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" ... naw wriggles yer tay-ul! Da!" Wide-eyed chittering. And, soon, her little, winged arms were flapping, delicate paws a-grabbing. Grappling. Full of motion. As if trying to lasso in that spoken-of tail, like a rope, like a thing to be hugged and reigned and tamed. Her own tail something of an 'in-between-er,' not really long and ropy, but not really rudder-y like her mother's, either. Moving all about in ironic contrast with her 'demand' for daddy's.

"Akira, I'm not even wriggling it," was Field's gentle, distracted response, furrowing his brow, his back turned to her. Stringing colored light-strands, the kind with yellow, green, red, orange, and blue bulbs, on the Christmas tree. A Scotch pine, which went to the ceiling. They'd gotten it from Thorntown this afternoon, on the other side of the rural county in which they lived. Brought it back in their old pick-up truck, their only vehicle. "Anyway, you're asking too much of me. You're half-mouse. You should know that us mouses can't keep entirely still."

"Yes-huh."

"Nope. No, we're always twitching something. At all ... all times," he said, still a little bit distracted. "Even in repose, as mommy likes to remind me." A slight squeak, brought back to focus time and again by Akira's youthful energy.

She was grabbing at him even more, protesting, "Naw me!"

"We also have a thing called 'mousey stubbornness?' Don't we? Lucky for you it's cute. Else you'd be trying daddy's patience." A slight, dimple-showing smile. "More than you already are," he added, teasingly. And a pause, biting his lip and reaching round the side of the tree, pulling the strand around. " ... extension cord," he muttered, looking around. " ... or, no. No, I just need another stand, don't I. Gotta cover the top." He reached for the final strand, plugging it into the end of the last one, and then stringing it deliberately. They didn't have a star for the top. They did have an angel, though, but it didn't have lights. He'd just have to string the strand all the way up.

"Da ... naw. Move. Ing!" She emphasized the words as best she could. Holding to his tail with both paws, now. Tugging it. Tug-tug. Tug! "Naw!"

Squeaks at having his tail pulled. "Hey ... Akira. Only mommy's allowed to reel me in like that, okay? Put it down." Whiskers twitching, sighing, seeing that she wasn't listening. Or, rather, wasn't adhering to his plea to calm down. "Akira, I'm serious. Mm ... maybe you're the one that's moving ... or wriggling, huh? Causing trouble? Don't think I don't know what you're tryin' to do back there." A slight face. "Had to wear a tail-sock the whole time we got this tree ... got all suffocated. Now, it's at the yanking mercy of a mouse-bat." He hated wearing tail-socks. Maybe 'hate' was a strong word. Okay, he disliked it. And ear-mittens, too. It just felt so weird and claustrophobic.

But, yes, mouses had to wear tail-socks in the cold. Their ears and tails, unlike most furs', were just bare, thin flesh. And, in winter elements, were extremely vulnerable to frostbite and such. They had to be well-protected. Just like how, in the summer, they had to be sun-lotioned a lot. You didn't want erogenous bits like that to get hurt! No, no. Mouses, the most prey-like of prey, were definitely creatures of finesse. In more ways than one.

" ... momma sez I's a bat-mouze." The grip on her father's tail eased, in delayed obedience. Akira was normally a well-behaved child. Field and Adelaide were doing their best to raise her well, teach her the right values, to never spoil her. To keep her gently disciplined when necessary, but to always shower her with love. She just had a lot of scurry in her. Scurry and flight, both. A potent combination! And she was an only child, thus far. All that energy was unleashed on her parents (and, to a lesser extend, her grandparents; Field's parents often helped babysit her, and doted on her, being she was their only grandchild).

Field and Adelaide wanted to give her a sibling. Wanted to have another baby. Rather badly. Not just to expand their family, but because they loved each other so much. They just couldn't afford it, though, to be raising two children right now, with both the mouse and bat needing to stay at their jobs. One of them would have to stop working if they had two kids. Having Field's parents help out with Akira was fine, cause she was walking, talking. But another baby, no. That wouldn't be fair or right. Wouldn't be feasible. But, if one of them stopped working, they'd be in trouble real fast. Things were tight as it was. It wasn't an ideal situation. And for Field, a romantic, an idealist, it often pained him to realize that reality could exert such an influence over love.

Until love conquered reality fully, Adelaide was on a birth control pill.

And at least they had Akira. Reality couldn't take that away. If it tried, it would be over the mouse's dead body. As drastic as that sounded. He just felt that strongly about his daughter.

" ... I'z a bat-mouze," was the tiny repeat. "Da ... "

"I know what mommy says. But you're a mouse-bat. I believe the law's on my side," was the familiar, smiling retort. He'd said this before. He'd say it again. For all legal documents and identifications, the species of the father was listed first for mixed-breed furs. "Anyway, even if it wasn't, it's just common sense. I mean ... you've obviously got a lot of mouse in you. I mean, okay, you have wings and fans and telepathy, but ... well, I'm right. Okay?"

"Wellz ... "

" ... well? Mm?" he went, warmly, softly. His big, fleshy ears swiveling slightly, keenly listening to his dear daughter, as well as picking up all the sounds in the room. The rustling of things, foot-paws on the carpet, paws against pine needles, things like that. The hot whir of the corn stove. The college basketball game on the AM radio. It was the Butler game. They were playing Cleveland State, and were up by three at halftime. Thankfully. Else, Field would have to start anxiously pacing and squeaking. He was serious about his Hoosier teams.

The mauve-furred mouse-bat, three-and-a-half years old (and equal parts her mom and dad, as had been evidenced), didn't respond to Field's latest prodding. Losing patience and making a cute, fang-showing concentration-face, simply picking up a random ornament and proceeding to hang it, by the silvery hook, on the mouse's long, ropy tail, which was arching out behind him, held in the living room air. And, ornament thusly placed, Akira threw up her winged arms again. This time, without bad temperament. "Mor! Yay!" Flap-a, flap-a!

"Akira ... " He rolled his eyes a bit, whiskers twitching.

" ... yay! Da's a Chris-miss tree! Heh!"

Field bit back a smile, giggle-squeaking from the throat. And then letting out a sighing breath. "How many ornaments you gonna put on my tail, now? I knew that's why you wanted me to keep it still."

"Uh ... " She tried to count on her fingers. "Free?" She grabbed another. And hooked it on. And then reached for one more. "Free," she said, certainly.

"Three?" The honey-tan field mouse turned his head, and actually moved his tail, swerving it aside. To get a better look. Home-sewn Christmas ornaments, from Field's grandmother (on his dad's side). She made a different theme of ornament every year. For the past twenty-six years. " ... camel. That was '84. Heh ... when I was born." He was 24, same age as Adelaide. She was actually a month older. And they'd been married since they were 20. "Cardinal. '92 ... buttons. '04? You got whole decades decorating my tail there. I look like a rack at a crafts show."

" ... purty mouze." She patted his leg with a paw.

"I'm pretty? Not handsome?"

"Purty."

"I know I'm effeminate, but ... I think I'd prefer handsome," was his wispy, delicate-postured response, puffing out his chest for show. "Handsome," he repeated, trying to lower his voice. Trying to appear sound very rugged and masculine. He was a trim, rural creature, at six feet, one inch, 147 pounds.

"Purty han-some ... mouze-tree."

"I think you're just tryin' to butter me up," he continued, relaxing. Back to his normal, light voice. "Pourin' on the cute, huh? Mouses are immune to their own cuteness, you know. And since you're part ... well, part me. Half from me. Think I'd be immune to your cuteness ... mm, a little. Logically." He knew he was blabber-mousing. Or motor-mousing, as it were. But he couldn't help it. "I'm not, am I?" A burgeoning smile. "You're bowling me over ... making me silly in the head. " A sigh. Not a bad sigh, at all. " ... getting more ornaments?"

"Mm-hmm."

Field, thinking for a moment, lifted his tail and then angled it down, playfully, 'accidentally' wriggling it so that the ornaments all slid right off and to the carpet. "Oops. Looks like you'll have to put those on the tree, after all. They won't stay on me ... "

"Wha? Da!"

"Heh ... Akira, come on. Seriously. You've had your fun. We're getting this tree decorated before bedtime, okay? It's getting done tonight. End of story. I'm not doing this tomorrow. You're supposed to be helping me. Not adorning me."

A frown face.

"That's not gonna work. I'm the parent here."

The frown face deepened.

Giggle-squeaks from Field, finishing stringing the lights, finally. "Not gonna work, young miss. Not gonna. I swear."

" ... then I's get a canny cane!" She began to scurry toward the kitchen.

But Field, just as quick, if not quicker, and knowing how to anticipate scurry (being full of it himself), snatched her up. Leaving her legs and foot-paws to motor-motor in the air. And her winged arms flapping. "Oh, no, you don't. Mm, no 'canny' before bed. You'll be up a wall so high. You know mouses can't handle too much sugar. Mommy won't even let me have any. And I love peppermint." He could totally go for some peppermint ice cream right now. Totally. "So, if I gotta do without, so you do you."

Before Akira could respond to that ...

" ... mouses sure do have a lot of hang-ups, don't they? Scurry, tail-socks, sugar, stubbornness?" Adelaide, of course. The pink-furred bat. Grinning toothily from the kitchen entryway. " ... maybe other things that begin with 'S'? Hmm? Someone should seriously do a study ... "

Field, holding their daughter in his arms, looked to his mate, his wife. His love. Whispering, a little bashfully, "Well, that's a nice alliteration there, but ... I certainly don't have hang-ups with ... with, uh, that last one. Don't know what you're talking about." His eyes lowered to Akira, who wriggled some. The little mouse-bat was telepathic, too. Like Adelaide. She wasn't in control of those abilities yet, but all the same, " ... anyway, don't think like that in front of Akira."

"Think like what?"

" ... you're bein' ... " Mousey mumble. " ... maybe I can't read your mind unless you got those fangs in my neck. But I'm pretty sure I know what you're thinking."

"You're changing the subject."

"No, I'm just ... "

" ... no hang-ups? With the stubbornness, you mean? The scurry?" she teased, egging him on.

"The 'other' ... " He briefly covered Akira's ears, which was nearly impossible to do while holding her. " ... the 'other thing' that begins with 'S'. The adult thing." He blushed, not wanting to say it. Knowing she was trying to get him to say it. She knew it made his ears turn a little red to call it that. He was such a polite, modest creature. Akira, meanwhile, turned her head and got her semi-dishy ears free. Quietly listening to her parents' back-and-forth, intrigued. She often wondered why it was that only mommy could get daddy's ears to turn colors. And how come when mommy said she and daddy needed some 'quiet time,' squeaking and non-quiet sounds could be heard.

"You got your little routines, though, your little things you like to do every time," Adelaide was saying, not letting up.

"Even if I do, they're ... they're not hang-ups. They're, uh ... " A pause, beginning to smile. Sometimes, Adelaide just got to him. In that way that made him relent and giggle, even if he tried very hard to stay serious. " ... making me smile," he accused.

"Who? Me?"

" ... charms. They're not hang-ups. They're charms. You always let 'em happen, so you must find them charming ... "

Chitters of mirth, leaning more lazily in the doorway (though there was no door there; just an open entry from the living room to the kitchen). "That so, huh? So, I'm only encouraging you?"

"You wind me up." A breath. "But, uh, my habits are no worse than yours." His dimples showed, whiskers twitching in their incessant way. He bobbed Akira in his arms. "This little miss here's gonna end up a lot more like you. I can guarantee it. She's been very cheeky tonight. A paw-ful."

Akira blinked, looking from Field to Adelaide, and back again.

" ... well, she's all angelic, now, but ... " Field paused, stammering, " ... anyway, you ... you got your things. Your ... "

" ... if you're referring to the eating bugs thing ... "

" ... that goes without saying." Adelaide, as a bat, had to eat bugs as part of her diet. "Bugs," he said, just to say it, making a certified scrunch-face. She'd never stopped trying to slip them into his food. And, sometimes, when they kissed right after meals? He'd find little wings or legs suddenly in his mouth.

"You need more protein," she insisted. A common refrain.

"I don't even wanna talk about that," he said, stubbornly, shaking his head. "I was ... but, uh, the toothy-ness ... fangs ... that way you wing wrap me ... "

" ... those are supposed to be hang-ups? Mm, that's nothing compared to your list." A glinting, playful paw-wave. "Anyway, can't be helped, can it? Has to happen, all of it," she went, releasing a breath, and then taking one back in. Leaving the entryway and scanning the tree with her eyes, drifting toward the coffee table and couch. Before segueing into a yawn. Her paw coming up to cover it. But only halfway doing so.

"You tired? Do you need me to do anything?" Field suddenly asked, with soft, blue-grey irises. Looking to her with wide-eyed worry. Some of that 'mousey anxiety' flaring up. That made his heart beat faster, even if he didn't fully realize it.

" ... not tired. Just ... finished doing the bills and stuff. Mail 'em out tomorrow." She closed her eyes for a moment, smiling. The way he fretted over her. The way he submissively, sweetly fawned over her. It made her feel special. She enjoyed it.

A pause. "Are we gonna be okay? With the ... the money stuff?"

A slight delay, opening her eyes, smile fading a bit, before, "Mm-hmm. We'll manage, yeah. We always do." Neither of them had a college degree, and both worked, usually, five days a week (her at the town library, and him at a farm market a mile from here; and, sometimes, at the library with her). Doing all they could. It was hard. In today's economy, and being so rural, and being young parents. To really have financial stability and to save for the future. But they managed their resources carefully, responsibly. They didn't splurge or gain any debts. And money surely wasn't everything, right? And the fact that life wasn't always easy? Only made their marriage stronger. To not have things handed to them. Gave them perspective. Right?

" ... well, I'm glad we got our tree, at least. We needed a real tree. We've always had ... "

" ... a real tree. I know. It looks wonderful." Her smile returned. "Don't worry about it, okay?" She reached out with her mental, telepathic feelers, brushing the corners of his mind. Exercising some influence over him. In her affectionate, protective way. "But, uh, kitchen's clean, too. Clothes in the washer. And dryer. Both. And then I heard all the fun you two were having out here, and I couldn't miss out." Another one of those familiar toothy smiles.

Those sharp, pearly-white fangs. Which had a distinct sexual (and telepathic) use. Those teeth (all the better to bite him with!). To be constantly seeing them, having them flashed at him? Like that? Knowing what they did to his body? His mind? He'd go weak at the knees when she fang-flashed him. Yes, he went a little weak-kneed. Even now. Oh, sure, she didn't have dimples like Field, himself, had. His own dimpled smile, with the twitching whiskers going on? Could melt you, mouse-smiles. But bat-smiles? Adelaide's smile? Could outright sizzle you. Combust you. Turn you into steam, and, oh ... " ... Field?"

"Mm?" A hazy blink. And more blinks.

"Still there?" A head-tilt, grinning more. Her swept-back ears, built for hearing high-pitches in flight, perfectly accentuating her head. Just as her breasts perfectly accentuated her front, and those wings, her sides. And those ... that ... mm ...

" ... just, uh ... lost in thought. Just, uh ... " He swallowed, flustered, heart fluttering at her widening grin, his ears growing rosy-pink as Akira began to droop her eyes in his grasp. Her winged arms around his neck. " ... you, uh, give her a bath, or me?" he asked, changing the subject. Again. Clearing his throat in a squeaky way.

"You." A nod. "That alright?"

"Course," was the quiet response, as he closed his own eyes for a moment and kissed their mauve-furred daughter on the head-fur. Breathing of her scent. Looking at her, holding her. He always saw parts of himself and parts of Adelaide. Bits and pieces. Always felt it. The result of their love. The hope it had spawned. They'd made new life together, greatest art, spiritual fruit, and the realization and romance of that was never lost on him. Opening his eyes again, he looked to his pink-hued mate, not needing to speak of the deep things he currently felt. Not needing to tell her that it swelled his heart just to know they, in a way, belonged to each other, and that he'd fathered her child. Her 'feelers' were still circling the edges of his consciousness.

She already knew. She intuited.

" ... almost done with this," was all he said, pointing his tail at the tree. "Just a few more ornaments. And the stockings on the fireplace. But, uh, it ... shouldn't fall over this time." The tree had tilted in its stand five minutes after they'd stood it up. And had proceeded to fall over on Field. He'd squeaked in twitchy alarm, forced to hug it awkwardly, grimacing at the pine-needles pressuring his paw-pads, while chittering for help. But it was secure, now.

"Looks great. Like I said. Mm ... love the scent. Love the ... mm, sight of it, you know?" she went, quietly, sinking down onto the couch. Leaning back. Lifting her bare foot-paws, placing them on the edge of the old, wooden coffee table. " ... love it at night, especially. Could be the darkest night of the year, but you wake up, maybe, and ... walk out here? You see those colored lights. So warm. Reflecting in the window, and casting deep shadows all across the tree, the carpet. Makes the living room feel like an oasis." A breath, folding her winged arms across her front, almost in a blanket-like fashion. "I'm not as poetic as you. But you know what I mean ... "

" ... you were doing fine," was the quiet, enamored insistence. "I'm not that poetic."

"You are," was her genuine, whispered assurance. Countering his self-doubt with self-confidence. Building him up. As she always did.

"What makes you say that?" His whiskers twitched, tail snaking slightly.

"I make love ... make poetry," she emphasized, simply, "with you every day. You play my body like a violin. You make music with me. With my heart." A soft breath. "That's how I know."

"Adelaide ... " His cheeks got extremely hot, suddenly, beneath the honey-tan fur. His eyes darting some.

"Well, like you hinted, I'm a cheeky thing. I get kinda flighty, kinda ... " She trailed, and tilted her head. " ... you provide the roots. I tame your anxiety. You tame my recklessness. I pull you up off the ground. You keep me from flying higher than my station. We fill in each other's gaps." Her paws came together, fingers meshing. As visual metaphor. "I provide the fancy, but you form that fancy into something with a greater shelf-life ... "

" ... but that's, like ... like ... "

" ... I may be the dominant partner in our mate-ship? I may dictate how and when we breed. The technique," she continued, re-emphasizing her points. Because she wanted to. Because she knew how important it was to communicate. She could, as a telepathic fur, get lazy, and just send all her thoughts right into his head. But she felt it was important, sometimes (not all the time), to say it. These things. Out loud. Again and again. Field was an anxious thing. With big ears. He needed to be told. He needed to hear. "But you," she finished, "dictate the aesthetic of it. The poetry. And don't argue, okay?" she quickly whispered. "I mean it."

A moment's hesitation. "I know you do." A blushing, whisker-twitching response, equally quiet. " ... I, uh ... thank you. I ... I love you, you know? Very much ... "

" ... your eyes watering?" she went. Barely audible in her whisper. Already knowing the answer. "I love you, too. Every day, in every way."

He gave her a silly head-bob, whiskers twitching. Blinking a few times. Clearing his soft eyes. "I gotta give our mouse-bat her nightly bath. She's fallin' asleep."

"Well, we don't have any mouse-bats," was the nonchalant, nose-raising response, "but if you wanna give our bat-mouse," she emphasized, "a bath, then ... "

" ... mouse-bat."

"Mm, maybe I'll let it slide." A motion with her paw, and a playful, couch-sprawling squint. Lowering her nose back down. " ... this time. This time."

"You gonna finish the tree?" he asked. His second or third reminder on that.

"Mm-hmm." A nod. "Don't worry 'bout it. Tidy-rodent. Tidy-tail."

"I'm not a tidy-tail. I just like to have things organized." His whiskers began to twitch even more. "Nothing wrong with that. There's a certain way to decorate all this. You can't throw it on there willy-nilly. You gotta have decorum. You gotta ... "

" ... Field?"

"Mm?" An innocent, wide-eyed blink, stopping his harmless, squeaky rant.

"Akira was decorating your tail. Gives me an idea of my own. Now that I think about it ... and you were right: I was thinking 'those things' when I entered the room. Still am."

A swallow. "Yeah?" Eyes innocently wide again, his tail wavering. Ears swiveling, flushing more and more.

"Put a bow on it. Right on your tail. One of those sticky package-bows? Then put you under there and unwrap you. How 'bout that?" The way she said it. So bluntly, no hesitation, with such a sultry, unwavering eye contact. Goodness.

His ears went beet-red with blood. Whiskers twitching. " ... um, uh ... " A squeaky sound, shifting Akira's sleepy weight in his arms. "Uh ... "

And Adelaide, giggle-chittering at his flustered-ness, just casually pointed a paw to the bathroom. " ... so bloody cute." A breath. "Go on," she ordered, still pointing. "I'll be here when you're done."

A reemerging, still-flustered smile, and a nod, and ears swiveling, he suddenly said, entering the kitchen and hearing the radio, " ... oh, no. When did Cleveland State get ahead. Dang it!"

"Am I gonna have to telepathically tranquilize you? Trigger some endorphins in your brain or something?" she called after him, flopping onto her back on the couch, winged arms stretching.

" ... stupid Ohio teams," was the mouse-mumbling response. "I swear ... "

Chitters of amusement! "There's still eighteen minutes left. Butler's not down by that much. Calm down ... or better yet: the more flustered you are, the more I can un-fluster you, right? That's what I always say? And you know how much I love to do that. So, go ahead and get bothered if you really ... "

" ... the jumping jack ornaments go on last! You gotta space 'em in the big gaps!" was the interrupting squeak, somewhat obscured, being in the bathroom now (two rooms away, with the bath water turned on).

Adelaide smiled, sitting back up again. Looking around, getting off the couch. And began, reaching the tree, to put the jumping jack ornaments on first, before the myriad rest. And putting them not in the big gaps, but the small ones. Knowing that Field, when he saw it, would go wide-eyed and squeakily rearrange the whole thing. How any sane fur could even tell if they'd been put on before the other ornaments, she didn't know. It all looked the same to her. As long as the tree was decorated thoroughly. But he was so obsessive-compulsive about organization and tidiness. He'd know, somehow. Just would. And get all flushed and sweaty and twitchy. Which would only accentuate that mousey cuteness. Give her something to tame. Mm. Mm, yeah, that sounded about right ...

... and, half an hour later (after Akira had been put to bed, and after a twitching, frowning Field had rearranged the jumping jack ornaments in the right way, with Adelaide watching and chittering mirthfully), it sounded even better. And felt it, too, as they were back to the couch again. Both of them. All the lights, even that one in the kitchen over the sink? Darkened. Save for the Christmas tree strands over in the corner. In here. In this very room. Glowing like they did. The radio, at some point, had been turned off (Butler won!). The corn stove, though, was still on, still whirring, blowing out heat. Warming the interiors of the old farm house as best it could.

The Hoosier countryside, with its naked trees, the maples, oaks, sycamores (and more), with its mostly-flat, hibernating fields of alfalfa, wheat, and corn, and the dipping creeks and patches of woods, was shrouded in inky-black twilight, the twinkling stars blocked, currently, by overcast clouds, which were threatening to do flurry-ful things to the ground before the sun rose again. Inch or two of snow. That was the forecast.

It was like the world, the universe, all of it, had gone completely still. Was nowhere to be found. It was almost an eerie silence out there. You could sense the smoke rising from the chimney. You could see lights of other farm-houses flaring a mile away. But, aside from that, it was utter isolation and privacy. Nature dormant, waiting, dreaming of the time when, come next summer, it would return to full flower, and leave the broken twigs and fallen leaves behind.

But, oh, beating hearts never went dormant. And bloomed brightly. Every day. Swoon-fully so. Even in the cold, even below freezing. Even when, like right now, there was no moon. Field was sure of this. Just as he was sure that there was beauty in every season, and that he was glad, in Indiana, that they had all four, distinctly. So many memories and feelings. Tied to so many seasonal displays.

Panting quietly, he had to ask, though, as a more immediate concern, " ... we, uh ... we sure Akira's totally asleep? She's not gonna toddle on in here ... "

" ... my bra. Stuck," was all Adelaide said, stretching a bit. "I can't undo it from under you ... "

"I g-got it. But, uh ... " A swallow, his paws on her back. Under her back. Her shirt long gone. (Well, minutes gone, anyway. But when you were so flooded with desire, every second was an eternity until that desire was met.) And the bra was unhooked, unwrapped, and with a single, lazy paw, the mouse tugged it, let it fall off the couch and to the carpet. And still wriggling in that rodent-only way, he craned his neck, twitching, looking down to his bare foot-paws, trying to kick off his white, cotton briefs. Come on, come on. Kick, kick. Twitch. And off they went. A relieved sigh. That was it. The last of his clothes. Jeans in a rumpled pile on the coffee table. Along with Adelaide's pants. He didn't know where his own shirt had gotten to. Didn't really care, to be honest. His tendency for tidiness taking a temporary back seat. It just felt so good to be naked right now. Or, more spiritually: in the fur. With her. He couldn't keep himself from hugging, feeling like ... well, he had honey-tan fur. Wasn't that close to a butterscotch color? Like a butterscotch chip, then, on a still-warm cookie pan, just melting into a sugary ... melty ... mouse. It was nice to be nonsensical, sometimes.

" ... Akira's out cold," Adelaide finally replied, telepathically checking. "Should be ... should be fine." A deep breath, feeling his hug. And sighing because of it. He was so gentle. "Wanna do it under a blanket? Butterscotch mouse?" she teased, picking up the imagery in his mind, arching her hips up, up, and sliding her panties down. Soon out of them. Off her toes, and aside.

"Thought you were already out of those," the mouse admitted, bashfully.

"I am, now. You were just getting ahead of yourself." She licked her own lips. "Were you listening, though? The blanket?"

A quiet nod, his own trim hips to her more supple ones. The curves. The solidity, but also the softness, somehow. So many things at once. She had the best hips and thighs of any creature Field could imagine. Fertile, soft, warm. The way they swayed when she walked, the way they slanted when she leaned. The way they flowed when she laid. As she writhed quietly, barely moved with him, paws sliding down his sides (and his up hers), his mind became more and more hazy, hazy. With a capital 'H.' And he just couldn't ... just ... " ... Field?"

" ... w-what?" Whiskers all a-twitch. Full of subtle mousey motions, his whole frame. Pink nose sniffing. It never seemed to stop. It was just another one of those 'mousey cuteness' things. So darling.

"Wanna do it under a blanket?" she repeated, softly, seriously. But a sense of play was underlying it all. Beginning to bubble up. She couldn't hide it. "I'm not gonna ask again." A harmless ribbing, squeezing his sides. "We can, if you want. I don't mind." Always wanting her mouse to feel comfortable.

" ... no," he whispered. " ... no, I'm fine."

She kissed and mouthed one of his cheeks, resting horizontal, mostly, beneath him. Her toes rubbing against one of his ankles. " ... Field," she said, again.

"Mm?" He was nibbling on her shoulder. Her delectable neck. With those rodent buck-teeth of his. He couldn't do things to necks like what she could. She was a bat. He had nothing on that. But, all the same, he tried to give her something.

" ... you need to chew on your wood-blocks. Your buck-teeth are ... mm, getting a little sharp."

"What?" He stopped nibbling, looking to her, almost nose to nose. From mere inches away. "Sharp? What about yours?" Blinking several times.

"Chew on your wood-blocks," was all she whispered, eyes sparkling, half-open. Full of cheek, which was a tamer kind of mischief. Outright mischief would happen in its own due time. Pupils fully-dilated, she eyed him from so very close. "Be a good mouse. Don't argue."

"I am a good mouse," he defended, in a lazy, effeminate-whispering way. Very close to her lips. Her breath. He could feel the heat of her breath. "I am ... " ... oh, gosh, he loved her. And it went so far beyond this physical niceness they were on their way to. Her personality, always so strong, so assured. In contrast to his own natural modesty and over-thoughtfulness.

"Good mouses chew on their wood-blocks. Keep their teeth healthy." Still going with that. Not letting it go just yet.

"You have sharper teeth than me." A few panting seconds, and then a self-correcting, " ... fangs. But fangs are kinda teeth ... " A pause, paws straying, his tail swaying like a wayward fishing line in the air above them. Everything in deep, bold shadow. But enough little glows (from both the tree and the corn stove) to make the romance palpable. You could feel it in the air. You could taste it. It was tantamount to light. " ... you, uh, just think it's cute when I gnaw on things. You like to watch me nibble."

" ... see you sitting there, holding a piece of wood with both paws, and gnawing it for ... heh, half an hour, last time? Eyes squinting in concentration, so you don't get splinters on your tongue? How's that not cute? And, plus, it gives mouses ... " A squeeze to his rump. With one paw, one winged arm, a squeeze to his left rump-cheek. " ... gives 'em healthy teeth. I'm just lookin' out for ya ... " Another squeeze. More like a grope, really. She loved groping his backside. Mm-hmm.

Field, eyes closing for a moment, stretched, arched. Whole body arch. Squeaking helplessly, toes curling, foot-paws reaching. And muzzle pointing up a bit as his pert, furry bottom raised, and ... and lowered. All in her grip. " ... a-ah, yeah." A swallow, settling down. Whenever his rump was squeezed, he had those involuntary reactions. There was no stopping them. And Adelaide knew it. That's why she did it. "I ... I never had a cavity, ever. Last time at the dentist, that Russian snow leopard? She said my buckteeth, and all my other teeth, too, were in perfect health. Not too long or curved."

" ... alright, so you got healthy teeth. What about your ears? Are you taking good care of your ears?" Adelaide cooed.

"You gave 'em a 'check-up,' like ... you had your tongue all over, or, uh ... all in 'em," he corrected. "Other day. You should know."

"Well, you can never be too careful. Do you wash behind 'em?"

" ... yes," was the shy response. "Of course. Adelaide ... "

"I should 'check' 'em again. Soon," she chittered, sultrily. Just talking about giving him ear-sex made her breasts warmer. Made her heartbeat quicken. She adored his gasp-y reactions. And how very delicate the 'act' was. Those ears were fleshy, thin, fragile things. You couldn't work 'em too hard, or it resulted in pain, over-sensitivity. If you worked 'em too lightly, though, his pleasure would just fizzle out. No, it was almost an art. Like hitting the right notes or something, or using a paintbrush in just the right way. It was a skill that the bat, quite proudly, had come close to perfecting. "I think you need new ear-mittens, though. Your old ones are getting a bit frayed, and it's only ... gonna," she breathed, trying not to get too tied down in thoughts of 'amorousness,' not wanting this foreplay, if that's what it was, to end just yet. "Gonna get colder ... " Her paw wrapped round the base of his fleshy tail. Just closed around it. And began to tug. The softest, most gradual tugs. So, maybe she wasn't doing the best job at corralling those the amorousness, after all.

" ... yeah, but ... silly thing ... silly things," he repeated, panting, eyes hooding, "to even bring up." A weak squeak as his tail being held and pulled like that, at its very foundation. A sigh. Okay, m-maybe ... that felt a little. Little good. Nibbling on her soft, pink-furred cheek, now, without asking, without needing to. His whiskers tangling with hers in that dainty, brushing way. That lovely way. There were few feelings more simple and pure than your whiskers brushing your mate's. Was there anything? Seriously? His whiskers. Hers. His twitching. Hers not. Tangling like the thinnest of glinting, bending strands. "Mm ... "

Holding to his tail like she was, not stopping, the bat said, "There's still time for me to put a bow on your tail ... " A few breaths, trailing off for a moment, before finishing, " ... and do you beneath the tree?"

" ... eh, heh." A flush, regaining his senses. Blinking. "Um, uh ... I'm ... " He blushed, almost giggle-squeaking. " ... you're awfully keen to get me under there. Not just today, either. I seem to remember, all this week, you mentioning how when we get our tree we should ... "

" ... we've had sex on the couch plenty of times. Don't remember us having it under a pine tree ... with those colored lights, and us in their colored shadows." Her fingers traced up the center of his back, where his spine was. " ... might be memorable."

" ... it'll ... it'll get knocked over." He knew he twitched and squeaked a lot in the 'throes' of things. Writhing and wriggling. "It will," he insisted. "I've already been flattened by it once today." A swallow. "I think we're fine on the couch. At least, uh ... tonight, anyway," he amended, not wanting to shut the door on the possibility.

"Think so?" she teased. Heavens, she loved to fluster him. To make him stammer and squirm and squeak. "You sure?" Eyes narrowing, and then closing. Sniffing of his earthy, earthy mouse-scent. Her breasts loose and squished down beneath the weight of his honey-tan chest, which was rising and falling. Her nipples in his fur, hardening. His breath baited, more so than hers, even. " ... you miss being breast-fed," she told him, her telepathic feelers fishing through his head. " ... just now, feeling my breasts on your chest, you had this thought: of yourself suckling ... milk ... " A tiny chitter. "Back after I birthed Akira."

"That was a while ago, now," he mumbled, shyly.

"Still ... "

" ... well, you know that. I mean, like ... of course I liked it. It's not, like ... " A slight, stammering face. So cute when he was bashful! Whiskers twitching against her cheek. " ... it's not another hang-up if that's what you're saying." A shy breath. "I just associate your breasts with that kind of ... "

" ... femininity?"

" ... fertility." A dainty, effeminate nod. "Milk, honey, sweetness. That kind of ... when I touch them, or kiss them, it just comes to mind. It ... " Hot beneath the honey-tan cheek-fur, he didn't really know what else to say, other than, " ... I like them ... n-no matter what. I like all of you. Even that rudder-tail."

"Heh. What's that supposed to mean, mm? 'Even' my rudder-tail?"

"It's pretty, in a ... short kind of way."

"Not every-fur can have, what, five foot long tails? How long is yours?"

" ... how long's my what ... " A certain prodding tone in his wispy voice, grinding his hips, in a single, brief motion, against hers.

" ... heh!" A chitter. "Mm ... my cheekiness is getting to you. Goodness! Osmosis, it seems ... you never would've said something like that," she breathed, "few years ago." More chitters. "I know how long the other thing is. And," she said, telepathically blocking him from speaking for a moment, assuring, "it's long enough. I don't need to be stuffed ... I need to be played. Like strings. You use your 'bow' very well."

A flush, deeply. Beneath the cheeks and through his chest. Not responding to that, directly. " ... I'm ... I'm not normally cheeky, though."

"I know. Mm ... "

"And I don't think I've measured my tail in a while. But it's done growing, for sure." A swallow. "It's a little longer or shorter depending on how cold or hot it is, and how limp or stiff, and ... "

" well, regardless, we'll measure it when we're done here. Or in the morning," she said. "Just for fun."

"I do you like yours," he whispered to her. "I was just teasing."

"I know, darling," she repeated, with an easy grin. "It's fine. Just calm down there. You're gettin' real excitable."

He knew as much. But how was he to help it? It felt like they were slow-dancing, though they weren't standing. Slow-burning, though it was 22 degrees outside. "And, about your breasts again ... I suckled at them this morning, didn't I? I still like those, too."

" ... mm-hmm. That's how I woke up ... silly mouse," she breathed, such love dripping from her tone.

"I'm not a silly mouse. You slept past the alarm. I had to wake you up, somehow." He smiled. Such a pure, dimpled smile. Nosing her, and sighing some. "Figured that was the gentlest way." She was a much deeper sleeper than him. "I think you're beautiful. You're so pretty. And smart and witty." A breath. "And I don't care if I sound like a sappy cheese-head, and if that rhymed unintentionally." Another breath. "The world would be a darker place if I couldn't say things like that while I have the chance. I just ... feels good to let you know, cause I feel it, and it's the truth."

" ... thank you." A swelling nod, her head rustling against the couch cushions. Stroking him steadily, fingers coming together and paw-pads swirling around his lower back. Getting him to utterly relax, relax. Relax, she told him, telepathically. Influencing him again. "I just think it's the cutest thing. I mean, it ... back when I breast-fed you, I mean, when I'd cradle your head and close my eyes, and you'd just lean into me and ... " She trailed. " ... you're naturally innocent. And it really radiated from you, extra-much, I guess ... when we did that." A slight sigh. "Mm ... anyway, I ... " A swallow. " ... no sex under the Christmas tree, huh?

"At least not tonight," he said. "And don't call it that." How hot were his ears, now? How much blood had filtered and gorged into them? Were the capillaries showing?

"Don't call it a Christmas tree?"

A slight face, trying not to smile. " ... you know what ... "

"Do I? Mm, tell me ... " She came very close to grabbing his rump again. Very close. " ... whisper all your polite euphemisms in my ears. Lather me up with the decorum of your touch."

"Mm ... " Oh, gosh.

" ... there's hope, is there? For the bow-tailed thing? 'Not tonight' isn't a no, so ... "

A giggle-squeak. "Adelaide ... you're making me so, so bashful. I'm serious ... "

"Mm. I know. I'm trying to." A fang-glistening grin, continuing, "Well, you're probably right about one thing: tree might topple over. I wouldn't want pine needles to get stuck in your backside. Turn you into some ... some evergreen mouse-u-pine ... "

" ... mouse-u-pine," he echoed, just to try out the sound.

"But, before Christmas, I'm breedin' you with bows on your tail. Mark my words. End of story. No more arguing ... "

" ... yes, ma'am," he breathed, barely audible, sucking on her cheek. Matting a little wet spot in her fur there. And then swallowing, sighing, and sucking air. All quickly, all in a dreamy state, with a stream of little actions and reactions. Until he began, almost before he realized he was doing it, to lick at her lips. This was it. This was life kicking into a higher gear. Foreplay couldn't last indefinitely, could it? No, no ... mm, mm, yes, he thought, actually licking her lips with his tongue. In a very modest, mousey fashion, of course.

A tiny, tiny nod, head-fur rustling against the couch-cushions. Muzzle almost lifting to meet his. Her lips closed, at first, wetted, glistening. And then parting, just a bit, her own tongue peeking out. A longer, more versatile tongue, meant for catching bugs. It battled with Field's own before the mouse submissively backed his off. And simply opened his own maw and lowered his head, letting Adelaide, with shut eyes, to lick and swirl her tongue round the inside of his moist maw.

" ... m-mm," was the weak moan-sound from the mouse, his back arching into the air. Nose sniffing audibly. " ... mm." So nice. His tail wavered and hung like a melting question mark behind him, until it just went like a rope being cast aside somewhere.

Her winged arms went to a full-on hug. And pulled him back down. Her muzzle tilting this way, and then that. That way, tongue retracting, and lips smacking a few times before ... " ... oh," she breathed, sighing to the side. Against his cheek. Eyes barely able to peek, peek at the ceiling. The flickering shadows up there. It was funny how, when she laid with him, the rest of the room just faded away. There was the tree, the stove, lots of things. There was nature right outside there door. But when they laid together like this? It was like they were in a bubble, where nothing existed but them, this, now. She licked her own lips and swallowed, tasting him, his saliva. Hugging her mouse tighter. And that's what he was: her mouse. Hers. No one else's.

He nuzzled her, nakedly, intimately, tail gently swerving this way and that, and whiskers in their constant state of twitch. For a few moments, that's all he did. Hugging back, though from above, and with plain arms. His hugs couldn't be blankets like hers. Which made him say, suddenly, " ... you ... I said I didn't wanna do it under a blanket." A deep, shaky breath. "But you got me under a living one." Such purity and wonder in his tone.

" ... guess I do," was her lazy, cushion-sinking reply. Breathing audibly for a bit, and then continuing, "You're such a romantic. You're so bright ... " Her nose flared some, and she swallowed, before saying, just because, "I'm serious about the bow thing. I think that'd be ... so cute ... so cute ... unwrap you. Mm." Giggle-chitters. "Oh, my gosh. I'm making it sound like a fetish, now, or something. It's not. I just ... have this image of you, waiting there beneath the tree for me ... wearing nothing but a bow ... it's just so sweet." A sigh. "Just sweet."

Tiny squeaks. "Well, I kinda ... kinda don't have any clothes on. Uh, right now." His pupils fully-dilated, and his paws on her sides, sliding up her sides. He felt her heat, her breath, her pulse. "Neither do you. So ... " He felt that the gear of their breeding drives, love drives, hearts, whatever you wanted to call it: that the gear had shifted back down. For just a moment. Maybe to let them catch their breaths before they went full throttle and fused with the speed of an Indy 500 time trial.

A steamy, eyes half-open grin. "Yeah, but it's not unwrapping you unless there's a bow to take off. How many times do we have to go over that, mm? You know, that's just the way ... " She sucked on his chin. A bit, a bit more. " ... way it goes." She maneuvered, in an easy, flight-capable way, out from beneath him. " ... watch out," she gently warned in the dimness, not wanting him to roll off the couch and onto the floor. Or bump his head on the coffee table or anything. " ... bottom, darling," was her simple command. It was time to make her move. Or, at least, to think about doing so.

He nodded. Submissive to her. Doing what she said, no hesitation.

Belly arching into his, she got him on his back (where she wanted him, for now), and sighed. And hugged him anew, foot-paws resuming their bumping. Bare toes to bare toes. Her rudder-tail, made for flight, almost wagging above her bare rump. " ... don't stop touching me," she pleaded.

"I wasn't going to." Utter seriousness in his squeaky tone.

A gratified nod, swallowing, and rolling her hips down, down against his, and resting her chin on his shoulder. And then lifting, adjusting her position, and then laying her head on his chest. Eyes closed. " ... I can hear your heart ... " She let that hang in the air for a bit, before adding, " ... I'd know your touch, you know, with ... even blindfolded. Even with my nose unable to pick up scent. Even without my telepathy. I'd know it was you. The way your fingers move across my pelt. That careful, reverent ... tenderness. That ... " A sigh. It was so hard, when lost in passion, to say things without stumbling, without losing the words. Without sounding a little loopy. But she tried. Lord knew she tried.

" ... I'd know your touch just as much," he countered. Her confidence, her playfulness, her ability to comfort him with just a single stroke of her paw, with just a single wrap of a wing. She was like a balm to all things bad, and fuel to all things good.

A breath, her paws beneath his back. " ... I love Christmas, you know? The Hope of all things. Birth of Light, gift of salvation." Another audible breath. "The humility of Christ, the birth, the life, the ... things eternal. And when we have the candlelight service at church? And when we have Christmas parties at ... family, and the library, and ... when we take Akira to see the lights on the tractors at the John Deere Store. And peppermint flavors, and ... gingerbread. Making ginger-mouses with the cookie cutters."

A slight giggle-squeak. "Yeah ... ginger-mouses." Giggle-squeaks. " ... you came up with those just as another way to fluster me. Admit it. All you do is bake 'em and eat 'em real suggestively in front of me."

She laughed. " ... heh. Gosh, that's fun. But, really, they are tasty." A chitter-sound. "Note to self: make ginger-mouses this week."

"Adelaide ... " He beamed even as he protested. Happy beneath her, paws in her fur.

" ... no, but Christmas?" she said, more seriously. "It's just very fulfilling. I don't get that same 'shiver' as with other holidays, as when I hear Christmas carols sung without instrumentation. Just voices. Like ... O, Holy Night, or Silent Night, or all those." A sigh, thinking. "Thanksgiving's great, but it's ... well, generic. And those patriotic holidays are fine, but it's ... the religious ones. The ones for the soul. That make me feel happiest to celebrate. That resonate, that have the most meaning. And that ... " A shaky breath, chittering, clearing her throat. " ... those are the ones that make me most fiercely think of how far we've come together, and ... " Her calmer nose to his sniffy, pink one. " ... mm. Yeah ... " She didn't want to go on this time. In this particular instance. She didn't want to ruin whatever it was she was trying to say by being too philosophical. Something, it was just understood. "I hope it snows. I wanna be snowed in with you ... "

A swooning whimper-squeak. " ... oh, my gosh, Adelaide," he whispered, so airily, so sweetly. " ... I'm gonna melt all over ... " He sniffled, emotionally. "I wanna be snowed in with you, too." A squeak. "I'm melting for real, right now."

She smiled protectively, hugging. "Go ahead. I'll soak you up."

" ... who's not poetic?" he asked, dreamily. Sighing. "You said you weren't. Mm ... "

"I'm not. I'm not ... you just rubbed off on me," was the grinning, rubbing retort. "I've been in your head too many times. You're contagious. You're my muse."

"You're my muse, too," he countered.

"You're mine first."

"No, you ... "

"We gonna argue about who's whose? We gonna be 'mousey stubbornness'?"

"Maybe," was the stubborn, face-making response. Followed by a hazy, nose-nuzzling smile. "We've rubbed off on each other equal measure. Like you said. So, that means my stubbornness, too."

"If that's part of the bargain, I'll more than take it," she went, gladly.

"I think we are ... we are symbiotic," Field declared, passionately. "That's ... that's what we are. Ours souls and fates tied. In this life and the next." He imagined being in heaven with her. What it would be like. He couldn't even comprehend. If it felt anything as good as being with her now ...

... a sigh from her, breasts sinking down against his chest, loosely. "Keep going," she pleaded, wanting to hear those words. More of his swirling, romantic notions. More of his airy, effeminate voice, which was so gentle, so squeaky. "Mm, I've been talking too much. You take over, now ... "

" ... puttin' me on the spot?" he breathed, shyly, squeakily.

"Mm-hmm. I'm cheeky like that. That's been well-established." Her paw-pads still between his bare back and the couch-cushions, stroking, fingers splaying. The soft, velvety membranes of her wings folded between her arms and her sides.

"I wish I could get you a surprise for Christmas," he admitted, changing the subject a bit.

A little nod. "I know. I know, but you can't ... can't keep secrets from a telepathic bat. Especially when our minds sorta fuse together during intercourse, right?" A wink. "No secrets."

A shy, ear-hot sigh. "Yeah. I ... I know. But we already know what we're gonna get each other. You sure you're gonna like my gifts?"

"Definitely. Definitely," she assured, kissing his cheek, knowing he wanted to get her a music box. That, when you opened it, would feature a moving bat, wings outstretched. But it would probably be too expensive. He'd probably just get her a few small things. A few clothing items. A movie. A Russian doll, maybe. He had the idea of actually getting a bat one and a mouse one, and mixing them together, so that when you opened the outside (a bat), you got a mouse, and when you opened the mouse, there was a bat, and so on. She, in turn, was gonna get him sports memorabilia for his collections, and some other Hoosier things. " ... mm, Field ... " Her paws strayed toward his rump.

" ... y-yeah?"

"I've, uh, think we might've had enough, actually, with the ... the talking. After all. Changed my mind. Let's ... just ... let's just ... "

" ... o-okay," he said, immediately, heart picking up its pace. Even more, more! Flustered by her directness, but excited, too. All of him was super-especially worked up and excited: body, heart, and mind. And his body, especially, was getting very, very extra-excited. Pussy. Thinking of pussy. The pleasure it would give him. Of licking it and sucking it and humping it. And, yeah, that was crude, but give me a break, the mouse thought to himself: mouses are furs, too. I can't help it, sometimes!

Detecting these bewildered thoughts, Adelaide giggle-chittered out loud. So cute. " ... don't worry 'bout it. I certainly don't begrudge ... mm, my horny rodent," she panted at him, teasingly, affectionately, loosening her hug. Letting go of him and pushing her paws and arms up, like stilts, 'til she was at a sitting straddle of Field's hips. A confident straddle. She remained that way for a second or two, stretching her winged arms. To their full, impressive span. Letting him watch her breasts gently wobble as she breathed and reached. And then winged arms, as they had to, falling aside so she could resume, and scoot, bit by bit, up his body, sitting on his chest, and then ...

... his paws grabbed at her hips. Almost clutched. Almost pulled. Trying to bring her to him as quickly as he could.

She went where steered, upper body hunching forward, breasts just hanging there, paws gripping the arm of the couch, hips guided. Up, up, forward. She took over, on her own volition, working with his paws to get into position, angling back down. In effect: getting to where she on on her shins and knees on either side of his head, straddling his muzzle.

Her delicate femininity.

Her sex.

Right against his nose and lips. Wetting his whisker-tips.

She pressed down. Barely. And eased up, and then down again, as if riding him.

Sniffing her thoroughly, panting against her groin, the mouse sucked and mouthed the thicker fur around her vulva. For a little bit. Her mons. Before his tongue, modest as it was, began to drift, grazing the edges of her vulva. The thin line of 'fuzz' that separated the outright fur from the outright flesh. And then the flesh itself. He felt a little shiver race through his tail as he began to 'eat' of this, the female essence.

A sigh, craning her head to the ceiling and closing her eyes. She felt Field take those sweetly tentative licks. More, more, right along the line of symmetry, right through those labia-petals. He always did that: went so shyly, so slowly at first, poking his tongue around and rubbing his lips about in some exploratory, wondrous way, as if too dumbfounded to really 'dig in.' He often went under that same 'trance' during intercourse. The first minute after penetration, he'd just sigh and hug and revel in it. Wouldn't be able to start coming to his senses and thrusting until he'd had a minute to adjust to the feelings, to regain his bearings.

She liked that. How, even when worked up, even when a 'horny rodent,' he would make love with her like it was an art. Something to be elevated. Like it was a delicacy. He wouldn't motor into her like a jackrabbit, or toy with her like a feline, or attempt to subdue her like a canine. He'd take his time, like it was fragile. Like, if they weren't careful, the moment might drop and shatter. He'd use his tongue, lips, his paws. Angle his hips. All of it. He'd use all of his body to stimulate all of hers.

Nothing was held back.

In full trust, full affection, nothing needed to be.

Utmost.

Intimacy.

His muzzle pressed, hungrily, tongue continuing to luxuriously lap through her folds, right through them, between them, in broad, short licks, wet and slick, inching down just a tiny bit, eyes rolling back, nothing to do but shut and water. But he didn't need to see. He'd spent so often gazing between her legs. He had it memorized. He saw it, like an impressionist painting, in his mind (maybe telepathically aided by her). There was no bashfulness. Not at the moment. After, maybe, there would be (at least on his part). But not now. No time for it now.

His tongue, modest, simple, not really made for worming into things or sticking all that far out, nonetheless did its best. Its constant, familiar best. Wandering flat against that smooth, flowery flesh inside her vulva, those pink, blood-blushing petals flush against his lips, cheeks, the wetness, the heat, the taste. She had a distinct, batty taste, and it was something he craved as he licked at the entrance to her vagina, that fertile threshold of life and joy. Maybe his favorite thing in the world. And, sure, right now, he was so worked up. So worked up. That he couldn't think anything else. Maybe if he calmed down and had to seriously think about the best thing in the world, he'd be far too modest and mature to say: my wife's vagina. Maybe.

Soft, rising chitters. She wasn't as loud as Field when they bred. Wasn't so much a 'squeaker.' But, even so, she made her share of animal-sounds. Her femininity lavished. The tip of his broad, simple tongue entering her. The tip, a little bit more. That was it. As far as he could work it. But, once in, he kept it in for as long as his jaw muscles would allow, licking from side to side. It was just a tad looser than it used to be. Her vagina, that is. Back when they'd first married. But, then, she'd given birth to Akira since then, which had been a long labor. And still weighed five pounds more three and a half years after the pregnancy than she had before it. But it was no matter to the mouse. She was in good health, good shape, and she was scrumptious. He enjoyed her body more than ever. More so at 24 than at 20.

Gladly munching a bit more, more. The heat coming from there. The hot liquid seeping from there. He almost lost his ability to think. Lapping, tongue still just a little bit inside. A little bit. The honey-drops mixing with his saliva. His tongue coming back into his mouth, though, a little tired. He had to close his mouth for a moment. Give it a bit of a rest, sighing through the nose, abandoning tongue-use and simply kissing, now, sucking, peppering kisses all about, drifting back up, up, back up. Only by fractions of centimeters and inches, all of his movements, but the physical sensations they caused? Felt like the results of whole miles of bodily stimulation.

" ... a-ah," was her whine, sucking some air. And then panting. She licked her lips, quickly, and then swallowed and hung her head. And kept her own eyes closed, too. Just imagining him doing it, just feeling it. " ... o-oh." It was a soft, feminine sound. Not all that loud yet. But the tingling in her vulva, the throbbing ache deep, deeper in her loins, the sensitive flushing, the fluttering of her heart and pulse. By the time the mouse had gotten to her hooded treasure, her clitoris, his lips slipping fully around it, gently suckling it to fuller attention ... oh, by ... by that time ... " ... o-oh, gosh." Now, that was a cry. That was something that could've been heard outside the front door. She gripped the arm of the couch hard, now, elbows trembling. But that hard grip weakened. Shook. Her loose breasts wobbling a bit, nipples hardening, sensitive to the mix of cool and hot air swirling about the living room. Her little bud of nerves, though, down below. The shocking sensitivity.

Field had long allowed himself the luxury of being lost in the act, lost in eating her out. He loved doing this. As much as he could. Just letting his senses own the moment, two furry fingers, blunt-clawed, slipping straight into her feminine tunnel. The feel of it. Slick. Willing. And, when they were 'submerged' past the knuckles, they bent, curled, and with his very finger-tips, he gently caressed her upper vaginal wall. The heated, muscular surface. And, now and then, would press, press, and then resume the caressing. Few inches in. Upper wall. He knew her spots. And, now touching her in multiple, sprawling ways, he continued to pleasure her, rubbing with those fingers, tail seeking out her own. Curling, coiling around her own like a vine. While still having his lips over her nub. Not suckling anymore, but tracing the tip of his rested tongue in slow, sensuous circles. Around it. Around the edges. Coming as close to directly licking it as he could. Without directly licking it. But keeping the moisture of his maw trapped there.

" ... o-oh." Her winged arms bent, reached, and then ... flap, flap! Throaty, animal chitters, then winged arms falling back down. Again, paws ... where to grip with paws? She ended up missing the arm of the couch. Holding to his ears, this time. Very carefully. But, still. Paws clutching the rims of his dishy, blood-gorged ears. But unable to stay with just the rims. Fingers spreading, splaying, covering the lobes, and paw-pads in slow, shaky circles, fingers curling eventually, to trace patterns ... patterns ... deep into the insides of those dishes, until she had a finger right up against each ear-hole.

This sent Field's heart into a pure scurry-ful state. Causing him to lose a little bit of control, causing him, from the sexual excitement, to give muffled squeaks, his ears beginning to tingle pleasantly. They throbbed. Outright. Throbbed. With blood. They were beet-red, and the heat was so close to breaking (which was when, with mouses, the intense tingling heat in the ears spilled down through the rest of the body ... it was known as 'ear-gasm,' and equivalent to ejaculation with his penis, at least in regards to the same kind of 'climactic' pleasure ... 'studies' had put it at only three-quarters the intensity, but Field wondered how in the world they 'studied' that; even if pleasure from the penis was better, his ears still felt good, and it was always special for Adelaide to do this to him). " ... m-mm. M-m ... " He was panting hard, now. Calm down, calm down. Don't ... hyper ... ventilate. He tried to hold his breath. Slow his breathing. It didn't work. Not that much, anyway. " ... mmf, mm-hm-f ..." His moans were a little muffled by her muff. As ironic as that sounded. They came out like mouth-ful whimpers. Unintentionally vibrating and reverberating against her clitoris.

Which caused her to gasp and lick at her fangs. But, even so, Adelaide, in spite of what he was doing to her? In spite of the fact that her mind was just as hazed and lost as his? She somehow worked those ears with the daintiness they demanded. She somehow kept from just ferally pawing at them. She stayed careful. Stroked the rims of his lobes between her thumbs and forefingers, like turning a record on a record player, back and forth, stroking only the rims.

Suckles, again. Returning to suckling her clitoris. Just suckling, and fingers beginning to slide, slide, pumping in and out of her steamy, slick ... too many adjectives to gloriously describe ... sex. His mouse-hood hardened, semi-stiff, stiffer, and ticking, ticking a bit more, at the thought of it, the thought of being inside her, sowing his seed in her. All these instinctual, animal desires, mixed with romantic, devoted intentions, like a tempest inside of him, sweeping him away. Distracting him to the point where he didn't realize he ... h-he ... her paws cupping the backs of his ears, now, and gently, gently sliding. Back to the front, back inside, furred fingers sliding over every short, invisible hair in his ear, right to the ear-hole. His ear most sensitive at the earhole. And she wriggled her fingers there.

The heat broke.

His ears, pounding, literally throbbing, tingled to their beet-red, capillary-laced fullest, and then it just ... j-just broke, the sensations flooding, like a wave, down into his face, muzzle, neck, chest, down, down. " ... oh ... o-oh ... " Tingling. The tingling. It finally reached his toes. A full body hot-shiver. His whiskers even tingled, like on fire ... " ... oh," he cried, nibbling her clitoris between sounds, and still, his fingers, and still ... and his reaction, all of it ...

... got to her. And she sighed. A heavy sigh. Almost of sweet relief ... until, fluttering, her sex dribbled more obviously than before. A steady trickle, and then a brief spurt! Of clear, hot fluid. Spasms literally felt. Her groin, her belly. Wracking her like a little earthquake.

He could feel her shaking. He could feel the heat. And the liquid dribbled off his lips and ran down his whisker-tips in steady droplets. He licked, licked. You could hear him smacking and sucking.

" ... a-ah! Ah!" Chitters, losing control and gyrating on top his muzzle. Just for a second or two, stringing streams of chitters bouncing off the walls. Ending in an echo-burst, which truly ricocheted all over the house. And, yeah, she realized, just then, she'd been as loud as her mouse. She was normally the quieter of the pair (if that was saying anything, being that neither could stay totally quiet if their life depended on it). But, sometimes, you just had so much of a build up, so much want. Sometimes, it just had to come out like that.

The mouse, heart pounding and head hazy beyond belief, could only weakly, dizzily remove his fingers from her sex and ... they were fur-matted and wet. And, then, he put his paws on her backside. Her bottom. He caressed her rump, her cheeks. Her ... he stroked her tail for a minute.

" ... d-damn ... " She sighed. It was just blurted, stated. Not so much as a curse. But an exclamation. Field never cursed. She did, sometimes. But, really, what other word did she have in her vocabulary to say right now? Aside from ones that would make Field's ears explode because of his modesty. 'Damn' would do. It was genuinely meant. " ... oh, Field ... "

A pupil-dilated squeak-sound.

She was still panting, flushed all over. It was hard to tell, being that her fur was naturally pink. When she was blushing. With Field, it was easy. Just look at the ears (which were still red with blood, though not as stop-sign red as they'd been half a minute ago). Adelaide never blushed as much, though. She was a lot more confident and playful. But Field knew, without a doubt, that she was blushing beneath the fur right now. In spite of anything. He could feel it. But he didn't say anything. He knew she knew he knew (or something like that).

" ... I ... I want you me in," she continued, still panting. "I want you all the way." More of him. More pleasure. More. His seed sown in her womb. That's what she wanted. Unable to really find or control her breath. And scooting back, back, 'til she was away from his muzzle and straddling his waist in a normal, easy fashion. Her paws tweaking his little mousey nipples. " ... hold on t-to me." She sounded so vulnerable. The biting instinct hadn't been triggered yet, officially. It couldn't be triggered until male pre mixed with female vaginal fluid. But she wanted to want to bite. If that made any sense at all. "I wanna ... wanna want to bite," she said, aloud, hoping it would make more sense when spoken.

Maybe it did.

Their minds were both loopy right now. Thinking in circles, thinking in fiery, instinctual patterns. To be sentient animals. Especially in moments like this? Was just a pure sensory overload.

" ... am ... am I still on bottom?" he whispered, effeminately, feeling like this was a dream. The way things looked, smelled, sounded, felt. The edges of everything softened.

And it was now that Adelaide's vulnerability eased back, her dominance returning, allowing a grin, a toothy one, her deep-pink eyes sparkling as she looked down at him. She was still straddling his waist, and said, simply, "What does it look like?"

A needy, acknowledging squeak from him, nodding more, and ... and very fine with that. Very fine with it. He was too dizzy to really sit up and top her anyway. And it was a very different sensation: to have your partner thrust at you. Rather than thrust into them. He liked it both ways. Each was a unique pleasure. Each was ... mm, pleasure. Was all he could imagine. All he knew. As Adelaide wasted no time, and was already lowering down on his sheath-less/circumcised, five-inch mouse-hood. The modest, smooth, pink shaft. But nicely thick. A vein showing on the side. The head blunt and plum-pink. Down, down, and all of it, easily taken in.

He squeaked. Muzzle-scrunching, weak, weak squeaks, g-gasping ... a l-little. His stiff, now-slicked flesh snugged, enveloped on all sides by sopping, smoother muscle, raw, wet, hot. A scabbard for a sword. A nature-made sheath for his organ. A perfect, succulent fit, an oven to marinate in. " ... m-mm, hmm ... " It felt. G-good. He panted, but didn't move or buck up at her, or wriggle. Just breathed, five inches deep between her thighs. Like Adelaide had noted earlier, it'd take him a minute to snap out of the initial daze.

The bat, fully-speared, feeling his tufted, tightening sac nestling to her vulva, began to hunch forward. Because she had no choice but to bite him during intercourse, they could only breed in positions where they were facing each other. It severely limited how they could do things, sure. But the resulting telepathic fusion more than made up for it. Neither ever complained about it. If nature demanded it, so be it. They more than obliged.

Sucking air softly, the mouse finally, eventually eased his trim hips up, upward. Even though she was hilted. Even though she was on top. He still raised up against her, as if trying to move her hips upward, up. Breath catching, toes digging into the arm of the couch, pushing off. Foot-paws pushing off. Driving his body all the way upward, now. All the way. And as he did this, she raised up, up, just to the tip, and then just plain dropped back down. Sheer, unadulterated delight, heart hammering, as his shaft angled through the soft, fleshy folds again, swallowed up, disappearing inches into her waiting vagina. Moist, hot vagina. It was seriously like moving through living silk. His tufted, furry sac, orbs swelling notably, nestled against her vulva, not to be forgotten. All of it moving, and staying in motion, gentle, arching motions. " ... m-m-uh ... " He panted it, airily, against her cheek, eyes screwed shut.

" ... mm ... mm," was the bat's un-civil response, legs parted, hips up and down, riding, gyrating, bobbing. Filling and spearing herself, limbs, winged arms included, wrapping round her husband's body. Latching on. Saying nothing further. Just breathing, sharing body heat, sharing ... well, more than that. Intimate contact. Fusion of bodies. She just reveled, waited for the biting instinct to kick in.

And he triggered it. More than triggered it. Involuntarily, with his pre, which began to leak and dribble out, mixing with her vaginal juice, starting a mysterious, somehow-spark, starting ...

... the numbing agent in her saliva, the need to bite. The need. But, no, lick him first. You can't hurt him. Lick him. She licked and wetted a spot on his neck. Choosing the spot with instinct. She knew how to hit only the muscle. She knew what she was doing. Genitals still fused together, lowered, laying. Horizontal atop of him, rudder-tail wagging in the air. She knew what she was doing.

He leaned his head aside, closed his eyes. Heart hammering. He swallowed and kept his paws on her lower back, drifting them down to her rump and then back up again. Angling his hips to keep himself inside her. He felt his neck become wet. Not just because of her saliva. But ... mating milk. White, dribbling mating milk, literally dripping from her fangs like how venom did from snake teeth. But, this, this! Happy, non-hurting anti-venom, soaking the couch-cushion beneath them (the couch was supposed to be stain-proof; most furs needed such couches).

She opened her maw wide, licking over, bite, bite, bite, and ...

... twitch. Twitch.

Bite!

She bit. Held him still, held him tight, and bit. The satisfaction she got from the sheer feel of those sharp, pearly-white fangs literally piercing through his fur and skin, into his body, into his blood. It was truly something only a bat could understand. Though Field knew, as best he could, because of their telepathic link. He knew what she was feeling. He trusted her implicitly. And could almost feel the mating milk enter his bloodstream. It only took eight, ten seconds for it to fully move through him, through his brain, his heart, pumped, pumped. And, then, like that, just like that ...

... full union.

Lovingly.

Linked.

Her thoughts to his thoughts.

His memories to hers.

Back and forth, mingling, merging.

Her feelings. He felt them. As if they were in his own head.

And, lastly, but not least, the physical sensations. Shared. Everything his body felt, she felt it, as if her nerves directly were tied to his. The stiffness of his mouse-hood. That pressure. That hardness. That tingling-ness. On top of the sensation of her own sex. It wasn't something one could explain. It just was. They were telepathically one.

One mind, one body.

One fur.

Working, immediately, unable to hold back, for the same goal: to fertilize her. Her egg. Never mind she wasn't ovulating, and was on a pill even when she was. He had to sow his seed in her. And she had to take it. Wanted to take it. Breed. Breed. It feels so good. Breed. You'll get a pleasured reward if you do ... and bats' sex drives were notorious for ensuring pregnancy. Once those fangs went in the neck, your semen was soon fated for that womb, whether it had been your original decision or not. The biter couldn't withdraw without being left with a massive 'hangover.' And the bitten couldn't withdraw unless the biter withdrew. You couldn't exactly walk away when someone had sharp teeth deep in your neck. All these natural 'hooks' in place, presumably, because bats' reproduced much slower than other furs, and had eleven-month gestations when they did. So, when a bat found a partner, their body had to make the most of the chance.

But once that chance was had, it was almost always kept. The telepathic bond, that symbiosis, enhancing intimacy, promoting closeness, all your secrets, feelings, desires instantly disclosed. Pleasure shared. Feeling your partner's orgasm along with your own. It was truly like a drug, the telepathy. The more your mind was exposed to it, the more dependent it became on having it. Breaking off from that intense kind of entwined intimacy was a very painful experience. Marriages with bats, no surprise, had the lowest frequency of divorce.

Bats were complicated.

But Field didn't care. He didn't care if he was 'addicted' to her. Mouses had their 'hang-ups,' too. Mouses were vulnerable, delicate, fragile, emotional, needed lots of care. He'd always had anxiety issues. This and that. He had his quirks. In bed and out. And he knew he hadn't fallen in love with her because of her fangs and her telepathy. Those things were great. No doubt.

But he'd fallen in love with her before they'd ever bred. He'd become addicted to her long before becoming 'dependent' on her. If that made any sense. And when they finally had 'done it,' it wasn't a lusty, chemical-induced decision, but a dual consummation, a declaration, a joy to start and share ever after. To get even closer. It was, their love-making, a continuing decree, a proclamation of their feelings.

It was the result of their love, not the cause of it.

So here, now, they celebrated that.

Their result of their love.

They bodily, mentally, emotionally, writhed together, and in the bask of the Christmas tree, rejoiced. As they drew closer, minute by minute, to the divine.

The mouse sweatily squeaking, bucking up beneath her, the exquisite, increasingly sloppy furnace of her sex, wet, wet, so wet, a mixture of her own juices and his pre, churning, slurping, dribbling out and wetting his sac. Her body so hot. The temperature inside her. His male flesh marinating, milked, milked. Her walls beginning to flutter and tense and ripple some, as if contracting, as if ... hump, h-hump ... hump ... he humped her from below, knowing she'd topped him to control the humping, but unable to stop from doing it, wanting her so badly, and wanting to kiss her so badly, too, now that he thought about it.

But he couldn't. She had her fangs locked in his neck, and his muzzle had to stay tilted to the side. He could only pant and squeak and stroke his paws up her back, to her shoulder blades and back down again. H-hump ... his keen, flushed ears could hear it. He heard his sex meshing into hers. Heard her breaths, her muffled chitters, heard everything.

Everything.

As she sank down, desperately humped down, grinding, gyrating, whining each time his penis buried into her passage. And sucked air through the nose each time it withdrew. Less time between breaths, less time. Willpower. Left. She couldn't stave it off. It was mostly involuntary, now, anyway, and though part of her didn't want this to end, another part of her needed the release. The seed. T-the ... s-she ...

... squeaked. Squeaked. The mouse chitter-squeaked, whiskers drooping with sheer bewilderment, as she hit her orgasm first. Her second of the night. Her walls clamping, flutter-fluttering around his penis, massaging it, drenching it ... it ... it twitched. He moaned, going limp, and just feeling, after a second, those involuntary 'bursts.' The ejaculations. Sharp, sharp pleasure, punching pleasure, as steamy, sticky mouse-semen, like a stream, spoon-fuls. Sowed. He sowed her, all those mouse-seeds coating her cervix. Pelted there. Leaking up into her womb. It was glorious. It was surely one of the pinnacles of being alive. And it lasted a few more seconds before he could give no more (despite her vagina's sopping insistence). " ... o-oh. Oh." Panting. " ... o-oh."

Orgasms, yes, yes, had.

And over.

Oh, afterglow.

It hit them hard, full-on, like a fog. Their minds would be slow to emerge from it. Just don't try. Don't even try. Just wallow in it.

A minute passed, and Adelaide, like an expert, with one single motion, withdrew her fangs (leaving no mark, as if they'd never been there) and sighed, smiling as she wrapped him up in her wings from her horizontal position atop of him. " ... I love you so much. I love you," she stated, full of joy. It really was like glowing, wasn't it? After it was over?

"I love you, too ... so much. Adelaide," he breathed back, nosing her, nuzzling. All was right with the world. Right now, for the moment, in this room. All was right.

"You're shrinking. Slippin' out of me," she whispered, nose to nose. "You should pull out ... "

A dainty, tender nod, hips moving by inches, limp penis flopping out and slipping to the side, leaving the excess semen he'd left in her to trickle from her wet vagina like dripping molasses, getting on Field's fur, and her own. He didn't worry about it. He'd go all 'tidy mouse' on the couch after they washed off. " ... I wanna get you pregnant ... for Christmas," he said, voice so, so shy. His voice shook. "I ... I love you so much ... "

" ... hey," she whispered, confidently, soothingly, her winged arms moving. Paws coming up to hold the sides of his face. As she put her lips to his forehead. And gently kissed there. " ... I know, okay? I love you, too," she repeated, nuzzling. "One day, okay? A few Christmases from now, we'll see ... alright ... things are fine as they are, right now. We have it good. We're very blessed."

" ... I know. I do." A swallow, breathing of her. Sniffy-sniffing. "Just ... full of emotion." He wanted to thank God for everything. And, quietly, mentally, he did so. While regaining the rest of his breath.

She rubbed and nosed him. "Mm, we gotta shower, darling. Get to bed. It's almost 11:30, I think."

A sigh, nodding weakly, hugging dearly, and then slowly smiling. His brightness never abating. "I know," he repeated. "Mm ... " His eyes seemed to glow as, glancing at the tree, and then back to her, he whispered, "The tree's adorned with lights. And we're adorned with each other." His whiskers twitched against her cheeks. "I think we make the prettier package."

And Adelaide, grinning, concurred, but cheekily whispered, very close to his lips, "All we're missing is the bow."