FIC, Berries and Cream, Arthur/Merlin, NC-17
Title: Berries and Cream
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 553 words
Summary: “He can’t tell what Arthur’s placed on his stomach-fruit, maybe, he thinks: sweet fleshy berries still cool from the refrigerator, laid out meticulous along his abdomen”
Warnings: Some D/s, a blindfold, food porn, tablesex, barebacking, bottom!Merlin
Disclaimer: I don’t own BBC’s Merlin.
Author’s Note: Written for the food porn challenge at summerpornathon. This version has been very slightly modified from the original.
Merlin is on his back on the dining room table, delicate swath of silk curled across his eyes and knotted at the back of his head, blindfolding him.
He can’t tell what Arthur’s placed on his stomach-fruit, maybe, he thinks: sweet fleshy berries still cool from the refrigerator, laid out meticulous along his abdomen; soft tickle of whipped cream, swirled white and airy between his pectorals, Merlin can hear the plastic spout hissing.
The noise stops; Merlin hears the clunk of the can as Arthur sets it aside.
Arthur’s fingertips are chilly. Merlin barely stops himself from flinching when they rub, aimless, against his side, not because the touch is unpleasant (it isn’t), but because he wasn’t expecting it. But he’s too well-trained to jerk away and spoil all of Arthur’s work.
Arthur’s mouth, though-oh, his mouth, so unlike the unfamiliar cold of his fingertips-is wonderfully hot when Arthur kisses just above Merlin’s bellybutton, not-quite-touching Merlin’s dick; opens to take a berry and leaves behind the gentle scrape of teeth, the wet drag of a tongue lapping tart, sticky juice (or is it water, from when Arthur rinsed the fruit between cupped hands under the sink?) from the flat white plane of Merlin’s belly.
The next berry is Merlin’s; Arthur dips it into the cream and pushes it into Merlin’s mouth with his fingers-it’s a raspberry, ripe and yielding, and Merlin chews and swallows, licks at the whipped cream stuck to Arthur’s fingers the same way he’d lick his cock (greedy).
Arthur feeds him another, then another after that, before he eats another raspberry himself. When he does, he lingers: sucks a sore red hickey onto Merlin’s skin. Tomorrow Merlin will press at it until it hurts a little, like it does now. He wants to remember, wants the ghost of Arthur’s touch painted on him like art.
Arthur replaces his fingers with his mouth, kisses Merlin (demanding) and Merlin opens up for him, lets him take.
When Arthur slides his finger into him, it’s easy: no resistance at all, only slick tight heat. Merlin prepared for this beforehand, alone in the bathroom while Arthur was still at work-slipped three fingers into himself, gasping, wanting more, but he didn’t let himself get off on it because that’s Arthur’s job. Arthur always takes care of him.
“Good boy,” Arthur is saying. Merlin’s such a good boy because Arthur’s has taught him to be so; Merlin has learned.
“C’mon, c’mon,” says Arthur, rolling Merlin over onto his front (the remaining berries get squished under his stomach, the whipped cream must be smearing against the table’s glossy finish; Merlin will have to clean it up later, but he doesn’t care).
Arthur manhandles Merlin down so Merlin’s feet are on the floor and his chest is resting on the table-Merlin’s hands are clutching at the table’s edges on either side of him-and Arthur fucks in; no finesse, no unnecessary prep, just Arthur’s cock inched fat and blunt into Merlin’s arsehole and Merlin is so close already, he just needs, he needs, oh, god, he needs it just like that and when Arthur rocks his hips forward hard and fucks against his prostate, Merlin says, “Please, please, may I-?” and Arthur says, “Yes, do it now-”
And Merlin comes.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 553 words
Summary: “He can’t tell what Arthur’s placed on his stomach-fruit, maybe, he thinks: sweet fleshy berries still cool from the refrigerator, laid out meticulous along his abdomen”
Warnings: Some D/s, a blindfold, food porn, tablesex, barebacking, bottom!Merlin
Disclaimer: I don’t own BBC’s Merlin.
Author’s Note: Written for the food porn challenge at summerpornathon. This version has been very slightly modified from the original.
Merlin is on his back on the dining room table, delicate swath of silk curled across his eyes and knotted at the back of his head, blindfolding him.
He can’t tell what Arthur’s placed on his stomach-fruit, maybe, he thinks: sweet fleshy berries still cool from the refrigerator, laid out meticulous along his abdomen; soft tickle of whipped cream, swirled white and airy between his pectorals, Merlin can hear the plastic spout hissing.
The noise stops; Merlin hears the clunk of the can as Arthur sets it aside.
Arthur’s fingertips are chilly. Merlin barely stops himself from flinching when they rub, aimless, against his side, not because the touch is unpleasant (it isn’t), but because he wasn’t expecting it. But he’s too well-trained to jerk away and spoil all of Arthur’s work.
Arthur’s mouth, though-oh, his mouth, so unlike the unfamiliar cold of his fingertips-is wonderfully hot when Arthur kisses just above Merlin’s bellybutton, not-quite-touching Merlin’s dick; opens to take a berry and leaves behind the gentle scrape of teeth, the wet drag of a tongue lapping tart, sticky juice (or is it water, from when Arthur rinsed the fruit between cupped hands under the sink?) from the flat white plane of Merlin’s belly.
The next berry is Merlin’s; Arthur dips it into the cream and pushes it into Merlin’s mouth with his fingers-it’s a raspberry, ripe and yielding, and Merlin chews and swallows, licks at the whipped cream stuck to Arthur’s fingers the same way he’d lick his cock (greedy).
Arthur feeds him another, then another after that, before he eats another raspberry himself. When he does, he lingers: sucks a sore red hickey onto Merlin’s skin. Tomorrow Merlin will press at it until it hurts a little, like it does now. He wants to remember, wants the ghost of Arthur’s touch painted on him like art.
Arthur replaces his fingers with his mouth, kisses Merlin (demanding) and Merlin opens up for him, lets him take.
When Arthur slides his finger into him, it’s easy: no resistance at all, only slick tight heat. Merlin prepared for this beforehand, alone in the bathroom while Arthur was still at work-slipped three fingers into himself, gasping, wanting more, but he didn’t let himself get off on it because that’s Arthur’s job. Arthur always takes care of him.
“Good boy,” Arthur is saying. Merlin’s such a good boy because Arthur’s has taught him to be so; Merlin has learned.
“C’mon, c’mon,” says Arthur, rolling Merlin over onto his front (the remaining berries get squished under his stomach, the whipped cream must be smearing against the table’s glossy finish; Merlin will have to clean it up later, but he doesn’t care).
Arthur manhandles Merlin down so Merlin’s feet are on the floor and his chest is resting on the table-Merlin’s hands are clutching at the table’s edges on either side of him-and Arthur fucks in; no finesse, no unnecessary prep, just Arthur’s cock inched fat and blunt into Merlin’s arsehole and Merlin is so close already, he just needs, he needs, oh, god, he needs it just like that and when Arthur rocks his hips forward hard and fucks against his prostate, Merlin says, “Please, please, may I-?” and Arthur says, “Yes, do it now-”
And Merlin comes.