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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[haillenarte]

[perhaps the young acolyte whom they pass remarks to himself that father joacin and ser zephirin are not unlike young lovers he has seen in the jeweled crozier; perhaps the meek older priest who watches them as they go by knows them for what they are, but dares not say it aloud, for he too took a knight as his lover once, long ago.

in any event, no one dares to breach the deadbolt of francel's chambers once it is drawn across his door, sealing him and his zephirin inside — and as soon as they are safe, ensconced within their walls, francel relaxes, melting into the temple knight commander's warm embrace. he continues sulking, however, as mildly affronted as a cat whose trodden tail yet aches.]

That depends, Ser Zephirin. How do you plan to yet make amends?

[valhourdin]

Pray permit me to show you.

[ A thorough demonstration, so Zephirin hopes, will coax the storm clouds gathered over Francel's mood into dispersing — the boy's preparations have not gone to waste, and they will not go unrewarded.

Proceeding by bearing Francel to the bed, Zephirin lays the young priest atop the sheets as Francel's treasured toy rabbit looks on. He moves with utmost care, as though handling something both precious and fragile — and while Francel is not made of glass, he is precious.

They will recover ere long, knowing that what they did was far from enough, but Zephirin takes his time, kneeling at the foot of the bed to remove Francel's boots first. ]

Our time together was too brief, earlier... You are right to deny me your grace.

[haillenarte]

[francel hums in his bed, reaching out with one hand to turn his beloved toy rabbit on its side towards the wall (and thereby preserve its charming innocence while it presumably takes a nap). he turns his hips as zephirin removes his boots, his body curving attractively; the soft lines of his body become plainly visible through the folds of his modest robe. his toes curl as his feet are bared.]

Too brief indeed. But we have all the time in the world now...

[valhourdin]

[ For the next bell or two, at least, they will have all the time in the world, nothing to mind save the world contained within Francel's chambers.

Zephirin's fingers brush against the pads of Francel's toes, perhaps near hinting at this chocobo went to the market, this chocobo stayed home, but they move on, far higher, unfastening the front of Francel's cassock to slip the garment from the young priest's shoulders, letting it glide onto the sheets beneath him, where its folds frame Francel's body. The mattress sinks with the weight of Zephirin's armour as the knight leans over Francel, trailing fresh kisses from Francel's earlobe to the slope of one creamy shoulder.

Reaching Francel's delicate collarbones, Zephirin pauses, gazing down at his beloved; only his hands drift lower, lower, down Francel's sides to his hips. ]

...In truth, I would partake of you again and again in that time, and I shall dream of you when we are malms apart.

[haillenarte]

[splayed out like this, with his cassock pinned beneath him and his long, smooth limbs open to zephirin's touches and bites and kisses, francel looks like a blessing given form. he shifts slightly as zephirin leans over him; his lips part, all buttery softness and glossy temptation. father joacin is a gift from the gods, a prize that zephirin has won after many nights of service.

some would call their union unholy, a betrayal of francel's vows — and yet, the young priest seems positively divine as he smiles and reaches up to unbuckle zephirin's pauldrons from his breastplate.]

Don't dream too fervently, my love... we wouldn't want you to have to wash your breeches in the morning.

[valhourdin]

[ Another smile bestowed upon him at last, Zephirin's expression softens, and Francel's teasing words elicit a chuckle, low and warm and fond. Father Joacin's supposed purity remains intact even after his tryst to befoul a sacred space, his cassock and his breeches both spared a single damning stain — but here in the privacy of his chambers, his body is not yet bared from the waist down. His breeches might soon be at risk.

Zephirin's fingertips press into Francel's hips, appreciative, and caress him through the fine fabric encasing his legs, no more than that just yet, despite the knight's own wicked wants already confessed. ]

Do you speak from experience, Father Joacin?

[ Something teasing plays about Zephirin's lips in turn. Keeping still for Francel to free him from the first few pieces of his armour within reach, he merely dips down to rub the tips of their noses together. ]

[haillenarte]

And what if I do?

[between his legs, within his own breeches, francel swears that he can still feel zephirin's sticky warmth; his insides squirm with need the moment he even thinks about it. it's tempting to simply close his eyes, lose himself in those gentle fingers stroking him through his trousers and undergarments, but francel reminds himself that he has a task to finish. he tips his head up and smiles as their noses touch, but all the while, francel removes one of zephirin's pauldrons and gently sets it on the floor beside the bed.]

What if I dream of you every evening when you are gone? And in the mornings, the Fury alone witnesses my shame...

[valhourdin]

Then I long to hasten to your side ere you find yourself forced to wash your breeches each morning.

[ Answering with nary a moment's hesitation, Zephirin punctuates his reply turned huskier with a kiss for Francel's nose.

The young priest's remaining garments are easily removed, and already, his Temple Knight sets about loosening the ties of his breeches; by contrast, Zephirin's knightly uniform becomes cumbersome now, akin to a torture device to separate them. One pauldron gone leaves the other, and every piece yet to follow, truly no small obstacle to overcome.

Zephirin's fingers focus on Francel alone. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin's fingers do not work fast enough for francel's liking, it seems. the young priest waits patiently enough for a time, sweeping his shirt and the cassock beneath him to the floor so as to remove all obstacles in the way of their passion, but when zephirin starts to work on his breeches, francel groans and sits up. ever the self-sacrificial fool as always, he grumbles to himself — the knight cannot be comfortable sitting on the bed in his armor like this, yet he insists on undressing francel first. the fool.

with an obvious pout on his face, francel sets about removing his pauldrons, his tassets. both are set onto the floor; he huffs beneath his breath as he tries to remove zephirin's breastplate.]

...Worry about yourself first... when you have all these layers...

[valhourdin]

[ For Francel's chiding, Zephirin's lips curve anew. His fingers pause upon the waistband of his lover's breeches, his plans interrupted — not unpleasantly — as Francel takes matters into his own hands. A moment passes before he acquiesces, aiding Francel's resolute fingers in unbuckling the straps of his breastplate, setting it down with the rest of their things once their efforts have pried it loose. ]

Far too many, if I am expected to shed each one ere you will allow me close.

[ A commander's curse. Mercifully, his vambraces and gauntlets pose little difficulty, his sabatons less when his arms are freed. Mail-clad for the nonce, tunic and breeches beneath, Zephirin nears Francel to claim one more kiss. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel allows this kiss, but a telling greed overtakes him, and he cradles zephirin's jaw between his hands as he turns the commander's chaste, loving kiss greedy and lustful. father joacin, spiritual guide to the innocent and virtuous, seems unspeakably sinful as he claims zephirin's lips again and again. he parts momentarily to pant for breath — then he dives in once more, kissing ravenously.

at last, at last, he is too breathless to keep going, and he parts with a desperate gasp. his hands run over zephirin's chain mail, and a frustrated little growl emerges from his throat.]

...I need you... only in cloth.

[he shivers, then swallows.]

I want to kiss you through your breeches until you're hard against my lips... and we can't do that if you're dressed for battle, now can we?

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's hungry kisses spur Zephirin to respond in kind, and leave the both of them breathing a ragged rhythm, lips flushed redder. For an instant, as the young priest's lovely hands roam across the tightly interwoven links of mail forming yet another barrier left to pass, his greedy impatience is reflected back at him. His Temple Knight's eyes rest on him, utterly focused on his beloved as his fingers were.

Fortunately, said fingers now endeavour to strip away Zephirin's chain mail, and be quick about it, and within moments — at long last — the knight is dressed for battle no longer, only in cloth before his Joacin. He reaches for Francel, palms framing his face. ]

Kiss me, then.

[haillenarte]

[with a positively devilish smirk that has nothing of innocence in it, francel turns his head and takes zephirin's hands in his own, kissing the knight's palms, one after the other. he tips his head back some ilms, then kisses zephirin's wrists. then, at last, he dips his head low.

sprawled out on the bed, nearly naked save for his undergarments, francel presses his chest against the mattress, his palms upon the sheets. he kisses zephirin through the fabric of his breeches as promised, again and again, feeling the warmth and the weight of zephirin's cock against his lips. kisses prove not enough; soon, the young priest is mouthing up and down his lover's shaft, all sin and sensation pleasantly — if frustratingly — muffled through zephirin's clothes.]

Gods... [father joacin murmurs a heathen's prayer, not to the fury, or even to the twelve, but simply to gods, in general.] You have the perfect shape...

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's tantalizing kisses tingle upon Zephirin's skin with their imagined imprint even as the knight's fingers slide into glossy golden hair, settling at the back of Francel's head, encouraging his eager touches. His body knows them well, craves them. He has no intention of surrendering too soon, but the heat of Francel's mouth, so very close, promising, sends pleasure unfurling along every nerve, pressure coiling within his core.

Zephirin hums his approval low in his throat, passing his palms over Francel's hair, his thumbs across the nape of his neck. He invites him closer, his sinfully beguiling Joacin, almost an unashamed request for more. ]

For your perfect mouth?

[ Between breaths, he echoes that prayer. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel moans low and throaty, something like desperation laced in the edges of his voice as zephirin's hands settle at his neck. the pleasant weight makes him feel as though he is doing something far more sinful than merely kissing the commander through his breeches, and suddenly, he decides he would rather do that instead.

he doesn't hasten to make contact with zephirin's skin, though — sex is a game, the sweetness and the rhythm of it, and with so much time spent apart, francel would rather draw their lovemaking out rather than hurry to its end. with a happy sigh, he unlaces the front of zephirin's breeches; he is somewhat rough when he pulls them down to the man's thighs, but now he can kiss his knight through the thinner fabric of just his undergarments, bringing him that much closer to the taste of zephirin's cock.]

If it is perfect, then it exists only for your pleasure... and to sing your praises...

[valhourdin]

[ Father Joacin, the Vault's house musician of sorts, composes the beginnings of a hymn meant for no ears but his and Zephirin's; his moan plucks at the strings of Zephirin's heart, quickens its tempo. Once more, Zephirin hums along, but now the sound slips towards a pleased sigh of his own as Francel's clever fingers undo his laces and deftly draw his breeches downward. Cool air brushes its touch across his thighs, and he feels Francel's warmth all the more keenly. His body stirs against it with a palpable twitch, seeking still more, as though it was so starved in Francel's absence that a prelude did little besides whetting its appetite.

In an effort to keep himself in check and stave off another premature end, Zephirin turns his concentration toward combing his fingers through Francel's hair, smoothing the strands down around the young priest's ears. ]

You accomplish both with such ease, even at once... But if I should pursue your pleasure?

[haillenarte]

[the touches to his ears nearly tip his mind toward blank pleasure — for a moment, his eyes glaze over, half-lidded, as his lips part ever so slightly against the bulge in zephirin's underwear — but francel takes a deep breath, reminding himself that he has a job to complete. he shakes his head.]

If you would pleasure me, then do whatever you wish to me. I am yours, sweet Zephirin — take me any way you want.

[greedily, the young priest nudges zephirin's undergarments down his thighs as well, then takes the knight's deliciously engorged cock into his mouth, careful to apply pressure with his lips as he bobs and sucks. his eyes flutter closed; a delighted, muffled moan emerges from his throat, tickling and teasing zephirin's core.]

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's kisses, even through layers of cloth, have indeed achieved his goal: Zephirin is hard against his lips, heavy and hot upon his tongue. Just behind Francel's ears, the knight's fingers tremble as a pleasurable shudder seizes his frame, a sharply gasped breath passing his own parted lips, close on the heels of Francel's second moan to slip free. Too much of this, and Francel will rob him of his senses for a time, his beloved not yet repaid. ]

Inside you— [ Lashes lowered, Zephirin smooths the strain out of his voice as best he can, answering Francel's earlier pleas. ] Let this be but the beginning...

[ As if to delay Francel's skillful mouth, Zephirin's fingers stroke the young priest's ears in earnest, taking each blade between them, thumbs against his earlobes. ]

[haillenarte]

[francel blows zephirin so dutifully that there can be no doubt that he is pursuing the knight's pleasure, that he means to rob zephirin of his senses again and again and again with no thought of repayment... but then the fingers at his ears rub him into such pleasant relaxation that he loses the pace of his breathing and he has to release zephirin from the wet heat of his mouth. francel whimpers and twitches, lolling his head against zephirin's thigh. his golden hair fans out against zephirin's skin.]

Nnngh, that... that's n-not fair...

[it's lovely to see the dreamy need that passes over his face as his lashes flutter closed. silently, he gasps zephirin's name beneath his breath.]

[valhourdin]

[ Zephirin's body protests, its unfolding bliss so cruelly wrenched away, but his mind is clearer, and he brushes his knuckles against Francel's nearest ear, drinking his fill of the boy's hazy expression. He has employed most devious a tactic to gain the upper hand — no more so than Francel's own, however. ]

Is it fair to give me so much?

[ It brings Francel pleasure to please him, to pleasure him, this he knows well, but young Father Joacin expressed distinct desires himself, and those went unfulfilled.

Seemingly relenting, Zephirin's hands cease their touches, trailing to Francel's chin instead, and then his shoulders, gentle but purposeful as they bid him to lie back again. Francel is the one who ought be scolded now, his undergarments a final barrier. Zephirin's right hand slides still lower, Francel's hip made a temporary stop. ]

[haillenarte]

Nnn... I take even when I give, Zephirin...

[francel pouts with a demureness that has not changed since he was a young seminarian of only seventeen summers, but he lies back when zephirin coaxes him into doing so, and there is a glint of anticipation in his eyes as he gazes curiously at zephirin's face — familiar to him by now, but still handsome, still perfect as a dream. the young priest strokes one lock of zephirin's hair into place beside his ear.

once again, it seems somehow unreal that he — youngest son of house haillenarte, least accomplished — should have such an impossibly handsome man for a lover. his pulse quickens as he considers the myriad ways zephirin might compensate him for his service.]

...What is it that you plan to do with me?

[valhourdin]

[ Francel's apparent sulking earns him Zephirin's surrender of a different sort: the knight leans down briefly to kiss his pout. He kisses Francel's palm, too, and the pulse in his wrist as his fingers caress Francel through that final barrier of his smallclothes. At last, they hook around the garment's waistband, and ease it from Francel's hips, down towards his knees.

Zephirin offers his answer, echoing Francel's sins confessed: ]

I would conquer you, my love. [ The knight's palms rest against his lover's thighs, warm, gently spreading Francel's long legs wider. ] I would use you wildly, fill your sacred vessel with all that I have to give. I will not leave this place ere your body is sated by mine.

[ He cannot know Francel's thoughts not shared aloud, the boy's wonderment, but the look he wears refutes them. Francel has claimed Zephirin's heart, held it securely all these years, and none of it is a dream from which they will wake, alone in a cathedral's pews. ]

[haillenarte]

[zephirin promises francel his own oaths, sworn in reverse, and the young priest sighs blissfully as he listens to them, to the warm timbre of zephirin's voice, promising him salvation. eager for more, he spreads his legs and allows zephirin's hands to guide him; his head lolls lazily against his pillow as he nods toward his bedside drawer with its familiar bottle of prayer-oil. father joacin may have prepared himself in earnest, but it would not hurt to treat him still more tenderly.

his zephirin's eyes speak of hunger, of rapturous desire. of burning loyalty, the likes of which no other man could ever promise him.]

Hurry, then — let me feel you. Carve your body into my senses. I ache for it...

[valhourdin]

[ With another kiss, this one pressed to the tip of Francel's ear, Zephirin draws away just enough to pull the drawer open and retrieve the small bottle within. Francel will be pliant after his preparations and the confessional prelude, and so his Temple Knight concentrates his efforts on readying himself to make certain of his lover's comfort. A liberal coating of oil turns his length slick; for Francel's ears, he pours another handful of drops onto his free palm to rub between his fingertips. ]

My Joacin...

[ Breathing out the familiar, intimate sounds of the name, fingers tracing Francel's right ear, Zephirin makes haste to shorten their aching. Easily, he enters Francel once more, deep and still deeper, and sets a steady pace anew. He leans in, once again, to kiss Francel's plush, perfect, sullied mouth. ]

[haillenarte]

Oh — mmngh — nnnnnaaaah...

[a fresh cry spills out from francel's mouth — his voice is sweet, utterly unrestrained by any need to keep quiet, and when zephirin has sheathed to the hilt inside of him, the young priest whimpers rapturously, hands fisted in his sheets. so good, so good — he can think of nothing more pure and beautiful than how full and tight his zephirin makes him feel, and the fact that his soft moans soon dip into guttural gasping is proof of it. the slick fingers over his ear blow all coherent thought from his mind; he cocks his hips upward into the pressure, demanding more more more with every shaky jerk of his body, and when zephirin kisses him, his heart sings of the heavens. he kisses back, ferociously, weakly, full of passion, but too full with pleasure to do a proper job of it.]

Zephi — ah, mmgh — nnnnhah, ah, more...