Bowels of a Bear
A commission for a lovely user here on Tumblr, thank you for commissioning me! It's always good when I get a chance to write hairy bear preds >:3
Content: vore, digestion, belly bulge, belly noises, willing prey, willing pred, casual vore, male pred, human pred, M/M, large belly, bear pred, teasing
Clint sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning forward like the whole match was going to hinge on how tight he kept his aim. The glow from the TV lit up his beard and the crease between his eyebrows, the little amber light on his controller blinking as his thumbs worked over the sticks. On the other end of the couch, Reed was slouched back with one ankle propped over his knee, controller balanced in one hand, eyes flicking between his character and the minimap.
They were deep into Halo 3, going head-to-head on Guardian. Clint had the high ground near the green lift, peeking the corner with a battle rifle, trying to keep Reed from pushing across the narrow bridge. Reed’s Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effects—rifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going off—bounced around the room under the hum of the old box fan by the window.
Reed caught Clint slipping a little too far out from cover and dropped him with a clean three-shot burst. Clint groaned, tossed his head back, and immediately respawned near blue lift. “Lucky,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. He swung the camera fast, sprinted up the ramp toward active camo before Reed could get to it first.
They kept circling each other like that, the match timer ticking down. Reed pulled off a perfect stick right to Clint’s chest, the blue light flashing across the whole screen before it went black. Clint sat back, exhaled through his nose, and was about to make a crack about Reed’s aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.
GroOoOwLl.
It wasn’t the TV—it was Reed’s stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. “Damn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.”
Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, but for some reason I’m not craving anything in particular.”
Reed finally set his controller down on the coffee table, leaning back into the worn cushions with a long stretch. His beard shifted against his chest as he tilted his head side to side, loosening his neck. The grumble in his stomach hadn’t gone anywhere, and with the match timer now at zero, his attention slid toward his phone. He unlocked it with a swipe, thumb moving toward the DoorDash icon like muscle memory.
The screen lit his face as he scrolled. “Let’s see… we got Chipotle,” he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. “Nah. Had that last week.” Another scroll. “Five Guys… mmm, skip.” He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. “Outback Steakhouse? Ugh… skip.”
Clint leaned his elbows on his knees, still catching his breath from laughing at the last match. His eyes wandered over to Reed without thinking. Reed’s shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasn’t huge, but it had that rounded, easy weight that comes from too many late-night beers and big weekend meals. The fabric of his t-shirt was a little stretched across his stomach, and the hair on his forearms caught the glow of the phone screen. His beard was full, dark with a few lighter streaks, and his shoulders looked broad enough to block half the light from the TV if he leaned forward.
Reed scrolled again, muttering, “Applebee’s… nah… Buffalo Wild Wings… mmm… nah.”
Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.
Reed glanced sideways at him. “What?”
“You can eat me, if you want,” Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.
Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Get outta here.”
Clint didn’t move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reed’s face, steady. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. “You’re hungry, and I have no problems with it.” is what he said, but what he really meant was ‘I want to be in your hairy belly.‘
Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. “Bro, you gay as fuck for that,” he said, the words drawn out just enough to make it sound like a joke. The corner of his mouth pulled higher, though, like he was already picturing it. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Clint didn’t flinch. “I don’t fucking care.”
That answer seemed to stick with Reed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and then he leaned forward, setting his phone down on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “Alright. I’ll give you a demo.”
Before Clint could say anything, Reed’s big hands clamped down on either side of his head. His palms were warm and a little rough, fingers curling into his hair as he yanked him forward. The sudden movement made Clint’s knees bump the coffee table. Reed’s beard brushed Clint’s forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.
The heat hit first—a wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reed’s tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clint’s face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clint’s nose before he could turn away.
HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh
The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clint’s skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clint’s hair shift. Reed didn’t let go—he kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.
Then Reed’s tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clint’s jaw up to his cheekbone in one slow, deliberate lick. He pulled back just enough to look at him, still holding his face, thumb resting against the hinge of Clint’s jaw.
“You sure that’s what you want?”
Teron Commission (I)
————————————
Clint sat cross-legged on the couch, leaning forward like the whole match was going to hinge on how tight he kept his aim. The glow from the TV lit up his beard and the crease between his eyebrows, the little amber light on his controller blinking as his thumbs worked over the sticks. On the other end of the couch, Reed was slouched back with one ankle propped over his knee, controller balanced in one hand, eyes flicking between his character and the minimap.
They were deep into Halo 3, going head-to-head on Guardian. Clint had the high ground near the green lift, peeking the corner with a battle rifle, trying to keep Reed from pushing across the narrow bridge. Reed’s Spartan was ducking in and out from behind the central column, lobbing plasma grenades up toward the catwalk. The sound effects—rifle bursts, shield recharge whines, that heavy thunk of a grenade going off—bounced around the room under the hum of the old box fan by the window.
Reed caught Clint slipping a little too far out from cover and dropped him with a clean three-shot burst. Clint groaned, tossed his head back, and immediately respawned near blue lift. “Lucky,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. He swung the camera fast, sprinted up the ramp toward active camo before Reed could get to it first.
They kept circling each other like that, the match timer ticking down. Reed pulled off a perfect stick right to Clint’s chest, the blue light flashing across the whole screen before it went black. Clint sat back, exhaled through his nose, and was about to make a crack about Reed’s aim when a low, rolling growl cut through the game audio.
GroOoOwLl.
It wasn’t the TV—it was Reed’s stomach, loud enough that Clint glanced over with a crooked grin. “Damn bro, you seem hungry as fuck.”
Reed smirked faintly, gave a little shrug without taking his eyes off the screen. “I know, but for some reason I’m not craving anything in particular.”
Reed finally set his controller down on the coffee table, leaning back into the worn cushions with a long stretch. His beard shifted against his chest as he tilted his head side to side, loosening his neck. The grumble in his stomach hadn’t gone anywhere, and with the match timer now at zero, his attention slid toward his phone. He unlocked it with a swipe, thumb moving toward the DoorDash icon like muscle memory.
The screen lit his face as he scrolled. “Let’s see… we got Chipotle,” he muttered to himself, thumb flicking past. “Nah. Had that last week.” Another scroll. “Five Guys… mmm, skip.” He paused on Red Robin for a second, squinting like he was almost tempted, then kept moving. “Outback Steakhouse? Ugh… skip.”
Clint leaned his elbows on his knees, still catching his breath from laughing at the last match. His eyes wandered over to Reed without thinking. Reed’s shirt had ridden up a little from all the stretching, showing just the start of a soft curve at his middle. It wasn’t huge, but it had that rounded, easy weight that comes from too many late-night beers and big weekend meals. The fabric of his t-shirt was a little stretched across his stomach, and the hair on his forearms caught the glow of the phone screen. His beard was full, dark with a few lighter streaks, and his shoulders looked broad enough to block half the light from the TV if he leaned forward.
Reed scrolled again, muttering, “Applebee’s… nah… Buffalo Wild Wings… mmm… nah.”
Without really thinking about it, Clint leaned over and put his hand over the phone screen. The scrolling stopped.
Reed glanced sideways at him. “What?”
“You can eat me, if you want,” Clint said, like it was just another casual suggestion between rounds.
Reed let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Get outta here.”
Clint didn’t move his hand. His eyes stayed on Reed’s face, steady. “I’m serious,” he said, his voice a little quieter now but not joking. “You’re hungry, and I have no problems with it.” is what he said, but what he really meant was ‘I want to be in your hairy belly.‘
Reed blinked at him for a long second, then smirked and shook his head. “Bro, you gay as fuck for that,” he said, the words drawn out just enough to make it sound like a joke. The corner of his mouth pulled higher, though, like he was already picturing it. “You know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Clint didn’t flinch. “I don’t fucking care.”
That answer seemed to stick with Reed. His eyes narrowed just slightly, and then he leaned forward, setting his phone down on the coffee table without breaking eye contact. “Alright. I’ll give you a demo.”
Before Clint could say anything, Reed’s big hands clamped down on either side of his head. His palms were warm and a little rough, fingers curling into his hair as he yanked him forward. The sudden movement made Clint’s knees bump the coffee table. Reed’s beard brushed Clint’s forehead for a second, and then his mouth opened wide right in front of him.
The heat hit first—a wave of stale air that carried the sour tang of old beer, meat from lunch, and the faint bitterness of coffee. Reed’s tongue flexed inside, slick and pink under the yellowed light from the lamp, the back of his throat twitching as he exhaled straight into Clint’s face. The smell clung, warm and humid, filling Clint’s nose before he could turn away.
HhhhuuuUuurrRRRpphhhh
The burp rolled out mid-breath, wet and deep, vibrating right against Clint’s skin. The sound was loud in the small room, the gust of it making Clint’s hair shift. Reed didn’t let go—he kept his grip firm, forcing Clint to take the whole blast of it.
Then Reed’s tongue slid out, rough and damp, dragging from Clint’s jaw up to his cheekbone in one slow, deliberate lick. He pulled back just enough to look at him, still holding his face, thumb resting against the hinge of Clint’s jaw.
“You sure that’s what you want?”
“I told you already,” Clint said, voice steady now. “That’s what I want.”
Reed’s eyes narrowed, but the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. “Well shit. I figured saying all that would scare you off, but it seems your mind’s made up.”
He leaned forward, controller still in hand for a moment, then set it down on the coffee table with a solid clack of plastic. He shifted back into the couch, spreading his legs wider, adjusting until he looked comfortable. His shirt rode up as he settled, the soft hairy swell of his beer belly pushing against the hem. He scratched absently at the side of it, beard shadowing his jaw as he looked at Clint. “Get here,” he said, voice low, direct.
Clint hesitated only a second before moving. He climbed across the cushion and lowered himself into Reed’s lap, straddling him carefully. The older couch springs creaked, his knees pressing against the cushions on either side. Reed’s thighs were solid under him, the denim of his jeans rough against Clint’s legs. His chest brushed Reed’s, and he could feel the faint give of that rounded, hairy belly under his shirt. For a second, they just stayed like that, the hum of the muted TV filling the silence.
Reed’s hand came up, steady on Clint’s side. “So,” he said, tilting his head, “you want head first, or feet first?”
Clint didn’t blink. “Head. I’ve already smelled the worst of it, remember?” He smirked faintly, thinking back to the hot burp blown in his face.
That got a short laugh out of Reed. He tipped his head back slightly, then opened his mouth wide. The beard parted around it, teeth glinting faintly in the light, tongue glistening as he drew in a breath. Clint could see the back of his throat shift and pulse, the faint rhythmic flex of muscle like it was already ready for him.
He tilted Clint’s head forward with both hands, lowering his open mouth until beard bristles brushed across Clint’s forehead. The first pull was slow, lips sealing around his hairline, tongue dragging hot and wet over his temple as Reed worked him inside. The tight muscles of his throat flexed, swallowing down inch after inch, and the sound of it was loud in the quiet room, wet gulps and slick suction filling the air.
Clint’s face disappeared between Reed’s lips, cheeks bulging faintly as he drew him deeper. His jaw shifted wide, teeth glinting in the glow of the TV as the throat behind them rippled and swallowed. Reed groaned low in his chest, the vibration rumbling through Clint’s head as it pressed further into the heat of his gullet. His beard rubbed down over Clint’s neck, scratchy against skin before it vanished into the slick pull of his throat.
The shoulders took effort. Reed leaned back, adjusting the angle, belly rounding slightly as his throat stretched around the broad line of Clint’s collar. With a heavy swallow, his lips stretched wider, sliding over the slope of shoulder and pulling both arms in tight against Clint’s chest. His throat jumped visibly, each convulsive gulp working the bulk down.
Past the chest, the slide grew easier. Reed’s tongue curled and lapped along Clint’s torso as it slipped inside, savoring the taste before it disappeared deeper. His hairy belly rose and shifted under his shirt as the weight filled him, the swell pushing out with each drag downward.
When Clint’s hips pressed against his lips, Reed paused, breathing heavily through his nose, savoring the heat of the moment. He opened wider and drew them in, teeth scraping lightly at denim before the whole lower half slipped into the slick heat. The bulge inside him writhed faintly, pressing outward against his shirt.
He noticed how his buddy had a hard on the entire time he was being swallowed, and it was straining against his pants long before, when he was sitting on his lap. No, even earlier; When he offered, or maybe when Reed gave him the demo. And so, for this reason, he spent a good chunk of time licking over the bulge, and he could swear his friend was already wet down there.
Reed took his time with the legs. His tongue worked along the thighs, leaving them slick as his throat dragged them down in steady pulls. His Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and a deep groan escaped him as he worked down to the knees. The couch creaked under his weight, his belly distending further as he packed Clint away.
Finally, only the feet remained. Reed gripped Clint’s ankles in both hands, lifting them to his mouth. He spread his lips over the toes, sucking them in one by one, his tongue swirling across the arches. He lingered there, lapping and slurping noisily, tasting every inch before his throat claimed them. With a deep inhale, he tilted his head back and swallowed hard, the slick soles sliding past his lips in a final wet pull.
The bulge inside him shifted, settling heavily in his gut. Reed groaned, leaning back into the couch, one hand rubbing the stretched curve of his much-bigger hairy belly. It was round and taut, gurgling faintly as it tried to adjust to the sudden fullness.
HHhhhuuuUUUUUuuuurrrrpppphhh!
The burp ripped out of him, long and sloppy, echoing off the walls and leaving his chin wet with spit. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand, still panting, then patted his stomach with a lazy grin. “Whew,” he said, voice rough. “That was all you, buddy.”
Clint shifted against the slick walls, pressing outward with his hands and feet as much as the cramped space allowed. His voice carried, muffled but clear enough through the taut skin of Reed’s belly. “It’s hot in here… tight too. Feels like you’re hugging every part of me at once.” There was a low laugh that turned into a groan. “I… kinda like it. Never thought I’d say that, but it’s making me hard as fuck.”
Reed’s stomach gurgled loudly, the sound wet and deep, rolling under Clint’s words. He tilted his head back and smirked, rubbing over the bulge of his hairy gut with slow circles. “You’re really okay in there?” he asked, his tone carrying a half-mocking concern.
Clint panted, his cheek pressed to the slick wall. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good. It’s—”
“Don’t really give a fuck,” Reed cut in, slapping the side of his belly with a heavy smack that sent the mass inside jostling. The sound of it echoed with a dull thud, followed by another wet churn. His beard twitched with a grin as he pressed his palm down firmly, kneading the curve. “I’m gonna take my sweet time digesting the fuck outta you. And even if you’re fine now, you won’t be in a little while.”
Inside, Clint shivered at the words, his breath catching. “That’s so fucking hot,” he said, voice tight with arousal. He pushed outward again, almost like he was trying to press into Reed’s hand from the inside.
After less than an hour, Reed’s gut had changed from full and heavy to actively working. The hairy dome shifted with wet noises as the pressure inside climbed. Beneath the thick layer of skin and muscle, acids had pooled up around Clint, sloshing every time Reed moved or adjusted in his seat. The gurgles came louder now, bubbles rolling up from the depths of his stomach, the sounds sharp and swampy.
Clint shifted uneasily inside. His voice came muffled but strained, like he was pressed against the belly wall. “It’s… it’s starting to sting, man. Feels like I’m sitting in a hot bath.” His kicks pushed faintly against Reed’s gut, but they barely made a ripple through the thick swell.
Reed rubbed slow circles across his belly with the flat of his palm, grinning down at the bulge. “Yeah? Belly finally getting to you, huh? Told you it wasn’t just a nap in there. That’s my gut putting in the work.” He gave it a firm pat, the wet glrrk inside answering right away.
Another shift came from within, Clint groaning as the acids licked higher up his chest. “It’s tight, bro. Like… harder to breathe now.”
Reed leaned back into the couch, letting his hairy stomach stretch out in front of him. “That’s ‘cause you’re getting packed down. My belly don’t mess around once it decides you’re food.” He smirked and gave a small bounce of his gut with both hands, making the contents slosh and bubble louder. “You wanted this, remember? All you, bro.”
Clint’s laugh was shaky but real. “Yeah… fuck… still hot though.”
Reed chuckled, low and satisfied, the sound rumbling through his chest and gut alike. “Good. Keep squirming. Makes the job easier for me.” He rubbed over the writhing bulge again, teasing. “By the time I’m done, nobody’s gonna believe you were my buddy. Just another meal sitting in my hairy gut.”
His belly grew louder as the hours dragged on, each churn a deeper, wetter note than the last. What had started as restless gurgles turned into heavy sloshes, acids shifting and bubbling inside the stretched hairy dome. Clint’s form, once distinct in outline, softened as the heat and pressure worked him down. His groans became fewer, broken up with gasps and the occasional muffled curse, his energy leaking away with every squeeze.
Slouched deeper into the couch, rubbing slow circles over his hairy gut, feeling the slush beneath his palm. His fingers scratched idly at the coarse hair across his belly, and then up into the thick hair on his chest, sighing as another wet cramp rolled through him. He tilted his head back and let the air rumble up.
HHhuuuorrrghhhllllrrraapphhhhh
The burp was thick and wet, spit clinging to his lips afterward. He wiped his beard with the back of his hand and chuckled, muttering under his breath. “Midway point, buddy. Belly’s got you working down nice.” He patted his gut hard, the noise inside slopping back like a pot of stew.
“Uh, you know you’re not coming back out by now, right? I can’t hear you much in there, but I just thought I’d let you know.”
Inside, Clint’s kicks weakened. The acids had risen high, bubbling around him until every movement squelched like something sinking in mud. His outline lost shape; arms and legs blended under the surface, his body softening to slurry. His groans turned ragged, fading to little more than heavy breathing, then to silence. One final twitch made the hairy belly ripple before it went still.
Reed scratched across his chest, thick fingers combing through the mat of hair as he exhaled, heat rising in his face. His stomach groaned back at him, lower now, like it was congratulating itself. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and pressed both palms deep into his gut. The bulge sloshed like heavy soup, no longer fighting, just bubbling.
Then it came up, wet,
HHHHhhuuuuuuuuuuaaarrrhhrrrrllllggggghhhpphhhhhkkhhhhh!
The belch dragged on, thick with moisture, breaking into smaller gurgles as it tailed off. Reed’s eyes watered at the force of it, saliva stringing off his lips. He let out a laugh, half-groan, wiping his mouth with the heel of his hand. He sat back, scratching lazy circles over the swell of his hairy belly, feeling it slosh and settle into something thicker. His other hand drifted back up to rake through the hair on his chest, nails digging lightly at the skin as he sighed with satisfaction. “Told you I’d take my sweet time,” he muttered, giving his gut a slow rub. “And I did.”
