Well, I have no idea if the chan is sick of tentaspy or OCs or what have you- so I'm going to inflict both upon it. A little of Fleischer, my BLU Medic from First Do No Harm/Comorbidity and BLUSpy/Maurice. It's crack, technically, but I figured it was at least decent enough to post. Critique is welcome, especially since this is my first attempt at writing porn solo. -------- Trust. Trust had, for a very long time, been a very major issue for Fleischer. After all, most people, in his experience, were duplicitous and selfish and willing to take whatever they wanted no matter the cost. He had met monsters in the guise of civilized people, and people that acted more like animals than human beings and didn’t even try to hide or deny it. A decade in the Gulag had taught the doctor that the difference between a person and a monster had little to do with the physical appearance of being human. He had done a number of monstrous things, himself, and he had always seen a human being- albeit a terribly flawed one- when he looked in the mirror. Physically, though, all seemed well- there were no obvious indications of the content of the German’s character on the surface of his skin- not any that weren’t usually covered by his clothes, at least. A light touch against Fleischer’s ankle reminded him that he was not alone- that the small pool his bare legs were dangling into was occupied. That touch was not human, either, and the blonde was quite convinced that the sensations it caused could not be elicited by human hands. The feeling of soft, clinging suckers was at the same time bizarre and oddly soothing. The appendage that those fleshy cups were attached to was equally alien- almost infinitely prehensile, and coated with a thin layer of slime that, under the water, gave it an almost silky-smooth texture. That limb, the doctor knew, was also immensely powerful. It would have been terrifyingly easy for its owner to pull the German into the pool and- and do whatever he wanted with him. He didn’t, though. It was just further proof, in Fleischer’s mind, that despite the man’s feral appearance, Maurice was more of a person- a better person- than many a human being he’d met. "Deep thoughts, Monsieur?" the pool’s occupant finally questioned, looking up at the doctor with a small, almost languid smile. Fleischer had always been a little envious of how easy it seemed for the Frenchman to smile. Despite the man’s history as a Spy, there seemed to be nothing inherently duplicitous about the little grin he was giving Fleischer, and to the doctor that almost seemed like an honor and a privilege. He couldn’t help but notice, however, that Maurice was keeping his lips pressed together as he smiled. "You don’t need to hide your teeth, Herr," the doctor quietly insisted, eliciting a small, rumbling chuckle from the Frenchman. "I would hate to unsettle you too much, Docteur," the former Spy stated, briefly flashing the sharp points of his teeth as he spoke. They were unsettling, too- sharp, pointed teeth in a face that was otherwise at least mostly human. The blonde, however, was a curious man, and also found those teeth- found Maurice’s entire form- to be quite fascinating, and certainly worthy of exploration. The Frenchman, it seemed, was doing a little ‘exploration’ of his own. The delicate ends of a pair of tentacles had wound around the doctor’s ankles, and were slowly wending up his calves, the suckers flexing, gripping, and releasing to move the limbs along. The sensation, hard as it was to describe, was enough to send a shiver through the German. Maurice chuckled faintly in response. "Not too unsettled, I see," he said. "You are so tense, Docteur…" That remark made Fleischer wonder just how sensitive the Frenchman’s tentacles were. Could those suckers feel the subtle action of muscles pulling tighter? The resultant feeling of the doctor’s skin moving just slightly? Some electrochemical sensation as nerves fired to those muscles? Given the former Spy’s incredible senses, the blonde had little doubt that the man could smell that tension. "You nearly always smell like fear," Maurice stated, as though confirming the doctor’s suspicions. "You need to relax," he added with another little smile and a gentle squeeze to both of the Medic’s calves. It was a squeeze that seemed to travel up the Frenchman’s coiled, gripping tentacles, applying pressure in a wave from the blonde’s ankles up to his knees. It was a remarkable sort of feeling, really, and Fleischer could feel the muscles in his legs relax just faintly. There was a long moment of silence as the suckered appendages continued to knead, and gently squeeze. The German could feel himself continuing to relax- until he very suddenly realized that the pair of tentacles had found their way up to his thighs, and were beginning to squeeze under his boxers. That tension came right back- and the prehensile limbs quickly came to a stop as Maurice’s brow furrowed in what seemed to be concern. "Docteur," the Frenchman started, his tone soft, and yet somehow commanding Fleischer’s complete attention. "Do you trust me?" Fleischer was silent again for a long moment. It was a monumental question, really, and one he had to give himself a little time to think about. Maurice had never harmed him- quite the opposite, really- he’d saved his life. The man knew more about him than he’d be comfortable with, in most instances- and, yet, seemed to keep that information to himself. The Frenchman did seem to take almost every opportunity to rib the doctor- but always seemed to know when he wasn’t in the mood- when he needed to refrain. Who would do that for him, really, unless they cared? It was sort of depressing to the doctor, really, when he realized that the thought of someone genuinely caring about him seemed almost novel. There was Maurice, however, his expression utterly sincere as he waited patiently for an answer, like he knew how hard it was to think over. "I’m, uh," the Medic half-stammered, "I’m willing to try, Herr." He cautiously watched the Frenchman’s expression, quietly fearing that he wouldn’t like the answer. Maurice, however, only replied with another small, sincere smile, and a gentle squeeze to one of the doctor’s legs. "That is all I ask, Docteur," the former Spy said. "Now… you need to relax, oui? Just lie back and let me do the work." The doctor remained silent- hesitating a moment before giving a nod in reply. He tried to focus on remaining still, then, as Maurice lifted himself further out of the pool to grip the hem of his undershirt in his gloved fingers. It was hard not to notice the way the tips of those leather gloves were somewhat pointed by the claws the Medic knew were being hidden under the garments. He could feel them against his skin- the sensation muted somewhat by the leather covering- as his undershirt was lifted up, and then off. The entire motion was careful- almost delicate; there was absolutely nothing forceful or impatient about it, and for that the German was immensely grateful. Fleischer couldn’t help but wonder, however, whether the Frenchman had spied on him enough to know how to act, or his behavior was simply a matter of courtesy. Regardless, it did help in calming the doctor’s nerves, despite being reduced to wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, let alone in front of someone. /"Lie back,"/ the Frenchman said, speaking impressively fluently in the doctor's native tongue, "bitte." The switch to a more familiar language did serve to further relax the Medic, though he still hesitated a moment before complying with the request, and his eyes remained fixed on the former Spy. Maurice was not at all shy about lifting himself a little further out of the pool- enough to just barely brush his cheek against the doctor's inner thigh. The contact was so brief that Fleischer had to wonder whether it had even been intentional- or if, perhaps, he had simply imagined it. He did, however, start just a little when he felt the delicate ends of another pair of tentacles touch against him, one on each side of his waist. “Docteur..?†the former Spy asked, a touch of concern in his voice. “It’s fine,†Fleischer quickly insisted, quite sure that the question was in regards to that faint, startled jerk. The Spy's face remained steady for a long moment, his brows furrowed slightly, as though pondering the doctor. After a moment, however, he relaxed, again, and continued (still keeping careful watch over the blonde's expression). Those remarkable limbs had no trouble in criss-crossing over the German's chest, curling round his sides, just under his arms, and then squeezing between his back and the floor. Those suckered appendages were slightly cool to the touch- but, they quickly warmed in contact with Fleischer's body. The two that had crossed his torso continued to squeeze and slither along his back, finally emerging to curl just over the tops of his shoulders, and cling to the skin there. The Medic was not a small man, and couldn't help but worry that the Spy's limbs were being uncomfortably pressed between his body and the floor. Maurice, however, seemed unbothered, and expressed that fact by flexing the four limbs that were wound around the doctor. The suckers gripped down just a little tighter, and the net result was a sensation something like hundreds of tiny mouths; that was the best the blonde could describe it, at least. It was a feeling that had the German very suddenly, very immensely relaxed. He was rather surprised when he felt something cool and slick against the fingertips of his right hand, and realized that he had started to caress one of the tentacles crossed over his chest. The Frenchman, naturally, approved of this; it was quite clear in the low purr that started to rumble from deep in his chest, and it wasn't a moment before he had his actual mouth- or lips, rather- pressed against the doctor's hip. The feeling drew the doctor's full attention, and when he looked down to its source he found that the Spy was looking directly back at him. It was hard not to be drawn to the Frenchman's eyes- startlingly green with pupils drawn to thin slits in the light, which lent them an even more intensely focused appearance. Those eyes remained fixed on Fleischer's, even as their owner moved his head- craning his neck a little to press a line of kisses from his hip to his navel. It was the feeling of the Spy's long, tapered, prehensile tongue drawing a line up the center of the doctor's abdomen that finally caused the underlying muscles to flutter a little. The sight of that tongue darting back into the Frenchman's mouth (between razor-sharp teeth) reminded Fleischer of nothing so much as the tail of a serpent disappearing into its burrow. It quickly slid out again, though- this time to drag wetly down from the German's navel, though a sparse trail of fine, pale blonde hair. The doctor's eyes remained riveted to that tongue as surely as though he had been hypnotized, and his breath hitched as that seemingly infinitely mobile appendage dipped under the waist of his boxers. The blonde's face heated as he found himself imagining what it might feel like if that tongue went a little lower. It was a thought that Fleischer quickly pushed aside because, frankly, he had no idea how far the Spy wanted to go, and- "I would like," Maurice started, quickly derailing the doctor's train of thought, "to remove zhese." The Frenchman curled the tentacles on the doctor's legs just enough to hook the fabric of the man's boxers, emphasizing 'these'. "If zhat is alright, of course," the Spy continued, a small, disarming smile forming on his face. A faint, hesitant nod was the only reply that Fleischer could muster, and he had to choke back a whine as the tentacles coiled around his legs began to slowly draw downward, dragging his boxers with them. The garment was finally freed, and carefully laid aside- the doctor didn't notice, though- he was rather preoccupied with the damp heat that had been breathed out against his groin the moment it was uncovered; it was a sharp contrast to the cool air in the room. "Don't forget to breathe, Docteur," Maurice said, giving a sound that seemed caught between a faint chuckle and a low, quiet purr. It was then that Fleischer realized he had been holding his breath- but, he quickly sucked in a gasp the moment the tentacles criss-crossing his chest decided to shift their suckers to gently grasp his nipples. That sensation was quickly added to by the feeling of lips brushing against his abdomen- pressing another line of light kisses up his chest, pausing at his collarbone to suck faintly at the skin. Only after the doctor had tilted his head back with a little groan did Maurice move slowly- carefully- to the other man's vulnerable neck. The Spy just nestled his face into the crook of the blonde's neck for a moment, drawing in a few slow, deep breaths. Fleischer couldn't help but wonder what the Frenchman was thinking- what he was feeling, and smelling, and then tasting as that prehensile tongue slid wetly against the sensitive skin of his neck. The blonde wasn't quite able to suppress a weak groan- wasn't even sure he wanted to suppress it, and the moment the sound escaped him he felt the Spy's lips, still against his neck, pull into a smile. Maurice kept working at his neck, too- mouthing, licking, sucking gently at the skin on the way to the line of the doctor's jaw, and not once did the blonde feel the faintest hint of the Frenchman's sharp teeth against his flesh. It was a marvel (and a relief) really, how careful the man was being, working a line of kisses along Fleischer's jaw, and to his clean-shaven chin. The Spy shifted, though- brushing his lips against the German's ear as he whispered, "you know, Docteur… it is perfectly alright to enjoy yourself." The man's lips were then replaced by his tongue, curling slowly around the shell of the doctor's ear. It was an action that pulled a small, almost strangled whimper from the blonde. Fleischer's thoughts finally cleared enough for him to think about what the Frenchman had just said- to try and comprehend the connotations behind it. It was impossible for him to not suddenly admit to himself that he was still very tense- that every move he made was being calculated and considered before being transformed from thought to action. "You know, Docteur," the Spy started, again, drawing back just enough to look the other man in the eye, "some actions aren't meant to be dictated by logic." Fleischer went very still at that- wound up just sort of looking at the Spy’s face as he thought over what he’d said. He couldn’t help but feel a little guilty, then- Maurice was being incredibly open, and he had been- well- the doctor didn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. “I’m… sorry, Herr,†the blonde half-stammered. “I didn’t mean-“ “Docteur,†the Spy interrupted, his own tone gently chiding, “zhis is not about me, it is about you. You want to enjoy zhis, oui? Zhen, you need to allow yourself to do so.†The Medic did want to enjoy it- wanted (needed) desperately to enjoy it, even. He had spent decades constructing a barrier around himself, though- a desperate bid to, if nothing else, exercise strict control over himself. Emotions were allowed to slip through the gates and outwardly show only after careful scrutiny- or so he thought; the Spy was reading him like an open book. Fleischer wasn’t certain whether that ability to read him was part of the Frenchman’s enhanced senses, or simply part of the talents that were required by his former profession- or both. Regardless, he suddenly realized that there was very little, if anything, that he could effectively hide from the man. It was a thought the Medic usually would have found terrifying- but he couldn’t bring himself to feel any fear towards the man who was starting, once again, to carefully kiss, mouth, and lick at the side of his neck. There was a sense of complete safety, despite the Spy’s power- despite what the blonde knew full well he was capable of. It was that rare, unusual feeling that sank into the doctor’s body, finally letting his muscles slacken. He even allowed his eyelids to slide shut, and blacking out his vision only made it easier to focus on the sensations his former teammate was gently inflicting on him. It was the feeling of the Frenchman’s suckered limbs squeezing down on his body again that finally drew a low, needy moan from the doctor. An open-mouthed kiss to his throat suddenly had the German wrapping his arms around Maurice to clutch at the back of his suit. That only encouraged the Spy to suck at the doctor's neck again, doubtlessly leaving an impressive red mark. Fleischer couldn't bring himself to care, though, and gripped tighter at the fabric in his hands, rumpling the Spy's suit. Another, louder groan was drawn from him as the suckers attached to his skin squeezed and then loosened in a wave that travelled from the bases to the delicate tips of the limbs they were a part of. The blonde’s face heated just a little when he felt a distinctive southward rush of blood. The Frenchman didn’t miss a beat; his knowing smile simply grew a little as he rested a gloved hand on the doctor’s right ankle. Any tentacles that were in the way dutifully curled aside as the Spy drew his hand slowly up the length of the blonde’s leg. He paused briefly to give the other man’s thigh a faint squeeze- to feel the strength of the underlying muscles as they tensed just a little- before cupping some decidedly more sensitive flesh. The Medic’s breath wound up catching in his throat- but, he quickly sucked in a short, shuddered gasp as a single, leather-clad finger drew slowly- carefully- up the length of him. His reaction drew a small, pleased chuckle from Maurice, who seemed a little surprised when the doctor wound up tucking his face into the crook of his neck. It was hard for the blonde to miss the feeling of one of the tentacles around his thigh- body-warm from contact with his skin- start to pull and slither its way higher. The delicate tip of that appendage soon traced the line that the Spy's finger had drawn just a moment before. Tiny suckers pulled, kneaded, pushed, and plucked along rapidly engorging flesh, creating a symphony of sensations that Fleischer could only describe in another low, needy groan. Suddenly it was his lips pressed against the Spy's neck- mouthing at the skin, and feeling the man's throat rumble with a low purr. The Medic worked his way higher, pressing a line of kisses that got less tentative and more needy as that one teasing, suckered appendage wound its way around the length of his cock. When his lips finally- timidly- brushed against the other man's, it was easy to tell that the Spy had been waiting for it. Despite this, the kiss the Frenchman gave him was light, and almost careful. The doctor appreciated the sentiment behind that caution tremendously, but found himself craving more. He experimentally pressed his own lips to the Spy's, and his action was returned in kind- firmly, but not forcefully. He finally chanced a light nip to the other man's lower lip. It was well-received, but Maurice, given his razor-sharp teeth, abstained from returning the action. Fleischer did, however, feel the tip of the Frenchman's tongue carefully slide over his lower lip, and past his teeth and that, combined with a squeeze from the tentacle around his erection, drew another shuddered gasp from him. Fleischer felt somewhat torn- unable to choose what to focus on. There was the smooth, prehensile tongue gently drawing across his own, but there was also the suckered, equally prehensile limb working its magic considerably lower on his anatomy. Regardless, he had to find something to do with his hands that didn't just involve gripping tighter and tighter to the other man's suit. He settled for gently cupping the sides of the Spy's face, and slowly running his thumbs along the curves of the man's slightly pointed ears. That time, not only was a low, rumbling purr elicited (a sound that the doctor could feel where the other man's lips were pressed against his), but a soft, satisfied sigh. Maurice did draw back just a little, though, seeming to study the blonde's expression for a moment. It gave the Medic an opportunity to take hold of the Frenchman's tie and start working it loose, and he found himself panting slightly as suckers continued to work almost lazily over the length of his cock. "I suppose zhat is only fair," the Spy murmured with a faint chuckle as his waterlogged tie was pulled free- after all, the German had been stripped to his birthday suit. Between two pairs of hands, and some dexterous tentacles, the Frenchman was soon wearing nothing but his gloves. Maurice's arms and torso were marred by a number of long, thin scars, and the doctor tried his best not to look at them- he didn't want to start thinking about where they had come from. Instead, he focused his eyes on the gills along the Spy's side, clamped tightly shut out of the water. Fleischer managed to collect his thoughts long enough to dip his hands into the heated pool before running them down the other man's sides, making sure that he only just ghosted his fingers over the closed gills. It was obvious to Fleischer that it wasn't a feeling the Spy was used to- not with the somewhat curious, uncertain expression that formed on his face. "Is zhis… alright?" the doctor asked quietly, unable to keep his voice from quavering just a little, given the way he was still being lightly teased. "Keep zhat light touch, Docteur," Maurice started, his lips pulling into another small smile, "and I zhink I might start to like it." He did not, however, remain within easy reach of the blonde, slipping back into his pool- submerging completely- and slowly drawing all his limbs in with him. One tentacle remained in contact with the Medic, though- a single limb curled loosely around his right ankle, which gave a gentle, almost beckoning tug at his leg. The meaning behind that action was clear, and Fleischer eagerly eased himself off of the floor, and into the pool. It wasn't a moment later that the Spy's lower limbs had started winding loosely around his body, again. Submerged, the suckered appendages had an almost silky texture to them- it was hard not to notice, given how those limbs seemed to be touching and 'mouthing' over every inch of the doctor's skin, except for his nethers. The blonde was, once again, practically hypnotized- peering through the clear, shoulder-deep water to watch the multitude of suckers clinging at his skin. Despite the attention, he was practically aching, and gave a small, relieved groan when the Spy exhaled against his groin, again- not with air, but with a body-warm current of water. A much more solid touch was then applied by the other man's tongue, dragging slowly from the base of his erection to the very tip. Fleischer found himself having to find something to hold onto- settled for a pair of tentacles curled over his chest, still working their suckers over his nipples. He was slowly being overwhelmed- as those boneless appendages continued to wind more of their length around him, they started to grip and cling and knead with larger, more powerful suckers. Those fleshy discs were astoundingly strong- the Medic had seen the Spy hang upside-down from the ceiling with them on numerous occasions- but, they were also being astoundingly careful. They gently prodded and pulled, seeming to test the German's flesh and, given their sensitivity, he had no doubt that every twitch of every muscle could be detected. The sensations from the limbs alone were enough to keep nursing the heat that seemed to be building in the pit of the doctor's stomach. In addition, though, Maurice's tongue continued to drag and curl around him, and was soon joined by the man's lips, kissing and mouthing up the length of his cock. Given the expression on his face, the Frenchman seemed to be deeply enjoying the small, increasingly desperate sounds he was drawing from the blonde. The German had to tighten his grip on the pair of tentacles, squeezing just a little harder as the other man curled the delicate end of a limb around his testicles. The Spy never stopped his ministrations- every tentacle that wasn't anchoring him to the pool floor was somewhere on the doctor's body. All of the sensations were starting to blend together, though- the doctor's ability to distinguish one from the other was being drowned out by pleasure. The pounding of his heart was beginning to match the speed and depth of his breathing. Lips and tongue suddenly abandoned the blonde 's groin to start working up his abdomen. They were quickly replaced, however, by a tentacle, which wound several tightly-spaced coils around the length of his cock. It wasted absolutely no time in squeezing in a wave from base to tip. The suckers pushed and 'mouthed' and kneaded mercilessly at the heated flesh that they had seized in their grip. The heat that had been simmering in the pit of Fleischer's stomach was very rapidly growing to a full boil. He found his head falling back as the Spy's mouth made its way back to his throat. He felt a rumbling against his neck, and wasn't sure whether another groan had been pulled from him, or if Maurice was purring, again- probably both. Regardless, the blonde couldn't deny the fact that he was positively squirming under the other man's ministrations- that he was completely losing control in the most wonderful way. It was very suddenly that the doctor found that pleasant, searing heat go racing through his body, causing every muscle to tense; his toes curled, and his fingers practically dug into the suckered appendages in his hands, and everything he knew became brilliantly warm and brilliantly white. It was just an instant- a brief instant in which Fleischer couldn't possibly have thought about or focused on anything other than the nearly electric sensations coursing over his skin and through every muscle fiber. That instant seemed to stretch on forever, and the spots only began to clear from the Medic's vision when he remembered that he needed to breathe, exhaling in a long, shuddering sigh. He remained still for a long moment, eyes closed as he took stock of the rest of his senses. The doctor slowly realized that he had slumped forward- that Maurice's arms- nearly all of them- were curled around him. The limbs weren't constricting, or moving- just holding the blonde while he waited to regain some control of his own limbs. Fleischer's own arms were wrapped around the Spy- though he couldn't recall putting them there. That was fine, though. Really, the doctor was quite comfortable and, given the low, quiet rumbling he heard, Maurice seemed to be, as well. That purr, however, was punctuated by a small, affectionate chuckle "Maybe," the Frenchman started, "we could do zhis again, sometime." A small, languid smile crept across the German's face. "I certainly vouldn't have a problem vhiz zhat, Herr," he murmured in reply. For the moment, however, he didn't feel as though he could move a muscle- and, he didn't want to. He was going to need to wait before a repeat performance. "Just get some rest for now, Docteur," Maurice started, pressing a small kiss to the Medic's chin. "I'll keep you warm."
I adore every aspect of your writing. The structure was amazing, your vocabulary usage is impressive without being wordy, and just....GOD, you're fucking awesome. And so long as I am here, there shall remain SOMEONE who is never sick of Tentaspies OR OC's.
NEVER TIRED OF TENTASPY A++
>>2 >>3 Thanks a million. It's been really difficult to motivate myself to write since I finished Comorbidity, and it's comments like this that let me know it's worth it to -keep- writing.
Aw man I remember them! Seeing them here makes me happy.
I know we already discussed this, but it bears repeating: this is a wonderful little fic, these two are absolutely adorable together, and- not a single word of a lie, Maurice is absolutely the only incarnation of a Tentaspy I have any time for whatsoever. If I had a stamp of approval, and anyone cared about it, this fic would get one.
>>5 >>6 Just so you both know, I always appreciate any love or crit I can get <3 And, now, more tentaporn. ______________________________ Soft. The doctor's hair was soft to the touch. Maurice couldn't deny that he took at least some small pleasure in running his bare fingers through it. Without his gloves on, he had to be careful of his claws, of course; being allowed to touch the Medic at all was a unique privilege, and one he did not want to be revoked- especially not so soon after he had convinced the man to strip to his boxers. The former Spy's hands moved slowly and purposefully through Fleischer's blond hair- he wanted to savor every moment- wanted this to last as long as possible. Their last encounter had been decidedly more involved than this, but the doctor was still taking some time to settle into things. That was why the Frenchman was starting slow- was using only his hands to explore the other man. Hands were not quite as sensitive as tentacles, so Maurice had to rely on his other senses to gauge the German's mood. The man's scent was almost constantly tinged with an edge of nervous tension- a tension that was subtly evident in his posture. The former Spy was being very careful. He was doing his best not to loom over the man reclined on the room's only bed. The Frenchman's hands briefly cupped the sides of the doctor's face before drifting lower, trailing his fingers along the curve of the other man's jaw. That touch caused the Medic to tilt his head back just a little - an action that seemed entirely reflexive. Good. "Comfortable, Docteur?" the former Spy questioned, sliding his hands over the man's broad shoulders. "I'm… vorking on it, Herr," Fleischer murmured in reply. That wasn't the answer that Maurice had been hoping for, but at least the doctor was being honest. Hopefully, when this was all over, the blond would be quite comfortable, indeed. A small, warm chuckle was offered by the former Spy as his hands drifted lower, trailing down the doctor's arms, fingers tracing the curvature of the muscles. The Medic was impressively strong. The man knew it, too - even seemed to fear it. It was a terrible shame, really - how uncomfortable the German was in his own skin. Perhaps, however, that could be changed. Maurice paused for just a moment before resting his right hand over the back of the doctor's left. When he met no resistance, he slid his fingers between the doctor's, carefully intertwining them. It had the intended effect - the blond relaxed just a little. The Frenchman smiled faintly at that, before leaning down just enough to rest his head on Fleischer's chest, his ear pressed to the other man's skin. It felt nice, really - the doctor's body was slightly warmer than his own, and he enjoyed soaking up that heat. He couldn't help but wonder if the blond enjoyed the cooler touch of his own skin. The Medic certainly didn't seem to be objecting. The former Spy could even hear- and feel- the other man's heart beating to a strong but steady rhythm. It wasn't the quick, nervous pulse that had been present at the beginning of their last encounter. The doctor's scent was even more relaxed, and Maurice tilted his head to tuck his face against the other man's chest so that he could more easily breathe it in. There weren't a lot of scents masking those of the doctor, himself. The man was meticulously clean. The lingering aroma of soap was there - faintly pleasant but not overpowering - along with that of the fabric softener which had permeated the clothes that, until recently, were pressed to the Medic's skin. It was the hormones rushing through the man's bloodstream, however, that Maurice was taking cues from. 'Nervous' was there, as it always seemed to be – but, at least it wasn't intense enough that the scent could be called 'fear'. Fear was a scent that Maurice was well acquainted with; after all, that was the reaction of most people (few though they were) that saw him as he now existed. He couldn't blame them, really – the former Spy knew his appearance was unusual at best. There was the doctor, though – lying there (mostly) calmly as the Frenchman lifted himself up just a little, so he could run his hands down the man's chest. The Medic was well built, which made it all the more interesting for the former Spy to explore the curves and lines of his torso with the pads of his fingers. The German was, in truth, interesting in far more meaningful ways. That was what had drawn Maurice to the man to begin with; he had wanted to peel away the layers of stoicism and polite professionalism that the doctor had woven around himself, so he could see the real Fleischer. It was no longer an impersonal challenge – it was a rather intimate desire – one which Maurice was happy to take as much time as the German needed in achieving. The former Spy slowed down considerably as he slid his hands over the blond's hips, and down his powerful legs. He applied just a little bit of pressure when he reached the man's calves, squeezing just enough to feel the strength of the underlying muscles. The Frenchman didn't stop there, though – he ran his hands over the doctor's ankles, pressed the pads of his thumbs gently against the soles of the man's feet. It was an action that seemed to surprise Fleischer a little. His head snapped up slightly, so he could see the former Spy – who quickly withdrew his hands. "Are you alright, Docteur?" Maurice questioned after a brief pause, relieved when he got a small nod in return. After another brief moment, the former Spy drew one of his tentacles out of the pool that the limbs had been hanging in, lifting the appendage to rest the delicate end of it against the back of the doctor's hand. /"May I?"/ the Frenchman questioned in the Medic's native tongue. Another nod, but, eager as he was, Maurice went slowly in winding the end of that tentacle around the other man's hand. The delicate tip of the appendage curled and wove between and around the Medic's fingers, helped along by the grip and pull of its many suckers. It was through those suckers that the former Spy could taste the German's skin, though his tongue would have been far more adept at the task – in due time. The Frenchman, in this way, could detect every curve, every line, every crease on Fleischer's hand – could feel the tendons in his wrists and fingers go taut and slack as the suckers gently manipulated the joints. He could only do so because the doctor had allowed his hand to go slack. Maurice, frankly, was pleased to know that the man was at least that relaxed. After all, willful relaxation could only follow trust. The delicate end of the tentacle remained slithering and curling around the Medic's fingers, while a thicker length of the limb looped a few coils around his arm. A thicker section of limb meant larger, more powerful suckers. Maurice was careful, though; he used feather-light touches, only applying just enough suction for the suckers to grip (and taste) the doctor's skin. The former Spy could feel Fleischer's skin grow subtly warmer – could smell an equally subtle change in his scent. It was a pleasant change that caused the Frenchman's own body to suddenly feel a little warmer. /"Are you alright, doctor?"/ Maurice inquired as a fond, knowing smile formed on his face. The Medic let out a slow, shaky sigh before giving a little nod, and letting his eyes slide shut. /"Keep going,"/ he murmured after some hesitation, before adding a quiet, "bitte." It was a request that the former Spy was happy to hear – and even happier to oblige. A second tentacle moved to one of the doctor's legs, and mimicked what the other had done with his arm. The Medic was considerably touchier, however, when the end of that appendage wound around his foot, and started curling between and around his toes. Maurice had to quickly adjust, making his touch just a little more firm so that the blond would stop trying to pull his foot away. It was just a reflex, the Frenchman knew, and he wasn't surprised that the man wasn't a fan of being tickled – even if it hadn't been his intention. Fleischer, however, quickly relaxed once the former Spy had found just the right pressure with which to knead his suckers at his skin. It was nice to see him relax, even if it was just for the time being. The man was so fastidious – that much was obvious to Maurice just by looking at him – by observing his mannerisms. Now that he was being permitted to explore the man much more personally, his meticulous habits became even more apparent. The blond's nails were neatly filed, and his skin smelled – and tasted – just faintly of soap. The man's hair – all of it – was clean, and soft, and the Frenchman went nice and slow as he slid his bare fingertips along the sparse trail starting beneath the doctor's navel. The former Spy's fingers came to rest on the waistband of the Medic's boxers, and he felt the man's skin heat, again – heat even more. Maurice was more than ready to plunge forward; he was not ready, however, to upset the other man – to turn the experience into something negative. He was rather certain that the doctor had already had one negative experience. It was apparent in the man's behavior, yes, but it was even more evident in the scars scratched into the man's hips. Those marks were hidden beneath the fabric of the blond's boxers, at the moment. It pained Maurice to know that they were there, but he nevertheless wanted to touch them, too – to touch every part of the man. One thing at a time, though. /"Doctor,"/ the former Spy started, /"would you mind turning over?"/ He knew better than to believe that the man would be wholly comfortable doing that in such a position, though – and quickly added, /"or sit up?"/ It was the latter, unsurprisingly, that Fleischer settled on, turning to let his legs hang over the end of the bed as he sat up. He watched the former Spy in silence as the man withdrew his tentacles to dip them, one by one, into the pool. Once the limbs were soaked, again, two of them were gently curled around the doctor's waist, and the Frenchman's arms soon joined them. Maurice's hands slowly drifted up the doctor's back, carefully tracing the contours of the muscles there. It was impossible not to notice the thin, raised scars criss-crossing Fleischer's back. The former Spy could feel them under his palms and his fingertips and, then, beneath his suckers. He was careful not to trace any of them, or let his touch linger for more than the briefest of moments on any single one. The blond still tensed up just a little, though, and the Frenchman tried to distract him a little by leaning closer so that he could rest his head on one of the man's broad shoulders. The move also resulted in the two being pressed chest to chest, which didn't bother Maurice in the slightest. After a moment of sitting like that, the doctor finally placed his own hands on Maurice's back, curling his arms around the man in the process. There was a subtle change in the Medic's scent, and he grew slightly tense as his fingers touched against the former Spy's scarred skin. It would have been easy enough to assume that Fleischer himself had been the one holding the scalpel, given the look of guilt that formed on his face. He hadn't been, though – the former Spy never would have let the doctor lay a hand on him, otherwise. "Docteur," Maurice started, leaning back just a little. A pair of tentacles arced behind his own back, where the tips curled lightly around the other man's hands. /"I am no saint, either,"/ he added with just a faint, warm chuckle. /"Let's keep our focus on the present, yes..? That's what matters right now."/ The doctor hesitated a moment before giving a hard swallow, and a faint nod – but, he did relax just a little bit. Good. The man's hands continued their explorations, as well, drifting downward before finally pausing at the area where the former Spy's anatomy had drastically changed. It was the spot where pale, (mostly) human skin faded into the soft, slick flesh of the Frenchman's mantle. Maurice let the doctor take his time in feeling over that flesh. The man was tentative and almost wary, at first – as though he was afraid of hurting the former Spy. He gradually got bolder in his explorations, though, feeling with his palms instead of just the tips of his fingers, and pressing a little more firmly. The attention started to draw a low, quiet purr from the Frenchman. He went very quiet, however, when the Medic's hand slipped, and fingertips just barely – briefly – brushed against the underside of his mantle. That hand was withdrawn immediately, and the blond's face heated with equal speed as he tensed up. The Frenchman just gave a small, warm chuckle at that, and curled the end of a tentacle back around Fleischer's hand. /"Keep going,"/ he murmured softly, turning his head so that his lips brushed against the doctor's ear as he added, "bitte." He heard – felt – the German give a hard swallow as his skin flushed just a little more. It was impossible to ignore the heady edge that the man's scent had taken on, as well. It was a lovely aroma and, really, that little touch had felt rather nice. Fleischer, despite the encouragement, was very hesitant in lifting his hand to touch the underside of the former Spy's mantle, again. He just used the tips of his fingers, carefully, slowly following the edge between a pair of tentacles. It felt nice, really. It was hard for Maurice to compare it to anything he had felt when he was human – perhaps a caress against the inner thigh. Regardless, it felt pleasant, and intimate, and he couldn't help but purr just a little when the doctor continued. He kept the end of a tentacle on the man's hand, gently guiding it further, monitoring carefully for any signs of tension. At the same time, the Frenchman used his own hands to start slowly pulling the Medic's boxers down, urging the man to stand, just a little, so that a pair of tentacles could remove the undergarment completely. The blond sat back down almost immediately – an action that was wholly anticipated by the former Spy. That was fine – it still gave Maurice the chance to slide his hands down the doctor's body – from his shoulders down to his hips. Every now and again, on their journey, his fingertips would brush over one of the scars on his back that just happened to curve around the doctor's ribs. He was silently curious as to how the man had gotten them. Oh, Fleischer had told him once, but he hadn't exactly been in a fit state of mind, and the former Spy could tell even then that he had been lying. Those were more obvious, yes, but the marks on the blond's hips were infinitely more troubling – five shallow scratches on each side. Their size and spacing combined with some of the man's behavior painted a rather disturbing picture of how he had likely gotten them. It was something that Maurice quickly tried to push out of his mind, and he made sure not to linger on those scars with his fingers, either. For the moment, he just wanted to ensure that the doctor could relax. That was a task that the former Spy was willing to put a great deal of effort into. He slid slowly downward, mouthing at the Medic's jaw, neck, collarbone, and chest. He paused to drag his lips and tongue over the man's nipples – first one, then the other – and delighted in the surprised, needy gasp he got in return. Maurice wanted more, and he could tell, given the doctor's heated skin, quickening breaths, and changing scent, that Fleischer did, too. The Frenchman was happy to oblige them both, drifting low enough to nuzzle against the other man's inner thigh. That was a nice spot, really – the Medic's quickening pulse could be felt through the skin and muscle, where the femoral artery rose close to the surface. Maurice remained still for a long moment – feeling the doctor's heated pulse against his cheek, and drawing in a few slow, deep breaths of the man's scent. He would have been content to remain just like that, but he was fully aware of the fact that both of them wanted – needed – more. To that end, the former Spy slid his tongue out between his teeth, and dragged it slowly and purposefully along the length of the Medic's flaccid cock. The organ jumped slightly at that (as did the doctor, himself, giving a sharp, surprised gasp), drawing a small, fond chuckle from the Frenchman. He had no intentions of stopping in the face of such a positive response, and repeated the action. The Medic seemed (slightly) more prepared that time – not jumping, but digging his fingers slightly into the bedcovers, and not quite stifling a small moan. The sound and the taste – especially the taste – sent a rush of heat through the former Spy. He repeated the action once more, and then again, sucking and mouthing at the heated skin, and slowly winding a pair of tentacles down the blond's legs, from his knees to his ankles. It was not surprising at all that the man's dick had soon grown considerably. The rush of blood brought with it a rush of heat, and a wash of hormones the scent and taste of which could not be ignored. With a pair of tentacles, Maurice coaxed the German's hands to release their death grip on the sheets, and guided them to rest, instead, on his shoulders. Fleischer's hands were plenty strong, but the man exhibited an admirable (if unsurprising) amount of restraint when he immediately dug his fingers slightly into the former Spy's skin. That grip tightened and loosened rhythmically as lips and tongue were applied to sensitive, engorged flesh. A series of increasingly loud, increasingly desperate sounds was music to the Frenchman's ears. He would have liked to have taken the man completely into his mouth – was very confident that, were he to restrain the man to keep him from moving – there would be no danger of sharp teeth touching skin. Maurice was not willing, however, to put the doctor's very precarious trust to such a test, and decided to just enjoy the way he was squirming for the moment. The former Spy did, however, wrap the end of a tentacle around the other man's dick, pressing a small, almost teasing kiss to the sensitive head as suckers gripped down on heated flesh. A needy, desperate whine was drawn from the Medic, whose grip twitched a little tighter against the other man's shoulders. That kiss was followed by a firm lick, and a little suck as Maurice drew as much of the doctor into his mouth as he dared – not quite enough to put flesh between teeth, but more than enough to let his tongue play over skin. The Frenchman's ministrations soon had the Medic raising his hands just enough to fist in the other man's hair – but, not too hard. It was an action that sent thrills through the former Spy, who made his pleasure known with a low, loud purr. He was fully aware of what that did to the doctor – of the rumbling vibrations that traveled through their flesh-on-flesh contact – and was rewarded with an almost strangled groan. Maurice didn't let up, either – gave a long, hard suck that had the German's right leg tensing and twitching, just a little. It was a sure sign that the doctor couldn't take much more. It was awfully soon for the former Spy's liking; but, given how long the man had abstained from anything but his hand (and his methodology could hardly have been called pleasurable) he wasn't terribly surprised. The Frenchman could not say that he was disappointed, either – not with the way Fleischer was stuttering and gasping as he tried to speak. The doctor was usually quite well-spoken, but the man could barely form a coherent word, let alone string together a sentence. He didn't manage to verbalize a warning, no – but, his stuttering, racing heart, rapid breathing, and sudden rush of hormones did nothing to dissuade Maurice from gripping down with the tentacle on the man's cock, and giving another firm suck. When Fleischer did come, it was hard, and fast, and seemed to take him by surprise. Maurice let his eyes wander up as he swallowed, and happily admired the view; the Medic, with his back arched, mouth open in a silent groan, his chest heaving, and his head tilted back so that, were his eyes not tightly shut, he would be looking straight up at the ceiling. It was a rather lovely sight, and the former Spy continued to enjoy it as he drew away with one last, firm lick – something which finally did pull a low, loud groan out of the other man. It took very little coaxing to get the doctor to lie back on the large bed. Maurice was still amazed at the fact that someone in such good shape could be spent so quickly by their activities. The man was out of practice, though – that was all. He would last longer the more they ‘practiced’, which the former Spy had absolutely no complaints about. As he curled the end of a tentacle loosely around the doctor’s hand, weaving it around and between his fingers, he had a distinct feeling – a distinct hope – that they would both appreciate it. They could take their time, though. They could take all the time they needed, and for the moment, the former Spy simply relished the sight, and sound, and scent of Fleischer finally allowing himself to relax.
I do enjoy your tentaspy awfully much, especially his relationship with the Medic, and I'd love to hear more about them! My only criticism is very much a stylistic one, and it is that you seem to be loath to use pronouns and instead replace them with descriptive nouns ("the German", "the blond", "the Frenchman") which is fine in small quantities, but becomes repetitive after a while. It's particularly noticeable with "the former Spy", which by my count occurs 34 times in the most recent part and becomes awkward very quickly. Interactions between two people of the same gender can get confusing if there are too many pronouns flying about, but at the same time I think you could stand to use them (or even the characters' names) a little more.
Thanks, anon, it's always nice to know that someone's enjoying! And, yes, the lack of 'he' was exactly to reduce character confusion. I wasn't aware the lack of pronouns was quite as severe as I'd made it, though, and I'll definitely keep that in mind for the next segment.
This is great. I'm fascinated by scars, not because they're memories of pain, but because they show that you've survived.
Never been my pairing o' choice as far as classes go, but I had to say, I'm just kind of happy to see someone else uses the name 'Maurice' for their BLU Spy... I don't know, it's just... my favourite headcanon-y Spy name, I guess.
Okay, I've had some personal and medical issues slowing me down, but things seem to be getting better, and I finally, finally got another piece done. _____________________________ Smooth. The tentacle wound loosely around Fleischer's waist felt smooth under his fingertips. Underneath the water of the modest pool, it almost had a silky feeling to it. The Medic had become extremely familiar with feeling of that texture against his hands over the past few weeks – not just those limbs, but their hundreds of suckers clinging and plucking over his own skin. That sensation still hadn't lost its novelty, and the ministrations of those fleshy discs had only intensified with each 'session'. That is, they had seemed to intensify as much as the doctor could stand. Fleischer's appreciation of his partner's patience had intensified as well. What the other man was asking of him now, though, made him more than a little nervous. It was almost completely uncharted territory for him, after all. Maurice had attempted to allay his fears – insisted that he had plenty of experience, and that they could go slow, and everything would be just fine. "I am not made of glass, Docteur," the Spy – former Spy – insisted as he leaned back against the edge of the pool, and curled a pair of tentacles loosely around the other man's legs. "You aren't going to break me," he added, along with a small, confident smile. It was Maurice's confidence on the matter that finally managed to ease the doctor's mind – at least a little. He was still clinging to a number of fears, though. What if he did hurt the man? What if the Spy had felt pressured into doing this? What if something went wrong? "We don't 'ave to," Maurice started, "if you don't want." He offered another small smile, and a gentle squeeze to one of the doctor's bare thighs. The action resulted in a needy groan that the Medic couldn't quite stifle. The other man had teased and worked him into quite a state, and he'd by lying if he told himself he wasn't getting more frustrated by the second. He had learned to endure such frustration, though – to ignore it, or to deal with it in a manner that was as efficient and detached as possible. His current circumstances, however, were hardly 'detached', and most certainly something he did not want to rush through. Some of Fleischer's frustration was eased, mercifully, by the large suckers at the bases of the other man's tentacles squeezing and sliding against his erection. It was a sensation that drew a gasp from the blond, and caused him to, quite inadvertently, tighten his grip on the tentacles his hands were resting on. He quickly released his grip, and was relieved when he saw that the expression on Maurice's face wasn't pained, but pleased. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. The man's tentacles had proven to be remarkably resilient. Putting pressure on the limbs didn't seem to be an issue – Fleischer had seen the man squeeze a considerable length of one through the space between the floor and the door to the bathroom with no ill effects. "No rush," Maurice stated. "We can go nice and slow – or, not at all, if you want." Fleischer wasn't sure he would be able to stand 'not at all.' He was practically aching, and a soothing stroke from the end of a tentacle implied that the other man was well aware of that fact. The feeling caused the doctor to suck in a breath, and let it out as a slow, shuddering sigh. He suddenly realized that everything had gone black – that his eyelids had slid shut. He quickly opened them, again, and only distantly realized that a tentacle curled around his wrist was guiding his hand along the underside of the former Spy's mantle. It was smoother, still, than the tentacles were, and a delicate stroke of the doctor's fingers caused Maurice to give a faint shiver. Fleischer's hand was guided further, though, and if he didn't put so much faith in the other man, he would have been incredibly unsettled at how easy it was for those limbs to manipulate his own. They were careful, though – pulling absolutely no harder than needed, and going slack at even the faintest hint of resistance. It was at the center of the mantle, where all of the suckered limbs drew together (where their suckers finally came to a stop a few inches short of that 'hub') that the blond's fingers brushed over something. He shouldn't have been surprised, really – especially at the small, but extremely suggestive smile that formed on the other man's face. The Medic cleared his throat somewhat awkwardly, and he couldn't keep his face from flushing just a little more when the former Spy decided to give him another firm stroke. /"You're certain?"/ he questioned, reverting to his native tongue as he did so. Maurice fixed his eyes on the doctor's before offering his response – a stroke, a smile, and a low, purring, "ja." It was a purr that drew into a breathy groan as he finally coaxed the tip of the blond's index finger to 'take the plunge', as it were. The doctor froze for a moment, trying to take in what was happening. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting – probably something a little more alien than the tight, slick heat around his fingertip. He suddenly realized that that he had slid the digit a little deeper quite subconsciously. The blond’s frown of concentration quickly broke into a worried gaze as he looked to the other man. Maurice seemed just fine, though – was even grinning just a little and, perhaps, looking slightly impatient. "Oh, Docteur," he murmured with a small, breathy chuckle, "you're such a tease." Any protest to that statement on the blond's part was quickly silenced as the former Spy gave him another long, firm stroke. It almost seemed as though he was being kept on edge – not quite in torment, but certainly aching for more. It was working; Fleischer tried to stifle another groan, and Maurice did not do the same as the doctor pressed in the remainder of his index finger. Now, however, Fleischer was at an impasse – almost entirely unsure of how to proceed. He decided, then, that the best course of action was to be slow, and careful, and just barely curl the tip of his finger. It was an action that had the immediate effect of pulling a low, satisfied sigh from the other man, which was a tremendous relief to the doctor. The blond soon started a rhythm that matched the slow, methodical strokes he was receiving from Maurice, and it was only at the eager tugging of an insistent tentacle that he carefully pressed in a second finger. Maurice's anatomy, fortunately, was fairly forgiving, due in no small part to the thin layer of slime that evenly coated his lower body. The other man certainly didn't seem to be in any discomfort – a thought that was quickly interrupted as he leaned forward to press his lips against the doctor's in an almost hungry kiss. Fleischer's body left his brain behind, returning the action with equal insistence. When his mind caught up it pondered the situation for just a brief moment before deciding that there was nothing to complain about. A small, sly smile that formed on Maurice's face almost made it seem to the doctor as though the man knew exactly what he was thinking – had been able to puzzle out his willingness to press on. The Frenchman definitely responded positively to that knowledge, leaning in for another hungry kiss (receiving one in return), before murmuring, /"I want you… now."/ He paused for a moment to let out a low, shuddering sigh before adding a much gentler, much breathier, "bitte." Maurice braced his arms against the edge of the pool to push himself towards the doctor. This had the dual effect of forcing the blond back (pushing his fingers a little deeper), and giving Maurice enough room to let his body slip beneath the surface of the water. Fleischer almost felt as though he was hypnotized, watching the other man sink beneath the surface – watching the gills along his ribs flare out with the first breath he sucked in while submerged. The doctor's mind was left, once again, fumbling for what to do – afraid of doing something wrong. He wasn't able to think about it for long, though – not when Maurice wrapped a tentacle around his waist to give him a gentle pull towards him. The meaning behind that action was clear – but, Fleischer still hesitated in removing his fingers. The other man didn't make a sound – none that he could hear, at least – but the expression on his face could only be described as needy. The blond couldn't find it within himself to protest when the tentacle around his waist pulled him forward so his hips were flush against the underside of the former Spy's mantle. He was even less willing to protest when another pull, and some carefully-guiding suckers, drew him into the tight heat that his fingers had just relinquished. The Medic tried to hold onto some modicum of composure, but that pull had, for a moment, left his mind in a bit of a haze. The reason was soon apparent – that first pull had drawn him in to the hilt, and – and he had wanted to go slow to avoid hurting the other man. Maurice, however, seemed to have weathered that first push rather well – seemed to have rather enjoyed it, if his arched back and satisfied expression were any indication. He finally let out another groan, muffled and distorted by the water, when the doctor finally got up the nerve to place his hands on Maurice's waist. At that point, Fleischer couldn't stand being still. He pressed his thumbs against the other man's waist, gripping just a little tighter where human skin met decidedly inhuman flesh. The tentacle around his waist loosened – went just slack enough to allow him to move his hips back just a little. That limb pulled again, however, when he pushed in, helping to draw him forward. That was an encouraging sign – encouraging enough to convince the Medic to start a slow, steady rhythm. Going slow was a necessity for the doctor, because the push and pull of that tight, slippery heat were nearly overwhelming, and he wanted this to last. There was the added sensation, of course, of tentacles winding around his body – his legs, and arms, and torso – all squirming, slithering, and working their suckers over his skin. It seemed, fortunately, that those limbs were keeping their ministrations light, for the time being, as well. Any worries that Fleischer had about something going wrong were gradually decreasing – fading with every thrust. It was hard to be worried, really, when Maurice seemed to be so thoroughly enjoying himself – which gave the Medic the chance to do the same. The doctor's mind was becoming increasingly focused on his senses. There was the sound of his own breathing, slowly growing deeper, and more rapid – the water in the pool rippling and splashing with each thrust, and the movement of the other man's tentacles. The sight of those tentacles, of Maurice's gills flaring out – breathing quickening to match the tempo they had set – was practically hypnotic. The touch of those suckered limbs was becoming more intense – pressing just a little harder, plucking more insistently – as the Medic tightened his own grip, and started to rock his hips a little faster – a little deeper. It was terribly obvious that not only was Maurice not resisting any of Fleischer's actions, but he was actively encouraging them. Pushes, pulls, tugs from the hundreds of suckers clinging to the doctor's body were timed perfectly to pull him in tight with almost every thrust. Every time the blond pulled out, even a little, whatever length of him was exposed was quickly met with the large suckers on the bases of the other man's tentacles. Fleischer was relieved to see, on some level, that it didn't look as though his partner would last much longer – because he wasn't going to, either. When he thought about it (when he managed to focus just enough to think about it), it seemed likely that the other man hadn't had anyone other than himself for company in some time. That thought was quickly swept away, though, when the blond suddenly found himself gripping Maurice's waist (what counted for his waist) a little tighter, and pushing in a little deeper, and a little faster. The water that had started out as comfortably tepid now seemed unbearably hot which, Fleischer reasoned (tried to reason), was why he had broken into a sweat, and was breathing as raggedly as though he was running a marathon. Maurice must have known exactly what was about to happen – seen, or heard, or smelled something that the doctor couldn't perceive. Whatever it was, it seemed to have a profound effect on him, because he was suddenly throwing his head back, and bearing down with his suckers, and winding a pair of limbs around the other man's thighs, and, oh- It seemed to take an eternity for Fleischer's vision to come back into focus and, yet, it happened entirely too fast. His field of view was quickly taken over by another burst of white, however, when the other man suddenly pulled him closer – arching his back, and flaring out his gills – mouth hanging open, and sharp nails seeming to claw at the bottom of the pool. The force of the former Spy's climax so soon after his own was nearly unbearable to the Medic in the most wonderful way. His grip finally relaxed and his breathing and heart rate slowly started to do the same. His partner seemed to be relaxing as well – tentacles half-clinging to and half-draped over his body. Fleischer soon found himself leaning back against the edge of the pool, still feeling warm, and light, and heavy all at once. He wondered if – hoped that – the other man felt the same. The water suddenly felt a little chill, however, when Maurice almost lazily pulled away from him. The other man didn't go far, though – just enough to 'stand' in the water, so he could rest his chin on the doctor's shoulder. Out of the water, it was even more obvious that Maurice's breathing hadn't quite come down, yet – the Medic could hear it in his ear, and feel it on the damp skin of his neck. The feeling of air rushing in and out was quickly joined by that of a slow, firm lick, and then an equally slow – albeit much gentler – kiss. Fleischer managed another small groan at the sensation, and it felt only natural, at that point, to curl his arms around the former Spy. He could feel Maurice leaning against him – could also feel the other man's tentacles propping him up just a little – and couldn't help but wonder who was supporting who. All things considered, things seemed fairly equal and that, in and of itself, was a novelty for him. The doctor hoped it would soon shift from novelty to normalcy "Exquisite," Maurice purred, tilting his head up to give the doctor one more kiss – against his lips, this time. It was happily, if somewhat lazily returned. /"I think we're both going to sleep very well, tonight,"/ he stated, before giving a faint, somewhat wistful smile. /"Unfortunately, I don't think the water is a good place for you to doze off."/ That, Fleischer knew, was true enough. Now that his higher brain functions seemed to have (mostly) returned, he realized that the water, tepid though it was, had started to sap his body heat. He had started to shiver just a little, and, lacking gills, falling asleep in the pool would, in all likelihood, end with an unpleasant trip to Respawn. /"I should, uh… probably,"/ the doctor half-stammered, struggling not only with his usual nerves, but, a lingering mental haze, as well, /"shower…"/ "Of course, Docteur," Maurice said with a small, indulgent smile. /"Probably for the best that you get some warmer water… and, dried off. "/ The blond couldn't help but return a fond smile of his own before finally, slowly, pulling himself out of the pool. The air in the room, usually comfortably cool, now seemed downright chilly, and he couldn't help but shiver just a little more. /"I'll be right back,"/ he stated. "And, I'll be right here, Docteur…"
Whoa. I like it so far. But I do have one question; will this go anywhere beyond tentaspy porn ? Are there any plans for a plot line of any sorts ? Just... wondering
HOW DID YOU HIDE THIS FROM ME FOR SO LONG?! I came buckets.
>>13 Sorry, but, no. This is crack involving two characters of mine, so it's essentially going to be porn with some back story implied. Glad you like it, though! I have written some fics with actual plot, but they're all under /fanfic/ at http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/89.html http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/94.html http://tf2chan.net/fanfic/res/1258.html >>14 But, I wasn't hiding anything, dear anon. Glad you like it.
Oh hey, more of this. Only two more to go after this one, I believe. Does TF2chan like choking? Have some choking. _____________________ Tight. The tentacle wrapped around Maurice's arm may have been his own – but it was still almost painfully tight. It was a warm-up of sorts, really – tight enough to get a feel for it, but not so much that it would leave a mark that lasted any longer than a moment. He made sure of that, too, as he watched the ring-shaped sucker marks fade from his pale skin; he didn't want to leave any evidence for Fleischer to see. Fleischer, he knew, would have been intensely disapproving of his method of 'stress relief'. As much as Maurice was hoping that the doctor would eventually trust him enough to relinquish a little control, he respected the man far too much to push things. He, however, still had an itch to scratch, and it wasn't one that he could bring himself to ask the doctor to satisfy. It was an itch that Maurice hadn't known was there – not until after his form had been… altered. The discovery of that itch had been entirely accidental, too. It was the result of desperate, lonely boredom. The memory of waking up was broken at best in his mind. He could remember it being dark, and cold – and the bizarre and frightening sensation of inhaling water. He had been certain that he was drowning, and when he tried to kick his legs to swim to the surface he couldn't find, they didn't respond – but, something else did. At the time, Maurice hadn't realized that he had been breathing just fine under the water, until he tried to hold his breath in a misguided attempt to stop himself from drowning. He hadn't even realized that he could see unusually well in the large, submerged pipes, despite how little light managed to creep into them. At the time, he had been far more focused on the fact that he apparently was further into the pipes than he thought, and he wasn't going to be able to hold his breath for long enough to reach the surface – and air. His vision had started to go gray around the edges, and all the flailing of limbs that didn't feel quite right only made his oxygen burn away faster. Panicked, and on the edge of what he was certain would be his demise, Maurice hadn't noticed – not at the time, at least – some of the sensations that his oxygen-starved brain had started to produce. Somewhere, muted by his terror, there was a warm, floating, tingling feeling that only seemed to grow as his consciousness began to fade. The former Spy had eventually woken up, very much alive. Fortunately, passing out had forced him to once again start breathing the water that had been giving him oxygen in the first place. The memory of that warm, tingling, floating feeling was pushed back and all but forgotten in the weeks of shocked confusion, despair, and rage that followed. That rage had started to fade as soon as Maurice realized that, yes, this was his reality. Given the circumstances, he decided, his reality was better than the alternative of still lying mutilated on RED's burn pile while fire crept over his body. He had even come to accept the fact that those marks were still there – pale, thin, precise scalpel scars, and the remnants of fire-marred skin at his waist (what now counted for his waist). Such cosmetic issues seemed paltry, really, when compared to the fact that his legs were somehow missing, with tentacles in their place. He had been determined to get used to those limbs, though – and to get used to the rest of his body. That was a goal that required a little self-exploration. Things had started rather innocently. Maurice had managed to find an abandoned utility room in an equally forgotten stretch of the base's underground waterways. The floor was comfortably damp – but, the shelves provided a dry place to keep the things he'd managed to retrieve from BLU base; his clothes, gun, knife, and a fairly generous supply of ammunition – and his cigarettes and lighter. He had even managed to retrieve his cloak and disguise kit, not that he ventured to the surface enough to need them very often. The utility room wasn't exactly luxurious – but, it was safe. A single incandescent bulb wasn't nearly enough to light up the entire space, but it did provide more than enough for Maurice's… 'improved' vision, along with his attempt to come to grips with his new body. It was only after letting go of a sort of animalistic rage (a sort that seemed alien and entirely natural at the same time) that Maurice had started to appreciate some of the features of his altered body. His tentacles, he discovered, were just as dexterous, if not more so, than his hands. They were exponentially more powerful, too. It was because of them that he had been able to bend and then pull free a steel grate in the pipes so that he could even access the utility room. Their suckers were impressively strong, too. Gripping a tentacle onto a rusted wrench, and then using his hands to try and pull the tool free had been a somewhat childish test – one that pitted both of Maurice's arms against a single tentacle in a pulling match that they, apparently, could not possibly hope to win. What had started out as a blight in the Frenchman's eyes had grown into an advantage. Even without a knife, his sharp teeth and nails (to say nothing of the tentacles) would almost ensure his victory should he find himself in any close-quarters altercations. On the off-chance that someone did see and try to pursue him, he could simply escape into the waterways. The utility room, however, was almost painfully quiet. Maurice had always considered himself somewhat of a social animal – no pun intended – and it was difficult to admit to himself that, for the time being, being safe meant being alone. His only company was the occasional rat, frog, or snake that wandered by – all of which tended to be promptly eaten; he could no longer afford to be picky. Boredom and isolation could be enough to drive a man mad; Maurice had only just regained his sanity, and he didn't fancy letting it slip, again. A little innocent exploration to pass the time was directed by his boredom and frustration to be considerably more involved . The more intense things had gotten, the more his tentacles seemed to have a mind of their own – and, the results were something that he now made a conscious effort to duplicate and improve. The filtered, tepid water of Maurice's pool was far more accommodating than the cold, slick, concrete floor of the old utility room. There, he could comfortably lean back against the edge of the pool, breathing in the air while his gills provided just a faint boost of oxygen taken from the water drifting past them. His tentacles were also much more comfortable underwater, and those that weren't submerged could easily be dipped into the pool to rejuvenate them. Those tentacles were doing a lot of the work, at the moment. The former Spy barely even had to direct them – just send out a few vague, general commands that had the limbs wandering over his body. If left idle, the ones that weren't anchoring him to whatever he was standing on or hanging from would wander about exploring whatever surfaces they could reach. At the moment, those surfaces were his arms, and hands, and torso, and his neck – a promise of things to come. It was a promise that drew a shudder out of Maurice, and made him all the more determined to go nice and slow – to savor the build-up for a better reward. That was always difficult, though. Without direct, conscious control, his tentacles seemed to grow more excited as he did, and adjusted their movements accordingly. It was a positive feedback loop that Maurice, on occasion, had to force to slow down just a little. When the end of one of the tentacles brushed over his lips, he obliged it (and himself), sliding his tongue along the delicate length of it. It felt nice – and the suckered appendage reacted by pressing right back. Those limbs practically seemed to be made for self-indulgence – like having the world's most attentive lover. Their actions were, for the moment, released enough from Maurice's control that he couldn't entirely predict what they would do, and it was almost as though they belonged to someone else. He could feel them, though – feel the pressure and textures against his suckers as he felt their own touch against his skin. As independent as they were capable of being, the former Spy's tentacles were still a part of him and responded, consciously or no, to the very feedback that they created. They never went too fast without him letting them, and one limb in particular was taking its sweet time in slithering along the underside of his mantle. Maurice knew exactly where he wanted it to go, but let it continue to explore, and poke, and prod until it brushed against the tight ring of muscle at the 'hub' where his tentacles came together. It felt nice, so the limb continued – pressing, and clinging, and curling, and not (finally) squeezing and wriggling its way inside until its owner finally demanded that it do so. The action drew a low, rattling groan from the man. He barely needed to relax for the intrusion, really – that limb, especially the delicate, tapered ends – could squeeze into the tightest of spaces, and this was no exception. In fact, it was hard not to tense and twitch just a little tiny suckers gripped, and tightened, and released to slowly pull the appendage they were attached to just a little deeper. It moved itself along in slow, inexorable waves that drew another, louder groan from its owner. A second tentacle, seemingly of its own accord, curled under Maurice's mantle to brush and prod against another section of rather sensitive flesh just in front of where the first limb had taken the plunge. The added limb did not have to nudge very far into the slit it had found before it was pushing against the head of his cock. He was still rather embarrassed to admit, even to himself, that there had been a brief period of time wherein he had wondered where the hell the thing had gone, or even if it was still there. Once he had located it (was reassured that it was still there), it was just a matter of coaxing. Maurice barely had to do any work at all. No – his tentacles would almost autonomously continue with this self-indulgence until they were commanded to stop, or to do something else. For the moment, however, he was perfectly content to let the two braver limbs continue their ministrations – one alternately bulging and compressing as it slowly pushed deeper, and the other winding around his growing erection. The latter had soon achieved its goal of teasing its owner's cock free of its confines, and had wound loosely around the entire meter of it; Maurice had no idea what new arrangement of genes had caused that – but, he wasn't about to look such a generous gift horse in the mouth. Granted, it wasn't nearly so prehensile as his tentacles, but it didn't take much effort to do things he'd always wished he had been flexible enough for in the past. This time, however, the former Spy was going to let his attentive helpers do most of the heavy lifting. They were doing a good job, really, which left Maurice free to just lean back against the edge of the pool and enjoy the slowly building waves of heat. He did, however, direct one of the tentacles worming its way across his chest to curl up instead, where it could loosely wind itself into a loop around his neck. The limb continued to curl around, winding thicker coils around its owner's throat. The feeling of the suckers dragging and plucking along the sensitive skin of Maurice's neck caused a shiver of anticipation to run through his body, and to the very tip of every limb. Tightening at that point was not something that the tentacle would do unbidden – not around the neck of its owner. He was happy to command it directly, then. One of the coils around his neck was tensed, causing the muscles along its length to contract and bulge and, in turn, press against his throat. It was only a slight compression – just enough to make it slightly more difficult to breathe. The thrill and anticipation it caused, however, was enough to have his other limbs picking up the pace, and making their movements more intense, and – slow down… Maurice loosened the tentacle around his neck, and took a deep, shuddered breath – and several moments to let himself relax. It was only once his other limbs had slowed their ministrations that he squeezed again – harder. This time it was even more challenging to breathe, and he had to resort to deep, rapid gasps to get any air at all. He started to feel it, then – that tingling, floating warmth pulsing slowly through his body. The longer he held on, the stronger it got. That grip was quickly released, though; there was no need to finish up quite so soon. A sharp, needy gasp was sucked in by the man, and he had to give himself a long pause to relax before letting any of his tentacles start moving, again. When they did start moving again, it was slowly and shakily. Once the limbs had finally stopped shuddering, however – once their owner had exhaled the breath he had in his lungs – the one around Maurice's neck tightened once more. This time, however, it didn't let up. Oh, if left to its own devices, it would have let up immediately, but it couldn't defy a conscious command from its owner. Maurice's first reflex was, naturally, to try to grasp for air. It was a reflex he couldn't otherwise overcome, but the limb squeezing around his throat made it a futile gesture. That didn't mean his body didn't try though. The only result, however, was a muffled series of choked whimpers. That feeling came back, more intense than before, and the stronger it became, the more aware Maurice was of the suckered appendages thrusting, slithering, and squirming in and around and over his body. His vision was beginning to go gray around the edges, and his hearing was fading, too. The sound of choking, and sloshing water was completely drowned out by that of the former Spy's hearts seemingly pounding in his ears. He could feel them racing, too – frantically trying to circulate blood that had increasingly less oxygen in it. His gills were attempting to help; they had flared out, and started fanning the water in a desperate attempt to stir up what oxygen they could. It wasn't enough, though. Without a properly directed flow of water, those gills could only collect a fraction of the oxygen that Maurice needed. That didn't stop him, though – not yet. It was all he could do to fight the urge to breathe, and he had to force the tentacle around his neck to remain cinched just as tight as it needed to be. All the while, his other limbs continued anchoring him to the pool, or kneading with their suckers deep inside his body, or wrapped around his erection, and about anywhere else, really, that they could reach. Finally, at the very cusp of losing consciousness – when he felt as though he was so light that he might simply float away – the man gave up control of the limb around his throat, and it immediately fell away. He instantly sucked in a deep, desperate, ragged gasp that sent that light, tingling, warm feeling shooting through every nerve. Maurice's vision, which had so recently been fading to black, was suddenly overwhelmed with white. The rest of him was overwhelmed, too, and everything seemed to be moving in pulsing waves – the tight squeezing around one tentacle, the heated throbbing in the grip of another, and the clinging and kneading of suckers. The flood of sensations was just close enough to 'unbearable' to be absolutely wonderful, and at their peak it almost seemed as though they were endless. That heated, tingling, pulsing, and throbbing finally started to fade away in another series of waves. Maurice suddenly realized that he felt comfortably heavy, and incredibly relaxed, and he finally allowed himself to languidly slip beneath the surface of the water. The feeling of water being drawn into his throat and over and through his gills was positively lovely. It also meant that his burning lungs could be given a chance to rest. His gills, after all, were doing a fine job of restoring his oxygen supply. Despite his body being relaxed as a whole, Maurice did note that his fingers and the ends of his tentacles were shivering just slightly. They, too, started to relax though – his fingers growing still, and his tentacles starting to idly, lazily sway and curl in the water. They were, in fact, moving in a considerably lazier fashion than they had been when he first started. Their owner couldn't blame them, really; he was fairly certain that he couldn't move even if he tried – and, he didn't want to. He didn't need to move, either. It was late, and the place was quiet, and Maurice was more than comfortable at the bottom of his pool. Everything was so calm, too – the gentle fluttering of his gills, the lethargic movement of his tentacles, and the faint, muffled sound of the pool filter. It was very easy, and felt only right, for Maurice to finally close his eyes and drift to sleep.
I must say I really enjoyed this chapter! More so than the other two. I like how you explain a bit more about maurice's previous home, and the way his anatomy works ( for a bit ) Great update :D So I bump it !
UNF I loved this. From the inclusion of his gills to the tentacles having minds of their own / the control over them...all so good. I knew of Maurice's breath play kind vaguely, but I never knew where it CAME from (pun not intended) this explains it well.
Ungh, by the way.