FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Adelaide, back from the bathroom, flopped into bed, still waking up. Giving a little half-yawn, with a slight, batty chitter. Keeping her deep-pink eyes closed for a moment before opening them again. Her carnation, cotton candy, watermelon-furred body arching, stretching all the sleep away. All the tightness and the clinging, foggy dreams. Bare on the navy-blue sheets, winged arms reaching to their full span. Holding that position. Holding, holding it, before eventually relaxing her muscles, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. She blinked a few times for extra measure, hearing a noise. And looking over, saw Field, who was just now reentering the bedroom. "You included in that breakfast?" she asked, with a sultry curiosity, wriggling her blunt-clawed toes.

The mouse, demurely holding a tray with both paws, had prepared a simple 'breakfast in bed' for the two of them. It was about halfway into March, just after 7:15 on a Monday morning, an hour and forty-five minutes before they had to be at their respective jobs: him at the apple orchard only a mile from their rural, Hoosier home, and her at the library in the nearby small town of Sheridan. Their two year-old daughter was still sleeping, allowing them to have some private time before bursting forth into the day.

" ... well?"

He swallowed and bit his lip, ears blushing in that rosy way. Again, as always, with that mousey modesty. That shy, underlying cuteness. "Maybe," was all he could say, simply, his tail wavering behind him. As if conducting some sleepy something. Though the mouse, with his energy, was always quicker to wake than she was.

"Maybe?" Adelaide asked, fighting off another half-yawn, brushing the sheets away with a single, wing-waving movement. She yawned more fully, now, and pushed herself to a naked, smiling sit. Her two-foot rudder-ish tail trailing off to the side. "Don't mouses go well with English muffins? And orange juice?"

"Those are for me. You said you wanted cereal and fruit. I, uh, thought we could share the grapes."

"What, no peaches?" she teased.

Field just gave her a quick frown.

Adelaide grinned.

Shaking his head, he gave a light, squeaky sound, simply clearing his throat before, equally 'in the fur,' he set the breakfast tray down on the bed and proceeded to crawl up next to her, careful not to bump or spill anything. "About the food, though ... uh, you know, if you really want me for breakfast," was his eventual, whispered response, kissing her soft, furry cheek, " ... I wouldn't mind at all." He smiled submissively, whiskers twitching and glinting in the early-morning light. The bat, without a doubt, had the more dominant personality of the two. That was apparent even in how they talked to each other.

She squeezed his paw, still smiling. And took a deep breath and asked, "You bring my bugs, then?" She scanned the tray. "Ah," she went, reaching for one of the bowls. For her 'cereal' was basically just assorted, dried bugs. With some grains mixed in. 'Bat Bran,' the cereal was called.

"Yeah ... I, uh, brought your bugs," he said, making the slightest of scrunch-faces. "Just don't crunch them too much? I don't wanna have bug-legs or antennae, you know, in the sheets ... " He trailed, ears swiveling. Hearing a cardinal outside. Out here in the middle of nowhere, as some could call it. But Field loved it.

He loved wide open spaces. Room to breathe, to watch stars, to be closer to God. Loved the waving grains of eventual summer and the sky like a sea, with all the clouds as weary whales floating through it. He loved the smell of alfalfa, and the chalky feel of sycamore bark. Loved wandering through woods, following the snaky motion of the creek, the sunlight dappling all over, small planes motoring obliviously overhead. He loved the quiet. No traffic, no society. Just a gravel road, endless life, and a little bit of static on the AM radio.

The mouse sighed, glancing at the window. Nature wasn't at its peak. Not yet. But it was definitely getting there. He liked all the seasons, of course, for different reasons. But as summer got closer, he felt an excitement he couldn't explain. Perhaps he had spring fever? A prelude to summer swooning?

"Bug-legs on the sheets?" she echoed, gently breaking him from his dreamy revelry. "We gotta wash 'em every day, anyway," she insisted, referring to the fact that they bred several times a day. And the mess and sweat from all that 'rolling in the hay,' as well as the strands of shed and lost fur that clung to the pillowcases, meant the bed-linens had to be washed pretty much every day. "We'll get the bug-legs and exoskeleton-pieces out before bedtime comes round again."

"Adelaide ... " The mouse, of course, was a vegetarian. He most certainly didn't like eating bugs. But Adelaide had to. It was part of every bat's diet. And part of their daughter's diet, as well, since their daughter was half-bat. Half-bat and half-mouse, though called a mouse-bat. Not a bat-mouse. As confusing as all that was! But it was somewhat a point of friendly, teasing contention between Field and Adelaide. Legally, if a fur was a half-breed, the species of the father came first in documents, records, and such. But that didn't stop Adelaide from trying to teach Akira that she was 'mommy's little bat-mouse.' Anyway, simply put, Field was the only one in his own home who didn't eat bugs. And Adelaide, therefore, would often conspire with little mauve-furred Akira to mix insects into 'daddy's food' when the mouse wasn't looking. He'd normally sniff them out. Normally. But, sometimes, he missed them.

"I won't spill anything. I'll be careful," Adelaide was currently saying, with over-exaggerated politeness, chuckling as she settled back against the wooden headboard of the bed, sitting on her bare rump, bringing her legs up, bending her knees. Her supple breasts hanging loosely. Though only twenty-three, just like Field, her breasts might not have been as fully 'pert' as they'd been three years ago. Which was how long they'd been married. She was already a mother and all, and worried, sometimes, that she didn't look exactly like before. Not that she was obsessed with appearances. But she did want to look her best. Field, always a romantic, insisted she looked more beautiful to him every day. And made it a point of constantly telling her as much.

"You look lovely," he whispered, giving a soft, genuine smile. His tail snaked in such a way that it brushed the pad of her foot-paw.

She actually flushed at this. A pleased flush, but a flush, nonetheless. "Even when eating bugs?"

"Even," he whispered back, with a single nod.

A chuckle. Holding the cereal bowl firmly in one paw, and a spoon in the other, she nodded back at him. "Milk?" she went.

Field acquiesced, reaching for the little milk pitcher he'd brought. But didn't pour her any of it. Not yet. "I was meaning to mention: about those cookies we had last night. Those oatmeal ... "

" ... chocolate chip cookies," she finished, nodding. "Mm-hmm. They were good." Her nose sniffed. "I don't know why it is, you know, that I can't cook. I mean, I guess I can. But you're better. You can make almost anything ... "

" ... well," he said, not really answering that. " ... anyway, the chocolate chips were a little, uh ... " He tried to think of the proper word. A good adjective to describe it. " ... juicy."

"The chips? They were pretty melty. You must've cooked 'em just right."

"Are you sure you didn't put something in the dough when I wasn't looking?"

"Like what?" A grin, giving him a luscious look. Her sharp, pearly-white fangs, visible on either side of her muzzle, blatantly showing. They always showed, of course. But, when she smiled in certain ways, they showed all the more.

"Like ... like gnats or fruit flies, or, uh, mini-beetles," he insisted, his long, silky-pink tail side-winding in the sheets again. He couldn't really stop it. His blue-grey eyes, meanwhile, went widely cute with innocence.

"Did no such thing." A small shake of the head. "You were the one who made the cookies, not me. Anyway, I wouldn't be able to pass those things off as chocolate chips. You're being paranoid."

"Maybe. I just, uh, left the room, like ... once or twice, and you might've been sneaky. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah, but if I'd been sneaky, you'd already know for sure," she pointed out wisely, with a smart smile. When they made love, she always, by instinct, bit him on the neck with her fangs. Which would, upon the injection of her 'mating milk' into his bloodstream, telepathically and physically link them. Their thoughts, feelings, and sensations exchanged in real-time. Which made it impossible to keep secrets from each other. That, perhaps, was a reason why bats had the lowest divorce-rate of any furry species.

Their telepathy certainly created a sort of symbiosis with their partner. Intimate thoughts unable to be held back. Feelings, problems instantly known. Even the fact that, during breeding, because of the fangs and the 'link,' they could feel each other's climaxes. As well as their own. So, Field, for instance, being a male, felt his own climax. But also felt Adelaide's as if he were having it himself. That mixed-up, doubled-up pleasure certainly promoted loyalty on an instinctual, biological level. Certainly made you crave your partner more, ensuring the likelihood you'd stay with them long enough to reproduce.

Such was the case, anyway, if one were to boil love, attraction, and breeding down to mere genetics and instinct. Mere biology. Which Field and Adelaide preferred not to do, believing their love to be a spiritual endeavor. Instinct played a role, no doubt, but it wasn't what ultimately drove their relationship or gave it lasting meaning. God made the biology and had brought them together. So, by all extensions, God made their love.

For Field, though, as a mouse married to a bat, he was sometimes teased by his male friends, like Denali, Azure, or Emerson. Not so much the latter two, who were rodents and tended to be gentler in their ribbing. Mostly Denali, the otter, who had that otter playfulness to him. He kept trying to get Field to tell him 'what it feels like for them.' As if, by knowing, Denali could uncover some secret to make his breeding with his own wife, Ketchy the squirrel, all the better. Field, though, always got extremely bashful when asked about it, and would just stammer his way to a non-answer until the otter gave up.

"You know? Field?" Adelaide prodded, in the present, nudging him in the side with her elbow. Bringing him back to reality. "You listening? You're zoning out a lot this morning. You sure you're not still tired?" She gave a short frown, still trying to get him to acknowledge that she hadn't tampered with his cookies. If she had, indeed, put bugs in them, he would've found out the moment they'd had sex last night, which was right before going to sleep. "Hey ... "

The mouse, blinking, nodded. Having been lost in thought, obviously. And indicating that, yes, he was listening. And maybe he was just a little bit tired, but he was shaking it off.

Her frown turned into a soft smile. "Milk? You gonna give me some?" she reminded, continuing, "As for the chocolate chips maybe not being chocolate chips, the fact that you have to even ask me about it ... " She nodded her 'thank you' as he, finally removed from his revelry, poured milk into her bowl. " ... proves my innocence. End of story." And she dipped her spoon in, lifted it to her muzzle, and began to crunch, crunch. And then chew. She was rather hungry.

"That's, uh ... well, okay, that's true," he had to admit. "I'm sorry. I'm just being ... " A shudder-squeak from him.

" ... paranoid? I told you that already." Chew-chew.

" ... I guess." He paused, and then said, not for the first time, "I kiss and lick a muzzle that chomps and sucks on bugs."

"So?" She continued her eating, trying not to talk with her muzzle full. And a droplet of milk sliding down her whiskers.

Field, with his airy finesse, delicately cleaned the milk-drop off her. "Well, for instance: sometimes, you get gossamer-wings stuck in your teeth, and they get on my tongue when we make out ... " He said this with casual seriousness, as if talking to a dentist or something.

"Heh ... " She just chittered with great amusement, eyes sparkling, and her right paw removing the spoon from her muzzle. She gave a chew-chew, and then a swallow, dipping the spoon back into her bowl. "Mm ... Field, I keep telling you: excellent source of protein."

"Wings?"

"Not wings. Insects. Mm ... " Chew. " ... anyway, finding a wing on your tongue is like finding an eyelash, you know? It's good luck. You just put it on your fingertip, close your eyes, and blow it off ... " Another spoonful into her muzzle. Crunch-crunch. " ... and make a wish." Chew.

"Never even heard of that ... " He tilted his head, with a half-smile. Whisker-twitching and ear-swiveling. Those big lobes of his. "I mean, I've heard of the eyelash thing. Just didn't know it could be applied to gossamer wings."

"Mm ... " Chew, chew. "That's why I'm telling you now. So, in future, you'll know ..." A swallow. "Besides, I'm a winged thing, aren't I? Shouldn't I know about wings and wishes?"

"Well ... " He just sighed and trailed, half-suspecting she was just leading him on. Trying to get him all curiously flustered. She liked nudges and winks, even if they were only verbal ones. So, he just shook his head, deciding to reach for his own breakfast.

"You're never gonna get over the bugs, though. As long as we live," she said, "you're always gonna complain about that. See, I've accepted that. Just like you," she said, nodding, swallowing, "need to accept me eating them."

"I do. For the thousandth, millionth, ten-millionth time," he exaggerated, with exasperation. " ... for however many times, I'm not complaining." His tone became delicate and diplomatic. " ... am not complaining about you eating them. You're just intent on making me eat them, too. I just ... " A flustered exhale. " ... don't like to find compound eyes in my soup." His whiskers twitched, and he looked to her. "Or abdomens in my mashed potatoes!"

Chitters of mirth. "Heh. Eh, I know, I know ... " She put another spoonful in her muzzle. Crunch, crunch, chew. She tried not to laugh when she was eating. She didn't want to spew her milk or anything. That wouldn't be very femme-like, would it? And, besides, Field was a very tidy mouse. Not a neat-freak. He hated being called a neat-freak. He preferred 'tidy.' So, she called him, sometimes, 'my tidy mouse.' Anyway, she'd promised him she wouldn't spill anything if they ate in bed this morning. Not that they never had food in bed. They often took fruit, whipped cream, chocolate to bed. For 'snacking,' as it could politely be referred to. But they didn't normally eat full meals in bed, like they were doing right now. "Mm ... Field, I know, okay?"

"Well ... "

" ... well, you know, I'm just having ... " Swallow. " ... fun with you. You know bats are toothy. It's just my sense of humor. Can't help it." Her spoon clinked against the bottom of her bowl as she scooped some more bugs and milk. She was almost finished. Just another spoonful, and she'd be done.

The mouse, giving her a look, had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. He couldn't be mad at her. Not ever, not for anything. And certainly not for something as silly and harmless as bugs. " ... can't I fight back, though? How does a mouse fight back against toothy-ness?"

"You should know that by now," she said, putting her mostly-empty bowl down on the tray. It still had some milk sloshing in it. " ... with cuteness." A wink. "You got plenty of that. And, darling, let me tell you," she said, reaching for the grapes. "It gets me every time."

"Yeah?" he asked, smiling shyly, biting his lip as he reached for one of the buttered, toasted English muffins. He began to nibble with his rodent buckteeth. Unable to take big bites. But having, as was his mousey compulsion, to nibble his food. Nib-nib-nibble, nibbling round the edges before working his way into the center. He sat as she did, back to the headboard of the bed, knees bent, foot-paws flat on the sheets. Right beside her.

Adelaide, chewing on a grape and using a paw to get the juice off her lips, nodded. "Mm, you know it ... " She popped another grape into her muzzle. " ... pretty sure you know that. Subconscious or not, you put on that 'cute face,' and twitch your whiskers all over, and move those ears and that tail ... " Chew-chew. Swallow. "Mm, and then make those eyes all wide? And then give a squeak? The squeak is like the cherry on top. You know what you're doing. I'm like putty in your paws ... "

" ... eh, it's not even like that," he insisted, nibbling some more on his English muffin. "You make my cuteness sound like a magic power or something. Like, making it sound so, uh ... mm ... " Chew-chew, swallow. " ... so calculated. I can't help being cute. I don't even notice it, myself."

"Well, it's like you can't smell your own pheromones. You can't be affected by your own cuteness."

"I guess not. Anyway, it's just a mouse's, uh ... "

" ... advantage."

"Yes. Like you have telepathy, and I have cuteness. And that's that." He finished the muffin, swallowing, nodding. "I think we're even."

"Mm-hmm," was her steamy, throaty agreement. "Want some grapes?" she whispered.

"Uh, well ... "

" ... open," was her command, placing a wet, cool grape to his lips. And rubbing the smooth, little sphere back and forth along those lips, and grazing his whiskers with it. "Open, open," she whispered quietly.

He did so.

And she placed the grape on his tongue, smiling widely.

Field closed his muzzle and chew-chew-chewed, eventually swallowing. "They're good grapes," was what he said.

Adelaide just nodded. "Got 'em at Marsh, remember?" she said, of their favorite grocery. "Mm ... so, what're you doing at work today?"

Field, reaching for his half-filled glass of orange juice, replied, "Pruning." A sip of the cold, citrus-y drink. The mouse couldn't stand coffee. He liked orange juice when he woke up. "You know, like, uh ... " He pulled the glass away from his muzzle, holding it with both paws, looking to her. " ... like, you take those big scissor-cutters. Or one of those chainsaws-on-a-stick, and you ... "

" ... heh. That what they're called? 'Big scissor-cutters' and 'chainsaws-on-a-stick'?"

"Well, I dunno."

"You're a rural soul. Shouldn't you know?"

"You're rural, too, and you don't know. It's not like ... " His whiskers twitched. " ... I bale hay and do farmwork. I grew up on a farm. I was named for the fields, not after forests. This is trees. I don't know terminology for tree-work." He had to take a breath. "Ask me about crops or something." A pause, taking another quick sip of orange juice. "Anyway, we use those things," he said, after swallowing and lowering his glass again, "to cut the dead limbs off all the trees." A pause. "All," he emphasized, "the trees."

"How many trees they got over there?" Adelaide asked, locking gazes with him.

Field sighed. "Four thousand."

"What? Are you serious?"

"Lodi, Johnny Mac, gala, red delicious, golden delicious, yellow delicious, jersey mac, paula red ... there are dozens more."

"Mm. My apple-memorizing ... mm," she breathed, rather randomly, "apple mouse ... " For some reason, him being able to spout off forty different varieties of apples made her wanna swoon a little. She's always been attracted to rural guys. Field was definitely a rural guy, born and bred. Having spent his whole life in the country, knowing nature, knowing all about the earth, the fields, the soil. Maybe he wasn't scientific about it, but he got his paws dirty. Daily. He worked outside. Physical work. He planted trees, crops, dug things up. And had a fit form to show for it. She was glad he wasn't someone who worked in an office cubicle all day or something like that.

" ... what's that look for? Adelaide ... "

" ... mm?"

"You're giving me that look," he said, not needing to elaborate on what the look was.

She tilted her head and licked her lips. And her fangs, as well. "Yeah. Well ... " A deep breath. " ... it's still a little chilly out, isn't it?"

"What?" A blink.

"Chilly? It's only, like, in the mid-fifties today?"

The mouse nodded.

"Mm ... not warm enough to make love across the road, in the pasture? Or by the creek," she breathed, beginning to rattle off outdoor locations. That was another good thing about rural guys. They were more than willing to sweep you off your foot-paws and take you deep into nature and make love to you in front of God and the elements. There was a sweet, romantic thrill to that. " ... the woods, under that sycamore we like. The creek bank, you know, where it bends to the ... "

" ... Adelaide," Field squeaked, quietly. Giving a very flustered look. His heart picking up its pace. He swallowed.

" ... yeah," she breathed. "Yeah." A deep breath, which was soon released as a sigh. "Bet it'll be warm enough next week. We can do it on the hay wagon parked by the ... "

" ... at night," he said, insistent on that. "At night."

"Course, course," she breathed, hotly, rapidly, nodding. Her pupils were notably dilated. "On the wagon, anyway." Field's parents kept some of their hay and straw wagons over here. They were all empty right now, of course. "Doesn't matter if it's daylight if we do it in the woods. Totally isolated from everything. And no one can hear you moan from in there ... "

"I know that." His ears were very rosy-pink. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy making love in nature. He enjoyed it very much. But he always flushed when talking about breeding in any frank, blunt manner. He preferred romantic, roundabout references. Some bit of decorum, perhaps.

"Mm, Field," the bat breathed, beginning to hang on him.

" ... Adelaide," was all he could say. Partly trying to calm her down, and partly just to express whatever it was she constantly made him feel. " ... you, uh, were asking about my work. About the trees."

" ... yeah." She took another deep breath, nodding. "Trees. I mean, I've ... I've walked through there plenty of times," she said, nodding. "Four thousand trees? Really?" A half-composed smile, tilting her head. She was feeling no less amorous. But, for the moment, she was controlling it. They'd release such steam soon enough. "Them's a lot of apples."

He giggle-squeaked, unable to help it. The dimples showing on his honey-tan cheeks. "Eh ... yeah, it's a lot of apples. But we prune, and then after pruning, we have to collect all the cut limbs and ferry them to a huge bonfire pile. Though I doubt they're ever gonna light the thing. If they do, it's gonna attract the fire department all the way in Sheridan."

"Why not just ferry the limbs as you cut them?"

"Takes more time. Easier to just cut, cut, cut ... and then pick up later. Do it in waves instead of all at once. As long as it's all done before mid-June, when the store opens," he said, trailing. The orchard had a 'country store' in the front. Aside from apples, they grew yellow, white, and bi-color sweet corn, tomatoes, pumpkins, and stuff like that. And they also brought in fresh produce from the Amish markets in Rockville, and the double-decker melons from Vincennes. Field loved those melons. He got a fifteen-percent discount for working there, and he'd bring home several cantaloupes and sugar baby watermelons each week. And sweet corn, too. He loved corn on the cob.

Adelaide nodded, giggle-chittering. Sensing his thoughts of summery foods. "I guess I should know all this, huh? About the specifics of your job? I mean, I know everything," she whispered, gently raising a paw, and putting her index and middle fingers on his forehead. Brushing his brow so, so lightly. " ... I know everything in there." A pause, and a breath. "It's just easier to remember when I got my fangs in your neck. After I pull out, the knowledge remains in me. All of it. And mine in you. It's just ... a whole lot of knowledge," she whispered, "to sort through. Can get jumbled if you don't know how to organize it."

Field nodded knowingly. "Well, maybe that's a good thing. Else we'd never need to talk to each other. And that wouldn't be very fun ... " One of his paws sought out one of hers. His left paw meshing with her right paw, fingers entwined. "I enjoy talking with you." He looked down at the bed-sheets, shyly.

And, her fingers still at his head, she lowered them. To his chin. And lifted it. "Aw. Hey," she whispered, looking him in the eyes. "I love you, okay?"

The mouse beamed with what could only be described as a pure kind of joy. "I love you, too," he whispered back.

"Mm. Come 'ere," she breathed, leaning her head forward, body slightly tilting. Pressing her lips into his, in a wet, warm way. A bit slippery. But she'd been holding it back for several minutes now, and she didn't care of it came out a bit haphazardly.

And Field, for his part, didn't fight it, sucking errantly on her lower lip. Forgetting, momentarily, that she'd just eaten a whole bowl of 'Bat Bran.'

She let him suck, closing her eyes, exhaling through the nose. Her tongue, meant for catching bugs and handling fruit, was much more maneuverable than his own. Where he couldn't get his modest mousey tongue that far out of his muzzle, she could get her own tongue out of hers. And, right now, did so, working it between his lips. Tongue-touching him. Prolonging the saliva-swapping, steamy kiss.

Field squeaked weakly from the throat, and tried to set his orange juice glass down. He was actually still holding it. How long had he been holding it? He really couldn't remember. And couldn't, for that matter, find the tray to put it down on. Not with his eyes closed and mind so preoccupied. But he certainly wasn't going to allow himself to spill it on the sheets. So, he held tightly to the glass, his whiskers touching hers until he lightly pulled his head back. Resulting in several 'smack' sounds, several mingling breaths, and her saliva stringing down to his chin.

"You, uh ... got a bit of ... " She used her paw to wipe it off him.

The mouse nodded quietly, swallowing, deeply exhaling. And setting the orange juice glass down on the tray. "Maybe we should ... "

" ... move it off the bed?" She traced the rims of his erogenous ears, fingers splayed, a paw to each lobe, making them flush with more blood. "Mm?"

Another nod, this time weak, wordless, and soundless. Except for his breathing. He felt that sense of bewilderment he always got when arousal hit. As if he wasn't sure what to do, what to say. As if all he could do was twitch.

She saw this and smiled. "Let me," she said, reaching for the tray, scooting, and picking it up. The cereal eaten, the grapes eaten, the English muffins eaten. And the orange juice mostly-drunk. It was a light breakfast, all things considered. But, then, perhaps it wasn't over. Perhaps there was more to sate the appetite, if that kiss had been any indication. "We spending Easter at your grandparents?" she asked, the tray now resting on the bed-side stand on her side of the bed. Her stand was usually clear of stuff. His stand had a lamp on it, and had many collectibles and trinkets, too, organized in very tidy fashion.

"Is that okay?" he asked, blinking. Which was, in essence, a 'yes.'

"Course. I'm just making sure." They both loved Easter. It was probably their favorite holiday. Because of the meaning of it. The hope and promise of life, mortal and eternal, and redemption from all flaws and failures. Celebrating how the Comforter had come and conquered all. They always had an Easter breakfast at the little Quaker meeting in Sheridan. And then had lunch at Field's grandparents', and an Easter egg hunt for Akira and all of Field's little cousins. "Just though that, after all the normal stuff, we could have an early-supper at my parents' house. Before coming back here, you know?"

" ... well, they're welcome to join us for lunch. My family doesn't bite." A pause. "They might nibble a little bit, but ... " He smiled warmly as he said this, whiskers twitching.

Adelaide giggle-chittered. "Mm. Well, I know, but I'm pretty sure my mom and dad have church-plans for lunch." Her parents were former missionaries. And Adelaide had, in fact, been born in Australia, though she didn't remember much of it. But they went to a much bigger church in Zionsville. "Besides, even though you joke about it, it's ... " She wanted to word this right. " ... your family's gradually accepted me."

"But they've accepted you," he said weakly, not exactly refuting what she'd said. He knew it to be true.

"Gradually. I mean, I had your baby. That made it easier for them. Like you giving me a baby made me ... more mouse-like to them? Like it made me have more mouse-blood in me. I don't know. If that makes sense. But my parents and my relatives ... like, put a bunch of bats in your family's midst? And they get all weird. Like, they get all stiff and quiet, like they're afraid their minds are being probed and picked apart. It was like that at Thanksgiving, remember? Only ... " A breath. " ... guess it wasn't all that bad, just cause most of your relatives were with their other spouses' families. But you know what I mean. Easter's a bigger holiday."

"They just don't understand bat physiology like I do. And you have to understand, you know, that I'm the first mouse in three generations of my family to ... you know, to marry outside my species."

A knowing smile. "Mm. But they act like we're gonna go around and hypnotize them and suck their blood willy-nilly or something like that. I mean, Dandy used to think I was a vampire." Bats, of course, didn't suck blood. And never had at any point in their existence as a species. It was simply a misconception that had its roots in fairy tales and myths.

"Well, Dandy's not the smartest squeak in the chorus," was all Field said, of his youngest brother. He had two brothers and one sister. He was the oldest of all of them. "Anyway, he knows better now." A pause. "He knows what your fangs are really for."

"Heh. You tell him or something?"

"Eh, I think he just figured it out on his own. Someone at school must've told him. Then he asked me about it, and I just said, 'They're for love-bites. For when a boy and girl love each other very much ... ' ... and then he rolled his eyes at me and said he knows all about breeding, and how come mouses don't have fangs and bats do, and how that's not fair, and ... " A shake of the head.

Adelaide giggled some more, chitter-squeaking. Making echo-burst sounds, ever so slightly, sounds of high pitches that bounced off all the walls and back to her angular, swept-back ears. She often used her echo-bursting in the dark. She didn't need a light to find her away around the house at night. Or outside when there was no moon. But Field did. And he was, in fact, afraid of the dark. So, they had to sleep with a nightlight plugged in, else he woke up with panic attacks. " ... I can totally see him saying that, yeah." Adelaide loved to tease Dandy. More than she loved to tease Field's other siblings.

Field sighed and nodded, and was quiet for just a moment, before continuing, "It's just that mouses are, uh ... well ... "

" ... modest," she supplied. "You really don't have to keep telling me that. I'm well aware of it."

"I know. I'm just, uh ... "

" ... thorough?"

"I have trouble being concise," he replied, with a breath and a head-tilt. "When I talk, when I write. Whenever. I always feel so much." He was, of course, a very emotional creature. "I feel so much, and I can't limit it to one or two words, or simple, clear phrases. I have to expand on it ... and then I become a blabber-mouse."

"You're not a blabber-mouse," she assured, warmly. "And, even if you are, who says it isn't cute when you are?"

"You think I'm cute all the time," was all he said.

"You want me to think the opposite?"

"No."

"Then what's the problem?" She raised a brow.

"Nothing, I guess." A pause. "Anyway, my family, though? It's just that your fangs are overtly sensual. I mean, they're ... their use is strictly, uh, for, uh ... "

" ... sex? You can say it. Sex," she repeated.

"Breeding," he offered, modestly. "They're for breeding. And, you know, they're visible all the time. They frame your muzzle, your smile. And I love that so much," he breathed, starting to smile himself. "I'm used to it. And it's you, and ... but it's just one of the reasons why my family feels a little awkward around bats. That, and the telepathy, and ... "

" ... darling, I know, okay? I'm used to it. It doesn't upset me. And I wasn't implying that it upsets my parents, either. But surely you can understand why they'd rather not spend a Sunday afternoon with thirty-odd mouses?" Field had many aunts and uncles and cousins on his father's side. Any big holiday, aside from Thanksgiving, would have about thirty-seven or so mouses in the same house. His grandparents' house. "I'm more than used to it, and I've been inside your head. They've not been inside a mouse's head, so ... they can't adapt as well."

"I understand," he whispered. A pause, whiskers twitching, feeling a little bad. And then, perking, he suggested, "Why don't we have them over here for supper? Your parents? I'll cook for them. You know, that way they don't have to prepare anything."

Adelaide smiled. "Sure. I'll, uh, call 'em tonight?"

Field nodded.

And, still smiling, she reached out her winged arms, unfurling them. Wrapping them around her husband in a hug. "Mm ... "

"What are you, uh, doing at the library?" he asked, returning the hug, leaning sweetly into her. Both of them half-sitting, half-leaning. Resting against each other. It was after 7:30, now. Outside, the trees gently moved in a breeze. The leaves not really around yet. Just buds, little promises of leaves, and the sky a powder-blue. The sun mellow as it peeked into view, rising, rising. The daffodils and tulips inching out of the earth, promising to soon bloom. And the songbirds singing all about, heard even through the closed bedroom windows. The Hoosier countryside, as it always did, stretching for miles. Fields, patches of woods. Mostly flat, mostly simple. But no less beautiful. A place where, if you listened quietly enough, you swore you could hear the wind whispering of redemption. And how the lost were found.

" ... just getting ready for that 'spring cleaning' book-sale on Saturday. You know, dusting off the old books no one checks out anymore. Selling them so we can buy new ones. Should be some bargains."

The mouse nodded quietly, his paws going to her sides. "You still need me to help?" In the winter, when the orchard was closed, Field worked with her and Ketchy at the library. So, he was used to helping them out.

"On Saturday?"

A quiet nod, as he leaned forward, putting his nose against her neck-fur. And simply breathing in of her very-familiar scent. So many memories and feelings tied to her scent. So many good things.

"Well, uh ... yeah, if you'd like. You'd have to bring Akira with you. Or with us, I mean. We'd take the same vehicle." At the moment, Field wasn't working weekends. Neither was Adelaide, usually. But, since she had to be at the library sale, Field would have to watch Akira for the first half of the day. And he didn't mind that. He loved playing with their daughter. And walking with her outside, putting her on his shoulders. Spending time with her. Teaching her new words. The little mouse-bat was becoming quite chatty. She got that from her mother. But the energy and sense of scurry from her father. The combination of the two made for a paw-ful, sometimes.

"Well, I don't mind. Anyway, I could find some books for Akira. To read to her ... so, uh, we'll all go together, yeah," he said, agreeing. They only had one vehicle. A truck. They also had a four-wheel farm vehicle, meant for use in fields and pastures and stuff, that Field would take to the orchard, since it was only a mile away. It could only go twenty miles per hour, so you couldn't travel far with that. But it wasn't a problem to use for work. That way Adelaide could have use of the truck, since the library was six miles off, in town. "Anyway, I know you and Ketchy talk about me, so ... at least I'll be within ear-shot if it's anything interesting."

A giggle-chitter from Adelaide, her paws wrapping around Field's trim back. She opened her paws and slid them down, down, past his shoulder-blades, to the middle. His honey-tan fur felt nice to the touch. "Mm. We don't say anything bad."

"Yeah, but you two say more about me and Denali ... than me and Denali say about you when we get together."

"Only cause you're too shy to talk about sex. What do furs talk about more than anything? Mm? So, if you can't talk breeding, then you're not gonna be saying as much," she teased.

"Well, that's cause if we talk about breeding, he always gets to asking ... "

" ... how it feels for femmes? Heh. Yeah ... heh," she chuckled. "I know. Why don't you just tell him?" Her eyes sparkled, meeting his own from so very close. "Then he won't ask anymore."

"Are you kidding? If I tell him, he'll just wanna know details, more and more details, and that's ... I mean, the curiosity would feed curiosity, and ... " The mouse's words faltered, and he whispered, privately, " ... anyway, it's between you and me. It's our spiritual art. And that's hard for me to put into words in front of, uh, furs that aren't you."

"You were just saying how you were a blabber-mouse, though."

"Around you. Only around you," he whispered, honestly. "You know that." A breath, blue-grey eyes darting. "Around you, it's easy. Around others ... " He trailed. " ... anyway, I'd rather talk about sports or something with him. Something that doesn't make me blush. Something that isn't too emotional."

"Isn't too emotional? Sports?" Her eyes widened. "Field, you get more emotional over your sports than any-fur I know ... Colts games, for instance? You act like it's Hoosier pride on the line. And college basketball, Indy Car races. I mean, the world shuts down when your sports are on. I have to use my telepathy to, like, restrain you during playoffs. And that Butler/Valpo game last week? I thought you were gonna scurry up a wall. And that race the other day ... "

A flush on his part. "Alright, alright. I, uh ... I get it."

" ... your teams or cars win," she continued, not stopping, "you're giddy all week. If they lose, you kind of mope for a bit."

"I don't mope," he countered, frowning. "Anyway, I said I got it."

"I know you said that. But I gotta fluster you, somehow." A bat-sound. "As for the moping: you do, too. Just a little. Just a mousey," she breathed, "little ... " She traced his nape with her fingers. "Mm. You're very competitive. You may be shy and quiet, but you can be very competitive." A toothy grin. "When you play me in basketball, you get pretty intense. Mm ... "

"Well, it's not called Hoosier Hysteria for nothing."

"Heh!" Chitters of mirth, squeezing him tight, breathing in his earthy mouse-scent. "Mm ... true, true." A pause, swallowing.

"So, like, what? What do you want, then? Am I supposed to play you softly, cause you're a femme?" His tail snaked about behind him, and his big ears arched and swivelled atop his rodent head.

"Didn't say that. Just saying that you get this all-focused, sweaty look, and you're all scurry and seriousness. Bare chest heaving in the sun. I'm just there to have fun ... mm," she went, nodding. "Well, that, and to watch you get all fur-matted and breathless. Mm ... " She grazed her fangs along his shoulder. And gave a pecking kiss. " ... you know how cute your scurry is? Mm?"

"My scurry?"

"Mm-hmm ... "

"How," he breathed, "cute?"

"Mm. Just makes me wanna flap and fly. That's what your scurry does to me."

A swallow, and a nod. His tail, side-winding in the sheets, began to snake around, around, closer to her, as if preparing to make some sort of move. A mouse-tail didn't have near the thickness or strength of a rat-tail. Field couldn't pick anything up with his tail. Couldn't really squeeze with it. It was too weak for that. But he could loosely wrap it around things if he wanted.

"Besides, about friends?" she continued, finishing the earlier topic. "You and Denali are guys. You're more 'buddies' than 'close friends'. That's typically how male friendships are."

"I guess ... "

" ... mm ... you gonna argue with me?"

"No, I'm just," he breathed, with his effeminate, mousey voice, "not your typical guy."

She nodded quietly, mouthing his cheek. Her fangs grazing his cheek-fur, her breath blowing purposely against an ear. "I know." A pause. "I know. Mm." Her hug tightened, her winged arms wrapping him up. Putting him in a living blanket, as it were. Both of them still sitting, mostly-upright. But slowly beginning to sink and shimmy to a more horizontal state. Toward inevitably physical poetry.

"You're my best friend, though," he breathed to her. "You really are. You're my love, and my wife, and ... and my best friend," he went, swallowing, paws roving through her so-soft fur. The various shades of pink she was! He wanted to name all the shades and sniff his way through all of them, and then go from there.

Adelaide smiled warmly, as Field sniffed down to her bare shoulder. His pink, sniffy nose always going, going, always sniffing. His whiskers much the same way. Always in motion, even when in repose. "Thanks," she whispered.

"But I know you think ... I mean, I know Ketchy's your best friend, and ... "

" ... why can't you be, too, mm?" she cooed. "I wouldn't say she's my very best. Co-best. You and her are co-best friends."

"Well, whatever. It's fine, you know. Not like I'm jealous. Friends are different than lovers. I'm your best lover." A pause, and a slightly-teasing smile. "I am, right?"

A giggle-chitter. "Heh. Yeah," she breathed. "Yeah ... " A happy, continued hug. "Mm. My one and only."

It was then, after she'd said this, that he shifted his weight, bare foot-paws sliding through the sheets. A squirm and many wriggles, very rodent-like motions, as ...

" ... mmf," Adelaide went, breath escaping as she sank down atop the mattress. Finding herself flat on her back. Eyes half-open.

Him on top of her.

And the bat, lips parting, nodded quietly. Her head-fur rustling on the pillows. Her non-verbal 'please, yes. I'm more than ready.'

Field, nodding back, hugged her from above, nibbling on her cheek with his rodent buckteeth. Then her neck, then her shoulder. Nibbling with a growing eroticism and hunger, beginning his familiar, slightly-wriggling descent down her body. Getting a little waylaid at her breasts.

The bat sighed through the nose, head lolling aside, left cheek against the pillow-case. She kept her deep-pink eyes closed.

Own eyes half-open, reveling in the view, he mouthed her supple, feminine mounds, warmly wetting the fur. Sucking on little patches. Sniffing, nosing, tongue going in little circles. He licked all the way around one breast before tilting his head and mouthing it some more. Eventually winding up at the peak of it. Her nipple. The same nipple he'd nursed from back when she'd still been lactating. The nipple that, even when she'd gone dry, he still enjoyed suckling, suckling. Suckling.

"Mm ... " It was a contented sound. A simple, soft sound, with wayward breaths mixed in. And she just laid there, paws gently in his fur. His short, mousey fur.

As he eventually skipped from one breast to the other. Suckling the other nipple. And rubbing his paw-pad over the nipple he wasn't enjoying. Carefully rubbing the palm of his paw, the pad, flatly over it. Feeling it harden as he went. And knowing it was giving her little chills. He did this until he found himself unable to stick to it. He desired more. And, so, began to continue his descent down her body, wriggling nakedly and ...

"D-darling, uh ... wait," she panted, lifting her head. "Wait."

... he stopped, nose near her belly button, whiskers twitching. Looking quietly horny and cutely confused. His dishy ears hot and sticking out, sensitive to every sound and vibration in the room.

That look in his eyes, on his face. It made her nipples a little harder. She sighed, making a 'roll over' motion with her paw. And then made it again. " ... uh, on your side. Opposite direction," she breathed. She sent him a telepathic image of what she wanted. She knew precisely what he wanted, of course. His blood-gorging ears could've been like illuminated billboards, with one ear flashing 'eat' and the other 'pussy.' That may have been crude, but that didn't make it less the truth.

The mouse took a deep, shaky breath, dumbly nodding, positioning himself beside her, pointing the opposite way. On his side, right next to her. His sniffy nose probing at her thighs, bumping, getting closer to her sex. He wasn't being as subtle as normal, perhaps. His wife having correctly read his mind. But, of course, she adored him doing it. She just wanted, this time, to be able to simultaneously return the favor.

One of his paws was stroking her pink fur and propping her leg up, up. Hoping she'd keep it lifted.

She did, bending the leg at the knee and bringing it forward, resting it to his body. Own muzzle inching forward, lips parting, and dextrous tongue taking a flick or two at male, mousey flesh. If he wasn't going to waste any time, then neither was she.

The mouse inhaled.

Adelaide, eyes fully open, lapped at his sweetest spot. Not hedging, but not being over-eager about it, either. She knew his body. And knew the most sensitive, feel-good spot on his mouse-hood was the ridge at the back of the head. He was just under five inches when fully erect. Between four-and-a-half and five inches and, like all male rodents, circumcised. The ridge at the back of the head, where the head rounded and tapered off into the shaft. That was his spot. And she ran the tip of her wet tongue back and forth across it.

" ... uh ... mm." The sounds were soft and airy. And his blunt-clawed toes curled for a moment, his nose sniffing her vulva, whiskers running along the soft petal-flesh. Breath washing fully over it. Shaky breaths. Lips beginning to make contact. His muzzle-lips to her feminine-ones. Giving sweet, little kisses to her delicate parts.

She chittered softly from the throat and kept licking, licking, watching from inches away as his mouse-hood gave little tick-twitches. Tick, tick. Twitch. More blood flowing in. Getting subtly stiffer by the second. Her tongue moving around, now, lathering the flesh, his essence, the most treasured part of him. Coaxing him to full erection, knowing it was hers. He was hers. And she gave no warning as she took him into her muzzle, into the moist heat of her maw, head moving, lips parting, sliding down, down.

"Oh ... " A sighing squeak. "Oh."

Adelaide, eyes closing, smiled. Even with her muzzle full, she smiled. Tried to, anyway. Maybe she wasn't all that successful at it. But she liked his reaction, nonetheless. He hadn't expected this. Not so soon. And she felt his body freeze up a little as she pulled back an inch or two. Lips loose, but enveloping him. Earlier in their marriage, she'd been unable to make him climax like this. Through muzzle. For whatever reason, he was so sensitive to it. Or, rather, his head was. So, she'd learned to be very careful, very soft. When she licked him there, she did it slowly. She didn't slobber or suck on the head like a crazed fur. She gently ran her tongue across it, gently pressed into it. And then bobbed, bobbed, down. And then up. And then back down, settling into a rhythm. Just bobbing.

Field's eyes watered shut, his ears hot. His breath caught, catching, whooshing out with a sigh. "Oh, oh ... " Airy pants. " ... mm ... " He was trying to stay hushed. And mostly succeeding. For the moment, anyway. The mouse, in bed, was a 'squeaker.' There was no stopping his squeaks.

Adelaide had once joked that the chances of them winning the lottery were probably better than the chances of Field not squeaking freely during sex. 'If I had to, I could be quiet. I mean, I don't want to be,' Adelaide had told him, 'but I could. I know for a fact,' she'd said, grinning, 'that you couldn't. You really couldn't.'

To which he'd responded, fiercely blushing, 'I'm not that loud. I'm ... ' He'd exhaled hotly. ' ... not that loud.'

'Not loud, necessarily. Just ... vocal.' A smile. 'Darling, I don't mind it. You can't help it.' She'd smiled and rubbed his cheek.

'Well, you make noises,' he'd told her, bashfully. 'You just admitted ... '

'Mm-hmm. I do. You make me feel good. But you wanna record us next time we do it ... and see who's more noticeable?'

The mouse had declined, knowing she was right.

But, right now, in the present, there was no declining the treasure being presented to him, as Adelaide lifted her leg a bit more, giving him fuller access to pure femininity. And he sighed heavily, swallowing, and began to lip-nibble, tongue-touch. And fully press his muzzle in. Almost sucking and lapping. 'Til he was, for lack of a better word, munching her muff. Digging into the heat and scent, licking her entrance again and again, sighing through the nose, licking his way up her vulva, eventually circling her erect, little clitoris, circling, barely, barely touching. Giving a single, little suck before slipping off and back down.

"Mm ... hmm ... " Her happy reactions came from the throat, because her lips were still closed, still in a loose, wandering ring. Still sliding up and down his stiff, glistening mouse-hood.

It wasn't just her sounds that indicated her growing excitement. Her juices, too, began to flow a bit more freely, in trickling droplets. He lapped them up, thoroughly licking round her lips, seemingly tasting every available bit of flesh, even lapping through the thin perimeter of 'fuzz' that separated her flesh and her tufted groin-fur. But, eventually, his hunger took him back between her vulva, into it, exploring deeper, deeper, sticking his tongue inside and munching. He was going to town on her, his eyes closed, his mind on autopilot. Always, the whole time, making sure he kept the clitoris in mind.

This almost caused her to stop her own ministrations. She paused, a bit helplessly, lips halfway down his mouse-hood. Nose flaring. Her whole body hot, from her curvy hips to her waist, to her so-soft thighs. And when he stopped his nibbling and sucking and went back up, up to her clitoris yet again, she almost lost it. Her raised leg came down, on impulse, and closed off access. Bumping his muzzle and his sniffy nose.

His paw pushed her leg back up. His pink nose, twitching from being bumped, sniffing wildly. He may have only been a mouse, and his sense of smell wasn't as good as his sense of hearing. But he could smell that she was close.

She weakly resumed her bobbing, using her tongue to stimulate the underside of his shaft. Which, as her instinct had guessed, began to weaken his resolve, making his member to give preliminary, very weak twitches. Throbbing hot, with a vein showing on the right side of the shaft. Flesh flushed pink.

"Uh, nuh," the mouse squeaked, air rushing out. Air sucked back in. "Uh!" he squeaked, muzzle stopping, breath washing over her little nub. His whiskers quivered uncontrollably, foot-paws struggling in the sheets, toes curling. He wriggled, wriggled. Paused. And wriggled a bit more, eyes watering to a close. "Uh, uh ... "

Adelaide, literally dripping drops of femme-juice like honey-drops from her sex, sucked air. She finally came, sloppily pulling off his mouse-hood. Slipping off, panting, head sinking to the sheets. "Hnn, nn ... uhn." A gasp, her pussy in fluttering spasms. "Mhhm ... " Eyes closed, her body arching against his, sucking in air. Holding it. Whooshing it out, winged arms clumsily stretching, as if trying to flap, as if trying to grab hold to reality, trying to make sense of this. This sheer, cascading bliss! Which, after a minute, slowly tapered off. "I'm ... F-field, darling. I, uh ... " She licked her lips, heart pounding in her breasts.

The mouse, trying to find his breath, gave effeminate squeaks. " ... you taste ... good," he went, simply, dreamily.

"Mm." A casual, lazy smile. "Sure you don't want seconds?"

" ... I'll be eating you out all morning if you tempt me like that," was his equally casual answer. An airy giggle-squeak. "Breakfast should be a full-course meal."

"Yeah? What's the next course?" she asked, feigning ignorance. And still trying to regain her composure.

" ... mm. Guess."

Chitters from her. "Guess, huh?" A breath, letting it remain rhetorical. For the moment, at least. "Before I slipped my muzzle off your squeaky toy," she said, using a common euphemism for 'mouse penis,' "how close were you? Twenty seconds?"

"Mm ... " A deep, squeaky breath. " ... more like fifteen, maybe." An inhale through the nose. "Mm ... "

" ... yeah, I thought so. You were freezing up like you do. You have the cutest orgasms," she sighed, smiling, not caring if that sounded silly. "Heh ... you know?" He didn't really respond to that. Casual as they were, intimate as they were, that mousey modesty always resurfaced in him. He couldn't prevent it. "But I knew you were close," she repeated. That's why she'd pulled off.

She knew, indeed, how to read his body language, his sounds. To gage amount of pre squirting onto her tongue. Knew how to bring him to the edge and back off. And knew that, if given a choice, he'd much rather finish between her legs than in her muzzle. Though he'd finished in both more times than he could count. But, being a male, he didn't have the capacity for multiple orgasms she had. Maybe some males could be raring to go again five minutes after they came. But he couldn't. He required a more lengthy recharge time. And, therefore, was usually only good for one climax per bout of love-making.

" ... yeah, well, you're a good tease. Always good at that ... and also: who's a 'squeaker' in bed?" was his gentle, little question, harmlessly grabbing at her with a paw.

Opening her eyes, she craned her neck, giving him a look. "You give good muzzle. I was simply showing my appreciation." She cleared her throat. "To do otherwise would've been rude."

The mouse grinned and giggle-squeaked. "Mm. Well, same with me. When, uh ... that's what I was doing." He nodded.

"What you're doing," she responded, with more than a bit of horny cheek, "is blabber-mousing again. Mm?" A breath. "When you should be doing me, instead."

"I was, uh, gonna ... gonna get to that," he whispered, wondering why it was that he got so shy and modest about sex even while he was having it. That didn't make much sense, did it? But, then, sometimes mouses were like that: more scurry than sense.

"Then get to it. Only," she said, craning, looking at the clock, and then settling back into place. " ... only, we've been lounging here for a good while. We gotta get going soon ... or, at least, shower, dress, wake Akira. I gotta take her to your parents so your mom can watch her ... and, then, we gotta still get to our works, and ... "

" ... so?"

" ... so, use that famed mousey scurry of yours."

"All my scurry?" he whispered sheepishly, tail snaking behind his bare, pert rump.

" ... you putting on that cute-face again? Mm?"

"No, I'm just ... "

" ... no more talking? I thought we, uh ... agreed to that?" she said, heart picking up its pace again. Her loins throbbed, almost ached. She wanted her mouse. Needed to be filled by her mouse. "Please," she breathed, trying to hurry him up.

A huffy, relenting nod, quickly crawling over her. " ... okay ... mm," he replied, lowering his hips, getting into position above her. Feeling a spike of anticipation. Breath trembling as he prepared to mount her. He'd bred her hundreds of times over the last three years, but his heart never stopped leaping each time he did. His paws never stopped sweating. Oh, it never got old.

" ... mm-hmm," she responded, now fully onto her back, lifting and spreading her legs. Beginning to wrap them around him, along with her winged arms. Brushing the backs of his erogenous ears with her splayed fingers. Just a few times, just for a moment.

A shimmy and a squirm, body against hers, fur meshing, belly-to-belly until his head peeked in. The rest sliding easily behind. " ... uh." A gasp. "Uh," he breathed. A shiver ran down his nape, down his spine. Making the short, invisible hairs on his naked tail stand on end. Making the tail to flail about for a moment. The sheer, raw heat, the jungle-like moistness that greeted him. He huffed at the feel of her.

" ... ah," Adelaide breathed, tingling. That moment of penetration. As she was filled, her walls brushed. Her biting instinct triggered. All it took was the smallest molecule of his pre mixing into the fluid in her steamy tunnel, and it was sparked, the desire welling. Bite, bite. She had to bite. She had to lick his neck, lap his neck, wet and mat a spot of his fur. Had to. It was almost animalistic.

Sometimes, it was frustrating: for, instance, it limited the ways they could breed. They couldn't have intercourse unless it was a position that allowed her to comfortably keep her fangs in his neck. Which meant no doggy-style or any of that. And, with her fangs where they were, they couldn't kiss during intercourse, either. But they tended not to care. They loved each other too much. And the side-effects of the telepathy more than made up for any inconveniences. Besides, they were both on the traditional side. They weren't overly-wild in bed. Simple positions better suited their love-making style, especially Field's.

Field, as she licked him, remained still, mouse-hood embedded in her. He hugged his wife as she continued to numb a biting-spot.

And, just like that, she was ready. Just like that, she sank them in. Those sharp, pearly-white fangs.

A slight squirm from him. He always squirmed at first.

Her winged arms still firmly wrapped around him, she held him down atop her, holding him in place. Getting him past the initial penetration. And her mating milk, then, beginning to trickle into his blood, sizzling, racing through his heart. Linking their minds. He knew what she was thinking, and she knew, in turn, what he was thinking. Their memories, desires, feelings. And, last of all, the physical sensations. That was always the hardest part to comprehend. It almost seemed to overload the mind. To fathom that you were feeling each other's bodies as if they were your own. Every little spasm in her vaginal walls he felt. As if it were happening to him. Every sensitive stroke of his mouse-hood was felt by Adelaide, as if the mouse-hood's nerves were running into her. They could almost feel each other's heartbeats. Like their hearts were beating in tandem. And weren't they?

From this point on, they became a dizzy, dazed blur, a rocking, writhing, sweating tangle of fur and form. Pink fur meshing and matting with honey-tan. Winged arms around trim, bare back. Pert, mousey rump raising and lowering, tail dangling behind. Hump, hump, hump. The bed creaking, the head-board tapping into the wall. Tap, tap. Ears throbbing and pulsing, tingling to all of it.

Him squeaking in light, high pitches. Foot-paws pushing off the mattress, toes curling in the sheets. Pushing, easing up. Body rocking, sliding.

"Nuh, uh ... " Her huffing sounds muffled against his damp neck, fangs still in, she felt her breasts jiggle against his chest, nipples rubbing, bumping. Her fangs still in his neck-muscle. She couldn't withdraw them until they both came. If she ended the link prematurely, she'd get socked with nausea and a brutal headache. A biological failsafe in bat physiology to guarantee that the male would orgasm inside the femme, ensuring her womb was sown. That she got his seed. Once bitten, Field had no choice but to give it to her. Because she wasn't going to pull out for anything. Her instinct wouldn't allow her to. And he couldn't pull off without much blood and hurt. He was, in essence, at the mercy of her bite. But he trusted her completely. Knew she would never hurt him. Anyway, she wasn't in heat. And, even when she was, she was currently taking birth control pills.

The world, as they went, seemed to tilt and throb. As they careened, together, into mutual knowing.

He began to gyrate his hips, in an almost-circular motion, grinding, grinding against her, stimulating her precious nub as best he could. While still sinking, slickly, deep into the heated furnace of her femininity. And, genitals squelching lightly, pulling back. Sinking in. Repeating the friction. Knowing that, the more friction he gave himself, the more friction he gave her. Their pleasure tied to each other's. Their bodies working in unison for a single goal.

Until she, bucking up at him, gripping the sheets, echo-burst from the throat as she was pushed closer to the edge.

His thrusts became frantic, breaking down, faster, firmer, causing the walls of her pussy to clench around his member. He was humping more quickly than he was used to. He was a romantic, and his normal style of love-making usually involved a slow-burn, time-taking, mutual friction, rising like lapping flames. And she preferred it that way. But, for the moment, for this, for her, his mouse-hood moved in and out like a piston. She'd wanted scurry, and she was getting scurry. Sometimes, it was nice to change the pace of things.

The bed shook, the head-board still slapping the wall, Adelaide chitter-moaning from the throat as her naked, furry body sank into the mattress, stimulated, hips bumping, bumping, genitals fusing wetly, hotly, all these one-word adjectives and actions, flashing through her consciousness. Until her muscles tightened, her pussy milking his mouse-hood. As she wetly came. " ... nnh, mm ... " Her vagina rippled, sending waves of ecstasy through her groin. And to the rest of her, even to her paws. She had to clutch at something, anything. She clutched at his back-fur. "Nnf," was her fang-buried exclamation.

He felt her orgasm, his legs tensing, tufted, furry sac tightening, swelling. Body overwhelmed, bewildered, tingling and tensing, mouse-hood jerking. A jet of mouse-seed spurting. Spurt, spurt. Spurt. Just as he sank to a wonderfully weary hilt. "Uh, uh ... oh ... oh," he managed, sowing her womb. Such complete satisfaction. "Oh," was the residual squeak. He panted, forehead-fur damp. Trying to catch his breath. And, after a minute, finally succeeding. " ... I feel dizzy," he went, swallowing and laying his head against hers. That had been, indeed, dizzying. So dizzying.

She slowly withdrew her fangs, eyes half-open. " ... yeah," was her sound of agreement. "That was good. Mm ... ooh ... " She licked her lips, sighing.

"Mm." The mouse nodded, and nodded again. Smiling heavily, caught in the haze of afterglow. "Yeah," he agreed, a bit foggily, fur matted with sweat. Just like hers was.

" ... I said, earlier," she whispered, rubbing his back, "that your scurry makes me wanna flap and fly? I didn't mean just my wings." A breath. "My heart, too. Cheesy as that sounds."

" ... not cheesy," he insisted, tenderly nosing her. "Anyway, mouses love cheese. You know that." Nosing, nuzzling her neck. And, mouse-hood shrinking, he held his breath as he pulled his hips back. His mouse-hood always got extremely sensitive after he came. And he shivered his way out of her, sighing heavily, organ flopping aside and excess semen, milky-white in color, leaking out of her and to the sheets, where a spot had already been soaked with vaginal juice. "We, uh, gotta shower. Get squeaky-clean," he whispered, sitting up on his knees and shins, whiskers twitching. "Gotta get going. You can, uh, take extra time to groom your fur. After we're done in the shower, I mean. I'll wake and feed Akira."

"Thanks," she whispered, head on a pillow, looking up at him. Her eyes sparkling. And she reached for one of his paws and gently held to it, giving an errant squeeze. "And thanks for the breakfast," she said, with a loving wink.

He flushed but smiled, dimples showing on his honey-tan cheeks. "You're very welcome," he mouthed back, wishing they could stay here. Lay here for hours, just sniffing each other, holding each other. Whispering things for each other's ears only. But they had a whole day ahead of them. And while it was true that joy cometh in the morning, they had faith enough to know it would stick around. That their love, with God's blessing, would give it an everlasting home.