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draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-07-06 09:30 am
Entry tags:
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ โฃ 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 โ 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 ยซ CHARACTER NAME | CANON | NEW CHARACTER/IN GAMEยป 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 isnโt, stay in bed and wallow โ eventually a maid will be in to tear your curtains open, saying, "Breakfast is served," and scurrying out quietly, invisibly. Breakfast? Maybe itโs normal for you. Maybe it isnโt.
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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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. Itโs 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 โ have you been here before? Were you drawn up to this estate in a car? Havenโt 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, youโll 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 heโs as good at being invisible as the rest of the house staff. Of course, thereโs no reason why you canโt 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 doesnโt want you to leave. Those more sensitive or fragile might find they canโt 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 doesnโt dissipate, though โ 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, itโs 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. Itโs 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.
Itโs 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 โ 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 โ a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youโll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods โ six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) โ as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereโs 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.
Itโs 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 โ 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 โ a Pantheon, and quite a sizable one (see: no, not terribly historically accurate) from the outside.
Between the columns and up the stone steps, youโll find an entryway dedicated to worship on a grouping of twelve Roman gods โ six male (Jupiter, Neptune, Mars, Apollo, Vulcan and Mercury) and their six female counterparts (Juno, Minerva, Venus, Diana, Vesta, and Ceres) โ as depicted by several busts with small, holy fires lit before them for offerings. Notably, thereโs 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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 โ 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
those callused sailor hands slide up tim's bare sides, mapping the planes of his skin like he might map a whole country under his fingertips. one hand departs, sliding down to the supple swell of tim's ass, gripping it firmly enough to drag him all the closer, eking out any mote of air between them. he parts the kiss, leaving a gentle bite against that kiss-swollen mouth to turn his face instead to his jaw, peppering kisses, worn fingers slipping to thumb at the shell of tim's ear, then dip into his hair, giving the gentlest of tugs to expose more of the strong line of his neck. ]
You taste like the sun.
[ murmured against his skin, husky with want. the hand on tim's ass tugs again, in time with a faint roll of his hips up, grinding the heat of his half hard cock against the clothed curve of tim's ass. ]
no subject
It's fucking good, teetering just on the edge of being too much, too overwhelming to be happening here, with other people in the room, far enough away that they're wrapped up in their own pleasures with their own conquests, but close enough that their eyes on him are a constant possibility. Tim was quick to kiss him, but it was a soft, small one. A question, not a demand. Too much urgency would throw his head into overdrive, scare him off.
It's just enough. He feels desirable. Cherished, even. And with a stranger. ]
You taste like trouble.
[ Whispered breathlessly into the open air above Quentin's head, taking the guidance and the directing tug of his hair to raise his chin up, let him have at his neck. The prickle of his mustache against his throat makes his breath hitch, and he nods, only barely, encouraging it. He wants more. More of that, more hands, more of the cock he's grinding back against, picking up a slow, torturous rhythm. Why the hell did he decide to wear shorts? ]
cw: mentions of past sa/dub-con
how often does he get to go slow, to savor the moment of a pretty, warm body against his? these days? never. it is alonso's bed he is meant for there, where his body is merely another feverish conquest for the regent and the like. after all, who better to navigate than one puppeted by the regent's dick itself? so to have control over so much here - the person in his lap, the way his mouth and hands move, the gentle exploration of a perfect stranger for the sake of a connection?
well.
the hand gripping tim's ass slides up just enough to find the waistband of his shorts and slowly side beneath, fingers sticking to fabric until he can squeeze fully around the muscle there, gently, kneading as though testing the weight in his palm. the hand in tim's hair abandons it, maps the same line his kisses would have taken were he on the other side, settling over one pec so that his thumb can lazily graze a dusty pink nipple. ]
I hope trouble tastes good. It looks good on your lips.
[ he tips his head back, nosing at his jaw (undoubtedly leaving the tiniest of beard burn) and biting his pretty lips again, watching dark lashes fan across his cheeks, the warm honeyed brown of his eyes. his hips have started to join in the slow, rolling grind, his bare cock excited at the friction of the shorts but also yearning for the eager slide he should be feeling in the heated water. ]
Tell me what you want, Tim. [ not quite the dominant behavior, but there's an active of service here somewhere. he likes spoiling his partners - makes every romp new and different, but mostly he wants to silently thank tim for the gift of this slow, exploratory thing. ]
uh religious guilt, former not quite dubcon but not quite pleasant either sexual situations
But this trouble? ]
โs good.
[ Itโs sweet like summer and salty like sweat, caramel melting in his mouth. Timโs heart races from the thrill of it instead of the shame. Itโs threatening to overwhelm him, but pushing back into Quentinโs hands brings him back, anchors him to safety. Like swimming out too far from shore, only for the tide to gently pull him back. His back arches so he can lean into every touch, pushing his chest into his hand, and his ass into his hand, until he's being held together by him, this gorgeous stranger grinding against him in a public bath. It's alright. He's halfway submerged, anyway. ]
I want more.
[ Higher cognitive function is largely compromised, at the moment. He pants his enthusiastic but non-specific consent against Quentin's head as he mouths at him, kisses against his lips, his neck, his ear, whatever's in reach. Tim's arms wrap around his shoulders, steadying him so he can keep up those slow, consistent movements as his thighs tremble from the steadily building tension. He's got to say something now before he loses the ability completely. ]
Gotta confess something. First.
[ Pulling away just enough to see his eyes, but he doesn't stop moving, relishing the way his hardness feels grinding into the cleft of his ass, eager for how much better it'll feel once he's bare. If Quentin still wants to. ]
I walked over here thinking you were someone else. That I'd been with, before. Figured it out quick. But I'm sorry, if that's too weird.
[ It might be. He wouldn't blame him, if it were, but he had to say it before this goes any further. To hide it would turn this into something cheap and shameful, and Tim would rather not have it at all. ]
no subject
he gives timโs ass another hearty squeeze, letting his hips roll easily up against the cleft, slow and deliberate in everything heโs doing. the feeling of timโs arms around his shoulders is nice - he guessed right, thinking heโs strong, sturdy, durable. itโs hard for him to keep his hand in one place, thumbing the peaked nipple there heโd much rather have his mouth on - have his mouth everywhere on the carved lines of his body. instead, his palm sweeps down his abdomen, back to his side, reassuring touches, as though mapping him and committing him to memory.
when tim speaks, he tips his head back on a laugh, leans in to kiss tim softly, biting bluntly at his lips as he continues to chuckle against his mouth. ]
I walked in and found a statue of a guy who looked like me out front, people asking if I was someone else. So, Tim, Iโm not exactly surprised. I hope itโs not been an unpleasant surprise for you.
[ the easy roll of their hips continue and itโs enough to stir the heat low in his belly, his own thighs flexing to raise hips to meet the downward roll of timโs. his palm skirts back up to his waist, to the dip of an armpit, palm hooking around his shoulder, enough so fingers slide into the hair at his nape. ]
So, if more is what you want after that, sweet man, then this bath is your ocean. And if more is what you want, then maybe we get you out of those shorts, hm?
no subject
No, good surprise. Good surprise.ย
[ He understands too easily, that if Tim were a man more prone to suspicion, heโd think that this is too good to be true. Not just when it comes to the brief case of mistaken identity, how it slides off him like the water Tim sloshes onto his chest with every movement, but he understands exactly what it is he needs in this moment. The seductive pacing, the pretty words, just how he wants to be held. Itโs uncanny.
(Later, when he replays all his choices tonight in his head in the fluorescent lighting of a hospital room, heโll take that as evidence that it wasnโt a huge mistake, just an awful flaw of timing. Quentin was nothing but good to him. They connected. He canโt blame him for what happened while Tim was distracted.)
Loathe as he is to stop what heโs doing, the man speaks the truth. He nods in acceptance, and gives him one last kiss, firm and needy, drawing out his lower lip between his own, before lifting himself up and off his lap. Tim works quickly at getting his shorts off, only slowing to be a little more careful pulling his cock free of them. He approaches the wall and throws them up on the ledge next to his glasses, the sounds of wet fabric dropping and something metal jangling in his pocket echoing through the place with the sounds of splashing and other pairs seeking pleasure.
Tim reaches for Quentin and urges him to his feet too, holding him by the hands and stepping back, sandwiching himself between him and the wall before his hands start to wander up the expanse of his chest. The metal bar in his nipple is something novel to Tim, he runs his thumb over it experimentally, looking to the other man for a reaction. ]
You can hold me by the thighs.
[ Raging desire masked as simply permission, but too specific, too pleading to be masked very well. ]
no subject
it's a wonder that a man this easy on the eyes is so sweet, so gentle in the way he behaves. a body like that, where he's from, could be dangerous if stumbled upon in a dark tavern. he hums approval, a little smile pulling at his lips as he accepts tim's hands, standing as encouraged. it reveals the slim line of his hips, the strong thighs, the cock certainly at attention, a dusty of dark, curly hair from chest to stem. ]
Oh, I can? What a generous offer. Do you gift such sweet gifts always?
[ he boxes tim in with his body, one forearm resting on the edge of the bathing pool over tim's shoulder, the other falling beneath the water to slide down the line of his body, to one thigh - fingers pressing into the muscle and around to hook under one knee, encouraging him to hike it up.
the thumb over his nipple piercing though? makes him huff something, an airy little moan escaping into the air behind him as his free hand retreats to reach for tim's other thigh, lifting him carefully, guiding his legs around his waist. both of his nipples pebble under tim's touch, heat zinging up his spine. ]
Is this to your liking, sweet man? [ a little mischievous look and he leans in, pressing tim's back against the bath wall to kiss him, a little more urgent this time, a little more hungry now that he knows they've met on even playing ground. ]
no subject
[ I don't usually have sex with strangers at all, is what he would have said, if he weren't picked up just then, cutting him off with a gasp. Not with surprise, since he's asked for it, but the pleasant, safe sensation of his fingers pressing into the meat of his thighs. Tim laughs from deep in his chest, rich and surprising even to himself, in how un-self-conscious he sounds, how light and excited. How many moments has he had in the last few weeks that were truly worry free? Even the blurry shapes of other bodies on the far ends of the pool don't concern him. The hard muscle of Quentin's body shields him.
His legs hook easily around his waist, the water and the arm slung around his companion's neck helping him stay buoyant. Tim's thighs flex and squeeze around him, pulling him closer so he can seek the lewd slide of both their cocks together, the satisfaction of no longer being trapped inside his shorts, and feeling him, knowing he's hard for him. His free hand keeps on playing with his nipple, as Quentin presses him into another kiss, needier than before. The sound he made went straight to his cock, started the anticipatory leaking right into the pool. More. ]
Yeah. [ Licking into his mouth, thumbing the shell of Quentin's ear in gentle strokes. At least, it starts gentle, until a turn of the other's hips makes him gasp and grab the side of his head harder, hand clenching against his scalp with a scratch. ] Keep going.
no subject
Iโm honored, then.
[ he kisses tim deeply, letting his mouth open and encourage the kiss deeper, more sloppy and needy. itโs the grab at the side of his head, the faint tension on his scalp that makes him sigh and give another roll of his hips. ]
But donโt worry - I donโt intend to stop until you tell me.
[ he frees one of his hands, bringing it between them first to gather their sensitive cocks together and give the gentlest of strokes, the hard heat of them both exquisite beneath his hand, calluses dragging from root to tip. ]
Howโs that? [ he laughs lowly against timโs lips, biting at them again. itโs only a few strokes between them made before his hand slides past his hip, to the meat of his ass, gripping again. ] I know something that could be much better, though. Get you making those pretty little noises again.
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I won't. Don't stop.
[ This is about the time heโs used to getting a hand clasped over his mouth, because as pretty as those little noises are, itโs usually not safe to be making too much noise. So many precautions, to make sure the neighbors donโt hear. A hand over his mouth, or a makeshift gag if theyโre feeling spicy. A radio to drown it out. A new mattress that doesnโt squeak. A blanket wrapped around the headboard to muffle the sound it makes when it taps against the wall, or better, pull the bed out entirely. So much planning and effort to avoid the very thing that Quentin is asking for now, with nothing to drown it out but the sloshing around of the other patrons that have already escaped Timโs mind. There may actually be an echo in here, but he doesnโt hear it, too wound up in the man holding him up by his ass. ]
Yes. [ With a hitch in his breath, as he writhes against him, thighs and calves flexing and pulling at him, chasing more. ] Please.
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tim's thighs pull him in, means that he can grind their cocks together, rolling his hips so that the hot heat of them both slide together. all the while, the hand on his ass moves, slides deftly between those pert cheeks to find the hot, puckered hole waiting for him. he kisses him again, hot and searing, biting at his tongue abd his lips as he presses to the first knuckle with one finger, readying him. ]
Still want more? [ a little teasing, but honest, working him open even with the very tip of his index finger. ] Tell me how many you want, sweet man. [ it's whispered against his lips, his jaw, his ear and he gives one hard press of his hips, grinding them together slow and languid. ]
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The first brush of the thick, calloused finger against his hole makes him keen into Quentin's mouth, with a small, desperate whine. Inviting him to give him more in every exhale, so he can relax his lower half, make himself pliant and open, squeezing only around the hard length in his hand. ]
Yeah. Another. [ Breathless and eager, working his hips to try and fuck himself deeper on Quentin's finger, but it's an awful tease. Just enough of a stretch to want more, just the right angle so that he can't exert any control over it, leaving himself completely in the other man's hands. It feels awfully vulnerable for a spur-of-the-moment hookup, for a rogue, sinful impulse - but still in the moment as he is, he lets that thought slip away with ease, wash away with the sloshing of the water. ] You're pretty sweet, yourself.
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but just like tim asks so sweetly, he presses a second finger in, slowly and carefully. he lets tim acclimate to the stretch for a few seconds before he begins to slowly pump his fingers in and out, scissoring them when he sinks to the final knuckle. his own dick aches with the thought of being buried so deep like this, and with the addition of tim's hand round him, a healthy blurt of precum weeps from his tip between them, slicking tim's hand further. ]
You open up so good for me - keep moving, just like that. [ it's nice, the way tim fucks back onto his hand, his own fingers twisting and turning within him. ]
And you've got pretty things to say, listen to you. [ he huffs, kissing tim, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth before sliding his tongue along tim's, slow and languid and exploring, like someone trying to map and memorize their partner instead of thrill seeking. against tim's mouth, he sighs, letting his fingers bury deep, brush against tim's prostate once. ]
Can I - I want to have you. Feel you. You ready for me, sweet man? [ fuck him senseless, really, but he's leaning into the poetry of it all. ]
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Mmhmm.
[ Muffled against Quentin's lips, pleading as they nibble on each other, Tim running his tongue over the gently bitten lip as if to admire his own handiwork. The bathwater isn't as slick as what he's used to, but Tim manages, clutching at Quentin and breathing through the stretch. He adapts quickly, squeezing his body around those fingers as if to pull them in deeper, keep them press against the spot that makes him whimper. He's good, though, doesn't need Tim's help to find it. It makes his thigh twitch and lose its grip, his leg slipping for just a moment before flexing around Quentin's hips again, tighter, insistent. ]
God, yes. Please.
[ Senseless would be nice. To not know a damn thing except for Quentin's hands all over him and his cock filling him up. Right now, that sounds perfect. Tim braces himself with a tight grip on his shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscle to keep from slipping off on the layer of sweat and humidity that sticks to them both. ]
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never mind the way he brings them out of the water and to his lips, slicking them in a way that might be inconsequential in the water, but it's the effort - he doesn't want it to strain or hurt. he presses slick fingers against that puckered little hole once again, pressing in and around in one last effort before it's his cock he seizes from between them, before it's tim he's giving a little bounce to hike him up higher on his hips and waist. he presses him harder back against the wall - just enough so that tim's quivering thighs don't have to work nearly as hard as he prepares.
he presses the heavy, flared head of his cock against the man's entrance and with a nibble at his lips and a fluttering kiss, he huffs. ] Let me know if it's too much.
[ it's slow the way he presses in, in, in, hand moving to grip tim's thigh, the one that slipped earlier, and securing it as he eases his hips forward, up and into tim. he groans, head falling back and humming as he slides in, inch by heated inch. ]
So good. You're so good.
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He doesn't know, but he'll be thinking about it for a while.
Tim whines, loud and sinfully indulgent, when his fingers pull out, missing the feeling of fullness immediately. He's blessed that it doesn't take very long until he feels the stiff tip of his cock pressed to him, eager for entrance that he's all too willing to provide, exhaling a long breath, relaxing his body, and taking him in, groaning with the agonizingly slow push. ]
You're good.
[ Not argumentative, despite the emphasis. It just feels important that Quentin know. Tim's arms wrap tighter around him, closer, so he can bury his face in his hair, and pant against the shell of his ear. ]
You feel--ahh! [ Interrupted by a gasp, as his cock pushes in deeper and brushes against his prostate. Now that he's seated, Tim starts moving again, rocking his hips down on him slowly, testing a rhythm. ] So damn good.
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surrounded and squeezed by the hot heat of tim's body, he groans lowly, feeling the little puffs of pants against his hair, his ear, his neck. he's pleasantly surprised when tim moves first, grinding down on him and he begins to move in tandem, drawing out and pushing back up into tim's downward movements, driving his cock hard and deep, against that precious, delicious little spot in him. ]
You like it? [ he breathes against tim's ear, dragging his mouth wetly along the shell, peppering kisses where he can as his hips begin to pick up a slow, steady rhythm, matching tim's pace and also carefully measuring his own need. his dick already weeps pre, making the slide that much easier, making the way their bodies join that much faster, the exertion making him breathless as he pushes tim harder against the bath wall and tips his body back enough so that he can bow his head and catch tim in a hard, needy kiss. ]
M'gonna go faster. That okay? Shit - uh - you're so tight...
[ it doesn't sound like a bad thing. ]
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[ The verbal confirmation is hardly necessary, with the way he whimpers with every slow roll of Quentin's hips, driving his cock into him deep and divine, right into that spot that makes him forget himself completely. It turns his breath into massive, gulping gasps, chasing the air to breathe with as much effort as he chases his pleasure, lowering himself down to sit on his cock and squeezing him, pulling him closer with all four limbs.
The vast majority of the sex Tim has had in his life has been with one man, so he lacks Quentin's wealth of experience, but in this moment, he's grateful for it. He's good, good enough to make Tim forget to feel guilty, forget to feel ashamed of his behavior, forget everything weighing on him and only think of this, slick skin, wet curls wrapped around his fingers, and the blissful feeling of being stretched and full, pressed so urgently against the wall that it might bruise. Some deep, sick part of him hopes that it does, so he can press his fingertips into it and remember this in the morning. ]
Uh-huh, [ Just as Quentin hits that spot that makes him moan oh so sweetly. Tim rolls his hips into it, the tip of his own cock dragging wetly over the other's stomach, leaving a sticky smear of pre in its wake. ] Faster. Harder. More.
[ Reduced to single-word sentences, in his dizzying haze of lust. ]
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he's close himself - the heat of the water and the easy slide of his cock against tim. the pretty sounds the sweet man in his arms makes as he begins to come unglued, falling apart at the seams before him in the steam. so he takes a step back, drawing tim away from the wall only an inch or two but it maximizes the way he can move, the tilt of tim's hips as he fucks him in the water, the wet sounds of their sex lost instead among the splash of water. ]
I'm going to...
[ he pants against tim's mouth, but there's an ask there - can he come inside? does he want him to let go? does he want him to pull out and leave a mess floating in the water instead?
oh, anything for the sweetly crooning partner in his arms. ]
I need - where do you - [ a gasp, and he lets one hand round tim's thigh loosen, so that he can reach for tim's weeping cock between them, stroking it, coating his hand in the man's pre and bathwater. ] - where do you want it, sweet man? Let me show you what you've done to me.
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Inside me, inside.
[ It sounds desperate, like a plea. He wants to feel it, that heat from somebody else, the lingering evidence of the sweetness and the sin of this chance encounter. Nevermind that the bath will wash it all away, it's the principle, or the symbolism, or Tim's own feral, subconscious desire to be marked, tagged, claimed, wanted. He can give Quentin that without being heartbroken if he doesn't reciprocate. It feels safe, and it's hot, and he can't think about it too much deeper than that, his mind swallowed completely with pleasure and teetering there, right on the edge.
It doesn't take much of the touch to send him over, turning him into a babbling mess of yes, please, more, Quentin, he hardly knows how to act when he's not having his mouth covered or filled to keep him quiet. His mouth falls open, slack, against the side of Quentinโs head, releasing a long, indulgent moan when he comes into his hand, or the water around it. Thighs spasm and tense around his hips, Tim's entire body pulling at him, forcing him closer, deeper, warmer. ]
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it's impossible to think straight for a moment, his mouth dropping soft kisses and moaning words that make no sense against tim's neck and jaw. he fills tim - he can feel it, the way his cock twitches and spasms, all liquid white-hot heat as he grinds his hips up into him to chase the burning, vivid feeling of his orgasm. ]
Well, then... [ said on an airy gasp, hand leaving tim's cock so his arms can wrap tightly around him, holding up his weight even though his own body feels as though its made of molten lava - but he won't let them fall. and he doesn't care what mess he's smearing over the man's skin.
they're in a bath, after all. ]
That was... mm. [ he's still unable to make much sense of the world outside of the pleasure, nosing and kissing at tim's face. ]
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It's a tighter grip than before, harder, but he likes that. It feels secure, and abundantly selfless, on Quentinโs part, to hold him through it like heโs some cherished thing. That doesnโt happen with these kinds of chance encounters. This is usually where the shame creeps in, once heโs spent and/or thoroughly defiled, the bodies start to awkwardly separate, he and whoever trying to make themselves decent again as soon as possible.ย
Quentin keeps holding him. It feels too intimate, tugging at some tender, exposed piece of him thatโs supposed to be under lock and key deep in his chest, but must have wormed its way out, with all of tonightโs confusion. Tim should probably squirm away too, but he doesnโt want to. Not yet. ]
Mmhmm. [ A lazy, wobbly reply. His legs feel like jell-o, and his brain much the same. Heโs got just enough in the tank to meet Quentinโs small, sweet kisses with his own lips. Nothing deep and hungry like before, just soft, grateful. Trusting enough to ask, ]
Can you stay a few more minutes?
[ So softly. Almost like he's embarrassed to ask. ]
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he stays seated in tim through the heat of it, unable to pull away just yet, enjoying the nearness and intimacy of it. selfishly, he's not had softness like this in his life in a very long time - and to find someone with that gentle energy he can reciprocate? well. it's a welcome change from his life back home.
he allows the sweet little kisses, and at tim's question he huffs a little breath, amused. ]
I wasn't planning on running away, but only if you want me to. [ he teases, voice graveled from the afterglow of it all, his lips finding tim's temple and pressing a soft kiss there, his fingers gently petting a pattern into tim's low back.
eventually, his own cock softens and slips from the warm, tight heat of tim's body and he sighs, nosing in a little bit. ]
Now we can just enjoy the bath for what it is. Stay as long as you like - I'd enjoy the company.
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His easy acceptance of Tim's small request tugs uncomfortably at his heartstrings. Quentin doesn't have to think about it, or protect his ego, he just says yes, makes Tim feel like he needs it just as much. It's nice. Maybe easy can be nice. ]
I'd like that. [ Smiling, a happily-tired one, as he reaches to swipe a bit of his own spend from Quentin's abdomen, shot a little high for the water to have washed it away. ] I'll help you clean up.
[ And so he does, dragging out the separation for several minutes. Without having the foresight to actually bring a washcloth, cleaning up is more an excuse to touch him than anything, admire his body fully without the urgency of desire narrowing his focus. Eventually, he reaches for the shorts that have laid forgotten on the ledge and hears the jangling inside. Right. ]
Hey, Quentin. This is gonna sound silly. [ Pulling the shorts back on, neither rushed nor graceful, looking down through the water without his glasses. ] But they gave me this party favor.
[ A metal tag on a soaking wet string with Tim's name on it, which he pulls out of the pocket. ]
I'm supposed to give it to someone. Will you take it?
[ Earnest, with little thought given to the implications. It'll dawn on him later, and he'll beat himself up over it then, but a token of his appreciation seems appropriate. All religious guilt to come aside, Tim's needed this, the knowledge that a one night hookup doesn't have to feel degrading. Maybe it'll even happen again. ]