Mink Cuddling
Keys spin the lock, their jingling breaking the silence of the empty hallway. A hand grips the knob near reverently, the world awaiting on the other side the only focus of his mind. Opening a door is a simple act: swinging wood on greased hinges should take a matter of seconds. His sluggish movements triple the time. The details of the day are systematically scrubbed as an untouched kitchen and common area greets him from inside. A glance at his feet shows no other shoes in the doorway.
He is first, and thus, alone.
The door is closed and locked, his posture drooping more each second. A heavy yawn breaks out as the last shoe is shed. A hand touches the wall for guidance as the man moves deeper into his home. Light switches along the way go untouched: the increasing darkness much easier for his eyes to bear. His palm reaches an opening, the faint aroma of scented shampoos still present. He pauses, a sense of obligation fighting against lethargy.
Another yawn comes. His palm skips over the doorway, legs gaining a last kick of energy from his increased proximity to long-awaited sleep. The bedroom is reached. He leans on the doorway, loosening his buckle, unbuttoning his shirt. A best estimate is made of the furthest point away from the door and bed, and all but his underwear is thrown to the ground there.
At last, the final journey.
The sheets welcome him simply, a layer of cotton above and below. The fabric brings no sensation of note against his skin. His pillow rests a distance away from the bed head, but is nonetheless comfortable—proof of an excellent mattress. He turns to his side, facing where another body could be imagined to lie. An arm reached unbidden, tenting the cover sheet in a pretend-embrace, then flops to the bed.
It was time to claim another day.
…
The door opens from a similar pair of keys. A mink trudges in, brown fur, save a cream splotch around the nose, illuminated by a lightbulb left burning at the door. Her eyes flick to the switch, then to the discarded pair of shoes, small ears swiveling to catch anything above the din of her home. A leg reaches out to kick the door shut, which brushes her tail on the way. She startles, pulling her tail out of the way before it slams shut.
Expression withering, she lifts both paws to her eyes, rubbing them to stimulate more alertness. Ten seconds pass before they resume threatening to close. Her head-fur is slightly out of order, unkempt like a mammal teetering on the edge of sanity, but her arms continue to hang limp at her sides.
The mink peers ahead with purpose, then stalks through the darkness. She is the second to arrive: the quietness points to a singular destination in her mind. Her eyes easily navigate the darkness, going until they settle on the man-shaped lump under the sheets. A glance aside finds his pile of discarded clothes.
She concurs with the idea, and strips down to her own bra and panties. Losing these layers do nothing to correct the sag in her shoulders, despite their offloading. She looks to the ceiling, pondering a way to dump her weight.
“It’s Friday,” she sighs.
An affirmation. Her words hang in the air, a promise to the period of respite waiting beyond her rest. The man stirs a little at her voice, still awake to some extent. This information makes her stand a little taller, and the mink takes a few moments to stretch, bending her athletic form with contented sighs.
The sheet is untucked at the foot of the bed. The mink approaches, a plan already in mind for joining her partner. A paw peels up the covers until space for her head appears, and then she crawls inside, charting a path for the man-lump. In the process, she burrows under an arm draped over the mattress, gaining the welcome feeling of weight trailing over her body.
Her head meets the pillow set against the bedhead, a hard limit to advancing further. Changing priorities prompt a careful swap to lying on her side. His arm, now draping over her side, flexes in a weak attempt to pull their torsos closer. That, she could oblige.
A smile lifts her face, and a paw slides underneath her pillow to secure it. Her neck curls, head drawing closer to the man until his hair oils become a persistent aroma in her nostrils. One furry arm wriggles under the man and seizes his lower back, and the other slings over him to grasp the back of his head. A leg of hers hooks around one of his. The tail, not to be left out, slides over them both to sidle up his back.
She relaxes, finally achieving a pleasing amount of warmth. It's a perfect cocktail for sleep.
“Hey.” His voice, bassy and slurred, arises.
“Hey,” she responds.
His lips plant themselves on her neck in a chaste kiss. She hums in joy.
“Long day?”
He lingers close enough to vibrate the fur under his mouth, an unspoken display of his own craving for closeness. It lifts the weight on her shoulders.
“Long week.”
“Ouch,” he huffs.
“S’over now,” she interjects, then lifts her head to yawn. “Yours?”
He starts to reply, but a yawn interrupts. She squeezes him in apology, then senses the heart thumping in his chest. “Made you do that, didn’t I?”
Her pressure remains. He hums in response. “Better week, bad day.” Hands move to scratch and rub along her bushy fur, which earns another happy sigh from her lungs.
“I missed you,” he whispers. His pulse speeds up, approaching a pace like her own—if her heart wasn't already starting to race in response. A familiar, bubbling feeling in her chest arises, and yearning sparks anew for the man in her arms.
“I missed you too,” she replies, smiling wide.
Something in the air breaks. The fingers at her back start to press in slow, deliberate circles, systematically hunting out favored spots within the fur. She squishes her breasts against him in a deliberate push, nipples hard enough to be felt through the sports bra covering them. He nuzzles into her, planting kisses wherever his head can reach. Her paw kneads his hair, teeth finding an ear. A playful nip is delivered.
Their moves peter out quickly. Neither has enough passion to outrun their fatigue. The mink hisses in frustration.
“Damn it. Wish I had more gas in the tank.”
“Don't sweat it. Feels like I'd sleep through bunny aphrodisiac right now.”
“I'd totally take care of us both.”
“That's my line,” he quips.
Libidos dormant, they simply lay together, mindful of the other’s weight settling into the mattress, and the warmth in sharing air. More of the world bleeds away, until their minds can only hold awareness of the body next to them. Her pulse, beating twice in the same span for one of his. A strange thing. It drives a distinction in their tangle of limbs.
A hand and paw find their way to each other, fingers intertwining. Strange, yet wonderful.
She squeezes his hand with the last scrap of her remaining focus. “Jasper?”
“Tika?”
“I love you.” Emotion bleeds from her tone.
He returns the squeeze. “Love you too.”
Sleep rolls in.