Thomas Arkwright / 'IV'

[He belongs to it, now. Only in words, for the moment, but now it knows what it will do.

(a contract. it's been a while, since it needed one)

It croons, lets its cheek touch his. A gesture of closeness, of "love".]

Ｇｏｏｄ．  Ｗｈａｔ  ａ  ｇｏｏｄ  ｐｅｔ．

[There's a burst of oil from the tip of the tendril, a reward, before it continues flowing normally -- faster, though, than before, almost enough.

(the pool roils and squirms under the surface with delight)

And now the tendril sliding between IV's legs stops, curves, so that the tip can push inside him and begin to trickle oil into him.]