Is the slime mind-whammying him or does someone holding him down and licking into his mouth activate animalistic Hatake fucking instincts? You decide.
–
Lightning chirps in his hand, a familiar friend except for how it’s not. For every time it’s saved a comrade, chidori is a cruel comfort. It’s stress and sweaty panic, urgency in a cupped palm, it’s too-late and any pride he’d felt in its creation had faded with the light in Rin’s eyes, reflecting blue-white sparks.
(And nevermind that he’d been so horrifically relieved to have it, then, the perfect assassination tool, sick and relieved, horrified and relieved, that he didn’t have to use blood-slick steel, that it could be fast, that Obito’s eye and hard-won speed could make it a viable option, a death quick enough that the seal wouldn’t have time to finish destabalizing).
He’d like to say he hadn’t used it again, after that– that it had taken months or years to be able to look at it, but. But.
The next time he’d needed to kill on a mission, he’d reached for it at once, cold and calculating and every inch a shinobi. As easily as he’d reach for kunai or shurikan, and the familiar technique came as quickly and loyally as his ninken, an ease paid in blood.
Lightning chirps in his palm, a thousand-thousand birds screeching, and it does nothing to do the thing holding him. The pure cutting power of raiton doesn’t so much as scuff the flesh.
Kakashi is suspended from the ceiling, a thick tentacle wrapped around his torso, thick and strong as a mokuton sapling. Two others curl around his wrists, a light pull at his shoulder blades protesting some of his weight being held that way.
As the chidori fizzles out, useless, another curls curiously around his ankle. It winds and winds, thinner than its brothers, until it’s wrapped tight up his calf in four overlapping coils.
He kicks out, to almost no effect. Dangling from the roof of a damp cave means the motion moves him, a willow branch swaying in the wind. He just doesn’t go anywhere. He is not any closer to escape. The tentacles move with him, completely unbothered.
The cave is wet, like most caves between Water and Fire. Shallow puddles were seasonal constants in the dark environment, stalactites dripping. If this thing had a body, Kakashi couldn’t see it.
It seemed made entirely of teeming tentacles, erupting from the ceiling like a jutsu from the ground. It isn’t any jutsu, though, nor any kind of creature Kakashi has ever seen. It’s alive and completely alien.
No face, nose or eyes. Just endless arms reaching in the dark. It doesn’t even have a mouth, which at this point would have been a relief. It would represent a vulnerability, as even the fire-breathing toads of Mt. Miyoboku would flinch if you stabbed their inner cheeks or tongue.
It would also explain something. Kakashi could accept being dragged, kicking and screaming, toward a gaping maw. He could not figure out why it wanted him otherwise.
Kakashi could understand hunger. He could understand this strange lack of teeth.
“Let– go–” He grunted fruitlessly, balling his hands into fists and jerking hard against the hold.
Worse, and most chilling of all, he’d noted at once that something about the thousand limbs resisted chakra. No, even more concerning; it inhibited chakra. Being able to shrug off the chidori was one thing. Preventing Kakashi from using his own chakra to perform a substitution to escape was another.
It was the first thing he’d tried.
He gave it another go, just for the hell of it.
No dice.
Shunshin, kawarimi, shadow clone, even henge– nothing.
If it had a mouth, it’d be laughing at him, Kakashi was sure.
But it didn’t have a mouth. If it had a mouth, Kakashi could kill it.
He slumped, deciding to conserve chakra. Deciding to wait, watch, the hunting wolf that crouched patiently in the grass.
There would be an opportunity.
Luckily, it didn’t seem to want to kill him. If not hunger, Kakashi would have suspected a territorial response. That, too, would be understandable.
If something invades your den, you’re allowed to kill it. Or try, anyway. Stronger predators made prey of every animal, and that too was natural.
Kakashi is not used to being on the ‘prey’ side of things, admittedly.
Yet that doesn’t quite make sense, either. It doesn’t seem to be trying to crush him to death, though the tentacles are certainly strong enough. Maybe it’s like a pitcher plant and is going to slowly dissolve him and absorb his nutrients through the outer flesh of the tentacles?
Unfortunately, Kakashi has seen weirder.
He waits and he isn’t hurt. More and more tentacles climb down from the writhing mass above and– at this point– all around him. The cave is too dark for color, even to his eyes. They could be any shade of dark color, the true appearance wreathed in shadow.
They bob and weave around him, almost curious. Kakashi isn’t sure how intelligent the beast is. His experience with summonses has him making no assumptions on that front.
Still, it hadn’t responded to any of his attempts to communicate. Not even body language seems to do anything, and most wild creatures at least react to threat displays.
Okay. Okay.
So it– probably– doesn’t want to eat him.
It– probably– doesnt want to kill him, or at least isn’t in any hurry to do so.
What’s left?
A tentacle slides, smooth and faintly damp, across his belly. A cold shiver erupts down Kakashi’s back. He hadn’t noticed it creeping under his shirt, and feeling something so dangerous on his bare skin– on the bare skin of his belly— sets off every single one of his instincts.
It unnerves him in the worst way.
The tentacle curls, almost playful, wiggling. It tickles. Kakashi shuts down his body’s response with ruthless control. The tentacle is joined by another, and another. Soon they’re wiggling up his chest, and all Kakashi can think is that’s where all his most important organs are.
His instincts scream at him to fight now, to fight as hard as he can, but his rational mind knows it won’t make a difference. He has to wait for the right moment and strike, when he has the highest chance of escape.
And something in his hindbrain quietly whispers that he can’t afford to make it angry, not when it’s trailing indestructible tentacles along the place he keeps all his organs.
It’s easy to imagine the almost playful curiosity vanishing, the limb spearing forward and piercing right through. If chidori couldn’t cut it, it’s not going to be stopped by something as feeble as Kakashi’s skin and bones.
He holds very, very still under the exploration.
Finally, as if exasperated, a larger tentacle joins the little ones. The collected swarm of them is too much for even chakra-reinforced fabric. His shirt and under-layers shred as soon as the larger tentacle moves, ripping right down the middle and hanging in tattered pieces from his arms.
The tentacles are indestructible and they eat chakra. It probably didnt even notice the steel mesh or the chakra-enforced fibres.
The thought stills him further, until he could be carved of stone. Kakashi revisits his pitcher-plant theory as the cold, damp air hits his torso.
The tentacles seem warmer by comparison, when he would have expected them to be cold, sticky, gross.
He has seen many, many creatures that absorb chakra. It wouldn’t need to crush him if it just kept him here, suspended and helpless, and slowly drained away his chakra.
Kakashi braces himself against the sucking draw, the aching pull at his chakratic veins. He is left surprised when it never comes.
Instead, a smaller tentacle, about as wide as his wrist at the base and tapered thin at the tip, slides wetly against his cheek. It bumps its way across his face until the tip, blunter than he’d expected, butts up against his lip.
It’s not an unfamiliar sensation, activating sense-memories for an entirely different situation. His nose reacts by habit, sniffing for the satisfying smell of human-animal musk that comes from a hard cock in his face, even though he won’t smell anything–
Oh.
Fuck.
The thought shakes something hysterical loose. Not to eat, not to kill, so what’s left? His reflexive expletive was exactly right. Part of Kakashi relaxed, content that he would likely survive this, the animal-deep hindbrain that focused on survival first.
The rest of him, though.
The human, rational animal of his brain…
That bit panicked a bit. His struggling began anew, for all that the tentacle monster paid him any mind. It continued as if he was still holding himself still for it.
The blunt-tipped thin tentacle plays with his lips, seemingly pleased to have found something other than smooth uninterrupted skin. Kakashi avoids the word orifice like his life depends on it.
It’s somewhere between a finger and a tongue in terms of ‘range of motion’, moving his lips around with its explorations.
Something is secreting from the tip, something that made it wetter than the others. The blunt head of it is the source of the alien smell, something far from the scent of human wanting, of sweat and exertion, yet speaks to a deeper, more unconscious sense.
It’s probably a pheromone thing. It makes Kakashi think of sex and that’s horrifying. Less horrifying than being eaten or drained of chakra, probably, but that isn’t a leap of logic he’s capable of at the moment.
The other tentacles start molesting his chest, and he can’t think of it as passive exploration anymore, now that he knows what this is. Some of the smaller ones flick and rub at his nipples, pebbling them into hardness.
For lack of other options, Kakashi mouths at the offending tentacle he can reach. It jerks, as if surprised, to feel his lips move. It moves back, undulating, exploring every milimeter of flesh; the inside of his upper and lower lip, the pink bow of it, his philthrum and chin. No iota of his mouth is unexplored and Kakashi learns what he can of the shape he can’t properly see, even going crosseyed.
He desperately tries to ignore how, in another situation, this could be a perverted reflection of a kiss. Kakashi shudders.
Not even Icha Icha would go there.
The slime secretion is increasing. It paints his lips and mouth, and some of his cheek. There’s no intelligence in the movement, no hint of sentience.
Just raw instinct. Blindsight, feeling around. It nudges impatiently at his lips and Kakashi, having gathered all intelligence he can with his lips, makes his Hatake ancestors proud by licking it.
One one level, he catalogues the taste, the location of the little slit at the tip, the moistness and the give to the spongy flesh, etc, etc.
On another level, the tentacle licks back.
It explores Kakashi’s tongue in return, slipping and sliding against it. There’s a slight pulsing, the tentacle almost shivering as it twines around Kakashi’s tongue, and suddenly the slime is oozing out.
The taste overwhelms everything else.
“Mmphf!” Kakashi gasps, eyes widening, as the tip kisses and wrestles with his tongue in a drunken make out. Drool slips down his chin, half-salive and half-slime, and Kakashi has no choice but to kiss back– no, fuck, it’s not kissing
— to fight it–
— for dominance–
–no, it’s just molesting his mouth, sweeping him up in a dirty, passionate exchange that’s all ‘tongue’ and sloppy, heedless of social mores, licking the inside of his cheeks and under his tongue, tasting his teeth.
Kakashi whines, wishing it were someone– anyone– human, that his instincts could be pleased by a hot body pressing him into the dirt, licking into his mouth, spit slicking the way and getting them filthy, panting hungry sounds into him, growling, fully animal and leaving the trappings of socialization behind to do whatever they wanted to him.
He panted, aching, hard, wanting. It took so much to finally push the thoughts away, to break free of pure Hatake instinct, to stop whining and suckling on the tongue–
Not a tongue, the tentacle, the monster—
Kakashi keened, despite himself. The tentacles around his wrists were bruising tight, absolutely perfect, like two hands holding him down. He had to submit, to show his belly, to be bitten and taken—
Please, please!
He kicks out, impatient, and his other leg is snatched by a thicker tentacle. The one wrapped around his calf and ankle yanks, bending his leg out a painful angle, and Kakashi gasps but can’t complain, oh, can’t even think of it because finally.
Tentacles start ripping at the rest of his clothes, looking for where they can fuck him. He writhes, trying to help, trying to show the way, but though the predator cannot growl it expresses its displeasure just as clearly, holding him tighter, holding him down and Kakashi stills obediently, panting, desperate.
He moans around the tentacle in his mouth, kissing it deeply, wetly, distractingly, until eventually his clothes are torn to shreds and other tentacles grope and slide wetly along his fevered skin.
Kakashi arches itno it, encouraging. Yes, yes, use him, own him.
The tentacle in his mouth pulses again, growing. Kakashi suckles as desperately as he can, chin wet with spit-and-slime, trying to get more of it in his mouth even as it gets wider and harder to work with– oh.
Spreading him, widening his mouth, until it’s touching the inside of both cheeks and it’s all he can do to slide his tongue along it, taste, bob his head as it finds the back of his throat and pets. Kakashi gargles into it, doing his best not to choke– unless it wants—
No, the tentacle stops short of entering his throat, and starts pulling back, thrusting, sliding wonderfully along his tongue until he just-quite-not-gags on it. It fucks his face, takes him, and it’s so wide he can’t close his mouth around it, can’t do anything but whine and try to breath through the spit-slick mess of it.