Moonlit King (fic)
A PWOP ficlet inspired by texasfandoodler's art work 'Moonlit King'
This work is posted with the knowledge and permission of texasfandoodler
Disclaimer: I in no way own Merlin or its characters.
Note: First off Thank you to texasfandoodler who allowed me to not only use her artwork, but her summary words that start off the scene.
Next, I'd like to thank the very wonderful aharesbreath for being both brave enough and kind enough to take the time and beta this for me. I really appreciate it.
I've never written anything like this before, which may be obvious. However, I hope everyone enjoys it anyway.
There is absolutely no plot to be found here (plot-what-plot)
~~~Moonlit King~~~
Arthur's flesh is highlighted in golden tones despite the surrounding darkness of night. He stands silently before his chamber window, the moonlight reflecting off the cut stained glass. In that moment he looks every bit the proud King he is, crowned with a halo of light, managing to look regal in nothing but his own skin.
He tilts his head to cast a look over his shoulder, the twinkle in his eye belies his casual demeanour, telling Merlin that he knows his servant has been watching him for an inappropriate length of time.
Soft lips curve ever so slightly, just enough for Merlin to know that the man is very much aware of the power he wields--can see just how much Merlin wants him. And God help him he does. He wants that arrogant prat.
Arthur turns, and Merlin’s eyes stay transfixed, emboldened gaze roving over the curved expanse of shamelessly displayed flesh. For a moment he fights it, battles with the desire to let his eyes wander, but he fails, and his cheeks heat even as his blue orbs flick downward to the dangling prick resting amidst a nest of golden curls. Even in its semi-relaxed state it’s a thing to behold, and damn it all if Merlin can’t stifle the gasp that tumbles from his lips, his fingers moving involuntarily to squeeze at the thickening bulge in his breeches. He knows he’s screwed, because… Fuck!
All Arthur manages to do is look smug- the bastard. His brow is lifted in some semblance of mockery, muscles flexing as he moves and makes his way towards him. The intent in his eyes is unmistakable, unveiled want that provokes Merlin into swallowing thickly, unable to escape the full weight of Arthur’s penetrating gaze. Nervously his tongue darts out to wet the swell of his lips, and Arthur tracks the movement, eyes like a hawk narrowing in on its prey. Then the king is on him, and Merlin only has time to gasp before the man’s mouth envelopes his, the heat of his tongue invading, curling artfully as it duels with his own. Arthur dominates, using his experience and larger bulk to crowd Merlin towards the bed, his large hands firmly groping at the clothed globes of his arse. Merlin groans and sucks on Arthur’s tongue, heat flushing his skin as blood born from desire thrums through him as hot and sure as his own magic. It’s perfect. It’s bliss.
Merlin tears his mouth away in a desperate attempt to suck air into his lungs, basking in the feel of Arthur’s mouth pressing against his jaw, wanderinghands sliding up and under his tunic, stroking the soft skin of his lower back. He’s being caressed, worshiped, and god he never wants it to stop. With a sharp groan he shudders, thoughts retreating as Arthur presses their erections together, rolling his hips, grinding into him with forceful, unyielding thrusts. There’s a tug at his neck, and he feels his neckerchief loosen before falling away, the tattered fabric instantly replaced with hungry lips. Arthur’s mouth is hot and wet as it latches onto his freshly exposed skin, filthy open mouth kisses searing his flesh and leaving a trail of cooling saliva in its wake.
“Fuck!” He gasps, and Arthur chuckles, nipping playfully at his collar bone in response. “I plan to do just that,” he says tartly, and Merlin flushes at the promise. Arthur is still clutching him, rough callouses scratching across the sensitive skin of his back as they travel downward slowly, inciting an involuntary shudder. Both palms come to rest on the globes of his arse, fingers giving a firm squeeze, kneading into both fabric and flesh almost painfully. When Arthur releases him Merlin is embarrassed to hear himself whine in dismay. There’s a rush of disappointment, followed by relief as the fingers return, this time tugging desperately at his breeches, untangling the mess of his laces.
“Too many clothes,” Arthur growls, and Merlin doesn’t argue. The worn fabric has become an obstacle hindering the evening’s progression, and in an effort to help, Merlin finds himself fumbling to remove his tunic. He wants the feel the unobstructed heat of Arthur’s body against his own, the slide of skin against skin, their sweat mingling together. He makes a frustrated sound as he fights to liberate his trapped arms. With one final tug he’s free, his relief tainted only by a rush of cool air against his exposed torso. Despite Arthur, warm and near, the sudden temperature change has instantaneous results, prompting a burst of goose pimples to scatter across the surface of his skin.
The chill is quickly forgotten as Merlin’s hips jerk and he’s tugged forward, the sharp snap of a breaking cord sounds in his ears. The kings victorious exclamation follows, his loosened breaches being pulled open as Arthur wastes no time shoving aside the fabric of his small clothes, replacing them with his heated palm. Merlin jolts at the contact, the feel of fingers curling around his prick, encasing it, is a shock no matter how expected.
“Gods Arthur!” He yelps, and Arthur huffs out a laugh, pushing him back until his knees knock against the downy mattress behind him. Distracted by the ministrations, he loses his balance and topples gracelessly, back landing against the neatly folded sheets. He looks up at Arthur who is staring at him with thinly veiled desire, and he suddenly feels exposed, bared as he is.
A flush spreads across his chest, heating his face, and colouring the tips of his ears. Briefly insecure, he instinctively moves a hand to cover himself, but Arthur growls unhappily and swats the offending appendage away. “Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t hide from me.”
Arthur moves forward with the red cloth of his neckerchief still clutched in his hand, a suspicious smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Merlin can’t help but splutter when the fabric is laid across his eyes, his vision darkening as the ends are secured behind his head. “Arthur…” He starts to protest, but then there are fingers on his lips and the airy sound of his king shushing him softly. “Trust me,” he murmurs gruffly, and all Merlin can do is nod his assent, the lump in his throat preventing him from voicing the words ‘I do’ and ‘always’.
His thoughts stutter as hands touch his chest, the lack of sight enhancing the feeling tenfold, he can’t anticipate Arthur’s next move if he can’t see him, and that knowledge only turns him on all the more, his erection straining with renewed enthusiasm.
He shudders and gasps as calloused tips run across his nipples, the sensitive skin pebbling under the attention. The hands of his king begin their descent, moving slowly, agonizingly, as if mapping out the planes of his pale skin, halting only to finger almost reverently at a few puckered scars along the way. A faint kiss presses to the hollow of his stomach, and then a warm tongue dips into the crevice of his naval, swirling once before following the line of dark scattered hairs that trail downwards, leading to the king’s objective. Merlin is panting like a bitch in heat by the time Arthur’s hands come to rest on the soft flesh of his thighs, the anticipation drawing out beads of pre-come from the tip of his neglected cock.
Arthur grips Merlin’s knees and pushes outward, spreading his legs apart, exposing his most intimate of places. Merlin’s breath hitches, and there is a moment of silence, an awkward stillness where he wonders curiously if Arthur is studying him, drinking in the parts of him that have remained hidden for all these years. Then inquisitive fingers touch him, travel inward, dancing across his flesh and Merlin moans, relishing the feel as they slide enticingly towards his balls. When Arthur finally cups his sac, fondling the flesh within his palm, Merlin shudders. The warmth of a hand rolling him expertly has him so enraptured he fails to notices the other’s continued voyage until a curious digit comes to rest on the furl of his puckered hole. He squirms as Arthur fingers him experimentally, flushes at the thought of being touched there, the feeling both strange and arousing all at once. It’s different than touching himself, far better, so much more than he could have ever imagined. He’s almost embarrassed when he opens his legs wider granting his king more access, inviting him to do with his body as he pleases, and from the appreciative sound Arthur makes, his offer has been accepted.
Merlin keeps his eyes closed despite the blindfold and waits, waits to see what it is Arthur has planned for him. Until then he savours the feel of a hand palming his balls, relishes the digit that eagerly encircles his hole. It doesn’t take long for his hips to buck upwards, an urgent whine escaping as the heat churning in his stomach spreads. “Please!” He begs impatiently, desperate and yearning for something more. Arthur’s answer comes in the form of a sudden dry burn as the tip of a single digit dips into his hole. Merlin draws in a sharp breath and groans, body clenching around the invading appendage. Arthur shifts and gives an experimental twist before the finger retreats unexpectedly. Merlin opens his eyes as if to see why Arthur has ceased his actions, but it does nothing to chase away the encompassing darkness. Then there are fingers rubbing at his mouth, pressing in and he almost chokes in his surprise. “Suck them.” Arthur orders and Merlin eagerly complies, slurping loudly as his tongue swirls around his king’s fingers, the cool bite of his signet ring pressing firmly against the bow of his lips. With an obscene pop Arthur removes them, and Merlin’s breath catches as the spit-slicked fingers return to his hole. A single digit dips into his heat again, this time it presses further and Merlin tosses his head back, hissing at the intrusion. Arthur’s free hand grips his cock, stroking it gently before setting about a rhythm of fisted tugs, movements coordinated in time with the plunge of his finger. It’s glorious Merlin thinks, the stretch, the burn, the feeling of being filled over and over, until all he can do is moan and beg like a wanton whore. “More!” He pleads in a breathless pant. “Please!”
The next thrust burns anew his hole growing wider as an additional digit works its way in, pushing and conquering as it goes. Then both are moving and stretching and Merlin has never felt the like. When they pull all the way back and out Merlin feels bereft until they return with an even harder thrust. From that moment on he’s being fucked, fucked by his king’s fingers, the same ones he’s seen countless times curled around the hilt of his sword. Merlin almost doesn’t feel the entrance of a third, the fullness deepens but he’s already so lost to the overwhelmingly delicious sensations.
“Look at you,” Arthur murmurs huskily. “Your greedy hole was made for this,” and with that he drives them even deeper. Merlin jolts, shuddering as Arthur grazes something buried deep inside him. He’s momentarily aware of Arthur shifting, but then the thrusts concentrate on pummelling that spot and coherency abandons him. Merlin cries out, jerking from the relentlessly onslaught, he feels heat pooling far too rapidly in his abdomen, and he reaches for Arthur’s hand, “Stop!” He croaks warningly. “I’m gonna… If you don’t stop… I’m…”
But Arthur ignores him, he doesn’t stop, if anything he pumps faster, pushing deeper, and then there is a shock of wet heat engulfing his cock. Merlin cries out brokenly, the tingling sensations mounting with every swirl of Arthur’s tongue over the head of his cock. He can’t take it anymore, he needs to see. His long fingers reach up and tear the cloth away, eyes blinking as they adjust to the moonlit room. Merlin gazes down, pupils blown, brows raised in astonished fascination as the sight of his King with his lips wrapped around his straining prick comes into focus. It’s the most erotic thing Merlin has ever seen. They lock eyes briefly, just long enough for Arthur to roll his tongue and then slide down until Merlin’s cock is fully enveloped in tight heat. The deep suction coupled with the sightof hollowed cheeks and stretched lips send him over the edge. He throws his head back, muscles locking up, body spasming as the intensity of his orgasm peaks. His dick gives a warning twitch before erupting, pulsing out thick ropes of come that Arthur hungrily swallows. Merlin groans, his fingers threading through and clutching at blond hair as he rides out the waves of his climax.
He’s left in a euphoric haze, twitching sporadically, watching blearily as Arthur continues to suckle, milking the last of his release with a determined swirl of his tongue. Sated Merlin lays his head back onto the bed, focusing on breathing, in and out, groaning as his softening cock slips from Arthur’s lips. He’s oblivious to the king’s next actions until a clatter on the bedside table alerts him to the man’s movements, but by then Arthur is already climbing onto the bed a bottle of oil clutched in his hand.
“You don’t think we’re done, do you?” He grins, eyes glinting.
Merlin grunts as Arthur’s body covers his own, the king’s erection gouging into his thigh refusing to be ignored a moment longer. Their lips find each other’s once more, but this time Merlin can taste the salty tang of his own seed lingering.
Arthur presses him down into the mattress, lapping at the creamy expanse of his neck. With sure movements he begins rolling his hips in a firm grind. “I’m going to fuck you,” he growls possessively, nipping at a protruding collar bone. “I’m going to show everyone exactly who you belong to, and you’re going to love it.”
To make his point, Arthur thrusts forward, kneading their cocks together while his lips latch onto an unsuspecting nipple. “Oh gods!” Merlin mewls, grasping at the arms holding him down.
The soft bite of teeth against sensitive flesh causes Merlin to hiss and moan simultaneously, his prick trying yet failing to harden again. He twitches as Arthur’s warm tongue wets his skin, mouthing upwards until his lips find the dull throb of his pulse point. There’s a swirl of tongue, and then Merlin feels the tug of his skin as it arcs into his king’s mouth. His blood is being forcibly drawn to the surface, and he knows, knows that Arthur is marking him.
Once satisfied, Arthur releases and pulls back. Merlin can feel a thumb roving over his blemished skin, and judging by the gratified curl of his lips, Arthur is more than pleased as he admires his work.
“Don’t look so smug you prat.” Merlin glowers, pushing at the royal’s broad chest. Arthur’s grin simply widens, eyes darkening, as he gathers the previously discarded bottle and uncorks it. Merlin can feel the tension in the room mount, the heat in his belly churning anew. He gazes at his king through hooded eyes, watching as he strokes his cock, pouring generous amounts of oil in preparation. When their eyes meet again his magic sings.
“Turn over,” Arthur orders gruffly.
Merlin refuses with a determined shake of his head, spreading his legs wider, sliding them open, and allowing his feet to meet behind Arthur’s broad back. “I want to see you,” he professes, and Arthur’s eyes shine with fondness.
The king surges forward, capturing the bow of his lips in another searing kiss. Merlin is so lost in the tangle of their tongues while Arthur plunders his mouth that he almost misses the arrival of the blunt cock head as it pressing against the cleft of his ass. He groans as he feels a firm push and his cheeks spread to allow access. Then it’s there at his finger-fucked hole, the furl of muscle pulsing with anticipation. This is it, he thinks. Arthur will claim him, take what no other has before him, and the idea of it is staggering. He can feel his magic calling for its king, thrumming through his veins as it senses his arrival.
Merlin gasps, breath catching as the thick head of Arthur’s cock breaches him, the tip pushing almost unhindered past the first ring of muscle. It’s different than the fingers, thicker, so much so that it burns and Merlin’s face pinches with the initial pain. Arthur stills above him, strokes at his thighs encouragingly, sparing him a moment to adjust.
Merlin feels his softened prick taken in hand, gentle strokes attempting to coax life back into it. He groans, his ass muscles clenching around the unyielding member. Despite the discomfort, the continued stillness is even more so, and he doesn’t think he can stand it a moment longer.
“Ok,” he breathes, and Arthur moves, his thick shaft advancing slowly, sliding deeper. Merlin hisses as the burn returns and intensifies, yet tries to relax and accept Arthur with minimum resistance. It’s not long before Arthur bottoms out, and it feels so damn right to be stuffed so full that he aches from it. To be wholly filled. He has it all, every inch of his king nestled snuggly into the confines of his arse.
“Good god Merlin, you’re so tight,” Arthur groans, Merlin just huffs and continues to breathe through his nose, relishing the moment, taking the time to adjust. “Just relax” Arthur soothes, no doubt feeling his residual tension. There is a slight shift and then his balls are being fondledand kneaded. Merlin feels the heat returning, sweeping through his belly, coiling as it readies itself a second time. He waits until the stillness threatens to overwhelm him, feeling as though he’ll fall apart if they don’t proceed. “Moooooooooove” he begs.
The feel of Arthur’s cock withdrawing leaves behind a sudden emptiness that almost chokes him, and he has to bite back a bereaved whimper that threatens to escape. The hollow ache lasts only as long as it takes for Arthur to plunge back in, the feel of him sheathing himself to the hilt has Merlin crying out, toes curling as his ass clutches around its king.
Arthur grinds into him as deep as he can, groaning as he takes his pleasure with a roll of his hips. He leans down licking into Merlin’s open mouth, stealing a splintered breath as his cock retreats a fraction before slamming back in.
Merlin whimpers and Arthur moves in smooth languid strokes, building a tempo, swallowing down Merlin’s cries as he is plundered from both ends. The pain from before has dulled, making way for a new found pleasure Merlin didn’t even know existed. The slide of Arthur’s shaft as it fills him over and over is indescribable. Merlin is reaching for his neglected cock when Arthur snatches his hand away, pinning both his arms by his head, a smug and determined look dancing across his face as he holds him there. Merlin squawks in protest, but Arthur doesn’t let go, just laughs, giving a particularly forceful thrust in response.
Arthur shifts his body, pushing his cock up and in, the new angle making Merlin jerk as the head grazes the sweet spot from earlier. Something deep inside him ignites, and Arthur finds a perfect rhythm, pummelling into his prostate rigorously. Everything he feels seems heightened, sensations multiplying as the heat spreads though him. His body is trembling as it writhes, pinned to the bed by the cock of his king. His vision dims, magic reaching out to caressing him even as his senses begin to tunnel. He’s gone. There is nothing but the relentless plunge of Arthur’s prick, leaving Merlin unable to do anything but gasp brokenly as he takes it. Their coupling grows harsher, taking on the appearance of an animalistic rut, Arthur’s hips snapping forward harder and deeper with every thrust. All Merlin can do is surrender, panting out arduous breaths as his king continues to repeatedly fuck into him. There is nothing but harsh grunts, sharp breaths, and the carnal sound of skin slapping unabashedly against skin.
The heat in Merlin’s belly swells, far more intensely than the first time, spreading through his limbs like fire. He is already so far gone that when Arthur’s hand encases is cock, he cries out, the swift tugs all he needs to tumble over the edge. Merlin peaks, ears ringing as he spills, Arthur’s name tumbling reverently from his lips. He covers the king’s fist in his spend while he shudders, arse contracting around the swollen prick still moving inside him.
Arthur releases him then, moving to brace both hands on the mattress as he focuses on the continued pursuit of his own pleasure. Merlin is still trembling when the king’s movements begin to stutter and become erratic. Arthur is panting heavily, giving only another two thrusts before slamming home. Merlin gasps as Arthur drives himself as deep into his clench as he can. The feel of Arthur’s body shuddering above him is nothing compared to the pulse of his cock as it climaxes against his inner walls, painting the insides of his ass with hot stripes of come that sear his flesh just as surely as any brand--marking him.
When Arthur collapses sated, Merlin’s wraps his arms around the man’s sweaty torso, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He inhales softly, pulling in the king’s heady scent, savouring it as he listens to their hearts beat out a staccato rhythm. Their sweat is cooling when Arthur’s softened prick finally slithers from his hole, and he’s left with the odd sensation of come sliding out of his body. He shifts awkwardly, and is about to say something when a finger probes his open rim. “Arthur!” He exclaims, surprised as the tip slips in. The king circles lazily, fingering at his own spend. “This is mine,” he growls possessively, delving just a little bit deeper.
Merlin flushes, but nods hiss assent, “Yes,” he breathes, swallowing thickly, “Always,” and there is no doubt. He means it. Knows it’s the truth.
Looking into Arthur’s stormy eyes he sees more than just his king, he sees his soul reflected back at him. He knows he belongs to this man, and that he always will. As he closes his eyes, he feels Arthur curl up against him, solid and human, holding him tight against the warmth of his chest. Merlin hums contentedly, already drifting off when he hears the words “I love you,” murmured softly into the shell of his ear. He smiles, lashes caressing the crests of his cheeks as he falls, but before sleep fully claims him he breathes “I love you too.” The smile Arthur presses against his neck telling him he’s been heard.