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Test Drive Meme: The Overflow, Part Deux!
 THE OVERFLOW, PART DEUX! Since the last post is again fast approaching 3k comments and getting laggy for some of our players, we have decided to go ahead and stick up the overflow post, even though there's just a little over a week to game start. Please continue your threads or start new ones here if you'd like. To make this easier on those continuing threads from the last meme, here's a handy form: Please remember to let your thread partners know you've bumped your threads over here as well! We started the meme early to give you plenty of room to do just that. With the City of Ariel grand opening only a month away, we are holding our first ever test drive meme. Tag in and see how your character would settle in the game. You're a fresh face in the city, newly processed, and arriving at a bustling time. The city is expanding and you are greeted first in the re-education center by your helpful counselors and then directed out of the building to a large festival. Be puzzled, make friends, have sex, or whatever you want! There are no restrictions on thread types played out here. Your first awareness that something has gone wrong comes during a groggy moment of semi-lucidity when you look around yourself and find that -- instead of wherever you remember being last -- you're in a chair, in a room with a man you don't recognize. He's sitting behind a desk whistling to himself and sorting paperwork. The whole atmosphere might remind you of a high school guidance counselor's office, only with far more comfortable chairs. You were brought to Ariel during a very special time! There's a large festival going on celebrating the new expansions to the city and everything is decked out for it. Everything is bustling and vibrant in the city today because of the celebrations. There are decorations up, food vendors set up all along the streets, kissing booths, games, and just about anything else you can imagine an event like this would have! The people of Ariel are out and about as well, some are in vibrant costumes and others are just checking out the sights. Some of the more exhibitionist types are even having a little more fun out in public than you may be used to seeing back home. As soon as the grogginess from your arrival passes, you are allowed to leave the re-education center and see it all for yourself. Upon exiting, you are even handed beads of various colors, several of each so you don't worry about running out. Each color has a special meaning listed below: pink - toys These are to aid you in making a connection with others. Show your interest in others and tell them exactly what you would like to do with them by sharing the beads. If you would rather take a different approach, feel free to walk around the festival and see what (or who) catches your eye. The point is to relax and get settled in your new home. | |
| TAG IN - Post your character's name, canon, and preferences. - Set up an opener in your comment or leave it blank. - Tag around and have fun! | USEFUL LINKS: [Premise] [Rules] [F.A.Q.] [Locations] [Local Citizens (NPC)] [Taken] [Wanted] [Reserves] [Application] [Main] [Logs] [OOC] |
Please note that all CR in this meme can be carried over when the game starts between characters that are accepted into the game.
Threads can also count towards third and first person samples on the application, just provide links.
Take a look at our OOC Meet and Greet post! Meet. Greet. Make friends. Have fun!
lost track of things :[ catching up now
And when he has coated himself most thoroughly, those oil-slicked fingers press to Barton's hole and spread the slipperiness in circling rubs; they enter slowly, a pair at a time to stretch him open some: neither of them, it seems, will wait for much preparation, but he does this much before taking himself in hand and pressing the broad head in alignment.
The first thrust, at least, is careful. But it is firm, and Thor's hips flex as he sinks within, into tight and gripping heat: a long glide which ends only when their hips are pressed and he can go no further.
c: I always like getting your tags
Yeah, Clint's a multitasker. A multitasker who really likes thinking about how it will feel to have Thor's hammer, so to speak, inside him.
But he goes shuddery and still when Thor presses into him. "Fuck," he breathes, "fuck, fuck," because his lack of a sex life is now catching up with him. He aches, and his body's too tense, gripping too tight. Fights to breathe, and he grips Thor's arm, for once unafraid of bruising his partner by holding too hard.
It hurts. He likes it. He really wishes, in fact, that Thor would hold him down and just take, and that want fucking scares him.
"I'll remember," he breathes, "that gods are very well-endowed." Clint himself is thoroughly average, maybe a little below, but it's never been a problem for him. He makes up for it in other ways.
<3
"Does it serve for you?" But he doubts Clint would have welcomed him so swiftly had he not desired him.
Thor kisses him again and moves within him, knees spread on the mattress. Nothing about this troubles him; no, he falls easily and wholeheartedly into the pleasure, the intimacy and companionship such as only bedpartners can share, the take and give.
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"Son of a bitch," he breathes, as Thor angles better into him, thrusting deep with confident strokes of his hips. He unclenches his fingers, and raises his other hand over his head. Letting it rest in a place that means Thor could easily gather it in his hand, pin it with the other wrist.
Doesn't mean he's passive, though. He moves fluidly, controlled even when he's on his back for another guy. This isn't a surrender.
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"And you, my friend," he murmurs, only a little breathless now; his hand moves to cross and pin both of Clint's wrists above his head, just as invited, and he braces the free hand against the mattress and leans into his thrusts; the motion of his hips is unerring, smooth and firm, and he has changed the angle between them to come at him faster now. "It is a pleasure to have you--"
A low, rough groan, and he drops his head to kiss the side of Barton's throat, to nip and suckle a bruise to the surface of his skin.
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Or how good this sex is. Simple, okay, but good. He's fucked, but not taken, held but not chained. It's just what he didn't know he needed.
Thor finds a wonderful angle, and Clint goes electric-tense around him, a convulsion of pleasure. He might not even need Thor's touch. He might come only from this, from the pleasure of letting himself go.
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For a half-second, he really does let go, his body dipping into a much-needed surrender. It feels wonderful, like a rush of cool water over burned skin. He didn't even realize how much he missed it.
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He goes still after a time, buried deep within him, drawing back to look at him laid upon his back with the marks of pleasure spilled extravagantly upon him; and Thor braces himself on one hand against the mattress, and with the other takes Clint's chin, gentle and firm, and turns his gaze to him. "You are well?" he asks him, a smile lingering faintly at his lips. "Would you have more?"
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He winces, his own body gripping a little too tight. Just -- soreness. Reflex.
"Yeah," he says, "could you pull out, for just a sec--?" And he shifts away from Thor, so that Thor's dick pulls out of him. His body clings for a brief moment as the head is caught at his entrance, and then he manages to breathe, bereft and empty.
He twists under Thor, turning onto his stomach. Knees open, thighs open; he exposes himself. This way will be better. He's always found an easier time relaxing into an angle like this. And that's what he wants right now. To relax, to drift.
"Okay," he says. "Go ahead."
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Instead he finds some reserve of patience, and begins to thrust smoothly again: an easy rocking rather than the brutal fucking that would bring him quick relief, his hands steady on Clint's hips. Within and withdrawing again, and again and again, not frictionless but a glide, a perpetual cycle, a relentless motion, and he bends low over the man's body, leaning into him, his mouth finding the exposed nape of his neck.
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He lets his head tilt, bares his neck for Thor's lips, leans his head on his crossed arms. He rocks forward with every thrust, but there's no desperation in him anymore. He's blissed out, on a high; it isn't the best high he can get, not like shooting perfect, throwing arrow after arrow at a target until he's all out, energy and ammo and aggression gone. This is more like how it feels when he gives someone his trust. Like when he ran blind, tear-gassed over the rooftops of Marrakesh, and Natasha told him jump now and guided him home.
Clint is an addict. To adrenaline, yeah, but also to trust.
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He reaches his peak almost quietly, only one long, low groan as he sheathes himself fully within again and stills, spurting, spilling his pleasure. A long, long moment, release shivering through him, his face pressed to Clint's shoulderblade, and then Thor sighs and kisses him again and withdraws, turning over onto his back on the mattress, stretching full-length, unabashed in his tawny nakedness; there is a smile lingering faintly at his lips, and his eyes are closed.
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That's the first thing that floats to his mind, once he's turned over, leaned his head back on Thor's shoulder. Trying to find some compromise between cuddling and completely breaking physical contact, because Clint craves that affection right now.
It doesn't scratch the itch. There's the contentment of an orgasm, the vague fatigue, but under his skin there's still desire. All this has done is make it more violent. He wants to clash, and bite, and squirm. He wants bruises.
He's not willing to ask for them.
Fuck the whole not cuddling thing. Clint turns so he's pressed against Thor, his cheek on Thor's shoulder. If he's rejected or pushed away, that's fine. He can deal with it. Not like it's the first time.
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Thor's fingers grip in his hair, pull him up into a kiss, thorough and a little rough, his tongue entering into the man's mouth; he tastes still of whiskey and desire. "You are satisfied?" he murmurs after, his fingers plaiting against his cheek. It does not need to end here. He could be ready again in very little time at all.
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He goes for his clothes. Feels like saying something absurd like I'll call you. "Thank you," he says, instead. He feels ... better, now. Steadier. It's okay. It's not awful. He's a total crackpot, but there's still something there, something beneath all of his fractured loyalties.
He just hasn't found it yet.