Easing back into some writing with a lil' thread that is a sequel to this fic đź‘€

cws include: mind control, brainwashing, very dubious consent, aphrodisiacs/etc. drugged sex, mentions of body modification, and ofc more plant tentacle sex.

exercise caution as needed, and enjoy~ https://twitter.com/tasonado/status/1216739745373413382
"Thank you. Please come again!"

The shop bell jingles as Hank takes his leave from the shop with a smile on his lips. Once upon a time such a sight would've been rare on him, but these days Hank finds himself in a constant chipper mood.
He doesn't really know /why/ he feels that way, but then again, is it important to have a reason? It's been so long since he's ever let himself just be /happy/ that he'd rather just hold onto this feeling for as long as he can.
He squints up to the sky, which is nice and clear and very blue. There isn't a single cloud in the sky so the sun is shining right down, scorching so brightly--
(bright and shimmering and sparkling, fragments of colors that keep on shifting and twirling and dancing in his eyes, drawing him deeper and deeper and deeper--)

"--hey. Hey mister!"

Hank startles and blinks out of his sudden reverie, glancing around to see who'd been calling
for him. There isn't anyone, which confuses him for a while, and it only clicks when he feels a tug on the edge of his sleeve. "You doing okay, mister?"

Hank glances down and quickly sees the kid looking at him in concern. He's no younger than 6, with sandy blonde hair and
bright blue eyes. When he grins upon getting Hank's attention, he can see a spot where the boy's tooth had fell out. Just like that day in the carnival all those years ago with--

"Hey, mister!"

Hank blinks, and shakes himself out of another sudden bout of reverie.
"I--yes?" he manages to fumble out, his tongue somehow refusing to work for a second there. Ugh, maybe that's why people said not to look directly at the sun. This spacing out really isn't doing him any favors.
The kid tilts his head and gives Hank a quizzical look. "You're the mister who gave my momma a plant at that shop the other day, right?"

Hank blinks again, this time in confusion. Did he do that? Quickly, he tries to search his memory, and when nothing comes back to him
Hank feels a pit of aniexity starting to form in his gut. Why couldn't he remember it? Surely he had to remember if he did something like that--

(he smells flowers and pollen, the shimmering afterimage of flowers that shiver and thrill as they bloom a beautiful electric blue)
--the memory comes to him in a flash, then, and his aniexity ebbs away as quickly as it'd come once said memory slots into place. Yes, yes, he remembers now. It'd just been a slip of the mind, nothing more and nothing less.
He nods to the kid. "Yeah, I did. I thought she might like it."

"She loves it!" The kid nods eagerly in return, blue eyes sparkling bright. "And I love it too! Yesterday I taught it how to dance!"

"Oh, yeah?" Hank finds himself smiling. Yeah, he remembers the first time he
taught Connor how to dance as well. He'd put on his favorite rock music, and the little guy had started to wriggle to the beat before they'd even realized it. He still does it too, now, especially when...
(electric blue flowers thrilling all around him. pollen dusting the floor, the walls, the ceiling. shimmering, sparkling eyes with ever shifting colors, a kaleidoscope that Hank can stare at forever and ever)
A shiver down his spine is what gets Hank out of his thoughts this time. He blinks and shakes his head yet again. Boy, he really needs to stop letting his mind wander off like that. Maybe he's more tired than he thought he was. That'd make sense as to why he feels so... spacey.
He focuses his attention back to the kid, who luckily hasn't noticed his spacing out in favor of continuing to babble about all the things he plans to do with 'Ralph', who Hank assumes is the name that the kid has given to it.
"That's really great to hear, kid," Hank cuts in as soon as he finds a moment in the boy's rambling to do so. "I'm glad you and your mom enjoy, ah, Ralph. But I gotta go now, okay?"

The boy looks momentarily crestfallen, but perks up in a matter of seconds and nods once more.
"'kay, mister," he pipes up, smiling. "Thanks again for giving us Ralph! It's made Mom smile a lot again."

Hank smiles back in return. "Yeah," he replies, almost dreamy, as a warm feeling of contentment flows through him as he thinks of Connor. "He did the same for me, too."
After saying goodbye to the kid and sending him off in the direction of his mother, Hank makes his way home. Originally he had planned to drop by at another store, but a sudden wave of exhumation had hit him out of nowhere and now all that Hank wanted to do was to /go home/.
And so go home he does. He makes the trip back, feeling his exhaustion worsen with every passing minute. He's so tired that he nearly misses his stop on the bus and barely manages to scramble for the bell, which is fairly embarrassing.
But whatever. He's almost back, and that's what matters. Everything will be fine once he reaches home. Hank doesn't know why he feels so certain about that, but it makes sense. Home is where he's safe. Home is where he can be happy again.

Home is where Connor is, after all.
The way home is a familiar path that Hank's taken countless times by this point, so even in his exhaustion Hank manages to walk down the usual route with nothing more than his memory and experience.

All the same, the fact that he can feel some of that exhaustion wearing off
from him is a welcome feeling. With every step he takes closer to home Hank feels a returning spring in his step, a new dash of energy that hadn't been there before. As much as he appreciates it Hank doesn't know how long this burst of energy will last, which only makes it all
the more important to get back home as soon as possible so he can rest when he inevitably crashes down from this newfound energy.

He quickens his pace, hurrying back home, but as he gets closer the urgency he feels slowly changes to something else--something... uncertain.
Hank tries to ignore it at first, telling himself he'll deal with it later once he gets home--but somehow its the thought of being home that makes that uncertainty swell up even more, completely overtaking the urgency he'd felt just moments ago.
/It's not safe,/ something at the back of his mind shouts aloud. /Don't go back./

Hank comes to a stop mere steps away from his front door, one hand already delved into the pocket of his jacket in order to retrieve his keys. He can already feel them in the palm of his hand--
--the cool metal slowly warming up with the heat from his palm.

He looks the the front door of his house and frowns, wondering where his hesitation is coming from. As far as he can tell, everything pretty much looks the same as it always has.
There's not a single thing out of place. Nothing that he sees is telling him all those things that some part at the back of his mind is still shouting out for some unknown reason.
(turn back, it hisses, angry and volatile. turn back, turn back, turn back, get the hell out of here while you still can--)

A startling CRASH comes from within the house, and the sound jarks Hank back into the present. He shakes his head, chasing away the voices telling him to
stop and turn away because like hell he can do that when there's clearly something happening inside his goddamned house.

Hank closes his hand around the keys in his pocket, then take the last few steps to his front door and pulls them out.
He slides it into the keyhole and begins to turn.

(don't, the voice at the back of his mind screams, anger now giving way to desperation. don't do it, don't you fucking do it, DON'T DO IT--)
The door unlocks with a soft 'click' and swings open, revealing a gloomy, foreboding darkness. For some reason, Hank feels himself hesitating to step in, despite the fact that this is his home.
(its not your home, comes the spiteful words in his mind. not any more.)

Hank frowns and shakes his head once more, The voice is so unpleasant to listen to. It needs to shut up.
(not until you turn back, it growls. this is your last chance. go away, please. fucking go away before--)

The musky scent of flowers and pollen float to him, honey sweet and warm. Hank feels his eyes flutter as he takes in a breath of that comforting, familiar scent.
The voice inside him screeches, like a rabid animal trapped in its cage. Where before there was still coherency, now all Hank can hear is a single, deafening scream of NO. It makes him wince, has him cringing as that one single shriek reverberates through him, threatening to
split his head into two.

He recoils, hunching from the sudden pain in his skull, nails crawling at his scalp as the screaming in his head rises to a crescendo.

The shouting in his head is so unholy now it feels as if the words themselves are scratched into his mind, every letter stark red on white. It tries to sear itself into him--one last desperate, howling attempt to make him /listen/.
And a part of Hank does want to listen--he truly does--but it hurts so much and its so /loud/ and he just needs it all to /stop/--

With everything that he's feeling Hank doesn't even realize that something has wrapped themselves around his wrists until he feels his hands being
yanked away from his head. Instinctively Hank gasps, looking up to see a bright, brilliant blue flower right in front of his eyes. He'd seen them before, of course. They were Connor's flowers...
...but he doesn't remember them ever being this big. This one could easily cover his entire face.

Hank feels his breaths start to quicken as the flower thrills and shimmers before him, before before the panic can truly set in the flower leans in and presses itself
right up against Hank's face, with the pistil going straight between his lips.

Hank instantly gags and splutters as the pollen from the flower gets all over his face and mouth. Whatever that'd been holding his wrist lets go, causing him to fall onto all fours as Hank coughs
out all the crap that got into his mouth. There's the pollen, of course, and then the pistil of the flower that smashed into his face too. Hank grimaces as he spits it out, feeling his tongue and lips tingle from the nectar that it'd been holding inside it.
It's incredibly sweet, sweeter than anything he'd had ever had, yet it doesn't repulse him like other sweet things had. In fact, now what he's had a taste, Hank feels his mouth starting to water at the thought of more. He shouldn't, it would be /wrong/, but at the same time...
His thoughts trail off as the thick, musky scent from before wafts over to him once more, but unlike the previous time now there is no more screeching voice in his head to keep him away. In fact, the pain is entirely gone now, eclipsed by a warm, smoky caress that soothes away
every last bit of discomfort that he'd been feeling, leaving nothing else but warm, hazy contentment.

Hank relaxes, letting that wonderful scent sink into his tired mind and take away all the pain inside of him. It drapes over him like an invisible blanket,
overlapping all of his other senses and making him sigh and sink down onto the floor in a warm, content haze, wriggling happily against the bumps on the floor that soothe the remaining aches in his body in just the right places.
Bright blue flowers around him, their petals glowing so much brighter after the click of a door in the distance that plunges everything into darker, denser shadow.

Hank watches them thrill and flutter, shivering as beautifully as a butterfly's wings as they dance in the dimming

Hank watches them until his eyes grow heavy with exhaustion, and even after he closes his eyes he sees their imprints dancing behind his eyelids, leaving afterimages that flutter with the warm, comforting scent of pollen and honey.
It is night time when Hank wakes up.

He knows it is nighttime because he opens his eyes to the faintest bit of moonlight that's managed to shine through the miniscule gaps of the vines that's grown over his windows. He stares at that small patch of silver light as it shivers and
flutters in his vision, dancing as beautiful and as fragile as a butterfly's wings. If he didn't feel so drowsy and his limbs weren't so heavy, Hank thinks he might have tried to catch them with his hands.

He doesn't know how long he spends staring at the light, but eventually
something else catches his attention -- the sweet, tantalizing scent of pollen and honey that he knows so well by now it might as well have been engraved into his memory.

But even then, the effect that the smell has on him does not fade in time like how other things would.
The moment Hank catches the scent he feels himself react. His mind snaps to attention, his mouth waters, and his bare skin breaks out in gooseflesh as a shiver runs down his spine.

Something around his wrists and ankles slackens and slithers away. Hank pushes himself up to his
feet, his body moving without complaint despite having been lying on the floor for what must have been hours. He struggles his toes and feels them press down against the firm softness of the vines underneath his feet.

...when had there been vines all the way here?
He frowns, trying to decipher this mystery. Some nagging part at the back of his mind attempts to shout out something. If he could just--

The scent of pollen and honey thickens in the air, enveloping the very air Hank now breathes in. The thoughts in his mind flicker and pop
into nothingness. Of course the vines are here. They've always been here. It makes perfect sense for them to be here, especially because...

As if on cue a path of bright electric blue comes into bloom before his eyes. He watches, enraptured as the tiny blue flowers that
make up the path flutter and thrill, causing the pollen from their tiny centers to drop and litter the path now laid out for Hank.

The sticky scent of pollen thickens further, and from a distance Hank hears something that can almost be called a song.
It's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, like all of his favourite jazz tunes combined together in a harmonious blend.

Hank feels his eyes droop as he sways along to the rythmn. The scent, the sound--it's all so wonderful.
Hank wants more, and he knows what to do in order to get more.

He starts to walk on the path of flowers, following the wonderful music and the beckoning scent. He shivers with every step that he takes as the pollen sticks onto his bare feet,
eyes fluttering as the music and the scent relaxes him even further, until he's moving without thought, happy to be led like a moth to the flame.

Once again, Hank doesn't know how long he takes--it could have been a minute or even an hour and he wouldn't have been able to tell
the difference. What he does know is that eventually he arrives to where the music and scent and flowers have led him to, and once Hank sees who's waiting for him a dreamy smile appears on his face.


Connor smiles back, eyes sparkling like beautiful diamonds.
"You're back," he says, and just like the music his voice is also the most beautiful thing that Hank has ever heard. "I'm glad."

The flowers in the ceiling shiver, and the scent of pollen thickens even further. Hank feels himself shiver in response as his eyes droop even more,
almost going completely shut. He knows he just woken up, but he woudlnt mind sleeping again with this wonderful, amazing scent...

Hank feels something cool and firm wrap around his waist. "You must be so hungry," comes the soothing, caring cadence of Connor's voice.
"Let me give you what you need."

The thing around his waist tugs once, gently, and Hank follows without thought. The vines underneath his feet are softer then ever, and as he gets closer the sweet, delicious scent of Connor's nectar gets stronger.
He feels his mouth watering again as the smell hits him harder now that he's so close. He can almost taste it--sweet and warm and delicious, filling him up so nicely and making him feel so /good/...

Just thinking about it is enough to make heat begin to pool between his legs.
His arousal is a slow burn, slowly cascading through the rest of him in thick, heavy waves like honey. God, he feels so empty. He needs... He needs...

One more tug brings Hank pressed right up against the cool firmness of Connor's body. A flower blooms right next to Hank's face,
and Hank only sees its brilliance in full for a brief moment before it's brought right up to him by a clawed deformed hand made up of nothing but vines.

"Deep breaths, Hank," Connor says, stroking his hair when he obeys. "I know how much you love it."
And Hank... he loves it. He knows he does right down to his bones; an inexorable truth that he cannot deny.

He breathes in deep, taking in that sweet, intoxicating scent of Connor's perfumed nectar and moans, open mouthed into the very flower he just breathed in.
The pollen from the flower smears across his face and lips when he does that, where they tingle like tiny sparks across his skin, spending little pulses of pleasure and sensation that make him shiver and whine. Slowly but surely he feels his body burning up, heat beginning to
build up from deep inside him as the aching emptiness that he feels becomes all the more present.

Hank whines one more time, and this time Connor responds. He pulls the flower away from his face and smiles at him once more, eyes gleaming diamond bright.
"I know you've been aching for it," he croons, as if trying to sush a needy child. "You'll feel much better soon, I promise."

Hank feels a pair of vines slither around his legs, then curling around the curve of his ass, framing each side with the cool, firm grip of a vine.
They stay like that for a moment, as if wanting the anticipation to build up inside of Hank--which it does. That single moment is all that it takes for Hank to squirm against the vines that hold him, whining as the need that he feels becomes so much more demanding.
And as if responding to his growing need, the vines move once again--tensing up at their ends so that they can firmly grip the flesh of his ass and spreads his cheeks out. Hank feels the cool air hits his hole the moment that happens, sending sparks of sensation shooting through
him like lightning, causing him to shiver and whine once again. At the same time as that happens he feels a gush of /something/ hot and wet coming from his gut, spilling out from his ass to trail down his thigh.

The sensation is surprising (shocking) enough that it gets Hank
out from his lust addled haze. He blinks once, dazed, then slowly brings his gaze down to between his legs, where he can see a thick, clear fluid trickling down from where such a thing should /not/ be coming from.

This time this /other/ surprise is enough to wrench a semblance
of reason back into Hank, who realizes in quick succession that 1) whatever is happening now is /wrong/ and 2) Connor is much, much bigger than he last remembered.

Those two things are enough to get his survival instincts to start kicking in. Hank begins to struggle against the
vines that are holding him captive.

"Let go!" he grunts out, but the vines are heedless to thus particular request. Instead, they only hold on tighter, and stay immovable to Hank's struggling. Hank only forces himself to struggle harder, the instinct to survive kicking in harder
than ever before.

But despite all he does, his struggles remain futile. The vines holding him remain steadfast, and if anything only tightens their hold further to keep him from moving too much in his place. Hank eventually is forced to stop from sheer exhaustion, where he sags
against the vines holding him captive, panting as he catches his breath. For a while, there is silence, and then...

"You're unhappy again."

The voice is soft and sad, filled with a hurt that part of Hank instinctively wants to soothe. But he pushes those thoughts aside and
instead focuses all of his hate on the /thing/ that has caused all this to happen.

"Connor," he snarls out it's name this time, and his voice is full of malice and disgust.

The plant (it, thing, /not/ Connor) frowns.
"You were so happy," it (/it/ is a thing, not a person, never a person) says, the confusion audible even through the many layers of its melodic-sounding voice. "So happy to take my seeds inside you."

Inside--Hank feels bile rise to the back of his throat at that thought.
It only gets worse when he finally opens his eyes properly and lets himself /see/ how very wrong everything has become. The room -- Cole's room -- is now completely overrun with vines, and from the corner of his vision he can see them run out of the room as well.
Faintly, his mind supplies to him images of the rest of the house all similarly overrun with the vines too, and though Hank wants to deny it he knows deep inside that those images are real. Especially when he can see for himself just how much /bigger/ Connor has become right in
front of his eyes.

Hank would look, but he knows that he shouldn't look. He can't look, not unless he wants to end up staring into those eyes again, sparkling and shimmering and constantly shifting colors again and again...
Hank wrenches his mind back before he can slip away again. Too close, that was too close. He shakes his head, chasing away the thoughts. But even when he does that he can't do the same for the /smell/, which has only gotten thicker and more present with each passing moment.
It's so strong, heady and overpowering, making his head spin from how potent it is. Even if Hank tries to breathe through his mouth he can taste it all the same; a tingling sensation of pollen and honey and sweet, heavenly nectar--

"No," Hank hears himself saying, his voice so
weak it might as well have been a whisper. "No, please..."

Connor simply shifts to tilt Hank's head up in response, letting their gazes meet. Hank sees nothing but the shifting, sparkling kaleidoscope colors of Connor's eyes as he smiles, sweet and tender.
"Don't worry," he coos out, one hand reaching out to stroke Hank by his cheek. "I'll make sure you'll never be sad again, soon."

In that moment Hank's mind flashes to the faint memory of a child who had smiled and told him how his gift made his mother happy,
and another of a shopkeeper who'd also smile and informed him of how all the 'stock' he'd given them had been successfully sold off.

A deep, sinking realization takes root of him as the pieces click in his mind. Hank's eyes widen as he shakes his head vigorously, and he tries
to fight against his bonds one more time with all the strength that he can muster--as if some part of him knows that this is the very last chance he's got.

But he also knows that he's in far too deep, and when another flower comes into bloom before his eyes all Hank can do is to
stare at its bright, brilliant blue petals helplessly before it gets pressed up against his face once more, engulfing him with the sticky, cloying taste and scent of pollen and honey.
Trapped as he is, all Hank can do is to breathe it in, and when he does he feels it move through him like a physical, tangible thing. It slides down his windpipe and into his lungs, dissociating through the capacities and dissolving into his bloodstream.
As that happens Hank feels the burn of arousal light up within him again; it starts low in his gut and gradually builds up, slowly abut surely burning him up from the inside.

It doesn't take long before Hank hears himself whimpering in need, his thighs trembling as he feels
more of that slickness leak out from between his legs while his hole clenches around aching emptiness, only made worse when he's pulled closer and his equally aching cock is pressed all up against Connor's cool, firm body.
With how hard he is, Hank can't do anything else except to try and rut himself against him, keening with every thrust as he desperately tries to get some relief from the sheer need that courses through his body now.

He's so engrossed in what he feels that he almost misses the
soft, melodic sigh coming from above him. "I know you've been feeling so empty since delivering your first batch of seeds," he hears Connor say.

Some part of him registers the meaning of those words, can feel the horror as the implications sink in when he puts two and two
together. But that part him is already so far away from the rest of everything else -- where all he can think of is how hard he is, how empty he feels, and how all he wants is to keep rutting against Connor until he finally gets what he wants.
He ruts harder, keening, as if trying tell Connor without words about what he wants. Connor hums, as if having heard his plea, and he pulls away the flower from Hank's face so that their gazes can meet once again.

"Don't worry," he mumurs, repeating the same assurance from
earlier. "This time, I'll make sure you'll never fill empty again."

Before Hank can even think about asking what that might mean a vine rises up in the space between them, then shoots itself to go into his mouth and right down his throat. Hank instantly gags, tears welling up at
the corners of his eyes as he thrashes against his bonds once more, struggling to breathe past the appendage now forced inside him. There's so much, he needs it out and then he needs to throw up, he needs to--

Pollen. Honey. Nectar. Thick, warm, comforting, /full/.
Hank somehow manages a breathy sigh around the vine and relaxes all at once, letting himself drift in a warm, lazy wave of lassitude. The heat in his gut burns stronger as he feels something thick and syrupy slide into his belly, making him shiver.
His cock pulses, letting out a dribble of precome that slides down the length of his cock, and the sensation of it happening causes him to squirm.

Hank doesn't know how long the vine is stuck down his throat, pumping him full of whatever it is that's now in his belly,
but eventually it does pull away, and where Hank would've have been gasping and panting instead all he feels is a distinct fullness in his stomach that wasn't there before. He feels it hum, warm and comforting, sending little pulses of pleasure that make his limbs shiver and his
eyelids flutter. His cock gives another twitch, and while he is still hard the sensation of being full eclipses everything, else that he feels, leaving Hank drifting idly in a numb, fuzzy sensation of contentment.

He barely reacts when he feels himself getting shifted, when the
world tilts and goes horizontal in his vision and all he sees is the ceiling that is also completely covered in vines, with specks of brilliant blue peeking at him. All Hank knows that he feels warm and happy and full and when a pair of firm, thick vines slither around his thighs
to spread them apart he lets it happen without complaint, only reacting with a whine when he feels a blast of cool air over his slick, leaking entrance.

"Let's get you ready," Connor sings to him, beautiful and hypnotizing, and then Hank moans as he feels the first breach of
Connor's vines into him. They're not big by any means -- small enough to fit the size of his finger, designed to stimulate and nothing else, which Hank is very much is right now. He squirms on the vines as they slide deeper into him, whimpering as he feels them ghost his insides
with maddening, feather light touches, as if trying to explore and probe him rather than actually wanting to fuck him.

Hank tries to clench around them, but they're so thin he might as well have been clutching around nothing at all. He lets out another needy sound, trying to
wordlessly beg for more, already far too lost in his need and want to think about anything else.

But to hid dismay, Connor doesn't respond. He simply lets his stringy vines rile him up more, stroking all the sensitive nerves inside of him and smiling when he sees the precome
dribbling out from Hank's leaking cock and sliding down his plump belly.

"Beautiful," he coos out, and somehow hearing that praise sends a warm pulse of pleasure through Hank, making him tremble. He likes it when Connor calls him beautiful. It makes him feel /good/.
He hopes that Connor will call him that again and again, for as many times as he wants.

But even if he doesn't, the way he touches him from the inside is just as good. The vines slide impossibly deeper into him, brushing across even more of those sensitive nerves which only
serves to rile him up further. The arousal continues to build, piling higher and higher with nowhere to go, driving Hank further out of his mind. He starts to struggle against the vines once again, but this time its for a completely different reason compared to before.
He jerks his hips as his hole twitches, keening as he feels a new wave of slick spill out from him in response to his growing need. "Please," he begs, voice broken and needy. What Connor's doing right now is nowhere near enough to satisfy the hollow emptiness inside of him.
He wants more -- needs more -- enough to fill him up in all the right ways, whatever that may be. All he knows is that he /needs/ and that Connor will be the one to make it all better. He'll make him happy again, like what he promised earlier.
Above him Connor hums in response to his plea, though he doesn't say anything. Not that he has to, really, with what he does next; Hank gasps the moment he feels even more vines enter him, and these ones are thicker and firmer than the ones already within him.
They push into him with ease, the slick that he's readily leaking out making it all too easy for them to slide in deeper, deeper, deeper. As they do they brush by all the same sensitive spots that the first wave of vines had touched, except this time there's more pressure and
sensation and it sends even more sparks of pleasure racing through his body, and all Hank can do is tremble and moan as all those sparks burst in his eyes like fireworks. God, yes, its already so good, and Hank knows that this is only just the beginning.
He already can't wait for more.

Hank tries to urge Connor on by jerking his hips again and letting out another needy sound. The vines are already so deep inside of him, but if they go just a little bit deeper--

The pleasure hits him like a landslide, utterly blindsiding him
with just /how/ much it all feels. Hank arches his back and screams, coming so hard that his vision turns white as he shatters apart with just a single press against his most sensitive spot.

Connor works him through it with practiced motions, milking his prostate with a soft,
thrilling noise that reverberates through his body, and it sinks into his mind just as how his thoughts sink into Connor's dazzling, dancing eyes when he leans over to make their gazes meet once more while Hank slowly comes down from his orgasm.
"You're so happy," he says, and the words wash over Hank, sinking into his dazed, empty mind and turning into truth. He is happy. He is so, so happy to have Connor, and to do whatever it is that he wants because it makes Hank happy, too.
And Hank always wants to be happy, after all the time he's spent being sad and hurt and in pain. It would be wonderful if he could just live in this sensation of bliss forever.

Connor hums once more, as if having heard his thoughts. "I was worried just now, when you still kept
being sad," he murmurs. The petals and leaves that frame his head and face droop ever so slightly along with those words. "But its alright. Soon, you'll always be happy."

The vines that had been resting inside of Hank begin to move again. The first thing they do is to press up
against his prostate, causing Hank to keen and squirm at the burst of sensation that shoots through him because its far too much far too soon after he'd just come.

He might've said something, perhaps, but his mind is still far too gone to think of anything coherent, and any
chance to do that quickly evaporates as the vines mercilessly strike Hank's prostate again and again with inhuman accuracy, sending shock waves of sensation crashing through his body. All Hank can do is to let himself get dragged along for the ride, moaning helplessly as he
gets fucked by Connor's vines all over again.

It should hurt, being battered by this so soon after he'd just come, yet that pain doesn't come. Instead all that Hank feels is wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure, as if whatever pain that he should've felt has been changed.
It should be concerning, but such thoughts are far away in Hank's mind by this point. All he can focus on is the pleasure that takes him again and again as Connor's vines fill him up.

He's so lost in it all that Hank doesn't even realize he's hard again until another vine comes
to wrap itself around his cock, squeezing it and stroking his already leaking head in time to each thrust of the vines within him. Every press against his prostate is accompanied with a firm squeeze around his cock and a maddening flick at the head, making even more precome drool
out from the tip and fall down onto his belly in hot splatters.

Hank moans when he feels that, feeling another tremble run through his body. The flowers in the ceiling light up and shiver, causing more of their pollen to rain down onto Hank, sticking onto his skin which only
sends even more sparks of sensation zip across his veins. Hank jerks his hips once more, whining in need as his arousal catches fire and starts to burn hot and steady in his gut yet again. He thinks he hears himself call for Connor but he cannot tell for certain.
Either way, it doesn't matter because Connor is touching him again, one massive hand stroking down his stretched belly.

"You're ready," he announces, and Hank shivers at the promise in his voice. He doesn't know what Connor means by that, but he doesn't care either.
All he cares about is being able to have more of Connor -- every part of him, as much as he can.

Which is why when Connor suddenly withdraws all the vines that'd been inside him the only reaction Hank can give is a needy, despairing whine. His ass twitches, hole clenching around
a gaping emptiness that he can feel all the way in his bones. Why did Connor pull away? He doesn't want that. He wants Connor to fill him up, to take away this hollow sensation that's clawing him apart from inside out--

Connor shifts him back upright again, and the vines around
his legs spread his legs back and out as far as Hank is physically able to. Its a position his body remembers all too well, and a new wave of slick gushes out from his ass when Hank feels the head of Connor's special cock rubbing over his entrance.
Hank doesn't even last a second of teasing before he's crumbling from the sheer need that he feels. "Please," he rasps out, far too gone to not think about begging. "I need you."

Connor smiles at him in return, eyes shimmering bright and sharp teeth flashing in the moonlight,
and then he's lowering Hank right down where they both want him to be. Hank sobs the moment he feels Connor's plant cock sinking into him, feeling so fulfilled from getting filled up in the exact way he's been aching for all this time.
He trembles with every inch of Connor's cock that buries itself deeper inside of him, his body already overloading from the sheer amount of sensation that sparks from the way each bump of Connor's cock rubs over every sensitive nerve within him.
His arousal ratchets itself up higher as he feels more of Connor's cock inside of him, and when he finally bottoms out the head presses against his prostate in just the /right/ way that makes Hank shake and jerk in Connor's vines, eyes rolling back as he gasps at the burst of
pleasure that explodes between his eyes, temporarily whitening out his vision again.

But unlike last time, now Hank has no chance to rest. As soon as he regains his vision Connor lowers him down onto his cock again, and once more Hank is lost to another wave of pleasure that
crashes through his body. He moans this time, and when he does so Connor leans in, bringing their faces close to safely slide in his pistil into Hank's mouth and gives him the nectar that he'd been craving for. It floods his mouth, spilling out of his lips and dribbling down his
throat and sliding down his skin. He's a mess, yet the only thing he can do is to keep on drinking, gulping it down greedily and moaning low in his throat as Connor continues to fuck him through all of this.
"I'll give you a bit of myself this time along with my seeds," Connor tells him like how a parent consoles their child. "That way, you'll never be lonely again. You want that, don't you?"

Hank can only nod, mindless, eager for anything that Connor gives him. Anything, as long as
he can keep feeling good.

Connor hums in approval, and a pair of smaller vines slide up Hank's body to curl around his nipples, using the ends to tease them. Hank's eyes roll again as he moans once more, so overwhelmed from sensation and pleasure and everything else.
He's close, he's so close, all he needs is a little bit more, and--

Connor squeezes his cock, pumping another flood of nectar into him the same time he jerks Hank down to press right up against his prostate.
The sensation from all those things comes together at once and its far, far too much. Hank moans brokenly as he comes hard and violent, feeling himself shatter into a million pieces like the fractured colors of Connor's multifaceted eyes.
Everything dissolves, dissipating into the brilliant blue light of Connor's flowers, and Hank knows that even if he comes back from this he'll never be the same again.

"The fuck is this, old man?"

Hank blinks, unfazed by the insult as he watches the man ----- Gavin, he thinks that is his name -- before him examine the pot that Hank had thrust onto him with a fair amount of disgust.
"I know you got this new hobby and everything, but that doesn't mean I want a creepy plant for myself, thanks."

"Just give it a look," Hank responds, trying to urge him. "I promise you its worth it."

Gavin sneers in return. "Please. I'm not going to fall for such a--"
He stops then as he finally lays his eyes on the little seedling in the pot, and Hank shivers when he sees that momentary emptiness in the other's eyes.

It disappears as quickly as it comes, leaving Gavin dazed and blinking.
"Uh... I guess I can take it, if it means you'll stop coming around and being creepy." He pauses briefly, shaking his head. "Does it have a name or something?"


"That's a stupid name." Despite the words, Gavin is cradling the pot to his chest,
already being careful even as he turns around. "I'm gonna call him Dick."

"Do whatever you want," Hank responds, but he knows that Gavin is no longer paying attention to him. He watches as the man walks away with his gift, smiling at the sight of it.
The moment Gavin vanishes from his sight Hank feels the vine inside of him move, giving him that last bit of pleasure that he'd been aching for through the whole meeting as his reward. His eyes roll back as he shakes apart all over again right there and then, uncaring to whoever
might notice it.

After all, its only a matter of time before they, too, get one of Connor's seeds to make them just as happy as he will now always be.

And now this thread has been edited and put onto AO3 for those who've been waiting! Hope the wait has been worth it ehehehe. https://twitter.com/tasonado/status/1246284133963157506
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