ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

Once you’ve met an Asgardian god, the scales tip unfairly. But thank you. The monks advocate for lots of yoga.

[ Still grinning. She’s not the only one who appreciates this playfulness. With the way his sense of humour works, he can’t turn off the wisecracking even here; he genuinely enjoys being able to laugh and have fun with each other in the bedroom.

And as highstrung and high-maintenance as Stephen Strange can be with so many things, it turns out that he’s fairly easygoing and straightforward about sex. It’s an enjoyable stress relief, and it was one of his most common casual vices in his old life, whenever he was overworked and in need of some release. It’s an easy way to get out of his head, to anchor himself back in his physical self and simple pleasurable sensation rather than overthinking things. To remind himself that he is a functioning body, and not just a brain on legs. Since becoming a sorcerer, it’s been even easier to get lost in the abstract, the astral, the ephemeral.

He needs this. She needs this.

Julia’s hands fan across his ribs, and so his movements unconsciously mirror hers; leaning in for another kiss as he palms a handful of that strapless bra, then after only a moment’s hesitation, his thumb glides beneath the cup and grazes her nipple, and —

— there’s a light flicker of magic which she can sense in the air, like a telekinetic fish-hook tugging behind her, and then the bra unclasps and falls away.

Those goddamn hooks had been difficult with women even before he lost motor function in his hands. It’s a neat trick, and he looks a little delighted that it actually worked. ]

Hm. I can safely say I’ve never done that before.

[ Her breath hitches at that brush against her nipple, a quick intake of breath before she presses that much closer into both his touch and his kiss— And then the sudden unexpected tug of magic and following rush of air against her breasts catches her off-guard. She looks down in surprise and then back up at him with amused incredulity written across her expression. Did he seriously just? ]

You are such a cheater. [ The laughter that bursts out of her shakes her entire body and feels so damn good. She needed this too. ] Struggling to get the bra off is a time-honored tradition!

[ But she's really not the least bit bothered by it. If anything, she finds it a bit more ridiculously endearing than she usually would, thanks to the alcohol in her system. She is in that delightful space between drunk and tipsy, though as another chorus of giggles cascades out of her, she starts to tip a bit on her stiletto heels and quickly grabs hold of him to keep from losing her balance entirely. ]

[ Her giggles are adorable and infectious, and so he can’t stop that laughter bubbling beneath his voice either: ] A time-honoured tradition, and cruel and unusual punishment for yours truly. Only if you wanted us to be stuck here for fully half an hour as I fumbled with the clasp…!

[ Being the prideful person he is, Stephen’s been reluctant to outright refer to himself as physically disabled or having a disability, even when that is absolutely the case— but he can point this gentle fun at himself and his altered capabilities, at least. They’re both clearly too impatient, and definitely wouldn’t have wanted to wait that long.

And then she’s teetering, and so Stephen braces her with a hand, lets Julia hang onto him — except that he then consciously lets their balance tip in a few tumbling steps and that momentum carries him backwards, until he sits down abruptly on the edge of the bed, Julia either remaining standing between his legs or falling into his lap. This’ll be easier for helping her out of those stilettos, and the bed, too, is going to be helpful soon enough. A thought occurring to him, he snaps his fingers, and the books on the bed start floating away to stack themselves tidily by the fireplace, which leaves Stephen’s full attention for the beautiful and entirely absorbing woman with him.

He’s never had a better puzzle he wanted to solve. ]

[ Julia doesn't point out that she would have taken pity on him far sooner than that, the way most women do when adorable men struggle with this particular piece of clothing. They are far too impatient for it now, regardless.

That tumble back to the bed sets her giggling again as momentum sends her right between his legs, her hands going to his shoulders to keep from toppling onto him. (There will be time for that later.) Her eyes follow the books as they float off before she turns her gaze back to the man who, for once, is below her. Just slightly, though, since he's still so much taller than her.

Adjusting her balance, she gives him a little show by lifting her arms and reaching back behind her head to remove the few pins holding the half-braid in place, providing him a clear view of her chest. Then, with her hair free to fall around her as it pleases, she drops the pins to the side (she'll try her best to locate them later), combs her fingers through that still-perfectly styled hair of his, and leans down to kiss him soundly. The tips of her curls slide over his bare shoulders and surround them like a curtain, shutting out the rest of the world for a brief but perfect moment. ]

[ Just as Julia's enjoying having that rare height over him, Stephen finds himself thrilling at having to cant his gaze upwards for once, too, perched on the edge of the bed and watching her showy movements with a decidedly hungry look, his gaze sharp and intent and riveted on her. He's leaning back on the heels of his hands as she tosses the pins aside, her gestures graceful and languorous and fucking beautiful. He only surges forward again when she leans in. And all things considered, he's showing some measured self-control in not going straight for her breasts like an eager teenager; he's old enough by now that he knows to not neglect the basics, and so he pours all of his attention and focus into the kiss as she leans into him, his legs spread to give her room where she's standing between his knees. There'll be time for the rest soon.

Their positions are at a perfect height for his hands to settle on Julia's hips again, steadying her where she stands; and as the kiss deepens, his palms slide just under the edge of her underwear, delivering an appreciative squeeze of her ass even as his tongue slides against hers again.

When they next have to break for air with a small gasp, he lingers, nose against her jaw. And even through this haze of starving desire, one last disclaimer takes shape in the back of his mind— because it has been a while for him, too, and he doesn't know the timeline for Julia but she does have a difficult history— and just, maybe— it's worth saying and not just assuming— ]

If this is too much. Any of it. Just let me know. We can do as much or as little as you like, or stop anytime.

[ Julia decides that she would like to drown in Stephen's kiss forever. His touch ignites something with her, his warmth wrapping around her and soothing her soul. She wants to breathe him in, consume him as she is consumed in turn, and forever might actually not be long enough.

His breath against her skin is more intoxicating than any of the drinks they'd enjoyed that night and she's ready to dive back in when he takes her breath away with his words. For a long moment, she's quiet, those precious sentences carving themselves into her memory to keep her company on the loneliest nights. Then, leaning back just enough to look in those gorgeous eyes of his, she has to fight back a wave of emotion that threatens to choke her with its suddenness. ]

God, you're amazing.

[ Does he understand how much it means that even now he's thinking of her? That he's not assuming her past means nothing, but nor is he assuming it still has command over her life. He's making sure she knows she has power in this situation the way she hadn't before. This is her choice.

Well, she chooses him. ]

And still incredibly overdressed.

[ She murmurs the words before catching his lips again in a searing kiss that feels like she's trying to devour him, mind, body, and soul. And sometime in the midst of forgetting anything exists between the two of them, her hands find their way to the waistband of his pants, fingertips blinding searching for the most efficient way of getting him out of said pants. ]

[ It's a delicate position to be in: not wanting to handle her with kid gloves, nor do Julia the injustice of thinking she can't make her own decisions; but also not wanting to rush or pressure her into said decision, either. Stephen's well-familiar with trauma, mostly his own, but he's never been on the ground floor with someone else's like this before. Putting in the work. The commitment. But he's choosing her regardless and she's choosing him, and so he's grinning against her mouth as they renew the kiss: ]

Mmhm. I'm going to take that as meaning "carry on".

[ So he joins that blind fumbling; her fingers go for unbuttoning his trousers and he's lifting his hips off the edge of the bed to help her, shimmying those expensive slacks off his narrow body, eventually managing to kick them loose until he, like Julia, is down to his underwear. It's slim-fit trunks, contoured enough to not have any seams or bunched fabric visible in a suit at a party — but that also means his interest is more than visible, erection half-straining at the fabric. His hands finally start to roam, then, as if they've both granted him permission: palming her breasts, thumbs rolling over her hardening nipples, even as he hooks his knee behind hers to draw her even closer to him. It's almost impossible to be as close as he'd like, to be tasting and touching all of her at once; before, behind, between, above, below. ]

[ That commitment he's making to put in the work and weather the storm is more than she expected anyone to ever want to make. Julia knows she isn't "damaged goods" or whatever other bullshit society tries to force on people who have endured trauma like she has — she's a survivor who will always carry that trauma with her. But she's also a person, and people heal. Expecting other people to understand all of that, however... But here he is, doing just that.

They work together to remove his pants and then she can see the proof of his enthusiasm. And as he pulls her closer, she can feel it as her thigh bumps against him. Leaning into his hands, she urges him to keep touching her, but a moment later her hands are on his shoulders to gently yet firmly push him back to the mattress. She wants to touch, taste, and explore every inch of him and her patience in taking things slow is waning thin.

Climbing up onto the mattress to follow him, her knees take up position on either side of his hips, those ridiculous heels hanging off the edge of the bed while she pursues her mission. She leans down, balancing her weight just so to not fall on top of him but also keeping a teasing distance between their bodies. This she has patience for.

Her lips press open-mouthed kissed to his neck, his beard scratching her cheek as she goes, and then she moves down to his check, her fingers once again tracing the toned muscle beneath warm, smooth skin. Down over his pectorals, her perfectly manicured nails giving the lightest scratch to his nipples as she moves down to his abdomen, bending her knees to lean down and be able to reach. ]

[ Stephen sinks back at her gentle push, and they land into that sublime well-padded mattress. It's a very nice bed; the Sanctum provides well for its (ex-) Sorcerer Supreme. His hands settle on Julia's thighs, the part of her body he can most easily reach as she straddles him, as she licks a stripe down his neck and he barely suppresses a shiver.

He always has to be the one holding the knife—

but it turns out it's nice, too, to hand over the reins here, to have Julia pinning his hips to the mattress, to have him sprawled backward at her mercy and watching as she works her way downward. His stomach muscles tense and flutter beneath her touch along with a sharp intake of breath, and he props himself up on an elbow to admire the view. Wry: ]

Is it too much to say you should leave the heels on?

[ Even in a serious moment like this, he manages to make it fun and lighthearted at the same time. It's something she loves about him — she knows full well that not everyone has the same appreciation for his sense of humor but she doesn't care. This is between the two of them, and somehow, miraculously, they fit.

Shaking her head to get her hair out of her eyes, she looks up at him with almost exasperated amusement. He's ridiculous and she loves that too. ]

If you want to risk being stabbed by a heel in the middle of things, then sure, I can leave them on.

[ He’s been trying to handle their evening with the reverence it presumably deserves, but just as he can’t help cracking jokes even in the most serious of moments, Stephen can’t help it here, either — and her reply makes him laugh outright with unbridled amusement, chest rumbling with the sound, and it turns out that overwrought reverence is extremely overrated. He’d rather be able to have fun throughout. (Isn’t that the whole point?) ]

Alright. Point. The idea’s probably better in theory than actual practice.

[ He watches where she’s settled over him, her hand against his stomach, tantalising. Turnabout is fair play with how agonisingly slow he was taking things before. ]

You’re going to be the death of me. Just, FYI.

[ His laugh is one of the best things she's ever heard. She wants to bottle it up with the rest of this moment, keep the memory perfectly preserved so she can pull it out later in those dark moments that inevitably come back around. But most of all, she wants to make him laugh like that again, every damn day if possible. It's nothing less than he deserves. ]

It wouldn't be the worst way to go.

[ She teases him with a grin that betrays absolutely no sympathy for his fate. Lowering her head, she places an open-mouthed kiss just below his ribs, then another an inch lower, then lower still... Her tongue dips into his navel just before she moves backward off the bed, her movements as smooth as a cat's as she balances on those precarious heels. With her hands now free to roam other parts of his body, she drags them lightly down his waist to his hips, her nails causing the underwear to bunch on either side of his straining erection. She eyes it for a moment, that delicious evidence of his undeniable interest in her, her teeth biting at her lower lip— ]

Still overdressed...

[ The murmured pronouncement comes as her fingertips slip under the waistband of those shorts, lifting the material up and then pulling it down to release him. ]

[ His breath hitches in the back of his throat when she drags his underwear down — it’s been too long, he’s suddenly realising, because he can’t remember the name of the last woman he slept with. Some one-night-stand after Christine but before the accident. No one since; not since his priorities had shifted and an entire dimension’s worth of responsibilities were piled on his shoulders along with changed capabilities, readjusting to his injuries. He hadn’t realised how touch-starved he was until there was Julia’s mouth against his ribs, until her hands were raking down his sides, until she was tugging the last of his clothes off.

His entire body is a live-wire beneath her hands, naked cock straining, instincts straining in terms of wanting to be the one in control; the desire sits balanced on that knife’s-edge against the unexpected thrill of being at her mercy, propped on an elbow and his heartbeat pattering in his throat as she bites her lip. And god, how much he wants her hands on him; her mouth on him. ]

For the record, I’ll repay the favour with interest when— fuck, [ and Stephen’s train of thought is promptly derailed, that over-active mouth of his finally sputtering to silence when she touches him. ]

[ To be the thing that rendered Stephen Strange speechless will be a point of pride for Julia after this. She will carry it with her for the rest of her life, along with the memory of the look on his face as she wraps her fingers around the base of his cock and her lips around the tip. Half-kneeling at the edge of the bed, tasting and teasing is her intent, her eyes glancing up to watch his reaction as her tongue traces him and her fingers apply gentle pressure. He's so hot and hard and— fuck, she loves feeling the effect she has on him. It's exhilarating and addictive in the best way.

If nothing else comes of this night but a pleasant memory to hold close, at least she will now be able to banish those oily black thoughts that have lurked at the back of her mind since the attack. Society blames and shames the victim, and even the strongest woman cannot resist the invasive rhetoric that something must be wrong with her after such a horrific event. There is nothing wrong with her. She is whole. She is healing. ]

[ Some people might say this is a submissive act, with the woman on her knees.

But when done right, it isn’t. Not really. Not when Stephen’s mind (his most treasured part of himself) flat-out short-circuits, head falling back against the mattress, hips unconsciously juddering towards her as Julia plays him like an instrument: with a hot mouth and doing something sinfully talented with her tongue, licking a line along his throbbing cock with her fingers curled around him, and he is now entirely, completely under her control. Desperate for that touch, falling apart beneath it, surrendering into Julia’s agency as she sets the pace, as she meters out his pleasure, as his breath goes shallow in a moan and his hands dig into the covers.

And— Funny. His hands haven’t hurt all night. He’s been far too distracted with the delightful complexities of getting Julia Wicker out of that dress, with having her here in his bed, and now her hand applying that slow pressure. She can feel the muscles of his stomach and legs tensing and coiling with each gesture; the way he strains into her touch. And with all that control in her hands, it’s very simple: he would now do anything, just so long as she continues. ]

[ No, there's absolutely nothing submissive about her part in this act between them. Julia is delighting in the power that comes from seeing him like this and knowing she is what brought him to this state. To be the woman who brought this strong, incredibly powerful man to this point... It's an addictive sort of power, one she could very quickly get used to.

She wants to see him lose control, to surrender to these sensations. To surrender to her. Hearing the sounds he makes and feeling the tension in his muscles, it's like a high she can't begin to describe. She feels heady with it, though not in a way that would ever make her want to abuse this newfound power. This act between them might not be sacred but it is still special, important, and not something to be misused.

What she wants most of all is to see him come undone. Stephen Strange carries so much on his shoulders that no one ever sees. The weight of protecting an entire universe coupled with the pain of the life he's led so far — many would find it unbearable. What she wants is to give him a reprieve from that strain, even if only for one night. So she continues her ministrations with full intention to not stop until he's tumbled over that blissful edge, unless he stops her himself. They have the entire night ahead of them, after all; he could do with a little something to take the edge off. ]

[ He’s going to unravel and he knows it. It’s been too long since his last time, and she’s too good at this, devoting herself to the blowjob with a single-minded concentration similar to his own.

But the brutal reality is that he’s not a bright-eyed undergrad any longer, ready to go again after only a few minutes, and so as he finds himself barreling towards that cliff, he reaches down and catches her shoulder; fingers digging into her skin and hanging on, a ragged note in his voice. ]

Julia. Julia. If you keep going— I’m—

[ It’s a courtesy, a warning. If this were any of his empty trysts in the past, one-and-done and slipping home from his penthouse afterwards, maybe he’d have pulled her away. For expediency. But it’s true: they have the whole evening to go again, and they’ll find ways. It’s a give-and-take. So Stephen doesn’t outright stop her, and Julia’s merciless mouth doesn’t relent, until his orgasm hits him like a goddamn freight train, all that wound-up tension peaking and dragging him over the edge. And after it finishes coursing through him, he’s sprawled boneless and breathless on the covers, an arm thrown over his forehead. ]

Jesus christ, you’re good at that.

[ If she wanted to see him fuckstruck and stunned and his mind scoured empty from all the thousand different topics usually occupying his attention, well, she succeeded with aplomb. ]

Get up here.

[ And there he goes. It's beautiful to witness: the sound of his ragged voice and shallow breaths, the feeling of his muscles tightening in reaction, and the sight of him losing control. She drinks it all in, including the taste of him — she's never found this part of the act disgusting as some do, and it really is the most efficient when one wants the evening to continue without an untimely interruption for cleanup.

When he finishes, she looks as satisfied as the cat that ate the canary, especially at that particular compliment. But before joining him properly on the bed, she sits on the edge and takes a moment to finally remove those damn heels, tossing them toward their scattered clothing before turning to Stephen. She moves a bit like a cat as she crawls up beside him, laying on her side with her head propped on her arm so she can see his face. Her hand rests on his chest, her fingertips immediately tracing little patterns in his skin, and her knee curls up over his leg. ]

I like this look on you. It's even better than Lazy Weekend Chic.

[ That air of absolute satisfaction with herself still clings to her as she grins at him. Already, she's looking forward to the next time she can make him fall apart at her touch. ]

[ He laughs again; delighted by Julia as always, hopelessly charmed. ]

Hmm. I wonder where we can categorise this one. ‘Thoroughly debauched’? We’re going to have to get you a matching look.

[ Because they are clearly not done with each other, even if they’re taking a moment for a breather, sprawled entangled in each other and surprisingly comfortable in that afterglow. A brief interlude, literally catching their breath. Stephen eventually rolls onto his side to match her, leaning in to give her a lingering kiss — he doesn’t mind where she’s been, it’d be goddamned ungrateful if he did — then murmur into her ear. ]

I put privacy charms on this bedroom as soon as I moved in. It’s like sound insulation. I got it because I’m a secretive bastard, but now I think it might come in handy.

[ Thoroughly debauched. Ah yes, that's the perfect description and she's still pleased as hell to have caused the look on him. The kiss he gives her is perfect, with so much emotion wrapped up in that tender touch that neither of them approaches. This evening isn't for diving into the depths of whatever this is — it's for being together in the moment, two people who respect and admire each other.

And then. Well. A little breathless laugh escapes her as her hand moves up to his neck, her thumb resting along the curve of his jaw. It feels like a gift to be able to touch him like this. A privilege. The making of a memory she'll carry with her forever. ]

It sounds like someone's promising me a really good time.

That’s the goal, at least. I always strive for top marks, [ Stephen says, arrogant, grinning. His personality might have been undercut with threads of humility these days, but sometimes that cockiness still glints through. As much vulnerability as he’s already shown to Julia over time, with his metaphorical throat bared—

well, he doesn’t want to admit yet just how new this is to him, and how there might be some hurdles to climb, some readjustments to make. He’ll figure it out. He’s figured everything else out. This is simply another challenge to meet.

So he closes that distance again with another kiss, mouth hungry against hers. Some part of him always weighs the scales, debts and balances, but this is the kind of debt he’s more than happy to repay. His hand runs down the length of Julia’s bare body — breast, the curve of her hip, thigh — and then finally dips into her black underwear, that last piece of clothing, slick fingers sliding between her legs even as the kiss deepens. ]

[ The hunger in his kiss is matched by her own, a desperate need to touch and taste and consume every bit of him she can. At the same time, she wants to be touched and tasted and consumed by him, the give and take of equals, a fire that won't be calmed. And when his hand moves down her body and fans those flames, she wonders absently if there's any risk of them actually setting the room on fire...

Though, if there was, it would absolutely have happened when his hand slipped into her underwear. Instinctively, she tenses, everything in her panicking for one single second — and then she shifts closer to him in the next, lifting her knee to give him better access. She's wet and ready for him, eager for whatever he has in mind. Her breath catches in her throat and she kisses him with renewed vigor to prove just how eager she is, her fingers tangling in his hair as a quiet moan sounds between them. It might be hers but she can't be sure. ]

[ He senses the way Julia automatically tenses as he strays downward, the tightening of cord and tendon in her body — and so he slows, waits to let her adjust to the idea of someone touching her again, until the tilt of her knee shows that the moment’s passed and she’s easing back into it. And god, but the noise she makes is filthy and decadent and wonderful, as he finds her clit and start to circle. The way both of their breathing goes shallow between kisses, and he can feel how wet and wanting she is, already soaked around his fingers as he continues to stroke her. The effect this whole evening has had on her and their slow winding-up of each other. ]

Tell me what you like, [ Stephen says, his voice ragged. Because it’s a good thing to know no matter who you’re in bed with, and even more important when it’s their first night together, and with their individual histories— and then, it’s a repeat and echo of his earlier promise, to only do as much or as little as she was comfortable with: ]

Whenever you want more, or less. It’ll be up to you.

[ How does he know exactly what to say and do to set her at ease? He really is too good to be true. Which she won't tell him right now because his ego doesn't need the boost, but later when she's drunk on the high of an orgasm or two... Well, who knows what sorts of things she'll tell him. She might bare her entire soul to this man without a second thought.

She might not even regret it later.

Her voice is breathy when she speaks, the words stretched thin as her body reacts to his touch. It's been so long since she felt this, since she wanted this, that much like Stephen, she won't last long, especially when she knows how well he can follow directions when he wants to.

What does she like? Julia tells him, the words tumbling out three or four at a time, little jumbles that she almost doesn't manage to string together as he plays her body exquisitely. She likes it fast, messy, playful, and passionate, but she also likes it slow, excruciatingly so. And if he wants to make the biggest impact, so to speak, slow is the way to go. ]

Oh fuck. [ The curse catches in her throat as his fingers find a particular rhythm in a particular spot, her hands clutching at him like she's lost at sea and he's the only thing keeping her afloat. ] Do that. Keep doing that.

[ Stephen had been a pianist, once upon a time, and so those long clever fingers play her like an instrument. Julia hangs onto him, leans up into his touch, and he lets himself be guided, following each gasp or moan or instruction for what’ll bring her the most pleasure.

And, equally once upon a time, this would have been easier — he could have kept going forever, until he’d wrung her out and pushed her over the edge — but just as they’re starting to kick up to that fever-pitch, it starts to creep in for the first time.

Because, of course, he hasn’t slept with anyone since the accident.

There’s a growing ache, an actual painful ache in his damaged fingers the longer he tries to keep going. A stiffness in the joints, the nerves sparking. He’d been proud of his hands, actually, and he used to be able to reduce women to a mess beneath these hands — but this time, Stephen slows. He’s brought her right to that teetering edge before he slows down, tapers off, withdraws and rests his scarred hand against the bed instead, with a frustrated exhale against her shoulder. ]

Shit. Sorry. It’s— My hands, they—

[ How to tactfully explain. Maybe he doesn’t have to. But he buries his face against the warmth of Julia’s shoulder instead. Sighs. ]

We’re going to have to shift gears.

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and we've reached the part i don't write well... so slight vagueness

shush u write it beautifully!!