I Hear You Say So
The corn stove was burning. A bit. In the other room (the living room).
The lion was nibbling on something in the kitchen. Sitting.
The blustery blue-grey of mid-morning. The day a third over, being 9 hours old. And 15 hours from death. It was an autumn Saturday. An October weekend. And the lights were on inside the house (even at such an early time). And the heat was on ... inside the house. And the mouse had his nose pressed to the window of the back door. Looking out (at the world looking back at him).
"Isn't your nose cold?" Fuzzy asked.
Field's nose twitched and sniffed. Twitched. And sniffed. And he smiled wordlessly, still looking. Still watching.
"What are you looking at?"
"Colors."
"Mm?"
"Maroon ... melon. Marigold. Mauve."
"Colors?"
"The leaves," said the mouse, taking his nose from the glass (where a condensation cloud had formed), looking to the lion. His mate. "The leaves are in full color today."
"As they were yesterday."
"Mm ... you're nibbling," said Field, nodding.
"So?"
"Only mouses nibble."
"I'm not nibbling."
"I'm rubbing off on you," Field whispered, rubbing his paws together.
"Part of your evil plan, I take it? To turn me into a mouse?" A grin.
"Well, when one has an evil plan, one doesn't give it away ... unless one is ... "
" ... tickle tortured?"
"No," said the mouse, backing away, bumping into the oven. "No tickle torture. You promised."
"I promised no tickle torture last night. But this is today, and today ... " The lion got up from his chair.
Field darted to the other side of the table.
The lion purred. Moved left.
As did Field, staying on the opposite side of the table. Always. Scurrying.
"Motor-motor," the lion teased. "Scurry-scurry."
"You making fun of the way I move," panted Field, going to the right ... skidding to a stop on the linoleum floor, and going back to the left.
Fuzzy paused for breath.
Field panted. "Mm?"
"No." A grin. Lurch.
The mouse went to his left. And realized, too late, that the lion had faked him out ... and he went right into his arms, squealing.
Fuzzy chuckling as his paws went under the mouse's arms, down his sides, to his belly. "Tickle, tickle, tickle!"
"No ... no, no," Field panted, writhing. Wriggling. Giggling.
Fuzzy hugged him tight. And, after a moment, stopped. And just hugged. Just breathed.
And Field, in return, settled. And breathed of him.
"That corn stove ... "
"It's cheaper, over the long run, than paying for central heating ... isn't it ... "
"It gives a dry heat. Dries out my eyes."
"Does no such thing," the mouse countered. "Besides, we live in the country, and ... fields all over. Easier to acquire than wood."
"Never heard of such a thing as a corn-burning stove."
"Well, you've heard of it now." A grin.
A giggle. "You're silly, you know that?"
"Am not," Field whispered.
"You can be. You're being silly right now."
"Am I?"
A nod. "Mm-hmm."
Quiet.
The mouse sighed. Looking out the bay window. They were in the living room now, and ... all of his plans were giants in this light. He smiled. Feeling mellow. Feeling so warm. And being, suddenly, guided to the couch. Being laid on his back. Being disrobed.
Fuzzy kissing his neck.
All of it happening so fast. As everything had. And yet ... in slow motion. The mouse seeing it from outside himself.
"Don't ... tickle me," Field whispered, his ears at a swivel-swivel. His tail snaking. His mousey movements making for pantomime.
"I won't," Fuzzy whispered.
The mouse's most ticklish spot on his body ... his foot-paws. Now that they were lying down, the mouse was certain the lion would go for them. And tensed a bit.
"Honey, I'm done tickling you ... "
A nod.
" ... for the moment." A grin.
A giggle. And the mouse pushed at the lion, playfully. "Stop it."
A chuckle. A nibbling of the mouse's neck. "Stop what? Hmm? Mm? Stop what ... "
Field sighed at the kisses on the side of his neck. And at the nibbling on his left ear. And at the purring he could hear.
Fuzzy pulled back ... shifting to his side.
Mouse and lion side-by-side on the couch. Lights on. In the living room.
"We didn't finish our breakfast," Field whispered, as if divulging a secret.
"I was hungry for mouses," Fuzzy whispered back. Confiding.
"You gonna eat me?"
A chuckle.
A blush.
"Taste you, more like ... mm ... tasty mouse." A sweet, soft suckling of the mouse's lips.
Field sighed through the nose. His twitching nose. Which could hardly stay still. And his voice, squeaky and airy ... said, "I love you."
"I love you, too, babe," Fuzzy returned.
"Mm," went the mouse, hugging tight.
The lion squeezed him in return.
The two furs now ... in the fur. On the couch.
Fuzzy put his muzzle to the lion's ears again. "I think I hear you saying," he whispered, "that you wanna ... "
A blush. "I didn't say anything."
"But I hear you say so."
"Mm?"
"It's in your eyes ... it's in your kiss. Your scent, even."
"You can read me ... too well. Like a book or something."
"I hear you say so," the lion repeated.
"Mind-reader," the mouse replied, whispering, and kissing ... the lion's lips. And then wriggling, unable to keep himself from doing so. Wriggling and starting to turn around.
The lion's chest rose and fell, rose and fell.
The mouse finally said so. "I wanna," he whispered, nosing at the lion's sheath. Nosing. And then nibbling with his lips, having maneuvered into a sixty-nine position. Slimmer body facing opposite the lion's stronger one.
The lion's muzzle taking the mouse in. The mouse already stiff. Mouse-hood pink and smooth and firm. Now wetted by his mate's tongue.
Field shivered. The tongue having hit the head. Almost too sensitive. And he pulled back, but the lion put a paw on the mouse's pert rump. Pushed it back forward, so that Field's mouse-hood slid back between his lips ... into his mouth. Until it rested in that warmth.
The mouse, meanwhile, nibbling more ... and kissing the sides of the lion's sheath, and then finally ... taking it in. Giving a few sucks. Wetting it enough ... stimulating it enough to allow the lion-hood to peek out. To allow the mouse's lips and mouth to bob. Bob, bob ... up, down, slightly to the side ... pressing the head of the lion-hood to the inside of his cheek. And then sliding the tongue back down the underside. Pulling off to lick and lap at the head.
Fuzzy breathed erratically ... but made little noise.
Field, however, squeaked out from the throat ... at his mate's ministrations. Squeaked and squirmed, and several times ... nearly pulled out of the lion's mouth from the sensitivity. And would have, were it not for the strong paw squeezing and pushing his rump forward. Holding him in place.
The mouse's tail jerking about like a live wire. The mouse moaning from the throat, making a little humming noise ... before descending into airy squeaks. As he sucked, bobbed ... more and more. Tasting the pre. Own pre leaking, dripping onto the lion's tongue.
As they gave and received pleasure. Gave and received love.
And the lion came first.
Short, sweet bursts.
The mouse let it pool on his tongue. Kept it there. Sucked, sucked ... sucked for a bit more, hearing the lion's raspy bit of breath. His brief breathlessness. And then Field pulled his mouth off, still not having swallowed. And he tried to pull himself from the lion's muzzle. Squeaking, squirming ... overly sensitive.
Unlike his mate, he could never climax in there. In the muzzle. Though he wished to. But it got too sensitive, and he lost it, so ... he always had to finish himself off. Could only climax through his own final coaxing. Which ... was fine by him. It felt just as good.
The lion let the mouse pull out.
Field, panting, allowed some of the collected seed, white and warm, to dribble from his lips ... down to his mouse-hood, where his own paw rubbed it in. Used it as his lube. And ... he tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and swallowed the rest. And sighed. And pawed, and ... leaned forward, on top of the lion now ... and pawed and humped lightly at the lion's belly ...
Fuzzy hugging him, rubbing his back ... massaging, hugging.
The mouse squeaking, starting to moan ... starting to whimper. He was always louder at this. Much to his own embarrassment. But ... he just could never keep quiet. And, now, as he moaned and groaned, he took in a breath, another, exhaled, another breath ...
... and hit his orgasm.
Shivering from the relief of it. From the feeling of it.
Their bellies now sticky and matted. Their furry bodies sweaty all over. And both of them recovering, breathing, and feeling a tad bit sleepy.
Field swallowed, clearing his throat. Licking his own lips ... and then kissing the lion's lips. Whiskers twitching and brushing Fuzzy's cheeks.
Fuzzy chuckled at the feeling. Hugged.
Field hugged back.
"I think I heard you saying ... you enjoyed yourself." A grin.
"Didn't know you could decipher squeaks ... "
"I think yours were rather universal."
A giggle. A blush. "I did ... enjoy myself. I ... always do." A breath. A sigh and a smile. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
A hug.
The dim, now, of ten-o'clock in the cloudy morning. Their hearts having walked, having survived all the pale blue miles to this moment. To this warmth. This perfection. Their hearts singing in, ringing out.
Hearing each other say so.