Author's note: Did I mention Papa Peppercorn is one of the few anthro toons that have pockets built right into their pelt? Yay to cartoon physics! :D
Did I promise I'll have Mama play with said pockets one day? Now she can. The drabble refers to times they weren't yet Mama and Papa, but hey, it makes even more sense that way.
See the "Baby on Board" episode for the (short) flashback to their youth and times as new parents. And thanks to Herr Moers for an inspiring quote! ^_^
My tummy was promptly pervaded by a pleasant glow, as if someone had lit a little camp fire inside me.
- Walter Moers, "The 13 1/2 Lives of Captain Bluebear"
Bella's pelt felt almost no chills in the September wind — unlike her palms that held a cup of piping-hot java just a couple minutes ago. Baldwin was sipping at his own cup, the third one already, slowly, savoring the coffee, and not yet able to warm her thin paws in his broad ones. Still, he glanced at her over his shoulder. Pointed with the tufted tip of his tail at the spot on his side, where the pelt looked slightly looser, forming a living pocket — as if inviting to slip her paws in. And cocked his head a little, knowing well enough that his girlfriend sure will bury her nose into his scarf.
Because of three cups of hot coffee in a row — or just of his blood, hot despite the chill autumnal wind; the reason didn't matter all that much anyway — the warmth that his pockets radiated made Bella slide her paws only deeper inside. At first, a thought that she may stumble upon some pocket change, keys, a wallet, or whatever else startled her. But then again, she saw Baldwin shell out whatever change he had for coffee — and besides, today he walked all the way to the park for their date, instead of riding his scooter as usual.
Their reflection in the park pond beneath a small bridge merges into some twofold, contented — and seemingly expectant — creature. From aside, it might have seemed that the skinny fellow had swallowed... some heavy, thick, horseshoe-shaped ingot, as far as the bulge beneath his skin could tell. Having such a load inside normally doesn't make one give little growls of embarrassment and pleasure, or half-close their eyes, even slightly leaning into their lover's embrace. Normally. But not when it's clear that the said "ingot" is actually a pair of loving girl's hands.
An orange leaf landed onto the belly of their reflection-creature — as if someone had lit a little invisible light inside it — weak ripples breaking the water surface. Bella could almost swear she was seeing the nearly exact likeness of this light — deep below her own palms, below her loved one's velvety pelt (was his white belly patch caused by the light?) and the live lining of his pockets. She was almost seeing it, worrying that the wind may put it out, sliding her hands even deeper into his pockets — to cover it up, shield from the wind, as if the little sparkle of warmth contained her beloved one's very life.
As if answering her, the wind jokingly — not even slightly chilling — ruffled her shock of red curls, then Baldwin's own shaggy hair, making his floppy ears tangle in the strands so as Baldwin even had to pin them down. One tip of his dark ear grazed Bella's muzzle lightly: as if the light flickered, keeping on burning. And the girl half-closed her eyes with relief: the little light was easier to see like this, and its flickering easier to feel: deep inside her loved one, on his neck — right where she buried her nose in his scarf, and nearly under her very palms.
The twofold creature in the pond reflection fell apart, turning back into a young couple of lovers: at long last, Baldwin's cup got empty, and he finally could throw it into the trash bin, and, his paws finally free—
— scoop his girlfriend up in a mighty hug, then wrap her with his scarf — with a passion like they had already been married for a good couple of years.
And she could almost see the future, probably in fact in a couple years, in which she was back from the doctor, bringing fateful news, her already-a-husband stretching his paws towards her to pick her up and swirl around in joy.
Where her shy roundish, slightly hard pink mound (fateful news!), snuggled to his unapologetically round, squishy white mound («drank plenty of tea to warm you both up»), both disappear under a knitten blanket — heavy and warm, just like Baldwin's scarf in the weak evening light.