I, II, III
Originally posted by alx_diamond at I, II, III
Author: alx_diamond
Title: I, II, III
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: It wraps across his throat, dark against light.
Warnings: BDSM
Word Count: 220
Prompt: Amnesty Post (#40: Leather)
Author's Notes: Pairing is entirely implied; imagine anyone you'd prefer.
I.
It wraps across his throat, dark against light. Golden accessories gleam, turning it richer crimson, turning him paler ivory. It should be looser, except he likes it this way: constricting just enough to feel it every time he breathes, swallows, begs; it reminds him that he’s owned. Sometimes it leaves behind a thick band of flushed skin; once it left bruises that took days to heal. He loved them.
II.
Fastened around his cock and balls with a snap that has since warmed with him, but sent a shiver up his spine when it was new and cold, it squeezes him ever tighter as he grows more and more desperate. He’s heavy with blood and come, aching and pleading, but he knows better than to remove it himself. He’s not allowed, but he also doesn’t want to; not yet.
III.
His skin blossoms as it strikes him, bloodless white then raised pink. Each of the thin ribbons caresses his arse as it hits, drags, flows away. He flinches from it the first few times, just barely, despite how lightly it touches him. Soon he’s thrusting back, arching up, seeking it out; moaning as it kisses him harder and turns him red with welts.
When it’s over he cries, comes, and cries more, sobbing his thanks and love and devotion.
Author: alx_diamond
Title: I, II, III
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: It wraps across his throat, dark against light.
Warnings: BDSM
Word Count: 220
Prompt: Amnesty Post (#40: Leather)
Author's Notes: Pairing is entirely implied; imagine anyone you'd prefer.
I.
It wraps across his throat, dark against light. Golden accessories gleam, turning it richer crimson, turning him paler ivory. It should be looser, except he likes it this way: constricting just enough to feel it every time he breathes, swallows, begs; it reminds him that he’s owned. Sometimes it leaves behind a thick band of flushed skin; once it left bruises that took days to heal. He loved them.
II.
Fastened around his cock and balls with a snap that has since warmed with him, but sent a shiver up his spine when it was new and cold, it squeezes him ever tighter as he grows more and more desperate. He’s heavy with blood and come, aching and pleading, but he knows better than to remove it himself. He’s not allowed, but he also doesn’t want to; not yet.
III.
His skin blossoms as it strikes him, bloodless white then raised pink. Each of the thin ribbons caresses his arse as it hits, drags, flows away. He flinches from it the first few times, just barely, despite how lightly it touches him. Soon he’s thrusting back, arching up, seeking it out; moaning as it kisses him harder and turns him red with welts.
When it’s over he cries, comes, and cries more, sobbing his thanks and love and devotion.