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Things have mellowed out a decent amount ever since you and Frederic managed to settle some attitudes, split some feelings, and learn how to better deal with the numerous entities that had been created by and split from his works. It was all a beautiful, colorful, and flamboyant display all together. The journey to help your sweetheart to the full extent of your capabilities, along with special help from a very kind building resident from floor 3 and a few of his friends. The entire fiasco was definitely rough on Frederic, and it had put him through unimaginable turmoil, dissociation, conflict, and mental strain. With you by his side, however, you had surely made it easier for him, even if a little bit. It was a big deal to him, and he loved and appreciated you all the more for it.
You two are inseparable now. And a surprising result of his miserable and torturous trial dealing with the results of that otherworldly visitor, you did not only have Fred himself, with better control of himself no less, but you also had 8 other Freds as fiances as well. They were all still very much the same man, as all of them could be used by Fred himself to see from their perspectives, borrow their abilities (albeit with a much less efficiency but still handy), and share their very senses if need be. It all sounded incredibly useful and handy to an outside listener, but there was still the main issue of each Fred having their own distinct personalities which, though pried from pieces of Fred’s own soul, still made up a pungent amount of these painting Freds’ forms.
Fred stuck to you like you were his angel, his guide through this new world that was lay to ruin by the cosmic entity that filled the skies. Nothing was the same, except, of course, your strong connection to one another. He always thinks about you, writes about you, and confides in you. Without you, he often becomes less independent and more reclusive and worried. Thoughts of you keeping him up at night. The sound of your voice and memory of your sweet, sweet touches distracting him from nearly any sort of housework or minimal excursions outside.
Moaning, whining, and gasping in bed, replaying vivid pictures and scenes of you in his head, wishing you were there with him, pleasuring himself while your mental image lay next to him or helped along. Alas, it was merely imagination. He was still very much different in personality whenever you had somewhere you wanted or needed to go.
Then, returning to the thought of his “Splits”, as you call them…
Well, they did not help his longing and missing of you at all.
As his attachment to you was definitely spirit-level by now, each of the other Fred’s too always thought about you, Wanted you. Wanted to hold, kiss, and envelop you.
Wanted to fuck you.
Frederic’s original inner personality issues were majorly irritated by these alternate sections of him. If he tried to think about something besides you, he would only then hear a whisper or mumble of one of his splits. Either physically or in his consciousness.
Scared Fred whimpering about how much braver he would be if you were by his side. And rarely, mentioning that your nude embrace is enough to bring such intense heat to his deepest veins of painty insides. A heat that was like a heated blanket on a blizzard night.
Or perhaps Fred Who Bites, who had by this point successfully gained complete control of his amorphous body and it’s teeth and impulses, gritting teeth and flicking various tentacles, speaking to himself about how he can’t stop wanting more close contact from you. Recounting how he is now finally able to hold you tightly and fill your warm, soft body with his ever-shifting organs again.
Or even Bright Fred, thinking to himself in what was now exclusively his room. Even while he kept a positive attitude, he could never stop worrying about you, wishing you would stay healthy and safe in this new world. Strong urges telling him to find you and give you a check-up at least five times a day. Make sure you are not bleeding out nor hit by disease or infection. Sighing and wishing he was there to ensnare you in his masses of medically talented paint strands. Wanting to check your ears, your mouth, your throat, your genitalia. His various sized tendrils twitching, eagerly awaiting your return so that they can probe you wherever they possibly can and confirm your good health all the while.
There was no forgetting about you. It was just hopeless. And some other Freds were even worse with their clear thirst for you.
Godhead too would reenact your body’s inner movements, contractions, and textures with his own hands against his strange, tongue-like cock. Multiple hands squeezing and prodding at the unique organ in his best attempts to compare his own administrations to your body and it’s reactions to their hot, slick shaft plunging deep within you, stretching you wider than you were used to. His groaning was sometimes barely audible from outside whatever room he was in, as his passion leaked into his coarse, multi toned voice that already mildly echoed in the heads of anyone nearby.
“Fuuckk…Baby…..nnngghh…”
Then there was Toxic Fred, who was one of the most jealous and possessive of Fred’s splits, for sure. He was no stranger to rutting against the floor, a pillow (ruining it beyond belief unfortunately, deep enough that that pillow could never be fully cleaned again), and even a box or table if he was desperate and pent-up enough from thinking of you. Slathering whatever he had with him to use as a dummy of you with copious amounts of what could only be assumed to be his release, though it was unclear if the substance contained any sperm cells to therefore qualify as semen. It hardly mattered anyway, as it was still a semblance of desire for you that would stain parts of your home. Multitudes of curses and repetitions of your name would drip from his mouth like the current pink ooze that he constantly produced, all while he was being rough with his chosen toy, even breaking, scratching, crushing, or cutting it open due to how rough he tended to get.
And then… Face Taker..
The writhing, boiling, trembling mass of hatred, envy, and evil. It must have sucked up the accursed rays from the visitor more directly than any of the others. It was vile, it was untrustworthy, and it always carried with its’ existence the risk and possibility of serious harm to anyone around. And somehow, no one is able to get rid of it. Sometimes, though rarely, Frederic can get just enough control of its viscous mass of a body to puppet it and get minor things done that way, but Face Taker was always aware nonetheless. It hated everything about the situation it was in. Somehow, you were still alive, so perhaps it too loved you enough to keep you from harm. Or deadly harm, rather. It had still been rough enough with you to make you sore all over for days, leave you with a few deep scars, and sometimes even leave you battered and bruised enough to require immediate attention from Bright Fred. It could get steamy and arousing, sure, but still. It always proved and reassured time and time again that this thing was a threat and luckily decided to hold off on anything until now. It’s thoughts of you were rarely words. Instead, sometimes it would slam and lean into walls, nearly opening holes in the walls purely from being feral and out of control and literally smashing various tentacles against them. It literally tried to fuck the wall if it wanted you enough.
It was all just inhumanely chaotic. You were probably the main reason that no one had ever fatally hurt each other. You were surely the main force that grounded Fred to the willingness to survive. It was just unfortunate for him that your words, looks, and touches of love always haunted him. He was hopeless, romantic, touchy, and pitiful. There was no way for him to act sane without you next to him. You didn’t mind all of this, luckily.
You had so many fiances. They all had the same ring wrapped around your finger. They all love you, need you, want you. You surely never worried about being bored when you were home, so that too was a plus!
This one night, Frederic had begun to work on cleaning up his painting space, only for Shadow Fred to approach him and ask him where you were, whether or not he knew what you were up to, and leaning enough on Fred to let his truest, deepest thoughts out. Shyly asking Frederic when you would return so that he could feel your hands and lips on his ruptured face that remained distilled in his massive, pitch black body of paint darker than night. The original did not know, but assured the dark split that you would return in time. Both of them could only sigh and return to their tasks. He always hoped that he would never bring on tragedy by mentioning you returning. You always did come back, being gone no longer than a few days usually, but he never knew. Perhaps that was just how his love was programmed to act.
When night hit, he managed to lift himself up enough mentally to get a shower, alone. Though he ran his hands and fingers through his hair and over his skin, his body still leaked in various places, paint of many colors coming from random points of his body. Soap only smeared color all within the suds and then down the drain, as if watercolors were mixed up in the tub, or a bath bomb with little to no fizzing ingredients broke into pieces and trailed its color amongst his feet. Well, at least any dirt and grime that had stuck to him would come off for a time. And those strange paint secretions acted more so like body oil sometimes, merely staining fabric like sweat and being able to be deep cleaned. He was relieved that you had stated many times that his colorful mess of dripping fluids were thin and pretty enough to not cause you any major discomfort.
Then, after his brisk shower, he sat on his edge of the bed where he had removed the top blankets. Your side of the bed was still covered and neatly tucked in. He payed no mind. You would come back and mess your side up again. He would happily help you do so. Or, even do it for you completely on his own with his own effort.
He slipped his robe off of his shoulders, the thick, rich red garment piled up around him on the bed. Then he brought a hand to his manhood, which already stood erect due to being fueled by urges for you. He held his shaft gently, as you often would when beginning your work on him. Up and down his grasp on himself would move, with subtle angles and specific, melodic squeezes and sighs. He had specific ways that he loved being touched there, and you had learned over time what his sweet spots were and what movements and patterns drove him wild. Your touch would always have him yelling and squirming all the same regardless, though, Without you? Well, he tried his best to give himself that same level of pleasure, or at least close enough to it.
His cock, like most of the rest of his body, also secreted those pretty dribbles and trails of smooth, oily fluids. Though the amounts that came from there were noticeably more slick than the texture of the many other secretions on the rest of his skin. It was as if he had acquired this new ability that had him slick and slippery whenever he needed it. This was a really good thing.
No preparing really needed on his part to get himself stiff nor lubricated, as everything was already set and rearing to go from all of these perfectly granted changes to his anatomy. His work on his shaft would speed up and then slow down, matching up with the scenario he imagined behind his closed eyes. His second hand was brought to his mouth where it covered his lips and pressed hard enough to scruff up his mustache. He held back his moans as much as he could as if he wanted no other forms of himself to catch on to this. His eyebrows furrowed, his nose scrunched up between them, and his groans, moans, and praises reverberated within the skin of his palm.
His third hand gripped at the bedding to his left. His fourth hand slammed against the other side of him as he craned his head back and let loose more emotional sounds that escaped deep from his throat. He falls back onto the bed, landing with a soft poof of the blanket with his head instantly resting on your side. The impact had cause some of your side of the bedding to become uneven and wrinkled onto itself, and now a part of it was against his cheek.
It smelled just like you. It was strong, and it was addicting. Euphoric. He could begin drooling if he had less shame. He was surely close to it.
A hand grabs a tight handful of the blanketing and holds the clutched cloth beneath his nose. He takes a deep inhale, your scent flowing through his lungs, into his blood, and into his heart. It felt like he was dropped into the most peaceful location in the world. With you right beside him. His work on his cock quickens, his legs bend, his toes curl, and his hips begin to jut upwards in a vain attempt to plunge into you. Fill you. Push and slam into your inner walls to make you scream his name. Oh, to hear your voice again…Your delicious groans of ecstasy, your enrapturing words of fondness, your begging and whining urging him to go deeper, move faster, and bring you to your climax.
You weren’t there to snuggle with him afterwards, but oh well, this was still something. Something to help him relax and fall asleep peacefully. He grits his teeth beneath his hand, his volume rising as his waist trembles, his hips twitch, and his hands grasp the blankets even harder. Air escaped his nose in hard, strained huffs. His paint-like sweat slid down onto the covers and his robe beneath him.
Then, he reaches his end, quickly stroking himself quickly back and forth along his length before his hips jerk upward and pause there. His release spurts from the tip of his cock and it too has that same colorful flare, although a bit less vibrant. More opaque and more thick. A few doses of this abstract cum hit his stomach and thigh, and the rest simply trickles down himself directly against the flesh and onto his softening grip. His body wanted ever so badly to send all of that cum into you as deep as possible, but that would have to wait. Hopefully not for long.
His muscles finally relax, and he releases his breath that he had just realized he was holding for a hot moment there. All four of his arms lay off from their selective tasks and flop onto the bed in various locations around Frederic’s form. He gasps for air and his eyes flutter open and closed as he begins to grow weary. Weary, but sated for now. He thought about how you enjoyed how he had looked after moments like these, and it brought a smile to his face. Colored marks of sweat decorated him all over in a pretty display.
His chest rises and falls heavily. He could not yet bring himself to clean up his mess, not yet. He merely rested some more, still smelling a handful of your side of the blanket while he closed his eyes in serenity.
Until a sudden sound begins to come from beneath his bed.
His eyes shoot open and he uses enough adrenaline to sit upright pretty quickly. As soon as he glances down to the floor, he quickly realizes what caused it, and he can only sigh in result.
Wriggly Fred scuttled out from beneath the bed, grunting and huffing as he has a little bit of trouble squeezing some of his more pudgier body segments out from his hiding spot. Before he could free himself completely, he looked up at his primary self with a knowing smile and wide eyes.
“Hello, real Fred! That felt really good..hehe-..”
Once he had freed and exposed himself completely, it was clear that he was definitely benefiting from Frederic’s self regulation. Wriggly was unique in that his penis was quite unusual, even compared to the tongue that is Godhead’s shaft. Wriggly’s cock was plump, bright pink, and nearly the size of his entire body when fully unsheathed. Luckily, he was already retracting it, his enormous and decently prehensile instrument for breeding was sliding back into its protective hole that could closely be compared to a simple cloaca. It left a clear trail of his obvious mess though, as a line of bright blue goo oozed from his urethra of sorts, another small amount of the stuff even being squeezed out of the rest of the length as it sheaths completely. There was then no sign of Wriggly’s jarring organ existing, but his emissions trailed from under the bed. There was no hiding that there was in fact a mess of blue under there.
Frederic grimaces,
“…You’re going to go under there and clean up your mess..right?”
Wriggly touches two of his little stubby fingers together, looking away and acting completely innocent.
“Fred willlll…Tomorrow..-“
Before Frederic can push the wormy critter to go ahead and clean, it was already hefting itself onto his bed, his weight enough to force the mattress to shift downwards a bit beneath him. Strangely, this was no uncommon occurrence. Wriggly was quite similar to a lapdog or hungry cat, after all. Now that he was completely positioned atop the bed with his creator, he held a few of his many grippers up, imitating squeezing something, all in different patterns.
“Can we cuddle again..?”
His smile begins to fade, his limbs then begin to lower, and he ends up hanging his head down and quieting his voice. With all of him now slumping in sorrow, he explains his original intentions.
“Was talking with Tumor Fred. Both me and him miss our lover..We talk about them coming back and then giving us both lots of love and kisses and other things…Fred misses them..need partner back..I am very lonely and want someone to sleep with..” He ended with an expressive face of sadness incarnate. Wide eyes bearing wet pupils, and tears rising at their edges. Hair hanging down, hands trembling…
There was no problem with that compromise however, conveniently enough. With an equally vulnerable agreement from the former, both of them sidle up against each other in bed once everything is fixed and the flood under the bed is (begrudgingly) cleaned by it's culprit. Wriggly was comfortable enough with Fred to embrace him with many a wiggly arm, and Fred held him back with all four of his. If any split was to be Fred’s most relaxing, it was Wriggly, as he also made for a decent cuddle buddy when times were tough. They both managed to fall asleep quickly too, even with Fred missing you and Wriggly usually being too hyper to sleep. They both thought about you before they faded into their dreams.
Then, the next morning, you return home around 8 am, ready to stand your ground and stand up against the many excited tackles of love you were going to receive.