MISTLEGLOW: a kissing meme

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mistleglow: a kissing meme

Some residents may remember that back in September, a love-drunk and confusion-spell-addled newlywed mage from Gramarye Magic Research let loose some pretty little fairy lights that trapped people in the city in little invisible bubbles until they kissed (and any kind of kiss would do). Well, the same slightly-less-newlywed but no less romantically-inclined mage happens to really, really enjoy the winter season, and thinks it's totally romantic. That particular sentiment is pretty common in the Quarantine - while Hygge is the celebration of familial love, the residents of the Quarantine all agree that that family often includes partners and lovers. Besides that, the folklore of mistletoe as being representative of love and friendship is something that the Quarantine has in common with the universes many residents inhabit.

So, as the last week and a half of December rolls around, residents around the Quarantine will see the result of the resident romantic trying to share a bit of Hygge love - small, glowing sprigs of mistletoe will be floating around the Quarantine, ready to trap people up and make them share a bit of affection.

how it works

● Two or more characters walking under one of these glowing, floating sprigs will get stuck for one hour, trapped inside an invisible enclosure with an approximate three foot radius. The only options are to either wait out the hour, or to kiss! Characters will know they're meant to kiss, because part of the magic spell is the sudden and intense knowledge that they should kiss in order to break free. There is no compulsion to kiss, just the knowledge that that's how to get free. This time, instead of any kind of kiss working, there will be different types of kisses that will work to release the trapped residents depending on the color of mistleglow:

RED: MOUTH ● ORANGE: NECK ● YELLOW: CHEEK
GREEN: FOREHEAD ● BLUE: HAND ● VIOLET: BUTTERFLY

Trapped residents will not know what kind of kiss will work for each color and may have to experiment before finding the right one.

● Post up a top-level for your character with the types of kisses you're interested in threading out, and then go forth and have your character kiss (or refuse to kiss) others!
● This meme is for characters already accepted into the game to play with the mistleglow prompt from this month's test drive meme. If your character is not yet accepted into the game, please use the TDM post!
● This meme is GAME CANON, so any threads played out in this meme can be carried through into the actual canon of the game.
● Much like the TDM, threads on this meme can count for Activity Points, but not the monthly Activity Check.

header image is from santa's factory by Clement Danveau

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[nostalgiabomb]

[ Her fingertips ghost along his neck, and he tips his head back a little, baring his throat to her attentions.

But she moves again, and he sicks in a breath between his teeth, hands tightening again. He blinks at her for a second or two, and even with that golden warmth gathering in his stomach, he lightly grasps the hand she's using to trace his throat. ]

If that's what you want.

[ Which isn't a no from Peter, but it is putting the ball in Gamora's court once again. He's content to follow her lead. ]

[godslay]

I'm asking what you want.

[ Her tone is more pointed, if lower in deference to how close they are.

To Gamora, it feels obvious; she wouldn't put herself in this position if she didn't want to explore this with Peter, if this made her uncomfortable. She's perfectly capable of finding and applying boundaries where necessary, and if she felt pressured or uneasy, she'd remove herself immediately. But, here she is, still in Peter's lap, still touching him and tracing his skin.

She pulls away from his throat, drawing his hand to her lips to brush a kiss over his fingertips as she watches him intently, shifting to press his palm against her cheek. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He lets her guide his hand, and when she rests his palm against her cheek, his thumb brushes lightly across the swell of her cheekbone, across the silver scars there.

He knows, sometimes, that folks get swept up in the moment, that they let hormones or whatever take over rational thought, and even if he trusts Gamora to know better for herself, it doesn’t hurt to check. What’s two seconds to ask, “Are you sure?” when it could avoid a shitton of regret later?

And she sounds sure, at least, seems convinced that this is a good idea, and he licks his lips before letting out a slow breath. ]

I don’t want you to stop.

[godslay]

Are you sure?

[ Because this time, she's the one who's asking, searching his face as she drops another kiss on the heel of his hand, lower on his wrist. She's sure, she's the one initiating this right now, and she wants them to be on the same page.

As she asks, her other hand drops down to his stomach, gently gathering up the hem of his shirt, pushing it higher. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ His gaze flits down to her lips, where they press against the heel of his palm. He swallows, nodding slowly. ]

Yeah. [ With more certainty, that time, even if he sounds a little distracted. ] Absolutely sure.

[ And to punctuate it, when she starts to tug on his shirt, he straightens a little, helping to untuck it; and once it’s freed, he leans into her, seeking out her touch. ]

I’m good if you’re good.

[godslay]

[ Apparently, that's reassuring enough. ]

More than good.

[ She's right where she wants to be, with the person she wants to be with.

Her hand dips underneath fabric, smoothing across his stomach. His skin is warm, even if hers is warmer, and she smiles in appreciation as she trails fingertips up his ribs, leaving another kiss on his wrist. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ It's almost ticklish, the way her touch roves up his chest, and he watches as she drops another kiss at the heel of his palm.

With his hand still resting against her cheek, he gently tugs her forward again, claiming her lips with his. His kiss is gentler, this time, though no less heated – it's just tempered by his split attention, waiting for her reaction, offering her the chance to back out, if she wants.

He knows he's being overly cautious, considering Gamora has yet to give him any reason to feel cautious, and has, in fact, given him every sign that she's sure of this, that she wants this as much as he does – or almost as much. He's not sure. But at this point, he's not willing to make a mistake. ]

[godslay]

[ Gamora sighs softly into the kiss, melting that much more against him as she returns it. Still warm, still wanting, but without the bruising intensity of before; it's exploratory on its own, letting her memorize the feel of his mouth against hers, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips, asking, searching to deepen the kiss.

Her hand travels up, his shirt rucked around her wrist the higher she goes, tracing his sternum and the lines of muscle across his broad chest. It's appreciative, thoroughly so, but she lingers over scar tissue, rubs her thumb across each imperfection she finds, even if she can't see them with how intently she's kissing him. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ His lips part with her teasing, inviting and warm, and more than a little greedy.

But his focus is split, tracking the path her fingers take along his chest, almost like he's trying to predict where her touch will go. He's almost surprised she gives as much attention to his scars as she does – most of the time, they tend to get ignored. Too loaded with possibilities, he guesses. Makes folks nervous.

Stabbed with a fork, sliced open with impossibly sharp claws – those are the ones Gamora knows, of course. Not exactly shining moments for him, but, hey, he survived. And he's survived other trials, too. The faded, clean line of a stab wound, earned when he was 15. The punched out skin from a bullet, just as old. Smaller nicks and cuts and bruises from running around outside the Quarantine's walls.

He smooths one of his hands up and down her thigh, the other placed between her shoulder blades to help keep her in place. His fingers itch to explore her bare skin, as she is with him, but he's waiting on some signal of permission. ]

[godslay]

[ Her tongue curls with his, hot and eager as she keeps exploring his chest, and soon one hand becomes two, pushing his shirt up completely. When she finally eases out of the kiss, she looks down at his bared skin. It's not the first time she's seen him without a shirt – not by a long short – but it's the first time she's gotten the chance to appreciate him.

Really appreciate him.

Her thumbs smooth across the planes of his pecs, finding another scar to trail across, following with her eyes and her fingers. His scars are so different from her own, so... normal, so organic, where hers show what's been done to her, how her body has been changed – the metal beneath her flesh. Where he's made of blood and bone, so much of her has been taken, turned into something else, left to be advertised to the universe on her face.

She looks back up, licking her lips slowly. ]

Touch me.

[ Permission doesn't get much more explicit than that. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He waits while she studies him. He's not self-conscious about his body by any means – he knows and has been told repeatedly that he looks good.

(Occasionally with the slightly offensive qualifier, "for a Terran.")

And he's been shirtless on his ship more times than once while the Guardians were aboard, and even in their shared apartment, Peter has a tendency to strip down to his boxers in full sight of Gamora. An old habit from his Ravager days, when he was used to a ship full of dudes.

And then she offers her permission (finally, though he doesn't say it aloud), and he doesn't hesitate, both hands finding the hem of her top and working to pull it off. And once she's bared, Peter drinks in the sight, hands smoothing up and down her sides. ]

[godslay]

[ Gamora makes it easy to discard her shirt, lifting her arms and allowing him to bare her as he likes. Most of the time, she doesn't bother with a bra (no real need, and her clothing preference tends to mean she's wearing something tight, anyway), and today is no exception.

She shifts her weight, resettles in his lap as his hands run across skin, and were she willing to focus on it, she'd be amused by the contrast between them. Pale against green, broad palms that smooth over deceptively petite curves; Gamora is lithe next to Peter's breadth, but every inch of her is lean, deadly muscle, strength that shouldn't be underestimated.

(Somewhere, she recognizes that as something she appreciates about Peter: he never diminishes her capabilities.)

But with her naked form comes the scars, delicate lines of silver that follow bone structure in intricate patterns – hard and metallic when compared to her natural skin. She doesn't think much of them anymore, after so many years spent living with their reality, but she doesn't show this much to Peter usually; being this exposed in front of him is just as new as the rest of their exploration. ]

Well?

[ ... which is, apparently, Gamora's version of "do you like what you see?" It's also partially curiosity, wondering what similarities she might share with Terran women, and then realizing... that might not matter to Peter, given how he's grown in space. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Gamora is stunning. Gorgeous. But anyone with eyes could see that much for themselves. Even bared as she is, his opinion on that front doesn't change, but something sweet twists in him, knowing that she trusts him enough for this, to be this exposed.

His fingertips trace the hard, deep line of one of her scars, the silver glinting in the light of their apartment, and—

They're pretty. He's always found them pretty ever since they first met, even if he knows now that the reason why she has them is awful. They're a part of her as much as anything else, and in quieter moments, he finds himself tracing those scars on her cheek and brow with his eyes, and in more recent days, with his fingertips.

At her prompting, he glances up at her and puts on a flirty, sly smile. ]

Gimme a sec, here. I'm trying to admire a masterpiece.

[godslay]

[ She shivers faintly as he traces a scar with his fingertips, feather-light and bordering on ticklish, getting her to wriggle again in his lap. Her lips quirk, and she shakes her head at him, smoothing her hands down his wrists, up his forearms. ]

I am already topless in your lap; there's no need for flattery.

[ But this time, it's her turn to tug at the hem of his shirt, and though she'd gotten an eyeful just by shoving it out of the way, she'd rather see all of him, properly. ]

Return the favor.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ Her shifting makes his breath hitch again, and once he manages to regain his composure: ]

It's not flattery if it's true, is it?

[ Because then he's just being honest.

At her prompting, he smirks at her before obligingly tugging off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Unlike Gamora, Peter comes right out and says it: ]

Like what you see?

[godslay]

[ She watches him intently as he pulls off his shirt, following the flex of muscles and the way he moves with avid appreciation. ]

I thought that would be obvious by now.

[ Especially since her hands go right back to his chest when he’s fully bare, smoothing across skin like she wants to map every inch of him, memorize every dip and line and scar that she can reach. ]

I like all of you.

[ By others’ standards, that might seem like a fairly minor compliment, but from Gamora? It’s high praise. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ And he understands what she means, there, knows that compliments don't come freely from Gamora. So this, of course, makes his smile widen into something more genuine and pleased. ]

Flatterer.

[ Though the criticism is half-hearted at best, and his hands return to smooth up her sides. One more check in: ]

You're sure about this?

[godslay]

[ The checking in is… thoughtful, and she knows that it means Peter cares about this, that he wants just as badly to get this right as she does.

But she isn’t worried about making a mistake, about ruining this thing between them, because she’s confident they’re on the same page. This means something – actually, this means a lot.

Her hands slide up to cup his face, her thumbs brushing along his cheeks. ]

I’m sure, Peter.

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He reaches up, pressing one of her hands more firmly against his cheek. ]

Okay. [ A pause, and he adds a little more certainly, ] Okay. But tell me if you want to stop, alright?

[ But he doesn't wait for her response – he figures for now, she's given him the signal to move forward – and he claims her lips again. He cups her cheek with one hand. With the other, he smooths up her side again, a little more pressure to avoid ticklish feeling, and he cups her breast, thumb brushing over the bud of her nipple. ]

[godslay]

[ She assumes the way she melts into his kiss is answer enough, reassuring in the rhythm and heat of her lips against his. This has definitely crossed far and beyond what they’ve done together, but even as his hand reaches her breast, she doesn’t tense, doesn’t startle, and instead, she breathes a soft sound of approval into the kiss.

Her own hands shift from his face, burying fingers in his hair and knotting firmly – but not painfully – as she arches into his touch. The way she moves against him has the added benefit of making her grind down in his lap, though that’s only half-intentional at this point. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ The way she moves against him pulls another strained noise from him – something that shares a distant relative with a moan – and each shift against him leaves him aching, has him shifting his own hips to seek out that contact, that pressure. His pulse drums in his ears, thunderous, and each touch of their bare skin together is electric and maddening.

It’s been a while. It’s been ages. And Peter kind of figures that at some point point he’s going to be practically begging, mindless and desperate, but for now, he’s appreciating the moment. Her grip in his hair. The wet heat of her mouth against his. Her skin warm and soft beneath his touch. It’s fan-fucking-tastic, and a part of him just keeps thinking, Finally, finally, finally.

Because he’s wanted Gamora for so goddamn long, in a million different ways, and it’s— unreal to him, if he’s honest, that they’re here, that they’re finally a thing, and god—

—when she grinds down on him again, he absolutely moans this time, pulling her against him, holding her there as he arches up against her—

—god, he hopes he doesn’t fuck this up. ]

belatedly puts a nsfw warning right here..........

[godslay]

[ —Oh, has she ever heard that noise from him before? She's entirely sure she hasn't, because it sends an immediate thrill of arousal down her spine, hits her with unprecedented electricity, because hearing him so unrestrained, so eager and wanting – wanting her – makes her blood burn.

She doesn't pull away, but her lips break from his, a shakier exhale breathed against his mouth as she presses against him, skin to skin, and then more pointedly grinds down into the arc of his hips. She rolls into a smooth rhythm, a mimicry of riding him, but she can feel the curve of his cock through his jeans, even through her own, and she loves this tactile reminder of what she can do to him. ]

Bed?

[ An offer that sounds almost like a growl, though it doesn't shape itself as a command. She wants him so badly she'd be content with this couch, but a bed might be more comfortable, might give them room to settle together in the aftermath, and, well, sheets can be washed. Couch cushions, however...

But is Gamora considering that at this exact moment? No, because she's slipping a hand between them, fumbling with the opening of Peter's pants, trying to deal with his belt. ]

UHHHHH NSFW WARNING 40 COMMENTS AGO....

[nostalgiabomb]

[ She grinds against him with far more purpose, far more intent, and he groans again, holding her close, rutting up against her. And it occurs to him, then, that there are, like, a million layers too many separating them, that if she keeps this up he really might just come in his jeans, and ugh, what is he, a horny, desperate teenager?

The way she growls makes him shudder, because wow, that was. New. And good. Like, really good, and he could stand to hear her like that again, except she’s sending some seriously mixed signals, here, because she’s fumbling with his belt without even waiting for his answer. Which— you know what? That’s fine, actually. That’s cool. That’s awesome, because maybe that means Gamora is as eager for this as he is, that she’s just been waiting for the right moment, like he has been.

He at least does her the favor of undoing the heavy buckle of his belt, yanking it from the loops of his pants to let it clatter to the floor. ]

Bed.

[ Decisively, if breathless, and he pushes himself to the edge of the couch. He could carry her to the bedroom, if he needs to, and sometimes his partners seriously dug that particular display of strength, but he’s not sure if Gamora would appreciate it. ]

W H O O P S

[godslay]

[ Well, at least they're in agreement about where they need to go. However, rather than sliding off of his lap as he shifts to the edge of the couch, Gamora locks her knees at his hips, hooking an arm around his neck. She's purposefully holding herself to him, not wanting to allow an instant of separation – even if that means Peter has to carry her.

In another context, Gamora might find herself offended by being hauled up, like her legs couldn't support themselves, but she also knows Peter is perfectly aware of her abilities. He knows she could do the very same to him without so much as batting an eyelash, but she doesn't want to surrender that contact. Getting up would involve parting from Peter, maybe some uncoordinated stumbling in the general direction of their bedroom, and given the choice, she'd rather let him take care of that problem here and now.

(And Gamora does appreciate Peter's strength for what it is. They have their differences, but mostly because of biology, augmentations – not because Peter doesn't try to keep in shape. In fact, given the humans Gamora has worked with in the Guard, Peter is still impressive.

She needs that in a partner.) ]

If you expect me to let go of you— [ She growls the words against his jaw, nipping along the hinge to his ear. ] —you will be sorely disappointed.

[ so get liftin'. ]

[nostalgiabomb]

[ He pauses as he’s moving, as she shifts closer to him rather than away; he nearly laughs and reminds her that this is the opposite of what she’s doing, but as her lips press against him, hot breath against his jaw and teeth dragging along his skin, he suddenly realizes that they might actually be on the same page, here.

So he still breathes out a laugh, though it’s dark and wanting, and he braces both hands under her thighs to help keep her in place. He shifts again, getting his footing right, and shoving himself to his feet.

Practice means he doesn’t take out the coffee table and manages to keep his balance, and thank every star in the sky that their apartment, comfortable as it is, isn’t so large that he has to walk six miles to get to the bedroom. It helps, too, that he’s made the trek from the living space to the bedroom a thousand times, and a lot of those times were while he was drunk, so he could probably find his way around blind. Which is a good thing, since he’s mouthing at Gamora’s neck as he goes, nudging the door open with his foot.

They’ve been sleeping in separate beds, for the most part, which means he has to make the split-second decision of which bed to fool around in. He chooses his own – mostly because the covers are still undone, and isn’t that convenient? – and carefully helps her onto it, climbing in after and bracketing her hips with his knees, her head with his hands.

He pauses for a moment, staring down at her and cupping her cheek with his hand. And he just— breathes in the moment, feels something in his chest twist and bloom at the sight of her (and holy shit, she’s gonna be naked in his bed, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit), and his expression softens and warms with it. Affectionate and awed and almost dazed, because he still can’t quite believe they’ve managed to get this far. ]

God, you’re beautiful.

[ And he breathes it out before ducking down again, capturing her lips. ]