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

[faithlikeaseed]

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?

Comments

Gradually more NSFW

[hearthebell]

[L did wonder, in spite of having those things in spades. It's just not what gets most people's motors running, but the way Hector talks about it, he's willing to consider that it might be sincere.

He's darkly amused by the fact that it's not such a rare sentiment, to want to get him alone. It never has been; the reason is just what's different. A good thing, too, since he hasn't had a bodyguard for some time.

As Hector's hands brush a little closer to the sharp ribs and sunken stomach under his shirt, L first impulse is to curl up like a stunned spider. Very deliberately, he manages to resist as much.]

I wouldn't, but...

[It's a body that more frequently denies itself pleasure, than indulges it, and it shows, in every edge and shadow.]

Unfortunately, I'm not hiding any of my gifts or endowments under my clothes.

[petcromancer]

[Hector slides his way down the couch, bringing his lips to the bumps and sunken planes of Linden's torso. It's not the build he's used to encountering, but novelty keeps things exciting. He presses kisses to down the rib cage, amused that he can basically make a count of them with his tongue.]

You're welcome to illuminate your other endowments, but I think I can find a gift or two down here if I search diligently.

[Want to tell Hector about your hobbies while he starts working the fastenings of your pants, L?]

[hearthebell]

[L's own position shifts, hesitant and precarious as his knees budge over to allow the fluid motion. He may be positioned on top, but Hector, powerful and confident, seems like the one calling and directing the shots. He shivers at the warmth of the contact, feeling the pucker of gooseflesh responding in kind.]

Do you know...

[Slurred, just a bit. Being a bit drunk does make this easier.]

When I was a child, I wanted to leave Earth. I thought that maybe, someday, I could even go to Mars.

[Does this mean anything to Hector? Are his stars and planets even the same?]

The atmosphere distorts light, you know. Ever so slightly. Can you imagine seeing the sun rise, without all that interference in the way?

[Something else has definitely risen.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector shifts, encouraging L to move with him to lay side by side so he can move a little more freely.]

Mmmmm, you'd be better suited for clever Mercury than Mars.

[His knowledge of the celestial spheres isn't up to modern snuff, but he is versed on the theories of his day and of antiquity, thanks to Dracula's vast libraries. But the idea of not wanting to be on earth is perfectly normal and reasonable to Hector.

He opens L's pants as he talks, pushing them down. Seeing the witch's reaction is extra gratifying for how much convincing it took to get him here. Hector tugs down Linden's undergarments as well, and wraps a hand around L's shaft.]

But to think a sunrise could get any brighter.... It's no wonder you'd want to see it.

[hearthebell]

[As beings and bodies go, L is easy to move. His bony body flops next to Hector's, eyes staring first toward the ceiling, then swiveling the faun's direction.]

...yes, so I've heard.

[More or less. If feels easier, somehow, than pointing out how inhospitable to life Mercury is. He likes this; he appreciates the simplicity, the easy confidence Hector moves and acts with. He thinks so, even as his pants are shucked open and his member grasped. It's hard in Hector's hands, but given their activity thus far, that's likely not a surprise to anyone involved.]

I want to see many things...

[And the impulse exists to wrest focus from his own body and reposition it elsewhere. By existing, rigid in the hand of another, L is certain that he's already been idle too long.

Forcefully, even recklessly, he's pressing a hand in turn against Hector's groin, prying himself away from the sweet surrender promised by the other man's palm.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector gives Linden's cock a long stroke. The witch is eager to return the favor, so Hector reaches with his other hand to undo his own pants. Faun garments are rarely complex, made to be removed with a minimal of time and effort.

He rolls his hips, pressing his cock harder into L's hand.]

Want to see your cock in my mouth?

[He works L's shaft gently, giving him teasing contact but little relief.]

[hearthebell]

[It's like riding a bike, in some ways. Even if L hasn't slept with a monster before, and even if there's a little extra hair to contend with, it's not so different, is it? Because, he's spent enough time nestled close to Myr in the dark that he knows, tactilely, more or less what to expect.]

I...

[A startling question, to accompany a startling sensation. His breathing deepens; he tries to keep a tremor out of his voice as Hector plies him with teasing strokes. His nod is several jerking movements; as much as he prefers to be in a position that gives him some kind of control, on the rare occasions he finds himself in scenarios like these, Hector's really good at this. Better than L's last partner; safer, somehow, too. Could it all just be the comfort he associates with fauns?]

[petcromancer]

[Hector leans up and presses a kiss against L's chest.]

Good boy. [He murmurs against L's flushed skin. And then he continues his journey down L's body, kissing and nipping a path toward his prize.

It's a shame to maneuver himself out of reach of L's hand, but needs must. He slides down the couch until he is face to face with Linden's cock.]

You can grab my horns if you want to. [It'll give the witch more control than gripping his hair would... and Hector likes feeling a lover tug on them as they grow more desperate.

He gives the head of L's cock a lick, then looks up to see the witch's reaction.]

[hearthebell]

[L is bony to the point of being truly pitiful. The skin stretches over a fragile, narrow framework that didn't seem to quite finish the harrowing gauntlet of puberty, and the way he curls in on himself in intimate moments indicates, rather blatantly, that he is well aware of his physical shortcomings.

Kind, of Hector, not to draw attention to them. Kinder still, not to allow them to give him pause in the momentum of their encounter. L is grateful, even as he feels innately that pity must still be a factor.

He reaches, grasping, for Hector's horns. His spindly hands are stronger than they look, and he's glad for the tether. He's sensitive, really, absurdly so, and this was true even when he was being touched and kissed and grasped on a regular basis.

The flesh will have its way. He knows that Hector is willing, and there goes a psychological barrier. He knows that Hector is attractive, and there goes another one. He knows that he, himself, is needy, and aching, and starved, and always thinking fondly of one particular monster built like Hector.

He grips tighter with both hands, fairly bracing into the contact as a gymnast might on a set of parallel bars. He can oblige; he will, in return for this generous favor, performed for a frame so spare and spartan that L holds his own body in contempt. ]

[petcromancer]

[Hector knows none of L's internal struggle. The witch is delightfully responsive to his touch, and that is all Hector needs to concern himself with at the moment.

If they weren't both so tipsy and Linden didn't seem so eager, Hector might tease more. As it stands, he's impatient, and he doesn't think L will object to him moving quickly.

He grips L's cock by the base and guides the shaft into his mouth. As a faun, he's spent plenty of time on his knees since he arrived here, and he takes it all in without choking. Showing off? A little. But L should know he's in good hands, and there's no better way to convey that than by showing.]

[hearthebell]

[L doesn't object. Should Hector be more biding, it would give him all too much time to think, and formulate, and overcomplicate. Such things aren't compatible with the sort of encounter they've contrived; it should remain a series of simple pleasures, the sort that faun parties offer bountifully and L deprives himself of in equal measure.

Of course, it's too ridiculously difficult for the detective to keep anything at all simple, regardless of the amount of alcohol he's imbibed.

He grips Hector's horns more tightly. Arching back against the cushions, he presses up into the wet heat of the faun's mouth, which has taken him in wholly. Either a very impressive feat for Hector, or not so much of an impressive endowment for L, but either way, he hasn't felt this sensation since the days he was with the SQUIP, or glanced down to see an impish face past the sparse thicket of dark hair below his navel.

He groans, a low sound that's cautious, even now. Heaven forbid that someone should hear him enjoying himself too fully.]

[petcromancer]

[That groan is a start, but Hector wants to see what else he can get out of this reticent witch. As he pulls back off of Linden's cock, he sucks hard. His hands sneak up to grip those skinny hips, encouraging them to move and thrust into Hector's mouth.

As he pushes forward again, he hums a long note to add some vibration into the mix. Linden's going to have to focus very hard if he wants to overthink things while Hector's got his lips around L's cock.]

[hearthebell]

[Having fallen out of practice, L would have expected it to take longer to remember the natural rhythm of pursuing climax. Like a magic eye picture, focusing too hard or trying to force it isn't the answer, but a kind of relinquishment of something he usually maintains tight control over. Hector's hands on the blades of his hips are just a brief refresher, because he wants to move, in a way he feels he could if his mind was reduced altogether to sheer instinct.

He knows these techniques; he knows what Hector's doing. Instinct responds, anyway; it's a magic trick performed so well that L actually doesn't care that he knows the secret, and arches into the exquisite pleasure that Hector lavishes on him as though the desire to please him is real, and the one between his knees really wants to be there.

Thought slips away. His moan is longer, influenced by the note hummed by Hector. Of the two of them, someone is picking up the pace, and it's where it needs to be to drive a certain crescendo that feels familiar and natural, now that it's building to cascading waves of more intense sensation. He pulls on the horns, tenses and shudders and spills and speaks, and there's a name rolling from his lips like an errant drop of honey he should have taken more care to contain.]

Myr...!

[He says, as he clings and comes hard against the back of Hector's open throat. It's been months; longer still, since he was a willing and glad participant in an act like this. La petite mort leaves him breathless and flushed, and the alcohol surely sweetens the surrender further; the question of when la petite mortification will creep burning into his cheeks is a matter of when realization has caught up to him.]

[petcromancer]

[Linden's surrender to orgasm is all the sweeter for his reluctance. Hector takes in everything that the witch lets spill, and when he rises from his knees, licking his lips, he's got the smile of a cat that ate the canary.

He's certainly taken no offense at Linden's little mix-up; they entered this encounter with no presumptions of feelings, and the value of this particular nugget of insight far outweighs the sting of being called the wrong name.

He crawls back up onto the couch, presses his body alongside L's. His cock prods the witch's thigh, a reminder, but not an urgent one.

Hector leans in close so that his whisper is a caress of lips against L's ear.]

What was that just now?

[hearthebell]

[L pants, riding through obliterating waves that had been backed-up and frustrated for such a long time. Until it's over, he doesn't have to think about anything at all with a mind is blotted out by the rush of release.

The world fades, then sharpens, gradually, back into focus as Hector swallows and smiles, joins him parallel with his own pressing suggestive need. Also sharpening into focus is realization, not sober and even more startling for it. He did; he'd said what he thought he did, and his pink, flushed cheeks start to drain back to their typical ashen pallor.]

I...

[He shakes his head. Not hard enough to erase it or spin back the encounter to somehow rewrite how those moments had gone. God.]

It's not... sorry. You were wonderful... please, let me...

[He pushes himself up insistently, anxious to reciprocate, draw attention far away from his faux pas.]

[petcromancer]

[Hector flops onto his back on the couch. He reaches up and ruffles a hand through Linden's hair.]

You don't have to be sorry. [Myr is great, and Hector can understand why Linden would want to imagine getting his cock sucked by the other faun. Isn't that what bonded do for one another?

But that's a thought for later. For now, no thoughts, only sex. His cock is pointing towards the ceiling, straining for L's attention.]

But please do. However you like. I'm not picky.

[hearthebell]

[His cheeks still feel hot as his shoulders crunch upwards to meet them. Hector's taking this in stride, very well, in fact, but...

Myr is great. He's kind; kinder than anyone's been, to L, while still being honest and asking him to be better even when it hurts. Push it down, because it is for later (perhaps never, because kindness is more than L deserves unless he's at his very, excruciatingly difficult to maintain best).

He nods quickly, glad to have something else to occupy his mouth with aside from sticky and difficult words. He slips between Hector's pelted legs, bowing his shaggy head and grasping the faun's rigid cock near the base. He's not done this in months, but it was came naturally to him; there's more talent in his tongue than eloquence, alone.

He uses his tongue to trace Hector's vein, from the top of his hand hand all the way up to the tip, which he laps at, presses with lips softer than his often-sharp words imply. They part and take Hector in halfway; at least initially, there's a gentle, biding languor to L's technique, as though he is memorizing Hector's body with each careful trace and print.]

[petcromancer]

[L will hear no complaints from Hector. He lets his head flop back against the couch and spreads his legs apart a little more. There's a pleased gasp as L licks his cock.]

G-good, that's good.

[He reaches a hand down to rest on Linden's shoulder. Not pushing him or guiding him yet, just anchoring himself, and touching. Fauns can rarely get enough of touching. He'll let L move at his own speed, so long as he doesn't stop completely.]