aleathiel: (Arthur smirk openskiles)
[personal profile] aleathiel
I absolutely did not intend to break my writing hiatus with something like this. I had a resolution and it was about posting a deep, plotty, meaningful fic. And then [livejournal.com profile] lizardspots posted this and wanted fic. And what can I say, I am weak.

So, consider this to be an abberation. It's short, unbetad and totally without shame, and does not in any way consitute my return after the hiatus. Really.



“It’s not fair,” Arthur grumbles as they clattered through the door to his chamber, Arthur’s arm wrapped around Merlin’s shoulder as his manservant tries, far from gracefully, to guide him into the room. When Merlin releases him, Arthur slumps down into his chair.

“What’s not fair?” Merlin asks, and because he’s had a fair bit to drink too, he sits down in the other chair, resting his elbow on the table.

“They’re always so pretty,” Arthur complains. “And they touch and they flirt.”

“The noblewomen?” Merlin asks. They’ve just come from a feast with a delegation from Brittany.

“Yeah,” Arthur groans, tipping his head back against the chair. “And the men. It drives me mad.”

Unconsciously, Merlin drops his eyes to Arthur’s lap and it’s possible, although with all the folds of fabric and the way his jacket drapes he can’t quite tell, that Arthur is hard.

Arthur’s eyes are almost closed now, but he’s still looking at Merlin from under their lids. “Why don’t you, uh, do something?” Merlin asks, and he thinks he sounds stupid as soon as he says it. What does he know about this kind of thing?

Arthur shrugs. “Diplomatic mess. Can’t get involved. Have to make sure there’s no illegitimate children too, although I guess that’s not such a problem with the men.”

It’s really hot in Arthur’s room, Merlin thinks, although he hasn’t fed the fire for hours. He can feel himself going red just thinking about Arthur’s words.

Arthur groans again, and rubs the heel of his hand across his groin. “All the restraint drives me mad,” he says, hardly louder than a whisper.

“Okay,” Merlin says, because really there’s only so much a manservant should have to take. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Arthur is pliant in his arms when Merlin pulls him up, and he runs a finger along Merlin’s jaw as Merlin tries to move him across the room. Merlin tries to ignore him.

“See how hard it is?” Arthur breathes in his ear, and his broad hand is warm on Merlin’s hip. Merlin thinks he means difficult as Arthur’s thumb begins to rub warm circles just under the edge of his shirt, but Arthur is pressed up against him and yes, yes, it is hard too.

“Arthur,” he murmurs, half in admonishment, half in desire.

“I’m so…” Arthur whispers, his voice so low Merlin can more feel the air against his cheek than hear the words. “You are too.” It’s surprise tinged with satisfaction.

Then Arthur’s fingers are pressed against Merlin’s burgeoning erection, almost inquisitive. His fingertips seem blunt and firm through the wool of Merlin’s breeches and Merlin can’t stop the hiss of breath that escapes.

Arthur laughs, warm and delighted, and his hand curls to cup Merlin more firmly. Merlin’s fingers are digging into Arthur’s upper arms now, grasping at his jacket.

“Yes?” Arthur asks the skin under Merlin’s ear, pushing Merlin back against the table with his thighs.

Merlin tries to answer, but it’s something of an inarticulate gurgle. Arthur’s hand is still on his crotch and he feels as though every nerve in his body is focused towards it, straining for the touch. He wants to tell Arthur yes, of course yes. But he doesn’t even know what it is he’s saying yes to. More, more would be good.

Arthur’s fingers are plucking at the laces of his trousers and his breathing has deepened. He’s lost the tired unsteadiness that the drink had brought and looks determined. “Let me see you,” he says, as if Merlin were making any move to stop him.

Merlin spreads his legs, scrambling backwards up onto the table. Arthur follows closely, pressing into the space between his thighs. Merlin’s hand is shaking so he grips tighter into the shoulder of Arthur’s jacket.

Arthur parts the flies of Merlin’s breeches with something approaching reverence and Merlin thinks he might not be able to breathe he’s so tense: hot and nervous and wanting. Arthur exhales slowly, then brushes his fingers up the length of Merlin’s cock where it lies fat against his stomach. Merlin swallows hard and glances up at Arthur’s face. Arthur is staring at his hand, the tanned fingers against Merlin’s white hips, the flushed red head of his penis.

“Arthur,” Merlin complains, and without meaning to he’s lifted his hips, pushed himself against Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s laugh is a huff of air and he tugs on Merlin’s breeches, bringing them down across his thighs, and then he’s spread one warm hand across Merlin’s hip, fingertips gripping across the bone, his thumb extended into the wiry hair at the juncture of Merlin’s thighs. He wraps his other hand around Merlin’s erection and Merlin can’t help but moan and press upwards again, tipping his head back but keeping his eyes on Arthur’s hand.

There’s no moisture left in his mouth and he’s gasping for air. Arthur’s fingers move slowly, shifting the skin back and forth, stroking amazing sensations through Merlin’s body. It’s slow, careful, and completely unlike the rough fast strokes Merlin uses to bring himself off. He feels like there’s fire shimmering under his skin, racing around his body.

“Can I?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, reaching to Arthur’s crotch, pressed up against the back of Arthur’s hand. “Let me?”

Arthur nods his assent and moves back just enough to let Merlin’s hand in to untie the laces. There are too many fingers, too much cloth, but then he gets skin under his hands and pushes Arthur’s breeches down over his arse. Arthur moans and presses closer, the wet head of his cock grazing against Merlin’s wrist and leaving a trail of moisture. Merlin rubs his thumb against the head, experimentally, and Arthur’s eyes close as he presses forward. Merlin wraps his fingers around him, until his hands are on Arthur the way Arthur’s are on him. The angle is odd, and his wrist is bent, but Arthur is hot and heavy in his hand and Merlin can feel the each movement of the skin, the hard core underneath.

He can’t stop staring down at them, the awkward, tentative movements of their hands against each other. Arthur’s breath is hot against his face, his eyes closed as his hips quiver under Merlin’s touch. Merlin rubs his thumb across the head again, not really knowing what to do, and Arthur’s breathing stutters.

“Here,” he says, pushing Merlin’s hands away. “Let me.” And then he’s pressing in closer, pushing his cock against Merlin’s and wrapping his hand around them both. Merlin gasps, clutches again at Arthur’s arm, thrusting forward and jamming his erection hard into Arthur’s hand. Arthur’s moan is truncated, harsh. He curses under his breath.

Merlin wraps his calf around Arthur’s, drawing him closer still until Arthur’s leaning over him, braced with one hand on the table, other hot between them. Merlin looks down at Arthur’s fingers, at the amazing sight of Arthur’s cock, fat and hard against his. They’re both leaking now, and Merlin can feel the wetness of Arthur’s precome against the side of his shaft as Arthur’s thumb smoothes it over them. Arthur’s balls are pressed against his and then, when Arthur shifts, thrusting forwards, they slide in and nestle at the base of Merlin’s cock. Merlin spreads his legs further, wanting Arthur closer, wanting to climb inside his skin. He tangles his fingers in Arthur’s hair, pulling tight, feeling Arthur’s wet, needy gasps against his cheek.

They’ve almost established a rhythm now, a stuttery, needy rhythm of Arthur’s hand and both their hips, pressed urgently close in excitement. Merlin’s still staring at where they meet, the warm curve of Arthur’s bare hip just where it becomes thigh, the golden-brown hair that tangles around the base of his cock, the deep red of the head against his, glistening, and Arthur’s strong fingers, stroking, coaxing. There’s a snake of pleasure curling inside him, roiling with need at each movement and he can feel it uncurling slowly, deliciously. He glances up at Arthur’s face. Arthur’s eyes are closed, his lips parted to take harsh breaths, his forehead pressed against Merlin’s as expressions of need that look almost like pain flutter across his face.

When Merlin kisses him, it’s an open wet press of lips. Arthur responds with a gasping cry, pressing open mouthed kisses back, uncontrolled and without precision. When their mouths finally slide properly together, Arthur’s fingers tighten on Merlin’s cock, Arthur’s cock sliding hot against his, Arthur’s tongue urgent in Merlin’s mouth. The kiss becomes filthy, and they are groaning into each other’s mouths, pressing to be closer, grasping and biting and then Arthur shudders under Merlin’s hands and stills, his mouth still wide open and pressed to Merlin’s. Merlin opens his eyes and watches up close as the muscles in Arthur’s face tighten, feels the way his cock is suddenly steel against Merlin’s for a moment and then he’s gasping for air against Merlin’s temple and Merlin looks down to see him pulse strings of seed across his hand, Merlin’s cock and Merlin’s belly. The need is uncoiled and burning inside Merlin now and he’s moving his hips desperately, unconsciously, rutting up into Arthur’s hand, against his spent cock, chasing his own urgent release. Arthur’s fingers, now slick, slide against him even while Arthur is catching his breath, fast and tight, pressing just below the head, and it almost hurts for a moment, a lingering aching moment, before all Merlin’s thoughts rush out through his cock.

For a few moments he can’t think at all, he just holds on to Arthur as his anchor to earth. Then, as the blinding pleasure sinks back into his skin and he become aware of the hard table under his arse, feels the almost-too-much brush of Arthur’s fingers against his sensitive skin. Arthur’s still pressed close to him, but now he’s staring at Merlin’s face in something akin to awe.

Merlin smiles, breathlessly. Arthur grins back. “Well,” he says, with satisfaction. And Merlin can’t help laughing he looks so pleased with himself.

“We’ve made a mess,” Merlin says, looking down at Arthur’s hand resting against his stomach, Arthur’s now limp cock, nestled against his hip, still trailing moisture.

Arthur lifts his hand to his lips, keeping his eyes on Merlin’s, and licks at his fingers. Merlin feels all the breath go out of his lungs at once.

Arthur grins again, wicked, and offers his hand to Merlin. His fingers slide warm into Merlin’s mouth and they taste musty, like inside Merlin’s mouth when he first wakes in the morning. It isn’t unpleasant, exactly, and the way Arthur’s looking at his mouth makes him want to suck the fingers in deeper.

“Well,” Arthur says again, hoarsely, when he’s pulled his hand free. “I…”

And Merlin uses the hand still wrapped around Arthur’s neck to pull him close for a kiss. Arthur succumbs willingly, mouth opening against Merlin’s. It’s softer than before, more exploratory and now that it’s less urgent they have less difficulty breathing. Arthur’s hand moves to wrap around Merlin’s hip, his wet fingers cold against Merlin’s skin, the fingers of his other hand, braced on the table, edging against Merlin’s arm.

Merlin opens his mouth wider, feels Arthur’s grunt of pleasure as he presses closer still. He feels warm and delicious, his limbs are malleable, melted to Arthur with afterglow of desire. He feels the drag of Arthur’s penis against his stomach as he leans further forward over Merlin. When they part, Arthur presses warm kisses across Merlin’s jaw. His thumb is rubbing circles through the mess on Merlin’s stomach.

“We should probably take our clothes off before they get any dirtier,” he murmurs in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin lifts his head, looks down at the stains in the hem of his shirt, the splatter on Arthur’s favourite red jacket. Then he hears Arthur’s words properly and he stops worrying about the laundry.
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aleathiel

May 2011

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