12. Dean

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 eat you , 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.

"Would you rather not do the holiday fair? I'd love to do something with you, Art, no matter what it is," I say.

He breathes out a sigh, and a tentacle slithers toward me before he actually gives it a tiny glare. He looks up at me then, explaining, "I am usually not very good at public events. I am… awkward."

I smile at him, walking back over to give him a hug (and to let his tentacles wrap me back up—I will never get tired of that feeling). "Art, I'll be with you. I'll help you get through any awkward moments. But if you have no interest in going, that's fine too, and we can pick something else. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"Will there be skating on frozen water again?" he asks suspiciously.

"No, Art, no frozen water. And if there is, we won't skate on it, I promise," I answer.

"Then I would like to go. I am always interested in the customs of other cultures, but I often feel out of place. If you will not be embarrassed by my presence, I think it could be an educational experience." He looks me up and down and adds, "Though I suppose you will need to get dressed."

His sad look at that idea makes me smile. "Yeah, but we can swing by my place for me to grab some clothes. I'm not far from here," I say, looking for my shirt and shoes. I can't wait to spend the day with Art and introduce him to all things Christmas.

We stop off at my place for me to get changed, and then we stop by the deli I'd been thinking of, and Art is quite pleased with the bagel and lox I tell him to try. I'm kind of surprised he hasn't had it before, and I'm glad to introduce him to something new that he clearly enjoys.

We eat at a leisurely pace, chatting the whole time about work, books, and movies. It turns out that Art has seen a few movies, despite not being a fan of television in general, and he especially loves critiquing anything set near or in the ocean. His commentary is hysterical, and it makes me want to watch them all with him to get the firsthand critiques. A movie date is definitely in our future—although maybe not at a movie theater, because I can tell Art will not be able to hold back the comments when things are inaccurate. That's ok by me—I've never minded someone who talked during a movie.

By the time we finish eating and head over to the holiday bazaar, it's actually afternoon, and the festival is crowded but not so packed you can't walk. I grab Art's hand, leading him around to point out different stands. It's a very cryptid-friendly neighborhood, so luckily no one gives his tentacles a second glance, although I notice he tries to keep them held against himself or they hold onto me (which I definitely don't complain about).

He's fascinated by the glass ornament stand, marveling at how the artist was able to capture such an oceanic feel to some of them. They really are beautiful, and I notice him gazing at one that he says reminds him of a jellyfish. I grab the guy's card when Art isn't looking, making a mental note to get him one for a gift. Art may not celebrate Christmas, but I still want to get him a gift. I'll have to let him know, though, so he doesn't feel awkward that he didn't get me one.

We make it around most of the stands, and Art and I buy a pair of matching hats and mittens that are too cute to pass up. I use the excuse that it's getting chilly, but really I just think Art looks adorable in a hat with a pompom.

The sun is setting when we get to the tree decorating competition area. It's a walkway with about twenty trees lining it, and they're all lit up and already twinkling in the twilight. I grab Art's hand as we walk towards them.

"This is one of my favorite things about this holiday bazaar. A bunch of different organizations and charities decorate the trees for the holiday season," I explain to Art. "I love how unique and creative the organizations get. Like that one! All the ornaments are made out of old book pages. Even the garland is made of book pages!" I marvel, stopping to stare.

"The librarian's association," Art reads off the stand in front of the tree. "I do not understand why librarians would use books in order to decorate a tree, Dean Miller. Are they not supposed to care for books? Yet these have obviously been torn apart."

"I never thought about it quite like that," I laugh. "Honestly, these were probably damaged books that were set to be destroyed. So they probably repurposed them."

"I do not understand why humans decorate trees for Christmas," Art states as we move on to the next tree. It's from a local elementary school, and my heart melts a little seeing all the handmade ornaments. "These ornaments are not even visually pleasing. They look like a child's craft project."

"They probably are. I used to make ornaments like that when I was a kid," I say. "They're pretty cheesy, but my mom and dad always hung them up in a place of honor on the tree. I think they still have them all packed away in a box somewhere. I can usually find at least a few on the tree at my parents' house each year," I chuckle.

Art is staring at me, and I can't quite place the look on his face. "This makes you very happy, Dean Miller."

"Well, yeah," I answer. "I guess we decorate trees because winter can be pretty bleak, and a little light and color amidst all that dreariness is pretty special. I think the ornaments become things that we pass down and are their own sort of tradition. Of course, there's probably some historical reason for it, but as a kid, I just loved the festive fun. We'd put on Christmas carols, make popcorn and gingerbread cookies, and all hang out together as a family."

"That sounds… pleasant," Art states.

We keep walking, and I drag him over to one of my favorite trees. "The local lgbtq+ center does this tree. Isn't it fantastic?" I ask. Everything is rainbow on the tree or has the colors of one of the lgbtq+ flags on it. There are animals, little figures, and even tiny knit ornaments in all the colors of the rainbow.

"Did you know that most species exhibit same sex pair bonding? Humans are one of the few species to exhibit homophobia," Art states.

"Yeah, but we're making progress," I state. Maybe I'm ever the optimist, or maybe cryptids really have been good for humanity.

We meander through the rest of the trees, and I can tell Art appreciates the thought that goes into all the decorating. When we're almost at the end of the walkway, I tell him, "I usually decorate the tree for the holiday party. Maybe this year you'll come with me and you'll get to see it."

"You'd like me to go to the holiday party with you?" Art asks, and he sounds surprised.

"Of course I would. I like you, Art. A lot. I want to do all sorts of things with you," I say, and Art blushes, which of course sends my mind in a totally dirty direction.

I lean forward and kiss him then, right in the middle of the twinkling lights, and I feel like we're in our own holiday movie.

"I think I might begin to enjoy the holiday season, Dean Miller," Art says, blushing and breathing heavily.

I lean my forehead against his. "I'll help you have a Merry Christmas, Art. You've already made my holiday season a million times better."