dinohouse | BATH TUB / SHOWER MEME, open to anyone

BATH TUB / SHOWER MEME, open to anyone

from here

In the interests of good clean fun, we're providing you with a bathtime meme~

The scenario is quite simple, your character finds themselves in the bath or shower with another character (clothed? Naked? Getting naked? Who knows~ That's part of the fun!), whether this is normal or your character has just "poofed" into the situation is up to you! Hijinks ensue.

Feel free to mix and match, use the options below, or go to RNG and let the gods decide

1. dropped the soap - ..Huh... how did you end up in prison? And during shower hour....

2. peasoup steam - The water is hot tonight and the steam is making it way too hot to see anything! Keep your hands to themselves

3. slip and slide - Whoooa all those puddles are making it hard to stand up straight. Maybe someone can help you out.

4. accidental peeping tom - Oh the joys of communal showers.... especially if someone starts attending to their... "needs" right next to you.

5. bubble bath - Because FUCK YEAH BUBBLES.

6. obligatory sex option - Huh, you're stuck in a shower with someone... and there's a note taped on the door. "If you want out, you gotta make out for 10 minutes~ Cheers!" Did we mention the aphro pumping in with the steam and water? Because there's that too.

7. ANYTHING ELSE. Anything and everything else.

Remember when you post up with your character, make sure to specify if you're okay with smut or not!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Shingo. . . san." It's an effort to remember what to call you. The honorific is, admittedly, hesitant.

". . .are you alright?" It seems like the thing to ask. He did quite lose track of himself for a while. You might have pulled a muscle.

"Better than all right," he says, smiling up at you. "And you don't have to call me -san, if you don't want. I'd prefer you leave it off."

His voice is warm but he can see you're hesitating, and his fingers still against your skin, just looking up at you and trying to figure out what you're thinking.

You beam at him and for a moment, just a brief one, he gets distracted from breathing.

"Shingo," Date says, sounding faintly sheepish. "I, ah, I'm not very fond of my first name, so. . ." He's awkward. He doesn't usually do this.

Actually, he never does this.

And yet.

His hands rub warm around your curves and angles, showing you with his closeness, if not the stiffness of his shoulders or words, that he wants you here, that he wants to stay close to you.

And though part of his mind doesn't understand, and is trying to bring more of his attention to this fact, the rest of him tucks one knuckle under your chin and tips your mouth up for another kiss.

And it sends his heart hammering away again, racing and shortening his breath as it goes.

Edited 2012-11-25 21:02 (UTC)

"It's all right," Shingo says, curling a little closer. "I don't mind either way." And then he's sighing, melting into the broad warmth of your hands and oh. He arches into it when you kiss him, your mouth rough and warm against his as he nibbles your lower lip and curls his arms around your waist, most of the tension draining right out of him. He's flushed and panting when they break apart again, his eyes dark and soft.

"Are you all right? I know... this place did something. I felt so strange..." He's nuzzling at your shoulder, though, his lips brushing.

"It...it did," Date manages, though talking - which was so important a moment ago - is seeming less so, now that Shingo's lips are once again so warm and soft against him. His skin prickles, tightening, and he tugs on you gently, encouraging you to let him support your weight again. He turns the both of you together, finding a support for his shoulder, tipping against it, trying to breathe slowly.

"I'm alright, I think. I think..." He tries to summon his knowledge, his study. What are your symptoms? His? His brain chugs slowly. You're present, immediate, far more pertinent.

There's a showerhead near his left shoulder. He strikes on that idea, focus sharpening with a solid grip to anchor itself on.

"We. We should wash up," he tells you, moving briskly to remove the spray head from its bracket, dial the water on. He adjusts the temperature, tips the spray over, across both of you. It's warm, and goosebumps rise on his skin that's not under the water.

He washes your belly. The stickyness is stubborn, and the water's rivulets tangle and splash across the contours of the cum stuck across your belly and hips. He reaches with one hand, using his thumb to scrub you clean an inch at a time.

This was supposed to be clearing his mind, getting the fog out. It's not really working.

Shingo turns, pressing you gently back against the tile and leaning against you, helping to brace you as he kisses at your shoulder.

"I"m glad you're all right," he sighs, and lets you shift him around under the spray of the shower, then starts as he leans back against you and your hands slide over his skin. He's fine until your fingers slip against the soft skin below his navel and his whole body jerks, biting his lip on a muffled sound and turning his head, his thighs tensing] Date!

His voice is a little ragged before he presses a hand to his mouth, just shivering a little against you and looking incredibly embarrassed. "I"m sorry," he manages, feeling more foolish by the second. "Just--I'm sensitive there."

Turning you against him, your back to his front, supporting him, was a fine idea until you flinch, and he feels bad, pulling his hand fast away - in the wrong direction, smacking your arm as you move. Awkwardness ensues. He's about to back off when you tip against him, still shivering, and he's not made of stone.

He embraces you, one arm banded across your chest, palm cupping your bicep comfortingly. His lips are on your ear.

"Are you ticklish?" And because he's a big ol' kid, he just has to poke at everything twice. He trails his fingertips in a circle around your navel and then downward to the side, toward one of your hipbones.

That makes his whole face flush and he doesn't quite manage to swallow a moan, low and liquid, burying his face against your shoulder and biting lightly as his hips jerk slightly into your touch, his whole body shivering electrically.

"No," he manages, turning his face into your throat. "...no, I'm not ticklish."

Oh. Oh, that's not...how he'd interpreted it the first time. But now it's pretty obvious.

Your speech against his throat makes him swallow hard, trying to steady himself. You've obviously recovered a lot faster than he is. He's quite a pace older, and tries to give himself a pardon on that account.

His brain helpfully replays your moan, your mouth on his skin, your little bite.

Now it's his turn to make undignified sounds - just one, and just low, but it's there.

"Shingo...I'm afraid I'm...inclined to take advantage of you." He clears his throat, his cock beginning to stir where it's pressed between your bodies. "Uhm. Again."

What is wrong with this place? Is it some sort of...of drug? Date grits his teeth, trying to control the rising urge he's feeling. This isn't like him.

You flinch against him, maybe he hit another ticklish spot as his palms have, quite without his conscious command, flattened out upon your chest and belly and begun to stroke wide swaths of skin in random patterns. He has to gulp, hard.

Gods above, though, maybe it should be.

He shivers when you make noise, leaning against you and breathing out on a soft sigh. "You aren't taking advantage of me," he says thickly, nuzzling under your jaw. "I want you to."

He presses his body to yours, feeling his own cock stir as their skin slides together under the heat of the water. He takes a breath and a sudden, powerful longing hits him as he wonders what it'd be like to have you in a bed, warm and soft, your hard, smooth weight pinning him down and your mouth rough and wet at his neck--but he cuts that thought off, knowing it for the grasping selfishness that it is, and turns his attention back to your hands on his chest and belly. He arches into them, his mouth brushing your earlobe as he sighs your name again, his own hands wandering as he tries to find senstive places on your body.

Your fingertips on the lateral ridges of Date's ribcage will find the first treasure - he shivers, arching up and trying to get away, as he is, in fact, ticklish. His laugh is mid-tone, rapid, throaty.

His nipples are the next prize you'll find from there - the gasp and wriggle he makes then, losing his breath on the sound, are for an entirely different reason, definitely not ticklishness, and he arches against you, one leg parting yours only mostly by accident, and partially by deep instinct. Once there, he arches against you, until the heat of your groin on his thigh makes him pause, glancing down.

Then he stretches his arms, fingers spread and seeking. He reaches down to cup your ass and tug upward, angling you harder against his thigh. Muscle bunches hard under your sack as he shifts his balance, his leg strength lifting you, and your lips forming his name just demand to be kissed. He does, extensively, tongue seeking as far as he can go.

"Sh-Shingo," Date breathes, one hand on either side of your ass holding you up, keeping you on tiptoes against him. His heart is pounding.

"I'm--I'm afraid I can't be as considerate as you deserve." One of his hands slides from your ass to your cock, palming it roughly. "I feel--" He's starting to be alarmed, the adrenaline of his orgasm fading and leaving his mind calm enough to embrace the confusion of why he's acting like this, why he can't seem to stop.

Your fingertips on his skin distract him again, and his cheeks flush darker. He's lightheaded, and keeping his thoughts straight is getting increasingly difficult.

"I'm...I shouldn't," he tries, only able to make his words obey the second-guessing of his higher nature. The rest of him's quite busy rocking against you, his cock half-hard and pressed up against the bottom of your sack and the crack of your ass, trapped at a downward angle because of the intimately close press of your rock-hard cock and his palm against his own belly. He rubs you, slicking his palm with precome from your tip.

"Shingo."

"Date--" Shingo manages before you're touching him and he can't help shuddering against you, clutching at you a little for support. He struggles to hold onto what you're saying, squirming against your chest and arching his back.

But then he catches the desperate edge in your voice and twists in your grip, pushing you gently back against then nearest wall and using every last milliliter of his self-control to grip your and pull you away from him, pinning you loosely to the tile wall. He breathes roughly against your collarbone for a moment, flushed and achingly hard and trembling against you before he draws back, not quite able to meet your eyes.

"Do you want to stop?" he manages, taking soft, panting breaths and feeling his throat tighten. "We can stop, if this isn't what you want. I don't know what this place is doing, but--but we don't have to do this, Date-san." He takes a step back from you deliberately, still shaking slightly all over and painfully hard against his belly. "It's all right, if you don't want to."

You're shaking, vibrating just to pull away from him, and to Date's eyes, even though he doesn't understand why, even though it's just the doing of whatever's in the air, he knows that, it's this chemical or vapor or whatever you two were drugged with doing this, toying with your emotions and with his own too, despite all of this, you're...

Well, you're quite a sight.

"Shingo, I..."

The cool wall at his back helps clear his mind a little - just a little, though, because he can't drag his eyes away from your cock, standing proud like that, so perfectly sized and absolutely delectable looking and he's ready to just-- it's just too --

"Gods." His voice trips, stumbling over the simple expletive, rolling a frustrated, needy, gut-deep growl into the several syllables that he manages to work into the short single word.

So he has to swallow hard to find his voice again, tearing his gaze back up to your face.

"I don't want to hurt you, Shingo."

He looks up at you intensely, then lets go of your wrists and steps back, pressing a hand to the center of your chest. He can't quite force himself to stop touching you, but he takes shaky breaths and looks up into your face.

"I won't let you hurt me, Date," he says, his voice stronger and his eyes sharp. "You aren't hurting me. I want this. But if it's not something you want, we can stop."

"It's not that I don't want you, Shingo," Date says slowly, gaining steadiness by feeding off of your resolve. "I don't know what's done this to us, and I don't know how you'll feel when we escape it.

"I don't want you to regret impulsive actions."

He crumbles a little at that, curling in against you weakly and gasping slightly, his body pressing to yours again and the breath leaving his lungs.

"Date," he chokes, pressing his face in against your chest. "I mean it, when I say it's all right. I won't regret it. But I don't want you to either."

Your breath against his skin, the rub of your brow against his breastbone - you're shaking your head, he's biting down a whimper.

He's still worried. There's a lot more could be said. And neither of you even understand what's actually got a hold on you.

But you're saying yes with your words and please with your body. And his body begs, too.

He cradles your face in both hands, lifting, straightening your bowed shoulders and neck. The shower head, still running, is slowly spinning on its hose somewhere nearby. He grabs it, washes you over with warm water. His eyes are dark and hungry and calm, still pools of emotion and understanding and above all that, trust.

He'll trust your word, and trust you to trust his. Your bodies are screaming at you both.

Date strokes one palm, flat, heavy, warm, across your belly, following the water's spray. He kneels, pressing the handle of the showerhead into your empty hand. His are going to be busy in a moment.

He holds you by the waist with one hand. His other rubs across your belly, seeking that shudder out, coaxing it again and again.

He takes you in his mouth without looking up, attention downturned, focused on his task. You fit easily - he's got a big mouth. He works his tongue against you, sliding further down, assessing his own comfort and adjusting.

Shingo leans into it when you press your hands to his cheeks, squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing, half-expecting to be pushed away... but when he opens them again your face is soft and you're running warm water over him, pressing the showerhead into his hand.

He bites his lip when you stroke over his lower belly again, his hips stuttering, but then he's scrambling to put it back in its stand as you kneel in front of him, oh god, and your mouth closes on his skin, slick and scorching. He can't smother an embarrassingly loud cry when you take him in, his thighs shaking--this always undoes him, to the point where he can barely stand, and he just clutches at your shoulders and sobs a little, leaning hard back against the nearest wall]

Your hands on his shoulders, your helplessly wanting cry in his ear - Date hisses in a breath through his nose, working his tongue in the limited space he has to work with. He pulls back, laves your tip, measuring the taste of you, paying close, suckling attention to the frenulum under your head. But you're shaking, trembling, and he has no desire to be cruel.

Again he takes you in, deeper this time, tightening his lips around your shaft, loosening to adjust, tightening again. This time he gets the suction and the placement right, and he's obviously very comfortable as he suckles you down, sliding smoothly almost to your base, and back again, setting up a confident rhythm. His shoulders bunch under your hands as, with everything properly settled in front and center, he can release your hip and your balls and instead grip your thighs, bracing your knees against his upper arms. His own kneeling stance is braced strongly, every bit of him that you can see engaged in this, absorbed in the concentration he's putting into this.

Past his shoulders, you can see his toes gripping the tile, his calves tensing with each dip forward he makes, even his ass and the small of his back. Every bit of him moves with intent, with focus. Date Akira doesn't do anything halfway. And though he's loquacious to be sure, he never relies on only words when the same message can also be conveyed, with more certainty, in other ways.

He's got you. Go crazy.

He leans on your shoulders and squirms, biting his lip and shaking helplessly to keep from begging as he feels your mouth on him, drawing slowly. He can't control the sounds he makes, though, gasping and helpless as your tongue traces against his skin and he feels your lips tighten.

He stops biting his lip to gasp, and the words spill out of his mouth even as his thighs shake. "Please!" he chokes, his nails digging slightly into your shoulders--and he knows this will shake him, drag him to the edge, but he can't stop himself from asking-- "Please, your fingers, I need--"

You're so responsive. The lightest touch sends you spinning. Every one of Date's actions drags two reactions from you. You're a joy, an indulgence. You make him feel so powerful, that he's creating something beautiful for you, upon you.

And you ask for more, begging as though it's a hardship you ask of him. He nods softly, humming absentmindedly, reaching. You're still slick and loose from before, but he can feel your body shiver, tightening as even the very brush of his rough fingertips excites you. He presses two closely together, shielding his forefinger's nail with the pad of his middle finger, and stroke into you.

He gasps as your fingers press into them, pressing his back flat against the wall and trying to lock his knees as you push deep enough to touch that sensitive place inside him and he grits his teeth on a desperate sound. He trembles there, feeling your mouth on him and your fingers in him and your hand stroking at his lower belly and suddenly it's almost too much and he's tensing, one hand coming in to cup your jaw.

"Date!" he says, his voice tense as his belly tightens. "I can't--if you want to pull up, oh."

Date's only response is to snicker briefly. Now, right as you're teetering on the edge of orgasm, he breathes in deep through his nose, holds it, and finally slides completely forward, gulping down your whole cock to the root until his nose comes to rest against your belly, nuzzling your skin through your short hairs. The heel of his rear hand angles up, gently pressing under your balls, his thumb lightly stroking, adding angled pressure to your perineum.

His heart swells with satisfaction as he can feel the effect all this has on you. You're just long enough to feel your tip teased by the constriction of his throat as he swallows, his breath held, waiting you out with faith.

"Oh--oh!" Shingo nearly sobs when you slide all the way forward and he nearly doubles over before he comes helplessly, his eyes fluttering shut and his lips flushed and parted as his knees shake. His body clenches around your fingers in tight, clutching spasms as he spills down your throat, long shudders dragging down his spine before he slumps back a little, completely spent, all his muscles going slack as he struggles to keep his feet under him, staring down at you with dazed eyes.

Date pulls off your cock quickly, once you're spent, gulping air and steadying himself, first of all. You're partially held up by his frame bracing your legs from sliding too far, but you're melted more than butter and the precarious balance you've got is not going to last.

He reaches for you, supporting your descent, slowing it somewhat.

"Shingo." His voice is roughened somewhat, and he coughs to clear the stiffness from the back of his throat. He's rock-hard, but that's not his focus right now; he's coasting so high on pride and pleasure from doing this to you that his own arousal is tied into that pride, tied into that pleasure. It's a patient lust, an enduring one. He'll attend to that in a moment. For now, he gently guides you into his arms, propping his back against the wall, propping you against him.

By this point you're both a mess, and he licks his lips roughly, pressing a clumsy kiss to the side of your neck as he helps you settle onto the shower room floor, much more safe and at far less risk of concussing yourself.

The water, nearby, washes over one of his shins, warming the muscle that cramped a bit while he knelt before you. He notes it, thinking a good wash off, with soap to sanitize his hand and your quite lovely entrance, is quite in order.

In a minute.

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[Whoops gettin a lil srs here, sorry 'bout that, don't feel obligated to stay in srsville for long~]

[I AM A FREQUENT VISITOR TO SRSVILLE, I have an extended work visa and can stay as long as you like]

[Pretty much passing out at keys, so, will continue on the morrow <3]

[sleep well, sweet pea!]

[tagging one or two more til I pass out because I'm an addict]

[yessssssssss yay]

[and of course i keeled over right then. but i TRIED!! *^*///]

[It's cool, sleep is also important!!]

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[and of course i keeled over right then. but i TRIED!! ^///]