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draino2024-11-09 08:00 am
saltburnmods) wrote in draino2024-11-09 08:00 am
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πππππ, πππππ, πππππ β£ NOV TDM
NOVEMBER 2024 TDM: RENAISSANCE
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, using Β« 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, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
β momofuku's "cereal milk" β
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
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.
"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, some who seem just as disgruntled and confused as you. No matter. "Breakfast will be out in a minute," they say. What's that?
EDIT SEPTEMBER 2024: For those who have attended breakfast with the Balfours before, a change in routine might come as a shock, given how rarely they stray from form. However, as of September, CARMY BERZATTO has taken over Head Chef position, alongside his cousin RICHIE JERIMOVICH and always the bridesmaid never the bride, SANJI. In place of the self-serve style breakfast, there is an elevated menu, including: a self-serve juice bar, with pitchers of various juiced fruit and vegetables, shaved ice, coconut water, green and black tea syrups, potted microherbs, sliced whole berries, and finger limes. There is also, naturally, liquor and champagne available. Guests can make their own drinks, or ask the allocated staff member to serve them one of the "specials" if they're feeling adventurous.
That said, these are world class chefs, so the gold is really in the menu:
THE EGGS
πππ πππππ: one runny boiled egg shelled and recoated in edible gold leaf, seated on a throne of fried bread soldiers, plated with whipped butter and italian parsley.
ππππ ππππππππ: vinegar poached eggs with hollandaise foam on a bed of toasted freekah and baby spinach.
ππππ πππππππππππ: two eggs poached in a ramekin of pureed tomato, served with a crispy grilled cheese cut to dip.
πππ ππππππ: french omelette with a light cheese filling, topped with crushed potato chips and chives.
ππππ π πππππππππ: fluffy scrambled eggs in brown butter, served on sourdough.
πππππππ ππππ: mini-quiche made with caramelized red onions and jamon pata negra ham.
πππ ππππππππππ: bacon, egg, cheese and sausage breakfast muffin that tastes weirdly like it was made at a popular chain with golden arches.
THE SWEETS
β fette biscottate with a sour cherry jam and peanut floss β
β a warm cinnamon bun served with a shot of espresso coffee for dipping β
β a macadamia-marzipan croissant with a wattleseed and burnt-honey filling β
β poffertjes with a liquid nutella injection β
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.
"We dress for dinner," says Portia, with a kind, if discerning smile. "Black tie."
2 GIRLS 1 CUP
CONTENT WARNINGS: nudity, potential for nsfw.
Over the past few days, a bit of construction has taken place on the grounds of the Saltburnt estate, and while it's difficult to piece together what exactly is being built, it's clear to see: whatever it is, it's massive, taking up a huge percentage of the grounds with multiple included structures. On the outside it seems almost like a neighborhood is being sprung up βΒ new houses for people to live in, maybe? New shops, disconnected from the manor at large? All is revealed on opening day, when upon entry all are greeted with cheery hellos from jauntily clad persons shouting, "Huzzah!" and "Hail and well met!" For the more medieval and fantasy inclined among you, it might feel like stepping somewhere familiar and homey. To the rest, you know β you've just walked into a Ren Faire. Costumes are expected.
Not sure what to wear? Those born between SEPTEMBER to FEBRUARY are dubbed part of the Unseelie Court, which is associated with darkness and decay, generally dressed in deep, dark colors. Those born between MARCH to AUGUST are part of the Seelie Court, which is associated with stars and sky, in lighter, brighter colors.
On either side of the split path, you're assaulted by the scents, sights, and sounds of any ordinary Ren Faire. Vendors pawn off garlicky mushrooms and full turkey legs, or flower crowns and juggling sticks in exchange for a kiss, a secret, a lock of hair, or something of equal nonsensical value. Step inside a shop and see sellers offering crude jewelry and satchels of loose leaf tea, fudge sold by the ounce and porcelain ocarinas. Essentially, if it's kitschy and thematic, you can find it here, being sold to you by people in costume who refuse to break character.
Shopping not quite your style? Fear not! If you're lucky in your wanderings, your might spot the Unseelie Queen ALICENT HIGHTOWER or her counterpart and opposed Seelie Queen LAURALAE carried on palanquins towards the very back of the faire, where the real heart of the show takes place in a small stadium for entertainment purposes βΒ a tourney for distinguishing yourself as the best among your peers in the manor. Prior to the tourney, all characters are given a favor of some kind ( an embroidered handkerchief, ribbon, garland, or piece of jewelry ) to give to a person of their choosing, be they a competitor or not, to show their support. Strangely, this favor seems to link them through an empathetic, sensation-based bond, so they feel everything their chosen competitor experiences. Mutual favors result in a mutual bond.
The challenges are set: ARCHERY/KNIFE THROWING, SWORDFIGHTING/HAND-TO-HAND, and a BARD'S TOURNEY. In addition to the more ye olde flavor of competition, there are also challenges for COUPLE TENNIS, HORSE POLO, and CHESS. And, in true Saltburnt fashion, there is also a somewhat lewd display of voyeuristic NUDE WRESTLING, where the first person to have an orgasm loses. (You can sign up for these competitions HERE.) To every challenge there is dubbed a winner, who in the old Westerosi tradition gets to crown a chosen "maiden" with the title THE QUEEN OR KING OF LOVE AND BEAUTY and an extravagant wreath of flowers, their victory dedicated to the lucky lord or lady. These wreaths are both fashionable and functional β while wearing them, no one can resist following whatever queenly command your character gives. Additionally, winners will receive prizes courtesy of Saltburnt, all to be determined upon victory.
Whichever queen has the most winners at the end of the tourney is crowned HIGH QUEEN OF THE FAE. The Queen is paraded around and celebrated by all, and while tribute is not necessary, it certainly is appreciated!
Over the past few days, a bit of construction has taken place on the grounds of the Saltburnt estate, and while it's difficult to piece together what exactly is being built, it's clear to see: whatever it is, it's massive, taking up a huge percentage of the grounds with multiple included structures. On the outside it seems almost like a neighborhood is being sprung up βΒ new houses for people to live in, maybe? New shops, disconnected from the manor at large? All is revealed on opening day, when upon entry all are greeted with cheery hellos from jauntily clad persons shouting, "Huzzah!" and "Hail and well met!" For the more medieval and fantasy inclined among you, it might feel like stepping somewhere familiar and homey. To the rest, you know β you've just walked into a Ren Faire. Costumes are expected.
Not sure what to wear? Those born between SEPTEMBER to FEBRUARY are dubbed part of the Unseelie Court, which is associated with darkness and decay, generally dressed in deep, dark colors. Those born between MARCH to AUGUST are part of the Seelie Court, which is associated with stars and sky, in lighter, brighter colors.
On either side of the split path, you're assaulted by the scents, sights, and sounds of any ordinary Ren Faire. Vendors pawn off garlicky mushrooms and full turkey legs, or flower crowns and juggling sticks in exchange for a kiss, a secret, a lock of hair, or something of equal nonsensical value. Step inside a shop and see sellers offering crude jewelry and satchels of loose leaf tea, fudge sold by the ounce and porcelain ocarinas. Essentially, if it's kitschy and thematic, you can find it here, being sold to you by people in costume who refuse to break character.
Shopping not quite your style? Fear not! If you're lucky in your wanderings, your might spot the Unseelie Queen ALICENT HIGHTOWER or her counterpart and opposed Seelie Queen LAURALAE carried on palanquins towards the very back of the faire, where the real heart of the show takes place in a small stadium for entertainment purposes βΒ a tourney for distinguishing yourself as the best among your peers in the manor. Prior to the tourney, all characters are given a favor of some kind ( an embroidered handkerchief, ribbon, garland, or piece of jewelry ) to give to a person of their choosing, be they a competitor or not, to show their support. Strangely, this favor seems to link them through an empathetic, sensation-based bond, so they feel everything their chosen competitor experiences. Mutual favors result in a mutual bond.
The challenges are set: ARCHERY/KNIFE THROWING, SWORDFIGHTING/HAND-TO-HAND, and a BARD'S TOURNEY. In addition to the more ye olde flavor of competition, there are also challenges for COUPLE TENNIS, HORSE POLO, and CHESS. And, in true Saltburnt fashion, there is also a somewhat lewd display of voyeuristic NUDE WRESTLING, where the first person to have an orgasm loses. (You can sign up for these competitions HERE.) To every challenge there is dubbed a winner, who in the old Westerosi tradition gets to crown a chosen "maiden" with the title THE QUEEN OR KING OF LOVE AND BEAUTY and an extravagant wreath of flowers, their victory dedicated to the lucky lord or lady. These wreaths are both fashionable and functional β while wearing them, no one can resist following whatever queenly command your character gives. Additionally, winners will receive prizes courtesy of Saltburnt, all to be determined upon victory.
Whichever queen has the most winners at the end of the tourney is crowned HIGH QUEEN OF THE FAE. The Queen is paraded around and celebrated by all, and while tribute is not necessary, it certainly is appreciated!
RING AROUND THE ROSEY
CONTENT WARNINGS: potential for nsfw.
The Ren Faire fixture runs adjacent to the tree line of the forest, which one can enter through a booth manned by THE GREAT WIZARD ARCHIBALD, who warns you to be prepared to enter the Realm of the Fae beyond his backdrop curtain, before handing you a flower and a pair of antlers (or a head piece from your fauna choice) for your journey to the beyond. Upon entering, you are greeted by a forest that bears no resemblance to the woods you've grown to expect in your time at the manor, everything more exaggeratedly lush than it had been even a day or so prior. Plump fruits with slightly glimmering skins grow fat on the vine, every leaf on every tree vibrant and healthy despite the changing of seasons, gone orange and red with the cold. Despite that, it's surprisingly balmy in the forest, everything illuminated by glimmering fairy lights and strung up lanterns. Flowers bloom under your feet, alongside perfect little red mushrooms, everything so idealistic it almost borders on discomfort.
Despite any reservations, there is a wild compulsion to everyone who enters the forest. The flower the wizard gave you is pungent enough to dizzy your head, leading you to the instinct of frolicking β or if you're not the type to frolick, then wandering βΒ through the woods, to find some counterpart to your particular flower in a very innocent (or not so innocent) game of cat and mouse. Once you find them, a simple kiss will serve as enough to claim your prize and ease the compulsion. Unless, of course, you want to give a little more. It couldn't hurt, right?
Wander further through the seemingly never ending woods, drawn on of the beauty of faerie, and find yourself at a somewhat rundown chapel surrounded by foliage, the roof and walls broken down with age, invaded by exploring plant life that crawls and vines through every crack and opening. While the stone altar of indeterminate denomination seems like it hasn't been seen for hundreds of years, let alone cleaned, there's the distinct impression you are walking on hallowed, sacred ground when you move to inspect it. Those clever among you might note different runes etched on what appears to be a wooden tabernacle on an ancient pillar at the back of the chapel. Looking into it, there's a word from an unknown language carved inside, complimented with a cheat sheet bit of yellowing paper which reads F. M. K., with further explanation: FRIENDS, MARRY, KINK.
What could it mean? Well. You and whoever you entered the chapel with, or whoever enters next, are stuck until further notice unless you complete one of the proffered options. FRIENDS, it's time you bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones and accept our faults moving forward, together, to the future. MARRY, let's seal our bonded union with the trees as our witness, in a church of our own making. KINK, if the altar can't be used for the former, it can certainly be used for the latter. Nothing vanilla will do βΒ kink up or shut up.
Once completed, you're free to leave and roam around the forest at your leisure. If you wander far enough you might hear a distant, organic sound whirring and clicking from the trees, but don't worry. Whatever is watching you probably doesn't bite.
The Ren Faire fixture runs adjacent to the tree line of the forest, which one can enter through a booth manned by THE GREAT WIZARD ARCHIBALD, who warns you to be prepared to enter the Realm of the Fae beyond his backdrop curtain, before handing you a flower and a pair of antlers (or a head piece from your fauna choice) for your journey to the beyond. Upon entering, you are greeted by a forest that bears no resemblance to the woods you've grown to expect in your time at the manor, everything more exaggeratedly lush than it had been even a day or so prior. Plump fruits with slightly glimmering skins grow fat on the vine, every leaf on every tree vibrant and healthy despite the changing of seasons, gone orange and red with the cold. Despite that, it's surprisingly balmy in the forest, everything illuminated by glimmering fairy lights and strung up lanterns. Flowers bloom under your feet, alongside perfect little red mushrooms, everything so idealistic it almost borders on discomfort.
Despite any reservations, there is a wild compulsion to everyone who enters the forest. The flower the wizard gave you is pungent enough to dizzy your head, leading you to the instinct of frolicking β or if you're not the type to frolick, then wandering βΒ through the woods, to find some counterpart to your particular flower in a very innocent (or not so innocent) game of cat and mouse. Once you find them, a simple kiss will serve as enough to claim your prize and ease the compulsion. Unless, of course, you want to give a little more. It couldn't hurt, right?
Wander further through the seemingly never ending woods, drawn on of the beauty of faerie, and find yourself at a somewhat rundown chapel surrounded by foliage, the roof and walls broken down with age, invaded by exploring plant life that crawls and vines through every crack and opening. While the stone altar of indeterminate denomination seems like it hasn't been seen for hundreds of years, let alone cleaned, there's the distinct impression you are walking on hallowed, sacred ground when you move to inspect it. Those clever among you might note different runes etched on what appears to be a wooden tabernacle on an ancient pillar at the back of the chapel. Looking into it, there's a word from an unknown language carved inside, complimented with a cheat sheet bit of yellowing paper which reads F. M. K., with further explanation: FRIENDS, MARRY, KINK.
What could it mean? Well. You and whoever you entered the chapel with, or whoever enters next, are stuck until further notice unless you complete one of the proffered options. FRIENDS, it's time you bury the hatchet, let bygones be bygones and accept our faults moving forward, together, to the future. MARRY, let's seal our bonded union with the trees as our witness, in a church of our own making. KINK, if the altar can't be used for the former, it can certainly be used for the latter. Nothing vanilla will do βΒ kink up or shut up.
Once completed, you're free to leave and roam around the forest at your leisure. If you wander far enough you might hear a distant, organic sound whirring and clicking from the trees, but don't worry. Whatever is watching you probably doesn't bite.
DIRECTORY
no subject
That isn't what she needs right now. She cannot allow herself that vulnerability again, not when she has much to think on.
Instead, she tilts her head, their noses brushing. She thinks she is growing more adept at the game of kissing, of intimacy, of learning how her mouth can take care of another. She draws it out, allowing herself to delve into it, to bask in how nice it feels to simply kiss someone else.
It feels even nicer, being settled in Matt's lap, to rock forward and chase the feeling of him. ]
You have shown me much. [ Her voice is quiet and a little breathless. She wouldn't say she's aroused, exactly, but she's started down the path towards it, shoving her grief aside. ] I want to please you. I want to focus on your pleasure.
no subject
I want to focus on your pleasure is, frankly, a tough one for him. But Matt relishes a challenge, and Lauralae's been nothing but good-giving-game in his experience with her. Here in this crumbling chapel, the air wild and green-scented, Matt's ready to give it a whirl. ]
Well, [ he says slowly, as he flips through a mental rolodex of positions, spells, and activities, ] if you'd indulge me, there's something I've been wondering about, off and on. I'd say it's as safe as like ... impact play, maybe? Spanking, whips? Magic's part of it.
[ Matt's hips shift under Lauralae as she moves. Likewise, he's not exactly aroused yet, but give him a minute of sketching out his magical kink daydreams and he'll get there. ]
no subject
Settled on his lap, familiar and safe, she tilts her head and listens as he speaks, content to fall into whichever pleasures he might wish to indulge in. She would gladly be bound by him, be touched by him, to simply be a vessel for his need; but it seems there is more. ]
I have no concerns with the use of magic. Not between us.
[ Leaning in, she nuzzles into his jaw, pressing a kiss against the curve of space between that line and his neck, breathing out softly. ]
Tell me your wishes. I am curious, and I want to know more.
no subject
Well. That and-- ]
It might be easier if I show you, [ Matt murmurs pleasantly. He lets one hand rub up Lauralae's back, while the other combs through her hair. He inhales deeply, letting the breath penetrate down to the diaphragm, and focuses a moment on an image in his mind.
His hand lifts away from Lauralae's hair, fingers curling as if to grasp something. A cup, a torch. And in his hand, cast in the same gleaming gold light that his magic tends to appear in, there's a cylindrical shape of maybe half a foot long, tapering to a rounded tip.
Is that ...? ]
'Sa modified shield spell, [ Matt explains, a hint of breathlessness in his voice. His cheeks have turned a bit pinker, and his pulse has begun to pick up. ] I was trying to make a shield that's softer to land on if you get knocked over, and then I started wondering like, what else could you do with something that had those properties of ...
[ Sproinginess. ]
no subject
His fingers brush along her spine, and she sighs, leaning back to watch him, content to see what might please him best and how she can give it. ]
Oh.
[ Reaching out, her fingers brush along the new shape, the warmth of his magic settling along her body as she tilts her head. She's curious and interested, and she tilts in to look at it a little closer, as if she could understand the magic of it just by witnessing it. It's nothing like she has been able to make of her own merit, and she wonders if he might teach her how to do it.
The warmth of his cheeks draws her in, and she presses a kiss to the skin there. ]
How would you bid me use it?
no subject
She kisses his cheek, and Matt's lips curve into a crooked smile. ]
It mimics a toy we like where I come from. Girls--or anybody with a pussy, really--put them on a belt, and then they use it like it's a cock. So I think, if I can get it to ... think it's a part of you, for a bit ... then I could show you how to fuck me.
[ Matt is, of course, psyched about the chance to test out magic that might not work with a partner he feels will tolerate him fucking up. At the same time, now he's allowing himself to really picture how Lauralae would look with this toy on, and it's a very nice mental image. His hips shift absently under her, against the stone of the steps below the altar. ]
no subject
Well.
The urge to kiss him more is a little overwhelming, but she shoves it aside, and focuses on him, on what he is telling her and what he is asking for. ]
Would it feel as if it is my own? Or will it feel more akin to an object?
[ Her fingers trail along it gently, curious, wondering. ]
Would it, perhaps, work with my own magic? If they were to understand one another, work together...
no subject
I don't know how to make it feel like part of you yet, [ he admits, adding yet after a slight pause. Matt watches Lauralae's fingers drift over the dildo. The flush rising in her cheeks, drawing his attention to the pink of her mouth. ] I think your magic might be able to help ... uh. In terms of like, your shape changing. Is there anything there you might be able to apply to this? Otherwise I think I can get it to stick to you, um--
[ Matt gestures in a way that is somehow supposed to approximate Lauralae's sex, but bears a stronger resemblance to how he might insert his fingers into her. ]
no subject
[ A promise for another time; Lauralae is prepared to allow Matt to do as he pleases as far is this is concerned. They had spoken enough of their magic to know that it might be novel, enjoyable to play around and see what they might do together, what they might be able to give each other in terms of pleasure.
He had already given her a great deal.
Leaning down, she presses a soft kiss to his nose, sweet and gentle. ]
It is not the same as that magic. That is animal. Druidic.
[ Wiggling a little, she opens her legs, cheeks warm. ]
Stick it to me that way, until we know better.
no subject
Well, first, he giggles at the phrase stick it to me coming out of Lauralae's mouth in this specific context. Then he realizes he can't explain to her why he's laughing without going through several layers of musical and/or slang references, which makes him laugh more. Matt shakes his head, kissing Lauralae's mouth. Placing a hand on her thigh, encouraging that parting of her legs.
As Matt suspected it would be, affixing the dildo is more complicated than conjuring it. The first time he tries, it ends up neither attached to Lauralae nor mobile, but sort of suspended in the air by her hips. The second time, it's mobile but won't adhere. Matt tries to keep at least a lowkey sexy vibe going: touching Lauralae gently here and there, praising her with kisses for her patience. But it's a full twenty minutes before Matt can get the thing to protrude from Lauralae's groin the way it's supposed to. ]
Okay. [ Despite the unsexiness of failing at magic for almost half an hour, at least he's flushed and bothered about it: Matt's breath is coming quicker from the effort of casting, the pink standing out on his cheeks. ] Try moving now.
[ This time, the gleaming toy will move when she moves, and retain its flexibility while she's at it. ]
no subject
Magic is a difficult thing and she knows it. It doesn't bother her as much because she recognises the effort it takes to ensure a spell works well, and his fingers explore her body and touch over her skin as he attempts to make it work. It means that rather than being frustrated or disappointed, her skin is alight as she watches him, basking in the soft words he offers her and even more so the kisses that are left against her.
She enjoys his kisses, perhaps more than the other things they do together. The intimacy of it is sweet to her, especially with the depth of feeling she has for him.
Leaning in, before she tries to move her body, she takes the chance to steal another kiss, sliding their mouths together with all the skill she has learned over the last few months. ]
It is working. You did well, Matthew.
[ Her fingers brush gently over his cheek, thumb to the corner of his mouth. ]
I need prepare you, now, yes?
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He's a little embarrassed to fumble in front of her, for sure. And there's an added layer of "nerd guy is bad at sex in front of pretty girl" that makes the sting a bit sharper than it might otherwise be. But Lauralae is understanding. She gets it. And it doesn't hurt that she responds so sweetly to his touches. It reminds him of what the goal here really is: to have fun. Gradually, Matt relaxes, focusing on Lauralae as much as the spell itself--more, even. (Later, he'll recall this as a crucial aspect of getting the spell to work.)
And now here they are. There's the prospect of a pleasant afternoon ahead of them, but Lauralae's kiss, her praise--they feel like victory to Matt. He sighs into her mouth, in relief as much as pleasure. And at prepare you, he grins. ]
You got it. [ Without pulling away, Matt reaches into his trouser pocket for the small bottle of lube he carries with him, knocking loose a few specks of dried lavender and mint while he's at it. He presents the bottle to Lauraelae with a flourish. ] We have a saying where I come from: "Too much lube is almost enough." [ Matt quirks a smile at her as he sits back, idly undoing his top button. ] Not that you have any trouble getting wet, but the rest of us need the help sometimes. So go ahead and get that all over your fingers. It's okay if you spill.
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Decades without touch, and now she has so much that she might fall apart.
Watching him as he wiggles and finds his bottle, she takes it with a tilted head, unsure and a little nervous, that unease returning to her. Touch, especially intimate touch, makes her nervous - but she has medication, she will not harm him, she would not permit it unless he asked. She wants to take care of him, rather than wound him.
Nodding, she nuzzles in for a moment, stealing another kiss simply because she wants it, she leans back. ]
It is different for men. [ Another thing she has learned! ] You will teach me?
[ As she does as she's told, getting it all over her fingers and wondering at how strange it seems, to have her blackened touch covered in something so slimy. ]
if i didn't already say nsfw then .... that
I'd love to teach you, [ he says with a crooked smile. ] Let me just get comfortable here ...
[ Matt spends a moment looking around the dais below the altar before determining he's already in a pretty good spot. He nudges off his shoes, peels off his sweater and sets it down behind him, and works his trousers down his hips. Underneath, his cock is beginning to stiffen, taking interest in the proceedings but still in the early stages of arousal. Matt lies back, hipbones pillowed on his trousers and head resting on his sweater, and flicks a smile at Lauralae. ]
First ... where do you want to touch me?
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[ Lauralae looks at him, her eyes flickering over his body, bared for her as he strips down and away. He is unlike so many others that she has given her affection to, but not in a poor way - in a way that entices her. She wants to sink her teeth into him, into the spaces where her fang and claw had been only weeks prior, and devour him whole.
She wants to drown in him, and she is aware that he knows. He has seen it in her mind, and as she gazes at him, it becomes hard to focus.
The scars on him are from her touch, in a way she would not repeat but has such deep, desperate longing for. ]
I would begin here.
[ Her fingers lie flat on his chest, and then lower, her eyes flickering to his face, searching for something. ]
I would touch all of you, truly.
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Good, [ he approves, softer. ] Touch wherever you want--it'll relax me, and warm up your hands. Just get your fingers wet again when you start to run out.
[ For show, Matt takes a deep breath, letting his bent legs inch apart as he exhales. His fingers brush the back of Lauralae's hand, her wrist. Not to direct her anywhere, at least not yet--just to touch.
He doesn't always want slow and gentle. But this is a test of his spell, as well as a learning opportunity for Lauralae, so Matt's erring on the side of tenderness. Besides which, her kisses are so sweet, her touch so gentle--he has tenderness on the brain. ]
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Would he remember her? Would he think of her fondly? Would he mourn her?
(No one has mourned her before).
The exploration is easy as his fingers brush against her skin, as his sweetness lets her move at her own pace. She knows how it feels to have them inside herself, to have them move to stretch her a little, to prepare her for something more, and she wants; she wants that sensation for him, too, to see how he reacts. To know how he might react to her doing it to him.
Carefully, one hand brushes between his thighs, deliberately avoiding his cock, drifting lower. ]
How do you feel?
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His mind is skittering ahead to instructions he might give her, to wondering if his spell will hold and how it'll feel. But once Matt realizes he's holding onto those thoughts, he decides to let them go. To give himself over to her touch and focus purely on relaxing. Lauralae's hand dips between his thighs, and Matt heaves a warm sigh. His hips hitch up slightly, legs spreading, to allow her better access to his ass. ]
I feel good, [ he sighs. ] The important thing for anal is to make sure your partner's relaxed and loose ... these muscles like to tighten up. [ Again, there's an asterisk for rough stuff, but Matt'll save that for later. ] That's why it's so nice to have you touch me for a little bit first.
[ He breathes gently for a moment, head lolling to the side as he regards her: her face, sweet in concentration, his magic jutting from above her sex. ]