dreadful_kinks | Prompt Post 1

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An already tense moment ends up taking a right-turn into something even more sexually fraught -- whether it's actual sexual contact or just seriously suggestive. Bonus points if other team members are around (but in different rooms) when it happens.

It wasn't Vanessa fucking Mina's financee that broke Mina's heart. It was the fact that the taste of Vanessa's sex was still on her lips when she found them together.

It was a dark and stormy night.

The air had been still and heavy all afternoon, the clouds building in the evening, blotting out the night sky. "Happy the bride whose sun shines on her wedding day," Vanessa had teased. "We must hope the storm breaks soon enough to be gone by morning, for the sake of your marriage!"

Mina had laughed, but there was no laughter now. She stood in silence at the schoolroom door, as lightning flashed outside the windows, making a frozen tableau of her dearest friend, gasping in lust, pinned to the table by the thrusting hips of Mina's own fiancé.

It could not be called lovemaking. There were no kisses, no caresses: Vanessa arched in frenzy, and Charles gripped her roughly, one hand on her shoulder and the other on her throat, holding her still as he drove into her. There was no love here, only (Mina hardly dared say the word, even in her own mind) fucking.

But it wasn't the sight of them fucking that broke Mina's heart. Or not that sight alone. What made the betrayal doubly sharp was that Mina had found them while the taste of Vanessa's sex still clung to her lips.

They had shared each other's beds since their earliest childhood; they were neighbors, their families visiting each other constantly, and while the adults stayed late in conversation, the two girls were tucked in together, at first under the watchful eye of a nursery-maid, later with only the presence of their governess to supervise their evening prayers before she left for her own bedchamber. Mina could not say exactly when their childish goodnight kisses had deepened into something less innocent, more sensual, but as their bodies grew towards womanhood, their affections did the same. A hand exploring the curve of a budding breast, fingertips stroking the new-found curls between their legs, their mouths opening in unexpected hunger, until they were flushed and shaken, clinging to each other as their passion crested and ebbed.

"Our last night together," Vanessa said as they undressed. No nursery-maid now, no governess to watch them; they were young ladies, and had left such things behind. Nor did Mina have her own maid. No doubt in India she would have native servants to unlace her corsets and brush her hair, but tonight it was Vanessa who did these services, as she had so often before. Vanessa lifted Mina's hair from the nape of her neck, and laid her lips against Mina's throat.

Mina sighed in pleasure. "I shall miss you terribly, you know."

Vanessa laid down the hairbrush. Mina could see her frown reflected in the dressing-table mirror. "And I you. You at least will have Charles; I am to be left here, without you, without Peter, entirely alone." Before Mina could say anything, Vanessa whirled away, throwing herself on the bed. When she sat up, her dark hair tumbled about her shoulders, there was a wild glint in her ice-blue eyes. "Will you miss me? Come and kiss me," she said, in the singsong voice of one reciting poetry.
Mina recognized it. They had read her volume of Christina Rossetti's poems, with its beautiful illustrations, until its covers were nearly falling off and they had the lines by heart. "Never mind my bruises," she quoted slowly.

Vanessa laughed and continued the verse.

"Hug me, kiss me, suck my juices,
Squeezed from goblin fruits for you,
Goblin pulp and goblin dew.
Eat me, drink me, love me;
Mina, make much of me."

Even as Mina came to her friend's arms, suiting her action to Vanessa's words, she shivered as she remembered the next lines: For your sake I have braved the glen / And had to do with goblin merchant men.

The chill passed in a moment, driven away by the heat of Vanessa's lips. Mina tasted sweet Rhine wine; Vanessa had drunk glass after glass of it at the party, more than Mina had ever seen her drink before. Perhaps that accounted for her wild mood. For wild she was; as Mina kissed her friend's throat, slipping her hands beneath Vanessa's nightdress to stroke her body, Vanessa shuddered, lifting her hips entirely off the bed, her legs falling open as she sank back down.

"Eat me, drink me, love me," Vanessa repeated in a whisper.

"I will, my dearest," Mina murmured. She pushed the thin white cotton nearly to Vanessa's shoulders, fastening her lips on Vanessa's nipple. Vanessa made a high, stifled noise; they had long since learned to keep quiet in their pleasure, after Mina's startled cries at the first climax Vanessa ever gave her brought Vanessa's mother at a run, and they had had to swear it was a nightmare that had caused it, no more. Mina sucked harder, moving her hand down over the curve of Vanessa's waist and hip, fingers gripping the flesh of her buttocks. A trail of kisses down Vanessa's belly, Mina's tongue flickering to taste her friend's skin, not covered with the juice of goblin fruit but only scented faintly of lilies of the valley, the scent of her soap. Mina had wanted lilies of the valley to decorate her bride-cake, but her cook had protested. Even if they were in season, Miss Mina, which they're not, I wouldn't do it for the world. They're poison, don't you know that? It seemed unfair, for something so sweet.

Now the scent was not flowers, but a musky ripeness, the taste sweet and salty at once, like the melon wrapped in smoky ham that had been among the savories at the party, as Mina lowered her head to Vanessa's sex, her tongue parting the delicate folds. She cupped Vanessa's mound with a practiced hand, thumb pressing against the pearl of flesh that brought the sharpest pleasure. She probed with her tongue, only her tongue, for they never dared to slip their fingers within each other; it would not do, should a husband expecting a maidenhead find none. Tomorrow Mina would discover at last how that would feel.

Vanessa was panting as her climax approached, whining softly between gasps. She stiffened in crisis, her hands gripping the sheets. As Vanessa slumped back in the aftermath, Mina lifted her head and saw tears trickling down her friend's face.

"Hush, dearest," Mina whispered, stretching out beside her. "No matter how far I may go from you, you'll always be near in my heart."

"Will you?" Vanessa breathed. "As near as this?" And her hands were on Mina's skin, knowing and sure, by turns gentle and rough. Her lips sucked so fiercely that Mina feared she would leave marks, and what if Charles saw them? But soon these concerns were driven from her head along with all other thought, as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through Mina's body. Vanessa did not stop until Mina was dazed and almost senseless. As she felt herself drifting off in Vanessa's embrace, Mina heard her friend's murmur: "You are mine, you shall be mine, you and I are one forever." Mina made no answer, for she was sinking into sleep.

She was awakened by a crash, not of thunder but of something toppling over, the sound coming from the schoolroom. It was only as she reached the doorway that she heard Charles' grunts and Vanessa's gasps. Mina could not say what she saw in Vanessa's eyes as they locked on hers: lust, resentment, victory...despair? The lightning flash went dark and the thunder rolled. The storm had broken, but even if it cleared, no sun would shine on Mina's wedding day. After this, there would be no wedding.

Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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thatyourefuse - Date: 2014-06-17 03:26 am (UTC) - Expand

Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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Re: Vanessa/Mina, Who For Joys Brides Hope To Have, explicit

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rikibeth - Date: 2014-06-17 06:38 am (UTC) - Expand

Dorian/Ethan, erotic asphyxiation

Edited Date: 2014-06-13 02:09 am (UTC)

Victor never expects that Proteus would teach him something.

Daddy!kink. You know you wanna. XD

daemon!AU. Do their daemons reflect their true nature, or hide it?

Brona has toys for clients like this.

What gets Victor's blood pumping is not what Ethan expected.

Dorian's a little surprised when Vanessa commands them both to her room. But little surprises him these days, and if Ethan isn't willing he'll tie him up and drag him there himself.

United in their drive to find Mina, Vanessa and Sir Malcolm discover that they're drift compatible.

(Steampunk Giant Robots? Penny Dreadful Kaiju? I don't even care how cracktastic this crossover is.)

Ethan wolfs out with Dorian. He expects to wake up next to a corpse, not an appreciative but gore-drenched Dorian.

Ethan wakes up after his night with Dorian Gray with the same shivering, gut churning guilt and horror that he’s felt far too many times in his life.

He shouldn’t have come here. He should have taken warning from the way his blood lust had raged while watching the dogs kill. He’d only been able to hold the beast at bay by goading those pompous assholes into beating the living should out of him. But he’d let his common sense get seduced by Dorian with his pretty eyes and knowing smile, put himself in the last situation he should allow….

For a long moment Ethan keeps his eyes closed. Until he opens his eyes he won’t know for sure what he’s done. He can imagine that the sheets will be crisp and white and stained with nothing but the remnants of last night’s passion. He can pretend that they won’t be stiff and brown with blood from a heart that ceased to beat hours ago. He can pretend that Dorian’s perfect body is still as whole and unmarred as it was when he covered that perfect skin in kisses and nips last night.

He remembers too much, though. He remembers giving into his basest desires, the heat of their kisses as how he and Dorian tore their clothes away. He remembers how the beast inside him surged and grew strong with each kiss, pushing against his control. It was foolish of him to expect that he’d be able to hold the monster at bay.

He remembered the exquisite pleasure of letting himself be taken and filled, the intensity in Dorian’s eyes as he drove deep inside him. He remembers pleasure burning through his veins, remembers gasping for more as he clung to the edge of control. He remembers the beast breaking free in a rush more intense than any orgasm, and then flashes: heat and violence, claws rending skin, teeth tearing flesh. Dorian’s guttural cries.

He’s still clenching his eyes tight shut when he feels movement. Someone curls against his back, a hand smoothing over his hip, fingers teasing the base of his cock. “You can’t still be asleep, Mr. Chandler.”

Ethan bolts upright, not caring about his nudity as he stares down at the bed. The blood soaked sheets, torn and ruined. And in the midst of the carnage, Dorian’s lithe body, as perfect as it had been last night.

“You – “ he says, but the words die in his throat. A hundred things to ask, and none of them will make this make any more sense.

“It seems you have quite a parlor trick,” Dorian says quietly, watching him.

“So do you,” Ethan points out, afraid that if he moves this will all dissolve into the reality of the beast’s carnage.

Dorian climbs from the bed gracefully, stroking his hands up Ethan’s chest to rest against his neck. “We all have secrets,” he replies, that knowing smile playing about his lips again. “I’ll call for breakfast. Then perhaps we can share them again.”

Edited Date: 2014-06-23 02:12 pm (UTC)

Re: Ethan/Dorian - Parlor Tricks

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Re: Ethan/Dorian - Parlor Tricks

From: (Anonymous) - Date: 2014-06-26 06:56 am (UTC) - Expand

Victor trusts Vanessa to help him out with a fantasy. Doesn't matter what it is - first time with a woman, spanking, bondage, whatever you like.

Dorian Gray throws awesome parties. What goes on when the duo or trio or moresome of your choice leaves their inhibitions at the door?

While chasing down a lead on Mina, Malcolm and Vanessa find themselves in a sex salon, and must pretend to be lovers. It's really not the lack of chemistry that's a problem, it's that they're finding themselves in very different roles than they're used to (i.e. Malcolm is usually dominant, but must submit to Vanessa, or vis-versa).

There's a severe lack of Caliban fics in this fandom!

She wants to be his boy.

(Off this exchange in "Closer than Sisters":

PETER
He needed [a son] more like...

VANESSA
Me?)

Vanessa's unsent letters to Mina include detailed descriptions of every sexual encounter she's had since beginning to write them.

Because it's not a true threesome unless all parties are mutually attracted to each other. Bonus if it's not treated like a one-night stand but more of a forever thing. Double bonus if it actually is a forever thing; Brona becomes an undead immortal like Caliban and Ethan doesn't age like humans do (assuming he is a werewolf) and Dorian is totally into that.

Because at least half of us must be thinking it by now, and it's not a kink meme without incest: just what is he so guilty about when it comes to her?

Two were immortal; one had an obsession with cheating death.

Brona and Ethan go for a bit of role-reversal - *he's* the tart, she's the paying customer.

Malcolm finds out about what Vanessa and Dorian got up to. He ties Dorian to his bed and finishes the job.

He's a risk junkie; she must have picked up a taste for it somewhere.

For all his vast scientific knowledge of the human body, there are things Victor Frankenstein has yet to discover about it.

[just a quick fill, hopefully this is okay!]

**

"Easy," Ethan says, "hey, easy. Didn't they ever send you to school?"

A surgeon, and a student at that, builds up certain patterns of calluses on his hands. Victor might identify a body by that alone, had he nothing else available to him from which to extrapolate an occupation if not a name. Certain characteristics would manifest themselves, already an imposition of one's willful activity on a body only too willing to comply -- or the hardy flesh adapting itself to meet the challenge of this sort of pressure or that manner of consistent wear over months or years. A sharpshooter, a laborer of a different kind -- a man accustomed to violent uses of his hands -- might have others, a different constellation of calluses and scars. Mr. Chandler's hands are around his cock.

Victor inhales raggedly, self-conscious of how weak he is and how utterly laid bare. Chandler's hands are working in slow firm pulls down the length of what Victor had once considered practically beneath notice. He had sought to escape the mechanical limitations of the body, and if certain verses of poetry were less than modest, if they made his pulse quicken and his blood burn -- The side of Ethan's thumb teases against the slit at the head of his cock and he makes a whimper with no dignity in it at all. He pulls himself back deeper into the leather armchair in which he sits. The sense of certain dread that they'll be intruded on is still not enough for him to call this little experiment to a halt. Ethan is a very obliging instructor.

If Victor were so inclined -- and his natural inclinations tend to this so strongly that it takes a conscious effort not to, and only the chafe of flesh on flesh distracts him -- he could enumerate every muscle and vessel and duct complicit in this, from his own genitalia up through every digit and each of the elegant bones of Mr. Chandler's forearms to his broad shoulders. His own sweating throat, swallowing sharply and feeling the cartilage bob in his neck.

Victor puts a hand out to his sleeve, not to stop him, but to hold him there --fingers knotting uselessly in his sleeve and balling into a fist as another spasm of unfamiliar sensation shoots through him. This can't be as pleasant for the one who administers it as its recipient, but nothing in Ethan's demeanor suggests reluctance. If he's enjoying himself half as much as Victor is, he has masterful self-control.

It's so exquisite that it nearly hurts, and the expression on his face must show it -- biting his lips and closing his eyes to chase away the torment of Chandler's affable downturned face and to focus on the sensations he's isolated even as it seems like too much to bear. He has no envy or affinity for the normal procreative act, but if it is anything like this it must be excruciating, a torment very different from the erotic languor poets profess. His breath comes in gasps; his own hands tighten their knuckly grip on the armchair (which is very old, and may have seen its own share of transgressions) and his legs tremble with the protestations of straining muscles.

Chandler spits into his palm with no great excess of delicacy and continues his work.

Explaining himself feels ludicrous but Victor can't help but try, though he's at a loss as to how to be succinct about his own slightly embarrassing sensitivities. His tongue trips over the phrases as soon as he starts, and his breath catches in his throat.

"As you can see, I don't--"

Victor finds himself swallowing down the words for what, precisely, he does not do, as Ethan shifts against him and his grip alters as well. He's not in the habit of touching himself and this other man does it expertly, his gentling touches turning to swift short strokes that tease and promise and yet deny. Some of the slickness must be his own.

"You don't get laid too much, huh? There's only one thing for it."

Chandler's other hand comes away for a moment and returns to press through Victor's laid-open trouser flies and cup at his balls. Ethan's callused fingertips and ragged nails promise nothing but indecency and infection but the touch of him is irresistible -- he is both coarse and strong, radiating a kind of animal heat through his clothing, being as he is bent over his lap and very close. An awful, inexorable fullness has begun building in him, approaching piece by piece but all too fast, and even he, devoid of waking experience and practically untouched, knows what it is -- a climax that must be released. Tt comes pouring out like a discharge of lightning -- as if all his strength is drawn up and concentrated into this, this unnecessary sweetness. It's worst because he feels it drawing near, the approach of a thing he cannot stop.

His world goes white, and for a moment everything is forgotten -- everything is eclipsed, in the blazing center of something neither life nor death.

Slumped and panting like a winded runner, he comes back to himself looking into the genial dark eyes of one Mr. Chandler, an American renegade of some renown who currently has Victor's semen all over his hands. Fortunately he's not a barbarian, and goes about remedying this with a pocket handkerchief, wiping off each finger in a businesslike fashion while looking <>very satisfied with himself.

"Better now? See, hey, I haven't hurt you, doctor. How was that?" Chandler asks, with a wickedly solicitous look.

"I'm afraid I can't speak for your technique, Mr. Chandler," he says, the slightest of smiles playing at his bruise-colored lips, "but there's little that can't be improved on with practice."

His own hands -- which are clean and very white -- find the stiffness of Chandler's member through his trousers. Victor feels very near fainting, and wholly spent, but he knows what he'd like to do.