But before she can remove anything else, Antoine falls upon her. He pins her down, his hands finding her own, fingers lacing, slamming them against the plant-covered floor. His chest rubs against her back, and his growls against her ear are much more primal and lustier than the romantic prelude.
He growls now, losing his humorous affectation and speech pattern. He reduces himself, no, perfects himself to the epitome of manliness. 
She turns her hips up, knees pressing against the floor, offering herself as the epitome of womanliness.
Years of fighting together, being friends and allies, and sharing each other’s triumphs and failures through war all disappear at that moment. They are no longer the same beings that fought for the freedom of their people and the ideals of the Kingdom of Acorn. They are flesh, and they are blood, and they are the chemicals in their brain, and they are life, unfiltered by social standing or expectation.
He penetrates her without thinking a second thought beyond his primal desire. This conquering is what he was born to do, no matter the pedigree. His sword is thick, girthy, long, and turgid. It spreads her lips and touches her deep places, filling her in ways others may have in the past, but none of that matters because he will be the best, and he will be the one that conquers her, staking his claim in the deepest parts of her body, making her his and his alone for the rest of their lives.
Her body receives him, quivering, moist, warm, and tight. The drenched shorts on the side prove her ready to accept him, wanting to swallow his load with her body. No matter how much he gets inside, it is not enough. He pushes back against him, letting his length disappear further and further down inside her womanly cave.
Her moans fill the cave. She doesn’t care that her mouth is filled with pollen, coated in dust, swirling through her mind, affecting and changing her. Deep down, this is what she’s always been, but she could not conceive of it before, nor can she confess it now.
He thrusts into her, and she thrusts back against him. Together, they push each other further and further. His hips crash against her ass, his balls slapping at her. Over and over again. He thrusts against her, the wet smacks of their bodies slamming together, only drowned out by the animal cries echoing through the cave!
He closes his mouth around her shoulder, holding her down so she would never get away. His jaw is strong, but he does not harm her even in his stupor. She is his, and she will know it. He squeezes her hands. The last vestiges of any gentlemanliness that exists within Antoine are evident there in that tender action, even though in all other things, he is a piston, pushing and pulling, rolling and thrusting, spreading her further after having already made its way to her most sensitive regions.
Her body spreads for him, the shape of his dick visible underneath fur as it pulls, pushes, and takes. Her breasts swing and sway at the rough fucking she experiences, her eyes rolling back and her tongue rolling out. She tilts her neck for him, allowing his bites to move closer from her shoulder to her collar, back, and throat so that she may ride the wild waves of danger and delight, all while he takes her and takes her.
This rutting continues unabated for some time. The endless march of the machines aboveground finally stops in a singular slam against the roof. Dirt falls over them, caking their bodies further until they become the dusty, ragged messes they’ve felt themselves become on the inside. The end of the motions above signals the coming of their climax as Antoine slams himself deep into her, holding her down by her hands and throwing his head back. He howls, his sounds penetrating through all potential barriers as shot after shot of his warm, ropey semen fills her reservoir.
Sally’s groans are not as loud, but they are passionate incoherent things. Her body contracts around that cock, and she collapses under him, her eyes glazed over and her mouth a drooling mess.
He lays atop her, his hands moving off of hers. They wrap around her body, arms pressed against her breasts, but his hands holding her sides. He nuzzles against her neck, placing softer yet still possessive kisses upon her nape.
Her groans and moans give way to sighs and steady breathing. Hands move up to his own, holding onto him as she holds onto this moment. The strangeness of semicoherent thoughts returning to her as lust burns away makes way for fulfillment.
“W… what did we do?” she finally asks.
Antoine huffs, loosening his grip.
She rolls around, laying on her back, looking him in the eyes.
He nuzzles her nose with his.
She returns the gesture.
Neither answer, but they press their mouths together, their chests rubbing, their hands exploring as feelings emerge, taking them over, even as the radio crackles, and a voice asks for them to respond.
Antoine is the first to pull back from the kiss. Saliva and pollen strands dangle on Sally’s chest. The coyote grabs the communicator, discarded with the rest of their clothing, and clicks it to life.
“Antoine? Is everything alright? We used the satellite to disable all the Egg Swats. We’re going to proceed with the mission after checking on everyone.”
The coyote freezes for a moment. His mind is a buzz of carnal activity. Was that really him earlier, fucking princess Sally? Was that not really him? If so, who is he now? And more importantly, who is on the other end of the call?”
The fugue disappears after a few agonizing moments, and he shakes his head, responding quickly.
“Everything is fine, Tails,” the coyote says, smirking at Sally. “The princess and I are just recuperating a moment and we had the close call.”