Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

Inside the time room, Prismo paced back and forth anxiously. Debating breaking his vow of apathy to check in on Scarab now, especially after hearing him yell so loud it echoed throughout the entire cube. Trying to convince himself it was nothing important, yet still difficult to ignore. It sounded uniquely tortured, like it was wrenched from his throat by force. He was busy filling his head with every possible scenario that might need his intervention. Spontaneous combustion, choking on a cherry pit, auto-erotic asphyxiation gone wrong, proboscis tied in a knot.

His hand shook as he forced himself not to retrieve the remote. It was none of his business, Scarab was very capable and could handle himself just fine. If he truly needed Prismo, he would come get him. Unless he was physically incapacitated for some reason or another, regardless of the high improbability.

Prismo looked down at his crochet, “Damn, another drop stitch,” he muttered.

Sighing in defeat as he stared up at the ceiling. It was never this difficult before to redirect his attention with pointless tasks and meaningless distractions. Not until Scarab joined him. Then every spare moment he got, Prismo often found himself wondering after his protégé. Trying- and often succeeding- in engaging the beetle in conversation. Sometimes about superficial topics, other times Scarab divulged bits of his past or his harrowing ascension into a cosmic entity.

The scarab started to make more sense to Prismo, he was learning what made him tick- or click, rather. He now understood why Scarab acted the way he did. Because in his past that meticulous attention to detail and strong intuition- which could easily be seen as neurotic fixation- had saved him from countless situations, allowing him an escape.

Therefore, Scarab trusted in himself, and only himself, to succeed at any task he put his mind to, because he truly had no other option. Failure was not acceptable, nor was breaking rules or skirting by with lackluster performance. Scarab learned things the hard way, then devoted his life to never having to repeat those same, painful lessons again. His ascension into godhood only reaffirmed the need to be overly precise and rigid in his self-discipline to be worthy, to be  enough.  And that mindset masked a deeply internalized need for validation. If he was good enough, made all the right choices, gave the correct answers  and  accomplished what was demanded of him perfectly- then  finally  he could be worthy of others’ time and attention. Worthy of having his basic needs met, worthy of even being considered in the first place.

Sure, Prismo thought he had Scarab all figured out. Especially recently, as they argued less, and Scarab settled in more and opened up to him. That is, until recently. Of course, Prismo had noticed the snappy tone in his voice, or the more prevalent angst that seemed to hang around him. But Prismo simply shrugged it off, telling himself it was Scarab’s way of adjusting. Trying to reconcile his rigorous, violent, and punitive past as an auditor with the ambiguous, restrained, and subjective demands of being a wishmaster-in-training.

The one conversation that changed Prismo forever, stood at the forefront of his mind for a long while. He remembered it crystal clear. Yelling back and forth at eachother, all over a single ant. That’s right, one ant.

The thought still made Prismo chuckle to himself at the intensity of the conflict and its seemingly insignificant starting point. But in the end, it wasn’t really about the ant. Speaking of, it showed up one day, most likely clinging to a wisher’s clothing before searching through the time room for crumbs. And there it stayed for a while, long past the return of its sentient transport. Prismo didn’t know who had brought it into the time room, so he wasn’t sure what universe to return it to. That’s basically how the argument started.

“Hey Scarab?” Prismo had called over the blue projection, “Come look at this little guy.”

Scarab paused typing away on Prismo’s laptop to examine the tiny black dot on the floor. Squinting his eyes as he peered at the minuscule insect.

“An ant?” Scarab deadpanned, “Is that all?”

Prismo grinned and nodded, “Yeah, I wonder who brought it. Probably didn’t even know the little dude was hitching a ride.”

Prismo gently nudged his hand under the insect, bringing it closer so he could inspect it. Scarab grimaced in discomfort, watching the wishmaster be so tender with such a worthless creature made him feel something he’d rather ignore. The sound of typing resumed as Prismo took a moment to let the wee thing crawl over him. Smiling to himself when he could just barely feel its little legs scampering along his projection.

Scarab stopped typing, staring at Prismo and how he treated the bug. It was so small, Scarab hadn’t even seen it. Insignificant little thing as it was. Something about that ant making its way into the time room irritated him. There was nothing special about the insect, it was just by happenstance that it found its way into the domain of a cosmic entity. Sheer dumb luck. Scarab felt it ought to be grateful Prismo hadn’t crushed it immediately- despite knowing it was an irrational desire to see such a level of sentience from such a slight little being.

“Get rid of it,” Scarab demanded.

Prismo gave him a beseeching look, “But I don’t know where it came from.”

Scarab rubbed at his face, a habit that told Prismo he was getting agitated, “It doesn’t matter where it’s from, it doesn’t belong here. Throw it out into space for all I care.”

Prismo just frowned and looked at the ant again, a feeling of affection overtaking him. It was just so small and helpless, it hadn’t done anything to deserve such treatment.

“I’ll take care of it,” Prismo shrugged, “I’ve always wanted a pet.”

The wishmaster summoned a crumb of bread and nudged it closer to the ant. Watching the tiny thing happily take to the crumb, Prismo smiled to himself.

“What are you  doing?”  Scarab snapped, closing the laptop and stalking over to the wishmaster.

“Look, it’s eating-” Prismo grinned excitedly, “What kind of ant do you think it is? Should I try a leaf next? Or maybe some fruit?”

Scarab rolled his eyes and looked closer at the small bug. Staring intently as if he would finally see what Prismo valued in it if he looked hard enough. The ignorant little thing didn’t even know it had crawled into the divine dwelling place of a wishmaster, no less.

“Disgusting vermin,” he grumbled, the desire to punish it for its transgression welled up inside Scarab.

“Hey!” Prismo looked angrily towards his apprentice, “His name is Chiti. Besides, black ants are a good omen. I’m keeping him.”

“You named it?” Scarab sneered.

Prismo ignored Scarab’s dissent, creating a tiny enclosure in a colorful blip. Inside was some substrate, twigs and leaves. The wishmaster carefully placed the crumb into the cage, watching joyfully as the ant started to explore its new surroundings.

“You just- that’s not-” Scarab stumbled over his words,  “Prismo!”

Prismo looked up from studying his new pet, “What? Is the cage too small? Maybe he needs more space to roam-”

“You can’t grant your own wishes-” Scarab griped, “Have you learned nothing?”

Prismo only shrugged, “Technically it’s not for me, it’s for Chiti. He’s a long way from home, I’m just trying to make him more comfortable. What else am I supposed to do?”

Scarab seethed, not yet examining why this interaction was making him so upset. But he was reaching the limit of his tolerance with Prismo’s childish antics.

“You’re supposed to squash it-” Scarab urged him, cracking his knuckles as he stalked closer to the wishmaster, “Like a  real  god would.”

Prismo grabbed the cage, holding it closer to himself as he glared at Scarab, “You wouldn’t dare…”

Scarab took another step, Prismo hugged the cage tighter. Lifting it high, out of the beetle’s reach.

“Hand over the ant, Prismo,” Scarab growled, “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

“Why do you care so much?” Prismo frowned, “If you want a pet too, all you have to do is ask, Scrabby.”

Scarab scoffed at him and crossed his arms, “I’m not jealous of your pathetic little bug!”

“Oh yeah?” Prismo retorted, “Then why can’t you just let it go?”

Scarab hissed and clenched his fists at his side, “But you’re breaking the rules over some pathetic, mortal, insentient  insect!”

“His name is  Chiti-”  Prismo corrected him, looking down at the angry blue projection.

“And he’s done nothing wrong,” Prismo declared, “I won’t hurt a defenseless creature, and that includes neglect.”

“Ugh!”  Scarab complained loudly, “Stop humanizing the filthy thing as if it has feelings! It even doesn’t belong here, that should be reason enough.”

“I take my open-door policy very seriously-” Prismo retorted.

“Except when you’re being audited,” Scarab quipped, crossing his arms and glaring at Prismo from across the room.

“Not cool dude, we both agreed to leave that in the past,” the wishmaster scolded him.

“Besides, I was protecting Fiona and Cake-” Prismo replied with thinly veiled resentment.

There was a strained silence between them, both tense and waiting for the other to continue instigating. They both turned up their noses judgmentally and looked away from eachother. Prismo was the first to break, he hated conflict, and his ego was nearly non-existent, so it was relatively simple to extend an olive branch.

“No one should be punished for existing…” Prismo uttered, staring into Chiti’s cage for a moment before he sighed.

“But if it really bothers you that much, help me find what universe he came from,” Prismo said, “And I’ll send him back.”

Scarab nodded from across the room, sitting cross-legged on the floor and watching as Prismo set the cage down gently. The wishmaster sighed and manifested the remote, turning on the tv wall. They began the painstaking process of rewinding through hours of footage, trying to guess which wisher had brought the insect into the time room in the first place.

It took a lot longer than Prismo had anticipated. They stopped for breaks, even had a few wishers appear now and again, then resumed the tedious task of squinting at the wall for hours on end.

Prismo was more than content to do such boring, monotonous work as long as it meant the ant wouldn’t be obliterated into a dark smear on the yellow time-room floor. But Scarab had no such patience for the lost creature. Eventually, his anger boiled over again, not understanding why he was being made to do such meaningless labor for such an insignificant being.

“This is pointless,” Scarab complained, throwing his arms up in frustration “We’ll never be able to find Chiti’s homeworld.”

Prismo only glanced at him for a moment before he continued rewinding and skipping through footage of previous wishers.

“Don’t give up, Scrabby,” Prismo tried to encourage him, “Somewhere out there is an anthill waiting for his return.”

Prismo lowered his head to glance into the enclosure again, cooing at the tiny insect, “I hope he’s not homesick, ants are social little guys.”

“She-”  Scarab corrected him, “-is clearly part of the worker caste.”

Prismo only rolled his eyes and appeased him, “Okay,  she.”

Prismo looked back at the tv wall and continued to click rewind and fast-forward with obnoxiously redundant results. Scarab simply couldn’t take it anymore, his patience ran thin. Unable to integrate his desire to be tender and accommodating with the coarse, disciplinary impulses of a god auditor.

“This isn’t working,” Scarab declared, standing up and rubbing at his faceplates in annoyance.

“Just give it to me and I’ll take care of it,” Scarab said, reaching out for Chiti’s plastic enclosure.

Prismo was quick to scoop up the cage. Manifesting a shelf high up on the wall and tucking his new pet away from Scarab’s hostile reach.

“Hey, that’s not what we agreed on-” Prismo said, making air quotes was he spoke, “And I don’t think we have the same definition of ‘taking care’.”

Prismo watching nervously as Scarab glanced up at the shelf. He was clearly trying to figure how fast he could crawl up there without Prismo catching him first.

Scarab shuffled closer as soon as Prismo seemed distracted by the tv wall. No such luck.

“Scarab…” Prismo uttered, the tone of disapproval evident in his voice.

Scarab took another step forward, extending his claws as his projection latched onto the yellow walls of the time room. Prismo saw him tense, wings unfurling as he reared back and prepared to make a break for it.

“Don’t-  hey! ” Prismo started to say, just as Scarab made a mad dash up the wall. Heading straight for Chiti’s cage.

The wishmaster tried to grab him, but the scarab was too fast, darting past his hand and flinging himself onto the shelf just as Prismo pushed the ledge back into the time room. Both the cage and Scarab came tumbling down into his lap. Prismo caught either one in each hand, separating them apart as he spread his arms out across the room.

“You agreed to help me find where she belongs!” Prismo chided him.

“I know where it belongs-” his apprentice hissed angrily, “Crushed under my pulvillus!”

Prismo flickered his eyes up and down Scarab’s projection, “Under your what?”

“Unhand me!” Scarab chirred, failing in his grasp, “I’m not one of your spoiled little pets!”

Scarab pulled back all his face plates, hissing and gnashing his teeth at the wishmaster. Prismo yelped and dropped him in surprise, pulling his other arm away from the wall so Scarab couldn’t push into the third dimension and grab the cage from him- not that he knew how to do that yet anyway.

“Why are you being so protective over a single, puny  insect!”  Scarab looked up and yelled at him.

“Chiti’s a living being!” Prismo glared at his apprentice, “She deserves respect, even if she’s small.”

“No, she-  it  doesn’t!” Scarab, “It’s just a  bug!”

Prismo looked down at him and replied hastily, “You’re just a bug!”

Scarab gasped and was stunned into silence for a few seconds. Look up at his mentor with wide eyes, the hurt plainly evident even through his face plates. Clearly, the wishmaster had gone too far with that one.

Prismo felt immediate regret, reaching out tentatively towards his apprentice as he murmured, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Scarab’s eyes narrowed, the indignation clear in voice, “How  dare  you…”

Prismo had pulled the enclosure closer to the floor while he was distracted, and Scarab seized the opportunity.

The blue projection reared back and jumped onto Prismo’s outstretched arm in a flurry of movement. Crawling along the pink limb until he reached the juncture at which Prismo had peeled himself from the yellow walls. Scarab grabbed at his limb and  pulled.  Trying to wrestle the wishmaster back into two dimensions, or at least drag the cage closer to himself so he could end this dispute once and for all.

Prismo only scoffed and stretched his arm further. Scarab could spend eternity tugging on him and still never get a hold of Chiti’s enclosure.

When it was clear his strategy wasn’t working, Scarab hissed and dug his claws into Prismo’s light-form. Getting a solid grip as he reacted purely on instinct and bit him. Sinking his fangs into Prismo’s projection as deep as he could. Hanging on as the wishmaster squawked in disbelief at the subtle pinch. He shook his arm a little, trying to brush the scarab off without hurting him. A few whisps of null space leaked out of the wishmaster.

“No fair, dude,” Prismo grumbled, “That’s fighting dirty.”

His apprentice mumbled something, but the pink light in his mouth muffled all his words.

“What’d you say?” Prismo squinted at the blue beetle still latched tooth and nail onto his projection. After a while Scarab’s bite didn’t sting anymore, it kind of tickled which was mildly annoying.

He waited patiently for Scarab to let go, listening to his growling and unhappy trills fade into silence after a few moments of stillness. Eventually Scarab released and slid down to the floor of the time room. Curling in on himself as his wings rubbed together. Prismo knew that sound, Scarab was pissed.

“I said…” Scarab repeated himself, “Don’t act so surprised.”

Prismo looked guilty, rubbing at his neck in discomfort, “Hey man,” he sighed, “I didn’t mean it like that…”

Scarab stopped chirping at least, but his voice was still laced with irritation, “How  did  you mean it, exactly?”

Prismo hung his head slightly, “C’mon Scrabs. You know I like you, I really do.”

Before Prismo even had the chance to continue, Scarab pipped up.

He scoffed and glanced away, sitting in silence before remarking, “No one likes bugs. We’re just a plague, an infestation.”

Now it was Prismo’s turn to look stunned.

Prismo hadn’t realized Scarab saw himself as an inferior entity just because he came from an insectile species. The thought had never even crossed his mind until now. He carefully set Chiti’s cage on the other side of the time room and shrunk himself down slightly. Just enough so Scarab wouldn’t have to crane his neck to see his face anymore. It seemed like the beetle was dealing with some serious internalized self-loathing.

“Hey-” Prismo objected playfully, giving him a soft nudge, “That’s my friend you’re talking about. Go easy on him.”

Scarab only gave a condescending, breathy chuckle, “Or what? You’ll put me in a cage too? Probably take all my limbs while you’re at it?”

Prismo’s eye widened, “Hey man, I know Orbo gave me free rein, but still, that’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

Scarab only shrugged and glanced away, “I’d probably deserve it after being so insubordinate.”

He glanced down at his own blue projection, “I’m practically there now.”

Prismo opened his mouth to respond until Scarab suddenly turned to him in a panic, swallowing his pride with the rush of adrenaline, “Please don’t report this!”

“Woah,  woah there-” Prismo gestured, “I wasn’t even thinking about it. As I’ve said before, I’m not big on punishment, gives me the jeebies.”

Scarab shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, “You’re too lenient.”

Prismo only gave him an odd look, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Scarab kept quiet, letting an uneasy silence extend between the two of them. Prismo was about to press play on the remote, continuing his search for Chiti’s homeworld, when Scarab finally spoke up.

“Is it not?” Scarab uttered.

Prismo flickered his eye over to where Scarab was still sitting, tucked into himself like he could crawl inside his own shell.

The wishmaster sighed, “I know this is all pretty new to you, Scrabby. So, I’m cutting you some slack.”

Scarab looked up at him, still perplexed by Prismo’s benevolence, “Why?”

Prismo only glanced around the room and shrugged, “You deserve it, I guess.”

“Do I?” his mentee asked. Only this time there was genuine confusion in his voice.

Prismo nodded, “Yep.”

“Why?”  Scarab asked, more forcefully this time.

Prismo shrugged, “I don’t know, Scrabs. You just do.”

“That’s a ridiculous answer…” the beetle muttered under his breath, making Prismo chuckle.

“Yeah,” the wishmaster admitted easily, “I guess it is.”

A more comfortable silence extended between them for a brief moment before Scarab worked up the courage to admit his faults.

“Sorry I bit you,” he grumbled, embarrassed at his own impulsiveness.

“Sorry I compared you to an ant,” Prismo responded.

“It’s fine,” Scarab admitted, “Ants are strong and efficient. I respect their work ethic.”

“Well... I’ve always liked moths,” Prismo decided to admit, “I think they’re really cool.”

Scarab, surprised at the admission looked over at Prismo, “You do?”

Prismo grinned and nodded, “Yeah man, of course-”

Something on the tv wall caught the beetle's attention,

Scarab suddenly stood up, “Wait-” he pointed at the screen, “Do you see that?”

Prismo squinted, “See what?” he asked.

“That-”  Scarab pointed out something on the wall, “Right there.”

Prismo peered at where he was pointing but couldn’t make anything out except that familiar yellow color.

“Nope-” he answered.

“Enhance!” Scarab demanded.

Prismo clicked on his remote, zeroing in on a tiny black dot among a sea of yellow.

“Dang Scrabby, good eye!” Prismo smiled at his apprentice.

“Finally!” Scarab cried throwing his arms up, “We found her!”

In the excitement, Prismo wrapped and arm around Scarab’s waist, effortlessly pulling the blue projection to come sit on his shoulder, as if he weighed nothing at all. Prismo slowly rewound the footage just to make sure they had the right guy, the added weight on his shoulders made him feel snug and satisfied. Now they knew for sure which wisher the ant had come from, and therefore, it's home universe.

“Good job, Scrabby-” Prismo praised him, making the beetle feel slightly bashful, “Now let’s send her home.”

Prismo opened the cage, letting Scarab peer over his head as he carefully retrieved the tiny insect. He lifted the ant up so they could both see it, slowly crawling along the pink side of his arm.

“Bye, Chiti…” Prismo uttered before returning the ant to its original universe in a colorful blip of light.

They watched the colors fade, glancing at eachother once the empty cage was all they had left. Then Prismo vanished that too, and there was nothing remaining to explain why Scarab was still sitting on his shoulder so obediently. Practically pressed up against him without any excuse now. Prismo cleared his throat and gently wrapped his arms around Scarab’s waist. Carefully picking him up and setting him aside. Neither of them acknowledged their mutual disappointment at the absence of physical contact.

“Punya karma,” Prismo smiled, a warm feeling settled in his chest despite the awkwardness of intimacy.

“What?” Scarab asked.

“We did a good thing,” Prismo explained, touching his chest “You can feel it, right?”

“Huh…” Scarab muttered, glancing down at himself, “I suppose.”

Prismo reached for the laptop that had been abandoned on the time room floor until Scarab spoke.

“So-” he asked, “Why moths?”

“I'm glad you asked. I like to think of them as nocturnal butterflies,” Prismo grinned.

This time, Prismo could tell just by the shape of his eyes, that Scarab grinned back.

That was the first time they had a deep conversation, mutually opening up to the other entity as they both started to talk about insectiles and other charming invertebrates. Scarab had never seen a jellyfish before and Prismo would never forget the look of incredulousness on his face when he pulled up a video on the laptop.

He remembered Scarab asked him something funny like, “Are all earthlings so fleshy and pliable?”

While Prismo didn’t quite understand how Scarab’s current dilemma fit into his preexisting knowledge about his apprentice’s view of himself, but he knew the beetle wasn’t used to such tenderness being extended so effortlessly. Scarab still didn’t understand how or why the wishmaster was so gentle and forgiving all the time. He never truly saw Prismo get visibly angered or enraged, and only every humorously vindictive, perhaps morbidly so on the rare occasion. And after the ant fiasco, Prismo’s tolerance for his compulsive behavior seemed limitless. Scarab had knocked over pickle jars, missed spots cleaning, talked back frequently, questioned his orders, and insulted him under his breath- just loud enough to hear- and that still didn’t seem to bother the wishmaster very much. After that Scarab stopped provoking him into petty arguments all together, mostly because Prismo couldn’t be incited into conflict that easily. The lax behavior set a good example for Scarab’s prickly exterior.

It was so strange how it happened gradually over time.

But all at once, Scarab was sitting next to Prismo, listening to him speak and was overcome with the sudden realization he had actually grown to enjoy Prismo’s company, maybe even respect him in some ways. He realized that Prismo, while prone to passions of idyllic optimism or nihilistic pessimism, he was also wise and attentive. While Prismo learned that Scarab, while gruff and stoic, still had a vivid imagination and a dry, witty streak about him that leant towards a flare for the dramatic.

For Scarab, that was the beginning of the end. He started crushing on Prismo hard.  Despite his best attempts to remain indifferent, he started to  notice  the wishmaster. The way the tip of his tongue would linger inbetween his lips when he was really focused on writing a fic. Or how he bobbed his head when playing the banjo. It all started to come off as very endearing to Scarab. No wonder his body was so insistent on laying an egg, he had the perfect grub-rearing partner right here. And neither of them would be going anywhere for a while. Although Scarab was sure Prismo didn’t see him that way, he figured it wouldn’t hurt to at least plant the idea in his head. Let it take root and grow, hopefully blooming into a fully realized desire for his precocious apprentice.

Which was why he was currently standing in front of the mirror, holding up different types of fabric to his corporal form. Prismo went through all the trouble of providing Scarab with a wardrobe, despite his shapeshifting abilities, which helped to both to conserve energy and modesty currently. Serendipitously, it would allow him to lounge around in comfort without worrying about making a mess anywhere he sat.

And Prismo, well, was in between a rock and a hard place quite literally. He was grateful to not be stuck, all alone, in the time cube anymore. However, he had to pay the price of permanent, unrequited longing. Lest he become complacent to his own blatant abuse of authority and power.

Perhaps he was already there, Prismo thought.

One Prismo-jection stopped pacing back and forth outside Scarab’s new suite and decided to go for it. What was the worst that could happen? Glob, this was a terrible idea. But he couldn’t live with the guilt anymore.

“Okay, okay, I can do this…” Prismo muttered to himself.

He raised a hand and hesitated for just a moment more before he tentatively knocked on the door.

“Hey Scarab?” Prismo called out, listening intently.

The sound of footsteps and eventually, the door creaked open after a tense moment of anticipation. Scarab stood there, in the threshold, in his ruby red shell and variegated skin. Looking just as attractive as when Prismo first saw him eons ago. All pointy, sharp around the edges and so very insectile. Prismo had to blink a few times before he even remembered what he was going to say.

“Ah,  Prrr- ismo,” Scarab greeted him, stepping aside in a gesture of polite welcome, “Do come in. Is there something I can help you with?”

The wishmaster glanced around, noticing the scarab had cleaned up after himself. Any trace of lewd activity already hidden from view.

“No, nothing-” Prismo turned down the offer hastily, “I’m just coming to see how you’re settling in. Are you feeling any better?”

“Yes, I am,” Scarab praised him, leading him further inside, “The return to my body has been quite soothing, thank you.”

“That’s good to hear, uhn…” Prismo replied from the threshold of the closet, looking at how Scarab rifled through some clothes, “What have you got there?”

“I haven’t worn real clothing in so long…” Scarab replied, holding up two options, “I can’t decide.”

Scarab showed him a pair of outfits, one purple and the other blue. Both in a similar style of sheer, loose fabric. Kind of tunic-like, off the shoulder on one side and cinched at the waist. Prismo had forgotten he dreamed up that outfit for Scarab a while back. Finally getting a chance to look at it in person made him blush.

“They’re both nice…” the wishmaster replied shyly.

Scarab glanced at the outfits again nonchalantly, “I suppose. But which do you like the best?”

Prismo only shrugged and tried to stay impartial, “Whatever makes you feel good, Scrabs. I think you’d look nice in either.”

Scarab narrowed his eyes, quickly losing patience with Prismo’s polite passivity, “Here, let me show you.”

Prismo watched enraptured as Scarab draped the flowing blue fabric along the contours of his body, leaving it haphazardly open like a robe. He let it fall off his shoulders, exaggerating all his sharp, biting edges Prismo wanted to grasp at. Scarab he turned this way and that, studying himself in the mirror.

“Hmn…” Scarab grumbled, “Needs to be tailored in some places. What do you think?”

“It’s good-” Prismo rasped, having to glance away and clear his throat, “Maybe a little formal, but very nice.”

“Yes, it is quite formal, isn’t it?” Scarab agreed, watching as the tension preemptively drained out of Prismo.

“Perhaps, I’ll wear nothing then,” He uttered, returning it to the hanger.

Prismo nearly choked, opening and closing his mouth before he simply kept it shut. He hadn’t realized Scarab was technically naked, he wasn’t even shapeshifting clothing onto his body for once. Just a solid expanse of smooth, spiky and hard-shelled. All natural, all for Prismo. The wishmaster ground his teeth together as Scarab went through the drawers. Thankfully he opened the one that only held jewelry, and the wishmaster relaxed a bit.

Scarab delicately picked up one of the long gold chains. Holding it out for Prismo to see.

“But these…” Scarab said in awe, “I am very curious to try on.”

Prismo only nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak currently. He was one strong impulse away from projecting himself on the floor and groveling at Scarab’s feet for a single scrap of praise.

Looking up at the wishmaster, Scarab beckoned him over, “Help me, would you?”

Prismo didn’t trust his voice, he uttered a quick, “Sure-” and then peeled himself into the third dimension to help Scarab with the tiny gold clasps.

“If I’m to guess correctly…” Scarab said, shuddering when Prismo’s flat palm smoothed over his elytron.

“You took inspiration from the fashions of my mothercolony?” his apprentice asked.

Prismo only nodded, clearly flustered as he glanced over Scarab’s shoulder. Admiring all the shiny little things he had made for his apprentice; the small details were easy to miss. Prismo hadn’t expected Scarab to notice or even care really. But he  had  put a fair amount of consideration into providing Scarab with things that he might take joy or comfort in, especially in his current state. Maybe he had been looking for an excuse to wish something into existence for his companion, and wanted it to mean something intimate.

“I hope that’s okay?” the wishmaster finally said.

“Yes, it is,” Scarab affirmed.

They remained in a comfortable silence as Scarab watched him from the mirror, Prismo’s hands shook ever so slightly. It took him a while to figure out where Scarab was even from, him being so tight-lipped about his past usually. But Prismo still had the process of elimination on his side, and figured out eventually, not only Scarab’s species but the planet he might’ve hatched on.

Scarab admired himself in the mirror, fixing the body chain to connect to the pair wrapped around his waist and neck. As a mortal, he never would have been able to wear something like this. He reached into the drawer and started to decorate his arms and fingers with similar thin gold links. The shiny glint on them made him chirp. Prismo watched in silence, working the clasps whenever Scarab would hold it out for him. He kept draping each piece across his carapace carefully seeing how it would fall in the mirror and adjusting it until he was satisfied. He wondered if Prismo realized he was technically helping him get dressed. Perhaps. He was being unusually quiet. Muttering a soft, “Okay,” and “There,” every now and again.

It wasn’t often Scarab saw him shy like this. His mentor was usually so cool and collected, even listless sometimes. While he had an excitable streak and was a social being at heart, Prismo didn’t exactly demand attention on purpose. It was a combination of his large stature, manifesting power, and comforting presence. Sometimes, Scarab wondered if Prismo was oblivious to the effect he had on people.

Scarab wanted to see if he could make Prismo fall apart just with words. Wondering if all this was simply emotional projection done in service of Prismo having a wish only Scarab could fulfill. How unlikely, not to mention taboo. His superior, a mammal, and incorporeal- since he thought the chance was so low, it wasn’t risky. At least it didn’t feel risky to Scarab, to try while expecting nothing to come of it. But then… why was Prismo behind him draping jewelry across his chest if it didn’t also fulfill him in some way? Maybe he just liked to spoil lesser beings.

“How generously indulgent of you, wishmaster,” Scarab looked at him in the mirror, giving a soft trill. The sparkling loops of gold and precious stones made him purr in contentment.

“Oh, you-” Prismo sucked his teeth and waved dismissively, clearly blushing at the praise.

Scarab held out his arms and peered at all the pretty light he was reflecting, pleasantly surprised at the way it made him feel.

“Yes, I like this very much,” he chirred, tilting his head.

Scarab gave a dry chuckle and turned around, facing him on the wall. Suddenly they felt a lot closer than before, despite it being the same distance.

“What do you think?” Scarab asked.

“Oh yeah it’s uhn-” Prismo sputtered, “-very sparkly.”

Scarab glanced back down at himself, “Now this is formal attire. I look as if I’m about to be espoused,” he mused.

“Oh, is that what it’s for?” Prismo grinned sheepishly, “Oh man, I must've missed that part…”

“When there’s this much of it, yes-” Scarab replied, noting Prismo clear discomfort, “Should I take it off?”

Prismo’s eye widened a little, “No-! I mean, well, only if you want to. But you don’t have to, obviously. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to-”

Scarab let them sit in tense silence for a moment before he took a tiny step forward.

“Prismo,” Scarab spoke up, “Are you alright?”

“Hehe, what? Me? Yeah, man-” Prismo responded, very unconvincingly, “I’m cool, I’m…”

Scarab stepped just a bit closer again, an amused chirp made its way out of his throat.

“-good…” Prismo uttered.

Scarab gave him a second of stillness and curious assessment before he spoke.

“Thank you,” Scarab repeated, lacing his words with meaning, “Believe me when I say, if I didn’t like it, I would tell you.”

“Right, right-” Prismo nodded, shrugging bashfully, “And if I’m getting on your nerves, you can tell me too. Okay?”

Scarab chuckled, “Believe me, wishmaster,” he uttered, “If I was displeased with you in any way, you’d be the first to know.”

Prismo couldn’t tell if that scared him more or less than it turned him on, but ultimately felt he didn’t care because Scarab turned and walked away. He glanced one last time at the drawer before following after him.

After taking off all the jewelry and placing it lovingly back where it belonged, Scarab made himself useful for a while. Helping Prismo around and consolidating random junk and old projects in the hobby rooms. A few rudimentary tasks that didn’t require much physical labor, like watering the plants or tuning the string instruments.

A Prismo-jection plucked the strings on his banjo, turning the key and listening closely as the pitch changed. Scarab did the same with a viola, twisting the key until the tune was just right.

Prismo couldn’t stop thinking about draping his underling in gold and jewels, he wanted to do more for Scarab, if he was allowed it.

“Hey, Scarab?” Prismo asked, “If you ever needed help- I mean, if you want to…”

The beetle pulled a sharp note and accidentally snapped a few bow strings with a discordant twang.

“I’m just offering ‘cause it’s only right,” Prismo uttered, “But I hope you’d ask me. For help, I mean… if you really need it.”

Scarab lowered the bow and stared across the room at Prismo. His eyes scanned over the wall of instruments as he considered a reply. Remembering that Prismo had made this place not long after he mentioned playing the lyre in his youth.

“You of all entities should know, some wishes cannot be granted…” Scarab replied, placing the viola in his lap and setting the bow aside.

“That’s true, but I can usually get pretty close,” Prismo just shrugged, strumming a chord, “There’s no harm in trying. Most wishers workshop it with me first.”

Scarab huffed out a dry laugh, “I don’t think so, Prismo.”

The scarab shifted in his seat, trying to quell the building desire in his gut. He was already starting to feel the need to take care of himself become distracting.

The wishmaster dropped the subject, for now. Allowing Scarab to continue tuning his favorite instruments in blessed silence. This, however, didn’t last very long. However, it was still a testament to Prismo’s patience, his mentor must be so confused, but seemed to be taking everything in stride.

Prismo sounded disappointed, “That second round of wishes just didn’t do it for you, huh?”

Scarab only shrugged, trying to find a polite way to put this, “Sometimes, one can only treat the symptoms, not the cause.”

Prismo assuredly pointed to himself, “Because you haven’t found the cure yet!”

His apprentice scoffed, “You don’t even know what you’re offering.”

“So you do have a third wish?” Prismo concluded, scratching his chin, “Or else the offer would be nothing.”

The nerve of this mammal. Scarab considered saying yes just to teach him a lesson on biting off more than one can chew.

“ Prismo, now you’re getting on my nerves-” Scarab snapped, “What more do you want from me?”

Prismo flushed with hot anticipation as he declared, “I want you to wish for what you want-” he said, “What you really want.”

Scarab only rolled his eyes and fiddled with the bow in his lap.

“You’re saying that now but…” Scarab shook his head, “I’d appreciate it if you’d stop pestering me. Your casual insistence on breaking the rules is tiresome.”

Prismo was in too deep, he wanted too much, too quickly. But he couldn’t stop himself now that he brought it up.

“C’mon dude, I’m curious!” Prismo continued, “You’ve been giving me the run-around. Kind of hinting at what you want, but not explicitly telling me.”

Scarab only listened this time, trying to understand why Prismo was so keen on fulfilling his clandestine wish. Perhaps it was simply to stop him from moping around and sequestering himself away in private. But hearing the wishmaster beg to fulfill his desires felt the furthest thing from selfish, despite Prismo taking pleasure in feeling useful.

“C’mon, Scrabby,” he practically begged, “I know you want something from me.”

Scarab rolled his eyes, of course Prismo of all entities would assume so. Everyone wanted something from him, his only substantive relationship with mortals was fulfilling their desires.

“Why do you care what I want?” Scarab sighed, then prying into him, “Trying to prove you’re still the only wishmaster here?”

Prismo held up his hands, “No-”

“I refuse to be the experimental subject you toy with,” Scarab declared firmly, while still feeling ambivalent, “-to affirm your own superiority under the guise of altruism.”

Prismo was a little taken aback, it wasn’t often that Scarab accused him of using his power and influence to soothe himself, or distract him from the monotonous slough of existence. Not since the Fionna and Cake fiasco, at least. But eventually, after Scarab had pointed it out, Prismo realized that was exactly what he did. With more regularity and frequency than he fulfilled the actual desires of wishers in the time room. He was a bad wishmaster before Scarab even showed up- slacking off, breaking rules. No wonder his apprentice was frequently frustrated with his antics. Prismo got away with things Scarab could only ever dream of, and he was never punished. Maybe he ought to be, perhaps living together without ever truly  having  Scarab would be punishment enough.

Again, Prismo acquiesced.

Finally backing off and filling the silence with small talk and random anecdotes until the previous tension all but melted away. Scarab even found himself quickly endeared to Prismo’s company once more. The fever was making him mercurial and reactive. Something about the way he got hot under his shell while basking in Prismo’s attention was bordering on irritating. Itching for some relief from the impulses of his corporeal form, it was so frustrating to have everything he ever wanted just slightly out of reach but so clearly in sight.

Having a third dimension also made Prismo appear farther away now-untouchable. As a co-projection, Scarab shared that intimate plane with him, close enough to merge and intersect. But now with the added depth, they felt so distant, inspiring a shameful desire to press closer until Scarab could finally feel him again.

Scarab followed the wishmaster back to the time room after wasting a couple hours tending to their hobbies. He watched as the two Prismo-jections greeted and waved at eachother before merging into one. Scarab paid little attention as he rubbed at his aching joints. Bending over and trying to stretch out his cramped tendons and compressed chitin. It felt like his shell was put on too tight and the aching stretch that accompanied his movement made him groan.

When he opened his eyes again, blinking away his bleary vision. There was a soft-looking lounge not too far from him. A small table sat next to it, a few fruits were arranged there.

Scarab glanced over to Prismo who was trying really hard to stay focused on the crochet tutorial playing on his laptop. Following along with unsteady hands, his eye flickered over to Scarab. Noticing his apprentice studying him.

The wishmaster still shied away from the familiar attention, gesturing towards the lounge and fruit, “That’s for you, if you want it.”

“I figured…” Scarab replied, slightly taken by the thoughtful act.

He grabbed a small bundle of bright red berries on the vine and glanced back up at Prismo, who was watching him now. Seeing what he might do.

On a whim, Scarab dismantled his face plates and allowed them to retract. Tossing a berry into his mouth. Prismo flushed bright pink, his coloring nearly giving Scarab a headache, illuminating the walls around him slightly.

“What is this?” Scarab asked, chewing on the fruit.

“Red currant,” Prismo answered, “You like?”

Scarab nodded, then held the bunch over his open maw. Wrapping his proboscis around a central vine and sweeping a handful of the berries into his mouth in one go. Prismo glanced away again, giving the beetle some polite indifference as he started to go through the rest of the fruit.

“And these?” Scarab pulled Prismo’s attention again.

“Carambola,” Prismo answered, then pointed at the other fruits, “-phalsa, and chalta.”

Scarab, placed the currants aside and went for the star fruit. Sinking his teeth into the thin flesh, the nectar welled up and dripped down his face. His deceptively cute, round, soft little face- Prismo dropped the pretense and stared openly. The skin under his shell looked particularly velvety. Watching how his apprentice devoured the offerings like it was nothing. His mandible helping to guide and hold the dripping pulp up to his mouth. Prismo flinched as Scarab thrust his proboscis into the soft core, sucking us any spare drop of juice that escaped him.

Prismo snapped out of his trance when Scarab looked at him from the corner of his eyes. Noticing his mentor’s attention entirely focused on him.

Scarab swallowed uneasily, “I can turn around if…?”

Prismo waved him off, “No, no- it’s fine, really. I’ve just realized I’ve never seen your face before.”

Technically, he was incorrect. Scarab had given him many glances, quick fleeting impressions of what he looked like with all his facial plates retracted. But they were often in moments of haste and intensity, lacking the contemplative intimacy that Prismo felt now.

Scarab licked his lips and rolled his eyes, “Tch- You’ve seen my face plenty of times.”

“Well yeah, I’ve seen it,” Prismo said, then after a pause, “But I haven’t really  seen  it. Ya know?”

Scarab prickled and turned around, “Well,  congratulations-”  he threw over his shoulder, the mask back in place once more.

“Oh, my bad,” Prismo replied, “Sorry if that made you feel insecure.”

“I’m very secure!” Scarab buzzed angrily.

“Sure, yeah …”  Prismo uttered.

An awkward tension hung in the air for only a moment before the wishmaster felt the need for distance. But before he left, he couldn’t help himself from admitting something.

“Hey, uhm, can you watch the time room for a bit?” Prismo urged him, “I’ll be right back.”

Scarab nodded and Prismo was relieved to be able to escape from his piercing gaze and calm the feeling of static in his gut. As he descended down the stairs Scarab called out to him.

“Wait,” he said, “Where are you going?”

Prismo just grinned at him and said, “I left my good yarn downstairs, it’ll be right back.”

Scarab nodded again, this time he actually relaxed, turning back to the table of fruit.

Scarab indulged himself shamelessly, sprawling out on the lounge and sucking the flavor off his claws. He thought very deeply about turning on the tv wall to bid his time, and create some noise other than the pulse of his internal organs and the feeling of texture on his physical body.

Odd, it took him longer than usual to summon the remote. It fizzled into existence with a hiccupping buzz that made Scarab’s spurs stand on end. He resolved to turn the volume down low and laze around until his body stopped aching so much.

Scarab pressed the on button and then lowered the volume just in case. Curling up into a shiny red ball, he listened for any ambient noise, when not even the rustle of leaves could be heard, Scarab glanced over to the tv wall.

At first his mind was confused with what exactly he was seeing, especially with such familiar objects at an- as of yet- unobserved angle. Soft nest, low ceilings, empty walnut shells on the floor. He blinked and everything clicked into place in one string of panicked realizations, all jumbled together. Like each conclusion had its own separate tangle of emotions and tensions. Scarab stared at the tv wall and took it all in, in small increments, as he considered the implications.

So, Prismo had been watching him?

He clicked the channel button, flipping over to view the dimly lit dwelling for Prismo’s corporeal body. The old man was still sleeping soundly. That was confirmation enough, he flipped back to the channel which seemed to be his own room. Surely it looked the same, and it was the last channel Prismo seemed to have navigated to. Perhaps that was right before he turned the tv off. But there was no guarantee he saw anything, despite the likelihood. Or perhaps, if he was uniquely unlucky, Prismo had seen everything. Seen him fall apart, beg and plead as he sat back and relaxed while Scarab suffered.

A thin sheen of condensation gathered on his shell as he turned the tv off and set the remote aside. Still thinking of what he might do with this information, depending on how much Prismo saw. At least now, the wishmaster’s skittish yet nosy behavior made sense. Bending over backwards to please Scarab, yet still insisting it was an entirely selfless act. Now Scarab had an inkling that Prismo was not simply motivated by feelings of pure altruism.

Previously, Scarab had wondered if he was somehow taking advantage of the wishmaster’s gracious nature, but it seemed, once again he had underestimated the wishmaster. His mentor had the upper hand this entire time.

How dare he- that perverted old man? Making him roil in ambivalent desire while he watched in comfort from a different room. The wishmaster knew exactly what Scarab wanted, and just refused to confront him openly and offer a solution. Prismo had been trying to make Scarab ask for it instead.

It was ironic, his wishmaster was loose with some wishes, stringent with others. Prismo’s selective use of his manifesting power implied more than a simple want to please others, frankly. This careful balance of ethics and desire intrigued Scarab. And he would be lying if he said the thought of Prismo using his power and authority to get away with inappropriate behavior didn't turn him on. It made his heart race and his flesh damp, twitching with nervous energy.

The swirling of conflicted feelings was settled into the fecund realization that now, Scarab was in control, at least it felt that way. And it wasn’t even necessary to hide the bureaucratic mediocrity that partially enabled the wishmaster’s actual abuse of power, and would eventually lead Scarab’s complaints to no-where-at-all. He would take this realization into his own hands. Besides, Prismo seemed to find the very threat of humiliation or disappointment reason enough to act in most cases. Therefore he didn’t need to be aware of the flaws in the very system he benefited from. Lukewarm- like all the cosmic beings whom simply rode in on the shockwaves of others’ supernovas. Beings like Prismo.

Scarab had an inkling he was going to have a very interesting conversation with the wishmaster soon.

Scarab busied himself with scheming until the familiar sound of a wisher making their way through one of the entries. Scarab turned to greet the being, surprised to see another insectile. Its long segmented body moved gracefully with countless legs. Scarab watched in awe as it crawled along the wall of the time room. Scuttling leisurely into the cube until her entire length stretched out across the wall, up to the ceiling. The centipede-like creature studied Scarab before speaking.

“You’re not the wishmaster,” the centipede clicked its claws on the wall, glancing around the room.

“I am his apprentice,” Scarab replied, “The wishmaster will return shortly.”

“His apprentice?” it trilled in amusement, “You don’t look like an apprentice… don’t smell like one either.”

The centipede was curled up in the corner of the ceiling, clinging to multiple walls.

Scarab consciously flexed his pelvic plates, sealing them shut tight enough to ache, trying to dull the scent of honey that was permeating the room.

It crawled further down the wall, peering at him curiously, “Oh, you’re just a bug,” it scoffed, “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Scarab replied.

“I earned my right to enter this domain,” it replied, “What have you done?”

“You are mortal- finite. We are not comparable,” Scarab replied haughtily.

The centipede crept down, lowering its weight to the floor with a measured grace. It clicked in a staccato rhythm while crawling over to the lounge Scarab was lying on.

“Clearly, you’ve known mortality,” the insectile pointed out, already drawn in by the scent of honey.

Scarab only hummed and eyed the fruit just out of arms reach. Right now, his only irritation with the vestiges of his mortality, were those exact impulses and incessant, needy feelings in his body which couldn’t be ignored as per usual.

“Does your master know you’re lying around like that?” the centipede chided him gently.

“Yes, he does-” came the quick retort.

“How obscene…” the centipede trilled, “We don’t belong here- you understand.”

“Why should I care?” Scarab swiped a bundle of currants into his mouth. Reclining back as the centipede drew closer.

“Really? You don’t care?” it replied, eyeing him curiously as its head rose up to peer at him from past the foot of the lounge.

“It’s a long story…” Scarab replied.

“We have time,” the insect crawled up onto the lounge. Making herself at home as Scarab sequestered himself to one side of the lounge.

“That we do…” Scarab said, then slightly downtrodden, “We’re the lucky ones.”

He tucked his legs closer, giving his new acquaintance room to rest its upper segments on the sofa.

“Lucky?” the giant centipede scoffed, digging its tarsal claws into the fabric, “Have you not sacrificed to be here? Suffered?”

Scarab nodded, “I suppose we are similar.”

“Still we are both out of place,” the insect continued, “You cannot leave, and I cannot stay. But I can tell you’d like me to.”

“Is that your wish for the wishmaster?” Scarab taunted the bug.

“Is it yours?” it asked him in return.

“No,” he lied, the hungry click of his mandibles giving him away.

“Do you have a broodmate?” it asked, bluntly.

“No…” he answered.

“Not even an incompetent one?” the tone of pity clear in it's chittering voice.

“No,”  Scarab crossed his arms, already fed up with this line of questioning.

“Have many clutches have you sired?” it asked, “I’ve had seven.”

“My clutches never…” Scarab began to say before his words trailed off, “I gave that up eons ago.”

Scarab waved the question off. He speared his proboscis through the thick rind of a fruit and into its soft center, sucking out the nectar leisurely while they studied eachother.

“Do you regret it?” the centipede asked.

“No,” he answered, “Do you?”

“No, I love my grubs-” she proclaimed proudly, “I would kill for them. Die for them.”

The gravely serious tone in which she answered made him prickle in delight. Sensing a tinge of bloodlust, he smirked and ran his eyes along the segments of her body.

Scarab felt a thrum of desire pulse through him, “My, what a protective broodmother you are…”

Come to think of it, he could understand why she was such a prolific parent. Her tarsal claws certainly looked sharp enough, her shell looked nice and waxy, and her pheromones were very unobtrusive, subtle presence. Scarab studied the other insectile as she talked. She looked healthy, strong, and was clearly experienced. Such a broodmother would likely make a good parent to any grubs she kept. Surely, she wouldn’t try and eat him after copulation, no. Even if she tried, he was doubtful she would succeed, and Prismo wouldn’t allow that. But the risk was there, albeit manageable.

His train of thought was making his body react, slowly but surely. Confusing himself with a new object of desire, but one that returned his heated gaze. His attention transferred seamlessly, feeling as if he finally found someone to fill-in where Prismo lacked. While the onset of fever was slow to escalate, there was still a palpable increase in his core body temperature. Hoping Prismo would return sooner rather than later, lest he do something unprofessional that he might regret.

Prismo nearly had a heart attack when he returned to find Scarab dangerously close to a familiar visitor. When he realized it was that  insectile, he peeled an arm off the wall and reached out, shoving it between them. Trying to put as much space between Scarab and the centipede as he could.

“What’re you-!” Scarab growled, shoving Prismo's hand away from his chest.

“Are you alright?” Prismo rushed over to him, his yarn dropped into a soft bundle on the time room floor as he studied Scarab intently.

His apprentice shuddered at the contact. Glaring up at the wishmaster with a confusing swirl of denial and desire. That pink light rested heavily on his shoulder as Prismo looked him over.

“Relax, wishmaster,” the centipede queen chided him, “I haven’t done anything to your precious apprentice… yet-” she trilled happily.

“Not this again…” Prismo sighed, slightly irritated, “Two words: No. Soliciting. You know the rules, Millie.”

The broodmother only chirred and clicked her mandibles together in annoyance, “Fine, but I’ll be back soon,” she said, “To check in on the beetle.”

“Please don’t-” Prismo started.

“Bring tea next time,” Scarab demanded.

She only chirred as she crawled leisurely out of the cube.

Prismo stared at him, mouth agape.

“What?” Scarab shrugged, “You invite guests to the time room all the time.”

“But this is different, it’s like- you don’t understand…” the wishmaster stammered.

“Oh, I see,” Scarab went on the defensive, “You’ve clearly known eachother for some time. Don’t worry, I’m not interested in her romantic companionship.”

Which wasn’t exactly the truth, but it certainly wasn’t a lie. If he was being honest, his interest was primarily carnal, secondarily emotional, but the second only served to embolden the first. Sure, he didn’t mind sharing with Prismo, though it hadn’t occurred to him before.

Prismo just kept staring at him, then laughed, short and confused,  “Hah-ha-  wait, what?”

Scarab shrugged and gestured, “She’s all yours, Prismo.”

The wishmaster glanced around, “What are you…? No dude, I’m not into Millie. I’m trying to tell you, she’ll want to lay eggs inside  you. Don’t ask me how I know.”

Scarab blinked, “And you find that concerning because…?”

“Not like, in a hot, consensual way-” Prismo waved his hands, “In like, a get-you-while-you-sleep, under your skin, all up in your blood-and-guts, kind of way.”

“Endoparasitic… how charming,” Scarab uttered, still considering it seriously for only a moment more before the potential risks outweighed the benefits. Still, he was bereft to have the option, his only real option, taken away. And this time, it truly was all Prismo’s fault. He would have had no issue being dangerously reckless if the wishmaster hadn’t informed him.

Prismo found himself speechless. Was Scarab really that desperate?

“Regardless, I assume you’ll treat my guests with the same respect I’ve treated yours,” Scarab said.

“Scrabs, you don’t want none of that, believe me-” Prismo peered at him in hesitation, “Besides, we’re not allowed to help other entities reproduce that way.”

They stared at eachother for only a moment before Scarab nearly imploded.

“Bold of you to assume-” Scarab scoffed, “-that my association with other insectiles is purely physical.”

Prismo sputtered and waved his hands, “Uh, oops- that’s not what I meant, I’m just trying to give you a heads up.”

Scarab rolled his eyes and pushed himself off the lounge, stretching his limbs as he stood up.

“Oh how thoughtful of you, Prismo,” Scarab taunted him, “Going out of your way to inform me of something I may be affected by.”

“Well, you’re welcome, I-” Prismo shrugged, willfully oblivious until Scarab cut him off, stalking closer.

“You imbecile, I’m being facetious,” he scoffed, “Millie’s endoparasitic nature is entirely mundane to me. And why do you even care in the first place?”

“Hey man-” Prismo grimaced, “I’m just looking out for you. Geez, sorry-”

Scarab glared at him, “Are you truly?”

Prismo gave a solemn nod, “Honestly.”

Scarab crossed his arms, “Why?”

This time the question was rhetorical, Scarab was looking at Prismo’s body language and facial expression more than listening to his explanation. He already knew the answer this time, or at least he knew the true motivation. Prismo kept eyeing the remote too.

“Because… cause, I mean, what can she give that I couldn’t-?” Prismo blurted out haphazardly.

Scarab laughed at him patronizingly, absolutely reveling in the hole Prismo was digging himself into. Scarab wondered if Prismo knew that he knew about the voyeuristic behavior yet. Probably not. So why were they playing this game again? Ah yes, because of Prismo’s avoidant fear of conflict. This back-and-forth was running its course on Scarab’s patience.

“I mean-” Prismo rushed to add more context, “Why risk it? When you could have anything you wanted, theoretically…”

Scarab peered at the wishmaster, no emotion coming through his mask. His tone was unamused.

“Theoretically-” Scarab scoffed, “As long as you’re willing to grant it.”

Prismo thought for a moment before sighing deeply, “Well I’m supposed to teach you the ropes, right?”

“If I can’t do my job, then I would serve no purpose at all…” Prismo admitted unhappily.

Prismo’s words trailed off. Scarab knew that feeling, it made him uncomfortably question his anticipated power grab. Maybe it wasn’t a fair trade, but it was ultimately the consequences of his own actions that doomed Prismo.

“Is that really what you want?” Scarab sighed, his body was already aching hot and humid in his own skin. His patience and ability to reason was slowly slipping. He threw caution to the wind and went for it. Even he could smell the sugary scent coming off him in waves by now. Making the air in the time room thick with desire.

“Yeah, it’s the entire reason I even wanted this job in the first place,” Prismo nodded, “I wanted to make people happy, still do.”

“Is that so?” Scarab said, not entirely believing the wishmaster just yet, making him work for the attention.

“Well, first I had to admit I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted,” Prismo said, “I was so new, and I didn’t have anyone to teach me how to be a wishmaster-”

Scarab jolted, “You’re self-taught?”

Prismo only shrugged and looked away, “Yeah, I didn’t have a mentor, it was a crazy time. I just had to figure things out as I went along. I made a lot of mistakes. I don't want you to go through that.”

Scarab's tense silence made him uncomfortable so he rambled on.

“If I’m being honest, I was kind of just, going off intuition back then,” Prismo tried to shrug it off, “I don’t really remember much honestly, so it must not’ve been that bad.”

Again Scarab held his tongue, not out of respect but because for once he was unsure of how to respond.

“Anyways…” Prismo sighed, “Knowing what I wanted, helped me give others what they wanted too. First lesson of being a wishmaster- wait, no, second lesson.”

Prismo held out his hand for a moment and the remote to jumped over to him in a flurry of color.

“Learning how to make this baby was the first,” Prismo said, smiling at the remote like an old friend.

So just as he learned, Prismo taught Scarab how to summon the remote as his first grueling lesson of being a wishmaster’s apprentice. Sure it took a few tries, but at least Scarab could do it with relative ease now. Such a basic lesson, Scarab hadn’t even considered that Prismo was revealing to him an incredibly important skill, one which he had to learn eons ago through painful trial and error.

It was that small show of humility and vulnerability that ultimately swayed Scarab. He made up his mind, Prismo would be helping him drop an egg, whether he wanted to or not.

“Fine. You’d like to know what I want?” Scarab chirred at him angrily, “What I truly wish for?”

Prismo nodded excitedly, “Yeah-!”

Scarab debated playing off his confession and telling Prismo to get out of his face or leave him alone or a variety of other scathing remarks that would demand emotional and physical space apart. But with the wishmaster so close, Scarab didn’t really want to push him away. He wanted Prismo to crawl under his shell and press flush against his heated skin until he was all wrung out, dripping on the floor.

“I want you to ruin me-” Scarab retracted his mask, letting Prismo look him in the eyes, “I want you to hold me down and use me until I beg for mercy.”

Prismo froze in shock, eye wide, lips pressed together in a line thin. The wishmaster swallowed heavily, his throat feeling dry. Scarab reached out and trailed a sharp claw along the wall, feeling Prismo’s projection shiver at the contact.

“I want to try out every one of those ostentatious pink toys you so  graciously  provided,” Scarab taunted him, a patronizing tone in his voice, “And I want you to watch the entire time.”

He felt so impulsive, everything just flying out of his mouth. The openest of invitations, purely desperate and expressive. The rush of adrenaline provided by unburdening of all his desires spurned him on.

“I want you to breed me so hard-” Scarab uttered, leaning in closely, “That your corporeal form orgasms also.”

At that very thought, Prismo’s eye fluttered, “Oh gob…”

Scarab pressed his hands to the wall leaning in until all he could see, smell, taste, was pink. It buzzed through his shell and keratin, tingling like electricity. Scarab opened his mouth and licked him, dragging his tongue along the bright expanse of Prismo’s pink neck.

“Sometimes I wish-” Scarab taunted him, speaking softly, “-you would just take advantage of me already.”

At that Prismo sputtered again, leaning away to better see Scarab’s face. Surely he didn’t just admit he wanted Prismo to mistreat him?

“You- I, what?” he asked.

“You said you wanted to hear my real wish-” Scarab reminded him pointedly, wondering if Prismo finally realized he bit off more than he could chew.

Scarab huffed and looked up at Prismo, “I loathe to think of all the ways you could misuse your power and influence over me,” Scarabs voice rose, feeling the projection waver, sputtering like a drowning fish.

He continued, letting his mandibles drag along the outline of Prismo’s form. Digging his claws into the wall. He wondered if the projection could feel it?

“You could turn my body into a profane little trinket,” Scarab nearly cackled, “An ornamental novelty that you keep around for entertainment. Then I would finally have an excuse to feel this way.”

Prismo was stunned into silence, opening his mouth to say something before thinking twice and closing it.

“You don’t need an excuse…” the wishmaster said, “You’re allowed to have difficult feelings.”

Scarab gave him a heated stare in return.

“I also feel conflicted,” Prismo admitted, causing Scarab to peer at him.

His wishmaster continued, “Because, what if that stuff sounds… I don’t know, kind of exciting but also a lot?” Prismo uttered.

Following it up with, “And that last part was a little… concerning.”

Scarab only chuckled again, “Well, you can relax. I’m not asking that of you- yet.”

Prismo exhaled and the tension drained out of him. The absurd sight made Scarab chuckle but it was more from ironic malice than joy. Who knew Prismo of all entities would care about following rules about fraternization in the work place? But it was true, if anyone found out the consequences would be dire and severe. Wanting after Prismo was like longing after his own demise, the twisted sense of desire that anticipated his own undoing. Staring into the abyss of power-hungry, gluttonous impulses of ambition, excess and fulfillment. Of course only someone like Prismo would be able to provide him such a conflicting pleasure. And in the little dark place that warns him of every possible catastrophe still tingles and clasps for excuses as to why he ought to throw caution to the wind. Go for it.

“Would you like to hear the worst part?” Scarab asked.

Prismo shook his head ‘no,’ then paused before shrugging and nodding expectantly, palms up.

Scarab admitted, highly ambivalent, “No one would believe me.”

There was a stretch of tense silence, where Prismo wasn’t sure what to say. If he ought to console Scarab, or maybe reassure him that he had no ill intentions. But taking it literally seemed to be the most honest answer. Finally, Prismo spoke up, an edge of unease to his tone.

“Uh- maybe, Simon?” Prismo shrunk away from him, “Yeah, probably him, if anyone. We’re still not exactly on the best terms.”

This made Scarab rethink his approach, as if the implied threat of blackmail wasn’t enough, which he knew was unlikely.

“Dr. Petrikov?” Scarab replied, unamused, “The mad scientist?”

“Well, he’s doing a lot better now, but yeah…” Prismo looked around nervously.

“It seems your reputation these days is lacking,” Scarab narrowed his eyes at the wishmaster, making Prismo want to curl in on himself and disappear.

“Yes, perhaps it wouldn’t be so unbelievable nowadays if the mighty Prismo was unspeakably cruel behind closed doors-” Scarab gestured with his hand, dragging his claws down the wall, “I mean, did you hear about what he did to that poor old doctor?”

The wishmaster was rendered speechless, floundering under Scarab’s accusations. Soon he would have Prismo begging for mercy. Scarab summoned the remote into a pleasant flurry of light. He gestured with it as he spoke, feeling as if he were wielding a weapon instead. The tension in Prismo’s form returned.

“But there is a reason why I bring it up,” Scarab said, “You want something from me, and I want something in return.”

“Yeah, but I’m not supposed to want things-” Prismo’s eyes were wide with wonder, which quickly turned to panic when Scarab responded.

“And what about what I want?” his apprentice declared, “Because I want to lay my egg properly this time.”

Then, just as he was about to turn on the tv and reveal his hidden hand, Prismo spoke up in a near panic.

The wishmaster blinked, shocked out of his trance. Blurting out a rushed, “What!? You- your egg? You have an egg!”

Scarab was surprised that Prismo was surprised. Clearly the wishmaster didn’t make it to the end of his strong-arming, before losing the nerve all together.

“As a matter of fact, I do!” Scarab doubled down, jamming an accusatory finger at him. “And you. Owe. Me.”

“You’re laying a… oh my grob, Scrabby-” Prismo’s eye went wide, “I’m not ready to be a parent!”

“What?” Scarab gawfed, slightly offended, “There’s no way I could be a  broodmother . I mean, just look at me. I thought you said you did research- ”

Prismo looked mildly horrified, “Not that kind of research, jeez!” he retorted, “Just basic stuff, like geography and history!”

Scarab dropped his head into his hands, mortified he ever thought this pink fool would understand what was going on with his physiology. He muttered something to himself during a heavy exhale. Maybe he was overthinking this whole thing. Clearly Prismo, while impulsive and somewhat immature, had no nefarious plan for Scarab’s carnal insubordination. Still, he enjoyed how quickly Prismo folded when Scarab accused him of misconduct. Scarab turned the tv on, the image of his private room fizzling onto the screen next to them. Prismo froze, his eyes went wide as his jaw clenched. Scarab had him backed into a corner, quite literally now.

“Are you sure-” Scarab remarked nonchalantly, “It wasn’t that kind of research?”

Prismo’s eye flew open as he jolted, holding himself together by the skin of his teeth as Scarab accused him of doing exactly what he had been regretfully, ashamedly, doing.

“Well, oh gob,” Prismo faltered, “I- hey man, listen-”

“You listen-” Scarab demanded, making Prismo shut his mouth with a nervous gulp.

“We may have broken the rules by waking up me up-” Scarab said, “But really, Prismo?  Sexual  misconduct, tch-tch-tch-” Scarab tutted at him, “That’s highly inappropriate.”

“It was an accident, at first-” Prismo flinched and backed away, “I was just trying to help, I swear! And you were acting so strange-”

“How magnanimous,” Scarab mocked him, pointing an accusatory claw at the wishmaster, “You took away my right to say ‘no.’ And to think, I would’ve allowed it.”

“Would’ve allowed what?” Prismo made a weird face and shied away from him.

“Almost anything,” Scarab answered easily, “If we’re both practicing honesty currently.”

“Are you sure?” Prismo glanced around, smiling nervously, “Wait- I mean, no. That would be a bad idea, right?”

Scarab gave a resigned sigh, “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here together? Thousands of years? Hundreds of millennia, just you and I?”

Prismo nodded, “Sure but that doesn’t mean I get… access to you.”

“Well clearly, access is what you desire,” Scarab gave a sharp grin, full of malice, “Granting my every whim just so you could watch me scream your name later? It’s selfish, honestly. I expected better from you, Prismo.”

Prismo nodded, still grimacing as he cowered away from him, “Sorry ‘bout that… I really am. It was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have spied on you. It was wrong of me.”

“Oh, I forgive you-” Scarab replied easily, if only to give Prismo a false sense of security. The wishmaster sighed in relief, assuming he was off the hook.

“But first, tell me what you saw,” Scarab’s next question came quick and sharp.

Prismo winced and couldn’t meet his eyes, “A lot.”

Scarab peered at him, “How. Much.”

Prismo threw his hands up in defeat as he was forced to fess up, “I saw you find the drawer with all that stuff I put in it. I’m so sorry-” Prismo blabbered briskly, “Very presumptive of me- but then I saw you… use it.”

Scarab looked at him, irked slightly, “Use what to do what?”

“C’mon, man,” Prismo begged him, “I said I was sorry- please just… cut me some slack here,” feeling humiliated he was having to reveal things in detail.

“I will do no such thing. Tell me exactly what you saw,” Scarab demanded firmly.

Prismo covered his eyes and muttered, “I saw you use that toy, the pink one-” cringing at his own words.

“They were all pink,” Scarab crossed his arms, “And move your hands. Now it’s my turn to see you in a moment of vulnerability.”

“Ugh! You know what I mean-” Prismo flailed desperately, blushing neon, “I saw you put it in your- use it, and make yourself feel good.”

Scarab trilled and stared at him, “You saw me orgasm? That’s it?”

“Pft! I, you’re- huh?”  Prismo sputtered, “What do you mean ‘that’s it’? It was only the hottest thing ever!”

Now it was Scarab’s turn to scoff, “Tch-  flattery will get you nowhere, wishmaster.”

“No, no-” Prismo waved him off, “I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t look away and all,” he gestured, “But like, I froze up and by then it was too late. Then you started saying my name, and I couldn’t look away…”

A shiver ran through the wishmaster, wavering his form. Going speechless just from the memory.

“Would you like to see it again?” Scarab asked. The sincere, amused way he said it made the wishmaster feel lightheaded.

Prismo’s eye widened and his mouth fell open, still he blinked and shook his head, “I don’t know, Scrabs…”

The beetle lowered himself onto the floor. Leaning back on his palms as he spread his legs, showing Prismo exactly what he wanted to see. True to his word, Prismo didn’t look away. Very good, he relaxed and let the tension melt out of his body. Gazing up at the pink projection on the wall directly in front of him.

“I think you do-” Scarab purred, dropping a hand between his legs to lazily rub at his pelvic plates. They parted easily, shuddering under his touch.

Prismo bit his lip and his pupils dilatated, holding so still as if his passivity could liberate him of the guilt.

Scarab pulled his fingers apart, giving the wishmaster a clear view of the needy cleft there.

“You want this?” his apprentice asked.

Prismo leaned away slightly, “Wait, Scarab, we can’t.”

“Very funny,” Scarab started to say.

Prismo groaned at the feeling of claws digging into the floor.

“I’m serious-” the wishmaster gasped again, “We shouldn’t do this…”

The beetle blinked in surprise, “Beg your pardon?”

“Well, I’m technically your boss now, and we’ll be stuck here for eons and- and-” Prismo sputtered.

“Compelling,” Scarab replied dryly.

Prismo leaned back this time, glancing away from him.

“You’re my apprentice-” Prismo sputtered an edge of panic in his voice, “I really shouldn’t! This is too far-”

“Oh, so this is ‘too far’ for you?” Scarab chided him, “Now that you have my consent, you’re uninterested?”

“I shouldn’t have, I’m really really sorry-” Prismo felt like his projection should be sizzling, he wanted to melt into a neon pink blob and evaporate into space.

“Stop talking-” Scarab growled at him, "Just watch."

Making Prismo shut his mouth in a hurry. Sealing away every second-thought and self-doubt at Scarab’s behest. Prismo felt something tingly and bright build up on his surface, his projection burned hot pink. Prismo silently watched Scarab paw at himself.

“Oh, fronds…” Scarab cursed, letting his head lull back as he nudged a finger inside. Both soothing his ache and spurring on a desperate need to be filled.

The subtle strain of holding his cirrus inside was replaced with sudden relief, like a bottle being uncorked. He sighed as his tendril slithered out leisurely. The scarab dug his nails into the floor and groaned, leaning back on his palm as his tendril unfurled. At first, he ignored it. Simply letting the needy thing cling to his wrist as he continued to play with the swollen slit just below. He felt empty, unable to bear the hunger that hollowness brought, and shoved another finger inside himself. Flinching as he spread them apart and jolted, staring up at the wishmaster, Scarab trilled excitedly.

“I trusted you and you used me-” Scarab grunted out, “I deserve to get something out of this too.”

The mortifying shame Prismo felt at watching his underling, enjoying every second of the debauched show, compounded with the knowledge that Scarab wanted him to watch. They both did- and they both would be in deep, deep shit if anyone ever found out.

Prismo grabbed the remote and sealed all the entrances to the cube. Opening up the stairs into the cube so Scarab wouldn’t feel cornered.

Scarab chuckled at that, he must’ve realized because he groaned aloud, “Now you’re trapped in here with me, wishmaster. Or is it the other way around?”

Prismo felt like he was falling into a trance, fixated between the wet, fleshy writhing that went on between Scarab’s thighs or the erotic noises he let slip every so often. It was doing something to Prismo, a tight tugging sensation in his belly made him groan and close his eyes for only a moment of reprieve. But Scarab noticed immediately.

“Look at me…” he called out, and Prismo’s eyes flew open again.

Feeling like he was about to rip himself into the third dimension when he was met face to face with Scarab’s dark eyes and soft pink face. Scarab had retracted his mask, letting Prismo see every little wince and smirk. Watching the way his fangs dug into the fleshy curve of his bottom lip. How his proboscis intertwined between his fingers as he licked them clean, spreading himself open for Prismo’s voyeuristic pleasure.

“Look at what you do to me,” Scarab keened, “I’m dripping…”

Prismo struggled to choke down a moan as he watched Scarab work himself over. Wriggling and clenching down on his own fingers, he held Prismo’s gaze for as long as he could before his eyes rolled back in pleasure. The wishmaster’s hand twitched, he wanted to reach out and shove Scarab onto the ground so he could project on top of him. Feel the roll and shake of his body as he climaxed. He wanted to run his hands over the surface of Scarab’s face, feel all the dips and bumps there. Intertwine with his mandibles and see what the flesh of his proboscis felt like. Every little realization of his own desires, made Prismo feel more conflicted.

Scarab was still fairly level-headed, mostly in control of his faculties as he stared at the wishmaster.

“Oh, wishmaster-”  Scarab smirked at him, sharp and taunting, “Do you like what you see?”

“Scrabby, Scrabs-” Prismo glanced around nervously, wanted to beg him to stop, go faster, just hold on a moment- but he was weak, “I shouldn’t be doing this…”

“Doing what?” Scarab smirked at him, “You’re not doing anything,” and dropped his hand. Resuming to tease at the dripping hole there.

Rubbing the tips of his finger against his entrance insistently, and gritting his teeth as he sunk them inside slowly. Scarab dug his claws into floor, he could feel Prismo’s light tremble under his palm. Sitting on Prismo’s lap as he spread his legs wider and dragged his fingers apart, opening himself up.

“I’m touching myself,”  he huffed, fingering himself with single-minded focus, wincing at the abrupt stretch.

“And you’re only watching,” Scarab uttered, “Aren’t you?”

Prismo nodded, biting his lip, “Yeah, okay…”

The pink limbs wrapped around his ankles, leaving a warm trail across his carapace. Now he  was  touching again, and not impassively on a mere technicality. But intentionally, intimately. Before, blending their light together felt like a coalescing of mass, now Scarab felt Prismo like a thin sheen of sweat. Barely there yet highly perceptible, massless yes omnipresent.

“That’s all you do-” Scarab grunted, “Watch. ”

Prismo only nodded, chewing on his bottom lip as he couldn’t make up his mind whether Scarab was just taunting him or giving him an order. Regardless, Prismo wasn’t taking his eyes off his apprentice now. His grip on Scarab’s ankle became heavier, winding up his limb as he stared at the beetle.

“Looking down from your galactic perch like a…” Scarab gasped and bore down into his own touch, twitching,  “- a filthy voyer.”

A bright thrill of heat and prickly desire pulsed through Prismo, making his projection fizzle slightly. He wondered if the tightness in his groin was an echo of sensation from old-man-Prismo, or an entirely unique psychosomatic fabrication of his own lust.

“Y-yeah,” Prismo muttered, “I guess I am.”

Scarab felt Prismo’s hand squeeze around his leg, snaking its way up slowly. He continued to talk at the wishmaster until something gave way. Grinding into his own hand as he gasped and tilted his head back. His abdomen felt hot, quivering with latent tension as he grunted and rocked his hips.

“Grob Scrabby, you look so good like this,” Prismo huffed, clearly itching for some kind of escalation.

“If you like this-” Scarab promised him, voice dripping in eroticism, “Just wait until I lay my egg...”

He moved the fingers inside himself slowly, feeling the slick that gathered at his entrance coat his digit. Sinking into his quim easily. There was a familiar pressure there, but this time he wasn’t so nervous.

Scarab continued, “I’ll need your assistance.”

Prismo squeezed at where he held onto his ankles, but glanced away nervously, “Uh, okay? With what, exactly?”

“You’ll have to help me coax it out,” Scarab flexed his fingers inside himself, nudging at the firm, swollen wall that stretched to accommodate another egg approaching the entrance of his oviduct.

“So you’re asking me to-” Prismo pursed his lips and thought for a moment, “Keep an eye on you and do hand stuff?”

“Yes,” Scarab answered simply.

“Like as a friend, or…?” Prismo cringed at his own wording.

 Scarab peered at him, “Oh, how did you put it? As your ‘responsibility’ to ensure I’m ‘taken care of’.”

Prismo gave a tense nod, and Scarab felt the need to remind him of the stakes.

He gave a melodramatic sigh, “I would hate to ask Orbo, of all entities, for help with this. I don’t think he’d take too kindly to our current predicament either. Besides, you’ve made your interest clear. Unless I misinterpreted…?”

“No! Of course not, Scrabs,” Prismo gave a serious nod, “I can do it, I’ll help you.”

The edge of jealousy was barely perceptible, but Scarab felt it, and it made him wetter.

“Tch, ” he chittered, “You like to feel needed, is that it?”

“I want to feel… not-so-guilty,” the wishmaster admitted, “It helps, if I think I’m helping.”

Prismo’s stubborn change of heart amused him. He wanted to tease out exactly why it made him so giddy.

“Ah-  is that how you’ve made it permissible in your head?” Scarab chuckled, “By being my gracious savior, you’re now freed from shame-?”

Prismo tensed slightly, but nodded, spurring him on.

Scarab was starting to wonder if his sharp tongue was part of the allure, instead of something Prismo forced himself to suffer through. He finally grabbed the base of his tendril, shuddering as he kneaded at the underside, palming the spattering of sensitive bumps there.

“Oh, noble and selfless wishmaster,” he narrowed his eyes and Prismo could hear the patronizing grin in his tone of voice.

“How do I look?” Scarab asked, making sure they were still on the same page.

“You look so hot-” Prismo blurted out, “Uhm- can I get you anything?”

Scarab huffed, trying not to buck into his hand, “You’re stalling…”

The wishmaster shrugged, “Just trying to be helpful.”

“If you want to help,” Scarab quipped, “Find me a place to lie down-”

In the blink of an eye, Prismo raised his hand and snapped. Blipping them both into the nesting suite. The physical feeling of being surrounded with softness made him chirr happily. Scarab rolled over and rubbed his face in the now familiar fabric of his nest. Reveling in the scent which reminded him of artificial sweeteners, pink bubblegum, and how smoke looked when it past into columns of light, giving a misty weight to the brightness. That’s the feeling Prismo left behind like a residual trace.

Scarab couldn’t get enough, he wanted that effortless weight all over him. Pinning him down with an unforeseen strength. The yearning for more quickly drove him to agonizing desperation. His rapt attention drifted towards Prismo. Locking eyes with the wishmaster, he moaned and rocked his hips. Grinding into the soft fabric below him. Losing all care for respectable etiquette in the mindless pit of desire he dissolved into. Scarab parted his legs and tangled a hand into the dripping, writhing ectoderms that flourished there. Fingers sliding through a dripping crest of feelers around his entrance. Playing with the fleshy, delicate plumes.

Prismo murmured, “Oh glob…”

“Do you prefer me like this?” Scarab asked, his antennae twitching, “Or would I look better on your tv wall?”

“Like this,” Prismo admitted, “I think like watching you… a lot.”

Prismo kept flickering his gaze back and forth between his bare face and his hand. Watching the way his cirrus curled around his wrist, or how his fingers worked at a steady rhythm. He hated it, but the scarab was right, he didn’t want it to stop. He just didn’t want it to be unethical, which was nearly impossible in this scenario. And he loathed to admit the taboo of it all was one of the reasons it felt so good.

“Hmn, who would have known-?” Scarab taunted him, “The infamous Prismo was such a pervert?”

“Oh grob, Scrabby-” He looked away and rubbed at his forehead for a brief moment.

“Does that mean I’m complicit?” Prismo lamented shamefully, dropping his head into his hands.

Scarab just gave him an impassive look, pausing how his fingers were stretching himself open to glance up at his mentor.

“Prismo,” Scarab asked, peering at him, “I’m only teasing-”

“Oh, okay-” Prismo uttered, "That's good, I guess..."

He sounded slightly disappointed. He dropped his hands and glanced down at his protégé.

Scarab perked up, noticing the slight disappointment, “But, perhaps I have more to say?”

“Uhm, sure! Go ahead, if you want…” Prismo urged him, squirming under Scarab’s full attention.

Scarab smirked, “Would you like me to degrade you, wishmaster?”

Prismo shuddered and nodded, “No…? Yeah, maybe- is that bad?”

Scarab only chuckled, “Oh please-” he gestured, “Dominant in public, submissive in private? It’s derivative, at worst.”

Prismo looked incredulous, his mouth opened and closed a few times before he decided to stay quiet.

“I know your type,” Scarab teased him, “Don’t act so surprised.”

Prismo chuckled and glanced away, “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to me-” Scarab answered, “Now why don’t you get me something bigger to play with? ”

Prismo manifested a few different toys for him, holding them up for him to examine. Scarab chose the one he liked and Prismo readily handed it over. Scarab directed the wishmaster on how to proceed.

“Now, watch me do it first-” Scarab said, easing the blunt head inside until it hit the end of his sensitive channel. His tarsal claws curled as he pressed the toy in as deep as it would go.

“Fronds…”  Scarab cursed, arching into the addictive sensation that bloomed in his lower abdomen.

He angled it just right and pumped into himself relentlessly. Gaining force until he found a brutal rhythm that satisfied him. Scarab tossed his head to the side and chirped, quivering into the fabric of his nest as he got lost in the feeling of blissful fullness. He blinked away the stars in his eyes and was met with Prismo’s wide gaze. Watching him intently from the ceiling just so he could see every little detail. Scarab locked eyes with him as he fucked the toy into his quim. It was dangerously easy to imagine it was Prismo filling him up now, with how he hovered like that. Come to think of it, his arms were getting tired already.

Scarab trilled up at the wishmaster, “Prrr -ismo, your turn…”

A pink hand wandered up between his thighs and grasped onto the base of the toy. Giving it an experimental tug as Scarab’s own hand fell away. Relinquishing the carnal task to the wishmaster. His apprentice chittered in excitement, trailing off into a warbling groan as Prismo carefully pushed it deeper inside. Then pulling out slightly, he repeated the action, gaining depth and speed patiently, ever so slowly, until Scarab was wondering if the leisurely escalation was actually an attempt at mental torment.

“Harder-” Scarab groaned.

Prismo only gave a noncommittal hum and shrugged, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Scarab huffed in frustration, “But you have no qualms torturing me with denial, it seems.”

Prismo stared at Scarab for a moment, he seemed to make up his mind because the next thrust in was deliberately stronger. It made Scarab’s eyes flutter and he let out a tense breath he didn’t know he was holding. Finally melting back into his nest, his fingers twitched when Prismo hit his erogenous zone head-on.

“Oh Golb, that's it-” his apprentice uttered, unraveling before him.

Scarab directed him, running a hand across his face plates as Prismo picked up the pace. Repeatedly focusing in on his sweet spot until Scarab could scarcely speak. His feedback coming out in choaked noises and chirps of affirmation.

“Yes-yes-yes-”  Scarab chirped.

His breath coming in heavy pants by now, thighs twitching, struggling to stay open for Prismo. He bucked into each thrust, tilting his hips to meet each stroke accordingly. With a little focus and practice, Scarab was reduced into a puddle of needy impulses and feral instincts. Prismo grinned to himself as he watched the scarab writhe under him, desperately gripping at the fabric of his nest. Groaning and shuddering as Prismo worked him towards climax.

The wishmaster hummed, very pleased with himself, “Hmn- you look so good like this. We should do this more often…”

Scarab could only groan and nod, fisting a hand in the blankets until the fabric tore to shreds under the sharp point of his claws.

“Faster!” he demanded, gasping when Prismo immediately took to his order.

Fucking him with the thick toy quick enough to knock the breath from his chest. Scarab sputtered, writhing in his nest as Prismo brought him closer to orgasm. Shaking and keening, Scarab couldn’t hold still. He tossed his head side to side, arching his back as he dug his claws into his own carapace.

Scarab’s voice came out in a choked sob, “P-Prismo- please!”

Prismo gave him a heated looked, “What is it Scrabs? You want more?”

Scarab nodded and moaned, “Yes-  more!”

Prismo wrapped his hand further along the toy, coiling around it until he could get an adequate grip. But even though he had yet to increase the pace, the next time he shoved into Scarab, his apprentice nearly choked. Curling in on himself as his body seized up, quivering in desperation as the tiniest sliver of pink light dipped into him. 

The feeling of Prismo's light inside Scarab was better than pins-and-needles, but not as comforting as a slight tingle. It almost vibrated on his flesh, it thrummed and resonated inside him. Filling him up with the echoed sensation of an electric too-much and a dulled not-enough at the same time.

Prismo paused, unsure whether Scarab might kill him or demand to kiss him. Until the beetle inhaled and in a single rushed breath, demanded the wishmaster continue.

“Don’t stop or I’ll end you-” Scarab uttered breathily as Prismo resumed his pace.

Prismo gave him an ambivalent grin, “Eh- I’d deserve it.”

Winding his hand around the toy further, looping over the phallus in a bright pink curl. Prismo focused on plunging the toy in again and again. Revealing in the feeling of Scarab’s silky inside gripping at his projection. Even though it was just his hand, Prismo shuddered at the all-encompassing warmth and wetness that drew him in.

“Fronds!” Scarab cursed, “What are you doing to me?”

His apprentice laboriously lifted himself up on his elbows to peer between his own legs. Flickering his eyes back up to Prismo, leaving holes in the fabric every time he flexed and relaxed.

The wishmaster gave him a curious glance, “I’m guessing you like this?”

Scarab nodded, devolved into groaning, taking shuddering gasps as he started to lose himself. He stared at how the hilt disappeared, swallowed up as the heady jolt of pleasure made him spasm. The light buzzed both hot and cold simultaneously, fluttering inside him like the pulse of a heartbeat. His quim clenching down on some infuriating kind of matter that was both hard and soft at the same time. Stationary yet tremoring, inert yet reactive. Scarab arched his hips and pressed up harder against Prismo.

“I love it-” Scarab hissed, tilting his head back as he past the point of no return.

The pressure and friction compounding, curling inside him and coalescing into a tight, molten kernel of heat.

“What about… this?”  Prismo asked.

Scarab arched his back, going taut as Prismo reached between his legs and wrapped his other hand around the writhing tendril. The fleshy appendage pushed out a few more thick, clear drops before giving a jolted throb.

Scarab threw his arm over his face and groaned in sweet agony, shoved so close so suddenly, his finish felt like a bright flash of light, akin to a comet burning out in the atmosphere. A catalyst spark igniting everything in a flurry of pleasurable immolation. He didn’t even have time to warn the other. Scarab’s eyes rolled back into his head as his body tensed, panting up into the first wave that rushed over him in a dizzying flourish of goosebumps and trembling.

Prismo had barely touched him and suddenly Scarab was shaking and twitching. At first, the wishmaster just assumed he was simply enjoying himself quite a bit. It wasn’t until the measured shuddering which wracked his frame repeatedly, that Prismo knew for certain he’d come, and was probably being subject to an uncomfortable amount of pleasure now. As soon as that revelation took hold, he slowed and looked at Scarab’s face. Growing nervous he was unable to see the expression he wore.

“C’mon, Scrabby,” Prismo complained, “Let me see.”

Prismo let go of the tendril and snaked a hand up to Scarab’s arm, pulling it down and away. He went easily, practically limp as the pleasure waned, his body trembling softer and less often. Prismo had also taken out the toy, simply letting him ride it out in peace. Clearly, the decision had been a mistake.

Scarab blinked, blearily seeking him out as he groaned, low and blissful.

“Keep going,” he demanded, exhaling heavily, “I’m not done yet.”

“Oh! Uh, okay sure thing,” Prismo uttered.

He was surprised for perhaps a moment or two and then quickly adhered. Scarab parted his thighs and he watched between his legs as the wishmaster nudged up against his entrance.

The beetle nodded, giving a high chirr at the fullness that slowly sunk back into him. Driving home a heavy feeling, part overstimulation part unquenched yearning, but it pinned him to the spot. Wrapping him up in that liquid heat which made every muscle tense and relax as Prismo fucked him softy at first. The lingering burn blistered easily at the new influx of sensation. Hot embers stoked so cautiously. Cradled and rocked, fanned until he burst back into flame embarrassingly easy. Flustered and sweating, Scarab curled up like a whisp of smoke and nearly choked on the sweltering cloud of exhales and pheromones. Only a small noise escaped him this time as he shook apart once more, holding a palm over his mouth.

“Oh Golb-” Scarab gasped.

Unexpectedly quick to finish again, like his body had been craving it, drinking down every ounce of pleasure it could until his limbs flailed and his body, eventually, could hold no more. He poured out. Scarab ripped a few new holes into the blankets. The sounds of stitches popping made Prismo grin.

“How was that?” Prismo asked, a gleeful tone to his voice.

“Grubs, it was…” Scarab uttered out of breath and raspy, “Surprisingly, very good.”

They sat there in contented silence for a moment, Scarab even let his eyes slip shut as his breathing slowed, splayed out in a loose puddle of limbs and shell. Despite the clear effort it took to move, Scarab sat up and placed a hand over his abdomen.

He grunted and his shoulders tensed, “It’s nearly time.”

Prismo brought his head lower, facing Scarab on the wall closest to him, “You need anything first? Water? Pillows?”

The scarab thought for a moment before replying, “Hot tea and a damp towelette?”

“You got it-” Prismo nodded and snapped.

And instead of his usual bare minimum, Scarab noticed it came on a neat yet unassuming wooden tea tray. The little towel sat rolled up next to an empty mug and steaming kettle. Prismo waited patiently as Scarab took his time, blowing on the hot cup of tea.

He looked around for another cup, “This is good. Would you like some?”

“Can you even consume three dimensional matter?” Scarab asked.

Prismo raised an eyebrow, “Uh, yeah. Sure, I can. I just have to pull it onto this plane first-”

Scarab watched closely as Prismo grabbed the delicate handle of the teacup and brought it right up to the wall. He tilted it ever so slightly, spilling a few drops before space and matter began to warp. The cup started to merge into the wall before his eyes.

“There we go,” Prismo remarked.

He tugged on the pink silhouette of a teacup until the entire thing appeared as another flat, pink shadow on the wall.

“Impressive,” Scarab replied.

Prismo took a sip and made a face, “Yeah, I remember why I don’t do this very often. Everything tastes weird in two dimensions.”

Scarab stifled an amused exhale and focused on the warmth of the liquid melting any remaining tension away. This was fine, he was going to be just fine. Having Prismo here meant that any complications he encountered, within reason, could likely be mitigated. The tea helped settle him, and the moment of clear-headedness in the wake of a little satisfaction also spurned him into speaking bravely.

“We need to talk,” Scarab uttered, catching Prismo’s attention.

He took the towel and ran it over his shell and face, clearing off the condensation which had collected there.

“If we’re going to keep doing this, we have to lay down some ground rules,” Scarab said, dragging the cloth down his neck and chest.

Prismo nodded and made a soft hum, but his eyes drifted downwards, following after Scarab’s hand.

“Are you listening?” he asked sharply.

Prismo’s eyes snapped up to his, caught in the act. He nodded and mumbled, “Uh-huh.”

They sipped tea together and talked for a while. Answering questions and giving context, preferences, until the kettle sat empty between them and Scarab couldn’t hold his countenance anymore. He started to sweat again and dabbed at it with the cloth, pressing his thighs together.

Scarab was surprised to learn about Prismo’s self-imposed difficulties. His dissonance between wanting to care for Scarab, and wanting to protect Scarab from his own self-indulgent use of the time-core magic.

“I’m still feeling conflicted,” Prismo admitted finally, “I want to help, I really do. But I know it’s wrong. We’re- I mean I shouldn’t be fraternizing like this. 

Prismo gestured to himself and Scarab, "I shouldn't want this.”

“I’m not surprised you feel that way-” Scarab remarked, contemplating Prismo’s confessions.

“You don’t think it’s weird?” Prismo grimaced, giving him a pitiful look.

Scarab only shook his head and placed the damp cloth back onto the tea tray. Sighing in agitation as he stretched out his aching joints.

“Hmn- it’s in your nature,” Scarab remarked nonchalantly, bracing a hand behind his head.

He gestured to the fabricated room around them with the other, “You were made for this. Designed to care for others and fulfill their desires.”

Prismo scoffed and rolled his eyes, “But I spent most of my time alone, until now,” he bemoaned, then incredulous, “How ridiculous is that?”

“A cruel irony,” Scarab replied, leaning back onto the rim of the overstuffed nest, fighting off the impulse to run his hands all over his body.

“Truly, the act of caring is fraught with contradictions,” Scarab admitted, tapping the point of his claw against the ceramic mug thoughtfully.

Prismo nodded.

“We ought to draft some kind of agreement then,” Scarab sighed, already resigning himself to a long future of grueling emotional labor. It would be worth it, hopefully.

Prismo seemed to like the idea, “Oh! Like a contract? Kinky…”

He snapped the computer into the nesting suite with them and manifested an outlet to plug it into.

“Not now,” Scarab rubbed at his face plates, “But yes, soon…”

Scarab grabbed the empty kettle and dribbled the last bit of tea into his mug, letting his proboscis lazily seek out those few warm drops.

“More tea?” Prismo asked.

Scarab shook his head ‘no.’

“Okay-” Prismo’s eyes trailed over Scarab’s form, noticing the way he was sitting all stiff and uncomfortable.

“Do you want to lie down?” he offered.

Scarab nodded and began to lower himself into the nest, abandoning the empty mug onto the floor by his nest. Curling up on his side as the needy space between his legs started to ache and spasm once more. Scarab sighed in defeat and rolled onto his back as he stared up at the ceiling.

“Prismo…” he uttered.

The wishmaster was quick to move onto the ceiling, staring down at his apprentice.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“It’s nearly time,” Scarab sighed heavily, a repressed shudder running through his body.

Prismo nodded raising his empty hands, “Okay, I’m ready.”

The former auditor chuckled and pressed a hand into his tender abdomen, feeling the muscles quiver and flinch there.

“I’m dilatating,” Scarab grunted, letting his tired eyes slip shut, “And it hurts.”

Prismo reached out tentatively, letting the tips of his fingers just barely brush against Scarab’s waist. Scarab groaned and moved his hands, letting Prismo extend a single finger over his abdomen. As he moved it back and forth, there was the subtle warm friction and pressure which made Scarab sigh.

“How’s that?” Prismo asked.

Scarab gave a contented grumble and relaxed. Prismo sent some warmth into his hand and watched the beetle unravel, going lax as he groaned in contentment. He applied a little more pressure and focused on the soft, velour-like skin of Scarab’s lower abdomen. Making small circles as his fingers drifted lower, soon coming to rest on Scarab’s swollen pelvic mound. Prismo saw how the apex of that damp, quivering seam that emerged from between his legs, was beginning to part slightly. The glistening pink tip of his fleshy cirrus peeked through, followed by his feelers rearing up. Thin whispy tendrils curling in the humid air as they brushed at the base of his writhing member. The thick, dripping cirrus emerged in its entirety, looking bloated and heavy, particularly around the base.

Scarab grabbed a fistful of fabric and arched his hips, bucking into Prismo’s light touch.

“Careful-” he gasped, “It’s sensitive.”

“I’ll be gentle…” Prismo cooed down at him.

The wishmaster slid his pink projection along Scarab’s inner thigh, pulling at his skin slightly and watching the flushed, hot flesh part under the cautious urging.

“So…” Prismo looked at his face as he spoke, “You said you wanted something inside. Is that still true?”

Scarab nodded, shifting restlessly as Prismo teased at the swollen skin near his entrance. The light petting almost tickled, taunting him with the barely-there specter of pleasure.

“Yes, do it-” he finally admitted, realizing Prismo was waiting for him to say it aloud.

“Okay, I’m just going to…” Prismo trailed off, narrowing his light as he cautiously nudged a finger up against Scarab’s threshold.

His apprentice opened his legs wider and pinched his eyes shut as Prismo slipped inside of him obscenely easy. Sinking into the deepest part of his quim in one smooth, tender motion. The pleasant glide made Scarab buck, aching for more as soon as he got a slight taste. His thighs trembled and the beetle groaned, deep and shaky while Prismo held still. Waiting for more orders.

“Does it hurt?” Prismo asked, full of care.

Scarab shook his head and exhaled heavily, giving a raspy, “Move-”

The wishmaster nodded, widening his focal point until his light covered every inch of space inside Scarab’s clunge. Filling him up in entirety.

The reaction was instantaneous. Scarab’s eyes went wide behind his mask and he yelped in delight, claws scrambling for purchase as Prismo started a slow pace.

Pushing and pulling his light waves over Scarab’s velvety inner walls. Each wave pulsing a little brighter, stronger. Moving in him like a current, growing with each surge until he was gasping. Staring up at Prismo on the ceiling above him, squirming under the onslaught of sensation.

“Prismo…” he whined, “That’s- it-”

“What is it Scrabby?” Prismo murmured down at him, “You want more?”

Scarab shook his head, “No, just like this. Keep going, don’t stop.”

“Gladly!” Prismo grinned.

He curled and wavered his light inside of Scarab. Watching his facial expression get progressively more tortured. Switching between slack-jawed pleasure and tense, arduous strain. His apprentice’s cirrus pulsed needily, soothing its neglected flesh while egotistically curling over itself. Prismo didn’t reach out to touch it this time, simply letting the frictionless tingle of his projection bring Scarab closer to the edge. And certainly, it was working.

The beetle shuddered, trembled, and jerked under his soft touch. Nearly throwing Prismo off as he clutched, shivered, and tossed his limbs in euphoric abandon.

“F-fronds-” Scarab moaned loudly, spurs catching on sheets and blankets. He tore a long thin slit into a cotton sheet to his left, and accidentally gutted a pillow with his right elbow spurs. Downy feathers spilled into the nest in a plume of white, sticking to any wet spots they could find.

Scarab was close. Nearing some infinite precipice on the edge of sanity that lured him in sweetly. He clawed and twisted, pulling his legs open wider, straining his muscles as he tried to take more.

“Harder!” Scarab demanded.

Prismo quirked an eyebrow but gave him what he asked for. Immediately amping up his speed and strength, trying not to overwhelm him. However, Scarab had other plans.

He twisted to the side and curled up on his hands and knees. Giving Prismo an obscene display of salacious desire as he spread his legs and pressed his face into the nest. His spine arched and his tendril curled over itself desperately, dripping clear fluid onto the blankets below him.

Scarab arched his back and sunk his fangs into the fabric. Grunting as his abdomen gave a painful twinge that was quickly drowned out by the onslaught of pleasure. His muscles contracted once, twice- and the last time he couldn’t ignore the painful tightness that seized in the pit of his stomach. The pressure increasing inside of him until something was forced to give way.

“Grubs!” Scarab huffed, doubling over on himself.

His cirrus pulsed in delightful agony and a ball of white-hot bliss settled at the base of his tendril. Thickening it and stretching the skin taut, the tip gave a dribble of slick. Scarab’s eyes rolled back as the egg pushed past his oviduct. It dropped through him quickly. Falling like a comet out of the atmosphere, burning up as it past through each layer. Traveling his channel in record time.

He choked on a scream, strangling his own outburst into a heaving grunt of hot air. Fabric tore, feathers wafted over him. Scarab buried his face in fabric and yelled as the egg past through him quicker than he’d ever felt it before.

Prismo’s pink finger pumped in and out of him. Filling him with that weightless mass of luminous pink. Pink. Pink like the back of his eyelids, like the stretchy flesh that held together the seams of his carapace, like the soft glow Prismo always seemed to give off.

Scarab glanced between his legs with the last ounce of self-control he could muster. Watching how the pliant skin on his tendril distended around the egg. Wanton and purely carnal, with a shaky hand Scarab haphazardly grabbed the tender, oversensitive base of his cirrus.

With one weak squeeze of his hand, rutting into his palm desperately, the building pressure was too much, and Scarab gave a high-pitched, warbling trill. The egg slid out of the tip of his tendril in one quick rush, gliding through that last bit of his duct so quickly, his vision blurred. Going dizzy with the overwhelming pleasure, Scarab could only bury his claws in the nest and breathe through the convulsions. Swallowing a keening chirp as his throat closed up. Laying had never felt like this before, it brought tears to his eyes. His voice coming out in pitiful chirps.

“Oh Scrabby…” Prismo uttered, completely taken by the sight before him.

Scarab’s newly freed cirrus palpated, throbbing through each heated gush of ichorous fluid as he crested through a breathtaking orgasm. Scarab tasted blood in his mouth while he vacillated between paralyzing bliss and fervent rapture. He spasmed at odd intervals, no rhyme or reason to the sudden onset of tremors that wracked his frame. Scarab panted into the fabric below him. Floundering with quaking gasps and intermittent shudders, while his body worked through the euphoria of an egg well-laid.

Eventually, when his body couldn’t hold itself anymore, he keeled over and collapsed onto his side. Curling up into a sweaty ball of frazzled nerves and satiated flesh. When he opened his eyes, the egg sat there just a few inches away from him. Wet and supple, it glistened in the low lighting of the room.

Still covered in a thick layer of slick, Scarab reached out and grabbed it. Turning the egg over in his palm, he softly squeezed it, testing the firmness. Staring at the color and gauging its health and maturity. Surely this egg, if it had been fertilized, would have been strong and healthy.

Scarab only debated for a moment before he brought it closer to his face and sunk his teeth into it. Biting off a chunk like a ripe piece of fruit, it gushed around his chin and the sweet nectar that laid inside made his proboscis tingle as he sucked up every drop. Already he could feel his strength returning to him.

“Oh my glob-” Prismo’s mouth fell open. His eye wide as he watched in fascinated horror as Scarab ate the egg, the one he had just laid, in a few large bites. And it looked like he was enjoying himself too, clearly it must not taste bad.

Scarab paused mid-chew, sleepily tossing Prismo a heated glare. The wishmaster averted his eyes, giving his apprentice a sliver of privacy while he indulged in the egg. Licking the sticky-sweet juice off his claws before he crawled to a dry part of the nest and curled up. Settling into a light doze remarkably fast.

Scarab reached out and lazily patted at the empty area of clean nesting next to him, despite the loose feathers everywhere.

“Here…” he beckoned.

Prismo moved to the floor, projecting onto the nest so he could be close to Scarab. His protégé mumbled happily and grabbed a fistful of fabric Prismo was projecting onto. It felt like he was grabbing hold of the wishmaster in a way. The slight tingling sensation of his pink light never left Scarab’s palm as he drifted off to sleep.