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TEST DRIVE MEME 002
⚰︎ ⍢ ⌲ ⍚ TEST DRIVE MEME:
Welcome to RUBILYKSKOYE — a dark, horror-smut game where player choices will drive a mod-run storyline about the world and its NPCs. This test drive meme provides a medley of prompts evoking the game's general tone.
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, spiders, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
FAQ ✧ SETTING ✧ CALENDAR ✧ RESERVES ✧ APPLICATIONS
THESE THREADS CAN BE GAME CANON if both players are accepted into the game and agree to it. However, if players who'd prefer to start fresh are welcome to reuse these prompts in their own personal logs upon acceptance into the communities. Note: the universal test drive arrival prompt will not be repeated on the coming event log, but players are welcome to reuse the prompt.
CONTENT WARNINGS for this game include: monsters, body horror, dub-con, non-con, religion, blood/violence, and marking/branding, loss of autonomy/self, and mental influences. This log additionally has warnings for: nudity, spiders, character death, and references to children in proximity to sexual situations.
If you have QUESTIONS about the test drive prompts, please ask HERE. Questions about the game itself or the general setting should be directed to the FAQ.
IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE
The chirping of partridges in the treetops rouses you. Light barely filters through the canopy, just enough to suggest daylight. By the time it reaches the forest floor, the light has taken on a sickly green. You lie amongst the frost-covered mosses and ferns, the frozen soil cold and just a little damp on your bare skin. Wherever you were before this moment, whatever you were doing or wearing, when you awaken in this forest, you find yourself naked and helpless as the day you were born. As you sit up and get your bearings, aside from a brief wave of disoriented nausea, you seem to be no worse for wear than you last remember.
You seem to be alone. The gnarled oaks and moss suggest no sign of civilization or sentient life. Just flickers of movement from curious squirrels or brave lizards emerging from a temporary retreat from the wintry weather. With your feet under you, and you'll find the wood is filled with berry bushes and nut trees, though much of the fruit has been picked clean. The freshwater stream that runs north-south, populated by both poisonous toads and delicious crawdads, is running actively again as the weather warms back up from the recent snowstorm.
As you explore, you may run into others with stories just like yours. Some may have already formed clumsy nudist groups, others may still be processing their confusion, with no memory of how they got here. Now is a good time to overcome any hang-ups you have about modesty; it's going to be a long hike, and the weather isn't quite amenable to your lack of.
Turn your back to the darker, shadowy parts of the forest and eventually the glow of manmade lights and the curve of a dirt road may come into view. At the edge of the wood, you'll find a town surrounded by a fifty-foot wall of beige stone. The only entrance is an iron gate positioned on the southern edge. When you arrive, the gate is already open, welcoming people inside.
This quaint, historic town of five-thousand has cobbled street and signs lit by gas lamp. Wooden shutters protect otherwise open-air windows on the buildings, which are all under three stories with gabled roofs. A number of businesses hug the main street — a clockmaker, a cobbler, a grocer — while residential homes sprawl outwards towards the wall. At the far end of the main street, visible about a mile to the north now that the trees and the enormous wall is out of the way, sits a castle with three towers.
When you enter, the streets are full of people, but despite any efforts on your part to hide or make excuses, they don't seem offended by your nakedness. Even families with children don't gawk or look twice. Those determined to find proper clothing regardless will find that modern clothing stores aren't available — the closest this town has is a tailor's shop and a stand in the central marketplace selling scarves and blankets.
breaking and entering
If you intend to have your character break into someone's house or yard to steal some of their clean laundry, please review the info about game laws on the FAQ and give the mods a heads up HERE.
Fortunately, the people of the town are very generous! Anyone who ask the locals will be directed to the boarding house for both clothes and a place to stay. Accessible through an embellished iron garden gate and obscured by hanging plants, trees, and vines, beyond an overgrown yard in the residential sprawl of the town is a bright-red door, which opens to a spacious cottage of several stories. Parts of the house still bear the dust of disuse, gathered on various furnishings — bedding, sofas, curtains, wooden tables. However, it's already full of people! Anyone who's already appeared in the village just as you did today lives here. Once inside, you may notice patchwork repairs have been made, and some scorch marks still linger from a recent fire, and some furniture is still lying around in splinters.
Tonight, a few of the townspeople will help out with the new arrivals. They stock the kitchen and prepare a communal dinner of parsnips, pheasant, and squash. During dinner, they (and those outsiders who've already begun to settle) sit down at the enormous wooden dining room table and help orient the newcomers and answer their questions.
finding roommates
Don't spend too much time in the dining room going for seconds, though. You'll want to claim a bedroom quickly because each one only has two full-size beds, and there aren't enough spaces for everyone. The last people upstairs will need to double up to squeeze in. Roommates will not be mod-assigned; players should coordinate directly with one another to determine their living arrangements.
Get a good night's rest. By the light of day, locals will help get the new arrivals set up on the coal stove with breakfast. You may notice they're dressed in a way you would almost call normal — at least, in a manner befitting 19th century Eastern Europe. As you find your way around town to get your bearings, folks are eager to help you find a place to apply your skills so you can contribute to your new home.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try: naked hiking, acquiring clothing or other inventory items, asking questions at dinner/orientation, or staking your claim on a bedroom!
OFFERINGS FOR ULANTI
The festival starts in the middle of the night, when the sun and the children are safely tucked into bed. The streets come alive with dancing locals, their faces painted red and purple and black and yellow. They all wear revealing clothing that, to your sensibilities, may seem sexually suggestive. Some individuals openly expose their breasts and nipples, while some others may incidentally reveal when they turn around to tend to their errands that their dress is backless — entirely! market stands and kind neighbors will gladly provide clothing befitting the occasion to anyone who asks.Notably, the locals' choice of clothes reveal a mark on their bodies. An astute person will notice that there are four varieties — and a very astute (
In addition to dancing and the lighting of any number of candles, you may stumble upon fighting rings inspired by Terry Silver's basement club, where the locals brawl until they're bloody and unable to move. Elsewhere, amongst the performance of a number of erotic dancers, you might come upon a face you recognize — naked and collared and caged, tongue pressed to the bars to taste anyone who'll stop and give them a little attention.
Temporary night market food stands offer various forms of alcoholic beverages and sweet and savory street food in suggestive shapes — sausages, popsicles, flowering cupcakes. many of them represent hedonistic indulgences and displays of wealth that the town usually does not seem to possess. This bounty, they attribute to the Duchess' patronage — and much of it is dosed with herbs and additives that enhance the sexual appetites and aggression in any who consume them.
Another kind of temporary stand has been erected — while new arrivals may at first mistake these for some kind of bathroom, it becomes apparent upon entry that they are partitioned stalls with gloryholes drilled between them. Some stalls are closed with an anonymous stranger waiting inside for someone to push a part of themselves through the hole to be lavished with mystery touches; others are fully unoccupied, should your character wish to lock themselves in and wait on the small wooden stool for a partner to offer themselves.
Anyone native to Rubilykskoye will take the time to answer questions about the festival of Ulanti, which functions as a way to purge their bad energy ("zadza") and sate their inner beasts ("duchozweirz"). They encourage characters to join the festivities — which range from staged sexual performances to sadism and masochism designed to feed the desire for violence. all appetites are welcome here, and there are only two rules: (1) stay away from the unmarked, which refers to the locals' prepubescent children; (2) hold nothing back.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try entering the fighting rings, watching or joining a live sex performance, or eating some aphro food (deliberately or otherwise)!
the fathomless dark of pajak wood
At the outer edges of the forest, shadows grow long and the air grows thick. Though the sun never grows warm red-gold with sunset, the wood darkens. Birdsong is replaced by the click of mandibles and the skitter of many legs. Anyone who ventures out this way will soon find it difficult to see before them, even in the middle of the day — eventually, even the brightest magical light source or darkvision cannot stretch further than a few inches. In the void, the air feels heavy, as if it were not air at all but some more solid mass. Almost like liquid-smoke, it presses down upon you. Slowing your movements. Characters who push too far into the void may stop being able to move at all, and find themselves given over to insanity if they collapse, unable to draw themselves out. This is just one of many dangers.
Monsters thrive this far out. Huge, blood-red spiders the size of hunting dogs drop from the treetops. In addition to their venomous bite, which contains a fast-acting paralytic, these creatures are clever: they attempt to use their webbing to entangle any trespassers, binding limbs together or to trees. If you're unfortunate to become fully cocooned, you don't have long before this forest will be the last thing you see.
In addition to the spiders, you may come across the sharp-toothed furred yetis that emerged during the snowstorm, still looking for a meal. Each one hunts alone, a fifteen-foot-tall shambling creature that drips black ooze and super-chills the air around it until your skin feels tight and icy. If it gets the drop on you, you're likely to be its dinner. It has emerged from a long summer hibernation to enjoy the colder weather, and it's starving.
Those who seem lucky enough not to run afoul of the monsters here are in for a worse fate. The void can play tricks on your senses. As madness sets in and you lose all sense of direction, you may also lose control of your body — what is that steers your hands to turn against your friends? Why does it sound like your own voice whispering?
In the fog, you may also hear the voices of those familiar to you — people you know from the town, or people whom you know with almost perfect certainty aren't here. these figments may recreate unhappy memories or force trespassers to hallucinate their worst nightmares. Nothing is as it seems in the void, and when you swing at these figments, desperate to silence them, it might not be a figment at all, but a friend in the flesh trying to help you. By the time you see their true face, it could be too late to stop yourself.
writer's block?
If you're struggling to pick a way to engage the prompts, try fighting a monster, hallucinating your worst nightmares, and/or attacking a friend or stranger!
HIDING INSIDE EACH OF US
Uh oh spaghetti-os.
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
The baker, Nile Yoren, is a likable, middle-aged woman who can fill any request — wheat, rye, even nut breads. She boasts that her sourdough starter belonged to her grandmother. Today, when you enter her shop — to help out or to get a muffin or a bag of rolls — something is off. Her smiling face isn't behind the counter.
Around the back wall, you hear the crackling of the oven. But when you call, she doesn't come out. You have to go back and look for her. What you find is not just the oven crackling, but nile herself — twisted into an incandescent monster of human flame, the flickers of dark orange light like a face howling in agony amidst the yellows and reds and whites. Before you can scramble away, the creature lunges at you. Defend yourself or flee, or her inner beast will be feeding itself on you.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
The marks worn by all residents of Rubilykskoye aren't just cool body art, as it turns out. The town is full of rumors, whispered in shadows and over candles of a starving creature hiding in the dark corners of your chest. Feed your inner beast, they say, before it finds a way to feed itself.
Alas, its emergence is inevitable — sooner or later, the horrible things that happen here pile up and make someone repulsed by the idea of human contact. Someone holds themselves back, bites their tongue, or simply does not believe the stories. Today, for one reason or another, that creature is coming out. Someone hasn't been keeping it sated.
Symptoms escalate over weeks, from monstrous irritability to full-blown body horror transformation, where people physically shed their human forms and evolve into the monsters this place made them. Once a person becomes something more (or less) than human there's only one way to go back — sate the beast.
someone else transforms
The baker, Nile Yoren, is a likable, middle-aged woman who can fill any request — wheat, rye, even nut breads. She boasts that her sourdough starter belonged to her grandmother. Today, when you enter her shop — to help out or to get a muffin or a bag of rolls — something is off. Her smiling face isn't behind the counter. Around the back wall, you hear the crackling of the oven. But when you call, she doesn't come out. You have to go back and look for her. What you find is not just the oven crackling, but nile herself — twisted into an incandescent monster of human flame, the flickers of dark orange light like a face howling in agony amidst the yellows and reds and whites. Before you can scramble away, the creature lunges at you. Defend yourself or flee, or her inner beast will be feeding itself on you.
(There are other monsters lurking in every townsperson — feel free to invent your own npc monsters and scenarios!)
you waited too long
At first, as you hide yourself from your darker impulses, a subtle itch develops under your skin. An irritability that makes you snap at the person who bumps into you on the stairs because all those fleeting emotions that you've been repressing bubble to the surface. Every dark thought you've had about being here, all the fears of never getting home, of being surrounded by ticking time bombs, the anxiety of wondering who you might hurt or what relationships you might betray by doing what you have to do. The anger. Oh, the anger.
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Maybe you shut yourself in your room or run into the woods to hide away, but there's only so much you can do to deny the itch that grows into hunger like a spark catching and growing to wildfire. Someone comes to check on you. That knock on the door or crunch of leaves in the wood that fills you with dread at what you might do and hope that you will be sated.
As claws and fangs and scales and spines and fur grow and your body transforms with a sickening crunch of bones and peeling of skin, so do your appetites. If you won't sate them, you'll lose yourself to your beastly impulses sooner or later, mauling friends and taking your fill. Is it better or worse if only your claws get inside of them?
Quentin Smith | dead by daylight x nightmare on elm | niez
STALLMATE
WILDCARD
Bunkmate
Control your surroundings, soldier. Always.
Always, she agrees silently, and so she comes in the dark to scout. Passing through silent halls, checking where the supplies are kept, how people move through the space, how many bodies are packed in like so many sardines. It's good to know what you're working with. How many enemies you might one day face. She's dressed in dark hunting gear, a knife at her hip and a bow slung across her back, a scarf wrapped around her neck. Easy enough to pull across her face if she needs a mask. If this needs to turn the brutal sort of quiet.
And now there's a voice in the dark. A stranger peering back at her.
She tilts her head. She considers the distance between them, and the force she'd need to put a knife through this man's skull. ]
Where are your clothes?
[ Her voice is soft. She went without speaking for a long time before this place dragged her back to something like civilization. ]
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Uh. They gave me like--pants and a shirt but it's not the best for sleeping. [ Glancing back at his roommates feels like it might relieve some of the tension, but he doesn't find taking his eyes off this stranger relieving at all. His gaze comes back quickly, eyes and niez mark inside his wrist popping a bright, electric blue when he puts his hand out to shake. ] I swear I'm not a creep, just--making room.
Quentin. I just--got here, so I'm kind of--still getting my shit all together, right?
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Things change. Things always come full circle in the end. And now a stranger offers out his hand, a glowing mark on his wrist - a mirror to her own, even in placement.
She regards it silently. Perhaps for too long. But eventually she takes his hand and shakes it, very briefly. She doesn't attempt to crush his fingers in the process. That would be rude. ]
When did you get here?
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Only Bossie. Only her little brother. ]
I adapt quickly.
[ She's practical. ]
You should keep your clothes close by. This place burned down once.
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Burned down, like--I mean, it wasn't an electrical fire, right? Did someone set it on purpose?
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🎀
bunkmate
now he's on his way back from the village where he played cards until late hours. he's trying to be quiet as he sneaks into the boarding house, but apparently someone has heard him. the sound of the careful psst makes him turn around with a soft smile ready on his face in case he needs to apologize and win someone over.
it turns out to be some guy looking awkward. Felipe regards him with some amusement. ] Why, you're offering?
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[ Awkward, but at least he's friendly. His smile carries into his tone, and he opens one shoulder back to offer...a pretty bad look at the room. It's dim, but the noises of deep sleep from one half are plenty apparent. Quentin clicks his tongue, steps closer to talk a little quieter. ] It's just me in the other bed. I feel like I'm gonna get ganged up on or something.
Look, I don't take up a lot of space, we could just-- [ He gives a rough hand gesture that probably indicates a margin of separation between their bodies. Probably. He could also just be flailing. ]
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[ is that a good or a bad thing? if anything, it keeps things interesting and he likes that. this guy doesn't come across to him as a threat or a nuisance, so he decides to take on his offer on the spot. it's late and he's feeling sleepy. the noises from the room just make it worse. ]
Don't worry about the space. [ Felipe watches him move instead of trying to get a look at the room. ] I'll keep you safe and warm. [ he sets his hand on Quentin's shoulder. friendly but no personal boundaries whatsoever and the promise is weirdly genuine coming from a total stranger. ]
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Safe and warm, huh? What a sell. Come on. [ He moves, not to get away but to guide Felipe in, offers his right hand and the monstrous mark inside his wrist (niez, simmering blue). Whispering: ] Quentin Smith. I just got here--like a day ago. People have been really friendly.
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[ Felipe takes his hands and follows his lead, no further questions asked. the kindness made him feel welcome here at once and it's the main reason why he keeps dropping his guard like this – even though he should know better. there's already been a fire and monsters. ]
Felipe Asztalos. I've been here for weeks. [ time flies when you're having fun, huh. but he hasn't been intimate with anyone with the niez mark yet. his own wilk mark is hidden in his trousers. ] Did they tell you all the horror stories yet? Is that why you can't sleep alone?
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[ Maybe too tight.
[ As quick as the alarm rises, it passes. The sleepers' cadence resumes, and his grip loosens so he can wiggle down to his side a little more gingerly. He picks right back up, propped on his elbow facing Felipe: ] I heard there was a fire. An accident. But that's not--I'm not scared, I'm just...
[ Lonely sounds really pathetic. ] I'm used to having people around.
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editing to add: i'm DYING, very smooth felipe
:))
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wrap's good! :)
bunkmate—
they should really consider screening their tenants beforehand. you know, just in case some psycho gets let in through the doors.
yikes. wouldn't that be bad?
anyway, that's not his business to poke his nose into. he's just here to play his part, lend a hand and make some friends. it has been a long time since he last cooked a huge meal for a crowd as sizeable as the one here. it was fun. it felt like he was finally part of a community, you know?
but sating everyone else's appetite isn't going to sate his own. it's still a little... premature to make a late night snack of anyone within the building, so he's on his way to collect his meal ticket elsewhere. his left hand strokes the wall, fingers dancing across the filth and scorch marks left behind by a recent fire. he hears the frustrated breaths, the tossing and turning, long before he walks past the open door. pretending to be startled by the sudden psst, kai jumps and spins around to face the incoming night owl. )
Holy crap, man! ( he presses his right hand over his heart, speaking in a low whisper. ) You scared the shit out of me. Do you know what time it is? ( he taps his watchless wrist. ) It's like the dead of night. I almost thought I was about to get jumped by a ghost.
boY
[ A quick glance up and down to what little he can see of the halls in moonlight. His fingers tuck under his arms as he wraps around himself again, mouth jerks with a laugh. ]
This place probably is haunted, though. Safer to be inside, right?
(:
If people here can transform into monsters, then there's no way ghosts aren't real. But you might want to rethink how safe this place actually is. ( he looks up at the house for a moment. ) Did you hear that the furniture came alive here during a recent snowstorm? That just screams poltergeists, so like... ( he gives him a brief, reassuring pat on the shoulder as he looks pointedly at his temporarily abandoned bed. ) be careful.
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Be careful, like--how? I mean, if it was haunted, they wouldn't still use it, right? Or they woulda gotten a priest or a witch or...I mean, I'm not scared of ghosts, I can handle ghosts.
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( he shrugs his shoulders, impartial. )
Buuut if you think you can handle ghosts, then more power to you. ( thumbs up. ) Me, on the other hand? I'm gonna keep my eyes and ears peeled while I'm here, just in case any other crazy shit happens.
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Okay, well--you want company? I can just get my pants and-- [ He could come with, you know? Instead of laying here. Awake. Alone. ]
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gotta do it to 'em (stallmate, cw: stalking, voyeurism, brief depiction of past dismemberment)
more insane than normal, rather. parasitic, itchy under his skin insane. coke high kickback insane. at first, while tottering alongside quentin in the woods, it's easy to rein in that runaway hunger and lasso it behind his ribcage into some vague approximation of obedience. he feels the restless rattle in his chest all the way to the boarding house, where he leaves quentin with a well, maybe i'll see you later? boyishly hopeful, bright-eyed and melt-in-your-mouth sweet. later turns out to be later in the night, stealing shy ( hey, q, i missed you ) glances at quentin from across the dinner table. later is after everyone except quentin has retired to sleep because quentin doesn't sleep, quentin stares out a window, quentin touches his forehead to his knees and wonders if he's safe from it, from him.
later is the next night, too, at the festival. quentin is a splotchy watercolor streaking through the streets, a collection of fingerprints and handprints that have — gradually, throughout the evening — turned him yellow, black, purple, dainty pink at the tips of his ears. he drinks. he eats. he shies away from stroking hands. meanwhile, danny navigates the crowd like he navigated the fog in the entity's dimension: as a ghost, a shadow in the corner of your eye, a camera shutter and flash turned lamp post flicker.
when he scuttles into one of the stalls, danny is already there, on the other side. he won't feel his heartbeat through the plywood, but he will feel strong fingers buffing the thin lengths of his knuckles in greeting when he tentatively wriggles them through the hole. hey, q.
danny's thighs split wide as he kneels, knees grinding the dirt. he licks a fingertip, bumps his teeth off his nailbed. he's taken these exact fingers off his hand before, chopped straight through the bone and pocketed as a bloody memento he was never allowed to keep. now he takes them into his mouth, all three at once, funneled onto his hot tongue as he sucks on them like he'd suck his dick if he had that down his throat instead. quentin, q, sweet little fucking slut, you still don't know anything. )
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[ No matter if it was leisurely or desperate, sweet or pissed, stranger or precious friend--any time he was with someone in the last few years, he's been with them. Sex has come in as many shades as any relationship, shaped by the person in his hands or mouth, or hips. He doesn't do anonymous, and the sudden slick heat with no face or voice or even an expanse of heaving spine for him to stroke sets him absolutely spinning.
[ Quentin's palm splays against the wood. He wants to talk, but it feels so, so stupid. He hums, scrapes his lip between his teeth--presses his fingertips down the center of their tongue. His middle knuckles scrape the roof of their mouth, between their teeth as he spreads his fingers. It's stupid. Experimental. He'd never do this to a partner but--but it's not a partner, is it? His hum wobbles into whining territory. ]
cw: allusions to unrealized fantasies of sexual assault/coercion
danny's teeth scrape off his knuckles, tongue rippling between the spaces of each finger. he sucks them messy, imagines quentin dropping his trousers and fucking himself wet, clenched hot and stuffed on danny's spit. he's fucked a few willing bodies tonight, but none of them left him as hard as this.
his mouth tightens around quentin's fingertips as he pops free and slaps an insistent palm on the wall, rattling the barrier separating them. )
Give me your dick. ( raspy-strangled, only just loud enough to hear. )
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Fuck, are you-- [ Wheezed and cut off quick--of course, he's sure, this is the fucking point, this is why they're here. The herbal soak pushes him past the concern for courtesy, charges his anxiety with arousal. He can't see the blue light snapping behind his iries, in the deep of his throat--down the vein running his shaft as he fumbles it through the hole. It piffs out below his leaking tip.
[ He smears the spit that remains on his knuckles across his own mouth, rests his lips on his fist. ] Okay. I'm--okay, I'm--
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his tongue bisects that plump vein like a knife, all the way down to a plumper cockhead that he scrubs along his bottom lip and the fronts of his teeth gently set together, upper jaw to lower jaw. no real threat in it. he just wants the hot smear of precum in his mouth, honey sticky in his gums, before he swallows him deeper, past his tongue and tonsils into his trembling throat.
fuck, it's been a minute since he's had such a swollen mouthful. quentin's dick chokes down danny's watery moan, but some small hitching sounds survive, clawed from his filled throat and bouncing off the plywood barrier splintering his lips and hands. his knees carve dusty stripes in the dirt as he spreads his thighs like he would for someone's hips between them, then seats himself on his heels, the toes of his boots stitched side-by-side.
another palm heel bang on the wall, as violently insistent as an animal in a cage. fuck his face, you good little bitch. )
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[ The first snap in is clumsy, negotiating his balance and the wall and his focus, but Quentin finds it: steady and sharp to compensate for the shallowness necessitated by the board and the fact that he doesn't want that mouth off of him. Absent hair to comb his fingers through or fingers to play with or lashes to admire, the soft of this guy's tongue comes to the forefront. The ridges of the roof of his mouth, the skydiving-dizziness of pushing till it gives way to more delicate tissue. The scrub of his close-shaved lip below Quentin's navel when he hilts down his throat.
[ He feels high. One hand braced by his shoulder, he claps the other near his hip, taps there erratically--feels for a duller vibration that says his partner's hand is underneath it. ] Beautiful--that feels--beautiful, that feels good. Where are you? Lemme feel you.
You getting off?