bakerstreet | No You Can't

No You Can't

-- The Erotic Denial Meme --

Maybe you're already caught up in the moment, or maybe this was planned from the beginning. But either way, at least one of you isn't getting off until the other says so or circumstances allow. So much desperate, frenzied passion can be had in these situations.

How to play:

Comment with your character

List any preferences (which side, gender preference, levels of consent you're comfortable with, etc)

Reply to others
Choose an option below or use an RNG

Prompts:

01. Punishment: You've done something you shouldn't have. And you'll be denied release until you've been properly punished for your wrong doing.

02. Reward: There's nothing quite like the intensity of all of that build up need. And you've earned it.

03. Control: Consensual or not, it's time you learned that your body is not your own.

04. Beg For It: You'll not get your release until you've proven you really want it.

05. Endurance: A test to see just how long you can truly last.

06. Permission: You must hold out until you're granted permission.

07. Dealer's Choice: Come up with your own scenario that suits your character's needs/fantasies/etc!

Methods:

01. Edging: No tools to hold it back, just carefully applied touches that don't quite push you there.

02. Toys: Easier for men than women, but there are certainly devices that help keep such things at bay.

03. Magical: A spell or potion. Maybe an innate ability or enchanted collar. Whatever it is, that makes release impossible until the effects wear off or are removed. But that doesn't stop the need from building.

04. Wildcard: Whatever you wish!

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[Either role.]

[Far be it from anyone to say that Dito is selfish, which is why he's devoting every last drop of his attention to the man he's currently looming over, compensating for his shorter stature by idly twirling his lance, blade impaling the smooth concrete with ease, between fidgety fingers. After all the time he's spent travelling at Zero's side, it feels like the first time in an eternity that he's been given the chance to look down at someone, and that fact alone is thrilling enough.

He'd probably be grinning even without knowing that Petre's enjoying this just as much as he is, but it certainly helps; raising a single, slender brow, the Disciple's shoulders shake once, twice, as he's barking a high laugh and grinding his heel against the man's crotch. There's not really anything nice about it -- he's genuinely amused, like he hadn't been expecting a reaction at all, at first.]

Ahaha, holy shit, you're seriously getting off on this, aren't you? I was just gonna mess with you a little, but -- man, how messed up is that!?

[It's spoken almost fondly, as though the memories that surface of Decadus in much the same way are actually pleasant, and not enough to make him feel like coughing up his breakfast. He brings a gloved hand to his chin, looking like he might almost pity the poor guy.]

Geez... [He supposes he should be proud of himself, but at the same time--] You're sick, you know that? Like... legitimately screwed. [It doesn't stop him from moving, though, from grinding against him from his heel to the toes of his boot.]

Ah--

[With a sound practically choked out of his throat, twitching under the brute touch of that heel, Petre leans his head back into the ground with his arms folded by his sides, fingers curling and uncurling as though they're trying to reach for something intangible, something indescribable. Truth be told, most of these reactions are pure theatrics, a show he puts on to draw as much of a reaction as he's producing, but Petre is all indulgence in this moment, with or without the moans that escape him with every other shudder.

It wouldn't be the first time he's the one to give in. He fantasizes about grabbing power as much as he fantasizes about letting it go, giving it up completely to be toyed around with in the same way he's toyed with so many others before. It's a fantasy that never quite fulfills itself, not when he's so easily grabbed by pride and other sins that drive him forward with a pulsion that very few can stop.]

You're - a fucking brat - you - oh - you know that?

[He huffs, then his lips split to show teeth in a wide grin, eyes in a daze of exhaustion.]

[So they had sex once. Fucked once. John immediately threw up his defenses again afterward, because he wasn't letting this convince Petre that he'd won against the self that John had cared for so deeply, and he thought that it was working. They found some common ground, skirting the rules of Xavier's before moving to just flagrantly breaking them, but it all seemed fun and friendly and as though there was something new here. Something that could be good but didn't have to be the same anymore.

Of course he was wrong.

Petre's got him pinned down on his bed with his weight on John's hips, hands held above his head by the wrists, and he's mouthing John's neck in a rough, unforgiving way that always renders him completely useless. Beneath that weight he's already hard, trying to grind up into Petre's body and find some friction, but Petre won't move. How did things even slip out of John's control again? He'll be fucked if he remembers - and he's pretty sure he'll be fucked either way, based on how this is going. But it still doesn't have to be the same. Meaningless sex is not an unfamiliar concept for him, far from it.]

Hngh, fuck - [He pushes up with his hips again, not fighting or arguing - just trying to get something from this other than the slow torture Petre's currently inflicting.]

[Maybe it's his memory tugging at his strings, maybe it's something entirely more instinctual that brings Petre's mouth to John's neck, to lick and suck just beneath his earlobe before paying mind to more skin, leaving him wet and warm at every sensitive tip of his body. Something tells him this is what he likes, this is what drives him completely wild and beyond any grip of control - and what do you know. It's working just fine.

He grins with satisfaction when he feels John's cock fill out beneath him, shifts only enough to make his own position comfortable as their bodies fit together without turning it any easier for the boy underneath to take care of himself. He can push up all he wants, try to grind and force him to respond, but Petre is pulling back, moving away, refusing to reveal whether he's aroused or not.]

You're rock-hard, John, [Angling his head with their lips on each other's, tongue dipping out in no more than a hint,] Was it something I did?

You - are such a -

[- good lay, honestly. But that's not what's coming out of his mouth, not by a longshot. Anyway, his mouth is too busy trying to catch Petre's and failing every single time, because kisses may not be quite so meaningless but the tongue playing over his lips is forcing him not to care about that in the slightest. He actually snaps at Petre's lower lip with his teeth, then lets out a helpless moan when he misses again.]

- a fucking pain in the ass - will you at least let me go?

[If he can't give himself any kind of relief and Petre's not offering any - well, the aim is obvious, actually. To drive him insane. But just having his hands and upper body free might be enough to coax Petre into losing some of his own control, so he's tugging against the hands holding his wrists in place, since it appears to be a more achievable goal than friction or mouth-to-mouth contact right now.

He hates Petre. He fucking hates him. And he loves this more than he will ever admit.]

Let you go?

[He almost sounds hurt. Tilting his head to look right at John's dark blue eyes, Petre finally gives him just the slightest inch of relief by tilting his hips onwards and pressing down against him. There it is: he's absolutely turned on as well, cock stiff against the fabric of his trousers, though in no way as desperate as the boy beneath him. He sucks on John's chin, then his neck, hard enough to leave just the slightest blush of a mark. Then he leans back and sits up, hands splayed on John's stomach, fingers beneath his shirt to push it up.]

Okay.

[Teeth dig down on his own lower lip. He's grinning for a reason, and John should be smart enough to know it will never be a good - or nice - one.]

Where do you keep your toys?

[The whimper he lets out when Petre finally rocks against him and reveals his own erection is definitely downright pathetic, and very much desperate, only getting worse when Petre's mouth moves back to his neck. He arches his back, pushes right back up with a breathy moan when he finally has the pressure he needs to make it good, then stares blearily up at Petre when his hands are freed.

That easy?

No, he looks too cheerful. John tries to keep a clear head and not wriggle under his touch as he sorts out the question in his mind.]

Toys - I've got lube and condoms in the bedside drawer, but I didn't think that was your style. [Nothing fancier than that. He never really thought that ambitiously with - well, who Petre used to be.]

[He arches a brow in slight disappointment, no less amused with the whole idea running in his mind. If John isn't going to provide then he'll just have to make do. It's with that thought that he leans back down for one last kiss before pushing his erection against John's and sliding off the bed.]

Don't go anywhere.

[With that he's gone, searching through his own drawers for a pair of handcuffs - perfectly normal, nothing outstanding about them - that he then dangles off an index finger. The self-satisfied grin is more unbearable than before as he wets his lips, and his free hand trails down his own navel to begin unbuttoning his pants.]

Hands together, Johnny.

[He's not going anywhere, but he does prop himself up on his elbows to see what the hell Petre's up to now. If he's talking about toys, that could mean just about -

- oh for fuck's sake.]

You've gotta be kidding me. [His breath is still coming a little bit heavy, and he wets his own lips after speaking, eyes flicking between the hand working Petre's fly and the one dangling the handcuffs.] You expect me to - did you bring those over or - you've got to be fucking kidding me.

I can do this the fun way.

[The only answer he has to give as he draws closer, standing just at the edge of the bed with a leg folded up on the mattress. The handcuffs swing around his finger, lips stretching. He's leaning down and over John's body, finger down touching just the tip of the other boy's erection.]

Unless you'd rather just take care of it yourself.

["The fun way." In other words, he can force John to submit without ever touching him. He narrows his eyes at Petre as he approaches the bed, eases himself halfway onto it, then feels his hips jerk up again with absolutely no input from himself on the matter when Petre almost touches him properly.

This is going to backfire horribly. He's going to be left here, god knows for how long, maybe even for a teacher to discover. He can't do it.

But he also can't stop it from happening.]

Fuck you. [A low murmur, annoyed but obviously having given up, as he lies down flat again and stretches out his body with his arms over his head.]

[He smiles and leans, drives John's shirt up as he lies back down to kiss him on his stomach, his navel, chest pressed softly against his dick. Once again he climbs up to straddle him, arranges the handcuffs so each ring is on separate hands, and clasps them around John's wrists. One more kiss on his lips, wet and noisy, and he starts to take off his shirt.]

You have to listen closely now, John. Are you?

[And he's lying there like an idiot with his arms up while Petre kisses him, but he's not taking the chance of an order, so he stays in position as he sighs and squirms against Petre's mouth. A little lower, he thinks, forget the handcuffs and just move a little lower...

But then he's back up and John is clicked into place. He's already tugging against them when Petre kisses him, trying to follow his mouth up. This is going to drive him completely insane.]

Don't talk to me like a fucking five year old. What. [As much as he's throwing out nothing but attitude, there's a new heat in his his eyes now that he's actually restrained, a caged animal's sort of intensity that holds a good deal of promise.]

[The caged animal can hear the clap of Petre's hand against skin as his face is crossed with a fierce, dry slap. It should be red from contact alone, and if John looks back to snarl he'll see that the other boy's expression is completely impassive. Cause, reaction. That's all.]

I'll talk to you however I want, John.

[That's all.]

Now listen carefully.

[The shirt slides off his head, hair flopping, now disarranged and only slightly wild.]

You're not going to come until I tell you to.

[His mouth falls open with a startled little yelp, his hand immediately jerking downward to cup his inflamed cheek - but of course he can't. He's restrained. That does get a snarl out of him, only intensified by Petre's bland look.

It's not the same boy. Dealing with Petre leaves his mind cycling wildly between thinking he's gone insane and wondering if Petre's gone insane, but sometimes he just bluescreens like this and decides that an impostor is running this whole show. A metamorph or something. Why? How does the Professor not know? Well, that doesn't matter. All he knows is that this can't be Petre.]

I can't believe you just - [And then the order sinks in, his awareness of it made sharper by the fact that it's not immediate - it's just going to happen when he reaches his limit, that block that keeps him teetering on the edge as long as Petre wants.]

- oh no. No, not even you - take it back, man, that's not -

[It's too late. Before John can even find the words to finish that sentence his mouth is immediately occupied with another kiss, hungry and sloppy, and Petre's hips begin to move in a complete antithesis of what he'd been doing before. He was just teasing, giving John enough to want more, and now he's decided he's going fast and hard, overwhelming him until his mind fucking breaks.

His hands slam down next to the other boy's body, riding him hard, grinding them together.]

You wanna fuck me? [He breathes, laughing his words away,] Where do you want to put your cock, John. In my mouth or my ass? I can do either. I'll do both.

[Desperate sounds get swallowed up in Petre's mouth as he starts to ride John properly, whimpers and moans that would coalesce into a long string of profanity if he were free to speak because the sudden shift has him aching so badly that it's a truly physical pain. He bucks up against Petre just as hard as Petre grinds down, wrists already raw from his repeated and useless attempts to reach for the body on top of him and sink his nails into that pale skin, do anything but just lie here and take it.

When Petre finally frees his mouth to begin those rapidfire questions, John just lets out all the cursing that was bubbling up inside him, completely incoherent for a long moment before he finds the ability to answer.]

I - want - to fucking come, you - nnnngh - [But this Petre, this one loves his anger, feeds on it to fuel his own arousal. There's no point.] - ride me again. Like last time.

[It was the most painful sexual experience John's ever had, the most utterly ruthless, and he hasn't forgotten a second of it. Maybe, maybe the pain will dull his arousal enough to get him through this.]

[Perhaps revealing the real reason he asked, Petre instead begins to slide down until his body is positioned over John's, head reaching up to his navel to unbutton his pants and yank them down, cock swaying with the motion. He angles his head and catches it in his mouth.

It wasn't because he was going to follow orders. It was because he wanted to give the other boy a sense of control then completely take it away.

Ride him like last time. Something they've already done. Boring. Not that putting his dick in his mouth is different from last time, either, but now he wants to make John desperate with the warm slickness of his tongue running down sensitive flesh.

He moans, dips his head down and back up his length, then licks his own lips to breathe before repeating the motion with his mouth wrapped around him.]

Oh, you son of a bitch.

[It's muttered from between clenched teeth as Petre crawls down his body, which gives a violent twitch when his pants are pulled off and then a jerk upward at the heat of Petre's mouth. If this is what they're doing, then John is showing no mercy - he can't hold Petre's head in place, but he can still force himself as deep down Petre's throat as possible with an arch of his back, a broken sound leaving his lips at how exquisite it feels.]

I'm gonna fuck your mouth so hard you'll lose your voice for a week.

[He moans even louder, practically smirking with his eyes alone, narrowed even though he can't smile when his mouth is fully occupied by John's cock. Just a small gagging sound escapes him when it's pushed even further into his mouth, but deep-throating him is nothing he hasn't done before, either.

He pulls back, breaths deep, sucking on the very tip of him. He licks his lips clean of his taste.]

I could use my teeth if you don't behave.

[That last bit of attention gets a shiver out of him, Petre's perfect lips around his ultra-sensitive head, but Petre's words just earn him a flat look.]

Always another threat with you. [Even with the sting of his slap still on John's cheek, he can't stop being a mouthy little shit.] You've got me handcuffed, that's not enough control for you?

[He rolls his entire body then, shoulders to heels, in a silent, coaxing gesture. C'mon. Back to work.]

It'll never be enough. [He tilts to the side, opens his mouth again on the side of his length, sucking until his lips are pressed together again. Responding obediently to John's silent order. With a moan he sucks on him again, properly this time, aiding with a stroke of his hand. His breath catches in his throat when he comes back up to regain it, eyes set on John.] I want you whole.

[And with his other hand he reaches around him, squeezes his fingers on his ass cheek.]

[The stop-start way Petre's going about this is driving him even more crazy than a straightforward blowjob would, making his cock throb and twitch every time Petre stops again.

And that was a distinctly creepy thing to say, but he doesn't really believe it. He thinks it's all part of the power play. Fill the gap he left behind himself, only in as many fucked up ways as possible.

He's got no idea that they're so fucked up not just because Petre is different, but because Petre's aim is different - he doesn't just want to replace his old self, he wants to own John.]

So take me. Stop wasting time.

[He's free to think whatever he wants. Where they both stand now, Petre's interest comes from the obsession of knowing that John used to have him before. That John was probably the seducer and expected something different to come on back after the disaster. He's seen the disappointment, he's seen the heartbreak of knowing that Petre Dodrescu was lost forever in the abomination with the bleached hair. What he wants is to drive it home completely. To make him forget there was ever anyone else. It's just him.

Me, me, me. Petre is so petty that he'd even compete against himself.]

Stop telling me what to do.

[Squeezes again, this time using his nails, and his teeth dig into the skin around his hipbone, sucking hard to leave a flushed mark behind. Then it's his tongue that traces a thick line all the way back to his cock, and once again it's taken into his mouth. All the way down to the base, until he can't go any further, until John can feel the head touching Petre inside. It's an obscene show, and Petre performs it brilliantly. One should wonder where he's been all this time. Who he's learned all of this with. John wasn't around to teach him all over again, now, was he.

One minute passes, repetitive motions bringing his head up and down. Occasionally he uses his tongue to play around his skin, flushed and wet, breathing hard before he takes one last inhale and resumes the job. It's only if and when John declares that he's coming close that Petre is going to move his hand from his ass and tease a finger around his entrance.]

PETRE ( oc )

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