the final drabble
psuedo_catalyst asked for: In the Pool, Late at Night 'verse "first time insecure-about-having-tentacles sex."
1,847 words later, here it is. (side note: Oh man, do I ever fail at drabbles.)
Rating: NC-17, because there is sex.
Warnings: Tentacles. Lots and LOTS of tentacles, and other alien features. Mention of tentacle injuries and Ryan being mistreated/bullied because of the tentacles. (It is a TENTACLEPALOOZA, is what I'm saying here.) Teenage sex, though everyone is over 18.
Spencer knows, generally, at what point his - whatever he's doing - with Ryan shifted from "best friends" to "maybe dating but not discussing it": it was more or less around the time that Panic got to actually be more than endless afternoons in Spencer's grandma's basement.
They were both kind of freaked out, and not talking about that either, and kind of exhausted from school and all of the other stuff going on - all the really big, important stuff, that was going to change their lives forever - and there was a movie night where they watched a lot of really scary movies, the kind that Spencer loved and Ryan watched through his fingers. And then afterwards, in bed, Ryan settled in like he always did, nestled under Spencer's arm with his tentacles tucked in the wet-bag, and somehow their usual in-depth recap of the movies both of them had just watched together veered off into kissing.
What Spencer is less sure of is at what point things got weird. The kissing had been new and kind of different but not actually weird. Or at least not weird in a bad way. In fact Spencer had been rather enjoying the kissing. He is not enjoying what was happening now, i.e. him and Ryan making out for hours and then Ryan either rolling himself into an anxious little ball or deciding he'd rather sleep in the tub than in the bed.
The first couple of times it happened Spencer just let it go, writing it off to Ryan being tired or pissed off for other reasons or something. But it is now Saturday night, their homework is done, and they've spent most of the evening alternating between truly awful rom-coms that Ryan loves and Spencer mocks viciously in the privacy of his own mind, and lazy, comfortable make-outs. Ryan had been fine until about ten minutes ago, when he once again rolled into a tiny ball.
Spencer gets up, and walks around a little bit, stretching his legs out and mostly pretending to be hunting for the Nintendo controller. He can feel Ryan watching him.
Eventually he comes back to the bed and sits down. Ryan sticks one hand out and strokes Spencer's shins. Spencer settles back against the bed and holds still, wiggling his toes appreciatively as Ryan's fingers drift towards his ankles. Spencer thinks he might be uncurling a little bit.
"You like that," Ryan observes, and Spencer hums his agreement.
"Does everyone?" Ryan asks a bit later, now rubbing Spencer's ankles.
"Er," Spencer says. "Maybe? Depends? Do you like it when I touch your tentacles?"
Ryan flushes and yanks his hand back, but only for a minute. Spencer stays quiet and tries not to twitch away as Ryan pets and strokes and otherwise undertakes a mysteriously in-depth investigation of Spencer's feet, which he has probably seen every day since Spencer was five.
"You don't touch my tentacles," Ryan mutters a bit later, flicking Spencer a glance that is both reproachful and defiant.
"I do so," Spencer says, because he does, all the time.
In fact he hasn't even graduated from high school and Spencer's pretty sure he has a master's degree in tentacology from Ryan Ross University. He knows what happens when they get trodden on (Ryan yelling, bruises); when they get accidentally sliced by kitchen knives (Ryan freaking out, blood everywhere); when they get shut in car doors (Ryan makes a noise Spencer never wants to hear again; bruises); and all of the sometimes surprising ways they can be used (wet willies; removing small items from one's pockets; creating chords no-one else can play). Spencer has Ryan's tentacles wrapped around or stuck into approximately every part of his body on average of three times a day.
"No you don't," Ryan says, sulkily, and settles half into Spencer's lap with a grumpy huffing noise.
Spencer has learned over the years that some arguments he is just going to lose. This is one of them, but unlike the others, he doesn't know why, and it bothers him. He pets Ryan's hair, tentatively at first, and then carefully, when Ryan doesn't immediately twitch away.
"It's okay," Ryan murmurs a bit later. "I know they're, like, fucked up. Or whatever."
"What?" Spencer says, caught off guard again, though he's starting to get an idea what's wrong now. "They are not. There's nothing wrong with your tentacles."
"Aside from being tentacles," Ryan says. "And gross and slimy and funny looking."
Oh, Spencer thinks, his suspicion confirmed. What he doesn't know is how to fix it.
He's still thinking about it ten minutes later, when one of the smaller tentacles in question slides up and curls around his wrist. It's something Ryan has done probably thousands of times before - during scary movies, when he's bored in heavy traffic, when Brendon is being just a hair too loud - and any other time Spencer wouldn't give it a second thought.
This time, though, Spencer moves his arm into his lap and strokes the tip of the tentacle gently, just to say hello. He can remember being five and fascinated by Ryan's suckers, and the slow movement of blood under the thin, transluscent skin. That they changed colors depending on what Ryan was touching had also been an endless source of amusement. And it wasn't until they had tried to make blue Jello in the bathtub that any parents caught on.
(The other thing Spencer remembers is the lecture he had gotten from his mother afterwards. Not the words so much as her tone: soft, serious, almost sad. Possibly the full meaning hadn't sunk in until the day Ryan started first grade and when he came over after dinner his tentacles were still several different colors, from where his classmates had been experimenting, and Ryan was also noticeably tense about the mouth. Spencer's mom hadn't said anything, just gathered him up and taken Spencer's hand and brought them both upstairs to her special tub, that no-one was allowed in on pain of death, run a bath, and left them to play for a couple of hours.)
The tentacle unsticks itself from the crease between Spencer's thumb and forefinger and waves at him, a clear challenge, and Spencer wrestles with it until a second tentacle comes along and tries to muscle in on the action. Spencer glances down at Ryan, but he's putting on a good show of watching the movie. So Spencer goes back to the tentacles, finger-wrestling and rolling them between his hands on the rare occasion he wins.
Later the first two tentacles are joined by a third and a fourth, at which point Spencer gives up on watching the movie and re-arranges them so that he's laying in Ryan's lap, or at least near it. Mainly what he's doing is - well, it feels like playing. Arm-wrestling, maybe. Eventually, though, the tentacles settle down, curling themselves against his chest. They are heavy and warm but still damp enough that Spencer doesn't feel like he has to get up and get the spray bottle yet.
Spencer nuzzles them, planting little kisses on individual suckers, then glances up at Ryan's face briefly before turning his nuzzling into gentle sucking on one of the medium-sized tendrils. Ryan makes a startled noise and Spencer pulls back immediately.
"Sorry," he says, quickly, and then realizes Ryan is looking at him wide, amazed eyes.
"Did it hurt?" Spencer asked, though he's pretty sure the noise Ryan made was not a hurt noise.
"No," Ryan said, and now Spencer can see the pink flush on his cheeks. "I just - it doesn't feel like that when I do it."
Spencer files that comment away for further reflection as he picks up the tendril and sucks on it some more. Ryan's eyes are huge and dark and he is clutching Spencer's covers with both hands.
"Good?" Spencer asks, shifting a little bit to accommodate his own growing arousal.
"Good," Ryan whispers, and Spencer rests a hand on the rest of the tentacles.
One or two curl around his wrist again, and Spencer relaxes a little bit. He keeps sucking on the one in his mouth, not quite sure what else he supposed to do. Ryan has a dick somewhere, Spencer is pretty sure, but his memories of freshmen health class are vague and he not about to ask for directions at this juncture. He will wait and check his dad's alien anatomy book, so he can avoid looking like either an ignorant idiot or a terrible friend.
Then the pile of tentacles under Spencer's hand roils and shifts and he can feel his hand moving and oh, now that's something he definitely hasn't seen before but is yet instantly familiar. Spencer may not know a lot about alien anatomy but he is a teenage boy and he knows a dick when it is in front of him.
The tentacle in his mouth wiggles free, but Spencer is too fascinated by his new discovery to be distressed. The tentacles guide his hand down, which Spencer takes as permission to touch, and so he does. He also sits up so he can get a better look. One of the other tentacles glides forward, wiggles into his shorts and curls around his own dick. It tickles and also feels kind of weird. Spencer kind of flails a little, which makes the tentacle retreat, but Spencer catches it before it gets far and tugs it back gently, stroking it until he feels it curl around him again.
Spencer gets another little shock when he looks up: Ryan's eyes are wide, and totally black. Spencer has only seen him do that trick a few times, usually when he's angry or wants to drive someone away. He's kind of used to it, and it kind of still gives him the chills a little bit.
Ryan closes his eyes then puts his arms out, pulls Spencer close and kisses him. Despite the serious distraction of Ryan's mouth and also his fingers, Spencer somehow manages to coordinate his hand and brain enough to get a rhythm going, which is soon matched by the tentacle in his shorts. He's quietly pleased on a number of levels when Ryan finishes first, though Spencer is not far behind him. Ryan sags against Spencer, and Spencer lays them both down on the bed and cuddles Ryan close, petting Ryan's hair until both of their breathing evens out.
"Okay?" Spencer asks, just to be sure.
"Okay," Ryan confirms, wiggling closer. "Sticky."
"Yeah," Spencer agrees, because they are, and it's kind of gross.
Ryan stretches his head up and they kiss until Spencer can feel sleep pulling at him more insistently, and then he pries himself away from Ryan to get both the spray bottle and a mostly-clean towel. Spencer cleans them up quickly but carefully, wets the tentacles down for the evening, and crawls back in the bed. He's asleep before Ryan even finishes curling tentacles around his knees.'
1,847 words later, here it is. (side note: Oh man, do I ever fail at drabbles.)
Rating: NC-17, because there is sex.
Warnings: Tentacles. Lots and LOTS of tentacles, and other alien features. Mention of tentacle injuries and Ryan being mistreated/bullied because of the tentacles. (It is a TENTACLEPALOOZA, is what I'm saying here.) Teenage sex, though everyone is over 18.
Spencer knows, generally, at what point his - whatever he's doing - with Ryan shifted from "best friends" to "maybe dating but not discussing it": it was more or less around the time that Panic got to actually be more than endless afternoons in Spencer's grandma's basement.
They were both kind of freaked out, and not talking about that either, and kind of exhausted from school and all of the other stuff going on - all the really big, important stuff, that was going to change their lives forever - and there was a movie night where they watched a lot of really scary movies, the kind that Spencer loved and Ryan watched through his fingers. And then afterwards, in bed, Ryan settled in like he always did, nestled under Spencer's arm with his tentacles tucked in the wet-bag, and somehow their usual in-depth recap of the movies both of them had just watched together veered off into kissing.
What Spencer is less sure of is at what point things got weird. The kissing had been new and kind of different but not actually weird. Or at least not weird in a bad way. In fact Spencer had been rather enjoying the kissing. He is not enjoying what was happening now, i.e. him and Ryan making out for hours and then Ryan either rolling himself into an anxious little ball or deciding he'd rather sleep in the tub than in the bed.
The first couple of times it happened Spencer just let it go, writing it off to Ryan being tired or pissed off for other reasons or something. But it is now Saturday night, their homework is done, and they've spent most of the evening alternating between truly awful rom-coms that Ryan loves and Spencer mocks viciously in the privacy of his own mind, and lazy, comfortable make-outs. Ryan had been fine until about ten minutes ago, when he once again rolled into a tiny ball.
Spencer gets up, and walks around a little bit, stretching his legs out and mostly pretending to be hunting for the Nintendo controller. He can feel Ryan watching him.
Eventually he comes back to the bed and sits down. Ryan sticks one hand out and strokes Spencer's shins. Spencer settles back against the bed and holds still, wiggling his toes appreciatively as Ryan's fingers drift towards his ankles. Spencer thinks he might be uncurling a little bit.
"You like that," Ryan observes, and Spencer hums his agreement.
"Does everyone?" Ryan asks a bit later, now rubbing Spencer's ankles.
"Er," Spencer says. "Maybe? Depends? Do you like it when I touch your tentacles?"
Ryan flushes and yanks his hand back, but only for a minute. Spencer stays quiet and tries not to twitch away as Ryan pets and strokes and otherwise undertakes a mysteriously in-depth investigation of Spencer's feet, which he has probably seen every day since Spencer was five.
"You don't touch my tentacles," Ryan mutters a bit later, flicking Spencer a glance that is both reproachful and defiant.
"I do so," Spencer says, because he does, all the time.
In fact he hasn't even graduated from high school and Spencer's pretty sure he has a master's degree in tentacology from Ryan Ross University. He knows what happens when they get trodden on (Ryan yelling, bruises); when they get accidentally sliced by kitchen knives (Ryan freaking out, blood everywhere); when they get shut in car doors (Ryan makes a noise Spencer never wants to hear again; bruises); and all of the sometimes surprising ways they can be used (wet willies; removing small items from one's pockets; creating chords no-one else can play). Spencer has Ryan's tentacles wrapped around or stuck into approximately every part of his body on average of three times a day.
"No you don't," Ryan says, sulkily, and settles half into Spencer's lap with a grumpy huffing noise.
Spencer has learned over the years that some arguments he is just going to lose. This is one of them, but unlike the others, he doesn't know why, and it bothers him. He pets Ryan's hair, tentatively at first, and then carefully, when Ryan doesn't immediately twitch away.
"It's okay," Ryan murmurs a bit later. "I know they're, like, fucked up. Or whatever."
"What?" Spencer says, caught off guard again, though he's starting to get an idea what's wrong now. "They are not. There's nothing wrong with your tentacles."
"Aside from being tentacles," Ryan says. "And gross and slimy and funny looking."
Oh, Spencer thinks, his suspicion confirmed. What he doesn't know is how to fix it.
He's still thinking about it ten minutes later, when one of the smaller tentacles in question slides up and curls around his wrist. It's something Ryan has done probably thousands of times before - during scary movies, when he's bored in heavy traffic, when Brendon is being just a hair too loud - and any other time Spencer wouldn't give it a second thought.
This time, though, Spencer moves his arm into his lap and strokes the tip of the tentacle gently, just to say hello. He can remember being five and fascinated by Ryan's suckers, and the slow movement of blood under the thin, transluscent skin. That they changed colors depending on what Ryan was touching had also been an endless source of amusement. And it wasn't until they had tried to make blue Jello in the bathtub that any parents caught on.
(The other thing Spencer remembers is the lecture he had gotten from his mother afterwards. Not the words so much as her tone: soft, serious, almost sad. Possibly the full meaning hadn't sunk in until the day Ryan started first grade and when he came over after dinner his tentacles were still several different colors, from where his classmates had been experimenting, and Ryan was also noticeably tense about the mouth. Spencer's mom hadn't said anything, just gathered him up and taken Spencer's hand and brought them both upstairs to her special tub, that no-one was allowed in on pain of death, run a bath, and left them to play for a couple of hours.)
The tentacle unsticks itself from the crease between Spencer's thumb and forefinger and waves at him, a clear challenge, and Spencer wrestles with it until a second tentacle comes along and tries to muscle in on the action. Spencer glances down at Ryan, but he's putting on a good show of watching the movie. So Spencer goes back to the tentacles, finger-wrestling and rolling them between his hands on the rare occasion he wins.
Later the first two tentacles are joined by a third and a fourth, at which point Spencer gives up on watching the movie and re-arranges them so that he's laying in Ryan's lap, or at least near it. Mainly what he's doing is - well, it feels like playing. Arm-wrestling, maybe. Eventually, though, the tentacles settle down, curling themselves against his chest. They are heavy and warm but still damp enough that Spencer doesn't feel like he has to get up and get the spray bottle yet.
Spencer nuzzles them, planting little kisses on individual suckers, then glances up at Ryan's face briefly before turning his nuzzling into gentle sucking on one of the medium-sized tendrils. Ryan makes a startled noise and Spencer pulls back immediately.
"Sorry," he says, quickly, and then realizes Ryan is looking at him wide, amazed eyes.
"Did it hurt?" Spencer asked, though he's pretty sure the noise Ryan made was not a hurt noise.
"No," Ryan said, and now Spencer can see the pink flush on his cheeks. "I just - it doesn't feel like that when I do it."
Spencer files that comment away for further reflection as he picks up the tendril and sucks on it some more. Ryan's eyes are huge and dark and he is clutching Spencer's covers with both hands.
"Good?" Spencer asks, shifting a little bit to accommodate his own growing arousal.
"Good," Ryan whispers, and Spencer rests a hand on the rest of the tentacles.
One or two curl around his wrist again, and Spencer relaxes a little bit. He keeps sucking on the one in his mouth, not quite sure what else he supposed to do. Ryan has a dick somewhere, Spencer is pretty sure, but his memories of freshmen health class are vague and he not about to ask for directions at this juncture. He will wait and check his dad's alien anatomy book, so he can avoid looking like either an ignorant idiot or a terrible friend.
Then the pile of tentacles under Spencer's hand roils and shifts and he can feel his hand moving and oh, now that's something he definitely hasn't seen before but is yet instantly familiar. Spencer may not know a lot about alien anatomy but he is a teenage boy and he knows a dick when it is in front of him.
The tentacle in his mouth wiggles free, but Spencer is too fascinated by his new discovery to be distressed. The tentacles guide his hand down, which Spencer takes as permission to touch, and so he does. He also sits up so he can get a better look. One of the other tentacles glides forward, wiggles into his shorts and curls around his own dick. It tickles and also feels kind of weird. Spencer kind of flails a little, which makes the tentacle retreat, but Spencer catches it before it gets far and tugs it back gently, stroking it until he feels it curl around him again.
Spencer gets another little shock when he looks up: Ryan's eyes are wide, and totally black. Spencer has only seen him do that trick a few times, usually when he's angry or wants to drive someone away. He's kind of used to it, and it kind of still gives him the chills a little bit.
Ryan closes his eyes then puts his arms out, pulls Spencer close and kisses him. Despite the serious distraction of Ryan's mouth and also his fingers, Spencer somehow manages to coordinate his hand and brain enough to get a rhythm going, which is soon matched by the tentacle in his shorts. He's quietly pleased on a number of levels when Ryan finishes first, though Spencer is not far behind him. Ryan sags against Spencer, and Spencer lays them both down on the bed and cuddles Ryan close, petting Ryan's hair until both of their breathing evens out.
"Okay?" Spencer asks, just to be sure.
"Okay," Ryan confirms, wiggling closer. "Sticky."
"Yeah," Spencer agrees, because they are, and it's kind of gross.
Ryan stretches his head up and they kiss until Spencer can feel sleep pulling at him more insistently, and then he pries himself away from Ryan to get both the spray bottle and a mostly-clean towel. Spencer cleans them up quickly but carefully, wets the tentacles down for the evening, and crawls back in the bed. He's asleep before Ryan even finishes curling tentacles around his knees.'