dpscheck | stuck meme

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Mmmnnnn... ♪

[spurred on by the tight grip in his hair, francel bobs his head diligently, relishing every twitch and gasp he wrests from zephirin's body. his own arousal begs to be sated; as discreetly as he can manage, he strokes himself in time to the movements of his head. in the end, however, breathlessness overtakes him — lungs aching, francel pulls up before he can bring zephirin to his zenith.

his lips are glossy with exertion. he gasps for breath.]

I... I can be your inquisitor, Zephirin.

[as if he cannot be parted from the knight's body for even a moment, even in his breathless state, francel falls upon zephirin's cock once more, lapping gently at the head with his restless tongue as he speaks.]

Confess to me your sins... your sinful thoughts? I would hear... everything you want to do to me...

[ Unwittingly or knowingly, Francel both pleases and teases. Though attentive, single-minded and almost tireless in his efforts, he stops short of hastening towards Zephirin's completion, withholding the relief that the knight's body craves. It is torture that Zephirin himself welcomes for the sake of a sweetened farewell, but the sensations overpower his thoughts, and for some moments again, his body responds in his stead. His breaths shudder and his thigh muscles quiver. His fingers flex against Francel's scalp as his hips twitch, driving him deeper into the heat of the boy's mouth. ]

My sins...

[ Zephirin's lashes flutter upon his cheeks. Through half-lidded eyes, past his free hand now tangled in his hair, he gazes at the ceiling before tipping his head forward.

He casts his mind back to Francel's many offers made — promises that declared Francel his for the taking — and perhaps confessing his desires would be enough today, but he begins modestly, repeating his request voiced in the baths. ]

I would kiss you, Joacin. [ Francel's garments cover his skin and conceal his figure; nonetheless, Zephirin remembers the inviting lines of the boy's body. ] I would know you from head to toe...

[ He brushes the pad of his thumb against the back of Francel's ear. ]

Am I to face punishment or do you grant me absolution?

[francel tosses his head, pressing his sensitive ear into zephirin's touch. (do his ears move on their own? they appear to droop as he squirms...) he is ticklish; he laughs. giggling with obvious delight, he sits up properly, straddling zephirin with his thighs as he plants his plush rear in the knight's lap. though the young lord remains clothed, their groins are perfectly aligned, and he devilishly rubs himself against zephirin, bucking his hips, as he settles into place.]

You shall have what you wish.

[one of zephirin's hands remains tangled in his own hair; the other hand has dropped to the mattress. though the knight's expressions are subtle, and he is not half so easy to read as men like emmanellain and haurchefant, he looks positively debauched compared to his usual self, and the sight of his half-lidded gaze drives francel feverish with desire. pressing a kiss to zephirin's forehead — as if he simply means to tuck the knight into bed once more — francel takes hold of zephirin's wrists. he presses the knight's hands beneath his shirt; he slides the knight's palm up his body, pushing his loose sleepwear up, revealing his wondrously tender skin.]

Know me, then...

[ Zephirin feels feverish once more himself; his bare skin is turned oversensitive, tingling with every touch, and once more, Francel wrings a confession from his lips, his sinful thoughts vocalized in a moan as the boy's warm weight rests in his lap. Greedily, his body makes to meet Francel's, seeking another moment's reprieve from the torture it endures. It finds it briefly, too briefly, in the rasp of cloth against skin.

For a mercy, this is not yet enough to bring their intimacy to a finish too soon, and Zephirin reclaims the composure to accept Francel's gift gracefully, still modestly, disguising the extent of his own anticipation. As if tantalizing his body, at first he only learns the fit of his hands upon Francel's waist anew, ere he moves to slowly peel the boy out of his sleepwear. He resists Francel's mouth, Francel's delicate neck. ]

...And if I would have you lie back upon the bed for me?

[once upon a time, francel might have blushed, bashful, at the thought of baring his body before zephirin de valhourdin; he might have been too shy, too sheltered, to think himself desirable. but now, francel has diligently tended to zephirin's aches and pains. he has bathed alongside his beloved temple knight. he knows he has nothing to hide.

indeed, he is beginning to learn that the sight of his delicate skin might prompt certain reactions from the man.]

Have I refused you anything yet?

[once more, francel bends over, presses a kiss to zephirin's lips. shifting his legs, he lays on his side beside zephirin in the bed, eager to have his knight above him. his sleepwear removed, francel is vulnerable, every ilm of skin above his waist on display — with nowhere to hide, he pulls his arms up over his head, casual as can be.]

You seem so calm, Zephirin... it makes me want to drive you half-mad with need.

Edited 2018-06-09 21:03 (UTC)

[ Francel sees through Zephirin's carefully composed demeanour, it seems, deep into his heart. The knight's self-control has given way once before — need seized him then, and Francel's untouched skin bore the brunt of it. Now, though he releases Francel to lean over him, knees barely touching the boy's cloth-encased thighs, Zephirin's gaze betrays his hunger, wholly focused on his ever giving Joacin.

His body aches with need, but his heart stirs for the promise of Francel's pleasure.

He dips down for a kiss, laid upon Francel's mouth, still deceptively calm; the next is the first to touch Francel's neck, beginning Zephirin's quest to know every ilm of the boy's body. For now, tender lordling stew appears to replace Ishgardian knight on the menu, and Zephirin takes his time savouring each bite.

As his kisses reach the plane of Francel's belly and nip at his vulnerable sides, Zephirin's fingers slide beneath the boy's waistband — they work to bare the rest of him, too. ]

[tender and flavorful though he may be, francel does not seem content to merely lie back and allow himself to be devoured. as he lifts his hips to facilitate the removal of his breeches, the boy sighs into his pillow, tipping his head to one side; as he puts himself on display, plainly trying to make himself irresistible, zephirin kisses his way lower, still lower, towards francel's shameless need.

they repeat the motions of the morning — only this time, it is zephirin working his way towards francel's desires, and the knight is not half so teasing a lover as the wayward lordling.

humming softly — even squirming and whining when zephirin kisses his sensitive sides — francel rests his hands in zephirin's hair. gently, he scratches at the knight's scalp, watching his lover with infinite tenderness.]

So gentle...

[ Smoothly, Zephirin draws Francel's breeches downward to the boy's knees, but the barrier of Francel's smallclothes remains in place between his arousal and Zephirin's touch, and today, the knight has yet to devote his attention to aught more than rubbing the tip of his nose against the juncture of hip and creamy thigh. The baths are a fresh, heady memory.

Zephirin pauses, perhaps teasing after all, glancing up with a slight smile as Francel settles again, enough to speak amid his wriggling. ]

...Disappointing, I imagine, when we once spoke of mercilessly crossing blades.

[ And then came Francel's wishes expressed, his desire to see Zephirin undone — a beast, half-mad, succumbing entirely to the temptations presented to him. Like as not, the boy's patience for gentle closeness is in fact stretched thin. ]

[patience is one thing, but francel's imagination is another — already, the lordling's breath is coming short, though the knight has yet to truly touch him, and even that barest brush of zephirin's nose wrests a needy moan from his delicate throat. the young lord burns with desire. his hands run through zephirin's hair over and over again — a chaste gesture, but one that clearly communicates his greed.

perhaps the only half-mad beast here is the boy pinned beneath zephirin, barely touched and yet trembling with need.]

Must you make me beg?

[if mere posturing alone will not stir zephirin's heart beyond his self-control, francel decides, then more extreme measures must be applied. he slides one of his hands to the side of zephirin's face; he cups zephirin's gaunt cheek in his hand.]

Not disappointing... You could never disappoint me. But I want it, Zephirin. I want you. I want this. Please, please...

[ Francel begs prettily, aloud and with each and every gesture urging Zephirin to relent, imploring him for mercy shown their famished bodies. The knight is not unmoved. As calm as he seems without, within he feels precariously balanced upon a flimsy ledge, weak-kneed and giddy, and he has made no attempt to hide his exposed length yet glistening with the traces of Inquisitor Joacin's unique interrogation methods. When the boy's soft palm comes to rest against his cheek, the rhythm of Zephirin's breathing is altered once again — his senses know Francel's talented hands too well, and eagerly, they await more.

Driving each other mad with need may indeed be a risk. A hint of it seeps even into Zephirin's voice as he answers, punctuating his remarks with a press of his nose against Francel's wrist, a touch for the boy's inner thigh. ]

What do you ask of me? To choose your hands over your mouth? Do you offer me your thighs, or mayhap more?

[francel groans, well and truly frustrated now — his soft, talented hand seizes in the knight's hair, tugging it gently, but taut against zephirin's scalp, tipping his head back ever so slightly —]

...You ask too many questions!

[sulking, rather comically perhaps, francel releases his zephirin's hair from his hold. his hands slide towards his own length, which has throbbed ever since he first bid zephirin to confess his sins; he grips himself, whimpering softly, as the fingers of his other hand slide suggestively towards his entrance. he bites his lip. he strokes himself.]

I've told you time and time again that... mmh, that I would give you all I have to offer...

[ Zephirin's senses are not quite prepared for the sudden tug on his hair — needier than Francel's earlier gestures, it bespeaks the boy's mounting frustration — but even this tingles pleasurably. The knight's lips part. Distinctly, his breath catches in his throat ere fond amusement colours the look with which he regards Francel. ]

I recall it well, and I do not doubt you.

[ But faced with so generous a spread of options, and so little time left, how is a man to choose but one? Already, their bodies near their limit. Zephirin's echoes Francel's desperation; the meaning of the boy's impatient movements is not lost on him.

His fingers grip Francel's thighs, squeezing, guiding them apart, all of Francel freed from the confines of his clothing at last, all of him promised Zephirin for the taking. Leaning back down, the knight presses more heated a kiss to one sensitive ear. ]

...You made mention of a bottle of fragrant oil, once.

[ And once, it was innocently used, softening the young lord's skin and enhancing his enjoyment of an ear massage. Once, it seemed testament to a pious soul. ]

Nnnh... ah... the bed, the... the headboard. There's a panel... s-slides open.

[the delicious wet warmth of zephirin's lips against his ear leaves francel keening, squeezing himself, so tightly wound as to be beautiful in his desperation. perhaps the boy leaves prayer-oil by every bed he rests in, perhaps he planted this particular bottle in the temple knight's bed for precisely this occasion — but the how and why of things hardly matters when the lordling beneath zephirin looks as though he might die if the knight does not partake of his pleasures soon. he whimpers softly, moving his hands aside to let zephirin take over...]

I... really do mean anything, Zephirin, I — I adore you...

[ Evidently Francel favours furniture with secret storage compartments both in his dormitory room and at home. Perhaps he kept this bottle close by for his hands and his prayers while he tended to his patient; perhaps he hoped for another massage or to make use of the oil as they will anon.

Whatever the case, Zephirin's lips shape a small, knowing smile against Francel's ear before he straightens up, reaching across the boy to locate the conveniently placed bottle. A few drops warmed between his fingers coat them liberally in the oil. One hand follows the curves of Francel's body to his entrance, index finger seeking passage past its tight ring of muscle, but the other concentrates solely on revisiting the dips and ridges of Francel's ears. ]

A-Ah...

[zephirin's clever, clever fingers have found the key to keeping francel comfortable and pliant. though his first instinct is to clench tight against the foreign sensation of someone else's fingers penetrating him, the slick oil in his ears leaves him in a haze of pleasure.

more — still more — is the singular thought that drives francel's instincts. his thighs quiver, pleasantly soft and curvaceous; his glistening cock is flushed with promise. as he whimpers indistinct promises of love between interrupted utterances of zephirin's name, the young lord sinks deeper and deeper into compliance, his body deliciously open to zephirin's touch.]

Zephi — Ze — mmm —

[ Francel trembles and whimpers not in pain, this Zephirin knows. Each sound signifies the boy's pleasure, a plea for more, perhaps for help once again, and the knight hears and heeds his entreaties. Gentle but persistent, Zephirin's fingers pursue a balance between soothing Francel and sating his desires, Zephirin's own.

He draws back when he must for another few drops of oil rubbed onto his length, and his right hand settles at Francel's hip, but the left soon returns to the boy's ear, tracing its outer edge once more. Into Francel's other ear, Zephirin murmurs but one word to echo their exchange of days prior: ]

Yes?

[ But today, the knight does not wait until Francel composes himself to piece together his name and answer. Pressing another kiss to that ear, he takes its earlobe between his lips, tongue warm against Francel's skin — and ilm by ilm, he comes to know his Joacin from head to toe, at last accepting all that the boy has to offer.

Another barrier has fallen. Another concession is made.

Encased in Francel's warmth, Zephirin simply holds this new embrace for a moment then, their bodies intimately connected. ]

[if zephirin had moved even a little faster — if he had punctuated his entrance with even a single greedy thrust — francel would have come; his overloaded senses would have spilled over at last; he would have gasped and whimpered and lay spent with zephirin still inside of him, utterly satisfied but for the knowledge that his lover still hungered. he would have whispered breathless apologies, beautiful in his shame, eyes glazed over with the need to please, again and again and still one more time, until his slight was more than mended and zephirin, too, was hopelessly addicted to his touch.

of course, the knight does no such thing, and francel only barely manages to hold on to his senses. the slick oil on his right ear, zephirin's warm lips on the other, that hot tongue sucking sweet against his earlobe — all these things alone make francel claw at the sheets with his fingers, and then there is the infinite stretch of zephirin inside of him, the sensation of being overwhelmed, engulfed — he is so close, so close, so close so close so close —

at last they are joined.

panting, shuddering, francel is a vision of gold hair and pink skin, unbearably fragile and yet deliciously substantial at the same time. his heaving chest and delicate collarbones seem ready to break, should zephirin move once more — but his plush bottom and his warm, impossibly wet insides tell otherwise, inviting the knight closer, deeper, faster, harder. the boy's small, grapelike toes curl with pleasure.]

Please — please, I... I need...

[words fail him. words are too difficult, with his mind a-jumble and his body demanding more, more, clawing at his instincts, ready to destroy his reason.]

K-Keep — going — oh, Zephirin, Zephirin, I won't, I won't last...

Edited 2018-07-03 16:29 (UTC)

[ Brief laughter, a puff of air breathed against Francel's ear, gives away the strain in Zephirin's voice. In truth, at Francel's mercy in the baths, he ventures forth with greater care now to delay the end of their forbidden pleasures, but again and again, the boy tests his fraying self-control. They are joined, closer than ever before, and nary a tremor coursing through Francel escapes him.

He will not last much longer himself. ]

I thought my efforts in vain...

[ Francel warned him, after all, that one wish granted would only fuel an insatiable greed for more and still more — small wonder that the boy has withstood him thus far.

For his part, Zephirin is conquered, lost the moment he gives in to the desire that seizes him to look upon his Joacin beneath him. His own body demands more, to press ever closer, plunge deeper, keep going, faster and harder. It is a pace driven by movements rougher than Zephirin intended at the outset — but then, for all that Francel appears delicate, he has confessed his hunger to witness Zephirin consumed by emotions that the knight would restrain.

Distantly, Zephirin's mind yet urges caution, for sound may travel beyond these walls, though no one has come knocking to discover young Lord Francel defiled in his home. ]

[what would some innocent maidservant think, if she opened the door beyond lord francel's bedchamber to find him being tumbled by a temple knight? would she run? would she scream? would she stand there, transfixed by the man conquering her young master over and over and over again? would she be horrified? would she look away?

would a guilty thrill of arousal run through her lacy bloomers?

rough though zephirin's movements may be, his lordly joacin seems to be enjoying every second of it. by the way that francel throws his head back, gasping in delirious pleasure, this frantic pace is exactly what he needs; his hands fist tight in the linens as every thrust brings him closer and closer and closer to ecstasy —]

I — ah — Zephi — Ze — I — c-can't, I — ah — so good —

[with a moan that catches like a sob in his throat, francel comes at last, spilling white-hot seed over his pale belly — sweet release from being fucked nearly senseless. caught up in wave after wave of his pleasure, he clutches weakly at zephirin's wrists.]

Yes, yes...

[ They move together with unbridled need, a mad desperation; at long last, the beast held caged within Zephirin's heart roams free. It is well-fed on the rapture writ upon Francel's face, on promises fulfilled, and it drinks deep of the stream of gasps and moans spilling from the boy's lips, but it senses droughts and famines ahead when they part ways. Cautious reason loses to instinct. Though Zephirin endeavoured to keep Francel from harm, their lovemaking marks the boy's fair skin with crescent-shaped indentations left behind where Zephirin's fingers tighten their hold on his hips, squeeze his splayed thighs, his backside — and yet, Francel, fucked hard into the mattress, protests not once.

His Temple Knight lasts some moments longer, through surge after overwhelming surge of pleasure, his goal achieved, until Francel's blessing is bestowed upon him. Zephirin shudders as the boy's fingers flutter against his wrists, not the bedsheets, touching him but gently.

He is led to salvation, shown paradise on earth.

Their bodies meet one final, fevered time. No one knocks at the door, no footsteps draw near, but Zephirin's palm covers Francel's mouth, his own mouth pressed to the crook of the boy's neck to smother a groan. Cradled within Francel, he yields all he has, down to the last drop. ]

[paradise is fleeting, outside of halone's hall, and in time, the sweet ecstasy of release fades away. francel falls from his high like a solitary leaf floating in a pool of water, carried by some invisible current. slowly, as his chest heaves and he catches his breath, he moves his hands from the knight's wrists to his shoulders, holding him in a loose embrace. the young lord feels pleasantly warm and fulfilled — dominated and conquered by his virtuous ser zephirin — and all he can think now is that he has everything, that it was everything he dreamed it would be...]

...Zephirin.

[this he whispers through his lover's fingers, his lashes fluttering.]

You were perfect...

[ Beyond these walls, perhaps an innocent maidservant neared the door to Francel's chambers, footfalls now fading down the hallway as she thinks better of rousing the young lord so early in the morning. Time stands still awhile longer; Zephirin stirs slowly, fingers twitching against Francel's mouth. That hand slides to the boy's cheek.

Perfect is high praise, uttered as though Francel basks in a dream turned real after the many long weeks since they first met, and in turn, Zephirin lingers in the sinfully delicious contentment brought on by their union. ]

...Truly, you spoil your patients, my lord.

[ Lifting his head from Francel's shoulder, the knight repeats a teasing remark made once before, subtle warmth in the words and his gaze alike. His hand slips lower again, down Francel's front, and pauses amidst the drying streaks of the boy's release decorating his skin.

Any manor servant encountered would smell it on them, and those most observant might note the faint marks where Zephirin's teeth grazed Francel's earlobe, or the redness to the boy's lips, but all such threats like to uncover their secret seem far away. For the moment, Zephirin leans in for one more kiss, one more taste of his Joacin.

This is no farewell, a new promise instead. ]

[their kiss is chaste, but entrancingly sensual; francel feels its warmth linger on his lips long after zephirin pulls away for breath. his heart stirs. if we could just stay like this forever, he thinks, vaguely, a string of nonsense words, more feeling than coherent thought. if we could be this happy for all eternity.]

...I love you.

[this he whispers, not as a lordling or a seminarian but as a man, freed of earthly attachments, of all things save his zephirin. scripture and sin are far from his mind. all that francel can think of is how deeply he has fallen, how impossible it should be, that one man and one man alone can make him so incredibly happy — and then, how terrifying, how terrifying it would be if they were ever to be parted...]

[perhaps zephirin's departure was delayed some few more bells. perhaps they made love all through the morning. or perhaps they were more diligent — they resisted — they had country and goddess to think of.

it's hard to say, really. francel no longer remembers that particular day clearly, though he remembers the start of it quite well. he easily recalls zephirin's embrace, the carnal pleasure, and the marks their union left behind, for he has known all of it many times since. years and years have passed, ishgard has grown accustomed to its eternal frost — and francel, now a man of twenty and two, has become an ordained priest within the halonic orthodoxy.

father joacin, as most know him now, is a sweet, youthful man who brings the light of halone wheresoever he goes. whereas some priests are known for their political or magical acumen, father joacin is known simply for his loving demeanor and his grace. he plays the organ on the rare occasions that the vault holds mass; he writes hymns of worship for the enjoyment of the other priests. he is, in short, the closest thing that the vault has to a house musician — though, unlike most house musicians, he is not regarded as an object of sexual desire, and he has yet to impregnate any maidservants.

no — father joacin is pure. or at least, most people think father joacin is pure. none would ever suspect that his vows of celibacy were broken from the very day he swore them — and further, no one would ever have any cause to think that his friendship with the temple knights second commander zephirin de valhourdin is anything save a polite friendship between two men.

this, despite the fact that on an early wintry morning, young father joacin is among the first to walk down to the congregation, the better to greet the knights returning home from battle with the dravanians.]

[ Father Joacin's youthful face is well-known and well-liked at the Congregation — no one questions his visits, whether he comes to light the way to Halone's halls for those knights summoned to Her side, or to commune with his friend, a kindred spirit as pure and pious as the young priest himself. Nearing his twenty-ninth summer, Ser Zephirin remains unmarried, ever devoted to his duty alone. No lady fair has caught his eye or warmed his bed, though the second commander of the Temple Knights receives his share of relentless attention, rivaling Ser Aymeric and even Adelphel de Chevraudan in popularity. Only Ishgard herself moves his heart, it seems.

What rumours wend through the city are never proven. No, Ser Zephirin and Father Joacin are men of the Fury, almost disappointingly without flaw.

After years and years undiscovered, one might grow complacent, but Zephirin suspects another explanation: Ishgard has need of them, and unless they should fall from grace, her people will turn a blind eye to an open secret. He relaxes none of his vigilance, true to his private vows to keep Francel from harm, lest he lower his guard at the wrong time, in the wrong place, and surrender fodder to use against them.

Greeted upon his return to Ishgard by a familiar, most welcome sight, Zephirin merely permits himself a smile, a warmer hint of the fondness concealed in letters cautiously penned. Even this, akin to delight on Zephirin's features, borders on a risk taken. ]

Father Joacin.

[ The knight stops an arm's length away from the young priest, politely reserved as he lays to rest any fears that may have weighed upon Francel's heart. This time, the Fury saw fit to return Zephirin home unscathed; he is weary, but whole. ]

Will we see you at confession?

[ It is another promise of time found to commune with each other in peace, much like namedays celebrated together year after year. ]

[the temple knights in zephirin's entourage notice their commander's rare delight, but they do not see it. some flighty female knights whisper behind their hands and giggle; others, more disciplined, simply allow their gazes to linger on his smiling mouth.

the women see this — and the men do, too — but none seem to notice the strange way zephirin stops at a distance from francel, or the way francel's hand lifts halfway to his waist, then falls, as though he meant to touch zephirin's shoulder, but thought better of it.]

But of course, Ser Zephirin. I had thought, however, that we might feed our bodies ere we feed our souls. Have you the time to take a meal with me in my quarters within the next bell or two...?

[young father joacin cannot wait until confession to commune with the second commander, it would seem.]

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