Fic: Through Darkness and Through Light
Through Darkness and Through Light (402 words) by tricksterquinn
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Østenfor sol og vestenfor måne | East of the Sun and West of the Moon
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Tags: Established Relationship, Married Sex, Consensual Kink, Blindfolds
Summary: She can pull off the blindfold, if she chooses to, can gaze upon her husband whenever she wants, but it is good to remember a time when that wasn't so, when the darkness was all they had.
Written for Morbane for purimgifts. Thanks to my betas joyfulseeker and ? (actual username, not on lj). Thanks also to meletor_et_al, Ayla, rosa_acicularis, and artaxastra.
Read in three pieces at the AO3 or beneath the cut in one chunk (and without images):
In the dark, everything feels so much more.
When she can see, it drowns out her other senses. Her skin is not so sensitive, her breathing not so loud. The pounding of her pulse in her wrists, in her throat, between her legs is not so fierce.
In the dark, anything can happen. Anyone could be in the room with her, could touch her at any time. There would be no warning. She shivers at the very thought.
It is not cold here in her bedchamber, not at all, but her skin prickles nonetheless. Soon, he will come to her. Perhaps he is already there.
She pulls the blanket closer to her chin, trying to ignore the way that just thinking of him makes her want to squirm, to… see.
She can, of course. She can pull off the blindfold, if she chooses to, can gaze upon her husband whenever she wants, but it is good to remember a time when that wasn't so, when the darkness was all they had. She leaves the cloth tied tight over her eyes.
She wonders when he will get there. She cannot hear anything above her own breathing, the thudding of her pulse.
"You are so beautiful."
When he does speak, she startles. She had expected somehow that she would know when he entered the room, but she has no idea how long he been there, only that he is far closer than she expected. It sounds as if he is standing right beside their bed, and she has the sudden, ridiculous urge to cover herself. Instead, she giggles, and turns her face toward where she thinks he is.
"There you are." She can hear the pleasure in her own voice.
The mattress dips beneath her as he sits beside her. She smiles in welcome.
"Here I am," he says, and leans in to kiss her. She kisses back, deep and wet and wild, putting all of the anticipation she has felt waiting for him into it. She grabs his shoulder to steady herself, pulling herself almost into his lap. She wants to feel him pressed against her so badly.
"No, let me," he says firmly and lifts her hands away from him, pressing her gently back into the bed.
"But I-" she begins, but he interrupts her.
"Please."
She swallows, and wets her lips, and nods. Of course she nods. He asked so nicely.
He makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat and sits back for a moment. Her fingers twitch and she twists them into the bedsheets to avoid reaching for him again. Then he is back, nuzzling behind her ear and kisses his way down her throat. She sighs and groans and lets her head fall to the side to give him better access.
He lingers over her collarbone before working his way further down her body to nuzzle her breasts. He kisses a nipple, licking until it is hard and peaked in the air, then continues down her body. He smooths a hand down her flank, over the curve of her soft belly.
He traces over her thigh with strong hands, kneading tight muscles until she moans and relaxes under his care. His hands upon her feel huge and so hot they should burn. Surely, she had thought when first she met him, they cannot be the hands of a man, not just a man. Surely he must be… something else. Now she know better, knows that it is just a trick of the darkness and her own lust, that now he is as human as she is, and she gives herself over to the sensation. He spends some time at this, until she has gone pliant as jelly beneath his ministrations.
His hand leaves her thigh for a moment and she sighs, reaching for him again (or at least where she thinks he is).
She is taken completely by surprise by the sudden white-hot pain that rains down over her belly and yelps in shock, flinching back into the mattress. It is as if he took all her awareness, already so focused on feeling and hearing, and narrowed it to a strip of skin running below one breast and across to the opposite hip.
"How do you like it?" he taunts her, laughing. "Having hot wax spilled over you by surprise?"
She breathes a hiss through her teeth, momentarily at a complete loss for words.
"Well," she says very carefully, once the pain is no longer bright sparks in her vision, "I can certainly see why it woke you."
He laughs again, smoothing a hand over her abused skin and brushing some of the wax away, and she gasps again, shifting uncontrollably under his hand. Her hips strain toward him and he traces over her thigh and grips beneath it, opening her legs still further. She squirms again, not knowing if she's moving toward him or away, and he leans forward and breathes over the marks left by the wax. Her hips buck, and this time it is definitely toward him.
He catches her hips smoothly, presses her back to the bed, his smile clear in his voice. "Where do you think you're going?"
She hooks a heel around his back (successfully, to her delight) and tries to reel him in closer. "Nowhere, if only you'll *come here*."
But of course he doesn't give an inch, merely shifts his thumbs along the crease of her thigh until they rest against her lips. She twitches helplessly. He leans in and presses a kiss to her hip, dipping the tip of one thumb into her crease and running it up to flick over her nub. She makes a strangled sound.
"Mmm," and she can feel his breath across the hairs that cover her mound. "If I didn't know better I might almost think you liked that."
Whatever she was going to retort is lost as he uses his thumbs to part her lips completely, holding her entirely open to the cool air and, she knows, to his sight. She can feel how wet she is, how desperately slick and swollen, and she knows he can see how badly she wants him. She makes a tiny, breathless sound.
He blows air across her spread lips, and she clips his shoulder with her heel as she flails. Instantly he is pressing her hips down again, knees between her knees to hold her in place.
"Keep that up," he growls, "and I will be forced to restrain you."
She freezes, heart pounding in her throat. She doesn't think he will, knows he knows how much she likes that but doesn't think that's where this is going tonight. Still, there's always the chance, and the idea scares her almost as much as it thrills her. To be even more completely at his mercy…
After a moment, he relaxes, returns one hand to parting her lips and sliding a fingertip teasingly around -- but not inside -- her entrance. The other hand, however, lingers at her hip.
"Mmm, that's so--" she cuts off, words and breathing both ceasing for a moment as he leans down and bites her nipple. Her hands fly to his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as she squirms helplessly, held in place by his hand and trying desperately to get friction just a little beyond where his fingers are. He does not oblige.
"Please," she manages, choked.
He lifts his head from sucking contemplatively on her breast. "Oh, I'm sorry," he murmurs. "Was there something you wanted?"
She tries to scowl but is certain the effect is utterly ruined by how debauched she must look - eyes covered by cloth, face flushed bright red, hair sticking to her damp forehead. (She can imagine it very clearly; though today they have chosen to revisit darkness, at least for her, on other occasions he has taken her before a mirror, so she could see precisely what she looks like when she gets to this point. Oh yes, she knows.)
"You know very precisely what I want," she shoots back primly (or as primly as she can manage), and slides her hand down his neck and over his chest, intending to take him as thoroughly in hand as he has her. Instead, the hand that has been on her hip gently but firmly collects each of hers in turn, pressing them back to the mattress.
He clucks his tongue, gently chiding. "You know better than that, my dear." As if she has ever been very good at following directions.
He doesn't return his hand to her hip, and she wonders if perhaps he has taken himself in hand, is even know stroking himself slowly as he surveys the wreck he has made of her. The vision makes her shiver and twitch, trying to rub herself against his fingers, but she is too slick for them to have any purchase. She whines in frustration.
And no, he must have been getting the candle instead, for he is spilling more wax over her and she KEENS, her whole body surging forward. It sends colored sparkles dancing across her darkened vision. She twists and shakes, a roaring in her ears. Her entire body is thrumming, a deep ache centered in the spots of fire on her torso and between her legs. Her hands clench desperately in the bedsheets and she realizes she has bitten her lip raw.
He chuckles once again. "Oh, so you do like that?"
"Yes," she pants, breathing like she has been running. "It's so-- so much."
"Good," he rumbles, and then he is diving between her legs, fingers pressing (finally, finally) inside her and lips and tongue finding her nub and she closes her eyes beneath the blindfold and comes and comes until bright spots speckle her vision. (Something inside of her thinks, irrelevantly, that she's sure there's a word for those lights. She heard it once, but she can't remember it now.)
"Now," he says, and his voice is dark and terrible and wonderful, like claws and fur and wild things, "let's do that again." And he bends his head between her legs once more.
***
By the time he finally pushes inside of her, she is wrung out entirely. She feels limp, and merely wraps herself around him, arms twining around his neck. He arranges her where he would like her, strong arms pulling her even closer. She presses her face against his throat and only then remembers the blindfold, which she clumsily pushes off one-handed, wincing at the brightness of candlelight after so long in darkness. He stops moving and shifts to help, smoothing her hair back and kissing her eyelids. She makes a tiny noise and nuzzles back into him, shielding her eyes, and he leans sideways across the bed to blow out the candle.
They are cast into darkness, but this darkness is different. Where the blindfold was absolute, here there is still some light pouring into the room from the moon, far away on the horizon. The darkness of the blindfold was isolating, while this darkness is intimate. It wraps around them like the blanket he tugs up over her shoulders, like his arms wrap around her shoulders and her legs around his hips, as he sinks into her over and over and she lets herself just float, awash in sensation that sparks aftershock after aftershock, safe and content in his arms.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Østenfor sol og vestenfor måne | East of the Sun and West of the Moon
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Tags: Established Relationship, Married Sex, Consensual Kink, Blindfolds
Summary: She can pull off the blindfold, if she chooses to, can gaze upon her husband whenever she wants, but it is good to remember a time when that wasn't so, when the darkness was all they had.
Written for Morbane for purimgifts. Thanks to my betas joyfulseeker and ? (actual username, not on lj). Thanks also to meletor_et_al, Ayla, rosa_acicularis, and artaxastra.
Read in three pieces at the AO3 or beneath the cut in one chunk (and without images):
In the dark, everything feels so much more.
When she can see, it drowns out her other senses. Her skin is not so sensitive, her breathing not so loud. The pounding of her pulse in her wrists, in her throat, between her legs is not so fierce.
In the dark, anything can happen. Anyone could be in the room with her, could touch her at any time. There would be no warning. She shivers at the very thought.
It is not cold here in her bedchamber, not at all, but her skin prickles nonetheless. Soon, he will come to her. Perhaps he is already there.
She pulls the blanket closer to her chin, trying to ignore the way that just thinking of him makes her want to squirm, to… see.
She can, of course. She can pull off the blindfold, if she chooses to, can gaze upon her husband whenever she wants, but it is good to remember a time when that wasn't so, when the darkness was all they had. She leaves the cloth tied tight over her eyes.
She wonders when he will get there. She cannot hear anything above her own breathing, the thudding of her pulse.
"You are so beautiful."
When he does speak, she startles. She had expected somehow that she would know when he entered the room, but she has no idea how long he been there, only that he is far closer than she expected. It sounds as if he is standing right beside their bed, and she has the sudden, ridiculous urge to cover herself. Instead, she giggles, and turns her face toward where she thinks he is.
"There you are." She can hear the pleasure in her own voice.
The mattress dips beneath her as he sits beside her. She smiles in welcome.
"Here I am," he says, and leans in to kiss her. She kisses back, deep and wet and wild, putting all of the anticipation she has felt waiting for him into it. She grabs his shoulder to steady herself, pulling herself almost into his lap. She wants to feel him pressed against her so badly.
"No, let me," he says firmly and lifts her hands away from him, pressing her gently back into the bed.
"But I-" she begins, but he interrupts her.
"Please."
She swallows, and wets her lips, and nods. Of course she nods. He asked so nicely.
He makes a satisfied noise deep in his throat and sits back for a moment. Her fingers twitch and she twists them into the bedsheets to avoid reaching for him again. Then he is back, nuzzling behind her ear and kisses his way down her throat. She sighs and groans and lets her head fall to the side to give him better access.
He lingers over her collarbone before working his way further down her body to nuzzle her breasts. He kisses a nipple, licking until it is hard and peaked in the air, then continues down her body. He smooths a hand down her flank, over the curve of her soft belly.
He traces over her thigh with strong hands, kneading tight muscles until she moans and relaxes under his care. His hands upon her feel huge and so hot they should burn. Surely, she had thought when first she met him, they cannot be the hands of a man, not just a man. Surely he must be… something else. Now she know better, knows that it is just a trick of the darkness and her own lust, that now he is as human as she is, and she gives herself over to the sensation. He spends some time at this, until she has gone pliant as jelly beneath his ministrations.
His hand leaves her thigh for a moment and she sighs, reaching for him again (or at least where she thinks he is).
She is taken completely by surprise by the sudden white-hot pain that rains down over her belly and yelps in shock, flinching back into the mattress. It is as if he took all her awareness, already so focused on feeling and hearing, and narrowed it to a strip of skin running below one breast and across to the opposite hip.
"How do you like it?" he taunts her, laughing. "Having hot wax spilled over you by surprise?"
She breathes a hiss through her teeth, momentarily at a complete loss for words.
"Well," she says very carefully, once the pain is no longer bright sparks in her vision, "I can certainly see why it woke you."
He laughs again, smoothing a hand over her abused skin and brushing some of the wax away, and she gasps again, shifting uncontrollably under his hand. Her hips strain toward him and he traces over her thigh and grips beneath it, opening her legs still further. She squirms again, not knowing if she's moving toward him or away, and he leans forward and breathes over the marks left by the wax. Her hips buck, and this time it is definitely toward him.
He catches her hips smoothly, presses her back to the bed, his smile clear in his voice. "Where do you think you're going?"
She hooks a heel around his back (successfully, to her delight) and tries to reel him in closer. "Nowhere, if only you'll *come here*."
But of course he doesn't give an inch, merely shifts his thumbs along the crease of her thigh until they rest against her lips. She twitches helplessly. He leans in and presses a kiss to her hip, dipping the tip of one thumb into her crease and running it up to flick over her nub. She makes a strangled sound.
"Mmm," and she can feel his breath across the hairs that cover her mound. "If I didn't know better I might almost think you liked that."
Whatever she was going to retort is lost as he uses his thumbs to part her lips completely, holding her entirely open to the cool air and, she knows, to his sight. She can feel how wet she is, how desperately slick and swollen, and she knows he can see how badly she wants him. She makes a tiny, breathless sound.
He blows air across her spread lips, and she clips his shoulder with her heel as she flails. Instantly he is pressing her hips down again, knees between her knees to hold her in place.
"Keep that up," he growls, "and I will be forced to restrain you."
She freezes, heart pounding in her throat. She doesn't think he will, knows he knows how much she likes that but doesn't think that's where this is going tonight. Still, there's always the chance, and the idea scares her almost as much as it thrills her. To be even more completely at his mercy…
After a moment, he relaxes, returns one hand to parting her lips and sliding a fingertip teasingly around -- but not inside -- her entrance. The other hand, however, lingers at her hip.
"Mmm, that's so--" she cuts off, words and breathing both ceasing for a moment as he leans down and bites her nipple. Her hands fly to his head, fingers burying themselves in his hair as she squirms helplessly, held in place by his hand and trying desperately to get friction just a little beyond where his fingers are. He does not oblige.
"Please," she manages, choked.
He lifts his head from sucking contemplatively on her breast. "Oh, I'm sorry," he murmurs. "Was there something you wanted?"
She tries to scowl but is certain the effect is utterly ruined by how debauched she must look - eyes covered by cloth, face flushed bright red, hair sticking to her damp forehead. (She can imagine it very clearly; though today they have chosen to revisit darkness, at least for her, on other occasions he has taken her before a mirror, so she could see precisely what she looks like when she gets to this point. Oh yes, she knows.)
"You know very precisely what I want," she shoots back primly (or as primly as she can manage), and slides her hand down his neck and over his chest, intending to take him as thoroughly in hand as he has her. Instead, the hand that has been on her hip gently but firmly collects each of hers in turn, pressing them back to the mattress.
He clucks his tongue, gently chiding. "You know better than that, my dear." As if she has ever been very good at following directions.
He doesn't return his hand to her hip, and she wonders if perhaps he has taken himself in hand, is even know stroking himself slowly as he surveys the wreck he has made of her. The vision makes her shiver and twitch, trying to rub herself against his fingers, but she is too slick for them to have any purchase. She whines in frustration.
And no, he must have been getting the candle instead, for he is spilling more wax over her and she KEENS, her whole body surging forward. It sends colored sparkles dancing across her darkened vision. She twists and shakes, a roaring in her ears. Her entire body is thrumming, a deep ache centered in the spots of fire on her torso and between her legs. Her hands clench desperately in the bedsheets and she realizes she has bitten her lip raw.
He chuckles once again. "Oh, so you do like that?"
"Yes," she pants, breathing like she has been running. "It's so-- so much."
"Good," he rumbles, and then he is diving between her legs, fingers pressing (finally, finally) inside her and lips and tongue finding her nub and she closes her eyes beneath the blindfold and comes and comes until bright spots speckle her vision. (Something inside of her thinks, irrelevantly, that she's sure there's a word for those lights. She heard it once, but she can't remember it now.)
"Now," he says, and his voice is dark and terrible and wonderful, like claws and fur and wild things, "let's do that again." And he bends his head between her legs once more.
***
By the time he finally pushes inside of her, she is wrung out entirely. She feels limp, and merely wraps herself around him, arms twining around his neck. He arranges her where he would like her, strong arms pulling her even closer. She presses her face against his throat and only then remembers the blindfold, which she clumsily pushes off one-handed, wincing at the brightness of candlelight after so long in darkness. He stops moving and shifts to help, smoothing her hair back and kissing her eyelids. She makes a tiny noise and nuzzles back into him, shielding her eyes, and he leans sideways across the bed to blow out the candle.
They are cast into darkness, but this darkness is different. Where the blindfold was absolute, here there is still some light pouring into the room from the moon, far away on the horizon. The darkness of the blindfold was isolating, while this darkness is intimate. It wraps around them like the blanket he tugs up over her shoulders, like his arms wrap around her shoulders and her legs around his hips, as he sinks into her over and over and she lets herself just float, awash in sensation that sparks aftershock after aftershock, safe and content in his arms.