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At the end of the day, Marwa is a truly, genuinely lovely woman.
She’s warm, understanding, knows when and where to join in a conversation, and above all she accepts Nandor’s marriage proposal with a placid smile and open arms – something that Nandor’s has been waiting hundreds of years for someone to do. The only issue is…
“She just doesn’t do it for me,” Nandor explains desperately to the djinn, who stands before him with arms folded and one eyebrow raised in a caricature of disapproval. “She just… I don’t know what it is. She doesn’t turn me on. It’s humiliating; I say, I say, ‘ooh, come on, Marwa, let me show you how roomy it is on the inside of my coffin’ - and she came in, and we just lay there in the dark! Nothing happened at all! I didn’t even want it to happen!”
He puts his head in his hands.
“So I guess,” he says finally after a period of silence, “I guess what I’m asking is whether you could do something - anything - to make me… to help…” He trails off, hoping the djinn will get the jist and he won’t have to say it out loud.
“Hm. That is a conundrum.” The djinn sighs and adjusts his glasses. “And you know that I can’t change feelings, Nandor, you know I can’t just make you more attracted to her?”
“I know, I know. I just hoped maybe there’d be, I don’t know, a way around it? Get creative?”
The djinn appears to think for a moment, and then he nods slowly.
“Okay. I have an idea.”
“Really?”
“Really. But only if you mean it, only if you think there’s no other way–”
“I mean it!” Nandor all but wails. “Anything, literally anything!”
It’s bad enough becoming so starved for love and affection that you’ll resurrect 37 of your dead wives so that you can narrow them down to just one pick that might scratch an itch, without the only woman making the cut not even being able to turn you on. Nandor couldn’t have been more embarrassed if Marwa herself had stood up and gone, ‘No, actually, I don’t think I do want to be your wife any more, I find you physically unappealing and sexually repulsive, have a good night!’. It’s awful. It’s so awful.
The djinn regards him with an uncomfortably knowing look for a second, then shrugs and clicks his fingers.
“Alright,” he says. “You should notice the difference within the hour, and since it’s obviously a dire situation I’ve made the effects last for twenty-four hours - or until it reaches its natural conclusion. Hope it works out.”
Nandor barely manages to get out a “Thank you!” before the djinn is gone, leaving Nandor to his anticipation and an empty bedroom.
In fact, it’s about forty-one minutes until Nandor realises what the djinn has actually done.
He’d gotten bored by then, trailing miserably off to find the others to see if anything interesting was going on elsewhere in the house (shocker, just a whole lot of HGTV and Laszlo trying to teach the Colin Robinson shaped parasite how to beg for food) when suddenly, he feels an aching in his groin usually only ever brought on by the assurance that sex is inevitable within the next thirty seconds. Therefore, it’s a pretty unexpected (if pleasant) shock to realise that he is fully hard and fully feeling the effects from doing nothing but learning about feature walls from two of the most sexless beings ever shown on TV, and when he gets his brain to start functioning again he realises what must have happened.
“Oh wow,” he says out loud.
Laszlo looks at him funny for a moment, then tracks his gaze down to the front of his trousers and whistles.
“Oh, well done old chap. Even I would struggle to get horny to this shit, but I suppose the cock wants what the cock wants, hm?” He nods approvingly. “I would offer to give you a helping hand, but I have the boy to attend to and I don’t think he especially needs his developmental years to be influenced by that kind of behaviour.”
As if on cue, the not-Colin Robinson babbles and claps his hands at Nandor, clearly motioning to be picked up.
“Ah, probably not,” Nandor says, both in response to Laszlo and the child. “Well, since there’s no better time for it, I was wondering if you’d seen Marwa today?”
Laszlo scrunches his nose. “I’m afraid not. She might have gone out with the Guide earlier, something about coming to grips with modern life? If she’s going to be sticking around, it would make sense that she’d need to know what a bus is. Or a vibrator. Or a Walmart. Or a lampost. Or a–”
“Yes, I think I get the picture,” Nandor interrupts, heart sinking. “In that case, I’ll handle this myself. Thank you anyway.”
“Not on the fucking sofa,” Laszlo says quickly as Nandor shifts his position, and Nandor gives him a scathing look as he gets to his feet awkwardly.
“I wasn’t planning to,” he snaps. “ I have a bedroom, you know. Not all of us are happy to just whip it out and pleasure our wives six ways to Sunday over the kitchen countertop.”
“You should expand your horizons,” Laszlo replies unhelpfully. “Nadja’s never had any complaints. Just not while the boy’s around, alright?”
“Alright, alright!”
Nandor leaves as quickly as possible, wondering privately (and resentfully) whether developing the confidence to spontaneously preposition Marwa over the grand piano would help him to conversely develop a little more enthusiasm for the idea of sex with her in general.
The door to his room has barely closed behind him before he’s got a hand down his pants, wrapped around himself with a kind of frantic neediness that he hasn’t experienced since being fourteen and figuring out, oh fuck, oh fuck, that feels better than I’m used to - and within seconds relief rushes through his body at the slight easing of the pressure.
It’s frankly embarrassing how fast he gets off after that, no imagined scenario or soothing hand attached to a pretty face necessary in order to achieve release, and when he comes it’s with his back still pressed against the door and still basically fully dressed. It happens with a poorly stifled groan and his eyes slamming shut as he works himself through the orgasm, teeth biting into his lower lip hard enough to draw blood and the feeling of shame lingering at both the sheer speed of the procedure and how badly he needed it.
This should’ve calmed it for a while, anyway, he thinks as he tries to breathe normally again.
No sooner has the thought passed through his mind however than the aching, tingling sensation returns, if anything even stronger than before and twice as frustrating.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” Nandor mutters, replacing his hand around himself cautiously and finding that already, within a matter of seconds, he’s hardening again. “I can’t fucking do this again.”
Why is this happening again, and so quickly?
He tries to think back, and with a sudden horrifying lurch he realises that the djinn had told him ‘the effects’ would last for 24 hours. He’d assumed he meant some kind of spell where Marwa appeared to him with significantly less clothes or significantly nicer boobs or something like that, but this is…
“There’s no way I can keep this up for 24 hours,” he says to no one, the aching intensifying again as both dick and dread rise to full mast. This time, he’s so hard it hurts. “No one can.”
He stands for a moment, still trying to figure out what to do. He can’t just walk around the house like this, hard as a rock and barely functional, but he also can’t spend the full 24 hours in a constant state of getting himself off. And Marwa isn’t even here.
“Djinn?” he tries at last, calling out to the empty room. Nothing happens. Nandor shuts his eyes and wipes the hand that isn’t covered in his own come over his face. “Fucking guy.”
He’s just entertaining the idea of trying for another round when there’s a knock on the other side of the door and a very familiar, “Nandor? Are you alright?”
Nandor’s eyes fly open. “I- Guillermo, I am fine, absolutely perfect, thank you!”
“Really? You were calling for the djinn again and I just wondered if there was anything I could help you with. You do give him some pretty stupid wishes that are like, easily fixable with the bare minimum of effort.”
God. God, fuck. Fuck fuck.
“I really don’t think–”
“Well, why don’t you open the door and let me see? Listen Nandor, if you’ve spilt blood everywhere again, I told you, there’s special powders you can use now, you don’t need to waste wishes on it.”
“It’s not that, I don’t – shit, Guillermo, don’t make me say it…”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Nandor, just let me–”
Nandor moves away from the door, frantically trying to put everything Back In Place right as Guillermo shoves it open and then stops short just before crashing directly into Nandor’s back.
“...Nandor?”
“I told you, I said you shouldn’t have come in, I can’t–”
The panic and embarrassment is obviously evident in his voice, because Guillermo just puts a hand gently on his shoulder and says, “Hey, listen, whatever it is, I’m sure we can sort it out. We don’t need a djinn, just turn around and tell me what the issue is, okay?” From his tone, he sounds like he thinks Nandor’s just discovered he has thirty minutes left to live and it’s a fresh wave of humiliation that crashes over Nandor as he realises he’s going to not only have to reveal his shame to Guillermo but also make him think he’s an idiot for having the issue in the first place.
Slowly, and with a feeling of nausea rising in him to complement the pain of being horny enough that it hurts, he turns to face Guillermo.
At first, he can tell that Guillermo’s taken aback by the seeming lack of any obvious problem, but then his eyes drift down to where Nandor’s fists clench and unclench in front of him, trousers visibly tented and a visible damp patch on the right side where Nandor had wiped the offending hand. His mouth falls open into an o of understanding and he exhales shakily.
“Ah.”
They stand in silence for a moment, then Nandor’s resolve breaks and he blurts out in a panic, “I didn’t mean for it to happen! I just asked the djinn if he had anything that could help me to find Marwa more attractive, I never thought he’d… I mean, I did say ‘anything’, but usually that doesn’t mean… oh, stop fucking looking at me like that, Guillermo! I’m humiliated enough as it is!”
Guillermo blinks in surprise and then looks up at him incredulously. “Sorry, you deliberately got cursed with a spell to make you horny because, what, the woman you actually proposed to on purpose with your own mouth isn’t attractive enough for you? Are you kidding me right now?”
“Well, I! I mean! When you put it that way it sounds! Well!!” If Nandor was still human, he would be blushing like a virgin on his wedding night. As it is, he feels uncomfortably warm. Guillermo just continues to stare.
“So, so what? You can’t get it down, is that it?”
“I tried!” Nandor nearly howls. “I tried, Guillermo! It just came back, and it hurts!” He’s close to tears, and Guillermo looking at him like he’s the stupidest man alive isn’t helping. “It really fucking hurts, okay? Are you happy now? Yes, it was stupid! I shouldn’t have wished it! There! I said it!”
“Shouldn’t have proposed in the first place, Nandor,” Guillermo responds, but the venom is gone from his voice and now he’s got this look about him where he seems to be trying to sort something out in his head. “If you weren’t attracted to her, you shouldn’t have proposed.”
“I know,” Nandor says quietly. “I know, I just thought…” He clears his throat. “Look, I will sort myself out. I’m sorry for making you worry.”
He steps back and finishes wiping his hand off on his cape awkwardly.
“You can probably leave now. If you want to.”
Guillermo hums and then looks at him oddly, head cocked to one side. “I mean, do you want me to leave?”
“I…” Nandor flounders. “What?”
“I’m asking if you want me to leave. Like, actually. Because if what you need is a… hand. Then I could stay, and help you out.” The words come slow and deliberate, like he’s thought them through very carefully and knows exactly what he’s asking. Nandor’s head spins.
“I think I would not say no to that,” he says eventually, and Guillermo flashes him a brief smile before clearing his throat and rolling up his sleeves.
“In that case, master,” and he puts a certain emphasis on the word that he never has before, making Nandor swallow hard, “where would you like to do this?”
Nandor opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, then makes a noise somewhere in between “Yeah” and “Ghbmmhgh?”
Guillermo snorts very attractively then shakes his head and just says, “Get against the door,” which Nandor complies with faster than he would normally consider dignified. The second his back hits the wood, Guillermo’s there in front of him, so close, so warm, one hand braced against the door beside him and the other gently moving Nandor’s hand away from his crotch in some pathetic attempt at damage control.
“This is definitely fine?” he checks again, glancing up at Nandor through dark eyelashes and Nandor feels another throb of arousal hit him like a bullet train.
“It’s fine, Guillermo, it’s fine,” he says desperately, trying to avoid bucking his hips forwards into Guillermo like some kind of animal. “Please touch me, please please please touch me…”
Guillermo laughs again at the words spilling out of Nandor’s mouth, a mixture of shock and amusement playing across his face.
“Not so tough anymore, master?”
Nandor wants to crawl into a hole and die. “Guillermo, I will not ask again.”
“I don’t know if that’s true. I think I could get you to ask me for it a couple more times at least before the spell wears off, huh?”
Even Guillermo seems surprised at what he’s saying, but nevertheless the words are out now and making Nandor so hard he thinks he might die like this.
“Guillermo!”
“Sorry, sorry.” He doesn’t sound it.
Nandor’s about to tell him that if he doesn’t touch him he’s going to ask him to leave for real this time, when he feels the pressure of Guillermo’s hand against his dick through his trousers and whatever was going to come out of his mouth turns into a strangled moan. He drops his head forwards and begins mumbling truly mad statements under his breath, a stream of, “Please, more, please move, I need you, please, fuck, Guillermo…” escaping without him consciously meaning it to. Guillermo just laughs again and pulls at the material, tugging it down over his hips and allowing him full access.
“You know, most people don’t get this worked up over a handjob.”
“Well, maybe people aren’t cursed by a djinn to make them so fucking hard it’s painful,” Nandor retorts, teeth gritted at Guillermo finally gets his hand around his cock. “I wouldn’t normally ask this if you, you know.”
“You’re sure? I’m pretty good with my hands.”
Nandor moans again, louder, and Guillermo (the bastard, the fiend) deals with this development by doing something with his wrist that makes Nandor’s vision white out at the edges and his knees buckle.
“Fuck, you’ve made your point,” he gasps, and Guillermo just hums in satisfaction as he swipes his thumb over the head of Nandor’s cock where it’s already shiny from precome like it’s nothing, like it’s not killing him, and Nandor melts.
And actually, Nandor feels more than a little stupid for not expecting it.
He should’ve guessed from the way that Guillermo knows how to fight so well, how to handle a blade like he’s done it every day for his whole life and how to kill like it comes to him without thought. Here and now, Guillermo’s hand moving where he can’t see it, can only feel the way he brushes sensitive spots and teases out desperate noises from Nandor like it’s the only thing he knows how to do, Nandor wonders whether Guillermo had ever thought about doing this to him before. The notion makes him lightheaded.
“Guillermo,” he repeats, more of a check to make sure he isn’t dreaming than any kind of real request, but nonetheless it makes Guillermo speed up and Nandor just cries out as the pressure builds again for the second time in five minutes. He lifts his hands for a moment as if to try and grab at Guillermo to bring him closer or anchor himself to reality, and then at the last second lets them fall, flopping uselessly at his sides.
Guillermo sees the movement and, hand still moving, says, “You can touch me, if you want.” He coughs at Nandor’s gasp and corrects himself - “I mean, like, above the waist is okay, you don’t have to like, return the favour or anything, I wouldn’t expect…”
Nandor, who stopped listening the moment the words “You can touch me, if you want,” left Guillermo’s mouth, immediately drags him closer, so close that his face is basically in Guillermo’s hair (god, it smells good. Why does he smell so good.) and immediately gets a hand down his trousers to a sharp inhale from the other man. He is more than relieved to discover that Guillermo, despite the cocky remarks and the talented hands, is nowhere near unaffected by the experience and he whines as Guillermo’s hand tightens instinctively around him at the touch.
Nandor begins to move his hand as slowly as he can bear, and when Guillermo rocks forward into the hold he speeds up experimentally - causing Guillermo to almost growl (heaven help us all) and in turn speed up his own movements.
When Guillermo finally takes the initiative to audibly mumble “Fuck it,” and grabs Nandor’s hand to bring their dicks together, Nandor nearly sobs from pleasure and grinds forwards, allowing Guillermo to control the pace of the thrusts and the pressure of the touch even with his own hand held around both of them.
“Told you I was good,” Guillermo manages, body now pressed fully against Nandor so that he’s pretty much just held helplessly against the door with no route of escape - not that he would want one if given the opportunity. “Maybe now you’ll value my presence in this house.”
“I do value you,” Nandor says, brain barely even still engaged. “I value you so much, Guillermo, you have no idea, I don’t–”
“Shut up,” Guillermo says, and does that fucking thing with his wrist again that makes Nandor forget how to speak English (tactical, the little shit), and with that it’s only a couple more thrusts until Nandor’s coming with a shout, head slamming back against the wood of the door so hard and suddenly that it actually hurts quite a bit, spilling over both of them. He lets out one more cracked, “Guillermo!” and then he feels Guillermo shudder, his hand tensing up and then he’s coming too.
For one spinning, wonderful second, they stay together and bask in the afterglow, both trying to steady their breathing, and then Guillermo’s pulling away with a sigh and looking for tissues to clean himself down with.
For Nandor sex is not usually a business transaction, and so he feels the loss of the warmth with a particular kind of disappointment, watching Guillermo all but wholly ignore him as he stays put exactly where he was left. Eventually, Guillermo turns to face him with a look reminiscent of when he first asked the djinn to help him out with the Marwa issue, hand almost entirely cleared of evidence and hair smoothed back into place. Nandor swallows.
“Nandor, break off the engagement,” Guillermo says shortly.
“But I—”
“Break off the engagement, and then come talk to me.”
Nandor doesn’t even try to block the door as Guillermo leaves, cool as a cucumber and without a backwards glance.
It’s not until a good ten minutes later that it dawns on him why he can’t bring himself to love Marwa, and the realisation comes with a sinking feeling that he might be entirely ten years behind on the schedule.