Your tongue shamelessly explores her, relishing the alien feel and flavor of your mate. Your taste buds run along the sharp edges of her incisors as you count them outwards from the center, detecting their separations with the tip of your tongue. She calms herself, her movements becoming slower and more predictable to keep from accidentally biting you; her own muscle acts as an escort by laying across the top of yours. Your hand finds the crevice of her ear and you begin scratching the damp fur underneath out of appreciation. A cool draft invades the room through your open window, but even your exposed legs are kept warm by the thought of her presence. You hear her wings move, but can’t see them.