“Hold still. They’re deeply sensitive, John. You can’t imagine the sensations I’m feeling right now…”
I wanted to write a present for Archia! But I don’t know with this thing, so I’m going to leave it up to you guys. Does this feel finished to you? Because I spent three hours failing to make it go any further, and I want to know how hard I should fight with it.
***
“I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long, John,” Sherlock murmured by John’s ear, nuzzling at him while he watched John’s throat bob and move around the tentacle filling it.
They kept working deeper into him, a kind of tongue-like surging that was less like getting fucked than like being <em>inhabited.</em> Sherlock had insisted this wasn’t sex for him, though he felt intense pleasure, but what the hell else should John name it? Penetration that never seemed to end, stimulation that made his body soften and open, straining for more, but pushing him so far beyond sex, touching him in places and ways sex didn’t reach and flexing open the depths of his body to slide in and occupy him. All of it, lapping deeper into him with every breath he sucked in.
Sherlock’s extensions stroked and waggled, groping John from the inside, and he had no hope of staying still no matter how much Sherlock told him to, or how hard he held John down.
“Shhhh, John.” Sherlock caressed his hair. “Don’t struggle. Just let it happen.”
He couldn’t do anything but let it happen. His skin ached everywhere, craving touch, while his interiors fluttered and shuddered with gut-wrenchingly intimate pleasure that caught him writhing between seeking more and trying to escape. John moaned.
Sherlock hummed with pleasure. “It feels good when you do that. Your throat vibrates.”
The one deep in his arse started to twitch and curl, till it had John twisting and clawing frantically against the bedsheets, trying to arch and squirm away from the onslaught of sensation. Sherlock forced him back down. He had no idea what the noise he was making might have been if his mouth hadn’t been stuffed full, but it came out in a thin helpless whine that made Sherlock’s eyes gleam.
“Yes. Just like that. Hold still. Oh, John, they’re so deeply sensitive. You can’t imagine the sensations I’m feeling right now.” A hand smoothed up John’s shivering damp flank, followed by the slippery wet stroke of a tentacle. “Inside and outside, you’re all for me. Shall I tell you how you feel?”
He felt invaded. Like his body was being taken away from him and rearranged to suit Sherlock’s needs. John had agreed to this, but it felt so overwhelming. Sherlock had promised nothing would happen to him, but as much as he trusted Sherlock, it was all just so much.
He felt dizzy and heavy. The realization that he was hyperventilating came along with Sherlock’s crooning breaking, low and musical, into his awareness. He was stroking John soothingly, both inside and out; John hiccoughed a bit at the sensation of tentacles petting him from inside.
“-Doing so well, John. You know I won’t hurt you, I would never hurt you, I’ll keep you safe. It’s just new and strange to you, that’s all. Relax into it, John. Let it happen. Enjoy how much there is to feel. Oh, John, you feel so good inside. So hot and humid. I can feel your membranes and linings, John. You’re so delicate; I have to be so careful with you. I am being careful with you, I promise. I want to feel every bit you, fill you, protect you so that nothing can hurt this fragile, beautiful body of yours. Just let me have you like this a little while longer. Filled and helpless and mine.”
John couldn’t say no to him. Literally, he couldn’t speak or even shake his head, but he was powerless to turn Sherlock away in any case, when Sherlock sounded so desperately sincere. He strained with his left hand till he managed to lay it on Sherlock’s thigh, and squeezed reassuringly.
Sherlock sighed, a subtle tension draining out of him. The restraining pressure of the tentacles inside John softened; John hadn’t even noticed how uncomfortably rigid they’d gone, but now they melted and flowed like liquid into every crevice of his interior. He gasped and squirmed at the thoroughness of it, and Sherlock’s hands and other appendages tightened down on his arms and legs, throat and chest, immobilizing him.
“Oh, John,” Sherlock purred. “Just like that. Just for a little while longer.”
John whimpered around the tentacle filling his mouth and throat. Sherlock smiled, and tenderly wiped away the line of saliva and fluid trickling from the corner of his mouth.