Flinch
Do NOT flinch.
One of the first rules of being prey ... and one of the rules he always broke.
(The second, the moment you flinched, they would pounce. The predator, he would pounce ... if you moved. If you flinched. Without fail.)
Motion, movement ...
... more, more, coming from the right. Coming at him, and ...
... his blue-grey eyes snapped open. The honey-tan mouse's eyes blinked, and he sat up, quickly, panting, eyes meeting the source. Lit by a single lamp. With rain patter-patting on the roof. On the window. The countryside under the beating drum of March's marching rains. Prelude to spring.
"It's only me," was Adelaide's hush. The hush of her. The pink-furred bat. His mate. Her hush, it was as soft as her fur. How could she be that soft? In voice, in form, in pose ... how could anything be that soft?
"Oh," was Field's simple breath. "Oh, I ... um ... I'm sorry," was his own whisper. But his was frantic. His had an edge of fear about it. "I didn't realize you'd ... you'd come into the room," he stammered, sniffling. Sitting up in bed. Bare. Clutching a sheet. Chest rising, falling. Shoulders sagged.
"I've been in here since before you fell asleep," she said. Biting her lip. "Remember?"
The mouse's eyes darted. He did ... he thought he did. No, he definitely did.
"Field ... "
"I remember," he said, but didn't meet her eyes. "I was just ... I'm a light sleeper. You know that."
"Another dream? Another nightmare?"
"I just couldn't sleep."
She wanted to press the issue. Press the matter.
They were in their bedroom. It was nearing ten. They'd both been home from work for a few hours now, and ... after supper (around eight), they'd wound up here.
Their mood had been playful ...
... hadn't it?
Hers had been. His had been ... detached. At first. Like he'd removed himself from things. From reality. For his own safety. As if he'd gone into some kind of internal shock, but ... was attempting to hide the fact. She'd seen that look before.
They'd sunk to the bed. The sheets. The mouse's shirt the first thing to go. Followed by hers. And the two furs, weary from the day, from the repetitive, drone-like nature of their respective jobs ... they needed to FEEL.
He always calmed down once they got going. It was getting him jump-started ... that took the most work.
She'd put her muzzle to his neck. And huffed ... as his paws had worked at her attire. As their paws fumbled. Paws roving, caressing fur. Tugging at clothing. Several minutes before they were actually bare. Exposed to the warming bedroom air. To the dust motes and all.
A kiss. A slight kiss, and ... both of them on their sides, and their legs began to entwine.
And the mouse whispered, "Maybe ... maybe we should take a shower."
"We don't need to ... " Her huff onto his cheek. "It's fine ... "
"No, but ... we've been working." The mouse's obsessive-compulsive nature. He wanted cleanliness. Clean. Perfect clean. Intimacy wasn't clean. It was hot, passionate. Fur, form, saliva. Fluid. It was messy. But, oh, what a mess!
"Field ... this wasn't a problem yesterday."
"Well, it's ... I just think we should take a shower first."
"We can take a shower AFTER," the bat said. Blowing her breath into his ear. One of his dishy, swiveling ears. "After," she whispered, "we'll need it. We don't need it now ... "
"I just ... I know, but ... "
"Field ... we're not gonna get sick from a kiss. From this. From ... we're clean, darling. It's not gonna kill us. This is love. Love won't make you sick."
The mouse said nothing. Only a weak, "I know ... "
She kissed his earlobe. "Just ... relax," she whispered. "Field, relax. Let go, okay? We're gonna feel good. We've had a hard day. A hard week. We're gonna let go now ... okay?"
A nod.
"Okay?"
Another nod, and ... a returned kiss. To her cheek. To her muzzle. To her lips.
He was so tender and delicate. So gentle. It broke her heart to see him in such pain. He wasn't always like that. Wasn't always like this. A lot of the time, he was okay. He seemed normal. But when you looked closer, you saw the invisible pain he harbored. From his past. From the demons in his head. When you looked closer, you saw that he was afraid. Always afraid. He was a total mouse.
She was his mate. She loved him, and she knew ... oh, she knew ... that he loved her, too. The bright way he would look at her. The spark in his eyes. The child-like innocence in the way he trusted her. Depended on her. He was the submissive one. He was the one that needed nurturing.
Often, he would admit to feeling guilty. Convinced she gave so much to him, but what did she get from him ... in return?
She would look at him, every time, and whisper, "Devotion. Companionship. Love." Pause. "What you give is priceless."
But his tender lips gave her a tender kiss ... again ... again.
"Again," she whispered, her lips meeting his. Little smack-smack sounds. Wet, breathless! Where resolve went to drown.
For there was no resisting this!
Noses flared. His nose, sniffing, twitching (in its mousey way), it flared ... and his whiskers brushed her cheeks. The mouse wrapped his arms around her, and pulled her with him ... as he rolled to his right. To the very middle of the bed. Field, thin, slender, with his toned chest ... he might've seemed frail. The mouse was in better health than before. He was eating better now, and ... he was building his muscles. Quite nicely. But he was still self-conscious. Still felt too thin. Still felt ... that she would find flaws in him. For he saw them SO easily in himself. Surely, she must see them, too?
But if she did, she didn't show it. And if she cared, he didn't know it. For the way she touched him, how her paws ran up and down his sides, and how they clutched his fur. And how the breath of her ... was on his muzzle. And how her wings would stretch and wrap around him. The way she lost herself in him. Physically. Emotionally. It was overwhelming to the mouse.
He clutched at her fur. Planted little kisses on the warmth of her. A paw running, cupping under a breast ... as lips, starting to get wet and heated, met. And parted with another smack. And his tail, thin, ropy, pink, it trailed to the edge of the bed, the tip trailing off.
Her ears, angular and swept back, could hear his heart. His heart that went ... hammer-hammer. Hammer-hammer. So fast. So quick. The heart of prey. The heart of a mouse. Could she do anything to slow him down?
One of Field's paws went behind her ... massaging her rump-cheeks. The soft fur there, and her stubby tail. Only a foot long, and like an otter's tail. Or a kangaroo. Meant for balance and steering. Aerial steering. Many of the bat's bones were very light. She could fly. Oh, his love could fly!
Her paw strayed between their bodies ... down, down. Found ... what it was fishing for.
Field drew a breath.
Adelaide didn't squeeze it (his mouse-hood). Just held it. Softly, in her grip. In her fingers. In her paw. And allowed her thumb to fiddle on the head of it. Over the ridge at the back of the head. Back and forth, back and forth ... on the most sensitive spots of him. Her thumb running over the top of the head, across the slit, and down ... up and down. The mouse had no sheath. They'd cut it at birth ... but it didn't bother him. It was cleaner, more streamlined ... smoother ... that way. Didn't bother him ...
Didn't bother her ...
... as she wriggled down the length of him.
The mouse began to huff. Knowing what she was up to. And he started to squirm away, and her paws held him down.
"Uh-uh, mousey ... "
"Too sensitive," he whispered.
"Just relax. Just," she told him, "relax."
The mouse's whiskers twitched. Nose going ... sniff-twitch. Him on his back, legs slightly parted. In the early-night dim of the bedroom. The rain outside, it was so complete.
The mouse had never climaxed ... through oral. The mouse, in ANY situation, took forever to climax, anyway. He had excellent stamina. Which Adelaide VERY much appreciated, but which Field took as being too "slow" ...
"Slow is better," she would tell him. "Believe me ... you're lucky to be able to last that long ... "
But he'd never been able to climax ... from getting oral. Not even from her. His mate. The one he loved more than anyone he'd ever known. He would get too sensitive, and ... the sensitivity overload, the pleasure ... would cause him to start going a bit limp ... and he would squirm out of her muzzle, huffing.
But that didn't discourage her ... from trying. And, despite his frustration with himself (for not being able to perform in that manner), it didn't stop him from letting her have her way. From letting her try. (And she was certain she could do it ... make him climax by her muzzle. If he would only RELAX and take the pleasure ... instead of fighting it. It would just take practice, and that was something she didn't mind doing. Oh, to practice this!)
So, her muzzle went down, down ... until her nose was bumping him. Stiff, cute him. And until her tongue (longer and more versatile than his, designed for catching bugs) ... it lapped and wrapped around him.
The mouse's breath left his chest. In a huff.
She grinned. And continued to taste of him, and opened her muzzle. Careful (as always) with her fangs. Careful, careful, so delicate ... as her lips, ringed, slid over him. Completely over his shaft, down the pink, smooth skin. Down, down ... the underside of his mouse-hood on her tongue. The upper parts on the roof of her mouth. Enveloped in heat and wetness.
Sensitive!
He squeaked. Weak, weak ... squeak!
She bobbed. Once, twice ... three times. And turned it into a habit. A motion. Was tempted to lick at the head ... and drive him to the edge of his sensory capacity, but that would make him squirm and pull away. He could tolerate the bobbing much better ... so, that's what she did ...
And he huffed and closed his eyes. It felt good ... oh, it did ... and ... his paws clutched at the sheets. Reached for her ears, to hold them gently, but ... they weren't in reach. Instead, he clutched at the sheets.
She worked on him for a few minutes. A few minutes more. Giving a few stray squeezes to his sac. Kneading the orbs inside, chuckling to herself as they tightened and drew closer to his body. Must've meant she was doing something right ...
But she pulled off, panting, panting, sitting up on her legs. Her knees. And smiled at him, licking her lower lip. An airy giggle.
The mouse looked shyly to her. How shy! They'd been mates for seven months, and STILL ... he was shy about this. She thought it was unbelievably cute.
"Good?" she asked.
He nodded quietly. Smiled bashfully. "Yeah ... "
"Know what you want," she said.
"You do?"
"You're a sub, Field. You're a mouse." She fancied that was another reason he didn't take oral very well. He was MUCH more comfortable GIVING it ... than receiving it. It was a mental thing with him (as so many things were). "You can have at it ... "
He watched as she flopped down to the sheets. The mattress. On her back now, and legs sliding open. Foot-paws pressed to the sheets of the bed. Facing away from him.
And he twisted, shifted, turning himself ... around. To face her. To crawl between her legs. A bit hesitant. Of all moments to start worrying about ... cleanliness. His whiskers twitched.
"You've done this before," she whispered. "You enjoyed it then."
"I know ... "
"Just relax ... you want to. You prefer to. It makes you feel good, and ... makes ME," she assured, "feel good, so ... "
The mouse was only half-listening. Eyes lingering on her. Her femininity. The softness, the ... sight. Furry folds and all. And a paw traced along those folds. Along the line of it. Slowly tracing down. Slowly tracing up.
Adelaide closed her eyes.
And Field leaned down ... and put his nose there. Nudged her nub with his nose. Nudge, nudge ... nosy nudge. And he took a tentative lick.
The bat exhaled.
He licked again. His tongue wasn't as versatile or as long as hers. He couldn't get his tongue that far out of his muzzle. So, he had to bury his muzzle there ... to get any good licks. Normally, he resorted to little, shy kisses, and little sucks. Which is what he resorted to ... this time. Little kisses. Little sucks ... while a paw roved over her thigh. While his tail dangled over her, and she reached up with a paw and batted at it. Bat-bat-bat ... giggling while she did so. Giggling between little gasps.
The mouse picked up his pace. Soon lost himself in what he was doing. Oh, he DID ... prefer giving this ... rather than receiving it. To be submissive. To GIVE pleasure, to ... receive it through the act of giving it. To know that your partner was stronger than you. Mentally stronger. More experienced. More capable. To know that she would shield you with her wings ... to know that, doing this to her, you were safe. And no one would judge you or hurt you ...
It was about submitting to her care. About NEEDING care.
The mouse, used to ... he'd been with males. Had been that way. And maybe it still showed in this. His submissiveness. His wispiness. He was rather effeminate. And maybe he still felt those desires, and maybe she knew it, and maybe neither spoke of it ... but there was something about the bat's female touch and perspective, her emotion ... that made, for the mouse, a stronger foundation for love ... than he'd had with any male. Didn't matter why, did it ... didn't have to make sense. Oh, the mouse could've SO easily gone the other way. Could still be that way.
But he couldn't, though. Not without cost.
There were things ... there were pains. There were sacrifices ... that he couldn't make. That he'd tried to make, and when he'd tried, he'd ... nearly lost himself. Lost everything. He'd tried. And had needed to ... stop. To ...
... find someone like her. Like Adelaide.
A femme who would understand. Who wouldn't shirk from his past and his desires. His nature. Who would accept him. And his emotions. Who would ...
... would what?
Why did it matter ...
It was love. Love, love.
Oh, he loved her. She was so unique. Oh, what she did for him ... oh, what she did TO him.
And she was panting, panting ... chittering now. Her echo-bursts, in their high, high pitches ... bouncing off the walls and back to their ears. Field barely able to hear them. His hearing range didn't go as high as hers. But he felt the vibrations of her chitters ... as his paw was on her breast. Above her heart. Arm stretched out, and other arm clutching the sheets. As he simply devoured her. There was no other word for it. For the hungry attention he was giving her. All inhibitions and worries ... GONE. Replaced by instinct, by need, by want, by desire. By the less-structured parts of him.
"F-field ... I, uh ... I ... oh ... oh," she huffed, and she arched, and her wings ... spread. She allowed her winged arms to spread out. To their full span ... and they quivered as she came. The warm, heated spasms that rippled through her lower body. That sizzled her nerves. That caused her to whimper. That left the mouse's muzzle dripping of squirted fluid ... left him heaving as he pulled back, eyes half-open, dizzy, absolutely dizzy of her sex.
And she, still in her throes, crawled, and ... pounced him! In his daze, she pinned him down, to his back. Went to a straddle of him.
He didn't fight it. Not at all ...
... as she lowered down. He was stiff. More than stiff. A rivulet of his own pre ... dripping down his mouse-hood. She had no problem lowering down, her vaginal muscles enclosing around him. Clenching round him. Soaking, slick ...
"Uh ... uh," was Field's huff. "Mm ... "
She fell. And rose, and fell ... and rose ... and leaned forward as she did so, paws on his chest. Thumbs rubbing his nipples. They hardened, and he whimper-squeaked. She leaned forward, huffing, going, going ... and leaning down. Licking, lapping at the side of his neck. When they made love, she could willingly trigger a numbing agent in her saliva. With a thought. Trigger it, as she did now ... licking his neck. Numbing a spot for her bite (so it wouldn't hurt him, and so it would leave no mark).
"Hmm ... mm ... "
Adelaide shushed him. "It's ... okay ... h-hold on," she panted, having stopped her hip movements for the moment. But his mouse-hood still inside her. She lapped once more, and then ...
... sank her fangs in. Slowly. And sighed heavily as she did so.
"Oh ... "
"Mm ... " Her own sounds were muffled against his neck. And the white mating milk that was stored in her fangs (like an anti-venom), it dripped by the drop ... into his blood. Sending little electrical pulses. Linking their minds.
Oh, the flood of images ... of feelings.
They could feel each other's feelings. Hear each other's thoughts.
Nothing hidden.
Ultimate trust. Ultimate vulnerability. Ultimate love.
And the mouse's hips bucked up at her. Up and in.
And she matched his movements, fangs still in him ... he felt her clenches, her spasms. She felt his sensitivity. Felt his emotion.
Their eyes were closed now. They could not open for the heat. For the water in them.
Inching toward release.
"Huh ... uh," was the huff. The mouse's huff. And his squeaks reached their high-pitched crescendos. Indicating his oncoming release.
And she huffed heatedly onto his neck ... saliva stringing, fangs embedded.
Until Field shuddered, shivered, squeaked ... squirmed. Squirting streams of steamy semen ... into her.
Sowing. Sowing seeds of his love ... spiritual, this. Fierce, this pleasure. There were no words to truly measure the experience. It had to be felt.
The bat, for the second time, climaxed ... muscles trembling. She chittered from her throat, huffing ...
... as they clung to each other. Limbs, arms, paws ... everything wrapped around and clutching, rubbing, hugging. Both of them feeling a NEED to be stroked, held ... while they endured this. This was a pleasure to be endured.
And when she pulled her fangs out of him, she flopped onto her back, breasts heaving. Laying beside him, and then turning to nuzzle his shoulder. "Oh ... oh ... "
"Mm ... " He swallowed. Whispered, "I love you ... oh, I ... I love you."
Her eyes had welled. "I love you, too ... "
That had been two hours ago. Afterwards, Field had ... fallen asleep. And she had gone to the desk against the wall. And had started drawing. Both of them were artistic. Field was a writer and a photographer. She loved to sketch, draw, paint.
And she'd heard him twitching, squeaking in his sleep, and had gotten up to check up on him ... which is when he'd woken up.
Which is what led to now. Where, Field, in a sleepy daze, had forgotten she'd been in the room. Where his emotional demons seemed to be at the fore. Where he'd insisted that he hadn't had a nightmare. He just "couldn't sleep."
"Field," she said to him, sitting next to him on the bed.
The mouse was staring at the navy-blue sheets.
"Field. You know I ... can SENSE your thoughts." The bat had telepathic abilities. Hence her fang-biting, among other things. "I know when you lie."
"I, uh ... maybe it was a nightmare," he admitted, raising his shoulder. Lowering them. In a helpless shrug. "Maybe, but ... I don't remember what it was about, so it isn't important."
She put a paw on his chest. Both of them were still bare. "Field ... "
When she said his name like that, so tenderly, so quietly ... he wanted to fall to pieces in her arms. When she said his name like that.
She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. "What happened ... why can't you sleep?"
"It's always something," was his response.
"I know, but ... today. What was it TODAY," she pressed.
The mouse was quiet. His eyes darted. He breathed, breathed. "At work," he whispered, "I ... I was eating in the break room. For lunch, and I ... lowered my head for a moment. Was quiet. And ... to say my prayer."
"Yeah ... "
"And ... this other fur saw me, and ... he's a troublemaker. That type. He's ... younger than me. When I started eating, he told me ... 'you know, it's not real' ... and I looked to him and blinked, and he said, 'faith, I mean ... it's just a comfort pillow, is all ... it's comfort, but it's blind comfort' ... I told him I didn't think so. You know how I am when I debate. I stutter, and I ... so, I don't say much. But they do. They say a lot, and I have to sit there and listen to it, because I'm too shy to debate them. If it were written out, in type, I would trounce them," he said, a bit of a bite to his voice as he said that. "But, verbally, they ... roll over me." His voice shook. "He wouldn't stop talking. He wouldn't shut up. I just looked at my food and ate, and he kept telling me to consider that 'it may mean nothing,' and ... 'I would fade into oblivion when I died' ... "
"Field, you can't listen to furs like that," Adelaide whispered. "He was just trying to push your buttons."
"I know ... " The mouse drew in a shaky breath. "I know, but ... I take everything personally. If someone attacks my faith, they attack me. If they attack God, they attack me. It's ... I took it personally, and ... I was in a vulnerable frame of mind," he admitted, "at the time. I was ... it was a busy lunch. Lots of customers. I had to talk to them all, serve them all, and ... pretend that my anxiety wasn't causing my heart to beat at dangerous speeds. I have to distract myself ... every day. Just to get through that job. I ... and I ... I don't know ... so, just now, when I dreamed, I dreamed ... that I was nothing. That it was nothing, and ... it was scary."
"Oh, Field," she breathed. Putting her muzzle to his cheek. "It's not nothing. Alright? You KNOW that ... you have faith, okay? I know you do. I know it's survived everything. It's alright to doubt. It's alright, sometimes, to question. I mean, that's how ... faith grows. It's how it's tested. But you can't wallow in that. You either HAVE faith, or you don't, and you can't let a fur who doesn't have it ... lecture you on what IT means. They can't take your light." She put her forehead to is. "It's not nothing. You're not gonna fade into oblivion when you die, and you're not gonna die anytime soon. I won't let it happen."
"You can't promise that."
"Field ... you're safe, okay? We're going to live a long life, and when we're done ... we'll be in heaven together. I feel it. You feel it. Don't doubt it ... don't let them cause you to doubt. You're safe. You got it?"
"But I'm so messed-up," was his barely-audible whisper. "I'm so messed-up. Darling ... "
"No ... "
"I am. And I pray ... every day," he said, "I pray about it. I ask Christ to heal me. He healed people with a touch of His paw. I know He can heal me, but I'm ... sometimes, I don't feel I'm getting better. My problems ... " He trailed. Not needing to reiterate his problems for her. She knew. Knew of his anxieties, his compulsions, his battles with depression. His anorexic habits. His traumatic experience of having been gay ... when his family found out, and he lost his mate a day later. She knew ... she knew of his demons. "My problems, they caused me to fail out of school. Caused me to ... lose things," he said, trembling. "I ... they controlled me, and you came, and ... I've been getting better. But they're still there. The fear is still there. I want it GONE," he said, as if pleading. "I want it gone. I want to be healed." Both the mouse and the bat were going back to school in the fall. The mouse would be 22, and ... he felt this would be his last chance. He felt so old. Even though he was young, he felt time slipping away. And what if he failed again? What if he allowed his demons to overrun his confidence? What if she succeeded and he failed, and ... she had no use for him anymore? What if ...
"Field, listen to me," she whispered. "Listen."
"What ... "
"Listen to me. Look at me."
The mouse's eyes darted (like frantic things), until she cupped his muzzle in her paws, directing his gaze to hers.
"Field ... you're waiting for a cure? You're waiting for God to cure you?"
"I don't know." His eyes water. "I just want these ... things out of my head." The tears streamed down his cheeks. Quietly streamed. "I want to be better ... for you. For you," he whispered, voice breaking. "It's not fair on you," he sniffled, "that I should be like this."
Adelaide drew a breath through her nose. The scent of him. Of their bed. Their room. Their love. She drew it in, and hugged him close ... telling him (as he quietly cried on her shoulder), "You ARE better. You don't have to justify yourself ... to me. You're good enough." Pause. "Field, prayer, it helps ... it can help heal, but ... there's a story," she said, voice so soft. "A story about a fur. There was a flood, and he went to the roof of his house. The water was rising."
Field sniffled and swallowed, ears swiveling. Listening.
"He was gonna drown if the water made it up to him. It kept rising, and he prayed, and kept praying. Asking for God to save him. He was devout. Surely, God would save him."
Field was quiet now ... breathing very silently.
She continued, "Soon, a fur in a rowboat came by. And asked, 'Do you need help?' The fur on the roof replied, 'No, I am devout. God will save me.' And, so the fur on the rowboat left. The water rose higher. Furs in a helicopter came by. Overhead. A rescue team. They asked, 'Do you need help?' The fur on the roof replied, 'No, I am devout. God will save me.' And the water rose, rose, and ... the fur on the roof, he drowned."
Field pulled back a bit, meeting her eyes.
She whispered the final part of the story. Whispered, "The fur on the roof was in heaven, and he went to God and demanded, 'Why didn't You save me? I've been so loyal. Why didn't You TRY to save me? After all I've done in Your service. Where was Your help? Where was Your paw?' And God just looked to him and said, "I sent you a fur on a rowboat. I sent you furs in a helicopter ... " Adelaide trailed. Took a breath. "The point being, Field ... that all prayers are heard. But they aren't answered in glitter. They're answered in the everyday things that ... like love, and ... connection, and ... I'm here," she whispered, "for you. To help you. There are more furs that love you ... than you could know. You pray to be healed. But you have to open your mind to ... HOW the healing will occur. Let ME," she pleaded, "heal you. Please."
The mouse's eyes were watering again. Welling.
"If you're afraid, tell me about it." Her voice wavered. "If you're lonely, let me know. I'm your mate. I love you. You love me. I know you do. I know you'd give your life for me."
The mouse's tears were streaming again. He shook.
"I KNOW how hard it is ... to fight the things in your head. We can go to a doctor. We can do whatever. I don't care. But LET me help. Don't pretend it's not a problem. Don't pretend you DESERVE to hurt."
The mouse sniffled, looking away.
She, again, brought his gaze back to her ... by using her paw to steer his muzzle. "If you flinch," she whispered, "come to my arms. My wings."
"But ... b-but," he stammered, coughing a bit. Sniffling. "But what am I ... what do I ... what can I do for you? I'm SO weak ... "
"Field ... no." She stroked his cheek. "No, you're not. You're stronger than you think. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here. Still alive. Still striving. Still wide-eyed and innocent. Were you weak, you would've been broken long ago. You would've ended it ... but you didn't. You keep trying. You keep living. And your love, your devotion, your loyalty, your care ... the energy you put into writing for me. Into cooking meals for me. Into tending to me. Into making love to me," she whispered, "like we did this evening. Making me feel so good ... like that. Making me feel those things. Don't think you're a lame duck in this mate-ship. You're vital. We're partners. We're a pair. We'll get through anything," she promised, "together."
The mouse sniffled, eyes a bit red. And he nodded.
And she laid him down on the bed. Laying with him. "Let us rest," she said. "Let's get some sleep ... "
"What if I have the nightmares?" His voice was fragile. Like glass.
"I'll be here," was her answer. "I'll be here. You'll wake up, and I'll be here. Okay?"
He breathed of her. Nose in her pink fur. Oh, her!
"Okay?" she whispered.
He nodded. "Okay," he whispered. Bursting with so much. Nerves, fears, hopes, dreams, yearnings ... butterflies. Love. Everything.
And she wrapped her wings around him, brushing her mind against his. Trying to be his blanket.
And they slowly slipped into slumber. Their bodies stationary, as the sun, but their hearts revolving. Like planets. Like celestial things. Constantly in motion. Constantly growing.
Knowing ...
... it would be okay.