Page 45 of A Merry Christmas for Art… and His Tentacles

“The things I want to do to you right now are not cozy,” I warn him.

He laughs again. “Okay. But could we still do it in front of the Christmas tree? I’ll lay out a blanket.”

I nod. “If you would like to have sex in front of a houseplant, then I can agree to that. It certainly isn’t any stranger than the things I’ve asked to do with you.”

He holds back a smile. That facial expression is familiar to me now. He does it when I amuse him, but he doesn’t want to show it. There’s a warmth to the way he schools his features, as if he finds the whole process endearing.

People have teased me and even tried to fire me because of how awkward I am, but Dean seems to enjoy it. That makes me feel safe with him.

“Please get on your hands and knees with your pants off,” I say.

Heat burns in his eyes. “Okay. I can do that.”

He lays down a blanket in front of the tree, just like he promised. Then he stares into my eyes as he takes off his clothing, piece by piece. He takes off his sweater and socks too, until he’s standing completely naked in front of the tree. Only the twinkling lights strung around its branches illuminate the room, leaving the right side of his body in shadow. He looks like a planet only partially lit up by the sun. He’s as beautiful as a planet, too, with the same majesty and mystery. I can barely breathe while looking at him like that.

I’ve never believed in god or fate. Most cephalopods don’t. But here in this moment, I wonder if Dean is the reason why theocean never felt lonely to me. If it had, I would’ve contacted the matchmaker and ended up in a relationship with someone else.

I still don’t believe in fate, but I want to. Just for tonight.

He lowers himself onto his knees, then reaches forward and presses his hands onto the blanket. The curve of his ass in the dim light is so lovely that I can do nothing but stare for a moment. The light pink marks from my suckers dot his skin, and I don’t think I’ll ever get over how wonderful that is.

I kneel down next to him and run my fingers along the curve of his ass. “This shape deserves its own name.”

“You mean a half circle? An arch? A half-moon?” he teases.

“No. Something unique to your ass.”

His lips quirk up on one side. “Is that right? How about now?” He lowers his chest, until only his ass is sticking up in the air. The new position highlights the contrast between the soft globes of his ass cheeks and the firmness of his thighs.

“That shape also deserves its own name,” I say.

He laughs.

“I feel like a scientist who has found a brand new plant no one has ever seen before,” I tell him.

“I hate to break it to you, but other people have seen my ass before.”

I press my lips together, not sure how to express what I’m feeling. “I… don’t think they have. Not like me, I mean. I appreciate your ass more than they did.”

This time he doesn’t laugh. He smiles at me and reaches back to grasp one of my tentacles. “I think that’s true.”

“It isn’t in a cephalopod’s nature to fall in love more than once.” It’s a scary thing to admit out loud. Of course, he must know that already, with my parents being so intense and the way our mating rituals work. But it still must be said. He has to know how vulnerable I am with him now.

“It’s okay, Art. Your heart is safe with me.”

The softness of his voice and the way his body is positioned make it easy to believe him. He’s prostrating himself before me—letting me have him in the most intimate of ways. But it isn’t just this moment that makes me believe him. It’s the way he introduced me to his parents and how eagerly he’s shared his favorite holiday with me. Dean is a generous and kind person. I think he’s telling me the truth.

I run my tentacles along his back, gently at first. He closes his eyes, his body relaxing. I drag my suckers along his skin, letting them taste and latch onto him. He takes in a sharp breath.

“Do you know how cephalopods breed their mates?” I ask.

He smiles. “You could show me.”

“It’s kind of messy. It’s not an everyday thing. It might be overwhelming for you.”

He opens his eyes. “Art, I want to be overwhelmed by you.”

“If it becomes too much, you can tell me. I will withdraw,” I assure him.

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