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 as 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 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.

Chapter Two

Having spent the previous day and evening in London, Kit had found himself facing the prospect of going clubbing with the Orkneys for the rest of the weekend. Given that the other alternative was coming home to his lovers, it hadn't been much of a choice. He walked into Devon's house through the back door, dropping his bag in the kitchen and going in search of the two older men. He reached the threshold of the living room and froze, arrested by the sight of Jonathan spread out on the table, Devon leaning over him, candle in hand.

Desire swamped him as he took in the scene, Jonathan's wiry body completely bare and open to anything Devon wanted, Devon still clothed casually, suggesting they had not planned this, but rather that it had developed spontaneously. As always when Jonathan was subbing, Kit was torn between the desire to be in his place, his pleasure totally dependent on Devon's whim, and the desire to be in Devon's place, with complete mastery over Jonathan. They were so perfectly matched, his two lovers, in age, in life experience, in size. Sometimes he wondered what they saw in a kid like him. It was subtle, the way they treated him differently, as if he was fragile. He thought they'd figured out that his scoliosis didn't slow him down anymore, that if anything, it had made him stronger than he looked, but maybe not. Kit stepped back into the kitchen so he could watch without being seen, wanting to know how the scene would play out without him. He wanted to see them together without him there, to know if the differences were all in his imagination.

Jonathan drew another of the deep, regular breaths that helped him keep from squirming in impatience. Trust Devon, he told himself, repeating the words with each inhalation, releasing tension with each exhalation, the mantra and the breathing settling him, freeing him from the constant noise of thoughts in his head and letting him simply be in the moment, simply feel. His skin prickled with awareness, as if unseen eyes were watching him. Admiring him. Hoping Devon was enjoying the picture he presented, he let the pride go too, offering everything he was to Devon in silent acquiescence to his lover's desires.

Devon could practically see the stages Jonathan passed through as he settled into his headspace, and he flushed with pride again that this magnificent man trusted him enough to submit to him. Tracing a finger down the curve of Jonathan's spine, he noted the involuntary tightening and flex of his ass muscles. "So responsive," he murmured, dipping a fingertip into the liquid wax pooled around the candlewick and on a whim tracing a small heart on one firm cheek. "So beautiful."

Kit shivered as he watched them, both from the idea of the hot wax striking tender skin and from the tenderness in the gesture and Devon's voice. Then Devon's hand lifted and tilted, and a bit of wax splattered across Jonathan's ass. Jonathan's hips rose in response, his breath catching. Kit couldn't stop the reflexive wince even as Jonathan moaned, clearly asking for more. Despite his immediate reaction, though, Kit's cock swelled as he watched. He could certainly see the allure from Devon's point of view, though he couldn't quite imagine it from Jonathan's.

Frowning as the next splash of wax trickled down the crease between Jonathan's cheeks, Devon set the candle on the side table. He'd been careful to hold the flame high enough that the wax had time to cool slightly before hitting Jonathan's skin, but he wouldn't take the chance of an accidental spill burning tender flesh. Jonathan's head turned, either at the sound or the loss of Devon's attentions, and Devon took a moment to reassure him.

"I'm still here, Jon," Devon said, the finger he slid up the shadowed cleft tantalizing even as it confirmed the spill hadn't hurt more than it was meant to. "Going to get something from the toy box--I'll be right back."

Jonathan swallowed a moan at the erotic possibilities of Devon's statement. He thought he'd kept still enough that he didn't need to be restrained, and positioned as he was, a blindfold would serve little purpose. His nerves still quivering at Devon's brief caress, he clenched his muscles against the pinch of the cooling wax. His body ached for Devon to fill him, to claim him, but he'd learned enough of his lover's temperament to sense it was too soon for that. Maybe a plug, he thought hopefully--even that stretch would be welcome, as hot as he was already from this new game they were playing.

Kit held his breath as he waited to see what Devon would bring back downstairs from the wooden chest, all the while cataloguing the care the other man was clearly taking to make sure Jonathan wasn't hurt. He reminded himself again that Devon had promised to take care of them when they played these games. His self-protective instincts still warred with that trust, though, when Devon chose painful ways to push their limits.

Kit wondered what Devon was looking for. He couldn't tell if Jonathan was wearing his cock ring, but putting it on now would surely be painful. The nipple clamps weren't really an option, either--they'd bite into the wood of the table rather than hanging loose to tantalize the sensitive points. Kit's mind raced, cataloguing the other items he'd seen on the few occasions when he'd glanced inside the toy box, but he hadn't even considered the small paintbrush Devon returned with. He could feel a frown creasing his forehead as he wondered what the other man intended to do.

Jonathan's anticipation flared when Devon's hands returned to spread his cheeks, and he willed himself to relax his guardian muscle. Instead of the blunt silicon head of a plug or the cool glide of lube, though, he felt the faintest, gentlest tickle, too soft even to be Devon's fingertip. The surprised muscle trembled, and he fought not to whimper in disappointment.

"You like that?" Devon's voice was smoky with lust and a trace of underlying humor.

"What--what is it?" Jonathan asked, his own voice cracking at a repeat of the teasing caress.

"Paintbrush," Devon murmured, trailing the bristles up the vertebrae of his lover's spine. "Your calling Lancelot an artist made me think of it. This will give me more control over how I decorate you."

Jonathan was more than willing to give Devon complete control, but it was hard to find his voice as he sank deeper into the space where the only thing that mattered was pleasing his lover. He hummed his agreement, following Devon's movements through touch alone as his eyelids fell closed again.

Dipping the tip of the brush in the melted well of the candle, Devon tested the temperature on his inner wrist. Satisfied it wasn't hot enough to cause undue pain, he loaded the bristles with more wax and drizzled a path across the plane of Jonathan's back. The trail reached a fading yellowed bruise on Jonathan's hip, bringing a frown to Devon's face. "Don't like having marks on your body I didn't put there," he murmured, covering the contusion with darker purple wax. "Even if you did look absolutely fuckable the day Bob gave it to you."

Kit stifled a moan. He was pretty sure he knew exactly the day Devon was talking about. The two of them had arrived at Jonathan's trailer after a day of filming, expecting to find their King Arthur ready to head home with them. Instead they'd found him outside, shirtless and covered in sweat, his torn jeans hugging tightly to the curves of his lower body as he practiced a new sword routine with the weapons master. They'd waited and watched for over an hour as Jonathan worked to memorize the intricate choreography of the battle. And when he was done and they finally got him home, their usually laid-back lover was as ferocious as Kit had ever seen him, taking control of their lovemaking as he rarely did, leaving Kit and Devon both in a panting heap when they were done. Kit shivered at the thought, wondering what it would take to provoke that side of Jonathan again. It was definitely an experience he'd be willing to repeat!