Erotic short. It’s very hot in Judd’s lecture, and he’s distracted.
Explicit M/NB short between two alchemy students at the Royal University in Camelot — one is a cis guy, the other is nonbinary and uses they/them pronouns! 2.6k. Commissioned by a patron, Bellona.
Contains spanking, breast worship, casual sex, semi-public sex, anal. A little worldbuilding too!
Terms used are cock and tits.
Interested in approaching me for a commission? Check out my rates here.
Judd was struggling to pay attention.
The summer air was hot, sweet, and balmy: there was a stickiness on the air, and as close as they were to the greenhouses, there was a sweetness on it too. It was overwhelming, that sweetness — the Choral Bushes were in bloom, and while they didn’t sing until the sun went down, their flowers emitted a perfume that rested heavy on the air and lingered on the skin.
It was a nice smell, but distracting, a natural aphrodisiac: it made Judd’s skin hot, made his clothes feel tight, and he knew he wasn’t alone because everyone else in class was fidgeting, shifting in their chairs, pulling at their clothes where they stuck fast to their skin, and looking at each other.
They were quick glances, mostly, people darting looks at one another — Ludmilla and Adi were looking at one another more obviously, had barely taken their eyes off one another throughout the whole of Doctor Aderyn’s class, and whenever Judd looked over at them, they were leaning their stools against each other, legs touching, knees brushing; Adi, at one point, had slid his fingers under the waistband of Ludmilla’s jeans, and she’d silently laughed and shoved him, but leaned closer.
Judd was about ready to vibrate out of his skin.
Even Birdman wasn’t entirely with it — not that he ever was, but today he was even more spaced out than usual. He was sitting on top of his desk, his legs slightly apart: he was wearing shorts and a cotton shirt, but he wore the shirt open.
He didn’t sweat, obviously — most of Birdman’s skin was covered in a thin layer of brown fur, his chest with a thicker ruff of white that had thinned with the summer: the only place he was hairless was on the palms of his hands, under his cheeks and his nose, and on his ears.
Even his antlers were hairy, because it was the summer and they were still growing, and they were growing larger than they had last year.
“It means I’m in the prime of my life,” Birdman had said irritably when he’d come through the door, and had to bend down to get in through the frame because they were wider-spread and a little taller, had grown an inch each way over the weekend. “Can’t wait for it to end.”
He’d trailed off at the end of the sentence he’d been saying a second ago, and he was quiet now, bouncing his hoofed feet off the edge of the desk.
“What was I talking about?” he asked. “Anybody know?”
“Alchemical properties of magical narcissus,” said Aspen, and Judd sighed, watching their back. Aspen was sweating too, moisture glistening on the bare skin of their shoulders, and Judd didn’t regret his seat at the back of the room, least of all today when the breeze was coming in through the window, but —
God, Aspen’s tits had looked fucking good earlier.
They were glorious — Aspen was hot in general, tall and broad-shouldered, and with the summer coming in they’d taken to wearing thin-strapped tank tops that rode up over their middle. They had to wear the tank tops, he supposed, to help regulate their temperature, because on the bottom half they wore heavy cargo trousers with tools all but falling out of every pocket. But Aspen’s tits, Judd had been thinking of ever since they’d walked in the room ahead of him, both of them bouncing slightly underneath the thin fabric of their top and the bra they were wearing, and now —
Now, he could see their back.
It was a nice back. Nice shoulders, nice skin where the tank top rode up.
Judd wanted to mouth up their spine.
“Have you ever seen someone use a gun, Doc?” asked Adi, interrupting whatever they were talking about, and Judd looked up to the front of the room, watched Birdman’s heavily lashed eyes blink.
“A gun?” he asked. “Why do you ask?”
“Back home, I mean,” he said. “Me and Lud were reading some fucking account about how fae don’t have guns, and they said it was obvious why not, but didn’t explain why.”
“Higher levels of oxygen in the fae dimensions,” said Judd when Aderyn blinked, baffled. “Thinner air in combination with the higher oxygen rates — you know how if you go up on a mountain you can struggle to get enough air? The higher altitude means a lack of air pressure, but oxygen is heavy enough that gravitational pull brings it down toward the surface. Now, in most fae dimensions and other magical lands, there’s a far higher oxygen rate, but also thinner air — both of these are connected with rates of magical flow and ambient magic. For us, that means we don’t get hypoxia when we travel to the fae dimensions, but for guns that are cheaply made, it fucks up the whole explosive reaction that occurs in the chamber. A lot of early firearms already had issues with backfiring, even without that. People’d take their muskets into some fae kingdom and blow their face up.”
“Oh,” said Adi. “That still happen?”
“With some mundie guns, I think,” said Judd. “The cheaper ones — even if the gun doesn’t actually backfire, you can mess up the firing chamber, the pin, even just get too much muzzle flash or start a fire when the round is let loose and it’s too hot. Magical guns are made to compensate, if people bother to make them.”
“Fae peoples mostly don’t,” said Birdman, who had been listening to this conversation with distant interest. “Guns are for those not skilled enough to nock an arrow and aim it, and too spineless to let one’s enemy see their face.”
Judd opened his mouth, then closed it — there wasn’t much point in arguing with Doc Aderyn once he went off on one of his stout expressions of the inflexibility of fae culture.
“What time is it?” he asked, looking to the clock, and then he waved his hand. “Go away, I can’t concentrate. Did I set you an essay?”
Judd wondered sometimes if Aderyn had always been like this, or if it was the alchemy that had scattered his brains — it was hard to tell with most professors on the campus, but as far as he knew, he’d had the nickname Birdman for at least fifty years, and part of that was to do with his being spacey.
“No,” said Aspen. “You said you were going to set one next week, but not today.”
“I said that this morning?”
“An hour ago,” said Aspen patiently, but they were already standing up and packing their notes away, like everyone else. “When we started.”
“I’m going for a swim,” said Birdman, blinking himself more awake, and he started shrugging off his shirt.
Judd laughed to himself when Birdman climbed out of the window instead of going out with the rest of them through the door, no matter than it was four storeys down — he didn’t think of it as any big thing to scale up or down any of the university walls so long as the ivy was thick enough — and he watched Aspen.
“Last class of the day,” he said.
“Yes,” agreed Aspen, stroking their hand through where their hair was shaved on the side of their head, not dyed pink like the spiked hair on top. “Yours too?”
“Yeah,” said Judd.
They had this conversation every Wednesday — had for weeks now.
Judd tried, like he always did: “You, uh, you want to go see a movie?”
“No, it’s too hot,” said Aspen.
“Dinner?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Sex?” Judd asked, a last-ditch effort, and to his surprise, Aspen turned to peer at him, their head tilting slightly to the side, their expression focused. Their lips parted into a small o.
“Sex?” repeated Aspen. “You keep asking me to spend time with you — you were doing this as a precursor to sex?”
“That’s… bad?”
“No, I thought you wanted to date me,” said Aspen. “I would be more than amenable to sex.”
“Well, I wouldn’t mind dating you.”
“I only date people who are good in bed.”
“I am.”
“I prefer evidence to testimony,” said Aspen, and Judd huffed out a laugh, shaking his head.
“Okay,” said Judd, and he could really smell the flowers from the Choral Bushes now, their scent musky on the air, and his cock was half-hard in his shorts. “Yeah. In the — Your place or…?”
“Greenhouses?” asked Aspen, and Judd nodded his head.
Aspen was a blacksmith. They worked in a forge in Camelot proper a few evenings every week — they’d worked full time before they’d started their degree, and they planned to go back to smithing afterwards. They talked about it, sometimes, when they asked questions, or if some of their lecturers asked about it.
Aspen was mostly taking enchantment modules, and had taken the modules in alchemy to add onto it — they’d use alchemy in the forge, the same as they wanted to use enchantment.
“You want to be an alchemist?” they asked as they walked down the corridor.
“I’m a botanist,” said Judd. “I have to take the alchemy modules as part of my MA — I don’t need a full alchemist’s license, but I need to do some of the exams to be able to handle some plants and mushrooms — I’m planning to do field research into avernal fungal development, and I need to do this first.”
Aspen thought about this, their lips frowning as their brow furrowed. “What does that have to do with firearms?”
“Gunpowder can be unstable, depending on the mix,” said Judd. “More so, in fae lands — a few of the fae botanists want to learn to make their own, use mushrooms, a different kind of mechanism, you know. It’s not my thing, but the guys talk about it.”
Aspen chuckled, slowly nodding their head, and they started walking down the staircase that went right down to the greenhouse’s hanging platforms and then further down, to where the grass was meadow thick and the air was warm, humid, and smelled —
Phenomenal.
Judd inhaled, and Aspen grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him close to them: Judd laughed breathlessly into their mouth as they kissed, hearing the clink and shift of tools in their numerous pockets, and that made him laugh harder.
“What?” they asked.
“You never heard of a toolbox?” Judd asked, tapping a pocket over their thigh and making the screwdrivers in it clink against each other, and they laughed.
“This way I have my hands free,” they said simply, and tugged Judd into a corridor of hedges, and Judd followed blissfully after.
“You mean that if I’d just asked earlier, we could have — ?”
“Spank me?” asked Aspen, and before he could answer, they were kissing him again, crowding him back into an alcove, and he smacked their arse through the thick fabric of their work trousers. He couldn’t hit all that hard — the fabric was not just thicker than the tank top, but weighty and flame retardant, and wasn’t really made to make spanking accessible — but it made them moan softly, and he sighed into their mouth as he undid their trousers.
He held them up by the waistband, not letting them fully hit the floor as Aspen stepped out of them — they were heavy as all Hell, but he knew things might fall out if they just let them drop — before setting them aside, and then he pushed Aspen up against a lattice blooming with purple flowers, smacking their arse again.
“Ha, fuck,” moaned Aspen, and grabbed his other hand, pulling it to their tit, and Judd couldn’t help the gritted teeth moan that eked out of his throat as he buried his face against their back, laying open-mouthed kisses on the juncture of their shoulder as he smacked their arse, feeling it jump and jiggle under his hand, and watching it —
“God, you’re amazing,” he said, and they laughed.
“You should have asked earlier,” they said, sing-song.
“I did,” he retorted, and pulled them around. Back against the lattice, Aspen gasped as Judd shoved up their tank top and buried his face in their tits, dragging his tongue over each of their nipples and groaning at the way he felt them harden under his mouth, at the ragged, desperate moan that Aspen let out.
“Fuck me,” said Aspen.
“Yeah, yeah — ”
Aspen fell on their back on the soft grass, and after rummaging for a moment through one of their trouser pockets, produced a condom. Judd laughed, mouthing and dragging his teeth over their tits as he reached for their cock, his palm slick with spit as he wrapped it around the shaft of it and squeezed gently. Aspen sighed, head tipping back onto the floor and their legs spreading wider as Judd fisted around them, twisting his wrist, at the same time blowing cold air over one of Aspen’s nipples and making them let out a sharp keen of sound.
“Bad?” he asked.
“Fuck, no, no, that’s good, just — in me, please — ”
He was so excitable he nearly dropped the condom, and Aspen shoved his shoulder up and put the condom on for it, had perfectly steady hands: they pinched the well and slid it down over his cock in a movement so impossibly smooth and perfect it looked ready for a fucking safe sex advert, and Judd rushed to kiss them as he lined himself up and sank home.
They were both soaked with sweat — they already had been, but it was hotter now, wetter, more urgent, and the scent of the Choral Bushes was thick on the hair with the grass and the other floral smells and the greenhouse scent of ozone from air under sunlight through the glass — and their mouths smacked against one another.
Aspen was good at kissing, much like they were good at everything.
Aspen’s hands were sliding through Judd’s hair and up under his shirt as they broke apart, and as he moaned at how tight they were, how slick their skin was under his touch, he squeezed and tugged gently at their nipples, dipping his mouth down to suck a mark into the side of their neck.
He leaned in as tightly as he could to them, trapping their cock between both of their bellies as he thrust his own inside them; he kept sucking and mouthing over their tits, and they sighed, their head tipped back against the grass as they pushed their chest up into his mouth.
He wanted to come more badly than he ever had in his fucking life, but he wanted to make sure they did first, and he wrapped his hand around their cock, timing the twist and shift of his wrist with the thrusts of his cock —
Aspen moaned low in their throat as they came, and Judd’s hips immediately lost their rhythm — he stuttered, thrust as fast as he dared, and they whined at the shift in sensation, cock sputtering between them.
He fell on top of them after, face dropped into their chest, and they laughed.
“You like my tits?” they asked.
“They’re perfect,” he said, voice muffled. “This mean dating is on the table?”
“I’m too busy,” said Aspen, playing with his hair. “Maybe after exams are over. More sex, though?”
“Mmm,” said Judd, pressing their tits a little closer together and keeping his face between them. “As much as you want.”
They went back to Judd’s flat and showered together, after, and Judd nearly fell over when they got to their knees under the cool spray of the water and calmly, collectedly, sucked his mind out through his cock.
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