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draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
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ππ ππππππ πππππππ ππ πππ π ππππ β£ JULY TDM
JULY 2024 TDM: LECTISTERNIUM
Welcome to SALTBURNT, a panfandom smut/thriller game based off the film Saltburn, where characters are encouraged to indulge their deepest desires. The money never runs out and the liquor never stops pouring, so you may as well indulge from the bounty. Of course, things are rarely what they seem, and the manor itself seems to have a consciousness of its own. Throw parties, trash the house, engage in youthful merriment, but remember β dangers come out at night, and no one, no matter how rich you are, is safe from demons lurking in the shadows.
Threads can be considered game canon, provided the players agree. Players can also start fresh upon acceptance into the game. In game characters can post to the TDM directly, so all posters can use the title Β« CHARACTER NAME | CANON | NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEΒ» in the header. There will be a spot below for new characters to link their toplevels for easy access. Alternatively, prompts on the Test Drive can be used for in game logs.
WELCOME TO SALTBURNT
It's the hangover more than the light streaming in through half drawn curtains that wakes you up, your brain rattling in your skull, your mouth dry and cottony, your stomach churning with whatever it is you drank last night. If self preservation is your strong suit, you might turn over in bed and see a few painkillers laid out for you on a silver dish, accompanied by a glass of water. If it isnβt, stay in bed and wallow β eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itβs normal for you. Maybe it isnβt.
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
You're drawn from the room, either by the mystery, or an undefinable urge that could be supernatural in origin, or could be your hunger catching up to you. It's almost nostalgic, the walk to the dining room β have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenβt you done all this already? Maybe you mosey around a library, maybe you run into your suite mate in your adjoining bathroom. Regardless, seemingly all hallways, covered in priceless artworks and ancient relics from times long past, lead to the dining room, where a comically long table houses the Balfours and their many guests, who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "The breakfast is self-serve," they say. But not the eggs.
If you want to leave, youβll have to tell Giles, the housekeeper, who will arrange a car for you that mysteriously, or perhaps suspiciously, never arrives. Unfortunately, confronting Giles about it is near impossible, as heβs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereβs no reason why you canβt just walk out. The front gates are easy enough to jump over, even if the walk towards them gives you a strange sense of foreboding, or just outright discomfort, as if the ground itself doesnβt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canβt make the jump, no matter how physically able, or desperately wanting. Still, a strong person could continue on, over the fence and into the lush English countryside. The feeling doesnβt dissipate, though β this sense of wrongness, almost sickness, like a weight on your back. Walk into the evergreen, carry on, but the strongest will make it perhaps a mile or so before the weight of dread and paranoia brings you to your knees, and then to your face, flat in the middle of a dirt road. What were you thinking? Is this really better?
Wake up with a hangover, in a bed, the curtains drawn, the maid saying, "Breakfast is served," before scurrying out. The painkillers are there, just like you remember. In fact, itβs all exactly how you remember, as if you never left an imprint the first time, or any mess you made was cleared away while your back was turned. Walk to the dining room, find everyone there eating away at their breakfast. Itβs self serve, naturally. Just not the eggs.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
WHICH WAY TO THE BACCHANAL?
CONTENT WARNINGS: alcohol, nudity, potential for nsfw.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
Itβs been a balmy, warm summer in Saltburnt, with long, amber-hued nights making the house glow from the outside in. After the last party, things have managed to keep mostly calm and largely unassuming in the intervening weeks, with the focus kept on indoor activities β a scavenger hunt, a sex club, avoiding the outside trauma of cannibalistic cakes for as long as it seems to have taken the family and house staff to settle and, tangentially, forget. However, seemingly overnight a new structure appears on the outside grounds, under block construction fixtures and with loud building going on throughout the following day and night, tirelessly worked on. By the next day, however, the structure gets revealed β a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youβll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods β six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) β as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereβs also a thirteenth altar, with a statue depiction of the guest of honor: one John Gaius, who has been ascended to Roman godhood for the party. Offerings have the potential of gifting little boons to those who worship, like increased luck or a small amount of foresight. Feel free to make up your own, as influenced by the gods that you sacrifice to as you like.
Beyond the foyer, the space opens up into a sizable atrium that doubles as a dining hall, full of colorful, cushioned couches made for lounging while you eat. There's an endless supply of food brought in throughout the day, ranging from a traditional three course Mediterranean meal served with honey-sweetened spiced wine, to a more modern adaptation for pickier eaters with fried chicken and Red Bulls, to more adventurous eaters with flamingo tongue and fried doormice. Pistachios are served by the bowlful, fat figs littered on every tabletop, all alongside water flavored with rose petals. Also among the feast are several artistically decorated cakes, each featuring the name of any guest with a birthday in June or July. In addition to the meal, guests are encouraged to lay out plates in honor of dead loved ones, a more time honored tradition of Roman history, although here it has the benefit of being complimented by actual roaming skeletons (courtesy of John) who give animated attempts at play eating the food left for them.
Further into the temple, there is an overlarge, public bathing room for guests to enjoy, the bath carved into rock while the ceiling stays open air, for a visual on clear blue skies or a starry sewn tapestry. Modern heating has been applied to the water to make it steam and bubble, effectively creating a giant hot tub for patrons to slip into, in whatever state of undress they're comfortable with, though nude is greatly appreciated. When in Rome, as they say. Along the back wall is a more intimate stage for small parties, bedecked in a range of instruments and a karaoke machine, for a talent show, or just entertaining a few guests. Velveteen cushions sit in a circle facing each other, for Socratic circle style speech and debates, with a random grab bag of topics to choose from, that range from who is the best NSYNC member? to what is the meaning of life, really?
There is a second story to the structure, although there are no rooms. It's a roofless veranda that looks out on the backyard of the temple, wherein a concave dirt patch has been baking in the sun, for gladiatorial fights and the people observing them.
VENI, VIDI, VICI.
CONTENT WARNINGS: violence, body horror, gore, animal attacks (specifically wolf), potential body transformations.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
You may have noticed in this particular party, a special leniency when it comes to costumes. Where usually semi-strict dresscodes are enforced, tonight it's more of a free for all for good reason: everyone dressed in a Roman inspired outfit (very loose is A-OK) will be seen as Roman royalty, while everyone not adhered to theme will be the royalty's slaves, servants, and workers. It's all for fun and more BDSM in practice than anything serious, but party poopers are expected to tend to their much more fun counterparts, especially once the gladiatorial fights commence. In addition, John, Furiosa, Hawk, Embry, Zoro, Matt, Nami, Chione, Hao, Koby, Alina, Tim, Alia, and Louis for their dedication to Otherworld have been gifted a single metal tag with their individual names on them, to give to collared friends of their choice for claiming purposes.
In any case, collared and claimed and laymen people are offered huge palm leaves for fanning, or grapes and pistachios and figs to hand serve their betters. Below, the gladiator fights take place all day β a somewhat humble dug out arena that's been lined with soft sand, accented in the back by an enclosed stone structure, no bigger than a single horse stall, where occasionally one can hear huffing and grunting coming from a too high to reach barred window. Anyone can take on a challenge, personal or for fun, and engage in a sparring match. The rules are simple: best of three rounds that end in a submissive pin or tapping out, wherein the loser loses their clothes after each fight. First go their clothes, then go their underwear. Fighting in the nude is an age honored tradition, of course, and we love our history.
That said, the stone building is a somewhat foreboding sight to anyone observing. As time goes on the structure begins to rattle, and as the sun starts to set, the integrity of the building becomes more and more questionable. By the time the last fight is over, a final challenge is announced to the public β a creature of great mythos, versus the entirety of the estate. From the rattling building, a 7ft Wolfman is guided out with gold, rattling chains wrapped around his impressive neck and wrists. Many onlookers applaud the spectacle, wrongly presuming it to be a play act for the party. However, the chains inevitably snap from those holding them, and the Wolfman gets set loose throughout the estate, running with supernatural speed on all fours throughout the temple and beyond.
Scared? Maybe you should be. The Wolfman is hungry, and indiscriminate with who he eats. It seems the only thing dissuading his appetite from certain people is the metal name tag some were given, like dogs recognizing their separate masters. Still, people will get attacked. A scratch or bite from the Wolfman will result in a similar transformation taking place, a necessary hunger set in your bones where vice and sin seem to infect you, become as necessary to you as breathing or sleeping. Indulge, and become more and more of a beast β abstain from all immoral acts, all wickedness for nine days, and the infection will cure itself.
If you find that too difficult, there is one other solution. Only 23 separate cuts will kill the Wolfman, who divides himself in odd ways with every penetration β less like he's being stabbed and more like he's being carved with every inflicted wound, the two halves of himself sliced apart. The 23rd and last attack completely separates the wolf from the man. It leaves a desiccated human corpse in its wake, and a full blooded wolf scampering off into the dark depths of Saltburnt proper, lost in its many rooms.
It'll probably be fine! Despite that hiccup, the Pantheon stays up for the month to encourage an ongoing celebration, the party inside ranging from feral, half-made Wolfpeople frenzy to a fragile relaxation depending on the state of the Wolfman. Thank you as always for bewaring the ides.
DIRECTORY
no subject
She just wishes for sensibility. And here, Erik is perhaps being the most sensible even if he isn't engaging. Perhaps it isn't a bad thing, if they are meaning to hurt and humiliate them.]
And the only two options then are hurting and humiliation at their hands or romance? Indulging is somehow playing into what this place wishes for. [If she is connecting the dots correctly.]
no subject
She's not even a mutant, as far as he's aware.
Shaking his head, he lets his eyes drag back to her, careful. ]
No, there are more options. You can indulge, if you want, but there are no promises on how respectful they might be.
[ Implying that he would be far more respectful than any of these strangers. ]
no subject
But he says they may not be respectful, and she's imagining there is truly a spectrum here then, and her chances of finding something in the middle is more limited. And how is she to go about explaining her situation to a stranger. Does it matter she would be so green about it all? Her eyes look back out, eyes settling on two men. Perhaps that is more shocking to her as well, but some part it isn't-- it is more how they they engage.
No, she shouldn't judge, but there is no guarantee of anything when she knows so few people here. Her curiosities may get the better of her, but he is right.]
I do not know what to expect, [She admits aloud, her eyes finally go up to meet his.]
Women of my place, we are not given such freedoms. If anyone from the ton was here, if they knew...
[Disgraced is an understatement.]
no subject
It makes a little more sense now.
It's hard not to judge other people who are engaging in things that are new to you, and he recognises why she might be both overwhelmed and curious. The 'Ton' means very little to him, having grown up in Germany and in less than good conditions, but he can put the pieces together. Sheltered, uneducated on this, and unsure of her footing.
That's understandable, at least. ]
They're not here to know, are they?
[ Erik raises his eyebrows, leaning closer. ]
If there's something you want to do, you ought to do it. No one here will care, it seems, so the opportunity is a good one.
no subject
And here it is. As he means it, and she smiles again, perhaps more playful as she tries to comprehend the βthingβ in something that she could want.]
And if I should just⦠want? Without knowing what the something I desire is?
[All of it seems overwhelming on a spectrum heβs clearly showed her. But she knows that the heat of her skin, that the press of her thighs is new enough to tell her that the desire is at least physical in nature.
Perhaps she should watch them out there longer.]
no subject
Apparently, she has found herself under that banner. Troublesome indeed.
She leans up to look at him, and he gazes back down at her, only an edge of hesitation on his face. It's clear she wants something, and if she's bold enough to admit it... She's earned it. ]
You should ask. There'll be someone who can educate you.
[ Perhaps that someone is him. Perhaps not. It depends on her desire, doesn't it? ]
no subject
It is not something she has asked for or even knows the words for what she is asking, but she's here, and technically she has been given to him. He's made his case that going out into the fray of it all wouldn't be the wisest, so she's left here with her heart pumping and a desire calling to her.]
Would you? Show me? [Is it an instruction? Does she knows what she is asking? She knows the feeling, something that is hooked into her now as she's looking up at him, hopeful if anything.]
no subject
Erikβs eyes flicker over her, drinking her in, even as his body shifts in angle - to block her from the rest of the world, perhaps, given the way their conversation has gone. His eyes search her face for a moment, almost as if heβs considering the merits of her request; itβs just sex, after all. She might not even want it all, which heβs more than fine with. Thereβs something fun in the novelty of learning.
One of his hands lifts, touching the shape of her cheekbone gently. Sheβs asking, and heβs curious. Sheβs consenting as well, which given her costume is something of a relief. If he thought for a moment that she was being forced into this then heβd have abandoned her immediately.
His expression remains carefully neutral all the same. ]
Is that what you want? [ Heβd like to hear it. ] You can see what the people out there are doing. What do you want to experience this evening?
no subject
Like perhaps she has been waiting this long for such a thing to happen. She might not understand this place, feel out of place and like she is overwhelmed for it, but she also is excited suddenly at the prospect for more. And she is not asking him solely because she technically was given to him either. She knows how he feels on the subject, but it is more of a lending of where this conversation has gone.]
Yes. I would like you to show me. [She spells it out, hands going in front of her, propping straight out for a moment before he asks her what she wants to experience as if she once again has the vocabulary to express that.]
I do not know. It is all new to me. No one told me what any of this was, what it feels to be so flushed at the thought of another person, always deemed improper topics of conversation to be had around young ladies. Even discussing such a thing could call a lady's honor into question.
[And no one would do so to a Bridgerton daughter unless there was truly proof of it besides gossip.]
But I find the lack of such propriety freeing. [And she is encased by him now, so she cannot look out onto the others to watch what else they do to try and describe it all.]
no subject
She reminds him of someone, and he doesnβt dare put a name to that particular emotion.
Instead, he focuses on the woman in front of him, learning her wants for the first time. Itβs both endearing and heady, and as she tilts into the touch of his hand he feels a small, pleased smirk settle on his face. Erik canβt claim to be a good man by many measures of the word, but he can at least claim to be a decent on in these matters.
He leans closer, close enough to touch. ]
You can ask me the questions. Iβll answer them. Any new desires you have? I can teach you.
[ His thumb brushes over her lower lip. His attitude to the party is still sour, a tsunami of irritation in his mind, but her curiosity has softened him a little. ]
Why donβt you start with a kiss?
no subject
Perhaps it has paid off, to get someone that may be more devoted to her in this than their own carnal wants, not that she wouldnβt wish to see him enjoying himself, enjoying her. It is just different than the sea of depravity happening just beyond his shoulder.
And now heβs so close, his thumb moving over her lip. She parts them so naturally, letting the pad of his thumb penetrate her mouth before he suggests a kiss, and sheβs nodding. This she is at least sure of.
Francesca straightens, hands gently moving to his side to steady herself as she closes the gap between them, tilting her head and looking at him so expectantly.]
no subject
A kiss is easy enough. Itβs no challenge. Erik has kissed a lot of people in his time.
Leaning down, his hand shifting to rest against her cheek once more, he blocks her from the rest of the world as he presses his mouth against hers. Itβs chaste, given the rest of the party, a firm push of mouth against mouth, thumb rubbing over her cheekbone as he tilts closer. Erik is bracketing her now - any pleasure she feels from this will be for him to see and no one else.
There is still jealousy inside of him, a roaring animal.
When he leans back, he kisses her again, a quick peck, as he grins. ]
A good start.
no subject
It was very good. I feel a flush across my body. [Something new, something exciting. She doesnβt always understand what she feels, but he feels like he is grounding her in the moment, and saying this to him feels natural. Of course her hands have slid up his chest by now, and that may have been the culprit, plus the kiss itself.]
I should like that. And to keep touching? Would that suffice.
[There are still layers between them, but sheβs satisfied with how he guard her from the rest as if her modesty is somehow to be protected here.]
no subject
Thereβs arrogance, of course. He knows heβs good looking, he knows heβs adept, he knows heβll make her feel good. Skills borne of a man who spent his time travelling to hunt Nazis and sleeping where he found space and time. ]
It would suffice.
[ Thereβs a temptation to take her somewhere else, especially if all of this is new to her, but thereβs also something to be said for the limitation of being in public. Erik wonβt go too far with so many eyes on them both.
Heβs still close to her, though, eyes dark. ]
Tell me if you donβt like this.
[ Erik kisses her again, teeth scraping against her lower lip, tongue explorative - asking for her to allow him to deepen it, to show her more. ]
no subject
Her hands smooth up the chiton or whatever fabric heβs wearing that theyβve deemed is Roman enough to call him royalty here. She can feel muscles underneath, but it only light a fire of more wonder. Fran doesnβt know this man, and yet, heβs clearly protective enough to not throw her to the wolves, but heβs still willing to do this with her.
Her chin is tipped back upwards, and he deepens the kiss. Hands grip at the fabric, being able to taste him now. She responds back, wanting more as her chest meets his, humming lightly into it. Clearly she likes it.]
no subject
As her fingers trace the shape of his chest, his own arms move to wrap around her and draw her close as he presses into the kiss. It's not quite as deep and frantic as it might have been otherwise, with the effects of the room and atmosphere baring down on them, conscious as Erik remains, but it's still a good kiss, his tongue exploring, teaching, guiding her into what might feel good.
One of his arms slides down, to press into the small of her back, to bring her tight against his body.
Her enjoyment matters to him, thumb pressing into the curve of her spine, his mouth careful as he allows her the freedom to take and take, to do whatever she pleases as she leans and explores, his eyes slipping closed. It's not quite vulnerability, given his metal sense and his mutation protecting him, but he's giving her at least something for her first foray into the world.
Eventually, his mouth pulls away, and he kisses along her jaw, down to her neck, explorative and testing. ]
no subject
It is a good kiss though, not that she would know the meaning. It just makes her feel heady and wanting, pushing herself for more like sheβs chasing for something sheβs not quite sure of. It feels good though, and she finds herself enjoying getting to taste him, her tongue exploring his with soft little noises. She truly does like it.
Until heβs moving to her neck, and without thought, sheβs undoing the lacing on the bodice of the petticoat to loosen the straps. The material is baggier now, not keeping her figure as it did. But if he wished to explore more of her pale skin with his mouth, she offers it so freely, tilting her head with her swollen lips parted.]
no subject
Her reactions are soft, tempered by the nature of her upbringing, he thinks, but clearly she wants this, and that's enough for him. She bares herself all the more for him, and Erik lets his mouth leave no mark on the marble of her skin, to offer the prickle of sensation instead.
The hand on the back of her body shifts, fingers gripping her waist instead, and he leans back to look her in the eye. ]
Do you want more? Or just this?
no subject
I do like this, but I think I would like more.
[Even if she doesn't know what that might be. She may even be interested in him telling her, to learn more, but she's eager to explore, whatever that may be. The fact he offers so willingly is just as exhilarating. Of course the stipulation of being on the other side of this is less, but she's still glad for his guidance, the way he's still protecting her from the rest of the party.]
I only have the knowledge of what I have seen today, I am afraid. I do not think I have the words to ask for specifics. But I know that I wish for more. With you.
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[ Erik presses another kiss to her neck, her collarbone, letting his mouth rest there. She's warm, flushed and flustered, and her words show just how naive she is to these things - some other person could've completely ruined her, couldn't they? Left her unsure, not explaining anything at all, not giving her the kind of pleasure a woman ought to have...
At least Erik will not be like that.
Fingers curling into the fabric of her outfit, he kisses her jaw again, almost nuzzling there. It might be romantic, if it wasn't for the fact that sexual pleasure was on the forefront of his mind. If he knew just how her Ton would regard her after this, he might be a little more reticent, but even then... ]
You can let me pleasure you, and if you dislike it we can stop.
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This seems anything but that. He makes her feel things already that have her almost gasping and holding herself against him, all soft curves against his firmness.]
I am agreeable to that. [She dips her head.] If you would tell me what you are doing, so I might know.
[To perhaps even ask for it in the future. From him.]
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At least he has an idea of what to do - and if she wants to be educated, he can do that as well. ]
I'll tell you everything I'll do to you. You need to learn, don't you?
[ Leaning up, he kisses her again, soft and slow. ]
Have you ever touched yourself? Intimately?
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His kiss makes her chase his lips though, hand moving to his side as she nods. She most definitely wishes to learn, and she would learn whatever he teaches her.]
Touched myself? [Like the way the ladies in the pool were, she imagines. Or when the men stroked themselves. No, she has certainly done nothing like that. Honestly all of this has been such an awakening for her. She really has had no interest in being with men save for what must be done for having a child someday.]
I have not. Would you show me how? [Or really if he wished to touch her in that way, that would work as well. There is already a heat between her legs growing.]
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Since you asked so nicely.
[ Slowly, Erik turns his head to glance around the room. With all the other events taking place, no one is paying a lick of attention to them, which is how he'd prefer it. He doesn't mind a public spectacle, but for her sake, a little decency might be in order.
Erik takes her body in hand and slowly urges her to turn around, so that she can lean with her back against his chest, his arms encircling her. Then, one of his hand reaches to cup under her breast gently, chin on her shoulder. ]
If it feels uncomfortable, tell me. This is for your benefit.
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Her cheeks are already rosy when he says that, and he is right. They are hardly noticed even if there is a thrill for being in a room with such goings on. It makes her a little more excited before he's turning her around, one hand on the wall to steady her as he positions himself behind her. It is something else entirely to feel him there before his hand is rising up to touch her curves, a good handful for him.]
I think I like the way you touch me already, Erik. [She should hardly tell him to stop now, but she would if it was uncomfortable and not completely turning her on.]
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