Moonspear [m] the suspension of disbelief

He said four simple words which were once again more than the sum of their parts. He knew. Treepie’s lips parted, as another thought came hot on the heels of that one: was it far more obvious than she’d realized? She felt a flicker of foolishness, though that was quickly erased by the touch of Kindle’s muzzle as it brushed her own. He knew and it wasn’t stopping him.

Treepie breathed in sharply, though she did not feel anything deeper than the sensation of his whiskers tickling. It was actually mildly unpleasant, though a breathy titter escaped her. Taking matters into her own hands, she pressed back, flattening his whiskers and touching her lips to the corner of his mouth. She felt a little excited by her own boldness, though if she was meant to feel anything else, well…

If only he was a woman, Mev decided to blurt in the back of her head just then. You know, that could work out really well for you if you just… But Treepie refused to listen to that horrid little voice, even going so far as to shake her head in refusal to acknowledge it. This, of course, knocked her snout against Kindle’s in a way that wasn’t only unpleasant but mildly painful.

Shit, she blurted. Sorry. Without thinking, she brought up a paw to cup the spot on his muzzle she’d knocked. Sorry, she repeated, the gesture becoming more of a caress as she held onto Kindle’s face, her own throbbing dully.

Their eyes locked and, for no reason at all—especially now that she’d muffled Mev—a great sadness swept through her. Treepie could feel it trying to contort her facial muscles, though she resisted. In fact, she did more than that: she fought back against it. She leaned in and placed a delicate kiss on the patch of flesh likely bruising beneath Kindle’s soft fur.