Elevated
"Cards?"
"What?"
"Wanna play cards?"
He made a face. Shook his head. "No." Pause. He looked around the dark, broken lift. They were stuck inside. He looked back to her, frowning. His nose and whiskers twitching. "You carry a deck of cards with you?"
"Sometimes." She shrugged.
"Just ... that's kind of odd, is all."
"Is it?"
His turn to shrug.
They fell quiet.
He nervously groomed his bushy squirrel tail. Occupying himself.
They were stuck in a lift. An elevator. And it was storming fiercely outside the building. Even through all the walls, the thunder could be heard. And it was near pitch-black in the elevator, aside from the emergency light. Which was dim.
"You're looking at me again."
"I'm not," he whispered back.
Pause.
"How ... how did you know?"
"That you were ogling me?"
He blushed. Frowned. "I wasn't ogling."
"I have acute night vision. I can see better in the dark," she explained, "Than you can."
He nodded, sighing. Nose and whiskers twitching. And then looked back to her. "I've never met a sugar glider before."
She nodded.
"How come you don't have an accent? Aren't you supposed to be exotic?"
She smiled and shook her head, peering at him. "What's that supposed to mean? Exotic?"
"Like ... from far away. I don't know," he said. "You know what I mean."
"Not really," she teased.
They fell quiet again. There was a creaking sound.
"I bet the power's out ... throughout the whole building," the squirrel whispered. "I bet the cable's gonna snap, and we're gonna plummet ... "
"You shouldn't be afraid of heights. Don't you perform acrobatics in the trees?"
"Don't you?" he countered.
"We're not talking about me."
He sighed, flustered. "Well, heights is one thing ... when you're unencumbered. When you're trapped in a steel box ... or a ... whatever this thing is made of," he said, voice rising, growing panicky. Irate. He didn't like tight spaces. He wondered if the air would run out. How was air getting into here, anyway?
"We'll be fine," she whispered. "When they restore the power, the lift should start again. If not, we hit the emergency button ... eventually, we'll get out of here."
"Eventually," he whispered, echoing her.
Pause.
"We could be here for hours," he said.
"Hours," she said, echoing him this time. Instead of the other way around.
He leaned against the wall, dejected.
"I'm sure we can pass the time," she said, optimistically.
"I'm not playing cards," he mumbled, and raising his voice, added, "I can't even see."
"Doesn't have to be cards," she said slowly, as if calculating each and every word. And her whispers in the dark ... made her words sound more important than they really should've been. She had more authority in the dark. More than he did. He was helpless.
"Then what?" he asked, going back to grooming his tail.
"We can play other things." She was being coy.
He suddenly looked to her. Registering her hints. "What?" he asked, tilting his head. Squinting.
"Play."
"Play?" he echoed.
"You sound upset," she whispered to him. "When you raise your voice like that ... it's not very pleasant."
He squirmed. "Look, I don't ... I don't like tight spaces."
"So I gathered."
"I don't ... before being trapped in this ... this thing," he said, looking upward and then back down, "Before this happened, I hadn't spoken a word to any creature. Not all day long. Not anyone."
"I broke your streak? Your silent streak?"
He bit his lip, shaking his head. "I don't ... I don't let my guard down, okay? I can't ... I can't do that."
"Why not?"
"I don't wanna talk about it," he said defensively, already scolding himself for having talked too long. Saying too much.
"I'm just saying, squirrel ... we're trapped in a tight space, you know, and ... we're both healthy creatures. Why not ... play?"
His heart hammered. "Isn't that a bit ... casual?"
"It's supposed to be. That's why it's exhilarating," she whispered.
"I don't ... I don't do casual."
"I bet you don't 'do' at all," she countered. "Wouldn't you like to?"
The squirrel felt trapped. Trapped by her questions. Her probing. He wished she would stop. Wished he could claw his way out of here.
"You don't like females," she said, nodding.
"I do," he said, defensive again. "I don't ... have," he explained, "A preference."
"Oh. You go ... both ways, then?"
He frowned. "Yes," was all he said.
"So, you do like females?"
"Yes," he said again, still upset. But forced to answer. Forced to participate.
More quiet.
"I'm willing," she repeated.
He looked to her. "What ... what, is that ... that's supposed to entice me?"
She nodded seriously.
"Well ... "
"Just indulge me, huh?" she pleaded. "My word," she muttered, sighing. Trailing.
"What?"
"Loosen up."
He rolled his eyes.
"I saw that."
"What?"
"You rolled your eyes."
"You could see that? In the dark?"
"My eyes, remember?"
"Oh," he went, falling quiet.
"Look," she whispered. "Just ... come on."
"I don't want it."
"Don't want what? The intimacy?"
"The mess," he said, shrugging, bewildered. "The mess. Just ... physically, mentally. It's messy. It's ... I don't want that. I want to stay clean."
"You mean you want to stay detached? You want to stay safe?"
He looked to her.
"You don't want to open yourself up ... lest you get hurt."
"That's not what I said," he whispered.
"You didn't have to."
Pause.
"You're lonely," she told him.
He said nothing.
"Do you like subjecting yourself to that? Do you like hurting yourself? Depriving yourself of company, of love, of ... everything else companionship offers?"
"I don't know," he whispered truthfully, unblinking.
"You're addicted to your own suffering. Your own pity."
"Didn't know you were a psychologist," he whispered darkly.
"I'm not. I'm a keen observer."
"Are you?" he asked blankly.
"Yes."
Pause.
He looked to her. "You only want me ... for the experience. You don't want me for the emotion."
"Maybe I do," she said, "Want you for the emotion."
"If you did, you wouldn't press me. You would be more understanding."
"Or maybe I just see something in you ... that I wish to have. That I wish to unlock."
"Well, when a creature just randomly says they want to ... when they want to mate with me," he said, opting for a softer choice of words. "I take that as impulsive. Flimsy."
"Just let go," she told him.
"What?"
"Let go," she whispered.
"I can't," he whispered back. "It's too dangerous."
"Danger ... can feel good."
He hesitated. "You're trying to break me," he whispered.
"I'm not trying to break you. I'm trying to bring you out of your shell."
"How am I in a shell ... because I won't 'indulge' you?"
"That's not why you're in a shell. Look, we don't have to mate, but ... we're stuck here. Together. In the dark. Alone. There's a storm raging outside. This lift could snap and fall, as you said. Just ... be close to me."
He swallowed.
"I just want ... to be close," she said, "To someone. It's been so long," she said, trailing, sighing. "There aren't many of my kind, you know. Around here, anyway." Pause. "You're a squirrel. You're ... well, you're more similar to me than most creatures. Physically, anyway. I don't know." She shrugged. "I just thought it would feel good. I thought it might be nice. I just ... I want to fall asleep with my nose in another creature's fur." Pause "You don't know how much I want that."
He nodded, swallowing again. Nodding. "So, you won't discard me ... afterwards? Like some ... some worn-out plush toy?"
"I wouldn't do that," she whispered.
"How can I know that? How can I be sure?"
"You'll just have to trust me."
He looked to her. Normally, he didn't trust anyone. Sometimes, not even himself. What she was asking of him ... she was asking him to reveal everything. To bare himself in every way. And though he longed, though he ached for that kind of closeness, that kind of connection, and though he longed for some kind of companionship, some kind of love ... he wasn't sure he could face the risk of getting hurt. He hesitated.
"We don't have to do this. We don't have to do anything." Pause. "I'm sorry," she said, looking to the sealed door. "I'm sorry I brought it up."
His eyes watering, he bit his lip. Holding and hugging his own tail. Whatever damage that had been done to him ... had already been done. Self-inflicted. How could she hurt him any more than he had already hurt himself?
"I'm lonely," he whispered. Hurt.
"I know," she whispered back.
"I don't know what to do," he said, still whispering.
"Will you take a chance with me?"
Unblinking, he swallowed, taking a deep breath. And another. "Okay ... "
She crawled over to him.
"You're trembling," she said. Concerned.
"I think my mind is breaking down. I don't ... I think I'm broken," he said. Sounding pitiful. And, realizing he sounded that way, apologized for it.
"There's beauty," she told him, "In the breakdown."
He mulled over that as she quietly but efficiently got them both in the fur, and then pushing him to the floor. Softly. She rubbed his chest, ran her paws through his fur.
"Don't struggle," she told him.
"I wasn't going to," he said softly, seriously.
"Relax."
"I'm trying."
"Try harder," she whispered. And she remembered, "You were looking at me ... earlier."
"I couldn't see anything," he mumbled. He fumbled at her own fur. Holding to her hips, rubbing up to her sides. And then to her breasts, which he brushed before simply putting his arms around her. Which seemed the most comfortable thing to do.
"What were you looking at, precisely?" Her nose was against his. Lips against his. Her tail swished.
"Your fur," he whispered.
"Why?"
"Because."
"Because why?"
He squirmed. Their whiskers brushed.
She kissed him, breathing out through the nose. Pulling back.
He sighed. "Cause it's pretty." Pause. "Before the lights went out, I saw ... you were pretty."
She blushed, kissing him again. Pulling back again.
His nose and whiskers twitched. "Why don't ... shouldn't you smell like sugar?"
She laughed. "Don't know." And she sighed and looked down at him. "You okay?" she asked. "You wanna do this?"
He nodded.
So it was ... that when the lights snapped back on, and the lift jerked back into motion, the squirrel had the sugar glider pinned to the wall. Her back against the wall, her foot-paws and legs off the ground, wrapped around his back. The squirrel standing, driving into her. His bare paws on their tips, bobbing with his thrusts. His bushy tail twitching, shaking this way and that, drooping ever more by the second. Their ears swivelled in tandem, flushed and hot.
"Shouldn't ... oh, shouldn't ... shouldn't we stop?" she said, as the lift began to move. They had about a minute before it reached the ground floor. Where the doors would open. In the lobby of the building.
He squeaked. "Not ... not ... hey, you suggested this ... " He panted, breathing hot air on her cheeks, kissing them, moving to her lips. Stealing her breath and voice. She clutched at him, her webbing rubbing, wrapping over his limbs.
The dial turned and turned above the door. One floor. One floor more. Another. The lift descending.
"I'm almost there," he squeaked. Whiskers drooping.
"Hurry," was all she said. Eyes closed. Her body and fur flushed warm, as she felt spasms wrack her lower body. Jolting and rippling through her. As he pushed her past the edge. She yelped and gave a squeak, tilting her head forward as juices dripped from her. As he easily slid into her, faster, frantic. She chittered and squeezed her eyes shut, squeaking out.
And filled with her scent, her sounds, feeling her warmth, he hit his own. And felt the jerking spasms of his seed forcing itself out and into her. Such a relief. And to share it with her ... to have her hugging, holding to him. To have her nibbling on his swivelling ears. To be close. To be connected. He was suddenly weak, squeaking and sinking to the floor with her, gasping and pulling out. On all fours and looking to the floor.
"Oh," he breathed. "Oh, that was ... "
"Get dressed," she said quickly, interrupting.
Barely were they adorned ... when the elevator reached bottom. And the doors opened. And they walked out, both shaky on their foot-paws, both smelling of each other, their fur matted. Both of them breathing heavier than two creatures should've been ... having been stuck in an unmoving lift.
They managed to get out of the building without attracting too many stares.
And when they were outside, it was still raining. Still storming.
"I don't have an umbrella," the glider said, eying the sky. Squinting as the drops pelted her. Sticking to her whiskers, weighing them down.
"You can use my tail," he offered.
She smiled. "Don't think that's as waterproof as an umbrella."
He blushed and nodded. Getting soaked. But not caring. He lingered, and then said, in the glow of the streetlights, "I guess ... I guess I should catch my bus."
She eyed him warmly, sighing. Her breath visible in the cool, cool air. "I told you I wasn't gonna discard you like a worn-out plush toy ... remember?"
He nodded.
"I meant it," she said. Barely audible from the rain.
"Yeah?" he mouthed back.
She nodded. "Anyway ... that was quick and messy, yeah, but ... how about something romantic? How about we savor it?" Pause. "Don't you want to get closer? Don't you want to fall asleep with your nose in my fur?"
That sounded so nice. That sounded ... so warm. Fulfilling.
"Let's go," she said simply.
"What ... what, now? Tonight?"
"Of course. Well, we'll get something to eat first," she added.
He laughed and looked to the sidewalk, his nose and whiskers twitching as he looked back up to her. Water soaking his fur. He bit his lip. "Yeah?" he said again.
"Yeah," she said. Standing right in front of him. She kissed his nose. And then asked, "Want some ice cream? We could find a place that has ice cream. Get some to go."
He nodded, beaming. "I would like that." He blushed as he stuttered, "But aren't ... aren't you supposed to have, uh, dinner ... before, uh ... you know?"
"Sex," she whispered, grinning. "It's not a dirty word. You can do it ... but you can't say it?" she teased, tilting her head.
"It just sounds ... so raw, you know, and ... " He shrugged, blinking rain water from his eyes.
"Because it is raw. That's why it can hurt you ... if you're not careful," she told him. "But we're gonna be careful," she whispered. "We're gonna make this work, alright?"
He flushed and smiled. Didn't know what to say. At the dawn of this day, he hadn't imagined ... he would've found someone. Anyone. And now ...
"You're cute," she said. "Anyway, we're not gonna have dinner. We're gonna have a snack." Pause. "Ice cream?"
He nodded again. "I like vanilla."
"Isn't that kinda boring?"
"No, it's classic."
They were still being pelted by the rain. And they scurried off to find a place that sold ice cream. And when they got it, they took it back to her place. And more of the ice cream wound up on their paws and in their fur ... than did in their mouths, which were busy tasting each other. Not the ice cream.
And when they had finished the second time, they went to the roof of her house. And allowed the rain to soak them, wash them.
And as they lay side-by-side, staring upward, getting soaked, he reached for one of her paws. And held to it. And she turned and kissed his cheek.
And they simultaneously sighed.