Inscribed by magic and bound by suspicion, a warlock and demon struggle to come to an understanding.
tags: demon, heroic azuras, nsfw, transformation, transgender
artwork by Bramble
“ZALAS’THOK, Master of the Gate, Second Knight of the Lord of the Sixth Hell, I have learned your True Name on the winds of Azuras, and in its books of deep lore. Zalas’thok, Master of the Gate, hear your name and speak!”
Zalas did not so much hear the words as feel them. The name was an anchor that their form coalesced around, a hook that pulled them from the six infernal realms of the exiled Phar and into the mortal realm of life and time, where—
—they had been here before.
“Korva Tos. We meet again,” the mighty demon rumbled, once they had voice for it.
The man before them had not always been a man. Among the mortals of Azuras, this was a trite observation, but it was heavy with profundity for the infernals and celestians of the outer planes, distant as they were from time and causation. And so Zalas noted that the man before them was no longer a boy, that he had filled out and grown and become in a way the demon could not.
The man smiled. “Zalas, old friend. It’s good to see you.”
That word—friend—pained the demon in a way they did not want to acknowledge. Warlocks summoned demons for a specific purpose. It was a relationship based on exchange, on freighted words, on obligation and deception. Transactions made business partners, they made foils, they made enemies. They did not make friends.
And yet, Zalas knew that this was a rented room, above the Limos Bakery in the Student Quarter of Huldage. As their form came into being and their senses expanded, their nostrils filled with the familiar scent of fresh bread, and in the street below they could hear the clop-clop-clop of drawn wagons. Zalas knew all this because Korva has told them this, and shown them this, a dozen dozen times before.
“It has been a while,” the demon responded, familiarizing themself with the changed feel of the location. The room’s shelves bowed with more books, and the desk was as cluttered as ever, but the rest of it seemed… cleaner now, more organized. A fire burned in the hearth, and before it stretched a new fur rug. On a hook on the far wall hung an impressive robe and sash. “Korva Tos! You ought to have summoned me sooner. I would have liked to have seen your graduation.”
Perhaps the man had not grown as much as Zalas believed, as he blushed furiously. “I… would have liked that, too, Zalas. It was as much yours as mine. But you know how the proctors feel about demons.”
Korva had been at the Imperial University for three weeks when he first summoned Zalas, clothes ragged and tears in his eyes. He had stood defiant, his fists balled in impotent fury against the maliciousness of his erstwhile classmates, and asked the demon for help.
“And Eliza. Are you…?”
Korva had been at the Imperial University for six years when he last summoned Zalas. His clothes were far nicer, but this time he had wept inconsolably, crumpled against the summoning circle, and asked for nothing.
A shadow passed over Korva’s face. “No, we… she returned to the capital, and married the duke this spring.”
In their first transaction, Zalas had crafted the young man a chain of warding, impervious to the hexes and spells his jealous classmates had already begun to sling his way. In return, the demon had asked only for a single loaf of sesame bread from the bakery beneath them. They told themself that this was an investment, that there was no joy in tricking a child, that the young man would return and barter away more the next time.
In their last transaction, nothing was exchanged. Zalas saw that the child had tricked himself into believing in love, into believing that the ward he still wore around his neck made him impervious to the poverty that had made the ward necessary in the first place. The engagement had been called off, in the most brutal and insulting of manners, and Korva had no friend to turn to but Zalas.
Had Korva asked, Zalas would have ripped the duchess’ heart out, brought the duke’s lineage to ruin. But Korva did not ask.
“I see you still have your telescope, and… you have made improvements to it! The lens looks more refined, and the optical tube more robust?”
“You have excellent eyes, my friend! Yes, let me show you—it took me almost a year to find a crafter capable enough to grind down the glass, but I was able to implement your suggestion. Look, here: a second lens to focus the light!”
In the six years between Korva’s first and last summonings, the pretexts the warlock gave for calling forth Zalas became flimsier, even as the conversations the two shared grew more substantial. The demon found themself struggling to remember that these exchanges were exchanges, in the most technical sense, that this couldn’t be a true friendship, that ultimately the rituals depended on something being given and something taken.
And yet—wasn’t this another way of saying that friends care for each other, and owed each other something, and depended on the other for what they did not possess? It pained to Zalas to think of this, the same pain they felt when Korva had summoned them anew.
Once, not so long ago, Zalas had mentioned they had never seen the stars, a fact that struck Korva as unfair. The student had risked creating a summoning circle on the roof the next time, at night, and had learned the names of the major constellations to point out to his demon companion. But unlike the band of pewter inlaid in the floor below, this temporary circle of chalk had been a flimsy thing, drawn in haste in darkness, dangerously unclosed. They discovered this fact together, when Zalas moved to see which star Korva was pointing at and accidentally stepped through the ring of magic and will that bound them to the mortal plane. They had stared at each other for a long moment, human and demon, uncertain, shocked at the sudden closeness between them. And then they had laughed and Korva had shooed Zalas back in, lest the demon’s essence begin to disintegrate out into the world prematurely.
But that was then, and now Korva was putting away the telescope. “Zalas, friend.” His voice was grim. “It has been a year since we last talked. I have put off this conversation for some time. I think this… I think this will be the last time I summon you.”
The demon was, for once, surprised. What does one say to a friend, who has called only to say they will never visit again?
“I understand,” they lied, perhaps the first lie they had ever told Korva.
The man waved him off, turning to the desk, as if the papers strewn about it were thoughts that he could collect. “I know… I know that we are coming to a choice in our friendship. Our relationship. I’ve graduated now. Despite my upbringing, I have been offered positions. Powerful positions, with real stakes and real danger. It won’t be an essay that troubles me when next we speak. I don’t want to…”
“And you!” he said, interrupting himself, turning back toward the summoning circle. “You have been good to me, and kind. I owe more to you than you can imagine. But—no, I know I am speaking for you, I know you have warned me to not read into devil’s mouths words that are not there, but please, hear me out. I know that all demons seek a way to embody themselves here, in the mortal plane. I know that if I ask more of you, you will give, but it will come at a cost. And the first thing that will suffer is our friendship. I… don’t want that.”
“I understand,” the demon repeated. And this time they did understand Korva’s words, but not the feelings in their own heart. They had spent long moments with the human, and through this relationship their connection to the mortal world had deepened. And for whose benefit was this? It was only in the realm of man that time elapsed, that things changed, for both good and ill; it was only here that a demon might amass power and change their station in the otherwise timeless infernal realms. Had their friendship with Korva grown for its own sake, or had Zalas cultivated it, nurtured it in hopes that the warlock would finally make a deal that would see the demon’s embodiment made permanent?
And what of those quiet moments they spent alone in this very room, enjoying the smell of bread and the feel of a book? Were those, too, slaved to their desire for power and independence?
The demon could not answer. They did not know if Korva’s words should make them happy or sad.
“Since I saw you last, I have thought every day on this problem. Every day for a year, reflecting on how to greet you again, and how to say goodbye. In all that time, I could only discern two solutions. The first was to never summon you again.”
The boy was a fool. Had Eliza taught him nothing? Korva had already summoned them again. One ought not pick at an open wound.
And yet: “What of the second?”
Korva sighed. “To bind you to my will.”
On instinct, Zalas tensed. Binding was the mirror of what any demon sought: to be trapped in the mortal world, shorn from their connection to the infernal realms, their power and energy directed to the service of a mortal master. Some demons voluntarily entered into such unequal compacts. For those that were forced, though, it was a fate worse than death.
Maybe Eliza had taught him to be hard, to cauterize that which you could not control.
The warlock saw the demon start. “Gods, Zalas, have you no faith? Of course I would not bind you against your will! But consider this: stay with me, as my partner and my friend. Your powers would be circumscribed, your great game in the Sixth Hell recessed. But you could—”
“You would have me submit to you, and call it friendship?” Zalas asked, their voice hollow.
“No, that’s not—don’t twist my words, Zalas. I am trying to find a solution that benefits us both. Before I said goodbye, I wanted to give you this option. I owed it to us both.”
Each stood silent, not looking at each other, afraid that whatever was said next would end their friendship.
“Once,” Korva started finally, quietly, “when we were both drunk on razorwine, you spoke of the life you would like to have here in Azuras. You talked at length about the professions you would try, the things you would learn. The body you would want.”
“I… did say all that,” the demon admitted, as much to themself as to Korva.
“You’ve always been truthful with me, but the way you talked that night… it seemed like it was maybe the first time you had been truthful with yourself. That maybe you saw a different future for yourself, outside the backbiting of the infernal realms. And I…”
Korva straightened, and his voice became more certain. “Give me one hour, Zalas. One hour to command you as I see fit. Give me a chance to show you the joy and pleasure of being here with me. What we could do together.”
The demon looked up, meeting the warlock’s eye. “You ask a terrible boon of me, far in excess of anything I have ever offered. To have the unrestrained power of a demon at your beck and call, for an hour? Kingdoms have been brought to ruin in less time.”
“And if I were the kind of warlock that would exploit you in such a way, then we would not be having this conversation. But this would be an equal exchange. An hour of your time, for the sum of my physical essence. I know what kind of body you want, here in the mortal world—strong, masculine, hard muscle and sinew. You told me as much. You can have it. You can have mine.”
Zalas balked, uncertain. Demons did not inherently have the vitality, the essence, that living things did; to a layperson, demons did not have a soul. But a warlock understood that the soul was composed of many elements—intelligence, charisma, empathy, a sense of self, even physical elements like hair and eye color—individual slivers of a whole that could be bartered away for power or influence. It was through such exchanges that a demon could gain the essence necessary to anchor themself to the world of time and man, and in a form that pleased them.
Then Zalas barked out a laugh. “Korva, I love you, and you are many things. But strong or masculine are not…”
They trailed off as the warlock undid the lacing on his shirt and pulled it off.
Under his loose clothes Korva had hidden a new body, of broad chest and thick arms. His bronzed skin seemed to glisten in the firelight, and the demon was speechless at the contrast with the bookish student they had known for years.
“I spent the last year passing my final exams. I also spent the last year strengthening my body, crafting it into the sort of prize you might barter for.”
“But… why?”
“Because I knew what I was going to ask of you, and I needed something to offer worth the risk. Because you are my friend, and this gift will help you be embodied in the form you want. Pick one explanation, or both.”
It was difficult for the demon to pull their eyes away from that muscular, sexy body—a shape, a way of existence that could be theirs, for a price. A year’s worth of ceaseless effort, offered up to them. “You did this… for me?”
“For us, I hope. But yes. Even if we go our separate way, you will be one large step closer to being able to manifest in the world without a summoning circle. Master of your own fate, capable of gaining the power you need to replace your Lord’s First Knight, and in a form that pleases you. This shape is yours, and then an hour of your time with me, to let me show you what it would be like if you bound yourself to me, of your own volition. I swear to you, at the end of it, it will be your choice, and I will respect it. Whatever happens, we will part with no animosity from me. This is what I ask of you.”
The demon mulled this over. “Korva,” they spoke, eyes burning bright against dark skin. “I would kill for you, if you asked me. But if you make me do anything, I will not forgive you.”
“You know I won’t, old friend. But better men have done worse when given power, so I swear to you this, that I will do nothing you are not comfortable with, nor will I coerce your consent with fell magics.”
“Then… we are agreed. Break the summoning circle, and we may begin.”
KORVA WAS GASPING, grasping at the wood floor as consciousness came flooding back, as lungs refused to work and eyes refused to open.
Someone was there, a warm and comforting voice—not, not a voice, but a pressure, a rumble, a hand on the chest, willing Korva back into the world of the living, and the warlock followed the warmth home.
“Easy, easy now,” it was saying. “Breathe. Slower. Concentrate on my voice.”
The warlock’s eyes fluttered, and then went wide. “Zalas, is that you?!”
Kneeling above Korva was a demon who must have been Zalas, and yet was not. It was as if the demon had gained clarity, had come into focus for the first time, arms and chest and legs resolved into handsome muscle. His inky black body was now broad and powerful, had filled out and grown and become as he had taken form from Korva. He was taller, and his skin—not immaterial smoke, now actual flesh—was somehow darker, like shadow given depth and substance. He wore a pair of loose pants, but against the stygian black of his exposed chest was a dusting of brilliant white freckles and marks, stars in the deepest night sky. Framing it all was the demon’s glowing face, eyes and teeth bright and happy, happy to feel strong and powerful, to simply feel, to be embodied.
But a shadow of worry marred his face. “Are you okay? How do you feel?”
“I’m okay, I’m okay. And look at you! The ritual worked?”
Korva reached out, running a delicate hand along the demon’s broad chest. The familiarity of it was so visceral, so immediate, that it made the warlock blush. It was her chest, her muscle, that the demon now wore, and she could almost… almost…
Wait. Her muscle? Her chest?
She?
The warlock froze, staring dead ahead at her hand, light skin against a darker backdrop.
“What—” and Korva could hear it now, her changed voice, harsh from disuse but unmistakably feminine.
“The ritual worked, but there were… complications,” the demon answered.
Korva looked down at herself, taking it in. Her skin was now colored a deep tan, and her previously unremarkable brown hair had grown into a shoulder-length mane of auburn. She was still topless, so she could see that, like Zalas, her décolletage was freckled, and that between her breasts still hung the charm the demon had made her years ago. Her breasts! Gods, she had breasts! She didn’t know cup sizes or fruit sizes, but they were a handful, with a pair of perky nipples to boot. Lower still were a set of impressive abs, and her pants were pulled taut by a pair of powerful thighs.
She was well-built, strong, and very clearly a woman. “How did this happen?”
The worry on Zalas’ face furrowed deeper. “Do you remember anything about the ritual?”
“We… performed it?” The warlock pursed her new, fuller lips, trying to recall what had transpired. “I could feel the connection between us, and then I could feel you growing, and myself shrinking. But then…”
She locked eyes with the demon, a sliver of disappointment touching her voice. “Did you take too much from me?”
Zalas nodded solemnly. “But not in the way you might think. I sought only to take your new physique—to restore you to how you were a year ago, before you built your body. That was, as I understood it, our arrangement. But the ritual became… unstable. Once you began to give, you could not be stopped.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your muscle, anything that you associated with your body, that which you might call your masculinity—it poured out of you, more than I asked for, so much so that your soul began to disintegrate. I have spent days at your side, attempting to return to you what you gave.”
“Days?” she asked, incredulous.
Zalas nodded again.
Korva cupped her teardrop breasts. “And during that time, I magically grew these?” Her annoyance and disbelief were clear. She had trusted Zalas not to betray, but how else had she gained this body? How else was she so comfortable thinking of herself as such? What other explanation could there be, except some fell demonic magic?
“You are not listening to me, Korva. It was as if you were expelling a part of your soul that you had no desire to keep. You were poised on the knife’s edge between catharsis and self-destruction. And when I returned that energy and essence back to you, as I reknit your fragmenting soul, it was your thoughts and desires that shaped the form you would take, not mine.”
“I—” The warlock’s response choked out. It was as if she could feel the world shifting under her feet; everything still made sense, but it was a new kind of sense, a sense of rightness as everything slotted into place and the idea suddenly became the most obvious thing in the world.
“I did this,” she accepted. “This was me. This is me.”
And on the heels of this new old truth came a wave of guilt and uncertainty. Was this really her? If it was her, what did that mean about her life before? Had she made the wrong choice now, or had she been stupid and oblivious then? Was this permanent? Did she want it to be permanent?
She jerked up. What would Zalas think? Did it matter? It did matter; why did it matter? Did—
The demon rested a large, comforting hand on her shoulder. “It’s alright. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He was looking for the right words to say, casting about for something both honest and supportive. “I… think I already knew. At the very least, I understood you were uncomfortable with who you appeared to be.”
There were tears at the corners of Korva’s eyes, but the edges of her lips tipped upward. “Ha! That’s a sweet thing of you to say, but I doubt you knew something that I didn’t.”
He smiled back, warm and genuine. “Knowing and admitting are different things, Korva. I think you did know. I… was not the only one who drank too deeply of the razorwine that night.”
The warlock barked out a laugh, memories of half-drunk confessions coming back to her. “I… did say all that,” Korva finally admitted. “Okay. Okay. Whew. My legs are really sore. Gods, have I really sat on my ass for days? Could you help me up—”
Zalas was strong enough that he could easily lift her, but he was crouching, and neither were familiar with their new centers of gravity. The immediate result was that having pulled Korva halfway to her feet, he stumbled and fell onto his back, and the warlock went down after him, landing on his chest. The two of them took a stunned second to ascertain what happened, and then lost themselves in a fit of giggles.
But rather than climb off the demon, Korva repositioned herself, legs astride Zalas’ stomach, her hands resting on his strong shoulders.
“Does this… change anything between us?” she ventured, after the laughter died.
The demon looked contemplative as he slipped his hands under his head, and Korva watched his arms flex as he moved, entranced by the sight. When they had been her arms, she had felt very little for them; she had told herself those muscles were a jacket she was wearing for a friend, and like a friend’s jacket, they did not suit her. But they very, very much suited Zalas, distractingly so. She shifted uncomfortably against the demon’s abs, trying to not think about the other sexy muscles between her legs. Then her eyes went wide when she felt something stir under her.
“Zalas,” she started, blushing slightly, “is that your—”
“YES, I guess, okay?” He wiggled back and forth uncomfortably, accidentally confirming to the warlock that it was very much his cock she felt. “I was a little focused on you these past few days. I haven’t had an opportunity to learn much about this body. It sometimes does… things.”
“Gods, Zalas. It’s a lot bigger than what I was packing.” She flashed a mischievous grin, grinding her hips against his as she leaned down to whisper to him. “You’ve had this monster in your pants, and you didn’t play with it at all while I was asleep?”
“No!” he answered, truthfully. “I was very concerned about you! I wouldn’t just… just…” He lost his train of thought.
Korva slid her hands out, along Zalas’ arms, pulling them along, so that she was pinning him down, her face suspended just above his. Her charm hung low, a tiny glyph of gold resting against the demon’s inky black. “You were so worried about me, that you didn’t even think about your new toy?” She accentuated the final word with another thrust of her pelvis, eliciting a tiny moan from Zalas and a twitch from his cock. “That’s really hot.”
It was the closest they had ever been, close enough that the warmth of the other’s breath tickled their lips. Korva could see the demon’s eyes were not a pure glowing white, but had the shadow of an iris, grey and calm. And Zalas could see the warlock’s formerly brown irises were now speckled with a piercing purple.
“So I was thinking… I have you for a whole hour, right?”
“That was the agreement,” the demon replied, suddenly uneasy. Was it her closeness? Her supposed familiarity?
“Well, if you like, we could spend that time familiarizing you with your new body.”
For all of her coyness, Zalas could see a real blush darkening her cheeks, more hidden freckles suddenly brought to light. Something not appearing as it was, a carefully constructed lie—the sight of it stirred something in him, a reminder of why they were here and what they were doing. Everything that had done, the closeness they felt, the new people they had become—it was all in the context of a contract. A transaction.
His expression must have changed, because Korva pulled back. “Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you—”
The demon bent at his abs, sliding the warlock into his lap, her breasts against his chest, her faux control revealed to be a farce. “Korva,” he said seriously, gripping her forearms with her strong hands. “I…” He suddenly found it easier to look around the room, anywhere but her eyes. He had to say this, whatever her reaction was. “With demons, everything is about power. In the infernal realms, there are no equals, no true friends, just this… this web of shifting obligations and relative power. It’s toxic and exhausting, a constant jostling for power and prestige. But here, with you, it… isn’t like that. We are friends. It almost feels like we are equals. But all of this, its still in the context of a deal, and I…”
He gathered the courage to look her in her beautiful, terrifying, purple-specked irises. “But even if I can intellectually understand the concept of trusting you, it is so difficult to feel that. To know that this is what you really want. That you are not going to violate that trust. That you are not going to violate me. To know that this is true. Despite everything we have shared, I still… I still…”
Korva started to say something, but Zalas continued. “The hour you bargained for is up. It expired days ago, while you were unconscious. I stayed. But if you want me to keep staying, then I need to know, without dissimulation: what were you going to ask of me in that hour? How were you going to convince me?”
The warlock stared at the demon for a moment longer, then burst out laughing. She tried to pull herself off of him, only to immediately fall back against him, doubling over with even more laughter. She pulled herself tight against him, and only then did Zalas realize that she was also sobbing, his chest wet with her tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” she finally begged, wiping tears from her eyes. “I’ve just missed you so much, Zalas. You’re so serious and kind and… gods, I kept myself away for a year, just to…”
This time she succeeded in standing. “Well, if you’re concerned that I was going to seduce you into staying here with me, that wasn’t in the cards. In my wildest dreams, I didn’t expect to look like this.” She motioned to her new body, strong and freckled, and Zalas felt his traitor cock twitch in response.
“No, I…” She blushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t realize the ritual would take so long, either. I set up the telescope and timed the summoning so that that the moons would be down and the torches low. And I made a deal with the baker for a late baking and got your favorite bread fresh that evening.” She rummaged around the kitchen, pulling out a days-old loaf, as hard as a brick.
Zalas looked on, confused. “So the great boon you asked was to… have a regular night?”
“Yes!” Korva snapped, her embarrassment transmuting into exasperation. “Because that’s all I have to offer, Zalas! Bread, and star watching, and a small apartment in the student quarter! I’m a pauper that might become the second-tier mage in a second-tier kingdom. I have no family connections, I have no political ambitions. If I was going to ask you to stay with me, if I was going to show you that I loved you, then…”
“Haven’t you figured it out?” she continued. “The deal we made was poorly worded, intentionally: after the hour elapsed, I didn’t have to convince you of anything—there was never any need for you to be bound to me, and you never were. You’re embodied now, Zalas. You don’t need rituals or spells or oaths to anchor you to Azuras. You can go wherever you want, move between our world and yours with ease.”
None of this had occurred to Zalas. He had been so preoccupied with Korva’s health that he didn’t realize what it meant that he was still here, that he could still be here. He was truly, legitimately free, and Korva had virtually tricked him into accepting this gift.
“There’s nothing keeping you here, nothing at all,” Korva said, emphatic to the point of anger. “You won’t need to bind yourself to anyone, ever. And compared to that… freedom, how can I possibly dream to ask you to stay here? At the least, I had to be honest. I had to show you the type of boring life I had to offer.”
“I gave you everything you needed to leave, and then I planned to ask you to stay,” she added, in a quieter refrain. “Honesty was all I had left.”
The demon blinked, trying his best to wrap his mind around the selflessness of Korva’s actions. It was so alien to the exchanges and personalities he was used to. “You… for a year, you trained a body you despised, to give to me. You negotiated a poorly worded deal, implying that I would need to be bound to you to stay, all the while knowing that you would have no compulsion over me. And then the one boon you asked for was to… take me on a date?”
Korva had turned a brilliant crimson. “Well when you put it like that, I sound like a fucking idiot!” She turned on the hardened loaf, trying to crack it in two. After a moment, she tossed it to the demon. “Open that up, will you.”
The demon effortlessly did as was asked, only to be surprised when a small bauble fell in his lap. He help it aloft, studying it—it looked like the mirror of the ward Korva still wore around her neck.
“It was never about binding you to me, Zalas,” the warlock admitted. “You were supposed to find that, as we finished the bread. I crafted it myself; it’s the companion to the one you gave me, years ago.” The demon looked up at her, and it struck him that, for the first time ever, Korva was truly anxious. “Zalas, will… you marry me? Will you be my husband?”
“I… what?” This was not quite the question he had anticipated.
“I mean it, Zalas. I’ve always meant it. Not as my slave, or my servant. To be bound to me, as much as I am bound to you. As partners. My husband, your wife.”
“Yes, yes of course. Of course I will. I accept,” he answered, effervescent, doubt and concern expunged from his mind. “Of course. But…”
Korva held her breath, and Zalas swore to himself that this would be the last time she ever had to hang on his words. “… but you do understand that I am the second-tier demon of a sixth-tier kingdom, right? And you understand that I very, very much want to lead as boring a life as possible? As in, ‘going to a bakery twice a day’ levels of boring?”
Korva beamed and then threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, bring him into a long, passionate kiss.
“I love you, Korva,” he was finally able to speak. “And I can’t believe I was worried you didn’t love me. I was a fool.”
“You were a fool. An extremely kind, extremely handsome fool,” Korva rejoined. “But a fool nonetheless, a fool that I love with all my heart.”
Between them, Zalas’ cock moved, still engorged and still firmly trapped in his pants. “Gods dammit, that thing is huge,” Korva remarked, sucking in a shuddering breath. “I mean, how’s that even work? You took my old body, and everything about it turned out bigger. I’d… umm…”
It was difficult to deny the effect this entire situation was having on her: the heightened emotions, the new bodies, even Zalas’ scent, all of it was making her undeniably wet. She coughed, flushing. “So… what happens now?”
“We are both experiencing… feelings,” the demon replied, diplomatically. “Between our new bodies and our emotional vulnerability, it might be prudent to… go to the bakery? L-look at some stars, once the sun sets? We don’t need to rush into things. If… something… happens, I want it to be because we both want it.”
“That’s fair,” Korva replied, standing and offering the demon a hand, even if the sexy mass of muscle didn’t actually need it. “I could show you around more of the Student Quarter. If we’re going to stay here, you’ll probably want to know where things are. We both need shirts. Maybe I have a coat in your size? Let me—”
They never made it to the bakery, or to the door, or even to the coats. Zalas pinned her against the wall right there, hungrily kissing her, only to pull back to let his long, textured tongue run along her neck. She responded with a throaty groan, wrapping her legs around his waist so she was suspended off the ground, entirely reliant on the wall and his strength to hold her.
Her hands now free, the warlock took the opportunity to blindly reach down between them, working the laces at the front of of Zalas’ pants. She succeeded in slipping a hand inside, finally getting a chance to stroke the rod she had been increasingly distracted by since awaking. At her touch, Zalas emitted something between a gasp and a growl, and Korva could feel the precum begin to leak from the the tip of his cock and run through her fingers.
Having no experience with this sort of stimulation, the demon jerked his hips on raw instinct, trying to intensify her touch. Korva giggled at the thought of her demon losing such control that he tried to fuck her hand. In retaliation for her impertinence, Zalas became even more aggressive, holding her higher so that his long tongue and teeth could play with her breasts. It was Korva’s turn to gasp and squirm as he took control of the situation
But the pleasure got too intense, she ran a hand through the demon’s short hair, then pulled, jerking his head away from her hard nipples. “Bed. Now.” There was a touch of power behind her words—not an inviolable order, but a firmly worded suggestion nonetheless, a magically empowered request that established her dominance. And without a doubt, some primordial part of the demon yearned to obey her, this beautiful woman he was already worshiping with his hands and tongue.
But even as he stared up at Korva, enraptured by her beauty, he hesitated, simply because he could hesitate, because this was a choice. Then he smiled back, mischievous and cocky. “Oh, I don’t think we’re at that point yet, warlock.”
“What do you—what are you doing?!” she yelped in surprise, as Zalas hauled her even higher, his strong hands wrapping around her ass and her thighs and pushing her further up the wall. Her legs slipped over his shoulders, and then his long, prehensile tongue began to slowly but expertly unfasten her pants. “No, don’t—I mean—ooohhh, gods fuck don’t stop—”
Zalas’ long tongue glid over her slit, then expertly danced across her clit. It was now Korva’s opportunity to truly experience her new body for the first time, and when the demon’s tongue finally began to tease into her folds, the warlock lost any semblance of control. Her toes curled and dug into his back, and her thighs clenched tight around his neck; she had some vague concern that she might hurt him, then tossed it away with the conclusion that whatever happened next, it was completely his fault.
As her hands gripped his head and tried to push it deeper into her, she realized that it was Zalas’ turn to scoff at her, that in fact she wanted him to scoff, that the vibrations of his tutting would feel amazing in her pussy. His tongue was textured and warm and oh so flexible, and all she wanted to do for the rest of forever was fuck her demon’s face, and she was so close—
—and then, as she was about to come, the demon tossed her onto the bed.
“What,” she gasped, “the hells. Are you. Doing?”
“You told me you wanted to go to the bed, and so I—”
Korva lunged at the demon, using her momentum to twist the standing Zalas around and knock him to the bed. They tumbled back down together, back to where they had been before: demon pinned under warlock, the tiny memento of their relationship that hung around her neck again suspended between them. But now their pants were discarded, and their sweat-covered skin pressed against the other, and matching wolfish grins were on their faces. They kissed, hungrily and lovingly, tongues intertwining. Then Korva sat up and, holding Zalas’ cock in one hand, began to run her pussy along its great length. Their eyes stayed locked, even as sweat dripped from her hair, even as she brought the head of his cock to the edge of her slit and began to slowly, carefully work it inside. Only as she pushed herself onto that magnificent cock did she cry out and double over, her hands clutching at Zalas’ chest as she gasped from the pleasure and the pain.
Very, very slowly, Zalas began to shift his hips, careful to let Korva set the pace. In a moment, the warlock began to breathe again, and then began to groan in pleasure, louder as she moved faster. “Fuck Zalas. Fuck me with that cock. Gods, fuck fuck fuck fuuuuuuck.”
They both tried to hold on as long as possible, but what was coming was inevitable.
And then, for the first time that night, they came together.
Bramble provided the excellent artwork of Korva and Zalas! A special thank you to my patrons, whose support enabled me to commission her in the first place!