Fic: The Better Man
Title: The Better Man
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1370
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Suggestion of dub-con, masturbation
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Arthur had always thought himself a better man
AN: Written for kink bingo for the 'Domestic/Tradesmen' square.
Arthur has taken to watching Merlin. There's still a great deal about him he doesn't understand, and has never thought about. He's been content, for far too long, to let Merlin be Merlin. Or, maybe just to continue making assumptions about him. It's only recently occurred to Arthur that some of those assumptions might not be true. It seems strange to suddenly feel compelled to discover where, and how, he's been wrong. But Arthur tells himself he's trying to be better, he's trying to understand people. If he can't understand Merlin, then he has no hope at all.
It feels like there's never been so much weight, so much expectation on him, and he wants to be a good king. He doesn't want to make the same mistakes as his father. He doesn't want to let people down, because he didn't understand. Or worse, never tried.
That's why he starts watching. But it's by no means the reason he keeps watching. Arthur doubts Merlin notices his attention - he hopes Merlin doesn't notice his attention. Though there are excuses, so many excuses he could use, that aren't the honest truth.
So, Arthur watches Merlin, whenever Merlin is not watching him. He watches him clean, and carry, and polish, and scrub. He watches him fill his bath, the slow monotony of buckets and pouring. Sometimes Merlin talks to himself, a scatter of words under his breath, some of them too soft and too strange to catch. Some of them are flattering, some are not, but Arthur will admit - to himself and no one else - that sometimes he deserves them. Sometimes Merlin will smile, amusement found somewhere else and Arthur finds himself watching that most of all.
Arthur understands what it means to have servants. He understands the need to treat a man well, when you command his service. He would never think to...to take advantage of anyone beneath him. He'd never presume to think he had rights, simply because someone served him. He'd never use his position to take what wasn't offered to him. Though he's aware that there are people who command such things. Who see their servants as nothing but property, to do with whatever they please. Arthur has very little respect for men like that. He had always thought himself a better man.
But he's not so sure any more.
His mind, it seems, after a while, is not content to just watch.
He thinks about it, in the darkness of his rooms, with the final trails of smoke drifting upwards from the candles. He thinks about the defiant curve of Merlin's mouth, when he says 'will there be anything else?' Only in Arthur's head Merlin says 'my lord,' chin upraised, sharp and disrespectful. Arthur will tell him as much, will chastise him for his lack of manners. Will tell him that he's rude, and disobedient and needs to learn his place.
He'll set him to some menial task, set him to scrubbing the floors, shirt sleeves pushed up his pale arms while he works, dark head bent. Arthur will watch him from the chair, as he stretches from flagstone to flagstone. His mouth will be angry, and he'll snipe quietly, complain about Arthur's boots, or the way he sits. He will be Merlin, infuriating and ridiculous and utterly mad.
Arthur will make him work until he reaches the stones beneath his chair. Until he looks up at him, red-faced and panting and Arthur will ask him if he's learned his lesson. Merlin's upturned face will be close enough that Arthur can lean down, one hand working its way into Merlin's hair. He'll ask him if he's going to be obedient. If he's going to serve Arthur without complaint.
Merlin will resist, stung and wary, subservience doesn't suit him - has never suited him. He wouldn't be Merlin if he didn't pull so very hard against everything he's supposed to be. He'll come, obediently, but with a sigh of exasperation, when Arthur tugs him to his knees. Frown on his face, mouth open just a little. Arthur has seen him wear that expression so often, as if Arthur honestly bewilders him. Part of him hates it, and part of him never wants Merlin to stop looking at him like that.
Arthur will turn Merlin's face up and kiss him until he's breathless, and Merlin can't help but make soft, confused noises under his mouth. He'll be warm and open. The tangle of his hair will be soft in Arthur's fingers, and if Arthur feels like it, he'll slide his hand into Merlin's shirt, feel the damp warmth of his bare skin, the thump of his heartbeat -
Arthur stares at the ceiling and swallows.
Merlin is the closest thing he has to a friend, and it feels wrong. It feels dirty, and unworthy, to imagine him like this. To make him into this. Arthur's fantasies have gone so long without faces. Merlin is too real, too close.
But it's very hard to forbid your mind from thinking. Even when you're a prince.
- it's vivid in his head, the way Merlin's hair will be hopelessly dishevelled, face pale, mouth wet, and just a little bit red when he lets him go. Bruised against Arthur's, under Arthur’s. He'll look surprised, he always looks surprised, eyes too big, face open and honest and curious, and just a little uncertain. Never imagining Arthur could want this. Arthur will grasp his chin, tip his head up, and lean back in the chair, and he won't have to tell him. Merlin will know, he'll know exactly what Arthur wants.
He won't refuse him, he won't even question, hands working on his belt and laces -
Arthur swears and rolls over in the bed, face buried in a cold space on the pillow. It doesn't help the burn in his skin at all. The insistent, impossible to ignore, weight of his erection crushed to the bed. He doesn't know whether it's punishment, or an extra slice of sensation, to make it feel real.
He swears and pulls his nightshirt out of the way, touches himself. The relief a perfect balance to the guilt.
- Merlin will be awkward, too careful when he touches him. Arthur will have to coax him to open, to let him slide in over his tongue, and fill his mouth.
Arthur will tangle a hand in his hair and he will be -
Arthur gives in to the need to thrust into the curl of his fingers, toes dug into the mattress, breath too hot against the pillow. It feels obscene thinking it, but impossible to stop.
- he'll be demanding, greedy, and he'll still want more. He'll watch the flutter of Merlin's eyelashes, so dark against his skin, pushing his hair back until he can see everything. The wet stretch of his mouth, the uncertain grip of his hand, pale fingers wet.
Until it's not enough.
Arthur will push him over onto the floor he's just cleaned, and Merlin will say his name, over and over, while Arthur works him open with rough, impatient fingers, oil running in lines down Merlin's pale thighs. He'll be burning hot inside, and tight, so impossibly tight when Arthur takes him. He'll make low, hurt noises, breathless and new, hands braced on the stone to hold himself up. He'll push Merlin's shirt all the way up his back, watch the long, stretched-out length of him shudder under every thrust, and Arthur will say...things, obscene things. Things he would never say. Things that make his voice shake, and his pulse one long rush of noise. Because Arthur is a prince, and Merlin is his servant. Arthur can do whatever he pleases with him, use him however he sees fit.
Merlin will call him 'my lord,' in that exhausted, breathless tone of voice he has, and Arthur will hold tight to the narrow curve of his waist. He'll watch his own cock drive into him over and over -
The fantasy breaks apart when he finds release, gasping too loudly into the silence, the wet mess of his come slippery on his fingers.
God.
Merlin.
Arthur stares towards the closed door, feeling hot and guilty, and nothing like a better man at all.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1370
Spoilers: None
Warnings: Suggestion of dub-con, masturbation
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: Arthur had always thought himself a better man
AN: Written for kink bingo for the 'Domestic/Tradesmen' square.
Arthur has taken to watching Merlin. There's still a great deal about him he doesn't understand, and has never thought about. He's been content, for far too long, to let Merlin be Merlin. Or, maybe just to continue making assumptions about him. It's only recently occurred to Arthur that some of those assumptions might not be true. It seems strange to suddenly feel compelled to discover where, and how, he's been wrong. But Arthur tells himself he's trying to be better, he's trying to understand people. If he can't understand Merlin, then he has no hope at all.
It feels like there's never been so much weight, so much expectation on him, and he wants to be a good king. He doesn't want to make the same mistakes as his father. He doesn't want to let people down, because he didn't understand. Or worse, never tried.
That's why he starts watching. But it's by no means the reason he keeps watching. Arthur doubts Merlin notices his attention - he hopes Merlin doesn't notice his attention. Though there are excuses, so many excuses he could use, that aren't the honest truth.
So, Arthur watches Merlin, whenever Merlin is not watching him. He watches him clean, and carry, and polish, and scrub. He watches him fill his bath, the slow monotony of buckets and pouring. Sometimes Merlin talks to himself, a scatter of words under his breath, some of them too soft and too strange to catch. Some of them are flattering, some are not, but Arthur will admit - to himself and no one else - that sometimes he deserves them. Sometimes Merlin will smile, amusement found somewhere else and Arthur finds himself watching that most of all.
Arthur understands what it means to have servants. He understands the need to treat a man well, when you command his service. He would never think to...to take advantage of anyone beneath him. He'd never presume to think he had rights, simply because someone served him. He'd never use his position to take what wasn't offered to him. Though he's aware that there are people who command such things. Who see their servants as nothing but property, to do with whatever they please. Arthur has very little respect for men like that. He had always thought himself a better man.
But he's not so sure any more.
His mind, it seems, after a while, is not content to just watch.
He thinks about it, in the darkness of his rooms, with the final trails of smoke drifting upwards from the candles. He thinks about the defiant curve of Merlin's mouth, when he says 'will there be anything else?' Only in Arthur's head Merlin says 'my lord,' chin upraised, sharp and disrespectful. Arthur will tell him as much, will chastise him for his lack of manners. Will tell him that he's rude, and disobedient and needs to learn his place.
He'll set him to some menial task, set him to scrubbing the floors, shirt sleeves pushed up his pale arms while he works, dark head bent. Arthur will watch him from the chair, as he stretches from flagstone to flagstone. His mouth will be angry, and he'll snipe quietly, complain about Arthur's boots, or the way he sits. He will be Merlin, infuriating and ridiculous and utterly mad.
Arthur will make him work until he reaches the stones beneath his chair. Until he looks up at him, red-faced and panting and Arthur will ask him if he's learned his lesson. Merlin's upturned face will be close enough that Arthur can lean down, one hand working its way into Merlin's hair. He'll ask him if he's going to be obedient. If he's going to serve Arthur without complaint.
Merlin will resist, stung and wary, subservience doesn't suit him - has never suited him. He wouldn't be Merlin if he didn't pull so very hard against everything he's supposed to be. He'll come, obediently, but with a sigh of exasperation, when Arthur tugs him to his knees. Frown on his face, mouth open just a little. Arthur has seen him wear that expression so often, as if Arthur honestly bewilders him. Part of him hates it, and part of him never wants Merlin to stop looking at him like that.
Arthur will turn Merlin's face up and kiss him until he's breathless, and Merlin can't help but make soft, confused noises under his mouth. He'll be warm and open. The tangle of his hair will be soft in Arthur's fingers, and if Arthur feels like it, he'll slide his hand into Merlin's shirt, feel the damp warmth of his bare skin, the thump of his heartbeat -
Arthur stares at the ceiling and swallows.
Merlin is the closest thing he has to a friend, and it feels wrong. It feels dirty, and unworthy, to imagine him like this. To make him into this. Arthur's fantasies have gone so long without faces. Merlin is too real, too close.
But it's very hard to forbid your mind from thinking. Even when you're a prince.
- it's vivid in his head, the way Merlin's hair will be hopelessly dishevelled, face pale, mouth wet, and just a little bit red when he lets him go. Bruised against Arthur's, under Arthur’s. He'll look surprised, he always looks surprised, eyes too big, face open and honest and curious, and just a little uncertain. Never imagining Arthur could want this. Arthur will grasp his chin, tip his head up, and lean back in the chair, and he won't have to tell him. Merlin will know, he'll know exactly what Arthur wants.
He won't refuse him, he won't even question, hands working on his belt and laces -
Arthur swears and rolls over in the bed, face buried in a cold space on the pillow. It doesn't help the burn in his skin at all. The insistent, impossible to ignore, weight of his erection crushed to the bed. He doesn't know whether it's punishment, or an extra slice of sensation, to make it feel real.
He swears and pulls his nightshirt out of the way, touches himself. The relief a perfect balance to the guilt.
- Merlin will be awkward, too careful when he touches him. Arthur will have to coax him to open, to let him slide in over his tongue, and fill his mouth.
Arthur will tangle a hand in his hair and he will be -
Arthur gives in to the need to thrust into the curl of his fingers, toes dug into the mattress, breath too hot against the pillow. It feels obscene thinking it, but impossible to stop.
- he'll be demanding, greedy, and he'll still want more. He'll watch the flutter of Merlin's eyelashes, so dark against his skin, pushing his hair back until he can see everything. The wet stretch of his mouth, the uncertain grip of his hand, pale fingers wet.
Until it's not enough.
Arthur will push him over onto the floor he's just cleaned, and Merlin will say his name, over and over, while Arthur works him open with rough, impatient fingers, oil running in lines down Merlin's pale thighs. He'll be burning hot inside, and tight, so impossibly tight when Arthur takes him. He'll make low, hurt noises, breathless and new, hands braced on the stone to hold himself up. He'll push Merlin's shirt all the way up his back, watch the long, stretched-out length of him shudder under every thrust, and Arthur will say...things, obscene things. Things he would never say. Things that make his voice shake, and his pulse one long rush of noise. Because Arthur is a prince, and Merlin is his servant. Arthur can do whatever he pleases with him, use him however he sees fit.
Merlin will call him 'my lord,' in that exhausted, breathless tone of voice he has, and Arthur will hold tight to the narrow curve of his waist. He'll watch his own cock drive into him over and over -
The fantasy breaks apart when he finds release, gasping too loudly into the silence, the wet mess of his come slippery on his fingers.
God.
Merlin.
Arthur stares towards the closed door, feeling hot and guilty, and nothing like a better man at all.