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 Forty-Three.
43rd Night—In He Comes
Just for a few weeks. Just a few! Chana had been so very insistent, of course. Dhiar knew he couldn’t resist her indefinitely. It was always easier to go along with things, to acquiesce, otherwise she would be inconsolable and utterly torturous to live with for any length of time. He knew what he had to do.
And so Merry and Tomas received their own invitations, but the both of them were content where they were. It was good enough; they could surely get to Berlin easily enough, if they wanted, at some later date. So the Succubus and the Incubus were alone together, again. If they had taken an airplane, it might have been faster. But the both of them loved the romance of the sea, and it would not be all too long that way. They would sail for the first part, and the train would carry them the rest of the way. Perhaps on the return voyage, they would opt for flight.
The launch was stunning, Dhiar reflected; it had been like so many pictures and films, picturesque and breathtaking, stunning too. He waved his handkerchief with a bright smile on his face, as Merry and Tomas, leaning against each other contently, both waved a single hand enthusiastically. He could tell in their eyes that they would miss him. But at the same time, he also knew they would have plenty of good times whilst he hopefully would do the same in the German capital.
Ah, Berlin—if a city ever echoed the sensibilities of his own home, Berlin was it. At least during the 1920s (which this dimension would embrace for ever), it was a place of diversity, the greatest of freedoms in interests. Yet, as with most human endeavours, it remained tinted with a sort of tragedy, a kind of sadness that pervaded the whole place. Even amid the absolute luxury of hedonistic liberation, a darkness settled onto the boughs of the tree.
From what Chana had said, her chronicles of the city painted everything anyone could aspire to have, be, or do, at least on Earth. Her world, her pet world as Dhiar sometimes called it, remained in the “Roaring” era and thrived there. No crash, no impending disaster darkened the horizon. Yet, just as in every other world he knew, things were not always rosy all the time.
Dhiar looked out at the sea, at the waves around them capped and then retreating, rippling in white foam about the cutting shape of the boat tripping through it. He breathed in deeply, inhaling the scent of the open waters, and it made his head swim a bit in vicarious sympathy.
Naturally, the liquor flowed freely on the ship and Chana, once they wandered outside of American waters, decided to drink her fill. Dhiar would join her later. Right now he occupied himself drinking in the soaking air around him.
The ship’s rails stood high enough to shield passengers from most of the spray, but he could still feel little droplets cool on his cheeks and forehead. He watched the ship’s crew, in smart little suits for their smart tight bodies, as they occupied themselves with the business of sailing. The captain and his first mate, of course, were smartest-attired of all, handsome and well-groomed. Even if their costumery had weathered the rocky seas, they both still possessed the awareness and charm to set most of the passengers swooning.
The first mate wandered over to the Incubus with the captain occupied in a group of ostensibly flappers. He doffed his hat and looked out to the water around them, sidling close to Dhiar with a thin smile. His dimples appeared just so. He couldn’t be more than forty, Dhiar mused; perhaps significantly younger, but the long sideburns gave him a look of a man from another time entirely.
“Good day sir. I trust everything is to your satisfaction?”
“Some things more than others!” Dhiar replied, a toothy grin spreading across his face as he leaned closer. “I’m especially interested in the crew, actually.”
The man seemed surprised at first, and he chuckled self-consciously before removing his cap completely, resting it against his chest. “Oh? Are you an old sea hand yourself?”
“Let’s just say I’m no stranger to seamen,” Dhiar replied.
The first mate nearly choked.
Barely any time passed between the conversation at the railside and the subsequent drink. Even if the first mate still technically remained on-duty, it was practically part of that duty that he have a drink with a passenger when invited. Especially those of the echelon of Dhiar and his sister; drinks were complimentary, there; it was practically obligatory for anyone of the crew to bend over backwards, forwards, or whichever way requested… within reason, of course.
But it was within reason as the man sat in the chair next to Dhiar’s, raising his glass in a salute to the demon next to him. Both had brightened into even higher spirits than before, and it seemed like a party consisting of two… but two was enough, between them. They chatted and laughed and sipped the delicious wine, and then a mixed drink, a cocktail, a cordial, and at last a bottle of champagne was sat on the centre of their table, in a silver bucket full of ice.
“Really, it’s so luxurious,” Dhiar purred. He could drink anyone under the table and probably through the floor underneath it, but he was allowing himself to feel a bit of the tingling buzz and comforting numbness washing over his muscles from all the drink. The first mate must have been a hard drinker or gifted supernaturally to remain conscious and as aware as he did.
“So what did you say your name was, sir?” The first mate looked up at Dhiar, his eyes glossy and a bit foggy. It was still to his credit that he remained conscious.
“Dhiar! And you? I can’t keep calling you ‘first mate’, especially if this is going where I think it may be going.”
“Adoric,” the man answered, chuckling a bit self-consciously and sitting back against the back of his seat.
“Ahh, an appropriate name! Adoric, who is adorable. And dashing. Quite dashing.” Dhiar raised his glass again, as if for another sort of toast.
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Impatient to find out What happens in Dhiar’s shop? Get the entire book direct from Circlet Press!
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!