Quinn’s jaw dropped, opening his mouth wide, when the engorged appendage squeezed its “head” into his ass, the slippery substance aiding the penetration. Even with the lubrication, his cave stretched to unimaginable proportions as Lochlan entered him, inch by massive inch, sliding deep into his core. An explosion of ecstasy burst through Quinn, and he came into the sucking maw. A quiver ran through the mass as the tiny mouths milked his shaft with frenzied delight.
His heart pounding, Quinn pressed more tightly to the shuddering mass. The tentacle, pumping deeper into his ass, nudged his prostate. Quinn whimpered, hungrily sucking on the appendage that continued to swell and throb against his tongue and inside his throat canal. Theheadof the tentacle inside him fluttered open and latched onto the walnut-sized gland, a pulsingsuctionensuing.
Quinn’s whole body convulsed, rippling the water around him. Fireworks of lights and colors went off in his head—and he blew another load of cum into Lochlan. In his mind and spirit, hefeltLochlan’s ecstasy, his hunger for Quinn. Lochlan’s “arms” tightened around Quinn, and his “cock” thrust deeper, excreting slimy deposits inside his anal cavity.
‘I love you, Lochlan… I want to feel you… fill me…’
The mass quivered violently, and Lochlanreleasedinto Quinn’s mouth—a sweetnectarthat filled his throat. He swallowed rapidly, sucking the pulsing appendage, eager for every drop. Another almost explosivequiversurged through themass, and Lochlancamein his ass—an eruption of thick, slimy heat that permeated his prostate. Quinn gasped from deep in his core and ejaculated a third time.
A sudden stillness settled over the lovers, soft tremors emanating from both bodies as they floated beneath the surface in the afterglow of their unique love—souls linked, transcending human passion and emotion.
1
A layer of pearl-gray fogblanketed the lake like a shroud of mourning, tendrils curling at the edges where water met shore. The obsidian surface lay unnaturally still, glassy and opaque, not a single ripple betraying the ancient presence lurking in its depths. And indeed, that life had retreated into the darkest trenches, its cephalopodan body contracting with each memory-pulse, grieving the loss of a friend, a lover, the only way a being of water and thought knew how. It longed for connection again—for the passion that had once stirred its primordial cells, for the intellectual bonds that had awakened parts of itself it never knew existed. For now, it curled beneath the silty lakebed, coiled among fossilized remnants of eras past, left with only memories of the human who, rather than regard it as a monster... had traced reverent fingers along its tentacled form and loved it as both friend and companion.
It remembered with visceral clarity the little boy who came from time to time, his small feet kicking up sprays of diamond droplets as he played with it. The sweet, innocent laughter—like silver bells through water—still echoed in the hollow chambers of its spirit. But the boy stopped coming, his footprints along the shore erased by time and tide. Then its beloved—its Quinn—departed forever into that mysterious realm where humans go when their bodies fail… leaving only the cold embrace of solitude.
The memory of Quinn's final promise—‘I will have to leave you soon… but you won't be alone’—drifted like a dying star through the vast emptiness of its consciousness. A hollow ache spread through its tendrils, an agony without name that humans might call heartbreak. It reached desperately for memories of Quinn's touch, trying to wrap itself in phantom sensations that dissolved like mist through its grasp, leaving only the raw wound of absence.
The muddy floor of the lake quaked with its silent, primal keening.
It yearned for Quinn with the desperate intensity of a drowning creature seeking air, even as the terrible truth crystallized in its being: humans wither, humans fade, humans die.
Quinn wasn't coming back.
Graham was ten when he realized he was gay—and that being gay came with a stigma. Hegot the memo, so to speak, the first time he tried holding his best friend’s hand. Graham had always preferred boys over girls, dating back to first grade; he just hadn’t known there was a term or label for it until he acted on his feelings. For him, liking boys felt natural. He didn’t realize it put a target on his back.
That day in his bedroom, his shoulder bumped against Ryan's as they leaned forward, thumbs mashing controller buttons. The television screen flashed with explosions, their laughter punctuating each ridiculous death animation. The game controllers warming in their hands, his fingers had simply drifted across the space between them on the carpet. His pinky brushed Ryan's knuckles first, then his palm settled over his friend's hand, as natural as breathing. The controller in Ryan'sother hand stilled. A character died onscreen, music blaring defeat. Ryan's palm went clammy, then slipped away. “I should probably head home,” he mumbled, already gathering his backpack, eyes fixed on the carpet. The door clicked shut before the victory fanfare had finished playing.
When he saw Ryan at school, he didn’t want to hang out with Graham and said they weren’t friends anymore. After that, other boys started teasing Graham, calling him names he didn’t understand.
Graham had gone home crying and rushed straight to his room. His grandpa was the one who came to talk to him. Graham told him everything between hiccupping sobs, not understanding why Ryan—hisbestfriend—suddenly didn’t like him anymore, or why the other boys were being mean to him.
His Grandpa explained what was happening: Graham was gay, which meant he was attracted to boys rather than girls. He also explained that some people disagreed with it and thought it was wrong. He talked to Graham “man to man”, rather than treating him like a little kid, and Graham appreciated that. Then his grandpa told him a secret; he was gay, too. He asked Graham not to tell his parents or anyone. Not because he was ashamed, but because it was very personal to him, almost sacred. He told Graham that he had nothing to be ashamed of and that he should be proud of who he is.
“Should I tell Mom and Dad that I’m gay?” Graham asked.
“That’s a decision only you can make,” his grandpa said. “But if you do, I’ll be right there with you, supporting you.”
Graham told his parents. They weren’t upset but thought he was too young to truly know if he was gay. For the most part, they dismissed it. When he later told them what his grandpa said, he overheard them arguing with the old man. After that, Graham was no longer allowed to visit the cabin on the lake.They didn’t want his grandpa filling his head with ideas about being gay when, at most, he was just going through a phase.
That’s when Graham started pretending he liked girls. Soon after, the other boys stopped teasing him, and by the time he reached high school, he had almost convinced himself he was completely straight. His grandfather, whom he saw less often, didn’t bring up his sexuality after Graham insisted he liked girls. He let Graham choose who he wanted to be, although he seemed to sense a sadness settling into the old man.
Graham didn’t understand the sadness at first.
He did now.
When Graham was sixteen, his grandfather fell ill. Although he had maintained a close relationship with his grandpa, it wasn’t as strong as when he was a little kid—when he used to spend summers at the lake with the old man. Something was lost between them when Graham stopped going to the cabin, as if something almost magical had been tied to the lake cabin. He barely remembered his visits to the lake now—just fragments of memories. But he never forgot how special the lake was to his grandfather. Even at sixteen, Graham kept the Lochlan Lake storybooks his grandpa had made for him.
As Graham stepped into the hospital for the first time since his grandfather was admitted, a sudden weight settled in his chest, and at the same time, he felt hollow. He’d never seen his grandpa look so frail. He had always been a “strapping” outdoorsman with plenty of vitality and energy, even in old age. Seeing him lying in the hospital bed, surrounded by monitors and tubes, it struck Graham that his grandpa wasn’t immortal… he wouldn’t live forever—the way it had seemed to Graham when he was a child.
“Grandpa?” Graham hesitated as he approached the bed, nearly wishing that this frail old man wasn’t truly his grandpa Quinn—that there had been a mistake and the doctors had mixed up this man with his strong, healthy grandfather.
The old man’s eyes opened slowly, then lit up when he saw Graham. He smiled, though it appeared tired and feeble. “Graham… my boy.”
Graham blinked back tears; he hadn’t spent much time with his grandpa since starting high school, always busy with friends or homework. As he looked at him now, guilt filled him. His grandfather had confessed to being gay—a secret Graham had kept to himself—but his own rejection of his sexuality somehow felt like a rejection of his grandpa, as if he were ashamed of the old man. Was that why his grandpa had become sad, thinking his grandson no longer looked up to or respected him? Nothing could be further from the truth.
“How are you feeling, Grandpa?” Graham pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. Tears filled his eyes.
