Fanfic, Arthur/Merlin, Caught!
Title: Caught!
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Porn. PWP I guess.
Rating: R. NC-17 if you’re sensitive.
Length: 2400
Disclaimer: I don’t own a thing. No sue the starving student.
Warnings/spoilers: No spoilers. Just porn. Unbeta’d, please point out how bad I am if you see someone, concrit is greatly appreciated.
Summary: Written for the kinkme_merlin, prompt, Arthur/Merlin - Merlin likes to watch Arthur masturbate. Dedicated to my lovely nahara, who wanted this so badly she cheered from start to finish.
A/N: I challenged myself to be more subtle recently, so most of this is babbling, sensual language applied to things that normally aren’t sexy…Buckets…Soap. Oh yes I le did.
Caught.
Why it was his back that had to be broken every time Arthur wanted to bathe was beyond Merlin’s capacity of thought, though he supposed he was lucky is some respects. It could be worse. When it came to Arthur, Merlin had discovered it could always be worse. Of course, he could be up to his elbows in manure mucking out the prince’s horses instead of carrying two heavy wooden buckets up four flights of stone steps. Pushing the door to Arthur’s chambers open with his shoulder, Merlin almost stumbled in his haste to get the buckets to the fire place before his arms dropped right off.
He set the buckets down on the floor, dark dribbles of water sloshing over the sides and straightened his spine, stretching his arms and shoulders. Looking over the room in front of him, Merlin smiled in accomplishment. With the fire snapping and crackling away heartily in the hearth, the large tub situated in front of it and the cake of soap and two clean cloths that lay within arm’s reach, it looked quite cosy. He was not as useless as Arthur insisted he was, everything was ready; all he had to do was empty the last two buckets in and lay out the towels.
The sound of water hitting water, splashing and echoing and creating small waves within the bath brought a small, indulgent smile to the warlock’s face. As he poured in the last two pails, the steam arose, settled upon his skin and he wished desperately it was all for him. To sit and soak his skin, warm his bones and sink back in blissful calm as the water cooled and the fire flared. The sound of footfalls outside in the corridor and shuffling of the guards as they straightened themselves for their prince’s arrival burst Merlin’s fantasy bubble. With one last glance back to the tub to make sure everything was as it should be, Merlin turned and walked out of the main chamber and in to the large clothes room in search of towels.
He could hear boots smacking stone as Arthur entered his chambers and trudged from one end of his room to the other. Though he was not wearing his armour, the prince’s footfalls sounded heavy and slow, a sure sign that the day had been tiring even if he had only been sitting in a Council Chamber.
Merlin sighed to himself as he straightened a pile of linen sleeping shirts and lifted several soft tunics in search of the towels he knew he had folded and placed in the walk in cupboard just hours earlier. He knew he should call out, alert the prince to his presence and assure him his towels were on the way; just in case Arthur assumed he was incompetent and had forgotten as usual. However, when he turned to look through the crack of the door and sight the target of his call, Arthur was already in the process of stripping himself, clearly under the impression that his manservant was not present and that he would have to undergo the task of undressing on his own.
Arthur didn’t seem to be too disappointed about these circumstances. He deposited his sword on to the large wooden table, the belt and scabbard already removed, and threw his long, leather coat over a chair. The prince rolled his neck from side to side, lifted a hand and squeezed the tight muscles in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, aching and strained, no doubt, from sitting hunched over in a chair listening to Council all day.
Merlin watched, the words he was about to sputter out stuck in his dry mouth as Arthur approached the bath and dipped a hand in to the steaming water to test the temperature. Merlin must have finally done something right, because the prince removed his hand with a satisfied look and proceeded to pull his crumpled black tunic up and over his head. He dropped it unceremoniously on the floor by the bath tub, and the warlock stared, eyes transfixed on Arthur’s back as the undershirt was also pulled off and left to join the tunic at his feet. Finally free of the layers of clothing, Arthur paused and flexed his back and Merlin could practically see the extra weight of the day falling from the prince’s shoulders as he bent to pull his boots off.
Sliding two fingers between the frame and the panel of the wood, Merlin applied gentle pressure until the door inched open just a little bit more, the gap providing just enough space for him to have a full view of Arthur leaning against the bath as he added the boots to the pile of clothes on the floor. The fire light flickered and cast gentle shadows about the room, catching in Arthur’s hair as he bent his head and focused on untying the laces of his thick, winter breeches.
Merlin licked his lips appreciatively and swallowed hard as he watched Arthur, muscles rippling under an expanse of unblemished skin while Arthur did his job for him. He had dressed and undressed the prince many times; bathed him, shaved him, he’d even seen the royal prat walk from one end of his room to the other entirely nude and shameless and yet this, this felt entirely different. All the times before, Arthur had been aware of his presence, had even purposefully walked about in nothing just to see Merlin’s exasperated face turn a lovely shade of puce, but now…now. There he stood, hidden amongst the towels and jerkins as he watched the future king of Camelot strip of his breeches in one push, kicking them on to the pile of discarded clothes.
Arthur sank down in to the water slowly and let out a long, low moan. To Merlin he looked ethereal, like a creature of legend, all golden skin and fire-lit hair, strong muscles and thick, long fingers uncurling from around the lip of the bath where they had been clenched as he lowered himself in. It took all his self control not to match Arthur’s deep moan of pleasure as the water melted the tension in his muscles, while the sight and sound of him enjoying his bath very nearly liquefied Merlin’s own muscles in to a useless puddle. The warlock could feel his hands trembling as his fingers clutched reflexively at the clean towels he was holding. He dropped them abruptly and rubbed his palms together, feeling the uncomfortable moisture gathering between them; since when had he been so warm? He had been cold just moments before, the chilly mid-winter air seeping through every crevice of the castle.
The soft scent of soap tickled his nostrils as he came back to himself and he became bolder, pressing his face against the crack in the door jamb; inhaling the clean smell deeply and watching with bated breath as Arthur started to lather himself up. The sight sent a jolt of something hot and sharp straight to his groin. With Arthur just feet away washing himself languidly, rinsing and rubbing and sending ripples through the hot water, Merlin could feel his entire body start to thrum. Steam curled lazily through the air, sent upwards by the Arthur’s movements and the very idea that he alone got to see this was enough to make the most powerful warlock ever tremble.
That only he got to watch the future king slide the soft washing cloth down his own stomach and scrape his fingernails over his own nipples, set Merlin’s pulse racing. He could feel his skin prickling, his tongue sticking to the roof his mouth, a bead of sweat making its way down his forehead and every pound of his heartbeat in his temples resonated in his trousers.
Who knew washing could be so dirty?
He had never thought of bathing in this light before, and yet every move Arthur made to accentuate the pleasurable sensations he was getting from his bath and his own hands, Merlin could feel his eyes following. His sweaty hands previously clenching and unclenching at his sides, wandered down to palm the fast growing bulge in his breeches, acting of their own accord and he sank his teeth in to his bottom lip, sucking it in to his mouth to prevent the release of a strangled moan. Swallowing hard, he squeezed himself through the material until it was almost painful, determined not to give this away, not to let this take his mind and distract him too much from the sight of Arthur’s flushed, water-slicked skin, pink from heat and what Merlin guessed was growing arousal.
One of Arthur’s hands, abandoning any attempts at washing, trailed down the line of golden hair below his navel and disappeared from sight below the water, while the other gripped tightly to the edge of the bath tub. The way Arthur’s eyes slid shut and rolled beneath the lids as the sound of sloshing water and hitched breathing suddenly became deafening in Merlin’s ears left no qualms about what he was doing. The ebb of the ripples created by Arthur fisting himself slowly under the water made a soft slapping sound as it lapped in shallow waves against the side of the tub. Between the noises filling the room, the smells and the sight of Arthur slowly working himself to a lazy release, Merlin managed to start roughly tugging the laces of his breeches open just enough to take himself in hand.
That first touch was like a blessing from the gods, sensation and relief and just not quite enough at the same time. Merlin had done this before many times. In fact there was little else he could remember about his fourteenth summer after he had discovered and frequently experimented with pleasuring himself. He’d even done it with Arthur in mind before, but this…This was better than his mind’s eye. This was Arthur; solid, naked and wet and thrusting in to curl of his own fist. It was almost too much, and Merlin had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, squeeze himself at the base even though he had barely managed three strokes, count to ten and reopen his eyes.
When he turned his focus back to the prince, Arthur’s head was thrown back over the edge of the bath, forehead pinched but his full lips where slack and parted slightly, letting out stuttered breaths. The tinkling sound of water splashing about echoed louder around the room as he pumped himself harder, quickened his pace. The hand left clutching reflexively at the lip of the tub was suddenly unclenched and moving down to where Merlin couldn’t see; to play with his balls perhaps? Or even further?
Splashes of water trickled indolently down the golden neck, down his arms, his chest and Merlin was struck with an overwhelming desire to crawl over and lap them up, trace them back to the source with his tongue. The greedy warlock watched with hungry eyes as soapy water rose and fell with the tide cause by Arthur’s powerful strokes. and sloshed over the side on to the cold stone floor around him. The prince’s panting breaths had graduated to openly enthusiastic grunts, a purr starting low in his chest that burst from his parted lips in deep growls. Merlin surprised himself by matching them quietly, muffling them by bringing his arm up over his mouth and biting down on the sleeve of his worn, blue shirt.
Fighting the urge to close his eyes, let his head roll back and allow his release to explode from him, Merlin felt the coiling heat in his belly and tension in every muscle, enough to make him want to collapse with the force of it. He was matching Arthur’s rhythmic strokes, up, down and twist. Up, down and twist. Thumb the head and start again. Faster, faster and oh.
A fervent groan and another distinct sound stole Merlin’s attention away from the task at hand. Merlin cut off a choked whimper whilst he watched Arthur with wide eyes, mouth agape in disbelief around his sleeve and hand jerking away furiously at his aching length.
“Merlin…Merlin…Mmf…Merlin!”
And as the breathy sound of the prince calling his name escalated in to a series of unintelligible growls and shouts, Merlin just had time to catch the moments in which Arthur arched his back, thrusting his hips forward so hard they broke the water’s surface. For those few precious seconds, he caught the sight of the prince pulling desperately at his swollen erection before his body sank back down and froze, his wrist slowing until he could milk the tender flesh no more.
Enhanced by the sight of Arthur in his own throes of pleasure, his own orgasm rushed over him, balls tightening, toes curling and Arthur‘s name on his red, bitten lips. The hot, tight tingling spread up through Merlin’s body. He felt the warm, wet spurts of his own release spill over his fist and spatter his shirt and felt as satisfied and sated as Arthur looked. The a wave of pleasure crashing in to him was so strong his knees buckled and he found himself pitching forward, cushioned by the towels he had dropped earlier; knocking the door wide open with a loud creak.
Light invaded his eyes from the main room as he lay sprawled on his front in a pile of towels, panting and desperately trying to pull a couple of brain cells together in order to react. His limbs were loose and uncooperative, his eyes took a moment to adjust and when he lifted his head to meet a pair of bright, dumbfounded blue eyes, it was all he could do not to smile.
“Merlin!?”
Caught!
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ .•´ ¸¸.•¨¯`•
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Genre: Porn. PWP I guess.
Rating: R. NC-17 if you’re sensitive.
Length: 2400
Disclaimer: I don’t own a thing. No sue the starving student.
Warnings/spoilers: No spoilers. Just porn. Unbeta’d, please point out how bad I am if you see someone, concrit is greatly appreciated.
Summary: Written for the kinkme_merlin, prompt, Arthur/Merlin - Merlin likes to watch Arthur masturbate. Dedicated to my lovely nahara, who wanted this so badly she cheered from start to finish.
A/N: I challenged myself to be more subtle recently, so most of this is babbling, sensual language applied to things that normally aren’t sexy…Buckets…Soap. Oh yes I le did.
Caught.
Why it was his back that had to be broken every time Arthur wanted to bathe was beyond Merlin’s capacity of thought, though he supposed he was lucky is some respects. It could be worse. When it came to Arthur, Merlin had discovered it could always be worse. Of course, he could be up to his elbows in manure mucking out the prince’s horses instead of carrying two heavy wooden buckets up four flights of stone steps. Pushing the door to Arthur’s chambers open with his shoulder, Merlin almost stumbled in his haste to get the buckets to the fire place before his arms dropped right off.
He set the buckets down on the floor, dark dribbles of water sloshing over the sides and straightened his spine, stretching his arms and shoulders. Looking over the room in front of him, Merlin smiled in accomplishment. With the fire snapping and crackling away heartily in the hearth, the large tub situated in front of it and the cake of soap and two clean cloths that lay within arm’s reach, it looked quite cosy. He was not as useless as Arthur insisted he was, everything was ready; all he had to do was empty the last two buckets in and lay out the towels.
The sound of water hitting water, splashing and echoing and creating small waves within the bath brought a small, indulgent smile to the warlock’s face. As he poured in the last two pails, the steam arose, settled upon his skin and he wished desperately it was all for him. To sit and soak his skin, warm his bones and sink back in blissful calm as the water cooled and the fire flared. The sound of footfalls outside in the corridor and shuffling of the guards as they straightened themselves for their prince’s arrival burst Merlin’s fantasy bubble. With one last glance back to the tub to make sure everything was as it should be, Merlin turned and walked out of the main chamber and in to the large clothes room in search of towels.
He could hear boots smacking stone as Arthur entered his chambers and trudged from one end of his room to the other. Though he was not wearing his armour, the prince’s footfalls sounded heavy and slow, a sure sign that the day had been tiring even if he had only been sitting in a Council Chamber.
Merlin sighed to himself as he straightened a pile of linen sleeping shirts and lifted several soft tunics in search of the towels he knew he had folded and placed in the walk in cupboard just hours earlier. He knew he should call out, alert the prince to his presence and assure him his towels were on the way; just in case Arthur assumed he was incompetent and had forgotten as usual. However, when he turned to look through the crack of the door and sight the target of his call, Arthur was already in the process of stripping himself, clearly under the impression that his manservant was not present and that he would have to undergo the task of undressing on his own.
Arthur didn’t seem to be too disappointed about these circumstances. He deposited his sword on to the large wooden table, the belt and scabbard already removed, and threw his long, leather coat over a chair. The prince rolled his neck from side to side, lifted a hand and squeezed the tight muscles in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, aching and strained, no doubt, from sitting hunched over in a chair listening to Council all day.
Merlin watched, the words he was about to sputter out stuck in his dry mouth as Arthur approached the bath and dipped a hand in to the steaming water to test the temperature. Merlin must have finally done something right, because the prince removed his hand with a satisfied look and proceeded to pull his crumpled black tunic up and over his head. He dropped it unceremoniously on the floor by the bath tub, and the warlock stared, eyes transfixed on Arthur’s back as the undershirt was also pulled off and left to join the tunic at his feet. Finally free of the layers of clothing, Arthur paused and flexed his back and Merlin could practically see the extra weight of the day falling from the prince’s shoulders as he bent to pull his boots off.
Sliding two fingers between the frame and the panel of the wood, Merlin applied gentle pressure until the door inched open just a little bit more, the gap providing just enough space for him to have a full view of Arthur leaning against the bath as he added the boots to the pile of clothes on the floor. The fire light flickered and cast gentle shadows about the room, catching in Arthur’s hair as he bent his head and focused on untying the laces of his thick, winter breeches.
Merlin licked his lips appreciatively and swallowed hard as he watched Arthur, muscles rippling under an expanse of unblemished skin while Arthur did his job for him. He had dressed and undressed the prince many times; bathed him, shaved him, he’d even seen the royal prat walk from one end of his room to the other entirely nude and shameless and yet this, this felt entirely different. All the times before, Arthur had been aware of his presence, had even purposefully walked about in nothing just to see Merlin’s exasperated face turn a lovely shade of puce, but now…now. There he stood, hidden amongst the towels and jerkins as he watched the future king of Camelot strip of his breeches in one push, kicking them on to the pile of discarded clothes.
Arthur sank down in to the water slowly and let out a long, low moan. To Merlin he looked ethereal, like a creature of legend, all golden skin and fire-lit hair, strong muscles and thick, long fingers uncurling from around the lip of the bath where they had been clenched as he lowered himself in. It took all his self control not to match Arthur’s deep moan of pleasure as the water melted the tension in his muscles, while the sight and sound of him enjoying his bath very nearly liquefied Merlin’s own muscles in to a useless puddle. The warlock could feel his hands trembling as his fingers clutched reflexively at the clean towels he was holding. He dropped them abruptly and rubbed his palms together, feeling the uncomfortable moisture gathering between them; since when had he been so warm? He had been cold just moments before, the chilly mid-winter air seeping through every crevice of the castle.
The soft scent of soap tickled his nostrils as he came back to himself and he became bolder, pressing his face against the crack in the door jamb; inhaling the clean smell deeply and watching with bated breath as Arthur started to lather himself up. The sight sent a jolt of something hot and sharp straight to his groin. With Arthur just feet away washing himself languidly, rinsing and rubbing and sending ripples through the hot water, Merlin could feel his entire body start to thrum. Steam curled lazily through the air, sent upwards by the Arthur’s movements and the very idea that he alone got to see this was enough to make the most powerful warlock ever tremble.
That only he got to watch the future king slide the soft washing cloth down his own stomach and scrape his fingernails over his own nipples, set Merlin’s pulse racing. He could feel his skin prickling, his tongue sticking to the roof his mouth, a bead of sweat making its way down his forehead and every pound of his heartbeat in his temples resonated in his trousers.
Who knew washing could be so dirty?
He had never thought of bathing in this light before, and yet every move Arthur made to accentuate the pleasurable sensations he was getting from his bath and his own hands, Merlin could feel his eyes following. His sweaty hands previously clenching and unclenching at his sides, wandered down to palm the fast growing bulge in his breeches, acting of their own accord and he sank his teeth in to his bottom lip, sucking it in to his mouth to prevent the release of a strangled moan. Swallowing hard, he squeezed himself through the material until it was almost painful, determined not to give this away, not to let this take his mind and distract him too much from the sight of Arthur’s flushed, water-slicked skin, pink from heat and what Merlin guessed was growing arousal.
One of Arthur’s hands, abandoning any attempts at washing, trailed down the line of golden hair below his navel and disappeared from sight below the water, while the other gripped tightly to the edge of the bath tub. The way Arthur’s eyes slid shut and rolled beneath the lids as the sound of sloshing water and hitched breathing suddenly became deafening in Merlin’s ears left no qualms about what he was doing. The ebb of the ripples created by Arthur fisting himself slowly under the water made a soft slapping sound as it lapped in shallow waves against the side of the tub. Between the noises filling the room, the smells and the sight of Arthur slowly working himself to a lazy release, Merlin managed to start roughly tugging the laces of his breeches open just enough to take himself in hand.
That first touch was like a blessing from the gods, sensation and relief and just not quite enough at the same time. Merlin had done this before many times. In fact there was little else he could remember about his fourteenth summer after he had discovered and frequently experimented with pleasuring himself. He’d even done it with Arthur in mind before, but this…This was better than his mind’s eye. This was Arthur; solid, naked and wet and thrusting in to curl of his own fist. It was almost too much, and Merlin had to squeeze his eyes shut for a moment, squeeze himself at the base even though he had barely managed three strokes, count to ten and reopen his eyes.
When he turned his focus back to the prince, Arthur’s head was thrown back over the edge of the bath, forehead pinched but his full lips where slack and parted slightly, letting out stuttered breaths. The tinkling sound of water splashing about echoed louder around the room as he pumped himself harder, quickened his pace. The hand left clutching reflexively at the lip of the tub was suddenly unclenched and moving down to where Merlin couldn’t see; to play with his balls perhaps? Or even further?
Splashes of water trickled indolently down the golden neck, down his arms, his chest and Merlin was struck with an overwhelming desire to crawl over and lap them up, trace them back to the source with his tongue. The greedy warlock watched with hungry eyes as soapy water rose and fell with the tide cause by Arthur’s powerful strokes. and sloshed over the side on to the cold stone floor around him. The prince’s panting breaths had graduated to openly enthusiastic grunts, a purr starting low in his chest that burst from his parted lips in deep growls. Merlin surprised himself by matching them quietly, muffling them by bringing his arm up over his mouth and biting down on the sleeve of his worn, blue shirt.
Fighting the urge to close his eyes, let his head roll back and allow his release to explode from him, Merlin felt the coiling heat in his belly and tension in every muscle, enough to make him want to collapse with the force of it. He was matching Arthur’s rhythmic strokes, up, down and twist. Up, down and twist. Thumb the head and start again. Faster, faster and oh.
A fervent groan and another distinct sound stole Merlin’s attention away from the task at hand. Merlin cut off a choked whimper whilst he watched Arthur with wide eyes, mouth agape in disbelief around his sleeve and hand jerking away furiously at his aching length.
“Merlin…Merlin…Mmf…Merlin!”
And as the breathy sound of the prince calling his name escalated in to a series of unintelligible growls and shouts, Merlin just had time to catch the moments in which Arthur arched his back, thrusting his hips forward so hard they broke the water’s surface. For those few precious seconds, he caught the sight of the prince pulling desperately at his swollen erection before his body sank back down and froze, his wrist slowing until he could milk the tender flesh no more.
Enhanced by the sight of Arthur in his own throes of pleasure, his own orgasm rushed over him, balls tightening, toes curling and Arthur‘s name on his red, bitten lips. The hot, tight tingling spread up through Merlin’s body. He felt the warm, wet spurts of his own release spill over his fist and spatter his shirt and felt as satisfied and sated as Arthur looked. The a wave of pleasure crashing in to him was so strong his knees buckled and he found himself pitching forward, cushioned by the towels he had dropped earlier; knocking the door wide open with a loud creak.
Light invaded his eyes from the main room as he lay sprawled on his front in a pile of towels, panting and desperately trying to pull a couple of brain cells together in order to react. His limbs were loose and uncooperative, his eyes took a moment to adjust and when he lifted his head to meet a pair of bright, dumbfounded blue eyes, it was all he could do not to smile.
“Merlin!?”
Caught!
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.•´¸.•*¨) ¸.•*¨)
(¸.•´ (¸.•´ .•´ ¸¸.•¨¯`•