Merlin: M/A: i (put a spell) on you
So, three days without sleep and I find myself writing this little piece of smex, yelling about food porn for no apparent reason other than the fact that my roommates are yelling about catching and not-catching 20+ pound electronic fish on the PS3, and there's the possibility that the boxes of Cheez-It's on the shelf behind me are eyeing the bag of noodles my neighbor gave me like they want to make mac'n'cheese together. Or something.
It's almost like one of those things I used to see in elementary school all the time, one of those "Hi, kids. This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs." Can you guess with side I feel like I belong on?
I didn't really put much thought into the title, I'll be honest, but it is the first thing that jumped out and bit me. I've probably just been listening to too much Marilyn Manson (impossible), but I like it. And no, Merlin wasn't the one who cast the spell. If you look closely at the title (take away what's in the parenthesis) it's pretty much just "i on you" which, lets face it, is quite possibly the whole point of the story.
Title: i (put a spell) on you
Series: Merlin
Rating: M/NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Disclaimer: dis- (not); claim- (mine); -er (no, really)
Summary: The one where porn is used as an excuse for mpreg. Written for this prompt on Kink Me! Merlin.
The first thing Arthur notices when he walks into his room is Merlin’s bum. It doesn’t make any sense, really, because Merlin’s not bending over, and his back isn’t to Arthur. In fact, he’s standing at the window and all Arthur can see is Merlin’s profile. That doesn’t stop his eyes from dropping to that nice swell of ass hidden beneath loose-fitting trousers.
It actually makes his mouth water. He must have hit his head harder than he thought because all he wants to do was bury his hard-
“Merlin,” he says sharply, glancing away before doing something he’ll probably regret. “That witch…” he trails off, not sure how to continue because he’s not really sure what happened. There had been curses slung about and words he didn’t know thrown at him but nothing had happened. The only thing odd was this strange fascination for Merlin’s hind parts.
But Merlin just shrugs and frowns and readies Arthur for dinner with Uther and Morgana. Almost against his will, Arthur wonders what Merlin would look like as a woman, willing and ready and swollen with child. He blinks and hurries away before that thought becomes something more.
-
Dinner is a quick affair. Arthur finds himself becoming tenser throughout, snapping at the servants who set his plate before him and fill his cup with wine, and he experiences a strange wave of lust and jealousy when Morgana happens to mention Merlin.
After, she pulls him aside while Uther mumbles to himself at the table, and says, quite simply, “The best thing about having a manservant, Arthur, is his complete and utter inability to produce any of your bastard children when you plow his fields and plant your seed.”
Arthur opens his mouth to tell her that he’s a prince, in case she’s forgotten, so he’ll not be plowing or planting or farming anything but then realizes with a start what she means. “Oh.”
And that’s when the images start.
-
Merlin is still in his chambers when Arthur rushes in, face stained red at the implications of Merlin serving him in a way that is slightly less than clothed. Morgana had filled him in on what she did with Gwen on cold nights - and hot nights, too, and, on occasion, days as well - and wouldn’t he love the sight of his manservant on his knees, pliant mouth open and waiting for anything Arthur has to fill it with.
Morgana, Arthur is sure, was born evil. And is probably a witch, too, because when he looks at Merlin and thinks manservant, he doesn’t want cleaning and scrubbing and folding. Arthur wants sucking and rutting and coming, pressed against Merlin’s naked flesh.
His mind is filled with it, and his body burns with it, but he doesn’t think, just acts, and before he knows it Merlin is beneath him, wide-eyed and slightly terrified, but willing, like whatever is making Arthur behave like this is in Merlin too.
He feels feverish, like he’s in serious need for release, but it needs to be inside, buried between Merlin’s thighs, and there needs to be a place for his teeth. Arthur frowns. This is all wrong.
He flips Merlin and presses his body against the length of Merlin’s back, sinks his teeth into the sharp blade of Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin, like a wanton whore, moans and bucks back against Arthur’s hardness. Like a moment of surprise, Merlin’s hole magically grants him entrance. In the back of his mind, Arthur knows it shouldn’t be like this, that he should have to work for it, with fingers and oil and maybe even his tongue, but his tongue is busy soothing bite marks and his fingers are busy bruising narrow hips and when Merlin gasps and curls his toes into the back of Arthur’s knees all he knows is tight heat urging him for release.
Arthur grunts with every thrust, and with every cant of his hips Merlin’s breath is forced out of his lungs in the shape of a moan. His teeth find purchase again in the smooth, pale skin of Merlin’s back and everything becomes tighter and hotter and it feels like he’s flying but he’s grounded, he knows he is, because it feels like his entire body is buried inside Merlin, coming apart and spreading out, life pulsing into the waiting depths of what should be a woman’s womb.
But Arthur doesn’t want a woman, doesn’t want a womb, would rather fill Merlin with the empty promise of growing life than waste his seed on some unnamed ungrateful wench. Merlin may be the prince’s manservant, but he is Arthur’s friend and he knows, despite whatever spell may have been cast or enchantment brought down on them, Merlin would not have given himself over for Arthur’s use unless he had wanted it.
He can feel the wet walls of Merlin’s hole clenching around him as he drives deeper with his hardness, as deep as he can and holds it there until he is spent as though to make sure the seed takes root even though there is nowhere for it to go besides Merlin’s ass, and unless everything his nursemaid told him - and later his very own knights - Arthur very seriously doubts anything will actually come from this breeding aside from soiled bed linens, sore muscles, and a satiated manservant with a distended stomach full of royal come.
With renewed vigor, Arthur begins thrusting anew, wanting nothing more than for that vision to become truth. He refused to stop until Merlin’s stomach is round and stretched and he can do nothing more than keen with painful, raw undulations as though full belly will be enough to confuse this spell that they’re under that a child really can be created by one man buggering another senseless.
Maybe not, but he’ll certainly give it his best effort.
-
Sometime after nightfall Arthur regains his mind, but in a moment of hedonistic glory decides he likes the hot press of Merlin’s sweat-slick skin against his better than sanity and turns him back over, sweeps his tongue across cracked lips and breathless mouth and plunges back into him like its where he belongs. His hips stop moving in favor of the kiss, though, and wonders why he’s never done it before, because he could die like this, tongue against tongue and sharing one breath between them, Merlin’s fingers dancing against Arthur’s neck, playing with his damp hair and scratching lightly down his back and flitting across his ribs and up over his chest and then digs into his hair with dull fingernails as though to hold Arthur to him.
And he does. Arthur stays there, wrapped up in Merlin’s lips and arms and thighs, for the rest of the night. When morning finally comes and Merlin moves to fling open the drapes and light the fire and eventually fetch Arthur his breakfast, the prince pulls him back down, unmindful of the sticky mess between them and decides that a lie-in with the mother of his children is definitely in order.
Arthur blinks at that and thinks what a weird thought before pushing it to the back of his mind and digging his nose into the long line of Merlin’s neck. There’s plenty of time to ruminate later.
SEQUEL: a small world (after all)
It's almost like one of those things I used to see in elementary school all the time, one of those "Hi, kids. This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs." Can you guess with side I feel like I belong on?
I didn't really put much thought into the title, I'll be honest, but it is the first thing that jumped out and bit me. I've probably just been listening to too much Marilyn Manson (impossible), but I like it. And no, Merlin wasn't the one who cast the spell. If you look closely at the title (take away what's in the parenthesis) it's pretty much just "i on you" which, lets face it, is quite possibly the whole point of the story.
Title: i (put a spell) on you
Series: Merlin
Rating: M/NC-17
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Disclaimer: dis- (not); claim- (mine); -er (no, really)
Summary: The one where porn is used as an excuse for mpreg. Written for this prompt on Kink Me! Merlin.
The first thing Arthur notices when he walks into his room is Merlin’s bum. It doesn’t make any sense, really, because Merlin’s not bending over, and his back isn’t to Arthur. In fact, he’s standing at the window and all Arthur can see is Merlin’s profile. That doesn’t stop his eyes from dropping to that nice swell of ass hidden beneath loose-fitting trousers.
It actually makes his mouth water. He must have hit his head harder than he thought because all he wants to do was bury his hard-
“Merlin,” he says sharply, glancing away before doing something he’ll probably regret. “That witch…” he trails off, not sure how to continue because he’s not really sure what happened. There had been curses slung about and words he didn’t know thrown at him but nothing had happened. The only thing odd was this strange fascination for Merlin’s hind parts.
But Merlin just shrugs and frowns and readies Arthur for dinner with Uther and Morgana. Almost against his will, Arthur wonders what Merlin would look like as a woman, willing and ready and swollen with child. He blinks and hurries away before that thought becomes something more.
-
Dinner is a quick affair. Arthur finds himself becoming tenser throughout, snapping at the servants who set his plate before him and fill his cup with wine, and he experiences a strange wave of lust and jealousy when Morgana happens to mention Merlin.
After, she pulls him aside while Uther mumbles to himself at the table, and says, quite simply, “The best thing about having a manservant, Arthur, is his complete and utter inability to produce any of your bastard children when you plow his fields and plant your seed.”
Arthur opens his mouth to tell her that he’s a prince, in case she’s forgotten, so he’ll not be plowing or planting or farming anything but then realizes with a start what she means. “Oh.”
And that’s when the images start.
-
Merlin is still in his chambers when Arthur rushes in, face stained red at the implications of Merlin serving him in a way that is slightly less than clothed. Morgana had filled him in on what she did with Gwen on cold nights - and hot nights, too, and, on occasion, days as well - and wouldn’t he love the sight of his manservant on his knees, pliant mouth open and waiting for anything Arthur has to fill it with.
Morgana, Arthur is sure, was born evil. And is probably a witch, too, because when he looks at Merlin and thinks manservant, he doesn’t want cleaning and scrubbing and folding. Arthur wants sucking and rutting and coming, pressed against Merlin’s naked flesh.
His mind is filled with it, and his body burns with it, but he doesn’t think, just acts, and before he knows it Merlin is beneath him, wide-eyed and slightly terrified, but willing, like whatever is making Arthur behave like this is in Merlin too.
He feels feverish, like he’s in serious need for release, but it needs to be inside, buried between Merlin’s thighs, and there needs to be a place for his teeth. Arthur frowns. This is all wrong.
He flips Merlin and presses his body against the length of Merlin’s back, sinks his teeth into the sharp blade of Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin, like a wanton whore, moans and bucks back against Arthur’s hardness. Like a moment of surprise, Merlin’s hole magically grants him entrance. In the back of his mind, Arthur knows it shouldn’t be like this, that he should have to work for it, with fingers and oil and maybe even his tongue, but his tongue is busy soothing bite marks and his fingers are busy bruising narrow hips and when Merlin gasps and curls his toes into the back of Arthur’s knees all he knows is tight heat urging him for release.
Arthur grunts with every thrust, and with every cant of his hips Merlin’s breath is forced out of his lungs in the shape of a moan. His teeth find purchase again in the smooth, pale skin of Merlin’s back and everything becomes tighter and hotter and it feels like he’s flying but he’s grounded, he knows he is, because it feels like his entire body is buried inside Merlin, coming apart and spreading out, life pulsing into the waiting depths of what should be a woman’s womb.
But Arthur doesn’t want a woman, doesn’t want a womb, would rather fill Merlin with the empty promise of growing life than waste his seed on some unnamed ungrateful wench. Merlin may be the prince’s manservant, but he is Arthur’s friend and he knows, despite whatever spell may have been cast or enchantment brought down on them, Merlin would not have given himself over for Arthur’s use unless he had wanted it.
He can feel the wet walls of Merlin’s hole clenching around him as he drives deeper with his hardness, as deep as he can and holds it there until he is spent as though to make sure the seed takes root even though there is nowhere for it to go besides Merlin’s ass, and unless everything his nursemaid told him - and later his very own knights - Arthur very seriously doubts anything will actually come from this breeding aside from soiled bed linens, sore muscles, and a satiated manservant with a distended stomach full of royal come.
With renewed vigor, Arthur begins thrusting anew, wanting nothing more than for that vision to become truth. He refused to stop until Merlin’s stomach is round and stretched and he can do nothing more than keen with painful, raw undulations as though full belly will be enough to confuse this spell that they’re under that a child really can be created by one man buggering another senseless.
Maybe not, but he’ll certainly give it his best effort.
-
Sometime after nightfall Arthur regains his mind, but in a moment of hedonistic glory decides he likes the hot press of Merlin’s sweat-slick skin against his better than sanity and turns him back over, sweeps his tongue across cracked lips and breathless mouth and plunges back into him like its where he belongs. His hips stop moving in favor of the kiss, though, and wonders why he’s never done it before, because he could die like this, tongue against tongue and sharing one breath between them, Merlin’s fingers dancing against Arthur’s neck, playing with his damp hair and scratching lightly down his back and flitting across his ribs and up over his chest and then digs into his hair with dull fingernails as though to hold Arthur to him.
And he does. Arthur stays there, wrapped up in Merlin’s lips and arms and thighs, for the rest of the night. When morning finally comes and Merlin moves to fling open the drapes and light the fire and eventually fetch Arthur his breakfast, the prince pulls him back down, unmindful of the sticky mess between them and decides that a lie-in with the mother of his children is definitely in order.
Arthur blinks at that and thinks what a weird thought before pushing it to the back of his mind and digging his nose into the long line of Merlin’s neck. There’s plenty of time to ruminate later.
SEQUEL: a small world (after all)