Homemade, My Sweet
"Classic toffee," Field read, his blue-grey eyes carefully darting over the crinkled, off-white recipe, printed on a page he'd torn from today's newspaper, from the 'Hoosier Living' section in the Indianapolis Star, "is a mixture of, uh ... caramelized sugar syrup and ... "
" ... what was that?" Adelaide interrupted, from the kitchen counter. About four or five feet away. Her body upright, with bare, pretty foot-paws resting flatly on the linoleum of the floor, with winged arms stretching, reaching up, so her paws could pull needed ingredients out of the wooden cupboard above the sink. Her swept-back, angular ears looking exceptionally keen. Not quite the same as mouse ears, no. But good ears, all the same. Her two-foot tail, almost rudder-like and meant for steering her body in flight, lazily hanging behind her. Covered, as the near-entirety of her was, in soft, pink fur. Oh, carnation-colored, cotton candy fur! With the lip-smacking sweetness, surely, of pink lemonade. And wouldn't the mouse know? Shouldn't he, rather? Oh, yes. Oh, he certainly knew. Yes, he ... " ... Field? "
A blink.
"You listening?"
"Mm?" More blinks, this time with twitches, along with many sudden sniffs. And a few quiet squeaks. "What?" he asked, swallowing and taking a stabilizing breath. His eyes darting about. "Course I'm listening." His fleshy ears swivelled atop his head, as if trying to convince her.
"If you say so. I didn't hear that first part," she repeated, giving an errant chitter, knowing his thoughts. "Of the recipe," she continued, for good measure. Knowing his mood, as well. Knowing, ultimately, his everything. But he, in turn, knowing the same of her. Her fangs were beginning to show. They always did, to some degree. Never failing to become more visible as her smiles widened.
"Oh. Uh, classic toffee ... " A few squeaky mumbles, skipping over the unimportant parts. " ... a mixture of ... hey, wait a minute," the mouse went, with dawning hesitation. "You just want me to say caramel again, don't you?" A squint. The rodent, with his slight rural dialect, always pronounced it 'car-mull,' and had said, therefore, 'car-mull-ized.' Adelaide found such things to be immensely cute.
"I do?" the bat whispered, turning her attention back to the cupboard. The hanging sink-light casting a glow about her as her paws fished through spices and such. Through the ginger and lemon peel and parsley and cloves.
"Yes."
"And why would I want you to do that ... " There was a playful sultriness in her tone. Indeed, an outright toothy-ness. Calcium-fortified and good for you! Incredibly hard to resist. He loved her flighty sense of humor, her confidence. Her solidity.
The mouse let out another breath, his big, dishy ears flushing slightly, getting a little rosy-pink. More than a little. "You ... you got me all distracted, now. I think I lost my place." They were, at the moment, prisoners of mid-December. And perhaps that wasn't so bad. Each season, after all, had its own beauties and purposes. It was twilight, though, right now. The rural air chilly and foggy, clinging to the windows with resiliency, leaving the stars and moon shrouded and unseen. The trees stark and bare, with the threat of snow and ice mulling in the short-term weather forecast. And everything, in the interim, seeming totally quiet.
True, the air nipped at you. It bit your nose and tail and ears. But it did so quietly, demanding a certain reverence. A certain respect. No birds interrupted. No insects, either. They were all sleeping. If, indeed, they were still around at all. There was such a quality of privacy and solitude about December nights. Such an air of 'let me get closer to you.' Such conditions tested and forged love. And if your love had long ago passed those tests? Then you could befriend any harsher elements. You could stay in your kitchen and make toffee and not worry about the possibility of ice-encased trees falling on your roof before sunrise. You had that kind of faith.
It was a Friday night, both of them back from the library where Adelaide worked. And where Field, when the apple orchard wasn't in season, worked as well. They'd been back, in fact, for several hours, and they'd already had their supper. Akira, their two year-old daughter, had been successfully put to bed. Almost everything was taken care of. But it wasn't quite nine-thirty, and the husband and wife had decided to make a little something for tomorrow, when they'd likely be stuck inside all day. With no extra money to go anywhere, and with the weather too inhospitable to wander around in. Some kind of treat. So, yes, they were cooking. Or trying to. Something homemade. Something sweet.
They'd settled on toffee. Chocolate-covered toffee.
"You were on the 'car-mull' part," was Adelaide's cheeky reminder, not letting it go. Not letting the mouse get lost in internal revelry again. "That ring a bell?"
There was a brief hesitation. But he soon responded, insistently, "Well, that's what it's called." His voice airy and squeaky, tone somewhat defensive, and whiskers all a-twitch as he stood up straight, his silky-pink tail snaking about behind him. "You know what 'care-uh-mell' sounds like?"
"I think you're gonna tell me ... "
" ... like one of those generic medicines they sell on the television for, like, allergies or something."
"The ones that have twenty side-effects, and you can only safely take 'em you're not alive?"
"Mm-hmm."
A chitter of mirth. "I suppose you've got a point. And I didn't say I preferred 'care-uh-mell' ... I'm a 'car-mull' bat, and you know it. I'm just saying that ... "
" ... and those things Akira colors with?" he added.
"Yeah?"
"Those are 'crowns,' not 'cray-ONS' ... crowns," he said, seriously. "'Cray-ONS' sounds like ... like I don't even know. But I'll be having no daughter of mine coloring with anything but 'crowns'." Akira enjoyed scribbling in coloring books. She rarely stayed within the lines, of course, because she got too enthusiastic, and would wildly move her little paws and winged arms all around the page. Prompting Field to remark, the other day, 'Well, looks like you got mommy's artistic ability. Some things just can't be helped, I'm afraid.' He'd said it with quite loudly, wanting Adelaide to hear him. Which had led to him being chased, him squeaking and wriggling while Adelaide caught him and wrapped him up in her winged arms and whispered grinning things that made his ears beet-red.
Adelaide, in the present, just laughed for a few seconds at her husband's obsessive mood, before trailing off and echoing, "'Car-mull.' 'Crowns'." She nodded, putting on a mock-serious face. "Got it."
"That's right," Field said. "Adelaide ... "
"You know I agree with you. No need to get so defensive." A playful, timed pause. "I guess it just goes to show that mouses can be most," the bat told him, "stubborn, sometimes. More so than most furs." She raised her brow at him. "Mm?"
"No ... "
" ... yes."
"I'm not stubborn," Field squeaked, shaking his head, "ever." He held his tail in his paws, rather demurely, his nose tilting up.
"You aren't, huh?" She had to grin again, unable to help it. "How bout that time when you swore you were never gonna eat peaches ever again?"
"I didn't," he insisted, letting go of his tail and lowering his muzzle. "I mean ... well, I said that, yes, but I meant it. Have I eaten peaches since?"
"Peaches aren't in season," Adelaide reminded. "Next summer, on some lazy, hazy evening, when the sky is ten different colors and the crickets think they're composers? I'm gonna get you naked and on your back and dangle peach slices above your nose."
"Well, that wouldn't even be fair." He blushed.
"Why not?"
"That's, like ... tempting a mouse when he's down, isn't it?"
"More like 'encouraging' him when he's 'up,' I'd say." Her fang-showing grin was unmistakable provocative.
"Adelaide ... " Field's eyes darted. He was, ultimately, more modest than she was. Even as close as they were, he'd retained that mousey shyness. "Anyway ... " He calmed down a bit. " ... you might use your telepathy to trick me into eating 'em."
"Think so?"
"Also, now that you've told me, I'll be ready for it," he insisted, both of them still standing here in the kitchen. Still separated by a few feet. "I'll know when to scurry away. As soon as I smell peaches, I'll just scurry away. And I know the smell of peaches," he insisted. Working at a farm market, one became very familiar with produce. The mouse had come to dislike peaches, though, for their pompousness.
"If you scurry away, I'll just fly after you. To the ends of the earth," she breathed, "I'll chase you down. Until I've wrapped you up in my wings. Until I can bring you home and un-stubborn you."
"Well ... "
" ... well?" Her winged arms gave lazy, little flaps, slow and steady, before stopping and resting at her sides.
"Not wanting to eat peaches doesn't make me stubborn. At least I'm not cheeky."
"At least I'm not a bundle of scurry," she responded, smiling, batting back his teases with teases of her own. Both knowing that they loved each other's quirks. He loved her cheek, and she loved his scurry. But, still, it was fun to rib each other about such things.
"Well, uh ... " He wasn't as good at this as she was. " ... well, at least I'm not ... eh, I don't got anything else. But I'm not stubborn. I do know that." His whiskers twitched.
"If you say so."
"I do." Another shake of the head, biting his lip, squinting his eyes. He almost crossed his arms, but stopped himself, realizing that would probably prove her point. So, he just gripped the side of the kitchen table, pretending to immerse himself in the toffee recipe.
"But, you know, If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's a pretty stubborn face you've got on there," the bat pointed out.
Changing his expression, the mouse took a deep breath, slightly exasperated. "That wasn't a stubborn face." A pause, keeping himself composed. So as not to look as flushed as she was wanting him to be. Not because he didn't enjoy being 'twitterpated' by her. Obviously, he did. But it was his duty to try and resist. That was part of the ultimate fun, wasn't it? "It was my 'how I get when I'm teased' face." He stole a glance at her, before looking back at the table. "You like to fluster me," he breathed. "You know you do."
"I believe we both know that," was her honest reply. Not bothering to give a denial. Giving him, instead, more glances. Long, lazy look-overs, her eyes drinking him in. "After all, I can't un-fluster you unless you're flustered."
" ... well, it's 'car-mull' and 'crowns.' That's how it is. That's the end of that."
"We've been married two and a half years, darling. I'm well," she whispered, "aware." She'd somehow inched closer to him. A few feet closer than before. "And just to clarify another matter: you can get stubborn, sometimes, but it's ... too cute," she breathed, "to come off as anything but dear. It's definitely not a bad habit."
"Like how eating bugs is a bad habit?" he teased. His turn to smile.
"Silly mouse. You know I have to eat bugs. My body needs them." A pause. "And your body does, too. It just doesn't know it yet."
"You're not putting bugs in the toffee, if we end up making it," he told her. "I mean it. I want the crunch from the toffee to come from ... not from exoskeletons," he stammered.
A small laugh. "I hadn't planned on adding bugs," she assured. And, after a moment, ammending, "Until you mentioned it."
"Adelaide!"
"I'm kidding ... mm. Let's not get into bad habits, alright? We both have our flaws. But I think we can both agree that we neutralize those," she told him, "with our positives." He, to be sure, was prone to moments of obsession and compulsion. Moments of anxiety. Not nearly as much as he'd been in the past. But, no matter what, he was still a mouse, the most prey-like of prey. Part of that was instinct. Just like her instincts often prompted her to be a bit too brash, a bit too toothy. It could sometimes get her into trouble. Or, at least, it had in years prior. Before she'd met him. Before they'd tamed each other, wrestling each other free from the grips of their wild insecurities.
The mouse, looking up, paused, whiskers twitching and tail freezing for a moment. "I love you, you know?" It was mouthed more than it was spoken. One of those moments where words were crystal. Too fragile to fling across any open space.
"I know," she mouthed back, assuredly. And, telepathically, thought-spoke into his mind: I love you, too.
Taking a deep breath, he said, audibly, "I feel so much more, uh ... comfortable," he told her, "than I ever felt, you know, back before. I feel calmer. I feel ... " He fiddled with his tail, and then let it go. Paws pressing together, almost in a prayer-like formation. "I think I used to be in a shell. I used to be ... curled up in a mousey ball, in a burrow. You made it safe for me to crawl out."
"Field ... "
" ... well, I'm just ... I know I've said it before. And I know I'll say it again. But I just gotta say it: that I've always needed you. And wanted," he emphasized, "you. And I just like the fact that, uh ... that we've grown so much to where we can be so lazily comfortable with our bodies and words. With our hearts. You know? I just didn't imagine love would be like that."
"What did you imagine it would be?" she asked. "You're a hopeless romantic. I don't want you to lose that."
"I won't."
"Good. Cause I'm not gonna let you," she whispered, foot-paws scuffing on the floor suddenly, as she advanced toward him again. "You've got a wide-eyed innocence about you that does something for me. You tell me that my confidence and toothy sensibilities build you up? But your innocence keeps me from flying above my station."
"You saying I keep you grounded?"
"Winged things need to be grounded by something," she told him, pausing for a moment. Tilting her head. Still two feet away, but savoring the sizzle that seemed to occupy the distance between them. A distance they both knew would soon close. "God, of course, being the ultimate Anchor. Through Christ ... " A breath. " ... but my faith wouldn't be as vital if you weren't there to reinforce it. To share it. My faith feeds off yours. Just as my heart beats," she said, "with yours." A slight pause. "Love, like faith, is strengthened by mutual expression. And the test of time."
"I know," the mouse whispered, his tail snaking quietly through the air behind him, brushing the cool, white door of the refrigerator.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is: when I see you? I don't see just a shy, rural, honey-tan mouse. With cool-blue eyes and a soft voice and a softer touch. I see understanding, patience. Tenderness. I see my best friend and the father to my child. I see safety and comfort. I see love, and I see," she whispered, "something beyond sweet. Something I never tire of tasting, and something that doesn't give my fangs any cavities," she said, giving a playful wink. "You sate my appetite in many ways."
He felt his heart beating faster in his chest. Weakly clearing his throat, he opened his muzzle. And then closed it. Finally managing, "Adelaide, I, uh ... you know I would write poems for you, of your beauty, your presence. The light you bring to my life. You know I want to say all the right words at all the right times, and I just ... " A slight pause, breathing in through his pink, sniffy nose. " ... I don't want to become complacent. I see too many furs, too many souls just content," he said, "to remain complacent." A swallow. "I don't wanna be that way. I want our love to be vital and happier every day. I feel it has been. I just want it to continue to, uh ... to be that way."
"It is. It will. And you're not complacent," she insisted, whispering it. "Believe me ... "
The mouse took a breath, nodding quietly, flushed beneath the fur. There had been a time when he'd feared he would never get to a point like this: the comforting interior of love. Always fearing he would be on the outside looking in. Fearing, perhaps, that he would get a taste of the perimeter, a lick of the surface. But that he'd never be able to get truly inside such a varied and voluptuous emotion.
Too many souls, perhaps, invested in the wrong things. Too many relationships built on faulty foundations. And, in the past, years ago, he'd fallen prey to that. Those ways and means. He'd felt the pain wrought from love gone wrong. Love, perhaps, that was never truly there to begin with. Betrayal and abandonment. Thinking your partner would catch you when you fell. Only to have them withdraw their arms. Only to hit the ground with a thud.
As if living together, sleeping together before any true commitment, approaching love from an avenue of convenience, as if any of that would help two furs 'know each other better,' or help them 'see if we're a good match.' Perhaps such things could give clues. Perhaps they could help. For furs, breeding compatibility was an issue, no doubt. But any foundation of physicality would betray you in the end. Truly strong sex originated from strong emotion strongly shared over time. Remove the emotion and the time, and you were left with simple sex. Good for now, but for later? As the years passed, as you aged, as your body developed pains and faults, what did you have left? In sickness, perhaps, instead of health, how good you were in bed or how good you were to share a house with wouldn't matter. Only the strength of your commitment. Only the sealed emotional bond of your love. Only faith.
"Field ... "
" ... I'm ... I was just thinking," he whispered, "how, if you hadn't come along, I would've ... " He trailed, looking to the floor. A slight shake of the head. " ... I think I would've fallen into the wrong arms. Somehow or another, I would've fallen harder and harder. Until I was too broken and brittle to see through my own bitterness."
"You never would've been like that," she swore seriously, meaning it. "You're too good a mouse. Don't think that lowly of yourself. It was your faith that got you through, and it was always going to. You prayed every day. I know your memories," she said, having acquired them during lovemaking (during her 'bite'). "You have faith. And I have to believe that God brought us together, that it was meant to happen. That we both had to fail first," she breathed, "before we could truly appreciate ... before, you know, we could," she whispered, "truly succeed at something like this." A pause. "I know you believe that, too."
A little nod. "I know. I didn't mean to bring all this up," he whispered, whiskers twitching. "I've long gotten over my past. I never think back anymore. I only think forward. So, I don't mean to have brought any of this up. I just ... I guess," he told her, "what I was trying to say from the start was that: I've gotten so comfortable with you, and with our love ... " A breath. " ... that I almost feel I didn't exist before you. And before Akira. And ... you know?" A small sigh, closing his eyes. "It feels so nice. I may still blush and keep that modesty, but I ... feel so, so comfortable, so safely vulnerable with you. I feel I've matured, and ... cause of you, and ... "
"I understand," she breathed, finally coming to him, wings acting, wrapping around him like living blankets. The warm, fuzzy-pink membranes so soft against his fur and form. "Don't worry about it," she whispered into one of his ears. Using her telepathic feelers to ease him, to express things to him without a sound.
Field blew out another breath, too swept away by the pull of her personality, her intellectual and emotional presence, her physicality. All of her. The bat pulling at him more strongly than gravity, matching his eager yearning with an eager knowing, all of it enhanced by her telepathy and their shared, Christian faith.
"I can't wait," she breathed, lightening the mood and changing the subject a bit, "for Christmas." She kissed his cheek. Easter was her favorite holiday. And Field's, as well. But Christmas was special in its own right, obviously.
Poetically, Adelaide liked to think of the days before Christmas as being the darkest nights of the year. The nights before Hope was born, before the Light came into the world. And, therefore, late on Christmas Eve and into Christmas Day, in the soul of the true believer, brightness became ever-evident. Christmas became the brightest of days. In the cold and the early dark, hope became young and eternal. You could be with your family, wrapped in love, and rest easy, secure in the knowledge that there would be a tomorrow. Because the Lord had secured it. The sun, the stars, everything. Life itself, mortal and beyond. On Christmas, redemption had been set into motion. And the promise of heaven presented.
And, of course, the gift giving. To the bat, it commemorated selflessness. Just as Christ, in many ways, throughout His life, had been so selfless. Giving Himself. And being that she and Field couldn't exactly give what He'd given, they instead gave their hearts and tokens of their affections. Every gift she gave or got, she felt a flush of satisfaction, an appreciation of the fact that they were all so blessed. And she was blessed, indeed, with more than mere possessions. Oh, she had so much to be grateful for.
"Adelaide ... "
" ... mm?"
"You went all quiet."
"I know." A warm smile, and a deep breath. "Too bad we already know what we got each other, huh? Our presents?"
"It's like that every year," he responded, smiling. Giggle-squeaking slightly. "I don't really mind. Mouses are full of twitches. Best that you can't hit me with surprises." Obviously, having a telepathic link, they couldn't really keep secrets from each other for very long. She could read minds. Had certain abilities. He didn't. But, through her, when they made love, they became intricately tied in various ways. And, so, secrets were impossible to keep.
One could look at a bat's biology and conclude, perhaps, that such a thing kept partners honest, kept them together. That the whole telepathic factor was, overall, meant to strengthen a mate-ship, to encourage loyalty. Whatever the case, it meant they couldn't get surprise birthday or Christmas presents for each other. Or do anything unexpected, really.
"Still, it would be nice to get you something ... something special," she breathed, "and to not have you know until I gave it to you. Just to see your reaction." A pause, a twinkle in her eye. "Mm. Suppose it'd be nice to breed like dogs, too, but ... "
" ... Adelaide," Field said, biting his lip, ears flushing sharply. He felt hotter in her grasp. As if his temperature had risen. And, indeed, those lobes gave off such heat. Adelaide imagined her versatile bat-tongue sizzling as it touched that flesh. It really didn't sizzle, of course. But it was fun to imagine. She enjoyed working those ears with her muzzle. Those big, erogenous ears. Those cute, swiveling ...
" ... y-you ... Adelaide," he said, shiver-squeaking, eyes half-open. His breath a bit baited. As her tongue traced the rims of his ears.
"Mm?" She stopped, careful not to work him up too much. Not yet, anyway. Not yet. "Well, it's true, isn't it?" Her belly-to-belly hug tightened. "You've never wanted to do it that way?" A healthy grin, bumping her nose against his. His nose always going, always seeming to sniff. Her nose less active.
"We can't," he breathed, cheeks burning beneath his fur. The onset of intercourse, in any bat, triggered a 'biting' instinct. This was obviously no different in Adelaide. The instinct triggered the production of 'mating milk' in the fangs, as well as a numbing agent in the saliva. Regardless of the science, the urge to bite was too much to ignore. So, a spot of fur, almost always on the neck, was licked damp with saliva, allowing the fangs to eventually sink in without causing any pain or leaving any marks.
And the mating milk, once the fangs were in the body, dripped and leaked into the blood, linking the bat and their partner physically and emotionally, allowing them to directly share each other's physical pleasure on top of their own. All sensation, memory, feeling, et cetera. It was beyond wonderful. But if intercourse was started and the bite didn't happen? Well, a sort of 'sexual hangover' would result, which consisted of nausea and very bad headaches that lasted for a few hours.
There was no such thing as having a 'quickie' with a bat. Unless it was restricted to muzzles. And Field didn't have a problem with that. He was a romantic, and liked the slow, sensuous burn of elevating love into time-taking passion.
It wasn't just that they had no choice but to take it slow, though. Adelaide couldn't bite from every position. It wasn't physically possible. She had to be facing Field to bite him. Which made bats less versatile during breeding, in terms of getting into various positions, than most other species. However, the telepathic union more than compensated for such limitations.
"Haven't you ever wondered what that would feel like? To make love from behind me, like how dogs do? On all fours, or just spooned there, or ... "
" ... Adelaide," he said. When he became too shy to come up with a response, he usually just said her name in that shy, effeminate way.
A giggle-squeak, nuzzling noses and lip-nipping at his whiskers. And kissing his other cheek. "Mm."
"I've never even," he breathed, cheeks still hot, "wondered ... "
" ... no?" Her paws slid beneath his t-shirt, a grey shirt that said 'Butler basketball' on the front. "I'm sure you have." Her paws slid up his back, along the outline of his spine.
"I, uh ... I like the ways we, uh, do it ... "
" ... what ways?"
"Adelaide ... " A deep breath, swallowing. "Haven't you, uh, finished flustering me yet?"
"Oh, I'm planning on flustering you all night long, darling. It stops in bed," she whispered, right into one of his ears. "Or on the couch. Whichever we have the willpower to reach before we lose control."
The mouse burned with desire. More than mere lust, though, but time-tempered need and finely-honed want. " ... well, just don't fluster me too much? I might twitch myself apart."
"Then I'll just put you back together," she assured, sighing. "Mm ... uh, weren't we gonna make toffee or something?"
A weak, little nod, whiskers all a-twitch and eyes half-open.
"Let's try and keep going. See if we can ... "
" ... finish."
"Yeah. You can keep reading the recipe," she told him, head lolling to the side, fangs grazing his shirt, nose sniffing the scent of him that lingered all around and all beneath. That earthy mouse-scent. She didn't want to let go. But she did, wings unwrapping, retracting. And her body sauntering a few feet away, back to the sink-counter. "What else do I need? Where were we? I, uh ... I interrupted you around 'car-mull,' but I don't remember what came after that."
"Uh ... " He was, truth be told, in a bit of a daze. He looked back down to the table, picking up the torn newspaper page. "Recipe, recipe. Here we go." He cleared his throat, nose sniffing a bit. "You ready?"
"Mm-hmm. I already got most of it down. Just tell me how I start it ... or, wait. Wait, read through the rest of the ingredients again. I think we're missing something, actually."
"Cooking spray, sugar, corn syrup ... water or rum? Oh."
"Yeah, don't have rum." They didn't have any alcohol, in fact. Field had, in recent months, developed an alcohol allergy. He'd been quite upset about it, as he really enjoyed getting tipsy with Adelaide. But, even at the young age of twenty-three, his liver had started having trouble processing alcohol as well as it had in the past. It couldn't flush all the toxins. So, he was left itchy and prickly for days after he drank. And such discomfort wasn't worth the few hours of tipsiness. So, they no longer kept any of that stuff around. If he couldn't drink, neither could she. Her body could still handle it fine, but she didn't want to tempt him or anything, or make him feel left out. "Water will have to do. I'm pretty sure it doesn't matter. What else?"
"Uh ... " The mouse blew out a breath, whiskers twitching, blue-grey eyes scanning the page. " ... sliced butter, salt, baking soda, bittersweet chocolate."
"Well, we got everything, then. Ah, wait ... eh, we don't have one thing." She rubbed a paw on her forehead. "I'm being a scatterbrain all of a sudden."
"Well, you got us both horny," the mouse said, with his quiet innocence. "It's a wonder we can think at all."
Chitters of amusement. "Field, you're ... oh, my gosh, you're so cute." A deep breath, her paw leaving her forehead. She turned to him. "No, but we're still an ingredient short."
"What do you mean? We don't need the rum," he said, his eyes going mousey-wide, and his whiskers twitching all over. His pink, ever-active nose sniffed at the kitchen air.
"It calls for almonds, doesn't it? These are chocolate-covered almond-toffee bars. We don't have almonds."
"Mm. Well ... not like we can get any." They lived on a farmhouse, of course, in the countryside, ten miles from the nearest 'real' grocery store. A twenty-mile round trip wasn't worth the price and time unless they were getting a whole week's worth of food. There was the old, little grocery in Sheridan, of course, on the Main Street. But that closed at seven in the evening. And, even if it were open, it was still six miles away. And they didn't have the widest variety or cheapest prices there, either. "I'm sure it doesn't really need almonds. Like, all those cookie recipes in the cookbooks? A lot of them say that nuts are optional. Maybe it's the same with toffee. I've never liked toffee with nuts. It's just ... it says here," he recited, clearing his throat, "'toasted nuts make a perfect counterpart to the brittle toffee'. But I don't think it's required or anything. I mean, without the nuts, it's just toffee with a chocolate topping. That's fine with me."
Adelaide smiled, nodding. "Same here."
" ... well, uh, I didn't finish reading what I started. When you interrupted me about the ... 'car-mull', like, two hours ago," he said, quietly, after a hesitation. For it felt like quite a while since they'd started to gear up for making toffee. Though, in reality, it hadn't been all that long. And, taking a breath, seeing that she was waiting for him to read, he said, " ... 'adding a touch of baking soda lightens its consistency for a better crunch'."
"Mm," was the bat's only response.
"Oh, wait, wait ... mm ... " The mouse worriedly twitched. " ... it says, 'there is one special piece of equipment you do need when preparing sugar syrups like the one in this recipe: a candy thermometer'."
Adelaide made a face. "What? We don't have a candy thermometer." A slight frown. "Why do these recipes have to be so complicated?"
"I don't know. The book says, 'you can find one in specialty cookware stores or in some supermarkets'."
"Well, tell the book that not everyone lives in the suburbs."
"Or wants to," Field added, under his breath.
Which made Adelaide grin. She and Field were often of a like mind. And that was no surprise, considering that she was telepathic. They'd become so dependent on one another as to almost be symbiotic. And Field had lived in the countryside his entire life. Adelaide, while having been born in Australia, had grown up in the Hoosier prairie, as well. So, they were both rural furs through and through. "Well ... can't we try, anyway? To make this stuff without the, uh ... "
" ... rum."
" ... the rum and the candy thermometer, yeah."
"I don't see why not. I mean, I make that 'car-mull' corn without a thermometer. The 'car-mull' part," he said.
Adelaide, lightly biting her lip, chittered. "Mm ... keep saying that."
"What?" His eyes widened.
"Keep saying it."
"Adelaide, stop it," he objected, lightly, with his effeminate-leaning voice.
Which only fueled the bat's mood. "Mm. Field ... "
" ... what ... h-hey. Adelaide," he went, suddenly wrapped in her winged arms again. Just like before. Only, this time, his pink-furred wife seemed to be showing less restraint. "We're ... " He swallowed, lowering his voice to a whisper. " ... we're supposed to be making toffee."
"Mm. Yeah," was all she said, her fangs grazing the honey-tan fur on the back of his neck. Grazing his nape. "It can wait. 'Til, uh, tomorrow," she decided. After all, the toffee wasn't going anywhere.
But, oh, the mouse and bat were, as they sidled and shifted out of the kitchen, Adelaide flicking off the ceiling lights as they fell to the cushions of the couch, bathed in the colored glow of the little, strand-strung bulbs wrapped round the Christmas tree. The air warm from the heat of the corn stove, and heavy with the scent of real, Indiana-grown pine, and the scent of red and white-striped peppermint. Candy canes and unlit candles. And even a faint hint of gingerbread.
And, oh, the soft scents of ever-exposed fur, as clothes were tugged at, pulled off, haphazardly tossed aside. As her body, naked and wanting, pressed down against his bare, trim form, the honey-tan mouse beneath her. And the bat taking the lead in this lovely, horizontal writhing, licking at the side of his neck, sucking on his cheek. And then, finally, his lips.
Much more succulent than toffee, surely, was this simmering, early-winter love! And it was no surprise that neither could get enough of it. That the kisses continued and segued into strokes and gentle gyrations of the hips, and that when, slightly panting, they would both part their lips, the bat telling him, "Let's make something sweet."
And, oh, the mouse swooned and melted into the couch, and into her, having absolutely no objection to that.