bakerstreet | Take It Slow

Take It Slow

Take It Slow Smut Meme
(inspired by an anon comment by a Hulk player and damn it's hard to find gifts from Hulk 2008.)

There are plenty of memes about skipping to the good part, rushing to sex, being desperate for it, and so on. But what about taking things slow? Some people enjoy that, as well, and still others have need to keep their calm - they're inexperienced and not completely ready or they can't get knock-out, drag-down excited for reasons that can get a bit...dangerous. Or the slowness could be nothing serious; foreplay could just be the word of the day. Then, you'll want to enjoy your time together and not run through the motions of a good time 'till its spent too soon.

They say all good comes to those who wait, so savor every moment and wait for the inevitable to come.

how to play

› Comment with your character, preferences, and information.
› Reply to other characters.
› Use the RNG to determine your prompt or pick one.

prompts

inexperience ‹One or both of you don't have the experience nor the confidence.›
trauma ‹You're not at ease getting close to anyone, but for them, you want to try, though you can't go headlong into it.›
under pressure ‹You can't get too heated up because of your powers, your health, or your temper, so you have to keep things under control.›
foreplay ‹Why rush the best part?›
their pleasure ‹Your pleasure doesn't matter. You're 100% focused on them.›
the best torture ‹Actually, you're trying to make them suffer by dragging this out. Isn't hatesex grand?›
emotion ‹You love them. Both of you have a lot to say, so best to say it through actions that can't be done too quickly.›
wrong place ‹Technically, you shouldn't be having sex here, so you have to keep things PG-13. Yeah, right. But at least you can pretend and keep things at a crawl...if you can.›
last time for a while ‹They're about to go away, and you have to spend these moments with them and memorize everything about them.›
last time for good ‹This is the end of the line. You want to make this time together last as long as you can.›
do overs ‹It's time for round two! You've got nowhere better to be, and you could do this all day.›
wildcard

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[Whether Petre is trying to push boundaries -- for his own good, toughen him up a little, show him a more worldly side of life and teach him what it's really like when you can't hide behind your mentor forever -- or embarrass the life out of him -- for his own good, because he's starting to learn that the way Petre's eyes glint when he shrinks away for an instant or stumbles over words that are written plain as day from head to toe anyway is far too bemused to be coincidental -- is the question that Mutsuki can't quite seem to find an answer to, no matter how many times he finds himself thinking about it.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, now, hands laced together and tensing anxiously on his lap. Besides the ordinary uniform coat held tightly around himself, abnormally plain and unofficial without the contrast of his usual dress shirt poking out from beneath the lapels, and a plain, opaque pair of dark stockings that stop low enough on his thighs to offer a few bare inches for the imagination, it doesn't seem like he's wearing anything else at all -- but they both know that that isn't true, and it's a likely candidate for why Mutsuki finds it harder than usual to lock his gaze on Petre's face, his eyes focused instead somewhere behind the other man, beyond the crook of his arm and tellingly avoidant. He can feel the fabric beneath his coat, straps and lace of things he hasn't worn since he was taken in by the CCG still long-haired and uncertain, like he's suddenly become hypersensitive to the slightest sensation and it makes him shift uncomfortably, rubbing his knees together.

The silence that surrounds Petre just standing there watching him feels thick enough to cut with a knife.]

I... [So he does, without looking up.] I wasn't sure what you wanted, but... [He's here, and he's done what he was told, despite how much he wishes he hadn't.]

[His back is against the wall, shoulders relaxed over clasped hands, fingers intertwined, long and thin. The quirk on his lips doesn't quite make it to a smirk; instead it's a look of quiet entertainment, nothing outright malicious or intent on getting the boy to feel more self-conscious. That's not really the point of their little experiment today. He actually wants Mutsuki to take some enjoyment out of this. You can accuse Petre of being selfish in every other way, but he does actually care enough to offer as much gratification as he gets, and tonight isn't meant to be an exception.

It's only when he speaks up that Petre's eyes meet his.]

It's fine.

[And he moves away from where he rests, letting his hands drop to his sides in gentle sways. Stepping over to where Mutsuki waits, leaning down with a lowered gaze, attention on his legs, his thighs. He brushes up a hand on the stockings, lets it stop just at the hem of the jacket.]

Perfect.

[If he had to offer a compliment at this point, it would be that at least Petre's hands are warm against his skin, where goosebumps follow that single, subtle motion. He's paler, too, and he can't help but watch that hand come to a rest at the edge of his coat even as his own shift on his lap and he squirms, just a little -- the contrast looks nice, even in the dim of the room, and the uttered compliment is... something else. It's not like he's never heard them before; long ago, in another life, once or twice, maybe, walking the streets with his family, with his brother, when he would keep his hands fiddling with his collars to anxiously cover his chest and everyone thought it was a shame that such a pretty girl preferred pants over dresses.

He's not sure if he's grateful that he hasn't screwed up step one or not, but he can appreciate Petre's gentleness, all things considered.]

They're... They're a bit uncomfortable. [He says it as though he hopes that Petre understands; he says it as lightheartedly as he can manage, so as not to sound like a complaint. He came into this willingly, after all.]

[If there's any fear of displeasure on Mutsuki's part, Petre takes no offense. He seems too caught up in the shape of his limbs, in how the skin is smoothened out as his palms brush up and down, in and around. His thumb is what brushes on his inner thighs, feeling the fabric of those stockings, noticing how long it makes his legs.

Perfect.]

Do you want to take this off?

[It's an idle murmur. His hand lifts up to play with the collar of his jacket.]

[Those touches are still minute, testing the waters rather than searching for a reaction, but Mutsuki's toes still curl all the same. A thumb brushing along his thigh could be considered innocent enough, probably, but with Petre leaning down in front of him, with those eyes raking over the most of himself he's exposed so willingly, he can't pretend to be oblivious to where this is heading.]

A-Alright...

[When his hands come beneath Petre's to shrug his jacket off, he lets it fall down his shoulders before stopping -- it's enough to show the patterns of black lace lining the bra that clings to his breasts, something that's alien enough even to him now that he furrows his brows, glancing away.]

[Those who know Petre might wonder exactly what kind of enjoyment he's drawing out of this - he's always expressed his interest toward men, be they grown or more frail like Mutsuki - suddenly appreciating the female body with such apparent reverence makes him seem out of character. What they probably don't realize is that sex, more often than not, is about so many other factors that come into play in his twisted little head. Power, for one. Be it taken or given. Corruption. The indulgence in all kinds of sins to reach a mutual climax. The guilt and self-hatred that he so often provokes.

In the end it's all about him. What he gets, no matter how or whom it comes from.]

Good.

[A caress comes to Mutsuki's features. His hand is slow when he approaches to plant his lips, kiss chaste but thorough. Lips parting and sucking without tongue. Little wet sounds that make something in him flare up. He moves down to Mutsuki's neck, his shoulder. A hand cups his breasts delicately.]

What do you want?

[Mutsuki isn't as depraved. Whatever impressions he may have of the degree of selfishness that lurks beneath Petre's impeccable style and easy smiles, they don't extend as far as believing that he'd go quite this far for the sake of seeing what would happen -- and it benefits himself to think that way, too, makes it easier to tell himself to relax, to put his concerns to the side, if only for a moment. Let Petre have his fun with someone he might not be as well-accustomed to, because there's nothing underhanded about what they're doing, is there?

He doesn't have much time to worry about it before Petre's lips are on his and for once, he doesn't shy away immediately. Something hesitant but accepting, as he offers his lower lip to those gentle sucks, and exhales against the bridge of Petre's nose when he moves lower. A shiver runs through his spine; he arches, just a fraction, closer.]

I-I can't answer something like that...

[His actions are louder than anything he could offer in words, anyway, his hands, still covered by the now too-lengthy, rumpled sleeves of his coat, finding their way to Petre's arms. It gives the illusion of both pushing back and pulling closer, giving in and resisting that seems commonplace for him, in situations like this. Each small movement bares more of his stomach and he's sucking in a breath while those lips move along his neck, while that touch explores further. It's a combination of bashfulness and inexperience that keeps him quiet -- he might live in a house of 3 other teenagers and one very childish adult, but he's never quite picked up the habit of speaking like that.]

[A little chuckle trills in Petre's throat, showing teeth against his neck, holding back one more kiss to instead let him feel the softness of an exhale brushing skin.]

Can't you?

[It's just another lesson that Petre is going to extract from him; one more boundary that he's willing to tear down in the name of getting what he wants and debasing the other boy in the process. All his little reactions, his little twitches and jerks, the way his hand reaches and tries to push him off simultaneously; they're all precious things that Petre takes into account as he continues to work.

With his hands lowered to Mutsuki's sides, he props him up to slide him back on the bed, let him lay down on his back with parted legs. He settles one knee between them, continues to plant his lips on bare, rosy skin.]

Say it. Anything. [A breath,] I'll do anything you want.

[As he follows the motions and allows himself to be led into laying back on the bed and parting his legs, his grip on Petre's arms loosens, his hands gliding down to meet his elbows and flex his fingers against the fabric; so he isn't holding on so much as he's touching, in something that feels more natural than reactive. His lips stay parted in a continuous series of small, shallow breathes while that mouth keeps mapping out the inches of his skin, and if he lets his eyes close even for a moment because they're light and relaxing and nice, then he doesn't think of it.]

Petre...

[And a knee brushes against the side of the man's hip, nudging unconsciously, because he can't help the way the reality of where they are, what they're doing, how anyone who might see them like this would assume they're just like any ordinary couple, a sophisticated young man and his shy, hesitant girl, makes him ache for it despite himself. What he wants...

Try as he might, it's not terribly difficult for his mind to wander, when he's wriggling beneath someone intent on getting him hot and bothered.]

I... I'd like to feel more. When it's like this... [Slow, gentle, torturous. Drawn out enough that he has time to actually think.] I can't stop thinking about it.

[It's with a suggestive little sound that he continues to nuzzle Mutsuki's skin, that his smile begins to show teeth and his hands continue their work on stimulating every nerve with a softness that presses down and leaves just enough room. To think, as he's putting it, to force him to be the one to move in search for more contact - or just more of anything.

One kiss. Two kisses. Their lips meet and he dips his tongue out, presses his hips down against Mutsuki's so it's impossible for him not to know that Petre won't stop thinking about it, either. He's not quite hard, but he's very close.]

What if I put my hand between your legs?

[Fingers tease him, slide down his stomach, stop just at the waist.]

[He's not the kind of guy to jump the gun, so he can't curse those hands for the way that they're all too willing to take their time, to taste his skin with the tips of their fingers and give him only enough that his stomach dips with each slow, warm breath they draw from his lips, leaving goosebumps in their wake from the center of his chest to his navel.

If it weren't for those hips rocking down against his, for the familiar yet still foreign feeling of Petre's tongue against his lips, Mutsuki might dare to think that it's almost cute, how much restraint and patience he's showing -- no thought like that has much of a chance to surface before he gasps, keening quietly in the back of his throat, back arching for more. He sucks Petre's upper lip between his own in an uncoordinated, untrained, messy single kiss, and his hands grasp tighter; it's a heady new feeling that almost makes him dizzy.]

I-I don't know. [He doesn't, but his body might, legs parting just the slightest bit.] I've never... felt it like that before. [Dizzy and burning, these aren't the sort of things he'd have imagined he'd be telling anyone, let alone this man.]

[He's been told - and seen it for himself - that so many prefer the virginal ones. Their inexperience and willingness to learn, the intensity that burns even brighter when they're experiencing something so strong and instinctive for the first time. He can see why. Debasing someone so sweet and shy feels better than engaging with a creature of sinful habits, he's found, because corruption strikes deepest when it's the very first scar.

The hand on his navel splays, maps its way down to where his question promised it would, and precisely two fingers press just a little harder on a sensitive spot. Slide up, then down. It's warm, soft. Still gentle and patient. He wants every inch of sensation taken from Mutsuki, heard in a desperate little whimper. He wants him to get feel the discomfort of the unknown, to want to squeeze Petre between his legs, to blush at the thought that he might be getting wet.]

How is it.

[It's that same sweetness and shyness of his that makes him wish he could will away the ease with which his body responds to every one of those careful touches, the way the muscles in his abdomen jump beneath his skin as one of those smooth, trained hands move lower, unabashedly, a confidence to rival Mutsuki's uncertainty, and the way a surprised sound finds its way to his throat when those fingers finally reach their destination. He jerks when they glide over that one specific, over-sensitive spot, and it takes effort not to gasp properly, audibly enough to reach Petre's ears; he pours his energy into it as best he can -- winds up turning his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the cool of the bedcovers and 'mm'ing quietly, his hands sliding back down to the bed to tense with each steady thrum of an unfamiliar, embarrassingly warm pleasure that pools between his thighs.]

I-It's good... [He says it in a sigh, breath as hot as his cheeks.]

[The initial sensation ebbs away into something smoother, something that isn't quite as electric as the first, and he slides his heels against the sheets to straighten out his legs, just a little. Almost welcoming, despite himself. He won't think of it that way, just like he won't think of the likelihood that Petre can probably feel the wetness soaking through his panties, or read his uncertainty in the way he bites his lip. There's no point trying to lie with his voice when the rest of him is so exposed -- it feels good, and warm and nowhere near as threatening as he'd thought, like he almost can't recall why he was anxious about it in the first place, and that thought, then, makes him squeeze his eyes closed, trying to retreat into the folds of the blankets.]

... I'm going to make a mess...

[It's not something he says to be lewd -- rather, it's murmured lowly, begrudgingly.]

[Despite the absence of an intention to suggest any lewdness, those words send a thrill down Petre's own body all the same, making him murmur pleasantly. What could possibly be better than this - than breaking through the layers that make an innocent creature so he can show him what it's really like on the other side. That it's nothing bad, that it's nothing to be afraid of so long as you're doing it correctly. Willingly.

Not that Petre has ever cared about consent. There have been a number of victims who begged him no and were still somehow forced, then accused of enjoying what was taken from them so horribly, so violently. This is the opposite of that, so long as Mutsuki continues to play along. This is kindness and soft gestures, kisses that dot his skin and fingers that keep playing over the spot between his legs, sometimes using the tip of one finger, then two.]

You can do anything you want.

[A kiss beneath his jaw, and he settles himself between Mutsuki's legs, nudging them apart as he wets his own lips and looks down at him with attentive eyes. There's a sharp awareness of every twitch in his body, every reaction, small and large, subtle or telling. His hands run down his body, from his hips to his thighs, then he leans over and cups his face to find his lips without quite making the gesture a kiss.]

I'm going to make you feel even better. Okay?

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Take It Slow

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