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Festival Side Effects

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Victor noticed the tattoo first. Their group of friends returned to the onsen after the festival, hiding their shaken state with jokes and loving quips. Yuuri recused himself almost immediately to wash and rest, and Victor was never far behind. When Yuuri removed his yukata he assumed Victor’s gasp was due to a spider, or perhaps something scandalous Phichit posted on Instagram. Instead of explaining himself, Victor pulled Yuuri to the bathroom and turned his back to the mirror.

The tentacles spiraled from Yuuri’s lower back, curling up to his shoulders and down over the globes of his backside. The ink almost glowed, a pale cream lighter than Yuuri’s skin, stylized in loose, wispy strokes like Otagaki poetry.  Wavy circles of gold leaf mottled the thick curves, making Yuuri’s body gleam.

No amount of washing could make them go away.

The tentacles themselves didn’t emerge for another few days, once they were back in St. Petersburg. Victor was brushing Yuuri’s hair and idly tracing the kite-shaped tentacle tip on his trapezius. The skin inside the tattoo darkened at the edges, then lifted upward, and finally the tentacle peeled off of Yuuri’s body and rolled towards Victor’s touch.

They both screamed.

Two panicked weeks later - during which time Yuuri refused to leave the apartment -  Yuuri could almost control their appearance. He tried and failed many times to tell Victor what it was like: like discovering ten new fingers, like a limb had been asleep his whole life and was finally starting to tingle, like the constant jerky trial and error of an infant as they explored what impulses mapped to this foreign musculature.

Turning the tentacles from tattoos into three-dimensional entities felt almost like stretching, exhaling into the small of his back as if he could inflate them. Drawing them in again proved more difficult, and more than once Victor came home from the rink to find Yuuri asleep on the floor in front of a mirror, a tentacle or two still resting over his hip.  

They agreed not to tell anyone and hoped the changes to the tattoo were too subtle to notice.

“Try one at a time,” Victor said. He sat cross legged facing Yuuri on the bed, leaning forward in intrigue. Yuuri nodded, trying to mentally separate the mass of expanding and contracting muscle emerging from his lower back. Two of the tentacles had those diamond ends and seemed to respond more readily to Yuuri’s will, so he focused on those. Yuuri’s hand came up, and one tentacle came forward, mirroring the motions, even curling at the end when Yuuri made a fist.

By the following week, he only had to use his hand to get it started, and the week after that, didn’t need it at all.

Yuuri dreamt of tentacles and occasionally woke with them splayed from his back, covering the bed and tangled in the sheets and wrapped around Victor’s snoring body.  He always blushed and sucked them back into his skin immediately, then kissed little apologies into Victor’s oblivious neck.

Three months in, Yuuri was acutely aware of their presence or absence; he could control several of the limbs simultaneously, and any of them individually. Victor came home to him making dinner: stirring a pot with one tentacle, cracking eggs into a bowl with another, and chopping fresh ginger with his hands.

Victor whistled, coming up behind Yuuri and sliding between the gold-mottled limbs. As soon as Yuuri felt him, the tentacles shirked, melting into his lower back until they were nothing more than ink.

“Aww, Yuuri,” Victor pouted, taking over the eggs. “You never let me play with them.”

Yuuri blushed. “We said we just… wanted to control them.”

“I can’t even make my hands do that,” Victor said, trying crack the new egg one-handed. He stopped when the yolk and half the shell landed on the floor. “Oops.”

Yuuri sighed, a tentacle slinking out to scoop up the splattered mess with a paper towel, another to open the trash bin so he could throw it out.

“Look at you! You’ve been practicing, haven’t you?” Victor said, catching one of the tentacles, feeling it slip through his fingers as Yuuri recalled it. The outer texture was perfectly smooth, soft yet frighteningly muscular, like a snake without scales. The suction cups felt like knobby bubbles.

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri flushed. He’d just thought about throwing the egg away and the tentacles reached almost reflexively.

“You aren’t still ashamed, are you?”  There had been many tears those first few nights. Victor stirred the pot as it started to bubble, narrowly avoiding a brothy pop.

Yuuri leaned in front of Victor to dump the ginger into the pot. “No, I just…” A tentacle reached over to the refrigerator, opening the door and rummaging inside for a sealed pack of udon noodles.

“You know I think they’re beautiful.”

Victor had this way of looking at Yuuri that made the breath rush out of his lungs and his heart skip a beat. It was a good thing Yuuri had put down the knife; he nearly dropped the cutting board.

“I mean it,” Victor said. He slid behind Yuuri while Yuuri studiously focused on dinner, or what had survived Victor’s attempts at helping. Yuuri added the udon and turned down the flame on the burner, but Victor was single-minded. His lips came to Yuuri’s shoulder, kissing the calligraphic outline. “And you haven’t even let me kiss one.”

“They’re gross!” Yuuri finally said. He stepped back to the cutting board and started slicing up a lime. “I don’t want you to think I’m gross.”

“Yuuri… remember when you thought I didn’t like your tummy?” Victor asked. The hand at Yuuri’s hip rose just a fraction, just enough to cup the comforting curve of Yuuri’s off season waist.

“You wouldn’t train me until I lost weight!”

“That’s different. That doesn’t mean I don’t love your tummy,” Victor squeezed. “Just think of your tentacles as another tummy. They’re a part of you. I adore them unconditionally.”

“They’re much easier to lose than my weight,” Yuuri mumbled.

Victor thumbed the edge of the smaller, coiled tentacle just above the waistband of Yuuri’s sweatpants. “Show me,” Victor whispered, gently coaxing it out. Yuuri’s lashes fluttered, and his shoulders tucked up in embarrassment as the little tentacle lifted off his back and into Victor’s waiting palm.

“You’re beautiful,” Victor whispered, and his hand found the tip of another, stroked it until it rose from Yuuri’s skin.

“V-Victor,” Yuuri whispered. He set down his knife and flicked down the gas on the back burner again. The broth smelled briny and rich.

The first tentacle in Victor’s hand turned towards the pot, like it could smell the contents and was just as eager as Victor to enjoy them. The other arched through the U of Victor’s hand, like a cat, before connecting with Victor’s jacket.

Victor worked on teasing another tentacle off Yuuri’s shoulder while the second slid along Victor’s zipper, then down the open V of it.

“Ahahehe, Yuuri!” Victor giggled in delight as it wormed between his shirt and jacket. The weight of it dragged down the zipper until the jacket was open, at which point all three tentacles joined in. Two wrapped at Victor’s hips, tugging him close, while the third nosed underneath Victor’s shirt until it connected with bare skin. “Yuuri!”

Yuuri dumped the bowl of eggs in. He wasn’t exactly proud of his methods for distracting Victor, but it was the only way dinner would get served.

Assuming Yuuri could resist the distraction himself.

He flushed as he felt Victor’s lips on his neck, then let out a tiny shriek as Victor’s tongue licked the snaking rim of his topmost tattoo.

Yuuri couldn’t help it. The tentacle came out to play, summoned by Victor’s charming mouth. Victor’s hand came to touch it, to cup it like he would Yuuri’s face or his ankle in preparation for a kiss. But two more tentacles emerged, coiling around Victor’s wrists before he could manage.

“Ooh, Yuuri,” Victor said, tone a combination of too many emotions for Yuuri to parse. Victor paused, effectively immobilized by the tentacles at his wrists and hips. Not that it made the one under his shirt slow down. If anything, the investigative thing increased its pace, rippling beneath the fabric until the very tip emerged from the neck hole of Victor’s shirt and teased up Victor’s throat.

“You really want to kiss one, Vicchan?” Yuuri asked, stirring the soup to make sure that the egg whites didn't all clump together.

“Y-yes,” Victor said, stuttering not with doubt but thanks to the tentacle crawling up his chest and through the tight hole at his neck.

The two longest tentacles turned off the heat and covered the pot while Yuuri looked over his shoulder to watch what he was doing to Victor.

The blush on Victor’s cheeks - excitement, arousal, awe - made Yuuri hesitate. He always had to fight that pulse of unworthiness when he realized his once hero and idol was impressed by him - had even noticed him, much less decided to marry him.

“Please, Yuuri?” Victor offered his very best breathless pout, lips half parted.

Victor’s shirt was bunched up around the tentacle underneath it, which ended in a curled spiral, like a young unfurled fern in front of Victor’s face.

Now that Yuuri could see, the tentacles made fast work of Victor’s clothes: pushing Victor’s jacket off his shoulders, lifting his shirt up and away, and reclaiming their hold on Victor’s wrists before he could even think to drop them.

One of the long twin tentacles touched Victor’s temple, cooler than Yuuri’s normal temperature, and caressed down to the corner of his mouth. It gingerly rested against Victor’s lips while Yuuri blushed.

Victor closed his eyes, mouth pushing fondly to the slick, smooth skin. He left three soft, quicker kisses and then his lips parted, tongue sneaking out just to taste. The tentacle quivered, echoing the shiver than ran down Yuuri’s spine. He could feel the shape of Victor’s lips in high resolution, sense the tip of Victor’s tongue.

One of his smaller tentacles sucked at the edge of the counter for support.

“There,” Yuuri whispered. He cleared his throat, forced his tentacles away. “We — um — dinner’s ready.”

After that milestone, Victor spent his evenings with Yuuri focused on tentacle technique, figuring out how to brush Yuuri’s skin to coax them out. Yuuri said it felt like all the nerves of the tentacles were compressed into just that thin top layer of his skin. ‘Intense’ was the word he used, and Victor’s lips curled up in a grin.

Victor grew more daring, sliding his fingers under Yuuri’s T-shirt during practice, gloved palm getting a little bump of tentacle before Yuuri pulled it in again.

“Not at the rink,” Yuuri hissed in alarm. “Someone will see!”

“Not if I’m careful,” Victor soothed into Yuuri’s ear.

But Victor was more excited than careful.

“OH MY GOD,” Yuri shrieked, rounding the corner of the lockers one day to see Victor with a handful of sucker-puckered white and gold flesh. They were gone in an instant but Yuri knew exactly what he’d seen.

He ranted around the locker room, arms flailing, thinking it was a second possession, until Yuuri and Victor managed to calm him down and Yuuri, oozing with reluctance, lifted up his shirt and showed him.

A single tentacle rose from his back, curling out of a skin-colored pool only to submerge again, leaving an ink outline in place of ripples.

“Oh. My. God.”

Yuri was obsessed. They had to take him back to the apartment and Victor stole his phone so he wouldn’t take pictures (and deleted the three Yuri had taken when he thought they weren’t looking).

So, after staring at Yuuri’s back for an uncomfortable amount of time, tracing the ink in a way that wasn’t honed enough to summon the tentacles (Victor took great pride in the revelation of his skill), Yuri grabbed Victor’s laptop instead.

“See, you’ve got to be a squid, not an octopus,” Yuri said. “Only squid have these.” He tapped the kite tips. “And there’s ten, right? Put them all out.”

Yuuri gave Victor a terrified look, so Victor snuggled his fiancé into his lap and cuddled him while he started easing the tentacles up from Yuuri’s tattoo. Yuri couldn’t stop saying ‘oh my god’.

He pulled one of Yuuri’s tentacles close to him without any concern for Yuuri’s apparent mortification. His eyes kept darting back and forth from the computer to the tentacle, twisting it over, stretching out the suckers.

“OK you can’t be a giant colossal squid because they have HOOKS on their tentacles; fucking metal,” Yuri muttered to himself. “The inside of the suckers are serrated, too, so they like chew you up when you’re grabbed. Holy shit.”

Yuri stared into one of Yuuri’s suckers until Yuuri bapped the tip of his nose with it.

“I’m not chewing up anyone.”

“Unfortunately,” Victor mourned, mostly to himself.

Yuri recovered from the bap, not to be thwarted, and thumbed at the little sucker to get a feel for its texture. He was too busy researching to see Yuuri shiver, but Victor felt the full ramifications of that action.

“Sensitive suckers, love?” Victor whispered.

“Shut up.”

“Make m—”

“Oh my god, can you change color?” Yuri interrupted.

“N… no?”

“Have you tried,” Yuri eyed him. Yuuri turned bright red, and Yuri’s expression went saucer-wide with imagination. “Wait. What have you tried? Did you —”

“I haven’t tried anything!” Yuuri leapt in before Yuri could go too far down that track. Yuri blinked in disbelief.

“What!?” Yuri shook with sudden fury. “You have fucking tentacles and you haven’t tried anything with them?!” Yuri looked utterly betrayed. He shot an accusatory look to Victor, like this can’t be real, right?

Victor offered a reassuring grin: “He let me kiss one last week.”

Silence fell over the group while Yuri’s teeth pressed themselves into powder.

“I hate you,” Yuri said, shoving at the tentacles. “Way to waste, like, the coolest superpower in the world. Ugh. Seriously? Just! UGH!” And he pushed the laptop away and stormed to the bathroom. “LAME ASS KATSUKI!”

Yuuri only got redder.

“…do you really think they could change color?” Was apparently all Victor had gotten out of the exchange.

Yuuri sighed.

That night Yuuri was all but asleep when he felt Victor playing with his tattoo. He was too exhausted to control the tentacles, and without Yuuri’s watchful attention they rose readily towards Victor’s touch.

“Is this OK?” Victor asked, cradling one of the tentacles in his hand, sliding it through his hold in a distinctly intimate mimicry of pleasure.

Yuuri nodded, only half understanding Victor’s intention. Victor’s arm moved amongst the tentacles, which were draping and coiling around him, until he found one of the lower pair and guided it farther down.

Yuuri’s eyes flew open as he felt Victor’s bare erection on the underside of the tentacle, carefully gliding between the parallel rows of suction cups.

“Victor,” Yuuri hissed.

Victor froze.

Yuuri closed his eyes, teeth catching his lower lip. Victor’s hips had gone still, but he could still feel the thickness of him, the heat resting in the bed of his tentacle, the twitch of Victor’s pulse through it. Victor’s hands were holding the tentacle base, his thumbs rubbing in the depression of the largest suckers.

Yuuri swallowed. The heat on his cheeks was a blend of embarrassment and arousal - the latter of which only increased the former.

“Please?” Victor whispered, and it was so earnest and caring that Yuuri crumpled.

He took control of the tentacle, sliding it forward underneath Victor’s length. The tiny suckers tickled Victor’s balls, the larger pairs parting around the head. The tentacle thinned at the end: only the width of Yuuri’s pinky by the time it nestled into the crevice of Victor’s ass.

The other tentacles felt out Victor’s hips and waist, his torso and neck. It was a ten-armed hug that morphed into a massage, Yuuri’s muscular new limbs gliding over knots and soreness.

“Do you want to try?” Victor asked, hand coming behind him, two fingers tracing the thin end of the tentacle still resting between his cheeks.

Yuuri was curled into a little ball, motionless outside of his tentacles. Victor took the tentacle opposite the one beneath him, the match to his pair, and guided it down to Yuuri’s ass.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” Victor murmured, grasping Yuuri’s thigh and lifting it forward so that the tentacle could get between Yuuri’s legs. He led the tentacle over Yuuri’s ass, his balls, and then wound the thin tip around Yuuri’s (thank god) hardened length.

“I want you, Yuuri,” Victor encouraged, hands returning to his own tentacle. He thrust between the suckers again. The twin knobs of each pair felt like a new penetration, and when Yuuri started moving with him, pushing the tentacle towards him, it was like entering a tight, slick body over and over again.

“Let me feel you,” Victor whispered. “Here.”

Again he put his fingers behind him, between his cheeks, pushing the tip of the tentacle against his entrance, and then into his body, just the slightest fraction.

“Victor,” Yuuri gasped.

“I know,” Victor said. “I know; it’s OK. I want it.”

The tentacle twisted against his entrance. Victor shifted, reaching for something, only to find another tentacle already struggling with the lube bottle, not quite dextrous enough to open the cap. Victor flicked up the purple top and squeezed lube onto his fingers before smoothing them between his cheeks and over Yuuri’s appendage.

Yuuri let out a muffled moan, face burrowing into his pillow. It felt really good.

Yuuri’s tentacles were far more sensitive than his fingers, felt much more intimately the tiny ridges and bumps slowly expanding as his dampened tentacle pushed through Victor’s weak point. He felt the secondary sphincter behind the first, the involuntary tension that Victor had to breathe through to relax.

Yuuri pushed deeper.

He felt every tiny sucker as it caught on Victor’s muscle on the way in. He felt the internal smoothness, even regretted the amount of detail he could feel for a moment before reminding himself that this was Victor, and look how it was making Victor tremble and quiver.

Victor always seemed either in control or blissfully oblivious. Yuuri knew a million ways to get what he wanted from Victor, but it was rare that Yuuri could make him actually fall apart.

Victor made little mewling noises as the tentacle pressed inside of him, each one a shock to Yuuri’s groin. Victor and Yuuri had had sex before, but not often, as least not penetrative; the sound of Victor’s need still struck Yuuri to the core.

While Yuuri was busy investigating Victor’s body, Victor’s hand had joined the tentacle wrapped around Yuuri’s own erection, gliding in time. His motions kept pausing, not quite able to keep up with the wild sensations inside him, but when he could he guided the tentacle to stroke and squeeze, letting Yuuri feel for himself just how wonderful those suckers were.

“Deeper, love,” Victor encouraged, tightening around the tentacle.

Yuuri nodded, reached back towards Victor, and Victor twined their fingers together.

“It feels incredible,” Victor moaned, turning his face to the nearest tentacle and starting to kiss it, curve his lips over the beautiful cream and gold shape of them.

He hugged Yuuri’s hand, then let go, taking the tentacle wrapped around Yuuri and pulling it back, curling it upwards, until it was burrowing between Yuuri’s cheeks.

“Do you want to try?” Victor asked, fishing the lube from where it had dropped into the sea of moving muscle. He poured more onto his fingers, slipped them between Yuuri’s legs.

Yuuri was much more comfortable being penetrated than penetrating Victor. (You’re my coach! he continued to insist, though Victor had yet to figure out why that made a difference).

“You can take us both,” Victor said, sliding his lean fingers into Yuuri’s body, loving the responsive arch of Yuuri’s spine. He pulled his fingers out and guided the tentacle in.

“There,” Victor whispered. He kept the base of his palm on the tentacle, using a tender pressure to encourage it deeper into his fiancé’s body. Yuuri was trembling as he felt his own internal geography, just as nuanced as Victor’s, and he searched in both of them.

“Keep going,” Victor urged. It was impossible to tell how much of the tentacle was inside. It was so amorphous it couldn’t be measured in length or girth. Sometimes Yuuri would coil the tentacle into a single thick mass, other times it would stretch thin, almost unnoticeable.

Victor took Yuuri’s hand and scooted closer, tentacles the only thing between them. He brought his lips to Yuuri’s ear. “Do you want to come with me?” And Yuuri, cheek warm from his blush even if Victor couldn’t see it in the dark, nodded desperately.

“OK,” Victor said. He swallowed his own arousal, reached down and grabbed Yuuri’s arching, leaking center. “I need you to thrust deeper for us, OK?”

Again Yuuri nodded, and the tentacles slid out of both of them, nearly all the way, before pushing rapidly back through the tension to curl up inside their bowels. Victor found himself clenching helplessly on the invader, gasping, letting out an embarrassing noise as his hips bucked between Yuuri’s suckers again.

“Keep going, love,” Victor begged, stroking in time. “You can take more, can’t you? You’re always —“ he stopped to pant “ — so good at taking me.”

Yuuri kept going. Victor knew he was pushing them to new depths by the size of the suckers. They hitched on Victor’s asshole, plucking it as they passed.

“That’s it,” Victor groaned. “Yes. Yes, Yuuri.”

Yuuri was whimpering too, his body straining.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Victor begged. “Fuck us. Please, please, please, fuck us.”

The knobs were getting so big; it felt like the entire tentacle had to be in him by now, thick as a baseball bat and rolling over itself like a snake, balled up within. He was so full, so stretched, and he wanted more. He couldn’t get enough of the feeling; he and Yuuri had never shared this intimacy before. Always one gave, one received.

Now they were both helpless to the invasion.

His body was reaching its limit; couldn’t take anymore. Yuuri, too, was starting to gasp at the pitch and intensity that meant pleasure was on the verge of pain.

“Come on, Yuuri,” Victor pleaded. “Come— “

But before he could finish it was drowned out by a carnal, euphoric cry.

“What the hell happened to you two?” Yurio asked the next day.

Yuuri blushed, but Victor strode shamelessly past his young rink mate, doing his best to hide the too-obvious bowleggedness of his body. He pat Yuri’s shoulders.

“You’d be proud, Yuri,” Victor winked. “We tried things.”