bakerstreet | /muffled make out noises

/muffled make out noises

SLOPPY MAKE-OUTS MEME!

It doesn't matter why, but you're either in the middle of making out with someone or you're about it. Pretty hot and heavy, too. Who knows how you got there -- that's mostly up to you. All you know is that you're not going to feel satisfied until you're flushed and barely breathing.

LOCATIONS:

01. roof: maybe you were given a note, or were dragged up by the person you're currently macking on. either way, you're definitely on the rooftop of some building, away from prying eyes.

02. school/office: you might be at the office, or maybe you just finished your last class for the day; regardless of where you might be, it sure isn't a good place to be making out with someone-- oops.

03. movie theater: the go-to place for most makeouts. sitting in the back or off to the side; just make sure no one catches you!

04. backstage: maybe you won tickets to a concert, perhaps you performed or they did, maybe you even snuck in! but you're backstage somewhere for something, getting hot and heavy in the dark corners.

05. public: out for a walk, having a picnic, maybe you're swimming! but regardless of where you are, it's in public.

06. home: whether you're are at your house, theirs, or someone elses, you're getting down and naughty inside a home of some design.

07. wildcard: re-roll, combine, pick your own, or make one up!

DIRECTIONS:

• Post a comment with your character.
• Reply to other people with your character and go to the RNG to generate a number between 1 and 7.
• Match the number to the options above.
• Reply to the thread starter and go from there! You can either be in the middle of a make out session or about to start; it's all up to you.
• Any rating goes, but no wank, please!

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"Two doors down that way," she pointed vaguely down the hallway to her left. "Just don't hit Martin's by mistake. He'll want to join in." Was she joking? Who could ever tell with her?

She didn't intend to make getting her there easy. She raked her teeth at the cusp of his chin and bit harder at the underside of his jaw. She grinned around the hold of teeth. The clack of them when she pulled fully back was loud enough to carry over the ambient din of the tavern downstairs.

Instead of lowering her legs, she tightened them. Were he not in armor, it might have been an uncomfortable squeeze. It appeared she had no intention of walking. She wanted to enjoy all that muscle. Her tongue flicked his earlobe and followed the shell, another nip of teeth blossoming stinging pain at the top curve. "Promise me you won't be gentle," she growl purred into his ear. "I definitely won't."

She clung to him with one hand and began unbuckling the side of her boot with the other. There was no sense in being idle when she could do something to speed along the process on the way.

Fortunately, Carver was going to try very, very hard to follow her directions about avoiding that door so he wouldn't have to find out if she was joking.

He steeled his grip on her and eased sidelong off the wall (ah- there was going to be a mark on his chin later...) making progress as best he could while in full plate and with Isabela providing no help whatsoever. It didn't help that the way she was wrapped around his waist restricted his range of movement somewhat, unless he wanted to accidentally bruise her up before they even made it to her room.

That business could wait until he was doing it on purpose.

"Don't worry," he muttered back. "I won't."

With a little more effort, he managed to shove open the door to Isabela's room with one of her boots, dragging her inside. The door closed with a thud behind him, and the reality was starting to sink in.

First things first, Carver reached behind himself and clicked the door latch, locking it. Then he jostled, indicating she should let go.

"It'll go faster if you help," he said. A pause. "It'll come faster if you help." Heh... that one was pretty good, wasn't it?

"Listen to you. Innuendo and everything," she said, laughing. She clung just long enough to make a point before allowing her legs to slide down and put her weight on her own two feet again. He wasn't the first set of plate she'd had to crack. He wouldn't be the last. Warriors and their inability to stay alive without encasing themselves in over a hundred pounds of metal. Honestly.

She was quick to start with his buckles. They were past the point of need for seductive toying. They had been building toward this for years. The undressing was more or less a formality. She started with the pauldrons and spalders, and unlike her often careless image, she had enough sense not to toss it all to the floor. She set it aside with a modicum of care toward the fact that armor had to last him a good long time and do its job.

"This is why I could never be a Warden," she said. It was probably the least of why, but it was banter. She was never the stoic, silent type. "No opportunity for spontaneous fun. Now imagine if we were in the Deep Roads." She paused and smirked at him. "Better yet, don't."

She remembered the muck when they all went after Corypheus. Never had she been more glad of her tendency never to wear pants. "A double layered breastplate? Was your smith a sadist?" That was a little harder to find the secret to unfastening. When she had it, she made a small sound of triumph.

"We find time. It's all about planning, that's all," he replied. He half expected her to laugh and sit there watching him trying to disassemble himself. Then again, perhaps she expected that if she did, he'd get pissed and stomp off. Carver honestly couldn't be sure that he wouldn't have at this point.

"Either that, or flexibility, honestly."

While she worked on his upper arms, Carver slipped off his gauntlets, tossing them on the bed. That freed up his hands to work a little more nimbly on other pieces. It seemed she had enough of a grasp on what she was doing to manage the breastplate by herself.

As the breastplate came loose and Carver ducked under to pull it off, it was becoming apparent how much of his bulky frame was his armor and how much was actual muscle. Compared to his somewhat scrawnier physique when he'd last lived in Kirkwall, there was quite a bit more to him now.

"I asked them for a quick-release, but the blighters said no," he muttered. It was more than a little obnoxious to have to pause for a five-minute focus on getting himself out of his armor. He'd much rather be focusing on Isabela right now.

"All of that and flexible. Well, well," she taunted. "What if we put that fully to the test? I'm sure I have some things lying around we could try on you." He probably didn't want to know what she was talking about, or maybe he had changed more than she thought. The night was young.

"Can you imagine if you did have a quick release strap? Some Darkspawn starts to fall, flails out, catches you just so, and there you are in almost the altogether while your armor comes crashing down around you like an avalanche." She seemed to find that thought far too amusing. "As convenient as I'd find it, it's probably just as well they didn't listen to you. Genlocks have no appreciation of a good chest. Pirates, on the other hand..." She ran her hand over the padded jacket so recently under the armor.

Her fingers were nimble over the frogs. She popped them open one by one only to reveal his tunic under that. "It's like peeling an onion." She wrinkled her nose and glanced up at him in a small flash of annoyance. "At least you smell better."

One hand worked under the jacket to get a good feel of him, the first real one she'd had beyond occasional small teases back in the day. "I suppose it's true about how much Wardens eat?" This time she sounded far more approving.

"I know better than to agree to that without a precise explanation," he shot back at her. He knew better than to agree to anything Isabela offered without a real explanation behind it. All of those mishaps with her and his brother back in the day had taught him as much.

He continued shimmying out of what he could while she made quick work of the jacket. As her hand slipped under it, his hand idly encouraged it to make itself comfortable touching him. "Oh yes. It's true," he said, and prepared to get his jacket off entirely. "Though it takes work eating like that and having it land on you like this."

It was almost hilarious hearing Carver make a boast like that, but it was one thing about himself that he did have utter confidence in. As the jacket came off, leaving him in his tunic, it was apparent the pup had gotten good and ripped in his years away.

That left him with the bottom half of his armor to go, though that thankfully involved less fussing. He imagined Isabela wanted him to put his money where his mouth was and show her what that build of his could do.

She decided to hold onto that for later. There was a time and place for precise explanations, ones she hoped would have him redder than a newborn's ass when she was ready for it. "I'm sensing such a lack of trust," she said instead, her smile pure trouble.

He wore the confidence well. It was far more attractive than the old defensiveness and prickly retorts. He had truly stepped a long way outside of his brother's shadow. Her hand was about as rough as his, wind weathered and well used on rigging and dueling. It didn't bother her in the least that she didn't have the soft hands of a lady or that his were seasoned by swordplay.

She pulled him back against her by hooking her fingers in the buckle of his hip armor. Without the upper plate in the way, she was able to crush breasts to chest and work on distracting him with her lips on his throat. Her hands made quick work of the belt. With the hip armor peeling away and lowered down in a "u" shape at his feet, she was able to pinch his ass before going for the buckles at the back of his thigh pieces.

"I'm glad you're used to hard work." It was a terrible joke, her favorite kind. "You're going to be drilling well into the night, Warden."

"I wonder why," Carver said blithely.

They were almost there, and yet it felt like there was an eternity left to go. At least he was out of his breastplate, so he could at least enjoy the soft press of Isabela's breasts against him while she necked and undressed him. He could admit that he'd had his eye on them for years now. Then again, Isabela knew full and well whenever men had their eyes on her breasts, and she probably enjoyed every second of it.

In the meantime, he encouraged her with his own hands, copping a feel of her waist, her hips, and the curve of her ass where he could sneak one in without interrupting her work on his armor. She really had done this before.

"If there's one thing a Warden's good for, it's plunging into Deep Roads." She deserved every bit of that one for encouraging him.

"It's also true about our endurance," he said, as the buckles came loose from his thighs. "Just in case you were going to ask that next."

"I've heard," she said, playing it as straight as straight could be. "Plunging in, coming out, going back in, incapable of staying away from tight, wet tunnels that lead dangerous places." She set the thigh armor aside and dropped down to her knees to work on the greaves, not to mention give him a very nice view down her cleavage and have her mouth suggestively close to the laces of his breeches. "Avoiding the Taint." Her teeth flashed white in a quick grin.

After pulling the greaves away, she finally had him peeled free of everything metal but his cowters and vambraces. He could take care of those himself. "I wasn't going to ask you about that, sweet thing. I'd much rather find out first-hand." She sprang back up to her feet and shoved him back toward her bed, a nicer affair than most of the cots or bunks in the rest of the tavern. It had a few scarves and a silk robe carelessly scattered over the spread with several extra pillows.

She disarmed on the way, daggers flying and dropping from a few unlikely places as well as the more obvious ones. A tug at the side of her sash had it dropping from her hips and pooling on the floor in a blue puddle of patterned cotton. Her head scarf followed. A rake of fingers down the font of her tunic unraveled the lacing. She pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. She deliberately left the boots on.

All that and a taint joke too. "Maker. You're really the worst." Leave it to Isabela to take an off-color play on words and drive it a few more shades off. Carver couldn't help but snort, shrugging off his cowters and then both steel plates from his forearms. Wrapped and tied around his right arm beneath the cowter was a red and black patterned scarf, which he took off and folded up with his armor without any comment.

No sooner had he set those aside than Isabela pounced on him, shoving him back onto the bed. For a moment, Carver was 19 again and all nerves and anticipation and sexual frustration that he didn't know what to do with-- right up until this moment, he'd still been a little unsure that she wasn't making fun of him with all this. But nope, here he was, down to his tunic and trousers, on his back with Isabela looming over him and well on her way to beating him undressed.

His skin was flushing pink, despite his better efforts, though he managed to look more grimly determined than he did uneasy. He sat up enough to peel his tunic off over his head, at least giving her a decent view of his physique-- as well as the stylized Mabari tattooed on the right side of his chest.

He did hesitate on slipping off his trousers for the moment, though that could have been because he was distracted staring at Isabela.

She was on the verge of making fun of him for his sudden stoic, dour look when she noticed the tattoo, not to mention the fact that big brother must have gotten most of the hair of the family. "Oh, look! You got one!" She was delighted to see it and the pink flushing without her having to say a word to bring it out. "A dog, of course."

Her fingers went to it immediately, rubbing over the design and feeling the very faint raising of the skin. That lasted only a moment before she leaned forward to feel it with her tongue, her bare breasts hot and heavy pressure against his stomach. She was shameless in the swirl and lap of wet tongue. It was exactly the way she might have licked an ice treat in Antiva.

She looked up at him directly from beneath dark lashes and brows, her expression not unlike a predator preparing to eat something up completely. "Did it hurt?" she murmured against his skin. "Do you have any others?" One hand slipped down to squeeze a thigh through his trousers and then pluck at the material in faux irritation. "You're still too dressed for me to have a look. One thing I never pegged you for is lazy."

He was a little surprised at her surprise-- he'd certainly mentioned he had a tattoo, hadn't he? "A mabari," he corrected teasingly. Fereldans did love their dogs, but only one was loved beyond all others.

As Isabela stroked the dark pattern on his skin, Carver looked more than a little proud of himself. "Got it at Ostagar. Most of my unit did too. There was this Ash Warrior, and he'd been a tattooist and still had his-"

He was abruptly cut off by Isabela running her tongue over it in a manner that caught him completely off guard by how hot he found it. She would probably be delighted by the way his voice caught in his throat and escaped in the form of a little groan, head almost falling back against the mattress behind him.

Two seconds later he was leaning upright again, doing his very best stoic act. "Didn't hurt," he answered. "And that's all I've got."

Well, this was really happening, and he needed to get himself back together again. With his head back in the game, he reached down and tugged off his trousers and smalls at once, pushing them down his thighs to his knees. Any more than that would involve a little more wiggling than he felt would be dignified right now.

"Oh, right, a big dog," she said, pretending it was the same thing when she knew good and well it wasn't. "So that wasn't a sweet little fiction you spun for Fenris. I had always wondered." She hadn't. It had been in one ear and out the other, although it must have stuck somewhere, because now she vaguely recalled part of that conversation. "Did you ever show it to him?" Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively.

"Didn't hurt at all?" She bit down in a hard, fast nip and scraped back. Bruise two. Yes, she was keeping score.

She lifted enough to let him take the pants down and made a show of looking while he did it. Very nice. She'd save the praise for later. It wouldn't do to give him too big a head about everything at once, would it? She slid backward and down him, keeping her breasts pressed close so he'd feel everything. She squeezed her arms in tighter to squeeze them together over his cock but didn't linger there.

She wanted him fully stripped. Grabbing the pants and smalls, she yanked them off the rest of the way and knelt up to take the advantage of high ground. "How about that flexibility test?" she asked. The light in her eyes was dangerous.

He knew better than to take that bait about big dogs. A Rivaini would never really understand.

"He wasn't interested. And no, it wasn't- that-" he remarked, cut off once more by Isabela's teeth sinking into him. Shit. He really had to get it together or she was going to end up embarrassing him more than he was already assuming she was going to embarrass him.

Finally stripped all the way, he sat up on his elbows so as not to look both naked and completely overwhelmed. As Isabela sportingly asked him about flexibility, he immediately remembered his previous thoughts on the matter.

"You're going to need to be a lot more specific than that," he warned her.

"Well." She was one hundred percent sure this wasn't going to work. It didn't matter. His face would be priceless, regardless. She crawled halfway up him and leaned down and to the side to pull something out from under her mattress. The phallus wasn't enormous as far as they went, but it was very realistically carved and a dark mahogany color.

"We can see how far up we can get your legs and how much you can take." It took everything in her not to burst out laughing.

"I have it on good authority I'm very good at it." She schooled her face to innocent expectation.

A younger, more impulsive Carver would have completely exploded on her and run screaming for that one. The newer, more measured Carver managed to get away with a blank, hollow stare that slowly shifted into a cross between confusion and disgust.

See? That was why he knew better than to agree to anything he said.

"No thanks," he said flatly. "If I wanted to rut a sculpture--and I don't-- I could have just stayed in the Deep Roads."

He made a mental note not to let Isabela anywhere near his back end if he couldn't see that thing at all times.

"One day, you're going to look back on this and say, 'That's the day I chose not to live a little.' Probably the day you find a sexy statue in the Deep Roads, and it reminds you of me." She rolled her eyes. So put upon.

Like most of her pique, it was a sham. If he had any doubt about it, the way she smirked and lifted the phallus up to her lips should have been a dead giveaway. She watched him while she teased it with her tongue, reaching behind her to palm him. Her skin was rough, but her fingers were deft. Whatever she had said of her prowess over the years wasn't exaggerated in the slightest.

"Maybe you'll have to test my flexibility instead. Or maybe you'll just have to watch me do it." Now it was deliberate provocation. All those times she called him pup, all those times he swore he'd snap one day. Would today be the day? She hoped so. She ran it down between her breasts, over her stomach and mound, and twisted it to fit neatly between her legs for a long, slow drag of it between her lips. When she had it free, she lifted it for another lick and made a soft, satisfied sound in the back of her throat. She enjoyed the taste of herself, enjoyed being watched.

"You're nicer to look at than any of that dusty old dwarven shite," Carver replied, in what was accidentally a rather smooth compliment for him.

Then, thanks to her position perched over him, he got a front row seat to the sight of her making a spectacle of herself, rubbing herself with her toy and obviously testing to see what Carver would do in response. His thoughts on the matter were currently a little sluggish, since she was kind enough to give him a hand even as she showed off.

"You're really proud of yourself for that one, aren't you?" he said, gesturing in the direction of the phallus. "Went to all the trouble of getting me naked first, too. The wait must have been killing you."

He reached up to grip her thighs, enjoying an exploratory feel of those legs of hers. He'd always been a big fan of her legs, though he didn't think he'd admit it to her out loud.

"Are you getting distracted, already?" His tone suggested he had plans to do something about that if she was.

"Be still my heart," she said, laughing. Compliments from him were almost nonexistent. As they went, it was both amusing and cutely honest. It was clear he wasn't being smarmy, which was a good thing for both of them.

"For this? It was a gift from a good friend years ago. We've been fast friends ever since. I'm generous like that. I always introduce my friends." She tapped it on the center of his chest, leaving a wet spot she bent to blow over, a small puff of cool air.

To reward him for gripping her thighs like he meant it, she gripped him between them. It pushed her back enough that instead of her hand over him, she straddled him centered. She kept scant space between them, enough that both of them could feel the heat pouring off of them in waves but neither could get any stimulation from it.

"Do I look distracted?" As a matter of fact, she did, feigning that the phallus held the bulk of her attention as she stroked it through her hand suggestively. She liked that tone in his voice even better than his grip. She was quite sure something good was about to happen.

Carver's problem had always been that he didn't possess the effortless inner filter of his brother. His words otherwise flowed just as freely, though, and he therefore came off as abrasive far more often than he did as "charming."

All the same, it was apparent he had been cut from the same cloth as his brother at some point, and when he minded his impulsive tongue, it even showed sometimes. Sometimes, that impulsive tongue had sweet things to say.

His reply was not particularly sweet, nor anything but blunt. "Yes. You do." The grip of his hands shifted slightly, from her thighs down to beneath her hips. He was half-tempted to grab her and encourage her to grind, but that would be a little too predictable.

Instead, he braced himself and suddenly shoved upward, using his hips to toss her up and off of him. It was just enough to use his hands to guide her, twisting her hips to flip her onto her back on the mattress. Carver immediately climbed over her, reaching up to grip her forearms and playfully pin them down to the mattress, pressing her body down with his weight.

"That get your attention?" he teased. He was dangerously close to grinding on her, allowing his cock to brush against her leg suggestively without actually pursuing it.

She appeared to yield to the flip, going so far as to squirm down into her decadent sheets. She let her gaze trail down between them to eye the sight of him hanging between his thighs, thick and potent. The stiff leather of her boots scraped along his outer thighs as she slowly lifted her legs.

"Mmm, you have my complete attention, sweet thing," she purred. She was flexible enough to lift up against the hold of her arms far enough to kiss him without trying to pull out of his grip. She still held the dildo gripped in her right hand. She hadn't lost it in the shuffle.

Her kiss was deep, intense. Her mouth on his was devouring, as though he were the only man ever to have graced her bed, or at least the only one who meant a damn. She could throw herself easily into the mindset, legs wrapping tighter to force a grind. She was wet, hot, yet somehow managed to keep him from getting a good angle to complete the come-hither.

She rode that edge right up to the point she worked herself into just the right position. Then it seemed as though she went strangely boneless or shifted her center of gravity with the skill of a cat, because suddenly, he was on his back, she atop him, and coming right down onto him to ride him. She enveloped him in slick heat, an expert clench drawing him in tightly and pulsing him inside her in a rolling stroke.

"I like to be on top." She bit his lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. "I doubt you'll mind."

"Good," he muttered, sounding proud of himself. Carver leaned down to meet her half way for another searing kiss, and from there everything seemed to happen nice and naturally. He found he didn't need to think about what to do or when or why-- his body was quite happy to grind down against hers as she writhed against him, nudging his cock between her legs and coming achingly close to where he wanted to be.

Isabela seemed to have a scheme to all of this, keeping him just stimulated enough to make him groan but just frustrated enough to never get anywhere with it. He was half-tempted to adjust her hips and go for it on his own, but she beat him to the punch at that, too. Carver looked almost startled to be on his back again, but the surprise faded quickly as Isabela impaled herself on him within moments.

"Maker- blighting fuck-" he gasped out, silenced by the nip at his lip. He stared at her then, apparently still a little shocked that this was still happening and that Isabela was in the midst of riding him.

"Don't mind at all," he mumbled, and experimented with rolling his hips for her.

"Such a dirty little mouth you have," she said, delighted with his reaction. The look in those baby blues of his was one she wouldn't forget soon. She loved it when the big, muscled ones never saw it coming. Raising her arms, she trailed her hands down through her thick hair and arched up and back for him to get the best possible view of all she had to offer.

She gripped both of his hands to draw them up to her breasts. She had seen him eyeing her cleavage enough through the years to think he'd appreciate it. For her part, she was all too happy to grind down over him and meet that upward roll halfway. She licked the taste of blood from her lips and eyed all of the small ways she'd marked him so far. He wouldn't be forgetting this any time soon, either.

Luckily for him, he felt good enough to keep her distracted from more immediate talking. Her hands came to rest on his chest, nails lightly raking as she enjoyed the feeling of smooth skin over hard muscle. She flicked idly at his nipples and once again caressed over the stylized mabari, a bruise adding to the texture.

Her rhythm was demanding and anything but passive. She rode and milked him with hot, slick squeezes every time she lifted for another heavy plunge down. Her boot heels dug into the outer undersides of her ass on her bounces. At this rate, she'd have bruises, too.

He most certainly did appreciate her guidance to put his hands on her breasts. He eagerly squeezed both in his rough palms in time with her thrusts, falling into a steady rhythm with her while still letting her drive the pace.

Maker, it had been entirely too blighted long since he'd gotten any. The Wardens were often to dally with each other when they had the chance, but the chance didn't come very often. Carver had found that one of the upsides of being a Warden was that his endurance had improved incredibly from when he was an ordinary person. Now that Isabela had got him going, he felt like he could keep this up all night long with her. The prospect of getting tired seemed very far away.

She was tight and hot, and the angle was perfect for both of them. He worked his hips so that she could easily bounce off of him, adding a little slap of skin to the intensity. There really was the sense that Carver was strong enough to thrust her right off of him if he tried to, and a sense that he was just barely at the point of holding himself back to avoid that.

Until Isabela suggested otherwise, of course.

Sometimes she craved finesse, and games, and toys, and the strangest, most difficult positions to try to maintain, and sometimes she craved exactly this, a straightforward, eager man with the size, strength, and stamina to please her for as long as she wanted him however she wanted him. On top was a must, although there were a few different varieties they could try that she imagined he wouldn't find nearly as objectionable as the phallus.

She couldn't find the best place for her hands. She loved his chest, his shoulders, the rock hard biceps. She took turns enjoying all of them with rough skinned palms and sharp nails. She pinioned him hard enough to leave more marks and contributed to the slapping sound gleefully every time she came down to him.

By the time they broke a sweat, she was ready for a change of scenery. Without pulling off of him, she lifted a leg, twisted around, and resettled facing his feet. Now she could play with those thickly muscled legs, and he could have a grand view of her ass jiggling from how hard he rutted her.

The change of angle was intense and had her moaning and reaching up to tug sharply at her nipples, head dropping back far enough and back arching to tickle his chest and stomach with her thick hair. "I'll give you until next week to stop," she purred.

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