The world didn’t have to be more complicated than a white rectangle of sheeting, six and a half feet by five, folded down tenderly over the mattress. The problems Troy was having with the reactor’s fuel mix, proton shedding in the fusion chambers, those weren’t appropriate right now. Troy’s worries about old Fred’s cancer eating him up, whether or not the retrovirals would tear it apart, that didn’t have to matter. Not even that little four letter word Troy could say, but Jennifer couldn’t, was any kind of problem when the world was just six feet by five, flexed softly, and was oh so lightly laced with her perfume.

Jennifer’s hands, tawny white at her inner wrist, yellow-sandily furred across the backs and her fingers, dug in tightly at all the mattress’s edges, pulling sharp creases into the fabric which she tugged straight a moment later with a perfunctory flick, nude body arching as she did. Her pale stomach flexed and writhed, making dancing s-shapes out of the faint midline of fur running down between her breasts, across her navel, down into the slight wisps of red curls at her crotch, and lower still. It was all a tease, really. He knew that as soon as she caught his eye, when he stopped looking at her body. Changing the bedsheets was just another opportunity for her to tuck her long red hair behind her shoulder, flick up a blunt-tipped ear, and flash white teeth at him. Another opportunity to make him look at her, to enjoy that he looked.

Troy folded his broad ears back, trying to hide the blush, but he didn’t have to hide the smile, awkward though it was. Didn’t have to hide his nude body, or the way his eyes lingered at her curves, at the way her shoulder flexed as she set her weight on her arm. He didn’t have to hide a damn thing. Not his feelings, nothing. “I love you, Jen.”

“Mmmm.” She pressed her hands together on the mattress, crushed her breasts between her arms, and lifted up her short, blunt tail — black tip wriggling behind her head excitedly. “Do you now?”

“Yes. I do.”

There it was, out there, on the table. Or on the sheet between them at any rate.

She licked her lip, dark and soft without lipstick, and cocked her head to a side, shoulder lifted and twisted purely so she could stare at him over the fine arch. “So how is it I’m the one making the bed, if you love me?” She batted her eyelashes at him, playing the tease.

“Making the bed’s a team effort,” he replied, picking up a pillow and stuffing it into its case. His black-furred arm disappeared into the white fabric, thin knuckles pressing at the sides until the whole soft thing was inside, and he set the pillow down on the sheet, ruffled and wrinkled.

Jennifer dipped her nose, regarding his offering. At length she reached out, pulled the corners straight, twisted the pillow inside, and set it properly at one end of the mattress. “There,” she said. “And it only took twice as long.”

Twice as long?”

She smirked at him. “There’s a trick to it, Troy.”

He set a nude pillow down on the sheets, a pillowcase. “Show me.”

Each corner of the pillowcase, both in hand, okay. He could see that. Then, with the pillowcase bunched up around her hands, she simply picked up the pillow’s corners with the pillowcase’s corners, gave the lot a swift shake, tucked in the end, smoothed it with a pat, and slung it down atop the first pillow.


She slipped up onto the bed, the black stripes of her thigh and buttock stark against the white of the sheets, flicked her tail out comfortably, and eased down upon her crisp fresh pillows, angling her hands in behind her neck. “Simple.”

“Simple,” he agreed, leaning on the bed, nude tail flicking out behind him in eager twirls.

The angle of his snout hadn’t gone unnoticed. Her eyes traced along its length, through the air all along the line it pointed, ultimately to her crotch. Jennifer smirked, and slowly lifted a knee, foot gliding over the new sheet. “We should get clothes on. It’s nearly eleven.” Languidly, she shut her eyes.

Troy crawled up onto the bed carefully, on hands and knees, trying not to shake the mattress. “So we can take them off again?”

She held onto her breath a moment, smiling, then let it go with a gigglish grunt. “We only just got out of the shower. And just switched the sheets…”

In some ways, Troy wished he really were a mouse, instead of just gengineered out of one. She’d felt him making his way across the bed, which she wouldn’t have if he had tiny little mouse feet. Troy edged closer and dipped his pointed gengineered-mouse snout to her pelvis, nose scraping into her fur, clean and white as the sheets. Dragged his nose through her fur, into the ticklish curls at her groin. “I don’t have anything else to do today,” he murmured into the crease of her hip.

“Mmm,” she groaned, lip just barely tucked between her teeth. “But we’d have to shower again, and  then maybe change the sheets all over again…”

“Towels are right there.” He lifted his nose from her crotch to dig in against the outside of her thigh, her distinctive thylacine-stripes. “And I like showerin’ with you.”

She cracked open an eyelid, not bothering to make eye contact, her gaze tracing down his flat stomach to his crotch, his penis. The pink stood out against his black fur, and she idly lifted her hand, grazed her fingerpads across his skin and heat. “You’re not hard enough, anyway…”

That was changing. And fast. He caught her wrist for a moment, held it at his groin. Her fingers slipped tenderly around his swelling flesh, and though her expression didn’t change, the tip of her tongue made an appearance between her teeth.

He set a hand on the sheets, slid the other from her wrist to her knee… down the white inside track of her thigh. “I’m hard enough. Nearly.”

“Am I wet enough?” Her eyes slipped shut, her fingers clasped his smooth flesh all the tighter whilst he bobbed to attention.

“Don’t know,” he responded, and skimmed his fingertips across her labial lips. Tucked one fingertip at the edge of her, spread his fingers out, parting her open, a little like a flower’s petals. His turn to bite his tongue, face locked in its distracted gaze.

The way he stiffened to aching hard in her hand didn’t go unappreciated, with a hungry little grunt as she let her fingers slide from base to tip. “You’re hard enough,” she whispered.

He slicked his fingerpads across her folds, shivered at the heat of his body, rigid in her hand, and at the baser heat of her beneath his fingertips, damping into his fur. “You’re wet enough,” he whispered in turn.

Jennifer tugged at him softly and rolled to her side, delicately lifting her leg like the dancer she was. Her fingertips were soft around his shaft, but the slow steady pull moved the whole of him with desperate compliance.

He straddled her thigh, and she dipped her lifted leg down, her ankle delicately perched at his collarbone, gazing up at him with a long, slow breath that moved her curves perfectly.

She kept pulling. Manoeuvring him by the base of his shaft, dragging him close. He clasped her knee, hugged at her thigh, and she, she simply dipped one hand to herself and spread herself open, caught his tip and guided him in.

His breath hitched, but his body didn’t, his smooth skin easing into her slick flesh. And again, with a soft pull and shove at her thigh clasped to his chest, his body lifting away and sinking back down with the softest whimper from her and the slightest hiss of breath from him.

Making love was a team effort, too.

The crisp sheets crinkled under her body as she flexed her back and groaned, body clenching on him as he followed the soft guiding pressure of her hand at his groin. She pushed him away softly as he drew out, clawed at his fur as he thrust, gently edging him this way and that with soft brushes of her fingertips until she found the angle she wanted him in and quivered around him with a longing groan.

He was a sharp heat, from tip to base, made all the warmer by her urgings, softly grunting through his nose with each desperate grind into her body. Her fingertips grinding down against her vagina’s arch, toying at her clit, that turned her into another kind of fire touching his body, writhing across the bed beneath him, her fingers occasionally slipping down and parting across his shaft, pinching round him to feel his shape and gliding along his skin with his thrusts.

The fire jabbed him in the groin and he yelped and tensed and shivered his heat into her, black-furred body trembling, his heat all the more liquid now, slick and sticky. She clawed at him with her fingertips and moaned, so he didn’t stop to catch his breath, merely kept trembling and thrusting, hugging her thigh while she clenched at his oversensitive flesh, while she yelped too, shivered and clenched and fluttered and turned him to a writhing wreck of pleasure.

He lost his breath for awhile, found it, laying beside her while she hitched her thigh over his, jammed down to keep him lodged until his erection faded.

Her green eyes met with his.

“Love you, Jen.”

She didn’t answer, but that didn’t matter.

The world didn’t have to be full of things that mattered, in a world six and a half feet by five, atop fresh sheets. No.

Jennifer lapped softly at his ear, and bit him gently until she was content to whisper to him. “You’re pretty, and you make me come. The best days are the ones I have with you.” She paused to kiss him better on the edge of his ear, where she’d bit. “I think about you when I’m alone, sometimes, and I think about how lucky I am to have you.” She took a breath, and nodded gently into the side of his face. “I think, ‘Troy is the best, and I wanna see him.’ And then if you’re in town, I come over and kiss you. And if not, I load up that video you made for me…”

It was a very complicated answer, if Troy looked at it as part of the whole wide world. But he didn’t, because atop the sheets the answer made sense to him.

There was Troy, and there was Jennifer. They were together.