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A Study in Homo-Octopoda	By : darkangel1210 Category: S through Z > Sherlock (BBC) > Sherlock (BBC) Views: 4658 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I don’t own BBC Sherlock or any of the characters, nor do I make any profit from writing this. Just too inspired by the show that I had to borrow them.

Chapter List
- 1-A Study in Homo-Octopoda
- 1
A/N: Homo-octopoda – like homo-sapiens but with the scientific term for Octopus instead. It’s probably not correct, but this is just a fantasy so I went with it ^^ (Plus it sounds cool!)
This fic was inspired by drwatsonsjournal and her fic, ‘Just One’ on AO3, which has some very lovely links to a nsfw picture of Octo!John and Sherlock, not to mention a prompt that I just salivated over! Also, ‘Just One’ is a good read. Check it out!
In fact, I liked it so much that I thought I’d give Octo!John a bash! So this little one-shot is, in effect, a PWP. No real plot, just enough to fill in the gaps, but you may want to leave ‘realistic’ at the door because this is just porn. With John, Sherlock and eight long friends.
Plain and simple really ;-)
Enjoy!
The sound of the front door slamming in its hinges echoed through the flat, loud enough to startle Sherlock from where he’d been reading a so-called ‘top’ forensic novel and leaving him narrowing his eyes at the door while he waited for John to come home. Steady thumps rushed up the steps, two at a time compared to John’s normal gait, and there was a distinct lack of rustling from the strangely absent plastic bags. Hadn’t John needed to go shopping after work? He’d clearly insinuated beforehand that perhaps Sherlock should do the bloody shopping himself seeing as he kept using all the jam and peanut butter for experiments, although that did not include the atrocious invention of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that the Americans loved to adorn their plates with.
John soon entered the flat, shrugging off his jacket and taking his shoes off without even a glance in Sherlock’s direction, even though he must have known Sherlock was in the room with him. Unusual behaviour from a man who usually prided himself on good manners... “Hard day?” Sherlock asked, because it was polite to ask rather than deduce one’s partner, closing the book with a small snap and resting it on his knees.
John opened his mouth to respond, finally turning to look in Sherlock's direction, but no words were uttered. Instead a deep groan emitted from his throat and John clutched at his abdomen, almost bending in half where he stood. Eyes widening in alarm, Sherlock immediately stood up, tossing his book on the coffee table and hurrying to John’s side, catching him as the other man slowly sank to the floor with a pained whimper. “John!” he said urgently, wrapping his arms around John’s torso to support him as John’s body doubled up beneath his hands.
Wincing, John looked up at Sherlock through what must have been blurred vision, his focus unable to settle on Sherlock’s face. “Stomach cramps,” he said with his teeth clenched. “I need to… to get to the bathroom. Quickly… I-”
“Ok, ok, just let me help,” Sherlock interrupted him, using his arms to pull them both upright and gnashing his teeth against the strain of John’s weight when he found the man was hardly supporting himself. “John, I can’t carry you, I need you to move with me.”
John nodded at Sherlock’s words and made a show of will in getting his feet under him, but the process in getting from the living room to the bathroom wasn’t made any easier. In fact the whole thing was a stumbling, half-muted curse of a journey that eventually ended with Sherlock resting John on the floor in front of the toilet, but John didn’t open the lid. “Can you, ungh fuck… Can you run… the bath for me please?” John gasped, his hands wrapped protectively around his middle.
Sherlock stared at his partner, frowning at the request before nodding an affirmative, turning to run the taps. “How hot do you want it?” he asked John, turning back and seeing that the other man was struggling to take his shirt off. “Stop that,” Sherlock chided him, batting John’s hands away from his body and undoing the buttons himself. “You need to concentrate on getting better; you never know when a case will turn up.”
John huffed a laugh, the noise morphing into a groan when Sherlock undid the buttons on his trousers and lowered the zip. “Help me get these off,” John muttered, motioning to his trousers and cupping his stomach when another spasm hit him. Nodding again, Sherlock pushed at John's shoulders so he was lying back on the floor, giving him more room to pull the fabric over John's hips and down his legs.
Sherlock looked at John underneath his fringe, watching the way his face shifted from pain to relief and back again, counting the seconds between each cramp. “Are you sure you want to get in the bath?” he questioned, the logic of it surpassing even him. “What if you need to use the toilet?”
Shaking his head, John reached down with his hands and began push at the edge of his boxers, bottom lip caught between his teeth with the effort. Sherlock took over, pulling them down until they could join John's trousers and leaving John gasping when every article of clothing was removed from his body. Under any other circumstance, Sherlock knew looking at John while he was naked would normally be a treat to be lavished over; however, when John was clearly in pain, the feeling was sufficiently diminished.
The sound of the running water distracted him from his thoughts and he quickly stood to turn off the taps before the bath overfilled, the water hot enough to create the steam currently running down the mirror above the sink. He tested the temperature with a finger, deciding it wasn’t hot enough to cause injury, and turned back to help get John to his feet. The motions were slow and steady, each huff of John’s breath preceding a wheeze as the aching in his abdomen refused to lessen, but Sherlock managed to get John standing and over to the edge of the bath. “Easy,” Sherlock murmured, helping John lift one leg, then the other, and then lowered him into the tub until he was up to his sternum in hot water.
“God, that’s good,” John breathed, his muscles relaxing marginally and his eyes shutting for one moment before he opened them to look up at Sherlock. “Thank you.”
Sherlock felt the focus in his eyes soften as he looked at John, kneeling down beside the bath on the left-hand side to gently run his right hand through John’s hair. “You needed the help. Even if we weren’t together, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”
John chuckled. “I might have had something more to say about platonic flatmate relations if we weren’t.”
Sherlock smiled, letting his left hand dip into the water and gently stroking it across John’s chest. “It’s almost a certainty, actually, not that you’d have stopped me.”
A smile graced John’s lips before they pursed, his own hands drifting to his stomach again. “Christ… It’s never been this bad before.”
“What?” Sherlock’s own smile fell. “What do you mean ‘before’?”
John waved a hand at him. “Nothing. Just the last time I had an upset tummy, you know how it is.”
No, Sherlock really didn’t, having deleted his past experiences when he’d decided that being sick didn’t belong in his Mind Palace, but he didn’t mention this to John. “Do you think you’ll be able to keep down some pain-killers?” he asked instead, watching as the hot water slowly increased the time between John’s cramps.
John shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. Just need the rest, need to let the water do its work. I won’t be long.”
Sherlock scoffed. “Your cramps may be decreasing now but that doesn’t mean they won’t come back when you get out. Might I point out that you needed my help getting into this plastic tub?”
John sighed, rolling his eyes before settling his head back against the lip of the bath. “At least give me an hour, ok? If I start feeling worse before the time is up I’ll let you know. I promise.”
Argh, trust John to use the ‘promise’ word. Sherlock knew that John never broke a promise, no matter how small, but he was still reluctant to leave him. It was only when John looked at him again, fisting a hand in his shirt and pulling their lips together in a soft kiss that he finally relented, glancing back around the bathroom door at John’s dozing profile and then shutting it quietly behind him.
oOo
Contrary to what he thought would happen, the seconds ticked towards the sixty minute mark without a word from John. Sherlock glared at the second hand as it moved, knowing logically that there wasn’t a chance of the hand moving slower than it actually was and it was only his perception of it that made it feel like time was at a standstill. Shaking his head, he waited for the sixtieth second and then made his way back to the bathroom, pausing outside the door before knocking twice.
No response. “John?”
After a moment’s silence, he tried knocking again, three raps on the door.
Still nothing.
Sherlock reached for the handle of the door, slowly turning it so it didn’t squeak and exhaling with relief when he realised that John hadn’t locked it; he let himself inside, blinking against the mist in the room as he shut the door behind him. It was clear from the humidity that John had gotten cold after Sherlock left him, hence the overabundance of steam he was currently breathing in, but it also made it so that, when he finally saw John’s profile, he could see his own breath escaping him in a rush. For a split second, Sherlock honestly thought that he was dreaming as he pressed his own body back against the door. It had to be a dream, or at the very least a waking fantasy, because there was no logical explanation for what was in front of him.
There was John, lying there as he had been when Sherlock last saw him, but inside the bath were … tentacles.
Breath stuttering in his throat, Sherlock forced himself to observe what he was seeing, rather than obeying the instinct to rush to John’s side to remove the monster inside the tub because there was clearly something else at work here. Yes, the tentacles hadn’t been there when he last saw John but there wasn’t the remotest possibility that a hulking monster happened to make it into the bathroom without Sherlock noticing.‘That can only mean…’ That the tentacles were in fact John’s.
All eight of them, Sherlock realised. Blue in colour, each of them had, at their widest point, a matching circumference of Sherlock’s own bicep before they swiftly tapered towards the end. On the underside of each one there were clearly defined suckers (which meant that they were actually ‘arms’, not tentacles, but it felt safer to refer to them as such), evenly spaced and shifting with the movement of each limb as they curled around the edge of the bath and writhed in the water.
From what Sherlock could see, the water level had risen to match the change in mass inside the bath and steady ripples were lapping at the sides, but none of the tentacles were moving in a way that would cause that effect. Instead, movement at John’s left shoulder drew Sherlock’s attention and his eyes followed the flexing of John’s left arm as it shifted beneath the water at his waist, a clench and release rhythm that mimicked the pulse Sherlock could suddenly feel between his thighs. Sherlock held his breath, captivated, when John arched his head back against the bath rim, eyes closed, and the tentacles shuddered and curled around each other. A deep moan escaped John when his left arm made a particularly vigorous movement beneath the water and the heat in Sherlock’s groin spiked at the sight. Christ, was John masturbating?
Almost without conscious thought, Sherlock brought to mind the physical aspects of the Giant Pacific Octopus, Enteroctopus dofleini, because it was the only species that closely resembled the writhing mass in front of him, and he was brought to a mental stop when he realised the exact positioning of John’s hand. If he was correct, John’s hand would be around the area where the beak would be on a normal octopus, the primary apparatus used for feeding, but that was only in the normal species. Whatever was happening, John certainly wasn’t ‘normal’ and Sherlock’s curious nature was desperate to begin testing the differences; he wanted to measure the actual length of those tentacles, which on a Giant Octopus could reach up to four metres, but without closer inspection he’d be hard-pressed to give an exact figure because he couldn’t tell where one started and the other ended. He wanted to observe what John was doing up-close, the better to catalogue the information so he could analyse it later, he wanted to see exactly what it was that caused the sex flush on John’s skin to deepen to a redder hue.
Yet, even through the logic of his mind, it never escaped Sherlock’s attention that this was his partner though. This was his John, a man who continually surprised him in both manner and action, but it was true that he hadn’t expected this. Nevertheless, the sight of John’s pleasure was still having a physical effect on Sherlock, if the intense ache in his groin wasn’t evidence enough, and suddenly it didn’t matter that there were eight other limbs involved. John had obviously tried to keep this side of himself hidden from the world, even from Sherlock, and the ramifications of his being discovered were yet to be realised. That didn’t mean that Sherlock couldn’t appreciate the view, the wonder of what he was seeing overriding any instincts for caution.
Slowly, Sherlock raised his hands to his jacket, undoing the single button and sliding it off his shoulders so it pooled around his feet, reaching back up to his shirt buttons so he could undo them one by one. Coincidentally, that was the precise moment John’s eyes opened and he glanced towards the door, his mouth opening in shock when he realised Sherlock was standing there.
“Shit!” John sat bolt upright in the bath, his hands clenching at the sides as he stared at Sherlock, his mouth agape and the tentacles sliding into the water away from Sherlock’s eyes.
It was funny actually, the look on John’s face, considering the fact that Sherlock thought it was far more appropriate an expression that should be plastered on his own face. “It’s been an hour,” he said after a moment, continuing to undo the buttons of his shirt and releasing the cuffs on his wrists.
“What?” The surprise was easy to hear in John’s voice, his mouth remaining open even when no further words were forthcoming, and Sherlock took another moment to take in John’s profile. Even with the heat of the room, John’s colour had dropped from its original shade, underlining the tension he was feeling at Sherlock’s presence, but his breath was still gasping in his chest, following the same rhythm of the motion his hand had been making moments before. His eyes, though wide, had a glazed look to them, the same look he often had when Sherlock whispered in his ear that he would very much like to take him to bed, and even from this distance the pupil dilation was unmistakable. Still aroused then, still very much ‘in the mood’, but hesitant to do anything about it.
Glancing at John’s left hand, Sherlock noted the water trails left on the sides of the bath where he was holding it, but there was also something else there too. Something more viscous than the water, but clear, and, when John lifted that hand temporarily, the fluid drew into a line between his hand and the bath, so it was sticky as well. Sherlock shut his eyes for a second, explicit imagination taking over as he thought of what John’s hand had been doing to himself to prompt such a base reaction that he was leaking lubricant. It was the only obvious conclusion to make; combined with the sounds of pleasure John had been making, Sherlock couldn’t reasonably dissuade himself from the fact that John was in some sort of heat, a mating cycle that was prolific in the Giant Octopus, and he was only mildly surprised to realise that he wanted to share in it.
Given the look on John’s face, none of Sherlock’s realisations were apparent. “God, Sherlock… I never… Shit, I never wanted you to…”
“Never wanted me to what?” Sherlock asked, taking his shirt off and leaving it on the floor next to his jacket. “Never wanted me to find out? Never wanted me to see that my partner, who is the only person to have ever come close to me since I left University, has another side to him?” Without pause, Sherlock moved his hands to his trousers, deftly undoing the button and sliding the zip down its teeth, watching John’s eyes as they followed Sherlock’s every move.
“What are you doing?” John asked, stupidly, Sherlock thought, because it would be apparent to anyone what he was doing.
Shucking his trousers and briefs in one movement, Sherlock removed his socks as well before shoving his clothing into the corner next to the door and turning back to John, allowing the other man to see the state of arousal in his own body. “If there’s one person in the world who you can trust with this,” he said, taking a step towards the bath, “then should know that you can trust me.”
John’s body turned towards him and with the motion a pale blue tentacle emerged, slowly running along the edge of the tub. Sherlock watched its movement, wondering how much strength they would have around his body, how they would grip and pull at him as he became acquainted with John’s new form. “You can’t be serious,” John whispered in denial, even as his eyes drifted from Sherlock’s gaze and down the length of his body, taking in the erection Sherlock could feel bobbing between his thighs as he advanced to the tub.
Once he was within distance, Sherlock knelt down in the same position he’d used when he’d left John the first time, reaching forward with his right hand and gently carding his fingers through John’s hair. “I liked to think that, after so much time spent together, I knew every part of your being,” Sherlock murmured, sliding his hand down to cup John’s cheek. “And now I find that, while I always knew you’re the most extraordinary man I’ve ever met, you’re still surprising me.” While he had John’s attention, Sherlock slowly lifted his left hand and tentatively made contact with the tentacle curled around the rim of the bath, the skin beneath his hand tensing as John gasped at the touch. “I would know you on all sides,” Sherlock whispered, sliding that hand up the tentacle until it finally reacted to his presence, curling around his wrist and sliding up his forearm.
Oh, now that was interesting… It was warm. Very warm, heated by the temperature of the water and the blood pumping through John’s body, and the underlying strength in the limb could be felt in the slick glide as it followed the path of Sherlock’s arm up to his shoulder. Sherlock inhaled sharply, feeling the way the suckers on the underside made contact with his skin, occasionally sticking to the surface before releasing and continuing their exploration until the tip reached his neck. Sherlock kept his eyes on John’s throughout, feeling as the tentacle wound its way round the back of his neck to feel the base of his hairline, twitching away with an errant curl wrapped around it and then settling at the top of his spine.
“Sherlock…” John’s eyes were wide in their sockets, his own hands reaching for Sherlock’s face and pulling him close. “I’m sorry. If I’d thought… I was afraid of being found out; I didn’t want to become an experiment. God knows what’ll happen to me if your brother finds out about this.”
Sherlock shook his head. “It’ll never happen. He’ll have to come through me to get to you and he knows that.”
John laughed, a short bark of a one that released the remaining tension in his body. “I am sorry though. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but I’ve been so used to hiding that it’s been difficult.”
“Ssshhh,” Sherlock whispered, bringing their faces closer together and placing a gentle kiss against John’s lips. “You don’t need to hide from me,” he continued, a quiet admission. “I wanted you from the moment I first set eyes on you and I’ll be damned if I let a few DNA strands get in the way of that. Besides,” Sherlock turned his head to his left side and placed his lips against the tentacle on his shoulder, smiling when John released a small moan, “you know I would have found out eventually. This way just makes it easier in the end.”
“Fuck,” John whispered and when Sherlock flicked his eyes in John’s direction he could see how the contact of his lips to John’s flesh was making him feel. Exhilarated at the prospect of pleasuring John this way, Sherlock opened his mouth more, allowing his tongue to glide against the taut skin of the tentacle in a long sweep, and the noise that came from John’s mouth was so guttural that Sherlock felt an answering ache himself. Jesus, they were going to be so good together.
Shifting in the bath, John pushed himself closer to the end with the taps on it and Sherlock understood an invitation when he saw it. Standing, he gently disengaged the tentacle wrapped around his left arm, stepping into the bath and sighing when the heat from the water eased the aches in his feet. Getting to a sitting position was difficult to begin with; he didn’t want to inadvertently sit on one of John’s tentacles and cause him pain, but they were quick to shift as required, which resulted in Sherlock’s legs lying along the whole length of the bath with John between his thighs. The water level had risen again, as was expected, but they still had to let a little of the water go lest it spilled over the top by what was promising to be slightly more vigorous activities. The thought sent a shudder of desire through Sherlock’s body and John responded to it, his tentacles wrapping themselves around Sherlock’s thighs and waist, drifting up under they were actively exploring the body that only John’s hands had touched before. And if the thought of it happening was exciting before, to have it actually happening was threatening to make Sherlock’s mind cease to function. So many possibilities…
“Hey.” John’s right hand gently cupped Sherlock’s face, bringing him back to reality as John pressed his upper body close. “Just so you know; I’ve never done this before.”
“You’re hardly a virgin,” Sherlock drawled, wrapping his own arms around John’s body and pulling him closer, as much as the tentacles would allow. “We’ve both made sure of that plenty of times.”
John smirked. “In human form, yes. Not like this though. You’re the only human who’s ever seen me this way.”
“Well don’t I feel special,” Sherlock teased, licking at John’s lips where they were now brushing against his own. “What does this mean then? I’m assuming there’s more than one of you. What sort of cultural significance does a first time have?”
“We don’t really celebrate it,” John admitted, fisting a hand in Sherlock’s locks. “But the first time is usually the last time.” At Sherlock’s look of horror, John laughed. “We don’t die,” he explained, “not like the Giant Octopus, but we do mate for life.”
Mate for life… ‘I’ll be his last partner.’ The notion felt far better than Sherlock had ever thought it would. “So you’ll be mine…”
“For the rest of our lives,” John agreed, grinning as he pressed numerous kisses along Sherlock’s mouth and jaw, pausing to suck at his pulse point and then moving down his neck, leaving little love bites along the way.
Between the attention of John’s mouth to one of his most erogenous zones and the tentacles stroking the length of his body where John wasn’t pressed against him, Sherlock found it extremely hard to think logically under the circumstances. His erection was a persistent throb between his legs, pressed between his stomach and John’s body, and when a tentacle squirmed its way between them to curl around his cock, lightly stroking from base to tip, Sherlock knew all cognizant thought would be flying out the window very soon. “Does that mean- Fuck! That we’ll be having children?”
John paused, looking up at Sherlock from where he’d moved down to suck on Sherlock’s nipples. “No. Although I’m a part of my race that carries female sex organs, I don’t have that capability because I’d need to mate with a female who had male ones. We’re genetically pre-disposed to only mate with certain members of our species, so there’s no chance of us producing offspring if we do this.”
God, there was so much to take in, so much data to analyse, but all Sherlock could think about was one particular phrase in John’s words. “Female sex organs?”
Pushing himself up, John pressed another kiss to Sherlock’s mouth before grasping Sherlock’s right hand in his left one. “Trust me,” he murmured, guiding Sherlock’s hand down his torso until it reached the border between the two halves of his body.
Sherlock didn’t have time to reflect on the changes between the two sides, holding his breath as John pushed his hand under the lip where the tentacles were coming from and towards the centre of them, right where the beak would be in the actual species. Not knowing what to expect, Sherlock couldn’t contain his surprise when his fingers brushed against a small hole in the centre, his breath shaking from him when that hole opened for his questing finger and then… God, Sherlock felt lips pulling at him, sucking his index finger into John’s body. If John’s debauched moan was anything to go by, the feeling was very good indeed.
“Oh my God,” John moaned, tilting his hips forward to give Sherlock better access. “You feel so good.”
Panting, Sherlock pulled John’s mouth to his, swallowing his moans as he tentatively withdrew his finger and pressed it back in, marvelling at the heat of it and the muscles rippling around him as he explored the new addition to John’s body. The pulsations of John’s arousal could clearly be felt around his finger, each twist and thrust met with an answering throbbing and a deepening wetness until Sherlock was convinced his hand would be drenched in John’s slickness if not for the water. He couldn’t help but imagine how that would feel around his cock, those lips drawing him inside and coaxing him to orgasm in a way that anal sex with John never could. And with the tentacles curling around his body and pulling his body closer to John’s as he thrust inside him… “Why didn’t we do this before?” he growled against John’s lips, nipping at them before pushing his tongue into John’s mouth.
All too soon John pulled back from the kiss, panting as Sherlock added another finger to his hole and eased them inside, his passage tightening around the extra stretch. “Because we… We- God, Sherlock, just fuck me,” he pleaded, curling his fingers into Sherlock’s hair again. “Take me to bed so we can – God, yes, like that – do this properly.”
Sherlock nodded, beyond words as he pushed himself to his feet and got out of the bath, John’s tentacles wrapping around his hips so John could hoist himself onto Sherlock’s body. John’s weight was no lighter despite the ease with which the extra limbs moved, but Sherlock adjusted his stance to compensate for it, wrapping his arms around his lover as he took them back to their shared bedroom. He had a brief moment to be thankful for the hindsight that made them decide to take his room instead of John’s, mostly because it meant he wouldn’t have to navigate the bloody stairs while John decided to make it his mission to mark Sherlock’s neck beyond all reason, but also because his room was bigger than John’s, giving him the room to adjust as was needed.
Trying to lower them both to mattress turned into an abysmal failure with the both of them landing with a thump on the springy mattress, but John just laughed and pulled Sherlock’s lips back to his, intent on exploring every inch of Sherlock’s mouth. The quilts stuck to their skin from where they were still wet from the bath, the sensation of it dulled in comparison to the heat between their lips as their tongues wound around each other and, perhaps in intentional mimicry, the feel of John’s tentacles as they stroked Sherlock’s body from head to toe. No single area was left untouched, the tentacles intent in their pursuit of Sherlock as they encouraged him to spread his legs, allowing them to tug at his balls and wrap around his cock. He pulled his mouth from John’s, moaning into his soldier’s neck as the stimulation continued, only intensifying when he realised that John’s hands were still buried in his hair; they weren’t touching his cock at all and the thought made him press John back into the mattress below them with an ardent press of his hips.
John giggled, spreading his tentacles and arching his hips up until Sherlock’s hardness was enfolded in the limbs at their base, each of them surreptitiously guiding him to the moist heat at their centre. With his erection so close to what his fingers had experienced previously, Sherlock realised he didn’t regret how fast this was going. He’d barely had the chance to do any testing before they were leaping into the main event but it didn’t feel important now, not when he felt like this would last all of two seconds.
Without his prompting, the lips at John’s hole (fuck, how did John do that?) reached for his cock before he had time to align himself, gently folding themselves over the head, and the wetness he’d felt on his fingers coated him in a fine layer of slickness as he was slowly pulled inside, the excess leaking out over his balls. Underneath him, John was whimpering into Sherlock’s neck, his tentacles spasming around them as Sherlock was taken deeper into him until he was pressed into the other man as far as he could go. And Christ, the feeling was incredible! The walls along his shaft thudded around him, coaxing him to move even as he wanted to give John time to adjust and eventually it was John’s own voice, broken and begging him to fuck him, that made Sherlock commit to the first thrust.
The room echoed with the cries that were wrenched from them both when Sherlock began to pump his hips, withdrawing his cock almost completely before pushing back into John in a heady slide, the wet noise of their joining filling their ears as Sherlock caved into his desire and gave John the fucking he so desperately craved. As their mating began in earnest, four of the tentacles wrapped themselves around Sherlock’s thighs and arms where he was supporting himself over John’s body, the others left to tangle themselves around whatever part they could reach. Sherlock had the barest presence of mind to know that this was going to end fast, far sooner than he expected because the additional touches were slowly driving him insane and John didn’t look as though he were faring any better. Below him, John’s eyes were clenched shut in ecstasy, his mouth open as he moaned and thrashed under the force of Sherlock’s thrusts, and deep inside the clenching of John’s muscles began to quicken around his cock.
“Yes, come on,” Sherlock growled, leaning down and pressing his lips against John’s in a passionate kiss. “Come on, come on me, I want to feel you.”
“God, Sherlock,” John forced out, opening his eyes to look at Sherlock for a heart-stopping moment before the pleasure finally took him; his body arched beneath Sherlock’s as the first spasms of orgasm tore their way through him and a rough shout ripped from John’s throat, dissolving into drawn-out moans as the spasms gradually ceased.
Sherlock continued to rock his hips into John’s as his lover lost himself to pleasure, the rhythmic pulsing around his cock bringing him closer to his own release as he watched John succumb, but it didn’t feel like this was the end of it. The last dredges of John’s orgasm shook through him, but the lips surrounding Sherlock’s cock seemed to be loosening rather than tightening, and he startled when he felt one of John’s tentacles sweep into the small space between his erection and John’s passage. The tip withdrew almost as quickly as it entered, pausing to press into Sherlock’s perineum and then sliding back to his arse, his cheeks being spread open by two others as it rubbed against his hole. “Argh fuck!”
A small smirk graced John’s mouth at Sherlock’s curse, his eyes opening until Sherlock could just see the thin sliver of the iris around his expanded pupils. “It’s not over yet, love.”
Well of course it wasn’t over! Sherlock hadn’t even come yet but he couldn’t voice a retort because the tentacle at his hole finally centred on it, pushing against the tight ring of muscle while using John’s own lubricant to ease the way. Sherlock couldn’t hold back his shout as the tip pressed passed the first ring of muscle, gently circling inside him to ease the ache before it began to inch its way into him. Groaning, Sherlock lowered his face to John’s neck and mouthed at the skin there while he continued to thrust his hips, using the dual sensations so he could accept the fact that one of John’s tentacles was inside him, fucking him as he was fucking John. The tentacles wrapped around his thighs kept encouraging him, pulling him up John’s body until their groins were flush against each other and Sherlock was buried inside as far as he could get, and only then did the feeling change. The lips around his cock expanded further and, in his shock, he realised a tentacle was easing his balls into John’s passage, gently massaging taut skin until it loosened and allowed him to sink deeper inside.
Sherlock muffled his shout of pain/pleasure/too much/too much into John’s shoulder, his cock aching as the lips of John’s body took over, easing their way around Sherlock’s sac until he was fully enclosed in the now tight heat. He moaned uncontrollably as the waves began again, each one rippling along the sensitive skin of his balls right to the tip of his erection and he couldn’t stop moving, even when he knew there wasn’t anywhere to go, and behind him, inside him, that tentacle began to massage his prostate.
Through all the layers of sensation, John’s lips pursed themselves on Sherlock’s shoulder, mouthing at the skin there and gently nibbling as Sherlock’s body began to climb higher to orgasm. “Yesss,” John breathed into his ear, his body slowly encasing Sherlock’s as he read the signs of Sherlock’s impending release. “Yes, give it to me. I want you, come inside me, fuck me, Sherlock, God!”
“Oh fuck!” Sherlock cursed, his eyes squeezing shut as he felt the ache in his groin spread, the ecstasy almost blinding him. “Fuck, John, I’m… I’m coming, I’m-” and Sherlock’s throat seized as the strength of his orgasm took over him, his cock jerking and his balls aching as John’s body contracted around him, encouraging each pulse of come that Sherlock had to give.
After what seemed like an eternity, Sherlock’s body collapsed onto John’s, panting into John’s hair as he tried to get his breath back. Where they were still joined, John’s body gradually withdrew itself from Sherlock’s until they disengaged with a wet pop and Sherlock winced as over-sensitive nerves were pressed. John let out a contented hum beneath him, dragging his fingers through Sherlock’s hair and bringing their lips together in a lazy, post-coital kiss, John’s tentacles wrapping themselves around Sherlock’s body until he felt cocooned by the limbs surrounding him.
“Now that,” John murmured, “was a truly fantastic shag.”
“Hmmmm,” Sherlock agreed, pulling his head back to look at John’s well-fucked expression and struck with an intense wave of affection. “You are brilliant.”
John grinned, sliding his hands around the back of Sherlock’s neck. “That’s my line.”
“Well now it’s mine,” Sherlock replied, shifting his weight so he wasn’t potentially suffocating the man beneath him. “You do know what this means though, don’t you?”
“And what is that?” John asked, his humour crinkling his eyes at the corners.
Sherlock smirked, his own eyes narrowing in response. “We’re going to need a bigger bath.”
The End
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A Study in Homo-Octopoda