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Entry tags:
TDM 003
| TDM 003: #BEACHBUMS |
I. BEACH  Welcome arrivals, new and old! The skies on Erku may be perpetually gray, but the weather has taken a sudden turn to summertime heat. Fortunately, soaring temperatures have chased away more of the strange fog that conceals so much of the island, unveiling a charming, sandy cove dotted here and there with rustic love shacks. These shabby little lean-tos are dusty and sparse, but they provide everything one (or two, wink wink) might need for a little relief from the sun. Just don’t wander too far... that fog has memory-loss properties. II. DRINKS  The 'bots are very apologetic about the whole fog incident, and they are trying to get on the new arrivals' good sides by giving out fancy drinks. Of course, they still haven't mastered the art of making things properly, so each drink has a little something... extra.
III. SNACKS  Lo! As you ask, the Augur shall provide. Thanks to the efforts of your organic predecessors in restoring the planet’s Eros energy, edible fishes and seaweeds have returned to the ponds and the shores of Erku. If you fancy yourself savvy to basic survival skills, why not fashion up a fishing rod and catch yourself dinner? Just be careful if you happen to hook one of the octopus creatures from the deeper waters - they can be quite forward with their tentacles! Or, if primitive angling isn’t in your repertoire, you can always trade some credits for a tasty catch from one of the food stalls along the coast. Most stalls are manned by 'bots, but there’s nothing stopping an enterprising arrival from setting up shop. No credits? No problem! The robots have also provided a bit of entertainment, and any volunteers to man the kissing booth, get dunked in the wet t-shirt dunk tank, or grill up some fish - among other opportunities - will find credits automatically loaded onto the payment app of their bracelet devices. The 'bots are recruiting especially hard for participants to work in the gloryhole tent! IV. SPARKLES  As dusk descends, the white sands of the beach suddenly come alive with glittering lights. It’s as if the darkened waters have carried a thousand shining stars from the depths of the sea to the shores of the cove. In actuality, each little twinkle is a bioluminescent plankton or jellyfish! Feel free to wade among them and admire their shine; even the sting of the jellies won’t hurt you... though they do pack a different punch. The tentacles of the jellyfish elicit a powerful aphrodisiac response, which gets the heart racing and the blood pumping for an intimate touch. The effects come on within a matter of minutes, and last for a few hours. Only time will relieve the symptoms, but a partner will help to make it more bearable. N A V I G A T I O N |
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A moan catches the wind when he pushes her into the wall, her fingers tangling the knit of his shirt, in his hair, anywhere she can reach; her head cants back as she sucks in desperate, needy breaths. Too much, not enough. She doesn't know what she wants, what she needs, apart from everything, and is there even any way to vocalize that when the only thing she knows right now is his name? It's a mantra in her mind, the syllables sometimes falling from her lips on panted moans.
She finds purchase against the push of his thigh, and there's too much fabric there, even as she reaches to grab handfuls of her skirt and hike it up around her thighs; there's still the thick material of his pants and a pair of flimsy lace panties in the way, but her hips start to rock against him nonetheless. Her breath quivers against his for a moment, eyes searching, and maybe if she wasn't needing so much right now, there'd be vulnerability there - but she is, and there's not.
Her lips press down against his, then, hungry and wanton, as much a clash of their mouths as it is a kiss; her hands lift to tangle once more in his hair. She needs wants needs him closer. She wants to touch him, she wants him to touch her, she wants him to fuck her-- more, more, more, more-- ]
More.
[ It's a throaty, breathy moan against Cloud's mouth, one that barely makes it past her own lips before it's shattered into a sharp moan of pleasure; it spears through her like lightning, back arching into his, tension holding her taut for a moment. Her walls clench down on an emptiness that makes her whine - it's not enough... ]
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Without the patience to navigate it, she'll have to do with one bare hand and the other still clad in metal-gauntleted leather, and Cloud must contend with too much sensation delegated to a single hand. She thinks there's too much fabric and Cloud, Cloud can't agree more. There's heat at the junction of the thighs surrounding his that he wants, that he needs, and too many layers of clothing between them. Why can't it be easier? Can't anything, anyone appreciate how much they're suffering?
He could rip every machine in this place limb from limb if he thought it would remedy this inconvenience.
Aerith is pulling up her sodden skirts by the handful and Cloud, catching on, pulls at the lapels of her short-sleeved jacket to try to shove it from her shoulders so he has one less thing in the way if he tries to pull her dress up and off of her willowy frame. But the effort only drags her down to grainy earth and Cloud, sinking to his knees with her, can only clumsily push her skirts up past her hips, loath to stop drinking in the taste of her lips, the salt on them from her swim.
His scalp crawls, raw appreciation for her hand in his hair, his battle rough palm shoves up inside her skirts, up the flat, soft plane of her belly, finds the warm valley of her breastbone and the steady, rabbit-quick beat behind it and whines against her lips. She says More and Cloud should be more apologetic, that his sword-calloused palm can be so mean when it cups her breast inside her clothing, when his gloved one his palming the crotch of her lacy underwear at the junction of her bare thighs.
Neither of them can think around the enormity of their desire.]
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She's dragged down to the sand, her jacket halfway off her shoulders and halfway on; she untangles her fingers from his hair for long enough to writhe her way out of it, leaving it on the ground underneath them, one less obstacle. And by the time she's done that, her dress is hitched all the way up past her waist, and Cloud's hands are on her, bare fingers of one cupping her breast while the other -- oh, she needs that, she needs him to do that.
The kiss is hard, messy, her panted breaths mingling with his as her hips arch, trying to press herself into his hand, seeking more of his touch. It doesn't seem fair that she's halfway to naked now and all that Cloud's lost is a glove--
Under circumstances not like these, it might be different - she might lie back, let him enjoy her thoroughly and in his own time before she returns the favor, exploring every last inch of him. But this is not that time; right now, the need is too great to have him at all, let alone for her to be fussy about how they go about it. Right now, all she wants to feel his body against hers, all hard and strong and all the things she can't stop thinking about. She wants to see the muscles move under his skin as he moves against her. It's with this thought that her hands raise to his waist, where her nails scrabble against leather for a few too-long seconds, a frustrated whine against his lips. Why is he wearing so many belts?! ]
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He doesn't want to take his hands off her but has to; he does so he can impatiently snatch at the fastenings of his bracer, knocking it into the sand to tear off his glove. Wet cloth and leather don't peel off easily. What remains is the length of dingy gauze wrapped around his forearm to protect it from chafing and too little patience to bother removing it.
Aerith's face is taken up by both of his hands cupping her cheeks, pulling her mouth up to meet his, breathing around the broken seal of their lips moments later and, ever hungrier for more, licks his way into the soft, wet silk of her mouth. It's good, any contact is good, getting inside her is right where he needs to be, but it isn't enough. He huffs against her mouth, something low and wanting, his fingers sliding into the arch of her nape. It's as much soft bite as it is kissing his way down the pale slope of her throat, palming the soft swell of one through the thin fabric of her disheveled dress when he mouths the valley between her breasts.
She arches for his touch, as desperate for contact as he feels. When the soft spikes of his blond hair trickle over the exposed plane of her belly, his right palm spreads one thigh for him, the other pushes a thumb up against the firm of a nipple through her damp clothes. He tastes salt when he doesn't even try to peel off her panties and instead licks a stripe up the crotch, one firm pet of warmth, a clumsy kiss.]
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It doesn't matter for long; Cloud opts for something else instead, something that has his waist shifting out of her hands' reach; Aerith's head falls back into the soft sand as she feels the gentle scrape of teeth along her neck, his kisses down her throat and between her breasts leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Every kiss, every touch, is met with an eager reply from her own body, back arching into the hand at her breast, legs parting at the mere suggestion of touch. The press of his thumb against her nipple sends a jolt of pleasure arcing straight between her legs, a pulse of heat racing through every synapse, every nerve in her body.
With his hair brushing against her stomach, there's almost nowhere for her aching, desperate hands to reach; in the end, the fingers of one hand tangle in his hair again, the other falling to the sand beside her as if it can somehow ground her, help her find purchase among the need and want that has so densely covered her mind.
It's still not enough.
Cloud seems to read her mind, though; before the thought has even finished forming, she feels the wet of his tongue, licking a stripe up the crotch of her lace panties, already soaked through by the ocean water and her orgasm. She cries out, a sharp sound that breaks the near-silence of the air in two, and her fingers tighten in his hair, a too-sharp tug against the strands. ]
Fuck—! Yes, please, Cloud— there...
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She's softer than she had been when he was licking his way into her mouth, delicate and quivering when Cloud splits her lower lips with the indulgent slide of his tongue. Cloud's arm is a weight keeping her hips against the sand but he isn't trying to pin her down, she can still squirm and arch up against his mouth if she wants to. She might have to, only lust and enthusiasm to occupy this act where he lacks the experience, taking in her responses to guide his own.
The kiss he gives her is a slow, wet pull of his mouth against the warm, succulent folds of her flesh, gauzily looking up the slender trunk of her body, pupils so blown they're vying with mako glow for the little real estate of blue left.
She's beautiful but even more devastating like this, green eyes dark and her chest heaving, skin a pretty blush of arousal he's never seen on her before. Another lick up between her lower lips and the whole of his body seems to sway with it, a lean of his shoulders up towards her, the gradual push of his own hips into the sand. It gives little relief, his cock swollen and rigid between the confines of rugged clothing and the whisper of sand.
Then, tragically, terribly, he stops giving her the attention she craves right where she craves it, turning to press a kiss to her thigh. She even tastes good, the soft inside of her thigh gives deliciously under the gentle bite he gives her.]
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