#Pinnacle of Ecstasy | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

semischarmed · 4 years ago

Text

Truth

There he was. Lucas, in deep sleep. His snores fill the bedroom, barely lit by moonlight. The night was hot, and humid air envelops you both. Sweet, sweet Lucas- probably one of your nicest friends. Just a bit introspective, but you somewhat admired that in him. He was cute, sure, but he also exuded a beauty, a handsomeness that eclipsed many others. The way his eyes glistened intently whenever you held a conversation with him. They way his brows furrowed and gaze look into the distance whenever he was in deep thought. The way just the slightest folds on the corners of his eyes appeared whenever he smiled. The man was truly genuine, and whenever you two conversed he made sure you were the only thing that mattered in the world. Of course, who could forget that laugh. A quiet confidence and a mature self-acceptance brought to life with a bit of playful, youthful vibrancy. Truly everything that was this man, everything that was your Lucas was pinnacle, in your eyes. There would no other person in the world for you beyond him.

And in this most intimate of places, you see a side of him previously unseen. Damn those muscles. You knew he was relatively fit, but unhindered by his normal choice of clothing, they were massive. You note the delicate craftsmanship, the hills and valleys glistening, almost glowing in the moonlight. This man, who had trusted you enough to give you spare keys to his home, this man you had been yearning for years in secret was almost yours. A relationship, a friendship? No, one could not settle for just that. You would not be content until your every moment and his aligned. Pure, complete becoming. Lucas was your destiny.

With palms sweaty in anticipation, you chant the ancient words- spoken in long-dead tongues, invoking long-dead gods at your behest. These words did not come cheap. They were manifest from years of research and vast sums of wealth. Neither of which truly mattered anymore though, for what price could possibly ever match to perfection? The spell is near-complete, yet Lucas still slumbers.

Amidst the humid air and the warmth enveloping you both, there was on odd coldness. A coldness you could feel in your soul. Brisk, ancient, prickling sensations. Magic.The spell you were casting, despite being surely off-pronunciation was working. As you had found out magic, was 99% intent anyways, and you were single-track in this endeavor. You increase the speed of your speech in anticipation. ‘Oh Lucas… babe…just wait…almost there….’

“…sanguiniu- “ You cut yourself off by the sight before you. The spell was broken slightly but you can’t help but stare hungrily.

In the entrance to the moist cavern of his mouth, you catch sight of his tongue- fleshy, thick, enveloped in a film of his saliva. Damn. It was teasing you, just hanging out there in the night air. With every rise and fall of his chest, it slowly followed suit, gently bobbing, slowly pulling you forward.

You bite your lip when you notice a bit of drool pool on the corner of his mouth. He smiles a bit. Must have been a good dream. ‘Ugh. Even sleeping sloppy he was so cute.’

As you walk up to him, warm gusts of air gently caress your face, encircling and filling into your nostrils. This wasn’t just air. It was Lucas’ air- soon to be your air, beckoning it’s new owner in. And it smelled nice. There was a pleasant muskiness about it. The spell wasn’t complete, but what’s the harm in a brief pause? You wouldn’t ever get a chance to experience Lucas like this anyway, at least not after you complete the incantation.

You lean closer to his mouth. “Should I….?” You gently wrap your lips around his tongue, pulling it into a fleshy envelope and begin sucking on it gently. ‘Ugh… sweet, Sweet Lucas. God, he even tasted delicious. As you feel his fleshy pink mass in your mouth, you can’t help but smile siphon a bit of him, a bit of his taste.

When you draw some of Lucas’ saliva into yourself, you near-faint in bliss. Fuck. You shiver uncontrollably at the notion of having a piece of Lucas inside you. This was everything. The flavor was unreal, much like his scent, it had earthy if somewhat salty notes but the muskiness, the raw testosterone in it was far more pronounced. It was an injection of pure Lucas inside yourself. You couldn’t help but suck just a bit more him in.

The mouth surrounding that tongue was your entrance to the future, to your true self. Goddamn inviting. You even cum a little as you continue drawing more and more of Lucas and smash your head towards his open maw. “Mmmmm” you moan from your chest and throat, when he begins following suit, plump lips drawing over yours, bringing you closer as well. It purely instinctual on his end- didn’t fucking matter. All that rang true to you, all that mattered was that his reflexes, his body at that moment wanted you.

Lucas gags a little, breaking his unconscious silence as he inadvertently draws more and more of you into him. You relish in the moment, in the binding of your tongue to his, in the suction you feel emanating from his tongue. In your eyes, this was what his body wanted. what Lucas wanted. Of course it was. Your true place, your rightful place in this world was being a part of the Lucas experience, was being in him, was living as him. The corners of his lips turn into a more pronounced frown. His breathing hastens and in your intimate position, you steal each of these breaths into yourself. He awakes to the sight of his good friend uncomfortably close over his body. Impossibly close, in fact, and locked in orgasmic bliss. You sneer continue with your odd “kiss”. It was passionate, sloppy- at least from your end. Locked in ecstasy, you pay little mind to his attempts to pull you away. You’re not fucking letting go though, and maintain yourself lock on his tongue. This “kiss” was exactly how you’d always imagined it to be, only far more visceral, more raw. Imagination could only take you so far, after all. Heat exudes his chest and you greedily push your body stuck to his. A soft, slick sound is heard when both your chests stick together, sweat mixing. In his panicked breaths, you feel powerful lungs draw in and expand into you, squishing more of his skin over yours. Goddamn you can’t wait for it to be you using those lungs, flaunting those muscles, speaking through that mouth with that tongue. You can’t wait to make those vocal cords yours, to make them utter phrases they’ve never had to.

You smile as the magic begins to do its work. Tongues are drawn together, drawn to be one, and your face starts to squish into him. In his eyes he can only see yours sparkle in lust. You moan further. “Tho close. We’re almoth there Lucath….almoth uth…almoth one” you half mumble in slurred movements.

Then, you feel it. Lucas’ tongue. The persistent suction drawing you into him. The nerves of his tongue tasting and feeling yours. ‘This is it. One last push further.’ You muse. You start moaning louder as he tries in vain to push you out, but you’re already melded to him- your skin and meat and bones already liquefying and condensing into a mass onto his tongue. He can feel it too. Pure Treachery. You begin to finish out the words of the spell. Now intimately, physically connected, Lucas is forced to repeat the words with you. The spell is complete. Of course, intent had been muddled by the now-awake Lucas, and words slipped and slid around your conjoined tongue. Didn’t matter, apparently, as you still felt the air become heavy with ancient briskness and enclose around you two. In a slosh, your entire form pushes into his tongue enveloping it. The pressure in the air is now crushing, and you feel yourself crumple, congeal, and consolidate into his tongue. In that pressure, you felt yourself born anew, bound, a part of Lucas. Finally, to be one.

Lucas wakes in a cold sweat, shivering despite the warm night air. His tongue dangles off to the side of his open mouth. “Weird” he states, before pulling it back in. “What a fucking dream” he states before gently dozing back off to sleep.

So, that spell was a bit of letdown. In the afterglow of the event, you soon realize the mistake made in clouded judgement. Rites, ancient languages and their intricacies. You never quite gotten that intent correct. You realize your mistake in your new form. You try to move, only to realize that while you were indeed a part of Lucas, only his tongue dangles slightly.

Still being his tongue was not all bad. You are a now fully a part of him after all, so you feel yourself swell in pride at being a part of this handsome man. Besides, as a tongue, taste was all amplified. When Lucas had later awoken and eaten that first breakfast, it was near-orgasmic. What would have been a fairly simple breakfast was nothing short of divine. Even something as simple as toast- from his mouth that initial first crunch, the particles that first fell on you, the short, roasted crumbs with an almost decadent caramel tone- it was all too much to handle. Bread never tasted like this. The coffee he drank was even better. It was bitter, like all coffee, but it was a deep, rich bitterness, swirled through an undeniable nuttiness and the mild thick sweetness of the cream. Of course, as his tongue you could move slightly. You used this tiny bit of control you had to make sure every crunch, every slurp mattered. Lucas noticed his tongue move almost of its own volition, effortlessly gliding over each bite, rubbing over every ridge, showing its master the joy in the mundane. It would be his slowest and most delicious breakfast to date. Every bite and every lick its own coordinated effort. One hundred percent Lucas, one hundred percent you. Something as mundane as breakfast became a synchronized dance between you two. There would be no one closer to him than this. To top it all off, you got to be where you wanted afterward- in Lucas. It was like a warm, wet embrace in his body’s own little way.

Though frankly, his taste in food could use some work. Those fucking protein shakes. Goddamn you swear the man drinks one for every meal. Vile, chalky, tasteless liquids that he forces you to swallow. If you still had a throat, you’d gag every time. Of course you cannot and are forced to take it, forced to move however his nerves direct.

For now, this would be fine, because when he wasn’t eating that very same flavor, that very same essence of Lucas that you crave enveloped you perpetually. It’s like the “kiss” from that night, he’s unwittingly got you locked in one with him for eternity.

—

Living as his tongue for the past few weeks has been amazing, but you can’t help but wonder about what could have been. You’ve since been accustomed to eating the same meals he did, to working as his tongue and have even gotten a bit more autonomy. Still, this was his body and he was the boss and it readily pushed a command that you could not disobey.

You actually felt yourself a little larger of a presence in him, though you still couldn’t quite grasp why.

Today, Lucas was out walking with his friend. Mark. Lucas would always be first in your mind, but Mark was a close second. Your mind wanders, brewing lustful, sinful thoughts about Mark. As you squirm inside Lucas, something changes. There was something else beyond just his tongue. You firmly take it into yourself, before continuing in your Mark-filled stream. Without warning, Lucas goes up to his dear friend for a quick lick.

“Hey sexy”

It’s barely audible, but unquestionably there. No one dare say another word in tense air.

“Handsssomeee…”

The word slices through the tension clean. As a part of him, you feel warmth bloom inside Lucas. His face is bright red.

Mark calls Luke’s bluff. “Haha bro… you really into me like that?” You feel Lucas’ throat close up. “N-no dude, er-it’s not like that” he replies meekly.

Mark takes the compliment in stride though, jokingly giving Lucas a wink, and playfully punching his shoulder. “Whatever bro, if you’re gonna stand there oogling, at least pay for my dinner” he laughs. In that brief moment of vulnerability, you flash just the lightest bit of control over that very same shoulder he punched. Addicting. The second taste of Lucas’ body. Lucas reacts to the muscle spasm by shivering slightly and wiping the punch off. “Haha, Fuck you too Mark” he laughs before absentmindedly licking his lips. By this point, you can barely pay attention to the outside world.

Because inside Lucas, inside the future you, acquisition. Ecstasy. For at this moment, you now felt his lungs-those lungs-your. lungs. You now felt his throat, his voice. In every breath he draws, you loan him back control, but it’s truly yours. You feel yourself expand and contract in slow, rhythmic motions. You feel the muscles surrounding them, and his warm heart pumping inside you. You feel yourself vibrate as he contorts you to form his sentences. It was divine. You start to chuckle, which results in the Lucas of the outer world choking slightly mid-sentence. Unfinished spells and unfinished magic were quite unpredictable but slowly, surely, the spell did its work. ’So that’s how it is.’

A few days later, a few days of your presence and you have even better hold over his voice. You relish in your control. The way his voice feels reverberating and rolling off you. Like sweet honey leaking out of the man of your dreams. On some nights, in his deepest sleep, you whisper sweet nothings to yourself, making Lucas beg you to possess him fully. “Pleeeease… take me… all of me…”

His unconscious body winces, grabs at air, pull at sheets, and writhes in pleasure as you make him say this. You shared a body after all, excess lust, excess hormones- they had to be going somewhere.

—

On this particular day, Lucas had been pumping iron with another of his friends. Andre always looked fucking hot, so you figured this would be as good of an opportunity as any.

You bring yourself to Andre��s neck, dragging your tongue around the bump of his Adam’s apple, circling the pronounced veins running across the sides. Hmmm. Salty.

You focus your words, your feelings into one- a phrase to unlock your freedom. Words reverberate through Lucas’ very core. You are his tongue, so you feel his nerves yield, his receptors, his very body yours.

“R-r-ravage me, Andre- Ravage this body. Show me what those guns can do- let me feel them, let me feel you. Lukey’s feeling lonely… I have a you-shaped hole ripe for the-“ Andre tries to repeat the perverted words coming out of his friend’s mouth, tries to digest them, to process what the fuck just happened.

“H-Hey- Dude! What the fuck was that for!?” Andre asked in shock. Shaking Lucas’ shoulders. He looked genuinely hurt. But Lucas was lost in lust. He was different. He was moaning. “F-FUCK yeah. You taste delicious. Did I ever tell you that bro?” He spoke perversely. His words and thoughts tainted, clouded by your lust. You liked him better this way. He breaks from his spell.

“Oh God- I- Fuck! Sorry! I’m so fucking sorry! I don’t know what that was. A-Andre? You ok? A teary Lucas asked his friend.

“Yeah dude.. whatever. Just please..um.. never do it again” He grimaced.

Since you were a part of Lucas, you felt fear rush through his bones. He sucks his hanging tongue back in- a recently-acquired, disturbing habit he seems to have picked up from nowhere. He was terrified. Not just in his body, his voice moving on its own. He was terrified because he liked it. Terrified that he was becoming something else, something perverse. In truth, he really was. In your soul you could tell that Lucas was almost ready, because the endorphins, the testosterone, hormones you were pumping him chock-full with with had not dissipated. It was exhilarating. Fear. Lust. Ecstasy. These pervaded inside him, emotions mixing and swirling with yours. You could feel him try to fend off raw desire and a raging hard-on while he tried to sincerely comfort his friend. Fuck it feels amazing being a part of him. The man liked to keep his emotions in check but he was slipping. You were like a poison to him, slowly infecting his very self. Or perhaps, you were his antidote, the catalyst needed for both you to become your true selves. In this very moment though, you were simply content in just being a part of him. Content to just ride the invisible passenger. Content to feel the rush of his emotions as your own. The best part in all this? Lucas was continually shifting while he talked to Andre, trying to hide the intense desire to be used, experienced, felt. Because of you, he was getting off on all this.

Shame riddled Lucas while you continued to worm and entrench yourself in him. That didn’t stop you two from masturbating to the thought of dragging that hot tongue all over Andre’s bod.

———

It’s been a few weeks now, and the corruption of Lucas was near-complete. Your Lucas was near-complete.

Every morning, he catches himself checking his face out in the mirror, sticking his tongue out, making seductive motions. “-fffFuck yeahhh” you both say. Like clockwork he soon shakes himself lucid, disturbed and goes about his day. Increasingly, you’ve been moaning with him, flooding him with your endorphins in response, rewarding his body for its increasingly deviant nature. These sessions have only gotten longer and more frequent. In a sense, his body began to crave it- to crave you. The more he uses that tongue, the more you rile up in being used- the further and deeper he becomes yours.

Armed with this knowledge, you throw your lust into overdrive, driving him mad. His eyes are perpetually dilated, blood perpetually rushing, and he his lip quivers often in bursts of pleasure. His friends notice the slight change too, when your future body stiffens to their touch. Really, it’s just Lucas trying to stop himself, his impulses from guiding him from going all over them. Your soon-to-be friends probably noticed his propensity-your propensity to leave yourself hanging out of his mouth, displaying proudly to the world.

His body is now all but yours. It actively fights the man, resisting his every move slightly, pumping him with sinful impulses, edging the last vestige of Lucas-his brain- to relent. His body wants you in control. Alas, the brain was the forefront of control, and whenever focused you can do nothing but to comply. Despite this, you know you’re close- the man can barely focus, barely rest, as you continue pumping him with pleasure, taunting him to release himself to you.

Something inside told you this was it- this was the day. In this very morning, he wakes in a trance, walking over to his mirror, gazing at himself in clouded lust. He was drawn to himself and relinquishing to the desires both his body and you had been pumping him with. Of course, the lapse is momentary, the moan near-inaudible, but it was enough. Jackpot. In that briefest of moments, you wrestle primary control of this body from him, cementing you as his puppet-master. His body complies willingly, flaring in anticipation of its new owner. After all, you’ve been feeding it your pleasure whenever it follows your command. Locked in that pleasure, you begin to move around, relishing in the absolute control you now had.

Still, who knew how long this would last? You needed a way to have Lucas, to be like this permanently. As you eye his features in the mirror, you knew just what to do.

You start with his face. His eyes are wide with fear as his body continues moving on its own volition. His mouth purses into a pout- a cute little touch you wanted to add- by itself. A thick tongue begins to peek out of plump lips. Like a snake, you greedily taste the morning air, wiggling your pink flesh in delight before focusing on the “delight” you were attached to. You want to taste it all-to taste the man you would become once more. You start by delicately layering his own saliva over his lips. In the absence of breakfast, you deduce this essence to be 100% Lucas. The flavor was - nonintrusive. But you could tell the reeked of an undercurrent manliness, cause in that very saliva and essence of Lucas that you coat yourself with, you also felt the saturation of testosterone, the slight bitterness of power inherent in being him. It was a humble flavor that unquestionably read “Man”. Everything this body made, everything it was was addicting.

Prickly- Thats how the beard surrounding his lips were. Delicious, seductive hairs that Lucas liked to keep just the tiniest bit unkempt, that you just found all the more alluring. In this very forest of hairs were the concentrated sweat, grime, and natural scent baked and solidified from the previous day- for Lucas was a morning showerer.

You decide to give him shower his body deserved- “Shower” would be stretching the use of the word. You engorge yourself- sticking and smearing your wet, pink flesh all over that prickly skin, savoring in the salty, putrid essence, in the raw flavoring of the beard of the man you would become. Of course it was delicious. It was Lucas.

Yet there would be more Lucas to share. You survey the next area to “shower” in this bod- he watches in fear as his left hand raises straight up to the sky. Fingers fashion themselves into a claw and veins in that arm flare to life. Cutey little Lukey was trying to fight it. The hand shakes in internal struggle. You decide to revel in this moment. Since your libido was now Lucas’, his cock can’t help but harden. You make him look at it before calling it a “Joint effort” with a wink. He moans, body betraying mind. You catch a whiff of the stench emanating from your left. Delightful. His protestations and disgust are muddled in your raw elation, as you smash his mouth face first into his unwashed armpit.

“MMmmmpph” He tries to get a word out, tries to pull himself off his own skin to no avail. After all, you were still his tongue, and you were quite preoccupied. Sharp, pungent, sour, flavors line you as you smear more and more of yourself around. You briefly entangle and entwine yourself into his hairs, coating them with his own saliva while you poke and prod. His body is forced to experience wave after wave of the pleasure you felt in burying yourself here. You indulge in his scent further. Using his lungs, you make him inhale deeply. His own muskiness floods his senses and he briefly regains control, coughing in disgust. ‘Uh-oh, might not have much time left’. You pull some more strings inside him and his body is all too willing to follow. “T-This is our own scent bro…” he says. The words fall out his mouth in an attempt at the intonation, the phrasing he’d normally use. You continue, making those lips, those vocal cords yours. “Gotta learn to love it… to love us”. It sure sounded like Lucas’ voice, but it there was something off about it.

High off the aroma, you continue, rounding out his left bicep. Goddamn. Packed inside was pure muscle. Dense, hard musculature built through years of hard work. The thick firm skin gives way slightly, with a bit of bounce as you take his tongue further down his arm. Goddamn bliss. This skin was saltier than the others- different, like all the flavors of Lucas, you note. ‘But they are all undeniably, uniquely him’.

You swirl in fluid, curving motions as you go over every muscle running down his arm. A trail of slime leaves your wake, rubbing a mixture of of flavors throughout his arm. This only serves to rile you up further, as his muscles glisten in the morning light. When you get to his veiny hands, you take extra special care to run yourself through its every crevice, exploring as much of Lucas as you could. You make his lips pucker as you pull yourself off his index finger with an audible pop. A string of saliva follows, but you quickly gobble that back into yourself.

Bulging muscles stir as you command his biceps yours as well. They turn inwards, presenting their vascularity, their raw power to you. Beautiful.

This was it. You motion to bring his hand towards his crotch, curling them slightly in anticipation. As you eyed that cock. You both knew this to be the end.

“NO!” he shouts in added clarity. Body follows mind and he pulls back some of his own strings for himself. The fight is brief but you manage to grab some control back.

You use his very voice against him. “You’re right baby… this is it… o-our new life… our first time together needs to be special.” He’s now shouting profanities in your head. Funny, you’ve never heard him curse before.

Without warning, you rush yourself to his now-hard dick. He screams in searing pain as his spine concaves and you inch toward your prize. His tongue is not used to moving with such dexterity, but it’s been quite some time since it could even really be considered ‘his’ tongue anymore. You snake yourself around his dick, constricting around the dank, putrid skin, encasing it in globs of saliva and pink, oral flesh.

Even Lucas couldn’t help but moan at the divine sensation. Your bumpy texture running along his skin shot wave after wave of bliss. In every constriction, you feel it firm even harder, causing you to wrap your slimy hug around it further, construct more. Lucas’ moans quicken as you get to work. Push… You ebb and flow, there and back, as you work through his now-throbbing member. Pull. Each movement of the textured tongue runs sheer ecstasy as bump after bump moves back and forth and stimulates. Push. You hasten, wanting the both of you to fulfill the moment. Pull… Push… Pull… Push. Flashes of intense pleasure rush through you both as you aim for the finish line. PushPullPushPullPushPull- heaven. At that very moment of release, the two of you are brought to another plane of existence. Time stops and the world is still. You and Lucas though? Vibrating. In this plane you rush toward him, your vibrations synchronize with his, you overlay over him, and pleasure rumbles and bubbles from deep within. The universe, your world, your room comes back to focus. In a splash, a wave of pearl-white seed coats you.

In the afterglow of his masturbation, when his nerves and neural connections begin to provide clarity, to link themselves in trust, you instead feel them attach to you. Much like his body, like his tongue, they too have become corrupted, twisted by your constant presence and the raw eroticism. This was the key to permanence.

Like veins they worm and take root inside you, growing into you. In your perversion of his senses, you feel these roots alight, yield themselves to become yours. Down to the last synapse, you rush and pull these all to yourself, to acquire, appropriate them. Once Lucas’ brain had adequately sequestered itself in you, his memories soon followed. This too had its own flavor, albeit somewhat muted- like the sweetness of his first date-yours. Or the bitterness of a childhood experience-yours. Raw wonderment and passing thoughts- fucking. yours. You scream in shrill delight as the last, the tinniest, the deepest of his neural connections had become yours. There would be no going back for him, for you were now Lucas in body, Lucas in mind.

Tears well in his eyes. He tries to fight it, tries to kick you out, to push you away from him. His back arches, and he writhes in pain, trying in vain. Face scrunches in searing, unimaginable agony before it seizes and mouth shoots open, tongue dangling out. There would nothing to push out for you and him were already bonded. He clutches his head and in that single instance, his eyes shoot wide open. Finally, success.

Lucas’ shoulders sag as he collapses to the ground.

Moments later, Lucas’s body stirs. It wriggles awake before taking one assured, strong step forward. It pushes itself up and walks right back up to the mirror, emotionless. Then, a satisfied smile paints its face. Like someone finally resting after an arduous battle, he breathes a sigh of relief. Lucas’ body looks back at itself in the mirror, innocently-eyes glassy. The kind smile it wore grows just a bit wider. It chuckles softly. Success.

The smile continues growing. Chuckles becomes laughter. The voice resounds ill-fitting to the mound of muscle that was Lucas. It was Innocent smile soon becomes tainted with sinful glee. Lucas’ body starts full-on cackling. “YES” you growl. Hearing his resonant voice follow your words, your intent was amazing. Hearing your thoughts spoken in the same ton, same intonation he used took it next-level. “FUCK. YES… FINALLY”!

That last piece was it. Cum still warm on his body, you lap it up, swallowing it whole, jealously keeping even this part of Lucas to yourself. It was salty, musky, viscous essence. It was pure fucking Lucas. The voice, the dull resistance from him was gone. The sensation was both sobering clarity and drunk ecstasy. Like the world itself was realigning to put you and him together, as one living Lucas. His memories now flow freely into you as they are now yours. It tickles. With his memories comes his feelings, his wants, his wishes- all of which you have cemented as a part of Lucas’s new psyche-Your new psyche. Goddamn it feels good to be Lucas.

Finally, Lucas had reframed, recontextualized the entirety of himself, the entirety of his being to you. You talk like him. You frown like him. You smile like him. Hell, you even think like him. Hips sway as you start to dance in front of the mirror in your new body, your new soul. It was pure, jubilant expression. You wipe happy tears from your eyes.

You were drunk on power of controlling him. Of finally truly being him. You relish in hearing his voice as your own, in your very thoughts being thought through a filter of his life, your commands executed by his body. You allow his vocal cords to perform. You allow his hips to shake uncharacteristically, tantalizing. You allow the words to leave his mouth. They were juicy taunts made juicier with the knowledge that his lips shift and degrade the very body they were in at you beckoning, that was his very neurons were conforming to you thoughts and will. You now do everything in wholly Lucas-ey way.

Lucas’ body smacks its ass, while it continues shaking its hips uncharacteristically in slow, sensual movements. “Goddamn, you should have gotten inside me sooner.” You make him say. “My body, my mind, my soul we were lonely for you. We needed you in here. I love having you inside me. I love you wearing my skin, using my muscles as a suit. Don’t worry” You make him flex. “These are forever yours. My mind? Forever yours. Control me. Use Me. No- deeper. [moan] Become. Me. Be. Lucas.”

“I’m Lucas” you say to yourself in response. It rolls off your tongue naturally, fluidly, and in full truth. You truly were him. “But you can call me Luke, baby”.

You had done it. You were finally Lucas. One mind, one body, one soul.

“Mine forever, Lucas”

—

It’s been months and your friends have definitely caught on to the sheer oddness of it all. Near-instantaneously, their dear friend Lucas’ personality had flipped. Each of them could pinpoint a ‘special’ spot on their bodies where their boy Lukey liked to lick them. ‘It was just his thing’ they often said, embracing their new dynamic as well as the new Lucas. This you-enhanced Lucas, likewise, had also embraced his new self. Greedy, lustful self-obsession bordering on narcissism, and of course the penchant to show off his slimy tongue. Of course, the first few times you did this, they recoiled at the behavior. You had your preferences, you had the knowledge inherent in being Lucas- you knew exactly how wear his soul, how to embody his life because you were him. But you weren’t content leaving it like this, in just continuing as him. This was the new, improved Lucas. With you in command, you couldn’t help but introduce some changes, couldn’t help but show off your handiwork.

Mark had grown so accustomed to your constant licks, he looked visibly upset when you weren’t on him. One night, you decided to take it a step further, to take a leap the old Lucas never would have and stroke your vascular hands all over him. He complied, moaning all the while, guiding you around to explore him- guess it was actually Mark who was into you. He paid for dinner that night.

The old Lucas was sweet and reserved- The new you? Not a chance. As Lucas, you constantly wore a leering, lewd gaze. You wore thin, revealing clothing accentuating your new Lucas-bound muscles. Why not share it with the world? The very air you emanated was persistently thick with sexual energy, brimming with pheromones. New-Lucas was your deepest desires bound to living flesh. And at the forefront of it all-that thick tongue of yours. At every occasion, in every possible way, you flaunt it to the world.

Tattooed somewhere in this body is your old name. Ink representing the old you, and your absolute permanence this new form of yours, cementing yourself as forever a part of him, cementing the intersection of your history and his. You. Lucas. One. This was the new truth in the world.

- End -

Had tons of fun channeling @verus-veritas to write this one out. Hope I did you justice!

#male possession #male merge #male body control

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johneroserotica · 3 years ago

Text

On Display

“Please! Please! I’m begging you!!”

Depending on what time you arrived, that plea could either have been a desperate cry for anyone to let her come, or a tortured scream for the orgasms to cease.

It all began with a simple suggestion.

“How about we use me to draw people in.”

The rest of the group weren’t sure what Veronica had meant, however when she explained the idea further, they were all on board. It had been a long time since this group of friends had attempted to raise money for their college dormitory. Though even the last event, selling erotic artwork, had proven unfruitful in trying to make enough to upgrade their common room facilities.

Having done some modelling shoots recently, Veronica had built up a little following at the college. She thought it would be a good idea to use her rising allure to entice people to come to the event. Keeping things under the radar, the group had been able to host some very sexual parties in the past; this would be no different. Veronica reasoned that there would be many people in the college who would pay good money just to touch and fondle her. While her friends agreed with her that all patrons must remain fully clothed, they certainly had bigger ideas for the event – and for Veronica.

When the night came, while wearing her favourite lingerie and restrained to the central common room chair, Veronica was almost shaking with excitement. She had fantasised so often about being the centre of voyeurism and public play – this was a dream come true. Before it began, her friends blindfolded her; Veronica was now a prisoner to her fantasies and her heightened sense of touch. With her wrists and ankles secured to the chair, she was free to give in to her desires.

For $5 every person had up to five minutes to touch, caress and grope her. The thought of being so exposed while all of these people were free to explore every inch of her body with little restraint kept Veronica sizzling with excitement. Once she felt fingertips tracing along her skin she instantly sighed with delight; merely the anticipation and her fantasies already had her wet with arousal. With the blindfold, she had no idea who may have been touching her, whether a man, a woman, a stranger or somebody she knew. All she knew was that every touch was intended to elicit a little moan of pleasure. Her thighs, her sensitive pussy, her neck, her waist, her cleavage, her breasts, her achingly stiff nipples… so many places for those eager hands to tantalise. Every little touch, pinch, stroke and tweak made Veronica writhe in the seat, wonderfully helpless as the pleasure was piled on. She couldn’t keep up with each sensation, each individual touch amassed to one sweeping motion of ecstasy – each single facet coming together for a single purpose – like an orchestra of arousal.

First there was the anticipation, then the longing, then the arousal, and then came the frustration. Every time it seemed as if the multiple clawing hands, exploring fingers and massaging palms were working in unison towards Veronica’s crescendo, they slowed down and then stopped. Five minutes was no time at all, just enough to bring her to a pinnacle, making her moan and rock her hips as a signal that their touches were having the desired effect, then stopping – ready for the next in line. She began to get more vocal, until finally she needed to start begging. The only responses came from her friends, every time telling her, “No!”

If only she had known that her friends had also created a little game with everyone, stating that whoever was the first to make her come would have to pay an extra $50. Perhaps then she would have known why each person was slowing down every time she got close, and why every plea for someone to finger-fuck her and to stroke her clitoris harder fell on deaf ears.

Most of the time it was a group of people surrounding her and working her to a frenzy, though occasionally a single person spent their five minutes playing with her body. When it was just the one person, she could follow every single path of movement, every sensation, so much more vividly. Whenever it was just one person kneeling between her legs, circling her pussy, keeping her little entrance convulsing constantly in need, she repeatedly begged for more. Veronica had given up trying to count how many people had taken their turn. Forgoing any pretense of restraint, she simply screamed out that she needed to come, begging anyone to just penetrate her. Soon she began pleading for someone to fuck her. Any finger that approached her mouth she sucked enthusiastically, hoping to excite them enough to force the need to just feel their cock inside her wetness. Still, they would not give in. She was just so close.

She didn’t know that her friends had brought toys; once the first vibrator was pressed to her throbbing clitoris, she knew that there was no way they could keep her orgasm at bay any longer. The moment she cried out that she was coming, she heard the annoyed exclamation from the perpetrator. Veronica did not hold back, squealing out ecstatically, her body arching in bliss, wanting every attendee to bask in her delight. The one who had caused this however made sure to get his money’s worth: the vibrator stayed in place, pressing a little harder to her hypersensitive jewel. As Veronica came down from her pinnacle, expecting the show to be over, the person in control of the toy did not relent. With the device pressed to her pussy, Veronica pleaded with the man to let her rest, that her pussy was too sensitive. He didn’t listen, he simply let the vibrator drag her towards another orgasm.

The predicament, and being at the centre of her deepest fantasy, caused Veronica to be a prisoner to her body’s desires. Even once the five minutes were up, more people were ready to take their turn. Now that she had come, and was clearly multi-orgasmic, nobody felt the need to hold back. She was trapped between what she wanted and what she could handle; her body had become so sensitive that even the little glancing touches to her nipples made her want to recoil and recover. Yet with every five minutes, they were able to force another orgasm from her trembling body. Every new sensation made her yelp in pleasure: finally the fingers that had teased her so cruelly were now delving inside her, working her to a frenzy. The dildos and vibrators that her friends had provided made her shake with every thrust, giving her the penetration she had begged for. Even once someone knelt between her legs to wrap a mouth around her clitoris and suck it intently, she groaned in delight at the sensation before screaming out that it was too sensitive after the next orgasm took its toll.

Veronica, on display – succumbing to the wicked sexual desires of the attendees and her friends – had no idea how many people at the college had known about this event.

“Please, how many left? I can’t take anymore orgasms!”

Her question wouldn��t get a response. Her friends knew just how much Veronica wanted this, and just how happy she’d be to raise a lot of money. They had advertised this event not just across the college, but in various swingers clubs throughout the area. There were so many people who had attended; Veronica would be pleading with every single one of them to let her rest, just for a moment without her body being touched. She had no idea just how many people wanted to force her to orgasm over and over again, how many people wanted to watch and hear her moan and shake in rapture.

Veronica, on display – forced to orgasm while restrained… repeatedly, relentlessly.

On display… exactly as she wanted.

The End.

#story #pleasuretorture #johneros

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taminoarticles · 2 years ago

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— Tamino for De Standaard, 17 & 18 September 2022 (x) (Original Dutch Text)

“Fame is dangerous if you’re going to look for your self-worth in it”

When Tamino's second album Sahar comes out on Friday, he will be on tour in the United States. Ticket sales are going well, and also in Europe many venues are gradually becoming too small for the Antwerper. "I briefly enjoyed the illusion that I was living a normal life."

By Inge Schelstraete Photos Aleksei Benuchi Saturday September 17, 2022 at 3.25 am

Sahar is the moment just before dawn, but we meet in a sunny café garden. Birds are chirping on the interview tape; the moment carries as much promise as the dawn, and Tamino (25) is zen. “The weather is nice, I've had a good summer, I'm looking forward to the album that’s coming out and I’m standing with a more assured heart in the buzz that’s about to come in comparison with last time."

More assured than before your debut? You were the pinnacle of self confidence back then. "It just seemed that way. I never cared much about what others expected of me. In elementary school I had super long hair for which I was laughed at every day. It did hurt, probably, but not enough to cut it. In that way, I wasn't worried about the first record, but the buzz around it did overwhelm me."

Wasn't Pukkelpop a boost? The Marquee was in ecstasy, you on the other hand looked more surprised than triumphant. "It had been three years since we performed in Belgium. The response from the public was overwhelming. Partially it was also the collective gratitude that it was possible again; listening to music, together, with a lot of people. We had played one concert before that, in Istanbul. It didn't go as smoothly as it did a few years ago, but we knew that beforehand. But it was a fantastic audience and it was nice to feel that connection with them."

When the record comes out, Tamino will be back in North America, with fifteen solo performances in Canada and in the US. "It’s lovely! I'm happy to be able to celebrate the release by performing. I'm going to embrace that. It's very exciting: it's a dream to go there. I wasn't the kind of kid who dreamed of America, although a lot of things I thought were pretty or cool came from there. And the shows are going great as well, some are already sold out."

"Also, in Europe we notice that in some cities we have to start thinking about larger venues. The European shows sold out really fast; it’s time to start thinking bigger."

Belgians tend to think too small rather than too big. We don't go further than our wallet allows us to but we often miss the momentum because of that. "It's funny, I'm surrounded by Western Flemish: PJ (Maertens), one of our producers, Ruben (Vanhoutte) the drummer and Floris our monitor man. I notice that, with them, this is often not the case. They’re really hard workers and not easily satisfied. I already noticed that with Filip Tanghe, Balthazar's sound engineer. He helped us a lot at the beginning of our career. It could always be better."

You also see that with Stromae: don't settle for 'good enough'. "The Belgian music scene is doing very well for that matter. Everyone appreciates quality and also invests in that. This should be self-evident, but even big international bands sometimes come here without a sound or light engineer. They even tour without a sound table. Can you believe that? In my opinion, you notice that quality difference on festivals where Belgian bands perform between international bands. They’re just… better. Bands that play a lot at festivals, like Oscar and the Wolf or Bazart, definitely have that mentality of 'it's allowed to be a bit extra.'"

Angèle His biggest fan was on stage at Pukkelpop: Colin Greenwood, also Radiohead's bassist, encouraged the audience to applaud longer. The two have mutual friends in Antwerp; when they came, in group, to his performance at the Rivierenhof, Tamino and Greenwood became acquainted. Shortly after, the bassist started performing with him. Is he a permanent member of Tamino's band now?

"We've never had another bass player, so I'd say he is. He played on the first record, on seven out of ten songs on Sahar and has toured with us a lot. I don't know if he will be able to tour with us this fall though: Nick Cave has asked him for his own tour. It’s not a sure thing yet but Cave's bassist is ill. It will depend on his health whether Colin will tour with us, but we’ve already arranged a replacement for the fall."

That must have been difficult? "(laughs) To be honest, I thought it was really cool. Our bassist, who is already the bassist from Radiohead, will play with Nick Cave; it’s an okay reference. I'm already very honored by everything we've been able to do together."

Angèle sings with you on 'Sunflower', how did that collaboration come about? "She invited me a year ago to get to know each other and to write something together. I went home with a very good feeling back then. "Sunflower" is inspired by a Greek myth about a nymph who falls in love with the sun God Helios and turns into a sunflower by constantly looking up at him longingly. I made up an extra character: an ordinary boy who is in love with her and starts taking care of her. I thought there was something tragicomic about that: they both want something that they can't reach and the better he takes care of her, the more she grows away from him. Someone had to embody that flower and I thought of her because I knew our voices sounded beautiful together. I'm also comfortable with her, which is important when you place another voice on your song."

"I'm an overthinker. That even worsens on tour: it is one chain of plain days with extreme peaks in the evening. You create a certain pattern that you feel in your body and of which I don't know if it's very healthy"

But in your first group you were a 'little dictator' who even wrote down the drum and bass lines. How much do you direct someone who has to sing? "That wasn't necessary at all with her. She has an immensely crazy lyrics-empathy. As soon as she puts on her headphones, she's totally in the zone. For me, it takes longer. Especially in a clinical setting, like a studio. She also works hard: she came back from New York, where she had performed on Madison Square Garden with Dua Lipa. She was jet lagged, but she immediately made time to get to the studio. In a few hours, she tinned it and went to sleep. People underestimate pop stars sometimes because they have the feeling that pop hits are being forced on them and that they haven't discovered those themselves. But there's a reason why Angèle is where she is."

Grieving an idol In 2018 and 2019, Tamino was omnipresent, but with the lockdowns, he disappeared from sight. His last performance was in the Masonic Lodge in Los Angeles: a fake-Egyptian temple on Hollywood Forever; the graveyard where Fay Wray, the gangster Bugsy Siegel as well as surf-guitarist Dick Dale are buried. “A very nice place. We had two sold out shows there. We were able to do the first one, but the venue was half empty because so many people were scared. That's the moment we knew; it's over."

He returned to Antwerp. "At first, I relaxed. I enjoyed being at home and enjoyed the illusion that I was living a normal life. I've read a lot: it keeps me healthy, especially on tour. I can really escape in a book. What else… certainly not cooking, but I can make a top 10 of the best takeaway restaurants in Antwerp. And I got my driver's license. Passed on the first try!"

And you learned to play the oud, the eleven-stringed Arabic lute. Did that mean playing until your fingers bled?" "An oud has nylon strings and they are a little nicer for your fingers than guitar strings. But several hours a day. I took lessons, because an oud requires a lot of technique. I felt respect and the need to learn it the right way. It is a hierarchical world; oud masters are highly regarded. But it's never been my ambition to become a virtuoso on any instrument."

Would you have found the time for it without the pandemic? "I think I would’ve enforced that time. I was very happy that I was allowed to go home. (laughs) It was time to gain other impressions. It was a really bizarre switch: from performing every day, to sitting at home and doing absolutely nothing at all. But the drive came back naturally. After two or three weeks, I started to feel like making things again and songs came. A lot of songs."

Was a rediscovery of the ordinary life also a part of that? In 'Fascination' you say to someone: 'I always needed bigger words.' Do you think you live too much inside your head? "Definitely. I’m an overthinker, and a little too indifferent towards the little things in life. This worsens if you are in an extreme situation, like a tour: it's one chain of plain days with extreme peaks in the evening. You create a certain pattern that you feel in your body. I don't know if that pattern is very healthy."

You don't like that people think that all songs are about yourself. "When you write a song, you hope that people can place something in it that’s important in their lives. I too like having some background info on songs though. For example: I read Leonard Cohen's biography last year. But you can't dissect songs from needle to thread. Sometimes that background information is also disappointing. Kahlil Gibran, the author of The Prophet, has always been a great inspiration. He was an idol of mine in my teenage years. But as I get older, I find it more difficult to have idols. You realize that everyone has their flaws. About Gibran; I now know that he felt a constant battle: people saw him as the prophet from his book and he didn't want that, but he did have divatraits and a messiah complex. He also had a drinking problem and didn't treat people all too well."

MeToo has also made it clear that there are no heroes: when an idol falls from their pedestal, there are often feelings of grief because the illusion is shattered. "I'm totally following that. I still admire Gibran's work just as much as I used to. Maybe even more, because I now know that he couldn't be the person he described either. In my opinion, you have to distinguish the artist from the human, to a certain level. Dehumanizing people who have done wrong doesn't solve anything. Forgiveness is also one of our most beautiful traits as human beings, in my opinion. Which we’re collectively abhorring."

Is 'The First Disciple' also about Gibran? "It's about fame, amongst other things, yes. We used a picture of myself as a kid for the song, a lot of people think that it's about me because of that, but I'm just as much looking at my idols from back in the day, because I now know more about fame. Fame is dangerous if you're going to look for your self-worth in it, and I think a lot of famous people do that at some point. It's also about the scission when you realize that how people see you is very different from how you see yourself."

The record talks a few times about believing and trusting, not in a religious sense. As most beautiful sentence: “There's common sense in being a heathen” in 'Only our love'. "(laughs) A 'heathen' on there is indeed not a non-believer in a religious sense, and if I say 'god', I don't see an anthropomorphic god. I think that's a very outdated idea. But you can believe in the good of humanity. Bringing a child into the world is an act of faith to me. It's a huge act of trusting the people around you; an act of faith. And as beautiful as I think that faith is, I struggle with it. I tend to be more distrustful. That's that anecdote from "A drop of blood" where kids bully me. If the first contact with people outside of your family is disappointing, it puts a dent in your confidence."

“That thought often returns, because I really want to believe in people. The "you" in that song is my optimistic self I'm singing to: "Show yourself again." I liked that about ‘Human Kind: A Hopeful Story’ by Rutger Bregman (‘De Meeste Mensen Deugen’ in Dutch, almost literally translates to ‘Most People Are Good’). You can probably find scientific arguments that contradict Bregman, but you notice from the success of his book that a lot of people want to believe that. That alone makes you look at life differently already."

Sahar appears on Friday 23/9. You can read the review in the Wednesday newspaper.

#tamino #tamino amir #de standaard #article #interview #dutch #2022 #without photoshoot #english translated text #edit: thank you sm to pnkrabbit on twt for helping me find the full text!#thank you so much to maneskinglows on twt for helping with the translation! :)

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etherbasedqueen · 2 years ago

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My most erotic moment is when he looks at me

Those pupils.

Circular submarines that enter my soul

Boldly preparing to explore the depths of its sea

As he penetrates the tinted glass barriers of my soul's window,

he dissolves my defenses with an arousing intensity

Stimulating my inner most being

with a fiercely heated delicacy

I feel his firm euphoric presence expand deeper into me

Sensational.

Our breaths begin to sync and all logic dissipates

Any physical perception of distance is nothing but a dream

Our gaze unites us in a realm where all else becomes an artificial film

He is in me and I in him and the part of me that morphs into his existence is the pinnacle of my ecstasy

Bliss.

A room full of people and all I can feel is his presence, his desire, and how his gaze caresses me in ways that surpass physical touch beyond comprehension

My most erotic moment is when he looks at me

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forcefulkitten · 4 years ago

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the cure

[pakunoda x fem! reader]

summary: after waking up with a hangover, Pakunoda helps to relieve your suffering.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, oral sex, tribbing

word count: 1,911

Every time you wake up hungover with a splitting headache, you promise to never drink beyond your limit again. The nausea and stomach pains always linger behind, and all you can do is swallow an aspirin to quell the swollen brain pounding against your skull. Perhaps you deserve this since Pakunoda reminds you to drink plenty fluids and pace yourself but you never listen.

That brings you to this moment, wondering how your body managed to survive the amount of alcohol you consumed last night. You stumble around the house looking for your girlfriend but she’s nowhere to be found. As you approach the fridge and pour yourself a glass of water, you find a note on the counter. “Going to buy necessities. Be back soon.” Bringing the cup to your dry lips, you chug all of the water in one swig. You decide to go take a shower and freshen up. The least you can do is look alive when Paku gets back. Knowing her, she definitely went to grab stuff to ease your hangover. You’d think she’s tired of playing nurse whenever you cause your own downfall, but she’s always too worried about your well-being to complain.

You make your way over to the bathroom, turning the shower water on hotter than you probably should. Before you get in, an urge to vomit hits you. The water you drank in the kitchen must’ve upset your stomach because it came right back up. After puking out all of contents in your stomach, the feeling of nausea dissipates almost immediately after. This leaves you with a headache, foggy mind and an aching body. After brushing your teeth, you step into the shower. Sitting on the floor with your knees to your chest, you let the hot water fall over you. Before long you get up and begin to lather yourself with soap, rinsing off afterwards and getting out. You can’t even be bothered to put on clothes, instead going straight to your bed after drying yourself off.

The second you lay down you begin to feel dizzy. Looking for Paku, inevitably throwing up, taking a scorching shower and now laying down was too many changes of environment for your brain to handle. The purpose of showering was to relieve your headache and cleanse your body, yet you only achieved the latter. You manage to drift off to sleep while laying on your stomach, waiting for your girlfriend to come back and keep you company. Only her presence can distract you from how shitty you feel right now.

When Pakunoda arrives back home, she takes out everything she purchased and sets it on the kitchen counter. A box of tea, more aspirin, your favorite soup from a nearby restaurant, crackers, and 2 movies from the rental box. This should be enough to get you through the remainder of the day. The house is quiet as she tip toes to your shared bedroom. When she opens the door, she’s caught off guard by your naked body asleep on the bed. You’re still on your stomach, spread out on the bed with your head resting on one of your arms. Stepping forward to take a closer look at you, she notices that your face is scrunched as if you’re in pain or discomfort. Paku sits on the bed next to you, bringing her hand to massage your scalp and wake you up cautiously.

“You’re back” You give her a small smile while blinking the sleep away. “How are you feeling?” She asks. You love how soothing her voice is, serene at all times. “I have a headache and I don’t feel well.” You whine while tears start falling. Embarrassed that you're breaking down over a hangover, you cover your face with both of your hands. “You have to get up and walk around at least. I picked up some stuff for you, let’s go.” You shake your head no, reminding her of how stubborn you are.

Pakunoda starts to caress you slowly. Starting at the back of your neck, down your back and then back up. Her touch takes your mind off of the headache that’s still tormenting you. Soon, you find yourself perking your ass up each time she rubs over your lower back. She smirks to herself. The way you’re needy even in this state is amusing to her. She gets up from the bed and you huff at the loss of touch. You can hear clothes drop to the floor and when you look over, Paku is fully stripped. “How about this? I'll cater to you here and then you'll get up and let me take proper care of you.” Her arms are folded underneath her breast and you can’t decline anything she offers you like this. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You hadn’t even answered her back, too busy in awe at how stunning she looks.

You sit up and watch as Pakunoda makes her way towards you. Her beauty is like no other being you’ve ever laid your eyes on, and she would easily say the same thing about you. She gets on the bed, making her way to sit between your legs. Her eyes scan over your body, taking in your perfect features. She leans forward and cages you between her arms, peppering kisses on your face. Looking at you tenderly, she whispers, “Just lay back and enjoy.”

Paku pushes you down by your shoulders gently. Bringing one of her hands between your legs, she swirls your clit a few times before swiping over your heat. You’re already wet, and she begins to pump into you with two digits. You wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her closer to you and placing open mouth kisses on her lips. She parts them for you, letting her tongue intertwine with yours passionately. Her two fingers are still exploring you when she begins to circle her thumb around your swollen bud. She’s pressed so closely to you that her breast are rubbing against yours. The sensation of both your nipples touching makes you both mewl.

Pakunoda breaks off the kiss and positions her face between your legs. She pulls you as close to her as she can and wraps her arms around your thighs so you can’t move. Her mouth goes straight for your heat, lapping up your juices and bringing her tongue to suck on your clit. Her pace is slow, making sure that she doesn't overstimulate you so soon. Your hands find their way to tangle in her hair, pulling her even closer whenever you want her to apply more pressure. Hangover long forgotten at the moment, you buck your hips up against her, addicted to how well she knows your body. Paku moans against your wet folds, making vibrations course up your spine. She sticks her tongue in and out of your core and you roll your hips for her to reach deeper. Your moans are turning more high pitched, orgasm threatening to hit any second now. Paku’s hands find their way to your nipples, twirling them between her fingers. Bringing her mouth back up to your clit, your hands grip the sheets tightly when her tongue applies more force. You can hear the wet noises of your cunt soaking her face, and seeing her between your legs is a sight you won't ever forget. You unhook your legs from around her shoulders, using your feet to lift your hips up away from her mouth because the stimulation is too much. She gets up from laying on her stomach, hands holding your pussy up in the air by your thighs. Wrapping your legs around her shoulders once again, she locks you in place before sliding her tongue up and down your sex. You're silly to think you were getting away from her by lifting your bottom half up, only for her to follow you and keep you exactly where you inched up to. She’s licking your juices as if it’s her salvation. Her grip on you is like iron, and being pressed so tight to her makes the coil in your stomach snap, orgasm hitting you all at once. Paku stops lapping at your cunt, giving you time to come down from your high. Placing kisses to your slick folds, she untangles your legs from around her.

You should’ve known your girlfriend wouldn’t let you off easy. Sure, she’s going to take care of you after this. She knows a cure for each of your problems and nobody else can compare to how nurturing she is. With a smirk on her face she says, “I’m sorry sweetie, but this time the irresponsible decisions you made will cost you another orgasm.” Paku folds your legs back against your shoulders. Your pretty pussy glistening, she lines her sex up with yours and begins to grind against you. You stay perfectly still, resting your hands above hers where she’s holding you by back of your knees to keep you in place. Your delicate clit rubbing against hers is intoxicating. Paku moans while sliding from the top of your slit all the way down. You can feel your stomach beginning to tighten again and reach for her breasts. Kneading her soft skin, you pinch her perky nipples between your fingers. Her breasts are so sensitive that this always drives her crazy. She starts to roll her hips slower, trying to savor the feeling of your folds brushing against hers. You see strands her hair sticking to her forehead, your essence coating her chin and the way she comes undone with each grind of her hips. Her determination to make you cum a second time is endearing. A few more ruts against you and your orgasm washes over in waves of ecstasy. Pakunoda feels you clenching beneath her, the added slick coating her sex. You rock your hips upwards, desperate to send her over the edge. She lifts herself up, bobbing her clit against yours gently. Hearing your soaking folds intermingle together and the way you're playing with her nipples sends her over the moon. Suddenly all of the sensations become too much and her orgasm reaches its pinnacle. She continues to sway against you, legs shaking and cunt twitching. Within a few moments she releases you from her grasp afterwards and lays down beside you.

Both of your chests rise and fall while trying to regain composure. You reach your hand out to find hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Paku, can I ask you something?” You whisper between breaths, exhaustion evident in your tone. “Of course.” She responds, turning over to face you and placing a hand on your stomach. “Did you bring my favorite soup? You know.. the one you always get me when I’m hungover?” She giggles at your question before answering. “Yes I did. I’m going to go put it to warm it up on the stove. Can you get the shower started for us? When we get out you can have your soup.”

After putting your food to heat up, Pakunoda joins you in the shower. She washes you off and you make sure to return the favor. Bringing you into a hug, she lets the shower water run over your body while you bury your face in her neck. After the shower, Paku serves you a bowl of soup with crackers and the rest of your night is spent watching movies and drinking tea.

#hxh paku #hxh pakunoda #hxh smut #hxh imagines #pakunoda x reader #hunterxhunter #hunter x hunter #phantom troupe #paku x reader #pakunoda smut #n/sfw #hxh scenarios #hxh #hxh writing #hxh x reader #hxh fanfic #hunterxhunter fanfic #hunter x hunter fanfic #forcefulkitten

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itwasagooger7 · 2 years ago

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I think I've discovered the pinnacle of life; currently on the toilet listening to cruel angels thesis and scrolling through the Jerma tag and being in absolute ecstasy. Highly reccomend to literally everyone. It doesn't get better than this.

#jerma

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thespoonisvictory · 3 years ago

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hey so i know this is a Lot to read but the asks abt wilbur healing have reminded me So Much of this bit by jamie varon

Because, before self-love becomes a liberation, it is first a burden. Well, there’s the anger at who treated you poorly when you didn’t know to ask for better treatment. The anger at yourself for what you’ve allowed. There’s the grief for lost time. There’s the strangling necessity to push people, things, ideas out, out, out because there’s no room for them. There’s the loneliness and isolation that accompanies the growth of self. There’s the new boundary lines, the new range of the word no, the opening of eyes that would rather be shut, and the terrifying realization that love isn’t synonymous with joy. It’s synonymous with growth.

And growth isn’t bliss. It never was. It was a lie that said love would be white-teethed smiles on beaches.

The pinnacle of self-love is not endless ecstasy.

It is a heartbreaking process of undoing the life your unloved self built, brick by unworthy brick.

anon this has been sitting here for so long but yes yes yes I love this

c!wilbur isn't going to go "oh I love myself now yippee" there's a lot of stuff he has to realize and go through (and I hope at least part of that is a serious questioning of how c!phil and even c!techno treated him)

#asks #wilbur soot

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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Idk if your still looking for short requests, but I’ve really been in an Ezra mood lately and am basically dying to read more with him in it. Maybe something where he finds/meets you on a planet he’s on for one of his digs, or you get assigned to go on a dig with him? Maybe some smut because he’s been lonely and he usually works alone but having the reader so close to him frustrates the hell out of him?

(You totally don’t have to write this if you don’t wanna, but thank you for doing these! I love your writing!)

Twelve Hours To Pickup (Ezra x f!Reader)

Summary: You and Ezra have twelve hours before your shuttle picks you up. Twelve hours with nothing to do.

W/C: 2.3k

Warnings: SMUT 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, kiddos), dom/sub elements but not really, lots of dirty talk, reader uses she/her pronouns and is afab. oh, also language ig. one or two spanks.

A/N: YEET this is my first ezra fic and it’s horny but here we go. We’ve been on a smut kick lately but I’m here for it! I was actually really anxious to both write and post this but here we are!

Ezra is a man of extreme amounts of willpower. He can do anything he sets his mind to. Hell, he was conscious while a teenage girl literally sawed his fucking infected arm off. When Ezra is determined, he is not to be fucked with.

That being said, being in such close proximity to you is driving him up the fucking wall.

It’s not like you’re even that close to him. You’re both wearing thick spacesuits, complete with filters and helmets to provide oxygen and keep dangerous air particles out. You’re not exactly doing the most romantic activity either: you’re harvesting aurelac. It’s a disgusting process, gooey shit covering your gloved arms. You’re both experienced prospectors, but it makes you gag every time you do it. Of course you had to be assigned to the biggest mouth in the fucking galaxy.

“What seems to be the matter, little bird?” Ezra coos, smirking. “Such an experienced woman should have no such issue with a minor impediment.”

You shoot him a glare. “Can you talk using smaller words? You sound like you ate a dictionary and you’re vomiting back up,” you snap as you wipe the gunk off your arm and start the process of removing the gem.

Ezra smiles this time. “My sincerest apologies, my gem. I simply verbalize in this manner out of habit.”

You roll your eyes and continue. “I’d hate to hear what you sound like in bed,” you shoot back.

He walks closer to you, abandoning the current rock he’s removing, surprisingly nimbly considering he only has one arm. “Is that so, little bird?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Stop calling me that and get back to your fucking work, Ezra. You still have one functioning hand, make the best of it.”

The man pouts at you, placing his hand over his heart. “My dear, you’ve wounded my wretched little heart with such a comment.”

“Could’ve said ouch and moved on. I’m not gonna kiss it better, even if I might like to,” you smirk at him, shooing him away with your hand.

The man’s face bears a salacious smirk. “What was that?” He asks.

“Wow, that was the shortest sentence I’ve ever heard you say.” You spray the gem with the liquid in the bottle. “Go do your part and maybe I’ll consider spending a little time with you later.”

Ezra bites his lower lip and stalks off back to his share.

You’re almost back at the pod. You’ve walked in silence this entire time, not daring to speak and feed the fire that’s burning between the two of you. When the pod is in sight, Ezra’s last reserve breaks, burns the wick and lights the dynamite. “Well, my dove? Has my share of the aurelac satisfied your standards?” He asks, walking next to you again.

You look over at the container. He harvested significantly more than you did, which further proves your knowledge that he’s fantastic at prospecting. It’s no surprise, you suppose, but it is intriguing. Your eyes travel from the case to his dusty brown eyes, staring back at you. You smirk, and tilt your head. “I’m not sure. Get out of that space suit first and we can see.”

He bites his lip to hold back from spouting off more words. It doesn’t work for long. “Oh, does my eloquence excite you, little bird?” He asks, walking side by side with you now.

“Don’t push it,” you laugh and climb into the pod. The two of you pass through the airlock and you finally strip your space suit off, leaving you in the jumpsuit beneath it.

Ezra does the same. One shoulder is knotted off just below where his arm was severed. His jumpsuit clings tight to his chest, which is muscular, from the sweat inside the suit. He examines you just the way you examine him.

The two of you deposit your aurelac in the corner before finding yourselves standing together. You look over at him. “When is our shuttle coming?”

He looks at the digital watch on his wrist, then back at you. “We have at least 12 hours,” he says, head tilted down but those big eyes looking up. At you.

You pretend to look off and consider something else. “We finished the harvest in record time. I wonder how we could pass the remaining hours,” you sigh, though you both know it’s teasing. You know exactly what you want.

“My dove,” Ezra breathes, a warm hand cupping your face. “I want you.”

Somehow, it’s even hotter when he doesn’t use those big words. “I want you too,” you sigh and your lips crash to his desperately. He pushes you against the wall.

It’s hot and sloppy and desperate. The man is a fantastic kisser, his lips moving perfectly in sync to yours. The pod has busted air conditioning, making it as hot as the surrounding planet, but neither of you care. There’s sweat dripping from your face and from is, and there’s a mutual understanding that that doesn’t matter now. You need each other, badly.

His tongue presses against the seam of your lips and you open your mouth, allowing him in. He groans at the sensation as you rock your hips into his, desperately grinding. He pulls away for a second, his brows scrunching together in the pleasure. “Little bird,” he exhales. “Do you have the implant?”

You nod. “You?”

“But of course. Where would you prefer to be ravished, my glorious being?” He asks, lips finding the skin of your neck and sucking a mark into the tender spot behind your ear.

You cry out and fall back against the wall. “Wherever. Anywhere. Please, Ezra.”

He smacks your ass, making you yelp out even though it only increases the wetness between your thighs. “Make a decision, my dove.”

You’re panting already, and he hasn’t even done anything. “Right here. Right now. Against the wall.”

He smirks at that, nipping into your skin. “Oh, so ruttish for me,” he groans. “Desperate for me to take you.”

“Yes,” you nod, giving into his domineering attitude. “Please, please,” you cry, and he bites the collar of your jumpsuit and unzips the front, pushing it from your shoulders. Your chest is now only covered by a sports bra. You help him remove it and toss it aside, leaving just your lower half covered.

Ezra groans and feels himself harden even further as he sees your chest. “Oh, those exquisite breasts,” he groans, sinking to his knees. He forces you to bend a little as his lips find your nipple, sucking and tugging on it with his teeth. You cry out at the feeling, hands pressed to the wall, and he chuckles. His hand finds your other nipple, rolling it between his fingers. He bites at the skin of your breast, leaving a mark.

He goes lower. His tongue traces your stomach, dipping into your navel. He bites at your stomach too. The man likes to bite, that much is clear. He’s been surprisingly quiet since he’s put his mouth on you.

Ezra shoves down the rest of your jumpsuit and your panties, helping you step out of them before he tosses them aside. His hand firmly grips your thigh, and he kisses up the inside of the soft skin. “May I?” He asks, right before he reaches the pinnacle.

“Please,” you breathe, and he tosses one of your legs over his shoulder.

He’s skilled. That much is easily seen- or, felt- when he instantly latches onto your clit, swirling his tongue around it and sucking on it. His hand comes to your entrance, teasing it slowly with the pad of a finger. You cry out at the feeling and he takes it as your invitation to push two thick fingers inside of you.

As you bite your lip, he looks up at you and smirks. His two fingers are inside of you, and he pulls his mouth away. “Little bird, restraint is the furthest from necessary. There’s not a soul to hear those sultry noises you’re making,” he reminds you before going back to lapping at your clit masterfully.

His fingers curl against that perfect spot deep inside of you, making you cry out in ecstasy. “Ezra,” you whimper.

He smirks and hums a happy sound into you, nudging your clit with his nose as he moves his tongue lower to poke at your entrance, along with his two fingers. He’s pushing them harder and harder, and you bury a hand in his hair, the heel of your hand over his blonde patch. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” you warn him, and he just goes harder.

It’s all too much. You cry out his name and grip his hair as your orgasm washes over you, making your toes curl in the boots that remain on you.

He continues steadily through your orgasm, pulling away and sucking on his own fingers once you’re finished. “The nectar of the gods between your thighs,” he murmurs to you, a content smirk on his face. “Are you going to let me destroy you against this wall, my dear?”

You shudder, nodding. “Need your cock. I bet it’s big, isn’t it?” You ask, smirking down at him and running a hand through his hair, toying with his blonde patch.

He shrugs. “Now isn’t the time to play humble, Ezra,” you laugh, removing your leg from his shoulder and pulling him up to kiss him deeply. It’s hot and sloppy again, but slower. Deeper. You moan into his lips and cup his hardened dick, which tents against his jumpsuit.

“Little bird,” he shudders.

You break away and start to unzip his flight suit. You push it off his shoulder and it hangs at his waist, exposing strong a abdomen littered with scars. “Fuck,” you chuckle happily and kiss him again. You push it the rest of the way, along with his boxers, and it exposes his dick. It is large, you were correct, long and maddeningly thick. “Oh, fuck,” you moan again as he steps out of it.

Ezra grabs your hip and turns you around, pushing you into the wall again. His large hand takes both of your wrists and pins them to the wall. “Is that resplendent pussy prepared for me?” He asks, and you nod. “Say it,” he demands, biting your shoulder.

“Fuck! Yes, yes Ezra,” you nod, spreading your stance to allow him between your legs.

“Don’t move them,” he orders you as he lets go of your hands for a moment. With his hand, he lines himself up, notching the tip with your entrance before grabbing your wrists again. “I crave those maddening noises, little bird. Don’t you dare be quiet while I’m destroying that pretty pussy.”

With that, he pushes in. He’s thick, and the stretch is delicious. “Ezra,” you cry out, loving the way the name sounds when it rolls off your tongue. “Don’t hold back, please.”

“I couldn’t if I dreamed of it, dearest,” he groans as he fully sheathes himself deep within you. “So fuckin’ tight for me,” he shudders.

Your hands struggle against his, but his strength wins. “Don’t even think about it,” he orders, gritting his teeth as he pulls fully out then pushes all the way back in. It’s quick and rough as he gets started and it doesn’t slow down.

“Harder, please,” you urge him, pushing your ass back against him.

He nods. “Anything your heart desires, little bird,” he coos and licks a hot stripe up your neck, ending behind your ear where he nips at your earlobe.

You’re helpless to his ministrations as he pounds into you, and it feels like heaven. He lets go and your hands move in front of your face to support yourself against the wall.

You need it when a second later, his thick fingers are circling your clit. You cry out and he smirks. “Good girl, little birdie. Taking me so nicely.”

The words and the feeling is becoming too much. A hot haze fills your head as you approach your orgasm, accidentally squeezing around him.

He almost cums from the sensation. “Just when I thought that pussy couldn’t get any tighter,” he laughs breathlessly. “Let go, my dear. Squeeze me tight and tell me how good I make you feel.”

You nod frantically and moments later, you finally reach your peak, crying out his name and gushing around his dick. “Fuck, so good, so big,” you whine, your head falling back onto his shoulder.

The way you flutter around him is just too much. “Good girl,” he grunts, thrusting harder and harder and slightly more sporadically. “Gonna cum inside you, my good girl, show this pussy who it belongs to.”

“All yours, Ezra,” you whimper as the feeling fades, and you can tell that he’s close.

You clench hard and he falls apart, shooting his hot seed deep inside you. “Ah, little bird,” he cries out, his legs wobbling and nearly failing to hold him up as it takes him over.

When he’s finished, he groans as he pulls out. His cum drips from you and onto your flight suit, between your legs and on the floor. The sight makes Ezra shudder, and he smacks your ass one more time for good measure. “Good girl,” he mumbles and nips your neck one more time, walking off to the refresher of the pod.

“Just going to leave me here?” You ask, laughing breathlessly, slumped into the wall. Your legs are barely strong enough to walk.

He returns moments later with a damp rag. “Of course not. I must treat you well and praise you, after you took my cock so well.”

His words make you shudder again. He can feel it as he wipes the insides of your thighs. “Little bird, aroused again already? Need me again?”

“Maybe,” you chuckle and bite the inside of your cheek.

He groans and presses a soft kiss to the apex of your inner thigh. “Later. We do have twelve more hours, after all.”

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @luxurybeskar @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #ezra prospect headcanons #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #prospect

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ruki--mukami · 3 years ago

Note

(Nsfw) You are having sex with your lover for the first time and she is about to have her first orgasm in her life all because of you.

⚠️ NSFW BELOW: 18+ ⚠️

“You’re almost there… I can feel it,” Ruki moaned as he thrusted into the wetness pooling between your legs. “Go on, cum for your master…! Fuck, you’re so tight… You’re wringing me out down there, it’s unbelievable.”

Hammering brutally a few more times, hitting spots you didn’t even know existed, he quickened his pace and maintained eye contact with you as he sought his release. However, more so than his own arousal, Ruki determinedly pounded into your core to feel the clamping of your orgasm around his hard cock. To lead you to your own pinnacle of pleasure.

“Hnn… Your master is so, so close… Let me be the first, the last,” he pounded roughly into you, “and only man to make you cum…!”

Both of your legs enclosed around his waist as he kneaded your breasts in time with the harsh stuttering of his hips against your own, thumbs running over your erect buds which sent an almost electrifying surge coursing through. With each thrust, the bed creaked beneath you and the most attractive groans of pure and unadulterated ecstasy left the Vampire’s lips, utterly lost in the rapture of your womanhood coiling around him. It was as if with every collision of your bodies, his cock carved into you, ready to empty his essence that only he could give you, as if reminding you of the sole reason your frame shook violently beneath him, pliant and at his mercy.

“You belong to me… and only me,” he chuckled as he assaulted your cervix, “isn’t that right, Livestock? By the time we’re done here, you will neither walk nor stand.”

Pulsating, throbbing, shaking against the walls of your heat, Ruki’s engorged member hit you right in the spot that forced high-pitched squeals from you whether you liked it or not. At this point, you could no longer contain yourself in this fucked out state. Meanwhile, he unashamedly let out his own lust-ridden voice, leaning forward to position his head at the crook of your shoulder. Now you could hear him grunt and growl with more volume than ever, his husky voice mere inches away from your ear, resounding each time his cock went in and out, deeper and harder, rushing and retreating out of you at a literally inhuman rhythm. Ruki fucked you so intensely, so senselessly, that you couldn’t help but throw your arms around him, fingers gripping onto the scars of his past. As you traced over them, his moans grew slightly more erratic than before, shocked yet elated to be treated with such care in contrast to the reason for the scars’ existence to begin with.

“Ahh… You feel so good around me…!“ he panted as he hit a sensitive spot, “So hot and so wet, you were made for this… made for your master’s cock, weren’t you? It’s a wonder how you haven’t orgasmed before, but I will be the only one to grant you that release from now on. Fuck, you’re so erotic…”

Over and over again, he cursed your name under his panted breaths as he impaled you, unforgivingly and earnestly. Pressing his forehead against yours, he looked at you with half-lidded eyes before closing them and capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.

“That’s right… I’m fucking you so hard, that you’ll feel empty the moment I pull out.”

Ribbons of his essence poured out into your tight entrance as Ruki let out a loud, hoarse groan. He held your body close to his, thrusting a few more times to ride out each wave of his orgasm before descending his sharp, white fangs into your shoulder, moaning and growling hungrily as the red river seeped into his mouth and down his throat.

“Ohh, fuuuck, I’m cumming… Haah… Let’s cum… together, Livestock…! That’s an order…” his sapphire blue eyes pierced through yours, “that’s right… Good girl. You’re master’s good girl…!”

The praise you wished to hear from Ruki all along is what pushed you over the edge. An inexplicable feeling centered in your gut as you felt transcendent of all planes of existence. Your first orgasm. To share such an experience with Ruki, the man you loved most, sent your heart soaring out of your chest as you convulsed around him, squeezing his cock harder than ever. Both of you hit your peaks simultaneously as the Vampire drank the sweet ichor from your shoulder.

“Haah… ngh… No one else… will fuck you like this. Look only at your master from now on.”

#diabolik lovers #ruki mukami #mukami ruki #ask #diabolik lovers rp #react #dungeon

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cuculine-nelipot · 3 years ago

Text

Happy Birthday, Gascon

@witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Birthday

Relationship: Gascon Brossard/Reynard Odo, Meve & Reynard Odo, Meve/Reynard Odo (background)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning: Gascon’s Tragic Backstory, Thronebreaker spoilers

Summary: Nearly a year after Gascon's mysterious disappearance, he returns to explain himself to, and hopefully make amends with, the man he left behind. (ao3)

Even by the stars’ cold light, he could tell that the gardens were far more beautiful than they were when he last saw them. Wilder, and more colourful, vibrant, but with an undeniable air of dignity. It suited her well, Gascon thought. Nothing else would do for the warrior Queen.

It was the height of summer, and the sultry air hummed with cricket choruses and cicada songs. His clothes were stifling. On another night, he might have gone to the pond nearby, and passed the dark hours sleeping near the cool water. But there was someone he wanted to see, if only he could summon the courage to find him.

He still hadn’t found any when Reynard found him instead, sitting down, leaving much fewer inches between them than Gascon anticipated, or expected he deserved. They sat on the marble bench, eyes fixed on the marble fountain — a matching set, a present from Meve to Reginald after some battle or other, he couldn’t remember which. Stags locked in battle, it was supposed to be, hooves flying, antlers clashing, the sides of their faces grazed. An unnatural posture. Gascon always thought they looked like they were kissing.

“You have shite security, Reynard. I expected better from you.”

“You were seen, Gascon. The guards were instructed to come find me when they saw a man in a funny hat skulking in like an admonished fox.”

“Am I admonished, then?”

“No, not by me. Nor by Meve, if that’s what troubles you.” If Reynard had to guess by the state of him, the only person doing any admonishing was Gascon himself.

“What makes you say I’m troubled?”

There was his unusually slight frame, his hunched posture, his dishevelled attire, the nervous jiggling of his leg, and, well- “You could have used the front door.”

Gascon paused, stilled as he considered, then his head cocked to the side, and an amused smile spread across his face as he said, “Hadn’t even occurred to me.”

Neither man said anything for a long moment. Reynard only watched, wishing the other man would turn to look at him. Gascon only wrung his hands between his knees, eyes fixed on the entwined, marble stags, one white veined grey, like the fountain’s basin and the bench, the other black veined white.

Reynard had promised that when he saw Gascon again — because the man would come back, of that he’d been certain — Reynard promised himself that he would remain the pinnacle of composure, that he would let Gascon explain, and he would listen. But now, with the man himself so close, seeing him after so long — much longer than Reynard had anticipated, he couldn’t stop from feeling wounded.

“Did you sneak out the back door when you left too?” His voice shook as he spoke, but whether it was from anger or hurt he could not say.

“Reynard-”

“Why did you leave? I thought- especially after- it seemed like-”

“It was only one night, Reynard,” Gascon reminded him, sounding more tired than the older man had ever heard him.

Reynard’s body jerked away, as if slapped. The hurt evident in his voice as he spoke. “It was hardly the only night that mattered.”

There had been so many nights, as many pints of ale and campfires as there were stars in the skies they slept under, and after, there were the lavish meals in candlelit banquet halls, and strolls through moonlit gardens when it all got too claustrophobic, and so much laughter through it all. All from Gascon at first, far too pleased whenever he earned himself a scowl or a blush from the older man, but then one day, Reynard found he’d started laughing too. Then came the lingering glances, the brushing of hands on arms, on thighs, grazing shoulders and backs, growing firmer, bolder with each pass.

There was the way Gascon smiled at him — gradually less smug as a quality akin to sunlight began to blossom, a light that warmed Reynard’s heart and fluttered in his belly. Then at last, on one of the older man’s increasingly frequent visits to Gascon’s manor, in a moment of uncommon bravery, Reynard adorned the role of romantic hero, and kissed him. He grabbed Gascon by the face and brought their lips together and in the ensuing fit of ecstasy he almost forgot to panic. Fortunately, the younger man was much better versed in such matters, and so their dance moved at last to Gascon’s bedroom. He was gone by the time Reynard woke up.

“Should have known you’d been the sentimental type,” Gascon half sighed, half groaned.

“Why are you here, Gascon?” Reynard asked — demanded, a steely edge in his voice that at one time amused Gascon greatly, but now cut deeper than any blade ever could.

“I need to tell you something.” Gripping the edge of his seat tightly, he rocked forward as if he were about to be sick, his face suddenly taking on a concerning pallor. If the younger man were being at all honest with himself, he would have confessed a desire to be in bed, perhaps with his face pressed against Reynard’s chest, the older man’s fingers in his hair like they laid that night, warm and glowing, feeling like so much lay before them. Perhaps then it would have been easier to speak.

Perhaps Reynard sensed something of the sort, for his fingers itched to take off Gascon’s stupid hat, and card through his surely sweat damp hair. But he stayed his hand, too wary of being stung again, and waited.

“I- it’s my birthday tomorrow.” Of all the things Gascon could have said, Reynard would never have thought to expect that.

“Okay-?” he prompted when Gascon seemed to have lost courage again.

“I’m not turning eighteen,” the younger man confessed, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“Aren’t you?” Reynard asked dryly.

“You knew?”

“I had an inkling.” He’d had a well of inklings. Reynard hadn’t once believed that the bandit was a mere boy of seventeen, childlike though he was. But Gascon had his secrets, and Reynard didn’t want to pry. “How old will you be then?” he prompted Gascon again, when he fell into another uncharacteristic silence, leaving Reynard with the tiresome task of being uncharacteristically vocal. He’d do it though, if that’s what Gascon needed from him then, he’d do it a thousand times over.

Gascon’s eyes were nervous now, fraught, and far away where they bored into the ground. “Twenty-eight.” His voice even quieter than it was before. He swallowed dryly.

“Not a bad age. Why hide it?”

“Because! Because I- I wasn’t a child when- when they-”

“When your family was killed?” Reynard finished softly. Any other night, had they been talking about anything else, Reynard had no doubt that Gascon would have found his tone unforgivably patronising, but now he just nodded slowly, looking at the older man with wide eyes, looking every bit the child he claimed he hadn’t been.

They never talked about it. Reynard first began to suspect just who Gascon was that night he asked to take his leave of them, and Meve followed, his strange demeanour causing her concern. He’d been so quiet when they returned, and Meve so evasive. Reynard knew the area well, knew they were near the Brossard estate. When Meve ordered the family graveyard repaired, the pieces slid into place all too easily; when she returned the land to Gascon’s care outright, there was simply no denying it. But still Gascon never spoke of his family, and Reynard never pried, though now he was beginning to think he should have.

“I should have been there,” Gascon whispered. With his eyes fixed downward at nothing again, it was hard to say if he spoke to Reynard, himself, or the earth below their feet.

“Then you’d be dead.” Reynard answered bluntly.

Suddenly outraged, Gascon whirled around, standing in front of the other man, his arms spread wide as he spoke. “Do you know why I wasn’t there? They’d sent me away. To fucking Cintra. With a friend of my father’s, hoping he’d be able to entice me into being the heir they needed.”

“Gascon-”

“They loved me so much.” His voice, thick with emotion, dropped again, and even in the low light, Reynard could see glistening tears swelling at his eyes. “They did everything for me, gave me everything, they loved me so much-”

“So they would have been relieved you weren’t there. They would have been happy that you lived.”

“I failed them.”

“You’d be dead now, if you’d been there. You would have died.”

“So? I was old enough. I should have died for my family.”

“Dying for, and dying with, are not the same, Gascon. And you were only a child.”

“I was a man!”

“You were hardly a man when I met you,” Reynard laughed in spite of himself.

Gascon glared at him reproachfully, pouting in a way that more than proved his point, and dropped to sit on the fountain’s edge, head in his hands. Reynard pushed away from the bench, walking over slowly, his boots crunching deliberately on the gavel. When he stopped in front of the other man, he crouched down, his face level with Gascon’s bowed head. Carefully, he pried those remorseful hands away, leaving Gascon no choice but to look at him.

“So say you died for your family, hm? And then what? Where would that have left us?”

“You would have been fine,” Gascon insisted weekly in answer to Reynard’s unvoiced question.

“Fine, maybe, but fine isn’t living, is it? You taught me that.”

“Reynard-” Gascon moaned. Before he had a chance to hide away again, Reynard was on his feet, cradling his head to his stomach, holding him steady as sniffed wetly, hands fisted in the sides of Reynard's tunic.

“Is that why you left?” he whispered. “The guilt of being there became too much?”

Gascon shook his head, and gasped, “No. Well, yes, but not like that.” As anticipated, finding the words was easier now that he had Reynard against him, touching him, but it still took a moment, quietly nuzzling into Reynard’s stomach, for him to find his voice. “I went back because I thought that I could finally be the man my parents would have been proud of, but after that night-”

Reynard’s stomach turned cold at those words, at that loaded silence. Unconsciously, his grip on Gascon’s hair tightened, but if the other man noticed, he didn’t show it. In all the months of his absence, it never occurred to Reynard that Gascon might be ashamed of him.

“I just- I thought you deserved to know the truth, to know the man I am, but I- I couldn’t tell you. I only meant to be away a few days, but the longer I was gone, the worse I felt about leaving and I- I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.”

Loosening his grip as the cold fled from his body, Reynard instead took Gascon’s face in his hands and pulled him up, looking him in the eye unyieldingly, almost sternly as spoke. “I know the kind of man you are, Gascon,” he said firmly. “I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

Relief lightened Gascon’s chest as something warmer bloomed where the weight of his guilt had been, spilling over to flood his skin, his eyes watering again. “Fuck- Reynard-”

“May I kiss you now?” Reynard cut in. They weren’t going to unpack everything Gascon was feeling in its entirety in one night, let alone resolve all of it, but certainly they’d done enough to earn a kiss, and Reynard had been left waiting for so long.

Quite agreeing that they’d lost enough time, Gascon simply grabbed Reynard by the waist and pulled their bodies flush, so that nearly every inch of them from their chests to their feet were touching. Tilting his head so his silly hat wouldn’t get in the way, he brought their lips together with barely tempered desperation, eager to treat the man in his arms right. Reynard’s lips were thin and soft, naturally turned down in a dour expression that Gascon teased him for relentlessly. All it had taken was one night with those lips on him for Gascon to spend the better part of a year missing them dearly.

Reynard had promised himself that when they at last kissed again — because this moment had been inevitable, he was certain of it — he would not get carried away; it would be slow, and tender, and almost chaste. And it was, for a while. He pressed softly against Gascon’s wind-chapped lips, his tongue poking out just enough to lick a little, and, thankfully, Gascon was content to follow his lead this time, grateful for his attention. But before Reynard knew it, his hands slipped to cradle the back of Gascon’s head, thumbs pressed into the hinges of his jaw as he tilted the younger man back, nipping, then biting on his lower lip, seeking to deepen the kiss. And Gascon was parting his reddened lips, and licking inside his mouth to invite the same. Happily, Reynard obliged, moaning into Gascon’s mouth with all the airs of a sailor’s wife at last seeing her husband returned to shore.

“God’s I missed you,” Gascon breathed when he was at last allowed to come up for air, and it was the easiest breath he’d taken since they last saw each other.

As much as Gascon would have liked to stay in the garden, in that night, lost in Reynard’s kiss forever, Reynard did eventually convince him of the delights and virtues of a good bed. Late as it was, neither could in good conscious call for a bath, so they made do with a bucket of well water and a couple of washcloths, Reynard helping scrub Gascon to get him in bed all the faster. He’d waited far too long to sleep in Gascon’s arms again, and been denied the joy of waking up in them even longer.

Face to face, Gascon snoring lightly into his neck, his arm around his waist, holding him tightly, it should have been easy to fall asleep. Perhaps it would have been, if Reynard had not been quite so eager to watch him, feel him, make sure that he was really there after so many months of missing him, and not some vision conjured by the heat of a midsummer’s night.

His worries were quickly dispelled when Meve snuck into his room, sliding the false wall shut behind her, as he usually did when he made the journey in reverse.

“I hear you got your puppy back.” She said quietly, padding around to sit on the farther side of the bed, so that she could see Reynard’s face as they spoke.

It had been well over a year since their relationship transformed into something more… intimate, and yet still Reynard fought the urge to at the very least sit up in deference to her presence. However, being shirtless, he supposed that would be rather more indecorous, and besides, he didn’t want to risk stirring the man sound asleep in his arms. He was so tired.

“You see him too, then?” He asked, unable to keep a smile from his lips.

“I do. I take it he explained himself?”

“He did.”

“To your satisfaction?”

“To my satisfaction, yes.” He sounded almost reproachful. “You needn’t worry, Meve.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” She only watched them for a moment, taking in the sight of what she knew her lover had so longed for. They were pretty together, she had to give them that, and there was something delightful in the very idea of Reynard being softer on the bandit than she was. Tentatively, she reached out to stroke Gascon’s dark hair, and the back of Reynard’s hand where he held the younger man’s head.

“It’s his birthday tomorrow.” Reynard said softly, absently, but with a sense of wonder in his voice, like he found it truly marvellous that Gascon’s birthday was tomorrow.

“Oh? How old will he be?”

“Twenty-eight.”

She mulled that over silently, quickly puzzling out why the young man had lied in the first place, letting the weight of Reynard’s knowing — of Gascon’s telling him the truth, sink in. So, it appeared, the puppy was finally ready to live a little more honestly. “I should have a special breakfast brought up to you then.”

“And you’ll eat with us?” Reynard inquired hopefully.

“If you wish it.”

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh. It was a game she’d been playing, trying to get him to express his wishes to her. “I’d be grateful if you did.”

“Well, how could I deny you now?” Neither spoke for a moment, both their eyes cast tenderly upon the man sleeping between them. Then she laughed, snorted. “‘Seventeen’ my arse.”

In spite of himself, Reynard laughed too.

Meve stayed long enough for him to fall asleep, his arms still wrapped tightly around Gascon, Gascon’s hair kissing his lips in a way she knew the older man found inexpressibly gratifying. She kissed one man on the temple, and then the other, and existed once more through the concealed sliding door. She never spent the night, not since she and Reynard first fell into bed together, the day the paperwork had been signed on their victory. True, there was no small amount of relief that the deep, abiding affection they held for each other had finally spilled over into something outwardly passionate, and with any luck it would continue to do so for years to come, but Meve also knew they couldn’t work together in a way that suited them both.

First, she had long felt that Reynard would make someone the perfect husband one day, told him as much for years, but she’d already been married, and had no inclination to being so again, even to a man like Reynard. Second, though she would never tell him this, Meve suspected that her chief advisor would never be able to fully remove her from the pedestal he’d set her upon for so many years. So she kissed one many on the temple, and the other, and slipped back through the sliding door to her own room, and into her own bed, assured in the knowledge that they — the two men who were perhaps her best friends — would wake up in each other’s arms feeling as close to complete as humanly possible, and alone in her room, so would she.

Sure enough, when a shard of the early morning sun’s golden light alighted on Reynard’s face, he could feel the warmth of Gascon’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, Gascon’s hand pressed against his chest, Gascon’s body snug against his back, his nose brushing the dip behind Reynard’s ear, his breaths skating across Reynard’s skin. In short, they were exactly as they had been the first time they’d fallen asleep together, and Reynard was finally waking up in the glow of that glorious night. Sleepily, smiling, he placed his hand over Gascon’s, twined their fingers together, and brought it up to his face. Pressing a lingering kiss into Gascon’s palm, he mumbled, “Happy birthday, Gascon.”

#thronebreaker #thronebreaker fic #Gascon Brossard #Reynard Odo #Queen Meve #Gascon Brossard/Reynard Odo #wrsb #nelipotwrites

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