|locks/chains||fucking machines||roleplay/au (authority figures)||plushies/furries||ageplay|
|painplay (other)||bondage (other)||voyeurism||sensory deprivation||bondage (wrist restraints)|
|leather/latex/rubber||washing/cleaning each other||tattoos/tattooing||whipping/flogging||object penetration (unusual objects)|
|gunplay||virginity/celibacy||crossdressing (underwear/lingerie)||double penetration (one hole)||foot fetish|
(for the double penetration prompt, and for the ai_kinkmeme)
Kris had always thought he was a pretty open-minded guy. It hadn't bothered him at all when he'd thought Adam was just gay. He'd even been okay with it after Adam had let on he was also a mutant, after the initial half hour of "you're kidding me, right?" But, yeah, okay, he was having a little trouble with the—
"Sorry," Adam said quietly; not hurt or accusing, more like sad. The tentacles pulled back. "I shouldn't have—"
"No," Kris said hurriedly, reaching out to grab Adam's wrist, not too far from where the tentacle slid out. "No, I just—it's kind of a—surprise, that's all. It's—they just come out like that?"
"They showed up when I was fifteen," Adam said, watching Kris; there was still a little wariness in his eyes that made Kris feel even more sorry. He didn't ever want Adam looking at him that way.
"They, uh, they look pretty cool," Kris said. They did, actually, now he took a closer look—almost like jewelry, sort of iridescent-shiny blue and purple, speckled with pale silvery spots, and they wound around Adam's wrists and up into his palms and coiled there, like small glittery snakes. "Do they do anything?"
"I don't know how to describe it," Adam said. "It's like another sense? If you mixed up smelling and tasting and seeing, except it's all different. It's amazing, actually. It's hard not to use them."
"I guess it's like walking around with your eyes shut all the time," Kris said, slowly.
Adam smiled a little ruefully. "That's why I—" He shrugged. "I'm sorry, I get it's a little much to have sprung on you."
"It's not," Kris said, determined, and he steeled himself and brushed his thumb over the one in Adam's right hand.
Kris wasn't going to flinch at all, even if it moved; but actually that wasn't hard—Adam was the only one who twitched. The tentacle wasn't slimy or anything like Kris had imagined; it just felt warm and smooth, and when it stirred under Kris's thumb, it was more like having someone wrap their finger around yours, nothing weirder than that. It was nice. Kris touched it again, and the tentacle uncoiled and reached for him, hesitantly.
"Are you—I didn't mean to—" Adam said.
"No, it's good," Kris said, and the tentacle looped once around his wrist, slowly, almost exploratory, and Adam was smiling in a surprised, wondering kind of way, his eyes brilliant, staring down at it.
And then he started to pull back. "Hey," Kris said, "I'm not going to yank away or anything," because—he liked that look on Adam's face. He'd gotten used to getting it out of him, that Kristopher Allen, are you for real? look, and it made him feel amazing every time.
"Oh—" Adam said, blinking at him. "Are you—this is already longer than I've ever touched anyone before," and yeah, there came that hit of pride, and even better than ever when Kris realized that meant none of Adam's super-enlightened L.A. pals had done this—Brad hadn't done this; Drake hadn't.
"It's cool," Kris said. "It's not weirder than shaking hands."
"If you're sure," Adam said, but the tentacle was already wrapping back around Kris's wrist, eagerly. The tip stroked over his pulse point, and Adam's eyes drifted shut, his mouth parting: like he was feeling something amazing. On impulse, Kris reached out for Adam's other hand, too.
The second tentacle curled around his wrist and up into his palm, one loop around the base of his thumb. Kris carefully took hold of the tip between his fingers and his thumb, just sliding them up and down. It was a funny combination of soft and firm, and it shimmered a deeper purple while he touched it.
Adam was frozen and breathing hard, small panting breaths. Kris swallowed. He should probably let go. They had all their clothes on, they were just sitting on the couch in his hotel room, but this was still crossing a line, and he knew it. But Adam was always so cool, always so in control. Kris couldn't help it, he liked being let in, maybe liked even more the feeling that he was the one pushing Adam past his cool. Taking Adam somewhere new, and feeling Adam coming apart like this.
He curled his hands closed around the tentacles, touching them some more, watching Adam tremble and lick his lips. Kris could feel a pulse beating in the tentacles. They were getting firmer, squeezing down around his wrists, and Kris opened his hands up to let them move more easily, anywhere they wanted to go. Both the tentacles stroked his palms, touched his fingers lightly, and then they seemed to settle, each of them wrapping twice more around his hand, coiling a couple of thinner loops around his index finger, and lining up tip against his fingertip.
Adam's hands pressed against his, the tentacles warm and alive between them, and when Adam opened his eyes, they were brilliant in a different way, shimmering wet and dazzled, almost drugged, and Kris flushed hard. Adam looked like he was about to—Kris swallowed and opened his mouth to speak, and then he felt the soft sharp prick of something at the tips of his fingers.
He jumped a little, but he couldn't have pulled his hands away right then if he'd wanted to, wrapped up too close. The tips of each tentacle were pressed close to his skin, but he could see it, a tiny little translucent stinger just slid out at the end, pressed into him. And then it hit, a rush like nothing he'd ever imagined—like seeing music, and it was full of color and glitter and warmth.
"Oh my God," Adam said, moaned, somewhere over him—Kris felt him say it, saw him say it, Adam's hunger and alarm like a smeared blur of gold and squiggly olive-green. Kris gripped tight to Adam's hands and held on, not letting Adam pull away, and tried to stroke the unhappy green color away, because—because Jesus, Adam, this was—
He thought he was saying some of that out loud, not making a lot of sense, but the olive color was fading, and a cool shimmering blue-green creeping up instead, so beautiful, matched with clear high notes like Adam singing.
The tentacles were slipping free, but the feeling wasn't going anywhere, none of it. Kris was sliding down to the couch, boneless and shuddering, and pulling Adam down with him. Touching Adam's skin made starbursts of music explode in the back of Kris's head, and he scrabbled at Adam's shirt, at his own.
Adam's mouth came down on his, somewhere in there—Kris moaned in dizzying, spiraling orange and pushed wildly at Adam's jeans, getting them down, and his own, and his fucking shoes, god, he hated shoes, he hated everything that was in the way, and finally he was naked and Adam was naked and Kris could stroke cinnamon lines down Adam's back, a taste on his tongue like pecans, sweet, and fresh mint. "Jesus Christ, Adam," Kris groaned, and buried his mouth in the curve of Adam's shoulder, licking at him.
"I can't, Kris, oh my God," Adam said, shivering against him, his hand wrapped around Kris's head, pressing him in. "Please, I'm so—I'm so sorry, I didn't—" He moaned again, and the tentacle curled softly around the side of Kris's neck, petting at him.
"Don't be fucking sorry," Kris said, because this was—he didn't care this was wrong. Maybe he'd care in a day, in a month, in a year; right now this was the only thing that mattered in the world. He arched his hips up to meet Adam's body, long hot sunset-orange slide of Adam's cock against his, and Adam's hand reaching for his hip.
"Yes," Kris said, panting. "Fuck, yes, Adam—Adam—"
"I don't," Adam said, shuddering just as hard; his hand was gripping painfully tight on Kris's thigh, blue-silver and cut grass. "Kris, I don't know if—"
"Do it," Kris said, straining up and shameless, because he needed—"Do it, put it—put it in me—" and yes, God, yes, Adam was doing it, the soft tip of the tentacle just poking at Kris, teasing, and he spread his legs wider. It pushed in, and Kris bucked into it too hard and shook it loose; he had to bite his lip and hold on to the couch, clenching down hard, to hold still long enough for it to push inside.
The tentacle slid in, and wriggled a little, a shock like the hit of fresh wasabi all the way through his body, pale shimmering green that shaded deep and dark as Adam pressed in further. And then he was pulling Kris close with his hand and turning them over on the couch, so Kris was sprawled on top of him, and Adam cupped Kris's ass with both hands, and Kris heard himself saying, "Oh my God," helpless and shivering silver as the second tentacle pushed in, too.
"Kris," Adam was saying, like too-strong coffee with a shot of whiskey, so fucking good, both tentacles teasing Kris from the inside out now, swelling and shrinking and touching, and opening him up, stretching him. Adam was shuddering and arching under him, his cock hard and hot against Kris's thigh.
Kris reached down and gripped him, managed to lever himself up and over Adam's hips, careful even while he was desperate, and got them there: Adam's cock pressing at him, the long, sweet, burnt-caramel slide as Kris's hips eased down and down. The tentacles were still teasing at him, writhing alongside the full hot length, and it was so damn good. "Oh—oh," Adam said, slurring the vowels long, sounding almost like he was in pain, and Kris started riding him, every bounce of his hips down on Adam's a bright flare that went past any words Kris had and straight to more pleasure than he knew what to do with, and all he could do was keep going until he was falling fast and hard over the edge in one last burst of silver-gold everywhere.
Kris lost most of the next while, only little snapshots of coming down, his whole body dreamily loose and Adam sliding out of him, Adam wiping him down, washcloth feeling normal again on Kris's skin, nubby and good, Adam's mouth cool and fresh with the clean taste of water when Kris pulled him down to kiss. They were stumbling together into the bedroom, they were crawling into the sheets, and Kris was rolling into Adam's arms. Adam's hands hovered, tentative, wary. Kris kissed Adam's jaw, clumsily, because that was the easiest part to reach just then, and he put Adam's hand, the smooth coil of the tentacle curled in his palm, on his own hip to say wordlessly what his tongue couldn't manage: yes. yes. yes.
All feedback much appreciated!