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gluttoning) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
altimit2023-10-06 03:51 pm
gluttoning) wrote in altimit2023-10-06 03:51 pm
[Closed] misteaks' mistakes - the sequel (catchall)
Who: Mr_Misteaks and also some other people
What: In person catchall + dungeon runs
When: October thru November
Where: various, please note in headers
Content Warnings: nsfw, ED discussion Please cw in headers.
[overflow and log space for October and November]
What: In person catchall + dungeon runs
When: October thru November
Where: various, please note in headers
Content Warnings: nsfw, ED discussion Please cw in headers.
[overflow and log space for October and November]
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Barrett takes his hand in his, and Mithrun slips the hand at Barrett's hair over the hand hesitant at his thigh, and gently presses it in as he shifts just a little closer. You can pull him close. At least - when they get to wherever this "somewhere nicer" is. )
... As long as you're still hungry when we get there.
( Until then, he's got meat skewers, chicken bites, and cream puffs in his inventory... though he may not necessarily tell Barrett to put the food away once they get there. )
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Curiosity drives right alongside hunger. The temptation to just stay put is so, so strong. But the tease, for both of them, remains a tease, and the touch retreats in favor of pushing himself up off the ledge and to his feet, helping Morgan along with him.
Tired excitement and deep affection has him leaning forward to press another kiss - softer, more chaste, a punctuation to his temple more than a journey against his lips. Both his hands lead Morgan now in a gentle pull, hand in hand. Not wanting the touch to stop.
He's here. He wants to stay.
That touch migrates as little as possible in the walk from gate to guild, freeing for the handheld amounts of meat and pastry that he scarfs down or feeds to Morgan like a baby bird. He's not sure how he can feel so ravenous, and yet... somehow, the food itself doesn't scratch the itch. It's not the taste he wants, even though his stomach happily takes it regardless.
Once they've made it into the guild proper, Barrett leads them off to the private rooms, unlocking his own door and keeping it held open with his back, nodding for Morgan to enter if he wants.
The armor covered in runes is gone, as is the lily-guilded spear. The room has changed very little other than that, outside some odd scribblings of numbers and dates pinned up in a corner of the room and a crude drawing of a large group of people set up near his mirror.]
I guess it's been a while since I brought you in here, right?
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Though it's only a moment, he feels Barrett's touch even after it leaves his thigh. He hadn't thought anything of this skin - Barrett had complimented it, though he isn't sure what made this that much different than his other skins besides the aesthetic of each - but he thinks he might like it a little more, too.
Though some part of him would rather they eat as close to now as they can, he's mollified some by the kiss and their linked hands, willing to be patient, even if it's never been his strong suit. He extracts his brief selection of foods for Barrett's perusal, and eats when fed - in part to feel his fingers at his lips, his teeth scraping light over them, sometimes, as he takes a bite in. He keeps close, and he watches Barrett with a keen gaze when he eats.
He wonders - is it hunger that distracts him, or fear of loss? He understands faintly that what Barrett will give him won't end him, and yet - despite knowing it isn't the sort of hollowing out he'd envisioned when he first began to fantasize about becoming fully hollow, he doesn't find himself disappointed, or repelled. Why? )
... Mm. Not since the picnic.
( Well, after it, but that's more words than he can be bothered with. He casts his gaze across the room, studying what little there is - lingering on the numbers and dates, as if it were a puzzle; eye catching on the drawing, and wondering if that's his family? It's the largest group he knows, around Barrett - before his eye turns back to Barrett. )
You don't want to decorate it?
( He's not saying it like Barrett should (Mithrun's FF room, despite it being the primary room he uses as lodgings, is completely empty - likely not even a bed, if it didn't come with one) - but he's wondering because he wonders about Barrett. )
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[His eyes drift to the picture - it's not a good one. Not in the slightest. Whoever drew it has probably less artistic ability than the average 6 year old. But there's at least some semblance of height, some semblance of whose hair is dark and light. Lucas's glasses, Matt's fur coat, Levi's headphones. Aiden with his phone, Damian with his pile of books. There's two others Morgan may not recognize, a man in a suit next to Lucas and a strange light haired boy by his brother Aiden, who has a long coat. Barrett is the tallest with a sun on his shirt, holding hands on one side with the dark haired boy that carries the scribbliest little crescent moon...
And a little girl, who holds the other.
...
Barrett takes some time at the locked chest to the side of the room - private inventory, as he sits and deposits what he doesn't need right now.]
It hasn't been home. Or... I guess, it wasn't home.
Maybe I don't want it to turn into that. I'm not sure.
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... You could put things you like in here. It doesn't have to be styled like home.
( A compromise. A personal lounge rather than a private place. )
But I don't like complacency, either.
( So he gets it. Signs of acceptance toward their situation peeve him - not that Mithrun isn't the picture of being difficult toward any and all parties, so. )
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It's okay. I don't think this is where I'd want to keep things that are too important.
[He pulls out a creampuff from his chest inventory, popping it into his mouth before closing the box up.]
I do bring things I like here sometimes, though. Even if I don't put them on the walls. I've always liked being around the things I like, instead of just reminders.
[A pause, as he wipes his own mouth with his thumb of crumbs and sugar.] ...Though... I like you. And you're in here now.
Does that count?
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In the shadow of complacency, there is this. Is this complacency, is this distraction? )
... It does to me if it does to you.
( He kneels... down beside him, taking up his sugared hand, the crumbs and sugar smearing, rather intentionally, across both. )
... I can come here again.
( Like a fixture, like a reminder - no, neither of those words seem right. Like a...? )
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Would you? [His smile is bright despite its weariness.]
I could always keep the door open for you. Even if it isn't very homey... I'd like if we could both be comfortable here.
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( This room has meaning. Without the people in it, a home is just a house; without Barrett to lend this meaning, this room is just a room.
He brings up their joined hands to his lips briefly like they're cupped, and he lets his lips brush against Barrett's sweet and sticky palm. Not quite a kiss, but a feeling he doesn't have word for - so this will have to do. )
... I think I'm comfortable with you.
cw: NSFW it begins etc etc just gonna slap that up to be safe
...I... um... I'm glad. For that.
[What was he doing? He suddenly can't remember. He just lets his fingers go obediently slack against Morgan's grip. If that sugar was on his lips now, then...
...
He can feel something deep in his chest heat up like a furnace, fumbling with his freehand for the chest again.]
...Morgan, can... I try something?
(hungry)
... Yes. As much as you want.
( No need to hold back. His words are warm against Barrett's palm, his face lifting from his palm enough that Barrett is his main focus, now. )
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The creme is held up - pressed and spread against Morgan's lips in the barest of touches, holding there as though to give him an option.]
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The cream is cool and a little moist against his lips, and he doesn't know what Barrett wants to try, exactly. But he's been taught habit well enough since his time here, and his lips part against Barrett's fingers automatically enough that he doesn't have to think about how, maybe, this choice isn't just habit, but wanting to know the taste of Barrett's fingers, topped with cream.
He runs his tongue along the length of a finger, finding it larger, somehow, than he expected; the cream is sweet, though, and he finds himself inclined to run his tongue from base to tip, the cream from the other fingers smearing against his soft lips as he gives excess attention to the one. )
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Only when Morgan withdraws up to the fingertip does Barrett press both of his coated fingers purposefully back to Morgan's parted lips. He swallows hard, a thick and needy noise that matches how bright his eyes have turned despite the cloud of heat.]
...The other one, too. [It's quiet, voice a little rougher, syllables sharp with anticipation.] Show me what it tastes like.
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Some part of him finds itself inclined to trace the cream dripping down his palm, but the rest of him finds it hard to resist the fingers at his lips, the sugar sticky against his lips, skin warm against his tongue. His gaze hoods a little lower and he swallows hard, quiet, still, but Barrett can feel that his breathing's grown slower, hotter. He presses in and draws his tongue broad along the length of the underside of both, dragging it slowly up, like he's savoring it slow, leaving his fingers wetter and stickier than they were before.
Until he reaches near the tip, and it seems for a moment he might double back to taste the rest, but - his gaze flicks up, catching Barrett's bright gaze with his own, and he takes his fingers in, dragging his tongue first along the top, and then again in between, his mouth small but no less hungry as it swallows around him when the sugar's too much to keep in. He doesn't break his gaze; his eye, a deep black, but maybe not so much in indifference, but a steady-building hunger for Barrett's taste. )
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His own tongue traces against his lower lip, unable to draw his eyes away. The fingers drawn into Morgan's mouth press into that exploring muscle, gently, cooperatively, scissoring open just enough to let him take every drop he could.
But for once, he's feeling impatient. His free hand presses to Morgan's thigh as Barrett shifts his weight, leaning up on his knees with breathing that starts to come a little fast, eyes trained on his mouth. His fingers pull away, sliding down to his chin as Barret leans in to let his mouth take over, a firm lick up the line of his jaw, teeth and tongue following the peppered mess of sugar until their lips meet. The sweetness and heat, the slight salt of skin that vanishes once he enters Morgan's mouth.
The kiss, ravenous as it is, lasts only a few moments at first, before Barrett breaks it to trace up the rest of the sugar on the other side of his face, tilting his head, tongue tracing his chin, down to the bump of his adam's apple - broad and thorough, refusing to waste, letting his mouth and teeth suckle where sugar has coalesced and hardened. Once it's clean, he tilts right back into another kiss, as though to share the flavors.]
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But they're gone almost as soon as he'd taken them in, and before he can feel their absence he feels Barrett's tongue against his skin, his heart skipping a beat in anticipation, a flush building at his ears and threatening his cheeks. He kisses back, hungry, no matter how brief it lasts, and he hooks his fingers into whatever fabric he can find against Barrett's chest, his chin tilting up as Barrett works his way down, his neck exposed bare - as if inviting him to indulge as much as he likes.
He gasps, soft and sharp, where Barrett's mouth lingers and sucks, and this time he seems keen on tasting everything Barrett has to offer when his lips return to him. Deep, deeper; tongues and teeth with a blooming heat in his chest, in his stomach, that seems to hope Barrett will want more in kind. )
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It's the ache of knees against the floor that get him to break away, panting for air - not wanting to stop, but having enough of a braincell still left to realize they have a better place to do this.]
...Mn. Bed. Will be more comfortable. [Except they're still close, slightly entangled, and it tastes so delicious... he can't help but let his lips drift, mouthing up the line of his cheekbone, breath ghosting his ear as he noses at the rim of it - planting a kiss, then another, before his teeth and tongue start to take up the cartilage like the gentle knawing off meat off a bone.
It's in between the motions of his mouth that he whispers.]
...I want more. [Another gentle press of his teeth, catching the soft skin at the earlobe and letting the warmth of his tongue ease the pressure away.] If I gave you more... more of that cream to guide my tongue...
Can you show me where I can taste you?
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His voice against his ear while it's teased only draws a sharp inhale from Mithrun, who exhales shakily, audible - enticed that much more by a promise by more, an anticipation that knots hot in his stomach, and lower still.
Where can he taste? Anywhere, anywhere - don't make him think while Barrett's getting his head all hazy, the remark about the bed by now forgotten. )
... Yes... ( His answer comes an exhale, a flush worked across his face. ) ... If you follow the trail down, as it drips...
( Where would he let it start, where would he let it go? If he began at the fingers again, they could begin again what had been paused at the picnic; else - could start at the neck, start at the chest, start at the stomach - but all that drips down, down between the legs, if Barrett would even follow it that far, and Mithrun hasn't even thought that deep about it. He's still stuck on the sensation of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth at his ear, each sensation a distracting shockwave that rushes across his body and reverberates back, leaving him sensitive. )
... I told you... you could have all of me. ( He swallows. ) So it's just... it's just a matter of where you want to start.
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Easy. Easy, he presses at himself, an urging through the rapidly climbing fog. Don't do anything stupid.
One of his hands grips at Morgan's touch against his chest, skin hot, pulling him with a gentle urgency as he adjusts his kneel to push up onto his feet.]
Bed. Please. That's where we start.
[He's already shedding his own jacket to toss to the side as well as kicking his boots off, though his hands hesitate as he tries to guide Morgan to sit against the mattress, thumbs catching against the neckline of his top. He lets his fingers pull slightly, as though to bring the clothes to attention.]
...Can I? [They can start small. He doesn't need to see Mithrun bare before him if Mithrun isn't ready for it. But some bare skin was required if they wanted to chase the melting trail of sugar.]
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He shifts onto the mattress however Barrett would find it easier to have him on there, whether over the edge or on it proper, gaze better fixed on Barrett dropping layers. He'd never particularly thought much of the act of disrobing - or clothes - or nudity at all; it was all about the same to him. But there's something about seeing Barrett strip down a layer that makes a sense of anticipation rise up in his stomach - even though he's seen him already in his beach skin. He already knows what's there. It's strange.
He exhales soft when Barrett returns, tugging at his top. )
... As much as you want.
( He reiterates with a murmur, his ears a blazing red and his face filling in flushed. Was this anticipation, too? He's not embarrassed or ashamed, and doesn't even mind that his body is covered in nicks and scars. And still, he swallows, his ears still burning with the faint memory of his teeth.
But there is intention behind the phrasing. Mithrun has no limit here, so Barrett can enforce his own - he doesn't need to take more than he's comfortable with. Because... )
... I trust you.
( He's not carried away, as much as he feels like he is. He wants to melt in Barrett's mouth, but he's not gone yet. )
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...If anything hurts, or you need me to stop, just say stop. Okay? I... um...
[He exhales - hot, heavy, with the slightest shake in tone from both excitement and nerves.]
I want this. But I feel like I might get carried away. So... don't let me do that to you.
[He's seen Morgan clobber a dummy to pieces. He might as well clobber him for being a dummy if it came to it. Maybe this reminder wasn't needed, and maybe they would be fine. But with Morgan... Barrett feels the sentiment is important to voice, even for what might feel obvious.
Once the idea has settled, Barrett kneels down against the floor to start removing the long length of Morgan's boots. A careful start of stripping, one at a time, with his hands carefully feeling out the bare skin underneath as it's removed. Once both legs are bare, he spreads one out to nose at the tender flesh of the thigh, mouthing it briefly, recognizing the heat. This was for later. He would come back.
The boots are discarded as he crawls up to join him on the bed, taking up his arms in tandem, repeating the same with his gloves as he did with his boots. A careful removal, like the peeling of a fruit, letting his hands and mouth briefly touch against what was left exposed. The ring against one finger gets a glance, noticing the color that seemed different to the last time they'd been together. But it's carefully removed, long enough to take off the fabric underneath it, holding the jewelery carefully in one hand as his other guided a bare wrist against his lips to kiss at his pulse.]
...Do you want to keep this on? I didn't realize that it changed colors.
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He reaches up to brush his fingers light through Barrett's bangs before his palm presses light against Barrett's cheek; a gesture to punctuate his answer. )
... Okay. I will.
( Mithrun doesn't doubt he can get Barrett to stop if he somehow finds himself unfond, but he thinks it's very like Barrett to stop and remind him, to be so conscientious. Mithrun doesn't mind it. And he understands it comes from a place of care.
He lets his touch slip as Barrett sets to work on the boots, and the gentle rush of heat from where he feels Barrett's mouth against his thigh causes his heart to skip and stumble, a soft ah when he feels him - so close. They'd spoken about eating; he'd even fantasized it before, but - his imagination is only so broad when he's still learning the shape of his wants, when it comes to this. He swallows as he pulls away, but doesn't protest. As much as he wanted Barrett to eat him, he wanted, also, to know - how Barrett would have him.
He glances at the ring, the color a vibrant pink, when it's referenced, having forgotten about it; his pulse is quicker than even Mithrun knows at Barrett's lips, each touch and brush against his mouth driving his anticipation higher. )
... I could... ( It doesn't really matter, he guesses, but...? ) ... It tells you what your mood is. And... the description says it's accurate. Deep pink is...
( What was it, again...? He'd memorized it, but he's a little distracted by Barrett; by his lips... )
... "Interested, passionate, aroused."
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If this were real life, he'd be a little more suspicious. But if it came from the game, then...
...
He carefully fits the ring back to Morgan's finger, letting the color flourish. If Morgan had been equipping it, it must be for a reason, whether to test it out or simple curiosity.
Barrett's expression grows fond, eyes warm at the idea that Morgan could in fact be passionate about this. Even with all the evidence he should be able to see, the heat and noise and hunger... feelings still were a difficult thing to label, especially from another.
He gently brings his hands to Morgan's stomach, a slow press that runs up to his chest as Barrett eases him to rest fully backwards against the blankets. Fingers work on the buttons at his collar, a very gradual reveal of pale skin with every clasp undone down his neck, his chest.]
Well... we can test that, right??
Do you think it's telling the truth right now?
[He'll give the question just enough space, cocking his head slightly before impatience takes him over again.
He leans in to press his lips to the pit of his neck, teething at the collarbone, peppering his way down Morgan's sternum behind his fumbling fingers. His mouth opens to drag his tongue up the firm line of bone under rising and falling breath... and then scraping his teeth straight back down as the last of the buttons come free.]
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Does he think it's telling the truth...? He curls his fingers into the blankets. His feelings are a feverish swamp; is this interest, passion, arousal? Is that the name for this anticipation, for the way he inhales sudden as he feels his teeth at his collarbone, the way he swallows wet feeling his lips and tongue along the sternum, tasting - maybe, even, relishing? His gaze is fixed on Barrett, his heart quick, quick, a shiver rushing down his stomach and his spine with each sensation.
Is that what this is?
He releases his grip, and slips his hands around the back of Barrett's head, cradling, and he leans in just slightly, his skin pressing against Barrett's lips. And then - he presses his tongue at the base of Barrett's horn, and runs it slow and wet along the ridges to the tip, his lips closing around the tip, sucking it almost like he might a kiss, before he lifts his mouth. )
... I think so.
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