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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
Such a graceful host.
[ No thought is needed to press his hand down on the windowsill, giving those outside a plain view of his head leaning back with a pleased sigh, cock twitching against Theo's tongue, ready to fill his mouth. He's all warmth, skin flushed and healthy in the sunlight, feeling like he could bloom. Trying out a new toy never gets old. ]
no subject
He could keep going. Get him off this way easily, he thinks - putting a little more work in with some sultry moans reverberating through his throat, let him fuck the back of it while he's there... but Theo tries to reel it in, pulling away with a wet pop and a lick at the strand of spit from cockhead to lip to break it away.]
How messy of a guest are you? So I know what to expect.
no subject
[ And doesn't Death know it. He leans down, cock ridiculously hard, wiping a bit of stray saliva sticking to Theo's chin with his thumb. As much as he'd like to push that head back down until his nose presses against Zephir's navel, the thought of bending him over this window is simply too precious to pass up. If only his brother was here to watch.
A finger swipes another bead of precome. He cleans it on Theo's tongue. ]
You're not afraid of heights, are you.
no subject
[Messy, to the point - a promise of a good time all swept up? Theo sucks Zephir's finger clean, once again kneading his hands against his thighs as he looks up to him. Even from this angle he just seems to loom over him, instilling in Theo a weird mix of allure and some latent sense of fear - that only makes the allure that much stronger.]
Not afraid. I like a thrill. Are you thinking of giving me a view?
no subject
[ Index and thumb on Theo's chin, Zephir nudges him to get up, relinquishing the heat of his mouth to wrap a hand around his cock, spitting directly onto the head. Saliva spread around with firm and patient strokes, Zephir holds Theo's hip, one blue-eyed illusion watching the other until he's satisfied. The taller man stands, claiming his plaything with a deep and indulgent kiss that ends when Theo's back faces the open window. Not for long, though. Zephir turns him around one more time and jerks him off for all to see, nuzzling his neck. Deceitfully soft, considering what he says. ]
I could fuck you stupid. I could make it easy.
[ Painful or slow. There's no in-between today. ]
Your call.
cw: dubious consent & potential non-con mentions yadda yadda theo content
Willem liked to put on shows like this - mostly for his own benefit. Theo learned to get over the flares of distress or humiliation. He likes it now, taking power from it, letting himself hold on to the power that comes along with reclaiming something like this. Yet he still toes a dangerous line, with strangers breathing down his neck as he puts himself in their grasp. He laughs, breathy and light, staring out through the window to a white sky in the distance.]
Make me forget my name. Fuck making it easy.
no subject
[ A small baptism, desecration over anointment. It begins with his fingers in Theo's hair, looking down to watch his muscles shift, hand working to urge another twitch from the hilt, taut skin in his palm. Then Theo's head is yanked back, throat bare and primed to be ripped open by something bloodthirsty, forced to widen his shoulders and arch his spine.
There will be no monsters harming his catch. Zephir is the only one allowed to be the threat, and he relinquishes Theo's dick to grab his waist. It's only when the stress of this position starts to make Theo tremble that Zephir relaxes the grip and lets him fall forward. He helps, in fact, bending him over the windowsill, mapping out smooth skin; his gaze stops at the cleft of Theo's ass, just an inch from touching Zephir's erection. Rolling his hips forward, the wet head slips between, sliding toward the tailbone and back. Repeated movements until he's heard spitting again, into his hand, spreading fluid along the shaft. It doesn't feel like saliva. Thicker, slippery, and enough to coat the whole damn thing. ]
no subject
He resists the urge to look back over his shoulder - reserving it for a later moment, but his eyes are alert, catching glimpses of what he can in the reflection in the panes of glass of the open window while he enjoys the crisp cold of the winter air coming in.]
no subject
Move.
[ Forward, then back. ]
no subject
Move, he says, and Theo responds with a soft grunt and another bowing of his head. He moves his body, finding purchase with the grip of the windowsill - lifting one hand to brace against the side edge like he's wary over how uncentered he's become. He pushes back, letting out another moan as he finds the rhythm that would have him fuck himself against Zephir's cock, bringing beads of pre to the tip of his own in the process.]
no subject
Hands placed on the window frame, Theo's rhythm is sabotaged when Zephir finally rolls his hips, one gradual push giving way to hard snaps, plunging to trap him in a precarious position, legs crushed against the half wall. Head thrown back with a harsh breath, Zephir closes his eyes and lets the heat coil low and spread wide, lighting him up under his skin, crawling with sweet tension across every muscle. There is no slowing down after that β he makes Theo flinch and stumble, pressing forward regardless of any attempt to be nudged back inside the room.
Leaning forward for an embrace, a hand is stolen from the sill and crossed over Theo's chest, the next guided to his cock. Zephir has Theo stroke himself, bodies bent over the edge, one buried deep and the other held tight. Theo has nothing but Zephir's strength and balance to depend on now. His feet are barely allowed to touch the floor with each charge, stretched and bruised. It's too much, too fast, too far, and it won't stop. ]
no subject
He has no way to tell this man would actually keep him from falling. But that's the coin flip that comes with letting just about anyone stick their cock into you - fifty fifty, odds meagrely in his favor since he hasn't tipped over yet. The snap of Zephir's hips caught him unprepared, his rhythm turning into Zephir's by force - body accommodating with a pliant bend, a moan past his lips as he's corrected from trying to brace himself. His hand around his cock, he keeps his eyes closed, pumping himself with the faith that the painful crush of a body against him will keep him from falling. At the very least he'll get off before he dies, God damn it - he whimpers at the rush that panicked, horny thought allows.]
F-Fuck.
[He doesn't have it in him to string a sentence, gasping every time a particularly deep thrust careens him forward only for him to halt just shy of being flung too far forward. He's going to come, cold air stinging his face and filling his lungs as his hand keeps moving. Snow falls from where it stuck to the manor's exterior, falling in sheets from inches just below where Theo nearly hangs. His glamor lapses, falling away with it.]
no subject
Brown eyesβ? What's wrong with having brown eyes?
[ Laughter between grunts, snapping his hips with obscene little claps. ]
no subject
He's already come by the time Zephir spins him around, red faced and wanton as he's seated - looking up with glossy brown eyes, lashes wet but no tears on his face. He's still got his hand on his cock, cum trailing along the digits, when Zephir moves in again to fuck him. He's easily breached, whimpering through his teeth at the overstimulation, but not protesting it. (Not the first, not the last-) He reaches one hand up for Zephir's neck, leaning back and letting his fingers curl against the sill with his other hand. Neither grip too sturdy, but the black tinge to the tips of his fingers will blossom if needed.]
It's - It's a long story.
[His voice is - hoarse, words let out between each received thrust, head lolling to the side and then back. It's a story he doesn't know if he wants to share or not - because thinking of Willem right now makes it feel all that more like he's here, hauling up Theo's leg and fucking him until he's had his fill, leaving Theo to lay used in his wake. Why am I such a sucker for this type of man?]
Witchy bullshit.
no subject
[ Arching his lower back, tilting his hips forward to make Theo bounce and hold on tighter, Zephir watches their bodies move at a close rhythm. Suddenly he bites down on his own tongue, hard enough to break flesh and bleed, leaning forward to claim Theo's mouth one more time. White fluid pours into it, so generously letting him consume something to get his dick hard again. ]
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Alarm bells ought to be sounding and yet Theo simply drinks it in, letting it slip down his throat as easily as any load he'd let Zephir put on his tongue. He can almost immediately feel a difference, a mild flare of panic for but a few seconds at the idea of being affected by something - or someone - from the inside out, unable to refuse it or reverse it, but that fades away quick. Replacing it is a swell of energy, a suddenly deep and needed breath, followed by a moan. He feels like he can come again - and rakes his nails against Zephir's neck, while sucking more of that taste out of his mouth and moving his hips again. What astounding, well needed magic.]
Sh-Shit, you're...
[Full of witchy bullshit too. But greater - bigger, brighter.]
cw: macrophilia??? whatever it's a hallucination leave me alone
Theo is right β and as Zephir keeps going, greater, bigger, brighter, reality shifts to amplify the illusion he wears without a thought. Either he's growing or Theo is getting smaller, no physical effects other than the impossible image of a man too large to be real.
Zephir finally comes, spurt after spurt, as generous as the blood coating the inside of Theo's throat, escaping from the ring of muscle around Zephir's cock when it becomes too much. One blink later he's back to the form and size Theo first saw sitting on this windowsill, eyes closed and head angled up, gratified and grateful. He looks down to caress his lover's face; he picks him up, still inside him, and carries him to bed with kisses on his neck, jawline, lips. Theo is laid down on his back, excess come pooling under him when Zephir pulls out. Just as promised. ]
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The bridge of his nose is dusted with color, a blush running down his chest to the heaving of his ribs as his breathing steadies. He can almost still picture Zephir as an impossibly large figure, pounding into him in unbelievable ways, ways that should be frightful and yet with the taste of his blood on his tongue, Theo feels nothing but contentment. Contentment and unwise trust. He's got himself up on his forearms, stomach decorated with the second round of his cum, muscles not as sore as he feels they ought to be. A feeling that made the relentlessness of their fucking all the more real, made his orgasms all that much more intense.]
So.
[Breathy. Raspy. Somehow still grinning, like all that abuse isn't trouble at all.]
Like the tour?
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[ He caresses Theo's cheek, thumb brushing over the cheekbone. Kisses his shoulder and leans up to nuzzle the side of his neck, taking in the scent of Theo's struggle to keep up, the blood that escaped the corners of his lips. How small he was for a moment. Something Zephir could have broken if he hadn't been careful and held him until they were on the safe side of the window.
With his temple on Theo's shoulder, Zephir absentmindedly wipes droplets and ropes of Theo's come from his stomach, some wet, some stubbornly sticky, to smear them in soft circles. Theo's body had less to release in the second round, some of it licked and cleaned with Zephir's tongue after shifting positions. Zephir's come, on the other hand, is still lazily oozing from the young man's hole. He uses two fingers to spread it a little, help the rest come out. ]
Forgive me, Theo. I get carried away sometimes.
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Every reason to make a snarky comment, to assert himself. Yet he just sighs, looking at Zephir. His approval shouldn't mean this much. Is it still an effect of what he was fed or is this truly just how desperate Theo is for attention at his core?]
I came to spit in your sink but I think I'll have to use your shower now, too.
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[ His head is tilted, eyes on the fluid that slows to a thin dribble, fingers slipping out, wiped on Theo's navel. Zephir kisses his hipbone, the mark that imprisoned his magic; it glows for a moment, affection drifting upward until their lips meet one more time. They could convince anyone that he's loved this man forever. ]
You should keep me company today.
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And what, exactly, would my day look like if I did?
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[ Such a lazy answer. He doesn't think Theo minds that sort of thing very much. As for what follows β Zephir is a shameless liar, yes, but he isn't lying now: ]
I won't demand anything that you can't give. I won't make you sleep on my come, either.
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[Thinking that maybe, just maybe, there'll be some post-nut clarity when this is all washed off of him and whatever it was he so willingly consumed might no longer still taste on his tongue. Is he affected by it still or is that just a hopeful want, a reason to throw away his day without even knowing what'll be done with it? He looks at Zephir for a moment, pinching a smile before caressing a hand down his arm as he sits forward to get up. Not being sore is nice, at least.]
Gives you time to add anything more compelling to the offer, too.
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Theo's privacy doesn't last forever, though. Zephir takes his time but makes his presence known in unhurried actions, entering the bathroom to join him under the showerhead with an embrace, chin on his shoulder. It isn't sexual, but he wouldn't blame the man whose back is flat against his chest for thinking otherwise. Instead there's just this sense of⦠wanting to be close, gradually dripping with the water that reaches him, too. ]
You left your toothbrush on the floor.
[ He twists them from side to side ever so slightly, eyes shut. This is Theo's introduction to how relentlessly affectionate Zephir is. ]
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πͺ²π