I'm looking for a fic I found once and can't seem to locate it. I don't remember the title. It's an Engineer/Tentaspy fic, told from the Tentaspy's POV. It's kinda non-con for the Spy. Gah, I'm terrible at describing... can anyone help out?
Are you thinking of Dominique? That's the only Engineer/Tentaspy fic I can think of...
I know which one you are talking about. The thread that had the fic is long gone I'm afraid, it was from last year I believe. Unless someone reposts it, it will be a challenge to find.
This was the first thing that popped into my head after reading OP's somewhat vague description. I hope this is what you are looking for, but at any rate it's one of my favorites, so oh well. A link to the word document for your archiving pleasure. http://www.mediafire.com/?b2c5mp7ryayaez4 Sewer Dreams pt. 1 (Tentaspy/Engineer) by Rama You're so easy to startle, petite. So, so easy. It's cute how witty and crafty you think yourself, when you climb down into the water beneath the bridge, find a sandy bar that can support a machine, and build yourself a little sentry. You usually avoid the water- you all do- but when you're in the moment of a well thought-out idea, there is no hesitation in the way you splash down into the thigh high water. It's not meant to be permanent, it's just a distraction my team can occupy themselves with while you take the bought time to build something permanent in our BLU Intelligence room. So clever, so devious. I myself chuckle with amusement as I watch you set up your little toy and splash into the sewer, to find a stash of metal you had tucked away there earlier. Back and forth you run, eager to upgrade as much as possible before someone runs across the bridge and meets their death, where they'll then oust your machine to the rest of the team, and it will be quickly rooted out. You even placed it near the opening of the RED sewers, to send them in a wild goose chase down there for revenge. It's during your running and stomping and splashing that I let my mind wander. If anybody were to ask, and I told them who I fancied, they would be surprised. A suave Spy, want some illiterate backwater redneck hick? But of course. It is not as simple as that. I hope when I see you, you will realize that. You may be from the woods and mud of America, but you're not like most of the Americans; ignorant, like Soldier, or obnoxious, like Scout. Non, non, there's a brain in you. You are intelligent. Intriguingly so. I have seen the way you look at those machines. Those are not just any old blueprints. Would it be so far as to say that you may have had a hand in making them? Perhaps you were the sole creator of them. That intrigues me. I have an interest in machines; I am interested in their destruction, in watching how they explode in showers of sparks, how to deconstruct them piece by piece. I appreciate your ability to build things that takes some skill to deconstruct, and when they do, they explode in the most beautiful showers of shrapnel. But, that is not the only reason. You see, Ingénieur, I used to be human. I am not like that RED beast you have, who cannot even remember being such, if he ever was one. Non, at one point, I was a gentleman, much like yourself. You may even remember me- I was the man who used to sap the things you so lovingly created. I still do, from time to time, but getting out of the water is bothersome in my shape. It's a shame. The thrill when the sapper sparks to life, suction cups signaling a certain death as they click onto the metal hull and hold there and short circuit and destroy- Pardon, excusez-moi. Talk such as that gets me a little... excited. Sappers, suction cups- it's amazing how relative they are to the here and now as well as the past. But this time, these will not be going onto your machine. Oh non, not in the least. I am going to own you, Ingénieur. I am going to own you thoroughly and completely, as one owns a dog. As I've stated before, you're a scientific man. But you know the science of metal, and machines, and technology. What is your knowledge of animals? How well do you know... let's say, octopi? They are cephalopods. They are found in the ocean, can expel ink when harmed, use venom, and they are the most intelligent animals of the sea that still manages to lack a spine. Oui, that is all very good, and very plain and obvious. Do you know about the anatomy of an octopus? I do not posses the upper half of an octopus, only the bottom half. That is the half I will go into detail with: From their mantle are eight arms. Two of which are the actual arms, longer and stronger than the rest, used for the purposes any creature uses their arms for. All of the arms can be used for swimming, however... one of them functions as a penis. Already I can imagine the blush on your face, when I demonstrate for you, Ingénieur, which one it is. (It is the third right arm, the one that I will have resting on your shoulder.) In an octopus, after mating, it falls off. Dieu merci that is not the case for me- that would be embarrassing and not at all very suave of me to lose my cock in you. I imagine it would be almost as awkward for me as it would for you. Ah- I am sorry, in my musings I had drifted off, and only now do I realize that you've managed to set your sentry up to a level three. Well done, laborer. I am proud of you. And just in time, one of my ex-colleagues- a colleague no longer, he doesn't even know I exist- bounds towards the bridge. One step on the wooden plank and a shower of bullets and rockets send the sackful of potatoes into a beautiful explosion of gore. Some of it falls into the water like fireworks. Because you are around, I keep myself from snatching at it. (Again, I am not monster like M. Red- I have manners. I can eat later.) But I can continue to keep dreaming while I follow you into the sewer. I can continue musing over the other functions of an octopus, and how I will get to show them off to you. Did you know, when they mate, the male approaches the female? Just as I will approach you, from the shadows. My cloak still works in the water, fancy that- it will make your surprise so sweet. Mating for octopi can occur from a distance, given the reach of these eight beautiful, muscled, long limbs. But that is so animalistic, so boring. I would much rather pull you close. I imagine you make the best noises, the sweetest noises as I tug you to my damp body. Slick with a secretion- a slime, but that sounds so crude- that makes each of your wriggling struggles into a slow, slick slide against my body. Hollering is a very real and a very obvious counter. That will have to be taken care of; a tentacle in your mouth will silence you nicely. You may bite- and that will hurt terribly, as my tentacles can be sensitive when I am... excited. That will earn you a warning, a rough squeeze around your torso, to show that I can and will break your ribs if provoked. I can break your whole body. Can't you feel the claws of my gloved hands press against the tender skin of your neck as I tip your head up to press sharp teeth there? Oh, the way your hollers suddenly turn strangled and choked halfway through, and I can feel the noise through your throat and against my lips. It feels and sounds so lovely, I'll reward you with a kiss or two against that shuddering adam's apple. But I wont kill you. You would rather not die, wouldn't you? Not when I can pull out your respawn chip with a precise claw. You would quiet down, though your struggles would come in waves when I would do things you don't like. Unhook your overalls... two tentacles to slide underneath you button down, the fabric scratching against my tentacles as a sucker hooks onto your nipple. You would yell again, but this time your voice would quiver as I suction your nipples, quickly hardening from the stimulation and cool water. Is that a groan I hear? Yes, yes it is, sweet and unsure but definitely wanting more- Oh, I can give you more, Ingénieur. I can give you so much more. Peeling your clothes off of you would be just as good as opening presents at Christmas, exposing skin that is much more paler than your normal tanned skin. I feel somewhat guilty that I can see your face but you cannot see mine. When I take off your helmet, I'll set it carefully aside so you can retrieve it later, the same with your goggles. Your eyes are brown, and with them off you look so much more human. I won't be able to help smile at you; I imagine it's not as friendly as I would like, given the rows of pointed teeth I own, but it is meant to be charming. You are a charming man, it's quite obvious when you try to stutter out a reason for me as to why I should peel my tentacles from your flushed skin. I nod and hum in agreement, even as I would tug down your overalls, wet and falling quickly to the sewer floor, and then your shirt with its many buttons floating atop the water surface. You will look beautiful underneath my arms, pale but flushed with red instead of blue as myself. Fearful but quickly growing aroused. Your cock is as traitorous as our colors. The way your voice will rise when I get to your pants- oh!- oh monsieur, I tremble to think of the way your sophisticated scientific words suddenly turn panicked and anxious. Trembling as I wrap my tentacles around you and give an experimental squeeze, just tight enough to constrict your breath. My mantle presses to the front of your body, my forehead to yours; and you would look so confused for a moment, before any confusion is dashed on the rocks of pleasure as an arm delicately wraps around your shaft and squeezes. Not too hard. Just to gauge how careful I must be, I have not done this before, you know. I am already surprised that you are already hard, but for a humble man such as yourself, I doubt you have had any liaisons on base. This must be your first external contact for a while. I would want the suckers to stick but not cause welts, and my tentacles would pulse around your cock in a way one can do with a finely muscled arm. Rolling suction cups, the tip sliding and teasing the slit- You would be screaming my name, panting it against my face, "Oh Jesus- no, n-no- oh God Spah-" I will hold you close and murmur so sweetly against your cheek as my other tentacles slide around your body, touch and explore. You're so warm; I will be able to smell your arousal, so strong and heady, so please try not to mind me when I press my nose to where your neck meets your jaw and press rough kisses there. By then, I would hope that you wouldn't mind it. I could not imagine why you would mind me sucking hard on the skin of your neck, and sliding my tongue up, and dragging my teeth down, and tearing out your thro- (Goodness, tearing out your throat would be messy, I won't do that. Pardon, pardon. I am not M. Red, I will not do that- I am a gentleman.) Your noises, oh- your noises would be wonderful to my ears; the sound of fishes and battle becomes weary, and I have missed this human contact. I would press my blue-tinted lips to yours in the passion of it all, and though I am sure you will be hesitant at first, you will kiss back. You will even, uncharacteristically forgetful, try to push a tongue past my lips. I would allow it only to make the point that my teeth are indeed, sharp, but when you prick your tongue I can suck on it carefully and make the pain go away. And from your tongue, to your bottom lip, top lip, I would kiss and suck too, and then your face, damp from splashing water. Your noise would be faltering now. You seem to be unsure if you should cry out in protest, beg for more, or start to question yourself. It must be hard, questioning yourself, when you tremble in my arms, when you arch and thrust as my tentacle wraps slick around your cock and creates something for you to thrust into. And you would thrust, you would- I could just keep you like this, and perhaps I will, keep you down here for entertainment. Try not to eat you, catch you fish to eat, pleasure you- doesn't that sound nice? It does, doesn't it? When we finish, I will think the idea over. I imagine you will say yes. Of course you will say yes, who wouldn't say yes? I bet by then you will wonder, thrusting into my curled tentacle, "If everything else below there is like an octopus, is he gonna have a beak?" Non, Ingénieur, I am sorry to say that I do not have a beak. While five pairs of arms may seem redundant, I assure you, they are all quite useful. Having two mouths would be a waste. No, the area is purely to rid myself of waste, and... other things. And sexual, just as I will use you. My tentacles, slick and cool to the initial touch, but warm just under the surface as the muscles move, will feel amazing. Do not fret, s'il te plait, do not say you are not a faggot, that is not a kind word- again, as I have said, they will feel fantastique. I will hold you close to my body as I push a tentacle against your entrance. Your struggles- silent now, because you don't want a cracked rib- just spur me on, the way your body is so warm, so slick against mine. You would already be shaking from the assault my arms have had on your erogenous zones, your nipples, your cock, against your thighs and belly- trust me, I will croon, trust me Ingénieur, because it will feel good. And I will keep saying it until my tentacle, the one that is so sensitive, is buried into that tight embrace of yours, and you will be crying out my name. Oh, my name, how long I have yearned to hear Spy directed towards me, any words directed towards me that are not 'monster' or 'thing'- Sliding one tentacle inside of you must feel wonderful, but how would two feel? The first would curl and press against your prostate, suctioning lightly as a second would slowly start to squirm in, pressed flat against the first. You would be making the most baseless, wanton noises now, without a care in the world, and I would not stop you. How could I stop music? You would not even notice that I had relinquished the hold of your arms to put those tentacles to better use against your chest, teasing your thighs, rubbing against your balls. Now you see why five extra arms are so very necessary. You will be begging me to keep touching you, to bring you to release. Your hands would grasp at the lapels of my jacket, and you would press your face to my chest, and moan and beg and say "Oh Spah, Spah you are not lon-" "Oh Spah, Spah, you are-" And then whatever you would say afterward I would not be able to hear past your moans and the way you press your face to my chest. My gloved hands would cup your face, and tilt your head upward to claim your mouth. See? I may be a spy, but I do stick to my promises. I have owned you, would own you, completely and utterly, crazed by passion and fear, nipping at your lips to mix the smell of arousal and blood together. I would lap at the red drops, and you will moan and the smells would grow overwhelmingly strong. A tentacle to your cock, two pushed inside of you, thrusting and curling- pushing your hips forward would create a wonderful friction around your length, backwards would push my tentacles deeper inside of you. Caught between the two feelings, you would feel amazing, almost as overwhelmed as I will, drunk on your smells and the sensations of eight writhing, twitching arms. It would be maddening; we would both be going mad, kissing each other on the lips, growling each others' name. I will smell your completion before it hits, so I can make it all the more magnificent, a twist of my tentacles inside of you, and there would be the most tremendous splash- Splash? That was a rather loud splash- where did that come from- Oh dear, the algae is so slippery down here, you've tripped and fallen into the water. I suppose that is my cue, mio caro. Adieu, adieu- and: "Bonjour." --- Sewer Dreams pt. 2 ---- My arms reach out, picking you up carefully from the water and bringing you close. You are all wet from that fall, Engineer, but that is alright- I can warm you up. "Bonjour," You say with a Texan twang as your arm whips around- wrench in hand- and bludgeons me in the side of the skull, hard. I can feel blood running down my temple as my tentacles momentarily give out and I reel backwards. Usually it is an automatic reaction to dive down; the water is just deep enough here for me to swim, and I can swim out where it is deeper to avoid most conflict. It's not happening, not with your gloved hand squeezing tight around a tentacle, the third from the right- how did you know? It's somewhere between excruciating and exhilarating; my breath is coming out in a rattling wheeze, lips pulling back reflexively to show two rows of pointed teeth. This smile is not charming. You can bring out the worst in me, Ingeniéur. "Or bonjourno- how does it go again, Spy? Ain't had no use for French in a while, since I haven't gotten to see either of you octopi in a bit. Ours just skulks around and refuses to talk. Don't even know if he's got the ability to anymore." Your words ring in my pounding ears, and I can feel my tentacles twitch around your hand as you gather two more in the other. The texture of your glove must make it hard for you to grip, because when you squeeze a little too tightly your hand slides and- it's the most excruciatingly beautiful feeling in the world. I cannot help the low growl that escapes my lips. I am only dully aware of the fact that you are dragging me somewhere, and I stick my face into the water to breathe in the shocking coldness, hoping to regain some composure. I hate being taken unawares; I'm afraid I'm not at my politest. "S'lucky you still have the ability to talk, and reason, I suppose. Actually, you've got a lot of surprising abilities." Arms tuck underneath my armpits and as you haul me out face first, the gill slits at the side of my neck tremble before snapping closed. I suck in a breath of air through my lungs, water rattling as I do so, my eyes fighting to focus on your figure. I wish you would treat me kinder, as I myself had planned on treating you. You must have known- my head is still pounding, you hit me hard enough that everything is dizzy now. One of my tentacles curls around your leg. Engineer- I am not even trying to be threatening, I am simply trying to anchor my addled mind, yet you wave that wrench at me as if I am something to be threatened by. You prop me up against the walkways on both sides of the sewer, tentacles hanging down into the murky water. My head lolls back with the effort it takes to keep up. "Like, how you ain't all monster yet. 'Cause if you were a monster, you wouldn't be so good god damn obvious when you follow me-" It's not supposed to go this way; you're not supposed hear me before I arrive. To say I am frustrated would be a lie; I am absolutely livid with you, because you are ruining all of my fantasies before they've even started. If this becomes ruined beyond all repair I will rip you apart. Not only is my nice evening done for but I imagine the Pyro parts will have respawned before I can reach them. That only leaves you, and if I must eat you, I must- I am through being a gentleman to illiterate hicks who see fit to be so inconsiderate- It is halfway through my internal bemoaning that I realize half of my tentacles have been tied. Of course, you have simply taken that length of electrical cord usually looped around your waist and secure me. The two that function as arms have been tied, along with the two outer ones- leaving my four, most inner reaching tentacles left untied. I must admit, they are overall useless out of water; while quite handy for propelling me at top speeds, they're not extremely strong or prehensile. I could very well club you with them, however, and I'm considering this as I lean up- Now, another hit to the head? I would chide you for your poor manners, but my mind, at the moment, is spinning and I cannot see properly with my vision swimming. When I come back to- I do believe I just blacked out momentarily, which is a terrible state to be in when in front of someone you were planning on taking- especially since my human arms are now tied. How much rope do you have? It's irritating, almost as irritating as that charming smirk of yours or the way you graciously lean forward and pick up one of the thinner tentacles. Holding it in two hands, you press your thumbs against the pads of my suction cups and rub- and oh merde, it makes my eyes flutter. "Yer breathin' gets real heavy when yer near me, Spy." You say, a matter-of-fact tone with even a hint of cockiness, which I thoroughly do not appreciate and would show you how much I do not appreciate this if you were not massaging that tentacle in your hand. The differing textures of the calloused pads of your bare fingers and the slick movement of the rubber offers more than a pleasant contradiction. I sink low against the wall, a rattling purr escaping my throat. Concentration is somewhat abysmal when you do that, but I won't protest. It feels as if my entire body has melted; my eyes slide shut, the pounding in my head starts to ebb. "It gets quicker, too, and I can't imagine it's the pipes that sound like they're all nervous like. Might as well not even have the cloak on." I imagine you find yourself, again, quite clever, leaning close to my face so when I open my eyes, it will startle me to find you so close- oh Engineer, you are not very smart. I can smell you when you lean in, some mix of rough aftershave, of sweat and dirt and motor oil. Dominating all of that is the heady scent of arousal and anxiety that lurks under the surface. You have even held your breath so as to not make a single noise. I imagine I surprise you even more when my long tongue slips out from my mouth and licks a long, wet line up your cheek. The way you startle and pull back certainly indicates it. My eyes crack open to slits, ultimately pleased. Didn't you wonder why I haven't been struggling? I may be bound but I have you in the palm of my hand. You drop my tentacle unceremoniously, looking altogether unsettled. There's some odd comfort in the fact that you were so lonely that you yourself would go down to my level. Dragging over a poor beast such as myself to hog tie and have your way with. A smile at you; you seem to think it even more unsettling, as I can hear your heartbeat spike. "Is zhat so?" My own words, hoarse and more rattling, feel odd to my own ears; pardon the scratchy tone, I rarely have to use it. The sound seems not to startle but embolden you instead. Funny, I had thought that showing some of my humanity would make you shy away from this endeavor, but instead you seem content to loom over me, all five-foot-four of you. What is your motto, monsieur? "I solve practical problems"? I imagine that this must be your biggest problem yet. You must be so lonely, yet how does a lonely man find solace in a base full of halfwits and your lesser peers? You smile smugly down at me, pausing to take your goggles off, but the helmet stays on. Just like in my dreams, your eyes are brown. I pretend to be distracted by this fact as you lean over me, a thick hand pressing to my chest. "Yer just like any other Spy. 'spite all this down here, you're still a Spy underneath, aren'tcha?" The proximity of your mouth to my own draws nearer and nearer with each moment, "You like this stuff, all you Spies do, this romancin'." My clawed hands are more dangerous than you think. I am surprised, and somewhat disappointed, that you did not bother to bind them correctly. I raise both my hands up to place them upon your chest, and the way you hesitate when the claws touch your button-down spreads a grin over my face. Do you see this power? I could dig my claws into your heart and tear it right out from your chest cavity, bound by the wrist as they are- not that I would ever, of course, that would be rude when we haven't even started yet. Your hesitance, though fleeting, makes me smile, Engineer. You are still the same man sliding against my slick body, crying out for me, trembling in my arms, even as you suck in a sharp breath of confidence and your hand slides down my front. You grab the front lapels of my jacket, and with a great wrench of your hands apart buttons go flying. I don't especially appreciate it, you should know how hard it is to get well-tailored suits down here. I enjoy the way you peer at my chest, the lines that look like three clean cuts on each side of my chest. Right below my ribcage, the gills allow me to breath properly in deep water. The ones on the side of my neck, covered by my balaclava , are quite more rudimentary than these. Your inquiring hand is welcome- I gasp, and they flutter as I do so before clamping shut. The smile on your face makes me squirm; with your mouth, you pull off your lone glove, bare hand rubbing up and down against the blue-tinted gills. "These are-" Very carefully, with the hands of a skilled man- no doubt, you have fished before, and recognize them- as you gently lift one flap up. My unbound tentacles squirm in discomfort. "Gills, yeah? Makes sense. Yer a complex creature, I bet doc would be interested in you." My tensing and baring of my teeth are somewhat automatic- and can you blame me? The last thing I want is to be cut up- You soothe me with a few deft touches to the edge of my gills, stroking softly. "Not that I'd give you over. Yer too interestin' to be chopped up." Your hands rub upward, against my chest, blunt fingernails scraping over a nipple that makes me arch my back into your touch. You alternate between stroking my shuddering gills and reaching up to roughly tweak a nipple- it's when a finger jolts and accidentally slips just slightly under my gill slit that I squirm and groan under your ministrations. The skin is very sensitive there, rarely touched, and it's oversensitive enough where at times I cannot tell if the touches are shudder-inducing or simply painful. But I always was a masochist. Your hands slide downward, confident as the pads of your digits move from skin to the slick, softness of my multiple arms. It's an odd feeling; they are, indeed, soft and pliable, but underneath the softness, when you rub down one of my larger tentacles, are muscles bound together as thick and strong as cable rope. I am sure you can appreciate the beauty of that, not that you're interested in beauty at the moment. Maybe there is some truth in your blathering- my breathing has gone erratic when you hands slide down twitching tentacles, and I imagine there's a blueish tint high on my cheeks. There's quite a rosy color to yours. "I got real suspicious, though, when I built near the edge of the water a few times." You continue on, glancing up momentarily to gauge my reaction as you run hands down my mantle once. You settle on your knees between the pair of bound tentacles, two to each side of you like legs- my thinner, less strong ones wrap around your waist, but you don't seem to mind. Peeking downward, your face grows even ruddier. Your hand wanders downward; that must be your breath, that echoes so hotly and anxious, running ragged from nerves. Of course. You brush knuckles underneath, where the suction cups are large and sensitive and shudder under your touch. "Would walk off to find some more metal, and what would you know, I'd come back and find ink all over the place." I can feel your fingers before you even touch anything- my thinner tentacles around you flex, the ones bound writhe and twitch- Given my natural secretions- again, I suppose you would call it a slime- and my constant contact with water, you ease a thick finger into me with little trouble. To be frank, Ingeniéur, I have many times often been with people in the past. My hey-day was the 50s and 60s. It was the time of the Cold War, of wooing both men and women alike for information of volcano lairs hellbent on destroying the moon. I know the ins and outs of sexual relations, but this, this delicate feeling, of pushing your finger in- Pardon, je ne sais pas what it is, but it feels like a jolt up my core, liquid fire up my spine as you work your finger in. It's completely new exploration for you, and you take it as if it was a new machine, careful but purposeful. Crooking your finger pulls an (embarrassing) purr from the back of my throat, and stroking that crooked finger brings a (traitorous) groan from my lips. You're smart; you adapt, and when I sound out, your finger seeks to reproduce that sound. I can imagine it is all equations and ratios to you, add n amount of pressure here to elicit x amount of noise, add two more fingers and a pair of cloying lips- I can't hate you for breaking my train of thought with those lips. They're sweet, soft- just a tad clumsy, but your inexperience I can make up with my own knowledge. My tongue snakes into your mouth with much more dexterity than yours, though I can find humor in the way you try to scissor your fingers to trip me up. It nearly works; now, when you push three fingers in, curl them and stroke- that makes me choke and jump. My hands work in their bonds, fingers clenching and twitching as I carefully suck on your tongue so as to avoid my teeth. It's entirely your fault your lip is left bleeding when you give your wrist such a monumental twist as you thrust those fingers in hard. "Pardon." I make sure to lick the blood away and make it better. The look in your eyes as I do so shows that there is no anger there. Your breath is uneven as you pull your fingers out, distractedly wiping them against your overalls. Your other hand is busy unzipping yourself; it's odd how I notice everything. I'm anxious; my tentacles are writhing in anticipation. I can smell your own nervous tension, as you pull out your cock and give it a stroke, passing me with a glance that you try to project as bullishly confident but makes you look like a self-conscious boy instead. I flash you a grin. There, wasn't that soothing? You bluster and flush, leaning close to my cloth-covered ear as you grab my waist. It would be easier with a pillow, but I am sad to say I lack- Mon Dieu, mon Dieu, Ingeniéur-! And here I thought a gentleman used to fainting southern belles would ease in; one fluid motion of your hips, and it's the feeling of both penetration and the way you're pressed against the underbelly of my mantle, the large, sensitive suckers holding lightly onto your flesh before pulling off with a pop as you pull your hips back. Your thrusts are measured. Groaning quietly, you press lips to my temple, drag them down my cheek; you're overwhelmingly intimate without even meaning to be, aren't you? Oh Ingeniéur, we are one of the same, are we not? Two sides of the same kind, you romancing with your Southern ideals and I with my roguish ladykilling. Except I am part octopus, and your lips are touching mask and stubble, and we are fucking in a sewer. "Y'gotta- jest 'cause I'm doin' this doesn't mean I want you to keep inkin' all over my tools, Spy." You rasp, palming my chest as your hips speed up. I laugh in your ear, and kindly tell you to shut up; it's nothing personal, but I enjoy the sound of your hips more than your lips. My back arches; oh merde, merde, how do you do that, that touch- human touch-! I cannot stand it, my tentacles writhing and shuddering around you. Every thrust of you into me pulls animal-like noises from my throat. My mantle is so sensitive, the pale underbelly of my octopi state; when your hips thrust forward to smack against them, every single one of those nerves flares and sparks. It's with a twitch and a great snap two of my tentacles break free from their bounds- you hesitate, hips stuttering as your eyes fly open with unease- and then another snap as the other two are freed. My actual hands are tied, but that does not matter when the main arms of my tentacles are free, does it now? "Spah-" Your hips slow, even as the tentacles wrap around you, waist and hips, and drag you forward. Silly Ingeniéur, do you think I want you gone now? Non, I want you closer, I want you deeper, which is why I push you against me and hold you there. I can tell from the look on your face that the pleasure must be excruciating, as you grind your hips helplessly against my mantle, no ability of movement granted with my suckers holding fast and the strength of my many arms. "Baise-moi," I growl, because mon Dieu, that is all I want- I want to be driven into, to be owned, claimed, I do not want to be alone- I am practically fucking myself with you, using tentacles to guide your hips; your hands clench at my waist, slick blue skin mottling and blending into warm human skin, holding me upright so you can drive into me again and again. It is messy, and uncoordinated, and feral, the meeting of two animals. I press kisses to your neck and relish the way you moan unabashedly into my ear. It's overwhelming, and I am losing myself to you- Oh merde, merde, merde- like lightning, it strikes fast and hard, and the lips mouthing warm and wet at your neck- My body seizes, and suddenly overwhelmed with the smell my mouth opens, flexes- instincts have overrun me. I am afraid to admit it, really- it's an odd occurrence, like that between a praying mantis, because when I become lucid from the amazing climax that had rocked through me, my mouth is wet and warm with blood. It's a shame. I hadn't meant to kill you; but, I can smell you enjoyed yourself also, so the guilt is lessened somewhat at the sight of your profusely bleeding, open neck. I lick my lips, savor the taste; it's a heady smell, blood and orgasm and adrenaline, a delicious mixture. I might as well not waste it, right? Lifting my hands to my mouth, I easily cut through the rope holding my arms together. I kiss you on the mouth, raking slow claws down your stomach. I'll be devouring as much as I can of you before Respawn picks up what is left. Your goggles I tuck into into my pocket. Respawn, luckily, does not pick them up. Pt. 3 with Cute, Unrealistic Epilogue "You asshole! Y'ate me!" I surface so just my eyes are above the water, blinking slowly. You look so very flustered, fists clenched at your sides. It takes a moment for me to realize that you are expecting a reply; I rise up from the water, pushing myself up with tentacles and crossing my arms over my chest. "I zhink not." You balk, stomping forward in a careful manner against the slippery walkway. Falling in would be a poor choice. "Yeah, y'did!" "Non, I didn't." "You did, Spy, god damnit-!" "I just killed you." I lie with a nonchalant shrug. I turn my face away; really, you are being so very petty about this. I can feel the way you glare into the side of my face. Apparently neither of us are going to budge. I'll be the gentleman and do so for you, Ingénieur, you should thank me- "'ow do you know I ate you?" I really do not appreciate that incredulous look. I am not a chi- "Kill cam, genius." Oh. "Oh." I turn my face away again. I try to slip my hands into my pockets as discreetly as possible, carefully fingering the goggles that are still there. I wish you'd go away, you are being a pain and making everyone here feel awkward. I feel awkward. "Does zhat mean you want your goggles back?" Oh Ingénieur. I can feel your glare still. I fix you with a stare of my own, frowning and tilting my head up. I cannot imagine why you look so angry, but it turns into an abashed look with a shake of the head. "Nah. Keep it." I pull my hands out of my pockets and cross them over my chest once more, lowering myself into the water before swimming to the edge. You stay standing as I pull my upper half out, resting against the edge with my forearms. "Grazie. And...?" You roll your eyes, reaching behind you. You honestly thought that dripping sack of meat would be a secret if you placed it in a burlap sack? I will have to educate you on how keen my sense of smell is. I know everyone by smell alone, but there is something particularly different about your scent, now. Perhaps because I know it more personally, but you barely had to wander into my sewers before I caught your scent. I honestly do not enjoy people in my sewer- no, no, it's not because of some instinctual territorial thing, goodness no. It's just simply not polite, one really should ask before they foray with boots on, waist-deep, into someone's home. It was the odd scent you were carrying with you, however, that made me keep from quickly chastising you and sending you out and on your way. It was not the metallic twang of sentry parts but... blood. Not yours. It's an hour after the end battle bell, and I was pleased to find out that it was not someone elses from an illegal after-hours kill but a present for me. "Yeah, yeah. Gotcha, uh- some food." You hold it out gingerly, and I take from you something that smells- cow. Raw. Hind quarters? A little overripe, but that doesn't adversely affect the taste. "Almost was going bad, and Solly and Doc was gonna throw it away, so I took it..." I must admit that I zoned out as my tentacles pulled the sack close and my hands pulled it open like a delicate present. The smell- the look- oh merde, the sound I make is no less than embarrassing now, but I at least have enough mind to peel off my gloves and stuff them into my pockets. I would have been mortified if I had made that noise and then hadn't even bothered to take off my gloves. I reach in with hands and tentacles to rip apart and feed myself. When I finally remember my company, you've leaned back against the wall, watching with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity. I pause, licking blood and viscera from my claws. "Thinkin' that if yer full, you won't go and try to bite my neck off again. I gotta be honest, Spy..." You push yourself off the wall, walking to the edge and kneeling down. I dab the edge of my mouth with the unsoiled portion of the bag. "I liked what we did last time." I blink, slow and owlish, glancing up at you. You are being completely honest. Maybe even a little bashful? You have taken off your helmet, holding it to your heart with one hand, the other rubbing at your shaved head. "Jest didn't like the dyin' part a whole lot. I think yer real interestin', and I wouldn't mind comin' down and feedin' ya and keepin' you company if you just don't-" My tentacles shoot out, curling around your body and limbs as you holler in surprise. I drag you into the water, pulling you close and- oh! It's just like my dream; you're slippery and sliding and very real and warm when I hold you. I make sure to hold you up so that you're eye level with me. Your outraged expression is so very endearing; I very carefully take my clawed hand and wipe a drop of water before it hits your eyes. "Whatcha gone and done that for?!" You splutter, wide-eyed and incredulous. I lean in, our noses touching, my grin widening. "I think yer real interestin'," I begin, parroting your voice back exactly, word for word, and the flush that rises on your cheeks just makes my grin widen. "And I wouldn't mind stayin' here and romancin' ya and keepin' you company if you jest bring me some food and keep blushin' all pretty, darlin'." I pat your cheek as you gape at me like a fish. "... what." You manage. It will be best for us both if you keep your mouth shut. Do not worry, Ingénieur, I can keep it busy.
Yes, that's the one! Thank you very much! And thanks for the Mediafire download as well. I do enjoy Engineer/Spy pairings, Tentaspies included.