Scent of Candles

The room was dimly lit with candles. Patchouli and sandalwood. The table was laid with empty plates and glasses. Kant smiled when he saw Bison wearing an apron and nothing underneath.
"Are we eating or-"
"Sit," said Bison firmly. Kant obeyed.
Bison opened a bottle of red wine and started pouring it into Kant's glass. "Firstly, we'll have dinner," he said softly. "And later," he looked Kant up and down, "I'll give you a massage."

Clothes on the floor. Passionate kisses. His wrists tied together. Rough touches. Bites. Bruises. Scent of candles. Hot wax on his skin.

"Harder," he begged.