Squishy Love

~ Written for Fledge. At her request. I had NOTHING to do with this. Except, you know, for writing it. And posting it. And admitting to it. Her fault.

No one ever ventured down to this part of the city, and John Sheppard had never figure out why. The large, open balcony wasn't all that far from the parts of the city they lived in, and it was an area already scouted and deemed safe.

As safe as the rest of the city, anyway.

But, quiet and secluded as it was, he'd never run across anyone else here. He found he rather liked that about it. He'd started coming down here whenever he could, standing alone in the quiet and taking in the view. The ocean was everything, here, with the rest of the city sweeping out behind him so that it could only be seen in the edges of his vision.

He had been here for only half an hour, tonight, and it was warm enough that he figured he could stay out here as long as he liked without needing to retreat to his quarters. Sheppard toyed with the idea of bringing a sleeping bag down here -- but figured he wouldn't be able to explain it, if anyone found him.

Instead, he'd just enjoy it while he could, and wonder why no one else seemed to like it here. The solitude, the ocean, the... large alien tentacle thing rising out of the ocean.

Sheppard didn't move. Couldn't, he found, when he tried the panicked fleeing thing. His legs didn't move an inch, and all he could do was stare as the tentacle waved slowly, drawing closer.

He did manage an 'eep' when it touched him. Oddly gentle, caressing his face like a blind man learning the curves of a new lover's skin.

Sheppard asked himself where the hell *that* metaphor had come from, as the tentacle moved down his neck. The touch wasn't smooth, for all it's gentleness. Sucker pads lifting bits of his skin as it moved, like... well, like sucker pads. Sticky and dozens of tiny... ok, he wasn't going to think 'mouths' but... he'd never felt anything like it before.

As the tentacle worked its way down his chest, he was insanely -- or sanely -- grateful for the fact he was wearing clothes. Feeling the tentacle touch his bare skin -- Sheppard swallowed as the tentacle reached his waist. Brushed across his hip, and groin, and was he *ever* glad there was no one here.

Although a rescue might not be out of order. He wouldn't even mind dying of embarrassment, or putting up with the jokes for the next five years, if it meant someone would come bursting through the doors with a gun, and scare this tentacle thing away from him.

He changed his mind immediately when the tentacle moved back to his waist and slipped under his shirt. Dear god, he prayed, please let NO ONE see this. He offered every penance he could think of, from giving up beer to being nice to Elizabeth for a week. The tentacle continued exploring him, this time sucker-pad-to-skin contact making him wish he could move enough to shiver.

Or run like hell. Because the tiny, gentle, sucking mouth sensations on his skin were making him feel things a person did NOT feel when confronted with a huge alien tentacle.

The phallic symbolism wasn't lost on him. But he wished he could pretend this was a dream brought on by not enough sex. Trouble with that was it would mean he wasn't getting enough *gay* sex, and that was pretty much not possible. The reason he escaped down here was to get a break from the three guys he bed-hopped with.

Not to mention the jerking off sessions in the communal shower.

The tentacle had found its way into his pants, and Sheppard closed his eyes. He was NOT enjoying this. He wasn't. He repeated the litany to himself even as the tentacle brushed the tip of his very hard cock. It seemed to have realised that it had found its goal, because it stopped searching his body and stayed right where it was. Fondling him, pulling at his skin with its tiny, alien sucker pads that made Sheppard wish he'd eaten the octopus that one time Gregg had taken him to the sushi restaurant.

The tentacle pulled his cock free of his underwear and wrapped itself around him. He couldn't gasp -- couldn't move, still, frozen in place by god knew what alien mind control. It pulled at him, jerking him off as though it had been trained, or evolved, for just this purpose.

Despite himself, Sheppard was quickly getting close to coming. He tried closing his eyes and thinking that Carson was just really more kinky than he'd lead everyone to believe. Or maybe Rodney had developed a glove that mimicked the sensations of a huge alien tentacle, so they could... what, indulge in secret fantasies about having sex with squids?

His cock didn't seem to care about the cause of the sensations, and pretty soon he was being grateful all over again that he couldn't move -- couldn't scream, despite feeling it in the back of his throat. The orgasm shook him, and he hoped that he wouldn't have to walk back to his quarters covered in his own ejaculate.

The tentacle wrapped itself over him, like a tender lover tucking him into bed. He looked down -- he could move! -- and saw that it had cleaned him off. Quickly, he pulled his pants closed and moved away from the edge of the balcony.

The tentacle slipped out of sight, and Sheppard took two seconds to debate reporting the presence of an alien lifeform near the city.

Hell no.

He turned and hurried back to his room, and thought about giving a nice, normal, vanilla blowjob to... whoever he found first.