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! ]

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[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.]

[ Berserker has to fight the urge to not just push up into him entirely. It's been so long that he's almost forgotten what this feels like. He's warm and tight around his cock and he just wants more of it. The sight of Diarmuid nude atop him combined with the sensation of being inside him is just about too much to handle. It gets an unrestrained, though still quiet moan from him.

He brings up his free hand to stroke the witch's length. A little distraction, a little more pleasure for him. There's more he wants to do, more affection he wants to give to his Bonded, but he holds himself back. It's a tough to know what's restraint and what's self-denial. He wants to kiss his love spot, that little mark that made his life so difficult, nuzzle into his neck, pet his hair, and more. After denying himself affection and softness for so long, he wants to make up for lost time and yet...he can't. Not yet, anyway. Soon? Maybe. ]

You're making it hard to hold back. [ Breathy and wanting. ] You're doing so well...

[Even its carefully controlled moderation, Berserker's affection has an intensity that makes Diarmuid's chest tighten. It's a privilege to be allowed so close, literally and metaphorically. What are the chances that he's missed the way the Lancer is looking at him and how close it comes to adoring? If he had the presence of mind for it, he might be self-conscious but the time for that has long since passed.]

Cú- [The dragon's hand brushes against him, losing whatever he was about to say in a gasp.] - do what you want- what you need to. I won't break.

[Diarmuid's bite into his skin as he eases more of him inside- but he's relaxed and prepared enough that the discomfort is temporary. Hell, regardless of his own pleasure, the way Berserker reacts to his every movement would be motivation all by itself; this must be just as cathartic for both of them. If he can't serve him like he would a lord, let him serve him as a lover.]

[ Permission granted, though he's hesitant to take it -- not for fear of hurting Diarmuid but for not wanting to give into himself. It's so hard to let go of so many years of self-denial. He owes it to the witch to be honest with his desires, doesn't he? Honesty is something he promised and it should be in all things.

Berserker sits up and suddenly wraps his arms around him, hugging him close as he begins to rock his hips in a slow, but steady rhythm. Like a dam suddenly breaking, affection pours out of him. He kisses Diarmuid's love spot with surprising tenderness, trailing kisses down to his throat. It's all he can do to stop himself from biting him. Hands roam across his back in a desperate bid to feel as much of his lover as he can. It's so much for him to take in all at once, the intensity of his affection overwhelming.

This is what he needed to do: to show his appreciation for his Bonded, a man who stood to lose everything by standing by his side. He owed him honesty and if he couldn't speak the words, he could at least show him. ]

[It's already a lot to process even before Berserker moves up to meet him and, as he feels his chest press up against his and arms lace around his shoulders, all Diarmuid can immediately think to do is try and match his rhythm. If there's magic being transferred between then, he doesn't even notice. Right now, all of his attention has been captured by each kiss and every roll of his hips and the desperation in his touches and-

Don't do this, Ua Duibhne. You know where this is going and you need to stop.

A soft, eager whimper- it probably started out as his name- escapes through his gritted teeth and he buries his face in Berserker's neck, muffling any further sounds by nipping at the sensitive skin along his collarbone. Positioned like this, his cock grinds against his middle, sending little jolts of pleasure running straight through his body and turning his vision blurry with need.

Don't do this.

Diarmuid begins to say something.]

I- [He can't. He just can't do it.] Thank you. Thank you.

[Even as he leans back over the other Servant, he's still murmuring, breathing slurred Gaelic against his lips and into his kisses. Gratitude, encouragement... at some point he started calling him a chuisle too but his words are fragmented as he picks up the pace.]

[ Better that he doesn't say that, at least not right now. Berserker's not fond of the words he meant to speak (thanks, Medb). Gratitude he can't mind and even those affectionate words don't bother him. Maybe he's okay with all of this because of the intensity of the earlier situation -- is he seeking comfort in extremely intense affection...? He doesn't know and processing it right now is beyond him.

Words are entirely lost to him, though. The only sounds that come from Berserker are quiet sounds of pleasure: low moans and something not unlike a pleased growl. There's definitely an inhuman edge to some of the noises he's making, something that would bother him if he stopped to think about it. There's no point in thinking about anything other than pleasing his Bonded right now.

He keeps Diarmuid held close to him, keeping the rhythm steady for now. It's a lot for him to take in, especially with his cock trapped between them -- the Lancer's wanting words only enhance the physical sensations. There's almost no space between them as he nuzzles against his neck. An urge he's been holding back comes out: he suddenly bites the crook of Diarmuid's neck. Not quite hard enough to break skin, but it's definitely a noticeable pressure. He wants to mark his lover for everyone to see...An oddly primal urge. After a moment, he releases the bite, licking and kissing the spot before back off of it. Gentle attentions paid to it as an apology. ]

[Diarmuid's breath catches as he's caught between a sudden jolt of pleasure and the sting of teeth sinking into skin. It won't do much more than bruise but, in the moment, it's like every nerve is on fire and even the smallest of sensations has an echo that makes his legs feel weak. Good. He's not afraid to let Berserker stake his claim so brutishly. In fact, in a strange kind of way, he welcomes it; it's proof that he's wanted. That he actually belongs somewhere and with someone else. Maybe he'll feel differently tomorrow but, right now, pressed against this strange beast of a man, it's a badge of honour.

Maybe-

Gods, he doesn't have much left in him. As his nails dig into Berserker's back and shoulders, leaving lines across any skin unguarded by scales, Diarmuid forces himself to look back up. Gold eyes watch him through a mess of dark curls, clouded with desire but almost pleading in their intensity.]

Cú... tell what you want. How you want me to- [He presses his forehead against his.] I won't- I'm too close-

[Please.]

[ It's really hard for him to say anything at all. It's difficult to think clearly, let alone give voice to his thoughts. He's worked up beyond anything he ever imagined possible -- this went far beyond relieving a physical need, which is what sex normally served as. It's overwhelming to the point he can barely hold back. ]

Stay here. [ He manages to say, though it's stilted. ] I want to feel you come between us.

[ His thrusts get rougher as he gets nearer to the edge. He digs his claws into Diarmuid's back as he clutches him closer, possessive and a bit needy. It's just a few moments more before he presses himself fully inside of the witch, suddenly coming with a deep moan. Berserker holds him in place as he rides out his orgasm, surprised again by the intensity. This is all so unusual and strange...and he doesn't mind it. ]

[At once, he presses his mouth to Berserker's, tasting as much of him as he can in the last few moments he has before it becomes too much. Ignoring what feel like his body's nearing limitations, Diarmuid presses into his thrust to take as much of him as possible as they hit the brink- and fall head first. It's like a chain reaction. The building pressure breaks and, in a hot, gasping rush, eyes blurred with pleasure and one or two tears of overstimulation he can't fight, he spills across the dragon's stomach.

Diarmuid clutches at him, breath coming in shuddering, exhausted huffs that shake his shoulders almost as much as the orgasm does his legs. When was the last time it felt like that? Has it ever? To hell with it. Past lovers mean nothing when he's with this man and that in itself is of greater consequence than it would be for most. All that he needs to concern himself with is Berserker- an incredibly easy task.]

Berserker. Cú Chulainn, Son of Erin- [He trails kisses along his cheek, following the lines of his tattoos.] - stay with me. Let me stay with you. Please.

[It's so hard not to get carried away but neither of them are ready- and maybe they never will be. But it's fine. Diarmuid's satisfied as long as he's by his side.]

Edited 2019-08-03 21:34 (UTC)

[ He knows he shouldn't give in to the things he's feeling because he doesn't fully understand them. Nothing has felt like this before and now in this moment, he's beyond overwhelmed. He's still inside of Diarmuid, the witch's seed hot and sticky on his stomach. As his tattoos are kissed, he leans into the affection instead of flinching or shying away like he normally would. These things are okay if they're from his Bonded, he tells himself. A silence falls between them, their breathing the only sound for a few moments.

When he can finally speak, his voice is soft and nearly fond. He releases his grip on the other Servant and reaches up to stroke his cheek with the backs of his fingers. ]

I'll stay, Lancer. Beautiful young warrior Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, knight of Fianna...My knight...As long as you'll have me, I'll stay.

[ It's the least he could promise him. He'd earned his loyalty and then some and he'd already lost something by staying by his side. Medb's wish couldn't take away that loyalty. ]

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July Quests and Catch-All [OPEN]

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