brave_kreyu | OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

There is something deeply personal about a kiss, to Skellig.

Perhaps it is the closeness. Perhaps it is the willingness to let go of control of what it takes to stay alive (breathing, oxygen, with his mouth pressed hard against hers) in exchange for finding pleasure. Perhaps it is the fact that he can hear every tiny sound she makes when they kiss, when he touches her, when he moves his body against hers. Perhaps it is the fact that if he chose to open his eyes, hers would be right there, windows to her soul. Her soul which wants him, in this moment.

She can touch him all she wants, bring him to his release with her hands, stroke his feathers or his cock and drive him wild. But when she kisses him...

It is different.

Perhaps she will be able to tell.

He allows his hands to roam her body as much as he can as she kisses him, as he kisses her. Not hesitating to use his wings for balance, to allow his weight to to rest against her - she is stronger than she looks, after all.

She can tell, yes, even if she doesn't know precisely what's going through his head. She kisses him like she wants him, yes, but it's more than that. She kisses him like she LOVES him, because she does. (It makes no logical sense, and she couldn't name the feeling in her soul right now if she tried, but that doesn't make the love FALSE.)

Her hands wander over his body, trying to give him the power in her hands everywhere she can reach. She's stronger than she looks, could take his weight and more if needed.

His wings flare over his shoulders, protectively, possessively, when he feels the shift in her kiss, in her mood. He doesn't quite understand it at the time when it happens, and he certainly doesn't know why, but none of that matters in this place, this fraction of a second in whatever time and universe he's fallen into.

(He wants her, and he only breaks their kiss when it's clear that either one of them needs to breathe.)

He gives her more of his touch - sliding one of his hands between their bodies to seek out the arousal between her legs, fingers grazing over her clit to bring her greater pleasure. He gives her more of his weight to bear, his hips pressing eagerly towards his hand, towards her.

His motions are almost automatic (but not impersonal), muscle memory (how can it be a memory, when he has never been with her before) taking over. This just feels so right, so familiar.

"Yes," she gasps as his fingers graze her clit. Then she starts kissing him again, the sounds of her pleasure muffled by his mouth. The more he touches, the more aroused she becomes. She tries to buck her hips toward his hand, toward him, but his weight holds her in position.

She touches him everywhere she can reach, grasping, teasing, WANTING. It feels familiar, right, as if some part of her has done this with him before.

Up until this point, despite as far as his mind has wandered, Skellig has managed to remain in control of his actions, of his energy and his movements, contain his feelings. But with the surging power that is growing between their bodies and their minds, the Karma pooling around them in her space, he feels himself slip just slightly towards the edge of himself.

(Briefly, he wavers over the borderline of what makes him what, who he is, how he is -- something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel, something like that -- but it is just that. Brief.)

And then he snaps back, his motions slightly startled (hyperaware, not fear) as she rocks her hips against his, moans against his mouth. This is where he is, in this moment, where he wants to be. Where he needs to be, with her.

"Kreyu," he whispers. "I would have you."

"Yes, please," she gasps back.

She knows it might hurt, that she might bleed, she doesn't CARE. (There's also no telling what getting her blood on his cock would DO to Skellig in the moment.)

She trusts him to have her, to please them both.

Trust.

It is a very valued emotion, to Skellig. And he can feel it, coursing through her veins, along with the multitude of other bits and pieces he has been picking up on throughout their entire time together in this place.

He knows she trusts him. He also trusts her. Reaching between their bodies, realigning their hips, pulling her closer, touching her (she's more than ready for him, and the way she moans every time he touches her threatens to push him further towards the edge himself, but he tampers the raw rush of lust and want down deep into his belly) and stroking his fingers over his cock, moving and entering her carefully to allow her to respond, to adjust, to guide him.

Pleasure, pain, want, all of it is natural and he knows she trusts him.

"Slow, please," she asks. It's not PAIN precisely, but he's definitely larger than anything that's been inside of her before and it's a stretch to accommodate him.

She moans. "Going to feel so good once I adjust, but slow."

"Just talk to me," he says, casually - like it is the most straightforward and simplest thing in the world. "I would do whatever you would have me do."

Not wanting to overwhelm her, but also unable to keep from doing something, he presses his lips to her jawline, trailing soft and delicate kisses along the underside of her chin.

"Can take a little more of you," she tells him. "Need a little more of you inside of me."

She laughs. "Just, don't push in all the way at once."

"Not gonna do that," he promises - and it is a legitimate promise. "And I wouldn't, even if I wasn't your first."

He leans his body over her, giving her what she wants, watching her face closely - stopping when she silently signals hold on, need a moment. He lets a hand wander to her chest, fingers lightly caressing her, finding ways to shift her focus to other areas of stimulation and pleasure without being too distracting. A touch here, a kiss there. Slow and easy, almost lazy.

She's responsive to his touches, to him shifting slowly inside of her.

Eventually, he's in as far as he can go, and she moans as he hits somewhere inside of her that sends sparks through her nerves.

She rocks her hips, her body knowing that she's ready for him to move, to thrust in and out of her, if he wants to. "Want you, please."

The self-restraint and the waiting to this point has been mildly taxing on him, but not insurmountable - not when the reward is so very, very worth it.

"You shall have me - all parts of me."

And he wants her - all parts of her. The rhythm he sets is gentle, slow as he moves against her, then coaxes her to move with him, letting her set their pace. It is in some ways, painfully slow (for him), but other ways, it allows him to focus, to feel every part of her body beneath him, her energy moving over him.

She moans as he starts to move, gasps in pleasure. "Feels so good," she tells him.

They move together, her pleasure, her power, moving through his body and back into her. She's warm and wanting under him, around him, full of Light. Eventually, she wants more, needs more, speeds up their pace.

She hopes it feels as good for him as it does for her, right now.

With other prior partners, he has rarely gotten the time to properly explore their bodies, discover the rhythms that run beneath the surface of the skin, find out what exactly makes them tick. Kreyu is different, with her power running between the both of them; he finds it exhilarating and very, very pleasurable.

Matching her wants, he gives himself over to his own needs and desires, exchanging control when it just feels right. An ebb and flow between the two of them.

Words are a struggle, when he's this deep in his head. But he manages to praise her, encourage her, thank her for the way she's making him feel.

She drinks in every drop of his praise, his encouragement, his thanks, and although she doesn't glow to human senses it makes more Light pour off of her.

In some ways, it's like a dance, partners moving together in the ebb and flow, It might be one of the oldest 'dances' in the world, a rite of primordial creation, and Skellig is dancing it with a dragon, an entity formed of the raw elements and kindled with karma! (HIS dragon, his Kreyu.)

If his mind, his senses, have room in them for anything other than their bodies, their cries, their needs, he will feel Karma swirling around them like the birth of a hurricane. It could be enough to make a man quail, lose his ardor for the dance, for pleasuring a dragon. (But he's SAFE here, pressed up against her, inside of her, kissing her like he has forgotten the need for air. This is the eye of the storm and she would never let him come to harm.)

She begs him with her body, her voice, for more of him now, harder, faster, PLEASE.

Every one of his senses misfires in tandem (he's kissing her and he hasn't forgotten the need for air, it is just that he doesn't need to breathe as her energy flows through his veins, her Karma washing over him) and his mind loses focus, his body taking over.

(Somewhere amid the violent winds of the Karma storm, Skellig's mind reverts simply to Before; a space that exists trapped in the murky haze that clouds so many of his memories. Before he had a calling, before he had a purpose, before he knew who he was to be.

Before he had a name.)

This is not something that a man or creature truly needs to be taught how to do. It is older than life itself, the act. It has changed over the ever-shifting sands of time, but it is still basic. Her voice no longer registers in his ears, his hearing dropping away to a rush of static, but he just knows what she wants, what she needs - harder, faster. This is basic instinct, survival, and more importantly pure, white-hot pleasure that is overtaking every fiber of his being, soaking deep into his soul.

He may be safe in the eye of the storm, with her. But the hurricane rages furiously at the edges of his mind, pulling him closer as it grows in intensity.

She is pinned to the mattress beneath him as he ravishes her, freely allowing (is it allowing, if he has no ability to control it any longer?) his Light to collide and crash with her Karma, feeding both their energies at once.

Dragons who are broodmates can speak to one another mind to mind, are in some ways a single being. Their souls are entangled together life after life. Kreyu should not be able to reach out and touch anyone else's mind that way.

(What is a dragon, you ask? "Something like you, something like a beast, something like a bird, something like an angel." Or something close enough, when Skellig's Light is tangled up with her.)

She has, she will, pull her brother back from the madness of Taint this way with Elihu's aid. Reaching Skellig is far, far easier.

"Skellig!" her voice echoes in his mind, in his soul. She NEEDS him, ALL of him, her need a primal thing, the reach for his mind instinctual.

(OOC: Line in italics is from Skellig's canon.)

At first, he does not 'respond' when the echo of her voice name reaches his soul, because so much of him has been stripped away by the storm that he simply does not know, does not even realize that it is he which she is calling out for.

But a second call, a second echo...and something grabs hold of him.

Skellig.

(A splintered, battered shard of rock holding tightly to the earth beneath a raging ocean, steadfast against driving wind and crashing waves. Desolate and alone amid the storm. But she reaches him, and he knows he is safe.)

He snaps his eyes open and focuses his attention - his full, present attention - to her gaze. He is with her. All of him is with her.

My dragon.

Edited 2024-03-27 01:56 (UTC)

My Skellig echoes in his being

"Please, please," she gasps. She's close, so close! He feels so good, but it's not quite enough to make the coil of pleasure snap, to give her her release.

She is close, so very close, but he is even closer than she is - and even with her power coursing through his body sustaining his drive, even with the logic of this space not quite aligning with reality - and he can't fight back the loss of his control indefinitely.

His words are desperate, his voice fractured by moans of pleasure and cries of delight and he's rambling, but at least he's here.

"Need you. Need you more than I've needed anyone. You see me. Need you--" The last word is choked off as he comes, burying his face in her neck as he shouts in ecstasy, spilling inside her as she desired him to do so earlier. Every nerve ending in his body is smoldering hot, the friction and glide of their sweat-slick skin between them triggering sparks and setting wildfires ablaze across his skin. "You, just need you, with me, please."

Something in his words, his release, his emotions, his NEED for her to come, tips her over the edge.

His last 'please' makes her tighten around him, cry out in ecstasy.

It's going to be a minute before she'll be up to doing more than just laying here under him.

It is more than a minute before he is up to doing anything than laying atop her, as his ragged breathing and lazy, sluggish movements are all his muscles can muster for several.

His hearing is the first to return.

several hounds are barking on alert at the strange noises coming from past the mud-brick wall, their 'owners' muttering, pleading for silence. in another dwelling an infant cries, disturbed again from sleep. within a livestock stall, a pair of tomcats fight for the attention of a female seeking their attentions. there is muttering again from within beds - won't they ever quit, just what is she doing with him out there? and by low-glowing hearth fires throughout the village, a few couples are taking 'advantage' of the inspiration given them.

And after hearing all of that Skellig laughs. He's a little delirious, but the super-charged afterglow he's freely soaking in right now is causing him a great deal of pleasure on its own. He shifts his body to move from atop her, sliding to rest at her side, possessively draping an arm and leg over her form.

(The dogs are still barking.)

She cuddles up with him, close. "Can you hear what the dogs are barking at? Is that why you're laughing?"

"They...they are barking at us, Kreyu." He's still laughing quietly, forehead resting against her shoulder. He bites his lower lip, before pulling in a deep breath. A futile effort to steady his speech.

It doesn't work.

"We...seem to have woken half the village."

Half might be modest, actually.

Edited 2024-03-27 03:02 (UTC)

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