OC & OW ramblings

Jirea’s an assistant dean, and professor, at Strixhaven (roughly similar to D&D’s incarnation; a prestigious magical college), where he teaches similar classes as he used to in his previous life. Jirea is intimately tied to the Elemental Planes and is a master of portals (which has the side effect of making him highly allergic to doors). Specifically, his portals take him through the Planes.

Throughout both of his lives, Jirea has fostered many connections with different elementals and djinn, to the point where one could theorize that he prefers them to those not born of the Planes. That theory is actually 100% correct. He sympathizes with elementals and djinn far more than he does with practically any other race, inclined to side with them first and foremost unless there’s overwhelming/decisive evidence otherwise.

Jirea views many of those from the Planes as his children/family and is fiercely protective of them and their homes. He has zero qualms about killing to preserve what he views as a balance between the mortal realm and the Planes.

Jirea’s lived a disgustingly long time and therefore doesn’t entirely care about others’ opinions of him.

What I’m assuming people may already know is that Jirea is incredibly hedonistic. He luxuriates in pleasure of any sort—whether it’s of a carnal nature, or of the simple pleasure of experiencing the elements against his body. Good food and good drink. A comfortable bed adorned with plush pillows. He’s horny more often than not but has a restraint that’s missing in most other characters I’ve got (whether it comes with age or an awareness of his own hunger, who knows).

Speaking of indulgence, he dabbles around with drugs, enjoying mixing and matching different substances to various effects. That being said, he favors aphrodisiacs to simply getting high.

Jirea’s got more than several spouses, but only a few of them are likely to be mentioned here. Some of his closer ones may not make appearances at all; it’ll entirely depend on what I wind up writing for him. Names that I know will crop up are Faeryn, Ian, and Perkonos.

That being said, despite being quite happily married, said marriage is open, and he sleeps around as he pleases. His only true limit on partner selection is age, as he won’t lay a finger either on those underage, or on those he does not consider an adult. He’s notorious throughout Strixhaven for sleeping around amongst faculty…and yes, even some of the student body, though those trysts only come about if he’s come onto, not vice-versa (and keep in mind, please, that he’s very careful about age).

Given his proclivities, Jirea is INCREDIBLY careful about consent, and takes “no’s” and anything that could be deemed a negative very seriously. He does not pressure or push partners unless it is something they specifically request. He doesn’t take rejection personally. And being rejected solidly is apt to end any future (sexual) pursuit, though he’s happy enough to be friends with people.

Considering how fast and hard he fled from death in his first life, it’s unsurprising that Jirea has thanatophobia. That hasn’t stopped him from wedding and bedding Erebos’s son and daughter.

Despite his terror of death and dying, he’s very unafraid when it comes to combat, entirely willing to blast himself with his own spells if it gets the job done. As severe as his phobia is, it’s overshadowed by his sheer confidence in his own capabilities and power.

He’s very fascinated with anatomy, especially the skeletal system. Which I don’t really have anything else to say about, honestly. Jirea is weird and will body worship/bang a skeleton if they’re sentient, of age, and give consent.

If you’ve somehow, for some reason, made it this far, then holy crap congratulations! Have some odds-and-ends trivia about Jirea that I didn’t know how to fit in anything above!

Jirea’s a switch & doesn’t care if he’s giving or receiving, as long as he and his partner(s) feel good

He gesticulates a lot, and sounds quite pompous when I voice him (I used Simon Fairchild from The Magnus Archives as inspiration for how he speaks)

He’s got a tendency to say “my dear”/”dear [name]” to just about anybody, and “my love” to those he’s romantically attached to

By the end of our first campaign, he ended up becoming a God of Planes, effectively putting the Elemental Planes under his jurisdiction & protection

He will trade sex for any grade (minus finals) at Strixhaven; oftentimes, students that take advantage of this wind up failing his finals anyway because they don’t actually know the material

True enough, Dwyer’s keen hearing effortlessly picked out Colin’s excitable voice from the front room, and the muted answer of whoever had entered the shop.

“Mm. You only recommended him because you were tired of being interrupted,” Dwyer pointed out in as steady a voice as he could muster.

The accusation was insistent but lacked heat, and Jirea chuckled in response. He wasn’t forthcoming with a denial, instead leaning back into Dwyer’s wooden, earthy scent and kissing the shell of one pointed ear. Dwyer shivered and lifted hands that felt all too useless to rest against Jirea’s clothed chest.

“I have absolutely zero compunctions about being discovered mid-coitus,” Jirea chuckled, “You, my dear—” warm fingers teased the waistband of Dwyer’s dark slacks, “—more enjoy the thrill of potential discovery, hmm?”

Dwyer couldn’t even refute it. He used to, of course; he’d sputtered flimsy denials the first time he’d been so accused, but Jirea had silenced those with a kiss so thorough it had left Dwyer quite literally gasping for air.

Jirea enjoyed Dwyer’s very specific exhibitionist tendencies that were so different from Ian’s. He enjoyed Dwyer’s willingness—eagerness, even—to fool around in his own shop, but the sorcerer knew full-well that he wouldn’t be offered the same allowances should he attempt any lascivious actions elsewhere. Not that the two of them met up outside of Dwyer’s shop in the first place. Gods forbid someone actually catch them in the act.

The elf abhorred the idea of his own work being sullied, but he never minded if Jirea’s clothes from anywhere else became ruined. That was a game Jirea enjoyed indulging in: how far he could push Dwyer while wearing one of his own designs. Once, Jirea had pointed out that any damage could be repaired through magic. He did not make the suggestion again (although the quite bewitching flash of defiance in Dwyer’s expression was a high the sorcerer had been eyeing ever since).

The susurrations from the front room continued.

Crooking a finger under Dwyer’s chin, Jirea tilted the elf’s head up. The sorcerer’s almost too-warm lips back on Dwyer’s own was enough to fully return his attention to the body pressed insistently against him. Dwyer’s fingers quivered against Jirea’s chest, then ran down the man’s front.

Familiar fabric under his fingertips. Familiar patterns delicately sewn into Jirea’s most recent commission from him. The royal purple suited Jirea perfectly—even beautifully. The corset alone was soft enough that Jirea could wear it without anything underneath, and it revealed a tantalizing glimpse of the glimmering purple scales that adorned his shoulders and ran down his arms in patches.

A heady rush thrilled up every notch of Dwyer’s spine; he would be a liar if he said he hadn’t come up with the design partially for himself.

Jirea slowly withdrew from the kiss with a chuckle, admiring his work. Dwyer’s lips were already slightly swollen with a flush high in his cheeks, which softened the somewhat untouchable, almost sharp image the elf projected to the public. Jirea traced Dwyer’s lower lip with his thumb and grinned when the tip of Dwyer’s tongue darted out against the digit.

The blonde’s free hand deftly untucked the tailor’s dress shirt on one side. Smooth, warm skin against his fingertips. Skin Jirea knew was perfectly sensitive and which marked so gorgeously well.

Five sudden pinpricks of cold and heat skimmed across the sensitive skin just above Dwyer’s hip. He hissed and shuddered pleasantly while the temperatures melted into one another. Jirea’s fingers traced designs—nonsensical? Sigils? Letters? Dwyer had no clue, only knew how good it felt to have the dual temperatures harmonizing on his skin.

Colin’s and the customer’s voices continued in the background, loud enough for Dwyer to register speaking, and muffled enough for him to derive the exact amount of thrill he got from being so safely close to discovery.

The elf’s hands slid to Jirea’s sides, then to his hips where the royal purple corset ended and the black, slim, fitted pants began. With unabashed decisiveness, Dwyer circled his questing hands to Jirea’s rear. His paramour leaned forward hungrily as soon as he felt Dwyer’s eager touch, and recaptured the elf’s mouth.

This time, the kiss was long and deep. Dwyer eagerly accepted each playful nip to his tongue and lips, returning what he received with just as much enthusiasm. Dwyer gripped Jirea’s ass, and the blonde readily fed a moan into Dwyer’s mouth. When the need for oxygen became urgent, Dwyer broke away with a gasp. He tilted his head back against the door with a dull thump, and Jirea immediately moved in with a flurry of biting kisses along the vulnerable column of Dwyer’s throat.

Dwyer gasped. Muffled a moan by biting the back of his hand.

The in between of the Water and Earth Planes was one of Jirea’s favorite locations, primarily for the smells it produced. He would linger where the boundaries blurred for undetermined bouts of time and bask in the scents that covered him like a shroud when he left.

“You smell like petrichor, my dear,” Jirea whispered against the shell of Dwyer’s ear, “And that is one of my favorite aromas to bring back from the planes.”

Dwyer knew this. He knew that Jirea was attracted to his natural scent. It was a compliment Dwyer had received many, many times over the course of his life.

Jirea was pleased to see Dwyer’s deep green eyes hazy with lust when he pulled back from the kiss. The deep flush had crept down Dwyer’s kiss-bitten throat, and Jirea knew it spread as far as the man’s shoulders. His kiss-swollen lips were parted and soft, panting breaths feathered against Jirea up until Dwyer turned his head just the slightest bit. Jirea followed the man’s line of sight and—

Ah.

Jirea chuckled and slid one leg in between Dwyer’s, grinding his knee against the visible tent in the fabric which drew a gasp the sorcerer allowed to ring freely throughout the room. Colin and the potential customer went about their conversing, none the wiser to the debauchery merely a single door away.

“I see you approve of the loveseat, my dear,” Jirea said. He dropped more biting kisses to the other side of Dwyer’s throat, “And oh I do wish to see you against it.”

A particularly rough nip drew a sound astonishingly close to a mewl from Dwyer’s throat.

“But, as we are both aware, you do so detest anything dirtying your handiwork.”

Jirea took hold of one of Dwyer’s hands in his own and led it slowly down the front of the immaculately tailored corset. Despite Dwyer’s hands having made the journey once before, Jirea felt the aching need in every quiver of the elf’s fingertips. A delicious thrill shivered down Jirea’s spine. It wasn’t posturing; Jirea did wish to have Dwyer on that loveseat. He would look so pretty, ravished and disheveled against the dusty green fabric.

Riding Dwyer into the plush cushion was another idea, of course.

Perhaps they could do both.

But alas, not today. Holding back now would only give Jirea another reason to call upon the tailor.

However, that didn’t mean Jirea had to give up on all his fun for the day.

“Your…” Dwyer panted, rocking against Jirea’s knee. He was achingly hard already, brought about by Jirea’s masterful use of tongue and teeth—as well as his own eagerness. He’d finally torn his gaze from the loveseat and instead trailed his eyes down Jirea’s impeccable attire, down to the black, buckled shoes that he wore so well despite them not being his regular style.

Jirea hummed curiously against Dwyer’s collarbone, having worked the top button of the elf’s shirt open without the man noticing (or properly caring as his inhibitions continued to slip away into the pleasurable haze).

“Your mouth would leave…the outfit untarnished.”

“Ahahaha, my dear, you are such a delight!” Jirea chortled, “I must not be doing my job well enough if you are still able to use words like ‘untarnished’. I suppose I’ll have to remedy that.”

Dwyer’s shirt came unbuttoned with an unhurried pace. They both knew there were no time constraints.

As Jirea traveled lower, Dwyer’s gaze fixed to the purple and gold bands that adorned Jirea’s horns and glinted in the soft, warm light. He’d had to outsource them, but Dwyer had a whole host of acquaintances in a myriad of professions to assist him in creating the perfect ensemble for any client. Dwyer admired how the horn bands perfectly complemented Jirea’s complexion, his hair and scales, and of course, the perfectly-tailored cloth—

“Mmmn…!”

It was only pure will that kept Dwyer’s full voice from filling the room when Jirea’s hot mouth dropped over his cock. His head thumped once more against the door (just as the same merry chime sounded, even more distant through the pleasure). One hand sank into soft, gold-spun hair that always smelled of wind or ocean, of earth or soot, while the other gripped one of those sturdy horns that fit so perfectly in his grasp. Dwyer’s eyes fluttered shut.

With his eyes closed, Dwyer’s only instinct was for more. Hips canting forward, he pushed deeper into the heat of Jirea’s mouth with a whispered curse that sounded far too much like a prayer.

Jirea took his time, moving just slow enough to draw a breathy growl from Dwyer. With more of the elf’s skin exposed, the sorcerer’s hands had free rein. In contrast to the blazing heat of Jirea’s mouth and tongue, the sorcerer’s fingers left icy trails along Dwyer’s lower back and ass.

Jirea had discovered early on in his trysts with Dwyer that the elf enjoyed being warm, even hot. He thrived in the heat, came vibrantly to life whenever the summer months rolled around. It wasn’t as if Dwyer disliked the cold by any stretch—not if the desperate arching back against his cold fingers was anything to go by, warring with Dwyer’s instinct to thrust deeper into Jirea’s mouth.

They weren’t lovers and it wasn’t lovemaking, but it wasn’t ruthlessly rough either.

Thrusting into the wet heat of Jirea’s mouth wasn’t an act of love but desire, a needy seeking of pleasure. Jirea, for his part, enjoyed the sensations just as much, deriving just as much pleasure with the knowledge he was reducing the well put-together tailor to more primal, animalistic instincts. The hand gripped in Jirea’s hair felt just as divine as the hand tightly gripping one of his horns.

Jirea’s moan was louder than Dwyer’s, and infinitely filthier. With one hand on Dwyer’s ass and another on the small of his back, Jirea pulled the elf closer—deeper, harder—into his mouth. There was a time and a place for teasing licks and nips, for a slow methodical undoing of himself and his partner. This was not the time nor the place, and so Jirea pulled Dwyer’s cock into his mouth, until the tip slid against the back of his tongue and his nose pressed against his partner’s {pelvis}.

Panting harshly, Dwyer’s eyes screwed shut. Colorful, euphoric sparks crackled behind his eyelids, emanating from the frigid pinpricks on his ass and back, and the sweltering wet heat of Jirea’s mouth and devilish tongue. The blonde’s lips pursed, exerting an intoxicating pressure that drove Dwyer to tighten his grip and move Jirea’s head on his own.

The first time was by mistake, driven entirely by frantic need, but when Jirea made a wetly muffled, encouraging sound in the back of his throat, Dwyer did it again. And again.

It didn’t take long for the rhythm that Dwyer began with to deteriorate into frantic, desperate thrusts that only sought to plunge as deep as possible into Jirea’s mouth. For his part, Jirea eagerly welcomed the rough treatment, even assisting Dwyer when his movements faltered by pressing forward himself.

The blonde’s throat worked, his tongue slicked and curled around Dwyer’s cock. His taste reminded Jirea of the planes, of forests and rain-soaked earth. Not an inherently arousing scent or taste, but one that Jirea luxuriated in all the same. Dwyer’s moans and panting, desperate gasps for air as he chased the pleasure was a sensual addition Jirea wholeheartedly enjoyed drawing out.

“J-Ji…aahh…Jirea…!”

The man in question hummed in response, then moaned when Dwyer gasped and thrust as deep as he could as the vibrations ran along the sensitive flesh of his cock.

Knock-knock.

“Mr. Byrnes?”

Dwyer’s eyes shot open.

A kaleidoscope of sensations and images flashed through Dwyer’s fuzzy mind in an instant.

The sound of someone just inches out of sight, on the other side of a single wooden door.

Pinpricks of ice digging ruthlessly into his ass and back—hard enough to leave a chilly reminder later.

All-consuming heat that suffused his entire body with every needy thrust into Jirea’s overly scorching mouth.

Jirea, lips swollen from kissing and cock-sucking, hair mussed from Dwyer’s fingers gripping tight.

The deep purple of the corset and how it fit the blonde’s body perfectly, the way the purple of his scales glinted in the warm light. How he looked exquisite on his knees, wearing an outfit Dwyer’s hands knew every millimeter of—and with Dwyer’s dick down his throat. Jirea moved like he was starving and sounded just as ravenous.

Everything coalesced into a single point of euphoric heat that was far too much for Dwyer to withstand. That brief moment felt entirely like eternity, to the point that Dwyer didn’t even have the wherewithal to give Jirea a proper warning.

Not that Jirea entirely needed—or wanted—said warning, of course; he knew he’d be swallowing every drop or run the risk of never getting to indulge in Dwyer again (the man was so particular about the cleanliness of his work).

Without a single conscious thought in his head, Dwyer moved on instinct. Fingers tight in Jirea’s gold hair and around one of his horns, the elf buried as deep as he could in Jirea’s mouth. Dwyer bent over Jirea with a stifled cry as orgasm at last broke that suspended, infinite moment in the tailor’s mind.

Dwyer shuddered, and the little gasps that eked from his throat drew another filthy sound from Jirea. The sorcerer remained in place, swallowing diligently—even hungrily—until Dwyer’s death grip on his hair and horn gradually relaxed.

Jirea drew back slowly, playfully overcautious, and when he rose to his feet, he allowed the now boneless, softly panting Dwyer to lean against him. Without needing to look, Jirea redid Dwyer’s slacks and made the elf presentable once more. He dropped a kiss onto Dwyer’s lips—a shockingly chaste thing, given the act Jirea’s mouth had just been performing—and led his partner over to the loveseat. 

“Shall I tell Colin that you will be indisposed for the rest of the day, my dear?”

Jirea’s voice was softly teasing and Dwyer grumbled at him as he relaxed into the loveseat’s cushy embrace. 

It was very nice. 

It was also probably one of the few times Dwyer would use it for actual rest.

“I take that to be a ‘yes’,” Jirea leaned down and kissed Dwyer’s temple, an affectionate act rather than an amorous one, and chuckled when the elf tried pushing him away with another wordless mumble.

Jirea had slept with Dwyer enough times by this point to understand what the man needed and wanted afterwards. He wasn’t the cuddliest elf Jirea had ever slept with, but that was largely in part to Dwyer’s almost immediate drowsiness. So Jirea conjured a light blanket for him and draped it over the man’s shorter form, then swept silently from the room after dimming the lights.

Colin looked at Jirea as the man swept like a shadow from Dwyer’s office, and raised his eyebrows, smiling politely—knowingly. Jirea returned the expression, grinning broadly, and put a finger to his lips. Dwyer’s apprentice glanced at the office door, then back to Jirea, and nodded.

“Mark me down for sometime about a month from now, Colin, my dear. Whenever you two are not normally so busy, because I intend for Dwyer to be entirely indisposed all day. You know how to reach me.”

The student-turned-apprentice looked openly amused as he flipped through the calendar on the desk for a suitable date for his former teacher. When Colin looked up, a date and time already selected, Jirea had already gone. 

A subtle buzz of magic hummed in the air—too faint for Colin to properly pick up on—though he did detect the scent of campfire smoke and soot in Jirea’s wake.

“I see you approve of the loveseat, my dear,” Jirea said. He dropped more biting kisses to the other side of Dwyer’s throat, “And oh I do wish to see you against it.”

A particularly rough nip drew a sound astonishingly close to a mewl from Dwyer’s throat.

“But, as we are both aware, you do so detest anything dirtying your handiwork.”

Jirea took hold of one of Dwyer’s hands in his own and led it slowly down the front of the immaculately tailored corset. Despite Dwyer’s hands having made the journey once before, Jirea felt the aching need in every quiver of the elf’s fingertips. A delicious thrill shivered down Jirea’s spine. It wasn’t posturing; Jirea did wish to have Dwyer on that loveseat. He would look so pretty, ravished and disheveled against the dusky green fabric.

Riding Dwyer into the plush cushion was another idea, of course.

Perhaps they could do both.

But alas, not this time. Holding back now would only give Jirea another reason to call upon the tailor.