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dnd_drow

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This time was different. Maybe because Omeluum was on the cusp of sleep. Whatever the reason, their sounds seemed lower, deeper, raspier. Blurg couldn’t say for sure, but some of those guttural, long-drawn moans sounded almost
. The noises lowered eventually until they settled into a continuous humming rumble. Omeluum seemed to slump, their tentacles slipping often or loosening their grip around Blurg’s forearms. Occasionally, a tentacle would twitch and jump, as if trying to remember what it was doing before...before Omeluum was soothed to sleep at last.
Blurg softened his touches and studied Omeluum’s peaceful face. They really were a beautiful creature. He knew that most would disagree with him, but Blurg did not feel dissuaded when he studied the illithid he’d grown so fond of. In fact, he felt nothing but warmth, awe, joy, and attraction. Cruel, untamed attraction.
He waited, watching them breathe for a long time. Their breaths were steady, their heartbeat slow under his palm. So, as gently as he could manage, he lifted the tentacle he was holding, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. Softly. Just once. Not enough to wake them, not enough to imprint them on his lips. Just enough to make a storm churn in his heart.
He rested the tendril softly on their chest and breathed out a slow sigh. "Sleep well, my friend," he whispered.
Sleep, for an illithid, was not comparable to the experience of other humanoids. While both were necessary for the restoration of energy and benefitted from REM and deep sleep cycles, illithids used the time for mental synchronization. For a mind flayer in a colony, this was the time when they were most connected to the Elder Brain and could peruse shared knowledge with ease. It was the time for cataloging their own experiences. The time when they didn’t have the distractions of their physical forms or the material realm to get in the way of mental calibrations, information sorting and discarding, and connecting with their colony.
Omeluum was disconnected from a colony. As an individual, the realm of sleep took a different form for them. They had no access to a hive mind. It was...quiet. Vast. Often painfully
. As an illithid, they were genetically crafted for connection. Their instincts were to be united with other illithids and with an Elder Brain. That lack of connection left a void, a hollowness that they would live with their entire life. It was never more poignant than when they slept and heard the silent echo of detachment from a oneness.
That was how it had been for years, at least. But illithids didn’t
connect to others of their own species. They could telepathically communicate with other humanoids, feel their feelings, and share their thoughts. The longer an exposure to another’s mind, the stronger the mental link. And Omeluum had quite the strong link with Blurg.
So strong, in fact, that even in the realm of mental space after sleep, they were no longer
Their mind carried Blurg’s with it. A companion in the emptiness. A familiar friend, with intricacies that Omeluum had learned well. They could sense him, always.
At night, he was there. A consciousness attached to Omeluum’s own mind. His threads of thoughts, undulating sparks of electricity through the network of cells in his brain, looped around Omeluum comfortingly. They never traced the threads, even in sleep when Blurg would be none the wiser. Omeluum had no desire to be where they hadn’t been invited. But they didn’t need to read his mind and peek into his dreams to enjoy the vitality of his brilliant mind. They still felt his meanderings, sparks of emotion from his dreams, and the familiar patterns of thought like the thrum of music.
Music. Yes. Blurg’s mind was a lot like music.
Omeluum knew the songs by heart. They knew the wanderings enough to know with confidence when Blurg was angry and those synapses fired and snapped like fireworks. They knew when he was giddy, and his brain sparked and glittered. They knew when he was hurting, by the sluggish pull of muffled sound.
Lately, though, the music had changed. A new pattern had developed, new sequences of repeating notes. Omeluum did
know this song. Not yet. Not enough to know if it had a positive or negative net worth. Without direct access to Blurg’s thoughts, it was...
to theorize as to the nature of this change. Dissecting feelings was not a simple nor enjoyable task.
What they did know was that Blurg had been especially charged as of late. His heart seemed to beat rapidly more often, his skin produced more sweat than usual, and his blood seemed unable to regulate properly, leaving him with changing and splotchy complexions. His mind thrashed and thrummed so loudly at times that Omeluum could hear nothing over it. But without reading his thoughts, the noise was like static, loud and distracting and formless.
This began after Blurg started applying lotion to Omeluum’s skin. Indeed, they were certain this was the catalyst, because the unusual thought patterns occurred most often and most intensely when Blurg was touching them. That was why Omeluum had ceased their requests for more, reasoning that the act was affecting Blurg in a negative way.
But Blurg insisted he was fine. He insisted that he wanted to help. Far be it from Omeluum to make his decisions for him. Blurg was intelligent, fully capable of coming to solutions on his own. If he said he was fine, even if the word was ambiguous and undefinable, Omeluum trusted that he had reason to say it.
Although...there came a threshold. A line had to be drawn where Blurg’s "fine" no longer held weight against his negative mental patterns. He could say he was fine, he could believe he was fine, he could insist that he was achieving balance in some mental struggle, but his own bias could make this assessment inaccurate. He could, in fact,
Determining where that line existed was not an easy feat for Omeluum. It was truthfully impossible without access to their partner’s thoughts. But it was abundantly obvious to Omeluum when the threshold had been crossed, clearly and vastly. And this happened one night when Omeluum was asleep.
They were in their mental sanctuary, organizing notes from their observations about the newly discovered cave centipede they discovered beneath the carcass of a bulette. Blurg’s mind was there with them, hugging and squeezing comfortably around them in the silence—until it changed.
Blurg’s mental threads began to squeeze too hard. They gripped and caught like barbed wire, and burned like steel from a forge. They sliced through Omeluum’s mind until they couldn’t focus on anything but Blurg. It was too hot, too sharp, too unexpected. The buzz of his mind became a roar of discordant notes, music with a broken tempo. It screeched in Omeluum’s brain like a cry for help.
A cry for help.
It took everything in Omeluum’s power not to dive into Blurg’s mind right then and there. But there was no telling if a sudden invasion would break him. Omeluum didn’t have enough information to risk it.
Blurg’s mind was wildly active, which meant Blurg was awake. Such power pulses could only come from heightened senses—powerful physiological responses or extreme emotion.
But what kind of emotion? Fear? Pain? Rage?
No. Omeluum knew what Blurg’s
felt like. It burned, but the same kind of burn that came from freezing skin. His
was sharp like this, but consistent, where this emotion was a chaotic mess. Blurg’s
burned hot, too, but it wasn’t sharp. It was blunt, and hit like the force of a roar. This emotion was none of those things.
Which meant that Omeluum needed to wake up. They were dealing with the unknown and they worried for their friend.
Immediately, they withdrew back into their physical form. This cut the threads of painful thought around their mind, but they could still feel the brush of Blurg’s emotions, strong enough to overcome the distance of physical space. They sat up at once, eyes and mind searching for Blurg.
Thankfully, they did not have to look far. He was nearby on his own bedroll, laying on his stomach, head turned away from Omeluum.
Blurg was nearby and he wasn’t obviously injured. He wasn’t in any clear crisis. Could it be... Was he having a nightmare? His thoughts felt too active for that, but it could be feasible. Perhaps a particularly powerful night terror could mimic consciousness. Still...fear or even panic didn’t feel quite right.
Omeluum rose quickly to their feet. Afraid of startling him, they levitated just off the ground and glided to his side. Blurg’s bedroll was elevated on a soft and springy mushroom cap, and he was pushed nearly entirely up against the wall it grew from. He was on his stomach, blankets pulled all the way up to his pointed ears. Omeluum noted instantly that his breathing was labored, he shifted as if in discomfort, sweat gleamed on his forehead, and the one hand not tucked under the blanket was holding his pillow in a white-knuckled grip.
Oh, my friend...
Omeluum found themself at a loss. If Blurg was having a nightmare, should they wake him? It would all be so much easier if they could just peek inside...
No. He has not granted you permission.
Omeluum was about to gently whisper through their connection when Blurg made a sound. It was quiet, barely more than a sigh, deep and slightly hoarse. They recognized it at once as a moan.
They hesitated, though they weren’t quite sure why. A moan of pain should have incited the necessity to act faster, yet they found themself frozen.
Blurg shifted under the blankets again. His fingers kneaded the pillow and he huffed out a breath, following this with another barely discernible moan.
Omeluum felt the distant sensation of Blurg’s thoughts—the razor sharp, blistering threads of the unidentifiable emotion. They felt them coiling around their own mind and heating something in Omeluum. Their heart rate picked up and their chest began to feel oddly tight.
This sensation... It was somehow both familiar and not. It felt like a discarded memory that they had thrown away to store more important things. Like a scroll pushed to the back of a shelf where it collected dust, where they forgot what its contents read. Yet it simultaneously felt recent, relevant, routine. That must have been their connection with Blurg telling them that. To Blurg, this...
was not a forgotten thing, nor a misremembered thing. It was present, easily accessed, close to the surface of his mind where he could retrieve it as needed. And he needed it now.
The confusing overlap of their minds confounded Omeluum further.
It wasn’t spoken, it was thought—but it was thought
distinctly. It was thought with urgency, with desperation, with the heated coils of thought strangling it.
Omeluum didn’t have to pry inside his mind. Not when Blurg was thinking his thoughts in this manner, and especially not when he was trying to reach into their connection. Blurg may not have realized, but that was indeed what he was doing. Reaching into their mental link with fumbling hands, trying to pull Omeluum in by the bond that tied them together.
"Fuck, Omeluum...those sounds you make..."
Omeluum listened to a playback of their own voice. Clips of sound as Blurg remembered them. They paired with flashes of images of the times when Blurg massaged their tentacles. Loud, bright, crystal clear and projected outward from Blurg’s
"Fuck, I’m sorry, my friend, but I..."
Blurg moaned aloud again and the blankets rustled on him.
"Omeluum. Omeluum...I want you."
The realization dawned on Omeluum like a breakthrough in research. The tipping moment, the instant when all of the pieces of a long-perplexing puzzle came together.
This emotion wasn’t fear, and Blurg wasn’t sleeping. He was caught in an unforgiving vortex of
. And the reason it burned like a fiery tornado was because Blurg was actively and currently
that arousal. That is to say...Blurg was self-stimulating. As quietly and slowly as he could manage, for fear of waking Omeluum, most likely. He had no idea that his thoughts were more of an alarm than any subtle bucking of his hips beneath a blanket or stifled moans into a pillow.
masturbating, however. Had that been the case, Omeluum would have left him alone. No need to insert themself into a natural and healthy activity. They would have thought nothing of it. Of course, Blurg’s physiology would demand this of him from time to time. The key difference here, however, was that Blurg was self-stimulating
while thinking of Omeluum.
And Omeluum had never ignored a call from Blurg before. Not that they had ever been called in this particular type of scenario, but a call was a call nonetheless. 
Omeluum shifted forward and leaned closer—close enough that they could touch him if they wanted to.
they whispered.
Blurg jolted so suddenly that he slammed his head against the wall. Omeluum felt the blitz of pain as if it was their own, as well as the panic spiking in Blurg’s mind. His friend half-straightened up, looking shocked and disheveled. He was panting, sweating, staring at Omeluum with absolute
"O-Omeluum!" he blurted, too loudly. "My friend! W-What are you...? You startled me!"
Omeluum looked levelly at him. "Apologies. I sensed that you were in distress." They propped a knee up on the bed, leaning closer, observing the way Blurg pressed himself back against the wall as hard as he could as if to try to create space between them. "I worried for you."
"You did?" Blurg asked after a sharp inhale. His  carmine skin flushed a deep plum shade before he cleared his throat. "Ah...I greatly appreciate your concern, but I am fine. I am simply..." He swallowed, and Omeluum felt the tricky little twitches of a lie forming on the outskirts of Blurg’s brain. Whatever he might have conceived was discarded as soon as the thought passed, however, replaced with a sense of resolve. Blurg would not lie to them, despite his embarrassment. "I will be alright."
Omeluum watched him curiously. It was clear that Blurg was trying his best to appear composed despite his body being stiff, one hand still under the blanket and the other gripping it like a shield. It was a sight to behold, though it paled in comparison to his
Now that Omeluum could identify the emotion as arousal, they could greater appreciate its burn. Hot, violent arousal. It was woven with threads of shame, embarrassment, and guilt—yet these lesser emotions simply reinforced the threads that coiled around them both, until Omeluum felt the blistering rope of desire sinking into themself.
"Do you recall the words we spoke to each other after you first spread the serum on my skin?" they asked. They lifted a tentacle slowly, tentatively reaching for Blurg’s face. He flinched, so Omeluum paused, but Blurg didn’t pull away. Instead, his mouth parted and his mind reeled with another powerful bite of arousal. "I asked you to come to me if you desired my assistance, and you agreed that you would do so."
Blurg breathed out shakily, but didn’t speak. Omeluum finally reached forward enough to touch his cheek, just barely. They dragged the appendage languidly to cup his jaw and feel the sheen of his sweat. Immediately, Omeluum felt his pleasure. It came like a sense of relief, a gush of fresh air, a springtime breeze with the promise of blossoms.
"I don’t..." Blurg tried. "I do not need your assistance, Omeluum."
Omeluum slid their tentacle up along the length of a long ear, then shuddered in unison with Blurg at the sensation of it. They finally climbed onto the mushroom to join him, drawing nearer. With a second tentacle, they cupped the other side of Blurg’s face. His eyes closed, the lashes fluttering slightly with unmistakable pleasure.
"Nor do I need yours," Omeluum reminded him. "I told you, did I not, that my condition was a minor inconvenience and your aid wasn’t necessary, but it was welcome. You do not need to
me, Blurg. It is enough to
Blurg swallowed. His mind began to feel shaky, as if it was close to breaking. "There is nothing that I..." He stopped short again, yet again unwilling to lie.
"I have my condition," Omeluum continued, "and you have yours. As your touch soothes mine, perhaps my touch may soothe yours." They slid a third tentacle up to his shoulder, trailing it down over his collarbone and along his chest, marveling at his warmth and the coarseness of his chest hair curling beneath their touch.
"Respectfully, my dear friend," Blurg said, breathlessly, "the subjects at hand aren’t comparable."
Omeluum hummed, a rumble from their chest cavity. Blurg reacted to the sound instantly and intriguingly. His eyes pinched shut, his breath caught, and a flash of heat flooded from his mind into Omeluum’s.
"Those sounds you make..."
was the igniting spark.
"I believe you will find," Omeluum said as they added their fourth tentacle, joining it on Blurg’s chest while the others caressed his face and throat, "that they are more similar than you think. You desire my touch, as I desire yours. To each, they bring us comfort."
Blurg lifted a hand—the one that had been clawing at his pillow—and wrapped his fingers around one of Omeluum’s tendrils. Reflexively, Omeluum’s tentacle curled around his hand, his wrist, and forearm.
"It is...a bit more than comfort, my friend," he admitted.
It’s pleasure.
Omeluum didn’t respond. Instead, they drew closer, expanding the reach of their tentacles to touch more of him. They slid one behind his neck until it wrapped gently around his throat. They traced his ear with another, then explored the new sensations of his silvery hair against the sensitive appendage. With the other two, they mapped his chest, dampening his skin with their mucus, their
One traced circles around a pebbled nipple before finally slithering across and flicking it—pulling a gasp from his lungs. The other drifted lower, snaking down through thick hair and over the dip of his naval. Lower still, through dense curls.
Blurg’s grip tightened on one of them, and he released a ragged breath. "You might want to stop there, my friend," he said. His voice was surprisingly steady despite his uneven breathing. "If you don’t, then...there’s no coming back."
Omeluum hesitated. They considered his words carefully. It was not a request for Omeluum to stop. Omeluum was the motivation for the caution.
might want to stop’, he’d said. But Blurg...
 "You do not want me to."
Blurg sighed. "Omeluum," he groaned, "you don’t understand. I—"
"Want me to touch you," Omeluum cut him off. "I know." They slipped the tip of one tentacle down along the bridge of his nose. Blurg’s lips parted in what could only be interpreted as anticipation. So, Omeluum dragged the tentacle lower, until it brushed his lip, until they could trace the outline of his mouth and feel his hot breath on their skin.
"...Do you?" Blurg asked. He sounded skeptical, but the question was genuine, and tinged with an edge of desperation.
Omeluum stopped moving all of their tentacles, then leaned until their forehead pressed against Blurg’s. "You are aroused. You were masturbating when I interrupted you. You were thinking of me."
Blurg made a small and helpless sound. "Were you...in my head?"
Ordinarily, Omeluum would be wounded by this suggestion. Surely there was enough trust between them for Blurg not to question whether Omeluum had entered without permission. Tonight, though, Blurg was understandably too jarred to think reasonably. "No, Blurg. But I can feel your lust, and I could hear you calling out to me. Your body aches with desire. You throb with it. It
from your flesh. You are quaking with it. Even now. Even when caught and sinking in your shame. Still, you are stiff and pulsing with it, are you not?"