Chapter 9: Aftermath
The mirror portal shimmered like a heat haze over blacktop, then solidified into a perfect reflection of Stacy’s living room. She stepped through first, the plush white carpet feeling alien and too-clean under her boots after the grit and sweat of the Pleasure Prison. Jan followed, stumbling slightly as the transition reasserted normal physics. The portal collapsed behind them with a sound like a sigh, leaving only the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the city’s twinkling grid.
Silence, thick and heavy, settled in the penthouse. The only sound was the faint, rhythmic hum of the refrigerator and the soft snoring of Godfrey II, a bundle of golden fur curled in his plush dog bed by the fireplace. He twitched, chasing a dream squirrel, utterly unaware of the dimensional war his humans had just won.
Stacy let out a long, slow breath. She dropped her go-bag by the door with a thud, then methodically unstrapped her shoulder holster, placing the 9mm on the high-gloss entry table. Each movement was precise, controlled. The adrenaline was leaching away, leaving a hollow, jangling fatigue in its place.
Jan watched her, peeling off her own dusty jacket. “Business partner to a goblin,” she said, her voice raspy. “Got to say, Coach, I didn’t see that on your five-year plan.”
“My five-year plan involved maybe opening a second studio,” Stacy said, running a hand through her dark, sweat-matted hair. “Not co-owning a pocket dimension with a reformed tyrant.” She walked to the kitchen island, poured two glasses of cold water from the dispenser, and handed one to Jan. She drank hers in one long go. The water was achingly normal.
Jan leaned against the island, studying her friend. The split lip was already healing, a faint pink line. The knuckles of her right hand were bruised and scabbed. But it was the look in her eyes that Jan recognized—a distant, restless ache. “Every time,” Stacy murmured, staring into her empty glass. “Every damn time we get together, he has to go back to his time before we can really do anything. It’s like living on the edge of a fucking promise.”
Jan set her glass down with a soft click. “Yeah. Time travel romance. It’s all foreplay and goodbye.” She pushed off from the island, her mischievous grin returning. “You know what you need?”
“A twelve-hour sleep and a bottle of ibuprofen?”
“Better.” Jan’s eyes sparkled with familiar, green-tinged intent. “You need to get out of your head. And into your body. All the way in.”
Stacy looked at her, a wary eyebrow raised. “Jan…”
“I’m not suggesting anything cosmic,” Jan said, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “No magic. Well, no new magic. Just… you, me, that ridiculous collection of silicone and medical-grade plastic you keep in the nightstand, and zero thoughts about temporal mechanics.” She nodded toward the hallway leading to the bedroom. “Let’s get naked and play.”
A slow smile spread across Stacy’s face, the first real one since before the fight. It was an answer, and a challenge. “Yeah,” she said, the word exhaled like a release of tension. “Yeah, that’ll go a long way.”
They didn’t rush. There was a ritual to it. Stacy dimmed the lights, not to mood-level, but to a warm, golden glow. Jan put on music—something instrumental with a deep, throbbing bassline that vibrated in the floorboards. Stacy went to the bathroom, washed the grime and dried blood from her hands and face, and emerged in just a simple black robe. Jan was already stretched out on the massive, low platform bed, having shed her thrift-store chic for bare, freckled skin. Her red hair was a shock against the gray linen sheets.
“Show me the arsenal,” Jan said, propping herself up on her elbows.
Stacy opened the nightstand drawer. It wasn’t a collection; it was a curated assortment. She laid them out on the bed like surgical instruments: a sleek, pearl-gray vibrator with multiple intensity settings, a thick, obsidian-black dildo with a subtly curved shaft, a pair of smooth, egg-shaped remote-controlled toys, and a harness of soft black leather.
Jan let out a low whistle. “Always so prepared, Coach.”
“A good athlete knows her equipment,” Stacy said, her voice dropping into the firm, confident tone she used in the gym. She let the robe slip from her shoulders. Her body was a map of their recent victory—bruises blooming along her ribs, a scrape on her hip, the muscles of her abdomen and shoulders defined and tensed even at rest. She was powerfully, unapologetically present.
Jan’s gaze was appreciative, hungry. “Come here.”
Stacy crawled onto the bed, the mattress yielding under her weight. They met in the center, a tangle of limbs and seeking mouths. This kiss wasn’t like the desperate, time-limited goodbye with Rick. This was exploratory, familiar, a conversation without words. Jan’s hands were everywhere, tracing the lines of Stacy’s back, cupping the firm swell of her ass, squeezing the dense muscle of her thighs. Stacy let herself be touched, examined, worshipped. She sank her teeth into Jan’s lower lip, drawing a sharp gasp.
“I want that one,” Jan mumbled against her mouth, nodding toward the black dildo.
Stacy reached for it without breaking the kiss. The silicone was cool and forgiving in her hand. She broke away, sitting back on her heels. “On your back.”
Jan obeyed, spreading her legs with a deliberate, wanton arch of her back. Stacy knelt between them. She took her time, using her free hand to trace Jan’s inner thighs, to circle her clit, to slide two fingers inside her, finding her already wet and warm. Jan’s breath hitched. “Tease,” she breathed.
“I’m assessing readiness,” Stacy said, a ghost of her coaching smirk on her face. She withdrew her fingers, slick and shining. She gripped the base of the dildo, guiding the broad, rounded tip through Jan’s folds, pressing against her entrance. “You tell me.”
“Fuck me,” Jan said, her green eyes dark. “Hard.”
Stacy pushed forward. The stretch was immediate, profound. Jan’s head fell back, a throaty moan tearing from her as the thick silicone filled her. Stacy set a deep, relentless rhythm, her arm muscles corded with the effort. Each thrust drove the air from Jan’s lungs in a series of sharp, punched-out cries. The bass from the speakers thrummed in time with the wet slap of skin against skin.
“God, yes,” Jan gasped, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the sheets. “Just like that. Don’t you fucking stop.”
Stacy didn’t. She watched Jan’s face, the play of ecstasy and surrender across her features. She leaned down, capturing one of Jan’s nipples in her mouth, sucking hard as she drove the toy deeper. Jan’s hips bucked, meeting each thrust with a savage urgency of her own. The room filled with the raw, unvarnished soundtrack of their sex: grunts, slurped kisses, the squelch of the dildo, the creak of the bed frame.
“You close?” Stacy growled, her own breath coming in ragged gusts.
“So close,” Jan whimpered. “Switch. I want to watch you come.”
Stacy pulled the dildo out with a slick pop. Jan immediately flipped onto her stomach, pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. “The harness,” she demanded, her voice ragged.
Stacy understood. She fastened the leather harness around her hips with quick, efficient motions, securing the black dildo into the ring. She stood on the bed, looming over Jan’s offered form. She guided the tip to Jan’s dripping entrance from behind and pushed back in, one smooth, powerful stroke.
Jan cried out, a guttural sound of pure satisfaction. “Yes! Fuck me, Stacy. Own it.”
Stacy gripped Jan’s hips, her fingers digging into the flesh, and began to pound into her. This angle was deeper, more brutal. Jan pushed back against her, meeting every thrust, her moans escalating into a continuous, breathy scream. Stacy felt the tension coiling in her own core, a wildfire spreading from the base of her spine. The sight of Jan surrendering so completely, the feel of her tight heat around the toy, the sheer animal physicality of it—it was obliterating.
Jan’s hand snaked between her legs, fingers working frantically at her clit. “I’m gonna—!” Her warning was cut off as her body seized. She clamped down around the dildo, her back arching in a rigid bow as a silent, shattering orgasm ripped through her. Her inner muscles pulsed in frantic waves.
The sensation, transmitted through the harness, was the final trigger. Stacy’s control shattered. With a raw shout that was part snarl, part sob, she came. Pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming, exploded through her. Her thrusts lost their rhythm, becoming frantic, jerking movements as she rode the violent crest, her vision tunneling to the sight of Jan trembling beneath her.
She collapsed forward, bracing herself on her arms to avoid crushing Jan. They stayed like that for a long moment, connected by the harness, breathing in ragged unison. Stacy slowly, carefully, withdrew and unfastened the leather, letting it and the toy fall aside with a soft thud. She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her chest heaving.
Jan turned over, curling into Stacy’s side, her head on Stacy’s shoulder. She traced idle patterns on Stacy’s damp stomach. “Still thinking about time travel?” she murmured.
Stacy let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “What’s time?”
“Exactly.”
They lay in comfortable, sweaty silence. Godfrey II, awake now, padded into the room. He gave the discarded sex toys a disinterested sniff, let out a sigh that clearly conveyed his boredom with the whole endeavor, and trotted out again, presumably to his water bowl.
“He’s so judgy,” Stacy mumbled, her eyes closed.
“He’s seen gods argue over the fabric of reality,” Jan said. “We’re mundane.”
After a while, Stacy spoke, her voice quiet and clear in the dark room. “When he comes back… when Rick really comes back… it’s going to be complicated. His parents are my friends. The time difference. All of it.”
Jan shifted, propping her head on her hand to look down at Stacy. “So?”
“So?” Stacy echoed, opening her eyes.
“So you’ll handle it. You’re Stacy Steinberg. You co-own a magical gym dimension. You just fist-fought a time-eating demon and fucked your best friend senseless to feel better.” Jan’s grin was wicked. “Complicated is your brand.”
Stacy smiled, a real, unguarded smile that reached her eyes. She pulled Jan down for a soft, lingering kiss. “You’re a menace, Red.”
“And you love it.” Jan snuggled back down. “Now shut up. My orgasm coma is calling.”
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city glittered, a constellation of ordinary lives. In the penthouse, surrounded by the ghosts of other realms and the promise of a messy future, Stacy stared at the green moon pendant hanging on her wall. It glowed with a steady, patient light. She took a deep, final breath, letting the last of the tension leave her body. For now, this was enough. This was real. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, slept without dreaming of other worlds.
She closed her eyes, and for the first time in days, slept without dreaming of other worlds.
The chronal disorientation felt like stepping through a cold waterfall that didn’t wet the skin. Portia Bryant lowered her hand, the last shimmer of the time gateway sealing shut behind the group now standing on the familiar, scuffed hardwood floor of the O’Connor-Sommers-MacInteyre living room, dropping off the last of the time travelers where they needed to be. The air smelled of lavender polish and the ghost of Sarah’s baking. “Welcome home,” Portia said, her voice flat and professional. “Everyone accounted for?”
A collective murmur of affirmation rose from the tired, disheveled group. Godfrey III, nestled in Fat Aunt Jan’s arms, gave a tiny yawn. The future version of Jan, her red hair just as wild but her body softer, fuller, set the little Maltese down.
“Mom? Dad?” Jenny O’Connor’s voice was small. Brigid, Will, and Sarah, who had been waiting in anxious silence, rushed forward. The embrace was a tangle of arms and relieved tears.
“We were so worried,” Sarah breathed into her step-daughter’s hair.
Brigid held Jenny at arm’s length, her doctor’s eyes scanning for injury. “Are you hurt? What happened?”
Jenny took a shaky breath. “He… Tobias… he made me a puppet.” The words tumbled out in a rush, aided by Fat Aunt Jan’s gentle hand on her shoulder and Godfrey III’s supportive yap. “It was like being wrapped in spider silk inside my own head. I could see, but I couldn’t move. He used my illusion magic to make copies of me, to mess with people.”
Brigid’s face, always a mask of calm competence, fractured for a second. Will pulled Jenny close again. Sarah’s hand went to her mouth. “A psychic invasive control,” Brigid finally said, her voice clinical, reassembling itself around the horror. “The neural pathways would have been highjacked through a thaumaturgic link. We’ll need to run tests. And you’ll start therapy immediately. Next week.”
“I already booked her an appointment with that specialist in magical trauma, the one over on Leland,” Fat Aunt Jan said cheerfully, digging a business card out of her patchwork skirt pocket. “Figured you’d insist, Brigid-Bear.”
Brigid took the card, her expression softening into a look of profound gratitude toward her older sister. “Thank you, Jan.”
“Anytime. Therapy’s a really good idea, by the way. Even without the demonic puppet strings.”
Across town, Hank Powers nearly crushed Kim and Maryam in a bear hug that lifted them both off their feet. “Goddamn it, don’t you two ever do that again,” he growled, his voice thick.
Fatima stood beside him, her elegant composure restored now that her daughters were safe. She placed a gentle hand on Hank’s arm. “Let them breathe, habibi.” She turned her dark eyes on her twins. “You seek trouble like it is a profession. My heart cannot take it.”
“We’re fine, Mom,” Maryam said, adjusting her backwards cap once Hank set her down. “It was just a little realm conquest. Kim hacked a fucking demon with her sword.”
“Language,” Hank and Fatima said in unison, then looked at each other and laughed, the tension breaking.
Kim shrugged, her curved sword strapped to her back. “He wasn’t a demon. More of an entity. And it was a team effort.”
“You are both grounded,” Fatima said, no trace of humor in her voice.
“For how long?” Maryam groaned.
“Until you are forty.”
In the Harata household, the conversation was less about grounding and more about digital content management. Yukio, her new tattoos still feeling tender, faced her daughter across a cluttered editing desk. Multiple monitors played the same loop: a chaotic, joyous scene in a Hobbit-hole village involving several enthusiastic individuals, no clothing, and very little blurring.
“Mai,” Yukio said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We cannot just upload this.”
“Why? The lighting is fantastic! The raw energy! It’s authentic!” Mai protested, her finger hovering over the ‘PUBLISH’ button.
“Because that’s Beth Williamson’s left buttock, and Kim Powers is very clearly using her Green Moon initiate status to, uh, enhance that dwarf’s experience.” Yukio pointed at the screen. “You at least need to blur their faces. And put it behind a paywall. This is our livelihood, not a fucking free-for-all.”
Mai sighed dramatically. “Fine. Paywall. But the ‘Authentic Adventures’ patreon tier is gonna love this.”
“That’s my girl. Now, blur Beth’s butt. It’s distinctive.”
The living room in the Williamson-Kapowski house held a different kind of tension. Mandy shifted from foot to foot, her hand clenched tightly in Ben’s. Her parents, Mike and Casey, sat on the couch, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. Amy and Jason Bryant occupied the armchair, looking more amused than anything.
“So,” Mike said, his arms crossed over his slightly-chubby middle. “You and Ben. A couple.”
“Yes,” Mandy said, her voice barely above a mumble.
“Intentions,” Mike stated. “What are your intentions regarding my daughter, Benedict?”
Jason, mirroring Mike’s posture despite himself, nodded. “Yes. Intentions.”
Ben, who had faced down realm-warping entities without flinching, swallowed hard. “Sir, I… I intend to respect her. And support her. And, uh, be there for her? She’s amazing with steampunk gear calibrations.”
Amy swatted her husband’s arm. “Jason, stop it. She’s a delightful girl.” She beamed at Mandy. “We’re thrilled.”
Casey, sipping a beer, chuckled. “Mike, honey, unclench. They hold hands and talk about gear ratios. Compared to the fact that our son is currently boinking our lifelong friend Stacy because they keep finding each other in different time zones, this is practically a Hallmark card.”
Mike’s stern façade cracked. He chuckled. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Just… be good to each other. And no magical pregnancies. We’ve had enough of that.”
“Dad!” Mandy and Calista, who was leaning in the doorway, said in unison.
“What? It’s a valid concern!”
Rick Williamson stood outside the familiar penthouse door, his heart hammering a strange rhythm. This was his time, his reality. The future. He knocked.
The door swung open, and there she was. Stacy, but not the Stacy he’d just left sweating and triumphant in her own past. This Stacy had silver elegantly threading her dark hair, laugh lines at the corners of her eyes, and a depth of calm in her gaze that only decades could bring. She smiled, and it was like coming home.
“Rick,” she said, and pulled him into an embrace that crushed the air from his lungs.
He buried his face in her neck, breathing in her scent—the same, but deeper, more nuanced. “I saw her again,” he mumbled against her skin. “The younger you. We… we beat Tobias. Together.”
Stacy laughed, a rich, warm sound. “I know, dummy. I was there.” She pulled back, her hands cradling his face. “I told you the threads get tangled.”
“How many more times?” he asked, his voice earnest, almost pleading. “How many more times do I meet her before it’s just you? Just us?”
A mischievous sparkle, utterly familiar, lit her eyes. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear. “Spoilers,” she whispered, and then she was pulling him through the doorway, kicking the door shut with her foot.
Her kiss was not the frantic, time-pressured passion of his youth. It was a claiming, a confident, slow-burning conquest. Her tongue mapped his mouth as her hands pulled his shirt from his jeans. He fumbled with the buttons of her blouse, his fingers clumsy with need.
“I need you,” he gasped, breaking the kiss. “Now.”
“Then take me,” she challenged, her voice low and husky.
He pushed the soft material of her blouse off her shoulders, followed by her lace bra. Her breasts, fuller now, heavy in his hands, were a revelation. He bent his head, taking a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. She arched against him with a sharp cry, her fingers tangling in his hair. He walked her backwards through the sleek living room, past the green moon pendant, into the bedroom.
They fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and discarded clothing. There was no more patience, no more gentle exploration. Rick settled between her thighs, the heat of her searing through his boxers and her panties. He ripped the flimsy lace aside and drove into her in one slick, brutal thrust.
“Fuck!” Stacy cried out, her legs locking around his back, her heels digging into his ass.
He set a punishing pace, each snap of his hips slamming the bedframe into the wall. This was different from the frantic energy of before. This was deeper, a furious, loving vengeance against time itself. He gripped her hips, lifting her to meet him, changing the angle until she screamed, her nails raking down his back.
“Right there, god, right there, don’t stop!” she chanted, her eyes screwed shut.
He was delirious with the feel of her, the clench of her internal muscles around his cock, the slick, filthy sound of their joining. Sweat dripped from his brow onto her chest. He felt his control unraveling, a coil pulled taut to breaking.
“Look at me,” he grunted.
Her eyes flew open, locking with his. In that gaze, he saw every version of her—the fierce eighteen-year-old, the powerful twenty-six-year-old warrior, and this magnificent woman beneath him, who had waited, who knew him completely.
“I’m here,” she whispered, her body beginning to tremble. “I’m always here.”
The words shattered him. His orgasm ripped through him, violent and endless, tearing a raw shout from his throat. As he pulsed inside her, he felt her convulse around him, her own climax triggered by his, a wave of intense, shuddering pleasure that made her back bow off the bed.
He collapsed onto her, spent, his face buried in the pillow beside her head. Their breathing slowed, synced. The city’s light painted shifting patterns on the ceiling.
After a long while, Rick shifted, rolling to her side but keeping her wrapped in his arms. “So,” he said, tracing the line of her jaw. “Everyone’s back? In one piece?”
“Portia’s report came through. Seems so.” Stacy snuggled closer. “Fat Aunt Jan is explaining psychic puppetry to Brigid. My past self is probably cleaning off your sweat. Mai is getting a lecture on content moderation. Ben and Mandy are officially a thing. Hank and Fatima are grounding their girls until menopause.”
Rick laughed softly. “Normal family stuff.”
“Exactly.” She kissed his shoulder. “Welcome home, Rick. For good this time.”
He held her tighter, the last spectral thread of the past finally dissolving. They were here. They were now. The bottom line, simple and profound, settled over him like a blanket: everyone was really glad to be back in their own time.