Feb. 28th, 2010 12:19 am
maja_li: (Default)
[personal profile] maja_li
Title: Perks, or, Maybe This Is Why Merlin Is Still Such a Skinny Little Arse?
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: hard R
Warnings: gratuitous gay sex (as usual), mild spoilers for 1.10 (The Moment of Truth)
Word Count: ~800
Disclaimer: These versions of Merlin&co. belong the BBC, etc. Not me.
Summary: Arthur can have very poor self-control sometimes.
A/N: Written for this week's [ profile] awdt prompt, Distracted by cake. I like my shiny new fandom…*g*

The city of Camelot, as both Arthur and Merlin knew, was possessed of a great many things that most people in Ealdor would hardly have dreamed existed, let alone dreamed of using. Merlin's little room in Gaius's laboratory—and the equipment in there scarcely needed mentioning—was easily the size of some of the village houses. Any single shelf of the library that Geoffrey let him peruse was probably worth more than the entire village. He had bedding that was more than dirt and straw; a blanket all to himself, and neither threadbare nor much frayed at the edges; food to fill him every day, and meat every fortnight—and that only at a minimum, because Arthur ate well and shared generously.

And of course Merlin had Arthur, as well. All of Arthur's body (when it wasn't being pummeled by fellow knights and foes alike) and all of Arthur's mind (that wasn't occupied with troop rotations and grain stores and impossible taxes) and all of Arthur's heart (all that did not already belong to the stones of Camelot, to the dream of Albion).

So it was against all reason and propriety that—in the face of such abundance—the thing that should occupy Merlin's attention most was his bloody cake.

"Oh my God, that's good," Merlin groaned. After he had swallowed. Because Heaven forbid he should drop a crumb while speaking with his mouth full. "Arthur, how can you just sit there glowering, when this is—"

"I know," Arthur grumped, glowering even harder just to spite his (obscene, filthy, unbelievable) idiot manservant and, perhaps, finally get him to (stop making orgasm noises) shut up. "Will you hurry up, already?" He shifted uncomfortably, trying to surreptitiously adjust his swelling cock beneath the table. Of course, he could have just made his need apparent to his manser—his lov—to Merlin, but that would hardly have been befitting the conduct of a gracious future king.

Besides, Merlin really did enjoy his cake; he would pout if Arthur interrupted him.

Arthur clutched the arms of his chair until his knuckles turned white, forcing down the hungry groan that welled in throat.

And Merlin might decide not to do that thing with his tongue, the one that—oh, look, he was doing it to his fingers right now.

Arthur's control snapped.

"Right, that's it," he growled, muscles coiling beneath his skin. Merlin barely had time to look up, tongue still poking pinkly out from between his lips, fingertips glistening. Then Arthur pounced, knocking over Merlin's chair and dragging Merlin up to p[in him full length against the wall by the fireplace. The heat searing along Arthur's side as he crowded Merlin against the stone was barely noticeable compared to the heat that raced along his nerves and made his cock harden as he finally latched his mouth over Merlin's.

Arthur could still taste the sugar from the cake on Merlin's lips, sweetness lingering inside his mouth in heady contrast to the dark, smooth-velvet taste of Merlin himself. Arthur chased after that sweetness, licking his way into Merlin's mouth as Merlin moaned and melted beneath him. When Arthur was satisfied that he had chased it all down, thorough as one of his hounds at bay—when he was sure that the only taste left in Merlin's mouth was the taste of Arthur and desire—Arthur moved on.

He nibbled along Merlin's jaw line, across the curve of his cheekbone until he found a sticky-sweet patch were Merlin must have wiped his face with a sugary hand, and devoured that, too. And then another, at the juncture of Merlin's neck and shoulder, and along his breastbone, right above his heart, and how in the world had Merlin managed to get sugar under his shirt? Or was it just Merlin that Arthur was tasting now?

But, really, Arthur couldn't have cared less in the end, because he'd just found spot that was both delicious and made Merlin's hips jerk and stutter in desperate pleasure.

Afterwards—and by 'afterwards,' Arthur supposed he really meant 'after the time the finally made it to the bed, took them long enough, hadn't it?'—Arthur flopped on top of Merlin, prodded him with his nose, and groused,

"See why you're not allowed to have cake as often as Gwen is?"

"No, actually, I really don't," Merlin replied, clearly trying to pout but unable to keep the satisfied grin off his face. Arthur tried glowering, despite knowing just how well—or rather, not--that particular strategy worked.

"Because when I let you have cake, you get distracted and ignore me!"

"Ah, but you see, my lord," Merlin grinned, and Arthur was going to thump him for that as soon as he was capable of coordinated movement again, "when I'm distracted by cake…you don't ignore me."

His lips moved, plump and soft and sweet, and somehow, despite everything, there was still a crumb of cake at the corner of his mouth.

Oh, look. Coordinated movement wasn't so hard after all.

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