fic: hit the floor (merlin/arthur)
you know, i feel like there is something sort of skeezy about writing porn about the characters on a show i'm preeeeetty sure is aimed at families. OH WELL. it's better than linguistics? \o/
hit the floor (with you)
merlin/arthur
R
722 words. all porn, no plot at all, sorry!
There was more than this once, Arthur knows, and technically there still is: Camelot, his father, the knights, being a good prince. All of it is still on his mind and he knows that it’s all important, but it’s all taken a back seat. His perspective shifted, somewhere between Merlin pushing him and shoving him and calling him every foul name under the sun for being willing to sacrifice himself and then kissing him, and here, now: Merlin backing him up against the wall in his chambers and sliding to his knees, and this is what it’s about now, everything.
Anything could happen, Uther could storm in and rant about how he’s decided to take up magic himself, even, and Arthur wouldn’t care. Not when Merlin is undoing the fastenings on his trousers and puling them down slowly, glancing up at Arthur with that half smile/half smirk on his face, something cunning and clever, hot and wanting, in his eyes.
His mouth slides over Arthur’s undergarments, and Arthur’s hips twitch away from the wall. Merlin just holds him there, and grins, his breath warm and damp even through the thin material separating it from Arthur’s skin. One of Arthur’s hands comes up already, resting lightly on Merlin’s head, soft strands of hair loose between his fingertips.
“Merlin,” he mutters. There’s nothing he can do about the way his voice dips, lower than usual but not as imperative, either. It’s strange, the way their usual positions don’t matter anymore, like this; orders don’t count, and he has no authority, and the strangest part, actually, is how it doesn’t matter to him. Arthur doesn’t care, and that’s something he never thought he’d experience. “Merlin,” he repeats, at the same moment Merlin pulls down Arthur’s undergarments and pushes his shirt up to give him more space to work with.
Then Merlin sucks lightly at the head of Arthur’s dick, and Arthur doesn’t say anything, because the only sound he can make is a string of vowels that would be embarrassing, were it not for how it feels, Merlin’s tongue rubbing over the head of his cock and his finger wrapping around the base. It takes all the effort Arthur can command, not to twist his fingers in Merlin’s hair and pull him down further, or rock his hips away from the wall and press further into Merlin’s mouth. He tries to keep his breathing as steady as possible as Merlin slides his mouth down further, right down to meet his fist for a few moments before pulling back again, bobbing his head and working his tongue in time with his hand.
Arthur has no idea how Merlin got so good at his, and part of him wants to know, doesn’t want it to be because of anyone other than him. He never asks, though; just tilts his head back against the wall and groans, low, and can’t stop the way his hips twitch forward just a little. Merlin’s free hand curls around his hip and holds him as still as he can. It gets a little sloppy the longer it lasts, but Arthur’s not complaining at all. It makes Merlin’s mouth slide over him even more easily, and means Merlin’s swallowing around him, making soft, encouraging noises in the back of his throat as Arthur finds it increasingly hard to catch his breath, keep still, stop his hands petting desperately at Merlin’s hair and jaw line.
“Merlin,” he says, “Merlin, Merlin,” rocking his hips forward because he can’t help it now, no matter how hard he tries, but Merlin just makes a noise that Arthur feels right through him and then swallows just as Arthur comes, head tipped back against the wall and moaning, too wrecked and probably too loud with it.
Merlin pulls off of him with a few gentle licks, almost too much but still enough to make Arthur’s thighs tremble and his hips twitch forward again, and then he looks up at him. His lips are red and swollen and he looks - he looks as though he’s just been doing exactly what he’s just been doing, and he looks good, the kind of good that’s going to be lurking just behind Arthur’s eyelids for days, resurfacing everytime he closes his eyes.
“Merlin,” Arthur says again, quiet and rough and useless.
Merlin grins.
hit the floor (with you)
merlin/arthur
R
722 words. all porn, no plot at all, sorry!
There was more than this once, Arthur knows, and technically there still is: Camelot, his father, the knights, being a good prince. All of it is still on his mind and he knows that it’s all important, but it’s all taken a back seat. His perspective shifted, somewhere between Merlin pushing him and shoving him and calling him every foul name under the sun for being willing to sacrifice himself and then kissing him, and here, now: Merlin backing him up against the wall in his chambers and sliding to his knees, and this is what it’s about now, everything.
Anything could happen, Uther could storm in and rant about how he’s decided to take up magic himself, even, and Arthur wouldn’t care. Not when Merlin is undoing the fastenings on his trousers and puling them down slowly, glancing up at Arthur with that half smile/half smirk on his face, something cunning and clever, hot and wanting, in his eyes.
His mouth slides over Arthur’s undergarments, and Arthur’s hips twitch away from the wall. Merlin just holds him there, and grins, his breath warm and damp even through the thin material separating it from Arthur’s skin. One of Arthur’s hands comes up already, resting lightly on Merlin’s head, soft strands of hair loose between his fingertips.
“Merlin,” he mutters. There’s nothing he can do about the way his voice dips, lower than usual but not as imperative, either. It’s strange, the way their usual positions don’t matter anymore, like this; orders don’t count, and he has no authority, and the strangest part, actually, is how it doesn’t matter to him. Arthur doesn’t care, and that’s something he never thought he’d experience. “Merlin,” he repeats, at the same moment Merlin pulls down Arthur’s undergarments and pushes his shirt up to give him more space to work with.
Then Merlin sucks lightly at the head of Arthur’s dick, and Arthur doesn’t say anything, because the only sound he can make is a string of vowels that would be embarrassing, were it not for how it feels, Merlin’s tongue rubbing over the head of his cock and his finger wrapping around the base. It takes all the effort Arthur can command, not to twist his fingers in Merlin’s hair and pull him down further, or rock his hips away from the wall and press further into Merlin’s mouth. He tries to keep his breathing as steady as possible as Merlin slides his mouth down further, right down to meet his fist for a few moments before pulling back again, bobbing his head and working his tongue in time with his hand.
Arthur has no idea how Merlin got so good at his, and part of him wants to know, doesn’t want it to be because of anyone other than him. He never asks, though; just tilts his head back against the wall and groans, low, and can’t stop the way his hips twitch forward just a little. Merlin’s free hand curls around his hip and holds him as still as he can. It gets a little sloppy the longer it lasts, but Arthur’s not complaining at all. It makes Merlin’s mouth slide over him even more easily, and means Merlin’s swallowing around him, making soft, encouraging noises in the back of his throat as Arthur finds it increasingly hard to catch his breath, keep still, stop his hands petting desperately at Merlin’s hair and jaw line.
“Merlin,” he says, “Merlin, Merlin,” rocking his hips forward because he can’t help it now, no matter how hard he tries, but Merlin just makes a noise that Arthur feels right through him and then swallows just as Arthur comes, head tipped back against the wall and moaning, too wrecked and probably too loud with it.
Merlin pulls off of him with a few gentle licks, almost too much but still enough to make Arthur’s thighs tremble and his hips twitch forward again, and then he looks up at him. His lips are red and swollen and he looks - he looks as though he’s just been doing exactly what he’s just been doing, and he looks good, the kind of good that’s going to be lurking just behind Arthur’s eyelids for days, resurfacing everytime he closes his eyes.
“Merlin,” Arthur says again, quiet and rough and useless.
Merlin grins.