Fic: Votive
Title: Votive
Author: fera_festiva
Wordcount: 800
Rating: PG-13/light R
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Beta(s): A thousand thanks to lefaym for extensive beta work. ♥
Summary: Written for the
kink_bingo prompt, "Waxplay". Merlin and Arthur discover a new use for candles. (Yay! My first
kink_bingo post!)
They like it rough even at the most tender of times, and this is not one of those; Arthur has had a long and frustrating day and Merlin is tired and annoyed and they love it this way, fast and fierce and painful.
Arthur has Merlin pinned to the bed by the wrists. He leans down, running his teeth across the skin, then bites at the sharp ridge of Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin struggles against him, nudging his knee up between Arthur's legs to grind into him. Arthur sucks his breath in fast through his teeth and digs his nails into Merlin's skin. Merlin growls low, like a caged animal, and pushes up harder.
Arthur rolls off quickly and makes to force Merlin over, but Merlin is faster and more nimble and catches Arthur's wrists in turn, hooking a leg over him to straddle him. But, typical clumsy Merlin, he rolls a little too fast, arching and awkward, and he knocks the table with his shoulder. The candle is precarious already in its ornate holder balanced on the edge of the table -- Merlin's fault, probably, and even through his haze of pleasure he cares about it falling and setting the bed on fire, so as it tips this way and that he thrusts out a hand to catch it -- and misses, knocking it off balance anyway. The candle falls, mercifully extinguishing itself in the process. Merlin is too distracted by the situation to slow it magically, but it seems to take an age anyway to crash down onto the tabletop, spattering hot wax across Arthur's bare torso.
Arthur yelps and arches his back. "Ah! Merlin!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Merlin blurts, blushing wildly and feeling like he's ruined everything as usual, and from his position on top of Arthur he leans behind Arthur's head to grab his discarded neckerchief, thinking he'll use it to clean up. But Arthur catches his wrist and holds it tight --
"Merlin."
"Sire". The formal speech comes back when Merlin suspects he’s in trouble.
"Merlin." Arthur’s smile is wicked and lazy. “You will light the candle. And then you will do that again."
Merlin waits for clarification, which doesn’t come, so he asks, clumsily, "The candle? On purpose?"
"Of course on purpose, Merlin, what do you think?"
Merlin doesn’t know what to think, but Arthur’s hands are firm on Merlin’s hip and wrist and his expression is sly and aroused and eager (as well as a little exasperated) and just to underline what he means, he thrusts up and lets Merlin feel how excited he is. "I order it," he adds.
So Merlin leans forward and grabs the still-warm candle, and then leans back to light it from its partner on the table on the other side of the bed. Carefully, shielding the flame with a cupped hand, he moves back so he is sitting comfortably astride Arthur, and between his legs he can feel how hard Arthur is, how desperately hard and warm and wanting, and the sensation makes something inside him burn.
All the urgency is gone, but instead there is an intensity, an importance -- the sense that something significant is happening. Unwilling to examine that feeling for the moment, Merlin tips the candle, gently, slowly.
Arthur gasps --
But the wax, still a little too thick and cool, stays where it is. Arthur’s body is tense and waiting, his eyes half-closed and heavy --
And a splash of hot wax drops onto his bare chest. He arches and hisses as it hits, bites his lip, screws his eyes up. His fingers are tight on Merlin’s hip and in the blankets. Around the hardening wax, Merlin notices, the skin is reddening, and this makes him feel oddly tender towards Arthur, so he sets the candle on the table again and bends his head to kiss the skin there, soothing it with a lick, and on a whim, blowing on it.
"Mmnnnnn!" is Arthur’s response, and his hips buck up, eager to find friction, but otherwise he is languid and sensual now. All the fight is gone out of him, Merlin thinks -- before he wanted to hurt and now he seems to want to lie back and let Merlin hurt him instead. Maybe that’s what he wants, every time he starts a fight; maybe all he ever wants is for someone to hurt him enough that he can stop, and then --
He trusts me, Merlin thinks, and this thought causes something inside him to clench like a fist. And while he doesn’t quite understand why Arthur wants this, he knows that it’s his job, his duty, his pleasure to give it.
Arthur is moaning for more, his hands fisted in the sheets.
Merlin grabs the candle again.
Author: fera_festiva
Wordcount: 800
Rating: PG-13/light R
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Beta(s): A thousand thanks to lefaym for extensive beta work. ♥
Summary: Written for the
kink_bingo prompt, "Waxplay". Merlin and Arthur discover a new use for candles. (Yay! My first
kink_bingo post!)
They like it rough even at the most tender of times, and this is not one of those; Arthur has had a long and frustrating day and Merlin is tired and annoyed and they love it this way, fast and fierce and painful.
Arthur has Merlin pinned to the bed by the wrists. He leans down, running his teeth across the skin, then bites at the sharp ridge of Merlin’s collarbone. Merlin struggles against him, nudging his knee up between Arthur's legs to grind into him. Arthur sucks his breath in fast through his teeth and digs his nails into Merlin's skin. Merlin growls low, like a caged animal, and pushes up harder.
Arthur rolls off quickly and makes to force Merlin over, but Merlin is faster and more nimble and catches Arthur's wrists in turn, hooking a leg over him to straddle him. But, typical clumsy Merlin, he rolls a little too fast, arching and awkward, and he knocks the table with his shoulder. The candle is precarious already in its ornate holder balanced on the edge of the table -- Merlin's fault, probably, and even through his haze of pleasure he cares about it falling and setting the bed on fire, so as it tips this way and that he thrusts out a hand to catch it -- and misses, knocking it off balance anyway. The candle falls, mercifully extinguishing itself in the process. Merlin is too distracted by the situation to slow it magically, but it seems to take an age anyway to crash down onto the tabletop, spattering hot wax across Arthur's bare torso.
Arthur yelps and arches his back. "Ah! Merlin!"
"Sorry, sorry!" Merlin blurts, blushing wildly and feeling like he's ruined everything as usual, and from his position on top of Arthur he leans behind Arthur's head to grab his discarded neckerchief, thinking he'll use it to clean up. But Arthur catches his wrist and holds it tight --
"Merlin."
"Sire". The formal speech comes back when Merlin suspects he’s in trouble.
"Merlin." Arthur’s smile is wicked and lazy. “You will light the candle. And then you will do that again."
Merlin waits for clarification, which doesn’t come, so he asks, clumsily, "The candle? On purpose?"
"Of course on purpose, Merlin, what do you think?"
Merlin doesn’t know what to think, but Arthur’s hands are firm on Merlin’s hip and wrist and his expression is sly and aroused and eager (as well as a little exasperated) and just to underline what he means, he thrusts up and lets Merlin feel how excited he is. "I order it," he adds.
So Merlin leans forward and grabs the still-warm candle, and then leans back to light it from its partner on the table on the other side of the bed. Carefully, shielding the flame with a cupped hand, he moves back so he is sitting comfortably astride Arthur, and between his legs he can feel how hard Arthur is, how desperately hard and warm and wanting, and the sensation makes something inside him burn.
All the urgency is gone, but instead there is an intensity, an importance -- the sense that something significant is happening. Unwilling to examine that feeling for the moment, Merlin tips the candle, gently, slowly.
Arthur gasps --
But the wax, still a little too thick and cool, stays where it is. Arthur’s body is tense and waiting, his eyes half-closed and heavy --
And a splash of hot wax drops onto his bare chest. He arches and hisses as it hits, bites his lip, screws his eyes up. His fingers are tight on Merlin’s hip and in the blankets. Around the hardening wax, Merlin notices, the skin is reddening, and this makes him feel oddly tender towards Arthur, so he sets the candle on the table again and bends his head to kiss the skin there, soothing it with a lick, and on a whim, blowing on it.
"Mmnnnnn!" is Arthur’s response, and his hips buck up, eager to find friction, but otherwise he is languid and sensual now. All the fight is gone out of him, Merlin thinks -- before he wanted to hurt and now he seems to want to lie back and let Merlin hurt him instead. Maybe that’s what he wants, every time he starts a fight; maybe all he ever wants is for someone to hurt him enough that he can stop, and then --
He trusts me, Merlin thinks, and this thought causes something inside him to clench like a fist. And while he doesn’t quite understand why Arthur wants this, he knows that it’s his job, his duty, his pleasure to give it.
Arthur is moaning for more, his hands fisted in the sheets.
Merlin grabs the candle again.