The Reverent Smut Meme
a meme with prompt options for all kinds of characters
As it goes in most smut memes, you're about to have sex. Not very novel. What may be is, despite your usual approach to intimacy, you're going to take things slowly. You're being completely attentive...and almost reverent in your ministrations. This could come with some gentleness, of course, yet whether your reverence for your partner comes from love, respect, deep interest, fear, awe, or even an attempt to get a rise out of them, one thing is for sure: your focus is on your lover and only them. It very well could be that even your own pleasure isn't a factor.
- Comment - character, preferences, role if applicable, ideas, info, etc.
- Reply - others.
- RNG - prompts.
- Literal Worship: To you, they are literally a type of deity you must pay homage to with your very essence.
- Body Worship: Every part of their body is worthy of your attention.
- Loving Reverence: Your desire to please comes from your love from them.
- Baby I'm Amazed: Really, they're awe-inspiring. Maybe you've never been with someone quite like them, or they could just be that damn extraordinary.
- Scientific: To you, this is scientific, because their body or their kind is interesting to you in some fashion. Experiments such as this must be treated with care, less the data be unreliable.
- First Time: A first time is always worth taking in, never rushing or skimping.
- Passion: Usually, people are scared off by your...passion. This person isn't, and that alone gets your motor going.
- Don't Want to Hurt You: You have to be careful because you're very capable of hurting your lover. Actually, their fragility is intriguing to you. How do they not break?
- Only One in the World: When you two come together, it's like there's no one else in the world. To be quite frank, you may want them to never think of anyone else, and you'll bring them as much pleasure as it takes for them to forget.
- What Makes You Beautiful: There's one feature or body part you just can't get enough of on your lover, and its easy to turn your attention towards that.
- False Reverence: You just want something from them or want to humiliate them. Pretending like you truly care is the best bet.
- That Special Exception: You're never caring, respectful, or gentle...except with them.
- Bring You to the Edge: How you feel doesn't matter. You simply want to keep bringing them to that pinnacle.
- Mutual Respect: You've been with them forever, so you truly revere them as a person and know what they can do to you.
- Haven't Had It for a While: They say you never know a good thing 'til it's gone. Sex qualifies, so you'll never take it for granted.
- Port in the Storm: They're the only person you can go to for comfort. You want to treat them well. Enough said.
- WILDCARD
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bakerstreet2015-01-04 09:04 am
Billy Kaplan | Marvel | m/m
Malak | Original
Can AU him wherever. ]
Clint Barton | MCU | OTA
connor walsh ( how to get away with murder )
you're actually going to be the death of me but who gives a shit
They slide together effortlessly, sharp, hungry mouths and fingers that are impatient, pulling at clothing, clasps, zippers, buttons. One of them goes flying off of Connor's shirt and Piers is very sure he's going to get it later, a sharp talking to followed by an even sharper smack to the back of his thigh, but that will come after. For now, the button is insignificant in the grander scheme of things, as is the way his head and arms is tangled up in his shirt, leaving him breathless. Get it off get it off. He gives a twist to the left, feeling dry palms along him, and then twists again to pull the entire thing off of his head, tossing it to the ground.
Piers thinks, within this moment that Connor is all warm skin and eager hands, that maybe he might be good to die right here, before anything else happens.
That's dramatic.
He doesn't care right now. ]
Come here.
[ Connor is already close, but Piers wants him closer, wants him between his legs, wants the taste of his mouth all over, wants the feeling of his skin against his and he wants it now and he wants it an hour after, and an hour after that. He wants it all night, the slow, sleek slide of flesh on flesh, even if it's mindless and too hot and a complete mess. Being a mess is fine, especially when he wants him this badly. He grips the back of Connor's neck, the place he likes the most to hold--a natural curve, suited to his palm perfectly. He doesn't wait, he just dips in, presses their mouths together with a low growl. ]
you say the sweetest things to me
It takes two months of missing one another for reasons that have nothing to do with coming together in bed - a car that needs fixing, a week-long lock up at the BSAA training facility, an even longer immersion on a jury rigging case, Connor's sister getting sick of the rich socialite life and slumming it in a college boy's apartment. Small things, the sort that pile up and make the days pass much quicker than one realizes, and suddenly it's been two months, with all the frustrations that go with it —
Some things have to give.
There wasn't any sort of ramp up to this, too. Connors back from Middleton and Piers gets back from training and they take the stairs together like any other day, but something switches on, somewhere between the eight and ninth step, and next thing they know is the wall out in the hallway — Connor rucking up Piers's shirt right where anyone can see, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and working his way down to scrape teeth at a hardening nipple. Pulls it into his mouth ungently, warming it with the wet flat of his tongue; he could get right on his knees here and now, carpet burn can go fuck itself, but Piers steers him back up to his mouth to just breath into each other, rutting through their clothes like this is the start of high school and all the adolescent fumbling that goes with it.
They somehow make it to the door. Connor doesn't know where his collar pins dropped to.
-
He doesn't need telling twice.
-
Connor doesn't need the excuse of lost buttons to smack Piers' thighs with an open hand, but he takes it gladly. Knees up, elbows down - that's how they fall onto the bed, while clothes litter across the floor. He's kissing Piers with all the gentleness he's discarded by hand, slow and languid slides of tongue and playful nips counterpointing the way Connor's just raking his nails across the back of Piers' thighs, and hard. He can feel the weals rising under his palm, thin little lines all heated up by the flush of blood drawn too close to the skin.
He traces the lines over and over, humming into his kisses, soothing the welts and gooseflesh until the muscles start to quiver under his hands. He doesn't let Piers go; pins his attention to the way they're making out, swallowing every noise and sound and bitten-off curse that comes up between them. Connor leaves the smooth inside of the thighs alone.
There's time enough to bite down later, when he's not drawing a hand and soundly hitting the flesh already reddened and warm; the slap bites through the quiet room like a wild bark, Connor surging up along with it, bringing them flush against one another. He's almost apologetic when he pets the head of Piers' dick, even as he pulls at the foreskin tightening up from the blood rushing down.
He smacks the other thigh, right at the meat where the lines have just started to ease into pink. ]
I wanna come on your thighs. [ Pinches him, right where the hip ends and the skin is stretched thin. ] Can I?
i'm a dollll
Piers has gone far longer without a touch like this, never used to think twice about it. It was easy to push it aside or ignore it. Now, it seems impossible, everything dragging unpleasantly, everything a little colder. He sleeps shallowly, wakes up mildly disgruntled, but the day is the same as always. Wake up, warm up, eat, work, shower, work more, shower one more time, get home, eat, and a myriad of small, inconsequential things follow before sleep. The cycle starts over again. It gets long. It gets boring. It gets... weirdly lonely. They catch each other in fleeting text messages (Piers is bad about keeping his phone on him) in e-mails now and then when they manage it.
It feels good to crash into him again.
Nice to know his body still burns like goddamn kindling the minute Connor's hand slides against his skin, sets every nerve on fire like some weird, poetic bullshit.
Hell if it isn't true, though.
The pinch is imploring against the tender strip of skin and his muscles grow taut before going lax again. He likes the warm feel of the sting that dissipates against his skin, over old scars. It leaves the base of his spine tingling, surging heat upwards. He returns the marks, the stings, with sharp bites against his throat: along his pulse, the sensitive skin just below his ear, the lobe of it tugging before he speaks. ]
Yeah--
[ He chokes it out, half way between a laugh and a groan at the thought, glancing down now at the hungry, raised lines along his skin. His own hands drag slow over his shoulders, the way you press in and bruise clay, he presses into Connor's skin, wants to feel the bones against his fingers, every muscle. One of his hands slides down, takes the heat of Connor's cock into his hand and strokes up, lingering at the head of him and wrist twisting lightly. The motion is smooth, easy, you never forget the precise motion, fingers gliding up to smear the slight beads of pre against the head of his cock. ]
Let me just... [ He strokes again, lifts his hand to spit into the cup of his palm and come down to stroke him up and down again, the feel of him slightly slicker in his palm now. ] ... let me get you there.
and i'm a [censored]
Connor kisses at Piers' mouth with the eagerness of a boy just realizing what his dick is for, kissing him open-mouthed on the swell of his lips, licking his way past teeth, pulling at the flush skin even as he's catching Piers' wrist and holding his hand still — just feeling those calluses on him, no big deal, it's not like it'd feel so good to fuck up into that hand like he's wanted to do for weeks now.
He licks a wide, wet stripe up Piers' neck before tapping him on his belly, over his ridiculous abs; Connor rubs his hand over the muscle definition, imagines how it would look if he blew his load all over it — knows from experience it's a sight to behold, an even better taste on the tongue. (He's never been shy about swallowing, and he's sure if Piers had any misgivings on that front he's already been healthily disabused of that notion.)
Connor swings his leg over Piers' thigh, hooking his ankle under Piers' calf as he leans over the man and sits back (in a manner of speaking) on the limb. He braces his weight on one hand that's found its way on Piers' shoulder, his short nails blunting against the hard bone under tanned skin, and— what a view. He drinks in the sight of him, from the thin indents left from wearing holsters day in and day out, almost like scars in their own right; the difference in skin tones, paler the higher up the arms you go (that Piers doesn't have much of a tan line at the hips is driving him stupid wondering how that even happened); the flush of color running high on the man's cheeks, tinging his ears.
The way his tongue peeks out, just for a moment, to dampen his lower lip — Connor wants to smear his spend all over that tongue.
Later.
He lets go of Piers' wrist, folds his fingers over Piers' own to adjust his grip, urges him to get tighter than they usually go for. It almost hurts; almost. Right now it just feels too good, and Connor thinks he could be done in a few pulls, but— he rocks against Piers' thigh, getting friction against him like this, and their joined hands gives Connor something to fuck up into with his heart (and back) put into it.
-
It really doesn't take much. He comes all over their hands and Connor pulls their hands up to lick them clean, not stopping with the way he's riding the aftershocks against Piers' thigh like a pro; he sticks his come-coated tongue out for show before swallowing, licking his own mouth clean of his mess when he smears what's left on his own hand across a healing welt on the back of Piers' leg.
Not quite as planned, but just as good.
-
He doesn't stop moving.
-
Connor works his way up Piers' body, starting at the hips. It takes some flexibility on his part, specially when he refuses to let go of the man's hand in his, but he manages. He nips and nibbles at what flesh would give, because Piers trimmed himself free of body fat long before they even met; Connor makes good effort regardless, and manages a mouth-shaped bruise right above where the bone slopes into a waist. He doesn't slow down from there; he bites at the wings at Piers' side, licks up the dips between the abdominal muscles (might have even drawn a C with his tongue), picks up where he left off in the hallway and gives his full attention to Piers's body in all the ways he knows will leave marks behind.
He's playing around and chasing Piers' mouth - their joined hands pinned abovehead, their elbows knocking against one another - and Connor wants nothing more than to pull back and ride. There's lube tucked under the mattress from last time, and he can be prepped and ready to go real quick.
It's not what he does. ]
So, hey. [ He takes Piers in his free hand, pulls him back to rub against his own length. Connor winces a little, still sensitive, but he rather enjoys the edge of it and bears down a little more. ] I was thinking, and you don't have to answer, I just want to tell you some things...
[ Connor finds Piers' ear and pours himself into it directly, as he works up a rhythm between them. ]
You know I really love it when I fuck myself on you, right? You always feel really good, but when I'm riding you it's just— it's so good, you're hitting all the right places it's stupid. I'd think about you at work and it gets bad because I can imagine how wet I feel with you in me, and then I can't talk. But sometimes that's okay, because I'd be sitting down and no one would have to know just how hard I get at the courthouse thinking about you.
I'd think about you during deposition, and how you've got a ridiculous back and an ass I can't get enough of, and it gets difficult to just pay attention, because I'd be thinking, yeah, I could go back here and get you on all fours and you wouldn't mind me rimming you at all.
[ Connor squeezes Piers a little too tightly, mostly from enthusiasm. ]
One of these days you have to let me suck you off in your car, too. You can hold me down, I won't stop you, just fuck into me like we're gonna get caught. We could even do it while you're driving, as long as you ease up on the gas. Too dangerous?
I've seen you drive, though. [ Connor cradles the cockhead, rolls a thumb along the foreskin, pulling it back as far as it would allow. ] I wish you'd fuck me the way you drive, sometimes.
[muffled drive it like u stole it in the bg]
When one of Connor's hands disappear, he grasps the empty air and nearly darts to retrieve what he's lost only to feel fingers wrap around him, the soft sensation of Connor's cut dick against his, fingers pulling foreskin down. Almost immediately his toes curl and despite every overwhelmed part of him, he pushes forward, bumping slick heads and nodding. Tell me. Tell me everything.
Connor murmurs into his ear and it feels like a secret, but knows it's the opposite. It's a declaration and every word makes him flush down his shoulders, cant his hips that much faster in time with his breath, in between every word that makes his insides writhe and rearrange and squirm.
Piers likes the weight over his hips, the feeling of his cock sliding hilt-deep, balls meeting the curve of Connor's ass every time. He likes the feeling of grabbing him in both hands, pressing, slowing him to an agonizing pace when he starts to fuck himself on his cock too fast.
Slow down--god slow down, you fucker--
He likes the slow, hungry kisses that lick into his mouth and trail down the curve of his nape and shoulders when he's pushed down. The hands that angle his hips up and spread his thighs and the wetness that teases just under him before it laps too-wet and warm over him.
Oh...
Connor's murmuring into his ear feels like a confession, and in a way, it is. He pulls down on his foreskin and the action immediately makes him roll his hips forward, surging demand at the last words fuck me the way you drive. Piers is more than happy to oblige this, with a roiling hunger eating through his guts and his senses. His breath falls apart into jagged pieces and at one time, Piers might have thought it to be to much weakness, too much throat, but instead it feels good, like trust, like buoyancy.
His palm in Piers' own is warm, his grip occasionally slipping from his hand, but he always keeps sure that they hold fast, fingers clutching, bone pressing even painfully sometimes. He stretches his fingers, curls them around his knuckles even more and rolls himself against his hand, holding tighter to his palm, thrusting harder up because he wants everything--the feel of Connor underneath him or on top of him, fucking him to the hilt and pushing him down between the sharp blades of his spine until his eyes are blissed out and his mouth has no control anymore--hanging open and wet. ]
Fffuck... [ He hangs onto the word between breaths. The build up between his legs aches too nicely. ] Let me-- [ He breathes out hard, every muscle taut and prepared to spring forward. Piers is a machine, always has been, always will be, and it speaks for itself in the coiled energy building in his muscles, ready to push or shove or thrust upwards into expectant tight, wet heat. He leans up, mouths the line of his jaw and huffs against his ear. His free hand slides up, cups the side of his neck and strokes down the excited pulse of him, shifting up only to work over the line of his lower lip, press. ] Do you know how fucking bad I want to wreck you sometimes? I can do that for you, y'know. [ He tries so hard not to fall apart with every upstroke. ] I wanna fuck you til you can't move... please.
[ heavy bass vibrations ]
[ Connor frees his hands from Piers, but only for a moment. One hand comes up against the back of Piers' own, taking the man's thumb into his mouth where he swirls the pad of it with the tip of his tongue, rubs the muscle against the digit in back-and-forth. He doesn't bite down; there's no need for it, as he takes Piers in his hand just to have the weight of him at the heart of his palm — wet, heavy, and flush in all the ways that Connor can never get enough of.
His back is curved like a bow over Piers, and small shiver-tremors are running up his thighs, coming together at the heat pooling low in him. If Piers asked him now — he'd let his knees slip apart just a little more, just brace a hand on his waist because that's all he needs. Piers could take him like this, with a little push and pull, and Connor's high enough on body chemistry to know he can take him easy, and ride out whatever pain might edge in through the haze of being full.
Connor wants everything that is promised in those nine words. He wants to be pushed against the mattress, facedown, a steady hand on his back as he's worked open to his own limits. He wants it, he wants the blissed out mindlessness of surrendering to someone else's hands, to let them just take him apart until he can't breathe right. He wants to be fucked like he'd die if he wasn't getting railed, because sometimes that's how he feels when he's got his legs around Piers' hips, his thighs pressing hard against his sides until he can't feel his toes anymore. He wants— his knees nearly by his ears, callused hands on his shoulders and hard shoulders against the back of his knees, and a mouth that drives him crazy by being just out of his reach as he gets plowed all the way to kingdom come.
He wants him to come inside him, fully aware of how fucking dangerous that thought is — fully aware of what that says about him, about what he thinks about them, and—
And Connor doesn't know when to quit. He never does, not really, and they've both known it from the first time Connor got on his knees between Piers' own and swallowed him all the way down despite all cautions not to. He goes places, with Piers, in the biblical sense — like that one time he'd asked and asked for weeks to get tied down and get handled like the asshole he is, and Piers finally did, to no small amount of "you asked for this" that got him bruises in places he didn't know he could get bruised.
(The most he'd said that time was "keep going.")
He bumps noses with Piers, thumb still caught in the warmth of his mouth, then pulls the finger out lick down Piers' palm, scraping his teeth against the inside of his wrist for good measure. ]
Go for it, [ he says, as he comes down to catch Piers' mouth with his own, covering his eyes with a hand that soon slips up and takes fistfuls of Piers' hair in a tight hold. And so does his other hand, trapped between them; Connor makes a circle at the base of Piers' cock, makes it as snug as he can, lets the foreskin pull on the downstroke that he takes his time with like he knows how quickly this could be over. ] Anything you want.
But you don't get to come until I say you can. You come before I do, I'm cuffing you to the bed. I'll cuff you down like you did to me, and I'll do everything you did then twice over on you, swear to God.
[ He kisses Piers on the neck, where the blood flows closest to the surface, where biting down would leave a livid mark in the morning. When he pulls back, Connor brings Piers' hand round his own neck, the hand still spit-wet in parts, and he wears it on his collar like a hotblooded leash. Piers' thumb sticks where Connor feels his pulse beating fast against the bone of his neck. Just a small push, a little show of force, and Connor loses air in his lungs.
He trusts Piers to know how much pressure he needs. ]
You up for it?
no subject
There's something beautiful about the way he gasps for air that isn't there and his lips feel too damp and frantic on his mouth in the process, the angle of his jaw perfect on his knuckle.
He presses up against Connor's fingers on his cock, pulling at sensitive skin, making his insides shiver excitedly. Another breath and he shoves the sensation down, focuses it into a warm and slow-burning thing. Take your time. Draw it out. Draw this whole thing the fuck out and enjoy it. ]
Deal.
[ It doesn't take much in his reserve of strength to throw Connor down. It's all a shifting of his hips and ribs, the proper placement of weight and the use of Connor's fixation on the threat of breathlessness. It's effortless and Piers feels the eagerness build up between his lungs as he teases the pressure against his neck.
It'd be so good just to press, to hold, to watch him squirm against the sheets.
But he staves off it, just holds, squeezes a little (a threat, I promise) before reaching with his free hand for the lube shoved between the mattress. It takes a few moments for him to grab onto it and pull it out, but the motion doesn't detract from the ever-present weight of his hand, there but not quite. He won't tighten yet, just pushes the cap off with his thumb and leans in with his mouth to kiss him slowly, hungrily. The press itself is brief, open-mouthed, but invasive--a curl of the tongue, dragging his teeth, until they're hardly a breath apart. His thumb strokes slowly down the line of his pulse and then up again.
Kneeing apart his thighs, shifting him for leverage--it's not clinical and rough, but slow and careful because what he'll do next is anything but. ]
Show me "stop."
[ He says it as he shifts his fingers with the lube tipped forward, dripping out slowly against his fingers, against Connor's skin, the curve of his ass and the give of him that Piers strokes with his hand, strokes and presses, but never quite pushes inside yet. He touches, teases, smooths over, sometimes dips a little, but keeps an even keel as badly as his cock wants it.
(Little victories add to it all).
But Show me "stop" is important. Can't talk if you can't breathe, and this is the one thing that makes it a kindness made of bruises.
There's an implicit trust to it all, and never once have they needed it, but it's always there, just within reach. It exists in the shallow expanse of materialized communication--actions made to speak when normally all they've ever needed is one another and a simple presence. Piers wets his lips and strokes again, presses his middle finger in slowly. Show it to me and then I'll give you what you want. ] Just once. Show me so I know you remember. [ First knuckle, second, leisurely, conversational. ]
idek
johnny storm | fantastic four
bucky barnes (the winter soldier) ✪ mcu ✪ ota
Konoe | Lamento: Beyond the Void | m/m
Roj Blake | Blake's 7 | OTA
Bruce Banner|MCU|OTA
15.
He moves to the bedroom, and fixes the bedding and lights some candles puts the lube on the nightstand and maybe gets out the grown up toy chest before spreading across the bed in only his boxers, waiting for the scientist to come home.
Abraham Lincoln| Abe Lincoln Vampire Hunter|OTA
idk what ever we want.
9
"Much too long," He murmured softly, as he leaned down to kiss him softly. "I've missed you so much."
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Clint Barton | Marvel | No Natasha's
Bucky Barnes | Marvel (MCU and or 616 ) | OTA
Marcus Flint | Harry Potter
Re: Marcus Flint | Harry Potter
Marcus brought that out in him he supposed.
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Trying not to think about how tomorrow he'd be on a train home, which didn't even really feel like home anymore, not since the end of last school year.
"Should go to a game over the summer." He murmurs when they finally break for a breath.
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"Ya," He murmured. "Is it horrible I don't want the year to end?"
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"You don' live that far, wont have to worry about getting caught out after hours." He smiles a little still not used to doing that now that he'd gotten his teeth fixed. "Summer gives a lot of time for a lot of things." He says waggling his eyebrows a little as he leans in and kisses Oliver again.
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"You're coming to see me then?" He asked, when he pulled back
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"Think of all the fun we are gonna have over the hols." He says voice low as he leans in and kisses Oliver slowly nipping at the Scot's lower lip as he leans back on the towels.
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"We don't have too... tonight you..." He says because he really doesn't wasn't shag on the bathroom floor, "Not like we aren't gonna see each other over the Hol..." He smirks kissing Oliver again. "Could sneak into your room at night." He laughs softly not wanting to draw the attention of Peeves.
Henry Sturges | Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter
Steve Rogers | MCU OTA
Meredith (The Princess & The Pea) | OUAT OC | OTA
Matthew, a Prince | OC | OTA
Amelia Atwater | OC | OTA
Margaret, a Princess | OC | OTA
Alcide Herveaux | true blood | m/m
Ushahin Dreamspinner | The Sundering | OTA
Clara Oswald | Doctor Who
Death the Kid | Soul Eater | ota
Riza Hawkeye || Fullemtal Alchemist || F/M