And then he felt it.
A warmth, a burning ember in his core, behind his sternum, his ribs. Like a fuse was lit, fireworks and heaven inside him. It bloomed outward and jittered through him, wonderful and unexplainable. When Ciaran gasped and shuddered, Sawyer knew he felt it too.
He felt... different. The same, but better. Like himself but something new as well. As if he was in a new reality, a new beginning. A new him.
The real him.
He wanted to laugh and cry and found himself doing both. All of Ciaran’s limbs wrapped around him, held him, and he laughed into Sawyer’s neck, kissing and crying himself. “You felt that?” he whispered.
“What was it?” Sawyer asked.
Ciaran pulled back, his eyes still not entirely human. He was still buried inside Sawyer, and his cock twitched and surged as he drove his hips up into him. “The bond,” he said. “I think. Fuck, Sawyer. I’ve never felt anything like it.”
“Like we saw the secrets of the universe,” Sawyer murmured.
The fire in Ciaran’s eyes was different now. Warmer, somehow. More pure, and nothing but...
Jesus. Was it love?
It couldn’t be, but wow.
It seared into Sawyer, radiating through him, filling every fibre of his being and lighting his synapses on fire.
He wanted more of him, as if he hadn’t had enough—he would never have enough—as if Ciaran wasn’t still inside him, his cock still hard and buried to the hilt.
Sawyer tried to move, to roll his hips, to feel Ciaran begin to slide in and out again. By god, he needed it, but Ciaran’s tentacles slithered around him, holding Sawyer tighter.
“If I move, I fear I won’t stop,” Ciaran murmured, face twisting with anguish. “I don’t want to stop. I want to stay like this forever, but you...”
“But I what?” Sawyer asked.
“Are human. Your body can’t recover as mine does.”
Sawyer laughed, and, startling Ciaran, he pushed up and rolled them over. He relished the look of surprise on Ciaran’s face as he slid back down onto Ciaran’s cock.
Thick and rock hard, it felt like heaven.
Sawyer let his head fall back as he moaned, and red tentacles slithered around his torso and up to his neck. The feeling of being surrounded, supported, held and caressed was.... Fuck, it was everything.
Sawyer rose up a little and sank back down, making Ciaran’s back arch and his tentacles pulse.
Fuck.
Then one tentacle swept across his chest, a sucker latching onto his nipple. Sawyer’s eyes went wide as pleasure jolted through him, because holy fuck.
And then another tentacle wrapped around his waist and slid around his cock, jerking him off while he rode Ciaran’s cock.
“Oh, Jesus fuck,” Sawyer cried, rocking and riding, lost to the onslaught of sensation, of pure pleasure, of Ciaran filling him so completely.
And when he was too far gone, unable to think, unable to process anything but the bliss, he lost his rhythm, and Ciaran took over.
Red tentacles wound around his hips, moving him, holding him in place while he drove up into Sawyer’s willing body.
Oh, so fucking willing.
Sawyer loved it. He wanted nothing else for the rest of his life. This, and only this. This man, this cephamorph. This perfection.
And when Ciaran came this time, pulsing and spurting deep inside, Sawyer felt it all again. The rush of...whatever it was. Magic. This magic. The rush of it that filled him, taking a hold of his core, spreading and radiating the very essence of Ciaran, of who and what he was, and making him Sawyer’s.
