With a sigh, Devon Aldridge settled onto the couch, flipping through the channels until he found the footie match on one of the local stations. “It’s so peaceful with the youngsters gone for the weekend,” he observed, propping his bare feet on the table and taking a sip of his beer. It was rare for them to have a full weekend with no filming, but their director, Niall Clifton, was using the time to work on final edits for the upcoming weeks’ episodes of the Camelot miniseries. “I miss Kit, but I don’t miss the Orkney brothers dropping in unannounced and staying until all hours of the morning.”
“Drinking all the beer and leaving popcorn kernels down the sofa cushions,” Jonathan Braedon agreed, swallowing a mouthful of his own brew before setting the bottle next to a flickering candle on the table and sliding down to rest his head in Devon’s lap. Kit Webster, the youngest member of their threesome, had gone to London the night before for a concert with the actors who portrayed Gareth, Gawain, Gaheris, and Agravaine. Jonathan still marveled at Kit choosing two lovers more than a dozen years his senior rather than someone closer to his own age, though so far as he knew, all the Orkney actors were straight. Of course, Jonathan himself had been straight—or at least, he’d never acted on his attraction toward men—before Kit and Devon seduced him. In any case, he wasn’t about to question his good fortune. Lifting the hem of Devon’s rugby shirt, he pressed a noisy kiss to the golden skin of his lover’s abdomen before shifting half on one hip, just enough to see the television screen. He sighed, his breath warm against Devon’s thigh. “Gonna be a long weekend without Kit, though.”
Devon smiled ruefully, waiting for Jonathan to settle before resting his hand on his lover’s shoulder. “We could have gone with them,” he offered again. “They wouldn’t have turned us down.”
“Oh, no,” Jonathan muttered. He shook his head, his stubbled cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of Devon’s track pants. “I have no desire to have my eardrums blown out by that shit the Orkneys call music. I’d rather hear your orders without you having to shout them,” he added with a grin up at his dominant lover.
Devon chuckled. “I wouldn’t be likely to be giving orders with the Orkneys around anyway. I don’t mind their knowing the three of us are together, but they don’t need to know what goes on in our bedrooms,” he countered, his cock starting to stir at Jonathan’s movements. “Careful there, or we won’t be watching much footie this evening.”
“I think I’m flattered.” Jonathan laughed, rubbing more deliberately over the growing bulge in Devon’s crotch. “More distracting than football? Of course it’s not Man U, or I’d never stand a chance.”
Devon flushed a little. “A man’s entitled to his vices,” he replied defensively.
“Oh, I’ve come to appreciate your vices,” Jonathan purred, twisting until he could mouth the hard column of flesh through the soft fabric. His own cock was thickening against the zipper of his jeans, but he resisted the urge to reach down and cup himself, channeling his arousal toward heightening Devon’s instead. At Devon’s hands, Jonathan had not only come to terms with his bisexuality but also discovered the pleasure of occasionally submitting to his more dominant lovers. “Very, very much.”
“Good to hear,” Devon choked out, his hips bucking up toward the moist heat that wafted through the cloth, “although you might change your mind if you knew just how rough I can get.” His fingers burrowed into Jonathan’s hair, keeping him in place.
“Mmmmn… you’ll have to show me,” Jonathan moaned on a shortened breath before sucking harder, feeling Devon twitch through the wet cloth. In Devon, he’d found a lover who shared his appreciation for a bit of rough play, though Kit’s aversion to intentional pain had limited how deeply they’d explored that aspect of their relationship. Jonathan had hopes that this weekend would change that. “After I make you come,” he added, biting down gently as his hands spread the Brit’s thighs wide to give him more room. He didn’t make a move to pull the fabric away, the idea of Devon’s cream soaking the already sodden cloth making him surprisingly hot. He worked his tongue along the length of the thick column, sucking hard on the way down, using his teeth again on the way back up, doing everything he could think of to drive the man beneath him crazy.
Devon bit back a curse at the sudden rough stimulation. His lovers regularly made him feel like a teenager again, with all of a teenager’s lack of self-control. He started to hold back automatically, but then he changed his mind. If he came now, it would give him that much more control later, when he pounded Jonathan’s fine ass into the mattress. Throwing his head back, he let his climax take him, his legs jerking as he came, one of them bumping the candle and splattering wax on the skin of his ankle.
“Oh fuck! Sorry!” Jonathan cried, righting the candle and grabbing Devon’s foot, trying to brush away the cooling wax. “Did it burn you?”
“Nothing to worry about,” Devon replied, an idea forming in his head. He reached for the remote and switched off the television. He didn’t want any distractions for what he had in mind. “Do you trust me?”
Jonathan paused from peeling the bits of hardened wax from Devon’s skin and looked up, caught by the tone of his lover’s voice. Ever since Robert (or “He Who Will Not Be Named,” as Kit called him—Jonathan had his own unutterable names for the bastard), they’d both done their best to rebuild Devon’s confidence as a Dom. This was the first time Jonathan had heard Devon speak with the same easy assurance he’d had before his twisted former Dom had returned to torment him, and it made Jon’s heart swell as much as it hardened his cock. Releasing Devon’s foot and sliding to his knees, he looked up at the blond with love and trust shining from his eyes. “You know I do,” he answered softly. “Always.”
Devon’s smile grew at Jonathan’s reply, at the expression on his face that radiated confidence in his Dom. “Get undressed,” he directed, moving everything that littered the tabletop: magazines, the week’s accumulated mail, Jonathan’s beer. “Lie down on the table,” he added, picking up the candle, thankful that even now, the candles he bought were always safe for play.
Arousal coursing through his veins, Jonathan pulled the T-shirt over his head, letting it drop to the floor before unzipping his jeans, uttering a sigh of relief when his cock sprang free to stand erect against his stomach. He quickly kicked away the denim and bowed his head to Devon in a gesture of respect before sitting on the end of the table.
It was such a simple gesture, that inclination of the head, but it had an instant effect on Devon’s libido, already revving hard from the blowjob Jonathan had just given him. “Lie back,” he urged, his hand going to Jonathan’s shoulder to support him on his way down.
Lifting his head to let Devon slide a small pillow from the couch beneath it, Jonathan took a deep breath and released it slowly, letting his muscles go limp as he exhaled. He shifted to align the pillow more comfortably under his neck and then stilled, looking up at his lover in quiet anticipation. He wasn’t sure what in the previous moments had piqued Devon’s excitement, but his nerves were already quivering beneath his calm demeanor.
Seeing Jonathan settled comfortably, Devon picked up the fat purple candle. “This will sting a little bit,” he warned, tipping the candle so a droplet of wax landed on Jonathan’s shoulder. He gave it a second to cool before lowering his head and tracing the edge of the wax with his tongue.
Jonathan wasn’t able to hold back the flinch when the first heated drop hit his skin. It burned a little, but the pain eased quickly, especially when Devon soothed the skin around the irregular purple blotch of wax. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing through the last of the discomfort before opening them again to find Devon’s emerald gaze watching him closely. So much love was imbued in that look that his chest tightened, and he had to blink back a sudden tingle of tears. Nodding his head minutely, he kept his eyes on Devon’s and tried to prepare himself for the next contact.
“A royal color for the King of the Britons,” Devon commented as he studied Jonathan’s face, feeling his chest swell with pride at how well Jonathan had taken the first experience. Seeing readiness there, he turned his attention to his lover’s torso, trying to decide where to let the next drop fall. Tilting his wrist, he drizzled a short line of wax across the top of Jonathan’s chest. Then, because the asymmetry offended him, he drew a matching line down the other side and then leaned back to examine the design.
“I always though Lancelot had the soul of an artist,” Jonathan commented softly once the sting of discomfort passed. He wasn’t sure if he was expected to keep quiet, but Devon hadn’t forbidden him to speak. The mood felt different today, more relaxed than their previous games, not as formal. He wasn’t sure if that was because it was just the two of them, or if Devon was going easy on him, or if this was one more aspect of breaking free from Robert’s influence, but Jonathan decided he liked it. Of course, he liked pretty much anything that involved Devon and bodily contact. “Never been a canvas before.”
“I told you I’d broaden your horizons,” Devon joked, his laughter shaking the candle and spattering drops of wax across Jonathan’s chest, one of them fairly sizable. He winced in sympathy. “Sorry, love,” he murmured, kissing the reddening skin around the thick blob.
“Mmnn,” Jonathan hummed, “’s okay.” He arched slightly, wishing he could reach up to pull Devon’s head back for another kiss, but some instinct told him that would be going too far. “Do that again?” he asked instead.
Surprised at the request, Devon acquiesced nonetheless, letting another large dollop of wax fall, this time onto Jonathan’s stomach. Instead of kissing that flat plane, he lowered his head and captured his lover’s lips, tongue slipping between them to plunder the hot cavern of Jonathan’s mouth. He’d known Jonathan would make a magnificent sub, and this was just proving him right. He wondered briefly just how far he could take his lover without Kit’s dislike of pain holding him back. Lifting his head again, he decided to find out. Aiming carefully, he let a small drop fall directly onto Jonathan’s nipple.
Catching his breath in a truncated hiss, Jonathan let the pain wash through him, blinking when it suddenly stopped feeling like pain, the heat spreading through his chest, through his veins. Endorphins, he thought, and then he blinked again and willed himself to stop thinking, waiting for the next drop to fall.
Leaning forward, Devon licked lightly at Jonathan’s other nipple, wetting it and blowing across it gently, bringing it to a tight peak, before letting a slightly larger drop land on the damp flesh. He couldn’t help appreciating the line of his lover’s body as his chest arched up slightly, then settled back onto the table.
Jonathan found himself anticipating where the next drop would fall, each sensation—the burn as the wax hit his skin, the tightness as it cooled and shrank, the slight tug when movement pulled on the hairs caught in the wax—adding to the fire in his blood. He could feel his cock stirring, thickening, and wondered how long it would be before Devon noticed it. Just the thought of the wax hitting that delicate flesh was enough to make the shaft twitch against his belly.
Pausing a moment to take in his creation, Devon smiled as he noticed the bobbing cock rising from its bed of wiry curls. He didn’t ask, not in words, but he let his hand hover above Jonathan’s groin for several moments, drawing his lover’s attention and giving him the opportunity to use his safeword before tipping the candle to send a small drop onto Jonathan’s erection. “Eager much?” he teased when Jonathan’s eyes shut and his hips jerked upwards.
“Shit, Devon,” Jonathan hissed, waiting until he had his breathing under control again before opening his eyes. He couldn’t resist glancing down to see the purple trail hardening on his reddened cock. “Fuck, that feels—” He shook his head, not finding words to describe the heady amalgam of pain and arousal. Taking a deep breath, he looked back at his lover. “More?”
“Stop me if it gets to be too much,” Devon instructed, adding to the wax already decorating Jonathan’s cock. When the drops became a solid line, he paused again, looking down to check how Jonathan was feeling. The American’s eyes were closed, his face tense with anticipation, but not clenched in pain. “Turn over,” he directed, wanting to decorate Jonathan’s ass the same way he’d done his cock.
It took Devon’s words a moment to filter through the haze of sensation Jonathan was drifting in. When he realized what his lover was asking, he hummed an acknowledgment, pushing onto one elbow before rolling on his hip and settling back on the table on his stomach, all without opening his eyes. The wax flexed and tugged at him as he moved, as if dozens of tiny fingers were teasing at his skin. A shiver ran through him, and he tried to find a position he could relax in, leaning on his forearms to leave enough space so his now fully hardened cock wasn’t crushed beneath him. In this position he couldn’t see what Devon was going to do next, and that added another dimension to the anticipation. His hips shifted restlessly, the head of his cock brushing the tabletop, its coating of wax muting the sensation. Jonathan moaned quietly, the muscles of his ass tightening as the heat in his blood grew to a throbbing pulse of need.
Devon ran his tongue swiftly up Jonathan’s crack, tasting sweat and Jonathan’s unique flavor. Using one hand to part the rounded cheeks slightly, he contemplated his next move.