theoldguardkinkmeme | Prompt Post #3

Prompt Post #3

To keep the prompt posts more manageable in size for modding, this post is closed to new prompts for now. The next prompt post is going to open on August, 24.

This post remains open, however, for you to link fills or express your excitement over prompts you would like to see filled.

There are still many, many gorgeous prompts in this post that have not yet been written or drawn. For easier browsing, check out the Pinboard.

Remember:

Any characters, any ship, any trope, any kink is welcome (with the sole exception of sexual scenarios involving human(oid) characters under 14).

Each prompt gets a new comment directly under the post. Don't use threaded comments for new prompts. Only squee, encouragement, and links to fills go in the comments responding to individual prompts.

Prompts should be posted anonymously.

Please use a header with your character(s)/pairing and a keyword or short phrase (For example: "Andy/Quynh, Make-up sex" or "Nicky/Joe/Booker, first time DP").

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Someone bad drugs Booker with ghb or something similar. Maybe it's a Big Bad who's experimenting on them, maybe it's some guy in a club. Non-con ensues between Booker and this person.

Or alternately, someone drugs Booker and Joe and Nicky. Joe and Nicky are all over each other like normal, kind of realizing something is wrong, Booker shouldn't be watching them like *that*, they shouldn't be doing this in *public*, but they kind of can't stop. They dubcon (or full out noncon) Booker (who is actually very interested in the two of them), with lots of sloppy, desperate sex.

Oh man why do I want this to happen to exiled!Booker such that the others don't know for a long time???? Or if they know, don't immediately believe him.

I'm... really very interested in this. Would it be okay if I combined it with the sex worker prompt a few posts back?

OP here, YES PLEASE AHHHH

He stood and watched them leave him, trying not to feel anything.

Andy--Boss--whom he would never see again. Joe, Nicky, the closest thing to brothers that he had had in centuries. Nile. A younger sister, perhaps even the daughter he had never had?

Well, not as if he'd know now. They were good people, and deeply, infinitely kind, but they did not forgive readily, if at all. He had at least a hundred years to shift for himself now, more if they wisely decided not to welcome him back to the fold. So. Appealing though it was to simply sleep rough until he starved to death (however many times he could manage in the span of a century), eventually that would be noticed and attract unwanted attention. He needed a steady profession which would permit him to remain more or less in shadows, and required none of the documentation he lacked. Even a simple retail job would want a social security number. A real hassle, those. They made immortal life so much more difficult.

The idea of sex work came quickly; as it turned out, prostitution was legal in London, so long as it wasn't in public. He quickly found the kinds of websites that would lead potential johns to him. This Craig fellow and his wondrous list! Before long he had a system of sorts in place: every three days he would book a handful of clients, never the same twice, always for cash. Booker had always had very few sexual limits, but he flatly refused things like knifeplay or asphyxiation, as his secret could potentially be revealed if something went wrong. He never had much worry where safety was concerned; he couldn't get any STDs, and even if a client proved to be a serial killer, it's not as if he wouldn't just come back to life again later. Not that he'd have particularly minded had the chopping stuck. One less worry on the Guards' minds.

Some cold, lonely part of him, frozen over since Russia, whispered that it was nice to be able to feel wanted even if it was all based on a lie. To have someone greet him warmly, with a kiss, laugh at his jokes, hold him close at night---he hadn't had that since he'd buried his wife. To see desire for him reflected in a partner's eyes as they led him to bed, gentle hands on his body, his pseudonym gasped in ecstacy---all these things, he hadn't even known he was missing.

He could pretend, just for a few short hours, that he was loved.

Oh, in the harsh light of morning as his client snuck out of the flat to get back to their life all such illusions would vanish. He was left a lonely, shame-ridden whore, semen cooling on the sheets. He wasn't a lover, was barely even a 'partner'. He was an experiment. A fling. A mistake. An itch to be scratched. Nothing worth staying for.

Damn it all, he wanted more for himself, whether he deserved it or not. To that end, when he saw the post he immediately responded to it.

Discreet gentleman seeks lovely younger companion to show him a good time in London for the weekend. Let me treat you; all I ask is you be good to me in return.

The price offered was more than Booker could have charged a month's worth of clients. All it took was a few flirty messages exchanged, a tasteful nude sent, and an agreement was made. They would meet for dinner in a little pub along the Thames---a different one from where he'd been exiled---amd from there he and John would spend the weekend together. He'd send half the payment in advance as a show of good faith, and give him the rest when their time together was up.

He was already at the table when Booker walked in---a genial fiftysomething with a wide smile and smoke-colored eyes.

"Hello, David. So pleased you could make it. Come, try the wine. I've taken the liberty of ordering for us."

It didn't even occur to him that the wine tasted...off.. Bitter. Wrong in some hard-to-define way. It was strong wine, that much soon became clear; Booker quickly found himself flushed and giggling at all of John's jokes. He discovered, to his chagrin, that he had managed to become drunk. He also realized he didn't care in the slightest. It was remarkably easy, in this state, to become David, the ditzy, free-spirited art student and traveler who would be John's weekend companion. Just for a while, he could let go of Russia, of war, of his dying son cursing his name. Of exile. Of his own traitorous ways.

It wasn't until he stood up to pay the bill that he realized something was wrong. That sweet wine had gone sticky in his mouth, and light-hearted tipsiness had given way to heavy limbs and slurred speech. The room was slowly spinning as John pulled him close, walking him out to an old nondescript dark-colored sedan. He heard at a distance as his captor laughed to the waitress that, 'poor lad had too much wine on an empty stomach' and 'can't for the life of him hold his liquor, poor love', and other such blithe reassurances that this was not in fact a kidnapping. Booker's heart sped up as John wrangled his floppy, useless limbs into the back seat and shoved him down, tossing a blanket over him. In the dark, breathing damp flannel and at the mercy of what felt like a horribly winding road, Booker tried mightily to vomit up whatever he'd been drugged with. To no avail though; carsickness rolled inside him but the nausea never quite peaked. By the time the car stopped he was a sweating bundle of panic, even as he tried to remember that no matter what, he could come back to life afterwards. John came around to the back and scooped Booker up, blanket and all, his feet and one hand dangling free. He tried to headbutt John, hoping that he'd drop him and enable Booker to escape, but he was too dizzy and weak to manage more than smacking his cheek into the man's collarbone as he was carried.

John chuckled and stroked Booker's head.

"Now now, lovey, don't start fighting just yet. Plenty of time that, soon enough."

Booker had a vague impression of a rural cottage, and for some reason the blooming pink roses on the tablecloth as John brought him through the kitchen. He realized sinkingly that they must be headed to the bedroom, though until the door opened, Booker had no idea the truth. John deposited him on a bed with no covers apart from a sheet and what seemed like a sort of waterproof mat. A camera was aimed towards it, and a set of old-fashioned metal handcuffs were chained to the wrought-metal headboard. Hard by was a little rolling table spread with various implements that recalled Kozac's lab. This time he really did gag, head hanging as John shackled him in place and began methodically undressing him. Shoes and socks first, button down shirt, then his jeans, undershirt. At last he was only in his boxers, and suddenly his tormentor withdrew.

"Hello again friends," he addressed the camera, which was apparently now recording, "I'm very excited to introduce to you a new guest performer today. This is David, and we've gained the honor of his company for the next several days! As always, you, the viewer, decide his fate. Last time it was decided that you wanted our next guest to perform for us on camera, so once friend David has got his bearings a bit we'll get on with the show!"

Pssst, these are supposed to go in the fills post, not directly in the prompts post, just fyi.

Ahhhhh yay thanks!!!!!! If you fill on the other post will youb link here please so I don't miss it? Thank you lovely person! -OP

Ahhhh poor Booker. I'm so excited to see where this goes!!!

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Prompt Post #3

Booker/anyone or Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon

Re: Booker/anyone or Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon

Re: Booker/anyone or Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon

Re: Booker/anyone or Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon

Booker/OMC Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon FILL

Booker/OMC Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon FILL 2/?

Re: Booker/OMC Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon FILL 2/?

Re: Booker/OMC Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon FILL 2/?

Re: Booker/OMC Booker/Joe/Nicky, drugged sex, noncon FILL 2/?