A pot was boiling on medium-high heat. The air was a bit steamy, smelling of melted butter, scattered flour, and sliced, green vegetables (broccoli, mostly; but a bit of celery, too). A bottle of amber-colored virgin olive oil was lying sideways, with the lid tightly screwed shut, on the smooth counter-top, next to a half-empty plastic gallon of Vitamin D milk (chemically-laden store-milk; not the real, fresh-from-the-Jersey cows milk that Ross had grown up on and still preferred). The modest, glass salt and pepper shakers had been set aside, to the back of the pearl-white stove. And the cow creamer, the quaint, little cream-pitcher shaped like a cow, watched the scene with its muzzle agape.

" ... what are you ... " A chitter-squeak. Squeak! His twitched all about, looking, looking, squinting.

" ... do not take my wooden spoon," was the primped and polished statement, her tall, slender ears twiddling. "I am still using it." She brushed up beside him, trying to block his way, trying to nudge him back.

" ... doing? What are you doing?" He squirmed, wriggling around her (in that way that only rodents could do) and instinctively reached for the spoon (despite her request). He paused for a moment, confused, whiskers twitching, his senses trying to interpret all they were being given. He'd just gotten back from one of his summer school classes. It was late-afternoon, but the sun was hours from setting.

"Ross ... " A furrow of her snowy-white brow. Her version of a frown. Her holy-white flame of a bobtail flicker-flicked. She had flour on her tank-top shirt (the powdery ingredient matching the color of her fur; oh, her pelt had the look of everything pure). She gave a bit of a sigh.

"What are you doing, though? I mean ... huh?" Ross eventually managed, quite squeakily, whiskers all a-twitch, dishy ears arched and swiveling. The meadow mouse surveyed their small apartment with tail-wavering concern. More specifically, he surveyed the kitchen area. (You couldn't really call it a proper kitchen. But, then, you couldn't call this apartment a proper home, either.) It looked to be a total mess. Pots, pans, utensils, flour, salt, dishcloths, et cetera. "And this is MY wooden spoon," he added, finally removing it from a steaming pot on the stove. Squinting at it, putting his nose close to it. "What ... " A sniffy-twitch.

"I did not know you OWNED our spoons," was the slightly-bristling interruption. "Perhaps, if you wish for that wooden spoon," she declared, "to be marked as solely yours, you should use your big incisors and gnaw your name into it."

A heavy sigh, the vole letting out a deep breath, padding (in his bare foot-paws) closer to the sink, delicately washing the spoon under the silvery spout (with water and berry-scented dish-soap). Then shaking it dry, rubbing it on a towel, and scuffling back to the stove-top. Another sigh. "Darling ... "

The snow rabbit, brow raised, looked to him. Waiting for it. Her arms actually went to a cross.

A few more breaths. Finishing with, " ... you can't cook." He gave her an apologetic look, before sniff-sniffing, peering into a big, silver pan. "You know that. You can't ... cook." A sniff-sniff. "Soup? Broccoli ... "

" ... soup, yes. I know it is one of your favorite foods," she whispered. "I was going to toast some French bread. Have some pasta noodles with white cheese sauce, and ... " She trailed. Obviously, as the scene witnessed, her intentions hadn't been fulfilled with much success. She hadn't been able to get past the soup.

Ross hesitated.

Aria relaxed. Her arms uncrossing, her eyes darting a bit. She cleared her throat. "I had hoped," she explained, "to surprise you ... in a good way," she added, her whiskers giving a singular twitch. Her cool, black nose giving a sniff or two. "I am sorry."

Ross, pulling back from the pan, looked to her. He couldn't help but smile, just a bit. And just a bit more. Until the dimples showed on his earthy-furred cheeks. "Darling, it's ... you've nothing to be sorry for," he whispered, taking a breath. The smile faded, his whiskers twitching. "It's my fault. I, uh ... I appreciate what you're trying to do here." A breath. "Honestly. I didn't mean to make you feel bad ... "

"I cannot feel bad. I can only ... "

" ... you can," he whispered, knowingly. "Don't give me that, okay? You can't show it to me, maybe, but ... it's there." A pause. "I didn't mean to, uh ... look, it's ... " He looked back to the mess. And made a bit of a face. Mouses were very tidy creatures. And he, himself, had a tendency to be obsessive-compulsive (more than a tendency, actually). "What happened, huh? Looks like an explosion went off in here ... "

"Soup is much harder to make from scratch than the cookbook would have you believe," was her simple, non-explanatory answer, her posture all proper. As if the cookbook had offended her sensibilities, had offended her sense of logic.

Ross looked back to her, smiling. "Yeah?"

A tilt of her head.

And, after a moment, the meadow mouse gave a little sigh and stepped toward the snow rabbit. Arms opening, going around her warm, soft, familiar body. Pulling her into a tender, apologetic hug. He took a deep breath of her comforting, intimate scent. "I'm sorry," he whispered again. "I just, uh ... I'm just a bit tired. It's hot outside, and the class was, uh ... long, and, uh ... it just flustered me to walk in here and see such a ... "

" ... mess?" she whispered, her nose in his dirt-brown neck-fur, breathing his scent in return.

A little nod on his part.

"Well, I did not anticipate on producing a mess," Aria assured, honestly. Eye-smiling, now. Her ice-blue eyes sparkling just a tiny bit. "It just sort of ... got out of paw," she explained, pulling her head back. To meet gazes with her husband.

"You can't cook," Ross whispered again, playfully. Smiling. His whiskers twitched, as he continued, "Why is that, huh? You can design things, fix engines, work mathematical equations in your head, but ... " The slightest of giggle-squeaks. " ... you can't put together a few ingredients? I just, uh ... " A giggle-squeak, tail snaking about like a live-wire, its motion seemingly dictated by his emotional currents.

"Cooking is an art, is it not? Rather than a science?" she posed. "I've a logical, scientific mind. It only stands to reason that ... "

" ... snow rabbits shouldn't make homemade soup without proper supervision?" Ross finished, beaming.

"I would not go so far as to say that," Aria countered, raising her brow teasingly. And planting a kiss on Ross's forehead.

The meadow mouse closed his eyes as he gladly accepted the tender kiss. "Well, if you knew this would happen, how come you tried?"

"I do not like problems I cannot solve. Cooking is something ... that I cannot figure out. I am not content to leave it that way."

"In other words," he whispered, eyes still closed, "you're stubborn?"

"Driven," she corrected.

"Driven ... ah, I see." His eyes opened. A giggle-squeak, and he breathed in through his pink sniffy-twitching nose. And let the breath go. And took another. And said, very quietly, "Well ... I've nothing against your drive. After all, I'm the submissive one," he added. "Your drive has a great allure to me. But I think, in future, if you want to ‘solve' the ‘art of cooking' ... that you, uh, make sure you don't do it without me?"

A slight pause, flooding with gentle, contained mirth. "Agreed," she whispered back to him, nuzzling him. "Am I still allowed to microwave things? Or make grilled cheese sandwiches? Or boil vegetables?"

"Well, maybe. Maybe," he mock-relented. "Alright, let's say: if it involves more ingredients than you can count on your paw, you make sure that I'm around."

"What would I do," she breathed, almost inaudibly, her lips an inch from his own. "What would I do without you ... "

" ... starve?" was the smiling response. Equally quiet.

"You are being," she told him, lips going closer. Brushing, now. Her bobtail flickered pleasantly. "You are being a most cheeky mouse right now ... "

" ... really?"

Her lips pressing to his own. Pressing, wetly, hotly. With a loving passion. "Mm ... mm-hmm," she went, breaking the kiss with a smack-sound, inhaling through the nose as she leaned back. "Yes," she stated, nodding for extra emphasis. "And I think I rather like it."

This prompted Ross into a dose of giggle-squeaking.

Aria eye-smiled and began to nuzzle him, hugging him dearly. Nuzzle-nosing in soft, delicate ways, expressing such affection, such knowing. And, indeed, there was a great sense of ‘knowing' between them. All they had been through. The ways they had helped each other, fixed each other. Some days were harder than others.

And today?

Today was one of those bright, burning days, when you broke into a sweat by simply walking out the door. When you woke up with a prayer in your mind. When you woke up praising God for this chance, this opportunity. This life. These blessings. Oh, you awoke with praise on your tongue!

And you walked through the day with a breezy bounce to your step, safe in the knowledge of your redemption, your salvation at the cross. That, no matter what happened, Christ was risen. No matter what happened, your soul was safe. Eternal life was there, on the other side of this mortal coil. There would be no shuffling off into nothingness. Only a shift into something greater, something the mind couldn't begin to comprehend. Like ants, we are, trying to comprehend the blurry giant that looms so largely over us. Oh, but we are so small, and yet our egos would have us believe we are great.

And, all these things in the back of his mind, Ross held tightly to his love. Tightly, dearly, not wanting to let go. Oh, Aria, his wife. He held to her, nuzzling her as she nuzzled him. Oh, that this bright, blue, sunny day may go on and on! Oh, that life may always be so crystalline! And, oh, they nuzzled.

For what was life without nuzzles?

Nuzzles were just as necessary as food, surely.

And, eventually, the snow rabbit pulled back a bit, whispering, "Will you at least taste it? My soup? Perhaps it won't be as bad as ... "

" ... it looks?"

A head-tilt of acknowledgment.

"Mm ... alright," was the hesitation. He might as well try it. After all, she did go to all this trouble to make it.

"Your tone is very inspiring to my confidence," was her tease.

"Well, uh ... look, I'll taste it. I will. I said I would," he assured. So, biting his lip, he reached for a small, silvery spoon, trying not to giggle-squeak (even more) as Aria removed the softly-steaming soup-pot from the stove-top.

"Burner. The burner ... "

She gave him a patient look. That only a wife could give. "I will remember to turn the burner off. I will not burn down our apartment. I am a snow rabbit," she reminded. "We are renowned for our mental capacity."

"Among other things," Ross whispered, giving a grinning wink. Unable to help the comment. He quickly raised his paws. "Sorry ... sorry ... "

" ... I was not offended," she responded. "And if snow rabbits were the frivolous, winking sorts, I would wink back at you. But an eye-smile will have to suffice."

Ross giggle-chittered, sighing. "Oh. Aria ... " He smiled at her.

"My soup?" she reminded, patiently, warmly.

"Course. Course. Your soup ... " He cleared his throat. And, standing right beside her, he dipped his spoon into the contents of the good-sized pot. "It, uh ... it looks decent enough," he commented, withdrawing the spoon, shifting on his foot-paws a bit. Leaning over the sink as he blew several breaths, trying to cool the spoonful down. Not wanting to burn his muzzle or his tongue. And, after a few moments, he daintily slipped it inside his muzzle, closing his lips. Withdrawing the spoon and squinting, nodding. "Mm ... " A head tilt, and another nod, the stuff on his tongue.

Aria raised her brow, curiously. "Is it ... "

" ... mm-mm." A shake of the head, and he grimaced as he swallowed, giving a shiver-squeak. He could've spit it out in the sink, but that would've rude. And mouses weren't much for spitting. "Tastes like, uh ... dough, or clay, or something. I don't even know ... " He made a ‘bleh' sound, flicking his modest tongue around, swallowing repeatedly.

Aria eye-smiled, watching Ross contort his muzzle. "Perhaps it just needed more salt?" she suggested, with her restrained sense of play. "If I add some spices, will you try another ... "

" ... uh, no thank you, no. Uh ... "

Aria looked to him, brightly.

He looked back. "It was, uh ... well, maybe next time," he said, "it'll turn out better."

"I probably used too much flour."

A nod. "You did. You definitely did."

Looking around, the snow rabbit added, "At least I did not start on the pasta ... or the bread."

"It's hard to ruin pasta or bread, though," Ross assured her, gently dropping his tasting-spoon into the sink. Reaching for dish-cloth, now, as well as the yellow and green sponge. He wetted the sponge, beginning to clean things up.

Aria, leaning against the oven, just watched him and responded to his words with, "Knowing my track record, would you place bets on that? On whether I could ruin pasta and bread?"

A hesitation, moving the sponge around in little, soapy circles. And then dabbing the dishcloth to soak up the wet. "As your husband, and as someone who shares your bed, I'm not gonna push it by, uh ... honestly answering that."

"Then you would be a very wise mouse," Aria responded, eyes sparkling with mischief, her bobtail giving a few flickers. "Though I cannot imagine a scenario where I would not wish for your presence under the sheets ... both in play and in sleep." A breath. And a sigh. And a bit of a rabbit-purr. "As long as we both shall live, as long as it is within my power, neither of us will rest alone."

Ross smiled. And let out a small breath. Remarking, "If smiles could be made into soups, I could make us a banquet right now. I guess I can't help but ... smile like a broken record, sometimes. You know?"

"Am I to take that as a ‘poetic' way of saying you are happy?"

"I wouldn't say it's very poetic. But, yes," he answered, "I am happy." A paw reached out, his fingers brushing through her so-soft, snowy-white fur. Oh, what a pelt she had. "Darling," he whispered, just to say it. His voice trailed. And he withdrew his paw (reluctantly), returning to the cleaning.

After a moment of silence, Aria, still leaning against the stove, said, "There is now the matter of supper ... it will soon be dinnertime. And I have ruined our main course."

"Nonsense. I mean, you didn't start on that other stuff, right? You just said? So, we can have that for supper ... uh, white cheese sauce on pasta, French bread. We'll just have to go soup-less. It'll still be a big enough meal, though ... what else we got?"

"I have no idea what we ‘got'," she said, teasing his word-choice. "But I do know what we have."

"Well, what do we have, then, mm?" A squeaky smile.

"We have carrots in the fridge," she said. "Baby carrots. And celery sticks."

"Yeah? Oh, uh, we still have that mild cheddar cheese-block I can slice that up," Ross noted. A deep breath. "So, pasta, bread, carrots, cheese ... our supper is still salvageable, see? You didn't ruin anything," Ross assured, giving a little nod, his whiskers twitching.

"I am glad to hear it," was Aria's simple, relieved response, as she shuffled up behind him. Her bare foot-paws making gentle sounds as they scuff-scooted on the white-and-green-tiled floor. And the snow rabbit reached out.

And the meadow mouse stopped his sponging and cleaning. Very nearly done with it, but having just a little bit more to do. "You've, uh ... you've got my tail."

"I do," was the snow rabbit's simple statement. She was slowly, sensuously wrapping it around her paw, around her wrist. As if reeling him in.

"Uh, I, uh ... we gotta make supper. Aren't you still hungry?"

"Of course," she whispered, tail sufficiently trapped in her paw. A few tugs, making him squeak. His tail wasn't as erogenous as his ears were, no. But, still, it was lined with countless, thin, invisible hairs. Which allowed him to sense pressure and temperature. And, by stroking those hairs, she could weaken his resolve. "I'm still," she emphasized, "hungry." A few soft, slow strokes of his tail. "Mm ... still hungry," she whispered, as if trying to drive the point home.

It took the mouse a moment. But just a moment. "Oh."

"Yes. Oh." Her pupils were fully-dilated, now. Rabbits were very virile creatures. And she'd just been flushed with a great deal of virility.
"Oh," he said again, taking a deeper breath. "Well, uh ... "

" ... the couch is only a few seconds away," Aria whispered, almost desperately. Her voice catching. She swallowed, sighing heavily.

The mouse did a half-turn, smiling shyly, eying her. "You got flour on your clothes."

"I will be taking the clothes off. The flour will not get onto the couch-cushions, rest assured," was her eye-smiling promise. "Do I need to be more direct than I am currently being? Do I need to ask you to have ... "

" ... no. No, uh ... "

" ... sex with me?"

"No, you, uh ... you don't need to ask," Ross whispered, blushing beneath his cheek-fur, ears flushing, becoming rosy-pink. A deep exhale. "Um ... hold on. Let me finish cleaning the counter-top?" he half-stated, half-asked. "I just got a few more spots to ... "

" ... tidiness can wait." Another tug of his tail, before her paws let it go. Before she reached to his sides, trying to turn him around, trying to pull his body closer to hers. Trying to weaken him at the knees.

"You've, uh ... you're suddenly very ‘rabbity'," Ross noticed, pupils dilating. He swallowed, giving an airy chitter.

"A rabbit's ‘need' is like a wave. It hits me. I am soaked, and ... you must now provide the heat to dry me off."

Ross licked his lips, swallowing. Had the temperature risen in here? "I guess I should, uh, know by now ... you've got an insatiable appetite, darling." A swallow. "Thankfully," he added, hotly, becoming very flustered. Becoming a bit hazy.

"That I do ... that," she whispered, "I do." A huff. "Besides," she continued, "it's been, what, six hours? Since lunch? I need to re-set my cycle, defuse my ... peak," she breathed. "I'm sure you do, too." She pawed at him needily, eyes sparking with mischief, with that restrained, frozen-back sense of play. "Come to the couch ... "

"Yeah ... it must be, uh, about time for another, uh, go at ... "

" ... come on," she whispered, body pulsing, heart hammering. She wasn't going to take no for an answer. She simply pulled him toward the couch, which was free from sunlight. As their downtown apartment faced east, toward the modest, glittering skyline, and it was nearing five-o'clock. They lived on the fourth (and top) story of their building, which had a beautiful view, really. They couldn't complain. Though they'd rather be looking at green fields and sycamore trees and snaking creeks. They'd rather have the unparalleled nature, the teeming life, the spiritual serenity and privacy of the countryside.

But, alas, that (along with supper and a few other things) would have to wait.

Shuffle-scoot.

The shuffling of foot-paws.

Tug-pull.

Swaying round, round, around.

An ‘oomph' from Ross!

And a rabbit-purr from her. With a lesser ‘mmf,' as she, having tossed him to the couch, settled atop of him.

They were both horizontally sprawled on the cushions, now, the meadow mouse naturally on the bottom, beneath her.

Softly, Aria was breathing, shifting a bit, trying to undress. Whispering, "Summer here ... there's not enough sun. Have you noticed that?"

"Not enough, uh ... sun?" Ross squeaked, blinking. "I, uh ... well, it hasn't rained that much. I mean, it was so wet and miserable all winter and spring, but ... "

" ... no, I mean," she panted, "the length of the day." Her bobtail flick-flicked.

"Oh. Well ... " He swallowed as Aria's tank-top came off. As it went flying to the carpet, on the other side of the coffee table. His bluish eyes widened, darting a bit, drinking her in. Oh, but mouses could be made to be very, very excitable.

And Aria knew how to put on a slow, steamy show. She was a rabbit, after all (as was clearly obvious). She knew all about good and proper foreplay.

"So, the sun's ... "

" ... in Alaska," she said, "back home ... in the Interior, the summer sun, for a time, does not even set."

"The Midnight Sun," he breathed, knowingly.

"Exactly," was her pant. She licked at his neck, closing her eyes. "And then, finally, there's a half an hour of night. Then forty minutes. And so on ... by the time winter comes, we are in constant dark. But summer? Summer is full of blinding, rarely-setting light." Another pant. "It is quite remarkable ... you need to experience that."

"Well, uh ... when we get a chance to go there, I'd be more than happy to ... "

" ... take our honeymoon? We are still taking it in Alaska," she emphasized.

"I know. I know ... I'm not debating that. It's just the money, Aria ... we can't just get on a plane and go there for two weeks."

"We would be staying with my parents. Free board and food."

"True. But, still, we need time to, uh ... get away. Maybe after the summer session, before fall classes? In August, after the Brickyard?"

"I will ... " Pant. "I will see if that is possible ... we should plan for it."

"Yeah, uh ... that brings up, uh ... a kind of, uh ... we'd need to breed, you know? And, obviously, they'd need to breed, so ... "

A sharp, probing eye-smile. "The prospect of having sex in the same house that my parents are having sex in ... of potential sounds traveling through potential walls ... "

" ... will you stop saying that? ‘Having sex'?" A flush. Trying to avoid answering the question. "Say, uh ... ‘make love' ... it's making love, darling."

"Of course. Course," she rabbit-purred. "I am just ... very aroused. You know that I can get carried away ... not every bout of breeding," she reminded him, "has to be a honey-sweet, entirely-romantic affair. We are allowed a few ... animalistic sessions," she said, diplomatically, "per week, surely? Aren't we? Sometimes," she said, dragging her paws across his body. "Sometimes ... as for the ‘breeding' on our honeymoon issue, my home is among a great wilderness. We can surely find some privacy ... "

"Uh ... well, uh ... "

" ... surely," she whispered, nibbling on his neck.

A heavy sigh from him! "Oh, wow ... oh ... you know, I'm really light-headed," Ross managed, "right now."

"The blood has left your brain and has traveled to your ... "

A giggle-squeak. " ... Aria! Aria," he said, voice lowering to a whisper. But he was still amused. He couldn't hide that. "Please," he said. "Try to, uh ... okay, so every ‘bout of breeding' can't be a deeply romantic, eye-watering thing. But I'd rather they be, you know?"

"And they are. They are," she assured, "spiritual for me ... as I know they are for you." A huff. "But not right now, darling ... right now, I am burning up. I need you to spark with me. Like a firework. Like ... "

" ... like a crazy-mouse?"

"Like a passion-filled mouse. Who is so consumed with desire that his fingers and toes tingle," she breathed.

Ross swallowed, squeaking. "They are ... tingling," he said, swallowing again.

"Good," she said, giving a mew, nibbling on him some more. Their ‘pleasure parts' still covered. But it didn't matter. The anticipation was driving them both up, up, and up. The anticipation of getting naked, of getting to it, was enough to keep them extremely titillated while they concocted a foreplay of sniffing, kissing, and nibbling.

Ross panted, whiskers twitching. His ears, flushed, began to get obviously erogenous, sensitive to his wife's errant exhales. And when her twiddling, antennae-ears brushed his own, the silky-white fur of her ears brushing against the pink flesh of his earlobe, the meadow mouse lost his breath. "Oh ... "

Aria mewed with aching need, slowly grinding, bump-grinding her hips down to his own. Still clothed. But, oh, the heat, and the contact.

"W-wouldn't it be hard ... to sleep?" Ross asked, trying to speak. He didn't know why. He didn't know why he didn't just shut his muzzle and let her sweep him to high heaven (oh, high heaven). Maybe it was because words enhanced the experience. Words gave them both something to dance around.

"On the contrary," was the whispered response. Whispered right into his ear. "When ... when the sun never sets ... you cannot be scared by the dark," she breathed. "Our love, like the Midnight Sun, never sets. I believe it shall never set ... "

By this point, Ross felt liable to melt. To just melt into a big, sloppy mouse-puddle. Oh, his heart. "Oh, Aria ... "

She then moved to mouth his cheek-fur, exhaling on his sensitive, ‘sensing' whiskers. Before saying, "I need you to undo my bra ... I cannot reach it like this." She was still atop of him, her belly on his.

Ross's paws deftly did as told. The bra soon undone.

Aria raised a bit, her body language having lost all of its earlier calm, its earlier logic. That proper air. Oh, she did have that emotional freeze. That prevented her from emotionally flowering. That restrained her. And, now? Breeding?

This was her only form of truly unchained expression.

This was how snow rabbits safely released their steam.

And the meadow mouse peeled her bra away, dropping it to the floor. "We, uh ... we still got lots of clothes to go," he noted. And, oh, if she was releasing steam, he was being drenched with the condensation of it. It was spreading to him.

"That we do," Aria breathed.

Softly, they were both cooled by the central air system, which blew out cool air to keep the apartment from getting too hot. Oh, too hot. They were getting too hot.

"Your water bottle," Ross said, whiskers twitching. "I should, uh ... you'll need it ... "

" ... I do not want you to leave the couch."

"You'll need your water bottle," he insisted, panting. Squeaky-squeak. "Darling ... "

"Alright. You're ... you are right," Aria stated, weakly. Giving a single mew.

"I'll go fill it," he whispered, stroking her bare belly, his paws moving up to her bare, hanging breasts. He felt them, fingers tracing, paws cupping. "I'll, uh ... " He didn't wanna pull his paws off those furry mounds. "Oh, I'll go fill it," he finally said, squirming, swallowing, twitching all over (as mouses did).

Aria sat up. "It will give us both," she said, "an opportunity to remove our pants ... and all else," she said, "that covers what we seek."

A giggle-squeak as the meadow mouse padded to the counter, long, thin tail wavering behind him so cutely. He grabbed and unscrewed Aria's water bottle. Snow rabbits dehydrated very easily. Being cold-weather furs. They required twice as much water as other furs did. That being the case, they would often have to pause (briefly) when they bred. Two or three times, depending. Just to let Aria re-hydrate herself with ice water.

On the maroon-colored couch, the rabbit's paws fumbled at her shorts. Undoing the button. Undoing the zipper (with an audible zip-sound).

The clink of ice cubes being put in the plastic water bottle. And then the liquid sound of water rushing in, filling, filling, filling it to the top. And, when finished, Ross screwed the lid on, padding back to his wife. He put the water bottle on the coffee table, within easy reach, and then unbuttoned and unzipped his own jean shorts.

"Briefs, too," Aria demanded, panting.

"I wasn't gonna ... " A giggle-squeak, ears burning. Which actually magnified his already-acute hearing. "I wasn't gonna forget those ... believe me," he breathed, as his fingers slipped beneath the elastic band of his white briefs. And he slid them off his slim hips, down his thighs. Letting them fall to his ankles, one leg stepping out of them. And the other kicking them away.

Aria's eyes sparkled. She reached up and pulled him down to the couch, kissing him full-on, muzzle tilted. Wet, tongue-touching. Oh, breathless.

Oh, mew!

Oh, squeak!

Oh, beautiful. She was beautiful. Ross thought this, repeatedly, as the snow rabbit took control of the situation. As she pinned him (once more) on his back, leaving his tail to trail over the edge of the couch and to the carpeted floor. Like a fishing line, or a wayward rope.

Naked, hot, hungry. Craving union. Spiritual, emotional, physical.

Intimacy!

Restless hearts!

No longer idle, no!

But in motion (such motion).

Oh, yes, with squeaks and mews, they gave way, Ross sending out a silent prayer while he was still able: oh, Lord, thank You for this day. For our lives. Thank You for love, for romance. And, oh, may You bless this act. May the Holy Spirit flow through us. Oh, be our Muse!

Oh, be our Muse, Lord.

And our Joy, too.

Oh, our Love.

Oh, yes!