JERICHO ● SEPTEMBER 2025 EVENT/TDM

[uruz]

TDM & EVENT: JERICHO

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Prologue: New Characters

You've been plagued with a reoccuring dream, as of late. Every time you sleep, the dream returns to you.

It always begins the same way: As a breath held for too long. As a pressure at the base of your spine. A silence that presses against the skin like confession, like prophecy. A ripple moves through your bones. A tide builds and pulls at your feet, familiar by now. You dream of a black, soundless wave, thick like oil and starlight, swelling across the horizon line. You've seen the wave before, countless times, always rising. With every night, it never reaches you. You always seem to wake before it does . . . That is, until tonight.

The wave moves slow, deliberate— like something ancient and alive. And when it finally crashes, there is no harsh impact. Only warmth. Only submersion. Rather than drowning, you are being claimed with saltwater that's sweet with myrrh. The darkness embracing you pulses with desire. Then, a voice envelops you.

"Come home."
It dribbles with honey-like promise, like a truth you've always known, whispered now from within your marrow more like temptation than a request.

"You are mine. You always were."
The voice offers purpose. Worship. Belonging. And when you wake . . . You wake changed, with a mask on your face you did not choose. Elegant. Sacred. Too important to remove. You have been given a gift. A new beginning.

Welcome home, new Vessels.

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Sink Down Like Precious Stones

( content warnings: drowning, body horror )

Vessels awaken within the dreamscape as the black wave recedes from their skin like velvet falling off the bone, their masks in place over their eyes and left afloat in the watery expanse. All around them, the ocean stretches infinite and lightless— so still it mirrors the sky above, indistinguishable from the void. Far in the distance, massive obsidian walls curve inward, enclosing this vast seascape like a forgotten temple basin. And there, at the far horizon, one glow pierces the dark: a low-burning fire flickering within a half-sunken structure of impossible architecture— arched, ribbed, as though built from marble and cathedral glass.

This is a test, and it begins with belief.

Those with unwavering faith— whether in Sleep, another god, or even themselves— will find the surface beneath their feet holds firm. The sea becomes glass, and they may rise, and walk. But those adrift in doubt begin to sink. Precious stone creeps over their skin. Joints stiffen. Flesh cracks. Breath slows. It is not death, but it is close and might as well be hell. Your only salvation lies in your own conviction . . . Or the mercy of another Vessel who happens to walk.

Those who drown will not die. They will loop this moment— sinking, blackness, return, sink again— until belief takes root in some way. Alternatively, they may awaken in a later dreamspace . . . Changed.

NOTES:

• Pale white fish as well as glowing jellyfish may be encounted. The fish stare at vessels as they drown, and jellyfish may leave behind a shock that could temporarily stop the process of crystalization. But only temporarily— and their stings are excrutiating.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Magic becomes volatile— spells flicker, overcharge, or fizzle unpredictably when cast on or near the ocean.
• When you cast, your veins glow from beneath the skin, but not with light. It's writhing. Like something trapped under glass.
• When channeling magic, your mouth may fill with brine and blood.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The water responds emotionally— thrashing with fury or calming with yearning depending on the Offering's state of mind.
• The sea amplifies desire and instinct, making base emotions harder to suppress— rage, hunger, longing all churn just beneath the surface.
• The black water feels too warm, too alive, clinging to the body like memory; any stillness invites visions of Sleep's embrace, both reverent and consuming.

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You Taste Like New Flesh

( content warnings: body horror, psychological horror, compulsion, unreliable reality )

The ocean path ends at a palace carved of pearl and spun silk, impossibly perched where water meets nothingness. Whether you have traversed the black sea on trembling feet or simply awaken seated at an impossibly long table, it makes no difference. You are here now, and welcomed, suddenly in attire fit for a gala. Around this table sit countless Dream-Vessels, many silent and still, faces unreadable in the flickering candlelight wearing generic, six-eyed masks. The table stretches beyond sight, arching beneath creeping vines that twist like ancient veins overhead, blooming with strange blossoms that beat with energy. Flames dance atop dozens of candles— some burn on brass holders, others hover, like fireflies caught mid-flight, their shadows flickering and shifting with an otherworldly rhythm. Around you, phantasmal forms shimmer on pedestals: Sleep's ancient Guardians are eternalized through memorial, monstrous and magnificent, lost to time yet enshrined in reverence. On the highest pedestal stands a still living One, silent and watching the feast with somber eyes. Sleep's voice whispers in your ear, encouraging a glance to, perhaps, see what you may become.

"Feast, My Dear Vessels. Until you taste like New Flesh."

The foods before you don not come unmeddled with. Each bite pulls memories from your bones to the surface— moments buried or erased, but these are not just yours. The banquet feeds on shared history, stirring secrets tangled between you and the others here. To eat is to open a door: to risk awakening something dormant, to invite others inside your buried truths, to forge bonds or betrayals that can never be unseen.

Eton Mess: Crushed meringue, tangled cream, and berries that bleed like bruises when bitten. Sweetness melts quickly, leaving your tongue cold. As you eat, a memory rises— but you don't experience it alone. The person nearest you sees what you see, hears what you hear, feels what you felt. Together, you can alter one key detail, and that change ripples outward, shifting how you both remember the event.

Deviled Kidneys: Spiced and seared, the metallic richness clings to your mouth, as if tasting old blood. Eating summons the echo of a painful or violent memory, but your partner experiences it with you.

Roasted Lamb in Mint Sauce: The sweetness of the meat is cut by mint sharp enough to sting the throat. Your act of consumption awakens a craving, but not in you— in the Vessel sharing this dish. They feel an inexorable pull toward your memory, even without knowing what they seek. The bond persists until the craving is confronted.

Honey Scouse: A thick, golden stew heavy with warmth, but beneath the sweetness, something cloying curls around the edges. Every shared spoonful spreads a slow, creeping influence between you and your partner: intrusive visions, subtle compulsions, small lapses in agency. Neither of you can tell whose thoughts belong to whom.

Starpit Fruit: Plum-sized and faintly glowing, the juice leaves your fingertips dusted in silver, like handling starlight. When bitten, the fruit releases the memory of a forgotten wish, not to you but to the person beside you. They see it clearly— and know exactly what you once wanted most, even if you had buried it.

Marigold Brandy: A golden spirit served warm, glowing faintly as though sunlight has been trapped inside the glass. When lifted, it releases a soft, floral scent. The first sip draws you and your partner into a shared burst of joy— a memory that makes you swell with happiness. The sensation is so immediate, so electric, that when the memory breaks, your bodies ache to move, to speak, to draw more positivity to light. You may feel an irresistible pull to get up and dance on the wide palace floors, even if no music is playing . . . And if others nearby drink as well, the effect multiplies.

Saints Breath Chalice: A dark, wine-thick cordial served in tarnished silver cups etched with symbols that shift when stared at too long. The liquid smells faintly of frankincense and something sweeter— blood-warm and alive. Drinking it floods you and your partner with the overwhelming sensation of being inside someone else's celebration, a memory that belongs to neither of you: a vast mass of black, with branching antlers and six, glowing red eyes. It reaches to sink its claws into your chest as she sings: One. Beloved. We were meant to be. It is impossible to tell whether you're witnessing joy or manic worship. There is chanting you cannot understand but somehow already know, drums that sync with your heartbeat until you can feel nothing else. Your limbs begin to twitch, then sway, then move without conscious thought, drawn into a dance you do not remember learning. If more than two people drink, your movements synchronize perfectly, your breath matching theirs, until the room seems stop to watch.

The table awaits.

NOTES:

• Feasting becomes addictive. The more a character eats, the harder it is to stop. Gluttony may cause physical consequences: nosebleeds, twitching fingers, warping speech, uncontrollable confessions, or dripping nectar from their mouths.
• Those who refuse to eat at all begin to starve in a dream-sense: they lose color, smell burning, and feel the weight of Sleep's gaze. Her wrath isn't immediate— but it grows the longer you reject the feast. She takes offense.

TOKEN EFFECTS:

• Each spell cast after eating releases parasitic energy— manifesting as flowers, thorns, parasitic insects or rot— either from their own body or from someone they recently touched.
• Casting warps your limbs temporarily: too many joints, fingers curl the wrong way, nerves burn like wires.
• Touching others leaves sigils burned into their skin. These will briefly carry over into the waking world during next month's event. Runecasters will get the innate feeling that this symbol has a meaning summed up as "The Night Does Not Belong To God". How they interpret that is up to them.

OFFERING EFFECTS:

• The act of devouring awakens an overwhelming desire, often physical, but sometimes emotional or spiritual. This desire clings to another Vessel at the table, creating obsessive attachment or aggression.
• The more they eat, the more their monstrous traits subtly emerge.
• Consuming another Vessel's memory (if shared or touched) grants a brief glimpse of their deepest fear or weakness.

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There's Something In The Way You Lay

( content warnings: sexual content, voyeurism, body modification, omegaverse traits, loss of agency )

Beneath its pearlescent halls, beyond the banquet of flickering candles and dream-Vessels who eat in hollow silence, a spiral staircase winds downward. Its steps are damp and velvet-slick. The further you descend, the warmer the air becomes— humid, cloying, thick with the scent of sweat, salt, and incense. The sounds reach you first: Slaps, gasps, the wet chorus of bodies and perverse intimacy. Laughter, muffled sobs, the echo of whispered names long forgotten. At the base lies a corridor of "private" rooms. Their doors swing open with dreamlike invitation. Inside, the scenes unfold: past dream-Vessels lost in tableau— arched backs, bitten lips, mouths open in prayer or obedience. Some are alone, coiled in worship. Others tangle in groups, indistinguishable where one body ends and another begins. Vines bloom across the ceilings, watching. The walls glisten with breath. You see their faces, but you can't quite distinguish what or who they are. You may not remember choosing a role, but the dream has chosen for you. α or Ω— and with the naming, your body changes. There is no shame here, only devotion made manifest. This is how Sleep is worshipped now: through cruelty and surrender, through the giving and the taking of flesh.

NOTES

• Masks may optionally offer a sort of glamour for Vessels who wander into these chambers— they will not be able to recognize each other. How much of that, whether it be appearance, voice, and so on, is up to you.
• Past dream-Vessels perform for no one, eyes vacant, movements perfect, as if only a ghost of a memory. Player characters may interact with them and even partake in intimacy with them, but be warned: they are emotionally absent and may cause symptoms of succumbence that could be remedied with a proper, player-character tether.
• Tools hang on the walls: Rods of all sizes, slick with heat. Collars that hum with low, seductive voltage. Blindfolds that intensify physical contact, There's no need for cuffs or chains when there are vines that seem to respond to the α party's mood— tightening, flowering, or reaching for skin. You are free to come up with your own items.
• α perks:: Instinctive claiming (done through biting, rubbing, branding, etc), an almost predatory focus and obsession for those who interest them, pack gravity (the ability to attract one or more vessels at once), emitting a scent that ignites heat/rut in others, darker urges surge and a commanding voice.
Ω perks: High pain tolerance, instinctive yielding, emotional synchrony with those being watched, self-lubricating, hypersensitive, scent tracking, intense need to please or be filled emotionally, physically, and spiritually. When touched, glowing runes bloom across the skin.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Spells cast during acts of intimacy may provoke a heightened sensation of euphoria for both caster and whoever is affected by the spell.
• Magic may manifest as misty appendages— extra hands, tongues, eyes, etc.
• Divine energy becomes volatile when passed through the body— ecstasy may border on agony, or vice versa, and Tethering becomes impossibly euphoric.

OFFERING EFFECTS

• Flesh becomes malleable mid-act— bones bending, jaws unhinging, skin blooming open, etc.
• Animalistic traits emerge: tails, claws, growls, tentacles, scent glands— all begging to be used.
• Feeding and Tethering are indistinguishable— hunger becomes worship, and worship becomes need.

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I am not worthy

( content warnings: body horror, violence, gore, parasitic/invasive feeding, death )

Wherever you are, the palace begins to rot. First slowly, then all at once: vines swell with black fluid, splitting at the seams. They burst from beneath marble tiles, coil up pillars, slither across frames and vacant thrones like arteries choking a heart. The candlelight flickers. One by one, the flames throughout the palace float upward . . . And die. No smoke. No warning. Just wet silence. Then the Dream-Vessels begin to fall. They do not scream as they do. They collapse like marionettes, limbs askew. Their flesh splits open along wounds that should not exist— a rip at the neck, teeth marks prying open the ribcage, a bite that swallows half a torso. Bones jut like sculpted ivory. Entrails slither across the floor like garlands. Some burst mid-air, as if the dream demands spectacle. Others fold in on themselves until all that's left of them is a mound of flesh.

"I am not worthy."

One voice. Ten. A thousand—layered, glitching, sweaty. It echoes from the walls, the bodies, the seams in the floor. The corpses twitch in time with the chant, jerking violently. Some snap backwards, eyes wide, jaws unhinged. Others explode— blossoming in gore, raining viscera. From the heaving pile of ruined Dream-Vessels, something forms.

It lurches into being: stitched from tongues, teeth, torsos. Weeping. Wailing. Worshipping. A monstrosity of raw flesh and faith: all failures made meat. Its eyes (are they eyes?) blink out. Arms claw outwards, too many to count. Its scent is of copper, sweat, and sorrow.

When The Abomination chooses to feed, it seeks not flesh, but the softest rot inside you. An appendage uncoils from its writhing mass and unhinged jaw— veined, slick, and trembling like a violated root. It drives itself into your mouth, splitting your lips with obscene tenderness, and sinks deep into your throat, locking you still.

What it draws out is not blood. It siphons your doubts, your fears, your most secret self-hatred. Your inadequacy. Every buried shame. Your hate. Your negativity. Every flinch of unworthiness. Every moment you believed yourself unlovable, unseen, too small. It gorges on what you hide from even yourself, and the more you try to resist, the sweeter your sorrow becomes. The last thing it takes is your life force, and then your viscera, leaving you wilted and shrivled like a hollow log.

This death is violating and feels painfully slow. You're drained raw of your vitality until you're but a brittle husk that breaks to dust in the wind. It seems near impossible to destroy, always reforming into bits and pieces left smudged behind. Perhaps your best bet it to run, or attempt to wake yourself up from this nightmare.

One's voice repeats in choked sobs: I am not worthy.

NOTES:

• Wounds from the beast linger. You may wake bleeding or marked.
• If devoured, characters will awaken the following month extremely fatigued during the first 3-5 days of the month. They may also sporadically rigurgitate black sludge. Characters who die and are already in the game may requesta plot clue, that will be a vision your character will dream of before awakening.

TOKEN EFFECTS

• Magic recoils violently when used on The Abomination, backfiring with psychic screams or ripping into your flesh.
• Your hands glow uncontrollably, burning what you touch— even those you love.
• Magic becomes hungry; it demands pieces of your body to function. A tooth. A nail. A rib (and so on).

OFFERING EFFECTS

• The rage it stirs in you is monstrous. You begin to shift uncontrollably— flesh blooms, bones crack under strain.
• Your body begins moving before you decide to. Twitching toward The Abomination, and toward the scent of despair.
• During the chaos, you may develop a fixation with another Vessel's flaw. You can smell it on them. It entrances you . . . To the point that you may feel the urge to feed them to The Abomination.

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OOC NOTES

➤ Welcome to Somnia's second TDM, which doubles as our third gamewide event!

➤ This TDM is considered game canon. You are free to have your character remember as many details as possible.

➤ Only new characters are free to experiment with the Vessel options to your liking; this is a dreamscape, so multiple/different situations for you to really test which option you like most is possible. Current characters must remain as their chosen Vessel type unless you requested a switch, which can be done on the Taken page.

➤ All TDMs take place within a dreamscape, meaning characters can interact with the setting without needing to apply. Come have fun with us!

➤ Veteran players, I ask to please refrain from making post-event threads for the time being! We have some important information to take into account in next month's event when characters are slated to "wake up". At the very least, please wait for the information to be offered on the next plotting post. Thank you everyone for your patience!

➤ Please comment on the TDM's INVITE TL if you are a new player interested in joining the game, but don't yet have an invite. Current players or the mod may reach out to extend an invite. Once you've got one, please don't forget to comment on the Invite page so you may properly link it in your reserve and app.

➤ Questions? Please direct them to the designated questions comment linked below!

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[snaggletooth]

[ With Till's fingers flush against his unprotected stomach, free of that tough black plating, even breathing feels indulgent, the way it brings his skin bowing into the touch he's longed to feel. And breathe Ivan has to, as Till delivers unto him something like a burst of adrenaline, readying his body for a different kind of fight. Latticed light shines momentarily through all the layers of his clothing, torso rolling as it travels from the level of his navel downward, following his inguinal lines.

If it was a knife, it would be cutting him deep, but his gasps indicate anything but pain. ]

Till — Till, it's working. Oh — ❤︎

[ All of it frantically whispered, Ivan having been left a little breathless. He doesn't know what's happening, but he welcomes it all the same. This is their strange new life, of magic that sends their souls into euphoria and flesh that twists into whatever pleases their new god.

As he comes back to himself, a nagging thought awaits him. You can't just let Till do everything. Ivan pushes him backward until they crush into one of the velvet walls, trampling his old white costume coat under their stumbling feet. He has no plans of retrieving it. The only thing either of them need when it's this hot is their skin, Ivan thinks, spreading open Till's suit jacket and working it over his shoulders, dragging it down his arms in clumsy jerks. The way he can't stop pressing his weight against him slows down the process incredibly. Ivan explores his eyes throughout every moment of it.

Those eyes are trying to tell him something he desperately hopes his own body isn't misinterpreting, stiffening between his legs. Just brushing up against the spot where Till's thighs meet makes him light-headed and less able to think.

A robed figure passing by turns their head to look, making Ivan lean in closer, square his shoulders even more broadly over his claim. No one has been watching longer than he has. No one has waited longer. Ivan has a vision of taking Till's wet lips into his own and righting what he made wrong, of taking all the time in the world to tell him his meaning, but what he ends up saying is even more insane. ]

I've heard mating can feel incredible, too.

[ It's a dream. Anything can happen in a dream. ]

Do you want to try...?

[untilldeath]

[It worked. The pleasure that warms Ivan has a secondary effect upon Till, too. Euphoric, it ignites delight and a desire like fire that quickly consumes his thoughts as the flames lick up the edges of his melting insecurities, and beg for more fuel. The high sets his nerves blazing with a near-unbearable anticipation, wondering what more he might be able to give him. For them both to experience-

He doesn't blink as his back is pressed to the wall behind him. Instead, he struggles to help Ivan slip the stuffy clothes from his own body. How incredible that they had been freezing not so long ago. The passage of time, though, is something he can't quite figure out in this place, and neither does he care to. Not right now, anyway. Here in the present, with Ivan's hips pressing against his own, all he finds himself wondering is how much closer they can get.

Till doesn't know when his hands moved, but fingers thread into Ivan's hair and curl. The sense of awed amazement he feels could leave him speechless. He's here. Ivan is. He's with him. Ivan is alive, and his hands and body and his eyes are upon his own. Those red pupils, like a camera bore into his own as though photographing him with his mind. The steady gaze causes his stomach to curl in excitement and his pulse to pound. Not even a month ago, those eyes haunted him. Now, he wants to be devoured in them.

Body tingling as though electrified, Till craves more touch, longing to be fulfilled in a way he can't explain, while desperate to gratify Ivan further. Iridescent gaze shifting to Ivan's mouth, he can't draw his eyes away.

Not... until Ivan's question partially penetrates the haze of his thoughts. He blinks, his attention rising back to his face proper. Mate... he asks. Never in his life has Till imagined he would mate with, well... anyone. He was a pet human who grew up in Anakt Garden. He was destined to compete and probably die on the Alien Stage.

That doesn't mean he hadn't ever used his imagination, or... taken care of himself. He felt the same urges as anyone else his age. His recent conversation with someone else on mating echoes in the back of his mind, though. Mating isn't always done for the sake of breeding. That would be impossible for both himself and Ivan, anyway.

That hot, persistent ache between his legs that left him clawing at his tether to Ivan hasn't dissipated. If anything, it's only grown with their nearness, relentless in his thirst, like molten lava in his veins that reaches out in eagerness toward him.

Before he knows it, Till nods. Anything is possible in a dream. And dream or not, he needs Ivan right now.

Hips rolling forward in a pleading grind, Till's arms circle Ivan's neck.]

Fuck...

[It's such an insane question. Only Ivan would ask like that.]

Please.

[Maybe his response is just as insane. His body is driving him insane, though. Does Ivan need to feel it as badly as he does right now? His hope and desire fill Till's own veins. With a soft gasp, his lips find the other idol's. He has no experience in this, other than The Once, so he can't even say if he's doing things correctly or not. Ultimately, he lets his body lead without trying to overthink it. He speaks breathlessly against him with another roll of his hips.]

Maybe we should find a room somewhere.

[Instead of the hallway. Not that he has a lot of shame right now, but he imagines it might be more comfortable elsewhere.]

[snaggletooth]

[ Till tastes perfect, and it's not because of the sweet drinks he's been downing all night. He tastes like dreams fulfilled. Ivan's lips respond with an explosion of enthusiasm, not thinking of technique, just enjoying, feasting, little more than a hungry amateur himself. Books don't accurately describe how humans are meant to kiss. They affix adverbs like softly or passionately. Well, passionate to Ivan is pushing his tongue against Till's without a plan. There's no wrong way to partake in each other in his mind.

The idea that Till would even agree to be his for the night is pure, unbelievable elation. The signs of his wanting were already there in the sopping wetness down his legs. Even that smell he's giving off, somehow Ivan knows it's there to invite him, but he still had to be sure of Till before he could be sure of himself. He needed to hear him say it.

Somewhere between that crucial confirmation and their mouths suddenly smashing together, Ivan hikes Till's legs up around him so they can forego separating. He tries to kiss him on the move, tries to keep him supported upright, but—by design—not enough that his weight isn't bearing down on his trapped erection, exciting some kind of heavenly agony; he tries to have it all before they're even in bed. He can't care how awkward it is, the last doubt keeping him at bay torn down. ]

Till, I've always wanted you as my mate

[ Their position as they stumble through the sinful hall reminds him of the one he used to use while entertaining himself with thoughts of them. He couldn't often. Anakt Garden had few private areas and fewer the flowers wouldn't see. If he didn't want word getting back to Unsha that his pet was acting inappropriately, he realized it was better to wait until he was taken out for a job.

He feeds the memory through the tether like a treat. Watch me, Till.

Fashionable slacks around his ankles, he supports himself with one hand against the wall of a toilet, thrusting into his other. He imagines himself rubbing against different parts of his favorite slender, silver-haired idol. He isn't sure how it would work between the two of them, physically, so his preferred way is from behind through his thighs. If pressed together enough, that would do the trick, surely.

In the too short minutes he has to spare before a PA came looking for him, he comes to a silent climax behind clenched teeth. The evidence is easy to wipe from the washroom tiles, and then he returns to work.

Do you see him?

Risking his reputation so stupidly, even to be with just a figment of you. ]

You're perfect for me.

[ A bed nicer than anything they'll ever find in the broken city receives Till bouncily, Ivan's hands flying to the button of his pants after he releases his body from his arms.

He frees himself first, groaning in relief as his hard-on springs into the open air, his tip teary with pre-ejaculate and flushed heinously pink. Till will have a few moments to contemplate it as Ivan knees his way onto the bed between his legs, intending to unzip him too. ]

[untilldeath]

[Desperate and touch-starved for affection is perhaps the only way to describe the delirious, frenetic manner in which they claw at and seek to devour the other. Ivan's tongue invades his mouth with explosive fervor, forcing his lips apart. Till has no idea what is supposed to be considered right or wrong. How would he or Ivan know? It isn't as though they were ever taught beyond the basics of breeding.

All they have in the end are their base instincts.

Maybe that does make them like animals. Right now, Till can't care. Mouth parting, he welcomes the invasion while his tongue pushes back to stroke Ivan's. His appetite is whet, and the idea that Ivan could pull back now feels unthinkable. He clouds his head in every way imaginable. His tongue fills his mouth, his scent fills his nostrils, and his eyes burn into his own to flood every sense. Not to mention the addictive feel of his erection bumping against his groin as Ivan hefts his feet up from under him.

Fuck...

It feels amazing. And he feels like he's drowning in the overwhelming ocean of Ivan's desire. The memory surges like a flood breaking down a dam. Till doesn't think he ever imagined anyone ever actually wanting him. The bit of shock and embarrassed fluster it ignites intermingles with the realization that he was desired. Till never thought he cared what anyone thought of him. But deep down, everyone wanted to believe there was someone who found them special somehow.

He never realized the depths of Ivan's feelings, though. It's difficult to wrap his head around, but the realization? Oh, that leaves him squirming even worse than before.

For once in his life, Till doesn't mind the height difference between them, or that Ivan is strong enough to support his weight to begin with. His legs tighten around Ivan's waist as they move, and Till doesn't make it easy on him. Clasping hold of him, he grinds against him with a needy whimper. He wants more and he'll take whatever he can right now.

It isn't long before Ivan has found a room, though. Till bounces lightly as his back meets the bed. He's amazed by the comfort and softness of it, but there isn't much time to contemplate that. Ivan's dick lifts free of the constraints of his pants, and suddenly everything is more real. This is happening. Maybe it's because they are on a bed, or maybe it's because Ivan's erection is larger than he might have initially imagined, but this is happening. It's real for him.

And damn, Till's body feels hot as though he needs it and he needs it now. Evidence of his own arousal soaks through his pants, giving him away. That should be humiliating, he thinks, but all he can think of is just how badly he wants to mate right now. He might wonder what he is supposed to do about his clothes after this, but that isn't at the forefront of his mind.

Tongue flicking out to wet his lips, Till welcomes Ivan into the cradle between his legs. The friction of his cock straining against his own pants is uncomfortable, but his attention is on Ivan. He saw a little of what was happening in some of those rooms he passed, not even ten minutes ago. Ivan called him perfect for him. Maybe, even though they aren't biologically compatible for breeding, they can find a way around it all, just like Ivan had imagined between them once.

What he knows is the desperate desire to satisfy courses through his veins. The steady glow about him emphasizes the flush of his skin, and as Ivan nears, his hand reaches out to grasp hold of his thick erection, slick already with pre-cum. This is all so new, so when he speaks, he's honest even despite the moan and husky notes in his voice.]

I don't know the right way to mate like this...

[Not with another guy, he admits a little lamely. Not that he has been with a girl before either. But does there have to be a 'right way' if this is for pleasure, though? Everyone in those other rooms had been creative. And, Till does, at least, know what feels good. His thumb smooths over the tip of his cock, teasing, before smearing his arousal into his hands to slide down his length.

Ivan is hard because of him. Fuck... why is that such a turn on?]

So tell me what feels good. What you want-

[They can figure it out together.]

[snaggletooth]

[ What bliss—

Ivan spares a glance downward at the guitarist's fingers stroking the most sensitive part of his body. Not even hesitantly, they move to soothe his throbbing cock like it's not their first time handling him. Maybe it's an advantage that they're both male. It's no mystery to them how their bodies work, oh, not at all. His mouth drops open, muscles tensing, the long tendons in his neck standing out starkly as each pump strikes a sharpening chord of pleasure.

Will he be the next instrument Till masters? His brain is floating in enough oxytocin to hope so. ]

Nothing you do to me will be a mistake. I said you're perfect.

[ His speech is still so very clear. Looking at him, it doesn't seem like it should be, his face a mess of perspiration that should be distracting. He's very red now, well-past flustered, entering a new state of being he'll call enlightenment. Ivan never had any intention of telling Till he wanted them to be together in this way. He didn't want to think of what his reaction would be to such scandalous thoughts. He died with this secret.

The enlightening part is that he didn't have to.

Till's touching him in ways that would get them both punished, and he doesn't remember having to convince him. Somehow, now, he can't consider it wrong to want this, only that the segyein were wrong for forcing them to settle for less. Writhing in Till's hands, yes, he thinks, yes, this is how humans are supposed to live. ]

Perfect Till — ah — my perfect mate... so good to me...

[ Ivan is still picking at Till's fly, a little delayed in his ability to make progress given... everything. Luck would have it that the fastenings on Till's slacks are relatively simple. The main obstacle is the single eye hook, but the moment a random flick of his fingers succeeds in uncoupling it, the zipper slides down easily. He sighs in relief as though he was the one still trapped. At last he can be an attentive mate too.

Pushing down Till's underwear, he swirls his fingers in slick while he's at it. Then, he wraps them around what he's really there to collect, though not before noting that Till's effervescence really does extend to every part of him.

Ivan lacks the same well-developed calluses as Till, which scrape at him unforgettably where they meet smooth skin. Rather, he has his own merits, mainly size. When he begins kneading Till's cock top to bottom to top, there's no inch of him that isn't enclosed in hot, aggressive friction for long. ]

Let's try to time it, [ He leans back to bring their crotches as close together as spreading their thighs will allow. His heart leaps with a wild amount of satisfaction as their tips touch, guided by his hand. Nicely aligned now, he realizes he can slip his fingers over both their shafts at the same time and squeeze them tight together. ] Finish with me like this.

[untilldeath]

[Touching himself never felt so insanely rapturous as it does with Ivan's hands on his stiff cock. Lips parting with a gasp, Till shudders as Ivan grips him firmly and pumps his hand rapidly, driving him to new heights he hadn't known were even possible to reach.

And he hasn't even reached climax yet. It's coming, though, Till can feel as Ivan builds him to his outer limits and new explosive heights. Unable to stop himself, he thrusts into the movement of Ivan's hands, pleasured sounds escaping his lips with each time he slides down and up his length once more.]

Ah — fuck....

[His words aren't elegant. He can't even form anything articulate when his mind is flooded with Ivan's own pleasure intermingling with his. He bites his bottom lip to try to prevent the lewd sounds that keep escaping, but it doesn't help. Why had they been taught that this sort of thing was wrong when it felt this good? Just another method of controlling them, maybe. Especially when Till knows the freaks that watch over them don't abide by their own rules for them.

But now isn't the time to think about them.

Ruins bloom across Till's skin, the marks appearing alongside his natural glow and spreading beneath his navel. It deepens when Ivan shifts, and Till's hand drops from Ivan as he brings his swollen flesh to his own throbbing shaft. The heat of his arousal on Till's is an entirely different sort of pleasure. Till can only nod eagerly, his request one that he more than wants to fullfill. ]

Mm... alright. Don't let go. Your hands are.... nng, it feels so good.

[Please. He needs to feel this right now. He wants to feel Ivan's own pleasure, too, opening himself up to it entirely. How can he make this even better? Power courses through Till's body, and only seems to increase with every passing second. The sensation borders on painful but promises increased ecstasy and he wraps himself in it like a cloak. Light shifts around him and he works to channel it again. Two hands grasp hold of Ivan's thighs, hands digging into him as though to find purchase. Two additional hands, made entirely of light, wrap around the one Ivan has holding their cocks, pressed flush against one another.]

Here. Let's both —

[A golden wave of light rolls through them, and tingles with the heat of his touch, rippling beneath their skin with an amazing feeling of explosive passion as his hands sync up with Ivan's. He groans as Ivan's hand squeezes them together, the heat and friction of his length against Till's melting his mind to pure energy.]

Oh — ! Ivan...!

[He's breathless, the whimpered, pleasured sounds a steady stream now as the euphoric feelings pouring through the tether amplify his own.]

I can't hold on longer —

[It feels like he's about to shatter into a million stars.]

[snaggletooth]

[ The dark mirrors of his eyes reflect everything. Can Till see himself shine in them? Certainly, Ivan is looking nowhere else but at his beautiful, lustrous body as he masters his powers by the moment. Every new trick brings him nearer to divinity. Till wouldn't like that comparison, but Ivan can think of no other. Though he's done more for him than anything in heaven has, so maybe a better one is that he's becoming what divine beings wish they were.

His thigh muscles, already clenching so hard against his approaching orgasm, shudder involuntarily under the sudden grip, and he groans with satisfaction, getting just a taste of nails through his slacks. Till's already grown so comfortable just touching him where he pleases, oh. Further proving that point, the light-made hands fold around his like strange silk, invigorating him, making every proceeding pump feel effortless and making sure he never stops. He could do this for hours. Unfairly, it will only take seconds.

Before it's too late, Ivan slips the fingers of his free hand under Till's chin. There's one thing he wants to make sure of. He tightens his grip, holding his jaw, holding his gaze, holding him to a promise. Till said he wouldn't look away anymore. Ivan challenges that now, staring his way desirously, fully flushed, and with so much concentration his snaggletooth threatens to pierce his own pursed lip.

Their bodies sing what they feel to each other. Till tries to warn him, but Ivan already knows. It's time. Hearing his own name called out in desperation sends him on his way. Till, Till, Till, he tries to echo, before a telltale twinge sends him into a low, throaty moan, the product of his pleasure coursing from him volcanically. Only in a dream could this much ever come out of one person, in a thick floe over their hands. It's on the exquisite sheet between them. It's on their rumpled, half-open cloths. If they weren't planning on taking everything off already, then they might as well do so now.

Pure ecstasy is followed by pure calm. ]

My paradise.

[ Ivan leans forward bonelessly to put his lips on Till again, this time stopping at a slight press, so soft and slow, like a sacred maneuver that mustn't be be mishandled. He wants to convey something other than hunger, though this kiss too is overly long, full of a trembling unwillingness to ever end it. ]

Thank you

[untilldeath]

[Swollen lips and cheeks flushed with need and arousal are the sight that greets Ivan as he forces his gaze on his. He DOES want to hide- embarrassed by the way his own body gives everything away, completely exposed in a way that feels as though his heart is beating in the open.

Realistically, mating is for reproductive purposes, and Till knows that a person does not need to be emotionally invested to participate in the act. He was born into a mill; he isn't stupid.

But Till isn't like that, either. His emotions are connected to every single action and breath he takes. They rule his mind and body and are the blood that runs through his veins, making Till exactly who he is.

He can't and doesn't try to look away. Something about the way Ivan's gaze bores into his adds fuel to the explosive fire that already threatens to erupt. And Till can tell that Ivan is equally as flushed and aroused as he is. That he wants him. Him. Till. He had shown him a vision to prove that moments ago, despite how unbelievable it all feels.

Mouth working, a desperate gasp escapes him, and he shudders in pure ecstasy as an exploding downpour of fiery sensations crashes over him. Their releases sync to peak in delight and erupt over and over in a golden wave of passion that Till can feel both physically and mentally. He drowns in it, the jarring, pulsing climax spilling between them in one wave after another, until peace and contentment replace the frenzied reach for satisfaction from seconds ago.

Drowned in a floodtide of the liberation of his mind and body, he glows warm and literal in the aftermath. Ivan's lips find his once more, his words just as tender a caress as his mouth is.

Never once in his life has he felt this good and safe. He doesn't deserve the sentiment, and yet he devours it like he can't get enough. His hands lift tenderly to either side of Ivan's face to melt against his lips like warm honey. Tears spill down his cheeks.

He doesn't even know why he's crying. They gather and fall silent regardless, as his arms shift to wrap around his neck in a cherished embrace, and he faintly shakes his head. How many times has Ivan come to his rescue now? There are too many to count.]

You're the one who saved me, dummy.

[In so many more ways than one. That will always stick with him. Despite the name its spoken with treasured affection.]

Thank you.

[snaggletooth]

[ This is the best dream he's ever had.

Even after achieving release, Till is intent on clinging to him, telling him so sweetly about who saved who. If this counts as saving, then Ivan would happily do so as many times as Till asked. It wouldn't even matter if his hands were only a means to an end. Till wanting to feel pleasure like that again is all the motivation Ivan needs.

A bent knuckle travels up one cheek to collect his tears, before curiously bringing them to his curled lips just to see how that joy tastes. Ha, well... it tastes like exertion, the same as after any workout, but it's the thought of tangibly taking in said joy that counts, really. He lets it dissolve on his tongue so he can say that it became a small part of himself. Maybe Till will think he's being strange again, but he's in such a great mood he could take anything in stride now—anything.

Perhaps he should make more requests of Till, now, while he isn't so scared of being shot down. ]

I don't want these cloths anymore.

[ Reaching between their still-burning bodies, he pulls on his quite-sticky shirt and starts heading for the zipper.

Objectively, there isn't anything wrong with his body. His physical scores proved that his strength and stamina were above what was acceptable for a student of Anakt Garden. Still, the style of uniform with the snug collar became his preference. It felt best to always have that extra layer between himself and the scrutiny of everyone else. Now, the white fabric splits, revealing... more white, because his skin has never seen sun. It's not twisted like he imagines it is, not even where he was shot. The only disruptions are where his muscles make their outlines known.

Shirt gone, the grin that spreads over his face isn't just for Till, it's for the slight confidence that bubbles within himself, as the hesitation he should by all means be feeling remains far away, a what if that doesn't intervene. ]

Ahhh... relief, ahaha! Should I help you with yours next?

[ Ivan says, slithering out of his pants and onto the bed like he's ridding himself of a stubborn cocoon. And he does look a bit like a being that's just been born anew: slick with sweat and wonder. ]

[untilldeath]

[Ivan's bare skin glistens, slick from exertion. Till imagines his own must look the same—flushed and shining in the dim light. Ivan lies exposed in a way Till has rarely witnessed, the unguarded vulnerability drawing his gaze. He's unaccustomed to seeing Ivan reveal so much of himself, even in private. For a moment, the space between them thickens, charged with unfamiliar but welcome intimacy.

Swallowing, Till can hardly believe they've made it to this moment, but gratitude overwhelms him. He can't help but greedily drink in the sight before him—Ivan is... stupidly impressive. If anyone should be self-conscious right now, it should be Till, he's certain.

He doesn't, though. He's too happy, still basking in the pleasant aftershocks of their closeness. Contentment eases him forward, and before he can think, his fingers splay across his chest, soaking in the satin warmth of his skin.

A moment later, he remembers Ivan asked him a question and blinks, pulling his hand back.]

Oh—yeah. Sorry-

[He stammers, starting to tug off his own clothes in a delayed mirror of Ivan. Right, don't be stupid, Till. They just pleasured each other, and already his hands are on him again.]

I'm just... not used to seeing you like this. [In his human form.] You look like an angel or something.

[snaggletooth]

[ It's not really help that Ivan winds up providing. His hands—like Till's— have their own agenda, inviting themselves to feel up the sides of Till's slender body the second the very first sliver of his midriff is revealed. He's always appreciated his friend's form. He didn't fully understand that until the dressing room became a more frequent setting for their class of future entertainers. The different costumes he had to try on hugged him in different ways than his usual baggy uniform.

Ivan can finally say that Till looks good in cloths when they actually fit him. As for with them off... that inner light highlights everything for him. Capillaries, bones. He fingers the beautiful flare of his ribs like piano keys.

All of this belongs to such an elegant creature— Ivan has to scoff as Till beats him to what he wanted to say. ]

If you say so.

[ He hooks his fingers into the hem of Till's slacks and finally, truly offers his aid, pulling them down his legs so Till needn't wallow around to find the leverage to do so himself. They're balled up and tossed behind him like there isn't a banquet upstairs that they'll have to rejoin at some point.

Still moving quickly, he makes Till his little spoon so they can really compare their bodies, resting one hand on the outside of Till's thigh with his thicker one lined up just behind it. ]

I think I'd be too bulky to fly. You, though... you'd be the brightest shooting star in the universe if you had wings. Are you sure you weren't distracted by yourself? Hahaha.

[ Importantly, it's not just being streamlined that would make that possible, it's Till's determination. He would use that freedom like no other. ]

[untilldeath]

[ The warm brush of Ivan’s skin against his own is both foreign and welcome all at once. They’ve slept curled together for a while now—literally, with Ivan’s body curling around them both—but this is different. This is the softness of bare flesh, the steady heat of a body wrapped intimately close to his, no blankets or uniforms in the way.

He isn’t used to gentle things. To tenderness. Back home, touch was almost always a prelude to violence, or a test of obedience. The hands that curl around him now and settle on his thigh—the body curved around his—speak only of affection and love. The way Ivan touches him feels like worship.

So do his words. Till will never understand how Ivan can look at him and see something so beautiful, but he drinks in the touch and attention the way a desert drinks rain.

Ivan may believe himself too bulky, but Till can only imagine how magnificent a creature like him would be in the sky. There’s no way he’s mistaken about that.

He lets himself relax, sinking back into Ivan’s hold. One of his hands searches for Ivan’s, fingers fumbling until he can try to thread them together. ]

I’m definitely sure.

[ Positive. ]

But if I ever start changing further... it had better include wings.