FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Sonar confirms the target! Lock acquired! Shipshape and Bristol fashion, men! This might be our only chance!" Charlie announced. The bronze-and-silver fox squirrel was on her knees on the tiled bathroom floor, the sleeves of her oversized plaid flannel shirt rolled up past her elbows. Underneath was a purple 'Toronto Raptors' t-shirt with numerous wet spots on it. "Torpedoes awaaayyyyy! Choom-choom!" Hunched over the bathtub, tail fanning straight up, Chalie extended an arm and raced a toy submarine around. EJ, her young son (18 months, now; they grew up so fast!), barked and splashed the bathwater. "Oh, no!" Charlie said theatrically. "The dreaded 'squid squirrel' is impervious to traditional weapons! What shall we do, Cap'n?" Making her voice deeper (and slightly Scottish for some reason), she said, "Hold strong, crew! Prepare ... the tickle web!" EJ's eyes widened. Sitting in the other end of the tub, EJ's twin sister, Azalea, squeaked and covered her face with her furless, tiny mouse paws. Releasing the toy sub (which tilted on its side and floated to the surface), Charlie's paws swam toward EJ like dual sharks. Her voice returned to normal as she declared, "Tickle web has been launched! Three, two, one!" She tickled the toddler, who chirped and growled and giggled! And thrashed and splashed! "Ah ha haaa, there's nooooo escape!" "Eeeeeee! Hee, hee!" EJ giggled. His tail, proud and bushy when dry, was thinned out and matted as it flopped on the water. Charlie suddenly eased up, using his distractedness to fill a cup with warm water and pour it over his head. Not once but twice. EJ blinked, water streaming off his whiskers. Charlie then looked toward her daughter. "Your turn, Zee!" "Squeak?" "That's right! Squeaky clean. That means all of you," she said, pouring water over the girl's head before she could wriggle away. "Mamaaaa!" the toddler cried, making a face and whipping her little, ropy tail around. "Heh, you gonna melt? You can't be the Wicked Witch! You're too cute!" Charlie booped Azalea's nose. "Are you the Good Witch?" The mouse's eyes crossed, sniffing as she considering this. "Mm? Can you say 'good witch'?" "Dada!" "Daddy? Silly. Boys aren't witches. They're wizards!" Charlie cocked her head, furrowing her brow. "Or warlocks?" "Dada!" the little mouse said again, pointing toward the doorway. Charlie turned to look, gasping and bounding upright like a coiled spring. Her tail flagged to attention. "Emmy!" Talk about quiet as a mouse! She hadn't heard his approach at all. "I'm ... I'm okay," a clearly disheveled Emerson said, slumping against the door. The gold-and-cream harvest mouse was breathing heavily, blood matting his forehead. "Ohmygosh! No, you're not! What happened?" Charlie asked, rushing to his side. Her maternal instincts, already active, went into overdrive as she thoroughly checked him over. "I threw up ... " He twitched weakly, rubbing his aching head. "Where?" She gripped his cheeks with her paws and looked into his eyes, checking for a 'glassy' appearance. "Outside. B-by the truck." "Tell me exactly what happened." "I just ... I dunno. I felt queasy, and then I got light-headed." "Dizzy?" "Y-yeah. And I started walking to the house and lost my balance and ... and fell to the ground. On the gravel." He swallowed, making a face. He could still taste the acid in his throat. "My, uh ... my shoulder hit first? Saved my head from a direct blow. But it ... it hurts ... " Nine years older than his mate (38 to 29), Emerson couldn't shake off such accidents as quickly as he used to. "Come 'ere," she soothed. "It's okay, I got you ... that's it ... " Guiding him fully into the bathroom, Charlie put the lid to the toilet down and sat the harvest mouse squarely on it. She then crouched down and wrung out a washcloth (that she'd been using on the twins), dabbing it on her mate's head, cleaning up his fur. "There we go ... " Emerson weakly twitched. Putting the cloth down, Charlie gently touched his chin before stroking fingers through his golden-blonde head-fur. "Okay. Now. Lift the arm for me, mouse-o? The one you fell on." He tried to and got halfway and winced. The arm fell limp. "I c- can't ... " He whimpered. "I can't raise my paw over my head." She gently rubbed his white belly. "Can you rotate it at all?" Again, the attempt was incomplete. Charlie reached up to massage the injured shoulder, speaking softly. "Does it hurt when I press into it? Like this?" Emerson shook his head. "N-not too much?" She nodded, deciding, "I don't think anything's broken or torn. You'd have much sharper pains. Maybe even cold sweats from the shock. It's just a dull feeling, right?" A weak nod, hoping her diagnosis was correct. Going to the hospital wasn't feasible unless it was absolutely necessary. For one, it was half an hour away, in the county seat (Circleville). And, for another, an emergency trip would be ... well, prohibitively expensive. "Probably just bruised," Charlie continued. "It'll be sore for a while. As for the other stuff ... do you have any chills? Shakes? Stomach aches?" "No." "Rules out the flu." She planted a paw on his forehead. "Hmm." Popping up again, she pulled a digital thermometer out of a drawer, sticking the 'probe' end into the mouse's inner ear. "You seeing stars? Double vision?" "N-no." "Have you had anything to drink today?" "Just ... just a bit of tea this morning ... " "Well, your temperature's normal, so no fever. And you don't seem concussed." She put the thermometer back in the drawer. "I'd bet anything you got dehydrated. Combined with fatigue and stress? You've been dusk to dawn in the fields for weeks! And you know you're sensitive to allergens. How much dust and debris have you been breathing in?" "Don't really have a choice," the lifelong farmer sniffed. It was late-October, nearing the end of harvest time. With their income tied to crops, they had to get everything done by November, when things started getting cold and dormant for winter. They couldn't leave profit in the fields. "In my professional mom opinion," Charlie decreed sagely, "you pushed yourself too hard. You hit the wall, mouse-o! Mice are so stubborn! You gotta take breaks!" Her tail puffed up. "Squirrels are good at taking breaks." (Partly because they got so hyper their focus shifted off their original task. But, still!) "If you weren't sick, I'd have to screw you right now! Bet that'd help, huh?" "I dunno ... " "Aw ... not even a little smile at that?" He whimpered, feeling awful. And more than a little embarrassed. He was letting everyone down! "Awww. Heyyyy ... mouse-o." She lowered down again, caressing his cheek and looking into his eyes. Greens to blues. A bright, bucktoothed smile. "You're gonna be fine! Okay?" When he didn't respond, she repeated, "Okay?" He echoed back, grateful for her loving care and attention. It made him want to cry. "O-okay ... " Turning to the kids in the tub, both of who'd been watching their parents with worried silence, Charlie insisted, "Daddy's good! He just needs to rest." Emerson shook his head, trying to stand back up. "I will. Later. But. N-not right now. I ... I can't!" "What do you mean?" Charlie pulled him back down. "Oh, ho, you're not going anywhere, Emmy! Nope. You're in no condition to drive, let alone work! I'll give you some water and pain pills, and I'll close the blinds and-" "No, but ... I mean ... " He lowered his head and tried to speak through a growing headache, which was like a steady drumbeat in his skull. "It's ... the last field's not done." "Oh." She cocked her head. "Which one? That one behind Jen's house?" A nod. Emerson farmed as much land as he could, some which he owned himself and some which he co-owned with his many relatives in the area. Wheat, alfalfa, soybeans, corn, rye grass. A lot of crops on constant rotation during the growing season. Jen (a lynx; full name Geneva) had come to rural Indiana last year to run Arcadia's small-town newspaper. The feline, who was Charlie's Canadian cousin, had (aggressively) mated and moved in with Emerson's own cousin, Colfax. The rare predator/prey couple lived two miles down the gravel road. "How many acres are left?" Charlie asked. He wasn't sure, but, "It'll take at least 'til nightfall ... five, six hours? And that's going nonstop." "And it can't wait 'til tomorrow?" "It's gonna rain tonight." Corn and grain had to be harvested dry to sell. Moisture content would incur financial penalties. Let alone the risk that the heavy combine would get stuck in mud. "I only ... I only came home for a quick lunch. I was gonna go right back ... " "Is Cole helping you?" "Of course. Yeah, I'm ... I've been driving the combine. Filling the truck. He's taking the truck over to the grain elevator to empty it ... then comes back, and I refill it." They'd been at it all week. "But it's just the two of us ... " If there was one thing you could count on in farming (aside from everything breaking at the most inopportune time) it's that you were always short-handed. Charlie frowned. Then her green eyes lit up. "Oh! Ha, genius time!" She pantomimed a light bulb above her head. "Hey, Emmy ... I can drive the combine!" the squirrel said sunnily. Emerson's whiskers twitched. Technically, that was true. She'd grown up on a farm and knew how to handle machinery. But, "I've ... I've seen you drive a tractor ... " Usually far too fast. And somehow hitting all the rocks and bumps (literally every single one!) while Emerson was stacking straw or hay on the wagon she was pulling behind the baler, leading him to lurch around like a ragdoll on an amusement park ride (without the amusement). "Heh heh. Yeahhhhh, you have," Charlie echoed flirtatiously, referring to the first time he'd laid eyes on her (a story she loved to bring up). She'd been on a tractor, speed-raking one of her aunt and uncle's neighboring fields, wearing no bra and a tight shirt. "That's probably what triggered your boob fetish!" "Believe it or not, I was ... I was familiar with 'boobs' before we met," he insisted shyly. "Yeah, but you really took to mine! Especially when they were full of milk, eh? Rememberrrr?" she teased with a nudge. "Charlie ... " "I can drive a combine, Emmy," she promised, getting back to the point. She put a paw over her heart in a 'I swear' gesture. "Easy-peasy. It's flat, wide-open land!" Her tail swished. "Not like I could crash into anything. There's no trees in the field, are there?" "No, but-" "No random fencerows?" "Just ... just don't veer off course and crash into their house or something." "Ha, ha, I promise!" "You promise not to?" Emerson echoed, wanting to be clear. Charlie giggled. "Silly!" she said, tussling his head-fur. He squeaked. "Anyway, I really wanna help! Like, real bad ... " Before they'd had the twins, that had been the plan: that Charlie would help Emerson with the farming. Equal partners. But parenthood (which had come much sooner than planned; the twins had been accidental) had changed that. When the twins were older and more independent, she could resume farmwork ... and they could help, too! Then they'd have a true family farm, which had always been her dream. But that was years away. "I know, Charlie. But ... but you work hard, too," he countered. "What you're doing is important. Families don't raise themselves. If anything, I ... I feel guilty for not helping you." "Aw! We both want to do more for each other?" She clasped her paws together. "That's true love right there. We have such bitchin' chemistry!" "Um ... sure," he replied, guessing that was a positive descriptor. "So, it's settled then? Great! I'll text Cole and-" "What about the pups?" "Kits!" Charlie answered reflexively. She was never going to cede ground on that one. Ignoring that (as he usually did), Emerson insisted, "I can't watch them if I'm resting ... " The twins had just transitioned from their cribs (which they'd become big enough to climb out of) to beds. And both had started to walk (albeit awkwardly). So, there was really no containing them anymore. They were also on the verge of the 'Terrible Twos.' Watching them required full alertness and dexterity, as well as an endless well of patience! None of which Emerson had at the moment. "Easy! I'll drop them off with Queenie!" Charlie said. "Just for a few hours. She'll understand." "Will she?" "When I explain it to her, yeah! Totally!" The skunk (Emerson's old schoolmate and flame before Charlie; Seldovia was her real name) owned a diner on Main Street in Arcadia. The twins' godmother, she was also part of a sexual 'throuple' with Charlie and Emerson (instigated by Charlie, of course). Charlie sent Seldovia a quick (grammatically incorrect) text and drained the bathtub while waiting for a reply. A minute later, her phone 'dinged!' "She says yes! And sends kiss emojis to make you better." She showed Emerson her screen. "I'll have to bring them to the diner, though. She's catering the high school homecoming tomorrow, so she's baking all day. She can't come here." "Uh-huh." Emerson hunched forward, head in paws. For a moment there, he'd almost felt normal? Maybe that'd been adrenaline. Or the 'comfort' of being under Charlie's care. Whatever it was, it was starting to wear off. "I ... I think I need to lay down ... " "Water, first! I'll get you a niiice cold glass, and you aren't getting into bed until I see you drink it! All of it. Alright? Emmy?" "Y-yeah ... okay ... " "Good! I'll get some pain pills, too. Stay here with the kits!" She darted out of the room, then poked her head back in to add, "I'll be right back!" "Charlie ... " "Yeah, mouse-o?" His voice broke a bit. "T-thanks ... " She beamed, replying, "I love you too!" before scampering to the kitchen. The mouse, taking a deep breath, looked to his son and daughter in the now-empty tub. They looked back at him. Azlea reached for her father with both paws. He cast his tail toward her like a fishing line, and she reeled it in. He smiled weakly. Charlie returned, giving Emerson his pills and water. While he took them and drank the glass, the squirrel lifted EJ and Azalea out of the tub and patted them dry with a towel. Before she could stop him, EJ made a run for it, chittering victoriously, foot-paws slapping on the floor as he nakedly tottered away. "Ooh, come back here, Mister! Emmy Junior!" she called. "I mean it! You gotta get dressed!" Picking up Azalea (who squeaked passively), Charlie saw that Emerson had finished his water. "Can you make it to bed, mouse-o?" He nodded, too tired to reply. Charlie quickly kissed him between the ears and said, "It'll work out! Don't worry! I got this! You're mated to Super Squirrel!" She then carried Azalea out of the bathroom, looking left and right, ears cocking in her pursuit of their son. Detecting him, she pursued. Emerson stood up, gripping and leaning against anything he could as he shakily left the bathroom. Making it to bed, he didn't even take his clothes off or get under the sheets. Just gingerly lowered on top of the covers and closed his eyes, asleep in less than a minute. Out of view, EJ barked in protest. "Ahh, gotcha! Ha, ha, ha! You can't escape Squirrel-zilla, Queen of the Fox Squirrels!" " ... so, I'll pick them up tonight! I don't know what time, but I'll text you before. And here's their diaper bag. Their safety harnesses are in there, too, in case you have to go out with them. Now," Charlie said, taking a deep breath, standing in the kitchen area of the diner and counting on her paws, "they've already had lunch and had their baths, and I brought a bag of their toys and some snacks and-" "I've babysat before, Charlie," Seldovia assured calmly, setting the timer on her convection oven as she put one of her famous sugar cream pies on the top rack. Closing the oven, the elegant lavender skunk turned to an empty pie shell (which was soon to be full of cherries). A few steps away, Frisco, her raccoon cook, was grilling up some veggie burgers and tossing curly fries into hot cooking oil. "You sure you can see them from here?" the squirrel asked, pivoting and looking out the semi-open kitchen. There was a large window/counter space for food to be placed on. When the raccoon rang the bell, the waitresses (a rat and groundhog, currently) would take the order to the customers. Seating capacity in the diner (named 'Queenie's') was about fifty people, but today's lunchtime crowd currently numbered around twenty-two. The twins were seated at a booth, in booster seats, captively watching a pseudo-educational animated program on a propped-up tablet. "Izzy and Eileen are gonna help," Seldovia assured, of her waitresses. They were here until five. "Okay! Well. I know you're busy, babe, and I'm super sorry for springing this on you, but-" "Squirrelly." The skunk swished her white-striped tail to cover Charlie's mouth. "No apologies. Though the sooner you get that fieldwork done? The sooner you can take them back." While the skunk was happy to be their godmother, she had absolutely no desire for children of her own. "Right!" Charlie idly combed Seldovia's tail, slowly leaning in and puckering for an impromptu kiss. "Mmmm?" The skunk giggled, obliged, and they locked lips. For more than a few seconds. Frisco saw this but said nothing. Charlie and Emerson's 'association' with Seldovia was hardly a secret. Everyone in town knew about it! And they'd still elected Seldovia mayor (well, co-mayor) anyway. Charlie pulled back, sighed, and beamed, tail whisking as she started to bolt off. "Squirrelly! Wait," Seldovia called. The squirrel paused at the door, paw on the handle. "Can they have milkshakes?" "It's early enough, so ... sure! Why not! Small ones, though." She opened the door and bells (attached to the top) jingled, a stiff, chilly breeze briefly reaching inside. Fallen leaves dryly swirled along the sidewalk. "And no sugar after four, or they'll be up all night!" Fifteen minutes later, in the corn field behind Geneva and Colfax's house. "You, um ... you're sure you know how to do this?" Colfax asked. The harvest mouse looked exactly like Emerson in terms of color (rich, warm gold with a creamy-white center, sky blue eyes, pink appendages), but he was two inches shorter and weighed less. Along with being younger. Emerson, though slender, had more muscle definition and a more 'mature' look. "I've got farming in my blood!" Charlie said with full-on confidence. Paws on hips, elbows akimbo. Her tail flagged like a spotted cinnamon-sugar banner. "I've driven plenty of combines before." "When?" "Back in Ontario!" "Well ... you didn't drive this one," Colfax said. "It can be a bit persnickety. You gotta-" Charlie suddenly scampered up the combine's metal side- ladder and opened the swinging, glass door, entering the cabin. "It's like a spaceship!" She plonked into the driver's seat, which had springs under it, causing it to bounce. "Bridge to engineering! More power! Forward shields! Ha, ha. Wow." She glanced at the ceiling. "What does this button do?" She pressed it before getting an answer. "That's the radio," Colfax said, now standing on the top rung of the ladder, tightly gripping the railing with his paws. A country-western song played, laced with static. "What about this one?" "Windshield wipers." "Why does it need wipers if you're not harvesting in the rain?" "Dust." "Riiiiight. Duh! I'm sure I knew that!" "Charl-" "Ohmygosh! Does this thing have GPS?" "No?" "Oh. Thought maybe it would plot my course." "Um. No," Colfax repeated simply, whiskers twitching, wishing Emerson was here. Newer models had fancier tech, but this combine was an older (translation: affordable) model. Which led to the mouse restating, "If you hear any grinding ... like, noises that it shouldn't be making? Don't, um ... don't ignore it. We gotta stop and do an equipment check. If it sparks, it could burn the whole field down." His whiskers twitched. "It's happened before." Her eyes lit up. "The field burned down?!" "No, the combine caught fire. But ... I mean, one could lead to the other, so we gotta be careful." "Oh. Heh. I can see how you're Emmy's cousin. He's always fretting, too. Don't worry!" Charlie extended a paw. "High-five!" Colfax meekly clapped his paw to hers. Not only was he shyer than Emerson, but he wasn't acclimated to Charlie's 'go, go, go!' high-energy demeanor. She was nice and happy and friendly and all. He didn't dislike her, but ... she was a bit much? Geneva, being feline, was lowkey and disaffected in comparison to the squirrel. Cats were enigmatic and moody and gave you space. Well. Except in bed. But ... but that was different ... "Does this have Bluetooth?" Charlie continued. "No, it's ... there's nothing digital on this. It's all analog. The head, the settings ... they've already been taken care of. Don't fiddle with those! Yeah, don't touch any of ... that whole area. Leave it. You just need to start and stop the thresher and swing out the augur dump to, um ... drop the corn into the truck." He used his prehensile, ropy tail to show here where those buttons were. "Right here." "Mmhmm." Charlie nodded, eyes moving all around the cabin. Colfax wasn't sure if she was actually listening but continued, "When the combine is about 75, 80 percent full, turn on the safety lights. They'll blink on and off. When I see that, I'll pull alongside, and you can swing the arm out and transfer on the spot. That way, when I leave you can keep going without delay." "I feel like maybe you wanna drive this, Cole?" the squirrel perceived. "They've never dealt with you at the granary. You don't know the procedure there. I need to be in the truck," he said simply. "Sure thing, cuz-in-law." The squirrel giggled and flashed a 'thumbs up.' "Get it? Cousin. Cuz-in-law? Cause we're related to each other's mates?" she over-explained. "Ha!" "That's ... that's funny," the harvest mouse stammered meekly (without laughing). "But we really gotta get started?" "Right!" "Text me if you have questions." "Yup!" Exhaling deeply (and vibrating with anxiety), Colfax descended the ladder with wide eyes and scurried to the grain truck as the cool, autumn breeze whipping through his head- fur. Quarter after five, an hour before sunset. The town grocery, 'Food & Sundries,' owned by Akira (an Asian short-clawed otter; also president of the Town Council) was closed. Daily hours were 10 to 5 (shut on Sundays). But the store's lights were still on. Two figures inside. Akira and her mousey mate Roanoke (not a harvest mouse, which was rare for this town; he was a Merle piebald, black, grey, and white). Roanoke, wearing a button-up shirt (with a nametag that said 'Hi! I'm Roanoke!') and a tie with khaki pants, worked at The Farmers Bank at the south end of Main Street, where he was head teller. He always swung by the grocery when he was finished (also at five), and he and Akira would walk home together (their house being two blocks away). Tonight, they lingered. Akira had gotten some new shipments today and had yet to finish putting them into the computer inventory, which had to happen before they could be sold. Her most reliable help, Willow (a dappled mare) had needed to leave early. "Alright, this one's, um ... I guess more Halloween candy? Autumn mix," Roanoke said, on his knees in one of the aisles, opening a box with a box cutter and removing a one-pound package. "What's that mean?" It crinkled as he turned it over. "Candy corn and mello-pumpkins. Huh." He scanned it with the mobile inventory unit. It beeped. Standing at the main register, Akira watched as the item's barcode appeared in the overall inventory. She tapped the touchscreen and accessed the data file. "We got ... " The otter checked her paper invoice. "Thirty bags." After entering a product name, she entered the quantity. As well as other pertinent details. "Cost is 1.75 a bag ... retail for 3.65 a bag." She tapped 'done.' "Alright, you can put 'em on the shelf!" "All of them?" "Yeah, we're going big on candy the next ten days." "Who even eats these? The first two ingredients are corn syrup and sugar!" he said, arranging the one-pound bags of mellow candies on the sweets shelf. "They're not trick-or-treat candies, if that's what you mean. They're for gatherings, parties. Mix candy corn with peanuts and red hots! Maybe mini pretzels? Create a sweet-hot flavor mix. Or decorate cupcakes with the mello pumpkins." "Mm, I want to try that! You're such a convincing salesperson," he complimented sweetly. "You're not biased in any way, of course," the red velvet otter said with a fanged grin. Giving her an over-the-shoulder glance, Roanoke giggled, moving to another box. This one was bigger but lighter than the candy box had been. "What's in here?" He opened it and blinked. "Oh ... " Consulting her invoice, Akira said, "Well, we only have two products left ... cider spices and condoms. And your reaction doesn't scream 'cider spices'." "Yeah, it's ... it's the, uh ... the second one." Akira giggled at her mate's modesty. "Do I have to scan each specific kind?" he asked sheepishly. "They won't bite you, mousey," the otter said, fighting laughter. "Yes. If it has a unique barcode, it has to be scanned separately." "Well. Okay." The mouse scanned in the barcodes. There were condoms for all general penis types. He recited, "I got, um ... rodent. Equine. Lapine." Beep-beep-beep! "Mustelid." Beep. There were a few others. "There aren't any male felines in town ... are there?" he asked. "Not currently." Geneva was the only cat, period. "But this is the Crossroads of America. You never know who's gonna drive through." A pause, checking her invoice. "I only got ... two of the feline, right?" "Yeah, two packs." Daily birth control pills were tricky, being there were so many species, each with subtly different physiologies. What worked for one wouldn't work for another, which drove up costs for individual options. Much more popular and across-the-board effective were 'afterpills,' to be taken as soon as one's heat had waned. (And which Charlie had neglected to take.) But all that was for the pharmacy (in Circleville; Arcadia didn't have one). Sometimes, folks just needed basic protection! Roanoke stacked the boxes on the bath & hygiene shelf. "Do you ... do you sell a lot of these?" "Oh, yeah," the otter confirmed. "People prefer to get them here rather than the pharmacy. Way more convenient." "Mm." "What?" "N-nothing." "Heh. Then why are you stammering?" "I'm n-not!" "Are you thinking about sex?" "N-no ... " Akira chuckled. "I think you are." The piebald mouse fiddled with his tail. "What if I was?" "I'd say we're just about done here, and we'll be home in ten minutes." "And ... and what I said I didn't think I could wait that long?" "Oh?" The otter churred. "I mean ... we do it at my work," he added. He knew the visual gaps in the security cameras, and he and Akira had screwed (more than once!) in the soundproofed vault after hours. "We've done it here before. In the stock room." "But not as many times!" he insisted. The otter grinned. "Just say it, Roanoke. Say you wanna fuck me. You wanna fuck me so bad you can't think straight. You wanna get all feral and breed me senseless." She paused. "Or am I wrong?" The mouse swallowed. "T-that ... I mean, you said it, not me." "So, it's my idea then? Then I guess you won't come and get me?" Akira said, leaving her work behind and sashaying away from the register, rudder-tail sweeping behind her as she went to the back of the store. Roanoke, keeping perfectly still, heard the creaky door to the stock room open. "Mousey." He squeaked and eagerly scurried after her. Normally, otters were a few inches taller than your average mouse. Not Akira. 'Asian short claws' were the smallest otter species, so she was rather petite, leaving her at eye-level with Roanoke. This was fortunate for having sex standing up. Which is what they were doing. Their parts aligned perfectly, and they wasted no time putting them together! Akira leaned forward, arms stilted against the closed stock room door, breasts bouncing in her blouse as his body crashed against hers. Her pants and panties were around her ankles, and Roanoke was in a similar state of half-undress. His hips smacked her soft, furry rump with rapid repetition, hefty balls slapping against her loins each time he drove his hard, wet cock into her. Slap! SLAP! Akira's thick, sturdy tail, lifted high and jutting to the side, curled around the big, blotchy 'bronze' spot on the Roanoke's right hip. (His other hip was grey, the piebald patches being irregularly spaced.) "Ohhh," Roanoke moaned on her shoulder, unable to keep quiet. It was getting too good! He hugged her tight, motoring his hips. "Ha, ah, ahhh ... " "Don't hold back!" the otter chirped, reaching down with a red, short-clawed paw to rub her clit. "Ooh ... oh, yesss ... harder. Harder!" The mouse doubled down, tail whipping through the air! Bang, bang, bang! Akira, head hazy, shook it and huffed. "Do ... do you-" Bang, bang, bang! "Do you hear that?" she asked. That wasn't Roanoke, and it certainly wasn't her? Wait. It was coming from the store! Someone was at the front door. "Ignore it," Roanoke pleaded, panting heavily. Delirious with desire. He was getting so close! He wanted this! Needed it! Now! Bang, bang, bang! "Mousey, it could be an emergency! Come on. Ease up." Roanoke whimpered. What about the emergency between his legs?! But he would never force himself on his mate. He respected her far too much for that. So, he pulled out of her, his wet, dripping cock springing directly upright. Akira flashed him a toothy apology and tenderly swiped his whiskers with a webbed paw, quickly pulling her pants up, securing her belt. She then opened the stock room door and ambled (in that otter-y way) to the front of the store. Roanoke blew out a breath (which he barely had, being so winded) and closed his eyes before pulling his own underwear and pants back up. Akira, reaching the entrance, unlocked it and pulled the door open. "Seldovia?" she said in surprise. "Is everything-" And then she looked down at the two toddlers on leashes. "Hey, uh ... kiddos?" "They're Charlie's," the skunk explained immediately. "I knowww. EJ and Azalea." Seldovia may have become Charlie's lover, but Akira was her original 'best friend' in town. And though they were much busier with work, mates, and obligations than when they first met? They were still close. "What are you doing with them, exactly?" "Emerson got hurt." "Hurt?" "Charlie had to fill in for him in the corn field, so as 'godmother' I was the emergency contact." "Is he okay?" Akira asked worriedly. Farming accidents were no joke. "Charlie seems to think so? I haven't seen or talked to him. He'll probably be fine, but, uh ... was I interrupting?" Seldovia paused and sniffed. "I was, wasn't I?" she realized, detecting a little 'something' in the air. Skunks, having strong pheromones, were extra-sensitive to scents. "No," Akira fibbed. "Yes," Roanoke immediately countered, coming up behind the otter. Adding, passive-aggressively, "I mean ... it's not a problem or anything! We just weren't expecting anyone cause, um, we're closed?" The skunk smirked, sensing the rodent's frustration. "Right. Again, I'm super sorry, but you know I'm catering homecoming tomorrow?" "Yeah," the otter said. "Well, I ran out of some things." "Like what?" "Oh, um ... " The skunk took a breath. "Eggs, sugar, flour, baking soda-" Akira tilted her head, stepped back, and swung an arm outward in a 'be my guest' gesture. "Thanks. You're the best! I'll be real quick!" The skunk grabbed a shopping cart and took off, twins in tow. "Just remember my generosity and good nature next time the Council needs a favor from the Mayor's office?" Akira said, following them. "Uh-huh." The otter laughed at the sight of the pups in harnesses being led through the aisles. It was so cute, she had to take a picture with her phone. Roanoke, squirming from the onset of 'blue balls,' bit his lip and remained behind the checkout counter. Whiskers incessantly twitching. Staring into space, fidgeting in place. Meanwhile, EJ's eyes lit up at all the candy. He made grabby paws, trying to pull it off the shelf. Didn't matter what! Anything would do. "Ah, ah ... should you be having this?" Akira asked the small squirrel, taking what he'd nabbed and returning it. "Maybe you should wait for trick-or-treating?" He barked! "I beg to differ, young man." Looking to the little harvest mouse, Akira told EJ, "Your sister seems well-behaved. Maybe you should be more like her!" "Oh, don't be fooled, Zee was wailing for a good fifteen, twenty minutes earlier. The loudest, highest-pitched squeaks you'll ever hear." Reminded of this, the skunk tossed some headache pills into the cart. "Poor girl. What's wrong?" Akira asked in a 'speaking to babies' voice. "Do you miss your mommy? Do you?" "EJ's crazy and Azalea is sensitive." The skunk smiled, meaning it affectionately. "They take after their parents." "Heh." Akira stood back up. "They look like them, too. Except gender swapped." "I think I got everything," Seldovia eventually announced, turning the cart around. Up front, Roanoke dutifully rang up Seldovia's items. "Paper or plastic?" "We only have plastic, Roanoke," Akira pointed out, joining him behind the counter. "Oh. Right. Um ... " He bagged everything and brought up the total on the customer display monitor. "Insert, swipe, or tap." Seldovia tapped her card. Ba-beep! A receipt was printed out, and Roanoke handed it to her. Knock-knock-knock! Everyone looked to the door, even the twins. Akira sighed (heavily) and strode forward, opening it. "We're, um, technically closed," she emphasized to the minty-green lynx. It was Geneva, who was leaving from a long day at the newspaper. She was currently on a thrice-weekly publishing schedule. She'd seen the lights on while passing and decided to backtrack into the parking lot. "I need ice cream," the feline insisted (not un-grumpily). Looking past the otter, the cat blinked. "Charlie hasn't picked them up yet?" she asked Seldovia, of the twins. The feline knew what had happened. Colfax had texted her about it (many times, in what she'd perceived to be a flustered tone). "Guess they're not finished," the skunk reasoned. "Hey! Speaking of! Are you headed home?" "Yup. Well, once I get my ice cream," she stated, giving Akira a death stare. The otter sighed and let the lynx in, too. "It's down by the-" "I know where it is." She strode off with purpose. "Hey, uh ... Geneva!" Seldovia called, handing the reigns to the kits over to a surprised Roanoke and pursuing the lynx across the store. Roanoke, under his breath to Akira, remarked, "She likes cream that much, huh? Mm. Hmm. I bet ... I bet Colfax gets milked dry." He panted and swallowed, ears flushed. Akira chuckled, telling her ultra-horny mouse (he would never say something so openly lewd if he wasn't!), "Just hang in there, buck-o." She then grabbed EJ, who was trying to climb onto the sales counter. "Good grief! Squirrels will climb anything!" In response, EJ tried to climb her. Akira chuckled as she pried him off. "Hey," Seldovia said again, catching up to the fluffy, stub- tailed cat a few aisles over. "Look. If you're headed home and Charlie is still at your house ... take the twins? Please? Please, please ... I have to get my baking done. Izzy and Eileen have gone home. I can't watch them and be in the kitchen at the same time! It'll save Charlie a trip, and it'll just be easier for everyone." Geneva opened the freezer door and surveyed her options: vanilla, chocolate, chocolate chip, raspberry swirl, peanut butter brownie, and pretzel cookie dough. No mint chocolate chip? What was happening to society? She growled and grabbed a pint of the pretzel cookie dough. The packaging promised a 'fun new flavor.' She liked salty/sweet combinations. Hmm. A shrug. Fine. She'd give it a try. "Geneva?" the skunk repeated. Casting her intense, golden gaze onto Seldovia, who was so elegant and poised (like a queen; hence her nickname), the coiled, powerful lynx casually shrugged and said, "Alright. Sure. Text Charlie and tell her they're with me. I left my phone in the car." "Great! Swing by the diner real quick, and I'll give you their diaper bag? And thank you! Be sure to give Charlie my love?" The feline paused at this, wondering what the skunk meant by that. Geneva and Charlie, though cousins, had 'canoodled' in the past. And you couldn't keep a secret in a town like this ... Seldovia confirmed it with a sultry, little smirk. Geneva growled but smiled slyly before prowling back to the front of the store. A minute later, the guests filed out. "Come on, kittens," Geneva told the young ones, tugging on their leads. "If you're good, I'll give you a taste of ice cream! A small taste." She planned on inhaling most of the pint herself. "Thanks again, Akira," Seldovia said, carrying her bags. She was going directly back to the diner across the street. "I'll send you a slice of pie tomorrow! And Roanoke! Is cherry okay?" "Yeah, yeah, perfect," Akira said, impatiently closing the door behind the skunk. Locking it. And moving to the light switches. She flicked them off. She'd finish the inventory tomorrow. "Akira," Roanoke breathed, almost shaking. "I n-need you ... " "I know, mousey. I need you, too," she breathed back, rubbing her webbed paws on his arms. Kissing him on the lips. "Give it to me, okay? Don't stop for anything." Alone in the dark, they didn't bother to go back to the stock room this time. They dropped their pants where they were, the otter hopping onto and sprawling back on the checkout counter. Roanoke pulled her hips to the very edge, rubbing his leaky erection against her pouty pussy before using a paw to angle himself inside her. A push. A hump. A huff! It was true what they said: otters were hotter! Soon, he was drilling her, and she was crying his name. Love was on sale, and they were buying the whole stock. Quarter after seven, and the countryside was blanketed in darkness. The moon was 'new,' and even if hadn't been, thick, grey clouds were now rolling in. The coming rain. Charlie and Colfax had finished the fieldwork just in time! (Much to Colfax's surprise. Working with Charlie hadn't been all that bad.) "Anybody hoooome?" the fox squirrel sang, entering the house through the porch (the side door, not the front). She'd parked the combine in Colfax's pole barn while the mouse was delivering the final load of corn to the elevator. (They'd split the final earnings.) "Yo!" was Geneva's response. Charlie's ears cocked. "Where you at?" "In here!" The squirrel followed her cousin's familiar voice to the living room, where she found the minty lynx sprawled (lazily) on the couch, eating her ice cream, Azalea by her shoulder (trying to capture her whiskers) and EJ on the floor in front of the TV. "What're you watching, kiddos? Nothing scary or inappropriate, I hope!" "Nah. It's Star Trek. One of the animated ones." "Ooh. Have they learned about the Prime Directive yet? Always listen to mommy?" The lynx sucked on her cold, silver spoon before withdrawing it to say, squinting and wagging the utensil at Charlie, "Are you sure that's the Prime Directive?" "Yup! And the Secondary Directive is: cats are trouble! Especially lynxes!" Geneva chuckled. "I'll have you know I'm being a very good influence." Azalea tugged on her whiskers. The feline gave a rich, playful purr Azalea's blue eyes widened. "How much ice cream did you give them? Queenie already gave them milkshakes!" Charlie said, scooping Azalea into her arms. This allowed Geneva to shift to an upright position. "Just a few spoonfuls," she insisted, putting the lid back on the half-eaten pint. Standing up, she asked, "Where's my mouse?" Lynxes were very possessive. Theirs was the only predator/prey relationship in town. Cole was hers, and she referred to him as such. "At the depot. He'll be back soon." "M'kay." "Uuugh. I'm winded, Jen," Charlie sighed. "Do you have anything to eat?" "You're not getting my ice cream." "I meant food-food." She hadn't eaten since before noon, so ... eight hours ago? "I'm not cooking or preparing anything at this hour. I can throw something in the oven? We got some frozen pizzas?" Geneva said, padding to the kitchen. "If we start one now, it'll be ready when Cole gets home." "Great!" The squirrel followed Geneva while holding Azalea (who had green cat hairs all over her; Geneva shed like no one else!), stopping in the entryway to the kitchen so she could keep a side-eye on EJ. "Thanks for helping out Queenie, Jen. I knew she was busy, and ... well, you were busy, too, I'm sure!" "Essentially being a one-person newspaper team? Nah, it's a cakewalk," the lynx said dryly, turning on the oven. While waiting for it to pre-heat, she took a pizza out of the freezer. 'Four cheese.' And removed it from the box and plastic wrap. "Do you come up with the crosswords yourself? Cause there were some cheeky clues yesterday!" Charlie said, of Wednesday's edition. "One of the words was 'salacious' and another was 'nubile!' I didn't know what the second one meant until I looked it up, but it sounds lewd!" "No, I source the games. Anything that's not specific to the town I get from the AP or something. But I try to keep it as 'community focused' as possible." Many of the paper's features and columns were penned by locals, but they weren't full-time staff. They were all 'freelance.' "Well, Emmy and I think you're doing great!" The lynx allowed herself a little purr, putting the pizza in the oven. Top rack. "By the way, Seldovia 'sends her love'." "Awww. That's so sweet!" After a pause, Geneva shook her head and said, "Don't know how you do it." "Screw Queenie? It's easy! Psh. I mean, first, she's smokin'! And her pheromones ... mmf! Plus, Emmy's usually with me, and he-" "Nooo." The lynx snorted and rolled her eyes. "Juggle it all. Socially, I mean. Farming, friends, lovers, your mate, the kittens?" "Kits!" "You keep such a full plate. You're 'on' all the time, an endless fount of energy, and everyone likes you," she muttered, frowning jealously. "You make it seem so easy. Meanwhile, I enter 'grumpy mode' at the drop of a hat." Geneva crossed her fluffy, spotted arms. "I wonder if ... mm ... " "What?" "Do people really like me? Or are they intimidated by me and don't wanna piss me off by revealing that they don't?" "Well, I like you, Jen. And Colfax likes you. And Emmy likes you! You have plenty of friends! You're just a classic introvert. Variety is the spice of life!" Charlie insisted. "Mm." "Now, us squirrels are extroverts. Some might say 'hoarders'! Can't ever have enough of anything! Maybe that's overwhelming to some, but-oh! Heh, have you ever seen that reality show? Squirrel Your Stuff?" "No." "Ohmygosh, it's so good! We'll have to do a marathon sometime." "That's not going to happen." "But there's no reason you should be jealous of me! Or anyone. If anything, I should be jealous of you! You're an apex predator! Queen of vibes! A strong, independent badass who saved the town newspaper, and your mate is related to mine so he's automatically one of the best! And you can pound down the ice cream without gaining weight." Charlie weighed more now than she did before she'd had the twins. "And you're cool." "Cool?" "Heck, yeah!" The lynx unsheathed her claws and casually studied them, pixie-tipped ears flicking tall. "Hmm." "See, you're being cool right now!" "Cats can't help it, I guess." Geneva put her claws away. "Mammaaaaa!" called EJ from the living room, interrupting the cousinly heart-to-heart. "Show must be over," Geneva realized. "Leave Azalea with me. Go get EJ, and we'll set the table." Phone buzzing, the lynx removed it from her pocket and checked her messages. "It's Cole. He'll be here in ten." "Sounds good!" the squirrel said, handing off her daughter to the feline, who purred (eliciting yet another wide-eyed, ear- swiveling response). Charlie then darted for EJ, who was trying to climb onto the TV stand. "Mister, that's not a tree!" EJ barked and squirmed before taking a 'limp fish' posture in his mother's arms, trying to slide out of her grasp. "Psh! Nice try, bud. I know all the tricks!" Charlie said, re- securing him and hauling him into the kitchen. The next morning. Just after seven (an hour before sunrise). It had rained overnight. More on the way. A cold front had moved through, too, bringing down the temperature to a very frosty chill (time for mice and rats to break out the tail-socks!), but the fireplace was glowing in the living room to keep the house toasty. After using the bathroom, Charlie shuffled to the kitchen. Sans clothes, since the kits wouldn't be up before the sun. Emerson hadn't been in bed when she'd risen, and she found him in front of the stovetop. With a wide, bucktoothed yawn, the squirrel chirped, "Morning, Emmy!" The mouse, dressed only in snug, cotton boxer-briefs, turned and smiled at her. After a quick ogle, he saluted her with a spatula. "Hey, squirrelly." "You look better!" she said, coming up behind him. She hugged him tight, moving him side-to-side. "Mmmm!" Planting a kiss on his nape, she rested her chin on his shoulder. "Pancakes?" "Blueberry white chocolate," he confirmed, roping his tail around her hips. "Ooh!" "Gonna scramble some eggs, too. I was gonna bring you breakfast in bed, but ... now that you're here, I think syrup is safer in the kitchen?" "Heh." "And I, uh ... I do feel better. Thanks. Sore! My shoulder and neck. But I'll be fine." "Do you have to go out today?" "Gotta do maintenance on all the equipment, clean out the barn so I can maneuver as much in there as I can to protect it from the elements." There was the tractor, the rake, the plow, the baler. For a start. "But I can start on that next week," he decided. "Good!" "Why? Have something in mind?" he asked, flipping a pancake. The golden side now faced up, and the doughy side sizzled on the pan. "Wellll ... I'm gonna start making apple butter from all the apples I've collected. You can help me! I'm making a ton. And then we gotta carve jack-o-lanterns with the kits. And I gotta start putting together their costumes for trick-or-treating, aaaand-" "Is that all?" he asked not-so-innocently, flipping the pancake again. And then again. Checking to see if it was done. Deciding it was, he used the spatula to scoop it onto a big serving plate. "No, there's more." She whispered into one of his dishy lobes, "But I didn't want you to fumble that pancake." The mouse blushed. Giggling, she pulled away and shuffled to the fridge. She opened it, pulling out a carton of orange juice, pouring two glasses. One for her, one for him. Bringing them to the table, she sat down in a chair, bushy tail furling over the back while she reached for the newspaper. "Oh! Is this today's?" she asked, of the Arcadia Gazette. "Mmhmm." Charlie flipped through it. As usual, it was eight pages: front page was 'headline stories' followed by two pages of 'local interest,' two pages of farming columns, two pages on sports, and one page of comics and games on the back. By the time Charlie was done perusing the paper, Emerson was finished making breakfast, putting the food on the table. Pancakes and eggs, a bowl of banana slices, some warm maple syrup. A box of cereal. A half gallon of oat milk. He fetched some big serving spoons and individual plates, bowls, and utensils, and they began to eat. When they were done, Charlie licked her lips and stood up. Casually circling the table, she looked down at the harvest mouse. He didn't need to be told to scoot back. Or to remove his underwear. He arched, pushing them down and kicking them across the room. Charlie then straddled his unobstructed lap, arms wrapping around his neck. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead to his. Emerson rubbed her body, stroking her sides, playing with that glorious tail. They nuzzled whiskers for a while. Her tail whooshed. He grabbed her rump, kneading her cheeks. Eventually, head pulling back, she said, "Emmy ... hhmff, nurse from my tits. Mm?" She bumped noses before murmuring in a singsong tone, "You know you want toooooo." "You're not lactating," he said. She huffed, twirling her fingers in his head-fur, insisting huskily, "Pretend I am." The mouse, blushing, kissed and mouthed her soft, curvy mounds, groping and fondling them, licking both nipples before latching onto one. Then the other. Switching back and forth. "Ahh ... ah, yeah," Charlie breathed, head tilting, body getting very sensitive (not to mention wet). Emerson danced his tongue on the nipple above her heart. While he did this, she went for his ears. Those cute, rounded lobes, so pink and delicate! She gently traced the rims before dancing her fingers along the dishes themselves. Then leaned in to lick them, blowing dainty, careful breathes into his earholes. Emerson squeaked, shivering hotly. She whispered, "Mouse-o ... " Emerson slipped off her nipple, saliva stringing between his lips and her body. They made eye contact. She started to gyrate her hips, grinding against him. He reached down to 'steer' his cock. She rose up. He angled his tip in the direction it needed to go. Charlie lowered back down. Slowly, gently, until they made contact. Until she could feel him spreading her. She then dropped the rest of the way with a quick, hilting 'oomph!' Emerson grunted. Charlie immediately began riding. Even, steady bounces that occasionally switched over to a grinding, rocking motion. But then quickly back to bouncing! Things got loud, now. "Oh!" Emerson gaped, whiskers stiffly twitching. "Ohhhh ... " The squirrel chuffed, chitter-growling. He squeaked! In a dozen different pitches! "Uhh, yes ... yeah ... " The squirrel, careening toward orgasm, got bolder, her bouncing becoming almost desperate. She went so hard the chair began to teeter. "Uh! Uhff!" Emerson, from his sitting position, couldn't do much but hold on and endure it. Such bliss! Her pussy, fitting him like a purpose-built glove, was milking, massaging him. Oh, it was perfect! She was perfect. As bad as he'd felt yesterday, he felt that good right now! "Oh, Emmyyyy," the squirrel cried, a paw fumbling and fiddling with her clit. She rubbed it furiously. "Oh, heck, oh, heck ... " "C-charlie!" "Cum for me! Empty those big balls!" "I'm ... I'm! Ah, ahh ... " He sucked air at the first ejaculation. Punch-drunk, his head lolled at the second. Three, four shots, maybe a fifth. A sixth? He may not have had an equine dick, but his balls were, indeed, capable. Rodents were copious! "Yes, yes! I'm! G-gonna ... toooo! Oh, oh, oh!" Her body arched, and she slumped against him, whimpering, her sex in wet, powerful spasms. He hugged her tight, feeling her vagina clenching in orgasm. Panting, tingling, he closed his eyes. She got everything out of him. Every drop. He could already feel it, hear it dripping back out of her. To his lap, the chair. The floor. They'd made a huge mess. Charlie caressed the back of his head, sighing on his cheek. "Oh, mouse-o ... " "That was ... " He couldn't even finish the sentence. He just sighed. She kissed his cheeks, nuzzling noses. "Love you. I love you so much." "I love you, too." They kissed. A straight-on lip lock. The squirrel tried to get her tongue into his maw. He let her, twisting his golden head while cradling, pulling at hers, deepening their contact. Shared, whisker-quivering moans. Then they smacked apart, breathless. Charlie licked her lips and told him, "You taste like blueberries." "You taste like maple," he countered. "Well, I'm Canadian, eh? What do you expect?" Emerson laughed. "Heh. You know, Emmy, I think we shou-wait, for real?!" "What?" Emerson asked with alarm. "It's after eight already?!" The sun, still rising, was peeking through the windows and everything. It'd still been dark when they started screwing! How long had they been at it? "I guess we just discovered a method of time travel," the mouse joked. "The kits, though," Charlie said. It was getting more and more difficult to find times to screw! "EJ's gonna barge in on us," Emerson predicted. Azalea would probably stay in bed until Charlie retrieved her. "Yup. Little stinker! Heh, we gotta hurry and shower and clean this up!" "You shower first," Emerson insisted. "I'll clean." "M'kay." She dismounted, a slurping sound followed by a flood of seed and nectar. It dripped everywhere, leaving their fur matted. As unglamorous as it was, neither was phased by it, and she stole another quick kiss and murmured, "Thanks, stud." "You're welcome," he replied, lightly smacking her silvery ass as she scampered off. Charlie giggled at this, tail swishing! Emerson, alone, sighed and collected himself for a second before searching for his underwear. Finding it, he put it back on (wincing as his neck pain returned), getting some dish towels and air freshener and wiping everything down before spritzing the air (with 'Cherries & Berries' scent). When that was finished, he started carrying the used dishes to the sink, filling it with soapy water. EJ, as predicted, arrived on his own a few minutes later, foot- paws slapping on the floor with the cadence of his uneven walk. He stopped and reached his arms into the air when he saw his father. "Daaaa!" "Aw. Sorry, bud." Emerson shuffled to face him, drying his paws on a dish towel. "Daddy hurt himself, remember?" He rubbed his neck for show. "Big ouch!" "Boo-boo?" "Mmhmm! Aren't you smart?" EJ waddled toward Emerson, trying to climb him anyway. "Eh, heh, no ... I told you. I can't pick you up today." Emerson wriggled. "Maybe tomorrow!" The young squirrel pouted, stamping on the floor and wiping his paws on his cheeks. "Never fear!" Charlie, fur damp and hastily dressed (in ripped jeans and one of Emerson's old 'Indy 500' t-shirts), swooped in with Azlea in one arm. She scooped up EJ with the other, proclaiming, "Ssssuper Squirrelllll is here!" "There you go," Emerson told EJ, scratching his little chin. "Guess mommy's stronger than daddy, huh?" "Don't believe it, kiddos. Daddy's a Mighty Mouse!" Putting Azalea in a high chair, Charlie winked and pulled the band of Emerson's underwear back, letting it 'snap!' against the mouse's waist. "He packs a potent punch." Emerson blushed and giggled, watching as Charlie seated EJ, too, and cut up pancakes for both kids. Smiling, he finally turned to go take his shower. "Mouse-o!" He spun back around. Charlie threw him a water bottle. "Hydrate!" Emerson caught it and blushed. He unscrewed the lid and gulped it down. After yesterday and the thirst he'd just worked up? He didn't need to be told twice.