ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ 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.

[ She's so close, delicious heat building inside her as she nears that perfect crescendo, that she can't stop the whimper of protest when he pulls his hand away. The reason for his withdrawal catches up with her a moment later and she immediately pushes her own needs aside, shifting her hold on Stephen to be less desperate and more comforting. ]

Hey, hey, it's okay. Stephen—

[ There's no hiding that she's trying to catch her breath as her heartbeat races, her body not yet coming down from the peak they'd nearly reached. Her fingers comb through his hair and she fights the urge to pull back so she can see his face. If he needs to hide to get through this moment, she won't force him out of that perceived safety.

She turns her head enough to press a kiss into his hair, wishing she knew how to help him and unable to stop herself from softly voicing concern. ]

Are you alright?

I’m fine. It’s fine.

[ He’s an irritatingly proud man, and stubborn about accepting his own changed limitations; it’s remained perpetually true that doctors make the worst patients. Reader, it was most assuredly not fine.

But after a long strangled moment, Stephen finally shifts: arm slung across her midriff, moving a little further up so he can press his mouth to Julia’s again. A note of apology and withering self-consciousness in the kiss. When he breaks away, he tries to glance down at his hand, but the tremors have started to set in and he can’t hold it steady. ]

So, note to self, can’t do much of that any longer.

[ Dry, sarcastic, with the kind of barbs now turned inward. ]

And no, really, it’s fine. We’ll find other ways. It’s just— my first time testing the theory, so to speak. I don’t think I ever told you, I can’t play the piano any longer. I should’ve known it’d be the same here.

[ There’ll be alternatives around it, of course — he’ll have other ways to bring Julia back to that edge and they’ll make an evening of it yet — but, mostly, it’s the sting of surprise needling at him. The stark confirmation, the reminder of his disability. ]

[ She doesn't have to be a mind reader to know he is definitely not fine. In the time they've spent together, she's gotten fairly good at reading Stephen Strange, and now is no different. He's hurting in ways she can't fully comprehend but she does understand what it is to be so deeply affected by something that it changes your entire world.

The kiss is accepted though she hates what she can feel in it. He has nothing to apologize for — she just doesn't know how to make him understand that. ]

It is fine, even if I can tell you're not. [ Yeah, she's just going to lay cards on the table and not sugar-coat this. Being blunt and openly honest but still kind and caring — it's a Julia Wicker specialty. ] Stephen, this doesn't bother me. Your injuries are part of who you are, and believe it or not, I accept who you are. All of it. The arrogance and stubbornness, that curiosity that will never be sated. The good and bad, the broken bits and the ones you've put back together. It's all you.

[ Emotions she hadn't intended on sharing come tumbling out of her, not diving quite as deep as they could but certainly more so than she would have liked for a first night together. She could blame it on the intimacy of the moment lowering her barriers, but it's also her need to do something to help him. If she could, she would take his hand, but she doesn't know if that would do more harm than good. ]

[ He used to fuck around when he had the time, and this used to be easy — he hadn’t even been hesitating or overthinking or worrying about himself falling into bed with her until this very moment, until his own body had failed him.

But Julia’s words unclench something in his chest. This was supposed to be fun and light, but they’ve accidentally stepped in those emotions, this vulnerability. So he readjusts: lying on his stomach, arm still sprawled over Julia, chin tipped against his other forearm. Tilting so he can look at her, Stephen all grey-streaked hair and sober expression, surveying her where she’s sprawled naked in his bed.

He likes her so very, very much. That’s probably dangerous. But. ]

I hadn’t meant to bring it up, [ fake it until you make it, right? ] but this is my first time in bed with anyone since… well, since before the accident.

Don’t make a big deal out of it. Because it’s not. But it just— Well. For context. I suppose there was always going to be a learning curve.

[ Lifting a hand to comb fingertips through a streak of grey at his temples, she gives him a smile that absolutely calls him on his bullshit. Because: ]

Stephen, look who you're talking to. That first time after something traumatic is a very big deal. [ Case in point: the woman lying in his bed. But she can tell he's not in the same place emotionally as she is, not yet, so she needs to frame the conversation a little differently for him. ]

You know, even just a few months ago, the idea of being with someone like this... I couldn't even consider it. I wasn't ready and I didn't know if I ever would be. I am now, obviously, [ said with a slightly cheeky smile ] and part of that is because of you — because I trust you, I feel comfortable with you, and you're really fucking sexy. [ Her smile widens into a grin for a moment before fading again. ]

But more than that, it was me coming to terms with what was done to me and accepting who I am now and how I've changed. It was a process, not an easy one, and I know our trauma's not the same, but you have to go through that process too.

Honestly, I was still a bit terrified of letting someone in. Letting myself care about them and risking them seeing me in a way I don't see myself. [ She isn't broken, damaged goods, or fragile glass to be protected from the cruel world. As she'd told him before, she's a person and people heal. ] But I'm glad I took that risk. Because whatever this is, whatever we decide we want it to be, I'm just grateful I'm spending this moment with you.

[ Just baring her soul a little there, no big deal. Nope, this is totally fine... so long as she doesn't think about it too much. Which has kind of been her secret for the entire evening. ]

Why are you so much younger and yet so much wiser than me?

[ There were over ten years between them; which had been enough to give him pause the first time he ever thought of flirting with Julia Wicker, but not enough to stop him in his tracks entirely. Because it’s true: she does seem so much older and wiser than her years. It’s probably some combination of hard-bitten experience and goddess-touched wisdom and confidence.

And she’s hit the nail on its head. Stephen really does have a ways to go yet, some learning and growth and healing to go through instead of slapping a bandage on the emotional wound and pretending he was fine. Some men will simply bury themselves in forbidden magical texts instead of going to therapy, &c &c.

But she’s wise and so he’s listening, head craned, savouring the touch of her fingers combing through his unruly hair. Letting it soothe his hackles, that bristling pain. ]

Alright. Yes. Because— same. Whatever this is, whatever the shape it becomes, I like being with you and around you, and I’d like to do that more, actually. And I appreciate, so fucking much, that you’re trusting me with this.

I just don’t want this to be— a disappointment for you. After everything.

[ If he'd met Julia two years ago, Stephen would probably have had a very different opinion of her. She'd been naive and so driven by her own desires that she hadn't stopped to think about the harm her actions could cause. Hurting her friends had been the first step in a long spiral to the very bottom, from which it's taken an immeasurable effort to pull herself up. And though she doesn't wish that journey on anyone else, she can't say she isn't grateful for who she's become because of it.

Stephen still has a ways to go on his own journey, and there isn't much she can do to help him on that path save holding his hand (proverbially and actually) while he walks it, but she can do one thing. ]

There are many ways in which you could probably disappoint me [ she tilts her head with a slightly self-deprecating smirk ] and vice versa. But this, here? Not a chance. So stop doing that guy thing where you worry about performance because I'm enjoying the hell out of myself tonight and, aside from this hiccup, I'm pretty sure you are too.

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

shush u write it beautifully!!

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