Dominance 1/1 - NC-17
Title: Dominance
Summary: A young warlock, a Crown Prince, and a hayloft. 'Nough said.
Spoilers: Not so's you'd notice
Rating: NC-17/M for smut
Warning: There's man-on-man action in this. Slash. And smut. Slashy smut. So don't read it if you a) don't like slash and/or b) don't like smut, though if you're reading my stories I can't see you not liking either. Unless you happen to be my sisters.
Dedication: This is for credulesque , who is simply the awesomest person in the UNIVERSE and who is likely responsible for the MERLIN!SQUEE virus that is going around. I really hope you like it, BB! *HUGS*
And, before I forget:
Disclaimer: THEY'RE NOT MINE. THEY BELONG TO THE BEEB, AND TO WHATEVER GOD OF WRITING CAME UP WITH THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.
♥♥♥♥♥♥
A/N: I've never actually written slash before. I know...it's kinda surprising to me too. Anyway, don't judge, and let me know if it actually works or if I've got the dynamics all wrong. Also, I should mention that this is a weeeeeeee bit OOC. Too bad, though, because it's hot. At least, I think it is. Enjoy!
Merlin was mucking out Arthur's horse's stall when the Crown Prince strode haughtily into the Royal Stables.
"Ah. There you are. When you're done there, Merlin, I need you to air out my chambers. It's beginning to smell something fierce in there, and now that spring has arrived you need to do something about it."
Merlin was not in a good mood today. Merlin was tired. Merlin had been up all night mending Arthur's socks the hard way to avoid suspicion while Arthur got blazing drunk at a banquet and went skinny dipping in the moat - without Merlin. Merlin was feeling under-appreciated. So when Merlin was ordered to deal with more of Prince Arthur's crap - as well as his horse's - on little to no sleep, Merlin snapped.
"Do it yourself," he growled.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. Do it yourself, sire."
The prince's eyes narrowed. "What's gotten into you, Merlin? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
Merlin shrugged and went back to stabbing horse dung with his pitchfork. "I'm busy, you know, so if there's nothing else..."
"Well, so am I," Arthur began, intending to end this with a 'I don't need your crap right now so get over it' speech, but Merlin interrupted him.
"Doing what, being a prat?"
"Merlin!"
Merlin ignored his Royal Superiority Complex and stomped out of the stall and down the corridor to where a rickety ladder led into the hayloft.
"Merlin, get back here!" Arthur ordered - to no effect. "Come back, or I'll have you horsewhipped and thrown in the stocks."
"The stocks again?" Merlin asked sarcastically. "Well, get on with it, because I haven't got all day." He raised an eyebrow when it was clear that Arthur wasn't going to do anything just yet, though from the interesting purple colour that he was turning, the prince was rapidly coming to the end of his patience. "No? Well, master, I have chores to do." He vanished into the hayloft.
Arthur stood stock still for thirty seconds, fuming, and watched his manservant vanish into the loft. The nerve...! That boy needed to be taught a lesson. He stormed the length of the stable corridor and flung himself up the ladder. It shook beneath him, ancient cross-bars creaking under his weight.
Something was not right with Merlin. The boy - as Arthur persisted in calling him despite the fact they were almost the same age - had taken far worse threats with a smile before. He'd covered for Arthur with the king more times than Arthur could count. He'd saved Arthur's life. So in spite of the burning anger that made Arthur want to grab someone (preferably Merlin) and hit him repeatedly, Arthur was concerned. Merlin was his friend, and something was bothering him. He needed to find out what that was.
Arthur stuck his head up through the trap door and into the loft, and had to wait a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.
Golden sunlight slanted through the slatted boards, casting pools of brilliance on the floor that made the rest of the loft seem even darker. Dust motes glittered and sparkled in the shafts of sunlight. Everything smelled of hay and horse and saddle soap, and the everyday sounds of the courtyard and stables were muffled by the sheer volume of hay and straw that was stored here year-round.
In spite of his worries about, and his annoyances of, Merlin's behaviour, Arthur grinned. He had played here a great deal as a child - when he'd been able to sneak away from his tutors, anyway. Chasing Merlin up here brought back a lot of those memories.
His eyes adjusted. He climbed the rest of the way into the loft, and shook off the memories. Now was not the time for reminiscing. Not when his manservant was in need of a good thumping.
"Merlin?" There was no answer. He tried again, anger and frustration lacing his voice. "Merlin!"
He jumped and spun at a sudden rustling noise. Merlin was pitching hay down through another trap door in the floor, this one merely a large hole that emptied onto the corridor below. His back was to the Crown Prince.
"Merlin, I demand an answer," Arthur began, striding across the loft like an offended cat. "What has gotten into you today? Is this about me not going hunting with you? Because, I warn you, I am in no mood for your petulant, sulky games. I -"
He stopped, mid sentence, as Merlin whirled and tossed down his pitchfork. Arthur's eyes widened with shock and surprise. Anger flickered across Merlin's features, causing his dark blue eyes to burn, his good-natured features to harden. Two long steps brought him to where the prince stood. His hand darted out caught the startled prince on the shoulder, pushing him back into a wide, wooden support beam. Arthur was too surprised to react, too shocked to fight back.
"What...?
Merlin said nothing, only leaned in close and inhaled deeply the scents of leather and the herbal infusion that Arthur used to wash his hair, the soap he'd used to bathe that morning. He paused for a fraction of a second and let these scents sink in, and then let his fingers trail over Arthur's jaw, across his lips and down his throat to his collar bones.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. His skin tingled from the contact. His eyes drifted shut, and when Merlin pressed against him, pinning him completely against the support beam, Arthur felt his hands clutch at Merlin's arms - though whether it was to push Merlin away or pull him closer, Arthur couldn't have said. His head was spinning in ways that neither wine nor women had ever been able to make it spin. He heard a soft whimper of need, felt himself respond to it, but never fully realized that the sound had come from his own throat until Merlin's lips crashed painfully into his.
Arthur was so surprised his kissed Merlin back. At some point he realized what he was doing and fought for control of the kiss - he was the prince, godsdamnit; he should be leading this - but Merlin refused to let him have it. He should have been pushing Merlin away and having him beaten for such presumptuousness, but he realized before that thought was fully formed that he'd been wanting this, needing this for some time.
Merlin had his hands up Arthur's shirt and down Arthur's shirt, and eventually grew tired of this and ripped Arthur's shirt right off. Arthur didn't care, because he knew that Merlin was going to have to mend it later, and anyway, he had other shirts.
Merlin had his hands tangled in Arthur's hair shortly thereafter, which Arthur didn't mind either because it felt wonderful, even when Merlin pulled a little too hard. It didn't matter anyway, because Arthur had his hands tangled just as much in Merlin's hair, holding him close as he fought again for dominance in their kiss. And then Merlin pulled back and Arthur balked.
Arthur only balked when Merlin pulled back because Merlin - with a wicked grin - started to undo the laces of Arthur's breeches. The enormity of it was too great to allow for this to continue. He tried to voice this, to tell his manservant to start acting more like a servant. He didn't get a chance.
Merlin grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and slammed him back into the wooden support beam. His right hand traced the line of Arthur's hip and down into his breeches, and then gripped the hard length of him in a hot, rough, callused grip. At the same time, his left hand snaked over Arthur's shoulders and slid up and over Arthur's mouth, effectively silencing him so that no words could get past his lips, no demands to stop, no shouts of surprise.
The trembles of shock and ecstasy in Arthur's limbs meant he couldn't summon the strength to push Merlin away and, anyway, Arthur wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. He could feel himself surrendering, yeilding, loosing control over his actions...in a distant way this worried him. He risked opening his eyes, which had drifted shut again when Merlin's fingers had closed around him, and tried to look at his manservant.
Merlin was watching him with barely smothered desire. His right hand squeezed Arthur gently, and Arthur moaned against Merlin's left hand. A trick of the light caused Merlin's eyes to flash gold, but Arthur didn't wonder about it, didn't care what was happening to him because something that Merlin was doing with his right hand was setting Arthur's body and nerves ablaze.
Merlin pulled Arthur's head to the side and left a burning trail of kisses down Arthur's neck. Arthur groaned and moaned and gasped, but the sounds were muffled by Merlin's left hand. Arthur's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking that feeling that was spreading upwards, seeking the rough grasp of Merlin's hand, the massaging pressure of Merlin's fingers. His control, his will, his dominance, was being stripped from him, taken with each kiss and each bite on the bottom of his jaw, each tug on his earlobe.
His hips moved faster, and faster, pushing harder against Merlin's right hand, seeking to hold to the white heat that was building in side him until...
Until he lost consciousness. Until the world faded out in a flare of brilliant white, and only Merlin's hand stopped him from crying out. When he came back to reality, he was jerking, writhing, against Merlin's right hand, and when that finally quieted to delicious tremors and decadent aftershocks, he slumped against the wooden beam behind him. A heady euphoria crept in, stealing what coherent thought hadn't already fled from Merlin's skilled fingers.
Dust motes gathered and sparkled in the sunlight that pooled, golden, on the piled hay. The sounds of the world, muffled, slipped back in one by one. Below them, a horse whinnied softly, a groom called out, a wheelbarrow's wheel squealed as it was shifted.
Gradually, Merlin removed his left hand from Arthur's mouth and disengaged his right hand from the Crown Prince's breeches. Slowly, Merlin backed away.
Without the pressure of Merlin's body holding him up, Arthur slid the rest of the way down the wooden beam and landed heavily amongst the piled hay. He looked up at Merlin through heavy-lidded eyes, only to see his servant grinning smugly at him, all traces of anger and frustration gone. The line of his body, the tilt of his head told Arthur that Merlin was quite aware of who between them was now the ruler and who was the ruled.
"Shall I finish seeing to your horse, sire, or shall I see to your room?" Merlin asked, amused and properly differential.
Arthur could barely nod, let alone speak. He would have done anything Merlin demanded of him right then, followed any order, anything to bring back that white heat and the blinding euphoria that accompanied it, to feel Merlin's hands on him again.
Merlin smirked slightly, knowing full well the power he now held over his friend - in private, anyway. He wondered, idly, how long it would last before Arthur reclaimed his dominance over him, and then decided it didn't matter.
Moving back across the loft, gingerly because of his own unrelieved hardness, Merlin tossed his pitchfork down through trap door and onto the pile of hay that he'd already forked down. He walked back to the ladder.
Arthur was still staring off into space, his shirt torn, his chest heaving, his breeches unlaced, his hair askew, his eyes glazed, his lips swollen, his neck dotted with love bites. Merlin stopped and admired the view his handiwork had created, and then smoothed some of Arthur's sweaty hair down. He let his fingers trail down the prince's jaw while he was at it. Arthur leaned into the touch.
"Get yourself cleaned up," Merlin said gently. "We wouldn't want the servants to gossip, now would we?"
Arthur looked up at him, the lingering euphoria warring with adoration and devotion and his shaken confidence in himself as a born leader.
"As you wish, master," Arthur said, hoarsely, and - mocking tone aside - Arthur was somewhat surprised to discover that he meant it. Master. Arthur, who never surrendered to anyone, had quite cheerfully and willingly relinquished all control to Merlin. And if it meant that he could feel again what he felt now, Arthur would probably give up his kingdom.
Merlin seemed to understand this. He smiled. "I'll see to your rooms, sire," he said, and threw as much innuendo and promise into that sentence as it could handle. And then he went down the ladder and left his prince to piece himself back together.
A/N: Ummmmm....*blushes* ....so how was it? Good? Hot? Not too OOC? Bad? Please tell me it wasn't bad...
Summary: A young warlock, a Crown Prince, and a hayloft. 'Nough said.
Spoilers: Not so's you'd notice
Rating: NC-17/M for smut
Warning: There's man-on-man action in this. Slash. And smut. Slashy smut. So don't read it if you a) don't like slash and/or b) don't like smut, though if you're reading my stories I can't see you not liking either. Unless you happen to be my sisters.
Dedication: This is for credulesque , who is simply the awesomest person in the UNIVERSE and who is likely responsible for the MERLIN!SQUEE virus that is going around. I really hope you like it, BB! *HUGS*
And, before I forget:
Disclaimer: THEY'RE NOT MINE. THEY BELONG TO THE BEEB, AND TO WHATEVER GOD OF WRITING CAME UP WITH THEM IN THE FIRST PLACE.
♥♥♥♥♥♥
A/N: I've never actually written slash before. I know...it's kinda surprising to me too. Anyway, don't judge, and let me know if it actually works or if I've got the dynamics all wrong. Also, I should mention that this is a weeeeeeee bit OOC. Too bad, though, because it's hot. At least, I think it is. Enjoy!
Merlin was mucking out Arthur's horse's stall when the Crown Prince strode haughtily into the Royal Stables.
"Ah. There you are. When you're done there, Merlin, I need you to air out my chambers. It's beginning to smell something fierce in there, and now that spring has arrived you need to do something about it."
Merlin was not in a good mood today. Merlin was tired. Merlin had been up all night mending Arthur's socks the hard way to avoid suspicion while Arthur got blazing drunk at a banquet and went skinny dipping in the moat - without Merlin. Merlin was feeling under-appreciated. So when Merlin was ordered to deal with more of Prince Arthur's crap - as well as his horse's - on little to no sleep, Merlin snapped.
"Do it yourself," he growled.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Sorry. Do it yourself, sire."
The prince's eyes narrowed. "What's gotten into you, Merlin? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"
Merlin shrugged and went back to stabbing horse dung with his pitchfork. "I'm busy, you know, so if there's nothing else..."
"Well, so am I," Arthur began, intending to end this with a 'I don't need your crap right now so get over it' speech, but Merlin interrupted him.
"Doing what, being a prat?"
"Merlin!"
Merlin ignored his Royal Superiority Complex and stomped out of the stall and down the corridor to where a rickety ladder led into the hayloft.
"Merlin, get back here!" Arthur ordered - to no effect. "Come back, or I'll have you horsewhipped and thrown in the stocks."
"The stocks again?" Merlin asked sarcastically. "Well, get on with it, because I haven't got all day." He raised an eyebrow when it was clear that Arthur wasn't going to do anything just yet, though from the interesting purple colour that he was turning, the prince was rapidly coming to the end of his patience. "No? Well, master, I have chores to do." He vanished into the hayloft.
Arthur stood stock still for thirty seconds, fuming, and watched his manservant vanish into the loft. The nerve...! That boy needed to be taught a lesson. He stormed the length of the stable corridor and flung himself up the ladder. It shook beneath him, ancient cross-bars creaking under his weight.
Something was not right with Merlin. The boy - as Arthur persisted in calling him despite the fact they were almost the same age - had taken far worse threats with a smile before. He'd covered for Arthur with the king more times than Arthur could count. He'd saved Arthur's life. So in spite of the burning anger that made Arthur want to grab someone (preferably Merlin) and hit him repeatedly, Arthur was concerned. Merlin was his friend, and something was bothering him. He needed to find out what that was.
Arthur stuck his head up through the trap door and into the loft, and had to wait a moment or two for his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness.
Golden sunlight slanted through the slatted boards, casting pools of brilliance on the floor that made the rest of the loft seem even darker. Dust motes glittered and sparkled in the shafts of sunlight. Everything smelled of hay and horse and saddle soap, and the everyday sounds of the courtyard and stables were muffled by the sheer volume of hay and straw that was stored here year-round.
In spite of his worries about, and his annoyances of, Merlin's behaviour, Arthur grinned. He had played here a great deal as a child - when he'd been able to sneak away from his tutors, anyway. Chasing Merlin up here brought back a lot of those memories.
His eyes adjusted. He climbed the rest of the way into the loft, and shook off the memories. Now was not the time for reminiscing. Not when his manservant was in need of a good thumping.
"Merlin?" There was no answer. He tried again, anger and frustration lacing his voice. "Merlin!"
He jumped and spun at a sudden rustling noise. Merlin was pitching hay down through another trap door in the floor, this one merely a large hole that emptied onto the corridor below. His back was to the Crown Prince.
"Merlin, I demand an answer," Arthur began, striding across the loft like an offended cat. "What has gotten into you today? Is this about me not going hunting with you? Because, I warn you, I am in no mood for your petulant, sulky games. I -"
He stopped, mid sentence, as Merlin whirled and tossed down his pitchfork. Arthur's eyes widened with shock and surprise. Anger flickered across Merlin's features, causing his dark blue eyes to burn, his good-natured features to harden. Two long steps brought him to where the prince stood. His hand darted out caught the startled prince on the shoulder, pushing him back into a wide, wooden support beam. Arthur was too surprised to react, too shocked to fight back.
"What...?
Merlin said nothing, only leaned in close and inhaled deeply the scents of leather and the herbal infusion that Arthur used to wash his hair, the soap he'd used to bathe that morning. He paused for a fraction of a second and let these scents sink in, and then let his fingers trail over Arthur's jaw, across his lips and down his throat to his collar bones.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat. His skin tingled from the contact. His eyes drifted shut, and when Merlin pressed against him, pinning him completely against the support beam, Arthur felt his hands clutch at Merlin's arms - though whether it was to push Merlin away or pull him closer, Arthur couldn't have said. His head was spinning in ways that neither wine nor women had ever been able to make it spin. He heard a soft whimper of need, felt himself respond to it, but never fully realized that the sound had come from his own throat until Merlin's lips crashed painfully into his.
Arthur was so surprised his kissed Merlin back. At some point he realized what he was doing and fought for control of the kiss - he was the prince, godsdamnit; he should be leading this - but Merlin refused to let him have it. He should have been pushing Merlin away and having him beaten for such presumptuousness, but he realized before that thought was fully formed that he'd been wanting this, needing this for some time.
Merlin had his hands up Arthur's shirt and down Arthur's shirt, and eventually grew tired of this and ripped Arthur's shirt right off. Arthur didn't care, because he knew that Merlin was going to have to mend it later, and anyway, he had other shirts.
Merlin had his hands tangled in Arthur's hair shortly thereafter, which Arthur didn't mind either because it felt wonderful, even when Merlin pulled a little too hard. It didn't matter anyway, because Arthur had his hands tangled just as much in Merlin's hair, holding him close as he fought again for dominance in their kiss. And then Merlin pulled back and Arthur balked.
Arthur only balked when Merlin pulled back because Merlin - with a wicked grin - started to undo the laces of Arthur's breeches. The enormity of it was too great to allow for this to continue. He tried to voice this, to tell his manservant to start acting more like a servant. He didn't get a chance.
Merlin grabbed Arthur by the shoulders and slammed him back into the wooden support beam. His right hand traced the line of Arthur's hip and down into his breeches, and then gripped the hard length of him in a hot, rough, callused grip. At the same time, his left hand snaked over Arthur's shoulders and slid up and over Arthur's mouth, effectively silencing him so that no words could get past his lips, no demands to stop, no shouts of surprise.
The trembles of shock and ecstasy in Arthur's limbs meant he couldn't summon the strength to push Merlin away and, anyway, Arthur wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to. He could feel himself surrendering, yeilding, loosing control over his actions...in a distant way this worried him. He risked opening his eyes, which had drifted shut again when Merlin's fingers had closed around him, and tried to look at his manservant.
Merlin was watching him with barely smothered desire. His right hand squeezed Arthur gently, and Arthur moaned against Merlin's left hand. A trick of the light caused Merlin's eyes to flash gold, but Arthur didn't wonder about it, didn't care what was happening to him because something that Merlin was doing with his right hand was setting Arthur's body and nerves ablaze.
Merlin pulled Arthur's head to the side and left a burning trail of kisses down Arthur's neck. Arthur groaned and moaned and gasped, but the sounds were muffled by Merlin's left hand. Arthur's hips bucked involuntarily, seeking that feeling that was spreading upwards, seeking the rough grasp of Merlin's hand, the massaging pressure of Merlin's fingers. His control, his will, his dominance, was being stripped from him, taken with each kiss and each bite on the bottom of his jaw, each tug on his earlobe.
His hips moved faster, and faster, pushing harder against Merlin's right hand, seeking to hold to the white heat that was building in side him until...
Until he lost consciousness. Until the world faded out in a flare of brilliant white, and only Merlin's hand stopped him from crying out. When he came back to reality, he was jerking, writhing, against Merlin's right hand, and when that finally quieted to delicious tremors and decadent aftershocks, he slumped against the wooden beam behind him. A heady euphoria crept in, stealing what coherent thought hadn't already fled from Merlin's skilled fingers.
Dust motes gathered and sparkled in the sunlight that pooled, golden, on the piled hay. The sounds of the world, muffled, slipped back in one by one. Below them, a horse whinnied softly, a groom called out, a wheelbarrow's wheel squealed as it was shifted.
Gradually, Merlin removed his left hand from Arthur's mouth and disengaged his right hand from the Crown Prince's breeches. Slowly, Merlin backed away.
Without the pressure of Merlin's body holding him up, Arthur slid the rest of the way down the wooden beam and landed heavily amongst the piled hay. He looked up at Merlin through heavy-lidded eyes, only to see his servant grinning smugly at him, all traces of anger and frustration gone. The line of his body, the tilt of his head told Arthur that Merlin was quite aware of who between them was now the ruler and who was the ruled.
"Shall I finish seeing to your horse, sire, or shall I see to your room?" Merlin asked, amused and properly differential.
Arthur could barely nod, let alone speak. He would have done anything Merlin demanded of him right then, followed any order, anything to bring back that white heat and the blinding euphoria that accompanied it, to feel Merlin's hands on him again.
Merlin smirked slightly, knowing full well the power he now held over his friend - in private, anyway. He wondered, idly, how long it would last before Arthur reclaimed his dominance over him, and then decided it didn't matter.
Moving back across the loft, gingerly because of his own unrelieved hardness, Merlin tossed his pitchfork down through trap door and onto the pile of hay that he'd already forked down. He walked back to the ladder.
Arthur was still staring off into space, his shirt torn, his chest heaving, his breeches unlaced, his hair askew, his eyes glazed, his lips swollen, his neck dotted with love bites. Merlin stopped and admired the view his handiwork had created, and then smoothed some of Arthur's sweaty hair down. He let his fingers trail down the prince's jaw while he was at it. Arthur leaned into the touch.
"Get yourself cleaned up," Merlin said gently. "We wouldn't want the servants to gossip, now would we?"
Arthur looked up at him, the lingering euphoria warring with adoration and devotion and his shaken confidence in himself as a born leader.
"As you wish, master," Arthur said, hoarsely, and - mocking tone aside - Arthur was somewhat surprised to discover that he meant it. Master. Arthur, who never surrendered to anyone, had quite cheerfully and willingly relinquished all control to Merlin. And if it meant that he could feel again what he felt now, Arthur would probably give up his kingdom.
Merlin seemed to understand this. He smiled. "I'll see to your rooms, sire," he said, and threw as much innuendo and promise into that sentence as it could handle. And then he went down the ladder and left his prince to piece himself back together.
A/N: Ummmmm....*blushes* ....so how was it? Good? Hot? Not too OOC? Bad? Please tell me it wasn't bad...