Oviposition Dubcon/Noncon Coercion/Mind Control Sexual slavery Breeding Stables Monster Fucking Mindbreak Forced Marriage Stockholm Syndrome Queen Bee / Hive breeding Corruption of Champions Overstimulation Toys/Fucking Machines
A/B/O Breeding Stables Coercion/Mind Control Corruption of Champions Degradation Dubcon/Noncon Fisting Forced Marriage Hard BDSM Monster Fucking Mpreg Mindbreak Overstimulation Oviposition Passing out while fucked Queen Bee/Hive breeding Sexual slavery Sounding Stockholm Syndrome Tentacles/vines Toys/Fucking Machines
A/B/O Coercion/Mind Control Corruption of champions Degradation Dubcon/Noncon Forced marriage Hard BDSM Mindbreak Monster fucking Overstimulation Sexual slavery Somnophilia Stockholm syndrome Tentacles/vines Toys/fucking machines
Queen Bee / Hive / Sex Pollen / Coercion / Mind Control / Mind Break
[ Most mortals were unaware of the secret places of the world. Little pockets of magic, realms tucked into the very folds of the universe. This was where those beings of magic themselves hid away, unknown and unseen, especially by a hostile world which so often feared what it did not understand.
The Hollow Hills were some of the most beautiful of these. Faerie mounds. Underhill. They had many names, even if they all pointed to similar places. Many of which have been long forgotten by mortals - or perhaps just dismissed as mere fantasy and discarded.
A convenient defense, as it turns out. Much of the knowledge, the caution, the warnings, have been all but forgotten in these more modern days. Who not to accept an invitation from, where not to step, how not to give offense. But that forgotten lore only plays into the magic of these days, especially when one of those Hollow Hills opens its gates and a call goes out.
Not an audible sound, of course, even if the mortals might find themselves humming an unfamiliar melody as their mind fogs over and their feet unknowingly step onto an unseen path. Drawn, as if an ancient pied piper seeks to lead them deep into the wild magics. The longer they follow, the tighter the magic winds around them. Keeping them relaxed, luring them like a playful will-o'-the-wisp. Until they step into the Hill and the gates swing silently closed behind them. Most never even realize they’ve stumbled into a trap.
But here, there is music and laughter and dancing forms in brightly colored costumes. The alluring scent of a feast is laid out on low banquet tables, drawing guests to come indulge. Feast. Join the celebration.
Surely there's no harm to be found here, in such a bright, magical place. ]
[time and its inexorable march have certainly worn away the veneer of caution surrounding the fae realms, the warnings lost to translation and erosion until all that remained was a polished, shimmering veil of mystery and allure. They're still spoken of, as some kind of mythical, impossible fairytale.
Well, it's a fairytale he's always been intrigued by for reasons he can't explain. Something to do with how many bonds he's read, perhaps. The idea of venturing into unknown lands and meeting all sorts of strange and fanciful creatures... the thoughts of them swirl in his mind as he walks, humming softly.
Laughter and colour fill his senses and it brings him to the realisation that he'd even zoned out in the first place. How far had he even gone? The natural background isn't like anything he's seen before... and with wide eyes, the young man steps closer to the low tables. He certainly wasn't hungry earlier, but with it right in front of him, he feels ravenous.
So he plucks up a few items from the table and seals his fate from the first bite, sweet and bursting with flavor. It clears his head, so he thinks—enough that he can shyly step forward again to consider trying to converse with some of the other guests. Or perhaps they're hosts? He isn't sure. In any case, it isn't long before he completely loses track of everything. Time, place, reason.
People (who aren't people at all, he can acknowledge) flit in and out of his periphery, guiding him deeper into the celebration and the distinct feeling of belonging.]
[ There are eyes on him, of course. Have been since the moment he stepped into the magical clearing. An interest that only honed its focus the moment he partook of the waiting feast. They watch as he’s swirled through a throng of colorful dancers, carried along on a tide of music and laughter and magic.
It’s only as he’s herded deeper into the depths of the Hill that one of the lords of this place appears. Decked out in the vivid hues of a turquoise sea, the lord has a wild shock of red hair atop his head and his chocolate eyes are warm with merriment and laughter. He catches Olivine about the waist, dragging him against a broad chest before tugging him out into the throng of dancers, spinning him about the cavernous room in a fast-paced dance. The music swirls in time to their movements and there's something alluring about it, as if it seeps into Olivine’s very skin and fills him up from within.
The redhead’s smile is bright and laughing, and there’s a glint of gold from his slightly pointed ears as he twirls them, guiding the newcomer through the fast-paced dance, keeping him held close as they whirl and spin among the other dancers. ]
[He's distantly aware of those eyes on him, unobtrusive and silent. Winding his way through the crowd, it's a fact that only occasionally springs up again. A smile will shift here, a glance off there. There's never clarity in what he ought to see in those directions.
Until someone catches him by the waist and pulls him into their embrace. He exhales a surprised noise followed by a laugh, cheeks reddened with the effort and drink he's consumed. Caught up in strong arms, he can't help but be awestruck as he's guided along. Rich sea tones and fiery reds echo one another in imperious, beautiful rhythm.
At first, he fully intends to slip back slightly, to give himself space and time to get used to this. But instead, he finds he's kept in that enclosed space, verdant hair fluttering with every spin and twirl. Brows furrow as dizziness sets in proper, forcing him to stay terribly close just to keep from losing his balance. Music and something else keep him grounded there, a compulsion he can't describe that has him leaning on tiptoes to close that space a little more.]
[ There’s something musical and lilting in that voice when it finally speaks, alluring and intoxicating, just like everything else in this vivd, vibrant trap. A compulsion that wraps around him like a sweet snare, sinks into him. The words becoming Truth as they press in around him, penetrating deep until the knowledge of them becomes a certainty so strong and sure that the newcomer will never wonder where they came from, or even remember that he’s ever known anything else.
He was expected. He’d been longed for. Here, in this place that was meant for him, that had waited for him, to be filled by him. Where he Belongs.
Those warm chocolate eyes dance with delight as he’s spun and held and lured deeper and deeper into the merry warmth of the Hill, until everything else fades away, easy to forget when it’s out of sight, and easier still when the whirling colors and scents and whispers of the Hollow Hill are all that are left to fill its absence. Mesmerizing, tantalizing, a teasing taste that only whets an appetite and a hunger for more. ]
[thick and heady, the thoughts spin and twist with the voice's cadence, warm and sweet as the drink he'd imbibed not so long ago. This is... his place. How long has he kept them waiting, then? Usually, he's so very punctual. But he's here now, spinning deeper into the merry colour and jovial decor. Sweet scents intoxicate almost as much as anything else.]
I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long. [sheepishly, he ducks his head and settles in hr distance for them.] You didn't need to wait... forgive me. It wasn't my intention.
[ Gentle fingers slide along his jaw, tipping his face back up as those deep dark eyes hold his gaze. A thumb swipes up over one flushed cheekbone as lush lips curve into a knowing smile. ]
You haven nothing to apologize for. You’re here now. And the feast wouldn’t have been as joyous without you. You have been worth the wait. You will come and celebrate with us, yes?
[Oh, it feels so good. He'd forgotten how nice it feels to be caressed this way—though he's already forgotten why, too. Olivine's cheek presses into the touch, completely missing the implication in that smile.]
Of course I will celebrate with you. You came all this way to fetch me. [As arms slide around strong shoulders, the human simply allows himself to lean into the space between them, plush lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile.]
[ Those fingers slide back to card through the man’s hair in a soothing gesture, as if coaxing him even more into that dreamy sort of bliss that seems to be wrapping warmly around him. That sense of contentment, of belonging. All other worries or concerns or doubts slowly sliding away, forgotten and lost and unimportant.
Until the only thing left is this moment, this place, this rightness. ]
Then come. The feast is about to start.
[ A kiss, brief but filled with promise as warm lips brush against the mortal’s, a tease and an invitation. And then Olivine is whirled even deeper into the Hill, as the bright lights and dancing and laughter fade into something softer, more intimate, a murmur now instead of a roar.
Chocolate eyes keep Olivine’s caught and held, warmth and promise in them as his arms hold him pressed close. But there are hands that slide against him now, touches reaching out in soft caresses. Teasing whispers of contact, brushing over fabric, and over skin that seems to feel those touches all the more intensely now. Heated and tingling, as if each caress only adds to the magic, the subtly growing want that starts to stir in response.
It doesn’t feel taboo or frightening, even though the sources of those touches are lost in the hazy blur of whirling sensation. Instead, there is an excitement in them, stolen moments of delight, secret yearning, all the flirtation and allure of some new, sensual experience. And all of, focused on the flushed pretty mortal now dancing deeper into their depths. ]
[warm. He feels so comfortable, so enveloped by affection and attraction. The world whirls around in his periphery and fades first to bursts of color, then to something darker, sensual, impossibly real. Even when their lips part, he's still thoroughly ensnared by them. Held fast, while other hands brush and tease and heat pale skin.
He can't break from that chocolate gaze, either, no matter how the hazy touches stir something deeper. A hunger that's almost overwhelming, one that matches the whirl of this dance to provide is own strange, alluring sensation. He's missed them all for so long(???), and it truly is this fae prince's grasp that keeps him from getting lost in the mire. Soft fabric slips from his shoulders and the mortal notices none of it.]
I feel... dizzy... hehe.
[this intoxication is definitely more than just drink. Magic coils and twists until it overcomes all remaining rational thought. A stumble, and he's more leaned on Sylvain even while his body shifts and reacts to every touch.]
[ A smile, mischievous and playful as solid arms catch him, hold him steady, as the dance steps slow, stop. But somehow, the soft whirling lights dancing around them never stop spinning. As if they’re surrounded by shooting stars who have now taken up the dance in their absence.
Those hands never falter as the fae scoops the mortal up in his arms, as if he weighed nothing at all, and cradled him closer to his chest. Held there in a way that evoked safety and warmth. Cherished. ]
Then let’s find a place to be comfortable and rest, hmm?
[ There’s a purr of pleasure in that dark, seductive tone now, as if the words themselves paint a potent and alluring promise, an invitation offered in whispered allure.
Where the fae carries him is impossible to tell, the dancing lights illuminating little of their surroundings in their whirling, dizzying swirl that seems to move with them as the redheaded fae carries the mortal deeper into the enchanted hill. Perhaps they walk mere moments or perhaps it is far longer - it’s impossible to tell, and time seems to lose all meaning here, when the fae’s dark gaze dances with mesmerizing magic that seems to draw one in until they’re lost in that deep dark gaze.
So Olivine might not even notice when the fae’s steps come to a stop, at least not until he feels himself being born downward, pressed down into plush softness. He is instantly surrounded by sweet floral scents, honeysuckle and lavender and jasmine, a heady intoxicating mix that seems to coat the very air around them. Whatever Olivine’s been laid down on is soft and comfortable, the surface softer than satin, almost silky, like a flower petal, and a puff of that sweet-scented pollen puffs up around them in response, floating with a slightly shimmery quality in the air, and then on Olivine’s skin as it settles onto him like soft glitter. ]
[The suggestion is taken without a second thought, arms drawn up around the fae's broad shoulders as he marvels at the way the lights sparkle and dance, glittering against red hair and pale skin to create an ethereal countenance second only to the depths of those dark eyes. It's hard to say if they're moving or the lights are, or perhaps both—sleepy interest and want nearly draw him upward to taste—
A soft noise escapes as he's laid down, pressed into plush comfort to the puff and shimmer of pollen. Just barely wet, sticky enough to coat anywhere it touches, glittering on the edge of his lashes and stirring some warm feeling, those hands finally do reach up to touch soft skin, thumb sweeping over a cheek.
Warmth digs into his senses and slows his thoughts, skewing them ever more to wonder. The man above him feels so comforting... so like home, like affection. His words are thoughtless and reverent.]
So beautiful... I'm glad you were willing to wait...
[ No one realized just how many things the Church orchestrated from the shadows, how subtly they manipulated kingdoms, nobility, worshippers. How they used rumor and scripture and heresy to shape an idea, a belief, and within a generation, it had taken such a deep-rooted hold that it steered the fate of thousands, altering the lives of all it cast its shadow over.
History rewritten and villains instead became convenient figureheads. Their descendants born and offered directly into the Church’s benevolent grasp. The common-folk never understood how the Crest Bearers were different, special, only that they were blessed and chosen by the gods, and as tradition became rooted in blood, no one even blinked an eye when the Crest Bearers were offered to the church when they came of age. And how many of them were never seen again.
But beneath the thick stone walls of the Monasteries, a maze of abyss-like warrens stretched in the darkness, each built to contain beasts of massive size and fury. Only select sects of the priesthood even knew these prisons existed, and the beasts that were held down here were never spoken of outside of these stone walls.
But every once in a while, new priests were chosen to be inducted into these elite circles. They were bathed and prepared in a ritualistic cleansing before being led down into the darkness, ushered through a warded door, with only the instructions that they’d been chosen to serve the gods and to not be afraid. ]
[Olivine never known that much about the world, truthfully. just what was written in the places he'd been allowed—and perhaps a few he wasn't supposed to. things that planted some seeds of uncertainty in him, but never against those who guided him here.
as to here... the ritualistic cleansing is no surprise, nor the delicate ceremonial robes they'd wrapped him in. it's the darkness that feels surprising, steps quiet and echoing the empty, desolate halls. it brings an eerie sense of foreboding when combined with their instructions, given impassively as they ushered him past that final door and to his destination. serve the gods and do not be afraid.
what an ominous set of instructions that was. serving the gods is an easy task, but... why would he fear it? this thought lingers as the young man's eyes struggle to focus in the dark, breath puffing softly in front of him with each exhale. it isn't fear that grips him but curiosity, quiet awe shaded by that same darkness.]
[ The chamber Olivine is ushered into is cavernous in size. Mostly dark except for streams of moonlight that descend down from overhead, piercing the shadows. The priest’s soft footfalls still seem to echo in the massive space, the only sound in the otherwise still and silent chamber.
It’s only when the massive doors seal shut behind him once more that the darkness stirs. For a moment, a presence looms, something massive shifting in the darkness. But when a figure emerges from the darkness, it’s only a man. Tall and thickly built, a wild shock of red hair tousled and unruly atop his head.
But it’s his eyes that mark him as something other than human. They gleam a primal gold, his pupils slit in a serpentine fashion as he drinks in the sight of what they’ve sent him. His lips quirk into a semblance of a smirk as he prowls forward out of the shadows with a smooth, predatory grace. ]
This isn’t a place one should wander in so carelessly, little priest.
[As his eyes adjust, the surroundings still offer little in answer. It's a massive space, that much he can tell—but what lurks here? What needs it? And—
The doors behind him shut, echoing with finally as Olivine is separated from all he knew. Set upon the path of all he was meant to be, even if he has no idea what that intent is. Something shifts in the darkness, huge and imperious. It draws his eyes in wonder, until moonlight illuminates a figure.
A very human figure. And one that's surprisingly beautiful despite the gleam of golden eyes, the shock of wild hair and tip of lips.]
I— [The priest himself isn't nearly so tall, and his head tips upward slightly as this man prowls forth.] I am not here carelessly, but to fulfill my duties to the Gods.
[There's a nervousness to the way Olivine steps forward, but it's blanketed with the same quiet curiosity that fills his voice, soft and light.]
[ The redhead doesn't stop prowling closer until he can stop directly before the priest, gazing down at him, his eyes drinking in his features, his form. The somewhat scandalous “ceremonial” robes he’d been draped in. Ones that seemed almost sheer in the pale moonlight.
His lips quirk again, but there’s little humor in it this time. ]
[that gaze makes him a touch self-conscious, even if he's largely content with his looks. After all, he's not stupid—the thin robes had already been hard not to notice, and they seem even more scandalous with the shimmer of moonlight on them, and on milk-pale skin besides. At least they're opaque enough to hide most of the details that lie beneath, even if the way they lay isn't as... flat as usual.
The following question brings more concern still. With the warmth of this man so nearby, the odd sensation of something different prickling the hair at the back of his neck, the priest can at least feel certain this is intended. Whatever his duties are...]
I may not have all of the details, but... I am not afraid.
[perhaps surprisingly, that's not really untrue. In fact, while there's a measure of wariness, there really is a lot more wonder. Interest, even.]
[ The redhead’s voice is caught somewhere between exasperated and indulgent as he shakes his head at the priest. His naïveté, perhaps, or just the fact that he wasn’t running for his life right now.
Still, he holds out a hand in silent invitation. Or perhaps command. ]
Come here.
[ There’s power in those words, power that seems to swell throughout the very air of the cavern around them. A resonance that will fill the priest with a compulsion so deep and subtle he wont even question it, or the bone-deep need to obey. ]
[that statement, more than any other, brings a shift of emotion to his face. shame, as if he knows he's foolish, has been told as much until it became an incontrovertible truth. to be so unafraid isn't normal, but at least it helps him to serve the Gods. so they said.]
... yes, of course.
[it's breathier, as that resonance blankets him. the words swell and coil to wrap around him, and he barely even feels his muscles shift before he's stepping further into that space. his hand reaches to take the one extended to him, a touch of warmth to those pale cheeks that betrays something more than just the compulsion driving him.]
[ The hand that slips into his is soft and warm, befitting one of the pampered and cherished priests the Church tends to keep secluded for just this purpose. The flush that stains his skin isn’t al that unexpected either. Especially since this priest was chosen to be sent here. Sylvain had a Reputation after all, even down here.
He draws the priest closer, tugging him in against his chest even as his other hand snakes around the man’s waist. Pinning him against his front as he smirks down at him.
This close, Sylvain can practically taste the magic emanating off him. It has his golden eyes flashing with a predatory sort of hunger as he bends his head slightly to run his nose along the line of the priest’s jaw. ]
And are you obedient in all things the gods might wish of you, little priest?
[effortlessly, he finds himself pulled in closer, free hand rising to rest in the scant space between them as Sylvain's snakes around his slim waist. It makes no effort to keep distance, of course; wouldn't have even without the thread of compulsion winding around his senses. A soft jingle fades in the air as chests meet, thick muscle stirring sensation.]
I... [His hesitation has far less to do with concern than the devastating distraction of warm breath near his jaw, the touch of a strong nose against skin. Oh, but his head tips up so obediently, expression dreamy as those words spark far too many possibilities.] I live to serve the gods' will. No matter the request, I will not fear or falter.
[Every heartbeat is loud in his ears, fingers twitching impatiently with the prospect of requests, orders. Surely, he'll regret this—there's no reason his wildest thoughts should manifest, even with the implications left on charged air.
[ Something flares in golden eyes, something impossible to interpret before he releases the priest's hand to slide fingers along his jaw. Tips his head back so he can capture his lips in a kiss. There’s a hunger lurking there, just beneath the surface, something sharp and wild and just shy of feral. It’s not a gentle kiss, but a demand, seeing if the priest will indeed yield. ]
[His mind follows every prickle of sensation while fingers move, curling against his jaw to tip his head up. There's no time to do more than register the sensation before their mouths meet, and the priest gives a devastated, needy sound neither compulsion nor duty could affect. It's a dream, he thinks. Perhaps he'd read one too many novels about being chosen and taken lately...
Yield? Yes, that he will do. Willingly, warmly, clumsily as delicate fingers curl around broad shoulders. He'll awake from this soon, he's sure; the feral, demanding press is surely meant for someone more fitting, more worthy than he. Has it really been so long that it's so vivid?]
[ There’s a soft growled sound of predatory pleasure when the priest all but melts into that kiss. And he was right, he can taste the magic in him, even from just this. It’s sweet but also with a hint of spice to it, a new flavor he’d not experienced before. This priest was different than the other offerings that had been sent before, but Sylvain wasn’t sure how.
He was still going to indulge himself, of course. And as his hunger starts to grow, he finally breaks the kiss, giving the priest a moment to catch his breath. ]
Strip for me, little priest. You’re not going to need your ceremonial robes for tonight.
[He feels so dizzy when Sylvain pulls back, breath sharp and uneven. There's a feeling of alignment, too; a connection from the church, perhaps. Olivine can't be sure, not even if he wasn't expecting this to be a dream. He'll wake up a mess, no doubt, meet disappointed faces and repent again.]
As— [His tongue feels thick and heavy with that desire.] as you wish.
[reluctantly, the priest pulls away from the warmth this other offers, brushing off the sense of disappointment in favour of loosening those ceremonial robes. A sharp metal sound rings moments before its origin comes into view, soft fabric falling away in favour of pale skin, chest adorned with rose gold and gemstone that accent every space down to his navel.]
[ The redhead blinks when the priest lets his robes drop, but then lets out a low, husky chuckle. A hand reaches out, fingers tracing over the piercing, tugging lightly on the chain before letting one pert nipple roll between his fingertips. ]
Oh, you are going too be a fun one, aren’t you, my pretty little priest?
[despite the words, he's so very easy to read. A tug of chains and a shift of fingers and he's already back to ask but clinging. That pert little nub is so responsive under his fingertips, skin reddening prettily.]
I.... haah... [God, he's already so—Olivine's gaze trembles as he peers up at this man.] Do... you like it? I am... inexperienced, but...
[He's surprisingly shy, considering this new revelation. But it doesn't seem to be the coy confidence one might expect under the circumstance—quite the opposite, in fact. The question is quietly earnest.]
Of course you are. [ That indulgent tone is back as Sylvain’s lips quirk and he rolls that nipple again, tugging a little sharper this time. Enjoying the response from the priest at the touch. ] But you’re still eager for me anyway, aren’t you?
[ His other hand slides in to scrape calloused fingertips up over the priest’s stomach, flicking fingertips against the gem dangling there. ]
Nmgh—I— [His thoughts are interrupted as Sylvain tugs sharper at that piercing, head dipping shamefully. This priest is... not very good at reading indulgent amusement yet, it turns out.] I'm sorry... I can't help—aauh—!
[Oh. He actually loses his balance, weight leaning into the other man as callused fingers tease the gem in his navel—one that shares his same warmth, in fact. "Dangling" may be the wrong word for it on closer inspection, even if those chains are attached to a fitting around its edges.]
[ Well, that’s new and interesting, isn't it? What is Rhea trying to bribe him with this time?
His hands catch the priest when he staggers, hauling him up and against him as he holds him there, letting him find his balance again. If his legs can support him, anyway. Hs hands remain bracing him, just in case. ]
Too…? [ he prods, an impish grin now twisting across his lips. ]
[rhea is clearly a benevolent lady who would never bribe you, Sylvain. Definitely not with a closeted little slut who had been shielded from normal life. Don't be so silly.
It's hard to want to find his balance again, pulled against the steady weight of his torso. Hands brace him so nicely, and his head ducks lightly at the prodding.]
It's... sensitive. It always has been...
[always? His weight shifts a little so that he can run his fingers over the gemstone, as if to soothe the lingering itch. It's fine, he's fine, surely.]
I... don't mind, but... it's a little hard to focus. ["a little." Right.]
[ That impish grin is deepening, because usually he had to work so much harder to have these priests flinging themselves at him that wantonly. His gaze drops to follow the movement of man’s fingers over the gem, realizing at last that perhaps this was no mere piece of decorative jewelry. ]
Always, hmm? How sensitive?
[ And, without warning, he runs his fingers over them gem again. ]
[even Rhea probably didn't know how perfectly she'd chosen, honestly. Even given the expectation of purity to stifle desire.
He would argue that he isn't flinging himself at Sylvain yet, though. Rude. He's behaving and giving what he promised, right?]
It's hard to descr—ibe—nngh...
[based on the way he moves though, it's very nearly as sensitive as his chest has proven to be so far. His stomach sucks in on instinct, trying to wiggle away from the pleasant tickle of rough fingers though the rest of him doesn't mind the feeling. A hand reaches to rest, trembling, on the taller man's forearm.]
Mmmm, but you make such pretty little noises when I do.
[ Another slow caress, his fingers tracing over the gem with curious intent. This is certainly something he’s never encountered before - not down here, or in his brief time before Rhea had chosen him for her… experiments.
He’s not actually sure what this toy is he’s been sent to play with. And that’s such a novel experience that he’d almost forgotten what that could feel like. There’s a dark thrill, interest piqued as he watches the way the priest reacts so eagerly to his touch, squirming - both away and into it - and trembling. And they’ve barely even started yet.
He gives a tug on the hand resting on his arm, his other arm moving to snake more securely around the priest’s waist as he starts to guide him deeper into the cavernous chamber. Where the shadows cast even longer here, although his vision isn’t affected in the least by the thickening darkness. Golden eyes gleaming with predatory intent. ]
Come. I think it’s time we get comfortable, don’t you?
[ He doesn’t take many deeper into his nest - there’s rarely a need for that much of his attention. But this one? This one he can already feel will be different. He wants to savor this one. ]
[such an agreeable priest, really. In spite of his trembling fingers, he's at least fully aware. Repression could only do so much to him.
He'd excuse it as fulfilling his duties, perhaps. Rationalise that his thoughts and wonders aren't important compared to them. Maybe even pretend he doesn't want to bury himself into the taller man's warmth and strength. Plus, he still smells so good, matched against Olivine's own soft, milky scent.]
Comfortable—ah, you're right, of course. [He already feels comfortable, even as the blanket of dark shadows engulfs them. Steps echo in the space, hands still touching the redhead like a beacon, a buoy keeping him in the moment by simply providing him more things to ponder.]
Do you... prefer this darkness? It feels... heavy somehow, I think.
[ For a moment, there’s something else layered in his tone. Something… not quite wistful, but still… sad, somehow. ]
I’ve been down here so long, I don’t often notice it anymore. Here. [ Realizing the mortal priest was at a disadvantage, strong arms slide around him, then promptly scoop him up to cradle him against a broad warm chest. ] Better?
[ Since the shadows don’t slow him at all, it’s easier to carry the priest deeper into the chamber, to where his nest waits. Or what he laughingly refers to as his nest. Perhaps lair would be the more accurate term, considering, but in truth, it’s a smaller antechamber tucked off of this one. Its floor is covered in thick cushions, warm and plush and sensual, a study in contrasts of fabrics and textures, all things he’s collected over the years, taken a liking to. Found comfortable and cozy, and then surrounded himself in.
He tries to remember the last time he’d brought someone here, but it’s been so long, he’s forgotten. That doesn’t seem all that important right now anyway. ]
You haven’t told me your name, my pretty little priest.
[It tugs at something in him, hearing that tone. Something hard to put a name to, but that feels remarkably familiar. He's about to ask further when arms scoop him up and pull him in against that warm chest.]
Oh—! [His little exclamation is matched by the way his body moves, curling in close as Sylvain simply carries him. The strength makes his heart flutter all over again.] Y-yes... thank you. I didn't mind walking, though.
[His own hands are remarkably delicate where they keep hold, paying little attention to the surroundings until they come to a stop in that antechamber. A nest of varying fabrics and cushions easy comforts piled into the space like something to soothe himself with.
Like he misses something...]
Ah—my name is Olivine. Forgive my being late to introduce myself.
To be fair, I didn’t give you much of an opportunity.
[ He also hasn’t offered his own name in exchange yet. Although the priest might get distracted from that as Sylvain carries him over to the cushions and lays him down among the plush softness. With the robes gone, his skin is milky-pale in what little moonlight penetrates this deep. Which isn’t much, although as the hours of the night shift, so too does the light from above.
Sylvain follows him down, one knee pressing firmly between the priest’s spread thighs as he pins him in place, his own skin unusually heated - moreso than most humans. The robes Sylvain wears, while rich in texture, are also made and meant for ease, and they gape open as he crouches down and leans over the prone priest. Revealing a firm, toned body and defined muscles that look chiseled in their definition. Only the sash belted about his waist keeps the fabric in place, although one side does slide down off his shoulder, exposing more of his torso and his own pale skin. ]
[It's such a warmly human response, he thinks. Just what is this man, anyway?
But it's true—his attention is somewhat drawn away by the way he's handled, laid down amid soft fabric and plush cushion, jewelry shifting with every soft breath and creating its own glittering pattern over that pale skin. Hands fall back onto the nest and a soft, sharp inhale speaks louder than any words as his knee moves.
Even the dim light can't hide how pink his cheeks are, lips parted as muscular thighs twitch against the equally muscular leg keeping them spread. Keeping him pleasantly pinned, for that matter. Olivine himself is warm for a human, and yet this heat makes him ache to feel it more, deeper.]
Ah. [should he still be unafraid? Perhaps not. But that reasonable fact doesn't change the way he finds himself moving. Long fingers slip past the curve of that robe to brush against deeply chiseled muscle. He's really just so—] I am still unafraid. More now than before.
[There's no bravado to the admission, just fact. Surely, he thinks, Lady Rhea must have found value in his struggles to be the best priest he could be. Not that he'd ever spoken with her about his depraved tastes, but still—]
[ Rhea has a way of seeing what she wants to see, anyway. Sylvain’s still not sure what this pretty trap is, but he doesn’t doubt for a moment that it is one.
Still, what else is there to do but spring it? It’s not as if he has anything else on his schedule tonight. Or any of the following ones either, for that matter.
His hand catches Olivine’s where it trails fingers against his chest. Catches it, and presses his palm against the warm skin of his torso as he gives the priest a sharp smile, although there’s a lingering amusement glinting in serpentine golden eyes. ]
Usually mortals have better instincts for danger than this.
[As heat suffuses through his palm, Olivine exhales a soft noise. He's not wrong—the priest has never had that much interest in avoiding danger. Still, it's hard to imagine this is so dangerous...]
I don't mind danger... but you haven't given me anything to fear, either. [fingers curl, soft pads splaying over skin. Legs shift minutely, barely restrained impatience in the way he moves against that sturdy thigh.] If you truly wanted to hurt me, you already could have.
The night is young, little priest. If I wish to hurt you, I’d certainly not be pressed into any rush.
[ Unspoken is the reminder that Olivine is clearly not going anywhere, not as long as he has this being’s full attention focused on him. ]
I am… unaccustomed to the gifts your Lady Rhea sends me to not fall to their knees in fear when they realize they’ve been sent here.
[ Which could be why this one knows nothing of the situation he’s found himself in - or the beast he’s been given to. A new tactic of the church’s perhaps? Or some strange accidental oversight?
But the way the priest moves against him is impossible to misinterpret and it brings a predatory grin to the redhead’s lips, teeth sharp behind that smile as he lodges his thigh up a bit more firmly against the priest’s groin. Grinding down against him to torment sensitive flesh. Or perhaps just tease him more, to see what reactions and pleased little noises he can drag forth. ]
I don't mind being hurt a little... and besides, it's my sacred duty as a priest.
["don't mind" may be an understatement, given how he moves when Sylvain presses his thigh up harder. It pulls a soft cry from his lips and forces his back to arch and flex against the grinding. Cheeks burn, hips twitching and jolting in search of more.]
Haah... ughhgh... wait—
[He doesn't want him to wait. Already, he can feel his arousal picking up, even though his motions are all in obedient offering. Hands fall overhead and chains jingle.]
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Bucket Lists
no subject
Dubcon/Noncon
Coercion/Mind Control
Sexual slavery
Breeding Stables
Monster Fucking
Mindbreak
Forced Marriage
Stockholm Syndrome
Queen Bee / Hive breeding
Corruption of Champions
Overstimulation
Toys/Fucking Machines
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Breeding Stables
Coercion/Mind Control
Corruption of Champions
Degradation
Dubcon/Noncon
Fisting
Forced Marriage
Hard BDSM
Monster Fucking
Mpreg
Mindbreak
Overstimulation
Oviposition
Passing out while fucked
Queen Bee/Hive breeding
Sexual slavery
Sounding
Stockholm Syndrome
Tentacles/vines
Toys/Fucking Machines
no subject
Coercion/Mind Control
Corruption of champions
Degradation
Dubcon/Noncon
Forced marriage
Hard BDSM
Mindbreak
Monster fucking
Overstimulation
Sexual slavery
Somnophilia
Stockholm syndrome
Tentacles/vines
Toys/fucking machines
Queen Bee / Hive / Sex Pollen / Coercion / Mind Control / Mind Break
The Hollow Hills were some of the most beautiful of these. Faerie mounds. Underhill. They had many names, even if they all pointed to similar places. Many of which have been long forgotten by mortals - or perhaps just dismissed as mere fantasy and discarded.
A convenient defense, as it turns out. Much of the knowledge, the caution, the warnings, have been all but forgotten in these more modern days. Who not to accept an invitation from, where not to step, how not to give offense. But that forgotten lore only plays into the magic of these days, especially when one of those Hollow Hills opens its gates and a call goes out.
Not an audible sound, of course, even if the mortals might find themselves humming an unfamiliar melody as their mind fogs over and their feet unknowingly step onto an unseen path. Drawn, as if an ancient pied piper seeks to lead them deep into the wild magics. The longer they follow, the tighter the magic winds around them. Keeping them relaxed, luring them like a playful will-o'-the-wisp. Until they step into the Hill and the gates swing silently closed behind them. Most never even realize they’ve stumbled into a trap.
But here, there is music and laughter and dancing forms in brightly colored costumes. The alluring scent of a feast is laid out on low banquet tables, drawing guests to come indulge. Feast. Join the celebration.
Surely there's no harm to be found here, in such a bright, magical place. ]
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Well, it's a fairytale he's always been intrigued by for reasons he can't explain. Something to do with how many bonds he's read, perhaps. The idea of venturing into unknown lands and meeting all sorts of strange and fanciful creatures... the thoughts of them swirl in his mind as he walks, humming softly.
Laughter and colour fill his senses and it brings him to the realisation that he'd even zoned out in the first place. How far had he even gone? The natural background isn't like anything he's seen before... and with wide eyes, the young man steps closer to the low tables. He certainly wasn't hungry earlier, but with it right in front of him, he feels ravenous.
So he plucks up a few items from the table and seals his fate from the first bite, sweet and bursting with flavor. It clears his head, so he thinks—enough that he can shyly step forward again to consider trying to converse with some of the other guests. Or perhaps they're hosts? He isn't sure. In any case, it isn't long before he completely loses track of everything. Time, place, reason.
People (who aren't people at all, he can acknowledge) flit in and out of his periphery, guiding him deeper into the celebration and the distinct feeling of belonging.]
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It’s only as he’s herded deeper into the depths of the Hill that one of the lords of this place appears. Decked out in the vivid hues of a turquoise sea, the lord has a wild shock of red hair atop his head and his chocolate eyes are warm with merriment and laughter. He catches Olivine about the waist, dragging him against a broad chest before tugging him out into the throng of dancers, spinning him about the cavernous room in a fast-paced dance. The music swirls in time to their movements and there's something alluring about it, as if it seeps into Olivine’s very skin and fills him up from within.
The redhead’s smile is bright and laughing, and there’s a glint of gold from his slightly pointed ears as he twirls them, guiding the newcomer through the fast-paced dance, keeping him held close as they whirl and spin among the other dancers. ]
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Until someone catches him by the waist and pulls him into their embrace. He exhales a surprised noise followed by a laugh, cheeks reddened with the effort and drink he's consumed. Caught up in strong arms, he can't help but be awestruck as he's guided along. Rich sea tones and fiery reds echo one another in imperious, beautiful rhythm.
At first, he fully intends to slip back slightly, to give himself space and time to get used to this. But instead, he finds he's kept in that enclosed space, verdant hair fluttering with every spin and twirl. Brows furrow as dizziness sets in proper, forcing him to stay terribly close just to keep from losing his balance. Music and something else keep him grounded there, a compulsion he can't describe that has him leaning on tiptoes to close that space a little more.]
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[ There’s something musical and lilting in that voice when it finally speaks, alluring and intoxicating, just like everything else in this vivd, vibrant trap. A compulsion that wraps around him like a sweet snare, sinks into him. The words becoming Truth as they press in around him, penetrating deep until the knowledge of them becomes a certainty so strong and sure that the newcomer will never wonder where they came from, or even remember that he’s ever known anything else.
He was expected. He’d been longed for. Here, in this place that was meant for him, that had waited for him, to be filled by him. Where he Belongs.
Those warm chocolate eyes dance with delight as he’s spun and held and lured deeper and deeper into the merry warmth of the Hill, until everything else fades away, easy to forget when it’s out of sight, and easier still when the whirling colors and scents and whispers of the Hollow Hill are all that are left to fill its absence. Mesmerizing, tantalizing, a teasing taste that only whets an appetite and a hunger for more. ]
Finally, you have come. The feast can begin.
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[thick and heady, the thoughts spin and twist with the voice's cadence, warm and sweet as the drink he'd imbibed not so long ago. This is... his place. How long has he kept them waiting, then? Usually, he's so very punctual. But he's here now, spinning deeper into the merry colour and jovial decor. Sweet scents intoxicate almost as much as anything else.]
I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long. [sheepishly, he ducks his head and settles in hr distance for them.] You didn't need to wait... forgive me. It wasn't my intention.
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You haven nothing to apologize for. You’re here now. And the feast wouldn’t have been as joyous without you. You have been worth the wait. You will come and celebrate with us, yes?
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Of course I will celebrate with you. You came all this way to fetch me. [As arms slide around strong shoulders, the human simply allows himself to lean into the space between them, plush lips curled into a soft, dreamy smile.]
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Until the only thing left is this moment, this place, this rightness. ]
Then come. The feast is about to start.
[ A kiss, brief but filled with promise as warm lips brush against the mortal’s, a tease and an invitation. And then Olivine is whirled even deeper into the Hill, as the bright lights and dancing and laughter fade into something softer, more intimate, a murmur now instead of a roar.
Chocolate eyes keep Olivine’s caught and held, warmth and promise in them as his arms hold him pressed close. But there are hands that slide against him now, touches reaching out in soft caresses. Teasing whispers of contact, brushing over fabric, and over skin that seems to feel those touches all the more intensely now. Heated and tingling, as if each caress only adds to the magic, the subtly growing want that starts to stir in response.
It doesn’t feel taboo or frightening, even though the sources of those touches are lost in the hazy blur of whirling sensation. Instead, there is an excitement in them, stolen moments of delight, secret yearning, all the flirtation and allure of some new, sensual experience. And all of, focused on the flushed pretty mortal now dancing deeper into their depths. ]
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[warm. He feels so comfortable, so enveloped by affection and attraction. The world whirls around in his periphery and fades first to bursts of color, then to something darker, sensual, impossibly real. Even when their lips part, he's still thoroughly ensnared by them. Held fast, while other hands brush and tease and heat pale skin.
He can't break from that chocolate gaze, either, no matter how the hazy touches stir something deeper. A hunger that's almost overwhelming, one that matches the whirl of this dance to provide is own strange, alluring sensation. He's missed them all for so long(???), and it truly is this fae prince's grasp that keeps him from getting lost in the mire. Soft fabric slips from his shoulders and the mortal notices none of it.]
I feel... dizzy... hehe.
[this intoxication is definitely more than just drink. Magic coils and twists until it overcomes all remaining rational thought. A stumble, and he's more leaned on Sylvain even while his body shifts and reacts to every touch.]
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Those hands never falter as the fae scoops the mortal up in his arms, as if he weighed nothing at all, and cradled him closer to his chest. Held there in a way that evoked safety and warmth. Cherished. ]
Then let’s find a place to be comfortable and rest, hmm?
[ There’s a purr of pleasure in that dark, seductive tone now, as if the words themselves paint a potent and alluring promise, an invitation offered in whispered allure.
Where the fae carries him is impossible to tell, the dancing lights illuminating little of their surroundings in their whirling, dizzying swirl that seems to move with them as the redheaded fae carries the mortal deeper into the enchanted hill. Perhaps they walk mere moments or perhaps it is far longer - it’s impossible to tell, and time seems to lose all meaning here, when the fae’s dark gaze dances with mesmerizing magic that seems to draw one in until they’re lost in that deep dark gaze.
So Olivine might not even notice when the fae’s steps come to a stop, at least not until he feels himself being born downward, pressed down into plush softness. He is instantly surrounded by sweet floral scents, honeysuckle and lavender and jasmine, a heady intoxicating mix that seems to coat the very air around them. Whatever Olivine’s been laid down on is soft and comfortable, the surface softer than satin, almost silky, like a flower petal, and a puff of that sweet-scented pollen puffs up around them in response, floating with a slightly shimmery quality in the air, and then on Olivine’s skin as it settles onto him like soft glitter. ]
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[The suggestion is taken without a second thought, arms drawn up around the fae's broad shoulders as he marvels at the way the lights sparkle and dance, glittering against red hair and pale skin to create an ethereal countenance second only to the depths of those dark eyes. It's hard to say if they're moving or the lights are, or perhaps both—sleepy interest and want nearly draw him upward to taste—
A soft noise escapes as he's laid down, pressed into plush comfort to the puff and shimmer of pollen. Just barely wet, sticky enough to coat anywhere it touches, glittering on the edge of his lashes and stirring some warm feeling, those hands finally do reach up to touch soft skin, thumb sweeping over a cheek.
Warmth digs into his senses and slows his thoughts, skewing them ever more to wonder. The man above him feels so comforting... so like home, like affection. His words are thoughtless and reverent.]
So beautiful... I'm glad you were willing to wait...
Monster Fucking / Breeding Stables
History rewritten and villains instead became convenient figureheads. Their descendants born and offered directly into the Church’s benevolent grasp. The common-folk never understood how the Crest Bearers were different, special, only that they were blessed and chosen by the gods, and as tradition became rooted in blood, no one even blinked an eye when the Crest Bearers were offered to the church when they came of age. And how many of them were never seen again.
But beneath the thick stone walls of the Monasteries, a maze of abyss-like warrens stretched in the darkness, each built to contain beasts of massive size and fury. Only select sects of the priesthood even knew these prisons existed, and the beasts that were held down here were never spoken of outside of these stone walls.
But every once in a while, new priests were chosen to be inducted into these elite circles. They were bathed and prepared in a ritualistic cleansing before being led down into the darkness, ushered through a warded door, with only the instructions that they’d been chosen to serve the gods and to not be afraid. ]
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as to here... the ritualistic cleansing is no surprise, nor the delicate ceremonial robes they'd wrapped him in. it's the darkness that feels surprising, steps quiet and echoing the empty, desolate halls. it brings an eerie sense of foreboding when combined with their instructions, given impassively as they ushered him past that final door and to his destination. serve the gods and do not be afraid.
what an ominous set of instructions that was. serving the gods is an easy task, but... why would he fear it? this thought lingers as the young man's eyes struggle to focus in the dark, breath puffing softly in front of him with each exhale. it isn't fear that grips him but curiosity, quiet awe shaded by that same darkness.]
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It’s only when the massive doors seal shut behind him once more that the darkness stirs. For a moment, a presence looms, something massive shifting in the darkness. But when a figure emerges from the darkness, it’s only a man. Tall and thickly built, a wild shock of red hair tousled and unruly atop his head.
But it’s his eyes that mark him as something other than human. They gleam a primal gold, his pupils slit in a serpentine fashion as he drinks in the sight of what they’ve sent him. His lips quirk into a semblance of a smirk as he prowls forward out of the shadows with a smooth, predatory grace. ]
This isn’t a place one should wander in so carelessly, little priest.
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The doors behind him shut, echoing with finally as Olivine is separated from all he knew. Set upon the path of all he was meant to be, even if he has no idea what that intent is. Something shifts in the darkness, huge and imperious. It draws his eyes in wonder, until moonlight illuminates a figure.
A very human figure. And one that's surprisingly beautiful despite the gleam of golden eyes, the shock of wild hair and tip of lips.]
I— [The priest himself isn't nearly so tall, and his head tips upward slightly as this man prowls forth.] I am not here carelessly, but to fulfill my duties to the Gods.
[There's a nervousness to the way Olivine steps forward, but it's blanketed with the same quiet curiosity that fills his voice, soft and light.]
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His lips quirk again, but there’s little humor in it this time. ]
You have no idea what that even means, do you?
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The following question brings more concern still. With the warmth of this man so nearby, the odd sensation of something different prickling the hair at the back of his neck, the priest can at least feel certain this is intended. Whatever his duties are...]
I may not have all of the details, but... I am not afraid.
[perhaps surprisingly, that's not really untrue. In fact, while there's a measure of wariness, there really is a lot more wonder. Interest, even.]
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[ The redhead’s voice is caught somewhere between exasperated and indulgent as he shakes his head at the priest. His naïveté, perhaps, or just the fact that he wasn’t running for his life right now.
Still, he holds out a hand in silent invitation. Or perhaps command. ]
Come here.
[ There’s power in those words, power that seems to swell throughout the very air of the cavern around them. A resonance that will fill the priest with a compulsion so deep and subtle he wont even question it, or the bone-deep need to obey. ]
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... yes, of course.
[it's breathier, as that resonance blankets him. the words swell and coil to wrap around him, and he barely even feels his muscles shift before he's stepping further into that space. his hand reaches to take the one extended to him, a touch of warmth to those pale cheeks that betrays something more than just the compulsion driving him.]
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He draws the priest closer, tugging him in against his chest even as his other hand snakes around the man’s waist. Pinning him against his front as he smirks down at him.
This close, Sylvain can practically taste the magic emanating off him. It has his golden eyes flashing with a predatory sort of hunger as he bends his head slightly to run his nose along the line of the priest’s jaw. ]
And are you obedient in all things the gods might wish of you, little priest?
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[effortlessly, he finds himself pulled in closer, free hand rising to rest in the scant space between them as Sylvain's snakes around his slim waist. It makes no effort to keep distance, of course; wouldn't have even without the thread of compulsion winding around his senses. A soft jingle fades in the air as chests meet, thick muscle stirring sensation.]
I... [His hesitation has far less to do with concern than the devastating distraction of warm breath near his jaw, the touch of a strong nose against skin. Oh, but his head tips up so obediently, expression dreamy as those words spark far too many possibilities.] I live to serve the gods' will. No matter the request, I will not fear or falter.
[Every heartbeat is loud in his ears, fingers twitching impatiently with the prospect of requests, orders. Surely, he'll regret this—there's no reason his wildest thoughts should manifest, even with the implications left on charged air.
He's never been that lucky, after all.]
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Yield? Yes, that he will do. Willingly, warmly, clumsily as delicate fingers curl around broad shoulders. He'll awake from this soon, he's sure; the feral, demanding press is surely meant for someone more fitting, more worthy than he. Has it really been so long that it's so vivid?]
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He was still going to indulge himself, of course. And as his hunger starts to grow, he finally breaks the kiss, giving the priest a moment to catch his breath. ]
Strip for me, little priest. You’re not going to need your ceremonial robes for tonight.
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As— [His tongue feels thick and heavy with that desire.] as you wish.
[reluctantly, the priest pulls away from the warmth this other offers, brushing off the sense of disappointment in favour of loosening those ceremonial robes. A sharp metal sound rings moments before its origin comes into view, soft fabric falling away in favour of pale skin, chest adorned with rose gold and gemstone that accent every space down to his navel.]
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Oh, you are going too be a fun one, aren’t you, my pretty little priest?
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[despite the words, he's so very easy to read. A tug of chains and a shift of fingers and he's already back to ask but clinging. That pert little nub is so responsive under his fingertips, skin reddening prettily.]
I.... haah... [God, he's already so—Olivine's gaze trembles as he peers up at this man.] Do... you like it? I am... inexperienced, but...
[He's surprisingly shy, considering this new revelation. But it doesn't seem to be the coy confidence one might expect under the circumstance—quite the opposite, in fact. The question is quietly earnest.]
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[ His other hand slides in to scrape calloused fingertips up over the priest’s stomach, flicking fingertips against the gem dangling there. ]
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[Oh. He actually loses his balance, weight leaning into the other man as callused fingers tease the gem in his navel—one that shares his same warmth, in fact. "Dangling" may be the wrong word for it on closer inspection, even if those chains are attached to a fitting around its edges.]
Not—that's too—
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His hands catch the priest when he staggers, hauling him up and against him as he holds him there, letting him find his balance again. If his legs can support him, anyway. Hs hands remain bracing him, just in case. ]
Too…? [ he prods, an impish grin now twisting across his lips. ]
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It's hard to want to find his balance again, pulled against the steady weight of his torso. Hands brace him so nicely, and his head ducks lightly at the prodding.]
It's... sensitive. It always has been...
[always? His weight shifts a little so that he can run his fingers over the gemstone, as if to soothe the lingering itch. It's fine, he's fine, surely.]
I... don't mind, but... it's a little hard to focus. ["a little." Right.]
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Always, hmm? How sensitive?
[ And, without warning, he runs his fingers over them gem again. ]
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He would argue that he isn't flinging himself at Sylvain yet, though. Rude. He's behaving and giving what he promised, right?]
It's hard to descr—ibe—nngh...
[based on the way he moves though, it's very nearly as sensitive as his chest has proven to be so far. His stomach sucks in on instinct, trying to wiggle away from the pleasant tickle of rough fingers though the rest of him doesn't mind the feeling. A hand reaches to rest, trembling, on the taller man's forearm.]
Please... don't tease it so much...
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[ Another slow caress, his fingers tracing over the gem with curious intent. This is certainly something he’s never encountered before - not down here, or in his brief time before Rhea had chosen him for her… experiments.
He’s not actually sure what this toy is he’s been sent to play with. And that’s such a novel experience that he’d almost forgotten what that could feel like. There’s a dark thrill, interest piqued as he watches the way the priest reacts so eagerly to his touch, squirming - both away and into it - and trembling. And they’ve barely even started yet.
He gives a tug on the hand resting on his arm, his other arm moving to snake more securely around the priest’s waist as he starts to guide him deeper into the cavernous chamber. Where the shadows cast even longer here, although his vision isn’t affected in the least by the thickening darkness. Golden eyes gleaming with predatory intent. ]
Come. I think it’s time we get comfortable, don’t you?
[ He doesn’t take many deeper into his nest - there’s rarely a need for that much of his attention. But this one? This one he can already feel will be different. He wants to savor this one. ]
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[such an agreeable priest, really. In spite of his trembling fingers, he's at least fully aware. Repression could only do so much to him.
He'd excuse it as fulfilling his duties, perhaps. Rationalise that his thoughts and wonders aren't important compared to them. Maybe even pretend he doesn't want to bury himself into the taller man's warmth and strength. Plus, he still smells so good, matched against Olivine's own soft, milky scent.]
Comfortable—ah, you're right, of course. [He already feels comfortable, even as the blanket of dark shadows engulfs them. Steps echo in the space, hands still touching the redhead like a beacon, a buoy keeping him in the moment by simply providing him more things to ponder.]
Do you... prefer this darkness? It feels... heavy somehow, I think.
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[ For a moment, there’s something else layered in his tone. Something… not quite wistful, but still… sad, somehow. ]
I’ve been down here so long, I don’t often notice it anymore. Here. [ Realizing the mortal priest was at a disadvantage, strong arms slide around him, then promptly scoop him up to cradle him against a broad warm chest. ] Better?
[ Since the shadows don’t slow him at all, it’s easier to carry the priest deeper into the chamber, to where his nest waits. Or what he laughingly refers to as his nest. Perhaps lair would be the more accurate term, considering, but in truth, it’s a smaller antechamber tucked off of this one. Its floor is covered in thick cushions, warm and plush and sensual, a study in contrasts of fabrics and textures, all things he’s collected over the years, taken a liking to. Found comfortable and cozy, and then surrounded himself in.
He tries to remember the last time he’d brought someone here, but it’s been so long, he’s forgotten. That doesn’t seem all that important right now anyway. ]
You haven’t told me your name, my pretty little priest.
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[It tugs at something in him, hearing that tone. Something hard to put a name to, but that feels remarkably familiar. He's about to ask further when arms scoop him up and pull him in against that warm chest.]
Oh—! [His little exclamation is matched by the way his body moves, curling in close as Sylvain simply carries him. The strength makes his heart flutter all over again.] Y-yes... thank you. I didn't mind walking, though.
[His own hands are remarkably delicate where they keep hold, paying little attention to the surroundings until they come to a stop in that antechamber. A nest of varying fabrics and cushions easy comforts piled into the space like something to soothe himself with.
Like he misses something...]
Ah—my name is Olivine. Forgive my being late to introduce myself.
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[ He also hasn’t offered his own name in exchange yet. Although the priest might get distracted from that as Sylvain carries him over to the cushions and lays him down among the plush softness. With the robes gone, his skin is milky-pale in what little moonlight penetrates this deep. Which isn’t much, although as the hours of the night shift, so too does the light from above.
Sylvain follows him down, one knee pressing firmly between the priest’s spread thighs as he pins him in place, his own skin unusually heated - moreso than most humans. The robes Sylvain wears, while rich in texture, are also made and meant for ease, and they gape open as he crouches down and leans over the prone priest. Revealing a firm, toned body and defined muscles that look chiseled in their definition. Only the sash belted about his waist keeps the fabric in place, although one side does slide down off his shoulder, exposing more of his torso and his own pale skin. ]
Still unafraid, little priest?
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[It's such a warmly human response, he thinks. Just what is this man, anyway?
But it's true—his attention is somewhat drawn away by the way he's handled, laid down amid soft fabric and plush cushion, jewelry shifting with every soft breath and creating its own glittering pattern over that pale skin. Hands fall back onto the nest and a soft, sharp inhale speaks louder than any words as his knee moves.
Even the dim light can't hide how pink his cheeks are, lips parted as muscular thighs twitch against the equally muscular leg keeping them spread. Keeping him pleasantly pinned, for that matter. Olivine himself is warm for a human, and yet this heat makes him ache to feel it more, deeper.]
Ah. [should he still be unafraid? Perhaps not. But that reasonable fact doesn't change the way he finds himself moving. Long fingers slip past the curve of that robe to brush against deeply chiseled muscle. He's really just so—] I am still unafraid. More now than before.
[There's no bravado to the admission, just fact. Surely, he thinks, Lady Rhea must have found value in his struggles to be the best priest he could be. Not that he'd ever spoken with her about his depraved tastes, but still—]
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Still, what else is there to do but spring it? It’s not as if he has anything else on his schedule tonight. Or any of the following ones either, for that matter.
His hand catches Olivine’s where it trails fingers against his chest. Catches it, and presses his palm against the warm skin of his torso as he gives the priest a sharp smile, although there’s a lingering amusement glinting in serpentine golden eyes. ]
Usually mortals have better instincts for danger than this.
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I don't mind danger... but you haven't given me anything to fear, either. [fingers curl, soft pads splaying over skin. Legs shift minutely, barely restrained impatience in the way he moves against that sturdy thigh.] If you truly wanted to hurt me, you already could have.
Do you dislike it if someone isn't scared?
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[ Unspoken is the reminder that Olivine is clearly not going anywhere, not as long as he has this being’s full attention focused on him. ]
I am… unaccustomed to the gifts your Lady Rhea sends me to not fall to their knees in fear when they realize they’ve been sent here.
[ Which could be why this one knows nothing of the situation he’s found himself in - or the beast he’s been given to. A new tactic of the church’s perhaps? Or some strange accidental oversight?
But the way the priest moves against him is impossible to misinterpret and it brings a predatory grin to the redhead’s lips, teeth sharp behind that smile as he lodges his thigh up a bit more firmly against the priest’s groin. Grinding down against him to torment sensitive flesh. Or perhaps just tease him more, to see what reactions and pleased little noises he can drag forth. ]
no subject
["don't mind" may be an understatement, given how he moves when Sylvain presses his thigh up harder. It pulls a soft cry from his lips and forces his back to arch and flex against the grinding. Cheeks burn, hips twitching and jolting in search of more.]
Haah... ughhgh... wait—
[He doesn't want him to wait. Already, he can feel his arousal picking up, even though his motions are all in obedient offering. Hands fall overhead and chains jingle.]
That isn't fair—