Welcome to Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words by Hushicho. In Noctemberg, it is always night. Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus, welcomes you to Phantasies, a very special shop. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar’s stock in trade, it is his raison d’être. NSFW.
A new chapter appears every Thursdays. This week is Chapter Fifteen.
15th Night—Slow Surfing
Dhiar pulled the laces at his hips free and worked his trousers down in the front. The cool air felt so good against his skin, especially between his legs. That always seemed to get hotter than anywhere else.
A little shiver ran along the small of his back as he began to relieve himself in the garden. Watering the trees, as he had put it. It was nice that Lothring actually managed to maintain some semblance of order in what had become a strange garden of chaos. This antiquated part of the city, moved past and largely forgotten, was overgrown and overrun. Except the revenant’s garden and his old house.
It wasn’t in the best of repair, by any means. But then he didn’t need it to be.
Dhiar shook off and tucked himself back in, pulling his trousers back up around his waist and lacing them… but loosely. He returned to the conservatory overlooking the garden. “Thanks!”
“Really, there’s no trouble. You could have used the chamberpot.” Lothring sat stock-still in his wingback chair of cream the same colour as aged bones. “I find it quite convenient.”
The Incubus waved a hand, walking over to the chair. “Somehow, there’s a loss of mystery when one uses the chamberpot, I find… just the sound of it all, you know…” And without pausing a moment, he lowered himself to drape across Lothring’s lap. “I’m so glad to be here, and I’m delighted you seem to be enjoying the things I bring you.”
“Well,” Lothring answered, reaching down to pull the laces apart, pulling the front of the dark, tender material away from the reddish skin, “I enjoy one thing more than all of the other things, of course. But I suppose you knew that.”
“I knew that.” Dhiar gave a toothy, bright, wide grin, eyes sparkling as they did when he knew it was going to go somewhere naughty.
Lothring’s cool hand slid down the treasure trail from navel to the fluffy black mass shimmering over Dhiar’s crotch. The Incubus leaned heavily against the other man’s chest, spreading his legs, sending one angled down at the floor as the other curled along the arm of the chair.
The revenant slid his fingers from the base to the head, taking the length in his hand and pulling it up. A little leftover drop of moisture sparkled at the tip, like a tiny jewel. It vanished from sight as Dhiar began to stiffen and rise.
The Incubus breathed out and then sharply in again, letting his consciousness wander. His skin pricked up, so sensitive, and a different sort of moisture formed a little jewel-droplet along the slit at the very tip of his penis. Lothring, without saying a word, pressed it with his first finger and traced circles, spirals in and out, eventually covering the entire head with slickness as it presented itself.
The revenant’s fingers danced along inner thigh, from one to the other, and over the velvet pouch dangling between. Its contents were so heavy, yet they bounced at the touch as if some small pulley inside had jerked one’s side, then the other. It amused Lothring.
He left the erection alone and slid down, down the underside of it, down over the balls again and then under them… tracing the little line between the legs, until he found the bud of raised muscle. And there he barely caressed, barely a slickened fingertip to trace its oblong shape. His lips curled up, and he drew the tip of his tongue over the front of his teeth.
Dhiar dripped like a faucet in anticipation. He had been saving up for this; whenever he visited Lothring, he never really knew when it would happen, or even if it would happen, but this time he needed it. He depended on it. Revenants were always so hard to read. He felt the warm drip-drop just below his navel. His breathing became quicker and more shallow.
He wanted to cry out, to tell him he could have everything, but the only sound that his vocal chords managed to produce was a long, low moan. He closed his eyes and let his head drop against Lothring’s shoulder. His shoulders and chest rose and fell as one, his excitement uncontrollable.
At last, the revenant’s nimble fingers curled around Dhiar’s length again and began to stroke it. The Incubus could not help himself; he lifted his hips in need. His lips parted, and he almost panted at the intense sensation washing over him. His aura shared it with Lothring. He knew it was being felt by both of them. But that was another thing about revenants: they could be so stoic, one would never know it until they released in the palm of one’s hand.
But he could tell Lothring only played with stoicism, now. He let himself be ebullient around Dhiar, around his weekly delivery. The shopkeeper had awakened something in him, something that had slept for far too long, something unique to this outmoded district.
It was a newness that made it all the more special. The first time on delivery day was always the most unexpected. When would it happen? What would it come from? Where would it go to? These questions always flashed through Dhiar’s head as he sat on the metro, then rode the carriage.
He absently wondered if the horses were revenants too. They always seemed unnaturally quiet.
But all thought of anything other than Lothring was quickly pushed from his mind. He opened his eyes and gazed at him, and the man gazed back, grinning that wicked grin. The most vital, playful, wicked, wonderful grin.
Dhiar gasped, forgetting himself and then remembering. His muscles tensed, his voice caught in his throat, and he nearly choked. Lothring slid the Incubus’s shirt up suddenly, all the way to his armpits, and less than five seconds later, Dhiar felt himself shooting warm and sticky over his stomach.
He released a sound, a sound like a sustained note, and it slowly rose and fell again. His breath left him in a slow sigh. He closed his eyes and curled against Lothring.
* * *
About the author: From an early age, Hushicho held a special passion for storytelling. Throughout his life, he has worked in numerous media and various places in the world. He is the author of the long-running Incubus Tales webcomic, upon which this serial is based.
Welcome to the intriguing city of dreams, Noctemberg, where it is always night, and to Phantasies, a very special shop run by Dhiar, proprietor and gay incubus. Sensuality is more than just Dhiar's stock in trade, it is his raison d'etre. In Incubus Tales: A Thousand Words, Dhiar meets new loves, rekindles relationships, and bring his special brand of sexual healing to lovers and readers alike.
Also available in paperback!