inaugural tdm of unspecified duration.

[vestigemods]

VESTIGE TEST DRIVE MEME

WHAT IS THIS?

This is a test drive meme for Vestige is a musebox-game successor to The Box (yeah, the one that died like five years ago). It's invite-only with no activity check and almost no application to speak of.

This is a horror jamjar based on Cabin In The Woods, in which characters are pulled into this containment zone run by the Technicians working from a lab underground with the goal of creating Good Quality Suffering™️ to appease the elder gods who hover on the verge of creating a worldwide apocalypse. But of course, suffering is pointless if everyone is too numb to properly suffer, so there are plenty of morale boosts provided in between bouts of fear and misery.

This TDM is ongoing and will fill the gap between now and when I get around to setting up the comms. There is no official start date and currently literally nothing but this TDM available for perusal, but I'll update this section of the blurb as that changes. Threads in this TDM are welcome to be game canon once this shit opens because fuck it. If you have questions, feel free to ask in the top-level below or just wing it tbh, we'll be doing a lot of winging it up in this shit.

Characters arrive with all powers intact and carrying all items that they had with them on their canonpoint.

Also, feel free to hit up the Intro + Friending meme to network with your future peers in this suffering endeavor. (EDIT 5/20: We also now have a DISCORD SERVER! So hop on into that if you'd like.)

PROMPT 1 ► just your ordinary cabin in the woods

⬛ARRIVAL + GENERAL PROMPT

Whenever you're from or wherever you were, you awaken now with the mildest of headaches in a medium-sized wooden cabin. Maybe you wake in a bed, barely padded and covered in dust (so are you now, congrats!). Maybe you wake on the floor, arguably softer than the bed in spots thanks to some handy dandy water damage. Either way, you certainly aren't where you were before, and you have no recollection whatsoever of arriving.

The cabin is modest but multi-roomed and fully kitted with a kitchen and cozy living room. Nice, dry wood sits stacked by the fireplace, and if you check the various switches, the lights turn on with only the faintest protesting static. The cabinets are surprisingly well-stocked, as is the fridge, with perishables and non-perishables alike. As if someone has been here recently... but how, when everything else seems so thoroughly abandoned?

Should you choose to ignore the cabin's supposed hospitality and try to leave, you'll find that both the front and back doors are securely locked, in a way that no amount of fumbling with the locking mechanism seems to remedy.

That's when a sloooooow creak draws your attention to a door nearby, one you may not have noticed before... but it's open now. Was it before? Better yet, should you check out what lies beyond?

PROMPT 2 ► who's up for some fighty-fight, kids??

⬛MONSTER HORROR.

The basement is musty and dim, though a pull-string at the curve of the creaky stairs seems to turn on a sparse row of lightbulbs dangling precariously from the ceiling along the center of the room. This little bit of light illuminates a room absolutely packed with items, furniture and boxes and various knick-knacks of unknown and questionable origin. Spiderwebs litter nooks and crannies, many with actual spiders still nesting inside, and a layer of dust coats most every surface in sight.

It doesn't seem like there's anyone down here, nor is there any sign of an exit at the basement's far end. There is, however, something that catches your eye. An item, one that your feet seem to carry you toward without your mind quite telling them to do so. Perhaps it's familiar somehow. Perhaps it's so foreign to you that you can't help but get a closer look. One way or another, you somehow end up reaching out to touch it. But what harm can that do, a single touch?

Oh, sweet summer child. Haven't you seen this movie?




---




Whatever else your characters might touch, to activate this prompt they'll also touch one of the following five items:


• A child's drawing, of what appears to be... shit, what even is that? Is it a bat? Is it some kind of... reptile? We just don't know. (result! warnings for gore/violence.)
  
  
• A light-blue paper face mask, the sort used in hospitals for patients who have a cold. Maybe you guys should've brought masks too. It sure would keep all this dust the hell out of your nose... ( result! warning for body horror! )
  
  
• A buzzsaw blade, dusty but intact. ( result! warnings for gore/violence. )
  
  
• A music box, covered in faded yellow flowers. I wonder what music it plays? ( result! warnings for gore/violence and Alarming Children. )
  
  
• A funeral urn. But... It seems that someone glued it shut around the edges? I guess that's one way to make sure nobody spills grandma. ( result! )

These enemies can and will follow characters outside, should they try to flee. It might actually be a good idea to face these foes outdoors where it's less confined, provided they don't stray too far from the cabin (see prompt #4).

The blurbs are just guidelines, feel free to scale up or down how strong/weak the monsters are, how many there are, etc. in order to better fit your characters' level of capability. The Technicians know your characters' strengths and weaknesses, so they'd know how to send enough to make this challenging but not insurmountable.

PROMPT 3 ► congratulations, you fucked up

⬛SURVIVAL HORROR.

Perhaps you didn't touch anything in the basement. Hell, maybe you didn't even set foot through that ominous basement door. But hey, we get it. Not everyone likes to party. You're not getting off easy, but at least you can say that you didn't fall into the trap.

If, by the time an hour has passed since the creaking open of the basement door, no object has been touched and no baddie has been summoned, you'll find your nose assaulted by the prevailing smell of smoke. One glance out any window tells you why: The cabin has been surrounded in it, an oblong ring of fire six feet thick burning tight along the exterior cabin walls. You're safe inside for the moment, but how long will that last?

Now, you have no choice but to try to escape the blaze. It overtakes the cabin quickly, creeping up over the rooftop, shattering windows and burning a path inside. No matter which way you try to run, you're almost certain to get burned... But that's certainly better than burning to death in here.

PROMPT 4 ► "escape"? never heard of her.

⬛PSYCHOLOGICAL HORROR.

For some, staying in this creepy cabin with its stupid locked door was never an option. Maybe you break one of the windows and crawl through that, or maybe you're angry and OP and punched a man-sized hole in the wall itself. Hey, we're not judging. You got yourself outside, and that's what counts.

The outside of the cabin is... actually pretty nice. Picturesque woods, birds singing, perhaps a couple of deer bounding through the trees not far off. This place might actually be relaxing, if it weren't so alarming and kidnap-y. But it is, so it's time to get the fuck out of Dodge.

Or to try to, anyway. Just a few short meters into the trees, you find yourself entering a deep and all-encompassing fog. You can barely see your hand out in front of your face, let alone your path through the forest ahead. If you're not alone in this venture, you'd best keep a hand on your companion lest you lose track of them, as well. And is it just you, or is there a slight chemical taste to the fog that you're breathing in?

(Yes. The answer is definitely yes.)

Before long, you find yourself turned around, stepping back out of the fog with the cabin in front of you. Little do you realize that simply turning you around is the most merciful fate that this fog has to offer.

---

This is easier to break down without narrative, so!

• The first time your character ventures into the fog, they're just turned around and sent back to the cabin.
  
  
• The second time, they hallucinate things that they don't want to hear. Something they fear, something that hurts them, something that stresses them the fuck out. Maybe a character's worst fear is wildcats and they hear one growling just out of sight in the mist. Maybe instead they hear a loved one crying for help back in the direction from which they've come, drawing them back to the cabin. Or maybe they hear the voice of someone they admire berating their cowardice or stupidity or something, for running away from the cabin in the first place. The goal is to psych them out and send them running back to the place where the action is happening.
  
  
• The third time, it's the same but full-blown visual or even physical hallucinations. Basically anything that might lure, scare, emotionally wound, etc. them into going back to the vicinity of the cabin.

Characters are welcome to start off venturing into the mist together, or to discover one another while they're already in the mist. If it's the latter, look out - it may be harder to tell friend from foe when you can't quite trust your own mind.

THE LOOP ► a note on replayability

Regardless of which prompt your character faces, they'll be left unbothered after the creature is defeated or the problem is overcome until sunrise the following morning. Though the fog still keeps characters from straying from the area, they're welcome to recover and lick their wounds in the immediate cabin vicinity. An unburnt cabin leaves them food and resting facilities, while a burnt cabin... Well, at least the fire never spread from that self-contained ring, so they have some nice unburnt grass to sleep on.

Come sunrise, all characters still awake will fall unconscious. At this point, many of them will reawaken in a perfectly undamaged cabin back in Prompt #1 to begin the loop anew. They may have the same comrades in this loop, or perhaps they have different ones. Maybe their new companions have done this before as well. Maybe they're brand new and have no idea what they're up against. R.I.P., you poor unsuspecting fucks.

This is, in effect, a series of trial runs by the current batch of Technicians to see if they're able to run this containment zone scenario long-term. When Vestige opens properly, characters will awaken free of the loop and will have quite a bit more continuity and recovery time between horrors. The 'loop' mechanic is specifically in place to give this TDM some shelf life and let y'all entertain yourselves while I work on the actual pages and such, rather than the one-and-done feeling of the usual TDM.

CODE BY TESSISAMESS (patreon)

Comments

[hydraulics]

[ Generally speaking, Mace has all the subtlety of a hammer, and the only signals he’s tuned in to receiving are those of the radio sort — large, broad bands, nothing subtle about them. And with radio waves, the lower the frequency goes, the wider the wavelength becomes, spanning thousands of miles. So while he's never been particularly good at nuance, the signals he’s receiving from Ian are pitched low in just the right way, the right amount, an undercurrent that cuts through all the interference around them.

In space, all waves move at the speed of light.

The surprise that plays across Ian's face, the uncertainty in its wake, all of it narrows down to the single, open question in his eyes, and Ian doesn’t need to voice it for Mace to hear it.

But voice it he does, and Mace doesn’t miss the way it’s cloaked in humour still, Ian patching in an exit door just in case, just in case. Rooted in what, Mace still isn’t entirely sure; the doubt doesn’t seem to be because of him, but it makes him want to reassure Ian all the same — same as it makes him want to tease Ian about it a little. A strange mixture of playful and tender that he didn’t think he’d ever get to feel again with anyone else.

The corner of his mouth dips, small and secret, an inside joke that he’s about to let Ian in on. ]

That bad at reading signs, huh? [ A murmur of a drawl, shifting so that he’s facing Ian instead of remaining pressed shoulder to shoulder. Doesn’t let go of his hand, though. ]

You sure you’re a teacher?

[ And Mace reaches out with his free hand, fingers framing the side of Ian's face, the heel of his palm brushing the hinge of Ian's jaw, before leaning in slow and sweet for a kiss. It’s chaste but insistent, gentle but thorough, almost like he’s trying to say something with it.

Maybe the same thing Ian tried to say to him with his fingers around Mace’s wrist just now.

The same thing he’d tried to say the night before, when he had Ian under the molten touch of a knife.

The only thing anybody wants to hear when they're stranded and lost and alone, no matter where they are. I’m here. ]

[wittingly]

[ It's not that Ian doesn't do this - kissing, sex, physical intimacy. He does, he has, and with decent regularity. It's easy to when you're charming, sociable. When you attend university functions or you meet people in bars and you hit it off, it becomes a wanna go back to my place? Sometimes it's even after a second or a third meeting, they've developed some rapport, a couple of inside jokes. A few repeat customers, but never more than three times.

And never anyone he feels for, not anymore, not since his twenties. Not since grad school. It's a limit he enforces both consciously and subconsciously.

All the same, something in his stomach dips down low and fast like driving too fast over the right kind of hill. His heart rate picks up, hammering out hard beats - before that palm even coasts along his jaw.

Doesn't really matter what his mind has to say on the topic when his mind goes blank the second Mace starts leaning in. Slow motion, stable trajectory, enough time for Ian's eyes to flutter almost all the way closed. Enough time for him to meet the right angle, to lean in magnetically those last two inches.

They touch down, and a different kind of heat spreads out across his chest. Ink in water. The hand in Mace's flexes, then tightens - no hidden message in that one, it's not intentional, it just is.

He leans in more, kisses back slow, feels static on his skin. Nudges in with the tip of his nose, and works to softly part Mace's lips by coaxing them with his own, something warmer, something open-mouthed. ]

[hydraulics]

[ It’s Ian who closes those last couple of inches between them, and somehow that feels as good as though he’d met him halfway. Both of them in this together, same as they’d been from the moment they’d first locked eyes in the basement.

The hand in his own tightens, a subtle, involuntary movement that Mace responds to with his thumb slowly stroking along the side of Ian’s fingers. The kiss deepens, and a deep golden pulse goes off in the center of his chest to know it’s Ian doing it — his lips parting against Mace’s own, working them open in turn.

The taste of citrus, the lingering scent of ozone from a few minutes past, somehow still clinging to their skin. If you want it, Mace had said, a question laid out in front of Ian on the proverbial table, and he’s got the answer now, cupped in his palm as Ian kisses back. He does, he does, he does.

A low, rough sound in the back of Mace’s throat and then he’s shifting over, leaning in further, putting gentle pressure into the kiss until he’s got Ian carefully pressed up against the headboard. The angle is slightly awkward — he’s got his weight balanced on his knees, one hand still holding onto Ian’s, the other sliding from the side of his face to card into the fine black strands at the back of his head, cradling it from the wood behind them.

But it makes the haze inside him begin to heat up, go from comfortable intimacy to an affection that’s edged with hunger, and Mace traces the tip of his tongue at the slightly parted seam of Ian’s mouth, slow and deliberate, before dipping in just a little. Draws back, repeating the motion teasingly, the message clear. More. Come on, show him.

At the same time, he doesn’t intend to rush this, despite the fact they’re all but taken hostage in some demon cabin in the middle of nowhere. In a way, that’s just all the more reason to take their time. Who knows when they’ll get another —

Mace's hand twitches, and he interlocks their fingers together, his eyes opening slightly to watch as they kiss. ]

[wittingly]

[ Something about being pressed back against the headboard sends heat rolling through him like the tide - not a tsunami so much as gently lapping waves, southward bound and slow, steady, sweet. Always been a fan of fingers in his hair, too, and it pulls a soft audible exhale from his nose in a quick rush.

This is easy, when he doesn't have to think about it. This is easy when it renders his brain completely blank, and there's just tongue gently slipping into his mouth, something he can lightly chase. Something he can follow back a little challengingly, but that challenge is quickly abandoned in favor of the pursuit of knowledge. The taste of teeth. The curl of tongue. How do you kiss? I'll map it out.

His free hand finds its way to the broad stretch of Mace's shoulder, grabbing on, pulling absently in, in, in.

His eyes stay closed, but his brow furrows like someone intensely concentrating.

His body's overdue for an endorphin rush. All this adrenaline, all this fear, no real dopamine. It floods him now faster and easier than it should. He leans into it - tries to, anyway, as much as his sore stomach will let him.

God, it feels good to feel good. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Under normal circumstances, James Mace kisses the way he does everything else — strong and blunt, with a single-minded focus.

Right now is different. The focus is still there, but it’s a lot less blunt, strength tempered with finesse and gentleness. There’s a tugging hand at his shoulder and Mace goes willingly, using his toes to balance himself so that he doesn’t tip forward and push his weight onto Ian entirely, as much as he wants to. Enjoys the brief spark of challenge in the way Ian licks into his mouth before it turns into curiosity instead, half-lidded eyes watching the way Ian’s expression shifts into concentration.

Uh-uh, he hums into the kiss, noticing the way Ian attempts to push himself up a little, aware of the strain it’ll be putting on his stomach. Right now is all about feeling good, right now they’re both gonna put pain and fear and every last horrible feeling out of their minds, and it’s enough to make Mace break the kiss to murmur, ]

Stay where I put you, huh?

[ Doesn’t intentionally mean it in anything but the literal sense, but it comes out deep and teasing all the same, and when he resumes the kiss, Mace can’t help but adding more force. Just a little, just enough so that when his tongue slides in this time, it stays — touching every soft, hot inch of Ian’s mouth, lingering over sensitive spots.

Brings teeth to the party, too, tilting his head so he can graze the edge of them against Ian’s bottom lip. In Ian’s hair, his fingers rub against his scalp, rhythmic and encouraging, having noticed that he likes the touch. Wanting to see what else he likes. ]

[wittingly]

[ Yeah, alright, this is definitely doing something for him - can't even complain this time about Mace worrying too much for his stomach. Kind of okay with it when it means getting pushed back against the headboard like this, half-pinned and getting his mouth taken apart.

It earns Mace a set of fingers fisting into his shirt, and their clasped hands broken apart so he can slip it up underneath the hemline to curl the wide spread of his hand around Mace's side - skin on skin, feeling out the body hovering over him.

He's tactile, as it turns out. Can't seem to leave his fingers in one place. Maybe that shouldn't be a surprise considering what it is they do for a living, what their trade is. Constant work with your hands, constant touching. It's no different in the bedroom, and his go wandering from sides down to hips, to the waistband of his jeans, down and over and around to grip tight on the outer edges of his thighs.

His brain might remember his stomach but his dick doesn't care so much, and he's thinking lap didn't get split open, lap is fine, so the pull is thoughtless and wanting and gentle but pointed.

If he's gonna stay where he's put can he at least put you somewhere?

You're gonna have to excuse him, he's had like half an orange in two days, he's not firing on all cylinders. ]

[hydraulics]

[ For all that Mace's shoulders are broad, corded with a decent amount of muscle, his waist is trim in proportion. So the hand that slips free of his own and slides up beneath his undershirt instead, it spans a fair amount of skin as it curves over his side. The callouses graze, draw a little shiver out of him on the way down.

The other goes tight at his shoulder before trailing down his other side, both of them coming together at his thighs to grip and flex and pull, an unspoken demand that Mace complies to with a low, long sound pressed against Ian's tongue.

Put him wherever you want, teacher. Just watch the merchandise, and Mace ain't talking about himself here.

His knees go on either side of Ian's waist, shifting up and back a little so that he doesn't cause any damage to the angry, charred-red line going down his chest. But Mace isn't any less tactile, and his desire to touch is rising in tandem with the heat simmering low in his gut.

The fingers in Ian's hair tighten just so, and Mace breaks their kiss to briefly press a series of kisses along the line of Ian's jaw, slightly damp and nipping, trailing down his neck. His other hand goes to the waistband of Ian's pants, fingers flicking the button there, purposefully pressing his palm against the clothed dick beneath it. ]

I usually ... do dinner first.

[ Distracted, in between sucking kisses to the side of Ian's throat. ]

[wittingly]

[ He settles straddling Ian's thighs, and that's good- that's great, although he doesn't slot up quite as close as Ian was aiming for. Any protest he might have had, any ideas to drag him forward, they're promptly tossed out the window when the pressure of a hand drags over his jeans. He's hard, that's not even a question, it's impossible to miss the solid heat of him even through denim.

It earns a low, throaty noise that's too quiet and not deep enough to be like rumbling thunder - maybe some offshoot of it, a vibrating rasp. His fingers dig into the meat of Mace's thighs, flexing tight, dragging him an inch forward mindlessly.

Lips at his throat - his head tips back. Neck's always been sensitive, Mace is two for two figuring out what it is that drives him. Doesn't even bother him that it's striking up some muted pain from the injury that hasn't yet bruised properly, the good outweighs the bad. ]

You, ah-

[ He manages hoarsely, hands tracking back up again toward narrow waist, under tank top, gripping muscle. Palming stomach. Slipping back to touch shoulder blades. Fuck, man, you're doing pretty good under there aren't you? ]

You did, yesterday- and, like- almost-

[ You know, almost tonight too, it's just at the foot of the bed forgotten in favor of the button on his jeans popping open. ]

Jesus, I really just wanna-

[ Be able to flip them over and settle between legs, move around more than this, drag him in flush against his chest, but the fucking burns. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Ian’s voice goes to gravel as those fingers tighten on his thighs, and the sound and feel of it has Mace’s hips rocking forward of their own accord, wanting closeness, wanting more — before he remembers the reason why he can’t do that, and reels himself back. The denial has his eyes fluttering open again as Ian tips his throat back further, wetting his lips like a wolf licking at his chops.

Distracted as he is by both his hard-on and the way Ian’s hands are dragging along his back, gripping at his waist, the touch at his stomach making the muscles underneath jump because he’s maybe a little ticklish himself — at first he doesn’t understand the faint almost-bruising so close to his eye line. Haven’t his lips been a few inches lower down? Sucking and nipping near the base of Ian’s throat, and not at his —

The next sound out of Mace is quiet and pained, memory striking him like a cold whip.

And then he surges forward with renewed heat, pain turning into something determined. His mouth covers Ian’s again, kissing him a little harder, in a way that might come across as needy this time. Not that he isn’t, mind; he’s already stiff between his own legs, and frankly, he’s been thinking about something like this in the back of his mind for a while now.

But the desire fuelling his touches right now, it isn’t for himself. His hand stops toying with Ian’s fly and pops it open instead, dragging the zipper down slow and steady. Building the anticipation as much as he can before sliding inside to roughly palm Ian’s hard, hot length, through the fabric of his shorts.

I really just wanna — ]

Tell me.

[ Half-request, half-demand, sitting back a ways so he can look Ian in the face. Whatever it is that Ian likes, Mace wants to give it to him. They can figure out a way to do it that won't put undue pressure on his burns. ]

You want my hand, huh? Or do you want something else? I'll make you feel so good.

[ His voice lowers to a growl on the last word, and he might almost sound like he's still being teasing if it wasn't for the way he swallows right after, his gaze dropping to the reddened imprints around Ian's throat. ]

[wittingly]

[ He's apparently incredibly susceptible to hearing his partner talk, that much makes itself apparent when Mace says so good and Ian's cock jolts hard beneath the confines of his boxers. Twitches under his hand in time with a thready exhale.

Tell me.

You wanna know?

With no small amount of frustration, somehow delivered in a way that's at least half calm along with it: ]

I want me and you laid out on this fucking bed forgetting which way's up, I want you on top of me without--

[ Tugging his stomach the wrong way and killing his own erection on accident through the searing pain he gets when he twists a little too far. He wants moving hips and someone grabbing someone else's wrists and pinning them down and rolling his core for the friction of it.

It replays again in his mind unprompted; I'll make you feel so good. A sharp javelin of heat, want, lust straight through his pelvis. ]

God- fuck, okay. Anything- literally anything you do is gonna drive me out of my fucking mind.

[hydraulics]

[ The frustration in Ian's voice, in his expression, is enough to pull Mace back from the off-side his thoughts were veering towards, putting them back on the straight and narrow, his lips twitching in something that would be a smile if he weren't so turned on. ]

Me being on top of you might give us some trouble, but ...

[ A pause to rear back, pull his wife-beater over his head, the fabric ruffling his hair before it's tossed to the empty side of the bed. Then Mace's hand is back between Ian's thighs, tugging down the waistband of his boxers.

Not sliding into them but pulling them down sweet and low, dragging the elastic over his cock as it springs free. ]

Gonna make you forget both ways.

[ Up and down, and it comes out as a half-promise, half-threat. They're limited in what they can actually do without causing further damage to the wound seared down Ian's chest, but laid out together — that won't be impossible.

After Mace focuses on driving Ian out of his mind a little more, first. He spits into his palm and then wraps it around Ian firm and hard, giving him a slow jerk. Anything, huh? It's giving him some ideas, and there's a speculative dark in Mace's eyes as he keeps them on Ian's face. ]

[wittingly]

[ Anything. That wasn't an exaggeration - he's been so constantly geared toward fight or flight for the last 48 hours, it's like-- god, it's like someone who gave up drinking knocking back a fifth too quick. Zero to sixty, absolutely taken in by the third f humans are constantly seeking.

His hips lift up automatically when Mace goes for his waistband, neatly trimmed pubic hair and smooth cock freed up to open air, hard as hell from just kissing, touching, five minutes of over-the-clothes necking.

The wife beater goes, and fuck did his fingers tell him the truth. It's like he somehow became fluent in braille, the mapped skin and muscle looks just as good to the eye as they did to the touch.

A hand wraps around him, sensitive enough that even a spit-lubricated calloused hand feels like so god damn much. His head thumps back against the headboard a little too hard, a little too loud, but he doesn't give a shit. God, fuck, that's good.

His hands go searching again, though the left settles on Mace's shoulder for an anchor point. The right trails down, fingertips grazing along bicep, then forearm above the wrist stroking him off. Not to stop or speed up, but because he likes feeling the muscle and the way it moves while Mace works him.

His breath stutters and he licks his lips, struggling to pull his thoughts back together again. ]

I can, um. I can make--

[ Lubricant, he'd like to say, so you don't have to spit. Doesn't quite get that far, though, and it's not a mystery why with the single hard pulse that runs within the confines of Mace's grip.

Jesus, maybe it's not just the endorphin starvation. Maybe it's specifically the owner of the hand.

Don't go there.

In any case, while he's got his brain under control: ]

I have a way better reputation than just sitting back getting jerked off the first time, I mean it.

[hydraulics]

[ A tsk when Ian’s head knocks back against the headboard, but he'd be lying if he said the reaction wasn't deeply satisfying to watch. To know that he was already making Ian feel good, and Mace gives him a fistful of fast, rough strokes as a reward for his pains before slowing down again. Takes his time, twisting his hand on each upstroke, rubbing his thumb right below the head. He’s not going to speed up again until it starts to leak.

God, he wishes they had something more than just spit — and it seems like Ian’s thoughts might be headed in the same direction, but he breaks off as his cock gives one hard, needy throb in the fist stroking it, with a breathless stutter that gets a glint of teeth out of Mace.

But it's not nearly enough, he’s perhaps only a quarter of the way gone; still some humour in the way he phrases himself, too coherent when he speaks again.

Mace wants him all of the way gone. ]

I had no idea teachers lived such scandalous lives.

[ It hadn’t escaped his notice earlier that Ian seemed to like hearing Mace speak, and he figures that’s one way to up the drive Ian out of his mind factor. He lets his voice turn drawling and gravelly, wielding it like a touch, tilting his head as he watches Ian watch him in return, the appreciative look in those pretty eyes.

He can't remember the last time someone looked at him like that and it makes him want to kiss Ian again, his heart doing something strange at the sight — but he refrains from that just yet, not wanting to break the rhythm they’ve got going. ]

You like what you see, Professor?

[ The touch of Ian’s fingers along his arm, fingertips searching out the play of muscles underneath skin. ]

You wanna touch?

[ As if to emphasize his words, Mace brings up his other palm and instead of spitting into it this time, he licks across his fingers instead, avoiding the laceration on his palm. Gets them as wet and as sticky as he can before bringing them down and rubbing them in flat, tantalizing circles against the head of Ian’s cock, his fist going tighter as he works the length in counterpoint. ]

[wittingly]

[ Those quick strokes make his eyes shut tight, the feeling of it a ripple-effect like skipping rocks cascading through pelvis and flushing up his chest, tightening up his thighs. It's good, and he honestly can't remember the last time he slept with someone else. A few months at least, maybe more - the desire to sleep around has been steadily tapering off since he hit thirty. Hard to find fulfillment in it when you cut it off after two or three times with someone and never get to that place where you really feel comfortable.

Nerves spark beneath the pad of a thumb, between the words that burn his ears. His fingertips dig into Mace's forearm, moved with the rhythm, flexing but not restricting.

He twitches hotly in Mace's hand, and his left goes groping across shoulder toward neck, curling his fingers around the back of it, hanging on tight.

That palm at the head of his cock finally breaks the sound barrier, tugging out a quiet little moan from the back of his throat. ]

God- fuck, you trying to kill me?

[ This time without hands on his throat?

Which he- in this stuttered, altered mental space- suddenly realizes might be a driving factor here. He uses that hand at the back of Mace's neck to drag him in, to plant a tight closed-mouthed kiss on him and then roll their foreheads together after it breaks. ]

You got nothing to make up for, you know that right?

[ A faltering breath. ]

Not- that I'm complaining....

[hydraulics]

[ That soft moan is entirely gratifying, makes his own dick ache and strain against the crotch of his jeans, and Mace would probably unzip at this point if he had a hand free. As it is, he can only rock his hips aimlessly, a little answering rumble in his own throat as Ian's hand comes up to dig into his shoulder, gripping tight behind his neck before he pulls him into a firm kiss.

Their teeth might have cut into each other with the force of it if it hadn't been close-mouthed, and Mace is about to move in for another when Ian's next words stop him in his tracks.

His gaze goes from heavy-lidded to clear, and this close, he can just about count each one of Ian's lashes.

Is he doing this to make up for something? Not in any literal sense — the mission here is still drive Ian crazy — but he can't deny that the sight of his fingerprints smudged around Ian's throat had hurt. Can't deny that it had added fuel to the part of him wanting to wipe the memory of those bruises away with something wholly good, even if the first spark to that had been nothing but sheer desire for the man whose forehead is pressed against his.

Somehow, a forehead touch feels more intimate than his hand wrapped around a cock, pumping languidly, and his throat clicks as he swallows, nudging Ian's nose with his own. ]

Trying to make you come. [ A low correction, his lips barely moving with the words as his cupped fingers continue to coax pleasure out of the tip of Ian's dick. Still slow, almost feather-light; the slower the build-up, the better the payoff. ]

Hard enough to make you forget everything else but this.

[ Close enough to admitting something of what he feels, every time his eyes glance down to Ian's throat, to the scarring down his chest and stomach. And then his hands suddenly go still as he teases, ]

Unless you'd rather do something else, 'course.

[wittingly]

[Trying to make you come fucking god he's gonna pull it off just by running his mouth, isn't he? Just by hitting him square in the chest with the way he phrases things, with his tone, with the promise behind his words. Ian's fingers dig into Mace's shoulder at the sound of it, hips tipping up a little wantonly in direct response.

It's working, that forgetting everything part. He isn't thinking about the boarded up window or the dresser in front of the door. The closest thing to a sparing thought this place earns is frustration over the injury down his center. That's it.

Even that hurts less than Mace's hands going still, and there's a quick mournful little noise before he rasps out: ]

Fuck no, don't fucking stop-

[ With a little forced-out stroke he earns by pulling at the forearm he's been gripping. He's past the point of no return, even if he's not about to come yet - over the mark where he could let this die down and fade out, even if Mace up and bolted through it he'd need two private minutes to jerk himself the rest of the way through it.

If one of those creepy fucks burst in the door right now his only defense would be ejaculate projectile. He's a fucking mess. ]

[hydraulics]

[ God, maybe it's a good thing he's still trapped within the confines of his jeans; he doesn't think he'd be able to last too long if he was still out, wouldn't be able to resist shoving his own dick into the tight, wet space of his fist, press it right up against Ian's and stroke them both off. There's something about Ian's frustration, that sad little sound he makes before he uses Mace's forearm like a lever and the needy roll of his hips, that gets his blood running even hotter.

It's exactly what he'd wanted — to take Ian out of this place, even if it's just for a few moments, just in the space between their lips and the warmth of their bodies. Like this, his shoulders are broad enough to block the view of the rest of the room behind them, the dim grey light of day barely able to filter in.

Like this, he's got Ian right where he wants him. He's tempted to slow down even more but he's just aware enough to know that'll be for his own enjoyment, and that's not really what he's going for here, so it's with a half-sigh, half-chuckle that Mace concedes. ]

Yeah? Like this?

[ His fist tightens and starts stroking again, going from absolutely no movement to rough, sudden jerks. Zero to nothing, using just the pad of one finger now to tease at the tip, back and forth in quick, slick little swipes. Dips his head down until his lips are brushing the shell of one ear, murmuring: ]

Come on. You gonna give it up for me?

[wittingly]

[ It's a full-body experience, really - the sensitive icy-burn pleasure running through everywhere Mace's hand strokes slips through his pelvis, has his balls tugging in tight, has a flush running over his chest, has his skin lighting up and his thighs going rigid.

He'd make it a little longer if it weren't for his god damn voice, right up against the shell of his ear, hot breath coasting along it and sending a shiver down his spine and--

That's it, that's the trigger. His fingers imprint hard into Mace's shoulder, dig into the skin. A harsh, breathless and urgent whisper shakes loose from his chest: ]

God- fuck, yeah- okay- I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come-

[ A warning, a plea, seriously don't fucking stop--

And then his head drops down to Mace's shoulder, his stomach tugs in tight with just a dim shade of pain underlining that peak pre-fall, that height when the chord gets pulled as tight as it can go, lingering at the tip for two, three seconds.

Then falling with a shudder, spasming throbs through the tight fist around him, hard enough that he doesn't spill over but rather stripes any skin that happens to be in proximity three, four times in hot succession. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Fingers dig into the meat of Mace's shoulder, Ian's breath goes hitched and shaking, words spilling from his lips like he can't hold them back.

And then he's pressing his forehead right in the space between neck and shoulder, his body tightening underneath in a way that Mace knows is a prelude to orgasm. It sends satisfaction echoing through Mace, something hot blooming in the center of him, and he tilts his head so that he can take the tip of Ian's ear between his teeth and worry at it.

I'm gonna — ]

Yeah, c'mon, let me see it —

[ His voice is warm and rough, and Ian comes so hard it doesn't dribble out or spill but shoots all over the fist stroking him fast and hard and merciless, hitting both of Mace's hands, the front of his jeans, dripping down to his own pelvis. Mace works him through it, slowing down and gentling, brings him down off that edge while whispering fond nonsense into his ear.

Something soft ripples through him and he turns his head to press his lips in a brief kiss to Ian's temple before drawing back with a satisfied sound in his chest, taking in the sight in front of him with lazy, dark eyes. He can feel the insistent ache between his own legs but it's distant for now, something non-priority.

There's a faint sting as some of Ian's release gets into the cuts on the knuckles of his hand, and he licks it off, tasting bitter salt and copper. And then he's leaning down again, nudging Ian's face up with the back of one clean finger and capturing his lips in a deep kiss, pushing his own taste into his mouth. ]

[wittingly]

[ Mace accomplishes his goal - for the entire duration of it and throughout the afterglow, Ian forgets where in the fuck they are. There is no cabin, no fog, no fear, there's just this feeling pulling through his pelvus and tugging low in his gut. The smell of Mace's skin, the sound of his voice, and - more worryingly - a tight clenching behind his ribs. Humans release a bonding hormone, a chemical in their brain when they sleep together. As though he needed any help on top of all the other intense bonding they've been going through from the start.

He breathes through it, deep heavy rising and falling in his chest. Eventually, his chin tips up so he can press his mouth to Mace's shoulder instead of his forehead, open-lipped kisses trailing up toward neck.

His hand winds around Mace's wrist, helping him peel it away from sensitive skin already going soft.

His voice pitches low, syllables rumbling together like a raspy purr. ]

You have... a filthy fucking mouth, you know that?

[ But it isn't a chastisement, just a calm observation. When he makes it to neck, he sucks softly at the chord between shoulder and throat. ]

Honest to god, I think you need some kind of Jesus.

[ Amused, utterly joking, he's been agnostic for as long as he can remember.

When the last of the shocks have faded from him, when he recovers finally, he murmurs: ]

Can you sit at the edge of the bed?

[ Easier to do what he wants to do there. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Ian's breathing slows as the last of the aftershocks go through his body, and Mace can feel it with every pulse of the softening cock still in his hand, right up until a tug of fingers has it pulling away.

He lets go and parts their kiss with a quiet hum at the same time, Ian's lips trailing down to his shoulder and then up toward his neck. Enjoys the soft suction at his throat, because some juvenile part of him likes the idea of hickeys, and maybe he just wants a bruise of his own as a reminder of this.

Can't help the almost-smug look that passes over his face as he tilts it down to gaze at Ian, looking for the same satisfaction in his expression that he can hear in his low, purring voice. ]

And I didn't even drop one F-bomb.

[ Drawled out with more self-possession than he's technically feeling right now, because he's hard as fuck in his own jeans and there's something about the way Ian's watching him that's making it worse.

He wants him bad, of course he does; under better circumstances, this would have gone on for a lot longer and with both of them horizontal, something other than spit for the kinds of things Mace would've wanted to do. And yeah, he can sit at the edge of the bed. But. ]

You gonna help me find Jesus there?

[ A quirk to his lips as he does as asked, stretching out a little with his legs parting to let some of the pressure off of his hard-on, but there's an unspoken concern in his eyes as he nods at the burnt wound running down Ian's torso. ]

[wittingly]

[ He can see that look of concern as clearly as he can taste Mace in his mouth still. The look he shoots back is calm and a little wry. ]

I pray better on my knees.

[ All the same, he's delicate and careful when he moves. Tucks himself away and precariously edges himself off the bed so he can take a knee on the hardwood. Like this, there's minimal bending and curling. Mace is up high enough off the ground that most of it's gonna come from his neck and upper back, far less in his core. It's all part of a well-thought out strategy he formulated in the two second post orgasm clarity he found.

On his knees, he tugs at Mace's thighs again to guide and drag him right up to the edge. Shifts himself forward until his stomach's just an inch or two away from pressing into anything.

The flat of his palms slide up thighs, thumbs dipping over the curve toward the inner spaces, one of them finding and passing over the hard line of his cock. ]

Do me a favor and don't think about my stomach while I'm doing this. I really don't wanna accidentally build an association. Things are gonna get weird enough already.

[ What with, you know, the murder. ]

[hydraulics]

[ I pray better on my knees, Ian says, and amusement runs headlong into a sudden stab of lust in the pit of Mace’s stomach. It’s an image that doesn’t even get the chance to properly flash before his mind’s eye before it’s happening right in front of him, momentarily stealing the breath from his lungs.

He traps the tip of his tongue between his teeth, holding back words of concern as Ian settles himself slow and delicate on the hardwood, but the muscles in Mace’s thighs are a little tense when those fingers pull and guide him into place.

Those same muscles twitch as wide, warm palms slide up, and Mace nearly cuts down into his goddamn tongue when a thumb drags along the bulge of his erection. Can’t stop his hips from bucking up into the touch, even as his eyes dart down to make sure Ian’s stomach isn’t in any danger of getting grazed by his shin, or the bedding. ]

Told you it was too late. [ Roughly, gaze heavy with arousal as it slides back up to Ian’s face, flickering between those big, dark eyes and his mouth.

He’s so fucking handsome. God, the things Mace wants to do. ]

That wound of yours, it’s all I’ve been thinkin’ about. Driving me crazy.

[ The hand he’d licked mostly clean, he wipes it one more time on the sheets at the side of the mattress before it settles on Ian’s shoulder — not his hair, not meant to guide or anything like that. If anything, the touch is protective, steadying; Ian's already formed an association in Mace's head, something soft and hot and sweet. ]

[wittingly]

[ he breathes out a soft laugh, because he thinks it's probably true - not in an attraction sense, he thinks Mace has been driving himself crazy with worry. Too much concern over it, too much concern over the bruising at his throat. Too much worry about Ian in general, and he'd spent those last few minutes trying to give Ian the gift of a blank mind.

It's time he return the favor.

Maybe a little too intensely, he thinks, considering what he has planned. What he aims to do here.

His fingers find button, find zipper, peel them both away. They curl around the hemline of waistband, nudge him wordlessly to lift so he can guide it clear out of the way. Free up cock and thighs and hips and waist, and track his eyes pointedly over it. Not a surprise that it's just as appealing as the rest of him, probably.

He flicks his eyes up, a little devious. ]

Warn me when you're close, yeah?

[ Those are his last words on the matter, and there's absolutely no preamble. A hand curls around the base of Mace's cock, and he introduces himself lips-first. Wraps them immediately around the head of it and starts lathing tongue in a deliberate swirl meant to soak it and ease the friction of dryness. Wet it for a smooth-gliding descent.

He is not, as it turns out, a fucking tease. No, he's a scholar, thanks, and he has a lot to learn. ]

[hydraulics]

[ He has an idea of what Ian's got in mind, getting down to his knees between Mace’s spread thighs like that, but the idea of it can't compare to the reality of it — Mace’s breath catches at the first touch to his fucking zipper, his hips lifting in tandem with the ordering nudge Ian gives him. His jeans and shorts settle somewhere around his knees, and his eyes aren’t half-lidded anymore as they meet Ian’s sly little look. ]

Your wish is my fucking—

[ Yeah, so much for no bombing. Ian’s lips stretch wet and immediate around the head of his cock as a warm hand wraps around the shaft, and Mace’s heels dig into the hardwood below as he stops himself from thrusting up, his grip on Ian’s shoulder spasming despite his best intentions.

Jesus Christ, Ian’s not coming over to play, and a deep groan starts somewhere in Mace’s chest as those gorgeous fucking lips begin to ease down, saliva making the slide silken and so delicious that Mace can feel his own mouth watering.

It’s been a long damn time since he had someone go down on him, let alone somebody he feels this intensely toward. The emotion making his ribs ache, the way his every thought within the last forty-eight hours or so has been focused on Ian one way or another — there’s no denial in him about what it means, no confusion.

And turns out, doing this with somebody you feel that way toward, who very clearly at least likes you in return, it makes things intense in a way that has Mace realizing with a mixture of desire and regret that he’s gonna be getting close really, really fast. His cock flexes in that hot, wet mouth, and he knows the tip is already going slick. ]

Take — take it easy, huh?

[ Breathless, unsteady, and he’s not talking about Ian’s wound this time. ]