Sigurd had tended to many strange beings in the course of his lifetime. Being literally centuries old meant that he encountered a lot of different creatures, and seen a lot of them die. There was one that had been there for almost six hundred years, curled up in a room under his house, and even now, he tended to it, bringing the thing dead animals and sweetcakes. It didn't have a name, but it knew Sigurd, and when he pushed open the heavy wooden door to the creature's home, it would stretch out a tentacle and lightly brush it over his face.
"Good morning." Sigurd let the greeting slip past his lips as he stepped into the room, the remains of a carcass of a deer slung over his shoulder. The damp warmth made him shiver, and there was a rustle as a tentacle moved from the far end of the room to brush along the floor, up the platform, and to Sigurd. The appendage was a soft pink, slick and dexterous, and it felt its way up Sigurd's body to his shoulder. Wrapping around the carcass, Sigurd couldn't help but run his hand along the tentacle, his lips curving in amusement when the great mass shivered. "Hungry?" There was the sensation of something pressing down inside his head in response, and closing his eyes, Sigurd focused. It only took a moment to extend his conscience towards the tentacle beast, and as the carcass was dragged back into darkness, another mind met his.
It didn't have words. It never had – it was born in the depths of a cave, where words meant nothing, and it had never bothered picking them up. It wasn't hard to communicate with it, Sigurd had found – it was always feeling something. Happy, sad, meditative… most often, however, it was happy, and when Sigurd found an image of the deer he'd seen in the woods inside his head and offered it up, the tentacles purred. The purr was more of a rumble that shook the entire room, but Sigurd kept slowly going through the pictures of his day, of the market and visiting his little brother in town, and when he went swimming an hour beforehand in the small river outside his house, washing off the dust and grime from the path.
Sigurd brushed over the memory of getting dressed, pausing only momentarily to remember the new, clean boxers that had been soft on his skin, but the tentacle beast became a wall in his mind as he tried to show it the birdfeeder he'd built. Bewildered, Sigurd pushed against the mental blockade, but it didn't move, and a little hesitantly, he moved his mind back to his underwear. It was soft, striped white and blue, and made by Erikur for a gift in return for hock of ham.
Sigurd.
The voice was guttural in his head, and with a slow look around the room, Sigurd realised who was speaking.
Yes?
Sigurd.
The second time his name was said was a lot smoother, as if the tentacle monster was getting used to its voice, but there was something undeniably primal about it.
Sigurd.
Can you say anything else?
M'kkael.
Sigurd paused at that, and taking a step forward on the wooden platform, he peered down into the darkness. He could see tentacles creeping slowly around, burrowing deeper into the ground and hollowing out a bigger hole. There was even water down there, just a little, and he could hear the slurping sounds as the creature pulled its tentacles from the water and put them back down again.
"Is M'kkael your name?" It was hard to say, but the way the beast beneath his feet rumbled as he said it gave Sigurd the impression that it was pleased. He had a slight headache from the feeling of leaving his body - he didn't do it often, not these days. A tentacle tip poked over the edge of the platform, and Sigurd eyed it, kneeling down and stretching out his hand. It slipped forward and lightly ran over Sigurd's palm, and the Norwegian shivered, eyeing the tentacle as it traced up his arm and back down again, exploring the shape of his arm. "… what do you want, M'kkael?" The tentacle stopped in place, and a second slithered up to poke at Sigud's thigh. He shivered. It had been a while since he'd had any physical contact anywhere other than his shoulder, and despite himself, the tentacles, slippery and warm, were appealing. He didn't move from where he was resting on the floor, watching the tentacle slide down his thigh, then shuddered as it wormed back up his leg. He could feel the consciousness pressing back against his, and a little cautiously, he opened his mind back up.
Sigurd.
Along with the name, M'kkael gently pushed through Sigurd's memories to pull out one out from the corners – there wasn't any vision, other than the dimly lit roof of his house, but the feeling washed over him like it had the moment he'd wrapped a hand around his cock. He'd been desperate that day, he remembered, and swallowing, he slowly stood up. The tentacle seemed to pause for a moment as Sigurd pulled himself together, and he pushed the memory away, trying to ignore the flush on his own face. Why would M'kkael have pulled up that memory? He didn't even know how it knew the memory existed.
A peculiar, rumbling groan came from the tentacle beast as the another tentacle rose up from the water, hovering questioningly around Sigurd's waist. It dripped with thick slime, and curling, the tip brushed against his shirt.
"What do y'want, M'kkael?" His voice echoed in the room, and at the question, the second tentacle immediately dropped to sit against the crotch of his trousers. The sudden pressure against his groin sent a surge of warmth through his body, and with a gasp, he took a step back. He hadn't even thought about anything like that for a few weeks – Erikur had been sick, and he'd been far too busy, but even the brief touch was sending an ache through him.
It wasn't like M'kkael could tell anyone what happened between them, if he let this happen. M'kkael, however, seemed to have lost its nerve, and pulling the appendage back, a soft crooning noise came from the centre of the tentacles.
"It's alright." Sigurd said quickly, stretching a hand out. The tentacle moved forward again to curl around his hand, and M'kkael's consciousness pressed back against his, quietly prodding. A moment passed, and Sigurd opened his mind and closed his eyes. M'kkael was all around him, and he could feel the soft tentacles wrapping around his ankles and wrists, lifting him into the air. This wasn't the strangest thing he'd done in his life, not by a long stretch, but somehow, it was odd when it was so careful. He didn't dare open his eyes for about half a minute, taking in the feeling of M'kkael's slow-moving tentacles around his body. One slipped down, squirming underneath the waistband of his trousers and pressing against the curve of the bulge under his trousers. Sigurd's face heated up, and he arched his hips, trying to forget that it was the steady weight of a tentacle pressing down on his half-hard erection that was turning him on. A tentacle curved its way up under his shirt, and grunting, Sigurd let one of his eyes open to look down. Thick tentacles were squirming around his body, wet with slime, but somehow, their slow movement were just turning him on more and more. Something ripped, and all of a sudden, his trousers were discarded into the watery gloom, leaving him in his underwear and shirt. Another movement of the tentacle, and his shirt tore, too, tossed to the ground. Sigurd shuddered – the thick goo that covered him was unlike anything he'd touched before, maybe the oil that they sold for people like him, but otherwise, it was entirely new.
It would make things easier.
Another tentacle moved up, and all of a sudden, there was a tentacle in his mouth, goopy, and with a muffled slurp, Sigurd moved it around in his mouth and started sucking. He was no stranger to, ah, servicing something like this, but a literal tentacle beast was new. Despite this, the solid mass in his mouth was hot, arousing, and giving it a suck, M'kkael responded by enthusiastically pressing its tentacle against the growing bulge in his underwear. He couldn't speak, but with M'kkael practically part of his mind, he didn't need to. Instead, he simply presented an image of his own erection, slightly embarrassed by what he wanted. He was suspended in midair by a tentacle monster, so he managed to pass it off, spreading his legs a little so M'kkael could get past his underwear. A deft flick of the monster's tentacle, and his underwear tore, hanging off one thigh. Sigurd didn't even have the time to mourn the loss of his favourite underwear before a thinner tentacle moved upwards to curl around the base of his half-hard erection, sending an electrifying pulse of arousal through his gut. The initial pleasure wore off moments later, and Sigurd realised he had to keep sucking on the tentacle in his mouth so the slime didn't choke him. Sucking a little harder, he shifted, wondering how much leeway he had while supported in midair. M'kkael shifted its tentacles with his movement, and Sigurd was vaguely aware that he could sit up a little and remain supported, or just flop back.
A second tentacle curled around his cock, and with a choked moan around the tentacle in his mouth, Sigurd arched his hips upwards. The slime provided a lubricant that seemed to work really well, and the way the tentacle slowly twisted around his cock, the one at his base staying stock still. Oh, he was already aching with want, and with a sigh, he dragged his teeth along the skin of the tentacle in his mouth, trying to encourage M'kkael along a little more. The contact made the tentacle yank back, and suddenly able to breathe, Sigurd gasped, feeling the thick liquid drip down his chin. Somehow, the lack of control was really starting to turn him on, and as a third tentacle nudged between his legs, he let his thighs part. He could feel the thickness of the tentacle, rather than see it, and as it pushed up from between his thighs to press its length against his entrance, Sigurd allowed his head to loll. The constant, slow twist of the tentacle around his cock was drawing him closer and closer, and as the tip of the tentacle slipped inside him, Sigurd moaned.
Sigurd.
The voice in his head shook him, and with a gasp, he tried to form some words of his own, but as he managed to move his lips, the tentacle pushed deeper, and the sound was snatched away in favour of a gasp. The tentacle was pressing against his insides, and it sort of stung, but the tears pricking his eyes were quickly blinked away in favour of parting his legs a little further. Another shallow thrust of the tentacle in his ass pulled another moan from him, slowly getting used to the girth of the thing inside him. The movement of M'kkael's tentacle around his cock was driving him mad, too, and gods above, he was so close.
"M'kkael!" The beast's name came out more like a cry than what he'd intended, and in response, M'kkael tightened the tentacle around the base of Sigurd's cock until it was almost painful. He wanted to come, more than he'd care to admit, but the tentacle wouldn't let him, so he just had to take the thrusting of M'kkael's tentacle in his ass. A final moan, and the tentacle from earlier was thrusted right back into his mouth, the skin on it receding to reveal a smaller, pinker centre. It seemed to be more sensitive, too, and as Sigurd sucked, he was dimly aware of a new flavour on his tongue. It was salty-bitter, and as he sucked harder, he realised the substance was coming from the tentacle tip.
Monster precum, he realised with some embarrassment, but he didn't stop sucking, not with the thrusting of the tentacle in his ass and the one twisting around his cock. Clenching his hands, Sigurd let his mouth hang open and just let M'kkael thrust into his mouth, almost shaking with the sensitivity of his cock. Every little movement was on the borderline of stinging, but it felt overwhelmingly good, too, and squirming and whimpering, he felt himself start to clench.
"M'kkael! M'kkael!" Every thrust was so close, so close, and all of a sudden, there was an overwhelming sensation of relief, of M'kkael finishing, and there was a thick warmth trickling from between his legs and the feeling of his tummy curving up, just a little, and then the tentacle around his cock loosened.
His orgasm was blinding, it took his breath away, and he blacked out for a few seconds as he was lowered to the wooden platform, the rough wood under his shoulders bringing him back to reality.
He'd just been fucked by the tentacle creature under his house. More importantly, he'd enjoyed it.
Sigurd.
"M'kkael." He mumbled in response, opening his eyes to look up at the twisting tentacles. He was naked, and covered in slime, and desperately in need of a bath. With a groan, he propped himself up on his elbows and squinted up in the dimness. "… I'm going t'go upstairs." There was the vague feeling of the consciousness retracting from his own, and getting up, Sigurd wobbled up the stairs.
He'd be back tomorrow.