Bone deep lust
Author: Judin
Title: Bone deep lust
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur.
Summary: Merlin craves relief, but finds his own hand to be frustratingly inadequate.
Warnings: PWP
Word Count: 1427
Prompt: #78 Lust
Author's Notes: I think maybe this should have been posted under "greed", but oh well. I took the prompt as a chance for more much-needed smut-practice.
The room is dark. Merlin has self control enough to not slam the door behind him, but that’s where it ends. Power bursts from him, making the candles on the table sputter violently to life. Spells shove against his flesh from the inside, wanting out. Merlin creates a barrier of silence around the room, and bars the door with nothing but his will, to make sure he will not be disturbed. He doesn’t know what he might do if someone were to walk in on him now.
He twists his head back and forth with a groan, dragging his blunt, bitten nails down his chest. With sudden urgency he yanks off his jacket and shirt, claws the neckerchief loose and lets it fall unheeded, driving his long fingers into his own hair and tugging deliciously. He pushes his palms down his naked torso, returns to twist his nipples, whimpering low when a harsh pinch proves painful instead of satisfying.
Every touch heightens the ache underneath his skin, nothing scratches the itch. He feels like he is driving himself into madness, but he can’t stop.
Now his breeches, those next. He needs to be naked, needs to feel cooler air on his swollen, blood-hot prick. But it isn’t cooler, the room is too hot, and sweat makes his clothes stick and hard to get out of. He’s forgotten his boots and has to toe them off with his breeches around his ankles, but finally, finally he is rid of all barriers.
Air, he needs air! More magic rises up inside him, and wind was always an element that obeyed him, so it comes without spells, a gentle breeze that caresses and teases until he is moaning with it.
Merlin arches his chest until it hurts, and sinks to his knees beside his bed. He grips the bedpost with his left hand and leans his head against his knuckles, inhaling the scent of dust and sweat. The following exhale is a sigh as he can finally wrap his free hand around his erect prick and give it the first sweet stroke.
He spreads his legs and feels the cold breeze running across his heavy balls and between his buttocks.
“Yes.”
Merlin drives his hips forward and his cock into his loosely clenched fist, falls easily back on his heels again, pushes forward and falls back, like waves against the shore. Power thrums in him, flowing into his limbs and saturating him, pleased and willing to be soothed.
Sweat beads on his forehead even as the cold air floats down his back and makes him shiver. He is beginning to produce slick; he closes his fist around the head of his cock and spreads it down the shaft before tightening the channel of his hand and increasing the speed of his thrusts.
But even as sweet relief builds, even as the muscles in his thighs spasm and his abdomen tightens in impending orgasm, the merciful pleasure is matched by a monstrous emptiness growing inside him. Merlin stills his hips with an effort and whines high in his throat, left hand fluttering back to slide into his cleft and rub against his hole. He is balanced awkwardly on his spread knees, head hanging and eyes closed, cock twitching impatiently in his fist while his fingers press against the hungry pucker of his arsehole.
Merlin has wondered before, what it would feel like to be speared there by another man’s prick, feel it filling him, throbbing inside him. But he has never needed it before. He needs it now.
He bites his lower lip savagely and resumes stroking his cock, tightening his hand painfully and rubbing the head hard and fast, but the pleasure is gone, his cock numb to it. He presses a little harder with his other hand, a finger slips into his hole, just to the first knuckle, but it feels like a jolt of magic, sweet and empty at the same time. He moans and pushes further in, making the muscles in his legs jump with the unfamiliar feeling.
Merlin sits there for a moment, indecisiveness and humiliation warring with growing desperation, and then he pulls his hands away and pushes himself to his feet, crawling onto the bed.
He grabs his pillow and shoves it up between his legs, clenching his thighs around it, but it is thin and inadequate. He yanks it out, breathing shallowly through his nose, teeth set in frustration, folds the damn pillow and tries again. It’s snug and choking against his sore balls, and when he moves it brushes teasingly against his sensitized buttocks, but it’s not enough! He wants something bigger, something massive to force his legs apart and press relentlessly up against every vulnerable part of him. Something that will make him release whether he wants to or not.
Merlin presses his chest into the mattress, twisting this way and that to drag his nipples against the covers until they are tingling and going numb. He lies forward and experiences a pang of arousal at the solidity of the pillow keeping his legs apart. His cock ends up pressed between his stomach and the mattress.
For a long moment he simply lies there, stretched out on the bed, breathing deeply to calm himself down before taking two of the fingers on his right hand into his mouth and sucking on them. This is surprisingly good too, wet and tight, with his slick tongue swirling between and around the digits. Merlin closes his eyes again so he can pretend they are Arthur’s fingers, pushes them further in and pretends he cannot control this, that he is being made to take it. Merlin wonders how big Arthur is when he is hard, how much of that flushed red cock Merlin would be able to suck down, how long he would have to work his aching jaw until Arthur groaned and came down his throat. He wonders with wild abandon what Arthur’s spend tastes like, and swallows greedily around his fingers as if they can tell him the secret.
He has to make himself let go so he can reach back and rub the copious slickness around and into his hole. The angle is awkward and his shoulder quickly starts to hurt, but he doesn’t want to stop. When he sinks the first finger inside this time, his legs tremble with the pleasure. He pushes in deep. Before long he is fucking himself on three fingers, but almost weeping with frustration at the knife-edge of full/empty from which he cannot tumble. It’s still not enough, not even when he rises up on his knees to yank at his aching prick with his other hand.
The door creaks open behind him, but damn it if Merlin can bring himself to stop, especially because there is only one person who could have opened the door while Merlin set his will against it. Only one person whom Merlin’s will always defers to.
“M-Merlin!” Arthur says, shocked. He has discarded his chainmail, but is still in his gambeson, his hair dark with sweat at his nape. He isn’t looking away. Is Merlin imagining it or is his own hunger echoed in Arthur’s eyes?
Merlin is too far gone to stop himself, needs too desperately to fill the emptiness that is swallowing him from the inside. He twists around on the bed, goes over on his back and pulls his legs apart. Offering himself up in an obscene display. “Please! Fuck me, Sire!”
Arthur’s eyes go huge, his gaze drawn inexorably to the place where Merlin is hottest, where he yearns most keenly. Merlin bites his bottom lip hard, body wracked with emotion.
“Fuck.” Arthur grips his hardening prick through his breeches, teeth gritted. “Merlin.”
“Come on,” Merlin coaxes, forcing himself to slow down, to breathe. “Come fill me up. I’ll come so hard for you, make it so good. Please, Arthur.”
In two strides Arthur is on him, his broad body forcing Merlin’s down into the mattress. He kisses Merlin hard, and pleasure races down Merlin’s spine.
“Wanton,” Arthur groans. “I wondered why you suddenly disappeared.”
“Had to,” Merlin says, putting his arms around Arthur and rubbing his body shamelessly against the King’s. “Couldn’t watch you owning the field like that. Turned me on so bad.”
“Well, I won,” Arthur says, dragging his lips across Merlin’s cheek. “You can be my reward.”
“Then claim me. Do it now, please!”
Arthur grins and kisses him again.
When Arthur enters Merlin a little later, Merlin’s satisfaction goes bone deep.
Title: Bone deep lust
Rating: Nc-17
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur.
Summary: Merlin craves relief, but finds his own hand to be frustratingly inadequate.
Warnings: PWP
Word Count: 1427
Prompt: #78 Lust
Author's Notes: I think maybe this should have been posted under "greed", but oh well. I took the prompt as a chance for more much-needed smut-practice.
The room is dark. Merlin has self control enough to not slam the door behind him, but that’s where it ends. Power bursts from him, making the candles on the table sputter violently to life. Spells shove against his flesh from the inside, wanting out. Merlin creates a barrier of silence around the room, and bars the door with nothing but his will, to make sure he will not be disturbed. He doesn’t know what he might do if someone were to walk in on him now.
He twists his head back and forth with a groan, dragging his blunt, bitten nails down his chest. With sudden urgency he yanks off his jacket and shirt, claws the neckerchief loose and lets it fall unheeded, driving his long fingers into his own hair and tugging deliciously. He pushes his palms down his naked torso, returns to twist his nipples, whimpering low when a harsh pinch proves painful instead of satisfying.
Every touch heightens the ache underneath his skin, nothing scratches the itch. He feels like he is driving himself into madness, but he can’t stop.
Now his breeches, those next. He needs to be naked, needs to feel cooler air on his swollen, blood-hot prick. But it isn’t cooler, the room is too hot, and sweat makes his clothes stick and hard to get out of. He’s forgotten his boots and has to toe them off with his breeches around his ankles, but finally, finally he is rid of all barriers.
Air, he needs air! More magic rises up inside him, and wind was always an element that obeyed him, so it comes without spells, a gentle breeze that caresses and teases until he is moaning with it.
Merlin arches his chest until it hurts, and sinks to his knees beside his bed. He grips the bedpost with his left hand and leans his head against his knuckles, inhaling the scent of dust and sweat. The following exhale is a sigh as he can finally wrap his free hand around his erect prick and give it the first sweet stroke.
He spreads his legs and feels the cold breeze running across his heavy balls and between his buttocks.
“Yes.”
Merlin drives his hips forward and his cock into his loosely clenched fist, falls easily back on his heels again, pushes forward and falls back, like waves against the shore. Power thrums in him, flowing into his limbs and saturating him, pleased and willing to be soothed.
Sweat beads on his forehead even as the cold air floats down his back and makes him shiver. He is beginning to produce slick; he closes his fist around the head of his cock and spreads it down the shaft before tightening the channel of his hand and increasing the speed of his thrusts.
But even as sweet relief builds, even as the muscles in his thighs spasm and his abdomen tightens in impending orgasm, the merciful pleasure is matched by a monstrous emptiness growing inside him. Merlin stills his hips with an effort and whines high in his throat, left hand fluttering back to slide into his cleft and rub against his hole. He is balanced awkwardly on his spread knees, head hanging and eyes closed, cock twitching impatiently in his fist while his fingers press against the hungry pucker of his arsehole.
Merlin has wondered before, what it would feel like to be speared there by another man’s prick, feel it filling him, throbbing inside him. But he has never needed it before. He needs it now.
He bites his lower lip savagely and resumes stroking his cock, tightening his hand painfully and rubbing the head hard and fast, but the pleasure is gone, his cock numb to it. He presses a little harder with his other hand, a finger slips into his hole, just to the first knuckle, but it feels like a jolt of magic, sweet and empty at the same time. He moans and pushes further in, making the muscles in his legs jump with the unfamiliar feeling.
Merlin sits there for a moment, indecisiveness and humiliation warring with growing desperation, and then he pulls his hands away and pushes himself to his feet, crawling onto the bed.
He grabs his pillow and shoves it up between his legs, clenching his thighs around it, but it is thin and inadequate. He yanks it out, breathing shallowly through his nose, teeth set in frustration, folds the damn pillow and tries again. It’s snug and choking against his sore balls, and when he moves it brushes teasingly against his sensitized buttocks, but it’s not enough! He wants something bigger, something massive to force his legs apart and press relentlessly up against every vulnerable part of him. Something that will make him release whether he wants to or not.
Merlin presses his chest into the mattress, twisting this way and that to drag his nipples against the covers until they are tingling and going numb. He lies forward and experiences a pang of arousal at the solidity of the pillow keeping his legs apart. His cock ends up pressed between his stomach and the mattress.
For a long moment he simply lies there, stretched out on the bed, breathing deeply to calm himself down before taking two of the fingers on his right hand into his mouth and sucking on them. This is surprisingly good too, wet and tight, with his slick tongue swirling between and around the digits. Merlin closes his eyes again so he can pretend they are Arthur’s fingers, pushes them further in and pretends he cannot control this, that he is being made to take it. Merlin wonders how big Arthur is when he is hard, how much of that flushed red cock Merlin would be able to suck down, how long he would have to work his aching jaw until Arthur groaned and came down his throat. He wonders with wild abandon what Arthur’s spend tastes like, and swallows greedily around his fingers as if they can tell him the secret.
He has to make himself let go so he can reach back and rub the copious slickness around and into his hole. The angle is awkward and his shoulder quickly starts to hurt, but he doesn’t want to stop. When he sinks the first finger inside this time, his legs tremble with the pleasure. He pushes in deep. Before long he is fucking himself on three fingers, but almost weeping with frustration at the knife-edge of full/empty from which he cannot tumble. It’s still not enough, not even when he rises up on his knees to yank at his aching prick with his other hand.
The door creaks open behind him, but damn it if Merlin can bring himself to stop, especially because there is only one person who could have opened the door while Merlin set his will against it. Only one person whom Merlin’s will always defers to.
“M-Merlin!” Arthur says, shocked. He has discarded his chainmail, but is still in his gambeson, his hair dark with sweat at his nape. He isn’t looking away. Is Merlin imagining it or is his own hunger echoed in Arthur’s eyes?
Merlin is too far gone to stop himself, needs too desperately to fill the emptiness that is swallowing him from the inside. He twists around on the bed, goes over on his back and pulls his legs apart. Offering himself up in an obscene display. “Please! Fuck me, Sire!”
Arthur’s eyes go huge, his gaze drawn inexorably to the place where Merlin is hottest, where he yearns most keenly. Merlin bites his bottom lip hard, body wracked with emotion.
“Fuck.” Arthur grips his hardening prick through his breeches, teeth gritted. “Merlin.”
“Come on,” Merlin coaxes, forcing himself to slow down, to breathe. “Come fill me up. I’ll come so hard for you, make it so good. Please, Arthur.”
In two strides Arthur is on him, his broad body forcing Merlin’s down into the mattress. He kisses Merlin hard, and pleasure races down Merlin’s spine.
“Wanton,” Arthur groans. “I wondered why you suddenly disappeared.”
“Had to,” Merlin says, putting his arms around Arthur and rubbing his body shamelessly against the King’s. “Couldn’t watch you owning the field like that. Turned me on so bad.”
“Well, I won,” Arthur says, dragging his lips across Merlin’s cheek. “You can be my reward.”
“Then claim me. Do it now, please!”
Arthur grins and kisses him again.
When Arthur enters Merlin a little later, Merlin’s satisfaction goes bone deep.