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You weren't cut out for this shit.
Bathazar was an asshole from the start, he should have known there was a chance he'd send you into the arms of the enemy. He'd left you weak, defenseless, tossed you into the deep end without the means to keep your head above water. There was always an excuse, always a new level to climb to, a carrot on a stick in the form of greater power, but the damned fool didn't have the foresight to teach you something useful yet, something offensive.
Maybe he'd assumed you'd put a bullet between your eyes before giving in to his old adversary. Maybe he'd assumed Horvath would do it himself.
He didn't, of course, and now you find yourself suspended in the air with about seven inches between your feet and the ground. Face-to-face with the sorcerer, quite literally as he lifts you as high as was necessary to match his height, his eyes like little pieces of obsidian glinting in the soft light of the subway lavatory. He balances you on the end of his cane, the little jewel gleaming under your chin, hot where it touches you.
He was lifting you with magic and there was a small but aggressive part of your brain that howled with rage at Balthazar for not giving you the training necessary to counteract it. At least something to grant you the dignity of finding the ground under your feet again.
"Hello my dear," he says, his voice resounding down his arm, through the cane and directly into your chest like a purr. "I'm surprised I found you so easily, thought Bathazar would have the common sense to keep you hidden."
"He won't teach me shit." You spit back, and it's meant to sound venomous toward him, but ends up sounding more like a rebuke of your master. He cackles in response, head tossed back, and that too transfers to you. Makes your hair rise with goosebumps, sends a shiver down your spine.
This was the closest you'd been to Horvath since you were very young. He hadn't changed at all, not a hair out of place, nary a wrinkle gained since you'd seen him last. You, however, had grown into a sufficiently awkward young woman, fresh out of highschool and ready (re; ill-prepared) to be reamed by adulthood.
"I'll teach you something, girl." And he glances over his shoulder at the door, turns back to you and winks. The world folds in on itself, nausea roiling in your stomach, light and space bending around you until you're hovering above the top of his cane somewhere completely different than where you'd previously been.
He's taken you to a secondary location, and not even by walking. There wouldn't be a body when he was done with you, it would just seem like you slipped into the bathroom and disappeared forever.
Suddenly, your feet hit the floor, and you collapse back onto your ass with a huff. Your whole body trembles as you look up at him, dwarfed by his frame even when standing. He's backlit which leaves you squinting to make out his features, the room much darker than the one you'd previously been in and the light much brighter than the ambiance would suggest.
You smell insence.
The tip of his cane, opposite the end with the jewel, presses into your palm where it lays slack in your lap. You take his meaning, and wrap your fist around it. He pulls you to your feet.
"Tell me, child, what has he taught you?" He looks you over with critical eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his full lips. "Certainly not how to defend yourself."
You laugh, and there's no mirth in it.
"Yeah, uh, I've learned how to use a mop I guess. And this," you focus on the chapstick in your pocket, imagine the weight and size of it in your palm, the faint aroma of peppermint. It transmutes into your hand.
He nods, and you're slightly surprised by the genuine nature of the gesture.
"The last six apprentices he's taken wound up dead, did he tell you that?"
You take a moment, look him in the eyes. No, Bathazar had never told you that. There's a small and loyal part of you that thinks you ought to lie for him.
"Yeah, he told me before I agreed to the apprenticeship."
Horvath squints at you.
"You're either lying, or you're stupid."
This makes you laugh, heartier this time, the noise punched out of you like all the tension in your body needs the release lest it combust and blow you apart.
"Or both," you say between gasping breaths, not meeting his eyes as tears well in your own. These are your last moments, aren't they? You might as well spend them laughing.
When you open your eyes, you're back in the subway bathroom. You hadn't even felt the world dissolve around you, and Horvath was nowhere to be seen.
-
You met him three more times without Balthazar at your side to keep you safe.
You'd made the case to your master that you ought to know how to defend yourself, and after explaining what had happened the first time he'd agreed to that much at least.
That's how you'd ended up with the ability to grab Horvath's fireball right out of the air and send it back to him like you were throwing a softball.
The bastard had smiled at you, the expression greedy, like he was looking at a valuable object sitting in a display case, ripe for the taking. He tried to transmute you again, and this time your were ready, grabbing onto the tendrils of magic and pulling back on them like reigns. That's how you ended up in the city library basement, the first and only place you could think of that might be secure enough and hardly trafficked if things got messy.
Horvath took a moment to register that you'd flipped his own transmutation spell on him, but when he did, his reaction wasn't at all what you'd expected.
He looked around, nonchalant, nodding in what appeared to be approval. You were disgusted by yourself to realize you craved it.
"Quite a dull place you've brought us to." He said, and his head tilted toward you, expectant. You blinked up at him, owlish, having prepared for a fight. "Well?"
You glanced over your shoulder at the rows and rows of empty, dusty shelves, put away for repair or storage. You'd volunteered for the library your senior year, and this place was intimately familiar to you. Perhaps that's why it was the first place you thought of when 'somewhere safe' had flashed through your mind at the ephemeral question the spell had asked when you'd taken hold of it's direction.
"Well. I thought," you cleared your throat, not having anticipated getting this far, wrists crossing behind your back as you swayed on your feet. He watched you with careful, black eyes and you noted not for the first time that Horvath was devistatingly handsome. You pinched the soft skin of your wrist between thumb and index so hard it would leave a welt, punishment for allowing the thought to even manifest. "I thought maybe we could talk?"
He sneered at you and rolled his eyes.
"You thought wrong, girl."
In an instant, he was gone. You knew you'd need a worm to dangle if you were going to land this fish.
-
The worm turned out to be you.
-
Prime Merlinean, Balthazar had said. The words sounded foreign on your tongue, no meaning to them since you doubted your own power from the start. You felt no different than when you'd began your training.
Chinese New Year was colorful and fun and filled with laughter, and just loud enough to cover Horvath as he plucked you off of the street, hand covering your mouth and arm wrapped around your waist. You found yourself pinned in a alleyway by him, struck silent by a bubble he'd put in your throat.
You felt the hot jewel pressed against your chin again, and it wasn't as easy this time to flip his transmutation spell because he had clearly prepared for it, but something deep and old and powerful ignited inside of you and the ground beneath you changed from wet concrete to dry, off-white linoleum.
He glanced up, and disappointment washed over his face. It made your stomach drop; you didn't want to disappoint him, you wanted to impress him. You pinched the same spot you had a week ago and cursed the trembling in your knees. His eyes dropped back to you, and a thick brow raised imperiously.
You mustered all the strength you had, imagined your feet touching the ground, and his cane in your hand. Power erupted from you like a tidal wave and before you could blink, Horvath was stepping back from you with wide, unreadable eyes, cane no longer in hand.
You looked down, and there it was, hot in your palm.
Your feet were flat on the ground, too.
"Do the words Prime Merlinean mean anything to you?" You said, after catching your breath.
Horvath's eyes remained unchanged, but after a long pause he nodded. In an act of complete and utter dumb-assery, you reached forward to offer him his cane back, essentially reclawing the cat. He looked bewildered, and you couldn't keep the grin off of your face. He took it.
You held your breath, praying he wouldn't simply disappear.
"So Balthazar's finally put his finger on the right apprentice." His words sounded bitter, and you wondered if this dance had been done before. "A sacrificial lamb, my dear, you have no idea what he's got in store for you."
He raised his cane and the stone glinted, obvious in his intention to leave. You really didn't want that to happen now that you had him here and you had him interested. So you reached up and grabbed the jewel.
It burned under your palm, the scent of scalded flesh and little wisps of smoke peeling up from between your fingers. It felt like someone else was doing it, like the experience was only happening secondhand. The pain was there, but dulled under layers of disassociation.
Horvath looked at your hand with a guarded expression, but then took the opportunity of your distraction to transmute you both back to wherever he'd brought you the first time.
The smell of incense was only just able to cover the burnt flesh.
He pulled his cane away, the item storing itself... somewhere? You didn't really keep track of it past the moment it had left you. Your mind was elsewhere occupied, with both of his hands cradling your own.
Horvath looked at the angry, blistered skin, and then his gaze flicked up to you.
"Heal it." He said, and his tone was devoid of mockery. There was curiosity there, yielding and fascinated.
You looked down at your hand, dwarfed by both of his own, looking much like a child's. You could wrap all five of you fingers around two of his and barely touch your palm on the other side. You felt disgusted at yourself for the thought, though your thighs trembled weakly, squeezing together to stave the worst of your desires.
Horvath was inordinately patient, something you hadn't pegged him for mastering. But he stood there and watched you.
"I don't know how." You admitted, voice weak in your ears.
He nodded, and then folded one hand over top of yours.
"Would you like to learn?"
You thought for a very, very long time, the sting of your flesh becoming more nagging and insistent the further you pulled back into yourself. Would he teach you the way Balthazar would? Would the magic feel different?
You nodded, but Horvath didn't budge.
"Use your words."
The command left you breathless, almost tipping forward into his arms. Instead your legs gave under you, expecting to hit the ground, but an arm around your waist staved the impact. He was so, so warm. You couldn't help but lean into it.
"Yes." You finally said, and it sounded far too much like a moan to your ears.
"Yes what?" His breath was hot, and directly next to your ear. You were quite suddenly no longer in control of this interaction.
You hadn't ever really wanted to be though, had you?
"Yes, sir." Your words were hardly a whisper. You felt yourself being turned in his grasp, being steered until your back was to his front.
Goddamn, he was so warm. You wanted to melt like candle wax beneath him.
He took both of your hands in his own, thumbs folding your fingers back until your palms were flat and exposed, one blistered and one unblemished.
"Focus on this one," and he squeezed the undamaged hand, "observe the flesh," his thumb wiped over the crease on your palm, "imagine the layers of skin and fat and muscle," his mouth was directly next to your ear, hot breath fanning the hair off your neck.
Something hard dug into the small of your back. You felt drenched to the bone between your legs.
You focused on his words regardless, pushing the heady desire down as far as you could. He wrapped his fist over your burnt hand, the fingers closing, nails digging in to the raw flesh. It hurt, but you craved the hurt if he was the one making it.
When your fingers unfolded, your skin was whole again. Spotless. Unscarred, even.
"Good girl." Horvath said, and his lips were flush to the skin on your neck, just under your ear. You could feel your knees give again, left dangling in the strength of his grasp, his hands leaving your own to wrap one arm across your shoulders and pressed back into his chest, the other coming across your torso and ending with his hand on your hip.
Suddenly, you were standing in the alleyway again, swaying on your own feet. You brought a hand up to steady yourself against the brick, feeling freezing cold without the furnace of a sorcerer behind you.
Chinese New Year raged on ahead of you, red and gold dancing in your vision.
"Motherfucker."
-
The next time you meet, you're resolved to corner him, keep him from escaping or sending you away.
You'd asked Balthazar explicitly for a spell to cancel transmutation. He'd asked you why. You'd perhaps fibbed a bit, exaggerated, told him that every time you saw Horvath he tried getting you to a secondary location. In reality it had only happened two of the times you'd interacted with him.
You would absolutely not be telling Balthazar your intentions, nor that you wanted Horvath to take you back to his little hideaway, but didn't want to grant him the chance to send you back out.
If he blue-balled you again, there was no telling if you'd survive it.
You actually went out of your way this time to find him. He was stepping out of a store onto the rainy street and you had no idea where he'd taken you before, the place with the incense, but you knew you'd only need to touch the surface of his mind to find out.
He began a quick pace, long legs carrying him down the sidewalk and stepping through the crowd like a knife through butter. Who could look at the man and intentionally step between him and his goal, anyway? He was a giant, and his eyes, god his eyes.
Like the devil himself.
You found yourself half-jogging after him in order to keep up, bumping into several people as you went, your diminutive size relative to his own not garnering the same level of respect from the crowd.
He took a corner and you dashed after him, nearly dumping a civilian's coffee out of their hands. You didn't apologize, if only to keep Horvath from hearing your voice.
Finally, finally you'd gained on him. Your hand shot out, fell on his own, touching the bare skin on the back of his hand and the image of his hideaway flashed in your mind. It was like recieving a pindrop address in Google Maps, except tangible in your mind, the city forming around it in your third eye. He swivels back on you, eyes blazing.
"Gotcha." You said, and his brow draws together in a deep frown.
The jem on his cane glows, but you're far too quick. If this had been a shoot-out in a spaghetti western, you'd be the only cowboy left standing.
The walls of what looked to be an upstate brown stone took shape around you. Your hand still covered his.
"Indeed?" He said, smirking, his eyes flashing dangerously. You felt his magic pour over you, feeling for a moment like your very atoms would shake apart. You close your eyes against the worst of it, but when you open them your surroundings were unchanged.
Horvath did not look happy, but a glint in his eye told you he was maybe a little bit impressed.
"So you convinced the old man to teach you a counter spell, hm?" His coat peels off of him like silk, his cane going somewhere else again, and the vest he wears under his jacket seems to dissolve into nothingness, like sugar in water.
You stumble back as he advances on you, back finding a wall, watching his hands as they undo the cuff buttons on his shirt, rolling them neatly up to his elbows. The crisp white fabric folds away to reveal thin black ink, carved through his skin like lines in a textbook. They wrap endlessly, continuing up past what you can see of the flesh under his sleeves. Runes, you think.
He's upon you in two steps.
"Well, girl, what is your intention?" A glass appears in his hand, two fingers of what smells like whiskey filling from the bottom up. You watch it with wide eyes, then blink up at him. He only need lean down and his mouth would be on you. Sweat prickles the skin at the back of your neck. "Are you here to fight? I can assure you that you'll need a bit more than counter spells and transmutation."
To be honest, you hadn't thought quite that far. You were driven by instinct, a desire to be near him, which subsumed any rational thought. Like what to do once you had him.
"No, I, uh," your words were stilted, mouth suddenly dry, and you turn your head to the side in order to avoid his eyes. You see a mirror, near a lamp, and it reflects the image of him standing over you. A head higher and broad like the mast of an ocean liner, unstoppable, unsinkable.
You feel his breath on your ear, could feel him lean in and drag the tip of a finger over the exposed portion of your collarbone.
At the same moment, his reflection looks at you, not breathing in your ear and certainly not touching you. Your mind hazes over like fog on a window, the image and paradoxical sensations spinning your perspective in on itself. The reflection of him bores into your eyes, and you hear him speak into your ear though you can't see his mouth move;
"Look at me."
Your eyes snap back to his form before you, but his mouth follows your throat, pressing you back into the wall and lifting you by your thighs. You can't help but bring your legs up to stradle his hips in turn, if only to keep yourself upright.
"Oh, I know what you're here for, my dear," his voice speaks from where you'd seen his reflection, and your head falls to the side, startled and confused.
He stands there as well, before your very eyes and certainly not trapped within the confines of the mirror, though the firm length of his body is still quite obviously pressing you into the wall. He sips sedately at the whiskey that had originally been in the hands of the man between your legs.
Speaking of, he kisses the pulse in your neck, gentle, his hands holding beneath your thighs to keep you elevated. You almost want to tell him there's no need, you'd cling to him like saran wrap for as long as he wanted you to.
Your eyes squeeze shut at the kneading warmth of his palms, broad and firm and venturing higher on your bare skin, the plaid skirt you'd worn leaving little to the imagination when hiked up around your waist.
His erection is obvious and pressed against your cunt, hard and heavy and enormous, the notion of it coming anywhere near you both daunting and mouth-watering. Your head falls back, knocking a portrait from the wall behind you that disappears before hitting the ground.
Horvath wedges himself between your thighs, now balancing your weight entirely on his hips while his hands palm the firm globes of your ass, edging nearer and nearer to your cunt with his probing fingers. Your hands, having spent a lot of time idly grabbing at his back, finally find the courage to grab his face.
He leans back only slightly, only enough that your noses bump and you can look into his eyes.
"Kiss me?" It comes out like more of a plea than you'd intended, but you hope the desperation might make him fold. Horvath didn't seem the kind to kiss.
The sorcerer between your legs glances over at the one watching and sipping, as if to ask permission. You look between the two, both confused and worried he might reject you. That you might have thrown the whole occasion off.
The man standing across the room rolls his eyes and makes a disgusted sound, then says;
"Fine."
And suddenly your breath is being stolen from your lungs. The Horvath pinning you to the wall is very, very keen on kissing you, and it's languid, controlled, dominating, but warm. You melt against him, bottom lip reddened under the bite of his teeth, his tongue making you squirm to feel it elsewhere. He licks and bites and sucks at you with a fervor unmatched, and your head swims with stars even before he's touched you further.
As if reading your mind, the thick tip of a finger breaches the line of your panties, very, very near your clit, making you arch and whine. He runs his finger slowly, achingly down the edge of the fabric, before stretching it out and letting it snap sharply back against your skin.
"Fuck!" You scream, shaking, unprepared.
"Mm, quite a foul mouth my dear, do you kiss your mother with that? Perhaps I ought to make you swallow my cock in repentance." The Horvath across the room from you hisses, and it's mocking, his tone meant to degrade, to humiliate. Your cunt tightens at the words, and you whine again.
The man now kissing your neck, whom you decided in your mind would be known as Maxim because it sounded entirely kinder and this one seemed of the mind to please, mercifully presses the pad of his thumb into your clit over top of your panties. You nearly transmute at that very second, the ring on your finger stalling with a snap of electricity.
Horvath tilts his head back to drain the rest of his drink, and holds his hand out flat, the ring ripping off your finger and sailing across the room into his open palm.
"You won't be needing this right now, my dear. Especially since you don't seem rightfully capable of controlling yourself at the moment." There was a part of you that doubted his intentions, that knew you ought to fear the notion that he'd taken your arcane focus, but somehow the touch of Maxim between your thighs made the idea entirely without merit.
How could someone who made you feel this good mean any harm?
Maxim rubs his thumb in a tight circle over your clit, firm, the breadth of his hips keeping you from squirming too much. You clutch at him desperately, nails digging in to his shoulders, your mouth slack and searching for his.
"Please, please, please," you babble, thoughtless, begging for another kiss, pleading for relief. Maxim hushes you, cooes against your ear, and presses his lips gently to your temple.
"There's a good girl," he breathes against the side of your face, and his words are sweet like honey, clinging to your mind with the intention of staying. You realize then you'd do anything to hear him say it again.
"Hardly." Came Horvath's voice, an echo in the darkness, circling you like a predator. "Stop giving it freely, make her bargain for her pleasure."
"I think she deserves at least one." Your head swims with pleasure, face pressed into Maxim's shoulder, tears clinging to the line of your lashes. You have absolutely no idea what they're talking about, and as far as you were aware this was one man speaking to a duplicate of himself. Either he was insane, or it was part of the game.
Possibly both.
"She did come to me of her own free will." Maxim says, the baritone of his voice making you tremble against his chest. His thumb keeps pace, your panties soaked through to coat his fist. He pulls away only a moment which was enough to make the tears breach your water line, falling in fat streaks down your flushed face, but when he hooks his fingers into the fabric of your panties and tugs them aside a moan of relief punches it's way out of your chest.
He presses his first two knuckles against your cunt, the sopping folds parting easily, clenching down on something hardly there. His thumb returns to it's pace on your clit.
"Oh," your head falls back again, eyes screwed shut, mouth gaping like a fish. Something hot presses against your tongue and your instinct is immediately to wrap your lips around it and suck.
"Whore." Came Horvath's voice, much closer than it had been, and your eyes blink open, bleary, seeing him standing just over Maxim's shoulder, pressing his thumb into your tongue. His fingers wrap around the side of your jaw, pressing into the joint and making your mouth open wide.
He leans forward and spits into your mouth, and it makes you recoil, makes you feel disgusting tasting his whiskey second hand, but his thumb does not yeild. You have no choice but to swallow.
"Good, good girl," Maxim whispers against your neck, as if congratulating you on handling Horvath's degradation. It makes your cunt cinch up against his knuckles, praying he'll sink even one finger in. "Are you close, dear?"
"Yeah," you breathe, and the sharp slap across your face knocks the next thought right out of your head. Your eyes blink hard and then Maxim is pressing a kiss to your cheek as a means of apology, but Horvath over his shoulder offers no such relief.
"Yes, what?" He sneers at you, venom in his tone, making you wither against Maxim.
"Y-yes, sir." Your voice sounds weak in your own ears, small, just like you felt under Maxim's weight (which was nice), under Horvath's cruel gaze (which was frightening).
The contrast of their behavior is daunting, and for a moment you genuinely fear for your safety. Perhaps Balthazar had been correct.
Perhaps this was a man to avoid if possible, and destroy when capable.
Then Maxim pushes a single, merciful finger into your cunt, and quickly follows with a second. Each was so long and thick, the pain of it made your head swim, but he pressed on, kissing your jaw, your neck, your shoulder and gently praising you through the worst of it.
A hand wraps around your throat and squeezes to the point of making you gasp. You knew without even looking who it was.
"I want you to earn your pleasure. Fuck yourself on my hand, make yourself cum. I don't want to put more effort into it than necessary." For a moment you're confused; the one choking you wasn't the one with his fingers buried in your cunt. The confusion wasn't helped by the grip on your throat, your vision black at the edges. Then, Maxim curls his fingers gently, rubbing the pads of middle and index against your g-spot, and all confusion is lost.
There's suddenly only one singular goal in mind.
You rock your hips on his fist, body undulating desperately while simultaneously trying to gasp past Horvath's grip on your throat.
"That's it, whore." Horvath says, his nose pressed to the side of your face. The instinct is to turn into him, noses bumping, and you realize you were close enough to kiss. Your eyes dart down to his lips and immediately he recoils, his opposite hand slapping you across the face which turned your world sideways again.
It took longer this time to regain your bearings, but as you came to Maxim was gently caressing your reddened cheek and Horvath's hand finally relented.
"I think she deserves a more delicate touch." Maxim says against your neck, mouth sucking a gentle bruise into the skin just under your ear. "She's been so good."
His ministrations hadn't ceased, your hips jumping in a little staccato rhythm, mouth slack and unable to speak. Your eyes plead with him as he leans back slightly, watching you. Your head bobs frantically, begging for him to finish you, begging for him to see how good you are at following instructions.
You're close, and the gentle smile he offers surely meant he knew, cunt gripping him hard as he pumped his fingers in deliberate, steady thrusts.
"That's it, my dear," his eyes are glossy with lust, trained on your face, an almost nurturing expression in the way he smiled. "Keep your eyes on me."
There isn't venom in his words like Horvath's might have had, there isn't any real amount of expectation. It seems as though he genuinely wants to get you off, with the way his fingers curl and his thumb circles your clit, and his eyes shine with kindness, mouth gently parted.
You couldn't take your eyes away if you tried. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips, the rise and fall of his chest quick, the sloppy, wet sounds of his hand working your cunt making the air ripe with the scent of sex. It was heady, and agonizing, and you love every second.
"She'll certainly be looser once she's cum, perhaps it's not without merit." Horvath, who at this point has disappeared to the back of your mind while you watch Maxim's face watching you, says with a not insignificant amount of boredom in his tone.
You're torn, then. You want them both engaged with the activity, not simply going through the motions. So, you brave holding your hand out to Horvath.
He eyes it with distrust, dark eyes squinting, and then mirrors you in turn.
You take hold of the first two digits, index and middle, and guide them to your mouth with reverence, wanting to prove to this one you're indeed good for something. You also perhaps selfishly need something to occupy your mouth so you won't scream while you orgasm.
He catches on to your idea, and presses the tips of his fingers against your bottom lip, dragging them across the plush, pink flesh. You dip your head, hoping the gesture of deference to his authority in order to take his fingers between your lips may further arouse his appetite. Judging by the satisfied groan as he breaches your lips, the intention is well received.
Maxim leans forward then, bracing your form with the broad side of his chest and shoulder, letting your arms drape over his neck to hold on. His forehead presses against your throat, and you feel his breath cast hot across your skin, sweat mingling where your flesh meets.
"Do try and keep quiet, my dear," he says, rather muffled from the position, but suddenly you understand why. His fingers curl, hooked into your g-spot, and for a moment he seems to be simply gauging the angle, but then he begins to really move.
His fist pumps against you hard, pulling you off the wall and then pushing you back against it, and for a feverish moment you think you might actually die of a heart attack, blood pounding in your ears.
You can feel his thigh quivering beneath you, can feel the warmth and wet of your cunt dragging over his erection.
Against your better judgement, you pull your mouth off of Horvath's fingers in favor of begging for Maxim's cock inside of you. He shakes his head, adamant.
"You first, sweetheart," his voice is breathless and desperate, as though his pleasure is completely reliant on yours.
His voice, shot through and wrecked with lust, is ultimately what sends you over. You convulse in his grasp, his thrusts slowing to match the jump of your hips as you ride him through it. If feels like your orgasm stretches past the point you can tolerate it, your whole body insensate with pleasure, overwhelmed and overstimulated.
Your feet finally touch the ground and you go pitching forward into Maxim's waiting arms. You feel his hands grasp you, one wet to the touch, and you can't help looking. He's drenched to the elbow in your pleasure.
"Holy shit," you mutter, letting yourself be guided gently to a lovely backless chaise lounge chair, crushed red velvet with jet black and gold embellishments.
You stall at the foot of it, and turn back to see Maxim's kind eyes, and Horvath unimpressed behind him.
"On your front, girl." Says Horvath, and you watch him unfasten his belt.
This was the part you'd been dreading a bit. You hoped Maxim would take his turn with you first, but realize he doesn't seem a man keen on getting sloppy seconds, even from himself.
The distance from the ground to your knees is gently negated by Maxim handling you, hands at your waist, knee between your legs. You can't help but push back on it, rubbing your soaked cunt against his thigh, the stifled half groans above you making your head swim with desire. You settle on your stomach and watch his hand tap the arm of the lounge chair, doubling it in height, bringing your ass level with the bulge in his pants.
Your toes hardly gain purchase on the cold floor under you, legs not quite long enough to reach.
You feel two firm, unkind hands on your ass, kneading the flesh with little mind to the sensitivity of your skin, taking the intimacy of the moment and flipping it into knee shaking anticipation with a touch of dread
Something blunt and scalding hot presses into the cleft of your cunt, easily breaching your soaked lips, spreading and pushing and pushing well past the threshold of pleasure.
"Oh god," you whine, face pressing into your arms where they cross over the edge of the lounge chair, your breath coming fast and panicked. His hands keep you firmly in place as you scrabble for purchase on the cold wood floor with toes not quite long enough to touch. "Fuck, too much, too much, please-"
A hand grips the back of your neck, pressing firmly into the plush velvet beneath you, stifling your breath long enough for Horvath to sink himself to the hilt. Your cunt burns with the friction, toes curling,
"There we go, that wasn't so bad, was it?" His voice is mocking, hot tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You felt a hand squeeze the outside of your thigh.
"Open your legs, girl." He say, and it is a command that spreads through your body like ice. Something warm touches your knuckles, and your eyes blink open doeishly to the sight of Maxim crouched before you, pressing soft kisses against your fingers.
"Trust me." He says, and his voice is infinitely kinder than the man behind you. You do as Horvath asked, and lift the leg he's squeezing up onto the edge of the lounge chair, bent at an angle, absolutely no leverage to speak of.
Hot and precise fingers find your clit, starting a wicked rhythm that makes your head spin. You arch under Horvath's touch, moaning, trying desperately to move against his cock where it fills you but finding no purchase to do so. The hand on the back of your neck migrates between your shoulders, pressing you less forcefully into the cushion. The stretch of his cock becomes less and less painful as he circles your clit, cunt dripping down the leg still dangling over the side.
"That's it, girl," Horvath's voice iss increasingly ragged, and you feel his hips snap forward slightly, one quick grinding motion that leaves you keening. "Nice and wet for me, so tight, so good."
The praise goes straight to your core, molars grinding together in an effort to not sob with gratitude. His approval was what you'd secretly wanted the entire time; not degradation, not humiliating words, but praise for your service, for a job well done at pleasing him.
Horvath evidently feels the change in your posture, your hips dipping to meet his shallow thrusts, the desperation in your whining, the clench of your cunt. His nails dig into the soft flesh on your mid back, hard enough to draw blood.
"Ask permission, whore."
"Please, please, please may I cum, please?" Your voice pitches up in tone, throat rasping around the words, sore from use.
Horvath seems to think for a minute, his hips starting a rolling, deliberate pace, each thrust firm and deep.
"Yes, I think you deserve it." There is a wickedness in his tone that speaks of the desire to make you wait longer, but when your eyes glance up to meet Maxim's gaze, there's compassion in them that makes you tremble. He leans forward and kisses your knuckles again, and orgasm rages through you like a dam breaking.
Horvath stills inside of you, relishing the feel of your cunt milking him, allowing you to take your pleasure from his cock. His fingers slow to a lazy pace, circling with only enough effort to keep you coherent.
Your head tilts back after regaining your bearings, a bit of drool trailing from the corner of your mouth. You haven't the presence of mind to be self-conscious about it. Maxim reaches a tender hand up and swipes it way while Horvath laughs over your shoulder, low and menacing.
"Such a greedy little thing you are," he says, hips snapping into you, making you scream, pushing you forward further on the lounge chair. Your hands scrabble for anything to ground you, and Maxim leans forward, letting you curl your head under his chin as his cruel doppelganger fucks you senseless.
"Easy my dear, easy," the man holding you kisses the top of your head gently, his hands coaxing you back a bit so he can look into your eyes.
"Choke her." Comes Horvath over your shoulder, the command frightening in your ears. Maxim nods, one hand circling your throat, big enough to hold the entirety in one and nearly meet his fingertips at the back of your neck. The pressure he applies is easily taken, much easier than it had been with the man behind you doing it, and his lips meet yours as he did so.
Your mouth parts, allowing his tongue to lead your own, swallowing your desperate cries as your cunt is pounded to bruising.
"Harder." Horvath says, and a few tears peel down your cheeks.
Maxim doesn't let up with the kiss, even as the pressure of his hand on your throat increases. Your lungs burn, eyes glassy, and black crept into the edges of your mind.
"Stop." The man says over your shoulder, his voice a bit breathless. A small spark of pride lights in your chest, though his hips don't slow and your tears don't stop. Maxim lets up on you, and you take an enormous, gasping breath in at the edge of his mouth while he continues to kiss you.
"Again." Snarls Horvath, nearly there, his voice clipped.
Maxim's hand regains it's grip on your throat, squeezing clinically, leaving you gaping like a fish. You know your face is red, could feel the heat coming off of yourself as he presses his lips to your cheek.
"Soon, darling," he whispers in your ear, "you're so good for me."
It seems an eternity before Horvath stills inside of you, filling you to the brim with his seed, groaning through clenched teeth. Your mind drifts to thoughts of sorcerer's Plan-B.
Maxim lets up on your throat the instant his shadow is done, caressing your cheeks, peppering kisses all over your face, rubbing careful and gentle circles over your sides and down to your hips.
He lifts you with him as he stands, your knees cushioned by the lounge chair's inordinately soft velvet lining. It was a stark contrast to the full ache between your thighs. You fall forward against him, boneless, and he holds you in his arms.
For a moment you're concerned he'll take you right there, without a moment to rest, his hand moving southward to cup your mound, fingers lightly strumming over your cunt lips. You suck in a breath through your teeth, squeezing your eyes shut against the pain.
"Oh dear, poor little thing, fucked raw," his words sound like they might have been mocking, but the kiss he places at the crook of your neck as he gently presses his palm into your clit and breached your sore hole with his fingers is very genuine. Heat radiates from his hand, filling you with a sensation of tingling centralized on your stomach down to the tops of your thighs. The tingling is replaced by a cooling feel, as though he applied a menthol balm, but inside of you.
After a few tense moments, the only sound between you your gasping breath, the pain drains out of your body like water running over you. All you feel now is need.
Your arms come up to circle his shoulders, open mouthed kisses pressed to his cheek.
"Will you fuck me now, Maxim?" You ask, your tone bold, bolder than you'd expected from yourself, but the renewed strength you feel from his healing touch gives you a certain fire. His hand remains where it is, fingers curling into your cunt, palming your clit.
"Yes, I think so." He says against your ear, and you hear the distinct sound of his belt unfastening.
You're ready for him with hardly any preparation, drenched in cum both your own and his doppelganger's. He turns you in his arms until your back presses to his chest, and you feel the head of his cock bump against your cunt lips.
The angle you're at, pressed against him on your knees, hands gripping his forearms where they hold your waist, allows you more control than you'd had of the situation previous. He breaches you gently, slowly, gasping against your shoulder. You turn your head until you can meet his mouth with your own, kissing him languidly.
You rock back into him, mewling against his lips.
"Right there, fuck," you breathe, his cockhead striking your g-spot on every instroke, your hips canting into his with greater and greater speed.
"Are you going to cum for me, my love?" His voice is shot-through, ragged, his hands on your hips bringing you against him harder.
You hardly register the endearment, 'my love', but it makes your heart ache regardless. You expect any moment that Horvath will stalk out of the darkness, strike you across the face, demean you. But nothing comes, only the pleasure and warmth of the man behind you.
"Fuck," his mouth is against your cheek, hips moving at a desperate pace, hands on your hips pulling you against him. "Fuck, I'm-"
You realize then that you are, too. At the same time even. Your hips stutter, eyes screwing shut, your hands clutching at his own with fervor.
And the tide breaks over both of you at the same time.
Every candle in the room ignites with a flame high enough to reach the ceiling, the furniture clatters against the ground as if struck by an earthquake, and Maxim holds on to you like you're the only thing anchoring him to this world.
You cry against him, head fallen back against his shoulder, sobbing your ecstasy as you feel his seed dump inside of you, hot, coating your womb.
You breathe against one another for a long, long time, trembling in his arms, before he pulls back and kisses you. Your mouths meet in a flurry of teeth and lips and unsaid promises. He's still seated inside of you, half hard, and the last vestiges of pleasure rocket through you as he grinds himself against you, then withdraws and tucks himself back into his pants.
After a long, long moment, you find the courage to glance over your shoulder, eyeing the scenery for Horvath's disapproval. He isn't there.
The only one in the room is Maxim.
When you turn your eyes back to him, his hands are still on your hips, but his eyes are distant, searching.
He blinks hard, and then seems to come back to himself. His hands find the hem of your abused skirt and pull it down, straightening your shirt as well.
You lean forward slightly, hoping for a kiss.
He jerks back, his eyes still distant. But in the candle light you can see they're more than black, more than a vacuum of endless cruelty. They're brown, little flecks of green and gold making them glow.
He clears his throat, then steps back. You fall back onto the soft cushion of the lounger, hands clenching uselessly.
"Forgive me."
And then you're back in your lonely apartment, cold, drenched in darkness.
Your arms come up to your sides on instinct, shaking at the transmutation of your form. You glance around, and there's no trace of Horvath anywhere. You're alone.
Like he was never there in the first place.