
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2649611.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Sherlock_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Sherlock_Holmes/John_Watson
  Character:
      John_Watson, Harry_Watson, John_Watson's_Parents, Mike_Stamford, Sherlock
      Holmes
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Extremely_Underage, Shotalock,
      Shota_John, Omega_Verse, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Omega_John, Cthulhu
      Mythos, Great_Old_Ones, Great_Old_One_Sherlock, Molestation, very_brief_-
      Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Tentacles, Sherlock_Has_Tentacles, Tentacle_Sex,
      First_Time, Anal_Sex, Erections, Scenting, First_Kiss, Kissing, induced
      heat, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat, Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, Sounding, Light
      Bondage, Deepthroating, Mating, Marking, Bonding, Breeding, Come
      Inflation, Dubious_Consent, Dark_Sherlock, Cthulhu_Sherlock, Public_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-11-21 Words: 8208
****** Willing Sacrifice ******
by TheMadKatter13
Summary
     "No," his mother whispered into her palm. "This temple has never
     asked for a sacrifice!" He didn't know what that word meant, but he
     understood the sound of fear. His little heart began to pound in his
     chest and his breath shortened, his body going rigid.
Notes
     I've never written tentacle-smut before, so hopefully I've done it
     justice.
     [https://31.media.tumblr.com/2ba12f72e8514958d87dac73276b780a/
     tumblr_inline_nfesafUg0f1rfwhm5.png]
See the end of the work for more notes
"Johhhnnn…"
The little boy's head snapped up at the faint whisper of his name and he glared
suspiciously at his older sister. It wasn't the first time Harry had tried
getting him into trouble during congregation, but her head was still bowed and
her eyes closed. Either she was faking it, or he was just hearing things.
Deciding to give her the benefit of the doubt, he closed his eyes and returned
to prayer.
"Johhhnnn…"
His eyes snapped open and his head snapped up-- he had definitely heard his
name. He glanced quickly at his parents to make sure they were still praying
before he nudged his sister.
"What do you want?" he hissed under his breath.
"Sh! Go away!" Harry hissed back with a harsh jab of her elbow. John frowned
angrily and plopped back into his seat, suddenly not caring that prayer wasn't
over yet. He firmly crossed his arms and pouted. He hated when when Harry
played games with him. Just because she was an alpha, she thought she could do
whatever she wanted and he hated it.
"Johhhnnn…"
"Stop it!" he snapped, voice a little too loud as he kicked the back of Harry's
knee. Priest Stamford up ahead called for an end to prayer and gestured for
everyone sit, and his sister used the commotion to whirl on him. He didn't see
the shape of her fingers until it was too late and they had closed over a small
patch of his upper arm, pinching him ruthlessly.
"What is wrong with you?!" she returned just as sharply, her fingers gripping
the small piece of flesh tighter and tighter until he had to bite his lip to
keep from crying aloud. That would draw attention to their family and the
priest would ask them to leave again and mum and dad would be really angry with
them and Harry would call him a 'silly little omega' even though they were
twins. Still, he slapped frantically at her hand until she released him.
"Stop bothering me!" she snapped, turning to face straight her her chair. Tears
stung at his eyes as he tried to remain strong and not rub at the pain
radiating from his arm. Priest Stamford had continued his sermon up front, but
it only flowed in one ear and out the other as John sulked. Harry was taking it
much too far this time and it was making the little boy angrier and angrier the
more he thought about it, the more he thought about how unfair she was being.
"Johhhnnn…" a soft voice whispered against his ear, breath tickling at his
skin. That was it. John had had enough.
"STOP IT!" he shouted, shoving his sister out of her chair. The priest came to
a sudden halt at John's outburst, but he didn't care any more. He was out of
his own chair now, small hands curled into chubby fists, his face flushed and
his breath coming out in harsh pants. Tears of anger and frustration pricked at
his eyes as his sister picked herself off the floor, her face equally flushed.
"John!" his mum exclaimed in shock, her hand hovering over her chest. His dad's
eyes were narrowed and he was shaking his head minutely, but John ignored him
in favour of glaring at Harry. Harry ignored their father in favour of shoving
John back.
"You stop it!" she shouted back as he fell backwards, the impact of his bum on
the hard stone making him wince.
"Harry!" their mother exclaimed now. "Both of you, stop this at once!" she
whisper-shouted, trying to keep their domestic discreet even though Priest
Stamford was already heading their way.
"No! Harry won't stop saying my name!" John shouted, pointing at his sister.
Tears were flowing down his cheeks now, the flood unable to be restrained and
only making him angrier. He hated the omega stereotypes and he wasn't weak! He
was just so angry and he wanted to hurt his sister for teasing him and for
hurting him like that and for being so mean and for trying to get him into
trouble!
"I wasn't saying your name!" she shouted back, looking just as angry. She could
be as angry as she wanted. This was all her fault.
"Liar!" John tried to charge her, and her at him, but next thing he knew, he
was being swept into the air by strong arms. He struggled against the priest's
hold, trying to get at his sister who was being held aloft by their father.
"I am not a liar!"
"You are you are you are!"
"Enough!" Priest Stamford boomed, startling both children into silence. It was
easy to forget how loud the man could be, being a beta as he was, and a really
old one at that. "Now, children, please explain why you had to interrupt my
sermon. Again."
"John shoved me out of my chair!" Harry cried out first, still trying to push
out of the circle of their father's arm holding her to his side like a sack of
potatoes.
"Because you kept saying my name!" John retorted, hanging deceptively limp. He
already knew parents tend to loosen their grip when you don't fight them, so
all he had to do was 'play dead' and then he could escape to kick Harry in the
shin like she deserved.
"I didn't say nothin'!" she spat angrily, still struggling.
"Did too!" he returned, young mind carefully calculating the pressure of the
arms around him. They were already loosening and he would be free soon enough.
"You said-!"
"Johhhnnn…"
John froze. He had been staring right at Harry this time, and her mouth hadn't
moved. His sudden stillness seemed to catch the attention of his parents and
the priest, and even his sister stopped squirming.
"John?" the beta asked, voice a lot more gentle than the little boy had ever
heard it. "What is it?"
"She- Harry said it again," he whispered, feeling pale. His twin's mouth opened
as if to respond, but he didn't quite notice. "But her mouth didn't move." The
congregation around them had began murmuring as soon as the sermon had paused,
but now, a strange hush fell over the crowd. Harry was looking confused, but
his mum's hand was clamped over her mouth and his father's eyes were wide but
not really looking at anything, and they both looked pale. Their strange
responses frightened him and he looked between the three adults, looking for
assurance that something hadn't just suddenly gone terribly and inexplicably
wrong.
"No," his mother whispered into her palm. "This temple has never asked for a
sacrifice!" He didn't know what that word meant, but he understood the sound of
fear. His little heart began to pound in his chest and his breath shortened,
his body going rigid.
"What's a 'sacrifice'?" he asked, the higher pitch of his youth making the
question come out as a squeak.
The priest crouched and set him on his feet, meeting his eyes and holding them.
John had never gotten a good look at the beta from this close before, and it
almost looked like one of the pale blue eyes had a bit of a glow to it.
"A sacrifice, John, is someone giving up something of great value to themselves
for the greater good of others," Priest Stamford explained. Put that way, it
kind of made sense, but he still didn't know what his mum was talking about. He
cocked his head in question, and the priest smiled. "In this case, it means
that the Great Old One who presides over this temple is seeking your eternal
companionship."
"'Companionship'?" John echoed, confused. "Is that like… friendship?" Priest
Stamford smiled sadly and nodded, opening his mouth to reply, but a sudden
scream from the front of the room had the beta jumping to his feet. Around
John, the adults all stood back up, blocking the front of the room from sight.
He turned to ask the priest what was happening, but the man was already
hurrying away. There was a tug on his shirt and he turned back around to find
Harry already standing on her chair. John quickly clambered up after her, the
both of them temporarily forgetting one another's transgressions, if only while
they satisfy their curiosity about what was happening at the front of the
temple.
"What is that?" Harry whispered in horror. John couldn't have told her even if
he was capable of replying.
Behind the massive, stone altar, a darkness was coalescing. An impenetrable pit
of black standing upright. Priest Stamford was bowing before it, and the rest
of the congregation was following suit as the darkness began to take the shape
of writhing tentacles. John may have only been six, but he wasn't stupid. That
blackness was a Great Old One. And that Great Old One was here for him.
"John." The voice was no longer a whisper, but something deep that reverberated
in the stones of the temple and in his chest. There was a new scent in the air
that he'd never smelled before. Something dark and dangerous, old and utterly
inhuman. It traveled through his body and made his penis hard and his hole wet
and his head confused until all he could do was hold on tightly to his sister's
hand and hope he didn't fall off the chair.
There was a collection of strangled sounds from the congregation, and then the
familiar scent of alpha pheromones rose aggressively, combating the scent that
was making John pleasantly fuzzy. Unexpectedly, the scent of alpha
protectiveness and possessiveness began making him dizzy, made his stomach roil
and made his nose itch like it wanted nothing more than to never smell the
scent of alphas again. A moment later, the new scent rose sharply and washed
away the alpha pheromones, like a wave breaking upon a cliff face. The new
scent was surrounding him now, surrounding him and caressing him and filling
his lungs and he felt dazed with it.
The Ancient's tentacles had settled, and something that was shaped like a man
rose from its centre, dressed in a suit. As he gazed at the god, standing so
far from him and yet, so much closer than he'd ever thought one would be to
him, one thought reverberated through his body: mine. He wasn't sure if the
thought was his own.
"Come to me, my John," the voice boomed again. The same sensation it had evoked
in him before spiked, and slick leaked down the back of his thighs, his penis
twitching in his pants and harder than it had ever been. Harder than even when
he discovered how it felt to rub it when it was against the soft fur of his
favourite stuffed toy, an otter as long as he was. He'd thought nothing could
ever feel as good as that. Then again, he never thought he'd catch the
attention of a god.
Trance-like, the little boy jumped down from his chair, ignoring Harry's
frantic hands trying to keep him in place. The second the dark figure was out
of sight, panic rocketed through his chest, an uncontrollable need to get the
Great Old One back into his sight. John darted into the aisle and sprinted
towards the altar, desperate to see the Ancient again. He had barely made it a
meter before hands grasped and tugged at his clothes, jerking him backwards and
to the floor.
John cried out in surprise and pain and fear as his back made contact with the
stone and hands that smelled of alpha wrapped around his wrists and ankles,
pinning them to the floor. Murmurs of "He smells sogood," and whispers of "He's
sosoft," and groans "He's so fuckingfertile," filled the air as fingers brushed
his face, tugged his nipples through his button-up and blazer, slid under his
shirt to tickle his tummy, kneaded the small, hard length of his penis through
the pressed shorts his mum only let him wear for congregation.
His legs were lifted and something damp pressed to the back of each one,
dragging from ankle to knee, making him cry out in terror. ("Oh fuck, he tastes
sogood!") His face felt wet and he was sobbing and struggling against the hands
holding him down, unable to break free, unable to understand what was
happening. These were adults he'd gone to temple with for as long as he could
remember, who had mates and children. And they were touching him where mum and
dad said no one was supposed to touch him. So he pleaded and begged and
struggled, but it wasn't until a hand wriggled down the back of his shorts and
a finger traced the wet circle of his arsehole that he screamed.
Without warning, the unwelcome touches were gone and he immediately curled in
on himself, sobbing and trembling. The light from the burning torches dimmed,
and a warmth began at his feet, moving slowly up his calves. Unable to keep
from looking, John cracked open an eye, and promptly yelped at the sight of
inky blackness spreading over his feet.
"Do not be afraid, little one," the voice murmured, and he realised that the
Ancient was now standing in front of him. Or rather, the blackness was standing
near him, and he was close enough now to realise that the blackness was a
writhing mass of tentacles darker than the shadow spreading over him. His skin
was still crawling from the touch of the alphas, but he found the sensation
dissipating the more of him that the shadow covered. "I have no desire to harm
you." The darkness was up to his knees now, and the little boy looked up. And
up and up and up.
The shape that rose out of the top of the mass of tentacles was that of an
unnaturally slender human man with hair as dark and curly as the god's
tentacles, clothed in a black suit and purple shirt. Its face was mesmerisingly
beautiful, with its sharp cheekbones and skin so pale that it seemed like it
should be see-through, and eyes that glowed a strange green-blue. A warm,
gentle smile curved soft-looking bluish lips, and something in John's chest
loosened as his mouth gaped open.
"You're so pretty" he whispered, unable to stop staring. The smile widened and
that new smell that he liked so much got stronger. John whimpered and pressed
the heel of his hand to his penis, trying to relieve it of its throbbing. But
his hole was throbbing too and he didn't know what to do about that.
"As are you, my little mate," the god murmured in reply, the mass of tentacles
constricting and bringing the man-shape closer to John. Long arms tipped with
big hands and spidery fingers reached down to him, sliding under his arms to
pick him up, and he automatically wrapped his arms around the thin neck.
John had almost expected the Ancient's embrace to be unwelcome, either because
he was still trembling from the personal touching of the alphas in the
congregation, or because he thought the touch of a Great Old One might feel
weird or cold or just plain gross. Instead, it was warm and very much so
welcome, one hand cupping his bottom and the other bracing between his shoulder
blades to hold him to the god's chest. His penis was already unbearably hard,
and it was both perfect and torturous to have it pressed to the hard flat plane
of the Ancient's stomach. His legs dangled from either side of a narrow waist,
his feet brushing against the mound of tentacles with every swing, but they
didn't seem to mind. In fact, they seemed more playful, tugging at his
shoelaces, seemingly intent on removing his shoes and socks.
He rested his head on a bony shoulder and tilted his chin to watch the tentacle
and his shoe. Without thinking, he began to swing his foot, and was excited to
watch the tentacle jerk as if in surprise before darting after his foot. He
swung his foot higher, giggling madly at the way the tentacle seemed to be
getting more and more frustrated the longer it chased his errant shoe. Finally,
it seemed to lose its patience, wrapping with frightening speed around his
ankle and tugging it back into place, making him gasp in surprise as his leg,
both legs, were immobilised. It wasn't until that gasp, that deep inhale, that
he realised he was closer to the source of that fantastic smell and he turned
to look into glowing green eyes again. The bluish lips were tilted in an amused
smile, and the Ancient seemed content to watch as he took a tentative sniff.
And then another. And another. He didn't realise his eyes had closed until his
nose was pressed to the hollow of the Great Old One's throat and he found
himself inhaling that amazing scent greedily.
"You smell so good," he cooed, tightening his arms around the slim neck. He
nuzzled into the little dip at the base of the god's throat, delighting in the
fuzzy pleasure that filled him at the calming motion and the hypnotic scent.
"Is that why you called me your mate? Because I like how you smell?"
The god chuckled and the sound went straight to poor John's still-throbbing
little cock. He moaned weakly and tightened his arms as he tried to rock his
hips forward, needing friction. The suit against him wasn't Mr Otter's fur, but
something told him the Ancient could still give him what he needed.
"You are rather perceptive, John," he was told, and the little boy blushed.
Something not a hand slid up his leg and up his shorts, and the tapered tip
traced his hole. He flinched reflexively, remembering the fear when one of the
congregation had touched him, but this touch didn't seem to inspire him to be
afraid. Instead, he could feel himself heating up below his skin, could feel
more damp leak from himself, and his penis pulsed in time with his heart. The
tip of the thing traced his hole again, this time with a barely-there touch,
and he whimpered, trying to press closer to it, trying to... "And so very
greedy, too."
John didn't know what to say to that. He also realised he had no idea which
Great Old One was currently holding him and making him feel so good--the tip of
what he thought might be a tentacle was still tracing his hole, still making
him squirm with its confusing not-enough-ness. "What is your-" he started and
then stopped, his face flushing. He had been going to this temple since he'd
been born, and he was embarrassed to admit he didn't know who presided over it.
But he still had so much trouble getting the names of the gods right that he
hadn't really bothered to try.
"What is my name?" the god asked gently, the hand on his back pulling off so
one finger could tilt John's chin up until he met the Ancient's eyes. He kept
the Ancient's gaze for a moment before his eyes dropped again and he nodded.
The finger against his jaw dropped and he could feel that hand splay once more
between his shoulder blades. "You may call me 'Sherlock', John."
"Sherlock…" John echoed slowly, rolling the syllables over his tongue. As the
gods' names went, this one was fairly easy, and he beamed with pride at being
able to pronounce it like the other had. "Sherlock!" he repeated gleefully,
feeling happiness well in his chest. An urge followed in its wake and, before
he could think too much about it, John darted forward and pressed his lips to
the bluish ones of the Great Old One.
The contact lasted for only a second before the little boy pulled back just as
quickly, his face feeling hot. The god blinked, long and slow, and John could
feel his face growing even hotter. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I- Hahhh..."
Something was pressing into him, wriggling into his little hole, and he could
do nothing but sit in the cradle of Sherlock's arm and let it happen. It seemed
like only the tip, but even the tip of a tentacle was more than he'd ever had
in his arse, and the sensation was almost overwhelming.
"Never apologise for taking your pleasure from me, my little mate," he was
told, the tentacle in him beginning to thrust gently in and out, just that
little fingertip-length bit of tentacle. "And I shall never apologise for
taking mine from you."
"Sher- Sherlock!" the child gasped, small, chubby fingers curling and uncurling
in the fabric of the god's suit.
"Mmm… So wet for me," Sherlock purred. John couldn't reply as the tentacle
pulsed forward, pressing just a little more into him. He knew it couldn't be
much, but it felt so thick, made him so full. All he could do was let his head
fall back as he desperately tried to draw air into his lungs. "I cannot wait to
take you home."
John's mind was not so far gone that he didn't recognise that something was off
about that statement. "Take- whe-where?" he tried to ask, his throat thick and
his mind hazy with the pleasure of that pulsating tentacle.
"I am taking you home with me, where you will live at my side as my mate until
the end of time," the god elaborated, sounding smug as they began to move
towards the altar. The body holding John's felt relaxed, even in motion, and
those plush lips were smiling, but John felt suddenly quite cold inside and his
body tensed. The tentacle in him paused before pulling out, stroking almost
questioningly against his fluttering rim as Sherlock halted again, staring at
him curiously.
"Does that mean I will never see Mum or Dad or Harry again?" he asked, unable
to keep the tremor from his voice or the tremble from his chin. Or the small
pinpricks of tears from his eyes at the thought of never again being able to
see his family.
"You will see them again in time, little one," the god assured with another one
of their soft smiles. The hand on his back slid up his neck and into his hair,
gently holding the back of his head. "You must acclimate yourself to your new
home before you may leave again, but I have every belief that you will do so
quickly." The vote of confidence made the little boy blush and he ducked his
head to press their lips together again, closing his eyes against the too-
gentle look on the Ancient's face.
It was clumsy, and fairly chaste, but when the tentacle tip slid back into him,
he gasped, and Sherlock seized the opportunity to slide their tongue into his
mouth. At least, John thought it was the god's tongue. It wasn't just one
muscle, but several small small ones with tapered ends, like their tongue was
made of tentacles too. They swirled around his own tongue and dipped around his
teeth while the tentacle tip in his hole remained still, just sitting in him.
Still, it was hard to ignore its presence in him, the way it stretched him, but
then the tentacles in his mouth brushed the back of his throat he pulled back
with a giggle.
"That tickles!" John reprimanded, still giggling.
"My apologies, little mate," the Great Old One replied, pressing a kiss to his
forehead as they began to move forward again. "Now, I must breed you before we
may go."
"Breed?" John echoed, confused. He was pretty sure he'd heard the term before,
but he wasn't quite sure what it meant.
"Yes. You are to carry my clutch, little one." The child cocked his head.
"I… don't understand…" he said slowly. He wanted to understand- he always got
the best marks in class- but he also knew there were adult things that grownups
wouldn't tell him about yet. And he was pretty sure 'breed' was an adult thing.
"I am going to fuck you, and you will become pregnant," he was informed calmly
and his mouth dropped open even as his face flamed. The hand in his hair pulled
away to press against his tummy. "You will swell with our offspring, and only
then will it be safe for you to travel to my realm."
"Don't I have to be… older?" he ventured, feeling the first trickles of fear as
he was placed on the altar, the tentacle in him sliding free. He had grown so
used to it being there that he felt suddenly and incredibly empty, and he
whined, reaching out for Sherlock when the god pulled away. The ancient hushed
him and placed a hand on John's shoulder as they glided out of sight.
"Do you know the origin of omegas, John?" Sherlock asked and the little boy
shook his head. Lips tickled his ear and a shudder went down his spine as the
tiny tip of a tongue-tentacle traced the shell. Behind him, atop the altar, a
warm body settled against his back and tentacles spread out on either side of
his legs were they dangled off the large stone. "Omegas came before alphas and
betas. They were made for my kind to mate with. No matter their age, they are
always ready to conceive a clutch. It was not until we decreased the frequency
of visits to your realm that alphas evolved to act as surrogate in our stead.
Betas came last to mitigate the overflow of pheromones in the world. To ready
you, all I must do is-"
Before John could ask what the Great Old One would need to do, tentacles draped
over the sensitive skin of his neck where his Mum and Dad always scented each
other. His brow furrowed in confusion, but in the next second, a sudden suction
on either side of his neck had his chest arching out and a strange sensation
swelling in his bum. The suction held and held as the strange sensation in him
grew and grew until he was whimpering and grinding his hole against the stone
through his shorts. He didn't even notice the button and the zip on his
trousers being undone until they and his pants were being tugged off his legs,
and his knees were being bent to brace his feet on the raised stone. That
action alone seemed to bring the sensation in him to a peak, and suddenly,
something in his arse popped and he cried out as slick gushed from him, soaking
the altar.
The sucking on John's neck gentled then pulled away, and "Good boy," was
whispered in his ear as a tentacle slid into him to tug out… something. When
the something popped free of his rim, more slick rushed from his hole and he
couldn't help but flush at the feeling. An inky black tentacle held something
up in the air, something that looked awfully like a bathtub plug, but a lot
slimier,, and a pale hand reached out to grab it. "This is what prevents you
from being bred. An alpha would not have been able to induce its release until
you came of age." It was hard to miss the smug pride in the god's voice, and
John squirmed where he sat, the flush spreading all over his body and making
him warm.
Two warm, long-fingered hands slid around his waist and up his chest,
unbuttoning his shirt as they went until the fabric was pulled from his arms
and he was splayed naked atop his temple's altar. It wasn't until then, when
the hands returned to rest against the bare skin of his chest and tentacles
danced on the bare skin of the outsides of his thighs that he realised his
entire congregation was still in the temple. More than that, they were all
watching him- he could even tell the alphas from the omegas and betas by the
hunger in their eyes.
The little boy gave a sharp cry of surprise and shame and fear and snapped his
legs closed, crossing his arms over his chest. Mum and Dad had told him the
places that were covered by clothes shouldn't be looked at or touched by anyone
else, and here he was, letting a Great Old One touch him all over, even letting
them be inside him, and the entire congregation had been watching the entire
time. More than that, his penis had never been this hard for this long before,
and the flush under his skin was only heating up like he had a fever and making
him grind into the stone. Overwhelmed , the child began to cry.
"What is wrong, little one?" Sherlock asked, voice calm and gentle, their
fingers the same where they stroked over his chest, easing his arms out of the
way. Long nails scraped over his nipples and John's hiccuped a gasp as his
chest jerked, confused if he wanted it to happen again or if he wanted to get
away. His hand dropped to his sides, and a tentacle slid around each of his
palms, giving him something to grasp. The Ancient made the decision for him,
scraping over his nipples again and making his penis throb between his legs.
"Tell me your fears, my young mate."
"E-everyone is wat-watching," he managed to gasp out as the nails of one hand
scratched down his belly. The other continued its attentions on one nipple and
it left the other feeling so bereft that he whined his displeasure until a thin
tentacle wrapped around the little pink nub and began to tug lightly. The
sensation was so different than the scratch of nails that he cried out. The
nails scraping down his belly scraped over his penis and he whined high and
tight, needing more friction.
"As they should be," the god murmured back. A tentacle wrapped around each of
John's ankles, gently tugging his legs apart, splaying them wide and exposing
his leaking hole to the enraptured crowd. Even the omegas and the betas were
beginning to look hungry as he undulated against the hold. The limbs held
strong though, keeping his feet and his knees and his thighs wide. He tried to
tug his hands free from the tentacles now weaving around his fingers to cover
his intimate bits, but they held fast, keeping his hands at his sides. "All
should watch as I lay claim to my mate, and then none can deny it."
The words were thick and dark and John could only moan at them as the tip of a
tentacle traced his hole again. Sherlock's fingernails had left off his other
nipple and another thin tentacle took its place as both long-fingered hands
traced invisible characters across his belly and down in the hairless region
around his penis. At the same time one hand wrapped around him, a tentacle
thrust inside him.
John's back bowed away from Sherlock's chest as he was filled and filled and
filled. The tentacle seemed to take up every last bit of room in his bum, and
all the little boy could do was gape wide-eyed and unseeing at the ceiling at
the sensation. A moment later, when it seemed he could bear it no more, the
tentacle withdrew, and his spine dipped back down as he drew in ragged breaths.
The hand around his penis stroked it slowly, keeping the fire under his skin
burning so brightly it almost hurt to contain.
"So beautiful," Sherlock murmured into his ear, still slowly stroking his penis
as another tentacle slid into him. This one was a bit colder, and dry, creating
a little bit of friction as it pressed into him, and he knew it was a different
tentacle, but he didn't know why. He wanted to ask , but all that came out was
a strangled sound as he was filled a second time. "You must stay strong, little
one. I have many tentacles and they must all join with you before we are done."
One by one, John was filled with each one of the Ancient's tentacles. The agile
limbs stretched him open, pressing against something inside of him that made
his vision go white and made pleasure rocket through his body to his small,
encased cock, then pressing just a little beyond that, somewhere untouched deep
inside him, before retreating. All he could do was lay there and let his hole
by penetrated again and again while the god at his back hummed and occupied
theirself with touching John's belly and his nipples and his penis,
occasionally leaning down to indulge in a soft kiss. The kisses always felt
contradictory to the tentacles pressing into his hole, especially as they began
to speed up, pushing in and pulling out with greater and greater speed until
their presence in him and the pleasure they were causing became a blur.
He didn't realised he was being moved until the chill of the stone under his
back seeped through the heat blanketing his skin. It seemed like the only bit
of sanity he could grasp amongst the chaos of pleasure obliterating his mind,
and he realised Sherlock had laid him down and was bending over him. He had
just enough time to register the sight before a hot mouth wrapped around his
small penis and the god's tongue-tentacles began to stroke him in earnest.
The child didn't think he was capable of making sound any more- his throat
burned and he could barely breath as his little hole was pummeled by tentacle
after tentacle and his penis was assaulted by tentacles that were just as
enthusiastic. His hands grasped frantically at the inky black hair, needing
something to hold on to, not realising that the tentacles around his wrists,
and the ones around his ankles, had released them so they could take their part
in breeding him.
"I am ready now, John," Sherlock said against his thigh. Even as far away as
they were, even with the slick, sloppy sound of his hole being dominated by the
sleek, inky tentacles, the Ancient's voice still vibrated through him so deeply
it seemed like it was spoken directly into his mind. "Each of my tentacles will
release into you, will attempt to breed you, and then I will mark you as my
mate as I bring you to release. You may wish to hold tightly to my hair."
It was just as well that John's fingers were already entangled with the silky
strands because in the next moment, the tentacles inside of him were slamming
into him, slamming into that thing inside him, slamming into that place deep
inside of him, and filling him with a hot liquid. A high keening sound emerged
from the back of his throat and his grasp tightened, if for no other reason
than to keep from being shoved from the altar. Long-fingered hands cupped the
curves of his bottom and held him in place, held his hips up for the tentacles'
attentions, and the change in angle seemed to do something to make it all feel
so much better that he began to thrash on the stone, needing it all to stop and
for it to never end.
His penis felt ready to burst, and when Sherlock lowered his mouth to it again,
John sobbed at the hot, wet suction. The tongue-tentacles wrapped around him
little penis, stroking it comfortingly, gently. And then something dipped into
the little slit at the top of him, and pushed in. John screamed.
It didn't hurt. Quite the opposite. It felt so good that he could barely stand
it. He seemed full of nothing but Sherlock, Sherlock's tentacles. Something
not-quite his stomach was starting to feel full, like he'd overeaten. But it
wasn't his stomach, and it didn't feel like he'd had enough. Hot liquid was
dripping out of him, coating his thighs and the stone below him, but still the
tentacles weren't done. The ones in his bum nor the ones in his penis. The ones
in his penis even seemed to be thrusting in and out now, and it was keeping his
own release bottle deep inside where it was only gathering pressure and speed
the longer it was restrained.
Slowly, though, slowly the tentacles in his penis pulled from him, and the ones
in his bum ceased pounding into him before pulling free entirely. He was left
bereft with emptiness and his swollen and unsatisfied penis throbbed angrily.
He might have been crying, sobbing, begging, as he reached out to Sherlock, but
everything was a daze, and only the pleasure mattered.
A tentacle wrapped fully around his neck once before resting across his jaw as
the tip slipped into his mouth. Its thrusts were shallow and lazy, and John
felt an odd sense of relief at having something in his mouth, having something-
anything- of Sherlock's to fill him somewhere. Eventually, his body calmed,
even though his penis continued to throb insistently, and the Great Old One
moved to stand between his spread legs.
"Never has there been such a sight as this," the god whispered, their deep,
echoing voice sounding awed in a way that made John's heart flutter. "Such a
beautiful, little mate. Full of my seed," they continued, one finger stroking
the inside of a tender, trembling thigh. "But there is one last tentacle. One
last one to seek release within. And when it does, you will gain release as
well."
"Please," John rasped around the tentacle tip resting on his tongue, speaking
for the first time in what felt like eternity. He knew what it felt like to
find his release. He'd found it in the fur of his stuffed otter more times than
he could count, but he instinctively knew that this would feel different than
all those times. It would feel better in ways John didn't think he would be
able to find words for.
"As you wish, my mate," the god said, lips curled in what seemed to almost be a
sneer.
Another tentacle pressed up against him, but he could already tell that it
wasn't quite like the others. It was thicker and, unlike the others that had
thrust into him with ease, it struggled to get into his tiny hole. It pushed
and it stretched and it burned like the fire under his skin, concentrated on
his tiny little hole.
"It hurts!" he whimpered as it began to sink into him. His chubby fingers
scrabbled uselessly against the warmed stone and tears were flowing down his
cheeks, but the hard hands anchoring his hips in the air allowed him no
movement to thrash away. The tip of the tentacle around his neck stroke his
cheek in an effort to soothe, but the pain was unlike any he'd experienced
before. "Please, it hurts!"
"I know, little one," the god said, calming voice doing little to help the
rising panic that the tentacle in him now just wasn't going to fit. "Be strong
for me, my young mate. Your body will adjust."
John just shook his head in denial and rejection, but the pressure against his
rim was only growing, a blunter shape unlike the tapered ends of the tentacles.
He cried and he screamed and his upper body writhed on the altar the Great Old
Ones tentacles, but the hands on his hips and the pressure against his entrance
never relented, and the tentacle tip at his jaw slid back into the little boy's
mouth, filling it and his throat with slow thrusts that forced him to be quiet
if he didn't want to choke.
It was slow, slow pain, but John's mind and his body was confused and he could
feel his still-hard penis twitch and throb harder with each little bit that
pushed into him. Suddenly, the tentacle slid into a place deep inside that none
of the others had reached, and the heat in his body went out like a fire doused
with water. He felt full in a way none of the other tentacles had made him
feel, and the world around him disappeared, the filthy sounds of their mating
fading, the ceiling above him turning into a white haze, his awareness of the
tentacle in his mouth dimming. There was nothing else but the tentacle stuffed
into him.
When it pulled out, he may have cried out and bucked at its loss, but it was
punching back into him a moment later, forcing its way back in where the child
was still tight, filling that place in him. Then it did it again. And again and
again and again. The force and speed of its entrance slowly loosened him until
it didn't feel so painfully tight, so that pleasure was rising under his skin
until it was everything and pain was a forgotten memory. It barely registered
that it was speeding up, except that the increased speed made the waves of
pleasure come over him faster and faster and faster. Something hot and wet
covered his penis again, and something thrust into his it again. The tentacle
in his mouth was still thrusting in and out of his mouth and throat in gentle
pulsations. He was so absolutely full of the Ancient's tentacles, and he was
going to explode.
Without warning, the tentacle in him slammed home one final time, a punch that
forced all the air from his lungs while the tentacle around his neck tightened,
keeping the air stuck in his throat. Warmth filled that deep place inside him
and the tentacle swelled inside him until it was so big that it didn't come
out, no matter how much he writhed, even though the hands on his hips had
released them to stroke his belly. The tentacle in his penis pulled away, and
with slow, steady pulsations of the swollen limb inside of him, pressing
against that one spot, John came with a scream around the tentacle filling his
mouth and throat.
Aeons passed as the pleasure reverberated through every inch of the little
boy's body. It hummed in each chubby toe and finger, it sang through young
veins, it made him feel like he was made of nothing but light and energy, like
he'd become a star. The world was full of white and John was full of Sherlock
and everything was as it should be.
When the white began to fade, and the dark stone of the temple began to swim
back to sight, John blinked slowly, his eyelashes brushing against the fabric
covering Sherlock's shoulder. He felt drowsy and sore everywhere the tentacles
had pierced him, but more relaxed than he'd even been in his short time on
Earth, and it was with great effort that he managed to lift his head. He found
himself back in the Great Old One's arms, cradled against the god's chest as
glowing green-blue eyes watched him calmly, expectantly.
John sat back in the bow of arms, and moaned weakly when he realised he was
still impaled on the final tentacle. It was still hard and thick in him,
bulbous, and it made his little cock twitch. It also made his belly feel odd,
stretched, and he looked down. Frowning, the little boy placed a tentative hand
on his swollen stomach. It kind of looked like he'd eaten way too much, but he
didn't feel sick like he did when he overate. Instead, he just felt… satisfied.
A low sound of confusion squeaked past his throat, which protested at being
made to work, and the skin of his neck twinged. The child's other hand rose and
found his neck covered in a ring of bumps that started big and got smaller as
they went around.
"How do you feel, little one?" Sherlock asked, deep voice rumbling through John
from his head to his toys. The child moaned as his cock twitched and he ground
down onto the tentacle still inside him. More wet heat soaked his insides as
the limb throbbed against his inner walls, and it felt like his belly stretched
a little more.
"I- I don't know," he managed to croak, wincing as his throat and neck
protested again. A tentacle tip tapped against his lips, and after a short
internal debate, he opened his mouth. He expected it to hurt, but a soothing
coolness spread from the where the limb rested on his tongue and from where the
tip massaged his throat on the inside.
"This will soothe the ache of your throat," the god told him, eyes flashing as
the tentacle in his throat pushed a little deeper. Brought down from the
ecstasy he'd been embroiled in the last time the limb was this deep, the child
had to concentrate on breathing slow and careful out his nose. "You were very
vocal during our coupling. I enjoyed it very much." John's throat had gone
coolly numb, and he hummed in relief around the smooth muscle in his mouth.
"Your neck," the Ancient murmured, voice reverent as long fingers stroked the
tender skin and the raised bumps decorating it, "I will not heal it, as it is
my mating mark, and it marks you as mine to the rest of my kind. As for that,"
the tentacle in him undulated gently and the little boy could feel his penis
begin to swell and harden again, "I plan on having you impaled on my tentacle
for as long as I can. You are already full of my seed-" John's chubby little
hand resting on his swollen belly disappeared beneath Sherlock's much larger
one "-and I can already scent my clutch growing inside you."
Sherlock had said that word before, 'clutch', and the way he sounded it made it
sound like John was… pregnant? His brow creased and he opened his mouth to ask,
but the tentacle in his throat did not leave. The palm on his throat cupped his
jaw, closing his mouth again and tenderly stroking his skin in such a way that
it made a dark flush spread across his cheeks, despite all that they had just
done; Mum and Dad were always nice to him, but they never touched him like
Sherlock did, and they never looked at him the way Sherlock did. He liked it.
It made him feel special and loved in a new, fuzzy kind of way that he never
wanted to stop feeling.
"A 'clutch' is a collection of eggs, the Great Old One explained, as if they
had read John's mind. "Eggs that contain our young. They will grow within you,
and then they will pass from you so as to continue their growth without harming
you. Then they will hatch." Harry always used to tease him about how some day,
some alpha was going to knock him up. He'd always hated when she said that,
told her she was wrong, and yet, here he was. Somehow, the thought of being
bred didn't bother him as much as it used to. Not when he considered who had
bred him. "When they leave the nest, I will breed you again. Until that time,
we shall couple frequently until it was no longer overwhelms you."
The tentacle in him began to shift, curling, writhing, undulating, reminding
him of the coupling he'd just experienced. The movements made John jerk and
moan around the limb in his throat from the sensitivity, but the tentacle
impaling him, pleasuring him, did not stop. The little boy dropped his head
back to Sherlock's shoulder, closing his eyes as he curled chubby fists into
the lapels of the Ancient's suit, finding that, once he relaxed, it was not too
much to handle. A soothing hand was stroking his back, the other curled softly
around his neck, and the tentacle in his mouth was still thrusting gently while
he was rocked in place by the tentacle still stuffed inside of him; it was more
comfortable than even Mum and Dad's bed after a nightmare. So comfortable that
he was beginning to feel sleepy, even though it was still early, but he still
managed to open his eyes when the god called his name.
"What, little one," the Ancient instructed. At Sherlock's side, right where
John's gaze was already facing, black shadows were gathering in the air,
creating a circle of darkness. Little by little, it lightened to a strange
deep-blue-purple, interrupted by points of glowing greens and blues and
purples. "Welcome to your new home, my young mate."
John thought that he maybe should be afraid. It looked like nothing by the
night sky stretched beyond the shadowy portal, peppered with glowing eyes like
Sherlock's. Instead, he only felt a sense of adventure and safety, so he simply
hummed around the tentacle in his mouth and throat, wriggled atop the tentacle
in his bum, and held on to the Great Old One's suit tighter. The Ancient
chuckled, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, and glided into the unknown.
FIN
End Notes
     DID YOU KNOW: Sherlock's dialogue was originally posted in Zalgo
     text, but too many people couldn't read it so I finally peeled away a
     bit of my stubbornness and swapped the Z͍̘̬̫a̙̰̣̙̯͞ͅl̡̖̯ͅg͖o̰̱͖̠͎͎͖͞
     out for bolding. Reblog the thing. Tschüß. :3
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