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

[that featherlight touch of zephirin's palm is all it takes for francel's demeanor to shift darker, dreamier. his lips part as he takes breath into his mouth; his posture stiffens; his lashes lower, then close entirely. at the corner of his mouth, his tongue darts out to wet his lips. zephirin's suggested source of privacy has the young priest’s heart racing.

though ser zephirin may profess his need for succor, it seems father joacin's hunger is far greater.]

...How many sins can one man commit on campaign, hm? I will forgive all of them, my lamb, but I do hope none involved infidelity...

[pursing his lips, father joacin looks up at zephirin from beneath his saintly klobuk, his pupils wide with desire.]

There are confessionals in the west wing of the cathedral that are seldom used. The ones nearer the entrance are the more popular, you see, and so I think it best to avoid those. We would not want your sins overheard, Ser Zephirin.

Edited 2018-09-01 04:14 (UTC)

My thanks, Father.

[ Penitence writ in his posture, Zephirin averts his eyes, head bowed, but his smile yet plays about his lips. He relishes Francel's reaction; the risk they take is made rewarding for it, titillating. ]

Let us make haste, then, for I mean to hide nothing from you.

[ Out in the open once they emerge from the quiet alley, they must needs wear their masks again, walking as friends despite desire's whispers. Their destination seems malms and malms away.

At last, however, steps and doors and acquaintances behind them, privacy lies within reach — Francel spoke true. They have their pick of the west wing's few booths, not a soul nearby to question the unconventional confession to take place within. ]

[father joacin seems faintly impatient — he can hardly wait,and he just barely manages to make sure that no one will witness them before he grabs zephirin by the wrist and takes him to the priest's side of the farthest booth.

a truly penitent soul would take the side of the confessional opposite the young father's, to give his sins before halone through the slotted screen that separates the priest from the parishioner, but francel would have his beloved commander in the stall with him, pressed up against his skin.]

In here — quickly.

[anxiously, he allows his hands to slide up zephirin's arms, past the vambraces the man did not have the chance to remove.]

Fury take me, Zephirin, it feels like it's been moons...

[ Francel's urgency stokes Zephirin's hunger anew, though the knight contains it for the moment — if only to tantalize the both of them, that their reunion celebrated to the fullest might taste still sweeter. He does not divest himself of his armour at once, but takes a seat upon the priest's bench, pulling Francel with him and into his lap. Even this adds little room to spare to the stall, necessitating that they remain wonderfully close at all times.

Gently, a touch playful, Zephirin rubs his nose against Francel's ear. ]

Would that we had moons now — I would see your virtuous patience rewarded.

[ One arm wrapped around Francel's waist, Zephirin takes his other hand lower once more, as if to feel for the young priest's breeches through his cassock. Abruptly, that hand stills upon Francel's thigh. ]

Pray forgive me, Father Joacin. Even as we speak, sinful thoughts fill my mind...

[zephirin's patience has francel near jittering with desperation. he knows full well that his beloved knight is teasing him, that these playful, tantalizing touches are meant only to stir them towards a merrier frenzy, but still the young priest whimpers as he lifts the voluminous skirt of his robe, revealing his delicate breeches, the intricate patterns down the sides of his legs. the hand upon his thigh now rests upon a sweeping curve of golden thread.]

Tell me of these sinful thoughts, my child.

[lovingly, he presses a tender kiss to zephirin's forehead, as though he truly means to cleanse the man of all sin.]

Where shall I begin...?

[ Again, Zephirin bows his head with something akin to reverence, truly a penitent soul, but the knight's hand follows that path of golden thread revealed, wandering upward along the side of Francel's leg until his fingertips reach the waistband of Francel's breeches. Though they have done this many times before, he traces the boundary between fabric and warm skin as one might approach a holy relic. ]

Your garments yet fit well, but I envisioned myself freeing you from aught grown too tight for comfort, and you would have my aid in keeping the weather's chill at bay.

[ What sounds innocent enough becomes less so as Zephirin's hand rounds Francel's hip, squeezes one thigh. ]

Truth be told, I see naught but temptation before me... I would have you whilst we are granted our privacy.

[ The knight lifts his gaze. ]

Greed, gluttony, lust — do you absolve me of these sins?

[the ticklish playfulness of zephirin's touches turns to sudden hunger as the knight squeezes father joacin's thigh; his fingers melt into francel's flesh with ease, as if the young priest is — like the adorable stuffed rabbit that still rests in his bed within the vault — filled with cotton and fluff. francel is no plush toy, however, and he makes that clear as he bends low once more, claiming zephirin's lips this time, his kiss thoroughly unchaste, his tongue tickling the sensitive insides of zephirin's mouth. his charming white klobuk falls to the confessional floor.

they desire one another with equal fervor, it would seem.]

...You'll have these trousers too tight for comfort ere long if you keep squeezing me so...

[this is mumbled, as he draws away and musters his very best priestly tone.]

To absolve you of your sins, I must needs assess the extent of them. Will you show me how fiercely you have envisioned having me?

[father joacin's eyes twinkle with devilish delight as he adds:] ...My lovely lost lamb?

[ Father Joacin's lost lamb drinks in the sight of him when their kiss — the beginnings of self-restraint unraveled — leaves the young priest's lovely mouth reddened, faintly glossy. Zephirin's lips curve for Francel's seeming warning. Not dissuaded in the least from demonstrating the nature of his supposed sins, of course, the knight deftly unlaces the ties fastening together the front of Francel's breeches before withdrawing his hand, gathering Francel into his arms and lifting him as he rises from the bench to press his lover against one confessional wall.

Francel's breeches, loosened, need but a tug to slide from his hips. Zephirin's left hand lingers within the folds of the young priest's robe; its counterpart seizes Francel by the wrist, pinning that arm in place above Francel's head.

Zephirin has learned, over the years, that a certain form of mercilessness only heightens the boy's pleasure.

He leans in, his confession resumed in a heated whisper against Francel's ear. ]

Do you see, Father Joacin? I would have you where we stand, as we are.

[ They risk staining Francel's priestly garb then, and no doubt more, passion's marks sure to decorate his skin by the end. ]

Am I alone in such wicked desires?

N-No, I... I would welcome...

[there is a certain expression that francel wears when he has been thoroughly seduced, when he has fallen so completely under zephirin's spell that his eyes, glassy with lust and irises blown wide, track the man's every movement — and the young priest wears that expression now as his breath catches in his throat. lifted off his feet and pinned to the wall, with his breeches loose around his knees, father joacin feels deliciously helpless, unable to resist the sensual advances of the knight before him. though he is a devout man, a pious man, something in him rejoices, eager to be debauched in a sacred space.

a confessional, he thinks to himself, giddy and full of shameless joy. so sinful, but we simply could not wait...

he tries very desperately to remember his lines, tries very hard to remember that he is pretending to be a dutiful priest come to give ser zephirin's soul some measure of salvation — but his body betrays him. driven by greed, francel's hips seek zephirin's warmth; desperately, he tries to angle his legs such that they will hold up the skirt of his priestly robe.]

...In truth, you would fill me with desire even if none existed...

It gladdens me to receive of your blessing even in my wickedness, to hear your confession in turn.

[ Trapped against the wall, at Zephirin's mercy, Francel makes an alluring picture, and Zephirin himself is not unmoved. He pauses to meet Francel's gaze as he comes to his lover's aid, baring Francel's legs as best he can, leaving the young priest's thighs on display, framed by folds of heavy fabric. Zephirin's gauntlets are the next barrier depriving them of the contact they both seek, but the knight knows to bide his time awhile longer.

The line blurs between this so-called confession and an interrogation; Father Joacin becomes the sinner, a guilty soul brought before the inquisitors. ]

What of your thoughts, then? [ Once more, Zephirin's lips brush against the blade of Francel's ear. ] Will you entrust them to me?

[the role of the sinner suits father joacin better, in truth. he is beautiful like this, caught in surrender like a martyr raised upon the cross, and his eyes speak of his loyalty to zephirin in ways that his mouth cannot. with his wrists bound by the pleasant familiarity of zephirin's unyielding grip, his hips held in place by his lover's, francel can do naught but offer himself to his knight. he stands at full attention, already reddened and quivering despite his lack of direct stimulation. his steady breaths are slowly coming undone. his eyes flicker hopefully over the commander's armored hands.

to zephirin, who has spent many long moons on campaign, francel must make for a delicious reward at journey's end.]

My thoughts... my thoughts ought not to be said aloud in a house of worship.

[leaning forward, francel, too, boldly whispers into the delectably long blade of zephirin's ear.]

I would have you conquer me, Ser Zephirin. I would give myself to you as the ancient priestesses of Menphina once gave themselves unto their faithful, to show them the pleasures of Her love... I would show you the same kind of blessing from the Fury.

[growing still more salacious — and perhaps slightly silly — francel nips at zephirin's ear, nibbling lovingly along the man's earlobe as he speaks in a low, wonderfully husky voice.]

I would have you use me wildly, my love. I would have you fill this sacred vessel with your seed, and I will not have you leave this place ere every lustful impulse in your body is sated by mine.

[ Every lustful impulse kindled in Zephirin's body yearns to turn each thought confessed into reality — come what may, salvation or damnation. His fingers tighten around Francel's wrists as his breaths slip out of rhythm much like Francel's, all for the warmth of Francel's mouth against his ear.

Patience has held out long enough. ]

...Let your sins be mine.

[ These words uttered in a whisper matching Francel's, Zephirin frees his hands to bare them at last. His vambraces and gauntlets are set aside, laid on the confessional bench, and then the knight's fingers slide up Francel's thighs again, skin on deliciously smooth skin. They press on to Francel's entrance. Kneeling at his Joacin's feet, Zephirin kisses the tip of Francel's arousal ere he draws himself back up to kiss his beloved on the lips, too. ]

Mm, Zephirin...

[francel's breath escapes him in a sigh as zephirin's fingers press lightly against him, then slip deeper within. his own hands pin the folds of his robe against his hips, baring his view of ser zephirin the just — the most pious and devout man to be found in all of ishgard — kissing the flushed and needy tip of his erection. the young priest is not given enough time to relish this divine vision, however; in another moment, zephirin is up against his lips again.

francel's insides pull taut — but, as he opens his mouth for a deeper kiss, his tension ebbs away until his body is pleasantly relaxed, even pliant.]

[ Francel is receptive, welcoming, but despite his body's impulses, Zephirin remains all too conscious of the unfortunate obstacle they face: unless Father Joacin, in his piety, carries a bottle of prayer oil on his person wheresoever he goes, discomfort is like to dull his pleasure. Perhaps they have no choice but to content themselves with memories and a first taste of the main course to come later.

So Zephirin prepares to concede if they must, even as he listens for any telltale sharper stutter in his lover's breaths, mindful of every minute movement — until his fingers, carefully testing the fit of Francel's muscles around them, find that they are granted entry almost as effortlessly as Zephirin's tongue licks into Francel's mouth. Sliding free, they glisten faintly in the dim light, slick.

Zephirin breaks the kiss to seek Francel's gaze then, brows arched. The knight's lips twitch.

Father Joacin planned well ahead, it seems, giving as the ancient priestesses of Menphina, and his faithful need but accept his gift. Regrettably, while plate and mail yet bar Zephirin from Francel's sacred vessel to fill, they are forced to exercise the last of their patience, enduring these moments before Zephirin's hands finish unbuckling straps at long last.

The knight's tassets join the pieces already placed out of the way. Exposed just enough to press his length between Francel's thighs, Zephirin angles Francel's hips against his own, allowing a brush of their members, and tests Father Joacin's virtuous patience no longer. Their bodies snap together, pinning Francel against the wall anew. ]

Edited 2018-12-01 07:32 (UTC)

[francel's mouth, his body — all that he has to offer is free for zephirin's taking, and zephirin takes so fiercely and lovingly that the boy almost comes from the first thrust alone. his body parts with ease for zephirin and for zephirin only; waves of pleasure rock him to his core as the knight's perfect cock slips inside of him. he thinks, for a moment, that this is paradise.

the young priest finds himself shivering with possessive need. these open-mouthed kisses are his; these impatient, hot touches are his. he taught zephirin to please like this, he made zephirin this greedy, this good.]

Do you like your gift...?

[sparing zephirin the effort of loosening and lubricating him is only one bonus of the "gift" that francel readied for their reunion today. he was forced to finish his preparations only scant moments before rushing to meet zephirin at the congregation, but he thinks to himself that he will have to do this more often — it is wonderful to think that zephirin now finally understands just how wanton his father joacin really is.

with a triumphant grin on his face, francel pulls back, chest heaving, unable to resist a confident smile over how quickly zephirin claimed his tender priest.]

I couldn't greet you without my breeches, as I said, but I wanted you to be able to get right to it...

[ Truly, Zephirin is gifted the Fury's blessing; Francel's smile is so radiant that all Coerthas might thaw. This is paradise. This is home.

How much Zephirin appreciates Francel's efforts is plain in his unrestrained hunger for his wanton Joacin, in the way that the knight's fingers press into soft flesh, squeezing Francel's hips, slipping to his rear to draw him close. The fact that they removed only the bare minimum of their attire makes for exquisitely concentrated sensations where they are joined, all the more with every shudder of Francel's frame.

Zephirin's reply is telling, breathless. ]

So thoughtful a gift demands the same in return...

[ Zephirin leans forward, and leaves a kiss upon the tip of Francel's left ear. Between them, the fabric of Francel's cassock shifts against the young priest's hardness as Zephirin's hips rock against Francel's. ]

Shall I be the one to grant you succor?

[ Swiftly, Zephirin's pace climbs, as if he means to lay claim to his precious gift again and again, conquering his beloved without hesitation. ]

Mmm, yes — oh, please —

[the pleasure is truly exquisite, especially as zephirin thrusts faster and faster, parting francel's lips as he opens his mouth and sticks out his tongue as if he can taste his coming orgasm. his breath comes in short, desperate gasps that catch in his throat. pinned to the wall, balancing his weight on his back and his hips, francel has no particular use for his hands at present, so they slip into zephirin's hair, ruffling and petting the wolfish fluff at the back of his beloved knight's head.

then young father joacin suddenly remembers that it will be quite inconvenient if he ejaculates all over his cassock, and with a keening, desperate moan he tries to hold himself back long enough to roll his robes up past his thighs and pin them to his belly again.]

Nnn — ah, you — you're such — a beast —

[ How easily they might lose themselves entirely in the heady rush of their union — the mere thought of Francel's thorough preparations was sharply titillating, filling Zephirin's mind. Francel's smile spurs Zephirin on. This is the extent of his sins revealed, this is how fiercely he desires his eager Joacin, how wildly he would partake of him.

It would be quite inconvenient indeed, however, if they were to end their private celebration in but another instant, and without the forethought to ensure that they might leave their hiding place freely. ]

Not yet—

[ Zephirin musters a commander's stern tone, albeit panted into Francel's ear. ]

The Enchiridion extols temperance, does it not?

[ Abruptly, while pleasure pulses through them, he withdraws to deny himself and even Francel aught more for the moment, if not as a show of pious virtue. Suspended on the brink of climax as they are, relief beckons just beyond their reach — deliverance might be purer for it in the end, sweeter.

Once more, Zephirin kneels before Francel, the seemingly penitent sinner. He takes him in hand. ]

What are we to do?

Edited 2018-12-04 02:58 (UTC)

No — aaah, why —?

[so close was francel to the delicious rush of orgasm that he moans piteously when zephirin withdraws — he was so close, the delicious tension in his belly so near bursting, and then suddenly it is gone and all he wants is to have it back again, in his mind he is begging for it, the look in his eyes bespeaks his need, far greater than anything the fury has ever stoked in him —]

Zephi — Zephiii, I wanted it inside...

[young father joacin has been so thoroughly conquered that he has quite forgotten himself, it seems, and his disappointment comes out in the form of a wailing cry not unlike a broken sob. his wanton arousal is deeply flushed, dripping, aching...]

As do I.

[ Faced with Francel's pleas, Zephirin cannot resume the role of a merciless inquisitor a moment longer, and he speaks no more of so-called temperance. Father Joacin's torture is short-lived; to make amends, his Temple Knight begins by stroking his throbbing length, intercepting the droplets trickling from his tip. Head bowed, Zephirin's fervent worship is another kiss placed upon Francel's arousal, and then the warmth of the knight's mouth to envelop him, and flicks of Zephirin's tongue to caress him. ]

I-In — insi — aaah, ah —

[incoherently, francel begs zephirin to enter him again, but his pleas are cruelly denied; instead, however, the temple knight grants him an even greater joy in the form of his hot, slick mouth. father joacin moans. it takes his sex-addled mind a moment to catch on — forgetting the delicious pressure in his belly, adjusting to the new sensations of zephirin's sinfully silky mouth — but francel has long been fixated on the way zephirin's mouth feels. he has always enjoyed being pleasured in this manner, and the knight needs only a few flicks of his diligent tongue to have his salacious priest moaning guttural sounds of pleasure.

francel is weak to this. he loves knowing that he is the only man who has ever brought ser zephirin to his knees.

wet tongue, hot mouth, and he was already aching — so close so close — indeed, with only another low moan as warning, muffled by his fingers, francel at last hits his limit, coming quite suddenly inside zephirin's luscious lips.]

[ Ser Zephirin the Just, paragon of virtue, remains on his knees before young Father Joacin, meticulous as ever as he swallows cleanly until Francel is emptied, softened again. This, too, is a familiar rite in their intimacy, rooted in their earliest stolen moments of falling into sin together, years ago, but Zephirin relishes his conquest each time. His own pleasure mounts with Francel's; nevertheless, intent on seeing his plans through to the end, he only smiles serenely when he relinquishes Francel's cock to press a kiss to one quivering thigh, then the other. ]

Have I earned absolution, Father Joacin?

[ Rising to his feet, Zephirin murmurs his question into Francel's ear once more, mouth warmer for Francel's generous blessing. Like as not, Francel's knees yet threaten to buckle; his Temple Knight supports his weight comfortably, holding him close.

Neatly, Zephirin buries himself within Francel again, and it is enough to drive deep into that welcoming heat but once, to feel the tremors coursing through Francel's body ere they subside. A tighter grip on Francel's waist heralds what Francel undoubtedly knows to expect. Zephirin fulfills his Joacin's sinful fantasy, filling him until they are sated — for the nonce. ]

[zephirin swallows him down, his mouth rich and intensely satisfying, and then he thrusts inside francel again — once, no more. warmth floods father joacin in ways wholly unbecoming of a man of the cloth, and francel worships zephirin, not halone.

the end result is that — though francel pants and gasps for breath as if they had never stopped, and zephirin is plunged deep inside of him, and there is nothing different about the outcome of the knight's having stopped partway through — francel himself is not quite satisfied. his ecstasy was attained, yes, but he did not reach pleasure's zenith, and all in all it would have felt so much better if zephirin hadn't stopped. he pouts up at zephirin as he tries to catch his breath.]

...I... I grant you an indulgence, but no more!

[then again, even francel's dissatisfaction is somehow satisfying to witness...]

You'll make this up to me later...

[ Francel's pout is not unappealing, as much as Zephirin desires to see his beloved suitably rewarded here and now, and the knight leans back in for a kiss left at one corner of Francel's plush mouth while their breaths slowly grow steadier, quieter. He brushes a tendril of Francel's hair into place. ]

I fully intend to... This shall be but a prelude.

[ A gift to see Francel's efforts repaid is a challenge which Zephirin readily accepts, and again he breathes his vow made against the blade of the young priest's ear. Drawing away, he lowers himself to his knees a third time, now to restore Francel's attire to its former neatness. He conceals Francel's enticing form behind breeches fastened and the priest's cassock smoothed down; he plucks Father Joacin's klobuk from the floor, and sets it upon his head. ]

You invited me to your quarters, as I recall...?

[to the world, francel takes up the raiment of father joacin once more — that adorably innocent yet fundamentally unattainable young priest who is uncommonly beloved by all those who cross his path — and no one has to know that ser zephirin's seed is still sticky and hot inside of him, or that zephirin himself has been blessed by the good priest's warmth. a slight flush still graces francel's cheeks, and he is privately still annoyed that zephirin pulled out, but he cannot deny that he does feel quite satisfied.

it isn't enough, though. nothing is ever enough for him when it comes to his beloved knight.

he takes hold of zephirin's tassets and begins to dress his lover as well, restoring their appearances to normalcy even as he knows they will only take it all off again later. francel bites his plush lip, then nods, resolute.]

...Yes. My quarters... where we won't be disturbed. And I take it you have no other appointments at this time, Ser Zephirin?

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