Nail Polish

The smell of lavender and body heat hung in the air.

Charlie sat at his vanity, one leg crossed over the other in a slow, deliberate motion. As his thighs pressed together, his cock and balls shifted into his lap, nestled in the warm space between—thick, resting as if they had always belonged there. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pause—just kept brushing shimmer polish across his claws with the unhurried grace of someone who knew he was being watched, even if only in theory.

The room around him was softly alive. Light spilled like syrup through half-closed blinds. The golden hush of late afternoon wrapped itself around furniture like velvet. Cinnamon wax melted in a warmer on the windowsill. String lights twinkled faintly from the far wall, and the floor was scattered with plush throw blankets and the casual chaos of lived-in comfort: polish bottles, a half-empty mug, a folded hoodie from last night.

Charlie hummed as he worked, focused and serene. The hum wasn’t idle—it was purposeful, charged, a melody with weight. The tip of his tongue peeked out between his lips as he painted his final claw, eyes narrowed just slightly in the mirror. He looked good. He looked perfect. Soft hoodie slouched off one narrow shoulder. Fur clean, smooth. The swell of his thighs teasing just below the hem.

And beneath it?

Nothing.

He’d been hard earlier—half-aroused as he picked out his polish color, imagining his boyfriend Dylan’s reaction. But now he was comfortably heavy, flushed but soft, dangling. The scent in the air—cinnamon, lavender, steam from the shower he had earlier—thickened with every breath.

His phone buzzed.

He let it vibrate twice before reaching for it, bringing the phone to hold it against his left ear with his shoulder. He didn’t look away from his claws as he answered.

His voice dripped through the iPhone’s microphone.

“Hello, Sweetie.”

A beat. Then:

“You’re early,” he added, like it was already a crime.

Dylan’s voice filtered through the speaker, warm and breathy.

“I’m like—um—five minutes away. Or four. Maybe three?” The rabbit sounded slightly nervous, like he often was.

Charlie hummed.

“Mmm. I said I’d be ready in ten.”

“I know. I just—uh. I just wanted to talk to you.”

The mouse smiled, indulgent and a little dangerous. He adjusted the angle of his hand in the light and admired the shimmer.

“Awww. Did you miss me already, stinkboy?”

“I—y-yeah.”

He sounded like he regretted calling already. Charlie could hear it—the way his breath caught, the tremble in his throat, the hungry silence after every word.

“You okay?” Charlie asked gently, adding a little extra topcoat to his left index finger.

“I’m just… thinking about you.”

“Thinking what about me, exactly?” Charlie’s brows raised with intrigue.

“That you’re probably sitting there,” Dylan mumbled, “wearing just your hoodie. All pretty. All soft. Painting your claws and… and…”

Charlie let the silence stretch like taffy.

“I’m hard already,” Dylan admitted.

Charlie’s smile widened.

“Of course you are,” he murmured. “You’re a bunny. You get hard when I blink at you too fast.”

“That's not—hey—!”

Charlie giggled, a low squeak curling behind the sound.

“Still wearing the same boxers from this morning?”

A pause. The faintest whimper.

Charlie’s breath caught in delight.

“Oh my god. You are.”

“I-I didn’t have time to change—”

“Mhm,” Charlie whispered, voice dipped in honey and filth. “Or you did it on purpose because you wanted me to smell it.”

A soft, helpless groan slipped through the speaker.

Charlie bit his lip.

“Drive safe, baby. Door’s unlocked.”

---

The rabbit’s heart was a snare drum in his chest by the time he stepped into Charlie’s apartment.

The door clicked shut behind him with a sound that felt final—like sealing a spell. Immediately, the scent hit him: lavender and cinnamon, thick in the air like incense. But beneath it—woven through it—was Charlie. Sugary, feminine, pheromone-rich. The scent of him clung to the walls, the carpet, the furniture. It curled around Dylan like a warm blanket, breath-warm and inescapable.

His fur stood on end. His glasses fogged slightly from his heavy breathing.

He stood in the entryway for a moment, dazed.

Then, there was Charlie—perched like a shrine just in front of his bed, the vanity lights casting a soft glow across his pale fur. He’d moved from the stool to the floor at some point, legs arranged artfully: one folded beneath him, the other extended behind, toes pointed like a ballet dancer at rest. The polish bottle gleamed beside him like a gemstone. In the time that it took Dylan to get to Charlie’s apartment after their brief phone call ended, the mouse moved on to paint the claws on his paws and was waiting for them to dry.

His hoodie slouched off his shoulder still, neck and collarbone bare, fur soft as moonlight. And beneath it?

Still nothing.

The mouse’s cock flopped heavy and unbothered, half-hard now from the call, swaying with each tiny movement of his body as he adjusted his posture. Every shift of fabric flashed skin—thigh, hip, the tight curve of his belly. His tail twitched behind him, slow and funnily enough, catlike.

Charlie didn’t look up.

“Shoes off, please.”

Dylan obeyed instantly, tugging at the laces with unsteady fingers, ears twitching. His heart felt too big for his chest. He stepped forward, and as he did, the scent of himself rose—stronger than expected. The boxers clung damp to his fur, soaked with sweat and the pent-up ache of too many erections he fought hard not to solve with his hands. He swallowed hard, excitement and arousal twisting together like roots.

Charlie glanced back over his shoulder.

“Hi, Stinky.”

Dylan froze.

“You smell nice,” Charlie said, inspecting his claws without turning. “Give me a few more minutes to get dressed and we can go.”

“U-Uh, okay…”

Charlie stood.

Slow. Graceful. And approached the awkward bunny stood in the doorway with his shoes neatly placed by his side.

Dylan’s gaze dropped automatically—and there it was: the long, deliberate sway of Charlie’s cock as he walked toward him. Nearly nine and a half inches, thick and uncut, swinging between his thighs like a pendulum on a grandfather clock.

Charlie stopped just close enough for Dylan to feel the heat of him.

“Are you fully hard yet?” Charlie asked, voice low, almost sweet. “I’m dressed exactly how you imagined me in the car.”

Dylan let out a broken noise—part gasp, part prayer.

“You’re so easy,” Charlie giggled, one claw dragging gently down Dylan’s stomach. “I bet your dick hurts. I bet it’s sore from staying hard for so long in those stinky boxers.”

Dylan whimpered, his whole body pulling tight like a wire under tension.

“I-I—”

Charlie dropped to his knees.

The movement was so smooth, so sure. Dylan’s back hit the door, pushing it shut with a muted thud. His knees nearly gave out. Nearly.

“I haven’t—showered—” he muttered, breath ragged. “I smell pretty bad—”

Charlie leaned in. Pressed his nose to the damp, dark bulge in Dylan’s pants.

He inhaled.

‘Snnnnnf.’

And moaned.

“Hhhhhhfffuckkkk.”

Not softly. Not politely. He shuddered—genuinely overcome—and laughed, breathless.

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You reek. I love it.”

The rodent nuzzled into the rabbit’s bulge, rubbing his cheek against the warmth, claws tightening against Dylan’s thighs as he breathed him in like steam from a cup.

Dylan was shaking.

Charlie looked up, eyes glassy and hungry.

“You’re so full. Didn’t I just make you cum yesterday?”

And then—delicately—he hooked his thumbs into Dylan’s waistband and pulled down. The rabbit’s grey sweats and boxers slid past Dylan’s hips, revealing the flushed, twitching proof of just how right Charlie had been.

Dylan’s cock sprang free, long and damp with pre, throbbing visibly as it curved up toward his stomach. His thighs trembled as the cool air hit him, the scent of arousal blooming sharp between them.

Charlie’s lips parted as his amber eyes watched his favorite sausage jump out at him like an unwound Jack-in-the-Box.

He licked his black lips once, spit shining them better than any lip gloss could.

The mouse leaned forward and kissed the underside of Dylan’s throbbing cock.

Not a peck—a kiss. Open-mouthed, slow, with tongue and pressure. A firm press of lips that lingered against the thick, warm flesh, tasting the salt already there. He drew back just enough to kiss again, a little higher this time, and then again, building a saliva snail trial path upward with heat and care.

Dylan let out a broken sound, his head tipping back to hit the door with a soft thud. His hands hovered in the air like he didn’t know what to do with them. Every part of him screamed to hold on.

Charlie reached the rabbits dick tip—swollen, flushed dark red, slick with pre. He let his tongue flick beneath the ridge of the crown, teasing it just the way Dylan liked it.

Dylan gasped, knees wobbling.

Then Charlie opened his mouth.

‘Sllllrp.’

And for a moment, the world narrowed to nothing but darkness.

The first glide in was slow—agonizingly so. Dylan’s cock slid over Charlie’s tongue, inch by inch, each wet, silken drag muffled only by the soft sound of breath through Charlie’s nose. His lips wrapped tight. His throat opened, easy, unhurried, until he reached the base—and stayed there.

Just stayed.

Mouth full. Nose buried. Throat flexed. Eyes locked on Dylan, lashes dark and sharp enough to kill. With one hand, Charlie brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen over his eyes, and that small, precise movement made Dylan feel like he’d died and gone to heaven.

The mouse moaned around the dick in his mouth—low and rumbly—and the vibration made Dylan’s whole body jolt.

‘Glllk… glllk… gllllk…’

“Mmmnhhnn…”

“Fuck—Charlie—” the rabbit gasped, a shivering moan spilling from him as his big ears rose, then flopped back down.

Charlie didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. He just pulled back, slow, a glistening stretch of spit connecting lips to cock. The wet slurps from his mouth were so loud, so obscene, like he was devouring a bowl of ramen. With just the tip in his mouth, he bit down gently with his buck teeth, teasing the sensitive ridge.

Dylan squirmed, knees wobbling, hands slamming into the door, grasping for balance as they shook.

Then Charlie took him again—faster now, smoother, cheeks hollowing with suction as he set a rhythm.

His head bobbed. His tongue danced in circles around the tip, shaft, and even tickled the rabbit’s balls as he took his dick all the way down to the base.

The wet slide of cock against tongue. The quiet squelch of deep suction. The soft thump of Charlie’s tail on the carpet in time with his motion. They filled the air like a song only dick sucking connoisseurs knew how to sing.

Dylan whimpered louder, his right hand finally finding the door handle for support.

He tried not to buck his hips. Tried to stay still. But it was impossible. Charlie was so warm, so slick, so completely focused—and he was getting messy now. Saliva clung to Dylan’s cock in warm, glistening strands. Charlie’s jaw worked greedily, like he’d been starving for this all day.

Charlie pulled off once, just long enough to look up.

‘Plop!’

“I want all of it,” he said, voice rough with hunger, lips glossy with spit and precum. “Give me everything.”

And after flashing Dylan a gentle, man eating smile, he dove back in.

Faster. Sloppier. Hungrier.

Dylan’s left hand fluttered uselessly in the air. His breathing turned to broken gasps as pressure curled hot and tight in his groin, a string ready to snap.

Charlie’s claws dug into his thighs, holding him steady. There was no teasing now, no mercy. Just the rhythm of devotion: in, out, suck, swallow, moan.

Pre soaked Charlie’s tongue—hot, a little bitter. Charlie moaned and swallowed, adjusting his grip to pull Dylan deeper, his throat opening around him without hesitation. The tight squeeze of muscle around Dylan’s cock made him choke out a high, panicked cry.

“Charlie—fuck—I’m gonna—”

Charlie didn’t pull back.

He pushed deeper.

And Dylan came, shattering like glass under a stone.

His whole body convulsed. He screamed—loud, raw, half a sob as his cock throbbed hard against Charlie’s tongue. The first pulse of cum surged hot and fast—and Charlie took it without flinching.

“Aaaaaaah!!!” Dylan moaned.

‘Splrt.’

“Mmmmnnmm.” Charlie swallowed.

The first gulp was loud. Audible. A soft, slick glk that echoed in Dylan’s ears louder than his heartbeat. The second came just as fast. Charlie’s throat flexed again, lips still sealed around the base.

‘Glllllp.’

Another spurt. Then another.

Charlie drank every drop, no hesitation, no pause, locked in place.

The taste filled his mouth—salt, musk, heat—pouring down his throat in thick pulses. His jaw ached, his lips throbbed, but he didn’t stop. Eyes fluttering shut, he suckled at the head, coaxing every last drop like it mattered.

To him, it did.

Dylan moaned brokenly, his legs finally giving out as he slid down the door. Charlie caught him—just barely—easing him to sit while his cock twitched weakly against his lips.

He pulled off with a final, sticky pop. A long thread of spit and cum stretched from his mouth to rabbit’s cock and broke slowly, glittering in the light. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, tongue darting out to clean the rest.

He looked up, lips glossy, eyes soft, satisfied.

“You taste great,” he whispered, voice husky with satisfaction. “So thick, baby. You filled my whole mouth.”

Dylan couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move.

He slumped against the door, glasses askew, ears limp, chest heaving as sweat rolled down his temple.

Charlie traced a single claw down Dylan’s chest.

“Still think you smell bad?”

Dylan groaned, a noise halfway between grateful and undone.

Charlie leaned in, kissed the head of his boyfriend’s cock once more, then stood in a fluid motion.

He rose with effortless grace, like a ribbon lifting in warm air, the picture of post-ritual serenity. His cock bobbed with each unhurried step, still half-firm and glistening with anticipation left unmet, his own arousal held in check with the same patience Dylan had shown all day.

Dylan remained on the floor, crumpled like a discarded cum sock. His body was limp, utterly drained, breath hitching in uneven waves. His fur stuck to his skin in patches. His thighs trembled in aftershocks. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose, slightly fogged, his eyes wide and vacant like he’d just been spiritually exorcised. Soul sucked right out of him.

He tried to speak, but it came out as a whisper:

“You sucked my soul out of my dick…”

Charlie turned, mid-step, already sauntering back to his vanity.

For a moment, Dylan just watched him, heart drumming softly in his chest. The afterglow left him warm, but it was more than that—Charlie made him feel safe, wanted, like every messy, awkward part of him was precious. The scent of lavender and cinnamon clung to the air, but it was Charlie’s quiet presence that wrapped around him, grounding him in a way nothing else could.

Noticing where his cute cheese-loving boyfriend was heading, the rabbit perched a brow. “…and you’re worried about your nail polish?” Dylan finished, voice cracking like glass.

Charlie giggled—a soft, self-satisfied sound—and sat in stool again, one leg crossed over the other. The room still glowed gold around him. The polish bottle gleamed like a tiny altar jewel at the edge of his vanity.

He lifted one hand.

Not a single smudge.

He gave his thumb a final, delicate touch-up. Just a swipe to seal the shine. Then he held his hand up to the light, admiring the way the shimmer caught in the warm tones of the string lights above. His claws sparkled like sugar-coated opals.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

He flexed his fingers; claws curved delicately in the air. A model’s pose. A magician’s final flourish.

Then, over his shoulder:

“Multitasking.”

Behind him, Dylan was still collapsed—an unmoving shrine to surrender, panting softly, pupils blown wide. A quiet whimper slipped from his throat, the barest twitch in his spent cock as it slowly shrunk back to its flaccid state

Charlie smiled to himself and leaned forward, reaching lazily for a nearby makeup wipe. He then stood up from his stool, walked back over to his cum-drained boyfriend, and crouched down in front of him.

“Here, you’re sweating buckets, Smelly.” Charlie gently dabbed the makeup wipe against the bunny’s face, soaking up the sweat beads that were rolling down his forehead, cheeks, and chin. He also straightened up his glasses for him and wiped them free of fog with the sleeves of his hoodie.

Dylan groaned—a noise somewhere between please and oh god I’m still alive.

Charlie laughed again and leaned in to kiss him gently on his lips. Dylan kissed him back, and held his cheek weakly with one hand.

The room smelled like dick, nail polish, and victory.

---

Twenty minutes later, they were both dressed.

Sort of.

Dylan had pulled on clean boxers and jeans that still felt too tight in the front, his legs shaky and ears still a little pink. Charlie kept his cropped hoodie that matched his claws and had slipped into a pair of skimpy black shorts that he was somehow able to hide his monster of a dick in.

The walk to the café was quiet at first. Warm air, long shadows, the city soft with golden-hour hush. Dylan kept stealing glances at Charlie—at the sway of his hips, at the confidence in every step. He still didn’t know how he, a nerd, was with someone so cute, so pretty, and so far out of his league. He was smitten and often looked at Charlie like he was crushing on him from afar, despite them already being a thing. It was cute.

When they reached the place, it was busy—but not loud. A little patio tucked beside a bookshop. The string lights overhead flickered on as they sat down. The server gave them water and a knowing smile.

Charlie didn’t even look at the menu.

“You should try the rose latte,” he said. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

Dylan didn’t argue. He just watched as Charlie crossed his legs—again, slow and precise—and rested his chin in his hand, staring.

“What?” Dylan finally asked.

Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “You look like you did on our first date. Nervous.”

“I-I’m always nervous around you. I don’t want to say something stupid.” Dylan sheepishly admitted as he glanced at the menu in front of him and brought his glass of water to his lips for a sip.

“Relax, babe, I’ll still love you even if you say something stupid,” the mouse said with a sweet smile that helped calm the rabbit’s nerves a little bit.

“Plus, you only really say dumb stuff when you’re thinking with your dick. I don’t think that thing has anything left to fuel its thoughts for at least a few hours.” Charlie snickered.

Dylan nearly choked on his water.

“I drank all of its thinking juice.” Charlie laughed—not cruelly, but sweetly, like he knew how ridiculous he sounded, but leaned into it anyway.

Then their server came back to take their drinks order.

“You guys ready for drinks?”

Charlie smiled at the waiter, looked at his boyfriend, then back at the waiter again, “I’ll have a strawberry crumble smoothie.”

The waiter then turned his attention to Dylan. “And for you, sir?”

Dylan looked at Charlie, then at the waiter, and said; “I’ll have a vanilla Oreo smoothie, and a pot of rose tea for the table.”

The server spent a few short seconds writing down their order before he smiled. “Alrighty! I’ll be right back with those and come back to get your food orders, yeah? Take your time looking through the menu.” He turned on his heels and disappeared into the bustling commotion of the rest of the café.

With their waiter gone, Charlie and Dylan were left alone, looking at each other from opposite ends of their little table.

There was a pause.

The candle between them flickered.

Dylan’s voice was soft.

“You really like me, huh?”

Charlie looked up, candlelight in his eyes. “Baby, I painted my claws for you.”

---

Art by SMU

What did you think of the story? Let me know in the comments below! It really helps a lot to have your feedback! Thank you!