How to Survive a 6-Degree Day
6 degrees (said the thermometer outside the kitchen).
Without the wind chill.
And they (Field and Adelaide, mouse and bat) were keeping warm. This was hibernating weather, wasn't it?
The mouse breathed ... through the nose. In. And out. Slowly, deeply, embedding his nose in her pink, buoyant fur. Breathing of her. In that lazy, drowsy way. Shivering slightly (despite the baseboard electrical heater, and despite the covers) ... shivering right up against the bat.
She giggled at this. Nosed him. Nosey-nosed him. With her eyes closed. She needn't open them, for she could see him ... in her mind's eye. So etched was he ... in her consciousness.
A stray paw of the mouse's ... found her side. And wrapped round her back. And pulled her closer. Belly-to-belly. Side-by-side.
The wind could be heard through the old foundation of the rustic house. The wind could be heard, and the cold tried to creak inside. Tried to nip at them.
It was 10:26, and they were still in bed. Or, more precisely, BACK in bed ... as they'd both briefly gotten out ... but had wandered back in. They had nothing going today. No work today. And weren't such winter mornings built for dozy dreamers?
The cold had them cornered. Trapped indoors. Had them surrounded.
They began to fight it off.
They began ... with a kiss. Started (as usual) by her. Adelaide taking the initiative, giving dainty pecks to the mouse's chin. To his cheeks. To his lips. Oh, finally, his lips. Soft, soft ...
sweet. Succulent, these. Warm, warm kisses. Tiny, tiny kisses.
They seemed to burn.
And, not for the first time, the mouse had to wonder, in the back of his mind, "Where did she learn to kiss that way?" Maybe he didn't want to know ... or maybe she'd taught herself. Regardless, she was a captivating kisser.
And she had Field under her spell.
She tilted her head the other way, kissing again. Gave a little lap with her tongue ... to his lips. And to his twitching, sniffing nose.
Field giggled airily, blink-blinking weakly ... nose twitching, sniffing ... from the licks.
She licked again.
He giggled more, nose wet, and tried to lick her back. Ruffled her cheek-fur.
She went for another kiss. Another.
He returned them. Complimented them ... with his own movements. His own flaring breaths. His whiskers brushing her cheeks in such a dainty way. Having no better way of saying how much he wanted her, how much he needed her ... than through these actions. Through showing her. Through wrapping his furry limbs around her, tangling with her.
Both of them breathing faster, faster ...
Feeling warmer ...
... warmer.
As they, still under covers, still under sheets, allowed their paws to rove.
The mouse's paws on her sides. On her belly. And the bat arching from his touch. And her winged arms spreading, and then ... coming back to her sides. As her thumbs went rub-rub over the little nubs on the mouse's honey-tan chest. Rubbing his nipples through his fur.
Field flushed. Ears getting warmer, filling with blood. More sensitive to the air. To every sound. And his own paws fished for her, and he returned the favor. Giving the same action to her ... cupping her breasts with his paws. Thumbs going rub-rub ...
... more sensitive for her. As her sigh indicated. As her deep, shaky breath showed. And Adelaide sank slowly atop of him. Lying atop of him.
And Field hugged her from below, rubbing her lower back. Up and down, the small of her back, to her bat tail, which was short and stout. Tug-tugging the tail. And allowing paws to slide over the soft fur of her rump-cheeks, and then back up her body.
Adelaide sighed warmly. Again and again. And arched, sitting up, and ... the sheets slid off of her bare form. She smiled down at him. With a toothy grin (fangs showing and all), and she gathered the sheets in her paws and pulled them back up over her, holding them to her like a cape. With the mouse below her.
Field giggled, lying still ... except for a paw that reached for her own. Except for one of his paws squeezing one of her own paws. Squeezing, and letting go ...
... to rub at her belly again. And delicately trail through her fur. To reach out to feel those dreamy, filmy wings. Such delicate, wonderful things.
And her paw gently cupping the mouse's furry sac ... rolling the orbs inside, around and round and round ...
Field closed his eyes. Let out a breath through the nose. And swallowed.
She continued her ministrations, and moved an inch upward, upward, until her paw was gripping (gently) his mouse-hood. She gave it an ever-so-slight tug ... smiled ... and did it again. And allowed the pad of her paw to slide over the smooth, sensitive skin. The stiffness ... sliding over, up and down ... and her thumb slid over the ridge at the back of the curved head. Right over the ridge. Rub-rub-rub ...
Field sighed heavily this time.
And the bag wriggle-wriggled, letting all the sheets fall away, exposing her pink, furry form to the bedroom air. The dim bedroom air. She wriggled down him, and gave a tentative sniff. A tentative lick.
The mouse squirmed even before her hot exhale ... and before her lips slid, slid, slid over him. Like searing things. The mouse squirmed. From the sensitivity. From ...
... her slight bobbing. Her careful, careful stimulation. The way she used her tongue. The way her fangs grazed him. She went slowly. Knowing how much the mouse could comfortable handle ... and, for minutes, just slid, bobbed, suckled softly. Silently. Only the sound of her breathing. And his.
And when she pulled off, pulled away ... and when she sat up, slightly huffing, her deep-pink eyes met his blue-grey ones. Seeming to twinkle.
Field swallowed, clearing his throat, nodding ... knowing what she wanted, and knowing ... he would do it. Wanted to.
His turn to wriggle-wriggle, and her turn to lie on her back, as her legs went to a spread. As she closed her eyes and grinned, waiting for this ... relaxing. Knowing how shy the mouse was. Knowing how he blushed. Knowing him and his bashful tongue (the mouse's tongue ... that he couldn't stick out all the way; tongue being too anchored to the bottom of his muzzle) ... he began to take his little, little licks of her. Never able to lick in luscious ways. Not with his tongue's maneuverability. So, he took to tiny suckles, tiny nibbles. Nib-nibbles ... and little kisses. Performing such ... on her femininity. Her sensitivity.
She sighed and took a breath ... her breasts swelling upward with the air, and then sinking upon her exhale. She breathed, breathed ... as the mouse did what he did best: submissiveness. As he went, his began to calm ... even as his body excited itself more and more. And as hers did the same. But his anxiety slipped away, as he comfortably slipped into this role. The shy and wispy mouse. Effeminate male mouse. And his beautiful femme mate ... with her strong, confident personality. They complimented each other in such a unique way. Their roles seemingly reversed, but ... neither minding it. Neither really considering it ...
... as they got hotter, hotter, and as the mouse ...
... finished up on her. Not really wanting to stop, but ... knowing neither of them wanted to climax in this fashion. Often, they did, and ... but not this morning. This morning, in this cold, they wanted to climax together. As one. Body, soul, mind ...
And it was she who pulled him closer. Wrapped her armed wings around his back. She who positioned him at a sit in the middle of the mattress. And she who straddled his lap as best she could.
They kissed and caressed in such a position, until ... squealing and squeaking, they toppled over. Landing on their sides in the sheets, giggling cutely ...
And she, chuckling against his cheek, tried again ... this time, on their sides. They would do it on their sides. She grabbed one of his paws and led it to her thigh. Her left thigh, which was facing upward.
The mouse understood ... and lifted her leg. Daintily. Exposing her still-wet spots (from the mouse's tongue, and from her own fluid). And the mouse, firm, ready ... tried to wriggle into her.
She patiently breathed ... breathed ...
... as the mouse found his way inside. Giving an exhaling squeak (which sounded like a squeak of pride) as he slipped an inch or two in. Paused. And slipped the rest of the way. Her moist muscle, and the friction of it ... forced his eyes to a watery close.
And she wrapped her in-air leg ... around his leg.
They were a tangle. They were together.
The mouse's in-and-out movements began. Began with soft, soft motions. They were in no hurry. No hurry.
And while he became fixated on his delicious task, she raked her fangs through the fur of his neck. Licking the spot where she would bite.
Mouse's hips pulled ... back. Slightly. Bucked. Slightly.
Bat's fangs ... bit. Deeply. The white mating milk that dripped from them (like a good kind of venom) numbing any pain, and releasing little electrical currents into the mouse's blood. Which circled through the rodent's body and mind and made it back to her. Joining their thoughts. Joining their sensations. Creating a physical, spiritual link.
And it descended from there ... into a furry, mating frenzy.
Little humps of his hips. Little counter-movements by her own. His mouse-hood, slick and glistening, digging for purchase within her body. Within her heat. Little suction sounds. And little moans from her. Little squeaks from him.
Her fangs in his neck. Saliva dripping from her muzzle and to his fur. As she huffed, huffed ... chittered ...
... and he felt her breath on his neck. And it spurred him forward.
They felt each other's feelings.
She felt his tension building. She felt his seed slowly working through his lower body, felt the tingling, felt the pressure, like a geyser was about to go off. She felt his desperate desire to sow in her. Felt the promise of it.
And he felt the warm waves that started to flutter through her muscles, building up to some kind of spasm ... to her orgasm.
She felt his fears and his insecurities. Felt his sweetness and gentility. Felt his hope and his faith.
As he felt her confidence, her grace.
They seemed to flow over one another as their bodies reached their peak, as they ...
... squeaked! In unison. Chittered and squeaked, and the bat firing off echo-bursts, high-pitched sounds that bounced around the room.
Oh ...
The mouse, tensing, arching, huffed, huffed ... as his mouse-hood convulsed and spurted steamy-white semen into the depths of her. Spurt ... twitch-twitch ... the pleasure that accompanied this! And his own whimper-squeaks as she rubbed his back. As she held him close to her. The warmth, the touch ... the vulnerability of this. Such love was this!
Mm ...
And her own spasms rocking her. Forcing her breathless. Leaking her own fluids, which dribbled down the mouse's stiff pink member ... wetting the sheets a bit ... beneath them.
Warm, warm pleasure! There was no measure ... for how much they NEEDED this. How much they'd WANTED this.
Oh ...
They huffed and puffed for minutes more, until she withdrew her teeth from him, and he withdrew his shrinking mouse-hood from her ... the heat subsiding, they were left in a warm, wet embrace. Fur matted. Throats a bit dry. Eyes half-open and so in love ... as to almost be shy about it.
Was it still 6 degrees outside? Whatever the case ...
... neither was about to get out of this bed.