Chapter Text
Being a cosmic entity messed with one’s head.
Many of Scarab’s collogues didn’t celebrate birthdays or have cyclical time celebrations outside of their cosmic work schedules. After a few thousand years all cultural holidays were virtually forgotten about. No more annual check-ups, seasons, or rituals, they all became meaningless and empty to a god. Any coming-of-age rituals were distant memories by then, and those few who still celebrated them- like Prismo- often had no way of knowing how to translate such dates into the appropriate cosmic calendars, complicated and mercurial as measurements of time are.
Birthdays were something Scarab heard around the office, trivial excuses to throw parties and give gifts. ‘I haven’t had a birthday party in eons!’ then suddenly he’d find himself wasting his precious time-off by staring into a cup of strange liquid, making small talk with semi-familiar faces at a social gathering before retiring early. It was one way to measure time, probably the most common way in casual conversation between gods. And after millennium of toiling away, gods did anything to break up the monotony. Make their own schedules, trying new things, wander off to explore the vast and more unknown parts of the multiverse, find or create drugs potent enough to cause a genocide then trip balls for a few hundred years.
However, Scarab was an outlier. He made it clear he liked the predictability. He enjoyed the unending, never-changing, slough of understandable and essentialist demands of being a god auditor. The work was very black and white, at least for Scarab. He reveled in the routine, it gave him a purpose and sense of self. There were rules, which he followed to a T of course, and that made him good. Not only at his job, but how Scarab saw themself. He did good, therefore he was good.
So no, the winding perpetual hand of time ticking away towards eternity did not, in fact, drive Scarab mad like some of his collogues. What actually drove him to neurotic outburst, was his birthday. Often the one thing envied about him in social settings, painting him as a meticulous and cyclical being grounded in his own self-defined meaning- confident, egotistical, logical. His birthday stripped that away, it took everything from him. Reason, decisiveness, self-sufficiency all thrown to the wind the second his internal temperature began to rise.
Scarab let it be known he hated his birthdays, and resented upper management for forcing him to take time-off. Everyone would roll their eyes and tell him exactly what he so loathed to hear. ‘It’ll be good for you, you’ll enjoy it,’ or his least favorite, ‘Have any plans?’ And they’d pat him on the back while he stewed in shameful self-loathing.
So, imagine Scarab’s surprise when he learned, for most gods, birthdays were not only a bio-chronological phenomena that occurred post-molt in sexually mature insectoid species- but simply a day that marked one’s inception into existence on a specific plane of reality. No hormonal flood or breeding frenzy, there was no implicit sexual undertone to birthdays for many of his colleagues. It was not impolite to ask about someone’s birthday plans in the office, in fact it was considered rude to not care about their petty social going-ons.
However, Scarab never willfully celebrated his birthday, invited guests nor planned parties around it. In fact, Scarab would begrudgingly use the minimum amount necessary of his hoarded stockpile of time-off and lock himself away to suffer in solitude. He figured a couple hundred years into the job, maybe this pesky little symptom of his lost mortality would vanish. But he was wrong. Instead, his body worked even more predictably, like clock-work. Scarab wound up over time, pressure from his job, dissatisfaction, imperfection- right as he felt himself on the precipice of falling apart, scattering into wayward beetles, it would be his birthday again. Scarab knew it was coming when he started feeling tense and irritable.
The physiological symptoms of its onset couldn’t be repressed away so easily. Scarab found himself scratching at the seams of his exoskeleton and snapping more easily at his idiotic co-workers. Then he would be put on leave. Of course, he knew what everyone thought, what they said while he was gone. Who would have thought Scarab of all auditors would be one to celebrate his birthday? Clearly, they all thought it was a necessity by upper management to force him into taking time away from his duties as auditor. He of all people needed to relax, and true to testament, Scarab would return less on edge. People would welcome him back with genuine relief and it made him feel a little better about the unfortunate circumstances.
Only now, Scarab was plastered like wallpaper to the time cube, and he didn’t have the wherewithal to even ask Orbo about accommodations for his birthday. That’s where Scarab was now, standing over his sleeping body. He passed a cyan hand across his own figure, trying to remember the difference in feeling. The bright mix of red and blue reminded him of Prismo’s touch, warping his color spectrum. Scarab could feel it like an echo, the shadow of a phantom sensation across his own exoskeleton, but flattened, massless. Regardless, he still shuddered, feeling flesh shift under his shell, he would recognize that sensation anywhere. It was almost his birthday.
Scarab glare at his sleeping body, his traitorous corporeal form dozing peacefully next to Prismo’s smaller, human body. Scarab wondered if it was the human’s mammalian heat that was making him feel so unbearably warm so quickly. Scarab pulled down the covers, studying his body from the wall he was projected on, peering between his own legs now. Scarab chittered unhappily to find his pelvic plates softened, parted slightly and damp with fluid. He cleaned himself up gently, groaning when the contact sent a dull tingle through him. Scarab tucked the sleeping bodies back in and snuck from their quarters, absentmindedly rubbing his claws together as he rounded the corner.
His head felt a little foggy. Scarab rubbed over his face and brooded, nearly running straight into Prismo.
“Oh! Hey-” the wishmaster said, “I was looking for you…”
Prismo glanced over Scarab’s shoulder before trailing off, noticing the way the beetle stood all tense and curled up on himself. He almost looked bashful.
“Were you just in the bedroom?” Prismo asked.
Scarab nodded, “Yes.”
Prismo raised his eyebrows as curiosity took hold, “Had to take a look at your bod?”
Scarab nodded again, “It’s almost my birthday.”
Big mistake. Prismo lit up like a match, a wide smile broke out on his face.
“Scrabby!” he exclaimed, “I didn’t know you celebrated your b-day!”
Scarab nodded, “Technically it’s the day I molted, much more meaningful.”
Prismo gestured excitedly, “We should throw a party! You could be the guest of honor-”
“No!” Scarab shouted, then quickly flinched at his own outburst, “Birthdays for my species are… an extremely intimate affair.”
Prismo gave him a curious look but waved it off, “That’s cool too man, cultural differences,” he nodded, “Privacy, I getcha.”
“Tch,” Scarab snapped his mandible.
The idea of a room full of his collogues watching him fall apart flashed through his mind. He’d probably just end up ruining the party with his sour attitude and rabid sexual impulses. Finding himself humiliated, yet still on his hands and knees clawing at the wall, begging for Prismo to just put him out of his misery. Scarab tried to blink away the imprint of such filth burned into the back of his eyelids.
“What are you going to ask for?” Prismo waggled his eyebrows, “Wait let me guess… a necktie?”
“What are you talking about?” Scarab rubbed at his face again.
“For your birthday wish!” Prismo grinned at him, bright pink and beaming, “Anything you want?”
“Ah yes, a present-” Scarab contemplated, he knew about this social ritual despite his limited experience with it.
Unbidden a handful of filthy, depraved things flashed through his mind. Scarab’s eyes glanced around taking note of Prismo- his hands, his mouth, that large nose he found so endearing. The thought of a single blue eye looking up from between his legs, made him jolt out of his reverie.
“I don’t know,” Scarab gave up, unable to think of anything beyond filling the gnawing pit of desire in his abdomen.
Prismo place a hand on Scarab’s shoulder, sending a shockwave of warmth through him.
“Well, if you think of anything,” Prismo said, oblivious to Scarab’s internal dilemma, “Let me know and I’ll make it happen.”
Scarab pinched his eyes shut but nodded his head, refusing to dignify the burgeoning fantasy of Prismo catering to him during his heat. It was all Scarab could do to hold himself still until Prismo left him be, then he rushed to a distant section of the cube and huddle at the end of a shadowy hallway. Pressing a hand over his mouth as he felt around his abdomen and between his legs. Searching for something, anything. Any kind of slit or fold, a divot, a warm or sensitive spot- just something, but Scarab found nothing. Only the smooth blue expanse of his dream projection and the way it watered down all his senses. All the mental energy he directed towards finding some way to please himself, just made him agitated. In his mind he could feel his corporeal form in anguish. Probably rolling around, condensation on his chitin, the blankets long thrown off.
Sure, Scarab has spent a while watching himself sleep. He thought about what his body looked like all splayed out, clinging to Prismo as his pelvic plates shuddered.
The blue projection rubbed his wings together. Would it be worth it to wake himself up so he could orgasm? Would he be punished? Should he ask Orbo? Gods no, not after being chewed out to the 50th dead world and back, the last thing he wanted to do now was think of Orbo. Should he ask… Prismo? Beg to return to his corporeal form so at least he could suffer in dignity. Scarab thought about it, and thought about it, until his mind wandered away.
Maybe if he begged hard enough, explained himself in vivid detail Prismo would take pity on him and give in. The wishmaster was exactly the kind of guy Scarab expected to cave to such abasement. Even if he had his body, then what? Use his hands like a pre-molted grub? He had never been party to such blatant neglect and self-disrespect during his heats. Despite the tight-laced attitude, Scarab wasn’t one to skimp out on routine and consistency. If he was forced to go through this, he might as well get some enjoyment out of it. It gave him a sense of agency too, coming prepared, literally.
Perhaps he could convince himself this cloud had a silver lining. If he had his body, the feelings would probably be even more unbearable, and this time he wouldn’t have any toys, or a nest to comfort him- unless he asked Prismo. But living with a mammal, his oviparous nature was difficult to explain away or avoid. Having a body was a nuisance, so having two was just his luck.
Scarab shifted and glanced down the long, endless hallway. The way it faded into black far enough down the line made him dizzy. He squinted his eyes and let his vision blur as another wave of desperation buzzed under his chitin. He squirmed, chirping in the shadows as he molded himself to the corner. Scarab closed his eyes, he could feel his body shifting. He recognized the impression of damp heat and yearning for sensation that transferred remarkably well onto the bright blue of his projected form.
“Egg this…” He gritted out from beneath his teeth.
So, there he sat for an indiscriminate amount of time. Absently pawing at the empty cyan space between his legs. Fantasizing about what it might feel like if he could touch himself- even though waking up his sleeping form was not an option. Scarab chirped a clipped, melancholic tone as he struggled to ignore the flood of hormones that were stripping him of all rationality. Instead, he curled into a little ball, tucking his limbs as close to his projection as he could. Scarab tried to soothe himself, something he enjoyed about this form, at least, anxiously rubbing his wings together as he chirped. This one thing he could do, and it felt nice. Not enough to solve the issue at hand, but it allowed him to withstand the trembling.
Prismo wandered through the cube, he had checked the time core, the pickle cellar, the winding staircases and labyrinthian halls near the bedroom. Still no sign of Scarab. He was making himself scarce as of late, maybe the guy needed a heart to heart or something.
“Hmn… dude sure does take his birthday seriously,” Prismo wondered aloud.
Usually Prismo wouldn’t mind Scarab’s absence, but he wanted someone to look after the time room while he dallied around in the cellar or did something creative. With a new apprentice, the Wishmaster had expanded his repertoire of useless hobbies, adding room after room into the labyrinth inside of the cube with the excuse he was “educating Scarab on intergalactic cultures.” Something about learning empathy, rehabilitation, and wisher satisfaction- Orbo had loved the idea, of course. Non-withstanding, Prismo had found similar rooms, clearly hidden away in an attempt to conceal the hobbies and desires of previous Wishmasters. While no furniture or objects remained, the architecture of an amphitheater, or the recognizable pillars in a temple of Golb, gave a clue what the space could have been used for. Prismo left those alone, allowing them to be safely sealed away over the years, exactly how they were left. And over time they became lost forever, even to him, disappearing within a shifting rubix of passages and doorways.
That was his biggest fear. Prismo couldn’t stop himself from worrying about the little beetle getting lost inside the cube somewhere. Prismo went in and out of each room, nervously searching for him.
“Scrabby!” he said, “Scrabs!”
Only echoes of his own frantic voice returned to him. Prismo wandered around for a while, growing increasingly worried when he couldn’t find the little guy. Maybe he was just tucked into some small crevice somewhere and couldn’t hear Prismo having a breakdown over his sudden disappearance.
“This is getting me nowhere-” Prismo muttered, as he split himself into pieces. Each projection going to a separate corner of the cube to search for Scarab.
A cacophony of echoed calls for rang through the wide empty halls. One of the projections ran by a derelict part of the cube before stopping in his tracks. Every projection paused, listening. The Prismo in the time room even pause granting a wish, to focus on an odd sound, like that of a cricket chirping.
The soft trill could be heard just barely. All the projections convened except for time room Prismo who was busy pretending to listen to a wisher ramble about their epic quest.
“Scrabs?” the other Prismo-jection said, following the soft chirping.
The wishmaster turned down a hallway, rushing past the checkered grid on every surface until it all blurted and his vision tunneled in on the small, blue figure, huddled onto the corner at the end of a dark hall.
“Scrabby? What are you doing here?” Prismo asked gently.
The chirping stopped, but the wishmaster could still see the way the edges of Scarab’s projection wavered.
“Hey buddy…” Prismo softened his voice, trying not to startle the bug, “Wanna talk about it?”
He reached out but Scarab flinched away. Instead, Prismo dropped his hand and came to sit next to him.
Scarab’s voice trembled as he spoke, “Leave me to wallow in my misery.”
Forcing himself to sit up, still slumping against the wall heavily. The poor guy sounded like he might cry.
Prismo scooted closer, “I’ll wallow, misery loves company.”
The beetle only scoffed and looked away, finding the tiled pattern on the floors suddenly very intriguing.
After a moment of silence Prismo continued to pry, “Feeling weird about your b-day, Scrabs?”
Scarab nodded and buried his face in his hands, seeing only blue, “Every year I try to ignore the inevitable,” he bemoaned, “But it always manages to catch me off guard.”
Prismo placed a hand on his shoulder, making the scarab tense up with the pleasant flood of sensation at their purple juncture. Sometimes, Scarab had wondered if he was in fact on the same plane as Prismo. Would they slide over one another like leaves, or blend like colors of the rainbow? Now Scarab knew they were on the same plane. He could feel their forms interlock, melding into something new at a brightly colored intersection. That purple light felt so good, too good. It made Scarab lightheaded, a mounting pressure driving him to shiver.
“I’ve been bested by this… this-” Scarab gestured angrily at himself, “-traitorous, blue body!”
Purple, purple all he could see, even when he closed his eyes Scarab was now fascinated with the hue. Wanting to bath in it, let that magenta wave penetrate him until every bit of blue was encapsulated and turned into that royal, rich, silken shade of purple. Scarab continued, crossing his arms angrily, to hide the way he was shaking.
“When I was promoted to godhood,” he rasped, “I was ensured these kind of physical nuisances would eliminated…”
Prismo looked confused but still nodded along, “Everything ages, even gods. We just age in a different way.”
Scarab curled in on himself and shook his head. Buzzing, buzzing, his antennae twitched. Wings fluttering in frustration. Prismo chuckled at his trilling and wrapped an arm around him, pulling the smaller projection in close. Holding him like something precious.
“I hoped it would be different this time,” Scarab shifted with discomfort where he sat, letting out a defeated huff. He leaned into Prismo, finding comfort in the purple hue they made together.
Prismo tucked him flush against his side, intertwining purple where they touched. Scarab had to press his legs together to curb the overwhelming desire to lean in and merge himself with Prismo entirely. Curious if it could satisfy his fever, Scarab still pushed the idea away as quickly as it came.
Prismo still had his hand wrapped around the point of Scarab’s shoulder, prattling on, “It’s not all bad getting old. There is a lot to look forward to, I think-”
“Like what?” Scarab asked bitterly, trying not to fall apart.
“All the craziest stuff,” Prismo answered, “The end of all time, ego death, visiting other realms of the multiverse, the all-encompassing insanity of immortality…”
Scarab balked at him, his antenna twitched again. This imbecile was trying to console him, despite doing a semi-adequate job, the advice was still not specific enough to his peculiar situation.
Prismo shrugged, “You know, godhood stuff.”
Scarab shuddered in distaste thinking of being stuck as a projection while his heat rendered him into a useless blue shell of starved impulses every year for all eternity. With his poor luck and aggressive immortality, Scarab would likely suffer through his heats forever at the cruel whim of his biological clock. His internal cicadian rhythm would be buzzing under his skin as stars imploded and solar systems collided, civilizations rose and fell, entropied into the vacuum of space. But the one consistency would be his cyclical and insufferable desire to breed, like the mindless animal he tried so desperately not to be.
“Sounds awful…” the ex-auditor complained.
Scarab curled up on himself, the incessant throbbing in the blank blue space between his thighs was making it difficult to think. Prismo tucked Scarab closer to him, making his apprentice squeak in discomfort and tremble as he tried to keep it together.
“C’mon Scrabs-” Prismo urged him, trying to lighten the mood, “At least you won’t be alone.”
A realization dawned on him, making his projection flinch at the sudden surge of dread.
“You’re right…” Scarab spoke, his tone bewildered.
“Who’s to say how long we’ll be stuck here?” Scarab’s voice started to shift, a hissing undertone as he clicked his mandible in agitation. Prismo nodded.
Scarab looked down at his bright blue hands, his eye drifting down to the expanse where his pelvic plates would be. He felt himself unraveling, the neurotic impulses more prevalent with all the hormones flooding his corporeal form. He ought to just throw himself at Prismo’s mercy now and start the begging before he became too incoherent.
“Probably hundreds of thousands of years, might as well celebrate a birthday every now and again,” Prismo said, trying to be supportive. Rubbing at Scarab’s shoulder with a magenta hand, creating a bright purple where they connected. That small touch made Scarab yearn for more, unable to help himself from leaning into Prismo as he started to lose himself to melodramatic pity.
“Eggs, no,” Scarab muttered, “This is exactly what I get for disobeying orders, this is my punishment…”
Prismo keep trying to cheer him up, not realizing how it sent the beetle into a spiral of anxiety and self-loathing.
“Hey man, it’s also a new opportunity,” Prismo rambled on, “Meet new people, try new things.”
The constant sound of his voice was starting to grate on Scarab’s nerves.
“Instead of a party maybe we could throw a kickback? Or even a movie night?” Prismo offered unhelpfully.
Scarab shook his head, feeling a growing pressure in his chest. Purple, purple. All he could think of was that hideously, gawdy, violet shade.
“What about like, a gift exchange, game night thing?” Prismo asked, “Cosmic Owl would totally-”
At the mention of Prismo’s friend which Scarab so loathed, he couldn’t help it. The idea of another being in the time room right now made his carapace prickle with pure territorial rage.
“Absolutely not!” Scarab declared, shoving Prismo away as he scrambled to stand up, “Useless, utter fronds!”
Scarab paced back and forth, clawing at himself, “Why me of all entities? I know I crammed up, but this is simply cruel and unusual!”
Scarab turned away and pressed his hands against his face plates, feeling them shift, threatening to open as he grew angrier.
“Woah, pardner-” Prismo reached out for him tentatively.
Scarab dodged the pink hand, crawling along the wall, escaping Prismo’s grasp as he scuttled away.
“I can’t take this!” he wailed, pressing himself into a corner of the ceiling at the end of that dark hallway.
Scarab dragged his claws across his own face, feeling them leave scratches across the surface of the wall he projected onto.
“It’s too much, I’m not- I won’t…” Scarab’s voice shook, his shoulders twitching as he started to crumble. Tucking himself into a pathetic blue dot as he worked out his frustration.
“Scrabby, hey calm down…” Prismo tried to reach out again.
Scarab snapped his teeth at the wishmaster, pulling back his face plates to show all those hideous insectoid features everyone loathed to see.
“Leave me to rot!” the blue beetle hissed, snapping his mandibles.
Prismo looked surprised, perhaps a little bewildered, until his face softened again. Scarab had to turn away from the look of pity, or was it affection?
“Scrabs, you know I won’t do that,” Prismo sighed.
Prismo reached out again and shooshed him softly when the beetle chittered in agitation. Wrapping a gentle hand around his slight waist, Prismo pulled the former auditor closer again. Positioning the small blue figure in his lap this time, holding onto his loosely as Scarab trembled.
He could shove him away, yell at him for the, albeit gentle, manhandling. But Scarab didn’t want to.
The wishmaster cooed, “You don’t scare me. C’mere…”
“But I’m made wrong,” Scarab declared, his voice unusually quiet and passive.
Prismo just rolled his eyes and tutted at the melodrama.
“I like how you’re made,” the wishmaster shrugged, patting Scarab’s head “Here, just… take a load off.”
The bug curled into Prismo’s lap, despite his humiliation at doing so. Scarab felt the heat in his gut rise into a roaring inferno, his body shivering relentlessly at the exertion of controlling himself in such close proximity. The cathartic release of emotion left him even more sensitive now. What Scarab wouldn’t give for the ability to rut into that warm purple light until his eyes rolled back into his head.
“I despise my birthdays…” Scarab grumbled.
“I hear that,” Prismo replied.
To Prismo’s delight, Scarab stayed put this time. Prismo stayed quiet and simply let the little guy wear himself out, giving him a soft pet every now and again. Watching the way his wings would flutter or how his antennae jolted everytime Prismo touched him. It was kind of mesmerizing, to his own discomfort, it reminded him of having a little pet. The wishmaster waited patiently, cradling Scarab in his lap. Enjoying the close contact and feeling second-hand sympathy for his friend as he admired the pretty purple color that was created when their forms interconnected.
Sure, Prismo had given the little beetle some hugs before, but never had he wrapped him up like this, turning his entire body purple. It felt nice, and if Scarab wasn’t busy raging himself into exhaustion, perhaps Prismo just might say something about how lovely that shade of purple was.
Scarab shuddered as he tried to drift off into a sleepless rest, simply enjoying the way his mind went blank at the euphoric feeling of being held.
Until Prismo spoke up, “Talk to me Scrabs. Please…”
Scarab went stiff, only then did Prismo realize how relaxed he had been.
“You come from a mammalian species, you wouldn’t understand…” he sighed in defeat.
Prismo shrugged, “Try me, dude. I’ve been all over the multiverse before this gig.”
Scarab leisurely crawled off Prismo’s lap, settling in the corner closest to him. The shame nearly choking off his ability to speak when he realized he’d much rather stay all violet and cozy in his mentor’s lap. But lingering would be inappropriate, Prismo was essentially his boss at this point- Scarab’s big, comforting, generous and near omnipotent boss. The beetle couldn’t even wrap his head around how he might approach the topic in a way that didn’t make him want to crawl under a rock.
Scarab shook his head, “I can’t, it’s… excessively humiliating.”
Prismo didn’t push, maybe he should have, but it didn’t feel like the right time. Overwhelming the little guy wasn’t the solution. But he would leave the possibility open for the future.
“Well, you still get your wish,” Prismo said, “If there’s anything you need to make your special day easier, let me know.”
“Quarter cycle,” Scarab uttered.
“What?” Prismo replied.
“My ‘special day’,” Scarab said, “It’s already started, and it lasts over a hundred earthling hours.”
Prismo glanced around, narrowing his eyes at Scarab’s little blue projection.
“And during that time, you’re-” he cautiously speculated, “-molting?”
Scarab flinched, glancing over to the wishmaster as he crossed his arms, “No, I am fully grown.”
Prismo gave him such a genuine, affectionate grin it sent a dizzying wave of conflicting emotions through him.
“Hey so, I didn’t want to bring it up earlier,” Prismo said, “But you smell like syrup, dude.”
“L-like, what?” Scarab’s wings rubbed together at the sudden realization.
“It’s this sugary tree sap-” Prismo tried to describe it.
“I know what syrup is!” Scarab snapped.
“But like, with cardamon and rose-” Prismo continued unperturbed, “Oh! We don’t have a syrup making room yet-”
“Prismo!” Scarab exclaimed grabbing his focus again, “I know what I want to wish for, and it’s not syrup.”
The wishmaster froze and stared at his small blue assistant, he then shrugged and nodded.
“Okay cool, lay it on me,” Prismo replied.
Scarab shuddered, trying not to interpret that literally, “For my birthday, I wish to wake-up.”
Prismo stared at him, eye wide and mouth agape.
“Scrabs,” the wishmaster grinned nervously, “You know that’s against the rules.”
Scarab stood up and pointed at him, “I’m asking for one hundred hours in my corporeal form. You did say anything, Wishmaster.”
“I don’t know man,” Prismo grimaced, “Asking me to bend the rules isn’t like you.”
“I promise I will return of my own free will,” Scarab declared, then quieter, “No one has to know.”
Prismo narrowed his eyes, then shrugged, “Alright, but- I just have one question?”
Scarab nodded.
Prismo asked, “Is this why you keep looking at your bod?”
Scarab chirped, high and short, clearly shocked that Prismo knew he had been there more than once.
The beetle pulled himself together and nodded, “Yes, my birthday makes me indulgently introspective. It’s as if I have a persistent itch on my corporeal form. But once I scratch it, I’ll be ready to sleep again.”
Prismo blinked, taking in the information, “Sure that makes sense.”
Scarab felt his antennae flicker in anticipation, trying not to get his hopes up so soon.
“I’m glad you didn’t wake yourself up,” Prismo said, “That could have been bad, let me do it for you instead.”
Scarab rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment, knowing Prismo guessed at least one of his reasons for watching his corporeal form sleep.
“I thought about it,” Scarab admitted, “But realized it would be a poor choice.”
“I getcha,” Prismo nodded, “When I first started, I thought about it too sometimes, but my corporeal form is much weaker than my projection.”
Scarab narrowed his eyes, buzzing in offense, “What are you implying?”
“Nothing!” Prismo rushed to explain, “I’m just sure it’s difficult to adjust when you were already so powerful.”
Scarab sat up straight, “You think I’m powerful?”
Prismo nodded, holding up his broken wrist, “Of course. You nearly wrecked me.”
The scarab shook his head and glanced away, trying hard not to let his thoughts stray.
Prismo nudged him, “By the way,” he teased, “I never would’ve guessed you’d be such a cuddle bug.”
Scarab’s eyes went wide as Prismo pressed his thumb and middle finger together. The wishmaster snapped.
“I am not-” Scarab managed to grumble, just before he vanished.
In the bedroom, Scarab awoke. Immediately he regretted it, wanting to fall back asleep despite the discomfort. He was overheating under his shell, carefully trying to extract himself from old man Prismo’s limbs without causing any nightmares. Scarab stared at the human for a moment, noticing how soft and fleshy the wishmaster’s body appeared. It was warm too, so blissfully warm like basking in the sun. It was both pleasant and mournful to leave the soft, comforting bed.
Scarab felt the subtle refreshing cold of the universe that seeped into the time cube, then he was hit with a barrage of sensations that made him dizzy. He stumbled, nearly falling flat on his faceplates as the floor came rushing to meet him. Scarab resigned that all he could do for a moment was sit down and grab at his spinning head. He did smell like syrup, odd. He hadn’t let himself get this bad in eons, the way his heat made all his higher functions slower- dumber. He couldn’t stand it, his own personal hell and the vertigo was like being locked into a carnal rollercoaster.
Just then a most unwelcome feeling of being touched drew his attention. He felt that bright pink light, how it would creep its way into the seams of his exoskeleton. He hadn’t even needed to have his eyes open to know Prismo was touching him. And he hated how his body reacted. Something in him singing out in desperation, trying to convince himself in his feeblemindedness that he was saved. No, Prismo was not an option either.
“Hey, buddy…” Prismo spoke, “How’re you feeling?”
Scarab just shook his head and croaked out a raspy, “Horrible.”
“Need some help there?” The wishmaster uttered, before Scarab could tell him off, two pink limbs gently spiraled around his exoskeleton and squeezed.
Scarab groaned out an embarrassing trill as Prismo situated him like a ragdoll. Helping him lean up against the wall. Much to Scarab’s horror, his pelvic plates struggled to stay closed. He quickly dropped a hand over his groin to cover the obscene display of desire and the dried slick that still clung to him. Prismo let go and the beetle leaned against the wall in relief.
“Prismo…” Scarab lamented, “I feel even worse. How is that possible?”
Prismo sucked air in through his teeth in sympathy, “I get it man, waking up is rough. Sorry you’re still feeling bunk. Why not ask for something else then?”
Scarab just shrugged and nodded, wondering how he could get Prismo to leave him blissfully alone for the next hundred hours. Despite the fog in his head, he still realized the wishmaster was being very amenable to his odd demands. Unfortunately, this was something Prismo couldn’t simply wish away for him, but in the moment, Scarab forgot all about those pesky little details.
“You’d do that for me?” Scarab asked, voice thick with awe.
“Sure, Scrabby-” Prismo replied, “Whatever you need.”
Scarab felt himself boiling under his chitin, he quickly shook his head. Refusing to divulge anything that would require he expose himself to the feeling of bright pink light on his flesh. What he needed was some peace and quiet to search through all those odd new rooms and find something blunt and round to misuse. But if he actually had his way, Scarab wanted a little room all to himself, with all the things he so desired. The not-yet-wishmaster wasn’t banned from fulfilling his own desires with the magic of the time room, but he also did not have the same manifesting power as Prismo. Especially not now. He could barely manifest the will to stand up straight, with all of his focus on trying to keep it together.
“I can’t, I just-” the scarab shuddered, swallowing heavily, “It’s not an appropriate thing to ask of you.”
“Well, neither is waking up,” Prismo shrugged, “But you’ve been through a lot, I’ll cut you some slack.”
Scarab’s pelvic plates loosened before he grimaced and snapped them shut again, leaning heavily against the wall where he stood. That’s not what Prismo meant, he shamed himself for being over eager, nearly taking advantage of Prismo’s giving nature. Looking towards the wishmaster, he shook his head and gaffed.
“Why are you being so…” Scarab sneered, “-kind.”
Prismo just smiled and shrugged his shoulders again, “You’re my responsibility now, for who knows how long. Gotta make sure you’re taken care of.”
Scarab’s eyes went wide, he clenched his legs together, feeling his joints ache. The unmistakable swelling that made his flesh feel too tight irked him. He couldn’t sustain this, he was going to fall apart.
“Plus,” Prismo added, “You’re my friend.”
Scarab glared at the bright pink projection. Feeling that nagging voice inside himself that declared the word ‘friend’ as tenuous at best, servant at worst. And much to Scarab’s self-disappointment, the thought made him sweat, unperturbed in the slightest at their power dynamic. In fact, it made him wetter, having to look up at Prismo’s projection made him feel things. Vulgar things. Truly realizing how massive and powerful the other entity was, nearly engulfing the entire wall. Scarab wanted to be engulfed like that.
Scarab shook his head and pushed himself up, stumbling out of the bedroom slowly.
“Just-” Scarab sighed, “Give me a moment.”
“Sure, I’ll be back later,” Prismo nodded, “Give me a call if you need anything.”
By the time Scarab glanced over his shoulder, he caught the fading impression of one bright blue eye. Then he was alone. One last glance over his shoulder at the soft bed, the sleeping form of old man Prismo looked so lonely without him.
On the other side of the cube, within the yellow walls of the time room, Prismo flipped through channels on the tv wall to bid his time. Searching until he found the channel that showed Scarab still stumbling through the inner-halls of the cube.
Yeah, it made Prismo feel skeezy, but leaving him alone made him feel even worse. There was clearly something wrong with him, and more than just emotionally. The wishmaster didn’t know what to do if Scarab wouldn’t talk to him about it or even ask for help. The beetle looked in a bad way and Prismo would hate for him to wander around in his disoriented state and get hurt or lost. Still, he diverted his attention to his laptop, opening up one of his old fics for some casual grammatical editing. Prismo was holding out on his hope that Scarab would come crawling back eventually, but until then, he would make sure the little guy didn’t lose himself in the cube, occasionally flickering his eyes over to the tv wall.
Scarab glanced around himself before ducking into a deep alcove that allowed him to hide from prying eyes. As soon as he tucked himself away, he relaxed his pelvic plates, pinning a hand over his mouth while he huffed. The cool air felt so good on his feverish carapace, already a rivulet of slick dripped down his thigh and onto the floor. The slightest touch made his knees buckle as he trilled. Scarab knelt on the floor with an excited chirp, rubbing a finger over the damp feelers that lined his entrance. His tendril quickly reared up and wrapped around his wrist, keeping his hand in place as he plunged two fingers inside himself hastily. Already relaxed and open, there was barely a stretch. Behind his faceplate, his eyes rolled back.
“Oh, grub that’s good-” Scarab hissed.
Prismo looked up from his laptop, the hallway was empty now. He frowned and flipped through a few different channels.
“Where did he…?” Prismo wandered aloud.
Suddenly the channel switched and Prismo was overwhelmed with the sound of wet, obscene noises, obviously of the lustful variety. Had the volume been this loud earlier? The tv wall showed Scarab kneeling in some empty room, one hand working between his legs, the other hand was resting over his mouth. Muffling the explicit noises and exclamations the wishmaster was curious to hear, though he would never admit it aloud. Prismo’s mouth fell open slightly, unable to glance away in time. It was too late, he was already mesmerized.
“Oh grob!” Prismo hit the panic button on his remote. Sealing all the entrances into the cube as his finger then hovered over the channel button. Stealing himself before he switched away, just watching for a few more seconds before he would turn it off. At least that’s what Prismo told himself. He shouldn’t have hesitated, but quickly convinced himself it was for Scarab’s benefit, or maybe simple morbid curiosity. Biting his lip as he turned down the volume, enraptured by how the little red bug squirmed at his own touch. This was wrong, and a little bonkers. Prismo tried to glance away but he couldn’t focus on anything else. The picture of Scarab grinding into his own hand was seared into his brain.
“Is that why you wanted to wake-up?” Prismo wondered out loud out himself.
Squinting his eyes as he tried to make out what kind of genitalia Scarab had, before catching himself and averting his attention back to his laptop. Unsuccessfully at that. The low yet persistent squelch of flesh and pleasurable keening kept pulling Prismo’s focus back to the screen. He tried to shift his attention elsewhere, but the soft noises Scarab was making kept drawing him back in.
Just as he reached for the off button, Scarab’s hand slipped from his mouth and Prismo could clearly hear his voice.
“Yes, Golb…” Scarab panted out, “Oh wishmaster -”
Prismo whipped his head around, wide-eyed and frozen in shock, trying to convince himself this wasn’t happening. Clearly, he misheard Scarab.
Scarab plunged another finger inside, trying so hard to get them deeper. Condensation was collecting on the outside of his exoskeleton as he arched his hips. His cirrus squeezed at his wrist, constricting against the smooth surface.
Bucking into his hand, Scarab whimpered, “Please, I-I’m-”
Prismo watched from the time room, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. As long as he never told anyone, or acted differently towards the beetle, maybe it wouldn’t matter. Prismo put the remote down and settled back. Feeling the pink on his face glow brighter with shame. He shouldn’t be doing this.
“Ugh please, Prismo… I need, hah-” Scarab slammed his hand back over his face plates, muffling his cries.
His whole body shuddered, twitching with the waves of pleasure that overtook him. The beetle gave a final, loud trill that broke off into fragmented moans. A fresh flood of clear fluid gushed forth from his entrance and beaded up along the textured underbelly of his tendril.
“That’s it- yes, yes!” Scarab cried out, abandoning the task of muffling himself to unwind his writhing appendage from his wrist. Stroking at it while working his fingers inside himself, rocking up into the tight grip of his fist. This was it, exactly what he needed, Scarab felt euphoric. His legs trembled as he pushed through the blissful contractions. The volume of his own shouting surprised even himself. Practically screaming in sweet agony. Nearly going blind for a moment with the intensity of his orgasm.
“Fronds!” he cried out, collapsing against the wall behind him, splayed out in a heap of limbs.
Scarab sat for a moment breathing heavily before he brought both hands up, noticing they were now sticky and damp. Still, he absentmindedly stroked his feelers, making himself shudder every now and then as he came down from the intense stimulation. Suddenly, the throbbing returned, stronger this time.
“Damn it…” Scarab uttered, “Not again.”
His tendril curled and clenched over itself, writhing until he took hold of it. Squeezing roughly at the base, moaning in agony.
“Oh, Golb-” he grunted, “Please, not again.”
Scarab replaced his hand over his mouth, tugging at himself despite the complaint, jolting with overstimulation each time.
“I can’t twice-” Scarab shook his head, “I’m n-not a-”
A slut? The pubescent, soft-shelled, grub of his teen years? An open-legged invitation? Scarab wasn’t sure what he would even finish that exclamation with, but regardless he was already struggling. Touching himself was slowly spinning him further into a pit of desperation and denial. He just couldn’t quite get it to feel just right, to feel good enough.
Scarab tried something else. And all it took was closing his eyes, and thinking about Prismo, to make him ache for it. How kind Prismo was to him. The way they turned eachother violet. He thought about the comfort of waking up next to Prismo’s tiny human body. Even the pink projection of his incorporeal form did something lewd to the former auditor. The way he could wrap him up with a single limb or shower him with praise and gifts like it was nothing. He was so big, and his pink light always felt so nice and warm.
Scarab’s eyes rolled back. Something deep inside him surged with desire, growing so hot that he had to push back his face plates to cool off. What would Prismo say if he could see him now? Would he be encouraged? Teased?
‘You’re doing so good, almost there…’ Scarab imagined, hearing it in Prismo’s voice, echoing inside his skull.
Only for a moment, the scarab tried to think of something else, anything else. Overcome with the wrongness of fantasizing about his companion and mentor in such a way. But the unbidden fantasy of Prismo kept making its way into his head. His damned, charming smile, that lovely shade of pink, the curly, silver hair that grew so thick you could hardly see the wishmaster’s corporeal form underneath. All he wanted was Prismo. He wanted to be pinned down by those strong pink limbs and taken apart by that scalding blue gaze. Scarab always got good performance reviews, and he could put on an entertaining show for Prismo.
‘Pretty bug,’ Scarab fantasized him saying, ‘Is this what you wanted?’
The beetle chittered in excitement, finally giving in to his base desires. Nodding along as he talked back to his own lustful imagination. Dreaming of look up at Prismo towering over him, eyes glistening as he begged for more.
“Please, please-” Scarab mumbled, his voice came out strained and wanting.
Would groveling make Prismo happy or uncomfortable? The wishmaster didn’t make anyone beg, it seemed as if he disliked the reminder of his own authority. Perhaps he would prefer Scarab talk about the sensations he felt, or the thoughts he was having. Maybe, Scarab would return the favor and shower the wishmaster in praise, this line of work was often so thankless as is. Surely, he would enjoy that.
‘Please what?’ Imaginary Prismo taunted him, giving him a filthy smirk and making his heart skip a beat.
“Feels so good, I can’t get enough,” Scarab pinched his eyes closed, getting lost in the fantasy.
He grit out through his fangs, mandibles clicking, “I need to come, please, more…”
Imaginary Prismo would just cross his arms over his chest and watch the show leisurely from the wall he was projected on.
‘You really need my help?’ Prismo would taunt him, ‘You seem to be doing just fine so far.”
“Please!” Scarab continued to plead, “You’ve been so good to me! So merciful…”
Prismo would probably blush and glance away for a moment before leaning in closer to get a better look. And who was Scarab to deny him that?
The beetle opened his legs wider and removed his fingers. Spreading them apart to show the strands of slick that clung to each digit. It was filthy, making himself glance away in embarrassment.
“Oh grubs-” Scarab groaned, “Look at me now… how obscene.”
Scarab brought his hand to his mouth, licking off his own essence as his proboscis twined through the spaces between each finger. His other hand still stroking the dripping tendril between his legs, making it jerk and curl over itself every now and again.
‘Needy little bug,’ Prismo would say to him, spurring him on, ‘You think this is all my fault?’
Scarab nodded at his internal dialogue, working himself closer to orgasm.
“Yes, yes-” he grunted, “Oh Golb, Prismo!”
He could practically taste it, rutting into his own hand as he imagined Prismo’s fingers inside his mouth. Playing with his tongue and tugging softly on his proboscis, tracing fingertips over the sharp points of his teeth. Something in his gut wound tight, so tight he could barely breathe. Scarab’s eyes closed as he tipped his head back, gnawing on his lip.
‘Look at me,’ Scarab wanted Prismo to say, ‘Let me see you, so cute…”
The fantasy became just enough to get him to the edge for a second time.
Scarab groaned around the fingers in his mouth, “Huh, yes I’m- uhn... so close.”
‘Come for me, that’s it,’ imaginary Prismo cooed at him, ‘You can do it! Such a good little bug.’
Scarab bit into his knuckle hard enough to crack the thin chitin there, “Fronds, yes- Pris- moh!”
He dragged himself through another orgasm, shaking and crying out into the empty rooms of the time cube. Hoping his aforementioned mentor was none the wiser as his body convulsed. Jittering in pleasure and satisfaction as he dripped all over the floor.
“Good gob,” Scarab exhaled, letting go of his dripping tendril. Watching how it slithered back inside him lazily.
Again, it was only a few moments of blissful relief before his refractory period all but disappeared, and Scarab started to feel antsy again. His cirrus was still slightly extended, but he chose to tuck it behind his pelvic plates anyways.
Trying to pull himself together to the best of his ability before he returned to the time room, Scarab took a few deep breaths. Adjusting himself in his shell, trying not to look too disheveled. He wasn’t sure how long two orgasms would hold him over, but he felt the need to at least apologize to Prismo for his outburst and explain himself. Scarab slumped back against the wall behind him, catching his breath as the throbbing in his pygidium subsided slightly. He flicked the beads of condensation off his faceplates and ran his hand down his carapace in a soothing motion. It was time to see Prismo.
Meanwhile, in the time room, Prismo had finally turned off the tv wall. But what he just witnessed continued to play over and over in his head like the universe’s most erotic re-run. He had to blink his eye multiple times just to refocus his vision on the yellow wall across from him.
“I funged up-” Prismo uttered to himself, beginning a long spiraling cycle of shame and regret.
Thankfully, or perhaps unluckily, the stairway to the inner-cube opened up, shocking him out of his reverie. Scarab walked up and into the time room nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t just been screaming the wishmaster’s name in ecstasy.
Scarab cleared his throat, sauntering towards Prismo’s projection.
“Hey, buddy. Feeling better?” Prismo waved awkwardly, something in his tone irked Scarab, that tentative cautious lilt.
“Yes, about that,” the former auditor sighed, “I’d like to apologize for my uncouth behavior.”
“Don’t mention it,” Prismo said nervously, “Really…”
The wishmaster could barely look at Scarab without the memory of him coming undone at the forefront of his mind.
Scarab shook his head in distaste, “No, I must right my wrongs. I’ve been quite prickly recently, but I’m hoping a brief return to my body will solve that.”
“Mh-hmn, apology accepted,” Prismo nodded along, raising his hand to his face as he thought, “You know, Scrabs…?”
The wishmaster had an idea. If Scarab refused to ask for what he needed, Prismo would simply provide him a plethora of fulfilled wishes and let him sort through which ones he preferred. If the wishmaster showered him with too many choices, it wouldn’t seem odd if there were a few explicit options among the normal everyday stuff.
“Now that you have a body, at least for a little while-” Prismo offered, “You should have your own room!”
Scarab tensed as he started to protest, “No, I couldn’t-”
Prismo waved a hand, “Psh- of course you can! I’m the wishmaster…” Prismo grinned, “You can have anything you want. Besides, won’t you need a nap or a shower eventually?”
Scarab couldn’t argue with that reasoning, eventually he would need to rest and eat- and orgasm again. It would be much easier to do all three if he had his own space. Maybe it would be nice, the feeling of security might make it easier for him to finish, having a soft little nest would rid him of the worst of his needy impulses.
“Alright,” Scarab relented, hoping this wouldn’t backfire right in his face, “A room then, at least for now.”
Prismo slapped his hands together, rubbing his palms as he started to scheme.
“Sweet!” The wishmaster exclaimed, “What do you want in it? A bed? Bathtub? A closet full of clothes?”
Scarab pressed his hand to his face plates, already feeling overwhelmed with the choices.
He shook his head, “Well, I…” he swallowed down the embarrassment, “I need a nest, not a bed.”
Prismo nodded and looked a little surprised but didn’t taunt him or show any sign of disgust.
“I can make it,” Scarab continued, “I just need soft things.”
“Consider it done,” Prismo smiled, “What else?”
Scarab thought for a moment and realized he would also need a place to clean himself off after another masturbation marathon.
“A washroom?” he asked, giving very little guidance.
Still the wishmaster grinned and nodded, “Sure, and?”
“Something to eat… eventually,” Scarab started to feel a little bashful.
Wondering if this was how all wishers felt when they offered up their desires to Prismo. But all the wishmaster did was encourage him along and enable his materialistic longings.
“Alright, I can work with that,” The wishmaster closed his eyes for a second before opening them again, “There. Want to go check it out now?”
Scarab nodded and followed Prismo back inside the cube, walking after him, back down the stairs. Much to Scarab’s embarrassment, Prismo put the nesting room right next to the bedroom his corporeal form slept in.
“So, it’s easy to find,” Prismo shrugged, opening the door for him and ushering him inside first.
The inside of the room took Scarab’s breath away. It was dimly lit, perfect for his sensitive eyes. The ceilings were lower than usual, making it feel like a cozy little hovel. There were a few smaller rooms connected to the main area, but the area where he would build his nest was clearly marked. The floor had a subtle indent that would make nesting much easier than on the flat, hard ground. Scarab was frozen in shock, he hadn’t realized Prismo cared so much about his comfort. It made him feel too much, too quickly.
“What do you think?” Prismo placed a hand on his shoulder and Scarab had to steel himself from sobbing in relief.
“It’s perfect, thank you,” the former auditor said, the awe clear in his voice.
Prismo grinned, very pleased with himself, “Glad you like it!”
Then beckoned him over to the other open thresholds, first the one separated the nest from the washroom.
“There’s a bathtub in here,” Prismo gestured, flitting around the room as he showed Scarab everything, he dreamed up for him.
Scarab peaked inside and nearly choked at the size of the tub and fancy amenities, “You made this… all for me?” he asked, bewildered.
The wishmaster only smiled and nodded, grabbing Scarab’s wrist and dragging him across the room to another doorway.
“Just wait until you see the closet!” Prismo laughed as he brought the beetle to the next threshold.
Proudly leading him into an unreasonably large storage space that held multiple stacks of blankets and pillows tucked away into the various cupboards and drawers. Not only that, but hung along adjacent rods, there must’ve been at least a hundred different outfits of all colors and textures. In the corner there laid heavy reams of soft fabric for his own personal use, and when Scarab opened a drawer, he was shocked to find jewelry of all things.
“Prismo,” Scarab uttered, picking up a delicate gold chain, “This is too much…”
The wishmaster only chuckled and nudged him a little, “Sorry, my imagination got away from me there, I admit. But I did some research on your species when you first got here. Wasn’t sure if it would ever come in handy until now.”
Scarab turned and found himself staring into his own reflection. There stood a large mirror which lined the wall at the end of the closet. Prismo hovering over his shoulder in the reflection and a rush of damp warmth curdled through his body. Scarab had to consciously press his pelvic plates shut, shoving away the fantasy of thanking the wishmaster for all his generous gift on his hands and knees.
“Prismo, thank you for all you’ve done, really-” Scarab began, “But I don’t deserve this, you have to get rid of it. Wishmasters aren’t supposed to desire-” he gestured around widely, “-this.”
“I won’t tell if you don’t, besides you’re not a wishmaster yet,” Prismo replied, snaking an arm around Scarab’s shoulder again as they looked at eachother in the mirror.
“Just consider it my special birthday present to you,” the wishmaster said dropping his voice low, squeezing Scarab’s shoulder and making him shudder.
“By the way,” Prismo said, “If I were you, I would look around a bit before making any final decisions.”
Scarab gave him a curious look, “What do you mean?”
Prismo grinned at him before he started to slink away, “All this space isn’t just for show.”
Scarab followed the wishmaster back into the nesting room, “Thank you, Prismo. I don’t know what to say. This is all so… extravagant.”
Prismo beamed at him, “I hoped you would say that. There’s food in the cupboards over there. I’ll be in the time room if you need anything.”
Scarab only nodded, still dumbstruck by Prismo’s ‘gift’. The moment the door clicked shut and Scarab realized he was truly alone, he made a beeline for the closet. Grabbing as many blankets and pillows as he could. Bringing them over to the indent in the floor as he began to build his nest.
Meanwhile in the time room, Prismo flicked through channels, trying to avoid pulling up the show he truly wanted to watch. The wishmaster tried to eliminate the desire to spy on his apprentice by overextending himself. He sent multiple projections out into the time cube. Hoping that if his attention was split between several different activities, he would have no ability to lust after Scarab.
And it nearly worked, Prismo was so busy pickling, bottling syrup, and crocheting he hardly noticed when another wisher entered the cube. The moment all his projections converged, all Prismo could think about was fulfilling their wish as quickly as possible, while glancing at the remote across the room. The wisher was ushered out in record time, sent into a new timeline with a blip of colorful light. As Prismo watched them in their new life happily, his eye kept drifting back to the remote. How easy it would be to make sure Scarab was doing alright in his new ‘enclosure.’ Just a little peak, only for a few minutes, Prismo told himself.
After assuring no cosmic repercussion would occur from his last wish, Prismo shut the doors of the time cube again and hit the channel button. Searching through the cube until he came to the bedroom where old man Prismo slept. Then flipping over to the other, adjacent room to spy on his apprentice.
Scarab was still pitter-pattering about in his new space. It looked like his nest was nearly complete, utilizing those reams of fabric Prismo placed in the closet. The core and peels of a few different fruits sat scattered on the counter. Clearly his apprentice had been busy making himself at home. It made Prismo feel all warm and soft inside, Scarab deserved this. He was exactly the type to deny himself anything that might bring more pleasure than strictly necessary. This was good for him, the wishmaster convinced himself. And a perfect example of the cube’s manifesting power.
He grinned and considered changing the channel now, while it was still rated PG. However, he wanted to see if Scarab had discovered some of the more intimate gifts he left around the room. Prismo lost track of time as he watched Scarab simply move around gracefully. Preening and adjusting the furniture in new room to his liking. Trying on a few outfits he found in the closet before replacing them on their hangers, ever the organized bug. Scarab even took it upon himself to draw a bath, which Prismo was very curious to see him enjoy. His crochet was all but forgotten next to him as he watched the tv wall with a thinly veiled salacious interest.
The beetle kept nosing around in the vast closet, opening up all the drawers and searching through the cupboards while water filled the tub. He was searching for something soft and plush to finish off his nest with until he stumbled across one specific drawer. Scarab opened it not thinking anything, expecting it to be stuffed with more fabric or pillows, but instead it was full of explicit looking objects.
Scarab barely got a glance before he gasped and slammed the drawer shut again. Glancing around to affirm his solitude and settle his nerves, Scarab slowly opened the drawer just a sliver. Inching it open carefully as if the objects would jump out at him. He slowly took stock of everything, eyes widening as he reached out to touch one of the smaller, oblong toys. There was a full set of matching things in this drawer, increasing in size and slightly different styles. The cylindrical pink toys made Scarab’s heart lurch into his throat.
How did Prismo know this was exactly what he needed? Was this perhaps part of the research he mentioned earlier? And why bright pink of all colors? As if Prismo had color matched it to his own projection. That was simply obscene, yet he couldn’t deny it made his quim shudder.
Meanwhile, Prismo held his non-existent breath in the time room, watching Scarab discover the drawer full of toys made him feel something. A burning, squeezing sensation in his gut that he hadn’t felt in eons. Had he forgotten what sexual arousal felt like? Or was this special blend of excitement just too specific to be felt as only arousal? There was the familiar mix of shame and embarrassment that added another forbidden layer onto his actions. Prismo ignored it, favoring to focus on Scarab’s reactions and how they made him feel all hot and bothered, even in his projected form. He knew this was a massive overstep of power and boundaries. Resigning himself to watching silently but never intervening beyond this one-sided exchange of gifts. That wasn’t so unethical, he told himself.
Scarab looked through, what he dubbed his personal drawer, with a single-minded focus. Cataloging all his options as he examined different bottles of lube in his hand, noticing the difference in viscosity. He even found a few smaller items he wasn’t sure how to use, until he pressed a button and the small pink machine started to vibrate in his hand. Scarab jumped in surprise and dropped the vibrator on accident, hearing it clatter to the floor with an obnoxious, rattling buzz. He rushed to put it back, continuing his search through the other containers inside the drawer, laser focused.
“Well, this is… unexpected,” he muttered to himself, “But thoughtful.”
In the time room, Prismo smiled to himself. Biting his lower lip he mumbled, “He thinks I’m thoughtful…”
Scarab kept looking through the drawer. One box held several hanks of pink rope, enticing but too high-maintenance for him currently. Another box held pink candles and feathers, a metal wand with a rotating wheel on the end, the wheel had sharp prongs that reminded him of his own keratin spurs. Tucked away on the side of the drawer a few pieces of equipment he recognized caught his attention. A matching set of pink implements made his heartbeat drop into his groin. Still, he ignored the pink riding crop, paddle and thin rattan cane. He moved onto yet another container which held pairs of pink cuffs, cinched with a silver buckle, and what was clearly a collar with a blank metal tag attached at the front.
Scarab ran his fingers over the collar, quickly tucking it away as he felt his pelvic plates refuse to stay shut anymore. He sighed and allowed himself to relax, finally accepting his fate before picking a simple yet accommodating pink cylinder and a bottle of clear, slick looking liquid that had no smell.
In the time room, Prismo would be pressed up against the screen if he could, not wanting to miss a single detail. He wrung his hands together, pleasantly surprised Scarab chose to enjoy his gifts. His heart had been in his throat, thinking it was more likely Scarab would strangle him with that rope than use a toy the exact same shade of pink as his projection.
On the way to the bathtub, Scarab tossed the dildo and lube into his nest. Choosing to forget about his most recent discovery as he sunk into the hot water. Instead of letting him unwind, the heat from the bath simply imitated the feeling of having another warm body alongside him. Causing his pelvic plates to quiver and relax, his cirrus and feelers coming out to enjoy the hot water as well.
Scarab shivered and sunk further into the water, drolling out a deep trill as he sighed, “Thank you, wishmaster…”
Scarab closed his eyes and let his hands drift over his body, remembering all the little dips and angles that made him unique. He washed off any remaining filth that clung to his shell, letting his fingers tangle in his tendril, brushing through his short, sensitive feelers. Scarab arched into his own touch, letting the sharp tip of his claws catch on each keratin spike at the edge of his open pelvic plates. The spines palpated, standing on edge and threatening to stick into anything that came too close. Scarab smoothed his feelers down, pushing them aside so he could tease at the spines. Eachtime, he plucked over one, his pelvic plates constricted, sending a hot wave of pleasure through him. The gentle caress was barely enough to satisfy him, but he enjoyed how the teasing made his clunge throb.
Scarab panted softly and moved to stroke over his feelers, letting the delicate, feathery antennae float freely in the water, easily swayed by the slightest current. Wriggling his hips, Scarab gasped as the hot water flooded his feelers with gentle sensation. He couldn’t wait any longer, bringing up his hand to finally wrap around his undulating tendril, redirecting it from a self-interested squirm over its own shaft as he stroked at the textured underbelly cautiously at first. Scarab’s head dropped back as he groaned, the noise echoing in the washroom.
The sound of water sloshing over the side of the tub and splashing onto the floor caught Prismo’s attention. The wishmaster was desperately trying to distract himself from the blatant violation of privacy he was engaging in currently. He had even finished a few more rows in his crochet until when he glanced back up at the tv wall, his eye went wide, sputtering to himself in embarrassment as he glanced around. The time room was empty, of course. All the doors shut temporarily for privacy, Prismo still felt obscenely on display as if he was in Scarab’s position. What would the higher-ups say if they knew he was doing this? Prismo listened to Scarab moan for a few more seconds before he couldn’t take the guilt. His finger hovered over the ‘off’ button, hesitating. He was a coward and a bad mentor, he couldn’t bring himself to turn it off.
And in that anticipatory moment, Scarab grit out a particularly lustful noise, following it up with a harmonious chirp.
“Prrr-ismo-” the wishmaster’s apprentice chirred, “Uh-huh, please, yes…”
All of Prismo’s ethical preoccupations dissipated instantly, he shuffled closer to the tv wall. Hoping to hear exactly what Scarab wanted so badly. His own arousal getting more and more difficult to ignore, Prismo itched to touch himself as well. But moving the moral threshold of acceptable behavior was getting harder to accommodate. If he lost himself now in a haze of pleasure, there was no going back. To Prismo, the violation of boundaries would become too manifest, too easy to ignore. This was becoming too real- this was wrong.
Scarab grabbed the side of the tub, his claws leaving scratches on the porcelain surface. He rocked his hips into his other hand, letting his feelers and cirrus have their way with his fingers and palm. Caressing over the space between each digit and fluttering over his wrist. His tendril latched onto him, pulsing as it squeezed and wriggled over his carapace. He flinched when it bumped up against the spikes on his shell, his feelers moving to examine what just pricked him, carefully ghosting over the sharp points on his wrist until he gently guided them away.
“Fronds,” Scarab cursed, “I- I need…”
Prismo bit his lip and hoped to himself that Scarab needed him, or at least whatever he could wish into existence. He watched in awe as the scarab pulled himself out of the tub, water falling off of his carapace in rivulets. It looked so shiny and smooth, what Prismo wouldn’t give just to run his hand over the enticing expanse of Scarab’s elytron.
For some reason, Prismo glanced away when Scarab dried himself off. The casual intimacy of the beetle running a towel across his body felt too indulgent to witness, borderline obsessive. But he tuned back in when his apprentice started to sort through the shelf of cosmetics and creams. While he curiously picked up several bottles and inspected them, Scarab returned them all without using any- Prismo refused to admit his disappointment at that.
Scarab crawled into his makeshift nest, collapsing against the soft fabric with a deep exhale. He curled up on his side for a moment, simply staring at the pink phallus and vial of lube lying next to him. His hands twitched, reaching out to grab them both before slathering the shaft in that graciously provided, slippery substance.
“Here we go…” Prismo whispered to himself, eyes locked onto the tv wall as Scarab teased himself.
The wishmaster’s apprentice let his tendril snake around the toy, holding it by the base as he pushed and pulled it in his prehensile grasp. He played with it lazily, drawing out the pleasure as he rutted up against the pink shaft. The lube was making his hand slick, so he readjusted his grip and accidentally brushed against a button at the base of the toy.
The pink phallus buzzed to life, vibrating against his cirrus suddenly as he lost his grip again. Scarab emitted a strangled moan that simmered into a low trill, burying his hands into the blankets under him. His tendril tightening on the toy, squeezing and coiling around it as the vibrator hummed.
Prismo watched, enraptured, as Scarab discovered the vibrate function on one of the dildos. Squinting his eyes to try and see more of that pretty flesh-toned tendril that writhed between his legs. The wishmaster mumbled under his breath and dug his fingers into the yellow floor of the time room.
Soon, Scarab started to jolt and toss his head as the buzzing became too much. He reached down and tried to take the phallus away, only to have his own body fight against him. His cirrus clamped down even tighter, making the vibration feel stronger than before. He grabbed the base of the toy and patiently pulled it away. Breathing heavy as his cirrus stroked over itself, soothing the agitation of being denied. Scarab glanced at the base, finding the off switch and rendering it still with a sigh of relief. He would keep that in mind for later.
Scarab brough the bulbous tip up to his entrance, letting it rub against the base of his tendril, pushing through the soft, textured underbelly. He moved it lower still, teasing at his entrance until he couldn’t wait any longer. His head lulled back as he groaned, stretching around the bulk of the thick head as it breached his threshold.
Scarab imagined Prismo hovering over him, pushing inside so carefully, trying not to hurt him.
“M-more,” Scarab grunted, shoving another inched into himself.
Prismo would probably bite his lip and nod, pulling out just barely before feeding more of himself inside Scarab’s needy clunge. The beetle closed his eyes and imagined his mentor looking down at him, face slack with pleasure. He tortured himself by going slow, too slow, just like Prismo would do.
“C’mon-” Scarab uttered, “Faster…”
The wishmaster would probably just blink at him blearily, nodding his head as he shoved the rest inside.
“AH!” Scarab yelped, feeling suddenly and blissfully full. The slight stretch took his breath away, he couldn’t remember the last time he had stuffed something so large inside himself.
Prismo might try to apologize, ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ he would huff out.
Holding still for a brief moment until his body adjusted, Scarab carefully lifted his hips, hungrily accommodating the pleasant feeling. Another inch slid inside.
Scarab grabbed a fistful of fabric, demanding a breathless, “More!”
In the time room, Prismo was losing his fight against his own self-control and desire for gratification. Watching Scarab claw into the soft nest as he fucked himself on that pink toy. Writhing and begging for more, Prismo could give it to him. Anything, everything- he could fill Scarab up until he was bursting at the seams, give him more until he couldn’t take it, fulfill his every desire in the blink of an eye. Hearing him beg through the screen nearly made his projection glitch, the wishmaster’s name in that pretty, sharp mouth. Prismo groaned at the thought and palmed at the smooth space between his legs, resisting the urge to summon genitalia just so he could get off.
Scarab fucked himself slowly, but not gently. On the upstroke he pushed the toy in fast and hard, filling himself up ruthlessly. Then slowly, cautiously pulling it out, giving himself time to recover from the heady shock of pleasure. Rough in, sweet out- teasing himself with the leisurely pace at which he withdrew the toy from his quim. Scarab’s head lulled to the side, closing his eyes as he pulled his face plates back, enjoying the cool air on his feverish skin. He gasped and writhed in the soft nest, gnawing at the inside of his cheek until his sharp teeth started to irritate the skin there. Then he replaced his mouthy attention with his own hand, biting at his knuckles, gnawing at the keratin spines along his joints, running his proboscis over the different textures of his carapace and their fleshy seams. Still fantasizing about Prismo, Scarab tried to picture the wishmaster in his mind. See him projected onto the walls surrounding him, the ceiling above him. Wondering if he would enjoy the show, if Prismo would direct him how to touch himself.
‘Hey Scarab?’ he might tell him, ‘Open your legs wider so I can see.’
Scarab bit down on his knuckles hard enough to bend his shell, feeling it strain under the pressure. He sped up his movements, pushing a loud groan from himself with how hard he began ramming the toy into his dripping clunge.
‘Be careful-’ Prismo would worry, giving him a look of pity, ‘Don’t hurt yourself…’
Scarab shook his head, giving a small chuckle at his own imagination. It only made him fuck himself harder, wanting to prove he could withstand it and enjoy every second. Scarab took his hand from his mouth and grabbed the base of his tendril as he kept pumping the toy into himself. Giving his neglected cirrus a hard squeeze, he curled in on himself as his shoulders shook and his legs flinched closed.
That winding pressure in his pygidium started to coalesce, compounding into an addictive compulsion to go harder, faster, more, more- he needed more. Scarab’s tibial spurs caught on the fabric underneath him, making a mess of his nest as he couldn’t help but scramble to thrust up into his fist.
Prismo watched his apprentice writhe in pleasure, his little noises coming through the tv wall and making the wishmaster flush with desire. He wouldn’t have guessed Scarab was so noisy in bed, the little bug trilled and chirped the entire time. Clicking and purring at he forced himself closer to orgasm, making these adorably musical sounds that had Prismo desperate to hear more. Scarab only got louder as he started to play with that wriggling appendage between his legs. Against his better judgement, Prismo’s hand drifted towards the remote, he clicked a button and zoomed in a bit. Now able to see all the fascinating bumps and ridges that made the beetle so unique.
Scarab bucked into his hand massaging the base of his oviparous tendril, running his fingertips across the sensitive, fleshy nodules there. He could feel the skin was already swollen and tender, heavy with blood and fluid. He was surprised in realizing there must be an egg settled at the entrance of his oviduct, he would be forced to lay it eventually, despite his sterility. His least and most favorite part of this hormonal cycle, Scarab started to feel a heavy sense of dreaded anticipation well up in his body.
He palmed at his tendril, letting the hand that pushed the toy inside himself still for a moment as he contemplated. Teasing at the base of his tendril, he tried to plan out how he might accomplish this feat all alone. It had been a few millennia since he had laid an egg, and never had he been forced to do it alone, all by himself. Oviposition was not something done in private, shrouded in secrecy. It was often a communal effort, requiring the emotional and physical support of at least one or two bed partners, perhaps the expertise of a parturitor or a trusted elder. Thinking about delivering the egg by himself, filled him with apprehension and a multitude of uneasy questions. What if his heat made him too weak and he couldn’t push hard enough? What if it hurt too much? What if it got stuck? And most importantly- why was he even laying in the first place?
Scarab knew it was unusual- but not impossible- for the parturition cycle to be triggered without the pheromones of another being. Surely his body knew this too, the proof was in the fact that he managed to move through a few thousand heats by now, completely alone, without laying anything at all. Of all inconvenient and humiliating times to lay, now was probably the worst. Staring up at the ceiling as he fondled his swollen tendril, Scarab sighed heavily before trying to focus on the task at hand.
He let go of his cirrus, hoping that if he ignored it, he might be able to delay the parturition cycle a little longer. Just enough to gather himself and figure out a plan. But first, he needed to think clearly. Currently impossible with the barrage of pleasurable sensations thrumming through him. Scarab, dug his claws into the nest and resumed fucking himself with the pink toy, coming to the realization that he would need something bigger if he wanted to make space in his abdominal cavity for both his tendril and the egg. Walking around with his swollen, hypersensitive cirrus inverted out of its cavity would only agitate and dehydrate him. Besides, he would have to go see Prismo again eventually. Perhaps the closet he hadn’t even asked for might come in handy once more.
Growing more desperate, Scarab plunged the toy inside himself. His thoughts drifting back to the closet, wondering if Prismo would like him to dress up in one of those fancy outfits he so graciously provided. The thought of walking back into the time room, dripping in gold and covered with sheer fabric made him prickle. It was pure fantasy that Prismo of all entities would ever find him attractive, but Scarab had no qualms dreaming about it. In his head, anything was attainable, he had always been ambitious. Wondering what kind of reaction, he could elicit from his mentor if he draped himself across the corners of the time room, begging to be witnessed, appreciated, lusted over. Realistically, the wishmaster would be flustered but he doubted it would lead to anything, unless Scarab practically threw himself at Prismo’s mercy with bold propositions and shameless flirtation. Even then, the fantasy seemed highly unlikely.
Scarab chittered, his legs twitching as he fucked himself with the toy. Glancing down between his own legs to see that familiar pink color once more. It gave him all sorts of wicked ideas. He entertained a fantasy of being too desirable to ignore. Wanting a flurry of pink hands to hold him down and strip him of every bit of clothing- despite his protesting. Running over his carapace until the wishmaster finally gave in, losing all self-control to an illicit yearning for his needy apprentice. Taking advantage of the new power difference between the two beings, the real Prismo would never. But Scarab still wanted to know what it felt like to be entirely ensnared by Prismo. Feeling nothing but pink, pink, pink all over - like the color of his soft spongy insides.
Scarab turned over on his hands and knees. Pressing his cheek into the plush fabric beneath him as he raised his hips. Imagining it was Prismo touching him now, two thick pink fingers thrusting inside his hot quim. Fantasizing about how it would feel for all his limbs to be ensnared, winding pink light encompassing him. Holding his arms back, legs wide open. Scarab shuddered, arching into the toy as he closed his eyes, drooling into his nest with each stroke.
Scarab felt a pang of discomfort in his curris, realizing his oviduct was beginning to dilatate- the first step of parturition. There was no going back now, he would lay this egg, much to his embarrassment. And it was all Prismo’s fault for being so accommodating. Freely giving Scarab more than the bare minimum, making sure he was cleaned and fed, comfortable in his new space. Showering him with affection and attention all the time- and now gifts. Clearly it was too much for his physiology to bear. Scarab winced as he felt the egg slide further into his oviduct, swelling the base of his tendril.
“Damn you, Prismo…” Scarab muttered under his breath.
He curled in on himself and used his other hand to squeeze at the base of his tendril. Sending a shockwave of pure bliss through his entire body. Now he remembered why he disliked laying so much. It turned him into a jumbled mess of ecstasy and hysteria. Already he could feel his eyes watering.
“Damn your cheery, handsome face,” Scarab growled, breathing heavily, “-and effortless generosity.”
In the time room, Prismo seriously debated turning off the tv wall. Watching Scarab come apart like this simply wasn’t healthy, he could feel an obsession forming and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Hearing Scarab praise him in that raspy, fucked-out voice. Face down ass up, just obscene. Clearly imagining it was Prismo touching him. Making him feel good, writhing with pleasure and calling out the wishmaster’s name. It was too much to bear. Just before Prismo lost his battle with self-control, he finally pressed the ‘off’ button. The wall faded back into its usual yellow color. Immediately he was filled with regret and the impulse to grab the remote and tune back in irked him. Things were finally getting interesting, and Scarab had called him handsome, no one called him that anymore. It was enough to make his palms itch for the remote, but instead, Prismo opened all the doors and sent it away in a flurry of colorful light. Tucking the remote deep inside the cube somewhere, so that he would have to focus on bringing it back if he truly needed it. Still, he saw the pornographic image of Scarab masturbating everytime he blinked. Fine- no blinking then, at least for now. As he split himself into several projections, filling his time with menial hobbies and tasks, it still was not enough to distract him. Prismo fluctuated back and forth from hating himself for remembering everything in crystal clear detail and hating himself for turning the tv wall off. Maybe if he crocheted and knitted, then his mind wouldn’t be able to entertain all those nasty little fantasies about his apprentice he so desperately wanted to indulge in.
Simultaneously, Scarab was struggling to stay sane. Teetering on the precipice of pure delirium as he felt the egg beginning to drop. Hot flashes of euphoric sensation mixed with a deep, desperate aching, sent sparks of vivid sensation rippling through him. Feeling himself dilate for the first time in nearly a millennium, it stirred something in him he would rather stay buried. The imaginative fantasy of Prismo tending to his eggs, cradling a newly hatched grub, overtook him with such a sudden possession he felt his orgasm engulfing him abruptly. All he could do was bury his face into the nest and yell, the fabric even smelled like Prismo, wishing he was buried in pink light as his body flooded with a debilitating torrent of overwhelming gratification. Scarab was wracked with tremors, shuddering through his climax as he dropped the egg excruciatingly slow. Tears started to soak into the fabric around him, his clunge dripping thick rivulets of slick down his thighs, smearing into the blankets and pillow he writhed against.
The pink toy had long been forgotten, lying uselessly off to the side as Scarab gripped at his cirrus, tearing holes into the sheets with his other hand.
He tried to remember how he had accomplished laying an egg in the past. But now, he found it remarkably more difficult to slow his breathing. Forcing himself to relax in the short moments he wasn’t gripped by overstimulated trembling. He massaged at the base of his tendril, coaxing the egg further along. It was halfway there, if he orgasmed once more and kept touching himself just right, the damned thing might finally slide right on out.
He could feel it just under his skin, pulling the flesh taut, making it feel hot and swollen. Scarab squeezed particularly hard, trying to hurry along the process. But instead of relief, he felt a sharp pinch in his oviduct, making him flinch and groan in discomfort. Instead, he tried to push with his abdominal muscles, doing anything to ease the pressure that made him feel like a bloated sack of fluid and nerves.
Ever so slowly, the egg was coaxed out of him. Every inch it traversed through him becoming more and more sensitive. Like liquid fire pulsing through his cirrus, the pressure in his pygidium slowly dissipating as he came closer to dropping. He squeezed at the base of his tendril again, rubbing himself raw as he stroked at the overworked flesh. Letting his nails catch on the fleshy bumps along its underside, he flinched and nearly stuck himself with his own pelvic spurs on accident.
Why was this so difficult? Scarab tried to think back and remember how he laid previously, but it was so long ago, and his mind felt all fuzzy and scattered. All he could remember was sobbing in ecstasy as his quim was filled over and over again by his bed partner. Begging for relief from the consistent onslaught of pleasure, instead they only doubled-down, fucking him harder, faster, being pumped full to the brim.
Feeling like he was about to burst, Scarab tried stroking at his cirrus harder, which only chaffed at his sensitive skin. He glanced around, spying the bottle of slick sitting in the nest with him- perfect. He lathered up his hand and tried to continue massaging uselessly at his abused tendril. Scarab hissed at the sharp pain that it elicited, clearly, he was too far along in parturition for any external stimuli to benefit him. He quickly searched around for the pink toy, the second his hand wrapped around it, his quim gave a shuddering clench. Already anticipating the stimulation, he could feel himself start to leak again. Scarab pressed the switch on the base, making it vibrate in his hand as he nudged the tip against his sodden entrance. Pushing it inside in one desperate, swift motion. Scarab let out a chittering yelp, curling in on himself as he started a brutal pace. Quickly tiring his arm out with the force and speed at which he thrust the toy inside himself. The buzzing only made it that much better, shaking another orgasm lose from the inside out. His clunge clamped down on the vibrating phallus, trying to milk every ounce of sensation it could from the toy. Scarab started thinking about some of the bigger toys he saw in that drawer. Wondering how large he could go, if he could fit them all or would he struggle to accommodate the largest ones?
Unbidden, another fantasy flitted through his mind, the image of Prismo grinning down at him as he held up an absolutely monstrous looking dildo. Scarab imagined the wishmaster holding his legs open, giving him more until he simply couldn’t take it. Imaginary-Prismo would slick up the toy, smearing lube everywhere, even inside Scarab’s lax quim. Nudging the blunt tip inside of him even as he shook his head and begged.
“Too big…” Scarab mumbled under his breath, “Won’t fit.”
The idea was laughable, especially with him currently pummeling his clunge like how he was now. But it still sent a much-needed shock of desire through him.
Imaginary-Prismo would only grin and shrug, ‘Only one way to find out.’
Scarab needed more, he needed something bigger. He wanted to really feel it when he pushed the toy inside himself. Wanting to be forced to do nothing but feel himself being split open and fucked out until he was a shivering puddle, all used up and spacey.
Even though he knew it was a bad idea, Scarab tried to stand and make his way back to the closet. Quickly finding out why walking around during parturition was highly discouraged. He growled as he fell onto his hands and knees twice, all the blood rushing to his head when he tried to stand up again too soon. Eventually resigning himself to leaning against the wall, shuffling closer to the closet until his knees gave out. Then, despite his reluctance and pride- and the intensifying ringing in his head- Scarab decided to crawl. Dragging himself back to that certain drawer that enabled him to make such reckless decisions in the first place.
His heart was racing as he crawled up to it and pulled it open, lifting up on his knees and gripping onto the drawer face, leaving scratches wherever he touched.
Scarab closed his eyes for a brief moment, catching his breath. Grimacing at the spinning in his head which started to disorient him, he riffled around in the drawer blindly. Grabbing at the base of the first thick blunt object he could find. Feeling the weight and shape in his hand. That ought to do nicely.
He held the toy in his mandibles as he crawled back to the nest. Blinking heavily while trying not to topple over with the intense vertigo that accompanied his movement. He could barely hear his own heartbeat anymore, the ringing was so loud- but he could still feel it thrumming through every limb in his body.
Scarab collapsed into his nest with a heavy sigh, curling up on his side as he tried to quell the light-headed daze that made him so uncoordinated. The groggy, pinwheeling in his head turning him woozy, he needed a moment to simply lie there in the soft fabric and be still as his heart-rate decreased. As he eased into the comfort of the nest, he realized his cirrus was sore and twinged in pain with the throbbing between his legs. He would need to drop soon or risk becoming egg-bound.
So, without thinking it through- because the idea of his egg getting stuck was much more distressing than the threat of taking too much into his quim- he did what he felt was right in the moment. Still laying on his side, Scarab shoved the entire thing inside himself in one go, with as much strength as he could muster. The sudden burning stretch made him shriek, shrill and startled. A tremor passed through him while he was frozen in shock, feeling a peculiar shudder rear every keratin spur on his body into standing straight up.
Scarab gave a choked groan that sounded more like a suppressed sob. He tried to steady his breathing before lathering himself in more lubricant. Willfully ignoring how he spilled it all over the nest, neglecting to seal the cap properly before his attention became absorbed in other, more demanding urges. The added moisture soothed the ache of being forced open too quick, if only slightly. It allowed him to carefully draw the toy out ever so slightly, before pushing it back in again. Going slow and cautious this time until he leisurely accommodated every inch of the sizeable thing with a breathy groan. Stuffing himself to the hilt, until no more could fit, he held it there. Basking in the feeling of being blissfully full, teasing at the base slightly until his body couldn’t fit anymore- then pushing just a bit more to test his own stretch. Slipping into a giddy trance as he bullied his quim into submission. The sensation of being full to the brim and still itching for more plagued him.
Scarab rolled over onto his hands and knees again, lifting his hips in the air as he buried his face into the nest, muffling his hoarse cries. As soon as the egg started to drop again, he could feel it. Scalding and molten, moving through him like a comet. Leaving a searing trail yearning under his carapace.
Scarab’s arm was tiring, unable to continue heaving the large toy into himself with the same vigor. But soon, it wouldn’t matter. He could tell his parturition cycle was nearly finished, that familiar swell of unspeakable pleasure gripped him. Scarab trembled through the rising frenzy of arousal, pressing his face into the soft nest as he keened and gasped. Sinking his teeth into the fabric, stifling all those obscene noises that seemed to fill the otherwise silent room. His mandibles tore holes into the pillows under him, letting the plush stuffing spill out. His tarsal claws did much the same, cutting the soft fabric into ribbons as his limbs thrashed about. Scrambling for purchase, something to hold onto while the egg made its way to the very tip of his cirrus.
Scarab’s eyes rolled back into his head. The remaining vestige of his wings buzzed inside his elytron. Trying to ground himself against the overpowering sensations. The last remnants of his sanity made him bite the inside of his cheek, instead of screaming as loud as he truly wished. That pressure in his pygidium was close to bursting, the crushing weight of his impending orgasm kept him prostrate. Each wave of building pleasure devastated him, shaking deep sobs loose from the bottomless pit of need in his abdomen.
His cirrus hung low between his legs, weighed down by the egg, nearly breaching the very tip of his swollen organ. Scarab’s antennae twitched non-stop as he felt the bright, sharp pleasure coarse through him. With a clumsy hand, he fumbled at the base of the vibrator, coveting just a tiny bit more, just enough for him to push hard, one last time. He switched it on, and everything came tumbling down around him as the toy buzzed to life inside his clunge.
His climax drowned him in a torrent of unbearably intense sensation. Arching his back until it strained, he forgot to muffle his voice and wailed so loud it scratched his throat raw. His tendril gave one last painful jolt as Scarab went mute, finally dropping the godsforsaken egg onto the nest below him. Still, he couldn’t quell his trembling, gasping for air as he shook apart at the seams. Shuddering incessantly while a deluge of genetic material spilled forth from his tendril, dousing the fabric underneath him in sticky, slick fluid. Scarab groaned in relief, finding solace in the alleviation of the ravaging pressure in his gut. Relieved of all tension now and light-headed from his orgasm, he tipped to the side and collapsed into his nest. Curling in on himself as the pleasure softly pulsed through him, making him shudder with the afterglow. He let the toy buzz away inside him, greedily milking every last ounce of pleasure from his orgasm as he possibly could.
Convulsing with each lessening swell of bliss, his breathing still shallow as he wiped away the tears and drool that clung to his face. Even that simple movement took all his remaining energy. Clinging onto a soft fold of fabric with all his digits, Scarab let his eyes drift shut. Moaning at the delightful feeling of his tendril slithering back inside of him languidly. The appendage felt blissfully cool to his feverish pygidium, bringing a much-needed comfort to the hot, swollen flesh. His feelers palpitated one last time before tucking themselves away too. The feathery antennae lazily avoided the spurs on his pelvic plates as they drifted shut. Every part of his body relaxing as Scarab sighed in contentment.
He nestled into the soft textures around him, feeling gratified and so very exhausted. Allowing his eyes to slip shut in boneless relaxation. Scarab told himself he would rest for just a little while, only to regain his breath and calm his rapid heart. He nearly forgot about the toy still lodged inside himself, if not for its persistent vibration, making him flinch. He pulled it out at the last minute with a damp release of pressure and another surge of wetness from his quim. He tossed it aside, eyes still closed as he nuzzled further into the dent he was making in the nest. Right where the fabric was dry and warm, yet untouched by fluids or lubricant. Scarab trilled happily and tucked his limbs close to his body segments, curling up into a gratified ball of gleeful feeling.
He drifted off to sleep almost instantly.