PSLs

[bardische]

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[massochism]

[abruptly, he's pulled in against Basch and his noises are muffled into the taller man's mouth, tongue meeting tongue and urging it further until he pulls back to bite the priest's lip. it has him rocking into the sensation, only to reach up and grasp those broad shoulders as he's lifted up.

the frame is a little cold, even through the thick cloth, but he barely notices when he's too busy moaning in response to that squeeze.]

Alright.

[there isn't much left to remove, at least. and by the time Basch is back with the rope he's slipped out of his underthings and settled on the support. strong hands pull him exactly where he's wanted then, and he gives a soft noise at the comfortable stretch of his arms. rope scrapes gently against his skin as it's woven, thoughts taken away completely when the blond dips in to bite into his shoulder.

the resulting cry is sharp and loud as ever, body trembling as he presses up into that ache, hands and wrists shifting impatiently where they're held. something about not knowing what the other fully intends to do makes this even more arousing, exciting in a way he can't put to words.]

Bas—ch... nngh...

[God, he's sure he's going to start dripping on this cloth soon.]

[disarming_prince]

"I am not certain," Ravus admitted. If he had been asked before his injury and capture, he could easily have given a good metric.

But that had been a while ago, and the guards upon him in his captivity had been by no means gentle. Nor his meals full. So he had no good measure of what he was capable of now.

[bardische]

It's a valid answer, and Basch is not frustrated, just recalculating. He does wonder at the effects of prison -- his own imprisonment had not been kind.

Close enough to somewhere they can get supplies then. "We ride hard, and then we will walk." He pushes the bird into a canter, gripping Ravus.

It is a hard ride, for near an hour, before they reach an outpost. He loops it twice, checking they were not followed and that it is safe. Then he swings down, pulls Ravus off like he is little more than a child or a recruit, and fishes red clay from the safe house supplies to smear ont he bird. He tears part of his own uniform to leave with the bird, and slaps it back toward how they came.

He watches, out of the corner of his eye, to see if Ravus tries to run or if he stays put. Either are alright.

[disarming_prince]

The movement of the bird, along with a strong and solid weight behind him, lulls Ravus into an unexpected (and honestly much needed) doze. He doesn't wake until he feels Basch move from behind him, and that is a sudden jerking back to full consciousness. He would likely have fallen off of the bird's back if it were not for Bash immediately hauling him down.

Finding his balance is harder than he imagined after that, his legs not adjusting to solid, immobile ground as quick as it once did. He does manage to balance himself soon enough, and is left staring as Basch acts.

"Do you truly believe clay smeared into feathers will be mistaken for spilled blood?" he asks, incredulous. If they caught the bird surely the game would be up.

[bardische]

He noted, silently, that Ravus settled and dozed as they rode. Perhaps something to use again if he needed to. Basch understood; sometimes being so keyed up, the only way sleep came was physical exhaustion and a lulling activity.

"I believe it can fool at a distance, and a few seconds saved often turns a battle. It will also suggest we went east to the marshes where the clay comes from instead of north here. Besides. That chocobo bites."

[disarming_prince]

That was more forethought than Ravus had expected of the other man. Which was probably impolite and wrong on his side. But he hardly cares about that.

"As do I," Ravus mumbles. Though he doubts he can do the same sort of damage as the bird.

[bardische]

Basch is not easily offended, and he prefers to be thought of little than to be over considered. Still, he is good at his job.

He does smile, though, as he works to get the magical guards on the safehouse open, and with it the concealed door.

"Than I shall endeavor to keep my hands safely away from the both of you."

Door revealed, he holds it open. "We rest, and eat."

[bardische]

[ His eyes rake over Olivine, nude and waiting for him, clearly already hungry for whatever Basch is going to give him. It makes him whine with need, but flinch a little too. He's afraid, still, of how much Olivine trusts him. Of how roughly he wants to use the other.

But he has to trust Olivine. The other has never lied to him or overstepped his own limits, and right now Basch has to trust that leash will be good enough, because he can feel his own control slipping. The mate bond is driving him to singlemindedness, even fears of being overheard or leaving a mess going far from his head.

Olivine cries so beautifully into that bite, a mimic of their mate bond, and Basch almost spears him right here. Not yet though. Panting, he guides one length of the rope to Olivine's ankle, keeping his back pulled down and his leg wrapped around the furniture. Then the other, so he's pulled open and held pinned all at once.

Basch is panting by now. He fumbles to get his own clothing off -- hot, so hot he's suffocating -- but snarls in frustrating, shredding it in his claws. And then he's on Olivine, raking his claws down the other's back as he thrusts against his hole, biting hard on the other side of his neck. There's no patience there, and he wants to feel Olivine struggle. Against his bonds, against the sensation. ]

[massochism]

[there's a brief touch of something like terror as Basch guides the ropes to his ankles, pushing him down onto his chest while holding him open. it's embarrassing, something he shouldn't want, shouldn't like, shouldn't—

claws rake down his back and drag away all of that uncertainty, the learned shame. God, it feels so good... pale skin reddens easily and the sting has him squirming impatiently, alongside the thrust of the blond's hips against his hole.]

Nnghaaugh— [his toes curl as he pulls against those ropes, creaking roughly against delicate skin while the bite otherwise keeps him in place, shuddering.] God, I missed you... hurry...

[never mind that they were separated for like, maybe three hours. there's also truth in that he'd missed this roughness, the kind that has only shown itself when Basch is transformed or transforming.]

[disarming_prince]

"You have done poorly at avoiding that," he says with a shrug.

But then he steps past Basch. He's going to allow this, for now. He steps in and looks around, considering the space he is supposed to, in theory, be safe in.

"And you believe this place secure?"

[bardische]

[ He feels that terror and nearly stops -- it's his worst fear, and he has no idea how he's misread so badly.

But even as it registers, it shifts to pure aching bliss, and it's like it drives him forward, like he knows what Olivine wants without even thinking. He whines into that direction, into that admission of yearning.

He isn't gentle; there's no real ramp up. He holds Olivine hard enough to bruise, claws digging into skin, and fucks him hard and fast, enough that the heavy piece of furniture groans and threatens to inch across the floor.

He's after...something, attention desperately on Olivine even as he lets out a low, choked off howl into the other's shoulder, teeth still tight there. He feels...alive. Hungry. Possessive. Desperate for approval. ]

[massochism]

[His hands shift a of to reach for Basch, to hold him and focus on something that isn't the bone-shaking certainty that he wants nothing less than all of this. Bound, he's unable to get that—and so he just cries out sweetly as teeth dig into delicate skin, a fresh wave of pleasure and need tearingb through him.]

Haagh—ungh...!!

[rope bites into his skin with every thrust, creaking faintly as the set piece lifts just a tiny bit and clacks back against the ground. Claws bite and prickle little droplets of blood over his flesh, wonderful little sensations made more sharp by the way Basch fucks into him. Never, not once in all his years, had Olivine ever thought he could feel this way—that he would want to give everything just to stay with one person, could find himself someone who actually saw him.]

Basch... nnghaah! My—mate... oh, God, more—!

[a bead of saliva pools in his tongue and drips down onto the heavy cover he's bound over, body trembling with want. It always feels like he's perfectly fit to the werewolf, but right now especially, it's like he's molding him into that perfect shape, ruining him for anyone else.]

Nmmph... you're really going to... breed me, one of these days...

[is that actually possible? Who knows, but right now he would be ecstatic if it happened.]

[bardische]

Perhaps he had. He was starting to think he'd done poorly with this entire mission. But all he could do was adjust and push forward.

"It is," he agrees, closing the door and restoring the wards. "There is old magic here; we will not be found while it is shut, but it is not wise to stay long."

The space is small, one central room with a small stove, a single modest sized bed, a few chairs. There's a bathroom off to one side.

"Take the bed and rest. I will make food and stand watch until we switch."

[disarming_prince]

Old magic? What would that even mean? Ravus sighs and he looks around the space to consider. The bed was... singular. But it was hardly like they were going to share.

"If there is magic warding this place from knowledge, why would there be shifts for watching?"

It's just a logical question from his point of view.

[bardische]

[ He would have known Olivine wanted more even without those pleas, but he still growls at hearing them. He feels, too, the incredulity and bone-deep contentment of wanting to be with Olivine forever, of feeling wanted and seen claimed, and he's determined to please his mate until his last breath.

Hearing Olivine affirm he's doing just that makes him heady, drunk with pleasure, and his eyes trace the saliva on Olivine's chin. He keens, pleased to please, and then Olivine starts talking about breeding.

He practically howls, jerking deep and hard and fast, biting Olivine hard enough to draw blood, a 'yes' growled against him over and over.

There's not much warning, his desire cresting suddenly, spilling hotly. He barely stutters, crying out through his pleasure, sliding easier with the mix of slick. And all he wants is to do it again, and again, until Olivine is so marked with his scent and his bruises and his kisses that no creature could mistake who he belonged to. ]

[massochism]

[truly, they're lucky no one seems to be around to hear the noise they're both making. If they were, the discovery might prove too much for most people... not that it would make Olivine feel any more shame than he does. Basch bites down and blood wells against teeth to drip down, causing the priest to squeeze all the harder around him.

Oh, but that reaction to his comment makes him warm and giddy. Just as suddenly as the taller man's orgasm crests, his does too, a sharp yowl on his lips as the movements practically don't even pause. It sounds so loud in his ears, utterly filthy and exciting and framed wonderfully by the hot mess between his legs.]

Nngh... haah... so thick... and hot... [He's practically purring, weight tipped forward in spite of the rough ropes tugging back at his arms.] I'll swallow... all of it up... just for you... mmngh!

[bardische]

"They cannot see in, but we can see out."

Why would he not want the added intelligence?

"Also, solider's habit. Go sleep."

[disarming_prince]

So why would they bother looking out? Well, Ravus supposes he doesn't care as much.

"You assume I would be capable of rest after such paranoid behavior," Ravus notes.

At least on the chocobo he had been warm and the movement of the bird had been soothing.

[bardische]

[ Basch shudders, heady from the orgasm, heady from Olivine's delighted cries, heady from the need to keep going. The sounds are incredible. Knowing they could be found is dangerous and delicious. Let someone see; let him growl and chase them away from his mate, proud and possessive. Let them see the marks.

But even so, that promise is something he's never done, never considered. ]

Is that...something you want? [ he pants ] I'd planned to fill you until you were full, then take you back to our bed.

[massochism]

[breathless, boneless, he needs a moment to try and parse which promise he's asking about. Even then, he's not entirely sure he has it right... but it doesn't matter too much.]

Haah... to be bred...? I wouldn't mind at all. [another shift, fingers curling where they're held fast. Add Basch lays out his intentions, he bites his lip.] I definitely... want that. I didn't say... how I'd swallow all of it up... after all.

[Really, sometimes even he wonders about where he gets some of his thoughts. They're no less exciting for that wonder, though.]

[bardische]

[ Basch hadn't understood. His human mind was still too present, and it wasn't a thing he'd ever considered. His wolf mind, though, his body-- both tremble, the moan from him shuddering and wanton.

He has no idea what he's doing, but Olivine is pleased, and so he barrels forward. He doesn't even go soft, not for a moment, his pace still punishing. But he leans forward, crumpling Olivine further, nails biting into his flesh. ]

How much can you take? Will you be full first, or will I be spent first?

[massochism]

[crumpling forward more, Olivine exhales a sharp cry, muscles creaking with the tug against them. A shudder runs through him as Basch continues. Relentless, punishing, it leaves him nearly delirious in spite of the want to respond to those words...]

Ungh—we'll. We'll have to see... won't we?

[both thoughts are their own mind of exciting, really. To drain the werewolf dry, taking all he has to give like a perfect mate, would be sweetly comforting... but taking all he could, having it still pouring out of him while Basch chases his end? God, it would be absolutely intense.]

If I can't take it all, you'll just have to... mmngh... make sure to make me a mess so I know how much practice I need... to be just right for you.♡

[That's also not how that works, but it doesn't matter either. It sounds right, sounds hot, sounds perfect. That's good enough for him.]

[bardische]

You're already just right for me [ Basch growls, chastising more than affectionate. He's...not good at sweet talk, werewolf or man.

But his pace keeps up, the allure of being spent dry or exhausting the other equally alluring.

Except...he hears the whine of the piece of furniture under them. It wasn't built for this. He gives a few more heavy thrusts, but a snap predicts a buckle.

Roaring, he loosens one of the knots, lifting Olivine to him, cock still buried in him, and starts for the door with absolutely no concern for who might see them like this, Olivine still half-tied and both of them flush with need and sweat. ]

[massochism]

Nhaah... I know... 's not how I meant...

[it's so hard to find the words with Basch's continued pace, a touch of alarm in that whine... then the snap and buckle. ah, he'll have to fix that later—

and that's as far as he gets in that thought, crying out again as Basch loosens a knot to pull him up against him, cheeks turning all the darker as every shift makes the werewolf's cock jostle inside him.]

Ba-asch—

[part of him wants to protest, to slow him down before they get outside, but the rest of him doesn't want to even pause in feeling this. if someone actually saw them, there might be some alarm, but... well, he'll cross that bridge if he has to.]

Nngh... haah... please... help me keep quiet...

[because there's no way in hell he's going to manage that on his own, tied up and stretched out and absolutely fucking blissed out for it all... and it's probably still best if his moans don't call attention to them. probably.]

[bardische]

[ There's no hesitation at following a direct order. Anything to take care of Olivine, make him comfortable. So Basch shifts the other, cock still in him, but presses him tight to his body, a massive hand covering the other's mouth.

With no real recognition of how odd a decision this is for both of them, he marches them out of the storage area and toward the hall to their room, his steps jostling him inside Olivine. ]

I'm not going to let you leave our room for days [ he growls, biting the other's ear, keeping his hand clamped tight. ]