The Golden King, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur, 18/nc-17
Title: The Golden King
Author: Co-written by Katja, aka merry_gentry, and merihn
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Slash - Merlin/Arthur
Rating: 18/nc-17
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, they do not belong to me. They do conjure up rather pretty images in one's mind, though, don't they? ^_^
Author's Notes: Written by the two of us - it started out as random prompts on comment_fic that turned into, well, this. It's possible we write evil too well/easily! 0_o Please, don't read if you don't like dark!AUs - although, you know, it's still them, still Merlin and Arthur all wrapped up in each other, just...slightly darker. And, besides, merihn sent me a prompt - "meeting, trees, blue" - and practically demanded I write evil!fic for it. Like that's a hardship! XD
Summary: They’re under the clear blue summer sky - it’s a gorgeous day, and Arthur has to sit through some interminable meeting before he can take Merlin, have and own Merlin like Merlin’s trying to provoke him into doing.
Warnings: Evil/dark!AU - Merlin and Arthur ruling the whole of Albion and everyone in it and not really giving a damn about anyone but themselves. Descriptive public sex. Torture - although not very graphic. Biting/marking/claiming. If that's your thing? Enjoy! ♥
The entirety of Albion is theirs to do with as they will - the golden King and his pet sorcerer - and still there’s dissent, mutterings from the people that perhaps the King isn’t so good after all, perhaps they would be better off if someone…removed…him from power.
They haven’t learnt yet that Merlin sees all and Merlin hears all and Merlin knows all. That’s alright. They’ll learn.
Besides, Arthur thinks with a scowl, they’ve got food, haven’t they? He provides for them and doesn’t raise the taxes and doesn’t permit his soldiers to loot and pillage at will (oh, as if they’d dare, with Merlin’s background being a tiny, defenceless village and Merlin being so very nostalgic). They should be happy he’s taken them under his rule - they’re certainly better off. Some people are so ungrateful.
And Merlin rests a hand on the King’s shoulder as he comes up beside him, plays his fingers lightly up to the King’s neck and caresses the bare skin there. Under his touch, Arthur feels the magic dancing in him and he shivers slightly - can practically feel Merlin’s smile, coy and pleased with himself, and Arthur reaches, gathers Merlin to him and encourages the man to kneel next to him, Merlin’s hand sliding down Arthur’s body as he goes. Cheeky. He winds his fingers in Merlin’s hair, tugs slightly on the dark strands to remind Merlin of his manners, and Merlin chuckles lowly.
“Want,” he whispers, and Arthur smiles - sees the nearest courtiers and soldiers flinch slightly at the baring of his teeth.
“Later, my own,” he says back, not even bothering to lower his voice, and Merlin looks up at him and pouts, wraps his hand around one of Arthur’s legs; clever, clever hand finding it’s way up under the material to his skin, playing and tracing patterns and runes there. Merlin may keep to Arthur’s commands, when he so chooses, but he’ll make Arthur pay and pay and pay for it…the both of them delighting in it the whole time.
They’re under the clear blue summer sky - it’s a gorgeous day, and Arthur has to sit through some interminable meeting before he can take Merlin, have and own Merlin like Merlin’s trying to provoke him into doing. Some man, one of Morgana’s rebel leaders, is kneeling before the throne, hate and anger in his eyes as he looks up at Arthur, and Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur’s leg - narrows his eyes and Arthur knows Merlin’s eyes must have washed over with gold when the man screams and falls to his hands as well, panting for breath.
But the day is too pleasant to waste messing about punishing the bad, and Arthur orders the man to be tied to one of the great oak trees, wrapping his fingers around the leather of Merlin’s collar and tugging him up into his lap. Merlin goes eagerly - when has he ever not - and he nuzzles at Arthur’s neck, biting and licking and Arthur turns his sorcerer around on his lap, pulling Merlin back to lie against him. It’s flattering, how hard Merlin is for him already, and Arthur runs a firm hand over the bulge in Merlin’s trousers, whispers for Merlin to keep his eyes open, to keep them on the man directly opposite them, tied on the other side of the clearing.
He doesn’t dismiss his courtiers - why should he, when they’re nothing more than toys for him and Merlin to amuse themselves with on the long, dark nights of winter? - and he bites at the skin just above the strip of leather circling Merlin’s throat, tears at the ties on Merlin’s breeches and pulls them open, fists Merlin’s cock and bites down harder just to hear Merlin’s whimper.
“Play, my own,” Arthur says - loud enough for everyone to hear - and Merlin focuses on the criminal, lifts his hand just enough, and the man starts screaming, Merlin’s sex-desperate whimpers adding to the sound before long.
And when the man’s hanging forward against the ropes - the only things keeping him even vaguely upright - spit and blood mingling on his chin and staining his shirt, then - then - Arthur lets Merlin come in front of everyone, rubs his thumb across the head of Merlin’s cock just right and Merlin bucks in his lap, reaches back to fist his hand in Arthur’s hair and he screams to the clear blue summer sky above them. And Merlin collapses back against him, chest heaving, and Arthur shifts Merlin, turns his head to he can get to Merlin’s mouth, and he sucks the whimpers from Merlin’s tongue - only breaking off the kiss to feed Merlin his own taste, watching as Merlin sucks his come-soaked fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.
Merlin slumps against him, sex-sated, eyes still golden under his drooping eyelids, the man across the clearing finally regaining consciousness, whimpering as he struggles. Merlin smiles, turning his face so he can lick at Arthur’s throat, and Arthur holds him, rocks his hips up against Merlin’s arse. Suddenly he wants, he needs Merlin, needs to be inside him.
Merlin bites down on his neck, and Arthur wonders if Merlin can somehow read his mind because he rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder and sucks his own fingers into his mouth, putting on a display, his pink tongue flicking between his fingers, lips stretched tight and shiny-wet.
And as Arthur watches, Merlin slips his hand between his legs, pushes his breeches down out of the way and tilts his hips up for better access. And Arthur knows there’s an easier way to do this, that Merlin could have been slick and open in a matter of moments and a flash of gold, but he loves seeing Merlin like this, feeling Merlin against him as he opens himself up on his own fingers.
He rests his hand on Merlin’s belly, feels his muscles tense and twist as his hand does, and part of him wishes he could be down there, watching the pink skin stretch so prettily around his delving fingers. But he can see Merlin’s face, watches him bite his lip as he works, the please clear on his face.
But Arthur can’t wait any longer, and Merlin is going to have to deal with what he’s done, and Arthur pulls Merlin’s fingers free, urges him up so he can undo his own breeches and get them out of the way. Merlin wraps a slick hand around him and Arthur groans, bites so hard on his own lip he can taste blood. Merlin releases him, turns to lick the blood from his mouth before he slides his legs around Arthur’s and settles back, his arse slick and hot against his cock. Arthur feels it catch on the rim of Merlin’s hole as he rocks back slightly, and God, he wants in, he wants in now. He catches hold of Merlin’s hip, growls into his ear, tells him to stop messing around.
Merlin chuckles, and the man across the clearing screams, one long, piercing noise before slumping down again, unconscious or dead. Arthur can’t even remember who it is as Merlin slides himself down onto Arthur’s cock, one long, steady movement until their hips are flush.
And Arthur is torn, he wants to just fuck up into Merlin right now until he comes, mindless and heady, but he also wants it to last, wants to fuck him deep and slow under the clear blue sky, with their court surrounding them, watching them.
“Take me fast later,” Merlin suggests, reading his mind, his wants as easily as he’s ever done. “Do it slow now, make it last, make me beg for you to finish it in front of everyone,” and, oh, but Merlin’s always had the best ideas.
“Slow?” Arthur says, nips at Merlin’s collarbone and Merlin moans. “You’re going to regret that.”
“I know,” Merlin says with a grin, and Arthur rolls his hips up, letting Merlin ride him as he will, all slack mouth and spread legs and golden eyes. He’s kicked his breeches off completely, sitting in Arthur’s lap with nothing on but his boots and his collar and his shirt - the material of the last riding up, baring his cock, his hips, his belly, and Arthur drags his nails across that smooth white skin, cranes his neck so he can see the red trails coming up in his wake.
Arthur knows everyone’s watching - revels in the attention even as he dismisses everyone else as unimportant - knows what they can see, Merlin’s hole spread wide around his cock, the slick-glisten of Merlin’s spit as he rises and falls on Arthur as Arthur directs him. Merlin’s hard, legs spread, and Arthur laughs - Merlin’s such a slut for it, spreading his legs just that little bit wider, baring everything to everyone.
Merlin’s whispered stories to Arthur - images he’s seen in people’s minds, what they want to do to him, to them both, when they see Arthur fucking him in front of them. He’s told Arthur what they think of in the darkness of their bedrooms when they’re fucking their wives or their husbands or their catamites - murmured it between gasps as Arthur fucked him open with his fingers or wrapped his mouth around Merlin’s cock.
He’s told Arthur about the pain they want to cause, the blades and branding irons they want to use on Merlin and Arthur both. He’s told Arthur of the people who want to depose them, and Arthur growls against Merlin’s neck and reaches to wrap his hand around the base of Merlin’s cock - won’t let him come…going to make him beg…
Those people don’t last very long in their Albion.
And Arthur can hear the mutters now - here under the clear blue sky - wonders what they’re talking about and fucks up into Merlin harder but still keeps it slow, smirks as Merlin starts to moan, then mewl, then whimper.
He’s so very easy for Arthur, and Arthur adores that, loves that he can get Merlin so wound up that Merlin would say anything, promise anything, do anything - and Arthur grins because, well. Merlin already has. He’s given Arthur the whole of Albion, given him his magic for Arthur to do with as he will, and he’s loved every minute of it, just like Arthur has.
And Merlin’s started to beg, voice low and quiet in Arthur’s ear at first, telling Arthur how much he loves him, how good Arthur feels inside him, how stretched Merlin is, how much he wants this…and then he starts to ask, telling Arthur how nice it’ll feel when Merlin comes, squeezes tight around him and how Arthur will come inside him and be able to see it sliding back afterwards. He pleads to be allowed to come, voice getting louder and louder, head rolling back against Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur hums his want against the leather of Merlin’s collar, reaches up with his free hand, the one that’s not holding Merlin’s cock tight, to wrap his fingers around leather, twisting them and pulling tight. Merlin sobs, a choked off sound, and he pants for air, twists his head to press his mouth against Arthur’s in a slick, messy kiss.
“Been so good,” he says, all trembling weight and sex-heavy limbs, whining from the back of his throat. “Want to make you feel…oh…so, so good. Arthur, please. Let me…just…gods…”
It sends a thrill of power running through Arthur - that Merlin, with all his magic and all his power, would let him do this, would wait for Arthur’s command and let Arthur play with him and draw it out as he chooses…it’s a heady thought, and Arthur decides to be merciful, to let Merlin have what he wants and to give Arthur what he always can.
“Now, my own,” he says, loosening his grip just enough and running his fist up Merlin’s cock - and Merlin lets Arthur push him over the edge, painting his belly and Arthur’s hand with his come, and Arthur follows after him when he feels Merlin tighten that little bit more around him. He bites down on Merlin’s shoulder, fills Merlin up and collapses back into the comfort of his throne, holding Merlin tight against him.
And if he thought Merlin was relaxed before, limbs loose and sprawling out, now he’s practically comatose, eyes hooded, mouth slack, body melting into Arthur’s like he could just slide inside him. Arthur runs his fingers through the come on Merlin’s belly, bringing his hand up to his face to lick it clean, moaning quietly at the taste. Merlin turned his head slightly so he could watch, tongue running over his lips as if he could taste it.
Arthur tilts his head and kisses Merlin, pushing the taste into his mouth, sliding in deep and kissing him until they’re both breathless.
“Can I finish it now?” Merlin murmurs against Arthur’s mouth, biting his lip for a moment.
“Yes, my own,” Arthur replies, looking up at the man hanging limply from his bonds. Merlin sighs, and the man jerks and screams, then there’s a sickening crack, and his head turns around on his shoulders, the life draining from him.
Merlin twitches happily, and his muscles clamp around Arthur’s cock. Arthur bites his lip at the sensation, the pain of over sensitivity, the pleasure of Merlin still holding him tight. But it’s too much, too soon, so he eases his way out of Merlin, enjoying the hiss Merlin makes as his rim pulls tight against the head of Arthur’s cock.
Merlin turns himself over, sprawls out over Arthur’s chest, kissing the hollows between his ribs, circling his nipple with his tongue before biting it, tugging at it. Arthur arches up, groans and pulls Merlin up for a long kiss, then drops his head back and pulls Merlin tight against his chest.
The sun is warm on his face, Merlin’s body even warmer, and he can feel lethargy taking over. Merlin murmurs and snuggles against Arthur’s chest, curling his fingers against Arthur’s side.
My fic masterlist is here.
My please-give-me-a-prompt begging-page is here.
Author: Co-written by Katja, aka merry_gentry, and merihn
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Slash - Merlin/Arthur
Rating: 18/nc-17
Disclaimer: Unfortunately, they do not belong to me. They do conjure up rather pretty images in one's mind, though, don't they? ^_^
Author's Notes: Written by the two of us - it started out as random prompts on comment_fic that turned into, well, this. It's possible we write evil too well/easily! 0_o Please, don't read if you don't like dark!AUs - although, you know, it's still them, still Merlin and Arthur all wrapped up in each other, just...slightly darker. And, besides, merihn sent me a prompt - "meeting, trees, blue" - and practically demanded I write evil!fic for it. Like that's a hardship! XD
Summary: They’re under the clear blue summer sky - it’s a gorgeous day, and Arthur has to sit through some interminable meeting before he can take Merlin, have and own Merlin like Merlin’s trying to provoke him into doing.
Warnings: Evil/dark!AU - Merlin and Arthur ruling the whole of Albion and everyone in it and not really giving a damn about anyone but themselves. Descriptive public sex. Torture - although not very graphic. Biting/marking/claiming. If that's your thing? Enjoy! ♥
The entirety of Albion is theirs to do with as they will - the golden King and his pet sorcerer - and still there’s dissent, mutterings from the people that perhaps the King isn’t so good after all, perhaps they would be better off if someone…removed…him from power.
They haven’t learnt yet that Merlin sees all and Merlin hears all and Merlin knows all. That’s alright. They’ll learn.
Besides, Arthur thinks with a scowl, they’ve got food, haven’t they? He provides for them and doesn’t raise the taxes and doesn’t permit his soldiers to loot and pillage at will (oh, as if they’d dare, with Merlin’s background being a tiny, defenceless village and Merlin being so very nostalgic). They should be happy he’s taken them under his rule - they’re certainly better off. Some people are so ungrateful.
And Merlin rests a hand on the King’s shoulder as he comes up beside him, plays his fingers lightly up to the King’s neck and caresses the bare skin there. Under his touch, Arthur feels the magic dancing in him and he shivers slightly - can practically feel Merlin’s smile, coy and pleased with himself, and Arthur reaches, gathers Merlin to him and encourages the man to kneel next to him, Merlin’s hand sliding down Arthur’s body as he goes. Cheeky. He winds his fingers in Merlin’s hair, tugs slightly on the dark strands to remind Merlin of his manners, and Merlin chuckles lowly.
“Want,” he whispers, and Arthur smiles - sees the nearest courtiers and soldiers flinch slightly at the baring of his teeth.
“Later, my own,” he says back, not even bothering to lower his voice, and Merlin looks up at him and pouts, wraps his hand around one of Arthur’s legs; clever, clever hand finding it’s way up under the material to his skin, playing and tracing patterns and runes there. Merlin may keep to Arthur’s commands, when he so chooses, but he’ll make Arthur pay and pay and pay for it…the both of them delighting in it the whole time.
They’re under the clear blue summer sky - it’s a gorgeous day, and Arthur has to sit through some interminable meeting before he can take Merlin, have and own Merlin like Merlin’s trying to provoke him into doing. Some man, one of Morgana’s rebel leaders, is kneeling before the throne, hate and anger in his eyes as he looks up at Arthur, and Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur’s leg - narrows his eyes and Arthur knows Merlin’s eyes must have washed over with gold when the man screams and falls to his hands as well, panting for breath.
But the day is too pleasant to waste messing about punishing the bad, and Arthur orders the man to be tied to one of the great oak trees, wrapping his fingers around the leather of Merlin’s collar and tugging him up into his lap. Merlin goes eagerly - when has he ever not - and he nuzzles at Arthur’s neck, biting and licking and Arthur turns his sorcerer around on his lap, pulling Merlin back to lie against him. It’s flattering, how hard Merlin is for him already, and Arthur runs a firm hand over the bulge in Merlin’s trousers, whispers for Merlin to keep his eyes open, to keep them on the man directly opposite them, tied on the other side of the clearing.
He doesn’t dismiss his courtiers - why should he, when they’re nothing more than toys for him and Merlin to amuse themselves with on the long, dark nights of winter? - and he bites at the skin just above the strip of leather circling Merlin’s throat, tears at the ties on Merlin’s breeches and pulls them open, fists Merlin’s cock and bites down harder just to hear Merlin’s whimper.
“Play, my own,” Arthur says - loud enough for everyone to hear - and Merlin focuses on the criminal, lifts his hand just enough, and the man starts screaming, Merlin’s sex-desperate whimpers adding to the sound before long.
And when the man’s hanging forward against the ropes - the only things keeping him even vaguely upright - spit and blood mingling on his chin and staining his shirt, then - then - Arthur lets Merlin come in front of everyone, rubs his thumb across the head of Merlin’s cock just right and Merlin bucks in his lap, reaches back to fist his hand in Arthur’s hair and he screams to the clear blue summer sky above them. And Merlin collapses back against him, chest heaving, and Arthur shifts Merlin, turns his head to he can get to Merlin’s mouth, and he sucks the whimpers from Merlin’s tongue - only breaking off the kiss to feed Merlin his own taste, watching as Merlin sucks his come-soaked fingers into his mouth and licks them clean.
Merlin slumps against him, sex-sated, eyes still golden under his drooping eyelids, the man across the clearing finally regaining consciousness, whimpering as he struggles. Merlin smiles, turning his face so he can lick at Arthur’s throat, and Arthur holds him, rocks his hips up against Merlin’s arse. Suddenly he wants, he needs Merlin, needs to be inside him.
Merlin bites down on his neck, and Arthur wonders if Merlin can somehow read his mind because he rests his head on Arthur’s shoulder and sucks his own fingers into his mouth, putting on a display, his pink tongue flicking between his fingers, lips stretched tight and shiny-wet.
And as Arthur watches, Merlin slips his hand between his legs, pushes his breeches down out of the way and tilts his hips up for better access. And Arthur knows there’s an easier way to do this, that Merlin could have been slick and open in a matter of moments and a flash of gold, but he loves seeing Merlin like this, feeling Merlin against him as he opens himself up on his own fingers.
He rests his hand on Merlin’s belly, feels his muscles tense and twist as his hand does, and part of him wishes he could be down there, watching the pink skin stretch so prettily around his delving fingers. But he can see Merlin’s face, watches him bite his lip as he works, the please clear on his face.
But Arthur can’t wait any longer, and Merlin is going to have to deal with what he’s done, and Arthur pulls Merlin’s fingers free, urges him up so he can undo his own breeches and get them out of the way. Merlin wraps a slick hand around him and Arthur groans, bites so hard on his own lip he can taste blood. Merlin releases him, turns to lick the blood from his mouth before he slides his legs around Arthur’s and settles back, his arse slick and hot against his cock. Arthur feels it catch on the rim of Merlin’s hole as he rocks back slightly, and God, he wants in, he wants in now. He catches hold of Merlin’s hip, growls into his ear, tells him to stop messing around.
Merlin chuckles, and the man across the clearing screams, one long, piercing noise before slumping down again, unconscious or dead. Arthur can’t even remember who it is as Merlin slides himself down onto Arthur’s cock, one long, steady movement until their hips are flush.
And Arthur is torn, he wants to just fuck up into Merlin right now until he comes, mindless and heady, but he also wants it to last, wants to fuck him deep and slow under the clear blue sky, with their court surrounding them, watching them.
“Take me fast later,” Merlin suggests, reading his mind, his wants as easily as he’s ever done. “Do it slow now, make it last, make me beg for you to finish it in front of everyone,” and, oh, but Merlin’s always had the best ideas.
“Slow?” Arthur says, nips at Merlin’s collarbone and Merlin moans. “You’re going to regret that.”
“I know,” Merlin says with a grin, and Arthur rolls his hips up, letting Merlin ride him as he will, all slack mouth and spread legs and golden eyes. He’s kicked his breeches off completely, sitting in Arthur’s lap with nothing on but his boots and his collar and his shirt - the material of the last riding up, baring his cock, his hips, his belly, and Arthur drags his nails across that smooth white skin, cranes his neck so he can see the red trails coming up in his wake.
Arthur knows everyone’s watching - revels in the attention even as he dismisses everyone else as unimportant - knows what they can see, Merlin’s hole spread wide around his cock, the slick-glisten of Merlin’s spit as he rises and falls on Arthur as Arthur directs him. Merlin’s hard, legs spread, and Arthur laughs - Merlin’s such a slut for it, spreading his legs just that little bit wider, baring everything to everyone.
Merlin’s whispered stories to Arthur - images he’s seen in people’s minds, what they want to do to him, to them both, when they see Arthur fucking him in front of them. He’s told Arthur what they think of in the darkness of their bedrooms when they’re fucking their wives or their husbands or their catamites - murmured it between gasps as Arthur fucked him open with his fingers or wrapped his mouth around Merlin’s cock.
He’s told Arthur about the pain they want to cause, the blades and branding irons they want to use on Merlin and Arthur both. He’s told Arthur of the people who want to depose them, and Arthur growls against Merlin’s neck and reaches to wrap his hand around the base of Merlin’s cock - won’t let him come…going to make him beg…
Those people don’t last very long in their Albion.
And Arthur can hear the mutters now - here under the clear blue sky - wonders what they’re talking about and fucks up into Merlin harder but still keeps it slow, smirks as Merlin starts to moan, then mewl, then whimper.
He’s so very easy for Arthur, and Arthur adores that, loves that he can get Merlin so wound up that Merlin would say anything, promise anything, do anything - and Arthur grins because, well. Merlin already has. He’s given Arthur the whole of Albion, given him his magic for Arthur to do with as he will, and he’s loved every minute of it, just like Arthur has.
And Merlin’s started to beg, voice low and quiet in Arthur’s ear at first, telling Arthur how much he loves him, how good Arthur feels inside him, how stretched Merlin is, how much he wants this…and then he starts to ask, telling Arthur how nice it’ll feel when Merlin comes, squeezes tight around him and how Arthur will come inside him and be able to see it sliding back afterwards. He pleads to be allowed to come, voice getting louder and louder, head rolling back against Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur hums his want against the leather of Merlin’s collar, reaches up with his free hand, the one that’s not holding Merlin’s cock tight, to wrap his fingers around leather, twisting them and pulling tight. Merlin sobs, a choked off sound, and he pants for air, twists his head to press his mouth against Arthur’s in a slick, messy kiss.
“Been so good,” he says, all trembling weight and sex-heavy limbs, whining from the back of his throat. “Want to make you feel…oh…so, so good. Arthur, please. Let me…just…gods…”
It sends a thrill of power running through Arthur - that Merlin, with all his magic and all his power, would let him do this, would wait for Arthur’s command and let Arthur play with him and draw it out as he chooses…it’s a heady thought, and Arthur decides to be merciful, to let Merlin have what he wants and to give Arthur what he always can.
“Now, my own,” he says, loosening his grip just enough and running his fist up Merlin’s cock - and Merlin lets Arthur push him over the edge, painting his belly and Arthur’s hand with his come, and Arthur follows after him when he feels Merlin tighten that little bit more around him. He bites down on Merlin’s shoulder, fills Merlin up and collapses back into the comfort of his throne, holding Merlin tight against him.
And if he thought Merlin was relaxed before, limbs loose and sprawling out, now he’s practically comatose, eyes hooded, mouth slack, body melting into Arthur’s like he could just slide inside him. Arthur runs his fingers through the come on Merlin’s belly, bringing his hand up to his face to lick it clean, moaning quietly at the taste. Merlin turned his head slightly so he could watch, tongue running over his lips as if he could taste it.
Arthur tilts his head and kisses Merlin, pushing the taste into his mouth, sliding in deep and kissing him until they’re both breathless.
“Can I finish it now?” Merlin murmurs against Arthur’s mouth, biting his lip for a moment.
“Yes, my own,” Arthur replies, looking up at the man hanging limply from his bonds. Merlin sighs, and the man jerks and screams, then there’s a sickening crack, and his head turns around on his shoulders, the life draining from him.
Merlin twitches happily, and his muscles clamp around Arthur’s cock. Arthur bites his lip at the sensation, the pain of over sensitivity, the pleasure of Merlin still holding him tight. But it’s too much, too soon, so he eases his way out of Merlin, enjoying the hiss Merlin makes as his rim pulls tight against the head of Arthur’s cock.
Merlin turns himself over, sprawls out over Arthur’s chest, kissing the hollows between his ribs, circling his nipple with his tongue before biting it, tugging at it. Arthur arches up, groans and pulls Merlin up for a long kiss, then drops his head back and pulls Merlin tight against his chest.
The sun is warm on his face, Merlin’s body even warmer, and he can feel lethargy taking over. Merlin murmurs and snuggles against Arthur’s chest, curling his fingers against Arthur’s side.
My fic masterlist is here.
My please-give-me-a-prompt begging-page is here.