#tentaspy

——

Introduction

[...]

“I can’t control him, Ingénieur, not anymore.”

Scout froze, pressing himself against the wall and straining to hear more. That sounded like a Spy, with that Frenchy word thrown in there, but that wasn’t Spy’s voice, or the RED Spy’s. It was throatier, deeper, and the accent wasn’t as strong.

“Y’think he’s gettin’ t’be too dangerous?” That was Engie. Scout had been sure he was in his workshop; that’s where he usually was this late. What was he doing down here, talking to a strange Spy in the sewers? Scout cautiously descended another couple steps. He could hear something moving in the water, splashing and sloshing, and there was a heavy sigh.

“I do not know.” The deep-voiced Spy sounded resigned. “I have to pity him, somewhat, but he barely bothers with the slightest pretense of humanity anymore. If it didn’t help him get what he wanted, I doubt he would even bother with speech. I don’t want to have to kill him, but…”

“If he’s really as far gone as yer sayin’, it won’t be long before there’s more incidents like today, and it won’t be up ta us no more,” Engie said. “It’s only pure damn luck no one saw him today, and that Scout was too hazy ta make anythin’ a’what happened.”

Scout jerked and almost slipped down the last few stairs. Was Engie talking about what had happened in the moat during the fight today? He still wasn’t sure what to make of those few frantic minutes underwater, but it sounded like Engie had at least some idea. He swallowed hard and peeked around the edge of the wall, turning the bill of his cap backward so it wouldn’t give him away.

Engie was sitting beside the sewer channel, still wearing his hardhat but leaving his goggles hanging loose around his neck. Scout blinked. He was talking to a Spy. It wasn’t the RED or BLU Spy, but he wore the same tight balaclava, dark gloves, and impeccable suit coat and tie. Everything he wore was blue, but a significantly darker shade than what the BLU Spy wore, and it had a strange shine to it, like it was made of some kind of plastic. He was also submerged in the sewer almost to his chest, leaning on arms folded at the concrete edge of the channel.

Scout narrowed his eyes and started to lean further as the Spy said, “You’re sure he doesn’t know what happened? I was sure he saw me, in the midst of it all.”

Engie shook his head. “Nah, I’m sure. He wasn’t chewin’ everyone’s ears off about seein’ somethin’ weird, or screamin’ about monsters, which is enough evidence in itself with him. Even if he did see ya, I doubt it woulda stuck. The poor kid was in the drink fer a good three minutes, more’n half of it underwater; spewed up a metric ton a’that shit yer swimmin’ in after I pulled him out.”

“You know it is filtered; don’t be crass,” the Spy said, propping his chin on a hand with a sigh. Scout saw the water shifting around his unseen legs. “I suppose killing Rosso really is the only option, unless you can devise some kind of system to keep him penned up. Though, I do have to worry about the precedent killing him would set regarding my own continued existence.”

“I’m not gonna turn on ya, Ten,” Engie said, frowning. Scout snuck forward, creeping a few steps in the shadows along the wall; there was something weird about that movement under the water…

“Oh oui? And can you speak for Azul as well? We both know he would as gladly see me strung up from a fishing hook as Rosso.” The water churned and a lithely twisting… something emerged from it to flick lazily in the air. “These are already enough for him to-”

Scout screamed. The sound ripped its way free before he could stop it, not that he had a thought of doing so. The thing had darted back under the water, but Scout had gotten an all-too-clear look at what it was. Both Engie and the Spy’s faces turned to him, bearing identical expressions of horror. They matched the cold fear that had speared into Scout’s gut. He could only stare, locked in place by terrified disbelief, at the shadowy writhing mass in the water below the Spy. The mass of tentacles.

His heart thundered in his ears. His  mind raced but his body was frozen. There was no way he was seeing- There was no way in Hell-

“Scout, son, take it easy now,” Engie said. He started getting slowly to his feet. “Just relax and gimme a chance ta-”

He took a step forward and Scout’s paralysis broke. Engie shouted for him to wait as he took one, two leaping strides back toward the stairs. Then something slammed into his back.

It landed on top of him as he crashed to the floor, pinning him completely from the waist down. He took in a breath for another scream, but a damp, gloved hand slapped over his mouth to muffle the cry. He tried to swing back with his elbows, arms flailing in a frantic attempt to make contact, but another hand gripped his left wrist, pressing it to the floor. His right wrist was encircled and held in place by a cool, smoothly fleshed, wet, purple tentacle.

He screamed again in spite of the hand over his mouth and thrashed desperately, panicked adrenaline lending strength to his squirming. He could hear Engie pleading for him to relax, calm down, hear him out, but he could also feel those things, writhing and sliding over his legs and torso, thick boneless limbs wrapping around him and stilling his frenzied movement. God, he was gonna get eaten by a monster! He was gonna get eaten by a fucking tentacled Spy monster! Respawn could bring them back from some pretty horrific shit, but he had a feeling being digested might be a little too much for the system to handle. Scout whimpered, eyes squeezed shut and every muscle tensed in preparation for some kind of fatal pain that he was sure was coming.

As soon as he was fully immobilised, however, everything stopped. His heart was still hammering and his breaths came in fast, shallow pants, but the hands and tentacles held steady once he was unable to move. They restrained him, but made no move to tighten, or to tear him limb from limb. 

“Scout?” Engie’s hand touched his shoulder and he flinched away as far as the gripping tentacles allowed. “Scout, if Ten lets ya up, are ya gonna start hollerin’ again?”

It took a long moment for Scout to shake his head, but the hands holding him withdrew as soon as he did. The tentacles took longer to pull away, and Scout shuddered as he felt them uncoiling from around his arms and legs and chest. He pushed himself shakily to his hands and knees as the weight on his legs shifted away, and he squeezed his eyes shut again after he caught sight of small, round red marks circling his right wrist.

“Engie?” he whimpered, and he felt the hand on his shoulder again. “Don’t let it eat me.”

Engie sighed and gave his shoulder a pat. “Ten’s not gonna eatcha, son, I promise. Here, open yer eyes and sit, we’ll getcha introduced proper. It’s alright.”

Scout hesitated, but he slowly opened his eyes and shifted so he could sit. He followed Engie’s gentle urging to scoot closer to the sewer channel, but by the time he was settled, he had yet to actually look up. Engie patted his back, and gestured, in Scout’s lowered eyeline, toward the channel edge.

“Scout, this here is Tennyson,” he said, “and he’s a Tentaspy.”

The strange, frankly ridiculous moniker finally made Scout look up. And stare. Sitting at the edge of the channel was a Spy not so unlike the others Scout had seen. He was looking at Scout with a warm smile, not an expression he’d expect to see on any Spy, but he still looked as immaculate, sophisticated, and inherently unknowable as any of the other sneaky backstabbers Scout had known. Except for the tentacles. Oh, the tentacles.

Scout was able to count ten, some as thick around as his thigh while others were only as wide as his wrist. He’d thought them purple in his earlier panic, but while there was a distinct purplish tinge to them, they were in truth a deep blue, with subtle rings and streaks in lighter shades. The underside of each was a lighter blue still, with fleshy suction pads spaced evenly along them. They seemed to be constantly in motion, curling around each other, clinging to the channel wall, and swirling idly through the water, each with a mind of its own.

“I am sorry for the tackle,” Tennyson said, drawing Scout’s eyes to his face. He could see through the gaps in the mask that the… Tentaspy was extremely pale, and—his stomach lurched—a few of his teeth came to defined points. “I’m afraid the need for secrecy outweighed any desire for tact. I’m usually much more polite.”

“Polite? Ya got tentacles! I thought you were gonna eat me!” Scout said. He still wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t going to end up as this creature’s late-night snack.

Engie sighed again and took a seat beside Scout, turning his cap around and pulling the bill down over his face. “Ya shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, son. I’ve known Ten fer years and he’s never even tried for a nibble. He’s just as human as anyone you’d meet upstairs, and significantly better company than most.”

“I’m flattered that you consider me more pleasant than the jar man, the drunk, and the mumbling pyromaniac. It speaks so highly of my character,” Tennyson said drily. Scout jumped, wide eyed, when the tip of one of the more slender tentacles reached out and pushed the bill of his cap back up. “It is true, though. I am a Spy, first and foremost. I was not always like this, and I do not intend to forsake my humanity and manners just because of a few extra limbs.” Tennyson smiled at Scout, friendly despite his monstrous features. “You have nothing to fear from me.”

“Ya used t’be normal?” Scout said, watching as the tentacle that had tipped his hat coiled around another, thicker one, like a vine climbing a tree. His panic was fading faster than he could’ve hoped, and curiosity was starting to rear its head again. After all, how many other guys with tentacles for legs had he met?

Tennyson nodded. “Oui, I was a Spy with BLU for… Oh, how long was it before all this nonsense?”

He directed the question at Engie, who shrugged. “Eh, y’been like this fer a good two years, so… Four before that, maybe?”

“Merde, that makes me feel old,” Tennyson said, rubbing his eyes with a sigh. “But, yes, I was a Spy with BLU for several years. Nothing especially eventful occurred during that time, just the usual day-in, day-out bloody madness. But one year, when I was called in for my physical, I was given an injection and dragged off to Dieu sait où, strapped to a gurney and higher than a kite. Apparently our contracts contain some very unfortunate clauses that I had overlooked before I signed, regarding certain permissions for experimentation of various sorts. So the RED Spy and I spent a number of wonderful, agonizing months having our limbs and genetics rearranged until the companies tired of playing with us and we were left with what you see here.”

“Whoa, wait, so there’s another one a’you?”

Tennyson took in Scout’s shock with a shrug. “Unfortunately. Rosso did not handle the experiments nearly so well as I did. He is the one that attacked you earlier today.”

Scout blinked. So something had happened in the moat today! He knew it! “I thought I could feel somethin’ pullin’ me down, after I fell into the moat. I thought I was goin’ crazy.”

“Oui, that was him,” Tennyson said. “We are supposed to stay out of sight. A few members of each team were made aware of us when we were dumped back here-” He nodded to Engie. “-but it is otherwise supposed to be as if we do not exist.

“Rosso, however… He decided that if he appears a monster, he should be a monster. Until today, it was always just taunting, brushing against someone’s legs as they walked by or mimicking people’s voices from out of sight. Him grabbing you, it’s the first time he’s actually attacked anyone. He’s becoming more aggressive, more predatory. I don’t like thinking of what he might have done today if I hadn’t chased him off.”

Scout shuddered and said, “Yeah, almost drownin’ me was bad enough.”

[...]

——

Ten/Scout Snuggles

Scout woke up choking as he expelled grimy water from his lungs for the fourth time since his arrival at TwoFort. Hard coughs wracked his body, and gentle hands rolled him onto his side just in time for him to throw up what felt like everything he’d eaten in the past month. He could feel water and snot dribbling from his nostrils, and his clothes clung to his skin in a wetly unpleasant way. Fuck, he was starting to get really sick of this.

A hand rubbed up and down along his spine as he continued hacking up water, and he shuddered when another brushed a few wet strands of hair back from his face. “That’s right, petit, get it all out. It’s alright.”

“Ten?” Scout tried to look back over his shoulder, but another wave of coughs had him curling around his stomach and protesting abdominal muscles.

“Oui, mon petit.” A thin tentacle snaked out to lay against the back of his hand, giving it a pat. “We really need to stop seeing each other this way, as attractive as it is watching you cough up half the moat.”

“Ugh, trust me, I’m not tryin’,” Scout said, rolling onto his back with a groan. “Fuck. I gotta learn t’swim better.”

“That would probably be helpful,” Tennyson said, smiling down at him. “How on Earth did you manage to end up down here this time?”

Scout sat up with another groan, leaning forward and swiping under his nose with the back of a hand. “Sniper ’n’ Demo, the fuckers. Tangled me all up in my shirt and then pushed me in. By the time I got my shirt pushed back down and my arms free, things were already startin’ t’get a li’l fuzzy.”

“Salauds,” Tennyson growled, lips quirking up in a snarl. “Sometimes I think… But no. No. Are you feeling alright now? Can you walk?”

Scout blinked. There had been almost a note of possessiveness in Tennyson’s voice. It had been brief, but fierce. He shook his head, and using Tennyson’s shoulder as support, he was able to push himself to his feet. He wobbled a little, but kept his balance. He coughed and plucked at his shirt, grimacing when it clung to his skin.

“I guess I should go get changed,” he grumbled, wringing out an edge of the garment. “How long was I under? Demo and Sniper should be gone by now, right?”

Tennyson frowned as Scout coughed again and spat. He said, “Perhaps, but I am not sure I want to let you head back up there just to fish you out again in a few hours.” He slipped into the sewer channel and shrugged. “You can come to the den if you’d like. No one will bother you there, and I doubt I have anything quite your size, but there should be something dry for you to put on, at least.”

A wide grin swept across Scout’s face. He didn’t like imposing on the quiet Tentaspy, but he loved his chances to visit the cozy little home Tennyson had made for himself beneath the base. It was warm and homey, and his bed was freakin’ awesome, and no one bugged him down there. Engie came down sometimes, but usually it was just him and Ten, chatting and hanging out.

“Yeah, cool! That’d be cool. I mean, anythin’ would be better’n this wet shit,” Scout said, following along the channel edge as Tennyson started swimming deeper into the sewer. He cocked his head, frowning curiously. “How d’you keep all your stuff dry? Yer in the water, like, all the time.”

Tennyson rolled and continued swimming along on his back; the rhythmic, flowing motions of his tentacles as they pushed him along were mesmerising.

“I have Engineer to thank for that,” he said, holding up a hand to examine his glove and sleeve. “It is a special waterproof coating he developed. Originally it was supposed to be for his sentries, but he couldn’t find a way to make it adhere to metal or plastic. It works perfectly well on fabric, though, and leather. I have to have him renew it every few months, but it is more than worth the small inconvenience.”

“I wonder if he coated me in it, I’d float better,” Scout said, and Tennyson snorted so roughly he sank for a second before recovering himself.

[...]

“Here.” A mass of pale blue fabric hit Scout in the face. “It is too large, but it’s dry and clean, I promise.”

Scout held the enormous shirt out in front of him and raised an eyebrow. It was definitely a Heavy’s shirt, at least five times larger than what Scout would ever need, no matter how many pounds he packed on. Still, what Tennyson had said was true: it was dry and smelled heavily of the generic laundry soap BLU always sent them. It was warm, too; it must have been sitting near the heater.

Scout considered finding a corner to change in, but then just threw on the oversized shirt over what he already wore, wriggling out of his own clothes while hidden beneath its massive folds. The dry shirt had a neck hole nearly large enough to fit over both of Scout’s shoulders and it hung down past his knees at the lower hem, giving him more than enough privacy. He peeled off his socks with a grimace and stepped away from the soggy pile containing his uniform, holding up the hem of the shirt like a dress to avoid touching the wet fabric.

“This thing is fuckin’ huge,” he said with a snort, spinning in a tight circle and watching the t-shirt fan around him. “Seriously, how big was the Heavy y’got this from?”

Tennyson, reclining on a stack of pillows in his nest, chuckled. “That one is from a mis-order, thankfully; I can’t imagine having to face down a Heavy that large. It’s never been worn, you should be happy to know. Engineer gave me a whole crate of them that came in with one supply order that someone had let Demo fill out the paperwork for.” He smirked. “That was a good month. Engineer ‘confiscated’ a few of the extra cases of whisky for me.”

Scout laughed and crawled up into the nest, forming a pocket for himself next to Tennyson and padding it with a big fleecy blanket he’d found on one of his previous visits, and several of the squishier pillows in the Tentaspy’s collection. He’d contemplated pilfering a few items more than once—everything he’d found in the massive pile was far superior to the starchy linens BLU provided—but he always ended up just snuggling in and enjoying the simple, warm comfort. Tennyson seemed happy to share his nest; Scout had noticed that some of his favourite items tended to migrate to the top of the pile whenever he was around. He sighed happily and pulled another comforter, this one thick and down-filled, over him up to his chin.

“You have the best fuckin’ bed, man, seriously,” he said. “Almost makes gettin’ dunked so often worth it. So warm ’n’ comfy, and you can just sprawl out as much as y’want.”

Tennyson let out another chuckle, and Scout watched, fascinated, as he stretched. His tentacles uncoiled to their fullest extent, a few of the smaller ones trembling, before they all at once fell into a limp pile and resumed their usual languid slithering. Scout hadn’t realized before quite how long they were. Two of the thickest—the ones that Scout privately considered Tennyson’s “legs”—were almost as long as Scout himself was tall.

“It is nice having the extra room,” Tennyson said with a contented sigh. He folded one arm behind his head, and Scout blinked when the other hand started brushing softly through his damp hair. He’d grown used to the Tentaspy being more physically affectionate than most other people he’d met—probably a side effect of spending so much time alone—but Ten had never… petted him before. It sent shivers across his scalp and down his spine. He snuggled deeper into the blankets, but didn’t retreat from the gently stroking hand.

“Yeah, s’nice,” he murmured. Now warm and dry and comfortable, he was starting to feel tired. Not sleepy—his mind was still awake and aware, though it was mainly focused on how comfortable he felt—but physically tired. He had almost drowned again, not that long ago. Strange as it was, he’d almost forgotten. It seemed like it had been hours.

It amazed him how quickly being in Tennyson’s den had pushed the brief but intense earlier stresses away. As was always the case, as soon as the door closed, he felt safe. No, not just safe. Protected. He remembered the Tentaspy’s flash of anger when he’d told him how he’d ended up in the moat, directed entirely at the ones who’d done him harm. Maybe it wasn’t just the den, then. 

It was baffling to him. Tennyson seemed to genuinely want to look after him, and took an interest in the mundane details of his life and his well-being. Engie looked out for him, sure, on and off the field, but he wasn’t used to this degree of care. Tennyson talked to him without being pestered into it, and even asked after him when he wasn’t there—Engie had mentioned Tennyson asking about him on several occasions. He’d saved him from drowning three times, and repeatedly saved him from Rosso, in spite of the injuries he unfailingly received in the process.

The blankets shifted and Scout blinked drowsily. Something solid was trying to snake its way into the cocoon he’d constructed. A smile twitched his lips, and he slowly lifted the blankets. The warm weight of one of Tennyson’s tentacles slid up across his hip before settling lightly around his waist. Tennyson seemed unaware of the limb’s movement; he was lying back with his eyes closed, his hand still absent-mindedly carding through Scout’s hair. Scout smiled and hummed low in the back of his throat, shuffling closer to where the Tentaspy was sprawled.

Then he whined when the tentacle suddenly withdrew, along with the hand on his head. He felt Tennyson tense slightly, matching his shuffling closer with a scoot in the opposite direction.

“I’m sorry, petit, I didn’t realize I was-”

Tennyson quieted when Scout wriggled his way across the pillows and blankets, and snuggled up firmly against his side. Scout smiled when the hand returned to his head and a pair of tentacles coiled loosely around his middle.

“Yer real warm. And comfy,” he said, nuzzling into Tennyson’s broad chest and hitching the collar of the too-big shirt higher up on his shoulder. He felt Tennyson’s light laugh rumble against his cheek, and another pair of tentacles pulled his blanket back up around him.

“Ah, I see,” the Tentaspy said. His fingers brushed across the shell of Scout’s ear, making him shiver. “I suppose I am just not used to having you be so… cuddly.”

“Hey, m’cuddly as fuck. Like a teddy bear’r some shit,” Scout murmured, wrapping an arm around Tennyson’s waist. Or trying to. “Jesus, Ten, how fuckin’ big’re you? I can’t even reach…”

Tennyson gasped dramatically. “So cruel, petit! How could you, when I’m so clearly sensitive about my dainty figure!”

Scout rolled his eyes and fisted the Tentaspy in the shortribs. “Aw, fuck off drama queen, I’m serious. Y’ain’t fat or nothin’, but… I mean, lookit that.”

He laid his hand on top of Tennyson’s, lining it up at their wrists. None of his fingertips reached even as far as the second joint of Tennyson’s fingers, and Tennyson’s palm was almost half as wide again as his. There were the same slender proportions, but the Tentaspy’s hand was undeniably larger by far. He lifted it to lay over Scout’s, enveloping it entirely.

“Yes, yes, I know what you mean. I honestly thought you’d noticed long ago,” he said, smiling.

“Never really registered, I guess,” Scout said. “T’be fair, the tentacles kinda pull focus.”

“Mmm, that is true.” Tennyson lifted one of the appendages, and Scout snorted when it poked him on the tip of his nose. “It doesn’t help that they have a mind of their own half the time.”

Scout returned the tentacle’s poke and laughed when it coiled around his hand. “They really just do their own thing? I mean, I noticed they’re always, like, movin’ around and stuff, but I just figured you was, I dunno, stretchin’ or somethin’.”

“Well, obviously I can control them if I choose, but if I am not paying attention, they tend to wander,” Tennyson said. He shrugged. “Sometimes it is just kind of fidgeting, others it is kind of like subconscious multi-tasking, where they’ll do something I hadn’t even realized I was thinking of doing.”

“Like gettin’ all cozy with me?” Scout said with a smirk. One of the tentacles draped over his waist had started stroking the small of his back while Tennyson had been speaking. It felt a little weird, kinda… intimate, but it felt good, more than anything. Relaxing. Tennyson blinked and Scout felt the stroking tentacle twitch before resuming its gentle sweeping.

“Oui, like getting cozy. So long as you don’t mind?” the Tentaspy said slowly, as if unsure. Scout looked up at him; he seemed nervous, maybe even a little worried. That wasn’t like him. He could be quiet, sometimes even shy, but Scout couldn’t remember seeing him nervous since their first, uncertain meeting months ago.

Scout shifted up in the nest so he could curl up against Tennyson, head coming to rest on his shoulder and an arm stretching across his chest. He smiled when the tentacles hesitantly followed, curling back around his waist and twining comfortably around his wrist.

“S’all good,” he said. He could feel heat suffusing his cheeks and he nuzzled into Ten’s jacket. “I mean, as long as yer not gonna start explorin’ under this tent I’m wearing, it’s all good.” He hesitated, but smiled and said, “It’s real nice, just bein’ able t’cuddle up. I missed cuddlin’, bein’ out here.”

Tennyson chuckled. “I must say again, I wasn’t expecting it from you. The badass boy from Boston, just looking for a chance to snuggle.”

“Hey, badasses need to snuggle too,” Scout said.

[...]

——

Caught

[...]

Scout didn’t wait for the RED Engineer’s corpse to fall before he started moving, but he was still too slow. He was able to bark out a curse before his feet were yanked out from under him and he smacked into the concrete, his remaining breath leaving him in a whoosh. His shirt rucked up around his chest as he was dragged back along the floor. He scrambled, gasping, to draw his bat or his pistol, anything, but he knew, even before the tight coiling pressure encircled and immobilized his arms, that he had no chance.

He’d barely regained his breath when the world spun and he found himself dangling, upside-down, before an unpleasantly familiar face.

“I was wondering how long it would be before I got hold of you again.” Rosso’s teeth were filed, all of them, not just a few naturally pointed like Tennyson’s. They were all on full display; Scout had never seen a grin look so horrifying. “Mmm, petit morceau. I’m going to enjoy playing with you.”

Scout took in a breath to shout, but was muffled as a slick maroon tentacle engulfed his head. His stomach and heart lurched. His nose was free to breathe, but that was all. He couldn’t see, and he felt suction pads fluttering against and plucking at his hair and cheeks and brow. He had a brief thought for how often he’d assured Tennyson and Engie that he could handle himself before blind panic took over.

He thrashed and kicked frantically until, like his arms, his legs were tightly wrapped and stilled. He strained against the smooth hold, but the tentacles’ slickness belied their pure, muscular strength. He could manage only the slightest twitches, and even that was restrained when another tentacle, longer and thicker, enfolded his entire torso in its grip.

 His constrained muscles jerked, desperate to pull away from the restrictive pressure, and his stomach roiled at the unfamiliar, slimy slide of the tentacles across his skin. Tennyson’s tentacles were smooth, yes, and often damp, but the ooziness now enveloping him felt unnatural and just fucking gross. He wanted to scream, but kept his lips clamped shut; the thought of getting any of that slime in his mouth made him want to gag.

He was dimly aware that he was being moved before he slammed into something solid, the impact barely cushioned by Rosso’s tentacles. His head was starting to throb; he was still upside-down. The tentacle around it uncoiled enough for him to see, though it tightened around the lower half of his face as it did. He was being pressed against the wall, suspended more than a foot above the floor. Rosso hung before him, a few tentacles wrapped around the pipes running along the ceiling to support him while the others maintained their hold on Scout. He still wore that horrifying grin.

“What to do, what to do,” Rosso purred, cocking his head and running a fingertip up and down Scout’s cheek. Scout shuddered and tried to jerk away. Rosso didn’t wear gloves, and his nails were sharpened claws. “I am hungry, and you smell…”

He gripped Scout’s hair to draw himself in and he inhaled deeply. He licked his lips, and Scout squeezed his eyes shut. The sight of the uncannily long, dark tongue made his stomach give another lurch. Rosso chuckled beside his ear, a rumbling, sinister sound.

“Délicieux… But to use you up all at once, it seems like such a waste. A strong, resilient, young body like yours…” The tentacle around his torso squeezed until his ribs creaked, the suction pads clinging to his skin. “I wonder how much punishment it can take.”

Scout couldn’t fight a scream as sharp pain erupted in his shoulder, a dozen jagged points tearing deep into the skin and muscle at the juncture of his neck. He barely had time to register the vile, rotted-metallic taste that flooded his mouth, or the fact that Rosso had bitten him holy fucking God, before he was flying across the room. His first bounce when he came back to earth sent the air once again rushing from his lungs, and he was choking and spluttering as he skidded to a stop against another wall.

He didn’t even look for Rosso. He could see the stairs leading up into the RED base, a meagre ten feet away. Even getting blown away by the Reds would be better than whatever Rosso would do to him. Gasping, he lurched to his feet, trying to ignore the pain radiating from his shoulder.

And he promptly collapsed on his face, his legs refusing to hold his weight.

His heart gave another terrified jerk as he tried to get his arms and legs under him, but it felt as if he were trying to support himself on wet noodles; he couldn’t even make it to his knees before he hit the floor again. Moving his limbs felt like trying to drag a cart full of Heavies up a steep hill. His chest was tight with panic as he tried, and failed, to force his body to move. What the fuck-

A tentacle took a tight grip on his ankle, and he let out a breathy wail as he was once again dragged across the floor. His voice was so weak. What the fuck! Why couldn’t he yell? Why couldn’t he move?

Rosso’s darkly satisfied chuckle rolled through the room, and a large hand gripped the bunched back of Scout’s t-shirt, effortlessly lifting him. “Feeling nice and limp, morceau?” He shook Scout, like a dog worrying a rat. “Tennyson never warned you, did he? Didn’t want to frighten you away?”

He lifted Scout higher, so he could look into his face. A tentacle tipped up his limply hanging head. Rosso still wore that terrible grin, now tinged bloody red. “Paralyzing venom. Useful, non? I would usually prefer a little struggle, but you are a quick little rabbit and we wouldn’t want you getting away, now would we?”

Scout tried—God, did he try—to wrench himself out of Rosso’s grip. He may as well have tried to take flight. He couldn’t move anything. He had a feeling that he’d be drooling if not for his panicked breaths drying his mouth. Blinking was the extent of what he could manage. He could still feel everything—his shoulder was a blaze of pain and everything else felt bruised after his multiple collisions with the concrete—but he was floppy as a ragdoll in the Tentaspy’s hold.

Rosso gave him another shake, and chuckled again. A thick tentacle wound around his chest, snaking under his armpits and holding him upright as Rosso tugged his shirt away. A weak whimper pushed out of his throat, barely audible even to his own ears, as a clawed fingertip drew its way up from his navel to the center of his chest, applying just enough pressure to leave a vivid red line in his skin.

“Look at that. So soft and smooth. Barely a single scar,” Rosso said, drawing more light scratches perpendicular to the first, tracing the lines of his pectorals and abs. “Tennyson truly is a fool for not marking you sooner.”

A squeak that would have otherwise been a scream passed Scout’s lips as Rosso drew a single, deep furrow across his sternum. It burned, a line of white heat across his chest, and he could feel the hot blood sheeting down his front. He couldn’t lift his head, so he watched as the crimson stained his pale belly and started soaking into the waistband of his pants. It was almost as sickening as the sliminess of Rosso’s tentacles still sliding across his skin, and his stomach gave a painful, nauseated lurch when he saw Rosso’s fingers tracing through the slow flood of red.

[...]

“I c’n walk,” Scout murmured, trying to push himself up from Tennyson’s back. “I think the venom’s gone; I c’n-”

A thick tentacle gently but firmly pressed him back down, and another encircled his waist to hold him in place. His heart gave an uncomfortably heavy thud, but the stark difference between that gentle hold and Rosso’s implacable grip sent a shiver of relief up his spine. He was okay, he was safe. Engie was keeping Rosso across the moat and Tennyson was bringing him to the den. He was safe.

“You are going to move as little as possible until we clean and patch up those gashes,” Tennyson said, pulling himself out of the channel with three of his tentacles gently holding Scout against his back. “Did he bite you?”

Scout grunted, rolling his still-throbbing shoulder. “Yeah. Said he’s got some kinda paralyzin’ venom. S’how he was able to do most a’the damage; I couldn’t move…”

He shuddered, curling up against Tennyson’s broad back. One of the tentacles holding him shifted to stroke up and down his spine as Tennyson let them into the den, closing the door firmly behind them.

“You’re safe now, petit,” he said, smiling over his shoulder. He crawled across the room to his nest. “I have more than enough supplies here to take care of you.”

He started searching one of his shelves nearest the nest, and Scout couldn’t help but giggle as several tentacles carefully transferred him from Tennyson’s back to the mass of blankets, seemingly without the Tentaspy being aware. Some twined around him to keep him steady while others cradled his legs, back, and head, shifting to keep him mostly level until they set him down. Several didn’t pull away even after he was settled, stroking across his shoulders and arms like a fretful mother; another was stroking his head and neck, feeling lightly but purposefully over his face. He laughed when the tip of that tentacle prodded his ear.

“Hey Ten?” he said, giving the face-exploring tentacle a poke in return, and Tennyson turned from the shelf. He made a sound halfway between amusement and mortification, and Scout laughed again as most of the tentacles whipped away. He could see spots of colour on Tennyson’s cheeks in the gaps of his mask. Two tentacles remained, one tugging a blanket up over him to the waist and the other fluttering from the bite on his shoulder to the slash in his chest to the scratches over his belly and hips.

“I have said they have a life of their own, have I not?” Tennyson said, pulling a medkit off the shelf and settling into the nest next to Scout. He opened the kit and drew out a dimly glowing syringe, a bottle of disinfectant, and several packets of gauze padding. “They know what they’re doing; I can trust them. Most of the time.”

Scout snorted, and groaned when it sent a sharp jolt of pain through his chest. “They’re a lot less aggressive than Rosso’s, thank fuck. M’definitely gonna have some bruises, never mind the scratches.”

He held up a hand to examine the red rings spaced around his wrist and forearm, grimacing. It looked like the beginnings of an assload of hickeys. Tennyson’s large hands took hold of his arm, his thumb stroking over the angry marks. He sighed, shaking his head, and picked up the syringe.

“I should’ve been keeping a closer eye,” he said, injecting the needle into Scout’s arm before he could protest. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting Rosso to grow so bold so quickly.”

Scout rubbed where the needle had jabbed him; he could already feel the unsettling tingliness of the concentrated medigun essence working on his larger wounds. “It’s not yer fault, Ten. Rosso’s nuts. More than nuts. From the way he was talkin’, I’m surprised he didn’t attack me sooner.” He made a face. “He was bein’ right creepy, sayin’ he’d been waitin’ a long time and grinnin’ like a psycho clown or somethin’.” He raised an eyebrow at Tennyson. “He was sayin’ you shoulda ‘marked’ me. Right before-”

He gestured to the slowly but visibly healing gash in his chest. Tennyson frowned and brushed his fingers over the torn skin. He shook his head, uncapping the bottle of disinfectant and soaking a small pad of gauze.

“He has made comments recently… I had thought he was just trying to vex me,” he said. Scout winced as he started dabbing the bite in his shoulder, and frowned when Tennyson didn’t elaborate.

“What’d he say?” he asked. A reluctant look flashed across Tennyson’s face, and Scout’s frown deepened. “Ten? C’mon, how bad could it’ve been?”

Tennyson sighed and laid a fresh gauze pad over his shoulder, taking his time in settling it properly in place and taping it down. Scout fidgetted; he wasn’t used to seeing the Tentaspy so unsettled.

“Rosso…” Tennyson sighed again, looking uncomfortable. Colour was rising in his cheeks again. “He’s become more and more animalistic over the years—in thought and action—and seems to assume I’ve done the same. Lately, he’s expressed certain desires…”

He trailed off, looking aside, and Scout poked him. “I’m not a fuckin’ kid, Ten. I can handle it.”

Tennyson looked back at him and he hesitated before he said, “Rosso has lately made comments about… mating…”

“Mating?” Scout’s eyebrows made a run for his hairline. “As in…”

He made a crude gesture with both hands and Tennyson snorted. “Oui, as in that. He knows as well as anyone else that there are no… procreative opportunities here, but that doesn’t seem to matter. I believe the RED Scout has fallen afoul of him at least once, but from what he’s said, I think he may have set his eyes on…”