Are you tired of building up to the act? Do you sometimes wish for a chance to skip all the conversation and go straight for the experience?
In that case, rejoice! This hole meme was made for you!
RULES:
Post with your character's name, fandom and pairing preferences in the subject line.
Your character is now in the middle of having sex! Any location, sexual position and level of undress is allowed, so knock yourself out with establishing the scene of your dreams.
Comment around! See if there's anyone else who posted a perfect scene for your character to fuck in.
Keep going and finish the act. Then go for another round or have fun with cuddling and afterplay.
( with how much magic rowena had expended securing their location, setting up various wards and curses, before heating the room with a warming spell, you'd assume that she'd sleep easily. it was the wrong kind of exhaustion -- her body drained, but her mind awake, and having him near didn't help.
what rowena had pushed him onto barely counted as a bed, a mattress they'd managed to find pushed to the floor, with her straddling his hips, his mouth guided to her breasts. their clothes had barely come off, her blouse opened, and her bra pulled down, his pants lowered, with her skirt fanning around them.
her nails grazed over his scalp, keeping him held to her, her hips slowly rocking over him. whatever happened through the night, and whether they survived until morning, she was glad to have this moment with him )
An experiment. That was how this all started. Allegedly. But now here he was, entangled with the scientist conducting said experiment with the two of them as willing test subjects. They'd already passed the difficult phase - the initial puncture, the pain - and passed into the part where Eli's body would be coursing with the pleasure Phyre's "kiss" would bring. Even if he was technically dead, he was still not Kindred and would therefore thereotically be subject to the same experience that mortals underwent during such a situation. At least, that was what they were supposedly experimenting for. Both parties were receiving agreeable terms in this deal after all - Phyre receives a meal, Eli receives data - and both get to have a small diversion.
So how did it end up like this?
With enough life pulsing through him - electric-like pulses flowing along his veins with every gulp of heat - he'd slid easily into the other man's body though the memory itself was somewhat hazy... When exactly had he done that? Did it even matter now? Right now his mind was full of Eli's memories - everything aligns and pain recedes - Time loosens its grip they both become terribly present - anchored, precise, complete in a way he himself no longer is otherwise. Still, beneath it all is... Mourning. The sadness in knowing he must take from someone to feel whole.
At some point, things got.. frenzied. The Tremere's nails left dark blotchy streaks down Eli's chest to where one set was now tightly clinging to his hip sliding along to leave more red streaks; the other set was sunken to his neck, scratching tightly at the dip of his collarbone. Above that, the twin canines were deeply embedded in his neck while their owner greedily suckled down the crimson liquid that gave him life-beyond-death. And, he didn't exactly remember how this happened, but... Eli was definitely on his lap.
As their forms mesh together similarly to their minds, the vampire tugs the dead-but-not-quite-dead scientist to himself, his hips rising unconsciously against the other's body. Soft, sable strands slide along Eli's neck, tickling as they go while the elder adjusts his head while consuming him from the inside out. For the moment, they possess one another and the sensation flowing from one to the other is... Paradoxical. On one hand, it would be beyond the most quivering, undulating, trembling feeling of any climax a mortal could feel along the edge of a razor of life and death.
[ the scene: noa is prepping date, a digit lazily thrusting in and out to warm him up before they get onto the main event. the lights of their hotel room are dim, the only sounds the gentle ambience of the city at late night. an audible breeze, cars driving by, a distant honking several blocks away. that's why he gets momentarily distracted, his finger pausing mid-way through a thrust in, when he hears... what was that? ]
What kind of noise did you just make?
[ up until now they haven't been quiet nor loud, but it's just that particular sound caught him completely off guard. he doesn't like being distracted from a task at hand, so he's going to need an explanation. ]
( it's a simple enough equation for sansa to do the math — if the lannisters already have petyr baelish, master of coin, in their pocket, it goes without saying that the stark girl might be permanently connected to them through the union of their marriage, without needing to add her to the family name. the key to the north, all the whispers say — as tangible to sansa as smoke captured between fingers, the concept her brother might die and leave her as eldest. she is here in kings landing, in any case, more south of the wall than she's ever been. when joffrey and the lannisters say jump sansa asks how high?, and does so because it's the key to survival — not upward mobility, not power on the rise. power, money, fame, fortune — they are all things sansa has always had in spades, despite the general frugality of the north. now? what she longs for most of all is to be gone from this place — or to at least be left alone, out of the line of fire from joffrey's barbs, or her father's rotting head on a spike.
neither come. and while the wedding ceremony is extravagant, and sansa takes endless solace in the warmth of petyr's proffered kindnesses, his knowing smiles, his gentle hands, sansa still has that regarded fear of the wedding night settling like a rock in river silt in her stomach. maybe she should've expected, but didn't, petyr's kindness in this, too. a locked door and a poured drink — one soft kiss that inquired before taking another. the men who pinned her after the attack on joffrey still hold a leash of fear on sansa — but, for all intents and purposes, petyr has always extended some kind of familiar, familial bond to her. it isn't like those men at all. it's actually — a little nice, once she has a second glass of wine and starts laughing at his jokes, shrugging off the vulgar comments of joffrey earlier in the evening. now that it's just the two of them?
well — it's easy to peel out of her clothes, the seductive way that shae taught her, one shoulder and then the other, the gown and then the shift and then the trellises of her hair, laying shyly back to let petyr look his fill. it's a plush, feathered bed, swiftly stained with the blood of sansa's virginity, her body clinging to petyr's for easy respite despite the owner of all this — carnage. him, the deflowerer of the stark virgin. him, who was never unkind, and always handled his young bride with action above reproach, thrusting shallowly and moving sweetly, kissing her cheeks when they get wet, petting back fire touched hair to soothe the aches of a fist time. and it's very well, for a time — even past that time. but after a bit of this unhurried, courteous fucking? sansa, eyes blue as a clear sky, squeezes her thighs around his waist, a hand sorting through his hair. )
Lord Baelish — ( gasped, and then apologetically retracted, sansa's cheeks bright pink, her hair in a mess in the pillow beneath her, teeth sunk into her lower lip. ) I mean, Petyr. I don't expect your bed has always — remained empty. Through the years.
( it's maybe not the right way to go about things, but sansa is ill experienced when it comes to boys — men, even more so. she maintains that petyr is probably too old for her, but pets her soft fingertips through the gray hair at his temples anyway, body squirming beneath his, giving the eager signs of a feminine body ready for — more. ) Have you always bedded your women so — politely? I don't mind, if —
( if. she knows the seedy underbelly of petyr's more lucrative jobs. a man who employs whores, or — women and men of a certain disposition, she might say, if well in her right mind. for now, sansa is stuffed full of cock and not much minding her better manners, gasping when she tightens her body on a flex, rocking her hips from side to side. the pain has mostly left her, at this point — and there's no joffrey at her door, threatening to hold her down and fuck her. there's just petyr and his intoxicating kindness, making her bold. )
I mean to say, I'd like to know. How it's — done. ( with her chin pointed up, ) How you like it, my lord.
[ the thing is, zagreus has liked gilbert since they first met beneath that mistletoe. sure, gilbert is shy and more than a little reserved, but he's polite and earnest, traits that zagreus so rarely sees in the underworld. he's also tall and handsome, if a bit broody, but zagreus has centuries worth of experience with tall, broody, and handsome men.
gilbert gives off the vibe of wanting to fold into himself, as if he could tuck all his edges away if he tries hard enough and melt unnoticed into the background. there's a reason for that, zagreus is certain, but more than anything, he wants to see gilbert laid out and relaxed, loose and unbothered. like the way he looks when he lights up a cigarette and takes that first puff of nicotine, letting the smoke settle before breathing it out.
he isn't so presumptuous to believe he can do that for gilbert, but he's stubborn and he's going to try anyway. partly because gilbert could use it, and mostly because he wants to. getting to blow a handsome man? say less.
not that he's really able to at the moment. zagreus has settled between gilbert's legs, his mouth working its way down gilbert's cock in increments as he acclimates himself to his size and taste. he's never laid with a mortal before, but he finds that he enjoys the proof of life in gilbert, the warmth of his blood flowing through his veins beneath his skin. megeara and thanatos didn't have a pulse—the first of the furies and death incarnate have no need for it—but he hears it when gilbert's breath stutters in his lungs, feels it in the little unconscious buck of his hips when zagreus finds a sensitive spot; he feels it when his palm settles over gilbert's sternum, his heart fluttering beneath it like the wings of a hummingbird. ]
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bakerstreet2025-12-18 06:56 pm
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