bakerstreet | i'd like to be under the sea

[Eldrich Crane, anyone? Preference for M/M, willing to do M/F if we've RP'ed before.]

Edited 2018-02-04 07:14 (UTC)

[the one being tentacled! or if you have another idea hmu]

Edited 2018-02-04 05:45 (UTC)

(WHEN SEAFOOD ATTACKS. Uh, the one being tentacled. U'rajul is always up for a good time, but this would be a little intimidating for him, at least at first. There's potential for dubcon if you want it.)

Edited 2018-02-04 06:13 (UTC)

Please remember to take it to another thread if you go the dubcon route! :)

Sure thing.

[I'm not saying cranky AU tentacle dude, but cranky au tentacle dude. Of course, he can be friends with a person with tentacles as well.]

[It's CRK there most be a few Eldrich beings willing to indulge a human woman's... curiousity.]

Edited 2018-02-04 12:32 (UTC)

.

He wanted to see ocean, so why not also what lives in the ocean? Totally okay with dub-con or even non-con (if you want the smutty option)

Please remember to take it to another thread if you go the dubcon route! :)

It would go into a private musebox :)

(How? ~Magic~)

(Shapeshifter)

{ full disclosure I'm mostly posting a top level for one particular tentacular character to hmu, but hey if you have a tentacled friend for my vampire guy to hang out with...! 👀 not looking for full on smut but anything from G rated up to some fade to black fooling around is cool by me. }

The water is pleasantly cool, and the night unexpectedly mild. A low hum rumbles along the water in a tune, a baritone medley on an instrument of flesh, reverberating through lungs and ribs. Ambrose is quiet, vocalizing a song while he drifts lazily along with the idle pull of the water, no moon in sight against a blanket of stars he traces out in his mind as characters and symbols he was taught, and never forgotten. Gods amongst the galaxy, playing out their own epic dramas while tiny humans on a small rock gaze up in awe, reverent and inspired.

He wonders what assembly of stars have been assigned to the god who plucked his friend from the rim of death? The vampire picks the body of Hercules, tracks out his four limbs, weaves the image in with Corona Borealis, the top of Ophiuchus, and more distant, unlabeled stars to give it arms to reach up to Draco, out to Lyra for its beautiful gem Vega. The constellation, Hercules once a man, made into a creature with eight tentacles; a being made of light, harmless and in fact beautiful in the night's darkness. Ambrose smiles to himself, a bit glad that, for all of Egil's abilities in this state, he can't read minds. As far as he knows, at least...

They've been here a couple hours, now. While Egil's change took place in the water, unobserved, Ambrose had begun disrobing on the slate-rocky shore. After last time, he learned swimming in clothes was not the most ideal, staining his white shirt with particles of plant life, and the overall lingering scent of muddy water absolutely immovable from the fabrics. Ambrose had stripped down to nothing, which he had argued to his friend that now it wouldn't only be Egil who emerges out of the water tonight completely nude. Solidarity, right? Egil seemed bashful still, out of concern of Ambrose's own privacy, however a boundary the vampire had willingly relinquished anyway. 'I would think based on personal experience that you know what the male anatomy looks like, Egil...'

'Yes, well...'

And since then, between the two of them, it's been a thoughtfully quiet night, the kind of quiet that makes Ambrose think Egil's gone and drifted off -- taken a small nap, that is.

Until something shifts against his leg -- so soft that Ambrose isn't quite sure at first, but the size is much too vast to mistake it for a fish, or a passing current. He perks to attention, water splashing as he moves, budded surprise and amusement expanding into bloom on his face. Was it something? Was it not? When he feels it again along his ankle, it feels almost textured, and Ambrose laughs with a sudden hysteria, kicking his leg up and away.

"--Egil! Sneaking up on me?" Ambrose's grin is wide as he turns in his floating spot, looking for the large form of his octopedal friend. "If you were looking for my hand, that wasn't quite it."

It's never not felt shameful.

Oh, there's the bashfulness of being nude afterwards, of stripping on his way down. To be honest, though, most people here barely look twice at that kind of casual naked bathing. The walk to and from his house had never been a terrible trip on account of the breeze.

It's the nakedness during. It's feeling his bones dissolve back into his muscles, all strength twisted and concentrated and bloated beyond reasonable scope. It's feeling his mind ease into different parts of himself, awareness creeping at him from areas he didn't expect it.

It's knowing he's been given an edict to harm, to frighten, to harass, and knowing he can't not fulfill that order and stay alive himself. It's knowing, every time he jumps into that water, that he's a coward. That someone else owns him. For one night, two, sometimes three a month, it's knowing that his body isn't his anymore.

And then there'd been Ambrose. Unafraid, nipping at the heels of tradition as only one who'd just had all of his shattered could. Egil never liked putting it to words, the way the transformation made him feel, but he heard the way Ambrose wove sensations into sentences about his own entrapment. Being a vampire certainly comes with a higher commitment level than being some sort of wet, soggy pseudo-assassin for an ancient goddess, but it was relatable on a level he'd never seen before.

More importantly than Egil feeling he was in the company of a colleague, though, was the way Ambrose embraced even if he didn't understand.

It's that thought that gets interrupted by Ambrose's sudden laughter, and Egil finds himself guiltily starting. "Sorry! Sorry." He's so very happy that blushing can't happen in this form. Or can it, given that his colors can very softly shift around? Let's not think about that too much. "I wasn't—" Except what was he reaching for, then, those arms that literally have minds of their own?

Egil chokes on the memory of Ambrose clasping his hand after his last transformation. It blends seamlessly into them in Egil's bed, looking over at each other from a short distance, Ambrose's fingers just barely closing the gap to touch Egil's, right after they'd—

"I...suppose I was, actually." The truth. Ambrose has earned that much, hasn't he? "Or I'd think so. Sometimes they seem to just do as they'd like, without informing me of the plan."

Hearing the voice helps guide Ambrose in the right direction toward his friend, dark and at times virtually invisible to the eye, despite his grand size. He begins to swim in the vague direction of Egil, completely unperturbed by the contact despite his friend's apologetic response -- and to prove the point, his plan is to make it closer to the kraken. The added explanation tells Ambrose he's about two o'clock off course, and it helps correct his aim continuing forward.

One of Egil's appendages was reaching out for him. He sounds otherwise surprised at it, so it emphasizes the claim. After the article Egil had sent him about interesting octopus facts, Ambrose finds he is helpless to absolutely believe it. The vampire chuckles between strokes of his arms; a shadow builds in the water before him, the centralized point of where the voice echoes from. "I'm flattered that your tentacle is thinking about me. Perhaps it's knew what I'd just been thinking of..." It's endearing, really, and deeply fascinating. How aware Egil's entire form is of its surroundings, of his mind, capable on acting on its own. Ambrose stops a few feet back, a little over a yard, from where he thinks Egil's center lies just under the water's surface. He sees no bioluminescent eye drifting above the shattering water's surface, but he knows he's there.

"Was it the only one?"

Ambrose always breaks the common rules of engaging with monsters. The ripples from him shift and strengthen, and Egil knows Ambrose is swimming over to him. He has the urge to draw everything towards himself, make himself smaller and less destructive, less dangerous, less—invasive hideous. But Ambrose swims so close that to shrink away would be to actually move his entire body away, and with a shuddering effort that Egil knows would have been a stabilizing gasp if he’d had his human form, he stays out.

Ambrose is so close to him. Egil can feel the water shift with certainty, knows exactly where he is, and yet they’re not actually touching, despite how the water carries sensation so that even just intent can register as contact.

“Sorry, what were you thinking about? Did you miss sharing that bit?” There’s a cautious thrill to the insinuation. Ambrose has never been cold, but neither is he overly flirtatious—their friendship is unstrained when they’re acting as just friends.

A wandering tentacle absently brushes against Ambrose’s arm again, and Egil winces when he realizes it. “—Not the only one thinking about you, no. It’d be difficult to not think about you, seeing as you’re here.” A pause while Egil’s tone grows quieter. “Keeping me— keeping me company.” When Ambrose could be inside, doing anything else other than disrobing and jumping in the water with a monster.

It's no surprise that Egil latches onto that, the admission Ambrose provided of his own. A little more amused than bashful, he huffs a soft laugh, grin wide, eyes down at the water both in instinct of feeling ever so slightly embarrassed, and the impression that Egil is just below him in the water--

He gasps, body refusing a surprised flinch that wants to rattle through his arms. Something smooth floats against his arm in the water, soft yet firm, substantial. Ambrose stretches out his hand, but Egil explains what it is he suspects: it's him, again. The vampire's smile turns kind, thoughtful as he listens, hearing Egil this time become a bit more self-conscious of himself.

"Egil, just as you are now, you can always reach out to me... Because I'll always be here for you to find." His fingers, and eventually his palm, find the tendril-like arm floating up to him, smoothing over the fleshy surface. It feels just like water, but with substance to it. Ambrose hopes that by now, he's proven how earnest he is when he says this -- but of course, he sees how difficult this continues to be for his friend. No amount of insistence can change how Egil feels in his watery form. The best Ambrose can do is...be patient. Be kind. All easy to do for his friend; it comes naturally, in fact.

"I was...looking at the stars," Ambrose begins to explain, sinking his body lower into the water as he swims in place, reaching down further for the tentacle of Egil's come to interact with him. "I spotted Hercules in the sky and fancied him as an octa-pedal. I wondered if that's what it felt like to be a god, creating something so precious with nothing but cosmos."

If Ambrose's tone sounds ponderous, it may be that he's turned his head back up, eyes skyward. He knows it will be a comfort to look up every night to see the network of stars he's called a friend, a map of a man and more, one that he cares so deeply for. He's an old habit from his adolescence, stargazing. It's all Ambrose could do by himself at night, getting kicked out for his father to entertain his chosen lady for the night, in an incredibly rural village. These stars were filled with fantastic characters that never failed to keep Ambrose from feeling so alone; it still astounds him sometimes that these stars haven't changed in almost two centuries.

And now the sky feels more like a comfort than ever before.

It’s one thing to nervously reach out and be allowed the touch. It’s another entirely when Ambrose returns the gesture.

It’s—soft. And incredibly sensitive. Egil can feel the individual wrinkled ridges of Ambrose’s fingerprints, puckered up from being in the water so long. All that water has smoothed him despite the texture, though, and he feels soft and silken as he glides a hand up Egil’s arm.

Egil has to fight not to shiver away from him under the surface of the water, which he expects. What’s less expected is when he notices that Ambrose is settling in to explain himself, situating to try to tread water while relaxing to look at the stars—and Egil feels the urge to assist.

It happens almost too quickly to correct—one tentacle curls out to brush against where the back of Ambrose’s thighs must be. Egil is near enough that it’s at the thicker point of the tentacle, where it’s nearly as wide as Ambrose’s torso.

“If—if you’re tired. You could—rest on me. If you’d like. Instead of treading water all night, since you’ve made up your mind about being out here.”

He isn’t sure that holding his breath has the same application in this form, but there’s a breathless feeling in what functions as his cardiovascular system right now. Egil—wants Ambrose to say yes, and surely that’s a dangerous thing to claim as a desire.

His body rises high enough above the water that he can tilt over, expose one peripheral eye up to the night sky. “You can see anything at all up there.” He wonders at it. “And you decided to make up a star-bodied proxy of me?” That’s—some horribly potent metaphor, the likes of which Egil isn’t sure he’s qualified to interpret. Or exist in the same world as.

Ambrose is recently fed -- having rose at twilight to get a couple of blood bags in before going out to catch up with Egil and help bring him down to the water. He has the energy to tread the water for at least most of the night, especially since it's idle swimming. It doesn't occur to him that he can, or may want, assistance.

But that smoothness slips across the backs of his legs with all the gentle handling of a friend, and Egil poses the offer. This brand of thoughtfulness is signature to him, even if wrapping a tentacle the width of his chest around his legs isn't a typical friendly gesture. Then again, there is very little about Ambrose or Egil or their friendship that one might label 'typical' -- and the list of atypical standards grows by the day. Ambrose is delighted at Egil reaching out, both literally and figuratively, just as soon as he assured him he could. Immediate reciprocation, cemented understanding. The level of trust rising is exciting, a hope fulfilled.

"Such a gentleman, Egil," Ambrose purrs through a grin, smile in his voice like music, and he lets the appendage hold his weight, leaning his weight fully against it. His arm curls around the tentacle where it begins to taper down to a narrower shape, primarily for balance in the water -- but it is nice to hold his friend just as Egil holds him. He's always been so shy, distant in this form before, that getting to touch him so very easily, almost casually, is nearly a thrill; or perhaps it's getting to explore the sensation? The texture, the substance of the flesh, the very way it moves in the water, like an extension of the water itself, is foreign and fascinating, but somehow...familiar. Like it's not unlike Egil himself.

"We're creatures of legend," Ambrose begins, stare set on Egil's eye, glowing as if captured in moonlight, despite none to be found tonight. "Existing for centuries in reputation alone, so grand that we humans only found it fit to paint the likeness on the cosmic frescoes."

That's the official answer, painfully poetic, because that's just the only way Ambrose can describe what he sees. His expression grows more doleful with the turn of a thought, staring at Egil in the water, but seeing through him to something else. "In my youth I'd lie under these stars in the darkness, in solitude, when I had nothing else. How large and empty the world felt...and like I was the last remaining soul on it. These characters were guides, they were something to observe to turn my mind away from home. Once I learned to see their compositions, they were never simply just stars anymore."

He shudders with a chuckle, suddenly aware of how intensely he's speaking of himself, can feel the gravity around them grow dense with his existentialism. Ambrose is plenty self-aware enough.

He turns his attention back up to the stars. "In hundreds of years, they haven't changed. I have, though. I want to look up at this sky and see a different kind of familiarity." A more meaningful comfort.

But Ambrose's smile returning to Egil's 'face' is beaming, brimming with amusement. "Since you refuse to get an Instagram."

The tentacle tucked up against his side slithers upward to him, curling up against the side of his chest. Ambrose leans into the strange, slippery sensation, intrigued by the feeling against his skin. He's surprised that he hasn't managed to completely slip off of Egil's tentacle, with the silkiness of his texture under his legs. His fingertips wander idly along the side where small round shapes freckle along the flesh, soft little concave suckers lying relaxed across Egil's skin.

Let’s get one thing squared away - Egil is not particularly innocent or naive to the concept of flirting. But no one has ever sought to do so with him, not with any intimate subtlety beyond bar patrons getting bold and sometimes handsy; and so each time Ambrose makes a fuss of softening interactions with a curling smile and a smoothness foreign to this time period, it grabs Egil’s attention with a gentle but strong hold. Ambrose also has a penchant for pairing those velvety unexpected phrases with offers that aren’t easily turned down, and so Egil allows them to happen, each time, only rebuking him in ways too soft to dissuade.

And so Ambrose leans back with that sigh of his, and smooth skin rests on top of Egil’s tentacle. An arm curls around it, as well, and Egil didn’t know he’d feel everything in such detail. A vein in Ambrose’s arm, with barely any pulse but with a warmth that hasn’t yet been stolen by the cool water. The faint hair on the back of it, foreign and familiar all at once as Egil’s limb wraps instinctively back around what’s holding it. Egil’s body moves slowly and in waves, muscles rippling outward from his body to move the tentacle further up on Ambrose’s arm.

Stabilizing, not violent. It’s accepted so easily, invited in fact, and all Egil can do is listen to Ambrose speak and know he can’t possibly match the significance or artistry of the words.

“Wonder what scientists thought.” Egil muses. “Knowing that they’d expected the dark ages ending to be the end of monsters, and then finding out we still existed even once the earth wasn’t flat.” He twitches, each guilty start an incriminating flinch of soft skin underneath Ambrose. “Sorry, not that—obviously we’re both not fully human, but I don’t mean—“ He laughs, an odd rustling of the water that’s half just the remembrance of what he sounds like in his human form. “Guess I need to be careful, being self-deprecating around you.” Or he’ll end up calling his friend a monster to his face, and where would they be, with that kind of honesty traded without a fight to excuse it?

’Turn my mind away from home.’ That phrase sticks with Egil beyond the cosmic frescoes and the soft reminders of monstrosity; it’s human, achingly so, and at once foreign and familiar. Egil is silent while he moves towards Ambrose, shifting in the water so he’s ‘facing’ him, all of his limbs floating close by his friend now, silent shivers in the water announcing proximity. One of them joins the other in supporting Ambrose, this one crossing his lower back. It’s an intimacy that would seem impossible to initiate outside of this, with Ambrose nude, all water-softened skin and soft downy human hair, but that right now is allowed and, in the insisted allowance, desired.

Egil never presses up against boundaries, but now he feels himself growing empty at the offers, like he’s being shown blank rooms inside himself that he didn’t know were his to fill. The vacuum of it pulls at him, and he reaches out further in the dark.

“I refuse to accept that my lack of apps is why you continue to wax poetic about constellations.” Ambrose’s chest is convex, unlike the concave slope of his lower back, and it’s more solid under Egil’s other tentacle. Ambrose touches him with wondering fingers, not fearful prying to remove him, and Egil’s tentacle writhes despite himself at the sensation of his suckers being felt from their undersides with such a delicate touch. “Besides.” One more slides across Ambrose’s shins, providing more sturdy balance to keeping him seated on a slippery surface. “I don’t want to know where we’d all be without your ability to create stories from nothing but an empty sky.”

Edited 2018-02-24 17:03 (UTC)

Oh, how Ambrose has missed this. In this current day, nights are filled with so much bustle and activity, distractions and events, millions of lights. It's rarer now to lie out in the darkness, the serene wilderness, and hold discussions like this. Reminiscing, evaluating, imagining, confiding. This is how Ambrose spent his nights, centuries ago; to him, it's a shorter road to the past, no memories to widen the gap in between, but the mere knowledge that his 'home' is nearing two hundred years away makes it feel part of his horizon now, not his foreground. It feels like a home that cuts less at him for recalling it.

More and more pseudo-solid forms begin to mould around Ambrose -- his back, his legs, cradling him in the water. Egil draws even closer, a distant lamplight off a nearby dock flickering like glitter across the watery-sheen of his head. Ambrose reclines back against him, sinking into Egil's softness, laughing. "I think you're giving me more credit than I'm due, but I refuse to look toward the heavens and believe it to be only an empty sky. It's our nature to create meaning, or value." Ambrose hardly invented constellations, after all, only adopted them.

But Ambrose looks over Egil now and knows that he understands his trepidation. Monster, as if that has any bearing on him, or either of them at all. As if they were chosen because they fit some kind of personality type for it. That's the fear, isn't it? Things always happen for a reason, don't they?

That's the sad truth in this story of chaos: not all narratives have a pattern, or promise a pay off, or closure. Sometimes things just happen to people. And often, those bizarre, random instances are the most wonderful.

"'Monster' is just a word for things that are more than human. I'll be honest, Egil: for worse or better, every monster I've ever encountered has always been beautiful, in at least some regard. I've seen more monsters called human than anything else."

It's all perspective, of course -- and with how Ambrose remarks, he makes his understood easily that it is a perspective, a point of view. His carries more embellishments than most. "If we're monsters, then I'm fine with that. I'm content here in my friend's embrace, because I've never felt more disarmed than in a monster's hold. There's a poetic notion in the fact that arms this gentle and soft can also bring down ships in a torrent of destruction. The difference is you. What you choose to do." Egil always tries to opt for mercy. As does Ambrose.

The snake-shaped appendage against Ambrose's arm shifts against his skin, silk and texture both brushing along the sensitive backside of his upper arm, hooked against the side of his chest, and Ambrose reacts instinctively. He gasps softly, tensing for a flash against the rousing rush against his skin. When he relaxes back into Egil's hold, his chuckle is almost breathless with surprise. "But perhaps it's your eight separate little minds who are really the culprits. They're awfully sensual, aren't they?"

It's a bit of a prod at Egil; is it really just your eight arms and their solo-working minds? It wouldn't surprise Ambrose if the answer was yes, but in truth...a small part of him, deep down, hopes there is some deliberate intent to explore him, just as Ambrose is exploring Egil, hands both calmly feeling the expanses of his impossible body.

It’s an envelopment that couldn’t happen outside of this form. Egil is awestruck by the weightless form of Ambrose in the water, how trustingly he leans back into a grip that’s never held him before. The instinctive urge to wrap around him protectively is as warm and alive as the body Egil feels himself cradling.

“That means it is empty, then.” Egil insists. The vibration of Ambrose’s very words, and the breath for them, sinks deep into the water and Egil himself. He feels the hands on one of his limbs, exploring him with keen but calm interest, a focus that isn’t too bright or too sharp. “But it’s people like you who—get to tell others what to see instead of all that nothing.”

And then Ambrose takes Egil’s tentacle, still holding it gently and touching it with curious fingers, and it’s as if it’s Egil’s heart that is being carefully handled, exposed and examined. Egil’s breath is a shuddering thing. His eyes don’t grow hot, but there’s a gathered sharpness where his throat would be - the phantom results of his very real emotions. “Ambrose—“ Egil never said he was good at playing it cool once emotions run high. Here he is, breaking the game already, overcome.

He swallows. His limbs all press closer to Ambrose, the ends of them bending back and exploring, finding more places to support, to feel the soft cooling skin, to reassure him that all these offers are meant in knowing earnest. “I’ve always been touched, knowing that when you’re with me, it’s the effort of not reaching your hand into a candy dish that’s right in front of you. Don’t know that I’d have such luck, if we were reversed.” Your kind of monster is such a restrained one, Ambrose, and sometimes Egil looks at it and is in awe of the friendships Ambrose can cultivate despite everything that, well. Everything that someone else’s intervention made him, too. Ambrose may have had more choice in his transformation, but does that just make the regret sharper, knowing he’d set himself up for that kind of fall?

Ambrose calls him out in that next moment, though, while Egil is relaxing into this new allowance to explore. “I’m going to start hesitating to believe you, you know, if you keep calling it out when I do as you tell me.”

Sensual. Ambrose called his arms—him—sensual. “I’ve never touched someone this long while I was like this.” He admits a moment later, the confession falling after the joke, as if the latter might cushion the former’s fall. Egil finds he doesn’t want to draw away. Does Ambrose’s lack of complaint mean it’s okay, even this part? “I’ve never touched you for this long, either. Not even when we—the other week.”

Just the thought of it is enough to bring a heat to Egil’s skin, and the glow from that lone lamp across the water might show the way his coloration deepens, grows a shade rosier. “If you were trying to give me a hint, I can try to stop, it’s just that this is—“ He feels like he might have reached the end of his ability to put this to words, with embarrassment slowly urging the shame to come back, but he grounds himself in the way Ambrose’s hands stay exploring and not warning him off. “—nice.”

Edited 2018-02-24 20:24 (UTC)

Taking so much flattery is difficult, when you have as much humility as Ambrose does. It's even harder when it's given by someone who only ever states the truth, everything said so matter-of-factly, like a teacher giving a lesson. You don't want to question their validity, but it just can't be possible when such things are said about yourself... But Egil is always so genuine in everything he says -- when it's not his dry way of joking.

At the same time, though, this isn't hard at all; Ambrose hears Egil's voice, possessing the water he's submerged in like a spirit, and knows it isn't really flattery -- it's an admission. He listens to Egil and what's more heartening than getting to be so close to him now, seeing the difference of allowance from the beginning, is that everything Ambrose has done in their friendship has been for the good of his friend, and has helped. This means so much to Egil, the contact, moreso in this form but even in his human skin, it seems to be something he lives in a deficiency of. Ambrose knows well what that is like; welcome to his late adolescence and early adulthood. He definitely doesn't miss it.

More tentacles are reaching up to him, the finer pointed ends of them lively and shifting around to find more of Ambrose to hold, more skin to touch. The smattering of round suckers are soft and docile against him, like fingers drawing against him. It feels...wonderful, bizarrely tangible but almost as if Egil is melting into him. He doesn't feel consumed or suffocated -- a genuinely real concern for Ambrose, but the difference is that he feels so very safe in his friend's grasp.

He remembers 'the other week,' sinks deeper into Egil's hold as it rises into his thoughts like a sunrise. Ambrose wasn't sure Egil would ever dare to address it having happened outside of that night, but here he is. To bring it up as reference, does that mean Egil has thought of it since? He wouldn't have been the only one.

"Egil-- no, I wasn't asking you to stop," Ambrose assures gently, his smile kind, of not a little distracted. A tentacle against his shin has curled up, grazing the inner side of his leg at the point of his knee, and it's practically hypnotic, feeling every subtle change in the texture of the suckers dragging on his skin. "You feel good--"

Ambrose starts at himself, realizing what he means once he's said it. His hands tense, around the tentacle hooked under his arm, against the one under his thighs. Oh, what awful timing to accidentally embarrass Egil, to startle him out of this nest of security they've been weaving. Taking advantage of Egil when he's in the form that feels so at odds with himself was not on tonight's agenda. "I'm-- forgive me...I..." Ambrose can't tell if he feels breathless, or if his body is trying to laugh against the sensation of panic choking his chest. "I suppose I...wasn't the only one remembering...the other week."

Egil relaxes just barely at being told he wasn't being warned away. He trusts Ambrose enough, he realizes, that it was moreso habit than mistrust that saw him asking at all - an old reflex that Ambrose hasn't truly caused himself. The reassurance is extra, added to a growing pile of offerings from the other man, and Egil's hold on Ambrose stays exactly where it is. Or, rather, continues exploring.

'You feel good.' Egil would splutter, if he had a mouth to speak with. "I-- I what now." There's no mental processes left over for snappy retorts. Egil can feel so much of Ambrose already - there's a bit of a shiver right before he says it, and his body tenses in a way that Egil wouldn't be aware of if he didn't have several arms touching him, but the signs come through, ready to be filtered by Egil's suspicions.

His mouth would feel dry if he were human, he thinks. That rosy flush from earlier doesn't abate. "You feel good too." He blurts, a regular poet who needs to unleash that thought before he loses his nerve. "And you don't need to apologize." The only sound in the wake of that is the water around them, soft waves lapping at his own body at the distant shore. "Um-- feel free to let me know if I do, though. Need to apologize, I mean. It's just that--"

Egil can feel the way he hasn't let go of Ambrose, the way Ambrose hasn't tried to shrink away or kick him off. The textured underside of his arms brushes against smooth skin at Ambrose's upper arm, skin with thin hair at the extremities of his limbs. An air bubble is scraped free while Egil rubs across his shin. "--It's nice feeling like a person." Not a human, not quite, but-- someone worthy of their own thoughts and autonomy, perhaps.

Someone worthy of a friend.

Edited 2018-02-27 04:14 (UTC)

Ambrose can't help the guilty feeling that wells up after Egil's knee-jerk reaction strikes him. Egil can't read his mind, but somehow it's hard to tell if that's true -- or even necessary, after what he's just let slip. Granted, what he just admitted isn't the most lewd thing he could have possibly said...

But then Egil manages to surprise, and Ambrose can't help a shy laugh that brushes softly out into the air. He feels good? He feels Egil on him: a stoke agaist his hip, a drag against his arm, a shift against the back of his knee... It's elating, knowing he too is being experienced as much as he is soaking in every sensation his friend gives him.

"Egil..." Ambrose breathes with a warm weight, a fondness that deepens his gentle tone. "You have...nothing to apologize for. Not to me. To me, no matter what shape you embody, you're still my...dearest friend."

His hand sinks down into the water, reaches slowly for the tentacle playing along the back of his thigh, his fingers exploring how it moves with such an unreal animation. All crooks and rolls, strange bends he can feel against the sensitive stretch of skin there. Another slips up past his hip and curls against his lowest ribs. Ambrose's eyes shut briefly and a breath hitches in his throat, and it's as if something in his skin has woken up. He knows exactly what it is.

Ambrose opens his eyes with a heavy exhale, his gaze set right on Egil's bright eye as the warm, electric feeling washes down his body, settling slowly into his lap. He appears almost conflicted, a pause taken to internally debate. Can he...ask for this, from Egil? He doesn't understand what feeling this means, but he knows this is his friend he's with, who has him in a dizzlyingly endless embrace. All he knows for sure is that he likes this...enjoys it, possibly more than he should.

"I...trust you, Egil." His hand leaves his leg to come and rest on the tentacle curling around on his torso, tracing the shape of his sternum. "Enough to want...more of this." He slips his fingers along the soft, subtle texture of docile suckers, barely a change in the texture of the appendage while relaxed like this, but he can feel just enough of the flesh give as he rakes his fingertips between them.

"More of...you. Just as you are now." Ambrose's gaze, his tone, all seem as if he's hypnotized, but not dead or indifferent to what's happening. This is all astounding to the vampire, what he's feeling, what his own body is responding with. All he knows is how much he loves his friend, this poor soul touched by a strange god and made her pawn, changed in a way that frightens him. Ambrose is so very not repelled by him, and he wants to show Egil just how deep his acceptance of him runs. A risk that wasn't considered in all of this is...how sensual it would feel, being touched like this. How good it would feel, in more ways than were able to be considered.

Ambrose isn't sure how appropriate this is, or how safe it is for Egil, or else he would test being more forward. Here in the dark water, he can't tell how much his body is responding... He wants to beckon his friend, not push him.

"Please...don't stop."

Friends. That's what they are, and Egil can't and won't try to deny that. They take turns inviting themselves and each other to their homes, with accommodations made in each direction.

A hand touches him again. This time it's out of Egil's limited view, back under the water - but he can anticipate the movements down there even better than the ones he can see. The water guides Egil's awareness, and there's the feather-press of waves before Ambrose's fingers slide across his tentacle.

'More of this. More of...you.' Ambrose has never turned that romantic side of himself so fully onto Egil, and even now there is a cautious restraint to Ambrose's words, but they leave Egil shivering and aware. This is the beginnings of something warm and soft and needy, and Egil is struck dumb by it. "Of all the moments where I might expect-- affection, this is last on the list." Egil hesitates at the edge of that cliff, because as he's slowly realizing that this might be when he needs it the most.

"I don't want to stop." Egil admits, because they seem to be at the point where that might be acceptable. Egil feels the weight of his friend, buoyed by water, supported by his own body. He grips him no tighter, but keeps exploring - softly-reaching tentacles all sliding along ribs and thighs and forearms. "But I suppose I don't know how to give you-- more."

Egil realizes fully just what it means, that Ambrose is nude and seated on him. He tries not to analyze the texture of his ass on him, and fails miserably. "Or I suppose I do, I'm just afraid to put my tentacles anywhere too suddenly." There's an edge of laughter to his voice, nervous but genuine. Egil likes how Ambrose feels - he doesn't want to ruin this.

But he doesn't want to waste it, either, and the more he's encouraged, the more emboldened he feels. The tentacle that's trailed up Ambrose's thigh goes up higher - bypasses his lap to draw suction cups along the inseam of his hip, up his stomach to curl just under his ribs.

Edited 2018-03-07 02:52 (UTC)

"In my personal experience, affection can be inspired by the most sudden moments." And sometimes, no -- often, it's the most important time for two to grow closer.

Where Egil's voice edges on laughter, a dawning moment as he realizes just what is being insinuated for them, the direction that together they may be forging, Ambrose is on that line. It's a calm sound, a soft laugh, brimmed with kindness. "Then take your time with me, Egil...I'm in no rush." Never when it comes to physical intimacy, which any friend of his should know about him by now.

Ambrose couldn't say for sure just how suddenly Egil's form can move, but this vampire isn't looking to find out, anyway. Egil isn't trying to demonstrate, either; a tentacle lazily reaches up between his legs, curling into the divot of his hip, reaching up farther still -- but Ambrose isn't aware of that part. The soft, fleshy extension is brushing against the side of his balls, suction cups pulling gently at the skin at his front where thigh meets lap. Ambrose's eyes roll back as they shut, blocking out this so very distracting sense to focus on the touch. A moan sneaks out of his lungs, completely unintended, but fully successful.

"Egil..." Ambrose sighs in bliss while fingers draw along the tentacle, taking a pause to stroke against the bottom most of his floating ribs. He feels the other tentacle, having held his legs for support to keep him from swimming, inching further and further up, horizontal against his ass. Ambrose's legs lean outward from each other, knees angling away -- but he doesn't coax the tentacle end on his torso back downward. With a gentle hand, he nudges it to continue up, directing it over his right pec. The further up it draws, the wider the tentacle's girth becomes between his legs...and the more contact against his groin.

Ambrose sighs, eyes opening, stare heavy and lidded in Egil's direction, feeling the fine tip of the tentacle tracing by his nipple. "You feel...so good, Egil." It's quite literally astounding, alarmingly foreign but with a trust that makes it feel as good as it does. Ambrose wants to encourage his friend, assure him of how safe and comfortable he is to him. Ambrose wouldn't be allowing this from anyone one (or, any...thing?) else with tentacles; because as far as Ambrose's perception goes, this is all Egil, not some sea creature. This is his friend. Just...his friend that also turns him on, when the mood is right.

Egil can feel everything he touches in exquisite detail, but in those facets he is sometimes blind - to stare so deeply at the leaves doesn't mean he has any idea of the dimensions of the forest. That's his excuse, at least, for why it takes him until Ambrose's ribs shudder with a moan to realize that his tentacle is brushing up against more than just Ambrose's inner thigh.

The urge to apologize chokes at him, perhaps so much that he makes a sound that isn't quite a gasp. Ambrose beats him to it, though, and sighs his name. There's very little room for confusion in his tone. Egil feels a stirring warmth, diffused out from whatever's housed at his center - for the first time ever in this form, it occurs to him that he has no clue if he has any equivalent of sexual organs.

He doesn't quite care, though, not when it's clearly so possible to make Ambrose feel good. That part feels much more appealing, much more magnetically attractive right now.

More of Ambrose under his tentacle. More skin that he'd barely touched at all the last time they'd done this, facing each other in Egil's bedroom. "I can't...believe you're letting us do this." Not 'me', because it isn't Egil who is directing everything - Ambrose's hands are urging Egil further up his chest. Egil feels the gentle drag of his suction cups against a small bump and realizes it's Ambrose's nipple. He works over it, deliberately slow and winding, each progressively-larger bump of his own dragging against Ambrose's chest.

Ambrose's groin, meanwhile, continues to be unavoidable by the widening of Egil's tentacle. He feels Ambrose's balls, the way they slowly shift out of the way as he brushes past them. One more tentacle presses across the backs of Ambrose's thighs, and just barely - by pressure alone as it passes along - pulls one cheek further out than the other. Egil feels the immediate tautness added to the skin, and he knows that it means that Ambrose is being pulled just barely open. He rumbles with a soft moan. "Is this alright?" They've never really discussed logistics, nothing beyond what they'd done before and explaining away Egil's drawer to Ambrose.

Edited 2018-03-20 23:44 (UTC)

[ Yes please. ]

(OOC: Maybe D.Va has found out the new addition to Overwatch is a shapeshifter and can't resist propositioning her for a fantasy she's always had?

I'd also be open to the idea of this somehow getting recorded/livestreamed but that's up to you if you want that.)

[ Can't say no to either of those suggestions!

Any kinks or the like you'd want to make sure to include? ]

(I'm generally open to anything, but as long as you're alright with it one thing I tend to like to do with my shapeshifters is have them turn into their partner at least for part of the scene. So Faye making herself look like D.Va by request or something.

Also since it'd be Hana propositioning Faye would you mind starting us off? We can assume it's shared living spaces at the Overwatch HQ or something.)

[ magic spell gone horribly right, cracky AU, smut or fluff or pure hilarity, w/e it's all good ]

[Sure, why not?]

((ooc: Mirio, Kirishima or Nejire would be amazing, but would be up for RPing with any castmate tbh. gender doesn't matter. if your character is from a different canon please ask me first before starting!))

Between cyborgs and blind/telekinetic warriors, why shouldn't Special Forces have a few tentacle allies-who also help out with 'stress relief'

i'd like to be under the sea

Omiko Hakodate | Kill La Kill | OTA

Ami Mizuno/Sailor Mercury || Sailor Moon || F/M

Scarecrow | Batman Arkham Knight

Osomatsu Matsuno || Osomatsu-san || ota

U'rajul Tia | FFXIV OC | M/M

Re: U'rajul Tia | FFXIV OC | M/M

Re: U'rajul Tia | FFXIV OC | M/M

Oscar | Lupin The 3rd | OTA

Aramat Drawdes | Alabaster | OTA

Gemini de Mille | DC Comics (New Earth) | OTA

Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin | M/M

Re: Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin | M/M

Re: Eren Jaeger | Shingeki no Kyojin | M/M

Jane Andrewson | OC | F/M or F/F

Yukia | DBZ Xenoverse OC | ota

Ambrose Sinclair ✨ original character (vampire) ✨ ota

closed to ♡ waterloggedsocks

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/consensual crying intensifies/

/heavy breathing/

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Hana 'D.Va' Song | Overwatch | OTA

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anders | dragon age | ota

Japan | Hetalia

Amajiki Tamaki | BNHA

Sonya Blade | Mortal kombat | ota