open post | 4 | kink

[meerkats]

O P E N   S M U T   P O S T

◉ Drop a comment with one or more of your muses.
◉ Give me a prompt
◉ you can specify any of my muses whom you might like to play with, or I can pick. 
◉ Everything goes, even the retired ones, but I can't guarantee good tags from them. 
◉ sex!

Comments

Renlyyyy.

[dragonpout]

( Arthur fiddles with the stiff false collar of his uniform shirt. Sometimes he sorely wishes that Eton would get with the times already: there's no need to drag themselves back and forth between classes dressed as though they're heading to the Met Gala, and he resents the fact that he's expected to wear his morning coat as temperatures push toward the mid twenties. Being first in line to the throne of England means he can't get away with as much as his fellow students; prim and proper, all the time, lest he suffer the wrath of Uther Pendragon. Duty first. The Prince of Wales can't be seen slouching and slovenly in front of his peers, after all.

At the back of the library, however, Arthur is quietly alone. He doesn't often get much time to himself: the children of influential men and women spend a good deal of their time trying to curry favour with Arthur, and he already has something of an 'inner circle' built up around him. Truth be told he's not entirely opposed to it all; whether they've been instructed by their parents or not, his friends seem to genuinely enjoy his company. There's a certain competitive spirit that his present seems to bring out in people - it's friendly and jovial for the most part, and Arthur likes to partake of the strutting and crowing as much as the rest of them.

Renly Baratheon is a little different. Another royal - what a good year for Eton - who has somehow managed to worm his way into Arthur's good graces, despite the fact that he's in many ways the opposite of what Arthur's been brought up to be. He always seems amused by something; his lips are always on the verge of smiling; and it took the Pendragon heir some time to let it do anything other than annoy him.

Arthur jiggles his foot impatiently. Now, in the hush of the library, he's not just tolerating him, he's looking forward to seeing him. )

Erik! That orgasm denial thing we talked about ;)

[betterpath]

[magneten]

( remind me what we talked about exactly? Who was denying whom? )

[betterpath]

(Oh hello! Charles was being denied :) It was your idea, something on plurk about what Erik wanted to do to Charles, and you mentioned drawn out orgasm denial and probably like... bondage or something xD I'm glad we get to do this thread :) )

YOU KNOW WHAT

[nascensibility]

THOUGHT YOU SAW THE LAST OF ME DIDJA

[avoirfaim]

[ Fear is essential, in these sorts of situations. When all hell breaks lose among a community, no matter how large or how small, leaders must step forward. Leaders who can speak, who can compel, leaders who can assure the confused that there is something to believe. Simply done for him, in the circumstances. Better the devil who keeps you safe than the one who sends you scurrying through the wilderness like a prey beast. He was a man with resolve who stood his ground, who knew how to organize and didn't fear what chaos Wonderland had wrought. No fear of his own, but theirs? Theirs made them blind followers. He is, for the most part, content with his lay of the land.

And for his discontentment with the one person he would rather be here than scurrying about in the woods, he reminds himself that his claws are in Evelyn, and that must sting.

She's a beautiful woman with a steady hand. He watches her face unblinking as she runs the sharp blade across the line of his jaw. His hands sit unimposing against her hips as she does so, and his ego does remain stroked. ]

G A S P !!!!!!!

[nascensibility]

[Fear is essential but she has lost the ability to feel it, each day constructed around something resembling careful monotony, a structure, a routine. This sort of schedule gives the work they do meaning, and while the new authority of this world is of a variety she would normally consider with hesitation - historically, societies of this nature are unsafe, historically Evelyn knows better but history has no place here - they do not have the luxury of luxury.

Everything is harder.]

Beards do not suit you.

[She remarks with some small trace of amusement, raising an eyebrow as she lifts his chin with one finger. The edge of the razor at his throat, she curls the blade over his vulnerability and jaw alike, wiping the cream clean from metal on the towel draped over his shoulder. One hip cants into his touch and she exhales through her nose, contemplating. Even in the wake of civilisation's collapse she finds some cosmetic decency apropos.]

Merlin pls.

[mannersmaketh]

one - two - three - four - it's all dirty, i'm not sorry

Never be sorry for dirty, dirty smut.

[hornrimming]

[ There are Kingsman buildings scattered across the Europe. Two in and around London, one in Leeds, another outside Glasgow, one or two outside of the United Kingdom. They exist as pockets; the more staff a secret organization has, the less secret it gets. The less staff they have, the less effective. Gawain can work out of Leeds if he likes, Morgana can run a branch of R&D out of Berlin, but only the home base has their wizard. Harry's preferred office may be the one he's made himself, tiled with tabloid papers to remind him of the invisibility of his footprint, but Merlin's home office is only a convenience. His large office in the manor, lined with screens and decorated with the appropriate furnishings for a man constantly at work by his own design, is his sanctuary. There's an elegant routine to getting up each day, grabbing a cup of coffee and sipping it on the short ride out of the city.

That office was his playground, and it had been a long fucking time since he'd seen anyone wanking in his fucking chair.

No one dared of course, except Harry. Anyone else would have been reamed out at best, let go at worst, but Harry had made an occasional habit of it to rile him up when they were younger men. Now, well, neither of them could really claim to have the energy in them to be that sexually active all the time, especially when they bloody well lived together.

Eggsy even looks like Harry did then, sitting with his legs splayed in his godddamn chair, palming himself through his jeans (a concession Merlin doesn't mind on physical training days, though Harry would have a conniption).

His hand tightens around the handle of his coffee mug so he doesn't drop it; His clipboard nearly does. ]

What do you think you're doing, Galahad?

[atmosphered]

in roxy should not interrupt merlin's beauty rest?
one// two // three

or
roxy drags merlin to bed.
one // two // three// four

[hornrimming]

[ It takes a very particular type of woman to pique Merlin's interests. A woman with confidence and the marksmanship to back it up. A woman who knows her weaknesses and works to better herself by them, rather than use them as a crutch. A professional, with a petite frame meant for a sharp jacket.

To be fair, a great deal of women of that description exist, and very few of them he's ever actually been attracted to. None of those women are Roxy Morton. She fits his very specific physical and mental type to a tee, but everyone's types have a time and a place, and a professional environment was neither of those things. There were too many reasons not to pursue it--reasons all summarily dismissed by one Harry Hart. The man was a terror, bringing up the obvious fact that their relationship was open on both ends (not just one) for this exact purpose, and that their own relationship was a severe dismissal of professional protocol.

It wasn't exactly hard to convince Merlin to dismiss a level of professional ethics, once you've known the man intimately for twenty years.

Two months now of the occasional (and most importantly when convenient) lovely dinner date and a private show, and he most definitely had not given her a key to his home. Funny, then, that she was standing in between his foyer and sitting room when he arrived home that morning after a rather long overnight assignment.

Some people would find that a breach of their privacy. He simply finds it interesting. ]

Well this is a surprise, good morning Roxy. Did you want to take off your coat?

numero due

[hornrimming]

[ Upon first glance, Roxy Morton and Eggsy Unwin are wildly different people. Eggsy is wild, anarchic in his approach to authority, with a submissive streak that, when poked and prodded the proper way, put him on his knees with his head down in an instant (metaphorically and, if Harry has been telling him the truth, physically as well). In contrast to Eggsy's anarchy, Roxy is nearer to authoritarian. She is hard lines and strict focus, with her own manipulative power play being aggressively structured. It's fitting, then, that Harry went for Eggsy and Merlin for Roxy. Their seconds provide, in their own way, what their primary cannot.

Yet, to assume that Roxy and Eggsy were polar opposites would be a mistake; they are best friends after all, and best friends are nothing if not similar in intention. In this case, their need for attention on their terms. Specifically, waking Merlin up by demanding physical attention at six in the goddamn morning on a Sunday.

He wakes with the frustrated groan of someone in need of a good rest from the back of his throat, shifting his hips just slightly. ]

Alright, I'm up, what time is it?

[ He doesn't wait for an answer, glancing over at his clock--and groans again with his thumb and forefinger at his eyes. ]

[miscreantics]

[ It's a common mistake to think that the larger one in a fight, the stronger one, is the better bet. The god of war Ares may be, but war would be nothing at all without it's tricks, it's liaisons, it's runners hopping from point to point. It was easy enough to rile Ares up, to poke at his pride into challenging his slimmer, trimmer, more petite brother to some impossible task. The challenge even sounded like something that Ares would win, wrestling, and Hermes followed along, as if he had a chance.

Someone with a sharper mind that Ares would have caught on quick enough that Hermes makes his choices well, and never makes a bet that he can't possibly win.

Oiling up and stripping down, making a show of stretching was all pomp for Ares' sake. Ares was all strength and fight, but once Hermes was on the ground he saw his opening. He feigned weakness enough to slip his oiled body out of the hold and hook his leg up behind his brother's. He was out in an instant, arms locked around Ares' neck and his weight pressed forward. Even down a weight class he could hold Ares there with his weight solid on the ground and a leg well placed to disturb Ares' balance.

He pushed harder against Ares' neck, a cheeky grin in his voice. ]

What were you saying?

for prettywoman

[hornrimming]

"So do you want me to crawl then?"

This conversation was bound to happen. Merlin knew that it was just as well as he knew that sleeping with Eggsy, while perhaps not the best idea, was something he fully wanted after the year they had. A year was a long time to be living together without fucking, all things considered, but he was rarely home for more than a handful of hours to get some shuteye, and Eggsy had proven himself an excellent spy by moving himself into Merlin's home without permission or suspicion until he became a bit of a fixture. A younger Merlin had balked at the idea of blurring the lines between professional and personal with any sort of intimacy, but an older man knows better. He knows that sometimes, in their line of work, physical connection with the only people in the world who can know you fully is a necessary release; For the two of them, who had lost the same person so suddenly from their lives, perhaps even more so. The thing about sex though, particularly when an age disparity was involved, was that communication was simultaneously essential and incredibly difficult to initiate. And communication when your interests broached on the side of scandalous? Even more essential, and even more difficult.

Merlin may have never brought it up, if he were honest. He was fine not taking advantage of that side of his life if it didn't suit whomever his partner was at the time. He didn't keep partners for long after all, not with his work; none other than Harry, a complicated situation to say the very least. He couldn't say how long they would keep at it, just as he couldn't say when Eggsy would decide that his wounds had finally healed properly and he could once again live with his mother or on his own. Perhaps he's grown fond of having Eggsy around, fond enough to want to keep this going, but he knows better. He's fifty-one years old, and the younger his partners got, the easier it was to rationalize that everything done was temporary. A temporary, potentially fleeting intimacy or not, Merlin was still glad that Eggsy had observed as keenly as he had. He found the whole thing rather endearing.

Less glad, though, and less endearing just how he had broached the topic.

When Eggsy asked Merlin if he wanted him to crawl, he'd asked if Eggsy wanted to crawl. A fair start, with a less than satisfying answer. A curiosity turned into a subtitled display of Eggsy's misconceptions, and Merlin sighed and excused himself to put on the kettle. He returned with two hot mugs of tea, and sat opposite the young man.

Yes, a proper talk would be necessary.

"What is it exactly that you think I want, Eggsy?"

bill

[stauncherhearted]

What Bill wants, Bill gets, because it keeps him happy and a happy Bill is perhaps the greatest thing in the world. Nancy can't say anything about his porn, that's the way it goes. He'd found her vibrator once, and that had been an awful row. So she knew better than to say anything when she found his. Nor would she say anything when he started up the dvd. No, instead Nancy brought him a glass of whiskey and crawled right up on his lap, just the way she knew he would want. If he pushed her off, fine. But she doubted it, with the whiskey in her hand.

She leans against him, an arm around his shoulder. He's more than welcome to lay his head on her chest.

It's more than she just wants to give him affection- it's that she wants it, too. She wants to remind him she loves him, wants to be near him. She longed for his attention in any way, and being able to place herself seamlessly into something like this was a damn good way to get it. Especially as she got something out of it as well.

So she says nothing, just has her lips near his neck, pretending to watch porn.

[noonementions]

There's very little in this world that Bill is willing to pay for if he can steal it. Porn came easily to his possession. The first easy haul of a young thief, composed of porn, liquor and cigarettes, in order to get what you want because you can't have it by legal means. That had been a long time ago now; he's old enough to remember when that shit was all on VHS and hidden behind screens in rental shops. Easy fucking pickings.

The DVD's new, something he took off of someone without thinking, someone who rubbed him the wrong way and didn't deserve to keep the bag in his hand nor the front teeth in his mouth. It doesn't matter the contents of the thing, the rough trade standard crap that he could get off to easily. It sat on the kitchen table with the rest of the contents of the bag while Nancy told him all about her day, and the idea came to him.

So there they were, hitting play on the crap porn DVD he'd ended up with today with Nancy on his lap. His large hand holds onto his hips possessively, a finger wrapping in the base of her shirt like it was something delicate; a gorilla holding cheap porcelain. His cock is already stirring in his jeans as the scene is set, but not because of some bimbo bent over a sink. He don't like being watched, but watching together's something else entirely.

A weaker man might ask if she's comfortable. He merely glances at her and huffs through his nose, before his attention returns to the screen.

for getweird

[howyoupunch]

[ It had been one thing hunched over in the lab, Scott tinkering away at the mechanical end of the project while Hope's eyes focused through the lens of a microscope. Checking Hank's equations on paper and then checking them again, running them through a simulator, testing the particle manipulation process on inanimate objects and then a rat and then something bigger, a rabbit. That had all been exciting, but this? Standing out here in the empty Stanford University football field in the dead of night? This was real. The first human trial was always stressful, and the fact that said human trial was on Scott himself wasn't helping.

Who else could it be though? Her? She'd suggested it, but Scott insisted.

The football field had been her idea. They wouldn't know how much control over he has on his size if it even worked at all, and it wouldn't do for him to potentially destroy Hank's house. Going on one date with a tenured Stanford professor years ago was still reaping it's rewards; No one was going to be bothering them tonight. ]

Okay, exactly like we did with the rabbit, just internalized. Don't aim to get too big, we don't know how much your body can handle.

[ She pauses, arms crossed over her chest as she considers the possibilities. ]

You can still back out, I can do it.

[getweird]

[There was no way he'd have let Hope test this out on herself. Hank would have killed him if he'd found out, but more than that, if someone was going to explode or get torn in half in a wacky science experiment gone wrong, it was going to be him.

They did all the math, tested all the equipment, now all that was left was to slip the suit on and hit that button. The football field made sense, nighttime even more. It was big enough that they'd have the space they needed, and dark enough that they wouldn't attract much attention, if any.]

Yeah, yeah. I know. Focus, keep my head in the game, think happy thoughts.

[Scott makes a few more adjustments to the suit, takes a step back from her. A few more adjustments, the helmet, the belt, everything's in place. Then he looks up.]

Promise me one thing. If I die today, you can't date anyone better looking than me. [He sighs, shaking his head.] What am I saying, there's nobody better looking than me.

[He's not nervous, Scott's usually pretty relaxed, but he's excited and he doesn't want Hope to get hurt if something goes wrong, which is a lot to feel all at once. He offers her a small smile.]

Don't get too close.

for prettywoman

[hornrimming]

[ The title of Merlin has gone to Highland Witches for as long as Kingsman has existed, as tradition would dictate. Not a man of war or a man of honor in combat but a man of magic, the origins of espionage stretching back millennium. His predecessor was a witch and the one before him as well, but they had not all been quite as hands-on as him. Time not spent as a watcher and a teacher was spent working; experimenting with technology that he could add his own personal boost to, mixing potions to create toxins that could kill a man in seconds. They are his pet projects so to speak, his designs and creations in the lab for the Knights to use, and sometimes he just can't help himself.

The problem with not being able to help himself is that sometimes mistakes happen. Mistakes that he saw coming, but decided that he could circumvent in one way or another.

This time, the concoction in question was supposed to, if balanced properly, erase certain degrees of memory based on how much was consumed. A few drops for a few hours, a whole vial for a lifetime. What it wasn't supposed to do, was explode in a cloud of purple smoke when combined with an electrical pulse.

His magic came on instinct, of course. It shielded him from shattered glass and kept him from inhaling the gas. When it cleared though, he felt odd. Odd enough to check his reflection, and what he saw had him cursing. ]

Jesus Christ.

[ Not a minute later, a text message was sent to his young and relatively new boyfriend, before returning his attention to more pressing matters: namely, fixing this. ]

I'm afraid I won't be able to make dinner tonight, love. An experiment's gone tits up and I'm going to need to fix this before I can leave the building.

[prettywoman]

[Mission reports are probably the bane of Eggsy's existence. He had asked, once — when he had finally gotten used to the idea that magic was a real thing, and no, it wasn't like Harry Potter, and no, he couldn't learn it if he just tried really hard — why Merlin couldn't just magic their glasses to spit out reports or something so that he wouldn't have to waste his time writing them up, but all he'd got for that brilliant suggestion was a condescending look and some equally condescending bullshit about how writing reports builds character or something. He'd tuned him out by that point, since it was obvious he wasn't getting his way.

What all this comes down to is this: Eggsy still holed up in his office, forcing himself to go through the reams of paperwork he has to fill out after every mission, his plans of going home early and having a quiet night in with takeaway and a movie on his boyfriend's couch quickly going down the drain.

When he's just getting in the swing of things, his phone chimes with a text.

He's already smiling when he sees it's from Merlin, but that smile falters somewhat quickly when he reads the message. It doesn't seem urgent, Merlin doesn't say anything about going to medical or anything like that, but Eggsy doesn't like the sound of one of Merlin's experiments going "tits up." He knows how much he deals with explosives and the like, and that sounds ominous.

Well, he could use a break.

Pocketing his phone, he pushes away from his desk and stretches, twisting until his back pops satisfyingly before heading out the door and down towards Merlin's "lair." He has a code to let himself in even when the door is locked, which is why he doesn't even bother knocking before he pushes the door open, already talking even before he enters.]

You can't just say stuff like that and expect me not to come inve— [He stops mid-word when he realizes Merlin's not here. There's some new guy or other standing in front of his boyfriend's station, but his back is to Eggsy so he can't tell who he is. He's tall, though, and slim, with a shock of dark hair. Eggsy's pretty sure he's never seen him before.] Oh, sorry mate, I thought Merlin would be in here. You know where he is?

reunion, post-movie.

[temporarily]

[blends]

[ Modesty has never been Eames' strong suit; Modesty is a trait for those who either want their egos strokes or need it, or those who strive towards humility. He's none of the above, confident and comfortable in his abilities when he has them and on-edge when those abilities are put to the test. Confident, but wary. Two traits that have kept him a free man.

They had done the job well--very well, all things considered, and any complications had not been his doing. He could stay state-side for a little while but he hadn't intended on it when Saito commandeered them their plane. In and out, with plenty of time between him and the CIA. It wasn't likely that his fake passport would flag him up, not with all that he'd changed about his appearance over the years and the work he put into the thing, but he wasn't planning on taking any chances. Confident and wary, and free.

Three traits he and Arthur shared. Three of many, but never enough when it came down to it. It was ironic, then, that no one had ever made him feel more trapped, that no one but Arthur could have him reconsidering his own wariness. For the moment at least. A year and some change since they called it quits (he's sure that Arthur has the exact date knocking around in his skull), a few months short of that since the last time they worked together with questionable results. The time and distance between them cooled their tempers at the very least. The brunt of Arthur's frustration with him had softened along with his own bitterness. It had almost been fun aside from varying levels of annoyance from his particularly controlling ex--until the game had changed, the stakes had gone up, and the gloves came off.

He had intended to spend one night in his hotel room and then be off in the morning, confident, wary and free. He hadn't considered that he would wait for Arthur to collect his bag, leave his own in his room before knocking on Arthur's door, until he woke from the dream and saw that everyone was alright, that Arthur was alright.

Well, at least his confidence was maintained. ]

stockings, panties, bondage.

[temporarily]

[blends]

[ Once upon a time, sitting in a circle of plastic chairs in a heavily guarded military facility, a man who no longer exists asked whether anyone had considered manipulating the fabric of the dream so that the players themselves are perceived differently to the subject. They hadn't thought it possible, but then again none of them had gone to theatre school, and that man who no longer exists was willing to give it a shot. The suggestion had lead him to learn and understand the way his own body moved, the way his muscles and bones sat under his skin on a particularly intimate level. He came to understand his own concept of body, and the next logical step was to slip on a pair of high heels and see how far he could shift his skin, just to see if he could.

That was a lifetime ago now, and Mr. Eames knows his way around pair of heels so well that he knows exactly how his hips should move in the dream for the facade to never slip, for the dreamer to never realize that something is wrong. His own fluidity helps in leaps and bounds, and he enjoys the odd foray into his own femininity, in spite of the bulk he'd put on over the years. The garter belt and the louboutins in his size live in Arthur's Parisian apartment; They're too rich a luxury for Mumbai or Lagos where he keeps his own property. He slid them on and stockings in his size to go with it, with panties and a boutique-made cincher stopping just below his ribcage. It's not for Arthur, though his on-again-off-again partner (for lack of a more fitting term) has been considered. It's all for himself, a spur of the moment decision to put his forged handwriting practice to the side for the moment in favor of treating himself to something nice.

By the time Arthur get back, Eames' face is clean shaven, testing a new lipstick in the bathroom mirror with his weight heavy on Louboutin heels. He doesn't call out a greeting when he hears the door open, focused almost entirely on himself. ]