"Okay, buddy, you can put me down now."
The creature, the octopus-or-whatever Derek found the night before in the shallows of the lake, slowly uncurls the two tentacles it has wrapped around Scott, and gently places him on his feet. Stiles huffs. "What about me? I'm dangling upside down here, in case you hadn't noticed." He flexes his arms, aching to yank his shirt back down—up?—to cover his belly, but he's pinned. Helpless. He sighs. "At least I'm not the chew-toy this time—" He jerks his head around, attempting to glare at the creature. His eyeballs hurt. "Don't even think about putting any of my parts in your mouth... Um..." He flicks his eyes back to Scott. "Does he have a name?"
Scott shrugs. "If he does, he can't tell us. He's intelligent, but he doesn't have the vocal ability to respond. Not above water, anyway." He dips a sponge into a bucket of lake water and squeezes it out over the creature's large, bulbous head—or body, or both, Stiles doesn't know because really all it consists of is head and a mass of writhing, smooth, suckerless tentacles—and it dribbles down over its face. It seems to smile, blinks the water over the surface of large, liquid eyes, and then quivers, perhaps in happiness.
Water soaks into the back of Stiles' shirt where it's bunched around his shoulders and he shivers.
The front door chimes, and Scott drops the sponge into the bucket. "Keep him wet," he says, and then disappears into the front, closing the door behind him.
Scott took over the clinic when Deaton retired, from both veterinary medicine and his role as emissary of Scott's pack. Together, Scott and Stiles fill his shoes quite nicely—Scott taking care of the animals, though he takes on a lot more than just regular animals and the werewolves, and Stiles covering the emissary part after training with Deaton on every break since Senior year of high school.
Stiles is still a little awkward around some of the more unusual creatures, however.
"'Keep him wet' he tells me," Stiles grumbles. He squirms, trying to break the hold the octopus-thing has on him, but it's too strong. "And how the hell am I supposed to do that when I'm hanging upside down, huh?"
The thing quivers again, and then Stiles is flipped sideways. He ends up cradled in squirmy tentacles, the bandaged one, the one that had had a deep, festering gash on it when Derek carried it in, now clean and wrapped, held carefully out of the way. The creature looks a lot less pathetic since Scott sorted out the infection and took away the pain. Instead of scared, now it seems... Well. Grateful.
Stiles looks down. The bucket is within arms reach. "You want water, huh?" He grabs the sponge, squeezes it out over the creature's face. He braces himself for the shiver it gives, a full-body shake that vibrates pleasurably into Stiles like when he was twelve and sat on the washing machine while it was spinning.
More than ten years later, it has a similar effect. "Goddamn it," Stiles says, still carefully sponging down the tentacles wrapped around him even as he averts his eyes from the creatures face. "I sure hope you just understand words and can't, like, read minds or something disturbing like that, because there are some things innocent critters just don't need to know."
Stiles expects maybe a confused twitch or something. That doesn't happen. Instead, the creature starts to quiver more strongly, sending waves of sensation throughout the length of Stiles' body. "Oh my god," he says. "What are you—? Not helping, definitely not helping, dude."
The door cracks open and Scott's head appears. "Oh, good. You've got things covered. I have to go out for a while. Emergency C-section across town. You hold the fort."
By the time Stiles gets his wits about him enough to protest, Scott is gone, and Stiles hears the key turn in the lock as Scott closes up. "Oh, sh—"
The quiver turns into a defined shudder, and Stiles imagines the creature is chuckling. "Funny, is it?" he says. "You think this is funny?" He drops the sponge into the bucket and then holds his hands up, empty. "We'll see how funny this is when I withhold the sponge bath."
A tentacle disentangles itself from beneath him and slides easily into the bucket. The tip wraps around the sponge and withdraws, dripping water everywhere. The creature lifts it high, bringing it toward itself, but then at the last moment veers off. The tip of its tentacle tightens around the sponge, right over Stiles' head.
Stiles' mouth opens wide in shock, and he gasps as cold, funky smelling lake water splashes down on his head. "You little—" he growls, reaching out with his hands for the base of the tentacle holding the sponge. "I'm gonna—"
Another tentacle wraps around both wrists, pulling them together. Stiles struggles to get free, but eventually gives up and goes limp. "Dammit."
The creature shakes beneath him again, and Stiles is even more convinced that this particular shiver is what passes for laughter. It drops the sponge back into the bucket with a splash, and with the tip of it's tentacle still dripping water, it traces the line of Stiles' jaw and then down his throat.
It's Stiles' turn to shiver. "Tickles," he says and wriggles his hands. "You can let me go, I'm not gonna try anything."
The tentacle around his wrists loosens and he slides his hands free. Moving slow so as not to get trapped again, he wraps his fingers around the fleshy limb. The creatures skin is slick, but not unpleasant, and the flesh beneath is firm. "You're kinda weird, you know that?" he says, looking up into the huge oval eyes trained on him. He thought they were black, but they're not. They're darkest blue, a shiny curve of white the only definition as the surface mirrors the windowed door behind him. The creatures skin is a lighter shade of blue, almost shimmery. He wonders what it would look like in the sunlight.
Feeling charitable, he reaches for the sponge again. This time, he holds it to the side of the creatures head, squeezes it as he slides it down the gentle curve to its narrow neck. His charge squeezes its great eyes into slits and starts to quiver again, all over, the tips of its tentacles vibrating into a blur, sending ripples of sensation right into Stiles' body. His belly twists, and he starts to get hard.
"Oh," he says. "Oh crap. No, you're gonna have to stop that, dude. Things are about to get inappropriate here."
The creature cracks an eye open, stares at Stiles from a tiny sliver of eyeball, and Stiles feels movement on his inner thigh. He looks down as a tentacle slides up between his legs. It brushes against his balls, lightly, just enough to make him shiver, and then coils down around his thigh.
When the tip reaches and wraps around his knee, the thickest part of the limb spreads his thighs apart and trembles. Stiles shudders. "This...this is very inappropriate. You should probably stop because I'm not sure you know what you're doing and— Holy crap."
Stiles arches his back as the tentacle between his thighs presses unmistakably against his balls. Shocks of pleasure make his dick strain against the fly of his jeans. The tentacle wrapped around his waist shifts, the tip shivering against his bare belly as it wriggles down, dips into his belly button, and then slides into the front of his jeans.
"Scott's going to kill me," Stiles gasps, as slick skin moves around his dick in a tight coil. "I should stop you," he says, "I should definitely stop you." He wraps his fingers around the part of the creatures limb sticking out of his jeans, but he can't make himself pull it out when the coil ripples, pulsing around him.
"Oh, god," Stiles groans, and his eyes roll back in his head.
The quiver of the creatures body becomes a rocking shake again. Stiles looks up through heavy eyelids. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?" he pants.
The creature's eyes close, and it moves its head in a slow nod. The quiver has eased, though the pulse around Stiles' cock is even stronger now. Stiles plunges the wrung out sponge into the bucket, and clumsily squeezes it over the creatures face. His own clothes are soaked through now, his nipples hard peaks surrounded by goosebumps. The shivering starts up again, coming in slow, undulating waves in sync with the pulse on his dick. "Oh, god. You know what you're doing."
Stiles closes his eyes, tips his head back against the tentacle cradling his neck. "I'm just gonna... Oh, yeah, right there— What?"
The tip of another tentacle squirms into the back of his jeans. Stiles' eyes fly open and he stares up at the face of the monster. "What are you doing?" he whispers, struggling to keep his voice even and calm. The tentacle wriggles down between his ass cheeks, quivering like the rest of the creatures body, brushing over sensitive skin and making it very hard to think. "Oh my god," Stiles says, hand tightening around the tentacle down the front of his jeans, dropping the sponge from the other hand and groping behind him for the other one. "This... This has to stop, oh my god, Scott's gonna, he's gonna—"
Tentacles twist around Stiles' wrists, and his hands are lifted up and away. He tugs weakly, but he can't move and then he just doesn't care anymore as a slick, finger-like limb wriggles inside him, stretching him open slowly.
"This is all your fault," he whimpers as his back arches in the cradle of tentacles. "I'm telling Scott that. You know. If he asks." His hips buck up as he thrusts into the coil around his cock. "And you know he'll ask. He always knows when I get lucky—not that it happens a lot but it does happen—and I'm pointing my finger right at you— Oh holy fuck."
Stiles thrashes helplessly as the creature finds his prostate with the tip of the quivering limb. It vibrates inside him mercilessly, wiping his mind clean of anything but the feeling, anything but the rapidly increasing need to come. He has just enough intelligence left to pray that Scott doesn't come back now because the high pitched moans coming out of his mouth are bound to be particularly telling, even if the smell of sex wasn't a factor. "Please," he begs, writhing in the creatures hold. "Pleasepleaseplease."
"Oh, I'm so gonna count those later," he gasps, as slick tentacles slide up his belly and under the bunched edge of his shirt. They find his nipples, and that's enough, quick vibrations on the hard peaks enough to drag him over the edge as the coil on his cock seems to undulate and the tentacle in his ass massages his prostate and stretches him even wider, making him more full than he's ever been before.
Stiles comes hard, his cries echoing off the brick walls as the creature shudders with him. He giggles at the lunacy of the situation as his orgasm slowly fades.
His eyes feel very heavy. As the tentacle withdraws from his ass, another uncoils from around his cock, he struggles to keep them open. The last thing he sees before they shut for the last time is the creatures mouth opening, a tentacle smeared with Stiles' come going into it, coming out clean. "You're naughty," he whispers, and then sleep takes him.
"Stiles. Stiles, wake up."
Stiles blinks his eyes open. He's still wrapped in tentacles, and the creature holding him seems to be sleeping as well, eyes closed, huge head pillowed on Stiles' belly. Stiles turns his head.
Scott grins down at him. "Have fun?" He seems on the verge of laughter.
Stiles shakes his head to wake himself up. They're close to the floor now, Stiles lying in a mass of relaxed tentacles. He puts a hand out, braces himself on the ground, rolls and wriggles until he's free. The creature sleeps on.
Stiles gets to his feet, finally pulls his shirt down to cover his bare belly and his happy trail, a sparkle of something slimy clinging to it. "Oh. Scott. Hey." He shakes himself, still groggy. "What?"
Scott chuckles. "I said, did you have fun? I guess you did."
"What? No. No fun at all. Boring creature." He looks around the room. There's a wet sponge lying at his feet. The bucket is on its side, and there's a puddle of lake water beneath the sleeping monster. "Huh," he says.
Scott's face spreads into a wide smile. "See, Derek told me that as kids, they weren't allowed to swim in the lake. The creature that lived in it was friendly, but a little too friendly, if you know what I mean. He said Peter swam there a lot though, and came out looking..." He snorts. "Satisfied, I think was Derek's word. You know what I'm talking about, Stiles."
Stiles' eyes widen. "He," he says, pointing his thumb over his shoulder at the creature behind him, "had sex with Peter? Eww." He turns around and pats the critter on the head. "Poor thing, you must have been traumatized."
The monster stirs, raises it's head a little, cracks one eye open and the corners of its mouth lift when it sees Stiles. It shivers, and drops its head back down onto a pillow of tentacles.
"Stiles," Scott laughs. "You just—"
"Shut up," Stiles says. "Keep your werewolf nose to yourself, can't a guy keep anything to himself?"
"I can't smell anything but lake right now." Scott lifts one eyebrow. "You have that look—"
"I do not have a look."
"You totally have a look." Scott leans over the creature, and with fingers so gentle he doesn't wake it, pulls back the bandage on its tentacle to check the wound. He hums. "It's better, but I don't think we should send him back to the lake until it's healed, and we don't have space for him here." He stands up, looks at Stiles. "You've got a bathtub in your apartment. You're going to have to take him home with you."
Stiles blinks. Lots of responses flick through his mind, but in the end, he just goes with, "Okay." It's not an unpleasant creature to have around, after all.