( office hours & overflow )

[sorserer]

❥ stephen strange has office hours. these are hours during which people can come by his house in the up, the abattoir a magically expanded but still very cramped closet-now-office in the triple m apothecary for a nice cup of tea and some advice or direct support on magical endeavors. come thru
❥ this is an informal, word-of-mouth service. stephen appreciates some manner of compensation but will neither mention nor require it
❥ oocly, this is a mechanism for random non-phone threads. you don’t actually have to have a magic question. you can just come by and annoy the shit out of him
❥ just like the ic inbox i reserve the right to cram random shit in here

Comments

[proofofconcept]

Quentin made a little noise into Stephen's mouth, leaning up for more, eager for it. He was definitely a little breathless by the time Stephen broke the kiss, licking his lips.

Again, sentences too short, he didn't understand. What was he even asking? It didn't even occur to him that the guy who'd put him on his knees more or less the second he'd gotten here didn't know about red-yellow-green, so was he asking Quentin's current color? Quentin just leaned up to kiss him again, reaching up to grab his shoulders. He wasn't taking control or anything, that wasn't his style, just...clinging, hungry, needy to get this fucking show on the road and do something he understood.

[sorserer]

He could feel it, the slightest ripple of hesitation through the younger man; his mind zigzagged to track reasons, sources, even while he wound his hand absently through Quentin’s hair to enjoy the soft richness of it, raking fingernails enticingly against his scalp and the nape of his neck, and then finally guiding him back and looking him in the eyes. Color system--ah, right. Things Stephen had heard about in passing, learned in one of the many orientation sessions to which he’d been subjected, but never used personally. A day of firsts, apparently.

“Never mind,” he said at last, with a final consoling pet. “I got it.”

He winked too--for enterprise--then rose up again easily on his heels, his crooked fingers still wrapped in the fall of Quentin’s hair. He tugged Quentin’s head close next, guiding his mouth to press hard along the swelling outline of Stephen’s cock in his sweats.

“Let’s see what you’re working with.” As if he had any doubts that it would be good, worth it, worth the confusion. He didn’t. “Suck it.”

okay i couldn't resist but i wrote this to kind of be a wrap

[proofofconcept]

Finally, a short sentence he understood. Quentin was eager to obey, mouth open against the firm line through Stephen's sweats as he was pulled in by the hair. His tongue rubbed out against scratchy fabric, drying it, but he didn't care.

He tugged the front of Stephen's sweatpants down quickly, looking at it like a favorite treat when his cock was freed. He came in first with an openmouthed kiss to the side, a filthy slide of lips and tongue, and then slid up to the head to start working himself down it, preparing his throat to open up. He was gonna make it worth it.