middaeg | Deceuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-all [Open]

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Deceuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-all [Open]

Who: Berserker! (Cú Chulainn Alter) and you!
When: Throughout Deceuer
Where: Various places
What: Quests, full moon things, and more
Warnings: Violence, nsfw

[ 1A. Knuckle Crack the Bone (Ethical Bones) ]

[ Well, at least his hoarding instinct can be put to good use. Since he favors skulls, giving up the smaller bones he typically collects is no problem. The problem is, though, that Berserker's methods are not what one would consider "ethical": the bones he collects tend to be from the animals he hunts for food.

He can be found just outside the bright wall, stripping meat from the carcass of what used to be a deer (mostly with his hands, a knife is utilized only when necessary). As the ribs are revealed, he breaks them off cleanly from the spine and sets them aside. His work is meticulous and it's all he's focused on...Seemingly, anyway. As he's being observed, he speaks without stopping his work. ]

If you want the bones, you're out of luck. Find your own.

[ 1B. Walk Me to the Graveyard (Ethical Bones pt. 2) ]

[ This time Berserker can be found further out of the city, armed with Gae Bolg (his spear) and ... a shovel? In his time spent outside of the city, he's located makeshift graves. What are graves full of? Bones. His methods may not be "ethical", but it's unlikely these bones will be missed.

Knee deep in a half-dug hole, he busies himself finding the bones beneath the loose earth. He carefully sifts through the dirt, leaving the bones he finds in a neat pile by the stone marking the grave. Again, his attention seems to be completely focused on his task until he hears something close. In an instant, Gae Bolg is in his hand, leveled at whatever made the noise. ]

What are you doing out here?

[ It might sound threatening if it weren't so apathetic. ]

[ 2. Setting Up Shop (City-wide Quest #2) ]

[ Of course Berserker's going to help Waver and Caster set up shop. He's grown quite fond (and protective) of Waver, partially due to them being Bonded to the same person. Caster...He owes a lot to Caster, too. This is the least he can do. He can be fond doing whatever requires the strength of a dragon, but mostly cleaning. Sweeping, mopping, scrubbing...

He does stop eventually, though, to take a break. He takes a seat in the corner where there's a number of bottles of ale: his gift of encouragement for those helping to get this place set up. As he settles in for a little rest, he opens up a bottle and takes a drink. Noticing someone nearby, he offers an unopened one. ]

If you want to take a rest for a moment, here.

[ 3. Small But Dangerous (Full moon) ]

[ Unlike last month, Berserker is conserving warmth by taking on his smaller form. About the size of a large housecat, it's much easier to keep warm when he's this small. He can mostly be found around familiar places, curled up on hearths in the shops or bars he frequents. He can be recognized in this form by the crimson scales beneath his eyes that mimic his tattoos.

If someone disturbs him, he pops his head up and hisses, baring his mouthful of sharp teeth. ]

I'm not a pet. Try that again and you'll regret it.

[ 4. Wildcard ]

[ These prompts not doing it for you? Did we plot something out? Drop me a starter or PM me here or on Discord (glitzkrieg#0673) and we can work something out! ]

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[As soon as he feels his arm on his waist, Diarmuid sinks against him, yielding and accommodating.]

Wherever. [A pause but only to eagerly return the kiss, lips parted to let him take the lead in deepening it. When he breaks away, breathless, it's only to slide a hand beneath the hem of his shirt and ghost a hand across his skin with a murmur.] However you want.

[All Diarmuid cares about right now is being close to him, getting to bask in his presence and the warm pulse of their Bond and his attentions. If that means he wants him to take the lead again it suits him just as well as the opposite. Either way, he sits up again, putting one knee between the dragon's thighs so that he's half straddling him, and cups his face in his hands.

And yet, as confident as he seems, Berserker might detect a hint of uncertainty in his eyes.]

[ Right here suits him just fine, honestly...It's not the first time they've fucked on this couch. Berserker slides his hand along the curve of Diarmuid's lower back to his ass, giving it a firm squeeze. His other hand slides up underneath the edge of his shirt, wanting more of that skin contact already. It's not nearly as difficult to get him interested in sex as it used to be, thanks to all that's changed in him. ]

Sit on my lap...I want you like that.

[ It's hard for him to be direct and ask for what he wants -- his interesting relationship with Waver has helped him with that, though. He leans up to whisper in the witch's ear, breath hot and wet against his skin. ]

Let me fuck you...

[Diarmuid allows him one more kiss before sitting back- but nips at his lower lip before he draws away in an almost scolding way. There's even a slightly reproachful look to his expression as he meets his eyes again, part pout and part teasing smile.]

Fuck me? [He pauses to brush that unruly curl of his back, unbothered when it immediately falls back into place.] Make love to me.

[He's only half serious; Berserker has more than enough room to show him just how little he thinks of that suggestion if he likes. Regardless, Diarmuid continues as he was, slipping his hand free from the dragon's shirt to begin tugging it aside. Every inch of skin is treated to a dizzy rush of kisses as it's exposed but he always returns to Berserker's lips, ready and waiting.]

You know how, don't you?

Is that what you want? Something more gentle?

[ Because he can never truly frame something as being for himself. It's a step beyond where he's progressed -- at least he can admit he wants something at all now. Mostly what he wants right now to to be closer to his Bonded and reward his boldness. It's unusual for Diarmuid to be so forward and he can't mind it one bit.

He starts to open up the witch's shirt and pushes it aside, claws dragging down his skin. It's a little bit harder than he meant it to be, but not enough to draw blood. Red lines get left on his pale skin as he struggles to control himself. ]

Maybe I don't know...Maybe you should show me.

[In truth, while he knows that Berserker himself enjoys it, there's a thrill to being so bold too. It's exciting to allow himself some freedom, small as it may be, and it probably shows in the way his cheeks are already flushed with pleasure. The colour deepens as claws rake along his skin and, with a soft sigh, he arches into the touch.

But he holds back for now. Closing his eyes, he let his forehead rest against Berserker's.]

Love isn't always gentle, Cú. We both know that.

[And how. Though he speaks tenderly, there's an urgent undercurrent to his voice he can't quite disguise; more than simply wanting, he's suddenly overwhelmed by a need for him strong enough to catch in his voice.]

Show me how you love.

[ How could he deny such an earnest need, one he could not only hear but feel? Their Bond has been a learning experience; being able to sense and feel Diarmuid's mood and emotions opened him up in unexpected ways. Berserkers' found he .... likes, actually likes, feeling his presence somewhere deep within him. The witch's need is echoed through their Bond, the sensation quite intense for him.

He feels like he should say something else, but actions are far more meaningful than words. Without another word, he pulls Diarmuid into a crushing embrace. The only way he can express the overwhelming things he feels are with equally overwhelming responses. His kiss is hungry, tongue pressing into the witch's mouth to deepen the kiss.

If he were to think about this for a moment, it would be a little embarrassing that he's already so hard. He raises his hips to press his clothed bulge against his lover. What an effect Diarmuid has on him...Effortless to get him this aroused. ]

Edited 2019-12-24 02:20 (UTC)

[Ah- there it is. Diarmuid's reaction is immediate, giving way to him so completely that it might seem submissive were it not laced with a feverish want. As he helps Berserker undress, his voice is barely a whisper in his ear, half lost in a sigh.]

Thank you. [And then-] You're beautiful.

[No doubt he's heard it hundreds of times before- it's woven into his legend the same way as it is Diarmuid's- but he can't help it. More rests on the tip of his tongue. Sweet, intimate words, a declaration of adoration, amazement at his own fortune to be his- none of them come to fruition. He's right: actions hold more worth right now. And so he puts his mouth to better use, stealing another hungry kiss from him as he trails a hand down over his chest. Diarmuid traces each tattoo and curve of muscle, strokes his tail once his fingertips reach his hips. He makes short work of the buttons of his pants.

It's only then that he glances up again, waiting for permission to continue.]

[ He has heard it countless times before and now it's ... strange to hear it. It's not as though he doesn't know he's attractive, it's more that it's not something that concerns him most of the time. When most of your life is focused on survival, your appearance to others becomes far less important. It struck him as weird when Flat mentioned him being attractive and it's no less weird now.

That feeling of strangeness fades as Diarmuid's affections pull his attention back to where it rightfully belongs. Despite his slightly more dominant approach, he's pliant beneath the witch's touch. His muscles tense and his breath catches in his throat as he feels the fingers along his skin. It's warm and welcome affection, intoxicating in a way and it makes him yearn for more. What a change from how he used to treat sex...

He looks to Diarmuid and gives him and nod, followed by another quick, needy kiss. ]

Please...Do as you will.

[With a swiftness that belies his hunger, Diarmuid shrugs his own shirt back off of his shoulders, letting it drape across his elbows and pool around the small of his back, and shifts just enough to make things easier without relinquishing any of the closeness from before. One leg hooked up over Berserker's thigh, he settles back against him and eases his cock free, giving it a full, languid stroke. By this point, he's more than familiar with him and his foibles, the way he likes to be touched and the little tells that give away when he's close. Even those ridges, which once felt so peculiar against the palm of his hand, seem normal now and he makes sure to caress each one as he begins to pump his length.

As he settles into a rhythm, the lancer sighs and lolls against him, face pressed into his neck. Like this he can hear every hitch in his breathing and stutter of his pulse, and bask in the warm, intimate glow of being near to someone he's come to care for so deeply. Vaguely, it occurs to him that their Bond, once the primary motivation for their relationship, has almost become a secondary benefit of it.]

... sometimes all I want is to serve you...

[ He wraps an arm around Diarmuid's shoulders, pulling him close. It still doesn't feel like it's enough. Any space between them seems like too much. Berserker's other hand tangles in his hair, claws gently scratching at his scalp. Nothing he can do can ever express what he feels for the witch against him, but he'll damn sure try. ]

...You are my equal in everything. [ A gentle correction. ] If you wish to serve me like this, though...I'll accept it.

[ He rocks his hips in time with Diarmuid's strokes, unable to stop the moan that escapes his lips. They've come a long way since their first time together in that brothel after they Bonded, that's for certain. Berserker had still been so guarded with his desires and reactions, unable to even conceptualize having his own wants and desires. Now he's willing to ask for what he wants (albeit in slightly roundabout ways) and accept that it feels good. Their Bond has brought out the best in him and now it does truly feel like it's secondary to what they share together.

Strange. ]

[Diarmuid responds with little more than a soft, pleased hum, half caught in scales and skin against Berserker's neck. There was a time when he would have argued that point and maybe it still doesn't ring entirely true for him but he's too relaxed right now, too content. Equal, worthy... it hardly matters when he has the privilege of being so close and trusted- loved, potentially, were he capable of it. It might not be enough for some but love in all but name is more than he ever thought possible and he'll embrace the opportunity with open arms.

Because, gods, he adores him in return.

By now, there's nothing he can do to hide the growing hardness between his own thighs and he makes no attempt to either. Rather, whether he realises it or not, he's half grinding against Berserker.]

... Cú-

[Diarmuid's fingertips crest the head of his cock once more before he rests his hand on his thigh instead. Golden eyes meet the dragon's, cloudy with need- but whatever he had intended to do next is immediately forgotten in the heat of another kiss.]

[ The lack of an argument is enough for him. Now is not the time to have that discussion, not when Diarmuid has such an undeniable need. Berserker makes quick work of his pants, opening them up and pushing them down just enough to get better access. He wraps his hand around his cock and starts to stroke him immediately, urgently. Compared to Diarmuid's smooth, almost graceful strokes, his own are rough and unrefined. ]

My beautiful knight... [ Soft, fond words spoken against the witch's lips. ] Let me give you what you crave.

[ And what he, too, craves. ]

[The response is immediate. With a breathy gasp, Diarmuid all but crumples against him as the coursing want in his body is finally answered in inelegant but satisfying strokes. Everything from the warmth of his hands to the slight roughness of his skin is deliciously familiar, making his heart race.

In spite of everything, though, he manages to hold onto a degree of self-restraint. What he wants is to buck into his touch but he still has the presence of mind to think of it as coarse and unbecoming: by the gods, he's a knight.

Less knightly, however, are the few, soft sounds that escape his lips. Aching and desperate, ratcheting up to a half-purr as Berserker catches him just right.]

Give me everything. [Fuck it. Let him be greedy for once.] I can take it.

[ Those sounds truly are like music to his ears; they send a pleasant chill down his spine. He's come to enjoy making Diarmuid come undone, to let go of some of his pride and give into himself. He tugs the witch's pants off further, enough to free his leg and make it easier for the inevitable. Shifting beneath him, his cock comes to rest in between his cheeks.

Breathing hard, Berserker looks up at his lover and cups his cheek with his free hand. His expression can only be described as adoration, a rarity for anyone to see. ]

Anything you ask.

[ Another breathless kiss and his hand drops away. Something, anything to make this easier...He turns away to drool into his hand (not exactly the most romantic thing in the world) and slicks his own arousal with it.

He angles his hips and starts to press into him, biting his lip for a moment. ]

Go on, take it...

[Diarmuid's tongue is halfway through tripping through a spell to fetch lubricant from their bedside table before his lips become occupied with the rather more appealing prospect of a kiss. It's a small miracle it even finds its way into his hand and a large one that he has the presence of mind to stop when things have gotten so heated. Still, haphazard prep is better than none. The bottle drops to the ground and rolls across the floor but he doesn't even look up. Instead, the witch focuses his attention on helping Cú, guiding him into place and murmuring encouragement through the kiss as he enters him.

But his voice cracks again as his cock grinds into him and, in spite of himself, Diarmuid grips at his lover's shoulders. Half way, then-]

Cú-

[That one syllable feels like it takes the last of his breath away but it's the weak groan that follows it that truly does it. He's trying to take it slow, he really is, but it's hard when he so intensely wants to feel every last inch of him.]

[ It's hard for him to keep still in turn. All he wants is to fill him now and the desperate urgency of this entire encounter isn't helping. A single push and he'd be buried inside of Diarmuid entirely, so enticingly close... ]

Diarmuid...You're beautiful. [ A quiet murmur against his lips as he smooths his lover's hair back from his face. Something inspires this gentle affection amidst the fervor of everything else and who is he to deny what so rarely comes? ] A little bit more...

[ Soft encouragement as Berserker rocks his hips upward, sliding inside of him further little by little. He trails kisses to his throat and grazes sharp teeth against the sensitive skin. It's only when he's completely enveloped inside him that he still once again. A shuddering moan follows soon after, breathed out through parted lips against the damp spot of skin on Diarmuid's throat. ]

[Beautiful? He doesn't feel it right now: he's needy and disheveled and shameless, all for him. But it hardly even matters what Berserker's saying when he speaks in that breathless voice, when the words are trapped between their lips and his hand is in his hair. Claws drag across him and the sensation is so delicate compared to everything else that he breaks out in goosebumps, a shiver running through his otherwise completely pliant body. This time, it's teeth that find his skin- not so delicate but it sets his senses alight regardless- and in that moment, he manages to ease the rest of his cock inside him.

With a soft, trembling gasp, Diarmuid presses his forehead to Berserker's shoulder. Even after their previous encounters, he still needs a few moments to adjust to his size- and it gives him time enough to spoil him. Peppered kisses along his shoulders and neck, hands playing across the sensitive base of his tail, the sweetest words on his lips that he bites back even now.

Instead, in between kisses, he says-]

... shall I move?

[ Berserker desperately wants to move, but he holds back. Self-restraint, especially in matters like this, is something he still excels at. He stills completely (not without a quiet, needy whine, though) and gives into the soft affections Diarmuid lavishes on him. Part of him feels like he doesn't deserve any of this, not the affection and especially not the devotion of the witch on his lap. This shouldn't have lasted, he should have been disappointed in something Diarmuid did and that should have been the end of it. Instead, here they are, closer than ever (in many senses of the word).

The dragon embraces him tightly for a few lingering moments, savoring his scent and warmth before easing up. Claws gently trace slow, lazy circles on his back, as if to help ease the adjustment. ]

...Please.

[The embrace leaves him every bit as breathless as the kisses that came before and he takes the time to bask in his presence; the barely-there acidic bite to his taste, the familiar curves of muscle and scars... the mix of overwhelming arousal and comfort is dizzying.

It might have been Diarmuid's suggestion but his legs feel like they're made of jelly as he braces his hands on Berserker's shoulders- and then, finally, he begins to roll his hips. Slow and cautious and shallow at first but, as he settles into a rhythm, the pace of his movements grows bolder. The weakness in his legs fade as pleasure creeps over him and, unwittingly, he locks his thighs around his partner's middle.

There. Hissing, he clutches at Berserker. Who needs claws when those trim, neat nails of his will leave their mark on him before the night is over.]

[ He responds with a hiss of his own as Diarmuid's nails dig into him; it's a pleasant contrast with the softness of their embrace. A sense of relief washes over Berserker as the witch starts to move and his grip becomes less gentle in turn. His claws dig into his back now, though not too hard.

His hips roll up to meet his rhythm eagerly, trying hard not to overwhelm him. He's so tight and hot around the dragon's cock that it's difficult to hold himself back. Each thrust, each motion of his hips is targeted on that spot deep within Diarmuid...Ah, maybe his intent is to overwhelm, even if he thinks otherwise.

There is an odd, unfamiliar sensation of a swelling near the base of him arousal; it's not unpleasant, so he thinks nothing of it. It's not worth drawing attention to right now -- he chalks it up to being so worked up. ]

[If it is then he's doing a stellar job of it. As he rocks into each movement, Diarmuid struggles to keep his voice under control. Each sound is short and desperate, cut off by either his own hand or the next thrust sending an explosion of stars across his vision. Whether it's skill or just familiarity with his body, Berserker manages to catch him in just the right way to rob all the strength from his legs again.

It's only when he sits back, forehead damp, mouth open and eyes glazed over, that he even notices something different- a pressure at the base of his cock, just nudging against him. Any other time he might have been more curious but he's used to the unpredictability of Berserker's transformations by now- what's one more ridge or change in shape? Which reminds him-]

Could you...? [He takes one of his clawed hands in his and moves it to his own arousal. Gods, he's hard as hell and intermittant friction isn't enough anymore.] Please.

[ He'd been so caught up in keeping Diarmuid close to him that he'd neglected his need, his incredibly hard need. Berserker gives him an apologetic look and starts to stroke him in time with the rhythm of his hips. ]

Of course...

[ Never does he pause nor really give the witch time to recover. It feels too good to see his lover so undone, to hear the sounds coming from him and know that he's the cause of all of it. All of it is so intoxicating that he can't help but give it. It was once an impossible thought that he'd come to enjoy this much less relish in having sex with someone...How many things have changed. ]

[If there's a "thank you" on his lips, it's stolen away by a weak groan as Berserker strokes him and he's forced to stop just for a moment to catch his breath. It's not easy; he sets a relentless pace, never letting up the movement of his hips even as Diarmuid drops against him, gasping. He could easily come like this, overstimulated and malleable in the afterglow- but he doesn't let himself. Somewhat reluctantly, he eases himself back upright and, using his broad shoulders for support, begins to ride him in earnest again.

Though he's beyond words by now, when he ducks his head again and nuzzles him, kisses the bases of his horns and his lips, he hopes the affection comes across anyway. So too does he hope he understands what he means when he places one of Berserker's hands firmly on his hips: faster or slower? Hard or gentle?

"I'd give you anything right now, Cú. Just ask."]

[ He, too, is beyond words now. It seems crass to speak when their bodies can communicate everything they need to and better. Berserker gets what he's trying to convey with that gesture. He leaves his hand there, grip staying firm. It's difficult still to be honest with what he wants and not just deferring to his partner's desires. What he wants now is slow and gentle so he can maintain this intimate contact, savor it. He stills his hips finally and gives Diarmuid a moment to rest.

He tries to show what he wants by slowing his hand on Diarmuid's cock, his grip loosening up just a little. Slow and methodically, he strokes him and left his thumb slide over the head with each pass. He rocks up into him with the same slow, gentle rhythm. It's certainly a contrast from just a few moments ago.

Berserker leans up to kiss him again without much force, soft and tender. ]

[The only word to describe the sound he makes is a keen. Diarmuid's hands ball into white-knuckled fists and, as he fills him completely again, it feels like his entire body has turned into one absurdly sensitive nerve. Precum dribbles out across Berserker's hand, sticky across their skin as Diarmuid presses his body to his, eager for as much contact as he can get.

I love you, Ciarán Cú-

It's what he means to say, at least, but the words disappear from his mind altogether when Berserker draws him into another kiss. Diarmuid responds instantly, lips parting to let his tongue roll languidly against the dragon's. This- this is the part he savours more than anything when they fuck: the intimacy, the way his heart pounds like it's going to burst out of his chest with the intensity of everything he feels. He still wants to tell him he loves him all over again but, for now, settles on using his body rather than words.

Matching his rhythm, Diarmuid rolls his hips to meet his thrusts, breath hitching when he catches him at just the right angle. The matter of that strange swelling- dangerously close to breaching him as it feels now that he's going deeper- has been all but forgotten.]

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curruid_coinchenn - 2020-01-21 17:05 (UTC) - Expand

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Deceuer Quests, Full Moon, and Catch-all [Open]

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nsfw whoops

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