Work Text:
It’s early morning—but, well, you can’t really call this early morning; the sun hasn’t even crested and painted the skies with that pale, morning light from dark ocean blue to pale gold and turned their night into day.
Really, if Buck wants to admit it to himself, it’s still the middle of the night, but he’s not going to. He couldn’t sleep, and drinking at one of the few open bars wasn’t appealing to him, so he grabbed the surfboard he bought for cheap and decided to hit the sea. Even if he just waded out and bathed in the moonlight, he’d be happy; he just needed to get out of the hotel room he’d been provided, thanks to him working at one of the bars on the beach, and not be alone with his thoughts.
Though he supposes that being on the water alone would leave him alone with his thoughts, but at least he’d be in the ocean, feeling the waves lap at his knees, and make him smell like the salt and the sea, a pleasant smell that Buck never wants to let go of.
The sand is still warm under his toes, and he takes a moment to sink his feet into it and wiggle them around, grinning lazily at the grains of sand between his toes. He knows he’ll need a good shower after this, but he doesn’t mind the sand. Hell, he works on the beach, so he’s become accustomed to it.
Buck takes a moment to breathe in the salty ocean air and blows out a slow breath, a smile never wavering on his face. The waves are good tonight, crashing onto the sand and slithering back into the sea after disturbing the beach, swaths of frothy white bubbles cresting the waves. It’s a sight for sore eyes, and Buck doesn’t ever think he’ll get tired of it; it’s always such a beautiful thing to wake up and work on, listening to the waves crash along the beach while singing beers and sweet-talking in half-broken Spanish for better tips.
“Let’s do this,” Buck murmurs, adjusting the surfboard tucked under his right arm before walking down the small hill of sand, feet sinking into the loose grains. Nobody is around, but Buck still takes a moment to peek left or right, hoping no security guard decides to bust his ass for being on the beach late at night or seeing a couple out on a late-night walk on the beach.
Thankfully, it remains deserted past the occasional seagull flying overhead, either going out to sea to catch fish or heading further inland to find somewhere to settle down for the night and sleep. Buck wishes he could be asleep right now, but his brain has decided that it’s very firm on not letting him sleep, so he’s here.
Buck walks down to the sea, letting the incoming waves lap at his toes and encircle his ankles, leaving little smudges of froth around his leg before the wave slithers back into the dark sea, nothing but the moonlight scattering across the tops of the waves. It’s a good night, and the waves are even better for surfing if Buck’s eyes and knowledge on what are good waves and what aren’t are to be trusted.
After he took up surfing—to impress a girl, no less—he spent hours researching everything. Hours of sleuthing down rabbithole after rabbithole on tips, tricks, fun facts, and the like, Buck feels reasonably confident in his ability to point out good surfing waves and bad ones.
And right now, these ones look good—strong enough to ride, but not enough to capsize him and… you know, drown him. He’s really not looking to drown at sea, as that’d be a big bummer.
Buck smiles to himself, stepping back to place his surfboard on the ground, and grabbing the strap connecting to a small velcro ankle strap that he tugs open before encircling his ankle and ensuring it’s tight enough not to come off if he goes under. After a few cursory tugs, Buck deems it good enough and hoists his board back into his arms before stepping into the sea. He walks along the seafloor till the waves lap around his waist, and then he places his board in the water and hops on.
It takes a while to paddle out, with Buck mostly enjoying the cool water and riding the small waves that crash onto the beach, making him feel like he’s going over watery speed bumps. He’s not looking to win a competition, or anything here; all he wants to do is laze around on the sea before it either tires him out, or he’s had his fill of it, and can go pass out in his bed and sleep till the afternoon.
-
Buck knows he’s going to hit the wave wrong before he even gets near it; however, it’s too late to adjust or turn off course. It’s not the worst thing ever, because all he’ll need to do is just take in a deep breath and swim up to the surface. Swimming has always been easy for him, and he’s been swimming almost daily since he touched down in Peru a few months back.
He’s not worried, though he does let out a low groan before taking in as much air as he can before he does, indeed, hit the wave wrong and goes down. It’s dark under the water, and not viciously cold, but cold enough to make him grimace. The wave passes over, and Buck can feel his surfboard get tugged by it, swallowed up, then spit out, bobbing on the surface.
Buck doesn’t know why he doesn’t kick his way to the surface immediately, but there’s no burn for air in his lungs, so he lets himself sink a bit, enjoying the cold water around him. He’s not panicking, and instead he flexes his fingers, wiggles his toes—both in enjoyment, and to get the sand out from between them—and decides once his lungs start to ache a bit, that he needs to swim up. However, before he can, something grabs him.
For a moment, Buck is certain some giant squid—even though he knows they live thousands and thousands of feet below the surface, and he isn’t even sure they’re native around here—has decided a stupid white boy is a good enough meal, and he’s about to be pulled into even darker depths. Instead, he’s dragged to the surface, his eyes popping open despite the sting from the saltwater in them as he watches the surface come flying at him, lit up only by the scattered moonlight dancing off the surface of the ocean.
He can only think an exasperated what the hell?clearly still near him, because whatever dragged him up is still wrapped around his torso, and… oh god, what the fuck?
They’re…. They’re frigging tentacles! Tentacles!
He can see small, blooming bruises on his body from the suction cups, and he looks like he fought an octopus and lost, or someone very enthusiastic about hickeys. What really catches his eyes are the dark, black-brown tentacles curled around his waist; they’re not grasping him too tightly, and it mostly feels like someone’s arm gently wrapped around his waist than tentacles!
“Oh, my god,” Buck mutters, spitting out a bit of seawater that splashed into his mouth amid his gaping at the tentacles. “I’m about to be fish food… wait, are octopus fish? Ah shit, who cares, I’m about to be eaten. Oh, man, this is worse than drowning…” Buck mutters, staring down at the tentacles, and watching one of them bloom with dark red, bordering purple spots and rings before fading into the regular black-brown, shifting skin.
“Well, it’s a good thing you aren’t about to be made food, or drown,” A voice says, and Buck yelps, uncaring about how loud the sound was. He’s moreso freaking out about the freaking human popping up beside him, because that dude—and… holy shit, he’s hot; no, no, not the time, Buck—was not there a second ago. It’s only Buck and the… octopus thing that’s still wrapped around his body and keeping him afloat without him needing to wade in place.
“What the actual hell,” Buck says, staring at the man—tanned skin, brown eyes resembling chocolate, and wet, windswept brunet hair—who is gazing at him with open amusement. “Where did-? Where the hell did you come from?” Buck squeaks, wondering if this is a really elaborate dream or if he is genuinely losing his mind; he’s honestly betting on the former, because Buck likes his mind at least somewhat intact.
“The sea,” the man says matter-of-factly, pointing down at the sea below them, and Buck’s eyes follow the gesture. Thanks to the moonlight above him, he can make out what is below the surface… somewhat, because he’s pretty sure the tentacles wrapped around his waist are attached to the weird, hot sea guy.
Oh yeah, Buck is totally losing his mind.
Before he can say something, the tentacles pull him close, and Buck is suddenly chest-to-chest with the weird sea guy who smells like salt and sea and ocean. It’s a powerful smell, and it makes Buck swallow, his eyes darting anywhere other than infuriatingly pretty brown eyes.
“Look at me,” the man—creature? thing? sea monster?? Buck is a little lost on what the hell this guy is—rumbles, voice carrying a timbre that makes Buck shiver, and it’s not because of the cold water lapping at his chest. Buck would look at the guy, but his eyes are firmly flicking anywhere but Mr. Half-octopus.
“I said,” the man says in a rough, timbre voice, a tentacle coming out of the water to gently curl around Buck’s jaw, and maneuver his head till his eyes have to look at Tentacle McGee, who looks quite pleased to have his eyes on him. “Look at me… there, not so hard, no?” Buck whimpers, trying to wonder if he was dosed with something, or his brain has just broken because this seriously cannot be real, right?
Right?
“Oh, my god,” Buck whispers, and lets a slightly manic laugh fall from his salty lips. “I’m totally going crazy. This has to be a dream, or something, because this… this isn’t real.” It being a dream is the only way this makes any sort of logical sense, because, seriously, there is no way people are half-human, half-octopus anywhere outside myths and TV shows. He’s pretty sure half-octopus people are called cecaelias, which are, y’know… myths!
“Not a dream, pretty thing,” the cecaelia murmurs, and Buck shudders, swallowing down an involuntary gasp. He’s never been called pretty; handsome? Sure, he’s been called handsome, hot stuff, different masculine monikers to tell someone they’re attractive, but pretty?
Buck doesn’t know why, but he’s not all that opposed to being called that.
“What a pretty thing; look at you,” The man murmurs, and Buck can’t swallow down the sound—pathetic and slightly delirious as it may be—that crawls up his throat. It brings a grin to the cecaelia’s face, flashing pearly white teeth with slightly longer canines than normal, but still passable. God, this is a weird dream. Why is Buck thinking about this guy’s teeth? “So pretty,” the tentacle cupping his jaw strokes his cheek, the surprisingly soft skin of it making him shudder where he’s pressed tightly against the cecaelia’s chest.
He’s freaking… frozen; absolutely paralyzed in place, but not from anything the cecaelia has done, or in fear. It’s just… astonishment, awe, maybe?
“You’ll do perfectly,” the man murmurs, and their noses brush, making Buck tremble. Despite how cold the sea is, and the tentacles too, the man is warm; he’s radiating heat like a furnace, and Buck can barely choke around the lump in his throat a croaked what?
What is he doing? What is he perfect for? Buck has absolutely no idea, but he sort of wants to know, because if he is going to get eaten, he’d like a little heads up. Maybe some final words before he’s made an appetizing meal out of. He can’t get a final call, because not only are they in the middle of the ocean, and he doesn’t think a cecaelia would know what a phone or a phone call would be, he has nobody he’d want to call. Maddie hasn’t picked up his calls in months, and has left his texts on delivered, and he’d actually rather be eaten than call his parents, so, there’s that.
“What am- w-woah! Woah!” Buck yelps and almost chokes on his spit when two of the many tentacles loosely wrapped around his waist abandon his midriff to slip under his pineapple-patterned board shorts, the tiny suction cups dimpling his flesh, and no doubt creating even more bruises. “Du-Dude! Dude, personal space! That’s- that’s a-a no-no zone!” Buck tries to squirm away, his body wriggling in the tentacles’ hold, and his eyes wide in panic, but nothing works.
“Don’t fight it,” The cecaelia says, gazing at him with lust clear in his eyes, and Buck is suddenly very worried. However, before he can voice his thoughts, a raw shout leaves his mouth as a suction cup suctions to his clit, and holy shit. The pleasure is mind-melting, and Buck’s head lolls to the side, a dark, unwilling flush paints his cheeks, and they feel as if they’re on fire. This is… well, this is very much not how he thought his night would go.
His thighs shake, toes curling unwittingly, and his mind melts in a way that leaves him feeling like goop as one tentacle suctions onto his clit while the other strokes the underside of it, playing him like a damn fiddle. “I-” Buck gulps in air desperately, hands finding purchase on board, warm shoulders. “D-Dude… s’s… so n-not—hoo, fu-fuc-ck…—nice.”
“No?” The man asks, obviously a bit perplexed as his head tilts to the side, gazing at Buck with intense, lustful brown eyes that remind him of warm chocolate. “I can tell you’re enjoying it, pretty thing; you’re absolutely dripping, and I have done little.” The words are soft and crooned as another tentacle, making three between his legs—god, he feels like he’s walked into some weird hentai porn situation—slips through his folds, and the slick he’s weeping.
Listen, he can’t help it; his body is reacting without getting any input from him. “See?” The cecealia purrs, and Buck chokes out a crackled mewl, swallowing thickly around the lump in his throat. “Mmnh, so beautiful; you’ll look beautiful all round and plump with my clutch.”
Buck’s mind blanks—half because of the suction and constant abuse to his clit, but also because of the words the cecaelia uttered. Clutch? Listen, Buck has gone down a lot of rabbit holes, and they have led him into places where he’d never go until he clicked on an interesting link.
He knows what clutches are; snakes lay clutches of eggs, and so do otcopi; as do most sea-dwelling creatures. And what is a cecaelia? Well, Buck from twenty minutes ago would’ve replied not real; however, right now? Cecaelia’s are half octopus… so that means Buck is apparently perfect to have a clutch of eggs be shoved inside of him.
“Clutch?” Buck rasps, feeling a lot overwhelmed. He’s torn between pleasure and freaking the hell out, both making him feel jittery and anxious. Rocks of fear are pooling in his gut, and Buck licks his lips unconsciously, tasting the salt of the ocean on them. Absently, he realizes the cecaelia follows the action. “Li-Like… eggs? Oh my god, I’ve found myself in a cliche porn situation.”
The cecaelia blinks, clearly unaware of what some of the things Buck is saying mean, but despite it, it does not deter the sea creature. “Yes, you looked so beautiful, haloed by the ocean, I couldn’t help myself; you look so beautiful, and I think you’ll be a perfect mate for me.” The declaration is punctuated by a tentacle slipping into his cunt, the tip wiggling and fucking in and out slowly, making Buck drool.
It’s been a long time since something other than his fingers was in his cunt, and he has barely enough money for gas, let alone a dildo. “I could smell you when you were surfing, and I couldn’t resist when you went under.”
“M-Mate?” Buck pants, curling toward the cecaelia as the tentacle works him open, spreading him wide around the girth that the appendage has beyond the slippery, suction-cupped tip. Buck whines as the tentacle slips over his g-spot, making him see scattered stars in the edges of his vision. “L-Like… bo-boyfriends?” His brain feels like mush as the tentacle seems to target his g-spot once he’s shown his reaction to the spot, and his mouth drops open in a moan, drool spilling down the side of his cheek.
“Hm, close. I believe in your human customs, it would be considered marriage; cecaelias often mate for life, but some of our species are opposed to being tied down, and often drift in solitary and lay their clutch into whatever awaiting vessel, or surround themselves in a pod of other cecaelias.” Hah, so Buck was right—this guy is a cecaelia. Random mythological creature information from years ago finally comes in handy.
“A-And… wh-what category do you fi—fuuck, t-there, there!—fit into?” Buck mewls, gazing at the cecaelia with teary eyes, watching the cecaelia’s face. He looks calm, with an easy smile on his face and eyes hooded with lust.
“I have crossed oceans to find the perfect one; I am a nester, I nest, and you… I have chosen you to be my mate, if you will have me, and allow me the honor of carrying our first and future clutches, pretty boy.” The cecaelia purrs, nosing his flushed cheek, his breath fanning over his warm skin.
Buck is… considering it. It’s crazy, he knows, and he’s pretty sure his sanity is floating down to the bottom of the ocean right now, but Buck is… oddly enthralled with the creature’s insatiable want for him. He’s never been wanted, and he’s certainly never been someone’s first chance, but to be wanted so much? To have someone willingly tie themselves to Buck for an eternity, or however long it takes for Buck to bite the dust.
It makes Buck feel gooey; his insides turned to mush, and his heart pounding in his throat, making him keen as the tentacle pumps in and out of his pussy, making him whine. The cecaelia doesn’t seem to mind Buck’s distraction as his hips roll down into the appendage, a river of drool leaking down his chin and spilling further down to run down the plane of his neck before mixing with the lapping seawater surrounding them.
Instead of considering the offer, Buck should be running for the hills—or, well… swimming for them. However, he’s not; his mind is telling him this is so fucking weird; this has to be a dream and his heart is saying take it, say yes; what’s the worst that could go wrong?
A lot; a lot could go wrong, but who is going to miss him? Maddie’s off living her best life, his parents haven’t given a shit about him in years—or ever, so what’s holding him back? Improbability? Holding out that this is all a dream and he’s going to wake up soaked between the thighs and cursing his betraying brain?
Why does any of that matter when Buck can live in this moment, say yes, and get fucked and pumped full of freaky-deaky eggs? He’s always wanted kids, and has always wanted to be married, and the cecelia says that being mates is like marriage.
“O-Oh, fuck!” Buck yelps a moan, eyes prying open as he feels something hot and sticky pump inside of him, making him feel dizzy. A mewl leaves his mouth, gazing at the cecaelia, and wriggling in the gentle grasp around his waist, feeling the tentacles pulse and flex. It’s comforting… oddly enough.
Maybe he is so incredibly fucked in the head he thinks a tentacled embrace is comforting. Oh, well, he’s never been the pinnacle of mental stability or wellness, so why start now?
“Wh-u… whu’zzat…?” Buck murmurs, quivering in the tentacles’ hold. The cecaelia hums, tugging him closer till Buck’s legs are messily encircling his waist, his trembling calves slipping over the soft skin of the man’s octopus lower half. “S’Stic-cky.”
“Lubricant,” the cecaelia says, tentacles never stopping the direct assault on his clit, or fucking into his cunt. “What is your answer, pretty thing? I don’t want to rush you, but my eggs will not last long without being housed in a womb, and I don’t wish to waste another clutch trying to find a suitable mate.” The cecaelia’s eyes crinkle with a slight edge of grief at the talk of another wastd clutch, and Buck swallows thickly, whining in the back of his throat. He feels like he can barely think, but all he knows is that his answer is yes.
“M’B-Buck, E-Evan Buckley, but I go b-y—holy shit so fucking deep what the h-hell—Buck,” Buck whimpers, watching as a look of awe splashes across the cecaelia’s face, those dark chocolate eyes widening, before a sharp-toothed grin splits the man’s face. A hand comes out of the water, warm to the touch as it cups Buck’s right cheek. A thumb wipes away the little river of drool making its way down his chin, a soft hum that sounds like whistling wind and crashing waves floating between them.
“Eddie”, he—Eddie—purrs, and Buck tries the name out on his tongue; swirls it around his mouth till the name tastes like chocolate and the sea on his palate and moans it as Eddie drives a thicker, fatter tentacle deep inside, the ridges and bumps on it making him cry out; it’s nothing like the one that had been inside of him. Buck feels well and truly split open; it’s glorious.
Buck’s head tosses back, grappling at Eddie’s shoulders, and moaning into the salty sea air that swirls around them, the distant cry of seagulls and the overlapping waves the only other sounds around past Buck’s pleasure-filled moans. “I am Eddie, and you are Buck; such a pretty name for a pretty thing.”
Buck whines, head dropping forward again, and tries to shuffle closer to Eddie as best he can while literally floating at sea. He manages, only by squeezing his calves around Eddie’s waist, and dragging the cecaelia close. It has Eddie—Eddie, Eddie, Eddie—raising an eyebrow, but he dutifully follows Buck’s pulling till they’re meshed together, and Buck thinks if they rub against each other enough, their atoms will fuse.
Buck would like that, and the thought makes him pant against Eddie’s sea-salt smelling skin, nosing the brunet’s cheek, and whining into the tanned flesh. “F-Feels… g’-…go-od,” Buck moans, breathless and mewling into Eddie’s skin. He can feel more than see what it does to the cecaelia; the bigger, thicker tentacle quivers, Eddie’s hand on his cheek slips down to the back of his neck, thumb tucking behind his ear, and a soft, rumbling sound floats from Eddie’s flexing throat.
“I know,” Eddie murmurs, turning his head to brush his lips over Buck’s cheek. “I can tell from how hard you are squeezing me, and how sweet the sea smells around you.” Buck groans as the tip of the tentacle prods at his cervix, pushing and squishing against it with each thrust. It’s aided with the lubricant the smaller tentacle painted his walls with, and Buck is sure that if they weren’t almost neck-deep in the water, he’d be absolutely dripping the fluid and making a mess of his thighs and whatever surface he was on.
“Do you want more, pretty thing? I can give you all the pleasure you want; as your mate, I want you to feel good before I place my clutch in your awaiting womb.” A tentacle pressing against his cervix punctuates Eddie’s words, and Buck is nodding before he can really think, but even after he processes Eddie’s words, he’s still nodding yes.
Buck mewls as more tentacles slip under his board shorts, two settling on each asscheek before prying them open, and making him whimper at the cold bite of the sea on his exposed asshole. Though it doesn’t last long as a slick, gooey tentacle prods at his ass and makes him quiver, a choked squeak of h-hoo…ly ss-hit drooling from his mouth as the appendage slowly pushes in.
He’s already split wide open on the tentacle invading his cunt, and never stalling in the thrusts, but now? He’s absolutely stuffed full, and Buck sobs a sound of pure ecstasy as his ass is gently worked open. “Ho-ly… fuck,” Buck moans, guttural and caked with lust. His hips are tilting back, chasing the tip of the tentacle that slowly pumps in and out before sliding in further, that sticky and warm lubricant pumped deep inside of him to aid the slide. “S-o… so good,” he croaks, staring half-lidded at Eddie, who is watching him with unfiltered lust in dark brown eyes.
“Good,” Eddie rumbles, and presses their noses together, and the motion feels so intimate, it almost brings tears to Buck’s eyes that aren’t lust-driven. He feels raw, cracked-open, and torn at the seams, and about to paint the water around them red with his lifeblood and innards. The way Eddie is holding him; fucking him, is so… gentle. It’s not some rough, quick fuck before never seeing each other again; instead, it’s something—albeit fast and rough—intimate and soft. It’s not fucking; it’s love-making.
Buck moans a sound of bliss as he feels the tentacle inside his ass slip in as far as it can go before earnestly fucking his ass, spreading him open, and making him see stars. Sobs leave his mouth, choppy and choked unh, uhn, unghs that float in the sea-tinged air. “I-I’m… cc-close,” he shudders, teeth chattering as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. Stars scatter and play in the edges of his vision, and his eyes threaten to slide past his fluttering lashes. His mouth has fallen open, jaw weak as moans tumble free.
“You can cum as many times as you’d like, my pretty mate; there is no cap on your pleasure,” Eddie rumbles, his tentacles never losing pace or rhythm, nor is he speeding up when he hears Buck is close; it’s appreciated, because the rhythm is what is driving Buck toward his orgasm. “In fact, it’s best if you cum… over and over again; it’ll have your womb even more ready for our clutch.” Our clutch, not Eddie’s clutch, not Buck’s—theirs; ours. “All ripe and ready for my eggs.”
Buck moans; presses his lips into Eddie’s cheek and mewls a sound of pure lust as his hips buck and roll in choppy, unconscious movements as he chases his pleasure like a wolf chasing a rabbit. Eddie’s hum rattles through his lips, and the hand on the back of Buck’s neck tugs him closer till his peaked nipples are sliding against Eddie’s water-slick skin, their chests pressed together.
Buck’s brain feels as if it’s melting; thoughts feel useless, and nothing but Eddie, Eddie, Eddie and m’gonna cum is bouncing around there, making him a shivering, eager mess to orgasm. He wants to feel the crescendo of his orgasm, and how it’ll feel to be pumped full of Eddie’s eggs—will he have a bump on his belly? Will he look visibly pregnant? Will there be nothing but Buck’s flat belly, but the knowledge of what’s hiding in it, shared between only him and Eddie? He doesn’t know, but he damn sure wants to find out.
His orgasm hits him like a bus—which Buck finds somewhat amusing, considering they’re in the middle of the ocean right now, probably miles from shore and any buses—and makes Buck shout and sob a gargled Eddie into the man’s skin, feeling his orgasm gush out of him literally. Look, Buck is a squirter, and if he were on dry land, it would become wet land with his orgasm. Buck sobs and cries out in pleasure, hips pushing into the unstoppable tentacles that continue to fuck into his ass and cunt, and tweak his clit, suctioned to it, and stroking the underside of it. The pleasure is so much, but it’s so fucking good that Buck never wants it to stop.
“That’s it,” Eddie murmurs, lips brushing against Buck’s sex-flushed skin as his tentacles throb inside of him, pumping harder and harder, working Buck through his orgasm. “So beautiful… are you ready, my pretty boy?” Eddie asks, and Buck cannot truly process his words for a solid minute or so. He’s a complete fucked-out mess, and he wants nothing more than to just sag into Eddie’s hold and stay there, fucked for hours by the tentacles invading his ass and cunt, till he cannot form words or sounds.
“U-nhh… uh-huh,” Buck moans, breaking off into a groan of pleasure as he feels the largest tentacle deep inside his cunt throb, pushing harder and harder against his cervix, the tip feeling flared; different from the rest, which Buck is only noticing now.
A groan spills from his mouth, tongue darting out lazily to lick over his lips, his breath coming in and out in choppy, stuttered inhales and exhales. He’s ready, he’s so fucking ready, he’s almost vibrating with it. His eyes are swimming with unshed, lust-filled tears, making his vision slightly fuzzy at the bottom.
“Good,” Eddie rumbles, his voice tight and taking on that husky timbre once more, making Buck shudder. A slight furrow forms between Eddie’s brows, his face pinched in lust and concentration, his eyelids fluttering slightly, and his tentacles losing rhythm, showing Buck how close he is to cumming. “Breathe for me, pretty boy.” Eddie rasps, the tentacle in his cunt throbbing and flexing, getting slightly bigger, and spreading Buck impossibly wider, making him moan.
Buck does as Eddie asks, sucking in large lungfuls of air, and soothing his aching lungs as he feels Eddie cum. He hears it, too—Eddie groans with a vicious fury that sounds like an angry sea; the sound of choppy waves and a roaring beast hidden by thunder and lightning.
The sound is downrightaddictive, and Buck wants to lick it from Eddie’s mouth and chase it along the grooves of Eddie’s palate, and over the bumps of Edie’s teeth. Eddie growls something that is decidedly not human and sounds somewhat like Spanish all mixed in one, which would make him laugh if he wasn’t focused on the deluge of hot, sticky fluid pumped right against his cervix.
The feeling of the fluid makes him shudder, thighs quivering around Eddie’s waist, and tightening there. “I-Is… zz’a…t?” Buck slurs, trying to find the proper words, but his mind feels like the slushies he gets after work; all he can really focus on is being filled like a damn donut.
“No,” Eddie rasps, apparently being able to pick out Buck’s thoughts from his slurred words, his head roaming close till their foreheads knock, and Buck moans softly at the warmth Eddie continues to radiate. He thought sea creatures would be cold, but Eddie is so warm, it’s glorious. “It is a lubricant and nutrients for our clutch, as well as an aphrodisiac for you.” Eddie puffs out harsh, gritted breaths through flexing nostrils, and Buck watches in rapt awe at the way Eddie falls apart, little moans and trilled groans mixing together as they slip through the cracks of his pretty, imperfect teeth.
“The eggs are… comi-…coming,” Eddie groans, eyebrow twitching, and Buck squeaks a loud, short sound when he feels the tapered tip press against his cervix hard, making him shudder.
Seems that aphrodisiac is working. The pleasure is ramping inside of him, making him moan and sob as the tentacle in his ass continues to pump, though at a much more languid pace; the tentacles petting and sucking at his clit start working overtime, making him squeeze and clench around Eddie’s tentacle—or is it his dick? Tentacle dick? Dual-purpose tentacle; he’s not sure, he’ll have to ask Eddie when they’re not fucking, and he’s not about to be pumped full of friggin’ eggs—and making them both groan.
His orgasm is quick-approaching, and it washes over him in a way he does not see coming. Stars scatter and burst in his vision, and his sight turns into a melding galaxy of colors he cannot truly comprehend, all swirling in every which way, making him choke. He squirts again—he can feel it—and weeps as something presses against his flexing cervix, pushing hard against it, before popping into somewhere Buck has never explored: his womb.
The weight isn’t anything crazy, and Buck almost doesn’t feel it, but it’s a slight weight there that makes it all feel real as another golf-ball-sized egg pushes its way against his contracting cervix as his orgasm continues to rush through his body. All he can do is moan out sweet Eddies and gargled ungh, unf, unhs. Each egg is another flash of pleasure, and Buck loses count.
Honestly, he feels like he’s floating in limbo, head dropped onto Eddie’s shoulder as he pants through the persistent pleasure racing through his body, and making him feel completely wrung out. Each egg is making his womb feel heavier, but it’s not an uncomfortable weight; instead, it feels fulfilling; like some wire has switched in his brain and makes him think Oh, those are my babies; Eddie and I’s babies.
“Ed-Eddie,” Buck mewls, panting against the cecaelia’s neck, and leaving lazy, open-mouthed kisses there. He can feel the way Eddie’s neck flexes under each kiss, and it brings a smile to his face, moaning softly with each egg pressed into his stretched womb.
“I know,” Eddie rasps, head tilting to the side to rest on Buck’s, his breath disturbing Buck’s curls, and his thumb stroking the back of Buck’s ear, his fingers dimpling the back of Buck’s neck. “Only a few more, my pretty boy, we are almost done,” Buck whines in disappointment as he doesn’t want this to be over. He wants to keep going till the sun crests on the horizon and paints the night sky day. However, he knows he’s flagging, and he’s sure Eddie is as well.
Three more eggs pump into his womb, pressing against his cervix and forcing their way through to rest with their future brother and sisters, making Buck feel slightly bloated and elated; his emotions are sort of all over the place, but he feels good. It probably has something to do with the aphrodisiac he’s been pumped with—quite powerful, if the almost constant orgasm that is still rushing through his body is any proof—but Buck genuinely feels good; happy.
He hasn’t felt like this in a while, though he’s been a little happier since he came to Peru, but it’s been beginning to wane. A few days ago, he was beginning to think he had spent all the time he needed here in Peru, and he needed to find somewhere else to give him the boost of happiness and fulfillment he needed, but he’s glad he decided to postpone it for a while.
If he wanted to leave at that very moment, he’d have spent the night packing, put in his notice, and vanished to set up in the U.S again. He was thinking about somewhere with a beach, and debated LA, and a few other states, before deciding to put it off when the itch to leave got too overwhelming to ignore.
“There,” Eddie whispers, making Buck moan softly, a lazy grin sliding into place on his face as he wiggles his hips a bit, feeling out the weight in his womb of their clutch. “All perfect and round with our clutch,” Eddie murmurs, his tentacles slithering from his waist to settle and prod at his stomach, cupping the very small but not noticeable swell of his lower abdomen where his womb is stretched around his and Eddie’s first clutch.
It looks less like he’s laden with eggs and more like he’s had a filling breakfast. Even so, the gentleness with which Eddie cradles it, and the proof makes Buck feel all gooey. “Now all that is left is-” Eddie trails off, the tapered tip of his tentacle remaining pressed tightly against Buck’s cervix before something hot and sticky fills his cunt and womb, making the bump slightly more prominent. “-the nutrients.”
“Full,” Buck moans slowly, a weak sound floating from his mouth as the tentacles slowly grind to a halt, the suction cup suckering to his clit popping free, and the tentacle that’s been playing with the underside of it slithers away in tandem. Buck whines and mourns the loss, but doesn’t fret much; he does pout when the tentacle that’s fucked his ass open and wide slips free, the breath that slips from his mouth shaky and a bit hollow.
The last to go is the tentacle deep inside his cunt, and Buck clenches around it, already mourning the loss as it slips out, slithering out of his board shorts, and leaving him empty. “Not full…” Buck grumbles, a pout on his face as he lifts his head to glare weakly at Eddie.
The cecaelia huffs, amusement clear in his glittering eyes. “Don’t fret,” Eddie purrs, the hand on Buck’s neck coming back up to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing a comforting path up and down. “Come to the sea, and call my name, and I will satiate your needs, my love; you are my mate, and I will always come when you call.” Eddie leans forward, and with slight hesitation, plants a soft kiss on his lips that Buck pushes into with fervent greed. Eddie groans into the kiss and gets with the motions quickly, lapping at Buck’s lips, and tasting like salt and the sea when his tongue dips into Buck’s mouth.
“Promise?” Buck pants, pulling away with a string of saliva connecting their flushed lips. “Y’promise you’ll come when I call?” Buck can’t help the way his voice quavers slightly—listen, he’s been ditched over and over more times than he can count over the years, and he has to make sure. He’s been used before, again, more times than he can count; as a warm body, a shoulder to cry on, a person to get lost in for a night and promptly kick out before the sun has truly risen.
He’s been burned over and over, he’s surprised he hasn’t needed an intensive burn unit to care for his broken and battered body yet, so he has to make sure—make sure Eddie wasn’t lying when he said cecaelias mate for life, and he’s Buck’s, and Buck is his.
“Always,” Eddie says, squeezing his waist with his tentacle and pressing a soft kiss to the edge of his mouth. “I promise, pretty thing. As I said, I am a cecaelia who mates for life, and we do not abandon mates. We are connected, one way or another, and I shall always hear your call, even if I am a hundred feet away, or a hundred miles—I will always come when you call; that is who I am.” Buck whines softly, a tear slipping down his cheeks as he rocks forward to kiss Eddie and push all his love and gratitude into it.
Eddie reciprocates as good as Buck is giving it, humming into his mouth, and tucking him against his front with the help of his tentacles that keep Buck afloat. “Let’s get you back to shore so you can rest; you will need as much as you can get with our clutch now resting inside you.”
“M’kay,” Buck murmurs, realizing how damn tired he is. He’s been up for close to twenty hours, maybe more, because he doesn’t have a clock on him right now, and he hasn’t slept, so he’s exhausted. Plus, this whole… fiasco—can Buck call this a fiasco? Maybe the weirdest interaction and best damn sex he’s had in his life?—has drained the hell out of him. “Mush… or whatever they say.” Buck giggles at his own joke and knows Eddie probably won’t get the reference.
The cecaelia raises an eyebrow, but dutifully starts swimming toward the shore with Buck remaining tucked close to his chest. He’s quite comfy, and Buck finds himself dozing slightly on Eddie, letting himself be swayed to sleep with the motions of Eddie swimming, and the gentle lapping waves that act like a very cold blanket; a nice one, but cold.
They reach shore in no time—though, maybe it takes a while, but Buck isn’t sure because he’s been asleep for most of the swim back—and Buck blinks his eyes open to find himself in a hidden alcove. He raises an eyebrow at Eddie, who climbs atop a large piece of slate and tugs Buck with him. “A place to rest till you feel ready to return to your abode,” Eddie explains, petting a hand through his damp curls that are probably going to frizz like hell because of the seawater. Oh, well, that’s future Buck’s problem.
Buck hums and returns to half-dozing on Eddie’s shoulder, blinking in and out of consciousness because the cecaelia is a lot comfier than he looks, and he keeps Buck in a curled-up position, using his tentacles to bracket Buck’s side and back so he doesn’t fall or tip. It’s nice—better than nice, really—and makes Buck feel like he’s in a warm cocoon with the heat Eddie is putting off.
When Buck blinks into consciousness for the last time, he doesn’t feel too rested, but enough to where he knows he’ll be able to make the trek back to his hotel and pass out for who knows how many hours; he hopes it’s a lot, because he wants it to be a lot. Maybe something that could be classified as a mini-coma; that’d be great.
“Mmm, I think I gotta go…” Buck murmurs, but pouts at his own words. He doesn’t want to go, because he wants to sit here and bask in Eddie, and ask the cecaelia all the questions starting to form in his head, but he knows he’s gotta get back. He doesn’t have a shift today or tomorrow, so he knows he’s safe in regards to that, but he needs food, sleep, and a shower.
Sleep and food are a must, and if he’s correct, the breakfast bar might be open, or is getting ready to be open, and he might use the fact that all the cooks love him because half of them are grandmothers who always complain that he needs to put more meat on his white boy bones. The other half are fans of his stories about his travels, and generally like him because he makes an effort to be kind, learn their language, and get to know them.
“Okay,” Eddie mutters, sounding soft and slightly dejected, but he slowly uncurls his tentacles from around Buck’s body and lets him slide onto his butt. “Travel safely, and remember what I said: I will always come when you call, okay? Return to me whenever, and I will be there.” Eddie’s hand cups his cheek, and draws him into a kiss, a tentacle sliding around his wrist to squeeze and leave a small ring of red suction marks that likely won’t darken into anything, but will remain for at least an hour.
“I will,” Buck whispers against Eddie’s salty lips, and Buck realizes how much Eddie reminds him of sea salt dark chocolate, and finds himself craving it. “I will return, and I will annoy you with all the questions I have rolling around my head that books probably won’t even be half-right on, and I’ll come back even after you answer all my questions because I wanna, okay?” Buck looks straight into Eddie’s eyes, and watches the cecaelia’s face soften into a smile.
“I will answer everything I can, and search for the answers to what I cannot. Now, go; the sun shall peek over the horizon soon. I can already feel the city beginning to wake,” Eddie hums, and draws back, but he stays close as Buck sighs before beginning the slow stagger to his feet. It’s a bit difficult, but he manages with Eddie’s guiding hand. His gravity feels off, probably due to the twenty or so eggs in his womb, throwing him off, but he knows he’ll get used to it.
“I’ll see you soon, yeah?” Buck asks, smiling at the cecaelia who is creeping toward the sea lapping at the edge of the slate ledge they’ve been laying on for who knows how long. As Eddie said, light from the creeping sun is carving a path for Buck to follow from a crevice between two walls that seem to meld together at the angle Buck is at.
“Yes,” Eddie hums, nodding, and slipping into the sea, dipping under the surface before slicing through it. Buck watches the cecaelia’s tentacles fan out, curling at the tips, and moving slightly to keep Eddie afloat as the brunet rakes a hand through his wet hair. “Now go and rest, pretty boy. I won’t be far if you need me. Oh, do not forget your flotation board,” Eddie’s finger points to his surfboard, which is sitting on the floor, no longer attached to Buck’s ankle.
Buck shudders at the pet name, a flush making his face feel hot as he shakes his head before picking up his surfboard. “It’s a surfboard, though I guess your description of it isn’t that far off; it does allow us to float, I guess,” Buck says, an amused smile on his face as Eddie nods thoughtfully, probably tucking the information away for now. “I’ll see you later, Eddie. I’m going to go eat and sleep, ugh… I’m hungry,” Buck mumbles, rubbing absently at his growling tummy before waving to the cecaelia—his mate.
God, this whole day is weird; not that he’d change a damn thing if given the chance.
Buck slips out of the hidden alcove into the world that is beginning to lose its dark blue midnight hue for something lighter that’ll swirl into pale gold soon enough. On slightly unsteady legs, he can see a landmark he knows and heads toward it. It’s a maybe ten-minute trek, and by the time he heads up the walkway to get to the parking lot, he’s exhausted.
It takes more energy than he’d like to admit to secure his surfboard on top of his Jeep and crawl in after wiping his feet free of as much sand as he can get off. It’s not a lot, and more of a cursory clean, but he cannot be bothered to do more before he hops in, starts the engine, and starts the ten-minute drive back to the hotel where he works.
He would have gone surfing at the part of the beach connected to the hotel where he works, but he knows a security guard patrols the beach to ensure nobody is doing some dumb shit, so he had to go somewhere else. It’s not far, but far enough so there’s no security guard walking up and down the beach, or couples who want to go waltzing on the beach after getting drunk at the bar in the hotel—the one on the beach is closed right now, but it’ll be open in a few hours.
With a groan, Buck swerves into his parking spot and staggers out of his Jeep, locking it and leaving his surfboard on top of it; he’d get it down and bring it to his room, but he has no energy for that. All he has energy for is walking in from the employee-only parking lot, taking the elevator up—and ditching the idea of getting food from the kitchen because he craves sleep more than food—and shuffling to his room.
Buck silently apologizes to the cleaning crew, who are going to have to clean up the small trail of sand he leaves behind, and the few droplets of seawater that drip from his still-damp boardshorts, but he can’t care much right now. His brain is working on the sole purpose of getting his body to his room, hopping into the showers for at least two or so minutes, drying off, and passing the hell out.
Buck manages it, but just barely; he showers for four minutes, dries off in record time, and passes out naked under his sheets and blankets the second his damp curls hit the pillows. He dreams of brown eyes and sea salt dark chocolate, and wakes up fourteen hours later for a hankering of sea salt dark chocolate and actual food.
He gets the chocolate first and eats two bars before deciding to give his body something other than chocolate—because it reminds him of Eddie, who is waiting out at sea for him—and shuffles down to the kitchen to snag whatever leftovers the crew left him before returning to his room. He pads his belly full of cold eggs, sausage, bacon, and French toast before sleeping for another ten hours, the taste of sea salt dark chocolate never leaving his mouth.