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memesoftheton2023-05-27 11:00 am
thetonmods) wrote in memesoftheton2023-05-27 11:00 am
TDM II
Welcome to the The Ton's second Test Drive Meme!
Applications will OPEN on the 1st of June. Players with characters already in game are also welcome to top-level with them. However, we ask that all TDM-related prompts stay on the TDM post itself.
If you do write a top-level, please make sure to include your character's name and canon in the subject field - regardless of whether your character is already in game or not.
Please note that the Test Drive Meme does not require an invite in order to participate - submitting an application does.
NAVIGATION.
🌿 Arrival • Welcome Drinks • The Greenhouse Effect • Skinny Dipping • Give You Butterflies [NSFW] • That Belongs in A Museum • Jump to Comments 🌿
🌱 Applications • FAQ • Rules • Full Navigation 🌱
I. WELCOME
You don't remember when or where you fell asleep exactly...
Perhaps it's the tickling sensation of a low hanging tree branch brushing against your nose or the feel of the slightly damp grass underneath you that causes you to awaken but when you do you'll find yourself lying amongst a glade of wisteria trees. You're not alone - nymphs of the trees laugh and dance about you, clearly amused at the new arrival. Along with them, your new loyal servant is here on Pheme's bidding. How this servant looks is different to each arrival. Some are saddled with short, stout butlers, others are welcomed by towering, busty maids. Regardless of their appearance, they introduce themselves with a kindness and warmth that is simultaneously reassuring and strangely impossible to resist when they beckon you to follow them from the grove and out into the city of Andovale.
The closest structure within sight is the Palace and its grounds. It is here that the Lady Pheme resides and from here that she rules over the city, your servant explains to you. You have been selected and brought here personally by her. It is she who assigned the servant to guide you through the regency-inspired city that is your new home.
Eventually, they will bring you to your new residence within the outskirts of somewhere called the "Trade Quarter". You are now the resident of a room within one of the many imposing town houses which make up the Grand Crescent. Throughout your stay here the servant will be your own personal butler or maid. This is where all new arrivals will be living for the time being you are told. Your servant will also give you a crash course on life here and the concept of Thumos - the energy or life force that keeps Andovale and all life within it going - including you now that you are here. It's generated through acts of intimacy, whether that be physical or emotional.
Once you have been shown to your room, you are given two things: a network communication device and a letter. The letter reads as follows:
My dearest reader,
Welcome to Andovale.
The delights of our fair city are yours to explore.
I do hope that you make your stay here a most interesting one. I shall be frightfully disappointed if you do not - and we do not want that, do we?
You will hear from me again very soon.
Yours Truly,
Lady Pheme
You are free to wander about and explore the house and its surroundings as you please. It's certainly spacious enough. As well as your own quarters, each of the townhouses of the Grand Crescent have large communal areas, which includes the kitchens (although why you'd like to go there when your servant can fetch any delicacies you'd like for you!), a dining room, a parlour with its own small library, two drawing rooms (somewhere you can go to chill out basically - harp music anyone?) and a generously sized garden.
Strangely, unlike most accurate regency townhouses, there do not appear to be any servant's quarters - perhaps these servants don't need to rest? Or they go somewhere else entirely for that?
Why not introduce yourself to your new housemates? Or enjoy some tea and cakes that have been prepared for you personally by your retainer, which they seem to keep insisting on bringing to you?
II. AN INVITATION
Whether you're brand new to Andovale or a an establishedif a little unwillingresident by now, your assigned maid or butler will track you down. They are not empty-handed and they carry a silver tray, upon which is an envelope with a wax seal bearing the letter "P". Inside the envelope is an invitation. An invitation from your benevolent ruler, Lady Pheme herself.
Each character will receive an invitation identical in wording to the one below:
EVENT AT THE PLEASURE GARDENS
YOUR CHARACTER'S NAME HERE
Is requested to attend an exclusive event at the PLEASURE GARDENS, on 27th of May current.
Admission to the attraction begins at 6 o'clock p. m.
Wear something green for this special occasion.
Lady Pheme
Your servant can help you find something appropriate to wear - or not appropriate, the choice is entirely yours, after all. If you decide to go with their guidance, it is notable that they seem a little less decisive in the sort of outfit you should be wearing for this event - only, as Pheme said, that it should be something green. An evening gathering surely must require formal wear though and they will eventually press upon you the importance of wearing Regency Full Dress for the night ahead.
You may come to regret this.
Note: Even though it's a little different from the norm, this event will still count as a ball and all attendees will get 10 Reputation Points✨, just for showing up and looking respectable. Indulging with the theme and wearing an acceptable green outfit will also gain attendees a further 5 Points✨.
CW: alcohol
JUMP TO TOP • JUMP TO COMMENTS
So, you've received an exclusive invitation to the Pleasure Gardens' latest pop-up attraction from Lady Pheme herself? How exciting! Ordinarily, the Gardens are open to anyone willing to pay the small amount of Thumos required to enter, but tonight it seems that only those brought in from other worlds are permitted access. You're getting an exclusive preview of the attraction, one of the guards at the gates tells you.
One of their colleagues will escort you down the torch flame lit pathways, through the gardens to the centre - the open space where all events like this take place.
Tonight, that open space is not so open. Besides the vast outdoor ballroom floor, in front of you is a giant glass house - basically, a large fancy green house between you and I. These are often found at grand country houses to show off and cultivate exotic, never before seen plants from far off lands. You've been brought here for the unveiling of this attraction. How such a thing could possibly be temporary seems highly improbable, but that's Pheme for you.
Feel free to begin the evening with mingling and dancing as befitting of any ball, but before the night is over you will feel yourself propelled forward to join the queue to get into the "Palm House," almost as if an invisible hand is shoving you forwards. You're even handed an extremely green and theme appropriate alcoholic beverage to consume in the queue while you wait. It's all very civilised.
Oddly, this drink won't get you drunk in the usual way, despite the alcohol content. Instead you will find yourself imbued with a hefty sense of glee and eagerness for adventure. It's all to help ease you into this experience, after all.
You're admitted to the Palm House one at a time - it's fine, you'll see your friends inside! Just as you set foot through the doors, your head is filled with the sound of a woman's voice, soft and beguiling:
"Dearest gentle member of the ton - what happens in the Palm House, stays in the Palm House. You are free tonight."Note: For those that don't drink, there's also an alcohol free version. It looks completely identical to the boozy version.
Whether that drink has got you in the spirit or not, entering the Palm House is worth your while. All of those who enter will instantly receive 20 Reputation Points✨. And in case it wasn't already obvious, on this very special of occasions and the debut of her attraction, Pheme is turning a blind eye to what happens to you all in there. These things need a whole lot of Thumos to run properly and some of you will be doing her a huge favour... you just don't know it yet.
There will be no NPCs present in the Palm House, only your characters. Tonight is an exclusive preview for Pheme's Chosen, after all.
Entering the Palm House is a rather surreal experience to say the least. Sure, it looked pretty grand from the outside, but that's nothing compared to what greets you inside...
You might have been expecting a typical large tropical greenhouse as per any botanical garden visit, if such things exist to you back home. However, this particular green house appears to contain nothing less than a few dozen acres of rain forest. If the word "Tardis" resided in the vocabulary of the Ton's residents then it would surely be applied here. Pheme's out to show off again.
The moment you take a step or two through that door you feel strangely disoriented. Take a few steps more - perhaps you change your mind and decide to head back to the door you just came through. Only when you do, you'll find that the door is no longer there.
There is another door out of here but that involves crossing the length of the exhibit - and as you can now see quite clearly, that is not going to be such an easy task. There are paths to take and to (hopefully) stick to, but they seem to crisscross at every turn you take and go in all different directions. Thick rainforest surrounds you on all sides, its dense foliage extending towards what you can see of the glass ceiling and the night sky beyond that.
Pheme hasn't been quite cruel enough to leave you wandering through the rainforest by moonlight alone. Many of the plants here glow with an unnaturally bright bioluminescence - and there is more. Every now and again during your travels you will see the light of a of lantern darting amongst the trees, accompanied by alluring and lilting female voices, often laughing with delight. They might seem a little familiar to you.
It seems that the tree nymphs (or dryads) from the wisteria grove have sisters and they're making themselves quite at home in the Palm House. If you happen to catch a decent view of one of them, you'll find yourself face to face with quite possibly one of the most beautiful - not to mention scantily clad - women you have ever laid eyes on. They won't stick around long though. Make the mistake of trying to follow one of them and you'll find yourselves off the path and even more lost and disoriented than you were before.
You might be really regretting your choice of dress right about now - even if you are camouflaged with all of the greenery.Note: If your character does not manage to find the exit (or one of the magic wreaths mentioned below) then they will only remain trapped in the Palm House until dawn. After that time period they will themselves slipping into a deep slumber, only to awaken right back in their cosy bed within the Grand Crescent (or wherever they've now made their home) a few hours later. You can thank your servant for that.
JUMP TO TOP • JUMP TO COMMENTS
CW: large bodies of water, possible nudity
Unsurprisingly, it's hot in the forest, and the chances are that you didn't exactly come in here dressed for this.
While the dryads have made themselves at home on the land inside the Palm House, their naiad cousins (or water nymphs) have made themselves comfortable within the many rainforest pools. You can hear their delighted giggling as you traverse the forest and they will even call out to you in alluring tones, somehow knowing your name. It's impossible to resist following the sound and when you do you'll find yourself in front of one of the many pools that can be found within the Palm House.
Oddly, there is no sign of the naiads now that you're here. The water is beautifully crystal clear and dappled with the snatches of moonlight managing to shine through the forest canopy. That water is calling out to you, to drink and to bathe - you will feel an overwhelming compulsion to start removing your stuffy clothing, dive right in and cool down.
It's fine, after all, there's no one else around. Yet.
Just be care those pesky water nymphs don't hide your clothes.
JUMP TO TOP • JUMP TO COMMENTS
CW: sex, aphrodisiac, sex pollen, insects
It's not just nymphs and you lot making yourselves at home in the Palm House.
Often mistaken for moths, there's one species group of nocturnal butterflies, but their wings are dull, plain, and uninteresting. Clearly not a good fit for a glorious Palm House, designed by Pheme herself. That is precisely why Pheme has created her own, never before seen species of night butterfly, especially for this occasion.
Their wings are like gossamer, beautifully transparent like a ordinary glasswing butterfly but these ones glow in the dark. You probably encounter one or two as you make your way through the rainforest, but the longer you spend in here, the more the butterflies begin to swarm. Looking up and you'll see a "kaleidoscope" high above your heads, hundreds of them flocking together in a brightly glowing mass above the treeline. The display is only brief, but it leaves you with a strange yet probably not unfamiliar feeling.
You see, these butterflies have been carrying pollen on their bodies and legs, as butterflies often do, helping to spread the stuff. It seems whatever plant they have recently been feeding from has some very curious properties... and you can probably guess where this is going.
You feel hot - even more than you already did being stuck in a tropical forest. Not only that, you feel the strongest desire for physical intimacy. Effects vary depending on how much pollen you've been doused with, but you still have a deep, desperate need to do something about it. For those most strongly affected and desiring the ultimate, touching yourself may bring some relief. That may very well be your first thought to try, but some is the operative word here.
That person you've always had a flirtation with? Now is the time. You have to have them. You have to have each other. Or maybe you've just met this person, here, in the rainforest today? Maybe you're two people who ordinarily don't even like each other? Perhaps there's more than two of you?
It doesn't matter. You won't rest until you've gotten that release.Note: The butterflies swarm covers a wide enough area that you can be anywhere within the Palm House when their pollen hits. While this is obviously a sex pollen prompt, players can choose how strongly their characters have been affected. It may be that they only got the lightest dousing of pollen and kissing is enough to satisfy them. On the other hand, maybe they got so covered in the stuff that only doing the deed will do. The choice is yours.
JUMP TO TOP • JUMP TO COMMENTS
CW: chance for NSFW
So, you're not having much luck navigating your way out of this foliage filled nightmare? There is another way out. At some point on your travels, one of the naiads will take pity on you and try to help you out: "Find one of the wreaths!"
Deeper into the greenhouse, or this pseudo rainforest as it basically is, you'll find ancient Greek laurel wreaths made of pure gold. They might be just lying on the ground, or up a tree, or under the water in one of the forest pools... The choice is yours as to where you find it, We'll leave that entirely to your discretion.
It will take quite some doing given how far into the jungle these treasures are, but should you manage to find one, upon contact, it will teleport you, and whoever you might be holding onto, out of the greenhouse and right back to the entrance to the Pleasure Gardens again.
The wreaths won't be easy to find, and you'll face many obstacles along the way. Some set to distract you entirely from your goal, which is get the hell out of here. Unless you actually like it in here? You do you, boo. We're not judging.
The teleportation abilities of the wreaths themselves can only be activated by generating a small amount of Thumos between yourself and another first, another naiad will explain. That means no grabbing one for yourself and hightailing it out of here! Oh no, no, no. What about your chums? It would not be seemly to leave them in the lurch, after all.Note: Obviously more than one character can use one of these wreaths to teleport out of the Palm House, as long as each of you has a hand on the item and you have generated Thumos between all of you then it will work.
JUMP TO TOP • JUMP TO COMMENTS
Wildcard
To assist you with inspiration our full list of Andovale's locations can be found here.
Want to play something that isn't listed here? Go ahead!
no subject
When he lands the sweep he laughs, shifts his balance to throw himself on top of Leon to... he doesn't know, actually. Hold him down, feel him writhe and struggle? Put his hands around his neck? Stick his tongue down his throat? He can't decide, his brain's barely in control of a body moving on instinct and reflex and raw desire.
He doesn't end up deciding when Leon smoothly uses his momentum against him and flips him over. (For Christ's sake, how many times did they practice that? How many times did he demonstrate for him, again and again and again, until Leon was soaked with sweat and mud, abrasions all down his back from being dragged-- watching those pretty blues light up with victory when he finally, finally managed to throw the major off of him and pinned him, perched up on his hips, just like this-)
Knocked onto his back with Leon pinning him, Krauser's still fighting back. Pushing, thrashing his hips up, pressing his feet into the floor, gripping Leon's wrist on the hand with the knife. But the expression on his face is something close to blissful, excited, his eyes locked on Leon's like he'll die all over again the second he looks away.
"That's right... it's over." He hisses through a genuine smile, made twisted as ever by the scars. "Isn't it?"
His other hand suddenly grips the collar of Leon's shirt, twisting hard around the fabric, and he pulls to bring him closer.
dick alert wee woo wee woo (NSFW here on out)
Krauser's hard. Leon can feel it every time he bucks up — to throw Leon off or for more friction where it matters, he can't tell, and what difference does it make? — the thick shape of his cock makes this more than a fight. Makes the tight huff of Leon's effort as they grapple into a sound much needier than anything he's uttered in this place, goosebumps pinching up all over despite the crushing humidity.
Sweat rolls down his face, down damp trails towards the tip of his nose, his chin, he can taste the salt and then him, when Krauser twists his fist in the open collar of his shirt and drags him down, when Leon crushes his lips against his scarred mouth, turning the blade until it lies like cold and flat between them, its sharp tip scoring a shallow line up the swell of Krauser's pectoral on the way. His other hand fists into his platinum blond hair, tightens up when he pulls up his head, gasping through his open mouth.
He loses his grip on the thread that tells him this is a fight where he might not be walking away if he doesn't finish the job, finds his latching instead onto everything betrayal cost him.
no subject
When Leon crushes their mouths together again, even better. He's instantly reciprocating, lips parting for him, a low groan of approval, and he releases Leon's wrist to let him get on with it. Kiss him, kill him, it's all the same. Give him everything he wants before oblivion this time. The nick of the knife floods his senses with sweet pain and he expects to feel more when the blade sinks home. But it doesn't. It's resting between them, inert, as Leon clutches his hair and lifts his face and kisses him like the world has replaced who they are with who they were once.
The sound that escapes him then is half sob, half growl, all broken-- a horribly revealing crack in his armor. One massive arm curls over Leon's shoulder and the other hand finds the side of his face, palm at his jaw and fingers splayed. He arches up into the contact, hips grinding under Leon's solid weight, and his tongue slides desperately into his mouth to beg for more.
If this is a dream, an illusion, or some other trick, then it's fully snagged its hooks into him. If this is a ruse to make himself vulnerable to Leon, it'll work. Krauser no longer cares. Not when memories and regrets and that heavy, feverish haze in the air have combined to tempt him with exactly what he suddenly knows he wants. Needs.
no subject
It isn't safe, but Krauser doesn't feel safe either, and maybe he hasn't been for a lot longer than the years between them, that never stopped Leon from trying every appeal he could to reason with him. Leaves him with the sharp edge in his fist, dragged out from between them. The only reason it doesn't score a pair of red lines between them is its keen edge gummed up by plant sap and dirt. It's still in his fist when Leon's arm wraps up under Krauser's, butt against the other side of his shoulder, its blade pointed against the dirt.
The years since a traumatized rookie cop ended up in a trainee's greens hardened him, shaped him into someone who could be Krauser's mirror. Someone who could be thrown again and again into the horror of bioterror and endure, in the end he lived up to the potential his mentor had seen in him, he did what had to be done. Took it all, the fear, the pain, the betrayal, the grief and without even giving himself a minute to look at the gore-slick mess of it, buried it for the sake of the mission.
Leon doesn't have to imagine how it's festered because to keep them from shaking, his fingers are fisted so tightly around his platinum hair Leon's knuckles ache, his lungs and his eyes burn with the poisonous sting of everything pouring out of the figurative tear this is ripping open. He tastes salt instead of nicotine when he licks into Krauser's mouth, squeezes shut his eyes until stars burst behind his eyelids and cleaves to the thing he'd been relying on since he got here to blunt off the sharpest edges. Pleasure promises to give him relief, Krauser was good for it — and pain — and on more than a few occasions it came intertwined, like they are.
There's a conclusion so natural he doesn't question it.
His shoulders jerk up with his mouth reluctant to break free, wet shining between them, lips resolving to tightly smother the agony on his face. There are no guarantees that Leon's fingers haven't come away without a strand or two of Krauser's hair tangled in them when they fan out over his chest. He stabs the knife into the ground, reaches up behind him and claws off his shirt and waistcoat in an overhead yank and a violent shove into the ground beside him, reaches for buttons or laces that close Krauser's pants with a clumsy shake and tortured intent.
no subject
They tasked him all those years ago with molding and shaping Leon into the man, the soldier Krauser knew he could become. Pushing him forward through hell and high water, making him walk until he could run on his own. And all the while, all he wanted was to hang onto him, to keep him, to find the way where Leon could never leave him behind. He clutched and he clawed and he clumsily fought with all of his worthless strength, but it was too much. Too heavy. The world around them conspired to drag them apart, to remind Jack that he could never have him, didn't deserve him. He was too broken. Too pathetic. Too weak, even to keep hold of what he wanted the most.
Getting another taste of him now, so long after knowing he never would again-- it hurts so bad it feels like it'll fucking kill him. It'll kill him if it stops. His life was little more than pain, so if his death is to be the same, so be it. At least this is the kind that makes him feel alive, makes him feel something. The kind of pain they used to stoke together, the only source of light he can remember in those cold, miserable, doomed days after Operation Javier.
He outright growls when Leon pulls away, bruising fingers digging into his back to try and pull him down, lifting his head to beg for his mouth again. Then it occurs to him why he backed off. It's a nearly frenzied reach for Leon's bare chest, rough palms sliding over abdominals and pectorals, muscles he helped carve into him. He grips at his ribs and threatens to yank him back down once again, operating on sheer, greedy want.
No. No, not yet. He wants that warm, lovely skin against his own, but he's still wearing these stupid goddamn clothes. Leon takes the initiative on his laced-up pants, so Krauser sees to his now bloodstained shirt, carelessly ripping it open. The buttons all give out with barely a fight, and he tightens his core and sits up enough to wrestle his arms out of the sleeves. Alongside the blood dripping from the cut on his chest, there's a new telltale scar in the center, right over his heart, the same shape and length of the knife sunk into the ground forgotten beside them.
And now that he's sitting up he can't keep his hands or his mouth off of Leon, aggressively biting kisses up and down his collarbone, gasping and snarling and heedless of how difficult that makes it for Leon to get his pants open.
no subject
He never saw Krauser drive his fists into the drywall until it littered the floor with white powder, he only ever heard it from the other room, lips tight and shoulders flinching as Krauser vented a frustration and fury deeper than a small town middle class guy like Leon could have ever known. Most of the violence he ever witnessed crashed into his own body, thrown down into the mud, into the training mat, into the dirt, the wall, a tree, a cot, a shower room wall, tile cold and drain streaked with red.
Krauser's hands are as rough as he remembers, as needy. Missing that rips at him. Leon doesn't deserve to miss what he's dashed to pieces on the ground.
Yet it's those golden slivers of light that he clings to: the afternoon sunlight slanting through the shades, the rise and fall of Krauser's barrel chest under his cheek and the unspoken safety. The viper motionless on the end of a knife. The cool weight of a water bottle chucked into his hand. The taste of his scarred lips in a lightless parking lot stinking of asphalt offgassing after a day baking under summer sun. The smell of ozone and the pounding drum of rain on the roof, the warmth and welcome solidity of battle-roughened hands coaxing terrorized breath into something calmer, quieter, 10, 9, 8, in through his nose, out through his mouth, 7, 6, 5, good-
Leon curls his fingers into the hair at the top of Krauser's head and with it demands he looks up, catches his mouth with his, more a bite than a kiss. It's hot in there, where he shoves his hand, wrist disappearing into the loosened waistband of his breeches, finding Krauser every inch as thick and hard as he remembers. The glimpse of scar tissue - so recent, so fresh - on the center of his chest is still bright behind Leon's closed, stinging eyes.
He squeezes him once. Places his whole forearm against his broad chest and shoves him as hard as he can, crawling down his body as his fist extracts him from his clothes, blunted fingernails raking pink lines down his chest, his stomach, the wet circle of his lips climbing the engorged flesh caught in his fist, his mouth hungry, his eyes still clenched shut against the burning truth.
no subject
If he closes his eyes, they're anywhere else. In a tent, in a foreign hotel, one or the other's bedroom at the dorm on base. They're alone and secret and secure and Leon's crawled over him again, so eager to please with that prodigal mouth. Hot breath, wet tongue, too damn ambitious for his own good. If he looks up he'll see that boyish face and those pretty blues, looking so damn proud of himself. How good he's gotten at this. How far he can take him. What kind of noises can he drag out of the stoic Major, what pleasure and what praise. Suddenly, nothing feels quite so desperate. Suddenly, there's something other than blood and pain and despair, and it's right here and it's his.
If he keeps his eyes closed, it's just the same now.
"There you are..." A low and breathless growl. His hand finds the top of Leon's head, thick fingers sinking into his hair, squeezing but not pulling. He cracks a smile, a huff that's close to a laugh. "You always..."
The thought remains unfinished.
One leg's pinned down by Leon's weight but the other is curling, knee rubbing slowly against Leon's side. His leg twines with Leon's out of sheer need for contact, but he finds enough leverage for something else. He opens his eyes out of pure necessity, and pretends he doesn't see anything around them.
Abruptly, he tugs a handful of Leon's hair, pushes him back to pull his cock out of his mouth. In the next instant he flips them, turning Leon onto his side and rolling up to his knees.
The knife is within arm's reach. All he'd have to do is reach out and snatch it. But Krauser doesn't so much as glance at it, eyes locked with Leon's as he cradles his face in one hand and pulls him upright to shove his cock between his lips again. And deeper, the moment he feels Leon's throat give way for him.
"Good," he breathes again. Rough fingers gently caress Leon's face, easing him into a rhythm. "Good, Leon. Just like..."
no subject
Doesn't mean it wasn't good, that it was without light. The weight of Krauser's hand, the shape of the fingers carding into his hair and squeezing around the curve of his skull are so familiar that it aches. Leon fights his reflexive flinch to scrub the veinous shape of his cock with his tongue, the pink triangle of its tip breaching the seal between his lower lip and his swollen length as he licks his way down.
Been years since he was this full of the smell and taste of him; Krauser's been sweating in his jungle, same as him, crowding more of him into his mouth, the masculine scent of his sweat is intoxicating. He missed this, missed him, it makes him sick to his stomach with guilt (why did it come to this) and resignation (there was no other choice), and the band of heavy warmth of his leg wrapped around his own feels like an invitation. Leon starts to swallow-
The yank pulls Leon's mouth away, wet, his spit thick and clinging to him in strings; he snatches up at Krauser's hand with a grimace that's too pink in the face to be furious, to be anything more than embarrassed that he dares to be so gentle once he's bullied Leon onto his side. Resists, at first, so the spit-slick length of his cock skims his mouth and paints a glistening smear up his cheek, blue eyes fever-bright. He relents, it's what he wants, of course he does, and despite the years between them he scarcely gags when his glans knocks into the spongy back of his throat, when Krauser nudges in again and Leon swallows, the sound of it thick and wet.
There was a time Leon would've done anything for those words of praise, for a little more of that gentleness. To hear it now seems so unfair it ignites a sentiment so volatile he thinks it might be rage.
Leon wraps an arm around Krauser's hips, nosing in like he means to choke himself on him, scorning Krauser's gentleness, his coaxing to ease into this, fuck that and fuck him, Leon swallows him angry, lashes wet, fingernails raising welts, fingers threatening to bruise. A violence in the jerk of his head, drooling over his skin, the wet churn of his buried girth obscene beside the muffled choke in his throat.
no subject
(The kid always was an overachiever... And Krauser always did indulge his favorites.)
He doesn't say much else, for now. Panting, huffing, grunting as he rocks his hips forward, sinking into that hot, soaking wet throat as deep as he can take him. Every movement pulls another filthy fucking noise from between them, another tightening coil of pleasure in his groin. One hand slides down and flattens over his trachea to feel the swell at the apex of every thrust, and it's so depraved his approving groan is closer to a growl.
It's unclear if he's being cruel or kind when he pushes Leon back again, pulling out of his mouth. He tips Leon's head back to look him over while he has a chance to breathe, red-faced, pretty blues watery and tearstained, lips soaked, Krauser's dripping cock rubbing lewdly against his cheek and the seam of his lips.
Pale blue eyes gaze at Leon like he's never seen him more beautiful.
no subject
Krauser's looking at him, his cock hot, dripping down his cheek when it gives a tangible throb against Leon's cheek. Part of him thinks he could be content with this, the man's engorged cock chasing his pleasure against Leon's face, against his treacherous mouth. Leon's vision swims, he squeezes shut his eyes against the burn in them, feels it painting a hot path on his face and shoves his forearm in the way, fingers curled into a fist so tight his knuckles are pale.
"The hell do you want," he rumbles with a torn voice, "Take a fucking picture. Lasts longer, asshole."
Actually try to take one and he might take a bite out of him.
no subject
He's not particularly gentle when he pushes Leon down onto his back, when his broad body looms over him. One hand grips Leon's wrist and tugs, pulling his forearm away from his eyes, twisting to pin his arm up over his head. Without hesitation, a stare, or a single word of mockery, he presses his scarred lips to Leon's cheekbone just beneath his eye, to the tear track visible on his face. His tongue darts out to taste it, to subtly lick down the trail and drag a lazy not-quite-a-kiss along its path.
When he reaches the corner of his mouth, his other hand grasps Leon's chin and coaxes him into another hard, lustful kiss. Salt and sweat and Krauser linger between their tongues, and the way he eagerly tastes Leon's mouth it seems he can't get enough.
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He growls in discontent as he feels the wet muscle of Krauser's tongue on his face, only to tilt his chin up into the grasp of his thick fingers, chasing Krauser's scarred mouth. It's hard, hungry, punishing enough that his lips feel hot and bruised when Leon invites his tongue in past them; he remembers the needy sound Krauser used to make when he'd kiss him with the taste of him still in his mouth and Leon's fingers dig into his pectoral, head lifting off the ground like he might climb him.
It's not enough.
Leon kicks up a leg and misjudges, there's nothing solid to meet his shin so his heel crashes back down into the undergrowth, the dirt. He swings it instead until his knee knocks against Krauser's hip, lands lower behind his knee where he hooks his ankle behind his knee. He lacks the leverage he needs to move how he wants. Wrapping his arm around the back of Krauser's thick neck, he tightens the muscles of his core to lift his hips off the ground, uses his leg hooked around the back of his thigh to swing himself to swing himself a little more in line with the bow of his larger body. It almost puts him directly beneath him, except that's as far as he can get. Krauser's scarred lower lip is caught by Leon's teeth before he lets go, sounds frustrated when he gives him one growling word: "Sit."
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Lost in the kiss, he relishes Leon squirming beneath him, slow to realize he's trying to move them. Jack's always outweighed him, always been an overpowering physical force he had to work around. The Major was ever merciless in training, never spared a pound of his weight, never failed to exploit a pressure point, never let up without a tap-out.
But when Leon's bite breaks the kiss and he snaps an order he has no obligation to obey, a funny thing happens. Krauser gives in, collapsing an arm to come down to his side and cede equal footing to Leon. He shifts as bidden, straightening into a sprawled out seat. It's hard to read the look in his eyes, seemingly calm, clouded by the haze of lust-- still locked on Leon with fascinated anticipation.
(Leon always did have a way of taming him, didn't he...)
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Standing between the sprawl of Krauser's legs, Leon breathes through the part between his teeth and lips, watching him as he unlaces the drop flap of his breeches with abrupt twitches of his fingers, tugging knots loose. He's not putting on a show for him, not with such utilitarian gestures, but the rest of his actions are something, when he takes a step forward, puts the arch of his foot against the inside of Krauser's thigh and shoves his sprawled legs further apart, when he steps up close enough that his knees kiss his chest, one foot beside his hip, the other tucked up under the inside of one thigh.
"Good boy," he breathes, threading his fingers roughly into his platinum hair, cradling the curve at the back of his skull. Leon chases the damp on his own face with a shove of the back of his hand and wrist, sniffing back the humidity the jungle seems determined to get into every fucking crease, tries to balm one stinging ache with the promise of another. This act has practically forced Krauser to face with the way gravity is dragging the loosened drop flap of the front of his pants down and with it, droops the rest from his hips, dark treasure trail and thick root of his plumping cock inches from his nose.
To reckon with the sight of his hand delving inside, the thick shape of his cock distending the fabric as he takes it into hand, extracting his uncut girth and gives it an indulgent squeeze. Leon drags the warm, velvety texture of his foreskin back by sliding his engorged length along Krauser's scarred mouth, glaring down at him with parted lips, blown pupils.
"Go ahead," he says at last, "Take it. Get me ready."
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The only man who's ever come close to understanding him, however, just might identify adoration in his gaze, his touch. The hot exhale over Leon's cock as he parts his lips and takes him in like he's been blessed. His tongue flattens to bathe him once, twice, then he's working him deeper into his mouth with every eager bob of his head.
Both hands slide their way up Leon's thighs to grip his ass, groping, handles for leverage as he sucks his cock. Krauser's no kinder to himself than Leon was, tugging his hips, encouraging him to treat him like a wet hole to fuck. He's a little out of practice, and the first throat-deep thrust makes him tense up, swallow, pull back with an ugly cough. He's smirking, though, guiding Leon's spit-soaked shaft to brush his scarred cheek while he catches his breath. While he slides two fingers into his mouth, puts on a show of sucking to soak them, too. Then his hand goes behind again, thick fingers teasing a circle around the pucker, working to slip in up to a knuckle.
He takes Leon back to his mouth in the meantime, straight down his throat, as though punishing himself for choking before. His nose brushes his groin, balls dragging at his chin, and he holds until his throat swallows thick around him, a near full-body shudder in its wake.
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There's no comfort taken in the look Krauser gives him; Leon's susceptible to it, it makes him aware of the hole left, first by his sudden and unexplained absence in Leon's life, second by his betrayal and subsequent death at Leon's own hands. His hands greedily thread through his slicked-back hair, curling around his nape and the defined line of his jaw.
"Yeah," he rumbles, "Like that," Leon's head tips back slightly as his eyes flutter shut, losing himself for a moment in the reminder of how talented Krauser had been with his mouth, his hands, "Just like you showed me."
Leon's chin drops towards his collarbone when Krauser's strong fingers feel up the backs of his thighs and grope at him in that way that used to send all the heat racing in two directions, to his face like a fever, to his cock, hilting into Krauser's scarred mouth. It's been long enough that Krauser almost chokes, and Leon leans down, gentling his hands over his jaw and throat, hips backing up enough to get a look — more checking-in than checking-out — nodding when he spies the expression of his smirk, his spit-slick cock against his cheek.
"Fuck," punches out of Leon, the reflexive concern made him feel a fool, even if the look on Krauser's face, his eagerness, makes Leon prickle with heat, makes his skin pinch up with goosebumps despite the humidity. His fingers curl against his scalp and the other hand takes his cock by the base, smacking the swollen girth against his cheek before he allows Krauser to swallow it down, a full-chested groan his reward for the shuddery swallow.
"God damn, you were always so good at this."
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It wasn't true, of course. Violence and pain went on to break him, and Leon kept going on strong. Stronger than his old Major, in any case.
Leon's touches are sweet reminders, stroking through his hair, along his jaw. The kind brush of fingers over his throat when he chokes hurts like a fucking slap. He has to close his eyes for a moment to hold back a swell of emotion, wet heat prickling treacherously under his lids. He shakes it off by pushing himself even harder. Throats him again, longer, deeper. As he fights to catch his breath in between, his ravaged voice growls with exertion and eagerness both.
After the third, he lets Leon slip out of his mouth, slaps his wet length against his own cheek again, harshly chuckling under his breath. His finger slides fully inside him, curling, then once he finds the firm swell of his prostate, mercilessly grinding a circle.
"Like it was yesterday." Krauser looks practically nostalgic, nuzzling Leon's soaked cock across his face as he fingers him. "You and your perfect fucking body. Always so game for me." Caught up in the moment, pushing a second finger inside him, he's not thinking about the words spilling out of him at this point. "Fuck... you look so good right now..."
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Jesus fuck. Krauser always knew just where and how to touch him, a body intimately tuned by those same blood-stained hands. Knows just how much he can take and when, that the pleasure he offers is always sweetest when it's battered and stained a little by a sizzle of pain, the burn of humiliation, or that most devastating and rarest of weapons in Krauser's fucking arsenal. He didn't hesitate to lay Leon out with that one-two punch of two thick fingers deliciously stretching him open and that thoughtless praise.
He has no defense against it, no way to stuff down the helpless whine haunting the tail end of his rumbled groan, no way to stop the telling nod of his soaked cock as it weeps a hot drop of pre against Krauser's cheek or the tremble in his thighs.
"Said get me ready," he pants shakily, following a huff that might have been the stunned puff of a laugh, "Not make me come."
That's when he decides to slide his foot up against the jut of Krauser's flushed erection, nudging it, putting all of his own weight against one leg and Krauser's broad shoulders when he aims to sandwich the man's fat cock between his own meaty thigh and the arch of his bare foot. The air is so humid, it's still slick with Leon's spit — unless, Leon thinks with a flash of hot, horny revelation, the man's so turned on he's been drooling pre while drooling spit all over his cock. There's no friction, only pressure, the threat of more, and Leon's hips rocking back to fuck himself on those two thick digits, the burn wearing thin his voice.
"Hurry it up, big guy."
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It's so gratifying to know he can still make this Leon moan. Make him shudder and shake, draw that expression of gasping, open-mouthed pleasure. His other hand grips his thigh, pushes to silently establish some support. Even as he thrusts his fingers into him with little in the way of mercy, he wouldn't leave him to fall if his knees give out.
Krauser turns his face to keep mouthing him, keep rubbing his lips and tongue along his soaked cock like he can't get enough. God damn right he's dripping from that alone, that turned on just getting a taste of him again. It's tough to keep concentrating on sucking him off when he's knuckle-deep in his ass, working him open. When Leon presses his foot to his cock, his breath hitches and he's nearly squirming in effort to move his thigh, to give himself some friction.
It's not Leon's plea that makes him give in. It's what he calls him. Another echo of the past. Big guy. He used to throw that at Jack all the damn time. Even facetiously, it's a title-- an endearment-- more cherished than "Major" ever was. He exhales sharply and the grip on his thigh slips down to his knee.
"C'mere."
He tugs Leon down, aiming to pull him into his lap. Not roughly, not aggressively, but in the slow, supported bulk of his arms, easing him back where he belongs. His fingers slide out of him on the way, hand moving instead to his own cock to give a few slow strokes and hold the thick, dripping weight upright.
"You know what we need." His eyes are locked on Leon's, his voice a soft growl. "Come on, prettyboy. I'm right here."
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Prettyboy. Jesus, what a loaded epithet.
"Yeah," Leon peels his downcast gaze from the tantalizing sight of his cock in Krauser's fist, the tip glistening wet, angrily blushing for the neglect, and connects with the icy blue of the man's gaze with the kind of intensity that feels electric. Oh fuck, he's missed this. How easy this was sometimes, when they'd crash together, knowing what they needed. "Hold still. Just like that—"
He'd be underprepared if it weren't for the unspoken fact that he's been taking Shaxx's cock so many times (and sometimes, for so long he couldn't fucking walk) it's brought back what was lost in Krauser's absence, all the work of training him to take a man of Krauser's size. Spit and pre isn't much to work with, but the only one with an inkling for how completely fucked up Leon is inside for liking some pain with his pleasure is the man he's with, right now.
Leon links his hands behind the thick column of Krauser's neck, lets him hold his waiting girth steady as the agent rolls his hips, grinding his slick glans over a hole left pink and a little swollen for the attention of his fingers. His eyes steadily darken when Krauser's swollen cockhead begins to breach him, pupils blowing wide at the burn of stretching to swallow his girth, mouth slack around the slow, deep breaths he's struggling to keep even.
Muscle quivers, on his thighs, his stomach, his back, taxed by the slow, slow descent; Leon's hands unlink behind Krauser's neck, one clasping the meat of his shoulder tightly, the other clasping his nape as his chin tips up, eyes brightening with the reflexive moisture pricking at them while he starts to bottom out, leaning back.
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God, that tightness, that squeeze. The profoundly erotic way his expression shifts with the strain of pleasure and pain. Krauser doesn't take his eyes off him, watching every little change with something close to awe. Makes sure Leon gets to see every little twinge and gasp and grit of teeth on his end, too.
"Yeah. That's it." The hand on Leon's waist slips back to caress his lower back, more echoes of before. He hadn't needed to instruct Leon through this in a long, long time, but it feels good to indulge the habit. "Slow and steady, just like always..."
Leon bottoms out, leaning back. Jack groans, arching forward, snaking his arms around him. One good squeeze and it could be a pin, a grapple, brutal strength to choke him out or strangle him. Instead he's kissing his chest at the collarbone and dragging up to his throat, another gratified sigh and a growl in his ear.
"There you are. Always so fucking tight for me, Leon."
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"Holy shit," is his jagged answer, rattled by the shiver that snakes its way up his body at his rumble in his ear, very nearly a squirm with how his heels drag against the ground while he adjusts. All of it — the heady cocktail of sheer sensation, the self-destructive itch to lean into a discomfort he finds addictive, the aching familiarity — prompts him to move, even though doing so this soon drags a guttural groan out of him when his spine arches back, when the muscles of his thighs bunch to lift him in Krauser's lap and drop him back into it.
No, fuck, he's not quite ready, but that's unstitched his tongue, he still has one fist in his hair while the other arm curls around him, high over his shoulders, hooking his ankles around him like he thinks the man's got somewhere else he needs to be in a hurry. It's, ugh, clingy and needy in ways that will trouble him deeply, once his head is clear enough to wonder what in God's name got into him, that a knife fight turned into fucking on the forest floor.
He just turns his head and hisses into his hair, "Tight and ready for you," has a hairline crack right down the middle, his voice cracking under the strain, "Gonna give it to you the way you love it."
Not right away, not when he needs a little warm-up; Leon extracts a hand from his platinum hair and reaches back to brace his hand on the ground, or on Krauser's knee, whatever offers him the leverage he needs to grind himself down into his lap with a heavy almost side-to-side rock of his hips. His spine is bowed under him, cock swaying heavily against his belly as he shoves his seat down against Krauser's lap, sweat crawling slow down the valley of his pecs, the abdominal muscle knotted over his belly. Leon pants, tongue touching to his upper lip for a moment as he looks down where they're joined, swallowing down some abbreviated sound too close to a whine for his liking.
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He remains mostly still and solid as Leon struggles, stuffed full with the Major's proportional girth. But there are minute indicators of his own strain starting to tug at his physical control. Fingernails digging sharp into Leon's shoulder. Jaw grinding tensely grit teeth. The slightest of tremors in his thighs, in his arm as he pulls Leon towards his chest, grips his knee to encourage that squeeze around his waist. Too tight. Too firm for just a moment, a painful clutch like he's some feral beast about to escape fraying restraint. But only for a moment before he eases up, back to gentler touch, regaining that control with expert precision.
When Leon starts to move he lets up a little, braces his feet on the ground and leans back a little. Allows him free motion, though he keeps his hands at his waist, sprawled out over the jut of hipbone, gripping possessively. Not to steer him, but to hold on tight. To make him lean just right, where he can watch that lithe, perfect body and that handsome, boyish face as he grinds himself deep, inch by agonizing inch. Molten hot and deliciously tight.
"Look at you. Barely breaking a sweat on me." He grins, and the pride in his voice isn't really mocking. "Same thirsty little slut I remember."
He can't resist an upward snap of his hips, thrusting hard into Leon as he starts to sink down on him. His eyes rake up to catch his expression, back down to their joined bodies moving together, back up to his hands splayed over his hipbones, thumbs pressing into his iliac folds. The slightest little bite of fingernails...
"Move. Fuck yourself on me."
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He likes the view — Krauser's rugged and muscular torso narrowing to hips bracketed by his own thighs, the broad splay of the man's callused fingers around his own hip, the shape of his own blushing cock as it sways against his belly, the oppressively electric heat of the man's gaze when Leon peels his eyes away from where he grinds against his lap. The way his degrading praise hits him like a slap; Leon's mouth drops open a little more, face growing hot. God, he's such an asshole, and Leon's such a fucked up piece of shit for feeling so sick with horny gratitude at it, at the savage snap of Krauser's hips that shatters a shout out of him.
Leon's head drops forward slightly, the fight in his closed eyes and tightly pursed lips where he's wrestling himself back under control, drinking up the pain-pleasure of his full length slamming into him, deep. There's a keen look in them when he reopens his eyes, something nearly feral, and he plants a foot against Krauser's shoulder, shoving him onto his back.
He's already chasing him, core tightening up as he straightens over that supine bulk, the dirt and undergrowth under his knees, surging up, dropping down with a clap of skin against skin. Leon rides him with the sort of urgency that should have his thighs burning at the exertion before long, really putting his athletic body to work. It's a thrill to have Krauser's eyes on him while he's like this, fucking himself rough and animal, his hair bouncing where it hasn't stuck to his skin, strands darker for the sweat they've soaked up.
"Like that?" Leon pants, "C'mon, I'm still running my mouth," a cocky smile starts to pull at the corner of it, "Do something about it. Take my fucking breath away."
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And then Leon rides him hard enough the first few strokes almost knock the wind out of him. His taunting fades in a ragged gasp, and there's an immensely satisfied expression of strain and bewilderment on his face for a few glorious seconds. It fades quickly into a crazed grin. Christ, he's always so goddamn eager. That smile, that mouth, that cocky little taunt that gets him pissed off and horny all at once. A challenge. And he'd never leave Leon wanting for a challenge.
So he grips Leon's hipbones hard enough to leave bruises with fingerprints. Snaps his body upward as he pulls him down, meeting him brutally in the middle. Fucks up into him as hard as he can, uses the momentum until they're moving in perfect time, each determined to both give and receive no mercy from the other.
"Fuck yeah. Just like that. So fucking deep." He grits his teeth, keeps his eyes open, drinking in the sight of his rookie right where he belongs. Right here with him. Step by step. Side by side. Keeping up, no matter where Krauser goes or what he does. He's always kept up. That's why he's the Major's favorite. He's so strong. So gorgeous. He feels so fucking good. He's perfect. This is perfect. It's just like it used to be, when they were alone, secret and safe, so wrapped up in each other that nothing outside them mattered at all. Nothing outside of them matters at all.
His eyes meet Leon's. Call it reflex. Call it a slip. Call it a confession, words breaking free from the eternally stoic tangle of Krauser's throat.
"Fuck. Fuck, I missed you."