A few weeks ago I posted a scene from an in-progress work of mine, featuring two women. Here’s another scene, between one of those women and one of her male lovers. He’s a wizard, and in this world, the unit of measurement for magical power is “wisdom”. He also has unrequited love for Micaea. Enjoy.
Jidrid sighed and stood, going to the shop door; he would lock up for the day, visit an inn for a meal, and then perhaps take in a play.
At least, that was his plan. But when he opened the door, Micaea stood there, smiling up at him. “Good,” she said. “You’re in.”
“I… I am.” He stepped out and locked the door, waving a hand at the stairs to his flat above the shop. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
“I wasn’t expecting to be here.”
He unlocked his door and let Micaea inside. “Is something wrong?”
“Not with me.” She smiled again. “Can’t I just want you inside me twice in the same week? Is that such a hardship for you? Because…” She inclined her head at the door. “I can go, if you like.”
“Don’t,” he said quickly. “Please?” He took down a jug of wine from the shelf and poured some into two clay cups, one of which he handed to her. “You really came all the way down here, this late in the day, just to see me? What of your companion?” The word came out sharper than he’d intended. “Aren’t you expected at dinner?”
“She’ll make apologies for me.” Micaea sipped the wine. “Nivo’s twins are here. Better that I not be.”
Jidrid remembered what Micaea had told him about Nivo’s children. He’d never had the dubious privilege of meeting them, and rather hoped to keep it that way. “You must have other friends on the ridge who would welcome you.”
She stared at him. “Why are you looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t think–“
“Though,” she continued, setting down her cup, “you’re not entirely wrong.”
There it was. He felt something dark cross his face; she was only here because she wanted something. “Tell me,” he said, trying not to sound too resigned.
She made it easy for him. She came close, close enough that he gave ground, eventually sitting on his bed. Then she knelt before him. “I will,” she said. “In a while.”
“Micaea, you don’t have to–“
“It’s not a matter of ‘have to’.” She found the waist of his trews and untied them; his phallus, smarter than him at the moment, was halfway erect. When her hand wrapped around it, it grew harder still. “I want to.”
Micaea lowered her head and her mouth went around the head of him, her tongue flicking the tip of his phallus. He let out a small moan, one he couldn’t have stopped even if he wanted to, and leaned back, supporting himself on his hands and looking down his body at Micaea’s dark hair between his legs. “Not that I’m complaining–“
Her hand found his testes and squeezed, just hard enough that he got the message and stopped talking. She clearly wanted this, and who was he to stop her?
Micaea pressed hard with two fingers just behind Jidrid’s testes; his phallus, in her mouth, jumped and thickened. He let out a strangled cry as his orgasm hit, filling her mouth with it. She swallowed, swallowed again, and then pulled back far enough to take hold of his phallus while still keeping the head of it in her mouth. She held him there, softly swiping her tongue against the head, until his erection finally began to subside and the last of his orgasm dribbled out onto her tongue. Then she released him and smiled up at him; his eyes were glassy as they tried to focus on her. “Feeling better?”
“Much.” Jidrid cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb over her lips. “Why?”
She kissed his thumb, flicked her tongue against it. He seemed to shiver, though his body didn’t move. “Because you’re so much more pliable after.”
“So, you did…” He took his hand away and tried to stand, but her hands on his bare thighs kept him sitting on the bed. “You did want something.”
“Nothing bad.” Micaea ran her hands along his thighs. His phallus made a valiant attempt to respond, but she knew Jidrid’s body well; he would remain flaccid and soft for a short while yet. “I just need to borrow a little of your wisdom.”
“Not like you can take it home in a cup, like flour.” He put his hands over hers. “Please stop.”
Micaea did, rocking back onto her heels, still kneeling in front of him. “I’m sorry. I just didn’t want you to say no when I asked.”
“You could’ve tried asking.” This time Jidrid did get to his feet, pulling up his trews as he went; Micaea moved to sit on the bed, watching as he poured himself a cup of wine. “Like this,” he said. “Do you want a cup?”
She shook her head, dipping it so that he wouldn’t see the flush of shame in her cheeks. “Just water.”
Soon enough there was a rough clay cup in her hand full of water; she sipped a little but didn’t look up.
His fingers under her chin urged her to do so, and she saw he was looking down at her, not unkindly. “I wouldn’t say no to you, my dear. I l–“
“Don’t,” she said, pulling away and getting off the bed; she went to stand by the counter where Jidrid kept his crockery neatly stacked. “My heart is Yvell’s. It will always be Yvell’s.”
Jidrid pursed his lips a moment. “I’ll still never say no. You don’t have to kneel for me to do that. I promise.”