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"It is apparent to me," she said, as if passing harmless sentence, "what is going on here." A clearing of the throat, and a simple head-tilt, drinking him in with her familiar, studied gaze. That icy-blue, Arctic-bred look. "I believe you've caught something."

A slight, semi-suspicious frown from him, and several wriggles, too. "Like what ... " His long, silky-pink tail snaked through the air behind him, in the fashion of a confused or agitated fishing line. Or, if one were to get silly, a wayward spaghetti noodle.

"Mousey stubbornness. Indeed, a severe case," she stressed, "of mousey ... "

" ... nuh-uh!" was the sudden, scrunch-muzzled chitter. "No ... "

" ... stubbornness. I believe so."

"No," Ross repeated, arms crossed. His pink, sniffy nose temporarily raising up a bit, with whiskers twitching more and more. He closed his muzzle and clamped his jaw down, tongue pressing to his white, rodent buckteeth. Another head-shake. His cheeks seeming to puff out for a moment. Before he exhaled sharply.

"Really?" was Aria's patient response, arching a brow. Still looking him over, with an increasing amount of restrained amusement. "You are putting on quite a show of 'mousey motions' for a mouse," she reasoned, "that is not being stubborn." They were in the kitchen area of their cozy, fourth-story apartment, here in Downtown Indianapolis. It was a Friday, and school was done for the day. And neither had work this evening. So, the husband and wife were getting ready for a shared, romantic supper. The weather, a good double-digits below freezing, was churning darker outside the windows, framing the modest skyline, threatening to sprinkle many inches of snow before the sun rose again. It was, right now, just before eight o'-clock.

The earthy-furred meadow-mouse, in response to both her feigning of surprise and her logical deductions, simply shook his head again, biting his bottom lip.

"If not stubborn, then what is your mood, exactly?" She arched the other brow. Something that, in all honesty, made the mouse's heart to skip a beat or two.

He took a breath, holding it, squirming, maintaining his posture for as long as he could. But having too much 'scurry' to keep it up. He sighed and began to wriggle in place. He couldn't stay still. Couldn't stay quiet. Couldn't, couldn't. While it was true that mouses were, of course, capable of great quietness (hence 'quiet as a mouse'), they were also prone, now and then, to be excitable and scurry-ful. And, right now, Ross was on the excitable side of mousey-ness. And regardless of what or why it was, it came off as incredibly cute.

The snow rabbit, well aware of all this and rather enjoying it, only said, "I see." A calculated pause, turning back to the bubbling stove-top. "Very well, then."

"Aria!" he finally squeaked, arms unfolding, blue-grey eyes going innocently wide with protest. His fleshy, dishy ears stood large, swiveling in their ever-keen way. "B-but ... "

" ... yes?" she asked, turning back around. Oh, she knew how to play him. On almost every level, she knew how to push his buttons.

He squirmed on his bare foot-paws, looking down to the tiled floor. Looking at his blunt-clawed toes. "Maybe, uh ... maybe I've been a little bit stubborn today." A breath and a sigh. "Maybe."

An eye-smile. "Maybe?"

A swallow, looking back up with a playful squint. "You're gonna make me giggle-squeak, you know? I said 'maybe' ... that's as much as I'm gonna admit right now."

Aria, without a word, tilted her head and turned her attention, once more, back to the stove.

"Aria ... "

A playful head-shake. "Too stubborn to fully admit your stubbornness? That, in itself, is very stubborn."

"Stop saying that ... mm. Aria ... " Ross let out a deeper breath, now, his pupils dilating. "Aria ... "

She said nothing. Again, knowing how to melt him, how to make him squirm. Knowing how to reel him in.

He sighed, biting his lip, fixated on his wife. She was so prim and proper. Her tall, slender ears waggling in that antennae-like way. Those white-furred ears, with the pink interiors and charcoal tips. And, oh, that fluffy, cotton-like bobtail. She was all sorts of sultry and smooth. And soft. And, swallowing, he whispered, "Uh ... you gonna let me do the food, though?" he eventually asked. That was one of the things he'd gotten stubborn about. It was no secret that he was a better cook than her. He was an artist, after all, and wasn't preparing food a kind of art? Aria, an engineer, could certainly follow recipes. But she hadn't his ability for creative improvisation. Plus, they were having lots of cheese for supper tonight. And mouses were very possessive about their cheese.

"By all means," was the snow rabbit's eventual, gentle response, relenting and gesturing at the stove-top with a white-furred, black-padded paw. She loved to tease him, yes, but she knew not to overdo it. "I was just about to test the noodles for tenderness," she told him, shuffling a few feet away, to the counter and the sink. Her bare foot-paws looking extra soft as they scuffed the floor. Around the kitchen area, it was tiles, but in the rest of the apartment, it was carpet.

"It's not noodles," Ross insisted. "It's rotini. Tomato, spinach, and regular pasta in spiral shapes. That's not just noodles."

A nod and a sustained eye-smile, her back now turned to him.

"And we're putting cheese sauce on it. Three cheeses," he added, proudly. "American, cheddar, and ... "

" ... parmesan. Yes. You've told me many times. Five, to be exact."

"Well ... " A whisker-twitch, his tail swaying, swaying. " ... anyway ... "

" ... yes?" she asked, waiting for more. Her ears twiddled.

"Well, uh, you can't melt it too much or too hot," he insisted, checking the sauce-pan, whiskers twitching while he did so. "It can't be too runny or too thick. It has to be just right." He picked up a wooden spoon and began to slowly stir, stir. Stir the cheese sauce, sniffing delicately. His eyes going half-open. "Mm ... " A swoon-ful sigh.

Aria, turning around, asked, "Shall I leave you and the cheese alone?"

Flushing, he gave her a look. "No," he went, bobbing his head. Giving her a semi-smile. "And I'm not gonna laugh at that, either."

"Who said it was a joke? Snow rabbits ... "

" ... don't have senses of humor? You're not fooling anyone. Least of all me," Ross declared, clearing his throat. "Anyway, cheese is one of those sensual foods for mouses. An ... well, one of those, uh ... "

" ... aphrodisiacs."

" ... well, it makes us happy," he said, deciding on vaguer wording. He felt hot beneath the fur. "And it tastes good. And, uh ... stuff. Look, why do I even have to explain it?"

"You don't. I never asked you to."

A squeak-sound. "Well ... maybe not." A pause. "You're just so analytical, sometimes. I feel like I have to give you detailed reasons for everything I do." A pause. "Not, like, you know ... what I mean is that you seem to peer into me. And I can see your mind working, turning. My mind scurries, but yours is more methodical."

"I operate more on intellect than emotion," she provided, knowingly. "You are the opposite."

"Yeah ... well, like I said, you know, it's not something that bothers me. It's just something I notice."

"We are puzzle pieces. Different images, true. But we fit together nonetheless, to make a bigger whole."

The mouse had to smile as she said this. "Mm ... "

" ... but, still," Aria said, straightening up, ears standing tall, "though we may operate on different frequencies, there are definitive moments when we're both on the very same wavelength. Many," she whispered, with a wink in her tone, "moments."

"Yeah," was all Ross could say, with a slight loss of breath. The flesh of his ears and tail seemed pinker, suddenly.

"Besides, as far as cheese goes? A thing like that is better intuited than studied. Better left to common sense. Or, more importantly, to faithful acceptance. Most of your behaviors fall into that last classification," Aria said, warmly, her black nose giving a singular sniff of the air. Her fur so soft and milky in the current light.

"So, I'm easy to figure out?" A chitter-sound.

"More like: mouses have well-defined patterns of behavior, framed by cuteness. They are quite," she breathed, "memorable. Your quirks are not things one could forget. And not things that I would ever," she added, "want to question. I am not about to explain them away. I accept them on faith." A pause. "A faith, I may add, that was much weaker before you gave it new life." Rabbits tended to be on the secular side, a tad frivolous, engaging in open-breeding and all that. Snow rabbits were, with their emotional restraints, even less prone to have strong faith. Because faith required strong emotion. But Aria, when she'd left her species, had wanted something more. Had needed purpose and promise and greater life. Had felt an emptiness. And, with Ross, that emptiness had been filled. She'd come to true faith because of him. "Life before you," she eventually said, "seems like an eon ago. If that makes sense. Like an age away."

A shy whisker-twitch.

A mew from her, flicking her bobtail. That perfect teardrop-shaped fluff poised above her rump. "You are flustered."

"I am." A squeaky sigh. "But, uh ... that's nothing new."

"Perhaps not. But it's no reason for embarrassment, either."

"I'm not embarrassed," he insisted. "I just ... I don't know." A pause. "Besides, you like flustering me. You do it on purpose." He looked her way, seriously. "Don't deny it."

"I won't," she replied, honestly, posing, "But, after all: I greatly enjoy 'un-flustering' you. And I can't 'un-fluster' you until I've flustered you first. Correct?" She stretched a bit, for show. Wearing a simple, undecorated t-shirt and some shorts. Casual, indoor dress. She didn't get very cold in the winter. Not like Ross did. After all, she grew up in sub-zero confines, where the sun didn't rise for months out of the year. Her pelt and body were built to handle cold. She didn't need to wear ear-mittens or anything in weather like today's. As for her foot-paws, they could even be equated to 'snowshoes.'

"Uh ... uh, well ... " Ross, on the other hand, got chilly more easily. And was wearing a grey sweatshirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The shirt said 'Butler' on the front, for one of his favorite basketball teams. But he was wearing jean shorts, just like she was. For, though the mouse got cold easily, he could easily get hot, too. He could be confusing like that. "Well ... " He looked over.

As she was stretching, it was impossible not to catch sight of those loping rabbit-legs. Rabbits, built for hopping, for loping long distances, had very good lower-body strength. And his fur almost began to mat with sweat as he thought about those very long snow-white legs wrapped around him, pulling him down or pinning him in place or hugging his ...

" ... you stopped stirring your cheese," she noted, with a nod of reminder. "It is bubbling in the center."

A blink and a swallow. "W-what? Uh ... " He'd almost, for a moment, forgotten about the food, the supper, the evening. So lost in her words and her presence, and what, in turn, such things were doing to him. But he resumed the stirring, turning the heat down a little. Though, for some reason, it fell no less warm from where he was standing. "Anyway, back to, uh, topic. Uh ... mouses and cheese go together. It's as simple as that. Mouses without cheese is, like, uh ... well, like rabbits without ... "

" ... sex?" was her casual, unabashed response, raising a brow.

"Aria ... " His eyes darted modestly, his voice shy and wispy. His ears flushing with more blood. " ... I was ... I was gonna say carrots," he bashfully resumed.

A mew from her, leaning back against the sink-counter. "Well, regardless, I think you are exaggerating. Cheese does not make a mouse. Just as carrots ... or sex," Aria added, ears waggling atop her head, "do not make a rabbit. We are more than the sum of our parts, or the sum of our genes. Crafted and defined, as we are, by the Creator. We are, in a way, the sum of His dreams. He is the Dreamer, and ... "

" ... we're the dream?" the mouse finished, in his light, airy voice. Above the sound of bubbling and boiling. He was undeniably on the effeminate side. Almost all male mouses were.

"To put it poetically, yes. Though perhaps I'm not the best at poetry."

"No, that's ... I know what you're saying, and it's a lovely way to put it." A breath, holding it. Closing his eyes before sighing and stirring some more, checking the temperatures of all the foods on the stove. Squinting in the overhead, incandescent light. A single light was on in their apartment, and that was the one above them, creating bold shadows and half-dimness in all the corners.

"Though, while it's true," Aria continued, finishing her thought process, never able to let such things go, "that we're more than the sum of our parts, certain parts are greatly needed. Or desired. Be it cheese, for you, or carrots and sex for me."

"Hey, I like ... breeding," he said, diplomatically, quietly, not liking to say the word 'sex.' He felt it too crude a word. He was, being a rodent, very faithful. And very modest in that faith. " ... I like breeding, too."

"I know."

"Well, you're acting like rabbits have a monopoly on that. I like it just as much as you. I may not get, uh, as carried away as you, but ... I like it just as much, believe me."

"Darling, I share your bed. I am well aware of your penchant for ... "

He squeaked, obscuring the seven-letter f-word that flowed spicily off her tongue. " ... that's ... look, are we having supper? Or getting flustered?" He swallowed, his throat dry. And he felt his paw-pads begin to sweat. "Cause I don't wanna waste this food by, uh ... eating each other instead."

A singular mew of mirth, eyes sparkling. "I shall not disrupt our meal plans. But, after all, this is an evening of romance, is it not? Foreplay and pillow-talk is perfectly in order."

"We're not on the pillows yet."

"Not yet, no," was all she said. There was a promise in her tone. "Mm. Reminds me of that song. That, um ... how do the lyrics go?"

"I don't even know which one you're talking about ... "

"'I never wink back at fireflies ... I never made love by lantern-shine. I never saw rainbows in my wine. But now that your lips are burning mine'," she recited, "'I'm beginning to see the light'."

Ross looked to her, breathing in.

She, breathing out, cocked her head and said, "Remember?"

"I remember," he whispered, nodding, sighing. "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. They, uh ... we played that at our wedding. During the reception. We danced to it. Heh ... " A bright smile, dimples showing on his furry cheeks. A smile of genuine gentility. "What about it?" he asked, biting his lip.

"Just that it fits me so well. As a rabbit, and a snow rabbit ... I never did wink at fireflies or see rainbows, to use a phrase, in my wine. Until I met you." A breath. "So, while we are not on the pillows yet, I have come to learn that love is a state of mind. One that involves playfulness and purchase, gesture and sacrifice, wordplay and longing glances."

The mouse, still a little confused, or maybe just fuzzy-headed, was still biting his lip.

"I know we are not on the pillows yet," she repeated. "But, in the name of romance, it is our duty to build up to that. I learned that from you ... "

" ... I, uh ... darling, it's, uh ... "

" ... you are the more romantic among us. That shouldn't be reason for you to stammer. It is simply the truth. And where would the romance be if we just ate supper and talked about the weather or sports and did not pave our way to bed with flowers made of poetic language and subtly-hinted intents?"

"I, uh, I know." He nodded, and nodded again, more than getting it. And more than agreeing. And quietly saying so. "You're just, uh ... extra direct tonight, is all. You're not, uh ... " He stirred the cheese sauce once more before putting the spoon aside, on a little plate. " ... you're not usually this blunt when we flirt."

"Sometimes, I cannot help myself. It is a hallmark of my species."

"Snow rabbits?"

"Not snow rabbits in particular, but ... you know what I mean."

He most certainly did. And nodded, swallowing. "The sauce is almost done. I'm sure the rotini's, uh, nearly there." He grabbed for a fork and dipped it into the bubbling water, spearing a spiral noodle and bringing it up. Where he blew on it for a few seconds before taking a nibble. "Mm. Another minute, maybe. Maybe two ... "

Aria nodded, grabbing a corkscrew from the silverware drawer. And bringing it up to a room-temperature bottle, shaded green. And she began to turn the screw into the synthetic cork. "You've not had snow rabbit wine before," she said.

"No ... "

"You shall like it." Aria's parents had sent them a bottle for Christmas, a month ago, and they'd yet to open it. So, they were going to have it with supper tonight. "I know you prefer 'sweet' alcohol, like stuff mixed with soda, but ... wine is equal parts smell and taste. The 'nose' of any wine needs to be savored slowly before it's sipped. And then sloshed on the tongue. It is a process."

"I don't like to, uh, make processes out of drinking."

"At the very least, I'd like you to try."

The mouse nodded. "Alright." His whiskers twitched as he checked the steamed broccoli. It was a little bit hard. Like the rest of the meal, it needed a few more minutes. So, he turned his attention back to the cheese sauce. But not before peeking into the oven and checking on the garlic bread. He wanted it crispy, but not too crispy.

"I could have managed," Aria said, simply.

"Mm?" He looked to her, quietly.

"The meal. I would not have ruined it." A pause. "Not all that much."

The mouse had to smile, taking a slow, steady breath. Trying to calm himself a little. "Well ... "

" ... but, like I said, you will enjoy the wine." She turned the screw. Turned, turned, getting it deep into the cork. "This is synthetic," she noted of the cork, as she stopped screwing. "I suppose that is a precaution against natural cork ruining the taste of the drink." And, then, with a clear image in her head, she turned to her husband and said, with restrained mirth, "Have you ever stopped to think what images a corkscrew calls to the ... "

" ... no. No, I haven't," he answered, before she could finish.

" ... well, I am just saying."

"You're worked up," Ross stated, whiskers twitching.

"I thought I already admitted that." She slowly pulled the cork from the bottle. It made a slight, subtle 'pop' sound. "You are worked up, as well. You are simply trying to hide the fact." The cork removed, she put her nose to the neck of the bottle, breathing in. "Mm." Then sniffing the cork with her black nose. "Mm. Sniff it?" She said, taking the cork off the screw, and wafting it under his nose.

Many twitch-sniffs. "Eh, it's ... I don't know what it's supposed to smell like."

"Like good Alaskan wine."

"Didn't even know they could make wine in, uh, Alaska."

"Why wouldn't they be able to?" she said, a bit defensively, reaching up into the cupboard for some glasses. She was an Alaskan by birth, and had lived there most her life before coming to Indiana. "Actually, most Alaskan wine isn't made from grapes, so ... "

" ... wait, this isn't, uh ... this isn't grapes? That's not grapes?" Ross asked, biting his lip, staring at the green bottle on the counter.

"No."

"Well, what is it?" He sounded worried.

"Berries. Locally grown berries."

"From, uh ... "

" ... Kodiak."

"Um, well, what's that even mean? I mean, I look at wine bottles, and they say stuff like 'oak-vanilla finish,' stuff I don't even know what it, uh, means."

"There is a culture behind wine, yes. If you are not a part of that culture, it can be awkward. But ... " The sound of sloshing liquid as she poured a clear glass half-full. And then poured another. " ... but I am no expert myself. If we like it, we like it. If we don't, we'll have at least had the experience."

Ross nodded.

"You worry far too much."

"I know," was all he said. He had anxiety problems. Almost all mouses did. They were the most prey-like of prey, very emotional, innocent, weak. Always afraid of getting snatched in their sleep by dark, scary things. Hunted by predators. Or having their hearts hurt. But Ross knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his heart was safe with Aria. He loved her so. And, throughout their year and a half of marriage, he'd only grown closer to her.

While some nights, true, they swooned together, and everything was punctuated by sheer, romantic passion, there were other nights, like tonight, when things were simply looser and more casual. Even cheeky, to some degree. Their love moved in many ways. It was a multi-splendored thing, wonderfully expansive. And wonderfully whole.

"One, generally, is supposed to serve red wine at room temperature. And to allow it to sit for a few minutes before partaking. I shall put these on the table," she said, carrying the glasses to their square, little table against the wall.

"I'm, uh, gonna strain all this stuff. It's all done," the mouse said, bare, silky tail hanging in the air behind him, and bare foot-paws moving on the floor as he reached and grabbed for all sorts of things, straining the broccoli and rotini in the sink, and then pouring the cheese sauce into the rotini pot, stirring, stirring. And, letting that settle for just a second, he quickly withdrew the garlic bread from the oven. So busy with his little tasks that his keen, erogenous ears missed Aria coming up right behind him. Until he felt her breath on the rim of an earlobe. Making him stop and shiver. "Wh-what ... ?"

" ... I shall set," she whispered, "the table." A directed jet of moist, hot breath blown across the pink, exposed flesh of his right ear, while the fingers of her left paw splayed and traced along his left ear. And, as a final, loving touch, she tilted her muzzle to allow her whiskers to delicately drag over the backs of his lobes before she stepped away.

The mouse's teeth almost chattered. And not from being cold, no. But from the sheer intangible tingling that seemed to burn the perimeters of his ears for just a moment. Until he swallowed and nodded, realizing she'd already moved to get the plates and forks and such. And, nodding, he quickly finished setting up the food.

It was twenty minutes later, and they were mostly finished with their meal. Still nibbling on a few things, but mostly sitting back in their chairs, chatting, looking at each other in longingly goofy ways.

" ... just a little bit," she said, "tipsy. I feel that I am." She swallowed, lifting her head, still eye-smiling. "That came out a little bit backwards, I believe. Mm?"

"What?" A pause from him. "Will you, uh, stop eye-grinning at me?" was all Ross said, sipping more wine. Sighing again, lolling his own head to the side. It'd taken some getting used to. It reminded him, scent-wise, of champagne. At first, anyway. Then, as he'd sniffed it more under Aria's urging, he'd noticed the more subtle, distinct scents of fruits and earthy things. For taste, it had a warm, slightly-dry finish to it. Maybe a tartness or a tang, maybe, with fruity, earthy flavors lurking all throughout. He still would've preferred something sweet and easy, but it wasn't all that bad. He was getting used to it. Before he swallowed, he would slosh it over his tongue for a bit. And that made it better.

Aria said nothing as she watched him sip his drink, but, oh, her various silences were simmering in such good ways.

The mouse eventually closed his eyes for a moment. He did feel lighter. Like maybe he was gonna fall over if he kept his head in this position for too long. And maybe that wouldn't be such a bad a thing. Maybe if he had a good fall, it'd knock him into perfect alignment. All he wanted, really, was to be perfect for her. To be everything for her. And any career or anything else, that was all secondary. And, reopening his eyes, he sat up straight, lifting his head. "What?" His whiskers twitched. She was staring at him, now. Or again. Hadn't she been doing that earlier? He couldn't remember. "What ... Aria," he went, with a sudden, growing bashfulness.

"I am just admiring," she whispered, "the view."

"So, I'm scenery?" he asked, in his wispy, effeminate way. His long, silky-pink tail swaying ever so slightly behind his chair.

Aria thought that one over. And said, impeccably, "Dessert."

Ross swallowed, biting his lip, and running a finger along the rim of his nearly-empty wine glass. He had polished off most of its contents. "I'm, uh ... dessert." This made him flush even more. That hungry look she wore.

"That is what I said," was her simple, logical response. In that level, controlled tone. She may have been a bit tipsy. But she could hold her alcohol much better than the mouse. For, Ross, full of scurry, had a very quick metabolism. It went straight to his head. And made his ears flush even more than they usually would.

"Well, maybe, uh ... what kind?" A squeak. "Dessert?"

"Ice cream," she suggested.

The mouse bit his lip, thinking this over. "Well, what flavor am I, then, if, uh ... mm?"

"Vanilla," she said, with no hesitation or skipped beat. "That is your favorite, yes?"

"Mm-hmm," was his very quiet, flushed response. He felt, at the same time, like he wanted to be very serious and yet giggle-squeak, too. He was having a harder time knowing his own emotional state.

"You are like my vanilla ice cream." A lazy tilt of the head, pupils dilated. "I mean, logically, ice cream is soft, refreshing. Modest. And vanilla? Is innocent and mellow. And, the ice cream part ... well, it melts. And you, my love ... " She licked her lips. " ... you most certainly melt on my tongue. And the taste is very much like vanilla: one of sweet purity."

Ross swallowed, feeling an amorous burn inside. "Y-yeah?"

"Mm." A sip of wine. "Mm-hmm ... " Her bobtail flicked and flicked behind her chair, through the 'tail-gap' built into the back of it.

"Aria," he breathed, feeling his heart leap in his earthy-furred chest. "I, uh ... you know, I want to give you beauty. Like how you give beauty to me." A pause. "And I don't ever want my words to be just words. I want them to be more. And, uh ... like, right now, I feel something so powerful that I can't wrap my tongue around it. I can't really form it into coherent, civilized sounds. I can, uh ... you know?" A shaky exhale. "I want you that badly."

"The feeling is entirely," she insisted, at a whisper, "mutual. And, believe me, I appreciate the words. I adore them. And you use them well. Much better than I do."

"Well, uh, I thought that ice cream thing was pretty good ... " A shy, giggle-squeaking smile, leaning back. "Mm. You're not as inept with poetry or metaphor as, uh, you think you are."

"I think, in both our cases, our actions end up eclipsing our words. Your words simply happen to be lovely enough to pierce through the blur of our bodies ... to be heard above the union of all our wants."

"Right there," the mouse said, licking his lips, nodding. Nodding again. "Right there. That's ... that's, uh, really good words. You've got poetry in you. Don't tell me you don't."

She simply eye-smiled at him. "Is this really a conversation we need to have? Arguing about who expresses their love for the other in ... in, um, better ways? Are we not partners in this? Lovers, mates, spouses? Cannot we agree that our expressions are equal in their, um ... shall we say, intensity?"

"We can say that," the mouse whispered, smiling brightly, so that the dimples showed on his furry, whisker-twitching cheeks. "But, uh, I'm blabber-mousing, aren't I?"

A quiet mew of mirth. "I have always ... very much," she went, lolling her neck about for just a moment, "enjoyed that phrase. Blabber-mousing. Very much ... "

Some chitters from him. "Well, it's ... it's apt, yeah?"

"Apt?"

"Apt. Accurate. Uh ... you know, factual?"

"Apt. That is a word I would use ... "

" ... well, I guess you're rubbing off on me. Even my vocabulary's not free of your influence."

"Yes, but you are a writer. As I said before, your words are ... "

" ... let's not start on that again. Mm ... " A sip of wine, lips smacking as he finished his glass. "Mm. You know ... can't we just ... well, we don't need to have any conversation," he said, in a roundabout tone. "We don't need to blab. Or, at least, uh ... I don't."

She knew what he meant. And knew what she wanted. And, of course, she wanted the same thing. All of this was obvious. But, "It will be more rewarding if we build up to it," she said. "Love-making should be lit with a long, long fuse."

"Fuse ... "

" ... yes. It's been lit. It's sizzling. But it's not yet eaten up. There's more to burn," she breathed.

"To burn?" he mouthed back, without true sound. He swallowed, his ears flushed and swiveling, and his nose sniffing the air. Sniffing her scent from across the table. Sniffing, clearly, her scent, her arousal. Her fur.

"Is that not true? Will not the explosion," she breathed, her gaze sparkling, "be more breathtaking if it's built up to ... slowly, sweetly? Suggestively?"

"Uh, I don't know, uh ... burning and sizzling? You make it sound like, uh ... jungle stuff. Like we're being wild animals or something."

A mew of mirth. "Jungle stuff?" A playful squint. "Meaning?"

"Feral stuff. You know, stuff. I don't know," he stammered. "I don't wanna burn in anything. I wanna swoon and melt. I like swooning. Can't we swoon and simmer at the same time?"

"We can. And I feel," she said, "that we often do ... we are simply in a state of sizzling right now. The swooning will come. Patience, mm?"

"I'm not being impatient," he insisted.

"The mouse wants his ... "

" ... no, that's not even," he said, talking over whatever cheeky thing she'd just said. "No, it's ... I just can't wait to swoon. That's not impatience. That's utter anticipation." He locked gazes with her. Dearly, intimately matched her line of sight.

"I enjoy a good swoon, as well. But I am a rabbit. And it is in our nature to be very ... "

" ... worked up," he supplied for her.

"I was going to say ... "

" ... worked up."

" ... horny."

"Worked up," he repeated, with insistence.

She brought her paws together, clasping them, and then pulling them apart, feeling her wine glass for a moment. She couldn't keep her paws still as she said, "A compromise, then: I get hornily worked up."

"Aria, we don't ... that's not romantic, you know, to say that. It's too, uh, basic. We need to maintain some degree of, uh ... you know. Decorum." A lazy, dizzy squeak. "Decorum, please."

"Such finesse," she breathed, "you have. Such polite, gentle ... tenderness," she noted. "It never ceases to amaze me." She looked to him in a dreamy way. "I do wish I had that."

"Had what? Finesse? You're way more finesse-like than, uh, me. Like, way more ... "

" ... that's not what I meant. I may have a 'civility' about me. I may have a great capacity for 'civility.' But I have a great capacity for 'animalism,' as well." She picked up her glass, moved it a few inches. And set it back down. "I cannot imagine any other creature than a mouse ... maintaining such modesty." A sudden cheekiness in her eyes. "Even in orgasm, you are modest. It is incredibly ... " A mew-sound. " ... unbelievably cute."

" ... Aria," he went, blushing very hotly, looking around the room. As if they were being overheard. And maybe they were. By God. After all, wasn't He everywhere at once?

"Well, it is true. You are cute when you orgasm. It is something you must simply accept," she went, eyes gleaming now.

"Well ... " A swallow, clearing his throat. " ... so I'm modest, okay? I, uh, get shy and bashful, even in the midst of things that are very, very intimate, and, uh ... but, you know, that's just, uh ... and, you know, I can get carried away, sometimes, though," he insisted, rambling in tipsy, careening fashion, squeaking a little bit. "I'm not always that modest."

"It is not a bad thing. It simply shows that you have a reverence for the act. And that you are approaching it firstly from an emotional level ... that the physical pleasure is a side-effect of the emotional love. With me, with rabbits, it's ... sometimes, we get carried away to the point of, um, where we make the emotions secondary. And put the physical pleasure first. Being a snow rabbit, my emotions ... I am just saying: the way you approach love is spiritually pure. I wish I could be like that."

"You are," he insisted. "You're my wife. And ... you are," he said, "pure. I've never doubted your intentions or your feelings. Even if you ... you know, you might get a little feral on me, sometimes, and sweep me away into that. But it doesn't matter, cause afterwards, in the glow of it all, I know what's happened. Cause I know your heart."

A moment of silence, breathing, her whiskers giving a singular twitch. "I, uh ... thank you," she said, swallowing. Her forehead feeling hot. Her ears, too. Rabbit ears were, like mouse ears, erogenous. But where mouse-ears were all flesh and very big, as well as very easily to stimulate, rabbit-ears had fur on a good part of them and were, in addition to that, more slender. But, oh, they still worked. They just took a different kind of effort and patience to jumpstart. It was just that rabbits had a tendency to want sex too badly to stop and indulge in the slower burn their own ears provided. Which was why ear-sex was more associated with mouses than rabbits.

"Besides, for every moment of feral-ness you pull me into ... I pull you into moments of melty-ness. I think we're the best kind of tug-of-war."

She had to eye-smile at this. "Mm ... " And she licked her lips, giving him yet another look. "That may be true. I just fear that, more than you, I have a tendency to let my desires ... "

" ... no, they don't."

" ... consume me. Yes."

"Well, you know ... your desires might consume you. But you can release them with me. And my anxieties and fears? They might consume me, but ... I can vent them with you. Like you said earlier, why do we need to compete with each other? About who loves each other more, or who helps each other more? Cause, you know, it's ... I mean, the impacts we have on each other can't be put into context. They're bigger than any," he breathed, "context." A deep breath, and a little squirm. "Besides, we both knew that an inter-species marriage would mean, uh ... that we'd be dealing with a lot of opposite frictions from each other." A pause, and a wide smile, with a bit of a throaty squeak. "I adore your, uh ... hoppy-ness."

"There is no such word."

"If I can be scurry-ful, you can be hoppy-ful ... or, uh, full of hop. You know what I mean," he said, sighing.

"I think we are talking mostly gibberish right now."

"You're the one who wanted to keep talking ... you said it was part of the 'sizzling' or whatever."

"True." She had to eye-smile at that. And give him a nod, too. "That is true ... but I never think it wise to head into bed with unresolved issues on the mind. The bed is for the body. The heart. It is no place for the burdens of the day." She cleared her throat a little. "Besides, I enjoy talking with you. You are smart," she said, "and thoughtful." She punctuated these things with little nods. "And you are a good listener. And I don't think that's just because you have big ears."

" ... big?"

"Good big," she insisted, just to let him know she wasn't making fun of their size.

"Well, anyway, maybe. But I'm just all squeaks and ... and chitters."

"I believe you offer more to our conversations than 'squeaks and chitters.' I think you are being most stubborn right now, is all. A return of the mousey stubbornness, perhaps?"

A frown, shaking his head.

"No?"

"No."

Her eye-smile grew. "I see. Well ... you need more wine," was all she said, picking up the bottle and reaching daintily across the table. Pouring him more, and then stopping, putting the bottle down. And leaning back in her seat, her own glass half-full.

"You think I need more, huh? Well, it's not sweet enough. I, uh ... like sweet drinks better. But, uh, I think I'm ... no. You, uh ... you just like it when I get like this. You delight in ... in watching me be illogic."

"Illogical."

"You like it," he insisted. And, though he'd said 'no' to the refill, he hadn't stopped her from pouring him more.

"I think mouses are simply entertaining when inebriated. That is all. I assure you," she said, sipping of her drink yet again, "there is no ulterior ... " A small sigh through her charcoal-black nose. " ... no ulterior motive."

"Mouses are entertaining when berated?"

"Inebriated," she repeated, eye-smiling brightly. And, taking an inward breath, she nodded. "They most certainly are."

"Why come?"

"How come? Well, you are a bundle of cuteness. Mouses are ... and, normally, you are extremely polite and modest and shy. All the things we've just discussed.." A pause, her whiskers giving a singular twitch. "However, a mouse is given alcohol, and all that cuteness that was once so gently held ... is loosened? Combine that with my rabbit-y needs? It makes for a very enjoyable cocktail."

"Didn't know loose cute," he said, getting steamy at her words, whiskers twitching, "was better than normal cute."

"I am not saying it is," was her response, giving him a little nod. "It is simply ... a different," she offered, "kind of cute. I enjoy all your kinds of cute. I like trying them all." A look. "We do not always have to be so well-behaved, do we?"

"Aria," was all Ross said, eyes darting. He looked this way and that in the semi-dimness of their apartment. Again, as before, like someone was going to overhear.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.

"You're talking about ... stuff that, uh ... "

" ... I am just admitting that tipsy sex is a different experience from non-tipsy sex. And that both are enjoyable in their own way. Same goes for tipsy versus non-tipsy mouses."

His ears flushed. And he blew out some air. "Well, uh ... that's only logical. You should know that. You should know if it's only logical to know, cause I know, and ... you should," he whispered, starting to frown at himself, "know." A pause, whiskers twitching, and the frown fading to a look of concern. "I don't know what I'm trying to say." He felt another urge to giggle-squeak for no apparent reason, but he bit it down.

"You have been anxious all day," Aria said, in easy response. "I simply thought we could benefit from ... "

" ... getting tipsy?" A sip of wine, licking his lips. Making a smack-smack sound and sighing again.

"Relaxing," was her response, giving him another intimate, icy-blue look.

He watched her, swallowing, inching his own paws close to her, so that their furred fingers brushed. Their paws touched. "You know, uh ... when you look at me like that? You know, it's like 'the gaze,' you know?"

"'The gaze'?" She tilted her head curiously.

"That's what they call, in painting, in art ... when the subject in the painting, the look in their eyes? In portraits or scenes, when a character in the, uh ... when they seem to be staring at the viewer. Like they're gazing outside the painting. The gaze is so strong it pierces through time and space, and ... affects the viewer in such a way." A swallow, realizing he was rambling. "Like, uh ... you look at me, and it's like that. It just goes right into me. And it holds me in a trance. I don't want to look away," he whispered, with such romance, such poetic passion.

"Ross," she breathed, just to breathe it. To say his name. She took his paws in hers, squeezing them. Before having to let go and lean back into her chair. With her hazy head, it was hard to lean across the table for too long. Her bobtail flickered behind her, jutting out of the tail-gap in the chair she was lounging in, her legs extended, foot-paws very close to his own beneath their tiny kitchen table. "You are so very," she whispered, "sweet."

"Well, uh ... I don't know."

"You are. Accept it," she said, giving a mew. "Mm. And, as far as ... earlier, us trying to outdo each other with our showers and shows of love? And you said that what we give each other, it cannot be priced or put into context?"

A nod.

"I believe I know of a context. For, is it not true," she posed, "that because of our love, our best endeavor, you become more able to reign in your mousey-ness and me my rabbity-ness?" A pause. "Rabbity-ness is not a word. I just wanted to let you know that I am well aware of that, and am just using it ... in the absence of a better alternative."

A giggle-squeak. "Alright. Okay ... " Licking his lips absently, looking at the tabletop, he closed his eyes for a moment. "I think what you said, though ... that's true. I think we neutralize each other's worser demons."

"Worser is ... "

" ... not a word, either. But I'm allowed to make up words when I'm tipsy. If you can do it, so can I."

"Granted," she said, eye-smiling. A head-tilt. "But, anyhow, that is the context."

"The, uh ... "

" ... endeavor. Our love is a great endeavor. Or, perhaps a 'best medicine'."

Ross bit his lip, smiling just a little. He couldn't help but do so. And said, "Yeah?"

"Mm-hmm." More sips of wine, saying, "Furthermore, I, um ... I think we were administered to each other by God. That our coming together was fate. And, in that additional context, I, uh ... well, there is much poetry there. But I dare not venture into it alone. One of these days, we will have to simply lay down and stare in each other's eyes for hours and see how far we fall."

The mouse swallowed, sucking in air. "Oh, gosh," he whispered, heavily flustered. "Oh, gosh ... "

She raised a playful brow.

"That was, uh ... yeah, I think that's about right." His breathing was audible, now, with little squeaks mixed in. His ears were a deep rosy-pink. "I love you," he blurted. His eyes watered, and he closed them. "I love you." It seemed too simple a thing to say. He wanted the words to be artful. Wanted them to pinwheel with layers of fanciness. But, ultimately, the words didn't need to be dressed up. Uttered plainly, uttered raw, they were more genuine than they could ever be.

"I know," she whispered, feeling a warm sensation inside her. Almost feeling a shortness of breath. Of physical desire, true, but more than that: of an emotional welling. An overflow inside her, something she couldn't quite express. But it was there. Deep down, it was there, and she felt the edges of it. "As do I love you, as well," she went, in that proper snow rabbit affirmation, as she watched him, quietly, disarmingly, waggling her ears and flickering her bobtail behind her. She was, in many ways, better-composed than any symphony. In almost every way. Her breaths were almost melodic. Her mews. And her touch could tame even the most wayward of souls. The fullness and richness of her personality. Her kiss.

Looking up to her, Ross swallowed, asking with his remaining coherent thoughts, "So, uh ... we're each other's best endeavor? I mean, that's our love?"

"Yes. One could say that faith is ... just as important, however. There is our walk with each other, and our walk with Christ. For love and faith," Aria supplied, "are symbiotic. One implies the other. One cannot exist without the other. You cannot have faith in someone or something if no degree of love is inherent in that act," she whispered, "of believing. Just as you cannot love without trust, and trust is faith. And, um ... et cetera," she said, beginning to lose her focus.

Ross gave a few squeaks. Soft, light sounds, so addicting to listen to. So, so cute.

Her ears waggled at his noises.

And he squirmed in his chair, short of breath, cheeks so hot. He closed his eyes for a moment ...

... and, five minutes later, not really remembering how they'd gotten to this point, they were both half-dressed, engaged in tipsy eagerness, bodies upright. Her back and tail to the bedroom wall, and his belly to hers, the mouse fondling her bare, hanging breasts with a paw. So supple, her feminine mounds, like snowy peaks on a serene landscape.

Aria panted weakly, eyes mostly-closed, as her husband's other paw slid up her exposed belly. Slid, slid through fur, softly stroking her. While he still gently, ever-gently groped and squeezed at her breasts, fingers gliding purposefully over her hardened nipples. She still had her panties on, and her shorts were up at her hips, too, though they were unbuttoned and half-unzipped.

His white, cotton briefs were in his jean shorts, both articles of clothing around his earthy-furred ankles. His sweatshirt the only thing he was wearing as he stood on blunt-clawed tip-toes, the tips of his foot-paws, giving little licks up and down the fleshy interiors of her tall, slender rabbit-ears. Tilting his squeaky muzzle, his breath washing all over, lips nibbling, running along.

She caught her breath, swallowing, tilting her normally-poised head. Her eyes watering shut. "Huh ... " Neither she nor Ross were the types who could will themselves to remain totally quiet during love-making. Neither was over-the-top loud, no, but they were prone to vocalizing in the heat of the moment.

His muzzle probed one of her ears, her left ear, and he moved his right paw to her right ear, fingertips running up and down, up and down the inside of it, running little, lazy circles close to the ear-hole. Stimulating the sensitive, blood-gorging flesh.

A mew of sensitive pleasure, a tingling, heated bliss that was building, building. An 'ear-gasm,' as it was called, was a different sensation than a regular orgasm. But, oh, it was pleasurable. The ears, capillaries showing, would get hotter and hotter with blood, more and more sensitive. Until they literally tingled and throbbed from the heat. The climax came when the hot tingling spread over the entirety of the ears. Not just the tips or rims or interiors, but all over the ears. Making them pulse with blood. At that point, the now-sustained sensation would almost seem to trickle and drip down the spine to the rest of the body. Only strongest in the ears, but residually felt everywhere else. That was an ear-gasm. And that was why Aria, mewing weakly, began to moan freely. Why her paws clutched and trembled. Why her knees wobbled and weakened. "Oh, oh ... " She panted in quick, staccato rhythm.

Ross's paws adjusted, arms moving, wrapping around her. He hugged her and held her up. Leaning into her, slumping them both in lazy upright positions against the wall.

Aria, head hanging, swallowed, panting lightly. One arm around his shoulders, around his neck, and one arm hanging. The hanging paw moving, fingers opening. Soon toying with his half-hard mouse-hood. Alternating between squeezes and gentle strokes, fingers sometimes uncurling to trace the organ before wrapping around it again.

The mouse didn't mind this at all, making no move of surprise or objection. No immediate squirm or squeak. Just steadily maintaining his hug of her, nuzzling, nosing her neck. His breaths more audible than before as he began to nibble on her cheek with his pronounced rodent buckteeth.

The snow rabbit let out a whoosh of air, thumb beginning to wag over the swollen pink head of his mouse-hood, spreading the now-leaking drops of crystal pre all around, around, to use as lubrication.

"Mm ... " Weak, airy squeaks, reacting notably more than a minute ago. "Hmm!" A twitch, almost jerking.

" ... t-too sensitive?" she breathed, wanting to make sure. Her thumb easing up, and her paw moving to a simple hold of his mouse-hood, which was now fully stiff. Just under five inches.

"A l-little ... " A barely-made, eyes-closed nod. And, with his wife's eyes closed, as well, she didn't have to see it. For she felt it. With their heads touching, their bodies so close together, she could feel his body language. " ... b-but it feels good," he breathed effeminately. His way of telling her, without having to go into bashful detail, that he liked what her paw was doing. But that she needed to go easier.

" ... mm ... your care of my, um, ears," she breathed, in response, "was wonderful." Her breath washed onto his lips, her head turning. And she'd understood his needs, and began to adjust her technique accordingly. Her paw beginning to stroke him, the shaft, pumping slowly, slowly.

The mouse sighed heavily, swallowing, squeaking some. "Mm. I, uh ... I'm ... glad," he breathed. "Oh ... oh," he whispered, feeling a warm, spreading sensation throughout his body.

"Mm. Good ... good boy," Aria breathed, stroking, squeezing as she went. His mouse-ness very stiff and hot. And she, before too long, brought her paw to a stop. "I, uh ... I think we need to further disrobe," was all she could say.

Ross could only weakly nod. He was helpless. His mouse-hood so, so sensitive, and her paw still wrapped around it.

Aria, giving a mew of mirth, said, "If I don't let go, I suppose you'll be paralyzed in place, mm? Until I, uh, do ... " She unwrapped her fingers and slid her slick, sticky paw off.

The mouse let out a sigh, swallowing, eyes fully opening. Able to relax just a bit.

"Have you regained control of your motor functions?" Aria teased, meeting his gaze from mere inches away. From so intimately close. Even when they weren't touching, she swore she could feel him. And when they were touching? It was almost dream-like.

Still hugging her, and mouthing her forehead-fur, Ross replied, in his shy way, "It's the same as if, uh ... I sucked on your ... your little nub." An exhale, kissing her forehead. "You'd get dumb, too."

"I know," she confessed, sighing contentedly as he rubbed one of her nipples. "I, uh ... I feel very light-headed," she confessed.

"Blood's," he breathed, "in your ears."

"No, it's ... well, yes, but ... " Her paws, now behind his back, slipped beneath his sweatshirt and lifting, pulling it up. " ... I think I enjoyed the wine too much." A mew of mirth, her amusement restrained. Even when tipsy, her emotions held beneath a 'freeze.' Though, indeed, she could thaw enough to let glimmers of herself out. And the mouse was, above all, her fire. To thaw her. And she, in turn, his ice. To control that fire. "Darling, I feel like, uh ... like I wish to flow into you. Or you into me. Either way ... " She trailed, trying to get him naked.

He squeaked and gave a shimmy and squirm, moving his body in that rodent way, lifting arms. Hearing all her words. And his heart hammering in his trim, furry chest as he digested them. His head swimming in a sea of things he couldn't quite pin, and perhaps didn't need to. There was no point in trying to explain such things. Oh, just let us float away, his breaths seemed to pray.

She pulled his shirt off and let it fall aside. Letting him, in turn, hook his fingers around the waist-band of her shorts. And her panties, too, at the same time, pulling them down. He pulled them down. All the way to her knees. And, as he did this, he bent his own knees, sinking, squatting. A giggle-squeak actually escaping his lips. Maybe from the alcohol, or maybe from giddiness or playfulness. But a happy sound, nonetheless.

Her heart leapt. She knew what was coming. What he wanted. What he was going to do. And, like an animal, she mewed for it. Mew. Mew ...

Panting, the grinning mouse carefully lifted each of her bare foot-paws, getting her clothing completely off of her. Pushing it aside and getting to his shins and knees, keeping his wife upright, her back to the wall. His paws sliding up her legs, up her thighs. Parting those said thighs, muzzle prodding, poking up, up, closer to her essence. "Heh. Mm ... mm," he went, giggling as he dug in.

And, what could only be described as a rabbit-purr came from her throat as she felt his muzzle make that first contact. His nose on her petal-lips, parting them, sniffing of her sex-scent. Tentative sniffs, tentative licks, lip-nibbles, full-on sucks and slurps, munching on her Arctic-bred muff with abandon. And the giggling had stopped. The look on his face, with eyes closed, became one of 'lost-in-the-moment' and 'lost-in-her' seriousness.

"Oh ... huh," she huffed, head rolling about, muzzle parting. Her knees, not for the first time, getting too wobbly to keep her entirely upright. So, she slumped a bit, her paws going to his shoulders, head swimming, breath short, body feeling loose and so, so relaxed. She held to him. Keeping herself from toppling over. "Oh ... " Her eyes watered shut as the mouse grazed her clitoris with his modest, rodent tongue, circling it, not quite touching it. Teasing, teasing it, before eventually sliding his lips over it. Giving a very delicate suck or two, breath hitting it squarely. And, indeed, she felt herself hotly freeze up, getting a little dumb. Not wanting to move or think. As helpless as the mouse had been when she'd had his maleness wrapped in her paw.

Ross sucked her precious spot for a few seconds. Until he felt his wife shake. And, easily slipping two fingers in her waiting tunnel, he began pumping them, sliding them in and out, in and out. Stopping the sucking to keep her from getting too sensitive. But keeping his lips over her nub, all the same, and ...

" ... huh, uh ... nuh!" Flashes, like sharp moments of physical feeling and blurred thought, making her feel the best kind of orgasmic dizzy.

His paws held firmly to her hips as she endured it, her juices trickling, dribbling down his whiskers, glistening there before being twitched off. His lips wet, sucking, kissing her vulva sweetly as she was hit by those muscular tremors. He kept himself close, kept kissing, tenderly lip-locking with her lower-lips, his head at an eyes-closed tilt and his whiskers twitching against her tufted-white groin-fur.

The snow rabbit, panting hard, finally gave way at the knees. Beginning to sink down, down, her bobtail weakly flickering against the wall.

The mouse, still holding to her, helped ease her fall. Guiding her to her soft, plush rump, her legs spread and bent at the knees on the floor. Her back upright against the wall, eyes shut and muzzle hanging open.

Ross, naked, heart hammering, and mouse-hood at full stiffness, stretched and reached for their water bottle. Snow rabbits, coming from the ice as they did, dehydrated a lot faster than normal furs. Because they weren't built for the heat. And, so, they needed to drink twice as much water. Which meant stopping during sex to give her water breaks.

Aria desperately clutched the bottle, tilting it upward, suckling on the nipple of it. Suck, suck, sucking water, gulping it. Excess liquid dribbling down her lips and whiskers, off her chin. She drank half the bottle before hanging her head and sighing, handing it back over to Ross. "Thank you," she breathed, very quietly.

A loving nod, the mouse taking a single sip for himself. But he really didn't need much. And, so, setting the bottle aside once more, he patted and caressed his wife's belly, giving little squeaks. "Beautiful rabbit," he mouthed. "My beautiful, bobtailed thing."

Oh, he so enjoyed giving her pleasure. Enjoyed making her happy. So selflessly, he would give himself to her. She definitely had a more dominant personality than him. And, more often than not, she took the lead during their love-making. But, with the confidence and experience she'd given him, he'd grown comfortable leading her into it, like right now, even if his natural tendency was to submit to her prompts. Though, sometimes, it just didn't matter whose tendency was what. Sometimes, like right now, they were just flowing into each other, and whoever started it started it, and the other would surely finish it.

She flushed quietly, touched, warmed, and so very grateful for his earnest, honest affections. "And, you, my cute and squeaky ... mouse," she breathed, the words stumbling out of her muzzle. The wine was keeping her speech from flowing freely. " ... all whiskers and ... and twitch. You scurry round my heart ... " She, still dizzy, pitched herself forward, shifting to her paws and knees, and crawling over to the bed, climbing clumsily onto it, and then flopping drunkenly onto her back. Her eyes, half-open, seemed to glimmer. There was no mistaking the eye-smile. The invite. The desire. She raised her legs, thighs spread. And, as uninhibited as she was, as rabbit-y as she was, the sharp request just slipped out: "F-fuck me? My ... my mouse wants ... " She lost track of her words, breasts rising and falling. Her foot-paws and toes hung in the air, legs still in a 'mount me' position.

Ross, beholden to her, entranced, so hot, so full of desire, and uninhibited enough not to severely blush at her wording, wriggled onto the bed and squirmed quickly atop of her, huffing, sinking his hips, lowering them. He tried to slow himself down. Please, Ross, control yourself. Be a bit more civil. But there was no use. He was still tipsy and more than incredibly worked up, and she was presenting herself for mounting. Oh, he was gone. His self-control was gone. He needed it. He needed her. So badly. So, so much. Mouse-hood parting her velvety, fleshy lips and slipping into her luscious, familiar tunnel. To a blessed, buried hilt. " ... oh, darling," he breathed, with sweet, giggling relief. And gratitude. And love. And everything else that could be expressed in an exhale and a moan. He didn't know why he was giggling, exactly, but he couldn't make himself stop. He felt so airy and irreverent. And, oh, so good.

Breathing in through her black nose, the rabbit grabbed at him, legs parting, wrapping around his own legs. Her arms around his back, paws near his shoulder-blades. "Come ... come on," she panted, ice-blue eyes half open, pupils dilated as fully as they could go.

He needed no bidding. Her touch and her voice, and his own cravings for her, were more than enough. Not to mention the sheer feel of her. Her sex, after so much arousal, was slick and steamy beyond the ability of civil language to describe. It was a honey-dripping furnace, the raw, feminine muscle snugging to every millimeter of his stiff, male flesh. Stimulating all of it with gentle, milking motions. As if she were still in residual spasms from her last orgasm. Or as if, perhaps, she was already close to another. It didn't matter. It was just, for lack of a better word, divine. And he pulled his hips back, sank them forward, back. Forward. Mouse-hood slickly sliding in and out, in and out, deeply resting inside the natural sheath of her, and then shakily pulling back. The shaft appearing and disappearing, but the head never leaving her body. He squeaked as he settled into this feel-good motion.

"Mm, mm ... " Aria mewed quietly from the throat, horizontal beneath him, rocked a bit, body sinking into the sheets, the mattress creaking a little. As the mouse humped her. Never harshly, never rashly. But with a sweet succulence. Grinding his hips to hers, kissing, sucking on her cheeks, grazing her lips. Stealing her breaths with passionate lip-locks that left their noses flaring and twitching for air as their toes bumped further down their forms.

He bred her, even in his wobbly, mind-hazed state, so tenderly. Proving her earlier words, over supper, to have been correct, and even prophetic: she'd told him the swooning would come. And, oh, it had. Oh, it was here. He felt a surefire swoon shiver down his spine and all the way through his ropy, flailing tail. With each forward motion. With every second of friction, beautiful give-and-take. His body was one with hers, and he truly felt that their hearts were one, also. Even if that notion were more emotion than intellect, it had to be the ultimate truth. Simply because he felt it to be so. Simply because, on faith, he took it to be so. For if this wasn't some kind of spiritual, then what in the world was it?

She held on, drawn closer, made hotter. Bobtail pinned beneath her rump and the bed-sheets, unable to flicker. But her ears, free as they were, twiddling in response to the continued sensations. And those strong, loping legs, the ones he often lusted about, were wrapped around him so firmly. Squeezing him, urging him on, driving him forward. Squeeze, squeeze, loosening up, wrapping to the backs of his legs and hitching.

His tail, free to the air, hung above his rump, above the both of them, like a dangling fishing line. Dangling, dangling, his ears hot and gorged with blood, sensitive to every sound. Hearing everything. Her breaths, her intimate whispers. Words that were only half-formed, half-spoken. Sounds of pleasure. Coming from both her and from himself. Hearing himself, and unable to turn his squeaking off. Their fur meshing and matting.

As he tumbled, careened into eventual, so-sought orgasm, humps becoming erratic, a little bit sloppier. A squelching sound coming from their wet, warm genitals as he angled his hips, sinking in. Mouse-hood enveloped, snugged, so, so ... " ... ah, ah ... " ... his mouse-hood jerking. Nothing coming out, at first. But, around the third or fourth spasm, the semen flowed freely. In great, twitching spurts. Steamy-white mouse-seed pelting her precious womb, filling her. Sowing her completely, though she was not in heat. Such incredible satisfaction, as pleasure pulsed through his rodent form. He twitched and squeaked. "Oh, oh ... ah ... " He went limp atop of her, body awash in delight, with tufted, furry sac tight and drawn close to his body, snugged to her vulva. Sensitive joy flinging through him like lightning bolts. "Oh ... "

Aria, hugging him down atop of her, mewed quietly, slipping into climax with him. But being more quiet about it than she'd been during her last one. Maybe because she'd already spent so much energy. But, this time, she just felt like melting. Just melting as it washed over her. Soft, airy mews resulting, like music in the bedroom air. "Mm ... "

The mouse, whiskers twitching and brushing against her whiskers so lightly, sucked on her cheek and whispered, "I love you ... so much. Darling ... " A sigh. " ... that was, like, uh ... " He trailed off.

" ... at a loss," she panted, "for words?"

" ... mm? Mm, it was wonderful," he managed to finish, hoping that didn't sound too generic. But it was, after all, the truth.

A returned smile, with her eyes. Meeting his half-open eyes from a mere inch or two away. And an admitted, "Indeed. And I love you, as well. Mm ... "

A giggle-squeak, his mouse-hood shrinking. He carefully pulled out of her, sucking in air at the sensitivity of the pull-back. "Mm ... " More giggle-squeaking, flopping down beside her. "I feel ... really happy," he breathed, smiling goofily. His tail did some side-winding on the bed, the tip of it trailing off the side.

Mews of mirth. "I believe that would be the, um ... alcohol and the afterglow. The combination must be ... " She lolled her head aside, looking to him. " ... must be extra-pungent."

"Maybe it's just the love," he breathed, dreamily, squeakily. "Maybe I'm love-silly."

"That goes without saying," she replied, warmly, rubbing his belly. And, glancing down her own body, she said, "I believe we will need to shower. As usual." She felt his excess seed trickling out of her, dripping down her thigh like molasses. "We are both thoroughly fur-matted. And sticky."

"Heh ... mm, yeah," he breathed, giving her a light kiss. "Mm." He hugged her to him, both of them on their sides. "Mm ... don't wanna shower yet. Just wanna lay with you. Just wanna breathe you. And I don't care if it's cause I'm tipsy, but I do, and ... and even if that's silly, I don't care."

"It is not," she assured, with radiating warmth, "silly. Love just seems, at times, as such. But it is not." A pause and a swallow. "Mm. We shall," she breathed, as he kissed her again. Their lips lingering this time. " ... lay here, then, for a while," she eventually finished, with a soft sigh, "with each other."

"Aria," he eventually asked, nose in her snowy, holy-white fur.

"Mm?" Her eyes closed for a moment as she breathed, still regaining her composure. She'd need some more water soon, but she didn't want to get up. She could wait a few more minutes. Until they got up to shower.

"You said our love is our best endeavor? Then, uh ... I know what that makes our love-making, then," he said, sounding of such cuteness. And looking of it, too. Oh, that mousey cuteness and the things it did!

"Yes?" she asked, opening her eyes. Unable to keep from sighing.

"It's the art," he said, smiling brightly, "of our best endeavor."

Her eyes sparkled and her bobtail flickered. "That sounds about right," she admitted, giving a soft sigh, snuggling and nuzzling to him. For, oh, yes, it sounded very right, indeed.