When the tickling and wriggling fades out -- you're both a bit tired, so it's not all that long before cuddling sounds more appealing than tickle fights -- you take up your book again. "Okay, where were we when you started distracting me...?" Paging back, you add, "Don't feel bad if you're confused, it's not you. 'The Big Sleep' is famous for being complicated and full of multi-layered betrayals and plot twists. I've read it like four times and I'm still noticing things I missed." You kiss his nose and grin. "It's a chewing bone for my brain!"
You snort at him. "I prefer other sorts of bone," you say loftily, and give him a squeeze through his boxers. It prompts an adorable squeak and a bit more tussling, but then he settles in to read. You press your face to his chest and enjoy the rumble of his voice. It isn't, actually, any easier to follow with this kind of brain. Maybe Bel's just enacting some sort of dastardly plot to make you want to hear more Harry Potter. You wouldn't put it past him. You don't notice dozing off, but you do notice when you wake up, sometime before dawn, still all hands and raw skin. Huffing a pleased little sigh you pull Bel closer, kiss his throat, and go back to sleep.
In the morning, you're delighted to find he's still human. You feel extraordinarily rested. Snuggling, you conclude, is good for your health. You slip out, careful not to let a cold draft into the sleeping bag or tent, and crouch over the coals of last night's fire in boots and boxers to stir up fire and make breakfast. Then you sneak back in -- wriggle backwards out of your shoes and into the sleeping bag, then pull the breakfast items in after you and zip up the flap -- so you can wake Erskin up to sweet tea and cinnamon apple oatmeal, piping hot. "Morning, cutie butt."
You snort, yawn, snort again, more interested, and crack an eye open. "Why does fruit smell good...?" you mumble. "Oh. I'm. Mrngghf, right." You yawn, stretch, and get your elbows under you to peer at the oatmeal. Concluding that it is in fact oatmeal and it does in fact smell delicious and it is not presumably hot enough to burn you, you scoop the bowl close and lick at the contents. It works, even with your gruesomely abbreviated human face. Which is good, since you don't want it on your hands and there's no fucking way you're dealing with a spoon this early. "Thanks," you remember to say at some point.
"You're welcome!" you reply cheerfully, and return to licking your own bowl -- you used a spoon, but you were still hungry, so you lick the bowl clean. Successfully full of breakfast, you set the bowl aside and wriggle down even farther into the sleeping bag so you can rest your head on the concavity of Erskin's back, between the lovely triangle taper of shoulders-to-waist and his eminently squishable ass. You're grinning due to the mere existence of said ass. "I've been in a better and better mood ever since I met you," you point out. "You should've seen me when I first got out of the hospital -- or not, no you shouldn't have, I was awful. I was like... stick a metal arm on me and call me Asset. And now here I am giggling to myself just because oatmeal is good and you have a butt."
"Aww," you go. You want to turn and lick his ears but his head's in the wrong place. Yours is, too, for that matter. "Well, you're an asset to me, I think. I mean, too. To me too? I'm glad I met you, this has been a— a damn good time. Let's stick together for awhile." You've never really proposed anything like that before, made... a commitment. And even if you said it impulsively, you don't feel like backtracking, or softening it any. You duck your face back over your bowl, feeling your ears burn.
"Yeah," you agree, softly but with vehemence. "Let's do that." You move back up to kiss his shoulder, notice his bright pink ear and give it an approving nibble. "I was planning to make some distance today, but now I kind of want to just roll around with you for a few more hours. It's a dilemma."
"I'm— erm, I— I—ahh—" your ear burning situation doesn't resolve itself. In fact it gets significantly worse when Bel starts mouthing it.
You whimper a shaky assent, pushing your bowl and tea mug off to arm's length, then tilt your head to give him better access.
He's precious, warm and sleep-soft, his hair a haystack and his jaw fuzzy with surprisingly non-scratchy stubble, all bundled up in your oversized thermal jammies and blushing like a kid. You are so stupidly in love. You lavish his ear and neck with attention, pressed up snug against his side and running your hand up under his shirt to enjoy his back muscles.
Your whimpering turns steadily into enthusiastic moaning, and you arch shamelessly into his palm where it slides, electric, against your bare skin. Clothes are different from fur, they blunt sensation in totally different ways, and the play of fingers going over and under them is endlessly exciting. Your cock's straining against the fabric of your pants and the sleeping bag both, no real friction to satisfy but you can't stop the movement of your hips, trying. You finally whine frustration and roll to shove your ass back against him, grabbing for your erection. "Come on, then," you pant impatiently.
"Ssh, I've got you." You push his hand aside and give him yours to rock into. Wrap your other arm around him as well and see how playing with his nipples goes over. After a while you need skin; work his leggings and your boxers down enough that you can wrap your hand around his cock, and rock yours against the top of his ass crack. But you don't thrust or grind. Just... slow, lazy rocking, more focused on nibbling and kissing all over his ears and shoulders and neck.
"Lazy," you accuse, squirming. "I— I want— come on—" at the rate he's going, you're going to catch on fire before you get anywhere near climax. When he toys with your nipples you jolt, unsure whether to press into the attention or squirm away. He pinches at them and you cry out raggedly, clawing at him, unable to deal with it on top of the way he's biting and sucking on your throat, too.
"Yeah, yes good, oh you're gorgeous," you murmur approvingly. "You took your time on me last night, let me return the favor." You don't want to frustrate him, not really, you just want to escort him carefully past the easy orgasms to the one that'll make his brain white out. Your grip on his cock isn't tight, but you make sure to run your fingers over the sensitive place between base and balls from time to time, smooth precome around the rough, delicate skin just behind the head. Get him sensitized. Get him overloaded, between that and his nipples and his neck, so he forgets everything but pleasure. You are going to cherish the living hell out of him.
You cry out and thrash, a few times, before it's all too much and you just sort of... melt, shivering dazedly against him. Reach back over your shoulder to get at his hair, so there's something to hold on to. You lose track after that, thoroughly scrambled by the way he teases the pleasure back and forth through you, from one part of your body to the next so there's nowhere to concentrate on, brace yourself against— when you come, finally, you scream with it.
The sound goes directly to your dick, and then he's soft and dazed and trusting and you can't -- you're not worthy -- you can't -- you come on his back and mess up his shirt. Oh well. You use the least crunchy bit of your cleanup rag to deal with your handful of spunk and do the best you can with the shirt. It's all fairly perfunctory, as what you want most in life right now is to curl around him, little spoon, your peerless smelly wilderness boyfriend, and nuzzle his hair and make soft happy noises.
You return the soft happy noises, mostly wolfish but with a few human mumbles thrown in to show willing. Fuck, it feels like you were turned inside-out, you're still raw. And a little sniffly. Which turns out to be a good thing, because when your nose clears, you observe: "Smelly." The two of you and this sleeping bag smell really objectionable. You don't actually know how to solve that as a human in a way that doesn't involve turning back into your normal shape and running away. Which you don't want to do right now. This is a very excellent hug you're receiving.
"Heh, yeah, we reek. Could do laundry I guess, there's plenty of water and firewood, but then we'd lose the whole day waiting for stuff to dry. I think I'd rather just put up with it and do more travel. Maybe next time we stop to hunt and fish." You chuckle at a sudden thought: "I don't have an Ontario fishing license. If we fish at the north end of the loop I'll be slightly breaking the law."
"Mmm. Alright. I wanna go." You twist around to nibble his jaw. He's bristly. "Let's criminal. Criminalize. Do crimes."
