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duplicitymemes2018-09-12 11:51 am
duplicitymods) wrote in duplicitymemes2018-09-12 11:51 am
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TDM #1
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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. |
 After stepping through the door and participating in orientation, LIERS are assembled together in the Up for a tour of Duplicity in its entirety. Seats are in pairs and randomly assigned to Dominants and Submissives alike. Traveling from Fiddler's Square, the train journeys through various parts of the Up, showcasing society and examples of lifestyle. Along the way, frequent stops are made; a variety of passengers can be seen exiting and entering the doors. A Dominant with a kneeling Submissive takes a seat near the front of the train at one stop. A small group of Submissives board and sit closer to the LIERS at another, all seemingly content in their roles. As the tour continues through the Up, the train passes close to the Market and White Wall Bridge and zips by North Park before heading into the Down and bypassing Red Wall Bridge and South Park. The train makes a "final" stop at Riddler's Square, where inhabitants of the Down are instructed to return to their temporary housing. Those who live in the Up are permitted to stay on the train and revisit the same locations while returning. |
 While the societal climate between Dominants and Submissives remains somewhat neutral throughout Duplicity, there has been the occasional whisper of defiance and call for equality. Yet, demonstrations and visible proof of this unhappiness spreads faster by word of mouth on a day exactly when you need it most. Welcome to Autonomy, a "traveling" nightclub that is never in the same place twice. People wanting to attend only learn of its lucrative location and password hours before it opens for business. Tonight, I choose the third door will get you inside and into the temporary freedom club Autonomy has to offer. In this circle, there are no assigned designations and no consequences for taking a role that isn't the one given by society. So, a Dominant may become the Submissive they've always wanted to be—or vice versa. Dominants and Submissives alike are able to mingle without repercussion and be themselves. Food, drinks, and private areas for more intimate – or if your preference is sexual – encounters are provided. Donations are accepted at any point during the night to further Autonomy's attempts of spreading the fulfillment that comes from being untitled. On the night you choose to visit, Autonomy is holding a random lottery for temporary connections. When entering, you have the choice of submitting your name into this drawing to be paired with someone else in the club regardless of designation. A short while later, a message will pop up on your device with the name and information of your partner, and whether or not you choose to meet them is purely at your discretion. Having more than one connection isn't completely unusual either. |
 Gratification of being a successful Dominant or Submissive isn't necessarily simple. Learning curves are to be made, and mistakes will happen. Led by a Dominant and Submissive couple – Miriam and Victoria, who have been paired for twenty-two years – a monthly meeting for unattached Dominants and Submissives is held in the conference room of Morning Wood motel in the Down. The meeting starts a few minutes after nine and has no designated end time. The couple introduce themselves and explain the purpose of the meeting: learn the proper method for a new kink and possibly find your perfect partner. The space is intimate and well-stocked with refreshments. To begin, Victoria, while blindfolded, balances on her hands and knees with her back perfectly level. Her partner, when ready, places various items on the level surface–a full cup, a plate. The Submissive is meant to hold the items until the Dominant believes she's reached her limit. The exercise is one of trust and understanding. The demonstration is a short one, followed by Miriam removing the blindfold and soothing her Submissive. The words are whispered low and with care, clearly a method that is specific to this couple. The process is concluded with the pair handing out workups, videos, and answering questions. Anyone wishing to practice Purposeful Submission can do so in the open room with a random volunteer, aided by the couple, or can find someone to take to one of the rented rooms. Sex may follow any scene but is not necessarily included. Experimenting with unattached Dominants and Submissives allows for new relationships to form. |
Please read carefully. On each Test Drive Meme, there will be a section noting character roles based on birthdays; these will vary each TDM. On an IC level, character 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 chose "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. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of January to June, their designation will be Dominant. For characters with a birthday falling in the months of July to December, their designation will be Submissive. For characters with an unknown birthday, their designation will be Dominant. Arrival into Duplicity has not been used as a prompt as it is a rather large part of introducing the game and will be saved for the first in-game log. But feel free to thread it on the TDM. Also, any locations throughout Duplicity are available for TDM prompts as well! Please remember to mark any necessary content, and have fun!! |
Dean Winchester | Supernatural | Dominant
[ It's not that he's normally into freaky sex things - mind you, he's an open kind of guy - it's just, hell, when in Rome, right? From the way he's heard tell so far, he's one of very few people who seem to approve of their designation, and he's double glad of that when he wanders in and finds people acting like god damn footstools.
Imagine having to do that. Gun. Mouth. No thank you.
But he's gotta say, scoping out the crowd and the position, he's kind of appreciating the view. If he's gotta saddle up and hunker down with a bedmate, it doesn't hurt to window shop. Not that he's planning to buy, but he takes long bow-legged strides around the room as people practice, appreciating form and function, getting a feel for what he's going to expect out of this place until he can bust ass and get out of here somehow. ]
[ preferences: m/m or m/f, 25+ and my kingdom for a cas. not current past season 10, canonpoint loosely around s8 post purgatory. ]
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Exactly the moment he'd awoken here — a stuttering and confusing existence that felt a bit touch and go for a moment — a knot tightened in his gut and it hasn't released since. Unfamiliar surroundings, unwilling participants, ridiculous expectations — same shit, different day. And since walking through that first door — a door that had deemed him submissive of all things — John has had a difficult time not feeling plied into this exact moment of suggested subordination.
Even so, he doesn't submit. He doesn't relent, either. In all of his life, those attributes have been chiefly among his most defining, an they'd led him through the years, nose first, from tempestuous childhood to tumultuous adulthood, often with reckless abandon.
Maybe it's not in him to give away control. He's almost convinced of it, although it doesn't stop him from continuing to observe, wolfish gaze leveled carefully to avoid eye contact where he can. He can leave at any time, of course, but going back to the Down doesn't exactly appeal, and no one appears to be forcing him to interact.
Over time — twenty minutes or so after the demonstration — he thinks he's getting used to the level of intimacy in the room, but he must be putting off some vibes because people seem to steer clear for the most part. He's secretly thankful, although it does tighten that knot a little when he's left to wonder if its that obvious how very uncomfortable he is about all of this. And why is that? He'd been so very casual about sex for as long as he'd been active, you'd think a little sexual submission wouldn't rattle him. Maybe on his terms, but that's not wholly the role, is it? Sometimes not any of the role at all.
Valuing his instincts, he tells himself that approaching any of this with caution isn't remiss. And it seems encouraged, in fact, by Miriam and Victoria, who had talked at length about maintaining comfort and security, about negotiating limits, about establish bonds — levels of trust that transcend convention.
It's strange that, upon observing another submissive and their potential partner, in trying to transpose himself over the scenario with their guidance, only one name comes to mind — only one person he would ever consider trusting enough to give up that much control.
Eyes downcast, he arranges the leftover workups and videos, and finally he reaches for one of the crisp, white blindfolds, dark gaze focused on it intently as he draws it through his fingers. ]
Where's a flannel-wearin', bow-legged, pie-eatin' bastard when you need one?
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Way to make it easy on him.
He snaps an unknotted blindfold like a towel in a locker room, popping Blake rudely on the side with a corner. ]
Here I was thinkin' you were supposed to call me sir, or- I don't know, is it master? First of his name, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?
[ He rattles off titles around a toothy, lopsided sort of grin. Already clearly way too pleased with the way this whole role situation's turned out. ]
Hell, I'll settle for khaleesi if you're feeling saucy.
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His eyes slide closed and his lips purse and he silently curses himself. God fucking dammit, that figures, doesn't it? Of all the shitty sex classes in all the shitty sex towns in all the shitty sex universes, someone decided to deliver unto him none other than Dean Winchester. And based on that shit-eating grin that he can hear and doesn't need to look to see, not just any Dean Winchester, but his. Perhaps he's got that wrong for this setting, but it remains firmly in place.
Jaw working, eyes opening, a long breath drawing deep, he turns to look at the other man. Still tall, still handsome, still a huge fucking asshole. ]
Careful what you wish for.
[ That's the lesson here. And although he's not sure if it's consolation, commiseration, a threat, or a promise, it's issued with a look that's nothing if not challenging. He's not great at this.
But inside that knot's gone like it was never there to start, replaced quickly with a flutter that feels like it lifts him right off the floor. It's really an astronomical set of circumstances that have crashed them back together again, and all insanity aside, there's nothing about this that doesn't feel like a part of him being repaired, duct taped back together in some ridiculous sense of irony.
Suddenly he doesn't feel quite so opposed to anything. ]
So, which is it?
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They've gotten lucky.
So yeah, yeah he's god damn glad to see Blake - even if it's with the addition of a long submissive line from chin to shirt collar. Robbie's reception, on the other hand, is anything but warm. Matter of fact the guy almost looks pained, and it's enough to draw his brow up knit and offended.
He ignores the question in favor of a rather dry comment. ]
Don't look so happy to see me. No, really, school in the tears, take all the time you need.
[ A flat beat, a vague gesture in Blake's general direction. ]
Come on, man, give me a little Hallmark, would ya?
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But regardless of all that he can see that worries him about this, there are a thousand little reasons he can see why he'd be willing to ignore those reservations.
Despite all of this, there's humor in his approach. He's not making this as uncomfortable as he could (and that's saying a lot alone), and all he seems to want is a little proof of that long-standing bond.
John doesn't hesitate much longer, pulling Dean into a tight hug, his hands curled tight into the fabric of Winchester's clothes, eyes pinched closed, head buried. He'd thought to be absolutely miserable as all of this had started unfolding in front of him, but pressed into the comfort of his best friend - the person who he absolutely trusts with his health and safety and well-being - things don't seem nearly so strange or grim. ]
Christ, Dean, what the hell'd we get ourselves into this time?
[ It's shot through with air, but tinged with relief and some actual, factual emotional output. Uncommon, but not unwarranted. ]
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His chin settles on Blake's shoulder, and he's quiet for a moment to allow Blake some time to process. To bury his face, and to cope with it.
He gets it. It's a lot. Not just- not just this place, but the position he's found himself in, and the life they lead and everything. ]
I know.
[ He mutters, solemn for the first time in this encounter. ]
Space ship's one thing, but this is...
[ God, this is something else, ain't it? He breathes out a slow breath, and only at the bottom of his exhale does he pull back, gripping Blake by the upper arms and leveling him with a look. ]
We'll figure it out, huh? We always do. Besides-
[ A hand comes up to give Blake's chin a little bump with his knuckles. ]
The ink looks good, should've tatt'd you up years ago.
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He'd be lying to say it doesn't bother him, though, made obvious how he reacts by rubbing his fingers over the perfectly straight black line. The tattoo that he doesn't remember getting, signifying something he doesn't consider wholly accurate, used to single him out unless he starts living that turtleneck life (and he's honestly not about that). ]
Real badass, I know. Don't you want your own?
[ John turns to deposit the blindfold back on the table and then returns his gaze back to Winchester. It's a war between wanting to stare and feeling the absolute need to look away. He settles for a mixture, his eyes drifting around to the others gathered for a second before settling back on Dean.
He scratches at his cheek, uncertain, a tad bit nervous, feeling utterly exposed despite literally doing nothing but standing around. He has so much to say, but it feels better not to say it here. ]
Should we get outta here?
[ Not can we but should we because there is an underlying current of concern over the potential penalties either of them might face in not taking this seriously. It's an interminable stay, from what he's heard, but he's not entirely convinced that's the only deal he should be concerned about.
And without showing his entire hand, he is insanely curious to see the side of Dean Winchester that might actually discuss any of this openly, although he'd struggle to admit as much without being directly called out.
Because that would be pretty damn new for them. ]
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Hard pass.
But the thing about it is - not to be hypocritical or anything - but they kind of need to put forth at least a little perfunctory effort for this whole thing, right? ]
Not to get all 1983 on you, pal, but...
[ He starts, pressing his lips together, squaring his jaw, nodding vaguely at the eyes stationed around the room observing the participation - or lack thereof. ]
Depending on how low you want your profile, I think we gotta give it the old college try.
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Like a cornered dog, John watches the whole time in passing, head dipped into a near glare. Bad enough they're captives, but the idea of being sexually realigned for not participating does not sit well with him. Particularly because he's been labeled submissive. He wouldn't like it for anyone else, but he thinks it's fair he particularly doesn't like it for himself.
He crosses his arms, more tightly than usual, and finds he can't even look at the hunter while he talks. ]
I'm not lettin' anyone else tell me what to do.
[ Which is to say, he hates this idea, but if there's anyone he can rely on to elegantly tip-toe around, through, or right by the rules while still trying to do everything humanly possible to protect their delicate sensibilities and manly reputations, it's Dean Winchester.
(Doesn't make it any less bittersweet, but it could be much worse, right?)
This doesn't have to be humiliating, either. But it sure feels like that's a possibility, and that there would be a hell of a learning curve on a gentle, respectable, mutual approach. But then again, he's been surprised before.
He picks his head up, expression tight, eyes dark as they settle on Dean. ]
Fine. [ He's somehow unwavering. ] What now?
[ Please don't make him a table; they can do better than that. ]
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dom vs. dom showdown
there's some dark, twisted sort of humor to be found within it, a curl of red-painted lips as she raises a glass that'd been swiped with gratitude from one of the servers making their course about the numerous bodies. the ink black dress she's adorned in is no different than what usually complimented her figure, paying little mind to the newly acquainted pair that brushes past her, back toward the dimly lit hall that leads to tucked-off rooms.
she hadn't been given nearly enough champagne for this.
when gaze resolves on a broad set of shoulders, it's more out of the preying way in which he walks that catches her attention than anything else. gaze sharp, defenses tackled up, despite his attempts to make himself appear lax. she grazes the room with ease, and it's only when she's just behind him—heels enabling her to murmur up just a hint away from his ear— that a velvet-toned voice makes itself known. ) Not in the mood to participate?
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When he turns, the wariness she detected is all but glaringly obvious, even if he does his best to hide it behind a mask of nonchalance. One thing he doesn't bother trying to hide is a roaming gaze over her figure, from her hair to her heels and back again in a slow and thorough assessment.
His Danger Alarm goes off like a god damn radio beacon, call it a finely honed instinct for trouble. ]
I'm picky.
[ Is his flat answer. He can't tell what her angle is - not submissive, obviously, from the lack of line down her petite and flawless throat. Whether she's new like the rest of them or she's in charge, whether she's a socialite from Dom Town or a volunteer or a government official - hard to say, but either way he's playing his cards close to the chest.
He aims to shift the spotlight back to her, and fires a question back with a highly arched eyebrow. ]
What about you? One of these tables match your night stand?
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not that such a thing is placed under much concern, here.
i'm picky. it's enough to cause red lips to curl back and reveal a grin, hardly menacing as much as it was a catch of genuine mirth. she knows the officials that loom about the room wouldn't take well to a set of dominants mingling together more than they were granting their attention to the pool of submissives before them. guess she's picky, too. the cynical humor that finds his tongue is, however, enough to keep her allured in place. for now.
sights shift as she takes a single stride to be stood beside him, only the movement of her mouth indicative that she were conversing with him at all. )
Not exactly my taste. ( a slight tip of her head to the side, pursing her lips as another male drops to his knees in the centre of the room. )
I prefer something a bit more bold.
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She smiles genuinely, but all Dean sees is red lipstick and canine teeth. They're human, though, as far as he can tell from just a first glance. It's a habit. Five years ago he'd be all over her, he'd be concerned with the curve of her hips rather than the curve of her smile, but who he was and who he is are two very different people.
He used to be approachable. Most of the time now he's just an asshole, on the first impression at least. Too wary, too gruff, too suspicious. Too unempathetic after a recent stint in purgatory that took a serious hit to his people skills.
Despite that, he still huffs out an incredulous sounding chuckle. ]
More bold? [ He asks, to the tune of really? There are grown men kneeling on the ground with ashtrays on their backs, there are women in lingerie and blindfolds acting like lamp holders in a crowd of people. ] Man, you would hate Ikea.
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isabelle knows the difference between a man admiring the pout of her lips and what was simply a sharp observance, as a hunter herself she'd one too many times played the part of a lure, a healthy distraction for whom they were up against, targeting. and more times than not, it worked. so it comes with the territory, learning another outside and in before they get the chance to learn you. scavenging for an advantage in a place like this was wise, even if she's able to detect the absence of a black-ink line to part his throat.
a click of her tongue. ) If easy is what you like, I assume it's fortunate you chose the right door.
( because it's only a fact, something easily observable; dominants held the upper reign, the ability to make decisions, to be picky. it's not a matter of insulting those that have given in to avoid repercussions, but she can't imagine she would have so soon. sights travel up a sharp, stubble-ridden jaw, raising her brows thoughtfully. she supposes it isn't wrong for him to enjoy the show, men and women to his preference kneeling before him, but to her it's a cheap submission. it's not for her. it's for the eyes scattered about the room. )
What's the fun without a little fight in them, hermoso?
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with no way out and no mission, castiel could see no option other than assimilation. for now.
there was never the time to experience sex, though dean did try. it wasn’t his fault that the girl had hated her father so intensely and had been upset with castiel for mentioning it. he would try not to make that mistake again. this was unusual. they wanted him to be a table. or other furniture. it didn’t make any sense but he allowed them to take him to a private room and prepare him. in only boxers, he was arranged over a soft stool, arms balanced beside him. the door opens and his dominant comes in. ]
Hello, Dean.
[ he’s a chair, dean. a chair. ]
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At least there's that.
He pairs off with Cas, tries and fails to wrap his head around the timeline discrepancy and opts to table it for now (haha), and they settle into a sort of semi-comfortable dynamic. Except now they've got to, you know, practice or whatever, and whatever he was expecting to walk into sure as shit wasn't this.
He was thinking maybe, you know, like some eyes downcast footstool shit, maybe watch a little Sports Center while Cas bitches at his feet about how he's an angel of the lord and blah blah whatever, right? Nope, what he walks into is a stripped down boxer-clad pale-skinned fake-chair and a hello Dean like this isn't the weirdest god damn thing he's ever seen (and he's seen a lot).
And so the first thing Winchester does when he enters the room is go: ]
Nope.
[ And walk right back out again, shutting the door behind him.
About ten seconds pass where he stands outside, one hand on the doorknob and one pressing into the corner of his eyes, just sighing. He addresses the ceiling with a rather put-upon: ]
Really?
[ And then he walks back in, clicking the door shut behind him, squared up and drawn back and wary. At least he's not the chair, right? ]
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the ability to pick a partner was accommodating.
they don't go into a deep discussion about their mismatched timelines and establish an easy and somewhat light-hearted mood. that is shattered the moment dean walks in. sees him. walks right out. his head tips to the side, confused. they'd agreed to try this out. castiel is under no misconceptions that he has much to offer in the way of experience or that he looks anything close to the women in that den of iniquity. he is, however, following the instruction given him to the best of his ability.
the door opens. ]
If I am doing it wrong, Dean, I can do something else.
[ they explained that the act wasn't strictly sexual. there was a power dynamic at play and he was willing to try it out. but he had to be just as accommodating for this to work, right? ]
A table.
[ a bed? he could be a bed. would dean just lay on top of him? ]
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Shushshhhzhhh-
[ Is the immediate response Cas gets to his offer to change it up, accompanied by a wild flailing of his hands and a vague push of the air with his arms. Almost looks like he's trying to fan away the smell of bullshit from the room, because this is so far from anything he ever pictured having to do with Castiel, Warrior of God.
Brothels aside, this is- a whole lot more hands on than he really bargained for. ]
Let me think, god damn it.
[ Chair, chair, chair- chair.
He's just a chair. Being a chair. Chairs are made of wood- nope, stop right there, Spice Girl. We are not going down that train of thought. He traces his mouth with his fingers, opens it, drags the pad of his index finger and his thumb down the corners. ]
Okay, so I just- what- I sit on you until-
[ Oh, Jesus Christ. Another flail. ]
No, shut up, don't tell me, I'm supposed to be the one in charge.
[ He can do this, he can do this, he's the little engine that could. Ugh, why is this the real life. ]
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Yes, Dean. You just sit on me.
[ no, he didn't understand either. castiel was almost certain that he was doing this all wrong. but he does shut up. dean was in charge. he was the one who was going to decide how everything went. which he could, possibly, allow to happen. he was learning what this meant to him as they went along and the woman giving the demonstration had mentioned was fine.
so he shut up. let dean think it over. but the longer they didn't say anything, the more he wanted to fidget.
it was not his fault that his mind began to wonder far, far away. power dynamics. intimacy. sex. power dynamics with dean winchester. intimacy with dean winchester. sex with dean winchester. dean winchester was a good looking man. well sculpted features. was it his mouth that was the most attractive, hypothetically and completely from an unattached observant's perspective, or was it the color of his eyes? he's seen both up close. closer than dean usually prefers but he's trying to get the hang of 'personal space'.
he clears his throat. ]
We don't have to do this.
[ he would find someone else, if he had to. but did he want to? that was a question best left unanswered for now. ]
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Secretly, admittedly, he might be vividly imagining the look John Winchester would give him- not even what he'd say, because he wouldn't say a damn thing, but he'd give Dean this judgemental ass look- He shakes his head to clear it, sets his jaw. Couple decades of unresolved issues with that whole thing actually do more to push him over the edge in favor of trying this, so here they are. ]
Nope- [ He declares again, waving away the offer, pursing his lips, shit together. ] Nope, we're good. I'm good. I got this.
[ He strides over, slow bow-legged steps until he's about a foot away, and then falters again. Holds up a hand in warning. ]
This never leaves the room.
[ Stern, an order. The only way he's gonna be able to do this is if nobody ever finds out and they don't have to talk about it out in the real world over god damn milkshakes.
Cas sits there stiffly and unfalteringly, knees bent, perfect ninety degrees. Thighs exactly parallel to the floor, arms bracketing the space he's meant to occupy and... Fucking lord, have they ever been that close before outside of the occasional hug? He can't remember. Okay. Here goes nothing
Just play it cool, hombre. He sits. Settles back hoping like hell he doesn't feel an angelic dick way too close to places he doesn't want to think about, shifts back until his shoulders press into Castiel's chest, until Cas's face is somewhere just beside his right ear. Close, close close, so fucking close that his skin prickles uncomfortably and the hair on the back of his neck sticks up. Chest feels tight. Warm, human-ish, soft flesh but firm body, and... yep, this is definitely exactly what he imagined it would feel like to sit on another man's lap.
There's a little lump in his throat that he tries to swallow, to speak around, not quite hitting the humor-mark when he rattles off: ]
Can I get a pony, a Nintendo, maybe one of those over-sized candy-canes to sharpen into a shiv to slit my wrists with?
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castiel doesn't know how that is supposed to make him feel. he could understand why dean would say that and a normal reaction might be to take it offensively. be embarrassed by what they were doing. ashamed. but he doesn't feel any of that. angels never viewed homosexuality the same way as humans have. not all, anyway. for castiel it's an order from a dominant to a submissive. further, friend to friend. dean didn't want anyone to know and castiel wouldn't tell them.
he doesn't move. back straight and arms stiff, though the urge to wrap them around dean is stronger than it should be. should he? no. he wasn't given permission. ]
Dean. [ his voice is low and deep and right by the hunter's ear. ] I'm not Saint Nikolaus.
[ santa clause. father christmas. pelznickel. he did understand that reference and is a little proud of the fact. though his dominant lost him somewhere between candy canes and shivs.. suicide wasn't a joking matter, dean. ]
Now what?
[ were they really supposed to sit there? what was he going to feel? a bodily reaction. a physical response to the stimuli of having a warm body balanced on his thighs. an emotional response. castiel was struggling to make the connection that the people in this city seem to already have. if it was about power and control, what would he get out of it. he'd agreed to try and he is trying.
there's a low hum, a gentle buzz in the back of his gut. forming slowly and coming from every part of his body that was touching a part of dean's. ]
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You don't say.
[ Is his flat answer, voice lowering subconsciously to match Cas's, but it lacks conviction. Too busy trying to mentally catalog every aspect of this without losing his nerve.
The physical, first and foremost:
-Breath against his ear, vibrations rumbling through Cas's chest when he talks.
-Knees digging into the back of his. Not so pleasant. He adjusts, shifts his left and right leg out in either direction respectively and draws his heels back until they don't quite hit the floor anymore, the inside of his calves meet the outside of Cas's. A little taller, so it works. Better, although he can't support his own weight anymore. Cas gets the full effect of him settling comfortably down and back, hips to hips.
-Shoulders relaxing a little so his right shoulder ducks beneath Cas's chin. Puts them almost cheek to cheek, but at least it's comfortable.
-What do I do with my hands. He settles for tentatively crossing his arms over his chest, just because if he puts them anywhere else it'll be on Cas's body which is Too Much right now.
The mental, second:
-Uncomfortable with intimacy, but that's just a given. Sex is easy, intimacy is hard. He usually doesn't stick around the next day, and he doesn't usually know the person from Eve beforehand. He's had a grand total of three women he felt emotionally connected to, and branching out further for it to be a dude?
-But it's Cas, who he trusts, and who is trying to adapt, and who he has... really internalized... things about that he doesn't talk about or examine too closely.
-Does something like this make you gay? No, that's stupid. Of course it doesn't. He's been on the internet. Something about sliding scales and fluidity and all that hocus pocus crap.
-Is he turned on by this? Well, not so much, but it's Something. These sure are emotions, but of what kind? He hasn't gotten that far yet, he's emotionally constipated, that comes on a little more slowly than the physical part.
A beat passes after the question, murmured so closely he can practically feel lips move against his cheek.
Does his best not to project any of this internalized conflict which - does that defeat the purpose? What is the purpose? ]
Hell, I don't know, feeling dominated yet?
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he does something similar to what dean's doing now, cataloging, but it's to find the source of that gentle and unfamiliar buzz.
dean's thighs are heavy. his entire body is heavy. but the comfortable kind of weight that left cas more confused than before. chest to back, hip to hip, his arms bracketing dean's sides. physically, it was enjoyable. maybe it shouldn't be. it was. castiel isn't supposed to move but he does, his cheek presses to dean's. the gesture shouldn't have been as intimate as it was; for cas it was as good as telling dean that he was there and was giving him support no matter what. ]
No.
[ he didn't feel dominated. dean wasn't dominating him. he was sitting on him. he was feeling something but it definitely wasn't domination. ]
I'm doing it wrong, Dean.
[ he'd take the fall for this. cas' eyes close, tense and frustrated, presses a little closer. his whole body shifts on its own. a light, ruffling movement that has him less a chair and more a sloth clinging from behind. ] Maybe we should find an instruction manual.
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