middaeg | July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

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July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

Who: Berserker (Cú Chulainn Alter) and you!
When: Throughout July
Where: Through the city
What: Quests and other things!
Warnings: Some threads are NSFW!

[ 1. Sew and Tell ]

[ While Berserker can't help with the magical parts of upgrading the shop, he is strong. He's doing any grunt labor asked of him, lifting things, moving heavy objects, and holding people up to reach things. You need something carried? He's your ~~dragon~~ man.

He finishes a task to take a small break to stretch. He looks over to a coworker (or customer, he doesn't care to know the difference) and tilts his head slightly. ]

Is there something you need me for?

[ 2. Out of the City ]

[ There's a lull in the activity of the day and Berserker takes a moment to rest. He slumps down against a tree, his spear Gae Bolg resting against his shoulder. He's only doing this because he knows he's good at it -- fighting and killing is boring and routine. A sound catches his attention and he grabs his spear without getting up. ]

Do I need to stand up or did you just trip?

[ He's a jerk, sorry. ]

[ 3. Wildcard ]

[ Got an idea? Did we plot something already? Drop me a starter or PM me here or on discord at glitzkrieg#0673! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[As soon as he feels his arm around him, he closes the gap between them, shifting so that Berserker's head is resting against his chest. It's a little tricky with the horns but he's slowly gotten used to their presence.]

Risking a lot...? [Diarmuid sighs long and deep, putting a hand to his forehead.] I... maybe. I've always been a poor judge of that.

[There are classes at the Coven tomorrow but, somehow, they've suddenly lost all pull for him. There's so much he has to think over that the idea of trudging through the snow and spending hours learning archaic fire spells is unbearable; how is he supposed to focus on that right now? More likely, he'd burn the whole classroom down.]

Just know that I'm here out of choice rather than obligation.

[ His horns have been nothing but a nuisance, really.

He shifts a little bit to settle in further, his eyes closed. The magic pulses between them, their hearts beating in time with it. What a strange, yet soothing feeling. Just this contact is enough to settle some of his more bothersome thoughts. Everything's fine so long as his bonded is here with him.

Berserker raises his head for a moment to look at Diarmuid, brow furrowed. There's no point in being gentle about it. ]

I know...I think it's foolish, but it's your choice. I will have you as long as you'll stay. For all that you may lose, I will remain.

[ He lays his head back down as he pushes a hand underneath any top the Lancer might be wearing. Claws play gently across his skin, light and teasing. How strange to give out soft affection like this. ]

It is foolish.

[Almost feline, he arches his back into the touch, breath catching in a decidedly more satisfied sigh as claws ghost over his skin. But it isn't just the sensation making him break out in goosebumps; Berserker's promise has struck a chord and he responds by stroking a hand through his hair.

As he talks, he traces the base of his horns and his temple with one fingertip.]

I can only hope you're not chaining yourself to a sinking vessel.

[A small silence. It's not even late and yet sleep beckons with as much intensity as it would if it were the middle of the night. He resists.]

... I shared a bed with Lord Fionn often. Not like this, though.

[ A soft, pleased noise comes from him in response to the petting. Even though he let himself indulge in this more often now, simple affection still draws a strong reaction out of him. It's something he can't control, but the desire to control it lessens in Diarmuid's presence. Odd. ]

Even if I am, I don't care. That's my foolish choice to make.

[ Berserker traces the lines of the Lancer's muscle with the pads of his fingers, using a little more pressure. It's a test to see what sort of touch he responds to best, curiosity getting the best of him. He listens for a change in his breathing, a tensing beneath his fingers, anything that might give him away.

Sleep is tough to resist right now, his body and mind exhausted. The warmth and physical comfort from Diarmuid isn't helping him fight it, either. Fionn's name is enough to shake it off for the moment. ]

I'm not surprised... [ By either admission. ] A knight's expected to serve his king, after all. [ He shifts a little bit as his hand comes to rest on the other man's hip. ] Is this better or worse?

[Each touch brings about a subtle reaction of its own; a catch in his breath; teeth pressing lightly on his lower lip; skin prickling. But, even half asleep and basking in the hazy warmth that lying beneath a triple layer of blankets, bedsheets and dragon brings, he has enough of a presence of mind to bristle. Just a little, though.]

"Serve his"- [He shakes his head.] No, not like that. Or this.

[Why was he even thinking about Fionn? Perhaps, in the middle of the tangled mess of loyalities and emotions he's still trying to process, all he can do is think back to the relationship that brought him the most joy and pain of any so far.]

What I meant to say is that it was a mark of trust, not... [He trails off.] I don't know what I meant to say.

I was being mean. [ Because of course he was. No point in hiding that fact. ] Don't take me so seriously all the time.

[ He doesn't have much of a sense of humor and it's usually at someone else's expense. Sorry, Diarmuid. He lets it go for now, at least. ]

I know...You trust me enough to sleep in the same bed as you at your most vulnerable. I trust you enough to allow the same.

[ Which was strange. He'd never trusted anyone enough to share a bed with him, save for Ferdiad, but that was a long distance memory. Trust wasn't something you could spare when your sole focus was on survival.

To distract both of them, he strokes his fingers down Diarmuid's stomach, gentle and without urgency. It's good to feel warm and safe for once in his life, though he'd never admit it. It's hard to say he's happy with this arrangement, but at the very least he's content. This conversation and affection settled his mind and the unwelcome emotions from earlier. ]

... You've dealt with a lot today. Just let it go for now.

[Oh. That was teasing? Hmm.]

Ah- right. Sorry. [The Lancer tries to focus instead on the way his claws trip over his skin, biting his lip just a little as they brush over the sensitive skin of his side. But still, he can't let that last part go without remark.] I've "dealt with a lot"?

[He punctuates the question by cupping Berserker's jaw, tilting his head up and kissing him. It's the first time he's done so in a while and with the stress of what just happened, it seems like longer still. More than anything, though, Berserker will get the feeling that when Diarmuid's lips meet his, it's driven by a desire for intimacy and affection rather than anything magical. God knows, he's playing with fire; their bond was only ever supposed to be practical but here he is carrying on like- like this. It's not simply embarrassing, it's downright laughable.

The smallest amount of regret creeps into his eyes as he draws away- but he's quick to cover it with a playful but pointed look.]

... which one of us levelled a building again?

[ Claws dig into Diarmuid's side just a little bit as the kiss catches him off guard. It's enough to draw a soft sound from him, a little confused, but also wanting. This should have been a practical arrangement and nothing more. Emotions complicated things and Berserker didn't know how to deal with them. He didn't know how to deal with the protective instincts the Bond created between them nor...anything related to it. This is foolish and embarrassing and yet he wants more.

He kisses Diarmuid once more, nipping his lower flip gently as he pulls back. ]

Caster did that, I just gave him the means and motivation. I broke a tree.

[ It was his spear and his behavior that ultimately triggered the explosive reaction from his lighter side.

That aside, he's interested in getting more from the Lancer. Maybe something to ease any tension between them. Boundaries are to be tested and he trusts the witch to stop him if he goes too far. He slips his hand beneath Diarmuid's waistband to tease as he leans up to kiss his neck.

Foolish to want this, foolish to keep pursuing it. He knows there will be a day when this breaks down and they'll both be worse off for it. That's what he tells himself, anyway. It's safe until then to get attached...It's not, but there's no way to stop it. The flood gates have been opened and trying to close them back up now is a losing battle. He can't stop it, can't control it, so he just has to accept it.

That's okay, isn't it? ]

Edited 2019-07-18 23:34 (UTC)

[It has to be okay.

Diarmuid's used to facing down ruin; when he wed Gráinne, when he had accepted Sola-Ui as his Master in Kayneth's place... each moment marked the beginning of the end and it was entirely out of his control. A proverbial sword of Damocles was hanging over him, perhaps not ready to fall just yet but growing sharper and closer with every passing minute. So, what of this? When Diarmuid looks down at Berserker, the uncharacteristic gentleness in his movements makes him weak with unease and hope alike.

No- it can't just be okay: it has to be different. He won't let this fall apart.

Though he makes a short, reproachful sound at Berserker's admission- provocation makes him just as culpable, okay- moves with his touch, back curving again in an elegant arc as he leans into his hand.

- and then he catches the dragon by the wrist.]

I'm not sure you deserve it. [Diarmuid fixes him with a disapproving look through half-lidded eyes, flushed face ever so slightly undermining his tone.] I should be mad at you.

[ He stops the moment his wrist is grabbed, maybe with a look of slight disappointment. It's fine, though. Maybe Diarmuid's right -- he didn't deserve ... any of this after the way he acted today. It should have been expected something like this would have happened, though: he is a Berserker. They excel at destruction and shows of force. Combine that with his status as an Alter, it was only a matter of time before something on this scale happened.

Maybe that shared dream with Caster was prophetic after all. ]

Think of it as an apology. Guide me and I'll do what you ask. [ He's normally quite submissive, so it's strange to take the initiative. ] Or we can just lie here together and you can scold me for what I did.

[ He might be joking with that last comment, it's hard to tell with his tone. ]

[To be fair, it's usually hard to tell when he's joking anyway. Regardless, Diarmuid isn't really angry by any stretch of the imagination; disappointed, maybe, but a hefty portion of that is directed at himself and not Berserker. It's complicated. At some point, light and dark were going to clash and he should probably just be grateful that it ended without too much bloodshed; the lasting damage will have probably been done to their pride and feelings rather than their bodies.

So, instead of a scolding, Berserker receives only a chuck under the chin and a click of the tongue.]

Strange way of apologising. But it isn't my forgiveness to give.

[As far as he's concerned, that draws a line under that. With a light nuzzle, Diarmuid lets his hands trail downwards, beneath the fabric of his shirt and then to tug at the waistband of his pants. Fingertips trace the lines of his hipbones before dipping lower, slow and cautious in spite of the sense of need already building in his chest.

This is practical. After all that stress, it's practical to reaffirm their Bond and share a little more energy between them to ease the tension- at least, that's what he's telling himself. Does that make it better or worse? Gods, today has him questioning everything.]

Is this the Bond or is it us?

[He sounds breathless, even a little confused.]

[ After what happened today, Berserker's just grateful he didn't hurt Diarmuid. The petty feud between himself and Caster was just supposed to involve them, no one else. Now with Bonds and instincts drawing in others, it was more complicated. The next time they got into a fight, it would be worse -- someone might die. That thought normally wouldn't bother him, but he's grown so protective over his Bonded that things have changed. If anyone will kill him, it will be by his own hands...Ah, there's that obsession. That thought bothers him, too.

Diarmuid's hands on his body draw him away from those thoughts. It's hard to think on anything deeper when even the simplest touch sets his nerves on fire. His muscles tense beneath his fingers as his breath hitches in his chest. He's normally so guarded with his reactions, anything that might give him away carefully concealed, but there's something different here. Berserker owes his Bonded honesty in everything, doesn't he? So it's okay to let these things slip. He allows himself to arch into the touch with a soft, needy sound.

Permission to continue given, he presses his palm against the witch's cock, only pausing when the question finally hits him. ]

...Does it matter?

[ Berserker didn't know, either. He's really not the best person to ask, so unfamiliar with his own wants and desires. It's convenient to blame the Bond for this, but there's some part of him that knows that's not true. He'd grown attached to Diarmuid and while, yes, that was the fault of the Bond, there's more than that. Putting the emotions into words is beyond him, all he knows is that he wants this. He wants whatever the Lancer will give him and he will give him more in return.

It's okay. It has to be. ]

[Does it? In the back of his mind, it gnaws at a part of him he'd almost forgotten since arriving here. If this is a result of their Bond, why should it be any different to the charm placed upon his mole? Is it another relationship he'll spend hours fretting over, wondering whether the emotion was genuine, the attraction real beyond the pull of a spell he can't control? Maybe that's his first mistake; this isn't a "relationship" by any normal standard. This isn't love and, as things have grown more intense, Diarmuid's never entertained the thought that Berserker could- or would even want to- offer him that in the first place.

In a way, then, he's right: it doesn't matter. But that doesn't diminish the meaning he can't help but pour into every gesture. It doesn't make him want to wrap himself up in the other Servant's body and stay there for the rest of the night any less.]

I guess not.

[Stupid. Why is he even still talking about it? Diarmuid forces himself to refocus his attention on the heat beginning to pool between his legs with each stroke of Berserker's hand, this time making no attempt to bite back a contented sigh.]

Fuck it.

[Hearing him curse so strongly without the help of several mugs of ale is rare but it's certainly heartfelt. Diarmuid rolls his hips against hi, trying to find a position to steal more of that delicious friction wherever he can.]

[ 'Love' is something Berserker likely isn't capable of. Deep devotion and affection, yes, but calling those things love? No. He knows there's just a strong desire to protect Diarmuid, to keep him safe, and stand by his side. Could it all be chalked up to the Bond between them...? No. Maybe the ritual is what set this off, but there's more. It's more than he can say and he can only show it through his actions.

In over his head, desperately trying not to drown in a sea of unfamiliar emotions. He's trying not to let his desires overwhelm him and, in turn, overwhelm the one he's with. If he's not careful, he will drag Diarmuid down with him. It's so much and the intensity only ramps up with each encounter. Maybe they'll be able to slow down someday...

The sudden, intense swear gets a little smile from Berserker, though. If the witch finally let go, maybe he owes him the same courtesy. It's just so hard to let go after years and years of building up his defenses. It's impossible to be honest with himself.

He opens up Diarmuid's pants and pushes them down with his free hand, giving himself a little more room to work with. His reactions drive him further, each little breath and motion of his body sends a thrill through him. His thumb circles over the head of his cock with each pass, building the stimulation.

Perhaps...a lewd request is okay. He leans in to kiss him, his voice barely above a whisper. ]

Do you want me to fuck you?

[ It was Arthur who told him his wants are important. He still didn't believe it, but maybe he could ask for things on occasion. That and this wasn't entirely for him. That's how he justifies it. ]

Edited 2019-07-21 19:16 (UTC)

[A sharp intake of breath, a slow, shaky exhale. After everything that's happened today, a little release would help both of them.]

I was going to ask the same of you.

[Looks like both of their natural submissiveness is going to be a problem here. There's something else they have in common whether they realise it or not; Diarmuid has spent so long putting his own wants second or third that being given a choice is almost overwhelming at first. The difference between them is simple: Berserker can't conceive of having wants of his own while Diarmuid can't imagine having a want worthy of being prioritised. Either way, it's so much easier to just let someone else decide and adapt.

Not tonight, though. With one last, fleeting stroke along the length of Berserker's cock, he shifts away- but only so that he can hook a leg around his hips and pull him in closer still. Hands freed, he uses them to cup his jaw and kiss him deeply, tongue pressing needily against his.]

... does that answer your question?

[Still not ready to actually ask for something outright but it's a step in the right direction.]

[ Small victories and slow progress. It's okay that it's slow, though -- any faster and he might run. Running away from what had been opened up is still tempting. Running away from all of this to isolate himself and going back to how he used to be is a nagging thought in the back of his mind. Slow pushes forward keep him from regressing.

He stiffens up just a little bit as Diarmuid kisses him, relaxing just a moment after to practically melt into it. That certainly did answer his question. He knew on some level of the witch's struggle with his own wants and needs -- that came with being a knight, after all. For him to be forward like this and show his own desire means something significant.

Berserker shifts slightly as he's drawn closer to let his pants slip down further. His cock rests alongside Diarmuid's, heated with need. A little bit of reality hits him...With as changed as he is, he's thicker than most and the new plates and studs add an extra challenge. He gives him a briefly sympathetic look. ]

...I hope you can take me.

[Me too is his gut response but he bites his tongue. Although by now he's quite familiar with Berserker's more intimate changes, Diarmuid's never really considered the practicality of... this. Not that his expression shows any hint of his uncertainty. Rather, as he returns his hand to his cock, running his thumb over each stud with a new curiosity, he seems confident.]

... I've taken worse weapons than this, Cú. [He flashes him a smile- but at least he has the decency to look a little sheepish as well as aroused. It was a bad joke and he knows it.] With preparation, we'll manage.

[To seal the deal, he places another kiss on his lips before twisting away to fumble in his bedside table. Going out to buy what he's looking for right now was a trial in itself but he just about got it together- he's a grown man, for goodness sake- and survived the embarrassment of having to explain what it was he wanted to the store clerk. A few moments later, he retrieves a small bottle of massage oil.

... no, it's no good. He can already feel his cheeks getting hotter. So much for being mature.]

[ Did he really say that...? Berserker visibly reacts to Diarmuid's awful joke, shoulders dropping as he hangs his head for a second. It's such a bad joke that he can't even make a jab at him before he turns away. ]

But this one shouldn't be the death of you.

[ There. At least he said something.

There's still a part of him telling himself to stop this foolishness and leave. A larger, more insistent part tells him to stay. Strengthen their Bond, make up for the last time when he came from just barely being touched. His hand starts to move on the witch's cock again as a way to offer him a bit if a distraction. ]

You're so embarrassed. [ Like he had to say it. He couldn't imagine how hard it must've been for him to buy this. ] ...You're just trying to be ready. Don't think on it so much.

[ Though... ] You may have to prepare yourself unless you trust me with these claws.

[ Annoying realities. They're duller than they used to be, but still long enough to be a nuisance. The last thing he wants to do is hurt him. Emotional hurt, sure, physical hurt? Not so much. ]

[Why is it, after everything they've already done, he's more embarrassed by this than the bad joke?

Still, when he points out the obvious issue...]

Fair point.

[It's not as though he needs any further encouragement. His voice is already husky with need and as Berserker begins to stroke him again, he nearly drops the oil altogether. But he's not about to let a bottle get the better of him. After a few attempts to pull the cork loose with shaking hands, he gives up, bites down and tugs it free with his teeth before spitting it aside.

Even as Diarmuid pours it into his palm and warms it between his hands, though, he's still struggling to keep his mind on the moment. It feels so right to be here, crushed against him and struggling to keep his lips away from his and his hands off of his body, but is it really okay? Part of him, small and muffled by the depth of his affection, wants to feel more guilty about it; things are moving so fast and he's already hurt one person and nearly two with it. Shouldn't he care more as a knight? Perhaps. But right now, he's his lover and his Bonded and that's all that matters.]

... at this rate, I really am going to have to start courting you. [Berserker first. With a light, mischievous nip at his lower lip, the witch starts to smooth the oil over his cock.] For your honour's sake, I mean.

[ The warm oil and gentle touch makes him rock his hips forward almost immediately. A practically involuntary action that flushes his face with a brief hint of embarrassment. Despite everything, he still wants control over himself and his actions. But doesn't he owe Diarmuid the honesty, even if it frustrates him...? Berserker still has so many hangups about intimacy -- just accepting this kind of touch is difficult. It's okay to give in he has to keep telling himself. It's not a weakness.

Everything moved so quickly, there was no time to think about it. Maybe that's why he let it happen that way. There was no need to analyze his actions nor consider the consequences -- not that he ever really considered the consequences of his actions. Drowning in floodwaters of emotions and desires, he clung to Diarmuid like his life depended on it, threatening to drag him down with him. ]

Do you really think someone like me has any honor left...? [ He continues to stroke the witch's length as he leans in to kiss him. ] You'll only ruin your honor by courting me.

[ That's not a "no" to that seemingly ridiculous comment, though. Everything else about their current partnership is strange, what's another layer? ]

[Whatever honour he has left after the debasement of the last Grail War, perhaps. But pouring every last drop of it on Berserker in the name of infatuation is a far worthier cause than anything they fought for in Fuyuki. Right now, in the heat of the moment, there's a traitorous part of him that would rather rather carve the name of the man leaning over him into his spear as a comrade and lord than any other.

Diarmuid isn't so foolish as to say so out loud, though. He keeps the thought close to his heart instead, letting it warm his smile and each gentle kiss he steals in between words.]

Ah, you've got me there- but it can always be regained. [A pause. This time, he exaggerates his speech, taking on a formal tone that's as teasing as it is sincere.] Mayhap, I wouldn't mind so much if you were to be my ruin after all, Cú Chulainn.

[As honest as he's being, though, he still presses his face into Berserker's neck as he turns his attention to himself to hide his expression; absurd as it is given the situation, it seems indecent not to. Even without seeing his face, though, he can probably feel him biting his lip to hold in any stray sounds as he readies himself. One finger- then two. Even being generous with the oil, he has a few reservations but there's no way in hell he's going to pay them any mind.]

I will be your ruin, Diarmuid Ua Duibhne

[ There's no edge to his words, instead they're almost fondly spoken. Bringing ruin to everyone around him, especially to those closest to him, is just what he does. He's a force of chaos, after all. Those thoughts are laid to rest as Diarmuid presses against his neck.

He wraps his free arm around him to cradle him closer. It's crude and maybe a little embarrassing, but he wants to see the witch work. He steals a few downward glances, unable to hide how much he likes what he's seeing. His cock throbs in response to the stimulus -- ah, actually enjoying this and being an active participant is ... unusual.

Berserker hugs him closer and allows his claws to dig into his back. ]

Don't be shy, let me hear you...You're doing so well.

[ It's not empty praise, either. This is well beyond what he expected of Diarmuid and he deserves to hear that much. ]

I wouldn't let it be anyone else.

[Of all the descriptors usually thrown Diarmuid's way, "shy" doesn't even make the top fifty but he definitely feels it right now. Try as he might to come up with a retort to the contrary, though, his voice catches in his throat at the very first word, breaking it into a soft, needy little whine. Is that him? All the more reason to keep his lips firmly sealed- and yet with the combination of his literal and whispered support, he doesn't mind.

Diarmuid hisses against him, caught between claws and toned muscle and each crook of his fingers. How long has it been since-? It feels like too long, particularly when the heat of his partner's arousal against his skin alone sends a excitement rippling through him. With another breathy curse, he withdraws his hand. There. Patience be damned.

The shirt is the next thing to go, knocked aside along with the cork and his trousers but he's hardly keeping track. When he finally turns back to Berserker, sleepy-eyed, lower lip bitten to a deeper flush and hair tousled, he's forgotten to maintain the facade of genteel restraint he'd clung to before.]

How would you have me?

[ Berserker bites his lip as he looks at Diarmuid. There's an undeniable allure about someone normally so chaste coming completely undone to give into their desires. He doesn't respond for a little bit, so caught up in the scene that just played out in front of him. This...feels good. He's actually enjoying this. He can't help the way his heart races nor can he help but stroke the Lancer's cheek with a deep fondness. How honest he was being with his desires...

If only the dragon could be as honest about his own. This is still so alien that it's hard to be truthful with what he wants. It's hard to voice his desires with any kind of confidence. This was a weakness, wasn't it? It was supposed to be a necessary means to an end and nothing more, but things changed.

Ah, right.

He shakes those thoughts from his head as he steals another kiss. The rest of his own clothing gets dealt with and thrown to god knows where -- they could worry about that later. He'd like to pin Diarmuid down and fuck him senseless, but another idea comes to mind. Laying down on his back, he looks to his Bonded with a faint smile. ]

It might be easier if you ride me.

[ It would let him control the depth and pace, plus it would give Berserker a nice view and good access to his body. He could pin him down some other time... ]

[The strangest part is that he's utterly relaxed. Logic dictates that, being so literally and metaphorically unguarded in front of a man like Berserker, he should be feeling vulnerable or at least tense. But he doesn't. There's an easiness to the way that he laughs, to the languid smile he gives him that wasn't there the last time they were so intimate.]

Since when were you so considerate?

[As much as he wants to go on teasing him, though, Diarmuid holds his tongue. Instead, he takes his suggestion to heart and moves up over Berserker's body to staddle his hips, pausing only to brush that rebellious curl of his back behind his ear. Maybe that gesture in itself is symbolic. Diarmuid's used to keeping his head down and drawing attention away from his love spot, even in the smallest ways, but it doesn't really matter with him.]

I appreciate it regardless. [He adjusts his position a little, reaching back to stroke Berserker's cock into place.] Just... bear with me.

[Maybe one day he'll admit just how experienced he is- or isn't, for that matter- he is with this particular kind of liason. Not tonight, though. Whatever the case, this is a different beast altogether from he might have had before. Diarmuid hadn't fully considered the difference those transformations would make and, as he lowers himself, it isn't the girth of his head that catches him off guard, it's the ridges along the shaft. In a good way. He hisses softly through gritted teeth, free hand moving to clasp Berserker's forearm.]

July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

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