lancer | diarmuid ua duibhne (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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middaeg2019-06-27 12:00 am
ua_duibhne) wrote in middaeg2019-06-27 12:00 am
Entry tags:
[closed] why don't you tell me what do you need
Who: Diarmuid and Berserker
When: Late June
Where: The Coven
What: Walking Disasters of varying degrees of messiness make either a very good or very bad decision and Bond.
Warnings:whoops this got spicy nsfw
[Tuesday at the Coven, 8pm, if your mind is still made up.
Though Diarmuid knows that Berserker isn’t the kind of man that will go back on his word or shrink away from a difficult task, he still wouldn’t blame him if he decided not to show up. After all, he himself had started to have a few doubts about the whole thing upon initiating that temporary Bond with Waver. Now that he’s experienced it for himself, the reality of what he's agreed to has made itself very clear. Is he ready for what he might find in Berserker's mind? Or, for that matter, the potential ache of what quiet, deeply buried self-truths might be unearthed in his own?
Well, it hardly matters. The fact is that the vow that they’re supposed to swear to each other in the ceremony was, in his eyes, already half made on that night in the maze. Whatever uncertainties he might have felt in the past few days, they've never lasted long against the memory of Berserker's eyes, wild with something uncontrollable and animalistic. No, he has a duty to uphold the promise he made as a Knight and- strange though it is to think it- someone who was gifted with his trust. Speaking of which, he’s given only a small amount of thought to the words he’s going to be speaking tonight and he would wager that Berserker has devoted even less to it, if any at all. But it’s fine. They’ll discuss it when the time comes. There are only a handful of things that Diarmuid is set on including and none of them are likely to be sentiments that he'll object to anyway.
As things are, the Lancer-turned-witch has declined waiting in the well-lit lobby in favour of taking a seat on the steps of one of the many grand entrances to the Coven. The summer sun has long since given way to a cooler evening and, in the gloom, he makes for a particularly solitary figure in his dark cloak. With only a small orb of light- a spell he’s mastered since their expedition- bobbing around his head for a light and nerves starting to gnaw at his resolve, it’s no wonder that he’s paying very little attention to the book in his lap.
... the nature of the lycanthrope’s relationship with the full moon is a double edged sword, drawing them further from their humanity but...
He snaps it shut.
In some ways, Berserker really is much easier to handle than Waver. Hopefully, he won’t keep him waiting too long. Sighing, he glances back up into the courtyard, brushing aside that defiant curl as he tries to pick out the large, prowling shape of the other Servant.]
When: Late June
Where: The Coven
What: Walking Disasters of varying degrees of messiness make either a very good or very bad decision and Bond.
Warnings:
[Tuesday at the Coven, 8pm, if your mind is still made up.
Though Diarmuid knows that Berserker isn’t the kind of man that will go back on his word or shrink away from a difficult task, he still wouldn’t blame him if he decided not to show up. After all, he himself had started to have a few doubts about the whole thing upon initiating that temporary Bond with Waver. Now that he’s experienced it for himself, the reality of what he's agreed to has made itself very clear. Is he ready for what he might find in Berserker's mind? Or, for that matter, the potential ache of what quiet, deeply buried self-truths might be unearthed in his own?
Well, it hardly matters. The fact is that the vow that they’re supposed to swear to each other in the ceremony was, in his eyes, already half made on that night in the maze. Whatever uncertainties he might have felt in the past few days, they've never lasted long against the memory of Berserker's eyes, wild with something uncontrollable and animalistic. No, he has a duty to uphold the promise he made as a Knight and- strange though it is to think it- someone who was gifted with his trust. Speaking of which, he’s given only a small amount of thought to the words he’s going to be speaking tonight and he would wager that Berserker has devoted even less to it, if any at all. But it’s fine. They’ll discuss it when the time comes. There are only a handful of things that Diarmuid is set on including and none of them are likely to be sentiments that he'll object to anyway.
As things are, the Lancer-turned-witch has declined waiting in the well-lit lobby in favour of taking a seat on the steps of one of the many grand entrances to the Coven. The summer sun has long since given way to a cooler evening and, in the gloom, he makes for a particularly solitary figure in his dark cloak. With only a small orb of light- a spell he’s mastered since their expedition- bobbing around his head for a light and nerves starting to gnaw at his resolve, it’s no wonder that he’s paying very little attention to the book in his lap.
... the nature of the lycanthrope’s relationship with the full moon is a double edged sword, drawing them further from their humanity but...
He snaps it shut.
In some ways, Berserker really is much easier to handle than Waver. Hopefully, he won’t keep him waiting too long. Sighing, he glances back up into the courtyard, brushing aside that defiant curl as he tries to pick out the large, prowling shape of the other Servant.]
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[It must be catching because the longer he spends here, the more he wants from him. With every word and every featherlight breath, the edges of his self restraint fray a little further- but it's the way that Berserker bites his lip that tugs that last thread loose. The worst part is being fully aware that he's giving into it.
... another kiss will solve that, surely? Feed the fire just enough to keep it burning without causing a wildfire- at least, that's what he's telling himself. The bed creaks as he moves out from under Berserker and resettles beside him, half reclining with his head resting against the back of one hand.]
... don't worry. [There's really no other word for what he's doing but gazing.] I know I'd just be breaking my own heart.
[Fondly, Diarmuid brushes Berserker's hair back from his face and presses his mouth to his again. A small nip at his lower lip as he breaks away suggests more where he would fail in words; just as Berserker can't admit to wanting the contact, he can't admit to wanting to give it.]
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That kiss is the one that breaks the dam, overwhelming him with his long-buried desire. It's enough to set a fire in him and finally, finally give in to what he wants. Where words fail him, actions take their place. He turns to face the other man and returns the kiss eagerly. An arm snakes around him, pulling him closer, gripping at his back. He can't ask, but he can take. If Diarmuid stops him, so be it, but he'll take whatever he can get.
It feels good to give in. He feels something that isn't negative. It's so unfamiliar, but he doesn't hate it. It's something he actually wants, truly wants. How strange, how very, very strange. He doesn't stop to consider why this is so unfamiliar and weird, he just presses himself closer to the Lancer. No space between them, no barriers, just an unbridled desire Berserker can't deny any longer. ]
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There's little resistance in him, then, when he's pulled closer- at least, at first. Diarmuid allows him to take what he wants for a few moments, responding to his touch with a fervour equal to his and staying pliable in his arms as his claws rake across his back. It doesn't last. In one easy motion, he takes advantage of Berserker's distraction to turn him onto his back and straddle his hips. Before he can complain- hell, before he can so much as catch his breath- he leans forward and captures his mouth yet again.
Still-]
This isn't- [Fabric rustles as he pushes Berserker's shirt off of his shoulders, revealing the knotwork across his shoulders.] - I'm not normally so...
[They've come all this way but he still can't help himself.]
Please, don't think ill of me for being so forward.
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It's a deeply unfamiliar sensation to actually enjoy a battle, but this isn't what he's used to. There's an unexpected fulfillment in the give-and-take. He doesn't fight it when Diarmuid straddles him, laying back once again. Much more active than before, than ever, he puts his hands on him once again. There's too much clothing between them still, so he starts working at the closures on Diarmuid's shirt. It's hard to do any kind of delicate work with claws, but he's trying. Tearing it off feels like a better idea, but they still have to leave here -- that and he's pretty sure Diarmuid might be annoyed with him for doing that. At least he's being that considerate in the moment.
Black scales shine red across his shoulders as shirt is pushed down. How forward the Lancer is does surprise him and...
Ah, there it is. Berserker knows he has hang ups about intimacy of all sorts, but there's a time and a place for these sort of things. When you're already halfway into an act of passion on top of the other person is not that time. ]
Shut up.
[ It's not cruel at all, though he doesn't give Diarmuid a chance to respond to it. A hand moves to tangle in his hair as he leans up to kiss him. It's more teeth and tongue than anything, rough and bruising -- appropriate for someone like himself. ]
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But about their situation-
Shut up. Oh. Diarmuid blinks at him for a few moments, unsure whether to be contrite or affronted, and starts to say something- but that's about as far as he gets before he's lost in the crush of Berserker's body against his again. It's hard to be too indignant when he sinks so readily into his arms, really.
... but that doesn't mean he's going to let him get away with it. He's a knight and he has his pride, after all. Before he can be swept up in another carress, he edges back and out of Berserker's grasp so that his chin is resting on his chest. There's a strangely puckish glint in his eyes.]
Have I offended you? Then allow me put my lips to better use.
[Rather than tilting his head upwards, though, he slips further down Berserker's torso, assailing him with a barrage of frustratingly light kisses as he goes.
Maybe this isn't actually about pride.]
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He looks down at Diarmuid, noting that look in his eyes. Well, at least he's eager to please. Berserker shifts a bit underneath him to completely shed his shirt, tossing it aside. There's almost a whine at the feather light kisses on his skin. More, his mind screams at him, but it goes unvoiced. He lifts up just slightly into each delicate sensation, gripping at the sheet with one hand. ]
Surely you can do better than that. [ His voice strains to get out, tinged with lust. ] Can't you?
[ Through the desire-filled haze in his mind, he still remembers that best way to get the reaction he wants from Diarmuid.
Hopefully. ]
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As you say. [Another kiss. Considering his new battle wounds, the sheets are withstanding those claws admirably.] I would hate to disappoint you, Cú.
[For all his teasing, as much as he tries to disguise it with playfulness, it's the truth.
Even so, he doesn't, as Berserker might expect, move lower. Rather, Diarmuid draws himself back up and redirects his attentions altogether. His mouth first finds his collarbone, grazing sensitive skin, and then move downwards to the swell of muscle of his chest where he pauses- but only for a second. When he next parts his lips, it's to run his tongue just lightly across a nipple. It's really far too late to worry about letting things get out of hand; with a haze of neediness clouding his thoughts, he was going to end up in his arms one way or another so he may as well sink into them completely. Sex has never been about pure lust for him and yet here he is, acting with a boldness and unbecoming lack of discipline that will probably- no, definitely- embarrass him in the morning.
God. He wants to please him so badly.
It's fine. That seems like aeons away with how strangely time feels like it's moving.]
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This is also a way to satisfy personal curiosity. If he gives Diarmuid free reign to do as he wants, what will he do with it? Will he listen to Berserker's desires or just take what he wants? There's a part of him that already knows the answer (the Lancer is a little predictable in some ways, after all), though there's still enough of a mystery to keep him interested.
Berserker writhes beneath the attention given to him. It would be so easy to overpower Diarmuid, yet he continues to accept this treatment. It's overwhelming despite it not being that much. Is it because he rejected his own wants for so long that every touch, every kiss sets his senses on fire? He doesn't know the answer, he just wants more.
The sheets tear in his grip as he feels the teasing tongue graze his nipple. Oops. He hadn't noticed how hard he'd been gripping at them, too caught up in the sensations being given to him. ]
...More. [ Not quite desperate, but pleading. ] Give me everything you've got.
[ Why was he so desperate for this kind of affection? He couldn't understand it, but they're past the point of understanding anything. Analyzing this could come later. He lets go of the torn cloth in his hand to clutch at Diarmuid once again, trying not to claw his skin up anymore than he already has. Any semblance of self-control is gone and it's strange for him to just give in. ]
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If it's everything he wants, he'll get it. Diarmuid adds teeth to his ministrations, biting down for a second before taking him into his mouth properly. Even without saying a word, the pounding of his chest and the arc of his back tells him it's what he wanted, a reward in its own right. Berserker's claws on his skin only fuel his need for contact and, as they into him, he can't fight a shudder; what could they do to him under any other circumstances? The marks on his body now are of a different breed altogether but he's no less satisfied by them than he would be from a battle.
His hair's completely out of place, stray lock lost in a mess of waves, and, as he sits back up, he brushes it back off of his face.]
This is insane... [Breathless, he drags a hand up over Berserker's thigh.] ... but thank you.
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He's not given much time to think about it, thankfully. If he took the time to think about the situation, he would be gone from here in an instant to never be seen again. The other man keeps giving him more to focus on than the confusion clouding the back of his mind.
Breathing heavy, he sits up as Diarmuid does and pushes himself off the bed. It's not to run away like a small part of him is telling him to do, it's to shed the rest of his clothing. A moment's reprieve in the heady haze of long-repressed desires. Everything is laid bare before the Lancer. His body bears a few still healing wounds from an incident in the hedge maze -- long, narrow gashes here and there. He'd been too stubborn to take care of them despite being given the means to do so.
After a moment, he settles back down on the bed, propped up on his elbows. ]
You don't need to thank me... [ It was really Berserker who should be thanking him. For bonding with him at all and taking this chance. An exercise of trust and mutual respect. ] You're proving yourself and you're doing well.
[ Faint, but genuine praise. It's the best one could hope to get from him. ]
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No, the more unusual thing for Diarmuid is that Berserker is even still here. As the dragon undresses, letting the last few layers between the two of them drop away, the significance of it hits him hard. More than physical vulnerability, it's a show of trust. In his exposed back an opportunity, in every still healing wound a weakness- the faith he apparently has in him makes his chest tighten with pride.
... still, maybe he shouldn't be quite so sentimental out loud.]
Oh? What am I proving? [He smile takes on a dry quality, albeit obviously not one that's directed at Berserker.] That, if nothing else, I can please you in bed?
[Just in case he thinks he's being sincere, though, Diarmuid follows it up by settling back against him. A little nuzzle against his hair drives that he was just teasing home.]
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There's no need to speak to the truth of the matter -- he knows Diarmuid understood what he meant. Berserker trusts few people and fewer still to be near him at him most vulnerable. Yes, he's still dangerous and can defend himself, but there are still weaknesses on display. The Lancer would never betray him, that much was promised.
He shifts a little to rebalance himself as he puts an arm around the witch. It's a warmer embrace than to be expected, an almost fond look on his face. The desire for more hasn't cooled off completely, but it's not longer at a boiling point. He kisses his temple, pulling him in just a little bit tighter. ]
I don't have to tell you. You know exactly what I mean. [ He runs his fingers through Diarmuid's hair as he leans in to capture his lips in another kiss. ] You're worth relying on.
[ Reassurance that didn't need to be spoken. He chose to do so out of courtesy -- he owed him that much, didn't he? ]
tfw u want to smash but CHIVALRY
Only to those worthy of it- [Lightly, he bops his forehead against Berserker's.] - and you are. It's a mystery to me too.
[As tempting as it is to get swept up in another round of desperate kisses and embraces, he forces himself to pull away. Slowly, he slides a hand down across Berserker's body, pausing only to satisfy his curiousity about any scales he missed before, to where he had stopped moments before. This time, though, he allows his fingertips to play across the most sensitive skin of his inner thigh. It's not yet a direct touch but his intentions are clear.]
May I? Le do thoil.
[Impressive, really, that he manages to make something so nakedly sexual sound romantic in very few words.]
never change deermood
Berserker nearly flinches away at the touch on his thigh simply because of how unfamiliar it is. He stops himself, looking momentarily annoyed. An involuntary response that he wanted to control. It was the same with the shiver the ran through him. How was he going to handle himself from here if a simple touch did that to him? It's impossible not to see how much he's enjoying this in his state of undress. ]
Don't be so formal. [ He knows that won't change Diarmuid's behavior and there's a part of him happy...no, satisfied, that it won't. It's almost endearing. ] Do as you will.
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With a renewed sense of confidence, he finally allows his hand to settle and close around him. There was only a slim chance that he was going to be totally human so his changed appearance does little to put Diarmuid off, eliciting only the faintest look of curiosity when he runs a finger across the head of his cock. As he works his length in purposeful but languid strokes, though, there's something very... practiced about it. But would it really be such a surprise if Diarmuid of the Love Spot had experience in these matters? Under any other circumstances, the suggestion, regardless of veracity, might leave him bitter and humiliated but he's too caught up in the moment to even consider it.
Whatever the case, he makes sure to measure his bonded's reactions with a keen eye. He's even biting his lip a little in concentration.]
Faster? [hushed but encouraging-] Tell me what you want.
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It's so hard to voice what he wants, normally content to let whoever's he's with do as they please. His desires are an afterthought, nothing more. What does he want? How can he put into words what he wants? It's not even out of embarrassment, it's just simply being so out of touch with his own body.
He shakes off the haze of lust long enough to respond beyond wanting moans. ]
Faster... [ Nothing more than a strained whisper. ] Please, my knight.
[ A king he is not, but he wants to see Diarmuid's reaction to that almost fond title. This is little different from bed-sharing between a king and his knight, after all. ]
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Just for tonight, he wanted to hold him- let him be his knight too.
In defiance of every instinct screaming at him to stop, the kisses against his neck turn adoring, mixed with murmured assurances. Please, don't hold back. Things truly are slipping completely out of his control now but maybe that's why his heart is drumming so hard, why his blood is coursing so hotly through his veins, why he can't bring himself to care that this is too personal.
He pumps his shaft with more haste now, suddenly more aware of the unfamiliar ridges against his palm. If this is what he wants, he'll give it to him.]
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Each motion draws a soft sound from him, continuing to rock up into the rhythm. His cock throbs from the attention, a bit of pre-come dribbling from the tip. There's an unfortunate reality that he could hit his peak at any moment -- how intense all of this is, paired with how long he'd denied himself is a dangerous combination. He'll hold it back as long as he can.
He balances himself on one hand, his other trailing lower on Diarmuid's body to settle in between his thighs. Such eagerness should be repaid, but it's so hard for him to say it. It's difficult to focus on anything but the sensations being given to him, his senses completely overwhelmed. ]
Do you want the same from me? [ The same strained whisper as before. ] I'll give you anything you ask.