Still Waters Run Hot: An erotic M/M tentacle sex story (Pleasure of the Depths Book 2)

by Drake Penn

  Well.

  This was a predicament.

  Gareth, currently teetering on the brink of delirium, runs a hand over his swollen belly once more. The glowing eggs that King, his beloved half octopus half man boyfriend(?), had laid inside of him shift under his tan skin and he groans—half discomfort half unyielding pleasure.

  He's got no idea how long he's been lying there, drifting in and out of awareness, watching the slow pulses of the glowing algae growing in the cavern and being gently inspected by King.

  "You're not gonna chest-burster me, right?" He rubs his shaking hand across his taut stomach.

  King clicks at him and carefully repositions him, shifting him towards a secluded pool in the rocks. Gareth protests weakly but King isn't interested in listening. His skin feels hot and sensitive, the cool slick flesh of King's tentacles making him shiver and whimper. King takes interest, rumbling back at him and looping a tentacle around his throbbing cock.

  "King—fuck—I don't know if I can— can handle—"

  An inky tentacle slips into his mouth and cuts him off, driving in and out with sloppy wet noises. His ass squeezes down on the hard plug King sealed him with—a solid and immovable lump keeping the eggs securely in place—and his eyes roll back in his head. It’s soothing to just let King take care of him, his firm tentacle stroking languidly around Gareth’s twitching cock. Those transfixing lights start up across his tentacles again—it makes everything relax and the little stabs of discomfort from the rocks and the pressure inside of him just melts away like butter under a heat lamp.

  King cradles Gareth’s head in his lap, his tentacles looping in on themselves to keep him stimulated and a webbed hand petting his face as Gareth gently moans. His skin still tastes so good, he can’t help but try to suck the thick tentacle deeper into his throat, swallowing it down until his jaw won’t crane open farther. King looks happy. It makes Gareth feel immensely pleased with himself. He’s not sure when it happened, but lately all he can think about is how to make King happy. What it would be like to just run away from it all and stay here, with him, forever.

  One firm squeeze around his shaft and the delicate touch of suckers on his balls does him in, a gentle orgasm that ripples through him and makes him spurt onto himself in thick batches. He goes pliant and lets King slip out from under him without resistance, letting the creature slide his thumb into Gareth’s mouth and open it. He waits like that obediently and King presses some of the glowing algae from the walls into his mouth, letting him swallow it before he puts more.

  Then he slips into the water of the cavern and Gareth is left alone, near immobile and sluggardly in both mind and body. It’s slow work, but he tries to catalogue how he’s feeling when he runs a hand across his swollen belly.

  So. This wasn’t in the five year plan. Or the any year plan.

  Children weren’t really his thing. Monster octopus men weren’t really his thing either, he supposes, but here he was. Would they even be fertile? The dull glow under his skin makes him think so. Things shift gently inside of him—it makes him wonder uneasily just how long he has before these eggs… are laid? Is that what’s going to happen?

  It’s a weird push and pull of the bizarre, alien feeling of eggs and the mundanity of interrogating his thoughts on being a father. A father with King. It makes him feel kind of fuzzy to think about. The more he sits on it, mulling over a bunch of scenarios, a bunch of babies, the more the idea settles into his chest and makes a nest around his heart. It’s scary as shit, sure, but he wants to see this thing through. He just needs to get everything in order for it first. Get a house on some secluded coast or something.

  Not that he can do a whole lot about that right now.

  Gareth simply lays there, taking stock of how his body shifts and stretches under his hands. He's got a lot to think on, sure, but right now he's bored out of his skull and feeling a ground down kind of wired, like he hasn't slept in days but just downed three cups of coffee, and eventually slips into fitful sleep.

  He wakes up cumming, startling upright and being pinned back to the wet ground by King's strong hand. The slick pressure around his cock loosens as he whimpers through his orgasm, sparks of consciousness firing off until his balls are drained and he's fully awake.

  "King, you gotta warn a guy before you do that shit." He groans.

  King clicks back at him in an oddly patronizing way. Gareth sticks his tongue out and King stuffs a wad of dense algae into it, pressing it in firmly when Gareth recoils from the unexpected sensation. He chews it reluctantly and his stomach growls; he's barely had anything to eat in however long he's been here. King makes a low chirp and rubs at Gareth's stomach, seemingly perplexed at the noise.

  "Oh, that's uh, I'm hungry." Gareth manages. King cocks his head, so Gareth opens his mouth and mimes putting food in.

  Gareth is fed a range of algae, some tingle his tongue and make his skin flush, others are thick and slimy and make him feel sluggish and itchy, and an odd batch makes everything look too bright. King seems to enjoy feeding him like this—he'd tried in the past, but Gareth had only ever tolerated it—and he adds in some flakes of raw, shredded fish, which Gareth repeats to himself is basically the same as sushi as he forces himself to swallow.

  He doesn't notice when exactly King began stroking him again, he only notices the urgent pressure at his loins as his dick begins to leak while King dutifully stuffs him with some tangy form of algae. Gareth tries very hard not to cum with a mouth full of algae and fails abysmally, swallowing it down as his body pulses around the eggs inside of him. The pressure is immense—he flattens his slick palm to his pregnant belly and feels that, even accounting for a full stomach, the eggs are definitely bigger. They rattle inside of him, a strange squirming sensation in his guts as everything repositions to accommodate them.

  It's hard to breathe. He realizes dully that a full stomach and even fuller guts means that there isn't even enough room for his lungs to inflate all the way. He's really giving everything he can to these eggs.

  It feels like forever before anything more happens, King jerking him off gently and the eggs shifting lower with every orgasm. Whenever his cock starts flagging King feeds him more algae or flashes his lights or works a tentacle into his throat and his body responds like a teenaged virgin all the way down to the scarlet flush across the bridge of his nose and pooling across his broad chest. He’s blissed out the whole time, a wonderful melange of pleasure and warmth even as his body aches from the cold worming into his bones, until at last he feels a pressure at his ass that grows increasingly urgent—and King chitters excitedly over—and the solidified plug of King’s fluids goes gelatinous and drips from him.

  King pantomimes kissing Gareth the way he’s seen Gareth do so many times; it’s tricky with no lips, but the intent comes across loud and clear. Gareth nods and holds his inky black hand as the first of the eggs begins to spread him wide. King rumbles deep and low, replicating the encouraging sounds Gareth makes to him, and massages his spread thighs gently with his suckers, keeping them open whenever Gareth’s breath hitches and muscles twitch. There’s a heavy sheen of sweat across his skin now—he’s been working his body to its limit just getting to this point, so actually laying the eggs feels daunting, to say the least.

  The room seems brighter, like the algae is responding to the eggs about to come into the world. It’s some real disney princess shit. If he were at all scientifically minded at this particular moment, he might wonder if there was some sort of symbiosis go
ing on between the two, but that’s a heavy thought to tackle when he feels an egg that must be football sized breaching from his ass. There’s no way to prepare for it, not when his ass has been sealed till just now, and it’s far too big to be comfortable even as his prostate is crushed by the eggs shifting downwards, but oddly it doesn’t feel like he’s being turned inside out, despite his expectations. He must have really gotten stretchier since he started visiting.

  By slow inches the egg passes into King’s waiting tentacles and is carried up to rest between their linked arms. King coos over it, delighted, and Gareth can’t help but give a sobbing laugh as he touches the smooth skin of it. It’s like a frog egg, or an oblong fish egg, a thick and slimy layer that lightly obscures the growing creature within, but he can see as it flickers with light and it makes tiny, jerky movements. It’s too young to tell what it will look like, but an intense fondness burns in his chest at the sight of it. Is this what it’s like for normal fathers? Or maybe mothers? He doesn’t know, but he knows that he’s happy just the way he is.

  King gently cradles the egg and carries it to the pool at the back of the cavern—the same place he’d raised a shark pup—and gingerly lowers it in before returning to hold Gareth.

  “You seahorse’d me.” Gareth says, mostly to himself as King presses more kisses to his face and neck. “I knocked you up so you knocked me up right back. Can’t believe you even had all those things in you.”

  The next egg begins to emerge and the process is much smoother, his body already having adjusted. That’s useful, he thinks, because there are an awful lot of eggs to get out, and if it’s as slow as the first one he’ll be here all week. King is fastidious in his methods, soft and encouraging touches and noises that, embarrassingly, get Gareth hot under the collar. He’d like to blame the hormones, and that might be true, or just plain old classical conditioning, but really he’s finding it kind of hot to be full of King’s babies like this. Like they’re married or something. Mates, if nothing else. It’s something that’s permanent, like the ink on his arm, a thread between him and King that can’t be severed.

  That’s a weird thing to feel. He’s okay with that. He’s pretty happy to be weird right now.

  “I love you King.” He mouths against the creature’s neck. “I’d do anything for you.”

  King rumbles back, the nictating membrane of his eyes flicking across as he holds Gareth’s face close to his own and vibrates all along his body in a flare of color. It’s breathtaking.

  A few squeezes is all it takes for the egg to slide free and for King to add it to the other, holding it against his cheek before letting it sink into the water. Gareth pants out hard, his cock aching as the eggs shift and press against so many wonderful spots inside of him and makes his head spin. King looks him over curiously and envelops his leaking cock with two thick tentacles, wringing their slick surfaces against him in opposite directions—the sensation makes him gasp and shudder, another egg starting to emerge. King speeds up, the slender tip of another tentacle fondling his miraculously responsive balls until he cums hard and his pulsing hole works the huge egg out. The fact that he has any semen left at all astounds him, he should be so far beyond empty that he’d be more likely to shoot blood than jizz, but here he is, splattering his swollen belly with fat white ropes that slowly slide to the rocky ground.

  It’s like the world’s most hyper-specific superpower.

  While King deposits the latest egg Gareth reaches down to his own hole and finds it slick and gaping, unsurprisingly, and teases the pliant ring that twitches with exertion until he feels the smooth head of an egg begin to make its way out. King watches quietly as this egg slides out of Gareth easily and takes it as soon as it is free, returning quickly to watch as Gareth pushes out the next.

  “You like seeing that?” Gareth laughs. “Perv.”

  King clicks at him and uses his tentacles to drag Gareth’s free hand to his cock, the strong muscles of the limb move Gareth’s hand up and down the wet skin until he catches on and starts stroking himself.

  “Oh babe you’re dirty.” He groans as King watches him, holding a freshly lain egg in each hand and catching a third in his tentacles before depositing them. Gareth has to restrain himself so the egg doesn’t slip free before King can return, and the tentacles pressing open his thighs to give King a better view do him in, a wretched cry as he cums a heavy load again. King’s no longer carting the eggs across the cavern, he’s now dropping them down into the deep pool he had placed Gareth alongside earlier—good planning on his part—and making a deep, thrumming bass sound that resonates throughout the entire cavern and rattles Gareth’s chest.

  Everything turns into a blur. He lays eggs and eggs and eggs and he cums nearly as often, the shifting pressure inside of him and incredible stretch of his hole alongside the adoring gaze of King and hypersensitivity of seemingly every inch of him, inside and out, turns Gareth into a babbling mess. He begs, he talks dirty, he cries, he moans, King encouraging him all the while. By the time the last egg slips free from him his ass is so worn out and sloppy he barely feels the stretch and he lies on the cold stone, his chest heaving with exertion as he jerks his implacable cock, his other hand just feeling his stretched out hole, a physical reminder that King had bred him, that he was a dad now. King closes his webbed hands around Gareth’s shaft and strokes alongside him, working him to a completion that wrenches one final shout from him and he falls blissfully unconscious and fully spent.

  ***

  Gareth is shivering when he wakes in the dim half light of the bioluminescent algae, curled in on himself in a tight ball. He’s sore all over, constellations of sucker marks and punctures that stand out pink against his darkened flesh and an undeniable ache through his guts as everything is not quite in its proper place.

  He needs to find his wetsuit before he freezes to death. It’s a miracle he hasn’t already. He calls for King and gets no response, prompting him to start searching himself. He’s really hoping King pulled it out of the pool that exits the cavern so he doesn’t have to dive for it, especially down in the dark, but he comes up empty handed during his laps around the sheltered cave. The eggs catch his eye, the pulsing glow of them stacked on top of each other in three separate pools of still water draw him over and he strokes one, watching the embryo inside twitch. That’s an eye, he’s pretty sure, and arms, probably, but the rest is hard to make out through the water and translucent egg—not to mention the overall darkness. Gareth gives a fond sigh.

  “I’ll be back, okay, just as soon as I can. I gotta get some shit together, and we’ll figure it out from there.” He pats the egg and dives into the deep and icy pool of water, thankful that there’s more light reaching the bottom than he expected and the salt barely stings his eyes. The zipper’s been torn clean off and there’s several holes through it, but his fins are still there and half a wetsuit is better than no wetsuit, so he dons it and resubmerges, easily navigating the familiar tunnel and making it to the surface of the ocean.

  His boat’s gone.

  Shit.

  He could have sworn he anchored it, but he was kind of… rushing things. If it drifted off there’s no telling where it’s gone, and the alternative is that someone found it out here and hauled it off. Either way, he’s boatless and a long way from shore. Not much choice but to swim unless he’s wanting his parents to think he up and drowned on them.

  Gareth hopes it hasn’t been that long. An overnight, maybe two, his parents might be able to rationalize as him having an unlikely hookup—that’d be half true, funnily enough. A fiery orange of a sunset burns across the western horizon. He's thankful; he knows which direction to swim in and rolls onto his back, long steady backstrokes propelling him through the water. He's a few miles from the shore but between the advantage of his fins and the strange energy still burning in his muscles he thinks he can make it even in the choppy water.

  It’s pitch black out by the time he reaches shore, only the lights of the small t
own guiding him back. It takes a while to orient himself—he’s never been great with directions, and doing this in the dark isn’t helping—but he eventually finds a road he recognizes and treks quietly through town with his fins in tow. The asphalt hurts his feet and he steps on every damn pebble between the shore and his parent’s house, slowly coming out of whatever trance he’s been in till now.

  He really went and laid eggs. It doesn’t even bother him, it just feels like a normal thing to happen, but he really did that. Worst of all he still plans to go back.

  The logistics of it all are hard to grasp, so he chooses not to think about them. Whatever happens, happens. He’ll find a way to be with King. There’s nothing on this planet that could prevent that now, not when there’s kids on the line. Yeah, he just has to get all his shit in order and leave a letter or something for his parents and text his friends. That’ll work.

  Finally he crests a familiar hill and makes it home. Gareth pushes the window to his room open as quietly as he can, the wood catching and stuttering upwards in the slide. He hauls himself in and drops his fins to the floor, sliding out of his wrecked wetsuit and into the closest available pair of sweatpants, rummaging through the nightstand for his phone.