Title: Ignorance is Bliss
Fandom: Magic University
Summary: Frost tells the story of how he got together with Michael Candlin, and discovered how good (and dangerous) sex and love could be.
Disclaimer: This piece of Magic University fanfiction comes from the anthology SPELLBINDING: Tales from the Magic University, published by Ravenous Romance. I am the original author. Do not distribute further.
Notes: When book one of the series opens, Timothy Frost and Michael Candlin are already in a relationship. This is the story of how, despite Frost’s fears and repressions, they got together.
(story under the cut…)
I was raised by wolves. Never forget that.
Michael and I met in Enchantment class. We were lab partners; is that a cliche? How do most people meet their first boyfriend?
I suppose most people have already met their first boyfriend by the time they are in college. But remember, I was raised by wolves. At first, anyway. I’d actually spent my teen years living with two nice old ladies who were happy to foster a magical foundling, just a few blocks from the campus of Veritas. From no protection at all to overprotected, in other words. Neither state is conducive to dating.
Michael and I were both wide-eyed and quiet as church mice that first semester, though perhaps part of that was no one wanted to upset Professor Cross. She was a brute when it came to practice and homework and grading on a curve. Fail her class and you could forget being an enchanter.
“Put your hand in mine,” Michael said in a quiet, quiet voice. We were sitting facing each other, working on an exercise from the syllabus. Around us everyone was paired off and doing the same thing, while Cross stalked up and down, looking for mistakes or lack of focus. He held up a hand, his palm open.
I hesitated for a moment. Physical contact wasn’t something I’d had much of in years. It wasn’t something I’d ever remembered wanting, and since moving to Cambridge, it had never been forced on me.
This wasn’t forced, though. It was an exercise for a class. Michael’s eyes were large and round and expectant.
I put my hand in his.
It was all downhill from there.
* * * *
I’ll probably never know just how much he knew about me before we met. He was a Scip, that was all I knew about him. I assumed he knew nothing about me. But that was a bad assumption. I was known to many of the faculty, and idle chatter had a way of filtering down. I wished, of course, that all the attention came from my achievements as a student, rather than the rumors—and some facts—about my past, so my goal became to simply be at the top of every class.
Since this was a partner class, that meant Michael and I both would have to be the best.
“We need to come up with a final project that will really show off both our abilities,” he said, motivated in his own way to excel. Typical Scip.
We were sitting at a table in the library, books scattered around us and notes covering the page in front of me. “I know. But is conjuration too ambitious?”
He shrugged. “It would make an impression. But it can’t just be a like a party trick. It needs to be artistic, and combinatory.”
I sighed. “Like, I conjure the seeds, and you make them grow quickly?”
“Hm, that has promise but…if we just do something additive, she’ll fail us. We need to do something that multiplies your power and mine. Something that could only be done with us working together at the same time.” He bent his head and wrote something.
I put my hand on the table and turned it palm up. “Put your hand in mine?” My voice was remarkably steady, I thought.
He looked up, and the look in his eye said he heard all the unspoken questions I wasn’t asking. He gave me a moment to appreciate that, then slid his hand into mine.
His was warm, almost hot. I took a deep breath and felt the power under my skin pulse. He swallowed, feeling it too.
“Whatever you want to do,” I whispered. “Whatever you want. I’ll try it.”
I was speaking of the enchantment project, wasn’t I?
* * * *
I kissed him for the first time a week later. A long, agonizing week in which I kept trying to think of how to ask him if we could. Once I had it in my head to try it, I could think of nothing else. I sat so close to him in class that our sleeves touched. We took to studying together in the Scipionis common room, my leg touching his under the table. He noticed the change, but didn’t do anything differently. Not wanting to scare me away, perhaps, the same way I was afraid I might scare him.
I wanted so much that I didn’t know how to ask for, but once I began to want, I couldn’t stop.
He rescued me late one night when we were alone in the common room, the fire burned to embers, and even the graduate tutors had gone to bed. I think the only reason we were still sitting there was because we were both waiting for this.
He knew to ask if it was okay before he touched me. “Can I touch your cheek?” he asked.
“Like this.” He reached up and brushed his fingers, then his warm palm, up my cheek. “Okay?”
Then he pulled me slowly closer. “Will you kiss me, Frost?”
My answer was to devour him. One touch of my mouth to his and I knew I would never get enough of him, but I was going to try. Lips, and tongue, and teeth.
I was raised by wolves, remember.
* * * *
We didn’t have what I’d call sex until a month later. When do you start counting it as sex, anyway? I have my own reasons for questioning that, I know.
I count it from when orgasm gets involved. He made me come with his hand, in the men’s room in the library. It was difficult to let go. But I knew once I did, I found another thing I wouldn’t be able to get enough of.
Apparently, so did Michael.
* * * *
“Could we study in your room?” Michael asked one evening, when we were studying together before the library closed. We weren’t even working on the project that night, but it wasn’t lost on me that we were pretty much inseparable.
I looked up at him. “My room?”
“Something tells me if we want to be alone, you’re better at getting rid of your roommate than I am.”
I licked my lips. “And do you want to be alone with me, Michael?”
“Yes, very much,” he said, and I heard everything he wanted in those words. Oh, Circe. He looked like a deer in the headlights, yet he was the one asking. Somehow that made it all okay. I never hesitated after that first day I put my hand in his. When he asked for something, I gave it to him, and invariably discovered I liked it.
I took him in the back way so he wouldn’t have to walk across the common room to reach the stairs. Then I told Persy to make himself scarce. We didn’t even make a pretense of getting our books out of our bags. I laid him back on the bed and unbuttoned his sweater, nibbling at his neck.
“Please, Timothy,” he said, asking without asking. I bared his cock and my own and rubbed them together. It was one of the best things I think I’ve ever felt. Not just the sensation of it, but the knowledge of what I was doing, and how much pleasure could be had from it.
“Want you,” he said. “Want this.” His fingers brushed up my length and made me shiver.
I know better than some people, though, how much pain can be had from it, too. I’d tried to forget. Circe knows I’d tried. So I had to be sure. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” His hands pushed my shirts off over my head, my sweater turning inside out inside the undershirt. He stroked my chest. “I can feel you hesitating. If it’s too much…”
“It’s not too much,” I tried to assure him, but I couldn’t explain what was wrong with me. Not and still keep my secrets locked up so deep inside me before I came to Veritas. I pretend that was all a bad dream I used to have. I pretend it’s a nightmare I used to have over and over, so bad it messed me up, but not nearly as bad as if it had really happened.
“You don’t have to tell me why you’re so scared,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But I’ll tell you everything, Frost.”
“Timothy,” I corrected him. “What’s to tell?”
“I can be anyone you want,” he said then, quickly. “When I…when I have sex, I can create a whole dream world around my partner.”
He couldn’t have known that was the wrong thing to say, but he felt my blood run cold.
“No dreams,” I insisted. “If we’re going to do this, I need to know it’s the real you under me. I need to know it’s Michael Candlin who wants my cock so bad, he dared set foot in Gladius House.”
He pulled at me then, pulling me into a kiss, but I didn’t let him kiss me as long as he wanted. I trailed my mouth down his neck again, got him out of his sweater and shirt finally, and sucked on his flat nipples, making his chubby cock bounce against my stomach.
I licked it, just to see what it would taste like, but I couldn’t bring myself to suck on it. Instead, I pushed his legs apart and licked his ass instead.
My jaw and tongue got tired of that pretty fast, so I rolled him onto his stomach and that was easier. I used my tongue and my fingers, making sure he was good and ready. How do you tell if someone is really ready? Maybe there’s no surefire way to tell, but when Michael broke down and begged, I figured he was.
My cock was such a different color from his buttocks, ruddy against the pale, almost bluish tinge of his skin.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Are you asking just to torment me now, or are you really just making sure?” he asked in return.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It just seemed like the thing to do.”
“For fuck’s sake, Timothy,” he swore. “Just get it in, and all the questions will go away.”
“Yes! Including that one!”
I had no idea what he was talking about, and nearly stopped to ask more, but my own cock was throbbing with hunger, his hole was twitching impatiently, and I decided there was no more waiting. I jammed myself into him before I could put it off any longer.
Oh. Now I knew what he meant. Inside him, it was like I was inside him. I could see through his eyes, and feel his skin—and, oh.
I think I whimpered. Or maybe that was him.
Here inside his head, we could talk, but there were no more questions, because there was no questioning the meaning of a word when we spoke in meanings more than in words anyway. I could see time spooled out before me from the moment I had first taken his hand to now, and how he had hoped for this moment all that time.
I had always thought of orgasm as the thing people craved. To know that what he’d wanted most was this intimacy, this being taken and filled—well, it made my cock throb harder.
It made me want to fuck him. To move back and forth inside him and let him feel every inch of my cock, to pry him open and claim him and leave my mark, and my seed, on him and in him. Which was good because that was exactly what he wanted. It wasn’t my thought or his thought. It was ours.
He came when I did, and after our bodies weren’t joined anymore, the psychic connection would fade, too, I thought. But while we lay there in each other’s arms, I found I could still “hear” him. Feel him. Whatever.
I used words, in my own head. I never had any idea sex could be like that.
He couldn’t stop himself from thinking, it’s very different for the receptive partner.
How much do you know?
He could sense the abuse in my past, like a stink that clung to my skin. He didn’t know the details and didn’t want to know unless I wanted to tell him. I didn’t.
His mind was open to me, though. Anything I wanted to see or know, was all laid bare and open for me as clearly as his legs spread for my cock. He didn’t want me to be afraid of anything, and thought seeing the depths of his soul was the best way to boost my trust.
He was right.
I fucked him three times that night, each time going deeper into his mind, and each time our shared orgasm was more intense than the previous. Poor Persy, my long-suffering roommate, ended up sleeping on a couch in the common room. I didn’t even realize the whole night had passed.
Dawn was breaking, though, as we lay together, my cock soft but still inside him as we played the game by mutual agreement to see how long we could stay joined.
How long have you had this ability relating to sex? I asked him.
I’ve always had some telepathy, but I didn’t discover this kind until I started having sex, he told me.
Do you get it from your mother’s side or your father’s side?
I don’t know, he admitted. My mother had me after a May Day ritual in Greece. She never knew who my father was, nor cared. She used to joke he was a satyr. For all I know, it wasn’t a joke.
I never knew my parents, I thought before I could stop myself.
He was quiet then, meditating on one thing, which was simply how happy he was to be in my arms. That was the real start of Michael and me, and we were happy right until the end.
The bitter end. He had the perfect way to tame a wild beast like me, but in the end it was dog-eat-dog.
Which just goes to show I was wrong to trust. And wrong to lust. I won’t be wrong again.
(Look for another Frost-centric story later today from Rian Darcy, aka Nishizono!)