[Fic] The Little Death | Merlin, Arthur/Merlin. NC17
Title: The Little Death
Series: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC17
Length: 758 words
Summary: Post-battle sex. Pure unadulterated pr0n. No semblance of plot anywhere here.
The times Merlin likes best are when Arthur slams into his chambers, the light of battle still bright and hot in his eyes. That's when he can't resist Arthur, and Arthur can't resist him, and neither one of them even bothers to try.
Arthur presses Merlin against the wall, pushes up Merlin's shirt, and the contrast of the cold stone at his back and the heated smooth leather of Arthur's gloves on his front is sometimes more than Merlin thinks he can even stand. He hisses out a breath and pulls and wrenches at Arthur's armor until each piece falls to the floor with a clang. And then he reaches up and yanks at the cool silk of Arthur's blond hair, pulling him down and kissing him. He uses his teeth and tongue ruthlessly, not stopping until he feels Arthur groan into his mouth, feels Arthur's hands lower to their waists to release the laces on their breeches.
"Merlin," he manages, and Merlin doesn't think Arthur's voice would be recognizable to anyone else. It's low and husky and rough-edged, and full of the kind of promises that makes a shudder run down Merlin's spine.
Merlin nips at Arthur's bottom lip one more time before he leans back, pressing his head against the wall. "Yeah," he says. His fingers slide out of Arthur's cropped hair.
"Turn around," Arthur says, but before Merlin can do more than blink, Arthur is doing it for him. Merlin braces his hands against the wall as Arthur tugs his breeches down; he shivers as the cool air brushes across his bare skin, and gasps as Arthur reaches around him, curling one hand around his cock.
"Arthur," he hisses as he arches into the touch. "Fuck..."
Arthur's laugh is an explosion of breath against Merlin's ear. "Shortly," the prince murmurs, rubbing his gloved fingers against the head of Merlin's cock. "You're so impatient, Merlin," he says, and Merlin leans his forehead against the wall as Arthur removes his hand, as he hears the sound of soft leather hitting the floor when Arthur strips his gloves off.
Merlin opens his mouth to speak, to retort, but then he feels Arthur push two fingers into him, and he has no words, no thoughts, just the feel of Arthur behind him and inside him. He shudders as Arthur's fingers twist and stretch, and manages a single word.
"Please."
It's enough, or maybe Arthur has simply reached the end of his own endurance, but Merlin feels the other man pull his fingers away, replace them with the blunter pressure of his cock. It hurts, Merlin thinks as he turns his head and sinks his teeth into his forearm to muffle the hoarse cry that wants to escape. It always hurts, like a slow relentless burn that's first like pain, and then like pleasure, and then so much like both that he can't tell the difference. Merlin draws in a harsh breath as he feels Arthur's hands bracket his hips, pulling him closer as he starts to thrust.
He will have bruises there.
"Merlin," Arthur hisses, and his teeth scrape across Merlin's earlobe, forcing a choked cry from the other man. He begins to thrust faster, and Merlin slides one hand down the wall to encircle his own cock. He pumps it in time with Arthur's thrusts, a rough, erratic rhythm, and it isn't long before he feels himself tighten. He gasps, "Arthur," and he feels Arthur's hands tighten more on his hips.
Arthur's voice is low and rough and nearly enough to send Merlin over the edge on its own. "Come," he says, and he pushes in, harder and rougher than before.
It's more than Merlin can stand, and he bends his head, bites his arm again as he shudders and tightens. Everything gets brighter and brighter, and hotter and hotter until it's too much. Tears leak out from under his eyelids, and he tastes blood in his mouth and hears Arthur's hoarse shout in his ear.
It's moments later when Merlin comes back to himself, when he hears Arthur whispering his name in a tone that's more like concern than demand.
"Yeah," Merlin manages. "I'm fine." He lifts his head, eyes his wounded arm with some amusement, and glances over his shoulder. "I think you're going to be the death of me. Eventually."
Arthur grins and reaches forward to smooth damp dark hair away from Merlin's forehead. "Maybe," he says. "But you'll enjoy it."
Merlin grins back, and doesn't say a word. He knows it's true.
Series: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC17
Length: 758 words
Summary: Post-battle sex. Pure unadulterated pr0n. No semblance of plot anywhere here.
The times Merlin likes best are when Arthur slams into his chambers, the light of battle still bright and hot in his eyes. That's when he can't resist Arthur, and Arthur can't resist him, and neither one of them even bothers to try.
Arthur presses Merlin against the wall, pushes up Merlin's shirt, and the contrast of the cold stone at his back and the heated smooth leather of Arthur's gloves on his front is sometimes more than Merlin thinks he can even stand. He hisses out a breath and pulls and wrenches at Arthur's armor until each piece falls to the floor with a clang. And then he reaches up and yanks at the cool silk of Arthur's blond hair, pulling him down and kissing him. He uses his teeth and tongue ruthlessly, not stopping until he feels Arthur groan into his mouth, feels Arthur's hands lower to their waists to release the laces on their breeches.
"Merlin," he manages, and Merlin doesn't think Arthur's voice would be recognizable to anyone else. It's low and husky and rough-edged, and full of the kind of promises that makes a shudder run down Merlin's spine.
Merlin nips at Arthur's bottom lip one more time before he leans back, pressing his head against the wall. "Yeah," he says. His fingers slide out of Arthur's cropped hair.
"Turn around," Arthur says, but before Merlin can do more than blink, Arthur is doing it for him. Merlin braces his hands against the wall as Arthur tugs his breeches down; he shivers as the cool air brushes across his bare skin, and gasps as Arthur reaches around him, curling one hand around his cock.
"Arthur," he hisses as he arches into the touch. "Fuck..."
Arthur's laugh is an explosion of breath against Merlin's ear. "Shortly," the prince murmurs, rubbing his gloved fingers against the head of Merlin's cock. "You're so impatient, Merlin," he says, and Merlin leans his forehead against the wall as Arthur removes his hand, as he hears the sound of soft leather hitting the floor when Arthur strips his gloves off.
Merlin opens his mouth to speak, to retort, but then he feels Arthur push two fingers into him, and he has no words, no thoughts, just the feel of Arthur behind him and inside him. He shudders as Arthur's fingers twist and stretch, and manages a single word.
"Please."
It's enough, or maybe Arthur has simply reached the end of his own endurance, but Merlin feels the other man pull his fingers away, replace them with the blunter pressure of his cock. It hurts, Merlin thinks as he turns his head and sinks his teeth into his forearm to muffle the hoarse cry that wants to escape. It always hurts, like a slow relentless burn that's first like pain, and then like pleasure, and then so much like both that he can't tell the difference. Merlin draws in a harsh breath as he feels Arthur's hands bracket his hips, pulling him closer as he starts to thrust.
He will have bruises there.
"Merlin," Arthur hisses, and his teeth scrape across Merlin's earlobe, forcing a choked cry from the other man. He begins to thrust faster, and Merlin slides one hand down the wall to encircle his own cock. He pumps it in time with Arthur's thrusts, a rough, erratic rhythm, and it isn't long before he feels himself tighten. He gasps, "Arthur," and he feels Arthur's hands tighten more on his hips.
Arthur's voice is low and rough and nearly enough to send Merlin over the edge on its own. "Come," he says, and he pushes in, harder and rougher than before.
It's more than Merlin can stand, and he bends his head, bites his arm again as he shudders and tightens. Everything gets brighter and brighter, and hotter and hotter until it's too much. Tears leak out from under his eyelids, and he tastes blood in his mouth and hears Arthur's hoarse shout in his ear.
It's moments later when Merlin comes back to himself, when he hears Arthur whispering his name in a tone that's more like concern than demand.
"Yeah," Merlin manages. "I'm fine." He lifts his head, eyes his wounded arm with some amusement, and glances over his shoulder. "I think you're going to be the death of me. Eventually."
Arthur grins and reaches forward to smooth damp dark hair away from Merlin's forehead. "Maybe," he says. "But you'll enjoy it."
Merlin grins back, and doesn't say a word. He knows it's true.