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He was in a cocoon, rather than a bed, his face-plates masking whatever expression he had in repose. At the same time, he was on the wall, cast like a shadow, observing the steady rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Surreal seemed like an understatement, yet Scarab couldn’t quite think of any other descriptors appropriate for the experience of viewing his own body from the outside.
It felt illicit to be here, an uneasiness weighing on him as he watched himself in repose. Scarab was not Prismo- were his physical body awoken, his dream-self would merge neatly with his conscious mind, and whoever disturbed his slumber would not be guilty of a cosmic crime. Even so, Scarab couldn’t shake the irrational fear that if he were to wake, himself as he was now would simply cease to exist, becoming a forgotten memory as the “real” Scarab resumed living.
“You look so peaceful.”
Prismo spoke lowly, his blue eye bright with something akin to wonder as he gazed down on Scarab’s sleeping form.
Scarab did not feel peaceful. He felt vulnerable, his pulse picking up as Prismo made contact with his physical self, pink fingers faintly discoloring the red chitin of Scarab’s arm.
“Can you feel that?” the Wishmaster asked.
Scarab nodded, brushing a two-dimensional hand over his projected arm as if he might be able to psychically link Prismo’s fingers with his own. His dream-shape buzzed where Prismo was touching his “real” body, a faint prickling beneath his blue skin.
Prismo continued caressing Scarab’s sleeping body, watching the reactions of Scarab’s dream-form intently. Scarab squirmed as Prismo’s touch trailed up his arms, across his shoulders, along the sides of his neck.
Prismo gently, gently pried his face-plates apart, his gaze directed at Scarab’s shadow even as he dipped his head to press a kiss to Scarab’s slightly open maw.
Scarab opened wider automatically, breath hitching at the hum of light pushing into his mouth. He stared, gaping, as Prismo pulled his sleeping body closer, embracing him.
“Ah-”
His sleeping-self stirred, and Scarab felt his sense of reality flicker. For a moment, he was half-tucked in his cocoon, Prismo’s arms around him; then, he was on the wall, panting for air he didn’t need as he watched Prismo molest him.
Prismo smirked as he ran his hand down Scarab’s torso, fingers stroking ever-so-lightly along the seam of his pelvic plates. Scarab inhaled sharply, his abdomen splitting around an umbral void as he saw the tips of tendrils wetly peek through his armor.
“Prismo,” he whispered, voice shaking as the Wishmaster lowered his head. He gasped as a tingling heat steadily spread through his nether regions, reflexively pressing his legs together at the sensation of a tongue exploring his insides. “Pri-” He cut himself off with a moan.
Prismo increased both the pressure and speed of his movements in increments, his tongue stretching and intertwining with the writhing tendrils now fully emerged from between Scarab’s legs. Scarab was unable to tear his eyes away, clenching his fists until his fingers hurt, sluggish and stupid against the pleasure rippling up his spine.
“Ah, ah, PrisMO-”
Scarab’s eyes snapped open, his back arching, his voice breaking, hands clawing uselessly at the sides of his cocoon as Prismo pressed into him and sucked.
The reintroduction of a third dimension to his perception hit him with all the subtlety of a punch to the face, leaving him teetering between pleasure and pain as he came. He grabbed at Prismo’s shoulders, holding on for dear life as he rode through his orgasm, eyes watering, legs trembling.
Prismo was relentless, his movements steady even as Scarab snapped his legs shut on his head. Overstimulated, Scarab dug his claws into the underside of Prismo’s arm with one hand and swatted at him with the other. “T-that- enough! Stop, stop!”
Prismo pulled away as Scarab collapsed, grinning shamelessly as the former auditor gave him another firm smack for good measure. “How’s that for a wake-up call?”
Scarab groaned, slumping back into his cocoon. “You were doing so well- don’t ruin this now, please.”
Prismo slid into the cocoon alongside Scarab, curling around him like the bandages of one of his disguises. “You’re cute when you get all huffy, you know that?”
“I hate you,” Scarab grumbled as he wrapped his arms around Prismo.
Prismo laughed and kissed his cheek.