Jem's walk home from work is derailed. To clarify, it's derailed by tentacles. Tentacle sex. Eggs? What else can I say, it's tentacle sex, eggs, man gets his pussy wrecked, the typical stuff.
Jem frequently walked to and from work. His apartment was only a few blocks away, and he didn't own a car anyway. He had a bike, and utilized public transportation.
He enjoyed the walk, as he usually made in the daytime. He worked opening and day shifts at Crow's Grill and Bar, before the bar aspect really kicked in. Jem was fine with this. He hated drunk people.
He was also, unfortunately, a pushover, so when a new coworker--Mariah--asked to swap shifts, and she asked so nicely, and she was just so cool, how could he say now And that became a habit, and he found himself walking home at night once a week.
Jem was aware of his privilege as a man; were he a woman, this walk would be much more dangerous. As it was, the first few times he had to make the journey, he found his heart beating out of his chest by the time he reached home, only to race up the stairs to his apartment and gratefully greet his cat.
Jem wasn't a physically imposing kind of dude. He was 5'11, lanky and knock-kneed. He wasn't weak, persay--the biking certainly helped, and left him with defined muscles in his thighs and calves, and he had broadish shoulders, if his arms were a little squishy. He was strong enough to those huge bags of flour here and there at work and that was good enough for him.
All things considered, it should round out to a safe walk. And, as time would prove, it was! After the third round, his nerves steadied, and he began to enjoy it--the sounds of the nightlife around him, the clear night air, and-- most wonderfully--the last alley before his apartment.
Between a dive bar and a building of indeterminate use, there was an alley filled with broken glass. Not large shards; whatever happened here, it happened a long time ago, and all the glass had become powder since. What little streetlight made it through the alley caught the glass as though it were crushed diamonds, leaving a spectacular road of starlight.
Jem's lucky streak would break in that alley.
Jem was exhausted. Well and truly. This is was why he hated night shifts. Drunk assholes and noise everywhere and endless work with no room for breaks-- the food industry was unforgiving. He clocked out as quickly as soon as his cutwork was done and ducked out the door before anyone could ask if he had time for one last little favor. He did not have time, thank you very much! He had a cat to feed and Netflix to watch.
Jem was too tired to even feel afraid tonight. He went through the route on sore feet, fumbling with his apron ties. They were tangled and wouldn't come undone.
He swore and stopped, violently wrenching at one end. The string snapped. He swore again, and yanked it off, balled it up and threw it behind him in a rare display of temper.
Jem sighed. "No, you need that, dumbass," he muttered, and turned.
He realized he was in the alley of broken glass. Jem looked at the glittering asphalt under him, and felt his anger cooling.
"Lovely evening, isn't it?" he told the pavement. He meant it genuinely. The air was cool and dry, and soothed his sweaty... everywhere.
Calmed, he went to retrieve his apron. It had just fallen against one side of the alley, next to a pile of cardboard boxes. As he grabbed it, he heard some sort of sound, something wet. He stepped back warily, squinting at the boxes. They were soggy. It had rained earlier, hadn't it?
Water seeped from them, hitting the edges of his shoes. It must have rained.
As he stared, a sound caught his ears--something wet, moving. He cautiously approached. Most of the boxes were broken and stacked up inside of each other, but a large box near the front was open. He heard another sound, slightly louder, and-- he heard this small, barely there mewl.
He inhaled sharply and opened the box, expecting to see waterlogged kittens or puppies or something equally heartbreaking.
It was too dark inside to make out what it was, but he saw slight movement. That mewling sound, again, louder. Jem dug around in his pocket for his phone. He turned on the flashlight, and peered in.
The nest of tentacles froze.
Jem froze.
They stared at each other for a moment.
Jem reeled back at the same time a tentacle whipped out of the box and wrapped around his wrist. It wasn't strong enough to pull him back so Jem kept backpedaling, hyperventilating--should he scream? He should probably scream--but it wound up his wrist as he pulled it out, almost like spaghetti.
There was a moment of resistance, when it had pulled as far as it could, and he was yanked at it. It was held to whatever else was in the box, like it was an appendage to an organism, and it just kept winding up his arm. It was just strong enough to fight him as they played a bizarre game of tug-of-war.
He'd dropped his phone like an idiot; it had clattered to the ground, flashlight vaguely illuminating the area.
Two more tentacles rose from the box, swaying like serpents. One swayed forward slowly, almost hypnotically. The other wrapped around his wrist and yanked.
"That's cheating," Jem accused, heels skidding on the asphalt as it pulled him closer. The first tentacle was wrapped up to his shoulder by now, strange, undulating pressure against his shirt. "That's two on one, c'mon, guys--"
He heard voices outside the alley. Cheerful, yelling voice. People coming home from the bars!
He began to scream for help, and the third tentacle shoved into his mouth.
Jem was stunned, attention ripped back to the tentacles. Was this karmic retribution for watching hentai as a teenager?
He crossed his eyes down at the thing in his mouth--at its deep violet, shimmering skin, how it was about as thick as a cucumber and his mouth stretched around it--and the way it felt, sitting heavy on his tongue, heavy and warm and with a pulse.
And wet. So, so, so, wet! It was almost as though it were salivating, and it filled his mouth with that moisture, forcing him to swallow, rapidly. He tried to scream, anyway; muffled, pointless, pathetic.
It didn't move itself; the tentacles on his arm pulled him in closer, the second one abandoning his wrist to wrap loosely around his waist. Not tugging, more like gentle nudging. The movement brought it slowly further into his mouth.
Jem shook his head, making a base, animal sound of panic in the back of his throat and tried to wrench back--he knocked off the tentacle around his waist--the tentacle in his mouth suddenly thrust further, knocking against the back of his throat. Jem gagged. That moisture was filling his mouth, god, he felt like he was going to drown--
Distantly, he noted that it had a pleasant, light taste. Like pineapple.
It spilled out around the corners and dripped down his chin. The sound of his choking was absolutely disgusting. He swallowed desperately.
The tentacle in his mouth vibrated, like a growl, and shifted somehow. Hot, thick liquid started to drip down his throat. Jem groaned helplessly.
The thick liquid dripped into his stomach. It reminded him-- the memory seemed absurd in this context-- of drinking hot chocolate after coming in from the snow as a kid, and the way it was so hot he could feel it down his throat to his stomach.
That was what it felt like now; hot cupcake batter, sliding down his esophagus. It lit up his stomach, and something strange happened.
His arms went lax, and the tentacle wound sweetly around his waist again, like the arm of a lover. The tentacle around his arm undulated comfortingly, and the tentacle in his mouth shifted, keeping up the trickle of liquid. It vibrated again, but more like a purr. Jem... whined.
He didn't feel his feet moving as the tentacles guided him back to the box. He was only thinking about that heat in his belly, about how it was beginning to warm up the rest of him. The tentacle around his arm retreated. He reached after it on instinct.
That startled him half out of his trance. He should be running! He jerked back, and the tentacle returned in a flash, but this time, it slipped up his sleeve, wrapping around his bare skin like a boa. He shuddered and flinched away from that awful, slimy sensation, from the painful pressure. It was like the worlds wettest blood-pressure machine.
Fear beat its way back through the haze. The tentacle on his arm squeezed and Jem yelped. It was producing that moisture, too, steadily coating his arm like grease. He could smell it. Yeah, it was like pineapples!
HIs skin tingled where the moisture touched, and Jem's pulse started to calm, again. The tentacle in his mouth shifted further forward, down his throat, and he gagged, but it didn't stop, just nestled further. The pain faded from his arm, like the tentacle's mucus was numbing it. Or, not numbing it. He could still feel. God, he could feel more, like his nerve endings were on fire, and every movement of the tentacles sent sparks flying to his gut.
The heat from his belly had filled his body. He was overheating. He realized he was right against the box, now, leaning over it. He stared into it, at the nest of tentacles that were moving, now, slithering over each other like snakes. The tentacle lifted his arm and dangled it into the box.
The tentacle around his waist slipped beneath his shirt, curling around his abdomen. The cool slickness was a balm against his sudden, prickling heat. Jem moaned quietly.
The panic came back again, full force. Moaning? No, no, no, no--
His fingers curled around the nest and it purred.
