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duplicitymemes2021-01-10 07:56 pm
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2021-01-10 07:56 pm
Entry tags:
TDM #16
« « « TEST DRIVE MEME » » »
» » » MAIN NAVIGATION « « «
« « « ALL ON DISPLAY
It's discouraging to think how many people are shocked by honesty and how few by deceit. Yet, solace is found in the lies we tell each other, comforted by the peace of knowing that we're not alone in our depravity, and once on this path, sin itself becomes the lesser of two evils masked in a cloud of normalcy. This is how Duplicity has functioned since the beginning. The divide of power and social standing is overt in that Dominants influence the decisions made both publicly and privately while Submissives cater to the rules presented to them. It is the way of Duplicity to assign random designations at birth with no leeway in altering what has been given. Climate in the Up is far stricter than that of the Down; violating outlined personas for a Dominant or Submissive while in full view of others is punished by degree of infraction. In the Down, many tend to turn a blind eye to these sorts of offenses. To counteract the discovery of the Deceit Gene – a natural "negative" response to all stimuli – the L.I.E.S. program was founded. The program had been designed to introduce new subjects to the current environment and test for the Deceit Gene through immersion in Duplicity's standing society. Sexual impulses and encounters increase the chances of detecting the gene within these individuals. Participants are typically released from L.I.E.S. after a year; however, results have remained unsatisfactory and testing still continues. ... and you’re here! Finally! Welcome to Duplicity. After choosing a door and stepping through to the other side, the first thing that greets you are the enthusiastic faces of people in medical scrubs and pristine lab coats. Their enthusiasm translates to eagerness as they strip you of your clothes to perform a thorough examination—you will be healed, bathed, and given a paper gown to wear until your items can be processed and delivered to your residence later in the evening. You are also given a device that accesses the network as well as the time and location of orientation. If you enter Duplicity into the Up, congratulations! You’re a Dominant, which means you are immediately picked up by a limo after processing and taken to your high rise. Here, it is two Dominants per floor with separate apartments. If you enter Duplicity into the Down, congratulations! You’re a Submissive, which means you are directed towards public transportation with the address of the motel you’ll be living in. Here, it is two Submissives per room with a shared common space for all rooms. Enjoy your free time until orientation! Participation is mandatory by all new and old arrivals. The weather is rather cold and icy. |
» » » WALKING TOUR
 The cold, icy winter weather has seen to it that there is an unfortunate interruption with the usual city tour for the newest arrivals to Duplicity. Some of the train tracks have a dangerous amount of ice coating them and sections of travel are now unavailable via train. City officials still believe that the tours are important to integrate new LIERs to Duplicity so they have organised personal walking tours held by current LIERs. New arrivals will be paired with their own tour guide; they can take the suggested path or take their barely dressed charge on a more ad-hoc tour. It might be considerate to let them change into something warmer first! Important landmarks and checkpoints like Fiddler’s Square, North Park, The Up and Down Courts, the People Zoo and of course S.L.U.T. need to be marked off on the tours but there have also been fun local stores which have set-ups for free samples and information booklets. What order and how people travel to them is up to them. |
« « « GALLERIA OF SEX
 (CW: exhibitionism, voyeurism, dub/non-con)One of the stops along these new walking tours is a temporary educational art installation that has been set up to display and talk about the rich variety of kinks that are popular in Duplicity. Newcomers are invited to come inside the building, sit on the human furniture to watch and learn or volunteer to participate themselves. Each section has local LIERs and graduated citizens there to help walk those new to the program through the displays, explaining the appeal and draw of each kink. Live demonstrations or performance art are carried out by LIERs who have volunteered, been conscripted or are fulfilling a sentence that would normally land them in the People Zoo. They can and will ask anyone and everyone to step up and be part of the artwork themselves. Some of the displays set up will feature:
We encourage players not to limit themselves in regards to what is on display. There are many more kinks than the ones listed, and Duplicity considers all kinds of sexual acts a form of art. Photo taking is encouraged throughout the exhibition, especially when your own participation is concerned. If you missed the chance to do so, in the moment, you need not worry as the gift shop at the end of the gallery will have many different prints taken over the course of the exhibition available for purchase. Take home a keepsake of your first day in Duplicity. |
« « « ICE TO SEE YOU
 (CW: exhibitionism)Winter does make it harder in Duplicity to enjoy all the pleasures of the flesh that could be on offer in the warmer months. Most who live in the city still need to wrap up with many layers when the weather turns so chilly. But that’s not saying that the city can’t find ways to help keep its residents in the mood. It will first be noticeable to those trying their hand at streaming or posting video footage onto the network. Regardless of a character's state of dress while recording, they will appear completely naked to those watching and no amount of covering up with more articles of material will change that. Others might see it as they set about on their first days getting used to the city’s layout, glancing into a shop window they will notice their own state of undress in their reflection. You might even see it in a particularly shiny bit of ice but no matter where you look, all reflective surfaces will show everyone in their birthday suits, naked as the day they were born. |
« « « BLADES OF GLORY
 (CW: exhibitionism, dubcon, drugging) In a bid to encourage individuals to get out and keep active despite the chilly weather, the city has transformed one of the large tennis courts in the Up into a makeshift outdoor skating rink. In the recreation building attached to the courts-turned-rink the change rooms have been outfitted for people to change into more appropriate clothing. There is also at the front of the building an area to rent skates. Many who get on the ice see no reason to keep apart, as many contracted couples can be seen holding hands or chasing each other as they skate. In the change rooms it isn’t uncommon to see a bit of hanky panky or people getting off at helping others in and out of their skates. There also seems to be a small hot chocolate stand set up inside the building where characters can buy a warm drink to sip on while taking a break from skating. The drink may leave those that consume it feeling especially warm and frisky, with perhaps a bit of extra energy they need to burn off - skating might not cut it. |
« « « MOD & OOC NOTES
Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, characters will still have gone through the doors but assignments OOCly are still randomized. When applying, there is a section of the application that denotes whether the character chooses "left" or "right". When participating on the TDM, there will be a third option. Players may link either a top level or a thread (five or more comments from their character) from the TDM and title the link as "Door Pass". This means that the player is choosing to take the designation that they were randomly assigned on the TDM, rather than taking the designation of a door. If the player decides to select a door rather than use the pass, then they are trying their luck; they may get the same designation they had on the TDM or the opposite. Once the application is submitted, players can't change their choice. To assign roles to characters for this TDM, use the following guide: If your character would rather have a dog for a pet they are Dominant. If they would rather have a cat for a pet they are Submissive. If your character is from a canon that has neither, pick the choice you believe they would prefer more. To Note: Characters can only swap their designation for one of the following reasons: an event occurs that allows it or there are OOC reasons that make it a necessity. Any swap always requires mod approval and each character can only ever switch once. Characters that are being reapped will keep their previous designation but players can choose to use new tdms with different designations for fun! Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have a good time!! |
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Mustang turns his attention to the shirts on the hangers. They're a riot of colors that Hughes might wear, but Roy's been raised as a gentleman and prefers traditional white. Mustang concentrates as he shuffles through them, mildly frustrated when he doesn't find what he wants.
Roy bends his knees to go through those shirts that are folded in a few piles and can't help noticing the movement rocks the toy inside of him, outside of him, and a quiet moan surprises him when it escapes his throat. Roy sighs quietly, unwilling to share that the toy's stimulation is arousing him again and so quickly, albeit on a much more comfortable level.
White, white, white... This shop doesn't have any white button-ups as far as he can see. It doesn't matter, he supposes. Once he gets home, he can always transmute the color out of the cloth. He even considers getting a different color to try, and bending over, grits his teeth almost fiercely against the surge of blood rushing to his crotch.
What is it about this toy? Mustang has had plenty of prostate orgasms -- he just orgasmed moments before -- so why or what had him on the edge of yet another?
He breathed carefully as he bent over, concentrating on choosing a different color. The pale pink shirt caught his fancy, but when he lay the cloth across the paleness of his skin, it just didn't look right, washing the color from his face.
Ultimately, Roy chose a dark blue shirt which he slid on and buttoned up immediately. He liked how it looked, noting to himself to buy a cobalt scarf next time he visited here. He didn't even notice that he squirmed through most of his fitting and turned to Vrenille. "What do you think about this?"
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By the time Mustang is dressed, he's therefore feeling plenty ready to take his own enjoyment ahead one more step.
"Suits you good," he says. "Blue's a nice colour on you." And it's going to be a nice colour off of him as well, Vrenille thinks, and in very short order.
He makes a gesture to the clerk who, hurrying in, gathers up the clothes that didn't make the cut, exiting with them as quickly as they came.
"Now," Vrenille says, his gaze stormy with want as he looks at Mustang still standing there before the mirror, "take it off again. Show me."
He wants to be given a little show, in other words, which means that anyone else with a view through the open curtain will be given a view too, and there are at least one or two other patrons in the shop now who have paused by this rack or that one where they happen to have a good vantage point, so Mustang's got a few different men's eyes on him already.
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Some tiny part of him reminds Roy that it’s just sex, and while he’s here, there’s no real reason to hide the person he is. It’s not as though he’s done a particularly good job in that arena anyway.
Vrenille speaks, and for a moment, Mustang doesn’t even hear what he says, just locks his gaze on the man’s eyes, seeing nothing sheltering his need, not anymore. He can’t be entirely sure if there ever was, but a second later, the words change shape enough for him to comprehend what’s been said.
What? After putting three pair of pants on for this crowd and pulling off two, he wants...
No. The man’s buying him clothes and that’s not even the point. He guesses he hadn’t thought through how deep this dominant/submissive thing went. It doesn’t matter how confident he might be (and he is an extremely confident man, he thinks with some satisfaction), no one wants to put on a show for a bunch of strangers. Do they? Did he?
Well, it’s not as though he hadn’t agreed to it all. This kid has charisma oozing out of his...
“Alright.” He may as well enjoy it. Humming the music to a strip tease ditty, Mustang smiles, slow as he unbuttons each closure on the shirt, wriggling each shoulder as he glides his arms out of each sleeve and ends by tossing the piece of cloth over Vrenille’s head. When he undoes the studs on the pair of jeans, he’s quick to pull them off of his legs to his ankles, overemphasizing the bend at his waist, flexing and relaxing each level of his abdominal muscles just to show off.
He finishes by stepping out of the pants and throwing those, too, but over toward the bench.
“I hope I get extra points for creativity,” he says, thinking he hasn’t been remotely creative, but you never knew with what you might be faced in a different culture.
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Mustang has successfully demonstrated how fit and flexible he is though, and those are both things Vrenille appreciates. He's sure their audience appreciates them too.
He's got the front of his jeans open by the time Mustang's stripping his pants off, the little bottle of lube he brought in with him ready to hand. Admittedly, Vrenille's underwear choice for today is a bit more on the nose than anything he'd usually opt for, what with the word MASTER emblazoned on the waistband and all, but he had dressed for his role at the Galleria of Sex knowing that almost anything might happen and he might be called on to play the part. It's turned out that he's going to be playing it rather differently, but still in a scene that makes it no less appropriate.
What's probably most notable though is how the soft mesh of the material puts his cock on display already, stretching to accommodate his hardness, and showing him off even before he moves to stand, stepping over towards Mustang.
"Hoping maybe your adoring fans'll stuff some extra dollars in your waistband for shaking your ass so good?" he teases, moving up nice and close so that he's standing nearly nose to nose with Mustang, not touching, but well within his personal space.
"'Course then I'd have to send you out on a circuit all 'round the shop collecting tips. Probably be sweet torture for you with that toy in your ass, making you harder 'n harder every step. And here you just came," he tuts in mock scolding, "but you're getting primed to take my cock already."
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What the man says next seems to a playful way to tease him, but Roy’s dignity, what was left of it, insists he take a stand against this. It’s too much, too bizarre and shameful to allow anyone to make him do. He comes close to saying ‘red’, but if he’s learned anything about the Vrenille, it’s that he’s honest. So, he takes his teasing words at face value, answering him with teasing of his own, his expression returning to a smirk.
I knew you were a pimp. Sir.
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As right as Mustang is to spot that, though, and as right as he is about Vrenille's honesty, there's one point where he's shot wide of the mark.
"If there's one thing I'm not," Vrenille laughs, shaking his head, "it's a pimp. Never been my style."
They could talk about that more. Maybe they will talk about it more, but right now isn't the time. Right now Vrenille's taking Mustang's jaw between his thumb and forefinger and leaning in to kiss him, deep and slow, a claiming sort of kiss that's unhurried and intense, a deliberate counterpoint to the roughness with which he plans to fuck the man.
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Unsure of how far he can initiate their fun, Mustang sidles closer to him. He fits his heated erection against the side of Vrenille’s, feeling that taut belly. Roy ends their kiss, closing his mouth, and looks him closely in the eyes. “So,” Mustang says, a touch breathless, “what is your style?”
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He lets the roll of their hips rub hardness against hardness, the slight tug of the fabric that's still trapping each of them a final thin barrier between bare skin. "Well right now it's to show every one of these fine people how well you get fucked," his smile carries just a hint of predatory promise.
"Make each 'n every one of 'em wish they were in my place, getting to bury themselves deep in the heat of your ass." A hand on Mustang's shoulder turns him roughly around, towards the mirror, so that Vrenille can smooth a hand down his exposed backside, framed by the elastic of the jockstrap, his fingers finding their way right to the base of the massager and starting to pump it in and out of him in a slow, smooth rhythm. "Or maybe make 'em wish they were in yours, being the one who's taking my cock, servicing me right here in public."
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Mustang cups a handful of butt-cheek in each of his, grinding their hips together hard, their erections sliding tight friction against the other.
Damn, that feels good.
Even if he could, Mustang wouldn’t wipe the smirk from his face, loving the roughness in the way Vrenille spins and urges him against the mirrored glass because it’s everything he wants. He splays his fingers flat against the mirror’s calm surface, and he smiles. When the man’s hand runs down the curve of his ass, a half-stifled murmur purrs from Roy’s throat, and bending forward, he pushes his ass back, watching him through the reflection from behind half-lidded eyes, focused on those dark ones of Vrenille’s. The smile that spreads Mustang’s lips so wide is rich with want and mischief. When the other man suggests that the clerks working the shop want Roy himself, he doubts it.
Who wouldn’t want to get fucked by this devious, deviant man?
Still, it wouldn’t do to let it go to his head. Eh. The man must know how good he is at this. “That’s probably true.” Roy gives him a wink and a smirk. “I’m a popular guy. But maybe not quite as popular as you.”
And Mustang's need to fuck kicks into high gear when the other man, the bastard, it feels so good, rocks the toy into and out of him, overstimulating his prostate, and Roy, desperate now, just begs. "Please, stop that."
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The slow thrusting of the toy continues, Vrenille drawing it out until its widest part spreads Mustang's entrance...and then sliding it rhythmically back in. "Stop it, eh? You want me to take this outta you now? Put my cock in you instead?"
Honestly, he's not really waiting for an answer because it's not on the basis of anything Mustang says that he will or won't act. That's not how this goes. The words are there to be filthy, to play across the space of need and demand and control, so even before Mustang has asked for his cock, he's going to find that he's getting it.
Letting the toy rest in Mustang's body for a moment, Vrenille pulls himself out from the mesh of his underwear, settling the band of the elastic snuggly beneath his balls and squirting a dollop of lube into his hand to spread over himself. And then, in one smooth gesture, he slides the massager out of Mustang's body, tosses it and the lube bottle aside, and guides the head of his cock to the man's hole.
It's true he hasn't stretched him with more than the relatively narrow girth of the massager, but it's been in him for some time now, and that, he knows, should be ample enough for easing the ring of muscles, acclimating them to some intrusion. Besides, he wants the man nice and tight--wants him to feel the intensity of the stretch as he enters, wants to watch his expression in the mirror, the way his eyes widen and his mouth moves.
There's a bit of lube left on his fingers that slicks the skin of his entrance, but he doesn't waste any time now, canting his hips, one hand on Mustang's thigh to steady him as he presses in, groans with the delicious heat as his head squeezes through the first rings of muscle and his path opens before him so he can sink slowly deeper.
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Roy groans with every centimeter Vrenille slides into him, stretching him almost too wide, but not so much that he’s in danger of being hurt. He huffs out a breath, shifting up to just the pads of his fingers. He keeps his gaze locked on the mirrored eyes of the other man, watching with fierce interest. Roy licks his lower lip, his black hair falling into his eyes.
He tries to think through the waves of debilitating pleasure buffeting his body. It feels good, and he’s more relaxed and happy that nothing today had prepared him for.
Wait. Roy has to admit that Vrenille prepared him to feel exactly this way. He closes his eyes and focuses on the pulsating feeling centered between his cock and ass, focusing at his taint to billow outward and rock his body. Mustang wants... he wants, and he needs...
Seeing a clerk reflected in the mirror cools him down somewhat. Not much, and he husks in a silken whisper, “Think you can make me scream?”
Mustang concentrates on Vrenille, on his golden fingers on Roy’s pale hips, seeing that he’s sheeted with sweat that makes him look wild and almost animal as he ruts against him. He’s wet and glorious, and Mustang inhales deeply, feeling sweat of his own dropping from his hair onto his shoulder.
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He's been here long enough to know the ways that the locals tend to treat public displays of sex, especially their fascination with those who've been brought to the city by the LIES program. He also knows that the sort of show he and Mustang are now giving is the sort that satisfies social norms--a Dominant, still mostly clothed, putting a naked (or near-naked) Submissive to his proper use, in full view of all and sundry. To him, though, that's not about conformity; it's about creatively working out how to jerk off the system, keep it satisfied so that it only screws you in ways you can live with, have fun with even.
He's got his hands settled on Mustang's hips, carrying on his journey to fully sheathe himself--about half way in, then slowly back out, all but the head, then in once more, this time a bit deeper, taking his time with his enjoyment until he's got himself buried right to the hilt, neatly trimmed hairs pressed right to the base of Mustang's ass.
Holding himself there, he reaches forward, pulls the fabric of the jockstrap to one side, and frees Mustang's cock so that it bobs and juts out in front of him, on display in the mirror for Vrenille, and anyone else, to see.
He doesn't bother answering until after all this, when he's finally starting to move, not in a furious pounding but a languid, self-indulgent roll of his hips, taking his time with the enjoyment of sensations, really luxuriating in Mustang's body the way he would in the first moments of sinking himself into a hot bath. His words stay low and near his partner's ear, just between the two of them--the view might be for all to see, but what they say right now is private.
"Is that what you want? Being made to scream? Or maybe by the end you'll be so breathless that you can't, even if you wanna. That'd be a nice image for all these fine folks watching to take away with 'em, eh? Something each one of 'em will lie awake with tonight, stroke themselves off to the memory of you taking my cock."
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Very deliberately, he relaxes the ring of muscle. Afterward, t’s easy to enjoy the languorous rhythm set by the other man. Mustang pushes back to meet him, fully aware of the shortness of his hair (he must keep it trimmed), and every few strokes, Vrenille’s balls swing a little to bump his own.
Mustang smiles when Vrenille releases his cock, and he looks down at himself, all jutting, proud, and purple.
A swift and sudden memory emerges from his mind’s depths. One of his “sisters” -- a child of one of the “escorts” working for his step-mother and about the same age as he, often made up names for cocks, referring to dicks as “one-eyed-monsters” and “hairless mice.” A font of laughter bubbles up and out of his throat at the memory, disappearing as quickly as it came. It shifts him into a steady gear, and he closes his eyes, swallowed by the sensations his “Dominant” expertly crafts.
Maybe once he fucks a few people on a semi-regular basis, he’ll stop having issues with near-misses when it comes to cumming. Mustang glances at the mirror, and there he is -- the clerk isn’t even bothering to hide his interest anymore. He’s actually grateful, if only for its effect of dampening his rampant erection to a more controllable level.
When Vrenille answers him, Roy gazes at the mirror, his lips tipping into an affectionate smirk. He shrugs. “It’s just a challenge. Either way, I win.”
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Without breaking rhythm he unbuttons the shirt he's still wearing, letting it fall open across his chest and hips so that he doesn't have to trouble with holding the hem out of the way and can feel the cool breath of air touch his skin as it heats with arousal and exertion. It also provides something like a minimal veil for the point where their bodies join--not really any privacy, but at least one detail that is left to the imagination of their audience. The view he has as he glances down to see himself disappearing in and out of Mustang's ass is just for him.
Clearly, the whole scenario is having its effect on Mustang as well, what with that momentary bark of something like laughter in his throat, something Vrenille takes as a sensation or thought that must have been inspired to break through. It inspires him as well:
"You ever been fucked like this before?" he asks, pace and vigour increasing, growing a little bit rough, a few degrees closer to unrelenting. "Where people could see you, watch exactly what's happening--watch you getting used?"
The scenario, for him, is an undeniable turn-on, and he's not going to try and disguise that for a moment. After all, nothing so far has indicated to him that Mustang needs or wants to be treated with kid gloves. If anything, it seems just the opposite.
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Roy probably should take issue at the words “being used.” Instead, they excite him. Strange how much he’s learned about himself during this single encounter. He feels Vrenille adjust his shirt behind him. What is he doing? The man’s hair tickles his back and he concludes that he’s looking down to where they’re joined and wonders distantly whether that, too, can be seen by the viewing public.
Yes! Vrenille finally lets go, thrusts stronger, rougher, closer to the way Mustang likes it. As incredible as it feels, it presents a problem: the better it is, the sooner he’ll inevitably cum. Despite cumming being the natural conclusion of fucking, he just wants...
What? What is his problem? This has little to do with winning or losing. Competition has no place in anything so intimate, so what is he trying to prove to himself? That he hasn’t gone a considerable amount of time without sex, that he’s been too busy? No, if he is honest with himself, it has everything to do with his ego -- his masculine pride.
And it might even be because he likes having to submit, as much as the idea embarrasses him. Mustang inhales an enormous breath. Alright. He can live with that.
Even knowing how ludicrous the feeling is, it seems near-impossible to overcome. Roy knows himself capable of change, of growing, but a change that significant hardly happens overnight.
He glances at the clerk to keep himself level, pausing to watch him watching Vrenille and himself. Maybe it's cheating, but he wants to experience everything the man can give and has the feeling he's still holding back. Bracing himself more fully against the mirror by flattening his hands, Mustang rocks back with each thrust, meeting Vrenille halfway. He likes the sound of their flesh slapping together, the punishing reaming his movements induce. Mustang admits he likes that he has no real say in this other than consenting.
“I take it you enjoy public sex and being watched. You know that makes you an exhibitionist.” Mustang doesn’t say it to judge the man; he just wonders how self-aware he is.
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"And I guess you like when it's rough, huh? A little merciless?" It's not lost on him how Mustang's started to rock back against him in his none-too-subtle request for more, and Vrenille is happy enough to oblige him, hands gripping his hips to steady him as he begins to snap his hips forward with a new force and sharpness that makes his words come out a bit staccato, his breath following the exertion of each thrust. "Like this? Kinda brutal? So it hurts a little? That what you want?"
Probably, with the exertion, his voice travels a little, no longer so soft and privately quiet between just the two of them. Probably the clerk standing closest, at least, will be able to hear the questions and hear whatever answer Mustang gives too. That suits Vrenille just fine because he's not embarrassed by any of this, and if Mustang is, that's just one more area of sensation he sees being able to play with.
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As if the volume of Vrenille's voice calls to them, their audience of one grows in number. At least four others watch them now.
No, Mustang isn't aroused by being watched during sex but understands its allure. He enjoys being admired for his looks, from outright stares to the subtler eye contact of people attracted to him. Despite their lack of privacy, he's been more than capable of performing. Embarrassingly so. Hmm. Maybe he likes this, after all.
Something about this place seems to have infected him, he admits. As a scientist, Mustang doubts it's supernatural. Had he been drugged, or is the effect psychological in nature? It hardly matters right now; he feels like he did at eighteen years old, quick to shoot and even speedier to reload. But eventually, he'll have his answer.
"Yes. Harder. Faster. I like it punishing." Roy clenches his teeth, a smile -- in part. "You up to that?" It's just banter, and if Vrenille chooses to take it as aggression, all the better for him.
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"Guess the city got one right when they marked you then," he says, the words a low, throaty growl in the moment before he really lets loose.
If what Mustang wants is punishment, Vrenille is certainly willing and able to oblige him, his hips bucking into the man fast and hard, giving himself free rein for a breathless gallop, an all-out sprint. It's not a pace he'll be able to keep up indefinitely, but if Mustang wants him to feel him really exert himself, he certainly will.
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Mustang already knew Vrenille to be a brilliant fuck, but now, his respect for the man soars.
He’s captured his interest, fascination to be truthful, and Roy’s curiosity about the man redoubles in scope and priority. Until he can find a way to return home, puzzling out Vrenille’s personality, the history behind the breadth of his sexual experience will be an entertaining distraction.
Being controlled by the fisting of his hair, the elbow against his spine contorting his body into a position not of his choosing feels oddly freeing to Mustang. Always has. Even moreso since Ishval. It’s uncomfortable by intent, and he relishes every detail -- the knuckles against his scalp, the cool press of the mirror against the side of his face and chest, being battered against it. Every touch electrifies his body, a dangerous fire pulsating through his cock and balls and everywhere. If he could look down, he’d see a straining, ludicrously engorged erection.
The only problem being that Vrenille’s cock has even easier access to Roy’s prostate now, and it rakes, relentless, against it.
Roy squirms uneasily.
He focuses on their audience. If he doesn’t, he’ll cum too quickly, right now, and he wants to prolong this feeling for as long as he can. It helps, but only just.
The timbre of Vrenille’s voice adds to it, the growl sending shivers up Mustang’s spine. While challenging to speak through the speed of the man’s thrusts, his own curiosity, his stupid brain that never stops makes him ask, sandpaper baritone punctuated by every pounding thrust, “Is that so? Wanting a rough fuck makes me a submissive?”
He tries to shift his stance but is held fast. “Seems like it’d be more complicated than that.”
edited for neurotic perfectionist tendencies
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So it's when his thrusts slow again for a bit of a break that he answers, still grinding his hips, savouring the friction of his cock working in and out of Mustang's ass. And the answer comes with its own new bit of roughness too because now, though he lets go of his grip on the man's hair, it's only to reach around and grab him by the throat, pulling his body back like a bow so that he can speak right into his ear without even needing to lean forward.
"No. Liking to be punished. That makes you a submissive."
His mouth hot, he runs lips and tongue across the shell of Mustang's ear, staying close so the roughness of his breath and the low hum of pleasure at claiming him can be heard, this new shift of angle driving his thrusts directly into the man's prostate, firm but not nearly as fast or hard as he's demonstrated he can do.
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When he hears Vrenille’s what… accusation? His first impulse is to deny the man’s observation. He’d said he liked sex to be punishing, which is technically a very different thing than liking to be punished, but lying would be ridiculous. And obvious. He knows too well what he likes and why he likes it.
The reason behind it remains locked away forever.
When Vrenille forces up him to stand, a hand clutching his throat, Mustang moans pitiably. The act breaks him, so thoroughly exciting, dangerously sexy.
The man’s right -- he is a submissive in every sense of the word. He no longer cares, having come to terms with it quickly, admittedly with Vrenille's help.
The last time he was this close, Mustang told the man, and the urgency he feels needs to be voiced right now. He swallows against Vrenille’s hand. “I need to cum, Vrenille. Soon. Now.”
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"You'll do it with nothing but my cock in you to get you there. And if you cum, don't think I'm gonna stop or give you a break. Not till I'm done using this tight little hole of yours, not till I've dumped my load inside you."
It's the kind of shameless dirty talk that would make a lot of men blush, but it's also part of this little journey they're on together in which Vrenille is, step by step, teaching Mustang both something about the culture of the city and about his own inclinations to submit. And here's another layer of it--Vrenille isn't telling him not to cum. He's not forbidding it. They aren't at a place where his words would--or should--have that kind of control yet. But he is telling him the consequences, what he can expect should he lose control, and he's leaving it up to him how he'll handle that knowledge. Maybe the thought itself will send him over the edge or maybe it will give his body the incentive to last a little bit longer.
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He almost barks a laugh at Vrenille’s comment, if only because he feels very “touched” indeed. Roy almost says it out loud, but he’s too caught up in the other man’s hands and mouth and lips and breath. Vrenille’s a virtuoso, playing him like an instrument, and it feels so damn good.
It’s true enough that Roy was raised to be a gentleman and isn’t accustomed to hearing the sort of raunchy dirty talk that spills from the other man’s lips, even saying the word ‘cum’ has been a little embarrassing, somehow, but it’s exciting, what he says.
Roy hums a little ‘mmm’ against Vrenille’s palm, almost luxuriating in the jolting thrusts and the huff of exertion in his ear. He’s so close now. He doesn’t think he could stop if he tried, and he doesn’t want to try anymore, having ridden the edge of an orgasm for too long -- it’s a wonder he hasn’t gotten a second case of blue balls. It’s just… he doesn’t want to make a mess. Too anal retentive and isn’t that just perfect?
Doesn’t matter now. Mustang’s cock throbs, the tension between his legs urgent and desperate and oh, so hot, and he clutches his erection, pointing it toward a nearby wastebasket, hoping to avoid cumming all over the stall. He shudders as a series of long, severe waves crash slow and steadily through him, making him shiver. It’s a long, hard cum, the ejaculate shooting thick strings across the carpet and into the pail.
He sags a little as endorphins flood his system momentarily and smiles, bracing himself for more and hoping he doesn't end up hard and horny again.
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He drives deep and almost lets himself still through the first couple spurts, not for Mustang's benefit but for his own, savouring the tight constriction of muscles around his cock when the man's balls begin to empty. But then, almost at once, he's moving again--a sharp, rough pounding that's not exactly aimed to satisfy.
"Oh you are cheeky," he scolds. "Maybe now I see the real reason you were given to me in shackles. Not a whole lotta self control." His hips snap mercilessly into Mustang's ass as he speaks, the slap of their skin sounding almost like a spanking, and at just that pace.
"Seems like next time you're gonna need to have your hands bound so you obey. Maybe lock your cock up nice 'n tight so you can't cum at all." Seizing the moment of post-orgasm languor, he reaches around to grab Mustang's arms, pulling his wrists to fold his arms behind his back, pushing his chest and cheek to the mirror once more and holding him pinned so that he can't pull his hands away while he fucks him.
If his words add embarrassment or shame to the posture, that's all the better--Mustang has, in effect, asked for this humiliation by taking himself in hand when Vrenille told him not to, and now he's going to reap the consequences of it.
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What he shows is the flushed, sweaty skin behind an escalating lust that has the potential to tip into frantic need. Roy closes his eyes to shut out everything outside of them. Only he and Vrenille inhabit this place of sex and sin, of searing pleasure and the beginnings of pain, unintentional but erotic. The sound of skin smacking, lewd and delicious, and Roy hardens at the nascent promise of Vrenille’s bruising hips. Opening his eyes, Mustang peers through the soot of his lashes, watching the other man intently through the mirror.
So he’s startled by the sudden clutching of his arms being twisted behind him. He’s crushed against the mirror again, and while Roy loves being manhandled, he’s confused.
Until Vrenille’s filthy, gorgeous mouth opens and explains, suggesting they engage, in vulgar, arousing words, the kind of sex about which Roy’s always dreamt and never experienced.
He hadn’t realized he’d stepped outside the boundaries of a Submissive, thinking Vrenille referred only to his own hands, not Mustang’s. And there’s no way he’ll correct him now, too eager to see and feel everything the other man dreams up.
And to seal the deal, Roy grins against the mirror. “Yes. Sir.”
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