Chapter 16: The Nexus Hunter
The Nexus pulsed around them, a sickly, beautiful throb of ultraviolet and amethyst light. Jan’s back was a map of tiny abrasions from the crystalline floor. Bethany rode her, a slow, grinding counter-rotation of hips that was less about passion now and more about survival, a desperate attempt to keep their combined magic circulating. The silicone strap-on was slick with Bethany’s fluids, a faint sheen of sweat and sex under the impossible light.
“Anchor’s holding,” Jan grunted, her hands tight on Bethany’s waist. “But it’s like chewing glass. This place doesn’t want joy. It wants… quiet.”
“Fuck its quiet,” Bethany rasped, throwing her head back. The pink spikes of her hair were dark with sweat. She slammed down harder, taking Jan deeper with a wet, sucking sound. “We’re the noise it needs.”
A shift in the light. Not the usual swirl. A purposeful, geometric bending. Jan’s eyes, half-lidded with exhaustion, focused past Bethany’s shoulder. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Company.”
A figure coalesced from the refracted chaos. It was humanoid, but wrong, its edges too sharp, its movement a series of stuttered teleports. It was wreathed in a sickly, administrative green light that smelled of ozone and cheap printer toner. In its hands, it held a neat stack of pamphlets.
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Jan groaned, her hips stilling. “It’s the proselytizing kind.”
The Nexus-Hunter stopped ten feet away. Its face was a smooth, featureless plane except for a slit that might have been a mouth. Its voice emerged as a monotone buzz, like a bored intercom. “Greetings, chaos-bearers. You have violated Article Seven, Section Four of the Interdimensional Etiquette Code. Unauthorized prolonged co-anchoring with mixed-source magics. Please review the attached literature for remediation.”
It extended a pamphlet. The title, in stark, bureaucratic font, read: ‘So You’ve Broken Reality: A Guide to Responsible Nexus Use.’
Bethany, still impaled on Jan, let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. “Tell it we’re busy.”
A wild, familiar grin spread across Jan’s freckled face. The challenge, the sheer absurdity of it, ignited a last reserve of energy. “Yeah,” she said, loud enough for the Hunter to hear. “We’re in the middle of a diplomatic negotiation. Very sensitive talks.”
She thrust upward, a hard, sudden piston motion that made Bethany yelp. “So fuck off.”
The Hunter tilted its head. The pamphlet remained extended. “Compliance is not optional. Review of materials is mandatory prior to censure.” It began to recite, its droning voice cutting through the Nexus’s hum. “Section One: Assessing Your Reality Breach. Please identify the primary magical signature. Is it A) Primal Chaos, B) Ordered Transgression, or C) Accidental Ascension?”
Jan ignored it. She grabbed Bethany’s hips, fingers digging into the flesh, and began to fuck her in earnest. No more tired grinding. This was a raw, pounding rhythm, a declaration of war. The wet slap of Bethany’s ass against Jan’s pelvis became a metronome, each impact echoing sharply.
“Oh, God, yes,” Bethany gasped, her earlier fatigue burning away in the heat of Jan’s renewed assault. She braced her hands on Jan’s thighs, meeting each thrust, taking the full length of the strap-on until the harness base rubbed hard against Jan’s clit. “Right there, you chaotic bitch, right fucking there!”
The Hunter droned on. “Subsection B-2: If your breach involves unlicensed sexual thaumaturgy, please cease immediately and file form TX-9 with the nearest temporal notary.”
Jan’s world narrowed to the sight of Bethany’s cunt stretching around the glossy silicone, to the filthy, perfect sounds of their coupling, to the building pressure in her own groin. She was close. She could feel Bethany tightening around her, the inner muscles fluttering in rapid spasms.
“It’s… it’s reciting procedural guidelines!” Bethany laughed, the sound breaking into a moan as Jan hit a deep, perfect spot.
“Let it recite,” Jan growled, her thrusts becoming brutal, jackhammer-fast. The harness straps bit into her skin. Bliss shot up her spine. “Come on, Pendragon. Come all over this fake cock. Show the nice bureaucrat what we think of its forms.”
Bethany’s back arched, a strained, beautiful curve. Her mouth fell open in a silent scream before the sound ripped out of her—a raw, grating shout of pure release. Her cunt clenched viscously around Jan, a series of punishing, rhythmic pulses that squeezed the silicone shaft. The Nexus itself seemed to shiver, the violet light flaring gold and green at the edges.
The sensation, the visual, the shared, defiant triumph, pushed Jan over. She buried the strap-on to the hilt and held it there, her own orgasm tearing through her with blunt, shocking force. She cried out, a wordless sound of exhaustion and victory, her hips buckling upward as electric pleasure short-circuited her thoughts.
The Hunter paused mid-sentence. “—a copy of your arbitration request must be submitted in triplicate within fourteen subjective seconds…”
It looked at them. At Bethany, shuddering through the last waves of her climax, juices glistening on her thighs and on the toy still buried inside her. At Jan, sprawled and panting, a triumphant gleam in her eye.
It looked at the discarded, untouched pamphlet on the shimmering floor.
With a sound that was almost a sigh—a static-laced exhale of profound disappointment—it dropped the entire stack. The papers dispersed into motes of green light before they could touch the ground. The Hunter gave one last, disapproving tilt of its head, and faded away, its orderly green light swallowed by the Nexus’s chaotic rainbow.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing.
Bethany carefully lifted herself off, collapsing beside Jan with a wince. The strap-on, slick and spent, slid free. “I think,” she panted, “we just fucked a bureaucratic entity into submission.”
“Best kind of submission,” Jan mumbled, staring at the swirling ceiling. The Nexus felt different. The vibrations were smoother, the light less frantic. Their anchor was solid, a fused knot of Green Moon joy and Golden Wand determination. “It’s stable. For now.”
“How long?”
“Long enough for them to finish Article Two.” Jan turned her head, a dirty smile on her lips. “You know, for a stick-in-the-mud Wand, you come pretty damn loud.”
Bethany swatted her arm weakly. “You’re a menace, O’Connor. A beautiful, brilliant menace.” She let her hand rest on Jan’s stomach, a point of warm contact. “Liam is never going to believe this.”
“Tell him it was a tax audit. He’ll understand.”
They lay there in the settled strange silence, two exhausted women floating in the heartbeat of magic, linked by something far more complex than friendship or Order. The Nexus, quieted, hummed around them, holding its breath.
The Nexus, quieted, hummed around them, holding its breath. Jan’s hand found Bethany’s, their fingers lacing together atop the cool, strangely fluid crystal. The shared pulse of their magic had settled into a low, warm frequency, a resonant anchor point in the chaotic void. They breathed in sync, watching the light show above them soften from frantic panic to something resembling a calm, alien aurora.
“Do you feel that?” Bethany whispered, her voice rough. “From out there. It’s less… jagged.”
Jan closed her eyes, extending her senses beyond the immediate shimmer of their bodies. She could perceive the Lodge now not as a distant concept, but as a distinct, structured vibration intersecting their reality. Threads of agreement, bright and newly forged, were snapping into place. “They’re making progress. Real progress. That’s our anchor doing its job.”
She opened her eyes, a weary grin touching her lips. “But fuck, I’m starving. I’d murder one of Mike’s shitty gas station burritos right now.”
Bethany laughed, a real one that shook her shoulders. “You’re a class act, O’Connor.” She sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in her thighs and the deep, pleasant soreness between them. “Come on. Anchor’s set. We can probably coast on this for a few hours. We should get back before they pass a law demanding mandatory nudity or something.”
“Don’t give them ideas.”
Back in the Lodge’s great hall, the air had shifted from the tense stalemate over resources to a new, more intimate kind of warfare. Article IV, the clause concerning mandatory inter-Order psychological evaluations, had the room split along deeply personal lines. Mara’s gavel tapping had become a frantic, irregular beat against the worn oak.
“We are not submitting our members to Wand-operated psyche-scans!” Fatima snapped, her usually elegant composure sharp as broken glass. “That’s not evaluation, that’s interrogation. Your ‘Subtle Glamour’ is just another tool for manipulation.”
“And your ‘Power of Exposure’ is a systematic assault on informed consent,” Percival retorted, his voice icy, though the memory of Arlene’s mouth on him in the other room was still a fresh, humbling heat on his skin. “How is that therapuetic?”
“It’s about joy, you withered—“
“Enough!” Mara’s shout cut through. She looked exhausted. The gavel was heavy in her hand. “We are not here to relitigate the foundational ethics of every Order. We need a solution that isn’t a violation in itself. Or Article IV dies here, and we all go home knowing the next unstable Mage is on their own until they level a city block.”
A chair scraped softly.
Jules Nash stood. All conversation stuttered, eyes drawn to the effortless, confident sway of her hips as she moved to the center of the floor. Her sweater dress clung to every curve, the neckline offering a generous view of her cleavage. She smelled of jasmine and a hint of clean sweat.
“I have a proposal.” Her voice was a silken purr, cutting through the aggression. “The Order of the Stable Mind offers free, completely confidential therapy sessions to any Order member who volunteers for a joint evaluation. No permanent records. No reports back to this council. Just healing.” She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips, one hand resting on her hip. “And I promise, my methods are… thorough.”
A murmur, intrigued and wary, rippled through the hall.
Annie Schmidt stood up from beside Aaron. Her cheeks were still flushed from their pantry encounter, her lips slightly swollen. “I’ll volunteer,” she said, her voice clear and firm. “Right now.”
Aaron looked up at her, a complex mix of mild contentment and acute arousal passing over his features. He gave her hand a brief, tight squeeze before she stepped away.
“Excellent,” Jules said, her smile widening. She led Annie to the same side room Arlene and Percival had used. The heavy oak door clicked shut with finality.
Silence descended, thick and expectant. For five heartbeats, there was nothing.
Then the sounds began. Unmistakable. The wet, rhythmic sucking of a mouth working with devoted intensity. A low, muffled moan that was undoubtedly Annie’s, punctuated by soft, hungry gasps for air. The slick, audible slide of a tongue.
Mike and Casey glanced at each other. A silent conversation passed between them, ending in a firm, synchronized nod of approval. “We have our session Monday,” Casey whispered to him, a smirk on her face. “Maybe we should discuss Article… whatever the hell this is.”
Shiv rolled her eyes toward the ceiling, muttering in Gaelic before switching to English. “Is everyone going to be fucking in a broom closet before this day is through?”
Aunt Noor, picking at the last of the baklava, chuckled. “You shouldn’t knock it until you’ve tried it, Shiv.”
“I have three kids,” Shiv shot back, dry as dust. “I’ve tried it plenty.”
The sounds from the room grew more urgent. Annie’s muffled cries became less muffled, climbing in pitch, culminating in a sharp, keening wail of release that was abruptly cut off. Then a soft, shuddering sigh.
The door opened.
Annie emerged first, wiping the back of her hand across her glistening lips. A profoundly satisfied, almost dazed smile lit up her face. She floated back to her seat beside Aaron, who put an arm around her, pulling her close.
Jules followed, calmly adjusting the hem of her skirt. She looked utterly unruffled, like she’d just completed a brisk walk. “See?” she addressed the stunned Conclave, her voice still that gentle purr. “Healing.”
Percival cleared his throat, his own recent experience lending a strange credibility to the spectacle. “I believe… that demonstrates a certain operational efficacy.” He sounded almost hoarse.
Mara’s gavel fell once, a sound of pure relief. “Article IV passes. Unanimous.”
As she moved to call up Article V, Calista Gunderson rose from her seat. She didn’t walk to the center. She simply stood, her silver-streaked knot perfect, her grey eyes sharp as flint, but her posture was no longer that of the distant Merlin, but of Aunt Calista making a family promise.
“I’ll be brief,” she stated. “The primary cause of our strife is ignorance masquerading as security. Therefore, I vow that the Order of the Golden Wands will become… significantly less secretive.” A sharp intake of breath, most loudly from Percival. “I propose, and will enact, the formation of a standing committee with representatives from the Archimedes Society, the Green Moons, and the Fair Bargain. Their sole purpose will be to determine which parts of our accumulated knowledge should be shared, and how.” She looked directly at Brigid, then at Arlene, then at Aaron. “Secrets kept out of fear create monsters like Bedivere. Sharing them, with care, might prevent the next one.”
Percival looked physically ill, his loyalty warring with a lifetime of ingrained doctrine. “The protocols… the security…”
“Will be part of the committee’s remit, Percival,” Calista said, not unkindly. “But the age of hoarding is over.”
From his seat, Hans Jäger gave a single, solemn nod. “A predator you understand is less dangerous than one hidden in shadow. This is good tracking. Fewer Bediveres.”
Mara didn’t even call for a vote. She surveyed the room, saw the stunned nods, the thoughtful expressions, the lack of immediate objection. Her gavel tapped. “Article V passes. Unanimous consent.”
The vibration that passed through the Lodge then was tangible, a deep, harmonic hum that rattled the crystal glasses on the sideboard. It wasn't magic from a person. It was the sound of the world’s foundational laws accepting a new term.
In the Nexus, Jan and Bethany felt it as a sudden, profound solidity under them. The chaotic kaleidoscope didn’t vanish, but it structured itself, forming intricate, supported patterns around their anchor point.
“Holy shit,” Jan breathed, sitting bolt upright. “They actually did it. They agreed on something big. Something real.”
Bethany stared at the now-orderly flow of energy, golden strands and green ones weaving together in a dazzling, cooperative lattice. The sterile silver of the Wands was there too, not dominating, but integrating. “It feels… open,” she said, wonder in her voice. For a Golden Wand, it was the most terrifying and beautiful thing she’d ever sensed.
The shared, resonating success poured back through the anchor, a feedback loop of palpable relief. It washed over them, a warm wave that was part magic, part pure, collective catharsis. Exhaustion was suddenly irrelevant.
Jan looked at Bethany, her tired eyes shining with an almost feral glee. The energy between them crackled, no longer just about survival, but about celebration.
“We’re not done,” Jan said, her voice dropping, thick with implication. Her hand slid up Bethany’s inner thigh, fingertips brushing through the slick evidence of their last encounter. “The Nexus is stable. The work is done.”
Bethany caught her breath, her own fatigue burning away under that touch. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we just re-wrote magical diplomacy.” Jan’s fingers pressed deeper, finding Bethany’s clit, already swollen and eager. “I think we’ve earned a pure, pointless, messy fucking. No stakes. Just us.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Bethany’s face. She pushed Jan back onto the crystalline floor, the surface now warm and humming in tune with their heartbeats. “No arguments here, Red.”
She didn’t bother with the strap-on. Instead, she hooked Jan’s legs over her shoulders, spreading her wide. Jan’s red hair fanned out against the glowing lattice, her freckles like scattered stars. Bethany lowered her head, her pink hair a vivid shock against Jan's pale thighs.
The first slow, broad stroke of her tongue made Jan cry out, her back arching off the ground. It wasn’t the frantic, purposeful fucking from before. This was indulgence. Bethany took her time, lapping at Jan’s folds, savoring the taste of their shared sweat and her own earlier climax mingled with Jan’s unique, sharp salt. She circled Jan’s throbbing clit with a relentless, knowing pressure before swallowing it whole, sucking rhythmically.
“Oh, God, Bethany… yes, just like that,” Jan babbled, her hands fisting in Bethany’s short hair. The pleasure was a deep, coiling thrum, amplified by the resonant magic of the Nexus and the triumphant echo of the accords. It felt infinite.
Bethany pushed two fingers inside her, curling them to find that perfect, spongy spot. She fucked her with them in a steady, deep rhythm while her mouth continued its devastating work on Jan’s clit. The wet, obscene sounds of her penetration filled the space, a private, filthy concert.
Jan’s thighs began to tremble violently. “I’m gonna… don’t stop, fuck, I’m gonna come so hard…”
Bethany redoubled her efforts, her nose buried in Jan’s fiery thatch of pubic hair, her fingers pumping, her tongue a blur of friction. Jan’s orgasm detonated, a silent, wide-eyed gasp before the sound tore loose—a raw, shattered scream that seemed to ripple through the crystalline structures around them. Her cunt clamped down on Bethany’s fingers, pulsing wave after wave of intense contraction.
As the last shudders wracked Jan’s body, Bethany crawled up her, kissing her deeply, letting Jan taste herself. Bethany’s own need was a frantic ache. She guided Jan’s hand between her legs. “Your turn,” she panted against Jan’s mouth. “Make me scream for a different reason.”
Jan pushed Bethany onto her back, reversing their positions. She kissed down Bethany’s stomach, nipping at the soft skin of her hips. When she reached Bethany’s center, she didn’t tease. She dove in, burying her face in the wet, blonde curls. Bethany’s back arched, a choked “Fuck!” bursting from her lips.
Jan used her tongue like a weapon, flat and demanding, then pointed and precise. She slid three fingers inside Bethany’s sopping cunt, fucking her with a hard, driving pace that made Bethany’s toes curl against the crystal. Jan knew her body, knew the precise angle, the perfect tempo she’d learned over years of friendship that had occasionally veered into this. She curled her fingers, rubbing that sweet spot with relentless pressure.
“Jan! Right there, right fucking there, don’t you dare stop!” Bethany shouted, her professional composure incinerated. She was just a woman, coming apart under her friend’s miraculous mouth. Her hips bucked, fucking herself desperately on Jan’s hand.
Jan sucked Bethany’s clit into her mouth, applying a steady, sucking pressure while her fingers kept up their ruthless rhythm. It was too much. Bethany splintered. Her climax ripped through her with a force that felt like her magical core was seizing, a golden-green explosion behind her eyelids. She screamed Jan’s name, the sound echoing wildly in the vast, now-orderly space, her body convulsing until she went limp, boneless and gasping.
Jan collapsed beside her, licking her lips, spent and smiling. They lay there in the warm, humming silence, the Nexus holding them in its newly-calmed embrace.
Back in the Lodge, the Conclave moved on to Article VI, a palpable, cooperative energy now buzzing in the room where only tension had lived before. The sound from the Nexus didn’t reach them, but the anchors did. Mara felt it as a sudden clarity in her own mind. Calista felt it as a loosening of an old, cold knot in her chest.
They worked faster now, with purpose. The path was still long, but for the first time, everyone in the room could actually see it.