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massochism) wrote2023-12-22 02:50 pm
Inbox - Golden Peacock
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25 / male / gay / 3♦
Details
Hello, my name is Olivine. I'm a priest of the God of Klein, and I enjoy helping others in my free time. I'm also a healer, so if you ever find yourself in need, please don't hesitate to seek me out for assistance or conversation or both.
I like to think myself quite easy to get along with, and I'm happy to make friends and acquaintances. I've been told I can be a little too optimistic sometimes, but I can't really help it. Ah, and I've been working on myself of late to become more self-confident, with the help of others around me.
For the moment, I'm just looking to make connections. If I can, I'd also like to find something to do with myself—I have experience with several creative endeavours.
I may not be able to offer much now, but I hope to become more helpful in the future. Please bear with me in the interim.
As I mentioned before, I'm a healer and a priest. I also know a fair bit of magic, at least how it works in my own world. On top of that, I enjoy painting and writing.
I have a penchant for trying new things, even when they may seem strange. I'm quite... resilient, when it comes to that.
Oh, I don't know. I like a lot of fantasy books, especially ones with intrigue and romance in them, as well as tomes and history books. I also quite enjoy church music, though... I suppose I just like music in general. Things that are pleasant to listen to and soothe the heart.
I haven't gotten a chance to experience much in the way of food, personally. I do love home-cooked meals and fresh breads, things that are flavourful and comforting.
Well... I think my ideal partner would be someone strong-willed, confident, and warm-hearted. Someone kind and understanding, who can accept me as I am.
Mm... and it wouldn't hurt if he was someone playful and a bit rough. I like it when I'm taken by surprise, in all senses of the word, by someone I trust. Of course... it's also best if they can handle a little playfulness in return.
WINE
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
CLOWNS
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
BATH
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
PIRATES
.05 TITS OR ASS
TITS
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
TEA
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
SWEET
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
SUMMER
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
LACE
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
ROUGH SEX
ENFJ-T
no subject
At the very least, he's doing less of hiding those feelings than... well, as mentioned: essence is weird. He's used to the way it can resonate and compound between individuals, and the last thing he wants to do is push him into the same dizzy-hot state Olivine is (often) in.]
No... not any traditional medicine, anyway. [a mild way to put it.] It wouldn't be the first time that an ailment or affliction required... intimacy to cure it.
[It's a familiar propriety. But Sunday's question earns a blink, followed by a soft laugh. He's misrepresented it, hasn't he?]
It isn't that I think the requests would be "bad," Mister Sunday. [some of them might be, coming out of nowhere.] It's simply that I would rather have had a normal date before making any assumptions.
[moreover though—his expression turns a little more concerned then, hand rising to touch his forehead with the back of it, just in case he's properly feverish. When there is none:]
Not too warm... forgive me for asking so bluntly, but are you... unused to arousal? If your heart is racing with no other symptoms, that... seems the most likely culprit.
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Thanks. I was gonna link it but I’m on my phoneIntimacy.
( That is more or less the difficult aspect of this so called game. Sunday never had the chance to explore his preferences let alone have a proper childhood, so growing into adulthood only meant serving his people. It meant to solidify his belief that only he could save them. Sex, or any sort of intimacy never had room in his purpose.
He’s not frigid, though. No, no. Olivine is right, and perhaps Sunday was trying to play off the arousal. It’s difficult to ignore when he feels his cock fill slightly in his pants. This is what a proper man made for leadership exhibits when he, too, deems the situation too informal. He wears his poker face well. )
We’re far from the confines of a normal date at this point— or in fact, ever since we woke up in this realm. Nothing has been normal.
That being said, I do appreciate your courtesy. You are truly a fine man, knowing how to navigate proper etiquette. How I feel shouldn’t give you any reason to be concerned.
( He offers a glance and a faint smile, though his gaze does appear detached in a way. Even now, he still suffers on his own. )
More importantly: Are you sure you’ll be alright?
Have any other memories stirred inside you?
( He rather avoid talking about his personal experience with sex, see how easy he misdirects the attention? Yet he very much cares about being the one getting an answer out of Olivine. Sunday can be quite selfish, but he also doesn’t hide the way his body speaks for him. Though he ignores his throbbing cock, he does little to cover it with his wrist or hand, letting it show its outline through the fabric of his trunks. )
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god, a mood. So many shortcutsThey're more alike than they know, in that. Men raised to serve their people, to be nothing more, to want nothing more. It will be a good topic eventually, probably.
But for now, every non-answer gives Olivine all the information he needs. He'd have done the same thing, a couple of years ago. Dismissed his own discomforts with harmless little lies to take care of them alone.]
I'm reasonably sure most people would worry that I wasn't myself if how others felt ceased being concerning to me. [wryly spoken. ] ... to answer your earlier question more properly though, I imagine the fact that we're in my personal room can answer how "bad" my requests could be.
[is it misdirection if he earnestly wants to know? Probably. Olivine's gaze drifts as he considers how to word his answer.]
I'll be fine; my essence is stable. My memories... ah. They've been there since we stepped inside, yes. I spent a fair amount of my life in this place, after all.
[indeed, there's no shortage of memories stirred up in his soul—most of them inappropriate, and many of them colored with a searing pain and subsequent calm, and tinged with frustration bordering on hatred.
Quiet hiding places that conceal all but the sounds of ecstacy. Here, beset by arousal and struggling to keep quiet whenever a noise rose beyond the door. The dimly lit basement where dozens of students engaged in a whole-ass orgy, and the urge to join it besides. Less guiltily, kneeling behind his teaching desk. Hands pulling up fabric to the thin, decorative ropes beneath. You're worth more than just your role.
... you needn't suffer alone here. If you'll allow it, I'd like to help you.
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Then we could help each other. I can become your distraction from your memories.
As far as assisting me, well, hah. I won’t fault you for waiting when it’s more appropriate. Unless you guiding me here is your way of offering yourself to me.
What would be most comfortable for you?
( The focus on him blends one thought and the next, and for a brief moment he’s flashes with that cowering body, he hears those filthy moans and sees limbs and bodies intertwining as one, obscene mass. Sunday thinks it’s the room feeding him these things, because he wouldn’t intrude someone’s willful mind otherwise.
He stands up so he’s in front of him, peering down with eyes that cut through air. )
I will not bestow any prejudice to any of your “bad” requests or wishes. We’re both here as a team, aren’t we?
How do you normally like to help others in this situation?
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A distraction would likely be helpful. But that wasn't my intention, no... I'm happy to give myself even without regard to this room.
[He doesn't have a proper answer to the question, at least not right away. Sunday rises to stand before him, gaze piercing through the veil of propriety to the depth of desire beneath.]
... that's dependent on my partner... [a quiet admittance, and a hand reaches up to gently brush the Halovian's cheek. Slowly, more than enough to pull away if he's uncomfortable with the contact.] I'm fairly adaptable, and I like seeing friends and acquaintances enjoying themselves.
Perhaps a little... exploration is in order. Especially in a place like this, with so few rules. So please... feel free to indulge yourself, Mister Sunday. I will adapt, and if I'm uncomfortable with anything, I'll make it clear for you.
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( He feels his ears tingle with a hot blush as soon as Olivine touches him. Every part of Sunday yearns for this type of affection and he’s unsure how to truly chase it. Flirting isn’t his forte, much less pursuing pleasure for the sake of it.
He blames this cursed place putting in all these ideas in his head. Though if he gave it proper thought he’d realize his ideas are his own, and he always has a choice, right?
Then again, choices here are also an illusion. He lifts Olivine’s chin with his fingers, tracing them up the ridges on his lips. Across them, seeking to insert them without being forceful about it. )
You should know to enjoy yourself as well, otherwise what’s the point?
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You have my thanks... though I would worry about being a bit much, I think.
[He's insatiable, and it's only gotten worse while he's been here. But the way Sunday moves is familiar too. Rigid and careful, trying to toe the line of propriety and desire.
Fingers lift his chin before grazing over soft lips, pausing patiently at the swell of them in their expectations. Skin shifts over the digits as he smiles again.]
I always enjoy myself... there's no need to worry about that.
[lashes droop as lips part proper, weight leaning forward to welcome those fingers between them. His tongue, deft and confident, traces the shape of them, piercing pressing briefly into the pad of one fingertip.]
that icon 100% loool
The shimmery piercing languidly making its way against the tip of his finger do offer his gaze to widen slightly. He's not expecting it, that's all, and he's fascinated by the added value. Sunday rolls his fingers around his tongue to seek it again, rubbing it before he delves two fingers deeper down his tongue. He's testing how far he could go or what type of treatment Olivine likes. The sight alone is enough to make him even more self-aware of his cock twitching in his pants. He swallows dryly. )
You haven't given me any impressions of being overbearing. I like your company thus far.
And, heh. You're the one worrying.
The benefit of being a bottom in a porn game lmao
Even if he doesn't see the way he priest's weight shifts, thighs squeezing together, it's pretty clear how welcome that abrupt motion is in the way his tongue moves. Soft lips suck at the digits besides, encouraging their explorations. He can't answer the accusation (it's true anyway, he always worries) nor clarify that he meant his insatiability, but there's no effort made to pull away.
Instead, he takes the halovian at his word, long fingers finding a thigh and following the gentle slope of it upward with light, kneading pressure. More encouragement, and an offer besides.]
Two bottoms of different flavors
But wouldn’t it be pretty if he did choke on something else?
His throat tightens with a knot thinking about it, and he languidly allowing that blissful suction to savor in his fingers. The pressure leaves his wings out and spiked with surprise- he’s beautiful from this angle, a true worshipers of sorts who aims to please.
Sunday’s legs twitch, feeling hotter between them as that hand slides higher towards a mound stiffening past the fabric. Sunday swears he feels the room tilt on its axis, heady.
So he guides Olivine’s hand further, it hurts passing over his cock but it’s a better usage of their time if he unbuckles him, no? )
I’m certain you don’t need me to give you orders.
Do you?
( That in itself is one, honestly. )
Truly such different flavors
A hand guides his own up to a buckle, and his words earn a soft affirmative—his gaze leaves a playful little offer there, though. He doesn't need to, but he can. There's no real wait for him to begin, though, and Olivine pushes back the instinct to touch himself in favor of finding that buckle and working it open with both hands. It's not the easiest task when he's still got fingers on his mouth, but he has no intention of letting go of teasing them until Sunday pulls away.
Once his buckle is loose and his trousers unbuttoned, delicate fingers trace over the curve of a hip. Slip beneath fabric to seek out his cock and stroke up the underside of it.]
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You’re quite good with your mouth.
( It’s a sweet, matter-of-fact praise. Surely the man has far more experience than Sunday, anyway. So his skill is probably justified. He breathes in deeper through his nose, feeling spiked nerves pump through him as soon as his cock is out and greeting those hands. The very tip of his head is still peeking through flesh, twitching and aching for actual attention.
He tries not to be embarrassed about it and he hides well behind his poise and demeanor, but yes. He’s a little shy, actually. He slides his fingers out of his mouth, leaving those lips with a catchy gloss of saliva. Would it be sinful to wipe his fingers on his hair? Because he’s doing it, running through tresses as he’s in the process to grab a fist full of it for better control. )
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then again, he's a submissive to an obscene degree, so that may just be him.
the sweet praise goes right to his head, and it's met with equally playful skill in turn—he's quite pleased, and quite happy to show off besides. it's a little less dedicated now that he's also stroking the halovian's cock, granted. thumb and forefinger curl to twist just under the head, confident but still curious, gauging his reactions to adjust as needed.
... and pausing briefly as fingers slide out of his mouth, string of saliva snapping as they rise to settle into his hair and grip firmly at a fist full of it.]
Ha—ah... I do like... using it, after all.
[his voice is pleasantly strained as he speaks, husky and warm. bright eyes remain on Sunday's face as his hand continues its firm strokes.]
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The voice of a Halovian is naturally ethereal, smooth to the ears of other humans and made to draw in an audience. It's quite the possession in the shoes of leadership. And he tilts up Olivine's head, pushing him closer to his cock. )
Any priest would from my experience, but you're not like them. You probably use your mouth for many things other than preaching.
( Was that backhanded??? A little, just little toxic things, ok? Sunday feels lightheaded, feeling a spasm deep within him that stems from his Suit. He sighs, tensing his cock more with the strokes. It's not enough. He wants those kind, husky lips. His other hand grabs hold of the one stroking him, guiding himself over to them so he can lightly trace the curve of his crown across his bottom lip. )
I'd like to see you use it, Olivine. Our lives might depend on it... given our circumstances.
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Not that he says that, or even has a chance. The sweet tinge of color on the halovian's cheeks, the urgency he can feel beneath deft fingers—all of it captures his attention deeply. Greedily, even. Weight presses him closer to the heady scent of that cock and it takes some control not to dip down immediately.
He really does enjoy this part.]
Haah... you'll have to tell me what you think...
[It might be backhanded, but Olivine is both used to being teased and into being observed, especially if he's trying to hide something. So, it's all fine. A hand grasps his own and guides that crown to his lips and he presses a remarkably sweet kiss to the sensitive flesh, green gaze turning upward to watch his face as Sunday speaks.]
... you don't need to excuse your wishes, Mister Sunday. I'm happy to serve.
[a sweet whisper, a promise before his tongue slips between those lips, the soft teal gem of its piercing teasing along his slit before his mouth wraps around the head. Cheeks hollow as he lowers down, slurping greedily while his tongue twists and laps up his taste.]
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That all depends on you, won't it?
( He says under his breath, low and deeper than usual - gritty. He helps his shorts wedge lower so his balls can also be freed between the parting of his zipper. He'd almost forgotten the paradise awaiting them outside this dream, and just like everything in the past: Sunday prefers it here. Safe in this bubble, in this building full of mental stimuli and Olivine's servitude.
His hips flinch the second he's taken deeper into that hot cavern, feeling every skillful move of his tongue lapping over his veins and silky flesh. Sunday swears he can see different colors flash across his eyes. Instead of arching away, he curls inward and takes hold of his hair using both hands, breathing hot. The slit is sensitive as all hell and he almost juts and thrusts - just give him sometime to adjust to the bliss and he might go insane. It would be quite the show, given how reserved he is, a sight for Olivine alone. )
Ah...
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delicate fingers move to help free his balls, hold protective and just a touch teasing. he can remember how sensitive he was his first time, so he's still careful—but there's nothing wrong with testing Sunday's enjoyment a little at a time. a soft squeeze at his balls, another rake of his tongue against his slit, all slow enough to let him work through the full range of what he's feeling. after all, Olivine actually really likes sucking dick, and having hands grasping his hair only encourages him.
a soft ah, and the priest looks up between long lashes, thumb pressing against the curve of his sack and rubbing little circles there. every act is meant to be encouraging, including the way he presses into Sunday's hands as an offering.
do what you like, I'll be fine.
to that end, he shifts to bob his head, swallowing before he eases the length down to the hilt, holding there for a few beats before gulping and lifting his head again.]
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Another whip of pleasure empties his train of thought whenever his tongue teases his slit again, but luckily he’s able to hold back a sound. His cheeks are burning, watching Olivine below suck and swallow every thickened inch. The tightness in his throat, velvety against his entire cock has him sighing in delight.
He maneuvers Olivine’s head sideways, surrendering the saint he thinks he is so he can delve deep in that tight throat again. The sensation of the piercing nub pressing to his underside is the kind of pressure he keeps wanting to rub up against his tongue, so he holds him in place and thrusts a few times. One hand slides down to caress the shape of his brow with his thumb, gasping already. He has so much stamina to work on, yes. )
You can keep touching me like that. It feels good.
( It’s not an exaggeration to say his balls have never been given this attention before, and he’s liking it more than he thought he would. )
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[bright eyes fall closed as Sunday maneuvers his head, letting the tip of his length press into his cheek before sliding back down his throat. it feels—invariably good, bringing someone else pleasure this way. more still to see the other man able to relax even in the tiniest measure, water shimmering hot in his eyes as he's held in place and made to take those thrusts.
not that it stops him from rubbing that pierced tongue right back against his underside, no. in fact it only seems to make the movements more enthusiastic, brows faintly furrowed in concentration as a soft thumb caresses the shape of one.
a breath exhaled from his nose is about as close as he can get to an acknowledgement of Sunday's words. his orders. the priest enjoys those, perhaps to an embarrassing degree. and it's even easier when he knows what it's doing to the taller man.
his thumb shifts, nail just barely, carefully grazing the tender flesh covering his balls. it's immediately soothed by the rub of soft skin, teasing pressure against the fingers he curls around the tense orbs.]
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A low grunt vibrates deep in his throat, feeling the whiplash of pleasure from the bottom of his sack to brief blindness behind his eyes, and he bucks for it.
His gaze is smoldering on Olivine’s lips stretching around his girth, stunning him with the allure past his eyelashes, spearing through him in a way he has never felt before.
It's impressive just how the heat of his tongue can still roll his underside when there's such little room in his oral cavity to begin with. )
I hope you don’t mind… This.
( That being slamming into the pits of his gullet like a madman, wings spiked as if he also uses them for some balance or as if he’s trying to take flight. It’s nonsense, all these sounds and pleasure. His tendons are whitened as he keeps him in place by holding onto his hair, feeling it strung and tugged roughly with every breaking thrust.
He feels saliva and precum drip on the floor below as it escapes from the sides of Olivine’s mouth between his erratic thrusting, most scandalous if this were a real place instead of a dream. He wonders if this would feel better in reality. )
Olivine… I can’t last much longer.
( The tender attention on his balls gets them to tighten for it as is every prickling hair on the back of his neck and his wings. Even the muscle around his taint tenses along with his asshole. It’s a warning that comes with emptiness backing it, whispered with urgency. )
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that takes only a few heartbeats before the unspoken question is answered. abruptly, fingers curl tight in his hair and he gives a choked noise as his face meets those hips, body twitching and jolting every time the flared head shoves into his throat. harsh thrusts pull tears to his eyes, blinked back or absently left to fall as he dutifully takes every motion. is it easier in the dream? he doesn't really know, considering how much he enjoys this anyway—but maybe he feels a little less lightheaded than usual.
well, it doesn't matter either way. Sunday gives that warning in such a sweet, afflicted voice and his gaze turns upward again in acknowledgement. fingers squeeze again in what just might be assent, knuckles grazing against his taint as he urges him to his peak. he wants it all so fucking desperately, after all—even without touching himself Olivine is practically ready to blow. getting facefucked so roughly really does something to him, evidently.]
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Every second is gripping him closer, tightening every muscle in need of more of Olivine’s touch.
His taint tenses, too, face entirely flushed as he meets the gaze of his companion. Little things ever make Sunday stammer, yet Olivine’s sultriness meeting with him as he devours him eagerly truly shake him to his core.
His cock twitches, swells and hardens as every thought ebbs away from him. The hot flashes of pure pleasure overtake him and he pushes into deep in his throat so no drop gets wasted. A moan ripples outward and he holds on to his hair for dear life, bucking shallowly as white floods down and feeds him. Just a bit longer, he tries to coach himself as he pants. )
Olivine—!
( He rolls his hips back while softening, leaving a trail of pale whiteness to latch onto that bottom lip. If it wasn’t for his experience this might get him hard again. The visual! His tears, his servitude… his design to suck cock like an absolute whore. Sunday feels lightheaded. )
Are you… ( gasping ) alright?
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After all, what feels good from having your dick sucked is pretty universal.
Finally though, he can feel Sunday cresting that space. Pleasure ripples through the priest too, particularly as firm hands pull him face-first into the warm scent of his hips. Lashes flutter and he's quick to gulp, throat squeezing around the hot length buried in it and greedily coaxing out every ounce he can.
It's the sound of his name that pushes Olivine over the edge, punctuating every other source of pleasure. Hot spend soaks fabric, the tented bulge already made a little transparent from his pre up to this point.
Then the halovian rocks his hips back, and Olivine lets his lips hang open to pant softly. White paints the soft blue crystal of the tongue ring even paler, and his smile is lazy and crooked at the question.]
Mmhmm. [another swallow, this one following the shift of his tongue over swollen lips to pick up the bulk of the remaining mess.] You taste... amazing.
[His voice is husky and a little breathy, throat nicely stretched as it has been.]
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Even his knees feel like they could cave any second, seeing just how tightly he had been swallowed that even the flesh on his cock seems blemished, much more pinker than his usual paleness.
His cock twitches a little as he shamelessly lets it hang in front of Olivine. He’s just trying to gather his bearings again, and rewards him with brushing back his hair and caressing the side of his cheek. The room seems to react to their moment, tilting and fogging, but Sunday tries to keep himself steady here.
He awkwardly stuffs his limp cock back in his pants, shivering, though his gaze is hardening elsewhere. Down and between Olivine’s thighs. It’s not too late, is it? Or will the mechanism of the dream pull them away into reality? He feels less… crazy. )
Stay where you are.
( He orders, though airy, it’s a sharp command nonetheless. He can trust Olivine to be a good boy and do as he says. Sunday carefully lowers himself onto his knees, hands seeking out the button to undo the fabric in his way. )
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it's good they're in his room, probably, settled on floor and bed—minimising the hazy tilt of the world around them is always preferable, after all. that's part of why he's content to keep his eyes closed until Sunday moves to tuck himself back into his pants, peering up with pleasure-glazed eyes as the other's drift downward. to the mess between his legs, length still contained, still hard.]
Ah—alright.
[it does make it a touch awkward, perhaps, the way they're positioned. a small movement made to offer the taller man more space, and his hands come to rest curled against the sheets. modestly sized as he is, the relief as that button pops open and eases the pressure on his cock is more than enough to pull a soft groan from him. more still with the zipper, leaving just his soaked panties beneath, sticking slightly to the heated flesh just threatening to poke free.]
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🎀