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They make it to Arthur’s room and relief washes over Merlin, finally starting the routine close to a long day of celebration.
“Merlin, I want to have sex with you.”
Shocked is less than adequate for the look that plastered the brunette's face. Merlin braced himself on the table edge, perhaps something stirred in him to fight back, but quelling his anger he breathed a sigh of acceptance— things were this way in Camelot, and he is not the first nor last manservant to be taken by his prince. Arthur boxed him in between the chairs, the warmth emanating off of him now smothering Merlin as well, and even through the tears welling his eyes he could make out the coral blush and perspiration coating his face.
They both look a mess, Arthur’s in a stupor that Merlin does know the cause of, the prince has learned many things, but when to stop drinking is not one of them. Although he can usually handle his half-wit prince, the urgency of the situation seems to be escalating exponentially.
“Arthur, please don’t”, Merlin isn’t even sure if the words come out. It is perfectly possible he was only saying them in his head, as he is quite unsure of what exactly his body is going through. There is a palpable anxious nausea that spurs whenever Arthur is in trouble, but he does not want to seek distraction in the external sensations afflicting him.
Arthur takes a final step closer to press his body flush to Merlin. The heat radiates into Merlin with an unexpected comfort that abates his trembling, that he now realises may be more to the fault of the draughty chambers than his own panic. Arthur’s hands carry their own weight and burn to them and Merlin is helpless to ignore the slow drag of hands up the back of his tunic.
It sends shivers down his spine and legs despite the further up he goes-- Merlin isn’t quite sure how it even has this effect. Yet, he surrenders himself to the prickling overwhelm of Arthur’s possession. The hands stop to fiddle with the fine hairs matting along the nape of Merlin’s neck, the sudden tug of hair coaxing a gasp out of him.
Arthur moans in response, letting it rumble into the M of “ Merlin , please, I need you to do this for me.” Of course Arthur only makes declarations like it’s another command for Merlin to follow, but he does acknowledge the desperation Arthur must find himself in to bother with the p-word . Gods, why does it have to be him, here, now.
Merlin starts to really consider the part of him that doesn’t want to say no, the part that has been cataloguing to memory the passing aroma of Arthur’s musk or the grain of the calluses on his hands. Perhaps he’s more afraid that his favourite dreams of Arthur will turn into nightmares.
“Arthur, NO, you can’t,” his diaphragm finally allowing the sternness to fill his breath and, to his shock, the outburst is met with a retreat. His hands clam until only the fingertips remain and his head pulls back slightly in a sniffle.
“And I… I won’t… but Merlin there’s nobody else”
“What about the other knights— or for god’s sake the cooks or just-” or basically anyone in Camelot he continues in his head after being cut off.
“I don’t trust them, anyone, like I trust you— Do you trust me?”
The question rings like a bell in Merlin’s head. Because that is all it ever had to be about; yes, he does trust Arthur. Or at least he will risk everything to believe Arthur won’t hurt him.
“I do.”
Suddenly Merlin’s shoulders thud against the wood table and his head quickly follows, now splotchy sight reoriented to the ceiling. Arthur’s face slowly crawls into his lower field of vision and keeps coming closer until he is leaning over to parallel the arch of Merlin’s back.
Merlin releases a pained groan alerting Arthur to the discomfort of his current position (if he was getting fucked, it at least wouldn’t be like this), and attentively, Arthur shoves him forward until his knees bend off the edge.
The wash of relief brings some colour back to Merlin’s face, both from his supported back and the unfavourable position to be penetrated in, meaning he just might be able to enjoy a little of this. Sure, the impending fate that Arthur is going to take him is still pulsing through his ears, but he can’t say the foreplay isn’t doing something for him.
Arthur then mounted himself onto the table and widened his hips to accommodate resting them over Merlin’s stomach, knees jutting gently into his armpits as Arthur began to irresistibly pick up a rhythm. From this angle the sweat coated locks that pepper his forehead and those sweet blue pupils had a delicacy to them he never really let himself dwell on before.
Anyone with working eyes in Camelot can tell you Prince Arthur is attractive, and that was nothing but confirmed when seeing the bloke in the flesh. Yet it was always a more elegant beauty, the kind you’d admire in a museum. Merlin never let himself think about what the sporty blush might look like a little further down or what Arthur does to his sheets between changes.
However, soaking in the weight on his chest and scent so close, the little moments he remembers looking at Arthur and smiling, all begin to paint with a new intimacy.
Arthur begins to strip his tunic and lowers his waistband to his knees.
“Wow, getting undressed all by yourself,” Merlin couldn’t resist the quip, and Arthur casts him a leer before diving in to crash their lips together. Clearly the most effective way to shut him up.
The shift in Arthur’s torso slides his hips further down Merlin’s body, grinding the lush crack of his bare ass along the bulge tenting Merlin’s trousers.
Merlin throws his head back and welcomes the dizzying thud. He’s kissed before, but never like this; Arthur is biting hard and breathing him in like oxygen, he does his best to reciprocate, but ends up doing nothing more than moaning into the blonde’s mouth.
His cock gets harder and Arthur has no difficulty digging it out of his trousers. Arthur’s hand is cold and rough against his sensitive skin, but it’s still Arthur’s hand and he savours every brush of skin. Arthur tightens his grip to work Merlin properly and smiles against his lips as the brunette’s moans get louder.
Merlin is stiff and fleshy, but as Arthur strokes him he gets rock hard and wet. Not wet enough for Merlin to penetrate Arthur, but clearly he disagrees as he lowers his hips to line his opening up to Merlin’s tip. Arthur gets the tip in before groaning in pain, but stays down nonetheless. He tenses, anal ring digging into the skin between Merlin’s head and shaft in a way that’s driving him crazy. Arousal shudders through his body and he can't help but roll his hips.
Arthur’s hand reaches behind him to guide himself deeper, and his eyes roll back as Merlin fills him. He squeezes around Merlin, this time intentionally, and revels in the way Merlin screams his name. It’s just as perfect as he imagined, and dear god he has imagined.
If Arthur was sober he probably wouldn’t have it in him to do this. Ever since the first time Merlin dressed him he imagined how those hands would feel against his body for more than a moment. There’s not much he could do to hide his interest, but Merlin never mentioned it, and he was helpless to assume Merlin simply didn’t want to see him in that way.
But now, with those big brown eyes, almost black with his blown pupils, glued to him and the way he bites his tongue on Arthur’s name there’s nothing he could do to deny his interest. If Merlin had as much shame as Arthur, he’d never live down the noises that escape his mouth.
Arthur works into a rhythm rolling his ass and Merlin just closes his eyes to keep himself from cumming because he doesn’t want it to be over yet. He doesn’t know what’ll happen after this moment, and he wishes he could just pause it here and let this be their destiny.
He doesn’t need to see Arthur to know how gorgeous those porcelain thighs are wrapped around him and blue eyes peering through sweaty blonde strands. Just thinking about it sends arousal through him in waves, and before it’s all too much he opens his eyes just to savour the sight of Arthur rock hard and riding him.
“Arthur, I’m, please, I’m gonna…” he doesn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, but they both know how it ends. Merlin cums inside him in hot bursts and Arthur just rides him through it going deeper with the lubrication. He finds a spot that shoots pleasure and he can’t help but try to recreate it, making him scream and Merlin’s eyes dart open, but soon enough he’s painting both their stomachs in warm semen and resigns to flopping onto Merlin.
Merlin coughs from the weight and his empty lungs bring back the dizziness from his orgasm. Merlin thinks he might just die like this until Arthur props his body up and slides off of Merlin. He thinks Arthur might walk away, but he just rolls over to lie on the table next to him.
They stay there for a while not saying anything, just soaking in the moment. After enough time to drive him crazy Merlin looks over and finds Arthur with his eyes closed. He pokes him, and of course the prat fell asleep leaving Merlin to clean up.
Merlin carefully, as he can, uses his magic to wash them both up and lift Arthur into his bed. He wonders what it would be like to wake up with Arthur, but he didn’t bed him, did he. He snuffs out the candles and gently closes the door with a cold gust of wind.