FSE

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Twilight had fallen, cool, starry, the deepest of blues, and full of creek-frog and mockingbird-sounds.

The mouse had spent all day staking apple trees, straightening them, keeping them from getting too 'top-heavy.' From falling over. Staking, tying them with melon-orange colored twine. And then some painting. With big brushes and rollers. Not painting apple trees, no, but painting one of the barns at the orchard. Painting it 'International Harvester' red. Its original color had been some kind of soil-brown. Not unpleasant or anything. But the owner wanted a 'brighter,' more 'traditional' look to the building. Something more 'summer-y.' Something reminiscent of apples.

Adelaide, meanwhile, had spent all day in town, seven miles north, cataloguing and sorting through new books, putting 'bar code' stickers on them. In preparation for the Sheridan library's 'summer reading program.' That's why they'd ordered so many new books lately. The library wasn't 'ripe with resources,' necessarily, but had enough money (from tax dollars the town council had allotted). There was a list of books to choose from, and you had a week to read each one. There were prizes. The bat, though, wasn't going to be in charge of any of that. Had no desire to be.

She'd emphasized this to her and Ketchy's boss (an older, grey-furred rabbit). Because it would mean giving up her Saturdays for about six weeks in June and July. Hay-baling time. When Field would be helping on his family's farm during the weekends. Cause, when Field was baling, Adelaide would need to be around to watch Akira, her and Field's two-and-a-half year old daughter. Field's mother usually did that, but she always drove the baler.

Anyway, today, long work-hours for the both of them.

A little tedious.

It was true that the mouse and bat didn't have the most 'stimulating' jobs. The most intellectually-challenging. The most artistic or 'fun.' And certainly not the highest-paying. But they were good, stable jobs, close to home. And, when you didn't have college educations or fancy degrees, you had to take what you could get. Besides, Field loved working outside, in nature. Agriculture-related things. And Adelaide got to work with Ketchy, the squirrel. Her close friend. Neither of them disliked their jobs. That wasn't to say they didn't dream of 'more,' sometimes. But they'd accepted the way things were. The way things had turned out, and the way things were going to be for the near future.

Field, to get to work, drove an old 'tractor' four-wheeler. A small thing. A 'Gator,' it was called. It was good for traveling short, rural distances, like through fields and stuff. Adelaide always got the truck. That was their only real vehicle: the truck. It had some rusty parts, but it ran pretty smoothly. It had several years left in it.

Anyway, Field had come directly home at five. Adelaide hadn't. First stopping by Field's parents' house (a mile or so away) to pick up Akira. When both Field and Adelaide worked, Field's mother usually babysat the mouse-bat. So, Adelaide picked her up. And they'd come home, where ...

... Field, in the yard, put his paws to his cheeks in cute, innocent alarm. Genuine alarm. "Oh, no," was his airy squeak, blue-grey eyes mousey-wide. Paws coming off his cheeks, whiskers a-twitch, he quickly scurried forward. Seeing, in the grass, a baby bird. Looked to be a robin, from first glance. Yes, a robin. Not all that many feathers yet, eyes shut, beak in front of it. Just breathing. Must've fallen out of its nest. The mouse, twitching with concern, knelt down. His long, ropy tail snaking behind his rump and just above the green grass of their yard. Out here in such open, rural confines, the fields and pastures stretching and gently, gently sloping. Far and forever. The sun sliding down to the west.

The mouse, twitching, scooped the little bird up with concern. Gently with both paws. And then took a deep breath as he stood, biting his lip. Looking upward. He couldn't find the nest. Not at first. But, after a minute, he saw it. It wasn't that far up. Not really. You can climb up there. Just a branch or two. But doing it with a baby bird in one paw? Just take off your shirt, he told himself, and loop it around your neck. Make a 'pouch' for the bird. Then use both paws to climb. So, nodding to himself, he did so. Putting the bird back down in the grass, before lifting both arms and paws. Tugging his shirt (which said 'Butler basketball') up, up. And off. And then tying it around his neck, bringing the baggier part forward, like a pouch. And then putting the bird in the pouch before taking a deep breath and scaling up the tree.

Climbing it, as he did, in bare foot-paws. While his 'fore' paws reached, grabbed at a branch. A slight, effortless 'grunt,' pulling himself up. Up. Up a bit, to the next branch. About six or seven feet off the ground. That was all. And the nest was there. And, keeping his balance, he removed the baby robin from his makeshift 'shirt pouch' and put it back in the nest. There was one other baby robin there. So, this made two. And, judging from the chirping nearby, their mother and father were both back.

" ... hey, I'm not the one that lost their kid," he told the angry robins. "I'm helping you!" was the flustered squeak, as the robins hopped on the branches, closer, closer.

Chirp! CHIRP!

" ... okay! I'm going," the mouse muttered, sighing, whiskers twitching with agitation. " ... I wouldn't hurt you," he told them, dejectedly. But, of course, they didn't understand. They didn't know that the mouse was a shy, gentle soul. That he once cried when he'd accidentally killed a lightning bug. That he was only trying to help the robins by giving their lost baby back. He sighed, slipping down, down, and dropping to the ground. Cushioning the fall by bending his knees and lowering himself, paws and arms brushing the grass. At a kneel. Looking up, he saw that the robins were ignoring the returned baby. And almost moving as if to shove it back out. Field sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do if that was the case. Nature could be cruel. It could be beautiful and peaceful, yeah. Often was. But it could be more vicious than anything when it wanted.

He should know. He was a mouse. The most prey-like of prey.

And, still crouching, suddenly blinking, he saw Adelaide pull into the gravel driveway. The truck clink-clinking off, and the door opening. Adelaide walking gingerly around to the passenger-side (walking gingerly because of the gravel), and going to take Akira out of her 'car-seat.'

Field, smiling quietly, stood and began to walk toward them, through the grass. Not bothering to put his shirt back on. Instead, tugging it off from his neck and letting it fall into the grass.

" ... Akira wants to know how come you think you're a bat," Adelaide said, with a toothy, fang-showing grin, holding their daughter in her winged arms and shutting the passenger door with her foot-paw. It clunked shut, and she moved into the grass. "And how come you look like a ladybug? And have no shirt on? I told her the answer to the last question was 'to work up mommy'. I couldn't give her answers to the other two."

The mouse bit his lip, with a shy giggle-squeaking coming from his throat. Not denying the assumption of 'working her up,' even though, obviously, that hadn't been his original intention for removing the shirt. " ... ladybug?"

"The spots? Paint-spots ... "

" ... oh, uh, yeah, it's paint. We were painting. At work. I got some on myself."

Akira, eyes bright, exclaimed, "Tide-ness!"

"Yeah, it's not tidiness. More like untidiness," Field went.

"Da nuh like ... " Flap-a-flap-a! Flapping her little, winged arms. Adelaide holding to the mouse-bat's lower half, keeping her from falling backward as she did so.

" ... no, daddy doesn't like untidiness," Field affirmed seriously, nodding, making a slight frown-face. " ... daddy doesn't like painting buildings." A sigh. He was, indeed, a very tidy creature. He didn't mind getting dirty. Like, when he made love with Adelaide out in the woods, or waded through the creek, or walked in the rain through the pastures. He didn't mind that. Those were natural, purifying 'messes.' Not artificial, chemical, can't-remove-unless-you-use-paint-thinner messes. Bleh. He shook his head. " ... it's gonna take a half hour of soapy scrubbing to get this stuff out of my fur. Look at my honey-tan! It's all splashed with red." An anxious twitch. "It looks like blood." Twitches.

' ... are you alright?' Adelaide asked, in quiet, telepathic 'thought-speech.'

Whiskers twitching, the mouse whispered, aloud, " ... just got yelled at, a little. At work. I spilled some paint by accident, and ... just hate painting," he mumbled, looking to the grass.

"You almost done with it?" Adelaide asked, aloud.

"Not for another week. We're doing it all by paw." A twitch. " ... should use a sprayer. Or something. Feels more like busy-work doing it all by paw."

"Probably cheaper for you to do it than to pay to have professionals do it."

" ... yeah," the mouse went, nodding. Quiet for a moment, and then meeting his wife's eyes. "I just wish I felt more productive, sometimes."

The pink-furred bat nodded quietly, understanding. And saying, after a second, of the paint, " ... I'll help you wash. We'll get it off," Adelaide assured, patiently. "We'll get you squeaky clean." She slipped her emotional feelers, her telepathic feelers, around the mouse's mind. Knowing that he was often tired after work. After all, most of it was physical labor. Knowing this made him more prone to 'mousey stubbornness.'

Akira, oblivious to all this, kept talking. " ... an' how come da's inna ... batz."

"I wasn't being like a bat," he said of his 'foray into the air,' big, dishy ears swiveling atop his head. He hadn't gotten any paint on those, thankfully. "I was putting a baby bird back in its nest." As he said this, he moved closer to his family. So that Akira was positioned between himself and Adelaide. The mouse-bat still hugging round her mother's neck. And Field, in turn, hugged the both of them. Giving a deep, relieved sigh while he bestowed them with tender, squeaky nuzzles. It was so good to see them. It was so good to be home. Even if work wasn't far away at all. It was still a good feeling. " ... it made me think of you," he told Akira. "And, how, if you ever fell, I would be there in a second. No matter how many times you fell. I wouldn't abandon you." Not like those robins, he thought to himself.

" ... birdz eggz," Akira went, too young to fully understand the heart-swelling sentiment behind her father's words.

" ... no, they weren't eggs. They were hatched birds. Little birds."

"Wingz ave, uh ... eggz. I's an egg."

"No, you were never an egg," Field whispered, kissing his daughter's head. And then kissing it again. So daintily. "You weren't hatched. You were, uh ... well, uh ... " His eyes darted to Adelaide's.

" ... you came out of mommy's belly," Adelaide said, smiling, taking over for Field. "Not out of an egg."

" ... how'z come in'yer, uh ... "

" ... well, cause daddy loved me very much. That's how come you got there. I'm not telling you any more than that until you're older." A pause. "And, even then, I might not wanna tell." When Akira became a teenager, and simultaneously began to have heats and developed full abilities to fly and use her telepathy? That was going to be 'interesting,' to say the least. It was going to be many paw-fuls of 'interesting.' It wasn't something Adelaide was in a hurry to go through.

" ... an', uh, mamma's ... "

" ... hush, now," Adelaide told Akira, her head leaning over hers. To reach Field's, instead. So that husband and wife were gently locking lips while Akira squirmed between them, eyes cutely wide, looking around, and ...

... eventually, they'd all gone into the house. Where the mouse-bat had played in her room for a while. Adelaide sneaking into the bathroom to breed with Field in the shower. After that, they'd made supper (rather, Field had made supper, being the better cook), and Adelaide had mentioned that Ketchy and Denali wanted to get together with them for an outdoor cookout in the next few weeks. Field thought that'd be good, maybe the first weekend in June. They could do it here, by the creek.

After supper, he and Adelaide played with Akira, taking her outside for a half an hour or so, birdwatching, listening to the AM radio (the Indy 500 'Gasoline Alley' talk show) with an extension cord by the basketball hoop. Where Field tried to impress the two femmes in his life with his 'skills.' Trying to shoot a lot of threes and reverse lay-ups. The hoop and little, cement court was in front of the open fields. You could almost see for miles in spots. It made all the tension of the day melt away. Like it was somewhere else. Like God had lifted it. Like redemption, as always, had been found.

Adelaide, upon going back inside, had opened the mail and sorted through the various bills, sighing at each one. Field, taking Akira back in, too, had tidied up anything that needed tidying in the kitchen and the rest of the house.

And then things began to wind down. (To a certain degree, anyway.)

Nothing grand had happened today.

Nothing impressive.

But, oh, it wasn't a bad day at all.

They couldn't complain, could they?

Eventually, they'd put Akira to bed. Which had taken at least half an hour to do, to get her into bed. And to make her stay in bed, more to the point ...

" ... well, grandma didn't wanna give you that candy. You wanted her to give you that candy. She underestimated you, mm?" A smile. "I gotta admit, I knew she would. I knew you'd find a way to keep 'mind-nudging' her." A chitter. Trying to put on a serious 'mom' face. "But I'm still keeping it. I'm definitely rationing it, young miss."

"Nu-uh! Momma, s'mine canny," Akira protested. Flap-a-flap-a! Waving her own winged arms, trying to get away again. Her mauve fur looking almost purple when it was in dimness or darkness, as it was, now. The bedroom mostly dim. But the door open, letting in light from the rest of the house.

"Trying the 'mousey motions,' huh? Think you're gonna pull that rodent wriggle and squirm on me? Think I'm gonna fall for that? Nope, nope ... " Adelaide didn't let her escape this time. On her knees beside Akira's bed, winged arms open and reaching out, she even used her telepathy to 'influence' her daughter into staying put.

A cute, dainty sigh from the mouse-bat, feeling her mother's invisible 'emotional feelers' gently brushing her own. " ... momma," she said, more calmly, successfully subdued. Halfway, anyway. There was still a stubborn look still in her eyes. "Momma, canny's mine-uh. An' a bugz."

"Bugs are good for you."

"Da say ... "

" ... well, I know more about bugs than daddy. Just because I may have accidentally spilled crickets in his broccoli casserole, and then accidentally added assorted gossamer-winged, freezer-bagged house-flies into his lunch box for work ... " The bat, hiding a grin, trailed. She could go on. On and on. " ... and maybe, somehow, ended up putting dragonfly parts in his blueberry muffins. One day, he'll start eating them and liking them. I'm not letting it go," she confided to Akira.

"Bugz is-uh good!"

"Mm-hmm. Yes."

"Canny bugz!"

"Mm-hmm ... hey. Wait a minute. Candy bugs? No," Adelaide said, furrowing her brow. "I didn't say anything about you getting candied bugs ... " Candied bugs and sweet potatoes was one of Akira's favorite things to eat.

" ... no, es canny bugz! Yez!"

"Oh. Oh, I see. You want them now? And what if I say no? What are you gonna do?" A smile, leaning over her, touching noses. Bump, bumping noses, purposely brushing whiskers. "You think I'm gonna say, 'Akira, you don't need to sleep at all. Let's go into the kitchen and make candied bugs 'til after midnight?" she whispered. "You think?"

A bright nod.

"I'm afraid not. Besides, we don't have sweet potatoes."

" ... momma!" was the wriggling (she got the wriggle from Field) protest. And she got the 'attitude' from Adelaide.

"Akira, it's time for bed. I'm tired. Behave, okay? I know you're a good girl ... anyway, I give you candy, now, or any food, you're gonna scurry up a wall. And you just brushed your teeth and fangs, too. I'm not helping you brush them again."

That was a little too much information for Akira to fully register. So, she just replied, "Wellz, uh ... Dada scurreeze up'n, uh ... "

"Well, daddy does scurry, yes, but he doesn't eat sweet stuff before bed. He's very tidy and fit. I give him all the 'sweets' he needs ... mm ... " A giggle-chitter, with a toothy grin, and Adelaide began to tuck Akira in, pulling the blankets and sheets up.

" ... momma."

"What?"

"I's naw tire!"

"You are."

"Nu-uh!"

"Yes-huh."

"Nuh!"

"Akira, daddy and I really need to ... look, we gotta spend some time together," Adelaide phrased, very diplomatically. "It's been a long, long day. We work very hard to provide for you, okay? So, you gotta give us some 'grown-up' time. We don't want you running into our room when we're doing it. You've done that before, you little sneak." A frustrated squint. Luckily, like the last time (a week ago), it had been dark, and they'd been mostly caught up in the sheets, and Adelaide had telepathically sensed their daughter's approach a few seconds before Akira had toddled into the room. Which gave Field time to reluctantly pull out of his wife, and gave Adelaide time to just withdraw her fangs from him. A painful experience, being that the 'mating bite' wasn't to be broken until climax. But, honestly, it was either have Akira barge in on them breeding, or stop. So, they really had no choice.

But, when the bite was broken, the result was an immediate, pounding headache. Among other pains. A biological failsafe to ensure that a femme bat didn't stop breeding until she had the male's seed. Or, if a bat happened to be male, to ensure that he sowed the femme. This guaranteed a much better chance of getting the femme pregnant, whether she wanted it or not. The instinct was probably in place because bats had eleven-month gestations, and therefore reproduced much slower than other species. So, God had given them, through nature, a little 'boost' to ensure the species stayed in healthy population numbers. But, also, the fangs had to be embedded to serve as a 'circuit' for the direct telepathic link. That incredible, magnetic union, which greatly enhanced the intimacy. Bats had, without a doubt, a complicated sexual physiology. Anyway, even when she was in heat nowadays, Adelaide was currently on a birth control pill. She and Field just couldn't financially afford to raise another child right now, despite the fact that they both wanted more children.

Field, being a mouse, obviously didn't have any such telepathic powers or 'sexual failsafes.' His breeding drive was much, much simpler, though no less vital. But, whatever the case, he was still at Adelaide's mercy during breeding. And still benefitted from her telepathy. With fangs in his neck, he was utterly joined to her in every way. And it wasn't like he could remove himself from the act without drawing blood and pain. He had no choice but to see the breeding through. Upon which, after climax, Adelaide's biting instinct would fade and she'd carefully pull the fangs out, severing the direct link. During the whole process, he trusted her completely. Because he loved her, for one, and because she'd never, ever caused him discomfort. She knew what she was doing.

Whenever the bat was forced to withdraw prematurely, though, the resulting feeling was sharply nauseating. And would last for hours. Or until the very moment their intercourse resumed. So, when Akira would barge in, Adelaide would have to pull out and just lay there, whimpering miserably and curling up while a flustered Field slipped into some shorts and herded Akira out of the bedroom, going with her to get a glass of water or whatever, then putting her back to bed. Which sometimes took up to ten minutes, depending on how stubborn Akira was being.

And it wasn't like Akira truly understood what mommy and daddy were doing in the first place. And Adelaide couldn't ever get truly mad at her for interrupting. It was simply an unavoidable part of having a child closing in on three years old: one's privacy just wasn't what it used to be. But they didn't make love with the door locked just in case something bad or scary happened and Akira really needed in during the night, since, at least half the time, they fell asleep after breeding, not showering 'til morning, when they'd have to breed again, anyway. So, they just left the door cracked barely open when they started, to where they wouldn't have to get up and unlock it after making love. Cause when your knees were wobbly and you were awash in afterglow, and you were coming down from a breathtaking high? You just didn't wanna move. You wanted to stay snuggled in bed with your love until you drifted into dreams.

Shaking herself away from such complicated, personal thoughts, however, Adelaide closed her eyes. And then opened them, giving a heavy sigh, followed by a deep breath. And a final, weak plead of, " ... we can't be interrupted, sweetie. Please. I'm tired. You gotta stay in bed so daddy and I can love each other very much, okay?"

" ... I getta keep an', uh ... canny," was all Akira said, somewhat in her own little world.

"I'm done talking about candy. No candy. You don't need it." An exasperated look, and a rising tone. "I am the rodent sugar monitor of this house, and if you don't stay in bed ... " A sigh, not really knowing how to finish that. She simply shook her head. " ... you need your rest. End of story. How 'bout that?"

Akira, upon hearing this, nodded her little head and stayed obediently in bed. And, tuckered out from her scurrying, she soon began to fall asleep. But not before Adelaide had softened and kissed her cheek and whispered a few 'I love you's' into her ear. "I love you, Akira. I'm sorry I got snappy. Mommy and daddy love you very much. You're our beautiful, little masterpiece." Then, getting up and leaving, the bat went and got Field, and they'd slipped into their own bed, soon getting very swoon-ful and ...

... it was now 11:01.

Mostly dark out. Save for the full moon. It'd been a sunny day, in the low 70's, a change from the rain. Now, it was cool, comforting. Though a breeze was growing. Mostly calm, though.

Mostly calm.

But maybe not so much in their bed. All tiredness pushed aside. It didn't matter that they had to be up at 7:30. It didn't matter how much work they'd done today. It didn't matter. They were 'refueling' each other. Stoking each other's fires. They were being each other's renewable energy.

For the navy-blue bed-sheets, without question, moved like a sultry sea, the fabric tugged and pulled, raised and bulged. Rippling as waves would. Beneath them, and beneath the downy comforter, came a rising, chitter-squeaking commotion, fueled by such notions. Came sharp, baited breaths. Came sighs, and the beginnings of subtle moans. Bodies almost entirely hidden from sight, but so clearly present. The scene made purer by the so-pale nightlight plugged into the wall by the wooden dresser, and by the love that seemed to sizzle in the warm-cool air, telepathically or not, filling up the very corners of the bedroom here in their old, cozy farmhouse.

More stirring, bumping, and writhing, more expressions of eager-tailed appetites. Until, with a heavy pant, the sheets raised a bit. Denting up some. A dishy, fleshy ear gradually peeking out. And then another. Two ears. Mouse ears. Followed by the entirety of Field's head, as he pushed himself to a sit, finding himself somewhere near the foot of their bed. His ears were notably flushed with blood, throbbing a warm, rosy kind of pink, the capillaries showing round the erogenous rims. Making the lobes to tingle pleasantly, to where he couldn't ignore it. He felt, for that reason and many others, rather hazy-headed. The sheets, meanwhile, eventually slipped off his shoulders and to his waist, exposing his bare, honey-tan chest and belly, lungs rising and falling with exertion. Pelt slightly sweat-matted. The fur on his forehead, especially, appeared to be damp. It was obvious he had no clothes on.

" ... F-Field," came Adelaide's swoon-ful pant, squirming into view after him, flopping her head back on one of their comfy pillows. " ... mm?" she went, questioningly, licking her pearly-white fangs. "W-why'd ... you stop?" A heavy sigh.

" ... w-what was that?" was all Field said, at a whisper, eyes mousey-wide with alarm and innocence. He swallowed.

"What was what?" the bat responded, scrunching her muzzle. Her angular, swept back ears not being as across-the-board keen, maybe, of his. Though she could hear detect higher frequencies.

"A sound."

"I don't hear anything." A simple exhale. " ... other than us, anyway. Field ... "

"I heard a sound," he repeated insistently, whispering it with his soft, effeminate voice, while sniffing the air with his pink, delicate nose. Getting the in-bed smell of fur and sweat and dust-motes. And the lingering scents of a 'few-days-ago' dampness from outside, which snuck through the closed but drafty windows. Aromas of May flowers, too. All the pretty, blooming flowers growing in the simple flower beds around their home, which the hummingbirds were beginning to visit. With some flowers having been cut and put in water-filled vases in the kitchen and living room (arranged, of course, by Field). Making the house to smell a little sunnier. Making it smell of late-spring, early-summer.

He kept sniffing all of this, whiskers twitching. And glistening, too, with little, clear dew-drops. Dew-drops that had come, not so discreetly, from Adelaide's precious, feminine parts. The taste, in addition to the moistness, lingering about his tongue, and the erotic scent seeming to cling to his nostrils. It was enough to push him to a borderline sensory overload. If his 'mousey anxiety' hadn't suddenly flared up, he certainly never would've stopped doing what he'd been doing.

Adelaide, for one, wished he hadn't. But didn't lose patience with him. She knew his mind, and knew how he worked. And loved him for it. So, trying to slow her breathing, she closed her eyes, then gave a slight nod. " ... one of the branches on that ... that tree outside the kitchen? Wind's knocking it against the sink-window. Tapping it, you know? 'Tap, tap, tap'? Breeze is picking up. Must be a front moving in, maybe." The forecast for tomorrow had said, in today's paper, 'thirty percent' chance of rain. As long as there was a window over Terre Haute on Sunday for the race, one could live with 'thirty percent.' For now. Eventually, one would crave an 85-degree, brazenly blue and sunny day. Even if you had fur, and having fur in such heat could be smothering? You still craved the heart of summer, the peak of nature's life cycle.

"Oh," was Field's eventual response.

A cheeky, toothy smile was melting back onto her muzzle. "Yeah." A sultry pause. "Yeah, so come on. Come on," she urged, in a hungry, hurrying way. Velvety, winged arms reaching out, trying to push him back beneath the sheets. "Down you go," she panted dominantly, pupils fully-dilated.

Field, pupils in very much the same state, and feeling her paws pressuring his bare, trim shoulders, just nodded quietly, bashfully. Ears swiveling so hotly. They weren't going to cool off anytime soon. But she'd been right about the sound. It was just a branch tapping one of the kitchen windows. Nothing to worry about, right? Just a little wind. Just ...

" ... darling, it's not gonna storm, okay?" A pause, easing up for a moment, knowing that's what was bothering him. The weather. Field was afraid of storms. And total dark, also, which was why they had to sleep with a nightlight. His 'mousey anxiety' and all. But there was no mistaking that he was much calmer than he used to be. Much more mature. Faith and love had done their part to tame him. "If it does, you'll be safe in my wings. And we'll both be safe in God's, so ... and don't worry about Akira, either. She's already dreaming. I can sense it."

The mouse nodded quietly, reassured. A deep, clean breath.

"Now," the bat went, stretching her winged arms, "I know you can't help it, but try not to worry. Let's just relax." A deep breath. "Relax," she repeated, "together." She did, indeed, sense his worries, as always. With her telepathic 'emotional feelers.' Being mated to a mouse wasn't necessarily easy. They were very fragile, emotional creatures, requiring lots of care. But the love you got back from them in return? Was so tender and full. So sweetly unconditional. And, oh, they were cute. Adelaide, reveling in this reality, sighed dreamily. " ... I wanna eat you up, you know?" she breathed, not bothering to hold the sentiment back. "All of you."

"I, uh ... I thought I was eating you up?" he responded, with whisker-twitching shyness, his tail demurely side-winding off the sheets, now, and off the foot of the bed. Like a fishing line cast to all the shipwrecked dust mites on the carpet. Work, finances, world news, all of that? Them still not having tickets to the Indy 500 on Sunday? Was the last thing on their minds right now. They were, in their old, rural home, so isolated from society. Sometimes, it was like they were in a world of their own.

Oh, Field wished they could stay here and never leave. But that wasn't how life worked. Still, it was a pleasant ideal to muse about.

Adelaide sighed and grinned. "Oh, gosh ... mm ... mm, my squeaky, bird-saving ... mm, barn-painting muff-mouse."

" ... Adelaide." He blushed at this, modestly.

She looked at him with definitive hunger. Licking her fangs.

" ... what?" A wide-eyed blink. "What'd I do?" Blue-grey eyes still, as ever, mousey-wide.

"The cuteness, the wispiness," she breathed. "You just don't even know, do you? I mean, I ... I guess you can't be affected by your own cuteness. I guess we ... we've established that before, obviously," she breathed, trailing, swallowing. A head-tilt. "Just like I can't use my telepathy on myself."

Field just blinked, not knowing where she was going with this.

And, to be honest, neither did she. So, she just pointed with a paw. Pointing down. Knowing he understood what it meant. Knowing he wanted it.

But mouses were also prone to dreamy reflection. He saw her gesture, and gave another one of his quiet, little nods. "I will," he breathed. "I will. Just a minute ... " He had to ponder, first, based on what she'd said a few minutes ago, "Does God have wings? You said we'd be in His wings ... "

" ... arms, then," she said, smiling. Trying not to grow impatient. But it was hard not to sound it as she asked, "Does it matter?"

"I guess not," was the whisper, lolling his head a little restlessly. Whiskers still glistening with her juices as they twitched. "I mean, He's, uh ... non-corporeal." A pause, swallowing, breathing in through his pink, sniffy nose.

A giggle-chitter, and a sultry huff. "I'm still worked up, you know. You're working me up more every second. Like ... mm," was all she could manage, taking a breath. "Can't just leave me hanging ... "

"I wasn't planning on it." A soft, knowing smile, brightening back up.

A giggle-chitter. "No?"

"Mm-mm." A shake of the head. "Anyway, a little conversation isn't gonna put your fuse out."

"Fuse? What's that make your 'squeaky toy,' then?" A fang-framed grin, her winged arms stretching again, again. "Who's the one that has the fuse?"

"Uh ... well, uh ... " His ears swivelled, still rosy-pink.

"Just get back beneath the sheets. Before I have to use my telepathy to 'mind-control' you."

"Bats don't believe in using their telepathy for mind control." He crossed his arms, in mock-defiance. His whiskers twitched absently.

"You're my husband. Doesn't apply to you. Besides, I 'nudge' you into doing things with my mind," she told him, sucking in air, "all the time. You go along with it."

"Yeah, but influencing me with your telepathy isn't the same as outright controlling me with it," was the playful squint, leaning forward a bit. " ... and you wouldn't do the outright stuff." He shifted to his shins and knees, the sheets still covering his groin. His arms uncrossing and paws sinking down against the comforter and mattress, arms acting as stilts to keep him from tipping over. Almost to where he could soon get himself fully to all fours, should he need to.

"I don't know, Field," she went, ever-playfully. A shake of the head, cotton candy, carnation-colored fur warm and so, so soft. Like clouds. She smelled, sometimes, like sunset clouds, or an alfalfa breeze. Ideally, anyway. That's what Field would tell her. But she shook her batty head, the head-fur rustling on the pillow-case beneath. "When we married, we entered into a union. One fur, one flesh? One mind? Remember the vows? By any Christian definition, we're a spiritual pair. So, I've full rights to do whatever pleasurable thing I wanna do to you and your body. And, in return for that? You've the right to do the same to me. But if you wanna pass up that right, I'm gonna have to, shall we say, make you see the light?"

The mouse just swallowed, whiskers ever-twitching, watching her quietly. Making full-on eye-contact.

At this, she gave him a genuine, giggle-chittering smile. Knowing their conversation had turned from quiet and thoughtful to 'worked up' and silly. But, so what if it had? "You'll let me convince you into complementing me," she continued, "cause you're my better half. And that's what we do. We complement each other. Fill each other's gaps. Out of bed, and in," she whispered, "bed." She licked her fangs, now, adding, just to make him flush, "Anyway, you love sex. We're both furs. We both need it," was her logic. "So, let's have it." Sucking in air. "Before it gets too late. And before all this stuff I'm saying becomes more incoherent than it already is ... "

" ... well, uh ... " He did blush (again!), just as she'd intended. That 'mousey modesty' of his. Even in the most intimate, unabashed of moments, he'd generally be polite and modest. Especially when he began to think too much. And, with a 'scurry-ful' mind, that happened often. That wasn't to say he couldn't lose himself in the moment, or be lulled into playfulness. Oh, he could. He had the capacity to be animalistic. Right now, that's what Adelaide wanted, and she was giving him such steamy, sparking looks. Making him blush harder beneath the cheek-fur.

"It's been a long day, darling," she told him. "For the both of us. Let's just enjoy ourselves, okay? Let's just ... just lose ourselves in each other? It'll feel good ... "

He took a deep breath and leaned back, sighing hotly, feeling his heart pick up its pace. The desire returning in full force. Was she messing with his head? Or was he simply, by sitting here and staring at her body and sniffing at her scent, getting naturally horny? He swallowed, rump-cheeks settling against his heels.

"Field, come on," she harmlessly huffed, almost pleading now, albeit in that ever-toothy way. "This isn't a time for 'mousey stubbornness.' It's a time to, mm ... mm ... "

Her sentence was cut off.

He couldn't take it anymore. And since she obviously couldn't, either, he simply gave in to his desire. And hers. Desire. For her. Oh, desire, going down, lovingly, swoon-fully so. Giving her what she wanted. What they both wanted. A sudden, giggle-squeaking grin, wriggling, squirming back beneath the sheets in that uniquely rodent way. Getting back under, and ...

... drawing a surprised echo-burst from her, which ricocheted off all the walls, bouncing, bouncing. Back to her ears.

His tail was the only part of him that remained uncovered by the covers and sheets, flailing through the air as if conducting all this.

Giggle-chittering, she wriggled herself down, down, legs spreading, winged arms pulling the sheets back over her own body, as well, as they moved themselves into a hot and steamy tangle, beginning to make sweet, sustained love once more, with words becoming sparse, and all intent flowing into action, action flowing from want. Everything swirling together in a pleasured, squeaky whirlpool of pink-furred femme-bat and male honey-tan mouse. Moonstruck husband and wife. And, oh, the moon was out, and didn't bats and moons go way back in time and myth?

" ... oh, gosh," came Adelaide's heavy sigh, her breath billowing the sheet above her muzzle. "Y-yeah ... " Her eyes went shut, and she nodded. A weak, wonderful nod, her paws seeking out his shoulders as her legs lifted and spread, tenting the sheets and comforter again, giving Field a humid little 'bubble' between the mattress and the coverings, which he hunched over in, paws stroking down her thighs, stroking, fingers splayed. Making her short, two-foot rudder-tail to steer all around with utter anticipation. Leading to errant wing-flaps from the approving bat, sending one of the sheets flying. A rustle-sound, and a slight, artificial breeze as the fabric was strewn completely to the side of the bed. Uncovering Field's head and upper body once more. His lower half still tangled and half-hidden in the comforter. Totally tangled, the both of them, the bed-coverings being slowly removed as their bodies did the opposite: and completely moved against each other. The dizziness, though, that had overcome them both prevented any accurate, crisp reading of their positions.

Simply, it didn't matter how they were doing it.

Just that they were doing it.

His pink, sniffy nose felt electric in some way, sniffing deeply, hotly. While his slightly-moist lips sizzled, halfway parted, bestowed dainty kiss-nibbles to her dense, tufted groin-fur. Lips moving from 'halfway' to 'all the way' open, mouthing, mouthing moistly, sucking the fur on her mons, the fur round her femininity. To where the fur stopped. To where it gave way to a thin perimeter of 'fuzz.' The thin ring of fuzz separating the outright fur of the rest of her, and the outright flesh of her sex. The mouse, eyes still shut, panting steadily, traced the fuzzy perimeter with his tongue-tip before taking the ultimate plunge: licking briefly across the outer 'slit' of her vulva, for a few seconds, before pressing his muzzle closer, closer. Close. Dipping, spooning his tongue right between those folds, through the silky petal-lips, to the entrance of her vagina. Just to the entrance, not much further. His tongue wasn't big enough or maneuverable enough to slip in there. So, he simply lapped, with happy luxury, at the hot, wet entrance.

Adelaide, on her back, exposed and naked as anything, now, legs and foot-paws bent and raised, and winged arms reaching out across the bed at 'full spread,' chittered. She chitter-chittered. Giving short, excited pants for air. The pink-furred bat swallowed, licking her lips. Her loose, slightly-moving breasts rising and falling, nipples hard. Quivering a bit as her breaths got deeper. More desperate.

Field, having started this hunched over, close to all fours, had lowered. By now. On his belly, arms beginning to hook around his wife's thighs. To keep them open, and to help prop himself up, trying to keep his elbows on the navy-blue sheets, as his muzzle pressed, pressed. And then eased. Eased enough to tilt, muzzle to a sudden, dainty tilt, lip-nibbling on her labia, his breath washing over her ever-pouting flesh. The mouse licking his way up, up, back up to her fur. But not quite. Staying below it, just below, to where her precious little nub was. His lips slipped over her clitoris with a gentle, soft reverence, so, so softly, suckling. Barely. Suckling. His eyes closed and big, dishy ears flushed a rosy, rosy pink.

" ... m-mm. M-m, hmm .. " Adelaide's belly arched up, up off the bed. Almost involuntarily. As she sucked air. " ... oh," she moaned, still arching, her toes curling.

One of Field's free paws found his way to her belly. Massaging in a little circle for a second or so, before pressing her back down to the bed.

The bat, breath audibly shaking, sighed heavily as she felt her husband's arms move. Unhooking from her thighs. Both of them, now. The one paw already having moving to her belly. The other massaging her lower vulva, while his muzzle remained further up, up, still to where her clitoris was. And two, honey-tan furred fingers slipped silently into her. The bat tensed, her genitals hot, hot, tingling, touched in the dearest of ways. Oh, such pleasure! She released an echo-burst as she felt Field's intruding fingers curl upward and begin to press and rub the upper wall of her vagina. Lips still in a loose ring around her clitoris, his breath still hitting it. The sensitive shaft of flesh. His breath. His tongue-tip hovering, barely grazing it, and then his muzzle sliding aside, tongue running in a slow, teasing circle around, around, around her nub. While the fingers inside her pressed, pressed.

Field, keenly aware of her 'emotional feelers' wrapping around him, so in tune with her responses, her wants. Her needs. Keenly aware, his fingers straightened out, beginning to slide back and forth, in and out of her tunnel, while his lips began to genuinely suck on her clitoris for ...

... a few seconds.

That's all she lasted.

A few more seconds, chitter-squeaking, echo-bursting. Animal sounds. Hips, on instinct, bumping, grinding up, up. Flushing in orgasm, femme-nectar squirting in little, tiny bursts from her sex. Clear fluid. Dribbling right into the mouse's waiting muzzle. He squeaked dizzily, madly, giving a swallow. A long, luscious lick, another swallow. Panting, panting, kissing her vulva as he backed off a bit. His chin and cheek-fur damp, whiskers weighed down with droplets. His eyes glazed over. His penis felt painfully hard, snugged between his own belly-fur and the sheets.

Adelaide, staring at the ceiling through barely-opened eyes, struggled to find her breath. Lower body unable to move. Her raised legs and foot-paws having slumped back onto the bed. She opened and closed her paws, blinking, still feeling some tiny 'aftershocks,' remnants of the climactic earthquake that had wracked her walls.

He, himself, was short of air, and more than tipsy on her. Certifiably drunk on her. He could taste her femininity on his tongue, on the insides of his cheeks. It flooded his nose. Still operating more on instinct than intellect, he twitched himself into focus, aware enough to respond, " ... you, uh ... y-you liked it?" He licked his lips, slowly returning to a sit. To his shins and knees, sighing as his rump settled down against his heels. Paws tenderly rubbing her legs.

She just giggle-chittered, showing her fangs in an overt display of further approval. " ... oh, yeah." She panted some more as she felt the mouse's touch. "You're amazing."

A flush, shaking his head slightly.

"Field ... "

" ... darling, I was just ... you know, I love you. I wasn't trying to impress you. I was ... " A flush, whispering it so privately. " ... just trying to make you happy."

"You did. And I love you, too," was the assurance. A so-satisfied breath. "S-sure you don't want me to return the favor?"

" ... you, uh, don't have to," he said. His long, silky tail snaked about, slowly, slowly. His whiskers twitching.

"Come on. I enjoy it. I know you're the submissive one, but ... "

A shy, smiling flush. "Adelaide ... "

"Field," she countered, simply. Returning his smile with one of equal warmth. She beckoned with a paw, indicating for him to scoot, scoot forward. To a straddle of her upper body. "Mm ... come on ... "

After freezing up for a few seconds, he gave a swallow, and a dumb, dizzy nod, doing as she asked, and insisting, "I ... I really am enjoying this, you know. You said to relax? I am. I, uh ... really am ... "

Giggle-chitters. "I know, darling ... mm ... " Her paws went to his hips, and she parted her muzzle, waiting.

His own paws trembled as they went to the top of the bed's headboard, where they gripped as his hips went to that straddle, body leaning forward a bit. A shimmy, a squirm, a gentle sliding motion.

She closed her lips around the tip of his mouse-hood, the modest, circumcised organ that had given her so much joy over the years.

Drawing a shaky breath, eyes closing, he slid, slid. So slowly. Shaft sliding into her muzzle. And staying there.

And she did the rest. Her tongue, meant for catching insects, was versatile, capable, and it wrapped round his organ, slobbering fully. Lusciously brushing over every bit of flesh as her muzzle sucked, sucked, always careful and conscious of her fangs.

The mouse hung his head, whimper-squeaking with sensitivity. His pink nose flaring a little, whiskers twitching.

Adelaide's eyes watered shut, nose sighing heavily. Oh, the taste, the heat, the presence of her husband's essence on her very tongue. The knowledge of that. And knowing how whimper-y it made him. The slight saltiness of the pre, the smoothness of the hard shaft, and ...

" ... uh." A squeak.

Her tongue moved, now, beneath the shaft, caressing the underside. And pushing up, up, pushing the stiffness up to the roof of her mouth, and then leaning her head back, back. Her paws on his hips. Slipping off and barely touching the tip of her tongue to the slit on the head. And sucking air, and blowing it back on him, in a moist, directed jet, right over the wet, glistening flesh. A vein was showing on the side of the shaft.

Field tingled, starting to squirm. His tail wildly snaked, and his paws slipped off the headboard as his neck craned to the ceiling. " ... I, uh ... um," he managed.

With a final suck, she slipped off, careful to watch her fangs, and nodding weakly ... " ... it's alright." A huff. "Mm. Not gonna make you finish." She could have multiple orgasms, being a femme. Or, at least, her refraction time was very minimal. His wasn't. Maybe some males could reload real quick, but Field needed time after he came. So, he was usually good for one climax per bout of love-making. (Though he could also have an 'ear-gasm,' which was an entirely separate 'climax.' But that required finesse. As worked up as the bat was right now, she didn't want to risk 'overdoing' his ears and giving him any chance of feeling 'too-sensitive' pain. But, oh, she loved his big, big ears, no mistake. She'd 'eat those up' another time.) And, when Field did 'finish,' he liked it to happen between her legs, if possible. Adelaide licked at his sac, at the swollen orbs. Begun to suck there. "Mm ... "

The mouse could only sigh, quietly, paws on her shoulders, now, while she sweetly sucked on his tufted sac. Gyrating just a little, little bit as he felt her paws on his rump, feeling up his rump-cheeks. He liked that. Curling his toes and arching his paws (he always stood on the tips of his foot-paws when his rump was grabbed; and, sitting at a straddle, he could only arch them). And gave a soft squeak to let her know, while her nose bumped through the thicker, honey-tan fur round his groin. " ... um, uh," he went, stammering a little nonsensically.

" ... yeah?" she breathed, stopping, glancing upward at him. With sultriness. Her deep-pink eyes meeting his blue-greys.

" ... I ... I wanna be in you." He weakly clutched at her soft, furry shoulders, biting his lip. Looking to her with such love and innocence, whiskers twitching all the while.

A toothy grin. So familiar. He'd memorized that grin. "You just were," she pointed out.

A full-body flush, licking his lips, eyes closed. "You know what I mean," he whispered back. "Adelaide ... " His eyes opened.

" ... I know. I know," she breathed, nodding. "You want your 'bed-bat' to bite. Bed bugs, no. But 'bed-bats'? What do they do?"

"Bite their mouses? Please?" was the cute, big-eared, twitching response. Complete with wide blue-grey eyes. That mousey cuteness (on purpose or not) fully working.

And, oh, it made her heady. And she quietly gave him a 'go on' look. They'd had plenty of foreplay. Time to move beyond that. "But, you, darling ... " A pretty, pink paw lifted, and her fingers moved in a circular 'roll over' motion. " ... you're on bottom." Her deep-pink eyes seemed to glow.

Sighing through the nose, he nodded, nodded. Bottom. More than fine by him. Immediately, he began to change position, scooting down her body. Sliding down it. His fingers splaying and tracing over her belly and back to her breasts, painting invisible circles around her nipples. Thumbs beginning to wag over them. "You're so beautiful. I really think you're beautiful," he had to tell her, before he rolled off her flighty form. "Like a sunset or something. Full of color and light. I don't even ... " A sigh. " ... don't even know how to tell you, sometimes."

"Tell me," she breathed, assuredly, "however you want to. And when you run out of words? Just show me ... like I know," she said, whispering it, "you can do."

The mouse, whiskers a-twitch, bit his lip and smiled, eyes shining. He looked away for a moment, out the bedroom window, into the depths of the moonlit May night.

" ... daydreaming at night, are you?" Adelaide whispered, softly. "Again?"

No verbal response to that. Just a glimmer in his eyes, and the beginnings of declarative movement. " ... just catching my breath before I lose it. Just checking my heart before I give it," was his perfectly-romantic response.

She, at this, felt like melting.

He finally, as instructed, left his straddle of her hips and rolled off her, to his back on the bed. Taking a deep breath, honey-tan chest rising, falling. Still with the taste of femininity on his tongue. The scent in his nose. Still drunk on her. His mouse-hood offering further proof, as stiff as it was, as 'dribbly' as it was at the swollen, blunted tip.

The bat, swallowing, got up to a light-headed sit, shifting around. At a shimmy. Winged arms propping herself up long enough to lift one shin and foot-paw and swing it over. To get at a straddle of him, right above his waist. Straddling near his belly, her paws on his chest, thumbs near his little, male nipples, which were almost obscured by his soft, honey-tan fur. The earthy scent of mouse was making her head swim. Making her hips to raise. Her breasts hanging freely.

A whimper-squeak. Paws straying to those breasts, to tenderly rub around them, lift them. Let them fall. Put his fingertips on the nipples. All the times he'd suckled those. And all the times he would again. While she cradled his head and whispered tender things into his ears. A sigh from the mouse, letting his paws fall, fall to her hips. He could taste it, yes. Her sex. Still on his tongue, in his muzzle. He swallowed, wanting to be in it. Inside it. One with it. He wanted to sink and thrust into that wet, wonderful warmth, that honeypot of hers. That everything poetic and pure. That epitome of perfect pleasure. He held to her supple, curved hips, pulling her down. Huffing, pulling.

She smiled dreamily and went. Sank back down, gyrating in such a way. Positioned above his mouse-hood, so that her vagina all but 'swallowed' it up, fitting over it like a nature-made glove. She was already sopping wet from the 'muzzle' she'd gotten. And she slid so easily over his shaft, like it was a knife through butter. Hips raising up, up to his head, and then sinking back down, getting to a hilt of him, paw-pads flat on his chest, head hanging, eyes closing. Waiting for it, waiting for ...

... his pre. It mixed in with her vaginal juice. Both fluids clear, both fluids hot. Both fluids churned together by the rising/falling friction. The hip-grinding. And it triggered something, some chemical signal, some mysterious thing. It triggered her biting instinct.

He needed to tilt his head so she could lick the side of his neck. He did so, without needing to be told, without needing any prodding. Knowing the 'drill,' as it were. Loving the nonverbal checklist they had to go through before this union could be made entirely complete. Her saliva producing a sudden numbing agent, her dextrous bat-tongue soon going 'lap, lap' at his offered, exposed neck, slurping at his pelt, wetting it, numbing a spot for the bite. Which took place only a few seconds later. As she hunched over atop of him, to where her nipples settled in his chest-fur.

A soft squeak, tensing. A wriggle.

Her winged arms opened and folded round his back, keeping him from trying to rise, like wrapping him in a living blanket. The sheets and comforter all strewn and tossed aside by now, leaving them completely bare to the bedroom air, her pearly-white fangs sharply sinking into his neck. They never left a mark. She knew how to give the perfect bites. The fangs, after a second, a few inches in. Where they uncontrollably leaked her 'mating milk' into his blood.

Shaky breaths from Field, eyes closed, mouse-hood still snugged in the sopping, steamy furnace between her legs, tingling with encompassing pleasure. He waited. It only took about eight or ten seconds, maybe, for the mating milk to physically pass through his heart, to be pumped out the other side, to make full circle. To go through all of him. The link, then, was complete. And he shivered when it was, because it was, to him, fiercely spiritual. A sort of religious experience, this.

He was one with his wife.

They were together, now. Her mind to his mind, her body to his body. Directly so, with thoughts, feelings, emotions, and memories beginning to blur, passing from one to the other like foggy clouds of 'knowing.' And, finally, the physical sensations. They always came last. Feeling each other's pleasure on top of their own, in a strange, indescribable way, one that tied them together, made them feel like one fur on the bed, moving with mutual, love-laced grace. As much grace as their overly-amorous intentions would allow.

His hips, from beneath hers, tried to slide back, by inches, making sure his sensitive penis-head never, ever left her warmth. It felt too good to remove. But, oh, he moved the shaft back, back, and then forward. Honey-tan, slender hips bumping up to her supple, feminine ones. He squeaked. Like the mouse he was, he squeaked. Sex squeaks, the cutest kind, unable to be stopped or helped. He could never stay quiet during breeding.

Her own sounds, meanwhile, were muffled against his neck, teeth still deep in his muscle. They were, indeed, tangled. More together than the definition of the word. Careening crazily with each gently-rocking hump and each throaty moan to a crescendo of symphonic proportions. It didn't take all that long this time. They'd been so worked up going into it, and Adelaide, ultimately the one in control of this, was wasting no time gyrating and steering her hips, raising up and sharply coming down in angled, perfect 'counter-thrusts' to his weak, upward humps. His shaft slip-slurping through her utter, enjoyable wetness, brushing, painting her walls with pre. Those same walls snug-hugging his member, coaxing, coaxing.

Together, they writhed through the ageless friction, bodies delivering points and counterpoints, and, oh, oh, pleasure! Oh, sweet, sweet pleasure! Oh, relief. Finally cascading over them, in a final, rolling wave, an experience of shared and joyous peaking, with her walls going into pure, milking spasms, chitters muffling against her husband's neck. Her winged arms hugging round his sweat-matted back for dear, dear life. Oh, dear life. Oh!

The mouse whimpered, feeling her. Hers. Her orgasm. As if it was his own body's. Sweet, soft whimpers of pure bliss, trying to comprehend this, hips grinding, hips meeting. Hips slowing, stopping. At a shaky, twitching hilt, as he helplessly sowed her womb from his submissive posture beneath her, steamy-white mouse semen pelting her cervix. So, so satisfying.

She, still in the throes of her own orgasm, sucked air at the onset of his. Oh, his ecstatic ejaculations, her sex nursing him for all he had. It was, all throughout, a poetic blurring of shared feeling, both of them playing equal, whirling roles, bestowed with equal reward for their efforts. Such delicious effort, leaving them so, so sated. And still together. Still gloriously together.

In the resulting tangled, breath-shaking aftermath, their ears were soothed and cooled by their very own sniffs and sighs, all the air entering and leaving their still-flushed bodies. The residual squeaks and chitters, those notes of recovery. Such notes, heard just above the errant creaking of the old, wooden bedframe, the mattress soft and comfy. Heard just above the breeze outside.

Until, after several minutes of wing-wrapped snuggling, she finally withdrew her fangs. Finally pushed herself up, to a weak, straddling sit. Until she could raise her hips.

And he, shiver-squeaking, remained still as his sensitive mouse-hood limply flopped out, leaving the excess seed to trickle out of her and puddle on his groin and on the sheets. " ... um, uh ... are we gonna shower tonight? Or, uh, wait 'til morning?" A swallow, still panting. "I feel messy. I, uh ... "

" ... smell like bat?"

"I like smelling like you." A blush. "I meant ... "

A hazy nod of the head. " ... yeah. Mm, yeah. I know. Shower ... tonight." A rustle of fur against fabric. "But let's just ... " Her voice soft and soothing. " ... lay here for a minute." A swallow, licking her batty lips.

"Alright," was Field's caring, hugging whisper, snuggling up beside her. "Mm." Arms around her, he hugged, nose burying in her fur, sniffing gently up and down her arm. "You seem tired."

A soft giggle-chitter. "Well, you wore me out, didn't you?"

"With my scurry?" he asked, with sweet, wispy innocence.

"Mm-hmm." A sigh, holding to him. "Plus, it's been a long day."

"Well, uh, do you want me to carry you, then?" he said, after a moment.

"Carry me?" An eyes-closed smile. "Where?"

"To the shower?" he elaborated, nodding against her. "Silly bat."

"Silly bat? I think you're a silly mouse."

" ... no. I've never been known to be silly." A stubborn shake of the head.

"You haven't, huh?" A sigh. "Carry me?" she considered. "You just might have to." Her head turned, nose against his cheek, and a winged arm wrapping round his side. "... you and your scurry," she repeated. "What would I do without it, mm?"

Not really answering that, Field slowly shifted, getting up and slipping over her on all fours, touching his nose down to hers. "Is it silly, you think," he asked, quietly, lips grazing and whiskers touching, touching so daintily to her own. His voice, as he spoke, entirely vulnerable and honest. Being, as he always was in his unguarded moments with her, entirely himself. " ... is it silly," he repeated, trying to stay on track, "that I kinda feel like a bed-flower? Like maybe your love is my sunlight, and your touch is my water, and ... you know, like you bring to me to fuller bloom, somehow? You make me alive and beautiful because you're alive and beautiful? And that I could just grow roots with you in our bed?"

A quiet shake of the head, sighing so, so softly. " ... not silly at all," she mouthed, with a passionate seriousness. "Don't let anyone tell you that romance is." She put a paw on his cheek, tilting her muzzle. And, winged arms hugging round his back, pulling him in a little bit. Oh, pulling him down.

He sank the rest of the way, to a muzzle-touching, lip-locking kiss. Which lingered, with little sucks, and with her tongue peeking into his maw, licking at his teeth. Being ever-careful with her fangs in the process.

Eventually, she broke the kiss with a tilt of the muzzle. A few smack-smack sounds, saliva trailing, glistening on her lips. A swallow and a short breath. "We can ... can take that shower now," she told him.

Looking to her from mere inches away, the mouse gave a barely-detectable nod, dreamy-eyed and wanting to melt into her. If he hadn't already done so. And, with a wriggle and a squeak, he moved back, back off the bed, tugging her along with him. Until he could scoop her up, one paw under the bend of her knees and the other under her back, the bat twisting a little, her winged arms wrapping round her husband's neck. And, to the ever-present smell of earthiness and flowers and cotton candy clouds and alfalfa breezes, shrouded in May's twilight, he carried her to the shower. Where they washed the day away. Washed clean in the purity of country well water and their vibrant love.