At a Whisper
"Are you okay?" Todd asked. Over the phone. Todd's voice sounded so distant. Far away. Even if it was only a few miles, technically.
"I'm near to sleeping," the squirrel, Alexander, replied dully. "I'm keeping awake."
"So, you have insomnia?"
"Yeah. Basically."
The mouse on the other end said, "Wish I was over there." A yearning in his voice.
"Yeah," the squirrel whispered. Nodding. "So do I." Part of him, tired as he was, wanted to cry upon hearing that. Not from sadness, but from ... that somebody wanted him like that. To the point where they wanted to be with him ... in the dead of night.
After a pause, the mouse suggested, "I could come over ... "
"It's one in the morning," said Alexander, squinting at the neon-green letters on his alarm-clock/radio. "A little past that, even. It's late." He fought back a yawn, shaking his head, as if that would dissolve the yawn.
"I know, but ... I don't know."
"I don't have to work tomorrow. And I'm pretty sure," Alexander said slowly, blinking and staring at the ceiling, "You don't have to work, either." He was laying on his bed. The cord on the phone was stretched from the tiny stand next to his bed. The light coming from the lamp was dim. "I thought we could ... meet. Tomorrow."
"At my place or yours?"
"I thought we had this worked out."
"Did we?" Todd asked, sounding suddenly timid. He always backed off during arguments. Well, not always. But more often than not.
The squirrel swallowed, squinted. Rubbed his eyes. And sighed, saying, "I don't know. You're coming over here. You're in town, and I'm ... there's no one out here. My parents are gone for a week. We can walk in the field, out to the woods and the creek." Pause. "We can have some privacy," he said quietly. "You can even stay over tomorrow night," he said apprehensively. They had done things together, been intimate ... but never spent the night with each other. Not yet.
"Your voice sounds tired," Todd told him. He was always more observant. But, then, it couldn't have been difficult to figure out how tired the squirrel was.
"I can't sleep," Alexander said, sounding, for a moment, rather pitiful. But he made himself stop. He feared he was whining. "I just ... too much in my head, you know? Too many ... too many worries and fears," he said, trailing. Pausing, unblinking. Until he shook his head and said, "I don't know."
"No, I understand," Todd said.
"I shouldn't have called you, though," Alexander said, twirling the phone cord in his paws. Almost yanking the base of the phone off the desk. He cut the cord some slack, dropping it. Sitting up and reaching for a brush. Brushing his tail and scooting to the edge of the bed, where he sat. "You sure I didn't wake you up?"
"Well, I couldn't sleep, either," the mouse told him.
"Insomnia?" Alexander asked.
"I think I just had too much caffeine."
"Coffee or soda?" Alexander pressed.
"Soda. You know I don't like coffee."
The squirrel nodded, though his partner couldn't see the action. "Yeah." He took a breath, and let it out. It came out as a sigh. "You shouldn't drink all that soda. You should drink water and stuff. Soda isn't good for you."
"It won't kill you, either, though."
"No, but ... "
"Stop worrying."
"I'm not," the squirrel offered lamely.
"You're picking on me for drinking too much soda."
"It's just ... you do," the squirrel whispered, barely audible. And he closed his eyes. Let a breath out through his nose. "Dammit," he whispered.
"Get some sleep, Alex."
"Yeah."
"I mean it. Just ... try."
"I will." He nodded, whimpering a bit. Stopping himself. His head was hurting. "I'll see you tomorrow? Please, tell me I'm seeing you tomorrow ... "
"We live three miles apart, Alex. You see me every day."
"I don't know why we can't just move in with each other," the squirrel started. "It would be so much easier."
"You know it wouldn't. It would create so many more problems than ... "
"Well, I don't know why we ... "
"You know why not," the mouse whispered back.
The squirrel swallowed. Stared dully at the wall. And took a deep breath and let it out. "Yeah," he said bitterly.
"Unless you're willing to tell your family everything. About ... "
"You haven't told your family, either," the squirrel said. Defensive. "Or anyone."
"It's none of their business." Pause. "It's nobody's business how I feel ... about you, and ... and I don't want to give them an opportunity to make it their business. Maybe when we get out of school, and when we're financially stable, or ... I'm too dependent on my family right now. You're dependent on yours." Pause. "I can't lose my family. I know how they would react. I love them, but I just ... believe me, I know."
"Who would you rather lose?" the squirrel challenged. "Them or me?"
"You know that's an impossible choice," the mouse whispered, barely audible.
"Is it?"
"What about you?" Todd asked, turning the tables.
"This is ridiculous," the squirrel interrupted. "We haven't ... "
"Alex, it's late," the mouse pleaded, interrupting him in return. Not wanting an argument. Knowing how stubborn the squirrel was. Trying to stop him before he could extend this. "It's ... it's really late. I really don't want to talk about this right now." His whiskers were probably twitching. Alexander couldn't see them, of course, but ... he would bet a hundred dollars they were. Twitching.
"I just wish," the squirrel finally whispered, having forgotten about his tail and falling back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I wish none of this had to matter. I wish we could do whatever and not have to worry about ... things." Pause. "I don't know," he said again. He realized that was a phrase he used far too often: I don't know. "I wish I didn't have to sit through another math class on Monday. I'm not going into a math field. They know it. Why make me take the class? I've failed it four times. They know that, and they still ... "
"Alex ... "
"And I wish they didn't always have to tell me how quiet I was at work. 'Why don't you talk more? You're shy. You should talk more. We don't bite.' Well, I don't need to be told that every five minutes, and ... and I wish ... "
"Alex, please."
"I wish I wasn't tired," he finished.
"There would be other problems," the mouse tried to argue back. "Other struggles. Grant one wish, and you get some sort of ease, but you exchange it for another type of hardship."
"But, still ... anyway, that's too ... too lofty for me," the squirrel said, giggling for no apparent reason. Other than he was drunk with sleep. But he swallowed and nodded and said into the phone, with such delicacy, "I love you."
He could almost see the mouse blushing, his ears turning a deeper shade of pink, as he replied, "Love you, too."
The squirrel smiled. His head pounding a bit more. He grimaced. "I gotta go. I gotta try and get some sleep."
"Me, too." Pause. "Tomorrow, then."
Alexander nodded. "Tomorrow." And he hung up the phone, asking himself why he nodded and made physical gestures while on the phone, seeing as the creature on the other end couldn't see them. And he frowned and shook his head, turning off the light. "Sleep," he muttered to himself. "Sleep."
The next day, they went out for a walk. Alexander took a backpack, filled with some food, and they roamed the countryside. The earthy fields, beginning to get green. As spring crept along. They wriggled under the barbed wire fence on Alexander's property. His parents' property, rather. His family's property. He had lived here his entire life. Past the fence, they wandered the banks of the creek.
"Can you skip rocks on that?" Todd asked. Nose and whiskers twitching. Large mouse ears swivelling at the babbling sound the water made as it ran over rocks in the shallower parts of the creek.
"I guess," Alexander asked.
"You've never tried?"
"Not on the creek." Pause. "It's too shallow. On the pond ... yeah, I've skipped rocks on the pond, but not ... not on the creek."
"Just wondering." Pause. "I've never skipped rocks."
"It's just ... it's not that great," Alexander said.
"No?"
"They just bounce, bounce, bounce ... and then they sink. It's nothing spectacular."
"I know, but ... it's just something you can say you've done. You can say you've skipped rocks." The mouse shrugged. "You know?"
"I don't know," the squirrel said. And then said, "Well ... I don't know. I guess. I guess I know what you're saying." Pause. "You're saying it's an experience. One of those little, random things ... about life. Skipping rocks on the water."
"Yeah," Todd whispered.
They continued walking.
"There's a bird," said Todd.
"Where?"
"That one. Well, there are birds everywhere, but ... that one. The red one."
"The redbird," said Alexander, smiling.
"I guess that's rather ... obvious," said the mouse, laughing.
"Well, it can be called a redbird. It's technically a cardinal. A northern cardinal."
"Ah."
"They're our state bird, you know."
"I think I knew that."
"I hope you did," the squirrel teased. "That's an important fact to know."
They reached the trees, and they maneuvered through them, around them. Into the shadows. Into the thickets and clusters of bushes. Some of the plants had thorns on them.
"What are those things called?" the mouse whispered. "Those thorn trees?"
"I don't know." Pause. "You don't have to whisper. We're not being spied on out here."
"By God, maybe."
"Well ... yeah," said Alexander, squirming at the thought. But unable to deny it. "But ... you don't have to be so quiet."
The mouse nodded. But said, "You're being rather quiet, too, though."
"I guess."
"Did you finally get any sleep?"
"Some."
Todd nodded.
They reached a big, fallen trunk. It had fallen during the winter. There had been a big ice storm, and all the branches had been weighted down with ice, and the ice had become so heavy a burden ... that the tree toppled over. It broke. Snapped. And fell. And now was laying here, in warmer weather, still intact. And Alexander wondered how long it would take before it disintegrated.
"That from the ... "
"Ice storm," said Alexander, nodding.
"A lot of the trees at my house lost branches, but none of them fell over."
"I just have to wonder," said Alexander, whispering, "What it sounded like when the thing fell. If it shook the ground. I mean ... I've rested against this tree before, and then I come out here, and I see ... it's fallen. It fell." Pause. "But I never knew it. I never heard it." He swallowed. "I just wonder ... what it sounded like when it fell."
"I don't know," said the mouse.
"Well ... I just wonder." Pause. "You know ... it must've been loud. It must've unsettled the birds."
"Yeah."
"I just feel," continued Alexander, whispering again, "That I should've known that it had fallen. I feel bad," he stressed, "That I didn't know until weeks later."
"But why?" Todd asked. "Why feel bad about it, I mean? It's just a tree. And you couldn't help that it fell."
"I don't know," Alexander whispered.
"Why are you whispering?" Todd asked. "You were just telling me not to whisper, and now you're whispering."
"Oh," said the squirrel. And he shrugged. "I guess ... well, let's whisper, then." Pause. He looked around, saying quietly, "I guess out here, deep in the woods, all these shadows and trees ... it hushes you." He took in a deep, deep breath. And then slowly let it out. "I guess being hushed and humbled, in such a natural way ... doesn't it feel rather nice?" he asked the mouse, looking to him.
The mouse nodded.
The squirrel breathed. And then sat on the fallen trunk, looking around. And he took off his backpack. Unzipped it. And brought out some of the food. Strawberries. Some fruits. Two bottles of water. Some bread. Chips. Nothing heavy. Just light snack foods.
"Strawberries," said the mouse.
"I know. Aren't they great?"
He giggled. "Yeah."
"I don't know why I like them so much, but ... I do. They taste so ... fresh. If anything can taste fresh," he added.
The mouse nodded.
"Here," said Alexander. And put some strawberries into his paw.
The mouse nodded his thanks.
The squirrel nibbled on his own strawberries, watching the mouse nibble on his. And, even by watching him, his heart began to quicken. And he swallowed and shook his head and said, "Forget the food. We'll eat later."
"What?" Todd asked, twitching.
"We'll eat," whispered Alexander, his glorious, bushy tail twitching behind him, "Later." He gently tugged the mouse forward, tilting his head to kiss him. Sighing through the nose as their lips touched. As his paws and arms worked under his shirt, worked at his pants. The mouse, timid at first, began undressing the squirrel in return. Both of them trying to kiss while getting to their fur. Exchanging secretive giggles at what they were doing. At the pure feel of each other. When they were both in their fur, the squirrel hugged the mouse and smiled. Sighing deeply. "Don't you just feel ... I don't know," Alexander whispered. "Free," he settled on, "Out here?" He closed his eyes. "Feel that breeze in your fur. Hear those birds. Smell that air."
The mouse did so. "It's ... it is ... intoxicating."
The squirrel rubbed through the mouse's fur on his sides, on his chest. Ran his paws across the smaller rodent's chest. And he meekly planted a kiss on the mouse's neck. And then another. A small kiss. And then stopping.
Todd, realizing it was his turn, planted a soft kiss on the squirrel's own cheek. And his neck. They went like this for a minute or two, exchanging shy little kisses back and forth, until Alexander went for the mouse's lips again. Until they were on their knees on the ground, and until, sucking on the mouse's lips, the squirrel had his love on his back. Pausing the kissing to breathe.
The mouse wrapped his paws and arms around the squirrel's back.
"My mouse," Alexander breathed, just to hear the words. Just to say it. And he kissed Todd again. His paws felt all over him, and feeling him growing firm, he slid down the mouse's body like a snake. Slithering down. Wrapping a paw around Todd's sheath and tugging, tugging. Breathing onto it. Nibbling, nibbling.
The mouse began to pant lightly, staring up at the branches of the trees. The clouds in the sky. Blinking.
"Come on," Alexander whispered, as if his words would coax Todd's member out. He nibbled and sucked on the sheath, finally getting it. The mouse's meat sliding easily into his mouth, greeting his tongue. The tongue licking and wrapping around. Mouth sucking, and then bobbing. To the head, and then down the shaft. Wetting it.
The mouse began to squeak as the squirrel sucked with a growing vigor, and a growing care. Stimulating him so that he was writhing on the ground. Squeaking. Those squeaks ... made the squirrel's ears swivel. Aroused him even more as he worked the meat in his mouth. Carefully. Gently. And it didn't take long for the mouse to break down. For him to twitch and spurt his seed into Alexander's mouth. Alexander, his eyes closed, moaned and swallowed. And swallowed again. And after a few seconds, and a few more sucks, he pulled back. Gasping for breath. On all fours, his furry chest heaved, and he looked to his partner.
The mouse, his ears blushing severely, smiled at the squirrel. And, though timid as he was, he twisted around, moving to pin Alexander gently to the ground. He was going to work on him now. He wanted to ... desperately. After that. Wanted to hear his squirrel squeaking. So, licking his lips, the mouse descended on Alexander, who opened his legs and laid back, closing his eyes. Trying to breathe steadily. His member had already left its sheath, aroused as he'd been from sucking the mouse. The squirrel had, in fact, been silently surprised he hadn't gone off when the mouse had. The arousal had been so palpable to him.
The mouse knew the squirrel wouldn't take as long. So, he made it a point to work slowly. He sniffed, nose and whiskers twitching, at the squirrel's fur. His thighs, his hips. Nose burying and twitching through his fur.
The squirrel sighed at the gentle, probing feeling. And gave a sharp, surprised squeak as the mouse's tongue suddenly licked at the head of his member. At the slit. The mouse lapped and lapped, feeling the hot, sweaty squirrel writhe on the ground.
Todd licked again and opened his mouth, breathing out, taking Alexander in. Alexander dug his paws into the dirt before they went limp. Before he made himself just lie still and take it. The mouse's timidity made him even better at this than the squirrel was. Because he was so gentle, so soft. Took so much time. The mouse was a tease.
The squirrel writhed at each soft, wet suck. Each lick. The mouse's paws running through the fur on his hips and sides. The mouse's whiskers brushing him softly, softly. The gentle squeaks from the mouse's throat. And the squirrel squeaked and tilted his head, closing his eyes. He could feel the sun washing both of them through the gaps in the branches and trees.
The mouse sucked, sucked ...
The squirrel broke. Yelping as he shot his steaming seed into Todd's throat. As Todd squeaked and swallowed, some of it dribbling from his mouth. And when the mouse pulled up and away, panting for breath, the squirrel went for him. Kissing him deeply, wetly. Holding it for a good thirty seconds. The mouse's paws clutched at the fur on the squirrel's back. Clutched for his tail. The squirrel's whiskers twitched.
Upon breaking the kiss, they both gasped and heaved, leaning against the fallen tree trunk. The mouse leaned his head against Alexander's shoulders.
"We have all day," the squirrel whispered. "And all night."
The mouse smiled. Closed his eyes and felt the sun. Whispered, "I know." He opened his eyes, blinking. And began to groom Alexander's bushy tail. Removing the dried leaves and other bits.
"But let's take a lunch-break first. We'll start with the ... "
"Strawberries," said the mouse, meeting the squirrel's eyes. Still holding Alexander's bushy tail. Nodding, head at a tilt. "We'll finish the strawberries." He blushed and grinned.