FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Every time I go out to eat, I get put in the corner. Even when I'm seated at round tables!" quipped the chipmunk, cantankerously. His remark drew a chorus of laughs. He must've been at least seventy-five and belonged to a group of 'elderly regulars' that dined here weekly, at a cafeteria known for 'homemade' comfort foods. Like mashed potatoes, noodles, steamed vegetables, and pies.

Adelaide, the pink-furred bat, casually eavesdropped from a booth about fifteen feet away while Field, her mousey mate, was off in the bathroom. (Because that's what you did when you were left alone in a restaurant; listened to others talk.) It wasn't like she could help it. They were being fairly loud. Her sweeping, 'sonar ready' ears stood tall, tilting a few degrees every other second.

"Speaking of being put in the corner," interrupted a piebald rat, "that reminds me of my first mate. I was twenty. Worst mistake of my life. Until my second mate." This drew some guffaws from the males and headshaking from the females, with retorts like, 'I bet they thought the same thing about you!'

Adelaide smirked at their attempt at 1950's stand-up comedy, briefly turning her attention back to her meal. Eating slowly, not in any rush. She'd gotten the cricket casserole with sides of peas and carrots and green beans. And a blueberry bug muffin. Bats had always been insect-eaters. She was no different.

"I'm telling you, Eartha Kitt. Now, she was sexy," said the round-table chipmunk, emphatically. "Even if she was a predator."

"Her songs were nothing but purring," a silver-furred female mouse claimed. "Felines give me the creeps. They're all scatterbrains."

"Still sexy."

"I prefer Nina Simone," said a squirrel, almost to himself.

The piebald rat, rapping a paw on the tabletop, said, "Look, I'd take a good, dominant prey female over a predator any day. Way more erotic. No contest. Only problem is they're harder to find, so you have to take what you can get."

"Which, at our age, is nothing," the chipmunk quipped. "Well, unless you're me!" Which drew more laughs and declarations of 'you wish!' ...

Adelaide smiled again. She hadn't really spent much time around older furs. Both pairs of grandparents were from Australia, where her parents and she, herself, had all been born. She was actually named after the city in which she'd been conceived. Her mother and father had been on holiday in wine country at the time. Gotten tipsy. The rest was obvious. But they'd moved to America, to Indiana, when she was only four or five for reasons she still wasn't clear about. This wasn't exactly a 'happening' place outside the month of May.

Field's family was very conservative compared to hers. And all purebreds, too. They hadn't been happy when he'd mated outside the species. He'd actually been the first harvest mouse in his bloodline to mate a 'non-mouse' in three generations. An uproar had ensued, his relatives adamant that Adelaide was some kind of seductive vampire out to corrupt him with all that 'S-E-X stuff.' Eventually, when they realized the relationship was truly going to last, they got over it and began complaining about something else. It was a good thing they didn't know that Field was actually bisexual (albeit with a female lean), or they would probably disown him.

She'd spent plenty of time around Field's grandparents in the absence of her own. His paternal ones. His grandfather was a retired doctor who had actually grown more liberal with age. But also more stubborn. Always had advice, which he would assure you was 'never wrong.' The grandmother was more docile and dainty, though she could 'bite' when it was called for.

The bat, eating her casserole, wondered what she and Field would be like at seventy, or even eighty and beyond; assuming they lived that long. My fur will fade from deep pink to dusky. The membranes on my wings won't be as smooth. His golden pelt will lose its sheen, and he won't have that scurry in his step. Everything will slow down. And that's only the physical stuff. What about our personalities? I suppose those will evolve, too, like everything. You might as well embrace it. Think of it as an adventure.

She reached a wing-arm across the booth, using a thumb (not really having traditional mammalian fingers) to grab some fruit from Field's tray. He'd gotten a vegetable plate; macaroni cheese, broccoli and cheese, and peas. (Yes, macaroni cheese was considered a vegetable here.) Along with a wheat roll and some raspberry tea. Surely, he couldn't eat all that by himself, not if he expected to keep that trim, 'farm boy' figure. So, she took two strawberries, the biggest ones, and dropped them in her own tea, which was iced but plain. Let's see how long it takes him to notice. Probably about ten seconds.

He was a little obsessive-compulsive. Got flustered easily. Which was good for her, cause the more flustered he got, the more malleable he became. Like putty in her paws. As the uncontested dominant partner in their mate-ship (an alpha female, if you will; exactly the type those old furs had been pining for just a minute ago), that was very much to her liking. In fact, she had a spicy idea brewing in her mind right now; one that definitely qualified as adventurous. It was a fantasy more than anything. But if they could pull it off, well ...

Field finally came back, sliding into the booth opposite her with a bewildered, whisker-twitchy sigh. "I ran into some furs I used to know. I don't think they recognized me, but I have such a good memory. It was a little awkward." He looked down at his food and picked up a fork, his long, ropy tail was side winding on the booth-cushion as he explained, "I used to work here before I met you. You knew that, right?"

"Time existed before you met me?" she asked with mock-seriousness.

"Well, only briefly," he admitted, with a dimpled smile. "It's a great debate amongst scientists and philosophers. The whole 'life before love' paradox, I believe."

"And what's your take on that?" She began to grin, toothily.

"I personally think bats must be descendents of angels. Or goddesses. I always have trouble deciding which one. But then I see that you look like the 'Nike of Samothrace,' and ... "

" ... the one without the head?" she interrupted, raising a brow.

"Well, if it still had one," he amended. "It doesn't even have to be the sculpture. It can be the metaphor, the character. Regardless, you're my 'Winged Victory'."

The bat gave him a warm, appreciative look. "So, what does that make you? My bumper crop, or, uh ... my sunshine," she breathed, falling quiet for a moment. She didn't know as much about art as he did. She laughed, shaking her head. They had such corny conversations, sometimes. But they came from genuine places. "So, you really worked here?" she said, going back to his original remarks. "I thought you worked at the one on 86th Street."

"No, it was this one," he said, quietly. "For two years. Well, three, actually. Didn't like it much. I was on the vegetable line. It was so steamy and hot ... "

"You don't say ... "

" ... not like that," he said, rolling his blue-grey eyes.

She chittered with mirth. "Food play's not as good with Brussels sprouts ... "

"It was such a monotonous job," he continued, ignoring her joke. If he acknowledged it, they would only get sidetracked again. "Standing in place for nine hours a day, no real movement or creativity." A sigh. "And they made me work on Race Day."

"Ouch ... "

"I know! It was the last straw. That's when I knew I had to quit." And, sure enough, he had. He and Adelaide hadn't missed a '500' since. "When I was here, though, everyone working around me was either way older, younger, or spoke Spanish. So, I either couldn't relate to them or couldn't understand them. But, yeah ... I even had to wear a fur-net on my head and everything. Just putting vegetables on plates. 'More corn? Would you like cheese on that broccoli?' But the worst were Harvard beets." He shuddered. "So gooey and messy. And sticky, too."

"My poor, tidy thing," she teased.

"Yeah," he went. "I was glad to leave. I just ... " He shook his head, apologetically. " ... I know I'm whining. A job is a job, and I learned a lot. It just wasn't the right fit for my personality." He paused and added, "But I still love the food here. It's my favorite place to eat. They have the best cream of broccoli soup ever. The best macaroni ever. The best ... "

" ... did you get free meals?" she asked, before he could give her the entire menu.

"No. It was, like, forty percent off." He cleared some of the vegetables off his plate.

"I didn't know it was gonna upset you so much. It was on the way home, and you didn't object when I suggested it." They were on their way back from a movie at the Indy art theater. A silent film; black and white and very charming. It was a rare night out for them.

"I'm not upset. I'm just obsessing ... "

"Oh, is that all?" she teased.

He twitched and pointed. "Why are my strawberries in your tea glass?"

"Took you a while to notice. I lost a bet with myself." She stretched her wing-arms, lazily. "I just needed some natural flavoring. I forgot I didn't like plain tea." She cocked her head, now. "You want them back? Cause that can be arranged ... " Before he could answer, she stuck out her insect-catching tongue, a long, versatile muscle, wet and wily. It dove down into her drink, past the ice cubes, curling around one of the strawberries, actually swirling and stirring it around, and then lifting it up to present to her mate. Just like that.

The golden mouse gulped, transfixed by the display, his big, dishy ears immediately overheating.

But she wasn't done. She pulled the berry back and into her muzzle. Where she closed her jaw upon it, chewing, chewing slowly, the juice trickling onto her lips and down her fangs. After a swallow and a wayward lip-lick, she told him, at a private whisper, "I think my next talent will be tying cherry stems in my mouth. Like on Twin Peaks."

"S-s ... show off," Field accused, weakly. His paws trembled as he reached for his own glass. He hurriedly downed half of his raspberry tea.

She leaned back in the booth, quite pleased. "You know you like it."

"Well, obviously," he replied, unable to lie. And unable to fend off a smile as he confided, "I've always admired your tongue."

"It admires you. Especially certain parts of you ... "

He blew out air. "Well, uh ... " That was neither here nor there. "I wasn't done telling you about when I worked here. I have more stories."

"Oh, that," she said, with a slight wing-wave. "You'd rather talk about work than sex?"

"We're in public," he told her, shyly.

"So?" Her plum-colored eyes twinkled. "Talking about how my tongue can coil around your penis like a snake isn't suitable conversation?"

"A-adelaide ... " His repeated stammering indicated he was losing concentration, and quickly. The image was in his head, now, and he couldn't get it out. Of her on her knees between his legs, and her muzzle moving up and down, and that tongue, oh, God, that tongue. He wanted it. "We ... you know, we have to maintain some kind of decorum. We're civil beasts." He shifted around a bit, adjusting his posture. Holding his tail in his paws for a moment before tossing it aside.

"Think that's an oxymoron ... " She looked around, unconvinced. Fangs jutting out of her maw. And still thinking about her little idea. Customers were beginning to filter out. Everyone except she, Field, and that table of elderly prey. She'd try Field again in another five minutes. Breaking down a mouse's inhibitions was a process. You had to fluster them piecemeal. It was actually more fun that way. " ... so, go on, then?"

"Oh." He hadn't expected her to give up so easily. Which meant she was toying with him, right? Now, he was getting paranoid. His whiskers twitched and he squinted, suspiciously. But proceeded to blabber-mouse, anyway. "Okay. Well, one time, this lady customer didn't like the amount of food I put on her plate. Like, she thought it wasn't enough. So, she just picks it up ... the plate, I mean. Picks it up. Drops it on the floor and walks out! My ears turned so red. I didn't even know what to do, so I called out, 'Have a nice day'. Only, my voice is so soft, I don't think she heard me."

"Wish I was there to see that," Adelaide admitted, sipping her strawberry-flavored tea.

"If you were there, I would've blushed even more, and then so much blood would've been in my lobes I would've passed out." He nibbled on his honey-wheat roll, breaking it into three segments and consuming one at a time. The stories coming randomly, now. "I burned my paw on mashed potatoes one time. It really hurt. Got blisters on my paw-pads, and they wouldn't even let me go home early."

She reached across the table and took his paws in the tips of her watermelon-pink wings. Inspecting them. Saying, simply, "Well, you're okay, now." Her eyes then went to his. "You should calm down."

"Guess it depends on your definition of 'okay.' I have a worthless photo degree, and we're poor. We can't even afford to have children."

A sigh. "Field ... "

"Things could be better. That's all I'm saying."

"Well, things are good enough. You've taken plenty of great pictures of us. Granted, they're mostly nude, but still, they're artistic. Who cares if they're not making you rich? I like them. You have a good eye. The way your mind works. You see things. That stuff is not worthless," Adelaide said. "Also, plenty of furs get knocked up on smaller incomes than us," she added. "Hell, I work at a library. And libraries are pretty much obsolete. How's my career looking?"

"You have a lot of talent, yourself," he assured her. "You're not afraid of responsibility, or making decisions and carrying them out," he listed. "You always make sure things get done."

"Those aren't talents, Field. They're traits."

"Well, I still like them. I like how confident you are. I just ... I don't know. You can do something with that." But he knew as well as she did: it wasn't about what you could do. Wasn't about ability. Life wasn't that fair.

"Thank you," she said, simply. There was a pause before she continued, "As for kids, you know I'm still on birth control. Even though the doctor says we're not one hundred percent compatible." The odds of them conceiving were less than thirty-five percent during their lifetime. But better safe-than-sorry.

"We're compatible enough," he whispered.

"I meant genetically."

He wriggled in place for a second and then scooped some macaroni cheese into his maw with a spoon. It was delicious. "But bats and mouses ... " Chew, chew, and swallow. Mm. " ... did you know that the German word for bat is 'fledermaus,' or 'flying mouse'?"

"You've only told me that five hundred times. I think that's your favorite fact."

"It's romantic ... " He'd always been a dreamer. It was only fitting that his love had wings. She couldn't literally fly. They were just holdovers from long ago. Decorative, but in the most metaphorical, wonderful way. When they woke up in the morning, with the sun on her pink fur, she would almost glow, and he would kiss her wing membranes up and down and feel the bones with his paws. And she would wake up and grab his tail, reeling it in like a fishing line. "Anyway, uh, it's happened before. Our species having offspring ... "

"You're being awfully adamant about this," she observed.

"Am I? No, I'm not." He finished his macaroni.

"Well, you were the one who brought it up," she pointed out.

"It's not so much that I want kids. Not right now. I think it's more the 'idea' ... "

"That's understandable." She paused, pointing a wingtip at him. "You know, I bet, on some level, you want me to get pregnant so I'll lactate, and then you can nurse from me."

"Adelaide ... " He looked around, self-consciously. His whiskers twitched. "No. Not true ... "

"Don't say you wouldn't try ... "

"Well ... maybe, yeah, I probably would. But that doesn't mean I think it's a good reason to get you pregnant."

"So, why are you staring at my breasts?"

"What?" He blinked. "Am I?"

"Aren't you?"

"Eh ... you're screwing with me. I knew it! Getting me addled and stuff ... "

She didn't deny this. Just laughed and turned aside, looking to that table of elderly prey. "Finally. They're leaving ... "

"So?"

"So, we'll be the last customers in the restaurant." Doors closed at 8:30. It was 8:22, now.

"It's a cafeteria."

"Whatever. Point is, we'll be alone. For all intents and purposes ... "

He blinked, innocently.

She folded her pink wings on the table and leaned forward. "You know how, last night, when we were screwing on the couch, and after your orgasm you promised me you'd do anything I asked the next time we made love?" she said, with extreme bluntness.

He blushed severely. He remembered. "That's not fair."

"It's still a promise," she breathed, salaciously. "And I'm collecting."

"What do you mean?" he asked, slowly.

Figuring she'd flustered him to the point of compliance, she went ahead and said, authoritatively, "I want you to eat me out. Right now."

"Adelaide!" he squeaked, eyes widening.

She shushed him with a quick wing-wave. "Quiet ... look, we're in a booth. You'll be mostly hidden from sight." She was beginning to pant. "It'll be exciting."

"What if we get caught?" His voice lowered to a whisper.

"That's part of the thrill. It'll make it more pleasurable."

"We've been mated almost six years. Since when are you an exhibitionist?"

"I'm not," she insisted. "Besides, we've made love in public places before. Lots of times. You never complained then."

"Creek-beds and wagon-tops in pastures are one thing. I mean, that's nature. That's relatively private. And romantic. Not to mention sane. This ... I mean, this ... " He could hardly spit the words out. " ... oh, boy."

"Field," she leveled. "I'm horny, okay?"

"Is that supposed to surprise me?"

"I wanna try something new, something different. Just every now and then. To stay on our toes," she suggested, helpfully. "It's for your own sake. Don't be so uptight ... "

"Oh ... oh, this is for my sake?" he echoed, with a nervous, disbelieving giggle. "Uh-huh ... "

" ... also, you give incredible 'muzzle'." Back in the day, when she'd been desperate for a date, a hummingbird had performed cunnilingus on her. Those things had tubular, crazy-quick tongues. Definitely a unique experience. But, still, Field gave it better. Something about his gentle, eager nature, his level of finesse. Or maybe the fact that he almost worshipped Adelaide, sexually, and it showed in his touch. It was the emotion. At least half of sex was psychological; probably more.

"I do?" he asked, sheepishly.

"Of course. I've told you that a thousand times. Do you want me to start buttering you up?" she asked.

"Pretty sure you've been doing that since we sat down," he replied. He wasn't entirely naïve. "Besides, what if I want 'muzzle,' too?"

"Do you?" She sat up straighter, raising a brow. She hadn't expected that.

He gulped at her overeager reaction. "Uh. Well, look, I don't know. I'm just saying ... "

"We could flip for it."

"What?" His eyes darted, comically. "That's ridiculous. You mean a coin toss?"

"It's actually pretty simple. Tails, I get eaten out. Heads ... well, you get 'head'." She giggled at this. "Leave it up to chance. You do the flipping."

The wriggling mouse gave a hot, heavy sigh, doing as told. He couldn't disobey her. He was too submissive; too enamored, by far. It was like she had him under a spell. So, he fished a coin from his pocket, placing it on the claw-tip of his thumb, steadying it with his index finger, and ...

" ... you making a wish?" she asked, before he flipped it.

"Yeah, I'm hoping it lands on its side," he said, with nervous sarcasm. "Then we can do each other. When we make the papers, it'll be more impressive."

She covered her muzzle with a wing, laughing. "We're not gonna make the papers, Field. We're not gonna get caught ... "

He flipped the coin. It landed in front of Adelaide.

"Well, now. Tails," she announced, giving a sultry glance to her mate. Her nipples began to harden. "Looks like we're sticking with the original plan. Yummy for you."

Field lost his breath.

"You ready?'

"Wait, wait ... how 'bout let's calm down. Okay? You ... I mean, I shouldn't ... or, we," he corrected, nervously, "the both of us, we shouldn't do this." He was panting, now. He was very aroused, even if he wasn't willing to admit it. But it was mixed with an intense amount of adrenaline. A very strange and overwhelming feeling. "My heart is racing. I can hear it in my ears."

"That just means you're alive." She leaned back in the booth, staring the mouse down. "It means you want pussy."

" ... probably," he finally breathed, giving up. Giving in. She would get her way. Just go with it. Besides, maybe she's right. Maybe you'll enjoy it. Maybe you'll be talking about this fifty years from now. He could almost taste her on his tongue already.

"You're such a good boy, Field."

He shivered with pleasure at the compliment.

She saw this and grinned. "Now, if they see you down there, just pretend you dropped your wallet, or a contact fell out of your eye or something. Our back is to the serving line. They'll all be cleaning up. You worked here, so you know the schedule. We can use that to our advantage. Does anyone even pay attention to the dining room during closing time?"

"Not usually. The floor-staff are the first to leave. Line-staff will be here until 8:45, and the managers 'til 9. The, uh, managers will do a quick run-through to make sure they didn't miss anything, but ... " He trailed off, gradually. " ... shouldn't be 'til 8:50." His ears swiveled, excitedly. She was already unbuttoning her pants. They were really going to do this. Oh, my God. His throat went dry, and his paw-pads began to sweat. Zipper. There went her zipper, and the swish of jeans on carnation fur and on the maroon booth-cushion, the jut of her tail just visible to him, and ...

" ... you better get movin', mousey," she whispered, seductively. "Je cherche un homme."

"What?"

"Eartha Kitt." She winked, secretively. "Now, go on ... "

Looking around one last time, heart hammering in his chest, Field took his wallet out of his pocket. His paw was trembling. He held it above the tabletop for a second, as if to make a show of his actions, and then went to put it back in his pocket, missing on purpose. A tiny 'thud' on the carpet. "Oh, no, clumsy me," he exclaimed, a bit stiffly (in more ways than one). "I dropped my wallet on the floor. I better go get it ... "

Adelaide had to look away, trying not to laugh hysterically. And, in the process, she scanned the front of the cafeteria. Sure enough, all the workers cleaning things down and carrying food back into the kitchen. No one was looking out into the dining room.

The golden harvest mouse wriggled under the booth, to his paws and knees. It was dim under here, and there was gum underneath the tabletop, but he could see well enough. Everything important. Her exposed, feminine hips, curving down and then toward him, and those thighs. Oh, those succulent thighs. He wanted caress them. He wanted to mouth the bubble gum fur, and he wanted ... he wanted to do so much more to her than he had time for. His mind, thinking pink, went batty.

She seemed to sense that his desires were so great as to be paralyzing. This was a good deal outside his normal comfort zone, after all. So, she looked down and whispered, as motivation, "If you make me happy, you can fuck me when we get to the car."

Field excitedly sat up at this, hitting his head on the bottom of the table in the process. " ... dammit," he squeaked, pitifully, dropping back down.

The bat giggled. "Hurry up. Show me how much you want it ... "

Knowing they could be caught at any time, and his five-inch erection trapped behind his jeans and boxer-briefs, the mouse wrapped his arms around her shins, then thighs, pulling her as close as possible without making her slump too low in the booth. She had to appear as normal as possible. But he needed access, and, slowly, he got it.

The bat, her maw hanging open slightly, gasped when she felt the mouse's twitchy nose sniffing then bumping at her clitoris. Like a springing bud, it held so much promise. It already tingled. "Touch it again," she breathed. "My mousey ... "

" ... hush," he squeaked back, nuzzling her clitoris with his nose, then gradually tilting his head. Tongue dipping like a paintbrush on the canvas of her flesh. The tip landing, dabbing here and there, while his nose buried in the thick fur on her mons. Her scent was so familiar, and it made him gloriously, deliciously heady. Made him so hungry. He had to have her. He began to outright lap, now, at that special spot in particular, but only for a second. He knew it was sensitive. He had to treat it carefully. Skirt around it, dance on the edges. Tease it. Take her for a ride.

Adelaide closed her eyes, fighting the urge to whimper. She moved one wing below the table, atop Field's head. And she simultaneously brought him closer, even as she pushed him down.

He went. His broad, simple tongue streaked her labia with saliva. Down, all the way down, and then licking right back up. Finally, unable to take it any longer, he parted those petals fully. Like flinging open doors. He fought for the prize inside. Her wet, hot tunnel gaping and ready. He wiggled his tongue just inside the entrance. His muscle wasn't long enough to get any further than that, but he made up for it in other, more sensual ways. Mouthing, nuzzling. Then outright kissing and suckling at her, roving from that most succulent of spots up to her more sensitive one. Nub and tunnel. Back and forth. Panting hotly as he moved. There was no time to savor or waste. He was moving like wildfire all over her sex, burning her up.

The bat lifted a bare foot-paw off the carpet, the toes curling. She brought it against the mouse's shirt, then his ropy-tailed rear, rubbing at his body through his clothes. She knew how erect he was, even without being able to see or feel it. His actions gave it away. She couldn't stop panting. Tried to keep it to discreet level, but, "Oh, Field ... " Breathing his name. She was close. A wave of pleasure began to come toward her, threatening to crash.

He knew this. A furred, blunt-clawed finger sliding into her slippery passage, massaging the walls while his lips pursed reverently atop her clit. As if her sex were an altar. He sweetly kissed it before descending into tongue-heavy suckling. Bringing her. Right up. To the edge. And then pulling off, without warning, to blow a hot, baited breath on the saliva-painted surface. Deep breath. Blow. Blow. From right up close.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" It was one of the managers. A raccoon. His masked face made him seem more intimidating than he probably was. He couldn't have been more than twenty feet away, padding a little closer. He wasn't supposed to be on the floor! Had he heard noises? What had tipped him off? He advanced another few feet, swishing his ringtail in confusion. "Ma'am?"

Oh, no, not now! She couldn't do anything but nod, keeping her back to him. Oh, God. I'm ... having ... " ... good pie," she managed, waving a fork (and almost dropping it). Having an orgasm. Eyes glazing. "Almost. Done." She barely got those words out.

Pie. Delicious. Bat muff pie, Field thought from below, high and hazy on her scent, drunk on her taste. He was pretty much gone, oblivious to the fact that Adelaide was close to being 'found out.' Focused only on her nectar, evidence of sweet release. Lapping at the little rivulets that ran out of her. He was literally 'making out' with her vulva. And to think he'd resisted when Adelaide had brought this up ...

The manager squinted, reminding, "We closed at 8:30. We're about to lock up for the night ... "

" ... yes. Yes," Adelaide said, both in response to the manager and to Field. "Yes," she said, again.

The raccoon made a face. His species was good at that. Something was weird here. He was preparing to sniff the air when he was called, urgently, from the kitchen. Apparently, there had been a food spillage. The vegetable soup. A big mess. Always on his watch! He cursed and left.

Adelaide, panting, shook her head. Everything felt fragmented, at least for a moment. Afterglow had already descended. She felt light. Felt wonderful, though. Oh. That had been a close call! It took her several seconds to get control of her wings, managing, weakly, to grab at her panties. Pulling them up. Then her pants. She had to close her thighs around Field to get him to stop. And, even then, a few seconds passed before his head withdrew.

The mouse, literally dizzy, lowered onto all fours under the table, as if he was going to get sick. The adrenaline. Oh, and he was so erect it hurt. He just couldn't think.

" ... we gotta ... gotta go. Come on. Darling," Adelaide was saying, slanting her hips. Finally dressed again. And seeing that the mouse wasn't responding, she gave him a harmless kick. "Field."

"Mm? Yeah?" came his blank, slightly-muffled response.

"We have to go. Now." That manager would almost certainly be back.

"Oh." He blinked, shaking his head. "Oh! Right." Weakly, he crawled out from under the table, bouncing up. Almost toppling over. After being on his knees like that, all the blood rushed to his head when he rose.

But the bat caught him her wing-arms.

He nuzzled at her, hazily.

She nudged him in front of her. "Go, go ... "

They had just reached the door when Field finally came to his senses (as much as he could, anyway). "My wallet! I never picked it up." He felt his pockets just to be sure, pushing Adelaide out the door and scurrying back to the booth. Bending down, he grabbed the wallet. The scent of what they'd done still lingered under the booth. The tabletop was keeping it trapped under there. Mostly. Back to the door, then, in a flash, tail whipping about, right as the raccoon came back. Field, still oblivious to the fact that he, in particular, had almost caught them in the act, called to him with over-acted, breathless excitement, "Lovely meal! I liked the pink lemonade! We'll come again!"

The manager blinked and raised a paw to say 'wait, a minute,' but ended up saying, instead, "Pink lemonade? We don't serve that ... "

It had been a Freudian slip on Field's part, of course. (If Adelaide had heard it, she would've laughed.) But it was no matter. The raccoon couldn't prove anything, and the mouse was already outside in the dark, empty parking lot under the slowly swirling stars.

The bat was waiting for him at the car, her rudder-tailed rump lazily leaning against the driver's-side door.

"What did we just do?!" Field squeaked when he reached her. It was finally hitting him. His eyes were wide like saucers. "I can't believe we just did that ... "

"I know. I know, but ... wow." She wore a goofy, fanged look. Completely unapologetic.

"I'm not doing that again. I don't care. That was too crazy." He was twitching manically in place, trying (and failing) to remove the car keys from his pocket. Adelaide had to do it for him with her batty thumb. "Thanks ... "

"Your problem is you think too much."

He couldn't deny that. He just rubbed his cheeks.

"You okay to drive?" she asked.

"Yeah. I'm just ... that was a lot to take in. That was, uh ... "

" ... intense?"

He nodded and sighed.

"Next time, I'll go down on you," she told him.

"I, uh ... well. I still think we'd be pushing it ... " But, again, that image of her between his knees.

She wrapped him up in a big, pink wing-hug. "You were amazing, darling," she breathed, kissing his cheek. Twice. "Thank you." And then a third kiss.

A deep breath, settling down a little. Okay, so they'd just done this crazy, risky thing. But they hadn't gotten caught, they'd both gotten pleasure from it, and it was certainly a story to tell. What was he freaking out about, again? She's right. You think way too much.

"You alright?" she whispered.

"Yeah. I just ... " He lowered his head against her shoulder in a gesture of shy submission, closing his eyes. "I'm so in love with you. It doesn't make sense. I've never felt anything so strong in my life ... " His breath caught with emotion. "I know that's sappy, but I don't care. I don't want it to stop. You roost in my heart ... "

"My sweet mouse. Burrowing into mine. I love you, too," she whispered back, directly into one of his ears. "Now, we better get home. We'll talk more about this later ... "

"Are you seriously planning on doing this again?" he asked, shyly, lifting his head. Eyes popping back to a bewildered state. He just couldn't help it.

She knew this and was fine with it. After all, it all worked out in the end. She gave him enough flight to get off the ground, and he grounded her enough to keep her from leaving orbit. It amounted to a happy medium. And they had satisfying sexual chemistry. That always helped. So, she smiled and brushed past him, moving around the car. Getting into the passenger side.

Field gulped, clearing his throat and smoothing at his clothes with his golden paws. Calm down. Everything's going to be okay. He got into the car, behind the wheel, putting on his seatbelt and starting the engine. Wait. He blinked. They were in the car! He turned to his mate. "You said ... uh, didn't you? I mean, do I still get to ... "

"You can say 'fuck,' Field." A carefree grin. "I won't tell."

He hesitated. Looking left and right. And then back to her. Well ... " ... you said I can fuck you in the car?" he blurted, cutely. "Please?"

"Soon as we're in our driveway," she promised. "Back seat. You can hump me silly. We'll fog up all the windows."

"I can't argue with that," he said, putting the car into reverse and turning it around, heading out of the parking lot and into the street. It would take at least half an hour to get to their rural home. Down that dusty gravel road. He didn't know if he could make it 'til then.

She, as always, sensed this, knowing his moods almost better than he did. And gave him a cheeky side-glance in the dark. "Just remember, though ... "

" ... yeah?"

"Follow the speed limit. At least until we get home ... "