A Taste of the Divine

Warning: Someone is gonna get magic-fcked into a little tree, and there is a fart that sparkles - you're welcome. On a more serious note, contains reluctance and sexually aggressive behaviour. As a rule of thumb, try not to emulate anything of the following, magical or otherwise.

A Taste Of The Divine

Laken could feel it on her skin, how his focus shifted onto her, before she ever even laid eyes on him. It was as if a hot wave was rippling over her body.

With a little shudder, she turned her head, and sure enough, that sweeping gaze was revealed to emanate from a source of flesh.

Firm, muscular flesh. Even though the young warlock had made his entrance through a door all the way at the other side of the room, you felt as if the place could barely contain him. It wasn't just how tall he was, nor his broad, naked torso, covered in spiraling tattoos...

There it was again, that hot wave rolling off of him. It didn't just flow out of his big amber eyes, but also his elegantly curved nostrils, out of the darkness behind his narrow, but toothy smile, and yes, though more faint, even radiating from his very skin. She identified that probing energy as an extension of his aura, constantly mapping his surroundings, as if those were merely an extension of his body. She had rarely felt an aura quite so... bold, however.

Granted, there wasn't a whole lot to focus on, in this place - right now, other than the two of them, there were only three other people lingering in this bombastic, but sparsely decorated marble foyer. About the only thing that caught your eye was the scarlet banner above the closed gate to the audience hall, reading "Fall Seminary - Novices (Years 1, 2 and 3)" in golden letters. Maybe the only reason that the warlock had, briefly, focused on her, was simply that there weren't too many sights to pick from.

Nope.

She had barely returned to her book, laying open in front of her on the cocktail table, when the sweep rolled over her again.

Her, in particular.

She adjusted her glasses and tried to keep her eyes on the pages in front of her, but suddenly, there was more. A pull in the aura that engulfed her. Those hot, invisible fingers solidified, grabbed her chin, and turned her head around, just what it took to make her face the young warlock again. He obviously wanted to take a good look at her. It was just subtle enough that someone else might have wondered whether or not it really was the warlock's doing, or just an impulse from their own body. But she knew. If there was one thing you could say about her, it was that she chose to know that sort of thing.

Their eyes met. The warlock had found his own cocktail table, and was leaning on it, his eyes narrowed down to irreverent slits. He wasn't facing her head on, but rather, scrutinizing her from the corner of his eyes, displaying his exposed flank. Indeed, before Laken realized it, her gaze was glued to it. Even as she tried to keep her mind at a cool, observational distance, she felt her mouth watering.

The boy looked away again, a movement that almost could have been mistaken for bashfulness, but that narrow, toothy grin never left his face. He ran his fingers through his unruly brown hair, almost a mane.

Reflexively, she pulled her robe tighter around her person. She tried to focus on her book again, but realized that this part of her day was probably over. She didn't have to look up to confirm that the warlock was walking towards her, now.

Faint whispers, from the trio of people at the next table over - one boy, two girls. All mortals, novice priesthood, dressed in the latest fashion of the capital. There was a little gasp, from one of the girls.

The young warlock came to a halt only inches from Laken. Indeed, as he shifted his weight, his muscular thigh brushed against her, through the cool black silk of his skirt. She noted the immediate stirring in her nether regions, upon physical contact. Interesting.

"Hello, there," the warlock said, tilting his head.

He lazily laid one arm down on her cocktail table, encircling her and her book. The light table should have flipped away under the added weight, but even though the young warlock was clearly one of her fellow novices, his mastery of the physics around his person was flawless. She had no doubt that, standing on one toe, he could have balanced on a single blade of grass without even bending it.

Of course, that manipulation of space and matter extended very much to her person as well. At this close of a range, she could feel him flowing in between her cells - faint, but undeniable for anyone as alert to these things as she was. Without hesitation, he even playfully reached out through her belly, into her spine up to her neck, ever so softly bending her towards himself. She had to tilt her pelvis a little, to stay in place.

"Hello," she said, meeting his gaze.

He lifted his eyebrows over her subtle resistance. Barely noticeable, his grin widened, and he pulled a bit harder.

She breathed through her nose, and relaxed her shoulders.

While maintaining eye contact, she let a tendril of her own sensory force field wander through him. His muscle packed body was dense, a fortress, and her own aura was more delicate, light as a breeze, but still, she found that hollow space inside him, and reached up, echoing his previous sweep through her.

At the end of the day, everyone is just a tube.

Regardless, there was a LOT of him, to go around. He was warm inside. Very, very warm. His heartbeat steady, and strong. She wasn't able to move him, or even give him so much as a tickle, but she did catch his attention, with her own invasive little greeting card.

His eyes and his grin widened a bit further, as he was reassessing her. "First time at the palace?"

"I'm afraid so," she said with a sigh. "I passed my exams this season. First seminary I ever got summoned to."

"Congratulations," he chuckled.

The way he breathed, it was clear he was tasting her breath in the air, gathering information not conveyed by her words.

"Laken Fendril," she said, stretching out her hand.

He looked at it briefly, as if it was entirely optional, to acknowledge the gesture, or even the name she had just revealed to him. But he did take her hand. Smooth skin, firm grip. A bit more firm than strictly necessary, perhaps.

"Garett Wilborn," he said. "Nice to meet you, Laken." There was a little question mark in there, both in his words and the movements of his aura.

Laken felt a faint echo of the image of her he had taken in - as if he had inhaled her, and exhaled her again.

She was dressed in an unassuming way - a simple, short robe made of white silk, fairly conservative, though it was almost as light as a nightgown. The warlock was clearly quite aware of the way her breasts freely shifted around, under there, whenever she moved, unhindered by a corset or binder.

No make-up, and no aesthetic glammer either, to weave flattering illusions over her physical traits. Indeed, her skin had a fairly pasty quality to it. There were even one or two mandatory summer mosquito bites in prominent places, only just fading away.

Her hair was tied up into a simple bun. Her sister always said that it made her look like a secretary.

The fanciest aspect of her getup today - the only hint that she was even aware of the sort of things that were expected of her in these opulent surroundings - was the elegant, golden frame of her glasses, encrusted with six tiny black gemstones. A family heirloom, which she had outfitted with regular, non-enhanced lenses.

The most challenging thing about her, or so she had been told, was that her eyes were just the tiniest bit too far apart for comfort. What she could read in the sensory echo suggested that the warlock, too, was a little puzzled by it, at least subconsciously.

"So, I take it, you have been invited into the capital before?" Laken asked, articulating the unspoken contrast between the two of them that the warlock had obviously been mapping out.

"Second time," Wilborn chuckled. "They let me out of school early. No complaints from me, there."

Laken wrinkled her nose. "Firstborn family?"

That made the young warlock chuckle again. To even ask, Laken had to be either a true country bumpkin of a mortal... or this was a first, subtle stab. Judging by the look in his gleaming eyes, Wilborn was smart enough, or at least his scans of her had been fruitful enough, that he could guess the answer.

"You know," he said, still smiling, but moving a bit closer to her, "if they invited you here, I would think you are the kind of girl who can spot a demigod, when she sees one."

Laken shrugged. "I believe I've dissected one or two, during my studies."

His eyes widened a little. "Hands-on, then," he said, letting his large fingers glide gently over the open pages of her book. "Not just the... dry stuff."

Laken shrugged. "Guess I'm naturally curious. I like to really get in there, you know?"

Now it was her, who leaned towards him a little. "Eastern Forest Combine?"

He nodded. "The tattoos give it away, huh. Good eye." He gestured over his bare torso. The tattoos were sleek and stylized, but at this distance, they were clearly recognizable as vines bearing hundreds of blossoms. "Got them for my graduation, last year."

"What was your challenge?" Laken inquired.

The warlock's face lit up, even softened up a little. "Lindwurm," he explained. "A real beauty. At the bottom of a lake. Two days, or so they told me - no light, down there, no way to tell the time. That was the FUN part, though - finding her in the first place, now that very nearly drove me insane." He smacked his lips. "Totally worth it, though. Tasted amazing, even after I drained her. Even brought enough of the flesh home for the family, all the nieces and nephews." He chuckled again, at the memory.

"I opened up a lost elder shrine," Laken volunteered, even though he had not asked.

"Didn't know there were still any of those left?" The warlock wondered. "Centuries of grave robbing, as they say." She could feel him tense up, at this.

"The contents got transferred to our archeology department," Laken continued, "After I sealed away the guardian spirits. If it helps, it was an Axe Clan shrine?"

Wilborn let out a nasty little laugh at this, and relaxed. "In that case, good. Fck THOSE assholes."

He straightened his back, stretching like a cat. Laken observed the movement of his muscles, starting from the base of his spine, with great interest. She tried to estimate his size, and his mass, feeding it into her calculations. She found there was an increasing hunger, to those.

"How about we take a little walk?" The warlock said abruptly. "I can tell you right now, they won't let us in for another half hour, and I'm kinda getting bored of... those losers."

The people at the other table, who had certainly, absolutely not been hanging on to every single word that had been exchanged between the warlock and Laken, pointing and whispering, flinched at that and grew a bit pale. A few annoyed grunts could be heard.

Garett briefly turned around, and they fell very, very still.

He let out a barely audible snort and grabbed Laken by her elbow. She had just enough time to collect her book, before he effortlessly dragged her away. She had to resort to a little undignified hop, so as to not fall over her own feet, and repositioned herself to make it look like she was walking with a minimum of grace and agency, rather than being unceremoniously kidnapped.

The warlock led her out of the somber foyer, through an arched doorway, and out into the palace gardens. Immediately leaving the path, he was striding confidently over the manicured lawn with his broad, bare feet, as Laken was waddling awkwardly by his side.

The view out here was, admittedly, amazing.

The palace and its gardens were sitting on a lofty plateau, overlooking rolling hills covered in vineyards and little pocket forests. Far off in the distance, two flying imperial messengers could be seen, heading away from the palace.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, not a cloud in sight. The air was still warm, but made refreshing by a cool breeze - not at all like the oppressive summer that had just faded away. The garden was overflowing with roses, and even some truly exotic plants, like actual dandelions.

"Here we are," Wilborn announced when they reached a spot not far from the edge of the plateau, surrounded by small willow trees, which provided some shade, as well as some exotic bushes with colourful fruit. With neither hesitation nor visible effort, the warlock grabbed Laken by her waist, his broad hands sinking into her love handles, and lifted her up on a wall.

"Love the view, from here," he explained, leaning onto the wall with his elbow, the back of his head coming to rest on the leg of a nearby marble statue, overlooking the valley like a silent guardian. For some reason, Laken took particular note of the fact that it was the statue of a young woman. Naked.

Wilborn grabbed a fruit from a nearby bush, and threw it into his mouth.

"I thought the palace grounds were restricted," Laken mused, "they told us, we have to watch our steps. Stay where we are told to be."

Wilborn scoffed at this. "Right. I remember that, from last year. Frankly, Miss Fendril, I didn't care then, don't care now."

"A rebel, are you?" Laken asked.

With the way her voice maintained her monotone pitch, Garett clearly wasn't sure what to make of that. He narrowed his eyes. "The way I see it, THEY want something from US. Novices or not, we're part of the Order now, of the people who keep this place running." He shook his head. "Sure, there's... protocol, and all that. They try to make you feel real small, and they make themselves big, all the way on top of their precious PANTHEON. But at the end of the day, if we chose to walk away from them, they'd be FCKED. So as far as I'm concerned, we are the ones who own this place."

The young warlock shrugged. "That's my political views, in a nutshell. Anyhow..." he gestured to their surroundings. "Me and a couple of other novices, we found lots of nice spots, to hang out. You should join us, sometime."

"Sure," Laken said with a shrug. "Still got to figure out how I fit into all this, either way."

He winked at her. "Gotta be careful with that, though. Things can get... intense, in these parts. Last year, five novices got drained at the seminary for picking the wrong lane. Ha! Even one demi among them. Regressed into a potato. That's all he could come up with, the little turd. Farmland Clan. Figures. Still fared better than the mortals, of course." He shook his head. "The culprits were never found, mind you. Hehe."

Laken shifted her weight a bit at that, which seemed to please the warlock.

The young man's gaze wandered over her thighs. As it turned out, once you had been wrapped up in his sensory aura for long enough, it became a part of the atmosphere - you became acclimated to it. Became a part of it. You only really noticed it once more whenever there was a new spike of energy.

Laken tilted her head and sought out his sensory echo again. Clearly, he still hadn't been able to quite figure her out. She was a channeler, that much seemed to be clear even to him, as that was about the only path available to a mortal - with the few exceptions to this rule impossible to miss.

But also, Laken was under the impression that the young demigod didn't particularly care. Whether Laken was a priestess, a druid, a shrine maiden, a shaman, a classic literature major, a night guard - all just shades of mortal, fading into one another. Her chosen path as a member of the Order was not of his concern - his focus was elsewhere.

Tentatively, Laken leaned back and stretched her legs. She even wriggled her toes a little, in her sandals.The light tickle over her chest, belly, legs and feet confirmed that the warlock was still paying attention.

"What kind of tribute mission did they send you on, the first time you came here?" Laken asked, studying his face some more. "After the seminary."

Wilborn frowned, as he dug out the memory. "Ah, it sucked balls. I was hoping, vanquishing some underworld army, or finding long lost treasures. You know, the sort of shit they keep dangling over your head, in school." He picked another fruit, but this time, he sent it flying over the edge of the cliff with a flick of his finger. "Instead? They sent us into some shithole village, where a bunch of renegades were trying to set up their own coven. They had pointy hats, and everything. All mortals. It was pathetic. Honestly - those dorks were no threat whatsoever. I figure, it wasn't even really about them - it was supposed to be an example, for the rest of those peasants. In the end, we didn't even drain them far enough to kill them - even though it's really tricky. You mortals are so fragile, without archetypes to fall back on. Our team leader was a real softie, though."

"Disappointed?" Laken pushed back.

"Nah," Wilborn said with a shrug, clearly unfazed by the implied accusation. "It's just that the job was a bit gross - no work for a warlock."

He gestured towards the palace. "Hope they'll make it worth our while, this time. An actual imperial mission. Then again, guess we are still younglings, near the bottom of the shit-poking stick. I bet the REAL good stuff, they don't even tell us about."

He squinted at a spot behind Laken, and pointed. "Ha! Gotcha. I don't think so, you little fck...!"

Laken turned her head just in time to see a round little black security drone with a glowing red eye, hovering in the air over one of the bushes. It was made of a simple crystal ball, and Wilborn merely had to snap his fingers to make it combust.

"Hate those things," he sighed. "I like my privacy." At that, in all innocence, he scooted a bit closer to Laken.

"Shouldn't we get back to the others, anyway...?" Laken proposed.

"We're good", Wilborn said. The warlock tilted his head, and Laken felt another inquisitive ripple in the air. "Yeah. We're good," Wilborn confirmed with a satisfied nod.

He reached out, and gently ran his fingers over her thigh, even letting it briefly slip under the hem of her gown, just the tip. "We still have some time, to ourselves..."

Laken shuddered, and squirmed a little. It was somewhat disconcerting, how much her skin welcomed his touch. Almost as if it wanted to stick to him, like sentient flypaper. "I don't know, Mister Wilborn... Garett... Maybe we should..."

"Ah," the warlock said, his grin growing larger again. "Shush, you..." He reached out, and this time, his broad, warm hand came to rest on the side of her face, then started gliding down her neck, and over the very top of her breasts.

Laken gulped, and closed her eyes. Okay. That WAS intense. She couldn't quite tell how much of it was due to the warlock's omnipresent, intoxicating aura, but it felt as if she was getting tied up with invisible strings. Truly a fine specimen, he was. The undeniable, visceral pull she had noted in her body ever since he had first approached her, the way he connected so fiercely to that part of her that HUNGERED, deep inside, had only grown stronger. Laken felt a bit like a zookeeper for that thing, sometimes.

Also, it registered to her that she had grown very, very wet, between her legs. She hadn't put on any underwear, this morning, which she was now sharply reminded of.

The warlock licked his lips. Visibly emboldened by the way Laken sighed, and likely whatever he was reading in her aura, he grabbed her with both hands, and pulled her down from the wall. He got down on one knee, and still holding on to her, his hands beneath her buttocks, he pressed her back against the cool stones. He leaned in, and his mouth came to rest on her neck.