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.
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.
"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 John 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-!"
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 a kid, 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 center, 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 John's 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 so good," and whispers of "He's so soft," and groans "He's so fucking fertile," 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 so good!") 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 realized 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 realize 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 mesmerizingly 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 immobilized. It wasn't until that gasp, that deep inhale, that he realized 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 realize 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 realized 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 god'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 apologize 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 apologize for taking mine from you."
"Sher- Sherlock!" John 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 recognize 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 realized 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 realized 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 realized 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 realizing 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 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.
Æeons 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 realized 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 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.
"Watch, 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 but 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.