Work Text:
The door to the employee bathroom blows open, and in just a few short strides, the bathroom’s current occupant arrives at the sink. Callista Alleycat, the House of Mouse’s regular evening entertainer, grumbles to herself and yanks fistfuls of paper towels from the dispenser. With a grimace, she desperately tries to blot out the newly added stain that blemishes her work vest. When she sees the greasy marks that still remain after her onslaught, her ears flatten against her head, brow furrowing.
‘Wonderful. Well that was certainly going to stain. This was… what? The third shirt this week?’ Callista wets the paper towel this time and resumes dabbing the fabric. ‘Hmm… I’ll have to ask Pinkie to arrange to get them all dry cleaned… oh but if i’m going to do that I might as well throw in my last two performance gowns that are *also* damaged, in no small part due to all the chaos this club seems to attract.’
Callista’s face scrunches as she stares holes into the stubborn stain. ‘Honestly, were the patrons always this rowdy? What happened to civilized society these days? There used to something called Basic Manners… and Respect for the working class… and Class itself for that matter… and oh my fucking god why is this fucking stain refusing to lift?!’
With a quiet hiss she throws the offending paper towels in the sink and glares at her reflection with such an intense look of anger, that for a moment Callista is surprised the mirror doesn’t shatter on the spot. With a ‘tsk’, Callista forces her face to relax and she starts to fix herself up. ‘Calm down, Callie’, she chides, smoothing the lines of her face and checking her eyeliner. ‘You might be miserable, but that’s no excuse for *looking* miserable!’
Such a terrible week thus far. She had been covering waitressing shifts on top of her usual performance schedule; A couple of her coworkers seem to have fallen ill, with not enough people to cover their shifts. Out of the kindness of her heart (AKA the promise of overtime plus whatever tips she got), she graciously offered to pitch in, but if she had known that the workload was going to be like *this*, she might not have bothered. Probably.
She’d have to remember to thank Olivia for somehow managing to catch *scurvy* from her pirate boyfriend. Callista still doesn’t know if that’s even physically possible.
If that wasn’t enough, Callista woke up to discover one of her blush palettes completely missing, and when she went to buy another she was shocked to find that the brand had been closed for years. She knew that she used that blush sparingly… but had she really had that palette since the 70s?
To top it all off, she had to cancel her date with her boyfriend last night after one of her house’s pipes burst. It didn’t end up being too much of a production – luckily she had Horace on speed dial and he was happy to help her out – but the whole ordeal meant that Callista was forced to call a rain check on her whole evening. Callista liked Horace well enough, but hanging out with the horse and occasionally handing him towels and wrenches wasn’t exactly her vision of a hot date.
Callista sighed and finally stepped back from the mirror, reasonably satisfied with her efforts. At least in an hour, she would be cut free from her obligations. She had one hail mary for the week: Mortimer had called and cashed in on that rain check, so the week wasn’t a total wash. ‘My knight in shining armor. heh.’ The mental image made Callista snort a little, a small smile sneaking onto her face despite her sour mood.
Now if only this god forsaken shift would hurry up and end… At this point, she was about ready to start shoving citrus down Olivia Lapin’s throat if it meant getting her back to work faster.
At the same time, in the residence of 36 Mouston Boulevard, Mortimer Mouse is cooped up in his house, the dim evening casting long shadows throughout the residence. A movie is playing on his massive flatscreen television, the light from which illuminates Mortimer's face in a pale white light. He’s sitting in his brown leather recliner, feet kicked up with his hands resting behind his head. Despite his relaxed position however, his expression is anything but.
Mortimer is pouting.
The tall mouse frowns and grumbles to himself as he tries to pay attention to the movie in front of him, a task he’s been failing at for the past hour. He’s a bit preoccupied thinking of all the ways the universe has wronged him this week.
And what a week it’s been. For one thing, he just burnt the popcorn he wanted to eat with this movie he bought (which was turning out to be a total snoozefest, he’ll have you know). More relevant though was the fact that he had to add another scheme to the ever-growing pile of ways he’s failed to mess with Mickey Mouse. To add insult to injury, Mickey had even banned him from the club for a month for this recent stunt. Hadn’t his pride been hurt enough? Nothing had even caught on fire this time, so he didn’t see what the big issue was. He wonders if it had something to do with Mick’s assistant getting involved… but he never seemed to throw such a fit when he used to drag Minnie into his schemes. Mick was just being unreasonable, as always.
And the cherry on top? His own girl flaked on him the other night to hang out with Horace of all people. Groan. He wonders how much flirting that horse managed to get in with Mortimer not around. It wouldn’t surprise him if the horse *himself* had messed with her house’s pipes to begin with, as an excuse to swoop in and save the day.
It’s plausible, he muses. It’s what he would have done, anyway, if he were in Horace’s shoes.
Mortimer frowned and crossed one leg over the other, beginning to bounce his foot while he brooded. She did promise him that she’d swing by after work and make it up to him, so that was something at least.
The movie continues on in the background, forgotten to its audience. Mortimer stops bouncing his foot, and instead starts to tap his fingers against the arm of his recliner.
‘She gets off work in an hour’, he muses. That’s not so long. He was a patient guy, he could keep himself busy until then…he could make some food for them both, perhaps even tidy up a bit. He could even finish this garbage movie. Remembering the movie in question, he dimly returns his attention to the film just long enough to catch some dull conversation between the protagonist and his dying friend, before his eyes glaze over again and he returns back to his thoughts.
…
……….
‘What would be the harm in swinging by, just to hang out until her shift ends?’ No… knowing Mickey and his hired muscle, he’d never even make it past the front door. Mortimer cringed as he thought of one toon in particular, that massive auburn fox that Mickey called the sous-chef.
He needed to find out if those muscles were just for show like he needed a heart attack.
…
………
‘That being said, I could say I’m just there to give Callie-girl a ride. Even Mick can’t fault a guy for being a good friend. That had to go against practically everything the shorty stands for.’
A friend. It was Cal’s idea: keeping their relationship under wraps so it would look less suspicious if he was caught backstage with her. Whether the ploy was actually working he wasn’t sure, but at least Mick seemed to be none the wiser. This wasn’t an ideal situation for the mouse – Mortimer, of course, will jump at any excuse to show off – and the task of NOT bragging about how he bagged the most attractive girl in the joint was a herculean feat of self control for him. He had to hand it to Callista though: there was appeal in running around like he had a sexy little secret in his back pocket.
That was the thought that did Mortimer in. Spurred to action, he practically jumped out of his seat, hardly sparing the time to turn off the TV before he grabbed his blazer and his car keys. Within a minute he was out the door, tires squealing on pavement as Mortimer sped towards the House of Mouse.
Ban be damned.
When Mortimer arrived at the building, he had been certain that there would be someone waiting at the front of the establishment to keep the pesky ne'er-do-wells out. That he would have to pull out some creative stunts to make his way into the building – like texting Callista and having her prop open the employee entrance, for instance. But when he parked his convertible down the street and slunk his way closer to the front of the building, he was pleasantly surprised to find that aside from that Max kid, who was currently preoccupied with his boyfriend, there were no other obstacles keeping him out.
This was going to be too easy. It’s almost like Mickey *wants* Mortimer to fuck his girlfriend on the leather seats of his changing rooms. Ha Cha Cha.
Well this was better, Callista thought with a sigh of relief. She had her back leaned against the archway that separated the now darkened main showroom and the backstage area, her slender form silhouetted nicely by the lighting behind her. On the theatre screen, Mickey had one of his long-awaited shorts playing, a special cartoon he’d had in the works for the last couple months. One of those projects where everyone had gotten on board, even if they only appeared for a quick cameo. She was even in it, albeit briefly.
She wouldn’t call the end result a master work in cinema, but she had to admit that the series of short stories that made up the film were entertaining. At the very least she was grateful for the distraction it provided; Most of the toons were too preoccupied with the show to flag her down for anything, and the eyes of her coworkers were glued to the screen just the same. And, Callista noted to herself with satisfaction, If she was correct, her shift would end around the same time as the film.
Meaning for the last half hour of her shift, she could relax in sweet sweet solitude.
Or so she thought, anyway. In that moment, Callista’s ear gave an involuntary twitch, something in her intuition telling her something was amiss. Callista sighed. One of her patrons was probably just staring holes into her, trying to get her attention. But when she looked behind her, trying to find the source of the disturbance, she came up empty.
She scanned the audience in silence, now leaning on her side against the archway, and almost instantly she saw him. Mortimer Mouse himself had discreetly hidden himself at the back of the showroom. From his demeanor he seemed to be looking for something, and Callista thought she knew exactly what he was looking for. As if his eyes were drawn to hers, their gazes met, and the woman snorted knowingly at the look on his face. He couldn’t wait either, huh?
It was as simple as Callista giving a quick nod towards the back of the building for their game to start. That’s all it took; A scheme pulled plenty of times in the handful of months they’d been together. Callista sent her favorite trespasser a knowing look and silently disappeared into the doorway. Mortimer had to travel a little further, making his way back outside and towards the employee entrance in the alleyway, a pleased pep in his step.
It was almost too easy for Callista to smuggle him in; With no one in sight, she didn’t even need to hide her intentions. It was still risky for her to be doing this – she was still technically on the clock, after all – but Callie felt reasonably sure that anyone who would have a reason to look for her would be well distracted.
“Hey there, Stranger.” she says, when she opens the door. ‘Missed me that bad, huh?’ She wants to tease, catching the way Mortimer’s face softens when he sees her. A light laugh escapes her lips as he leans up languidly against the doorframe and shoots her a goofy little look, dramatic and faux-pleading, before wagging his eyebrows and winking at her.
“Heya toots. You wouldn’t leave a guy all alone out here in the cold, would’ya?”
Callista just grins and grabs his arm, pulling her happy little boy-toy into the currently abandoned space.
There’s a regular dance they do when it comes to these escapades. Neither of them are particularly coy when it comes to sex, but there’s something thrilling in the game that they play. There’s an unspoken challenge between them, a wager to see who will crack first. Sometimes the charade lasts all night: A loaded glance across the floor, a flirting comment to a customer when she knows her jealous beau will hear, a roaming hand during a water refill. One time Callista even slipped him her thong, enclosing it in his bill (she won that night.).
Of course, it’s just as often that the game ends as fast as it starts. Sometimes their self control is less like tempered glass and more like damp paper, and just as fragile. Either way, the prize is the same, the game ending in the exact same manner every time. That cramped storage closet in the back of the building hasn’t gotten this much attention in years.
The game, something secret and special between its lone two participants, just works for them. It feels good to be wanted, to be desired.
Tonight it seems that the dance is a brief one; a waltz that lasts only a few turns. They can both sense it in each other’s demeanors. There's a longing –a steady hunger– that exists just below the surface. Under their easy smiles, there’s a desire held back taut by social convention. But it’s a desire that won’t be held back for long.
Callista thinks to herself that she wishes she could take him right there in the entryway. Mortimer looks about ready to actually go through with it.
Mortimer opens his mouth to speak, but before the words can come Callista is already upon him, pressing her mouth onto his. For his part, he wastes no time in matching her pace. The bubble of anticipation that always builds during these trysts pops, and the fulfillment of the buildup that has been growing in preparation for their later date rips straight through Callista, the shockwaves of which thrum deep in her body. Her heart beats so fiercely she wonders if Mortimer can feel it against his own chest.
Has kissing always felt so thrilling? The thought excites her a little, and suddenly it doesn’t feel like enough, she needs more. Without thinking, Callista’s arms drop from his shoulders and snake down his torso, and she deeply savors every contour of his body until her hands reach their destination at his waist.
‘Missed me that bad, huh?’ Mortimer is tempted to tease, but he thinks better of it; he's much too preoccupied with the task at hand. He’s acutely aware of Callista’s ministrations – the pressure that he feels from her manhandling is intoxicating– and already he can feel his body react to the stimulation.
They’re lucky no one was around to see this. Well, it was lucky for Callie anyway; Mick would *freak* if he saw what went on in his comedy club.
The tall mouse grinned into the kiss. Mortimer for one would love to give that pipsqueak a show.
Suddenly, they both jump as a noise echoes loudly somewhere from the left, too close to their current position for Callista's liking. The clank of metal hitting something, from backstage as far as she can tell. Was it Horace, messing with the lights upstairs and bumping something off the landing? A janitor messing with a pail? Who would that be, now of all times?
Callista’s grip on Mortimer tightens, her claws sliding out instinctively. Whether it’s a possessive instinct or a protective one, she doesn’t know. All she knows is that whoever’s coming this way, they’d certainly be here soon. And they were not about to come between her and her boyfriend. Not tonight. Not after she’d finally gotten her claws on him.
Thinking on her feet, she nudges Mortimer’s chest, pushing him in the opposite direction of the intruder. “My dressing room.” She states, more commanding than suggesting. He grunts with the slightest of nods, and the pair regretfully pull apart towards safer territory.
Her personal dressing room wasn’t actually far from the employee exit. In fact, it was right down the hall just a few yards. However, the abrupt interruption had reminded Callista of the possible dangers (and consequences) of what they were doing, and having to pass by the entryway to the main showroom –with her own personal stowaway, no less – only adds to her anxieties. Every swish of fabric, every ‘click’ of heel on tile suddenly sounds much too loud for the cautious feline.
Maybe Mortimer senses her tension, because while they sneak down the hall, he grabs her hand and wordlessly squeezes it. She squeezes back as they slink by the showroom undetected. The gesture, though small, really did help her nerves, and luckily the two have no other issues making it to their destination.
Without more than a passing glance to see if they’ve been followed, the pair wordlessly slips through the door. In one swift motion, Mortimer shuts the door without it making so much as a peep –something he’s quite skilled at– and Callista locks it from the inside with her claw –something she’s recently learned to be quite good at. She doesn’t actually need to do it this way: she actually has a key to this space somewhere around here, but the action is quick and makes her feel more secure.
Now that they’re safe, Callista feels as if she can finally breathe.
They hadn’t bothered turning on the lights, and without a window the pair is shrouded in darkness. Luckily for them both, their habitual fooling around has desensitized them to this sort of situation; Darkness isn’t something that bothers them. This goes double for Callista who, with her feline night vision, can see her partner just fine. It seems that despite his temporary blindness, the man in question has no trouble locating her, either; it takes Mortimer all of five seconds to capture her into a close embrace once he gets his bearings.
This time as he kisses her, Mortimer is much slower, more testing, as if he were assessing her willingness to continue. His kisses are languid, punctuated by quick pecks around her lips, before kissing her deeply again. He has one hand holding the back of her head steady, and as he kisses her, he pets the fur there in small therapeutic strokes. Whether he’s trying to be romantic or attempting to soothe her nerves from the short journey here, she's not sure.
Either way, the gesture has its intended effect almost immediately. Callista happily melts into the kiss, her hands instantly finding their home on the sides of his face as her attention refocuses solely on him. As she caresses his face, the cropped tufts of his fur feel baby-soft between her fingers, healthy and sleek, and she can’t help but run her hands through the silken coat she knows Mortimer prides himself in having.
Satisfied that they were finally getting somewhere again, Mortimer dips his hands down to Callista’s hips, and as he squeezes the flesh there, he deepens the kiss further. His hands knead, wanting, into her curves, trying to feel the softness of flesh underneath her bothersome work uniform.
Callista sighs with contentment. The feeling is deliciously pleasant, and she knows if she lets herself go she’ll be blissed out against the door within a few minutes. However, her good sense has her aware of their current arrangement. Pressed against the door, they can’t afford to be much louder than they currently are. A little regretfully, and with the slightest whine of protest from Mortimer, Callista pulls her face back. Mortimer tries to follow her lips, and she actually has to hold his face back when she whispers to him.
“Not by the door. Over by the Vanity, yea?” she murmurs, the words tinged with promise. Mortimer grins, and when Callista gently pushes him back and leads them both farther into the dark, he follows eagerly. Her dressing chambers are a bit bigger than the cramped walls of the storage closet, and Callista is very eager to take advantage of the added space. Her hand is firm in his as she guides him around the various pieces of decor furnishing the room. Mortimer’s eyes have started adjusting to the darkness, but he lets his girl lead him anyway, and when they make it to their destination, Mortimer takes advantage of this rudimentary ability to see, and is on her again in an instant.
Pressed up behind her, he buries his muzzle into the side of Callista's neck, kissing the sensitive skin there as he resumes his exploration of her body. Callista exhales, and there's a pleasurable waver in the sound. She may roll her eyes at his impatience, but there’s clear affection in both her expression and her actions, proven immediately as she works to unfasten her belt buckle.
When he bores with his task, Mortimer takes his exploration a step further and works on the buttons of her work vest and button-up, each button undone quickly with practiced fingers. When the blouse pops open and exposes her torso to the open air, Mortimer can feel her shudder and lean against him firmly to chase his body heat. She never was one for the cold, poor thing. Pressed up against her, Mortimer threads his arms underneath hers and skims her torso with his palms. His warm hands surely must be a relief, but instead of soothing her, Callista has to bite back a moan as his fingers trail up her belly. Her fur –pricking and rising as he reaches her ribs – tickles Mortimer’s nose, and he chuckles at her sensitivity.
Finally, Mortimer’s hands find their home on her breasts, and he palms at the soft flesh present there–or at least as much as he can with her bra in the way. The visibility in the room may be lackluster, but it doesn’t matter. Mortimer can visualize every inch of detail by heart, every tiny spot of her chest memorized.
After all, it is his favorite spot on his dear Cuddle-Cat's body. He plunges his fingers up through the bottom of the bothersome contraption of fabric and wire, and he can't help but smirk when the weight of her C-cups settle into his palms.
He could sit here all day if he had his way –Honestly, he really can’t think of a better way to spend the afternoon– but already he could almost feel Callista rolling his eyes at him. ‘You're such a boob guy,’ He could imagine her saying with a snort, as if he wasn't proud of that fact. As revenge for the imagined sarcasm, Mortimer tugs on her nipples, rolling the sensitive buds between his fingers. Callista jolts a little, a gasping little moan reaching the air for a millisecond before she snaps her hand to her mouth. She bites one of her fingers to hold back the noises threatening to escape. Mortimer could feel her squirm, her thighs squeezing together as he worked, and soon his mouth joined in: nibbling at the space between her neck and collarbone. Just how she likes it.
Mortimer's ears strained as he listened to her try and cover up her breathy little noises. Though he was content, he had to admit he was starting to feel uncomfortable down south; His erection twitched and strained against his slacks, and he knew Callista could feel the appendage, if her grinding proved anything. He gave an experimental buck against her ass, and Callista returned the gesture in full.
She’s anxious to proceed, it seems, because suddenly she leans over, hitching at the hips and bringing him with her. Bracing herself against her vanity, Callista unsuccessfully holds back a whine as he inadvertently presses his bulge even harder against her on the way down. The erection poking at her ass twitches, wanting, and even though Mortimer grinds against her, the action leaves him craving more. He grunts under his breath.
“Doll…” He whines into her neck. He knows he’s being impatient, but he doesn’t want – can’t – wait any longer. Not when he feels like he could explode just from this.
From Callista’s vantage point, Mortimer’s expression is hidden from her view, but god she wishes she could see him properly. She can just imagine his furrowed brow, his eyes squeezed shut and his ears pulled back, completely taken by the throes of pleasure. The thought of it causes Callsita to squeeze her legs together again, chasing any pleasure she could find. It seems as if he has the same idea, because one of his hands moves south and unbuttons her pants. Following his lead, Callista pushes her plush ass against him, grinding herself against the straining bulge in his slacks. Mortimer hisses through his teeth.
“Don’t make me wait.” She commands.
Mortimer doesn’t need to be told twice. With impatient fingers, he unzips his pants and pulls them down just enough to free his aching erection. Callista hardly manages to shimmy her own pants past her hips before he’s upon her again and lining himself up. When his tip kisses the familiar wet warmth of her opening, Mortimer practically drools. The lips of her entrance feel velvety soft and invitingly warm, and Mortimer bites his lip as he rubs the entirety of his length up and down between them, her slick coating him completely.
Between the stimulation and the anticipation, Mortimer nearly loses his composure on the spot. He grits his teeth a little harder, and at the same time his grip tightens on Callista’s hips. Was he really that pent up? Before his body could betray him, Mortimer makes his move: leaning over her once more, he clasps one hand firmly over Callista’s mouth, the other braced against the vanity.
In one smooth, fluid motion, he pushes himself inside to the hilt. A breathy moan rips from the man’s throat from the sudden sensation, and Callista gasps loudly, surprised at the quick insertion–although most of the sound is muffled by his palm.
He settles there for a moment, allowing Callista to adjust. He finds himself slipping a finger into her mouth and plants clumsy kisses wherever he can reach, mumbling sweet nothings into her fur.
“Shit.. Sorry doll…” he murmurs into her skin, the apologies and praises coming out choked and ragged, “I couldn’t help myself–I couldn't wait another second. Christ Cal…you have no idea how good you feel, do you?”
He squeezes Callista’s hand, testing, and after a moment she squeezes back. Mortimer takes this as his cue to continue, and begins to move his hips. His motions are slow at first; Callista is still squeezing tightly, clinging onto this dick like the embrace of a lost lover, and each thrust draws pleasured noises from him.
However, It doesn’t take long for him to speed up. His hips very soon reach a steady pace, snapping quickly and repeatedly against his partner. He sees, rather than feels, the pushback of her ass when he smacks into her. His mind goes blank, completely focused on the waves of pleasure that flow through his body. Mortimer huffed doggedly as he continued to drill into her, and under him Callista is spurring him on with lurid noises of her own. Lewd, gasping sounds as she tries to keep her volume to a minimum.
Without thinking, he moves his other hand from her hip and returns it to her chest–fully folded over his partner now– and leaning his weight onto her. Slipping his fingers under her bra, his hands push the obstructing underwear upwards over her breasts and he gives a rough squeeze.
He knows he’s being selfish today, but he can’t help it. the ancient instinct centers of his brain are firing; Her smell, her sounds, her body… It was all calling to him and there was no way he could stop now. It was all just plain addictive. He would make it up to her later in full.
The wet sounds and muffled moans reverberate through the room, and there’s a passing thought that if anyone was outside the door, they would surely catch on to their scheme. Before that thought can take on meaning however, Callista suddenly tenses hard around him, and the extra sensation of her squeezing grip sends him careening over the edge. Before he can hold himself back, Mortimer is gasping out strings of curses into his partner’s neck, at the same time drawing her even tighter to him as he delivers his final thrusts. His grip teeters on vicelike, and with one final snap of his hips, he pushes into her as far as he can go, spilling his seed.
For a few moments, the pair are frozen there. Mortimer takes the moment to catch his breath, holding his Callie Girl like a tether as he sinks back to this plane of reality. As his orgasm subsides, he runs his fingers through Callista’s fur where he has her held, burying his nose in the fur of her neck with a satisfied sigh. He concentrates on the thrum of her pulse, the heavy rise and fall of her ribs grounding him. She feels warm, hot even, and between the darkness of the room, their shared warmth, and his current hormone-induced dopey bliss, Mortimer feels like he could just drift off to sleep. It’s only after close to a minute when Callista stirs underneath him that he finally pulls out; the action draws out a shaky exhale, and soon he releases his grip on her and stands up straight.
Releasing a happy little sigh, he begins the process of righting himself.
“Thanks Doll, you have no idea how much I needed that.” He says, dopey and content. He starts to pull up his pants, and the soft ‘tink’ of his belt buckle echoes through the room. Intuitively, he lowers a hand out to smooth out the fur on Callista’s hip, petting her in what he hopes is in a comforting way. A practiced motion, although it’s typically accompanied by purring by now. Eh, it’s probably fine.
As his brain starts to return to him, Mortimer ponders their next move. There was a chance he and Cal could finish that movie he’d been watching when they got to his place… Nah, she’d want to start a different one for sure. Now.. should they eat out or should Mortimer whip something up for them when they get home? Pondering, he goes through the motions of redressing, smoothing his shirt and fiddling with his belt. While he struggles with the buckle in the low visibility, Callista herself looks back at him with a mixture of confusion and irritation. Her nose scrunches in annoyance as she watches him dress.
“Hey Cal, should we pick something up at that Italian place you like?”
Callista snorts, brow furrowing, and she steps in front of him, poking his chest with one clawed finger, the other planted sternly on her hip.
“Excuse you mister, who said you were done?”
Automatically, Mortimer takes a half step back to regain space, but doesn’t make it far before he hits something with the back of his legs. He pauses there, taken aback by the displeasure in her voice. He knew that that wasn’t his best performance to date, but he honestly didn’t expect her to mind.
‘Uh oh’.
His brain finally reboots, and he searches for the right words to appease her. After a second of delay, his mind ‘dings’ with a plan of action, and he presents his best boyishly sheepish look, one he knows she can’t resist. ‘Genius,’ he thinks, ‘just gotta lay it on nice and sweet.’
“Eheheh… sorry doll”, he soothes, “I’m all tapped out over here… I can make it up to you later, yea? So how about we just go back out there and-”
Mortimer squeaks as Callista promptly pushes him backwards, and he lands on whatever was blocking his way. Something cushy… The chair she uses at her vanity, it seems. A little shocked, Mortimer’s ears twitch back and he huffs defensively, settling into the plush seat.
“What’s the big idea Cal..? I know you’re annoyed, but no need to get pushy…” he grumbles to himself.
Before he could complain further however, Callista crawls on top of him, her hands bracing the arms of the chair for support as she straddles him. Hovering there, she glowers down at him, hoping he can see her just enough in the dim room for him to get the point. Mortimer, for his part, shuts up and stares up at her with rounded eyes. Looks like she has his full attention.
“You’d better get nice and comfortable Mister, because I’m not done yet… which means you aren’t done yet. Got it?”
The words are low, almost a growl, and Mortimer’s breath hitches in his throat. Callista readjusts, steadying her hands on top of his shoulders, and brings her face closer to his. Mortimer swallows raggedly as her shallow breaths tickle the fur of his inner ear, and holds back a shuddering breath when she runs her sharp feline teeth along the delicate skin there. His hands twitch in place, unsure of where to place them.
He knows he could stop this if he wanted to, push her off and that would be the end of it. But there in the dark, between the prick of her claws teasing at his skin, and the predatory glinting of her eyes that, to him, seem to catch him like two flashing spotlights, he felt completely rooted in place.
No, he wasn’t going anywhere.
“Looks like I’ll have to make do, and take matters into my own claws. Sit still like a good little mousey and let me use you, yea?”
Callista hardly waits for his response before she settles her weight down and grinds herself onto Mortimer’s thigh. She huffs, the fabric of his slacks dry against the intermingled wetness of both their fluids leaking from her slit. The fabric won’t be dry for long, she mentally delights.
Her movements are agonizingly slow at first. She drags herself, hard, against him, savoring the delicious friction against her neglected delicates. Back and forth and back again, drawing low whines and heavy, shuddering breathes out from the feline. It doesn’t take long before her motions start to quicken, chasing the high that she’d be craving all evening. She felt hot all over, the pleasure inside her beginning to knot itself taut once more. The feeling was delicious and very familiar, and with every bump and grind that lovely knot wound itself a little tighter, a spring on the verge of snapping.
Mortimer still can’t see much in the darkness of the changing room, but what he can hear and feel make up for that in full. It seems as though at some point before straddling him, she had fully discarded her white capris as well as her panties… because even through his pants he swears he can feel everything. He can’t tell what he loves more, the feeling of her sopping wet cunt dragging against him and dampening his thigh, or the sound of her growls, groans, and muffled cussing entering his eardrums.
He decides to settle on the latter.
Mortimer worries at the skin of his lower lip, biting back his own shuddering breaths. Either he really has been more pent up than he thought, or Callista has some uncanny power over him and his crotch. Either way, he feels the tell-tale stirrings of lust down south for the second time that evening. Unable to help himself, he firmly plants his hands on her hips, helping to aid her in her motions and grinding her down even more.
The reaction was immediate, and it seems like Callista has forgotten all about her volume control, because the moan that ripped out of her was loud enough to make them both jump with surprise.
The sound was like flint on steel to his passion, and Mortimer combusts completely. His erection has returned with a vengeance now, and strains desperately in his pants. The sensation is uncomfortable and he bucks his hips, trying to find relief but coming up empty. He swears, squeezing his eyes shut as Callista continues her onslaught on his leg–So close and yet so far from his twitching erection. He grits his teeth and squeezes at her more severely, bucking every so often but to no avail.
As his frustration reaches its peak, he does attempt to pull her off of his thigh and onto his lap, but Callista tightens her grip against his shoulder and pushes her hips back, showing no intention of offering him any relief. Mortimer whines in protest, but Callista just returns to chasing her own high on Mortimer’s now thoroughly soaked thigh.
“Nope. it’s my turn to be selfish,” she hisses at him smugly. “Didn’t I tell you to sit there and shut up?”
Mortimer shoots her a withering look, but does as he’s told. He knows she can see him just fine, and he hopes the expression on his face is sufficiently pitiful enough for her to take mercy on him.
No such luck. Callista just resumes grinding against him, with no intention of solving his little predicament. It takes her a second after the interruption, but soon her gyrations grow more hurried, more frenzied, and it isn’t long before Callista is lost in the pleasure again.
Mortimer lets out a labored breath, and one of his hands palms at his dick. Through his haze, he can feel the prick of claws testing his skin, and he intuitively understands that Callista is close to her breaking point. One of Mort’s hands is still placed on a hip – Callista hadn’t removed it and Mortimer was going to take full advantage of that fact.
Mortimer pushes her hips even further down upon him, with both hands now1, and the extra stimulation makes her gasp. The sound comes out sounding choked, her claws digging a little deeper into his skin, and finally Callista breaks.
Her claws pierce Mortimer’s skin and he bites back a hiss. Her back arches and her muscles grow taut as the first waves of intense pleasure strike through her. Before Callista can outright caterwaul, Mortimer grabs her and pulls her against him. His grip is a possessive one as she moans loudly into his neck.
When the initial shock waves of pleasure subside, Callista slumps against her boyfriend, letting her weight rest against him. She breathes, heavy, shuddering as the aftershocks of her orgasm run through her. Mortimer rubs her back, and this time the gesture really was soothing, and he’s rewarded with a steady purr.
‘Well *that* might just be the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced,’ he thinks. There’s a part of him that thinks that maybe it could end here and it would be fine. But… there was the matter of his own erection. Callista cumming all over his leg had done nothing to shoo away the excited appendage; in fact, it did quite the opposite. He was now more raring to go than ever. What’s more–when he had pulled Callista to him during her climax, her knee had slid forward and was now pushed up against his crotch. The contact did little to aid him in any way, other than to make him painfully conscious of his predicament.
Mortimer swallows, his throat dry. He tries his best not to squirm.
“Cal…” His voice cracks with need for a moment, but he manages –barely– to pull himself together. Smoothing out his voice until his tone is honey-sweet, he continues, his tone practically a purr. Time to whip out the old Mortimer Charm.
“Now that you’ve gotten what you wanted…”
Mortimer removes one of Callista’s hands from his shoulder and, gently drawing it to his mouth, kisses her palm. Once again he kisses her, appeasing, and continues down her wrist, peppering warm and feather-soft kisses down her pulseline. He feels her shudder slightly, and Mortimer grins as he continues his ministrations. He’s got her right where he wants her now…
Callista purrs, chuckling as she regains her faculties. Look at him, trying to butter her up. As if she doesn’t know exactly what he wants.
If they were in the safety of their own homes, she would make him work for it a little more –if she’s honest, she rather likes this treatment and the pleading glint in Mortimer’s eye– but unfortunately, their current position didn’t allow for such an allowance. She supposes she can take mercy on him for tonight. After all, Imagine if – Walt forbid– he was caught backstage with such a raging erection. Callista was trying to avoid headaches tonight, thank you very much.
“... I could do a second round,” Callista finally responds. “You need a chance to redeem yourself, right?”
Reclaiming her hand from his gentleman’s grip, Callista wastes no time in giving him what he wants: Shifting her position, she paws unhesitatingly at his crotch. Mortimer hisses through his teeth, stiffening as he finally receives the contact he so desperately craved. After a moment he chuckles raggedly, eyes lidded as she strokes him through the fabric. Her motions are almost too slow to bear, and he can’t help but buck into her palm. His cheeks burned, a cocktail of embarrassment, sexual frustration, and above all need.
“You gave me such a show, you know. You looked so desperate, so obedient just sitting there as I fucked your thigh. Waiting… no, pleading for me to touch you too.” Callista purrs.
“Pretty sure you were the one giving me a show...” Mortimer murmurs, cheeks hot. He gasps as she grips him tighter.
“It was definitely the other way around, darling.”
Suddenly, Callista removes her hand from his crotch and fiddles with his belt, unsatisfied with the barrier between them. Mortimer scarcely has time to react before his dick is freed to the open air –’Deja vu’, Mortimer finds himself thinking– and Callista wastes no time lining herself up. She hovers there for a second, her entrance kissing his cockhead, and Mortimer bites his lip. His hands, the same ones that were holding his lover with such gentleness seconds ago, now grip her waist with an anticipatory tightness.
Callista lowers herself onto him, slow and smooth and positively soaking. The feeling, although heavenly, borders on overwhelming after both of their recent orgasms, and neither can help the breathy whiney moans that bubble up from their throats.
Mortimer, through lidded eyes, gazes up at his Callie-girl, and she regards him similarly. They both move for each other at the same time, their lips crashing together and their arms bumping awkwardly as they puzzle them together. Neither is sure where to put their hands; both settle for wrapping their arms around the other tightly.
It isn’t long before Callista starts grinding and bouncing on Mortimer’s lap, and he retaliates in turn by bucking into her as he attempts to meet her halfway. Their moans and pants and groans are exchanged back and forth between their lips, hardly muffled even through their embrace. Mortimer is the first to slide his tongue into her mouth, and Callista accepts this with gusto. Any space that existed between their bodies is long gone; Their torsos, damp with sweat, are pressed flush together, as if the two may simply become one if they simply pressed a little harder.
The otherwise quiet room is punctuated with the unmistakable sounds of their sexual encounter. Neither is trying very hard at this point to control the volume of the wet slapping and hushed, pleasured noises. Callista grips him a little harder and puts more force into her bounces–Mortimer’s breath hitches and he whines loudly, tightening his embrace. She smirks, but Callista hardly has time to revel in this small victory before he matches her energy and it becomes her turn to mewl and gasp with pleasure.
This keeps up for several minutes –the bucking, the bouncing, the grinding– but soon the telltale stirrings of another climax coil and twist in both of them.
“Shit– I'm close.” Mortimer groans. He removes his mouth from hers and presses his forehead to Callista’s. His eyes scrunch, eyebrows furrowing as he bucks harder still, oh-so close to his impending orgasm.
“Just a little more..! Oh please, I'm almost there I just need–oh god.” Callista cries out in response. Her voice wavers, overwhelmed with the pleasure and desperate to reach her own approaching climax.
Mortimer can only grunt in response, clenching his teeth as he concentrates on thrusting instead of cumming. It seems like an insurmountable task, though: It all just feels too damn good. Has sex always felt like this? Trying not to lose his composure, the mouse squeezes his partner tighter as he is forcibly dragged closer and closer to the finish line. A bead of sweat runs down his brow. He’ll be there any second–
Just when Mortimer thinks he’s lost, Callista finally cum. She lets out a shuddering cry, her voice cracking as she finishes. She clenches around him–hard–and Mortimer throws his face into the crook of Callista’s neck and lets loose strings of whines and indecipherable phrases as his own orgasm rips through his body, finally permitted to take him. He thrusts into her shallowly as he works through it, and then there’s one final resounding ‘smack’ as flesh meets flesh, and then the room is still, apart from the panting breaths that resonate from both of them.
Neither of them move for a long time. As Mortimer’s mind returns to him, he can feel the heaving rise and fall of his chest against hers– feel her back rise and fall just the same. The pair are still leaned into each other, their embrace slack now, but still protective, still possessive. Mortimer’s breath wavers as he becomes aware of how secure he feels–his heart damn near skips a beat, in fact, not that he would ever admit it.
There's a stillness, a closeness, that strikes Mortimer as significant. Even as their panting gradually distills into wavering breaths, neither shows any intention of moving away. Callista listlessly runs her fingers through Mortimer's fur, and there’s a softness there, a fondness.
Mortimer, wordlessly, brings a hand up to cup her cheek. He still can’t see her perfectly, but he knows her face well enough to fill in any hazy details. He rubs her cheek with his thumb, right where he knows her beauty mark should be. He feels her cheek rise as she gives him a small, contented smile. He can feel the skin next to her eyes crinkle, and that’s how he knows it’s genuine. Something he drew out of her. Something just for him.
Mortimer searches Callista’s eyes, or at least what he can see of them. He’s straining for something–for what, he doesn’t exactly know. He’s not sure if he finds it, but what he does find is stillness. Peace. Maybe even happiness. Mortimer returns the smile, a little amazed.
They remain like that for the next several minutes, content in each other's arms. It’s not until the sound of applause reaches their ears that Callista stirs. She’s the first to pull away, but both of them are quick to groan resentfully at the interruption. ‘Mick’s short must be over,’ Mortimer thinks.
The intimacy of the moment has been interrupted, cold reality setting in. A little self-conscious, Callista sneaks Mortimer a sheepish look before she looks away, sliding off his lap and beginning the task of locating her clothes. Mortimer just sits, his brain still processing the previous few minutes, and watches her dark form fiddle with the buttons of her work shirt. His lap feels colder, and he frowns, squeezing the arm of the chair. He misses her warmth dreadfully, already nostalgic for her weight against him.
His ears prick as Callista speaks, but he makes no effort to turn and face her.
“You'd better wait here–Actually, scratch that. You should probably make your escape and slip outside.” Callista finishes buttoning her vest. Mortimer doesn't say anything.
There's a weight in his stomach, a distressing thought coming to him that perhaps that was it for tonight. Had he used up today’s time with Callista here? Had he flushed away more of their fleeting time together? It didn’t feel like enough, all of a sudden. He didn’t want tonight to end here.
From across the room, Callista looks at him anxiously, a little perturbed at his silence. ‘Silence from him is never a good thing’, she thinks. A little worm of dread sits in her chest. Callista honestly wishes she could check in with him, but right now every second wasted was an increased risk of getting caught. Right now they needed to act.
“...I’m turning on the light.” Callista warns before flipping on the switch. The sudden appearance of the –unfortunately bright– fluorescent light causes both of them to blink hard, ears flattening in complaint. Mortimer groans but finally gets up and puts his dick back in his pants. Good, now they were getting somewhere.
Mortimer looks a little disheveled–okay, a lot disheveled– but so does Callista. She cringes at the dark spot on his pants leg, but luckily the slacks he had worn were a dark pair. She just hoped it wouldn’t be noticeable in the dark of the night. She supposes it doesn't actually matter: as long as he made it out the door undetected, Mortimer’s appearance wasn’t the problem–Callista’s was. She needs to clean herself up. Now.
She glances at her reflection in the vanity. Not great… but not terrible either. She runs a hand through her fur and smoothes it out as best she can, and within 10 seconds she's pushing Mortimer out the door. He looks at her wearily at first, not keen on being kicked out, but Callista is on a mission. Walking with urgency, she pushes him out of the dressing room and all but shoving him out of the employee exit– kissing him on the cheek as she sends him off.
As the door shuts behind him, Mortimer is met with a warm and stagnant summer night, a stark contrast to the crisp, air-conditioned environment he peacefully inhabited just a minute ago. He stands there for a minute, rendered stupefied. To think just a moment ago, he and Callista were sharing such a special connection, and in the next she was frantically rushing him out the door.
‘Talk about hot and cold,’ he thinks, shoving his fists in his pockets. ‘Now
what?’
Mortimer finds himself at a loss at where he should go from here. Had Cal mentioned she was going to follow him? He doesn’t think so, but he isn’t positive. He forgot his phone at his place, so he can’t exactly ask. Should he just wait and find out..?
Mortimer decides that he should. Mostly he just wants to see her again. For the next several minutes, he kicks pebbles and rests against the brick wall of the alleyway. With every passing minute, he feels less and less sure that he should stick around. For all he knows, he could be wasting his time for nothing.
Soon, Mortimer can hear the House of Mouse patrons start to filter out. Satisfied and heading back to their happy lives, probably. Some of the patrons pass the alleyway Mortimer’s in, and he pretends not to notice them. Pretends not to notice any contemptuous sounds when a few of them recognize him. Whatever. Can’t they see he’s too preoccupied with something to be giving stiffs like them the time of day?
…
Mortimer lights a cigarette to give himself something to do.
It’s 20 minutes later, with no signs of his beau, he decides that she's indeed had enough of him for the night. He drops his third cigarette of the evening to the ground and snubs it with the bottom of one dark brogue, sighing before heaving himself off the wall and making his way out of the alleyway.
The air is still warm, still stagnant with humidity that makes him feel sticky. Mortimer looks from left to right down the sidewalk. He’s completely alone now–the last patron left the House of Mouse a couple minutes ago–and he supposes that should make him feel a little more at ease. No one left for him to ignore. Now he can be left alone in peace.
It does little to cheer him up.
Mortimer turns in the direction of where he left his convertible. The last thing Mortimer needs right now is to run into any of the House of Mouse staff because he loitered too long waiting for a lady who’s not even expecting him. He’s certainly not in the mood to be giving Mick an opportunity to kick him while he’s down. No thank you!
He only makes it a few yards down the street before he hears a very familiar voice, one that makes him freeze in place immediately.
“Mortimer! Hey now, wait up Mister!”
A moment later, Mortimer is knocked out of his stupor as Callista appears next to him, a little out of breath and back in her civilian clothes.
“There you are, I wondered where you ran off to.”
Mortimer stares at her, confused and irritated and elated all at the same time. He’s unable to speak, the emotions of the last half hour welling up in his throat, and just stares at her dumbly. Callista notes his expression with a look of puzzlement and nudges him with her elbow.
“What’s with the face? I couldn’t have been inside for that long, could I?” Callista chuckles, but she’s clearly dissatisfied with the look on Mortimer’s face, so she lowers her voice, looking at him appeasingly. “I’m sorry darling, I had to pull myself together and then end my shift. Close out all my tabs, talk with the boss… you know how it is.”
“Ah. No biggie, babe. I hardly even noticed.”
The fib tasted bitter on Mortimer’s tongue, and he avoided her eyes, pretending to focus instead on the starry sky above them.
“We’re still on for tonight, right? I’m certain I owe you a date night from the other evening… I’ve been looking forward to it, you know.” Callista nudges Mortimer, who’s looking a little embarrassed, with her elbow again.
Mortimer couldn’t help but feel a little silly. More than a little, actually. He wasn’t the kind of toon to overthink these things–To do so simply wasn’t like him. For a moment the two are silent as they make their way to Mortimer’s car.
“...For a minute, I thought you were finished with me for the night,” he finally admits, throwing a laugh at the end with an nonchalant ease that he hopes Callista falls for. “Got what you needed, and sent me on my merry way.” He immediately regrets saying it. It feels a little too real, it skirts too close to something raw. He glances away again, ashamed, but Callista just snorts, drawing his gaze back to her. She’s looking at him with her signature sternness.
It’s a look he knows all too well, it’s a look that makes his heart race. He wonders if she looks at others like that.
“What kind of woman do you think I am, Mister?” she teases, one eyebrow quirked. “Come on Big guy, I've been looking forward to seeing you all day. Do you really think I would shove you out the door and send you packing like that?”
Mortimer laughs wryly. “You had me wondering there, Cal.” He returns the earlier playful elbow jab, trying to keep the mood from sinking. The last thing he needed was to make her reconsider their date by starting an argument.
Callista chuckles, but a small contemplative silence falls over them anyway. She actually does feel a little bad for shoving him out the door like that. She supposes it… isn’t out of the realm of possibility that he came to the conclusion that she was sending him off for the night. But she honestly thought he wouldn’t mind being put outside to wait. They haven’t exactly been the most serious couple in the world…
‘The ticking clock on our relationship certainly doesn’t help things.’
Suddenly uncomfortable, Callista pushes that last thought down. She settles for grabbing Mortimer’s hand, squeezing it and giving him a reassuring smile.
“...Come on, let's get Italian from that one place, like you suggested. I really worked up an appetite tonight, thanks to you. It’s my treat, for showing me such a good time.”
“Sure, but let’s make it to-go, Doll. I got a movie at home I think you’ll like.” he says, squeezing back. He bumps his eyebrows, his expression taking on an easier, more relaxed look. Callista takes that as a good sign.
Despite their flirting, there’s still a part of her that feels uncomfortable with the implication that was in Mortimer’s words. Worries that he might have a point. There’s a part of her that even wants to promise him that for as long as she’s around, she’d never treat him like a disposable object. Not like that.
‘Not like the others.’ her treacherous brain whispers.
But these things feel too raw, too serious for their relationship. She doesn’t know if it would be the right thing to say. Worried they would just be platitudes.
Worried that he just wouldn’t care.
Taking her hand back, the pair walk the remaining distance to the car. Callista teases him about parking so far away. Mortimer teases her back in turn.
But even as he’s joking around with her, Mortimer can’t help but crave that moment in the dressing room. That post-sex glow where they just sat in their conjoined silence and just held each other. He craves that physical connection with her, wants her in his arms again as soon as possible. He wishes that he could sling his arm around her right now, but they’re still too close to the HoM, and he has the feeling Callista wouldn’t go for it.
Mortimer feels a tightness in his chest. Sure they're screwing around and having fun, but there's something more to this that he doesn’t want to admit. Something that he doesn’t dare speak aloud:
He thinks he’s fallen for her.
He thinks he loves her.
And he doesn’t know what he’s going to do about it.