MORE MPREG BROUGHT TO YOU BY BECCA
John had let Lestrade know that they wouldn't be available. Sherlock let Mycroft know that he'd put a lot more effort into sabotaging his diet if he interrupted them. Mycroft (John suspected) let Moriarty know that any attempts on either of them would bring his game with Sherlock to an abrupt end. Mrs Hudson already knew, and Harry was out of contact anyway. They had successfully arranged to be left alone while they found out just how compatible their mating cycles were. They seemed to have thought of everything. So, of course, something happened that they hadn't planned for... John writhed on the bed, unable to speak, tentacles firmly wound with Sherlock's own and probing with abandon. He'd never been with one of his own kind before (not counting the time that got him infected); he knew that it happened, but tentacanthropes didn't exactly walk around with signs hung around their necks saying 'Tentacanthrope here!', and he'd never been in a situation to meet any who were interested in him. He'd never felt another set of tentacles pulsing against his own, sliding around his and inside him and taste/touching him everywhere while he did the same back. He couldn't have imagined how good it felt, how much it meant, how special it was... Besides, there was something special anyway about being with someone who you'd infected yourself, he thought muzzily, and thank God Sherlock had wanted it or that would have been a horrible thing to think. He thrust up, tentacles holding him and Sherlock firmly together. Neither of them had wanted to penetrate the other with anything more than tentacles this time - He wanted - he wanted - Sherlock wrapped his lips and tongue around the tentacle in his mouth, sucking determinedly - He lost the thought in a starburst of white behind his eyes, and slumped on the bed, mind utterly blank. His tentacles worked Sherlock's body with a sudden urgency until Sherlock gave a muffled yell and came all over John, his come mixing with John's own. Sherlock looked as mindless as John, his keen attention due to habit instead of intent. They both watched as one of the small tendrils surrounding John's penis soaked up the fluid around it, detached itself, and crawled up to John's navel, where it burrowed in. John smiled crookedly at Sherlock and curled up around him, already drifting to sleep. He almost made it before his mind came back on line. "WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED?!" "Ah." Sherlock blinked at him. "I take it you haven't studied the less obvious alterations to our anatomy, then." "Less obvious -?" John burrowed desperately into his memories, searching for something, anything, that would explain why he was happy about a tentacle burying itself inside his stomach - "Wrong, by the way." Attempt at a panic attack disrupted, John blinked at Sherlock with a weary, 'I know having to ask proves I'm stupid, but why?' expression. Sherlock was fascinated by just how much John could say with such minute changes to his expression. "Where did it - oh. Oh. Oh, bloody hell!" Clearly John had finally remembered. Sherlock smiled slightly, patting at John's stomach. "The physical alterations involved in tentacanthropy are truly fascinating. Internal organs rearranged, not only to provide space for the tentacles themselves, but also to make room for the development of a functional uterus which can be reached through the navel, which itself is altered to become an involuntary sphincter which will only loosen under specific circumstances to allow the entrance of a -" "I'm pregnant." "For the past minute or so. Yes. The tentacle which absorbed our genetic material will act as an ovum, providing the necessary cellular structure to combine our contributions into a healthy embryo, which should develop along similar lines to that of a regular homo sapiens, leading to your giving birth - by Caesarian, I'm assuming - at approximately nine months from now, all going well." Sherlock grinned at John. "Isn't it brilliant?" John heaved a deep sigh, and pulled Sherlock down on top of him. "How come I'm the one who's pregnant, anyway?" he grumbled, pretending to be more angry than he was. "Honestly, John, do you really fancy trying to explain to Mycroft that you just knocked me up?" John froze, and shuddered. "Sherlock. Don't scare me like that while I'm pregnant." He didn't argue as Sherlock arranged himself in yet another uncomfortable position (apparently, it was for an experiment. Somehow, John found himself utterly unsurprised by that news). John chuckled suddenly. "What?" "Next time Anderson says something, I can smack him a right one and blame it on the baby hormones." "Babies don't typically have - ah. Yes. Yes, you can, can't you?" Sherlock's voice turned thoughtful, and John raised an eyebrow at him. "You get to give our kid a brother or sister." Sherlock sniffed. "Naturally. Once I've observed your own pregnancy, I'll be in the best possible position to make use of personal observations on the experience." "Christ, never talk like that in front of the kids! They don't need to hear that one of their dads thinks of them as a science project!" Sherlock looked slightly confused. "I don't think of our children as a science project. I think of the pregnancies as a science project. I assure you, the two are vastly different." John rolled his eyes. "Remind me in the morning why I think having children with you is a good idea." "First of all -" "In the morning, Sherlock."
