【 Thank you for choosing the Golden Peacock, 5-star resort and casino. You are currently registered as a WILDCARD in our system.
Due to a high volume of check-ins, temporary accommodations have been made in our parking garage for all new arrivals. We aim to have all guests moved into their reserved rooms as soon as possible. We deeply apologize for any inconvenience!
All are invited to There Is No Tomorrow, a Phoenix Casino soiree to celebrate our beloved guests. The festivities will begin at 1800 hours on January 20th and end at 1800 hours on January 27th. Please look forward to 168 hours of delight.
In an effort to raise happiness and encourage better guest relationships, attendance is required. The house will assist guests that are too shy to appear of their own accord. Please note that black tie attire is mandatory. As always, we hope you enjoy your stay! 】
PARKING GARAGE
ANY CAR IN A STORM
PHOENIX CASINO HALL
WELCOME TO THE NEXT 168 HOURS
Phoenix Casino is a-flutter with activity and packed to the beak with guests. As a famously ever-changing space, the staff would be remiss if they didn't deck the crown jewel of the Golden Peacock out. The casino glitters from top to bottom, shining brighter than diamonds, rubies, sapphires, opals! Party-goers are shiny and glamorous with picture perfect makeup, fluttering gowns, and sharp suits. Card tables are packed and the slot machines are a-ringing as guests play, play, play! Prizes, luxury, booze, attractive people, it's the place that everyone wants to be at.
Those people being dragged inside by some invisible force...? Silly, they were so excited to come that their bodies moved before they realized what was happening. Those are struggles of joy and definitely not the casino's infamous ghost hands dragging unwilling guests to the party at the behest of the house. Look, they're literally hurling their bodies at the card tables with unrestrained glee!
All clocks indicating day hours and night hours have been removed from the casino. Once a guest has entered, their Watch will jam, making it impossible to keep track of the time. You don't need to worry about that tonight.
▶ All characters on the TDM are WILDCARDS, which means they have not yet been assigned a card value. Suits will not manifest until characters are accepted into the game.
▶ All TDMs are game canon. This TDM acts as the game's January event.
▶ Current characters may top level on the TDM. Any current characters posting to the TDM should note they are current in their subject header.
▶ The top level directory is for new characters only. We want to make sure new characters are prioritized and receive attention! If you would be interested in a game invitation, you can note that in your comment header. This month we also have an ongoing ATP / EMP where players can connect. Please feel free to utilize this for all of your peafowl needs!
▶ If you aren't satisfied with these prompts, please feel free to check out our LOCATIONS to explore more of the resort!
▶ Smut threads that take place on this TDM can be used for rewards. If both parties in the smut thread join the game, you may retroactively apply the character's initial card values to your 52 bank. If one character does not join the game the thread will not be applicable toward rewards (as that character would not have a card value). The character that does join would still receive a small payout for the encounter. Hopefully it was a fun thread regardless!
▶ We ask you to kindly add content warnings to your threads as appropriate.
▶ If you do not currently have permissions and kinks listed in your character’s journal we suggest leaving a note in your top level of any limits or boundaries for other players to reference.
“Well, fuck. Guess we’re really in for it now, huh?”
Double the nipple clamps, double the trouble.
“They do kinda match my eyes, huh,” he says, eyes downcast as he flicks one of the gems with his finger.
It’s cute that Alivian noticed his eyes at all, really.
“Would say we could swap — you wear mine, I wear yours — but yours are a lot prettier. Not because of them being the color of my eyes. Mine are just weird.”
Because they have a chain, sure, but also because they’re his. For now, anyway.
“I dunno what they expect you to do though, really. I mean — where? Because nobody wants to see me without my shirt, let me fuckin’ tell you.”
"Both have their uses, to be certain. I imagine the chain is distinctly useful."
But, whoa. If only Alivian's eyebrow lifting could be seen. Alas.
"Your build is common where I'm from, and not so dissimilar from my own."
Cue the wolf unbuttoning the random shirt he picked up upon arrival just to show Hank. His chest was putting pressure on the front of the shirt, and it certainly juts out as soon as it's been freed. Although certainly built in his own way, he does have enough padding to make any muscle along his stomach basically invisible.
The rest of him is lanky, but that's not what he's showing on purpose.
More or less, though, it's candid.
"...I won't pressure you, however. I'm sure you look fine."
Hank grabs Alivian’s arm, tries to steer him away from the obnoxiously spinning wheel — with all these people and their mocking ‘insta-prizes’ — but it feels like there are eyes everywhere.
“You’re not pressuring me.” Voice lower now as he fiddles with the stupid tie the resort staff pulled round his neck. “Just not much of an exhibitionist, I guess. Or I wasn’t.”
This place has got him thinking weird things, like: ‘wouldn’t it be nice to fuck in one of those fancy cars in the parking garage?’ Weird stuff like that. Maybe not being seen, specifically, but the possibility of such.
“And here you are, just pulling your shirt off like...”
Hank doesn’t have words, really. He lets his eyes roam, staring at Alivian’s chest. Soon to be donning those precarious nipple clamps, maybe.
Goddamn.
“Let’s just... find a place. A little more private, y’know?”
Alivian doesn't fight Hank's tugging, walking with him without protest.
"Sure. It's just skin, is my point."
He does start to button the shirt back up, hiding the look of him, as well as the way that a trail of fur had extended from his navel and down past his pants.
"That "parking garage" place full of those-- so-called cars seems to be decent for privacy. Especially with the number of them...."
He pockets both nipple clamps for now, and settles his hands inside to follow suit.
"I'm not an exhibitionist, either," he amends. "I mean, I.. wouldn't necessarily know. It's not like I've had interest in trying it."
“Just skin, huh. Not sure you’ll be singing the same tune in a minute.”
Or maybe he will, and it’ll be Hank all flustered. Wouldn’t that be rich?
Still: privacy. He feels the need to be alone as if his tie is getting tighter, tighter round his throat.
“The fuck?” Hank tries to open one of the exit doors, only for it to be... locked. Of course. The weirdos want their little toys to play and party all night long.
One of the resort workers even starts heading their way, to which Hank groans and raises his hand to flip them off. He’s trying to play the game, okay! He’s trying.
“I get it,” he says, after the resort worker tells him with a creepy plastic smile that they ‘absolutely cannot leave, no sirree.’ “You want us to stay and party, or what the fuck ever. But I’ve got these doohickies” — raising his shameful nipple clamps — “and I would like to use them. In peace. Okay? Or is that too much to fucking ask?”
It apparently is too much to ask, because the doors remain locked, or stuck, or whatever. So Hank is left muttering under his breath about all these ‘motherfucking cocksuckers’ as he leads Alivian through unfamiliar halls. Hank has no idea where the hell he’s going, but it’s somewhere, all right.
And finally — finally! — Hank spots a bathroom. Better than nothing. Inside, the lights glow gold. Four stalls stand opposite another four, and all around...
Well. With the garage a bust, Alivian follows Hank... wherever they happen to go. Even just a hallway with fewer people feels like a reprieve for his sensitive ears.
Alivian pauses as they find the decadent bathroom, his pale face immediately turning bright-ass pink.
"...Fuck."
It feels like the only appropriate word right now.
He'd really rather not his mirror kink be outed right now, but the word slips out regardless.
"Well. This is awkward."
His mouth tightens into a bit of a line, but he strides in nevertheless, glancing at one of the many mirrors as if he expects something to peek out from the corner of his gaze.
"Though less awkward than in direct public. We, uh..."
He's not sure how to feel at the moment, so he fishes for words, ears pinning back and tail lashing low.
"I, pardon me, have never, uh... dabbled. With a partner. So... if we do, I will... I will try not to disappoint."
It’s cute how Alivian flushes — and maybe especially the way he says ‘fuck.’
“And it wasn’t awkward before?”
Hank’s moseying on over to the sinks. Washing his hands because... why not? And because it’s easier than talking. Wiping his hands off on an eerily golden washcloth, embroidered with all sorts of ‘Golden’ this, ‘Peacock’ that.
But then Hank looks up, staring at Alivian’s reflection in the mirror.
“You’ve never... like, at all?”
It’s easy to feel confident in this place — which is a little terrifying, really. It’s powerful: the way the concept of ‘winning’ wraps around him. Consumes him.
But now, as he looks at Alivian, that certainty falters.
mfw I realize the whole thing italicised and not just the first "I": D: oh well, no biggie <3
"The mirrors are just-- a lot. Not that-- not that I'm against indulging."
He sighs, bringing one hand up as if to shield his face from the mirrors, even though his expression is already hidden. His ears remain half-pinned.
"...Back home, I am someone distinctly undesirable. I don't expect you to feel any differently about me just because we're debating fooling around."
He pulls out one of the nipple clamps from his pocket, eyeing them.
"...Just don't call me a "dog" and we're good. That's all I ask."
He doesn't expect to be treated nicely. Not when the only reactions he's gotten from others are fear, hatred, derision, and plenty more negativity where that came from.
“Jesus. Of course I’m not gonna call you a ‘dog.’ Nice segue, by the way.”
Hank turns, palms gripping the edge of the counter behind him. Looking at Alivian directly now.
“Yeah, the mirrors sure are a lot, but so is...”
The whole not having had sex thing. Not having dabbled. And yet here Hank is, all high and mighty on... what? The allure of sex and a currency that he doesn’t even know what he can use for yet? So far everyone’s seemed pretty damn keen on their chips, but what if it’s not worth it? Hank is playing right into their hands, sure: the weirdos upstairs. He’s a puppet dancing merrily on his strings — because what else is there? Hank has nothing, neither here nor back home.
This, though, gives him pause.
“Why’d you let an old men lead you to the bathroom, huh?”
His voice is soft. Almost sad. An odd sort of tenderness he doesn’t offer most people.
Even without eye contact, the direct look makes him stiffen up. His mouth presses into a line, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, absently, he toys with a little bit of his silver fur, as if that explains some of it. It doesn't. But the fact that their hair colors are similar has not escaped his notice.
"Because my hunch was - and still is - that you're trustworthy enough to to lead me into a bathroom. And, secondly, if I felt you were a threat, I would have already tried to dominate you before walking away."
Absently, he taps at his throat.
"My words can have power. If need be, I can make some people do whatever I tell them to." A beat.
"I have not done such a thing to you. Although you only have my word."
It isn't that he doesn't recognize the tenderness. It's more--
"...I could argue you deserve better than me. Someone you-- you can look in the eye, safely, while indulging in intimacy."
His ears pin further into his hair.
"If you try to take my mask off, you'll probably drop to the floor and have to struggle not to choke on your own spit. All while fighting feelings of panic that won't cease until I put this mask back on. And if I can't, I could accidentally kill you."
“The thing about hunches” — Hank squeezes the counter before pushing himself forward — “is they’re usually bullshit.”
He doesn’t mention how his hunches are often right. But that’s his job, anyway — to be able to read people — and he’d rather not unleash his ever-present contrarian to argue semantics. Not now.
“And who knows? Maybe I’m not trustworthy. Maybe nobody here is, because power corrupts. Money and sex and winning. All these flashing lights and little ding-ding sounds telling us how we’ve won — but what are we winning, really?”
Hank doesn’t quite close the distance between them, but he’s bridging the gap. Mirrors looming around them, tall and glaring. Soon to reflect all of Hank’s insecurities right back at him.
“I’m not the good guy here.” Pausing to tuck his hands in his pants pockets. Rolling back on his heels. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”
A sad smile, then: “Could be worse, yeah? Could’ve ended up with someone worse than this sad old fuck.
“And I’m not gonna take your mask off, so you don’t gotta worry about all that.”
It’s not at all the same, but usually Hank keeps his shirt on during sex. Lights off. So he gets wanting to hide parts of himself — feeling like he needs to, even. Protecting himself and others. Not that anyone would die if they looked him in the eye, but hell if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.
“So I guess the question now is: you want the clamps with the chain, or the pretty ones — all blue like my eyes?”
Shit. Some of that temptation makes his breath catch. Beyond that, however, he takes a definitive step closer to Hank in turn, as if he might try to use his meager 3" height bonus to his advantage. He doesn't, but it almost feels like that.
"Sir-- with all due respect..."
Another step closer.
"If you don't want to use any of those on yourself, you can always use both sets on me. I'm not going to make you reveal yourself, either."
A beat.
"We don't have to be "good guys" to do some good. And I'd rather more or less go with my own gut that you're a decent person, than have to deal with any punishments, which could be unappealing."
He swallows, throat bobbing. His voice softens, hesitant, even as it bounces off the walls like it's some blaring announcement.
"Although.. that's probably my desperation talking more than anything. I've only ever had my own hand, and toys I acquired for myself. And the knowledge that I'd probably die young thanks to my current condition."
A beat, and he makes a point of tilting his head to look Hank over - down, and then up. He works on opening up his shirt again, but this time, he shrugs out of it, tossing it onto the sinks-lined counter. In the better lighting, the glinting of silver fur is much more prominent on his body.
His voice drops a little, syllables woven with soft growling.
"You, are not unappealing. Will you show me what pleasure with you looks and feels like?"
“Maybe I want to ‘reveal myself.’ You ever think of that? Maybe I just wanna not think about it for a while. Despite” — Hank raises his voice now to whine — “all of these goddamn mirrors.
“And I don’t gotta take my shirt all the way off. That sounds... kinda nice.”
As does getting this resort-furnished suit all sweaty: a nice little ‘fuck you’ to the guys in charge, although they seem richer than god so Hank doubts they’d care.
But still.
“Nice of you to offer. Willing to take on my burden, and all that.” Hank starts unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. One hand tugging at his too-tight collar, loosening the tie. “Maybe I wanna feel it, though. Feel what you do.”
Because he does. It’s just hard to say that, despite everything — both this place and himself — he’d like to try.
“Never thought hearing someone call me ‘not unappealing’ would sound so sexy, but I guess here we are.”
He eyes Alivian’s chest: the slope of his waist. The curves of his pecs. He wants to touch — and he will.
“Oh, I can show you all right. Just tell me what you want. Or...”
Is that a stupid question? It’s probably a stupid question. If Hank hadn’t had sex before, his answer to that would be ‘everything.’
Alivian's jaw drops, a surprised huff of breath escaping him at the words, though his masked gaze follows every movement of Hank's hands like a hawk. The tug of the collar, the slip of a tie through nimble fingers. Buttons parting one by one.
"...I won't say no. But I feel the need to clarify something. It's not "wanting to take on your burden". It's. Well."
His face turns beet red.
"I'm... kinky at heart. I, uh... read bodice rippers, often enough... the use of two sets of clamps sounds interesting. But if you want them too, I won't take that away from you."
His ears airplane, but he still focuses on Hank even as his face turns a brighter and brighter shade of pink.
"Starting slow, though... I like the sound of that."
A beat, and he reaches out with a shaking hand, gently taking Hank by the shoulder and guiding him closer with a soft but insistent touch.
"Touch me as much as you want, because I want that. Please."
Hank lets Alivian draw him closer. He’s halfway done unbuttoning his shirt, and the thought of tearing it off is appealing. Less because he feels sexy — which he, almost horrifyingly, kind of does — and more because it would be sudden. Chaotic. Destructive.
The strangest thing about this encounter so far is that he’s not drunk — and that he doesn’t even feel like he needs it. And Hank is insecure, sure, but this isn’t about him. Not really. This is about letting that ‘kinky heart’ fly free.
And there’s relief in that, somehow. In the fact that they just met and yet there’s want.
The bathroom, too: Hank can admit this is weird. He’s never stepped foot in one so fancy, especially not with a cute guy asking him for his touch. A sweet guy who could murder Hank with his eyes, apparently. But is he scared? Not about that. If anything, he’s the one worried about being disappointing.
But again — letting that kinky heart fly free.
“So in these bodice rippers of yours” — Hank says this as if he doesn’t read them himself — “they often use two sets of clamps? Or is that something you thought of yourself?”
Hank can go slow. His eyes dart to his weird watch with all the instructions again: three hours and some change, ticking down. A sex act required for payout. He can do that, although he doesn’t know what, exactly.
One hand still slowly unbuttoning his shirt — he’s not trying to be cute; it’s just a task that needs doing — while the other reaches up to touch Alivian’s chin. Thumb brushing across his lips. Hank figures it’d be best to stay away from his mask — he said he wasn’t going to take it off and he meant it, danger or no — but hopefully this isn’t too much.
"I just-- pondered it, myself. One set could go on the nipples, but... how would the other set feel elsewhere?"
Oh no. His ears are pretty red at the tips now.
He also keeps watching Hank unbutton his shirt. He thinks to reach out, but Hank is quicker to do it; his heart jumps in his throat as his chin is captured, and he lets out a soft breath, shivering at the caress of a thumb to his lips. His fangs peek out a little in the process.
"...Never have, no."
His breath flutters a little against Hank's thumb, a little faster, a little uncertain.
He watches him keenly, hidden gaze flicking over Hank's entire being.
Which is Hank’s way of saying ‘yes, I fucking intend to kiss you.’ So he does, leaning in to press his lips against Alivian’s. Trying to angle his chin back, not pushing forward too hard because he knows how much beards can scratch.
And some people are into that. Others, not so much. So Hank is being careful.
Slow.
Fingers trailing along Alivian’s jaw. Down the slope of his neck and over his shoulder.
“Real creative, huh?”
Which is good, because one of them has to be. Hank’s simple: he goes with the flow.
“Gimme your little... the clamps.” A whisper against the corner of Alivian’s mouth. “The pretty ones.”
Oh. Well then. So this is what kisses feel like. He tries to focus as his thoughts jitter, and in the process of seeking out more, he tips his face closer, a soft, pleased groan spilling out as he feels the scratch of his facial hair.
He partially follows Hank when they part, wanting more of it, but he stops himself in order to listen. All he does, however, is shiver at the caress down his neck, along his shoulder, some of the tension in his body relaxing away, a little.
"...Oh... certainly."
He manages to retrieve the clamps with a shaky hand, slipping them from his pocket and gently into Hank's hand. His touch lingers unnecessarily, but innocently.
Now Hank has the damn things, and he’s gotta use them. He rolls them around his palm, thumbing at the little gems.
“I gotta say: I’ve never done this before. The whole clamp thing. So if I fuck up...”
How hard can nipple clamps be, though? Really? Still, Hank offers an apologetic shrug.
“I figure it’s supposed to hurt — in a good way — but if it’s too much, say something.”
Hank really has no idea what he’s doing. Does he just... go for it? What would he like?
Hmm.
After tucking the clamps in his pocket, Hank raises a hand to Alivian’s chest. Palm flat against him, feeling his heat. Like a spark through his fingertips. Then he’s moving toward one of Alivian’s nipples, two fingers circling. Soft, slow.
“This okay?” he asks. Voice rough; a little gravelly.
He shivers as he's touched like this, his skin soft and probably about as warm as Sumo's fur, in actuality.
He regards Hank thoughtfully, feeling that careful touch, only for his breath to hitch as Hank starts to play with a nipple. He's familiar enough with this sort of self-stimulation, but it's entirely a different thing when it's someone else's touch....
It's also not enough. It doesn't produce much of a reaction from him at all.
Hank sucks in a breath through his teeth when Alivian says ‘harder.’ And ‘please,’ both of which push so many buttons for Hank that his head is left spinning for a second.
But he needs to focus. Focus.
“Just figured it might be easier to get them on if you were, y’know.” He tightens his fingers around Alivian’s nipple, not quite pinching but rolling between his fingertips. “If you were hard.”
Now Hank is tugging a little, because god, he cannot help himself. Reaching for one of those damn clamps in his pocket, almost dropping it before he manages to raise it to Alivian’s chest. Squeezing it so the ends part just enough for him to slide onto Alivian’s nipple.
“How’s that?” His face is hot, scalding, as he brushes his thumb against the now clamped nipple. All pretty with its dangling jewel.
Alivian's response catches in his throat as he's given what he wants, a whine slipping out as he receives the attention he asked for. It also speeds up the process of that nipple being able to more satisfactorily take that clamp.
The weight that felt like nothing in his hand weighs on his chest a lot more. It's surface area clamps evenly around it, giving a feeling of pressure rather than painful pinching. Touching it sends a shock straight to his cock.
Alivian growls lowly, the sound more beast than man, and nods slightly. If his ears weren't already red, they would be now. His fangs show themselves a little as he breathes briefly through his mouth, trying to calm down his own reaction, to tame some of the lust building between his legs.
He's not small in the slightest, and it shows with how his slightly too-tight pants cup basically every curve of it. Knot and all.
Without waiting for more, he throws his arms around Hank's neck with a strained huff, and tries to tug him in for another kiss. If permitted, his sharp fangs nip painlessly against Hank's lower lip.
This is all Hank manages to mutter before Alivian is pulling him in. Teeth biting at his lip, which makes Hank groan. He slips his leg between Alivian’s, arousal pressed against his thigh.
“This is really doin’ it for you, huh?”
Hank’s breathing heavily against his lips. One hand sliding down the slope of Alivian’s waist before he’s clumsily reaching for that second clamp in his pocket.
“Can’t blame you, really,” he says, rolling Alivian’s other nipple between his fingers. Waiting a little longer this time before he uses the clamp: to tease. But also because he likes feeling the way Alivian’s body responds to his touch; likes the sounds of his whines and growls.
Then, finally: pressing another kiss to Alivian’s mouth, tongue sliding along his lips, as he gets that second clamp on. Brushing his fingertips against Alivian’s nipple again, but this time he plays with the dangly bit, too.
Alivian's breath hitches, growls again, and he offers more kisses in turn, lips brushing against Hank's jaw, beard and all.
"Yes--"
He stifles a curse, groaning as his chest is played with anew. His breathing huffs, and he partly ducks his head to endure it, especially when the second clamp is applied. It hurts, of course, but it's nothing compared to his usual aches and pains. His cock throbs and strains, and he lets out a soft, keening whine as pleasure multiplies; that jewel weight isn't light, and it sends almost overwhelming shocks through him with every flick.
He still wonders what it would feel like if any of these clamps were put on his dick. Or the soft skin between tail and ass.
Having it on his knot wouldn't be pleasant, he's certain.
"Dear gods--"
His hips shake a little with it, and he shoves a hand to the front of his pants to open them up-- just in time for kisses again. His own efforts are awkward, but he kisses back, slightly long tongue pressing back to Hank's in an invitation to kiss deeper. With that touch, should he follow, Alivian clearly has four fangs in his possession - the pair on top larger than the ones on the bottom.
Alivian’s kisses feel so needy, so wanting, and it’s endearing how he brushes his lips along Hank’s beard. As if it isn’t off-putting.
Hmm.
He isn’t trying to torment him — much — but Hank still lets his fingers play with the dangling jewels. Gently making them sway, but with their weight, he supposes the gentle part doesn’t help much.
“You sure make a pretty picture, don’t you?”
Because he does. All flushed and needy — and Hank’s barely touched him, really.
He lets his tongue slide against Alivian’s. Slowly; a little in awe. This whole casino-slash-resort is strange, sure, and winning a pair of nipple clamps — still unused, alas — was yet another oddity added to the pile. But the intensity of the situation didn’t really hit till they entered the bathroom. Till they were alone with the mirrors and Alivian was throwing off his shirt.
Hank feels Alivian’s teeth when they kiss: the sharpness of his fangs. Could really do some damage those, if he wanted to. If he were a biting sort of guy.
Hmm.
Too soon, Hank pulls away. He kisses the corner of Alivian’s mouth before shifting to his side. Arousal pressing against Alivian’s hip as Hank wraps an arm around his waist.
“What d’you think of the mirror?” he asks, as if there aren’t a dozen or so. Hank doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight of himself leering over Alivian’s shoulder, but he can deal.
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peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
no subject
Hank’s jaw drops. Eyes thinned.
“Well, fuck. Guess we’re really in for it now, huh?”
Double the nipple clamps, double the trouble.
“They do kinda match my eyes, huh,” he says, eyes downcast as he flicks one of the gems with his finger.
It’s cute that Alivian noticed his eyes at all, really.
“Would say we could swap — you wear mine, I wear yours — but yours are a lot prettier. Not because of them being the color of my eyes. Mine are just weird.”
Because they have a chain, sure, but also because they’re his. For now, anyway.
“I dunno what they expect you to do though, really. I mean — where? Because nobody wants to see me without my shirt, let me fuckin’ tell you.”
no subject
But, whoa. If only Alivian's eyebrow lifting could be seen. Alas.
"Your build is common where I'm from, and not so dissimilar from my own."
Cue the wolf unbuttoning the random shirt he picked up upon arrival just to show Hank. His chest was putting pressure on the front of the shirt, and it certainly juts out as soon as it's been freed. Although certainly built in his own way, he does have enough padding to make any muscle along his stomach basically invisible.
The rest of him is lanky, but that's not what he's showing on purpose.
More or less, though, it's candid.
"...I won't pressure you, however. I'm sure you look fine."
no subject
“Oh, Jesus fuck. I mean...”
Hank grabs Alivian’s arm, tries to steer him away from the obnoxiously spinning wheel — with all these people and their mocking ‘insta-prizes’ — but it feels like there are eyes everywhere.
“You’re not pressuring me.” Voice lower now as he fiddles with the stupid tie the resort staff pulled round his neck. “Just not much of an exhibitionist, I guess. Or I wasn’t.”
This place has got him thinking weird things, like: ‘wouldn’t it be nice to fuck in one of those fancy cars in the parking garage?’ Weird stuff like that. Maybe not being seen, specifically, but the possibility of such.
“And here you are, just pulling your shirt off like...”
Hank doesn’t have words, really. He lets his eyes roam, staring at Alivian’s chest. Soon to be donning those precarious nipple clamps, maybe.
Goddamn.
“Let’s just... find a place. A little more private, y’know?”
no subject
"Sure. It's just skin, is my point."
He does start to button the shirt back up, hiding the look of him, as well as the way that a trail of fur had extended from his navel and down past his pants.
"That "parking garage" place full of those-- so-called cars seems to be decent for privacy. Especially with the number of them...."
He pockets both nipple clamps for now, and settles his hands inside to follow suit.
"I'm not an exhibitionist, either," he amends. "I mean, I.. wouldn't necessarily know. It's not like I've had interest in trying it."
no subject
“Just skin, huh. Not sure you’ll be singing the same tune in a minute.”
Or maybe he will, and it’ll be Hank all flustered. Wouldn’t that be rich?
Still: privacy. He feels the need to be alone as if his tie is getting tighter, tighter round his throat.
“The fuck?” Hank tries to open one of the exit doors, only for it to be... locked. Of course. The weirdos want their little toys to play and party all night long.
One of the resort workers even starts heading their way, to which Hank groans and raises his hand to flip them off. He’s trying to play the game, okay! He’s trying.
“I get it,” he says, after the resort worker tells him with a creepy plastic smile that they ‘absolutely cannot leave, no sirree.’ “You want us to stay and party, or what the fuck ever. But I’ve got these doohickies” — raising his shameful nipple clamps — “and I would like to use them. In peace. Okay? Or is that too much to fucking ask?”
It apparently is too much to ask, because the doors remain locked, or stuck, or whatever. So Hank is left muttering under his breath about all these ‘motherfucking cocksuckers’ as he leads Alivian through unfamiliar halls. Hank has no idea where the hell he’s going, but it’s somewhere, all right.
And finally — finally! — Hank spots a bathroom. Better than nothing. Inside, the lights glow gold. Four stalls stand opposite another four, and all around...
Mirrors.
Because of fucking course.
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Alivian pauses as they find the decadent bathroom, his pale face immediately turning bright-ass pink.
"...Fuck."
It feels like the only appropriate word right now.
He'd really rather not his mirror kink be outed right now, but the word slips out regardless.
"Well. This is awkward."
His mouth tightens into a bit of a line, but he strides in nevertheless, glancing at one of the many mirrors as if he expects something to peek out from the corner of his gaze.
"Though less awkward than in direct public. We, uh..."
He's not sure how to feel at the moment, so he fishes for words, ears pinning back and tail lashing low.
"I, pardon me, have never, uh... dabbled. With a partner. So... if we do, I will... I will try not to disappoint."
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“Suppose you did go and change your tune, huh?”
It’s cute how Alivian flushes — and maybe especially the way he says ‘fuck.’
“And it wasn’t awkward before?”
Hank’s moseying on over to the sinks. Washing his hands because... why not? And because it’s easier than talking. Wiping his hands off on an eerily golden washcloth, embroidered with all sorts of ‘Golden’ this, ‘Peacock’ that.
But then Hank looks up, staring at Alivian’s reflection in the mirror.
“You’ve never... like, at all?”
It’s easy to feel confident in this place — which is a little terrifying, really. It’s powerful: the way the concept of ‘winning’ wraps around him. Consumes him.
But now, as he looks at Alivian, that certainty falters.
mfw I realize the whole thing italicised and not just the first "I": D: oh well, no biggie <3
Everywhere he looks, his reflection looks back.
"The mirrors are just-- a lot. Not that-- not that I'm against indulging."
He sighs, bringing one hand up as if to shield his face from the mirrors, even though his expression is already hidden. His ears remain half-pinned.
"...Back home, I am someone distinctly undesirable. I don't expect you to feel any differently about me just because we're debating fooling around."
He pulls out one of the nipple clamps from his pocket, eyeing them.
"...Just don't call me a "dog" and we're good. That's all I ask."
He doesn't expect to be treated nicely. Not when the only reactions he's gotten from others are fear, hatred, derision, and plenty more negativity where that came from.
we love italics in this house 👏
“Jesus. Of course I’m not gonna call you a ‘dog.’ Nice segue, by the way.”
Hank turns, palms gripping the edge of the counter behind him. Looking at Alivian directly now.
“Yeah, the mirrors sure are a lot, but so is...”
The whole not having had sex thing. Not having dabbled. And yet here Hank is, all high and mighty on... what? The allure of sex and a currency that he doesn’t even know what he can use for yet? So far everyone’s seemed pretty damn keen on their chips, but what if it’s not worth it? Hank is playing right into their hands, sure: the weirdos upstairs. He’s a puppet dancing merrily on his strings — because what else is there? Hank has nothing, neither here nor back home.
This, though, gives him pause.
“Why’d you let an old men lead you to the bathroom, huh?”
His voice is soft. Almost sad. An odd sort of tenderness he doesn’t offer most people.
“You deserve” — everyone deserves — “better.”
cw: choking/death mention (<3)
"Because my hunch was - and still is - that you're trustworthy enough to to lead me into a bathroom. And, secondly, if I felt you were a threat, I would have already tried to dominate you before walking away."
Absently, he taps at his throat.
"My words can have power. If need be, I can make some people do whatever I tell them to." A beat.
"I have not done such a thing to you. Although you only have my word."
It isn't that he doesn't recognize the tenderness. It's more--
"...I could argue you deserve better than me. Someone you-- you can look in the eye, safely, while indulging in intimacy."
His ears pin further into his hair.
"If you try to take my mask off, you'll probably drop to the floor and have to struggle not to choke on your own spit. All while fighting feelings of panic that won't cease until I put this mask back on. And if I can't, I could accidentally kill you."
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“The thing about hunches” — Hank squeezes the counter before pushing himself forward — “is they’re usually bullshit.”
He doesn’t mention how his hunches are often right. But that’s his job, anyway — to be able to read people — and he’d rather not unleash his ever-present contrarian to argue semantics. Not now.
“And who knows? Maybe I’m not trustworthy. Maybe nobody here is, because power corrupts. Money and sex and winning. All these flashing lights and little ding-ding sounds telling us how we’ve won — but what are we winning, really?”
Hank doesn’t quite close the distance between them, but he’s bridging the gap. Mirrors looming around them, tall and glaring. Soon to reflect all of Hank’s insecurities right back at him.
“I’m not the good guy here.” Pausing to tuck his hands in his pants pockets. Rolling back on his heels. “But I suppose that doesn’t matter.”
A sad smile, then: “Could be worse, yeah? Could’ve ended up with someone worse than this sad old fuck.
“And I’m not gonna take your mask off, so you don’t gotta worry about all that.”
It’s not at all the same, but usually Hank keeps his shirt on during sex. Lights off. So he gets wanting to hide parts of himself — feeling like he needs to, even. Protecting himself and others. Not that anyone would die if they looked him in the eye, but hell if it doesn’t feel that way sometimes.
“So I guess the question now is: you want the clamps with the chain, or the pretty ones — all blue like my eyes?”
cw: mentioning of terminal illness
"Sir-- with all due respect..."
Another step closer.
"If you don't want to use any of those on yourself, you can always use both sets on me. I'm not going to make you reveal yourself, either."
A beat.
"We don't have to be "good guys" to do some good. And I'd rather more or less go with my own gut that you're a decent person, than have to deal with any punishments, which could be unappealing."
He swallows, throat bobbing. His voice softens, hesitant, even as it bounces off the walls like it's some blaring announcement.
"Although.. that's probably my desperation talking more than anything. I've only ever had my own hand, and toys I acquired for myself. And the knowledge that I'd probably die young thanks to my current condition."
A beat, and he makes a point of tilting his head to look Hank over - down, and then up. He works on opening up his shirt again, but this time, he shrugs out of it, tossing it onto the sinks-lined counter. In the better lighting, the glinting of silver fur is much more prominent on his body.
His voice drops a little, syllables woven with soft growling.
"You, are not unappealing. Will you show me what pleasure with you looks and feels like?"
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“Maybe I want to ‘reveal myself.’ You ever think of that? Maybe I just wanna not think about it for a while. Despite” — Hank raises his voice now to whine — “all of these goddamn mirrors.
“And I don’t gotta take my shirt all the way off. That sounds... kinda nice.”
As does getting this resort-furnished suit all sweaty: a nice little ‘fuck you’ to the guys in charge, although they seem richer than god so Hank doubts they’d care.
But still.
“Nice of you to offer. Willing to take on my burden, and all that.” Hank starts unbuttoning his shirt. Slowly. One hand tugging at his too-tight collar, loosening the tie. “Maybe I wanna feel it, though. Feel what you do.”
Because he does. It’s just hard to say that, despite everything — both this place and himself — he’d like to try.
“Never thought hearing someone call me ‘not unappealing’ would sound so sexy, but I guess here we are.”
He eyes Alivian’s chest: the slope of his waist. The curves of his pecs. He wants to touch — and he will.
“Oh, I can show you all right. Just tell me what you want. Or...”
Is that a stupid question? It’s probably a stupid question. If Hank hadn’t had sex before, his answer to that would be ‘everything.’
“I can start real slow,” he offers.
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"...I won't say no. But I feel the need to clarify something. It's not "wanting to take on your burden". It's. Well."
His face turns beet red.
"I'm... kinky at heart. I, uh... read bodice rippers, often enough... the use of two sets of clamps sounds interesting. But if you want them too, I won't take that away from you."
His ears airplane, but he still focuses on Hank even as his face turns a brighter and brighter shade of pink.
"Starting slow, though... I like the sound of that."
A beat, and he reaches out with a shaking hand, gently taking Hank by the shoulder and guiding him closer with a soft but insistent touch.
"Touch me as much as you want, because I want that. Please."
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“‘Kinky at heart,’ huh?”
Hank lets Alivian draw him closer. He’s halfway done unbuttoning his shirt, and the thought of tearing it off is appealing. Less because he feels sexy — which he, almost horrifyingly, kind of does — and more because it would be sudden. Chaotic. Destructive.
The strangest thing about this encounter so far is that he’s not drunk — and that he doesn’t even feel like he needs it. And Hank is insecure, sure, but this isn’t about him. Not really. This is about letting that ‘kinky heart’ fly free.
And there’s relief in that, somehow. In the fact that they just met and yet there’s want.
The bathroom, too: Hank can admit this is weird. He’s never stepped foot in one so fancy, especially not with a cute guy asking him for his touch. A sweet guy who could murder Hank with his eyes, apparently. But is he scared? Not about that. If anything, he’s the one worried about being disappointing.
But again — letting that kinky heart fly free.
“So in these bodice rippers of yours” — Hank says this as if he doesn’t read them himself — “they often use two sets of clamps? Or is that something you thought of yourself?”
Hank can go slow. His eyes dart to his weird watch with all the instructions again: three hours and some change, ticking down. A sex act required for payout. He can do that, although he doesn’t know what, exactly.
One hand still slowly unbuttoning his shirt — he’s not trying to be cute; it’s just a task that needs doing — while the other reaches up to touch Alivian’s chin. Thumb brushing across his lips. Hank figures it’d be best to stay away from his mask — he said he wasn’t going to take it off and he meant it, danger or no — but hopefully this isn’t too much.
“You ever been kissed before?”
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Oh no. His ears are pretty red at the tips now.
He also keeps watching Hank unbutton his shirt. He thinks to reach out, but Hank is quicker to do it; his heart jumps in his throat as his chin is captured, and he lets out a soft breath, shivering at the caress of a thumb to his lips. His fangs peek out a little in the process.
"...Never have, no."
His breath flutters a little against Hank's thumb, a little faster, a little uncertain.
He watches him keenly, hidden gaze flicking over Hank's entire being.
"Are you intending to?"
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“You’re cute.”
Which is Hank’s way of saying ‘yes, I fucking intend to kiss you.’ So he does, leaning in to press his lips against Alivian’s. Trying to angle his chin back, not pushing forward too hard because he knows how much beards can scratch.
And some people are into that. Others, not so much. So Hank is being careful.
Slow.
Fingers trailing along Alivian’s jaw. Down the slope of his neck and over his shoulder.
“Real creative, huh?”
Which is good, because one of them has to be. Hank’s simple: he goes with the flow.
“Gimme your little... the clamps.” A whisper against the corner of Alivian’s mouth. “The pretty ones.”
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Oh. Well then. So this is what kisses feel like. He tries to focus as his thoughts jitter, and in the process of seeking out more, he tips his face closer, a soft, pleased groan spilling out as he feels the scratch of his facial hair.
He partially follows Hank when they part, wanting more of it, but he stops himself in order to listen. All he does, however, is shiver at the caress down his neck, along his shoulder, some of the tension in his body relaxing away, a little.
"...Oh... certainly."
He manages to retrieve the clamps with a shaky hand, slipping them from his pocket and gently into Hank's hand. His touch lingers unnecessarily, but innocently.
"Here..."
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Now Hank has the damn things, and he’s gotta use them. He rolls them around his palm, thumbing at the little gems.
“I gotta say: I’ve never done this before. The whole clamp thing. So if I fuck up...”
How hard can nipple clamps be, though? Really? Still, Hank offers an apologetic shrug.
“I figure it’s supposed to hurt — in a good way — but if it’s too much, say something.”
Hank really has no idea what he’s doing. Does he just... go for it? What would he like?
Hmm.
After tucking the clamps in his pocket, Hank raises a hand to Alivian’s chest. Palm flat against him, feeling his heat. Like a spark through his fingertips. Then he’s moving toward one of Alivian’s nipples, two fingers circling. Soft, slow.
“This okay?” he asks. Voice rough; a little gravelly.
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He shivers as he's touched like this, his skin soft and probably about as warm as Sumo's fur, in actuality.
He regards Hank thoughtfully, feeling that careful touch, only for his breath to hitch as Hank starts to play with a nipple. He's familiar enough with this sort of self-stimulation, but it's entirely a different thing when it's someone else's touch....
It's also not enough. It doesn't produce much of a reaction from him at all.
"Harder, please?"
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Hank sucks in a breath through his teeth when Alivian says ‘harder.’ And ‘please,’ both of which push so many buttons for Hank that his head is left spinning for a second.
But he needs to focus. Focus.
“Just figured it might be easier to get them on if you were, y’know.” He tightens his fingers around Alivian’s nipple, not quite pinching but rolling between his fingertips. “If you were hard.”
Now Hank is tugging a little, because god, he cannot help himself. Reaching for one of those damn clamps in his pocket, almost dropping it before he manages to raise it to Alivian’s chest. Squeezing it so the ends part just enough for him to slide onto Alivian’s nipple.
“How’s that?” His face is hot, scalding, as he brushes his thumb against the now clamped nipple. All pretty with its dangling jewel.
cw: character has a knot
The weight that felt like nothing in his hand weighs on his chest a lot more. It's surface area clamps evenly around it, giving a feeling of pressure rather than painful pinching. Touching it sends a shock straight to his cock.
Alivian growls lowly, the sound more beast than man, and nods slightly. If his ears weren't already red, they would be now. His fangs show themselves a little as he breathes briefly through his mouth, trying to calm down his own reaction, to tame some of the lust building between his legs.
He's not small in the slightest, and it shows with how his slightly too-tight pants cup basically every curve of it. Knot and all.
Without waiting for more, he throws his arms around Hank's neck with a strained huff, and tries to tug him in for another kiss. If permitted, his sharp fangs nip painlessly against Hank's lower lip.
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“Jesus.”
This is all Hank manages to mutter before Alivian is pulling him in. Teeth biting at his lip, which makes Hank groan. He slips his leg between Alivian’s, arousal pressed against his thigh.
“This is really doin’ it for you, huh?”
Hank’s breathing heavily against his lips. One hand sliding down the slope of Alivian’s waist before he’s clumsily reaching for that second clamp in his pocket.
“Can’t blame you, really,” he says, rolling Alivian’s other nipple between his fingers. Waiting a little longer this time before he uses the clamp: to tease. But also because he likes feeling the way Alivian’s body responds to his touch; likes the sounds of his whines and growls.
Then, finally: pressing another kiss to Alivian’s mouth, tongue sliding along his lips, as he gets that second clamp on. Brushing his fingertips against Alivian’s nipple again, but this time he plays with the dangly bit, too.
All pretty like his eyes.
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"Yes--"
He stifles a curse, groaning as his chest is played with anew. His breathing huffs, and he partly ducks his head to endure it, especially when the second clamp is applied. It hurts, of course, but it's nothing compared to his usual aches and pains. His cock throbs and strains, and he lets out a soft, keening whine as pleasure multiplies; that jewel weight isn't light, and it sends almost overwhelming shocks through him with every flick.
He still wonders what it would feel like if any of these clamps were put on his dick. Or the soft skin between tail and ass.
Having it on his knot wouldn't be pleasant, he's certain.
"Dear gods--"
His hips shake a little with it, and he shoves a hand to the front of his pants to open them up-- just in time for kisses again. His own efforts are awkward, but he kisses back, slightly long tongue pressing back to Hank's in an invitation to kiss deeper. With that touch, should he follow, Alivian clearly has four fangs in his possession - the pair on top larger than the ones on the bottom.
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Alivian’s kisses feel so needy, so wanting, and it’s endearing how he brushes his lips along Hank’s beard. As if it isn’t off-putting.
Hmm.
He isn’t trying to torment him — much — but Hank still lets his fingers play with the dangling jewels. Gently making them sway, but with their weight, he supposes the gentle part doesn’t help much.
“You sure make a pretty picture, don’t you?”
Because he does. All flushed and needy — and Hank’s barely touched him, really.
He lets his tongue slide against Alivian’s. Slowly; a little in awe. This whole casino-slash-resort is strange, sure, and winning a pair of nipple clamps — still unused, alas — was yet another oddity added to the pile. But the intensity of the situation didn’t really hit till they entered the bathroom. Till they were alone with the mirrors and Alivian was throwing off his shirt.
Hank feels Alivian’s teeth when they kiss: the sharpness of his fangs. Could really do some damage those, if he wanted to. If he were a biting sort of guy.
Hmm.
Too soon, Hank pulls away. He kisses the corner of Alivian’s mouth before shifting to his side. Arousal pressing against Alivian’s hip as Hank wraps an arm around his waist.
“What d’you think of the mirror?” he asks, as if there aren’t a dozen or so. Hank doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight of himself leering over Alivian’s shoulder, but he can deal.
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