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Author: Amy the Evitable a.k.a. LunarGeography
Rating: Adults only
Warnings: Sex. Explicit sex. Yaoi sex. This fic was written in response to a request on the anonymous kink meme posted many moons ago, for tentacle fic. So tentacle sex ahead. If you are underage or do not want to read shameless boysex with tentacles, do not click. But everyone else... have a little faith in me, ok?
Last Updated: 2 February 2008

The Incubi: A Study in Agony or Ecstasy. Or Both.

"Strip. Now."

All things considered, Watanuki Kimihiro thought he had a perfectly reasonable excuse for taking a few moments to process the demand that had been curtly directed at him.

After all, he'd just hit the ground after the thing with all the – tentacles, they were tentacles, they certainly weren't... weren't – even if they were purply-red and had little, or not-so-little flared heads that became slick as they fondled – errr, handled – errr, restrained him with remarkable thoroughness in places that weren't usually thought of as restraining points and the restraining had involved an awful lot of stroking motions...

Anyway.

They were certainly tentacles, not Anything Else, no matter how phallic they were, because Anything Elses certainly weren't so bendy. Or prehensile in the slightest. And he was certain that the systematic destruction of his shirt – a pair of tentacles grabbing hold of his collar, and slowly, deliberately pulling the sides apart, first one button then the next ripping off with little popping noises in a forced striptease – was simply part of an extremely baroque and convoluted method of ripping him apart and consuming his blood.

Or at least he'd been praying that it was, praying that all it wanted was to eat him, as usual. That was normal. The anticipation of that type of death was kind of... well, comforting in its  familiarity. He could handle that. The prospect of being ripped apart and eaten wasn't new, or overwhelming, or utterly humiliating and somehow even more exciting for that, so he prayed that the thing with all the tentacles was just going about killing him in a very unusual manner.

A manner that required removing Watanuki's clothing, and rubbing up against some of his very sensitive bits.

So, anyway, he'd been praying that it was just going to eat him since he'd gotten a good look at what had grabbed him. Until two of the pe-- tentacles! They were tentacles! -- snuck down the front of his pants, and wrapped around an extremely personal place, gently rubbing and squeezing and stroking, and then he'd lost the ability to find words with which to pray at all.

He'd also lost a dismaying amount of his desire to run like hell.

Not that he could have, suspended almost a meter above the ground by all those tentacles that wound around his wrists and ankles and knees. They'd held him spread-eagled, presumably to give their eager, pulsing brethren better access to every inch of his body. He'd struggled madly against them, and against the ones that wrapped around his torso before reaching for the small of his back and the nape of his neck and those spots beneath his ears and his nipples, and rubbing against them in an incredibly distracting and horribly wonderful way.

All of that aside, his struggles had been utterly futile, and if he was honest, had given way to something more like writhing, and his protesting cries had taken on a note that was less-than-entirely-protesting.

Those cries would probably have been muffled soon, if the really big pe-- tentacle! – had been going where he thought it was going.

Then out of nowhere, there had been a blinding light, and he was falling. He'd gone straight from 'feels so good' to 'damn that hurt' and the breath had been knocked out of him. Once he managed to get air in his lungs again,  he was flat on his back on the ground. Then there was an archer above him.

A thin-lipped, furious archer, staring down at him with intense eyes, impossibly dark eyes with pupils he could fall into, and a white-knuckled grip on his bow.

And Watanuki was painfully aware of his ripped shirt, which did absolutely nothing to hide his erect nipples, and the throbbing ache below, harder than it had ever been and visibly straining against the fastening of his trousers – which were missing the button. The touches of the tentacles had pretty much melted away any coherent thought processes, and his humiliating position and the look on Doumeki's face – which was even more intensely angry than when Doumeki had first caught sight of his eye patch – were not helping him to carefully and rationally process the words Doumeki had uttered.

It certainly didn't help that he'd never, ever, ever anticipated hearing those two words paired together. Certainly not in any sentence directed towards him. Especially spoken by this most infuriating of classmates.

So Watanuki felt that that the total absence of any hint of outrage and fury from his response could not be held against him by any reasonable observer.

Besides, he was awfully busy trying to prop himself up on his elbows and trying to summon enough strength in his legs to at least move his knees together into a slightly less wanton pose.

"Whaa---aaaat?"

The last part of his bewildered query had emerged at significantly higher pitch than the first. This was due in part to the belated realization that Doumeki was staring at the unflagging erection attempting to escape from Watanuki's pants. It was also due in part to the step Doumeki took towards Watanuki while staring so inappropriately. Doumeki was now definitely looming, and doing so from between Watanuki's obscenely splayed legs. All that looming was almost... intimidating. Yes. Intimidating. That was all. Not arousing in the slightest. Just intimidating. Almost-intimidating.

All resolutions aside, all this intimidating, in-Watanuki's-personal-space looming was causing his heart to beat faster and was causing the yearning ache in Watanuki's unmentionables to intensify and throb in time with that racing heartbeat. Doumeki was intense and angry and he might do anything at all to Watanuki, anything, and Watanuki couldn't stop him and Watanuki was horrified to discover that he really, really liked that thought.

"Strip. Now." Doumeki's voice was deeper as he restated that impossible – ridiculous! Unreasonable! Humiliating! -- command as though he had every right to do so and every right to expect Watanuki to comply.

Even worse, the zipper slipped open a few more notches as a part of Watanuki twitched at hearing that command in that tone.

Oh, gods. This Was Not Happening. He was not lying on the ground, aching for the touch of that apathetic bastard's skin against his own. Watanuki would admit – because he was always fair! -- that Doumeki might have some qualities that in a certain light could be considered sexy. Ninety-two percent of the female population of Cross Academy (including the nurse) couldn't be entirely wrong. Doumeki was tall, with well-muscled shoulders, and he just exuded an aura of arrogant self-certainty. He was so damn indifferent to most of what occurred around him, but there were hints, rare hints, that intense feelings – volcanic feelings! -- lurked beneath, and Watanuki supposed that plenty of people had fantasized about breaking the dam containing the emotions lurking behind those amber eyes, and drowning in the resulting flood.

Not that he himself had ever woken from such a dream and needed desperately to do laundry before the sun came up. Hadn't ever had wandering thoughts about what might have happened when Doumeki forced him up against the wall... if the archer hadn't decided to demand a chat with his boss, instead of continuing to manhandle him.

Well. Purely abstract consideration of Doumeki's qualities aside, there was absolutely no way he was going to just up and finish the process of disrobing that had been begun by that tentacle thing. Nope. Not happening. Doumeki had fired a chi arrow into the tentacle-creature, and that was that, and now life would return to normal, and Watanuki would calmly and rationally explain this, just as soon as he managed to get a handle on the hormones rushing through his body that wanted to lay back and invite Doumeki to help him out with the whole stripping matter and to continue on from there as the archer saw fit.

"What the... Why should I--  ?"

"Take off your clothes or I will do it for you." Doumeki's grip on the bow tightened even further.

The zipper retreated another few notches, as that rebellious bit of Watanuki's anatomy surged forward even further in enthusiastic support of that notion. But he'd be damned if he let his penis do all the talking.

"Why in the name of all that is holy should I do that? It might have escaped your attention, but I am already significantly under-dressed, and I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to aggravate the problem further just to... to... to provide you with some sort of perverse amusement!"

Those amber eyes – which no longer looked either sleepy or apathetic in the slightest – finally looked away from his crotch. It wasn't much of an improvement in the situation, however, as Doumeki's gaze  made a leisurely and thorough tour of the rest of Watanuki's body, making it humiliatingly clear that no detail of Watanuki's sartorial status had escaped the archer's attention.

Watanuki hated, absolutely hated, the traditional archery uniform just now, because the folds of the hakama made it impossible to tell if Doumeki appreciated the view. The unblinking stare was searingly intense, but the sharply lowered brows and the crease between them spoke of anger, not arousal.

Damn.

Oh, god, he did not just think that. 

Watanuki had to wonder if prolonged humiliated flushing might be the cause of spontaneous human combustion, and rather wished he would  totally self-incinerate right here and right now. His arms were trembling, and he wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to remain propped on his elbows rather than flat on his back. Which was not going to help with the whole trying-to-grasp-the-tattered-remains-of-his-dignity thing.

He certainly was not thinking lewd thoughts as he watched Doumeki's fingers flex and clench around the bow, and certainly did not note that the fingers were long and refined-looking despite the callouses, or that the tendons standing in sharp relief along his wrists from that angry grip were an excellent reminder of the remarkable strength in those hands. Nope. Wasn't going there.

"That was an incubus. It had you in thrall --"

"It did not!"

A pointed stare at Watanuki's erection – oh, god, the zipper was entirely undone now – was Doumeki's only response, and it was excessively eloquent.

Spontaneous combustion was going to occur at any moment now. Please?

"You were in thrall. At least partially." A hint of a smirk, and then Doumeki's expression turned intense again, if not quite so angry. "It might have bound you to itself. If it did, it would leave a mark on your body. I need to make sure there isn't one. Now strip."

"Bound me?"

"I won't repeat myself again."

Watanuki found himself shrugging out of the remnants of his shirt. Doumeki Shizuka's given name was apt – even in his rage, he never raised his voice. There was something in his pointedly quiet tone that was almost impossible to argue with.

Almost.

But while Watanuki was never one to give up on an almost-hopeless cause, he was not at his best at the moment, and this clearly was not an argument he was going to win.

As he fumbled with the remnants of his shirt with shaking hands, the hot, miserable flush spread from his face down the back of his neck. His vision was blurring with what certainly were not tears of humiliation. They even more certainly were in no way tears of disappointment that Doumeki was only staring at him like that and demanding he strip just to make sure the tentacle monster – the incubus – hadn't bound him.

Since he was not upset, the question he asked as he attempted to peel the somewhat damp sleeves from his arms was simple curiosity, and not an attempt to distract himself from his misery and preserve some degree of composure. And his voice Did Not Wobble.

"Mark? What kind of mark?"

"An incubus has a symbol. Sort of a personal signature." Doumeki seemed a bit calmer – at least he no longer sounded like each word was being forced through gritted teeth. "When... when one of them binds a human to himself, that symbol will appear somewhere on the human's skin, like a tattoo. The symbol is on the incubus, too – right beneath the navel, over the second chakra. You might have seen it on the one that attacked you."

Oh. "Ah – yes, I saw it. It was a circle with rays coming out of it – like a sunburst." The shirt was putting up an impressive struggle, especially for a garment that had been mostly gutted by tentacles.  At least wrestling with it gave him an excuse not to look at Doumeki's face.

His hormones wondered if Doumeki was still staring at his... No.  Not going there. Enough frustration and humiliation for one night already.

With a final tear, the shirt yielded. Triumph! No longer pinned by his own garments, Watanuki sat up, and craned his neck, checking his bare torso. He didn't see anything... "There. Are you happy? No marks."

"Take your pants off. Briefs, too." Doumeki's voice was sharp.

"Are you insane?!"

"Off. All of it. Don't try and tell me it didn't manage to get beneath your pants."

Yes. That tone was angry. Very angry. What right did Doumeki have to sound so furious? He wasn't the one who'd been assaulted, and stripped, and then dropped flat on his ass, aroused and humiliated.  He wasn't the one fighting desperately to subdue the hardest erection of his life, desperately aching for touch, any touch, while some arrogant bastard loomed over him and issued orders.

"What the hell is your problem? Where do you get off being so pissed? Why do I have to strip here and now? I'll go home – by myself, damn it! -- and look in the mirror, and if there's a mark I'll go see Yuuko. You can take your demands and shove them--"

The bow hit the ground with a clatter, and Doumeki fell to his knees, wrapping his hands in the waistband of Watanuki's trousers. There was a flurry of motion, and the seer was flat on his back again as Doumeki lifted Watanuki's hips. A few quick yanks followed, as Doumeki carried out his threat of undressing Watanuki.

The trousers and underwear didn't put up even a fraction of the fight the shirt had. Or maybe Doumeki was just better at stripping people than he was. Bastard.

"You have no idea." It was a snarl, low and quiet, from the vicinity of his ankles, but before Watanuki's brain and body could agree upon a course of action Doumeki was straddling him on all fours. "None. An incubus can feed from your arousal – steal that all that potent energy that has every spirit in all of Japan chasing after you -- just by getting you off.  If it got you in thrall, you'd do whatever it wanted. Anything. It could have bound you to it as a mindless slave for the rest of your life, you idiot!"

Watanuki watched as his hand, all on its own, moved towards Doumeki. He didn't know if it would have pushed the archer away or pulled him closer, as it was intercepted and captured by a more heavily calloused hand. For a moment he expected (certainly didn't hope, of course not) that Doumeki would pin his wrist to the ground. But no; instead Watanuki's hand was lifted, and pressed against Doumeki's chest, over the archer's heart, as he continued to speak.

The anger in his tone was so incongruous with the careful grip... "And it found you. That means the spell that kept you hidden is breaking up, and if one found you, there will be more..."

Then Doumeki's face was even closer, and Watanuki's hand was released as his head was pulled up for a kiss – and Doumeki kissed like a starving man whose only sustenance for the next millennium was the taste of Watanuki's lips, of Watanuki's tongue, of Watanuki's mouth. The kiss was raw and desperate, bruising in intensity and thoroughly messy, and the arousal that had so overwhelmed Watanuki in the grip of the tentacle monster was utterly overshadowed by the need that left his skin burning now.

As they kissed, Watanuki pressed his palm harder against Doumeki's chest, felt the pounding heart beneath the heavy linen of the gi, and felt his understanding of his world break apart and reorder itself into something much, much warmer.

Then Doumeki broke the kiss, panting, and Watanuki whined in the back of his throat.

"You have no idea," repeated Doumeki between pants. "Been so damn careful not to scare you. You are so damn skittish!"

The kiss resumed again. Watanuki felt no need to break it to inform Doumeki that he was not feeling in the least bit skittish right now. Not now, not here in the warmer, brighter new world.

When this kiss ended, Watanuki pushed Doumeki's gi off -- baring the other man's  shoulders, tugging those sculpted arms free of the sleeves. He was only dimly aware that Doumeki was still talking --

"...no idea how much self-control it's taken. I've wanted...  been so careful – and there he was, making you writhe, ready to fuck you. You're mine." Another scorching kiss, all too short, but the gi was off now, and there was new territory for Watanuki to explore. "You're mine, Watanuki Kimihiro. I've kept you safe – killed for you, bled for you... Cried for you, you bastard... Tried so damn hard to wait until you were ready..."

Watanuki had a brilliant idea. He tore his hands away from kneading the archer's broad back in order to finish stripping the other man. Only fair, after all – if he was going to demand that Watanuki strip, Shizuka could damn well get naked, too! After a few moments of useless fumbling with the hakama ties– and in the process, his hands confirmed that Doumeki was just as hard as he was, yes! -- Watanuki craned his head so he could see what he was doing. He made a triumphant noise as the knot gave way, and the flowing pants almost fell off.

Then he saw something – something aside from the impressively large bulge in Doumeki's briefs -- something odd enough to penetrate the haze of lust.

"Doumeki – what is this – it looks like a birthmark. Or a tattoo. Of an eye. Right below... your navel...?"

And then Doumeki's skin was rippling, and the tentacles started to grow, reaching towards him, and as his understanding of the world shattered yet again, Watanuki realized that perhaps he should have wondered exactly how it was that Doumeki knew so much about incubi in the first place.

Rendered speechless by an epic clash of panic and desire, Watanuki scrabbled backwards, unaware that he was skinning his palms raw on the rough surface of the park path in his desperate attempt to flee. Several of the tentacles – dark red in color, flared heads, and god, he knew they hadn't been there even a moment ago, he'd had his hands over every inch of skin on Doumeki's torso – lengthened and moved toward him impossibly quickly. There was a burst of pain as gravel cut into Watanuki's left hand, as he pushed off, throwing himself to the right.

"Idiot!" A tentacle whipped around Watanuki's left wrist, and another  wrapped around the upper part of the opposite arm. "You'll hurt yourself."

Watanuki stared in horrified – definitely horrified, not anything else – fascination at the tentacle, the very, very phallic tentacle, wrapped around his wrist. It was pulling Watanuki's hand up to Doumeki's – no, this could not possibly be Doumeki, even though it had looked like Doumeki, spoken like Doumeki, insulted him like Doumeki, shot chi arrows like Doumeki, even carried Doumeki's scent (not of course, that Watanuki was in any way familiar with such an intimate detail) – up for closer inspection.

Watanuki tried to pull his hand back. Damn it, distinctively phallic tentacles should not be so strong.

"Let me see what you've done to yourself this time."

It really sounded just like Doumeki.

"What..." Watanuki cleared his throat, hoped his voice could manage something that didn't resemble a squeak quite so much. "Who are you? What are you?"

The Couldn't-Be-Doumeki abandoned his perusal of Watanuki's wounded palm, and met Watanuki's gaze. The crease between his brows deepened further, and he sat back on his knees, no longer looming above Watanuki. "You know who I am."

"No." Even Watanuki could hear the lack of conviction in the word. "Doumeki doesn't have... those things. He's human."

Some of the aforementioned things had wrapped around Watanuki's back and shoulders in a phallic-octopus hug, and were rubbing long soothing stokes up and down his back. It.. felt nice. Calming, even though Watanuki couldn't help but notice that all the tentacles were still very firm, and still seemed very happy to see him. As did the bulge in Doumeki's briefs.

Watanuki was working extremely hard not to notice his own unflagging erection.

"Mostly human. My grandfather made... an alliance. Even he needed someone to watch his back." There was a pointed look, and a pause. "I take after both he and my grandmother."

The hugging tentacles were starting to focus their efforts on the nape of Watanuki's neck, which was exceedingly unfair. "You... you didn't have those before." Watanuki twisted his wrist to stroke one of 'those' and was rewarded by a sudden, sharp inhalation.

"I didn't need them before. I told you, I've been careful." Doumeki brushed the back of his fingers against Watanuki's cheek, and the hand that was so competent at wielding broomsticks and bows, thieving food with chopsticks and breaking into his apartment, catching him as he fell – that hand was shaking a little as it touched him.

Shaking. As it touched him.

Watanuki stroked the tentacle that held his wrist again.

"I don't want to be careful now."

"That is not how normal people ask a question, you jerk," said Watanuki, but there wasn't much actual rancor in it, because that wasn't how normal people answered, either. Anyone else, and that ambiguous 'careful' would have worried him, but this was Doumeki, whatever he was, and Doumeki had given half the sight of his right eye, much of the blood in his body, ten hours standing in the rain, and too much else to think of just to  keep Watanuki safe and whole, and there was no way Doumeki would let him be hurt now.

An inchoate noise from deep inside the archer's chest, and the thick tentacles that had been hugging Watanuki wrapped more firmly around his torso, and were joined by others that wrapped around Watanuki's thighs, and they lifted him up, pulling him to straddle Doumeki's folded legs. There was that searing kiss again, a little less rough this time, and Doumeki's tongue was thrusting into his mouth. French kissing had always sounded unappealing to Watanuki, to be honest -- unsanitary and messy -- but in practice, those aggressive, exploratory forays were amazing, and he couldn't resist the urge to make his own.

Doumeki tasted of Watanuki's own cooking and of the perfect stillness of a hot summer day.

Watanuki whined as Doumeki took his mouth away too short a time later, and was soothed with closed-mouth kisses along his jawline, and warm licks and nips to his neck, and to that spot beneath Watanuki's ear that short-circuited his brain. So instead of demanding that Doumeki come back and kiss him like a man, the only sounds that came out of his mouth were long, drawn-out vowels.

That short-circuiting – all Doumeki's fault, every bit of it! -- was why Watanuki failed to notice a few pertinent details. When his still-captive wrist had been tugged into position for Doumeki to suckle his fingers, and then lifted so that Doumeki's oral explorations could continue up along the inside of his wrist and arm, for instance, it didn't really register that the hand hadn't ever been released. Watanuki was also somewhat fuzzy about when the other wrist had been similarly treated, the details lost in the almost-tickling sensation of Doumeki nuzzling the wispy hairs beneath his arm. 

Watanuki had also failed to really register that Doumeki had not lowered his head to nip at Watanuki's collarbone, but had simply lifted Watanuki up a bit further, using the tentacles wrapped around Watanuki's torso and the ones that now bound Watanuki's wrists above his head.  And Watanuki certainly wasn't going to pay attention to trivialities when Doumeki was flicking his tongue against Watanuki's nipple, especially when a slender, slick tentacle tip mirrored the action upon the other nipple. The sly expression revealed when Doumeki tilted his head  to watch Watanuki's face as he leaned in to suck at  the nipple – he sucked hard, a sensation so intense that Watanuki wasn't sure if it was pain or sharp, sharp pleasure --  should have been a sign that Doumeki had a wicked master plan in mind. Should have been a warning.

But there was only the slightest frisson of alarm running up Watanuki's spine, and maybe, just maybe, the nervous realization that Doumeki was fully in control here and had a definite agenda made Watanuki's blood burn just a little bit hotter.

In any case, Watanuki was entirely too caught up in the sliding sensation of tentacles against his skin as they spiraled up to his groin for any realization of the implications of having tentacles coiled around each of his legs -- until they'd lifted his thighs, pressing them almost up to his chest, and spread them wide. It was only then that Watanuki realized he was again suspended in the air above Doumeki's folded legs, limbs splayed, every hidden place of his body on display.

On display for Doumeki Shizuka, his rival and self-appointed bodyguard. Who was taking in the view with undisguised pleasure, and an entirely too-satisfied little smile on his lips and in his eyes.

"Is it some kind of --" Watanuki had to gasp as the tip of one of the tentacles danced along the hollow of his inner thigh, along the crease where thigh became groin, so close to where he wanted to be touched. "-- Some kind of incubus rule that you have to dangle people in the air in lewd poses --" The slick head of a tentacle brushing fleetingly against the equally slick head of Watanuki's erection dragged a noise up from deep in Watanuki's throat, but he was going to finish his complaint, come hell, high water, or embarrassing Doumeki-elicited noises. "-- Lewd poses for you to stare at?"

"Gives the best view." Doumeki's hands joined the fun, cupping Watanuki's ass, kneading, holding the cheeks apart, and Watanuki felt his face flame as he realized how close Doumeki was to -- Then a tentacle rubbed against his balls, and it wasn't where he most wanted to be rubbed against, but it was good, so very good, and then Watanuki struggled to buck his hips, to move closer, so his aching, throbbing cock could rub against something, anything, even for a moment. The tentacles were as strong and unyielding as the rest of Doumeki, though, and Watanuki was stretched out and restrained so that he could barely even writhe, barely twist, and his desperate cock touched nothing but air.

Something between a whine and a growl was coming out of his mouth, and it was making Doumeki look even more triumphantly smug.

Hell, no. Two could play at this game, and Doumeki seemed to have even more highly sensitive skin to play with than Watanuki did just now, assuming that all those tentacles were phallic in more than appearance. His fingers could just barely reach one of the thick shafts wound around his wrists, and he brushed his fingertips across it, and back again.

Doumeki's eyes widened a bit.

Watanuki did it again, and again, and the tentacle slithered up to meet his fingertips, eager for a firmer touch. He traced his fingers around the rim of the flared head, up and over the tip – there was a slit, and if the growing slickness was any indication, the tentacles were absolutely phallic in more than appearance.

Doumeki was breathing harder, but Watanuki wanted to see if he could get the taciturn bastard to make more noise. Having never tried anything like this before and never having had it done to him – never had an opportunity for either, okay, fine – he couldn't be sure, but if comments overheard in the locker room were anything to go by, this ought to get a satisfying reaction.

He twisted his neck awkwardly – he'd get a crick if he had to hold this position long – and licked the head of the tentacle that had been rubbing the spot beneath his ear.

The sharp, harsh inhalation was music to his ears. He licked again, and felt Doumeki's hands clench against his ass. And either he'd managed to gain a miraculous degree of extra flexibility or the tentacle was moving toward his mouth, because he was able now to take the head between his lips and suck.

This time he was rewarded with a undeniable, unmistakable groan. He straightened his neck, and the phallus followed, and while Watanuki wasn't terribly fond of the salty and slightly bitter taste it had acquired, the noise Doumeki was making, incomprehensible and guttural and primal, was better than anything he'd ever heard in his life. He sucked harder, and flicked his tongue against the suede-like skin.

If Doumeki continued those growling moans, Watanuki thought he might come just from knowing that he was the one driving Doumeki to make those sounds. He took the tentacle deeper, and while he wasn't able to suck as intensely and the whole process was getting both dribbly and noisy, Doumeki gave no sign of objecting in the least. The hands  kneading his ass were gripping even more firmly, and the stroking of tentacles across his skin were becoming faster, firmer – less calculated, less controlled.

Good. It was very, very good, and the only thing that would be better would be to feel a touch against his own erection.

Then the tentacle slid out of his mouth and down his chin, tilting his head up. Doumeki's pupils were huge, the amber just a thin ring around the darkness, and his expression was searingly intense.

"Oi."

"What?" It was the first time Watanuki could remember using an interrogative as a curse.

"This isn't a game, idiot. Keep it up  and I won't hold back."

"You arrogant ass! Do you think I'm stupid?" Doumeki didn't react to the insult. His expression was dead serious, and his lips were thin and pale from strain. Watanuki realized Doumeki was just barely keeping himself under control, and the realization both sent a chill up his back and made his cock twitch. The thought of what Doumeki would do if that control broke – would do to him, with all those tentacles and those hands, that mouth, that cock – was enough to make him a little nervous. And that fear turned him on more than anything else he'd ever encountered in his life.

"You – are you going to hurt me?" Watanuki tried to make his tone challenging, but it was too breathy, too shaky, to have succeeded.

Doumeki's cock twitched beneath his briefs, and the hands on Watanuki's ass flexed, and then Doumeki was biting his own lower lip. It took him a moment to still his body, and when he answered, his voice was rough. "No. Never. But there's a lot I've wanted to do to you. For a long time."

"We're outside. Anyone could --"

"No. There's a barrier. No one will see us." Doumeki's eyes were narrowed, and he looked dangerous. Feral. "No one will save you. Not from me."

Oh.

Watanuki ducked his head, and sucked the tentacle back into his mouth.

The noise that Doumeki made had Watanuki bucking his hips desperately, and dipping his head to take even more of the length into his mouth. It was too much, and he had to pull back and cough. Doumeki leaned forward then to brush kisses over his cheeks, at the corner of their shared eye, against his neck. Then Doumeki shifted position to yank his briefs down his thighs.

Dear god, Doumeki's cock was as long and thick as he'd feared – ok, maybe hoped, and if he was an incurable pervert for the rest of his life, it was all Doumeki's fault -- it would be. Watanuki stared at the thick shaft that curved a little to the left, the wet head protruding from the foreskin, the dark purple color. Then one of Doumeki's tentacles took hold of his chin, and tilted his head up for another kiss – and other tentacles pulled Watanuki's body in closer, and oh, god, Doumeki's cock rubbed up against his cock, and it was so good.  Watanuki bucked his hips, getting as much motion as he could, just to feel his cock moving against Doumeki's. He wanted more contact, not just this teasing momentary slide of shaft against shaft, but he was held too far away to rub himself against the broad, hard surface of Doumeki's belly, and he would take whatever touch against his cock he could get.

The phalluses that bound his wrists re-arranged themselves, and the heads were rubbing against his fingers. He couldn't move his hands to stroke them properly, but he wrapped his fingers around the tentacles and let them thrust against his grip. It was enough, apparently, as one of them pulsed and coated his hand with warm wetness – and was almost immediately replaced by another.

Watanuki realized his nipples were being caressed again, and tentacles rubbed against his balls and along the sensitized skin of his thighs. Doumeki dragged his fingernails down Watanuki's back, sending waves of goosebumps out from where they touched, and then each hand took a firm grasp of a cheek, and pulled them apart.

A draft of cool air against his opening made Watanuki realize how exposed he was now, and he felt a surge of embarrassed heat across his skin. Doumeki broke the kiss – really, it was more of a mutual devouring than a proper kiss – and tentacles pulled Watanuki's body back and up, spread his raised thighs a little further, and tilted him just so.

A tentacle lifted his balls, and Watanuki realized that Doumeki was staring down at... at his... at his asshole.

The near-incendiary blush returned and his stomach clenched in trepidation. He'd known this was what guys did to each other, realized that Doumeki was going to fuck him, and abstractly knew that meant Doumeki would be pushing himself inside that opening. But that abstract understanding was a different thing entirely from Doumeki holding him open and staring so hungrily between Watanuki's legs – and having such a damn big erection as he did it!

The touch of a smooth tentacle head between his cheeks had him jerking involuntarily, trying to pull away from the contact. Not that it was possible, the way that he was pinioned. Damn it, damn it, damn damn damn. He was not going to act like some high-strung nervous virgin. Nope. Wasn't going to get all tense and twitchy over this. He stared off to the side fixedly, as he tried to convince his body of this fact.

"Watanuki."

He was not going to look at Doumeki. He was not nervous, and there was absolutely no call for a long, steady look and reassuring words, so Watanuki was just going to keep looking off to the side.

Stupid tentacles.

They tilted his chin up, and he had to look when Doumeki said his name a second time. His lower lip was absolutely not trembling as Doumeki continued. "It'll be all right. Just feel."

Doumeki continued staring straight into his eyes as the tentacle began to rub up and down his crevice, making no move to enter him. Just stroked over the skin, slowly, steadily, slickness from the head making the sliding easy. And it felt... good.

It wasn't supposed to feel good, having something rubbing over his asshole like that, but Watanuki was finding that it was a really, really sensitive spot. Touching there didn't create the sharp tingling line of pleasure that went straight from his skin to his groin he got when Doumeki played with his nipples. It was slow-building warmth, somehow fuzzy and relaxing, even as the desire to come was building up again -- after having taken a momentary break due to panic. Watanuki rocked his hips, and the tentacles let him move this time, let him guide the slow caresses into more of a thrusting between his cheeks. Not entering him, not yet, but pressing more firmly against his opening, rubbing just a little bit at the even more sensitive skin at his rim.

Watanuki liked that, liked it a great deal – and Doumeki seemed to like it as well, speeding up his thrusts, making them a little harder. Watanuki was watching as the archer's face went slack, eyes rolling back a moment as he expelled a shuddering breath and the tentacle spurted wet warmth.

There could not be a more arousing combination of sight and sound in the universe. And he'd hit himself later for thinking something so cheesy.

Later.

Because now a new tentacle – this one felt more slender than the others – was flicking back and forth over his now thoroughly-lubricated ass. The tentacle was pressing in circles along the edge, pressing harder, playing at the very lip of his entrance, then easing back to feather-light touches.

Watanuki wanted that touch, that firm touch, along his rim. Inside his rim, to see if the inside was just as sensitive as the outside. He wanted to feel that slender tentacle rubbing in and out, against all of that unexpectedly sensitive skin. The next time the touch became firm, he thrust his hips down, and felt it slide effortlessly into his ass.

The slide in felt as good as he'd expected. It was strange, once it was inside him, to feel something holding him open, and he lifted his hips up and away. The the slide out was just as humiliatingly sensual. It really was a thin tentacle; it felt like maybe it was the width of Watanuki's pinky.

"Again." Watanuki would have been embarrassed at the breathy quality to his voice, but Doumeki's eagerness to comply with his order – for once! -- took the sting away. Again, a slow, shallow thrust, in and out, stroking against his inside walls. Again, and again.

He really wasn't supposed to like this so much, was he? There were words for guys who liked this...

And this time the tentacle went in, and stayed in. His ass spasmed around it, and Doumeki moaned a long exhalation, and trembled, but stayed still, buried inside him. Watanuki's internal muscles twitched a few more times, as his entrance tried to adapt to being held open.

"Ok?" Doumeki's voice had never sounded so raw. Watanuki could only nod in return – his own voice seemed to have traitorously abandoned him.

Doumeki's tentacle thrust deeper, then eased back without leaving Watanuki's body. Then Doumeki thrust again, going deeper, and suddenly the languorous sensations of being entered were overwhelmed by a jolt  of pleasure that burst from deep within him to tingle warmth through Watanuki's whole body. And his voice seemed to have returned, at full volume.

Then Doumeki did it again, and Watanuki's hips were moving to meet the thrust, impatient, searching for that fiery explosion of pleasure again. And Doumeki gave it to him. They moved together, gracelessly at first, then more smoothly as Watanuki learned at just what angle, at what moment, to push down to maximize the pleasure. After a few minutes, the tentacle went rigid and pulsed inside him, delightfully warm, and Watanuki was going make an observation on the unfairness of the situation – all the coming had been on Doumeki's side, and the need to come was building steadily inside Watanuki – when the spent tentacle slid out and he felt two more begin to probe at his entrance.

"Will they --" He felt an utter moron for even asking, but they seemed wider than the first, just a little wider, but there were *two* of them! "—will they fit?"

"Yes. Oh, yes."

They did. The entry stung, and he had to wriggle a little and the tentacles had to change the angle of entry so they didn't press uncomfortably against his inner walls – but Doumeki alternated the thrusts between the tentacles, and those bursts of pleasure were coming even more frequently, and now Watanuki needed to come, needed to come so badly. There were tentacles stroking his nipples again, and Watanuki wasn't sure when that had re-started, but all the sensation was overwhelming him.

Damn, was he going to come just from the feel of Doumeki inside him and having his nipples rubbed?

He was almost certain the answer was yes, when the tentacle that was still wrapped around his balls pulled them away from his body. It didn't hurt, but Watanuki snarled all the same. Because even though the need to come -- the sensation of being on just on the verge, almost, almost, so close! -- was still just as strong, he couldn't come. Not with them held like that.

"Not yet."

"Bastard..." Watanuki let it trail off into a moan.

"Need to stretch you... more..."

The tiny part of his brain that wasn't completely busy processing all the sensory input wondered if he *could* stretch more. The two phalluses inside him were good, but he felt extremely stretched already – his hole felt like it was wide open accommodating what he already had.

Then a third pushed inside, and Watanuki was convinced he was going to split right up the middle. This was too much, it wasn't good, and he opened his mouth to say so – then another tentacle wrapped around  his cock and there were no words. Noises, an abundance of noises, but no words. Either his entrance stopped hurting, or he was no longer able to feel anything except the pressure moving up and down his cock, the thrusts deep inside his body, the constant sliding of tentacles through his entrance. It was too much, terrifying, overwhelming, wonderful, and he never wanted it to stop and he'd die if he couldn't come, and the bastard still had his balls pulled out from his body.

There was the pulsing warmth inside of him, more than once, and the tentacles slid out. Doumeki positioned Watanuki over his cock –  finally! --  and carefully lowered Watanuki's body. It was beyond slow, the entry, as Doumeki eased in centimeter by centimeter. Watanuki twisted and bucked, wanting to feel Doumeki's cock deep inside of him, wanting to feel that explosion of pleasure again, but the tentacles that were wound around his body tightened, taking away all Watanuki's freedom of movement. He strained against them, but Doumeki would not budge.

His face, though, as he impaled Watanuki with torturous deliberation, was a study in agony or ecstasy – or both. Eyes closed, lips tight, jaw clenched – Doumeki was torturing himself as much as Watanuki. Watanuki wanted to touch the archer, wanted to feel the tendons that stood out in sharp relief along his neck. Wanted to lick at the sweat – and even the liquid that wasn't sweat – that dotted Doumeki's chest and forehead. There damn well was going to be a next time, when he'd get to do all the exploring and teasing he damn well pleased.

Then Doumeki's cock went deep enough to set off the molten explosions of pleasure, and Watanuki flung his head back, the only motion he had available to release the overwhelming sensation, and he couldn't watch the archer's expression any more. But he could hear the panting, feel the hands and tentacles on his body shaking as that last centimeter slid in, and he could feel Doumeki's balls pressed against his skin.

Doumeki started to move him, sliding Watanuki's body up and down on that thick cock. He pulled Watanuki's head in close for kissing, but there was too much motion, making teeth meet lips with painful force, and neither of them were willing to remain stationary long enough to kiss without damage. Watanuki considered taking a tentacle into his mouth again, but didn't trust himself not to use his teeth in his distraction.

It was all about sensation, about the building, inescapable need to come. Somehow the tentacles that bound him helped center him, in the typhoon of sensation. He pulled against them, and they were solid and reassuring, an anchor, and damn it, did this mean he had a thing for bondage?

"More... just a little more," whispered Doumeki, and Watanuki didn't think he could take much more. Then the archer changed his rhythm, to a sharper, harder lunge up and in, a gentler, rolling withdrawal, and the tentacle released Watanuki's balls, and it felt like the terrifying first moment of free-fall on a roller-coaster, or like a firework had to feel as it exploded, as he finally came.

Watanuki's toes would be cramping for the next few days from the force with which they were curled; his back would ache from the degree of arch he achieved. So much better than anything he'd achieved touching himself. Worth – damn it – worth all the waiting Doumeki had forced upon him.

He was just beginning to come down from where he was floating when he felt Doumeki stiffen. Watanuki was pulled in close to the archer's body, chest pressed to chest, and Watanuki's legs wrapped around Doumeki's torso. Arms and tentacles wound around him in the tightest embrace, cradling the seer, covering him, almost creating a barrier of Doumeki-flesh around Watanuki, to keep the world out.

And the description of the noise Doumeki made as he came was something that Watanuki would never, ever share with another soul. It was Watanuki's alone to treasure.

They were definitely going to do this again.

~***~

Epilogue

Doumeki ran the damp washcloth over the last of Watanuki's skin, and gently patted him dry with a towel. He wasn't sure if Watanuki had passed out or fallen into an exhausted sleep after their lovemaking, but as his heartbeat was slow and regular, Doumeki wasn't concerned.

He'd garnered more odd looks carrying Watanuki back to the shrine than usual. Watanuki's clothes had sustained less damage then in some of the battles they'd fought against malicious spirits, and most of that was in the front, hidden from sight as he carried the other piggyback. Neither of them was bleeding, his tentacles had subsided , and his own clothing was entirely undamaged. The strange looks had to be due to the scent of sex that clung to the two of them.

They didn't trouble him particularly. It would take a great deal to trouble him right now. He'd taken his lover to the shrine, to his room, laid Watanuki down on his futon, and cleaned the two of them up as best he could without actually dragging them both into the bath, which seemed too much trouble to go to at the moment. There was no question of going to Watanuki's apartment. Watanuki was not going to be out of his sight in the next few days, and he wanted to keep the seer on the warded grounds of the temple for as much of that time as he could manage. Watanuki was too attractive, both physically and spiritually. That other incubus would be back – his chi arrow hadn't destroyed it, just scattered its energies. His arrows didn't have the power required to banish a full-blooded incubus for any length of time.

Well, they hadn't before now. 

Doumeki basked in the feeling of satisfaction. The amount of chi Watanuki generated was amazing, and the idiot had been as generous with his power as he was with everything else he possessed. Doumeki half-expected his own skin to be glowing from the spiritual energy coursing through him after their lovemaking. Watanuki was already regenerating the energy – it was much of the reason for the deep sleep. Doumeki would see to it that Watanuki slept safely for as long as necessary.

He laid down next to Watanuki, pulled the quilt over them both, and the other curled against him with an incomprehensible murmur. He  wrapped his arm around Watanuki's waist, and let his palm rest on his lover's lower back, right above the curve of Watanuki's ass.

Let his palm rest directly on top of the dark marking – rather like a tattoo – in the shape of an eye – that now decorated that patch of his lover's skin.

Watanuki was going to throw a fit when he saw it. It should prove to be very entertaining.

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Omake (Written for Talk Like a Pirate Day)
by
Mr. LunarGeography

....krzzzzhttttt .... begin pirate transmission ........

The tentacles was whirlin' and buzzin' around like a Saint Elmo's fire on a bad night, and make ye no mistake, Watanuki's heart was banging in his chest.  He struggled some against those what was restraining him, stumbling a little as his land legs tried to keep him steady against a sea swell that wasn't.  No, t'were the truth that the only thing a-swelling were inside Watanuki's breeches, or would have been if he weren't wearing none, but he tried ter keep his mind off of that, as well as them tentacles.  They couldn'ta corresponded directly ta any o' Doumeki's limbs, because there was no eyepatch on any of them, nor wooden bits, nor thank Neptune any hooks.

"I find this not be to my likin'," Watanuki said, as more of them blasted tentacles came round and wrapped themselves round his extremity-bits, exceptin' the wooden one which fell onto the rocks as the tentacles lifted Watanuki into the air, in a sort of vertical spread-albatross.  "It's rather constrictin', and the breeze be cold upon my pirate parts."


In truth, the breeze was pleasant and Watanuki felt his own self to be warmin' unfortunately as the restrictiveness was more enjoyable than he had ever of thought it might be, and none of them tentacles looked to be as painful as a floggin'.

As usual, that old scalawag Doumeki didn't say much, just give a look into Watanuki's eye that left no doubt what was a-going to happen nor that Watanuki would enjoy it more than he regretted it, even if only by a little.  The ghost of Doumeki's last parrot perched on his shoulder, and laughed that horrible screech at Watanuki.  "You've tasted rum," shrieked the ex-parrot.  "You've tasted the lash."

It looked like it might of said more, but a tentacle whipped through the space where the dead parrot was, and it looked annoyed and flew off.  It always were a temperamental beast.

Them tentacles were actual kinda warm against Watanuki's skin, and the flush was for sure and overpowering.  Doumeki smiled, and started to shanty.  As he did so, some of the tentacles which looked like other things what Watanuki was refusin' to consider, they started to sway, and he found his eyes drawn to the dancing tentacles even as he could feel some of the other ones shifting down belowdecks.

It were called "Sugar in the Hold," and although Doumeki sang it wrong, Watanuki found he couldn't bring it on himself to issue the correction.  And after, Doumeki bein' senior seaman, 'tweren't his place.

"Hey, ho, below, below," Doumeki chanted, tentacles still whizzin' and swayin' and Watanuki could feel them slithering around past his nipples there, almost in time to the beat.  "Stowing sugar in the hold below," that one almost grazed the underside of Watanuki's mains'l, and he gasped.  Doumeki frowned, it sounded too much like a whistle, bad luck, Watanuki shut his mouth tight as one of them tentacles dipped itself forwards.

Doumeki continued, "Hey," nipple, "ho," nipple, "below," graze, "below," graze, "Stowing sugar in the hold below." And a firm stroke from base to rigging.  Watanuki twitched and even shuddered some, mateys, but he didn't make noise this time.

"Watanuki, she's my new boat," and he could a sweared that one of the blasted warm (so warm) things kissed him on the forehead.  He might have thought somethin' funny of that if he coulda thought straightly now, but his mind was blowing loose in the breeze, tacking about like a small craft trying to advance in the face of a mighty gale.

"Stem to stern she's mighty fine," and it mighta been one or it mighta been many, but Watanuki was stroked from mainsail to mizzen, fo'c'scle to fantail.  Watanuki shuddered some more, and another one of them involuntary gasps escaped his pursed lips.  It weren't a whistle, but it drew immediate attention.

"Beat any boat on the Hitsuzen line," one of them tentacles just slipped itself into Watanuki's mouth and it kinda of tasted like applejack, but with a hint of somethin' more musky in there.  Like the difference betwixt sugar and molasses.  This was the darker stuff, stronger, and as it laid there on Watanuki's startled tongue, it beat to the tune of Doumeki's heart.  Or something deeper.

"Stowing sugar in the hold below," another good stroke from aft to fore, and Watanuki felt a gentle pressure near his stern seam.  He shivered down to his very timbers.

....krackkkkle .... pirate transmission ends ........

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