Pairing: Julian x Petrus (AFAB male apprentice)
Description: They get it on in the captain’s cabin while in Death’s realm. More D/s than in the canon scene, but still pretty light. Otherwise this would have taken me a million more years to write.
Warning: If you are an AFAB person who is uncomfortable or triggered by penetration, be careful or skip this one. The description and words used are reflective of how he views himself, but in general he has very little, if any, bottom dysphoria.
This is long, so most of it is below the cut.
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On the sloop’s deck, breathing in the salt sea air, the fight of our lives seems far away. Julian stands before me still in his costume, mask discarded. A grandiose, gold-trimmed and feathered pirate hat rests in his hands. He looks a bit flushed, sheepish. He’s never been shy about wanting me to take the lead on anything, but the so-far unspoken request seems to fluster him. I can’t keep myself from grinning.
“May I, Captain?” he asks, hopeful. I nod and he places the hat atop my head, tilting it one way and another until satisfied. His flush deepens as his hands withdraw. A pleasurable sound rumbles in his chest. “Why, looking like that, I’d follow you anywhere.”
My grin spreads into a smile. “Then maybe you should.” Without waiting, I head below deck and into the captain’s quarters. All the treasures and finer comforts stored within, I wonder if the room might be better suited to a galleon. The small dining table groans under the weight of food placed upon it, so full I barely notice the couch behind and to the side. Even in the magical realms, my stomach growls.
After crossing the distance, I take a seat on the couch’s far side. I reach behind me and adjust the pillows to my comfort. Hearing no footsteps, I look up. Julian is standing in the doorway, flushed as before, watching me with parted lips. He seems tense, muscles poised to respond.
“Still following?”
The words barely leave my lips before Julian scrambles to me. He drops to his knees, sitting on his lean calves at my feet and looking anywhere but up. He stumbles over his words. “Is—Am I doing this right?”
“You’re doing wonderful, Julian,” I reply, touching a finger to bottom of his chin and lifting. “Though you should look at your captain when he’s speaking to you.” Immediately he complies. His eyes are glazed with heady desire. Even the angry red sclera, the reminder of our shared tragedy, tempts me. A different hunger nestles in the pit of my stomach.
I pull my finger from his chin and survey the banquet beside us. My gaze settles on a nearby bowl of strawberries. I take the most generous one. “Care for a bite?”
“Please, Captain.”
I hold it out for him. He meets me halfway, pulling himself up to kneel. I tease his parted lips with the edge of the strawberry, smirking as he tries to follow it. “So greedy,” I purr before letting his lips close around the fruit. I swallow thick, watching how they work around its flesh. A small groan escapes his throat, and my breath catches. Warmth settles and pulses between my legs. I pull what remains of the strawberry away and discard it.
Once Julian is finished, I hold his chin, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip still slick with juice. I feel his breath hitch under my touch. My eyelids grow heavy. I exhale, swearing. “I think I’d like to have a little fun before we dig in. Would that be okay, darling?”
He sputters, struggling to grin. “I’d like nothing more.”
“Good.” My hand at his chin moves to fist the back of his hair. I yank his head back. Julian cries out, a sweet mix of pleasure and pain, and I swear it’s the most beautiful sound in the world. My lips crush against his. He returns the kiss, sloppy and desperate, offering up every little noise. Those little noises vibrate against my lips and tongue, emboldening me further. When I pull back, I inspect the light swelling in his lips. It takes everything in my power not to give in again.
Instead I guide him to expose the side of his neck. I pepper his jaw with kisses until I reach the shell of his ear. My lips linger under and behind it. “Any requests? We haven’t talked much about discipline, but… something else?”
Julian whimpers, leaning into me. “Whatever you want. Please, I’ll do anything.”
I hum as if considering my options, wanting to hold him in suspense a moment longer. “We’ll keep it simple, then. Don’t want you returning too exhausted.” After planting a kiss on his neck, I pull away. I look around the cabin to find an alcove of pillows and blankets, long enough for Julian to lie on. “Go undress and kneel in front of the bed. I’ll be right behind you.”
While Julian does as he’s told, I follow slowly, working at the buttons and clasps holding my costume together. I notice they seem to be in places all too convenient. Easy access for myself and one other particular person. No doubt one of Nadia’s more personal design touches. I manage to conjure up a polite amount of shame, and make a note to thank her later. Passing a hook on the wall, I hang my hat up. It’ll just get in the way.
Julian is naked from the waist up when I approach. His thigh high boots also have been shucked off, though he fumbles with his belt. His hands, which have performed many a precise surgery for my instruction, tremble. Gently I place my own hands over his. He looks at me as if he’s been caught.
“Relax,” I say. “Let me help.”
I look down and brush my thumbs over his steadying fingers. He relents and instead busies himself another way. Calloused hands travel along my shoulders as I make quick work of his belt. Were it any other occasion, I would tell him to wait for permission. But the familiar outline of his arousal distracts me. My every clear sense halts.
“Captain?”
I look up and this time he’s the one smirking. As revenge, I palm the length of him through his trousers. With a short yelping moan, he’s put in his place. “You know, one day I might cease to be amazed at how handsome you are.” I reach up with my free hand and pull him down for a brief kiss. “Or what a fantastic dick you have.”
His reply is half breathless, mumbled against my lips.“With respect, I hope not.” One brief kiss becomes two, then three, then a fevered series. My mind blanks. My dick throbs, impatient for contact. Again I fist the back of his hair and tug, regaining control. Our lips smack as they’re forced apart.
Julian groans, suffering and needy. “Fuck. Please--”
“I was planning on it.” I grin, finally freeing him of his clothes. “Lie down on your back.”
I watch Julian as he passes me. He lies down as instructed, propping himself up with a few stray pillows. His dick rests pink and leaking against the coarse hair on his stomach. He already knows what I’m asking for. I waste no time straddling him, hands planted on his chest to hold myself up. At his side, I see his fingers twitch. My lips again find the sensitive spot behind his ear, and I murmur into it. “You can touch me.” He exhales a relieved sigh, reaches until his fingers find purchase on my hips. Firm, but without guidance.
My hand reaches between us to guide him inside me. My hips tremble with anticipation even before they begin to sink. The moment I stretch around him, my arm gives out and my face drops into the crook of his neck. I moan long and loud until there’s nothing left to fill me. Julian’s chest heaves, panting beneath mine. My hands roam his torso. My every nerve is alight, buzzing. My hips tilt, grinding into his for any friction I can get. When the tip of my dick brushes his skin, I clench hard around him. He gasps.
My hips move into a slow rhythm, if only to enjoy this a little longer. Julian, though, is no help. He announces his pleasure with every thrust, exhaling in short, sharp moans. Every sound, every bead of sweat urges me onward. I want him to know how good he feels, how many nights, mornings, and afternoons I want to spend doing just this. Yet I can remember no words I’ve ever spoken. I settle for groaning instead.
Quickly my core grows warmer and wetter. My every muscle tenses around him. I freeze, holding my breath, and the pleasure hits me all at once. I moan hard against his skin, keening as my hips slow. I feel him twitch inside me. He squeezes my hip – warning me. I gather enough strength to pull off from him and take his dick into my hand. He coats my fingers within a few strokes. We lean in at near the same time, kissing breathless and sloppy.
Once the kiss breaks, Julian flops back against the pillows. His red curls are plastered to his forehead. “Unforgettable performance as always, my dear,” he says, grinning weakly.
I clean my hand with a nearby cloth before settling against his chest. “Just wait until that goat is dealt with.”
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Anatole’s type of language magic is related with incantation and omniligualism. From a character building standpoint it relates with his element being light, due to the common associations of light and logos/logic/thinking. He is particularly good at manipulating light as an element, incantations — the verbal and the written down kind — and picks up languages at a faster rate than the average person.
Words are important to him, and words said without intention is not something he enjoys. He often means what he says, and as a little sub-product of having this kind of magic particularly developed, his own words when said with truth and intention, tend to stick a little more, or have repercussions in the space he’s occupying.
What Is It: An extension to the paid scene in Laying Low. What began as a lemony idea turned to a mixture of mild lemon and a little angst bc it’s Julian. After such a long writing slump, it didn’t turn out so bad AND it’s my first attempt in actual decades to write in 1st person POV.
Petrus is my apprentice, and he’s a short trans man. Most of the writing is under the cut.
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The moment Julian's lips touch mine, glossed with Mazelinka's pep-up soup, my eyes close. My fingers begin to drag down his chest, warming skin and rustling fabric. His kiss is soft, lingering. Everything I want and not nearly enough. Eager lips part as the tip of my tongue explores, a needy groan rumbling at the back of his throat. With the sound comes a sudden dull pain at the base of my skull, like the beginnings of a headache – a memory. My logical mind marvels and despairs at the timing, but my body pursues desire.
Julian breaks the kiss first. He shuffles back only enough to lie down and urge me atop him. With an odd practiced ease, I straddle his waist. I look down at him from my perch, study his wide-blown pupil and the flush tingeing his sharp features. In this moment, nothing in the world is more beautiful. Yet the moment is again marred by dull pain. It blooms from the same place, and with it blooms a deep, too-intimate longing in my chest. I kiss him harder.
Despite or perhaps due to the distraction, a memory forms clear in my mind’s eye. Our actions are the same. I’m still astride him, kissing him breathless. When I break for air, though, Julian’s eyes are closed – both uncovered. His face is fuller, healthier. Fading purple bruises litter his chest and shoulders. Coarse red curls fall damp away from his forehead. He laughs, blissful and unrestrained. Then his eyes open, casting their stormy affection up at me.
My heart shatters.
“Petrus?” My focus snaps to attention at sound of my name. Julian has one eye again, staring worried at mine in the dim light. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?” He sits upright, and I move back to adjust.
I try to inject a little humor, but it dies in my throat. “No, you did everything right. I just,” I trail off, looking away as though I’ll find my words there. I wait a moment before looking back. “I remember you.”
“You--” Realization dawns on Julian’s face. “You’re missing memories?”
I nod, occupying my hands with idle touch. “Many. Apparently ours among them.”
He huffs a mirthless laugh, looking down wherever we touch. “That explains things, doesn’t it? Another person I’ve failed.” For the first time all evening, he withdraws from my touch. I follow his lead and lie down beside him.
“I don’t know about that. I must have liked you just fine to bite you so much.”
“Ah, but how long did that last?” he asks, wistful and bordering on condescension in his eagerness to hate himself. “And how long will it this time?” He punctuates the question with a yawn, finally giving the soup room to work.
I mirror his yawn with my own, turning onto my side and maintaining a safe distance. “I hope we get to find out.”
Yet another homage to @savenkey‘s Didney edits. My apprentice, Petrus! I’m not a visual artist, so this took a lot longer and a lot more effort than I wanted. But, I like the result regardless.
Thanks to @samusisagirl for tagging me! Currently working on a rewrite of Julian’s paid scene in Death’s realm, with approximately 300% more D/s dynamics.
“May I, Captain?” he asks, hopeful. I nod and he places the hat atop my head, tilting it one way and another until satisfied. His flush deepens as his hands withdraw. A satisfied sound rumbles in his chest. “Why, looking like that, I’d follow you anywhere.”
My grin spreads into a smile. “Then maybe you should.”
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I missed WIP Wednesday with a huge creative block and a migraine, but today I have something promising to make up for it. I know the general direction I want it to go in (beyond lemony fresh), but the details aren’t quite there yet.
This WIP features my apprentice Petrus (@apprenticepetrus) and Julian during the Laying Low scene. Not lemony yet, but the finished piece will get there.
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The moment Julian's lips touch mine, glossed with Mazelinka's pep-up soup, my eyes close. My fingers begin to drag down his chest, warming skin and rustling fabric. His kiss is soft, lingering. Everything I want and not nearly enough. Eager lips part as the tip of my tongue explores, a soft groan rumbling at the back of his throat. With the sound comes a sudden but dull pain at the base of my skull, like the beginnings of a tension headache – a memory. My logical mind marvels and despairs at the timing, but my body continues pursuing its desire regardless.
This is a lot of WIP to share at once compared to when @samusisagirl tagged me. But also consider fuck you I do what I want.
It’s rare I’m almost proud of things, and I like this particular section. Also, it’s a lemon.
I pull my finger from his chin and survey the banquet beside us. My gaze settles on a nearby bowl of strawberries. I take the most generous one. “Care for a bite?”
“Please, Captain.”
I hold it out for him. He meets me halfway, pulling himself up to kneel. I tease his parted lips with the edge of the strawberry, smirking as he tries to follow it. “So greedy,” I purr before letting his lips close around the fruit. I swallow thick, watching how they work around its flesh. A small groan escapes his throat, and my breath catches. Warmth settles and pulses between my legs. I pull what remains of the strawberry away and discard it.
Once Julian is finished, I hold his chin, brushing my thumb over his bottom lip still slick with juice. I feel his breath hitch under my touch. My eyelids grow heavy. I exhale, swearing, and pull my thumb away. “I think I’d like to have a little fun before we dig in. Would that be okay, darling?”
He sputters, struggling to grin. “I’d like nothing more.”
@samusdraws didn’t tag me, but I figured I’d join in.
I’m on a hiatus for a massive case of creative burnout. So instead of sharing a WIP, I’ll share one of my favorite parts from a finished piece: A Fool’s Errand, Chapter 2, featuring Asra and Petrus. Co-written with @abbeysnail
I tag, uhhh... @arcana-dumpsterfire and @thephoenixmagician
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He laughs, though something else sparkles in his eye. "Trade me places,” he commands low and soft.
His face grows hot, but he remains skeptical. His eyes squinted into Asra’s as he replaces him against the rock.
"That's better." His dominant voice carries an airy quality. He runs a finger under Petrus' chin, tilting it up. Asra leans in, brushing their lips together. Petrus exhales through his nose, leaning into Asra's lightest touch. He keeps otherwise quiet and still, but the way his eyelids grow heavy, he seems to agree. Asra runs his fingers down Petrus's sides, resting neatly on his hips as he leans against him with the boulder stabilizing their weight.
Petrus runs his palms up Asra's back, pulling him flush. He returns to the soft brush of his lips, but makes no move to seal the gap. "You can hold tighter, if you'd like," he whispers low, shifting his hips to solidify the meaning.
"Hm. I wonder what you could mean." He gives a questionably innocent smile before pressing his himself against Petrus's hips.
Petrus breathes deep as though the movement has put a weight on his chest. A hum begins to rumble in his throat, but he swallows halfway through. No need to give him that much leverage quite yet. "Maybe I could give you a hint." His fingers curl and lightly scratch down Asra's back, his hips pushing off the boulder for a little more pressure.
Asra slowly slides down until he’s kneeling in the water before Petrus. His soft hands trail behind him, hand momentarily brushing his crotch before running down behind Petrus knees up his thighs to cup his ass. He pulls his hands from under Asra's shirt to let him sink, but follows anything he can reach. He sucks in a breath through his teeth at the strategic touch, warmth radiating between his legs as if on command. "All the way down there, hm?" It’s more an observation than a complaint, though there may also be a tinge of disappointment.
Asra looks up from under his white eyelashes lined in black. "You could always join me." With a glint in his eye, he grips the edge of Petrus' shirt, giving it a sharp tug. In his compromised state, his knees buckle easily and he plops into the water. The most confusing mixture of annoyance and amusement crosses his face until he finally smacks water at Asra in a wide arc.
"I knew it! I knew it and I fell for it anyway." Petrus didn't bother trying to get back up at first, heat stewing in his face.
