Peppermint Stick
It was 70 degrees. In Indiana. In November. And it was Saturday.
They couldn't stay away from the ice cream shop.
"They did. They had it." A smile. A bright, buoyant beam. Opening the car door.
"Peppermint?" She peered.
"Peppermint stick," he corrected, sinking into the passenger seat of the car. A cup in each paw. One small cup of ice cream in each paw. And he gave one to her, saying, "Small dish of butter pecan." And he shut the door, leaving them isolated from the outside. Parked in this parking lot.
"Thank you," she said, smiling, nodding. Taking it. Spoon and cup and all (napkin included).
"I tried butter pecan before."
"Bet you didn't like it."
"Didn't," he said.
"It's not that bad," she said. "I like it ... now and then."
"Well, I'm ... so glad," he said, twirling the white, plastic spoon in his own ice cream, and leaning back in the seat. "I'm glad they had peppermint stick." The ice cream was white and pink, a mixture. With green and red little bits of peppermint in it. For the holiday season. They only had this flavor in November and December. And January, maybe. Field loved peppermint, and peppermint stick was his favorite ice cream. He was excited. And said so.
Aria giggled, looking out the window, remarking, "It's ice cream."
"It's peppermint stick ice cream. This isn't ... isn't ice cream, Aria," he told her, twirling the spoon, taking it out and up. Putting it to his lips. The cool, cool cream, and ... pushing the spoon into his mouth. The cream on his tongue. The mint. The spark. "It's, like ... perfect. It's, like, music in food form."
Another giggle. A shake of the head. Saying, "You're a silly mouse, you know that?"
"Silly?"
"Sometimes, silly. Like now."
"Didn't know I was being silly," he said, smiling, sucking the spoon.
"You're being ... young, I guess. Which is the same thing."
The mouse's turn to giggle. And he looked out the window as he ate the ice cream.
The rabbit working slowly on her small dish of butter pecan.
The mouse's dish was medium-sized.
"Look at that," Aria observed. Amused.
"Mm?" the mouse looked up, swallowing.
"No, look ... there's a fitness center, a ... right across from the ice cream shop." She squinted, seeing the furs on jogging machines. A smile crept across her face. "I'll give you five dollars if you sit on that bench in front of that window ... and eat your ice cream there."
The mouse laughed, shaking his head. "No. No ... "
"Scared?"
"I'll laugh."
"So?" She smiled.
"No, it's ... five dollars?"
She nodded.
He pretended to consider. She knew he wouldn't do it. He was too timid and reserved, but ... he pretended to contemplate, and then shook his head and resumed eating the pink-white, peppermint-speckled ice cream. "Mm ... no, but ... that is kind of funny. I wonder if they did it on purpose."
"No, but ... I just wonder who was here first. Handel's," she said, referring to the creamery, "or the fitness center."
"Chicken or the egg?" Field posed.
A giggle. "Or how many licks it takes to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop."
Field, laughing, replied enigmatically, "The world may never know."
The rabbit and mouse giggled ... and sighed. And sat. And eyed each other, smiling. Eating their ice cream.
Talking. Chatting.
Whispering.
Confessing their love for each other ... in quiet, creamy voices.
And, then, Aria started the car, and they began the drive home. And it was already getting dark.
They were on Indiana 31 now. Driving.
Field was looking out the windshield. Watching things. Saying, in hushed, wondered tone, "It's supposed to be freezing on Wednesday."
"Wednesday?"
A nod. "In the 30's. Snow flurries."
"That's a drop."
"Well, it is November," he relented, "but ... too warm a November. It'll be assuring."
"It'll be cold."
"You should move to Florida."
"Florida's for tourists," she said, smiling, paws on the wheel.
The mouse giggled at the comment. He'd never been to Florida. Never been to anywhere, really. Was an anchored Hoosier mouse. And said, "But ... it'll be Thanksgiving next week, you know?"
She nodded. "Yeah," she said. Almost not having realized it.
And it was Field who saw it first, whispering, "Oh, my word ... "
"What?" she asked, but she saw it, too.
The horizon.
Up above it, in the growing darkness, was a fiery sword, a white-white line. Descending ... diagonally. Burning and flaring and ... bursting and fading in sparkles. Stabbing the sky. Stabbing November.
"Oh, my gosh," the mouse whispered. Realizing what that was. "That was ... "
"A shooting star," she whispered, stepping on the brakes as they approached a light. She entered the left turn lane. Waited for the signal.
"I though that ... I've not seen one in so long. But ... no, that ... I've never seen one so close!" the mouse exclaimed. "That's incredible ... "
Aria nodded.
"That was so close," the mouse whispered. Awed. "I mean ... just driving, and just ... it was just there." A breath. "Isn't that the best?" His eyes were bright and wide and innocent. His gentle naivety was shining through.
"Yeah ... "
"Maybe ... " He fell quiet.
After a moment, Aria looked to him. "Maybe what?" she asked.
"Green," said Field, nodding at the traffic light. At the junction of 31 and 32. They needed to go left onto 32. Past the three gas stations and the Taco Bell. Past the sign with the arrow that said, "Lebanon."
"Oops," said the rabbit, stepping on the gas, making the turn. And, after a few seconds, asking again, "Maybe what?" She squinted as a car in the opposite lane went by with its high beams on. She frowned, blinking.
"Well, just ... maybe ... maybe that was a sign from God. A ... glimpse of God."
Aria was quiet at that.
"You think that's ... stupid to think?"
"No, it's ... a possibility."
"I just ... that was beautiful. That was ... it lasted five seconds, and I can barely ... but it slow-burned into my memory. Felt like I was watching it for minutes. That was so close ... it looked as if it could've hit the earth. I've never seen that before." Quiet again. "If we had left the ice cream shop ... five minutes earlier, or even a minute later, we may have ... missed it. If we hadn't been looking forward ... "
"Looking forward," she whispered.
"But we saw it. We were there. We witnessed it."
"It was a shooting star," she whispered.
"But it was ... beautiful. It was ... I don't know," Field breathed. And he went quiet. "A falling star," he whispered. "It's ... isn't that romantic?" He looked to her. "Isn't that lovely?"
She couldn't help but smile. And couldn't help but nod. "It is," she agreed.
And when they got home, they sighed and sank onto the couch.
"Mm," went the rabbit, nuzzling up to him. Breathing of him. "You gonna spend the night again?" For they were at her house.
The mouse blushed. "If you want ... "
"I do," she whispered in return, nose-to-nose with him. Nose sniffing. And she put her muzzle to his ear, confiding, "You smell like peppermint."
The mouse giggled very airily. Wispily. Whispering, "Thank you."
"I wonder ... " She tilted her head. Smiled and observed him.
He raised his brows. "Mm?"
"Wonder if you ... taste like it, too."
The mouse bit his lip, whiskers twitching. Ears swiveling. "I don't know." He shrugged coyly.
"Gonna have to find out. I'm ... gonna ... have to," she breathed, raising forward. Lips meeting his. The kiss soft and sweet. Lips together, sliding together, as heads tilted together ... a sucking, smacking sound.
And breathe, breathe, breathe ...
And kiss again.
And the mouse's arms wrapping around her ... pulling her back with him. The mouse falling to his back on the cushions. Pulling her down atop of him.
The rabbit following. Having adapted to Field's submissiveness. Not minding taking the lead ... when it came to this ... came to ...
"Oh," Field went, sighing. For she was nibbling on his satellite-like ears. Those thin, sensitive ears. The little capillaries flushing with blood.
She nibbled.
"Mm ... hope my ears are ... tasty, too."
A giggle. A nibble. "Are ... yes ... "
"They taste like ... carrots, then?" he teased.
A smirk. "That's," she breathed, "such a cliche. I don't even like carrots."
"But I ... like cheese. And I'm a mouse. So, does ... that make me cliched?"
"It makes you a mouse," she said cheekily. Kissing him again. "My ... mouse." Smack-smack ... kiss. Feeling him all over. And him feeling her back. Their temperatures rising.
"No ... fair," he whispered, smiling, tilting his head. Getting kissed on the neck. Giggling with glee. Feeling as if he were drunk. All he'd had was ice cream, a shooting star sighting, and ... kisses from her. The stronger ambrosia, for sure. Drunk on joy, he decided, and ... he decided he liked it, and ...
... they were, in a blur, kicking off their clothes, wriggling, bare, into the cushions. Heads tilting, mouths sucking, kissing ... their fur mingling, touching. So soft. The feel of fur. The fur of one you loved. The warmest feeling.
Field's paws went up and down her back-side. Over her bob-like tail, which he tugged, tugged ... and she arched each time he did it. And she reached for his own ropy, silky tail ... and pulled it. Making him squeak. Touching tails.
Her tongue went round and round his ear.
They sighed and squeaked and chittered quietly.
And, normally, they would've taken it slow. Slower. Gone for more oral things, and ... touching, massaging ...
But were too worked up.
Were wanting it too much.
Were loving each other so badly.
Now, now, needed ... now. So ...
... that the rabbit, as soon as she detected her mate was sufficiently erect ... she spread her legs, scooting, situating ...
He bucked up at her. Instinctively. Missing. Squeaking and blushing at this.
She squeezed his paw reassuringly. Fishing down with her other paw, grabbing his mouse-hood ... pointing it in the right direction. Until they connected. Until they were one.
Field sighed, flushing ... and held still. Panting, panting ...
... as she was panting, panting, still squeezing his paw.
He squeezed back and ... bucked.
She closed her eyes and squeaked from the throat. A rabbit squeak. Not as light as a mouse squeak. But ... a squeak, nonetheless. A squeak. An assuring sound. A gentle, light sound. And Field bucked again. And she made the same sound.
And she began to rise and fall on him ... up, down, up ... down. Slick, steady, sensual ... soft.
She would ride him for a minute. And stop.
And he would buck up at her for a minute. And stop.
And then they would move in tandem for minutes more ... the rising, the rising of their feelings, of their bodies ... their fur. Matted fur. Paws. Tails. Ears. Everything warm and washed over with a flush. Everything flaring like a burning ember.
Their love stabbing the night like that shooting star.
Their love piercing.
Going, going ...
The pants, the moans ... the caresses, the squeezes ... the little motions, conscious and unconscious, of their love. The little whispers. The little smiles.
Until Field, twitching, grew erratic ... until his squeaks went to a higher pitch. Which Aria had come to recognize as the prelude to his orgasm. So, she grabbed the mouse's paw and led it to her body, to where they were joined ... instructing him to rub and touch her ... to aid her ...
He did, and ... panting, whimpering, he lost his breath ... and came.
And, less than a minute later, she followed suit.
They reeled from the sensation. Reeled from the intimacy. From such a closeness. From their eyes meeting each other in the after-tremors of climax. Saying nothing, but ... communicating everything.
And, when their bodies had separated, they remained close. Remained nuzzled, and ... she kissed him again. And told him, "Your kisses still taste like peppermint."
He blushed and said (as he had the first time), "Thank you."