Epilogues: Adrift - Chapter 1

“Morning, Mike. To what do we owe the pleasure?” Faz rumbles quietly as he opens the door to 93b.

“I have to drop the keys off early, might not be home at the usual time tonight.” You say softly, not wanting to disturb anyone, handing the massive ring of what could easily serve as a boat anchor to the pajama-clad bear.

He palms them easily before stepping aside. “Come on in.” He offers, clearly wanting to close the door lest all the warm air escape into the icy morning. You accept the invitation eagerly, stomping the snow off your boots on the welcome mat before ducking inside, shutting the door behind you. Hanging your hat and coat on the rack, you rub your hands together to help soak up the ambient heat, staving off frostbite.

“You're lucky you caught me, actually. Was heading back to bed after breakfast. Foxy’s with BonBon until Bonnie's off, as per the new normal, and Chica's still asleep, I think.” He says, ticking off the apartment's roster like a good captain; all present or accounted for. “I'd offer you coffee, but I wager you're looking to hit the sack soon, too.” He adds. “Got some donuts in the pantry.”

“No thanks, Faz. Been trying to lose a little weight. Mostly so BonBon will stop nagging me about working out with her after shift.”

“You realize that plays directly into her paws, right?”

“Maybe. But at least I won't have to be a sweaty mess for her to ogle my ass any more than she already does.”

“Fair enough.” He concedes.

“So how's work treating you? It's been what, a couple weeks now?” You ask, hoping that you've achieved enough competence by now that you might be able to help the imposing bear for once.

“Not bad. Schedule's a bit of a change, but at least I'm always around if something needs attending to up here.” He says contentedly, painting a broad picture of concern even when you know exactly how narrow his focus actually is.

“Indeed. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I would have thought you'd sign on with Golden Bear when they relaunched. Sounds of life and all that.” You ask, thankful to have a friend for a coworker for once.

You see him smile; slight, wistful before he lets out a long sigh. “I can't. Too many memories.” he says softly, massive shoulders slumping slightly.

“Sorry.” You mumble, unwilling to twist the knife any further.

“Don't be, Mike. I don't dance around your...situation.” he adds, vaguely enough to dissuade any casual eavesdroppers from probing your past any further. “What happened, happened.” he adds with finality, settling into a chair at the kitchen table.

You take one adjacent to his, placing a hand over his massive paw in support and compassion. You see him smile a bit in response as he regards you quietly.

“You remember when we first met, Mike?” he asks, the conversation obviously taking a turn.

“Yeah?”

“That was about six months after the accident.” He begins, as you wince at the implications. “Yeah, I was in pretty bad shape.” He replies to your unspoken question.

“But at the end of the day, Michael, I got off light. Jeremy Human’s took the love of my life from me.” He clarifies softly.

Your mind is spinning, hoping you haven't pushed the bear too far, and also trying to figure out who, exactly, he’s talking about. Your mind flits back to something he once mentioned to you about bears and interspecial dating. Surely he can't mean…

“We met on the job. Most beautiful fox I'd ever laid eyes on.” He goes on, confusing you even more now. “Sharp, playful eyes. Cutest little ears that would twitch just so whenever things got exciting. And the most delightful tail, if you catch my meaning.” He adds candidly, smiling a bit at the double entendre, even as his gaze slips past... *through* you.

For your part, your mind is awhirl, a nagging thought nipping at the edge of consciousness before sinking its teeth in. “Wait, Carmelita?” You ask, Faz blinking in surprise.

“Wait a minute, you knew her?” He asks softly, expression unreadable as his attention focuses squarely on you again.

“No, just an article I found when I was researching Jeremy's. She was very pretty, Faz. Beautiful smile.” You add, trying to put a positive spin on the conversation.

“Yes. Yes she was.” He says softly, his smile slight and gentle now. “She volunteered for night watch, you know. Trying to impress a damned fool of a bear.” He says with a hint of bitterness now.

“I'm so sorry, Faz. I didn't mean to bring up a painful subject.” You say softly, feeling like garbage now.

He expels a brief snort of ...laughter? Derision? You can't say. “That's all in the past, now. All I have left are pleasant memories, and the occasional reminder of what could have been that bubbles up out of nowhere. That's life for you.” He adds, his typical resignation coming to the fore.

“I can't begin to even fathom how you feel. I don't even know that I've ever been that in love before, Faz, but know that you've got my sympathies.” You add, squeezing his massive paw in your hand, the gesture small and weak, but genuine to be sure.

“Thank you, Mike. That means more than you know.” he rumbles softly, placing his paw over yours. “Now if you'll excuse me, I really do need to get some shut-eye.” He adds, rising quietly from the table.

“Okay, Faz. Just remember, if you ever need an ear to bend…”

“I know.” he says, nodding and smiling slightly.

“I'm gonna see if Cheeky is up. I can let myself out, if that's okay.”

“Of course, Mike. Good night. Well, you know.” He corrects himself good-naturedly, plodding off towards his room far more quietly than should be possible for someone his size. You feel a kinship for the stealthy bear unlike any you've ever known, and you truly hope he can heal from the worst of his wounds.

You give the pantry a sidelong glance, then look down at the slowly dwindling pudge under your uniform polo shirt, deciding to risk the consequences. Plucking a chocolate iced from the box before closing it carefully, you stride softly through the familiar living room, marveling at the scent of pumpkin spice, rather than the lemony disinfectant of a year ago. Taking up station at the door, you rap softly with a single knuckle.

“Yeah?” Comes a raspy, still sleepy voice.

“Hey Cheeky, it's Mike. Are you decent?” You ask cautiously, fully expecting a ribald reply.

“Yeah, come in.” She replies quietly, without rising to the obvious bait, and you feel the first pang of worry hit you.

Pushing the door open, you see your feathered friend lying in bed, head barely propped up on her nest of pillows. From the rumpled covers, and Cheeky’s lack of her typical energy, your worry builds, creeping into your voice even as you try to be nonchalant about it all.

“Heyyyy, Lemondrop.” You say through a mostly forced smile. “How you doin’?”

“I've been better, Bubblegum.” She replies, your pet names for each other something that came naturally to you both.

“Want to split a donut?” You ask, trying to project warmth and probably failing, given the spiralling worry that threatens to sink your heart.

“That sounds lovely, Mike. The way into this girl's pants is *always* food.” she says gamely, clearly trying to put on a front for your benefit.

You quietly walk over and take a seat on the edge of the bed, looking down at the bawdy hen and your breath catches in your throat. Her makeup, normally sloppy at best, is an absolute disaster now, smears of mascara and eyeliner on her pillowcase clear evidence of recent turmoil. Tearing the pastry in half, you offer her the (barely) more generous portion, which she takes in her feathery, and slightly trembling, fingers.

“What's the matter, Cheeky?” You ask bluntly, hardly one to mince words with the equally brazen bird.

“Nothing outside the usual. Just dialed up a bit.” She says with a slight gasp in her voice as she shifts to a slightly more seated position.

“You need me to get you anything? A drink for your medication? Do you even have medication? Extra pillows?” you ask, laying a hand gently on her covered belly.

“A half dozen love slaves to cater to my every whim?” She fires back as playfully as she can manage, given the obvious pain she's in.

“I'll see what I can do.” You tell her, smiling softly at Cheeky’s spirit more than the joke itself. Taking a deep breath, your nose samples the aromas of the plump hen’s boudoir. A little bit of a stale sweat odor pervades the room, explained by the disheveled, matted state of the bird's plumage. On top of that are the floral notes of the fabric softener Cheeky abuses to keep her clothes nice and soft. Flitting in and out of your perception is a spicy, musky note, with a slight citrus tang as well.

“New perfume?” You ask, rather pleased with yourself for figuring it out, as well as how the dirty yellow bird's eyes flick open wide.

“You can smell that?” She asks with a mixture of horror and awe.

“Yeah, ChiChi says I'm a natural. A fine nose like mine should be testing high end fragrances instead of pulling guard duty, apparently.” You add, happy to have something special and distinctive about yourself that doesn't involve looking like a shaved monkey.

“Oh, you're fine, all right.” she quips back, a soft, salacious grin a far better fit on her round face than her previous pained grimace. “So, what do you think?”

“About the perfume?”

“Yeah. That.” She confirms, grin becoming almost imperceptibly wider.

“Citrus, musky with spice notes. Suits you well, Lemondrop. I like it.”

“Oh you do? I'll keep that in mind.” She replies, slipping a note of mystery into her voice that gives you pause, wondering if you're both talking about the same thing.

She chomps down on her donut, and you do likewise, the both of you enjoying a quiet moment together.

“S’good.” She declares, popping the rest into her beak and chewing quietly.

“Wanna talk about it?” You ask, knowing something is very wrong here, even if it's just the obvious.

Her smile falls quickly, her feathered hand reaching out and weakly squeezing your knee. “You know, Mike, you've got all the subtlety of a siege train.” She says chidingly.

“When one of my friends is hurting, you're damn right I do.” you fire back with conviction.

Her smile perks up for a brief moment and she squeezes your knee again, before lying back down in a more comfortable position, her gaze swiveling to the ceiling fan above the luxurious waterbed. You see her take a deep, ragged breath, testing her limits as much as steadying her nerves.

“You remember I told you once about my nerve pain? Well, I told you that there's no specific trigger.” She begins. “But major stress certainly doesn't help.” She adds, leaving the words hanging in the air between you.

You place your hands over hers, gently squeezing. “What happened, Cheeky?” You ask, voice soft and quiet, before she pulls the rug out from under your heart with her reply.

“Had a checkup appointment last week. CT showed a two centimeter mass on my left ovary. They did an immediate biopsy, find out the results today.” she says, resignation already creeping into her voice.

“You don't know…”

“Mike.” She says, stopping you cold. “Sweet, innocent, Mike.” She chides you gently. “I've been dancing to this tune for three years now. You get to where you just...know. Hopefully chemo won't be so nasty this time around.”

“Well, here's to you being wrong then.” You offer, leaning down to hug the bedridden bird. She tenses under you, a soft hiss of intaken breath the only complaint at your weight upon her. “That bad, huh?”

“Ohhhhhh yeah. Worst I've had it in a while.”

“Sorry.” You say numbly, hating the fact that you're unable to offer anything constructive at this point.

“Shhhhhhh. Not your fault, Mike.” she replies, voice barely above a whisper.

“You've been up all night, haven't you? You need some sleep.”

“What do you think I've been up all night trying to do?” She asks with as much sarcasm as the weary hen can muster.

“Well, then *I* need to go get some sleep. Can't have both of us passing out at your oncologist's.”

“Mike…” she tries to protest, but you're not having it.

“I'm coming with you, Lemondrop. What time is the appointment?”

She offers a sheepish smile, grateful and embarrassed simultaneously. “Three thirty.”

“I'll be here at two then. Make sure you're up and ready to go.”

“Miiiiiike.”

“Here I was wondering what to do with my days off.” You reply cheerily, moving to stand before her hand on your knee holds you in place.

“Please don't leave, Mike.”

“I'm coming back. Promise.” You reassure her.

“Why go all the way across the street when you can just stay here?” She asks, leaving you to wonder at her intentions.

A soft smile spreads across your lips as you try to get her to admit what she's thinking. “I suppose you're right, but the couch here sucks for sleeping on. I suppose Foxy won't mind if I borrow his spare bed.” You muse, finger to your chin for full effect.

“That's not what I meant and you know it, you dumb monkey.” She says, jabbing you softly in the ribs with a lone finger. “Mike, I've tried everything I can think of to try and get some sleep. I just...stay with me? Please?” She begs, her voice cracking a little.

“Now, Cheeky, you wouldn't be trying to leverage your situation to get me into bed with you, would you?”

“Mike, it hurt just for you to be on top of me. I really don't think some hot monkey lovin’ would be a good idea right now.” she says with a little of her trademark sass. “I need to be held, warm and comfortable as a new hatchling.” She says softly, achingly, clearly meaning it.

“And you *are* wearing something under that blanket, right?” You ask, knowing full well what Cheeky is capable of.

“Yeeeessssss. I have a night shirt on.” She says, lowering her blanket enough for you to see the garment draped over her shoulders.

You take a deep breath, contemplating the ribald bird's request and ultimately finding nothing wrong or improper about it. Either that or you just don't care, take your pick.

“Okay. I suppose we could both use a snuggle buddy. I haven't been sleeping all that well either.” You reluctantly admit.

“Door's always open, Bubblegum.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” You say dubiously, slipping your boots off, stuffing them with your socks to aid in finding them later. Considering the situation briefly, and given your history together, you unbuckle your belt and pants, shucking them as well and folding them neatly on the floor at the foot of the bed. This is followed by the pair of thermal underwear pants you were forced to buy when you realized Marion’s cheap ass had installed a timer on the office thermostat. Your blue uniform polo is next, topping off the pile and leaving you in an undershirt and your boxers.

Giggling laughter can be heard behind you, the cause a mystery for a moment until you look down and feel your cheeks burning. “I haven't had time to do laundry.” You mutter abashedly, even as Cheeky’s attempting to talk through her giggle fit.

“Damn it, Mike, it hurts to *laugh* right now, you shit!” she says, frailly punching your side.

What would, at a distance, appear to be a simple pair of boxer shorts in blue with yellow polka dots, is, in fact, dotted hundreds of times with several iterations of the cartoon face of a leering, winking, or otherwise saucy hen giving an enthusiastic thumbs (feathers?) up. Completing the gag gift (and undergarment of last resort) from Chica is the broad elastic waistband, yellow with black embroidered letters an inch high, repeatedly proclaiming NICE COCK! around your waist line.

“They were a gift, Cheeky.” You say, trying to escape Awkwardmikeville, and failing miserably.

“Oh, so you're not trying to brag?”

“Not my style, Lemondrop.” You admit freely.

“I suppose not.” She says, sinking back down into bed and breathing slowly to try and recover from her painful fit of laughter. “In any case, I'll be the judge of that.” She adds, poking your waistband, the ever-randy hen never one to let an innuendo go unspoken.

“What side you want?” You ask her, deliberately changing the subject.

In response, she rolls over onto her right side, facing you with a soft smile. “I'm good right here, Mike. Now get in here and keep me warm, it's cuddling weather out.” She demands playfully, and you can't find a decent counterargument. Circling around to the other side of the bed, you lift the covers up and see that while the word “wear” is technically correct, Cheeky’s nightshirt is more of a necklace at this point. It's rolled up into a rumpled band nestled in her wingpits, highlighting both her lack of a bra, as well as a bare, feathered backside barely lit by the meager light of her nightstand lamp, not in any way hidden by her short tailfeathers.

Your mouth opens and closes several times, trying to formulate a protest without being rude to your friend, and thusly you are stuck admiring the curvy hen's rump, which while large, is certainly firm and well-proportioned. That much more to love, you suppose. More cushion for the pushin’. Big girls need lovin’ too.

“Mike?” She asks, breaking your unspoken litany of horrifically inappropriate aphorisms.

“Yeah?” You reply nonchalantly, trying to not betray your internal monologue.

“You're letting the heat out.” She reprimands you gently.

“Sorry.” You say softly, clambering into bed as cautiously as you can manage, the liquid mattress beneath you both gurgling softly. Reaching over Cheeky, you grab the edge of the covers, tossing them over you and getting a soft gust of warm hen in the face. The dirty yellow bird's perfume is now redolent in your nose; warm, almost pungent in its intensity. You breathe deeply, taking her scent in and smiling softly for some reason you can't quite explain to yourself.

Scooting forward, you press yourself against her back, enveloping the soft, squishy bird in a left-armed hug even as you slip the right under her head.

“Mmmmmmmmm.” She hums happily, before a gasp cuts her short. “Well *hello*, sailor.” She says breathily, wiggling her ample rump into what you now realize is your half-mast erection poking into her backside. “Sooooo, not bragging are we?” She says sweetly, reveling in being able to set you back on your heels.

“Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.” you try to deflect, silently willing yourself to deflate, shrink, anything but respond positively to the teasing movement of that delightfully plump ass.

“Not that I blame you, Mike. You obviously don't get any action around here.” She teases, slipping her left arm under yours, scooping it up under the gentle swell of her massive breasts, trapping your arm there. She sighs contentedly at this arrangement, and truth be told, you're not exactly upset either. Shuffling your hips a bit, you manage to at least get yourself straightened out and sandwiched between your pelvis and hers. The only downside, and you're not sure you'd even call it that, being that you're now firmly wedged between two very warm, very comfortable butt cheeks.

“Naughty monkey.” Cheeky teases.

“Just getting comfortable.” You lie, squeezing the weary hen into as firm a hug as you dare, eliciting a soft, contented sigh from her. The scent of her body is stronger now, overpowering her delicious perfume with the slightly acidic aroma of stale sweat. A quiet moment follows, and she gently snuggles back into you, squeezing her glutes alternately, eliciting a gentle rise in your ardour. “I thought you said no hot monkey love.” You say in a mock grumpy tone.

“But hot monkey love is soooooooo tempting.” she replies breathily, your gentle affections already easing her pain, it seems.

“Yeah, but that'll take hours we don't have, Lemondrop.” you reply, breath ruffling the back of her head feathers.

“Hours, huh?” She asks dubiously. “Prove it.” She adds, giving your groin another grind for good measure.

“Cheeky. Sleep.” You insist.

“Fine.” She grumps. You console her with another hug, feeling your arm slip even deeper into the crease under her impressive cleavage.

“You need the light on?” You ask gently, her head plumage giving you enough shade that you can probably power through and get at least *some* sleep if need be.

“I suppose not.” She replies, groaning a bit as she stretches awkwardly to reach the lamp switch. She manages to get a feathertip onto it, shutting the light off, but knocking it over in the process. “Shit.” She mutters.

“I'll get it when we wake up, Cheeky.” You reassure her, even as you feel a small, tubular object roll into the back of your left hand. Reluctantly, you extricate your hand from its warm prison to examine the thing. Metal housing, inch wide, maybe eight long, tailcap switch. “Must've fallen out of my pocket.” You mumble to yourself. “Speaking of waking up, you have an alarm set?” You ask, not wanting to miss her appointment.

“No, I forgot. Where are you, you little shit?” She mutters, fumbling around her nightstand for her phone presumably.

“Hold on, I've got my flashlight.” you interject, lifting your arm and clicking the tailcap switch.

In an instant, you freeze, even your breath abated for the moment. Your brain barely registers Cheeky doing the same beside you. The one thing neither one of you is doing is finding her phone, as the room is still nearly pitch black.

As of right now, there are only two things you can even hear: your heart pounding in your chest, and the powerful mechanical hum emitted by the device in your hand, your fingertips tingling from the intense vibration produced. Your brain is in full blown panic mode now, searching for an out to the most awkward situation you can imagine, let alone remember.

“Mike?” She asks, gentle and cautious in tone.

“Yeah?”

“You can turn it off now.”

“Yeah.” You reply, still paralyzed.

Another awkward moment passes.

“Mike?” She again asks, a firmer voice getting a slightly more coherent response from your addled brain.

“Yes?”

“You can turn it off.”

“But, umm” you fumble.

“Yes. It is.” She adds calmly, answering your unspoken question. “I told you I tried *everything* to get to sleep.”

Placing a feathered hand over yours, she gently presses down, bringing your arm back down around her and to the quilt. Collapsing a pocket of air beneath, you find yourself breathing deeply as Cheeky's scent wafts into your nostrils yet again. She manages to press gently down over your thumb, silencing the offending gadget, easing it out of your grasp, and leaving you both in near total silence. The only sound that can be heard is that of Cheeky breathing softly, and with a start, you realize her respiration is perfectly synchronized with your own.

After a few minutes, you hear the fluffy hen turning left, settling onto her back with a grunt, apparently uncomfortable where she was. Lifting your left arm a bit to allow her to move, you're glad the shuffling of the linens masks your whimper of protest as she uncases your now rock-hard member from its delightfully fluffy prison. Cheeky gives a soft sigh as she settles in, and you take that as your cue to resume your gentle embrace of the bird. In spite of the darkness, your eyes fly wide open when your arm lands, recognizing quickly that you've managed to land perfectly across her uncovered bosom. You can feel the soft down of her plumage against the sensitive skin of your inner bicep, but more pressingly, the firm imprint of a nipple poking through and digging into your flesh like a fat, squidgy thumb. Your hand likewise is perfectly placed, and you can now feel full well just how large, warm, fluffy and, well, *large* the saucy bird’s boobs really are.

You begin to move your arm, lest your intentions be misread, only to have a feathered hand gently fall over yours, keeping it in place.

“Mike, we're both adults, right?” She asks softly.

“Last I checked.” You reply, unsure but intrigued by the possibility of where this conversation is going.

“And you know I'm not going to ask you to do anything you don't want to.”

“Yeah.”

“And that I trust you enough to stop if I ask you to.”

“Of course.” you reassure her gently. You can hear the smile in her voice now.

“Good. Because this,” she says, squeezing her breast with your hand, drawing you in a bit closer to her body, “feels reeeaaaaalllllllly nice.” She coos.

You smile in response, even if she can't see it, sliding your left knee up over her leg, molding yourself to her body. This has the effect of trapping a bit of blanket between you, and pressing your hardness into the soft swell of her ample hip.

“So does that.” She adds, almost purring now.

You shuffle a bit, managing to get the linens unstuck from between the two of you with just your leg, getting another noseful of your bedmate’s perfume in the process as the covers rise and fall. Finally able to feel soft feathers against your inner thigh, you clamp down gently, and then freeze as you simultaneously realize three things.

Your knee is now resting gently against Cheeky's soft, downy, and oh so hot mound.

This bird is sopping wet.

That's not perfume you're smelling.

You have little time to think, let alone comment, as the plump hen gasps softly, shuddering a bit as her hips roll gently against you of their own volition, smearing her nectar on your bare skin. You moan softly in return at the friction against the underside of your shaft, your hand squeezing down again on the ample bosom in its grasp.

“Been thinking about me have you?” You ask, nuzzling into her downy neck, giving your groin another grind against her. This elicits a giggle from the coquettish hen, even as you're wondering who in the hell authorized your mouth to say or do that.

“Mayyyyyybe.”

“And how do I measure up to the fantasy?” You ask, really starting to get into the mood, and finding the role of sexual aggressor rather arousing, given your partner’s typically assertive nature.

“Only one way to find out.” She replies, trying to regain the initiative. You feel her release your arm, both feathered hands moving under the covers. The first to arrive is the left, cupping and squeezing your rear with rough, but affectionate, familiarity. The second is the right, gently levering your knee up to allow its mate room to slip between you both. You feel a slight tickle as feathery fingers slide under your waistband, drawing a soft, humming moan from from your throat as she firmly takes hold of your shaft. A few strokes later, she gives you one more exploratory squeeze.

“Hmmmmmm, nice cock indeed.” she says breathily before proceeding further south to cup and caress the rest of your equipment.

You blush slightly at the compliment, unused to them in such an intimate arena, even if, technically speaking, you're the most well-hung human on the planet. You're further emboldened by it as well, not to mention the threat of losing the upper hand with your feathery lover, and so you slide down her side a bit, out of her reach. This draws a soft whimper from Cheeky as she loses touch with your manhood, even as your knee gently grinds against her sodden nethers. You trail little kisses down her neck and collarbone, eventually reaching the soft swell of her massive breast. This you thoroughly survey with your lips, circling slowly, inexorably inward until you graze against a very erect nub of sensitive flesh. Cheeky gasps as your lip drags against it, your smile widening as you hear her utter a soft, humming moan.

Gently latching on, you suckle softly, drawing an even lewder moan from your feathery paramour. You explore the morsel of sensitive flesh, with your lips, tongue and your left hand, gently rolling the matching nub between your thumb and forefinger. The skin feels like the supplest leather, soft and resilient under your tongue, as you slowly circle the considerable circumference before flicking the tip of your tongue back and forth over the end.

“Ohhhhhh God, Mike.” She says lewdly, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re making me soooooooo wet.” She adds, needlessly as you can feel just what a sodden mess her crotch is right against your knee. You grind gently against her once more, getting a wordless, ecstatic groan from the bawdy bird.

“Hadn't noticed.” You mumble as best you can with a mouthful of lusty hen. She giggles softly in return, before a feathery hand lands upon yours as well as the back of your head, encouraging you even more. You gently pinch and nip with your teeth, drawing a euphoric, hissing intake of breath, as well as a stiffening of the hen's sensitive flesh and a tightening of her grasp. Drawing back slightly, you keep her nipple grasped gently between your incisors, drawing your lips back and taking a sharp breath. This has the effect of rapidly cooling the moist flesh, and catching Cheeky's breath yet again as you dart forward, aggressively bathing her sensitive nipple with your warm tongue.

Giving the opposite nubbin a gentle pinch between your fingers as a farewell, your hand slides off of its warm, fluffy perch and over the side of your lover's body into the linens. After a bit of a fumbling search that almost breaks your concentration on nipple and nethers, you find the object of your search, accidentally poking Cheeky in the ribs with her vibrator.

“Noooooooooo.” She moans weakly in protest, and you stop, not moving until you can figure out what's wrong. “Not this time.” She adds softly, pressing your hand down once again. Your heart sinks a bit, the prospect of getting the fluffy bird off enticing in the extreme.

“Sorry.” You say sheepishly, laying your head on her pillowy breast.

“No, no. Don't be.” She replies in short gusts of breath, her body ripe and ready still. “I just want this. To be you. And me. And *nothing* else” she finally clarifies, placing your hand on her breast again, pinching her nipple even more forcibly than you had been.

You nuzzle into her skin again, smiling a bit even as your concern remains unanswered. “I just wanted to make sure you got yours without putting too much strain…” you begin before she breathily shushes you.

“Oh I wouldn't worry about that, sexy.” She says, gently guiding your hand downward until your fingers slide wetly, barely between her folds. You gasp at the feel of her, even as she withdraws her own hand to allow you free rein to explore, entrusting her pleasure to you. You shift your knee aside, allowing full access to Cheeky's sodden mound as you slide the tip of your middle finger down the length of it. As you expect of a plump girl like Cheeky, her outer labia are fairly puffy, but you can feel a ruffle of sensitive flesh between them, and when you graze over it, your feathery lover moans lewdly.

You take this as your cue, turning your face back into her breast and finding her nipple once again, licking and kissing it as your finger presses gently inward, separating her folds a bit as it travels upward, getting drenched in her fluids in the process. Another inch more and you encounter a very firm, and somewhat large, nub, the merest contact with which draws a shuddering gasp from Cheeky.

“Oh, GAWD, Mike. Don't you dare stop!” She says through a moan as you slowly circle the bird's button; once, twice, three times, slowly increasing force, speed and pressure with each circuit. The volume and pitch of her gasps and moans increases exponentially with each stroke, and you can tell just how keyed up she was before you came into the room.

With a sudden gasp, her back arches forcefully, nearly launching you off of her as you can barely see her hand pinching her other nipple viciously in the barest light creeping under the door. Wordless grunts and moans fill the air as you can feel her muscles twitch and spasm beneath you, and you redouble your efforts, trying your best to wring the dirty yellow bird dry. To ease her pain, you quickly justify to yourself.

Several long moments of ecstasy pass before Cheeky finally relaxes, even though you're still gently nursing at her breast and circling her clit with a soaking wet fingertip. “Mmmmmmmmm. Far from perfect, but God, I needed that.” she says, draping a feathery wing over your back and gently scratching through your shirt.

Reluctantly you disengage your lips from her breast, feigning offense. “Oh. I'm sorry I didn't have scented candles and rose petals for you, Your Highness.” You say with a smirk.

Cheeky gently bats at your head with a feathered hand. “Hush you. I'm a simple hen with simple tastes.” She admonishes you gently.

“And what would please you, Majesty?” You query, still maintaining the facade.

“Mmm, that's easy. I just need you, on top of me. Inside me.” She begins, voice still heavy with lust.

“And that's your perfect night?” You ask, sliding your middle and ring fingers down the length of her cleft, allowing the heel of your hand to come to rest on her exceptionally sensitive button.

“I want to quiver at the feeling of your hard, throbbing cock inching into me, stretching me wide, and oooooooooooh” she gasps as your fingers slowly penetrate her dripping tunnel.

“And?” You prompt, the heel of your hand applying pressure to and circling over her clit.

“Nnngh.” She answers, trying to grab at language that clearly is eluding her under your assault.

“Use your big girl words.” You playfully taunt, working Cheeky back into a frenzy as your fingers piston into her.

“And then I want you to fuck me. Hard. Fast. Ravenous.” She grunts out, clearly giving in to her lust now. “I want to see my tits quiver every time you slam into me. I want to feel your balls slapping against my ass.” She adds breathily, nearly on the edge already. You can't blame her, oddly enough, as you presently realize that you've been grinding against her leg the whole time. The only reason you've noticed is that you've managed to slide up and out of your boxers a bit, the sensitive tip of your cock now dragging through ticklish and very stimulating feathers on every stroke of your hips.

“Oh God, Mike, fill me up. Give it all to me.” She moans, leaving you to wonder a bit at whether she's lost in the fantasy or legitimately asking you to go to the next level. “Yessssss, that's it, gimme your big, fat cock, I want it alllllllll!” She moans even more lewdly than you've ever heard, before you feel her begin to arch again, prompting you to really put the spurs to her, you fingers squelching loudly as they drive her over the edge.

With a wordless, whimpering moan, she crashes back down to the bed, driving your member through an exceptionally long stroke of her plumage, before she convulses, doing this again, and again, and again. With a loud, grunting moan, you feel yourself tumble over the edge as well, your cock twitching hard as your seed squirts into the space between you, smearing against you both.

A long silence follows, punctuated only by heavy breathing from both of you as you come down from your respective highs. You can feel your heart pounding loudly in your chest, and hear your feathered lover’s doing likewise directly into your ear. The feeling of her feathers ruffling against the tip of of your nose tickles a bit, but you hardly mind, and just lay there in a sweaty, sticky mess with your bird. With a twitch and a gasp from Cheeky, you withdraw your fingers and wrap her in a tight hug, nuzzling into her bosom affectionately. She returns it gladly, humming softly as she pushes your face further into her cleavage.

“Sooooo, Mike.” she begins experimentally.

“Yeah, Cheeky?” you reply, equally unsure of where you both have landed on the relationship map.

“Next time?” She clarifies.

“You're assuming a next time?” You shoot back playfully.

“Psssh, you know you can't pass my lovin’ up.” She fires back, returning to form.

“You were the one fantasizing about me, remember?” You add, poking her gently in the ribs.

“Anyways, next time? Let's not make so much of a mess?” She asks, grinding her hip against you with a wet squelch.

“Sorry.” You reply sheepishly.

“Don't worry about it. Need a shower anyway.” She reassures you, squeezing you to her. You return the hug as tightly as you dare, sighing contentedly. A long moment passes before you speak again.

“How are you feeling?” You ask cautiously.

“Better. I needed that, Mike. Thank you.” She says, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

“I think we both did, actually.” You admit softly.

You push up a bit, shucking your undershirt and using it to clean up what you can of both your sodden crotches, tossing it and your boxers in the general direction of where you think her laundry hamper is. Bereft of clothing now, you snuggle back against your loverbird, nuzzling at her neck and planting a soft, tender kiss thereupon. Her plumage, even sweaty and disheveled, is a pleasant, if alien, sensation against your bare skin, and you revel in it silently.

You hear more than feel her move, fumbling about for her phone before the screen blinks to life, nearly blinding you both. Tapping a few times on the screen, she beeps it back off before setting it back on the nightstand. The next thing you hear is the top drawer open before something heavy falls into it and the drawer is closed again.

“Won't be needing that any time soon.” Cheeky mutters, turning towards you and onto her side with a soft grunt. You feel her press her cheek against yours as she draws you into a warm, cuddling hug, her bare chest pressed against your own. You both sigh softly into the embrace, and you can feel her breath warm on your neck.

“You don't regret this, do you, Mike?” You hear her ask quietly.

“Why would I?” You reply earnestly.

“I just know you've got all these better options out there…”

“Shhhhhhh. Don't you get down on yourself, Lemondrop.” You reply, squeezing her tightly. “You're beautiful, and funny, and fun to be around. Took me a little while to get used to it, but yeah, I like the back and forth we've got going. Wouldn't trade it for anything.” You add, meaning it.

“So what are we then?” She asks, voice quiet.

“We're whatever we want to be. We can argue semantics and titles later. Right now, we're two very tired, very satisfied people, who very much need to get some sleep.” You admonish her gently.

“Okay.” She says happily, squeezing you softly.

“G’night, Lemondrop. You get some rest.” You advise her, trying not to bring up precisely why she needs it. You give her a slow, tender kiss on the cheek, as yet unsure how to properly kiss a bird.

“G’night, Bubblegum.” she says, nuzzling into your cheek even as she squeezes your backside affectionately.