Still Waters Run Hot: An erotic M/M tentacle sex story (Pleasure of the Depths Book 2)

by Drake Penn

  “What? King’s not gonna go psycho.”

  “That was just an example! Maybe a bigger octopus is going to show up, we have no idea what’s out there right now.”

  "You know I appreciate everything you do, but I think I gotta do this on my own. Just… cover for me?" He gives a questioning thumbs up.

  She chews on her lip and steps off the boat, turning to give him a silent thumbs up as he taxis out of the narrow docks and out towards the open water.

  "You better not fucking die!" Vivian shouts through cupped hands as he waves out the broken window.

  Gareth is sure he won't. Not by King's hand at least.

  The water is choppy tonight; moonlight is scant and fractured, muddy clouds eclipsing it and the stars in bits and pieces. This should make things tricky—guiding by the variable lights of the bay is unreliable—but Gareth feels like he knows exactly where to go. He can see just fine and he can feel some subliminal pull, a deep urge to return to that secret cove, even in this unfamiliar boat that crawls across the water. The boat he had previously commandeered is still nowhere to be seen but he knows deep in his gut that he's in the right spot. He drops anchor.

  Gareth stands on the edge of the houseboat and stretches his arms—abruptly realizing that he forgot his damn wetsuit—not that it was in great shape after his last rendezvous—but he's overcome with a wave of obstinance, ripping his shirt off over his head and stripping his lower half until he's standing naked. The salty air makes his skin itch.

  He takes one deep breath and dives. The cold water hits him like a plane of glass. His system clenches in on itself, a panic-inducing sensation that rips a string of bubbles from his throat. Gareth pushes through, kicking down to the hidden cave quickly and forcing his shaking arms to pull him through.

  He's halfway through the tunnel when everything snaps into extreme focus—like someone just flipped a switch and suddenly he can see clearly for the first time. His body feels… good. Efficient. The cold feels normal. Pleasant, even. Is this what hypothermia does? He doesn't stick around to wonder at every rock and bivalve he can see in the normally pitch-black tunnel, swimming quickly through and surfacing in the warmer cavern.

  "King?" He calls out.

  A clicking comes from the far alcove and a familiar bundle of tenebrous tentacles navigates the stony floor, launching himself onto Gareth.

  "Oh thank fuck you're here." Gareth hugs King's broad chest, mindful of the spines on his back, and nuzzles his face into the crook of the creature's neck. He smells good. Feels good. Gareth feels like he just got a cigarette after going cold turkey for a year. He shudders against his slick skin and kisses him everywhere he can reach. He runs his tongue over everything, just worshiping at the altar of King's body and moaning as the sweet taste of his skin works its way through his system.

  King flares to life at the noise, his tentacles flashing those hypnotic patterns that feel so good to watch, the deep sense of belonging washing over him. The potentially hypothermia induced sensory experience makes everything brighter, everything more beautiful, it's like he's high without the head fog. He just wants to get closer to it.

  With what little control he has while being manhandled by a swarm of flashing tentacles Gareth directs them to the shore, not quite wanting to drown, and King picks up on his intent. The pale, flashing flesh of King, the tender mantle at the core of him, passes right above his head as he’s repositioned. There’s nothing Gareth wants more than to see more of those lights, to bury himself in them and never come out. He presses his face forward and licks a stripe across the fluttering hole at the center of King and the creature lets out a squeak.

  Fuck that’s cute.

  Gareth nuzzles in deeper, pressing his tongue in firmly and working it in slow circles and feeling every twitch and shudder it makes. It tastes as sweet as the rest of him and Gareth keeps his eyes wide open as King slowly settles down onto his face, his body like a visor across Gareth’s head that’s beaming the most beautiful colors right into his brain, colors he didn’t even know existed.

  A thick fluid drips onto his tongue and he works him even more eagerly, the deep rumbles travelling down King and bouncing in Gareth’s skull. It’s almost deafening. It ebbs in time with the lights and something syncs up between them—breathing, thinking, heartbeat, he can’t tell what’s different but it feels like everything is. When King clicks—a long and staccato set that raise in pitch—he gets it, not like he hears words but he just feels it, like some basal level of understanding lighting up in his mind.

  “I love you too.” He whimpers back, and King’s whole body shudders.

  There’s tentacles all over him, pulling at his skin and stroking him like King can’t get enough contact between them, like he’s scared Gareth is going to slip away from him. Gareth raises his arms and grips King’s waist to pull him down more securely, to show him that Gareth’s not going anywhere, he can grind as hard as he wants and Gareth is just going to ask for more.

  His own orgasm catches him off-guard, the abrupt punch of his own finish shooting through him as King strokes him rapidly, thrusting tentacles into his soft hole. Gareth moans deep and low and the lights spiral around him, a dazzling display that makes him feel like he’s on a cloud, safe and loved as he rides out each thick shot of cum. King grinds down on him, plastering his face with the viscous slickness that’s dripping from him, the base of his tentacles tight around Gareth’s head like his diving mask. He eats King out happily, eagerly, lovingly. He eats King out until his jaw aches and his tongue seizes up and he realizes that it’s been a long time since he’s been able to breathe but he’s too absorbed in his work to pull away, shuddering through another orgasm and then another while King sounds wrecked, a long line of chirps that worm into Gareth’s brain and settle there.

  A possessive mantra.

  He is King’s. King is his.

  King is abruptly ripped into the water with a cry like rending metal. The perfect connection snaps in an instant as Gareth blinks away the afterimages of King’s lights and sees the triangular head of a shark tearing off one of King’s tentacles. He moves without thinking, jumping onto the shark’s back and striking whatever is closest—only to be grabbed by the throat and thrown back to the shore.

  Oh. Oh fuck. It’s that shark guy.

  Gareth screams and launches himself back into the fray, sheer rage and adrenaline propelling him as King thrashes in the shark man’s grasp. He tears at the gills at the side of the man’s neck until they bleed and his attention shifts away from King, moving to shove Gareth under the water and drag him to the bottom of the pool. Gareth kicks him as hard as he can but the creature’s eyes go dark and he bites down on Gareth’s shoulder, the ring of teeth so much wider than the ring left by King. A trail of bubbles escape from his mouth as he soundlessly trashes.

  King intercepts, wedging his tentacles between them and prising the shark’s jaw open until Gareth can squirm free and ram his hand into those bleeding gills. The shark twists, closing his teeth around King’s tentacle and wrapping a thick arm around his torso. King bites his arm, but it doesn’t prevent the shark man from hauling him off at surprising speed through the tunnel and out to the open sea. Gareth follows as fast as he can, as fast as a naked human running on an unhealthy amount of adrenaline can, and sees the wake of a boat speeding away.

  He surfaces and screams until his throat is raw, but King is gone, and Gareth knows exactly who took him.

 

 

 
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