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The air in your room was hot and sticky, the smell of myrrh incense and lemon and spices simmering on the stovetop, agitated by the salamander, wafting through the upper floor of the shop. Asra was gone on a brief vacation with his reignited old flame, leaving you and Muriel to take care of it. You suspected the basket full of scented massage and bath oils, myrrh incense, and a dog-eared tome on “sensual” magic were his doing, an attempt to play wingperson that probably went a little too far (not that you were complaining).
Then again, you also suspected that the smell of myrrh that clung to the air, your hair, and your clothes were what drew Muriel into you, captivated as always, with a telltale glimmer of something soft yet passionate in his eyes. As usual, he asked for a kiss and it snowballed from there; your hand tangled into his hair, the gentle, welcome pressure of his lips against yours keeping you grounded. You were feeling it, you were aching at just the thought of his hands on your body, you were ready to take it further…and you were exhausted.
Traveling to the shop had taken a lot out of you, as had being Muriel’s makeshift sous chef and helping him with the dishes, and then the unpacking happened, then a quick bath...the day had had its way with you. Your partner, on the other hand, seemed to have no visible change in energy; he was something of a night owl anyway. The dark-haired man currently making himself right at home in the bed you used to share with your mutual friend moved his lips from your mouth to your neck, shivering a little and moaning against the skin there at the barest hint of your favorite perfume behind your ear.
“Hmm,” he mumbled, “you’re…you’re so….” Struggling for words, he opted instead to nuzzle his face into your neck, rubbing his thumb along your jawline. A tired half-laugh, half-sigh left you despite yourself.
“I think you’re ‘so…,’ too.” Imitating his tone of voice, you smile at him to let him know he’s safe to laugh at himself a little; so, he does. A few lazy kisses to his jaw and his neck, barely-there fingertips running under his linen shirt and over chest hair and skin and muscle...his breath hitched and his cheeks grew hot at every touch. And yet….
Still, you were tired. Tired and aroused--very aroused. Most of the time, you took the lead and were physically on top when you were intimate with your giant bottom of a boyfriend. He just felt more comfortable that way; being on top made him hyper-aware of every way he could accidentally injure you or make you uncomfortable.
He had only done it once early on, when you’d first started making things physical, and he’d stopped halfway through because he was barely comfortable being underneath you at that point. He claimed someday he might try it again, but it was a stretch to think that he would actually do it. Then again, it only took a joking suggestion for him to carry you to bed when you asked him; maybe, just maybe, he’d be willing to try it again….
The feeling of Muriel writhing a little underneath you, trying to make himself comfortable in spite of his arousal, brought you out of your head and into reality again, his hands resting dangerously close to your ass. Nothing could ever prepare you for how pretty he was when he wanted you; the red of his cheeks making his lovely green eyes seem even greener, his lips slightly parted, how much he clearly wanted to say something but could never quite find the right words--beautiful. And always, always, always eager to please. You cleared your throat.
“Muriel,” you purred, tracing gentle circles into his right pec. He swallowed the kind of potentially embarrassing noise that would shamelessly leave his mouth if he was in his own home.
“What.” He blurted out, confused and sounding a little ruder than intended.
“I’m exhausted,” you sighed, “and my legs hurt, but...I want you.”
The ravenous smile on your face that followed your frank admission of lust flustered him further, judging by the color of his cheeks growing deeper and the way he squirmed and avoided your gaze.
“What do you want me to…do?” An intense green gaze met yours, the brows above furrowed with uncertainty; despite his concern, he looked at you with nothing short of adoration as he waited for further instruction.
“I just want you to be on top this time,” you reached out to trace his jawline, “but only if you’re comfortable.”
Muriel thought about it for what felt like a very long time. But, eventually, he sighed and spoke up.
“If that’s what you want,” he mumbled, barely audible, before placing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“You can use the safe word if you want to stop,” you reminded him.
“You too,” he sighed, adding, “T-tell me what to do. Please.”
Huh, you thought. Not only was that easier than you’d imagined it would be, but he was also kind of eager to be told what to do. He did have a thing for service, it seemed. A smile crept onto your face, the only outward sign of how genuinely excited you were.
Your hands made quick work of unbuttoning and removing his shirt, revealing a vast expanse of bare skin and dark hair that you immediately covered in feather-light kisses. Muriel shuddered as the kisses deepened, and as your fingertips traced his abs. His nose nuzzled into your neck as he kissed there, nervously taking the fabric of your shirt into his fingers. Pulling away, he searched for approval, instruction--something telling him where to go next.
“You can take it off if you want,” you said, working your fingers into his hair.
He sighed in pleasure, closing his eyes to enjoy his hair being played with; after a minute or two passed, he opened them, a blissful, faraway look in his eyes. He took the hand in his hair into his own, moving it to his lips for a brief kiss to your knuckles, mumbling an “alright” before letting your hand go.
Warm hands removed your shirt, gentle lips pressing into the middle of your chest, working down your stomach and back up again, ending with a slow, languid kiss on your lips. A tentative lick to your lower lip, and you allowed him in, letting him taste you as your hands undid the buttons of your trousers and his. He held you close to him, chest to chest, enjoying the comfortable weight of you in his lap before remembering what you had asked for.
Muriel gave your hips a brief squeeze before wrapping his arms around your waist, gently laying you down beside him on the overstuffed mattress. Relieved, you stretched your limbs out, letting your muscles and joints relax. You felt Muriel’s gaze on you again, hovering over you hesitantly as he took in the sight of you nearly melting into the cotton sheets. His hands reached your waistband, and your hands reached his; in a matter of minutes, you were both nude.
You reached a hand out to touch the walls, familiar spell work washing over the whole building with “don’t mind me” magic, before putting up a barrier spell to make sure you and Muriel would both be protected. As you worked, Muriel picked up a bottle of warmed lubricant and coated his hand with it, and then his erection. Another generous pour, and he slowly, carefully prepped you with his fingers, his lips never leaving your neck and collarbone. With his free hand, he stroked the side of your thighs and torso, occasionally stopping to give your chest and nipples some attention.
Eventually, he straddled your hips, lowering his upper body until he rested on his forearms on top of you. Another long kiss to your lips, and he pulled away, an adoring but slightly concerned look on his face.
“Do you want me to…?” He avoided your gaze, gesturing vaguely at his genitals and yours. Talking about specific acts was still difficult, and he turned up his nose at the ugliness of most turns of phrase about sex and genitalia in general. You got the gist of things, though, chuckling a little.
“I’m ready when you are,” you told him, a hand resting on his cheek, “there’s no rush.”
Dark hair and warm breath tickled your neck as he entered you slowly, easing in little by little, as you guided him along and encouraged him. Once sheathed inside you, he paused for a moment, giving both of you a chance to catch your breath and get reacquainted with that particular kind of contact.
“How does it feel?” You asked him, hands resting gently on his shoulders.
“I-it feels…” he paused, “you feel….” His sentence trailed off as he searched for the right word to describe the indescribable.
“Incredible.” Finally, he found the word he was looking for and you shivered at the compliment. He kissed your forehead gently, slowly rolling his hips as he tried to find a motion that felt natural to him, angling himself so he could give you the friction you so craved.
As always, Muriel was slow, quiet, meticulous. Hyper-awareness of every reaction you gave him prevented him from doing too much too fast. It was almost meditative, the gentle ebb and flow of his body connecting with yours. There was no clear thrusting so much as a rocking motion, circular and steady. His face found your neck again, hot breath tickling your ear as he hissed barely-audible swears at the sensation of you around and under him. Whispered instructions and praises erased any hint of uncertainty; he felt wanted and, most importantly, he felt safe.
“Hmm, you’re so good to me~” you sighed into his ear, feeling him tense up in an act of immense self-control. A strangled moan escaped him as he struggled not to finish before you.
“S-stop being so nice,” he joked, cheeks a flaming scarlet, adding, “I...I want you to finish--to finish first.”
It makes you laugh, a light-hearted chuckle, before you crane your neck just slightly to kiss his nose.
“That’s not gonna stop me from being nice,” you grinned, watching the corners of his mouth rise a little.
“Guess I’ll have to work harder,” he deadpanned, pressing his forehead to yours.
“You have two hands,” you deadpanned back, earning a snort from him.
Muriel took a deep breath and reached for the bottle of lube again, coating his fingers in it. Slick fingertips rubbed gentle circles around your clit as he began to move again, at the same glacial pace as before. One hand tangled in his hair as the other squeezed his shoulder. Heat and pressure began to build inside you, the familiar ache of heightening tension before sweet, sweet relief.
“Muri,” you moaned into his ear, “I’m so--fuck--I’m so close, keep going.”
Once again he struggled not to come, hands gripping the sheets. Past the point of words, he moaned affirmatively and kept at it, slowly building delicious friction further and further. If he sped up, it was hardly noticeable; you liked what he was doing and, he figured, he should keep doing it until you asked otherwise. It felt too good to ruin what was happening with a sudden change of pace.
“I’m--I’m gonna--” The announcement of your orgasm was cut off as it hit you, subtly at first but then intensifying as he let you ride it out. Heat bloomed on your cheeks and chest as your legs tensed up, giving his hair a tug and his ass a squeeze.
“Fuck,” he hissed into your shoulder, still exercising self-control even as he felt you clench around him, felt your hand in his hair, felt you pull him closer as you writhed underneath him. You hadn’t told him to come yet.
“Muri,” you sighed, “you know you can come, right…?”
His forehead pressed to yours, he let himself go with a few quick breathy moans, your name slipping out among the noise a few times. The barrier spell you employed earlier kept him from leaving a sticky mess behind inside you; all you felt was a few twitches and some residual heat before his legs and forearms finally gave out, too tired to go on.
Muriel pulled out of you, reaching awkwardly for a damp cloth to clean off what would have been leaking out of you if you hadn’t made a barrier. He picked up a different cloth and quietly cleaned you off despite his newly depleted energy.
“You’re...alright? Nothing feels weird?” he looked you up and down, checking for a scratch or bruise that he might have caused by mistake. After a mental head-to-toe check-in with yourself, you pulled your boyfriend’s head to lay on your chest.
“Nothing at all,” you stated. “You, on the other hand….”
He laughed lightly, relaxing on top of you, one hand resting on one of the myriad pillows. A soft, adoring gaze met yours as he pressed another kiss to the center of your chest.
“What about me?” He teased, a tiny, pleased smile on his lips.
“I think you need to sleep.” Your fingertip traced a circular pattern onto his back and shoulder, taking care not to treat the scarred skin any differently than the rest of it. He yawned a little, nuzzling into your skin.
“I think you’re right,” he chuckled, closing his eyes. Just as you thought he was drifting off, his brow furrowed and he turned his head, seemingly having forgotten something.
“Love you,” he mumbled, nestling his head in a comfortable spot.
“Love you too,” you replied, gently running your fingernails over his scalp.
And with that, the day was over. Your own eyes closed not long after, sleeping peacefully into the night and well into the next morning.