Chapter Text
The sleep deprivation motive might be over, but Ken still can’t sleep. He supposes it might have to do with the adrenaline gas. He tosses and turns for what might be two or three hours; he doesn’t keep count. Out of frustration and the faintest feeling of hunger, he’s come to the kitchen to get something to snack on. Nothing sounds appealing; he sorts through the cupboards only to find that out. His stomach growls in disappointment. Maybe he should just head back to bed.
Just as he’s set to return to his room, he hears a loud sound appear from just behind him. He clasps his hands tightly over his ears, shutting his eyes tight. It’s hard, woody like something just broke through the floorboards. He hears another sound, but he isn’t sure what it is. Something akin to a climbing sound? Unclear.
Ken twists his neck around. His eyes widen at the sight. Lavender tentacles, complete with off-silver suction cups, stretching tall and swirling around from the hole in the floor. His stomach drops and his head begins to spin.
“What the hell…” he whispers. The tentacles take note of him. They pause as though inspecting him, then one outstretches towards him, touching his hand. It’s soft to the touch, a little bit like a gummy. Ken, curiously, strokes it with his finger. The tendril seems to take that as an invitation, as it wraps around his wrist tightly like a rope. Ken tries to tug his arm away. He does not succeed; his arm does not budge. Another one approaches and wraps itself around his ankle.
Throughout his career, Ken has learned a great many things. Most of this information is irrelevant in his daily life. He’d once gone down a rabbit hole and discovered an entire genre of animated pornographic material involving tentacles. He’d found it strange but thought to each their own. He figured no show he’d ever go on would have a question about it, and that his newfound knowledge would never be applied practically.
As it turns out, it would be applied practically. He knows where this is going. Excitement bubbles in his stomach; he feels ridiculous that he’s going along with this so quickly. In his defense, he is pent up and curious. As foolish as it might be, there’s something thrilling about this, especially considering where the location is. He gasps as his suit is ripped open by a sharp-looking tentacle he hopes won’t enter him. The softer and rounder ones, on the other hand…
His mind runs a mile a minute, though, trying to figure out the logistics behind this. Is this another motive? How would this inspire one to kill? Is it something else, controlled by those behind the game? What would be the inspiration behind that? Before he can think of anything else, a gasp is forced from his mouth as a tentacle wraps itself around his cock. A lubricant-like substance leaks from the suction cups, allowing it to more easily glide across his skin. Ken’s stomach feels as though it’s been lit on fire.
His free limbs are tied by the tendrils and he is slowly lifted from the ground, legs kicking uselessly though not defiantly. His mind barely registers it occurring as the tendril slowly strokes him, his cock twitching in its grasp. Nothing Ken has ever done to himself has ever felt this blissful. It moves across his cock slickly, quickly. The lubricant drips onto the floor into a little off-white puddle.
God. This feels so fucking good. It’s barely even begun, and he doesn’t want it to ever end. Bliss erupts through every cell in his body. Upon being gently tugged at by the tentacles, Ken parts his legs until he is fully spread eagle. His jaw goes slack; another tentacle enters his mouth and presses down on his tongue. Its skin tastes sweet, a little fruity. He could get addicted to the taste.
Naturally, with little prompting, his mind drifts to Kazutoshi. He thinks of it being Kazutoshi’s hand wrapped round his cock, stroking him to completion, pretends it is his fingers in his mouth. Kazutoshi probably wouldn’t literally taste this sweet. Metaphorically, though…
Absently, Ken’s lips enclose around the tendril, tongue flicking upward. He sucks at a steady rhythm, though something about it is intense for him. His heart thumps painfully, longingly. Tentacles swarm his body–their touch is gentle, feather-light, but firm. They curl around his thighs and cup his ass and swirl around his bare chest. They all leak that same lubricant, smearing it all across his tanned skin to make for easier groping. The smell of it is sweet like candy. He hopes the tendril making itself home in his mouth might secrete it so he can get a taste.
As if his mind had been read, it does exactly that. The sugary taste mixes with his saliva, which dribbles down his chin. He feels like a wrecked mess right now–most likely he looks the part, too.
Footsteps. Ken’s heart races as he listens to the sound of footsteps approaching the kitchen. The fear of getting caught pricks at his skin, though it’s immediately followed by a flood of lust, his cock twitching in the air. He tightens his jaw around the tentacle fucking his mouth, hoping to conceal any noises. He’d never imagined himself an exhibitionist, but in the moment he couldn’t care less. Someone could walk in on him getting fucked by this weird creature that burst through the floor and he would barely give a shit.
The footsteps continue, then halt. Ken tries to keep any groans quiet and low in his throat. It’s made even more difficult when a suction cup attaches to a sensitive nipple. Please, please leave, a part of him thinks, while another part of him begs for them to enter.
“Never mind,” the mystery student mutters to himself. Hama. The footsteps continue in the opposite direction, growing quieter and quieter until they cannot be heard anymore. Ken sighs in relief. Without the angel and the devil arguing on his shoulder anymore, he allows himself to sink into pleasure, muscles going lax.
Ken tries to scream in pleasure around the tendril, but he is effectively silenced. A method of self-preservation for the tentacles, he presumes, to ensure only its chosen partner knows of its existence. As Ken’s mind is overwhelmed by the constant stimuli, he allows himself to indulge in more of what its purpose might be. Does it do this solely for the sexual aspect of it, or is it a mating method? Both options excite him.
He feels like a fucking whore, and he adores it. He never viewed himself as the type to feel like this, but here he is.
“Ahh–!” Ken cries out around the obtrusion in his mouth as another tentacle (where are they all coming from?) shoves itself into his ass. It's slicker than all the others combined, making for a smooth glide inside him. It immediately begins to pound into his prostate, without giving him any time to adjust. He’s never been fucked before. He’s overjoyed that this, of all times, is his first time.
The expanse of his skin is shiny, and he feels utterly alive. He’d beg for more, if he could. If the tendrils didn’t shut him up.
The tentacle drives itself, again and again, into his prostate brutally, pulling the filthiest noises imaginable from Ken. One part of his brain thinks that it hurts. The other never wants this to end.
When Ken comes, it’s with a loud wail. His entire body shivers as though enveloped in sheer cold. His seed spouts everywhere – down his legs, onto the floor, onto his stomach. He thinks he’s sobbing, but he can’t be sure. Everything is, for a moment, absolutely wonderful. Steadily, as his head spins in circles, the tentacles settle him down onto the ground.
Ken sits still for several minutes, grasping for any air he could inhale. He looks at his ripped suit on the other end of the room. He’ll have to hide it in his room and replace it with the several copies kept in his dorm. And then he’ll have to come up with an explanation for whatever happened to Hama and anyone else who may have had the misfortune of hearing him, though the still horny part of his brain doesn’t give a shit and just wants to give into more pleasure.
Climbing to his feet, he holds his destroyed clothes to his chest. He strides towards the dormitories with a pep in his step and a hope in his heart that no one will see him. He’s still covered in the lubricant; he needs to take a bath immediately.
He’ll have to show this to Kazutoshi.