“Wait, does it truly feel unpleasant?”

The speaker sat back on his heels, eyes widening in surprise – and, given that “it” was something he’d just been asking for, a touch of remorse.  It was a thing he’d thought so basic, so elementary, that the notion of someone disliking it hadn’t crossed his mind – but that was no excuse. With a lover, any lover, assumptions were never wise.

“Well, no, not as such.” The Tiki held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m not put together quite that differently from the next man. It’s tolerably pleasant, I’ll grant.” He stared out the window, at the clouds drifting past the moon, and sighed; his bushy tail swept around and settled over his knees, and he let his hands sink into rusty brown fur. “It… simply hasn’t ever been enough for my full pleasure. For me to reach my peak in someone, there’s always this fuss and difficulty of adding other sensations.” Varonel ducked his head, ears folding back. “I’m sorry, that sounded frightfully shallow. It’d be worth it for you; I suppose I’m still not quite accustomed to having a regular lover again.”

“No, no. It’s quite all right.” Sakren shifted himself to the cushions beside his lover, draping his arm about the Tiki’s shoulders and one red-trimmed black wing over the man’s back. “It’s better to know, than to think you shared my contentment only to learn it wasn’t so. And,” he smiled, “it feels fine enough for me that I’ve no objection to being the, ah, giving party most of the time.”

In spite of the moment’s tension, Varonel managed a smile. “You’ve certainly proven that. Root and bough, but you’ve left me feeling stuffed – I think your manhood could feed a man for a day, sometimes!”

Sakren laughed, his ears flushing, tilting back.”Well, that’s not within my control,” he murmured, “so I’m loath to rely upon it.” He gave the Tiki’s shoulder a squeeze. “Here’s something that is within my control, though. Indulge me in this tonight – satisfy my own ache to be filled now and then…” He cupped  his hand under Varonel’s jaw, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “and when I fill you in turn, I will show you the stars.”

Varonel bit his lip, trembling. “You mean… fly with me? And make love at the same time?”

“Oh, yes,” Sakren breathed over that quivering ear. “Let the rhythm of my wings stir my heat inside you, let your seed scatter over the forest as mine plants deep inside you – would that satisfy you, repay you for some fuss and fumbling, dear lover?”

Varonel was shivering throughout that recitation; at the end, he whimpered. “By the Great Tree,” he moaned, “yes… but, Sakren…” His tone sobered and grew anxious. “Isn’t that… a trifle much the other way? Vrelan could only bear me up for a short time, and that only with difficulty, at great need. Certainly not enough for…”

“Vrelan is a Vhark, and small among them,” Sakren pointed out. “The Kethrain were made to fly, and fly strong. And while I’ve not the potency of some of my brethren, I can ease the pull of the world upon you.” He brought his other hand in and down, fingertips encountering the rigid heat of the Tiki’s arousal. “And though it is work, yes, and takes more concentration than I wish to put into our play all that often… it’s not without its rewards, feeling this come to life in my grasp. So… shall we begin, my dear?”

Varonel answered by turning and pinning him to the cushions, and from there the night only got better.