Kink Me Bon-Bons!
With 22 regular posts under our belts, Kink Me! Merlin has developed several flavors and styles. These have inspired some of you to create works without a specific prompt in mind. But what do you do if you still want to post to the meme?
Finally, we have an answer for you: post it here as a treat for everyone!
If you think of the regular ( Read more... )
Finally, we have an answer for you: post it here as a treat for everyone!
If you think of the regular ( Read more... )
He roamed around the room with a glass of wine in his hand and the door firmly locked. After a while he sat down. On Merlin. Pressed his slightly damp thighs and back up against him, all smooth and hot, little prickling hairs mingling with Merlin’s velvety fluff. He let out a deep sigh and pushed back, settling in.
After a moment, he shifted about and let out a long moan. It was happening again, Merlin realised, and he felt a slight shiver run through him at the thought, despite being made of wood at present.
Soon enough Arthur was practically gyrating against him, grinding down onto him before each thrust up into his own fist, and Merlin thought he might be losing his mind. It all felt so good - every brush of Arthur’s skin against him felt amazing, every moan went straight through him - but it was never enough. Chairs didn’t have any of the relevant anatomy for orgasms, it appeared.
By the time Arthur jerked against him, gripping his arm so hard that his knuckes were white, crying Merlin’s name, he felt as if he could cry. He didn’t think he’d ever been so frustrated. When Arthur got up, he wanted to shout after him to come back and do something, damn it, but chairs don’t have mouths either.
-
He got him back for it, though. He spent the whole night moving himself across the room, half inch by half inch, until he was carefully positioned just in front of Arthur’s bedroom door.
He was exhausted by the end of it, but it was worth it for the befuddled look on Arthur’s face in the morning.
“What in the name of…” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. “Merlin?” he shouted. “Merlin! Did you move that chair?”
Silence. Merlin sat silent, self-satisified, and wooden. Until Arthur lifted him up with a sigh, marched across the room, and slammed him down onto the floor. The impact was jarring. Almost painful.
Then he sat down in Merlin and waited for someone to bring him breakfast.
-
Merlin discovered that morning that he creaked rather alarmingly when Arthur leaned back on him. He couldn’t help but worry that he might break. If that happened, would he turn back broken in half?
Arthur inquired after him when a maidservant came in with breakfast.
“We haven’t seen hide nor hair of him, sire,” she said, bobbing a little curtsy. That, Merlin supposed, would be because he currently has neither.
“Lazy idiot,” said Arthur. He muttered worse things under his breath as she left.
Chairs can’t glare, but Merlin did his best anyway. And then, when Arthur stood next to him for a moment later that morning, he shifted himself half an inch to one side, and managed to trap a good chunk of cloak under one of his carved wooden legs.
A moment later, Arthur finished adjusting his collar and tried to walk away. The result was a shocked yelp, and him almost toppling over.
Chairs couldn’t smirk. Merlin decided, as he watched Arthur leave, that it was a real pity.
-
He spent most of the day singing every song he knew in his head as he waited for Arthur to come back. He also managed to move himself to a new location under the window. There was a breeze there. It ruffled his velvet rather nicely.
Arthur didn’t return to his rooms till the evening. While he was away, a maidservant came in and cleaned Merlin carefully with a rag, wiping away the dust that had gathered in the last three days. That felt quite nice as well. He could see a little better afterwards, if nothing else.
Apparently he made an even more comfortable chair than he’d thought, though, because she rubbed one hand against his velvety seat wistfully, then sat in him for a little while, taking a rest.
It didn’t feel as good as Arthur. She was all skinny, sharp bones digging into him. He could feel her shoulder blades and everything.
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-
The next day, to Merlin’s great joy, Arthur called one of the guards into his room to talk to him about his missing manservant.
“I gather no-one’s seen him for about three days now,” he said gravely. “I want you to look for him. Not a formal search. Just… keep your eyes open. Something could have happened to him.”
“Yes, sire,” the guard said. He bowed his head and left the room.
Merlin would have smiled had he had lips. Instead, he slid forward slightly as Arthur sat down, meeting him halfway.
-
That evening, just after dinner, Merlin was trying to ignore the fact that Arthur was squirming about on top of him with one hand down inside his breeches, moaning his name every now and again (he really wished he had hands to cover his ears with). It wasn’t actually that hard any more. He was starting to get used to this.
But then the tingling started.
It began at the tips of his legs, but moved up him quickly, up past his seat, up his back, out through is curving arms. He didn’t think much of it - because, after all, there was no sensation stranger than being a chair - until it started to intensify. It grew worse and worse until it was a maddening itch, needles inside him, prodding at every curve and knot in the wood.
He felt his arms and leg soften, and go limp. Moments later, he collapsed down on the floor with Arthur sprawled on top of him. They let out simultaneous cries of alarm.
Arthur leapt off him at once, gaping down at him. But Merlin hardly noticed. He was too preoccupied with having hands and a face and hair again. He tugged at his shirt, relished the feel of the rough fabric between his fingers.
“Merlin!” snapped Arthur. “What in the name of…” he trailed off.
“Look,” said Merlin, grinning up at him. “I’m me again!”
“What?!” said Arthur.
“Well, I’ve been a chair,” said Merlin. “You know.” The words just kept tumbling out, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t quite making sense, but the gist of it was there, at least.
“Well… what… why?” said Arthur.
“Someone turned me into a chair,” said Merlin.
“…Why?” said Arthur. Merlin shrugged. Arthur glared.
“Alright,” he said. “But do you maybe want to…” He gestured at Arthur’s crotch, where his softening prick was poking out between the laces of his breeches. Arthur let out a squawk of alarm, and moved to cover himself up. “I’ve seen it all already, you know,” said Merlin. “Anyway. I found that witch who tried to kill you. Turns out she was a maidservant. I confronted her about it, told her I would turn her in, so she turned me into a chair and ran away,” he said brightly, pulling himself to his feet. “But it wore off, so it’s alright now.”
“It most certainly is not!” said Arthur. His voice dropped down low. “Chairs… chairs don’t have ears.”
“Well,” said Merlin, running a hand through his hair. “You’d think, wouldn’t you?”
“So you… you heard…” Merlin didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. Arthur let out a very unprincely whimper and staggers back, hand over his mouth. He looked so vulnerable that Merlin couldn’t reist walking over, taking Arthur’s head in his hands.
“S’alright,” he said, pressing a kiss to the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “I don’t mind.”
“Really?” said Arthur. “You’re not… angry?”
“Frustrated,” said Merlin. His lips brushed against Arthur’s briefly. Tantalising. “Do you have any idea how good it felt? And it turns out chairs can’t come.”
“Oh,” Arthur breathed. He tilted his head forward, met Merlin’s lips in a kiss.
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“Finishing what you started,” Merlin said. “Enjoy.”
This time when Arthur came with Merlin’s name on his lips, he groaned, pressed his hips up against his prince, and came untouched all over the inside of his breeches. They’d got backed up against the table somehow - Merlin hadn’t realised they’d been moving - and Arthur had his weight half on it and half on Merlin, panting wetly into his neck.
“God,” Merlin said once he could find the strength to speak. “I’ve been wanting that for so long.”
“Because you were a chair,” Arthur said flatly. Merlin nodded, but it didn’t really work because his head is pressed against Arthur’s shoulder.
“Yeah,” said Merlin with a desperately, giggly laugh. “It was weird. You kept sitting on me.”
“You were… very comfortable,” Arthur said. He sounded confused.
“You sound confused,” said Merlin, pulling away from him a little, looking him in the eye.
“You were a chair,” said Arthur. His frowned deepened. “You - you could move! You were moving yourself around!”
“Slowly,” said Merlin. “Yeah. D’you mind if I leave? I think Gaius is probably worried about me.”
“Right,” said Arthur, still breathless. “Sure. Yeah. You were a chair, you can have the night off.”
“Thanks,” said Merlin. He grinned and left the room.
-
He wandered back into Gaius’ chambers about half an hour later. The physician was standing at his work bench, stirring away at a little cauldron, frowning and muttering to himself.
“Hi, Gaius,” he said, making a beeline for his own room. Being a chair was tiring. Sex with Arthur even more so (though it was extremely satisying).
“Merlin?” Gaius dropped his spoon with a clatter. “Where on earth have you been?”
Merlin spun around on the spot. “Oh,” he said breezily. “Someone turned me into a chair.”
“For four days?” said Gaius. Merlin nodded. “Really?” Merlin nodded again, more slowly. Gaius stared at him, one eyebrow raised. “Really?” Merlin nodded yet again.
“I threatened to turn her in and she turned me into a chair. But I changed back, so it’s fine now.”
“Are you quite sure?” said Gaius. “You’re really alright?”
“Of course,” said Merlin. “Arthur sat on me rather a lot, but other than that I’m great.” He grinned. “I’m going to lie down. See you later, alright?”
Gaius opened and closed his mouth a few times. Merlin gave him a little smile and ran up the steps into his room.
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