Treasure

Taking a deep breath turns out to be a mistake. The stale, dusty air tickles his lungs, making it necessary to hold back a cough. However, it seems there is no need to be quiet. There was a rumor that poachers had set up camp here in the mansion, but, apparently, Sebastian was too late, and they had already abandoned the place. There were no traps or guards on the way in, and inside, he is met only by dead silence and a dull echo. The looters did a splendid job. The once-lavish mansion is now a wreck: tapestries are torn, moldings are broken, and pale stains remain on the walls—the only ghostly evidence that paintings once hung there. And yet, Sebastian wouldn't be himself if he simply walked away without looking around. The scattered belongings and abandoned kitchen utensils look as if people left in a hurry. Perhaps forgotten treasures remain somewhere here. Luck smiles on him - among the junk he finds a pouch generously stuffed with galleons, and fashionable glasses with a gold frame, which he can sell for a good sum to a merchant in the nearest town. Gradually filling his pockets, the young man ventures deeper and farther into the estate until he finds himself in a hall with a palisade of thick, black bars, ominously rising upwards. The sight of dozens, if not hundreds, of empty animal cages sends a chill down his spine. Sebastian might have found himself in a similar situation if not for Ominis's favor. He bites his lip in disappointment. Ominis. Ominis again. All thoughts return to him, although Sebastian came here precisely to avoid thinking about his friend. He is as handsome and kind as he is grumpy, Merlin bless him. With each passing day, it becomes harder to tear his eyes away from the ancient family’s heir, but whenever he opens his mouth, he wants to shut him up. “Ugh, you're probably so irritable because you're unsatisfied,” Sebastian said dismissively a couple of hours ago. “Just do it with someone already and relax. I can't believe you have trouble with girls. Say a few nice words to them, and any one of them will be ready to get down on their knees before you.” However, after this valuable advice, the blushing Ominis merely pursed his lips in offense and left. Ungrateful. What did he say? Gaunt is objectively the most irresistible and coveted young man at Hogwarts, yet for some unknown reason remains celibate- like some Muggle monk. Sebastian's first thought was that his friend was self-conscious, but the thought vanished as quickly as it had appeared—he saw Ominis naked in the shower often enough to know he has no reason to be ashamed of his size. And his body is, well, attractive. Merlin, if Sebastian were in the girls' place, he himself would drag the coy Ominis to a secluded place, contrary to all norms of decency. Not wanting to be in the creepy room with the bars any longer, Sallow is about to leave when he notices something in his periphery- movement between the cages. A chest. A goggle-eyed mimic chest, the kind you see at every corner in Hogwarts. Well, almost. This one is huge. It could easily fit a person, or even two. Not to mention, all its keyholes are open. It seems flirtatious, much like the “accidentally” dropped handkerchief of a young lady. Who is Sebastian to refuse an invitation? A squinting eye with a vertical, predator-like pupil is also fixed on the Slytherin. Probably from the very moment he stepped over the threshold of the hall. And yet, the mimic is in no hurry to close, like all such chests. Filled with curiosity, he moves closer. He lifts the unexpectedly warm, intricately patterned lid, eager to discover what lies beneath. And faster than Sebastian can react, the mimic reveals itself. Fleshy pink tentacles burst from its depths, grab his wrists and drag him inside. The trap slams shut. The keyholes snap into place, and the wand remains dropped outside. Dark. Soft. Wet. And too hot. Just like it should be in the mouth of a predatory creature. There's no point in screaming and calling for help—everyone has long since abandoned this place. And if he tries to Apparate, he'll only do so with the monster wrapped around him. Sebastian would rather die than allow rumors to spread about the humiliating situation he's found himself in due to his own stupidity. Cursing, he tries to get out—kicking and pounding the damp walls with all his strength. But it's all in vain. The Mimic wraps around his thrashing limbs in displeasure, squeezing them with such force that bruises are guaranteed. The more desperately Sebastian struggles, the tighter the bonds become. They squeeze his ribs, pull his arms and legs apart, bend his knees and bind them so tightly that he can't straighten them. Completely exhausted, a breathless Sallow allows himself to pause briefly to catch his breath before fighting for his life again. And at that moment, something happens that Sebastian does not expect - the monster's grip loosens. Amidst the raging fury and despair, a new spark flares up—curiosity. His mind, eager for riddles, immediately casts aside its instinct for self-preservation, noticing a pattern in the chaos. Evening out his breathing, Sebastian experimentally moves his leg to the side, smoothly and slowly. The tentacle doesn't hinder him. It still holds his ankle and wraps around his knee, but it doesn't squeeze as hard as before. He jerks his hand, and the pressure on his wrist increases. “I shouldn’t resist?” he voices his guess aloud, as if the mimic could answer him. Trying to relax, he takes a deep breath and leans his head back onto the soft, yet disgustingly wet, writhing bottom made of tentacles. There are even more of them than it initially seemed. Something small begins to fondle his hair, and a smooth probe rises from his neck to his cheek and moves toward his mouth, leaving a wet trail in its wake. “Disgusting,” Sebastian whispers, wincing, turning away as slowly as possible so as not to provoke the mimic’s displeasure. As if echoing the young man, the movements of the tentacles are also unhurried, careful. As if they’re caressing him. It's almost pleasant. Obediently changing direction, the appendage now crawls towards his exposed ear. It tickles along the edge, causing Sebastian to involuntarily flinch, and then tries to poke into his ear canal. But the tentacle is too large to penetrate, so, losing interest in the opening, it moves on. The restraints encircling his chest persistently search for gaps between the buttons of his vest and shirt, and when they find them, they push their way under his clothes. The smooth, warm, and wet touch against his bare skin makes Sebastian's stomach flutter. It’s like he’s being licked. Exploring his exposed body, a tentacle brushes against his nipple, making his cock twitch in his trousers. Too strange. Too wrong. The treacherous reaction of his body to the creature's touch is frightening. Sebastian tries to pull away, but other tentacles hold him tightly in place, pinning his wrists together above his head. More join those wrapped around his legs. They creep higher. To his thighs. To his crotch. Sallow swallows nervously. This is too much. He writhes and brings his knees together, but they are instantly pushed further apart, and the young man himself is flipped face down into something soft, slimy, and writhing. And Sebastian's breath catches. Despite the horror of this wretched situation he finds himself in, to his shame, he feels himself growing harder. “It's... a natural reaction. It’s normal. Just a reaction to being touched,” Sebastian says haltingly, as the tentacles rub him on both sides through the fabric of his trousers. And from below, his chest and nipples are tickled by a dozen thin and small appendages, resembling antennae. The air seems to disappear in the cramped, enclosed space, making it increasingly difficult to breathe through his nose. A large tentacle slips into his conveniently open mouth. Feeling a tart, salty taste on his tongue, Sebastian starts shaking his head, trying to get rid of the foreign object, but the appendage pushes deeper into his throat, and the pressure on his neck makes it clear it's best not to resist. It's a miracle he doesn't vomit. The tentacles, previously only caressing, tug at the trousers so insistently that the buttons, unable to withstand the strain, scatter across the soft bottom of the chest. The creature turns out to be clever enough to lower the fabric instead of stupidly squeezing into the tight space. The wet touch on his bare buttocks make Sebastian's insides clench with a chilling premonition. His attempt to move his hips is in vain—another appendage has wrapped around and warningly squeezes the shamefully hard cock. Any thought of a life-saving apparition is ruthlessly torn apart by the frightening realisation of the shameful state he would be found in. Better death than to hear even one contemptuous “Molly” addressed to him. “Relax, relax, relax-” having understood the hopelessness of the situation, Sebastian frantically repeats to himself in his mind like a mantra, feeling the thin tip inexorably approaching his entrance. Pressing. Penetrating. The friction burns inside, but the copious mucus helps. It's almost painless. Wriggling, pressing against the walls, the tentacle slowly penetrates deeper, causing his lower abdomen to convulsively contract. Another appendage presses against the tongue, filling the mouth with the salty, bitter taste of flesh before it finds its way down the throat. Sebastian's back is arched, his thighs are spread further, he's penetrated deeper with such force that tears well up in his eyes. He feels everything: every movement, every roll of the elastic muscles of the creature inside him—how it stretches and fills him. And this feeling of fullness is maddening. Foreign, and yet right. Is this how girls feel when they get fucked? His cock tenses, oozing clear fluid. A tentacle reaches toward the head. Thin antennae wrap around his nipples. Sebastian lets out a strangled moan. Disgusting. With each movement, the tendrils move inside more freely and quickly. His disheveled bangs stick to his damp forehead. Saliva continuously flows down his chin, mixing with mucus.Sebastian lets out a quiet sob. Why does he feel good about this? It's wrong. With each jerk, the tentacle seems to deliberately press on something inside, causing everything inside Sebastian to turn over, shrink, and melt. His eyesroll back in bliss. Why is this so much more enjoyable than he imagined? The air becomes thicker, heavier. It smells of arousal, sweat, and something animalistic. Having become accustomed to the salty taste on his tongue, it no longer seems so disgusting. Sebastian opens his mouth wider, his hips seeming to move by themselves to meet the rhythm, and the mimic happily enters him deeper. Perhaps as a reward, the antennae grasp the aching cock, and then one of them slides into the urethra. More and more appendages crawl under his clothes, like hundreds of insatiable tongues greedily licking the sweat from his skin. The world shrinks to wet, quivering flesh, to tentacles writhing like snakes, to stale air saturated with the cloying smell of sex, to convulsive sighs, to a sticky mess between the legs, sweet and disgusting at the same time. His consciousness is swimming, his thoughts are confused. Completely surrendering to the new, intoxicating sensations of being taken from all sides, Sebastian dissolves into shameful pleasure. For a moment, the image of Ominis flashes through his empty mind—insistent, possessively pressing him against the wall. Something Sebastian could only dream of. And that is enough. The orgasm that washes over him is overwhelming—the most intense he ever felt. His knees tremble and would surely have given way if he weren’t in the creature's tight embrace. Dripping with cum and barely catching his breath, he goes limp, hoping for a respite. But the insatiable mimic doesn't stop. It doesn't even slow down. It continues to impale Sebastian from both sides and painfully strokes his hypersensitive cock, which is now enveloped in the wet, pulsating heat of another tentacle swallowing him. When the lid of the chest mercifully opens, releasing the prisoner to freedom, he’s been forced to cum no less than seven times. Blinded by the setting sun, after hours in pitch darkness, exhausted, weakened, and milked dry, Sebastian barely remembers his wand and apparates into his dormitory. His jaw is cramping, his tortured throat and ass are sore, he's desperately thirsty and hungry, but his fading consciousness is only enough to fall onto his neatly made bed. The scent of shampoo on his pillow is so soothing.

***

For the first time in ages, Sebastian decides to take a bath instead of using the shower as usual. Looking at the swirling steam, it’s safe to say it is hotter than it should be, but that’s just as well. His body still aches, and Sebastian hopes the water will help relax his muscles. He rubs his skin, covered in darkening bruises, with a bast cloth, as if trying to scrape away all the phantom sensations and memories of the tentacles holding him. He has to be careful with his chest—his nipples are still too sensitive after being mercilessly tormented for literally hours. When it’s time to move lower, Sebastian bites his lip again. It wasn't supposed to be pleasant. He’s not homosexual, not a sodomite, not a molly, not a fairy. So why did he enjoy having something invade his body? Worse, he wanted more, more and more, for the sweet torture to continue. At one point, he even imagined his thigh being squeezed by hands with moles instead of tentacles. With helpless rage, Sebastian scrubs his treacherously hardening member even harder. He is so vile. This is wrong. He shouldn't think like that. But the worst thing is that Ominis was the one who found him in his completely filthy state. Dirty, his clothes torn, smelling of sweat, urine, and Merlin knows what else. Sebastian had managed to fall asleep on his bed, not his own. Upon awakening, he was clean, in fresh clothes, with food carefully left out, and a blind, unbearably worried gaze turned upon him. Damn Ominis. Always pestering him with his questions, his conversations, his advice. Why does he always have to complicate things? Why can't he just remain silent? Words only make everything more complicated. Sebastian doesn't even like to think about how he feels, much less talk about what's on his mind. He clicks his tongue in irritation, recalling how Ominis had lingered by his bed that morning, looking upset, never having received an answer to why Sebastian looked like that and what happened to him. “If you want to talk, I’m always here for you,” said Gaunt, drawing the curtains of his own bed, on which Sallow was still lying, and left for class. The mixture of emotions raging within Sebastian needs an outlet. His hands clenches into fists, and his breathing quickens. Irritation is replaced by something else, shameful, but so tempting. Memories of the monster in the chest, caressing him in a way no girl could, make him trade the rough bast for his hand. The untimely resurfacing memory of Ominis helps him come. Mentally and physically exhausted, he sinks under the dirty water where he belongs. Emerging, full of self-loathing, Sebastian again roughly rubs his body with the washcloth until his skin begins to burn painfully. How disgusting he is. A few weeks later, not a trace remains of the bruises from that monstrous grip. There is no physical evidence that anything happened to Sebastian. And yet, he feels broken from that day on. He can’t stop thinking about what had happened in that ill-fated mansion. How he had been shamefully taken, like a girl. How his entire body had been enclosed, making it impossible to resist. It was disgusting. Unacceptable, dirty, pathetic. And yet, it was also insanely good. Masturbation is not the same. Sebastian’s not getting enough. Not enough hands, not enough lube, not enough fingers penetrating. He wants more. He needs to feel full again. It doesn't make him homosexual if he is with a monster and not a man, right?

***

The echo of two pairs of footsteps and the piercing creak of old boards bounce dully off the bare walls,returning distorted and belated, as if an invisible companion is following on their heels. The open windows bring fresh air into the musty rooms, but it’s alien to this wretched place. “What are we doing here, Sebastian?” Ominis asks, puzzled, and draws uneasy zigzags with his wand blinking in red, picking up the outlines of walls and broken furniture from the darkness. “I want to show you something special,” his voice rings with feigned nonchalance and amusement. Ominis isn't entirely pleased with the evasive answer, but continues to follow in silent obedience. Sebastian hasn't been himself lately. Withdrawn. With frequent mood swings. Unfortunately, he knows the reason for this behavior well. Gaunt might be innocent, but the state he found Sallow in a few weeks ago made his heart clench painfully for him in searing pity. The horrific sight beneath his fingers was more vivid than words. Especially since Sebastian refused to speak. Delicately, hinting, he suggested turning to the school healer or confiding in a professor. But Sebastian was horrified by this idea and only withdrew further. Unwilling to reopen deep emotional wounds, Ominis expressed his willingness to help and listen when the time was right, just once. And from then on, he watched from afar as his dear friend coped alone. So now he's simply glad that Sallow is finally in high spirits and even invited him along. Listening to Sallow walk the halls of the abandoned mansion with astonishing confidence, Gaunt immediately realizes he's been here before. Again, he's hiding something, but at least this time he's allowing him to be close. “Here,” Sebastian calls out, as if to confirm that thought, pointing to the stairs leading upstairs. Pushing open a massive oak door, they find themselves in a room. A boudoir, to be precise, judging by the dressing table, massive chest, and wide carved bed. It's cleaner than the other rooms, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of vanilla blossom—Ominis's favorite fragrance. “I tidied up a bit before you arrived. It's much cozier this way, isn't it? It helps... to get into the mood,” Sebastian sounds a little nervous. One might even say excited. What's happening makes Ominis uneasy, too. It all seems strange. Why did Sebastian bring him here? What is that rustling? Like dozens of slithering, slippery snakes. And although he can’t hear the characteristic ominous whisper, the sound still sends shivers down Gaunt's spine. Why is it coming from the chest? Sebastian steps between the frowning Ominis and the mimic,where he’d pointed his wand.He's so close, any closer and the blinking tip would touch his stomach. He has to lower it. “I think I finally figured out what your problem is,” Sebastian says with all his enthusiasm. The word “problem” stings him unpleasantly. Unsurprisingly, Ominis's frown deepens. But it does make him turn his attention to Sallow. “Figured out what?” “Well, you know. With girls. I've noticed for a long time that you never get close to them. It's like you're out of your element when you talk to them. But what if everything could be so much simpler? If you didn't even have to talk? If you started with someone you don't need words with? Who understands you and your desires perfectly?” Sebastian sees Ominis's Adam's apple twitch. How hesitantly he shifts from foot to foot, wanting to pull away, but Sallow prevents him from doing so, pulling him close by the shoulders. They're so close now that Sebastian feels Ominis's breath catch as his fingers peel away his robe and he whispers: “I want you to feel good too.” A hand confidently lands on his waist, directing him. And then Sallow leads. Smoothly, as if in a dance, Ominis follows him, moving in a slight arc. He's so adorable. Sebastian's gaze glides over his quivering, slightly parted lips before meeting the vertical pupil. “Sebastian, I-” Gaunt swallows, feeling his vest being unbuttoned, “This is all too fast, don't you think?” “Don't worry. At first, the sensations may be strange. Unusual. A little painful, but only at first. And then it will be pleasant. You'll like it, I promise.” Ominis's blushing face is especially beautiful. But Sebastian's eye twitches when his friend stops him from unbuttoning his shirt, by taking his hands in his own, cold ones. He's trying to do what's best for Gaunt’s own good. Why all this fuss? Sebastian doesn't have time to ask rudely: “What now?” because he's drawn into a kiss. Timid. Innocent. The shadow of long lashes falls over open, misty eyes. Sallow freezes, as if he’s looking into the eyes of a basilisk in the flesh. His mind, usually quick and agile, goes completely blank, leaving only the feeling of soft, slightly trembling lips on his own. Ominis slowly pulls away, his blind gaze shining like stars, his fingers timidly resting on Sebastian's chest. “I'm sorry, I just wanted to do this before we... It's so sudden, Sebastian! I didn't think that you... thatwe!” He faltered, his cheekbones flushed, and his soft lips involuntarily stretched into a happy, embarrassed smile. Ominis couldn't hold it back, no matter how hard he tried. “Oh, Merlin, I'm so glad you finally understood.” He put his hand to his heart, letting out a sigh of relief, while panic, cold and nauseating, squeezed Sebastian's throat. “After everything that happened... Honestly, I didn't expect it at all!” Gaunt takes a deep breath, gathering his mind. Plucking up his courage. But Sallow already knows he doesn't want to hear it. What Ominis is about to say- it will put a bold end to their relationship. Erase all the years of their friendship, tainting it with something dirty and ugly. “I don't need any girls, Sebastian. Only you. I've loved you for a long time.” His voice is quiet, but with unwavering sincerity, as if he's not making the biggest mistake in the world right now. As if he's not stabbing his heart with a jagged knife made of gentle words and a smile. Why complicate everything with words? They always only spoil it. “...up,” he breathes through his lips, almost soundlessly. His own heart is pounding madly somewhere in his throat, drowning out everything around him. “What?” Ominis asks, not having heard. “Shut up! We... I am not a damned molly!” In anger and shame, Sebastian bows his head, unwilling to look into the eyes of the one he considered his best friend. His breathing is like that of a hunted animal. In his mind there are too few and too many thoughts at once. And none of them are useful. What should he do? The solution comes naturally. The mimic, which has been watching the unfolding scene attentively, opens its mouth wide, extending its tentacles. It waves them invitingly. Without thinking any further, Sebastian rashly pushes Ominis into the opened chest, straight into the sticky embrace of the monster, and having accepted such a valuable gift, it instantly slams shut, clicking the keyholes. Catching his breath, he runs his fingers through his sweaty hair. He hears muffled screams and lamentations, which makes him feel a pang of guilt. It all happened so suddenly that Sallow didn't have time to warn him. And even though Gaunt is a filthy traitor, Sebastian is magnanimous: “Just relax, Ominis. Imagine it's the Devil's Snare. Since you're likethat, you'll like it even more than I expected, I promise.” Contrary to expectations, Gaunt is not very grateful for the care shown. “‘Relax’?! ‘Like it’?! What are you even talking about? What is this thing?” A scuffle and shouts come from the chest. It's unlikely Ominis even heard what he said. Sebastian pinches the bridge of his nose in irritation. It's his own fault for not listening. “No, no, no, don't touch me! Sebastian! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you, let me out! Seba...mgh?!” The screams cease. Instead, wet, slurping sounds evoke memories of the heaviness on his own tongue and the tart, salty taste. The rasping and moaning sounds coming from Ominis's mouth are so sweet that his cock can't help but react. Sallow drops to his knees and strokes the lid of the mimic. “Come on, be a good girl and show him to me.” The eye with the vertical pupil squints slyly as the man unbuttons his trousers. The keyholes click open one by one, and the lid of the chest slowly lifts, revealing its treasure. Lying on his back, Ominis is like an exquisite pearl in a shell. His clothes, torn in places, reveal beautiful alabaster skin. His head is thrown back, allowing a clear view of the bulging alien silhouette moving rhythmically in his throat. The sight makes Sebastian's lower abdomen twist into a tight ball, and his heart flutter. “You're so gorgeous,” Sebastian breathes out, stroking his dear friend's wet cheek. He moves lower. He presses his thumb lightly on his neck, where the tip of the tentacle resides, and coos affectionately. “Just look at you. You take it so deeply. Do you like it that much?” A groan escapes Ominis's throat, and Sebastian takes it as a “yes”. It’s so much easier with Gaunt when he’s silent. Hastily removing all the interfering half of his clothing, Sebastian climbs deep into the mimic, straddling the lower part of his pale belly. The elastic, slippery loops encircle his bare, freckled thighs and chest, but without the crushing force of the first time. Now it feels more like the warm embrace of a friend you greet after the holidays. One of the wet tentacles slides over his buttock, gently caressing the soft skin at his entrance, and Sebastian, holding his breath in anticipation, leans into the touch. Allows entry. He presses his lips tightly together, accustoming himself to the much-desired feeling of fullness inside. A few slow but relentless thrusts, and he's already moving his hips in unison, never taking his eyes off Ominis, towering over him. How nice. A grin spreads across his face when he feels how Ominis trembles under him, as long, thin antennae reach out to the pink nipples on his girlishly hairless chest. Even with lust clouding his mind, Sebastian notices Gaunt's unbound hand fumbling in search of his wand. He catches it—gently, almost lovingly—and presses the delicate hand to the bottom, tightly intertwining their fingers. Hearing a moan muffled by the tentacle at that moment, Sebastian goes crazy. Delightful. In time with the rocking of his hips, his cock slides over his pale belly, smearing a wet spot. The tentacles wrap around him tighter, more domineering. Something unexpectedly rough and abrasive is pressing against Sebastian's scrotum. Fabric. Ominis is still wearing his trousers. “I’ll help you now,” Sebastian promises and lowers his hand to the buckle. Undoing the buttons and tugging the fabric down, he feels the mimic stir excitedly, ready to caress the newly exposed areas. Ominis also begins to squirm and twitch, as soon as something wet touches him where even he was embarrassed to touch himself. Stupid, he’s not listening at all. He'll only hurt himself this way. Sebastian has to press his hips down with all his weight. A slippery, pulsating appendage grips their cocks tightly together, forcing them to touch, rubbing, mixing their juices. Another tentacle rests on Sebastian's cheek, tracing his lips, clearly wanting to penetrate between them. And he doesn’t want it any less. And while his mouth is still unoccupied, Sebastian leans in so close that their lips could touch if not for the creature's tentacle tearing at Ominis's throat, and whispers: “Relax and enjoy.” The mimic shuts his mouth.