A/N: This has been in my head since I saw the room! The candles are perfect for him!!
Summary: Dream has his way with you in his dining room ;)
CW/TW: 18+, sexual content, wax play, cunnilingus
Words: 2980
A03 Masterlist
The rooms seemed truly endless as you walk around the castle. The doors opening without a touch, allowing you entry to nearly all of them. Those that didn't open, you didn’t push. After all, the Dreaming knew better than you what to show to you and when. Lest you get overwhelmed or come across something dangerous.
This room was shut off behind a dark blue portière. It calls to you for some unknown reason. You find yourself moving towards it, fingers brushing the silky material as it blows softly against a non-existent breeze.
You have no idea what lies beyond this fabric. What room would you stumble upon this time? You hold your breath slightly, anticipation never wavering despite having entered many rooms now. Gently you walk forwards, letting your hand move the fabric in front of you so it doesn't hit your face. The light fabric moving with ease.
Your eyes struggle to adjust, the hallway's brighter than this room, which for a split second you thought was in the dark. However, your eyes quickly adjust to the candles lining the room. All along the side of the room and some in the corner. Although, your eyes are drawn to the centre of the room. Clusters of candles stretching along the centre of a long black table.
You step forwards, the fabric falling back into place at the doorway behind you, fingers reaching for the table. It's not as smooth as you originally thought, but small ridges line the surface. But like a black metal had been spilt on top of the table and left to solidify.
You walk around the end of the table, looking at the room. It was by no means an extraordinary room, simply a dining room from the looks of it. Nonetheless, your eyes took in every detail. At the end of the room on both sides were arches carved into the stone, giving the room an elegant feel. Paintings hung on either side of the table, greys and whites mixing together into a piece you could quite place. And opposite the entryway you had used was another identical doorway, the two portières flipped on the other end of the room. The two chairs at the end of the table gave the room the feel of intimidation. It wasn't welcoming per se; however, you knew Morpheus preferred to have room to intimidate others.
Your eyes flitted back to the table, seeing the candles burn like a blazing fire in the centre, a huge pool of wax having been left around the candles. You prod the wax gently; it was warm but not hot, the remains sticking to your finger, leaving a thin veil.
"You should be careful, you could have injured yourself."
You swear you jumped halfway into the air. Your eyes snapping to the familiar deep voice. Seeing Morpheus stood at the entryway you had entered, stood still as if he had been there the whole time. The dark shadows of the room adding to his already sharp features. He truly looked like he deserved to be worshipped. Your heart pounds in your chest despite his looks, his presence startling you.
You place a hand over your heart as if you could calm the beating pulse back to rhythm. You softly glare at the man opposite the room. "You need a bell or something, I swear."
This earns you a slight softening of his eyes, though it's difficult to tell due to the lighting situation. He steps forward. Every step measured, control. He stops near the table, on the opposite side to you, looking at the candles between you. "You seem intrigued by the candles. Does the flame draw you in?"
You feel your hand moving, absentmindedly picking the thin layer of wax off the tip of your finger. "Not the flames, no." You don't let him respond, hands now resting on the edge of the table, feeling the texture under your palms. "Why do you need a dining table anyway?"
He looks up at you, the candlelight shining against his features in a way the shadows all other lighting. You make a mental note to get him in candlelit rooms more often. His brows move by a micro, slightly pitching them as he speaks. "There are many functions to a table. Which answer do you wish to hear?"
Cryptic as ever. You nod as you step towards the end of the table, one hand not leaving the table. "Well, you have no need to eat, so we can check that off the list. This doesn’t seem very welcoming, and the seats are only meant for two, so not for hosting..." You reach the head of the table, standing to the side of the chair, hand stroking the table. "...the table's too bumpy and the lighting is dim, so it's not working either." You look up at Morpheus, who's watching you move around and list your reasonings. "So why do you have it?"
Morpheus steps close, slowly, each step bringing him closer to you. Like a storm rolling in from a distance. "Those are some good observations, little dreamer." He now stands opposite the chair, eyes on you. "Perhaps I simply enjoy this room?"
You resist the urge to roll your eyes at him. "Yet you're never in it."
He doesn’t chide you for your tone; instead, a soft exhale escapes him, as if holding in a laugh. "And how would you know where I spend my time? Do you watch me?"
Shaking your head, you respond. "Well...no, but you're always in the throne room or in the library with Lucienne."
"I am when you find me. Perhaps the rest of my time is spent in here?" He raises a brow, that cocky expression daring you to continue.
You huff slightly, crossing your arms over your chest slightly. "Well, what do you do in here then?"
He steps close, which should have been impossible, there was a chair between you. You glance down to the chair no longer there, the smooth material of Morpheus's coat filling the space now. Your eyes dart back to his. You know there is no point in asking how he moved the chair without moving a muscle; after all, the Dreaming responds to him. He is the Dreaming.
His eyes look almost black from this angle, the candles flickering a deep orange across the side of his face. The other side consumed by shadows. You can't help your breathing catch at the sight of him. And with him this close as well.
"This room provides me with a chance to sit with my thoughts, without being disturbed." His gaze looks down on you slightly as he stops just short of his coat brushing against you. His voice an octave deeper. A tone you recognise easily.
You swallow, him being so close never failing to make your heart race. "Your thoughts?" You repeat blankly.
"Thoughts I would like to savour, much like a well-earned meal." His face leans closer, breath fanning over your lips. "Fitting for this to be a dining room, is it not?"
You nod, lips parted. He's so close, yet he doesn’t lean in. Not yet. Instead his head tilts to the side, one of his hands gently tilting your head up and to the side, giving him room. His breath tickles your skin at first. Enjoying the jump of your pulse. Pressing a gentle kiss to the place where it seems like your pulse would tear through your skin. "I find myself craving a warm meal. Would you indulge me, my love?"
"Indulge you?" You can't help the slight catch in your voice. He always has this effect on you. Knowing how to move, what tone to speak to make your breath catch just so.
His gaze meets yours once more. A hair's width away from you. The candles casting the deep shadows over him, yet catching slightly in the blue of his eyes. His hand gently runs the length of your arm, causing goosebumps to rise to the surface. His lips brushing yours.
"Yes, love." His fingers glide down your arm, resting at your wrist. Fingers over your pulse. As if that didn’t cause it to fasten. "You know how I crave your taste. And it's been so long..." His voice is low and almost like a purr. His lips meeting yours gently.
No matter how many times you share a kiss, it still causes you to feel electricity shooting through your body, making you feel alive. Even the soft kisses cause your chest to tighten with the promise of more. His breath was slightly cooler than most, not cold though. However, his tongue was scorching in comparison. It shouldn't be possible. Not by humans at least, yet this was one of the many things that reminded you that he was an Endless.
His tongue brushes against yours, and all semblance of gentleness fades. The hand off your wrist moves to grab your hip, pulling you flush against him, allowing you to feel the effects on him. His other hand tangles in your hair at the base of your neck, guiding your head back to give him deeper access, his tongue claiming your mouth for his own.
Your eyes are shut as he takes what he wishes from you, your hands grasping his coat as if it will stop you from drowning in his very essence. You pant as his mouth leaves yours, your eyes fluttering open then closed as you feel his mouth on your neck. Gone is the tantalising brush of lips on your skin. Instead, they were replaced by firm, passionate lips. Tongue darting to taste your skin along with the occasional scrape of teeth. All in the places that make you squirm under his ministrations.
Your thighs push together as you surrender yourself to the sensations. You don't even realise he has removed your clothes, the warmth of his body feeling pleasant against yours. You do, however, realise his hands moving along your sides, fingers brushing your sensitive skin down to your hips, where he reaches behind, sliding down to grab your thighs. The implication is clear: you wrap your legs around his waist. Feeling yourself being moved, yet you pay it no mind as his lips are back on yours.
You feel yourself being put down, expecting harsh lines of the table to press into your sensitive flesh, a small price to pay in your mind, yet you don't feel it. You're guided to lie back. So you do, trusting Morpheus. His lips leave yours, much to your disappointment, but you use the opportunity to look around. You're on the table, legs hanging off the edge, the candles burning above you on the table, not too close yet not too far; it sparks something in you. Then your focus is drawn to the man in front of you.
His coat is gone, yet he remains dressed, his eyes flickering in the light as he simply admires your body spread out. Hands tracing soft patterns on your skin. It causes you to squirm. The motion snapping him back to reality. His hands pausing their ministrations, instead moving with purpose, moving to your thighs and parting you to his gaze.
You could feel the air on you as you're exposed; you have no shame with Morpheus, he has seen every inch of you after all. Yet still your legs tense as if going to close, before relaxing anticipation curling in your gut like a hot coil.
His fingers brush the inside of your thighs as he steps between them, his gaze travelling up the length of you before he speaks, his voice nothing but awe. "You are a vision before me." He licks his lips, his gaze going to between your legs, where you want him most. Slowly he bends, not quite kneeling but hovering, his mouth close to where you want it yet so far. He simply breathes before pressing a kiss to your mound. "One I intended to worship."
A small gasp escapes you at his touch, his lips so close yet so far. And by the look his eyes, he knows what he is doing. He lowers; you assume he is kneeling, yet your feet brush the cool texture of the wooden chair that had previously been moved. He was sitting at the table as if he was truly just about to enjoy a meal. The thought makes you clench around nothing, a pitiful noise trying to leave you, only to get caught in your throat.
He leans closer, eyes watching you. You have to lift your head to watch him, the neck pain worth it. His tongue slides out of his mouth, gently dragging a line up the centre of you. Enough to make you arch your back off the table, your head thumping backwards, hands clenching into the inside of his coat. If you could look, you would see the endless galaxies swirling to your touch.
A hum vibrates through you, the deep rumble causing you to tremble, a sob escaping your lips. You feel hands glide up your skin to your hips, gently pushing you to lay back down. "My meals don't usually move."
It was unfair, his tongue flickering out after he spoke. Before he dives back in, wasting no time. His mouth working you like you were a part of the dreaming itself. Like he knew every inch of you inside and out.
All you could do was hold on, gasping and moaning. Your hands clutching at the fabric below you, as you try to keep your hips still against the relentless pleasure.
Yet, just as you feel the glorious high approaching, he pulls away. A pathetic whine leaving you, hips trying to move upwards. He keeps you pinned with one hand, the other having left your body. He stands, leaning over you, mouth wet from his activities. You glare at him as you pant. "You didn't finish your meal." The words were meant to be biting, yet they came out as a whine.
He simply presses his lips to yours, not giving you the satisfaction of deepening it, even when your hands tangle in his hair to try and keep him there. He pulls back a smirk on his face as his eyes watch your tongue dart out. Chasing the taste of yourself. He moves despite your grip on him, making his way down your body with soft kisses. He pauses at your midsection, looking up at you. "Close your eyes, little dreamer."
You sigh, yet do as you're told, relaxing your head back and closing your eyes. Hoping to feel his mouth back on you. Your hands gently caressing through his hair. Yet you don't feel the warm mouth nor his tongue. You feel nothing. Everything stilled. You hear nothing from him. The only sounds are the candles flickering around the room and your own breath.
You almost wonder if he has left you. Yet the feel of his hair under your palms reminds you he remains. The silence stretches, and just as you're about to reach your breaking point, you feel it. Hot liquid on your stomach. Not scolding, but enough to make you arch in surprise. Feeling the liquid quickly harden, it's a strange sensation, and yet it's not unpleasant.
You're aware that Morpheus will be watching you, seeing how you react. If there's ever a small hint of dislike, he will stop whatever he is doing. Yet he sees none. His thumb stroking your hip, letting another drop of what you can only say is wax hit your skin. It tingles, you crave more. Your hands gently tug on his hair as drip after drip of wax lands on your skin.
Then he lowers his head, you're so lost in the feeling of wax cooling that you don't register it. His tongue swiping through your dripping folds as his wrist flicks, dropping wax onto your nipple at the same time. The feeling is the closest thing you can think of to fireworks. Your back arches as if trying to get closer to the wax and his mouth at the same time. Cut off moans leaving you.
He doesn't stop the pattern, driving you insane, his tongue matching with every flick of wax onto your skin. You soon near the edge, thighs bracketing his head. Shaking with pleasure. Using the arms of the chair to find purchase for your feet. Pushing your hips up to his mouth as you mumble and whine. He doesn't pull back this time, he doesn't stop you from chasing your high. Your body is tense as you fall over the edge. Both his hands rubbing soothing patterns into your skin as he moans at the taste of you flooding his mouth.
Your hands are like a death lock on him, your thighs squishing him. If you had any brain left, you would have been thankful he didn't need to breathe.
Eventually, your grip relaxes. His hands guide your legs to dangle off the edge of the table, kissing each thigh as he lowers them. Only then does he stand leaning over you. Your shaking form. One of his hands supporting him to lean over you, the other cradling your cheek. "You did well, my love."
Your eyes open, slightly blurry, adjusting to your surroundings. You focus on him first, his eyes drawing you in, a sloppy smile on your face. He was a mess. His nose to his chin, shining in the candlelight. You can't help but laugh, one hand moving to trace his bottom lip. "Enjoy your meal, love?"
He smiles back at you, his eyes softening slightly. "Indeed, I did." He stays, hovering, simply looking at you. He says nothing, but his eyes give away the devotion he feels for you.
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