#Basil being in charge is my kink

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Cleansed]

For Day 27 of Carry on Countdown 23, Gift. @carryon-countdown

Filthy Anniversary Smut continued, or: aftercare smut. As Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch deserve.

Rated more explicitly E than the first part of this. For Baz being overly gentle and forceful at the same time.

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It’s two in the afternoon and they haven’t left bed yet. Well, that isn’t entirely true. And it was less that they hadn’t left bed yet, but more like Baz was keeping Simon in their hotel bed. Simon might have tried to claim it was against his will, but that would’ve been a load of shit. Simon had stumbled into the bathroom at some point after nine in the morning, but then he’d stumbled right back into bed after. He didn’t want to leave bed as much as Baz didn’t want him to.

Baz, on the other hand, had left to get the breakfast they’d ordered in from the restaurant. French toast, slathered in berries and syrup and whipped cream, with fresh coffee and a side of bacon for each of them, absolute decadence in their morning after. He’s also left twice over the course of the morning to get Simon more water, a crime, according to Simon Snow himself. A crime in which he was the primary victim.

Simon’s whining only makes Baz laugh harder while he forces Simon to hydrate.

It’s a slow morning, a tender morning, and Baz spends his spare moments kissing over the burns and scratches and bruises over Simon’s skin. Every kiss presses into his skin like a gift, every sore spot treated with the balm of Basil’s lips, over and over again until Simon is squirming from too much attention.

“Baz–” He gasps as Baz presses another kiss into the dips of Simon’s hips, it’s been hours like this. Simon’s tail slides around Baz’s waist and drags him closer, “–think m’worked up enough, don’t you?”

Baz hums his answer, nipping over soft skin while his hands rub soft over Simon’s thighs, his kisses trailing over the soft curve of Simon’s stomach, tongue darting over sensitive dips in skin and tasting still more of his love.

He keeps going even as Simon asks again.

And again.

And still again.

He keeps trailing kisses over every inch of skin until Simon’s been near fully cleansed on Baz’s kisses, the tender touch of lips and tongue soothing every sore, both phantom and all to present. Baz pushes Simon onto his stomach and repeats the process all over again. His hands join lips in those tender attentions over still more hypersensitive skin, over wings and tail and the precious nape of Simon Snow’s neck. It’s that spot that practically unmakes Simon, collapsing in on himself.

“Basil–” Simon groans out against the mattress, his arms no longer supporting him properly, his knees nearly failing him seconds later, “You can’t– you can’t keep teasing me… I can’t take it anymore… I’m gonna bloody burst, please–”

Baz licks a long stripe up Simon’s spine and then kisses his way back down again, pausing at the small of his back, “You’re not still sore from last night?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Simon groans, legs spreading apart for Baz to slide between all the easier, “You made me like this, now do something about it.”

The demand makes Baz laugh soft over Simon’s skin, but he moves for Simon all the same. He presses a thumb against that tight hole, red and abused still from the night before, but Simon swallows up that digit all the same. His palm presses soft against where Simon wanted him most, where he was aching for Baz’s attention, leaking for it, but he keeps his touches slow and soft. Baz stretches Simon with languid, lazy circles of that thumb inside him, rocking his hand steady against that point until Simon’s practically sobbing for more.

His voice is a stuttering mess for Baz, a litany of pretty pleases, need you, want you, miss you and more, all for Baz to soak up. Baz answers each and every soft, pleading cry with his own soft comforts. A kiss over the jut of Simon’s hipbone, or a teasing nip just under his ribs, or a soft reassurance. “I’m still here, love, I’ve got you, I’ll take care of you,” Baz murmurs in a voice so dark, midnight would envy him.

His thumb slips free of that well used hole, freeing his hand more to rub over that ache, stroking slow over it, soaking Simon that much more in his own mess. Baz shifts his way back down, forcing Simon’s tail to adjust, slipping around his arm inside while Baz’s tongue finds that needy hole, dipping just inside, teasing still more, until Simon’s lost nearly all capacity to speak.

His tongue dives in deeper, finding the remnants of their mix and swallowing it down greedily, and then right back in to find still more. Baz moves in slow circles. His tongue, his fingers and palm all work in tandem, at that torturous pace that has Simon near in tears. He knows Simon’s begging for release, begging to be unmade at the will of Baz’s attentions and only Baz’s attentions. He knows Simon’s burning for it now, but he doesn’t bother hurrying the process.

Baz waits.

Baz waits until his palm’s a mess with Simon’s want, his fingers slipping all too easily over skin, all too raw from his unrelenting touches. Baz waits until Simon’s sobbing has gone quiet, his voice too raw from mindless begging to make words happen the way they’re supposed to. Baz waits until Simon can’t stop himself anymore, until he knows he could just… breathe cold air against Simon’s aching hole, against that point, dripping with want, and make him fall apart.

And that’s exactly what he does.

Baz slides his hand just so, fingers flicking over that heated, soaked point just once before he pulls back enough to breathe cold air over him, and Simon spills sloppy onto the sheets beneath him.

Baz dives back in before Simon’s anywhere near done. Simon’s knees give out while Baz’s tongue slides over every aching inch, catching that spend, swallowing down as much of the mess as he can, cleaning his love all over again as he works Simon through it, humming like it’s the only breakfast he’d really wanted this morning.

Simon’s chest is heaving, his wings are twitching and his tail is flicking mindlessly. Baz sucks a soft mark into the curve of Simon’s ass, his chin dripping with Simon’s mess and his own saliva, and he knows he could keep going, but he has grace enough to give Simon room to breathe.

“Done?” He asks quietly, but Simon’s already shaking his head. “No?” Baz asks again, letting loose a low laugh.

“Mmn-mmn,” Simon purrs for him, “Not till you are,” he manages, voice broken but perfectly content.

“You’re sure?” Baz already knows the answer though.

Simon’s tail flicks his arm for the tease. “You too…”

“You can’t even move, love…”

“Don’t care,” Simon huffs, “You too.”

“More water first,” Baz is already standing to get it and Simon groans out loud for it. Baz tugs at Simon’s tail before he can find the words to his annoyance, “No protests or I’ll make you wait longer.”

Simon pouts, but swallows the urge to protest, and it’s far from the last thing he swallows.

[ramlightly]

if you ever do get around to writing and posting the kink character analysis ramble you mentioned in the tags of the "lapis tops" post i would be very interested in reading it and hopefully other people agree with me

Lol I did get a couple of asks for this! Lets see if I can keep this from getting too long.

Okay so- there is a doylist and watsonian aspect to writing kink for characters, right?

Basil and Dandelion have a sub/dom relationship with kinks like humiliation, voyeurism, and bondage. A lot of this is based around Basil''s complicated relationship with sex and catholicism and his own desires to be submissive. Or Dandelion's preference for being on top and being in charge during sex. That's the Watsonian layer.

But then there is my own desires out of their relationship, where I'm playing with hierophilia and a corruption kink and monster-fucking, these not things the characters would be aware of. This is the Doylist layer and are the foundations is what their relationship is actually built on. Basil/Dandelion came together pretty naturally in that regard. I am their god and I want them to fuck like this

In fact, a lot of the characters I make for Temptations are originally because I wanted to explore a different dynamics and relationships. Ginger was for fem-dom. Thistle was because I wanted a bigger lady and a character that acted a third to Basil/Dandelion's dynamic that wasn't romantic. Hollyhock because vampires are hot. They all grew from those originally seeds, but only because I planted them there first.

There are the character's preferences and my preferences for the characters. A a certain point , the actual characterization begins to get in the way. You can't do the same dynamic of Basil/Dandelion with Malady/Lapis. You just cant. Even when originally I that was I was planning for.

Look at Lapis and Basil: they're both bottoms with masochistic tendencies but they have such different characters especially with their feelings about sex. Lapis is sly, clever, and very very careful when it comes to other people. He isn't interested in being humiliated or being treated as an object, he's far too distrusting. There's just been too many relationships where he got hurt from and he likes having control too much. He's the one who holds the reigns during sex, even with Malady. Especially with Malady. They're both into that.

In fact, Lapis and Malady's attitude towards sex is so much more casual compared Basil's and Dandelions. There is a power dynamic, because all relationships are, but they don't have any angst towards fucking. It's fun, they like each other a lot, so they have sex. I was originally planning on them having multiple partners like Basil/Dandelion do, but, honestly those two are stuck at the hip.

It's what I mean about characterization ultimately trumping my intentions. Malady definitely has developed beyond my original concepts for him (he's such a simp now lol, he was supposed to be cool!!!). But it's better to just let character become what they need to be rather try to hamstring them. It's more fun that way, imo.

I'm sparing everyone from going on another tangent, so I'll end it here lol. I hope that was... interesting? At least it's a peak into how I think about characters.

[sucrosette]

★— ⋆｡˚ [Poison]

For Day 16 of Carry on Countdown 23, Smoke. @carryon-countdown

Filthy Anniversary Smut. As Simon Snow and Basilton Grimm-Pitch deserve.

Rated somewhere between M and E, for being overtly smutty. It's not the most descriptive on what's happening twixt their nethers though, so your mileage may vary.

Warnings for (consensual) smoking/cigarettes, burnplay and sexual shenanigans whilst under the influence.

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It’s three in the morning. The clock ticks loudly. It’s the only sound beyond the clink of their shared wine glass whenever one of them places it back on the bedside table. Mostly Basil. This is Basil’s show and he’s shameless with it. Simon’s on fire all over again and this time it’s not even the unnatural outpouring of magick he’d been able to tap into, once upon a time.

Simon’s on his back a pillow at his spine between his wings to keep them from being squashed unnecessarily, beyond what Baz might like for him. His tail’s wrapped around Baz’s ankle, squeezing every time Baz makes another move against him. Basil, poised perfectly above him, slotted between Simon’s legs, still buried deep, not bothering to clean them up or separate between rounds.

Crowley, it’s been one hell of an anniversary. Whisked off to Paris, shown about the town, wined and dined, and now he’s pinned to their hotel bed, far nicer than the one Simon’s got in his shitty little apartment. Willingly, of course, all too willingly. He’s let Basil tie his wrists together and to the headboard, a long silk scarf the colour of his wings to make a pretty picture– just like Baz likes.

Basil’s still rocking inside of him, slow and lazy, dragging debauched moans from Simon, his Simon with every one. His throat’s gone by now, his voice raw with everything they’ve gotten up to since they’d stumbled their way back into the hotel, a little bit tipsy from after dinner drinks and lounge music, and Simon’s certain Basil’s got plans to ruin his voice even more.

It’s three in the morning, they’re in their hotel, which Simon’s pretty certain was a smoking free room, and Basil’s scrounged a cigarette from somewhere. Had he had that the whole time? Probably. Simon was too gone to tell. Baz starts dragging the tip of it over his chest, unlit, but undeniably a precursor to something more. Simon’s breath hitches when Baz shoots him a look, sends his eyelashes fluttering like some twitterpated teen girl instead of the very entwined couple they were.

Baz grips Simon’s chin and straightens his neck, taking another sip of wine, and cracks Simon’s mouth open, spitting it secondhand into his mouth. A little nearly spills, but Baz cleans it quick with his thumb, forcing that in Simon’s mouth too. Simon writhes and moans, but swallows diligently, humming when it’s all down his throat, a happy little smile playing on his lips.

“Oh, you head-empty little thing, you’re loving all of this, aren’t you?” Basil drawls above him and Simon only nods, his little smile growing. “Well, that’s good then. As you should, on our anniversary.”

Simon hums again as Baz pulls the cigarette to his lips, lighting it on his thumb and watching Simon’s eyes blow wide all over again. Tension pulls Simon’s muscles taut all over again underneath Basil. “You love that too, don’t you, Darling? Think it’s bloody hot?”

Simon nods again, even faster, earning a soft chuckle from Baz as he takes his first proper drag. “Filthy,” Baz murmurs as he settles a little deeper, hand poised with the cigarette over Simon’s abdomen. He drags his fingertips slowly up and down the center of him, the heat of the butt of it dangerously close to Simon’s skin. There’s a moment of pause between them, a fierce eye contact, an unspoken request, and Simon nods his consent all too easily.

The cigarette burns a neat circle just above his belly button and then it’s leaving his skin so Baz can take another long drag. Basil blows smoke over the burn, bending deep so he can kiss it soft, cooling it with cool lips, before pressing another perfect circle into the dip of Simon’s hips, on the left side, and then before he could even react, again on the right.

A low whine slips from Simon’s lips and Baz’s grin only cracks wider. He presses two more soft kisses to each mark before straightening again, sinking back in easy for his love, fingers tracing a small circle just below Simon’s ribs. Another unspoken question. Another quick nod from Simon, begging without words for the sadistic attention.

Baz takes another drag, blowing the smoke through his nose, and marking just where he’d marked for Simon’s approval, and then again in the middle of Simon’s chest, dead center of it. Two more kisses find their way over Simon’s aching skin between Basil’s lazy drags and lazy rocking, still taking his time while Simon’s already twisting under him, voiceless and wanting.

“One more, love, is that all you need?” Basil tone borders on teasing, his grin something wicked, made of the smoke he’s blowing. He knows better, but he’s teasing all the same.

It’s enough to make Simon throw him a glare, enough to nearly find his voice, but it cracks again on nothing. He shakes his head furiously, sending Baz a vicious pout when the vampire’s grip catches his jaw again, forcing his gaze one more time.

“Where?” is all Basil asks, and it’s entirely unfair. He can’t point where he’d like to with his hands bound like this, and his legs are useless with how they’re tangled together.

He’ll have to use his voice.

Just like Basil likes, an exasperated version of himself reminds Simon internally. Nothing he hasn’t agreed to, nothing he doesn’t like, but that urge to riot rising in Simon as his eagerness and impatience grows.

“Collar–” He manages to crack out, despite the state of him, despite the growing desperation and the glower settling on his face, but before his mood could sour properly, Basil catches his lips in a searing kiss, almost unnaturally hot.

“Fine,” Basil mutters through his smokey kiss, “Three more, then I’ll take care of us. If you’re still good to go that is?”

The hand not holding that cigarette massages at Simon’s wrists, a careful moment of tenderness, and Simon nods again as his jaw is freed. “M’good,” he mumbles out, barely audible, “M’so bloody good.”

“Alright, Darling,” Baz rumbles out, already dragging from that dangerous cigarette all over again, “That’s enough out of you for now, rest that pretty voice until I make you scream all over again.”

It’s all too easy a command to follow.

Tears start gathering in Simon’s eyes when the first burn hits him, just at the dip of his collarbone against his neck. He squints when the second hits, a mirror of the last, attempting to blink them away while Baz takes his last drag of his cigarette. The final burn presses into the hollow of his throat and Simon moans filthy even as his tears spill over properly onto his cheeks.

Basil leans up to ash the mostly dead cigarette in their mostly empty wine glass and then back down to kiss Simon’s tears away, trailing all the way down to lips to kiss him languid all over again. Their kiss tastes like poison, like smoke and ash and a hint of blood, probably Simon’s. Their kiss tastes like danger, like suffocation, like all the fire and fight they’d ever shared between them. Their kiss tastes like love, like tender velvet and soft rose petals, none of the thorns they both used to wield against each other.

Simon loves it, all of it, swallows down those kisses as greedily as Basil gives them, whining when Baz breaks their kiss to press their foreheads together.

“Ready?” Basil breathes sometime after three in the morning, barely above a whisper. Barely a nod answers him before Simon is reduced to breathlessness all over again.