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Stephen Strange stepped through the doorway and into his home, his Sanctum, and felt his shoulders slump beneath the weight of the heavy, full length rain jacket he wore before the door had even swung shut on the cold, dark, wet night behind him. For a moment he simply stood there, dripping wet, not looking at the floor but not really seeing either.
"Master?"
Focusing, Stephen saw Wong approaching him from the entryway into the rest of the Sanctum. Sighing, Stephen reached up to remove the hat he'd worn in place of a hood or an umbrella.
"Were you successful?" Wong asked, moving around behind Stephen to slide the heavy coat from his shoulders. Stephen passed the hat from hand to hand as his hands slipped through the sleeves and held it out to Wong afterwards, who took it after folding the coat over his arm, heedless of the water dampening the tunic he wore.
"No, I was not," Strange said, walking side by side with Wong out of the foyer. He methodically began pulling his gloves off, finger by finger, as they went. They paused for a moment by the cloakroom, where Wong hung up the coat and hat and, after a pointed glance, exchanged Stephen's shoes for slippers.
"Was the lady unwilling to assist?" Wong asked as they moved into the study. There was a fire burning and a glass on the table next to Stephen's favorite chair, and despite everything he relaxed a little more. He didn't sit though, instead walking over to the fire and staring into it, one hand resting on the mantelpiece.
"Tigra was most willing," Stephen said wryly. "She was, as I had hoped, more...enthusiastic than Arachne. Everything went perfectly. But it wasn't enough." He frowned. "I begin to think that the lack is in me, rather than in my partners."
"You are the Sorcerer Supreme, Master." Wong's voice was closer than Stephen had expected, and he looked up to find his servant standing at his elbow, expression serene with confidence. "You have accomplished rituals far more complex, requiring far greater power, than this one."
"Neither skill nor power are at issue." Stephen gestured towards the tools scattered about the study. "The power that we have observed collecting is destructive, negative, and cold. I must be creative and positive, but most of all I must be the fire that scours it away." He realized that he'd raised and clenched a fist, and snorted softly before lowering. "But it's never been in my nature to burn so hot."
Wong didn't look the least bit uncertain. "You have great passion," he said firmly. "You must, to hold your position. To choose to hold it."
"Someone who places their work above their loved ones is considered cold, Wong," Stephen said dryly.
"Consider that having passion is not at issue either," Wong persisted. "Perhaps unlocking it is." Stephen frowned and Wong raised one hand, palm up, not quite shrugging. "You must guard yourself carefully as Sorcerer Supreme."
Stephen's expression relaxed out of the frown. "But the spell requires...abandonment. To let myself be consumed by pleasure." He considered for a moment and then shook his head. "Even with Clea, I don't know that I could relax my guard so completely. We must behind searching for another solution."
"I have been searching since you returned yesterday evening," Wong replied. "I have found patches, stop gaps. That is all."
Stephen's lips thinned when he pressed them together. "If we can buy enough time..."
There was a long pause.
"Master?" Wong asked at length, and something in his voice captured Stephen's attention. He nodded for Wong to continue. "Must your partner be female?"
Stephen tilted his head. "It makes no difference to the ritual."
Wong's shook his head slightly. "You misunderstand. Do you require your partner to be a woman?"
"No," Stephen said, puzzled. "Why do you--" Wong stepped closer to him and laid a hand on Stephen's chest, stopping the words in his throat. He met Stephen's gaze steadily. Stephen found himself studying Wong's features; he seemed somehow different.
"Perhaps I can assist you," Wong murmured. He'd said the same words a hundred, a thousand, times, but tonight they seemed laden with meaning. Stephen was abruptly aware that this man had seen him naked, had tended his wounds and rubbed exhaustion from his limbs, had helped him into and out of baths, had touched him in ways otherwise reserved for lovers.
Stephen's breath felt a hair short when he spoke. "Perhaps you can."
Wong smiled, a small, quiet, smile, and stepped away, folding his hands in front of himself. "You should sleep, Master. Tomorrow we will try again." He turned and paced smoothly out of the room, leaving Stephen by the fire.
Stephen stared after him, then shook his head. "Haven't you learned yet," he asked himself, "not to take things for granted?"
***
The next morning Stephen woke to sunlight streaming in through his bedroom window and a hovering sense of tension. He rolled over and found, in the place where Wong sometimes laid out clothing for him, a simple blue and gray housecoat. Rising, Stephen took the garment with him into the bathroom where he showered and dried himself thoroughly. After shaving and brushing his teeth, he debated putting his pajamas back on before dropping them into the hamper and clothing himself in the housecoat alone. Then he went looking for Wong.
When Stephen found Wong in the study, setting the last candle into place in the pattern described for the ritual, he knew he'd made the right choice. Wong wore nothing more than a pair of white linen pants. Stephen couldn't help tracing the lines of his body with his gaze, remembering his strength from what little time they found to train in martial, rather than mystic, arts. Wong was no more a chiseled powerhouse than Stephen himself was, but there was a steadiness about him.
Lighting the last candle, Wong blew out the match and looked up at Stephen as he rose to his feet. "Good morning, Master," he said, his expression warm though he wasn't quite smiling. "Shall we begin?"
"Of course." Stephen stepped into the center of the pattern, careful not to disturb Wong's work. On the previous two attempts Stephen had set up the pattern himself, in the homes of his partners, using a bed as the center. Wong had spread out a thick, plush towel instead. He moved to kneel at the edge of it as Stephen seated himself. Stephen rested his hands on his knees, controlled his breathing, and slipped quickly into a meditative state.
He worked meticulously, checking and double-checking each strand of the web of magic that would take the energy he and Wong produced and amplify and channel and distribute it where it was needed. As he settled the last connections into place, Stephen took a moment to admire the intricacy of the construction before rising out of his trance. When he opened his eyes, the angle of the sun into the study told him that he'd taken far longer building the spell than he had the previous two nights, though the final product was identical. He hadn't wanted to impose on his hostesses unnecessarily.
Wong was watching him, infinitely patient. "It's quite a beautiful spell," Stephen murmured, moving out of the meditative pose. He stretched briefly, pausing when Wong laid a hand on his arm.
"Allow me," Wong murmured. He untied the housecoat and pushed it off of Stephen's shoulders, laying it aside before guiding Stephen down to lay prone, his head pillowed on folded arms. He had an instant to be uncertain--he was the Sorcerer, shouldn't he be leading the ritual?--before Wong's hands descended on his shoulders and began smoothing oil over his skin. The scent was familiar--they'd used it for massages before--and Stephen found himself relaxing into Wong's firm, confident manipulations.
It was strange to simply enjoy the massage, to have no pain or tension to work through. His whole body began to feel loose and his skin started to tingle. By the time Wong had worked his way down to the soles of Stephen's feet, Stephen was feeling drowsy, his heart rate slow and calm, and he had to wonder if they were serving the ritual at all.
He was considering saying something when Wong's hands trailed away from his feet, the touch too light for a massage now, and drifted up the inside of his legs instead. The brush of fingers moving inexorably upward sent anticipation fluttering through Stephen, until each touch was almost painfully brief, leaving hungry nerves behind. Past Stephen's knees now and Wong's touches were growing longer, more sweeping if still tantalizingly light. Stephen could feel his heart rate picking up and his body flushing with new warmth, could feel arousal stirring, his body hardening.
Wong's hands, high on his inner thigh, slipped deeper between them, until oil slick fingertips brushed Stephen's cock and he gasped, "Wong!"
The hands pulled away, Wong's weight shifting, and Stephen rolled over quickly. He wasn't even sure what he meant to do until he saw Wong kneeling above him, skin darkened with arousal, expression hot and intent. Stephen sat up and cupped a hand around the back of Wong's neck and pulled him into a kiss.
It started urgently, sudden and sharp and shallow, but it was only a moment until Wong wrapped his arms around Stephen, pulling the bodies together, steadying them. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into Stephen's mouth. Stephen groaned softly and sucked on Wong's tongue, head tilted back slightly because he was seated and Wong was kneeling, his hands pressed flat against Stephen's back.
The kiss went on for a long time as they traded breath and heat and slick touches back and forth. But eventually Wong pulled away a little. Stephen's hand slid down from the smooth curve of his neck to rest over his collarbone, his hand pale against the honey color of Wong's skin. "You make this too easy, my friend."
Wong's lips turned up and he stood briefly to shed the linen pants. He sat next to Stephen and turned his head with gentle fingers on his jaw so that Wong could lean in for another kiss. "I live to serve, Stephen," Wong murmured against his lips. Stephen caught his breath at the sound of his name in low, melodious tones, and let the small pressure of Wong's fingers on his cheek push him down onto the thick towel. Shifting onto his side, Stephen reached out for Wong again and they pressed together even more closely than before, Wong's thigh nudging between Stephen's, the hardness of their mutual arousal trapped between their bodies.
Stephen moaned, arching his body, rubbing against Wong's thigh and the smooth plane of his belly. "Yes," Wong murmured quietly. "Let go. Don't think. Let me take care of...everything."
Stephen didn't have more than a moment to wonder about the pause, because Wong was kissing him again, deep and hot, and Wong's hands were moving down the length of his back, brushing the swell of his ass, cupping the curve of it and pulling Stephen closer. Stephen hung onto him, rocking against his body, excitement winding tighter in his belly every time Wong murmured another intense, encouraging, "Yes." His hands kneaded Stephen's ass, fingers moving gradually deeper, but somehow Stephen was still surprised by the brush over his opening.
He gasped, hips stuttering to a halt. "Wong--"
"Relax, Stephen," Wong breathed, the touch growing firmer. He leaned in for another kiss and his finger slipped into Stephen's body and Stephen groaned, breaking the kiss and leaning his head against Wong's shoulder. His breath came faster and faster as Wong stretched him. The pressure of fingers inside him was strange...it had been a long time, and he wasn't sure he'd ever felt as thoroughly open. He hung onto Wong and concentrated on breathing and the ache of his cock and the familiar tones of Wong's voice, though he wasn't truly listening.
When the fingers eased out of him Stephen caught his breath. He lifted his head from Wong's shoulder and moved with the firm touches that eased him onto his back. He watched Wong move between his thighs, his cock standing up eagerly, his hands stroking up and down Stephen's legs as he helped lift them to wrap around his waist.
Wong paused for a moment to sheathe his cock in a condom and slick it, and the words tumbled out before Stephen could think about them: "I never saw this in you." Almost before he'd finished, Stephen cursed himself for an idiot. He'd known Wong wasn't a celibate.
"You weren't looking," Wong said simply, handing sliding up the backs of Stephen's thighs and cupping the curve of his ass again, lifting slightly. Stephen struggled not to close his eyes as Wong slid deeply into his body, gasping through the hot stretch of it and watching as Wong let his eyes close, his head tip back, and bliss overtake his features. He was the picture of sensuality and for a moment Stephen wished that they could pause like this forever.
Then Wong opened his eyes and the sheer heat in his expression tore a moan from Stephen even before Wong undulated his body, sliding out of Stephen and back into him in one smooth movement. Pleasure flared within him and it was Stephen's turn to press his head back into the softness of the towel, his thighs tightening around Wong's waist.
Once he began to move, Wong never paused again, falling into a rhythm as easily as breathing. If breathing were easy; Stephen couldn't seem to catch his breath, could only gasp and pant as he lifted his hips to meet Wong's thrusts. It was good, incredibly good, Wong steady and solid inside of him, filling him with heat, and even as Stephen clenched his hands in the towel spread beneath him he let go and floated on waves of pleasure, moaning thoughtlessly.
At first the hand on his cock just drove the waves higher, but soon the sensation took on a more intense, demanding edge. Clenching his eyes closed, Stephen let out a sharp, hard gasp, trembling as Wong stroked him tighter, his thrusts driving Stephen into the rougher ecstasy of his fist.
"Wong," Stephen managed. "Wong, please--"
"You need this, Stephen." Wong's voice was strained in a way Stephen had never heard before. "Let go." He punctuated the words with a hard stroke of his thumb over the head of Stephen's cock and Stephen cried out, back arching, as completion crashed through him. He was still coming down from his peak when Wong finished, sliding deep into his body and finishing with a moan that echoed with wonder.
Wong eased from Stephen's body and took a moment to clean them both up with a soft towel before laying down beside Stephen and resting a hand on his chest. They were still for a while, but eventually Wong stirred again. "Were we successful, Master?" he asked quietly.
Stephen hadn't thought to check. He did so now, reaching out with mystic awareness and finding the web he'd built shining with energy, the dark places it had touched shining and cleansed now. He carefully unraveled the connection between the web and himself. "Yes," he said, reaching up to lay a hand on top of Wong's. "Thank you."
Smiling, Wong laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands to his lips. He brushed a kiss over Stephen's fingers. "It was my pleasure."
For a moment, Stephen could only stare, his breath short again. "I may never have seen it before this," he said finally. "But I always will, now."
Wong lowered their hands to rest on the towel, smile never faltering. "Is that such a terrible thing?"
Stephen almost expected his hands to tremble, but his fingers, entwined with Wong's, were steady. "Perhaps not," he murmured.
--End--