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If someone told you a year ago that you had the potential to be an amazing sorcerer, you would have told them that they were crazy and kicked them out of your bar for being too far gone. Yet for some reason when Maxim Horvath, terrifying immortal Morganian, told you exactly that? You believed him. You fully believed this wasn’t just a pick up line and let his gravity draw you into his orbit.
For the first time in years, you let yourself believe in something bigger than you. And it feels magical, both figuratively and literally.
Which doesn’t explain why you’re straddled across your (mostly) naked mentor/master’s hips in just a pair of panties and a t-shirt. It started out innocently enough, Horvath was going over the finer points of how to make what essentially boils down to a Bag of Holding when you noticed that there was something a little off when he reached out to grab a jar off the shelf. A gentle neck massage and a little bit of convincing to let you help him in return for all he’s taught you so far, and he’s lying naked on a massage table that you’re just not going to question the existence of.
Originally, you were on your feet, working on his back using this as a learning exercise for the healing properties of various magic oils, when you realized that, to properly work out all the knots in his back, you need more leverage which is how you wound up on his back, without your jeans for comfort purposes (and for once you almost wish you wore leggings).
It stays innocent until you start working on a knot not far down from his left shoulder blade under a tattoo that you recognize from him showing you some alchemical symbols the week before (and really, you wouldn’t have pegged Horvath for the covered in tattoos type, but it works on him in a weird way) when he lets out a soft moan. You don’t still your hands, but you do feel your mouth go dry as you mentally panic at the sound and how much it turns you on.
So here you are, your hands covered in oil, in just a t-shirt and your underwear, kneading his back as he moans and feeling like you’re effectively dry humping him and hoping he doesn’t feel how wet you’re getting.
You readjust where you straddle him, making sure you move down, onto the black silk you used as a makeshift modesty cloth, worried you might ruin it, but more worried that he'll notice how needy you are. You work at another knot, a little lower down, this one slightly larger than the previous one, and as you begin to lighten up your touch he practically growls and lets out a gruff, low "Harder."
You pour a little more oil in your hand and increase the pressure, practically digging in, feeling the knot underneath a tattoo that you've never seen before slowly come undone.
"You carry a lot of tension in your mid-back," you say as he lets out a ragged moan underneath you. With a little more work, you feel it come undone and you swear his breathing goes near ragged before you rub small circles into his back, moving outward towards his sides.
You move your hands down and they still, as if you're testing him. And he reacts swiftly, you can feel him moving under you subtly, like a viper preparing to strike until he thinks better of it and stills underneath you.
"Don't you dare stop," he practically hisses and you realize you've just made one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world, your master , turn to putty in your hands.
"What's the magic word?"
He lets out a shuddering sigh under you and keens out a quiet "Please."
You know Horvath isn't one to beg, he's too proud, and the fact that you have this much control over him right now makes you grind down a little more, and you're practically aching with no release because you're too soaked for there to be any real friction.
You continue to work down his back, noticing that the worst knots seem to be covered by tattoos and you hope you can remember to ask him about that later, if your head isn't too cloudy once you go and grab the coldest shower possible.
You finish his back with some slow, soothing strokes into his tired muscles and for the briefest moment you debate placing a small kiss at the nape of his neck before working down before you shake your head as if trying to dislodge the thought from your mind.
Your relationship with your master is a lot of things: educational, snarky, illuminating. But that's where it ends, as much as you sometimes wish otherwise.
"I'm going to start on your legs next," you say and he doesn't say a word, which is a first. No smartass comeback or belittling remark about how you could do better, just strange, almost blessed silence as he nods into the hole in the massage table.
You dismount the table, briefly horrified that you might be dripping with how wet you feel. Other than a very obvious spot on the black silk and how soaked through your undies are, you're pretty sure it isn't completely obvious.
You pour a little oil into your hands and begin to warm it between them, embracing the calming lavender smell, before you begin to work on the thick muscles on the back of his thighs, careful not to cross any boundaries that could get you disowned by your master.
As you work into him, you realize his legs separate slightly as he makes small sounds that, coming from anyone other than Maxim Horvath, terrifying ancient Morganian, betrayer of Merlin himself, would be kind of cute.
You're down, near the back of his knee, about to start to work on his calf when you notice it.
You've had your thoughts on what Horvath's dick might be like, it's a ponderance when you're home alone, trying to get off using your detachable showerhead and some Happy Thoughts because you're too broke to replace your vibe.
Your fantasies don't match up to the experience, and you feel a little ashamed that you undersold him.
You don't know if it's because, holy shit , he's very obviously hard, but lord almighty is he thick . Thick like the fancy chocolate strawberry shake you used to get at a diner at two in the morning and would collapse the straw. That kind of thick. And long, a good eight inches.
You just know, when you ask him to flip, that you're going to have to turn around or leave the room, or something, because you know you won't be able to look him in the eye.
You don't try to rush the rest of it, you really don't, but a line has been crossed and you desperately need a shower, a drink, and to re-evaluate your taste in men because one of these things is not like the others, one of these things is a dude older than your parents ages combined who wants to murder the Prime Merlinian and has a dick worth writing sonnets about.
You try not to look at his cock as you finish the second lower calf and, in a totally not suspicious manner, step away from the massage table and go to grab your jeans. "You're, uh...all done," you say, trying to ignore how keyed up your voice is, as you struggle to put them on with how unfocused you are. "You should...you should lie there and uh. Let your muscles stay relaxed and I'll see you tomorrow."
You don't want him to call you on your bullshit, not today, not right now. But he's Horvath, he knows, you're sure of it. "That's it?" He sounds...god, not angry. You wish he was angry. You can handle your master when he's angry. But no, he sounds...disappointed, a little gobsmacked even, and you aren't sure how to handle that.
"I dropped out of massage school before we learned front massages." You don't know if you're joking or trying to pull off a feat of bullshit artistry unlike the world has seen since Barnum, but as soon as it's out of your mouth you know you're absolutely fucked.
He doesn't quite jump off the table, he's too unwound for that. He's gone from pit viper to wolf, still faster than you, still dangerous, but not as tense. You feel your heart pick up its rhythm in your chest and you want to run, but you freeze.
When you first met Horvath, when he first sniffed you out and recognized you for what you are, he compared you to a rabbit. Small, terrified, prey. You feel like that again as he advances towards you, wearing nothing but a variety of fascinating tattoos that you've only begun to decipher and a piece of black silk that has one wet spot that's starting to very obviously dry.
His erection is only more obvious now, and you can't help but feel your mouth water slightly. He reaches out and grabs your jaw firmly, but not roughly. "Bunny," he growls at you and, oh yeah, you're definitely fucked, he only calls you that when he wants to remind you how small and insignificant you are, "what did we agree upon?"
"Honesty," you say quietly, trying to hide the quiver in your voice, your eyes meeting his.
"So, my dear little rabbit, why did you lie to me?"
You freeze as your brain locks up and you can see it in his eyes, he knows. You don't know what he knows, but there's something that he knows that he isn't telling you. You feel as if your heart is in your throat as his grip on your chin tightens, getting just a little rougher, and something in the pit of your stomach twists and you realize, oh you know exactly what he knows.
Should you just throw all propriety out the window? You debate lying again, but you swear, he can sniff your lies out and you made a promise to him that he once threatened to turn into an Oath, that you would never lie to each other. That being master and apprentice required a level of openness and honesty that you didn't even share with your best friend.
"I lied because I heard the sounds you made and I want to fuck you," you finally admit, feeling your mouth go dry around the words. "And before you try to correct me, no, I said what I said. I want to fuck you until you beg me to let you come undone. Sir."
There's something in his eyes that's downright mirthful as a single dark brow arches. You don't dare look down, but you do plant your feet a little bit more as you straighten up.
You're not as tall as him, not by a long shot, but you need something resembling a power stance to back you up.
He lets go of your chin and your master, the asshole, is smirking at you. "Ah."
"'Ah?' I bare my soul to you and I just get an 'Ah?'"
"Sweetheart," he practically purrs, "I'd hardly call that 'baring your soul.' We both know that you don't have the wherewithal t-"
You move without thinking and fuck do you wish you had a step stool or that he was wearing a tie or a jacket that you could use to drag him down to your level, the tall bastard. Instead you get up on your tippy toes and reach up for the back of his neck and drag him down for a kiss.
He doesn't respond right away, like this time it's his brain that’s locked up and is trying to catch up with what's going on. You debate stopping because this is wrong . Kissing a man who doesn't want to kiss you is wrong. But then, he starts to kiss back and you swear he almost sighs into your mouth.
You're pressed up against him, and you can just feel his dick pressed against you as he fights for dominance in the kiss before you just give the back of his neck a little squeeze in an attempt to take control, and he relents.
Well, relents for now. You know he's too prideful to give up control for too long, so you're going to take it when you can get it.
You break away from his kiss partially to come up for air, and partially because you need confirmation before you go any further. Kissing is all well and good, but you need to know you're both on the same page.
"Is this okay?" You ask, trying desperately to keep a thread of steel in your voice and he just fixes you with this look that's almost adorable with how befuddled it is.
"My dear, if this wasn't 'okay,'" it's infuriatingly hot how he flattens that word out to imitate your own American tones to mock you, "you would know."
"Good, because we're going to need a bed. And I need to get out of these clothes."
Horvath's bedroom is...well. It's basically exactly what you thought it was going to be. All dark wood and lush fabrics and a king size four poster bed that you're pretty sure is older than some American cities and has probably seen enough lovers to man a battleship.
No pressure.
"You aren't thinking of backing down now, are you my little rabbit?" You want to just throw yourself at him, let the steel in your spine melt and let him absolutely ravish you. Let him take the control he can so obviously exert, doubly so as your master, but you want to prove this to him. You want to prove that you're no bunny rabbit, you're something else entirely.
"Oh, you wish," you shoot back as you begin to strip off your jeans and t-shirt, letting them hit the floor unceremoniously. "Now get on the bed."
It's very obvious that Horvath is weighing his options. On one hand, he listens to you and gets rode hard and put away wet. On the other hand, he continues to be...well, Horvath, and you'll...what? Scold him? Walk away and leave you both wildly unsatisfied? Prove him right? Prove yourself right?
Maxim Horvath has never exactly been a cautious man. Fiercely intelligent? Yes. Willing to play the long game for his end goal? Definitely. Cautious? Hardly. So he stands and watches you continue to strip as your bra joins the rest of your garments on the floor, finally followed by your obviously soaked panties. A spark of realization hits him. Oh, yes, he could tell you were just as hungry for him as he is for you (not that he would admit it, it would be unseemly to do so), but the proof is lying there on his bedroom floor, with little designs of cats playing with peaches.
A little on the nose, but subtlety isn't exactly your strong suit.
You fix him with a look , your best attempt at the look he gives you when you don't follow his directions as his apprentice. "Bed. Now."
He huffs out a laugh and just smirks, "Make me, sweetheart."
"Fine, I will."
You don't have a plan. You probably should have had one when it came to you to try to dominate your master, but here you are, on the Bad Idea River about to enter the Fuck Rapids without a paddle.
Time to improv and hope you don't fuck this up.
You feel like you're charging over to him. You know, in actuality you aren't, but it feels like it, and you raise one hand (the one where you wear your ring - a mood ring that made Horvath scoff when you picked it despite the fact that it resonated with you) and just release a blast of...air? Force? Something that knocks him back on the bed, his long legs hanging off the side and him on his back while his dick stood proud like a flag pole.
He sits up and the look in his eyes is full of...glee? Pride? Holy shit, did you blasting him with magic to get his ass on the bed make him proud?
Now, looking at the whole package, you fully understand why he manspreads like it's his job. In fact, his legs are spread enough that you can basically stand between them, which you do before placing a kiss on the tattoo on his chest, your hand lingering on his soft belly. "If it becomes too much you need to tell me. I know it's probably been awhile for you."
"Are you poking fun at my age?"
"I'm poking fun at you missing most of the 20th century," you say as you wrap a hand around his dick and begin following the soft brushes of chest hair down as you give him long, languid strokes. You sink to the ground, planting kisses for every inch you drop before finally ending up on your knees in front of his cock.
"I'm going to suck you down like an Otter Pop, babe," you tease before tracing a vein on the underside of his dick with the tip of your tongue.
You can hear the unstated "I don't know what that is" hanging in the air that really only comes out as "I don-" followed by a deep moan. You thought the sounds he made under your hands were indecent. This is...this is a whole new level of hot, and you're the one drawing it out of him.
You get to his head and just lightly tongue at his tip, licking up the already beading up pre-cum and tasting him on your tongue before looking up at him. "Well, aren't you eager?" you tease before properly taking him into your mouth.
He's bigger than most dicks you've gone down on before, and far girthier, to the point where you feel like you have to almost open up the back of your throat to fully take him in. But you manage it, your nose brushing up against a thick patch of well maintained dark curls as you hollow your cheeks around him once, which makes him grab your hair as your arms rest on his thick thighs to help you keep balance. Which is good, because he lets out this soft sound that threatens to throw you off balance.
And then you start bobbing, slowly at first, but then picking up the pace as you feel more pre-cum hit your tongue. "You're far too good to me," he whispers and you want to agree with him, but you're currently a little (a lot) occupied. So you show him how good you are, you feel his cock start to twitch, like it's about to go off like a firework, and just...hold still, looking up at him with the best approximation of doe eyes you can pull off with a dick in your mouth.
You stare up at him, he stares down at you, it's like a game of weirdly sexy chicken with both of you unwilling to yield. And you aim to win, you intend to make him beg. But he doesn't, he just fixes you with a look that you're sure could sear the flesh of your bones if he had his cane. But he doesn't. And he isn't willing to beg. So you just slowly, methodically, slide back and free his dick from your mouth.
You flex your sore jaw, unaware of just how wide open your mouth had been to accommodate him until now. It was worth it (and you definitely let the thought cross your mind that, if he ever decides to speak to you again after this cruel betrayal, that you'd love to do it again so you can actually, properly taste him.
"What," he keeps his searing gaze on you as you rise to your feet, "was that?"
"Uh. You didn't give me what I want so you didn't get what you want. Simple as that. Did you still want to practice tomorrow?"
"You said you were going to 'make me come undone.'"
"No, I promised I was going to make you beg for me to do that. Which you didn't. Parameters not met, so-"
"Please stay," he practically whispers and something just flutters in your stomach. "Please."
You look him up and down and smile, "Alright, I need you to properly get on the bed. And to tell me where you keep your condoms."
If someone asked you where you would have expected Maxim Horvath to keep his condoms prior to this moment, you would have expected a hollowed out original copy of the Kama Sutra, or in a fancy box that once held the Shroud of Turin or some shit. Not, as it turns out, in the top drawer of his (very nice, dark wood) bedside table, next to a bottle of lube.
You almost wonder if he was planning something like this.
You're also not complaining and grab the lube, just in case. Not that you think you're really going to need it, based on the current state of your pussy.
He's laying back against the (very plush, dark red) pillows, his dick still at attention, in the middle of a bed you feel like you have to crawl across to get to him, which you are more than willing to do. Once you get to him (accompanied by a low wolf-whistle that is oddly charming coming from him), you straddle his hips, getting the oddest feeling of deja vu as you sit on your knees above him.
"Ready?"
The look on his face is exasperated, "For the love of- yes, please, if you take too much longer I may die of old age."
"Well, at least you said 'please,'" you say before you start to sink down on him. Fuck, he's so thick, thick enough that you can feel the burn as you stretch to accommodate him. It hurts so good, and you can't help but bite your lip as your pussy takes him deeper and deeper.
It feels like it takes an eternity, but finally, he's hilted in you and he feels so good, so firm, as you stretch around him and you take shallow breaths. Your hands come to rest on his belly as you begin to ride him in earnest and you can just see his eyes roll back slightly as his head hits the pillow.
This is so much better than fantasies and your detachable shower head. This is better than anything you could buy in a shop. Even through the condom, you can feel how hot he is, how he throbs inside of you. And that's not counting everything else. Like the full body quivers that make his belly jiggle just the slightest bit, like the way his eyes flutter when you work your way back down his dick, like the way one hand grips your thigh in a way that you're pretty sure will leave the slightest bruise in the morning and you love it .
It may be ill advised to hitch your proverbial wagon to a theoretically immortal sorcerer who's technically your master, but you aren't exactly known for good life choices.
And then his hips start to buck in time with you and you know, oh yes, the rules of how things should be between a master and apprentice be damned, you're in trouble because you know you would be willing to dance merrily into hell if it meant you could keep getting dick this good on a regular basis.
His free hand grasps yours and you notice him sitting up slightly and looking at you and suddenly this feels far more intimate than you thought it was going to be. You don't think you're in love, not yet, but you could be.
You feel his dick start to twitch and you give him a look and debate being kind, and merciful, and just giving him the orgasm he's so desperately chasing. But you swore you'd make him beg so you don't come to a complete standstill, but you begin to slow down.
The next thing you know, he's sitting up, you're chest-to-chest and instead of looking down at him you're gazing up at him. You're about to remind him that he needs to beg to plead, but instead he catches your mouth in a hot kiss. There's the briefest moment of realization that Horvath is a proud man and there's something about him that just has a hard time verballing begging, but as a man of action? He apparently can.
You pick up the pace again, squeezing his dick when his lips pull away from yours and he buries his face in the crook of your neck before becoming completely undone, huffing ragged breaths against your skin. You run hand through his hair and just murmur a quiet "You did so good for me, Max. So, so good."
He doesn't acknowledge the shortening of his given name, the name he barely uses, no instead it seems that he focuses on slowing his breaths, on riding out the rush of endorphins, on breathing you in.
Eventually he comes down enough that he can think straight and just sees you, really sees you, and lets out a laugh. A real, hearty laugh, that you can feel in his chest before he flips you onto your back, his dick still in you and you just gasp. You thought you knew how this was going to go once he came: you'd go home, pine, and bite your lip as you jilled yourself to completion.
Horvath didn't just flip you, he flipped the script, and your heart flutters in your chest slightly. As if he can see you trying to put the puzzle together in your head, he gives you a look and just states, "I believe I owe you" before he starts kissing your neck as he pounds into you, bringing one large hand down to toy with your clit.
You start to see stars.
And in no time at all, you cum around him, sprawled out in his bed, your head thrown back against his pillows.
You two just lay wrapped in each other for a while, his dick still inside you, softer now, while he pulls you against his chest and you just listen to his heart. This is just nice , cozy, damn near domestic even.
You know this probably won't last, so you're going to enjoy it while you can.
"You called me Max ," he finally says, breaking the silence, and you can't help but laugh against him.
"Well, you let me have control, which means calling you whatever I want. Are you complaining?"
"No. I just can't remember the last time I was called Max of all things," he says, his voice incredulous.
"I think you make a very dashing Max," you coo back at him before placing a kiss against his collarbone. And then the strangest thing happens, he yawns. It's so startlingly normal and human of him and you can't help but be slightly charmed. "So...can I stay the night?"
"I thought that was already implied," he murmurs, combing his fingers through your hair. "I don't believe I can call you my little rabbit any more."
"You'll find something else, I'm sure," you assure him before you feel your eyelids grow heavy as you start to drift off.
When you first met Maxim Horvath, when he first decided to make you his apprentice, you promised yourself you wouldn't fall in love. You're not too heartbroken that you don't think you can keep that promise.