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thisclockworkheart) wrote2023-12-20 11:30 am
Golden Peacock Inbox & Open Season App
6♥ [SIX of HEARTS]
UN: pinocchio
AUDIO ✧ VIDEO ✧ TEXT ✧ ACTION
20 / male / unknown / 6♥
Details
The strong and silent type who doesn't like to brag! Or say much of anything. I'm sure this delicious snack has lots to say once you break through his dashingly wooden and icy exterior!
He says he's a stalker -- not that we judge, honey! We all have our vices!
Small correction, guys, gals, and nonbinary pals. A Stalker is a vocation, something about mercenary work.
This cherry boy is single and ready to mingle!
He plays the piano and says he's good with a sword. He even expressed interest in finding a few like-minded sparring partners! You know that that means, he's great with his hands and one of them is! Metal! A! F!
(This space, perhaps intentionally, has been left blank.)
(No information. Perhaps the original drafter of this post abandoned it halfway through.)
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.02 CLOWNS OR MIMES
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.03 SHOWER OR BATH
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.04 PIRATES OR NINJAS
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.05 TITS OR ASS
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.06 COFFEE OR TEA
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.07 SPICY OR SWEET
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.08 SUMMER OR WINTER
NO ANSWER GIVEN
.09 LEATHER OR LACE
AN ANSWER! BOTH.
10. ROUGH SEX OR GENTLE SEX
NO ANSWER GIVEN
INFP-T
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Pinocchio catches her, primarily with his more normal arm, only he stoops slightly and scoops her up under her knees, the cold, hard steel of his Legion Arm tangible through the material of her skirt. It's also accompanied by a chunky, clunky bunch of mechanical noises, and the whirr of actuators. No shit, his arm actually goes brrr.
He pauses to look at the image of a vineyard glowing through her 'window', continuing to carry her bridal-style. ]
...You're very warm. [ Burning up, as with a fever. Tipping his face towards her, it's not clear whether he looks on her with pity or with clinical interest. It's not unfriendly, it's more that he's thinking, and the muted chatter of gears only supports the theory.
When he sets her down, gently, it's on the cushioned surface of her mattress, using his less dangerous hand to sweep her hair from her eyes. ] Tell me what you need.
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He comments that she's warm, she starts to lean more towards him,]
Aren't you- [-going to kiss me, now?" It stops in her throat, because he sets her down on the bed so gingerly just then.
Frustrating! And charming! What's he playing with her like that for!? She's supposed to be the one with the games!
Marina tries to maintain her composure, but can practically feel the steam rising off her face. A pouty look, eyebrows slightly rumpled down, eyes wide and lashes batting at him.
She'll let him know, alright! Just what's on her mind,]
... do you want to have sex or are you waiting for something? [sheesh, if he hadn't flustered her so much maybe Marina would have been a little more delicate. Instead, she just blurts it out so plainly, that redline really getting her riled up. He was warned!]
averts my eyes
...Couldn't you have been a little more coy about it?
[ was he trying to seduce her?
...maybe. he's been doing SO much reading, he's trying his best. ]
buries mine into both hands
So, she's bossing him, sternly.]
Answer me.
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It's different, and it's a little... exhilarating. She feels like a brand this close, warm and bright, and he's nervous, but uncertainty has never stopped him. Their lips stick together, like it was honey between them, and he doesn't know she's printed the color of her kiss on his mouth, but he presses his brow against her fringe. ]
I can do this as well as anyone. I can. [ Even if he wasn't born human— ]
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Marina is reciprocating that kiss. Soft and eager, trying her best to be unrushed. It's difficult. Her blood flows hot from her heart through her veins. Redline, redline, she thinks, what is this smitten feeling!? She wants to bounce in place. She wants to jump right onto him!
No, no, he's clearly needing encouragement, rather than her being forceful.
Her hands reach out to smooth over his shoulders and loop around his neck in a loose embrace. The lipstick that parted between them and onto his lips looks so handsome on him, genuinely. Gorgeous boy. She nuzzles his forehead as he presses to hers, admiring his face so close to hers.]
I believe you.
[Marina doesn't think he's slamming the lie button, she has faith!]
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Ever mindful of how easily his Legion Arm can harm, he carefully nudges up her chin with a cool, metal knuckle, the gap between joints a gentle scrape against her soft skin. He kisses her again when he tilts her up, sinking into the still alien comfort of touch that doesn't mean to tear him apart. After indulging himself, he pushes himself up on his other arm, his hand dipping the mattress with his added weight.
He says, dead serious: ] You're quite done with me being a gentleman.
[ It's not really a question. An educated guess, mainly. ]
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He nudges her face upward and kisses her again. She rolls her lips against his, gasping lightly. After he breaks it, she bites her lower lip again, likely showing him just how she stained her teeth earlier, though now there is much less left to spread around. So much parted onto his lips at this point. Cherry boy, how cute...
She ends up tipped towards where his arm heavily indents her mattress, very light herself. Lopsided now, she answers,]
I want a gentleman, [Pinocchio is sweet like this, trying his very best, even if it makes her impatient! Her legs spread a bit wider at the edge of her bed and she reaches a hand for the hem of her skirt,] but you can be earnest and forthright at the same time. Tell me what you want from me. We can be honest with each other, Pinocchio.
[lifting the front fabric up, she pulls her skirt high enough to show him her black lace lingerie, straining around her fully hard cock.]
Just keep treating me like a proper lady. [she won't accept anything less!]
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The look he gives her is fond and he doesn't chase the rustle of her dress as she hikes it up, not like some hot-blooded boy eager for a peek at a girl's lacy smalls, but then, he doesn't grasp the titillation of a naked body, when humanity is already terrible and beautiful alone.
He's a blank slate, but not without longing. Feeling the fabric bunch up under his arm and his hip where they bracket her on either side, he looks, only to reach back and not for what she might expect. His palm scoops under her heel, chasing the curve of her ankle, the swell of her calf. Looking, really looking, because this isn't a part she's exposed to him before, and it's every bit as fascinating as what she's got dressed up in black lace.
Too bad that it seems to take ages for him to get there, but not before he sighs: ] Stay still for me.
[ She feels soft and warm, everything he wants to be, the give of her thigh under his fingers feels especially exciting, forbidden, when he leans his hip against the side of the mattress, his metal palm spreading over her clothed belly, he pushes it slow up towards the beat of her heart. ] You're not afraid of me at all. It's, nice.
[ His metal hand ascends her breastbone, flirts with her throat and exposes it to his kiss when he tilts her jaw aside with his knuckles, stamping a tinted print against the delicate skin of her throat. ]
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Still, his long pause and scrutinizing gaze does set her a bit uneasy. She's a very confident girl, but even the most self assured person can have moments of worry. What if he rejects her now? She'd be pretty devastated, she thinks, all hot and bothered and smitten for nothing. There is a certain fear in that and that alone.
But there is no rejection, only a sighing command that she was already following. Marina goes along with his touch, wishing him to explore. Her breath hitches at the touch to her bared throat, her blouse already open down three buttons worth and easy to nudge aside. He compliments her manner towards him and kisses her, she answers softly,]
You can be scary, but so can I. [they know what they're capable of after The Door Incident. There's a mutual respect she can feel. One well earned!]
I'm not afraid, Pinocchio. You're a thrill, not a fear.
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[ Her easy acceptance threatens to make him shake. His teeth are on her throat and her skin gives beneath the fingers that dig in, greedily, on the meat of her upper thigh, his eyes squeeze shut so tight he sees a splash of brightness behind them.
How easy it would be to kiss, to bite a bruise on her throat, something to remember him by. He refrains, but only because she's squeezed his heart so sweet and there's so much more of her to taste. The next of his kisses lands on her collarbone. On the hollow of her throat. Again, as far down as that opening in her blouse allows, and the thud of her heart under his lips makes him prickle. His metal palm follows but deviates to the side, it pushes up along her ribs to her breast, and catches a curling lock of her hair between thumb and index finger to push it against his lips, so he can scent it.
The other has already discovered the way she fills out her lacy panties, more relieved than he can say that he knows what to do with this, thank the stars. ]
What satisfies you.
[ It takes so much, to dare to give voice to what he wants, so used to how little puppets are regarded. ]
And I don't know enough.
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You can put those... cute lips and tongue anywhere you like on me, [she affirms, knowing just where she'd like him to put them, but not wishing to rush this pace he's set. No need to hold back for her, but Pinocchio's words reveal his inexperience, something she only guessed at. Sure, Akechi teased him at breakfast, but who is dumb enough to just trust Akechi uncritically? Not her.]
We can learn together.
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[ Perhaps frustratingly, it means he's stopped lavishing his attention down her body, means he straightens up to look down on her with an earnest stare, his other palm caught midway in the act of peeling black lace down from the full shape of her desire.
But oh, he's looking into her eyes with such earnest hope, it's a little sweet. It's a little dangerous, too, knowing what they both know about their capabilities. Straightening up, he puts his metal fingers to the task of loosening his cravat.
At least he doesn't leave her longing for too long, even while he's negotiating, his fingers scoop up her blushing cock in his fist, giving it the squeeze for relief that it's probably aching for. ]
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I hadn't- I didn't know... any of this, when I arrived. [some petting and teenage fooling around in school, but she was always the one wanting to touch and didn't really let people touch her back. That was too dangerous. Here? She's been granted so much acceptance she can't help in wanting to share that in turn with Pinocchio. He deserves someone who is encouraging and gentle.
So much for being the wolf, she'd rather be a shepherd girl, after all.
Her hands reach out to help him with his shirt once he's pulled away the cravat for himself. Her hips want to buck into his grasp, but she only writhes, too close to the edge of the bed to not scoot herself right off if she's not careful. That would also be terribly awkward of her,]
Take my clothes off and I'll take off yours.
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[ Marina makes him feel soft and vulnerable in ways that should alarm him rather than steep him in an effervescent warmth. One might dismiss Pinocchio's easy acceptance as ignorance, but she doesn't have that excuse. She knows he isn't like her and she welcomes him anyway, vouches for his autonomy in ways people usually don't. Maybe this had started as a game of hunter and wolf, but just like their first encounter had started with one-sided adversity, they meet again as friends and equals.
He insists, wordlessly, on helping; his prosthetic has many vexing hard angles that like to catch and snag on more flexible cloth. Just enough to get her started before he works on her blouse, plucking buttons clumsily until he, impatiently, smooths his palms down over her chest, gripping a handful of fabric at her ribs and pulling it over her head.
Sometimes, he can't help getting in their way — ducking down to snatch another kiss from her mouth, or a palm unerringly drawn to her blushing cock, indulging her in a curious, too-brief caress. It's when he's trying to find how to unfasten her skirt that he suddenly huffs out a helpless, amused noise. ]
How do I work this?
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And she likes that Pinocchio is different, appreciates him with no need for him to explain himself. It's best that way. If he wants to share, he can, but there is no expectation and no demand for it. She accepts him as is, call that no strings attached.
Her blouse comes off and it's a bit sticky from how hot she's gotten beneath it. The aphrodisiacs are not going to leave her system any time soon, all there is to do is sate the side effects. She is glad to leave on her bra, a lacy thing with a front clasp, liking how feminine and cute it feels to keep in place. Why have all this nice lingerie if it doesn't stay on from time to time!]
Zipper, [she laughs breathlessly, showing him how that works at the side of her skirt! Once it's undone, the skirt slips off her waist and down to the floor with ease. It's just her in her pushed askew panties, cock stiff in the open air, jolting as Pinocchio only briefly palms her,] I want to keep my lingerie on, if you like it. Don't care if it gets messed up.
[it's very cute underwear!! It also won't much get in the way, easy to move to one side. Oh well if it gets stained or torn, she can get more. Better to enjoy it while it lasts than be precious.
Also, she wants him full naked, already! Get that done on the double! Her hands are there to help,]
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In the absence of an outer layer, the high-collared shirt beneath it only has a row of buttons to mid-breast; his hair fluffs out when he pulls the hem of his shirt from his waistband and off over his head, his lithe frame is dusted with freckles less liberally on shoulders and back, curiously free of scarring. Even where his shoulder meets his prosthetic, the skin terminates beneath a band of metal, hinting at a framework on which his Legion Arm sits.
As for where he wanted her hands, it was at his waistband, to help him with the work of unbuttoning them enough to push them and his smalls off out of sight. The worst part of it is there's no showmanship to the act, too efficient, to the point of missing the whole point of undressing with an audience.
(He's still learning.) ]
You dressed up for me, [ he says, flattered in an understated way, his palms dragging down over the lace that covers her breasts, thumbing over the delicate texture of lace before they sweep down her belly, painting contrasting paths of cool and warm. In his appearance, there's a conspicuousness about it; any imperfections introduced to something a little too flawless seem too deliberate, too consciously and conventionally attractive. The 'but better' vibe is palpable and almost this side of uncanny.
He was designed to look disarming. As for the rest, the changes that took root in his inorganic body as his humanity developed were never part of his creator's plan. The blushing, uncut cock resting against her inner thigh feels real enough, and so does the affection with which he looks on her. ]
Marina, will you mind if I touch inside of you? [ presumably, while he's having that taste he's expressed an appetite for, ] ...Do you have anything to make it easier?
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Marina barely hears what he says. Something about being inside of her. Needing lube. Yeah. She's sure of that much!]
Oh, you're going to really need to prepare me! You're huge! [she cannot be coy, she refuses]
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Pinocchio's habit of tilting his head akin to a bird, when puzzled, interested, or otherwise confronted by food for thought, shows no signs of stopping. Wasn't it what she expected? She's not done blurting out exclamations that would probably turn almost anyone else interesting shades of pink, but the puppet glances down and then up towards her face. ]
Is that good or bad? [ he asks with utmost sincerity.
And, with some sass: ] And where do you keep your supplies? Your room is huge.
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[...]
I trust you, Pinocchio. I'd like to feel you inside, [a sweet bit of affirmation before she leans around him and pops open her bedside drawer, pulling out a bottle of lubricant. Has she at least been experimenting on her own some since arriving? A girl won't say.
The bottle is partially used, though. Environmental storytelling.]
You want to sit back against my pillows? Because I want to crawl over your lap for it.
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Yes, [ he answers without hesitation. ] When you say you're ready.
[ There's something he said he wanted to do, and he's had it on his mind since it arrived there. Pump bottle, gently used. Environmental storytelling that only blows oxygen to the glowing embers of arousal. Where someone else might have balked at the very idea of letting his thoughts run unfiltered from his lips, Pinocchio has no such sense of shame; he nudges the side of his metal palm to the bottle, pumping the clear gel into his waiting palm to warm against his synthetic skin. ]
You've been busy. [ There's no air of judgment. His head ducks. Remembering how it had felt that time, the first time, when he first felt the pink velvet of a tongue drag a wet stripe up his own cock, he parrots it now. Slower, because he wants to remember this, every inch of skin his tongue paints wet along the way, the way she tastes, and sounds, and moves. All of it. ] ...Did you ever think of me?
[ He doesn't have his father's narcissism. It's not vanity or insecurity that demands her validation, but curiosity. Did he ever cross her mind, when she was alone and wanting?
It's quite the picture, the way his hair falls before one eye, the other blue craned up to look at her expression, her blushing cock jutting across his face and the spit-damp bow of his freckled lip. ]
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That happened much too quickly, didn't it? It keeps happening much too quickly. She's getting so attached to people in such short order, these days. That had always been difficult for her, but here? Marina can't even help herself, it just keeps happening.
She leans herself back onto her elbows, digging them down into the mattress. Marina's legs fall open wide for him to fit between. Pinocchio's face is so damn attractive, every bit of him is. A real fairy tale kind of guy, huh.
Of course, it's embarrassing when he notes and then comments on the use of the lubricant before now. Then asks a question like that! Yet, it stokes Marina's arousal all the more desperate. She's snappy to respond, all desire in her tone,]
Oh, I will from now on. [her voice catches high on that particular threat and promise]
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Marina's sharp in mind and tongue. Her retort has Pinocchio's eyes crinkling in good humor, even though his lips are an imperfect seal around the underside of her cock, licking another cooling strip up and then over the tip.
She's fortunate he's been warming his steel fingers on her skin, because to steady her cock before dipping it end-first against the flat of his tongue and skimming up into his mouth the smooth metal pad of two fingers and thumb take it by the base. That palm flattens out on her belly after, his lashes sweeping low over his cheeks. Maddeningly, but importantly, he takes his time, eyes flitting up towards her face first when a fingertip ceases smoothing out her crinkled rim to breach it, then again at every twitch and sound from her as he gradually works her open. Twice, he adds more lube. It's probably too much, spit soaking her where lube doesn't, his lips glistening wet when he pulls off from her. ]
Think it's enough..? [ Stars above, he hopes it is, and if she gives even the slightest positive indication, Pinocchio is climbing up onto the bed to join her. She might not even need to move, because the moment he reclines on his back against her pillows, he can lift her by the hips like it's nothing, pulling her over his lap, eyes fixed on hers.
He's rarely given to this sort of reverence. ]
If you're still sure.
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So, her whimpers and moans are mostly urging him to keep going, to not slow down. When Pinocchio finally seems content with his handy work in stretching her out to take him, Marina is not going to argue. She feels like a complete mess of built up tension and desire.
He moves onto her bed and there's no need for him to pull her, she is crawling onto him in an instant. Marina straddles his lap and sits so his massive cock is between her ass cheeks. Her chest presses flush to his and she kisses him as her answer. She's sure, she's so, so sure. Arms wrap over both of his shoulders, her hands splaying at the back of his hair and neck. The kiss is deep and urgent, a mix of messy lipstick and her own taste fresh on his lips from all his doting attention to her cock.
When she can finally separate her lips from his, it's with a string of drool from her own, watering mouth for him. She sounds as desperate as ever for more, expression both hazy and eager,]
I want it, I want you-
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Marina's dainty frame appealingly fits against the slim muscle of his body, and the frisson of excitement of feeling her warm, lube-sticky skin against the slick erection nodding into the cleft between her cheeks, unable to see, so feeling it all the more keenly. The enthusiasm of her embrace convinces a contented hum out of him, deep into the press of their lips. He stares, a little dazed, at that glistening string of spit connecting them, then lifts his lust-dark eyes and their expanded pupils up to hers.
His erection may have softened while he was working her open out of self-neglect, but no such problem exists now, his turgid cock nudging against the cleft between her cheeks, interested and eager. Pinocchio has no idea what to expect, what it will feel like to be inside her, yet aches to know. Chasing her lips once more for another kiss, he whispers against her mouth: ]
Sit up, Marina. [ The hand that pushes down in between them palms her spit-damp cock, briefly sandwiching it between his palm and her belly, then moves lower still, curling his fist around his own root, guiding the bulbous, flared tip of his cock between her cheeks, the sound of slick skin sliding against skin is sticky, obscene. ] Let me watch you take me.
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