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browngirlTitle: The One Where Sulu Makes a Friend
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17 with warnings.
Pairing: Hikaru Sulu/Tentacle Plant
Content Advisory: Tentacles, dubious consent, crackliciousness.
Acknowledgements: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
emiime, "Sulu/plant!tentacles".
Disclaimer: None of the named characters or their settings belong to me.
Squirming, twitching, failing to fight, and really glad no one else is in the West Greenhouse to see him, Cadet Hikaru Sulu asks himself, how is this my life?
Long blue-green tentacles drag across his heated, damp-dry skin, setting off aftershocks like little subcutaneous earthquakes, but the plant seems to have some conception of exhaustion, or perhaps it's just responding to his decreased level of activity as he lies prone, gasping but otherwise motionless. It certainly responded when he said, "Aren't you a beauty," and stroked -- he remembers that now, a painful blush welling in his cheeks to match every hickey squeezed into his skin -- when he stroked one of its curling fronds, blue-green variegated with indigo and purple.
It responded with a wriggling forest of hay-scented tentacles, shooting up from under the fronds, grabbing him and pulling him to the soft dry ground beneath, restraining his limbs in its tight boneless grip, twisting into his mouth and under his clothes, peeling his uniform away like a hundred fingers.
His clothes are all still in a heap over there, about a meter out of reach, everything inside-out but otherwise undamaged. Hikaru's met several sentient plants so far this term, but this is the first one that behaved as if it's familiar with humanoids and their clothing, or their erogenous zones.
His ears feel like they're on fire from blushing. His ass burns more gently; the tentacles are smooth and slick, soft outside and firm inside, and the plant jacked him as it fucked him, pleasure easing its way in, tight coils spreading his thighs wide, flexing tentacles twisting inside him and winding around his cock and squirming over his chest and nape and lips. The first time he came they just kept going, fucking him until he came again, apparently absorbing his come and sweat and tears; it was only after he came a third time, after it really started to frankly hurt, that they withdrew, and now they're stroking softly over his skin, every centimeter it can reach. The touch almost feels apologetic, but Hikaru knows he really didn't fight for very long, especially once he realized it wasn't trying to hurt him. Especially once it started feeling good, then better than good.
Fronds brush his face gently. Hikaru opens his eyes to blue-green-purple fronds backlit by sunshine and floodlights, shivering above him in a nonexistent breeze. Can you hear my thoughts? he wonders hazily as a tentacle brushes over his hair. If you can, please let me get up.
At first the tentacles tighten a little around him, all over, just long enough for his tired heart to jerk into acceleration; just as suddenly they all let go, gather under his back and push him over, rolling him from beneath the fronds. Huh.
"Uh," Hikaru says aloud, pushing himself up onto wobbly knees and quivering arms. "You can hear me."
The plant quivers all over to match him, extending a tentacle very slowly to curl around his wrist. "Only when you're touching me," he amends, and it strokes his wrist, up and down. "Then why didn't you let go before?" When he was begging 'let go, let go,' before he started begging for more and more.
Another tentacle curls up over his cheek and into his hair like a stroking finger, and a third brushes wetly over his parted lips; Hikaru licks them and tastes green, herbaceous nectar. Oh, he thinks, and lifts his hand to touch the tentacle in his hair as he sits back on his haunches and laughs.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: NC-17 with warnings.
Pairing: Hikaru Sulu/Tentacle Plant
Content Advisory: Tentacles, dubious consent, crackliciousness.
Acknowledgements: Written for
emiime, "Sulu/plant!tentacles". Disclaimer: None of the named characters or their settings belong to me.
Squirming, twitching, failing to fight, and really glad no one else is in the West Greenhouse to see him, Cadet Hikaru Sulu asks himself, how is this my life?
Long blue-green tentacles drag across his heated, damp-dry skin, setting off aftershocks like little subcutaneous earthquakes, but the plant seems to have some conception of exhaustion, or perhaps it's just responding to his decreased level of activity as he lies prone, gasping but otherwise motionless. It certainly responded when he said, "Aren't you a beauty," and stroked -- he remembers that now, a painful blush welling in his cheeks to match every hickey squeezed into his skin -- when he stroked one of its curling fronds, blue-green variegated with indigo and purple.
It responded with a wriggling forest of hay-scented tentacles, shooting up from under the fronds, grabbing him and pulling him to the soft dry ground beneath, restraining his limbs in its tight boneless grip, twisting into his mouth and under his clothes, peeling his uniform away like a hundred fingers.
His clothes are all still in a heap over there, about a meter out of reach, everything inside-out but otherwise undamaged. Hikaru's met several sentient plants so far this term, but this is the first one that behaved as if it's familiar with humanoids and their clothing, or their erogenous zones.
His ears feel like they're on fire from blushing. His ass burns more gently; the tentacles are smooth and slick, soft outside and firm inside, and the plant jacked him as it fucked him, pleasure easing its way in, tight coils spreading his thighs wide, flexing tentacles twisting inside him and winding around his cock and squirming over his chest and nape and lips. The first time he came they just kept going, fucking him until he came again, apparently absorbing his come and sweat and tears; it was only after he came a third time, after it really started to frankly hurt, that they withdrew, and now they're stroking softly over his skin, every centimeter it can reach. The touch almost feels apologetic, but Hikaru knows he really didn't fight for very long, especially once he realized it wasn't trying to hurt him. Especially once it started feeling good, then better than good.
Fronds brush his face gently. Hikaru opens his eyes to blue-green-purple fronds backlit by sunshine and floodlights, shivering above him in a nonexistent breeze. Can you hear my thoughts? he wonders hazily as a tentacle brushes over his hair. If you can, please let me get up.
At first the tentacles tighten a little around him, all over, just long enough for his tired heart to jerk into acceleration; just as suddenly they all let go, gather under his back and push him over, rolling him from beneath the fronds. Huh.
"Uh," Hikaru says aloud, pushing himself up onto wobbly knees and quivering arms. "You can hear me."
The plant quivers all over to match him, extending a tentacle very slowly to curl around his wrist. "Only when you're touching me," he amends, and it strokes his wrist, up and down. "Then why didn't you let go before?" When he was begging 'let go, let go,' before he started begging for more and more.
Another tentacle curls up over his cheek and into his hair like a stroking finger, and a third brushes wetly over his parted lips; Hikaru licks them and tastes green, herbaceous nectar. Oh, he thinks, and lifts his hand to touch the tentacle in his hair as he sits back on his haunches and laughs.
