Restraint (NC-17)
Title: Restraint
Author: blackmamba_esq
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur, Gwen, Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Word Count: 3,801
Written For: camelot_love’s 14 Days of Arthur/Gwen: Prompt F-39. Anything with dom!Gwen. (Bondage/spanking?) and kinkelot Challenge #5 "Restraints"
un_love_you Prompt # 16 “I want to break you.”
Warnings: Strong sexual content, restraint bondage, D&S (dom!Gwen, sub!Arthur)
A/N: Thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta. Any lingering mistakes are all mine.
Summary: Arthur is chained to a wall. Gwen finds this very convenient.
If Arthur were to make a list of all the stupid, clod-headed things Merlin has done since he came to Camelot, he would run out of parchment. Aside from general uselessness, there are the constant disappearances, broken dishware that travel three feet on their own, tarnished armor, and let’s not even talk about the mangy state of his horse which hasn’t been properly saddled in ages.
The list would be very long, no question. Before today, he would have been hard pressed to qualify them, place one boneheaded mistake above another when they were all so very, very bad. But this has topped them all. This has made him question his own sanity in keeping Merlin on. There is no coming back from this. There is just pain and vengeance, followed by many, many tears.
“Arthur?”
Gwen is staring at him through the dungeon bars with an expression hovering between horror and amusement. A whipping will be inadequate. This has evolved into a full blown humiliation, and as such, requires an equivalent punishment, something long and suitably withering.
“Gwen.” Arthur lifts his hands in a feeble attempt to wave. The shackles circling his wrists slap the wall with a jaunty clang. “I know what you must be thinking.”
She pushes the door open with ease. Of course Merlin forgot to lock it. Even his betrayals are clumsy, filled with fumbling mistakes. “No,” Gwen says with a slow head shake, her eyes fixed on the chain mounted to the wall. “I don’t think you do.”
“It was Merlin.” Arthur spits his name like an accusation. He shakes the irons, lifts the chains with his bound hands. “He knocked me out and-” he shakes them again, inviting her to share his outrage. “Did this.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!” Arthur sighs and tries to rub his face. This pulls the chains taunt, restricting the movement to a slight finger wiggle. “He claims it’s for my protection.”
“Oh.” Gwen wrinkles her nose and forehead in a way that he’d normally find adorable. But at the moment he’s too impatient to enjoy it. She’s contemplating his explanation when there’s absolutely nothing to consider. “Well, okay then,” she says, the nose wrinkles fading.
Okay then? Surely he heard her wrong. The keys are behind her, hanging on a hook just outside the cell. Why isn’t she frantic, jabbing them into the lock and checking his skin for cuts and bruises? Was that a smile?
“You think this is funny.”
Gwen covers her mouth with one hand, a small huff of air escaping through her fingers. It sounds suspiciously like a giggle. “No,” she says, though it’s coupled with raised eyebrows. “I just…well if Merlin thinks it’s necessary-”
“You don’t even know what he’s doing.” Arthur’s voice has taken on a slightly shrill quality he isn’t fond of. It sounds a bit too much like whining for his liking. “How could you take his side? He’s chained me to the wall.”
“Yes, I see that.”
“You-” Arthur pauses, studies her face. Gwen tucks her lips into thin line and narrows her eyes in response. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You want to.” He pulls at one shackle and only succeeds in scraping his knuckle. “Of all people, I’d think you’d be the most sympathetic.”
Gwen’s shoulders snap back, all humor drained from her eyes. He realizes his mistake immediately. Arthur watches her slow approach, torn between a frantic apology and a reasoned explanation. She doesn’t give him the chance to decide.
“You truly believe your situation is comparable to mine, being sentenced to death for something I didn’t do?”
“No.” Arthur moves to touch her but the chains are too short. He’s reduced to gesturing in her direction. “I misspoke. You know I don’t believe that.”
“What I know is that Merlin is a good person. If he thought this was the only way to protect you, then I trust him. After all this time, I should think you would too.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. While he does agree that Merlin’s helped him on occasion, it doesn’t change the fact that he can be exquisitely stupid at times. But he’s also harmless for the most part; except when he’s chaining people to slimy dungeon walls.
Five whippings, plus three weeks of mucking out the stables should do the trick. Oh and groveling on his hands and knees. There had better be tears.
“Guinevere.” Arthur clears his throat and summons his best, Pendragon voice. “The key ring is there, just outside door.” He gestures in its direction. Gwen turns around, following his line of sight. “If you could just…” His voice fades when she makes her way towards them. Gwen returns with the keys perched on one slim finger. They sway back and forth with each step.
“You want these?”
Arthur pauses, wondering if this is some sort of test. Obviously he wants the keys or he wouldn’t have asked for them. “Ah…yes?”
Gwen looks down at the iron ring with an indecipherable expression. Her mouth twists into a small smile, but this one is different than before, more mischievous, and slightly vindictive. “I don’t think I’ll let you have them just yet.”
"What?” Gwen tosses them into the corner. Arthur watches, helpless, as they skid across the floor. “Pick them up.”
“No.”
“No?” Arthur shakes the shackles, rattling the chains like a mad man. “Guinevere, unlock these chains!”
“You’re insufferable when you don’t get your way, did you know that? Smug and arrogant, throwing your title about.”
“I’ve said nothing about my title.” His thoughts are another story. But she can’t read his mind any case.
“You don’t have to.” When she moves forward, Arthur fights the urge to take a step back, which is ridiculous. What on earth is he afraid of? “It’s there in your voice, the way you look at me.” She’s close enough that he can smell her skin, soap and something else, something sweet. “You have a very royal stare Arthur. It’s dripping with entitlement.”
He isn’t sure how to respond to that. The conversation has veered into unfamiliar territory. Gwen’s challenged him before (and always with a hesitance he’s found endearing) but this, the cutting sarcasm, the tightening around her eyes. This is bordering on taunting.
Well fine, if she wants to taunt. He’ll taunt her right back. “I suppose it would appear that way to someone so…short.”
That didn’t go at all as he’d planned.
Gwen lifts an eyebrow. “Short?”
“Yes.” He’s started the thing, might as well commit to it. “Positively tiny.”
“Oh well, I may be small.” She flops her hands lazily and wiggles her fingers. “But at least I’m not chained to dungeon wall.”
“Give me the keys Guinevere.”
“No.” She takes a step back, raking her eyes from his feet to his hairline. “Actually…” Her lips quirk into that familiar half smile. “I think I like you this way. Feral, petulant and needy…it suits you.”
“I am not needy,” Arthur says. Gwen turns to look at the keys lying uselessly in the corner. Arthur sighs and deliberately softens his voice. “Okay, yes, I do need those, but Gwen…” He pauses, softening even more. “Guinevere, these chains…they’re really starting to hurt.”
It’s mostly true. He’s left out the fact that it’s his yanking and pulling that’s caused the bulk of his injuries.
Gwen looks at his hands with only mild concern, which again isn’t like her at all. He’s starting to wonder if she’s part of Merlin’s scheme. They’re always huddled together, whispering and conspiring. In fact, a few of the servants have implied that Gwen fancies him, which couldn’t be farther from the truth as he’s not her type at all. Still, they are very close.
“It’s just a few scrapes and bruises Arthur.” She touches the chain between his wrists. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching the slow progression of the chains, which she’s now lifting higher, towards her waist. His knuckles brush against her stomach, the embroidered flowers on her bodice. For some reason the sight of rusted metal against something so delicate and unabashedly feminine excites him. He fans his fingers to caress the soft, purple linen.
“What would you have me do?” Arthur asks. He’s more curious than angry now. Gwen’s eyes slide leisurely over his shoulders and chest, sizing him up like a lamb for slaughter. “What do want Guinevere?”
Gwen bites her lower lip and touches his chest, the bare bit of skin at his neck. She moves her fingers lower, tracing his collar bone and the indention of muscle at the center. She stops there and makes a small circle, marking her territory. “I want you on your knees.” She looks at him with fierce, determined eyes. “I want you to beg.”
Arthur is torn between being furious she’d make such a ridiculous request, and arousal, so thick and stifling he feels as if he’s choking. Gwen takes the chain and slowly winds it around her fist. She pulls, scrapes the shackles across his already raw skin. It hurts, but he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t stop their progression to the battered heels of his hand. Arthur stares at the restraints and realizes he doesn’t want to.
“Arthur,” Gwen says, and shifts her eyes to the ground. He’s supposed to be kneeling, groveling to earn his freedom. Arthur starts to explain that it’s out of the question, that there is no way he will beg for anything, but stops when she pulls at the laces of her bodice.
“Guinevere.” Arthur clears his throat when she tosses the bodice to the ground. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not kneeling.” Gwen’s dress is loose, the outline of her breasts clearly visible with only a thin chemise underneath. She touches his shoulder and it’s pulled taunt against her nipples, which have stiffened into small peaks. “Your knees Arthur.”
He frowns at the gentle pressure against his shoulder. If this were anyone else he would have throttled them by now, wrenched their arm until they agreed to set him free. Gwen’s within arms length but he can’t bring himself to manhandle her. The thought literally makes him ill. His only option is obedience.
Arthur kneels, lowers himself to his knees on the cold dirt floor. He looks up at that sweet heart-shaped face and says (with sincerity that surprises him), “Whatever you want Guinevere, it’s yours.”
Gwen moves forward, until her knee is pressed against his chest. Arthur hesitates and looks up for permission. She nods. He reaches beneath her dress to clasp her ankle with both hands. The cell is silent save the clink of his chains as he slides them higher, slowly baring her shin and calf.
Arthur stops at her knee and leans forward to kiss her leg, the dimpled indention below her inner thigh. She touches the top of his head with her fingertips.
“Don’t stop.” Gwen’s demand sounds more like a suggestion than an order, but its effect is the same. Arthur resumes his task, pushing the dress the remaining distance up her leg. The shackles drag against her skin, leaving faint red marks behind them.
He glances behind her, at the bars and empty room just beyond the cell. Arthur’s nearly reached the top and is now gripped with fear. They could be discovered. The thought of explaining this, the chains, Gwen’s state of undress, his erection, now obscenely tenting his trousers, makes him hesitate, his fingers still against her leg. Gwen touches the nape of his neck to reclaim his attention.
“They’re gone,” she says. Apparently his thoughts are clear on his face. “Merlin’s taken care of them as well.”
Arthur doesn’t mention that Merlin himself could walk in at any moment, dragging some excuse as to why he’s committed high treason this morning. His fingers are inches away from their destination and whatever desire he had to resist this, resist her, has dwindled to almost nothing, just the vague notion that this is likely a very dangerous game they’re playing. But Gwen shifts to the right, angles her body towards his hand and his last coherent thought evaporates with feel of her coarse curls against his fingers.
Gwen grabs the chain before he can explore further. She pulls and the shackles slide lower to tighten around his forearm. Arthur grunts, but doesn’t protest. He’s experienced much worse in battle; the sharp pinches she’s caused are gentle in comparison. Only this is Gwen, Guinevere, who he’d always considered incapable of harming another human being. Well, unless someone’s life was in danger. She’d take up a sword then, but not for her own selfish pleasure.
Arthur lets that particular revelation sink in and finds that it, along with everything else about the situation, is responsible for his painfully aroused state. The idea that she would use him this way, like some…sex slave, is something he’s never considered. But looking up at her with knees aching, fingers twitching with fatigue while she mauls him, taunts him with those sly little grins, he’s starting to wonder how he could have missed it. She’s always been stronger than she has any right to be.
“Come here.” Gwen leans down, the chain still wrapped around her fist and presses her mouth to his. Arthur has decided that any sort of initiative or aggression on his part might ruin the game, so he waits for guidance, lets her kiss him, instead of the other way around. She doesn’t order him to participate and seems quite content to explore his mouth at leisure.
Gwen licks his bottom lip, nips it with her teeth. She moves to the top, sucks gently and nudges his lips apart with her tongue. She tilts her head to one side which covers his face in a swarm of dark curls. Gwen swirls her tongue around his, drags it across the tip. It doesn’t feel like a kiss anymore at all; more like he’s being explored or tasted rather. Gwen leans back and licks her lips as if she’s finished a satisfying meal.
She relaxes her grip on the chain, which slacks to the ground with a metallic clang. Gwen threads her fingers through his and guides his hand between her legs. Their fingers grow warm and damp with her slick as they stroke in unison, along her lips, and around her opening. Her breath hitches when Arthur slides his inside. She hasn’t given permission, but he’s grown tired of waiting. There is a limit to his patience after all.
Gwen grabs his shoulders. Her skirts are clenched in one hand, a large bulk of the fabric draped around his shoulder. It creates a sort of curtain, a modest shield against prying eyes. Beneath it, he fingers her with a slow deliberate rhythm, retreating only to plunge deep again with a force that makes her gasp.
“Guinevere?” Arthur waits until she meets his eyes. At her barely perceptible nod Arthur leans forward and licks her. She tastes salty, pungent and sweet all at the same time. He licks again, this time starting lower, near his hand. His fingers and tongue have found a new rhythm, slightly faster than before, but not too hurried or frantic. He is greedy about it though, burying his face so deep that his chin is coated with her. Arthur latches on to a bit of flesh near the front and she makes a yelping sound, like a mewling cat, from somewhere inside her throat. He sucks again and she groans. Apparently, he’s discovered a sensitive spot.
The cell is filled with his grunts and her moans, the soft sound of his mouth working between her legs. Gwen’s muscles clench and she pulls his hair tighter, blunt nails scraping against his scalp. She shudders and groans, her eyes fluttering closed. Arthur leans back to look at her sweat covered face, chest heavy with pride. Her lips are curved into a lazy, satisfied grin.
Gwen crouches and touches his lips, which are still wet and swollen. She kisses him, damp lips and all, which alone feel more illicit than the entire encounter.
Arthur’s so distracted by her mouth that he doesn’t notice she’s retrieved the chain. Her other hand has snaked its way into his lap. Gwen traces the line of his shaft, clearly visible through the now painfully tight trousers. It occurs to him that she might leave him in this state, aroused and chained with no hope for relief.
“Gwen.” Arthur struggles to erase the hint of desperation in his voice. “I can’t…” He pauses, searching for a tactful way to make such a lurid request. “Perhaps if you helped me with my trousers?” God, she’s turned him into a bumbling idiot. “Please?” There, she should appreciate that at least.
“That was very polite Arthur.” Gwen tugs at the sleeve of her dress. He watches her peel it from her body. “And very much appreciated.” She stands and lets it fall, leaving only the thin white chemise. It covers nothing. Her nipples are clearly visible, dark brown little peaks beneath the fabric.
“Lift your arms.”
Arthur immediately obeys, lifting his hands high overhead. The chain sways over his legs and chest, but she brushes it aside to straddle his thighs. She’s on her knees, her breasts even with his mouth. Arthur hesitates a moment, but gives in the urge to lick through the fabric. Gwen doesn’t stop him. Her fingers are at his waist, unfastening the tie of his trousers. Arthur methodically wets the chemise, soaking it with his tongue until it’s nearly transparent.
Cool air hits his skin when she’s finally freed him. “Lift your arms higher Arthur.”
His arms are aching, muscles twitching from holding the position so long. And now she wants him to lift them higher. He frowns and pushes his shoulder together in a feeble attempt to comply.
Gwen stands and gathers her dress in one hand. She turns around (lovely view of her bottom) and straddles his lap again. Arthur’s face is buried in her hair, her back pressed against his chest. “Lower them,” she says, and he complies, encircling her with bound arms. Gwen grabs the chain again and pulls it taunt. He has no slack, no range of motion inside the shackles. His hands flail uselessly in front of him while she lowers herself onto his cock.
Gwen leans back, her cheek pressed against his. She starts to move, up and down the length of his shaft at an infuriatingly slow pace. The chemise has slipped lower to bare her breasts. Arthur tries to touch them, but his hands hitch inside the shackles.
“Gwen,” he says, and tries to move his hands again. Arthur closes his eyes and groans when she clenches her muscles around his cock. “Guinevere.” He has no patience now. His anger has returned full force, fanned by lust and frustration. He wants it faster and harder. He wants to hold her down, not be pinned like some wild animal. That’s what he feels like, an animal that’s been caged. Arthur presses his mouth against her shoulder and bares his teeth.
What on earth is he doing?
“Guinevere, please.”
Gwen grabs his hands and pushes them lower, between her legs. Arthur curls his fingers against her, one strategically pressed against the sensitive spot, and lifts his hips as best as he can, which isn’t far given his position the floor. Gwen arches her back, which presses her bottom more firmly against him. She strokes him (that’s how it feels, like she’s stroking him from the inside) with slow, grinding thrusts of her hips. Arthur groans and leans against the stone wall behind him. The rocks scrape against his back with every movement, slicing shallow cuts into his skin. But the pain is tangled in pleasure, numbed by the slippery heat of her body and the rapidly building pressure that threatens to blur his vision.
“Don’t stop,” he hisses, pleads, begs. “Gwen, please. Please, don’t-” He cries out, her name mixed inside a groan and comes so hard and fast he can’t breathe. He rocks his hips in jerky, frantic succession, until his muscles unclench and relax, his lungs inflated with rapid gulps of air. Gwen is slumped against him, her own breathing ragged and labored. She looks at him through the dark fringe of her lashes.
“I suppose you want the key now.”
Arthur merely stares, silent, his hands resting limply between her legs.
--
“You really were in danger.” Merlin waddles into room, his arm filled with nearly every piece of armor Arthur owns. He dumps them on the floor while Arthur watches from his chair, both feet propped on top of his dinner table. “I know you don’t believe me-”
“Oh, I believe you.” Arthur grabs an apple and takes a large bite. “I believe you thought the only way to save my life was to cock me over the head and throw me in my own dungeon.” He takes another bite. “I believe that you truly had my well being in mind, when instead of explaining that a horde of angry trolls were on their way to Camelot and that they sent an assassin in the guise of the royal cook, you decided to face them yourself despite knowing absolutely nothing about swords and fighting.”
Arthur tosses the half eaten apple on the floor. Merlin stares at the core with solemn resignation. “Okay, so maybe there were other options.”
“Maybe.”
“But at least you had Gwen to keep you company.” Arthur chokes on the last bit of apple. He reaches for a goblet of water and gulps it down as Merlin watches with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Arthur returns the goblet to the table. “What do you mean by…well, Gwen wasn’t…what do you mean?”
“I mean I sent her to check on you.” Merlin picks up a rag and sits on the floor. “I didn’t tell her you were there, just that there was someone in the dungeon that might need help.”
Arthur leans forwards and snatches the rag from Merlin’s hand. “Go.”
Merlin frowns, confused. “What?”
“Forget the armor, just...never do it again.” Arthur leans down to retrieve the apple and winces at the sharp pain along his back. Merlin stands and gives him a long, perceptive look.
“How long were down there? I thought Gwen would let you out pretty quickly.”
Arthur turns away, rubbing his aching wrists. “She’s a great deal more stubborn than she looks.”
Author: blackmamba_esq
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Arthur, Gwen, Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Gwen
Word Count: 3,801
Written For: camelot_love’s 14 Days of Arthur/Gwen: Prompt F-39. Anything with dom!Gwen. (Bondage/spanking?) and kinkelot Challenge #5 "Restraints"
un_love_you Prompt # 16 “I want to break you.”
Warnings: Strong sexual content, restraint bondage, D&S (dom!Gwen, sub!Arthur)
A/N: Thanks to tokenblkgirl for the beta. Any lingering mistakes are all mine.
Summary: Arthur is chained to a wall. Gwen finds this very convenient.
If Arthur were to make a list of all the stupid, clod-headed things Merlin has done since he came to Camelot, he would run out of parchment. Aside from general uselessness, there are the constant disappearances, broken dishware that travel three feet on their own, tarnished armor, and let’s not even talk about the mangy state of his horse which hasn’t been properly saddled in ages.
The list would be very long, no question. Before today, he would have been hard pressed to qualify them, place one boneheaded mistake above another when they were all so very, very bad. But this has topped them all. This has made him question his own sanity in keeping Merlin on. There is no coming back from this. There is just pain and vengeance, followed by many, many tears.
“Arthur?”
Gwen is staring at him through the dungeon bars with an expression hovering between horror and amusement. A whipping will be inadequate. This has evolved into a full blown humiliation, and as such, requires an equivalent punishment, something long and suitably withering.
“Gwen.” Arthur lifts his hands in a feeble attempt to wave. The shackles circling his wrists slap the wall with a jaunty clang. “I know what you must be thinking.”
She pushes the door open with ease. Of course Merlin forgot to lock it. Even his betrayals are clumsy, filled with fumbling mistakes. “No,” Gwen says with a slow head shake, her eyes fixed on the chain mounted to the wall. “I don’t think you do.”
“It was Merlin.” Arthur spits his name like an accusation. He shakes the irons, lifts the chains with his bound hands. “He knocked me out and-” he shakes them again, inviting her to share his outrage. “Did this.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know!” Arthur sighs and tries to rub his face. This pulls the chains taunt, restricting the movement to a slight finger wiggle. “He claims it’s for my protection.”
“Oh.” Gwen wrinkles her nose and forehead in a way that he’d normally find adorable. But at the moment he’s too impatient to enjoy it. She’s contemplating his explanation when there’s absolutely nothing to consider. “Well, okay then,” she says, the nose wrinkles fading.
Okay then? Surely he heard her wrong. The keys are behind her, hanging on a hook just outside the cell. Why isn’t she frantic, jabbing them into the lock and checking his skin for cuts and bruises? Was that a smile?
“You think this is funny.”
Gwen covers her mouth with one hand, a small huff of air escaping through her fingers. It sounds suspiciously like a giggle. “No,” she says, though it’s coupled with raised eyebrows. “I just…well if Merlin thinks it’s necessary-”
“You don’t even know what he’s doing.” Arthur’s voice has taken on a slightly shrill quality he isn’t fond of. It sounds a bit too much like whining for his liking. “How could you take his side? He’s chained me to the wall.”
“Yes, I see that.”
“You-” Arthur pauses, studies her face. Gwen tucks her lips into thin line and narrows her eyes in response. “You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
“I’m not laughing.”
“You want to.” He pulls at one shackle and only succeeds in scraping his knuckle. “Of all people, I’d think you’d be the most sympathetic.”
Gwen’s shoulders snap back, all humor drained from her eyes. He realizes his mistake immediately. Arthur watches her slow approach, torn between a frantic apology and a reasoned explanation. She doesn’t give him the chance to decide.
“You truly believe your situation is comparable to mine, being sentenced to death for something I didn’t do?”
“No.” Arthur moves to touch her but the chains are too short. He’s reduced to gesturing in her direction. “I misspoke. You know I don’t believe that.”
“What I know is that Merlin is a good person. If he thought this was the only way to protect you, then I trust him. After all this time, I should think you would too.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. While he does agree that Merlin’s helped him on occasion, it doesn’t change the fact that he can be exquisitely stupid at times. But he’s also harmless for the most part; except when he’s chaining people to slimy dungeon walls.
Five whippings, plus three weeks of mucking out the stables should do the trick. Oh and groveling on his hands and knees. There had better be tears.
“Guinevere.” Arthur clears his throat and summons his best, Pendragon voice. “The key ring is there, just outside door.” He gestures in its direction. Gwen turns around, following his line of sight. “If you could just…” His voice fades when she makes her way towards them. Gwen returns with the keys perched on one slim finger. They sway back and forth with each step.
“You want these?”
Arthur pauses, wondering if this is some sort of test. Obviously he wants the keys or he wouldn’t have asked for them. “Ah…yes?”
Gwen looks down at the iron ring with an indecipherable expression. Her mouth twists into a small smile, but this one is different than before, more mischievous, and slightly vindictive. “I don’t think I’ll let you have them just yet.”
"What?” Gwen tosses them into the corner. Arthur watches, helpless, as they skid across the floor. “Pick them up.”
“No.”
“No?” Arthur shakes the shackles, rattling the chains like a mad man. “Guinevere, unlock these chains!”
“You’re insufferable when you don’t get your way, did you know that? Smug and arrogant, throwing your title about.”
“I’ve said nothing about my title.” His thoughts are another story. But she can’t read his mind any case.
“You don’t have to.” When she moves forward, Arthur fights the urge to take a step back, which is ridiculous. What on earth is he afraid of? “It’s there in your voice, the way you look at me.” She’s close enough that he can smell her skin, soap and something else, something sweet. “You have a very royal stare Arthur. It’s dripping with entitlement.”
He isn’t sure how to respond to that. The conversation has veered into unfamiliar territory. Gwen’s challenged him before (and always with a hesitance he’s found endearing) but this, the cutting sarcasm, the tightening around her eyes. This is bordering on taunting.
Well fine, if she wants to taunt. He’ll taunt her right back. “I suppose it would appear that way to someone so…short.”
That didn’t go at all as he’d planned.
Gwen lifts an eyebrow. “Short?”
“Yes.” He’s started the thing, might as well commit to it. “Positively tiny.”
“Oh well, I may be small.” She flops her hands lazily and wiggles her fingers. “But at least I’m not chained to dungeon wall.”
“Give me the keys Guinevere.”
“No.” She takes a step back, raking her eyes from his feet to his hairline. “Actually…” Her lips quirk into that familiar half smile. “I think I like you this way. Feral, petulant and needy…it suits you.”
“I am not needy,” Arthur says. Gwen turns to look at the keys lying uselessly in the corner. Arthur sighs and deliberately softens his voice. “Okay, yes, I do need those, but Gwen…” He pauses, softening even more. “Guinevere, these chains…they’re really starting to hurt.”
It’s mostly true. He’s left out the fact that it’s his yanking and pulling that’s caused the bulk of his injuries.
Gwen looks at his hands with only mild concern, which again isn’t like her at all. He’s starting to wonder if she’s part of Merlin’s scheme. They’re always huddled together, whispering and conspiring. In fact, a few of the servants have implied that Gwen fancies him, which couldn’t be farther from the truth as he’s not her type at all. Still, they are very close.
“It’s just a few scrapes and bruises Arthur.” She touches the chain between his wrists. “I’m sure you’ll survive.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. He’s too busy watching the slow progression of the chains, which she’s now lifting higher, towards her waist. His knuckles brush against her stomach, the embroidered flowers on her bodice. For some reason the sight of rusted metal against something so delicate and unabashedly feminine excites him. He fans his fingers to caress the soft, purple linen.
“What would you have me do?” Arthur asks. He’s more curious than angry now. Gwen’s eyes slide leisurely over his shoulders and chest, sizing him up like a lamb for slaughter. “What do want Guinevere?”
Gwen bites her lower lip and touches his chest, the bare bit of skin at his neck. She moves her fingers lower, tracing his collar bone and the indention of muscle at the center. She stops there and makes a small circle, marking her territory. “I want you on your knees.” She looks at him with fierce, determined eyes. “I want you to beg.”
Arthur is torn between being furious she’d make such a ridiculous request, and arousal, so thick and stifling he feels as if he’s choking. Gwen takes the chain and slowly winds it around her fist. She pulls, scrapes the shackles across his already raw skin. It hurts, but he doesn’t stop her, doesn’t stop their progression to the battered heels of his hand. Arthur stares at the restraints and realizes he doesn’t want to.
“Arthur,” Gwen says, and shifts her eyes to the ground. He’s supposed to be kneeling, groveling to earn his freedom. Arthur starts to explain that it’s out of the question, that there is no way he will beg for anything, but stops when she pulls at the laces of her bodice.
“Guinevere.” Arthur clears his throat when she tosses the bodice to the ground. “What are you doing?”
“You’re not kneeling.” Gwen’s dress is loose, the outline of her breasts clearly visible with only a thin chemise underneath. She touches his shoulder and it’s pulled taunt against her nipples, which have stiffened into small peaks. “Your knees Arthur.”
He frowns at the gentle pressure against his shoulder. If this were anyone else he would have throttled them by now, wrenched their arm until they agreed to set him free. Gwen’s within arms length but he can’t bring himself to manhandle her. The thought literally makes him ill. His only option is obedience.
Arthur kneels, lowers himself to his knees on the cold dirt floor. He looks up at that sweet heart-shaped face and says (with sincerity that surprises him), “Whatever you want Guinevere, it’s yours.”
Gwen moves forward, until her knee is pressed against his chest. Arthur hesitates and looks up for permission. She nods. He reaches beneath her dress to clasp her ankle with both hands. The cell is silent save the clink of his chains as he slides them higher, slowly baring her shin and calf.
Arthur stops at her knee and leans forward to kiss her leg, the dimpled indention below her inner thigh. She touches the top of his head with her fingertips.
“Don’t stop.” Gwen’s demand sounds more like a suggestion than an order, but its effect is the same. Arthur resumes his task, pushing the dress the remaining distance up her leg. The shackles drag against her skin, leaving faint red marks behind them.
He glances behind her, at the bars and empty room just beyond the cell. Arthur’s nearly reached the top and is now gripped with fear. They could be discovered. The thought of explaining this, the chains, Gwen’s state of undress, his erection, now obscenely tenting his trousers, makes him hesitate, his fingers still against her leg. Gwen touches the nape of his neck to reclaim his attention.
“They’re gone,” she says. Apparently his thoughts are clear on his face. “Merlin’s taken care of them as well.”
Arthur doesn’t mention that Merlin himself could walk in at any moment, dragging some excuse as to why he’s committed high treason this morning. His fingers are inches away from their destination and whatever desire he had to resist this, resist her, has dwindled to almost nothing, just the vague notion that this is likely a very dangerous game they’re playing. But Gwen shifts to the right, angles her body towards his hand and his last coherent thought evaporates with feel of her coarse curls against his fingers.
Gwen grabs the chain before he can explore further. She pulls and the shackles slide lower to tighten around his forearm. Arthur grunts, but doesn’t protest. He’s experienced much worse in battle; the sharp pinches she’s caused are gentle in comparison. Only this is Gwen, Guinevere, who he’d always considered incapable of harming another human being. Well, unless someone’s life was in danger. She’d take up a sword then, but not for her own selfish pleasure.
Arthur lets that particular revelation sink in and finds that it, along with everything else about the situation, is responsible for his painfully aroused state. The idea that she would use him this way, like some…sex slave, is something he’s never considered. But looking up at her with knees aching, fingers twitching with fatigue while she mauls him, taunts him with those sly little grins, he’s starting to wonder how he could have missed it. She’s always been stronger than she has any right to be.
“Come here.” Gwen leans down, the chain still wrapped around her fist and presses her mouth to his. Arthur has decided that any sort of initiative or aggression on his part might ruin the game, so he waits for guidance, lets her kiss him, instead of the other way around. She doesn’t order him to participate and seems quite content to explore his mouth at leisure.
Gwen licks his bottom lip, nips it with her teeth. She moves to the top, sucks gently and nudges his lips apart with her tongue. She tilts her head to one side which covers his face in a swarm of dark curls. Gwen swirls her tongue around his, drags it across the tip. It doesn’t feel like a kiss anymore at all; more like he’s being explored or tasted rather. Gwen leans back and licks her lips as if she’s finished a satisfying meal.
She relaxes her grip on the chain, which slacks to the ground with a metallic clang. Gwen threads her fingers through his and guides his hand between her legs. Their fingers grow warm and damp with her slick as they stroke in unison, along her lips, and around her opening. Her breath hitches when Arthur slides his inside. She hasn’t given permission, but he’s grown tired of waiting. There is a limit to his patience after all.
Gwen grabs his shoulders. Her skirts are clenched in one hand, a large bulk of the fabric draped around his shoulder. It creates a sort of curtain, a modest shield against prying eyes. Beneath it, he fingers her with a slow deliberate rhythm, retreating only to plunge deep again with a force that makes her gasp.
“Guinevere?” Arthur waits until she meets his eyes. At her barely perceptible nod Arthur leans forward and licks her. She tastes salty, pungent and sweet all at the same time. He licks again, this time starting lower, near his hand. His fingers and tongue have found a new rhythm, slightly faster than before, but not too hurried or frantic. He is greedy about it though, burying his face so deep that his chin is coated with her. Arthur latches on to a bit of flesh near the front and she makes a yelping sound, like a mewling cat, from somewhere inside her throat. He sucks again and she groans. Apparently, he’s discovered a sensitive spot.
The cell is filled with his grunts and her moans, the soft sound of his mouth working between her legs. Gwen’s muscles clench and she pulls his hair tighter, blunt nails scraping against his scalp. She shudders and groans, her eyes fluttering closed. Arthur leans back to look at her sweat covered face, chest heavy with pride. Her lips are curved into a lazy, satisfied grin.
Gwen crouches and touches his lips, which are still wet and swollen. She kisses him, damp lips and all, which alone feel more illicit than the entire encounter.
Arthur’s so distracted by her mouth that he doesn’t notice she’s retrieved the chain. Her other hand has snaked its way into his lap. Gwen traces the line of his shaft, clearly visible through the now painfully tight trousers. It occurs to him that she might leave him in this state, aroused and chained with no hope for relief.
“Gwen.” Arthur struggles to erase the hint of desperation in his voice. “I can’t…” He pauses, searching for a tactful way to make such a lurid request. “Perhaps if you helped me with my trousers?” God, she’s turned him into a bumbling idiot. “Please?” There, she should appreciate that at least.
“That was very polite Arthur.” Gwen tugs at the sleeve of her dress. He watches her peel it from her body. “And very much appreciated.” She stands and lets it fall, leaving only the thin white chemise. It covers nothing. Her nipples are clearly visible, dark brown little peaks beneath the fabric.
“Lift your arms.”
Arthur immediately obeys, lifting his hands high overhead. The chain sways over his legs and chest, but she brushes it aside to straddle his thighs. She’s on her knees, her breasts even with his mouth. Arthur hesitates a moment, but gives in the urge to lick through the fabric. Gwen doesn’t stop him. Her fingers are at his waist, unfastening the tie of his trousers. Arthur methodically wets the chemise, soaking it with his tongue until it’s nearly transparent.
Cool air hits his skin when she’s finally freed him. “Lift your arms higher Arthur.”
His arms are aching, muscles twitching from holding the position so long. And now she wants him to lift them higher. He frowns and pushes his shoulder together in a feeble attempt to comply.
Gwen stands and gathers her dress in one hand. She turns around (lovely view of her bottom) and straddles his lap again. Arthur’s face is buried in her hair, her back pressed against his chest. “Lower them,” she says, and he complies, encircling her with bound arms. Gwen grabs the chain again and pulls it taunt. He has no slack, no range of motion inside the shackles. His hands flail uselessly in front of him while she lowers herself onto his cock.
Gwen leans back, her cheek pressed against his. She starts to move, up and down the length of his shaft at an infuriatingly slow pace. The chemise has slipped lower to bare her breasts. Arthur tries to touch them, but his hands hitch inside the shackles.
“Gwen,” he says, and tries to move his hands again. Arthur closes his eyes and groans when she clenches her muscles around his cock. “Guinevere.” He has no patience now. His anger has returned full force, fanned by lust and frustration. He wants it faster and harder. He wants to hold her down, not be pinned like some wild animal. That’s what he feels like, an animal that’s been caged. Arthur presses his mouth against her shoulder and bares his teeth.
What on earth is he doing?
“Guinevere, please.”
Gwen grabs his hands and pushes them lower, between her legs. Arthur curls his fingers against her, one strategically pressed against the sensitive spot, and lifts his hips as best as he can, which isn’t far given his position the floor. Gwen arches her back, which presses her bottom more firmly against him. She strokes him (that’s how it feels, like she’s stroking him from the inside) with slow, grinding thrusts of her hips. Arthur groans and leans against the stone wall behind him. The rocks scrape against his back with every movement, slicing shallow cuts into his skin. But the pain is tangled in pleasure, numbed by the slippery heat of her body and the rapidly building pressure that threatens to blur his vision.
“Don’t stop,” he hisses, pleads, begs. “Gwen, please. Please, don’t-” He cries out, her name mixed inside a groan and comes so hard and fast he can’t breathe. He rocks his hips in jerky, frantic succession, until his muscles unclench and relax, his lungs inflated with rapid gulps of air. Gwen is slumped against him, her own breathing ragged and labored. She looks at him through the dark fringe of her lashes.
“I suppose you want the key now.”
Arthur merely stares, silent, his hands resting limply between her legs.
--
“You really were in danger.” Merlin waddles into room, his arm filled with nearly every piece of armor Arthur owns. He dumps them on the floor while Arthur watches from his chair, both feet propped on top of his dinner table. “I know you don’t believe me-”
“Oh, I believe you.” Arthur grabs an apple and takes a large bite. “I believe you thought the only way to save my life was to cock me over the head and throw me in my own dungeon.” He takes another bite. “I believe that you truly had my well being in mind, when instead of explaining that a horde of angry trolls were on their way to Camelot and that they sent an assassin in the guise of the royal cook, you decided to face them yourself despite knowing absolutely nothing about swords and fighting.”
Arthur tosses the half eaten apple on the floor. Merlin stares at the core with solemn resignation. “Okay, so maybe there were other options.”
“Maybe.”
“But at least you had Gwen to keep you company.” Arthur chokes on the last bit of apple. He reaches for a goblet of water and gulps it down as Merlin watches with narrowed eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” Arthur returns the goblet to the table. “What do you mean by…well, Gwen wasn’t…what do you mean?”
“I mean I sent her to check on you.” Merlin picks up a rag and sits on the floor. “I didn’t tell her you were there, just that there was someone in the dungeon that might need help.”
Arthur leans forwards and snatches the rag from Merlin’s hand. “Go.”
Merlin frowns, confused. “What?”
“Forget the armor, just...never do it again.” Arthur leans down to retrieve the apple and winces at the sharp pain along his back. Merlin stands and gives him a long, perceptive look.
“How long were down there? I thought Gwen would let you out pretty quickly.”
Arthur turns away, rubbing his aching wrists. “She’s a great deal more stubborn than she looks.”