Kestrel Cake
"I dreamt of kestrels."
Violet sipped her chocolate milk. Looked up. "Yeah?"
Leo nodded, his expression serious, and perhaps a bit distant. Sometimes, she couldn't tell.
"Kestrels," he repeated. Softly. His nose and whiskers twitched in absent fashion.
"In what way?"
He looked to her.
"I mean, what about them? In your dream," Violet asked. "What did they do?"
"Nothing, really," Leo said, shrugging, sipping at his own drink. Also chocolate milk, but with not as much chocolate in it ... as her drink had. She loved chocolate. His interest in chocolate, however, was only a passing fancy. He didn't need it every day, like she did. Or like she claimed she did, rather.
She waited.
"They sat on the roof ... the roof of the barn. They waited."
"For what?"
He shrugged, looking to his paws. "Me. I mean ... most likely, it was me. They were just hovering, waiting. Wagging their tails."
"I've never seen a kestrel."
"I have," he whispered. "From a distance. They wag their tails. They can hover, too."
She nodded, sipping more of her drink.
"They're actually quite pretty," he admitted, smiling. "Despite their penchant for killing and eating mice."
She frowned at him.
His head tilted to the side as he shrugged again. "Anyway, I never remember my dreams, but ... I remembered this one."
She nodded, biting her lip. Her ears went at a swivel-swivel, picking up all the sounds of the morning songbirds. And the drone of the honeybees. Sometimes, in spring, when it got warm enough, they would swarm the trees. You could step outside and hear a steady humming, so numerous were the bees. All their paper-thin wings beating in tandem. Leo didn't mind the bees. He had come to like them. Though he desperately feared wasps.
The two mice were on the steps of the front porch, at his house. The steps were concrete steps, and the mice just sat. Eating. Talking. It was morning, and it was a bit chilly and a bit cloudy. And both of them had a mug in their paws. There was a plate of bread, French bread, between them, on the concrete. There was some butter, too.
"So, it was a nightmare?" she pressed.
"I guess." Pause. "All dreams are."
"I wouldn't say that," she replied, gently. Her voice was gentle. He appreciated that, but didn't know how to respond to it. To such kindness.
"I would," was all he said, at a whisper.
She offered him a weak smile, sipping at her milk. And then she sighed and looked about. "Well, there are no kestrels out there, so ... you needn't worry."
He offered his own weak smile in return, saying nothing.
Her own smiled faded. She bit her lip and continued looking around. "I need to go," she said quietly. "It's been a nice breakfast," she told him, with an honest smile.
He nodded quietly. Smiling back. "Yeah," he whispered, eyes darting away from hers.
She sighed. Nodded. "Well," she said, standing, taking a breath. "I'll see you," she said, "Tonight."
"For supper."
"Dinner. It's called dinner."
"Supper," he repeated.
She giggled. "Whatever. At my house?"
He nodded. She lived half a mile down the gravel road. His nearest neighbor. They were out in the countryside.
She padded off the steps, to the grass. Looked about some more, as if lingering. And then walked across the yard, to the side of the road. The road was bordered by fields on the other side. Alfalfa. And on this side, where they'd been sitting, was Leo's little house. And a little barn. The barn was empty, aside from cobwebs and some rusty farm equipment and other things.
Leo watched her go. Watched the way she moved. Her motions taken so gingerly, with such delicacy. She had some kind of grace. He didn't have that. He was clumsy. He watched her trailing tail, and how her honey-brown fur seemed to glint golden in the light.
And the mouse sighed. And then put the mugs on the plate of bread, and then carried it all back inside, to the kitchen. Which was reached through the porch. The porch had a swinging screen-door. The kind that sort of whistled on its hinges when it opened and shut.
He had all day to linger. Leo had all day to work. To write, maybe. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing, really, or a bad one. He frowned.
Later, with light jazz bouncing out of the CD player, Leo smiled, twirling about a bit. His thin tail trailing behind him. Bobbing on the tips of his foot-paws. Forgetting, for a moment, that he viewed himself as clumsy. He twirled and sauntered about, and giggled a bit. Sipping pink lemonade. He felt that pink lemonade was somehow extravagant. Tame. Yet sweet. It blushed. It was unique. He liked that. So, he sipped it as he moved, as his ears swivelled at the sounds of the music. Piano, vibes, saxes, trumpet. Flutes. Drums and bass. Percussion. A hilly, sunny sound, and he smiled, giggling some more. And sighed.
He set his drink down on his desk. Which was neatly organized. Very neatly organized. Papers and books stacked here and there, in very precise arrangements. And always at angles. He kept most things at angles. He loved angles. Geometry's perfect shape, the angle. The triangle. He smiled to himself. Shaking his head, sitting down in the folding chair that had been tucked up against the desk. And, taking a pen in paw, he sighed. The music still washing over his keen ears. But he frowned now, staring at blank pieces of loose-leaf paper.
He paused. Swallowing. His nose and whiskers twitched. And he tilted his head, unsure. He didn't know what to write about. Or maybe he wasn't in the mood. Maybe I shouldn't push myself, he thought. A dozen things ran through his mind, a dozen thoughts. More like a baker's dozen, he thought sarcastically. Or more than that. He frowned. Sighed. Told his mind to be quiet. Let me concentrate.
Kestrels. He would write about kestrels. About their fierce, dark gazes, their eyes like black holes. Those curved and deadly beaks, built for tearing through fur and flesh and who knew what else. About those colors, those amber-browns and bluish-greys, about their handsome, pretty appearance. Their agility, their nimbleness. How deceptive they could be. Leo had to appreciate them, at least. Them and all other birds of prey. All other predators. Being a mouse, being prey ... he either had to appreciate and accept them, and know his place. Or fear them and fight the laws of nature. And he wasn't about to do the latter. Though he did fear them. His dream last night ... hadn't been a pleasant one. But it was a justified, acceptable fear. It had to be felt. I'm a mouse, he knew. I'm prey. Fear lets you know you're alive.
He sighed and dropped his pen, leaning back. The music on the CD player had come to a stop. The end of the album had been reached, apparently. He would have to put in a new one. And his eyes wandered down to what he'd written so far. His paw-writing in flowing cursive. He stared at it, blankly. Mind already jotting forward to tonight. To supper. With Violet. He sighed and then picked up the pen. He would write about her. In the silence, with the music having stopped, and sitting here at this desk ... he would just write about her.
He arrived at her door at dusk, just before evening. Crickets and night-bugs had begun their chirping. And frogs from the creek had joined them. Taking a deep breath, Leo waited. A nervous, twitching mouse.
Violet opened the door, smiling.
"You look pretty," he said softly. She was wearing a deep blue dress, with thin shoulder-straps. And she had a blue bow in her head-fur. She even had a bow tied around her tail-tip. He wasn't dressed as formally as she was. He was sure he didn't look as good, anyway.
She smiled and laughed airily. Nodding her thanks. "Well," she gestured with a paw. "Come in, huh?"
He nodded shyly, biting his lip as he smiled. And stepped in.
"What's that?" she said as she closed the door.
"Hmm?"
She nodded at his paws. "That piece of paper."
He quivered a bit. "Um ... well, I got to writing, and then I wrote a few ... poems." He shrugged. Giving it to her.
She smiled, eyes scanning the words. Looked to him. Blushed a bit, and then kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she whispered.
His ears flushed.
"Come on. I've made dinner."
"Supper?" he teased.
"Dinner. Spaghetti."
"And breadsticks?"
"Of course."
They went to her kitchen. A small table was there, with the food set out. A little, boxy radio (that also had the time, in neon-green numbers) was on the counter, playing some kind of light jazz.
"I was listening to stuff like that," Leo told her, smiling. "Earlier."
"Yeah?"
They sat down opposite each other.
He nodded.
"It's nice," she told him. "It's pleasant. I found a station that was playing it, and just ... left it there."
He nodded again.
There was a single candle in the middle of the table. A flame flapping.
Leo's nose twitched and twitched at the food. "It smells good."
"Well, try it." She nodded.
He took a fork in his paw. Twirled the noodles, covered in tomato sauce, around and around the spines of the fork. And then guided them to his mouth. He nodded, chewing, swallowing. Smiling.
"Well, I'm glad it's palatable," she said with a light laugh.
"It's good."
She nodded, eating some herself. "I put some olive oil in the water, before I boiled it. I don't know what it does. Do you think it made a difference?"
"I suppose." He continued eating. Taking a sip from the glass of ice water that was beside his plate. Condensation on the glass, droplets dripping down. Getting onto his paws as he set the glass back down. Nose and whiskers twitching. Tail lazily snaking back and forth behind him.
She reached for a breadstick. Dipped it in a bowl of melted, mild cheese. Took a bite. She tilted her head as she chewed and swallowed. "So, what've you been doing all day, huh?" she asked, sipping some water.
"Not much," he said.
"You always say that. That's too easy an answer. You know what it is?"
He didn't.
"An excuse."
"Is not," he defended. "It's the truth." He shrugged.
"You need to find worth," she told him, "In the small things." She pointed half a breadstick at him.
"I do."
"You always answer, when I ask you," she told him, "What you've done, you say, 'nothing,' or, 'not much.' But you wrote, didn't you? You wrote those poems?"
He blushed. "Yeah."
"And they were lovely. There. You accomplished something. What else did you do?"
"I vacuumed." He nibbled on a breadstick. "And then the vacuum got clogged up with dust and strands of fur, and then it back-fired on me. Took me an hour to fix it." He frowned.
She held back a giggle. "Well, there. You did something else. You cleaned your house. An accomplishment."
"Yeah, but that's not really doing anything."
"Well, it's not doing nothing, is it?"
He frowned, finishing the spaghetti on his plate. "You're confusing me."
She smiled, tilted her head. Nibbled on the rest of the breadstick.
They ate the rest of their meal in relative quiet, just listening to the music. Just eating and sitting.
"I made dessert," she finally said, standing and moving the dishes from the table to the sink. Washing them. He went to her side.
"Let me do those."
"What?"
"The dishes."
"I've got them."
"No, but ... "
"I made a cake. You should get it out."
Leo looked to her. "What kind of cake?"
Violet grinned. A sort of wicked grin. She tilted her head over to the counter. "Over there. On the counter. Underneath that dish towel."
He gave her a sly, suspicious look, sliding toward the cake, taking the towel off of it. He made a face and shook his head, unable to hide his amusement.
"Well, don't you think that's ingenious? It took some doing, to shape it like that."
"A kestrel," he said, nodding. The cake was shaped like a bird of prey. Had chocolate frosting, some other types of frosting.
"It's a bit of an amalgam, but ... the inside is vanilla. It should taste good. But instead of having to worry about the predators eating us," she told him, sliding over to his side, standing beside him. "We can eat them. Only," she said, shrugging, "In not so vicious a way." Pause. She smiled. "I thought it might be a nice remedy for your nightmare. Help you get over your fear."
He was about to object, about to say he had no fear, had no ... but he shut his mouth. Anyway, it wouldn't have been true. He did have fears. They occupied every corner of his being. He compressed them, compartmentalized them, but they were still there. Waiting for him to make a mental error, so they could ... spring upon him. Overwhelm him.
Leo nodded, eyes on the cake. A smile melting to his face. "Thank you." He glanced at her, feeling suddenly humbled. Or something. He wasn't sure. But she was so kind to him. His ears flushed a deeper shade of pink.
She smiled wider. Her whiskers twitched in bright fashion. She motioned with her paws. "Well, take it to the table, then. I'll have an end piece. A talon. You can take a wing-piece.." She went and sat back down in her chair, while he served them both, and then filling two mugs with plain milk from a glass bottle in her refrigerator.
They nibbled on cake. Sipped milk. The music was still playing on the boxy radio. And the flame was still flapping on the candle, though at a lower height than before. Outside, it was now completely dark. Mostly clear. A late-spring night, dry and chirping. Anticipating.
"This is good," Leo told her.
"The cake?" Violet asked.
He nodded. "Well ... all of it."
She smiled at him. "Thank you." She gave him a polite nod, a tilt of her head. He returned the gesture, sipping at his milk.
When they were done with dessert, and had done the dishes, she looked to him. The radio was still on. Still the light jazz. She took hold of his paws, tugging him towards her.
"You lead," she whispered into his ear.
"What?"
"Dancing. Come on," she said, smiling, nudging him.
He swallowed and nodded. "I'm not a good dancer," he started to object.
"Well, that's hardly the point," she whispered back. Gently shushing him.
He took a breath, letting it out. Nodded. And they swayed, slowly, to the music. She closed her eyes and leaned her head on his shoulder. Her large mouse ears swivelled a bit. She opened her eyes and looked into his eyes.
"I can hear your heart," she told him.
"Yeah?"
"It's gonna wear itself out, going that fast."
He blushed. Shrugged.
"Relax," she told him. "Dancing isn't so much about ... about form, really, as it is," she said, swaying, turning in a sudden circle with him. "As it is about simple movement. Moving together. Even if its clumsy," she said.
"I guess," Leo whispered.
"I knew you were gonna say that."
"Yeah?"
Violet nodded, eyes sparkling. And she nodded again.
He laughed softly. "So, I'm predictable?"
"Not entirely."
"That's not really answering the question."
"No?" she said coyly, smiling.
He tilted his head down a bit, to the side. Met her lips. A short kiss. He pulled back, ears and nose blushing, twitching.
She leaned forward and returned the kiss, their whiskers brushing.
He retaliated, kissing her cheek.
She kissed his neck.
They continued their kissing volley, slowly gliding, moving out of the kitchen and into the living room. Until they were next to the couch. And she gave him a playful push. He fell to the couch cushions, and she leaned down on top of him, her nose touching his. The music sounded dim from in here, but could still be heard.
She kissed him again. This time a longer, wetter kiss.
His nose flared, whiskers twitching.
They continued to kiss for a minute more. Lips, tongues meeting. Both of them breathing faster.
"Why do I feel drunk?" she whispered, locking to his lips.
"I don't know," he managed to reply, giving an airy squeak. "I feel a bit ... dizzy," he said, silenced by another kiss.
She giggled, the kiss broken, her nose nuzzling against his. "You just must be an intoxicating creature."
"I can hardly," he said, tilting his head as she kissed his cheek. "Can hardly intoxicate myself, if I'm the intoxicating element. I should be ... immune. So, why am I dizzy?"
"Maybe I'm intoxicating, too." She kissed his forehead.
He smiled, ears flushing. "That must be it," he whispered.
"I guess we're both in," she breathed, "Over our ears."
He swallowed and nodded, taking a deep breath through his twitching nose. His paws sliding around her back. Up to her shoulders. He was fumbling at her dress. She, in turn, had her paws on his own attire, trying to disrobe him. They wordlessly, still exchanging kisses, writhed and wriggled about until they were wearing only their fur.
His nose sniffed and sniffed at her fur, nosing her shoulder. "You smell like flowers," he whispered.
"Do I?"
He sniffed again. Nodding. Letting out a breath.
She sat up a bit, straddling his belly, rubbing his chest with her paws.
He looked up at her through half-open eyes. The room was dim. The room was warm.
One of her paws tugged at his whiskers, the other tracing patterns on his chest.
Both his paws went to her sides. They moved up and down, scritching and ruffling through her light-brown fur.
She leaned back a bit, arching at his caresses. And then leaned down and kissed him again. Their noses twitching and flaring for breath. And she broke the kiss and sat back up, his paws now brushing her furry breasts. She sighed.
His ears were at a rising flush, at a simmering burn. She put her paws on them, taking their temperature.
He allowed the pads of his paws to travel across her nipples, softly rubbing them. She gave her own airy squeak.
Her own half-open eyes met his.
He blinked.
"You okay?" she mouthed.
He nodded weakly. "Are you?"
She nodded, too. Smiling, tilting her head. Leaning down and nuzzling his nose. Sitting up once more.
He smiled back at her, ears and nose flushed.
She let out a sigh, paws on his chest again. She looked at him, smiling softly. "What are we gonna do with you, huh?"
He smiled, radiating a hint of shyness. She liked that about him. His shyness. His total lack of arrogance. His modesty.
His eventual response was, "I don't know."
"Well, we'll find something." She squeezed his paw. He squeezed hers back. And she let go of his paw as she slid back a bit, legs opening wider. She knew he was already firm. She felt his member run, rub under her as she slid back over it. She let out a breath, tilting her head. And she swallowed and took another breath, using her tail, coiling her tail around his member and holding and pointing it toward her. To where it needed to go.
She could feel his furry chest rising and falling faster. Could feel the heat from his fur. She raised upward a bit and then lowered back down, sinking. Allowing his mouse-hood to spear her, to slide through and into her wet warmth. Parting her. She let out a deep sigh, closing her eyes and leaning her head back.
He let out a squeak, paws clutching at her hips. Ears burning by now. And her tail, which was free, searched for his. When it tapped into his tail, he coiled his tail around hers, like two strands of string weaving around each other.
She began to bob up and down on him, paws keeping his chest pinned down. He allowed his eyes to close, panting for breath. His whiskers twitched. His tail snaked about, coiled with hers, until their tails, still threaded together, fell off the side of the couch and hung to the floor. Limp.
She bobbed faster, rising and letting herself fall. Each time, his member plowing to the hilt, rubbing through hot, slick muscle. She felt herself close around him. Felt a slight flutter as she began to move faster, more eagerly. Bouncing on him. Beginning to squeak out.
He squeaked, helplessly, in tandem with her. Paws clutching at the fur on her sides, her hips, trying to hold to her as she rose and fell, as she controlled every movement, as she worked them both into a sweaty, squeaking frenzy.
She slowed down a bit, panting. Squeaking. "I want ... want this to happen," she tried to say, tilting her head, breathing out. She swallowed. "At the same ... same time." She looked to him. Her whiskers drooping from the heat they were both giving off. "Got it?"
He nodded weakly.
"Just squeeze my paw," she said, momentarily pausing. Resting with him completely embedded in her. "Squeeze my paw when you feel it coming."
He nodded again.
She swallowed, leaning her head back, taking a deep breath. And paws on his chest, began to bob again. Head tilting forward as she breathed out, as her paw-tips tingled.
He writhed and squirmed beneath her, squeaking. His whiskers twitched. She held her paws to him, leaning down and whispering into his ear. Gave his ear a lick or two before sitting back up. He felt his seed tickling, trickling through his shaft. Felt his fur flush. He tilted his head back, eyes closed again, squeaking. His paw fumbled blindly and desperately for hers. She saw it and grabbed to it, and he squeezed her paw.
She nodded, working faster, maneuvering onto him and steering him into her ... in such a way as to push her closer to the edge. And she knew she was there. They were there. And he hit first.
He squeaked out, panting, going limp on the cushions as it washed over him. A wave of jolting pleasure, simply soaking through his fur and limps. Causing him to gasp at every spurt. As his seed was sown into her. He whimpered out her name, eyes watered shut.
She felt his seed shoot into her, warm, wet. The sensation, his spasms ... brought on her own. And she shuddered and shivered and squeaked out as it happened. She leaned over him, feeling herself close on him, milking him. She squeaked into his mouth, panting. Their lips and noses brushing, whiskers twitching. Before they fell into a slobbering kiss. And when she pulled back, after it was done, she let out a deep sigh.
"Oh," she breathed. Breathing again. She leaned her head down and forward, closing her eyes. She stayed on him for a moment. He was panting and regaining his breath. He still held to her paw. His eyes were closed, too.
And, a minute later, their eyes were open. And they looked to each other. She maneuvered off of him, so that he slipped out. And she wriggled next to him on the couch, laying with him.
"Well," she went, licking her dry lips. "I guess that was the cure for our drunkenness."
He laughed, ears flushing, but the color was descending to its normal shade of pink. The blood was running out, cooling his ears. "I guess so," he eventually whispered, when he'd clamped down on his giggles. He took a deep breath.
"We should celebrate," she told him, sitting up. Paws back on his chest. And a few minutes later, they were in her bed, with its blue sheets and dark-blue pillows. They giggled as their noses nuzzled. She tugged at his whiskers. He held her tail. They sighed, feeding each other with kestrel cake.
"Your bed's gonna have crumbs all over," Leo told her.
"And strands of your loose fur," Violet said, pausing and looking to him, smiling. "Leo, I don't care. Life's messy. Let's be a mess, huh?"
He blushed, nodded. Smiled. "Okay," he whispered. "As long," he added, still smiling at her, "As long as we can get clean ... eventually."
She put her nose against his. "Squeaky clean," she promised.
He laughed and squeaked as she leaned back onto the bed, pulling him down on top of her. Both of them indulging in the cake, and indulging in each other.