The Bugs and the Bees

~~~warning for sexual situations and dirty talk. It's weird. You've been warned.~~~

Here's what I think happened that night.
"Oh yeah. Yeah, give me your bugs. Give me all your dirty fucking bugs"
Bubba the beezle fills the room. Literally. The tips of his central mass nearly touch the not-quite-full-spectrum lights of the ceiling, his roaches spread over the floor, and his bugs trace intricate patterns over the walls and the air around Tasia.
"Oh, yeah, Bubba, I got some dirty bugs for you."
"You got some dirty bugs for me, you dirty little whore?"
The words in her earpiece have a raw, gasping quality that Tasia wishes she didn't have to hear. There's realism, and then there's just being creepy. She'll have a talk with the translators and voice actors tomorrow.
And speaking of creepy, a filigreed column of ant-sized wingless bugs marches up her foot, coils around her calf. The beezle equivalent of a lover's caress.
"You hid my bugs, didn't you, you slut? You want me to look for them?"
The dirty talk is for her benefit, Tasia knows. So are the hundreds of tiny legs tickling her inner thigh. The bugs are, of course, completely clean, and Tasia is on a lot of drugs. She still has to bite her knuckle to stifle a shudder of revulsion.
"I got," got to focus on the work, "got your bugs right here." They buzz in a jar at her naked side. Little orange and pink clams with wings, each about the size of her pinky toe. Beezle drones. "I think you're gonna like them."
"Fuck yeah I'm gonna like them."
She's turning him on. The wingless bugs dance little circular jigs over her legs and belly. The winged bugs thrum in the air. Even the roaches on the floor shiver with anticipation.
A beezle isn't one organism; it's four.
"Gimme your bugs. Gimme all your fucking bugs right now."
Start with your zoox bodies, the single-celled blue algae that turn sunlight into sugar. They sit inside bugs, specifically of the sessile caste. The sessile bugs, along with their queens, drones, workers, manipulators, and so forth all live in and feed off of the fungal matrix of the beezle's body. The whole edifice riding on the backs of a colony of roaches.
Tasia brushes her hand through the colmn of workers around her crotch. "What if I want to…?"
"No!" The buzzing cloud over her head darkens and condenses. The wind from tiny wings brushes her hair. Some of the fliers land, the weight of wasp-sized bodies pressing on her throat. "Do it now."
Now when I say "bug" and "fungus" and "roach" and "zoox," I'm not talking about real insects or dinoflagellates. The beezles might have some coincidental biochemical similarity to Terran life, but you and I, and Tasia, are still more closely related to the critters growing on the lips of deep-sea crustaceans than we are to people like Bubba.

Tasia forces herself to chuckle. "Impatient. Bad boy."
She swats a clump of fliers. Just one. The rest jerk and spasm on the air.
"Gimme your fucking bugs," growls the translated voice in her ear.
The drugs are taking hold now. The grip of the swarm is almost pleasant. It is definitely erotic, like drowning in a massage chair that's also a vibrator. One of the services Bubba demands is that his partner climax. Which is...nice Tasia supposes.
Bubba knows as much about human anatomy as she does about beezle.
"Oh baby, your bugs are swarming all over me."
"Yeah?"
"Oh," pants Tasia, "oh yeah. Here come my bugs."
Her numb fingers untwist the jar she got from Bubba's staff. And a cloud of bugs fly out. Each drone is packed with, algal pollen, fungal spores, the sperm from two species. And something else. A poison deadly to one of these people, but invisible to both. The nail for which a horse shoe was lost, and a war started. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
The swarm of drones hits Bubba's like a puff of aerosol cocaine.
"Yes," grates the voice in Tasia's ear, "oh fuck yes!"
If the translator and voice actor is embarrassed by any of this, his vocal performance doesn't show it. Tasia is beyond caring, body shuddering. Bubba knows as much about human anatomy as she does.
Legions of thumb-nail-sized aliens perform exact, intricate maneuvers, and another orgasm sinks its teeth into Tasia's dopamine-suffused limbic system. She barely has the self-control to clasp her hands behind her head, so she doesn't squish anything important.
"How do you like my bugs?" Her wail snakes through the various layers of computer-assisted translation and professional actors, and plays itself out in the dancing on hundreds of tiny robots seeding through Bubba's cloud of bugs. A cloud which convulses over her. A thunderhead.
"Oh baby, your bugs are so good," the communication dances over her head on the edge of meaning. "They're so harmonious. Dancing with my bugs."
"Dancing together. Thinking together," somewhere a glad squeezes, a neural pathway zigs instead of zags, and Tasia's body vanishes. They aren't a naked ape, or a hive-mind-infested mushroom tower. Nor a highly-educated prostitute or an obscenely wealthy and corrupt venture capitalist. They are lovers. Swirling motes of ecstatic star-stuff, finding a connection.
Carl Sagan would spin in his grave. Unless he got off on this sort of thing.
"So harmonious," Tasia grits her teeth.
"Like one giant swarm," says Bubba.
"Covering the whole fucking world."
Two people from different worlds climax, and fall back, limp.
Bugs patter on the ground like rain as Tasia smiles.
"You and me baby," says Bubba. His translator has chosen a smug, tone. "We'll cover the world together."
~~~
okay! Here's the next alien species and the next chunk of New Frontiers. I have an outline now, so this scene is actually important to the plot.

I did some new things here. First with a very value-defined picture for the bubba, second for a scene written with a sort of second-person-by-way-of-first person. Thirdly with some violations of Point of View and a Chekhov's Gun. And finally with the truly bizarre alien sex. Let me know if it all makes sense.

Next I plan to write the scene introducing the character with a relationship with an Aha ([link]), for which I'll make a new picture. Speaking of ahas, what do you think comparing the "description" on that page to the story-chunk on this one? Which do you prefer? Should I do more objective descriptions of oonkhs and beezle's too?