Fic: Tourny Wanking
Title: Tourny Wanking
By oflittleuse
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: Under 1k
Summary: Written for the prompt "Merlin has to run off and wank in the tent when Arthur is doing tourneys. Arthur may notice or he may not - writer's choice!"
Authors Note: Written for alby_mangroves The Wanking Comment Fest. Thanks to millionstar for looking it over.
Or read it on AO3
Merlin still doesn’t know the names of the moves as Arthur ducks under the wide swing of his opponent and spins on his heel to bring his sword upwards. After all this time at court, Merlin has never been able to catch onto the terms and strategy the knights would discuss in great detail over their ale. All Merlin was aware of was the rippling muscles that gleaned with a slight layer of sweat where Arthur’s armour slid up his forearm.
It took little imagination to picture how Arthur’s braced thighs would quiver in anticipation and strained muscles beneath the heavy material of his trousers barely protecting them from the enemy’s sword. How the prince’s body would be wound as tight as any lover’s in the midst of lovemaking. For Merlin though, it was the look of intense concentration that had him uncomfortably hard in his trousers.
He tried to hide behind the rack of shields just off to the side of the tourney grounds. He knew if anyone were to see him, there would be no hiding his arousal, as painful and all consuming as it was. Still, the fight would not last long, the tourney was only starting and the opponent facing Arthur was far below the golden Prince’s skill with the sword.
Still, as Arthur grunted under a surprisingly well placed blow, Merlin had to bite his lips to not answer the groan with his own. He barely even noticed how he pressed his groin against the shields in front of him, desperate for relief. Noticing his hips moving without thought, Merlin stilled them.
There were too many people. They might be otherwise occupied watching Arthur fighting, but he was pretty sure they a servant rutting against inanimate objects would catch their attention.
Arthur could not see Merlin like this. Soon enough he would need to take off that armour and prepare a bath, deal with a naked Prince and be unable to touch. He would never survive the night unless he took some of the desperate edge off his arousal.
He wobbled as he tried to run into the tent. It was not the first time he had ducked beneath the red flaps of the tent to rid himself of an erection before Arthur finished on the field. This tourney alone he had brought pleasure to himself thrice.
without hesitating, he tried to undo his laces with shaking fingers. Outside the crowds made noises of approval, obviously Arthur had pulled off another brilliant move, dazzling the crowd with his finesse with the sword.
Merlin groaned in blissful ecstasy when his hand was finally able to wrap around himself.
He wished he was back in his rooms, where he would take time to pleasure himself. Where he would cup and tease his balls, moving slow like the tide as he thought of Arthur and quietly found a release that left him boneless and pliant. Or that he had some of Gaius’ oils and let his hands slip past the globes of his arse and let his fingers find the area deep within that made Merlin cry out and wish it was someone else’s hand, that perhaps there was the cool press of a ring just outside the ring of muscles where his thumb rested.
This time there was no time to take a long pleasure from the experience. He had barely any time before Arthur would arrive in the tent.
Outside, the crowd jeered at something.
Merlin didn’t bother to wet his palm, but allowed the rough calluses of his hand to stimulate his cock even more so. His forearm moved with a brutal pace. He had already been hard for so long, it took no time until he was shoving his free hand into his mouth to bite off his broken sobs as his release stole over him.
Clinging to the table as his knees buckled, he tried to calm his breathing, not bothering to bring his trousers back up from where they had fallen to his knees.
Outside the crowd was silent, which was odd. They were never silent during the fights. It took his pleasure soaked mind a few moments to realise what the silence must mean.
A cut off groan from right behind him had Merlin spinning around.
The last thing he expected to see was Arthur, his hand shoved unceremoniously down his trousers, sweat slicked hair sticking up from where his gloved hands had ran through it, his chainmail oddly bunched up on his stomach. His hand was not moving.
The two of them stared, neither moving, Arthur still palming the bulge and Merlin hanging soft between his legs.
“Do you need a hand sire?” Merlin asked, his brain to mouth filter no longer working, and perhaps Gaius was right about his death wish.
“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur groaned, but he strutted forward and quickly was bringing his long, thick cock out for Merlin to see. Not one to pass an opportunity, Merlin sank to his knees on the uneven earth, and happily let his Prince guide the cockhead into his mouth.
Sucking him in deep, Merlin hoped that this would become a post-fight ritual. He could certainly get used to it.
By oflittleuse
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: Under 1k
Summary: Written for the prompt "Merlin has to run off and wank in the tent when Arthur is doing tourneys. Arthur may notice or he may not - writer's choice!"
Authors Note: Written for alby_mangroves The Wanking Comment Fest. Thanks to millionstar for looking it over.
Or read it on AO3
Merlin still doesn’t know the names of the moves as Arthur ducks under the wide swing of his opponent and spins on his heel to bring his sword upwards. After all this time at court, Merlin has never been able to catch onto the terms and strategy the knights would discuss in great detail over their ale. All Merlin was aware of was the rippling muscles that gleaned with a slight layer of sweat where Arthur’s armour slid up his forearm.
It took little imagination to picture how Arthur’s braced thighs would quiver in anticipation and strained muscles beneath the heavy material of his trousers barely protecting them from the enemy’s sword. How the prince’s body would be wound as tight as any lover’s in the midst of lovemaking. For Merlin though, it was the look of intense concentration that had him uncomfortably hard in his trousers.
He tried to hide behind the rack of shields just off to the side of the tourney grounds. He knew if anyone were to see him, there would be no hiding his arousal, as painful and all consuming as it was. Still, the fight would not last long, the tourney was only starting and the opponent facing Arthur was far below the golden Prince’s skill with the sword.
Still, as Arthur grunted under a surprisingly well placed blow, Merlin had to bite his lips to not answer the groan with his own. He barely even noticed how he pressed his groin against the shields in front of him, desperate for relief. Noticing his hips moving without thought, Merlin stilled them.
There were too many people. They might be otherwise occupied watching Arthur fighting, but he was pretty sure they a servant rutting against inanimate objects would catch their attention.
Arthur could not see Merlin like this. Soon enough he would need to take off that armour and prepare a bath, deal with a naked Prince and be unable to touch. He would never survive the night unless he took some of the desperate edge off his arousal.
He wobbled as he tried to run into the tent. It was not the first time he had ducked beneath the red flaps of the tent to rid himself of an erection before Arthur finished on the field. This tourney alone he had brought pleasure to himself thrice.
without hesitating, he tried to undo his laces with shaking fingers. Outside the crowds made noises of approval, obviously Arthur had pulled off another brilliant move, dazzling the crowd with his finesse with the sword.
Merlin groaned in blissful ecstasy when his hand was finally able to wrap around himself.
He wished he was back in his rooms, where he would take time to pleasure himself. Where he would cup and tease his balls, moving slow like the tide as he thought of Arthur and quietly found a release that left him boneless and pliant. Or that he had some of Gaius’ oils and let his hands slip past the globes of his arse and let his fingers find the area deep within that made Merlin cry out and wish it was someone else’s hand, that perhaps there was the cool press of a ring just outside the ring of muscles where his thumb rested.
This time there was no time to take a long pleasure from the experience. He had barely any time before Arthur would arrive in the tent.
Outside, the crowd jeered at something.
Merlin didn’t bother to wet his palm, but allowed the rough calluses of his hand to stimulate his cock even more so. His forearm moved with a brutal pace. He had already been hard for so long, it took no time until he was shoving his free hand into his mouth to bite off his broken sobs as his release stole over him.
Clinging to the table as his knees buckled, he tried to calm his breathing, not bothering to bring his trousers back up from where they had fallen to his knees.
Outside the crowd was silent, which was odd. They were never silent during the fights. It took his pleasure soaked mind a few moments to realise what the silence must mean.
A cut off groan from right behind him had Merlin spinning around.
The last thing he expected to see was Arthur, his hand shoved unceremoniously down his trousers, sweat slicked hair sticking up from where his gloved hands had ran through it, his chainmail oddly bunched up on his stomach. His hand was not moving.
The two of them stared, neither moving, Arthur still palming the bulge and Merlin hanging soft between his legs.
“Do you need a hand sire?” Merlin asked, his brain to mouth filter no longer working, and perhaps Gaius was right about his death wish.
“Shut up Merlin,” Arthur groaned, but he strutted forward and quickly was bringing his long, thick cock out for Merlin to see. Not one to pass an opportunity, Merlin sank to his knees on the uneven earth, and happily let his Prince guide the cockhead into his mouth.
Sucking him in deep, Merlin hoped that this would become a post-fight ritual. He could certainly get used to it.