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 Twenty-Two.
22nd Night—Rocket’s Tail
The air in the bathroom had a substance to it, heavy and full. The steam from the hot bath rose, scented with vanilla and rose petals, the same petals drifting about the surface of the water in the garden tub. The water held the appearance of glass, until movement from one figure or the other disturbed it. Ripples rolled out like reflections from one side to the other.
It was cold outside, but not yet the bitter cold of winter. It made the skylight steam up, opaque and not so playful as in warmer weather. It looked like frosted glass.
Dhiar’s toes played along the side of Siros’s thigh. The angel’s wings stretched out around the side of the tub, curled along its curve, covered with the sparkling iridescence of tiny rivulets of moisture. He slightly spread his legs, and even through the distorting movement of water, it was easy to see what he offered, half-floating, half-pointing to Dhiar.
The hairs on Siros’s body showed more easily, with the wetness of the bath. Dhiar’s were visible most of the rest of the time anyway, with his dark features. A veritable arrow pointed between his legs, a trail under his arms, while Siros had a more subtle series of designs directing the eyes to certain features.
Slowly their breathing would match, in pace, and then it would desynchronise again. The detail amused them. Dhiar slid his foot up, over Siros’s leg, and between them. He curled his toes in the hair for a moment, then drew the side of his toe up the side of the angel’s length. It responded as expected, growing, filling, becoming fuller.
Siros closed his eyes and arched his back, muscles tensing and showing, so well-defined with the heat and the wetness, rivulets beading and trickling over the gentle curves of his body. It was already hot in the bathroom. Now it felt like a steam bath.
The sultry vapours rose, vanilla and rose petal joined with the inimitable and unmistakable scent of arousal. Dhiar could feel it, as he shared the sensations through touch and closeness. He augmented it, accenting it, feeding it back to his lover and feeling the reaction. Between his own legs, he grew stiff and tall.
The Incubus moved his foot up and down, sliding the angel’s length between two toes. His own leg flexed. The muscles glistened, tight and so visible. Dhiar started to grin, looking from Siros’s feet, up his sturdy legs, between them, over his navel, the contours of his stomach, over his chest, the depression at his collar, the wiry stock of his neck, and over his strong jaw. His face, his lips, his nose, his eyes… he kept losing himself in them, as bright as his own were dark.
The sky outside remained shadowed as ever. He wondered how it must look in the world above. He could recall the days of autumn, all the colours, the foliage, yet things were different, underground. The trees and flowers and all the plants still bloomed and bore leaves and fruit, but a different fruit entirely from those above. No moody autumn skies loomed over, no afternoons filled with dreams of floating away above the fiery maple treetops in a hot-air balloon.
No sweetness of the decaying autumn leaves, or the bittersweetness of their burning on the air, roasting chestnuts or sweet potatoes in the smouldering remains. These things, too, were undeniably sensual, undeniably pleasures, and yet here, in the underground, they were all but unseen. So few here had time or inclination to do so. Even in Lothring’s place, they only observed the leaves as they went to dust and plastered the ground like so much papier-mâché.
It was always the little things that added accents. It was the little things one missed, when one went without.
Dhiar curled his toes again, squeezing at the tip. Siros could not help himself. The water suddenly became cloudy, and he let out a soft little sound that echoed around the room as if he had cried out.
Suddenly the Incubus found himself reclined against the side of the bath, his body half-lifted, Siros gazing intently into his eyes. One hand pumped the Incubus’s erection, the other toyed with his entrance and then, without much waiting, penetrated past the muscle and inside. It took little doing for him to find the best spot, but before he got too far, it became clear that Incubi had many, many pleasure spots; they were practically lined with them.
The pulses rang intensely from Dhiar’s psyche, and he almost lost control of them entirely in surprise. He leaned up to take Siros’s mouth with his own, tongues tangling for a moment and then retreating, to let the lips do their more important work. His body brimmed over with sensation. It made his skin tingle, goose-flesh rising on him. He moaned louder than the angel had, and it sounded even more mighty an utterance, echoing about the room, reverberating off the water’s surface and the tile.
The Incubus could barely control himself anymore. Siros drove him mad. And the angel felt himself spiralling out of control as well, with Dhiar unable to hold back as much of the sharing of sensation, the emphasis of pleasure, as he had before. He felt himself overstimulated, beyond reason, and without even rising to full erection, full enough to curve up slightly, he came again. At the same time, Dhiar clenched around his intruding fingers and shot his nectar up, up over his chest, onto his body, onto his face.
He panted, writhing still in ecstasy, ready to continue and yet completely unprepared to do so. Siros kept stroking dumbly, as if stunned by all of the release and its feelings. Dhiar shivered, all over his body. He could feel himself washed with warmth, his body tingling with numbness, all up and down, to his fingertips. If he weren’t already soaked, he surely would have been shortly. Sweatdrops tickled his cheeks and neck.
With the sound of flowing in the air, the sound of water moving, the scent of intense pleasure hanging around them, Dhiar smiled as he looked into Siros’s eyes. He could see the delight of everything in them.
He had conceived an idea.
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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!