I don't even know why I'm doing this, but it's too much fun to stop. [grins]
The first time was clearly disasterous. Merlin was fumble-fingered with nerves and dropped the oil, which spilled all over the table, dripped onto the floor, and ruined the maps he had been reviewing for his father. Arthur was *not* going to be the one to explain to him why they needed all the maps of the southern border redrawn. Arthur demanded that since Merlin had dropped the oil, Merlin could be the one to make up for it, and his heart almost gave out when Merlin smiled determinedly and dropped to his knees, reaching for his breeches.
The second time was a little better. Merlin was less nervous and more confident, which meant that managed getting the oil fine. Then he tripped getting into the bed, fell down, and knocked himself unconscious on the bedpost. Arthur spent a worried five minutes trying to make sure Merlin hadn't broken his neck until he woke up, and then a smug three hours mocking him for it extensively while he methodically drove Merlin insane, tied to the bed because obviously, he couldn't be trusted to move, Arthur had explained kindly as he knotted the ties. Merlin had argued at the beginning, yelled and pleaded in the middle, and eventually gave up and just arched up towards Arthur's hands, his whole body begging eloquently, and Arthur decided that maybe he'd mocked him enough. When he finally slid inside, Merlin gave a hiccuping gasp and came for about five minutes.
The third time, though, that was when it all clicked, and Arthur clutched at the back of the chair and planted his feet firmly because Merlin was lean and wiry and *strong*, much stronger than he looked, and the chair skidded forward with his thrusts. His hands were tight on Arthur's sides, stroking him with every push, and Arthur flung his head back when he came, gasping, feeling Merlin kiss his throat, Merlin's hands supporting him as he staggered and almost fell. Merlin shoved in one more time, shuddered and came hard, moaning into Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur shuddered too, because Merlin sounded like he was dying, and he breathed Arthur's name like it was a lifeline.
But what really made it perfect was after, when Merlin painstakingly pulled out and promptly fell over, and Arthur smirked down at him for about five seconds before his knees gave out and he fell over too, and the two of them lay on the cold hard stone floor, which felt wonderful on sweaty hot skin, and laughed like a pair of lunatics, legs tangled like string and holding hands.
Merlin can never do magic when he's sick, and so it falls to Arthur--who grumbles so much that Merlin almost forgets that he volunteered and Gaius has told him five times already to just *go away*--to bring him cups of tea and rags to blow his nose on and order more firewood brought in.
He feels disgusting, and he's sweating like a horse, and his face feels flushed and he can't breathe through his nose, and he lays there feebly, too weak to move, enjoying the occasional fever-induced hallucination and mostly waiting for his life to mercifully end.
When Arthur pulls the covers down, Merlin whimpers and twitches, the cold air making him shake. He doesn't pay attention to Arthur deliberately pushing up his thin linen shift, because he's pretty sure that's a fever dream, and the last time he tried to talk back to the hallucinations, Gaius started to give him odd looks that haven't entirely gone away. So he doesn't say anything.
He's sweating harder now, and he's shaking with cold, his head hurts, and Arthur's hand is on him, so hot, that Merlin helplessly shifts to push into it, and wishes that this was real, because if it was real then this would feel wonderful. It feels wonderful anyway.
Arthur putting his mouth on him, liquid heat hotter than any fever could be, is when Merlin starts to think that maybe this isn't his imagination after all, but by then he's already panting and clutching at Arthur. Arthur sucks harder when Merlin threads his fingers into his hair, and Arthur is making soft sounds, Merlin can barely hear them, quiet contented sounds as he licks and teases. Merlin can't keep his eyes open, which is terrible, because Arthur sucking him with a look of concentration on his face is the hottest thing he's ever seen.
He comes, and lights sparkle behind his eyes like staring into the sun too long. He feels like his entire body is glowing, is filled with pleasure, intoxicating him. He can't move much, he's too weak, but that just means that the sensations reverberate around him, echoes of pleasure making him vibrate like a dropped harp. When it's over he pries open his eyes, breathing hard and no longer cold, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest.
Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, licking his lips, one thumb wiping the corner of his mouth, and when Merlin opens his eyes he grins at him, small and private, like a secret.
"Feel better?" he says, and Merlin nods weakly. Arthur chuckles, and swings his legs up, and Merlin shifts to cuddle close to him, so warm and solid, and lets himself go into sleep. Arthur stroke his shoulder soothingly, and is still there when he wakes up hours later, congested and coughing but clear-headed, his fever broken.
"Come on," Arthur said. He looked terrible, mussed and flushed and with a dark mark low on his throat. He grinned like a fallen angel, and grinned with the kind of reckless charm that Merlin knew got him almost anything he wanted. Luckily, he was immune.
"Absolutely *not*."
"Please?" Arthur reached out a lazy hand, cupped Merlin's cock and began to stroke. Merlin choked and lifted up a little, unable to help himself, the feeling almost perfect, Arthur's touch practiced and deliberate. "It'll be fun."
"No!"
"Merlin," Arthur said coaxingly, and Merlin shook his head.
"There is absolutely no way," he said, and gasped. Arthur stroked a little harder, and Merlin let his head fall back, dizzy with the pleasure spinning through him.
"Oh?" Arthur murmured, and his hand felt so good, calloused fingers rasping just a little, delicious, *perfect*, and Merlin whined. "You sure?" Arthur was using two hands now, some sort of corkscrewing motion that made him see stars, and his eyes were closing because it felt so unbelievable that he almost couldn't handle it, and his thighs fell open as he pushed up, desperate for more.
"I'm...sure," he managed, and tensed when Arthur took one hand away, but then his mouth was on him, and Merlin groaned and forgot what he was about to say when a single finger, slick with something, pushed at him and he yelped and jerked and it slipped inside.
"Arthur," he moaned, and he meant to say no again, he really did, because there was absolutely no way in hell that Arthur was going to fit, and he didn't feel like trying to explain his lifethreatening injuries to Gaius, but something lit up his brain and he yelled helplessly, and when the sound went away he had two fingers inside him and he was shoving at them, wanting something, wanting more, and Arthur might have been laughing but it mostly just sounded like groans.
"Right, yes, come on, then," he panted, when the waves of pleasure had receded a bit, and Arthur looked a little less charming now and a little more desperate, and when he thrust inside Merlin it was awkward and clumsy and so not perfect that it burned him to the bone, and Merlin grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed his hips back against Arthur and came so hard that he felt blood roaring in his ears, and Arthur's shout and shudder seemed a very long way away.
"Told you it was fun," Arthur said afterwards, still sounding out of breath. Merlin smiled at the ceiling.
"Fine. You were right. Your turn next," he added smugly.
The moon is kind to Merlin, Arthur thinks. It makes his skin luminescent, gives his dark hair a silvery sheen, makes his blue eyes deep and mysterious. Arthur knows that the moon does nothing for him. He turns pale and colorless in moonlight; it's in sunlight that his skin and his hair are warm and golden, and his eyes shine blue. He's glad that Merlin has his eyes closed.
The bruises along his ribs are ugly, marring the warm silk of his skin, and Arthur bends to kiss them, gently. Merlin mumbles something that gets lost in the humid air, and Arthur runs a slow, careful hand down his side.
Arthur doesn't protest when Merlin's hand finds his cock, although he doesn't let it distract him too much. He draws his mouth down, kissing, nipping the tender skin below his navel, blowing warm air across his belly. The tip of Merlin's cock is wet, and Merlin's breathing a little harder now.
When he reaches it, Merlin's shivering under his lips, and he slides his tongue up and up until the wet tip is in his mouth. Merlin sighs, and his hand on Arthur goes clumsy.
Arthur brings him off slowly, Merlin relaxed and boneless below him, trembling endlessly as he comes and comes, gentle and slow. Merlin isn't touching his cock anymore, but Arthur still shudders when he cups the back of Arthur's neck, pulls him close and kisses him.
"Sorry," he whispers into Merlin's mouth, and he means sorry for my father, sorry for the beating, sorry I couldn't protect you.
"Shh," Merlin whispers back, rolling his hips up slowly to rub against Arthur's aching cock, and Arthur bites his lip a little when he comes by accident. "Arthur," Merlin murmurs, and he means it's okay, it wasn't your fault, I love you.
"Here," Arthur said brusquely, and yanked Merlin closer, "get under the cloak."
"I'm fine," Merlin said, distracted, and peered up at the sky. Raindrops fell into his lashes, and he blinked hard. The sky was solid with clouds, rippling with dark grays, and a stiff wind made the tree branches thrash.
"You'll catch fever and die," Arthur said, and clamped Merlin to his side with one arm, spreading his cloak to cover them both. "And then Gaius will frown at me."
"He doesn't usually mean those," Merlin said, and he felt sparkling, like lightning was racing along his veins. A flash of light, then the thunder rumbled, right on top of them, and he turned to Arthur, grinning. "It's beautiful," he said, waved a hand around. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes.
"You're crazy," Arthur said, after a minute, and Merlin laughed out loud as Arthur pushed him up against a tree, bark scratchy and rough against his back, both of them instantly soaked
"You like rain?" Arthur said, his hot mouth exploring Merlin's cold face, rain falling in sheets around them.
"I love it," Merlin gasped, as Arthur's wet hand found his cock through his pants, and lightning ripped across the sky again, the thunder deafening him, Arthur tightening his hand in shock and his skin prickled, wanting it, wanting it all.
"Beautiful," Arthur said harshly, and bit his throat, grinding against him hard, and Merlin came with a hoarse cry, and lightning flashed down and everything went bright.
Merlin isn't entirely sure how "Arthur's manservant" translates into "the one who always has to get up and get a damp cloth to wash up afterwards", but he doesn't particularly like it.
But Arthur always pokes him until he gets up, and he does have very poky fingers and he knows all of Merlin's soft spots, so Merlin gives in and climbs out of bed on wobbly legs and heads for the sideboard, where they now keep a supply of soft clean linen rags, and he pours some water on it and wobbles back to the bed, where Arthur looks annoyingly messy and relaxed and not-wobbly and also beautiful.
Merlin would argue more about this patently unfair division of labor, except that it also means he gets to wash Arthur, stroke him with the soft cloth and make sure that he's as clean as he can possibly be, and usually by the time he's finished Arthur is hard and panting and grabs for him as soon as he puts the cloth down.
Merlin always goes without any protest at all, because after round two is done, and Arthur looks, if anything, more messy and more beautiful, the rule is that the second time, Arthur has to get his own damn cloth.
As I love these continuations, quite dearly, and I don't know of another posting of it I was going to be done, but I thought it'd be nice to post it (and maybe spell check it) to tumblr. Tell me if this is totally uncool! I was planning to cite you, yet standardize this wonderful continuation. <3
The first time was clearly disasterous. Merlin was fumble-fingered with nerves and dropped the oil, which spilled all over the table, dripped onto the floor, and ruined the maps he had been reviewing for his father. Arthur was *not* going to be the one to explain to him why they needed all the maps of the southern border redrawn. Arthur demanded that since Merlin had dropped the oil, Merlin could be the one to make up for it, and his heart almost gave out when Merlin smiled determinedly and dropped to his knees, reaching for his breeches.
The second time was a little better. Merlin was less nervous and more confident, which meant that managed getting the oil fine. Then he tripped getting into the bed, fell down, and knocked himself unconscious on the bedpost. Arthur spent a worried five minutes trying to make sure Merlin hadn't broken his neck until he woke up, and then a smug three hours mocking him for it extensively while he methodically drove Merlin insane, tied to the bed because obviously, he couldn't be trusted to move, Arthur had explained kindly as he knotted the ties. Merlin had argued at the beginning, yelled and pleaded in the middle, and eventually gave up and just arched up towards Arthur's hands, his whole body begging eloquently, and Arthur decided that maybe he'd mocked him enough. When he finally slid inside, Merlin gave a hiccuping gasp and came for about five minutes.
The third time, though, that was when it all clicked, and Arthur clutched at the back of the chair and planted his feet firmly because Merlin was lean and wiry and *strong*, much stronger than he looked, and the chair skidded forward with his thrusts. His hands were tight on Arthur's sides, stroking him with every push, and Arthur flung his head back when he came, gasping, feeling Merlin kiss his throat, Merlin's hands supporting him as he staggered and almost fell. Merlin shoved in one more time, shuddered and came hard, moaning into Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur shuddered too, because Merlin sounded like he was dying, and he breathed Arthur's name like it was a lifeline.
But what really made it perfect was after, when Merlin painstakingly pulled out and promptly fell over, and Arthur smirked down at him for about five seconds before his knees gave out and he fell over too, and the two of them lay on the cold hard stone floor, which felt wonderful on sweaty hot skin, and laughed like a pair of lunatics, legs tangled like string and holding hands.
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So. Much. Guh.
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So. [whistling innocently] Feeling any better?
Merlin can never do magic when he's sick, and so it falls to Arthur--who grumbles so much that Merlin almost forgets that he volunteered and Gaius has told him five times already to just *go away*--to bring him cups of tea and rags to blow his nose on and order more firewood brought in.
He feels disgusting, and he's sweating like a horse, and his face feels flushed and he can't breathe through his nose, and he lays there feebly, too weak to move, enjoying the occasional fever-induced hallucination and mostly waiting for his life to mercifully end.
When Arthur pulls the covers down, Merlin whimpers and twitches, the cold air making him shake. He doesn't pay attention to Arthur deliberately pushing up his thin linen shift, because he's pretty sure that's a fever dream, and the last time he tried to talk back to the hallucinations, Gaius started to give him odd looks that haven't entirely gone away. So he doesn't say anything.
He's sweating harder now, and he's shaking with cold, his head hurts, and Arthur's hand is on him, so hot, that Merlin helplessly shifts to push into it, and wishes that this was real, because if it was real then this would feel wonderful. It feels wonderful anyway.
Arthur putting his mouth on him, liquid heat hotter than any fever could be, is when Merlin starts to think that maybe this isn't his imagination after all, but by then he's already panting and clutching at Arthur. Arthur sucks harder when Merlin threads his fingers into his hair, and Arthur is making soft sounds, Merlin can barely hear them, quiet contented sounds as he licks and teases. Merlin can't keep his eyes open, which is terrible, because Arthur sucking him with a look of concentration on his face is the hottest thing he's ever seen.
He comes, and lights sparkle behind his eyes like staring into the sun too long. He feels like his entire body is glowing, is filled with pleasure, intoxicating him. He can't move much, he's too weak, but that just means that the sensations reverberate around him, echoes of pleasure making him vibrate like a dropped harp. When it's over he pries open his eyes, breathing hard and no longer cold, and he feels his heart pounding in his chest.
Arthur sits on the edge of the bed, licking his lips, one thumb wiping the corner of his mouth, and when Merlin opens his eyes he grins at him, small and private, like a secret.
"Feel better?" he says, and Merlin nods weakly. Arthur chuckles, and swings his legs up, and Merlin shifts to cuddle close to him, so warm and solid, and lets himself go into sleep. Arthur stroke his shoulder soothingly, and is still there when he wakes up hours later, congested and coughing but clear-headed, his fever broken.
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"Come on," Arthur said. He looked terrible, mussed and flushed and with a dark mark low on his throat. He grinned like a fallen angel, and grinned with the kind of reckless charm that Merlin knew got him almost anything he wanted. Luckily, he was immune.
"Absolutely *not*."
"Please?" Arthur reached out a lazy hand, cupped Merlin's cock and began to stroke. Merlin choked and lifted up a little, unable to help himself, the feeling almost perfect, Arthur's touch practiced and deliberate. "It'll be fun."
"No!"
"Merlin," Arthur said coaxingly, and Merlin shook his head.
"There is absolutely no way," he said, and gasped. Arthur stroked a little harder, and Merlin let his head fall back, dizzy with the pleasure spinning through him.
"Oh?" Arthur murmured, and his hand felt so good, calloused fingers rasping just a little, delicious, *perfect*, and Merlin whined. "You sure?" Arthur was using two hands now, some sort of corkscrewing motion that made him see stars, and his eyes were closing because it felt so unbelievable that he almost couldn't handle it, and his thighs fell open as he pushed up, desperate for more.
"I'm...sure," he managed, and tensed when Arthur took one hand away, but then his mouth was on him, and Merlin groaned and forgot what he was about to say when a single finger, slick with something, pushed at him and he yelped and jerked and it slipped inside.
"Arthur," he moaned, and he meant to say no again, he really did, because there was absolutely no way in hell that Arthur was going to fit, and he didn't feel like trying to explain his lifethreatening injuries to Gaius, but something lit up his brain and he yelled helplessly, and when the sound went away he had two fingers inside him and he was shoving at them, wanting something, wanting more, and Arthur might have been laughing but it mostly just sounded like groans.
"Right, yes, come on, then," he panted, when the waves of pleasure had receded a bit, and Arthur looked a little less charming now and a little more desperate, and when he thrust inside Merlin it was awkward and clumsy and so not perfect that it burned him to the bone, and Merlin grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed his hips back against Arthur and came so hard that he felt blood roaring in his ears, and Arthur's shout and shudder seemed a very long way away.
"Told you it was fun," Arthur said afterwards, still sounding out of breath. Merlin smiled at the ceiling.
"Fine. You were right. Your turn next," he added smugly.
"Absolutely *not*!"
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The bruises along his ribs are ugly, marring the warm silk of his skin, and Arthur bends to kiss them, gently. Merlin mumbles something that gets lost in the humid air, and Arthur runs a slow, careful hand down his side.
Arthur doesn't protest when Merlin's hand finds his cock, although he doesn't let it distract him too much. He draws his mouth down, kissing, nipping the tender skin below his navel, blowing warm air across his belly. The tip of Merlin's cock is wet, and Merlin's breathing a little harder now.
When he reaches it, Merlin's shivering under his lips, and he slides his tongue up and up until the wet tip is in his mouth. Merlin sighs, and his hand on Arthur goes clumsy.
Arthur brings him off slowly, Merlin relaxed and boneless below him, trembling endlessly as he comes and comes, gentle and slow. Merlin isn't touching his cock anymore, but Arthur still shudders when he cups the back of Arthur's neck, pulls him close and kisses him.
"Sorry," he whispers into Merlin's mouth, and he means sorry for my father, sorry for the beating, sorry I couldn't protect you.
"Shh," Merlin whispers back, rolling his hips up slowly to rub against Arthur's aching cock, and Arthur bites his lip a little when he comes by accident. "Arthur," Merlin murmurs, and he means it's okay, it wasn't your fault, I love you.
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"I'm fine," Merlin said, distracted, and peered up at the sky. Raindrops fell into his lashes, and he blinked hard. The sky was solid with clouds, rippling with dark grays, and a stiff wind made the tree branches thrash.
"You'll catch fever and die," Arthur said, and clamped Merlin to his side with one arm, spreading his cloak to cover them both. "And then Gaius will frown at me."
"He doesn't usually mean those," Merlin said, and he felt sparkling, like lightning was racing along his veins. A flash of light, then the thunder rumbled, right on top of them, and he turned to Arthur, grinning. "It's beautiful," he said, waved a hand around. He pushed his hair back out of his eyes.
"You're crazy," Arthur said, after a minute, and Merlin laughed out loud as Arthur pushed him up against a tree, bark scratchy and rough against his back, both of them instantly soaked
"You like rain?" Arthur said, his hot mouth exploring Merlin's cold face, rain falling in sheets around them.
"I love it," Merlin gasped, as Arthur's wet hand found his cock through his pants, and lightning ripped across the sky again, the thunder deafening him, Arthur tightening his hand in shock and his skin prickled, wanting it, wanting it all.
"Beautiful," Arthur said harshly, and bit his throat, grinding against him hard, and Merlin came with a hoarse cry, and lightning flashed down and everything went bright.
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And, um. I still want to write more. [embarrassed grin] I'm starting to run out of ideas, though, so it might take a few minutes.
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(I read them all in one go and nearly had heart failure. God, what are you on and can you send me some, plz?)
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But Arthur always pokes him until he gets up, and he does have very poky fingers and he knows all of Merlin's soft spots, so Merlin gives in and climbs out of bed on wobbly legs and heads for the sideboard, where they now keep a supply of soft clean linen rags, and he pours some water on it and wobbles back to the bed, where Arthur looks annoyingly messy and relaxed and not-wobbly and also beautiful.
Merlin would argue more about this patently unfair division of labor, except that it also means he gets to wash Arthur, stroke him with the soft cloth and make sure that he's as clean as he can possibly be, and usually by the time he's finished Arthur is hard and panting and grabs for him as soon as he puts the cloth down.
Merlin always goes without any protest at all, because after round two is done, and Arthur looks, if anything, more messy and more beautiful, the rule is that the second time, Arthur has to get his own damn cloth.
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You and Jenn both have utterly broken me.
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