Title: Minds and bodies
Rating: Nc-17 (Series rating: Nc-17)
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Their bodies will no longer be denied
Warnings: Sex happens.
Word Count: 5259
Prompt: #61 Broken (As in "we were resolved not to have sex, but then our resolve broke".)
Author's Notes: Sex scenes, man. They are so hard. *...cough*
As usual, please let me know if there are any typos or other mistakes. The chapter was written in a disjointed way, and I have probably missed something.
You can find the rest of this series on AO3, or here at Camelot Drabble.
“People like Emrys and Morgana, who are born with their powers, are rare indeed. For Mordred to be like them is deeply troubling. Sorcerers of such power are not born into the world without reason, and I think we can safely say that the destinies of these three cross each other.”
The great hall is nearly empty; most of the knights having been sent to hunt for Mordred. Arthur sits in his chair, with Merlin by his side and Gaius standing before him.
“I fear Camelot will be crushed between them,” Arthur says.
“Perhaps,” Gaius answers. “Each of them, in their own way, is trying to preserve the kingdom. It is not Camelot's well-being, but yours that they disagree on.”
Arthur smiles wanly. He seems hard-pressed to keep his head up, his cares weighing him down. One hand lies seemingly idly on the armrest, but Merlin, standing so close, feels the feather-like touch of Arthur's fingers against his own knuckles, like a silently expressed wish.
“Hopefully, they'll let me celebrate Christmas before they set on me,” the King jokes. There is no laughter. After a moment, Arthur pushes himself up.
Both Gaius and Merlin are quickly supporting him.
“How do you feel, Sire?” Gaius asks, frowning.
“Cold,” Arthur replies, with a hand on his stomach. “Where he stabbed me.” He rights himself and shakes off the helping hands. “How come I could hurt him, but not the other way around?”
“Excalibur is a mighty blade,” Gaius says. “With properties beyond those of ordinary weapons. I would not be surprised if it was forged with magic, or perhaps burnished by a dragon’s fire.”
He does not look at Merlin as he speaks, and Merlin let’s his eyes widen with the awe he would have felt if he had not made the sword himself.
Arthur draws the sword from its sheath. The metal shines as if with inner light. “Magic again. Seems it can no more be banished than rain or wind.” He draws a deep breath and lets it out again. “Enough.” He puts Excalibur away again. “I need to be alone.”
The words hurt Merlin, who, while being as tired as his lord, needs to look after Arthur more than he needs to sleep, or to breathe. But he obediently steps away, giving Arthur some space.
Arthur immediately cuffs Merlin over the back of the head. “Obviously, you're coming, you idiot.”
Gaius clears his throat and refrains from commenting, Merlin rubs his head and tries not to look too relieved.
“Just one more thing,” Arthur says before they go.
Gaius inclines his head expectantly.
“Why did Mordred attack Merlin?”
A thrill of fear seizes Merlin, but he hides his flinch. He has come through the fire, but it is on his heels still, red tongues licking at him. That Mordred did not speak his name out loud is a small miracle.
Gaius shrugs. “I do not know, Sire.” He looks at Merlin. “I am not entirely clear on what happened. However, it might have had something to do with that.” He nods to the cloak that Merlin is for some reason still clutching.
Arthur looks at it thoughtfully. Then he takes it from Merlin and passes it to Gaius. “Remember, Gaius. Within a fortnight,” he says.
Arthur steers them, not towards the door at first, but towards Guinevere, who lingers with the few that remain.
He taps her on the shoulder.
“Will you and Leon answer the appeals today? I need-”
“Of course!” Guinevere cups his cheek and smiles with sympathy. “Go, rest. Camelot will make do.”
When Merlin tries to fall in behind Arthur as they leave, Arthur purposefully slows down to prevent him. Side by side, they make their way back to Arthur's chambers. Along the way, Arthur stops a servant and gives orders for food and a bath to be prepared for him.
Word spreads fast below stairs, so by the time Arthur and Merlin reach the royal chambers, there are already a couple of maids waiting by the door. They curtsey, and let both Arthur and Merlin enter first. Merlin feels uncomfortable, and becomes more so when Arthur gestures for him to sit in the second chair by the fire. He usually doesn't mind being less-than-proper with the King, but today it’s like he can feel the maids resenting him for the privileges the King affords him.
Arthur is in a queer mood though, and it isn't worth arguing about.
The girls sweep the tidy the room. Merlin fidgets in his chair.
Not long after, three men manoeuvre the big tub through the door, rolling it into the middle of the floor. They leave, only to return with more people and endless buckets of steaming water.
Arthur watches the bustle of the room with an unreadable expression. The stillness of his limbs is, however, not peace, but the product of careful control. It makes Merlin restless. Arthur apparently doesn’t notice the looks they are being cast, but Merlin feels each one.
One of the maids has moved to the bed to finish what Guinevere began this morning. Do they know that Merlin spent the night cradled by that luxurious mattress and those soft pillows? The simple experience has separated him from them by a gulf. He has tasted a different world, one they can barely imagine.
But then, Merlin thinks, he has tasted Arthur, and few in this world, rich or poor, servants or nobility, have had that luxury. So really, a night in the King’s bed shouldn’t matter. Other, greater things separate him from his fellows.
And of course, there’s the whole most-powerful-sorcerer and great-big-dumb-destiny thing. Doesn’t share that with many people either, does he.
Wine is brought in, along with a bowl of apples, plates of bread, bacon and cheese, and little pots of soft yellow butter and sweet sugary treats. Towels are placed near at hand to the tub, and dried, fragrant herbs are crushed and strewn in the steaming water.
A matronly maid approaches and asks what manner of attire the King wishes them to lay out for him. Arthur looks down at himself and frowns, before waving her away. “Merlin will find me something later.”
Finally, the last bucket is emptied, and the final servant bows his way out. The room is hot from fire and steam, and on every breath is the mouth-watering smell of freshly baked bread and bacon still hot enough to burn your fingers.
“Would you like me to attend you in the bath, Sire?” Merlin asks, a little shaky from before still, but a little eager also.
Arthur jaw works. He is looking away. Finally, he speaks.
“Mordred had magic.”
Mordred had been gone by the time Leon and the soldiers reached Gaius' chambers, clambered through a window, by the looks of it. Despite his injuries, he will probably escape the soldiers searching for him; Merlin does not doubt that destiny will hold a shielding hand over Mordred.
“Why would a sorcerer want to be a knight of Camelot?”
Merlin shrugs. “I think he wanted to be a part of something good.”
Arthur frowns at him, confused. “Are you defending him?”
Merlin ducks his head. “He wasn't a bad person.” Good people can do bad things.
Arthur sits up. “But you didn't like him,” he says insistently. “You get along with everyone, and you did not like him.”
He wants Merlin to confess that he knew about the magic, but Merlin has no intention of doing so. Instead, he gives up another truth, a less dangerous, more embarrassing one.
“You were ignoring me in favour of him. He got all your attention.” He bites the inside of his lower lip, letting the pout come “All your affection.”
He can feel Arthur's gaze soften, and the victory is worth the embarrassment. The jealousy was childish in a way he thought he was too old for. Mordred and been constantly by Arthur's side, trailing after him like an eager puppy, and Arthur had laughed with him, endlessly patient. Merlin had watched them from the shadows, and it had not always been impending doom that had made his insides twist.
“He was a distraction,” Arthur says, voice low. “Everyone else reminded me of you. Mordred came from a different world. It helped me forget.”
Merlin looks up, shocked at the confession.
But trouble returns quickly to Arthur’s expression. “I really cared for him. I was proud of him, proud to call him one of my knights.” He bows his head and rubs his eyes and forehead like he is in pain. “When I discovered Agravaine’s true nature, I thought I had experienced the worst of betrayals. After Guinevere and Lancelot, surely no one could hurt me that way again.” He breathes deeply, like he is keeping himself from crying, but it is hard to tell for sure as long as his face is averted. “Then Gaius ... and Mordred ... and ... you.”
Merlin’s heart pulses softly with pain. He goes down on his knees, shuffles across to Arthur's chair and reaches up to pull his head down. The first kiss lands on Arthur's cheek, the second in his hair, which Merlin is eagerly twining his fingers in. At last, Arthur turns to meet him, and their lips brush.
“Your father believed that loyalty and obedience were the same thing. They are not,” Merlin says, looking into Arthur’s eyes and willing him to understand.
Arthur cups Merlin's neck and strokes the skin there with his thumbs. “Obedience is important. If I can’t trust those closest to me, how can I rule?”
Merlin hesitates. “Your father ... Your father did a lot of good for Camelot, but times have changed. His downfall was his inability to change with them. The laws he left behind ...” This is dangerously close to secret territory for Merlin, and moreover it is dangerously close to insult against Uther, which Arthur will not stand for. Merlin is aware that he is too tired to watch himself as closely as he should.
“Speak, Merlin,” Arthur orders softly.
“... Sometimes I think that you see the world through the ghost of Uther. But you are your own man, and by following your own head you have brought glory and peace to Camelot. Look around with your eyes and see the world for what it is.”
Arthur shakes his head fondly. “Was treason ever spoken from such a pretty mouth? What is the world, then?”
Merlin knows this is his chance. “Full of people who love you so much they will risks their lives against the law for you.”
He thinks Arthur would have been angry, if he had the energy for it right now. Instead, he just tilts his head to the side and considers Merlin. “Gaius is lucky to have such a loyal son.”
“And you’re pretty lucky to have us both,” Merlin jests, poking Arthur in the chest. He leans up and presses a quick peck to Arthur’s lips, before suddenly remembering his promise of this morning and quickly pulling away. "Sorry-mmf!"
Arthur pulls him back in, captures his mouth and keeps it, lips clinging. When they separate, Merlin huffs for breath and pushes his face into Arthur's thigh to make the room stop spinning. He isn't used to kissing people, much less the man he loves. He didn't know it could be this good.
Arthur leans down, noses briefly at the skin behind Merlin's ear before biting down gently on the lobe. Pleasure zings through Merlin, all the way down to his fingertips. He gasps.
"I want you to get in the bath with me," Arthur murmurs, breath curling hot in Merlin’s ear.
“You’ve changed your mind since this morning?” Merlin asks.
Arthur leans his forehead against Merlin’s neck. “I almost lost you today.”
“I almost lost you first,” Merlin replies, with a gentle shove to Arthur’s shoulder. “And don’t try to sell me that whatever was wrong last night isn’t wrong anymore. Can’t fool me.”
Arthur sighs, frustrated, and rubs his face against Merlin’s tunic. “There’s this ... knot,” he begins.
“In here.” Arthur takes Merlin hand, sits back to make room and places Merlin’s hand on his stomach.
Merlin frowns thoughtfully at Arthur’s midsection. “In there.”
“And when I think about all the things I want to do to you ...” Their eyes meet and the air seems to simmer as all those delicious things hang between them. But then Arthur averts his eyes. “The knot goes tight. I feel sick ... ashamed. Wrong.”
Merlin splays his fingers out and rubs, feels muscles jump under his hand. Why? Arthur is good, good all the way through, and the King knows that in his heart. Once Merlin convinced him of the truth of what happened in Ismere, the guilt should have gone away.
Perhaps this is not about Arthur after all. In the heat of the room, Merlin feels a chill creep down his spine.
Arthur covers Merlin’s hand with his own, looks down at him with patient curiosity.
Merlin reaches up with a forced grin and gives Arthur back the cuff to the head that he got in the throne room. “We went over this last night, Your Foolishness. There is no crime between us.” Thus he plants the first seed, coaxing. The truth must out, no matter how much it will hurt.
“I know.” Arthur let’s go of Merlin’s hand, rises and leaves the rug by the hearth, going to the window. “I know that,” he repeats, his tone evasive. “But the feeling is still there, and it keeps me from enjoying ... what I really want to enjoy.” He sighs heavily. “Sometimes ... We have to listen to our bodies even though we don’t really agree with what they are saying.” He trails off, at a loss as to how to express himself without being cruel. Merlin understands.
Merlin has seen Arthur this way countless times before. Whenever he is insecure, or deep in thought, he will place himself before a window, to look out on his country. To remind himself of his responsibilities, or to hide himself behind them. Ruling is hard, but to Arthur, being simply a man has always been harder.
Merlin rises and follows him. Reminds himself that the poison must leave the fangs before it can disappear.
“You’re right,” he says, keeping his face serious. “You should listen to your body. Being as thick in the head as you are, it is probably the wiser part of you.”
Arthur’s mouth goes flat, but his shoulders drop a little, relaxing, and he turns to meet Merlin, though he keeps his arms crossed. This serves Merlin’s plan well.
He sidles up, keeping his hands behind his back, and makes his eyes wide and innocent. “So tell me, my lord, what is your body telling you, right now?” He slides a bold hand up between Arthur’s legs and cups him.
Arthur moans, hands flying to grip Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin presses the heel of his hand against Arthur’s generously swollen sex. It throbs with blood like a heart. Merlin’s own cock twitches in sympathy.
Arthur grits his teeth and glares, but makes no move to push Merlin away.
“Sometimes, our bodies know what our minds don’t,” Merlin says. “Other times, our bodies are as confused as the rest of us.” He takes a deliberate step back, separating them. “But in my experience, your heart usually steers you true.” He tries a smile, but inside he trembles. “I do not think guilt is the problem, Sire, though you want me to think so. I think it is something else. And I think it would be better if you would just-”
Merlin realises his hands are fidgeting, and push them down to hang at his sides..
“You’re right,” Arthur says. “While it may take some time to get over what happened in Ismere, that is not what troubles me anymore.”
Tears well up, sour and sudden, behind Merlin’s eyes. He grimaces, blinks to keep them back. He knew it would hurt, just not so bad. “It’s because you don’t trust me.”
Arthur closes his eyes. “I do trust you, Merlin.”
But you shouldn’t!
Merlin shakes his head, the tears spilling over.
Arthur grips his arm, pulls Merlin in and holds him. “Are you crying now, my little maidservant?”
Merlin shakes his head again, mutely against Arthur’s shoulder. “Nu-uh,” he says, and even that is a sob.
Arthur runs his big, strong hands up and down Merlin’s back.
“I’m just so sore,” the King mumbles. “So sore from all these hurts. I think it’s you who doesn’t trust me. You and Gaius.”
“She’ll come!” Merlin says fiercely, fisting his hands in Arthur’s shirt and letting his tears soak into the red fabric. “She will come to see you, and you’ll see Gaius hasn’t betrayed you, and I haven’t ... I didn’t ...”
“Hush now. Merlin, I don’t really think ... It’s just all so sore.”
They stand there for a long time, taking comfort in their closeness.
"The water is getting cold," Merlin says eventually, when he has his voice again, small thing though it is. “You shouldn’t waste it.”
Determined to be useful if he can’t be trustworthy, Merlin puts his hands on Arthur's belt, quickly tightening their grip when Arthur would move away. Merlin meets his concerned gaze proudly, though his face must be red and wet from his tears. At least his hands still know their job, though they shake a little. He pulls the belt free and drops it on the floor, but Arthur captures his hands when they return for his jacket.
“Alright,” Arthur says, placating when Merlin wants to protest. “Alright. I’ll get in the water, but you will get in with me. And then we will eat, because we're both hungry, and then we'll go to bed."
Merlin bows his head as a fresh wave of tears threaten to spill. It’s too much. The past month has been an endless trial, full of fear and loneliness, and now when his dream is standing right in front of him with open arms, he cannot bear to have it for feeling unworthy.
Arthur palms Merlin’s cheek, raises his head and kisses him chastely. “To sleep, Merlin. We could both use it, and I am not ready to let you out of my sight, so you’ll have to sleep beside me.”
Merlin sniffs, wipes at his tears and nods eagerly.
But no matter how things stand between them, their bodies cannot deny how much they ache for each other. They undress each other with urgency and pleasure, though Merlin’s arousal is edged with sorrow-pain, stinging in his fingertips. His palms tingle from tracing the hard planes of Arthur's gorgeous body in a way that he has never before permitted himself to. His own skin feels tight, from his scalp to his shins, especially when Arthur pulls him close to push his clothes out of the way, baring him. Arthur can’t keep his hands off any more than Merlin, calloused palms sliding down his naked back and over his bottom, making Merlin moan in surprised pleasure.
But mostly they are breathless and quiet, their hearts pounding hard between them. Unwilling to let go of each other, the two touch from chests to thighs, and this new sensation makes Merlin dizzy again. As the barriers between them fall, they lose sight of their plan, hot mouths meeting for eager kisses, and though they meant for it to be only one, it becomes two, becomes three, just one more, that's four, alright five, until Merlin recovers his head and pushes Arthur towards the tub.
"In, in," he urges his lord, and Arthur climbs in, sinking into the water with a groan of appreciation.
“You next, come on.”
“In a second.”
Merlin pads to the table, spreads butter of thick slices of bread, loads it on a platter, slices apples, gathers bacon and cheese, and carries it all to the side of the tub, placing it on a stool. Then he goes to pour wine in the two goblets. When he turns to bring them to Arthur, he finds his lord lounging against the side of the tub, watching him with unabashed appreciation.
Merlin isn't usually self-conscious, but under that heavy gaze, he colours, and as always the redness spreads all the way down his chest and up to his ears, signalling his feelings like a trumpet blast. It makes Arthur's grin all the broader.
"You've been looking at me for years," Arthur says, eyes going up and down Merlin’s body like a caress. "Turnabout is only fair play."
"I'd let you watch me," Merlin says in a rush, wanting it, wanting to take his aching sex in hand and let Arthur see everything.
It's Arthur's turn to go red, eyes wide, and Merlin can see the way the possibilities run through his head, can tell that he is imagining the same thing Merlin is.
But it won't happen today. Merlin lets the moment die, and comes forward with the wine instead. Arthur drinks deeply while Merlin climbs in beside him. The water is pleasantly warm, a delicious shock to the senses.
The tub is huge, easy to let oneself slide forward and be submerged in, and Merlin does just that, scrubbing his face underwater to wash away dried tears. When he emerges, Arthur is lathering his hands with soap. They wash each other, playfully, hands wandering. There is tickling, retaliation by dunking, and a lot of water splashes over the sides of the tub.
Eventually, Arthur gets his hands in Merlin’s hair, and Merlin settles down to the delicious massage, feeling like he could purr. Out of the darkness behind his closed eyelids, a plan forms. A way to earn trust, perhaps, or if nothing else, some balm for his guilty soul.
He clears his throat. "I don't know when ..." He has to stop when just those first words dries out his mouth and makes his chest tight. Arthur stops what he is doing for a moment.
Merlin clears his throat again. “May I have some wine?”
A goblet is pressed into his hand, and he drinks deeply. There. Courage. Then he draws a quick breath and opens in a rush. "I don't know when I stopped thinking of you as a complete prat and started rather fancying you instead.”
After a moment, Arthur laughs disbelievingly. "What on earth are you doing?"
"Need to tell you this," Merlin informs him, draining his goblet and leaning sideways, hand reaching for the flagon of wine.
"Whoa there, hang on." Arthur uses his grip on Merlin’s hair to pull him back. He looks mock-stern. "While you never fail to be utterly hilarious while drunk, this is rather a bad time for singing and dancing."
Merlin relents a little sullenly. "At least I keep my clothes on, unlike some people I know."
Arthur abruptly shoves him under the water. When Merlin comes up, spluttering and with a goblet full of bathwater, Arthur is smiling innocently at him.
“What was it you needed to tell me?"
Merlin empties the goblet and puts it on the floor. Arthur pulls him in and pushes sopping wet hair out of Merlin’s face.
“I’ll listen. Come on.”
They are sitting very close now, thigh to thigh, and Merlin makes ripples on the surface of the water with his fingertips, as he begins his story again. In halting sentences, between breaths drawn into a tight chest, he tells Arthur about the first days of his servitude, and how his opinion of the prince had slowly changed. He talks about feeling pride in Arthur's accomplishments, the fear of losing him, and the joy of watching him grow into a better man. Just this once, Merlin will stroke Arthur’s ego.
Finally, he leans his chin on Arthur's shoulder, kisses his jaw gently, and tells Arthur in easier murmurs, about the sunny day of years ago, at the tournament field, when Arthur put Merlin feet first in a barrel of water, and Merlin fell head first in lust with his lord.
His face feels hotter than the bath water at this point, but Arthur isn't unaffected either, his eyes dark and his breathing grown deep and deliberate. The silence between them is pregnant with arousal and incredibly awkward.
"So you see," Merlin begins, and tries to sound casual. "I'd thought about riding you by the campfire long before Ragnor came up with it."
Arthur growls, drags Merlin in by his hair and kisses him hard, all teeth and groans and a body that vibrates with its need for more.
"Is this alright? Is this al-?" Merlin asks between hurried kisses. He really meant to keep his distance, but Arthur is irresistible, all wet skin and slicked-back hair and solemn, grateful attention to Merlin's story hidden beneath a layer of carelessness.
Arthur murmurs an affirmative, encircles Merlin in his arms, and they kiss until they are both dizzy, with Merlin's tongue in Arthur's mouth.
"Thought we weren't-" says Merlin the next time he has a chance to breathe.
"Can't seem to stop myself," Arthur answers, mouth finding Merlin's chin, and Merlin's throat and Merlin's ear, all of which seem to be connected to Merlin's cock in a way he did not know about. Or maybe Arthur is just a little bit magic.
Really, they're not going to get anything done at this rate. Merlin submits happily anyway, letting Arthur hold him, or pin him more like, and devour him.
"Wanted to trip your clumsy arse into my bed for so long. Been going half mad from having your hands all over me day after day."
Their legs are getting in the way of each other, their knees knocking together, so Merlin makes the logical move of parting his legs and letting Arthur draw him onto his lap. They stop a moment to acknowledge the similarity between this situation and their first, and then their bodies meet and the similarities end.
They break off to groan, Arthur's head falling forward while Merlin savages his lower lip to keep from writhing. Arthur is unyielding muscle and silky skin, glorious silky skin. Unlike Ismere's cold, detached pleasure, this is overwhelming to the senses. The air tastes like herbs, and Arthur's skin tastes clean and warm, and his mouth like wine.
"We should eat," Merlin says some time later, between kisses. "Or it won't be lunch anymore."
"Want to eat you," Arthur replies unhelpfully, which makes Merlin forget what he was trying to accomplish in favour of rubbing himself more enthusiastically against Arthur's lap.
But they do eat, feeding each other greasy bacon strips and succulent slices of apple, licking juice messily from fingers, their own and each other's. It is luxury and bliss, and the kisses never stop, as if they are making up for all the years they could have been doing this.
In the end it is the cold water that drives them to think of moving.
Arthur stands, lifting Merlin easily with two demanding hands on his ass. Merlin yelps and clings. "Oh no. I know how this ends," he says, as Arthur manoeuvres himself into a position to step out of the tub.
"Oh, do you now?" Arthur says, voice a little strained. "I'll have you know I am strong as a dragon." He lifts his foot, but quickly puts it down again when he can't keep his balance.
"I thought dragons carried off maidens, not menservants."
Arthur tries again, puts his foot on the edge of the tub first, and then over, so that's half the job done, and Merlin gets to land on the floor instead of in the tub when they fall. Wonderful.
"You're not a maiden, then?"
Merlin splutters. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, the big bad conqueror and the scared little virgin."
Arthur laughs. "You ARE a maiden!" He lifts his other foot suddenly, Merlin prepares for bruises, but a safe landing and a quick couple of steps later, he is dumped on his back on Arthur's bed.
Arthur is smug. "Strong as a dragon."
Pompous as a dragon.
Merlin bats his eyelashes and covers his aching sex shyly with his hand. "Oh my lord Dragon, please be gentle with me, I am ever such a virgin."
Arthur puts his hand on top of Merlin's and presses down, making pleasure shoot through Merlin groin. He lets his head fall back on a surprised moan, tries to hump their joined hands and finds it frustratingly unsatisfying.
"Come on, you big prat, how long does a maiden have to wait for the dragon to get on with it?"
"I thought we were going to go to sleep," Arthur says quietly.
Merlin freezes. It isn’t the words, but the tone that scares him. Suddenly cold, he pulls back and scoots away on the bed. For the first time today he feels awkward in his nudity.
Nothing has changed. He is still the traitor. And Arthur doesn’t want ...
Arthur watches him expressionlessly, though his cock is hanging hard and red along his leg.
"You'll need sleepwear," Merlin says, and he hears how strangled his own voice sounds. "I'll get-"
Arthur grabs his ankle and pulls him back, and he is strong, the young dragon.
"Are you planning to go to sleep like this?" he says, taking the other ankle and pulling Merlin's legs apart.
Merlin quivers, caught between acute arousal and mounting shame. "We said we would sleep."
"We will." Arthur nods towards Merlin's purpling cock, already slick at the head and twitching like a living thing. "You also said you would let me watch. So do. Let me see you."
Merlin's body is a furnace, and hottest of all burns his cock, nerves zinging when Merlin wraps his hand around it. Though he fears rejection, and is confused by Arthur’s changing mood, he cannot but obey. He wants to obey. Slowly, his eyes on Arthur, he drags his fist up, thumbs the head briefly, and pushes back down, stretching the foreskin tight and revealing veins pounding with blood. Stroke after stroke, relief and punishment in one, with hips rolling as the coil of pleasure tightens, the wave building. He quickens his pace, breath coming in shallow gasps.
Arthur looks amazing. His hair is slicked back and dark, water runs down his neck and over his chest. Bright sunlight creates of him a bronze god, and but for his ruddy cock and bruised-red mouth, he could be a statue. Well that, and his eyes. Arthur's eyes never leave Merlin, but they flick hungrily between his face and his cock.
"So good for me, Merlin. Look at you touching yourself for your lord."
Merlin's hips buck, and his hand tightens almost viciously. He bites his lower lip, glares determinedly at Arthur and keeps going with an effort. He'd reply if he thought he wouldn't make a fool out of himself. After all the teasing he has endured so far, he is already ready to come.
"So eager to please."
Merlin gasps for breath, his free hand reaching down to palm at his balls. "Gonna – gonna come. Please, say ... say I can. Please, Arthur!"
Arthur groans, his grip on Merlin's ankles turning painful. "What am I supposed to do with you?" He let's go abruptly, wrenches Merlin's hands away from himself, bends down and takes Merlin's rigid sex into his mouth.
Merlin howls as he comes.