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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
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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More importantly, it’s the perfect position to return the favor. It would be unsavory to leave Olivine hard in his pants like this. The sight of Olivine reaching for the sheets and presenting himself like a painting across high ceilings and vast echoes. Sunday can see past the obscenity of his cock peeking through the dampened lace, wrapping his flesh like a premium type of product. He’d make the Penacony VIPs have a run for their money with looks like this.
He glances up at him, bright across his cheeks and tests his tongue over his glistening tip. It’s warm, and the taste is unique— not what he would expect of licking someone’s penis like some lollipop. He tries to manifest the skill he observed Olivine perform on him, but it’s not the same.
His thoughts flow everywhere, savoring the precum and musk while still feeling too shy to fully open wide around him. He grabs the rest of him through the panties lace, barely stroking him down like he’s procrastinating the inevitable. Can you blame him for fearing for his jaw?
He tightens his lips around the very tip, swiping the blade of his tongue against his hole and down his slit, muffling a sound and psudo-bobbing. He looks up at him, breathing hot so air skirts over that raw cockhead. It feels odd, despite just cumming he can’t helps his senses begin to flush with heat again. And the more he gets to taste him, the faster his heart beats. )
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It's not hard to guess at Sunday's inexperience, and he knows intimately how watching someone give head... really, really doesn't prepare you to reciprocate by itself. Fingers drift over his hair, drawing the silvery locks back away from his face, and he exhales a shaky moan at the somewhat awkward grasp of the rest of him.]
Haah... don't... feel you have to do the same. [gentle, kind words tremble from still-swollen lips, toes pressed lightly into the floor.] and... don't rush yourself, if you want to try.
[It's all guidance compared to Sunday's imperious demands—suggestions to help without implying any expectation at all. Of course, the way Sunday's head shifts only brings more fluid to the tip of his cock, a shiver sliding down his spine at the heat of his breath. Unbeknownst to him, his greed is most definitely seeping into his pre, potent and hot while a pleasant ache coils in the pit of his stomach, transferred so easily with that contact.]
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Though inexperienced, the way he tests his lips around the bulbous tip is passionate and needy. Each time Olivine makes a sound, Sunday indulges himself further, opening wider around him and sucking in the head midway in his mouth. A moan gets muffled by it, swallowing saliva and fluid as it pearls out of it. His tongue learns to get greedy by it, rolling over it and tasting him while curving it hotly beneath the crown.
It helps that Olivine is brushing away longer strands of hair from getting in the way of his face. He pauses briefly, leaning back while gasping over it as saliva strings towards it. )
I want to.
( Even if the price is Olivine’s kind mercy. He rolls down the fabric down the girth of his cock, licking the saliva and precum off his lips, then leans in to plant a soft kiss below the slit. He sucks the area, testing to see what he likes, then he licks down it to his balls. He’s having to scoop them over the fabric, breathing harder as if he can’t control himself around him anymore. The thin, colder membrane protecting them is kind of salty on his tongue as he trails it between them. Sucking cock is harder than Olivine made it seem.
He can’t stand the hardness, though. He’s beginning to feel the room shift even more and perhaps his real life body is also suffering, miserably hard there as he lays on the beach.
He reaches down to get his cock out again, beating it almost instantly in his fist despite it already feeling raw and sucked to hell. He uses his free hand to try and sync the thrusting motions with Olivine’s (though to a lesser and unsuccessful degree), licking up it— treating Olivine to a full service. )
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... to that notion, Sunday is beautiful, leaning back to speak as simply as that. it flushes his cheeks a little more deeply pink, and he exhales alongside an understanding nod.]
Alright. Just... take your time.
[because the reality is yes, it's harder than he made it seem, at first. and he can control himself enough to avoid making it even more difficult for the other man. his hips twitch when careful fingers move fabric out of the way and his lips press just below his slit—but it's the sucking that definitely sees the most reaction from the green-haired man, fingertips pressing lightly against skin and his weight shifting just the slightest bit as that tongue follows his length down to his balls.
really, the halovian is doing more than fine at his efforts based on Olivine's reactions. everything feels heady and light, his mind as hazy as his gaze, lashes falling closed for a moment to just enjoy the sensation of tongue and fingers on him.]
You can—haah—squeeze a little tighter... [his voice hitches as Sunday works his hands over them both, almost wishing they were pressed together. thoughts for another time, that. he's already so close it wouldn't matter much.] God, your tongue is so—soft... I won't... last very long.
[it's a whine on his lips, fingers just slowly petting through his hair. giving any kind of guidance is harder than he expected when his whole body wants to just dive into every sensation with pure greed.]
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So he squeezes harder, twisting his flesh between every languid stroke from the base to the rim of his lips. Clenching it as much as Olivine's is willing to allow, letting saliva seep between his fingers and from the sides of his mouth. It's much easier giving him the proper attention with his dominant hand, jerking him roughly as he muffles moans against the tip, abandoning his own erection so he can tend gently to his ballsack, begging for his release, hungry for anything else he can offer. Sunday glances up at him, cheeks hollowed out while he sucks and swallows saliva or any of his precum. The more he tastes him, the hungrier he becomes. Desperate, even, to the point he refuses to release him from his mouth until he gets what he wants. )
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The other will receive no shortage of salty-sweet pre, especially with his hand twisting and squeezing firmly against engorged flesh.]
Nngh... that's it... I—haauh—
[that little noise is earned when Sunday's hand teases his sack, torso pitching forward just so. It's intense, almost dizzying with how sensitive this dream seems to have him. Tongue slipping between his lips to facilitate his panting moans, his fingers tangle more firmly in the other's hair as he ceases to even pull briefly away from the head of his cock.
It's not long, as he suggested. A hiss of Sunday's name, a sharp whine he may or may not register as a warning, and then—hot spend flows from his slit, pouring over that tongue and filling his mouth, balls tight with every pulse. his instinct is to push the other man's head back so that he doesn't choke—but he holds off on that to let Sunday decide. It's a lot for his first blowjob, even compared to normal honestly.
And when he's finally spent, legs trembling faintly, Olivine's attention turns to checking in on him, gaze still shimmery and hazy but gently concerned.]
Haah... nngh... how are you feeling? Not too sore?
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( He refuses to make outwardly sounds against his cock, so he swallows the struggle instead and nearly chokes. One more push and he could snort his hot bit of precum. The taste of it isn't as bad as he expects, either, and something about Olivine's sounds mixing into the dew of this room and their actions only makes Sunday savor him like it's the last meal of his life. He pops the head out of his lips with a wet, loud pop, and opens wide around him again so he can catch any excess of it, moaning deeply as the warm trickling coats the back of his tongue.
His gaze rises towards him, watery from the soreness and tension accumulated in his jaw, but he's not giving up until it's all said and done. He pushes towards him when Olivine tries to guide him back by his hair and the slight tug also sends a ripple of pleasure down Sunday's cock. )
Oli...vine.
( He gasps roughly, stroking him like so with the tip resting just over his tongue. Seeing Olivine squirm and tense because of his actions fuels his dormant power trip, it gives him more drive to keep controlling how Olivine feels in his mouth. As his cock stills and twitches, painting his tongue and throat thick and white, Sunday sucks him even harder. His cheeks are perfectly hollowed as he bobs his head down to drink it, but that's probably where his fault lies. He tries breathing as he's pumping Olivine from his orgasm and, well, inhales at the worst time. He pulls back in a fit of coughs, covering his mouth to preserve some dignity in front of him as his eyes glaze with involuntary, air-deprived tears. Cum drips from his lips and chin as he glances up at him, and then his beautiful cock. )
I'm ... Fine. Hmgh!
( He's quick to lean back in, clearing his throat before licking it from tip to base, he licks his balls and kisses up every inch to clean him. )
🎀
Just like he has no qualms giving him everything, his dick twitching with every pulse of orgasm. Not the most intense he's had, but certainly up there—and it's almost a second thought that he realises Sunday must need to breathe soon—]
Nnnh—you'll want to slow down at first—
[too late. Olivine winces on his behalf as the halovian leans back to cough. Gentle fingers swipe away some of the tears built up at the corner of his eyes.]
Haah... ah... let me take care of you, too...
[He's not going to refuse the cleaning up by any means. But in the twilight moments of this dream, as the flickering haze draws up to engulf them both back to the land of the living, the priest wants to ensure every moment is as enjoyable as the last.]