Being a helmsman is—well, it’s not entirely a thankless job under Feferi, but not exactly the world’s cushiest job, either. You just never expected that one of the worst parts of the helm would be how fucking noisy everything always is. Too fucking noisy, and all the crosstalk is giving you a headache, so you shift some of the processing load to the back of your mind temporarily—unimportant stuff like the first mate’s video chat with his auspistice (who the hell even talks to their auspistice willingly?) and check the clock.
You’ve got thirty minutes left. Fuck.
When you shift attention back to other functions, Feferi is right there in your face, grinning like a barracuda and waving her hand in front of you. You clear your throat and acknowledge her as faux-sweetly as possible, because she thinks it’s hilarious when you pretend to be nice.
“Ahem. Can I help you, my dearest Empress?”
Her unsettling smile widens. “You’re completely out of it today, Shoallux! Lucky there isn’t anyfin important going on.”
You glance away in embarrassment. (More purple wires. Woo-fucking-hoo. There are reasons you don’t usually have processing power devoted to video of the helmsblock.)
“Yeah. Sorry, RX sent me a text earlier, guess it’s date night.”
(And what a text it was:
TG: i offically declare 2nite tentacle nite. cum in prepared, if yuo know wut i mean *wonk*
Can anyone blame you for being excited? You’re practically popping a wriggly just thinking about it.)
FF straight-up coos at you, and you start to get worried. Cooing is not a thing she’s known for, at least outside of horn piles. (And god, you’re glad those are gone. You hated spending time on that meteor. It was honestly sort of cathartic to fling it at something with the knowledge that it was gonna have to crash-land somewhere along the line.)
“Whale, I was actually wondering if you’d like to take off early for your date with Rox-sea, since Mituna still needs some practice before we put him in full-time?”
You blink, not entirely sure what’s happening. Is—is something nice happening to you? Oh, fuck. Something horrible is gonna happen to make up for this later, you’re certain of it. But whatever. Take the good, since you’ll get the fucking bad anyways, right?
“Sure. Give me a hand down?”
She nods briskly, her fins flapping with the movement, and begins to strip you out of the wires, kissing every port as its corresponding wire slides out. She gets your arms first, which is nice; you’re able to shake them out and get some feeling back in your shoulders while she kisses at your ankle ports. You twitch involuntarily at the tickles, and it just makes her smooch them again. You snort at her, and then she giggles back and traces her lips up your calves, dragging them lightly on purpose, and by the time you actually get back to your block there are only ten minutes left before your date with Roxy, and your bulges are already wriggling out of their sheaths with extreme interest.
Your wrist ports, typically the ones used for block-level wire jack-ins, are itchy as all fuck from overuse. You’d forgo the dinky wrist ports altogether in favor of real-world interaction with Roxy, but there’s not a lot you can do about that when your kismesis is deployed halfway across the Empire in service to your matesprit. You can, however, re-route the impulses through other ports, so you type in a quick “caliibrate 2piinal iinput 2 biio” at the command line and let it get to work on converting the subroutines so they’ll work with neck ports while you rub some anti-chafing cream into your wrist ports.
(Fuck yes, this stuff is orgasmic.)
Calibration is done by the time you’re finished wristgasming, so you grab the pair of dangling consumer-grade leads that are growing out of your husktop and slide them lovingly into the ports at the base of your neck with a tiny duo of clicks. The sensation is familiar by now, but still a bit of a thrill; there’s nothing else quite like the tingle of nerves as they come into contact with biowires, the way everything suddenly expands and becomes so much more than reality, the way your whole body lights up with psi and melds with the circuitry and you can suddenly see the real world and the digital world in tandem.
You have no clue what it’s like for those without psi to jack into the system, the way Roxy does, but you can only imagine it as dull and unexciting in comparison—and it would be a horrible thing for your kismesis to live a boring life, especially when she’s in your world of beenary and hex, so you’re going to make sure tonight is even better than she’s expecting it to be. She likes your bulges—really likes them, if the last date night was any indication—but the stars are the limit with virtual reality, so this time you’re going to surprise her by going in with four for ‘tentacle nite’. Double the fun, and a good way to keep her on her toes. (And curling them, too. Ehehe.)
Your husktop whirrs softly in the distance as you fire up the 3D sculpting program and load up your avatar. He scowls when you remove his clothes, and crackles with virtual psi as you command his bulges to unsheath, but you’re him and he’s you so he can’t actually do anything to you with the psi while you copy-paste the two bulges and start customizing the new ones. And fuck, you’re glad you turned off his ability to speak without your input, because you know what you’d be saying if another you came up and started not only fondling your junk, but adding and removing bits of flesh, and it’s not really a tirade you want to hear right now. You catch enough flack from yourself without having to catch flack from another yourself.
By the time you wrest yourself away from your bulges (what can you say? you’re an artist) it’s ten after—which, of course, means ten minutes late. You swear under your breath and step into your avatar, his/your facial expression not changing from the scowl it seems permanently affixed into, and select Roxy’s virtual block from your bookmarks. She’ll forgive you once she sees your bulges.
The system warps you to Roxy’s virtual hive in a matter of seconds, dropping you on your ass in the sparse grass of her front yard. You’re honestly just glad you didn’t hit a pumpkin; for all that they’re virtual, she’s oddly protective of the things. You brush the grass stains off with a mental swipe at the system, and knock on her front door. A moment passes, but Roxy doesn’t appear. Weird. You knock again.
Nothing. Shit. Hopefully she didn’t stop waiting for you. You raise your fist to knock for a third (and possibly final) time, when something crashes into you from behind and knocks you into the door. Within seconds you’re wrapped up tight in rubbery ropes and flipped sideways, but just before you unleash sparking hellfire, you realize that this isn’t some betentacled eldritch horrorterror from beyond the furthest ring, it’s Roxy, grinning insufferably and smacking her gum just because she knows you hate it.
Scratch that, it’s Roxy and a horrorterror, melded into one. Or something very much like it. Her human torso is gone below the waist, replaced with glistening tentacles several feet long that she’s somehow managing to stay upright on, though she’s certainly not at her normal impressive height for a human. They’re glistening black on top, but the undersides are pink, only a few shades off from biowires. Her horrorterror half fades into the brownish flesh of her naked human torso in what look like tattooed whorls and swirls of pink-black void. Leave it to her to be dramatic. She holds you off the ground and sniggers.
“Well, well. Looks like curiosity caught the Captor. Look at you there, like a coo-coon.” She reconsiders. “Cocoon. All wrapped up in Ro-Lal’s bestial embrace.”
You hiss and mangle a comeback. “Cuckoo is right, what the fuck is even with this avatar? Did you take a wrong turn while sculpting and wind up in one of Rose’s shitty novels or someth—” She squeezes you tight, and you wheeze yourself silent. Fuck, she’s gonna break a rib or something.
Roxy frowns, and a tentacle writhes up between the ones that have you trapped and bops you on the nose. “This mod was the best thing I’ve ever sculpted, honey. It’s mad versatile and totes sexah to boot. You like it? You like it. I know you do. I’d like to see you go to this much effort with an avatar, lulz.” Gods, she actually says that netspeak shit out loud, it’s so infuriating. “But you didn’t, and that means I win tentacle night by default. I’m a little disappointed, Luxy-poo.”
Okay, so you growl a little at her for that one. After all the fucking effort you put into your bulges, she’s gonna pull shit like—
Oh. She hasn’t seen them yet. The tentacles tighten again, cutting off circulation, and you groan and port yourself out of her grasp. Roxy rolls her eyes and mutters something about you cheating, but you’re beyond done with playing by the rules when she hasn’t even let you show her your masterpieces yet. You yank your fly down in irritation, and push your jeans down around your hips. “Look closer, you demented pastel disaster.”
You swear her eyes light up as literally as yours do when she sees the half-unsheathed tangle of four wet bulges, but she hides it quickly and waves a hand at you dismissively.
“Pfft, think you’re gonna win with four when I’ve got—well, as many as I want to have, as long as it doesn’t overflow system memory?” One of the crested waves fading into her torso reaches out of her body, elongating into a new tentacle, and you decide then and there that virtual reality has definitely gone too far, because you should not be getting excited over this, and you wouldn’t be getting excited over it if you didn’t know those could actually touch you and fill you and pail you and hhhh, basically fuck your kismesis, is what you’re saying here.
Tentacles wrap gently around your calves and your torso and pull you closer, shucking your jeans off in the process, and you decide that yes, fucking your kismesis is exactly what’s going to occur here, and that she may have more writhing appendages than you but it’s what you do with them that counts. You have experience in that category; she doesn’t. You will give her the best fuck of her life out of sheer spite if you have to.
At least, that’s what you think until you realize that you have no clue if there’s even a nook nestled somewhere in those tendrils. Leave it to her to make things difficult.
Roxy must see the agitation in your expression, because she chuckles at you, and it echoes through the coiling appendages and into every bone of your body and you seethe with hatred for this girl, this obnoxious fucking human that manages to best you at your own games, that manages to sex you up and dress you down and put you in your place and make you like it. The chill creeps over your skin as she wraps you up and holds you close with a multitude of appendages both human and otherwise, and whispers in your ear.
“Password’s admin, if you need to override.”
You shudder in her grip, nodding silently and lamenting the fact that secure passwords are nearly impossible to say out loud. You bury your head in her neck as the tip of one tentacle probes at your damp nook. It’s all you can do not to cry out, because that would be letting her know she’s winning, but the tip of a second pushes in alongside it, and you realize she’s not going to be playing fair today at all. You grit your teeth with determination and untangle an arm from the mass of tentaflesh, only to jam it back down into the junction where they all meet at her torso. If there’s a nook, it’ll be there.
She giggles at you, and you scowl harder and grope around a bit more. Nothing. The two tendrils in your nook are about three inches in now, thick and rubbery, and you need to find her nook so you can get her back for this.
“I fucking give. Where is it?”
“Nada. No vagina monologues for you, mister Captor. I thought it’d be fun to see what it’s like without one today. But if you could just twine those lovely little tentacles into mine, I think we can come to some sort of arrangement here.”
You sigh, the sound of the long-suffering, and press your hips flush to her—well, to the base of her tentabouquet, letting your four bulges wrap around and between tendrils. She presses them tight together and it’s almost like you’re fucking a tight-nooked seadweller, with the way the coolness flows around your junk, but it’s close enough, it’ll do, especially with her pressed all the way to the back of your nook and fondling your shame globes like this.
Suddenly the world lags, causing your glasses to fall off, and you’ve just traced the source to a new coiling appendage at the base of Roxy’s torso when something prods at your waste chute, dripping with thick lubrication. It’s obvious what she’s planning, and protesting would only be seen as weakness, so you breathe deeply and relax as well as you can when your alien girlfriend has you pinned close to her by numerous tentacles. The tip nudges inside and widens quickly. By the time it’s two inches inside of you, you could swear it’s thicker than it is deep, and you’re suddenly extremely glad that you’ve done this before, because you’re whimpering and gritting your teeth as it is; without past practice, you’d probably be screaming.
Roxy pushes in another few inches, and you actually do let out a choked scream. It’s no thicker further down, but it’s too much too fast, and it burns. Trollish anatomy just isn’t meant to accommodate two bulges in the nook and another in the ass, because fuck if you could even get bodies to line up right for that in meatspace, excluding your little mutation. Roxy freezes and starts wriggling the tentacle out, her face flush with frustration and panic.
“Oh honey, fuck, fuck, I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking, I—”
You lean forward and nip at her neck with a growl, resting against her rumble spheres. You want this, damn it. You will take this, just to prove to her that she can’t break you.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop, you spectacular douchequeen. You started it, fucking finish it.”
Yeah, you’ve never been good with boundaries. But RX is your kismesis, and she’s here to help you push them, right? She grins and purrs and pushes back into you even further than she was before.
“Harder, you incompetent pseudohacker, or do I have to show you how to fuck someone with a tentacle?”
Roxy’s nails scratch down your back, making you hiss and tighten up around her painfully. She writhes in your nook, she pulses in your ass, and you groan at the fullness as she fucks you deep and hard, splitting off another feeler and promptly shoving it in your mouth. Time seems to slow to a crawl as the system lags out again, and it stays that way this time. She leans in to bite your neck and you don’t feel it happen for a full two seconds after she does it. You want to warn her, to tell her to scale the model down or something so nothing crashes, but she just keeps pumping relentlessly into you, and your mouth is full and you’re overstimulated and whiting out and so, so fucking close to the edge that you can’t say a fucking word as she splits off yet another tentacle and thrusts the tip into your ass, stretching you wider.
The framerate crawls to a halt as you lose your mind to orgasm, clenching tight around her and milking viscous fluid from her avatar. It fills you up obscenely, bulging your belly out and dripping down your thighs and out your ass and making you splutter and choke. Everything tastes like bubblegum for a brief second, and then the fluid physics engine overloads the system and you’re thrown violently back into the real world, where you find yourself covered in slurry, your flesh sizzling where your input jacks are connected. Your hands fly up and you rip them out of your neck as quickly as you can manage, because fuck, fuck, no, not a systems meltdown, you’d be useless to FF if that happened, and you couldn’t do this with Rox—
Roxy. Fuck, this happened to her too, there’s no way she didn’t crash if you did—
Your trollian pings on your secondary palmtop, and orange text flashes across the screen. You ignore the burning jacks and surge forward to grab it off your desk and check the message.
timaeusTestified [TT] began trolling twinArmageddons [TA]
TT: Roxy wanted me to tell you she’s fine, but instead I’m going to tell you that you and I are going to be making some system upgrades soon so your kinky little escapades don’t permanently damage my moirail.
TA: fuckiing hell.
TT: Yeah, that’s a pretty accurate term for what I just witnessed. By the way, you might wanna clean up all that spooge. Can’t be good for your floor.
You short out the security cams with psi and reach for the anti-chafing cream. It’s killer for itches but it works for burns too, which is exactly what you need right now, because fuck knows you just got burned in every sense of the word.