tomorrow, then
→ magnus x afab!reader (implied but not described in detail) → 6.6k, 18+ mdni, hj and semi bj with mentions of other activities, sub magnus and dom reader → pre-heresy, magnus is on a journey to self-discovery after learning what his brothers get up to, he's also anxious and you're cute n kind to him
Your voice creeps in past his congratulatory thoughts. "Sorry, my Lord… service you?"
His heart feels like it’s in his mouth.
A string of curses meet him.
"I do apologise, my Lord." You bow your head slightly, and Magnus' heart sinks back into the depths of his chest as he prepares for his rejection. "Have I misunderstood what you mean by… servicing?"
Magnus doesn't answer quickly enough.
"Does my Lord mean… the service that one would go to a courtesan for?"
He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes. "Well, it… Yes. Yes."
You hum.
His heart thumps.
Magnus would have never let on once the true depths of his depravity. Not when he had an image to uphold. Especially not when some of his brothers already saw him as an outsider, someone who didn’t belong.
He recalled the time Leman drunkenly explained what he and his wolves did with the natives of Fenris who were willing participants. He’d frowned at the barbarity apparent in his actions and tried to pay attention to another conversation. Still, it seemed to be a hot topic of discussion on the rare occasion when so many of the Primarchs were together.
Horus has described in depth the actions of a pretty serf on the Vengeful Spirit, how they’d captured the heart of one of his coldest sons, and it intrigued him thoroughly. Sanguinius had even mentioned the pleasurable welcome back to Terra he had received as a gift from one of his admirers. Magnus could only shift in his seat at the time.
Ignoring feelings was easy for him. He had repressed it for so long that he no longer looked at another person and saw their beauty; instead, he considered their value and usefulness to him and his father’s cause.
Unfortunately, it was just repression, and that conversation at the time had undone years of careful training in his mind, re-weaving the binds of sexual appetite within him.
He’d returned to his private chamber with his cock hard that evening, dripping with pre as his mental fortitude broke completely. He stared at the ceiling for hours, recited the most boring parts of history, and conjured anything unrelated to him and his needs in his mind in an effort to stop it.
Unfortunately, for that night and many others going forward, will was too strong. The only relief he ever got was his own hand or a sculpted pillow that he'd stared at in complete regret afterwards. Even sorcery couldn't help him here.
Weeks it lasted, the quiet command for everyone to leave him, even Ahzek had grown curious of why Magnus needed so much time completely on his own. Excuses were given and curiosity was somewhat vanquished; frustrations directed at how unsatisfying his experiences were compared to what his brother's spoke of grew.
They'd have never ended without necessary intervention.
Magnus had settled on an older-looking tome nestled somewhere in the back of his old collection. His mind felt tired, scattered between all of his desires that seemed ever further apart in recent days. He skimmed the words written in a dull ink, stopping to reread words when he felt his mind slipping.
Throne, he wanted to feel the softest of hands around him, have a new warmth surrounding his burning tip, know the sounds he could make someone make as his fingers wrapped in their hair and he buried their face in the trimmed hairs of his crotch until they swallowed every drop of his come with their eyes never leaving his.
Concentration wasn't finding him, not when he had an ache at the bottom of his stomach begging to be fixed. Almost like a demon within, fighting for just the smallest taste; Magnus was concerned that if he gave in to his temptations, he'd fall further and never recover. This wasn't about being virtuous, this was about his own sanity. Magnus had a proclivity to invest far too much emotion into anything.
More words pass, and his mind wanders again.
His hands gripping the pressed sheet beneath him so tightly he'd ripped it, breath evading him as he rocked his hips into the air, fucking absolutely nothing yet coming so hard with his lips covered in the sweetest of nectars and their legs holding him down.
Magnus' eyes raise from the book. The thought alone has his cock growing beneath his robes. He lets the pages slip from his fingers as he lets the scene play out in his head. Something new, unexpected, submissive.
His thighs clench. He can picture it so clearly. Slipping his tongue inside, hands grasping thighs, his moans lost entirely to all but vibrations to feel a release all down to him. He shudders. Was it so much to want to be told how well he had done and rewarded for it, too? His brothers never spoke of it, no one spoke of anything like it.
The book is closed, unsurprisingly, with a hard thud. Though he gently places it down on the table behind him, the door doesn't get such nice treatment; he slams it a little too hard for anyone nearby to not poke their head out and see what the primarch has been agitated by this time.
All they would have seen was his figure moving unnervingly fast down the hallways.
In search of something in particular?
Always.
The sweet-looking angel who seemingly followed Ahzek around everywhere recently.
A little smile that slipped through when Ahzek was talking, Magnus recalled it perfectly, with hands that shook from being in the vicinity of someone that important, and eyes that never actually tried to meet another’s.
Magnus had pushed the memory from the depths of his mind before. Told himself it was a lack of contact with someone who captured his desires in appearance alone, or that he mistook them for something due to the lasting effects of whatever sorcery he had practised that day, or… something rational.
Because the last time he’d made himself come in agonising silence, his mind had started to form into the same shaking, delicate hand right before him.
He panicked, woke himself from whatever lust-induced daze he’d fallen into, and carried on with his private session like it was a task made just to get him through the day. A mistake, he now realised.
His own justification was that if his brothers were indulging in these activities, if Sanguinius especially had partaken in something to fulfil a deep-seated fantasy, then it must be normal. Better yet, it must be a good thing. Something he should be partaking in and, more than anything, enjoying.
The thought lingers in his mind as he pushes the large door open with a hefty swing. He clenches his jaw as the doors thump against the walls, gathering far more attention than he had originally wanted. Of course, everyone in the room would drop to serve him the second they realised it wasn't someone in over their head storming about the sacred walls, especially feeling his presence as he neared. Not that he noticed, his focus was towards the back of the room anyway.
On those modest, coruscating eyes that were haunting his thoughts every single minute that passed without having them serving only him. Spotted between the shelves, wide and somewhat fearful, unable to look away and bow like they were meant to for someone of his standing. Not that he had cared.
He's not sure what's said in the strides he takes to the back of the room. The room was emptied by the time he regained his senses, lost in a silently given command to not move in a far more authoritative voice than he meant for it to be.
You wouldn't have moved anyway.
You would have stayed put without even so much as breathing as the Primarch of the Fifteenth approached you with his skin ablaze and gaze refusing to move to anything else. In truth, he felt bad for making you look like you were torn between throwing up, crying, or dropping to your knees and apologising for whatever you had done to make him personally find you.
Nothing to apologise for, you'd soon find out, because you'd never actually done anything.
And now Magnus was here before you, he had no idea what to actually say.
"I sincerely apologise for this interruption," Magnus starts, hoping it may quell some of your obvious worry. It does little in aid, much to his annoyance. "My sons have spoken highly of you, and I wished to thank you personally."
It was an obvious lie on both parts. He tries to offer a smile, but you still look like you may combust at any given moment. He decides a hand on your shoulder would probably not help, so instead he takes a step back to alleviate something.
"I have..." Magnus stops himself, looking down to the ground and sucking in a breath to force one more small opportunity to back out. He doesn't take it. He's too close; painfully hard. If you could take your eyes away, you'd probably have noticed. "...a request to make of you."
Your thoughts must catch up to you a few seconds later when you bow your head, nodding repeatedly. "Of course, my Lord."
"Let me take you somewhere private," Magnus tells you. He steps away with the expectation you'll follow. Thankfully, you can't feel how his cheeks burn or his mind tells him to lock himself away and never speak to another being again. He can feel how your heart races to far over 120 beats per minute, though, and it makes him feel worse. He turns back to you over his shoulder. "This is so I can explain. I will, of course, need you to agree to the task that I am offering. It's nothing too much, but you... You must be agreeable."
If he could take back the past 10 minutes, he would, but his mastery hasn’t yet allowed him proficiency in chronomancy.
He takes you to a quiet room. Not his private chamber, or personal study, or anything that one would usually have found him in. Through fear of being caught, perhaps, but equally through his concern for your wellbeing upon seeing so much of him so quickly. He would ease you in gently.
The room, far away from anywhere a reasonable person would be at this hour, is one he recalled being mentioned as needing refurbishing and to be remodelled at some point in the near future. As such, the old leather armchairs and a love seat remained from the scholars who once used this room.
He invites you to sit in one of the armchairs, waiting for you to be seated before taking his place on the love seat. His shame, unfortunately, returned on meeting your eyes once more.
"I apologise for asking you this," he starts, intending to force the words out before you could speak again. Unfortunately, again, he looks up from the floor too quickly, and your doe-like eyes, scared to displease him, stop him one more time. "I… believe that…"
"There is no need to apologise, my Lord," you tell him, "please do not apologise."
You haven't heard what he has to say yet.
"Thank you." Magnus leans forward, hands clasped together, forehead and cheeks starting to feel unusually warm. He clears his throat before continuing. "You must understand, this is not a usual request, but I do not know of anyone else I could ask."
He's making this far worse by talking.
He waits for your nod, which comes with a slight furrow of your brows. He tries his very best not to stumble over his own words again. "I would very much like for you to… service me."
Adequate, he thinks, it was how Fulgrim had phrased it one time when they were discussing his recent activities.
Your voice creeps in past his congratulatory thoughts. "Sorry, my Lord… service you?"
His heart feels like it’s in his mouth.
A string of curses meet him.
"Yes," he answers, a polite smile gracing the curves of his lips. He'd feign his confidence, which usually worked. "I will ensure you are compensated if you agree and… and please be sure it will be no reflection onto you if you decline because I do understand the implications this can bring and that being in my presence may cause you more harm than initially anticipated so please do not think you must accept, so I… I understand entirely if you decline."
Magnus finishes his string of words with a quick inhale and a sheepish smile. It was sometimes a gift to have skin like his. Much easier to hide his true feelings. Especially when you look back at him with parted lips and no evident answer.
Magnus knows he needs to shut up sometimes, but he never can.
"But… But I did hope you would accept," he adds, a poorly disguised truth in his eyes, "I… uhm… wanted you, specifically."
You still haven't moved. Was it that obvious it was far more than just hope?
"I do apologise, my Lord." You bow your head slightly, and Magnus' heart sinks back into the depths of his chest as he prepares for his rejection. "Have I misunderstood what you mean by… servicing?"
Magnus doesn't answer quickly enough.
"Does my Lord mean… the service that one would go to a courtesan for?"
He clears his throat, avoiding your eyes. "Well, it… Yes. Yes."
You hum.
His heart thumps.
When you look back at him, half of him wants to reverse time to prevent this whole conversation from ever occurring, and the other half wants to go back in time to kill his brothers before they ever started him on this depraved path of self-fulfilment and stupidity.
Most of him felt similar to the very human feeling of wanting to throw up.
His gaze flickers between you and the floor. He can feel your mind processing everything, ignoring it felt impossible, until it seemed to stop. He looks back at you, stopping to wait for your answer.
"Of course, my Lord," you answer, "I am… agreeable."
Magnus hums. "You do not just give me the answer I wish to hear?"
"No, my Lord," you answer, simply.
"You want to partake in this?"
"Yes, my Lord."
“You are sure?” He confirms a final time. If he hadn’t sounded timorous before, he did now. “I promise you it will not affect your standing or negatively impact you if you decline. Truly. I swear it on all that is sacred to me.”
Magnus pauses again to watch, eager to catch a hint of hesitation laced in your expression. Somewhere within his conversations, he had heard of others being taken advantage of, and he wanted to be sure that was not the case here. In fact, he recalled how a story had passed on, gossip if you will, of how some of the Eighth treated their serfs and remembrancers. The truth behind it was unknown, but knowing his brother’s mediocre handling of his legion, could it have been so untrue?
He digresses.
“I want to,” you repeat to him, nodding as you shift forward slightly in your seat. Magnus studies you like the world depended on it; actions misunderstood as you slouch back slightly and struggle to look near him again. “I… I would like to… My Lord."
He’s not sure why he laughs, but your timid muttering of my Lord seemed ironic given what he was about to ask of you. “Please do not call me that.”
“Then what shall I call you?” You ask, your bottom lip pulled between your teeth inside your mouth.
Throne, your lips looked so soft, he could practically feel your warm mouth around his aching cock already. His tip nestled in against the back of your mouth as you choked around him and dragged your soft hands over his thighs and begged him for more. Then he’d feel how warm you truly were, he’d ease you open with one finger, no, no, two fingers slowly, then a third so you were ready for him to feel you throb around his cock and beg him for more, and then he could turn over and let you bounce on his cock and tell him to be a good boy and beg you to let him come until…
Reality strikes him with a shiver down his spine. You’re still watching him intently, like he was meant to answer. Would you even fit all of him inside you? You must be able to if his brothers were doing this. Perhaps he would need to amend his body in a different way so you could… Oh, he was meant to be answering you. Where was he? What to call him…
“Magnus,” he tells you. He’s unsure it’s the right response, and it carries very hard in his voice. He tries to laugh it off. “You cannot call me Lord when you’re…”
He stops himself.
You stare blankly at him.
He can’t finish his sentence.
When you’re what, Magnus?
“When you’re…” his mouth felt incredibly dry as he couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. He knows exactly what he wants from you, but saying it feels wrong. Like a secret he was never meant to share, or a hidden exploit in his father’s greatest creation. “Well, when we are to have a relationship of this sort, I mean.”
You nod, still uneasy.
Magnus’ mind doesn’t seem to rest. “When I say relationship, I mean the dynamic between us, of course. Because you will be more than others who hold the same rank as you, and we would not see each other as one typically would. You will come to know me in a far different way than others, and I suppose that means I will know you in a different way, too. A better way. More personal.”
It’s about then he realises he didn’t even ask your name.
He could ask, or he could find out at some point and avoid the awkwardness of asking for the name of someone he had asked to service him. Like he’s a car. Or a Primarch so desperately in need of release he can’t even get a whole sentence out coherently anymore.
“I look forward to it, my…” You stop yourself as Magnus’ attention diverts back to you. A sheepish smile appears as you push your hair back behind your ear. “…Magnus.”
He grins at you. “Perfect! Formal introductions over then, shall we begin?”
Judging by the look on your face, you were not expecting that.
“No point delaying what we both want,” Magnus tells you, “unless of course you have changed your mind, which is fine, if you were unsure.”
You shake your head. “I haven’t. But I would just query… your expectations?”
“Oh.” Magnus hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Anything. Everything.”
“Everything?”
Magnus hums. “I would like to experience every sexual pleasure that exists in this world. I see it as important to understanding myself and the human kind better, and no doubt I can gain much knowledge from seeing the depths of what humans like, and don’t like, and what may be far out of the bounds for what’s normal.”
He surprises himself with how much he can just make up these days.
“Forgive me if this is too forward, but… would you not just wish to experience something for your own enjoyment?” you ask.
“Well,” Magnus stops himself from talking this time. Did he meet a kindred spirit? You knew his thoughts before he did. Or, his humanity before he did. “Yes. I would. You are right.”
You smile, gently, and shift forward on your seat. Magnus’ gaze shifts from your eyes to your lips, to your hands that he’d thought about before. He wasn’t trying to hide it, either. “What would bring you enjoyment now?”
“I hadn’t considered,” Magnus answers. More of a timely untruth to hide his enthusiasm. He brings his hand to his chin like he was considering, but he can already feel your doubt. You dip your head down as he hears the slightest chuckle. He's that obvious? Why should he be surprised. "What I believe would bring me enjoyment… What I know would bring me enjoyment is for you to make me, well, there is no gentler way to put this, is there. For you to make me, ahem, come."
You hum in response. "I had assumed. That is what one usually wishes to achieve."
"Of course." Magnus laughs softly, feeling the heat in his cheeks again. He looks away for a moment, as if conjuring the words from a conversation he'd had in the past once again. None make themselves known; he's on his own this time. He wasn't yet prepared to say exactly what he had been thinking about, either. "May I ask what you would suggest?"
It may have seemed like he had given you all the power in the universe for just a moment.
"My suggestion?" you repeat. He nods, encouragingly. "I suppose I would suggest… starting slow?"
Magnus nods. "Your hands?"
"My hands," you confirm, "just my hands?"
He stops himself from outright saying yes as the syllables reach his tongue. "Unless you think I should have more."
You nod once.
"What I mean is," Magnus tries to speak, stopping as he feels his chest thumping, "if I deserve more."
A perfect disguise for his tendencies. He must applaud himself later. He can see the smile creep onto your lips, which you try to disguise behind your fingers as you rub your cheek meaninglessly. "I understand."
"Good." Magnus lets his back relax a little, trying to make it feel less formal. "Shall we start?"
If ever there was a reason to throw him into the depths of the galaxy, this was it.
You're shy at first, not moving until whatever thoughts had processed in your mind finally start to fade. You peek at Magnus once, maybe a few more times through your lashes, he'd never miss that, before lowering yourself gently to your knees right between his own.
One of your hands reaches for his thigh. Magnus' gaze becomes even more intense as he follows your movements with such fervour that he may as well be committing even your breaths to memory. You're not shaking, you don't seem worried, but Magnus can feel your hesitation. Naturally occurring, he deciphers, because who wouldn't be terrified of someone like him being right there.
"You need to…"
Magnus drags himself back to you, brows raised slightly. He realises you're gesturing to his robes and feels stupid for not thinking of that before. "Right, of course."
He could try to look less innocent, really.
The robes of white and gold, concealing how desperate he was to feel your touch just beneath the thick sheets of material, are adjusted to come up to his waist, undergarments stripped away until his bare flesh remains.
It was never that Magnus was conscious of the body he sculpted, but under your eyes, it didn’t feel good enough; until he realised you were staring for just a little too long, captivated by his body in the ways that many had before. He vividly could recall a conversation where Fulgrim had explained that he was questioned about what primarchs kept beneath their clothes. Perhaps you were exploring those same thoughts.
"Please, continue," he tells you, breaking the silence and whatever train of thought you were holding. Not to push you, but he was already leaking from head of his cock. He was sure the inside of his garments had been soiled too. He shouldn't have carried on talking. "Please."
Whilst he curses himself for appearing so desperate, he's not sure if you notice it. You shuffle forward on your knees, prying his thighs apart slowly, until you're perched between in perfect view of the cock that was aching for you. To be touched, rather.
"You should put your head back," you tell him, voice soft against the silence that still looms, "just, relax."
Impossible for him.
But he does try.
He lies back, chest muscles still tight, his sight trained directly on you, regardless of where he is. He wanted to look when you first touched him, when he saw those hands wrap around him and make the very first movements. It's a marvel to him as he watches you look between your hands and his groin, then briefly around the room around you, then spit into the palm of your hand. He doesn’t understand at first, but then he feels it.
A fragile coldness to soothe his throbbing length. He gasps at the first touch, and though you pause in fear at the sound he makes, he urges you to carry on with a pained nod. "Please carry on."
You follow his instruction. One hand, not big enough to wrap around him completely, nor big enough to engulf his whole length, but enough to move one from the bottom to the top of his shaft. He shouldn't moan when he feels the pressure on his head, but he can't help it. It's involuntary, it's feral.
He'd never be able to go back to doing this on his own, if he closes his eyes, he doesn't know what's going to happen next and, throne, it feels like heaven wrapped into a tiny bite-sized piece, how is he going to survive ever having more than just your hand?
He lets his eyes fall shut at some point, lost in your movements, falling into the rhythm of your strokes and drinking in every sense like it was the sweetest nectar.
How is he going to survive you?
He takes a glance at you. He’d never considered a human to be beautiful before, not given the divinity he sat within, but you were exactly that. His head is leaning against the back of the loveseat, hair damp with sweat and stuck to him in the least comfortable of ways, yet he looks at you like you’d somehow become the answer to anything and everything he ever wanted.
His eyes close again when he meets your gaze. You slow down your pace, as if you were trying to check he was okay or just see what he was doing. Again, it's involuntary how his body responds, craving so much more, wanting to feel everything.
He rocks his hips once, then a second time, craving any more of your touch that he could bear. When he feels your fingertips on his hip, airy to the touch yet sinking straight to his bone, he whines.
“Be still,” you tell him, voice quiet yet commanding. He nods unceremoniously, eyes squeezed together as he steadies himself and tries so hard not to move again, even if his body willed him to fuck those pretty hands and give into desire. His efforts were never made in vain. “Good. Stay there. Be good for me.”
Oh, why did you have to say that and have him remember how badly he wanted to hear those words over and over until he knew nothing other than how to behave for you, only for you-
“You want to be good?” You question, this time not a tease. It was a discovery with an edge of destiny. “For me?”
Magnus’ whine confirms anything you needed to know.
“Oh.” He can hear, feel, the smirk that registers with your words. He feels your weight over his groin, your strokes slower than before, as you lean over him, still kneeling before him. “You want me to tell you what a good boy you’ve been for me?”
His intuition is truly blessed. You were everything and anything he ever wanted. How could you have known what he wanted to hear otherwise?
“Yes,” he gasps, voice raspy, hips controlled. His eyes are wide when he finally has the strength to look at you again, glassy and clouded with need. “I want to be… your good boy.”
His reward is feeling his cock in your mouth again. Still too big to be taken entirely, but enough for him to feel the velvet of your throat swallowing around him, coaxing him to give in.
It was never going to take long. A man deprived of feeling from another for his entire life never would.
He can feel the throbbing down right down to his balls, his cock inexplicably, impossibly harder beneath your touch as the pressure builds somewhere between his spine and his stomach in a way he hasn’t yet known how to describe. He’d stay here for a lifetime. The cusp of what he wanted, knowing it was so close, but still enjoying every moment.
Was it too late to ask for that?
Inexplicably, yes.
His hands shake. His thoughts disperse. He questions the very reality itself.
"Are you going to come for me?" you ask, honied words dripping with a request for him to do exactly that. "You don't need permission."
Your mouth isn't around him. It's just your hand, sliding up and down in the perfect rhythm, the bend in your thumb curling around him at just the right angle, your other hand now joining to stroke the rest of his cock that didn't fit in just one.
He wouldn't have been able to wait for permission anyway. His mind shuts down completely.
He hears your soft chuckle fill the space between you. "Show me how good you are."
No.
He can barely register it happening before he realises. He feels a pulsating in his core, then in his cock. Too quick for him to stop or do anything about. Not yet. No. He knew the second he was finished, this was over. For now, perhaps, but he never wanted it to end. No, no…
The way he whines is entirely feral, gasping and practically hissing, arching his back further into your touch. One pulse turns to a burn, then into a rope of thick, warm come leaving him. Then another, and another, and oh throne, another few more.
The white hot bliss stays for a moment. Just long enough for him to consider narrowing his eyes at you and having you choke on him next time without mercy. Better yet, play out that scene where he’s got you bent over his desk sliding his cock in and out of you with such ease because you’re so, so wet and he’s prepared you so well with his hands and his mouth and whatever he could use as a lubricant to make it enjoyable for you too, so he can hear you moan for him as well.
He could dream.
Reality hits as it fades. Magnus blinks a few times, quickly, breaths slowing again. He peers down at you, dry lips gapped as though he wanted to say something, but he never speaks. He just… admires. He looks dishevelled, a complete mess of a man who was meant to be near a god, completely undone by his own needs. He can feel the perfect form he created flickering beneath his lack of control, he can feel the judgment of his brothers laced into his actions, even if he tells himself it doesn’t matter.
You, on the other hand, look serene. Ideal. If you hadn’t accepted, this wouldn’t have happened and…
He wouldn’t have ever got to experience what it was like to have his cock stroked during, and after, he’d experienced the bliss of an orgasm at your fingertips.
He has to double-take, breathing heavily from his nose as he tries to contort his body enough to see what you’re doing, as if he didn’t already know, and why you were doing it. He reaches for your wrist, trying to hold you in place to stop the feeling of every pleasure centre exploding at once, yet never really actually holding you tight enough to bring you to a halt.
“What are you—ah,” Magnus’ words can’t be finished. It’s a forbidden pain, like he’s been seared by the light of an emerging star. “Stop. Please. I can’t…”
Your head tilts to the side like you’re challenging him. “You can’t what?”
“It feels…” his breathless pants make it hard to talk, “pain.”
You never falter.
"W-Wait," Magnus hisses, his hand grasping for yours. His grip around your wrist tightens as he feels your thumb run over the slit on his head, every muscle in his lower body tensing. He fights through a whine, a moan, to talk. "It, gods… it hurts."
Your hum in response isn't comforting. Not when you stroke your hand down again, grip just a touch tighter, then slide your hand up all the way. "Does it really hurt?"
He almost screams his response, but the feeling of your mouth sinking around his length, warm yet somehow bringing relief to the burning desire he felt in every nerve, stops him. He still grips your wrist but lets you stroke him beneath your lips.
His head is thrown back first. His eyes disappear somewhere into the back of his head. Everything feels like it's on fire, and you look like the very last ember that burns. His hips jolt upwards, voluntarily drawing a rhythm into your hand because you just weren't going quick enough, trying so hard to feel more of his cock fill your delicate little mouth.
"Shall I stop?" you ask him, somewhat of a tease with your voice vibrating against his sensitive nerves.
He can't help the moan that leaves his lips this time as you take his very tip into your mouth again. Never any further though. He despises how badly he wants to beg for more. “No. Throne, no.”
You hum around him again, spark reforging a feeling he hadn’t felt since the first time he ever tried to experience the pleasure humans did. Whatever you say, he doesn’t catch it; his vision was filled with a galaxy of stars, and his mind couldn’t register anything other than the lewd sounds of your hand rolling up and down his shaft in quicker succession.
A breathless gasp leaves his lips, hands grabbing at anything in their vicinity. His thighs are shaking, back arching, thoughts entirely absent for moments longer than they ever had been before. He tries, so very hard, to raise his head and look down to where you kneel before him, but you slide your fingers over one particularly sensitive spot, and he’s throwing it back again, some kind of mewl his only response.
You let his hips move this time. He holds your wrist loosely, keeping your hand in the same space as he uses whatever core strength he could muster to fuck your hand to the point of orgasm once more.
With you, it would never take long.
It stings as he feels his cock pulsing once more. He didn't think it was possible for it to feel so different. He's overstimulated, he's experiencing a deadly mix of pain and pleasure that's so cloying it might as well have already ruined him.
He doesn't even remember coming the second time; only opening his eyes to your maidenly figure nestled so perfectly with him.
Then the feeling of every bone in his body being hit with tiredness, and his skin feeling covered in stickiness and grime that he hated.
Once his breath had steadied, thoughts cleared, and thighs had stopped shaking, he finally sat forward once more. He was closer to you than anticipated, although he felt like he shrank away from you in fear of the awkwardness that could follow. You'd serviced him. What if that was it? He didn't want for that to be it. So, he talks, like that hadn't got him into this situation to begin with.
“I feel ashamed,” Magnus comments, openly observing his sweat and come covered thighs, a bitter taste in his mouth.
“For what reason?” You ask him in return. Only then does he catch the absence of regret in your eyes. He won’t assume, but… You didn’t seem ashamed. “You wished to enjoy yourself. Did you?”
Magnus frowns, just enough for you to notice. “Yes, very much so, but… with all this mess it had created, look at me.”
You don’t follow his gaze. “That usually happens, my Lord. It is normal.”
“Magnus," he corrects you. It seemed the barrier for formal titles had far been crossed. He spends too much time with his eyes lingering over you, raising his hand at your quiet apology when it’s given. Was it normal to enjoy the way you looked, hands covered in his come, a slight sheen over your skin and unkempt, once-tidy hair evidencing such an intimate act between you both? He leans forward without a plan, reaching for your upper arm, fingers ghosting your skin. "Let me help you."
You shake your hair. "Let me help you."
He's not given time to tell you otherwise; it was easier for you to scurry off from the floor with only the bow of your head left with him. He can hear the rush of water in an adjacent room, accompanied by what sounds like you cleaning your hands. In a state of wonder, his minds drift to another scenario.
It would be quite intriguing to see his come painted all over your body, his own decorated piece of art. Better yet, to see if dribbling out of you, just so he could fuck it right back into you. Though he was torn between whether he'd do it gently, hold your hands and kiss you sweetly, slow so he could feel every single movement, every time your body pulsed around him. Or, he could be rough, fast, hear you beg for mercy or for more, whatever you felt like you needed more.
In fact, he could ask you what you wanted. That way, when he delivered on everything you wanted, when he felt what it was like to have you a mess at his fingertips as well, he could hear you say how well he did again.
Your presence draws him back to reality. He clears his throat as you kneel down in front of him with a clean cloth, beginning to wipe away what he had been scowling at before.
"It really is normal," you tell him again, pausing for just a moment to look up at him. He nods, twice, like he does believe you. "Will you want to do this again?"
Magnus forgets to breathe.
Hadn't thought of that. His cock twitches, he hopes you don't notice.
"I apologise," you reply quickly, "that was too forward. I just meant..."
"I know. Please don't apologise."
Magnus is carefully piecing together an answer. He notes your intrigue, like you're hoping for something. For his own sake, he won't let himself believe it’s for anything more than repayment.
"I would like to," he returns, humming at his own answer. "Of course, that only applies if you would also like to."
You smile, nodding. "I would."
"Good. Because I must ensure that you are adequately repaid for your time with me today."
Your movements become softer as your brows pull together. "Repaid?"
"Not in the traditional sense, I suppose." Magnus' laugh fills the room. He hopes it will put you more at ease. Alongside speaking far too much, he also had the tendency to say the wrong thing, it seemed. "It would only be fair if I... Returned this favour. Tomorrow, perhaps?"
"Oh." Your voice seems raspy. "Yes. Yes, I would enjoy that very much."
Somehow, Magnus had won a great victory whilst seated in a love seat of a dusty, old room, naked from the waist down. He'd congratulate himself for that one later, it just proved he knew exactly what he was doing.
"Tomorrow, then." His regal smile never disappears, though if he really listened to his needs, he'd have asked you not to leave him from that point forward. There were no rules against it, but for your sake, he'd act like he wasn't obsessed with both you and how you made him feel, inside and out. "My private chambers will be more suited. I will find you around the same time."
"You do not need to find me, Magnus. I can come to you."
He shakes his head. "Let me find you. I appreciate the moment for us to talk."
"If you are sure," you reply. He holds your gaze for far too long. When you look away, the ends of your lip curl ever so slightly. He won’t admit the feeling at the pit of his stomach, not yet. "Tomorrow, then."
a/n: got a bit carried away with this one. i'd like to continue a little series of magnus exploring his sexual desires in this form, so expect more in the future!