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It’s three in the morning by the time Kai finally stumbles up the back stairs around the shop. They’re little more than a glorified fire escape that serves as the entrance to the humble apartment she now shares with Asra. She uses her phone for a flashlight, not trusting herself to even call up a light spell without it blowing up in her face right now.
Asra is certainly in bed by now. She feels like she’s barely seem him awake in weeks—he kisses her cheek and brings her coffee before heading downstairs to open up her aunt’s magic shop, every morning, rain or shine. Kai had inherited the business after her aunt passed, and she does truly love it, all the old items on the shelves and all the colourful people who come in. But she had just been accepted into the Master’s program for Natural Magics, and she had been petrified she’d have to close it—until Asra, who was already running Tarot readings out of the back room, had stepped in.
Now, he runs the shop in all but name, while Kai researches, grades undergrad papers, writes her own thesis, and attends ridiculous social functions at the professors’ homes.
She hates them. Everyone there is trying to prove that they’re smarter than everyone else in the room. All while she stands there, drinks as little as is polite, and thinks of Asra, curled up in their bed with two familiars. Maybe his shirt is falling off his shoulder, maybe he’s not wearing one at all…
She gets her door open, and shakes her head. It’s three in the morning, she reminds herself. Asra is asleep. Even if she’s barely spoken four words to her partner this week, let alone had sex with him in the last three, that’s no excuse to stand in her doorway and daydream about his golden skin, or the smell of his soap, or how soft his hair is…
She has to hurry in the door so Cinis doesn’t get out. “I know,” she whispers, as softly as possible. “I know, I’m sorry.”
Her familiar is, as always, pointedly unimpressed with her absence.
“You hate those parties even more than I do,” she reminds him—and he accepts her apology in stride, happily rubbing himself all over her legs while she kicks off her shoes and shucks off her coat. She tries to hang it but misses the hook, so it falls on the floor with a thump. She bends over and picks up Cinis, letting him rub his face all over her neck and purr as loud as he pleases.
“It’s cold in here,” she muses, carrying him down the narrow entry hallway. “Why aren’t you cuddled up with Asra?”
Cinis glares up at her, his ears flat against his skull.
“I know you do it,” she tells him, fondly. “We do, in fact, speak to one another every now and then.”
Her cat rubs his face into her neck. Kai reaches for the light switch as she turns the corner—
Only to see that there are candles lit, in the kitchen. On their tiny counter she sees four candles lit, and only staring at them does she smell them now—coconut, a salty sea breeze, plumeria, naupaka…
Scents of a home she left far behind her, years ago—candles she lights so rarely, these days. They’ve been going for a few hours, by the looks of them, and she hurries to extinguish them, though it breaks her heart a little to do so.
Faust is curled up on her favourite pillow on the sofa—she doesn’t even stir as Kai messes around in the kitchen, in the dark. Cinis jumps out of her arms to join the little snake on the opposite side of the couch, curling up on a much-clawed pillow, his ember-bright eyes burning in the dark for a moment before he settles down, and goes back to sleep.
There’s light coming from the bedroom—and Kai pushes the door open slowly, getting a full view of their bed, of the mage lights Asra must have set up all around the room, glittering like fireflies in the dark. Of Asra, sitting on the floor next to the bed, dead asleep, because on the bed he has written with rose petals Let Me Eat That Pussy.
She can’t help but laugh. Asra starts and wakes, the firefly lights surging very briefly as his eyes open, and he turns his head towards the door.
“Hi,” he says, with a sleepy smile.
“How long have you been sitting there?” she says, still standing in the door.
He slowly stands, humming thoughtfully. “About… midnight? Cinis kept messing up the letters, had to stand watch.”
“Or sit watch, I see.”
“You should train your cat better,” he teases, wrapping his arms around her.
“He’s a cat,” Kai says, her lips brushing against his as he stoops down to kiss her.
His lips press into hers, and she nearly whimpers at how he feels. He kisses her gently, slowly, and their lips drag so delightfully against one another’s—
Oh, she misses this. She misses him.
She ignores the heat building within her and breaks the kiss. “Alright,” she says, “I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s three in the morning.”
He tries to kiss her lips again, but she turns her head. So he kisses her cheek, and then her neck, slowly, insistently.
“Asra,” she says, laughing—and it pitches lower than she means it to. “You have to open the shop in the morning.”
He nibbles a little at her neck. She bites back a moan.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, his breath hot on her skin, “I forgot to ask my boss’ permission, but we’re closed tomorrow.”
“We are?”
“Mn-hm.” He runs the tip of his tongue over her pulse.
She shivers. “What’s the occasion?”
Without skipping a beat, he replies, “Professional Development.”
Kai bursts out laughing—and that laugh nearly turns into a cackle when Asra picks her up, and she wraps her legs around him to steady herself.
He looks up into her eyes—fully awake now, it seems, and even in this dim light she can make out his blush.
“If you’re tired,” he says, “We don’t—I can wait—I just thought—I miss you, and—”
She knows it’s not a proper answer, but she kisses him anyway. So thoroughly and so fiercely that their teeth clack a little, but from the way he chases her lips he doesn’t seem to mind.
She pulls back for air, and he lets out a little whimper. And, because it is an answer, she says, “Asra, my delight, I miss you so much. Please fuck me.”
He grins—and he kisses her again, fiercely, walking forward until his knees hit the bed.
They tumble onto the mattress together—and she laughs, and laughs, as he props himself up on his hands, grinning down at her, his beautiful gemstone eyes all pupil as they wander over her.
“Nice dress,” he tells her, as if he’s just noticed it.
She’s still laughing too much to reply.
He kisses her again, a while, teasing his lips with her tongue, but he definitely has other plans, as his kisses soon wander lower, and lower. And her laughs become breathier, and deeper, until she moans as he sucks at her clavicle, and then presses slow, firm kisses all along the neckline of her dress.
Not places she is particularly sensitive, but it’s been such a long time…
“Asra,” she whines, high and breathless. Her hands find the sides of his face, and then bury in his impossibly soft hair.
He sits up, and she cries out a little. She props herself up on her elbows to look down at him, as he runs his hands over her legs appreciatively.
“You should wear dresses more often,” he tells her, as he eases her legs apart.
The front of his pyjama pants are starting to tent rather tellingly.
She bites her lip. He licks his.
He tries to tug her pantyhose off at the knees—and in his haste rips a hole in one leg. He goes still and wide-eyed for a second.
“Oh, shit,” he says, as she laughs at his expression. “Were these expensive?”
“No, and they’re the wrong size. I had to keep sneaking into the bathroom to pull them back up. I’m never wearing them again.”
He’s the one laughing, now. Pulling the offending pantyhose off leg by leg, he laughs as he bends over, and even as he draws her legs up, and as he kisses the inside of her thigh.
He does that for a while longer—running his hands all up and down her legs. But he doesn’t seem to be in any particular kind of hurry, all of a sudden, so matter how many times Kai rolls her hips, impatiently, or how many frustrated sighs she gives him.
“Asra,” she says at length, “if you don’t eat me out right this instant, I will pin you to the bed and make you.”
His eyes go wide, and his whole face flushes. “Is that a promise?” he asks.
She falters a little, honestly surprised. “Uh. Do you… want me to?”
“Yes,” he answers, breathless, and actually moves to change positions before she stops him with a hand over his.
“Maybe not when it’s three AM,” she says, and is actually surprised at how disappointed she sounds. “And… maybe we should Google it first?”
“Tomorrow,” Asra says, eagerly getting back between her legs. “Got it.”
He pulls down her underwear with a refreshing lack of ceremony, and it stays hooked around one of her ankles as he pushes up her dress, and ducks his head between her legs.
She sighs when his tongue laps, very gently, at her folds. She sighs again when his hands guide her legs wider, over his shoulders, and his tongue presses her open.
“Asra,” she whines. She reaches down and hikes up her dress further, until she can reach him. She buries her fingers in his hair, and maybe she tugs a little too hard because he moans, very softly, against her cunt.
She can’t bring herself to stop, though.
He laps at her awhile, slow and steady and patient. Until her breath hitches and she whimpers more than whispers his name—and he dips his tongue into her, tasting her, but she misses him, misses this too much to be embarrassed at how lewd he sounds. At how desperate she is for him, how her hips begin to roll as she tries to grind into his face.
“Asra,” she moans. “Asra, please. Oh, you’re so—so—please, Asra, I’ve missed you, please don’t stop, Asra—“
He sucks on her clit, and one of his fingers slips inside her.
“Yes,” she cries, breathless. “Just like that, Asra—yes, that, I love you, I love you so much—”
She wishes she could see him, but there’s too much dress in the way. She can see his hair, feel the movement of him against her—and she keeps rolling her head back, every so often, because he is just so good to her.
He slips another finger in, and starts to curl them just so.
“Ah,” she stutters out. “Asra, I’m—I’m close.”
He pulls back momentarily—and she cries out in dismay, but it’s so he can look above her bunched up dress and meet her gaze. He thumb rubs around her clit, not touching it, as he stares up at her with open adoration, pupils blown so wide, his beautiful hair a mess from her hands, his lip coated in her slick, flushed from his attentions to her and their earlier kissing…
“Fuck,” he says, softly. “Kai, you’re so beautiful.”
She whines, and tries to buck into his hand.
“I love you,” he tells her, his voice thick.
Before she can reply, he dives back in.
She cries out—in delight, in relief—as he presses his tongue, hard, to her clit. As his fingers pump, and curl, and he sucks and lathes at her, alternatively, as his tongue swipes up her and then swirls around her. As she rocks into his face and he moves with her, not fighting her.
She calls his name. She calls obscenities into the early morning. She whines and begs and pleads, as the heat that’s spread from his mouth all the way to her goddamn fingertips starts to burn, bright and hot and wild, she never ever wants this to end.
His fingers curl one last time, and she comes with a cry. Her back arching, her hips lifting off the bed. Her toes curl and her thighs try to squeeze together, but Asra keeps them apart as he continues, kissing and licking at her, drinking every last drop of pleasure that spills out of her.
She feels dizzy when she comes down from the high of her orgasm. She tugs at his hair weakly until he comes up to kiss her face, his tongue slipping between her lips, her slick making his soft and warm.
She likes how she tastes on him.
Almost as much as she likes his erection pressing against her through his pyjamas.
“Your turn,” she says, without really breaking the kiss.
“Hm?”
She flips them over, so he is on his back and she above him. He laughs, low and bright and eager, and he tries to kiss her again but she sits up, instead, straddling him and yanking down his pants.
Bless him, he’s already leaking.
“Kai,” he whines, as her hand slips around him.
He’s so wound up it doesn’t take long—after only a few slow pumps of her hand, he’s thrusting into her fist and calling for her.
He’s beautiful when he spills onto the sheets and her dress, nonetheless.
He reaches for her as he slumps back onto the bed, whining a little as she gets up. It takes him a moment to communicate that there’s a pack of disposable wipes in the bedside table, and she and her still-wobbly legs thank him for his thoughtfulness.
Once they are both clean enough, she finally succumbs to the soft yet insistent tugging of his hands and joins him in the bed. She tucks herself up against his chest, and he slings an arm lazily over her waist before pressing a sleepy kiss to her forehead.
“Love you,” he mumbles. Or, at least she thinks he does—he can be adorably incoherent after sex, sometimes.
“Love you too,” she replies.
“We’re googling tomorrow,” he tells her, very seriously.
She hums a soft, exhausted laugh into his skin. “Sure, love,” she agrees. And then, after a moment, she adds, “Thank you.”
He makes some small, soft noise low in his throat in reply, already half-asleep.