The Magicians; Margo Hanson
"You know what they used to write on cannons? The last argument of kings. I guess you could say magic is the last argument of queens."
- Margo “Janet” Hanson, High Queen of Fillory
Quentin’s season one sex dream takes a curious turn when you (the reader) end up engulfed in a writhing mass of incredibly charming and attractive magicians. (Inspired by this).
This is semi-joking, and also my first fic (if this even counts as a fic). Hope you enjoy ;)
Julia stands before you, a lithe figure draped in flimsy cloth, the curves of her body exposed as the clingy material hugs her frame.
“Your majesty.” She bows to you, a seductive smirk on her face as she takes a step forward. Your heartbeat quickens as her fingers move in quick succession, a series of movements that cause the lights above to dim and soft music to play in the background.
“Setting the scene?” You joke as a flash of blonde hair draws your attention to a door. Alice enters, her voluptuous chest threatening to spill from the white gown barely covering her body. She runs a hand down her neck and slowly across the delicate skin of her collarbone, her gaze never wavering from yours as she draws closer.
The two women snake forward, their hands reaching forward to stroke your arm. Alice’s other hand stretches across to push a strand of Julia’s hair back, while Julia’s gaze seems to draw you in.
“Are you ready?” She purrs, and you think to yourself, as you’re leaning in to taste those full lips, that this really couldn’t get much better.
“Let’s do this. Let’s find your dragons and I-… oh, hey look.”
You pull back regretfully, lips hungry for the feel of Julia’s mouth on your own, but curious as to the intruder in your fantasy. Your sight falls on a man in an ensemble reminiscent of Indiana Jones, whose own gaze is locked on the scene before him – you and the two beautiful women softly petting each other.
“I respect the shit out of you all, and you are leaders, and you’re people-…”
Quentin’s awkward rambling is interrupted by Alice, “If you would shut up for two seconds, this sex dream would make it past PG thirteen, Quentin.”
Julia’s hand ran up your arm, her fingers turning your face from Quentin and towards her. Leaning forward she pressed her lips against your own, a chaste kiss of a moment which promised more. Her lips were soft and supple, and you let your own hand rise to clasp her arm lightly.
“If you can shut up, Quentin, you can join us.” Julia told her long-time friend as she pulled back, her hand sliding to rest comfortably against your neck.
Quentin opened his mouth, as if to respond with another assurance that he respected them all, when another figure appeared behind him.
Dressed in a flapping vest which revealed an expanse of alluring skin and thick chest hair, Penny side-stepped Quentin with a smirk. His hand fell behind his fellow magician and from the way Quentin’s mouth opened in a surprised squeak, you guess that Penny pinched Quentin’s ass. Stifling a grin at the expression on Quentin’s face, you watch as Penny saunters towards you, Julia, and Alice.
“You coming, loser?” Penny tosses over his shoulder at Q as he comes to a stop in front of you.
“I-... ah, yeah. I-… yeah.” Quentin stumbles over his words even as his feet propel him forward, joining your small group of enticing bodies.
You feel a hand on small of your back, sliding around to your hip and pulling at the fabric of your shirt. Penny presses himself into the space his hand was just occupying while Alice’s fingers tug at your pants. Quentin finds himself at your free shoulder, pressing sloppy kisses into your freshly bare skin before being tugged towards Penny so that the taller magician could stick his tongue down Quentin’s throat.
You’re not too concerned at the lack of Quentin’s lips on your shoulder, for Alice’s lips have found the erogenous skin on your neck and are nipping and sucking at the area in such a way that has your toes curling. Julia pulls your hand to her mouth and slowly licks a finger between her lips, her strong gaze just as arousing as the warmth of her mouth.
You had thought it couldn’t get any better earlier, but clearly you were wrong. This was the euphoric heaven of a first-class fantasy. Surely nothing could beat this?
“I hope you bitches weren’t going to have an orgy without us.”
You pull your eyes reluctantly from Julia to see two new figures entering the room, their expressions more amused than insulted that you and the others had started the ‘fun’ without them. Margo stands in a sheer number that leaves little to the imagination, while Eliot looks like a regal, alcoholic king.
“Reminds me of the time in Bermuda, with the Japanese triplets” Margo adds, her head tipped to the side as she watched you and the four others. You bite your lip as her gaze flickers across your chest, and then smile invitingly as she struts towards you all.
Eliot pours himself a drink from the mini-bar first, stirring it idly as he watches. He takes a sip, sets the glass down, and then commits a series of intricate finger movements. A final flourish sees the couch at the far end of the room expand, lengthening to become a giant bed.
“Where would you be without me?” He sighs, stepping into the middle of the group of writhing bodies and pulling you and the others towards the bed.
You fall down onto the mattress, surrounded by the best and brightest (hottest and hung-est) Brakebills and the outside world have to offer. Your skin is on fire with every touch, your mind permanently corrupted by the sight of so much tempting flesh. But you’re loving it. If you died in that moment, you would die happy, carried to the after-life on a cushion of naked ecstasy. Nothing, and this time you really mean nothing, could top this.
“As a teenager in Brooklyn Quentin had often imagined himself engaged in martial heroics, but after this he knew, as a cold immutable fact, that he would do anything necessary, sacrificing whatever or whomever he had to, to avoid risking exposure to physical violence. Shame never came into it. He embraced his new identity as a coward. He would run in the other direction. He would lie down and cry and put his arms over his head or play dead. It didn't matter what he had to do, he would do it and be glad.”
― Lev Grossman, The Magicians
