer said, smiling to herself. "Don't every-fur thank me all at once."
"He's still making a lot of noise," Milka whispered. She and the cinnamon-furred squirrel were behind the lion, pushing him forward. While Nin was beside him, keeping him in line with the threat of his quills. Benji was back aboard the runabout, keeping a lookout on sensors (and readying the helm for their getaway).
"You know where we're going, right?" Prancer asked, angular ears cocked atop her head. Her bushy, luxurious tail flagging behind her. Were Seldovia here, the skunk would've teased her about showcasing her tail in such a fashion.
Prancer and Seldovia often teased each other about who had the more luxurious tail. It was always a draw, cause both would argue exclusively for themselves. Seldovia kept claiming, 'My tail is naturally luxurious, Prancer ... you spend, like, an hour a day grooming yours? I hardly groom mine, and it looks like this ... ' Upon which, she'd show her tail off. But Prancer, each time, would come back with, 'Yeah, but you got that special shampoo you always use. Squirrels don't have to use ten different kinds of shampoos and conditioners. We just use one. And, also, black and white might be elegant, but this color brown,' she would say, of her fur color, 'is rich and nutty and delicious.' Usually, this would bring them both to giggle-squeaks and mews.
"Mmf-hmm!" went Terrence, trying to spit his 'gag' out.
"I know," Milka eventually replied, very quietly, "where we're going. This corner. There's a cargo bay in there. I should be able to use my password. Knowing pirates, they don't have the brains to have changed the password yet ... " They went through clunking double-doors, which whooshed open heavily. And stayed open, as if jammed that way. "Okay, okay," the otter said to herself. "Here goes." She tapped in the password on cargo bay keypad.
Prancer bit her lip, whiskers twitching.
Nin, his roundish ears perking, held his club-tail at the ready.
Click-a-click-a.
The cargo bay door swished open. Password accepted.
The two rodents breathed a sigh of relief while Milka, taking charge, grabbed ex-Captain Terrence and hauled him roughly into the bay. Nin followed, just in case Terrence tried to take Milka down. But the lion was gagged and paw-cuffed. So, he couldn't use his teeth or claws. His foot-claws, maybe, but he'd probably lose his balance if he tried to do that.
"Weapons, weapons ... torpedoes, photon and quantum ... tri-cobalt. They don't organize these things. I have to identify them by sight. Photon torpedoes are like ovals. Quantum are a bit sleeker, with edges, and tri-cobalt ... that one. There. It's the only one. I knew they had one here," she said, quite pleased with herself. And, grabbing Terrence's arm, she lead him to a group of cargo containers. And withdrew another set of paw-cuffs from her pocket. Cuffing one end around the chain of the cuffs he was already wearing, she cuffed the other end to the cargo container's handle. "That container should be too heavy for you to move. And if you do move it? It'll crush you."
The lion glared with hatred.
"See ya round, lion," the otter whispered, sidling off. "Nin, Prancer. Help me carry this."
"What if we drop it?" Prancer whispered, suddenly worried. Her whiskers twitched fiercely, and her tail flagged.
"We won't," was all the otter said. "Anyway, it's not armed. None of these are. They have to be activated, so ... but, still, we're not going to drop it."
And the three furs picked up the device, shuffled, shuffled, carrying it out of the bay. Leaving behind the fugitive lion, who 'mmf-mff-ed!' madly.
Making it back into the runabout, Milka looked to Benji and ordered, "Get us out of here. Now."
The nutria did so.
After about five or ten minutes, they began to relax.
"Looks like we did it," Prancer said. And, with a wry smile, added, "I don't know who to feel more sorry for: the salamanders or Captain Terrence."
"Both," was all Milka said, smiling. And she slipped into the helm chair. "You can stop twitching, now," she told Benji. "Went easier than I thought it'd go, actually."
"Yeah, but they're gonna know it was you. And they know where you live," Benji said, simply.
Milka tried not to show her worry. And replied, "Just take us home, okay? It's gonna be fine."
"Since when did any of us," Nin asked, after a moment, sinking into a seat against the wall here in the runabout's cabin. "Since when did any of us start thinking of that old mining monstrosity as home?"
"Well, they say home is where the heart is," Prancer replied, wisely, taking a seat beside her husband. "And our hearts certainly do a lot of beating inside that station. We all found love because we wound up out here, didn't we? I mean, if it hadn't been for the station ... well, maybe none of us would have our loves."
A few nods.
Something to think about.
And yet another thing (in a long line of things) to thank God for.
And the runabout, unimpeded, went home.