middaeg | Aereuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-All log [OPEN]

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Aereuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-All log [OPEN]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and you!
When: Throughout April
Where: Various places
What: All kinds of stuff for the month!
Warnings: See prompts and individual headers for warnings!

[ 1. Meteor Shower ]

[ Few things could awe Berserker. Even the meteors streaking through the sky can't manage it. Frustration, resentment, and even a tinge of sorrow burn in him as brightly as those many lights. Alone on hill just outside the city, the dragon seethes.

Or he thinks he's alone, anyway. Anyone else on that comes to the hill after the feeling hits him is completely ignored for the moment.

Berserker lowers his head, his fists clenched tightly. ]

That should have been me...

[ To be like that star: burning brightly for just a little bit before fading away. ]

[ 2a. Full Moon - Potential NSFW option ]

[ There is a blissful reprieve from the rain as the moons come into full view. Not so blissful are the effects the moons have on his mind. More on edge than usual, Berserker takes to the skies in an attempt to soothe his frayed nerves.

It doesn't work. His wings are fully healed now and allow him to fly, but now everyone he sees seems to be more like prey or something to be sized up. Still in his human form, he lands on a rooftop above a mostly empty street. The first poor soul he sees is now his target. ]

Run...Otherwise I can't guarantee your safety.

[ 3. Wildcard ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something out? Drop me a starter or PM me here/on discord glitzkrieg#0673 and we can work something out! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The change is immediate. Obedient has never been a word he'd use to describe Berserker and it still isn't but he's pliant beneath his touch, more like an animal seeking attention than one looking for a fight. So, that's it. In truth, Diarmuid had been tentative about the idea of letting him work through this sexually. Even without the pull of the Sisters, he tends towards being rough; he's not ready to take him when he's like this. But swapping their positions- that suits both of their needs now, doesn't it?

One hand stays on Berserker's jaw as the other moves to tug off his cape. It hits the ground with a thud, heavy from the rain but he doesn't feel so much as a slight chill from his damp shirt. The heat from their kiss seems to spread across his skin, making every nerve prickle, and he makes no attempt to resist it.

With more force than he might usually show, Diarmuid hooks an arm around lover's waist and pulls him flush to his chest. This time, as he kisses him- open mouthed, demanding- he moves to trail a fingertip along the upper line of his wings. Over time, he's grown familiar with his body and the most sensitive parts of it- and he'll make use of that knowledge to try and wear him out.]

[ Diarmuid (or anyone, really) trying to take him in this state is a recipe for disaster; there's no way he'd be able to control himself well enough not to hurt him. Without the semblance of restraint he normally has, all he'd want to do is knot him. There's something grateful in his noises and expression as he softens just slightly beneath the witch's more aggressive grip. Being understood is an unspeakable relief.

The dragon had gone out underdressed and unprepared for the downpour. The dark fabric of his shirt is soaked through, stuck to his skin and clinging to the curves of his muscle. His trousers are in a similar state. His rain-soaked hair is tousled and out of its usual ponytail. The dampness chills him to the bone, though the shiver that runs through him might not just be from the cold.

Diarmuid's warm touch may as well be like fire against his damp skin. Despite the scar tissue marring almost every bit of his wings, their sensitivity hasn't waned at all. Berserker moans against his lips, his wings spreading out to encourage more of his touch. It's impossible to ignore the bulge that presses against his lover, the only heated part of him right now. He whines as he starts to grind against him, gripping at his damp shirt and trying his best not to tear it up by clawing at his back. ]

[Diarmuid caresses each jagged scar as lovingly as though they were always there, a soft hum of encouragement vibrating against his lips when he feels Berserker clutch at him. The hardness grinding against him is proof enough that he's on the right track but that doesn't mean he's going to give him what he wants right away; the idea is to wear him out.

Slowly, with the distraction of a deeper kiss and the roll of his tongue against his commanding his attention, he eases Berserker down onto his knees. He doubts he would have allowed it had he been paying attention- the animal in him probably wants to wrestle for the right- and he makes sure to reward his pliability. It's a little like taming a wild beast, all give and take and reinforcement.]

Let me love you, mo ghrá...

[He gives his lip one last nip and draws back. Only for a moment, though, as he quickly puts his hands to a different but no less potent use by tugging the collar of his shirt out of the way so that he can place the first of many kisses along his neck. With every other one, he pauses to look up and meet his stare. In this light, with that flush across his face, those sleepy eyes of his take on a sultry look.]

[ It's a good gambit to draw his attention elsewhere; he barely notices that he's been made to kneel. His body obeys much better than his mind right now -- it's completely overwhelmed by the pull of the moons. Berserker cradles the back of Diarmuid's head in one hand, letting his fingers tangle in dark locks.

As much as he'd like to fight against this and take what he wants, he doesn't; he allows himself to give in. He inclines his head to give better access, quiet, pleased sounds accompanying each kiss. Red eyes meet gold and Berserker bites his lip. That look and the flush across his cheeks makes his heart skip a beat -- anything for that gaze.

The dragon still tries to fight for control, but his attempts are halfhearted. A hand placed on Diarmuid's shoulder is meant to keep him at bay or maybe even take control -- he just grips it instead. Some kind of sense is coming back to him, at least a little bit. ]

More...

[Scattered among the kisses are bites, some with little to no pressure in them, others harder, turning the skin dark with the promise of bruises to come. Before Berserker, he hadn't fully understood the pleasure that might be taken in making marks like these but it feels right. If it's possessiveness, it's of a mutual sort; he wants to leave the proof of his love over his body, where others can see it, and wants the same from him. Maybe it's just the twin moons.

It doesnt matter. Berserker is yielding and receptive and it makes Diarmuid's heart race in a way he hadn't quite expected: he feels privileged, not only to see him vulnerable, but to be given this task. Roughly, hands betraying the eagerness he's trying so hard to hide, he unbuttons the dragon's shirt. His lips find skin instantly, working the sensitive bud of a nipple as he holds him firmly in place. Dark as it is, the crimson knotwork of his tattoos is as stark as ever and he finds himself following the lines of each one, appreciating the firm, curving muscle and sinew beneath his palm.

Just as it seems as though he might relent, however, he pushes further. Teeth graze his nipple in sharp little nips in between languid laps of his tongue.]

[ This is the last place he expected this to happen: in a long-abandoned shop during a thunderstorm. It sets the tone for their encounter well as the wind howls through the broken windows, followed closely by a flash and a distant rumble. A tumultuous, almost violent show of caring and even love mirrors the heavy downpour outside.

Berserker splays his knees apart, the bulge of his arousal even more evident in this pose. He's already so worked up and overwhelmed that he feels like he might come from the attention he's being given. The sensitive bud of his nipple hardens quickly under such an assault -- now more sensitive than ever, thanks to the metal bars through them. His back arches, pushing his chest forward, a deep groan coming from his open mouth. The hand tangled in Diarmuid's hair clenches a fistful of it, pulling it tight.

An overwhelming assault and all he wants is more. It never feels like enough, even coupled with what he feels from the other side of their Bond. More and more until he collapses beneath it is what he needs...He trusts Diarmuid to give him just that. ]

[A little more encouragement is all it takes to tip Berserker over, if not onto his back completely then far enough to give Diarmuid better access to his chest as he slips the last of the soaking fabric out of his way. But that's the only break he'll get; the witch latches back onto him before he can recover fully, teasing one piercing between his teeth as he rolls a thumb over the other. The sharp tugs on his hair draw out soft, breathy sounds, driven by pleasure as much as they are pain. And still, though, he's every bit as hard as Berserker, he doesn't let himself see to it just yet.

Diarmuid lifts his head with a soft, hazy laugh.]

I wasn't sure at first but... these suit you.

[He gives the piercing one last stroke before turning his attentions further south. Diarmuid travels the length of his torso slowly, almost agonizingly so, leaving kisses and lovebites alike in his wake, all the while holding him firmly in place. When Every time Berserker squirms or arches his back, he'll be pushed back into place, sometimes with a harder bite. More of his animalistic fever has bled through their Bond than expected.

Fingertips press into the elegant curvature of his hipbone, just teasing the waistband of his pants- and then he stops.]

[ He lays back with a grunt, but there's no greater resistance than that. His chest heaves with every breath, panting out harsh, throaty moans at the attentions paid to him. Being forced down with hard bites or a hand feeds a far away part of his mind, soothes it just a little bit. The wild beast is tamed a little more as he's held down, wrestled into submission by firm hands and firmer bites.

The witch has made it clear who's the dominant one here; all he can do is submit and hope for some sort of mercy. His hand in Diarmuid's hair grows gentler, still tugging at it but with less force than before. Berserker squeezes his eyes shut tight, head tossed to one side, in expectation of a touch that never comes. The wet fabric of his trousers clings to his cock, a near perfect outline clearly visible. He whines sharply and raises his hips in a desperate plea for more. ]

[Berserker is made to wait for another grueling moment, Diarmuid close enough that he'll be able to feel the brush of his eyelashes and his breath across his skin. With hands steadier than he feels, he unbuttons his pants and eases his cock free. Inviting a prospect as it is to relieve him of at least some of the tension, he quickly decides against it.

Diarmuid gives the tip of his cock a tantalising lick, lapping a bead of precum away, before sitting up.]

Roll over for me, Cú.

[His voice is soft and sweet but assertive; if Berserker hesitates, he'll find himself being coaxed onto his front, Diarmuid's hands supporting him. From this angle, the scarring across his wings is more visible but, to him, they've lost none of their magnificence.]

[ His hips jolt upward at the teasing him of relief, wanting far more than he's being given. The denial of further attention makes him whine, more needy and desperate than before. Just that teasing lick was enough to get him even more desperate. The promise of relief, coupled with the gentle firmness of Diarmuid's voice and touch, is enough to get him to roll over.

Berserker pushes his knees up, his chest still on the floor. His tail lays to one side, out of the way. Presenting himself to the one who controlled him so well is the least he can do. He shifts a little bit to brace himself on one forearm, reaching back with his other hand to stroke himself. A part of him fully expects his Bonded to deny him the relief, but he can't help it right now.

There's an attempt to say something, but the only sounds that he can manage right now are not human. Needy, insistent, pleading grunts and growls and not much else come from him as he grips at the floor beneath him with his free hand. ]

[It's that tail, still when he's so used to its dynamic swishing, that Diarmuid next turns his thoughts to. With a murmur of thanks, he crawls over Berserker's form, one hand bracing himself on the floor as he slides the other underneath first his hips and then Berserker's where it rests on his cock. He gives one lazy pump, thumb rolling over the head, palm smooth against its strange, familiar ridges and bumps, all the while knowing exactly how he likes it.

But that's not his focus here. He dips his head and begins to dot kisses over his tail's plate-like segmentation, as if determination alone might evoke some feeling in them. Even so, with the knowledge that the place where the scales meet skin is the most sensitive by far, he doesn't linger long; as he strokes his length, Diarmuid showers the base of his tail with attention. There's something almost worshipping about how he nips and bites every spare inch of skin, tongue circling the whorls of muscle and the dimples on his lower back. It's intense and teasing all at the same time.]

[ Berserker bucks his hips, almost like he's trying to fuck Diarmuid's hand. His cock is hard enough that it feels like a steel rod beneath the plating. Being given just enough to tease him is maddening. His hands ball into fists, claws biting into his palms. It's not attention he's used to at all, which makes it all the more overwhelming.

He grunts and whines, arching up into the attentions being lavished on him. It's hard for him to breathe, much less think straight. It's never quite enough, but too intense for him to ignore. The end of his tail caresses Diarmuid's side in an extremely fond gesture. It distracts the dragon enough that he doesn't just come in his Bonded's hand.

Berserker looks back at Diarmuid as best his can, his expression a mix of desperation and lust. ]

[Berserker can rut into his grasp as much as he likes but Diarmuid keeps things entirely at his own pace, and not entirely for his partner's sake. The energy between them is pulsing and irrepresible and utterly intoxicating; if it were possible to get drunk off of it, he'd already be seeing double. The less control he demonstrates, the more likely he is to get completely drawn into it and a witch both feeding into and off their Bonded monster's frenzy while the moons are full is a dangerous thing.

It's trying his patience, though. Gods, but it's impossible to focus when he's aching for release himself and-

He breathes out. Hard.]

You're doing so well...

[The words are half lost against Berserker's back as his ministrations trail up over his spine. It's only once Diarmuid reaches his wings that he fully pushes his upper body into the floor, keeping his hips lifted so that he can continue to stroke him with ease- and at a faster rate than before. More than that, he's relentless. As he assaults the base of his wings with a new veil of bruises and kisses alike, he keeps him as still as possible. His lips leave real marks now, greedy blotches and even the occasional scrape of nails where he's holding him in place.]

[ He'll have to reward Diarmuid with something nice after this. His patience and self-restraint are remarkable, given the assault of emotions and desire he's getting from Berserker's side of their Bond. The desperation in his is present in ever twitch and jerk of his body, the way he claws and scratches at the floor, and the continued needy noises.

His back between his wings is a network of scar tissue and, under normal circumstances, he is a little sensitive to having it touched. That hesitance is entirely gone with the state he's in. Diarmuid's relentless assault feels too good for him to think beyond it. He wants more, but he's not sure he can take more. Despite his skin being chilled from the rain, he's covered in a thin sheen of sweat. ]

Close... [ The word is growled and distorted as he squirms. ] Please...

[ He's begging, literally begging, for release. Like an animal being stalked by a hunter, the move to exhaust him works. The overwhelming affections and gentle domination are working to calm his mind. ]

[He'll find that Diarmuid does little to block him from his release. Rather, he spurs it on in husky little whispers as he strokes in harder, faster rhythms.]

Then come. I won't stop until you do, my love.

[And, even then, he can't promise that this will be the last time he works him up like this tonight. This is a grand start but he intends for him to be fully spent when the clouds clear and the sun rises tomorrow morning. As the dragon reaches the climax of his approaching orgasm, Diarmuid finally allows himself some kind of relief, palming his arousal needily through his trousers with the hand he was using to support himself. The rain has left his hair a mess of damp curls, tangled around his shoulders and falling across his face as he droops over Berserker's body, groaning.]

[ He'd been expecting denial, brought to the edge only to leave him teetering on it. The promise of release is too much for him to ignore. Berserker rocks his hips into Diarmuid's hand in spasmodic motions, finally hitting his peak with a cry. Thick spurts of come coat the floor beneath him, a heavier load than usual; the moons have an effect on every bit of him, it seems.

Despite how much and how hard he came, his cock remains hard in Diarmuid's grip. He curves his back further in an attempt to push against the witch's our arousal. It feels selfish for him to be the only one getting some kind of relief here. ]

Let...me... [ Speech is still difficult for him and it takes considerable effort for him to speak coherent words. ] Let me...help.

[ Anything Diarmuid asks for he's more than willing to give him. He's already been pushed into submission, so it's only fair he give back to the one who dominated him so thoroughly. ]

[The twitch of Berserker's cock in his hand signals his orgasm before his cry does and Diarmuid is there to help him ride it out, hands slickening with seed as he continues to massage. In a heady, hazy way, he wonders what it might have been like if he had tried to take him in himself and it's with that same dazedness that he lifts his sticky fingertips to his tongue. Everything feels instinctive at this point.

Only when he hears the dragon speak- albeit in a voice that fans his ardour all the more- does he snap out of it again. Diarmuid swallows, mouth singing with his partner's strange, salty taste and body aching for his talented hands. Or lips. Or anything-

Focus. Damn these moons.]

Foighne ort. [Whose benefit was that for exactly? Berserker's or his own?] Let me kiss you. Please.

[ That sight was far more arousing than it should have been, sending a renewed spark of lust through him. Asking for him to be patient after seeing that is asking a lot right now. At the very least, he can answer his request.

Berserker twists around to kiss Diarmuid over his shoulder. It's less bruising with less teeth than before, though equally wanting. The taste of his own seed on his lover's lips and in his mouth strokes the fire already burning inside of his, turning it once again into a white-hot flame. The desire is less feral and more conscious now, at least; all he wants to do is please the one who soothed him so well. He no longer has the need for release driving him to do desperate things -- the desperation is all his own. ]

[It's a fight not to try and pull him close but those wings make it impossible. Instead, Diarmuid pauses to fully savour the kiss, all but forgetting to breathe as he luxuriates in the heady, lazy intensity of the moment.]

... you're so beautiful. [Another kiss, deeper and hungrier.] You really are.

[Finally, he forces himself to pull away. By now, he isn't sure whether it's the sound of rain or his own racing pulse drumming in his ears but he forces himself to take in a lungful of crisp air. The witch leans back against the dusty counter, both arms held out in anticipation of Berserker's embrace.]

[ It's still so strange for anyone to call him things like beautiful when he used to be so feared. It doesn't feel cheap nor like false praise coming from Diarmuid. It warms him for a moment, sending a brief flush across his face; the darkness would have completely hidden it, if it weren't for the ill-timed flash of lightning.

Berserker sits up and turns to faced his Bonded now. Half-dressed and tousled, he looks all the part of a beast as he draws the witch into a crushing hug. He wastes no time seeking out his lips for another kiss, freeing one hand to fondle him through his trousers. For as overwhelmed as he had been, it looks like he wants to do the overwhelming now. ]

[More than anything, it's a break in the action for Berserker's sake. Though Diarmuid's eager to submit to his touch for a short while, he's mostly using it as a chance to not only to see if he's calmed any but how he's faring with being handled like this. Well enough, it seems; the fire, while it burns as hotly as ever, seems to have been tamed somewhat. Good. This is good.

He settles against him, the faintest of whimpers escaping his lips as he finally attends to the ache between his legs- it's difficult enough to keep himself under control when the sight of his partner like this goes right to his dick. In spite of himself, Diarmuid arches into his hands, stopping only to place a tender kiss on Berserker's forehead before unfastening his own slacks. True, he's calmer now but he still doesn't trust those talons with fiddly buttons just yet.]

Edited 2020-04-07 10:36 (UTC)

[ It's a good idea not to trust him with that task right now -- he would've sooner torn through the cloth to get what he was after. The moment he can get his hand inside, he pulls Diarmuid's cock out and starts to stroke it. His motions are slow and methodical, rolling his thumb over the head with each pass.

Calmer though he may be, it doesn't mean he's entirely settled down. Berserker can't fight the urge to bite his neck and not just once. He peppers sharp nips on as much of his throat as he can, hard enough to leave a dark mark. It's a testament to how much better he's doing now that he doesn't turn Diarmuid into a bloody mess. Even the claws against his back only grip at the cloth of his shirt instead of tearing into it. ]

[Diarmuid's breath turns harsh and ragged, voice hitting peaks and valleys of eagerness with every gasp. A moan as his hand glides across his length turns into a hiss of surprise as the pleasure is amplified by pain when Berserker bites him. Vaguely, he knows he should be paying more attention, trying to keep in control of the situation, but he's been kept waiting for long enough.]

C-Cú...

[It takes all of his self control not to hook his leg around his waist and draw him in, to grind directly against his cock and finish against his stomach- but he still has work to do before that. With great reluctance, he brushes Berserker's hand away and moves up onto his knees, putting him eye-level with him, if not a little more.

Roughly, he takes the dragon's face in two hands, tilting it up slightly before assailing his mouth with another commanding kiss. He keeps him in place with a firm hold, giving him no choice but to submit to it completely, with any nips or snarls being met with a deeper kiss still. Until then, he hadn't thought of a kiss as having the potential to be obscene but this one, open-mouthed and messy, certainly is.]

[ Hearing his name spoken like that throws gasoline on the fire burning inside of him. He wants to hear more of that and to feel him come against his body...But that desire goes unrealized for now. Berserker whines as his hand is brushed away, reaching for him again.

The fight in him fades as Diarmuid dominates him with his kiss. He struggles for a moment, albeit weakly, growling as he tries to jerk his face from the witch's grip. It's a losing battle and he knows it; his mouth opens wider, allowing him accessing to whatever he wants. The heat between them is almost unbearable and part of the dragon feels like he might burn away beneath the passion.

Berserker splays his legs further apart, leaning back on one hand. He wants whatever Diarmuid will give him, the beast in him happy to submit to his will. The sounds he makes are less aggressive now, almost pleading in their tone and frequency. His beloved Bonded is the only one able to tame him like this; no one else can force him into submission with such ease. ]

[Sticky skin, clothes that cling, cold air and hot breath and the rain humming behind Berserker's voice- the sensory overload is dizzying but gods it feels good to give into it. The last of his inhibitions melt away and Diarmuid shrugs off his shirt, carelessly tossing it to the side and out of his way. What he wants is to drown in the feeling of their bodies together.

Without warning, he tugs hard on Berserker's tail, simultaneously pushing him onto the back to leave him as vulnerable as possible. It's a shame to relinquish their kiss for now but there's so much more to him to admire, to pour his attentions and adoration over. Scales and spines and sharp teeth, all designed to keep him away now draw him in more than ever as Berserker allows him to do as he pleases.]

My love, I'm going to fuck the moons' enchantment out of you. [As he speaks, he traces a fingertip along the dragon's still hard cock, deliberately teasing. It's so rare that he's so crude that it's actually a little thrilling.] Is that what you want?

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