You Don't Know Me Without You
7:04 AM
He was lying close beside her, as always. As he did every night. And, oh, every morning. Bare, honey-tan belly snugged to her carnation-furred back, with an arm sleepily draped around her, in a sort of half-hug. Such was the scene as they slept beneath the navy-blue bed-sheets and the wooly, knit blanket. As they shared their body heat. There was also a downy, cotton comforter, but it was half slipping off the mattress, having been pulled mostly to Adelaide's side of the bed. Such a cheeky winged thing, even in repose!
It was hard to say who eventually stirred first. With her telepathy, and with their strong, love-forged link, the waking of one almost always woke the other in some form or fashion. But, regardless, one of her pretty, pink foot-paws stretched. Stretched. Her blunt-clawed toes curled and uncurled. And Field, sniffing deeply through his ever-active nose, gave a big, sweetly-audible yawn. A few smacks of his lips, and a little mouse-groan, holding to his wife tightly. And keeping his eyes closed even tighter.
So, so comfortable.
So nice.
So, so chilly and dim outside, all throughout the tranquil Hoosier countryside, where the stars were beginning to fade away. It was the season where the birds (like the leaves!) began to change. When some of them left. Some of them stayed. A time when the blues of clear days seemed like different hues than before. A time when the green of the land began to dull. A time when you felt your step quicken, no longer with the luxury of lingering or lounging about. The weather beginning to bite, bite, bite at your tail.
A time of year when mouses had to wear ear-mittens and tail-socks to protect their exposed, fleshy parts. And, in Field's opinion, he looked quite silly in ear-mittens and a tail-sock. Adelaide, however, thought he looked adorable in them, and would constantly chitter with mirth. Which would make him blush beneath the fur. Which would only enrapture her more. After all, the best part about a flushed, overdressed mouse? Was the promise, sooner or later, of undressing him.
But, regardless of the elemental changes out there, it was so warm in here, where the scents were so familiar. The old farm-house was a bit drafty in spots, but there was no wind this morning. Not even a breeze. So, no wood-beams creaking and no gales howling. No extraneous sounds. Only the sounds the mouse and bat were making.
A few rustle-sounds, yes, as they errantly moved, their fur sliding against bed-fabric. It was, indeed, mostly-dim outside, the sun not yet risen. The remnants of twilight lingering. Lingering, and having breathed frost on all the windowpanes, having loosed a certain cold nippiness into the late-November air, where the trees slept as bare as the mouse and bat. Just as the furs went without clothes, the trees went without leaves, their bark sparsely poetic, readying for the long, hard road of winter (should it decide to come at all; winter was a very fickle guest, and he wasn't what he used to be).
The light of the moon, meanwhile, was a milky spotlight ringing in the sky (in a kind of air that was ripe for making breaths rather visible), keeping an eye on the apparently fading autumn. Such a handsome satellite, for sure, was the moon, as if one of the Lord's self-appointed sentinels. And, oh, Field sometimes stared at it with wide-eyed admiration: that it could so reflect the sun. And, surely, the mouse thought, I should strive to reflect God's light as the moon reflects the sun's. Surely, I can do that. Surely, I can be better than the moon.
Such was his desire.
Field ...
A sigh, snuggling close to her. This was nice. This was ...
Field, was the repeat. Unspoken. Rather, a telepathic thought. Speaking to him mind-to-mind, as she was able to do. Plus, she still felt too sluggish to speak out loud. She stirred some more, trying to shake the grogginess. It was always a little bit hard to fall asleep. And a little bit harder to wake up.
"Mm," was all Field went. His tail limp. His whiskers giving little twitches.
And, the bat, giving a big, toothy yawn, her pearly-white fangs seeming to glow in the dimness of their bedroom, thought to him: we gotta get up.
A whimper-squeak.
" ... I know," she whispered, finally out loud. Clearing her throat and stretching a bit, sighing heavily. "Come on ... darling," she said, trying to fight off another yawn. And proving unsuccessful.
The mouse's eyes weakly peeked open. And then closed.
Adelaide, though her back was turned to him, sensed this. And had to smile. "Come on, darling," she whispered again. "We've a long day today."
"Mm?"
"Come on," she said, shifting, squirming a bit, ripping the bed-sheets until she was belly-to-belly with him, muzzle-to-muzzle. "Thanksgiving. Remember?"
A weak, silent nod, eyes peeping back open.
"There we go," the bat whispered, with a little, sleepy smile. "Come on ... that's my mouse," she said, putting her lips to his cheek. And keeping them there. Ever-so-softly mouthing and wetting his cheek-fur. Before she sighed, pulling back a bit. "Come on, you gotta get up."
All Field could say to that was a dozy, dreamy, "I love you ... mm ... "
Adelaide smiled broadly. "I love you, too," she replied, with no hesitation. "But you still gotta get up." A fang-framed grin.
And, eyes weakly opening all the way, Field replied, "I can't just ... just," he said, clearing his throat, "you know, can't scurry from sleepy to wakeful in only a few seconds." A cute, groggy stubbornness, made even cuter by the wispiness of his voice.
"No?
"No. I need a few minutes," he whispered. "I need ... "
"I thought mouses were like cars. They can scurry from zero to sixty in ... "
" ... well, that's what ... "
" ... yeah?"
" ... well," he stammered, yawning all squeakily, sighing before wearily trailing off, eyes blinking several times before closing again.
"Darling," she said, ribbing him a bit. "Up, up. Up." No response. "Hmm." And, giggle-chittering to herself, she sneakily slid a paw down his bare body and grabbed at ...
... squeak! His eyes popped open.
"Thought that would do it," was the bat's sultry, little whisper. And she loosened her grip, removing her paw from where it had been (and, oh, it wasn't so hard to guess where). "You up?"
A shy, little nod. He was. And he stretched, squeaking as he did so, the sheets moving with him. Stretch, stretch.
She gave a few stretches of her own. "We should, uh ... shower," she breathed, "first."
7:16 AM
Wet, matted fur, pink and honey-tan, soaked and meshing, while warm water streamed from the silvery shower-head, raining on their shoulders, with paws roving to the urging of the background sounds.
And, oh, there came a squeak.
And a chitter.
The water going pitter-patter-pitter.
Wet mouse smelling of moisturizing soap and shampoo, of country well water, of squeaky clean. Whiskers twitched and flicked off shimmery drops, and long, silky-pink tail, like a fleshy rope, snaked and side-winded in the steamy air. Into the shower curtain. Against the water knob. Down Adelaide's leg.
A paw soon brushing her leg, as well. Petting, parting her thighs. Making her shift her stance a bit. Shuffling, leaning against the slick wall, one foot-paw delicately raising, hanging there. While Field slipped a paw, an arm under the raised leg. Holding it firmly up. So she could raise the other. So he could slip his other arm under. 'Til he was standing, holding her up, propping her against the wall of the shower, her legs desperately wrapping around his trim waist. Her winged arms round his neck, paws on his back, his shoulder-blades.
A few gentle seconds of close hip-to-hip.
Before the so-necessary lip-to-lip, the mouse peppering the bat with eager, little kisses, little nibbles and tip-of-the-tongue touches. His whiskers all a-twitch, brushing against her cheeks as his muzzle tilted, as he pressed, pressed, stole her breath. As she made a throaty sound and tilted her head the opposite direction, pressing back, sucking on his upper lip. Suck, suck, letting it go, left with the taste of him, saliva stringing briefly between them before being washed away by the shower.
Such things were kisses.
But there was more to be done. And their bodies shifted and bumped accordingly, breaths catching with the knowledge of what was coming next. Some more situating. Some light panting, and the preliminary meetings of precious body parts. Before an eventual wriggle, his arms hooked under her legs, keeping her in place. A rodent-prone squirm, and a heavy sigh. As an inch of him was in. Between her legs. The tip of his modest, four and a half inch mouse-hood. Circumcised and smartly stiff, a vein showing on the shaft. But his motions so loose as he carefully, easily went all the way to a hilt within her.
Adelaide caught her breath, her spine tingling at the penetration. And instinct triggered, as well. Oh, yes, the bat wrapped him up. Wrapped him all up with her winged arms. Even more than before, if possible, in a hug so wide and willing, her own fur smelling of fruit and sweetness, of a different shampoo than he'd used (his for brown rodent fur, hers for colored bat-fur). Her deep-pink eyes going to a close as she sniffed and licked his neck, fangs grazing, her thoughts dizzying.
Field's head lolled to the side. Just a bit. A little bit lazy. The sun still wasn't up, was it? Did it matter? He didn't know, and chose to let the thoughts go, scurry-ful mind filtering the dreaminess of the moment. The very moment. The pleasure of their union.
Of her bite.
Twitches and airy, little squeaks. Feeling hot and melty (no matter if it wasn't a word). Feeling no pain as her sharp, pearly-white fangs punctured the skin beneath his fur. As they sank into a suitable patch of blood and muscle in his neck. The right side. She liked biting him on the right side. Though, now and then, she'd bite him on the left. Just because. Her saliva, through her arousal, having produced a numbing enzyme (or whatever you called it), making the bite painless. She always had to lick her chosen spot before she bit.
Biting was a careful science.
And a wild art.
Her fangs embedded, now, dripping, leaking a milky-white fluid into his bloodstream. 'Mating milk.' An electrical, telepathic conductor, somehow linking mind to mind, body to body. A temporary merge of consciousness designed to enhance intimacy (and thus ensure the loyalty of one's mate). And, as always, there was the rush of feelings, thoughts, memories, sensations.
As if they were flowing into each other.
Everything so clearly shared.
Clearly felt.
Slow, succulent strokes, in and out, back and forth. No rush. No lust. Just easy, gliding hip-bucks, mouse-hood dipping fully into her femininity. The muscular, fits-like-a-glove furnace, the silky slickness, the completeness. And, oh, he could so clearly imagine the scent and taste on his tongue, and how it gave her joy. Only imagining for now, cause now was for the 'main event,' the 'main course.' Muzzle was an appetizer. Or even a dessert. And there was plenty of day left to indulge in that.
For now, it was muzzle-to-muzzle, belly-to-belly breeding. The mouse wasn't used to standing during the act (they didn't do it this way very often; they normally did it lying down in bed, showering after), but he managed, and kept his balance, and kept his sense of scurry about him. Oh, he kept it up. Dip, dip. In, out, keeping her back gently to the shower-wall, his foot-paws carefully standing apart on the bottom of the white-colored tub.
The sound of the water pattering down.
The sound of her throaty, muted chitters.
Him increasingly squeaking, panting with eyes half-open. And, oh, the thoughts, shared and transferred, flittering in their heads. Thoughts of everything: love, autumn leaves, their daughter Akira, pie, parades, bed, frost, pumpkins, you (Field), and you (Adelaide), and Akira (again), football, this, that, this, and ...
... love, love, love, love.
The train of thoughts getting bogged down, of course, by the rising interest, the primary concern of love-making. It was hard to think about anything else at the moment, wasn't it?
Oh, such feeling.
Such sensation. The sensation of.
Of how the mouse was grinding his hips against her, leaving and entering her. Still going, still slowly, in such a way, at such an angle as tp ensure the stimulation of her precious, little nub. A spot he could never forget. For many a time had his lips slid over it. Had he hummed over it. Had he kissed it sweetly. Had he blown soft, warm breaths over the exposed femme-bit. Knowing what it did for her. Knowing how it felt for her. He didn't forget that.
And she shivered. She shiver-chittered, the sounds muffled, unable to speak or cry out clearly (or even break the bite at all) until this love had seen climactic fruition. But she could still moan and chitter against his neck. And she did. Unable to keep the sounds at bay. Oh, being filled, being touched like this. By someone she knew for so long, now, and so closely, now, and so dearly, now.
His ears were beet-red, gorged with blood. One could almost imagine the shower-water sizzling as it trickled down the flesh of his big, dishy lobes. They swivelled. They throbbed at even the slightest sounds. And there were certainly a lot of sounds in this shower right now.
Chitters at the way he played her body.
Squeaks at the way she charmed his.
Engaged fully, in the ultimate act of giving, in a brushing, a sharing of souls. In a celebration of the joys of their closeness.
Until the hot, building pleasure between her legs became too much. Her walls so completely moist, tunnel touched with every filling thrust. 'Til her nub tingled with some kind of bliss, eclipsing (even) the thrusting. Adding to it. Her bare, hanging breasts pressed to his chest, nipples hard, short, rudder-ish tail steering slightly, slightly.
He lightly sank into her. This time, not pulling back. No retraction. Just effeminate huffs and whimper-squeaks, helpless twitch-twitches of his whiskers, as well as of his over-stimulated, so stiff mousey-ness, which gave a little, testing spurt. And then a real, jerking one, full of spasms. Wonderful pleasure-bolts of spurting seed. His wet, tufted sac tight, the orbs swollen, his muzzle open. Giving little gasps of eyes-closed delight as he sowed her.
The bat enduring his climax. And now hers. Building, breaking tremors, full-blown ripples of her feminine muscles, dripping, leaking fluid. Fantastically full, wonderfully warm, sparks of breath-stealing pleasure melting through her wings and paws, all her extremities. Even her swept-back, angular bat-ears.
And, together, they endured it.
And savored it.
Together, bodies together, they breathed. They caught their breaths.
So wet.
And so in love.
7:50 AM
Field, his fur still a bit wet, still a bit matted, sat at the kitchen table, bare except for his underwear (white, cotton briefs). Dipping his spoon into his cereal bowl. The spoon making a 'clink' sound every time it hit the bottom of the bowl. Scooping up some cinnamon shredded wheat, bringing it up to his muzzle, milk dribbling back down into the bowl. Chew-chew-chew. Whiskers twitching, with tail snaking energetically behind him.
"You get the newspaper?" Adelaide asked, silently padding in, naked except for a t-shirt (one of Field's t-shirts, which went a few inches past her waist). Her fur was mostly dry.
"Mm." Chew-chew, and a swallow. "Yeah," he said, stealing a glance at her, his eyes almost glowing.
The bat had to smile at him. "You look happy."
"I am," he whispered.
And, her bare foot-paws scuffling on the linoleum floor, she went over to him, putting a little kiss on the top of his head-fur. Breathing in deep. "Love you, darling," she whispered.
"I love you, too," he breathed, with such genuineness, fingers lightly slipping under her shirt, fingertips brushing her lower belly. A few errant scritches, unable to keep from stroking her breasts. Unable to keep from touching the membranes of her winged arms.
A chitter from her, with another kiss to the top of his head, and she turned and padded to the sink, to get herself a bowl and spoon and cup. To join him for a modest, little breakfast.
9:05 AM
"Tide-ness," she said, flapping her little winged arms.
"Tidy," Field enunciated, "ness. Tidiness."
"Tide-ness!"
"Mm. Well ... close enough. But that's what us mouses do. We be tidy," Field told his daughter. Akira was in the tub, and he was kneeling outside of it. Giving her a bath.
" ... more like fastidious," Adelaide called from the kitchen, able to hear them from there.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Field called back.
"Nothing," was the insistence. But the tone of her voice gave away the fact that she was wearing a fang-showing grin.
"Mm. Well," the mouse said, looking down to Akira, their mauve-furred daughter. The little mouse-bat had just turned two years old a week ago. Having been conceived, back then, on a frigid January night, and bats having eleven-months gestations (hence why the bat population wasn't as big as some other furry populations). "Anyway, we'll get you successfully potty-trained ... soon."
"I'm a wanna ... "
" ... mm?"
" ... wanna ... bugz."
The mouse made a face. "You want no such thing." In the kitchen, Adelaide was making a 'fly pie.' Which didn't actually have houseflies. It had assorted other bugs. Freezer brand, thawed and mixed with cherries and such, and put in a homemade pie crust. The majority of any bat's diet was composed of bugs and fruit. The 'bugs' part always made Field a little squirmy. Especially since his daughter ate them, as well. And Adelaide, knowing this, loved to tease him with it, constantly trying to slip bugs in his own food. Most of the time, his nose would catch them. Most of the time.
"I wanna!"
"Akira," Field said, still on his knees on the bathroom floor, paws resting on the edge of the tub. He gave her a squeaky, whisker-twitching look. "You already had your breakfast. We're gonna eat a lot today."
"Nu-uh."
"Yes, yes," he replied, bobbing his head at her. "You know why?"
A chitter-sound. "Thanksgibbing."
"Mm-hmm. Now, stop being a stubborn little girl and ... "
Flap-a-flap-a!
"Hey!"
Splash!
"You ... you ... heh. Akira, that's not funny!" He finally grabbed a hold of her, stopping her. She'd been waving her winged arms and bringing them down against the now-lukewarm bath-water. "You little sneak. Mm." He put his nose against her cheek, and then tilted his muzzle to give her a delicate cheek-kiss. "Mm-hmm. Now, you calm down," he said, pulling back a bit.
"She gets the 'scurry' from you," Adelaide called from the kitchen.
"Yeah, and the cheekiness from you," was his smiling reply. And his pink, sniffy nose rose a bit, probing the air. "Are you only making pie?"
"I'm making a tossed salad. Lettuce, spinach leaves, radish peels, cheese, croutons. Bug-free," she added, before he could ask. "Your mother's making square corn and broccoli casserole. I don't know what mine are making. Your grandma's making rolls, I know. And mashed potatoes."
They were having Thanksgiving at Field's grandparents' house. His grandparents on his father's side. Where Field's mom, dad, and siblings were going, as well. Also, Adelaide's parents, and Field, Adelaide, and Akira. Thanksgiving was normally a quieter, sparser holiday for Field's extended family. Most of Field's relatives spent Thanksgiving with the families of their mates. Christmas, however, was spent together. Adelaide, however, didn't have nearly as big an extended family as Field did. And didn't have any siblings. So, Adelaide's parents had been invited to have Thanksgiving with the 'mouse' family.
"It's always interesting," Adelaide said , "to get my parents and yours in the same room."
"Mm," was Field's response, whiskers twitching. "I know."
A slight chitter of amusement. "You almost done in there?"
"Yep. Come on, Akira. Up, up, up." He lifted her out of the tub. "Let's dry you off." He turned to grab a towel, and while doing so, the mouse bat tottered off, flapping her winged arms, chitter-squeaking wildly.
"Hey! Hey, you ... " Field crawled and gently grabbed, getting her tail. Reeling her back. "That's right. You're soaking wet You're dripping all over." He wrapped her up in the towel, patting her, drying her off. "Mm. Alright. Now, let's get you dressed."
Chittery!
"She does have my scurry," Field said, watching her go. She almost stumbled a few times. And he followed her out of the bathroom, through the kitchen (where Adelaide gave him a toothy grin and said, 'Told you.'). And then through the living room, to Akira's room, where she hoisted up a shirt.
"On. I'ma wear a ... an' ... " She dropped it. " ... dis. An' I'ma ... "
" ... gonna wear what I set out for you. Those don't even match," Field told her, patiently.
"Yes!" she squeaked.
"No."
"Wellz ... "
"Well?"
Chittery!
"Come on ... " And, managing to calm her down a bit, he dressed her. "There you go," he said, sighing, watching as she scurried off to mommy.
10:17 AM
A quick patter of bare, scurrying foot-paws, crunching the cool, crispy leaves, the mouse going, going, going, through the flashes of late-autumn color. Color. And flashes of fur, and Field leaned forward. In a reaching motion, arms outstretched, the football falling, juggling in his paws. He quickly reacted, pulling it to his chest as he completely lost his balance, squeaking wildly, eyes closed.
Tumble, tumble, tumble!
He hit the ground with an 'oomph,' rolling to a dazed, twitching stop. The cadet-blue, slate-grey sky above him. The clouds having rolled in from somewhere, keeping the temperature in the low 50's. No need for ear-mittens or tail-socks. Just jackets. It wasn't quite cold enough for coats, being that there was no wind, and being that they all had pelts of fur, of course.
"No good!" one of his brother's squeaked. "No good ... "
Field, eyes fully opening, thrust both paws into the air. Both holding to the football, having kept complete control during the entire fall. "Touchdown!" he squeaked.
"No fair," squeaked Dover, being quite obstinate. Dover was the older of Field's younger brothers (for Field, at twenty-three, was the oldest of four children, with his sister being twenty-one, and his two brothers being seventeen and fifteen).
"Even," Field panted, too winded to sit up. "Even ... even though Dandy purposely threw me a bad pass," he emphasized, giggle-squeaking, "I came through. Yes, the agility, the supreme sense of scurry! The ... "
" ... whatever," was all Dover said, unimpressed. Dover played both basketball and baseball for the high school in Sheridan, which was the nearest town. Field, in school, hadn't played sports. Not because he'd lacked the skill. But because he'd been too shy. Anyway, Dover didn't like that Field could beat him in competition. "Well, that means overtime," Dover insisted, not wanting to admit defeat.
Field, sitting up, made a scrunch-face. "Overtime? What?"
Dandy, chiming in with his own brand of stubbornness, said, "Well, then I should be in it, too, cause Field threw me bad throws."
"I did not."
"Yes-huh."
"Dandy, that's not even a word."
"Yes-huh. And, anyways, you threw me bad throws on purpose," he repeated adamantly.
Field rolled his eyes. "Dandy, you dropping all my throws doesn't mean I threw them bad. It means you can't catch."
A squeak, and Dandy scurried forward.
Field, who'd just now regained his bearings and was starting to stand up, felt his knees buckle as his youngest brother tackled him.
Squeak!
Chitter!
Gnaw-gnaw-gnaw. Rodent buckteeth biting a shoulder.
"Ow!"
Rustle-rustle-roll.
" ... don't do that! Don't yank my tail! Hey ... "
A few shoves, wrestling through the leaves, making irate, rodent sounds.
"Are we still playing or not?" Dover asked, moping just a bit. "Hey, are you two ... " Dover suddenly squeaked in surprise as they rolled into him, knocking him down. Bringing him into the fray, and ...
... a sharp wrapping sound on glass.
The brothers froze, looking to the house.
Their mother, inside the dining room, was tapping her paw on the window, giving them a glare. And mouthing (with an inaudible but implied hint of that New England accent, which only slipped out when she was angry), "Don't make me come out there ... "
Adelaide, in the house, chittered with mirth as she watched.
Field's mother simply sighed and shook her head, padding away from the window. "You don't know what it's like to raise bundles of scurry like that."
"Eh, who knows. I might end up wanting bundles of scurry over furies of flight," she said, holding her daughter in her arms. "That right, Akira? Mm?" And they touched noses. "Look at silly daddy. What's he doing ... "
12:44 PM
" ... thank you for this day, for this food that nourishes our bodies. For Your love that nourishes our souls. Thank You for all the blessings You've bestowed upon us. In Jesus' name, amen."
"Amen," were the few quiet echoes, as Field's father finished saying grace.
And, with the prayer said, the meal commenced. Conversation started while bowls and dishes were passed from paw to paw.
"Be careful, it's hot."
"May I have the rolls?"
"Field, you'll like these ... "
" ... mother, I know what I like." A pause, nose incessantly sniffing. "I thought you were making broccoli casserole." The mouse's whiskers twitched. His favorite food was broccoli (with cheese!).
"Is someone gonna pass the rolls?" Dandy went, starting to make a face.
"I did make broccoli casserole. It's coming around. But I made squash, too, and you're gonna have some. It's delicious."
Field squinted cautiously as his mother tapped a spoonful of orange-yellow squash on the edge of his plate.
"I want rolls!" Dandy squeaked, finally standing and reaching over the table. Nearly knocking down one of the pretty maroon candles.
"Dandy, what a thing to do!" their mother lamented. "Sit. Sit down." A harmless slap to his arm. "Be patient. There'll be plenty of rolls left when they get to you." They were honey-wheat rolls, clover-leafs. Their grandmother had made them.
"Y'all want my spinach dip? You dip carrots in it. Or celery. It's good," Clover, Field's sister, assured. As if she were a host on one of those cooking shows. Clover went to college in Alabama, but was home for the week. She'd picked up a few Southern 'twangs.' Which Dover and Dandy took delight in teasing her about. "Come on, it's good. Spinach dip," she repeated. She always got out a dozen cookbooks with the intent of making many recipes. And, more often than not, the cookbooks would stay out, cluttering the table. And nothing would actually get made. So, when she actually did make something, the others were very wary. She didn't have the best track record when it came to cooking.
"Heh. Hey, Clover, remember that time," Dover said, chew-chewing, swallowing. "Mm. Remember when you made that pan of cookies?"
"She put twelve cookies in the oven, and when they were done, they came out as one!" Dandy explained to Adelaide's parents.
"That so?" Adelaide's mom asked. "Well ... we all have our baking mishaps," she said, politely.
"Yeah, it was like a monster that got in the oven and ate 'em, and ... "
" ... Dandy, that's enough. You're being juvenile again," their own mother interrupted, whiskers twitching.
"What's that? Juvenile?" A blink.
"It means," Dover told him, "you're being a pain in the ... " He stopped when he saw their mother's look. And, bobbing his head, he returned to eating his food.
Field, being the quietest and most artistic of his siblings, sat silently and didn't say all that much. Just listened. He was a good listener (which Adelaide appreciated, to be sure).
"Who's got the mashed potatoes?" someone asked.
"Do I smell coffee cake?"
"Coffee cake," Dandy said, whiskers twitching smartly, "doesn't even have coffee in it. It has cinnamon. So, how's come it's called coffee cake, then?"
"Well, you can have it with your coffee," their grandmother supplied. She was a short, red-furred mouse.
"Coffee's gross," Dandy said.
Their grandmother just chuckled. She liked coffee. Very strong coffee. Furs who'd never taken a sip of her coffee before would bulge out their eyes when they had the first swallow. Or it seemed that way, at least. The family liked to joke about it.
Field, dishy ears swiveling, kept listening. And had to agree that coffee was rather gross. He shook his head just thinking about it.
"I count broccoli, celery, peas ... are there any other greens?"
"Here's some green beans right here."
"I made salad," Adelaide said.
"Is there any dressing?"
"I eat my greens," Field said, quietly, breaking his silence. "Unlike some young mouses." His brothers weren't exactly super-healthy eaters like he was. No, their idea of a good snack was soda and cookies. Field's idea of a good snack was fruit and celery, yogurt, or some crackers and cheese, with ice water to drink.
"Field's just mad that he's bad at football," Dandy insisted, rather randomly, his tail snaking wildly behind his chair.
"Dandy, you bring up things out of nowhere. Anyway, I won. Get over it."
"He didn't!" the young, teenage mouse exclaimed, wide-eyed and whisker-twitching, looking around the table to plead his case.
"Y'all never answered me. My spinach dip. I'm not the only one who's gonna try it, am I?" Clover posed, starting to sigh.
"We don't want dip," Dover said, under his breath, "cause we're not dips like ... "
" ... hey! Don't call me a dip."
"I didn't. I didn't even."
"Yeah, only cause I stopped you. But," she stammered, "you were gonna. Mother, make him grow up."
"Don't think I won't be glad," their mother said, "when I've got all my children out of the house. Peace and quiet!" she exclaimed.
"Let's settle down," their father said, almost casually.
Adelaide, observing the incessant exchanges, had to giggle-chitter.
"We must be like a circus scurrying through town. Right, Adelaide?" Field's mother asked, light-heartedly.
"I rather enjoy it," the bat admitted, chuckling. A breath. "Mm. I'm an only child. Just ... kinda fun to watch. Anyway, you can tell you all love each other. The way you tease." And, looking to her own parents, Adelaide added, "But I'm sure I was a wing-ful enough, wasn't I?"
"Who says you still aren't?" Adelaide's father joked.
A few laughs.
Adelaide shook her head, eyes glowing. "Mm. I set myself up for that one."
Adelaide's mother sent her something telepathically.
Field's mother seemed to pick up on this (the glances they were sharing). And, squinting a bit, remarked, "All this mind energy in the air. Makes my fur stand on end. Like that static electricity? Only static telepathy, is what it is. I'm sure I feel it passing through my bones ... "
" ... dear, I think you're imagining it," Field's father assured.
" ... well ... now, I'm not saying mouses don't have their foibles. I know we do. Scurry and twitching and all that. And lots more. I'm just saying, I've never understood this telepathy. How it even works. Now, little Akira there," she said, nodding at her only grandchild, "uses it to make quite a bit of mischief."
Adelaide giggle-chittered as she sipped her water, already knowing where this was headed.
" ... yeah, I'm looking at you. Mm-hmm," Field's mother cooed to Akira.
The two year old mouse bat flapped her winged arms and laughed, bobbing in her high chair, using her paws to eat her food. And, fortunately, not having made any real mess yet.
"Anyway," Field's mother said, looking back to the rest of the table. "Every time she stays at our house, or every time we watch her, she manages to make me believe I should give her ice cream."
Field laughed.
And his mother had to smile a bit, adding, "I'm on to her, though." And she gave Akira a wink. "Don't think I'm not."
"Well, when Adelaide was little, before she got a grip of her telepathy, she ... "
" ... mother," was all Adelaide said, raising a brow.
Don't want me to tell baby stories, mm, was the cheeky, telepathic question.
Field was just telling me this morning, she thought back, that Akira gets my cheekiness from me. I think it's more like she gets it through me from you. Or am I wrong?
Adelaide's mother just grinned quietly, her fangs showing.
Which made Adelaide's father chuckle knowingly. He, like all male bats, was periwinkle-furred. And Adelaide mother, like all femme bats, was pink-furred. They were about forty-five, forty six. Adelaide was twenty-three, in comparison. As far as Field's age in relation to his parents, Field was twenty-three. And his parents were forty-eight and fifty. Field's parents lived nearer to Sheridan, in the countryside like Field and Adelaide did. A few miles away. Adelaide's parents lived in the same county, but down in Zionsville, about twelve miles off. Field and Adelaide, just by nature of time and location and Adelaide's parents not being as home as often, spent more time with Field's family.
After a few seconds, Dandy, looking around, just blinked and said, "I don't get it. What's so funny?" Adelaide, Adelaide's mother, and a few others were all giggling to themselves. Because of things telepathically said. "Huh?"
Dandy's puzzlement only caused more mirth.
"Clover, I'm trying your spinach dip. Don't say I don't ever do anything for you," their mother said.
"So, what, trying my spinach dip is indulging me?" Clover asked, unimpressed.
"I think paying for your out-of-state college tuition is indulging you. I think trying your spinach is ... " She crunched into a carrot. " ... being obliging." A smile. "Not bad."
"Mm. Well ... thanks."
"Here, let me try some," Adelaide's mother said.
"Well, I got the recipe from ... " Clover, glad that they were taking to her dish, began to ramble about it. Never knowing how to be precise.
Field, quiet once more, chewed on some broccoli casserole. Broccoli, cheese, fried onions, white rice. And a few other things. It was delicious. And, then, he scooped some green beans on his plate, but didn't start eating them until he'd had a few nibbles of his roll. Indeed, with a table full of many mouses, you had lots of delicate, dainty nibbling of food with big, rodent buckteeth.
The cuteness, Adelaide said in Field's head. Watching all of you eat. It's so sweet I won't have room for dessert.
Field nibbled, stopped, and gave her a whisker-twitching smile. Thinking something back to her.
Adelaide just raised her brow, her eyes glowing.
Her parents picking up on this with their own telepathy.
And Field's parents picking up on the fact that Adelaide's parents had picked up on something, and ...
... Field focused intently on his food, his ears blushing a bit rosy-pink.
"I still don't get it," Dandy said, noticing everyone's interest had been piqued by something he wasn't aware of.
Dover, polishing off a wheat roll, simply said, "I don't think you're ever going to."
"Lord help us when he does," was all Field's mother said.
And Field had to bite back the giggle-squeak.
1:45 PM
"I saw a kingfisher," Field said, a sponge in his paw, sliding the plate under the faucet. Scrub-scrub-scrub. " ... at, uh, our creek. They rattle. It was, like ... well, first, it was on the power line across the gravel road. Like, just above the pastures. Then, next time, it was all the way over at the creek. He swooped by real low." Scrub-scrub, making soapy bubbles, getting the plate all clean. And then setting it aside on a towel to dry.
His grandmother, shorter and red-furred, nodded. "They green? A teal color ... "
" ... more like a grey-blue, I think. From what I saw. I mean, like ... they got these spiky head-feathers. And the color alternates in rings, between blue and white. Like belts. Or maybe it's called 'belted' cause the way it rattles. But it was hunting at the creek. It was hovering."
His grandmother nodded, her whiskers giving the lightest of twitches. They were both cleaning up after lunch. While the others were setting up for dessert. And, as they often did, Field and his grandmother talked about birds. They were both bird-watchers. No one else in the family really was. She'd introduced him to such things. Bird-watching, classical music, and the sort. When he was younger, he'd often spend nights at his grandparents' house, helping with things.
"Did that, uh, warbler come back yet? Yellow-rumped warbler?" Last winter, Field had discovered a yellow-rumped warbler on one of his grandmother's feeders. He'd never seen that kind of warbler before. And, just from living his entire life in rural Indiana, just from what he'd observed around here, he'd seen sixty-two different species of birds. Most of them regularly. He was very observant. And, with his keen mouse ears, could detect many of them by song alone. He couldn't pick one single bird as his favorite. He had a few favorites: ruby-throated hummingbirds, Northern mockingbirds, white-breasted nuthatches, to name a few.
"Haven't seen it yet, no," his grandmother replied. "But I did see that pileated."
"The woodpecker?"
"Mm-hmm. Was after my suet cakes."
Field nodded quietly. He'd yet to see a pileated woodpecker. Though he'd seen the downy, hairy, red-bellied, and red-headed. Also, he'd ...
" ... you two talking about birds again?" Field's father said, entering the kitchen for more coffee. "Who talks about birds? It's one of those hobbies you take on when you've nothing else to do."
Field just gave a slight, bemused smile, knowing better than to respond.
But, Adelaide who'd also entered the kitchen (to get some plates and forks for the desserts), said, with a warm, quiet tone, "Field just has a strong affinity for things with wings. Suits his dreaminess." She opened her winged arms just a bit. Opened and lowered. Field loved her wings. Loved tracing them delicately with the tips of his fingers. Loved seeing them in profile in the moonlight.
Field's father, sipping his newly-filled cup of coffee, just made a 'hmmph' sound and shuffled back to the dining room.
Field, scrubbing another plate, felt his ears flushing rosy-pink.
"No need to be embarrassed," Adelaide whispered, planting a kiss very close to one of his ears.
A quiet, shy nod. His family wasn't big on public displays of affection. But bats weren't as inhibited in that department as mouses. Adelaide wasn't afraid to give him toothy grins or suggestive looks. Or sweet, little kisses to the back of his neck.
"Now, coffee cake, sugar cookies ... we got ice cream, right?" Adelaide said. "And I made that 'fly' pie." A pause, and then a cheeky grin. "Think I should give a piece to Dandy, and not tell him what's in it?"
"He needs the protein," Field said, with restrained humor.
A giggle-chitter. And the bat nodded, grabbing the plates and forks.
3:03 PM
In one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, the door locked, with time lazily fading on the dial, and neither of them the least bit hungry for food. Rather, famished for each other. And, oh, both of them breathing erratically, self-consciously listening for stray sounds. Trying to stay quiet. Trying to keep it subtle.
But, even if it sounded subtle, it felt anything but.
Adelaide's toes delightfully curled, her bare foot-paws lifting just a bit. Just a bit off the carpet. Her breath audibly catching with sensitivity, and her winged arms hanging loose, with paws on Field's shoulders, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. "Mm." A soft, throaty sound. She clenched her muzzle shut upon releasing it, as if to tell herself 'be careful.' Sure, it was a good bet that the other grown furs in the house were taking similar, subtle breaks in the other spare rooms. But, still ...
... the mouse's muzzle was eagerly between her legs, working with a sublime, subtle finesse, with little tongue-tip touches and lip-nibbles. Head-tilts, as his muzzle pressed, eased up, pressed, eased up. As he kissed and sucked his way up her pink, pouting vulva. His ever-sniffy nose inebriated with her scent.
The bat, jeans and panties on the floor, in a pile just an inch or so below her foot-paw pads, was otherwise clothed. Just naked from the waist down. Just ...
... working her with his modest tongue. A tongue not built for maneuverability or versatility. But he softly, wetly used it. Gentle, lingering licks. In all directions. Slipping it through her petals, poking at the entrance to her tunnel. Poke, poke, and then licking broadly back up, up, exhaling hot, steamy air over her feminine flesh.
Making her shiver.
Making his ears blush as his lips parted, as he slipped them over her beautiful, little nub. A single, so-careful suck, and a dainty tongue-touch, licking slow circles around her swollen clitoris.
"Hmm ... " A swallow, fangs showing. Showing more widely, even, as her muzzle opened. As she sighed, tilting her head upward. A gape or two, eyes fluttering shut. As she hit it. Beautiful. Climax. Oh, yes. As she shuddered in pure pleasure-tremors, dripping a bit of femme-nectar, as it were. And, unable to let loose audibly, she used her telepathy, her reaction echoing in his mind: Field ... oh, Field ...
A few airy, squeaky sounds from him, soft and muffled enough. And a few more licks, and several panting breaths. A dizzy-eyed swallow, his ears hot, hotter ...
... hottest. Her paws sliding up the backs of his dishy lobes. Up the backs, to the rims, where she shakily traced them. Still trembling from her own orgasm, still catching her breath, she began to work his ears.
A heavy sigh from the mouse, shoulders relaxing, head lolling lightly to the side. The warmth, the heat. Spreading from his ears and dripping down through the rest of him, making him feel incredibly flushed beneath the fur. Making him feel hazy. So hazy. So good. His ears felt ... so ... good.
She knew what she was doing.
She'd done this before.
She soon had him on the bed, on his back. And he didn't remember climbing up there. And didn't remember his belt being undone, or his jeans being unzipped, or his underwear coming down. It was just a hazy sequence of ears-mouse-hood-ears-mouse-hood. The bat spending a minute on one, then switching, then ...
... weak, restrained squeaks, tail trailing off the side of the bed like a wayward rope. Ears hot and throbbing against the headboards, glistening from where Adelaide's tongue had danced on their sensitive surfaces. They throbbed, and he panted, and she ...
... bobbed deliciously up and down his stiff length.
"Ah ... ah," he breathed as quietly as he could, clutching at the bed-sheets, his honey-tan chest rising and falling beneath his button-up t-shirt. "Hmm." Her telepathic presence lingering in his mind. Not linked to him, because they weren't having intercourse. Her fangs weren't involved. But he felt her presence, all the same, and she shushed him inwardly while she pleasured him outwardly, while ...
... shivers and squeaks and such, spurting steamy-white mouse-seed. Spurt, spurt. Into her waiting muzzle.
The bat's eyes closed. Her nose flared.
The mouse squirming in pleasure, own eyes watered shut.
A swallow, paws on his hips, hovering above him. Another swallow, and a few more bobs, sucking and swallowing once more. And she slipped off with a heavy sigh, meeting his eyes.
Both of them flushed beneath the cheeks.
And both of them quite satisfied.
Both of them still, as always, deliciously in love.
4:00 PM
It was time for the Waechtersbach.
The red, German Christmas dishes that Field's grandmother collected. She had hundreds of them, collected over the course of decades. Big plates, medium plates, tea plates. Big mugs, small mugs, soup bowls, cereal bowls. All painted that distinctive bright red, with the sparse, simple green trees on them.
And every Thanksgiving, after lunch, they were brought up from the basement. The dining room cupboards were cleared. The Christmas dishes were swapped for the regular ones. It was a process that took several hours.
And Field, as he trudged up from the basement, balanced a big plastic container with both arms, both paws. Shuffling through the kitchen and sighing as he laid it down on the empty, cleaned-up dining room table. "Ooh. Well, what's in this one ... mm ... " He peeled the lid off, squinting. "Uh, salt and peppers. Dishes with separate, uh ... like that party dish. Soup bowls. Kitchen bowls?"
"I thought you labeled all these when you put them back down there," Adelaide said, holding Akira in her arms. The little mouse-bat was being very well-behaved right now, thankfully.
"I did. Sticky notes. I put them right on the lids."
"Well, what happened to them?"
"They, uh ... came off." A whisker-twitch. "When I come up the stairs, they flutter off. They're at the bottom of the stairs."
"I got them," Field's grandmother said, slowly coming in. "Mm, uh ... here's this one for the blue container. This one for the green. Now, we have to take everything out and count to make sure it's all there. And keep our inventory. And here's some new sticky-notes to, uh ... well, for labeling what we put down there from what's in the cupboards."
Adelaide, looking around the dining room, said, "A whole science behind it, hmm?" A toothy smile.
"Behind every tradition, there's ritual. Not science. Ritual," Field's grandmother said smartly, adjusting her glasses. She cleared her throat. "Now, uh ... " She looked up to Adelaide. " ... are you a helper or a watcher?"
"I've got a child in my wings," was Adelaide's answer. "That gives me immunity from carrying dishes up and down stairs."
Akira made a light gurgle-chitter in her mother's winged arms, eyes a bit wide and curious. She'd been very hyper after dessert, but the high had worn off, leaving her in this quiet, simple state.
"Mm. Well, perhaps Dover and Dandy," Field's grandmother said, "would like to ... "
The sound of the house door opening, closing, as Field's two brothers bolted outside. To play more football. But, more to the point: to avoid the workload.
"Ah, well, Field can handle it. He knows what to do."
The honey-tan mouse nodded. He did, indeed. He knew everything about these dishes. How many there were. Where they went. Et cetera. He was becoming quite the Waechtersbach expert.
"My goal," Field's grandmother told Adelaide, "is to have enough dishes so that, when I pass on ... well, later on, all my children and their children will have enough dishes to have a little display of their own for Christmas."
Adelaide smiled. "That's sweet."
"Well ... and see, some of these," the red-furred mouse said, adjusting her glasses, "were made back in West Germany. And some, even, in Spain. The ones in Spain are a bit more orange-red ... but most of them are from Germany. No, but they're hard to find anymore. I've been collecting these for about twenty-five, thirty years."
"Wow ... well, they certainly are festive. It wouldn't be Christmas without them." She'd only been in Field's family for two and a half years, but she knew as much.
"Exactly." The red-furred mouse smiled, telling Field, "I think your bat's a smart cookie." And a wink.
Field giggle-squeaked shyly, nodding.
"Now, uh, we've got more dishes ... I'll sort, Field, and you bring more up ... "
9:53 PM
" ... and this," the announcer said, "is what the Colts do best. After disposing of the overconfident Patriots last week, you'd think they'd be in for an emotional letdown. But that's not how they play. You saw how ... "
It was hours later, after lunch, dessert, dishes, and all day with family. The mouse and bat were finally back home, in their old, little farmhouse. Cuddled tenderly on the couch, having just put their daughter to bed, and still keeping an eye on the game while talking quietly with each other. The room dark except for the bluish glow of the television screen. The Colts were playing on the Thanksgiving night game this year. They were leading by two touchdowns in the third quarter.
" ... but I thought it was nice. Thanksgiving's never been one of those 'big' holidays, you know, for me," Adelaide breathed, leaning her head on her husband's shoulder. "I mean, not like Christmas or Easter. It's ... "
" ... too generic? I mean, like ... you can be thankful or eat lots of food any day you want. It's not like it's a unique kind of celebration," Field supplied, quietly, watching the next play on the screen. Squeaking out. "Yes!" He clenched his paws and nodded fiercely.
Adelaide giggle-chittered at his enthusiasm. "If they weren't playing an easier team than the last few weeks, you'd be pacing back and forth ... "
"No game is easy," Field replied. "I don't take it for granted that we'll win, just cause we've been good the past few years ... "
" ... still, last week, I had to telepathically restrain you. On nearly every play," she added, smiling. A pause. "Don't mind it, though." A sigh, nose against his neck. "Mm. And about a 'holiday' for thankfulness ... well, yeah, I think what you said is pretty much what I was, uh, getting at."
Field nodded quietly, whiskers twitching. Pink, ever-active nose sniffing just a bit, getting his wife's comforting scent. The mere presence of her, in his mind, could light up rooms. Could chase all chills away. The mere presence of her did such things to his heart, and no amount of poetry or words could do it justice. But, daily, he tried to show her his gratitude as best he could, in how he kissed her, touched her, how he loved her.
Oh, how he loved her.
"But, still, that doesn't mean I don't like it. I thought today was wonderful," she said, smiling, turning her head very slightly. So she could meet his eyes. "It was lovely ... "
He returned the smile. Somewhat shyly.
She noticed this, and whispered, "Why are you doing that ... that 'shy' bit?"
"I always do it. It's ... it's not a 'bit'," he whispered, quietly. "It's just how I am."
"Shy, quiet, soft-spoken ... airy," she added, "and wispy. That's how I like my mouses. Don't you be worrying about that. I'm just saying that you're even more so, I think, tonight. Just one of those things, huh? One of those mousey moods?"
"Mousey moods," he whispered quietly, leaning his head against hers. Her head still on his shoulder.
"You had a good day, though? I felt that you did."
"I did," he assured honestly, nodding, closing his eyes for a moment. The game had gone to a commercial. "I love you," he breathed.
"I love you, too," she whispered, very close to one of his ears. "And I think it's about that time, mm? Pressure rising," she whispered. "Need for release. Think we better be doing some ... "
" ... I know, uh ... like, uh, on the couch? Here?"
A giggle-chitter, pulling back a bit, playfully looking him over. "On the couch is fine. I know you wanna keep your eye on the game ... "
" ... I'd rather keep them on you," he assured. Though he did, in fact, want to stay within view of the game.
"I know." She put a paw on his chest. "It's fine if we do it in here. Slow and easy. Mm?"
A little nod. That sounded very good. And he said so. He was, truth be told, approaching that point of 'wriggle and squirm,' where the desire was taking over his mind. And other parts of him. "Mm." He gently leaned against her, as they fumbled just a bit, adjusting positions, paws unbuttoning, undoing clothing, the two of them writhing together lightly, soon half-dressed, his tail snaking in the air above it all.
"We, uh," Adelaide panted, as one breast was freed. And the other. Both breasts hanging loosely now, with her shirt off and bra slipping away. "We gonna get our Christmas tree tomorrow or on, uh ... Sunday? This weekend?"
The mouse, muzzle to one of her breasts, breathed, "Um ... tomorrow? Tomorrow's fine. From Thorntown ... " That was an eighteen-mile drive to the west. There was a Christmas tree farm there, on the other side of the county (which was a very rural county, thankfully).
"Yeah, and, uh ... then we can decorate it," she breathed, "on Sunday, after church. Make an afternoon of it."
Neither of them had work tomorrow, which would be Friday. They both had the holiday weekend off. Field's work at the orchard would run 'til Christmas. Cause they would sell wreaths and trees. Then, from January to March, he'd not be able to work there, cause they'd be closed. So, for those three months, Adelaide was going to arrange for him to work part-time with her at the library in town. And, the other days, he'd watch Akira, staying home and watching her. Until April came and he could work at the orchard again. Field and Adelaide's finances were always a bit tight, neither of the having college degrees. They rarely went out to eat, and never went to the movies. But they didn't care. They were in love. They were in the countryside. It didn't matter.
"Mm ... " She put her paws on the back of his head, then slid them down, down, freeing him of his pants. Gripping his bare, pert rump-cheeks. Kneading them a bit. Which made him arch his foot-paws.
And, while she continued to pet his bare rump (pants and briefs finally kicking off, and shirt removed, as well), he gently suckled on one of her nipples, which soon hardened from the stimulation. And, slipping off, he gave a squeaky sigh, own paws coming forward. He traced her wings. And caressed them. Then her sides, her belly. Back to her breasts. Before making it a point to undress her the rest of the way.
'Til they were both naked and snuggled on the couch, so warm, so comfortable, so familiar with each other.
So intimate.
"You know, at work," Adelaide said, after a few seconds. "I, uh ... someone came in. Some-fur," she said, closing her eyes, leaning comfortably back, sinking into the couch-cushions with Field half-sprawled atop her naked, pink-furred body. "Someone from school, you know, that I hadn't seen in five years. And they said, 'Do I know you?' ... and I said, 'I don't think so'." The bat paused, breathing. "And, after the fur left, Ketchy told me who it was, and then I remembered. But, looking back on it, even if I had remembered who that fur was? My answer to her question still would've been the same."
Field, blue-grey eyes mere inches from her deep-pinks, listened shyly, not quite understanding. His big dishy ears swivelled and his whiskers twitched.
But she explained, "Partly because I've grown and matured a whole lot since high school. You know, all that. But mostly," she breathed, "because I have you. And furs can't ever know me," she assured, "without you." A breath, her fingers in his soft, honey-tan fur. "You're such a part of me now. No one can know me," she repeated, "without knowing you."
"Adelaide ... " His quiet, effeminate voice breaking a bit.
" ... it's alright," she soothed. "It's alright ... "
A sniffle, muzzle tilting, lips briefly meeting.
A little kiss.
A little slip of tongues.
A little fondling.
And a little leading to a lot.
And, just as they'd begun the day emerging from rest on their way to love, so they ended it: entering love on their way to rest.
And, oh, dear God, dear Jesus, they were truly thankful. For life mortal and eternal, for promises of redemption and love never-ending.
And not just thankful.
But blessed.