ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ 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.

[ God, he loves this about Julia. Loves her brash confidence, her ability to call him out on his bullshit. He wants to tell her. Instead, for now, he’s going to spend the foreseeable future showing her. ]

Huh. It is pretty disappointingly typical of me, isn’t it?

[ And if there’s anything Stephen never wants to be seen as, it’s boring. But he leans closer and kisses her again: slow and patient, tongue licking into her mouth. And as the kiss deepens, he realises it’s been long enough now that his body’s starting to react again, feeling those stirrings of desire again. ]

But you’re right. I like to think I’m adaptable, and we’ve still got options.

[ He has a problem-solving mindset. Doesn’t like to linger on trouble when he could be trying to fix it instead. Even after the car crash, even in a pit of depression, Stephen hadn’t wallowed long: he’d almost instantly turned to research as soon as he could, looking into treatments, making plans, because it gave him a sense of agency and control. It was its own brand of unhealthy, but it wasn’t wallowing. ]

So right now, I’m thinking, [ his voice just as straightforward and unabashed as she is about this sort of thing, ] either I can eat you out or you can ride the fuck out of me. Lady’s choice.

[ She knows a single conversation can't correct trauma he's spent years avoiding, and she doesn't expect it to. So when he shifts things back to the physical, she goes with it, losing herself in that kiss as her need for him ratchets up again. Her hands have to touch him, one following the lithe lines of his back while the other traces his jaw, his beard prickling the pads of her fingertips.

And when he makes that proposition... The laugh that bursts out of her forces her head back, the sound bouncing around the room with her utter delight. This is just one of many things she loves about him, and why their days together are anything but boring. ]

Well, I feel spoiled now. [ Her expression of pure feline satisfaction emerges again and she props herself up on an elbow to get a better look at him stretched out beside her. And look she does, from head to toe, thoroughly enjoying the view while she considers her options. But it doesn't take long at all for her to announce her decision in a tone that says she is fully aware of the power of her words. ] I want you inside me.

[ It’s starting to become such a push-and-pull between them, playing their cards to tug the other person’s strings: he says something to make her laugh, she says something to send a shiver down his spine. And by that coyness in her voice, Julia knows full well the effect it’ll have on him — he feels it like a pool of heat, warming through him from head to toe, a growing hunger. The look he gives her in return, with a crooked smile, says everything it needs to: as if he could devour her right here and now. ]

I believe, [ Stephen says slowly, mock-ponderous, ] that can be arranged.

[ From where they’ve been lying almost side-by-side, he shifts until he’s sitting up against that imposing headboard instead. Tangles one leg with hers, reaching out and tugging her closer until she’s moved over him to straddle him once more, where she can feel him starting to stir again.

And his hands tremble — it’s the nerve damage, not the nerves, he tells himself — but when he sets them against Julia’s hips, that expanse of warm skin, those tremors ease up since he can brace himself against her. He has something to hang onto. Now sitting with her in his lap so he can still reach her, he kisses her again.

And here’s the thing.

The proposition might have sounded flippant and spur-of-the-moment, but it’s also carefully-reasoned. This way, he won’t have to lean his weight on his hands, which probably wouldn’t be able to support him for that long anyhow. He won’t have to loom above her, which might accidentally spark some old animal fear. She’ll be on top and be entirely in control and setting the pace, like she’d done earlier. Which keeps sex in that comfortable zone where Julia gets to control all the variables. They’ll be able to experiment later, on another day or night, but for now, for their first time— he wants to be as careful with her as possible. Hand over the reins, as much as it goes against his usual instincts. ]

[ Julia doesn't doubt for one moment that Stephen had carefully considered the options he'd presented her with. That's just who he is — he studies every angle of a problem, weighs the possibilities, and chooses the best path for the information he has. There's no way for him to know what might bring up some nightmarish flashback for her, not when she doesn't even know that herself, so he puts her in control. He gives her the choice of how they proceed, and as she settles over him, she knows she made the right one.

Because of their height difference, she doesn't have to lean down much to capture his lips in a hot, open-mouthed kiss. One hand tangles in his hair in a way that will leave the strands even more unruly while the other moves down from shoulder to chest to stomach, tantalizingly slow as gold-flecked fingernails trail across smooth skin. Her destination is clear, her speed (or lack thereof) giving him plenty of time to protest before her slender fingers carefully wrap around his growing erection. ]

[ Slow, and meticulous. It was an approach he often used in the bedroom too — which could be maddening, being sedately worked over to that edge without quite nudging you over it — and it was payback, probably, for how slow he’d taken it earlier. All that patient foreplay, each of them dragging out the process until the air practically crackled with it.

But she’s wrapped her fingers around him and it makes the whole world narrow down again to the pressure of Julia’s hand, stroking him back to life. She lines him up and cants her hips; Stephen shifts his; and then she’s finally sinking down on him, all wet heat. His kiss turns messy, misses her lips as he buries his mouth against her neck instead with a shaky groan. As her weight settles over and around him, and his fingertips dig into her hips, and they readjust to that new sensation: Julia seated in his lap, him inside her, his lips against her throat and one of her hands still tangling in his tousled hair. ]

[ Fuck. She's forgotten how good it could feel, how right. The new sensations are overwhelming but in the best way; even as ready as she is for him, he still stretches her, filling her up until nothing else in the world matters. There is him and there is her; only they two. Breathing becomes a chore, her entire body seized with the immense pleasure—

And then she moves. There's no thought to it as she shifts her hips, pure instinct driving her actions. Gone is the side of her that calculates and plans, tossed out the window in favor of the primal woman seeking forgotten pleasure. Next time, she'll drag this out, stretch the minutes into hours, but for now, she needs and he is the only one who can fulfill.

The sounds that emerge from her throat put his privacy charm to the test, each moan more decadent than the last. She feels no shame in the way clings to him, her fingers tangling in his hair while her free hand clutches the headboard as an anchor. Her hips lift off of his, thigh muscles warming with the burn of exertion as she rises and falls, shifting her weight back and forth, chasing what she wants and so desperately needs. ]

Stephen— [ She gasps out his name and it sounds like something halfway between a plea and a prayer. ]

[ Thank god for privacy charms, for magic, since it means they can let loose without the self-consciousness of knowing there are so many other slumbering sorcerers in the other rooms of this Victorian townhouse. He doesn’t have to bury the sound of his rising moan as she rolls her hips. ]

Julia, fuck,

[ And just like before, Stephen gets to turn his brain entirely off for once. There’s nothing else. No higher thought, no considering his schedule for tomorrow or working some complex problem in the back of his mind or wondering if he’d translated the right runes for that magic spell he was studying the other day; not when everything is reduced to the slick slide and rise-and-fall of her body over his. He moves enough to help: one foot braced against the mattress, hips snapping up to meet hers on the downward thrust, matching the relentless pace Julia sets.

It’s been so long. He, too, had forgotten.

But they’re both remembering, drinking in the details: the taste of the sweat on her skin, their shared panting breaths and the messy sound of their bodies meeting, the warmth and pressure as she bottoms out on him again, and again, and again. His own breathing turns shaky and shallow, and he’s lost to it. And it turns out it truly doesn’t matter that he can do jack-all with his hands: not when it’s Julia holding all the cards, taking her pleasure from him mercilessly, and he’s more than happy to oblige. ]

[ Julia has had sex that was messy and clumsy. She's had cautious sex, and hate sex that was simply a means to an end. Tonight with Stephen is nothing like that. Their trust in each other has made this easier, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to lose themselves in each other's embrace. There is no question of power balance between them or hesitation over doing the wrong thing. They have put their faith in that trust and climbed through the landmines of insecurities to make it to the other side.

It doesn't take long for her to reach that peak. She tugs at his hair to tilt his head back, careful not to be too rough even in her frenzy, and kisses him with a needy desperation that begs him for more. More of this feeling, more of him, more of this. Her body trembles as she moves closer to that precipice, that swell of pleasure rising like a cresting wave, higher and higher—

And then it crashes, the orgasm washing over her with a force that leaves her gasping against his lips. Muscles tense with the sudden release, tightening around him where he's deep inside her, and she clings to Stephen like he's a lifeline. It's been so long and it feels so good.

And she doesn't think about Reynard once. ]

[ Stephen has one arm around her, fingers splayed against the sweat-slicked curve of her back; the other goes up to her face to clutch at the lines of her cheek, just as desperate to be touching her. And it’s that clenching pressure which does it in the end, her rhythm turning uneven. He’s not a machine, he’s still rebuilding his stamina, so as Julia’s entire body tightens like a violin string pulled to breaking point and she drags his face into another kiss, then she drags him with her too; tipping him over the edge as he comes for a second time.

Time stretches; the moment feels almost infinite.

After that cresting wave of pleasure passes and Julia finally stills, then she’s slumped against him where he’s sitting, both of them still tangled around each other and him still sheathed inside her — and he feels boneless and pleasantly sapped, his brain whited out in an enjoyable haze. It is far too strenuous to move, now. Takes too much thought to talk. So for a moment he just kisses her again, languorous, enjoying the afterglow. ]

[ That kiss is everything she needs. Coming down from the intimate high, the still-healing part of her needs the reassurance that she won't be discarded in the next moment, even when her mind knows that's not what this is. Both of them want this to be something, they just didn't know the shape of it when the evening began.

But Julia knows now. Without a shred of doubt, she knows. This is where she's supposed to be, who she's supposed to be with, and the only thing that scares her about that revelation is the thought of this ending. They're only just starting and already she can picture being here with this man for the rest of her life, however long that might be, surrounded by books and magic and the excitement of never knowing just what he'll do next. She doesn't want this to end but she can't say a damn word about it. Not yet.

So she says something else, her still slightly ragged breath against his lips when she just barely pulls back from that perfect kiss. ]

At the risk of inflating your already sizable ego... [ said with warm teasing affection, of course ] Wow.

[ Somewhere in that pit of contentment, he dredges up coherent words; remembers how to speak, with an effort. ]

Ah, good. Mission accomplished. As long as you’re not just artificially inflating said ego.

[ With one-night-stands, he’d been quick enough to call it done. Like scratching a mere biological itch, and his time was valuable (more than others, he might say), and he probably had to be up at the crack of dawn anyhow to get back to the hospital, so he had never lingered longer than he needed to. Tonight, though— He likes the warmth of still having Julia in bed with him, their bare skin touching. Still feeling that slow come-down from their high. ]

I know this is the easiest ask considering you live just down the hall, but you should spend the night. It’s a spacious bed.

[ Said with just as much warm teasing affection, even as there’s some deeper, lonelier need lurking beneath the suggestion. It’s been a long time since anyone slept over. ]

[ There is absolutely nothing artificial about her praise for him, nor is there even an ounce of disappointment. As promised, she'd had a really good time, and she's already looking to whenever they might have a repeat performance.

But for tonight— ]

It does seem like a very nice bed... [ She makes a show of considering the idea, pursing her lips as she thinks it over, then leans in for one more quick kiss. ] Okay, you've sold me on the idea.

[ Climbing off of him is difficult; she feels empty without him inside her, and there's the slightest chill in the air as sweat cools on her skin. But then she settles beside him, one leg curled over his as she gravitates toward his warmth, and all is right again. ]

[ It feels like there should be something else he should say to fill that surprisingly comfortable silence, and yet he finds himself lacking the script. Because there is something starkly, absolutely terrifying about actually caring for someone and then, more terrifyingly, having them care about him in return.

It’s so much easier to think of this as something frivolous — as the natural culmination of what they’ve been circling for literal months anyhow, eventually tumbling into bed with the attractive woman he’s been working so closely with, it was bound to happen — but the truth remains that it is more than that, more than just the breaking of a dry spell, and Stephen knows it. And that—

Well, that remains terrifying.

But for now, he just curls an arm over her shoulders. They’re sprawled over the covers, skin sticky with drying sweat, the warmth slowly evaporating from their bodies. The benefit of being within the Sanctum Sanctorum, however, is that the former Sorcerer Supreme has unprecedented control over the space — he gestures with a hand, a quick and precise flutter of his fingers worthy of any Brakebills instructor, and suddenly they’re beneath the covers instead of on top of them. The blankets pool at their hips, half slung over the arch of Julia’s thighs, but it saves them some jostling to get into the bed. ]

Party tricks, [ he says, amiably. ]

You are such a showoff. [ She murmurs the words with an affectionate shake of her head. ] Lucky for you, I find that incredibly endearing.

[ It's easy to openly share her affection with him now. Before, there had been an odd distance between them — less than professional colleagues but more than close friends. They'd spent months dancing around each other, finding where lines were drawn and then repositioning them time and again as their relationship changed. And while part of her is understandably a bit scared of what this latest change might mean, mostly she's just feeling... at home.

Julia Wicker knows how she feels about Stephen Strange. The question is if Stephen Strange feels the same way about Julia Wicker. But whether he does or not, she embraces her own emotions and lets them wash over her as she leans her head against him. ]

[ There’s a treacherous warmth in Stephen’s chest as she snuggles up against him. He’s too warm, too buoyantly content, too abundantly fond: he can feel that persistent flutter in his ribcage as the weight of her head tips against his shoulder, as he can still smell the faint scent of her perfume, almost burned off from the long evening at the bar and their exertions.

Julia’s a magician and she’s a goddess and she’s a survivor and she keeps him on his toes and tells him that he’s better than he is until he believes it, and all of the above is nervewracking to consider. He is so, so painfully fond of her. He can’t stand to think of when she’d come stumbling into the Sanctum, her mind burning up with an amnesia spell, and he’d almost lost her.

And so he’s starting to have to conclude that he loves her, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the hormones and inevitable endorphins, it’s biological, he tries to tell himself, clipped and scientific and explanatory—

(But it’s not. He knows it’s not.)

It hadn’t taken long for his brain to start overthinking things again, but he brushes his lips against the top of her head, trying to be content to simply be here, and reminding himself to be content with that. One second and one minute at a time. ]

I didn’t have any ulterior motives when I invited you out for drinks, but I’m glad. And I’m sober enough to say that I hope we wind up here again.

[ In the morning, for example. ]

[ This evening has been too perfect to be real. At the back of her mind, she keeps expecting for some emergency to pop up, magical alarms blaring and pulling Stephen away from her just as they're settling into whatever this is. But seconds turn into minutes and he's still there beside her, steady and warm and wonderful.

Sighing softly in contentment, her happiness is evident in her voice when she replies with a hint of mischief. ]

I'm just tipsy enough to admit I had slightly ulterior motives when choosing my dress for tonight. [ She even giggles quietly while reaching up to press her open hand against his chest. ] So I'm fairly confident we can arrange a repeat performance soon. Maybe even two or three.

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

shush u write it beautifully!!

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