#menofparadise

[writtenmen]

solo / teasing m smut gif starters 　　↳ n4 ( receiver ) — tae-hyun & your choice

　　the neon nightscape was not the place tae would chose to spend his saturday night at. if it was up to him, he would have just stayed at home with his cats, but his friends had insisted him to join them to party for one simple reason: it was his birthday.

　　and so, with an order of free tequila shots and music blasting through the nightclub, tae-hyun had decided to let loose for the night, dropping his usual woollen cardigans for a mesh shirt and tight jeans to match. what he didn't count on, was on how quickly the drinks would go up to his head - again, he was not used to that type of partying. so by the time he hit his third shot, he was already feeling tipsy. by the seventh one though, he had moved the party to the dance floor, jumping and grinding against anyone he came across. his girlfriends encouraged him with wooing and cheering, as tae began to unbutton the shirt. jumping onto the nearest table and giving a show to everyone around them.

　　his eyes were locked in on one of the watchers, a tall and handsome man whom tae-hyun wanted to know better. black skin, dark eyes, and bulking biceps underneath a fancy suit. the florist was not standing anymore, but rather laying on his back, still on top of the table. hips circled up and down, his back arching, needing to feel something against him. or rather, someone.

@men-of-paradise

[coivi]

Cyrus had never considered himself a particularly spiritual man, but when a damn ghost started speaking to him—one that had actively tried and failed to possess him, probably due to the demonic entity already being housed within—he figured he had two options: lose his mind, or roll with it. He chose the latter. It wasn't every day you met a spectre who was as persistent as Cloud, after all. At first, their conversations had been laced with curiosity, Cloud poking and prodding at the strange fact that he couldn't control him. Cyrus, ever the immovable force, had taken it in stride, entertained by the entity that seemed just as fascinated by him. But somehow, the back-and-forth, the talking, the undeniable tension had led to this.

Now, with Cloud straddling his lap, Cyrus found himself in a predicament he hadn't quite anticipated. The ghost—his ghost, at this point—was trying to take him in, fingers digging into his broad shoulders as he worked himself down onto something that Cyrus wasn't entirely sure he could handle. Not that he doubted his own ability—he was more concerned about Cloud. Cyrus was a big man, in every sense of the word, too big in some circles. And despite the fact that Cloud had no true physical body of his own, he was still occupying one. And that body was trembling, struggling to take him in inch by inch, all while Cloud let out the most sinfully broken moans, pleas and curses. Alas, he couldn't fathom the true beauty here. The vessel the spectre decided to house was by far one of the most beautiful men he had seen. The watery glint in their eyes from the strain, the visible pre-cum seeping from the tip of Cloud's cock, the muscles of his body that inevitably flexed; all of it had the warlock throbbing, his mast a hardened piece of fat meat, pre-cum flowing steadily from the slit, coating into the man's constricting walls.

Cyrus exhaled, a slow, measured breath as his large hands rested on the ghost's hips, holding him steady. "You sure about this?" His voice was lower than usual, rough with restraint. He wasn't trying to stop him—not exactly—but the sheer size difference between them was making him hesitate. It wasn't like he could just ghost through the ghost if things went south. He didn't want to hurt him, the vessel. He could feel the way Cloud's body shook, trembled against him, could see the strain in his pretty, otherworldly face as he tried to take more.

His grip tightened, not to pull him down but to keep him from sinking too fast. "Breathe," Cyrus rumbled, his thumbs rubbing slow, steady circles against the smooth skin, a hand coming to the front to rest against Cloud's navel, ignoring the rigid length between their bodies, his palm laid flat, offering it warmth and control, to create a sense of sweet tenderness and unionship between the two of them. "You don’t have to force it." His patience was endless, but the sight of Cloud trying so damn hard to take him—his flushed expression, the way he whimpered and gasped, the way his body clenched as he fought to accommodate Cyrus' pillar of cock-meat—was making it difficult to keep his composure. Still, he wasn't about to let his own need overtake the fact that Cloud wasn't built like him. He was smaller, and Cyrus had enough self-awareness to know what he was capable of doing if he wasn't careful.

"Fuck…" His voice was rougher now, the strain bleeding into his words as he leaned in, resting his forehead against Cloud's shoulder for just a moment. And after that short interval, the hand at the man's hips tightened, aiding in lifting him off his length entirely, which collapsed with a wet snap against his thigh. "Wait a second..." With relative ease, he moved the man to sit beside him, while Cyrus himself rose to his feet, still wearing his hooded sweatshirt, his jogging bottoms and underwear bunched down to his ankles, forcing him to shuffle across the room due to lack of movement, the causing his cock to bob and spring, the thickness of his buttocks to jiggle from every short step that he took towards his desk. His fingers rummaged through the drawers, gripping hold a tube of KY jelly and returning, a toothy grin appearing on his face when he waddled back. Cyrus resumed his seat on the armchair sofa, squeezed a generous dollop of the contents to his palm, and slicking it across the entirety of his monstrous heft. Even if Cloud was unable to tame it, at the very least, it would create a nice, easy glide. The tube was thrown to the small side-table. While his hand stroked his aching length from root to tip, his free arm curled beneath the spectre once again, lifting him back onto his lap, where he now would belong for the remainder of the night. Now, in the heat of things, he allowed himself to look at the figure, the scruff of his face, the athletic build, ripe nipples that urged to be suckled. In the midst of the wet strokes filling the room, he asked wearily, "Can I kiss you?" He wanted this—wanted him—Cyrus wasn't going to break this... stranger, just to get what he wanted. He could be patient. He had to be.

CONTINUED FROM HERE

[capiovis]

Caius' shoulders had slackened and relaxed once the deal had been struck; it meant he wouldn't have to worry too much about paying his rent and utility bills, or having to dress layers upon layers of clothing just to keep warm during the colder months of the year. With his job solely being a person to move the product of choice, in his case, marijuana, he soon came to realise Joseph as being a man of his word, someone he could trust. No doubt his good-looks, charming smile and hefty bulge that Joseph naturally seemed to sport had something to do with Caius being quick to agree to his terms. It didn't seem like much, but a full grand a week in his pocket was more than he could scrounge up in a month. It was natural for him to feel somewhat close to the man, who was twice his size, imposing and dominant, but Caius saw how gentle of a giant he was, despite the circumstances.

In the subway, Caius sat back on his seat, hoodie pulled over his head, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket that was dressed on top of his sweatshirt. Often and casually, he would glance across to Joseph's groin, his mind wondering if the volume was all balls or cock. Just before he could ponder on the thought, he fell witness to the man pushing his jeans down past his hips at the front, just enough to fish out that thick slab of meat. "Jesus, fuck." Caius was more than impressed, and quite horrified. He didn't need any instruction or guidance as he dropped down to one knee, hand seizing him at the base to angle it upwards in the direction of his hungry mouth. His lips spread, his breath hot, his tongue lashing out across that cockhead in a circular motion, coating it in a generous coating of hot spit. Caius could tell the man was still soft, not yet at its fullest potential. He paid no mind to his surroundings, knowing his new boss would keep an eye out for them both. Lips seal around him, securely and steadfast just as he begins to sink his head down, sliding that thickened, perfect rod into the back of his throat. Didn't even supply Joseph with a gag or a choke. His head returned until the only thing remaining on the surface of his tongue was the head. A kiss was laid, and he returned back down, gulping the shaft deeper, swallowing it until it filled and expanded his neck. Caius went on for several minutes until he began to struggle, gagging as the man's length began to expand in its girth and length. And yet, he fought to bury it as much as he could, while he could, until his nose was pressed into the pubic area and his cheek was pressed flush against those firm, large balls. So full and round. It had only been roughly five-to-ten minutes since he had begun, not once did he speak or pull free to look upon the man to note his expression. Until now.

He withdrew that full monstrosity with a loud, echoing POP of his lips. Before he could resume his seat, he proceeded to have that heavy tool bat away against his face. Only briefly, while his face dug in to his groin, inhaling that sweet musky aroma of both man and cock. "Hng, fuck." Caius whimpered out, his own shaft coming to life, twitching awake beneath boxer-briefs and jeans. After some time, he returned, tongue flat from base to tip, swallowing any remnants of pre-cum that had began to dribble down. He resumed his seat, wiping the corners of his mouth and licking his work out of his fingers. "I know you've probably heard this a million times, from the millions of bitches that drop down to their knees for a man of your status, but fuck, dude, your dick's fuckin' huge." Caius beamed at him, a tooth-bearing grin that clearly illustrated his glee. "Tastes fuckin' good." He realises his own loft apartment isn't too far from the next stop. As bad as he wanted to take the subway all the way to Joseph's home, which was probably 50x the size of his entire apartment, he didn't think he could provide his best work with the constant rattling and shaking of the carriage. "D'ya mind if I take you back to m'place? Could get there in less than five minutes at this stop comin' up." He wasn't even sure he could make it there, his arousal coming swiftly and voraciously. "C'mon, what d'ya say?" If this was under other circumstances, he would lure Joseph into some dark alley to milk him dry; but a somewhat soft twin bed or a sectional sofa was more comfortable.

CONTINUED FROM HERE

[coivi]

The night prior, he had busied himself in his study, reading books, writing in his journals, sketching and painting. He had been so exhausted that he simply took the few steps across the room to slump down onto a cinema-style sofa. Cyrus, naturally being a formidable man in terms of height and musculature, took up the majority of it when he was fully laid out across it. He propped a cushion beneath a leg, hoisting it up to create a nice arch to prop his everlasting bulge against, and a cushion wrapped up in his bulging, long arms to use to lay his head upon. Sleep came quick, no thanks to the tender pitter-patter of rain, the crackle and pop of the fireplace and the cozy vibe he made sure to create in every room of his colossal mansion home.

He slept until morning and woke up feeling refreshed, in the same position as he had fallen asleep in. He rolled over to his back, yawned, stretched out his arms, spine and legs, and after a few short minutes of fighting the urge to sleep a little more, he rose to his feet.

Clad in grey sweats that defined his well-curved rounded rear, his prominent cock that left nothing to the imagination, and defined meaty thighs, he walked almost blindly away from his study. A hand rose to rub the sleep from his eyes, while the other had tucked itself inside his sweats, holding himself upright at a left-leaning angle so as to not have to endure it smacking along his thighs. He knew his home like the back of his hand, so without much attention, heavy bare feet padded towards his kitchen, where he had begun to gather the essentials ingredients, plates, pans and cutlery to make some french toast. He remembered he had a guest in his home, an old friend that he had made a while back; and while the two friends were often found casually making out and sometimes cuddling one another on the couch as they watched a movie together, it never went past that threshold, even if Cyrus' cock was almost always practically throbbing for Christophers' attention.

By the time his friend had joined him, there was a platter full of crispy, fried french toast. Cyrus had a voracious appetite, for food and other... activities. As he cooked the last batch of it, he felt a sudden sharp strike to his right buttock. Without looking, he knew it could only be Christopher, he didn't mind it in the slightest, especially when shortly after that smack, he felt Christopher's hand dig in to the meat of his ass and cop a firm squeeze. "Damn it, Christopher." Cyrus tried his very best to sound disappointed, despite his beaming grin and chuckle that followed. Plating up the last few pieces and turning off the hob, he then partially moved to face his companion. He was noticeably taller than the chef. He looked down at him with a gleeful smile, so he leaned down to acquire a sweet and simple kiss to his lips. "That's the most sex I'll get this weekend." Cyrus snickered, raising a hand to the man's chin and giving his thumb a sweep of his bottom lip. Oh, how he wanted to suck and nibble on that tender flesh for the rest of the day, though sadly knowing that Christopher would be leaving him in a couple of hours to return to work the following day.

"I hope you liked that because that's as far as you'll get to do anything to my ass." Such a loss, too, since Cyrus sported a large rump, with an equal level of fat and muscle, which was a perfect combination for that part of the body. "I made breakfast for us, Chef." Cyrus didn't like to boast, but he was an excellent cook; he knew how to cook various things, how to properly dice things, how to sauté, how to season. "If you don't like it, lie to me." A chuckle came, he stepped aside, prompting that hand to finally release its firm grip, though he could still feel that burning imprint.

@men-of-paradise asked: [ spank ] - from Christopher for Cyrus

[beefache]

a continuation for @men-of-paradise from this post.

There was something so satisfying about breaking down the composure of a man in uniform. Seemed the boys buttoned all the way to the top were the kind who let themselves sink down into the depravity once temptations proved themselves painfully undeniable. Beaumont knew he was in for a good time the moment he opened the front door to find the young officer knock knock knocking; he just hadn't realised it would be happening so soon. Not that he was the type of man to complain when he had a tongue up his ass.

"That's the spirit," he grinned, clenching his cheeks that little bit firmer around the officer's smothered face. Not that he seemed to be in need of any further encouragement when he was denying himself even a moment's breath. Beaumont did love messing with the diligent ones and this was far from the first deputy he had sampled from the town's esteemed police force.

[beefache]

continuation for @men-of-paradise from this post.

He could feel a small river of saliva collecting and slopping between his cheeks, a warm torrent of liquid pouring down his taint and splattering across the bathroom floor below. Winston could do without all the sweet talking, if only because every word sunk him deeper into a depraved brand of embarrassment that made his cheeks tinge red and his hole clench firm and tight despite the efforts of the memorable muscle moving into that forbidden warmth. He really wished he could behave himself, but having a near-stranger's tongue lapping at his puckered hole made Winston believe he was long past that particular point.

A mess of pre-cum had long since starting leaking from the tip of his engorged cock, but his hands were busy bracing themselves against his head and the bathroom wall to tend to that particular problem. While it pained him to admit it, even to himself, his son's friend was talented enough with his tongue Winston barely felt the urge to reach down and touch himself when he was getting plenty of pleasure just from having his pucker rimmed.

"No. . . No. Just the tongue," he grunted, unsure of why he had the gall not to just out right tell him to stop. "Just. . . Just the tongue."

[coivi]

When Cyrus had been tasked to become King Ansel's close and personal guard, the Great Protector, as many had deemed it, the warlock had felt a lot of eyes on him. He could practically smell the tension when he walked into a room; conversations would go silent, many would turn in their chairs to look upon him. And who could blame them? Cyrus stood out. He was tall, heavily muscled, incredibly powerful and infamous for claiming his spot so easily in King Ansel's court. Most of all, there was a man in particular that stared at him, daggers in his eyes, always sharpening a tool or a blade in his hands. Wyman was his name, the Commander of the Kingsguard. A man so broad and burly, tough and battle-ready. Cyrus had seen what he was capable of when he sparred with his fellow Guardsmen. He was strong, fast, and undeniably skilled, especially with his fists. The warlock had preferred to not make an enemy, he understood why Wyman had opposed of him, he knew hatred and anger better than anybody. It practically seethed out of him every-time Cyrus dared to walk past him. Still, he had a very long fuse. No scowls, grunts or looks of disdain could pierce his psyche. He, of all people, had access to the entire castle. Free to roam wherever he pleased. And while he maintained his place as the King's guard, he began to worry; he had seen Wyman in whispers in certain places, but when Cyrus came into their view, they stopped. He didn't fear for his life, but he pondered if the man was stupid enough to try and take him on.

A pre-emptive strike had to be the resolution. Cyrus wasn't going to risk anything at this point.

Late one night, he cast every enchantment, hex and curse he knew upon the walls and doors of the King's chamber, nobody but him would be able to enter, lest they risk being disintegrated into a pile of ash.

Leaving behind a magical copy of himself, with the same fighting capabilities he had, his voice and his thoughts, Cyrus left the King in the middle of the night. Deep into the castle, he walked through the dark, rounding out a corner. Wiggling his fingers at the keyhole, the door was magically unlocked and swung open with a loud creak. Cyrus had no intention of sneaking in, but he did need to have a word with the man. Within a second of stepping through the threshold, he was tackled to the nearest wall, Wyman's hand coming to his neck, choking him. Cyrus had clarity now; his initial impression was true; he wanted the warlock out. His own hand curled into the commander's wrist. Very easily, he gripped down hard enough that the hold on his neck was no longer viable. "Well, well... I came down here to talk, but it seems like you have made up your mind." His other hand now came to Wyman's own neck, holding it firmly enough to effortlessly lift him up off of the ground and pulling him in closer. "What did you think was going to happen? Did you really think you were going to choke the life out of me?" He could see the man scrambling, arms and legs flailingly miserably, tears in his darkened eyes. The man was shaking his head at him. Cyrus had never seen him so defeated, so weak and fragile—and so, he showed him a sliver of mercy, setting him down, hearing him gasping for breath and clambering over to his bed. He pulled a chair, mounting it so that his front faced the back of the seat. "Let's talk."

For the next half an hour or so, he heard as Wyman proclaimed his worries; that he perhaps thought Cyrus had enchanted the King, that he knew nothing of the customs of the Kingdom. Wyman then went on to confess that he was trying to plan an event to include Cyrus, a sort of welcoming party to know him better. Upon hearing all of this, he apologised profusely. Not only for breaking into his chambers, but for challenging him, understanding now that the initial attack was because Wyman was unable to see who entered his room uninvited. Standing, he promptly pulled the man into a handshake, and a warm embrace. The commander turned, moving to splay out across his bed, whispering a tender, 'There's something else...'

Nothing else needed to be said. Cyrus understood lust and sex better than anyone. The way Wyman laid there, legs spread out like an invitation, back arched as he laid out across his stomach. "Say no more." He knelt at the edge of the bed, hands rounding up to the fabric that covered his legs. A tender caress came up his legs, then he grabbed a fistful of the garment and tugged, tearing it from the man's body with one successful yank. The shirt came next, leaving him perfectly and entirely exposed to him. Cyrus then stood, watching as he began undoing straps, coverings and clothing.

No time was wasted. He moved on to lay between strong, thickened legs. Hands splayed across the rounded cheeks, smoothening his palm and fingers across them, prying them apart to begin nuzzling his face between, digging in with drool in his mouth that was then offered to that unfurled, untamed, unfucked hole. A single sweep let him know Wyman had never been claimed; not unless a long period of time had passed. Instinctively, his arms dug beneath his thighs, hands clasped onto each cheek to spread to initiate Cyrus' devouring of that virgin pussy. His hunger came quickly and voraciously, tongue sweeping in a flurry of brushing strokes, flickers and rolls.

@men-of-paradise asked: 13A - Your Choice

[coivi]

Cyrus had been asleep for a few hours. He chose to get in an early nights sleep as he needed to wake in the middle of the night. The alarm went off at 12:45AM. He woke, dressed on a pair of boxer shorts and moved on. Yawning and stretching as heavy, large feet padded their way across hardwood floors, in the direction of his kitchen. The refill pod of coffee in his barista-style coffee machine was put on to automatically make himself a hot drink. As it poured and filled the mug, he tossed in a sugar cube. Once it was done, he took a sip and progressed further in his adventure, slipping into his garden, still barefoot. His surroundings were well-lit by the moon, a perfect ambience for the work he needed to do in the stillness and quiet of the night, with only the buzzing of insects and the hooting of a nearby owl being the only sounds he could hear. As he padded on through, inspecting blooms of magical plants, he sipped at the hot drink. The caffeine was starting to hit; he wasn't much of a coffee drinker, only doing so when he wanted to be alert and be hit with a dose of energy. Coming up to his destination, a part of his gardens where he grew plants and trees that produced fruit. The dragon fruit plant was one that only bloomed in the evening. Their pollinators were bats and moths, but Cyrus wanted to ensure maximum yield. Setting the drink down on a nearby surface, he got to work on pollinating it, with a simple brush and pollen he had previously collected. He went on, dousing each and every flower with pollen. There was a time-frame he had to hit, he had great success in previous bloom cycles, and he was sure this would work when he finished up.

He returned to his drink, took a gulp, now that the temperature was to his liking, and he moved on, walking through his gardens to enjoy the warm night air. He had just crossed the lit pool, turned to face the stone stairs that lead down to it, when he saw the entirely naked figure of his current guest. A vampire by the name of Drake. At first, he was startled to see him there; he was so stealthy and quick that Cyrus' enhanced senses didn't pick up on anything. "Christ almighty..." He laughed it off. "Clear your throat or something next time." Nudity was not a foreign thing to him; he had seen many men, and many women, naked in front of him. This was no different, but he had to admit to himself, he liked what he was seeing. He was witness to an apology with a dashing smile, the man's voice was sultry, smooth. The vampire then approached him, Cyrus stood steadfast, sipping at his beverage, as if the man's solid physique didn't interrupt his thoughts. For his part, at least, he didn't feel any sexual tension. He didn't even think Drake was into men, let alone him. "It's a beautiful night tonight, huh? Been some time since I seen the moon so clear," Cyrus commented, looking up into the night sky with glee. "Hey, I'm sorry if I—" His attention returned, but found Drake was no longer standing a few feet away front of him, his phrase fell short. "Drake?" The fabric of his shorts was ruffled, Cyrus ignored it, suspecting it to be the gust of wind that passed by in that exact moment. Next thing he knew, he was subjected to a warm compress enveloping the head of his flaccid, though sizable, cock. "Fuckin' hell, Drake—!" Cyrus cursed out. This time around, the initial feeling had his body jolting in surprise. "What're you—?" Again, he fell silent, only being able to let out a huffy grunt when the vampire dug in deeper, lips sealing around him like a vice, tongue flickering over the hefty volume of the tip.

"Alright, alright," he cleared his throat, bringing his drink up to his lips again. "I'll allow this... just be careful with them fangs." Cyrus stood there, tall and hulking mass of muscle, the leg sleeve of his shorts lifted up to unveil the limp, infamous shaft. The man at his knees, looking up at him with resolve, was a beautiful sight. With his free hand, he took it down to caress the top of his head, fingers wading into the bed of hair to tenderly caress and encourage him to continue.

@men-of-paradise asked: 2E Drake