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With a keen sense of men on top of her other, squirrel heightened senses, Antony was able to pick up on what he really wanted, but that didn't mean she had to give it to him. Or even give away that she knew what he wanted.

"Take a nap," she mused thoughtfully, tilting her head to the side. Had she a hand free, the squirrel woman would have tapped her lips and looked perplexed.

"Yes... A nap." Unsurprisingly, she sounded more like she was planning to take over the world than take a nap. Who knew?

"Why would I nap if I haven't gotten off yet?" Antony frowned pointedly, dragging the nail of her thumbs across his wrists. Not hard enough to draw blood, but enough to scratch the surface and serve as a warning.

Clearly, she hadn't really meant a nap, but was kidding (somewhat.) Afterwards, she'd definitely want to take a squirrel nap, but right now, he needed to learn how to do things right.

That and she wanted to make sure her work earlier hadn't been a total waste.

"Try again," she mused sharply, eyes piercing down at his.

She nodded, eyes clearly conveying that while it was in the right direction, he could have done better. Next time, however.

"Oh? And what would that be..?" Antony purred softly, her tone a sort of positive nudge foreward. Instead of her claw running over his wrist again, it was the pad of her thumb. First he had to get over this little issue he had with conveying what he wanted. She had to get him comfortable, and she also had to make sure he verbally noted what he wanted.

He seemed so child like at times, she didn't want to feel as if she were taking advantage of, at least.

Behind her, the tails had twined around his limbs lightly (as they weren't prehensile), but otherwise kept their movements clean, for now.

She chuckled, clearly amused by his awkward antics and approach. Regardless, Antony quirked a smirk, sliding his wrists up above his head while she leaned to hover just barely above his lips. If he really wanted it, he'd have to take a little bit more initiative.

Though he was inexperienced, there was something about his demeanor that was endearing. Or maybe it was the idea of having a man perfectly molded to her likes and quirks that she found endearing? Either way, it was good for Anatoli, and Antony was going to make damn sure that it'd be better than good for her too.

Her grin widened, and she leaned into him and the kiss, grip loosening to let her hands explore elsewhere. She made use of her sharp claws as well in order to add to the 'experience'. He seemed to like pain, after all.

With her hands elsewhere, his were now free to do what they dared.

Antony stayed on top, for now. There'd be time to learn about other positions soon later. After all, he had to make it nap worthy afterwards now didn't he?

Many mental notes had been taken earlier, and she made sure that they didn't go to waste, applying them occasionally between various little experiments to see what he liked and what he really liked.

Her hips moved back so that she could sit on a more comfortable surface (and worry less about squishing his liver or intestines, too). Not to mention that's where they more or less -needed- to go.

Carefully, Antony nipped at his lower lip before moving to pay some attention to the crook of his neck, where she used a mix of lips and teeth alike.

Antony found herself easily lost in a man that wanted her, especially in her less than human state. Even more so an entirely human, well-endowed man who was, in her opinion, attractive. Then again, that was the only opinion on that subject that really mattered.

Either way it was looked at, Antony was getting a huge ego stroke out of this one, on top of everything else. Anatoli became a worthy notch on her bedpost.

For the first time in a long while, the duplex was virtually spotless. The bathroom was clean, the laundry caught up with and put away, and her bed had been remade with the clean sheets. However, her dresser top still remained a mess. It was like a spot of mold on a fresh piece of bread, and it stuck out like a sore thumb.

That and the pile of wood shavings on the floor in piles of various concentrations, back and forth right in front of the foot of her bed. There were disturbances where her toes had repeatedly disturbed the settled curls and chips. And there, back and forth along the front of her bed, was Antony, pacing with a whittled down chunk of wood in her hand.

The one thing that didn't seem to be in motion was her eyes. Those red, inhuman eyes were transfixed on one tiny, blue object lying atop a sea of freshly cleaned sheets.

They were locked on his apology.

It had been carefully mounted in a small, but waterproof, plastic container. The butterfly Chert had given her many months ago had, until recently, been lost in the clutter of her dresser. Until recently, Antony had been able to force her stomach knotting worries of Chert away. Out of sight and out of mind.

And then that damned butterfly just had to appear.

She had tried to smoke, but after six cigarettes had met their bitter end by the hands of the apatite of her teeth, she gave that up and grabbed a piece of wood to gnaw. Even that wasn't enough. Antony wanted to punch someone, beat down the guards until they told her what had actually happened to him, and wring Moreau's neck with her bare hands.

The latter being only for shits and giggles at this point.

Then there was that miniscule part of her that wanted to cry. Just break down and throw her own little emotional s**t fit until she lacked the energy to do much of anything else.

Again, that part of her was shunned and stuffed into a very inaccessible place inside her. Stashed in the place where the weaknesses were hidden. Her very own, emotional Hoover Dam. Unfortunately, every so often it had to be drained to relieve the pressure building up behind the walls, drained before the supports broke down and flooded her mentality.

Now was not one of those instances.

A sharp pang of pain to her finger caused her to stop moving all together, except for her eyes, which broke contact with the dead bug in its coffin to look down at her blood stained finger. She had apparently carved her wood down so small her finger got in the way of her gnawing.

Cursing angrily under her breath, her finger was stuck in her mouth and the contact reestablished with the winged skeleton perched so daintily on her bed. The blood made her stomach churn in disagreement, but the squirrel woman forcibly ignored the nausea.

...Or tried to at least. Tried and failed.

The next five minutes were spent draped over her toilet. Though she would never admit it, the blood had only been the straw that broke the camel's back. Every day that went on without news of Chert's welfare successfully chipped away at what little hope of him being alive that Antony had left.

It made her feel sick and guilty. Maybe if she had forced him to stay with her after his change he'd be okay still? He'd be alive and she wouldn't be slumped over a toilet lacking the foul taste of regurgitated alcohol lingering on her palette.

Her furry forehead rested on the cool seat in defeat. Her tails provided the cover from the cameras as her body shook with silent sobs.

All because of a stupid bug.