Brassed Off Calendar Girls do the Full Monty in Camelot (7/?)
"Merlin had an instinct for finding and teasing out the problematic muscles, until Arthur lay limp and pliable, drooling contentedly onto the towel that Merlin had thoughtfully placed onto his pillow. So it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clever hands were drawn inexorably lower down Arthur’s spine, towards those twitching glutei maximi whose tension was still so evident, crying out for Merlin to sooth them."
Chapter 7: Slipping Through my Fingers
Upon his return to Arthur’s flat, Merlin had, clutched in his bag, all the wherewithal to sooth painful muscles. He proceeded, under Arthur’s mocking gaze, to set coconut oil, aromatherapy oils, a DVD of ambient music, and scented candles out in Arthur’s bedroom, and told Arthur to shower, then lie face down on the bed with a towel covering his arse and with his head cradled in his arms.
“I thought you were training to be a physiotherapist, Merlin, not a girl! Oh wait, you forgot the rose petals, and the chocolate love hearts!”
“You’ll thank me for it later, Arthur, you ungrateful sod.”
Arthur did as he was instructed, so that when Merlin re-entered the bedroom he was treated to the sight of Arthur’s nearly naked torso, dusted with fine golden hairs, wide shoulders glowing in the candlelight, head turned away, damp blond hair resting on freckled arms in perfect repose.
His mouth dropped open. I have died and gone to heaven, he thought, only slightly melodramatically, as he stood in the doorway, longing eyes drinking in this vision. Luckily Arthur then ruined the moment by turning his head and snapping “well get on with it then” in his cultured, spoilt-brat voice. Merlin scowled gratefully and moved towards Arthur’s bed, rubbing his hands together to heat them with friction, flicking the switch on the “whale sounds” DVD, and dousing his hands liberally with coconut oil.
“Now hold still, Arthur, and try to relax, you grumpy twat.”
Merlin stood by the side of Arthur’s bed and set to work, firstly stimulating the blood flow and coating Arthur in oil with brisk stroking movements, and following up with increasingly penetrating fingers and the heel of his hand; kneading, pummelling and pounding stubborn knots, showing no mercy, and pulling deep groans from Arthur’s throat.
Merlin had an instinct for finding and teasing out the problematic muscles, until Arthur lay limp and pliable, drooling contentedly onto the towel that Merlin had thoughtfully placed onto his pillow. So it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clever hands were drawn inexorably lower down Arthur’s spine, towards those twitching glutei maximi whose tension was still so evident, crying out for Merlin to sooth them. Without pausing to think he moved the towel down over Arthur’s thighs, exposing those glorious naked orbs, and set out with great determination to erase all tension from them. But try as he might, his firmest caresses failed to smooth the knots in Arthur’s buttocks, which were now flexing and straining, pushing Arthur’s hips into the bed, until Merlin realised with a mixture of horror, shame and lust that Arthur was panting and rutting into the bed. This had not been the intention at all! He was meant to be taking care of Arthur, and all he’d done was make things worse. And now Arthur’s hips were pushing his arse cheeks up into Merlin's hands, Arthur was groaning and whispering his name, and Merlin could feel those tight, hard muscles sliding rhythmically under his slippery fingers.
Merlin stopped abruptly, his own erection straining at his jeans, and swiftly replaced the towel across Arthur’s waist before backing away.
“Right, erm, well that’s it then,” he said brightly. “I’ll just - er - wash my hands.” And he left the room.
“Merlin!” he heard Arthur shout, over the thumping sounds of an angry Pendragon urgently seeking clothes. “You really are the WORST physiotherapist I have ever…. Wait! Come back here!”
“Sorry!” Merlin yelled through the door, pulling his trainers on as quickly as he could, and running out of the front door. “Just remembered, I’ve got to - er - bye!”
Ignoring the insistent buzzing from his mobile phone, he fled down the street towards his shared flat and into the safety of his own room, where he turned his music up high and indulged in a brief and unsatisfying wank, and then sank into despairing self-loathing.
His phone beeped again. He gave in and looked at the latest text message from Arthur:
Jelly baby?
He smiled, feeling cheered somehow, and replied:
2mrw? CU @ 5
Then he lay on his bed with an anatomy text book, pretending to study but mostly just looking at the pictures.
Chapter 7: Slipping Through my Fingers
Upon his return to Arthur’s flat, Merlin had, clutched in his bag, all the wherewithal to sooth painful muscles. He proceeded, under Arthur’s mocking gaze, to set coconut oil, aromatherapy oils, a DVD of ambient music, and scented candles out in Arthur’s bedroom, and told Arthur to shower, then lie face down on the bed with a towel covering his arse and with his head cradled in his arms.
“I thought you were training to be a physiotherapist, Merlin, not a girl! Oh wait, you forgot the rose petals, and the chocolate love hearts!”
“You’ll thank me for it later, Arthur, you ungrateful sod.”
Arthur did as he was instructed, so that when Merlin re-entered the bedroom he was treated to the sight of Arthur’s nearly naked torso, dusted with fine golden hairs, wide shoulders glowing in the candlelight, head turned away, damp blond hair resting on freckled arms in perfect repose.
His mouth dropped open. I have died and gone to heaven, he thought, only slightly melodramatically, as he stood in the doorway, longing eyes drinking in this vision. Luckily Arthur then ruined the moment by turning his head and snapping “well get on with it then” in his cultured, spoilt-brat voice. Merlin scowled gratefully and moved towards Arthur’s bed, rubbing his hands together to heat them with friction, flicking the switch on the “whale sounds” DVD, and dousing his hands liberally with coconut oil.
“Now hold still, Arthur, and try to relax, you grumpy twat.”
Merlin stood by the side of Arthur’s bed and set to work, firstly stimulating the blood flow and coating Arthur in oil with brisk stroking movements, and following up with increasingly penetrating fingers and the heel of his hand; kneading, pummelling and pounding stubborn knots, showing no mercy, and pulling deep groans from Arthur’s throat.
Merlin had an instinct for finding and teasing out the problematic muscles, until Arthur lay limp and pliable, drooling contentedly onto the towel that Merlin had thoughtfully placed onto his pillow. So it wasn’t Merlin’s fault that his clever hands were drawn inexorably lower down Arthur’s spine, towards those twitching glutei maximi whose tension was still so evident, crying out for Merlin to sooth them. Without pausing to think he moved the towel down over Arthur’s thighs, exposing those glorious naked orbs, and set out with great determination to erase all tension from them. But try as he might, his firmest caresses failed to smooth the knots in Arthur’s buttocks, which were now flexing and straining, pushing Arthur’s hips into the bed, until Merlin realised with a mixture of horror, shame and lust that Arthur was panting and rutting into the bed. This had not been the intention at all! He was meant to be taking care of Arthur, and all he’d done was make things worse. And now Arthur’s hips were pushing his arse cheeks up into Merlin's hands, Arthur was groaning and whispering his name, and Merlin could feel those tight, hard muscles sliding rhythmically under his slippery fingers.
Merlin stopped abruptly, his own erection straining at his jeans, and swiftly replaced the towel across Arthur’s waist before backing away.
“Right, erm, well that’s it then,” he said brightly. “I’ll just - er - wash my hands.” And he left the room.
“Merlin!” he heard Arthur shout, over the thumping sounds of an angry Pendragon urgently seeking clothes. “You really are the WORST physiotherapist I have ever…. Wait! Come back here!”
“Sorry!” Merlin yelled through the door, pulling his trainers on as quickly as he could, and running out of the front door. “Just remembered, I’ve got to - er - bye!”
Ignoring the insistent buzzing from his mobile phone, he fled down the street towards his shared flat and into the safety of his own room, where he turned his music up high and indulged in a brief and unsatisfying wank, and then sank into despairing self-loathing.
His phone beeped again. He gave in and looked at the latest text message from Arthur:
Jelly baby?
He smiled, feeling cheered somehow, and replied:
2mrw? CU @ 5
Then he lay on his bed with an anatomy text book, pretending to study but mostly just looking at the pictures.