【 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.
[ while he hadn't been intending to look at satoru like anything, he can't imagine his face is anything but a mix of loathsome, skeptical, and probably secretly aroused as he watches him fiddle in the mirror. ]
You realize they've got chocolate fountains just about everywhere for a guy your rank, right?
[ he knows that—and he knows satoru knows that—so what it really comes down to, he suspects, is an inclination towards mischief. it's been a little while since he's managed to scratch that itch, at least with anything beyond the typical prodding annoyances and pranks gladio's become a bit too accustomed to in the last year. (gods, has it been a year?)
it's a harmless pursuit, sneaking into a party, even if it entails a little too much disguise and not nearly enough stealth for his tastes. of course, there's a bigger concern at play here, all but looming on the bed, neatly folded into a square. he wants to say he's surprised there's anything remotely resembling a get-up like this in his size. but he's seen all kinds of things in his time here; an oversized maid's dress is probably one of the tamest things he could imagine at this point. ]
Even if I put that thing on, what makes you sure the bouncers are even gonna buy it. My sister wasn't exactly the pinnacle of femininity, so it's not like I can just stroll up and impersonate her or anything.
[ as if to underscore his dissent, or maybe a little out of spite, he's speaking at a lower rumble than usual. of course, he also could just be embarrassed and hiding it poorly. ]
( there's a slow breath pulled through his nose--and dramatically let back out again, as though he'd fully been expecting gladiolus to just roll over. he knows that it's harder than it looks, and despite the many ways that he's able to bend gladiolus and wrap him around his finger, it doesn't always work in his favor; sometimes he gets his way and sometimes he doesn't, and though he'd never say it out loud, he does appreciate the few times that gladiolus puts his foot down--it's attractive, but more than that, it makes him feel less like that honored golden child, the clan's best hopes. so while he sets his mirror down, and tucks the mascara aside, it's only so that he can rustle through the little makeup kit that he'd brought, digging long fingers in for the thing he's looking for.
when he stands, the long skirt of the maid outfit drapes around him, covering up the black stockings underneath; he thinks that might be the only thing that gladiolus finds attractive about this whole thing. )
Well, first of all, girls don't walk around with a five o'clock shadow, so.
( one hand braces against the bottom of the makeup bag: the other whips itself out in a flourish, brandishing the small electric razor that he'd grabbed, on purpose, when he'd finally gotten gladiolus to agree to accompany him.
with a slow smile, he takes a step forward, and then another--he straddles one of gladiolus' thick thighs between his own, the skirt bunched up and trapped there as he sits himself down on his knee, facing him. )
Nothing I can do about your hair, though. Or your voice. So we might need a wig...
( he's musing this as he sets the makeup bag down into gladiolus' lap; he needs both hands, one to hold gladiolus' chin and turn it, and the other to move the razor up close to his cheek. he doesn't have to shave a lot himself, but he has watched suguru do it more than enough times to know what he's doing; besides, he's definitely sat in the bath and watched gladiolus do it himself, so many times that he's lost count. )
[ he's learned by now that satoru is the most dangerous at his quietest. the moment his mouth stops yapping it means that he's contemplating, and he's proven time and again that he's smarter than he lets others think he is. which is intelligent in its own right. any onlooker might wonder just why a man his size seems tensed and apprehensive, carefully watching the lithe grace with which his lanky co-conspirator sets aside his makeup, rises to his feet, tool in hand.
he doesn't need to see it when satoru declares so definitively what it is, but by the time gladio's reeling back, it's only to back himself up to the mattress. the corner catches him at the calves, seating him as if it's satoru and the bed that are the true companions in this, leaving his lap wide open. normally it's an invitation he'd be eager to extend; the brandishing of the teeth on that electric razor have gladio thinking otherwise. ]
You remembered a razor but not a wig?
[ it's diversion at its most desperate. deflect the situation so that he might get an upper hand again. satoru's first mistake was seating himself, since gladio knows just enough of how that Infinity works to know that it's useless now. but he likely factored that in, with the careful way he's handling gladio now, long fingers lined up along his jawline, like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat.
a small, humiliated part of him begs his body not to telegraph the way this is turning him on just a little. ]
You sure you wanna do this? Takes about a month to grow it all back right.
( there's an appalling rush of breath, like he doesn't quite believe it--but as he's looking down the line of gladiolus' jaw, considering, he can see that there's actually more growth here than he expects. maybe he's just gotten too complacent, staring up at gladiolus in the shadows of his room; maybe it's just he really does have so little concept of how quickly facial hair grows when he barely gets any to begin with. his lips press together, considering; his thumb pushes up on the razor's power button, humming it to life.
well, a month is fine. they've got months upon months in this place, stuck almost in a permanent limbo, and nothing has changed, really, except a few odd moments of disrepair--maybe they just have to wait out the storm, let the resort consume itself before spitting them back out into their own worlds.
his hold on gladiolus' chin is firm, at least, sliding forward on his thigh on purpose--his back arches, skimming the razor gently down from gladiolus' sideburns, trimming one layer down his jaw. )
Doesn't bother me. My face won't get all itchy when you kiss me.
( a wolfish sort of smile, but his concentration is on the work at hand; he's not quite practiced with this thing yet, so it takes a few passes to start to smooth the hair down to nothing on this side. )
Besides, you like it. ( this: whether that means the maid outfit, the shaving, or his weight on his thigh. ) Right~?
[ with just how long that contemplation draws out, he wonders if the plan to infiltrate and enjoy a chocolate fountain has been abandoned. it wouldn't be the first time they distracted each other—chemistry unspeakable, unknowable, yet undeniable. his hands are already moving to drag satoru a little further into his lap, broad and firm at slender hips that so often and so easily give way to him. the dress is definitely a change, somehow seems unbecoming for its length covering up long, lithe legs. but he supposes those don't look particularly feminine any more than his do, dusted with fine, white hair and taut with sinewy muscle.
then, snapping him back to the room, comes the dull buzz of an electric razor. confirming that it's only he who's so distracted—or maybe just stubbornly reluctant to follow through on this plan he really hadn't believed, even walking into the room to see satoru already dressed. ]
Gonna be worse as it grows back in.
[ but he lets him shave as he pleases, slow and unsteady. it occurs to him that it's a little funny they haven't already tried this, but they both know he's been so particular about it. and his hands are much more practiced than the way satoru traces along his cheek, sometimes pressing too hard, sometimes hardly pressing at all. he moves one hand from his hip, to gently cuff satoru's wrist, adjust the pressure, guide the angle as best he can without a mirror. ]
I'd like it more if it wasn't just to squeeze me into some dress and apron. [ but he's not really complaining, with a quirk at his mouth and dark eyes locked on satoru's face. ] Might need a little extra service afterwards anyway, or I'll give myself away anyway.
( his jaw locks, a stubborn little huff of breath, as gladiolus' strong fingers hook around his wrist, cuffing it to adjust the pressure with guidance--it's not that he doesn't appreciate the help, but at the same time, he likes to figure things out with his own intelligence, his own knowledge, and having to be taught anything is maybe a thought that he's left too far in the dust. the good thing about his technique had always been that it had been so well-known, and so documented, that he knew from a young age what he would be capable of: but learning how to manipulate his body to do those things had been mostly an unknown. no one to teach him how to utilize both limitless and the six eyes--and though yaga had taught him a lot, and the elders of the gojou clan had helped, he had still been mostly alone.
blood wheezing through his breath, lungs collapsing, panic settling in: he had learned, alone, how to heal his body, without any understanding of shouko's cute little noises to assist him.
so he shakes off gladiolus' hold after a moment, straightening up his shoulders, though he does proceed with exactly the same amount of pressure--he works down gladiolus' jaw, his free hand turning his head the other direction so that he can work up the other side. he'll leave the slight stubble over his upper lip for last; he's worried about how to manipulate the space there. )
Guess we could always put you in a mask. ( lilting, teasing--but his thighs squeeze, tented around gladiolus' strong thigh, rocking forward, and back against it; all the bunched up fabric of the long skirt doesn't help create a lot of friction, but still, he's doing his best to rub himself out against him. ) Don't know what other services you need~.
( what was it they always said in silly hentai? oh, right. ) Master~.
[ he supposes a part of him had been so quick to help because it felt more romantic to him. two hands working in tandem, his own touch ghosting over satoru's as if ready to catch him if he falls. so when he's rebuffed it's a jab to his ego, a rejection of sorts, even though or maybe particularly because satoru picks up where he'd shrugged him off, seemingly instantly internalizing that teaching. it reminds gladio, too, that there are plenty of things about satoru he doesn't know, or understand, and might never. he's explained things here and there about his life back home, about the superhuman powers he possesses, but the whole thing rings so loudly of half-truths that gladio has simply learned to believe it all. because, really, what purpose would satoru have in lying to him about any of it?
(he pushes down the reasoning, not wanting to give it more than the most passing of thoughts, the shortest fraction of a second: it's not like they'll ever go home together anyway.) ]
You already started shaving, so let's save the mask as a last resort.
[ it's easy to refocus his thoughts on the shuffling of that long dress, the way it bunches with each roll of satoru's hips against his thigh. it tells him immediately that this silly plan is never going to work with him as a partner—and that, apparently, satoru can wear damn near anything and still find ways to turn him on effortlessly.
even when he's crooning corny petnames. ]
Stick to my name. Sounds better from your lips.
[ he licks his own, gaze dropping the best it can to watch the mischief on satoru's mouth as his jaw is pushed and pulled as needed. is it obvious that his thoughts are hardly about what's coming out of those lips, rather what could be going into them? or that, despite the idea remaining buried for now, he'd probably wear any stupid outfit satoru asked him to if it meant they got to fool around in them? ]
Does it? ( softly, like he has no idea--and of course, that means the next thing out of his mouth is: ) Ossan~.
( but he's smiling, despite himself, blue eyes locked in on the task at hand; now that he's gotten a better angle and better pressure, it's easier to keep going, to have more finesse with the way he slides the razor down, patient and slow, working the stubble down until it's barely a ghost on gladiolus' skin, and then mostly gone entirely. it's a little funny, when he leans back a little to admire his work: the only thing left is the hint of stubble over his top lip, and he grins at that, a little pleased.
if he thought he could get away with it, he'd probably for the sideburns, too, and take them down a little--but then he's also not fully convinced that they're really going to get into the women's lounge like this, at least not for awhile.
so his hand holds gladiolus' chin in place, and the other gently nips the razor down, trimming short the hair above his upper lip; once it's gone, he thumbs the razor off, reaching past gladiolus so that he can set it down beside him on the bed. )
Face test, Amciti-san. ( is he now going to say everything except gladiolus' first name? probably. ) Let's see...
( rocking forward, his weight pressed down into his pelvis, rubbed into gladiolus' thigh, he presses his cheek in against gladiolus' cheek; like a cat, he rubs down, sliding, brushing until he has to switch to the other side of his face, slowly rubbing and testing up the other side of gladiolus' cheek all the same.
then it's his lips, running from one end of his jaw, to his chin, and then the other end--and when he drags himself back, it's with a confident little smile. )
[ somehow, he doesn't expect it even though he certainly should by now. though it's softer and gentler, likely just due to their proximity, that trill of teasing in it is familiar as ever. and he chuckles, low and rumbling, despite himself, thick fingers kneading into satoru's waist while he finishes work he knows they'll both regret in the morning. if not sooner, judging from the held-breath pause of observation of that last strip above his own mouth, as if considering leaving it. he's just about to make some comment about how he was supposed to be getting prettier, not weirder, when the grip at his jaw firms up, and that razor clips away the last few strands of his dignity.
sure, he doesn't look bad with a clean shave. he'd lived most of his life like this so far, after all, though that had mostly been in waiting for his hair to grow in a little cleaner, a little less patchy. but again, before he can say a word, satoru's helping himself—this time a little less romantically. ]
What—
[ cut off, by smooth, pink cheeks dragging over his own, still somehow highlighting the fine dust of stubble always left behind by an electric razor. a straight blade would've been cleaner, but that's an entirely different sort of intimacy to navigate. not to mention it would just make the grow back take even longer, when he knows it'll already be a struggle. for now, at least, satoru doesn't seem to mind, if the drag of his mouth is anything to speak of. the sensation shivers directly down his neck, peaking his nipples through his shirt. ]
Don't complain in the morning.
[ it's all the retort he can be bothered with, hands gripping and pulling satoru in at last, to wedge one of his thighs between his legs too. of course, he can't exactly grind into him from this position, much as he'd like to try. ]
( he's well aware that there had been a purpose to this: that he had been wanting to get into the women's lounge for a reason, that the great chocolate fountain in there is just waiting for him, calling out his name. but he's also well aware of the heat that's throbbing between his legs, half-hard and wanting, as gladiolus' thigh rubs against him again, and his own sinks between gladiolus' in kind; it's a hard choice, trying to choose between fooling around and getting in his daily dose of sweets, and straightening back up again so that he can look at him, properly, he pretends to consider--his lips purse, twisting, eyes sharp and bright across the other's features. it's really not a hard choice, but does gladiolus know the weight that it leaves, to choose him over his vices?
with a slow, smooth smile, his hands lift, but it's just so that he can put pressure against gladiolus' shoulders, pushing him down onto his back on the mattress. then, dainty, he hefts up his skirt between his fingers, pinching the material up so that it won't get in his way as he climbs in on his knees to straddle gladiolus at the waist, first, sitting himself down just above the heady rise at the front of his pants. )
Just a little lip service.
( he says, his eyes bright with mischief--and he's up on his knees again, gently walking himself up the bed until his legs are straddling gladiolus' head between them, seated neatly on his upper chest. there, pointedly, he puffs the skirt out, fanning it over gladiolus' head until he can't see him at all; he'll let him come to his own conclusion about what's supposed to happen, here, with his stocking-clad thighs tight around gladiolus' ears, and the complete lack of underwear baring his arousal. )
Unless you're not interested~?
( loftily, from beyond the skirt dome he's created over gladiolus' face. )
Then we can get you dressed and go into the lounge, you know.
[ at this point, there's so very little that gladio wouldn't trust satoru with, perhaps to his own detriment. it's why he's here, sitting beside a dress he's sure to look ridiculous in. it's why he'd let him, of all things, shave his face clean for the first time in probably five years. it's why he doesn't protest or resist at all as satoru nudges at his shoulders, simply engages his core to lower them together like a bit of a show-off, hands firmly in place at satoru's waist to help him slide forward as they lay down. or, as it turns out, just he lays down, only to be almost immediately blanketed by the floor-length skirt that had been bundled up in his lap moments before.
it puts at least a temporary damper on his arousal, one that all but undoes the spike the simple act of shimmy up his body had caused. leave it to satoru, of course, to have a plan in mind, though, and to know how to precisely press gladio's buttons by now—in all ways. so the agitated grunt of impatience as the skirt is unfurled over his head is quieted, nearly at once, when he realizes just what he's being presented with. sure, the fabric lets in little light, but the press of satoru's thighs around his bare cheeks, and the heat emanating off his nearly-bare erection poised maybe an inch from his lips is impossible to ignore.
he licks his lips, chuckling muffled by the flare of fabric blanketing him. his hands spread, palming narrow hips to hold them in place as he arches his neck without another word, to lave his tongue over the stockings and warm skin beneath them. ]
( there's an expectant breath, tented around his lips, but gladiolus doesn't go for the obvious heat between his legs--he goes for his legs, period, a warm tongue that laps over one of his stockings, and he can't help the way his muscles flex on either side, thighs tightening and then forced loose again. a husky laugh escapes, like he hadn't quite realized that as much as he wants to be in control, here, as much as he's brought this situation into being: in the end, it's going to be gladiolus running the show. he gets to decide what to do, under that tented skirt; he gets to decide how far to go.
so he shifts, slightly, not escaping the hold of gladiolus' hands on his hips, but rather, angling his back so that he can brace one hand behind him, holding himself up; that palm rests, light and sure, on gladiolus' stomach behind him, forcing him to let out another slow breath, his stomach tightening with interest underneath the stiff fabric of the dress. )
Guess that means you're not interested in anything else.
( lightly, but his eyes go up to the ceiling--the light's a little bright, especially with his nerves singing in interest, his cock twitching almost expectantly, a little flick at the head. )
That's fine with me.
( but there's a small tremor in his voice, betrayed by another husky laugh--he forces his eyes closed, lounging back on his arm, the other hand sliding into his own lap to grip at some of his skirts for something to hold onto. he'll start whining in a second, if he isn't presented with at least gladiolus' hot breath on hard skin. )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
goldmods) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
peacockstop2025-01-15 09:00 pm
iii lol
You realize they've got chocolate fountains just about everywhere for a guy your rank, right?
[ he knows that—and he knows satoru knows that—so what it really comes down to, he suspects, is an inclination towards mischief. it's been a little while since he's managed to scratch that itch, at least with anything beyond the typical prodding annoyances and pranks gladio's become a bit too accustomed to in the last year. (gods, has it been a year?)
it's a harmless pursuit, sneaking into a party, even if it entails a little too much disguise and not nearly enough stealth for his tastes. of course, there's a bigger concern at play here, all but looming on the bed, neatly folded into a square. he wants to say he's surprised there's anything remotely resembling a get-up like this in his size. but he's seen all kinds of things in his time here; an oversized maid's dress is probably one of the tamest things he could imagine at this point. ]
Even if I put that thing on, what makes you sure the bouncers are even gonna buy it. My sister wasn't exactly the pinnacle of femininity, so it's not like I can just stroll up and impersonate her or anything.
[ as if to underscore his dissent, or maybe a little out of spite, he's speaking at a lower rumble than usual. of course, he also could just be embarrassed and hiding it poorly. ]
no subject
when he stands, the long skirt of the maid outfit drapes around him, covering up the black stockings underneath; he thinks that might be the only thing that gladiolus finds attractive about this whole thing. )
Well, first of all, girls don't walk around with a five o'clock shadow, so.
( one hand braces against the bottom of the makeup bag: the other whips itself out in a flourish, brandishing the small electric razor that he'd grabbed, on purpose, when he'd finally gotten gladiolus to agree to accompany him.
with a slow smile, he takes a step forward, and then another--he straddles one of gladiolus' thick thighs between his own, the skirt bunched up and trapped there as he sits himself down on his knee, facing him. )
Nothing I can do about your hair, though. Or your voice. So we might need a wig...
( he's musing this as he sets the makeup bag down into gladiolus' lap; he needs both hands, one to hold gladiolus' chin and turn it, and the other to move the razor up close to his cheek. he doesn't have to shave a lot himself, but he has watched suguru do it more than enough times to know what he's doing; besides, he's definitely sat in the bath and watched gladiolus do it himself, so many times that he's lost count. )
no subject
he doesn't need to see it when satoru declares so definitively what it is, but by the time gladio's reeling back, it's only to back himself up to the mattress. the corner catches him at the calves, seating him as if it's satoru and the bed that are the true companions in this, leaving his lap wide open. normally it's an invitation he'd be eager to extend; the brandishing of the teeth on that electric razor have gladio thinking otherwise. ]
You remembered a razor but not a wig?
[ it's diversion at its most desperate. deflect the situation so that he might get an upper hand again. satoru's first mistake was seating himself, since gladio knows just enough of how that Infinity works to know that it's useless now. but he likely factored that in, with the careful way he's handling gladio now, long fingers lined up along his jawline, like a butcher sizing up a cut of meat.
a small, humiliated part of him begs his body not to telegraph the way this is turning him on just a little. ]
You sure you wanna do this? Takes about a month to grow it all back right.
no subject
( there's an appalling rush of breath, like he doesn't quite believe it--but as he's looking down the line of gladiolus' jaw, considering, he can see that there's actually more growth here than he expects. maybe he's just gotten too complacent, staring up at gladiolus in the shadows of his room; maybe it's just he really does have so little concept of how quickly facial hair grows when he barely gets any to begin with. his lips press together, considering; his thumb pushes up on the razor's power button, humming it to life.
well, a month is fine. they've got months upon months in this place, stuck almost in a permanent limbo, and nothing has changed, really, except a few odd moments of disrepair--maybe they just have to wait out the storm, let the resort consume itself before spitting them back out into their own worlds.
his hold on gladiolus' chin is firm, at least, sliding forward on his thigh on purpose--his back arches, skimming the razor gently down from gladiolus' sideburns, trimming one layer down his jaw. )
Doesn't bother me. My face won't get all itchy when you kiss me.
( a wolfish sort of smile, but his concentration is on the work at hand; he's not quite practiced with this thing yet, so it takes a few passes to start to smooth the hair down to nothing on this side. )
Besides, you like it. ( this: whether that means the maid outfit, the shaving, or his weight on his thigh. ) Right~?
no subject
then, snapping him back to the room, comes the dull buzz of an electric razor. confirming that it's only he who's so distracted—or maybe just stubbornly reluctant to follow through on this plan he really hadn't believed, even walking into the room to see satoru already dressed. ]
Gonna be worse as it grows back in.
[ but he lets him shave as he pleases, slow and unsteady. it occurs to him that it's a little funny they haven't already tried this, but they both know he's been so particular about it. and his hands are much more practiced than the way satoru traces along his cheek, sometimes pressing too hard, sometimes hardly pressing at all. he moves one hand from his hip, to gently cuff satoru's wrist, adjust the pressure, guide the angle as best he can without a mirror. ]
I'd like it more if it wasn't just to squeeze me into some dress and apron. [ but he's not really complaining, with a quirk at his mouth and dark eyes locked on satoru's face. ] Might need a little extra service afterwards anyway, or I'll give myself away anyway.
no subject
blood wheezing through his breath, lungs collapsing, panic settling in: he had learned, alone, how to heal his body, without any understanding of shouko's cute little noises to assist him.
so he shakes off gladiolus' hold after a moment, straightening up his shoulders, though he does proceed with exactly the same amount of pressure--he works down gladiolus' jaw, his free hand turning his head the other direction so that he can work up the other side. he'll leave the slight stubble over his upper lip for last; he's worried about how to manipulate the space there. )
Guess we could always put you in a mask. ( lilting, teasing--but his thighs squeeze, tented around gladiolus' strong thigh, rocking forward, and back against it; all the bunched up fabric of the long skirt doesn't help create a lot of friction, but still, he's doing his best to rub himself out against him. ) Don't know what other services you need~.
( what was it they always said in silly hentai? oh, right. ) Master~.
no subject
(he pushes down the reasoning, not wanting to give it more than the most passing of thoughts, the shortest fraction of a second: it's not like they'll ever go home together anyway.) ]
You already started shaving, so let's save the mask as a last resort.
[ it's easy to refocus his thoughts on the shuffling of that long dress, the way it bunches with each roll of satoru's hips against his thigh. it tells him immediately that this silly plan is never going to work with him as a partner—and that, apparently, satoru can wear damn near anything and still find ways to turn him on effortlessly.
even when he's crooning corny petnames. ]
Stick to my name. Sounds better from your lips.
[ he licks his own, gaze dropping the best it can to watch the mischief on satoru's mouth as his jaw is pushed and pulled as needed. is it obvious that his thoughts are hardly about what's coming out of those lips, rather what could be going into them? or that, despite the idea remaining buried for now, he'd probably wear any stupid outfit satoru asked him to if it meant they got to fool around in them? ]
no subject
( but he's smiling, despite himself, blue eyes locked in on the task at hand; now that he's gotten a better angle and better pressure, it's easier to keep going, to have more finesse with the way he slides the razor down, patient and slow, working the stubble down until it's barely a ghost on gladiolus' skin, and then mostly gone entirely. it's a little funny, when he leans back a little to admire his work: the only thing left is the hint of stubble over his top lip, and he grins at that, a little pleased.
if he thought he could get away with it, he'd probably for the sideburns, too, and take them down a little--but then he's also not fully convinced that they're really going to get into the women's lounge like this, at least not for awhile.
so his hand holds gladiolus' chin in place, and the other gently nips the razor down, trimming short the hair above his upper lip; once it's gone, he thumbs the razor off, reaching past gladiolus so that he can set it down beside him on the bed. )
Face test, Amciti-san. ( is he now going to say everything except gladiolus' first name? probably. ) Let's see...
( rocking forward, his weight pressed down into his pelvis, rubbed into gladiolus' thigh, he presses his cheek in against gladiolus' cheek; like a cat, he rubs down, sliding, brushing until he has to switch to the other side of his face, slowly rubbing and testing up the other side of gladiolus' cheek all the same.
then it's his lips, running from one end of his jaw, to his chin, and then the other end--and when he drags himself back, it's with a confident little smile. )
Wow, I really did it~.
no subject
sure, he doesn't look bad with a clean shave. he'd lived most of his life like this so far, after all, though that had mostly been in waiting for his hair to grow in a little cleaner, a little less patchy. but again, before he can say a word, satoru's helping himself—this time a little less romantically. ]
What—
[ cut off, by smooth, pink cheeks dragging over his own, still somehow highlighting the fine dust of stubble always left behind by an electric razor. a straight blade would've been cleaner, but that's an entirely different sort of intimacy to navigate. not to mention it would just make the grow back take even longer, when he knows it'll already be a struggle. for now, at least, satoru doesn't seem to mind, if the drag of his mouth is anything to speak of. the sensation shivers directly down his neck, peaking his nipples through his shirt. ]
Don't complain in the morning.
[ it's all the retort he can be bothered with, hands gripping and pulling satoru in at last, to wedge one of his thighs between his legs too. of course, he can't exactly grind into him from this position, much as he'd like to try. ]
What do I owe you for the service?
no subject
with a slow, smooth smile, his hands lift, but it's just so that he can put pressure against gladiolus' shoulders, pushing him down onto his back on the mattress. then, dainty, he hefts up his skirt between his fingers, pinching the material up so that it won't get in his way as he climbs in on his knees to straddle gladiolus at the waist, first, sitting himself down just above the heady rise at the front of his pants. )
Just a little lip service.
( he says, his eyes bright with mischief--and he's up on his knees again, gently walking himself up the bed until his legs are straddling gladiolus' head between them, seated neatly on his upper chest. there, pointedly, he puffs the skirt out, fanning it over gladiolus' head until he can't see him at all; he'll let him come to his own conclusion about what's supposed to happen, here, with his stocking-clad thighs tight around gladiolus' ears, and the complete lack of underwear baring his arousal. )
Unless you're not interested~?
( loftily, from beyond the skirt dome he's created over gladiolus' face. )
Then we can get you dressed and go into the lounge, you know.
no subject
it puts at least a temporary damper on his arousal, one that all but undoes the spike the simple act of shimmy up his body had caused. leave it to satoru, of course, to have a plan in mind, though, and to know how to precisely press gladio's buttons by now—in all ways. so the agitated grunt of impatience as the skirt is unfurled over his head is quieted, nearly at once, when he realizes just what he's being presented with. sure, the fabric lets in little light, but the press of satoru's thighs around his bare cheeks, and the heat emanating off his nearly-bare erection poised maybe an inch from his lips is impossible to ignore.
he licks his lips, chuckling muffled by the flare of fabric blanketing him. his hands spread, palming narrow hips to hold them in place as he arches his neck without another word, to lave his tongue over the stockings and warm skin beneath them. ]
no subject
so he shifts, slightly, not escaping the hold of gladiolus' hands on his hips, but rather, angling his back so that he can brace one hand behind him, holding himself up; that palm rests, light and sure, on gladiolus' stomach behind him, forcing him to let out another slow breath, his stomach tightening with interest underneath the stiff fabric of the dress. )
Guess that means you're not interested in anything else.
( lightly, but his eyes go up to the ceiling--the light's a little bright, especially with his nerves singing in interest, his cock twitching almost expectantly, a little flick at the head. )
That's fine with me.
( but there's a small tremor in his voice, betrayed by another husky laugh--he forces his eyes closed, lounging back on his arm, the other hand sliding into his own lap to grip at some of his skirts for something to hold onto. he'll start whining in a second, if he isn't presented with at least gladiolus' hot breath on hard skin. )