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The top chamber of Lenore Tower, the tallest tower of Nevermore University, is strictly off-limits to students. However, it’s a well-known secret that many have ventured up there anyway, whether just to experience the thrill of disobedience, or to do more illegal activities like summon spirits or smoke weed.
In Till’s case, he’s here to meet his boyfriend.
They’ve been dating for five months, and while it’s been great and all, it quickly became clear that while Till jumped into the relationship with both feet, heart on his sleeve, open for anything, Ivan continues to keep some things close to the chest. Mainly, his true monster form.
Till thinks it’s unfair, honestly. Ivan’s seen him in his werewolf form multiple times now, and Till’s made no attempt to hide it from him. Surely Ivan should do him the same courtesy, right? Especially now that they’re together. That comes with a certain level of trust, doesn’t it? They were even friends beforehand, so Till really doesn’t get what the big deal is.
Ivan finally agreed to show him, but only under the cover of night, and only in Lenore Tower. It all feels rather dramatic, but Till can appreciate that. It’s kind of romantic, in a dark, probably twisted way.
For its sordid reputation, the room itself is fairly normal. There’s a circular window in the far wall, a vaulted ceiling high above, a rug on the wooden floor, a couch that’s no doubt covered in questionable stains, and various armchairs scattered about that were probably once set very intentionally but have been moved so many times nobody remembers their original places.
It's also empty.
Till frowns. “Hello? Ivan?”
He steps further into the room, glancing around. He tugs his blazer closer around him. The castle’s usually cold no matter the time of year, but this room seems especially chilly tonight.
“Did the bastard forget?” Till mutters when he receives no response.
“Till.”
A voice from the shadows nearly causes Till to jump out of his skin. He whirls around, heart pounding, to see Ivan standing there, looking impeccable as always in his uniform and glasses, hair coifed to perfection, though his usual playful smile’s been replaced by a serious look and dark eyes that stare straight into Till’s soul.
“Asshole! You scared the shit out of me!” Till exclaims once he gathers himself, stepping forward to punch Ivan lightly in the chest.
Ivan doesn’t apologize, simply looks at him, pale and silent. Till frowns faintly, tugging on his loose tie until it unravels completely.
“Shit, you look like you’re gonna be sick or something.” Something akin to guilt curdles in his stomach, and he wonders if maybe he pushed too hard. “I ain’t gonna, like, break up with you or anything if you don’t wanna show me. It just feels unfair, you know? We’re boyfriends now, and people in relationships share things . . .” He trails off, his cheeks growing warm. “But we can forget it if it’s gonna bother you that much.”
Ivan sighs, his gaze finally drifting to the side, as he lifts his hand to adjust his glasses. “Just . . . turn around.”
“Huh?” Till tilts his head, puzzled by this request. “How’m I gonna see you if I turn around, dumbass?”
Ivan gives him a vague smile. “I’m not going to show you unless you turn around.”
Heaving a sigh, Till rolls his eyes but does as he’s told, frowning at the ugly ass couch in front of him. Do people really hook up on that thing? Seems disgusting. He fidgets, as nothing seems to happen.
Then he hears a faint skittering to his right. He freezes, for a moment thinking there may be a bug or something. Glancing over, he stares down at a long black . . . thing moving around from behind him across the floor. It’s got what looks like legs, hundreds of them, coming off a long rope-like body. A similar sound to his left causes him to snap his head around, staring as a second long, black creature scurries into view. Like the first one, its body is somewhat indistinct, almost like it’s made from shadow or smoke, wafting faintly, not entirely corporal.
Till swallows hard, as more such creatures slowly crawl from behind him, emerging from the sides, between his legs, encircling him. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to what he’s seeing, and he still can’t fully comprehend it.
“You turn into . . . shadowy centipedes?” he asks after a moment.
“Not exactly,” the voice behind him sounds like Ivan, but deeper, darker. There’s an element to it that feels otherworldly somehow, and it sends a slight shiver down Till’s spine. “They’re more like an extension of my body. I can grasp and feel things with them. Think of them like . . . extra long fingers.”
“There’s, like, a dozen of these,” Till says, staring dumbly down at the group of writhing legs and tendrils. The sound of their tiny . . . feet (?) tapping against the floor reminds him of the time he heard rats scurrying in the walls, and he shudders. “How many can you make?”
“Hundreds, I think. I’ve never truly experimented to discover my limit.”
“Do they even have a name for what you are? I’ve never heard of anything that looks like this,” Till admits, crouching on the ground to get a closer look. While the tendrils don’t have faces, they certainly do look like insects of some kind. He reaches a hand out to touch one, coming in contact with something cold, smooth, and slightly slick beneath his fingers.
It flinches away from his touch, and he hears a sharp inhale behind him.
“Did I hurt you?” Till asks worriedly, pulling back.
“No,” Ivan admits after a moment. “I just . . . nobody’s ever touched me in this form before.”
Till chews on his lip, his heart pounding a little faster, hearing that. Slowly, he extends his hand once more, holding it palm up toward one of the tendrils. It turns toward him tentatively before crawling onto his fingers and up over his wrist, curling around it. It tickles, the tiny shadowy legs feeling like the edge of a feather brushing against his skin. Till feels goosebumps prickle up his arm.
“Hah,” he exhales shakily, shivering as the tendril continues up under his shirt and jacket sleeve. He swallows hard, the ticklish sensation increasing. It feels weird and somewhat disturbing, but also . . . good?
“You’re warm,” Ivan says softly from behind him.
Till inhales sharply, as he feels the skittering across his chest and up around his neck. He swallows hard, kneeling stiffly on the ground, not sure what to expect.
“Till.”
A presence looms closer, and the room seems to darken in Till’s peripherals. He steels himself, his curiosity getting the better of him, and he turns his head to glance over his shoulder.
For a brief moment he sees a mass of black, writhing centipedes, crawling over and around and through each other in a dizzying pattern, and a single red eye glowing from deep within the shadowy form. He only gets a glimpse, and his brain can barely understand it, before the tendrils around him tighten suddenly, and slam him face-first against the floor.
“Ow! What the fuck?!” Till exclaims, rubbing his sore nose. It wasn’t hard enough to really hurt him, as a werewolf he’s made of tougher stuff, but it still smarts.
“I told you not to look,” Ivan says flatly, though there’s a tremor of fear beneath his harsh tone.
“You think I’m gonna be disgusted by you or something?” Till asks hotly, scowling at the floor. He can feel the weight of what might be dozens of tendrils holding him down. They snake around his legs and arms, and the one around his neck tightens. The sensation sends heat through him, straight to his dick, and he grimaces as it twitches with interest. Now is not the time.
“You should be disgusted,” Ivan’s strange voice replies, solemn and resigned.
“Well, I’m not, so quit acting like a jackass and let me up,” Till says, irritation buzzing through him.
Slowly, the tendrils’ grip on him loosens, and they fall away, skittering back toward their source. Till huffs as he sits up and brushes himself off. He stares at the couch in front of him, then, biting his lip, as his fingers curl into fists on his knees.
“Let me see you,” Till says softly after a moment. “Please.”
Ivan doesn’t reply, but he doesn’t try to push Till over again, so Till inhales deeply and slowly turns around.
The swarm of swirling centipede-like tendrils has retreated a few feet away, further into the shadows, the red eye’s glow muted and turned to the side. There doesn’t seem to be a specific shape to the form, though it’s somewhat oblong and vertical like a pillar the same height as the human version. It keeps shifting and moving, as the tendrils slide and twist over each other, slower now than before. It’s certainly something Till’s never seen before, or even read about, but it’s still Ivan.
This strange, incomprehensible creature is still Ivan. His boyfriend.
“Hey,” Till says quietly, getting to his feet. He approaches the mass, hand outstretched. “Ivan, look at me.”
The red eye turns toward him slowly, and despite how different it looks, the gaze feels the same. It’s Ivan’s gaze, steady and deep, full of affection and longing. Till grins.
“Hi,” he says, stepping closer. “It’s me. Till. Your boyfriend, remember?”
“You . . . still want to be my boyfriend?” There’s no mouth that Till can see. The voice seems to come from the entire mass, soft and tentative.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Till says, shaking his head.
He’s directly in front of the creature, now, and he rests his hand lightly against the swarming tendrils. They flinch and quiver under his touch, and he presses forward curiously, slipping his hand between them, wondering vaguely if Ivan’s hollow inside or if the tendrils continue deeper within. It’s cold and kind of squishy and slimy, and he can feel thousands of tiny legs tickling his skin.
Ivan makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a moan, and Till yanks his hand out quickly, his heart racing, heat rushing to his face.
“Sorry, sorry,” he says.
The eye stares at him, and the tendrils begin to skitter over each other faster, almost matching the speed of Till’s heartbeat. When Ivan doesn’t say anything, Till gets an idea. It’s probably a stupid idea, but curiosity wins over sense. He pulls off his blazer and tie, tossing them aside, before unbuttoning his shirt, yanking it out of his pants and stripping it off his shoulders and arms to join the jacket on the floor.
Taking a deep breath, Till reaches out once more, slipping his hand into the mass of swirling centipedes and pushing further in, up to his elbow. Ivan moans again, and Till bites his lip, slowly turning his hand this way and that, feeling the cold, tiny legs traveling over his skin with a shiver.
“Warm . . . you’re so warm . . . Till,” Ivan groans.
The tendrils begin to crawl further up his arm on their own. Till shudders, as they travel over his shoulder and across his chest, around his torso, down . . . down into his pants.
He inhales sharply, his entire body twitching, as he feels the skittering over his thighs, his ass. When they reach his dick, he can’t suppress the moan that escapes, as heat tingles through him from the light, titillating touch.
Any reservations he may have had over the strangeness of this situation have left him. He’s half-hard and his skin itches all over, as the shadowy centipedes continue their exploration of his body.
His breathing has quickened, and he pulls his arm from inside of Ivan to quickly remove the rest of his clothing. He can feel the weight of that red glowing eye focused on him, and Ivan moves closer, the tendrils tightening their grip to turn Till’s body around. He stumbles just slightly, but then stiffens, as he feels the cool, writhing form press up against his back.
“Till,” Ivan moans, long and low.
Till shudders, as some of the tendrils retreat, while others move to focus on more specific parts of his body. Mainly, his nipples, ass, and dick. A moan escapes once more, as two tendrils circle the stiff nubs, stroking and pinching them, sending tingles of heat across his chest, down south between his legs, where his erection continues to harden.
The tendrils there wrap around his base, skittering up his shaft, stroking his flushed skin, circling the tip, as Till’s breath shakes on another moan.
“Fuck, Ivan,” he gasps.
He should find this weird, right? It’s weird, but he doesn’t want Ivan to stop. It’s gross but it feels good, it feels so good, and he reaches for something to grab onto, finding only air. His legs tremble, as two centipedes brush up against his ass and slide into his crack, searching for his hole.
“Ah! Ivan!” he cries out once they find it and wiggle their way inside. It doesn’t hurt, oddly, as whatever Ivan’s made of makes the insertion smooth and slick. It’s a strange sensation, more of a tickle at first, but then he can feel more enter him, stuffing him, stretching him, and the pressure and heat grow, and his legs give out.
Instead of falling, he’s caught on what feels like a cushion of thick, cool and slimy worms. He wrinkles his nose, but quickly forgets about that, as one of the tendrils on his dick slithers its way into his slit.
“Ivan!” he gasps, his nails scrabbling at the floor. That’s too much. The pressure is different, almost like he needs to piss, and it’s uncomfortable and yet it feels good for some reason? He can’t really describe it. His head falls back against the writhing centipedes behind him, as his legs quiver and shake. “Ivan, Ivan, shit! Ah!”
Apparently encouraged by this reaction, three tendrils crawl up his neck and into his mouth. Whatever substance they’re coated with tingles, as they stroke along his tongue, the insides of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, and it tickles and itches, and he gags, as they go deeper, drool sliding down his chin as he grunts and reaches to try and pull them out. Only, Ivan grabs his arms with more tendrils, and the ones on his dick squeeze, and the ones in his ass push further, and the onslaught of sensations has Till arching his back with a loud groan.
It's too much; the pleasure crackles through him like fire, burning underneath his skin. He tries to cry out, but he can’t, the tendrils in his mouth preventing any noises other than rough grunts and plaintive whines. He feels something tickling his ears, and then they’re full too, dampening all other noise, and all he can hear is his own rapid heartbeat, the rushing of his blood pounding in his head.
His heels thump against the floor, as he squirms in Ivan’s hold. He’s inside every hole, filling him, devouring him, and it feels good. It’s so good, but it’s overwhelming. He can’t handle it. His cock twitches and pulsates, leaking precum past the tendril still inside it, dripping down his shaft. The tendrils in his ass stroke his walls on every side, and when they find his prostate and press against it, pleasure bursts like an explosion inside him, and he cums dry with a muffled scream.
Ivan slips out of his mouth and ears, then, but he remains inside his ass and cock, still wrapped around it as well, and Till notices with hazy awareness that he’s still hard. Fuck. He’s never cum dry before, and the heat prickling through him doesn’t decrease.
“You’re so pretty when you cum, Till,” Ivan murmurs behind him.
Till’s legs tremble, as the pressure in his cock and ass don’t subside. He whimpers, his nails digging into the wood beneath him. He realizes belatedly that he’s carved long stripes in the floor, his fingers having turned to claws at some point.
“I-Ivan. I-I can’t—” he tries again, breathing hard. “It’s too much.”
A tendril skitters up the side of his face, sliding through the drool on his chin to wipe it away.
“I think you can cum for me again,” Ivan says, his otherworldly voice low with hunger.
Till shudders and shakes his head quickly. “I can’t,” he protests, crying out as the tendril in his dick presses deeper, the one around his shaft squeezing gently. He rakes more lines in the wood with his claws, as two more centipedes crawl into his ass and stretch him even wider.
“I can taste you like this,” Ivan says lustily. “You taste so good, Till. I want more.”
The tendrils in Till’s ass move, seeming to coil around each other inside of him, before they all slide out halfway and thrust back in, like a single organism, thick and slippery. Till groans, as the heat continues to simmer beneath his skin. His cock twitches, pre seeping past the tendril inside. It wriggles slightly, causing him to hiss, as pleasure sparks sharply through every nerve in his body.
Ivan continues to thrust inside him, and his deep, strange voice moans loudly. “Till. Till. You’re so warm and tight, Till. You feel so good around me.”
“F-fuck.” Till can barely form a coherent thought. His brain’s fuzzy, his body overheating. He whines softly, sounding more like a dog than a human. His toes flex and clench, and he’s vaguely aware of them being claws now too. Is he transforming? “Ah!” A particularly hard thrust hits his prostate, and his entire body jolts and quivers, his back arching. “Ivan!”
“Till.”
He can’t take it anymore. He tries to roll away, but Ivan’s grip tightens, keeping him in place. Another whine pulls from his throat, a pitiful sound. His ass aches, as Ivan keeps pounding into it, over and over, relentlessly. His cock hurts, throbbing around the tendril inside it and beneath the ones still holding it.
“Ivan, Ivan, Ivan.” Till doesn’t know what exactly he’s pleading for, but Ivan has to do something. He’s going to die, probably. Tears burn the corners of his eyes, sliding down his cheeks. The stimulation’s overwhelming. The pleasure’s too sharp, too intense. It feels incredible, but it hurts so much.
“I love you, Till,” Ivan murmurs on another moan.
All Till can do is sob in response. His heels dig into the floor, his claws scratching, his neck straining. His skin itches with heat, with pleasure, with the creepy, crawling sensation of the tendrils holding him with their million tiny legs.
The painful overstimulation increases with each thrust against his prostate, each squeeze around his cock, and he’s dumping precum in thick beads, enough that he can feel it dripping between his legs, leaking into his hole. Ivan groans.
“You’re so wet,” he says, his voice like gravel in Till’s ear. “Do you want to cum?
Till nods vigorously, another whimper escaping despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. The tendril inside his cock slithers out, and the ones wrapped around his base loosen.
“Cum for me, Till.”
Till’s body responds on its own. Like a bolt of lightning, the climax hits him, and he cums so hard his vision turns white. He might have screamed again, maybe he howled, he can’t tell. Everything goes blank.
When he wakes, he finds himself lying back against the warm, solid, very human chest of Ivan. The other’s arms are around him, holding him close, which is good because Till can barely move. He can tell he’s a complete mess, covered in cum and pre, his face wet with tears, snot, and drool. Lifting his hand weakly, he swipes at his face, trying to clean that off, at least.
“Are you okay?” Ivan asks softly, his fingers threading gently through his hair.
“I-I think so,” Till admits, exhaling shakily. His voice is hoarse, and his entire body’s sore, but he can tell his werewolf healing’s already doing its job of restoring his strength.
Ivan grips his arms, shifting him off his chest and laying him carefully on the floor. Till blinks up at him, missing his warmth.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Cleaning you up,” Ivan says with a faint smile, before ducking his head to run his tongue along Till’s stomach, through the rather embarrassing amount of sweat and cum gathered there.
“Wha-hey!” Till exclaims, shoving at Ivan’s head as his face burns. “What the fuck?!”
“I told you, you taste good,” Ivan says, his smile widening, the playful gleam back in his eyes. He brushes Till’s hand away and lowers back down, sucking and licking at the mess across Till’s skin.
Groaning, Till covers his face with his arms, shivering some at the touch. “You’re so fucking weird.”
Ivan just hums noncommittally, continuing his ministrations. He laps up the cum on Till’s abdomen, runs his tongue gently along his softened cock, before dipping further and draping Till’s leg over his shoulder to slurp up whatever leaked into Till’s hole.
“Fuck,” Till groans, grimacing as he’s still rather tender there. “Ivan. Ivan, st-top. It’s fine. I’ll just take a shower.”
Ivan lifts his head. “Can I join you?” he asks hopefully.
Till lifts his arms to frown down at him. “What? No.”
Ivan whines softly, crawling back up Till’s body to rest against his chest, nuzzling his face into his neck. “What if I promise to behave?” he asks, the pout evident in his voice.
“I won’t believe you,” Till says flatly.
“Can I watch, at least?”
“You want to . . . watch me take a shower?” Till asks skeptically.
Ivan nods against his neck. “I like watching you . . . it doesn’t matter what you’re doing.”
“You’re a pretty weird guy,” Till says, but he wraps his arms around Ivan’s shoulders and sighs. “Fine, you can watch. But no touching. I’m all fucked out for today.”
Ivan’s quiet for a moment. “You didn’t run away,” he says finally.
“Huh?” Till twists his neck to look down at Ivan as best he can.
Ivan lifts his head, making it easier to meet his gaze. “When you saw my true form. You didn’t run away.”
“Oh. Well, of course I didn’t,” Till says, shaking his head. “Why would I? I love you.”
Ivan’s eyes widen, and Till realizes belatedly what he just said, his cheeks growing hot.
“Uh, I mean, you know,” he says, looking away with a nervous laugh.
“Is that true?” Ivan asks insistently. “You love me?”
Till bites his lip, forcing himself to meet those deep, dark eyes. He licks his lips before nodding slightly. “Yeah,” he admits quietly.
Ivan’s face breaks into a wide, happy smile, and he leans down to kiss Till deeply. Till slips his hand into the back of Ivan’s hair, returning the kiss as his chest and stomach erupt with flutters. Never would he have imagined he’d fall in love with some mysterious eldritch shadow horror, yet here he is, and he doesn’t regret a single thing.