Page 24 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

I begin to withdraw.

“No. Don’t.” He takes in a ragged breath. “Just stay for a minute.”

I wrap my arms around him—my tentacles too. I can’t get close enough to him. I want to claim him in every way. We stay like that for longer than a minute—long enough that the stillness isn’t enough any more. White-hot need pulses through me.

“Do you think you could… fuck me?” Dean asks. “Like this?”

I pull out and push back in, reaching as deep as I was before, but much faster. His soft moan is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard. I do it again and again, the force of my thrusts almost violent. I worry that I’m being too rough with him, but he lets out a strangled, “Yes.”

I allow myself to fuck him with an abandon I’ve only fantasized about. I don’t even try to be careful. I pound into him mercilessly, savoring each of his grunts and the way his fingernails dig into my back. My other tentacles sucker the planes of his chest and abdomen. I circle one of them around his cock and stroke. He takes it—he takes me, throwing his head back, his grunts morphing into a shout. Just as his whole body tenses, I withdraw and push in two tentacles. Not nearly as deep, but deep enough that the width of them sends him over the edge. He scrabbles his nails over my skin, his fingers trembling, and it’s everything I’ve ever wanted. I only have to touch my cock, and I’m coming with him, my vision going white from the pleasure.

After a moment passes, Dean lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh my fucking God. That was… wow.”

I can’t help but smile. I’m the one who made Dean Miller fall apart. With my most secretive fantasies, no less. He wanted it all.

I hold him close and bury my nose in the crook of his shoulder. “Thank you, Dean Miller.”

Dean

I wake up cuddled in tentacles. I can feel where Art has suctioned onto my skin in places, and it’s both arousing and cozy at the same time.

Last night was… Is there a word for better than amazing? It was the best sex I’ve ever had, and that wasn’t only because of Art’s tentacles.

Although, my god, Art’s tentacles. I shiver just thinking about them, and his tentacles and arms both squeeze me a little tighter.

I’m thinking about initiating round two when I hear a grumble, and I’m not even sure whose stomach it is. I open my eyes to see Art looking at me.

“We must feed you, Dean Miller,” he states, and if I’m not mistaken, his eyes have a vague tinge of panic to them. Which makes me think of what he told me about cephalopod mating.

I can’t help the laugh that escapes me. “I’m not going to eatyou, Art. I mean, I might eat you in a sexy way, but definitely not in the unsexy way.”

Art looks confused after that statement, and I resist the urge to laugh again. I don’t want Art to think I’m laughing at him—his brain is a fascinating place, and I love how he thinks.

Finally he says, “I am unsure how eating someone could be considered sexy. Perhaps it can be for the person doing the eating, but I would think losing body parts would always be an unpleasurable experience, even if it didn’t result in death.”

At that I do laugh again, and I lean forward and kiss him on the nose. “Eating someone in a sexy way is a euphemism for oral sex, Art.”

“Ah,” he replies, relaxing. “I have never tried that. My tentacles have tasted you, but my mouth has not. I would like to both give and receive that type of experience.”

My dick jumps a little at his comment, but then my stomach rumbles again, and Art peels his tentacles off of me. The gentle suction across so many points on my skin makes my whole body tingle in delight, but then Art is rolling out of bed and pulling pants on.

“We must feed you, Dean Miller,” he states.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I answer. There’s always time later for sex, and I definitely know something that we’ll be trying out.

I realize that it’s Saturday—somehow this week has flown by, and I’m thrilled at the idea that Art and I can have the full day (and if I’m really lucky, maybe even the full weekend) to hang out.

I roll out of bed naked, contemplating putting on last night’s clothes. I wish I’d brought something else to wear. Art seems to notice my predicament, because he holds up a pair of sweatpants. I smile and nod, taking them as he pulls on a pair too. He slides a shirt on as well—I’ve realized that Art is self-conscious, even though he has no reason to be. I notice that he doesn’t offer me a shirt, and I’m flattered as I turn to see him staring at my chest.

I walk over and give him a soft kiss on the mouth. “What do cephalopods eat for breakfast?” I ask him, wrapping my arms around him.

“I prefer seafood, even for breakfast,” Art states. “I have partaken in many more human foods, however, and although I don’t have much here to make, I would be happy to go out to breakfast with you.”

I think of just the place, and it actually isn’t that far from Art’s. We disentangle from each other, and I head over to grab my phone. I scroll through and find the deli I’m thinking of, and when I open the website to check their hours, I see that there’s an ad for a holiday bazaar today as well.

“Ohh… The place I’m thinking of is right near a street fair that’s open today. It’s fun—they’ve got vendors and food stands and decorated trees and all sorts of holiday stuff. I usually pop in every year, and I love visiting the stands and buying gifts for people. Do you want to head over there and interact with people a bit more?” I ask. I notice Art’s hesitation. “If you’re busy today that’s ok…” I add. I don’t want to force myself on him, even though I’d love to hang out.

“No, I am not busy…” he states, but he still looks hesitant.

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