medicalling | Open Post

There's a knock on the door to the shop, and a muffled Now? that is so easily recognisable, and of course she is a little nervous and a lot excited. Seconds later, she's unlocking the door, opening it, eyebrows raised.

"Lurker. Come inside, I need to lower the blinds and set the alarm."

She steps aside to gesture him to enter, then closes the door and locks it behind him. There is a door to access her home upstairs from the street level, but she also has a well-warded entrance from the back of the shop, which they can take. The store is all theirs, he'll come to notice, as soon as he steps inside. Because it operates like a normal storefront, her shop comes with metal blinds that she lowers at night, when she also empties the cash register and sets her wards.

She's already emptied the register (into her pendant), and but a few dim lights are switched on now. While she pushes the buttons to lower the blinds covering her large windows and door, her attention jumps to the tables in the shop.

How sturdy are your tables?

(Technically, they could find out.)

"So," she asks, turning around to face him but remaining by the door. "How long have you been ready?"

He came in, bottle of wine tucked against his side, smiling as she gave him that look. He watched her walk through the steps of closing blinds, of locking up the shop in a way that had a sense of routine to it.

Rowan moves around, not touching anything while she closes up, but looking at all there was to see in a shop with no bodies other than theirs in it. He grins as she turns to him, wondering what's going on behind her eyes, gauging her body language, moving to set the bottle of red on a table between them. A table that he gave a little jiggle to, to see how sturdy it was. "You're going to have to clarify what 'ready' you mean. A lot of answers to that, love."

She moves as well, her steps almost echoing in the empty shop, until she comes to a stop beside him. "Ready to knock on my door, I meant," she answers, then adds to clarify: "Today."

Because she doesn't want to talk in poetry, about how well they suit each other and how easy it is to talk to him. The healer illusionist, and the witch with her herb garden. Well, no - to think of herself in just those terms doesn't even begin to cover it.

She lets out a little exhale, and reaches out to touch her hand to his arm, where he is using it to give her table a little jiggle. Watching him right back, as if she's trying to gauge his body language, she runs her hand up his arm, then brushes her fingertips down his cheek, nudging his head to turn with her fingers to his chin. Her dark eyes meet his directly, unflinchingly, after they dart for one second down to his very appealing mouth.

"Do you want the tour of upstairs, or to test how sturdy this table is?"

"About ten minutes. Goldfinch came over to let me know you were closing up." He grinned, amused as ever at the fact that at least one pixie, if not the rest of them, were apparently on a mission to get him or her laid. He wasn't going to look further into the motivations there. Pixies were their own disaster zones.

He stays still when she touches him, when she slides her hand up his arm. He moves his head when she angles it towards her, tongue coming out to wet his lips as she glanced down at them. Her question has him smiling, and he moves to angle his body more towards hers. "Why would I be stupid enough to limit myself to only one of those choices?"

Bloody Goldfinch (affectionately). That pixie, meddlesome as they've decided to be about Ariadne's currently on pause sex life, is going to get so many treats in the future for this bit of meddling.

If it had been up to Ariadne alone, they never would've reached this point, regardless of how much she likes Rowan, or how quickly the attraction set in. As open to casual sex as she is, she tends to be slow on taking initiative.

But not now, not come this point. He says, in essence, por que no los dos, and she flashes him a quick grin, bottom lip caught between her teeth when he leans in. "Good answer." She says it low, almost a seductive drawl, and leans in the rest of the way to kiss him.

He doesn't move away, but leans into the kiss, tongue coming out to tease her lips while his arm moves to pull her in firmly against him. There was no need to tip toe around why he was here. They were both adults, both willing, and both fully aware of exactly why he'd come over.

His hand moved a little lower on her back, but then a thought occurred to him and he had to draw back for a moment. "Ah, before this gets any further... those spells of yours you have all over yourself. They're keyed into you specifically, aye? Meaning a little bit of someone else's power potentially touching them won't do something drastic would it?"

There's something so good about kissing someone new, especially when they're good at it - and Rowan is electric. She finds herself stepping closer, breath catching when he wraps his arm around her, tongue darting out to brush against his playfully.

She's not out of breath, you are.

"Mm?" Her brain catches up, and she smiles a little. "That's sweet. They're keyed to me only. For you, they'll just be tattoos. Don't worry, you won't accidentally set the curtains on fire for holding my wrists up."

He laughed, hand coming up under her chin to tip her face up to his. "It's less the pinning of your wrists to the bed and more using magic on you while we play. There's a few things I'm capable of doing that can... enhance the experience. And I plan on making this something you want a repeat of."

Rowan looked at the wine on the table, a gesture making it lift up and float over to the counter, leaving the table bare. "Now, about these tables..."

"I suspect it'll feel nice, but not trigger a spell," she muses, amused by the way he floats the wine so casually. Gods, the mental image of a guy like him just performing casual magic is a trip.

She meets his gaze again. "Maybe we should test it out, for science." She reaches up to hook her finger into the collar of his shirt and tugs him towards her for another kiss. While she grazes her teeth over his bottom lip, she turns them to sit on the table, maneuvering him to stand between her parted legs.

"Sound good?" she checks, between kisses, still against his lips.

"Aye," he answers, hands moving down to where her legs rested on the table. He smoothed his hands up along them to her thighs, gripping her hips and pulling her so that she was closer to the edge of the table. Closer to him.

Then he grabbed one of her wrists, lifting her hand up so the wrist was near his mouth, looking at her as he placed a soft, unmagical kiss against her skin. "Ready?"

He's tactile, she likes that about him. She's glad he wants this to be a repeated occurrence, because she's very much hoping for the same, if this is how he grabs and handles and kisses her.

She sucks in a breath, and looks at him, her eyes half closed, lids heavy with arousal. She knows what tattoo his mouth hovers over - the one that heats liquid of any kind.

"Mmm." She doesn't immediately shiver from the non-magical kiss, but there's a bracing for it kind of tension in the pool of her stomach now. Her breath soft, "Do it."

He was very tactile. It was something that he had to be mindful of at work, since he touched to comfort as much as when he was interested- and humans had a habit of mistaking touch in general for sexual instead of sensual or just being there. But now? Currently? Very sexual.

And as he watched her react to the gentle kiss of his lips against her skin, he smiled, his other hand still gripping the side of her hip, still keeping her in place. When she gave him permission, he was very careful with letting out a small press of power. It was a test, after all. If worse came to worse, he didn't want anything overly bad happening. His tongue came out to drag against the mark, summer heat and a small press of power leaving him as he kissed it into her flesh, waiting to see what happened.

It doesn't trigger her magic, which is a relief and proof of well executed spell ink - all of her tattoos that are magical are self-inflicted, placed there through long and complex rituals, and exist as a way for Ariadne to use her favourite spells in a quick way. They're shortcuts to her spells, but because they are all her spells, it makes sense that he can't use them.

The kiss does not trigger her magic, but it triggers something. She gasps as she feels it wash over her, his power - a whisper of it - zinging up her arm and down her spine. It makes her press her thighs together, trapping him between them where they've come to rest over his hips.

When did she get that close to the edge? When did she move her legs up over his hips? Probably when he licked her.

And she lets out a tiny laugh, finally, heady with enhanced arousal. "Fuck. Felt that one all the way down."

Edited (gdit, / sign) 2026-01-29 20:43 (UTC)

His magic works differently than hers, but it's a relief to know that he wouldn't trigger some kind of inked explosion if he happened to let loose some of it while he was in the middle of fucking her. The chicken shop might never forgive him.

Rowan can scent that spike in her pheromones, and his own start to waft from him in a vanilla-scented wave while he nuzzled against her wrist, nibbling at it and pressing against her even as he tightened his grip on her belt loops. "All the way?" He asked with a quiet purr, rumbling so that it vibrated through him while he kept nibbling his way up her arm.

"Yeah, all the way." she breathes out, her back arching in pleasure from the subtlest press forward of his hips. And then the scent changes, and she loses all manner of tact, says what comes to mind: "You smell like a cookie."

She leans forward to seek out that scent again, nose brushing against his hair while he's bent over her wrist like this. Vanilla and something she can't put her finger on, and she wants to do more than put her finger on it. She pulls her hand of of his grip and cups his face in both her hands to bring him up for a deep kiss. He doesn't taste like a cookie, but equally delicious in different ways.

Appetite whet, she licks his bottom lip, and deepens the kiss, showing him exactly how tactile she likes to be by letting her hands roam. One down his chest, the other up the back of his neck, into his hair.

He smiles at the comment, kissing at her wrist before she decides she wants those lips somewhere else. He knew exactly what she was picking up in his scent, and he wasn't the slightest bit upset to be compared to a sweet confectionery. Not when she licked into his mouth and her hands moved over him. He responded by moving his hand from where it was gripping her waist to seek out the edge of her shirt so he could slip his fingers up under it.

Skin to skin, that's what he always preferred. Tactile contact that could either soothe, comfort, or rile up. She was doing the latter, and he made an impatient sound as his other hand started working on the front of her outfit. Clothes needed to come off. They were clearly in the way.

Skin to skin felt like an imperative to her as well, but almost as soon as he started seeking it, she regretted her choice in clothes today. The dark jeans and the combat boots were all fine and dandy (the boots had zippers on the side so could just be taken off like slippers, thank fuck), but she'd chosen an impractical - but stylish, as ever - fluttery button up shirt in black, cinched at the waist and held in place by a corset that ended near her waist and curved under her breasts.

Did she wish she could wave it off with a spell? Absolutely, especially when he snuck his hand under the edge of her shirt and could only get as far up as her ribs. She let out a huff of frustration - at herself, mind - against his lips, and broke the kiss to unclasp the five little metal clasps holding the corset together in the front.

"I know, the vibe is in the way right now. Don't tell me," she warned, with half a smile. Belatedly, this was the moment she noticed one detail that delighted her almost right away. They were lucky she'd chosen a dark red lipstick today instead of black, because she could not imagine it looking as pretty where it had smeared against his lips from the kisses.

Though there was a thought. Almost unbidden, the mental image of leaving dark lipstick stains on the length of his cock, not a single glamour in place, golden glow and onyx black, assaulted her. Another time - definitely.

She took the corset and off and let it drop on the table, reaching for his shirt next. "Your turn."

He'd lived through the time of bustles and bum pads and full corsets. He could handle the much watered down version of them that women today wore. When she worked to get it undone, he was oblivious to the images in her head, not having telepathy in his skill set, but he could pick up on something that had her scent spiking.

"The vibe is manageable. I'm not planning on going anywhere, so my time and body this evening is all yours, love." He grinned, working on pulling his long-sleeved tshirt off over his head. Working where he did, he was used to needing to change quickly. Buttons and tight things weren't conducive to quick changes when body fluids were involved. Probably best she handle hers, though, since he would be more inclined to tear it now and promise to fix it later.

That left him bared from the waist up, and his hands slid around her body, pressing in against her back, smoothing up along her skin and making a pleased sound that ended in a trilling purr. "You can send Goldfinch the bill if one of your tables happens to succumb to my rather enthusiastic appreciation of your generous offer."

She did take care of her shirt while he pulled his off, just to be on equal grounds here. And the bra, while at it, every article of clothing getting dropped on floors she'd swept ten days ago. It was part of the ritual to keep floors clean for a month. Not the getting naked in the coffeeshop, but you had to sweep while murmuring the spells, and the cleanliness lasted. Despite some common myths about witches, Ariadne has never done a single spell naked.

On equal grounds, but she stayed on the table, drinking him in - every inch of skin revealed, and lickable, and tempting. Undressed from the waist up, the collection of tattoos on her body is more visible now - there are flowers and vines and runes and unintelligible squiggles and symbols that only she knew the meaning to, spread down both arms. Under her breasts and down her ribcage, as is they were jewellery, were strings of flowers - well, plants; medicinal herbs, a wink to the potionmakers of her family, in their honour and all. And somewhere on her left hip, the precise equation for her contraceptive spell, already active, as it had been for a while.

She was almost instantly reminded of how cold it truly was outside, to be naked in the shop after dark - her nipples stiffened, goosebumps blossoming up her ribs and down her arms - so when he came back to touch her bare skin, she shivered and didn's conceal her soft moan. Her hand found its way into his hair again, just to have them there but not to grab on, her head tipped back in pleasure - she aimed her smile at the ceiling at the mention of Goldfinch. Fucking pixie.

"I'm actually a pretty good mender," she pointed out, pausing for a breath before tightening her hold on his hair, looking down to meet his eyes. "Wreck this table."

The command had him smiling, and he moved to heft her off the table, one hand under her ass to hold her up, the other undoing her jeans so he could work at pulling them off. There needed to be far less clothing involved for him to wreck anything.

He had noticed the shiver, though, and in response, he let himself warm. The glamour was still in place, but there was a heat coming from him that wrapped around her, keeping her from getting too chilled, naked or not. "Glad to hear that. Not that I intend to wreck more than a table. Or two. But if the worst happens and your bed goes... well. If mending fails, I'll happily foot the bill for a new bed."

It was the least he could do, after all. If his actions were what broke something of hers, it was only fair he pay for it. Of course, financial aspects went out of his head when he got her jeans down, moving his hand to slip between her thighs, to press up against her sex.

There was a definite rush when he picked her up, the ease with which he did it travelling down her spine like its own type of caress.

She was not unaware of what she looked like, tall and intimidating dressed in black; even if the full effects were embellished with magic (how else would her hair stay such a raven black colour?), the results of the ensemble were that few and far in between actually wanted to take charge with Ariadne.

And she'd been fine with that, happy to play whichever role while having sex, happy to keep her lovers satisfied and comfortable, but...clearly there has been a lack of this part.

The playfulness, and the heat - oh, he was so warm, it must've been magic - that Rowan showed her was sweet enough to become addictive.

Where she could, she helped him with the removal of her pants. A minor bit of telekinesis unzipped her boots and pulled them off for her, so he could pull her jeans off completely. Her reward was that hand between her legs, making her suck in a breath.

She still had her panties on, but they felt like a thin whisper of an obstacle if anything, the press of his fingers pushing the fabric to mold itself to the shape of her cunt.

"Found your worthy cause?" she breathed out, smiling when she did so. A moment of pause, before she asked to be sure: "Is there any touch you're not comfortable with?"

Rowan had grown up among beings that looked like they were unearthly. In a way, he supposed they were. He'd learned a long time ago that looks meant nothing in terms of what a being was, or what they were capable of. There were reasons why fables still told of poisonous smiles behind great beauty, and to be kind to the wretched. Warnings handed down that people seemed to forget intentionally.

What he saw in her was a female who was capable in her own right. Comfortable in her own skin. He liked competence. He already had a chasm of years between himself and the humans around him. He didn't want to feel any more like he was taking advantage of someone. He was very, very comfortable with the fact that Ariadne could and would say no or kick him out if she felt so inclined.

So... he'd just have to make sure that idea never crossed her mind. He pressed in through the thin material, feeling that bit of wet through it and running his finger along the cleft of her labia. Her comment had him laughing, then purring as she turned it into a question. "I'm not a fan of pain for the sake of pain. In the heat of the moment, aye." He'd seen things, both because of his long years and because of his occupation. Some of what came under his hands on a gurney from sexual adventures mystified him.

He noticed she had more than just a spell word or two, hearing the zip of her shoes and knowing her hands were otherwise occupied. Well, at least he wouldn't have to worry about upsetting her with any erstwhile displays of his own. "What of yourself? What's not to be crossed?"

Upsetting that he displays his skills with all manner of magic? Couldn't be further from the truth - she hasn't bedded any magic-practitioners yet, but even just the brief sample here was enough to tell her that contrary to being put off by it, it turned her on.

Excited her. The exchange between two competent people. She licked her lips, leaning in to kiss him quickly just for another taste.

"Same," she murmured against his lips, nipping at his lower lip with her teeth, before letting him go so she could lean back. Hands planted on the table behind her, she looked down her body to where his hand was winding her up.

She swallowed back a moan, her eyelids fluttering a little, then eyes closed to half-mast. "A little bit of pain in the heat of thing is...mmh, good. I'll tell you, if you..." Another little moan, and she ached to lift her hips. "Finish undressing me."

His grin was a wicked thing, and he used the same means to rid her of her panties as he had to move the bottle of wine. He lifted her briefly, that subtle magic tugging her underwear down until they fell off the edges of her toes. That left him as the only one wearing anything, and standing there in his pants and shoes, he felt entirely overdressed. But that didn't stop him from leaning down and fastening his lips to her nipple, or sliding his hand back against her, feeling the tickle of hair, then the wet of her arousal as a finger teased through folds to spread it around.

"Bossy, aren't we?" Not a complaint, but he kissed his way up to her throat as he nibbled there as well. "What else, mm?"

Look at that, the fae has practical magic. She had to wonder what kind of category pulling off her panties with spellcraft fell under - hospitality? Her rumination got cut short so fast, the moment he leaned over and his mouth found one nipple.

"Fuck," she managed to breathe out, arching her back up towards that perfect mouth, her nails scratching at the surface of the table. She watched him there, bent over her tits, looking beautiful, and almost missed the slide of his hand up her leg. There was no way to miss its return between her legs, though. She was slick by now, all but dripping and eager for any touch, brought to this point by his hands and the magic and the mouth.

Up it goes, nibbling up her throat - a sensitive spot, there. She couldn't help the slight rock of her hips, seeking his hand, seeking more friction. You kiss her neck, you better get ready to fuck her, Rowan. It's the rules.

What else? "I've never fucked with magic before," she admitted, letting her head tilt back to allow him better access to her throat. "I like it. And..." Here, she leaned her weight against one hand and reached down between them to grab his hand, guide it to her clit. "I prefer a rougher touch, don't go gentle on me. And talking - I like the talking."

with what could she possibly measure it :>

his patience? ;)

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