[Accidental video] [Week 14, Day 1] Elfangor has the worst luck ever.
(WARNING: NON-CON TENTACLE PORN. Somewhere between a hard R/NC-17. Also, this was written while very drunk, sob)
He just keeps running. It's about all he can do at this point. Lelouch and Suzaku had run off in another direction a while ago, so at least they're safe -- but given the way that this thing is gaining on him, Elfangor is decidedly not.
If only he weren't so exhausted from fighting off what had felt like a hundred Taxxons... (Though realistically there had been more like forty of them. But when you have such a deep-set fear of something, they always seem to multiply.) His legs burn. His lungs burn. Everything burns.
And still, that thing is gaining on him.
But there is a particular burning that diverts his attention. Even as he continues to run run just keep fucking running damn it, he reaches back with one hand to his back, where the strange sensation is coming from. His hand comes away wet, the tacky substance sticking between his fingers. Confused and alarmed, he raises his hand to sniff at this substance.
In that moment, he wishes that Andalite senses were not so precise. Because in that substance? He is immediately able to identify an extremely high concentration of amphetamines and testosterone. That fucking thing has some how covered him with some sort of aphrodisiac. How...? But then, he recalls that horrible squelching sound it had made shortly before it had demolished his scoop.
Oh, god... Really?
If he presently had a gastrointestinal system, he'd have gagged. Instead, he just keeps running and hopes to hell that this creature stops gaining on him.
But of course, it's a futile hope; he can feel the fatigue gnawing at him, lurking in the corners of his mind, crawling into his very bones, and he knows his legs won't hold out for much longer. But all he needs is just a little bit longer, for there is a cave up ahead, that he's passed several times before in his grazing. It's too narrow to fit through in his current form, so he begins to morph human even as he continues to run, legs pounding against the dirt, propelling him onwards. (Still doesn't know HOW he's regained his Andalite form, but there's no time to question it, no thought to spare apart from the consuming fear and desperation to get away.)
He's at the mouth of the cave, hand braced against the stone as he's about to duck inside, when he feels something wrap around his ankle and yank, hard, enough to send him sprawling. His immediate concern is to get the Escafil device to safety, so he hurls his satchel into the cave. (Doesn't notice his Hitomi fall out.)
And then he's clawing at the dirt, grasping for any handhold, but there is nothing to grab onto but dying grass that crumbles between his fingers. He screams out when the tendril curled around his ankle starts climbing further up his leg.
"No! Fuck, get off!" Tries to kick it off, to no avail. Tries not to look at the creature, even as it looms over him.
It makes that roaring sound again, and dread pools in Elfangor's gut, because he knows what's coming. Even as he feels the mess from its earlier attack creeping into his system, he'd hoped that maybe he could fight it off, that maybe morphing would lessen the effects--
He clamps his eyes shut, but it does nothing to ward off the horrible, disgustingly warm fluid that is flung at him and sprayed all over his back. It sticks to his skin, thick and viscous. He shivers, but not from that. Well, not mostly. From the tendril that has already firmly latched onto his leg, crawled up further, and is now trying to prod its way under his morphing shorts. He reaches down, tries to shove it away (tries to ignore the sudden urge to give into whatever this this wants so long as it means more attention to his sensitized skin) but as soon as he does there are more tentacles -- pinning his arms to his sides, curling around his midsection and pulling him up off the ground, twisting around his thighs.
A low groan makes its way out of his throat, and he doesn't know whether it's out of horror at what is happening to him or out of a desperation for more, more contact, more anything. Possibly both. But the exhaustion from earlier paired now with the fucking aphrodisiac still clinging to his skin are making him delirious, leaving his head spinning and his breathing too rapid and him just not caring anymore, fuck, so long as this impossible need is satisfied, and then he can sleep for a week.
He's barely even aware of what's happening anymore, just that those damn tentacles are everywhere, and they've found their way into his pants, wrapped around him, and all he can do is moan and writhe and beg for release. One tentacle curls upward, circles his neck, before plunging into his mouth and he nearly chokes on it, shuddering. Keeps moaning, though the sounds are now muffled.
The tentacles around his thighs creep up under his pant legs, higher and higher, until--
Elfangor practically sobs and screams around the tentacle still in his mouth, trying to shove himself backwards, to impale himself on them harder, harder, fuck...! Doesn't know if he says it out loud, can't really say it out loud anyway. Doesn't care.
It starts as a low-level shudder, building, building impossibly high, the heat in his belly threading out to spread through every nerve -- just keeps thrusting back, almost there, more, more, so close, fuck --
And then his release is torn from him, a sharp scream ripping from his throat.
All of his energy gone, gone, can't move. Can't even muster the desire to move, to crawl away and hide in that goddamn cave mere feet away. The world around him almost seems to fade away into static, a strange low-level buzz of background noise, and he just watches idly from where he's sprawled in the dirt as the creature turns away, as if distracted. Doesn't understand at first, until he spots it through the trees: a horde of Yoma, chasing natives through the woods.
Once the thing has left, Elfangor notices his Hitomi.
He shoves his hand at it, blocking the feed, and shuts it off.
He just keeps running. It's about all he can do at this point. Lelouch and Suzaku had run off in another direction a while ago, so at least they're safe -- but given the way that this thing is gaining on him, Elfangor is decidedly not.
If only he weren't so exhausted from fighting off what had felt like a hundred Taxxons... (Though realistically there had been more like forty of them. But when you have such a deep-set fear of something, they always seem to multiply.) His legs burn. His lungs burn. Everything burns.
And still, that thing is gaining on him.
But there is a particular burning that diverts his attention. Even as he continues to run run just keep fucking running damn it, he reaches back with one hand to his back, where the strange sensation is coming from. His hand comes away wet, the tacky substance sticking between his fingers. Confused and alarmed, he raises his hand to sniff at this substance.
In that moment, he wishes that Andalite senses were not so precise. Because in that substance? He is immediately able to identify an extremely high concentration of amphetamines and testosterone. That fucking thing has some how covered him with some sort of aphrodisiac. How...? But then, he recalls that horrible squelching sound it had made shortly before it had demolished his scoop.
Oh, god... Really?
If he presently had a gastrointestinal system, he'd have gagged. Instead, he just keeps running and hopes to hell that this creature stops gaining on him.
But of course, it's a futile hope; he can feel the fatigue gnawing at him, lurking in the corners of his mind, crawling into his very bones, and he knows his legs won't hold out for much longer. But all he needs is just a little bit longer, for there is a cave up ahead, that he's passed several times before in his grazing. It's too narrow to fit through in his current form, so he begins to morph human even as he continues to run, legs pounding against the dirt, propelling him onwards. (Still doesn't know HOW he's regained his Andalite form, but there's no time to question it, no thought to spare apart from the consuming fear and desperation to get away.)
He's at the mouth of the cave, hand braced against the stone as he's about to duck inside, when he feels something wrap around his ankle and yank, hard, enough to send him sprawling. His immediate concern is to get the Escafil device to safety, so he hurls his satchel into the cave. (Doesn't notice his Hitomi fall out.)
And then he's clawing at the dirt, grasping for any handhold, but there is nothing to grab onto but dying grass that crumbles between his fingers. He screams out when the tendril curled around his ankle starts climbing further up his leg.
"No! Fuck, get off!" Tries to kick it off, to no avail. Tries not to look at the creature, even as it looms over him.
It makes that roaring sound again, and dread pools in Elfangor's gut, because he knows what's coming. Even as he feels the mess from its earlier attack creeping into his system, he'd hoped that maybe he could fight it off, that maybe morphing would lessen the effects--
He clamps his eyes shut, but it does nothing to ward off the horrible, disgustingly warm fluid that is flung at him and sprayed all over his back. It sticks to his skin, thick and viscous. He shivers, but not from that. Well, not mostly. From the tendril that has already firmly latched onto his leg, crawled up further, and is now trying to prod its way under his morphing shorts. He reaches down, tries to shove it away (tries to ignore the sudden urge to give into whatever this this wants so long as it means more attention to his sensitized skin) but as soon as he does there are more tentacles -- pinning his arms to his sides, curling around his midsection and pulling him up off the ground, twisting around his thighs.
A low groan makes its way out of his throat, and he doesn't know whether it's out of horror at what is happening to him or out of a desperation for more, more contact, more anything. Possibly both. But the exhaustion from earlier paired now with the fucking aphrodisiac still clinging to his skin are making him delirious, leaving his head spinning and his breathing too rapid and him just not caring anymore, fuck, so long as this impossible need is satisfied, and then he can sleep for a week.
He's barely even aware of what's happening anymore, just that those damn tentacles are everywhere, and they've found their way into his pants, wrapped around him, and all he can do is moan and writhe and beg for release. One tentacle curls upward, circles his neck, before plunging into his mouth and he nearly chokes on it, shuddering. Keeps moaning, though the sounds are now muffled.
The tentacles around his thighs creep up under his pant legs, higher and higher, until--
Elfangor practically sobs and screams around the tentacle still in his mouth, trying to shove himself backwards, to impale himself on them harder, harder, fuck...! Doesn't know if he says it out loud, can't really say it out loud anyway. Doesn't care.
It starts as a low-level shudder, building, building impossibly high, the heat in his belly threading out to spread through every nerve -- just keeps thrusting back, almost there, more, more, so close, fuck --
And then his release is torn from him, a sharp scream ripping from his throat.
All of his energy gone, gone, can't move. Can't even muster the desire to move, to crawl away and hide in that goddamn cave mere feet away. The world around him almost seems to fade away into static, a strange low-level buzz of background noise, and he just watches idly from where he's sprawled in the dirt as the creature turns away, as if distracted. Doesn't understand at first, until he spots it through the trees: a horde of Yoma, chasing natives through the woods.
Once the thing has left, Elfangor notices his Hitomi.
He shoves his hand at it, blocking the feed, and shuts it off.