Clark meets Cthulhu's Second Cousin Twice Removed
YasminM dared me to write this. CJ convinced me to post this.
It's obvious at this point I have no willpower whatsoever.
A Great BIG Thanks to moss for the beta.
Any mistakes left is obviously mine.
(dedicated to AnnieD, who tried reading it FOUR times. And failed. Ah, love.)
He shouldn't have come.
But to come back from New York not two days later and to hear excited rumblings from the Astronomy Club about another meteor shower, thankfully minor, but too close to the caves for his comfort.
He <i>had</i> to go.
And here he was, standing uncertainly at the entrance of the caverns, the dusky evening throwing everything into shades of purple.
In the eerie blue half-lights he walked deeper into the area of impact.
The Club members were planning a trip tomorrow, so that left him only this evening to soothe his fears.
It was the first time he'd been here since meeting Dr. Swann and learning about Krypton. Now he looked at the walls with new eyes, comprehension dawning as he read the complete story of Numan and Seget for the very first time.
He was still enraptured by the prophecy when he felt the walls rumble.
That wasn't... good.
Clark looked around slowly. Hesitantly, he moved towards the source of the noise.
The rumbling grew louder. Bits of stone and gravel were shaking loose.
Who dares disturbs me?
Clark gasped. The voice in his head -- it wasn't speaking English.
It was speaking Kryptonian.
"Who are you?"
You make no sense. Who is this?
The voice wasn't really angry. Rather, it seemed displeased. And curious.
Clark gasped again, this time in pain. He fell to the ground, clutching his head. The pain was almost as bad as when the key had called to him.
As suddenly as it had begun, it stopped.
It was speaking in English now.
Clark could barely get the words out. "Who are you?"
You don't know me? Still curious.
Staggering to his feet, he mumbled his answer.
Something slithered out of the darkness and slipped around him.
You do not recognise your own deity? Another tentacle, smaller in width, wound around his neck, its tip tilting his face this way and that.
It spoke again, in Kryptonian: You deny who you are?
Something compelled Clark to tell the truth. "I... I was sent away. I don't remember anything."
He tried to ignore the lazy, <i>caressing</i> way of the bands around him, around his neck, his torso, his waist...
One slithered under his shirt and settled on his spine.
Poor little orphan child.
I've been searching for you.
Clark found himself held high above the ground, held by the slimy, unending arms, his legs forcefully parted. Trying very hard not to panic, he clutched at the band around his waist and tried to pry free.
It gave, but only a little.
He looked frantically around. Was there Kryptonite nearby?
The walls rumbled again, and his question was answered when he caught sight of his captor.
There were fragments embedded on the... <i>creature</i>'s bulbous head. Its multiple eyes, black pools of nothing, looked at him impassively.
There was a brief silence, and then an amused, Hello.
Clark struggled anew.
But the hold on him grew tighter, and the voice in his head took on a taunting tone, This is interesting...
"Please, let me go...."
A shock went through his body. He arched helplessly as the pressure on his spine sent unbearable pressure through his body again and again.
He felt his face redden; he was ashamed, embarrassed, aroused beyond measure. Beyond words. He tried to struggle, but his efforts were too feeble to make any difference.
Some small part of him wondered at the feeling of terror that coursed through his veins.
It seemed to please the creature though; suddenly more tentacles appeared, of varying sizes and strength, all moving with lazy sinuous grace, touching him, caressing him --
He felt so dirty.
The creature trembled luxuriously. Foggily, Clark noticed his clothes were being carelessly ripped away.
It's been so long since I have fed
A careless tweak of his nipples made him whimper.
Your race kept me full for centuries. Such a closeted race, yet so fiery in temperament.
It was obvious now that the creature was feeding on his emotions. His responses. His feelings.
Never have I thought that I might have enjoyed a banquet such as this in this pathetic rock
He wanted to learn about his heritage. But not like this. Never like this, he thought helplessly as a slick cold limb slithered up his thigh and rested at --
"NO!!" He thrashed with renewed intensity. "No! Please no! N--" A thick tentacle wound around the lower part of his head, keeping him effectively silenced. Only his wide fearstruck eyes could be seen.
Light stroking on the sides of his ribs. On his nipples. Teasing touch on his collarbone, even more gently on his belly, so close to his cock, his traitorous hardening cock. He moaned helplessly.
It was the pressure of the unnatural bindings that pushed his legs open wider. It wasn't him. He did not want this--
More stroking, more touching. His hole felt too sensitized, as if it couldn't take an ounce more of touch. His skin was burning up - the cold of the creature seemed to be the only thing keeping him from bursting into flames.
So close, my little one
He writhed, secure in his prison, unseeing, unaware. Wanton, suspended in the air, as his nerves were being stimulated by the electric touches, by the grip over his spine.
Clark found himself moving, but not to free himself. He wanted to get closer, deeper into the sensation. His cock was loosely wrapped and the undulations drove him wild.
He was begging. But not for freedom.
He was sobbing by the time he was finally breached. It moved slowly, so slow, so inexorably slow, as though the creature knew how much he wanted it, how much he wanted to feel the pain, to stretch for as long as possible.
It felt so huge and he felt so stretched. So filled up. He was skewered on it.
And still it pushed on, so very deep, uncaring and expanding, making him gasp and choke on the relentless onslaught of (unwanted; unasked) pleasure.
And then it stopped. Clark's breath caught.
It moved. Only it didn't move as how Clark had thought it might. It trembled, vibrated, shaking his entire body, sparking fireworks again and again; everytime it shivered and flickered against that something deep inside him, it made him moan, and cry and tremble alongside the creature, who was deep in ecstasy.
His heartbeat raced and it seemed as though he was suspended on the edge of the precipice for so very long.
And finally he was pushed off the cliff.
He came with a cry, his seed splashed against his chest, his face. The tentacle continued to massage-- to milk-- his cock.
It was possible he blacked out; he now has no real recollection of what came after.
He remembers being left alone. He remembers the words vibrating in his head (I may come to enjoy this planet after all).
He remembers the tear tracks drying in the cool draft of the cave.