ourladytrees | the magician and the sorcerer

[ 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.

[ His jaw, almost literally, drops. Stephen cranes to look down at her, only faux affronted, as he gasps: ]

Oh my god. I knew it. I feel vindicated. There’s no possible way— Because part of me did think, at one point, that surely you must know the effect that dress could have on a man.

[ It’s an extremely good dress. And it’s also done its job extremely well since it’s currently lying in a puddle on his bedroom floor, so. ]

[ He's so adorable when he lets his playful side show. His goofy, silly side, rather than just the sarcastic comments and dry humor. Not everyone gets to see this Stephen Strange, and she's grateful to be counted among those few. ]

Oh, Stephen, women always know. [ Grinning, she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek, before moving to sit up and leave the comfort of his bed. ] But we can continue this discussion of how I seduced you with my impeccable fashion sense when I get back from the bathroom.

Impeccable fashion sense, amongst other things. [ Stephen — regretfully — lets her scoot away, and then remembers that she hasn’t used his private bathroom yet. It’s one of the few in the townhouse, while almost everyone else has to share the common ones in the hallways. There are still some perks to having once been the Sorcerer Supreme, even if he’s passed the title on. ] It’s that door to the left.

[ Speaking of the bathroom, he’s also a rumpled mess, so he wonders if a shower might be a good idea… but coming on the heels of drink after drink after enchanted drink in the Bar With No Doors, plus the late hour, and he’s frankly tired. The shower will have to be a problem for Tomorrow Stephen.

Maybe one for them to tackle together.

Sprawled comfortably back in the pillows, he admires the view while Julia slides out of bed and crosses the room; and he’s not shy about said admiration, watching her go. ]

[ Julia gasps with the same exaggerated effect as he'd used just a few moments ago, dropped jaw and all as she slides off the exceptionally comfortable mattress. ] A private bathroom? A girl could get used to this.

[ His admiration does not go unnoticed. She glances back once and rolls her eyes with a grin, but damn does it feel good to have someone look at her like that again. Someone she wants to look at her that way.

As she moves to the indicated door, she scoops up a discarded article of clothing from the floor, shaking the white dress shirt out a bit before slipping her arms through the sleeves. He doesn't get to see the full effect before she closes the bathroom door behind her, though — he'll have to wait a few minutes for the reveal.

After taking care of business, she spends a moment at the mirror trying to tame her own Thoroughly Debauched appearance. Fingers combed through wild curls helps a bit, and she cleans up her slightly smudged mascara, but the half-buttoned stolen shirt ensures that she still looks like she's had a very good time. He'll get to see for himself when she emerges from the bathroom, too-long sleeves hanging down to her fingertips and the hem falling low enough to be almost modest. ]

[ He’d meant to stay in bed, but he winds up sitting on the edge of the mattress, tugging on his briefs again for some shred of dignity; her mention of the bathroom led to the realisation that he really should relieve himself and brush his teeth before crashing for the night. Stephen Strange is a creature of routine and regimented order, so he can’t help wanting to tick those boxes before bed. But just as he hears the bathroom door open and he stands up, to trade spots with Julia—

Then he runs aground again, standing and staring at her. ]

Oh, [ he says, his words temporarily running dry. Because christ, she looks good half-naked in his clothes. He wants her puttering around his bedroom in his shirt all the time. He wants to get her out of it again. He wants everything at once. He just wants, period.

Stephen crosses the room, but instead of walking past her, he stops to kiss her again; hands sliding up Julia’s thighs and beneath the shirttails, palms settling on her hips. ]

Now it’s my turn to say, god, I like the look of you in that. A shame I can’t just have you in the kitchen like this all morning.

[ It's not just the private bathroom she could get used to. Being touched affectionately and looked at speechlessly, it's nothing short of addictive. And being able to slide her hands up his bare chest and lean up on her toes to return that kiss — yeah, this is really fucking nice.

Settling back on her heels, she grins up at him, tilting her head to the side so her long hair cascades in a shifting curtain over one shoulder. That teasing mischief emerges again as she pats his chest almost comfortingly. ]

Well, maybe one weekend you can send the novices off on some grueling training exercise and we can have the place to ourselves. Until then, we'll just have to make do.

Oh, don’t put ideas in my head. It’s happening. I’ll find a way.

[ It would be difficult, considering any sorcerer could portal in anytime — but he was choosing to see it as a challenge now, and there were few things Doctor Strange liked more than a challenge. He’s already thinking about enhanced privacy wards, about alarms and sensors to warn them if anyone’s approaching, about seeing if he can wall off part of the Sanctum so it’s inaccessible by magic, so anyone has to knock on the door the good old-fashioned way…

And, so. It turns out that apart from his self-consciousness about his hands, Stephen is pretty easygoing and comfortable with this: the flirtation, the easy affection, the sex. He kisses her again — he honestly can’t get enough of that, can’t stop relishing the fact that he is allowed to, now — and then it’s his turn to vanish to the restroom.

Once he returns, he slides back into bed with a contented sigh, rejoining her. ]

It’s probably too much to say you should keep the shirt on all day, isn’t it?

[ Julia has absolutely no doubt that he will, in fact, find a way to make this particular fantasy come true. Honestly, she's looking forward to it; she likes the sound of them having a semi-normal morning in the kitchen like any other couple. For maybe five seconds, she considers offering her apartment as an alternative since no one would bother them there— But then she firmly dismisses the thought, not willing to risk a PTSD episode just for some alone time.

No, he'll come up with something. He always does.

Stephen is in the bathroom just long enough for Julia to pluck a book from the stash he'd kept hidden in his private space and slip back under the blankets. The pages are crisp with age and crinkle slightly as she turns them, trying to parse what she can from the illustrated diagrams and what little she knows of Turkish. It's only when he slides back into bed beside her that she looks away from the book in her hands, the absolute picture of innocence. ]

It's not too much. I wasn't planning on giving it back, anyway.

Good. [ Now ensconced in the blankets beside her, Stephen cranes his head to look over her shoulder and see which book Julia happened to pluck out of the stack. ]

It’s a grimoire with a few different spells; my Turkish isn’t the best, so I haven’t be able to get any of them working just yet.

[ One of the bookmarked pages beneath her finger is about ways to forego rest using magic. He’s chronically terrible with sleep, tends to struggle with it, and the insomnia’s only gotten exponentially worse since the accident and becoming a sorcerer. Thus: perpetually seeking out coffee, and then when coffee doesn’t work, magical stimulants and ways to keep his mind sharp and alert even without a full night’s sleep. ]

[ Knowing he hasn't been able to crack the spells in the grimoire just makes her even more interested. She flips back to the first bookmarked page, scanning the calligraphy and wishing Turks had adopted a Roman alphabet much sooner. Which is very White Colonial of her, she acknowledges, but Arabic script had never been a perfect match for the more vowel-heavy Turkish. When she can't discern the context of the first spell, she flips forward to another, this one much easier to understand. ]

This has to do with sleep. [ Her fingertips ghost over the curling calligraphy before she turns her head to look at him with more curiosity than concern. For now. ] Not sleeping well?

the magician and the sorcerer — psl

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wrap ♥