Epilogue

Epilogue

Scotland

“You sure you’re ready for this?” asked Clint, stroking Scotland’s back for what felt like the hundredth time. His palm was hot and sweaty, sliding against Scotland’s own perspiration. It felt smoother than it usually did after a round of waxing the day before. Clint hadn’t wanted any body hair to interfere.

“I’m not worried,” said Scotland, trying to portray every bit of calm when his heart was pounding. He shifted on the table, the padding sticking to his naked skin. He’d taken everything off from his clothes to his boxers until he was completely exposed.

Not that there was anyone to see him but Clint. After months of planning and working on the kinks of their relationship together, Clint had finally brought up the scene that both of them had been longing for.

One of the shower heads in the wet room dripped, echoing along with his breath. They’d decided it was the safest route. Not only had Clint grabbed close to a dozen fire extinguishers, but he’d moved the table until it was directly beneath one of the shower heads. Those, along with the fire blanket, and everything was as safe as it possibly could be.

The waft of alcohol hit his nose a moment before he heard the flick of a lighter and the gentle roar of an ignited flame. The heat hit him an instant later, flaring against his ass before Clint’s hand skimmed over his skin.

It didn’t sting, or even hurt, but was more like a whisper of warmth as if he’d stuck his sunburned arm into the daylight. Clint soothed him with his hand, his palm so much warmer than it had been.

“That was just a little taste,” said Clint, his voice thick and low. Scotland turned his head, trying to catch Clint’s expression. It was almost as blissed out as his own, the fire dancing on the tip of the wand-like tool he had in his hand.

As he watched, Clint rubbed the fire quickly over his palm, bringing his hand to Scotland’s skin as blue fire clung to it.

The heat was sizzling this time and surely would have singed his hair if he hadn’t already waxed. The smell of alcohol clung to the air, tickling his nose as Clint did the same thing again in a fresh spot that hadn’t been ignited by the flames.

He squirmed, trying to get used to a feeling that he wasn’t quite sure of. It wasn’t a tickle, but it wasn’t exactly a burn, either. He shuffled up on his elbows, trying to spot where Clint had last touched him. It was tinged pink like a sunburn and tingled harshly.

“Keep still,” said Clint, dropping the tool into a bucket of water so the fire hissed out of existence. Placing a hand on Scotland’s shoulder, he eased him back down to the table to lie flat. “You ready for more?”

Scotland nodded, swallowing as Clint grabbed the next wand before igniting the soaked end. The fire was on Scotland in seconds. Clint scraped the wand along his skin, the fire lingering for less than a second before Clint moved his hand to the same spot, extinguishing it with a touch.

He couldn’t help but squirm again, nudging his cock into the table and relishing in the ache. Clint’s hands were steady on his skin, never flinching or faltering, despite the fire that was literally at his fingertips.

“You look so fucking good,” said Clint, extinguishing the second fire wand before reaching for a third. “How are you feeling?”

Scotland let out a low groan. He’d been anticipating this scene for weeks, but his imagination hadn’t held up to the real thing. He’d expected burning, and maybe something unpleasant, but this was more like a tease. It wasn’t enough—merely a threat that could’ve been so much more.

“I like it.” Scotland let out a shuddering breath. That was such a fucking understatement. “I’m really hard.”

Clint chuckled, probably smiling wide as he lit the third wand, flicking it against Scotland’s skin. He felt the fresh alcohol splash in a few places, the flame testing the edge of his tolerance as his nerves were tortured. Clint extinguished it all with his touch before dragging his nails over the same spot, scratching into Scotland’s oversensitive skin.

“Here’s my little surprise.”

He caught the clink of ice against glass a moment before a shock danced over his skin. It was like touching something metal in the middle of winter, the cold sinking straight into him in one wild second.

He’d never quite played with temperature like this before. He’d once set a knitting needle in the freezer and had drawn it over someone’s skin once it was cooled. They had been blindfolded, and they’d swore to him that they had felt a blade slice into them.

But this was something else entirely.

“Oh, God.” Scotland shivered as the cold dragged from one shoulder to his other, before striking the same spot where the flame had been mere moments before. It was so much colder than a simple ice cube should have been, the melting liquid dripping over his skin to the table below.

“Look at that,” Clint mused, touching Scotland’s cheek until he turned, blinking at his Dom and lover. Clint held the ice cube where he could see it, rolling it between his fingertips. “You’re melting it so quick. You’re so fucking hot.”

Clint’s eyes were dark—darker than Scotland had ever seen them. He was lost in the scene just as much as Scotland was, but from his steady hands and the way he carefully rolled the ice over him made every bit of Scotland’s worry relax.

He didn’t have to worry—not really. Clint was the local king of kink, and Scotland had discovered very honestly that he deserved every bit of that title. When Clint was in his Dom space, they did scenes that Scotland never could have imagined on his own. And Clint seemed to know his limits down to the exact breath.

Scotland pushed his ass out, trying to reposition his cock so it wouldn’t hurt quite so bad. The water was tricking his senses, making the echo of fire burn hotter than it had before. The fire hadn’t been on his skin nearly long enough to cause any real damage, but it certainly didn’t feel that way.

“There’s my needy boy—my little pain whore.” Clint slapped his ass with his empty hand before sliding what was left of the ice cube between his cheeks, pressing it inside. “Here you go, baby—something to fill that hungry hole of yours.”

“Fuck.” Scotland gripped the table, arching his back as the cold went from unbearable to perfect in an instant.

Clint wiped a cloth against his skin, cleaning the rest of the water that hadn’t dried or fallen to the table below him. He was so meticulous, with steady hands that could pin him or make him come in an instant.

When the fire touched him again, Scotland almost screamed. It fucking hurt, even if it was only a trick of his nerves. With how quickly Clint put it out, it had no chance to truly burn him.

His throat was hoarse as he gasped, his breath catching in his throat as Clint wiped the flames against him with his palm. So hot. He trembled, caught between the battling sensations of his body.

“Here, honey, this will keep you cool.” Clint pressed another ice cube inside him, then another, going until they clacked together, shifting over his prostate and chilling him from the inside. It was so cold—too cold, as the fire was washing over his ass, Clint’s hands like a molten inferno that soothed and beat him perfectly.

“I can’t.” Scotland shook, pressing his forehead into the table as he arched his back. “Please, I’m going to come.” His cock was throbbing and leaking on the table, probably making a terrible mess that Clint would have to clean later. He’d never been so caught, so fucked out in a scene that didn’t involve a gangbang.

“You can come. Here.” Clint reached between Scotland’s legs, touching his cock. Scotland cried out, half-expecting to feel fire on his most sensitive skin, but it was just Clint, his callused hand rough with the perfect amount of pressure. “You’re so hard. You like it, don’t you? You like it when I light you up like this? Did you need more ice, baby?”

“Fuck no.” Scotland bit his lip, whimpering as Clint tightened his grip. “The next thing in my ass better be your cock.”

Clint chuckled, flicking the lighter and bringing bliss and agony back to Scotland’s flesh.

He wasn’t sure how long it went on. Each time he thought he’d finally caught up to the sensations, Clint would press another ice cube inside him or bring another flaming wand to his skin. How many does he have? They had to have gone through more than a dozen, the burn like a low simmer that never ceased.

Clint’s breathing was as heavy as his own, the distant dripping of water long since lost to the pure overwhelming awareness that had wrapped itself around his world. He wasn’t sure if he’d come or not, but he was floating somewhere far, far away, where fire and ice were absolute bliss.

“You okay, baby?”

Clint’s voice was steadiness through the fog, but Scotland had no desire to answer. He never wanted to leave this moment. Even if he wasn’t sure if he were on the table anymore or not. He had a distant thought of Clint walking him back to their bed, but it had to have been a dream. The sheets against his skin and Clint’s kisses on his body didn’t feel real.

Clint sliding his cock home was the first thing that broke through the fog. Scotland cried out, grabbing for Clint’s ass, bringing him closer and forcing him all the way inside. The ice had long since melted, but he hoped he was still cold, torturing Clint’s cock in the same way he’d been teased.

“Fuck, baby.” Clint’s lips were on his, the cool sheets of their bed soothing the warmth of his back. It was so fucking good—so sweet, and soft. He’d never thought he would ever see this softness from Clint.

“Use me, Daddy. Come inside me,” Scotland begged, digging his nails into Clint’s ass until he hissed, slamming his cock as deep as he could go.

Even if he hadn’t come before, Scotland felt himself shoot the moment Clint did. He could feel him, his cum a contrast to the coolness of the ice. It was molten, filling him deep until he was sure he would never descend from his high. His own body clamped down during his release, begging Clint to go faster, longer—as long as he could.

“Fuck,” Clint whispered against his neck. “You okay, Scotland?”

He couldn’t feel most of his limbs, his back was on fire and he was pretty sure he was leaking cum-laced ice water all over their sheets. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so green.”

Clint chuckled, kissing the top of his head before curling around him. He liked to snuggle, something that Scotland absolutely loved.

“You okay? With the fire, I mean?” asked Scotland, a tendril of worry creeping in. They’d been working on Clint’s anxiety about fire for months, but that was a whole different ballgame to the scene.

“I was scared at first,” said Clint, rubbing his face into Scotland’s chest. “When I lit the first one, I thought I was going to have a heart attack—until I touched you with it. I remembered what it was like to have control over something that is completely uncontrollable—both you and the fire. I feel fucking invincible right now.”

“Me, too,” said Scotland, brushing his lips over Clint’s head and humming at the smell of his own shampoo. “Did you set the alarm? I have to be back to feed the boys in the morning.”

Clint grunted before nodding. “I figured I could go with you. Maddy offered to look after things for a few days when I told him about our scene. I could help with chores and stuff.”

Scotland hummed under his breath. “That sounds fucking perfect, love.”