Fic: Merlin - Uther/Merlin - Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Title: Wrong Place, Wrong Time
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Uther/Merlin, implied Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,022
Summary: Merlin has the immense misfortune of happening upon a very drunk Uther at the worst possible time that one could ever imagine. Well... that Merlin could ever imagine. I, for one, have imagined it numerous times with great joy.
Warnings: Asphyxiation, slight non-con but kind of dubious consent, leather gloves, corny jokes
Author's Note: Written for the Merlin Kink Meme a couple weeks ago, prompt was: Uther/Merlin - Drunk Uther tries to force himself on Merlin. Uther can get as far as you like (inappropriate touching, attempted non-con, or full out non-con), but Merlin has to struggle not to use his magic on the King to save himself. Bonus points if Arthur rescues Merlin.
Merlin wasn't quite sure how he had found himself in this situation. One minute he was on a mission from Gaius to deliver a sleeping draft to the king, and the next he was pressed against a wall with the king's gloved hand around his throat and his sweaty, alcohol-laden breath violating Merlin's nostrils (among other things). Merlin was fairly certain that he was making an impression in the stone wall for all the force that he was using to try to back out of Uther’s grip. He swallowed hard against the fingers digging into his throat and said, “Is… there something I can do for you, Sire?”
“Yes,” he growled, his body so close to Merlin’s that Merlin was able to feel his voice rattle against his own chest.
“And, and what would that be, Sire?” He laughed nervously. “Do you need your socks cleaned? Because I’m a damn good sock washer. Arthur can attest to that. Well… perhaps it’s better not to ask him, he’d never admit to my exceptional sock washing abilities. I can also-“ He let out a gasp as Uther’s hand tightened around his throat.
“You can shut up, boy,” Uther said dangerously, his eyes containing a fire that made Merlin feel uneasy. Well, more uneasy than he already was.
“Right. Right. I can shut up. It’s not exactly a specialty of mine, but-“ He gasped again and let out a whimper, struggling against the wall, and then when Uther’s grip softened, he said, “Right, shutting up now.”
“Good,” Uther said as his eyes drifted to Merlin’s lips. Merlin squirmed, realizing that the fire in Uther’s eyes wasn’t exactly anger. Merlin felt himself lick his lips without thinking, and then he immediately cursed himself when Uther made a soft groan and lifted his finger to drift across Merlin’s lower lip. He flinched at the touch of the cold leather, but his eyes never left Uther’s face. Uther was… he was smiling, slightly. It could almost be called tender if Uther had the ability to look like he was doing anything other than leering.
Merlin felt Uther’s hand glide down to his chest, and Uther briefly met his eyes with a quirked eyebrow as he no doubt felt Merlin’s heart beating like a stampede of wild cattle. His hand was going lower. Oh god. Ooooh god. This wasn’t good. Merlin pushed harder against the wall to no avail, and he found the impulse to use a stunning spell harder and harder to resist. Especially when Uther’s fingers tightened around his throat again as his other hand found Merlin’s waistband. He looked straight into Uther’s eyes with a rage he’d never felt so intensely before, and he silently dared Uther to cross the line. He wanted him to. He wanted an excuse to suddenly set him on fire or strike him with a lightening bolt or… or… Merlin’s eyes drifted closed and his lips went numb as his circulation was cut off, and a second later he found himself gasping into Uther’s mouth, inhaling the stench of mead and feeling Uther’s dark soul becoming a part of him. Merlin fought against his tongue. He pushed against his shoulders, trying to free himself from Uther’s grip. The hand that had been on his throat had moved to the back of his head, grasping his hair just hard enough that there was a welcome pain, and there was no real hope of Merlin being able to breathe his own air until Uther decided he could.
Finally, Uther yanked Merlin’s head away from his own, and Merlin faced the ceiling as he gasped desperately and reminded himself to never take air for granted ever again. And then he felt wet lips against his neck, a tongue darting across his dancing Adam’s apple. An unshaven chin scratching against his collar bone. A hand teasing the hair just above his penis. Oh… god. He didn’t… his hand isn’t… oh god. Merlin clenched his fists as he felt a leather hand grasp his shaft and slowly pull its way to the tip. Merlin shuddered and slumped a little lower against the wall, his eyes closed again, the image of Uther’s satisfied, tender leer burned into his brain. It was all he could think about, all he could see. Nothing else existed. He bit his lip, trying to fight the groan that wanted to escape as Uther’s ministrations started to get more vigorous, and the chafing pain from the leather only seemed to add to the increasing pleasure, and oh god, did he just say pleasure? This is Uther. Uther. Not pleasurable. It has to stop. He’ll just… he’ll will it to… sto… god, he really knows what he’s doing.
The sound of the chamber doors loudly creaking open didn’t wake Merlin from his haze, but the sound of Arthur’s voice made his heart jump and somehow gave him the strength to push Uther off of him and attempt to straighten his pants.
“What’s… going on here?” Arthur asked. He eyed his father on the floor, saw him wipe his mouth and give Merlin a look.
Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look at Arthur. He was afraid he’d see the shame written on his face, or even worse, the pleasure. Merlin looked at Uther with a grimace, glaring at him with all the hatred that he had the strength to muster. Then, for Arthur’s sake (and his own), he mumbled, “Nothing.”
“What?”
Merlin could feel the confusion in Arthur, the suspicion in his head that he didn’t want to believe. Not of his father. Not of his manservant, his friend. So Merlin took a deep breath, and he finally looked up at Arthur. Merlin had never quite appreciated the innocence in Arthur before, the noble need he had to believe the best in everyone that he cared about. The pureness in his heart. The softness in his eyes. “Nothing happened, Arthur.” He discreetly gave one last scathing look at Uther and was chilled by the desire he still saw in his eyes, then he bowed to Arthur and left the king’s chambers without another word.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Uther/Merlin, implied Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,022
Summary: Merlin has the immense misfortune of happening upon a very drunk Uther at the worst possible time that one could ever imagine. Well... that Merlin could ever imagine. I, for one, have imagined it numerous times with great joy.
Warnings: Asphyxiation, slight non-con but kind of dubious consent, leather gloves, corny jokes
Author's Note: Written for the Merlin Kink Meme a couple weeks ago, prompt was: Uther/Merlin - Drunk Uther tries to force himself on Merlin. Uther can get as far as you like (inappropriate touching, attempted non-con, or full out non-con), but Merlin has to struggle not to use his magic on the King to save himself. Bonus points if Arthur rescues Merlin.
Merlin wasn't quite sure how he had found himself in this situation. One minute he was on a mission from Gaius to deliver a sleeping draft to the king, and the next he was pressed against a wall with the king's gloved hand around his throat and his sweaty, alcohol-laden breath violating Merlin's nostrils (among other things). Merlin was fairly certain that he was making an impression in the stone wall for all the force that he was using to try to back out of Uther’s grip. He swallowed hard against the fingers digging into his throat and said, “Is… there something I can do for you, Sire?”
“Yes,” he growled, his body so close to Merlin’s that Merlin was able to feel his voice rattle against his own chest.
“And, and what would that be, Sire?” He laughed nervously. “Do you need your socks cleaned? Because I’m a damn good sock washer. Arthur can attest to that. Well… perhaps it’s better not to ask him, he’d never admit to my exceptional sock washing abilities. I can also-“ He let out a gasp as Uther’s hand tightened around his throat.
“You can shut up, boy,” Uther said dangerously, his eyes containing a fire that made Merlin feel uneasy. Well, more uneasy than he already was.
“Right. Right. I can shut up. It’s not exactly a specialty of mine, but-“ He gasped again and let out a whimper, struggling against the wall, and then when Uther’s grip softened, he said, “Right, shutting up now.”
“Good,” Uther said as his eyes drifted to Merlin’s lips. Merlin squirmed, realizing that the fire in Uther’s eyes wasn’t exactly anger. Merlin felt himself lick his lips without thinking, and then he immediately cursed himself when Uther made a soft groan and lifted his finger to drift across Merlin’s lower lip. He flinched at the touch of the cold leather, but his eyes never left Uther’s face. Uther was… he was smiling, slightly. It could almost be called tender if Uther had the ability to look like he was doing anything other than leering.
Merlin felt Uther’s hand glide down to his chest, and Uther briefly met his eyes with a quirked eyebrow as he no doubt felt Merlin’s heart beating like a stampede of wild cattle. His hand was going lower. Oh god. Ooooh god. This wasn’t good. Merlin pushed harder against the wall to no avail, and he found the impulse to use a stunning spell harder and harder to resist. Especially when Uther’s fingers tightened around his throat again as his other hand found Merlin’s waistband. He looked straight into Uther’s eyes with a rage he’d never felt so intensely before, and he silently dared Uther to cross the line. He wanted him to. He wanted an excuse to suddenly set him on fire or strike him with a lightening bolt or… or… Merlin’s eyes drifted closed and his lips went numb as his circulation was cut off, and a second later he found himself gasping into Uther’s mouth, inhaling the stench of mead and feeling Uther’s dark soul becoming a part of him. Merlin fought against his tongue. He pushed against his shoulders, trying to free himself from Uther’s grip. The hand that had been on his throat had moved to the back of his head, grasping his hair just hard enough that there was a welcome pain, and there was no real hope of Merlin being able to breathe his own air until Uther decided he could.
Finally, Uther yanked Merlin’s head away from his own, and Merlin faced the ceiling as he gasped desperately and reminded himself to never take air for granted ever again. And then he felt wet lips against his neck, a tongue darting across his dancing Adam’s apple. An unshaven chin scratching against his collar bone. A hand teasing the hair just above his penis. Oh… god. He didn’t… his hand isn’t… oh god. Merlin clenched his fists as he felt a leather hand grasp his shaft and slowly pull its way to the tip. Merlin shuddered and slumped a little lower against the wall, his eyes closed again, the image of Uther’s satisfied, tender leer burned into his brain. It was all he could think about, all he could see. Nothing else existed. He bit his lip, trying to fight the groan that wanted to escape as Uther’s ministrations started to get more vigorous, and the chafing pain from the leather only seemed to add to the increasing pleasure, and oh god, did he just say pleasure? This is Uther. Uther. Not pleasurable. It has to stop. He’ll just… he’ll will it to… sto… god, he really knows what he’s doing.
The sound of the chamber doors loudly creaking open didn’t wake Merlin from his haze, but the sound of Arthur’s voice made his heart jump and somehow gave him the strength to push Uther off of him and attempt to straighten his pants.
“What’s… going on here?” Arthur asked. He eyed his father on the floor, saw him wipe his mouth and give Merlin a look.
Merlin couldn’t bring himself to look at Arthur. He was afraid he’d see the shame written on his face, or even worse, the pleasure. Merlin looked at Uther with a grimace, glaring at him with all the hatred that he had the strength to muster. Then, for Arthur’s sake (and his own), he mumbled, “Nothing.”
“What?”
Merlin could feel the confusion in Arthur, the suspicion in his head that he didn’t want to believe. Not of his father. Not of his manservant, his friend. So Merlin took a deep breath, and he finally looked up at Arthur. Merlin had never quite appreciated the innocence in Arthur before, the noble need he had to believe the best in everyone that he cared about. The pureness in his heart. The softness in his eyes. “Nothing happened, Arthur.” He discreetly gave one last scathing look at Uther and was chilled by the desire he still saw in his eyes, then he bowed to Arthur and left the king’s chambers without another word.