Cheese Tariffs
" ... I'm gonna assume y'know what happened to your predecessor?" Rhine asked, diplomatically. The rural otter, standing near the doorway, was leaning back against the wall while she smoothed the wrinkles out of her blue, strapless dress. "I mean, y'do, right?" She raised a furry brow, paws stopping. The door was shut, and the office had several windows. But there was little activity at the moment. Just a few furs walking in the corridors, the common area, the secretarial hub.
Deering, pausing in his smooth-gliding swivel-chair, looked up and gave several whisker-twitches. Giving that typical wide-eyed, anxious look that could only be described as 'mousey bewilderment.'
"Thought so," she said, nodding, her rudder-tail steering slowly behind her. Back and forth, back and forth. "Though they can't prove anything, o' course." She tilted her head. Her nose was black, diamond-shaped. Her ears small and rounded, close to her head. Her fur a rich shade of brown. "But we know better, don't we?"
The deer mouse nodded, his long, snaky tail moving about on the floor behind his chair, the top of the tail colored a bit differently than the bottom. His fur was a buttery-tan on the back, limbs, neck. But his belly and groin (currently clothed, of course) were creamy-white. His large, rounded ears stood like fleshy dishes atop his head, swiveling at the slightest of sounds. He wasn't lacking for mousey motions, that was for sure.
And there was that word again, yeah?
'Mousey.'
Which got Rhine to thinking ...
"Hey, I got a question: why's it that mouses got their own adjective? Mousey? I mean, you can't say some-fur's 'ottery' ... y'know? Come to think of it, squirrels got 'em an adjective, too. Squirrelly. Mousey. What's it with rodents and gettin' adjectives named after 'em? They that cute? They got the dictionary-makers like putty in their paws? Cause I'd sure like to know how come someone can't be 'ottery'."
"Uh ... well," the mouse went, whiskers twitching, unsure how to respond to that. Taking the question a bit too seriously, perhaps. "Well, it's, uh ... "
" ... y'can calm down. I was just teasin' ya." A friendly smile. "But, seriously, 'bout your predecessor? Bad stuff. Which is why you gotta watch your tail, is all I'm sayin'. They don't like prey. But they need 'em, can't get rid of 'em, and ... y'know? All the same. And that's why you're here. Cause they got no choice. They lost that civil war. It blew up in their faces, deflated 'em a bit ... " Her voice waned. "Well, I guess," she corrected, more seriously, "it deflated everyone." Her whiskers gave a singular twitch. "But that doesn't mean they won't bat ya 'round. They don't need a reason, y'know."
"I know all o' that, an' I why I'm here," Deering replied, in a soft, delicate voice, whiskers still twitching. Like most male mouses, he was an effeminate creature. Just his voice. His posture. The look in his eye. It made you wonder about him. But it made you trust him, as well. It gave him a feathery gentility. Every twitch seemed to give off submissive vibes. Not that he was helpless or waif-y. But he clearly wasn't the confident, 'king of the classroom' type. "And I know how t'handle predators. I've had t'handle 'em," he said, "all my life."
Rhine tilted her head in acknowledgment. "True. No doubt y'have, but ... this is politics. Y'know anything 'bout politics?"
The mouse bit his lip.
"You're in that chair cause you're a poor, rural fur ... like me. Someone who really needs a job. Someone who doesn't have any inside secrets you can use 'gainst anyone. Someone new. They don't think much of us, y'know. Us rural furs. Now, they can't push me around that much. Otters can push back. But mouses? When mouses push back ... " She trailed, letting out a breath. "They didn't appoint you cause o' your abilities. They coulda hired lots o' better choices. Uh ... no offense to you," she said, genuinely. "But they appointed you," Rhine said, "cause they know you can be dominated when the need arises."
The mouse looked to the surface of his desk, which was clean. Very tidy. Mouses were fastidious, obsessive-compulsive things. He'd only gotten here a few hours ago, but the room was already in perfect order. He'd seen to that. And he put a paw-pad on the polished wood, running his paw to the right. To the left. To the right. To the ...
" ... Deering?"
He looked up, blinking.
"Just sayin' ... right now, this is a provisional government. Y'got a male an' femme from each species on the Council. So, each species gets two votes. Now, you're a mouse representative. Your main concern is the welfare of mouses. And other rodents. When it comes to issues involving predators, you leave it alone, 'kay? You got us otters, the skunks, raccoons, and other go-betweens," she said, "to handle that. We're not predators, an' we're not prey. We're in-between. So, if you need to deal with predators ... you work through me. Your predecessor tried to take things in his own paws. And you don't wanna end up like him ... "
" ... no," was Deering's whispered agreement. He most certainly didn't.
"Generally, you'll vote on prey issues, work with prey things, and ... but there are always all-species votes. Anyway, I sound like I'm givin' ya a lecture, don't I?" A bright, apologetic smile. "It's not all life-an'-death. It's not all dramatic. We're just in shaky times, is all ... but Audra can help ya. She knows what t'do."
"Audra's the, uh ... "
" ... other mouse. Yeah, she's in a meetin'."
" ... 'bout what? I mean, what for?" His blue eyes widened.
Rhine grinned. "Cheese tariffs."
"Cheese tarrifs?" A blink.
"Yep." An amused chirp. "Bet it's workin' her up somethin' fierce, too. They know how to get under her fur. Anyway, I got a ball t'get to."
"Ah, hence the, uh ... " A slight gesture of his paw.
" ... dress, yes," she supplied for him, nodding. "Would y'know this thing's wrinkled? I'll have to put it in a dryer." A chuckle. "Otters are playful things, so you'll excuse my ramblin'. We're also of the water, so we speak like streams ... babble like brooks."
"Babbling brooks are better'n blabber-mouses," Deering quipped.
"Heh ... they may be, at that. But I doubt you're in any danger of becomin' a blabber-mouse."
"I got words in me," was all he said.
"You just need a femme to charm 'em out, yeah?" she asked.
"Maybe." And the mouse, whiskers twitching, looked at the time. " ... uh, it's only four-thirty. The dinner doesn't start 'til 7." There was some kind of governmental dinner tonight. A big fancy to-do. "Y'said you had to leave for the ball now, though?"
"Dinner starts at seven. Breedin' starts at five," the otter said, winking. "I got Orinoco waitin' in my office. Gotta finish a few pieces o' paper-work, and ... then, just gonna relax," she said, with a grin, "for a bit." Orinoco was her husband, and also the other otter representative.
"Ah." The mouse nodded shyly.
"You don't got a mate, though?"
A hesitant head-shake.
"You'll find one. Just be careful who ya fall for 'round here. Y'don't wanna be married to the enemy, if y'know what I'm sayin' ... politics does things to some furs. And they'll use you if it suits their advantage. Watch that heart o' yours."
"So, I'm to watch my tail, my heart ... anything else?" Deering asked, lightly, smiling for the first time since the otter had entered the room.
"That tonge o' yours, maybe. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you got a bit o' cheek in you, as well." A smile.
" ... maybe," Deering eventually admitted, "just a bit."
Another chirp of amusement, and a sigh, going for the door, which gently whooshed open. "See ya tomorrow. Or even later, maybe. Oh ... assumin' you're gonna paw, remember to tint the windows black? You'd be surprised how many times furs round here forget t'do that."
The mouse just gave a weak, blushing nod, his smile gone.
The bright, beautiful otter turned and went.
And the deer mouse sighed and leaned back in his chair, whiskers twitching with worry, eyes darting about his new office.
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?" the cougar asked, squinting his eyes. The cat was well-built. He looked strong, as any stalk-and-ambush predator would.
"Yes," Audra replied, trying to match his gaze. But that was impossible to do. No one could match a feline's stare. And certainly not a mouse. She had to twitch and look away, her heart beating a bit faster. She dug her blunted claws into the table to keep her paws from shaking. Swallowing, she shook her head, saying, "It is ... it's just ... "
" ... common sense," replied a femme husky, who was sitting near one of the bigger windows. Outside, the autumn sun was bold and slanting, and the shuttle-pods and shuttle-buses hummed through the air with mechanical precision, while a few runabouts lifted off from the capital's landing pad, heading up into orbit, where the stations and star-ships were.
The wheat-furred field mouse gave the dog a look. "Taxing the price of cheese? You know mouses eat the most cheese. It would hurt my species. And that's why," she said, looking back to Sylvan, the cougar. " ... that's why it was introduced to the Council ... to punish us."
"Punish you? No one's stopping you from using a food processor." The cougar spread his arms and paws, in a 'hiding nothing' gesture.
"It's not the same thing," Audra whispered, making a face.
"It's cheese."
"Real cheese ... is real cheese. Replicated whatever-cheese," she said, "isn't the same thing. Blindfold me, put them both in front of me, and I can tell the difference."
The cougar rolled his eyes a bit, leaning back in his chair. The conference room was comfortable, temperature-wise, with eggshell-white walls and a polished, wooden table. It was one of many briefing rooms in the building, equipped with computer monitors, communications equipment, and such. "We need the money to fund important projects. Should we raise property taxes, instead? Income taxes?"
"At least, then, every-fur would be sharing in the burden. And the tax would be spread among countless individuals ... to the point where it made little impact on those being taxed. Taxing only mouses? Is illegal. And it wouldn't get you very much money. It wouldn't even make a dent."
"We're not taxing mouses. We're taxing cheese."
Audra sighed, gritting her teeth a bit, her whiskers twitching with agitation. "It'll never pass. It'll never get an affirmative vote. Why posture like you're gonna try and do this? The prey will vote against it, and you'll all vote for it, and it'll cancel itself out, so ... "
" ... 'you all?' You'll pardon me, Audra," the husky said, interrupting, "but generalizing the furs across the table? You don't like it when we generalize you. Don't pretend we're cliches."
"I do respect you," the mouse insisted, to the husky. "Both of you," she added, stealing a glance at Sylvan. A sigh, looking intently at the cougar, now. "The fact is that most mouses are rural. Not suburban, not urban. Rural. And the majority of them don't have access to high-priced technology like food processors. You put a tax on cheese, and they won't be able to afford it. Which will hurt the mouses who make the cheese in cheese shops, their businesses, customers. It's a bad economic move, as well. I could go on," she insisted, squeakily.
"I don't doubt it," the husky muttered dryly, crossing her arms, her tail swishing behind her chair, fitting comfortably in the 'tail-gap' built into the chair's sloped back.
"And lack of cheese would affect your species' well-being ... how?" Sylvan asked, lazily, with a barely-audible purr.
A little sigh. "It wouldn't. It's just ... when you live with a constant fear, a constant anxiety, when you're as emotionally-vulnerable as we are? There are certain things each species cherishes, and one of the things we hold dear is ... "
" ... cheese?" A slight roll of his eyes. "Forgive me if that sounds rather maudlin. This is the highest echelons of government, my dear, not a high school student council."
A head-tilt on her part, with a heavy sigh, ignoring the insult against her abilities. "Why don't we tax catnip while we're at it?"
"Catnip is an illegal, hallucinogenic drug ... which I do not," Sylvan said, simply, not losing his cool, "indulge in."
"I've heard different," Audra whispered, narrowing her emerald-green eyes.
"You hear wrong." His voice was clipped, now. Enunciated.
Audra raised a brow, giving a light, challenging smile, her big, dishy ears swiveling noticeably. "I guess I must've. I do have such bad ears," she breathed, the words almost dripping off her lips.
A light, agitated growl. "This is a waste of ... "
"You wanna put forward the tax? I don't think ... "
" ... time."
" ... I don't think it is. The tax? I know it wouldn't pass, but if it did ... it wouldn't kill us, obviously. It wouldn't be a social injustice. Certainly not compared to so many other things that've happened in the Furry Federation over the past few years." A pause for breath. "But it would be a hard slap in the face. A personal slap. And it would only give us one more reason to hold a grudge against you." She stared at the cougar as best she could. "And that's why you're suggesting it. Cause my ... ex-colleague," she said, referring to the recently-deceased mouse representative, "was sniffing his way into something you didn't want made public, and you wanna retaliate. You wanna distract public attention from whatever it was he was uncovering."
Sylvan said nothing, his tawny, smooth fur absorbing the overhead light. His tail swished back and forth, as if run by a well-oiled motor.
"You make some good points, Audra," the femme husky said, speaking up again. Audra didn't know the husky's name. "But, still, with the recent conflicts? Our fleet is in shambles. And social problems in the cities ... we need money to rebuild our society. If the wasps came back now? If the humans," she said, with a light growl, "came? We'd be no match for them. To get stronger, we need more resources. To get more resources, we have to raise taxes."
"And I agree. Taxes will have to be raised, but how and where and when is open for a long, detailed discussion. You raise taxes as part of a package. You don't raise the tax of one item for one species completely at random. But, hey," she said, with rising frustration, "when you come up with a plan that'll tax the favorite food of every species, I'll lay off. But I don't think that's going to happen. Cheese is simply a veil here. This is meant to tax mouses for being mouses. And we've been down that road before ... and look where it got us," she said, referring to the constant conflicts of the past several centuries. Millennia, more like. Predator-prey tensions had always existed. And they always would.
"Paranoia," the cougar said, simply, stretching his arms a bit. His sharp, black claws slid out of their pads, clacking on the glossy desktop. "It does stem from strong anxiety, doesn't it?"
Audra said nothing. Just glared at the feline. The sound of the clicking claws so evident to her ears. Making the hairs on her tail stand on end.
"He's not far from wrong, Audra. Mouses are known for overreacting," the husky said, again siding with the cougar. It shouldn't have been too big a surprise. They were both predators. But, still, cats and dogs? Felines and canines? Felines were sly, calculated, maybe a little bit lazy. Canines were direct, stubbornly loyal, lacking finesse. They had opposite personalities. And, yet, the husky and cougar had done nothing but agree with each other since entering the room.
And Audra, squinting, suddenly guessed why. And, in a defensive mood, she didn't hold back from saying, to the husky's muzzle (with a table between them, of course; if you were gonna bait a predator, at least have something separating you), "I would appreciate it if you didn't use my name like I'm your friend. Like you know me. Cause you aren't, and you don't. And, oh, by the way ... I hear those barbs are torturous."
"What?" The husky blinked, caught off-guard.
"You heard me."
Sylvan leaned forward.
The husky, looking to the cougar, gave a slight frown as she looked back to the mouse. "They are," was all she whispered, "wonderfully tortuous. You've no idea. But I can take it." A pause, and the dog's emotions got the best of her, and she couldn't stop from adding further insult. "I pity you, in a way. Your body? So fragile. Could you handle the kind of pleasure I can take? I suppose not. No, you're only built to take males ... less-endowed," she breathed, with a teeth-showing bite.
The mouse began to leave her chair, and ...
" ... enough," Sylvan growled. Sharply. With authority.
The two femmes glared at each other.
"Yes, mouse, I breed around. I bred the good doggy ... in exchange for her support."
Audra shook her head in disgust.
"I'm a predator," was the cougar's simple explanation.
"You open-breed ... which is irresponsible, for one. Maybe it'd be less so if ... "
" ... spare me the morality play, rodent."
" ... if you weren't on the Council. But you are. And I think that's a highly immoral ... "
" ... you would, wouldn't you," the husky muttered, also disenchanted with the mouse's opinion.
" ... conflict of interest," Audra continued, without missing a beat. A few chitter-squeaks let loose between words.
"Conflict of interest or not," the cougar responded, silkily, "it wins me a lot of femme votes on the floor. And the pleasure's an extremely nice bonus," he added, "for me." He nodded in an almost taunting fashion, a smooth grin melting onto his muzzle. "So, if you think you're going to stand toe-to-toe with me ... think again. You'll lose."
"The cheese tariff will never pass," Audra whispered. "You know that. It's just ... to rouse some ire. To distract everyone until they forget that my colleague was found dead."
A toothy smile, and a bit of a purr. A velvety purr. "And? You didn't like him anyway. He was a bad mouse, and everyone knew it. He wanted power for himself. And when he stumbled across something he could use to blackmail certain predatory Council members, well ... he got his wish. He became famous. Famous for being dead."
The mouse sighed, rolling her eyes. "Who's being maudlin, now?"
"That's not being maudlin, dear. It's called theatrical timing. I have it, and you," he whispered, "do not."
"You think rather highly of yourself, don't you?" was the whisper.
A toothy, wise-tailed grin. "I think I do, rather."
Audra sighed again. She didn't know. She couldn't out-maneuver him on this. He knew what he was doing, and she couldn't stop him.
And, after a moment, Sylvan gave a bit of a hiss, continuing, "His death wasn't pre-meditated, of course. It wasn't our intention. But, all the same, he brought it upon himself." A pause. "Just know your place. Keep your pink, sniffy noses out," he demanded, "of our business. Felines are enigmas. Mouses are curious. Resist," he told her, "the curiosity to uncover our secrets ... "
" ... or what?" the field mouse squeaked bravely, just because she couldn't help herself. Just because she had to speak back to him. Just because she couldn't let him have the last word. Just because, even with all the experience she had, she couldn't stop her emotions from running her muzzle.
The cougar, elbows on the table, whispered simply, "You know they only found tufts of his fur ... a few bones. Blood." A pause for dramatic effect, letting the image linger. "Where do you think the rest of him went?" He showed his teeth as he asked the question.
Audra's stomach turned, her body weakening. A quick, violent pulse of fear. The anxiety. This time, she couldn't hide the shaking of her paws. To be a sentient animal in a civil society, and to know you had the capacity, deep down, to revert to baser things, to feral nature? It was a hard thing to accept. To understand. To live with. To know that they still wanted to hunt you, eat you. And to know that you'd do anything, no matter how desperate, to escape that fate. Even if it meant throwing morals out the window.
There was no mistake in the truth that, beneath the fine veneer of furry society, they were all animals. All of them. And they were only a stone's throw away from behaving as such. But the mouse, herself, was kept from falling into such blinding emptiness. Held afloat by her faith. Faith, indeed, set her free. Saved her, constantly. And that was why, even with the fear and revulsion being so palpable, she didn't despair. She didn't shut down. She didn't give in.
Dear Lord, give me strength.
And, oh, dear Lord, give me love. Oh, if she only had love to go with her faith, she'd have the complete set: a sword and a shield. A full defense. Then maybe she could look a feline in the eye and not feel naturally, biologically inferior. Then maybe she could look a predator in the eye and truly feel equal.
"Anything else?" Sylvan mouthed, barely audible.
A small shake of the head, avoiding his eyes.
"Tell you what," the cougar said, with sudden serenity. He knew how to bait prey. He knew how to coddle them into trances. He spoke with a smooth, soothing purr. "Tell you what. How 'bout I fetch you a nice 'anti-mouser' ... make that anxiety all better?"
"I don't need," Audra breathed, finally steeling herself to glare at him, "pills."
"A lot of mouses take them."
"I don't."
"Never?" He tilted his head.
Audra's ears burned. Damn cat.
"Let me get you some. Unless you have some in your office ... ?" He was letting her know he knew things about her. Private things. He was displaying his dominance. One of the many ways in which he'd done so throughout this meeting. "Must be tough. To be a species so anxious ... "
Audra stood, not willing to listen to this anymore. Extremely agitated, she made for the door, giving a sharp, fearful squeak as her tail was suddenly grabbed. Her heart hammered, eyes going wide, and she froze in place.
"See how they get?" the cougar said, casually, looking to the husky. "Mm ... " A few, careful tugs of her tail, looking the mouse over. "No, I don't think mouses could handle barbs." A sly grin, letting her tail go. "Though I certainly wouldn't turn down an opportunity to find out. It's too bad their Christian faith prohibits them from having fun." He just had to swipe at her faith, too, on top of it all.
And it wasn't a thing any Christian would care to admit, but there were times when hate took hold. And now was one of those times. Audra exchanged a brutal look with the cougar. A long look.
"Try me," the feline mouthed.
"You started it," she mouthed back, trailing, implying that she would, somehow, be the one to finish this rivalry.
The cougar only purred.
Regaining her bearings, she finally brushed past him (and the husky), the glass doors swishing open and letting her out, her long, silky-pink tail trailing behind her as she went. And, before the doors swished shut again, she heard the cougar's low, throaty chuckles.
Meanwhile ...
... Rhine, gyrating her supple, brown-furred hips, gave a heavy sigh against her husband's cheek. Their whiskers touched. They were in her office, the windows 'dimmed,' turned opaque. Orinoco in a chair, and Rhine sitting at a straddle of his hips, facing him. Arms around his neck. Gently grinding, gently finding that rhythm. Raising just a bit, an inch or two, and then settling back down, moving her body in the slightest of clockwise ways, steering the otter-hood on which she was impaled. While their clothes rested in a lazy, little pile on the desk behind them.
This was simmering, late-afternoon breeding.
This was office romance.
Orinoco's webbed paws, fingers splayed, roved over his wife's upper back. Up to her shoulder blades, where his fingers came together and curled, clutching her fur. "Uh ... ah ... " He leaned further back in the swivel-chair, which tilted, tilted. And stopped. He was leaning back as far as it would allow. The toes of his bare, furry foot-paws were barely on the carpet.
Her foot-paws were firmly there, facing the opposite direction, she leaned her head back. Muzzle briefly to the ceiling, open and otter-chirping, with one arm around the male's neck and the other downward, webbed paw near the source of their union, her fingers errantly brushing her clitoris. "Oh ... " Her head leaned back down, and she moved it forward, so that her forehead was resting against his. Diamond-shaped noses touching, breaths mingling. "Oh, g-gosh ... " A few weak bounces from her.
His tail gave a thump, smacking into something.
And her tail patter-patted against her desk.
A few weak, upward humps from him, both his arms round her body, paws going all over now. He was caressing her so eagerly he might've been an octopus!
Rhine smiled at the thought, head sliding away from his, down, down, so that she could nibble on his neck. "Oh ... " Another nibble, the nibble turning into a nip. An all-out otter-bite. Otters were, indeed, playful creatures. And that play flowered fully when they bred.
A small growl from him.
Another nip from her.
Until he began to lightly wrestle with her, as if trying to turn her around. Blunted claws digging into her furry rump-cheeks. Dig, dig.
A chirp from her, raising, on instinct, a few inches higher this time.
A slick, sloppy sound, his marinated otter-hood flopping out of her femininity. And, huffing, he tried to turn her around, tried to slip out of the chair. Tried to put himself in the dominant position.
But Rhine, grinning hazily, simply wrapped a paw around his penis. And squeezed.
A small sound escaped his lips. With a small, baited breath. He slumped back in his chair.
"Mm," was her giggling, victorious sound, as she raised her hips and lowered them, sinking back, back onto his member. Resuming her position. The fiery feeling of fullness feeding the cravings of her body. She rose up, his stiff rod of flesh brushing her walls. A shiver as she sank back down, her walls stimulated again. Only deeper. To the hilt.
Pleasure was a hard thing to put into words. But, if she could explain how this felt, she would say it was water-rushing, tide-pulling, stream-eddying niceness. Oh, she was fond of water phrases.
A sigh from Orinoco, tufted, furry sac, slightly swollen and drawn closer to his body, nestled right up against her warm, pouting labia. Fluid dripping down, soaking into his sac-fur. The scent, the heat.
Giving a few taps, a few more brushes of her clitoris, the hot, hungry femme rose and fell with a bit more gusto. Not overdoing it, but finding something steady, steady. Quick and steady. "Huh ... um," she panted, her thick, sturdy rudder-tail swaying behind her, moving with the motions of her body, her hips.
Orinoco was clawing at her, trying to draw her muzzle forward, wanting to taste those sweet, loosened lips.
And she obliged him. Giving him a taste, in exchange for a taste of him, her tongue licking at his lips, muzzle opening, tilting, as she sucked, sucked.
"Hhn ... hhnn," were his nose-flaring, throaty sounds, trying to suck back. Getting her lower lip between both of his. A wet, warm sucking, leaving them both out of breath. Forcing them to break muzzle-contact and put their foreheads back together, where they panted in such close proximity.
"Gosh," the otter breathed. It was a sighing, exhaled exclamation.
"Mm." Orinoco swallowed, hugging her. Both of them close, close, but not quite there. Both of them slightly pausing to hug and hold. To catch their breaths. "Uh ... " Her vagina was a velvety furnace, snug, steamy bliss. A slight hump. A huff. And another little hump, rocking with her in the swivel-chair. Urging her to resume, resume the act.
And she did so, gyrating, the chair sliding an inch this way on its wheels. An inch that way. Until Rhine lifted her foot-paws off the carpet, toes curling, breasts lightly bouncing. "Ah, ahh ... ohhhn," were her steady, rising moans, her tunnel rippling. Little tremors, little spasms of pleasure, orgasm wracking her body. She hugged her husband, shivering through it.
And he soon followed suit, with a twitch and a bark, otter-hood milked by her rippling vagina. Penis spurt-spurting, sowing steamy seed. "Ahn, ahh ... " A relieved, overjoyed sigh. The sinking, sated shoulders of release, huffing as the ejaculations got smaller and smaller, as they trickled to a stop. Penis twitching in after-spurts.
Rhine, giggling softly, opened her eyes all the way and took a deep, rejuvenated breath. "Well ... " A momentary clearing of her throat. " ... that was ... "
" ... lovely," Orinoco breathed, kissing her cheek, whiskers brushing against her own. Lips sliding to hers. A muzzle-meeting kiss. "Lovely," he repeated, at a whisper. "Darling ... "
" ... no need to thank me," she breathed, honestly, leaning back and putting two fingers against his lips. To shush him.
But he opened his muzzle and sucked on her fingers.
Which made her chirp with mirth. And she didn't pull off, pull back, or leave the chair. She didn't leave him. She never could.
And they had more time.
And a lot of afterglow to enjoy.
A light knock on the door.
Deering twitched, ears arching. "Yes?" A swallow. "Come in?"
The door slid into the wall, whooshing open (cause it hadn't been locked), revealing a femme field mouse, who padded forward. A nod and a sigh, the door closing behind her. "Mind if I flop down on your couch? You're not using it, are you?" She looked exhausted. Maybe not physically. But certainly emotionally and mentally. It was evident in her voice, in her eyes. The way her whiskers twitched.
Deering, a bit wide-eyed and cute, gave a light shake of the head. He didn't mind.
So, she sank onto his couch, going horizontal and sighing again, toes of her bare foot-paws curling and uncurling. Then looked, unblinking, to the ceiling. And then to him, with an apologetic, "Sorry. I mean, sorry I knocked instead of, uh ... " She gestured with a paw. " ... using the door chime," she finally finished. "Whatever that thing is. Door chime," she repeated. "Don't mean to come off as impatient."
"It's, uh ... it's alright."
The field mouse, warm and wheat-furred, closed her eyes for a moment. Her whiskers errantly twitched. She looked to be a few inches shorter than Deering. But, being a mouse, had many of the same features. Of course, being a femme, she had several features Deering most certainly didn't have. His eyes were keenly aware of this. She was, he told himself, quite pretty.
She gave a little squeak.
Deering fiddled his own, silky-pink tail, not sure what to say. He gave a little squeak in return.
She smiled at that. And squeaked once more, as if playing a little game with him.
And he obliged, squeaking in response.
" ... I'm Audra." Her eyes fully opened, and she smiled, twisting (though still at a lie-down) to meet his gaze. "You must be my new partner in crime."
"Crime?" His eyes went mousey-wide with worry.
"A joke." A smile. "Politics. Crime. Just ... anyway," she said, taking a deep breath and sitting up, smoothing her shirt. A chitter. "Anyway, I'm Audra, and you are ... "
" ... Deering."
"Deering. Of course." A pause, looking him over from several feet away. "Handsome name. Anyone ever call you Deery?"
"Uh ... no?"
"Mind if I start?"
"Uh, well, uh ... "
" ... just teasing. I'll call you Deering. I won't turn you into a nickname." A pause. "You can relax, you know. I know how things can be ... being a mouse and all, myself."
"I noticed," he whispered. "I mean, that, uh ... that you're a mouse. I noticed."
She smiled at that. "I bet you did, at that." She looked him over. "You seem very serious. I suppose I can be that way ... serious," she whispered, shoulders rolling up and down. And then stopping. She cleared her throat.
A light ear-flush, avoiding her gaze as he finally said, "You can call me Deery if ya want. I mean, if ya really want to."
"I don't. I like your name as it is," she whispered, honestly. "So ... " A deep breath. "Got myself a rural boy, do I?"
"What?"
"You sound like you're from the countryside."
"I am." A pause, nose sniffing.
"Live in the city, now?"
A shake of the head, and a wispy, effeminate, "No, uh ... no. There's shuttle-pods and shuttle-buses that pass through the nearest small town. They take me here pretty quick. Half an hour, anyway."
"That's an hour a day of commuting."
"Yeah ... well, I don't wanna leave the countryside. Nature an' the quiet an' ... an' I didn't know I was gettin' this job 'til late yesterday. I don't mind the commute. I think too much, and it gives me time to do that."
"I know how that can be," was her response. Voice gentle.
"Where are you from?" he asked her.
"Me? I was born in space. On a ship. My parents were officers ... " A slight nod. "Not really 'from' anywhere in particular." She paused. "But ... " A shake of the head, as if shoving the matter aside. "I just got out of a very unpleasant meeting with Sylvan, one of the feline representatives ... I don't like dealing with him. But, somehow, we keep crossing paths."
"Are you gonna be okay?" was the worried question, after a moment of silence.
"Mm?" A pause. "Yeah ... yeah, I'm fine. I'll be," she corrected, "fine."
"But my predecessor ... "
" ... wasn't as smart as me. He was getting into something, but ... "A shake of the head. " ... it was an accident. He was stubborn. Got in over his ears." A pause. "The predators, they, uh ... got pretty feral with him. That's why there was no body." A twitch.
Deering just bit his lip, not pressing the matter.
" ... but, uh, Sylvan was gonna put forth a cheese tax. I was furious. I still am. But it'll never pass. It's just a power play, a show of ... perception. Distraction. It's just posing. Still, even if it's not gonna happen, I don't like being taunted. And not by felines, especially."
Deering nodded a bit, behaving, at times, almost like a pantomime mouse. So quiet, so shy. Letting her do most of the talking. And Audra soon realized that was the case.
"I'm not being a blabber-mouse, am I? I mean, I'm not ... scaring you from getting in a word edgewise? You can tell me if ... "
" ... no, uh ... no."
"Alright ... " A soft breath, looking around. "Office looks nice. Much nicer than it did." Her nose sniffing again. "Very tidy. Could use some personal touches, though."
"I'm gonna bring in a few things tomorrow."
A nod. "Like what?"
"You'll just have to wait an' see," was his simple response.
This made her smile. And she took a few sniffy breaths. " ... was I interrupting something? When I first came in?" She looked to him, curiously, giving a bit of a squint.
"No, uh ... "
" ... just smelled, uh ... "
" ... well, I didn't." A blush. "I was gonna, but, uh ... "
" ... ah." A pause. She understood. "Don't see a ring on your paw." The comment just slipped out. Before she could stop herself from making the observation.
"No."
She nodded. "I don't got one, either. Ring. Or spouse. Well, I guess they come together, don't they?"
Deering nodded lightly.
"How old are you? I'm bad at guessing ... twenty-one?"
"Twenty-three."
"Oh." A pause. "It's the, uh ... the shyness makes you seem younger."
Deering tilted his head. "I get that a lot."
"I'm twenty-three, as well. How about that, mm?" A little smile. "I feel old, though. But don't tell anyone I feel old, cause then they'll make 'old' jokes about me."
"I won't," he assured.
"Won't tell or won't joke about me?"
"I won't do either."
A soft, little smile, followed by a nod. Her eyes looked out the windows. "It's a nice day. It's gonna get cold soon ... but the rain," she breathed, "never came." And, looking to Deering, she added, "I guess that'd be a bigger problem out in the countryside than it's been here."
"Yeah, the weather left its mark."
Audra gave another nod. A soft sigh, too, and she rubbed her eyes with her paws, giving a chitter-groan. And, then, shaking it off, she asked, "Do you need me to leave?"
"No," was the slow, confused response.
"You gotta be nearing your peak. I mean, I know I am ... starting to feel myself breaking down. But I see you're twitching a lot more than when I came in."
"I'm a mouse."
"I noticed," she whispered, smiling, echoing his earlier words. "No, what I meant was ... those are 'in need of release' twitches. I should leave you to it."
"I can wait," he repeated again, noting.
"I don't think I can, though. Is ... the thing," she whispered, somewhat brokenly. "I didn't wanna just up and go, though. I sorta wanted your permission to leave. Don't ask me why," she said, taking a slow breath, licking her dry lips. A head-tilt, her dishy ears swiveling atop her head. "But, uh, before I go, first things first: you got your first task tomorrow. The security council ... well, they're hard-headed. They need to be convinced of some things. To put Redwing Station back under Federation jurisdiction. To resume diplomatic relations with the snow rabbits. Things like that. There's also some worry about civil unrest in some downtown areas, and, uh ... "
Deering looked confused.
" ... well, I know you're not well-versed in this stuff. I mean, that's why they hired you. Cause they wanted a pushover. But don't worry. I got your tail. With me helping you, you'll get up to speed. We'll do worthwhile things for our species. And our home." A soft sigh. "Uh, I'll put a computer pad on your desk in the morning. It'll highlight what you need to say. I mean, I've already worked through it. I just need you to present it for me. I'll be busy with a few things. I'll join you when I can."
"The security committee. That's, uh ... "
" ... staffed equally by predators and prey. Don't worry. And I'm sure Rhine said to run everything through her, but she's just overprotective. I guess mouses give off the impression they need to be coddled and cared for."
"Don't we?" Deering said, quietly.
Audra didn't respond to that. Only said, "In politics, in this environment, it's a weakness to be a mouse. You gotta pretend you're not, sometimes." A pause. "Which is hard to do, and not very healthy. But ... they'll push us around and run all over us," she breathed, "if we don't show a bit of toughness." And another pause, staring at the carpet. She blinked. "The damn cat was right ... "
"Mm?"
"Paranoia. He told me ... Sylvan told me that a mouse's anxiety can spawn paranoia. He implied our personalities made us less rational than felines. Him and his ... arrogance." A pause and a sigh. "But, still, might there be some truth to that?"
"Every species has its weaknesses. But I don't think we're defined by ours."
"No?"
A shake of the head. "Or, at least ... I don't wanna be."
"Neither do I," she whispered. "I'll, uh ... I'll try to join you tomorrow. When I'm able," she repeated. "The main thing you have to realize about this job is that it's about tensegrity."
"Tensegrity?" He'd never heard that word before.
"Maintaining integrity by making use of available tension. It's ... " Her paws came together. " ... it's a dichotomy of sorts."
"Dichotomy?"
A smile. "Two opposing forces working in conjunction. I'm over-educated, aren't I? Is that intimidating? I find it intimidates males ... "
"No, it's ... I'm just not that smart," Deering whispered, self-deprecating.
"I bet you are," she whispered back. "And book-smart isn't what I look for in furs. It's this kind of smart," she said, putting a paw over heart. And then pulling it away, taking a soft breath. "Among other things."
The deer mouse nodded shyly.
"Well, I'll take my leave of you. Gotta go and, uh ... sate myself," she said, politely. "As I'm sure you're needing to do." A slight hesitation. A slight tilt of her head. "Nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll enjoy working with you."
His ears went rosy-pink.
"Will I see you at the dinner party?"
"Well, I, uh, wasn't plannin' on goin'. I didn't even know I was invited."
"I need a date," she said, simply, giving him a smile. "We can get acquainted. As friends, I mean."
"Friends," Deering breathed, nodding, pupils dilated.
"You're beginning to look at me like I'm a piece of cheese," she ribbed. "I better go. I know we're not rabbits, but that doesn't mean we couldn't ... lose control," she said, quietly, "if tempted." She stood and smoothed her clothes and fur. "I'll pick you up in an hour? You'll be here?"
A nod.
"Don't forget to shower when you're done." A wink. "God bless."
"God bless," he whispered back, airily.
And she left through the whooshing doors, tail trailing.
Deering, after a moment, gave a squeaky huff, dimming the windows, locking the door, and contemplating his new surroundings. It had been an overwhelming first day. And the day wasn't over yet.
He sighed.
His paw wandering.