An Insufferable Tease - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: An Insufferable Tease
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 1302
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for kinkme_merlin, with all the PWPiness that that implies.
Summary: Merlin spends the day driving Arthur to distraction, until he finally snaps.
Merlin is doing this on purpose, Arthur realises late in the day.
There really is no other possible explanation for it.
For a start, there's the trousers he's wearing. Although they look exactly like the trousers Merlin wears every day, Arthur's sure there must be something different: there's nothing else to explain why he's been unable to take his eyes off of him all day. The way they cling to his legs just-so is little short of perfect and they effortlessly draw attention to his bottom. It's terribly distracting, especially when it sends Arthur's thoughts flying back to the bedroom and the way Merlin looks without those old, cheap clothes covering him.
It isn't helped at all by Merlin's insistence on finding reasons to bend over or stretch into compromising positions. Arthur's reasonably certain that gathering his untidy belongings from the floor should not require Merlin to bend neatly at the waist in a way that demands someone to come up behind him and grab his slim hips; polishing his armour doesn't need Merlin to kneel at exactly the right height to force Arthur to imagine Merlin's indecently pink lips around his cock; and making his bed shouldn't cause Merlin to sprawl ungainly across it as he wrestles with the sheets.
And then there are the noises Merlin makes. God, the noises. Grunts, groans and begs: Arthur has to wonder if it's truly necessary for Merlin to make such sounds of exertion as he's carrying his washing up the stairs. And it absolutely cannot be required for Merlin to talk like that to the horses as he's grooming them, compliments and soothing words and calming whispers. In the doorway to the stables, Arthur hears Merlin talking and his mind is immediately cast back to last night, when Merlin had whispered filth into his ear as he took him from behind, Arthur's hands braced against the headboard. The memory is visceral and he finds himself hardening almost immediately: he'd take Merlin now, finding an empty stall in the stables and pushing him down into the hay, but his manservant looks at him with a cheerful smile and says, "I think the knights are waiting, sire."
They are, that much is true. Arthur is already late for training because of the thoroughly distracting qualities of Merlin's trousers. He huffs in frustration at Merlin and begins to leave, adjusting himself as he goes when he hears Merlin returning to sweet-talking the horses.
It's even worse when he eats dinner with his father. Merlin is there, far too close, and Arthur grips his goblet tightly in his hand as he tries to remain focused on what his father is saying to him. It's an impossible aim. Merlin is standing close to his chair wearing his stupid trousers and it's all Arthur can do not to throw him down on the table right here and now. Somehow he doubts if his father would approve of such a lack of self-restraint so he breathes slowly through his nose and tells himself that he can last a little while longer.
When he reaches his bedroom that night he finally hits breaking point: he opens the door to find Merlin bent over his bed, doing something useless and pointless to fluff his pillows. Those ridiculous trousers are stretched tight and perfect over his ass and when Arthur closes the door behind himself he can't help but release a moan of relief, finally alone with him.
"Arthur," Merlin says, smiling over his shoulder at him, but he hardly gets a chance to even finish saying his name before Arthur has crossed the room with long, determined strides. His hands find their own way to Merlin's hips and he grips onto him, nice and tight. His cock aligns with the curve of Merlin's ass, pressed firmly against him. Merlin relaxes - Arthur can feel it - and rests his palms against the bed. "Finally. What took you so long?"
"What - " Arthur frowns, distracted for a moment from rubbing himself against Merlin and discovering the sweetest kind of friction. "You've been doing it on purpose, haven't you?"
"Maybe a little," Merlin confirms, and his smile turns to a laugh when Arthur shoves his shoulder angrily. He collapses from where he'd been balanced against the bed, landing with his face on the pillow while Arthur still clings onto his hips, holding him up against him. "I was bored!"
"And I was busy. You can't just…" He trails off, not wanting to admit to anything that he doesn't have to. Merlin is dizzy enough on the power Arthur's attraction gives him without letting his head swell any more than it already has. Arthur gives his backside an absent-minded swat with his hand. "Don't do it again."
"Of course not, sire. I wouldn't dream of it."
Merlin's tone, amused and cheeky, tells Arthur that he is going to do it again and again, as often as he wants. He really ought to do something about that: the best punishment would be to walk away now and force Merlin to leave.
That'd only be punishing himself as well, though, and this entire day has been one long punishment as it is. "I've been hard all day because of you," Arthur accuses, forcing one of his hands to let go of Merlin's hip so that he can wretch free his own belt and pull his cock free of his trousers as they slide down his hips. He presses forward of his own accord: the sensitive skin of his dick ruts hard against Merlin through his trousers. Merlin's eyes close and his mouth opens a fraction. He's the very picture of everything Arthur desires and Arthur thinks he ought to hate him for it.
"Pull your trousers down," he instructs, touching himself as he looks down upon Merlin. His voice is hoarse and when he clears his throat it doesn't help. "Now, Merlin."
Scrambling awkwardly, Merlin's hands do just as he's told - with no smart comments this time, like he knows that he's pushed Arthur too far now. He shoves his trousers down to his knees, where they gather and wrinkle in a constricting bunch.
He doesn't feel that he can stop and prepare Merlin to take him now, so he opts for the next best option, his cock pushing between Merlin's thighs. His skin is so soft and untouched there and Arthur sighs, a long and fulfilled sound before he thrusts in and out frantically. His hips hit against Merlin's ass each time and when he hears Merlin's desperate mewling moans he takes pity on him, reaching around to take his dick in hand, moving his fist in time with his shuffling, stunted thrusts against the heat of Merlin's thighs.
He feels it as Merlin's legs clench and his breath hisses through his teeth, loud by Merlin's ear. His hips jerk to a standstill and when he comes he collapses against Merlin's back. Merlin is forced to slap his hand away from his cock and finish himself off because, lust-dazed, Arthur is in no fit state to do it himself.
When Merlin wriggles out from underneath him, just as spent, Arthur rolls over and collapses on his back on the bed, his trousers still undone with his softening cock on display. "Next time you want to have sex in the middle of the day, Merlin, just ask," he advises, thinking that Merlin has to be the stupidest man in all of Camelot. "You don't have to spend the entire day torturing me."
"I don't have to, that's true," Merlin concedes, before he rolls over and fits into the crook of Arthur's shoulder, lining his sticky body against his Arthur's. "But asking you wouldn't be nearly as much fun."
Not so stupid then, Arthur decides: just painfully and extremely sadistic.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 1302
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for kinkme_merlin, with all the PWPiness that that implies.
Summary: Merlin spends the day driving Arthur to distraction, until he finally snaps.
Merlin is doing this on purpose, Arthur realises late in the day.
There really is no other possible explanation for it.
For a start, there's the trousers he's wearing. Although they look exactly like the trousers Merlin wears every day, Arthur's sure there must be something different: there's nothing else to explain why he's been unable to take his eyes off of him all day. The way they cling to his legs just-so is little short of perfect and they effortlessly draw attention to his bottom. It's terribly distracting, especially when it sends Arthur's thoughts flying back to the bedroom and the way Merlin looks without those old, cheap clothes covering him.
It isn't helped at all by Merlin's insistence on finding reasons to bend over or stretch into compromising positions. Arthur's reasonably certain that gathering his untidy belongings from the floor should not require Merlin to bend neatly at the waist in a way that demands someone to come up behind him and grab his slim hips; polishing his armour doesn't need Merlin to kneel at exactly the right height to force Arthur to imagine Merlin's indecently pink lips around his cock; and making his bed shouldn't cause Merlin to sprawl ungainly across it as he wrestles with the sheets.
And then there are the noises Merlin makes. God, the noises. Grunts, groans and begs: Arthur has to wonder if it's truly necessary for Merlin to make such sounds of exertion as he's carrying his washing up the stairs. And it absolutely cannot be required for Merlin to talk like that to the horses as he's grooming them, compliments and soothing words and calming whispers. In the doorway to the stables, Arthur hears Merlin talking and his mind is immediately cast back to last night, when Merlin had whispered filth into his ear as he took him from behind, Arthur's hands braced against the headboard. The memory is visceral and he finds himself hardening almost immediately: he'd take Merlin now, finding an empty stall in the stables and pushing him down into the hay, but his manservant looks at him with a cheerful smile and says, "I think the knights are waiting, sire."
They are, that much is true. Arthur is already late for training because of the thoroughly distracting qualities of Merlin's trousers. He huffs in frustration at Merlin and begins to leave, adjusting himself as he goes when he hears Merlin returning to sweet-talking the horses.
It's even worse when he eats dinner with his father. Merlin is there, far too close, and Arthur grips his goblet tightly in his hand as he tries to remain focused on what his father is saying to him. It's an impossible aim. Merlin is standing close to his chair wearing his stupid trousers and it's all Arthur can do not to throw him down on the table right here and now. Somehow he doubts if his father would approve of such a lack of self-restraint so he breathes slowly through his nose and tells himself that he can last a little while longer.
When he reaches his bedroom that night he finally hits breaking point: he opens the door to find Merlin bent over his bed, doing something useless and pointless to fluff his pillows. Those ridiculous trousers are stretched tight and perfect over his ass and when Arthur closes the door behind himself he can't help but release a moan of relief, finally alone with him.
"Arthur," Merlin says, smiling over his shoulder at him, but he hardly gets a chance to even finish saying his name before Arthur has crossed the room with long, determined strides. His hands find their own way to Merlin's hips and he grips onto him, nice and tight. His cock aligns with the curve of Merlin's ass, pressed firmly against him. Merlin relaxes - Arthur can feel it - and rests his palms against the bed. "Finally. What took you so long?"
"What - " Arthur frowns, distracted for a moment from rubbing himself against Merlin and discovering the sweetest kind of friction. "You've been doing it on purpose, haven't you?"
"Maybe a little," Merlin confirms, and his smile turns to a laugh when Arthur shoves his shoulder angrily. He collapses from where he'd been balanced against the bed, landing with his face on the pillow while Arthur still clings onto his hips, holding him up against him. "I was bored!"
"And I was busy. You can't just…" He trails off, not wanting to admit to anything that he doesn't have to. Merlin is dizzy enough on the power Arthur's attraction gives him without letting his head swell any more than it already has. Arthur gives his backside an absent-minded swat with his hand. "Don't do it again."
"Of course not, sire. I wouldn't dream of it."
Merlin's tone, amused and cheeky, tells Arthur that he is going to do it again and again, as often as he wants. He really ought to do something about that: the best punishment would be to walk away now and force Merlin to leave.
That'd only be punishing himself as well, though, and this entire day has been one long punishment as it is. "I've been hard all day because of you," Arthur accuses, forcing one of his hands to let go of Merlin's hip so that he can wretch free his own belt and pull his cock free of his trousers as they slide down his hips. He presses forward of his own accord: the sensitive skin of his dick ruts hard against Merlin through his trousers. Merlin's eyes close and his mouth opens a fraction. He's the very picture of everything Arthur desires and Arthur thinks he ought to hate him for it.
"Pull your trousers down," he instructs, touching himself as he looks down upon Merlin. His voice is hoarse and when he clears his throat it doesn't help. "Now, Merlin."
Scrambling awkwardly, Merlin's hands do just as he's told - with no smart comments this time, like he knows that he's pushed Arthur too far now. He shoves his trousers down to his knees, where they gather and wrinkle in a constricting bunch.
He doesn't feel that he can stop and prepare Merlin to take him now, so he opts for the next best option, his cock pushing between Merlin's thighs. His skin is so soft and untouched there and Arthur sighs, a long and fulfilled sound before he thrusts in and out frantically. His hips hit against Merlin's ass each time and when he hears Merlin's desperate mewling moans he takes pity on him, reaching around to take his dick in hand, moving his fist in time with his shuffling, stunted thrusts against the heat of Merlin's thighs.
He feels it as Merlin's legs clench and his breath hisses through his teeth, loud by Merlin's ear. His hips jerk to a standstill and when he comes he collapses against Merlin's back. Merlin is forced to slap his hand away from his cock and finish himself off because, lust-dazed, Arthur is in no fit state to do it himself.
When Merlin wriggles out from underneath him, just as spent, Arthur rolls over and collapses on his back on the bed, his trousers still undone with his softening cock on display. "Next time you want to have sex in the middle of the day, Merlin, just ask," he advises, thinking that Merlin has to be the stupidest man in all of Camelot. "You don't have to spend the entire day torturing me."
"I don't have to, that's true," Merlin concedes, before he rolls over and fits into the crook of Arthur's shoulder, lining his sticky body against his Arthur's. "But asking you wouldn't be nearly as much fun."
Not so stupid then, Arthur decides: just painfully and extremely sadistic.