He feels oddly helpless like this, trapped in the snare of tentacles, half-floating in the water with no leverage of any sort to support himself, to break free. His water-logged clothing is cold and heavy against his skin, dragging him down. He might be drowning if it weren't for the tentacles' support.

He sucks in a breath when the tentacle first fits itself under his clothing. Under the coldness of the salt water, the tentacle is surprisingly warm, a sinuous flex of muscle gently undulating against his skin. He parts his legs by instinct, shuddering. A hot flush is creeping over his face; he doesn't look at Professor Rammsteiner.

Meanwhile, the tentacle trapping Heine tightens it's grip, trying to stop the squirming of its prey. More tentacles extend; these wrap around Heine's ankles, gently but firmly pulling his legs apart.