Bug poetry

“Why don’t you read to me?” The heat of Vasha’s breath against Bug’s bare thigh sends his skin shivering, a languid warmth rolling up each bone in his spine.

For a long moment, Bug forgets to reply, his whole mind occupied with his lover’s strong tusks grazing along the inside of his knee.  When Vasha locks eyes with him, though, it’s like Bug’s heartbeat starts up again, a hurried “yessir!” stumbling off his tongue.

The poetry book they’ve been working through before bed is very lovely, Bug thinks.  The writer talks a lot about women, but not in the way that makes Bug wince;  it’s gentler, more adoring and sweet pining, and whenever Vasha reads a real good part aloud, his gaze lingers on Bug in a way that makes him go pink in the cheeks.

Bug opens it at the bookmark, careful to not crease the ornate spine.  When he takes a quick, trembling breath, Vasha inhales also, before kissing delicately at the tip of Bug’s erection.

The first line sticks like molasses in his throat as Vasha wraps his lips around him, the gentle tug of his tusks against the flesh leaving Bug mute save for a whispered sob.  When he can stand to open his eyes again, he sees Vasha’s warm yellow ones staring right back at him, unrelenting as he swallows Bug whole.

Bolts of pleasure make his belly grow light until he’s sure the lazy drag of Vasha’s tongue is the only thing keeping Bug tethered to his body.  It’ll be over too quick if he watches, Bug knows, so he forces himself to stare at the page, words beginning to swim and twist together.

“Like the sweet apple that ripens,” he manages, breath catching all over again when he feels Vasha smile around him, “at the end of the bough.”

A warm palm comes to rest over his hipbone, calloused finger pads soothing over the spot in gentle encouragement.  Bug inhales deep, and lets the words come out with the exhale.  “Forgotten, so thou.”

Vasha’s other hand is upon him now, raking through the blonde hair under his navel until he can’t help but shiver.  “Nay, not —“ the syllable turns into a strangled gasp as the lips around him bear down, sucking the whole length of him like his body was just a little delicacy.  Bug wraps a leg around Vasha’s back, urging his lover close, and pictures the next line behind his squeezed-shut eyes.

“Nay, not forgotten, ungotten, ungathered —“ He’s unbalanced by Vasha taking him around the backs of his thighs, angling his legs further up and apart as if he weighed nothing.

Vasha kisses the skin at the crux of his thigh, so close to his entrance it makes Bug want to cry.  His golden eyes trail up Bug’s body, flushed red from the attention.  “‘Till now.”