stuck meme

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stuck meme

esuna off that paralysis Post toplevels, reply as usual. Hope you enjoy your quality time with your thread partner, now that you're stuck... 01. IN A CROWD — for bonus points: in a crowd, after an argument. 02. DEFENDING THE BASE — while you wait for reinforcements to arrive. Good luck! 03. ON A RAFT — or a manacutter or an airship or something, drifting towards a deserted island. 04. IN A RELATIONSHIP — that your thread partner is trying to break you out of. The relationship can be with someone else... or just your bed/pet/hobby/gambling habit. 05. IN A WAITING ROOM — while you're waiting to hear a healer/conjurer/physician/chirurgeon's assessment, and you really didn't want to run into anyone... or maybe you'd like some emotional support? 06. TRYING TO NAVIGATE — through the Ul'dahn marketplace, maybe, or Hawker's Alley, or any number of confusing Lominsan/Gridanian/Sharlayan alleyways. 07. STANDING GUARD — wherever might be applicable: outside the Rising Stones? Rowena's House of Splendors? Or maybe awkwardly in front of a bedroom with a near-stranger so that the person who hired you to keep watch can get it on inside... 08. WITH YOUR HAIR — caught in someone else's belt or leather sheath or inexplicable shoulder spike... oh, adventurers and their impractical clothing. 09. DELIVERING TERRIBLE NEWS — exactly what's on the tin. Sucks to be you. 10. DOING THE DISHES — at a restaurant where you forgot your wallet and couldn't pay the bill. 11. IN A LAKE — because this person caught you skinny-dipping and won't... go... away... 12. WAITING TO BE RANSOMED — in the actually-quite-loving care of some especially incompetent criminals. Enjoy being stuck! This meme was gently lifted off bakerstreet.

TEMPLATE CODED BY valoirs

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[valhourdin]

[ Francel wears his haubergeon well; beneath the heavy layers of his armour, however, his frame is slender, his physique indeed no knight's build, its soft lines perhaps better likened to a highborn maiden's figure. It is the body of a boy whose lessons to mold him into a passable swordsman ended some time ago. Appointing Francel to take his brother's place so suddenly would thrust him well out of the safety of the Pillars and into unknown waters, expecting him to stay afloat without the ability to swim.

Given enough time, that could change, and it is a relief to hear the boy's explanation. A strange knot of unease within Zephirin's breast loosens. ]

Your lord brother yet lives. He may come to prove the chirurgeons wrong.

[ But even the best chirurgeons cannot mend every wound, and they cannot restore lost limbs and the like. Lord Chlodebaimt would not be the first valorous knight poorly rewarded for his deeds with a fate that many would curse as worse than death — Count Haillenarte is right to prepare for that eventuality. ]

Nevertheless, if ever you take up the blade, you need but ask, and I would teach you all I know.

[haillenarte]

[francel smiles broadly, warmly. he is genuinely touched by the offer; he knows that it is no small promise to offer to tutor a novice in the art of swordsmanship. realistically, however, he wonders how it will happen. zephirin is so busy, so busy, with the temple knights — how could he possibly make time for francel?

for a moment, the boy's eyes are dimmed by a bout of gloominess — but then he closes them, and impetuously rests his head upon zephirin's lap.]

Wilt thou cross blades with me, Ser Zephirin?

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin attributes Francel's briefly downcast look to the clouds yet gathered over the future ahead as Lord Chlodebaimt convalesces, but they can do little more than wait and pray. Francel soon seems content once more, at least, resting with his head in Zephirin's lap, eyes closed.

Some part of Zephirin's heart is glad for the excuse that the House Haillenarte chirurgeon's orders provide — he may permit himself this moment. His posture relaxes. He brushes a lock of Francel's hair into place. ]

I must warn you to expect no mercy.

[ Perhaps this, too, is a lie. ]

[haillenarte]

[though francel's eyes remain closed, his mouth twitches upward, into smug satisfaction.]

Oh? Even if we are to cross blades of a different kind?

[beneath zephirin's large hand, francel rolls over onto his side, turning his head just so, that his mouth is mere ilms from zephirin's groin. his eyes flick upward; his smug smile is now a teasing smirk.]

[valhourdin]

[ Francel succeeds in sweeping Zephirin off his feet twice today, once literally, once figuratively, leaving the knight taken aback. Such crossing of blades evokes images of Francel arching upon the mattress for reasons entirely different to stretching his aching limbs. The moment turns dangerously tantalizing, here, where they exchanged kisses and confessions, where Francel offers too much, again and again.

Not here was Zephirin's attempt to act as a true friend, but he does not repeat the words now, silent for a time.

In the end, Zephirin's hand slides downward to cup Francel's cheek, the tip of his thumb against the corner of the boy's teasing mouth. He counters with teasing of his own. ]

...Mayhap I could be persuaded to consider it.

[haillenarte]

[francel's eyes widen in surprise at zephirin's reply. he meant only to gently tease; he expected zephirin to refuse in his usual stoic way, as always. this — this reaction is not what he anticipated.

francel's surprise manifests in a light dusting of pink across his cheeks.]

T-Truly?

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin, merely speaking of showing Francel some mercy, regards the boy with returning surprise when Francel's reaction is not quite as anticipated, either. Beneath Zephirin's palm, Francel's flushed cheek feels warmer.

The knight withdraws his hand, conscious of the fever's heat radiating from his skin, likely as unpleasant for Francel as it is for him. ]

I am capable of it, I would hope.

[haillenarte]

I-I — well — are you? Why, I thought —

[stuttering, francel rises to his knees, drawing back slightly as if to better assess zephirin's sickly pallor. sure enough, the knight looks capable, perhaps, of crossing swords, but francel imagines it would not be the heavenly and pleasurable experience he wishes to impress upon the knight. he purses his lips and shakes his head.]

No, no — you must needs rest until this accursed fever passes! Your health above all else, dearest Zephirin — should I bring you a pail of cold water to dampen your skin? Yes, I think that would be best. W-Wait here...!

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin's hand nears Francel once more, fingers curling lightly around the boy's wrist. Stay is the gesture's meaning — Francel's health above all else, too, lest he exhaust himself into another fainting spell.

Francel's reaction remains puzzling, strangely flustered. ]

I did not think myself unrelenting... [ Zephirin maintains his grip on Francel's arm, however, unrelenting in this. ] Have you had your fill of bed rest so soon?

[haillenarte]

[somehow — somehow, that touch to francel's wrist is all it takes to push his embarrassment past a breaking point, towards a strangely erotic shame. his pulse quickens; he imagines, for a moment, that zephirin can feel his heart beat through his wrist. unconsciously, he shifts his weight, vainly attempting to press his thighs together.]

N... Not my fill of it, no...

[valhourdin]

[ Against his thumb, Zephirin feels the throbbing of Francel's racing pulse. No longer teasing, seemingly verging on mild distress instead, Francel looks uncomfortable, though the knight's hand is not wrapped so tightly around the delicate bones of his wrist that it should cause him pain. ]

Then will you not rest awhile longer? I vow to do the same.

[ Zephirin's gaze wanders lower, down Francel's body to note the boy's odd movement, searching. ]

[haillenarte]

[as confused as francel is, it is impossible for him to tell whether or not zephirin is teasing him, being unintentionally teasing, or something else entirely. as soon as he realizes where zephirin is staring, he quite unexpectedly slaps his free hand over the man's eyes — though likely not before the knight catches a glimpse of the burgeoning tension in his breeches.]

N-No! You mustn't look!

[in between doing this and saying these words, francel realizes just how ridiculous he is being, and he draws his hand back slightly, relaxing his fingers just enough for zephirin to be able to see...]

I-I'll feel all flustered...

[valhourdin]

[ That glimpse of Francel's shame boner the front of Francel's breeches is explanation enough, revealing the cause of the boy's sudden distress. They took their teasing too far, it seems.

Temporarily being robbed of his sight brought a slight frown to Zephirin's features, but it clears away as Francel reconsiders; gently, Zephirin takes hold of Francel's hand, and guides it back over his eyes. ]

...Very well.

[ In truth, Francel's palm soothes the discomfort of gazing about a room made too bright in Zephirin's current state, shielding him from the light. ]

Would you prefer that I turn away?

[haillenarte]

That... that much is unnecessary...

[the wrist still caught in zephirin's hand squirms for a moment, as if wishing to be freed, but francel's voice is gentle, betraying none of his distress, as he gently nudges zephirin towards a lying position.]

I would rather you rest for now...

[valhourdin]

[ Though Zephirin complies, moving as directed, he leaves his hand on Francel's in order to keep it positioned across his eyes. A light tug on Francel's other arm may have been unintentional, or it is one more reminder for Francel to rest, even wordless reassurance that his friend does not think ill of him. It pulls the boy closer to Zephirin, and then his wrist is set free at last. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel takes that gentle tug as a command to be followed. slowly, shyly, he crawls into bed beside zephirin once more; he withdraws his hand from over zephirin's eyes.

the young lord rests his head upon zephirin's chest, with his torso pressed up against zephirin's limbs. the knight does not make for the softest of all possible cushions, but lying beside him, francel feels warm and safe.

though the boy says nothing, and the uncomfortable tension between his legs has yet to dissipate, francel feels comfortable and at peace.]

[valhourdin]

[ Like as not Francel finds his own bed far more comfortable, able to stretch out freely there and rest between its sheets in the privacy of his room, his rabbit at his side, but while he curls up against Zephirin, the knight can be certain that Francel is resting — that Francel is not flitting about to rescue weary friends and fetch pails of cold water. There is, however, the issue of Francel's surfacing arousal, and the boy's silence seems one of shame.

On his back, Zephirin can see the room's ceiling; tilting his chin downward, he sees the top of Francel's head, the tip of one ear. Carefully, he takes that ear between his fingers, before giving in to his eyes' demands and closing them against the light for the moment. ]

[haillenarte]

Ah...

[that gentle touch wrests a moan from the young lord, and francel is shocked to discover that the sensitivity of his ears seems to heighten the sensitivity cradled by his thighs; though zephirin cannot see it, francel's eyelids flutter and his head tips back just the slightest bit.

he has craved this, this touch, the prospect of a loving massage to his ears.]

[valhourdin]

[ Stroking Francel's ears has become a familiar, oddly comfortable act, and Zephirin knows well that a single caress is but a fleeting taste of pleasure, waking Francel's desire for more. Today, the boy has asked for nothing, but the moan he utters pleads with Zephirin in his stead — for mercy, perhaps.

Zephirin relents, and continues to trace his way around the shape of Francel's ear, if somewhat sleepily as his body relaxes.

He knows by now that a Francel stroked into bliss would quiver upon the bed, lashes fluttering against his cheeks, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips. He knows the meaning of Francel's sweetly voiced whimpers.

Today, that one moan is almost obscenely needy a sound, reminiscent of the effect achieved by rubbing the boy's ears using fingers slick with prayer-oil. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel's breaths shudder sweetly for a time; he tries and fails to suppress a desperate mewl. as he lies pressed against zephirin's side, the knight can no doubt feel his every minute wiggle; his head tips and turns as he seemingly tries to get more sensation out of the slow, sleepy movements of zephirin's fingertips. francel wants this — he wants more. zephirin's fingers stoke blazing hunger in his belly; he almost wishes he could beg zephirin into giving him an appropriately long and indulgent oil ear massage.

as it is, zephirin is ill and should sleep; he rests with his eyes closed, and his fingers move slowly, weighted by what must be a warm and pleasant drowsiness. like this, francel rationalizes, perhaps the knight will not see him. perhaps he will not notice that one of francel's hands has slid into his breeches, that his shaky breaths have begun to shake harder.

as discreetly as he can manage, francel quietly strokes himself toward release, trying all the while not to feel as though he is ruining the purity of their ear-rubbing ritual.]

[valhourdin]

[ In soldiers' barracks and tents, one tends to overhear his fellows' various activities, not all of them pure — this moment, too, may simply be another secret to keep. Zephirin recognizes the ragged quality to Francel's breaths, the rustle of fabric, but the boy is granted the illusion of privacy, for Zephirin's eyes remain closed, and his hand does not falter in its languid, idly curious pace, as if the knight half slumbers.

He is less drowsy than he appears; Francel's trembling against him joins forces with the images held in his memories, stoking that damning hunger sown in his heart. Keenly, he feels the slightest shudder of Francel's frame.

That hunger spreads, a damning, all too palpable ache. ]

[haillenarte]

[oblivious to zephirin's hunger — thinking it is only he who languishes in the throes of wanton desire — francel finally moans, clear and audible, into the air. he cannot help himself; his hand jerks his mind free of concerns, free of coherent thoughts, while zephirin's fingers tease his ears until he lies helpless and quivering on the bed.

at length he nears his limit; he is close, impossibly and tantalizingly close, but the soporific effects of the ear massage are working at odds with his need to keep his hand moving faster and faster, and francel cannot quite bring himself to climax. all the while, he desperately pants zephirin's name:]

Zephi — Ze — mmm, nngh —

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin's hand stills, the tip of Francel's ear yet caught between his fingers. Every breathless syllable is a plea, but as Francel moans again, Zephirin only opens his eyes, shifting to lie on his side. Taking in Francel's shaking form, his gaze comes to rest on the boy's arm, traveling its length to the waistband of Francel's breeches.

This sight, of all things, prompts an inexplicable rush of something akin to accomplishment. ]

Yes?

[ The illusion of privacy is shattered. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin's response is perfectly innocent, calm, and composed — all things that francel, currently, is not.

the young lord is beyond all thoughts of sin and shame. he shifts his weight on the bed, baring himself for zephirin to see; the lines of his body are open to zephirin's touch. keenly he is still aware that zephirin is sick and feverish, that the knight should rest, but he wants one thing, he tells himself, just one thing...]

...Help me.

[it is a command, but a plantive one, a humble plea. francel begs as if for mercy, as if zephirin has been torturing him with the sweet and gentle ear massage he has so generously provided — indeed, perhaps that is exactly what he has been doing. whimpering, francel moves his body closer towards zephirin's pillow, so that his lips are mere ilms from the temple knight's mouth. his hand pumps his throbbing erection with hopeless desperation.]

Kiss me...?

[valhourdin]

[ Perhaps Zephirin appears unmoved, unrelenting after all, withholding his mercy and drawing out Francel's torture with each second spent observing the boy's urgent movements. Presented with the proximity of Francel's plush, pleading mouth, it would take but another second to lean in and give Francel his desired kiss — only one more kiss — but Zephirin remains almost wholly motionless a moment longer. Outwardly, the knight is calm and composed. Within, his strange hunger is not sated, and regardless, he cannot turn away now.

Zephirin's fingers relinquish their hold on Francel's ear. He moves his hands, placing both upon the mattress on either side of the boy's head, and lifts his torso from the bed to position himself leaning over Francel instead, a new vantage point.

Still he does not seal his lips over Francel's, and he will not go too far — not here. Dipping down at last, Zephirin brushes his mouth against the juncture where jaw and earlobe meet ere he murmurs a second question into Francel's ear. ]

Where?