Fic
Happy Birthday, Lola!
Title: Gold on Gold
Words: 600
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, magical bondage
A/N: I took from lolafeist's list of "likes" magic, d/s, fingering
"Sshh."
Arthur wants to obey, he wants to, but he really can't help the noise he is making. Merlin has bent him, naked, over the edge of the Round Table. There is nothing for his restless hands to grip, nothing to do but shake and whine. The muscles in his thighs are burning the way they do after a hard match, trembling from the strain of staying upright. But Merlin has placed him just like this and Arthur wants to nothing more than to stay exactly here.
Merlin is tracing Arthur's hole with his thumb, slow, light circles. He murmurs to Arthur, a constant flurry of hums, slipping occasionally into words: "There, Arthur, it's good, isn't it? You're doing so well." And, oh, it is, so bloody good. Arthur is hot everywhere, sweat gathering at the nape of his neck and the creases of his thighs. He feels as though all his nerves have dropped to between his legs, to the stretch of skin under Merlin's fingers.
Merlin speaks again, quietly and tenderly. "It's all right, Arthur, you don't have to ask. I know. I've got you." Arthur pants. Sometimes, Merlin does make him ask in excruciating detail for what he wants. Sometimes Arthur needs it, needs to be reminded that he can ask and get exactly what he needs.
Not tonight. Tonight, Merlin has conjured oil from somewhere and is pressing the pad of his finger against Arthur. Not in yet, just a steady, promising pressure. Arthur shivers, feeling it work its way down his body.
"Mmm," Merlin says. A wash of magic pins Arthur more firmly to the table. "There. Do you want a gag?" Arthur gasps, melting into the golden heaviness. After a long moment, he manages to shake his head. Merlin hums again and slides a finger in. Arthur chokes his way through it, grateful for the magic that keeps him from bucking. Merlin lets out a long sigh which Arthur has no trouble translating into approval. He lies limp against the table. Merlin's finger works into Arthur steadily, moving easily to two fingers. It is slick and open and glorious, even before Merlin curls them just right into that spot that makes Arthur's vision blur. Arthur sobs, once.
Merlin strokes his free hand down Arthur's back. "You're so lovely, Arthur, so perfect like this."
It should make Arthur embarrassed, but it doesn't. The flush that sweeps through him is warm and aching, so needy, and Merlin seems to sense it. He moves his fingers again, the movement so slow it drags every last thought out of Arthur's head. Arthur breathes like a fish out of water, and if it weren't for Merlin's magic, he'd be flopping about like one, too. All he can focus on is breathing: in and out, in time with Merlin's fingers.
Merlin's voice, when it comes next, is warm and approving. "You're going to come, aren't you, Arthur? Just like this, just from me fingering you."
And then he is; he's tensing around Merlin's fingers as his balls contract and his seed paints white stripes along the table's side and drips to the floor. He shakes with it, shakes as Merlin wrings every last drop out of him and leaves him broken. There are tears on his face when Merlin is done.
"There now," Merlin says, guiding him up. It is the magic more than legs or hands that keep Arthur upright; he sags into it.
Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin's shoulder. "Take me to bed?"
Merlin trails a kind hand down Arthur's body. "Yes," he agrees.
Title: Gold on Gold
Words: 600
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: D/s, magical bondage
A/N: I took from lolafeist's list of "likes" magic, d/s, fingering
"Sshh."
Arthur wants to obey, he wants to, but he really can't help the noise he is making. Merlin has bent him, naked, over the edge of the Round Table. There is nothing for his restless hands to grip, nothing to do but shake and whine. The muscles in his thighs are burning the way they do after a hard match, trembling from the strain of staying upright. But Merlin has placed him just like this and Arthur wants to nothing more than to stay exactly here.
Merlin is tracing Arthur's hole with his thumb, slow, light circles. He murmurs to Arthur, a constant flurry of hums, slipping occasionally into words: "There, Arthur, it's good, isn't it? You're doing so well." And, oh, it is, so bloody good. Arthur is hot everywhere, sweat gathering at the nape of his neck and the creases of his thighs. He feels as though all his nerves have dropped to between his legs, to the stretch of skin under Merlin's fingers.
Merlin speaks again, quietly and tenderly. "It's all right, Arthur, you don't have to ask. I know. I've got you." Arthur pants. Sometimes, Merlin does make him ask in excruciating detail for what he wants. Sometimes Arthur needs it, needs to be reminded that he can ask and get exactly what he needs.
Not tonight. Tonight, Merlin has conjured oil from somewhere and is pressing the pad of his finger against Arthur. Not in yet, just a steady, promising pressure. Arthur shivers, feeling it work its way down his body.
"Mmm," Merlin says. A wash of magic pins Arthur more firmly to the table. "There. Do you want a gag?" Arthur gasps, melting into the golden heaviness. After a long moment, he manages to shake his head. Merlin hums again and slides a finger in. Arthur chokes his way through it, grateful for the magic that keeps him from bucking. Merlin lets out a long sigh which Arthur has no trouble translating into approval. He lies limp against the table. Merlin's finger works into Arthur steadily, moving easily to two fingers. It is slick and open and glorious, even before Merlin curls them just right into that spot that makes Arthur's vision blur. Arthur sobs, once.
Merlin strokes his free hand down Arthur's back. "You're so lovely, Arthur, so perfect like this."
It should make Arthur embarrassed, but it doesn't. The flush that sweeps through him is warm and aching, so needy, and Merlin seems to sense it. He moves his fingers again, the movement so slow it drags every last thought out of Arthur's head. Arthur breathes like a fish out of water, and if it weren't for Merlin's magic, he'd be flopping about like one, too. All he can focus on is breathing: in and out, in time with Merlin's fingers.
Merlin's voice, when it comes next, is warm and approving. "You're going to come, aren't you, Arthur? Just like this, just from me fingering you."
And then he is; he's tensing around Merlin's fingers as his balls contract and his seed paints white stripes along the table's side and drips to the floor. He shakes with it, shakes as Merlin wrings every last drop out of him and leaves him broken. There are tears on his face when Merlin is done.
"There now," Merlin says, guiding him up. It is the magic more than legs or hands that keep Arthur upright; he sags into it.
Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin's shoulder. "Take me to bed?"
Merlin trails a kind hand down Arthur's body. "Yes," he agrees.