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

[ 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.]

[ Zephirin notices the movement of Francel's hand, and at his side, his own twitches ever so slightly. Later, when they have some bells to themselves to take lunch, Francel might complete the gesture, fingers curled about Zephirin's shoulders — perhaps only to ease the knight's aches where plate and mail took their toll. Zephirin might kiss each slender digit then, quite chastely, content simply to indulge in his Joacin's company for a time.

The knight bows his head, but before he has the chance to accept Francel's invitation, Guerrique's arrival interrupts the exchange. "Father Joacin!"

Beaming at the young priest, Guerrique seems eager to compensate for Zephirin's formal greeting — he bounds closer like a loyal hound reunited with his master. "Are you come to see us all or will you abduct Ser Zephirin? Pray take him with you sooner than the next bell, or his midday meal is like to be a serving of desk work!" ]

Oh — Ser Guerrique!

[no awkward distance plagues father joacin's friendship with ser guerrique, it seems — where the young priest and the second commander adamantly refused to touch one another, francel smiles at guerrique without a single moment's doubt, stepping forward to embrace the brawny knight. after a brotherly pat on the back — once, twice (guerrique must be careful not to squeeze, lest he snap the poor boy in twain) — the hug is ended, and father joacin steps back, assuming a distance that more befits a member of the clergy.]

Have you been skipping your meals to do work again, Ser Zephirin?

[from francel's chastisement, one might think him a physician and not a priest. he turns back toward guerrique.]

Promise me you'll haul him from his desk next he works through his lunch break! How is a man to properly supervise Ishgard's defense on an empty stomach?

[ Still formally, Zephirin dismisses the rest of his unit while Francel and Guerrique are preoccupied, and for a mercy, the group readily disperses ere their commander's friends join forces to scold him. Guerrique's promise is swiftly made, leaving Zephirin no time to protest — quite suddenly, Guerrique seizes him and lifts him some fulms from the ground. "You have my word, Father Joacin! I'll haul him from his desk like so!"

A few stragglers among their fellow knights look on with poorly disguised mirth. Hauled off his feet without warning, Zephirin is visibly perturbed, arms reflexively flung out to hold on to Guerrique. ]

Ser Guerrique—

[ He closes his eyes, salvaging his composure. Instead of squirming in Guerrique's grasp, he awaits the end of the knight's needless demonstration. ]

I assure you, I had no plans to decline Father Joacin's invitation.

[ Eyes open once more, the ground beneath his soles again as Guerrique sets him back down, Zephirin turns to Francel. ]

Within the next bell, then — not for Ishgard's defense alone.

[as zephirin turns to francel, francel turns to guerrique, perhaps eager to dispel his lover's embarrassment, or else merely eager to be treated the same way —]

Oh — Ser Guerrique, here, too!

[with a laugh, the brawny knight acquiesces, lifting father joacin as well. of course, it is entirely inappropriate to manhandle a servant of halone in such a manner, but said servant of halone appears to be having the time of his life indeed, and since it is much easier to lift a delicate young man in a priest's robe than a more muscled knight in full armor, guerrique lifts francel with comparative ease, sweeping the priest's hat off his head entirely. he raises francel high in the air and spins him in a gentle circle before setting him down on the ground again.

laughing, father joacin snatches his klobuk from the ground where it fell, and places the hat upon the crown of his head again. politely, mustering a straight face, he bows, the very picture of holy reverence.]

Very well, then — to lunch, Ser Zephirin, to a midday meal. Come, come!

[ "Guerrique!" On the tail end of the exuberant reunion, as Francel's fluttering robes settle back into place, another Temple Knight standing near the doors to the Congregation calls out to the man in question. "Have you mistaken Father Joacin for your mysterious Anne?" He laughs, but so does Guerrique, albeit somewhat sheepishly. With a pat for Zephirin's shoulder, accompanied by a parting smile and a wave directed at Francel, the knight takes his leave.

Once upon a time, when a certain lordling first came calling in search of his friend, they left for the Pillars arm-in-arm, and although Zephirin cannot lift Francel into the air and spin him about as Guerrique did so freely, he offers the priest his arm to take today, too. His gaze is yet warm with amusement. ]

Gladly — but what of you? I recall a few skipped meals on your part in favour of completing a composition, and the Vault lacks both Civerege and Madam Adrienne...

[ Francel looks perfectly well, however, rosy-cheeked and radiant. Unlike that day years ago, he has the strength to walk without succumbing to a sudden fainting spell. ]

[it says too much that father joacin takes zephirin's arm with a lover's glee, too much that he smiles at the commander like a young wife come to grant her husband some respite from the ravages of war.]

That was only once or twice! Now and again I do miss dinners or breakfasts when inspiration strikes, but I am fed well enough at the Vault... and fed entirely too much on those rare evenings when I slip back to the manor to visit Civerege and Madam Adrienne.

[self-consciously — with a concern for his earthly form that ill befits a man of the cloth — francel lays a palm upon his belly, as if to make sure that it still rests flat when he is standing.]

If I have any more buttered biscuits I shall have to be sized for new breeches...

[ Francel's remark elicits a quiet chuckle from Zephirin. The young priest's earthly form has not grown noticeably plump of late; his figure merely retains its soft lines and inviting curves beneath the layers of his clergyman's garb, but with a tilt of his head, Zephirin studies Francel as though he means to assist him in taking the measure of his waistline. ]

Mayhap we ought meet not to share a meal, then, but to spare you the need for looser garments?

[ The path leads them through a passageway, fleeting privacy, and Zephirin's free hand briefly finds Francel's hip, fingers resting there to press lightly against Francel's side. ]

No doubt these biscuits would tempt any man into gluttony.

[francel is not offended by zephirin's wandering hand — far from it, if the broad and bashful smile that creeps across his face is any indication — but he swats lightly at it all the same, particularly because he has the sneaking suspicion that zephirin might size up a leg of ham in much the same way.]

Come now, of what "biscuits" do you speak? Not the Vault's, I take it.

[before they dart out of the passageway, the young priest leans up and plants a kiss on the sloping line of ser zephirin's jaw.]

...Praise Halone that She has delivered you safely to my hands once more.

[ Zephirin, of course, is not tempted by any freshly baked batch of buttered biscuits, not especially susceptible to the Vault's fine fare. The temptations at his fingertips are a different matter — Francel smiles sweetly, kisses him with simmering longing.

The passageway's stone walls shield them from the eyes of men, if not the gods, and Francel's touch compels the knight to relent and seize the moment for a prelude to the bells to come, amends made for the cautious public greetings exchanged between them. Both hands on Francel's waist, Zephirin pulls his beloved closer, deeper into the shadows and his embrace, turning his head so that their lips brush.

He does not speak of the fallen, not now. ]

...In truth, I hear that She would have me remain in Ishgard to attend meetings and lead our knights from within the confines of the Congregation, but what manner of commander would I be, to avoid the battlefield?

A most cautious commander, perhaps. But you would be a much kinder lover, you know. If ever you failed to come home to me I know not what I would do...

[another stolen kiss, another indiscreet touch; francel, too, wraps his arms around the commander's waist. the good priest writes his songs of love and worship, but in truth, the object of his ardent devotion is not halone, nor even haldrath, but the man who stands before him — his beloved zephirin, who is beautiful, but tragically mortal.

in this alleyway, they need not hide behind their masks.]

I must partake of you as much as I possibly can while you are here.

Edited 2018-08-22 16:49 (UTC)

[ Zephirin's palm settles against the small of Francel's back, solid, assuring Francel once more that his Temple Knight has returned home. He lives, reunited with his Joacin not in distant halls. Cold, hard plate separates them for the nonce, but Zephirin's lips leave their warmth upon Francel's skin — would that he could kiss away the worries that keep Francel company in his absence.

As if their secluded corner suffices, and the knight grows impatient to partake of his lover then and there in turn, he presses another kiss to Francel's mouth, and one more to Francel's ear ere he answers. ]

If I am to be your midday meal, let us relieve you of your breeches anon.

[ If not here and now, though they speak in hushed tones, and a noise at the far end of the passageway soon fades. Zephirin's hand only hints at possibilities, slipping slightly lower down Francel's back. ]

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