brave_kreyu | OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

OOM: All Skate Skellig Dream Magic Weirdness?

(OOC: Warning for explicit adult content, mention of noncon/rape, slavery)

Is it a dream? A glimpse of a universe that might have been? A story untold?

Something called Skellig out here, to a road scratched in the earth between the desert and the land irrigated by the river. The sun overhead is like a hammer, the heat murderous. His coat...he can't remember WHAT happened to his coat. In this heat the coat would be as strange as his wings to human eyes in any case.

There are two small mud-brick houses up ahead, then more road, and a mud-brick wall encircling a small village of mud-brick houses.

He needs a drink, desperately.

He hears footsteps coming toward him, the heat haze breaks to reveal a woman. (Except she can't be a woman, no one human has that much Light inside them, that much power.)

"Even one touched by the gods should not be walking about this time of day," her voice is all concern, all worry. She's wearing a white linen kilt around her waist, and nothing at all above it except a necklace of blue clay beads. She's lovely. (And she feels familiar? Why?)

She offers a hand to him, seemingly not concerned in the slightest about his wings.

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She's warm under him, the curves of her body familiar after all of his explorations, softer in some places and firmer in others. "I am curious to see if it will work. I hope it will."

She laughs softly. "I am selfishly glad that you feel that way." She gently brushes some of his hair out of his face with her fingers.

"I am curious as well."

Skellig sighs happily when she brushes her fingers through his hair.

"My heart is glad at that," he says, honestly. He is well-versed in the opposite - rejection, being cast out, wandering - so this is a pleasant change, and one he finds he enjoys very much. "I thank the fates who brought me upon the road, and also for allowing you to find me wandering along it."

Even if he is now sporting a hell of a sunburn to 'pay' for it.

He settles one hand on the curve of her hip. He has vague recollection of what she was up to earlier with the 'wards', but he figures he should ask to be certain.

"...have you ensured that your neighbors would not be disturbed, tonight?"

"I have," Kreyu replies. "They shouldn't hear a thing, no matter how loud it gets." She doesn't want to PRESUME, but his hand on her hip and his question does suggest a certain direction his thoughts might be heading in.

Skellig would not mind if she presumed - or encouraged this direction of thought and action.

"We would not have to get loud to find pleasure," he admits. "Sometimes, the act of discretion can also be quite...enjoyable."

She can take that however she would like.

"But since you have taken such care to lend them an evening of peace...I would seek to lay with you again." A pause, and he smirks. "See if I can do better than 'very good'."

Kreyu flushes. "I would like that, very much."

"Bringing you pleasure brings me great satisfaction."

And if he can go from 'very good' to 'excellent', then he will be satisfied. For the time being.

"I will try, however...to avoid wandering, this time."

She shivers, flushes at his words, that bringing her pleasure gives him great satisfaction.

She smiles. "That would be a great relief to my heart." She tilts her head up to kiss him,

"I feel as if after your teachings earlier...I have a better grasp on where I need to stay."

Right here.
With her.

Need.

Her kiss is returned, with a greater intensity than the hundreds they shared earlier throughout the course of the afternoon.

"Where I want to stay."

Want.

She meets his intensity with her own, needing and wanting him.

She laughs, low, when they break for air. "You seemed to enjoy the taste of me this morning, touched with honey." She hasn't forgotten just how good that felt, little waves of pleasure and want running through her as his mouth worked on her hand.

"I always enjoy your taste," he admits easily, reaching for her hand, pulling it up towards his mouth at her prompting. "Touched with honey was simply adding an extra layer to your...complexity."

He 'resumes' where his mouth left off earlier, though his efforts are far more suggestive than before, and not at all innocent.

(She asked for it.)

Kreyu hadn't particularly thought of the hands as erogenous zones, before this morning. But the lesson Skellig gave her this morning was appreciated, and THIS lesson will be appreciated even more without time pressure or other interruptions.

She moans softly as he sucks, takes a whole finger into his mouth and lavishes it with attention. "You'll spoil me," she tells him, voice low, slightly rough.

"Spoiling you is one of my greatest pleasures."

A wicked smirk pulls as he moves along to the next finger of her hand, then two fingers together at once.

"Your hands are merely the start of where I intend on using my mouth to pleasure you, however." That is a promise, and one she should prepare for.

"I am a very lucky woman," she replies to his first statement. She absolutely means it, and not just for THIS.

She shivers, her appetite and anticipation plain as day to him. "I look forward to seeing your plans unfold," she gets out, words coming quickly between pleasured sounds as he works on her hand with his mouth.

Her other hand wraps around him, strokes up his spine with a delicate touch.

"Luck has little to do with it. Your soul is stunning and you are more than worthy of such treatment." His tone is caring, basic, and matter-of-fact.

(And he knows that his values and morals are 'different' than many other men, but he could care less. He is who is he is, and he feels how he feels. He has been treated so very poorly before, by strangers and by partners - he would not do that to another.)

He shivers as she trails her fingertips over his spine, wings flaring slightly in response.

Edited 2024-03-30 21:27 (UTC)

"So are you, love," she replies, warmed by his words, by the truth and caring in them.

His shiver prompts her to trail her fingertips over his spine with greater care,teasing, curious if she can prompt him to fully open his wings with just her touch.

Skellig nearly protests her words, but the way that she says them - says them to him - touches something deep and sharp in the hollow space of his chest, giving him a momentary pause. And he decides, that perhaps she is speaking the truth. He is worthy.

Internal thoughts pushed aside, he raises his weight into his elbows and knees, allowing his wings to flare wider - not fully, but close - as she strokes over his spine.

"So am I." He makes a pleasured sound, then shifts his mouth to work over her wrist and forearm, ducking his head to trail his lips along her bicep - strong muscles beneath the skin.

"Yes," she says, the response to both his words and the work of his mouth. She wants him to believe that he is worthy of everyone, of every good thing, and those words give her hope that he is making progress toward belief in his own self worth. That brings her joy, pleasure, as much as the lovely things his mouth is doing to her!

Kreyu is strong, stronger than her physical appearance should allow. This form is small, weak, compared to her draconic one, but he might feel her strength as he trails his lips over soft skin.

"You have such lovely wings," she tells him, voice breathy. "So soft. I want to bury my hands in them." And she does bury the hand that was teasing his spine in one wing. Not near the most sensitive areas, but somewhere that should still feel good.

That does feel good - very good, in fact - and her fingers burying themselves into his downy feathers is what causes him to fully flare his wings above her with a gasped breath drawn into his lungs.

(While she might mistake his gasp for apprehension, the way that he exhales a pleasured groan into her shoulder with his next breath should quickly wipe away any thoughts in that regard.)

So very rarely does he let anyone touch his wings. For so many different reasons. They are his lifeline, his escape route, a huge part of who and what he is. And while he has felt great pride in having them, they have also caused him great difficulty.

"You can touch them as much as you want. Please."

She does mistake the gasp for apprehension for a moment, but the pleasured groan into her shoulder reassures her. She takes her other hand, buries it in his other wing. For a while, she just lets her fingers knead the downy feathers where she's buried her hands.

"Going to have my hands in your wings enough that you'll need me to preen you, after," she promises. She knows his shoulder blades are sensitive, but she wants to spend time exploring the less human portions of his anatomy. Her hands are careful not to pull feathers out as she moves them, exploring. The 'inside' of his wings is easier for her to explore from this position, so that's what she focuses on for now. Touching the tips of his longest feathers, the upper edges of his wings, working through feathers to tease the skin beneath. She's meticulous, as if she's mapping out every inch of his wings to find what gives him the most pleasure.

Her touch is so delicate, so kind and caring, that his brain momentarily doesn't know what to do about it - he has preened himself countless numbers of times, as one does when you have wings. But for her to touch him in this way, gentle, eager, wanting to map every feather's location, study the form and function...

"Won't complain about that, love."

(It is slightly overstimulating, but he manages not to wander off in his head, choosing to draw his attention to her collarbones with his mouth, kissing over each of them while letting a hand wander to her breast.)

"Never complain 'bout you touching me."

She won't hurt him. Won't hurt his wings. Won't hurt his heart.

"Tell me if it gets to be too much, if you start to wander," she gasps as his hand and mouth pleasure her.

She won't hurt him intentionally, at least.

Her heart speeds up when he calls her love, a sweet ache in her heart.

"Always reserve the right to complain," she says. "Even with me. Especially with me."

There are a lot of feathers to map, places to touch, to explore. "Could be here all night," she tells him, grin wicked. She looks PLEASED at the prospect.

Nodding in response to her first statements, Skellig breathes a laugh against her skin in regards to the last.

"Well, that I won't complain about." He shakes his wings out slightly, allowing the feathers she's touching to spread and readjust to settle, allowing her better access to the sensitive tissue beneath. Ease of exploration is a very good thing, for both parties.

He spends time working her skin with his lips and his tongue, his hands and fingers. (He would sink lower than her breasts, but that would take his wings out of her reach, and he doesn't want that yet.) "And we don't even have to worry about your neighbors."

She laughs, delighted, when he says he won't complain about it taking all night.

Her breath catches, little gasping sounds of pleasure and low moans as he works on her skin with lips and tongue, hands and fingers. Her body is reacting to her arousal, flushing her more pink, as he pleasures her.

"Not at all," Kreyu purrs. She explores his wings, learning them, pleasuring him, for a while longer. Eventually, she runs out of places she can reach. She leans forward, whispers in his ear. "Can't reach all of your wings like this. Will have to take a night sometime where I can reach all of you to see exactly what I can do for you with your wings." Then, while she's still whispering in his ear, she puts her hands on both of THOSE spots on his shoulder blades, the ones he said sent a jolt straight to his cock, and she stimulates both of them at once.

Between a full afternoon of making out, and then this last round of working his mouth and hands over her body (while she has been driving him slowly crazy with her touch, her hands in his wings), Skellig is already quite aroused himself, but so far has managed to 'contain' his desires.

But then--

She whispers in his ear, low and sultry.
Her breath hot on his neck.

And she presses her fingers into THOSE spots.
Together.

The blue streak he curses is loud; words falling from his mouth rapid-fire, voice breathless, and most likely spoken in a few different languages. His grip on his self-control falters and he buries his face in her shoulder, whimpering (or is it a yelp? he's not in any pain, but it's up for debate) loudly as his hips and cock involuntarily press against her thigh, his orgasm hitting him completely unexpectedly. Every muscle in his body shakes, down to the core of him.

That was not at all part of his plan.

(He's not even sure if there was a plan, anymore.
Or if he even exists, anymore.)

He's gonna need a minute.

Kreyu is afraid for a moment that she's hurt him, between the cursing and the sound he makes into her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to hurt..." she's babbling, and then she feels him come against her thigh.

Oh, OH. That wasn't pain. Or at least MOSTLY wasn't pain.

She holds him gingerly, arms wrapped around him and her hands out of his wings. She's making soothing noises as her heart hammers loudly in her chest.

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