middaeg | Out of the mid-wood's twilight into the meadow's dawn

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Out of the mid-wood's twilight into the meadow's dawn | OTA

Who: fauns fauns FAUNS (and their enablers) (and anyone else)
When: Octeuril 31st
Where: The Haven
What: Somebody set up a trap specifically designed for Fauns. Or tried, anyway.
Warnings: F for Faunery; warnings per thread as needed!

It's a lovely day in Aefenglom and you are a ~~horrible~~ beautiful Faun.

Somewhere between the evening of the 30th and the midnight advent of the 31st, a disused corner of the Haven has turned into a patch of cultivated wilderness. Somewhere a little after midnight on the 31st, and the beginning of the full moons, several Fauns (and one or two others, Monsters and Witches alike) received an enthusiastic if slightly garbled written invitation to come see what awaits.

Gourd vines of all descriptions drape an abandoned cottage, its floating terraces, and half of a nearby house. Flowers in a riot of colors decorate them, some glowing softly and others exuding a fragrant perfume. The fruits hanging pendant or nestled on the ground defy description and beg to be tasted: There are tiny pumpkins no larger than grapes, thin-skinned and sweet, while massive savory marrows lurk in the underbrush to trip the unwary. A rare fist-sized specimen glimmers with enchantment and grants a rush of energy when eaten--along with fleeting, unpredictable changes (horns, fur, hooves) that make one a little more faunish for an hour or two.

Cheap furniture, clotheslines, and hanging sheets have been used to roughly shape the vines into an impromptu maze. The design's irregular, wandering, like whoever planned the corridors couldn't see what he was doing. It wanders in and out of the cottage, pouching into dead-ends and cozy little clearings that might fit two comfortably and three if they're familiar. Some of them have benches in them; others, piles of pillows; and still others are carpeted in thick and flowering moss. Heavy quilts in a riot of colors and patterns can be found neatly folded in the buildings, waiting for chilled revelers to find them. There are also covered braziers for the truly cold, though they seem powered by magic and not by flame.

Food and drink are lavishly if haphazardly provided, spread out through the bowers like a treasure hunt. Casks of mead with cups attendant, bowls of honey candy and glazed nuts, fruit both fresh and dried, and a variety of different sorts of cheese provide an ample repast (so long as one's not hungry for blood or meat). Entertainment's on the guests to provide, with simple musical instruments (mostly pipes, an occasional lap-harp) gracing many of the grottos; others have toys and games, of varieties both innocent...and not...strewn about them.

There are also oddities here and there in the maze, like the bower where someone took painstaking care to tie a half-hundred feathers to the low vine ceiling. Another nook teams with stingless bees of all varieties during the day. What else might await someone who's looking?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[The game is selected and the participants engaged. L leans a cheek into his open palm, propped up on a sharp elbow, as he listens to Hector with interest that is either feigned or genuine, but exaggerated.

His over-wide eyes sell it rather convincingly. There's a slight intake of breath at the contact, if only because it's been so long, and he stiffens before leaning in a little closer.]

Thirst is a strange thing. I think of cacti, first... but you'd think that they'd adapt leaves like funnels to catch the rain, instead of thorns, wouldn't you? Then again...

[He clinks his glass against Hector's, pausing to speak again before downing its contents.]

I suppose it just means they're discerning, rather than desperate.

Edited 2020-12-23 07:17 (UTC)

[It's a game Hector had little practice with before arriving through the mirror, but now he's come to enjoy it.]

Not much rain, where they come from. The needles are for protection. Some of the prickliest ones have the sweetest water inside.

[Or so Hector's heard say. He's never made it out into the desert wastes himself, just read about the flora in Dracula's library. But he's supposed to be flirting, not discussing the fascinating evolution of desert plants. ~~Nerds.~~

He rubs Linden's shoulder idly with his thumb, hoping to ease some of that tension he feels in the witch's frame.]

It can be worth quite a bit of effort to taste it.

[L watches carefully, noting how Hector takes his playful statement and parries it back. The cleverness, just a touch cheeky, might have been lost on the faun, but it's possible he's setting up something more.

Supporting that possibility is the physical contact. He leans closer, perhaps a bit too fiercely, indicating receptiveness. Sweet water could refer to other secretions. Semen is meant? L thinks it's at least a 74% chance that's what Hector is getting at, and those are safe odds. At least worth the risk.

Slightly less certain is what he properly remembers and relishes of these types of acts. The risk has, in fact, been significant.]

After a drought, such efforts wouldn't be in vain.

[The problem now is, Hector is severely tempted to abandon the flirting and go off on a tangent about the adaptive differences of plants in high and low-rain environments.

But flirting.

But science....]

Did you have a chance to see the plants during that dream from the past? Those had plenty of water, but a deficit of nutrients. Truly fascinating. Some of them became carnivorous.

[His voice has lost that sultry edge and had gone full biology nerd. Because fuck it, he can (attempt to) flirt with anyone, but he can't geek out about plantlife with just anybody.]

[L had thought he was following, and even excelling, in the vein of double entendres and nerdy flirting. What Hector says next throws that all into doubt; it's interesting, of course, but certainly shifted the tone of what L believed was occurring.

As educated as he is, to disgusting excess, he has no great passion for botany. He rubs at his jawline with the heel of his hand, squinting.]

I... hadn't seen, no. Their appetite was voracious, I presume...

[Whether or not they're still flirting, he can't, so much.]

[There's a halting of the flow of the conversation, and Hector has to remind himself that, oh yeah, not everyone cares about biology like he does. Right. Fuck.

He takes another sip and reminds himself that he's a faun. Focus on sex, not science.]

Yes, exactly. [He slips back into that flirty pitch.] Imagine being so insatiable that your whole physiology changes. Have you ever wanted something so badly?

[L's sky is a dark one with brilliant patches of stars. His passions are blazing, but also fairly rare.

It means that he can, however, relate to what Hector is suggesting. He straightens up a bit, nodding slowly.

He has; no one has ever wanted something as badly as he wanted to prove that Light Yagami was Kira. It lit something desperate and delirious in him that defied food and rest. It was almost spiritual, almost, indeed, sexual. He felt nothing but desire even as the case had carved out its pound of flesh.

He covets it, wouldn't trade it for anything. He swallows.]

I have. I still do.

[Hector leans in closer, with an intimate whisper.]

Oh? Tell me about it.

[He sets his glass aside and rests a hand on Linden's knee, rubbing gentle circles on it. He's not sure if the witch's interest is sexual or not, but they can play that it's sexy. There's certain to be passion there.]

[L shivers as Hector leans closer, in spite of the relatively stoic front he bolsters his affected daftness with. Excepting Myr's chaste proximity some night, he simply doesn't get physically close to others. At least, it's been a long time, and his last few experiences have been less than ideal encounters. One ended with the severing of all of his fingers, and the others weren't much better.]

I'm not nearly drunk enough to tell you that.

[Drunk enough to laugh about it, though. So he does, with a couple of wavery chuffs.]

Besides... aren't you the one teaching me?

We both know the remedy to that....

[There is so much booze here, L. They are spoiled for choice on ways to get the witch's tongue loosened.

He slides his hand a little further up Linden's leg to his mid thigh. Just casually continuing to encroach on the man's personal space, NBD.]

And yes, but you must remember, curiosity is the original vice of humanity. It's the myth of Pandora, and the sin of the garden. As soon as we find something tantalizing and forbidden, we have to know it.

You're making it dangerous? That's honestly kind of doing it for me.

[Drinking generally does bad things for L, bringing out the very worst in him even when he's not going from sober, frustrated and bored to far too drunk.]

Curiosity, as vice, is a myth pushed by those intent on keeping people ignorant and in line. The truth wants to be known, and curiosity is the ingrained answer to being told that inquiring further is verboten. They're told that to be curious is to be a bad human, when... it is just what it is to be human.

[Get him another drink before he derails again. A detective has lots to say about curiosity.]

[Hector's hands climbs up a little further still. Give Hector an inch, he'll take a mile.]

Ah, so that's what it takes with you...

[He smiles, drunk and devious.]

Why not let curiosity be your indulgence for this party? We'll both say 'fuck you' to those who try to forbid the spread of knowledge.

[L bolts against the back of his chair, before recovering with tense laughter. It's difficult to tell if he's amused, excited, or actually terrified. What's certain is that there are a lot of synapses firing.]

...yes, let's both say as much. To hell with secrets.

[If only he didn't have so many, himself.]

Should we find somewhere more private? I want to know more of your secrets.

[Hector slides his fingers back down L's leg, but only a few scant inches. Linden is so tense, and Hector's not sure if he can help with that or not.]

Very good. Let's.

[He finally leans back a little, affording L some breathing room.]

Are you still playing, or are we in earnest now?

[L cants his head, uncertain. He makes an effort to relax, which does seem paradoxical, but he has already drunk too much, too quickly. More is probably ill-advised, even though Hector has been wonderful peer pressure for the evening.]

Would it make a difference, either way?

[He plays games very earnestly, is the truth.]

Yes?

[Hector thinks it matters. If they are still just practicing, then they may need to wrap up this exercise.]

It determines if I'm going to find us a quiet room and make you come.

[Flirting is great, but at this point, Hector needs to be direct to figure out what drunken mistakes he's allowed to make with Myr's bonded.]

...ah.

[He fidgets. If casual encounters were something he did at all, he wouldn't be at this point where he feels frustration and arousal on a hair-trigger. Maybe it's just a matter of overcoming a mental block, actually letting someone make him come after months of treating that part of himself like something dead?]

If you're not pretending, then... I'm not.

[He has no interest in a prize if he didn't win in some way.]

[Hector smiles.]

Oh, I'm very serious about my pursuit of knowledge, Linden. Come along, then.

[He stands and offers a hand to Linden. He's not one to overly engage in public displays of affection (faunish flirting aside), but he's cautious of letting L stray to far from him in case he cools down and reconsiders.

But this is a faun party, and it shouldn't take him too long to find somewhere private they can use for a little while.]

[L hesitates just long enough to consider the implications, what others are likely to assume, before reaching out and taking Hector's hand to follow. The contact is good; considering L's dry spell, it practically count as foreplay.

L expects that it won't take them long to find a nook out of others' prying eyes, but he'll still likely be surprised by how quickly it happens.]

[The nook Hector leads them to is decorated with pumpkins-- Myr's handiwork, he's sure-- but it has a perfectly functional chaise lounge chair and enough sheets hung around to make it feel cozy and private.

Hector takes a seat, tugging L along with him. He runs his fingers up L's arm.]

This should do nicely. Tell me, do you like being kissed?

[He circles his fingers around L's wrist and brings it to his lips to press a little kiss against his pulse point.]

[Myr had brought L to this party and showed him, first, an elaborate bower. He said that he'd made it for the detective; it would be ideal for this kind of activity, actually, but L finds he's grateful they're not there, for reasons beyond his somewhat intoxicated understanding.

His willowy body is easy for Hector to pull down, although the position is a little awkward. Were L a little more aggressive or intuitive about such matters, he might crawl into Hector's lap and straddle the faun; perhaps he should, but... no, for the moment he's mushed and snuggled against Hector's soft-pelted side.]

Yes... I do.

[His mind reruns the things the SQUIP taught him about this. A year ago, more than a year ago. He can do this. While Hector is flirting, L has something to prove, and uses the leverage of the faun holding his wrist to pull himself up and push his lips against Hector's with bruising force.

He's a good kisser, just... perhaps a touch out of practice, with a pretty high blood alcohol content judging by his breath.]

[Hector gasps, but it turns into a muffled chuckle as Linden launches his assault. Oh, so maybe the witch isn't so clueless as he thought.

He sneaks an arm around L's body and slips a hand beneath his shirt as he opens his mouth against L's. Enthusiasm should always be matched with enthusiasm.

If Linden doesn't want to climb into his lap, that's fine. Hector will lean back into the couch and urge the witch to follow him down so they can get comfortable and get L back into practice.]

[L is very good at looking clueless; in some ways, he genuinely is naive, but when it comes to sex, well... he's just a bit rusty, with confidence in his own ability to find pleasure in the act shaken. Perhaps he's very driven to prove that he still can, and the fact that Hector is a relative stranger is both wildly uncustomary for him, and offers a type of strange safety. Any unfavorable judgments needn't linger after morning when they're sober, spent, and likely miles apart in their respective beds.

He shivers against the warm press of the faun's hand against his bare (and very bony) back; there's very little of substance to pad out his sparse and spindly frame, just some sinewy muscle over bone. Though he started awkwardly, stiff and uncertain, Hector's kisses are skillfully placed, his recline so natural that L scarcely notices when he follows him down. He ends up draped on top of Hector more or less incidentally, kisses starting to deepen in length and hunger.]

[The faun smiles into the kiss as Linden settles on top of him. ~~Just according to keikaku*.~~ He's pleased with this position, and his hand continues the slide up L's back, feeling each knobby vertebrae.

With the drinking and the flirting and the kissing they've been doing, Hector's interest is already beginning to swell. He slides a leg up so his furry faun thigh is in between Linden's, giving the witch some friction. They're on the same page so far, and Hector's hoping he can keep pushing him just a little bit further.

He reaches up and brushes his other hand through L's dark hair, the way Hector himself likes to be petted.]

*keikaku means plan

[L's never actually been with a monster before this way. He's slept with Myr, of course, nestled chastely into flesh and fur, but this is an altogether different sort of encounter that demands a different way of thinking about the body beneath his. He's only ever thought about humans this way before, or at least human-bodied individuals since the SQUIP was technically a computer. There are enough similarities, though; fauns aren't dissimilar to humans, in the ways that seem to matter for bodies to pair in pleasure.

Habit's memory, more than anything, guide's his palm between them to knead against something he's actually shocked that he could inspire. Then again... while Hector might not be a computer or someone assigning him more glory than he could ever live up to, he's a faun, and fauns have a reputation for being horny. If L is surprised at the extent to which this seems to be true, it's perhaps because in the bed he shares with Myr, they do little else but sleep.

Who, then, is the exception to the rule, in all of this?

His arousal exists; it's only, perhaps, a bit confused. Balancing equations can be hard, just... not usually in this way. Tasting the liquor on both of their tongues as he slides his past Hector's lips, he tries to banish uncertainty and insecurity. With one wiling in his arms, he should be thinking about who wants him this way, and not those who aren't interested. He should be thinking about heat, and the cadence of senses and the building swell of appetite.

Perhaps, in fact, he should be doing less thinking in general.]

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sorry this idiot is easily distracted

lmao

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Throws a CW for making out, here

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