Well, here I am

Of all the inconveniences that had arisen as result of Merlin losing her memory, perhaps the worst one took the form of a singular man: Magister Cyran.

He wasn’t just any man, of course; no, that would be too simple. Of all the people to stand in her way, her biggest obstacle was allegedly once her friend, and a close one too. Even though she remembered absolutely none of this, there was this lingering feeling in her soul that that claim was in fact the truth.

How else would she explain the odd feeling of familiarity that had washed over her the moment they’d locked eyes in the Duchy of Whiteridge? How else would she explain how fluidly she moved with him as they danced that night at the festival, how their banter flowed like the waters around Rustport?

And… most embarrassingly of all, how else would she explain the way her heart would beat just a bit faster when she saw him, when she spoke to him, when she thought about him?

He’d plagued her mind since the day they’d met, since the night they’d shared that dance. She often wondered where it would have gone if the festival hadn’t been interrupted. The words he’d said, that there was something special about her, they echoed in her thoughts long after he’d uttered them.

She hadn’t been lying when she’d told her newfound friends at the Lyceum that he’d had soft hands. It was both a subtle jab at his cushy position as chief court mage and also an undeniable fact. Even in the chill of the Cedartown night, he’d radiated warmth as he effortlessly guided her about the festival dance space.

The thing she remembered best about that night, the night before the horrible time loop that had thrown everything into disarray, was the softness of his hands. They were sturdy and warm on her waist and shoulder, chaste and gentle. Neither his gaze nor his hands strayed that night; he’d been the perfect gentleman. The scent of his cologne matched his whole aesthetic, characteristic without being cloying. Even the words he’d spoken to her, while laced with eerie crypticness, were sophisticated and polite. He was the perfect image of a refined nobleman, a mage in a high position of society.

And most of all, he was too damned familiar. The practiced way they’d moved together couldn’t have been a coincidence, or merely his own skills (although he was admittedly a rather skilled dancer). No, they’d spent time together, a lot of time. They were friends at the Lyceum, or so she had been told. But… were they just friends?

He’d haunted her dreams since that night. It wasn’t every night, but there were many times she’d awoken in a cold sweat, her heart racing and an ache between her thighs that made her nearly feral with desire. She dreamed of their coupling, secret meetings in places that were somehow simultaneously familiar and foreign to her. There were dreams that happened in libraries, in classrooms, in secluded hallways, and of course in bedrooms.

The Cyran in her dreams was younger, as was she. They came together with the clumsy, eager passion of those falling in love with someone else for the first time. And those places, those hazy rooms she’d never seen before and yet knew very well… no surface was left unclaimed, that was for certain.

Everything felt so vivid in the moment, so real. His hands were soft even in her dreams, albeit bereft of the quite frankly gaudy amount of rings he wore in the present day. His robes were less voluminous, but his face was serious and stern as ever. Apparently, even in her dreams Cyran was still Cyran.

As time went on, as she awoke night after night frustrated and restless, she became suspicious that these weren’t so much dreams as they were buried memories. Or maybe they were a bit of both. Unless she spoke to Cyran about it, she could never truly be sure.

And that sure as hell wasn’t going to happen, or at least it wasn’t going to be something she brought up. They were on opposing sides, after all. She, the great Magister Merlin, was the First Seat of the Arcane Council, duty bound to protect Esperia and its people from the misuse of magic, from people like Cyran. If they’d had something in the past, then that was in the past.

Or so she thought; after Cyran had departed from her life once more following the defeat of Cryonaia, things got easier. The dreams lessened but never fully went away. There were still nights she awoke with a gasp, with a heart full of yearning and a body on fire with need. But it was easier to push away during the day as she navigated situations under the ground, across the sea, even through time itself.

And then, Headmaster Leymar died under mysterious circumstances and she’d returned to the place she’d spent so much forgotten time at: The Serene Lyceum.

She’d been told about the court mage selection upon her arrival, but she hadn’t expected it to be such an important thing that the chief court mage himself would be there. So when she walked up to the open ceremony, friends both new and old in tow, she’d frozen the moment she’d locked eyes with Cyran.

Logically, it made sense he was here. This was related to courtly affairs, after all. But still, seeing him there on the stage next to ‘Leymar’ stopped her in her tracks.

It was fine, right? She was in disguise, her glamour was perfect. With her powers, she’d made herself look like any other senior Lyceum student. There was no way he would recognize her…

Right? And yet, as their eyes met while Cyran observed the crowd, she couldn’t help but notice a hint of recognition in his dark gaze. Was he onto her? Or did he sense the potential she was trying to keep under wraps?

That dark gaze followed her through the trials. She knew scrying magic when she saw it, and knew Cyran was focused on her more than anyone else. This was dangerous. If her identity was uncovered before the investigation was finished, they’d get nowhere.

His eyes on her instilled a sense of anxiety in her chest… along with something else. Urges that she’d tried so hard to bury after they’d last parted ways in Whiteridge came back with a vengeance. While outwardly she looked unfazed, every interaction she’d had with Cyran so far left her both thoroughly vexed and utterly flustered.

The dreams intensified, and she realized a lot of the rooms she’d been having these imagined liaisons in were exactly the same or very similar to places she’d seen over the course of the investigation. This revelation all but confirmed her theory that somehow these were memories that were managing to resurface even though she’d thought she’d lost everything.

This left her especially frustrated, as her lounge room in the library gave her little privacy with a Hypogean neighbor just down the proverbial hall. And so she stewed in silence, lying awake each night and waiting for the need to abate before she could go back to sleep.

The days passed, the investigation moved forward, and the chips fell into place. The culprit was none other than her new friend Gervan, who had had her utterly fooled from the start. Cassadee had won the day and the position of court mage, albeit at the cost of Merlin having to discard her disguise and reveal her true identity in front of everyone… including Cyran.

But it seemed like Cyran was hardly surprised by the revelation, having apparently suspected it was her from the start. Maybe she was bad at playing a part, or maybe… he knew her better than she thought he did.

(Intimately, even?)

He’d portaled out in a huff after reluctantly declaring Cassadee the winner and newest court mage, and she’d figured that was the last she’d see of him for some time, hopefully forever. She was frustrated Cyran had once again slipped the grasp of the law, but at least the murder was solved and she would never have to look at Cyran’s smug face ever again.

But life was never that easy, was it? After hours of revelry following the celebration of Merlin's ‘triumphant return’ and Cassadee’s victory, Merlin had finally managed to slip away. This late in the evening, the halls of the Lyceum were all but abandoned, her only company being the occasional enchanted broom that lifelessly swept by.

Finally, she was alone. There was nothing here in the hallways but her and her thoughts… and the sound of a dark portal opening behind her.

She whipped around, magic at the ready to react if it was some horrid Hypofiend who’d broken free of their fetters.

What she saw was arguably worse, however.

Standing in the hallway, stern as ever, was Cyran.

What was he doing here? Hadn’t he left hours ago, furious at being outfoxed by Merlin once again?

Merlin’s heart thrummed in her ears as she stared Cyran down. The expression in his dark eyes was unreadable and the stillness with which he stood unnerved Merlin. “Cyran,” she said, hoping her voice sounded as even and stoic as she didn’t feel. Was he going to attack her? “Merlin,” he replied, evenly even. “I’m surprised you’re not outside celebrating with your little friends.” Merlin lowered her hand but didn’t dissipate her magic just yet. “It was too noisy. I wanted some time alone.”

Cyran tilted his head at her with a smirk, and Merlin felt her traitorous heart flutter. “Yes, you always were an odd one like that, the life of the party but also rather secluded at times. A walking contradiction, utterly perplexing and unbelievably frustrating.”

“Why are you here?” Merlin accused, choosing to ignore Cyran’s quip about her. “You lost, Cyran. I thwarted your plan.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Is it so wrong to want to spend time with an old friend?” Merlin scowled at him but finally dissipated the magic she’d had charged and ready to throw. “We’re not friends.”

“But we were, once,” Cyran retorted, taking a step closer. Merlin took an instinctive step back and felt her back hit a wall. If things went bad, she could always just teleport out, but she also wanted to see where this could go. Would she finally get secrets out of him, or maybe… she could finally see if those dreams were really just dreams or not? “Were we? I think I’d remember suffering in your company,” she bit back.

Cyran took a step closer, and then another. He loomed over her and Merlin felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes were dark, his gaze ravenous. “We were. In fact…” He leaned in, pressing the hand holding his staff against the wall and more or less trapping Merlin. “We were more than just friends.”

Merlin swallowed audibly, face flushed at Cyran’s proximity. This close she could smell his cologne as it wafted over her, mixed with just a hint of ozone and petrichor, the telltale scents of dark magic. She felt dizzy in his presence, and she wasn’t sure if he was using some sort of magic on her, or if her desires she was trying to ignore were finally coming to the surface.

She should run, she should blast him with magic or kick him in the groin and teleport. But Merlin did none of those things. Instead, she stared up into his hungry eyes, certain the desire in her own matched his.

“W-what do you want?” she questioned, mentally kicking herself for sounding like a nervous little schoolgirl talking to her first crush.

Cyran gave her another damnable smirk, relishing in the way it made Merlin’s blush even worse. “Someone as smart as you should have figured that out by now, no? After all, I believe you want the same thing.” He reached up with the hand not keeping Merlin softly trapped against the wall and gently brushed her cheek with the back of it as he gazed at her with eyes half-lidded. “Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?”

Merlin shuddered as she felt the contrast of his soft, warm hand and the cold gemstones on his many rings. The metal had warmed up to match his skin but the stones that protruded kept the chill of the Lyceum halls. The way he touched her brought back the memory of the many dreams where he’d done this exact same maneuver, albeit without rings. The blush on her face intensified, which seemed to delight Cyran. “Wh-what are you…” She couldn’t think enough to form a sentence, her mind focused instead on how soft Cyran’s hair and lips looked.

“Your mind might have forgotten, but it looks like your body remembers,” he purred, leaning in a little more. This close, Merlin could count the full, dark eyelashes on his pale face. How were they the same age if he still looked so youthful? Did he use magic to alter his appearance just like she did? “I-I…” When she didn’t react further, Cyran removed his hand with a soft sigh. Merlin couldn’t suppress a whine at the loss of contact, which she would have found embarrassing were she not so overtaken by desire.

“I won’t force it. Refuse me, and we will never speak of this again, the past will be the past and we’ll move forward as the rivals we always have been.”

He went to take a step back but Merlin reacted by yanking him forward by the chain that hung from his robes. With a growl, she smashed her lips against his with frustration that had been building for quite some time.

Cyran was stunned for only about half a second before he began to kiss back with equal hunger, his staff falling to the floor with a clatter that both of them ignored as he ran his hands through Merlin’s hair with a soft groan. Merlin felt the cold stone of the wall hit her back as Cyran pinned her there again, this time with much more force. Any apprehension she had initially felt when Cyran had first revealed himself was gone, replaced with a fervent desire to be as close to him as possible. One hand tangled through his hair, and she groaned with satisfaction upon confirming it was every bit as soft as it looked. The noise Merlin made must have spurred Cyran on further, as he pushed forward against her with a lustful growl as his teeth nipped her bottom lip, all the while continuing their desperate liplock. That sent a shiver down Merlin’s spine as her body reacted with absolute delight at the gesture. Cyran definitely wasn’t bluffing about their past if he knew how to make her react so intensely, if he knew to do things even Merlin had forgotten she’d liked.

She needed to be closer, impossibly closer. The ache of over twenty years of separation she didn’t even remember rang deep in her chest as one of her hands bunched up a portion of his elegant robes in a clenched fist. The hand in his hair tugged and Cyran reacted by bringing his knee up between Merlin’s legs.

Moaning softly, Merlin took advantage of the leverage to grind down on him, relishing in the fiction even through the combined cloth of her skirt and smalls. (If she’d known this was going to happen, maybe she would have dolled up a little, worn something fancy underneath…)

Finally, Cyran broke for air. Merlin was satisfied to see she’d at least flustered the unflappable Magister Cyran. His hair was a mess, the circlet on his head askew. His chest heaved with lustful breaths and his pale face had just a hint of a flush. “You’re as insufferable as ever,” he panted. “So needy…”

“I daresay you’re just as needy if not more,” Merlin teased back, the words coming to her with an ease she hadn’t expected. This felt familiar, even if this was the first time in her memory they’d done this.

“Your insolence infuriates me,” Cyran growled, leaning forward and beginning to trail kisses down Merlin’s neck. Somehow, he knew the exact spots that would make her moan and shudder in his arms.

One of Merlin’s hands tangled in Cyran’s hair as he left marks on her neck that would definitely raise questions the next day. The other hand clutched the chain on the front of his robe like a lifeline. Oh, this was wrong; they were supposed to be enemies. He was a Syndicate man, and she was on the Arcane Council. They shouldn’t be coming together like this, shouldn’t even be entertaining the thought.

But she didn’t care, not now. All she cared about was relearning whatever else she’d forgotten about their apparent multiple trysts from their halcyon days at the Lyceum.

“Cyran…” she whined as his teeth grazed a particularly sensitive spot on her neck.

She could feel him smirking against her skin, damn him. “Believe me now?” he asked, his voice rumbling against her in a way that made her shiver. “I know what makes you fall apart even if you don’t.”

“Smug bastard,” she hissed as he nipped at that sensitive spot again. “I can’t stand you.” It was a lie and both of them knew it.

“And yet here you are, quivering under my touch,” he said, one hand cupping Merlin’s cheek as the other ran down her side reverently. He pulled her closer, and she could feel just how interested he was in what they were doing right now.

Their lips met again, this time slower but every bit as desirous as the first time. Merlin’s body moved in ways against Cyran that she somehow knew instinctively even though she’d lost all the memories of their time together. Just as he knew how to rile her up, it seemed she knew how to do the same to him, albeit subconsciously.

When they separated for air again, Cyran’s face was more flushed, his hair more wild. Merlin knew she probably looked equally as disheveled, and any passersby would know in an instant what they’d been up to.

“Are we really going to do this here?” she questioned, both willing to but also not minding a change in scenery. “What would someone say if they saw the esteemed Magister Cyran all worked up like this?”

This worked just like she’d expected, but what she hadn’t expected was Cyran opening a dark portal behind her and nudging her through. The world around them spun for a second before Merlin felt her back hit what felt like the edge of a desk. She took a moment to look around and found they were now in a sparsely decorated office with Merlin backed up against a desk that had paperwork spread all around it. “Where are we?” Merlin asked as Cyran lifted her onto the desk with strength she had no idea he’d had.

“My office,” he said. “Temporary for the purpose of the exam, but suitable for what we intend to do.” He waved a hand and Merlin could feel the waves of soundproofing magic surrounding the two of them. Now they were truly alone, and they could lose themselves in one another.

They kissed once more as Cyran’s hand began sliding up Merlin’s thigh under her Lyceum skirt, agonizingly slow. He was going this slow on purpose to frustrate her, he must have been. He knew he had her right where he wanted her, and she couldn’t be more delighted about it.

Merlin’s hand began fiddling with the chain that fastened the upper part of Cyran’s robes shut and he broke the kiss to take her hand and pull it away with a disapproving click that had her gritting her teeth in lustful fury.

“Ah ah ah, I’m the one in charge here,” he scolded.

“Fuck you.” The hand not holding Merlin’s in place reached behind her and swept all of the paperwork and other bits and bobs off the desk with a cacophonous clatter. “That’s the intention.” The hand that had been snaking up her thigh left her. She whined again, and he smirked. “Such a lovely sound. I want to hear more of it.” He picked her up by the hips and turned her around so that she was facing away from him.

“What are you-” Her words were cut off as Cyran pushed her down onto the desk with one hand while the other slid up her skirt again.

Who knew that such a wiry man had such power? Was it his dark magic augmenting his strength? Merlin didn’t know, but it thrilled her all the same. Cyran, this infuriating man who knew her in ways she didn’t even know herself, was dangerous in ways that should frighten her. But instead, it only served to entice her, to draw her closer to his all-encompassing charisma and aura.

“Quit stalling,” she growled. “You brought me here for a reason, so get on with it.”

Behind her, Cyran hummed in thought in a way Merlin knew instinctively to be mocking. “So hasty… Keep running that mouth and I may just need to find a better use for it.” “Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

Any further retorts from Merlin died in her throat as Cyran threaded a hand through her hair and tugged. The action pulled the most lustful sound that had fallen from Merlin’s lips thus far during the encounter. “You’re every bit as insatiable as you were back then. It’s good to see that some things haven’t changed.” The hand not in her hair finally hiked up her skirt and began to tug down her smalls.

When he’d divested her of them, his large hand roamed her backside reverently. “So soft, just as I remembered…” Merlin attempted to grind herself back against him but merely earned another tug of her hair for her troubles. She sharply cried out in pleasure pain as she ground herself against the desk, desperately chasing some semblance of friction. “We needn’t be hasty, my dear Merlin,” he said, finally reaching the apex of her thighs and rubbing her gently. “My my… all this for me? You flatter me.” His hand cruelly withdrew, and a soft smacking sound clued Merlin in on the fact that Cyran was tasting her, but she couldn’t turn to see with his grip in her hair like this.

The thought worked her up into even more of a frenzy. “You smug, smarmy, slimy jackass,” she spat. “I hate yo- ah!”

She was cut off once more as two of his long, dextrous fingers plunged inside of her, meeting little resistance. “No you don’t,” he quipped as he worked her. The added texture of the rings he refused to take off even now added something very different but very welcome to the sensation.

Merlin’s soft cries filled the thankfully soundproofed room as Cyran showed her just how good he could be with those soft hands of his. Adding a third finger, he punctuated each movement with a small tug of her hair. “Look at you…” he purred, voice thick with lust. “ The great Magister Merlin, coming undone by my hand.”

“I’m right where I want to be,” she retorted. “And you’re overdressed.”

Cyran withdrew his fingers from her, making Merlin practically howl with frustration. She’d been so close, and Cyran probably knew it. “I’m precisely as dressed as I want to be,” he said, but the clinking of metal and the rustling of fabric behind Merlin told her he was removing something at least. Finally, his hand left her hair and she turned her head to look at him just in time to watch him free himself with a relieved sigh. He’d clearly been just as worked up as she had been, judging by how hard he was. Merlin licked her lips at the sight, seeing that Cyran’s hands weren’t the only large part of him.

He’d removed only just enough of his clothing to free himself, the rest of his voluminous robes still in place, albeit disheveled. She too was still mostly dressed, Lyceum uniform she wore as a disguise still fully on her with only her smalls missing. This went along with many of the ‘dreams’ she’d had, where they’d done a myriad of carnal activities while still mostly clothed. Cyran noticed her noticing, and smirked with satisfaction. “Now do you see why I was so intent on preparing you?” Merlin blushed, looking away from him again. “I don’t have all day,” she huffed.

“Now now, you need to be patient, Merlin. Your haste has always been your weakness, you know.” He lined up with her and began to push into her agonizingly slow.

Moaning, Merlin rested her head on the cool wooden surface of the desk as Cyran filled her. The stretch felt right, familiar in ways she didn’t recognize consciously. When he’d finally hilted inside her, his hand threaded right back into her hair and pulled as he gave a test thrust. Merlin clenched down on him with a yelp and he groaned right back. “Lovely, just divine,” he gasped.

He started a brutal pace, pulling her up so her back was almost flush with his chest as he took her roughly from behind. “You drive me to madness,” he growled. “It’s been so long, and no one I’ve bedded since has ever come close.” The words spilled from his lips as he kept going.

“I’m that good, huh?” she said with a cocky smirk that earned her a punishingly hard thrust in response. “Missed me that badly?”

“Still so mouthy. You say all these things, but I’ve got you right where I want you. I finally have the upper hand, after all these years” he snarled as he went faster.

Each thrust pulled a sharp cry from Merlin as he mercilessly took his pleasure from her. It delighted her, thrilled her in ways she’d never felt before. (Or at least, nothing she could remember feeling.)

“I already told you, I’m exactly where I want to be. Now take me like you mean it.”

He pinned her down, doubling his pace. “You’ve wanted me ever since we met again. The way you looked at me that night as we danced…” he panted between thrusts. “You think you’re so powerful but you’re every bit as human as the rest of us, controlled by your carnal desires.”

“So what if - ah! - So what if I do? You want me too, wouldn’t have me like this if you didn’t,” she retorted. “Pot and kettle, Cyran.” His hips stuttered as it became clear he was nearing his peak. “My name, say it again. I want to hear you.” His hand came around and teased her clit with his expert fingers, using techniques that were new to her but old hat to him. “Cyran…”

The sound of skin against skin mixed with lustful pants was the only sound in the room save for their voices. “Louder,” he growled. “C-Cyran!”

That pushed him over the edge as he spilled into her with a growl, making sure to bring her to climax shortly after. 

(He may have been many awful, evil things, but a bad lay was not one.)

Merlin slumped bonelessly onto the desk as her climax finally ebbed. Sated and spent, she winced as Cyran pulled out of her and his release dripped down her leg. Those soft, strong hands of his picked her up and carried her over to the couch in his temporary office.

There, he half-sat and half-laid as he pulled her into his lap, breaths finally coming at a near normal pace once more.

For a moment, they laid there in the afterglow, Cyran playing with Merlin’s hair. It was a sharp contrast to how roughly he’d been pulling it during the act. It seemed he’d calmed down a little after that, and Merlin idly wondered how pent up he must have been as she basked in his uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Come back with me to Savannah,” he said finally. “Join the royal court and serve the king alongside me. The Lightbearer Empire would be better for your presence, your power.” Merlin shook her head softly, sadly. “You know I can’t do that, Cyran. My duty is to the Arcane Council, to the people of Esperia.” Cyran sighed, disappointed. “Somehow I knew you would say that. Your talents are wasted on the rabble.”

“Says the man who’s double dealing with both the court and the Syndicate,” she retorted, but she was too exhausted to manage actual malice with her words. “Just what is it you’re planning, Cyran?”

With a dark chuckle that made Merlin’s heart skip a beat, Cyran tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "If you truly wish to learn more about what I want... I guess we will have to continue this conversation another time."

“Implying there’s a next time,” she teased, all the while her chest filling with the hope of having another encounter even half as intense as this one. “Now that the exam is done, you’ll need to head back to Savannah. I’m sure the place is falling apart without you fussing over everything.”

Cyran smirked in that damnable way that never failed to fluster Merlin. “Mm, you’re right about that. None of the other court mages can work their way out of a paper bag, let alone run the court in my absence. I suppose that means I’ll just have to give them more paperwork when I get back.” Merlin smiled at him, her first genuine smile to him in what must have been more than twenty years. “I have the feeling we’ll see each other again soon enough. Don’t be too harsh on Cassadee,” she said, reluctantly extricating herself from Cyran’s embrace. It was getting late, and she needed to get back to the library and slip into the lounge quietly before Contess caught her and asked too many questions about her current state.

Cyran caught her hand in his, bringing it to his lips in a soft kiss that left Merlin blushing just a little. “That depends on whether or not she listens to me. Now go on, I’m certain they’re missing the hero of the hour out there.”

“No, too tired. I’ve signed so many autographs today,” Merlin said with a huff as she stretched and retrieved her abandoned smalls from in front of Cyran’s desk. She could feel Cyran’s eyes on her as she stretched and bent, and she shot him a wink and a smirk that was very much reminiscent of the one he liked to give her.

Cyran scowled. “How very humble you are,” he said, watching her backside as she crossed to the door. “You may be high and mighty now, but just you wait…”

Merlin snorted as she pulled open the door. “You wish. See you later, Cyran,” she replied, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

With a soft sigh, Cyran laid down fully on the couch, already feeling the absence of Merlin. Twenty years he’d waited, and she’d slipped from his grasp once more.

But that was alright, because he had a plan in motion already to bring her back to his side once more.