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One Midsummer Night	By : pip Category: > A Midsummer Night's Dream Views: 1570 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, based on A Midsummer Nights Dream by Shakespeare.

Chapter List
- 1-One Midsummer Night
- 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, their world, or "A Midsummer Night's Dream" in any way. They belong to Shakespeare, and no copyright infringement is meant. I make no money from this work of fiction. This is not a crossover.
Pairing: Oberon/Puck
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Frighteningly bad slash, BDSM
Content Tags : Anal BDSM Bi Bond COMPLETE D/s M/M M/s PWP

His body was still running even now, when he was caught in the middle of the forest. A light covering of clean sweat gleamed on his skin like oil, and the cool, sweet air was pulled in and out of warm lungs, misting slightly in the air before his lips.

“Delight me,” a voice whispered, deep and masculine, too close to his ear, and he twisted away from it, his eyes opening enough to register the way the vines had grown to encircle his wrists. He was held between two trees by nature herself. All were his slaves, after all. And he himself was experienced at delight – it wasn’t an impossible request.

In spite of that fact, his lithe rebellious limbs twitched and moved in their confinement, which only encouraged the strange plants to grip him more tightly.

“I do love you when you resist,” the voice murmured suggestively. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he continued to struggle – but it was only to hold back the laughter. That would be out of character for this game.

The lips that had been hovering close to his ear made contact with his skin now, slightly parted, brushing gently against the back of his earlobe because those lips knew exactly where to tease him. He sighed and fell still at last as warm hands encircled his waist, the fingertps moving over his ribs. This was never an unwelcome closeness.

“Mischievous sprite,” the voice murmured again, and he sighed as if in acknowledgement. The hands had moved. Instead of holding him tightly they roamed, and now the fingertips danced over his hip bones. “You played games this night on purpose, did you not?”

He hadn’t, but the simple expectation in the tone of the voice made him want to lie. He was good at lying.

“I did, Master.”

“Good.” It was either an observation or an accusation. He was unsure which, and after all perhaps it was both. What happened next would be a reward and a punishment. He writhed a little, impatient for it to begin, and the voice of his tormentor laughed.

“Hold still, Robin. You cannot escape me when I wish you to be a prisoner.”

“Then begin, Master,” he demanded suddenly, even though the way the hands had settled on the front of his thighs made him glad the vines held him, for the touch of those hands infused his body with a strange weakness, not unlike the drinking of spirits.

There was no answer and only a slight movement. His Master moved closer to him, close enough that as well as the teasing lips and sure hands, he felt the press of the body behind him, the soft robes Oberon wore that were as sheer and cool as flower petals. The King’s body was strong, muscle touched against his back, not the softness of a mistress. “Please,” he said then, forgetting to be defiant in the face of sudden desire and his Master relented, stepping back so suddenly that Robin moaned in regret at the loss of his touch.

The whip when it struck him for the first time was a living thing – the King had probably had the forest provide it. But as a living thing then it became his Master’s touch, so he did not have that to reproach him with.

It was not truly violent or truly damaging, but just cruel enough for the pleasure of it to be wrong in the eyes of the world. He bore it in silence with closed eyes, his hands twisting in their binding as he rubbed his fingertips against the bark of the trees he was held to.

“Tenderly,” he begged as the whip fell onto his unprotected skin over and over, just the certainty of each stroke enough to keep him tethered to his body and not lose himself in delerium.

But at last it did stop, and the King stepped up close to him again as though he were an offering, those same hands sliding up and down over his sides.

“You forget, Robin, that while you showed me this method of playing with you – I have been watching the mortals far longer than you have.” With that he sensed the King move and suddenly warm lips were brushing over the welts raised on his back. A tingling healing touch, and he almost wept.

“Harshly,” he begged then, and a soft laugh answered him, a warm puffing of breath over his exposed skin that made him shiver and jerk in awareness.

“What do you teach the faeries of seduction, Robin?”

“Seduction, Master?” he asked innocently, but in his head he remembered what he had done before, and he knew the King had to see it too. A sudden image of lust and wet, luscious pleasure. “But I was only instructing,” he began hesitantly, as a kind of excuse. The body behind him moved again, and he felt those hands on his buttocks and then the backs of his legs. A gentle outward motion passed the King’s wishes to the forest and soon he was spread out before his Master.

He didn’t realise Oberon was knelt behind him until he felt the first touch of the King’s lips on the back of one thigh. He gasped and tried to move forward, or move at all, secretly overjoyed to find he was completely at the King’s mercy.

“Are you going to make me beg?” he asked breathlessly, closing his eyes in pleasure as the caress of the lips continued over his sensitive areas, causing his blood to burn bright.

“Oh, I think not, Robin,” Oberon answered at last. “I don’t intend to free you. Not even to be on your knees before me.” There was silence then, filled with the sound of Oberon’s hands gliding across his legs, further upwards. Robin moaned when a tongue licked a line upwards over his spine, the early morning air settling on the cooling saliva so that he shivered in arousal.

“Touch me,” he whispered, his need a fiery thing now, the welts and the punishment forgotten. And they probably were gone, Robin thought, remembering the healing sensation.

“You are going to plead for that,” Oberon noted.

“Please!” he cried out, taking the words as an order.

“And for more.” The King carried on as though he hadn’t said anything.

“More,” Robin groaned in obedience as he felt a hand wrapped around his lengthened shaft. To his surprise the King laughed and stood up again behind him.

“Ah, I cannot seduce you! You are too easy!” Robin felt indignance flare to life within him.

“I can be difficult!” he insisted, pulling at the vines again.

“You are always difficult, Robin. Even when you are easy,” Oberon noted in amusement, the soft deep voice seeming to caress his ear again. Robin sighed but smiled with his eyes closed as Oberon teased and continued to caress his needy body.

The robes his Master wore were not there to cover nakedness. They just hung from his shoulders and so when Oberon pressed against him again, he felt the hot hardness against the small of his back, and his eyes narrowed in lust.

“Robin…” Oberon’s voice seemed strangely helpless now, and he pressed back against that hardness without mercy.

“I am yours,” he said quickly, the words seeming to have been implanted within him – but he could not stop himself speaking them. “I am your servant, to do with as you please.”

“So you are.” The darkness in Oberon’s voice was back, but with it was movement, and Robin whimpered as he felt the rod of flesh piercing his body, invading him mercilessly. It hurt, and he opened his eyes to the forest around them, almost unseeing as he gasped and instinctively tried to move away.

“You are mine, Robin,” Oberon reminded him, the voice now little more than a low growl of warning.

His eyes saw again, and he saw how the darkness of night retreated. The light was little, just a greying and a meagre return of colour but it was there. The mist that hovered over the ground would soon turn to dew, and then they would be gone. Only the little ones played in the sunlight. He and Oberon were night creatures, though he supposed Oberon could stay, if he wished it.

“Hurt me,” he said, again the words not really his own. “Punish me.” The mortals he had watched never quite played like this. Although sometimes they might dream of it, if he stood near them in sleep. As he intended, Oberon picked up on that thought and he began to move, thrusting and hurting until there were tears in Robin’s eyes.

But then a hand wrapped around him again, stroking him, and he moaned rebelliously.

“No!”

“Enjoy it,” came the command and he was helpless. Completely helpless. His blood would obey even if his mind wouldn’t, and he began to enjoy the pain and the taking, until he was simultaneously begging for more and for it to stop.

When he felt Oberon reach completion he assumed it was over and his body trembled in shock at the King’s use of it. The connection was lost when Oberon pulled away from him, yet still the hand moved over his hard flesh, stroking slowly, the fingers not tight enough to make him find the resolution he wanted.

“It is near daylight!” Robin gasped desperately, feeling himself become light and insubstantial as he spoke.

“Then you should come with me,” taunted the King, the hand moving even more lazily, to deny him.

“When I awaken, I shall have to seduce a faery or two,” he said, pouting a little because he knew he was to sleep without satisfaction. To his surprise Oberon laughed again.

“Good fellow,” he said, “I will need to punish you again afterwards.” And Robin laughed too as his form broke and scattered, the dissolution as inevitable as Oberon’s acceptance of him.

~ finis ~

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are welcome and encouraged. If you don't have time for that, then please rate by way of a little click there at the bottom of the page. Cheers! :)
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One Midsummer Night