Work It (Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger)

Jonas closed his eyes. One of Wout’s tentacles slid across his back. It left a slick smear of fluid behind. Jonas shivered. His mouth ran dry. His cock, already interested in the proceedings, began to fill. “More,” he said.

Wout didn’t respond with words. Another tentacle wrapped around Jonas’ leg, traveling from his ankle to his calf to his thigh. It stopped when it reached Jonas’ groin, a frustrating, tantalizing tease.

“Wout,” Jonas bit out, and he didn’t know if it was a plea or command. He reached out blindly. His hand collided with Wout’s shoulder. It was thinner than it was when Jonas saw him for winter training camp. Not surprising, considering what he’d gone through. What they both went through. That’s why they were here, two damaged goods figuring out if they’d be up to scratch for the Tour de France this year. Jonas didn’t like that Wout had gotten injured right before his big classics goals, but Jonas did like having someone else on the team who fully understood what he was going through right now.

He heard Wout take a deep breath, a small, stuttering hitch at the end. Jonas blinked his eyes open. Wout looked down at him with a furrowed brow. His arms hung limp at his sides, even as the two tentacles tightened around Jonas’ body. “Look,” Wout said, “I’ve never done this before. And I’m not sure how much this will affect…” He frowned.

Jonas winced too. He didn’t know how the whole ‘secret tentacles in your upper body’ had reacted to Wout’s broken ribs and sternum, but after his own broken collarbone and punctured lung, he did understand some of Wout’s hesitation. “Sorry,” he said. He pet Wout’s shoulder with one clumsy hand. “I’m just — it feels good. I’m being impatient.”

Wout cracked a small smile at that. The tentacle on Jonas’ back curled around his ribs to also wrap around Jonas’ chest. The touch was delicate and careful. Jonas would have been more annoyed if it he didn’t understand the hesitance. He wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize Wout’s continued recovery either.

The tentacle tightened a bit, not any more pressure than a heartrate monitor, but Jonas wondered if Wout’s tentacles were strong enough to do real damage, if they could squeeze him hard enough to re-break ribs. If they could, maybe they were strong enough to lift him off the ground, hold him aloft as they fucked him. Another spike of arousal shot through him.

The tentacle worked its way up Jonas’ sternum, then nudged at Jonas’ chin before pausing again at the bow of Jones’ lips.

Jonas didn’t hesitate. He tilted his head forward to draw the tentacle into his mouth. It tasted a little bit fishy as well, but not in a bad way. Slimy, wet with the fluid they seemed to secrete. It tingled on Jonas’ tongue. He flicked his eyes up to look at Wout’s expression.

Wout’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open, dumbfounded. His breath was shallower than it was a moment ago. He raised one hand and cupped Jonas’ cheek. He had done that earlier when they’d kissed. It was so warm and so large. Jonas had felt cradled and held then. He felt even more so now.

Jonas sucked on the tentacle in his mouth and curled his tongue around the narrow tip. Wout shivered.

Wout’s eyes took on a glassy sheen. The tentacle around Jonas’ leg tightened. A third tentacle wrapped around Jonas’ waist. Jonas moaned his approval and tried to pull more of the tentacle into his mouth. The tentacle, at the tip, was thinner than a cock, and Jonas wondered how far it could reach down his throat, how it would feel to gag on the impossible length of it. He swallowed reflexively. He let out a low moan. The sound of it was muffled by the tentacle. pushed forward, trying to get more.

Much to Jonas’ dismay, Wout stiffened and then slid the tentacle out of his mouth. “What–” Jonas protested.

Wout said, “Are you– are you really sure this won’t make anything worse?” Wout’s fingers got nervous and fidgety. He refused to meet Jonas’ eyes.

“You won’t,” Jonas said. He licked at his lips. They tingled, sparkling pinpricks that reminded him of victory champagne.

“I don’t use them for much. I don’t use them for anything, really. I don’t know how much control over them I’ll have, especially when, you know.” Wout chewed on his bottom lip. Jonas thought about kissing him again, sliding his tongue between Wout’s lips, tasting the inside of Wout’s mouth. The tentacles around Jonas’ body twitched, tightening and loosening in an imitation of some of Wout’s nervous tics. He was always fiddling with things on the bus, jiggling his legs, and tapping his feet. Wout continued, “I don’t like that– the not knowing.” Jonas blinked at him. Wout had been a little hesitant, a little cagey, ever since Jonas had walked in on him. He’d been shirtless and stretching, tentacles out at his sides, doing the self-check Jonas knew well– analyzing every bit of pain and soreness for signs that he’d re-aggravated something. Wout was normally so composed and focused, so confident in the capabilities of his body: seeing this side of him, more than the tentacles themselves, had been something of a revelation.

Jonas licked his lips again. He chased after both the taste and the tingle of it. “Okay.” he said.

Wout narrowed his eyes in confusion. “You’re really sure you’re okay with this?” he asked, like he hadn’t gotten the negative reaction he expected the first time around and felt the need to prod at Jonas until he got it.

“Wout,” Jonas said, with as much patience as he could muster under the circumstances, “I told I wanted you to fuck me with them. That hasn’t changed.” He wrapped a hand around the tentacle closest to his face and brought it close to his mouth. He dragged his tongue along the length of it. “Are you sure this isn’t going to hurt you either?”

Wout sucked in a rough breath. His eyes were fixed on Jonas’ month. “No, I wasn’t– they weren’t hurt when I was.”

Jonas wasn’t exactly promiscuous, but he also hadn’t had sex since before his accident a month and a half ago. Now that it was an option again, he felt light-headed and dizzy, like he’d under-fueled for a long ride. His body was hungry, craving something he hadn’t given it yet. “Please,” Jonas said, just for extra emphasis.

️Wout shuddered. His cock was also hard, standing straight and red in a nest of dark pubic hair. So pretty and human in comparison to the pale, purple tentacles.

“You can feel this, right?” Jonas asked as he stroked the tentacle in his hand.

“Yes,” Wout said. His voice was shaky. “I hadn’t known it could– that it would be like this.” Before they’d taken off their clothes, Wout had admitted that he kept his tentacles tucked away as much as physically possible, but they weren’t meant to be retracted into Wout’s body for too long. After a few days, they would get stiff and itchy. Longer than that, they’d start to atrophy in a way that could be detrimental for Wout’s overall health. During his recovery, he’d been able to leave them out for days at a time. He’d gotten careless.

It was a pity no one else had ever had a chance to touch this part of Wout. The tentacles were beautiful in a surreal sort of way. The concept that Wout felt ashamed of them felt almost too ridiculous to believe. Jonas gave the tentacle another stroke, harder this time.

It writhed in his grasp. Wout let out a breath, a sound halfway between a gasp and a sigh. “Okay.” he said. His expression settled. Jonas recognized it as the one Wout wore when he was committed, all in, determined to do whatever it took to get the job done.

And with that, he stepped closer. The tentacles tightened around Jonas. A fourth one wrapped around his hips. Without using his hands, Wout lifted Jonas up. It didn’t feel any different from being enveloped in any other of Wout’s bear hugs, even if the tentacles and Wout’s arms couldn’t be more different. Jonas’ brain and his body still registered them as Wout and therefore safe.

Wout laid Jonas out on the bed, face up. He was careful, almost delicate, with his movements. His brow furrowed in a mixture of worry and concentration, studying Jonas for any sign of pain. “I’m fine,” Jonas said in an answer to Wout’s unspoken question. He wasn’t even lying. There wasn’t even the slightest twinge.

He spread his legs. He felt hot all over, feverish. The desire felt raw and animal even in the face of Wout’s tenderness. His cock dripped pre-come onto his belly. He watched with half-lidded eyes as Wout clambered onto the bed. His hands were greedy as they reached for Wout’s hips. He felt like Wout was touching him everywhere. He still wanted more.

One slick tentacle slid between Jonas’ legs. He had lost track of them, and that was okay. His mind only cared about one thing right now. “Please,” he said.

It pushed into him. At its tip, it was thicker than a finger but narrower than a cock. It stung a bit as it entered. Nothing Jonas couldn’t handle. Nothing compared to bones shattering or organs punctured. This was temporary, good, in the service of something better. He let out a noise from the back of his throat and arched his back, chasing more.

He was so lost in the sensation that he almost didn’t register when Wout climbed on top of him, blanketing Jonas’ smaller body with his larger one. Jonas often forgot just how much taller and wider Wout was, because Wout didn’t often loom over people. It was impossible to ignore now. Even more than before, when it was just his tentacles, Wout was everywhere. His weight pressed Jonas into the mattress. His scent — sweat and musk, undeniably human and masculine — filled Jonas’ nostrils. His hard cock pressed against Jonas’ thigh.

Wout kissed him. His mouth was heavy and wet. He panted against Jonas’ lips like they’d just been training intervals. Wout’s tongue slid into Jonas’ mouth, a counterpoint to the tentacle pressing deeper and deeper into Jonas’ ass.

“More,” Jonas gasped. He bucked his hips to punctuate his point. His cock found purchase in the dark trail of hair on Wout’s belly. Not enough pressure and friction to get off, but enough to send additional sparks of pleasure along his nerves.

Wout’s large hands framed Jonas’ face. His fingers curled around the nape of Jonas’ neck. A tentacle wriggled between the tight press of their bodies to wrap around Jonas’ cock.

So different from fingers. Slick and cold. None of the heat that the rest of Wout’s body gave off. It didn’t matter. Or maybe it did matter, but Jonas liked the wet, strange sensation of the tentacle jerking him off.

The pressure and stimulation of the new tentacle was enough. Jonas came with a shudder. He had no chance of resisting, caught between the tentacle fucking him open and the tentacle wrapped around his aching cock. He moaned into Wout’s mouth.

“Jonas,” Wout gasped. “You’re so–” He pulled back to stare into Jonas’ eyes, amazement written across his features. His pupils were blown wide. His mouth dropped open. He rutted his cock against Jonas’ thigh.

Even after an orgasm, Jonas’ body was hungry and eager for more. He ground his hips down on the tentacle twisting inside of him. He loved this. He loved that his body wasn’t just a broken thing, only capable of experiencing pain or weakness.

He felt consumed by these cravings, reduced to nothing but a creature of raw desire. And yet, he knew Wout would look out for him. Wout would ensure he made it to the other side safely. He always had before. “More,” Jonas croaked out. He hooked one heel around Wout’s hips to draw him closer. He used to think about this when Wout would pull him into warm full-body hugs — what it would be like to be swallowed up, engulfed, by Wout. This version wasn’t exactly what Jonas had fantasized about. Compared to this, his previous fantasies seemed tame, even quaint.

Wout came closer willingly. He stared right into Jonas’ eyes. Jonas had no idea how sensitive his tentacles were, but it was clear enough from the expression on his face that he was getting something out of this too. Maybe this was also a reclaiming for him, wringing joy out of his previous shame, pleasure out of what was once broken.

Another tentacle slid between Jonas’ legs. Jonas closed his eyes, letting them drift shut. The tentacles were everywhere now. The one around his chest squeezed fractionally tighter. Another carressed his cheek, a tender gesture even with the smear of fluid left behind. The tentacle in his ass fucked him with slow, lazy strokes. Jonas opened his mouth. His cock was hardening again, an inevitability with the tentacle still there, stroking him. There was a time in Jonas’ life when he would have stayed quiet, given in to whatever Wout wanted to do. He had learned over the course of his hard-fought cycling career that he couldn’t sit around waiting for the things he wanted to happen to him. He had to be willing to ask. “Fuck my mouth again,” he said.

Wout made a noise in his throat like he was the one desperate and needy right now. The tentacle against Jonas’ cheek slid forward. The tip pressed against Jonas’ lips.

Jonas licked it, tasted fish and salt, and it jerked forward, almost involuntarily, pushing its way further into Jonas’ mouth. Jonas sucked on it. He could take what he wanted. He wasn’t trapped in a hospital bed, at the whims of the doctors, the drugs, the pain.

Wout shuddered. This close, Jonas could feel the way it radiated from his shoulders through his limbs, rippling down the lengths of his tentacles. The sensation flowed into Jonas too, a chain reaction of pleasure between them, a closed loop.

Another tentacle slid between his legs. It nudged against Jonas’ ass. Wout bit out a, “Are– can you?” His expression was steadier now. More confident. More like himself. He had wrung one orgasm out of Jonas already, and he was about to do it again. Jonas thought he understood. Wout was like him, relearning and rebuilding his trust in the capabilities of his body.

Jonas opened his eyes and looked straight at Wout and nodded.

The tentacle pushed in. Two now, so wide, so impossibly wide. Jonas had never been so full. He was stretched to his limits. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was also– this was a place where he had transcended pain and discomfort, where it all melted into ecstasy. Jonas lived for this feeling. He’d dedicated his life to it. For a while, he’d thought he could only find it on a bike. The crash, the injuries, had felt like a betrayal. But he was riding again, and he had Wout, and he had this. He was going to savor it.

Wout pressed his face into the nape of Jonas’ neck. His body was curled around Jonas, not just his tentacles, but his arms, his shoulders, his hips, his thighs. Wout’s teeth found Jonas’ collarbone, leaving behind sharp, stinging nips that drew soft whines from Jonas’ throat.

Jonas’ fingers dug into the hard planes of Wout’s shoulder blades. He felt the tentacle in his mouth push in deeper, nudging the back of his throat. In the few blow jobs he had given, he’d never deep-throated before, but he was so mindless, so relaxed, so open that the tentacle slid in without resistance. Jonas swallowed convulsively around it. He couldn’t even imagine what it must look like from the outside, him red-faced and sweaty, a noticeable bulge distending his throat.

The tentacles in his ass twisted in a way no human fingers or cock or even a toy could achieve. He felt dizzy from it. He spread his legs wider.

“Jonas,” Wout groaned. His hard cock rutted up against Jonas’ own and dripped pre-come onto Jonas’s belly. It added to the mess of fluids Jonas’ body was already stained with. The heat of Wout’s cock was familiar and human. Almost normal in the scheme of things.

A tentacle wrapped around them both. Alien in its coolness, its slickness, and yet so good, so perfect, so necessary.

“Jonas,” Wout said again, more breathless this time. “I’m going to-”

Jonas couldn’t speak around the tentacle shoved down his throat, but he did his best to make a noise of approval. Yes, he wanted to say. Yes, give it to me. Wout came with a deep, full-body shudder. And that felt normal and human, too.

Jonas moaned somewhere deep in his chest. The tentacles fluttered inside of him, but they were otherwise still. Jonas bucked his hips up. He clawed at Wout’s back. He was so close now. Just a little bit more, and he could– Wout seemed to understand what he meant, some unspoken message being passed between them. As Wout caught his breath, the tentacles started to move, pumping in and out of him, fucking this month and his ass in sync. The tentacle around Jonas’ cock slipped away, and he whimpered, wanting it back. Wout replaced it with one large hand.

Jonas loved Wout’s hands. The wide palms, the long fingers, the callouses that even the gloves couldn’t quite prevent. Jonas arched his back, trying to get closer. Wout obliged. He jerked Jonas off with sharp, efficient strokes. Jonas’ skin had been prickly, oversensitive already, and now, with this–

The orgasm rocked through him. He hit that place where even when it felt like too much, too difficult, too intense, even when his entire body was screaming from the exertion, he could still keep going, could still push through and find euphoria on the other side. He came for what felt like forever. Wout’s hands and his tentacles seemed determined to pull every last bit of pleasure they could from his tired, overstimulated body.

He collapsed when it was over, even as his cock gave small twitches in Wout’s grasp. He blinked his eyes open. He didn’t remember squeezing them shut.

The tentacle in his mouth retreated, as did the tentacles inside his ass. Jonas whimpered at the loss. After the intensity of being filled up, he felt hollow and empty. His lips especially felt bruised and strange. He released the death grip he had on Wout’s back, letting his hands stroke one of the tentacles that still remained within reach.

Wout pulled back far enough that Jonas could see his face. His eyes were large, round, liquid, and dark. “Thank you,” Jonas said. His voice was raspy. He would feel this tomorrow, but it would be the good kind of soreness. Not the sharp, stinging pain of broken bones but the deep ache of muscles that had been pushed hard and would get stronger.

Wout swallowed, drawing back even further. The tentacle pulled away. leaving Jonas feeling very naked and very alone on the bed. “Don’t–” Wout mumbled out. “I should be the one thanking you. I didn’t know if I could even–” Some of that confidence had slipped away again. Jonas wanted to pull it back to the surface.

For a moment, Jonas worried. Did Wout really think Jonas hadn’t gotten anything out of this? “I’m thanking you anyway,” Jonas said. This had hardly been a sacrifice on his part. He reached out and grabbed hold of Wout’s elbow, tugging on it, reeling Wout closer. The tentacles hung limply at Wout’s sides. “I know this spring has been shit for both of us,” Jonas continued, “but I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s selfish, but I’ll be happy if you decide to come with me to the Tour.”

Wout let Jonas pull him in, let Jonas wrap his arms around his shoulders. If he could– if their positions were reversed, Jonas would have wrapped Wout up in his tentacles, would have made Wout feel every bit as cherished, cared-for, loved as Jonas had been. But Jonas wasn’t Wout. All he had were his two human arms and his words. “I know it’s hard to believe sometimes,” he said, “but I think they’re right. I think we can come back from this stronger.”

At first, Wout didn’t respond. He sunk into the bed to Jonas’ side. His head was curled forward such that Jonas couldn’t see his face. Jonas tensed, sure he’d screwed this up somehow. It would be fine. They were both professionals. They’d be friends and teammates and no one would ever have to bring this up again.

But then Wout pressed a kiss to Jonas’ neck. “I think we’ll come back stronger, too,” he said.

A tentacle slid around Jonas’ waist. It still felt strange — slick, slimy, cool to the touch — but he still leaned into it all the same.