Fic: Hospitality
Title: Hospitality
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 3x04
Word Count: 1484
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Merlin doesn't belong to Arthur, and Gwaine is naughty.
AN: Comment!fic written for miya_tenaka
"So you're not his then?" Gwaine asks, from where he's sprawled on Merlin's bed. The amount of emphasis he puts on the word leaves Merlin in no doubt as to what exactly he means.
"Who, Arthur? No." Merlin shakes his head, then can't seem to stop shaking it. "No, no, no."
Gwaine laughs.
Merlin can't help but laugh back, because that was a rather definitive 'no' there.
"Not your type?" Gwaine asks with a curiously raised eyebrow. There's a suggestion there, one that Merlin thinks he would normally miss, something that's carefully prodding, but nothing solid. Merlin's not entirely sure how to answer Gwaine's question, what he wants him to say. Or whether he's supposed to be subtle. Merlin's easily confused when there are no monsters or trolls, or evil sorcerers to fight. When it's just people. People are confusing in general.
Apparently quiet staring is good enough though. Because Gwaine laughs again and leans in, braver than Merlin. His hair tickles Merlin's cheeks and forehead. He's still laughing when he kisses him.
It's careful, like he's still not quite sure if Merlin will pull away or not. But Merlin's hands lift and catch Gwaine's waist, completely without his permission and then they're sliding, or falling, certainly moving. Merlin ends up on his back on his own bed and Gwaine is warm and heavy - and still kissing him. Though all the uncertainty has turned into laughter and warmth and the slow, dirty slide of tongue.
It's been...a while. Merlin rather likes the idea of being indulgent. He likes the idea of being indulgent with Gwaine. He likes that a lot.
Gwaine hums against his mouth like he's agreeing, even though Merlin hasn't said a single word. Never had his mouth free to say a word.
Gwaine's sliding large, warm hands under his shirt, the drift of his palms a question.
"Yes," Merlin mutters, lips still touching, still sliding, close enough for Gwaine to bite if he wants to. Merlin suddenly wants him to, he wants exactly that. But he isn't quite sure how to ask for it.
Gwaine has other plans though, and - oh - yes, undressing is good. There's a brief, awkward moment where Gwaine's shirt ends up tangled round his arms and Merlin's shirt refuses to come off until he's untied his neckerchief. But Gwaine seems to prefer this when it's all a bit ridiculous.
The touching, the touching more than makes up for it.
Gwaine's heavy and the skin over his hipbones is delicate and soft under Merlin's hands, where his hands are grasping, thumbs pushing into the skin in greedy little digs. Gwaine's warm like it's a secret, but he's solid in a way Merlin almost thinks he shouldn't be touching, all perfect curves and dips of muscle. He can't help moving his hands, plucking at the laces of Gwaine's trousers, not entirely sure if he's allowed.
There's another shiver of laughter over his mouth.
"I can think of nothing better at this moment than you having your hands on me," Gwaine says roughly.
Merlin grumbles some vague complaint about him reading minds. Then briefly worries that maybe he can read minds. But Gwaine's teeth dig gently into his chest, tongue flickering round a nipple and Merlin shudders and lets him do whatever he wants, mind reader or not.
What Gwaine wants, apparently, is to put his mouth on him, tongue trailing a path down his stomach in a mixture of laughter and encouraging noises.
Merlin's hands end up in his hair and he thinks that might be wrong, goes to pull them free - only to have Gwaine drag them back.
"Oh," he says quietly.
Merlin carefully pushes hair out of his face, watches Gwaine's eyes go dark and smoky and decides he's not going to survive anything that he does. His fingers twitch and shiver through the strands, thumbs stroking his ears and the soft hair at his jaw.
Merlin loses the words in his head when Gwaine's warm, laughing mouth finds the sensitive flat of his stomach and the twitching hardness of his cock.
He doesn't even pause, he just opens and takes him inside.
It's delirious. It's all heat and pressure and suction in a way that's dirty and clever and not experimental at all. Merlin's not going to -
"I'm not going to last," he mumbles desperately. "Gwaine, I can't -"
Gwaine doesn't seem to care, staring up at him through the loose strands of his hair that Merlin's fingers hadn't managed to catch. More devilish than he has any business look while he's doing that. Merlin's making high, desperate little gasping noises, hands making a wreck of Gwaine's hair, thigh shifting over the other man's shoulder when his cheeks hollow in one perfect moment of suction.
Merlin can feel the whole world burning behind his eyes. He has just enough time to desperately hope he doesn't accidentally set something on fire.
When he comes back Gwaine is rubbing at the muscle of his thigh while it twitches and shivers. His face turns in to kiss the side of Merlin's knee. He's still smiling at what Merlin supposes is the truly ridiculous expression he's wearing.
"Spread your legs," Gwaine says, quiet and rough and it's the dirtiest thing Merlin's ever heard. His breath rushes free because he knows exactly what Gwaine wants. But he's obeying before he's even thought about whether he wants to. He let's Gwaine slide up between them, lets him lean in and kiss him with the bitter taste of him still in his mouth.
Merlin groans surprised appreciation at the rawness of it. Sparking gently with tiny aftershocks, feeling like he's been peeled and put back together again. It's a very good feeling.
"Have you ever had a man inside you?" The question curls over his cheek and Merlin makes a noise at the low, greedy interest of it. Gwaine is still hard against his thigh, one solid curve of need.
Merlin shakes his head, slowly, because the thing he'd had with Lancelot had mostly involved lots of kissing and rolling about - and once, Merlin's mouth.
"Would you like that," Gwaine bites at his mouth and Merlin thinks he might, perhaps, not be finished quite yet.
"Yes," Merlin murmurs against the hard edge of his jaw. "Definitely, I think, yes."
Gwaine groans and presses down, a quick helpless moment of broken restraint.
"Oil?"
Merlin waves sideways and Gwaine stops touching him just long enough to find the pot on the side.
It ends up half on the sheets and half on Merlin's thigh. Gwaine's thumb trailing a tickling path through it before he spreads Merlin's thighs and breaches him with a finger.
It's a strange sensation, all disturbing intimacy and stretch that almost promises discomfort. Merlin breathes through it, thigh sliding on Gwaine's waist. One finger becomes two and Merlin can hear Gwaine breathing, the quick, rushing intensity of it. The way his other hand tightens and relaxes on his leg. All barely-there control and eagerness.
"You're all legs," Gwaine says, voice a shake of amusement and lust and he leans down far enough to bite at Merlin's upper thigh.
There are three fingers now, the stretch of them greedy and not all comfortable. But Merlin's a line of shivery tension at what Gwaine wants, at what he's going to give him. He's half drunk on it.
Merlin's cock gives a desperate little twitch of enthusiasm.
Gwaine's fingers slide free and he catches Merlin's thigh, draws it up and tilts his hips, pushing the wandering pillow beneath him.
"This might be uncomfortable," Gwaine says gently, voice quiet. Merlin thinks he's making a point that Merlin can still refuse if he wants to. When he wants absolutely nothing of the sort.
Merlin's already rambling out something that sounds a lot like 'yes' and 'now.'
He thinks he can cope with uncomfortable.
Gwaine is strong but he's careful. It does hurt, a little, more than a little. But Gwaine stops and changes the position of Merlin's thighs. It still hurts but the slide is easier and then Gwaine's inside him. Buried in one slow, careful push and all Merlin can manage is a low grunt of air that sounds shocked. He wasn't expecting it to feel so immediate, so close. Gwaine is hot and hard and deep in a way there aren't words for and Merlin is suddenly all his.
He thinks, perhaps, he slurs that out, a little bit.
Gwaine groans and jerks and swears, head tipped forward until his face is covered by his hair. He doesn't last very long either before he stills, groans completion, and Merlin is suddenly wet inside in a way that's ever so slightly obscene.
A way he thinks he quite likes but probably isn't going to admit to.
Gwaine murmurs his name, slow and silky in a way Merlin's never heard it before.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Gwaine
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 3x04
Word Count: 1484
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Merlin doesn't belong to Arthur, and Gwaine is naughty.
AN: Comment!fic written for miya_tenaka
"So you're not his then?" Gwaine asks, from where he's sprawled on Merlin's bed. The amount of emphasis he puts on the word leaves Merlin in no doubt as to what exactly he means.
"Who, Arthur? No." Merlin shakes his head, then can't seem to stop shaking it. "No, no, no."
Gwaine laughs.
Merlin can't help but laugh back, because that was a rather definitive 'no' there.
"Not your type?" Gwaine asks with a curiously raised eyebrow. There's a suggestion there, one that Merlin thinks he would normally miss, something that's carefully prodding, but nothing solid. Merlin's not entirely sure how to answer Gwaine's question, what he wants him to say. Or whether he's supposed to be subtle. Merlin's easily confused when there are no monsters or trolls, or evil sorcerers to fight. When it's just people. People are confusing in general.
Apparently quiet staring is good enough though. Because Gwaine laughs again and leans in, braver than Merlin. His hair tickles Merlin's cheeks and forehead. He's still laughing when he kisses him.
It's careful, like he's still not quite sure if Merlin will pull away or not. But Merlin's hands lift and catch Gwaine's waist, completely without his permission and then they're sliding, or falling, certainly moving. Merlin ends up on his back on his own bed and Gwaine is warm and heavy - and still kissing him. Though all the uncertainty has turned into laughter and warmth and the slow, dirty slide of tongue.
It's been...a while. Merlin rather likes the idea of being indulgent. He likes the idea of being indulgent with Gwaine. He likes that a lot.
Gwaine hums against his mouth like he's agreeing, even though Merlin hasn't said a single word. Never had his mouth free to say a word.
Gwaine's sliding large, warm hands under his shirt, the drift of his palms a question.
"Yes," Merlin mutters, lips still touching, still sliding, close enough for Gwaine to bite if he wants to. Merlin suddenly wants him to, he wants exactly that. But he isn't quite sure how to ask for it.
Gwaine has other plans though, and - oh - yes, undressing is good. There's a brief, awkward moment where Gwaine's shirt ends up tangled round his arms and Merlin's shirt refuses to come off until he's untied his neckerchief. But Gwaine seems to prefer this when it's all a bit ridiculous.
The touching, the touching more than makes up for it.
Gwaine's heavy and the skin over his hipbones is delicate and soft under Merlin's hands, where his hands are grasping, thumbs pushing into the skin in greedy little digs. Gwaine's warm like it's a secret, but he's solid in a way Merlin almost thinks he shouldn't be touching, all perfect curves and dips of muscle. He can't help moving his hands, plucking at the laces of Gwaine's trousers, not entirely sure if he's allowed.
There's another shiver of laughter over his mouth.
"I can think of nothing better at this moment than you having your hands on me," Gwaine says roughly.
Merlin grumbles some vague complaint about him reading minds. Then briefly worries that maybe he can read minds. But Gwaine's teeth dig gently into his chest, tongue flickering round a nipple and Merlin shudders and lets him do whatever he wants, mind reader or not.
What Gwaine wants, apparently, is to put his mouth on him, tongue trailing a path down his stomach in a mixture of laughter and encouraging noises.
Merlin's hands end up in his hair and he thinks that might be wrong, goes to pull them free - only to have Gwaine drag them back.
"Oh," he says quietly.
Merlin carefully pushes hair out of his face, watches Gwaine's eyes go dark and smoky and decides he's not going to survive anything that he does. His fingers twitch and shiver through the strands, thumbs stroking his ears and the soft hair at his jaw.
Merlin loses the words in his head when Gwaine's warm, laughing mouth finds the sensitive flat of his stomach and the twitching hardness of his cock.
He doesn't even pause, he just opens and takes him inside.
It's delirious. It's all heat and pressure and suction in a way that's dirty and clever and not experimental at all. Merlin's not going to -
"I'm not going to last," he mumbles desperately. "Gwaine, I can't -"
Gwaine doesn't seem to care, staring up at him through the loose strands of his hair that Merlin's fingers hadn't managed to catch. More devilish than he has any business look while he's doing that. Merlin's making high, desperate little gasping noises, hands making a wreck of Gwaine's hair, thigh shifting over the other man's shoulder when his cheeks hollow in one perfect moment of suction.
Merlin can feel the whole world burning behind his eyes. He has just enough time to desperately hope he doesn't accidentally set something on fire.
When he comes back Gwaine is rubbing at the muscle of his thigh while it twitches and shivers. His face turns in to kiss the side of Merlin's knee. He's still smiling at what Merlin supposes is the truly ridiculous expression he's wearing.
"Spread your legs," Gwaine says, quiet and rough and it's the dirtiest thing Merlin's ever heard. His breath rushes free because he knows exactly what Gwaine wants. But he's obeying before he's even thought about whether he wants to. He let's Gwaine slide up between them, lets him lean in and kiss him with the bitter taste of him still in his mouth.
Merlin groans surprised appreciation at the rawness of it. Sparking gently with tiny aftershocks, feeling like he's been peeled and put back together again. It's a very good feeling.
"Have you ever had a man inside you?" The question curls over his cheek and Merlin makes a noise at the low, greedy interest of it. Gwaine is still hard against his thigh, one solid curve of need.
Merlin shakes his head, slowly, because the thing he'd had with Lancelot had mostly involved lots of kissing and rolling about - and once, Merlin's mouth.
"Would you like that," Gwaine bites at his mouth and Merlin thinks he might, perhaps, not be finished quite yet.
"Yes," Merlin murmurs against the hard edge of his jaw. "Definitely, I think, yes."
Gwaine groans and presses down, a quick helpless moment of broken restraint.
"Oil?"
Merlin waves sideways and Gwaine stops touching him just long enough to find the pot on the side.
It ends up half on the sheets and half on Merlin's thigh. Gwaine's thumb trailing a tickling path through it before he spreads Merlin's thighs and breaches him with a finger.
It's a strange sensation, all disturbing intimacy and stretch that almost promises discomfort. Merlin breathes through it, thigh sliding on Gwaine's waist. One finger becomes two and Merlin can hear Gwaine breathing, the quick, rushing intensity of it. The way his other hand tightens and relaxes on his leg. All barely-there control and eagerness.
"You're all legs," Gwaine says, voice a shake of amusement and lust and he leans down far enough to bite at Merlin's upper thigh.
There are three fingers now, the stretch of them greedy and not all comfortable. But Merlin's a line of shivery tension at what Gwaine wants, at what he's going to give him. He's half drunk on it.
Merlin's cock gives a desperate little twitch of enthusiasm.
Gwaine's fingers slide free and he catches Merlin's thigh, draws it up and tilts his hips, pushing the wandering pillow beneath him.
"This might be uncomfortable," Gwaine says gently, voice quiet. Merlin thinks he's making a point that Merlin can still refuse if he wants to. When he wants absolutely nothing of the sort.
Merlin's already rambling out something that sounds a lot like 'yes' and 'now.'
He thinks he can cope with uncomfortable.
Gwaine is strong but he's careful. It does hurt, a little, more than a little. But Gwaine stops and changes the position of Merlin's thighs. It still hurts but the slide is easier and then Gwaine's inside him. Buried in one slow, careful push and all Merlin can manage is a low grunt of air that sounds shocked. He wasn't expecting it to feel so immediate, so close. Gwaine is hot and hard and deep in a way there aren't words for and Merlin is suddenly all his.
He thinks, perhaps, he slurs that out, a little bit.
Gwaine groans and jerks and swears, head tipped forward until his face is covered by his hair. He doesn't last very long either before he stills, groans completion, and Merlin is suddenly wet inside in a way that's ever so slightly obscene.
A way he thinks he quite likes but probably isn't going to admit to.
Gwaine murmurs his name, slow and silky in a way Merlin's never heard it before.