🌸FALL CATCHALL🌸

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🌸WHO: Otegine and many others
🌸WHAT: Closed prompts for Autumn including the date auction cruise
🌸WHEN: From Fall 1 through the end of the month
🌸WHERE: Various
🌸WARNINGS: some NSFW (labelled)

Hit up plotting or my contacts if you would like a closed starter! Open prompts including most bonus effects will be on the event posts!

Comments

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Who says you'd be any fun if you got all timid on me? It's like you're offending my taste.

[He lets Owen take the lead easily, a slow saunter after him with his hands in his pockets, eyes glued on his retreating form.]

Left side, Owen.

[Said only when the wizard's somewhat close to the door. Otegine's already scoped it out in advance. Might as well, to see what tools he would have at his disposal.]

[sicklysweet]

You should count yourself lucky, then. You'd be hard pressed to find anyone more fun then me.

[He doesn't have a timid bone in his body, unless you count that other version of himself he doesn't want to talk about.

He turns to the left, not acknowledging the directions. He stops at the door that matches their key, double checking before opening the door. The hot springs aren't somewhere he's gone often, so he's not sure what's going to be waiting for him inside - but he also doesn't really care. He's just here to have sexy, and he's not picky about what surface it's on.

The room gets a brief onceover as the wizard tosses the keys onto whatever's closest, already starting to undo his tie.]

You only booked one night, right?

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[It's nothing crazy inside, a standard hotel affair with some side items like robes and special towels set aside, presumably for the springs themselves.

The brunette breathes out another humored sound as he slips through the entryway, a smooth push to close, to latch, to lock.]

Mmn. Will you be so unsatiated that I'll need you for longer?

[His belt comes first, the sharp sound of leather whipping away from his waist as he tosses the item to the foot of the bed. He'll need that for later. For now, he simply advances on Owen, hat grabbed by the rim and tossed unceremoniously to the floor while his other hand reaches back to Owen's hair, grabbing a fistful and yanking his head back.

Mm. He really is a beautiful man. What a shame about the sour disposition.]

...

What should I do, then, if you decide to run away on me?

[sicklysweet]

[Owen is very much looking forward to actually seeing if he's bitten off more then he can chew.]

That depends on you, doesn't it? How many of my desires will you actually be able to satisfy?

[The treatment of Owen's hat gets more annoyance then the treatment of himself, his grumble cut off as his head gets pulled back. His eyes narrow, but only for a brief moment.]

You'll just have to chain me up or convince me I don't want to run. I won't kneel without good reason to.

[He bites off one of his gloves, before placing his hand on Otegine's wrist. He tugs, trying to see if he'll be willing to let his hair go. How much is he willing to let Owen do? He'll test the waters until he gets a reaction, but he's curious how much control Otegine will demand.]

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Given how you looked in the plaza, I'd say that will be the least of your problems.

[He meets the glare with a smile that eases, free hand dragging to the front of Owen's jacket and forcing the buttons free, opening up to the fine lines of his shirt.

The grip against his hair doesn't relax - Owen tugs, and Otegine tugs back even tighter in response, tilting his chin up to the air as he leans overtop of him.]

Besides... who said I want you to kneel?

[His mouth lowers, opens, dragging his tongue from the firmness of his Adam's apple up his neck, flicking at the cusp of his throat agains his chin, before leaning in to press their lips together - hot, hungry and hardly sweet, with a swiping at Owen's lips that demands for entry. His free hand pushes, past the line of fine buttons and belt loops and seams, finding the starts of Owen's swelling cock under fabric and gripping it with a shallow, pulsing pace of his wrist, slow and easy.

He won't let Owen up for air until the hand at his crotch has set up a careful, steady rhythm.]

Watching you crumble would be far more fun.