# Melting Ice Author: Squirrel Tags: M/F, Mouse, Romance, Vaginal "My power's out." She was at his door, standing outside. Shivering. And holding her tail in her paws. "So's mine." "Oh." She shrugged. "I guess it would be." Pause. She shifted lightly on her foot-paws. "Because there's an ice storm," she added. The countryside glistened in the dimness behind her. The sky was grey. "I know. I have windows." He tilted his head, could see the brown tree branches heavy with white ice. Could see ... ice. Everywhere. Ice. And he could see her breath. "Your windows," she remarked, as way of noticing, "Are cleaner than mine." "I'm fastidious." "I know." She smiled, a bit shyly, as her nose was blushing pink. Or was that from the chill? "Are you gonna invite me in?" "Oh. Yes." He stepped aside. She shuffled in, twitching. Sighing. "It's like it's dead out there. Or ... you know, like ... frozen." She laughed slightly. "Which would make sense." "No, I know what you mean." She nodded, looking around. "It's warm in here." Pause. "I hope you don't mind me coming over, but ... " She trailed.   "I don't mind," he whispered sincerely. His turn to be shy. She smiled at him, tilted her head. "You're sweet." He blushed beneath his fur. He wasn't good at taking compliments. He never knew how to handle them. "You have candles going," she said. He nodded. "Because the lights are out." She smiled. "Logically." "Well ... " "I think an ice storm like this ... it can be ... " "What?" "Romantic? Don't you think?" "I suppose." "At the very least, it's humbling." Pause. "I don't really trust technology. You know that." He did. "I hope I'm not bothering you," she said again. "You're not." "You seem uncomfortable." "No." She waited. "Just that ... I wasn't expecting you." "Don't you like surprises?" she smiled. "Not really." "You don't like things you can't control," she guessed. "It's not that." "What, then?" He shrugged, trying to pin-point an answer. "I like order. Structure. Surprises have neither. They're ... random." "Well, this ice storm must be killing you, then. The weather's random." "Well, that's different."   "Is it?" she pressed. He nodded. Serious. "Nature is exempt from formality." "Why's that?" "It just ... is," was all he could say. "Sounds to me," she began. "Yes?" "Sounds to me like you've got yourself spinning your own webs. I think," she said, "You like to make your own complications. Because you prefer them to the ones life randomly gives you." "Yeah?" he went, a bit uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going. "I think you're a very complicated mouse. More so than most. I think ... you don't often realize that." "Realize what?" he whispered. "How special you are," she whispered back. "How unique." "Well, I'm not," he insisted. "Sometimes, I can figure you out," she said, ignoring his remark. "Other times ... not so much." He just shrugged. "You're sweet." "You already told me that," he said. Bashful. "Yeah?" He nodded. "Don't you mind hearing it again?" "I don't know," he said. "You're mumbling." "Yeah," he went. They were both still standing. "Would you like something to eat?" he offered. "Well ... "   "Or drink?" "Well, what do you have?" "Um ... well, I can't really cook anything. What with the power out." Pause. "Bread and butter? Water?" "Sounds good." "Alright." Pause. "I'll go get the, uh, stuff," he said. "I'll wait on the couch. Or do you need my help?" "I can get it." She nodded, took a breath. Sat down. Her thin tail draping, hanging up and over the top of the back of the couch. He came back, a minute later, with some slices of French bread. Buttered on one side. And two glasses of water. No ice. "I can get you some ice from outside, if you want," he told her. "For your water." She laughed. He smiled shyly, sitting down beside her. There was a coffee table in front of the couch, where they sat their plates and cups. And where two candles were burning. Flickering, flapping flames like hypnotizing snakes, reaching up, trailing smoke from their bright tops. "Who made this bread?" she wondered, nibbling. "Well, I didn't. I mean, I can cook, but not ... not that good." "Well, I know," she teased. "It was the grey squirrel. At the edge of the forest. She has that pastry shop. She makes breads."   She nodded. "Mm. I know the one." Silence. Bits of ice could be heard hitting the roof, the windows. Ice creaking, groaning. All the while, more ice forming. Everything crystal. "It's snowing now," she noticed. "A bit." He nodded, half-finished with his bread. "I like this." "Hmm?" He looked to her, mouth full. "Us. This." She shrugged. "And I like your place. Everything ... it radiates with care." He smiled, flushed. "You must spend a lot of time organizing all of this." She looked around the dim, dandle-lit room. It was very clean, and organized with trinkets, toys ... on tables, little desks. There were some plants, too. "I do," was all he said. And then, "It helps me relax." It was the only thing that helped him relax. Organizing, cleaning things. He always had trouble sleeping at night. Sometimes, he cleaned his house in the dead of morning. Sometimes. "You okay?" she wondered. "Hmm?" "You seemed ... lost there, for a moment." He shrugged. She put her bread down. Took a drink of water. Put the water down, too. Her gaze flickered to the window. Which was frosted. Iced. "So grey," she whispered. "The world."   "Yeah," he whispered, nodding lightly. Staring at the coffee table. Pause. She turned to him. Suddenly serious. With a sudden tension. His nose and whiskers twitched. Nervous. She kissed his nose, softly. He twitched. She kissed his nose again. He tilted his head. She kissed his cheek. Lips. His nose and whiskers continued to twitch. He breathed out. She breathed in, paws moving to his chest. Pushing him back, slowly, to the couch cushions. Leaning on top of him. He took in another, deeper breath. "You don't mind?" she whispered into his large, sensitive ears, her voice trailing. A bit coy. So soft. Wanting for permission. Despite any hesitations, he could only whisper back, "No." She nuzzled his nose. "Okay," she whispered simply. So light. So airy. His heart quickened. And his pulse. His breathing. He swallowed. She breathed out onto his cheek, warming his fur, his rich brown fur, which was a bit coarser than her own, soft honey-brown fur. Which smelled of something soft. Feminine. They were, in seconds, wriggled out of any clothing. Bare. In the fur. Warm. Together. And lit by candlelight. There were shadows. Bold, wavering shadows. Dim, flirting with the dark as the grey became more pronounced outside, and more blustery. And she shifted on top of him, her belly on his. Nose to nose. Their whiskers twitching. And the weight of her on top of him ... caused him to sink down into the cushions. Breathing harder, from instinct and anticipation.   The wind blew through the heavy, icy branches of the trees outside, sending ice shards onto the roof, into the windows. A crackling sound. A branch, unable to take the stress, snapped. Broke. Crashed to the snowy ground. Joining smaller limbs already there. Her brown eyes met his. Close. Open. He wasn't accustomed to such intimate eye contact, and he almost flinched. Almost broke it. But he held, his paws wordlessly traveling to her back, where he scratched through her fur. Softly. Tenderly. Scritching. Running over her slender, warm curves, her soft fur. She sighed. Broke the eye contact. And then squirmed a few inches forward, going for his ears. He lay, submissive, as she breathed out a hot breath. As it washed over his right ear. And she blew a delicate breath into the inside of his ear. Blowing softly, a soft breeze from her mouth. "Oh." He sighed heavily. On the verge of squeaking. But he bit his lip. Furry chest rising and falling. His eyes went to a half-close before opening fully again. Blink-blinking. Feeling the warm, moist trail of her tongue on the edges of his ears. He sighed out. Squirming a bit. She continued warming, wetting, and caressing his right ear, her paw reaching up to clutch at his other ear. Tugging.   He whimpered. Squeaked airily. His eyes watered. "Oh," she breathed out, into his ear. Kissing. Breathing. "I know," she whispered, sitting up, straddling his chest. Paws on his fur, scratching through. "I know," she whispered again. "Just tell me when they get too sensitive." He swallowed and nodded, flushed. She stroked his large mouse ears, continuing. They flushed. They burned. He squeaked like a baby. "Need me to stop?" He whimpered again. Nodded. "It's okay." She leaned down. Kissed his neck. "I'll wait until they cool down." She smiled, nosing his fur, the fur on his neck. "Besides, you're more than ears, aren't you?" He blushed, smiled. Blushed again. "Yeah," he whispered. Her lips, her mouth ... suddenly met his. His nose flared for breath, whiskers twitching. Ears still throbbing from the stimulation. And she broke the kiss, laying down on top of him. Head on his chest, her own large ears (not as sensitive as his) listening to his heartbeat. He let his paws move to her lower back, rubbing. He grabbed onto the base of her tail (which was more sensitive than his), reeling her tail in, guiding the tip to his mouth. Suckling on it.   She sighed and arched back, and then back down against him. "Oh," she went. Airily. And feeling his sudden hesitation, she tilted her head to meet his eyes. In the dimness. "Go on," she said softly. Her eyes reflected the candlelight. Her eyes glowed. She rubbed her nose in his fur. "I trust you." "Okay," he whispered, voice quavering. Allowing her tail to slip out of his mouth. She raised her head, putting her nose-tip to his nose-tip. She was still on top. And his paws went past her rump, to her legs, working round to her thights. He parted her legs. Delicately. She allowed him to push them open. And she, squeaking lightly with him, let out an "oh" as his roving paws rubbed at her folds. Again and again. She squeaked. His paws continued to search, parting, searching. The thumb on one of his paws ... ran itself back and forth over her clit. She whimpered and squeaked, oh-ing again. And, then, wriggling and writhing with her, he maneuvered to the top, putting her on bottom. Back on the cushions. She maneuvered her hips with his, his paws back to her arms, and then her sides. She matched his movements, and ...   A great flush of warm air left his mouth in a moist exhale ... as he, his member firm and out, erect, nudged her opening and slid through, into her. And she closed her eyes and swallowed upon being entered. Stationary for a moment, he thrust his hips. And then again. Pausing. And then forming a steady, sliding motion. And seeing his instinct take over, seeing him grow bolder, she began to knead the cheeks of his furry rump. Blowing hot air into his ears. And she bucked back, hugging him, holding him dearly, squeaking at the pure, physical feeling. At his scent. His eagerness. His innocence. All of it probing into her. She squeaked out. Pinned. Bucking hard against him. The sounds of their bodies filled the room. Drowning out the sounds of the ice outside. His eyes were at a squint. His breath shallow, fast. Operating on animal instinct. Wanting. Feeling his body surge. His tail also went erect, straight up behind him and into the air, pointing at the ceiling. Her own tail snaked out from under her sweating, furry, feminine form ... her tail wrapping, coiling around his. And as he continued to work on her, her paws traveled back up to his ears. Taking their temperature. And then rubbing, tugging. Stopping whenever they burned too tender.   He squeaked, cried out. Squeaked. Unable to close his mouth between breathing and squeaking and whimpering. She sighed repeatedly, oh-ing each time, unable to make civil sounds. Just moans. Pants. Feeling her fur brushing with his. Feeling they were just extensions of each other. They meshed together, bumping, humping. Gritting their teeth as the combination of everything ... was stringing, leading them to their sharp, shared reward. To climax. The rising of passion, temperature, want ... crept higher. The pleasure. She squirmed beneath his weight, squeaking out. He trembled, whimpering as she repeatedly brought his ears to a burn, as his member tingled inside of her, among her warm, wet muscles. They teetered on the edge of the couch, two writhing, squeaking, mating mice. And they fell off. To the floor. As soon as they hit the carpet, they hit orgasm. Like an explosion. They hit nearly simultaneously. She a few seconds before him. She felt a flutter-flutter, waves of radiating, searing ecstasy. She squeaked and cried out, clutching him, paws clutching the fur on his back. Her eyes went shut. Pussy leaking fluid. Mouth gasping for breath. She braced herself. Trying to ride through it.   His reaction left his tail shaking. IT went limp. The small fall to the carpet had snatched his breath right as his seed had begun to jolt, run, and then explode, spilling, filling into her, coating her interior. He gaped, squirming, foot-paws and paws sweaty, and his whiskers drooping. His climax forced a mouse-bark. And again. A yelp. Wild. His nose twitched, and squeaking, he exhaled onto her mouth. Gaping. And then a wet, messy kiss. And, empty, he lay on top of her. Filled with exhaustion, relief, care ... too many things to process. A wet mess. Fur. Fluid. Saliva. He panted against her. She clutched at him, held to him. He anchored himself to her. After five minutes of wordless recovery, panting for stability, he slipped out of her. They nestled, side-by side, on the couch. The cushions. Just breathing. Twitching. Throats dry. They downed any water left in the glasses on the coffee table. Outside, the snow and sleet fell at a slant. Sky a slate color. Heavy. Iced. "Oh," she went, exhaling. Leaning back. Limp. She leaned against him. She tilted her head and gave him a tired, tender smile. A soft smile. They played with each other's fur, and their foot-paws rubbed together, creating friction.   He smiled back, vulnerable, squeaking lightly as one of her foot-paws went up his lower leg, and then back down again. He wrapped his arms and paws around her. Neither wanted to break this, any of this, by speaking. Not yet. They were mostly quiet. When their bodies had returned to normal, when things had further subsided, and with the candles getting low, he said, stuttering, his mind rational again ... and realizing this sudden, unplanned reality (though he felt, somehow, they had both been unconsciously plotting for this to happen ... for a long, long time; the ice storm, perhaps, had given rise to a perfect excuse) ... he said, "I don't want you to have to, uh, walk back ... walk home in this ... " "I'll stay," she whispered, accepting his invitation before he'd even finished giving it. He smiled. Flushed. "Okay," he whispered back. He had been afraid, in a way, that this had been ... just instinct and circumstance. That maybe they were young and foolish. That maybe ... "I'll stay," she repeated, whispering into his fur.   He felt a wave of ... of joy. Actual joy. He hadn't felt that before. "My mouse," she whispered tenderly, rubbing a paw on his chest, his fur. Nosing him gingerly. Overwhelmed, he nuzzled and nosed her back. Simply allowing himself to feel. To just ... be. And he guarded her. And loved her. All through the slippery, icy night. And forever after. Source: https://sofurry.com/s/Oe5Zq8mM