Just so you know: Unless noted otherwise, none of my stories are actually in continuity with one another.

Scaly-Backed Cockroach

It was a hot summer night. Marianne and Bog were in bed, blanket under them in deference to the heat and how it often got thrown off anyway during moments of passion.

"Hey, Bog?" said Marianne. "There's … something I was thinking we could do. Or, something I was hoping I could do to you."

Bog raised a leaf-like eyebrow, clearly intrigued.

"You know how much I enjoy your ideas, Tough Girl. What's this one?"

"Well … you need to lie down on your stomach."

Bog's other eyebrow went up and he obeyed.

Marianne kissed the ultra-sensitive spot on his lower back. Bog gasped. She licked the spot, and he bucked his hips, thrusting into the pile of spongy moss that was their mattress.

Marianne opened her wings; Bog must have seen the movement in his peripheral vision, because he turned his head to watch her. Rather than crawl over him, she fluttered into the air. Their only point of contact was her lips as she kissed his back, over and over.

"Marianne," Bog whispered rapturously. The eye she could see was half-closed. The sliver of bright blue surrounded by his grey-brown skin was like a glimpse of the daytime sky through the forest canopy. His wings rattled when she nibbled lightly at the root of one, and when she licked that spot he moaned.

She landed, straddling him.

None of Marianne's nightgowns lasted long with such a cuddly and spiky bedpartner, so she'd gotten into the habit of sleeping naked. The feel of him between her bare thighs was incredibly arousing. She rocked against him, rubbing her crotch against that oh-so-sensitive point. Her golden eyes fluttered closed as the rough edges of his exoskeletal plates caught against the soft tissue of her labia.

"Bog," she moaned. "Oh, Bog …" Marianne leaned forward and held onto Bog's shoulders, between his spurs and his neck. Her breasts hung between them and brushed the joints of his wings.

"Marianne," he moaned back. His wings were rattling again, almost buzzing. Her nipples were hard, skin tight over them and nerves singing with pleasure.

Marianne continued to rock into Bog. He pushed himself up, onto his hands and knees, so gravity pulled her even closer to him. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist.

"Bog, I love you," she gasped; "love this; love the feel of your scales on my skin; love having you between my legs –"

"I love that too," Bog groaned. "I love – Marianne, you've no idea what you do to me. I can feel how wet you're getting …"

Wet, indeed. Fluid was leaking out of her vagina, smearing and lubricating Bog's plates. Marianne kept it up. Some of her pubic hair ended up caught between his scales, pulling at her whenever she pushed far enough one way or the other, adding a new dimension to the sensations.

She couldn't quite get at an angle that would let her rub her clitoris on Bog's scales … Maybe later they could try this with him on his back; the pointy scales over the broadest part of his chest would probably work … Of course, if he were on his back, he could just use his hands to pleasure her, he was amazing at that …

Before Bog could react, she was hovering over him again. His desperate, pleading noise sent a fresh wave of arousal and affection through her. Following her original plan, she landed, this time straddling his buttocks. Marianne wrapped her arms around Bog's torso and kissed each of his wing-joints in turn. Her breasts were squished against the place she'd left sticky from humping. Her legs and his twined together so that, even as she straddled him, her calves were between his.

Her hands slid down his chest, down his stomach, and stopped when they reached his crotch. Bog took the hint. His ventral plates opened and his erection slid out. He was sensitive enough there to be stimulated through his scales, but they both preferred direct contact.

Marianne wrapped one hand around the base of his penis and stroked firmly from base to tip. As her hand reached the tip, she wrapped her other hand around the base and repeated the gesture. The way he writhed under her ministrations caused his scales to shudder and slide pleasurably against her nipples.

"Can … can you go the other way?" he panted.

"Like this?" A stroke from tip to base drew a keening sound from him.

"Just like that, yes, please … Oh, Marianne …"

"I love you, Bog," she said again. She started saying it in time to each stroke. "I love you. I love you."

"Marianne."

"I love you."

"Marianne. Mari-ANNE!"

Bog collapsed beneath her. Neither of her hands had been at the tip of his penis during his orgasm, so his semen had spilled directly onto the moss bed. Marianne extracted her hands from under him and crawled up his back, sitting in her original spot and gently massaging his shoulders.

"That was amazing." Bog's voice was muffled by the pillows. "So's this. I love the way you touch me."

"Good, because I love touching you."

"Can I roll over yet?"

"Sure, if you want."

Getting onto his back was a process for Bog. His wings were less flexible than Marianne's, so it took a bit of twitching even after he got settled to make sure he wasn't pinning them. Marianne didn't bother getting off of him while he turned over. The feel of him twisting under her and pushing up into her was intoxicating.

"There's something I want to do to you, too," he told her, once they were facing each other again. His massive hands curled over the back of her thighs. "Crawl up here?"

Once their faces were even, he kissed her, deeply, tenderly. Their lips parted and he smiled wickedly, tugging her thighs again. "Bit further."

When her crotch was over the broadest part of his chest, Marianne paused. Shifting around a bit, she confirmed that yes – "Oh, God, yes!" – Marianne could stimulate her clitoris with the tip of Bog's scales there.

"Marianne, what –?" Bog stopped questioning her when an undulation of her hips made it perfectly clear what she was so happy about. The hands on her thighs migrated to her back, pulling her torso down over him – Marianne reached out to press her hands against the wall, for balance – and he began lavishing attention on her breasts.

"Bog, you – you feel so good," she moaned.

She'd been on the cusp of an orgasm for a while now, so she wasn't surprised to fall over the edge.

When she came back to awareness, Bog was petting her hair and making soothing noises.

"Hey," she managed.

"Hey. Do you want to rest a while, or are you ready for more?"

"More?" Marianne cupped Bog's cheek and bent almost in half to kiss him. "More, please."

"Then keep crawling, Tough Girl. You're nearly there."

Still not sure what he had planned, Marianne continued to crawl forward. His hands, on the back of her thighs, urged her forward each time she paused. When she was straddling Bog's face, he moved his hands to the front of her thighs.

"Stop there." They each made a few adjustments to their position, so Marianne's heels were under Bog's shoulders rather than having her toes digging into his chest. "Perfect."

His long, pointed tongue traced the opening of her vagina.

"BOG!" Marianne's hands slammed into the wall again.

"Is – is this okay?" Her strong reaction must have made him nervous. "If you want me to stop –"

"Keep going," she urged him.

His gloriously gnarled, giant hands cradled the cheeks of her ass and pulled her closer to his face. Bog was slow and thorough. His tongue explored every fold and crease and petal of Marianne's labia before poking inside to lick and stroke her vaginal walls. The sharp tip of his nose bumped against her clitoris and made her whimper.

Bog's hands wrapped possessively around her waist and he lifted her, briefly, so he could breathe, and then pulled her tight to him and kissed her vagina as deeply and passionately as he had ever kissed her mouth. He pulled her away to breathe again, then suckled her clitoris the way he often suckled her nipples during foreplay – curling his lips and tongue around the bud and sucking hard, pulling it against his teeth.

"Yes," she urged him on, "yes, Bog, yes, yes, yes, Bog, yes, Bog, Bog, yes –"

"I love you," he gasped occasionally during his breathing breaks.

The rhythm continued; Marianne wasn't sure how long. She orgasmed more than once, but lost count quickly. Finally Bog let go of her entirely and collapsed back against the pillows.

"That was … wonderful," she said rapturously. Bog's sharp, triumphant smile might have gotten her going again if she weren't exhausted. He looked even more tired than she was. They yawned together, causing Marianne to let out a sleepy little laugh.

She flew again, wings shaking from aftershocks of pleasure, to settle into their usual sleeping snuggle.

The kiss they shared was tender and intimate.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

They fell asleep cuddled together, stroking each other's backs.

Those who read both will notice I used the same closing lines as 'Acing It'. This was on purpose, to comment on how both sexual and non-sexual romances are valid expressions of romantic love. (That said, I wrote 'Acing It' first.)

Happy Valentine's Day!