Kink Meme 1
Welcome to the 1st Camelot kink meme. Here you can post your prompts and fills at leisure, that is, as long as this meme is open. Have fun!
Guidelines for prompting: Please make sure you include the pairing (or the keyword “gen” in case your prompt does not include one) and the kink/trope/theme in the header of your prompt. This will make it ( Read more... )
Guidelines for prompting: Please make sure you include the pairing (or the keyword “gen” in case your prompt does not include one) and the kink/trope/theme in the header of your prompt. This will make it ( Read more... )
And it didn’t help that he was beginning to notice things about Arthur at the same time - things like the curve of Arthur’s fingers around his sword as he trained, and the smooth line of Arthur’s bum when he crouched to deliver a punishing blow to one of the hapless knights. Such things had always been there at the back of Merlin’s consciousness, nagging away at his brain and driving his hand into his night clothes during his weaker moments. But now they were leaching into his daytime thoughts. Front and centre.
“Merlin!”
Front and centre, like the bulge in the royal underpants, which wasn’t something that any self-respecting servant should be fixated on. But Arthur’s own intriguing description of the Prince’s package was now seared upon Merlin’s brain, and although he was at least half sure that the prince must have been bragging, he couldn’t help it. Was Arthur exaggerating? Was it hyperbole? Or was the Prince’s cock indeed a mighty member?
“MERLIN! Stop daydreaming and get on with it,” said Arthur, sharply.
“Mm?” Merlin knew he shouldn’t be looking down there while he was tying the laces on Arthur’s breeches. Courtly etiquette held that a personal servant should keep their gaze averted during the more intimate moments of dressing and undressing and bathing. But Merlin never had been that good at courtly etiquette. So he kept on gawking while he absently fiddled with the laces. “Oh, sorry.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders and gave him a little shake as the ties loosened themselves, sending the breeches hurtling to the floor in an arresting heap. “What’s on earth’s got into you recently? You’re as much use as a wet weekend.”
“Sorry, just a bit tired.” Yawning ostentatiously, Merlin dragged his gaze away from Arthur’s crotch area, with some considerable effort, and blinked a few times before bending to pick up the offending breeches, dragging them up Arthur’s mighty thighs with a lingering moment in which he took the opportunity to sneak a quick glance at the tight muscles that lay beneath the skin. “Maybe I need a day off?”
And if, while he was kneeling on the bare flags for a moment or two, fumbling with the laces, he couldn’t resist peeking front and centre, because damn it, Arthur’s smallclothes were now at eye level, well, he was only human. He couldn’t help it.
His mouth dropped open. God. Arthur hadn’t been exaggerating at all, it turned out. His cock was bloody magnificent. A force of nature, to be sure, straining as it was against his smallclothes. It was a wonder the breeches had fallen down at all, without being hooked on it. It must be uncomfortable.
Merlin’s fingers paused in their work for a second. It would be so easy just to let them drop down a few inches to help ease Arthur’s immediate discomfort...
“Well. Um. What?” said Arthur, a couple of heartbeats later, his voice coming out a little bit hoarse. “What. Um. What did you say?”
Merlin looked up. “A, um.” What had he been talking about again? “I was. I asked. I mean. Um. A day off? Sire?”
“Oh.” Arthur harrumphed, adding, in more decisive tones, “I mean to say… You’ll take a day off when I say you can. Merlin. Now sort these laces out.”
“Sire.” Giving himself a mental shake, Merlin focused on the laces. Don’t look at the bulge, he told himself sternly. Don’t look at the bulge. Don’t look at it!
His eyes had started to water a bit from not looking but with an enormous effort of will he managed to make them focus on the laces. Ah now he could see what the problem was; one lace had become disengaged from the fabric. Merlin concentrated on rethreading it, letting his tongue drift out as it always did while he was trying to focus on something fiddly.
“God. Come on Merlin.” Arthur was breathing hard, his fists balled by the side of his hips, and the bulge, dear God, was he imagining things or was it getting larger? Don’t look at it! .
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“I’m fine,” Arthur said.
“All done.” Merlin stood up and flashed Arthur an uncertain half-smile. “Sure I can’t get you some linctus for that cough?” Don’t look down. Don’t look down. Don’t look down.
“Ahem. That won't be necessary.”
“In that case…” Merlin backed away, hands in front of him, bowing as low as he could to disguise his own growing problem in the groinal area. “I’ll just…”
“Please do.”
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*Cackles insanely and makes them pine some more*
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Gosh, and I wouldn't mind laying my eyes (and hands, and anything else possible) on Arthur's mighty thighs!!! *drool*
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It was a fantasy, after all. Merlin thought it was quite a good one. He might even write it down.
But one of the key parts of that fantasy was Merlin’s ability to state, quite truthfully, that he had only ever used his magic for Arthur, and never actually on him. Which meant that he absolutely could not give into the temptations that assaulted him daily.
It was therefore with a growing and purely self-inflicted sense of torture that Merlin found himself alone in Arthur’s chambers so many times each day that sometimes, just sometimes, the temptation to use his magic to unlock Arthur’s Magic Drawer of Porn became so overwhelming that it made his fingers tingle. But he couldn’t give in to it. Besides being a gross betrayal of trust, it would lose his already slender ability to produce an acceptable, truthful answer to Arthur’s inevitable questions about his magic.
So he would sit, stand and polish that damned desk to within an inch of it life but never once did he allow his magic to act as it wished and sneak into the keyhole to give it a little tweak. It would be so easy! But, no.
Merlin’s luck finally changed one day when he was cleaning Arthur’s chambers up after breakfast and Uther sent Arthur an urgent summons. In his haste to obey his father’s command, Arthur must have forgotten to put on the chain that bore the key to his writing desk.
With shaking fingers, and a glance towards the door, Merlin opened the drawer and rummaged among the papers lurking within, retrieving one penned in a hand that he recognised. Placing it upon the desk, he straightened it.
The Prince and His Servant Part II
By Gana Drutherporn
Bingo!
Merlin sat down and started to read.
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“Alas, dear Merlin,” purred the Prince, primly. “I fear for your health. The size of my equipment is such that an injury would surely ensue. T’would ill behoove me to assault you thus.”
Holy fuck. Merlin had seen the semi-hard outline of Arthur’s cock. It filled his dreams nightly. Fully erect, Arthur must be huge. Just the thought of it made Merlin’s own cock fill so fast he thought he might black out from blood loss to his brain. With a sharp intake of breath, he shoved his hand down behind the waistline of his braes and cupped his own cock, just cupped it. For comfort.
“It’s what I want, Arthur,” said Merlin, his voice deepening to an animalistic growl. “I want to feel your love flute fill my tunnel of ecstasy. I want you to. I want it. Please. Fuck me. Hard.”
Oh, oh, oh. It was such a close echo of his own dreams that Merlin couldn’t help it. The hand on his cock started to move. Luckily his garments were loose, and there was room to angle his hand just how he liked it as he stroked his cock slowly, eyes glued to the page. He read on, one hand steadying the paper, the other working swiftly to dispel his discomfort.
The Prince let out a gutteral grunt and swirled one a probing finger around Merlin’s inviting purple pucker. “So pretty,” he purred. “So desperate for me. God, how I desire to…”
“Then do it,” panted Merlin through the velvet lips that had teased Arthur earlier. “I can take it! Pound me with your princely prick! I can take it!
Merlin's cock was so hard, hot and heavy in his hand. It strained against his clothes, now, it's tip poking up through his waistband. He let out a little breath. So close. He was so close!
With a powerful groan, the prince plunged his purple pestle deep into the gaping cavern of Merlin’s passion garden.
Oh, fuck, yes! Merlin’s cock jerked in his hand and a flash of wet heat spilled over his fist onto his tunic and braes.
But what was this? As if summoned by Merlin’s magic, Arthur’s voice was drifting in through the open doorway. Why hadn’t he closed it? What an idiot!
“...Father, I swear, my correspondence with Princess Wilhelmina is entirely innocent!” said Arthur. There was a distant clatter of boots upon flagstones. “There is no hint of any impropriety. We are merely undertaking a cultural exchange for the good of both our nations…”
Oh, no! Panicked, even as the aftershocks of his release were still juddering through his thighs, Merlin looked wildly around for a handkerchief or something to sort out the mess that he’d made.
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They were so close. Another few strides and they would be in the room. Merlin’s heart was still racing and his limbs felt heavy and boneless. With a huge effort of will, he tugged his neckerchief off, diving into his braes with it and swirling it about unskillfully across his tunic before thrusting it deep into Arthur’s waste paper basket beneath a bundle of scrunched up scrolls. He would deal with it later.
With another hasty movement, he shoved the offending scroll back into the drawer.
The footsteps were on the threshold now. He didn’t have time to rearrange the other pieces of parchment on top, nor to lock the drawer. As quietly as he could, he dropped the key on the desk, and scuttled over to the wardrobe, which he scanned for a suitable excuse, hastily grabbing a pair of dress boots.
“Of course, Father. However, do pray allow me to do her the courtesy of a farewell le-- Merlin? What are you doing here?” Arthur scowled. “Father and I are having a private conversation!”
“Arthur!” he said, faintly, holding the already immaculately polished boots in front of the incriminating wet patch on his clothes. “I mean, sire. Begging your royal highness’s pardon, sir.” He bowed at Uther. “I just. Um. You know. Need to polish these. For um. The feast. Sire?”
“What feast?” The line between Arthur’s eyes deepened as he glanced over to his desk and back before his gaze alighted on Merlin’s bare neck, where it stayed. “You’d, um.” Arthur swallowed. “Um. You’d better not have been snooping at my private correspondence.”
“No, Arthur, I would nev--”
“You will address your master correctly,” interrupted Uther. “Arthur? Punish the idle miscreant. I will talk with you in my chambers.” Scowling, he strode out of the room, his cloak swirling about him in a dramatic arc.
Merlin sighed. “I’ll just go and let myself into the stocks then, shall I, sire?”
“Um.” Arthur’s jaw twitched and his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “All right,” he added, in a hoarse voice, staring so hard at Merlin’s neck that he began to feel a little uncomfortable.
“Do I have a mark on my neck?” said Merlin. He couldn’t help it. He was only human. He let his own gaze drift south from Arthur's face for a second or two and tried to disguise it as a blink.
Holy fuck. Arthur’s crotch was bulging as if it was fit to explode.
“No, no.” Arthur folded his hands in front of his groin. He stepped hurriedly behind his desk and sat in the chair where moments before Merlin had been pulling at his cock. Dear God. What if there was a lingering smell. What if he’d left a mark? Arthur would be sitting in a pool of his seed, right now… and… oh, great. His dick was twitching again. He didn’t think that was even possible.
Mortified at the direction of his wayward thoughts, Merlin felt a deep and shameful blush start at his neck and burn all the way up to the roots of his hair and along his cheeks to his ears.
“Are you all right?” Arthur was still staring at his neck. “You look a bit, um.”
“Yeah,” said Merlin, hoarsely, as he edged towards the door. “Actually, I do feel a bit, you know.”
“Hmm. Well. No need to go to the stocks, Merlin. I’m not to be disturbed for a bit. I’ll just… ahem. Correspondence, you know.” He fumbled for the key around his neck with one hand while the other disappeared under his desk. There was a small sound, like that of a belt buckle being loosened, and another, like that of a held breath being released in a hastily suppressed moan. “Take your time. Don’t hurry back.” With another exhalation suspiciously close to a moan, Arthur opened the drawer.
“Right,” said Merlin, trying and failing not to think about what Arthur might be going to do next - and what’s more, what he might be going to think about while he was doing it. “Correspondence. Right.” God. He hoped Gaius was out.
He needed to lie down.
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:D
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I loved Arthur's reaction to seeing Merlin's neck, man, could those boys be anymore obvious?! They need to get it on!!! :D
I loved this so much, can't wait for more, but please don't ever stop! I could read Arthur's smutty fanfiction forever!
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He threw on his clothes. Darting out of the door before Gaius could give him any errands to do, he scuttled through the most obscure corridors of Camelot, seeking to avoid being waylaid. He had to retrieve it before Arthur found it. Or worse, George.
But of course fortune could not allow him this one thing. Of course it couldn’t. Instead, just as he rounded the final corner, within sight of Arthur’s chambers, it forced him into the arms of an eager-looking Morgana and Gwen, sitting upon a window seat with their heads together.
“Merlin!” Gwen sprang to her feet with a broad smile. “Just the person!”
“Um. Whatever it was, I didn’t do it.” he said, gaze darting hopefully from one to the other and then to the door that awaited him. He could see it, a mere thirty or so feet away! The bell still hadn’t rung. Arthur would not be up yet. If he was quick, he could still get there in time.
“Come, Merlin.” Morgana’s expression was innocent, which meant that she was up to something. “Sit with me and Gwen.”
“What?” Oh, God! “Erm, can’t stop, I’ve just got to…”
“Oh, just for a minute or two, Merlin!” Gwen sat back down again, shuffling over to one side. She patted the window seat between her and Morgana. “We never get a chance to chat.”
“But Arthur will be w…”
“Don’t worry about him, he won’t be awake yet!” Morgana smiled sweetly at him, and grabbed him by the arm, leaving him no option but to sit down. “And that’s just what we wanted to talk to you about. Arthur! He does seem terribly distracted, of late, don’t you think? Since Wilhelmina left.”
“N...n...no?” stuttered Merlin, one leg jiggling, betraying his eagerness to complete his quest. He shrugged, trying to think of a gracious way of escaping. “The usual clotpoleishness, if you ask me. Clean the stables, Merlin. Polish my armour, Merlin… you know. Anyway, I’ll just, um...” He started to struggle to his feet.
“There’s no hurry,” said Gwen. A gentle hand on each arm - Morgana on his right, Gwen on his left - pulled him down. He was trapped!
He stared miserably out of the window at a poor soul who was currently occupying the stocks. As Jesmond, a particularly swift-armed stable boy, lobbed an over-ripe cabbage at the wrongdoer’s head, he felt a stab of fellow feeling.
“He spends all his time writing to Wilhelmina, doesn’t he?” Gwen tilted her head on one side. Like an eagle. Eyeing its prey. A very soft, kind, innocent-faced but nonetheless hungry eagle. “But whenever anyone asks him, he says he’s writing poetry.”
“He does?” He plastered a grin to his face in an effort to look nonchalant, because, dear God, if Morgana got hold of one of Arthur’s *ahem* poems, neither of them would ever live it down. He would have to leave Camelot. “Maybe he’s developed a passion for it?”
Of course, if those incriminating scrolls were ever found, Arthur would probably have to leave Camelot, too. They’d both have to go and live in Caerleon or something. Arthur could make a living as a hired sword, and Merlin could grow things and take care of all the household problems. And at night, Arthur would come home and eat a simple meal with him, and then they’d spend all night shagging like bunnies.
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But no matter how gratifyingly his idle fantasies played out, there was no doubt that Morgana would make their lives a living hell if she knew what Arthur was actually writing about. So her sudden interest was A Bad Thing.
“Oh, please, Merlin. Don’t insult our intelligence,” Morgana was saying. “I had to suffer lessons with Arthur as a child. He’s as imaginative as a boar, with an even more limited vocabulary--”
“He asked me if I knew any other words for purple, beginning with p, yesterday,” added Gwen. “When I suggested puce, he looked like he’d sucked a lemon. Not that Arthur sucks lemons, but you know the look, or rather, I don’t mean that he often looks sour, of course not, haha, but anyway, you’d have thought that I got a wine stain on his favourite shirt. Not that I drink wine, of course!”
“Of course you don’t, Gwen,” murmured Morgana, in a cooing sort of voice.
“Um. But then I suggested plum coloured,” Gwen went on. “Which is a bit weird when you think about it, because plums can be all sorts of colours, of course, although I think we all know when we say plum coloured that we mean a sort of purplish plum, not the red sort, or the green ones, which I always think taste a bit icky…
“Too sharp,” agreed Morgana, stroking Merlin’s forearm. It was like being petted by a kitten. All soft and kind, but you never knew when the sharp claws would come out.
“Anyway.” Gwen patted Merlin’s hand. “He just looked sort of thunderstruck, muttered Plums! Of course! And ran off.”
Plums? Oh, God. Merlin swallowed, hard, and tried to extricate himself from their gentle grip, without much success. They were strong, these maidens, with their deceptively smooth hands and sweet smiles. With one hand on each forearm, he was effectively pinioned.
“We’re worried about him, Merlin,” said Morgana. An earnest line appeared between her brows. It didn’t fool him for a second. This wasn’t concern. This was sheer nosiness. “A knight of Camelot does not need to be distracted by stone fruit-related obsessions. What if he starts going on about peaches in the middle of a battle?”
“Or greengages,” added Gwen, who also seemed to be unnaturally inquisitive about the topic. What happened to sympathy for fellow, downtrodden servants? She was meant to be on his side! He flashed her a betrayed glare, but she went on without noticing. “Or… or… quince. Or maybe vegetables? He might start going on about purple cabbages or something. Much though I love purple cabbage. Or are they called red cabbage? I’ve never understood that. I have always thought they look more purp--”
“Anyway,” interrupted Morgana. “Won’t you keep an eye open for us, Merlin?” She fluttered her lashes at him. “We just want to help him. Please. For Arthur.”
But it wasn’t concern that he saw on Morgana’s face. It was avid curiosity.
“Arthur’s absolutely fine,” he said firmly. “He doesn’t need any help. And he’s got a perfectly healthy attitude towards um. You know, apples and… and… cherries and what-not. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll just…”
With a clever twist of his body, he moved out from under their grasping hands and stood up. Then promptly ducked to escape Morgana’s flailing hand, and darted for Arthur’s door.
He skidded to a halt outside, the two guards stationed there nodding at him.
Clang! Damn, he was too late. The morning bell tolled its jangling song, rousing the citadel to break its fast.
“Merlin!” came the imperious shout from within.
He groaned. It was going to be one of those days.
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It was lucky for Merlin that none of the other servants ever emptied Arthur’s waste paper basket. Normally Merlin just tossed the contents on the fire. But this time he wanted to retrieve his neckerchief first. So he dived into the basket and pulled out not one but two scrunched up scrolls, both of which were coated in Arthur’s handwriting, tossing them to the floor before delving back in.
But there was no sign of his soiled neckerchief.
Puzzled, Merlin upended the bin. He distinctly remembered thrusting his neckerchief into it after he’d… well. So, where could it be? Maybe Arthur had asked George to come in and tidy up? God, he hoped not. George would probably have tossed his neckerchief into the fire along with all the papers. And Merlin loved that neckerchief, despite what Gaius always said about it being tatty and rag-eared. His mother had sewed it for him, and it kept his neck warm, and served as a cleaning rag in extremis.
With a sigh, he gathered up the discarded parchments and was about to toss them onto the merry fire when the word “purple” caught his eye. Wait. It wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek, now, would it? He smoothed the first one over and peered at it in the flickering firelight.
“Mark me, oh my prince,” panted the servant, his hair an ink-black fan, his neck a long, luscious canvas ready for the prince to leave possessive, purple plum-coloured prints, as patterns of passion like jewels pearls upon his person. “Bite me! I want to feel your porcelain teeth upon my needy flesh!” Raising his head, he howled out a hollow cry that made the prince’s engorged cock fill, aching with need.
Wow. Merlin knew how he felt. His own cock was already growing hot and heavy between his thighs just from reading it.
With some regret, he tossed the scrunched-up parchment onto the waiting fire, which flared and hissed to welcome it, then turned to the second scroll. He was about to throw it on as well, but a sudden devilish instinct paused his hand and he opened it up instead. It was full of crossings out.
Merlin’s Arthur’s balls hung like bright berries, bursting with seed. How Arthur Merlin longed to suck them between his lips. With parted lips, the servant laved his prince’s pendulous plums, worshipping them with languid licks of his velvet tongue…
Holy glory. With a groan, Merlin palmed his now desperately aching cock through the fabric of his clothes.
But wait. Were those footsteps outside?
If Merlin’s face had felt any hotter, it would start to steam. He made a hasty decision. He thrust the partly read scroll into his breeches, telling himself that he would burn it later, and righted the upended waste-paper basket, returning it to its place by the desk. But it was too late. He was still kneeling next to it when Arthur pushed open his door.
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