Not that I could ever hope to match andrastewhite's skill. But this is the porniest thing I've ever written. Ever. And it's certainly the first time I've ever contemplated using the phrase "Vir came" in a story. I think I'm going to crawl into my little hidey-hole now.
Strong R, yo, for, uh, sexual situations. With tentacles. Only 400 words, give or take. Hey, I'm the baby of the fandom. I need to edge into these things gradually. *g*
When Lord Donato at last collapsed in a drunken heap, Ilia had touched him. Maybe, with the chaos of the celebration, he had simply imagined it- or maybe it was completely by accident. But after he had struggled, red-faced, to heave his snoring superior onto an over-stuffed couch, as he anxiously arranged Donato’s rumpled clothing into some approximation of respectability, he had felt the flutter of something at his waist. It was a teasing play at a very sensitive spot and it had left him momentarily speechless.
Vir was dreaming of Ilia almost nightly now since the Celebration of Life, and during the day, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. It made everything all the more awkward.
Sighing, Vir sank slowly into his bath and breathed in the warm smell of soap and linfra oil. Ilia smelled of linfra earlier that day when she leaned over his shoulder to snatch a berry from his dish. As she reached, her sheer modesty piece fell away, revealing the curve of one breast. It was difficult to find his place in his reading after that. Even now, thinking about it, he was finding it difficult to simply breathe.
Something twitched beneath the water, and Vir reached a shaking hand under the bubbles and stroked the end of one brachiarte until his chest was hitching with pleasure. His eyes fluttering closed, he began to rub the one beside it with his other hand, imagining that Ilia was bathing with him, her breasts glistening with oil, her painted lips stained with purple juice.
Then, slowly, gradually, he extended both brachiarte. The slickness of the soap and oil caused his grasp to slip slightly, but still, he held on, guiding both to his mouth and tentatively licking the rough surface of one with his tongue. For a moment, he shuddered at the bitter taste of the linfra, but a moment later, he decided the sensation felt too good to stop. Alternatively, he sucked and played his fingers across his brachiarte, enjoying the inexorably building pressure until, at last, it became too much and Vir came, grunting deeply, his fingertips tingling, bath water sloshing over the edge of the tub and onto the tile floor as he arched his back.
A minute later, Vir scrambled from the bath and hastily threw on his robe, trembling, gasping for air, his face a brilliant shade of crimson.