Snow Angel
The snowball sailed overhead. Missed.
Juneau scampered, stumbled through the snow, slipping and sliding. Panting. A haggard, weary mouse. It was a snowball fight. Several creatures here, in the countryside, had banded together. Started a snowball fight. It was a Saturday afternoon. And cold. Juneau only joined because he'd been lonely. He heard, as he ran, creatures laughing. He heard snowballs puffing, bursting. He heart panting. And he sighed, slowing down. It wasn't that he wasn't having fun, but ... well, he was too clumsy, too shy. He wished he was more outgoing, like the others. He wished he could fit in. But then realized ... if I was outgoing, I wouldn't be me. Had my personality been different all along ... maybe my life would be worse. There was no real way of telling.
He shook his head clear, trudging through the snow, which was rather deep. Melted enough to pack, but ... not melted enough to melt. The snow was everywhere, inches of it. Crystalline powder. Like sugar. Or something.
Juneau twitched. His nose, cold and flushed pink, twitched his frigid whiskers. Twitch-twitch. He wore wool coverings over his large mouse ears. They were red coverings, and they made him stick out. He felt rather stupid, but ... he'd always been self-conscious about his ears. And because he couldn't hear very well wearing this stuff ... it wasn't easy for him to play. He couldn't hear them coming if his ears weren't free. If they were free ... he would have better hearing than all of them. Anyway, he had mittens over his paws. A scarf around his neck. Was decked in warm, winter attire. All of which, along with his fur, kept him warm enough. Though he felt rather constricted.
He watched the trees. They were bare. Like skeletons. And were frosted with the snow, like something tasty you could eat for dessert.
POOF!
Juneau reeled, staggered, and fell back. He'd been hit. By someone on his own team.
The river otter who'd thrown it, he winced, apologetic. "Sorry," he went, compacting more snow and bounding off.
Juneau sighed, got back up on his foot-paws, and scanned the horizon. Ducked. And scurried off. He searched around for hiding places. They were going to find him in a minute. He'd already been captured twice before. And you weren't released until someone tagged you. Last time, he'd waited twenty minutes. And he'd only been tagged because he'd been sitting with the coyote, who had also been captured. And who happened to be the best player on their team. And the coyote kept giving him these analyzing looks, these predatory looks, and ...
ZIP!
"Ouch," Juneau went, squeaking out. Surprised. A snowball had been hurled at him, from a closing distance. Smacked his right ear. Even through the wool covering, it stung. "Ow," he whispered, breath shaking, showing. A cloud left his mouth with every panting exhale.
Where to hide?
His eyes darted, senses spinning. And he stumbled into a ditch, taking the only option available to him: instinct. He was a mouse. He could burrow. He could tunnel. This ditch was deep with snow ...
Less than a minute later, his pursuers scurried by. Had they been following his paw-prints, they would've seen where he'd stopped. Would've found him beneath the snow. But either they'd been too hyped up or too careless to track his paw-prints ... or they had found another target.
Juneau poked his nose out of the snow, shivering. Twitch-twitching. And he wriggled fully out, shaking the loose snow from him, from his winter attire, from his fur. His tail felt frozen. He held it in his mitten-covered paws.
He looked around. He needed a better hiding place. He could go home, but ... he would never get there before they caught him, and they would tease him if they found him quitting.
There was a shed not too far off. An old shed, a small thing. For storing tools. Or a tractor, maybe. It wasn't on Juneau's property, so he didn't know. He shuffled toward it. Opened the door, which creaked and groaned on its hinges. He sniffed the air. Empty. Though dusty and chilled. There was a single window, but he had to stand on the tips of his foot-paws to see out of it. Shoving aside a bag of grain and an open toolbox, he sat on a bale of hay. He sat and shivered and sniffled. Staring at the floor.
A shuffle, a creak. Someone opened the door. Stepped in. The coyote. He had a huge snowball in his paws.
Juneau cowered.
The coyote shut the door behind him. "You were easy to track," he said.
Juneau backed away, getting of the hay bale. Cowering against the wall.
"You should really ... " The coyote paused. "You're shaking," he realized.
Juneau swallowed.
"Why?"
"You're going to hit me," Juneau whispered, looking to the ground.
The coyote tilted his head quizzically, looking from the snowball to the mouse. "Well, isn't that the point of the game?"
"I ... I guess," Juneau stuttered, teeth chattering.
"Anyway ... I'm on your team." The coyote allowed the snowball to slip from his paws. It fell to the floor and broke. "I'm not going to hit you. I didn't hunt you down ... to hit you."
"Then ... " The mouse swallowed. "Then why?"
"I'm a predator. A nomad. I see something I want ... I take it. Now, I've taken mice before. Some of them fought me. They regretted it. Some of them ... permanently," he said, "Regretted it. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
The mouse nodded, barely moving. Scared to death. He did understand.
"It's harder in the winter. To mate, I mean. Many of the choice creatures hibernate or travel south or just ... burrow indoors, and ... " He paused. "Anyway, no point," he said, "In talking. I might ruin the moment. I frequently do," he said.
"What are you going to do to me?" Juneau whispered timidly.
"Whatever I want," said the coyote. Shrugging.
The mouse's heart hammered.
"You know you have to submit, right?"
"So, what," the mouse whispered, feeling a surge of fear, anger, confusion. "You're going to rape me?"
"No," said the coyote. Offended. "No, of course not. No, because there's no consent in rape. I want you to enjoy this. By the end, you'll be begging," he vowed, "For it."
Juneau found his heart slamming harder into his chest. Breath shallow. He was sweating beneath his fur. Shivering despite the fact.
The coyote knelt down. Pulled down Juneau's pants. Yanked them, so that the button snapped off. He undressed the mouse's lower half. Entirely. The
"Oh," the coyote breathed. He slowly smiled, eyes mulling over the young mouse's young, furry body. "You're a fine slab of mouse meat. Oh, I can already tell." He poked his nose curiously at Juneau's groin, sniffing deeply. "Oh. Yes. Yes, that's ... " He nodded. "That's the stuff." He nosed about the mouse's groin, sniffing, sniffing, and then shoved his legs up, poking his nose to the mouse's rump. Sniff-sniffing. Lapping his tongue down the furry crack.
Juneau let out a shaky breath, legs and foot-paws in the chilly air, back and head on the floor. Staring up.
"You like that?" the coyote asked. He licked again. With his long tongue.
Juneau's breath shook even more. And he shivered. From the cold, and from the coyote's teasing.
The coyote set him back down, teeth and paws undressing the rest of the mouse. And undressing himself, pulling the mouse up to his shaky knees. Both on their knees, facing each other. The coyote opened a hay bale, and they kneeled on the hay.
The mouse shivered. Teeth chattered. He was too timid to object to what was happening, and truth be told ... he wanted it. Badly. But was too afraid to admit it, even to himself.
The coyote looked into his eyes. "Show me how you kiss."
Juneau hesitated.
"Of, if you don't have much experience, show me how you would kiss ... or whatever."
Juneau leaned forward, planting a shaky, soft kiss on the coyote's lips. For a second.
"No. No," he objected. "That's sweet. That's romantic, and that's fine ... under certain circumstances, but ... no, like this ... "
Juneau found himself shoved, pinned back. That tongue slurping, drooling on his face, working into his mouth. He found himself gasping for breath. The coyote pulled back, panting, and straddled Juneau's chest, laying the mouse gently down on the hay.
"Better, huh?"
The mouse nodded weakly, wiping a paw across his lips, wiping the saliva off.
"No, no. No," the coyote said. "Don't do that."
"But ... "
"Leave it."
"I ... I have ... a thing about germs," Juneau stuttered.
"Well, see, you have to get over that." He slurped, lapped, and kissed the mouse again, sighing as he pulled back, a string of drool connecting their lips before it snapped. "Leave it."
The mouse swallowed.
"Don't worry," the coyote said warmly, stroking the mouse's fur. "You won't get sick. I don't have any diseases or anything. I promise."
The mouse let out a breath. Nodded.
"Sex isn't sick. It isn't messy. Well ... okay, maybe it is, but ... but it's beautiful, too. It's ... it's vibrant. The ultimate expression of everything," he whispered. "I want to share that with you. When we were both waiting to be tagged, I saw how miserable you were. How lonely you are inside. And I knew I had to have you, to help you. I have to unlock you," the coyote said, full of passion. "I want you."
Juneau's eyes watered. He was ... touched. He ... he didn't know what to say to that ...
"Now, when I said I was a nomad, I meant it," the coyote continued. "You'll be sharing me with a few dozen other woodland creatures ... male and female," he said, head at a tilt. "So ... just so you know ... you seem to be the kind of creature who would latch after intimacy. You're the kind who gets easily hurt, but ... " He shrugged. "I bang you, and I go. Maybe we meet again someday, maybe we don't, but ... not that you have a choice," he reminded. "You're going to enjoy this."
The mouse listened. Unsure. Nervous.
"Too much talk. I'm sorry," the coyote apologized. "Ready?"
Juneau could only nod. Feeling so much. Bracing himself for whatever the coyote had in mind. Because Juneau was horribly, desperately lonely, and he wasn't going to fight the coyote. No creature had every wanted him before. Ever physically wanted him. Even if it was only for a day ... Juneau would take it. Even though his conscience was nagging him. That this was incredibly risky and dangerous. Who knew if this creature could be trusted? But he told his conscience to shut up. He muzzled it.
"I'm going to have to make this short and sweet," the coyote said. "I've been away from the game for too long. Our team's losing." His paws went to the mouse's waist, his hips. Caressing. Holding. Scritching back to his rump. He nudged the mouse with his nose, nosing his chest. And then he flipped the mouse over, to his belly, rubbing his tail. "Your tail's like an icicle," he lamented. "Warm it here," he said, guiding Juenau's tai, poking it to his grey, coyote rump.
Juneau understood. He wriggled his tail, which was stiff from the cold, into the coyote's tail-hole. And sighed. His tail finding a tight, muscular, steaming warmth. He wriggled it further. Deep inside. The warmth spread through his tail, to the base, to his rump.
The coyote breathed out, licking his lips. "Oh," he whispered. "That's good." He swallowed. Took a breath.
By now, the coyote had emerged form his sheath. "All fours," he instructed the mouse.
Juneau did as told, and the coyote crawled, wriggled up onto him, jabbing with his cock.
Juneau squeaked out, under the weight, at the jabs. The coyote grunted, showing his teeth. Jabbing. And let out a satisfied yip as he split the mouse's tail-hole and dug, slid inside. A sigh. Another. "Oh. Oh."
Juneau tried to comprehend the physical sensations. The coyote, muscular, inside him. Over him. Owning him. He felt so ... so safe and secure, suddenly. For the moment, for the first time in his life, all anxiety ... was shrouded. The coyote was taking care of him. If anybody tried to interrupt them right now, or if anybody tried to come in and hurt Juneau, the mouse knew ... the coyote would tear their throat out.
The coyote began to hump. Juneau had, on the computer, watched videos of dogs and wolves and such ... having sex. Often with prey, like him. Mice. Squirrels. He had blushed horribly as he watched those, pawing off. Seeing how fast the dog's hips went, how absolutely eager, how mad he was ... to sow his seed in his partner. How whatever prey he was taking ... would squeak and cry out, like a little baby. Helpless.
And now ... the coyote was motoring into him. At ferocious pace. So that his balls slapped against the mouse's rump, making an audible sound. And he was growling from the throat, humping, draping over the mouse. Drooling on the mouse.
Each hump caused Juneau to rock forward, to squeak out. He felt so warm, so flushed. He could smell the coyote's fur. It was all he could smell. And he could hear the growls in his ear, hear the sounds of sex, and more importantly ... he could feel it all. His racing heart, pounding. Pounding. His rising, falling chest, his furry chest, his sweaty, matted fur. His paws tingling from the cold, and also from the chords of pleasure the coyote was plucking with each masterful, growling hump. A helpless, winding pleasure wormed through his nerves, his limbs. Teasing. Building.
The coyote began to lick and lather his paws with his own saliva, and then began to smoothly milk the mouse's cock.
The mouse cried out with a delicate squeak. Squeaking.
The coyote milked him. Humped him.
Juneau squeaked for breath, a rocking, sweaty, furry rodent, a toy being done to delirium by the coyote, who wouldn't stop. Who wouldn't let up.
"Oh, oh, oh," moaned Juneau, steadily. Eyes closed. He waited for it. He wanted it. He would've given anything to climax. That feeling ... it rose in him. The coyote milked, milked. Trembles went through the mouse's fur and limbs. He squeaked, nose and whiskers twitching, twitch-twitching. And, weakly, he began to move his tail in and out of the coyote's tail-hole.
The coyote growled, bucking, bucking into the mouse.
The mouse began to buck back. Feeling the coyote swell inside him.
The coyote nudged him, to stop the mouse's bucking. Paws yanking on the mouse's cock. Juneau yelped, cried out. And lost it. "Oh. OH. Oh, my ... oh, my," was all he could say, ears flushed red. He eventually fell quiet. His cock jerking as it spat out white mouse seed. Fertilizing the hay they were mating on. He shivered, ears warm. Suddenly feeling looser, despite the tightness growing in his rump. And feeling spasms of a different sort. The coyote's.
The coyote howled.
Juneau nearly squealed, jerked in prey-like terror, but the coyote forcefully held him down, his head up and howling as he unloaded into the mouse.
Juneau felt faint, awash in hazy pleasure. Gasping. Moaning lightly. Feeling the swelling get worse.
"Damn," the coyote gasped, growling, frowning. That had been good. Delicious. But he had planned to pull out of the mouse before he knotted. But ... too late for that.
"What's happening?" Juneau whimpered, eyes darting.
The coyote shushed him, stroked his fur. Calmed him. "We're just ... a little stuck together. It's okay," he whispered, stroking the mouse's cock, using the mouse's own seed as lubrication. "Just close your eyes. It's okay, honey," he whispered. "Just relax. Just ... relax."
The mouse squeaked airily, taking steady breaths. The feeling of being stuck with the coyote, with him, like this, in here ... his blood spiked with renewed arousal. He had never felt anything more erotic in his life. Never had been this close ... to anything or anyone. He almost cried.
The coyote massaged the mouse's belly. And nipped and licked at his neck, whispering gratifying things into the mouse's ears. Blowing into the mouse's ears.
Juneau's tail fell out of the coyote's rump, going limp. The pressure inside the mouse ... was tight. It kind of hurt, but the pressure ... also had a pleasure to it. Enough to make him want it. Enough to make him forget how cold it actually was in this shed.
They breathed each other, recovering. Furry forms connected.
Eventually, the coyote shrank and was able to pull out. The mouse collapsed onto his belly, panting, listening to ice crack and shudder and slide off the shed's roof. The coyote hastily got dressed, smiling down at the mouse, who weakly rolled onto his back, still in the fur. Sighing. Still in the hay. Strands of hay in his fur. Every bit the farm mouse.
"You'll make somebody a very lovely mate someday," the coyote told him genuinely, smiling, tilting his head. "Always know that. Don't be so lonely, huh? It's no good for you."
Juneau's eyes watered at his words. He nodded tenderly, sitting up, getting to his knees, saying, "I wish I knew ... how I could repay you for this. How I could ... " He sniffled. "How I could thank you ... " He trailed.
The coyote grinned, tightening his belt, zipping up his coat. "Darling, you already have." He pointed at the mouse's furry rump, below his thin tail ... coyote semen drip-dripping from his tail-hole, stringing down and landing on the mouse's fur. Dripping to the hay.
The mouse's ears blushed a rosy red.
The coyote laughed, his tail wagging, wag-wagging. And he left, bounding back into the snowball fight. His aside with the mouse ... a secret.
Juneau eventually got to his foot-paws, shivering. Shivering. Wrapping his arms and paws around himself. No hot body to warm him anymore. He clumsily dressed and trudged home.
The mouse soaked in his tub for an hour, staring at his paws through the water, and wriggling his foot-paws. Soaping up his tail. Lathering his fur with shampoo. He washed, and it was dark outside now. Sighing, he stood, remembering everything the coyote had done to him ... remembering ... and a bit of shampoo in his eyes, he blindly fumbled for the towel, jerking, twitching back when someone rubbed the soap from his eyes.
Juneau blink-blinked, whiskers twitching in surprised. The coyote. "How ... how did you get in here? I always keep the doors ... "
"I normally don't do this," the coyote interrupted, shaking a can of whipped cream, beginning to spray it on the mouse's fur, his body. His soft, soft fur. "But," he said, grinning mischievously. "I want dessert."
The mouse nodded, bolted for the kitchen. His paws padding on the floor.
Confused, the coyote turned around, calling out. "What are you doing?"
The mouse, in the fur, dripping water and whipped cream, slid back into the bathroom. A little breathless. Beaming, holding a jar of little red fruits. "Getting the cherries."
The coyote laughed and tilted his head. Howled. And jumped the mouse, whose paw managed to turn off the light before they spilled and splashed into the still-full tub of warm water.