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 Thursday. This week is Chapter Thirty-Seven.
37th Night—Night Scented Stock
Dhiar felt Merry. More specifically, he felt the man’s body against his own, and it made him happy. He had said farewell to Chana at the party, expressed that he would see her the next day sometime, and then they returned to Merry’s flat.
It was hardly a glorious or luxurious residence, but it was nice and warm and intimate, and as it was on the edge of the city, it was more generous than inner-city life would have given. Presumably, it was also less expensive. Dhiar always reflected on the strange dynamic of human value, especially in cities. On one hand, some of the places were very close to trendy spots, and on the other, they were often tiny, squalid little affairs. Other places weren’t so convenient to trends, but they were much more pleasant to live in; yet somehow they often seemed the cheaper of the two options.
For whatever reason, Merry had chosen where he lived, and so there they were. It was a very small building, probably only five tenants at most. And that included the landlord, who from Merry’s telling was a small old man who endlessly lamented the Gay Nineties.
Oh, what Dhiar could say to that!
“Would you like something to drink? I’ve some cordials, and a little bit of wine… there’s water, of course, but it’s a little hard.”
“It happens to the best of us!” Dhiar cheerfully answered. “I’d like to share a cordial, I think. Could we?”
“Share… in the same…?” Merry turned to face the wall, digging in the tiny little cabinet barely occupied by a scant couple of bottles.
Dhiar gave a single nod, arranging himself on the little seat. It seemed to be a sort of couch, but it would more closely be termed a love sofa simply because of its small size. There was a mismatched chair, and then a divan that looked like it had survived the Victorian period, but it remained in good enough condition. Still, of all the choices, this was Dhiar’s favourite. He crossed his legs at the knee, one atop the other, and bounced his foot.
“Please!” He at last called out, looking around the place and having noticed that Merry was looking the other way.
It always interested Dhiar to feel the places that he visited. At home, in Phantasies, the temperature was always perfect, always just right: that slightly cool temperature, but not so much that it made one shiver or feel like putting on more clothes. It was just enough to be comfortable. But this was a period, Dhiar remembered, long before widespread air conditioning and central temperature control in most of human civilisation. He noted the little slits of open windows, to keep air circulating, and the slight staleness of the room due to it having been shut up for the past few hours.
It was warmer than he usually found ideal, but all the same it didn’t unsettle him. What he loved most about a warm room was the increased temperature of its inhabitants.
As Merry walked over with the single little glass, a crystalline thing that looked like a personal treasure, he chanced an unsteady smile. Dhiar breathed in, and he could smell not only the familiar scent of Merry, but also the less familiar scents of his body warming, a little sweat, and a little bit of the scent held by his furniture, and his bed… the scents that mingled and gave such a gentle indication of what the foundation of the scent of this man was.
“I’ve… never actually had a drink out of the same glass before…” Merry sat stiffly next to Dhiar, turning to look in his eyes.
The Incubus reached over and brushed the stray hairs from the younger man’s forehead, smile radiant and reflected in his eyes. “Don’t worry! I don’t have a cold or anything.”
He reached out and raised not the glass alone, but the glass in Merry’s hand, and sipped gingerly, licking his lips, which gleamed with sweetness afterwards. Then Merry tentatively took a little bit of the drink himself, lowering the glass.
He averted his eyes for an instant, and then there was Dhiar, right at his face. He couldn’t say anything, mouth full of cordial, sweet and lingering. It was difficult to swallow suddenly.
And then Dhiar’s mouth was on his own, and he parted his lips to accept him. The tastes of cordial and the tastes of both men mingled, and it tingled through both of their bodies like electricity, the same electricity reflected by the primitive wiring that hummed in the walls, that flickered the stark bulbs giving the room some scant illumination.
It felt like forever before their lips separated. It felt like forever, but in reality only half a minute had passed, and barely that. Merry looked up at Dhiar and grinned sheepishly, cheeks burning red.
“Oh, don’t be so bashful!” Dhiar laughed, tickling under the man’s chin. “Oh… what’s wrong? Did I do something wrong?”
“No, I… I…” Merry looked away and handed off the cordial to Dhiar. “Excuse me… for a moment. I need to… freshen… myself, just a little bit.”
Then he rushed off. Dhiar had felt a little spark, a little—no! His eyes widened as he noticed it, and his grin spread. He had made the man climax just with a kiss! Just that! And as much as he enjoyed it, he hadn’t noticed quite as much as he should have. Perhaps it was the cordial. Perhaps it was the company. Usually the inexperienced gave the most powerful, and the most authentic, honest of pleasure of that kind.
Dhiar started to undo his shirt and moved to the divan with his little glass, carefully. By the time Merry returned, dressed in a different pair of slacks, Dhiar had undressed to his trousers and arranged himself like a cloth across the divan, as if he himself were made of silk.
“Welcome back!” He called out to the man, raising his glass. “How are you for sip two?”
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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!