There is a taproot digging into Jack's back, but the pressure is barely noticeable to Bunny's weight pressing into him from the front, so that he is nearly swamped in humid warmth. Jack is no stranger to weightlessness, and it serves him well now, because his shoulders against the curving wall of the tunnel and his limbs wrapped around Bunny are the only things keeping him aloft. Bunny is being no help -- or maybe he is being the best sort of help, Jack hasn't yet decided -- grunting low and encouraging in his chest, strange things that Jack doesn't understand beyond recognizing them for endearments. His fingers are clever and unpredictable; instead of holding Jack up, he strokes Jack's cock firmly and swiftly, but he also walks sharp claws up and down the length of Jack's side, from the sharp notch in his hip to his ribcage to the sensitive skin right under his armpit, and he squirms almost ticklishly because he wants to move away and into it at the same time. It is just shy of painful; it feels like his skin has only gotten more sensitive with each prickling pass.
Jack digs his fingers deeper into the thick fur at Bunny's neck, until he can touch skin, and he curls his fingers into that downy softness as hard as he can; when he yanks, it pulls a low growl from deep in Bunny's chest. It sounds like a warning, but it makes Bunny jerk him faster, so he does it again and again, moaning as loudly as he can -- to show his appreciation, he likes to say, but deep down he thinks it might be because he likes to know that it is heard; he likes that the sound of his voice makes Bunny's rougher in turn; he likes that his voice is rewarded by touching.
He is so close he can practically taste it, bright and sharp on his tongue, when Bunny lets go and grabs his hips instead, wrestling them up and then holding them still just long enough that Jack knows it's deliberate. He growls himself now, trying to sound as threatening as he can, but Bunny just laughs, a low rumbling noise that seems to vibrate outwards from everywhere they're touching, until Jack's skin feels so sensitive that the air itself feels like a caress. There is a root digging into his back and it no longer even hurts; Bunny's claws have sunken into his skin and he knows there will be bruises there later -- bruises that Bunny will apologize for and insist on covering with salve, and Jack will be sorry that they heal faster than they would for a human, because he likes the way they feel when he stretches his legs just so, a secret etched onto his skin under his clothes. The air smells like musky animal and he wants to bury his face in it -- decides on impulse to do it, in fact, pressing his face into the thick ruff of fur that rings Bunnuy's neck. The smell is actually more muted here, but the fur feels good on his face and he rubs himself into it and he whines high and asking until Bunny's fingers clench harder on his hips and pull him down.
It burns at first; it stings like actual fire on his skin and Jack presses his face harder into Bunny's fur and hisses, kneading his fingers restlessly against Bunny's shoulder. They'd been playing earlier; he knows he's loose enough, but there is still always that one breathless moment when he thinks it won't fit and his body shivers and flexes like it's preparing for disappointment -- but then there is the moment that follows, when he relaxes and Bunny slides into him as easy as breathing and it seems to squeeze the breath out of him all over again. Bunny noses against his ear, crooning again, and Jack's fingers twist into claws so he can rake them down Bunny's back. The fur is too thick and Jack's nails are too blunt but he tries anyway, and he gets Bunny's rough tongue swiping across his ear and it almost hurts, just like the pressure inside of him almost hurts, and then Bunny starts to move.
For a long time, Bunny was the cautious one, just like he is in everything else -- he is careful and he is tender and he is protective; he will use his own body to shelter tender new plants from a strong wind and eschews the use of tools when his own hands will suffice for his gardening. Tools can cut through roots, he told Jack once; if he uses his hand, he can feel where even the most delicate threads of the plant stretch out, and he can scoop it out with care, without causing any undue damage. He treats Jack the same way in bed most of the time, like he has something precious given to him, and a single wrong touch could destroy it. They still fight (and fight often) outside, and Jack does not think he will ever get over the thrill of triumph that comes with pulling a fast one over Bunny, but Bunny as a lover is different from Bunny as a friend. Bunny as a lover acts like each touch is a gift and each reaction is something new every time; he smiles with something that is almost innocent, even when he is doing something outright filthy.
And it's not that Jack doesn't appreciate that, but he is proud of the ways in which he's rubbed off on Bunny (speed and impulse, the crescendo of hard and fast that leaves bruises and aches and deep satisfaction) just like Bunny has rubbed off on him (patience and kindness, the pleasure of observing and discovering through exploration), and he thinks that maybe nothing is perfect, but it is the sort of work in progress he doesn't mind working for. He doesn't mind the practice for this, the sheer pleasure of digging his fingers as hard he can into Bunny's fur and arching his back and he lets his voice rise nearly to a wail as Bunny fucks him, ruts with him, slams him against the side of the tunnel, roots and all and holds his hips with an inescapable strength so that he's forced to accommodate Bunny's rhythm. There is a pleasure to this, too, that he hadn't understood when they'd first started sleeping together; he has learned how to yield without breaking anything of himself -- he knows how to open himself up and to share without letting all of himself slip away. He weaves his fingers deeper into Bunny's fur and drops kisses wherever he can reach, and he doesn't quite relax but he lets pleasure carry him higher than any wind ever has, and when he comes it's with a shout that echoes in the tunnels, and it has no words but it carries the syllables of Bunny's name -- his real name, his secret name, the one he has only whispered to Jack once in perfect silence and Jack has never dared to repeat properly aloud.
Bunny comes a few moments later, thrusting up hard against Jack, and the hands on his hip slip up across his back instead, until he is completely enveloped in Bunny's embrace, and there is no longer a root digging into his back or the slick feeling of wet dirt against his skin; for a moment he is completely weightless because Bunny is holding him aloft, he is wrapped up in strong arms and even if he lets go, he knows he won't fall. Jack is someone who prefers open spaces and the freedom of space, but in these moments, with Bunny's heartbeat against his skin and his own in his ears, he can think of nothing better, and nothing else in all the world that he wants.