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quaranmeme2017-12-18 09:33 pm
MISTLEGLOW: a kissing meme
mistleglow: a kissing memeSome 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:
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.
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(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. ]
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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. ]
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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.
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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.
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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?
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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. ]
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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?
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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.
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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. ]
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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. ]
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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..........
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....
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
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'. ]
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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. ]
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She looks back at him with that same warmth, that soft and open smile curling on her lips – whether she realizes it or not – and though she doesn't have the chance to speak before he kisses her, the way she returns it is answer enough. The kiss is deep, wanting, but there's no rush, no frenzied need. As much as she wants him, as much as her body is screaming to be touched, she wants to memorize this moment. She's certain there will be no shortage of moments like this, because she knows Peter, but this is different. This is the first time they've shared this, and it's so much sweeter than any other encounter she's had in the past.
(Of course it is, because unlike all the others, Peter means something.)
She sighs into the kiss, reaching up to explore him with her hands. Fingers trail along his sides with purposeful pressure, absently playing over scars as she dips down to his waistband again. Without the belt, getting to his pants is easier, simpler, and she undoes the button, the fly, then slips her hand beneath his underwear to feel the warmth of skin. She's not teasing – at least, not intentionally – but she's taking it slowly, exploring as her fingers find his cock, just tracing the shape of him. She's establishing the differences of a Terran man (given that she's never fucked one before), while also getting an idea of what to expect. ]
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This is— important, and he always knew it would be, assuming they ever got here. (Of course, Peter hoped they would, and he's glad that his hopes won't go unfulfilled.) This is important, and he wants to take care of her. He wants it all to be perfect.
— although thoughts of "taking care of her" are nearly chucked out the window when her hand finds his cock. He inhales sharply, letting out a soft, startled sound that goes trapped between their mouths once her fingers ghost along the length of him. Instinctively, his hips shift, seeking out her touch, rocking against her. ]
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She doesn't break away to look at him yet – plenty of time for that later – but she does break the kiss to tease his bottom lip with the edge of her teeth, that satisfied smile still in place.
What she really wants is to explore every inch of him, to test and discover what gets her the best response – where, how much pressure, with her hands, her mouth, anything. Peter is hers to ravish and appreciate, just as much as she's his, and she intends to take full advantage of that privilege. ]
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When she strokes him, he makes another of those strained, startled noises – startled because it's been forever since he's enjoyed someone else's touch, and he didn't realize how much he missed it until this very instant. And, hell, it's even better now, because he's probably dreamed about Gamora being in his bed, touching him, kissing him, and for a brief, wild second, he has to appreciate just how goddamn lucky he is.
He bucks up into her hand, hissing at the sudden contrast from the wet heat of her mouth to the light press of her teeth, and he moves to capture her lips again, to deepen the kiss. His hand curls against her cheek, fingers tangling in the curls that spill away from her. ]
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She finds a rhythm with ease, though she keeps it slow, keeps her ears pricked for reactions, her senses keenly attuned to him. She's happy to alternate pressure, speed, focus depending on what gets the best noises, what makes him twitch and buck a little harder – even if her attention is torn between the movement of her hand and Peter's talented mouth.
(She's infinitely grateful that he's already a good kisser.)
Breaking away just to catch her breath, she eases back from Peter to drink him in for a few heartbeats as she pants softly. ]
... You look good like this.
[ Her voice is a little lower, darker as her thumb traces circles around the head of his cock. ]
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That's what Peter figures, anyway.
So when she finds a rhythm, he moves with her, but— god, he wants her to speed up, wants to chase his release, and— a small part of him realizes what she's doing. She's exploring him, trying to find what he likes, and as flattering as that all is, it's driving him a little – a lot – insane. He groans and hisses, rutting into her hand, and when her wrist twists just so, when her fingers tighten in just the right way, he whines against her, thrusting into her hand with a little more purpose and need.
And he makes a dismayed noise when she pulls away, though he comes back to herself when he notices the weight in her gaze, her breathlessness, the darkness of her eyes.
Her— compliment? actually manages to make him flush a little (well, more than he already is) – self-consciousness rather than outright embarrassment – because that's a surprising bit of praise from Gamora. He's torn between replying with a teasing, "I always look good," or a slightly less eloquent and much more shy, "Shut up," but—
Thankfully ("thankfully?") she interrupts him by teasing the head of his dick, and he rocks against her again, biting down on a moan. ]
Gamora.
[ Caught somewhere between a demand and a plea, but he hasn't quite devolved into begging. Not yet, anyway, but even Peter has to admit if she keeps teasing him like this, he's going to turn into a sobbing, babbling mess.
He ducks down again, mouthing at her neck, just beneath the line of her jaw. He props himself up with an elbow, and with his other hand, he fumbles at the fastenings of her pants, impatience making him clumsy. ]
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She wonders how much it would take to drive him out of his mind.
But all of this, and she knows she's ruined her panties. That arousal is coiled low in her belly, making it harder and harder to stay still, but she also can't bring herself to let go of Peter's dick long enough to focus on getting naked. She's sure he can manage it, even as he's fumbling and tripping over his own fingers, and she only helps by lifting her hips to make it that much easier to tug her pants down properly, kicking them free to leave them tangled with the rest of Peter's blankets.
Has her hand stopped? Absolutely not. And now that she's starting to get a better idea of what produces the best results, she's returning to the patterns that had him rocking demandingly into her hand. ]
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You know what? Peter can’t really resent her for it, even if he wants to, not when it feels this fucking good.
Once she’s stripped of her pants, Peter readjusts, settling between her legs and falling forward against her. He buries his face against her neck, rocking into her hand. He keeps mouthing at her throat, her shoulder, alternating between open-mouthed kisses and quick, teasing bites, though he’s often interrupted when he catches his lower lip with his teeth to cage in a desperate, needy moan when her grip is just right. He splays his hand around her hip, his thumb tracing the blade, but when she strokes him this time, heat slams through him, and his grip on her hip tightens. ]
Fuck. [ And it’s moaned against her shoulder, a shudder running down his spine. When he gets his breath back, he props himself back up on an elbow. ]
God, Gamora, let me— I want to—
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She wonders if he would let her tease him to the edge only to deny him. She wonders if he'd give her the control to drive him so close, over and over, until she decided he'd had enough. She wonders—
Oh, but the way he sounds right now. She's losing herself in it, just as much as she's lost in the heat burning between her legs, aching and begging for him, for some kind of relief. She can't remember the last time she was this turned on (has she ever been?), and she has to dig her teeth in her own lip in an effort to focus. Otherwise, she might not have this same level of self-control; she might throw herself head-first into the frenzy of needing Peter, and... well, maybe that's not so bad, after all. ]
Say it.
[ Her voice is neither a purr nor a growl, but something in between as she reaches up with her free hand, knotting fingers into his hair, tight and maybe a little harder than she intended.
Of course, she doesn't make it any easier on him, because that thing that made him moan and squeeze her hip? She's absolutely doing it again. ]
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He hisses in a breath, startled by the sting of her grip in his hair. It hurt a little, but apparently it didn’t hurt enough that it puts an end to this – in fact, it seems to spur something in him, and unconsciously, he rocks into her hand, letting out a small, approving sound.
Naturally, though, that small sound turns into an outright groan as she does that thing again, and he sobs out a swear, falling against her again and panting against her neck, thrusting into her grip. He could come just like this, he thinks, which would be a seriously unimpressive showing. But she’s playing him like a fiddle, and god, it feels amazing, and part of him had assumed Gamora would, like, want to jump straight into it? She was direct in so many other things, straight to the point, but apparently not with this. With this, she’s herding him to the edge, slowly but surely, and if it keeps up, he’s going to plummet straight over. ]
Let me fuck you. [ A pleading note in his voice, and a distant part of him pats himself on the back for managing an intelligible sentence, for not begging outright. (He still has a shred of pride left, apparently.) He says it against the column of her throat, nipping at her skin as an outlet for that golden heat surging through him. ] God, I need to— I need you—
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