11. Art

Art

Dean Miller asks about my different plants as we eat. We talk about my undergraduate degree in botany and also about his grandmother, who had a greenhouse in her backyard when he was a child. It's easy to talk to him—so easy I decide that I don't want to take him back to my bedroom.

I never sleep in there. It would feel strange to have sex with him on the mattress I've only used a handful of times.

After we clean up the dishes and the blanket, I take his hand, wordlessly guiding him down the hall. Initially, we step into the bedroom, but I don't stop there. I lead him further to the adjoined bathroom.

Just like the living room, the windows here extend from the floor to the ceiling. They're lined with huge water tanks where my aquatic plants live. The bathroom itself is dominated by the enormous tub in the corner.

Dean Miller's eyes widen with wonder. "Wow. This is incredible, Art."

"Thank you. One of the tanks has freshwater plants and the other is saltwater."

He walks along the edge of the room, running his fingers along the glass like he ran them along the spines of my books. "I've never seen anything like it. And your tub is huge!"

"That's my bed," I tell him, hoping he won't find it too strange. "This apartment dates back to when cephalopods were still in hiding. That's why there's a human bedroom attached. We often sleep in water, so we don't need a traditional human bedroom with a bed."

He looks back at me with that same expression of wonder. "Really? I had no idea. Then I'm glad I didn't ask you to spend the night with me. I sort of wanted to, you know. But I only have a shower stall."

I can't help but smile. Dean Miller wanted me to spend the night with him. "I would not mind sleeping in a human bed with you, Dean Miller."

Dean smiles, walking closer to me.

"Do you like taking baths?" I ask. That's what humans call it when they get into their tubs. They only use water to clean themselves, which has always seemed strange to me. Some of them have pools, but even then, they use the water primarily as exercise equipment. The only exception seems to be hot tubs, which are woefully unsanitary when they're publicly accessible.

"Are you offering to take a bath with me?" he asks.

"No. I would like to have sexual intercourse with you under water. But I figured a bath could serve as a mating ritual."

He smiles at me. "I'd like that."

I walk around to the side of the tub and turn on the water. The spout is larger than the ones in human tubs because the tub is much bigger. "This building has its own water filtration system. We recycle our bath water every twenty-four hours. Most water filtration systems were developed by aquatic cryptids, actually. Necessity is the mother of invention."

"I read a study about that in my Intro to Cryptids class in college. They had a whole section on how the unique needs of cryptids have advanced human technology. Did you know that the Wright brothers were harpies? One of them broke a wing, and they developed the first airplane so he could fly with his kids." Dean Miller tugs at the neck of his sweater and pulls it over his head. Last night, the light in his apartment was dim. I can't help but stare at how beautiful his body is in the bright light of my bathroom. His chest is lightly sprinkled with hair and his arms are wired with muscle. Not too much muscle, like a bodybuilder, but the lean muscle of a man who spends a lot of his time studying. Along his back and arms are light pink rings of tender skin. Those are from my tentacles.

A wild thrill shoots through me.

He reaches for his belt next, unfastening it and the button of his jeans without hesitation. When I first met Dean, I wasn't sure if I was envious of his confidence or attracted to it. I guess it was a bit of both. He pulls down his pants and underwear until he's standing in my bathroom completely nude. His cock is already half-hard.

He glances at me with a mischievous smile. "Now I get to see you naked too, right?"

I didn't exactly think that part through. Last night, taking my clothes off made me nervous, but I was in the heat of the moment, so I didn't have time to dwell on my insecurities. Now I worry that the bright light accentuating all of Dean's raw beauty will be unforgiving to my much less attractive body.

"Um, yes. That's only fair," I say. My voice trembles a bit.

Dean Miller's eyes soften and his smile fades. "If you don't want to take your clothes off, you don't have to."

"It's fine," I insist. "We're getting in the water."

He considers me for a moment. "You could use your metachrosis, if you want. I don't mind. I want you to be comfortable."

Just like that, I feel safe again. I don't know how he does it. I'm always anxious around other humans. I have been for as long as I can remember.

He walks up the steps into the tub, showing off the curve of his ass. One of my tentacles stretches out, about to touch it, but I manage to reel it back in.

It is a good ass, though. A part of me wishes I didn't show so much restraint.

I willfully make my body fade into the background. The process feels a little like holding my breath or trying not to blink. I strip out of my clothes in a rush, as if being naked all of the sudden will somehow be less embarrassing than letting Dean Miller watch me undress. He sits down in the corner of the tub, tactfully not looking in my direction. I approach the tub slowly. Staying invisible is always harder when I'm moving. I'm sure he could see some kind of movement if he was watching for me. When I step into the tub and sit down, the splash and displacement of the water is even more obvious.

Why is this so much harder than last night? I don't think it's just insecurity about my body. It's something much deeper than that. I guess last night was only sex. But now that Dean Miller and I are temporary mates, it's more complicated.

"I really like you, Art, and I have for a long time," he says, still not looking in my direction.

"You have?"

"Yeah. That's part of the reason I agreed so quickly to Frank's bullshit plan. I wanted the excuse to spend more time with you."

I had no idea. For a moment, I lose control of my metachrosis, and I'm suddenly visible. He looks over and smiles at me. "Hey, there."

Where Dean Miller's body is wired with muscle and hairy, mine is decidedly not. I am scrawny with knobby knees and very little body hair to speak of. I hug my arms and look away from him. Unfortunately, my tentacles are not at all concerned about my body insecurities, and they slither toward Dean. Not just one or two of them, but four, and they wind themselves around him, pulling him closer.

"I'm sorry," I say.

He leans in until I can feel the heat of his breath on my lips. "Don't be."

This is what I want. Judging by the thickening of Dean Miller's cock, it's what he wants too. I should stop worrying about things I cannot change. I close the distance between us, pressing my lips to his. It's wonderful to taste his mouth at the same time my tentacles taste his body. His flavor and scent are a heady combination. One of my tentacles slithers down his right ass cheek. I almost break away from him, worried that I've taken things too far, but he moans into my mouth.

Another tentacle reaches for his left ass cheek. This time, I allow myself to enjoy the sensation of squeezing his supple flesh. He moans again, not at all freaked out or surprised. Does he know what I want to do to him? If I told him, would he be into it, or would he think I was a freaky stereotype straight out of a tentacle porno?

To my utter horror, the tentacle exploring his right ass cheek slides to the center and slips between his cheeks. I finally jerk away, not sure what his reaction will be. He stares back at me with heavy-lidded eyes.

"Do you have lube?" he asks.

"For what?"

He gives me a gentle kiss on the tip of my nose. "For whatever you're doing back there."

"Um, yes. I have lube."

He kisses me again, this time on the lips. We just make out for a few minutes. Our kisses are nice and slow. The first time he kissed me, I was so preoccupied with doing it right that it was harder to get lost in it. This time, it feels too good to worry about anything. Our tongues meet, and I love the drag of his against mine. It's almost as good as squeezing his ass. I want to do that again. Hell, I want to do it every day.

I reach around with my hand and place it on his ass. I feel him smile against my lips.

"Mmm, I like that," he whispers.

I grab his flesh and squeeze. It's so much better with my hand. Dean kisses me harder, sliding his fingers through my hair to pull me closer by the back of my head. I reach for him with my other hand, until I'm cupping both his ass cheeks.

He breaks away from the kiss to climb onto my lap. Technically, this was the position we were in last night, but our jeans were still partially on, and we weren't in the water. This is much better. I squeeze both of his ass cheeks at the same time.

"Mmmm."

"Do you like… that sort of thing?" I ask.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. "If that's your way of asking if I like bottoming, the answer is yes."

My cheeks grow hot. That is exactly what I was asking. I've apparently been reduced to vague euphemisms.

He tilts his head. "Is that what you want?"

"To bottom? Absolutely not. I know I don't have ‘top energy.' But I… I mean, if you aren't interested?—"

Dean kisses me. "I am definitely interested."

Relief rushes through me. I kiss him back with fervor, finally allowing myself to properly hope for the things I've wanted to do with Dean for a long time. His body rocks closer, and the heat of his slippery cock slides against me. This time, I'm the one who moans. We rut against each other. I hold his ass in my hands possessively, allowing my fingers to creep between his ass cheeks. He lets out a breathy "fuck."

"Could I do it with my tentacles?" I ask, even though I know that's vague too.

"You mean me?" Dean asks. "You want to fuck me with your tentacles?" He's grinding against me desperately now.

"Yes."

"Good," he says. "Because I've fantasized about that."

He's fantasized about my tentacles? That's a lot to take in. I mean, I knew that some humans were into that sort of thing, but I never thought Dean Miller would be.

Of course, my tentacles have an immediate reaction. One of them slides back down between his ass cheeks, and another releases some of that lubricant he wanted.

"Do you, um, prefer store bought lubricant, or…" I mumble, not sure how to tell him that I make my own.

"As opposed to what?" he asks. Then he stops because my tentacle has dragged the gooey substance between his ass cheeks.

"It's just that sex underwater requires a certain kind of lubricant, and mine is perfect for it. But we could buy some?—"

"Yours, as in…" Dean Miller trails off, waiting for an explanation.

"It's common for organisms that sexually reproduce to self lubricate."

His eyes widen.

"Like I said, if you want to buy some lubricant?—"

He brings me in for a kiss that takes my breath away. "I want you. Right now."

I close my eyes as Dean Miller continues to kiss me, his mouth traveling across my jaw and my neck. His mouth is greedy and certain. There's absolutely no hesitation, not even when one of my tentacles gently slides against his hole. If anything, his mouth becomes more insistent.

It's rare that I have complete control over my tentacles. It usually only happens when I'm in the zone at work. The synchronicity of my mind and body moving as one is my favorite thing about getting lost in my job.

There are times when that synchronicity happens outside of work, of course. They're rare, and they usually involve me giving into some kind of temptation. My tentacles love temptation.

This time, as my tentacle drags against the tender skin of Dean Miller's hole, I'm in control. I tease the puckered skin, tasting it and memorizing the texture. Every part of me is focused on how soft he is—how tight. He shifts his hips back ever so slightly, and his rim gives under the pressure of my tip. I probe inside him, overwhelmed by the glorious heat and pressure.

"Your anus is very pleasing to me," I say.

He presses a kiss to the crook of my neck, and I can feel the smile on his lips.

I don't tell him that I can taste his insides. That sounds like something a cannibal would say. But I love how intimate his flavor is. It's like tasting the core of his being. I savor him for a while, staying completely still. He does the same, as if he's savoring me too.

"I've always liked deep penetration," Dean whispers. "Really deep."

I push deeper inside him. He lets out a pent-up breath. I twist my tentacle, testing the elasticity of his body, wondering just how deep he can take me. I don't want to hurt him.

"More, Art," he groans.

I give him what he wants, sliding in so far, he lets out a gasp that's either bad or very, very good.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Fuck, yes. Your tentacle is so thick at the base."

"That isn't the base."

He burrows his nose into my neck. "Then I want more."

"I could hurt you."

He shakes his head. "Go slow, and it will be fine."

I ease in further, releasing more lubricant as I burrow my tentacle deep inside Dean. His breath is shaking, his hands clinging to my shoulders with a death grip. The intensity of it all is beautiful. I've never shared anything like this with another person.

"Deeper," he begs.

"Hold on." I withdraw from him, spreading the lubricant as I go. When I push in again, the way is smoother. I coil my tentacles near the tip, so I can push more of myself inside him. The way his body swallows me is the stuff of my fantasies. This is better than I ever imagined. I didn't think a man could take this much of me. I keep pushing, even when Dean lets out a guttural groan, even when his walls are so tight that the pressure is almost painful.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck. Stop," he says, his body tensing up.

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."