Glire walks down a cramped corridor, so much so that she has to crouch slightly. The walls around her are concrete, mostly bare, only because the paint's peeled so much. They are, were, white, with a yellow line just above the naked concrete floor, like it wants you to follow it. The edge of wall and ceiling has a wire-wrapped light fixture at regular intervals, halogen, maybe. It's bright and very white.

The corridor is straight, and she doesn't know how long she's been walking. She looks at the floor in front of her — it's easier in the crouch, and besides, her glasses are off, so everything beyond a certain point is blurry — but her peripheral vision indicates a seemingly endless, straight path in front of her. On the wall to her left, in ruined yellow paint, five-foot-wide, floor-to-ceiling slab-serif letters begin to pass by.

They eventually spell out MUSE CITY.

She doesn't know where Muse City is; on the other hand, 'here' is where it is, wherever 'here' is. She doesn't know if she's ever been to it, or even if she's heard it before. It seems familiar, though she can feel the oneiric surreality of the setting, and everything is familiar in dreams.

Her periphery eventually picks up that she's approaching a figure. She looks up, and sees someone she recognizes, even blurred by myopia.

"Chloé?" she asks, as she approaches.

The mouse says nothing, just looks up and watches her. She has yellow diamonds on her cheeks, a chocolate brown shirt and strawberry-red sweatpants. It's not an unusual combination for her, though Glire hasn't seen the brown shirt before. Her gaze is... sharp. Attentive. She is studying Glire. Glire doesn't know why — it's not her style, she's always so indirect, so timid — but it makes her feel small, especially under the bright white lights giving her no shadows in which to hide.

She likes feeling small. She just never expected it to come from Chloé.

The walls don't move, but the space contracts around them nonetheless, somehow, as she approaches. She cannot stand beside Chloé in the suddenly rail-thin corridor without pressing up to her, and there she stops, chest to chest, looming.

Chloé looks as beautiful as she ever has, especially with the expression on her face. Desire like she cannot bear to express outside of dreams or her mask. She's been biting her lip; the bottom one is patchy with red marks.

Her hand reaches up, confidently, and pulls Glire down into a kiss.

Glire's stunned by this, but she kisses back after a moment, closing her eyes. She can feel Chloé's body against her, supple, soft, and perhaps she hasn't been biting her lip, because she tastes of strawberry syrup, just this side of cloyingly sweet. Glire's tongue presses forward, and she takes a deep breath through her nose; the heady scent of dark chocolate fills her nostrils. Her stomach growls, and Chloé makes a soft noise against her.

The mouse's hand tangles in Glire's hair, and she pulls her down to the side of her neck. "Eat me," she pleads.

Glire runs her tongue along Chloé's neck, and she can taste chocolate. It makes her want to nibble, to suck, to bite, and she gives in to that impulse, sinking her teeth into Chloé, making her gasp and moan. Chloé's skin gives effortlessly under Glire's teeth, far more than it should, and more strawberry flavour mixes with the chocolate in Glire's mouth.

Chloé's body feels like it's conforming to the bunny's in impossible ways. Glire's hands feel wet with viscous fluid as she moves them along Chloé's body, and her own, still completely solid, slowly sinks into Chloé's liquefying mass.

This would be terrifying in any other context, but in a dream, everything makes at least a little sense, and Glire's senses are buzzing with sweet strawberries and unctuous chocolate, and Chloé is moaning like Glire wished she could hear her moan, and lust makes her accept the premise without further questioning. She pushes forward into the mass of chocolate, and Chloé turns and pulls Glire towards her, and they fall onto the ground, Chloé's garments crackling apart like filo pastry.

Glire doesn't look up. She wouldn't know what to do with the visual she assumes is underneath her, a fluid spatter of chocolate and strawberry and mouse. Instead she just drags her mouth downward, smearing liquid chocolate along her cheeks, as she finds a collarbone and gathers sweetness along it with her tongue.

Dripping arms wrap around her, just coherent enough to move, spreading along her back and melting into each other. The mass moves slowly, but surely, inside her clothing, oozing into the collar and up under the bottom hem and between the buttons of her shirt, dripping upward against her inner thighs, coating the front of her panties and slithering tendrils into the legs and the waistband. It tears like fruit leather under the pressure of the chocolate and her own stiffness, and warm ooze engulfs her, and she groans, body rolling against the mouse underneath her. Even as fluid as she is, she can still feel a body underneath all the chocolate, somehow, chest and legs and arms. The chocolate guides her to Chloé's entrance, and she wastes no time surging in; Chloé is more than wet enough to bury herself in the first stroke, and she squeaks in Glire's ear, squeezing around her.

Her shirt bursts open at the front like a gum bubble, and she finds purchase in the fluid, and she rocks her hips. She's covered down her front neck-to-knee in chocolate, up along her inner thighs, most of her back, her arms, her face... god, but Chloé tastes so good, and she gorges herself as she thrusts into her, cracking Chloé's collarbone in her teeth like a long, cylindrical sugar cookie, the buttery crumbs melting in her mouth.

She feels drawn inward, to Chloé's core, but she doesn't know why until she gets there and feels the rapid beating of the mouse's heart against her lips. Through the chocolate, cheek-deep, nose just barely peeking out to breathe, her lips rest against Chloé's heart as it thunders, twitching its tightly choreographed dance.

Glire feels the chocolate and sugar begin to affect her, or perhaps it's the intimacy of having someone's beating heart against her mouth, but in that moment, she wants, needs to worship it, and worship she does, kissing and licking at every inch of Chloé's heart she can find, all the while drawing back with her hips and then plunging into the chocolate underneath her. She doesn't even know if there's anything she would recognize as a vagina any more, or whether she's just thrusting into a formless pelvis, but Chloé's noises tell her not to stop all the same, and so does the viscous, slick grip around her shaft.

She can feel Chloé coming apart underneath her, figuratively and literally, even the vague sense of a body gone save for the mouse's thudding heart; it's just chocolate and strawberry syrup, mingling, engulfing her, save for Chloé's head, which has remained intact and mewling its pleasure all this time. Chloé's moans grow more desperate by the moment, wanting, needing, begging, and when Glire hears her close to orgasm, she dives in and tears into Chloé's heart with her teeth.

It gives like a fresh strawberry, and juice floods her mouth. She feels a tight grip around her shaft, Chloé's orgasm, hears the mouse screaming in ecstasy somewhere above her, and her thrusting grows more desperate, and she takes another bite, and another, her throat burning, the acid of the convulsing fruit cutting the sweetness of the syrup and the chocolate. She's too deep in, she can't breathe, but she doesn't care, all she cares about is eating and thrusting, thrusting and eating.

She and Chloé have held each other at arms length for months, dancing the dance, never quite brave enough to pull each other close, and after denying herself for so long, she gladly drowns in Chloé with the taste of strawberries on her tongue. Her hips buck hard enough to create a wave of chocolate that laps against her sides as she comes, twitching coconut cream into the chocolate, emptying herself of everything she's stored up, over and over and over...

Her eyes open, and suddenly, she's no longer pressed into a concrete floor. She's face down in her own bed, teeth pressed into her pillow, sun streaming through the window.

"Pleh," she says, letting go of the pillow, looking down bleary-eyed at the wet spot from her saliva.

She rubs her tongue against her front teeth to get the dry fuzzy sensation out and shifts, and feels stiffness, wetness, and sensitivity between her legs. 

Oh. 

"Goodness," she mumbles to the empty room.

There's not much of a damp spot on the bed, she determines as she rolls over, most of it's in her pyjama pants, but those are a mess, cum darkening the fabric in a broad patch. She stares at the ceiling... then closes her eyes, allowing herself a moment to remember the feel of the thick chocolate enveloping her for a few moments more, but eventually, the cooling fluid in her pants forces her hand. Stretching for a long, luxurious moment, then throwing off the blankets, she gets up and starts the process of cleaning herself up.

Across the city, in a basement apartment, a newly-awoken mouse slides her fingers down her bare stomach, pressing in, confused that her fingers are meeting resistance.