Promptober 2026 Day 3: Plant Gore

Chicago Spirit again, more Ira and Wheels.

CWs for plant gore, body horror, bondage, sex, noncon (not that Ira hates the blowjob, but Wheels is distinctly not bothering to ask for permission)

Using Lauren the Corgi’s prompt list.

***

The morning glories slither beneath Ira’s skin before they emerge. Wheels watches, rapt. Ira doubles over on the garden bench–Wheels’ house garden, much more innocuous than the one he’s been in lately–with a long, thin scream and then they pierce their way out, tiny coiling green tips first and then thickening as they slide from him.

When he’d decided to let Ira leave the Garden with the morning glories still growing inside him, he’d been curious what would happen. But he hadn’t expected this.

The curve of Ira’s back heaves as he pants through it, fists pressed to his temples, while more and more of the vines erupt from his body. Wheels places his hands on him, feeling the slender green cords writhe like snakes inside him and then rise from his back and his chest, his arms, his thighs. They’re feeling about for support even as they emerge, as vines do. Those delicate green tips probe at their surroundings, spreading across the top of the bench.

It’s marvelous. Beyond anything he could’ve expected. The way the plants have learned to tuck themselves into Ira and then come out again when he settles somewhere conducive to them… What do they feel? How does it feel to weave roots inside someone, to coil your green body up tight into their interior and fill all their spaces? Wheels gently hooks a finger beneath a droopy one and laughs with soft delight at how the tiny thing coils around his finger, seeming almost to recognize him.

He pets at it with his thumb, and then after a moment directs it over to loop around Ira’s wrist.

It’s not terribly quick. But it’s terribly quick for plants. Before his eyes, Ira goes from a slender, bedraggled man to garden art, a winsome statue of some folkloric nature spirit draped elegantly with a cascade of heart-shaped leaves and budding blue flowers.

He’s told Wheels a little about the experience of becoming part of the plants. Looking at him like this, knowing they’re as good as extensions of his body, their roots twined deep into his form…he can be a troublemaking little shit-stirrer, but oh this is how he was meant to be used. Seeing him here, like this, in Wheels’ own home garden sends a shudder of hunger through Wheels’ own body. His. The plants, and their vessel.

Wheels leans his cane against the bench and kneels down by Ira’s feet, to get more comfortable and get a closer view. From here, he can run his hands along the graceful sweeps of the vines. Some of them are wrapping around Ira and lacing their way through the wrought iron gratings of the bench. If they keep this up, he’ll end up laced into place on the bench, trapped by his own vines. helpfully nudges a few into more effective places, and sighs luxuriously at the lust that starts building in him at the prospect of training Ira to a trellis.

He tugs on one to see how tightly it grips. Ira sits up and back with a gasp.

Wheels glances up at him. “Does that hurt?” From the way Ira’s expression twists when Wheels does it again, the answer is yes. The implications throb in his groin. “Tell me what it feels like,” he demands, greedy to know.

Ira looks at him uncomfortably. These Carpenters are all reticent, Wheels has learned; each of them in their own way. Ira’s preferred method is ignoring things until they go away. So Wheels persists, tugging one after another at the vines that bind his legs and hips to the bench seat until Ira gives up and answers him.

Ira shudders, and hisses, and finally admits in a strangled voice, “It feels like you’re grabbing me by the veins. Please, stop.”

Oh, the begging is a tasty bonus. Wheels smiles, and notes that the vines draped across Ira’s arms and shoulders are beginning to knot themselves to the bench as well. Ira doesn’t seem to have noticed yet. “What does it feel like, when they coil into you? How do they fit all this inside you?”

Ira grimaces. His face has gone pink. “I’m…bigger on the inside than I look.”

“Ah, yes. Your gate.” Ira’s discomfort deepens, as it always does when his gate comes up.

He leans forward over Ira to crook a finger around a wandering vine and coax it back, across Ira’s throat. Ira shoots him a wide-eyed look, catching on to what he’s doing, as it wriggles its end around the top bar of the bench and tightens around his neck.

“Wheels–!”

Wheels ignores his protest in favor of catching his wrist and pressing his hand flat in place to train a few more of the tendrils over it, binding his hands and fingers in place. “You look beautiful like this, Ira,” he sighs with pleasure. But it isn’t enough. He needs more. He wants this gorgeous tableau in his mouth, wants to pump his own pleasure and desire through its helpless green and red veins until he can see Ira–the morning glories–the whole hybrid construction that they’ve become has lost the ability to know anything but the sensation o him.

“You’re hardly body-shy at all, are you?” he observes as he works. “But when it comes to your gate, you’re as demure as a maiden disrobing on her wedding night.” It’s delicious to watch how he struggles–careful and futile, because he would have to tear bits of his own body apart to get free. “Chappell tells me it’s challenging to open and challenging to manage it.” He smiles up into Ira’s face. “But I have some ideas. In a few days, I think. For today, I have other plans.”

Ira makes a wordless noise of protest. It turns into a groan when Wheels unbuttons his pants and pulls him out. It takes very little to get Ira hard under any circumstances, and today isn’t any different. A couple of strokes and his cock is already swelling.

Wheels nuzzles at it, and Ira makes a choking noise as he pulls against the noose of himself looped around his own throat. Delightfully, the leaves and vines rustle in response to Ira’s pleasure. Wheels opens his mouth and sinks slowly down, all the way to Ira’s root, and then closes his eyes and stays there for a moment before he pulls back off. “Do you know, Ira? You smell a little green now.”

He sets his hands on Ira’s hips, thumbs stroking at the vines knotting them into place too tight to so much as rock up into Wheels’ mouth. “I’m going to take my time with this,” he purrs.

Ira whimpers and the morning glories shudder as Wheels lazily sinks his mouth back down onto Ira’s cock.