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Laundry was not something that Athalia had really had to reckon with whilst growing up. Privilege had insulated her from that particular task; laundry was the domain of the servants of the Linnacker household, and consequently she was… not great at it. She squinted thoughtfully at her handiwork hanging on the tree branch in front of her. Her dove grey Selûnite robes still retained the stains of battle no matter how hard she scrubbed. Blood just didn't come out easily, nevermind the other vile things they had come into contact with in the Shadow Cursed Lands. She had been glad when they had been able to leave that behind, appreciating the sun even more. Though now the bright daylight showed up exactly how grubby her robes had become. Wrapping her arms around herself, Athalia tried to think of what she could possibly be doing wrong. The cool, late summer breeze raised goosebumps along her bare shoulders, stirring the silvery-white strands of her long hair against her neck, her soft chemise fluttering against her legs as she gazed at the puzzle of wet fabric before her. If only she had been shown the way to do it, such an essential skill, and yet here she was, lacking what seemed now like embarrassingly basic knowledge.
The robes had no answer as they dripped clear river water onto the soft grass beneath the tree.
A radiant slice of moonlight, all the more rare for appearing in the midday sun, Gale thought as he gazed at her. There were moments when he felt shy, could scarcely believe she was his to touch, his to hold and cherish, this sweet, gleaming thing shimmering by the riverbank like a freshwater pearl. A brief moment of fear flitted through his chest — he was so used to holding back, so used to the terrifying, hungry pull of the orb that accompanied his desire. But it was still, save for a brief flicker of violet light, or he was numb to it from the charm. Either way, he told himself with a small smile, it was safe to approach.
"What is so fascinating about your wet robes, my dearest?" He murmured in her ear, making her jump. This close he could see the divots her teeth had been making in her plush, pink lower lip where she had been biting it whilst she had been thinking. He wanted to trace them with his tongue, feel the soft, now swollen texture and get a taste of her beautiful mouth, twisted as it was in mild consternation. His hands pressed against her hips, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her underthings.
A lovely flush had crept up Athalia's throat, pale cheeks now staining pink; he couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or arousal, or perhaps a delightful mixture of both. "I was trying to clean them, but the stains won't come out. I… I don't know what to do about it."
"Simple, merely cast prestidigitation. No need to even get them wet." He tried not to sound condescending. He really did. He hid his suppressed smile in a series of soft kisses to her bare shoulder, making her shiver.
"I don't know that spell, Gale."
He stilled, pausing in his path towards the sweetly scented hollow of her neck. "You — I'm sorry?"
Athalia gave a slight huff. "I don't know that spell, Gale," she repeated more slowly, but retaining her gentleness, as if he was hard of hearing rather than shocked, "it's not one that Selûne grants to us."
"But — surely you must have had — this is such a minor… This is a cantrip that novices use to practise rudimentary casting!" He spluttered.
"Wizard novices," she corrected again, "not clerics. We practise other spells."
"One of the most fundamental, commonplace spells for any decent arcanist, and you're telling me you've never attempted it?"
She turned her head slightly, fixing him with as haughty a gaze as she could muster, her sky-blue eyes taking on a coolness that reminded him of her noble upbringing. "There is no need to — what are you doing?!"
Her hands flew to the hem of her chemise which had blown upward in the sudden gust of a light, warm breeze, tugging at it desperately so as not to expose her silky underwear further, trying to cover the milky expanse of pale thigh revealed in tantalising glimpses by the rushes of air. They tickled at her legs playfully, as if the breeze had teasing fingertips with which to lift her skirts.
"Allow me to demonstrate." Gale sent another rolling little squall between her legs with a deft flick of his wrist, eyes gleaming mischievously. "Prestidigitation is a remarkably versatile spell, that has all manner of creative applications. Perhaps a lecture is in order, a little laundry list of ways in which one might employ such a casting…"
Athalia had to fight a smile at the wordplay, trying to feign annoyance as she wrestled with the conjured breeze that was determined to ruin her modesty by tugging at her chemise. It was frustrating how attractive she found it, the smug tilt to his lips when he was pleased with his own cleverness, particularly when it was over ridiculous puns. It made seeming cross or stern with him almost impossible. The eddies and swirls of air around her legs were making it increasingly difficult to focus, especially when it brushed against her core without warning; it was as if Gale had suddenly materialised between her legs, mouth open and panting as he sometimes did when on the brink of devouring her, warm puffs of air stroking her clothed folds and sending a flood of heat through her body. And yet he was standing in front of her like a professor at a lectern, and not on his knees about to press his lips to her rapidly dampening underthings.
Raising a finger, he continued. "Now, that is but one of the harmless effects easily produced," the wind dropped, and so did her skirts, leaving her legs trembling and her hands fisted in the delicate fabric, clutching it against her thighs. "Let us continue our explorations. Come here."
He took her hand, and gently let her to the edge of the riverbank. Athalia glanced around, nervous, feeling exposed, thinking of their companions stumbling through the woods and finding… whatever was about to happen. "Gale… please. Anyone could see us!" she hissed.
The warmth of his gaze fell over her in a soothing wave, softening the eadges of her awareness in a moment. He drew her close, as if his body could shield her from prying eyes. She could feel his comforting warmth seeping through his robes and against her bare skin. "I promise our lesson will remain private, just for us. And should any interloper come along, a well-timed invisibility spell should take care of everything. Besides, all our rag-tag bunch are summarily engaged on their own endeavours while we have a brief moment of respite, I highly doubt we'll be disturbed. Does that take care of your worries, for now?" Gale waited for her nod before he bent down and cupped a palm of shining river water, pouring it with little ceremony over her breasts. It was a shock, cool and clinging against her skin, turning her chemise translucent and immediately making her nipples stiff. And colder still when he palmed them with a subtle flourish, the water going from cool to frigid in an instant, making her squirm and grip his shoulders when his head bent and his mouth closed around one tightened tip, hot as a furnace by contrast. She could feel it right the way down to her core, the way he sucked the water from the fabric, drinking her in, heat blooming on her breast and between her legs in tandem.
"Temperature," he murmured, looking up with a hungry gaze that amplified the tingles now running up and down her spine, "is but another thing that one can easily manipulate with this simple spell. Like so." He returned to press his lips to the other side, hands still cupping her gently, only this time along with the light tug of teeth to her nipple that made her whimper, there was a rolling sensation of warmth against her delicate, chilled skin. The water soaking the fabric heated up as he laved and teased, making her flush as if they were beside a hot spring with steam rising in the air to caress her cheeks. Her thighs pressed together as she gasped, half-expecting the air to be humid as a sauna, and she could feel the need to have him, to touch him back and feel his body against hers, rising from the heat pooling low in her belly.
Athalia's fingers ran through his hair, lightly tugging to try to get him to lift his head, her other hand straying to the toggles on his robe. "I'm learning so much, but — thank you — I think I understand —" she struggled to get the words out as the shifting sensations of warmth and cool and tender kisses and licks made her head spin and her core throb.
He stilled her hands, taking them in his own with a soft grunt of admonishment. "We aren't finished; what kind of teacher would I be if I weren't completely thorough?"
"Oh, well… I thought… we're not?"
A satisfied, smug smile rose to his lips. Gale could see the way her bright blue eyes had gone from icy clarity to hazy summer day as she blinked, trying to catch up, hopelessly distracted. This he could offer of himself with ease: the pleasure of learning, while learning her pleasure. "No, we are not," he confirmed, satisfaction growing as the authority creeping into his tone clearly made her flush deepen. "So, my eager student, let us move to the next application of this highly adaptable arcana. Alright?" And then, when she exhaled her acquiescence on a slightly trembling breath, he leaned in close, dropping a kiss to her cheek and chanced a brief, whispered "good girl."
The reaction it garnered was more than he had anticipated, and he had to grit his teeth to ignore the way his cock ached when he heard her surprised little squeak and felt the shudder of her limbs. But he had a lesson plan — sort of — and so much more to show her. He slid the straps of her chemise down over her shoulders, letting it drop and puddle around her feet. Slowly, tenderly, he pressed a string of gentle kisses across her chest where her skin was still dewy with the freshness of clean, warmed river, leaving behind a shimmering series of letters.
b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l
"One can create all manner of marks and symbols," he continued, sinking to his knees before her as gracefully as he could (ignoring the twinge that came with the motion), watching her gaze follow him and take in the opalescent writing gleaming on her body like an iridescent soapy film. "It allows the caster to express whatever they desire…" His lips traced another path, just above the waistband of her underwear.
d-e-s-i-r-e
It gleamed beneath her navel and he could smell the heady scent of her arousal, face to face with the visible wet spot between her legs. He swallowed, anticipation building in the pit of his own belly, the shining letters on hers a mirror of his want.
"If you would be so kind?" He lifted her leg, resting it on his shoulder, and repeated the silent speaking of letters with his kiss, ending with a flick of his tongue at the crease of her thigh which earned him a jolt and a whimper. He laughed, a huff of hot air against her core, this time actually from his mouth. Drawing back, he made sure she could see what he'd drawn so sweetly upon that intimate expanse of pale flesh.
b-e-l-o-v-e-d
Athalia let out a moan and she could feel her legs begin to buckle with the overwhelm of sensation and emotion tumbling through her, bringing her to the ground. All she could think, all she could feel, was the desperate, aching need starting in her core and flowing outward through the branching, winding streams of her nerves. "Gale!" she gasped, and then let out a ticklish little shriek when the word on her chest began tingling. Like a series of tiny, harmless, buzzy sparks were dancing over the letters as he leaned over her and traced them with the tip of his finger, writing the word anew.
"A particularly skilled caster can have multiple uses of the cantrip active simultaneously, you see." He said, his voice barely affected, warm and sonorous and continuing to lecture as his hand dropped lower, writing out his desire again with a cooling touch. It made her hips buck and her back arch against the grassy bank, desperately trying to get him to do something — anything — between her legs.
"Very good," Gale murmured, "you're a wonderful pupil, very engaged. Not much longer before your diligent study will be amply rewarded, I promise." His hand skated over her inner thighs and that warmth suddenly spilled along the lines of the word, beloved, the heat of it stoking the near unbearable, soaking blaze of her aching cunt. Athalia sank her fingernails into the earth, hanging on as she was buffeted between the intensity of vibrations running down from her chest, mingling with the dance of cold and heat surrounding her pelvis, only for it all to be abruptly replaced with the slide of his tongue over her dripping folds. She let out a wail as his lips sealed over her clit in a sensual, sucking kiss, tongue lapping at the same time, making her legs spasm and her toes curl as the intensity of it shot through her legs. All earlier self-consciousness and fear of being discovered was clearly gone. She was awash in a world of pure sensation, hurtling towards orgasm alarmingly fast, when she felt him slide two fingers into her — and they were vibrating, rumbling like a thunderstorm.
Her eyes rolled back, vision whiting out like the sky during crack of lightning as she came, spasming around his fingers that pressed the storm of pleasure into the soft, aching place inside her that made it go on and on, an endless roll of thunder shaking her limbs until she found some kind of words amist the string of helpless whimpers falling from her lips. It could have been something like "I can't" or "please" but she wasn't sure, though whatever it was had been enough for Gale. He relented; she felt the emptiness of his withdrawing fingers and opened her eyes just in time to see him place them, sticky and glistening with her slick, in his mouth, sucking them clean as his eyes fluttered shut.
Gale savoured the taste of her, sweet and fresh as honeysuckle, pure as radiant moonlight, real with salt and the faintest musk that assured him she was there, perfectly mortal, still his to hold. He took in the wide, bewildered, blissful glaze of her eyes, the bright pink like cherry blossoms on her high cheekbones, and had to fight the urge to ravage her right then and there, his hips rolling against her involuntarily.
"There is one more thing I would like to demonstrate —" his voice was huskier than he had expected.
"Oh, only one?" Athalia replied faintly with a mildly hysterical giggle.
"Well, for now…" Gale shifted, hips slotting between her legs. Her arousal began to seep into the front of his breeches, right where the tip of his hardness nestled against her bare sex. It was not helping his focus. But he was, as he reminded himself, a previous archmage and had recently spent months ignoring his baser urges. He was practiced in both arts. He cleared his throat. "I happen to find your flavour exquisite, my love. Have you ever tasted yourself?"
Blushing cherry blossoms unfurled and took on the velvet crimson hue of summer roses as she shook her head, blinking up at him in that abashed way that never failed to make him melt. In so many ways she was so worldly, and in so many others so very innocent. Gale wondered if it made him a terrible pervert to find that innocence even more arousing, and then decided to interrogate that particular train of thought another time; after all, he was in the middle of a lesson. "Perhaps in time you will appreciate yourself as I do. But today, let's use our little cantrip to make sure your first taste of your own passion is as sweet as possible."
His lips, still shining with her slick, pressed to hers, and as he gave a languid gesture she tasted something light, floral and sweet. It was honey; a fragrant, syrupy kiss, as if he'd supped the golden substance straight from the comb. Gale's fingers dipped between her folds again, still impossibly wet, and brought them up to their lips, letting her tongue dart out tentatively and taste the slick before joining her. Like licking honey from a spoon. Their tongues soon tangled together in a heated, messy kiss, and Athalia couldn't wait any longer. Despite still trembling, she reached down and undid the lacing on his breeches as quickly as she could manage, fumbling to wrap her fingers around his thick, throbbing prick and swallowing the moan he let out into her mouth as she stroked him. "I want you, Gale, please," she whispered against his lips and finally, finally he ceded control.
Somewhere along the way, when she'd been lost in the sea of overlapping sensations, she realised with no small amount of gratitude that he'd removed her underwear and his outer robes. Now she could push his undershirt up and feel his skin against hers; Gale scrambled to complete the movement and yanked it off, tossing it aside in the grass, pressing them together with a rolling, full-body sigh. Her legs parted on wanton instinct, seeking the perfect connection of his hips against hers, the blunt head of his cock pressing against the tight, wet heat of her entrance, back arching lazily as he pushed into her, trembling, breath hitching with the tension pulling at his muscles as he tried not to jerk and thrust and take. And then she was full of him, legs wrapping around his hips as he rocked into her, slow and tentative to start as if even in his desperation he still didn't want to hurt her by going too fast. She nudged at his lower back with her heels, encouraging him deeper, luxuriating in the stretch and pressure as he buried himself inside her over and over again. He groaned, his usual unfaltering stream of words now washed away by nothing but noise. His palm found her inner thigh, spreading her wider and activating the ripple of heat — beloved singing across her flesh with a delicious shock. Athalia felt herself clench and felt him throb in response, felt the rhythm of his hips stutter and she knew he was close, so close, she could feel him shake as her own pleasure climbed higher and higher.
He came with a whimper of hot breath against her neck, a brief babble of grunts and incoherent,broken sounds, some of which could have been her name. His body sagged, heavy with bliss, damp with exertion, pinning her to the ground even more securely. She could feel her hips still bucking, chasing release, spread out wide beneath him and needy even as his spent cock began to soften. She was almost there, brow furrowed, biting her lip with a whine —
"That's it, come for me my love," Gale's low murmur slid down her spine as his hand trailed up between their bodies. Heat and chill — beloved, desire — almost too sweet to bear, flared to life and, "you're so beautiful when you come" as those sparks — beautiful — exploded in a skittering burst across her chest and another simultaneous burst behind her eyelids. Or were her eyes open? Were they a shower of sparks, or fireflies, or glittering stars in the middle of the day and was it her imagination or was it him, in a final eruption of magical prowess, a pinnacle of pleasure illustrated by his casting? It all rolled together into a blur, inextricable from one another. She was was alight with ecstasy, radiant at the crest of the wave of orgasm that flooded her body.
The intimacy in the aftermath always made time feel loose. Athalia took what felt like could have been hours, but was likely only a minute, to come back to herself, drifting closer and closer to the present on those soft glowing tides that suffused her whole body. She was vaguely aware of Gale moving so that they were both more comfortable, fussing with clothes or lack thereof, gently tugging her to lie against him. His ability to regain his composure so quickly was quite mysterious to her, but she didn't have the capacity to ask about it just then. She contented herself with trailing her fingers through his chest hair, enjoying the warm, sleepy noises of pleasure he made in response to her touch.
"I hope that was a satisfactory demonstration of the many ways one might use prestidigitation," he said eventually. "Of course there are more, but I wouldn't want to overwhelm you." His apparent modesty was undercut by the sudden appearance of drifting cherry blossoms raining delicately down around them, summoned by his — admittedly quite tired — hand.
Athalia laughed, propping herself up on one shaking arm to look at him with an aching fondness. "Quite! Though, I do have a question…"
He cracked an eye open. "Hm? Go on?"
"I… I don't see how it can be used to clean things?"
Gale spluttered, sitting up immediately. "Good gods, did I really forget — here —" He gave a lazy series of gestures. The mess between her legs vanished. Then the grass stains on his robes. Then the dark stain of her arousal on the crotch of his breeches. Finally, the wretched, faded, bloody marks that had started the whole thing, leaving her pale grey Selûnite robes pristine and almost completely dry in the afternoon sun.
"There, you see? Simple." He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder, and then frowned. "Are you alright?"
Athalia turned her head to look at him questioningly. His fingers trailed over her back, where a series of little grazes and scratches littered her spine, brushing off lingering grass and dirt as he went. Evidently they had been more rough than he had intended. Athalia smiled.
"Oh, I'm fine, nothing a little casting of 'healing word' won't fix," she beamed at him.
Gale gave a slightly embarrassed cough. "Ah. I… I'm afraid I don't know that one."
A bright bubble of mischief rose in her chest at his admission, and her mouth opened with an exaggerated gasp. "Healing word?! The most basic healing spell there is? But novice clerics use it to practice when they first start —"
"Yes, yes, you've made your point —"
"No, no, no," she turned with a playful glint in her eye, pushing him back down and straddling him with a newfound boldness, "I really think it's very important you learn. A skilled wizard like you should pick it up in no time, or maybe let's choose something a little more complex like 'lesser restoration'. In fact, I'll cast it and then I think you'll be ready to start our next lesson right now…"