7. Dean

Dean

We sit on the couch as I flip through streaming channels, and I'm hyper-aware of Art next to me, his tentacle lightly resting against me, his thigh pressing against mine.

I don't know if I'll survive a movie without demanding he wrap me up and attach those suckers to every part of me.

But I can do this. I can move slowly. I can give Art time to get used to the idea of us being intimate. I will not rush him.

I just keep telling myself that, but my dick has other ideas.

We need a distraction. I click on a service and flick through some options, asking, "Anything in particular you want to watch?"

"I do not watch much television. I find reading to be a better way of acquiring information," Art states.

I should've guessed that would be his answer. "Does anything look interesting?" I ask.

He points to an old television show that was around before cryptids came out. "What is that one? I was not aware that vampire slaying was considered a field of study or a job choice."

I try not to laugh, because I don't want Art to think I'm laughing at him. "Um, no. Buffy started before cryptids came out, and then they stuck with the world building. It's not based in reality," I answer.

"Ah, it conveys what humans thought of cryptids before they were public. It would be interesting to see how vampires were portrayed before humans understood the reality of the situation," Art answers.

I give a shrug and hit play. It ends up starting on a random episode and not on episode one—I admit I might have binge watched it a few months ago when I had the flu.

I should probably encourage Art not to talk through the whole episode, but his comments are too amusing, and I love how he views things. Watching Buffy with him is a lot of fun. When the episode is over, he looks at me, perplexed.

"I do not understand why vampires would kill humans. It makes no logical sense for them to sacrifice their food source when it is unnecessary. It would be like killing a sheep after you took the wool. The sheep will produce more wool, and thus it is more lucrative to keep it alive. It is also highly judgemental that they classify all vampires as evil. Their portrayal of witches is also strange. And surely such a thing as a ‘hellmouth' has never existed," he says, staring at me.

I try to focus on what he's saying, I really do, and I did a great job through most of the show, but his tentacles are wandering again now that he isn't focused on the show. One is gently kneading my thigh, and another is resting along the back of my neck, and I can feel his suckers gently latching and unlatching against my skin.

"Um, yeah, it's fiction. No one took it as real at the time, and no one thought vampires really existed," I say, barely suppressing a groan as I finish my sentence.

Art seems to notice, because his tentacles stop their motion, although he doesn't move them.

"Have we reached the part of the dance where we are able to achieve mutually beneficial pleasure with one another?" Art asks, and I swear the innocent look on his face only makes the question that much hotter.

"Fuck, Art, you're killing me," I murmur.

He looks surprised at that. "That is certainly not my intention," he states stiffly, and his tentacles start to withdraw.

I grab onto the one on my thigh, holding it in place and taking a deep breath. Words. Words are good. I can use my words to reassure Art.

"Not literally, Art. In a good way. Hasn't anyone ever said that to you during… ah, intimate moments?" I ask.

Art shakes his head, and I wonder if most cephalopods are as literal as Art. I don't know if he actually has any experience with a human or not.

"Have you ever been intimate with a human before?" I ask gently, stroking his tentacle on my thigh. It starts to gently knead the fabric of my pants again, and the one against my neck, which has been still, tightens slightly against my skin.

"I have never had an intimate encounter before," Art explains.

"With a human?" I clarify, because surely…

"With a human or cryptid. Is this the part of the dance where we give each other orgasms? I am very much looking forward to that," he states.

Holy shit. Art has never had sex before.

He leans back then, his face scrunching up a bit in thought, his tentacles stilling. "I am unsure how mating practices among humans are carried out. I have watched pornography for research purposes, but I do not think it is always an accurate portrayal of mating customs. I am unsure how to proceed in this situation," he admits.

"You want to proceed?" I ask, a little breathless.

"Oh,, yes, I very much would like to proceed, but I am unsure of the correct course of action," Art admits, and his tentacles squeeze tightly around both my thigh and the back of my neck, sending shivers coursing through my body. He looks embarrassed and goes to pull away, the suckers on the back of my neck making little sounds as they pop off my skin. I can't help it, I groan. I didn't realize my neck was such an erogenous zone.

"Good," I murmur, reaching out and stroking his tentacles, following one up to his torso and stroking that as well. "I mean," I add, "good that you want to proceed. Because so do I. And there is no correct course of action when it comes to intimacy. We just… we do what feels good. There's no right or wrong. But that means we have to talk to one another and say if we don't like something. So if I touch you in a way that you don't like, you have to tell me."

"I cannot imagine that there is any touching from you I would not like, Dean Miller."

I smile at his use of my full name while we're talking about sex. "Same for me," I admit. "I like all your touches."

"Even my… even my tentacles?" he asks unsurely. "Because they might…" he trails off, embarrassed.

I groan, thinking about what they ‘might' do. "Yes, please," I say. "I would like your tentacles on every part of me, Art. In every part of me. I think your tentacles are sexy as hell, just like you, and I can promise you that if I don't like something, I will tell you. But I'm pretty sure I will like just about anything your tentacles do to me."

With that, I lean forward and kiss him, because I can tell I'm going to have to take the lead here, and I don't mind that one bit.

We start off slowly, pressing our lips together, our mouths opening and our tongues gently touching. It doesn't take much for Art's tentacles to pull me in closer, though, until I'm on his lap. One traces up under my shirt onto my back, and the suckers latch on, providing an amazing sensation like he's sucking on my skin in a million spots.

I can't control the moan that falls from my lips, and I don't even try. I do need to feel his skin though, so I mumble out, "Too many clothes. Off."

It's not that great when it comes to using my words, but Art doesn't seem to mind, because his tentacles and hands end up stripping off my shirt and his shirt. I unbuckle my pants and reach to unbuckle his, but his mouth is back on mine then, and we're both groaning as we kiss.

His tentacles have totally surrounded me and pulled me in close, and the tip of one reaches around and latches onto my nipple. I pull back, gasping. "Holy fuck," I cry out as it pulls off with a pop.

"Is ‘holy fuck' a positive reaction?" Art asks.

"God, yes," I say, and his tentacle latches onto my nipple again, the tip of another one reaching around to my other nipple. "Fuck, Art, that feels so good."

"You taste delicious, Dean," he murmurs.

I have a moment to think about him finally using just my first name, and then another moment to think about the fact that he is tasting me, which is hot as hell, and then both suckers are plucking at my nipples, and all I can do is groan in ecstacy.

I somehow manage to lift my hands and rub against his chest, finding one of his nipples to rub and pluck.

"Oh," Art breathes out with a sigh of pleasure. "Yes, that is holy fuck," he murmurs.

I laugh a little, and then we're kissing again, our chests pressed together, and a tentacle is inching its way down the back of my pants.

"Oh, god, yes, Art," I murmur as his tentacle reaches my ass, gently caressing it. I can't help imagining his tentacles around my dick and in my ass, and I groan again, panting against his mouth.

"You like this, Dean?" he asks, and I'm happy to note he's breathless as well. "You taste so good. I cannot help but wonder how you taste everywhere."

"Art, you can taste me anywhere you want to. Please," I murmur against his lips, and then I trace my lips down and suck on his neck, making him arch his back. Our cocks rub together with the movement, and we both moan.

I manage to reach down and free myself from my pants, and then I reach into Art's pants, freeing his own erection. He's thick and hot and hard in my hand, and his head falls back against the couch as I grab onto his dick.

"Dean!" he cries out, and his hands still, but his tentacles seem to get more frenzied. The one in my pants reaches down to my hole, and I am so fucking grateful right now that I didn't wear tight pants. Another tentacle reaches down and wraps around my dick, making my own hand useless. I can barely focus, the pleasure is so intense.

Art's tentacle is gently pressing against my hole, and although he doesn't enter me, the feeling is amazing. Another one is coiled around my cock, and holy shit, he latches his suckers on, and it's like a dozen little mouths all along my dick, sucking.

"Art!" I cry out.

Precum leaks out of my dick, and the tentacle tip dips into it. It's like it's licking at my slit, and the feeling is intense.

Art groans, and I realize my hand is wrapped around him, but I'm barely even moving because I'm so overwhelmed with what he's doing to me. I try to focus on jerking his cock, using his own precum to make it slick, and from his moaning I must be doing something right.

"Dean, you taste… Gods, you taste so good," he murmurs, his tentacle squeezing my dick again, undulating against it, another one sucking at my hole. A tentacle is wrapped around my back, gripping me tightly, and another reaches around to suck onto my nipple again, and I can't take it.

My orgasm rushes over me, catching me by surprise in its intensity and suddenness. I come all over Art's tentacle, my hand rhythmically squeezing him and jerking faster as the pleasure rides through my body.

That seems to do it for Art, because his cum spurts out onto my hand.

"Dean!" he cries out, and I lean in, pressing my lips against his. We kiss as our orgasms wane, our grips on each other easing. His tentacles stop pulsing against me, and he just holds me tightly.

When we're out of breath and spent, I let my head rest against his shoulder, wrapping my arms around the back of his neck. I'm still encased in his tentacles, and I realize I really don't want to be anywhere else.