Page 17 of Love, Laugh, Lich

I go into the waiting room, my office, whatever it is, with a cardboard box.

As soon as I push through the door, however, I can see Soven waiting for me, his full beast form hunched over my desk, crowded into one of the waiting room chairs.

I approach slowly, wondering if I should ask him if he wants me to tender my resignation. He hadn’t yet banished me through a hole in the floor though, so maybe it’ll be more like a two-week notice while I find someone to replace me.

He looks up as I cross the room, unfurling himself from the ways he’s knotted his limbs together to fit into the human-sized chair.

Slowly he rises, his stare held carefully upon me.

I swallow and look to the floor awkwardly, running my thumbs along the cardboard box while I try to kick my brain into thinking. I don’t know how to start this conversation.

I don’t have to, apparently, when he brings one curled fist before him. His claws fall open, to show he had two vials curled up in his hand, one I recognize by its soft lilac glow. My shiver.

“I couldn’t bring myself to waste one bit of you,” he murmurs, and those words make my heart ache.

My eyes are filling up with tears. I’ve been such an idiot. He’s been so careful, so precise with me, how could I ever think that was anything but his way of expressing tenderness?

“I cannot give you my heart,” he says, voice low and guttural. He brings out his other massive hand, to pluck up the second vial from his palm and hold it out to me. “As I have none.”

I study the vial in front of my eyes, the inky darkness in its deep red contents, the way it seems to pull shadows into it.

“This is—”

“My phylactery,” he nods slowly, holding it out. “If you take it, I hope you will be protective of it. But I will ask first if you want it.”

I have no words. My throat is so tight with emotion I can barely nod. I bring a shaking hand up to take the phylactery from him. The glass is cool to touch, and just holding it, I sense it’s more fragile than a heart.

“I’ll keep it somewhere safe,” I promise, looking up at him as the tears spill down over my cheeks. I sniffle as he brushes them away with the back of his knuckle.

He makes a gesture, and the vial of my shiver disappears into mist, likely tucked away somewhere only he can reach.

I tilt my head back for him, and he drags a kiss along my jaw, brushing his cheek against mine, the suede of his body gently grazing my skin. I give a soft gasp as I feel the toy pulse again deliciously, a flirtatious touch of his magic, so comfortable in my ass I’d all but forgotten its presence there.

I look up at Soven, unable to disguise my excitement. His claws graze carefully down my body, as he crowds me backwards, coaxing me to sit on my desk.

He drags a claw through his teeth, sharpening the edge before he draws it up my pencil skirt, my blouse, the sound of fabric slicing open, falling off and around me, petal soft.

It’s as I lean back on the table, spreading my legs apart, that I realize this isn’t for a ritual. There’s no alchemical circle drawn, no runes, no candles. This is purely for us.

The thought makes me pause, as more warm tears well up in my eyes. As much as his magic intrigued me, this is what I’ve really wanted: just a girl and her undying Lich lover.

I think Soven realizes it too, because he does something he hadn’t done before in our previous sex magic rituals-- he kisses my forehead, carefully combing his claws through my hair. He takes a long moment to just trace my neck, my arms, my waist and thighs appreciatively, his gaze lingering, marveling at all the new territory we have to be soft with one another.

The toy gives another few pulses, warming my body up as Soven parts my ass cheeks, slowly teasing the toy out. The sheer tenderness of it serves as a prelude for how thoroughly he will fuck me on all of his cocks.

His fingers trail up my stomach from where he held my hip, to graze against my breast. He looks at my face again, and I nod, quivering with anticipation, aching at how slowly he moves over me, and relishing in it.

He places a hand over my breast, working his way to my nipples, thumb rolling over them, hard and perky, and listens hard to my little gasps, the way my hips twitch and stutter helplessly as I melt under his touch.

“Let me know if I should stop,” he murmurs, in a voice soft and deep, looking into my eyes. I bite my lip and nod again. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and begins to work his way down.

I don’t know why he would think I would ever ask him to stop.

Even though we’ve done this all before, it’s different. In some strange way, it feels like our first time all over again, in the way each movement holds reverence in its exploration. There’s some new excitement in knowing that everything he does is because he wants to, not because it’s part of a ritual.

He licks my tits, sucking on them, grazing his teeth against them, unraveling my composure with the utmost precision and care. Soon I can’t contain the noises of pleasure, moans and keens of ‘keep doing that please’.

As he continues to kiss and caress my breast, he trails a clawed hand down my stomach, a shiver going through my belly.

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