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

[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. ]

[wittingly]

[ If he were a younger man, if he weren't split open and healing, if they weren't in a goddamn murder cabin - if any one of these things were true, odds are good that he'd be twitching back to life again at least a little. It's the grip on his shoulder and the aborted little move he makes. It's the groan, when he's already a fan of hearing Mace's voice.

It's so, so fucking satisfying. He'd love to say it's almost as satisfying as the feeling of that hand wrapped around him earlier, but selfishly... nah. Close second, though.

He thinks, at first, that this is another attempt to look out for him. That cautious word, that gentle request, except two or three seconds later his mind processes the sound of it and the taste of salt on his tongue already.

He lowers himself all the way down to where his hand's wrapped around the base, then coasts his tongue along the underside as he slides off again. Removes his mouth entirely to blow cool air, then lift his eyes up again to catch sight of Mace's expression.

It's so good, so sweet. ]

Keep it together, charming. We got a little ways to go.

[ He gets it, believe him he does, it's so easy to just tip over right now with everything happening. It's better, though, to keep him here like this a while. To drag this out, to make him stay in this place with one singular focus for as long as he can.

Less time spent in the real wold.

His right and gently strokes, barely, just the same two or three inches at the least sensitive part of him, until he feels Mace go still, stop twitching, level off again.

And then he descends, a swirling tongue and careful suction. ]

[hydraulics]

[ And of course, Ian does the exact opposite of taking it easy on Mace — takes him all the way down instead, in a slick, torturous slide that has Mace’s mouth falling open, his brows furrowing in pleasure as he feels the head of his dick touch the very back of Ian’s throat.

That tongue dragging slow and swirling on the way back up right along the most sensitive part of him, and the soft, cool sensation of air on his twitching prick — fuck, where the hell did you learn this, Ian?

Keep it together, charming, and Mace would reply to that with something appropriately cocky, if he was capable of anything more than a breathless, frustrated moan. The fingers of his free hand grope blindly on the bed next to him, curl around a fistful of pillow so he has something to brace himself with, because if he loses it in the next two minutes like his cock is urging him to, he’s not gonna be able to look Ian in the eye for the rest of the goddamn night.

A moment’s reprieve as the fingers of Ian’s right hand give him a few, almost soothing tugs at the base of his dick, Mace thinking he’s got things more or less under control — and then, oh God, back again. The blood-hot heat of Ian’s mouth, the way it’s so fucking wet that his balls clench up with the sensation, his every instinct telling him to thrust into it until he comes —

Can’t, though. The echo of Ian’s words still in his ears, that teasing nickname — and Mace pants, his knuckles tightening on the pillow, his other hand rubbing restlessly at the wide stretch of Ian’s shoulder. ]

You got no idea.

[ His bedroom talk is going to take a decided dip in sophistication, sorry Ian. It’s shaky now, the sweet tease of Ian’s tongue against his underside as he sucks is doing Mace’s brain cells in one by one. ]

How you look right now. Fuckin’ gorgeous. Wish I had a, a camera. I’d take a picture of you just like this, fuck.

[wittingly]

[ He slept around a lot in college, if we're being completely honest. Like, a lot a lot. Did a lot of recreational drugs, got invited to a lot of parties - particularly by the mushroom doing type. Too many threesomes and more-somes while tripping on E. He was stupid about it, not as safe as he should've been, but fortunately walked away from it all clean and none the worse for the wear.

Which means he knows how to suck dick like it's a fucking ice cream cone, and he's happy to do it.

Ian looks up with his mouth still wrapped around Mace, and despite the fact that his lips are occupied there's still something distinctly amused in his expression. Must be in his eyes, the way they squint a little and get crows' feet at the edges. He hums out a laugh against Mace's cock, but doesn't slow down his relentless pursuit.

The goal here is to find the line. Learn from physical cues where exactly Mace hits his peak, then reel him back rather than tipping him over. If he can keep him right there on the cusp for a while, he'll consider it a victory. ]

[hydraulics]

[ The audacity. Ian looks up at him, eyes darkened and crinkling around the edges, and the lips still stretched around Mace's dick are — ]

Are you laughing at — oh my God.

[ He can't even sound properly amused about it, or pretend put-out about it — only sounds even more turned on, the vibrations in Ian's throat amplifying how fucking good everything feels. It makes him wonder what it'd feel like if Ian started humming and didn't stop — the thought has Mace's teeth digging into his lower lip with another moan, drawn out this time.

He's slept around a fair amount but never with anyone particularly adventurous, let alone the partying type, so he's been content to rely on his imagination for his more risque ideas. Might be out of his depth here, and he likes it.

Right now, though, there's no room in his mind for anything other than the pulsing heat steadily growing in his pelvis. Lust slowly coiling itself into a tight ball as Ian takes him down again and again, getting increasingly wetter until his cock gives a sudden warning pulse against the back of that amazing tongue. His knuckles go briefly white around the pillow and he gasps, forcing himself back from the edge with an unintentionally rough pat pat at Ian's shoulder. ]

Fuck, I'm close, I'm close.

[wittingly]

[ His eyes crinkle farther at the question and, more importantly, the ensuing exclamation. He can take a wild guess what that might be a reaction to, and he tucks it away for the moment.

That pat pat is a tap-out. Ian peels off instantly, mouth wide open, no upward glide. His hand goes more tight around the base of Mace's cock, squeezing a little vice-like to keep him from accidentally rolling over the edge through sheer momentum alone.

He peeks back there on his heels, catching his breath and watching the man above him react. Watching his expression, the flushed sight of his dick, the teeth he's worried into his lip. Ian's own are swollen a little, bright red, he can relate.

His free hand soothes small circles into Mace's thigh. ]

Shh, you got it, handsome. Reel it in. We're not there yet.

[hydraulics]

[ Thank fuck Ian doesn’t pull back with his lips still warm and tight around Mace, because there’s no fucking way he would’ve been able to hold back — and there wouldn’t have been anything but the firm grip at the base of his dick, nothing to push him over the edge good and hard.

He would’ve tripped over slow and unsatisfying, and the thought of that gets a low growl out of him, soothed away by the gentle circling touch of fingers at his thigh.

Ian’s sitting back to catch his breath, and Mace shakes head a little, trying to rid it of the fog surrounding it so he can focus on him instead of his own dick. Which, god. Both the best and worst idea, because now he can really see exactly how reddened Ian’s lips have gotten, fuck-swollen and so goddamn pretty that all Mace wants to do is … ]

I wanna kiss you. You're fuckin' perfect.

[ Hoarse, sounding dazed and almost indignant. Brought back from the edge far enough, he can trust his hand to let go of the grip it’s got on Ian and cup the side of his face as he gazes down at him. Strokes his thumb from the edge of Ian’s lips to the side of his cheek and then back again. ]

[wittingly]

[ It floods again, that feeling, that heart-breaking fondness in his chest. An unfurling wet heat that takes up space between his skin and the bones of his ribs; you're fucking perfect. It hurts in a way that feels so goddamn good, and he can't let himself think about it.

Instead, he rises up on his knees again and reels Mace in with a hand at the back of his neck. I wanna kiss you- well, he can do that. He can make that happen. It's filthy, absolutely slopping, and it's half made up of Ian licking into Mace's mouth again and again until he feels like enough time has passed. That there's enough distance between Mace and orgasm that he can peel back and dip himself down again.

About that humming.

Ian takes him half way in, not too deep so as to stop the reverberation, just deep enough that he can feel it through Ian's tongue, through the back of his throat.

How's that, your highness? ]

[hydraulics]

[ He doesn't expect to actually get that kiss he was yearning for, so when Ian surges up and yanks him into one, Mace's reaction is a mixture of gratification and shock, his hand happily sliding back into that silky dark hair. A little careless with it now, his fingers rhythmically tightening and loosening as Ian’s tongue makes short work of Mace’s remaining coherent thought.

It’s messy, fucking dirty and so good with the way Ian’s licking into him, he can taste himself — and fuck, if that doesn’t make his dick harder without even a single touch to it. When he draws away Mace almost pulls him back in, the sound that’s about to leave his lips less of a groan this time, something plaintive and higher.

He doesn’t get the chance to voice it. It catches in his throat along with his next breath as Ian wraps those sinful lips right back around him, and then starts humming. ]

Fuck, oh fuck, Ian —

[ Rasping and needy, his fingers fisting in the back of Ian’s shirt, a sudden thrill going down his spine. His cock throbs as the vibrations go through it, out of sheer pleasure rather than imminent orgasm. ]

Just like that, Christ, nobody’s ever —

[ Ever done that, ever made him feel this good, ever looked so beautiful on their fucking knees. Ever had such a tight lasso around his heart and his dick at the same damn time. ]

[wittingly]

[ Oh my god, James Mace, the things that come out of your fucking mouth are practically made for him. Hearing his own name, hearing it in that tone, and even more than that - nobody's ever. That one gives him a particularly selfish, deep kind of gratification. It's dark and possessive and filthy, and he bobs enthusiastically after he hears it. Like encouragement, like he's rewarding it,

Just like that.

Good. God damn, good. Mace has been taking care of him for two straight days, it's time he earn something back. He loves this, he really fucking loves this. It's like some kind of new scientific discovery, like he's the first person to unearth a new species. Write a new theory. Make it a law. His.

His hand strokes out the places his mouth can't reach, and he picks up speed. His body does its best to redirect a little blood south again - not enough to get him hard, not even half way, not so soon, but-- it's there. The thought is there. The want is there, burning under his skin.

If Mace keeps talking, his whole edging plan is gonna go clean out the fucking window. Replaced with absolute enthusiasm. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Jesus Christ, Ian. It’s as though a switch gets flipped, and if Mace thought Ian was driving him crazy before, it may actually happen this time. He can’t look away from the way those gorgeous fucking lips stretch around his dick, his face scrunching up with something that looks like pain, hips jerking helplessly with each suck. ]

Never gonna want anything else, your mouth — it’s so fuckin' good, Ian, you’re so good.

[ And it turns out Mace really, really likes the way Ian’s name tastes in his mouth when he’s this close to the edge. When he’s being swallowed down again and again after being denied, his world narrowing down to the man in front of him and the way he’s making Mace feel inside and out. It’s like he’s the one being burned this time, a pleasure so sharp and sweet that it fucking hurts to feel this good. ]

Ian, Ian, Ian —

[ — and he breaks off into a series of moans, each one a little more desperate than the last, twisting the fistful of shirt he’s got until his voice starts to shake. ]

I’m gonna, oh fuck.

[ Tapering off into a whine, and all he can hear is the wet, dirty, perfect sound of that mouth as it takes him apart. The muscles in his thighs and stomach go tense and quivering, his cock jerking hard as his toes curl against the floor. Got about a second to make that call, Ian. Pull him back again or push him over? He’s all yours. ]

[wittingly]

[ He's gonna be replaying this in his head for- well, maybe for as long as he lives, considering the nature of their reality now. It's definitely gonna be on his mind in an hour, in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning - he's already thinking when can we do this again. They say foreplay for the next time you have sex with your partner begins before the sex you're currently having is even really over.

Not that they're partners.

Just.

And not that he should be thinking of all the different ways he wants them to fuck.

Just...

My god his ears are burning. He's never been one for watching pornography. Not because he's above it or anything, it just sounds so god damn fake all the time. So scripted, not genuine in the slightest. This, though - fuck, this... never gonna want anything else, fucking hell.

He couldn't stop himself if he tried. Hearing all this lead up, it's entirely selfish, but Ian's got a burning need to know what he sounds like when he actually comes.

Who's taking who apart again right now? He can't remember.

He doubles down. Flies as quickly as he can while keeping a rhythm. Tightens up his fist, lathes with his tongue. Come on, baby, let him hear it. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Had he known, going into this, that Ian was gonna practically suck his brains out through his dick, Mace would’ve asked for his hands to be tied the fuck down. There’s no way he can keep them steady like this, nails involuntarily digging into Ian’s shoulder, his other hand clenching in his own damn hair as he moans Ian’s name, loud and trembling.

All he knows is the wet mouth around him, the way it’s reducing his entire world to nothing but good, and if Ian pulls back right now, Mace thinks he might actually die. But Ian keeps going, doesn’t stop, and the pleasure between Mace's legs goes white-hot right before it crashes over him like a wave, his voice going slurred and broken. ]

F-fuck, you’re gonna make me — Ian, please—!

[ And Mace comes so hard his vision blurs, his cock pulsing into that silken, molten heat, twitching all over and curling in on himself with the force of his orgasm. It’s so good he loses time for a while, sinking into it, his ears filled with a sudden white noise. As if from a distance, he can hear someone make shocked, hurt little sounds; realizes dimly that they’re coming from his own throat.

Realizes that his eyes are squeezed shut, lashes trembling; that both his hands are on Ian now, the fingers curled loosely in those dark, soft strands as the aftershocks go through him. He swallows, feeling overwhelmed and so, so good. ]

Jesus Christ, gorgeous.

[ Rough and unsteady, his breath hitching afterward. It’s as if his orgasm’s knocked the bravado right out of him, left him aching and soft in a way he’s never felt before. ]

[wittingly]

[ They can talk about wrist restraints next time, provided there is a next time. All the same, don't think for a second he minds having crescent moon fingernail marks in his shoulders or down his back; of all the things marring his body, those are the ones he'd actually enjoy bearing.

You're gonna make me-

He loves, he loves the way Mace says his name. He flicks his eyes up as he works to watch all of this unfold, the best fucking show, the sweetest sight he's had in days. Swallows around him as best he can, working through the tide, trying not to make a mess despite the fact that he already did back on his own turn.

He likes fingertips in his hair. He likes those soft little sounds that fall out of Mace's throat. He likes the sound of Mace's voice after, shaky and new like something only recently reborn.

(And part of him is unsettled by how soft it sounds, but he's trying not to let that in right now.)

He peels off, wiping his mouth with the pad of his thumb and the side of his index finger. Self-satisfied, a little smug, a little sore in the stomach. The tiniest bit hard again, but with no potential to go anywhere.

He uses a hand on Mace's thigh for leverage to stand, and to delicately steer himself back onto the bed. ]

That was for saving my life. Thanks for that.

[ He says brightly, throat a little wrecked, tone humorous. ]

[hydraulics]

[ It's a mark of how absolutely drained Mace is that Ian's already halfway onto the bed before his eyes flutter open, only just noticing the absence of sleek black hair between his fingers, the firm hand around his thigh. He fumbles with his jeans, pulling them up as he turns around with almost less coordination than Ian just had, taking in his expression intently — pleased, sated, and a flicker of an emotion that Mace can’t really place.

At that wisecrack, his mouth does something strange, not quite a smile, but closer to that than anything else.

Maybe it’s better if he takes the same route. Says something along similar lines, like I bet you say that to all the EMTs. Safer to just enjoy the quiet aftermath of what they’d shared, take satisfaction of his own in the throaty way Ian’s speaking, and then let the moment pass by them.

But he doesn’t want to. That’s not his way. From the moment he’d asked Ian if he wanted him — that unspoken yes he’d received had opened a door inside him that’s not gonna close until Mace decides to turn the key again. And like the rest of him, it’ll need something concrete first. Until then, it’s letting all the light and warmth in.

He shifts forward silently, gaze dropping meaningfully to Ian’s lips before raising back to his eyes, telegraphing his movements as he leans in with his voice still hoarse, still soft, but with something deep and steady underneath. You know what they say about still waters. ]

You missed a spot.

[ And this time when he kisses Ian, it’s with both hands cupping his face and gently holding him in place, not against a headboard or as a prelude to something more, but pulling him close to Mace instead, just to feel the heat of his body near his own. Unhurried and searching like they’ve got all the time in the fucking world, lapping the taste of himself out of that sweet mouth like he’s trying to say something.

In a way, he is. ]

[wittingly]

[ A joke would've been the easier path for Ian to follow. Dismiss the intimacy with humor, reel it back, step into the role they'd been in before they descended into this whole experience. It'd have been far easier than the way Mace leans in, cups his face like something precious. Kisses him without heat but rather with feeling, and outside of the realm of sex Ian can't easily ignore the way his heart responds.

He becomes passive. Pliant. Closes his eyes this time not to get lost but rather to detach.

Let it go.

He peels away slowly, gently, untangling with the ease and care of someone who knows how not to hurt someone's feelings as they end a moment.

He's got a good enough excuse lined up - a nod at the place where their small can of fire's still burning beneath a hot steel dish, balanced on a board that's deceptive in its sturdiness considering it's subject to spill at the wrong move of an inner-spring mattress. ]

It's a wonder we didn't burn the place down.

[hydraulics]

[ The disentangling is done deftly enough on Ian’s part that Mace doesn’t notice it as anything but the moment coming to its natural end, and there’s a clarity in his eyes when they open again, no more the unsteadiness of a few minutes ago. The exhaustion’s going too, and there’s a new strength in his limbs in its place, as though he’d just had a full meal.

Feels like he could do everything they’d done up until now all over again, and he’s not talking about the sex. ]

God, don’t jinx it.

[ And there’s the humour again, as Mace gets up to put out the small flame and bring the soup over to Ian, balanced on the makeshift board-tray of the drawer panel.

He'd technically had a meal the day before with the sandwich, but it's Ian who’s been on nothing but some soup and half a clementine for the last two days now. He must be goddamn starving, and with that in mind, Mace goes hunting for something else from their stash to easily pair with the soup.

Returns a minute later with some whole wheat crackers and, more importantly, a sealed bag of dried fruits. Protein, in lieu of some kind of meat. He tears open the seal and puts it all to the side with a pointed little look, brushing Ian's hair absently back from his forehead. ]

Finish your vegetables, I’m gonna go run us a shower. [ Together, of course. But the us implies it. ]

[wittingly]

[ He'd put in what he thought was enough for two people, thought it was obvious they were meant to share. He'd enforce that, too, except... It's the hand reaching out to softly brush his hair back away from his forehead. It's run us a shower. It's those things combined, and the tone Mace says with it, and the implication.

He freezes. Plain and simple, he's too frozen to try and push it. Too frozen even to say listen, I don't, but another part of his mind digs its heels in.

They're stuck here together. They're here together, and they might fucking die tonight. Even if he doesn't do this for himself (even if he can pretend no part of him wants it), who the fuck is he to do that to the guy who saved his life? Who the fuck does he think he is, taking away this one good in all the bad?

So his chin ducks, and he shovels food into his mouth instead of shoveling his foot into it.

He's starving.

(For food and for intimacy.)

Besides that, a shower sounds fucking fantastic after two days of sweating and bleeding and screwing around in the dust.

The quantity he puts down between the time Mace leaves and the time Ian joins him is almost astounding, frankly. Full, warm, post-coital, stepping into the shower is like the final nail in the coffin for how fucking tired he'll be after. ]

[hydraulics]

[ Ian's not wrong; it had been obvious they were meant to share it. But Mace had figured it would sound ridiculous if he'd tried to explain that one kiss — not the sex, not even the charged moment before it, but a single meeting of mouths — had been enough to refresh him. Or — not ridiculous, maybe, but it would've been too much.

He'll have a few bites before they turn in, he’s not too fussed. If he gets another kiss before they sleep, he won’t need that either.

Much like the rest of the cabin, the interior of the bathroom is heavy with dust, including the shower area. Stepping inside, Mace wrinkles his nose and promptly sets about washing everything he can with a military precision. Luckily, it’s an old-fashioned bathroom, with a center drain in the tile below rather than something modern and harder to clean.

Admittedly, he wouldn’t have bothered if it was just him, or if Ian was almost anyone else. But the thought of somebody he’d held, somebody he'd kissed, somebody he’d slept with, bathing in filth is frankly unacceptable to Mace. So by the time Ian enters the bathroom it’s gleaming, with a billowing cloud of steam welcoming him in and Mace at the shower, naked and placing various bottles along the side ledge.

His hair is already soaked and plastered to his face, and when he glances over his shoulder at Ian, he has to wipe it out of his eyes. Knows how he looks — like a wet shaggy dog, maybe, and there’s a bit of a grin on his face as he speaks. ]

Careful not to slip. The door off to the side goes to the laundry — we've got some pretty thoughtful hosts.

[ A pause, and then idly, holding out a hand for Ian: ] Y'know, for murderers.

[wittingly]

[ He'd worry their hosts were going to burst in on them during this, but frankly if they were in the business of interrupting during something vulnerable he can't imagine a better time than when he had his mouth wrapped around Mace's dick. If he were a murderer with a sense of humor, that's when he'd have done it.

He's been in this bathroom. He remembers what it looked like then, and comparing it now... it's obvious Mace took the time to scrub while Ian was eating. Can't say if he's amused or impressed or flattered, maybe some combination of all three of them.

He glances at the door to the laundry, skirts it and instead begins the process of peeling off his clothes and settling them in the sink. Whether it's a laundry chute (no way in fuck he's going downstairs) or a laundry room (probably a head in the drier, right?) there's no way he's trusting it right now.

Shower first, worry about clothes second.

And then they're both naked, and Ian takes the offered hand. Not like he needs the help, not that he- it's the gesture, and it's cinching something in him painfully, and fuck, god fucking damn it why here and now of all places? All this time being so fucking careful and he can't get himself under control in the place they're most likely going to die?

Stupid.

Another thing worth noting, maybe is that Mace looks good as fuck wet and naked. It's kind of a contrast to Ian and his unsightly fucking burn taking up the center point of his chest. The eye-catcher, the first thing and maybe the only thing anyone would look at if they saw him undressed.

It's gonna be there forever, in some form or fashion. No more wearing only swim trunks to the beach.

He steps under the spray to wet his hair and water goes cascading down his wound. He hisses softly, but there's really nothing for it. No way to block off that much of his body in the shower. It's not gonna hurt it, if anything doing a pass with some soap might not be a bad idea.

Apparently he hasn't noticed the bottles yet. Can't blame him, given what else he has to look at. ]

Was there actually - you know, stuff in here? Shampoo?

[ Or are they strictly burning off the gross with hot water? ]

[hydraulics]

[ It’s only after Mace holds out his hand that it occurs to him — there’s a chance Ian might not take it. Might see it as him trying to help Ian into the shower, which, fair enough.

But it’s more than that. It’s every bit as instinctive as brushing aside Ian’s hair had been, borne out of the simple desire to touch him again; the decreased chance of slippage is the cherry on top of the dessert, and when Ian’s palm slides against his own, Mace can’t help but rub his thumb against the knuckles, a secret, back-and-forth gesture.

Obscured by the steam, it isn’t until Ian steps into the shower that Mace sees him properly, and once that happens, fuck. He can’t look away, not immediately. He’s bruised, he’s bloody, the horrible scar running down his front is more vivid than ever. He’s drop-dead fucking gorgeous and all Mace can think of, watching the water sluice down his chest and the curve of his spine and the sweet little divots of his hips, is that he wants to kiss him again and not stop.

Belatedly, he realizes he’s still holding onto Ian’s hand.

He doesn’t let go until Ian does. ]

Shampoo, conditioner, soap, and fuckin’ aftershave. They stocked the hell outta this place.

[ Kinda hard to keep sounding amused when Ian’s this close to him, naked — all that beautiful, wet skin within reach — but he manages it all the same, placing both hands on Ian’s shoulders and gently steering him until he’s in front of Mace. Still half-under the spray but without the full force of it hitting his chest, both of them facing each other, with Mace strategically placing himself between the door and Ian.

They make eye contact, and this time the humour comes easier, Mace's grin going a little crooked. ]

Bet there's lube in the nightstand.

[ A truly shameless eyebrow waggle follows, and then Mace is putting slight pressure on Ian’s shoulders, nudging him to turn around so that his back is to Mace’s front. ]

Pass me the shampoo. Biggest bottle, to the left.

[ Why yes, he intends to wash your hair, Ian. ]

[wittingly]

[ It shouldn't spark something in him, that thumb brushing over his knuckles. He shouldn't be feeling some type of way over how it lingers, or how Mace puts his hands on Ian's shoulders to steer him around. He goes mutely, obediently, pliant and malleable while completely out of his depth. When's the last time he shared a shower with another person? Not in years, probably, and even then it'd been one of those morning sex situations with somebody he didn't see again after. It had been entirely physical, playful, lustful, and very little cleaning actually got done there.

Stop letting this happen. You need to back up. You need to set boundaries. You need to stop playing house.

He reaches down. Plucks up the shampoo bottle. Passes it back.

(It feels good, though. To have an excuse to let it happen this time. They're somewhere removed from reality. This isn't real, this place is a nightmare so why can't it be a dream?)

It's going to hurt when it ends.

It'll probably end with him dying, so he'll never have to feel that hurt, will he?

Fuck, the duality, the conflict is so strong it's almost rendering him speechless. Certainly contemplative, a little withdrawn, a little quiet. Might be able to pass it off as being tired. The hot water feels good anyway. Mace feels good, just this presence. The steadiness of it, the safety, the security. Like a rock, a suit of armor. Something to latch onto that feels safer than a barred door, safer than a wall. A coping mechanism.

If he were here alone, he'd have lost it already. Even if he'd managed to survive somehow, he'd be locked in the bedroom going slowly insane. ]

I can make lube.

[ He murmurs dismissively, as though to say this cabin isn't all that impressive. But it does bring to mind a good question: ]

Why the fuck would they bother, though? Why give us food, why give us fucking shampoo if they just brought us here to try and kill us? Is it- like a test, to see how long we survive it?