Golden Peacock TDM Overflow

[bardische]

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[bardische]

[ despite his reservations, it’s so clear that Olivine is melting into the pleasure of this. His own breath hitches, cock responding to the eroticism of making another hungry. It turns into a genuine moan as Olivine’s touch gets more impatient, the cool hair suddenly biting his hot skin. For once, he isn’t worried about his body being seen. There’s no flinching, no attempt to skirt his gaze away. ]

You’re quite ready, but I am not. How will you tempt me to give you what you want, you needy thing?

[ He keeps his voice a low growl, tugging the lead right to jerk Olivine’s face to his. A kiss. Gentle, first, checking if the other is alright, reminding them both this is an act. And then he bits his lip, shoves his tongue against the other’s and skims his hand down his front to oh so briefly palm his impressive erection.

And then he brings it around Olivine’s backside, smacking his ass hard enough to make an audible sound. If people weren’t aware, they likely are now. ]

[massochism]

[if he's honest, Olivine has half-forgotten this is an act. not the fact that Basch is handling him this way—distantly, he hasn't forgotten their words or the fact that he needs to keep some sense of control here (insomuch as he's enjoying having "none," as is his wont), but the actual act...

well, it heats him up more than the blond could really know.]

Ah—I'll... mmh...

[lids lilt downward as Basch pulls him closer, lips meeting in sweet comfort first, a reminder. Olivine is definitely deeply buried in the moment, all the pleasure of it threatening to strip him of sense here and there... but even as teeth connect with the soft flesh of his lip, as a tongue dives between them to meet his own, he manages to keep hold of a thread of it.

it's just for Basch, probably. he certainly doesn't need it. a hand palms him and the priest rises up into it, sighing into his partner's lips, only to jolt and yelp sweetly at the smack of his ass. fuck.

shuddering, he ignores the aching squeeze of his body to focus on the task. what he's been asked. what Basch needs, really.]

Haah... haaaah... should I tell you... how needy I am? [his arms skim up over the other's shoulders, still trembling with want. usually, it would take a little longer to break this way, he supposes... but it's necessary, and he wants to. his voice drops to a heady whisper, something kept strictly between them, unworthy of anyone else.] Would that be enough?

How I keep thinking about being pressed—face first into the furniture, squirming while you work me open on your fingers...? [face-first is a soft little concession for himself, granted. being seen is... God, it's enough to get him off, but he's still not sure how he feels about the actual idea of feeling it, at least with a bunch of onlookers.] My arms held behind my back, unable to do anything but beg you to fill me. And when you do, to feel it so deep, hotter than my skin with every slap... ah.

[ah. just thinking about it has him squirming again, an excellent sign really.]

I want so many things... nngh... but these people aren't worthy of seeing them all.

[bardische]

[ It certainly helps to see how thoroughly Olivine is being overtaken by want. Was this what it was like for his own partners, watching him become overwhelmed with need? He was sure he was never so enthusiastic, and it almost makes him embarrassed to see how open Olivine is. Embarrassed, and envious.

He doesn’t know what he needs now, though, and he appreciates Olivine trying, even if being told how wanted he is turns out to be a big icy pour or cold water. Olivine doesn’t want him. He wants whatever this act is, and while Basch can give that, it does nothing to get him ready. It shouldn’t matter. He shouldn’t need to be put in a position that allows him to do this, especially when Olivine is the more vulnerable. Why can’t his just will himself to it?

But Olivine keeps going, and that fantasy pulls a real rasping groan from Basch. That he can understand the appeal of, and it’s something he can provide.

He keeps his voice low, that deep grumble, pulling the lead tight and cupping Olivine in the palm of his hand, applying just enough pressure to his sack to make it rougher than a tease.

These people aren’t worthy of seeing any of your pleasure, but I want it clear you are mine. If you perform well enough, maybe I will give you more later, where only I can see. Now, strip down and get your ass up where I can reach it comfortably.

[ He loathes himself for what he’s saying, but he keeps his gaze steady on Olivine, watching the squirms of pleasure. It can’t be so bad if the other is so happy, and what does it matter to him? His own pleasure certainly doesn’t. ]

[massochism]

[Basch... is an idiot. Olivine hasn't registered it, just how deeply that self-scorn runs, though he no doubt will eventually. and it's true—what acts he speaks are factors unrelated to the blond himself—the green-haired priest has no shortage of fantasies he's indulged in over his time. whether or not they fit with Basch... well.

this is about a lot of things. mostly about shredding away the anxiety of the situation as best he can, the gentle consideration easily forgotten beneath vulgar words and vulnerable actions. this isn't Basch, and it isn't fair, he thinks, to him either. picking at whatever's affected him is...

... he'll apologise for it later.

but they share some things, at least. enough to keep him in it, and enough to give him more than enough words to say. maybe it's better that Olivine slips so hard into this role, right now.]

Mmnh... yes, sir.

[he can't help but pause briefly, a terribly fond motion in the way he cradles Basch's face amid all the carnal pleasure of it. breaking from him after that moment, Olivine moves to do as he's told, stripping off the cropped shirt he'd been wearing, then the pants and underwear, revealing a remarkably muscular form beneath.

the play at confidence is a little harder now, knowing there's doubtless people actually watching (and mostly watching him), but he takes a quiet breath and buries that anxiety, knowing it will fade once he's not alone in the space anymore. it's not hard to find a space to lift himself up, braced on the nearest bit of furniture, hips tilted up and back, glancing sweetly over his shoulder. true, he can't keep the flush from his cheeks, but that's already been there since the beginning. it's fine.]

[bardische]

[ he would not argue with that assessment. But he’s grateful for what little information he has about Olivine and that the other so thoroughly enjoys this, because it gives him a role and a task, and he can find comfort and direction in that.

But his eyes widen, face suddenly soft and vulnerable as Olivine cradles his face in unbridled affection and approval. Even through this odd haze, that makes Basch’s chest tight. He’d do anything Olivine wanted to get more of that look, he knows, and gods help him because he knows what a liability it is.

He doesn’t have to do anything for the time being, because Olivine slips away to undress. Basch has been around a thousand naked muscled soldiers, but his eyes still rove, catching on broad shoulders and a jewel glistening in his midriff, a strong ass. It occurs to him again he has no idea what a man like Olivine would be attracted to in him, but this place has its ways, and the thought is gone again, because Olivine is positioning himself and looking back wantingly.

Heart thundering, Basch closed the space between them, trained enough in suppressing his emotions to keep the shake from his hands. He splays his rough hands over Olivine’s back, feeling the ridges of muscle and bone, before letting one slide across his hip to palm his sack briefly, teasingly. ]

Very good, my pet. Now let’s hear you sing.

[ his mind reels looking for what he’d want if their positions were reversed, trying to ignore how public this is. He bends down, placing a kiss on Olivine’s back, then another, then taking the soft swell of flesh in his mouth and biting hard while his fingers dig into the man’s thighs. ]

[massochism]

[lucky for Basch, he'll find that Olivine is fairly reasonable person. Take care of himself and that'll be enough—

Olivine half-watches the approach, noting him more by the soft warmth that comes to hover just behind him. The feeling of rough hands on his back is enough to get his heart pumping more still, hips jolting at the squeeze of one at his sack. It earns a needy little groan, and Olivine lets his head dip down a little.]

As—you wish...

[His voice is a little breathy, eyes closing as warm lips caress his back, drifting over strong muscles until—

Until Basch bites down, digging fingers into his thighs and (perhaps accidentally) drawing Olivine to arch and shift, legs spread a little obscenely wide.]

Ah—haah... like that...

[fingers grip the cushion he's perched over, eyes closing as his lower body leans into the rough sensations. The thought that people are still watching is there, but it fades into something more distant as his thoughts turn toward making this at least a little pleasurable for them both.]

[bardische]

[ O-oh. Olivine arches, legs spreading, and heat jolts through Basch so intensely that he momentarily forgets his role. He'd always wondered why that turned on partners so thoroughly, but he thinks he understands now. It doesn't hurt that Olivine is giving him that gentle, delighted encouragement. He's relaxing a little, even if he's failed to notice.

And it's...really attractive, the way Olivine grips the couch, body taut and trembling. It's pleasing to see that. He can focus on that. He can do this.

But he also doesn't want to hurt him, not in ways that aren't intentional. ]

Be patient [ he admonishes, even though he thinks the other is extremely patient, given the circumstances. He gives his ass another bite, a slap on the other cheek before he pulls away, hoping the sudden lack of feeling will be teasing and not just awkward. But he opens the drawers in the tables, assuming--

Yes. There's lubricant, thankfully sealed. He twists it open, rolling some in his hands to warm it. As he does, he stands close enough Olivine can feel his heat but not so close they are touching.

Gods he feels so awkward. He has no idea if this is right, or if he should do more, or less, ask more feedback, give more commands. All he can do is try to muddle through. ]

You look so flushed and pretty, with your ass up waiting for me. Should I be kind, or should I make you wait?

[ Talking helps. Gives him a character, reminds him who he's supposed to be. Hands lubed, he steps forward, slotting one arm through Olivine's legs to drag a single finger down his legs and across his sack. ]

[massochism]

[be patient, he says, and really, it's perfectly in character isn't it? he might laugh if he weren't so worried about keeping Basch focused on him, on... anything but the outside. it's unfair to him, but what else can he do?]

I'm try—nngh!

[God, but it makes him ache for more, the sting of each bite and slap more enticing than the blond could really know. similarly, more than he knows, there may be no need to worry about hurting him, but that's also neither here nor there, buried in the way his insides ache for more.

the return of heat so close to his bare skin is a boon, his words drawing up little shivers as Basch speaks them. Olivine... has to wonder how many times he's been in this position, given their earlier conversation. but he has to focus, too.]

Haah... ah... I've been waiting so long... I don't know how much longer I can wait. Won't you please be kind to me?

[there is enough of a sly undertone to that that Basch could pick up the option there, though taking it at face value is certainly easy enough. Olivine won't mind either path, in the end.

he does shiver when an arm slips between his legs to draw a finger over them, slick with lube and hot against his neglected skin. a little whine escapes in turn, hips shifting impatiently at the teasing.]

[bardische]

I don't think you're going to last hardly at all.

[ There's a low chuckle to his voice, a genuine warmth at how wound up Olivine is. ]

If you make a mess early, I shall have to walk you upstairs naked like this, with everyone to see the shame of my still being hard.

[ A threat he'd enjoy, and that's all he has to go off. But he doesn't intend to withhold. Even with this pressure, he wants to satisfy, and Olivine gave him a clear map. He brings his hand back up, finger circling the other's entrance a few times as he leans forward, dragging the bulge in his undergarments against Olivine's leg. He considers his position, then, with no warning, slides a finger deep into the other man, free arm going to sling around his waist and pull him close, body curling over him so he can bite his neck.

His goal is to see how loud he can get him, and maybe some begging, and then he will gladly give him what he wants. And if he comes before that, well, it's not matter to Basch, really. ]

[massochism]

[Olivine can't find it in himself to be embarrassed by the chuckle, the words. they're not wrong, per se—the priest's evident abundance of stamina notwithstanding.]

I won't... haaah. Wouldn't... do that to you... mm.

[though really, that's up to Basch in the end. Olivine has a decent thread of self-control, but it has a limit. the other feels hot against his leg, even through cloth, and it's almost worse than the brush of a finger against his entrance. almost.

and Basch is in for a treat, by the first noise Olivine makes when his finger slides in, deep and insistent, weight pulled back into the warmth of another body. it's made louder still by another bite, fingers curling in the fabric beneath them, burying into it. immediately, it's not enough, but when is it ever?

for a moment he just waits, in spite of the way his whole body twitches and seems to beg for more all on its own, hazy gaze turned up to watch the blond as much as he can. he wants to ask for more, though. it won't be long before impatience hits, he knows.]

[bardische]

[ Perhaps if he were really this sort of person, he'd take some joy in proving Olivine wrong or trying to embarrass him, but he's not. He's already decided on a path and here's no reason to stray from it.

He's not expecting how vocal Olivine is, perhaps because he is so used to needing to be quiet, or being the one coaxed to loudness. There's no resistance, just sheer pleasure.

He's surprised, too, that Olivine waits. Perhaps that's part of the game for him, what with the way he's looking back so expectantly.

Basch slowly slides his finger out and back in. ]

How is that, pet? Do I keep you well?

[ He knows it is not enough; it shouldn't be, if he wishes to be fucked into the sofa, but it is good to build tension. ]

[massochism]

[truthfully, he's being a little quiet. Olivine is... just... really bad at it. he's also a person who feels things deeply (heh) and doesn't really see a reason to hide that unless he absolutely must.

to be honest, it surprises him too, though. whatever the case, his gaze hazes over once Basch's finger starts to move, easing out and back in.]

Haah... [agonising. it's agonising to wait when he knows what he wants, but he likes this.] I think you're trying—to make me lose my mind... master.

[of course it's not enough, not by a long shot, but at least the other is so close, bent so sweetly over him. he can work with that.]

I want... more... nngh. Please...

[bardische]

[ Basch's lips twitch, but the expression is soft. Yes, that was the idea, and he appreciates the confirmation he's moving in the right direction. He knows what it is, to have that want built up before it is released. ]

What would you do if I gave no more? [ he growls, slowing his hand and leaning away from Olivine, decreasing contact but standing close enough the other can still sense him. ] Would you wait, patiently, or would you fuck yourself against my hand?

[ Still, it pangs something in him to hear Olivine ask. So direct, so sweet. He's never been on this end of things, not like this, and it feels like getting an entirely new angle on himself, even if their preferences aren't perfectly aligned.

He won't be withholding that strongly, in the end, but he hopes the threat of it is pleasing. ]

[massochism]

[close, not close enough. his hand slows and Olivine struggles not to squirm immediately.]

Ah... haah... I would try... to wait, of course. But I don't know if I could stop myself.

[he neither suspects not expects Basch to hold out too long—honestly, he's really just following the blond's lead here in the grand scheme of it. picking up what feels good, of course, and firmly keeping everything in the context of here and now, the roles they've chosen—but he wants to be careful not to overstep, even if he's not been warned of any possibility of that.]

I want to be a good pet... but I'm only so strong. [there's a soft purr to it, almost a promise really.]

[bardische]

[ It would be difficult to overstep, which is why Basch has said little on the subject. Still, the impulse is implicitly helping him ease into this. ]

You are an excellent pet, even if you are weak. [ He strokes his knuckles down Olivine's back, admiring the musculature and beautiful skin, such a soft contrast to his own. Then he slaps his ass again, hard, before leaning back to bite the other cheek again, encouraging the other to squirm against his unmoving hand. ]

It is a beautiful weakness [ he murmurs against his skin, free hand moving to cup his sack, knowing he's not providing enough stimulation. The weaker Olivine gets to his own desire, the more he'll enjoy being fucked. ]

[massochism]

[it's an interesting push and pull, every time. Basch teases gentleness over soft skin and follows it with the harsh slap of a palm, the press of teeth, and Olivine only just bites his sound down to a manageable level. staying still? he'd have to be forced, nearly, especially as his body clenches down in his want.]

Haaah... thank you... master... [for the compliment, clearly. and less clearly, for the rough treatment, as his hips jolt and shift against that unmoving hand, rocking between it and the gentle hold over his sack. not enough, no—the priest can take more than most, in fact—but that's the point. a shiver slides down his spine, lip worried between teeth. only a moment, really, before he breaks.]

Please... I need more of you... I still feel so empty...

[bardische]

[ What an...odd thing to be complimented for withholding like this, but he hopes it just means Olivine is enjoying himself. That and his movements.

So Basch slips in a second finger, roughly, and quickly after a third, switching to moving his hand much more quickly as he digs nails into Olivine's tender sack and returns to biting at his ass.

He's going to give him more, but he's going to let him react and squirm and beg a little more first. ]

[massochism]

[He has his word for if it all gets too much—which it won't, of course. Basch will understand... eventually. It'll be a long process.

But the press of fingers pulls more sound from the priest, hips rising up into his hand in little shuddery movements. A sharp groan escapes him at the feeling of nails digging carefully against sensitive skin, teeth against his ass. His body, at the very least, is almost impossible to misread. He's active and sensitive, jolting and pressing roughly back into Basch's movements.

And he manages a brief time, at least, under the onslaught of sensation and want. It's not even all that intentional, but Olivine gets lost in the treatment so easily, until his body feels like an absolute mass of beautiful, awful need. A hand shifts, wanting to touch himself for a little more sensation—pauses instead and finds purchase elsewhere, making way for the shudder that runs through him.]

Hnngh... ah... please... harder, more... Basch...

[that... isn't really related to the role he's in, not in the end. There's no hesitation to it, and almost no shame at all in his pleasure from it; just that little slip with his name, and he hasn't even quite noticed it slipped out.]

[bardische]

[ This is admittedly past where he'd usually tarry, at least as the one in charge, and the more unknown it gets, the more he doubts himself.

But Olivine shows no signs of discomfort. Immense desire, even. He catches that shift and redirect of a hand. Good.

If the name is a slip up, then it is a fortunate one. Something about it grounds him, reminds him that he isn't just this role -- one he isn't particularly good at. It's the delivery, really, not something he thinks about, but something he craves. Being wanted, being good.

Maybe it's not the rules of this game, but he pulls his hand out before discarding his meager undergarment. It's...odd, feeling exposed like this. For a moment he tenses, ears straining for the sound of people in the hall. But he shakes his head to clear it, reaching for the lubricant. They won't be free if they don't finish with this, and it would be rude to leave Olivine in this situation without relief.

He doesn't even notice how his mind skirts around and consideration of his own want or need, even as he lathers his hardened cock in slick oil.

It's too bad, he realizes, that the harness he wears is not on Olivine. It would give him something to pull on and guide. Alas. He'll make do with the leash, pulling it taught so that Olivine's neck is cut into lightly.

He then takes Olivine's hips firmly, lining himself up and easing in. He can be rough in a moment; he isn't going to risk this doing damage, and he wants the other to adjust to him before he moves harder. ]

Will you be able to handle me until I've finished, Olivine?

[ Perhaps the first real question he's asked, though his finishing is no concern to him. Still, he holds the leash taught with one hand, the other digging into Olivine's flesh as he starts to rock, harder, faster. ]

Will you let everyone know how good you feel?

[massochism]

[the mind discomforts Olivine still feels are, quite honestly, thoroughly masked by the situation. It's rather unlike what he's used to with Eiden, softer and gentler but no less hot; absent the tormenting whispers and teases, he can keep Basch better in his focus.

That helps keep his mind from wandering too far, too. It hazes over when the other pulls taut at the leash and his insides twitch, breath exhaled on a warm moan. He likes that just fine, if the way his cock twitches is to be believed.

But then, cock wet with lube, the blond slides in—it's a remarkably easy glide, even for having stretched him. Olivine is definitely tight around his cock, but there's no painful struggle to relax or more.]

Nngh... abso... absolutely. I'll take it all... Basch.

[It feels better, actually, calling him this way. Basch grips the leash and his hip—the latter, digging and rough, draws a particularly pleasant groan from him, hips jolting back into each thrust and head tilted up to keep Basch at least somewhat in view.]

Nngh... I don't think I could... stay quiet even if I wanted to...

[That's probably accurate. Olivine is capable when it's absolutely necessary—this doesn't feel necessary right now.]

[bardische]

[ Basch passingly notices how easily he slides into Olivine. A mystery for later, because he has a task to complete, and someone to keep safe. He tests a few times, getting only moans of pleasure.

So he grunts, pressing Olivine down into the couch, pulling his arms up onto his back. He pauses for a moment, letting the other adjust, giving him time to change his mind. When he doesn’t, Basch holds his wrists tight, the hand with he leash wrapping it taught before going back to his hip, and now, finally, he fucks him hard, over and over, no pause, his own grunts quickly turning to a whine. ]

Sing…for me.

[ Because Basch isn’t going to be able to come until he feels Olivine’s absolute pleasure. And finally, finally he wants to. ]

[massochism]

[there's something that always makes him feel so... alive, in this position. it's easy to forget everything else when Basch presses him into the couch, pulls his arms back in a brief moment of not-quite-alarm. warm insistence fills him instead, heavy and deep.

fabric winds around his wrists and he bears no complaint, already gasping, groaning aloud as hips rock into his, over and over, hard enough to be addictive. his pleasure is obvious in everything he does, every twist of his hands and buck of hips, every sound that escapes him so sweetly, so easily.]

Ah—haah... Ba...sch...

[he's definitely not going to find much in the way of words, but it's easy to fall into a sort of slurred speech, a measure of his name mixed with pleading words, all melted together into a molten, searing mess of pleasure.

and it's not long, then, before his body tenses up, pressed back into the blond's grip as much as he can, the sharp cry signifying his orgasm at least muffled into the couch. ah, it's enough to leave him dizzy and hot, every nerve on fire with sensitivity, and still he pleads for a little more, for Basch to fill him, to give him everything.]

[bardische]

[ It's so clear Olivine enjoys this, and that makes it easy to relax and focus on serving.

The pleading, he does not know what to do with. He knows he enjoys being in a place where it comes from his mouth, but now he has to remind himself he is not hurting, is not failing. This is what he was asked for, and every sign is one of pleasure. He should not stop.

It helps, that the friction is strangely light. He can go harder than he normally would, skin against skin pleasant and slick. Soon enough, Olivine's body is scrunching, his breathing changing before he cries out.

That...does something for him. Even before Olivine begs for more; having served well, his own need grows. Or manifests itself, perhaps, no longer waiting for the other. It's new, and odd, and perhaps the leash fans it on. He finds a deeper reserve, grip tightening as he throws his head back and ruts against Olivine, near bounding him as he chases his own pleasure.

A thing that makes him shameful, and so he masks it. ]

You...have been so good, Olivine. I will...grant this last request.

[ It's the permission he needs, and in another moment he's crying out himself, gasping as his seed fills the other in hot pulses. He has to plant his feet, folding over Olivine, trying not to let both of them collapse. That would be unbecoming, and he's quite certain his role includes ensuring Olivine's comedown and comfort, including seeing him safely back to his room. ]

[massochism]

[he has his safeword if he needs, of course. it's more than enough, when he's enjoying every second of this. and honestly, he'd like to give more encouragement, more reminders that this is good, it's what he wants—but he really can't. it's a good thing Basch continues on the path of intuiting it, probably.

it's notable, at least, the little shifts that get Basch going. a little hard to pull into proper context, but they're things he'll try to remember should anything happen in the future. certainly nothing like this, most likely, but he always wants to help.

much like he would soothe Basch, if he knew the depths of his thoughts, the fact that he finds something like this shameful even when Olivine asked for it. his pleasure is important, after all.

chasing it gives something to Olivine, too, the heat of his orgasm soothing something in him. Basch folds over him in the immediate aftermath, and the priest already regrets not being able to put his arms down to hold them both up. his hands tug lightly at the leash wrapping them behind his back at this regret, but it's still easy to melt into the heady, sweet feeling of afterglow starting to settle in. he's still breathing a little hard, slowly catching up to the time and space again.]

Ah... haaah... thank you... Basch. Mmn...

[bardische]

[ That Basch doesn't trust that safety valve to be used, if needed, is likely something he needs to address. But not today. Nor is today for explaining the shame...is pleasurable, in its own way. If handled right. It's complicated when he's also leading, something he has less familiarity with.

But Olivine is nothing but glowing, and that thanks pulls the last of the concern from him. ]

I hope you are pleased, Olivine.

[ A low, gentle comment, role entirely forgotten. And he sits there for a few moments, dazed by afterglow, trying to catch his breath, straining to hear Olivine's comfortable sighs, before he straightens himself, undoing the tie from his wrists and gently guiding his arms down, pulling out from inside him, easing his body onto the couch as his fingers go to search for the clasp on the collar. He finds it this time. ]

Shall I take this off, or do you wish me to continue until you are returned to your rooms?