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There were few things that could bring Fingon to the point of mindless distraction, but the way Maedhros’ back flexed into a wide arch when Fingon sank a finger into him was one of them. His mouth already felt dry, and the urge to bite into Maedhros’ opened lips was maddening.
But more importantly: the wetness around his finger, and the warm ripplings of muscle, pulsating around the digit. Something warm, sinuous, and strong curling around his finger and pulling it knuckles deep.
“What is that?” asked Fingon distractedly, most of his attention still on Maedhros’ pleasure-reddened face. Surely, Fingon could risk a cut or three on those sharp teeth. What was romance without danger anyway?
He pulled out his finger, and the wet and muscled thing remained wrapped around it. “Oh,” he then said, staring down at the—tentacle protruding from Maedhros’ slit.
Maedhros let out a sound that was not quite a laugh. His lungs were working overtime from being outside the water, and he sounded vaguely strangled when he said, “I told you our genitals were different.”
“You didn’t mention it was a tentacle.”
It must have said something about Fingon that his arousal did not decrease at this sudden development. His swimming trunks were still far too tight, and wet with more than water.
He blamed it on the fish dna.
“It’s not a tentacle. It’s an ovipositor and - “ his words hitched off when Fingon experimentally ran his fingers along the wet muscle sliding along his hand. It was slimy, wet with the same slick that leaked out of Maedhros. It didn’t look much like a penis, but it did have a small opening at the tip. Fingon ran a nail down its edge.
Maedhros cried out. Sitting astride Maedhros as he was, he felt as every muscle in his body tensed, rippling from his abdomen in a smooth motion. The tail buckled so suddenly Fingon was thrown forward, hand still caught in the tentacle-dick’s grip. His right arm was pinned awkwardly between their torsos, and it was only Maedhros’ arms wrapped around him that kept him steady.
He had to crane his neck to see the long, pale arch of Maedhros' throat. Fingon deliberated for just a moment, before giving into the lust and licking it. He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses until he reached Maedhros’ gills, tightly closed and nothing more than small ridges under his tongue.
Suddenly there was a hand in his hair pulling him back. Maedhros’ eyes had gone so dark there was only a thin ring of silver around them. His fair skin was flushed, sharp teeth glinting as he panted for breath. Whatever illusion made his appearance humanoid had slipped, and he looked altogether alien—his eyes just a tad too large and his nose too flat; his features too symmetrical to be normal. The nictitating membrane over his eyes blinked, and then the illusion returned and he was merely Maedhros once more.
Fingon licked his lips. “That’s a no on the gills then?”
“Not unless you want me to lick your nose in revenge,” Maedhros said. His voice was rough like sand against rock.
“With those teeth?” Fingon grinned. “Darling, your mouth isn’t going anywhere near my nose.”
Maedhros smiled. His tentacle suddenly pulled at Fingon’s hand until the tips of his fingers slid back in. At the same the hand on his hair pulled him back down until their breaths mingled, and then Maedhros was kissing him, lips pulled taught over the sharp pin-pricks of his teeth.
Fingon used his forearm besides Maedhros’ head for leverage, pressing down into the kiss and his finger into Maedhros’ slit. The tentacle-dick curled around it, stroking rhythmically. Fingon worked a second in and scissored them until Maedhros pulled away with what could only be a squeak. “What are you doing?”
Fingon looked down at his hand, his two fingers knuckle-deep inside warm skin and flesh. He wiggled them and felt sharp nails dig into his arm. “Stretching you?”
“ Stretching,” said Maedhros incredulously. “Why?”
“Um,” said Fingon. He wasn’t sure how to make his mortifying teenage sex-ed escapedes sexy. “So you don’t, you know, um,” his face was burning. “So there’s room for—for, it won’t tear or—just, um, as foreplay or even actual sex.”
Finally, the embarrassment overcame him and he buried his face in Maedhros’ chest. With the safety of not having to compare interspecies sex practice differences face to face, he mumbled, “Do you not need to stretch before sex?”
Somehow, it was worse that his fingers were still buried in Maedhros. The tentacle was still clenched around him, keeping them tightly together in place, the entire passage warm and slick and delightfully tight.
The thought made his dick chub up again. His hips rutted forward of their own accord down into the strong muscles beneath him. A groan threatened to escape him, exasperated by his own horny, one track mind. As though this were the first time he had sex!
“No,” said Maedhros above him. One of his hands stroked Fingon’s back, the other wiggled in front of his face. “The partially retractable claws tend to pop out when we’re aroused, so hands are rather...daring, when coupling.”
That. That made sense.
Except. Didn’t that mean they had skipped the vanilla sex and gone straight for mermaid BDSM?
Fingon had no idea what to do with this knowledge. His cheeks burned mortifyingly, and a laugh bubbled up deep in his chest. He pressed his body down again, snickering against the hard planes of Maedhros’ chest.
“It’s not that funny,” muttered Maedhros above him. One of his hands tangled in Fingon’s braids again, lightly tugging in reproach. Fingon snickered harder.
Maedhros shifted underneath him, dislodging Fingon from his almost comfortable position. The slick muscle around his fingers clenched then released, then repeated the action. “You can do that again, if you want,” Maedhros said, deliberately dismissive. When Fingon looked at him, his face was turned away, his ears flat against his skull. A flush of red that nearly matched his hair dusted his fine features.
Experimentally, Fingon wiggled his fingers. The ears twitched. He scissored his fingers, then did it again. The tentacle pulled at him, and Maedhros’ eyelashes fluttered. A small hitched breath ran through his chest.
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Fingon’s face.
He continued in this vein, stretching the slick passage and running his fingers along the tentacle-dick, occasionally rutting his hardness into the hard planes of Maedhros’ tail for his own relief. With the way Maedhros continued to gasp and wiggle beneath him, constantly pushing against his groin, he barely had to move. The friction alone was doing lovely things for Fingon’s dick. He had to bite his lips and rise to his knees so as to not finish far, far too soon.
Three fingers, experimentally eased, earned him a blatant moan. “Fingon,” Maedhros gasped. “Ah-ngnn.”
Fingon thrust, and scissored, and wiggled and stroked until Maedhros’s stomach clenched and unclenched suddenly, abdomen and tail spasming with the motion. His hand in Fingon’s hair tugged suddenly, nearly painfully. A squeak escaped Maedhros’ lips before he clamped a hand over his mouth. Then the warm space around Fingon’s fingers became wetter, and Maedhros slumped boneless onto the rock.
Fingon stilled, staring down at him in surprise. “Did you just—” The tentacle, at least, still kept wriggling around his fingers.
Maedhros panted for breath, his eyes bright slits, hazy and unfocused. He really had.
A delighted laugh burst out of Fingon, and he slowly pulled his fingers out. The tentacle followed them, unwilling to let go, but it could not extend far. Under Fingon’s curious eyes, it wriggled back inside Maedhros’ slit.
The scales slid together again, but now Fingon could see the lines of flesh that gave the opening away. They shone with slick and fluttered, unable to fully close from how much Fingon had stretched them. Fingon pressed a quelling hand to his groin and groaned at the realization.
They really had skipped straight to mermaid BDSM.
By the time Fingon’s groin stopped feeling like he would burst at a featherlight touch, Maedhros was looking at him again, eyes bright and focused on the tent in his shorts. “You should take that off,” he said with a voice far too level for someone who just came.
Fingon’s brain—and more importantly, Fingon’s dick—thought this suggestion magnificent. He kicked off his shorts as swiftly as possible, throwing them in the direction of his shirt. He didn’t check to see if his aim was true.
Fingon was not usually self conscious. He was beautiful, and well-muscled, and his dick was lovely as the rest of him, thank you very much.
But under Maedhros’ laser-focused attention, scorching like the sun, he couldn’t help but flush. He knew, now, that he was far thicker than the tentacle Maedhros had. Was that attractive to him?
He wondered if he was the first human Maedhros had seen naked. He licked his lips, then arched his back in what magazines told him was a sexy pose, and palmed his dick in a sexier pose that, with his fingers tight about the base, conveniently prevented him from spilling too early. “Like what you see?” Fingon purred, then grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.
Maedhros ran a claw down his chest, so light only the impression of his touch remained. When he reached Fingon’s dick, it was the heel of his palm he used, claws far away from sensitive flesh. “I didn’t know this stiffened,” Maedhros murmured, distractedly, and grinded his hand along his length and the bulbous head.
Fingon fell out of the pose at once, collapsing onto the tail beneath him. ”Stop that!” He gasped. At once Maedhros retreated, so Fingon caught his arm and pulled him back. Not close enough to touch, though. His clawed hand instead rested on Fingon’s buttocks, claws pin-pricking that sensitive skin and making Fingon shudder. “Do you realize how turned on I am? If you do that again I’ll come.”
Maedhros blinked. “Is that not a good thing?”
Fingon floundered. “Well, this will be over quickly, or we’ll have to wait way too long to continue again…” Though since Maedhros had already come, they could reasonably end it here. The agreement was more for Fingon’s curiosity than anything else.
“Why? Does it detach?”
Fingon blanched. “No! It just takes a while before I can go again.” He paused. “Wait, can you just keep going ?” If so, why had that gene not passed to him? Grandfather Finwe, come out of the ocean, I have a bone to pick with you!
Slowly, Maedhros nodded. “Until genetic information is exchanged.”
“Genetic information,” Fingon parroted with no small amusement and shook his head. “So if I did this again, you’d be fine?” He rubbed at the slit until it parted for him, then thrust a finger inside. Immediately, warm muscle wrapped around him and pulled, as though trying to get him deeper. “If you didn’t come earlier, what was that?”
Maedhros groaned, a sound so deep Fingon heard it echoed in his bones. “Just— ah —release.”
“But not genetic information exchanged.” Fingon thrusted his fingers (back to two now) as the tentacle vainly pulled at them to stay in.
“Ah—no. There’s no—ngn—point.” Fingon slid the third finger back in with little resistance. Maedhros’s teeth clacked unpleasantly, and rose onto his elbows to snarl, “Stop removing them!”
Fingon did as prompted, scissoring his fingers instead. With greedy eyes he took in the way Maedhros’ head fell back, the long pale line of his neck once again ripe for kissing. He didn’t, staying where he was and fingering Maedhros with every trick he knew except flat out thrusting. His other slid along his own length, which was purpling at the head with his urge. Not long now, not long at all. “I guess we aren’t genetically compatible then,” he gasped absently. Most of his attention was focused on watching Maedhros fall apart and drawing out his own impending release.
Maedhros stilled. A calculating look slid across his features, and his eyes settled on Fingon’s dick with a frightening intensity. The sharp teeth of his mouth glinted in the light as he panted. He looked hungry. Like he wanted to devour Fingon.
At this point, was it even possible to get harder?
“Put it in,” said Maedros, drawing him out of the sharp haze of desire.
“What?”
“That.” Maedhros pointed at his dick, which was not a sexy action and Fingon’s dick really shouldn’t react to a sharp claw so close to it by twitching hopefully.
“Ah,” said Fingon. “Is that a good idea?” Certain body parts of his certainly thought so.
“Probably not,” said Maedhros. “Do it anyway.”
Fingon’s skin felt too hot, as though desire burned through him like a fever. His hands were clumsy as he untangled himself from Maedhros’ slit and crawled over what, if Maedhros had legs, would have been his lap. It took some maneuvering to line everything up, Fingon’s abs doing double time to stay balanced on Maedhros’ bulk, but when he did, the tentacle finished the job for him and pulled him in.
For that brief eternity with the tentacle wrapped around him, he could see the difference in sizes. The tentacle was far longer than any dick could ever hope to be, and sinuous and veined, but only as thick as one, maybe two of Fingon’s fingers.
And Maedhros was big for his species. If proportion kept—
No wonder the slit gaped at three fingers. Fingon’s entire dick would—
White noise filled his ears as his dick was engulfed in tight warmth and heat. Nothing he had felt before could compare, the tentacle still wrapped around him and fretfully working over him, warm slick muscle rippling around his length and intently milking it. It was all he could do to not explode.
Small tremors wracked Maedhros’ body underneath him. Fingon unclenched his jaw from where he bit Maedhros’s shoulder, pressing an apologetic kiss to the imprint of his teeth. Maedhros didn’t seem to notice, eyes shut and panting with an open mouth. His claws had drawn blood on Fingon’s butt and waist where he held him steady. His warmth still worked Fingon over with desperate intensity.
When Fingon pulled back, his eyes opened and he snarled, tentacle pulling him back and his own hands shoving him back forward. Fingon followed the motion with no resistance, rocking back in and punching a strange little breathy noise from Maedhros’ throat. He did it again, and again, until his balls pressed to scales and muscle.
Then he had to pause and swallow. “You feel so—” Fingon ground his hips down in a small circle. Stars burst in his eyes as that tentacle worked over his tip. He could feel himself leaking, and everything was so wet and warm. His stomach clenched tighter. “Can I— ”
“Anything,” Maedhros gasped, “Just don’t stop .”
The last of his restraint burned away. Any attempt at rhythm was a lost cause. Fingon settled for grinding as far in as he could— the tentacle and Maedhros’ hold on him didn’t let him go far enough for proper thrusts — pressing kisses to whatever skin he could reach, Maedhros’ arms pulling him tighter and tighter, as though he wished to melt them together.
The thought pushed him over the edge, and he spilled inside Maedhros with a groan. His vision went white, and he collapsed bonelessly. It was only the continued motion of the tentacle trying to squeeze every last drop of seed out of him that made him pull away with an overstimulated hiss.
He rolled off Maedhros and flopped onto his back. Every breath felt as heavy as his lids. When his lungs no longer burned and his eyes opened, he found Maedhros propped on an elbow, watching him while idly playing with a strand of Fingon’s hair.
“So,” said Maedhros, a predatory grin slipping across his face. His too-dark eyes slid slowly down Fingon’s body. “How long did you say you had to wait?”
Fingon shivered. His dick did a valiant twitch. Maedhros grinned wider, shark-like and self-satisfied, so what else could Fingon do except roll over him to kiss the smile away.
Later, much later, when the best sex of Fingon’s life left him so wrung out his dick couldn’t get hard if he tried (and oh, it had tried), he lifted his head from where it was pillowed on Maedhros’ shoulder. “Am I still a monster fucker if I share fish dna, or is that just you?”
Maedhros groaned. “What does that even mean?”