Challenge Three: Trades & Professions - Anonymous (2024)

Chapter 1: Group A (warnings)

Chapter Text

1.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin/Morgana, brief mentions of various others
Warning(s): teenagers having sex, mild incest (siblings having sex with the same person at the same time)

Merlin was sixteen the year he became a counselor at Camp Mesofin, after eight summers of being a participant. He knew the woods, the waterways, the secret island that only peeked out during the driest stretch of summer better than anyone else—even better than Kilgharrah, who’d started the camp forty years prior and still hung around to tell spooky stories by the campfire. His tall tales had led to more than one night-terror-induced bedwetting incident.

Merlin was an explorer, an adventurer—curious and smart and pretty damn sneaky. So how did he never know what the counselors got up to?

Gwaine and El, and sometimes Percy, went door-blasting most nights, bursting sh*tfaced into all the cabins to try to catch people f*cking. Elena and Vivan (Elena’s Hitachi Magic Wand) would not be dissuaded, and eventually she just started inviting them over every time she wanted to f*ck herself. At that point, the door-blasting almost ceased entirely.

Merlin went out night-swimming with Gwen and came back to find Lance scrubbing what smelled like bleach into Merlin’s formerly green sleeping bag. Mithian was leaning halfway out the window laughing hysterically, her white dress stained a reddish-brown color that had Merlin feeling woozy.

“You’re a bleeder!” Gwen said much too loudly, which only made Mithian laugh harder, sliding down the cabin wall and landing in a crumpled little ball on the floor. Lance’s face went so white he looked like he might vomit.

“She didn’t tell me she was a virgin, too,” he said apologetically, his hand stilling over Merlin’s ruined sleeping bag.

The long-accepted story was that Gilli and Freya had been dating since they were ten years old and hadn’t done more than hold hands. But then one day Merlin walked in on them stripped down to the pubes and jacking off in front of each other, and he decided their tale was a bit misleading.

The last week of summer, Merlin became aware of a bet between the Pendragon twins, who weren’t actually twins (they didn’t even have the same mother).

“They’ve got money on which of them will f*ck you before we go home,” Will said around a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Did you throw in on that?” Merlin asked, flicking his fingers through his wet hair and splattering water droplets onto Will’s face.

“Not yet. Got an inside tip?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He pulled a black T-shirt over his head and glanced in the mirror. “Double down on both.”

It happened on the island—a fleeting locale for a fleeting encounter.

Morgana showed up first, hopped out of her canoe and secured it onshore before Merlin thought to help her. She looked delicious in her dreamsicle bikini, orange and white stripes stretching tight across her tit*. Her legs were wet, and Merlin reached out and smoothed his hands over the bumpy flesh in an attempt to warm her.

Morgana’s giant sunglasses bumped against Merlin’s nose as she leaned in to kiss him. It was surprisingly soft for a girl of Morgana’s purported appetite—sweet, even. It made Merlin feel fluttery and lightheaded, and Morgana pushed him gently to the ground.

Merlin was just about to give up on Arthur, had gone to rummage a condom out of his pocket, when the loud rumbling of a jet ski made him look up. Arthur was just a streak of yellow for a moment, and then he was right up against Merlin, his bare chest warm and wet against Merlin’s, his kiss intense.

Arthur didn’t waste time with caressing. In the middle of their first kiss, he stripped out of his swim shorts and lined up his rigid prick with Merlin’s. Morgana’s breasts pressed against Merlin’s back and her hand sneaked down his front, fingers deftly slipping on a condom.

“Shall we?” she said, and Merlin broke his kiss with Arthur to respond. Arthur was faster, maneuvering Merlin into the sand and straddling his shoulders. Merlin could only see the wide spread of Arthur’s legs as he felt Morgana sink down on his prick. His lips parted on a gasp, and Arthur took the opportunity to dip his lovely co*ck inside.

“Are you coming back next summer?” Gwen said, her arms tight around Merlin’s shoulders.

The Pendragon twins shot him what could only be described as a lascivious look before they hopped inside their father’s truck.

“Are you kidding?” he said, petting his hand over Gwen’s hair. “Kilgharrah is going to have to hand over the keys. I’m a lifer.”

2.

Pairing(s): Gwen/Lamia
Warning(s): Mentions of a Canonical Character Death (of a minor character)

The low tingle of Gwen's org*sm, buzzing underneath her skin, drifted away.

She laid back on the futon with ochre, shapely legs crooked to part, her fingers thoughtfully petting soaked, dark curls of her pubic hair. From her sprawling position, Gwen caught Lamia eyeing her across the bedroom, gnawing on her lip but otherwise saying nothing.

Nothing seemed easy when her girlfriend was more interested in her pets than Gwen.

Even if they were rather impressive pets: a five foot red-tail boa snug round Lamia's neck and bare shoulders, with the rest of its body curled around her right arm; a three foot green tree python circled to Lamia's forearm and left hand, and drawn close to her body.

“Do you love your Mummy, Gorgon?” The naked woman hummed to the vibrantly colored python. Her kiss-puffy lips smirking as Lamia cooed, “Ooh? Do you and Ladon love Mummy?”

“Mummy should come back to bed,” Gwen spoke up, voice edging raspy, hazy desire.

The other woman frowned, pensively eyeing her once more.

“I'd have to shower… ”

For sanitary reasons Gwen understood, but still a noisy, amused laugh flew from her lips.

“Surely I can occupy myself until then,” she replied, sending a flushing Lamia a coquettish smile before pushing two of her fingers inside herself and moaning breathy. The stretch hardly registered, not after Lamia's earlier preparation and hot slide of her tongue.

Guinevere Regina had been only fifteen when her beliefs of security crumbled.

During their travels in Central America, her father and Elyan discovered a nest of pit adders. Tom died from the venom reaching his heart. She had been sure Elyan would die too.

But the local encampment, where Gwen found herself quivering in shock and grief, discovered the fastest route to the hospital.

Lucky for Elyan, the doctors kept a stock of the anti-venom.

One of the volunteers who often came by the hospital room had been a young woman. A long, thin face, shock of clear-water blue eyes, and perhaps eighteen years old. Judging by how translucently pale she was, Gwen supposed her job had been an interior one.

She wasn't wrong.

Lamia had been in-training as a snake-milker, or “venom-extractor” as the professionals deemed it. One of the most dangerous occupations on the planet and it saved Elyan's life.

It took nothing at all for her to offer Lamia a cup of overly sugared hospital coffee and sit with her in private, growing fond of her soft-spoken nature and mystery.

As much as the serpentarium unnerved her, Gwen fought the London traffic and braved security.

Leon winked as she approached quickly passing him off a hearty roast beef sandwich.

Gwen's watch read two after noon, around the time Lamia washed up for a lunch break. She located her girlfriend turning down the fluorescent lit corridor, shedding her lab coat.

Lamia's eyes went round.

“What on earth are you doi—?”

Gwen yanked her into a dark, unused room. At their presence, the sensitive lights dimmed on, halogen-white and glowing dusky.

“Sorry, I brought you leftovers,” Gwen murmured, beaming.

As she presented the crinkled brown-bag, Lamia pursed her lips, feigning annoyance but Gwen knew that pout. She knew how much coaxing it took to open Lamia's mouth against hers, tasting heat and saliva and cinnamon toothpaste, as her tiny frame crowded Gwen's.

Hands dragged over Lamia's plain cotton blouse, tugging it from her trouser hem.

A stifled groan—or was it a laugh—reverberated as cool fingertips etched Lamia's ticklish sides.

“Think you like getting me into trouble,” came a whisper so low Gwen had to strain to hear.

She grinned, unable to deny it considering the situation, leaning in to kiss Lamia's jaw. Taking a deep breath of the faintest scent of ammonia and lemon-cleaner.

The reminder of how forbidden this was with cameras everywhere, or maybe Leon on-duty peeking on Gwen fondling Lamia's clothed breasts, was sort of brilliant.

“It's entirely possible.”

A flash of arousal stole up Gwen's body, already pulsing damp to her silk underwear, as she felt Lamia's teeth and mouth sucking on her neck. She bit down on Gwen's reddening flesh, enough for it to hurt. Gwen's knees could have given under her weight.

If not for the empty, stainless steel table they bumped into, and Gwen scooting herself atop.

Lamia's tongue could truly be an addictive, wicked creature.

3.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): Horrendously bad puns.

“Come on, use your huge baton properly! Hit me harder!”

Arthur groans and stills. His forehead is damp and Merlin reaches up and wipes it off with his fingers. Arthur’s arms on either side of Merlin’s head are shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and Merlin grins.

“Merlin...”

“Yes?”

“Please do not use bad euphemisms while we f*ck.”

“What are you going to do about it? Arrest me? Cuff me around the head?”

Arthur’s face grows redder with every joke. It makes Merlin giggle. He runs a hand through the blond hair as some sort of an apology.

“Really, Arthur,” he says and wriggles a little, because he really, really needs Arthur to start moving again, “You did vow to serve the people, which is me, you know. So chop chop! Get to it!”

“I’ll f*cking show you ‘serve’,” Arthur mumbles and withdraws only to roughly thrust back in.

It hits just the right spot and Merlin can’t help to let out a low moan.

“Enough for you, Merls?”

“No, please, officer... I won’t hold it against you if you do worse.”

“God, Merlin, I will get you back for this.”

“It’s fine. Just let me steal a kiss before you do.”

Arthur lets out a dry chuckle and goes back to f*cking Merlin in earnest. It gets increasingly more difficult to think of euphemisms and jokes that fit when it feels like your brains are being f*cked out of your ears.

“Just shoot me!” Merlin gasps as he feels Arthur’s thrusts getting shorter and hears his breath hitching like it always does before he comes. Okay, so that one was a bit contrived, but...

“Merl–” Arthur begins, but ends with a loud groan as he does shoot his load in Merlin’s arse.

Breathing heavily, he pulls out and slumps down onto Merlin’s chest.

“Ouff! Er, Ar– Arthur, geroff! You’re f*cking crushing me!”

It takes him a few moments, but eventually, Arthur does roll off and huffs.

“You’ve got only yourself to blame.”

Merlin reaches down and starts stroking his own co*ck. “Mm, how come?”

Arthur turns his head towards Merlin, but makes no effort to help get him off. “You’ve turned me into a pile of dough with all your stupid cakes.”

“Is this the revenge?” Merlin says and bites his lips as he can feel his org*sm building.

“I just want so squeeze those nice buns of yours, Merlin.”

“That is so bad. Put some f*cking effort into it, Arthur.”

“Shut up. This is me trying to be funny after org*sm. That’s no cakewalk.”

Merlin groans and strips his co*ck faster. “Mine were much better!”

Arthur turns towards him with his entire body. He leans in and whispers into Merlin’s ear, “Come on, baker boy. I’m in the mood for some of your frosting.”

The sound that escapes Merlin’s mouth as he comes is a mix between a snort, a giggle and a moan. Merlin’s stomach gets all warm and sticky as he empties on it, but instead of getting up and cleaning himself off, he just closes his eyes and breathes for a few minutes to calm himself.

When he opens his eyes again, Arthur is slowly dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach and then licks it clean. He does it again and again, making obscene slurping sounds just be a tease. It somewhat successful, since Merlin really can’t tear his eyes off him before swallowing thickly and dragging him down for a rough kiss.

“So you don’t like the police jokes?” he says when they break apart.

Arthur smirks against his mouth. “Well, I guess it is better than solo ‘masterbaking’.”

4.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): references to drug use

Arthur was tired. He was burnout from school and internships and all he wanted to do was sleep for five years. Voicing this to Gwaine, of course, elicited the usual response of, "Go see Merlin."

Merlin was Gwaine's "super sexy" drug dealer. Arthur wasn't really into drugs but, deciding that he deserved something special, he got Merlin's location from Gwaine with the intention of buying weed and nothing else. Even with Gwaine telling him Merlin's E was "magical."

~*~

Arthur looked down at the address Gwaine had written for him. He was in the right spot but he was pretty sure he was alone . Well this is seedy and suspicious. Arthur thought to himself and snorted. I mean I guess I am meeting a drug dealer.

"Need something?" Arthur jumped at the voice behind him and turned around.

"Woah. Where did you come from?" The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and damn he was indeed attractive. He was lithe and tall with black hair. Arthur noticed sleeves of dragon tattoos up both of his arms and rune tattoos peaking out from under the (fairly tiny) vest he was wearing as a shirt. Gwaine was right.This is bad.

The man just laughed and crossed his arms, assessing Arthur. He exuded self-confidence. This is really bad.

"So what do you want? Adderall? Speed? You look pretty tired." Merlin, Arthur assumed, walked towards the back of the alley where a large briefcase with a prominent lock rested on a table. Arthur followed and watched Merlin put in what seemed like twenty numbers to open the lock.

"You're not a cop are you?" Merlin winked and smirked like he knew it wasn't true. Arthur got a little flustered and huffed. He could be a cop, he was fit enough.

"I just want some weed. The good stuff." Arthur had tried to sound stern but his eyes had rested a little too long on Merlin's pink plush lips so he knew it didn't come out that way.

"Ahhh I see. A little done with the real world?" Merlin opened the briefcase and reached for a tiny baggy.
"Trust me, sweetheart, you want this. It's the finest E in the world. I make it myself." Merlin pushed it into Arthur's hand and closed his briefcase with a snap.

"I don't normally hand it out for free but," Merlin shrugged, "why not?"

"I bet you do this to all your clients, huh? Try to reel them in with your tight clothes and free drugs in hopes if getting them addicted." Arthur huffed. "You drug dealers are all the same."

Merlin lit a cigarette, not seeming at all fazed by Arthur. "If you don't want it, give it back." He took a drag and held out his hand for the baggy.

Arthur glared a little but sighed. He really was done with the real world. He needed an escape and Merlin was offering it to him.

"Fine. I'll try it but don't expect me to like it. I probably won't be back." Arthur crossed his arms and pointed his nose in the air. Merlin laughed.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Posh." Merlin stamped out his cigarette with his black spiky boot.

"You know....making E isn't the only thing I'm good at." Merlin looked up at Arthur through his eyelashes.
"I'm sure it isn't, not with a mouth like that." Arthur said before he realized. He was never this forward, it wasn't polite. Merlin's confidence must have rubbed off on him.

Merlin sauntered forward and fell to his knees with a smirk. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Here?!" Anyone could see them in the alleyway but, for some reason, that didn't really bother Arthur as much as he felt it should. Especially when Merlin began to undo his pants.

Merlin slid a condom on his co*ck and Arthur let out a deep groan. When Merlin took him all in his mouth like a champ, Arthur knew it would be over much too quickly. The sight of Merlin's lips stretched around him and Merlin's tongue swirling around the head of his co*ck was too much.

"f*ck..." Arthur groaned. Merlin's mouth was magical. He ran a hand through Merlin's hair and grasped. Merlin moaned in response, vibrating Arthur's co*ck, and it was over. Merlin clutched Arthur's ass as he came in the condom and Arthur let out a stream of obscenities.

"Wow." Arthur cleared his throat, a little embarrassed that he had just be blown in an alley. Merlin removed the condom, zipped Arthur's pants, and stood up, his face red and his mouth swollen. Arthur thought he was even more attractive like this. Merlin reached into his pocket and produced a business card.

"Call me." Merlin winked and grabbed his briefcase.

"I, um, sure will. See you later then." Arthur awkwardly went to leave the alley.

"I hope life gets better for you, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur turned back around to find the alley empty and was left with a funny feeling. It suddenly felt like he had actually met Merlin before.

It was on the way home that he realized he had never actually told Merlin his name.

5.

Pairing(s): Gwen-centric, with Gwen/Lance, Gwen/Merlin, Gwen/everyone, knights!orgy
Warning(s): No mandatory warnings apply

Gwen builds Merlin first. Her subconscious guides her, pulling pieces from the ship and connecting them, transforming them, until they take on the shape of a man, tall and gangly.

His hair grows overnight and the eyes change from brown to blue as she watches.

He grins at her when he's finished, excited and happy, like one of the friendly dogs she remembers from long ago. She can't decide if they're a dream or a memory.

"You even got the ears right," he tells her, wiggling the ears. Gwen can't remember making them, but she must have, because no one else could have.

-

The planet is green and wild, rich with growth, and the air is heavy, fresh and untainted. Gwen travels the planet in a day, discovers forests and lakes, mountains and caves, all from the safety of her ship.

She reaches the castle and finds home.

-

Her fingers are lean and strong, the fingers of an inventor or an engineer, not the fingers of an artist.

But somewhere deep in her soul, she must be an artist, because Lance is perfect. His eyes are deep and soulful, his skin soft and supple, and when he curls around her, Gwen can forget that he's an android.

His skin burns with inner heat, but Gwen doesn't remember designing Lance to emit or transfer heat. She doesn't have the necessary materials, so she'd settled for a mix of thin-film and nanobites. It puzzles her, when warms her up, but she forgets to worry when he slides inside her, lips pressing warm kisses to her breast.

He grows unsettled, eventually; stares into the night sky with a longing so intense she rebuilds one of the small ships for him.

"I am sorry, my lady," he says, kneeling before her, one hand clasping hers. He calls her that when he doesn't call her Guinevere. "I shall return, one day."

-

The castle is white and majestic, echoing with laughter Gwen hears only in the distance. She never finds the source, sees no ghosts and feels no wind to cause the laughter.

-

Merlin pines, lonely with only her, and begs for a companion. Gwen fashions together a dragon for him. It breathes fire and it takes Merlin saying something, in a language she can't identify, for it to stop.

-

She wakes sweating and breathless, a name on her lips, fingers between her thighs

-

Gwen builds multiple figures next, letting Merlin name them - Percival and Gwaine and Leon. She creates one in the shape of her brother, squirms at the unified approval of his name.

She deliberately used different material for their skin and knows they cannot feel anything, but she forgets it when she finds Merlin and Gwaine pressed together.

They laugh together, love together, cause mischief and mayhem, but something is missing.

-

"My hair is too long," Arthur says, scowling at his reflection. He flicks a golden strand away from his eyes. "I will require Merlin to cut it right away."

When Gwen doesn't move, he shoots her a glare that softens within seconds. "You did your best, I understand. Please don't feel like I hold you accountable for the mistake that is my hair."

He stalks off then, calling for Merlin, his voice echoing through the halls.

-

Laughter no longer haunts the castle, but one voice keeps beckoning her. Night after night, Gwen wakes up with her fingers deep inside her body, searching for a spot that she can't quite reach. "Gwen," that voice whispers, a breeze against her body, making her nipples tighten and her puss* clench, and she comes with a name on her lips. It makes her tremble and ache, and she f*cks herself again and again, desperate to remember.

-

Gwen tears apart the ship for the remaining pieces, enough to build one last creation. She can't leave now, but she was never going to. She works night and day, precise and organized, ignoring the food Merlin brings and the way he and Arthur kiss right outside her door.

Gwen is an inventor, an engineer, thriving on flaws and imperfections, but she can't risk it this time. She refuses to think beyond the next step to steady the tremor in her hands.

-

"You really do need to get a grip on those boys," are the first words her final creation says. "Really, I can hear them f*cking in here."

Gwen stares helplessly, before a laugh escapes her, the first true laugh in years. "Morgana!"

6.

Pairing: Gwen/Morgana
Warnings>: none

Gwen hates shopping. She doesn’t hate clothes, she likes to look good, but god, shopping. The noise, and the people and the endless racks of ugliness she has to dig through to find something she likes.

“I’m looking for something for my graduation,” she explains to the sales assistant, who is tall and gorgeous enough to make Gwen feel a little frumpy. “Something semi-formal, long enough not to horrify my father but still cute.”

The girls laughs.

“I have a few ideas,” she says in a lilting voice that Gwen instantly adores. She plucks a few dresses off the rack while Gwen trails after her, and then leads her to the change rooms.

The first one is nice - floral, just above the knee, and unobtrusive. Gwen would rather just buy it and be done, but the girl urges her to try the next one, with a little smile of encouragement that Gwen can’t resist.

The next one is totally inappropriate - red, low-cut and fitted. Gwen steps out of the stall feeling self-conscious, smoothing the dress over her body, unable to quite look the girl in the eye.

“Gorgeous,” the girl says, and Gwen looks up, her stomach fluttering.

“It’s a bit …” she says, turning to look at herself in the mirror. The girl comes up behind her.

“Perfect?” she suggests, and rests her hands lightly on Gwen’s waist. Gwen flushes and bites her lip. The girl smirks over her shoulder.

“It accentuates your waist beautifully,” the girl goes on, “and makes your hips look incredibly sexy.” She skims her hands down Gwen’s sides until they come to rest on her hips. She’s close enough that Gwen can feel her breath on the back of her neck. She looks at the two of them in the mirror, the girl’s pale hands in stark contrast to the red of the dress.

Gwen turns. Up close, the girl’s eyes are a clear, beautiful green.

“You think so?” she asks. The girl smiles, and pushes Gwen back into the stall, following her in this time and locking the door.

She spins Gwen around so she’s facing the mirror again, and this time she presses right up behind her. Gwen can feel herself starting to get wet, her cl*t tingling, as the girl’s hands come up to cup her breasts.

“You look f*cking amazing,” she says, this time the words murmured in Gwen’s ear. Gwen shivers and presses back against her. The girl skims her hands over the fabric, rubbing back and forth across Gwen’s nipples.

Gwen whimpers.

The girl kisses her neck lightly, leaving red lipstick marks on Gwen’s skin. At the next pass, she dips her hand inside the dress, taking Gwen’s nipple between her fingers and rubbing gently.

They look so good together in the mirror, and Gwen can’t help but turn her head, fumbling a kiss onto the girl’s lips. The girl’s hand on her breast tightens as she kisses back, immediately opening her mouth to Gwen’s and stroking across her lips with her tongue.

Before Gwen knows what’s happening, she hikes Gwen’s dress up to her waist and slides her hand into Gwen’s underwear. She dips her middle finger between Gwen’s lips; Gwen’s embarrassingly wet already, and the girl drags her wet finger up to Gwen’s cl*t.

She’s panting into the girl’s mouth before long, as the girl’s fingers work a steady, perfect rhythm and she’s going to -

“I’m gonna come,” she mumbles into the girl’s cheek, “just a little harder, just like - ”

The girl speeds up her fingers, reaching up with her other hand to play with Gwen’s nipples again and Gwen comes, breathing wetly into the girl’s neck.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Neither can I,” the girl says. She slides her hand out of Gwen’s underwear and, catching Gwen’s eye in the mirror, slowly brings them up to her mouth. Gwen groans and turns to kiss her again, tasting traces of herself on the girl’s tongue.

“I probably have to buy this now,” she says when they separate, looking down at the dress, and the girl laughs.

“Yeah,” she says, “but don’t wear it to graduation. It’s way too sexy, not really what you’re looking for.”

Gwen gives her a look.

“I just wanted to see you in it,” the girl admits, not looking the slightest bit abashed, and Gwen blushes.

“Buy the first one for graduation,” the girl continues, “and wear the second one on a date with me.”

Gwen goes home with two dresses, a phone number, and a date with a girl who turns out to be called Morgana, so she figures it counts as her most successful shopping trip ever.

7.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): none

Merlin squints into the afternoon sun and rubs the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He watches Arthur work for a few more minutes then, when the wind picks up, he turns away.

"I'm going back inside."

"Already?" Arthur doesn't look up from where he's crouched on the ground. "It's just after noon."

"I'll come back out later. Besides," he says, sweeping his arm to take in the whole dig site, "you have your minions."

"Grad students," Arthur says, and laughs. "I'll be in soon for water and maybe something to eat."

Despite the grit in his hair and the sun on the back of his neck, Merlin stays to watch Arthur examine a tiny bone from a very large animal that he's spent all morning excavating from the surrounding landscape. The sun's bleached his hair an almost goldish-white, though it darkens with sweat where it curls behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. It's been at least ten years since Merlin's come out on a dig with Arthur, and while he doesn't miss the relentless sun and grit and cramped, close quarters, he does miss seeing this: Arthur in his element.

*

"Is that what you miss the most? The air conditioning?"

Merlin makes a wistful noise from behind his book. Arthur's trailer is slightly bigger and cooler than the rest on the dig site, but it's not at all comparable to the cool quiet of the museum.

"I don't know; I was getting rather fond of the 3-D printer in the office…"

Arthur shakes his head and leans down to kiss Merlin, then eases himself onto the narrow bed to keep on kissing him. His mouth is warm and dry as it presses firm kisses along Merlin's neck to his shoulder, where he pauses. "I'm sorry to take you out of your natural habitat."

That makes Merlin laugh, low and deep in his chest, and he casts his book aside to tug Arthur down onto the bed next to him. "You can make it up to me by coming to the opening of the new children's exhibits."

Arthur groans but Merlin knows that not only will he come, but also that he'll be pleased to do so. He'll talk to as many of the children there as he can, listen to each of them rattle off the names of their favorite dinosaurs and consult them on their theories of dinosaur appearance and behavior.

"I can make it up to you in other ways, too," Arthur murmurs as he unbuttons Merlin's shirt.

"Now?"

"Sure. I need a few hours out of the sun."

Grateful he's already flicked the blinds shut and stripped down to his shirt and boxers, Merlin reaches up to slide his hands through Arthur's still-damp hair and draw him in for a kiss. He only stops kissing Arthur to pull off his tee shirt and continue mouthing down his chest. He nuzzles at each nipple to make Arthur gasp and hushes him with a kiss to the center of his chest.

"We need to be careful," he says, even as he undoes Arthur's belt and trousers to slide his hand inside.

Merlin likes this about Arthur, too, how careful he can be, how he can touch Merlin as gently as he does the most fragile of fossils and how he can pant against Merlin's shoulder with the same hushed tones he uses in the museum.

They've done this before--brought each other off with hands and mouths fast and silent--but never at the museum. The thought sends a shudder through Merlin and suddenly he's desperately hard, rocking against Arthur's palm and begging him with mumbled kisses to go faster, rougher. He thinks of Arthur in his office, and of himself, here; of exhibitions and excavations, of how he and Arthur have grown to know each other in the spaces between the two.

He comes before Arthur, caught somewhere between reality and fantasy, and doesn't let his fantasy fade until he gets Arthur off.

8.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Underage (age of consent in UK).

Inspired by The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus.

It's a hot summer night and Arthur has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, suspenders hanging loosely around his hips. Merlin lies on his side, propped up on his bent arm so he can watch Arthur. By tomorrow he'll be out of this little town, having no more shows to perform in such a small community, and he'll miss Arthur’s handsome face.

"Do you have to go?" Arthur asks for what must be the thousandth time.

"Yes. I need to keep moving to earn my keep." Merlin's stayed here far too long already. It’s time to depart. There were last week's rains, and the oil leak in his truck, but he knows that the real reason for the delay is the boy lying right now next to him on the roof of Merlin’s caravan. They are hidden here from the world, high up behind the lit sign of Merlin’s Phantasmagoria.

"Then take me with you," Arthur says.

Merlin shakes his head. They’ve been through this already. "No. You have your whole life here. Career ahead of you. Your father."

"I don't want to follow in my father's footsteps. I want adventure. I want to be a wizard, like you."

Merlin snorts. "It's just a profession, and a lousy one at that. It's tricks, not magic."

Arthur looks at Merlin in his ‘I-see-through-this’ way that makes Merlin squirm. "I know it's real. I saw you." And Merlin doesn't have it in him to deny it. "I want to learn how you create worlds inside of this caravan. I want to know how it's possible for me to enter and suddenly get lost in a forest, deep and vast. I want…to be with you. Please, Merlin."

Merlin sighs and leans over Arthur, sliding his fingers over warm skin from cheek to neck. He unbuttons Arthur's shirt so he can feel the hair on Arthur's chest and lowers his hand until it rests on Arthur’s navel, caressing the soft spot there.

Arthur's cheeks blush the way they usually do for fair boys, the pink going up to his temples and down his neck. Merlin thinks it’s adorable; he traces the colour with his fingertips and leans down to kiss Arthur where his neck meets his collarbone. Arthur smells like soap and fresh sweat, and maybe Merlin should be responsible here because Arthur's only seventeen, but f*ck, Merlin's not much older and he's been very lonely. So he licks Arthur's skin and allows Arthur to grab his hips and pull him over Arthur's body. They grind against each other, and Merlin can feel how achingly hard Arthur is through their clothes.

"You can’t come with me," Merlin says. "But if you want"—He kisses Arthur hard, slipping his tongue inside Arthur's mouth and then biting Arthur's bottom lip—"you can have me tonight."

He rolls on his back, fishes out a little tube of Vaseline from his pocket, and hitches his hips up to slide down his trousers. He slicks Arthur’s fingertips with the grease and draws his hand down, showing Arthur how to open a man up. Arthur’s fingers shake when he pushes them into Merlin’s tight hole.

“Is this all right?” he asks, positioning himself above Merlin. His slacks are pulled down to his knees and his co*ck is hard and leaking, straining beautifully against Merlin’s flesh. When Merlin nods Arthur pushes in hard, past the resistance, making Merlin gasp and grit his teeth because it hurts, but it’s good, too. Arthur comes after four or five thrusts, and Merlin finishes himself off with rough, fast strokes.

Afterwards, Arthur finds Merlin's hand and they lie flat on their backs, staring at the sky.

"Make a wish." Arthur points to where a shooting star streaks across the inky night.

And Merlin shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but right in that moment he wishes Arthur could come with him on the road. He's been alone for so long now he doesn't even remember what it’s like to have someone.

***

When Merlin heads out of town the next day, he feels odd, as if he can still sense Arthur’s presence next to him, but it does no good to think like that. As the miles tick by, he allows himself a moment of weakness, wiping away the tears that spill.

He stops to fill his tank in the next town, and when he climbs back into his truck, Arthur is sitting in the passenger seat.

"How did you...?" Merlin asks, stunned, his heart thumping hard.

"Magic." Arthur grins.

And Merlin thinks, Yes.

9.

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: Vaguely stalker-ish monitoring and inappropriate workplace behavior. ;)

It wasn’t creepy if it was his job, right?

He was supposed to be monitoring what people did on their computers; it was literally part of his job description as a cybersecurity analyst. At any time an employee’s computer could be subject to random observation to ensure that company computers were not being used for anything devious. Presumably, people knew what they were getting into when they pirated Game of Thrones during work hours, or played on gambling websites all through their breaks, or….

…Or used their company computer to watch filthy gay p*rn at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Whoever it was, they good taste, he conceded, now that he’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing naked men having sex on his monitor. The p*rn stars were both muscular, but not steroid-muscular, and the handsome blond one on top had a really great jawline. He was f*cking the other man over a desk, his partner’s legs curved around his shoulders, face sweaty—

sh*t, he was supposed to be reporting this, not getting off on it. As far as he knew, he was the only openly gay man in the buidling, and he really couldn’t think of many potential female culprits. He checked who the computer was registered to. Maybe it was Morgana—

No. No it was not Morgana. He gaped at the name on the screen, shocked into silence.

Arthur Pendragon, Executive Financial Director.

—

It was generally agreed that Arthur was the most attractive man in the office, though Merlin himself had never harbored any delusions of reciprocated attraction. Until now, Arthur Pendragon had seemed like the epitome of a Straight Man. If Merlin sent out a misconduct report, he’d basically be outing Arthur to the whole office.

Instead, Merlin opted to write a building-wide reminder email about proper computer usage. Unfortunately, his plan failed. By the same time the next day, the p*rn stars were back on Arthur’s screen, and all Merlin could do was watch.

—

He did try to confront Arthur at one point. He got as far as walking down the hallway towards Financing before Arthur suddenly appeared and struck up a conversation next to the coffee machine, which Merlin felt forced to use as an excuse for being down in this part of the building.

“So you’re Merlin from Cybersecurity, right?” Arthur said, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug. “You get a lot of wizard jokes?”

“Hah, you have no idea,” Merlin replied. I know that you want gay p*rn at work.

“Any pick-up lines?”

You watch gay p*rn. “Yeah, I’ve basically heard it all.”

“Well, sorry mate.” Gay p*rn, gay p*rn, gay p*rn— “Have a nice day.”

“Yeah, you too….”

And all Merlin could do was stare at Arthur’s arse and wonder what Arthur’s hands would look like at 3:00 when they were wrapped around something other than his coffee mug.

—

He seemed to see Arthur everywhere now— in the parking lot before work, at the vending machines, on his way to the loo. The more he saw him, the harder it became to stop imagining Arthur unzipping his trousers and palm himself through his pants, groaning….

One time, about two weeks after the initial discovery, Arthur was watching another office sex p*rno starring the blond actor with the great jawline. The other man was slim and dark-haired, and Merlin really couldn’t help but notice that the p*rn stars looked an awful lot like Arthur and himself.

That was the first time the videos gave him a very different kind of problem.

—

Do you mind meeting me in my office in 10 min? I have a cybersecurity question.

Thanks,

Arthur Pendragon
Executive Financial Director
Office: (01632) 960352
Fax: (01632) 960722

“Holy…”

Merlin stared at the email.

My office. 10 min.

No way. He checked the clock and—sure enough—it was 2:50. f*ck.

Arthur knew. Arthur bloody knew that he knew and… and now what? Was he going to confront him? Swear him to secrecy? f*ck him over his desk?

Merlin shivered. Ten minutes passed slowly.

—

“So, you can monitor what everyone does on their computers, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“So you’ve been watching.”

“Hm?”

“The p*rn, I mean,” Arthur said, taking a step closer to Merlin. “Did you like it?”

“I’m pretty sure that I could report this as sexual harassment.”

“Possibly.”

“But….” Merlin paused, considering. Then he promptly stopped considering and damned it all to hell. “I guess I’m not very good at reporting things, am I?”

—

A few minutes later, he really was being f*cked over the desk.

10.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): none

Merlin Emrys shifted awkwardly on the plush leather chair in Arthur Pendragon’s luxurious office. This meeting wasn’t going well at all.

He was the manager of Shared Harvest Food Pantry, and they really needed a grant from Pendragon Technologies. The bank account had dipped below a thousand dollars, it was the second half of the month and more clients were coming in, the food bank had raised the price of peanut butter by five dollars a case, and they were nearly out of toilet paper and diapers, two of their most requested items.

Pendragon was a millionaire many times over, widely considered a software genius. Merlin knew that his firm had a large fund available for local non-profits.

But he didn’t seem impressed with Merlin’s funding request, and his handsome face wore a bored expression.

Merlin knew that part of his discomfort came from the fact that he was wearing a suit that he’d bought for his college graduation five years ago, and he had grown since then. He didn’t care much about clothes, but even he could see the difference between the suit he’d bought at JC Penney’s and Pendragon’s beautifully cut designer suit.

And he knew that sometimes his passion for the food pantry and the people it served made him go on and on, tripping over his words as he tried to describe the scope of the need.

Pendragon looked at his watch said, “This is all very interesting, Mr. Emrys, and I will consult with my charitable giving team, but I’m afraid I have another meeting…”

Merlin cut him off mid-sentence. “If you could just see how many people are in need of help…”

But then he stopped himself, realizing he sounded desperate. He knew Pendragon Technologies would give him something, but he didn’t want a check for $500.00. He wanted a corporate partner, a donor who could help them start up the nutrition classes again and maybe get them a new refrigerator. Hell, Pendragon could afford to renovate the whole kitchen.

So he took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Pendragon, if you could please come by tomorrow and see what we do. It’s Saturday, our busiest day. You could see our work for yourself.”

He saw a glint of interest in the other man’s eyes, and finished in a rush. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you lunch. Out of the food we give out to the clients. With my own hands. I love to cook, I’ll make you something good, I promise.”

This time there was no mistaking the smile in Pendragon’s eyes. “Well, if you are going to make it with your own hands…”

Merlin knew he was being teased, but he didn’t care. “So you’ll come?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You have to call me Arthur.”

“Okay, Arthur, I’ll see you at 10 am.”

The visit couldn’t have been better. Arthur showed up in casual clothes and shadowed Merlin as he worked.

Saturdays were always crazy. They ran out of shampoo and Merlin had to send one of the volunteers to the dollar store to buy twenty bottles to tide them over until Merlin had time to purchase more. A guy came in drunk and Merlin had to escort him out, telling him to come back next week, sober. They had several screaming babies.

Arthur had pitched in without complaint, and had seemed touched when he saw a woman with tears in her eyes because Merlin gave her a pound of coffee. “I haven’t had a cup of coffee in two days,” she said, half to herself.

Merlin always stayed for a couple of hours after the volunteers left, to take inventory and tidy up. To his surprise, Arthur stayed too, and helped cut open and unpack cases of food for Monday.

When they were finally done, leaning against a counter drinking bottles of Snapple Merlin had gotten for free because they were nearing the expiration date, Arthur had said, “I plan to give you a grant, a big one, and what I’m about to ask you has nothing to do with that.”

“Okay…” Merlin said, uncertain what Arthur was going to ask.

Arthur leaned in and whispered in Merlin’s ear.

And that’s how Merlin ended up in the storeroom bent over a counter with his pants around his ankles and three of Arthur’s fingers up his ass, while Arthur sucked a nice bite mark into his left buttock. Apparently he liked to mark his territory.

The toppy bastard had even remembered to bring lube.

11.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): none

The funny thing was, Arthur didn’t even like libraries. He wasn’t one of those people who read for fun. He could see the appeal of it in theory, ingesting the words and creating a visual in one’s mind, but in practice it just did nothing for him. It was boring.

He didn’t like libraries. But he did like the librarian.

This one wore jeans that hugged his arse. This one pursed his plump lips in a thoughtful expression while looking for the right location to place a book. This one held his nose to mute his sneezes so he wouldn’t disrupt the quiet of the library. This one had a sleeve of tattoos down both arms and more piercings than Arthur could count. What didn’t the man have pierced?

Naturally, Arthur’s mind drifted to lower regions. Regions currently covered by black denim and—oh God, a book was going on a high shelf, and a high shelf meant a ladder, and a ladder meant prime arse-viewing opportunities, and as Arthur ducked behind a bookcase, he wondered if he’d remembered to turn the shutter sound off on his mobile.

&&

“I’m afraid I can’t let you check this book out.”

Arthur gaped at his—the librarian. The tattoos and piercings made the man seem a bit intimidating at first, but he actually had a friendly face and a pleasant smile.

“Why not?”

“You have things overdue.”

“No, I don’t.”

The man put his elbows on the counter, propping his chin on his hands, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you didn’t check out my lips three weeks ago?”

All the breath left Arthur’s body. “Wh-What?”

“Or last week, when you returned two books but checked out my eyes?”

“Um.”

The man’s voice lowered and he leaned closer, making Arthur’s heart pound in his chest.

“And I’m fairly certain you checked out my arse only a few minutes ago.”

“I—”

He waved it away. “It’s alright. Really. My arse and eyes you still have a few days left, but my lips...Definitely overdue,” he finished with a grin.

Oh thank God, a grin meant the man was flirting. For a moment Arthur had thought he’d offended him and was about to be told off. But if this was the response…

“Oh,” Arthur said, smiling sheepishly. “Well if that’s the case, I might as well check something else out.”

The man’s grin turned wicked. “That’s not exactly how it works.”

“No?”

“No. You see, now it’s my turn to check something of yours out.”

&&

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh—”

“You’re rather loud for a librarian, aren’t you?”

The gasps of breath turned to high pitched whines as a hand reached back and clutched the skin at Arthur’s hip. Arthur couldn’t see from this angle, but he liked to think that the man—Merlin, he’d hastily said his name was—was biting his lip to keep from making any more noise.

“Shh,” Arthur hushed him. He said it right into Merlin’s ear, soft and intimate, contrasting the sudden forceful thrust of his co*ck. It succeeded in making Merlin’s jaw slacken enough for him to cry out, overcome with pleasure at Arthur f*cking into him right there.

“Oh, oh God, oh f*ck…”

The private handicapped toilet was in the back of the library, but Arthur still worried about someone hearing. He could just imagine the sound of their heavy breathing and grunting piercing through the silence of the building, offending the ears of innocent readers. As he picked up the pace, he raised his hand to cover Merlin’s mouth, muffling the sounds.

“Nnh, nnh, nnh, nnh—”

Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck, right next to the tattoo of blue crystal, and focused on holding back just a while longer. He wrapped a hand around Merlin’s co*ck—not pierced, Arthur had noticed earlier—and started to stroke, pulling at it to bring Merlin as close to org*sm as he was.

That’s when Merlin went silent. He curled his fingers tighter where they dug into Arthur’s skin and came.

Arthur let himself go. Five, six more hard thrusts and he was there, pulsing inside while his teeth bit into the pink pixie on top of Merlin’s shoulder.

“Enjoy it?” Arthur asked breathlessly.

Merlin was shaking, hunched over the sink. “I...I want...to renew it.”

“You can only check it out so many times in one day,” Arthur chuckled.

When Merlin turned around, he was smiling, and his eyes were still blown with excitement.

“Dinner first, then?”

12.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): Bit of food p*rn

Merlin knew Cosmopolitan magazine wasn’t exactly one of prestige, and that most people simply thought of it as “that one magazine that gives whacky sex tips.” But a paycheck is a paycheck, and if it was the only place he could find that would hire him, then so be it. He’d made his peace with it.

Or at least he had, until his boss requested he try said sex tips so he could promote them from experience. But Merlin didn’t want to let Gwen down, and so with a little persuasion (and the promise of a sexy reward of some kind) he managed to convince Arthur to be his guinea pig.

The first challenge stated: Slip a doughnut around his penis, then slowly eat it off. And as unappetizing as it sounded, it also seemed to be the easiest option there.

So of course it took them multiple tries to get it right.

Their first attempt ended when all of their doughnuts were eaten by Will and Elena. Unsurprisingly, only Elena had the decency to act apologetic about it.

The second time they failed because of Arthur. More specifically, because the doughnut was too small to fit on his penis. Instead, the chocolate glazed sprinkle doughnut sat perched on the head of Arthur’s co*ck, tilted at a slight angle.

“It looks a bit like a little party hat,” Merlin said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Arthur said, his nose wrinkled as he peered down in what could only be called fascinated disgust.

I will not laugh, Merlin told himself sternly. I will not laugh. He slowly raised his gaze, his eyes meeting with Arthur’s.

Both of them doubled over in laughter, the helpless, breathless kind that comes from only the most ridiculous of situations and leaves you with an aching stomach and tears streaming down your face.

“I hope you get a raise for this,” Arthur said eventually, wiping away his tears with the heels of his hands.

“No, right. Yeah. ‘You did so well in the bedroom with your boyfriend that we’ve decided to give you more money, Merlin!’ That’s definitely what Gwen will say,” Merlin snorted. “Never mind that we still haven’t completed the challenge!”

“One day, you shall eat a doughnut off of my co*ck while blowing me, Merlin. But since today is not that day, how about I just f*ck you instead?”

Merlin couldn’t find fault with that.

On their third try, Arthur had eaten all except one with the argument “I can’t very well eat them after, Merlin, I’ll never be able to look at them the same way again.”

While Arthur waited on their bed, Merlin fetched last doughnut from its box. He stopped just outside the bedroom door, took a deep breath, and entered the room while swaying his hips in what he hoped was a sensual way. He’d decided to try and put on a show for Arthur as one of his sexy time rewards.

He wished he hadn’t when Arthur laughed, and ended up smashing the doughnut against Arthur’s chest in chagrin.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur gasped between chuckles. He grabbed Merlin before he could run away and pulled him close, smashing the doughnut between them. “I love that you tried, I do. It’s just- I’m sorry, I can’t take stripper moves seriously from anyone, not even you, Merlin.”

“Could’ve said so before I ruined our last doughnut,” Merlin mumbled, staring forlornly at the mess of glaze and crumbs on both their chests.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Arthur rolled them over so that he was on top, his knees on either side of Merlin’s hips. Merlin threw his head back and gasped as Arthur lowered himself down, his co*ck brushing against Merlin’s, and started to grind against him gently, his pace almost too slow to bear.

“Faster,” Merlin pleaded, hitching his hips up to meet Arthur’s.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured.

He dipped his head down, licked a wet stripe across Merlin’s stomach, cleaning the sticky doughnut glaze off of him. Merlin groaned, hands fisted in the sheets as Arthur continued to clean him with his tongue until all traces of the doughnut were gone and Merlin was painfully hard, nearly sobbing with the need to come.

Arthur reached down and took himself and Merlin in his hands, bringing them off together with a few skillful strokes, come painting his stomach. He collapsed next to Merlin, completely spent.

“If this is what happens after our third failure, I can’t wait until we actually complete this challenge,” Merlin laughed breathlessly.

“Mmm,” Arthur agreed.

13.

Pairing(s): Percival/Gwaine
Warning(s): voyeurism

It takes five days before The Wanker returns.

The first time Percy saw the bloke jerk himself off on the monitor overlooking the storage room on level three, he’d laughed, thinking there was apparently a lot of things he’d see on this job.

This time he brushes his knuckles briefly over the hard outline of his co*ck when the bloke takes himself in hand, before gripping the armrests on his chair. He allows himself to watch every second.

The Wanker isn’t alone this time. His back is pressed to the shelves with another guy on his knees, head bobbing up and down unmistakably.

For some reason, the fact that The Wanker is into blokes makes everything different. The situation spirals out of control in that one moment of realisation, and Percy jams his hand into his trousers, gripping his dick so roughly it borders on painful.

His thoughts race, flying way past the line he’s drawn for himself, and he pictures himself in the room, wonders what The Wanker’s co*ck feels like, what he sounds like when he comes.

When The Wanker comes on the other bloke’s face, Percy resigns himself to completing a shift with a mess in his uniform.

The worst is, Percy didn’t even plan this. He never seriously entertained surprising anonymous Wanker bloke in the middle of the act. As a fantasy, sure, but in reality, no. But even in his fantasies, The Wanker had been shameful and apologetic, even a little frightened. It makes Percy all the more shaken when the bloke just grins, impish and teasing, as if this is normal, as if Percy couldn’t hand him over to the authorities – or worse; Uther Pendragon.

“Hey, big guy,” the bloke says and then looks down at the hard co*ck in his own hands. “Sorry about this, I suppose. Probably not what they pay you for.”

Percy swallows, gestures vaguely at the hallway and says, “There’s a club a block down.”

“I’m flattered, but I’m not really in the mood for dancing.”

The bloke clearly holds back a laugh when Percy glares at him. “You’re very co*cky for someone I should push right into the claws of Pendragon.”

“Ah,” the bloke says, “but since you’re so kindly emphasising the should in this sentence, you’re not going to, are you?”

Percy really should tell him to f*ck right off and have Pendragon take care of him, but then he’d have to explain his own role as well, and f*ck if The Wanker isn’t dropping to his knees in front of him, intent and promise clear as day.

The bloke’s eyes crinkle as he grins, and Percy is gut-punched by how fit he is, stubbled jaw sharp and his hair effortlessly handsome in the way that clearly isn’t effortless at all. His lips are plump, pink, and painfully inviting.

Percy shuts the door behind him and resigns himself to the shame-tinged arousal in his gut, his co*ck hardening under the scrutiny of the bloke on his knees. He lets out a shaky breath when fingers smoothly pull down his fly, knuckles brushing over the outline of his dick.

The bloke slides the head of Percy’s co*ck over his lips, his breath hot on the sensitive skin, prompting slow curls of arousal. His muscles tensing in anticipation, Percy watches unblinkingly as the bloke closes his plump lips around the shaft, sinking down as far as he can go. His mouth is stuffed full of co*ck, lips stretched red. He looks beautiful like this, jaw working as he hollows his cheeks, Percy’s co*ck gliding along his tongue. The hot wetness wraps tight around his dick, pleasure zinging along his skin.

Percy’s body slumps back against the door when he tangles his fingers in the bloke’s hair and hitches his hips, not able to hold back a needy groan when the bloke gags. Percy rubs soothing circles into his scalp in apology, his co*ck jerking when he notices the bloke’s eyes watering.

The perfect glide of his mouth is maddening, and Percy’s heart beats too hard against his ribs, the pleasure making him writhe. The bloke’s hands come up to pin his hips against the door.

“Next time, I’m f*cking you stupid against the wall,” Percy says, voice strained.

The bloke pulls back and says, “Promise?” before sinking back down, so slowly that Percy slams his hips up just to see his eyes water again.

14.

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur; Merlin/Simpleton Arthur; Merlin/Morgana; Percival/Merlin/Gwaine; Merlin/Mithian/Arthur
Warnings: Mind control, dubious consent

In the 51st century, Merlin became a Time Agent.

As his Captain fastened the vortex manipulator around Merlin’s wrist, she addressed him gravely. “Remember, Agent Emrys. We police time. We don’t rewrite it.”

Merlin saluted in response.

*

Four months into his first mission, Merlin took leave. He traveled through the vortex until he found himself and Arthur, fresh from their first encounter with Morgause. The sight of his king after so many years nearly doubled Merlin over, but he persisted. After knocking out his younger self in the woods, Merlin took his place by the fire, took a deep breath, and confessed, I’m a sorcerer, Arthur. I have magic.

And while Arthur’s older self would one day claim he didn’t know what he would have done, this Arthur did. After sputtering and shouting for a time, Arthur stopped abruptly and roughly pulled Merlin’s forehead to his own. Worst servant ever, Arthur said with a sigh, and Merlin wept to feel Arthur’s arms around him again. He couldn’t stop himself from fitting their mouths together, as he could have done then, as he clearly should have done. Before long, they were rutting against each other, half-dressed, Merlin punctuating each thrust with a gasped vow of fealty. I use it for you.

*

The next day, Arthur hated magic again, for Merlin never rewrote time. He always had the Agency-issue retcon pills ready while he tumbled through the time vortex, restoring timestreams and saving worlds. They worked even better than magic.

*

Six months later, Merlin returned to Camelot as Arthur brought Morgana back from the Druids. After his younger self was tucked away in bed, Merlin brought more flowers to her room. I have to show you something, my lady, he said, and made the chamber’s candles float around them. You’ll never be alone, not whilst I’m in Camelot, he swore. Her knees buckled as she sobbed her relief, and her eyes were so different from the last time Merlin saw her that he couldn’t help himself. He bore her back onto her embroidered linens and f*cked her as if he could f*ck her nightmares and her shame right out of her, stretching out tendrils of magic to tease her lips, her breasts, between her legs until she jerked in his arms and every vase in the room shattered at once.

He taught her to conjure fire, and when she managed to do it too, she laughed and rolled him onto his back. She rode his co*ck until she came twice more, her fingertips worrying her own nipples in the moonlight. With two of us, he’ll have to listen, she murmured later, as he stroked her shoulder. We can make Arthur understand.

Merlin cried when he gave Morgana the retcon.

*

Merlin visited Gwaine in the tavern shortly after the Lamia, to test a theory. After Percival joined them, they diced until Merlin ended up losing his shirt, his boots, and any pretence to innocence he might have had as he sprawled over the gaming table with Gwaine’s co*ck in his arse and Percival’s in his mouth. His theory was proved, and Gwaine and Percival had terrible hangovers.

*

He once made Mithian dream of coming on Arthur’s tongue while Merlin kissed her eyelids. She had been kind to him; she deserved something sweet.

*

The Time Agency threatened him with reprimands, but Agent Emrys was too important, had saved too many lives when he actually did his job for reprimands to stick. After all, what Time Agent didn’t go a little bit mad?

*

In his fifth year of duty, Merlin earned a commendation by closing a rift in time and space. He celebrated by visiting simpleton Arthur on the way to Ealdor. Such a lovely, trusting lad that Arthur had been, and Merlin wanted so much to deserve that trust. He didn’t though, but it didn’t matter because Arthur was so sweetly obedient as Merlin opened him up, pushed into him until Arthur came with a startled whimper and wide, wondering eyes. In Arthur’s addled mind, it had been his first time.

Merlin didn’t even need the retcon for that one.

*

They revoked his vortex manipulator the next year; even the Time Agency couldn’t turn a blind eye forever. At the verdict, Merlin broke down, begging the tribunal to just make him forget it all – to take his memories of Camelot and everything since.

They sent him to a house of healing instead.

*

In the early 52nd century, Arthur finally found him there.

15.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): hints at animal cruelty, d/s

In all his days as dragonologist, Merlin’s never thought he’d ever steal a dragon. Then again, his employers usually don’t torture dragons, and dragons usually aren’t shape-shifters.

This one, though, this red—blood red—Hebridean Black is... different. Merlin’s known it the first time he’s seen him; an instant, fatal connection hooked itself in Merlin’s gut when the dragon’s mismatched gaze first found his. Merlin thought, gold-blue, like me, and by then it was already too late.

Out of the reservoir now, he Apparates them to a secluded spot in the woods. The trees groan as they bend with the dragon’s sudden weight on them, breaking apart. Merlin steels himself, turning around. “I won’t hurt you,” he rasps in sibilant Dragonspeak, vowels growled, consonants thick. The woods shake with a last roar from the dragon’s throat; then his frame begins vibrating before it shrinks, scales smoothing, red skin bleeding out, until on the ground amidst the forest's ruins is a naked man on all fours.

“Are you okay—”

"My name," the man interrupts him in gasps. "What is—my name—"

“Don’t—don’t move—”

The man rises, staggers forward, head hung low, hiding hides his face in Merlin’s neck. "Dragonlord," he grits out, "give me my name."

Dragonlord. The word sinks into Merlin's bloodstream, setting a fire ablaze, fierce and terrible. Something in his gut reacts to the title, curling in dark delight. Both eyes glowing golden now, Merlin stares down the man’s back: his calves are strong, his thighs trunk-thick, and the muscles in his shoulders bulge as he holds onto Merlin’s hips. The taut skin of his broad back is marked by intricate tribal tattoos in the red that the dragon’s scales were. Strong, sturdy, wild. A warrior’s built, a bear’s.

Bear-man. Arthur. As majestic as his dragonself, the chief of dragons.

“Pendragon,” Merlin utters. “Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur’s head snaps up at being called, being known. He pulls away enough to look at Merlin, his mismatched gold-blue gaze almost liquid underneath his blond fringe. “Yes,” he breathes, acquiescing, inclining his head slightly. He remains motionless for a moment, two, then his body begins shaking, shaking apart. He makes a noise like he’s hurt, his fingers tightening on Merlin’s hips.

“On your knees,” Merlin orders harshly, instinct driving him.

There’s a thunk: Arthur’s knees hit the ground. He stares up at Merlin, jaw slack. Waiting. Wanting.

Merlin gets his prick out of his trousers, fisting it, stroking slow and hard. He tightens his hand on the upstroke and forces out precome, smoothing it down his co*ck to get it wet. “Tell me,” Merlin growls. “Tell me whom you belong to—”

Arthur stares at his co*ck, pupils dilating the longer Merlin keeps stroking, the longer Merlin keeps it from him. He makes another noise that’s all need and hunger, leaning forward to close his teeth around Merlin’s hipbone, scraping them down in a dragging bite. He draws blood—Merlin grimaces—and laps at it, frenzied, crazed. His hands press bruises into Merlin’s skin.

“Tame me,” he hisses. “If I’m yours, tame me—”

Merlin grabs Arthur by his hair, yanks his head back, bares his throat in an offer of vulnerability Arthur willingly gives. “You are mine.” Merlin shakes Arthur’s head. “Say it.”

“No, you have to—” Arthur strains against Merlin’s hold, like it’s hurting him not to have Merlin’s co*ck in his mouth. “Tame me, you have to—”

So Merlin does: he forces Arthur’s jaw apart with two fingers, then holds his length, traces Arthur’s mouth with the head of his co*ck. He gets Arthur’s face messy with his precome, chin, cheeks, and jaw, then dips between Arthur’s full lips, and out, and in again. When he draws back, there’s an obscene string of saliva and precome connecting the head of his dick and Arthur’s glistening, red lower lip. At the sight, possessiveness swells in his chest, hot and satisfied.

“You’re mine,” Merlin says lowly. “Mine.”

He face-f*cks Arthur into happy oblivion, fast and brutal. His balls draw tight to his body when he sees Arthur is fisting his own dick with both hands, jerking it clumsily, hips stuttering forward. Arthur comes onto the ground between Merlin’s legs with a hurt noise, and Merlin pulls out. He keeps Arthur’s head close with his fist in his hair, and Arthur looks up at him with a small, sated smile, a purred, “Yours,” making Merlin come all over Arthur’s swollen lips and fluttering lashes.

16.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): slight dub-con, maybe

Arthur hadn’t a clue what he was doing. He thought he’d come to the bar so he could get away from Morgana. They’d spent too many days on the road together, either locked in the car or the tiny motel room.

That still didn’t explain why he drove two hours away just to have a drink.

Arthur sat on the bar stool heavily. The ache in his back and the dried blood under his nails were a constant reminder . . . and he just wanted to forget.

That ache, the burn of worked muscles mixed with the numbing tiredness that came with a fading adrenaline rush used to be something Arthur revealed in; it reminded him of saving lives and family.

These days though, the aftermath of a finished job left him feeling broken and alone more than anything.

That still didn’t explain why Arthur was at this bar, again.

He’d made a mistake the last time he was there. A mistake that probably led to people dying.
Suddenly a glass filled with amber liquid was in front of him and Arthur looked up to find amused blue eyes paired with a small smirk hovering over him.
Merlin.

Arthur sneered at him and snatched up the glass, downing it in one go. He tried to push away the memories of a pale writhing body. His traitorous co*ck twitched in anticipation.

“So, Arthur . . .” Merlin drawled, and Arthur winced. “Pendragon,” Merlin added, and Arthur nearly dropped the glass he held.

Merlin merely smirked harder.

“I knew from all you’re fun toys you were a hunter,” Merlin started, leaning in further so that his breath ghosted over Arthur’s lips. “But I never would have guessed you were a Pendragon.”

“How’d you know that?” Arthur spat.

Merlin raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Arthur glared at him.

“It doesn’t to me,” Merlin admitted and when Arthur still didn’t speak he added, “What I want to know is why I’m not dead yet?”

Arthur looked at him, and it was hard not to remember everything in great detail. Arthur remembered how good it felt as he f*cked up into Merlin’s tight heat, slamming Merlin’s lean body into the cold wall in front of them. The sounds Merlin made as Arthur f*cked him as hard as he could. Merlin clenching around him, watching as Merlin’s face pinched and he hissed out. Arthur cuming as soon as he caught sight of the sharp teeth trying hard to break through Merlin’s gums.

The vamp held it together nicely, Arthur had to give him credit. No one else would’ve noticed them.

Now, Arthur simply eyed him. Arthur had been asking himself the same question: why wasn’t he killing Merlin?

Or better yet, why didn’t he kill Merlin the first time?

Oh yeah, because Merlin got hard again even when Arthur had him tied up with silver and was trying to shove him into his trunk. That had been unexpected.

Let’s just say things escalated quickly from there.

“Maybe,” Arthur said finally, “for the same reason you haven’t ran yet.”

Merlin raised both his eyebrows. “Modesty,” he drawled. “Such a great quality.”

Arthur snorted. Merlin’s eyebrows rose higher.

“You’re the one who brought my name into this,” Arthur pointed out.

“Touché.”

Merlin and Arthur stared at each other for a long time, until Arthur realized and took a large gulp of his whiskey. Merlin blinked, then coughed a bit, his cheeks turning pink.

“Look . . . I get off, uh, work in ten . . . I gotta show you something,” Merlin said.

Arthur waited for Merlin and was soon brought up to a room above the bar. Apparently Merlin lived there. Merlin opened his fridge and gestured for Arthur to take a look. Arthur warily did, and he nearly laughed at what he saw.

“Big on O negative, huh?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the grin off his face.

“You prat!” Merlin yelled. “I’m a thief! People need this blood! I thought you were a big bad hunter? Aren’t you going to punish me?”

Arthur thought about telling Merlin that he had four stolen credit cards in his wallet, but decided to push him against the counter and kiss him instead.

As Merlin got lost in the kiss, Arthur got the silver handcuffs out. “Oh there will definitely be a punishment,” Arthur whispered. Then he snapped one cuff around Merlin’s wrist and dragged him to the bedroom.

17.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Non-con

Merlin grabbed the flyer he had jammed between the pages of his calculus textbook. He bit his lower lip and scanned the street, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the tattered sheet of paper to check the address.

DANCERS WANTED
Top pay
No experience necessary
135 Camelot Court

He studied the number on the door. Above the 1-3-5, neon lights spelled out: Aredian’s Exotic Adventures.

“Fortune favors the brave,” Merlin whispered to himself. He shoved the textbook into his bag and stepped inside the building.

*

The man at the front desk didn’t bother to look up when Merlin entered. He wore a black polo, bearing the Aredian’s Exotic Adventures logo, along with Arthur, embroidered in gold silk. Merlin admired the way the tight fabric hugged his muscular chest.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I’d like to apply for the job,” he said, forcing himself to dismiss his nerves and focus on the positive. After all, the job promised to satisfy his desire for adventure, as well as his need to pad his wallet. He couldn’t expect Hunith to pay for all his expenses now that he was in college—besides, dancing sounded like a lot of fun.

“Do you have an appointment?” Arthur asked with a scowl.

Merlin felt deflated. “I didn’t know I needed an appointment,” he stammered. “I could come back later.”

Arthur stepped from behind the desk. “Turn around,” he said, blinking at Merlin with calm blue eyes.

Emboldened by Arthur’s attention, Merlin obeyed. A cool sweat broke out on Merlin’s brow as Arthur scrutinized his backside. He hoped Arthur wouldn’t notice his trembling knees.

“Name?” Arthur asked while he texted into his cellphone.

“Merlin,” Merlin said eagerly, turning back to Arthur. “Merlin Emrys.”

“Tell me, Merlin,” Arthur said, pocketing his phone. “Do you even know how to dance?”

*

Minutes later, Arthur handed Merlin a red jockstrap that was apparently the official uniform of Aredian’s dancers. Although he had doubts about his talent, Merlin tried to remain cheerful. Arthur waited outside the dressing room while Merlin slipped out of his jeans.

"So, have you worked here for long?" Merlin asked, the cool air hitting his chest when he removed his shirt.

"I'm here for an internship," Arthur said.

"A dance internship?" Merlin asked. He pulled the tiny jockstrap over his knees and up his hairy thighs.

"A business internship. My father is an old friend of Aredian's," Arthur said.

Merlin noted that Arthur sounded apologetic.

"It could be worse," Merlin said, stepping out of the dressing room. "You could wear something like this to work."

Merlin spread his arms and looked down at his uniform. Dark pubes had escaped the red elastic waistband. His co*ck had swelled against the flimsy fabric so every aspect of his genitals showed, from his heavy balls to the ridge that circled his co*ckhead.

“Looks good,” Arthur said with a nod.

*

In no time, Merlin found himself alone on stage. The spotlight made it difficult to see. He wished Arthur could have stayed with him while he met Aredian.

“Go on,” Aredian said from somewhere in the darkness. “Show me what you’re made of.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Merlin said with a shrug. “The ad said experience wasn’t necessary.”

“That’s right,” Aredian said, coming into view as he climbed onto the stage with Merlin.

Merlin felt his cheeks flush when Aredian’s hungry eyes roamed over his scantily-clad body.

“You don’t have to dance, if you don’t want to,” Aredian said, cupping Merlin’s tender balls through the sheer fabric of the jockstrap.

Merlin squawked when he felt Aredian’s breath on his neck. “Mr. Aredian,” Merlin said, “I didn’t think this was part of the job.”

Aredian sucked at Merlin’s earlobe and moved his hand to Merlin’s bare ass. “The inexperienced applicants are my favorites,” Aredian said, forcing Merlin’s cheeks apart with deft fingers.

Merlin whimpered as Aredian probed at his sensitive hole with a dry thumb. Tears welled in his eyes.

*

Merlin rested his forehead against the frame of the dressing room door.

“You didn’t get the job,” Arthur said.

“No,” Merlin said. “I couldn’t…”

Arthur pressed his palm to the small of Merlin’s back. His hand felt warm through Merlin’s shirt, comforting.

“I admire that,” Arthur said. “You’re a brave man, Merlin. Most people wouldn’t have applied for the job in the first place.”

*
Later that night, when Arthur dragged his lips over Merlin’s co*ck, Merlin knew that he found all the adventure he desired.

18.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Percy/Merlin
Warning(s): Voyeurism, Exhibitionism

Percy's always watching. He watches the crowds at premieres and award shows, looking for suspicious characters, but mostly just keeping the overly enthusiastic in order.

He watches traffic as he drives, constantly scanning for potential threats or telephoto lenses.

The worst is watching Arthur's house, making sure no one hides in the bushes (again) to sneak photos of Arthur sunbathing and gorgeous, even though Arthur goes to public beaches regularly (with Percy in tow).

Percy watches everything but what's going on behind him.

While driving the limo, Percy ignores the soft moans coming from the back. Arthur doesn't close the partition. He never has.

Percy is well acquainted with the sounds Merlin makes as Arthur kisses up his neck, the gasping whines interspersed with the small, wet noises.

He can recognize how close Arthur is just by how his breathing shortens through gritted teeth.

He tries not to look in the rearview mirror. One night, while Merlin was giving an apparently fantastic blowj*b, Percy almost drove into traffic after he glanced back and caught the sight of Arthur, flushed and rumpled, head thrown back against the seat. Arthur's mouth had fallen open, eyes shut, and only the honking of horns in front of him made Percy yank his eyes back forward.

Percy's thought about finding a different job. One where his employer is less... open. Less intimate.

But Arthur's a good boss, even if Percy has to adjust his hard-on at least three times a night. Arthur invites him over for drinks once in a while and always gives him a sizeable Christmas bonus. Percy just has last through the torture until after work hours, when he can sprawl out, throw an arm over his eyes, and finally, finally, touch himself.

One particularly warm spring night found them in a crowded club. Arthur was handsy, as always, but there was a lot more grinding on the dance floor than usual. Percy had already deleted five photos from cellphones by the time Arthur beckoned him over to a corner, Merlin tucked close to his side, kissing his neck.

"Guard the bathroom?" Arthur's eyes are playful, pleading, and Percy can't help but say yes.

He folds his hands in front of him as he takes his post, grinning dangerously at anyone who comes too close. He knows his tight black t-shirt and jeans show off his muscles in a subtly dangerous sort of way that says.

The bathroom door shakes as he leans against it. Percy can imagine Merlin pressed up the other side, groaning helplessly as Arthur drives into him again and again. He can almost hear them, their reassuring words and fervent encouragements.

Percy takes a deep breath, closes his eyes against the ache between his legs. His co*ck is bulging out the front of his jeans obscenely. The hallway is empty, for now, so he takes a moment to adjust himself, run his fingers down the length through his jeans. He presses up into it, just for a moment, before pulling his hand away and taking a step away from the bathroom door.

Arthur and Merlin are sweaty, though mostly composed when they come out, sex flush still staining their cheeks.

Percy nods at them, maintaining his stoic composure. His co*ck twitches as Arthur grins at him.

They don't stay for much longer, and soon Percy is making sure they both have their shoes off and aspirin and water on their bedside table before Merlin and Arthur collapse into bed. They curl up together as Percy shuts the door softly.

His own bed isn't very far. He can't kick his jeans off fast enough, thumbs digging into his hips as he yanks off his briefs. His t-shirt is an afterthought, chucked into the darkness as he sinks into the pillows, finally palming his co*ck.

Percy just rubs at first, pressing his hips up into his hand as his fingers graze over the silicone ring snug against the base of his co*ck and balls.

The half-hard erection all night had been worth it- worth this. Percy sighs as he strokes himself, going back to the thought of Arthur f*cking Merlin up against the bathroom door.

-But no. Merlin underneath Percy, Percy pressing in, Merlin's breathless moans. Arthur along Percy's back, whispering directions as he screws his fingers into Percy's arse, keeping counterpoint with Percy's thrusts. Merlin would look up at him under his lashes, smile-

Percy goes over the edge, shuddering, with only a bitten-off gasp passing his lips.

19.

Pairing(s): Gwaine/Percy
Warning(s): NA

“What's happened to your key? And why are you still in your work clothes, we're meant to be there in thirty minutes,” Percy chides.

“Did someone call about a…leaky pipe?” Gwaine gives the most over the top hair flip of life and Percy's brain shuts down for a split second.

“Are you? No.”

“Want me to take a look at your plumbing?” Gwaine winks at him.

“No. Absolutely not, we are not doing this right now,” Percy crosses his arms.

“I don't normally plunge into a relationship but for you,” he gives Percy a head to toe, “I'll make an exception.”

“It's Arthur and Merlin's engagement dinner, there is no way in hell we can miss this.”

“Want to see my tool?”

“I'm looking at one.”

There's a furious stand-off with Gwaine leaning on the door frame, swinging a wrench of all things, and Percy holding his ground on the threshold. Gwaine gives him a look he evidently thinks is irresistible and Percy sighs.

“If I do this, you're doing the cleaning for a week.”

“Deal,” Gwaine gives him a wicked grin before snapping back into his sexy plumber façade. “Now, why don't you show me to the kitchen.” He swaggers past Percy, pinching his arse on the way by.

“This is a family neighbourhood,” Percy hisses as he closes the door. “Now come on let's- why are you in the kitchen?”

“Isn't that where the leak is?”

“Oh for the love of. Alright yeah, sure. The leak is in there.”

“Boy, it sure is hot in here,” Gwaine takes off his shirt and flexes in ridiculous poses.

“How ever can you stand it?” asks Percy in monotone.

“Why don't you come over here and show me the problem?”

With a sigh, Percy gets down on all fours and opens the cupboard under the sink. “It's here.”

“Mmmm, it sure is.” Gwaine is right behind him now, practically straddling him from behind. Despite his convictions, this stupid role play is actually…a little bit hot.

Gwaine is taking his time with it now, lining up behind him and circling his hips slowly. Percy gives in and rocks backwards, his co*ck beginning to show interest in the activities. Gwaine leans forward, his breath hot in his ear.

“I know how to fix this sort of leak. First thing to do is strip the old casing.” He starts to pull at the hem of Percy's shirt. Percy lets himself be manhandled out of his clothes until he's lying naked and spread eagle on the floor. He spares half a second to think how glad he is the floors were just washed two days ago before Gwaine speaks again.

“Next, I need to get out my equipment.”

Percy is about to object loudly to the stupid plumber euphemisms when Gwaine drops trou. Despite the act not being a new thing, Gwaine has managed to surprise him on two accounts; the first being that he's not wearing any pants and the second being the stout purple plug he's currently pulling out of his ass. Suddenly Percy doesn't mind the stupid plumbing game so much.

“And now, to work.” Without any preamble, kissing, or even a how do you do, Gwaine grabs hold of Percy's co*ck and sinks down on it. The feeling is almost euphoria, it's so strong.

“Jesus Gwaine!” Percy wants to tell him off but his hips seem to be much more interested in f*cking into Gwaine with rapid speed.

“Hush love,” Gwaine presses a finger to his lips, “this is man's work.”

“I am going to kill you,” Percy ends with a moan as Gwaine starts rolling his hips. He sucks Gwaine's finger into his mouth, desperate to do something with his mouth. f*cking Gwaine and his f*cking…f*cking. Percy loses all cohesion as his org*sm builds at record speed and he comes with Gwaine's finger still in his mouth.

Gwaine, the bastard, just laughs and brings himself off with a few quick strokes, spilling onto Percy's stomach. He eases himself off and reaches up to grab a dish towel.

“The last part of any job is through clean up,” he says seriously, wiping them both down. “I'll leave you my card, feel free to call if you have any other plumbing emergencies.”

Percy takes the card mutely and blinks at him.

“That was the dumbest thing we've ever done. Is it over yet?”

“Baby, you're flooding my heart with emotions.”

20.

Pairing(s): Elyan/Merlin
Warning(s): None

Elyan worked the bellows until his muscles strained and the fire roared fierce and high. His face and chest prickled with sweat from the heat coming off the forge. He leaned closer to test the temperature, and then nodded, pleased.

"Hello? Oh, there you are. Hello."

Elyan jumped a little; he didn't get many visitors and none this early in the morning. He turned to find a boy standing behind him, grinning in a friendly, almost sheepish way.

"Sorry to interrupt you," the boy said. He had black hair and blue eyes and a long white throat. "But I'm in a bit of an awkward situation, and I don't dare go to the royal blacksmith and—"

"Royal blacksmith?" Elyan's skin prickled again, this time with suspicion. "You work in the keep?"

"Yeah. I'm—" The boy co*cked his head with a confused scrunch of his face. "I'm Prince Arthur's manservant. Merlin."

Elyan turned his back. "Then you'll want to go back to his smith. I do no work for the Pendragons."

"Well, it's not really for the Pendragons so much as it is for me." Merlin came around into his view again, dangerously close to the fire. "See, normally I can get the dents out of his armor with—uh, with no trouble, really. But there's this bit that came off, and I don't even know where it was supposed to go in the first place, and Arthur is highly likely to just shove it up my bum if he finds out."

Elyan stared. He'd never heard anyone speak that way about the royals, not even Guinevere on the rare occasion she got cross. Slowly, he reached out and took the spaulder from Merlin's hands. "All right," he said and tried a smile. He had gotten out of practice since Father was killed in Uther’s pointless war with Mercia. "I'll sort it. Wouldn't want to imperil your bum."

The spaulder only needed a new rivet. Merlin's face lit with delight when Elyan handed him back the mended piece. "Thank you so much. I owe you—er, about payment...."

"I wouldn't take Pendragon money." Elyan's jaw clenched—until he felt the brush of soft lips on his cheek.

"That's all I have that's not Arthur's," Merlin said with a little smile. He started to turn away, then came back and brushed another kiss at the corner of Elyan's mouth.

Then he was gone, leaving behind a tiny flare of heat that didn't come from the forge.

***

When Elyan next saw Merlin, he was wild-eyed and disheveled. "I need a key that can open any door in the dungeons."

"Are you mad?" Elyan gaped at him. Though he hardly knew Merlin, he sensed that madness was not out of the question. “They’ll hang me if anyone catches you.”

"Please, Elyan,” Merlin begged. “I already tried to use—I tried everything else, but I can't get the keys. It’s a matter of life and death."

Desperation wasn’t a good look on him, but somehow that tingly spot where Merlin’s lips had touched him had migrated downwards to become a tender place in his chest. Elyan found himself nodding. “Fine. Foiling Uther’s plans is reason enough, I suppose.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathed.

When the skeleton key was done, Merlin took it with a tiny quirk of a smile. “I still can’t pay you,” he said. “But I owe you everything.”

And then he pressed forward against Elyan’s mouth, body so close that Merlin radiated hotter than the forge behind him. Elyan pressed back, taking a miser’s treasure from the lushness of the kiss, the wet slide of their tongues. They kissed until Elyan’s head swam from the sex his body wanted, until Merlin gasped into his mouth and clutched at his biceps—until Jasmina the baker hallo’d him from the entryway.

Late that night, his body still sang with longing. He drew out the feeling as long as he could before he had to bring it to fulfillment, hand working between his legs and his thoughts buried in Merlin’s strong body.

***

“I need a sword,” Merlin said. “The greatest sword you’ve ever made. The greatest sword anyone will ever make.”

The simple faith in his eyes drove Elyan’s hammer. Neither of them made mention of price, but when the sword was cooling, Merlin locked up the shop and took Elyan’s hand to lead him over to his bed.

Hanging might be worth it.

21.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): None

Merlin wrapped his legs around his partner’s hulking frame and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as the other man took Merlin’s thick co*ck down to the root. It didn’t take long before Merlin moaned wantonly.

Arthur paused the screen on Merlin’s perfect “O” face. He turned to look at Merlin. “You’re telling me that wasn’t real?”

Merlin simply shrugged. “No.”

“I don’t believe it. I blacked out when I shagged Percy.”

Arthur knew he was getting on Merlin’s nerves, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Merlin telling him that he had never had a real org*sm on-screen.

Merlin and Arthur were both adult film stars. Arthur and Merlin had never shagged each other, but had been in scenes together. Arthur could never take his eyes off of Merlin. Even though with his lithe frame and innocent face, Merlin easily fell into the twink category, there was something about Merlin that didn’t seem like he was in the right line of work.

“Would you please drop it, Arthur?”

“I just don’t understand. I know it’s just a job, but you are allowed to have fun.

Merlin just grinned.

“So, in real life, what does it take to get you off?”

“Arthur?!”

Arthur grinned at a red-faced Merlin. It was far too easy to fluster Merlin. “I know it’s a personal question, but I’ve seen a guy come on your face, so we have no secrets here. When you’re having sex in real life, what gets you off?

“I wouldn’t know.” Merlin muttered.

“What?”

“I’ve never...really...had sex.”

Arthur spit out his beer. “What? Uh, Merlin, I hate to break it to you, but you have sex all the time.”

Merlin laughed. “I know that, pillock. What I mean is I’ve never had sex outside of work.”

Arthur blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I know it’s going to sound weird considering our jobs, but I consider sex to be a really sacred thing. When I’m with someone for real, I want to be with only them. I don’t want to know that I have to go off the next day and offer my body to someone that’s not the person I love.”

Arthur smiled. Only Merlin could work in p*rn and have such a romantic notion.

Merlin looked away.

“What happens when you do fall in love?”

Merlin smiled sadly as he looked at Arthur briefly. “I already am in love. He just doesn’t see me the same way.”

Arthur gaped at Merlin. “Who? Who is this unfathomable idiot?”

Merlin snorted before his face crumpled and he stood up quickly, turning off the TV. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He got up.

Arthur caught his wrist. Merlin wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Merlin, what’s wrong? I know I can be a prat, but I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

“I’m not going to talk about this with you, of all people.”

“‘Of all people?’ Why…” Arthur trailed off.

Merlin was panting now and looked close to hyperventilating, but Arthur still didn’t let go of his wrist, instead he tightened his hold on Merlin as the pieces fell into place.

“Merlin...am I the idiot?”

Merlin just closed his eyes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Merlin nodded slightly, a small grin on his face. “Biggest one I know.”

Arthur cut off his last sentence with a kiss. It was just a gentle caress before he pulled back and looked into Merlin’s unblinking eyes. “We’re both idiots here.”

It was Merlin’s turn to cut him off. He kissed Arthur and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck. The kiss intensified quickly as Arthur licked into Merlin’s mouth and relished the moan Merlin gave.

Their clothes were discarded quickly and they sank to the floor. Arthur pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Arthur. If you want me, I’m yours.” Merlin smiled brightly.

Arthur was overcome with emotion. He wasn’t a “virgin” like Merlin was, but he’d never felt like this with anyone before.

Arthur gasped as he felt Merlin sink down on him. Arthur had to will himself to not come right then and there when Merlin was seated all the way on his co*ck.

Merlin began to move immediately. He undulated on top of Arthur in a perfect rhythm. He pulled back and gripped Arthur’s face. When Merlin clenched around Arthur, and his body began to spasm, the way that Merlin stared into Arthur’s eyes - Arthur knew one thing for sure. As Arthur’s own org*sm was ripped from him, and he spilled inside Merlin, he didn’t have any questions about what was real and what wasn’t.

22.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Morgause, Merlin/Arthur/Morgause
Warning(s): minor character death, authority figure

She could kill them, of course, avenge her kin. But Uther’s gained too much power, and there are too few sorcerers left; Camelot would not welcome another magical age. Not yet.

Instead she beats all the knights in combat, impresses the king; bows her head to him, and doesn’t take his off, after.

*

Uther’s brat is sixteen and proud. He laughs, says, ‘My father wouldn’t let me be trained by a woman.’

Morgause digs the tip of her sword into his throat longer than necessary, his pulse a visible thud thud thud of humiliation while he stares up at her.

He doesn’t question her again. It’s a shame, really.

*

She’s nobody. She’s a high priestess, but here, her position doesn’t even have a name. She hits the prince with her sword again – then teaches him how to block that move. She’s supposed to gain his trust, after all.

*

Arthur is seventeen and his sword skills are much improved, but his eyes rove a little too easily during practice. She overhears him, one day, telling young Sir Leon that his father warned him of the importance of chastity and the risk of bastards.

She doesn’t tell him his father is a hypocrite.

*

Arthur stops the guard from arresting the hungry boy who stole apples; pays for them himself. It’s a stupid gesture and Uther calls him unfit to be a king, too soft. If she happens to go easy on Arthur the next day, well, she’s just trying to get further into his confidence.

*

Another sorcerer is caught. Morgause watches him die at the stake.

‘Magic is the greatest evil,’ Arthur says later, to her or to himself. He looks a little pale.

The next time Arthur gets distracted staring at her breasts, she takes him to the armoury. He’s embarrassed at being caught out; goes easily when she tells him to kneel. He bows his head, but not for long.

He’s shocked and wide-eyed, but he licks her like an eager mutt, Uther’s son does, apologises with his mouth and his tongue, a little sloppily, while she guides him with her words and her grip on his hair.

She leaves him on his knees staring after her, his eyes the soft blue of his mother’s (they lie, they lie, they lie).

*

She wishes Uther could see how readily his son kneels for her, a sorceress and high priestess, after that. How starved he is for praise that all she needs to say is ‘Good boy,’ and he tries harder to please her still, other duties forgotten or dismissed.

It becomes a little easier, then: whenever she hears him speak of magic, she sits on his face, makes him cleanse his mouth with her juices. She imagines them full of her magic, smeared all over his skin after she’s done.

She makes him work for it, feels the pleasure course through her four, five times, before she lets him go; makes him recite all the nobles’ family trees after she walks away before he’s allowed to touch himself. He does, more obedient than he ever is on the training ground, the tent in his breeches not diminishing one bit.

He’s almost sweet like this, vulnerable in their moments alone, and she yanks his hair in unnamed frustration, but it only makes him moan.

She lets herself feel powerful, pretends she’s in control.

*

Morgause isn’t stupid: she recognises magic when she sees it. She recognises the look in Arthur’s eyes, too, when he says, ‘There’s something about you, Merlin…’ looking the boy up and down. She feels a flash of something like irritation, perhaps, wonders if the boy would let Arthur bury his co*ck in a tight hole, at last.

Then she wonders what Arthur would look like with his head buried between her thighs while this boy would f*ck him from behind instead.

*

It happens on the day of Arthur’s coronation as crown prince.

She makes him keep on his crown as they f*ck in his bed. Merlin’s hands are as gentle and reverent as hers are commanding; he has been suspicious of her so far, but she suspects he’ll be more amenable after this. Arthur is flushed all over, his co*ck slapping wetly against his stomach every time Merlin pushes in; pushes Arthur’s face closer to her. Perhaps she’ll make him suck Merlin’s co*ck before letting him come; he’d flush and protest and love it.

And after, he’ll dress proudly and rejoin the feast, walk out with their juices and their magic rubbed into his skin.

Morgause loves a good celebration.

Chapter 2: Group B (warnings)

Chapter Text

23.

Title: I Drove All Night
Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Mentions of bite/scratch kink. (Also ruthless ignoring of how two way radios work)

“Castle to Bird On A Wire.”

Merlin sighed as he grabbed the radio.

“Really, Arthur?” He asked, staring out at the motorway.

“Mithian know you’re in her chair?” Arthur might run Pendragon Institute but Mith wouldn’t care.

“She doesn’t scare me.

“Liar.”

”Thought you might be lonely.”

True; loneliness was why he’d worked tirelessly to get his PhD and quit driving long-haul for his father every summer. Merlin loved the sanctuary of Restorations; Gaius grumbling, the intoxicating scents of aged paper, ink, and knowledge. He'd not missed the road.

His duties as manuscript restorer at P.I. didn’t include transport but with Tom ill and nobody else knowing how to drive the climate-controlled truck, Merlin found himself volunteered. He’d never forgive them; it’s his anniversary.

“Three years I’ve put up with you.”

“You mean that I’ve endured you.”

”Always so disrespectful, especially then!”

“You were yelling at me for ‘playing with an exhibit.”

“How was I to know you were an employee, you scruff?”

“You love it.”

”Hmmm I do, especially rasping my thighs.” Arthur purred.

Merlin swore he heard Arthur’s tongue slide over his lips, and he desperately wanted to taste that mouth. He’d taste of Thai takeout and something quintessentially Arthur, his fingers slick with oil from being incapable of handling chopsticks, painting fragrant trails across Merlin’s skin he’d follow with that tongue.

”But tonight I’m dating Mr Right Hand.”

Merlin’s vision blurred as heat flared in his belly-

“So, anniversary. Present in mind?”

Yesterday, Merlin would’ve said something simple; a morning of lazy kisses and Arthur making him breakfast, of quiet words and lips on his.

But now, hearing Arthur’s heavy breaths, his co*ck twitching in his jeans and sweaty palms slipping on the wheel, Merlin wanted those lips wrapped around his dick, slippery and tight, that breath gusting over his balls.

Arthur was a gentle lover but Merlin could tease him into being rough, , sucking bruises on pale skin, nails scoring up the back of Merlin’s thighs sending him over the edge hard, and biting into his mouth until it felt swollen.

“Unnggh.”

The rustle of clothes and purr of a zipper was distorted but recognisable and Merlin’s imagination filled in the blanks; Arthur couldn’t...

Not after the tapestry debacle.

“You’re at work!”

“Stop thinking so much, Merlin. Shouldn’t be hard for you.” Merlin huffed at Arthur’s snigg*r.

”It’s all wrong, can’t smell you. My mouth feels empty without your fingers.”

“Art-” Despite himself, Merlin shuddered, fingers itching to press past soft lips and hard teeth.

"Feeling shy? That’s okay, you listen. I'm sitting here, shirt buttoned and tucked, tie pressed, my pants open, co*ck in hand. God, I wish it was your hand or ass around me."

The complicated double-clutch screeched and Merlin was surprised the transmission wasn’t left on the motorway.

"Arthur!"

Memories of last night grabbed Merlin by the balls; Arthur’s co*ck stretching him as rough fingers jacked his co*ck and imperfect teeth nipped his collarbone. Merlin swerved off the empty motorway, cut the engine and ripped at his jeans, licking a palm, tugging his hardening co*ck free, grunting in relief.

“Wish I could see those bites from yesterday,” Arthur whined

Succumbing, Merlin flicked his shirt open, buttons pinging against the window, fingertips teasing chest and throat, pressing livid bruises.

“Wish you were here,” the radio creaked a protest of Merlin’s grip.

“-iss your neck, those ears… Before you shower, you reek of chemicals, but when I’m between your thighs...it’s just you.”

Merlin's hand flew along his co*ck, twisting and palming the head, the slick sound a melody to his breath and Arthur’s muffled grunts.

“-sounds you make when I tongue your belly-button, get so hard for you…” Arthur broke off with a moan, Merlin straining to hear every grunt and sigh as visions of Arthur wanking played in his minds-eye.

“Wanna touch you,” he whimpered.

"Mmmmmm, like when you slide your fingers out of my mouth, tease my hole… Hear how hot I’m getting imagining it?"

Merlin’s suddenly close, embarrassingly close after such little build-up, thighs burning as his hips pumped up into his fist. Juggling the radio, Merlin harshly twisted a nipple and he’s there.

“f*ck Art-” Merlin growled, hips jerking as he spilled, head pressed into the seatback, back bowed, come streaking his stomach and steering wheel.

”See you for breakfast?” Arthur was breathlessly smug.

Over the radio, Merlin heard the unmistakable creak of the Transport door, and Mithian’s fury at finding Arthur, slicked in come from co*ck to collar, in her chair.

24.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): No archive warnings apply

Merlin is Aquarium (staff) and Arthur is Science in Action (summer volunteer). Arthur is also newly escaped from Pendragon Financial. This summer is all about being his own man – his own man's man, too.

Merlin looks lethal in a wetsuit. Arthur dreams of f*cking him in the tunnel under the flooded forest, blue light bathing his pale skin, his beloved fish on all sides, old Kilgharrah cruising overhead.

He makes the first move via suggestion box slip, tucked into Merlin's locker.

How might we improve your experience? Let me blow you in Rainforests of the World.

Up and up the spiral ramp after the last of the days' tours exit the airlock. Up to the canopy, Arthur going down on his knees between the gecko and reed frog displays, butterflies trembling in the humid air above their heads.

One lands on his hair, and Merlin insists that they freeze like that, Arthur's throat stuffed full, until he can coax it off.

"Can't blame her," he murmurs as he cards his fingers through Arthur's hair, thumbs one hollowed-out cheek. "You look like a good place to rest."

Arthur swallows, half-choking, and tells himself that’s the sole reason for the sting in his eyes.

His first day, Arthur had committed the grievous sin of Buying Bottled Water, earning himself an impassioned lecture and subsequent weeks of hot-eyed glares. After the rainforest, they simmer into something new.

Arthur finds the slip rolled and threaded through the cap of his new eco-bottle.

How might we improve your experience? Want to see how the pros do Discovery Night? Aqua. stairs Thurs. at 8.

Arthur follows him down, past the shy octopus and the weedy, ethereal sea dragons. One floor up, the city's young elite are being herded into the planetarium.

"In here." Merlin jerks his head towards their newest exhibit: Animal Attraction. He moves the barrier, switches on the recessed spots. The walls are painted in hot colors, shades of red and orange.

Arthur crowds him, inhaling his shampoo, the pervasive underlying tang of brine. Merlin smells like round two waiting to happen. He's babbling about snails.

"…love darts. Literally shoot them into one another. See, there's this mucous on them that inhibits sperm digestion, so more of it is – "

"Snails are into comeplay?" Arthur murmurs. "Kinky."

They play this like it's a game – Merlin reels off facts, Arthur tries to distract him – but the truth is, Arthur gets off on hearing Merlin enthuse over the creatures in his care.

"And these beauties – " Merlin slides along the wall, flips round so his back's to the tank. He's flushed. " – are amazing. Clownfish can change their sex, you know, when the – "

"Please don't." Arthur runs a thumb over Merlin's Adam's apple before reaching down and cupping him between the legs. "I quite like you as you are."

Merlin's smile turns sly. He presses his bulge into Arthur's palm. "You're just glad I'm not a female tarantula…or a mantis. You'd be liable to lose your head after."

"Some would say I've already lost it, carrying on with a man who gets hard talking about cannibalism."

Chuckling, Merlin pushes Arthur away, drags him to the next set of displays.

Bower birds, betta fish and hermaphroditic worms: flash, fight and flexibility. Scent-marking. Claim-staking. Arthur gets it, feels the same urges at a visceral level. He hooks his fingers into Merlin's belt loops, hauls him back against his own erection.

When Merlin tells him about the splash tetras, Arthur flicks a tongue against his ear. At the anglerfish panel, he noses Merlin's collar aside, bites down gently on the soft skin.

"Would you like that then? If I never let go – just burrowed up inside you and stayed."

"Yes," Merlin says, newly breathless, hands suddenly scrabbling at his belt. "Yes, yes. f*ck, Arthur, c'mon."

Arthur gets his co*ck out, fumbles the condom on and kisses the fresh sweat breaking out along the back of Merlin's neck. He spits on two fingers, but when he forces them between the taut cheeks he finds he's been beaten to the task; Merlin's all slick and squelchy with lube. Arthur wants to tease him for his assumption, but mostly he wants…

"I'm here," he whispers, gripping his co*ck, rubbing it through the wet before pushing in hard.

Merlin gasps, hums, braces his hands on either side of the text panel. "Yes you are."

How might we improve your experience? Come home with me.

How might we improve your experience? Stay.

25.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): none

“Merlin, lift your leg a bit higher. Yep, that’s it. Arthur, tilt your head a bit to the right. Perfect! Now hold still.”

For a moment, the whir of a ventilator is the only sound in the room. Arthur’s back itches, but he doesn’t dare move.

“Great, guys. Perfect! But I’d like to try a bit different angle, okay? You can relax for a moment while I set things up.”

“Ugh,” Arthur mumbles into Merlin’s shoulder, laying his whole weight on top of him.

“Oi, I’m not a mattress!” Merlin complains, pinching Arthur’s side.

“Scratch my back,” Arthur murmurs into his ear.

“Seriously?” Merlin asks.

“Please.”

Arthur knows Merlin can’t deny him a thing and smiles when he feels Merlin’s hand snaking under his shirt.

“At least tell me where, you prat.”

“A little higher. And to the left. Just a bit more. Yeah, right there.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you were a dog in your previous life. Golden retriever, maybe.”

“How many times do I have to tell you. I must have been a lion.”

“Grumpy cat, more likely,” Merlin says with a chuckle.

“Remind me again why we need to do this?”

“Stop whining. This whole thing was your idea.”

“We could just pick some snapshot from all the footage. It would be easier.”

“This isn’t some random gay p*rn with a lot of grunting and fake moans. There are thousands of men and women around the world waiting for us to show them a glimpse into our bedroom. They want to see real romance, real feelings. And they want a proper nice cover on that DVD.”

Arthur shifts a bit so that he can look Merlin in the eyes and links their fingers together.

“I just can’t wait to f*ck you,” Arthur says, making it sound like the most romantic proclamation ever.

“Oh, I noticed,” Merlin smirks, rubbing his thigh against Arthur’s fully-hard co*ck teasingly. “I bet you’re really looking forward to having me spread out under you, urging you to go harder as you take your sweet time f*cking me with that handy little vibrator we got as product placement.”

“It’s too small. You’ll beg me to give you more,” Arthur says and rolls his hips against Merlin’s thigh. “And I won’t listen to your pleas, driving you crazy circling that little toy right over your sweet spot.”

“I’ll be a mess,” Merlin breathes out, pulling Arthur’s hand down under the blanket.

“I’ll drag you right to the edge, but won’t let you fall.” Merlin gasps and squirms a bit when Arthur wraps his hand around his shaft and starts stroking at a leisurely pace.

“Guys, we’re done here,” Gwaine says from where he’s kneeling on the floor with a camera.

“But we haven’t…” Merlin starts.

“Oh yes, you did. That staring into each other’s eyes while cuddling? Or that filthy grin you gave Merlin? Total gold. I’ll get Percy and if you’re ready to go, and I believe you’re very ready to go, we can start the shoot in another few minutes.”

“Still not regretting making us the most famous gay couple in the world?” Merlin asks after Gwaine leaves the room.

“Not in the slightest,” Arthur answers and plants a sweet kiss on Merlin’s lips. “Now I can really say I love my job.”

26.

Pairing(s): Morgana/Gwen
Warning(s): --

Gwen adjusted the grip on the stake, back against the cold brink wall.

She held her breath, straining her ears. There was a rustling, and Gwen's heart started pounding. She turned the corner, stake raised.

The vampire's face contorted when it saw her.

"Slayer," it hissed. Gwen drove the stake into its chest, the hiss dissolving into a gurgle and the vampire collapsed into a pile of dust.

Gwen looked around, in case there was another vamp about. The coast looked clear though. Gwen took a deep breath and then let her arm fall to her side.

~~~

Morgana was awake when Gwen got back, sitting with Gauis and Arthur.

"What's wrong?" she asked, tiredness gone, replaced by heart-thumping fear.

"It's Merlin," Arthur said, stiffly. "He's - there's something wrong with him."

"What do you mean?"

Gaius got up, holding a book in his hands.

"We think he's been possessed."

"Possessed?"

"Yes," Gaius pointed to the book he was holding. "We think he's possessed by a demon."

"Where is he now?"

Morgana looked up from the table, and Gwen could see her eyes flaring gold. She nodded to their spare room. "I'm keeping him unconscious.

"He said he felt some magic - remember? I felt it too, but neither of us knew what it meant."

Gaius nodded. "It's possible it was some form of summoning spell, but it went wrong, so the demon doesn't have a body - it's possessing whoever it can find."

Gwen walked over to Morgana and took her hand, kissing her knuckles.

"So how do we get rid of it?" Gwen asked.

"We need to make it corporeal, and then we need to kill it. We - you're the only one strong enough to do this, Gwen."

Gwen had one fleeting thought of her big comfortable bed, and curling up next to Morgana before she blinked and nodded. Merlin needed them.

"No time like the present," She said. "What do we need to do?"

"I've got the spells I need to do. I'm still not sure if I'm strong enough." Morgana shook her head. "I've never dealt with something this strong. It's trying to push against me."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Gwen asked.

~~~

Gaius and Arthur left the flat.

"That was awkward," Gwen commented.

"How do you think I feel?" Morgana asked, blushing furiously. "I've known Gaius since I was five. He should never even mention sex, never mind suggest I have it to increase my strength."

"Morgana," Gwen said, while Arthur and Gaius were laying out the things needed for the spell. "Are you ok? We can try to find another way-"

Morgana shook her head and kissed Gwen, hard. Gwen made a surprised noise, as Morgana's tongue snaked between her lips.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Gwen murmured as she slipped her hand up Morgana's top, lifting it up and over her head.

Morgana slipped her bra off, dropping it to the floor. She reached out for Gwen, almost desperate.

Gwen sucked on Morgana's nipple, feeling it harden under her tongue. Morgana gasped, and thrust her body forward against Gwen. Gwen grinned and slipped a hand down Morgana's stomach, slipping inside her pants.

She teased a little, fingers teasing at Morgana's pubic hair. Morgana ground against her hand and Gwen moved, thumbing Morgana's cl*t.

"Yes," Morgana gasped, fingers gripping at Gwen's shoulders. Gwen slipped two fingers inside Morgana, thumb circling her cl*t. "f*ck, f*ck."

Gwen could feel Morgana start to get tight around her fingers, and Gwen lifted her head to bite at Morgana's neck. Morgana whined as she came, clenching around Gwen's fingers.

Morgana slumped back against the wall as Gwen pulled her hand away. Her eyes were bright gold, like flames. Gwen shivered a little, almost feeling the raw power coming off Morgana.

"You ready to go save the day?" Gwen asked.

"Are you?" Morgana asked.

Let's go do it," Gwen said, holding out her hand.

27.

Pairing(s): Mordred/Kara
Warning(s):

He makes sure he’s the only one she can dance for, the endless offering of bills piling around her feet. His eyes never leave her, following every turn and swing, leaving a trail of fire as they roam. She likes to watch him back; trace the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the curls across his forehead, the wan smirk as she grinds on the pole.

She has no choice but to dance for him. Those aren’t ones slipping into the band of her underwear.

The men around stare and drink, their gazes flitting from her to others. They look but they can never touch. No one would dare to even slip her a single with him at the edge of her table, guarding it like Cerberus did the underworld. He’s on his third drink now and she knows it’s nearing the time. He suddenly rises, tossing another bill in his wake, and leaves.

She knows that’s her cue.

Some of the bottle boys collect her money; crisp, fresh bills he withdraws just for her, sparing her the hassle of smoothing and drying her cash in a dryer. She strips the garish bra and underwear off in the locker space, throwing them in to be washed another day. Her jeans hug nicely and her sweater is comforting against her skin. She pushes up her sleeves over the sink and washes her face, removing her eye makeup carefully. She looks at herself in the mirror as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She’s as plain as any other girl on the street. But that’s what he likes.

His car is purring idly out back, the air filling with a click as the doors are unlocked. He meets her eye, giving her a once-over before shifting gears and driving to his flat. When they arrive, she sits at the dining table as he fixes her something to eat, glancing around at the photos she knows so well. A family party, standard prom picture, him and his father fishing, a little girl on the sidewalk waving at someone behind the camera.

After she eats, he picks her up like a bride and carries her down the hall, closing the door of a room on the way. They make love and it’s achingly slow and sweet, the air punctuated by laughs ending in gasps. Kara, Kara, Kara he whispers into her skin as he kisses downward, leaving a dark bruise inside a thigh. She plays with his curly mop as his eyes pierce hers, his own cum dripping from his tongue.

“M-Mordred,” she stammers as she breaks the water from her plummet, the ride finally dropping from the halted height.

He cuddles into her side when it’s over, holding her close so she can’t run away.

“Won’t you stay?” he whispers quietly as he strokes her cheek, his fingertips lighter than the weight behind his question.

She won’t.

That’d mean trading in her get-ups for a dress and afterschool meetings, singles in her panties for a ring on her finger. She won’t quit. And she’ll die before she lets him take her out anywhere, stifling any chance of disproving that she strips her clothes for anyone and everyone, not just him, without a single degree to her name.

She shakes her head and lifts his hand from her face; too much gentleness and she’ll break. He is blinking fast and she knows that he’s crying but he’s not meek or mild when he pushes her into the mattress, encircling her neck with one hand and pushing her leg up with the other. It is not sweet or gentle and she seethes a cry between gritted teeth as his thrusts scrape paint from behind the headboard. It is nothing like when she arrived but that was then and now she is leaving. She can’t look away, his grip on her neck holding her in place, so she closes her eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough.

She meets his eye and their breath stutters. Her heart clenches painfully in her chest. He lowers himself and a wet stickiness smears between her thighs as he shifts around, covering them with the sheet. He holds her hand and kisses her brow, skimming his lips along her face. She turns her face to the bedside table, his lips following down her neck. Another frame sits by the lamp, two smiling teens and one laughing little girl.

“Just stay ‘til morning. It’ll make her happy.”

28.

Pairing(s): Merlin/ Arthur
Warning(s): NIL

“Why are you on my balcony?” Arthur asked the dark figure. What the f*ck, there was a gondola on the balcony of his 32nd floor Pendragon Penthouse complete with a bloody window cleaner? He had to interrupt his wank for this?

“Slight malfunction,” the guy said.”Can I borrow your toilet?”

“No, you may not!”

Then the guy stepped into the light and grinned, and Arthur stared at bright blue eyes, raven hair, and a blinding smile. His name tag said “Merlin”.

“Like what you see?” Merlin said cheekily. sh*t, he’d noticed Arthur perving.

Arthur stood riveted as Merlin unzipped his jumpsuit, torn between being surprised and aroused. The cheek of this guy! Hmmm… the cheeks on this guy. Merlin was lanky and muscular, pale skin showing through a clingy t-shirt and tight shorts. His pert butt looked delectable.

“Er…” Arthur swallowed hard. His dick twitched to life again.

“Hmm, if you won’t let me come in, then i suppose I’ll have to do it here,” Merlin said.

“Do what? I don’t even know you!” Arthur said.

“I feel like I know you. I always see you inside your flat, “ Merlin said, voice sultry and gaze direct.

Arthur flushed. At this time of the night, he’d usually be beating off in bed.

“Ok, don’t look so constipated, I was only taking the piss …. oops, I did it again, didn’t I?” Merlin laughed. “I need to wait for the company guys to get me, so if you keep me stuck out here, I’ll have to entertain myself.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, and said, “Or I could keep you entertained?”

Merlin took Arthur’s shocked silence as permission. He sat, knees up against the glass walls of the balcony and waggled his eyebrows. In his mortified excitement, Arthur couldn’t help but scoot closer.

The balcony lights were off, but the moonlight and the glow from the living room gave enough light to show Merlin’s silhouette.

Merlin took his co*ck out, eyes on Arthur all the while. Arthur swallowed and arched involuntarily at the stirring of his loins.

The cover of darkness was keeping Arthur on edge, making him sense Merlin’s every movement even more keenly.

Even if he couldn’t see Merlin’s dick, Merlin’s face was expressive and his actions were uninhibited, full of glee - how could Merlin throw himself into this so wholeheartedly when he was wanking on a stranger’s balcony? And on company time! It made Arthur hot and excited and decidedly pervy all over.

Arthur could tell that Merlin was kneading himself now.

Merlin was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with every pull and tug. “Wanna touch?” he panted. Yes, Arthur did want to touch, yes indeed.

Arthur scrambled even nearer and put out a tentative hand. Merlin grabbed hold of it and guided Arthur to rest his hands on his bulge. Merlin’s co*ck was slimmer than Arthur’s own, but longer. It was already wet with pre-cum, and rose to full hardness once Arthur’s hands were on him.

Merlin’s hands were working steadily and he made little noises and gasps of pleasure. Arthur couldn’t stand it, he palmed himself and was mortified to hear a small moan escape at the blessed contact.

They were leaning in closer now, Arthur’s own ragged breathing echoing right into Merlin’s ear as he struggled with the angle and the grip. Then Merlin slid so he was almost lying down, and pulled Arthur on top of him.

This time, Arthur gasped aloud as their co*cks made contact; even through the fabric of his boxers, it felt heavenly. He scrabbled for purchase, balancing on top of Merlin, their chests pushing together and their faces only a breath away from each other.

“Oh my god,” Arthur rapsed. “oh my god, oh my god”. Merlin’s dick was rubbing and pressing as Merlin frotted against him, and Arthur pushed his own groin down for more contact. “Oh, my, god.”

Below him, Merlin writhed and muttered, “So hot, I just knew you’d be so hot in flesh.” Wait, what? Arthur stuttered in his hand job as he processed that, and that’s when Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arse with a vengeance, sputtering and coming with a shout.

Arthur came thereafter, leaving a sticky mess in his boxers.

They lay on the chilly balcony, catching their breath, then Arthur climbed off. He pointed at the glass next to them, streaked with cum from Merlin and from his own hands, and said, “Now you’ll have to clean that off.”

Merlin winked. “I’ll have to come again, I think. Make it worth my while to clean.”

29.

Pairing(s): Morgana/Gwen
Warning(s): None

Gwen sipped her beer. The bottle was empty. She thunked it down on the table with a sigh, and contemplated braving the queue to get another one. She didn’t want to lose her table.

There was a lull in the music, and a voice said, “drinking alone?”

It was a woman with long dark hair and sharp features – a completely flipping gorgeous woman with dark hair and sharp features. “Um, no. I’m with my friends, but they’re on the dance floor.”

“You not dancing?”

“No, I don’t dance,” said Gwen. “I can’t dance. I, um –” The woman was offering her a hand, like they were at a fancy ball and she was a lord asking a lady to dance. Gwen led herself be led out onto the dance floor, feeling slightly dazed.

“It’s not difficult.” The woman raised her voice to be heard over the music. “It’s all in the hips.” She demonstrated, waving her hips from side to side, finding the rhythm so easily; and then her hands were on Gwen’s hips, guiding her. “See?” she said when Gwen had it, raising her arms above her head. “You can dance.”

When the song ended, she took Gwen by the arm and led her to the bar, cutting her way easily through the crowd. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Thanks,” said Gwen when the woman pressed a bottle into her hand. “So, um. I’m Gwen.”

“Morgana.” She leaned over the bar, still with that coy look in her eye.

“So what do you do?” It was a stupid attempt at conversation, but it was all Gwen could come up with.

“Oh,” Morgana sipped her drink, “I’m a dancer.”

“What, professionally?” Morgana nodded. Before Gwen could stop herself, she said, “an exotic dancer?” She cringed, all set to apologise profusely, but Morgana was laughing.

“Ballet,” she said, lilting out the vowels.

“Ballet? Seriously? Wow,” said Gwen. “What’s that like?”

Morgana leaned towards her. “Well, for one thing, I’m very flexible.”

Gwen swallowed.

“I don’t normally do this,” Gwen assured her.

“That’s okay,” said Morgana breezily. While Morgana was helping her off with her top, Gwen realised she hadn’t bothered to tell her friends she was leaving. They’d probably be looking for her – but then Morgana unhooked her bra and pressed her mouth between Gwen’s breasts, and she stopped caring.

Her abs were tense and smooth beneath Gwen’s trailing fingers. She lay spread on Gwen’s bed, her hair spilling across the pillows like ink on paper. “Want to see?” Before Gwen could answer, she lifted a leg and pulled it back, back, until her toes were almost level with her ear.

“Oh my god,” Gwen squeaked.

Morgana’s puss* was as neat and smooth as the rest of her, shaved and pale, but when Gwen pushed her tongue between the lips it was abruptly hot and wet. She licked, and she licked, because the noises Morgana made were just beautiful, gasps and moans that were like music; she wanted to do this forever.

Morgana came, her thighs trembling, and her fingers were in Gwen’s hair, tugging her up, up. “God, you’re such a mess,” she said, brushing Gwen’s hair off her forehead, a hand on her cheek.

“Yeah,” said Gwen. “Yeah.” Morgana took her hands and held them, squeezing gently.

Morgana left before breakfast, but she left her phone number on a business card. Gwen she sat drinking coffee and apologising over and over to Merlin for abandoning him in the club.

“Gwen, it’s okay. It’s not like you left me alone.” He shoved his toast into his mouth and tapped a few keys on his laptop. “Holy sh*t,” he said through a mouthful of toast. He swivelled his laptop around. “Is this her?”

All Gwen saw at first was Morgana’s face, taking up half the screen, a black and white photo of her, elegantly tousled hair, come-hither look on her face. “Yeah. Why?” Merlin motioned at the text. Morgana Le Fay, she read, one of Britain’s foremost ballerinas, is set to appear in – Merlin flicked back to the Google search page. He’d probably been expecting her Facebook, not a page full of news articles.

“Looks like you f*cked a celebrity.” He sounded kind of awed. Gwen buried her face in her hands and groaned, monumentally embarrassed, as if she should have known, somehow – and then, on the kitchen table, her phone thrummed. From: Morgana. “Already?” Merlin sipped his coffee. “Wow, someone’s keen.”

Gwen ignored him and opened the text.

30.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): Discussions surrounding food, including super vague reference to hunger and poverty.

Arthur followed Uther out of the hall, still stripping cobwebs from his shoulders.

“Father,” he said. “Please, this is embarrassing.”

“Protecting your life is of far greater concern to me than protecting your pride,” Uther said.

“But he looks as though a thimble of wine could knock him over!” Arthur gestured back toward the hall. Had his father even seen the boy? “What use could he possibly serve as my taster if his constitution is no match for mine?”

Uther waved a hand, cutting him off. “That is exactly the point. A man more susceptible to slow-acting poisons only has more motivation to safeguard your food. He’s already saved your life despite great risk to himself.” He turned, gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “Men like that, no matter how frail, are worth keeping close.”

Arthur bit back his complaints with a resentful sigh.

☩

“You will be responsible for preparing my meals and sampling them before I eat. Anything I don’t finish you may have.”

Merlin looked skeptical. “So, my job is to eat your leftovers?”

“Your job is to keep me from being poisoned.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that,” Merlin said.

His trousers looked in danger of falling off his skinny hips, so Arthur gave his tone all the attention someone so ridiculous deserved.

☩

“Not that I’m complaining—” Merlin began. Arthur rolled his eyes. “—but isn’t tasting something Morris could do?” He hefted the remains of Arthur’s dinner appraisingly.

Arthur liked to order extra food during peak training season, but sometimes didn’t feel like eating it all.

“Easier to replace the occasional taster than train a new manservant every time an attempt is made on my life,” Arthur said, grinning. Merlin narrowed his eyes, but he still took everything left on the tray.

☩

Arthur regretted his flippancy after the Bayard incident. Merlin looked to be recovering well when Arthur checked in, if damnably fragile.

It occurred to Arthur that he didn’t want to replace Merlin. But he couldn’t say as much, so he simply continued ordering extra food long after training season passed into winter.

☩

It took what felt like an age, but when Merlin’s royally supplemented diet finally began to stick to his ribs, Arthur’s concern eased. Merlin would never be the most robust man, but rich food suited him. His hair looked fuller, his skin finer, and his collarbones less disturbingly prominent.

“You’re looking well, Merlin,” Arthur said, oddly proud of Merlin’s bared forearms as he laid the table that night. Merlin shot him an incredulous look.

“Thank you?” he said.

“As you should.” Arthur took a pull off his goblet. “You came to us a scarecrow. What were they feeding you back home, hay?” He grinned at the sardonic twist to Merlin’s mouth.

“Hay is a delicacy only reserved for the wealthiest peasants, sire,” he said.

Arthur sobered, swirling his wine.

“Dine with me,” he said. Merlin looked up, brow quirked. Arthur strove for a patient tone. “You’ll be taking half of this with you anyway. You may as well eat it while it’s warm.”

Merlin shrugged like the ungracious wretch he was and sat at Arthur’s right side. But in spite of his insouciance, he only picked at the platters, eating as daintily as a bird. Arthur set down his cutlery, sighing.

“What?” Merlin said, defensive.

“You know what! You’re starting to make me think you have poisoned us with the way you’re nibbling crumbs like a woman.”

“Of course I haven’t!” Merlin said.

“Then here,” Arthur said, taking up a fig drizzled in warm honey and holding it out. “Eat.”

When Merlin didn’t move to take the fig, Arthur caught him by the nape and pressed the fruit to his mouth.

Merlin’s eyes shocked wide, lips parting to admit Arthur’s fingers between them. Arthur didn’t realise his mistake until Merlin moaned, but it was too late to reconsider the intimacy of his actions when he was already chasing the taste of honey across Merlin’s tongue.

He hefted Merlin onto the table with single-minded intent, tugging neckerchief and tunic out of the way to get a proper look at Merlin’s lean chest, his sweet-looking nipples. He drew Merlin’s co*ck out of his trousers and pumped it until the head slipped its sheath, fitting hot in the back of Arthur’s throat like a plump, bitter cherry.

He tasted until Merlin jerked, crying out — until he was sated, his fingers leaving sticky trails across Merlin’s soft, pale belly.

31.

Pairing(s): Gwaine/Percival
Warning(s):None

The trumpets sounded as Camelots army returned successful. It had been three long months since the knights had gone off to war. Three long months where the servant Percival had waited every day in the stables; absentmindedly brushing down the horses wondering if today was going to be the day he received a letter telling him his beloved Sir Gwaine had died in battle.

When he first heard the sound of the trumpets Percival raced out of the stables, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of his knight in shining armor. The castle’s courtyard was a ruckus, everyone trying to reunite with their loved ones.

Percival could not see Gwaine. Maybe he was one of the many knights wrapped in blankets and awaiting burial.

“He’ll be here.” a voice from behind assured him.

Percival turned to see Merlin, the king’s personal servant, standing there with a small smile. The boy was the only one who knew of Gwaine and Percival’s love affair, having walked in on them in the stables many times.

“Of course he will. He promised.” Percival tried to smile.

He waited an hour, the courtyard still teeming with people reuniting, before going back to the stables heartbroken. He’d look for Gwaine again in the morning, when people had settled back in.

Night rolled around, lanterns were lit to keep the stables bright as Percival worked. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, not while Gwaine was missing.

His muscles ached, strained from hours labouring over the horses tack. He never heard the stable door open.

“I didn’t see you this afternoon.”

Percival turned sharply, his tools clattering to the floor in his haste to stand.

“Gwaine!” He laughed, wrapping the smaller man is a hug. Gwaine pulled out of the hug, reaching up to give Percival a hot wet kiss.

“I spent three months-” Gwaine started tugging at Percivals tunic. “Surrounded by the sound of lonely men f*cking every night.” He pulled at the strings on Percivals breeches. “Every night, wishing you were there, touching myself to the thought of you.” Gwaine began shedding his own clothes,stopping every so often to kiss Percival. “Oh God Perc, I missed you. Why couldn’t you have been the stable boy the army brought along.”

Percival laughed. “I would have got nothing done if I had come along, I’d have spent all day f*cking the kings best knight.”

Gwaine led Percival down onto the hay, taking Percival’s member in his hand, thumb teasing the slit as he stole another kiss from the servant.
He knelt over Percival, straddling the larger mans thighs. He pulled a vial of oil out of his trouser pocket, reaching back to slick himself up.

“Let me.” Percival said, taking the oil and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. He reached behind Gwaine, his finger brushing the small pucker. His finger slowly slid inside, the hole clenched, tight from disuse. Slowly pulling the finger out, he inserted a second, scissoring them to stretch the knight.

When he reached four fingers, he pulled out, ignoring Gwaine’s whimper of protest. He poured the remaining oil on his co*ck, guiding Gwaine over top of his and crying out as Gwaine slowly sank down on him.

“I missed this.” Gwaine kissed him, his hips starting to move. Percival cried out. He had nearly forgotten what this felt like, to have his lover ride him into oblivion. He bucked his hips sharply, Gwaine moaning his name at the feel. The knights hands scratched at his chest, nails raking across Percivals nipples.

Percival came with a cry, breathing heavy for a moment before wrapping his arm around Gwaine flipping the knight onto his back. He pushed into the knight, Gwaine’s eyes closing tightly as Percival pounded into him, not lasting long before he too was coming.

Percival pulled out, flopping onto the hay beside Gwaine and kissing him lightly on the cheek before pulling him into his arms. “You came back.”

Gwaine chuckled. “I promised you, didn’t I?” He sighed before his eyes drooped and he fell asleep in Percivals arms.

“Yes, you did” Percival whispered before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

32.

Pairing(s): Morgana/Gwen
Warning(s): None

The last dregs of sunset were spilling across the city skyline when Morgana blinked awake. She could hear voices downstairs in the shop, one loud and abrasive and the other sweet but quickly rising in volume. She steals one of Gwen’s sweaters hanging on the bedpost and heads toward the noise, poking her head around the back just in time to see the front door slam with a force that rattles the whole house.

“What’s going on?” she asks around a jaw-cracking yawn. Gwen is laying over the countertop, hair wild, apron askew.

“Brides.” She lifts her head so Morgana can drop a quick kiss on her cheek.

“July is wedding season and apparently Albion Arrangements has graduated from ‘eccentric’ to ‘exclusive.’ We’re getting so many orders I’m going to need another familiar before the season is out, Athusia is just swamped.”

Morgana pulls her in close to rub soothing circles on her back.

“Exclusive is good. Can the two of you handle it until the next full moon? I’m out of stardust.”

“Yeah. Mortals just make me so tired. Always is such a hurry.” She sighs and leans back against the counter, reaching up to cup Morgana’s cheek.

“Good morning, by the way.”

Morgana presses a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, and when she lifts her lips there are a handful of pink Camellia’s spilling from Gwen’s palm.
Morgana smiles. The stars outside shine a little brighter.

*

Morgana divides her nights between mixing potions to sell to petty, lesser gods, and gazing into the void of timespace in hopes of divining meaning from entropy. Sometimes this means a well-browned roux for dinner and a neat row of stoppered bottles glowing faintly in the moonlight. Other nights it means Morgana listening to the stars rearrange themselves while Gwen sleepily braids Calla lilies into her hair.

But the best nights by far are the ones where the sheets are covered in Nasturtiums and Gwen pulls her back into bed, laughter turning into a sigh when Morgana kisses her hair, her shoulder, her stomach. The sigh becomes a moan when Morgana moves her mouth lower and the moan becomes a name.

The gods have many names, but Gwen gasps with the resonance of a church bell and each syllable is breathed into life against the damp of Morgana skin and she is known, wholly and completely.

*

The raven in the kitchen window the next morning is only to be expected.

“Ack, Morgana, could you at least put on a shirt?”

“It’s my house Merlin. And you’ve definitely seen a lot worse.”

“Yeah but we’re family, it’s kinda weird.”

“Fine.” She’s in too much of a good mood to let his whining affect her. When she returns with a sweater he’s climbing down off the sink, shaking off the holly Morgana knows threatens to consume the house.

“I got your starstuff,” he says, tossing her a small velvet pouch. “You have something right there,” he says, motioning to her neck. “And right there, and there-”

“Out, out, you’re molting on my floor.”

He laughs and turns to go. “Also, Arthur says well done on the rolling blackouts. Ten out of ten. And maybe shut the drapes next time?”

He takes off before she can smack him, and Morgana sticks her head out the window to shout up at the sky, “This is why dad wanted only daughters. No suns.”

The sun twinkles merrily on the horizon, a singsong ‘f*ck you,’ carried on the winds.

*

Sunday is a day of rest.

The shop is closed and the apartment quiet save for Gwen humming and prodding at the coffee pot. Morgana lays out the paper she still insists on buying, and lines up six pomegranate seeds around the rim of her saucer.

“How’s it looking?”

“f*cked. NASDAQ dived before closing again, our money’s pretty much untouchable but it’s still wreaking havoc everywhere else. Thanks-” she says and takes the coffee Gwen hands her. Two lumps of ambrosia, no cream. Perfect.
“How’s the Atreus wedding coming along?”

“It’s a disaster. They’re insisting on Begonias, can you believe it? I keep trying to balance the arrangement out with Peonies and they just won’t have it. It’s like they’re determined to have the worst of all possible luck.”

Morgana laughs.
“Do they not know who you are?”

Gwen rolls her eyes and steals one of Morgana’s seeds.

“Hey!”

She pops it between her teeth, a wicked grin playing at her lips. Morgana pulls her into her lap, bites, tastes the sharp sweetness of the pomegranate on her lips staining them both red.

Alive.

33.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): possible underage, age difference, prostitution

Arthur pulls up to the curb where a lanky teenager is standing under the light of the only streetlamp within the whole block. He rolls down his window.

“How much?”

“Twenty.”

He motions to his passenger side, and the boy climbs in.

***

A cheap motel with a sign that claims, “Welcom Visitors! O en 2 /7,” the other neon pink characters flickering on spontaneously. A yellow-tinted room with peeling floral wallpaper and a mismatched but equally ugly bedspread.

The grittiness of the whole affair falls away with the rough tug of his hair and the running of fingers and hands up his back that cause a chill to run down his spine and goose bumps to rise on his arms. An expert tongue and the wet heat of the boy’s mouth, letting him thrust even though he might lose control.

He puts the money on the nightstand when he leaves.

***

Three months and seven encounters later, and the blonde man still comes up to the same curb, at the same time, and takes him to the same motel. Merlin is surprised every time he comes, expecting the man to move on already.

This time is different. Instead of shuffling back into his jeans and leaving immediately, the man stays in bed. He cards his fingers through Merlin’s hair surprisingly gently, an unsettling contrast to the man’s taciturn demeanor.

Merlin is curious about the man, realizing that he doesn't know how to refer to him as anything else. “What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

Nothing more is said, and within the hour, the money is on the nightstand and Arthur is gone.

***

Five weeks pass before Arthur comes to the curb again, and Merlin has almost been worried.
There’s no holding back this time. Scratching, love bites more accurately described as bruises, panting, and sweat. Leaving them both trying to catch their breath afterwards, and again Arthur stays.

“So you clearly know what I do all day long, but I don’t know anything about you. Come on, tell me something,” Merlin nudges Arthur in the ribs. Arthur stays silent, only raising an eyebrow and looking at him from the side. “Ok let me guess. You work in an office, probably in a law firm or a bank, and you make buckets of money, and could afford a real escort but have a fetish for the skinny ones. Oh, and you’re married and secretly in the closet. Are you married? With kids?”

Arthur gives him the same look but finally replies, “I work in forensics. Using science to analyze bloodstains and bullet holes. And I’m not married.”

Merlin snorts in disbelief, “You’re a cop? And you hang around street kids? Man, you’re actually messed up.”

Arthur gives a small smile to that and closes his eyes.

***

“I think it’d be nice to own a bookstore,” Merlin says, staring at the now-familiar ceiling.

“Oh?”

“Well when I was a kid and still in school, I remember reading everything I could get my hands on. Bookstores were like small pieces of heaven, even though we couldn’t really afford to buy much,” Merlin redirects his gaze to the sheets pooled between their legs. “Even after, I still went to the library all the time during the day until they banned me.”

“They shouldn’t have done that. Everyone should be able to read,” Arthur says, distaste laced in his features.

“I suppose they just wanted to keep trouble out. I definitely look all sorts of sketchy,” Merlin speculates, not particularly bothered.

***

They become like clockwork, Arthur picking Merlin up every other week, the routine etched into their bones. Two years of their souls ticking, sometimes subtle like wristwatches and sometimes banging like old grandfather clocks.

***

“I’m getting married,” Arthur says quietly. “To a woman. Maybe you were right about scared and closeted. Perhaps I’ll even have kids. Three of them.”

Merlin lifts his head from Arthur’s chest to look at his face, where sadness and resignation mingle together.

They have each other twice more that night, taking it slowly the first time and frenzied the second. As if desperation has finally clawed its way to the surface, taking them both down with it.

***

Merlin stares at the check in his hand, a check made out to him that is not $20 but $20,000 instead. He stares until his eyes burn, and only then does he look back down at the nightstand where a small slip of paper reads, “Best of luck. Hope you get your bookstore someday.”

34.

Pairing(s): Freya/Percival + Arthur
Warning(s): dub-con (of the sex pollen/spell kind—sexorcism, woo!), unprotected sex, mild bondage.

As soon as the door opens, it hits her like a heatwave, and she has to steady herself on the doorframe. Magic’s thick and syrupy in the air, golden haze rolling out from the body on the bed to wrap itself around her.

“sh*t,” Freya says, shaky, spikes of heat flaring in her belly.

“You okay?” the guy—Arthur—says, right behind her.

“Yeah.” Freya straightens herself and walks toward the bed, knees already weak. “That’s one hell of a spell, is all.”

The man on the bed’s massive and naked, skin glistening with sweat, co*ck stiff and leaking onto his stomach. He’s bound to the four corners, limbs straining, fingers twitching to, Freya knows, touch something—some skin, his co*ck, other people’s, anything that would bring release from his fever. Except that nothing can, and it’s consuming him.

“Can you help him?” Arthur asks.

Freya takes a deep breath. This… this is going to take some work. She puts her hand on the man’s thick thigh and it wracks her body with a deep shiver, makes her wet instantly, and wrenches a moan out of her. It echos the man’s own as his body jerks wildly, glassy eyes rolling back in his head.

Yeah. She’s gonna have to go straight to the big guns. She wipes her hand on her skirt and toes off her shoes, then shimmies out of her sodden underwear.

“Um, I’m just gonna...” Arthur points to the door.

“Stay,” Freya says, and climbs on the bed to straddle the man’s wide waist, careful not to touch his skin. She’s open, puss* slick and wide, hovering over his co*ck—red and so so so hard.

She wants to f*ck him until he screams.

Arthur hesitates, uncomfortable.

“It’ll help,” she says, then inhales deeply to get better control of her body, fights back at the spell that wants to overtake her as well. “Some familiarity will help him. What’s his name?”

“Percy.”

“Okay,” Freya says, spreads her legs more and reaches to guide Percy’s co*ck inside her.

“Don’t you need—”

“He needs to come inside me. I need—f*ck.” Percy slides inside her easily—both of them so wet, so willing—down to the hilt. She shakes around him, hands wide and slipping on his chest. Percy bucks off the bed, moans and grunts and thrashes. The need for touch, for skin against his, to bite and mouth at everything and everyone is unbearable. He burns with it.

“Soon,” Freya says, then shudders. “It’s okay.”

She raises herself up, then f*cks herself down with long, slow rolls of her hips, takes him as deep as she can, panting, sweating through her blouse.

“Talk to him,” she tells Arthur, breathy and rough. “Anything. Just let him hear you.”

Arthur moves to the head of the bed, lowers himself so he can talk into Percy’s ear while Freya rides his co*ck. She digs with her magic under Percy’s skin to find the threads of the spell, holds them tight in her hands like reins. Percy’s so thick, stretches her so nicely, so good.

Arthur talks, voice steady and soft—school boys stories—eyes fixed on Freya, lips wet and red. And Freya looks back, finds anchor in his steady gaze as she takes the spell into her own body.

Percy groans, head tilted back—it makes Freya want to lick his throat—his hips thrusting as much as he can to f*ck into her.

“Untie his hand,” Freya says. Her body’s burning and she needs to—she curls over Percy’s chest, gathers the heat inside of her, the all-consuming need rattling her bones, and starts breaking it down. f*ck, but she needs to come. Hard. She’s dripping with it.

She grabs Percy’s wrist as soon as Arthur has it freed, and guides his hand under her shirt, lets him grab at her bare breasts, thick fingers pinching her nipples, sending fire down her spine.

“Yeah, come on,” she says, f*cks down harder, faster, clenches and grinds, loud sucking slick sounds filling the air. “Christ, come already. Give it to me.”

Sweat falls into her eyes, her hair sticks to her cheeks. She cries out when Arthur touches her—skin oversensitive and body needy. He wipes at her brow, pushes his thumb on her lower lip for her to suck on, flattens it on her tongue, and keeps looking at her, keeps talking.

Percy comes with a shout, fills her with come and heat and magic, and she takes it all, stuffed full with it, grinds herself down—deep, deep, deeper—and breaks apart.

35.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): none

“I promise you it’s really not as exciting as it sounds,” Merlin said leading Arthur up the rickety stairs behind the large EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. “It’s one of those oddly lame jobs that sounds really cool.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur insisted. “I’m curious.”

“Ta-da!” he said ushering Arthur into the control room. “This is where the magic happens.”

Arthur looked around appreciatively, then moved towards the projectors. Merlin cutt him off.

“Yeah, no. You don’t get to touch the projector. There are like only two theaters in the city that still have these old ones, so if anything happens, it would be not just my job, but likely my balls, too.”

Arthur held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backed up. “Ok, got it. No touching.”

Merlin smiled and directed Arthur to a chair.

“Tonight is our late night movie. We normally show old films, and the art-house movies, but once a month we show a cult-film or a fan favorite like This is Spinal Tap, or The Breakfast Club, something like that.”

“What’s tonight’s?”

“Grease.”

“Oh god,” Arthur groaned. “Does that mean we have to sit through it, too? Morgana was obsessed with that movie. If I never see the Hand-Jive again it will be too soon.”

Merlin laughed. “I’m sure we can think of something to do.”

Soon the sounds of people began to filter up into the control room.

Merlin checked his watch. “I just have to check a few things, to make sure the second reel is ready to go.”

“I’ve seen Fight Club,” Arthur said. “I know how this works.”

“Yes, but I’ve never spliced a penis into a film.”

“Right,” Arthur said. “I bet you haven’t.”

“Shut up and let me work,” Merlin laughed.

Arthur grinned wickedly at him, “What about doing other things with a penis during a film?”

Merlin didn’t turn around, but Arthur could see his ears turning red as he flipped the switches, starting the first projector. The opening song filled the theater.

“Merlin? You didn’t answer my question.”

“You are the worst, Arthur Pendragon. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to bring you here.”

“Because you wanted to something to keep you occupied,” Arthur suggested as he grabbed Merlin’s ass, pulling him forward and into a kiss.

Merlin resisted for just a second before melting into Arthur’s arms. Even though they had been dating for ages, there was something about making out with Merlin that turned Arthur into a horny teenager again.

Arthur spun them around and pushed Merlin down into the chair, straddling Merlin’s lap and capturing his lips again. Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur’s hair as Arthur began to kiss and bite down his neck, pushing aside his collar to gain more access to his neck.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed as Arthur slid to his knees before Merlin, sliding down the zipper on his pants and pulling out Merlin’s hard co*ck.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this in the theater before?” Arthur asked, swiping his tongue over the head of Merlin’s co*ck. Merlin gasped and nodded.

Arthur slid his tongue down the shaft, sucking and lightly nipping at Merlin, loving the sounds that he was causing Merlin to make. He slid his mouth down, taking in Merlin as far as he could, then pulling back to do it again. He could feel Merlin’s legs shaking and Arthur knew that he must be getting close.

“f*ck!” Merlin yelled and it took Arthur a moment to realize that curse wasn’t wrenched out of him with his org*sm.

It was suddenly apparent that the theater was lacking the sounds of John Travolta was filled instead with angry voices. And there was a thwap-thwap-thwap of the end of the film hitting the reel.

Merlin stumbled to his feet, flush spread across his face as he turned on the second projector and the crowd applauded. The phone in the control room rang and Arthur watched, somewhat ashamed, as Merlin explained to someone, presumably a manager, that there were technical difficulties.

Merlin dropped the phone and dropped his head in his hands.

“This is so embarrassing!” He exclaimed. “And I didn’t even come!”

Arthur tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “Next week I have a huge conference call. Why don’t you come to my office on Thursday, and we’ll see what happens.”

Merlin grinned. “Deal.”

36.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Gwen, Arthur/Gwen/Merlin
Warning(s): none

As soon as Merlin greets them at the door of the studio Arthur thinks he gets it, that quiet sweetness that comes over Gwen whenever she says his name.

Arthur shakes his hand. "I really am sorry about that last-minute cancellation last month. Work's been… hectic."

"But we're not going to talk about work tonight," says Gwen, cutting in to give Merlin a quick, crushing hug.

Merlin's face is fond and sad and embarrassed and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his large hands until she lets him go. "Glad you could make it," he says, and touches Arthur's shoulder as he leads them inside.

When they moved in together Gwen took all her old homemade dishes to her father's home, all except the blue and gold mug that Merlin made in that ceramics class where the two of them met. She'll go for months without mentioning him – without even thinking of him, she says – but she still drinks from that cup every morning, whether she's rushing out the door on her way to work or lingering in bed on a lazy Sunday. Arthur can picture the sunlight on her brown skin and the cream-colored sheets when he pulls her close and she sets aside the mug and the crossword. He can taste coffee and cream on her tongue.

"Try not to let all that information overwhelm you," Merlin says at the end of his opening demonstration, of which Arthur has understood only that Merlin is a wizard. "These are things you'll come to know with your body the more you practise."

Arthur and Gwen sit facing each other, their legs open with the two wheels and a single bowl of water set between them.

"It's amazing how it all comes back," she says after a few minutes. "Even the smell! I could be right back in school. Or… It's like I can almost remember what my hands are supposed to do, but I can't quite get them to do it."

"It'll come," Merlin says, and helps her reposition one arm, move her elbow further back along her thigh. Aware of Arthur watching, he says, "You see how this lets her use the strength from her whole body? That's what you want, to bring that steadiness up from the ground, and through your arms to the clay."

Arthur nods, and tries, and feels more off balance than before. His lump of clay is lopsided mess, and when Merlin finally comes over, stops it spinning, and shows him how to start over, Arthur could cry with relief. He lets Merlin manipulate his limbs and the pose is still strange, but shaping the clay is easier than before.

Gwen's head is bent in concentration. Her face is shining.

A go-getter (they say at work, approvingly). A natural salesman, a born leader.

Business trips were great for one-night stands. Arthur and his colleagues were efficient communicators, skilled at knowing what they wanted, telling a partner how to give it to them.

It was months from the day he met Gwen, the day he fell, the day they first kissed, until the first time he made her come. It's taken him years to learn her wordless noises, her silences. The tilt of her hips that invites him to cup her arse with his palms, spread her lips with his thumbs, bury his face in her folds. The angle of her brow when there's too much friction or when it's just enough. The press of her mouth when she wants him to drive into her with his co*ck.

Maybe Merlin would've had an easier time of it. Maybe these things come naturally to some people.

Arthur's glad it wasn't quick.

He doesn't know why the lump needs to become a cone before it can be a bowl, but he's pleased that it's starting to move in that direction. He thinks of the slow opening of Gwen's body, reaches for the bowl of water to bring more moisture back to the clay, and misses the brush of her fingers there.

Once he realises her wheel's stopped spinning, it's no kind of shock at all to look up and see her kissing Merlin's mouth. There's clay on their faces, and in the hair that's slipped out of her kerchief.

Merlin startles at the scrape of Arthur's chair, but in a moment the three of them are together, and smiling, secure. If they're not yet sure just what to do with their hands, they'll learn.

37.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): None

“The next one,” Uther orders with a lazy wave of his hand.

A boy near Arthur’s age strolls in, confident, unconcerned in his gait. He’s practically got a bounce in his step and Arthur sits up, sensing this one will provide a good show at least.

His father’s lip curls. “Ealdor’s town drunkard.”

The boy’s unashamed, grins like he’s sharing a secret with them. “Or tavern scullion, charming either way.”

A girl Arthur hasn’t noticed surges forward and he’s surprised she escaped his attention. She’s attractive, round and rosy-faced, bosom heaving. “Please, he only used magic to save me from a brute with a knife at my neck.”

Arthur’s gaze swings back to the boy because, honestly, he can’t seem to keep his eyes off him.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

The boy mock bows. “I’m certain you’ll do what you think is right.” He mutters loud enough for the king to hear, “Uther the Unjust.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide; Uther’s face apoplectic. He practically spits, “He’ll be executed in two days’ time.”

—

Arthur can’t stop thinking about it, the brash boy who’s going to die for speaking his mind as much as for practicing magic. He sneaks down to the cells, stares in at the figure slumped against the stone. “No one talks to my father like that.”

The boy sits up, smile making a deep curve in his bow lips. “No one left alive to.” He winks. “Clever that, eh?”

“You shouldn’t have mouthed off. I might’ve been able to help you otherwise.”

The boy’s eyes narrow. “What do you care, sire?” The word is mocking, mean. “The talk in Ealdor is you don’t have much of a brain, plan to borrow your father’s when he’s finished with it.”

Arthur clenches his hand into a fist, ignoring the jab. “It was noble, what you did, saving the barmaid.”

“Noble enough to get me killed. You pride yourself on being an example to look to and yet your views on magic are entirely backward.”

“My father will never change his mind,” Arthur admits.

“I suppose your Camelot’s only hope then.” His smile is bitter. “I’ll not hold my breath.”

Arthur scowls at him, has to ask, “If you’re a powerful sorcerer, why don’t you escape?”

The boy shrugs. “Because I’ll always end up back here. Magic isn’t something I do, it’s something I am. It would seem the world isn’t yet prepared for it.”

—

“What’s your name?”

He doesn’t even look up, unsurprised at Arthur’s reappearance the next night. “You only get more attached once you put a name to things,” he cautions.

“Tell me.”

“Merlin.”

“Do you have a death wish?” If he sounds angry, it’s because he is.

Merlin smirks, walks up to the bars. “Not that I know of. The rules don’t change for me simply because you find yourself drawn back here time and again.” His eyes flare up gold; it’s breathtaking.

Arthur fumbles around in his pocket, the jingle distinctive.

Merlin takes a step back. “Why do you have keys?”

“You’ve only tonight left.” Arthur licks his lip. “I’m going to ensure it’s enjoyable.”

Merlin’s smirk is back. “With a game of jacks?”

Arthur can’t meet his eyes, even as he draws back the door. “What do you want?”

Merlin pulls him in and Arthur is helpless but to go, to meet the press of his mouth. He gasps into it and he’s not done this, whatever his reputation. He’s going to lose his virginity to a sorcerer.

It feels like magic.

“You’ve enscorcelled me, haven’t you?” It’s the only thing that can explain the seemingly endless well of his attraction.

“You’re free to leave whenever you like, prince.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, meeting the anger in Merlin’s eyes head-on. “You lie. I can’t leave you to die because you’re—you’re infuriating is what you are and my favorite thing to think about, through jousts or my father’s council or last night’s feast, my mind is only for you.” He snorts, unamused. “It has to be sorcery.”

Merlin looks away from him, swallowing hard. “Either way, you’ll be free of it by morning.”

—

He can’t not come back.

Merlin blinks at him, utterly lost, eyes fixed on the keys in his hand. “This is treason,” he breathes.

Arthur opens the door, holds his hand out for Merlin’s. “Think of it as a promise. That Camelot will be different, one day.”

Merlin’s fingers notch between his own. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Arthur.”

38.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Morgana
Warning(s): None

“I had to tell her Gaius,” Merlin couldn’t help but feel defensive about his decision to reveal his magic to Morgana. “You’ve seen what she’s been going through; I couldn’t let her think she was alone.”

Gaius sat down looking weary and there was worry in his voice “By doing so you’ve put yourself at risk. If she…”

“She won’t tell Uther.” Merlin declared firmly “She’s in just as much danger from him and now she knows why.”

Gaius sighed looking pained “I hope you’re right Merlin.” He dug through the pile of books on the table, pulling one out and passing it to Merlin. It was the very first book on magic Gaius had had him read. “If Morgana knows now about her magic she must be taught how to control it.”

“What?” Merlin held the book loosely against his chest. “You’ve taught me well enough.”

“I suppose, not as well as I’d thought.” He grimaced “But I haven’t the time, you must be the one to teach her.” Gaius gave him a stern look “It is your responsibility Merlin.”

“I’ve never taught anyone anything before.” Merlin was feeling panicked. He barely managed being a servant, he wasn’t equipped to teach Morgana about her magic, not when there was still so much about his own he didn’t know.

Merlin took Morgana out to a lake near the castle, far enough that they had some sense of privacy but still close enough that they still had the protection of Camelot. Morgana had begged up bringing any of the guards, telling them she was borrowing Arthur’s manservant for a ride.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing?” Morgana asked amused, a smile playing across her lips. It hadn’t taken her long to read the book, and the next one, and the next one. Gaius had suggested he move on to more practical methods.

“Not a clue.” He smiled back tossing a stick in her direction. Her eyes flashed and it froze in mid air. Merlin’s breath caught for a moment and his cheeks flushed at the display of power.

He coughed clearing his throat “Good, that’s good. Now send it back to me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay?” There was a note of panic in Morgana’s voice as she lowered him to her bed. Merlin collapsed into the sheets, his limbs weak and shaky.

“I’ll be fine.” he promised feeling drained. He opened his eyes from where they had closed to see Morgana hovering above him, sitting beside him on the bed her fingers carding through his hair. “Arthur?”

He knew he was fine but needed to hear it. She obliged nodding, her hands steadying “Uther plans to burn the sorcerer that tried kill Arthur in the morning.” There was a trace of scorn in her voice and all Merlin could do was take her other hand in his.

“You helped save Arthur’s life.” Merlin would have never been able to trap the sorcerer’s magic on his own, Morgana had added a boost that he hadn’t know she was capable of.

She laughed shaking her head “I only did what you’ve been doing for years, what you’ve taught me to do.” Her fingers stilled and her eyes searched his. She clearly saw what she was looking for though because she leaned down her lips soft and warm against his.

Merlin pulled back surprised “Morgana?” It wasn’t that he’d never considered it. She was beautiful and the first time he had felt her magic surge around his he had wanted. She was still Uther’s ward and he was still a servant.

“Merlin,” there was an edge of desperation in her voice “just kiss me.”

So he did.

“It’s getting late, I should go.” He whispered against her bare skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he moved to leave the bed.

Morgana’s eyes flashed and his body grew heavy against hers as she pulled him closer “It’s still early,” she protested as their flesh slid together “you should stay.” He didn’t resist the pull she had over him, delighting in the way her magic wrapped around his body.

“Yes my lady,” he murmured reverently and she laughed as he pulled the covers down her body, lips trailing over her skin to where she was still wet between her legs. His tongue flicked against her lips and she gasped her fingers gripping his hair tightly.

“What will you teach me now?” she rasped.

“Anything you ask of me.” Merlin swore to her with a crooked smile.

39.

Pairings: Merlin/Gwen, Merlin/Gwaine, Merlin/Mordred
Warnings: None

Ever since he was a child, Merlin feared three things:

- someone asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up;
- someone making him fall in love with them;
- someone kissing his lips.

The first one was easy to face. Whenever grown-ups ruffled his hair and asked him if he wanted to be a doctor (or an astronaut, or a scientist, or an athlete) he just nodded and ducked his head. He didn’t want to tell them that he was already all he needed to be, but he didn’t want to outright lie, either. He just let them paint their dreams on him and laugh, let them walk away.

x

The others he faced for the first time when he was twelve. He wasn’t sure if it was love, but Gwen was nice and pretty and wanted to hold his hand. When he dared to peck her lips one day after school, he almost saw the shift that happened inside of her. The wrinkle on her brow was tiny and Gwen, lovely, sweet Gwen managed to cover it up with a shake of her head and a bright smile. She hugged him tightly and Merlin sighed, knowing he’d already lost her.

When she came up to him the next day, he said he knew. He understood. She nodded and hugged him again, then went to sit next to Lance. Later he caught her sending him a guilty look, but all he did was smile in reply.

It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t like him. It wasn’t her fault that Merlin’s blessed (cursed?) lips made her realise it.

x

Then he was seventeen. Merlin didn’t think Gwaine would be much of a kisser. He was wrong.

He pushed Gwaine’s head down as they fumbled in the hallway and Gwaine groaned, mouthed at his neck. When he tried for his lips again Merlin grabbed him and put Gwaine’s back to the wall, sunk on his knees and blew him to the rhythm of the party music still thumping in his ears, albeit muted. When Gwaine came Merlin drank every last drop and rubbed himself through his jeans until his underwear was sodden.

When he rose to his feet again Gwaine grinned and pulled him closer, then frowned when Merlin swayed away and didn’t let their lips meet.

He said nothing. He wouldn’t tell Gwaine it was his destiny to make people realise who they were supposed to be with by giving them a kiss.

He didn’t need another reminder that none of them belonged with him.

x

Mordred came around when he was twenty-one.

He was odd and private, but he let Merlin in, let him uncover all the emotion he hummed with underneath. Merlin watched him, fascinated first, then fearful; he waited for Mordred to shut him out again and leave. He never did.

He never asked why Merlin wouldn’t kiss him. He just placed small, quiet kisses all over Merlin’s face, his body, his hands; he worshipped all of him with an intensity that made Merlin feel like he was drowning.

He tried to give back at least half of what he had taken, but anything he did felt empty. It all felt a lie.

He decided to do it with Mordred still flushed beneath him, sated, happy.

“Alright?” Mordred asked, voice soft, as he noticed Merlin’s strained expression.

Merlin nodded. He leaned down and felt Mordred gasping in the second before their lips met. The kiss was slow, cautious on Mordred’s side and grievous on Merlin’s. When he withdrew Merlin kept his eyes closed for a few seconds. He felt his heart skip a beat when he was met with Mordred’s smile upon opening them.

Mordred let out a laugh and reached up, pulled Merlin closer to kiss him again. Merlin barely kept from bolting out of the bed, away from Mordred, away from everything. Actually kissing someone, knowing they didn’t want to let go - it felt surreal. Wrong.

As Mordred fell asleep on his shoulder, Merlin stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.

Mordred loved him. Merlin had been so preoccupied with worrying that he didn’t that he hadn’t… he never realised he didn’t love Mordred.

He kissed Mordred’s head and swore his heart would be the only one Merlin would ever break.

That was, besides his own.

40.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): N/A

From the first time they stepped onto the same track, Merlin Emrys from the McLaren team found Arthur Pendragon insufferably annoying. Sure, everyone knew the hotshot who’d sped his way through the lower leagues to a contract with Ferarri, but Merlin failed to see how any reckless playboy like him could possibly finish races at the Formula One level.

Arthur Pendragon thought much the same, except his summation of the other driver included that no one else could possibly have as big of a stick up their ass as Merlin Emrys, nor as much of an irritating regard for the boring by-the-book rules of racing. Arthur drove every mile as if it were his last, utterly alive every second of the way. There was no greater thrill or reason to race, and he couldn’t understand how drivers like Merlin Emrys missed that all-important joy that defined Arthur’s life.

Arthur led the first race of the season after a reckless full-speed start. It only took a few laps for Merlin to catch up. When Merlin tried to pass on the inside of a curve, Arthur steered towards him to block him, making Merlin swerve clear off the track to avoid a collision. Merlin fumed for the rest of the race, but every attempt to take the lead met crazier maneuvers to stop him. Arthur spent most of the race laughing to himself and making jokes at Merlin’s expense over the radio to his crew.

“How do they keep the suspension in his car balanced with those massive ears of his?”

Arthur took gold, and their first press conference ended with Merlin calling Arthur “a f*cking disgrace to the sport,” and giving him the finger before storming out. Arthur just shrugged to the cameras and threw out one of his shining signature smiles.

Wired with retribution, Merlin won the next three races in a row. Arthur couldn’t finish due to an engine blowout.

“Guess all that hot air that’s supposed to be your skill finally built up too much,” Merlin quipped

Arthur won the next race, and afterwards made sure to uncork his champagne and spray it in Merlin’s direction during the awards ceremony.

Both grew increasingly desperate to beat the other, until a strange moment when Arthur was watching Merlin hold up his gold medal for today’s first-place finish - the way he smiled so wide and how his eyes crinkled with the pure, limitless joy he still experienced from each and every victory. Arthur found himself thinking he’d never seen anything more moving.

The standings for the championship the day of the final race showed Merlin leading, a driver from Mercedes second, and Arthur third.

“Good luck, clotpole,”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You too, asshole.”

Arthur blasted into the lead from the starting line. After chasing Arthur for most of the race, both of them were stunned as the number two driver from Mercedes managed to sneak past them. As the final lap neared, Arthur started thinking hard. If Merlin finished third behind him, Merlin wouldn’t get enough points to win the championship. If Merlin finished second, however, he would. With the finish line in sight, Arthur cursed loudly as he suddenly but deliberately swerved to the edge of the track and Merlin overtook him.

Merlin cried tears of joy on the podium. Arthur watched from the Ferarri garage, smiling despite himself.

Once the last of his crewmembers left, a tall figure duck in.

“You threw the race,” Merlin stated, his scrutinizing expression almost cute. “Why?”

Arthur just sighed, continuing to smile helplessly. “I don’t know, Merlin.”

“Do you regret it now?”

“Not for a second.”

They didn’t know how long it had been building, but suddenly they knew it had. They each lurched forward and met in the middle of the garage, their mouths colliding with enough force to make up for all the near-collisions their cars had experienced. His legs bracketing Arthur’s hips, Merlin was pressed back across the front of Arthur’s Ferrari. Neither had showered yet, so they could still taste the salty sweat on skin and smell the adrenaline when Arthur started driving into Merlin the same all-out way he drove his car. Merlin’s fingers scratched into the deep red paint on the car, when Arthur wrenched his legs open wider and started bottoming out hard enough that Merlin knew he would still be sore and golden long after news of his victory left the front pages.

“I still think you’re an annoying prat,” Merlin said afterwards, while he tried to straighten his clothes and catch his breath.

“And I still think you’re a boring stick-up-the-ass.”

They grabbed each other at the same moment to kiss.

41.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): None

The chariot thundered up the valley towards the tomb.

Arthor nearly let out an exuberant whoop, but remembered his dignity and held back. He was a prince of Egypt, after all.

His master painter's perfunctory bow fell short of showing appropriate respect.

“Welcome, my lord. What brings you back... so soon?”

Arthor frowned. It was not for subordinates to question his actions. But then again, young master Merlin - named for the falcon god - was in a class of his own, so highly skilled and immensely talented that Pharaoh's kin vied for his services.

Arthor raised his chin. “I want to inspect the new murals.”

His eyes needed time to adjust. All he could see in the dim torch-light inside were Merlin's white linen skirt and his unusually pale skin.

Vision soon regained, Arthor paused to admire the cavernous entry-hall's grand paintings of himself and Gwen-Ifer making offerings to the gods and hosting a sumptuous banquet. Although the two of them had long been estranged, it was required that husband and wife appear together in the traditional murals, and these had a freshness of colour and expression that testified to Merlin's nearly magical hand in their making.

Suddenly he realized that Merlin stood to the side, studying him. Flustered, Arthor adjusted his bejewelled collar. “We're wasting time!”

Merlin's lovely kohl-rimmed eyes seemed to be laughing. “Indeed.”

While other tomb murals were dictated by strict tradition, the innermost chamber's paintings were always chosen freely; - joyful events, heroic deeds, happy times to be relived forever.

Merlin entered first and hoisted the oil lamp aloft. “No painter but me is allowed in here,” he said.

Depictions of sensual pleasure covered the walls. Nude dancers were clapping their hands and shaking rattles as they merrily surrounded a broad-shouldered man on his knees, sucking the co*ck of the pale-skinned man next to him. In a lotus-filled garden a man on all fours was about to be penetrated from behind. Scene after scene had been painted in unashamed celebration of carnal delights, and every one focused on the same two men.

Arthor recoiled.“What in Anubis' name is the meaning of this?”

“My lord is not familiar with the subject matter?”

“You forget both your own place and my station!

Merlin's eyes glittered. “I apologize for the inadequacy of my artworks, my lord. I did not intend to create any doubt about our positions.”

He stepped forward. Their bare chests nearly touched. Arthor found it impossible to move.

With a fluid movement Merlin loosened the belt of his skirt. The garment dropped to the ground.

Arthor's eyes flashed to the painting of the man on his knees, sucking another's co*ck. He groaned. Right in front of him Merlin's exposed member was growing temptingly hard, its head already glistening in the lamplight.

Arthor never knew how he wound up on his knees, but there he was, his eager hands pulling Merlin close, his mouth opening wide.

He wanted too much, too soon, and nearly choked.

Merlin laughed breathlessly above him, placing his slender hands on Arthor's temples and directing his efforts. “Gently, gently. Suck it slowly, now use your tongue... going deeper, oh yes, like that... just like that!”

As he hungrily accepted as much as he could possibly take, Arthor was nearly undone by Merlin's unashamed noises of pleasure, his whimpers and moans.

“Look to yourself,” Merlin gasped, still guiding the prince and pumping into his mouth.

Arthor took his own erection in hand. Intense climax tore through him almost at once. His blood roared in his ears. Brilliant colours swirled dizzyingly around him.

Merlin withdrew. “Your hand!” His breath hitched, and his co*ck pulsed into Arthor's slick grip.

The painted jubilation surrounding them was entirely justified.

Their seed had mingled into a pungent, sticky mess. Arthor sheepishly held his hand out. “Uh, what should I do with... “

“Mix it into the paint?” Merlin suggested.

He laughed at Arthor's expression. “Cloth and oils for removing stains are necessities here. You should know, given the many times you've visited to oversee me… my work.”

Arthor grinned.

“I'm having a new palace constructed on my private estate. I need a master painter to take charge of its decorations. Would you be interested?

Merlin tilted his head. “That depends. Will I be given full artistic freedom?”

“Indeed you will,” Arthor confirmed. “As long as you personally model every pose.”

42.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): Magical Masterbaition (could be seen as tentacles)

Emrys was not what Arthur pictured when he first lay eyes on him. For a powerful sorcerer, one who Gaius recommended, Arthur was expecting someone...older. And as less…youthful. With his large ears and his beaming smile. He looked about Arthur’s age when he lead his first patrol out, when Uther was still alive.

“Tattoo?” Emrys asked, reaching for an empty bowl on his work table, “What do you need it for?”

Arthur watched as Emrys opened a leather pouch, pouring black ash into the bowl. “Are you old enough to be doing this? Maybe it’s your father, whom I seek.”

“Let me guess you want to acquire a magical tattoo, and search out Emrys?" Arthur nodded, watching Emrys’ hands dance over the glass bottles, before choosing one that looked oily. “Trust me, I apprenticed under the best. But I’ll never escape that name. You can call me Merlin. It was the name my mother gave me after all.”

Merlin. It sounded ridiculous, just like Merlin himself. He liked it, made the sorcerer sound approachable. Friendly. “You didn’t answer my question, what do you want your tattoo to accomplish?”

“Protection. My father died and left...enemies. I need help to ward against magical attacks. Someplace hidden.”

Merlin stopped looking through his viles, looking at Arthur closely for the first time, “I can do that. Take off your trousers and hop up on the table.”

“My what?”

“Your trousers,” Merlin spoke slowly guestering to Arthur’s legs.

Merlin shook his head, “Just get in the table, and lean back on your elbows. Don’t tighten your abs, it will make the tattoo lopsided. Unless you walk around with your abs contracted all the time.”

Arthur followed Merlin’s instructions, hopping on the table, wishing there was something to cover his manly bits. He waited there watching Merlin mix his black concoction until it was a substance that was runnier then paste, but thicker than water.

Placing the bowl on the table next to him, Merlin held up what looked like a stick with a needle at the end of it, “I am going to place the rune here,” Merlin ran his hand across his lower abs, above one of Arthur’s hips. “After I prick your skin with the needle, the ink is rubbed into the skin, and I add a bit of magic to finish the spell. The after a while you will be numb from the needle, but you will feel a sting from the magic. Remember no flinching or flexing”

After that, Arthur tried to relax like he was told, but watching Merlin work was like beautiful. He took his craft with a mastery that Arthur wouldn’t have expected from the younger man. But what really took Arthur’s breath away, was when Merlin’s eyes changed from a playful blue, to a powerful gold. Unlike other sorcerers whose eyes flashed quickly, Merlins half lidded eyes stayed a bright molten gold.

A bewitching blue light, flew from the needle, a twisting with the black ink, being embedded into his skin, leaving a light tingling that spread as the pattern of dots became a design. The feeling road long his nerves and Arthur found himself trying not to squirm when parts of his body started to throb and in one case - grow.

"Merlin,” Arthur swallowed dryly, trying to moisten his tongue, “I need a sheet or sometime to cover up a bit.”

Merlin pause looking up at Arthur, eyes still golden, pupils destroyed, like he was on a magical high. Slowly running his gaze down Arthur’s body, Merlin eyebrows raised when he saw Arthur’s growing problem. “Oh that’s fine, it would even work toward our advantage.”

“I don’t see how me getting a stiffy will help out.”

Merlin turning back to his work, curving the pattern outwards, his magic following, “Magic is more powerful with an offering, and one of the most powerful is sexual offerings.”

“You don’t think I am going to diddle with you right there!”

Merlin shook his head, “just watch,” as he started a new line, closer to Arthur’s crotch, his blue magic warping itself around Arthurs co*ck.

“What the ...oh God.” Even Arthur couldn't get his fingers to repeat this centsation of he tried. And to make it worse, Arthur tried to be a still as he could when the magical tendrils milked his co*ck, until he came, spunk landing on Merlin’s shoulder and the floor.”

“This is going to be a powerful tattoo, Sire. Now relax incase the magic wants more.”

43.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, Tristan/Isolde
Warning(s): underage

Arthur's fifteen and he's never seen anything like them.

Balinor, the horse master, shakes his head.

"Not right off. Talk to my son, he'll learn you your balance."

~~~

"Blindfolded?" Arthur crosses his arms. "No way."

"You have to see the rope with your feet, not your eyes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's how I was taught." Merlin scowls at him. "If you don't want to learn--"

"Fine. Hand me your neckerchief."

He hesitates, then pulls it off. Merlin's fingers are gentle. "Too tight?" Arthur shakes his head. Doesn't trust himself to speak. Smells of soap and sawdust. The light filters in a dull red.

Merlin catches his hand, his peasant fingertips rubbing rough over Arthur's palm.

"If you trip me, I'll have you - I'll get you back." He's vulnerable, unsure of direction, Merlin's hand and the gradations of light his only guides.

"Step up now." Merlin taps his leg.

The heavy waxed rope abrades his bare soles. He curls his toes, gripping so hard it hurts, searching out the next foothold.

"Keep going, you're doing well."

His foot slides and the rope swings wildly. And then he's on top of Merlin, smacking hard into the mats. Arthur curses, pushing himself up, but their legs tangle and Merlin laughs harder.

"Not bad for your first try!"

~~~

Once he's got the hang of the low rope, Merlin takes him up to what he calls the skyline. After three days, shaking and sweating, he staggers into Merlin's waiting arms. He feels like he's just run a mile or fought in a tournament.

"That was fantastic!"

"Want to do it again?"

He laughs, his legs have turned to jelly.

Merlin slides his arms through the bars of the platform and arches out over the space. He looks like a dancer, all spare muscle. Arthur quirks an eyebrow.

"Why doesn't your father go to Camelot? He could lead the cavalry."

Merlin shrugs. "He was in the guard."

"But why--"

Merlin shushes him with a finger.

Arthur looks at him, his shining eyes so close, his mouth-- he wants to do bad things to that mouth. He leans closer and Merlin's thumb presses into his jaw.

A noise below. The ringmaster parts the curtain for one of the acrobats; in the dark, Isolde wraps her arms around Tristan's neck and pulls him down. He lifts her, her skirts bunching between them as they rut together, stumbling into a haybale.

Arthur's face heats. He glances up -- Merlin's creeping across the wire on quiet feet. When he's directly above them, Arthur realises he's holding a flask.

Isolde shrieks as the lovers are soaked.

"You're dead!" Tristan roars. Merlin dives into the net as Tristan goes for the ladder. Arthur follows Merlin's wild laughter down.

~~~

He finds him hiding in the prop wagon. Above them, ancient puppets lean, a circle of grotesques, rods protruding at sinister angles. Arthur crowds in against Merlin.

"Did you see their faces?" Merlin whispers.

Merlin turns and Arthur's nose rubs his cheek. His breath hitches. All it takes is one inch more to brush their lips together. Arthur feels like he's suspended mid-air, waiting to see if he'll fall.

Then Merlin pushes into him with a groan, tongue hot and wet, one hand rucking up his shirt, the other dragging him closer. Each touch sends him closer to the edge until Arthur has to push away, gasping. Merlin almost knees him as he squirms in the tight space.

Arthur's fingers dip into his breeches, tugging until Merlin's co*ck slaps wetly against his chin. He closes his eyes and licks around the head by feel, intoxicated by the musk. Then Merlin's hand is on him, squeezing, all callous and strength, and he's done.

~~~

Arthur's feet blister and grow hard and Merlin kisses him on the highwire, shamelessly rolls him in the net, takes him apart with his fingers, f*cks him raw under the stars.

The day his father's soldiers come, Merlin's tied his wrists and Arthur's f*cking himself open, filthy and loud.

"God, yes, Merlin, right there--"

Arthur's already come once, Merlin bending nearly in half to swallow his seed and it hurts, he's so raw and sensitised.

He doesn't try to hide. They can think what they like. The rope marks and the bruises are from Merlin one way or another.

~~~

A prince can't just run away and join the circus.

But if he sometimes creeps out over the rooftops under a new moon -- who's to stop him?

44.

Pairing(s): Percival/Merlin
Warning(s): Sounding

"Merlin, can I speak with you privately?" Percival asked while he watched Merlin put away Arthur's gear in the armory. Percival had been trying to get up the nerves to talk to Merlin throughout the practice time but he was embarrassed.

Merlin raised his eyebrow at Percival in surprise but shrugged and lead him out of the armory.

"It's medical," Percival blurted when they were alone, he refused to look up.

"I'm going to need more than that, Percival," Merlin replied gently.

Percival finally looked up from his boots, blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I'm having trouble going," Percival muttered.

"You can't poop?" Merlin asked and Percival frowned as Merlin's eyebrow raised.

"No. It's... hard to pee," Percival explained. He went back to staring intently at the floor.

"Hard? Do you have any other symptoms, Percival? Swelling? Sores? Pain?" Merlin asked.

"No. Just... The stream..." Percival's answer trailed off in embarrassment.

"Have you been injured lately?" Merlin asked. "On your groin area, I mean."

"Someone accidentally kneed me a while ago, but that couldn't be causing it, surely?" Percival asked, surprised. He finally looked up at Merlin again.

"You haven't been spending your money on tavern girls like Gwaine, right?" Merlin joked.

Percival immediately looked away as he felt his face heat up even more.

"I've never laid with anyone," Percival admitted quietly.

"It sounds like an obstruction, Percy," Merlin said. "The treatment is kind of invasive. We'll need to go to Gaius's office."

"No. I don't want Gaius to..." Percival replied.

"Gaius is making house calls right now, Percival," Merlin said.

"Now?" Percival asked, eager to have the experience over with.

"The sooner the better I think," Merlin replied. The trip was silent. Merlin locked the door behind them and pointed at the small exam area. "You need to remove your trousers and pants so I can have a look," Merlin said.

Percival began to undress despite his own embarrassment. There was a similar flush on Merlin's face as Merlin busied himself with a table of vials.

"Now what?" Percival asked softly after he'd sat down on the cot and what felt like a few uncomfortable minutes had gone by with Merlin still occupied with the vials. Merlin startled and turned back around. The vials shook for a few seconds before settling and Merlin cleared his throat.

"If it is an obstruction, you've just built up some scar tissue from an injury. It's perfectly treatable, your urethra just needs to be slowly stretched out to get the flow back up. It takes a few visits," Merlin quickly explained.

"How do we stretch it?" Percival asked. He watched as Merlin pulled out a box.

"We start out small and work our way up," Merlin replied as he opened the box and tilted it towards Percival to show him the contents. Percival stared the the metal rods and swallowed hard.

"And those go?" he questioned uneasily. Merlin simply nodded. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Percival questioned.

"It shouldn't. Not if we start small and go slow. Which is why you need several treatments," Merlin explained softly. "Mostly it'll just feel weird."

"Let's just get this over with," Percival muttered.

Merlin didn't reply and instead placed the box, which also contained a few vials next to Percival and kneeled down between Percival's legs. Percival felt his co*ck jerk in interest at the sight and closed his eyes when he felt Merlin gently cup him. Percival fought not to groan as his co*ck hardened.

"You're going to feel some pressure," Merlin said and Percival had to hold back a scoff at that. His eyes flew open as the first bit of the rod was slowly inserted. Merlin was staring intently at his co*ck and Percival let out a groan then as the rod slid down further, with an ease he'd never have expected. A shock of arousal flowed through his body and firmly settled in his co*ck.

"Does that hurt?" Merlin asked softly.

"No. It's the opposite of painful," Percival replied.

"Good, I wouldn't want to hurt you," Merlin replied as he slid the rod the rest of the way down and then he twisted the rod to slightly withdraw it. He pushed it back in and repeated the process to pull it back out completely. Merlin squeezed his co*ck once and Percival saw white as he came all over Merlin's hand. Merlin smiled at him when he came back to himself and Percival couldn't help but smile back.

Chapter 3: Group C (warnings)

Chapter Text

45.

Pairing(s): Nimueh/Uther
Warning(s): None.

"They are abominations. We need to kill them all," Uther said as she woke.

Nimueh rolled over to see him sighting down his crossbow across the room where he perched like a terrible bird of prey at the window and frowned as he made some inconsequential adjustment. She yawned and stretched as she sat up in the bed.

Uther's eyes followed the blanket as it slid down to where it stopped just above her legs. She stretched again, luxuriating in the pull of sleep-tight muscles, watching him swallow as his gaze moved up to her bare breasts and settled on the healing red mark blooming over the right one.

"You'd have to kill me too, you realise?" It was almost too easy, poking holes in his convictions. "Some might even say I'm a worse abomination. Werewolves are victims of enchantment and have no choice in what they do. Vampires, on the other hand..."

"You're almost completly healed," he said instead of replying, ignoring what he didn't like to think about like always. He turned away and glared out the window again. "And as long as you are willing to help me hunt the creatures, you are still of use to me."

Oh, that was a surprise. Nimueh licked her lips, noting that she still had the taste of his skin and blood on them. He must have been really worried by the stake that had almost penetrated her breastbone last night. Nimueh swung her legs off the bed and noted that her jeans were still on.

"And Ygraine would not have been pleased if I let you die, however deservedly." He turned away a little more, apparently concentrating on keeping watch, but she could see his eyes reflected in the window, still fixed on her torso, only this time on her breasts.

"You make such a terrible monster hunter," she said, walking up to him. A quick tug, and she was stepping easily out of the jeans and panties. He swallowed again, and tore his eyes from her body, knuckles going white on his crossbow.

"How can I thank you for saving me, I wonder?" Smiling, Nimueh straddled his legs and put her hands on his crossbow, grinding her bottom on his erection as his breath came faster and his gaze snapped back helplessly to her breasts. He let her draw it away from his suddenly slack hands and set it aside on the table.

"What are you doing," Uther growled, clutching at the arms of his chair instead.

"Thanking you," she suggested sweetly. "And being a good partner, you swot. You have been so tense and distracted these past two hunts that you are making mistakes and endangering us both. Come on, let's do this while I'm still warm from your blood." She grinned and pried his fingers from the abused chair, pulling his hands up to cup her breasts. "We haven't got all day."

Uther groaned as she ground down again, squeezing her soft flesh involuntarily before his hands slid down to her buttocks. He glanced down between them and shuddered at the slick patch she was leaving over the bulge in his trousers. "Please," he said, and broke off, as she rose to open his trousers. He ducked forward, mouth latching onto her right breast and sucking hard.

Caught, Nimueh simply ripped the front of his trousers off, laughing at him as his eyes went wide, then his pants, and sat down on his erection as it sprang free with a sigh of aching relief. Too long since she last had more than fingers or a tongue inside her.

Uther bit down around her nipple in surprise as she clenched around him, then licked it in apology and moved his attentions to her other breast in between gasps and groans that sounded almost agonised.

She rode him mercilessly, delighting in the mingled sensations of pleasure and pain - hot mouth on one side, the cool tingle of wet teethmarks and the still-healing wound on the other, and the satisfying burn and stretch below as he loved one hand between them to find her cl*t, as considerate a partner as Ygraine said. Too considerate.

"Good boy, good monster hunter," she taunted as she milked him rhythmically with her c*nt, clutching his head to her breast. "f*ck me, fill me up like I'm Graine, come on," she hissed, squeezing him as hard as she could, and he groaned, coming hot and fast inside her as he sobbed around her flesh.

46.

Pairing(s): Gwen/Morgana
Warning(s): None

"Hi, my name is Gwen."

She smiles sweetly, sweet like her pretty dress, yellow and vibrant even in the darkened shadows of the dim-lit house. Sweet like the soft skin of her hands as she gently clasps Morgana's in her own, eyelashes fluttering down.

~

Someone upstairs is smoking opium, the sickly sweet vapors tacky on their skin, and through the wall she can hear the gruff moans where someone else has copped off with one of the younger boys with kohl-rimmed eyes and wicked smiles.

~

Morgana smirks a little. "I'm a welder at the navy yard and let me tell you, there's nothing like feeling that much power at your fingertips, wielding fire with such precision, building the greatest ships to ever sail. I've been told I'm very good with my hands," she whispers in Gwen's ear, calluses catching on the smooth curve of Gwen's shoulder as she brushes down her arm, stopping bare inches away from the swell of her breasts.

~

The laughter and carousing can be heard for blocks, nearly all the way to Sands Street, where even now with the last of the daylight the call-boys are falling outside onto the pavement, flirting with the sailors on their last night of freedom before they're shipped off across the ocean. To war.

~

Gwen's a new seamstress at the yard, sewing signal flags with quick, nimble fingers day in and day out. And while her smile might be sweet, the deft way she caresses Morgana's c*nt when she presses Morgana back against the wall, hand down the front of Morgana's suit trousers, speaks of something else entirely.

~

Sliding Gwen's fingers ever so slowly into her mouth, Morgana traces from each knuckle to the sensitive, padded tips, licking up the slickness coating her hand until Gwen whimpers, chest heaving with pebbled nipples pulled tight and visible through the soft cotton of her dress.

Without letting go of her hand, Morgana tugs her wrist and Gwen doesn't hesitate to follow her out of their darkened corner of the living room, past Gwaine banging on the piano bare-arsed as always and Vivian who has taken the opportunity to wail about the heat, blouse and bra discarded completely.

No one pays them any mind.

~

Morgana has had many women. She's pushed Vivian down on that piano and Mithian into the storage closet on one of the aircraft carriers they were rigging.

Elena had simply laughed, spreading her legs on the bar stool in the middle of the saloon, head tossed back and dripping for her.

Gwen, she decides for the first time, will be different.

~

Gwen wraps her thighs tight around Morgana's head, bucking against her and unafraid to shove her down with a strong grip in her hair. Parting Gwen's slick folds, she softly traces every inch of her, until she shivers and writhes, and then she quickly shoves three fingers in in in, curling with just the right force, and attacks Gwen's swollen cl*t with her mouth, sucking and grasping lightly with her teeth so she can flick her tongue against it over and over again. When Gwen finally screams and comes shaking apart on her fingers, thick, wet drops slide all down Morgana's hand and smear across her face.

Someone trips by them, giggling, although Morgana can't see them from where she's buried underneath Gwen's dress.

~

They will live together in Morgana's apartment on Middagh Street, where they will walk home side by side every day, hands clasped firmly between them.

Gwen will help mend her suits, the ones Morgana stole from her brother and the last remnants of the family she left long behind for the cobblestone streets of Brooklyn.

Gwen will coo at their upstairs neighbor, Mordred, with his pretty red lips and corsets and take the time to chase away any of his rougher clients before asking him to help her with her hair.

~

They say this is the war to end all wars, but Morgana reckons they said that about the last one too.

She doesn't know what will happen when the war is over, if there'll even be any jobs left for them once the boys come home. But as she strokes slowly across the soft skin of Gwen's body splayed across their bed, she knows they will be okay, whatever happens.

This is their home.

47.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): None

The fit blond bloke was back.

Merlin snuck a second look over the top of his tablet. He was supposed to be reading his e-text for his philosophy class, but checking out Fit Bloke was far more interesting.

Fit Bloke put his token in the washer and pushed in the slider, starting the laundry. Merlin shrank just a bit farther down in his chair behind the counter, the better to check him out. He’d been in every Friday night for a month or so, and he’d never spoken so much as a word to Merlin, who worked the 4 to midnight shift Friday through Monday. Running the laundry was a pretty great job for a Uni student. He sometimes had to run a few loads and fold some of the laundry that people dropped off to be done, but mostly he dealt with the pick-ups, refilling the token exchanger, and doing some machine service. The owners, Lance and Gwen, were convinced he was a magic washing machine technician.

They were right about the magic, at any rate. Merlin didn’t actually know anything about machine repair.

Merlin looked over his tablet again, hoping to catch another glimpse of those pretty arms, or the pretty profile, but instead he met startling blue eyes and looked away quickly. He felt the blush on his cheeks and started resolutely at the text on his tablet screen.

“Merlin? Really?” someone asked.

Fit Bloke was standing in front of the cash desk.

“What? How’d did you know my name?”

Fit Bloke raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, glancing down at the nametag on Merlin’s black tee.

“Oh, well. Yeah, Merlin. Mum is a bit of a fan of old legends. I’m lucky she didn’t name me Gilgamesh or something worse. Er. Anyway. Can I help?”

“Ah, the token machine is out of order. It won’t take this fiver, anyway. Can I change it for tokens?”

Merlin obliged.

“Cheers, mate.” Fit Bloke stood there a moment, and suddenly, seeming to come to a decision, thrust out a hand. “Arthur.”

“Really? Don’t take the piss.”

“Arthur Pendragon, actually.”

“You’re kidding. What would you be doing your washing here?” Pendragon and Son was an enormous firm.

Arthur colored. “I moved into a flat two streets over a month ago and it didn’t a have a washer. I couldn’t have one delivered right away.”

“Surely by now, though,” Merlin said.

“Well, yeah,” Arthur shrugged. “Wanted to talk to you, so I kept coming. My mate Leon told me to put up or shut up, so I’d like to ask you out. If, you know, I might be your type?”

Merlin grinned, and looked Arthur up and down. “I’d say you’ll do.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Merlin looked regretful. “Sorry, gorgeous. I work here the next three evenings.”

“Lunch, then?”

“Sounds lovely.”

*****

Arthur stuck around all evening, making conversation and eyes. The only other customer was finished by 10:30, and by 11:00, Merlin had the bloke bent over the machine in the corner that the CCTV didn’t quite catch and was f*cking him hard, bottoming out on every stroke and blessing the day he took the job.

*****

Another month went by, and Arthur still did his laundry every Friday night. And if he got there at 10pm, and had Merlin pressed up against the washers while his wash spun dry, no one minded. If Merlin locked up most work nights and headed over to Arthur’s, no one minded. And if Merlin eventually moved in and took over washing duties from his boyfriend, the only people who minded were the laundry’s owners!

48.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): dub-con

Of all the people Merlin expected to appear at his office door, Arthur Pendragon was the absolute last.

The two of them didn’t get along at all, thanks to Merlin’s thesis focusing on the positive effects sexual encounters had on the sporting performances of athletes. Arthur disagreed, seeing as how he came from a family of old wealth and was full to the brim of traditional values and outdated chivalry.

As such, when Merlin had been hired on as the team’s new trainer, he had happily spouted on about the changes he planned on making what with all the new knowledge the field of sports medicine had taught him. Pendragon’s open countenance was quick to shut down cold.

“Pendragon!” Merlin pushed himself away from his laptop. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur scowled at him, eyes darting suspiciously to the computer screen, as if expecting to find p*rn. Like Merlin was some kind of deviant.

“I need a massage,” he admitted, stepping into the room and carefully removing his shirt. I think I twisted something wrong when I was doing drills earlier.”

Frown on his face, Merlin glanced at the calendar as he stood. “Drills? I thought there weren’t any practices scheduled for today.”

Arthur shrugged and unbuckled his pants. “I’ve heard about the massages you give the boys. I don’t want any of that. Just get the knots out of my system – no funny business.”

Merlin nearly groaned. “Pendragon, you can’t go pushing yourself physically when the source of your stress is already a physical stimulus,” he scolded as he moved around to set up the massage bench. “You’re just going to crash and—”

“If I wanted a lecture, I would have gone to Coach,” Arthur interrupted as he climbed facedown on the table, forgoing the modesty towel. “Just do your job without opening your mouth.”

Used to the team captain’s rudeness, Merlin obeyed, but was still petty enough to squirt a generous amount of oil onto the man’s back without bothering to warm it first. Satisfied at the startled flinch, Merlin set to work, spreading the oil before digging his fingers in.

Immediately, he could tell that Arthur was in dire need of help. He had knots on top of knots all over his shoulder blades, and his lower back was as tense as cement. Pendragon was on the fast track to serious injury if something didn’t change in the near future.

So with a slight adjustment in pressure and a simple rotation of the wrist, Merlin changed it into one of those massages.

He knew exactly which areas to hit, which nerves to bring to life that would start a fire in the blood that was already residing down south.

Squirting more oil into his palm, Merlin began to work at Arthur’s gluts, noting the way they methodically tensed under his ministrations as Arthur tried to subtly push his hips into the hard surface of the bed.

Moving further down, Merlin dug his fingers deeply into the upper thighs, brow furrowing at Arthur’s pained breath as he tried to pull his leg up and away. Merlin simply followed the movement, refusing to let up and was rewarded with a reluctant groan.

Reaching under Arthur, Merlin pushed his fingers up towards Arthur’s groin, but immediately backed off when his hips lifted away from the touch. Instead, he switched to the other leg, occasionally dipping his fingers towards the inner thigh but mostly staying clear.

This teasing was apparently what it took to do it for Arthur, because his hands were fisting the sides of the bed up by his shoulders, and he practically shoved his ass into Merlin’s hands when the massage began to work its way back up to his hips.

Merlin froze for a moment before snapping to the decision to make the most of this and slid his fingers down between Arthur’s cheeks.

Rather than clench like Merlin expected him to, Arthur moaned freely and spread one of his thighs, causing his hips to lift and open himself further. Merlin immediately took advantage, pushing his hand down and used the length of his fingers to rub back and forth in a sawing motion to counter Arthur’s now shameless rutting.

Merlin’s free hand reached up and grabbed Arthur just below the neck, forcing the team captain to remain submissive even as Arthur tensed and seemed ready to fight back.

Instead, tortured cries of pleasure began to fill the room as Arthur’s morals battled it out with the physical ecstasy he was being gifted. Well aware of who the victor in the battle was going to be, Merlin helped him along by pressing his fingers firmly behind Arthur’s scrotum.

The kneading into his perineum sent Arthur flying over the edge, and Merlin’s digits remained relentless as he massaged him through it for what seemed like an eternity. He continued to watch Arthur with a clinical eye and ignored the hot throbbing in his pants as Arthur’s body finished releasing its sperm and allowed the continued org*sm to milk its way through all of his muscles. Arthur’s limbs and back contorted and a low whine escaped his throat before he suddenly collapsed, boneless and near unconsciousness.

Slowly pulling away, Merlin quietly fetched a blanket and covered Arthur, knowing it would be best if he remained scarce until after their next game.

A game which Merlin was sure would be their absolute best yet.

49.

Pairing(s): Gwaine/Gwen
Warning(s): none

"I was in my country engineer. Is good job, I am good engineer. For make tall buildings," the student said, making gestures with his hands to indicate size, and if she wasn't mistaken, a distinct phallic reference. His wink suggested that she was right.

"Great," Gwen said, "but remember, in English we say the place, 'in my country,' at the beginning or the end of the sentence, not the middle." She wrote both on the board, and Gwaine nodded.

"Of course teacher," he said. "I was engineer in my country."

Gwen nodded. Close enough for Level 2, and the other students giggled when Gwaine talked too much.

"Teacher Gwen," he said after class. "You tomorrow have coffee with me?"

She sighed. This wasn't the first or even the fourth time he'd asked, and her answer was always the same.

"If you have a question you can ask me now, or on the class blog. Teachers cannot meet students outside school."

"Oh, Gwen," he said. "Someday I going to have coffee with you. You will see."

"Am going to have coffee," she corrected. "You need 'be' with verb plus -ing," and barely stopped herself from writing it on the board.

He grinned, and nodded. "Thank you teacher," he said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Gwaine," she said, and couldn't help but smile. There was just something about him that she couldn't quite resist.

On the last day of class they had a party. Morena brought K-pop, Arturo brought drinks, and the rest of the class brought a home-made feast. When Irene had helped her wipe down the tables- always so helpful- only Gwaine was left.

"I'm going to CCCE next term," he said.

"Oh," Gwen said. "Well, I'm glad you feel ready, but I'll miss you."

"Will you go to coffee with me now?" He asked, and she laughed.

"No," she said. "I hate coffee. Dinner tonight?" He beamed.

A week later they were at her house. Her roommate was asleep and they were snuggled close, watching a movie and sipping at vodka, because Gwaine refused to drink anything else, and mango juice, because Gwen refused to drink vodka.

Gwaine leaned in, leaned close, and Gwen felt the whiskers on his cheek before his lips met hers. It was soft and welcome and teasing, like every aspect of his personality. He pulled her out until she had her hands in his hair, and his hands were on her waist, and finally she pushed into the pillows.

He murmured something into her ear- it sounded like Russian, but when he spoke six languages, who knew?

“English, Portuguese, or French,” she said.

“We're not in classroom,” he said back. “I can speak any language.” He nipped at her ear before pulling her hips down to grind into her, and she could feel the shape of his co*ck against her puss*.

“Dear Mary,” she whispered as arousal flooded her system, headier than alcohol and more powerful.

“Beautiful Gwen,” Gwaine murmured. “Beautiful hair, beautiful face, beautiful breasts, beautiful waist.”

“Hush, you,” Gwen said, and shut him up with another kiss. His hands snaked under her shirt to unhook her bra, and she sat back to tug off her shirt. Gwaine sat up too, and she wrapped her legs around his back to fit herself into his lap. He pulled off his shirt and she reveled the feeling of his arms holding her close, his soft chest hair against her breasts, the firm muscles of his abs.

He lowered his head to her nipples, but Gwen redirected him to her neck so he could nip at her pulse point and at the corner of her jaw. She spared a thought for hickeys, but just couldn't care. It had been so long...

His erection was nudging against the seam of his jeans, and Jesus, Mary and Joseph did Gwen want to feel it inside her.

“I- Gwaine, let me get a condom,” she gasped into his ear.

His face lit up. “Prezervativ. Yes, good.”

Gwen found one- still not expired, thank God- and returned to find Gwaine naked on the couch, jeans a pile on the floor. Gwen left her skirt and underwear next to them, and handed him the condom with a kiss. He took it with interest, lingering with his hands along her face to turn the peck into something long and delicious.

This, Gwen decided, was going to be good.

50.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): Semi-public sex (in a car), dangerous driving.

“ARTHUR!” Merlin screamed as they took another corner at a speed which made the trees and hedges a green blur in the darkness that was altogether too close for comfort. Glancing at Merlin, Arthur twisted the wheel the other way, sending the car spinning to a dizzy stop. Finally.

“What?” Arthur asked, grinning at him from the driver’s seat, the sirens still blaring and throwing everything around them into alternating hues of blue.

“You’re a prat!” Merlin shouted, checking he was still in one piece.

“It was a high speed car chase, Merlin. We’re the police, it sort of comes with the job,” Arthur said in such an assured tone that Merlin wanted to lamp him.

“I haven’t seen another car for FIVE miles!” Merlin yelled instead, pulling off his seat belt and wrenching open the door.

“Come on, it’s good practice...” Arthur guessed he’d hit a nerve as the door slammed shut.

“Come on Merlin, you can ride with me, I’ll look after you, the night shift’s well quiet. Like Hell...” Arthur just about heard Merlin muttering as he scrambled out of his own door.

“I got the impression you liked driving fast when Vivian loaned me her Lamborghini last week,” Arthur called out to Merlin’s back.

Merlin bit his lip at the memory and stopped walking. He’d hoped Arthur hadn’t noticed that. He turned around, ready to give Arthur the best excuse he could think of but he was leaning against the damned car now, all black and white against the yellow and blue in a way that was altogether too hot. f*ck, he was doing it on purpose, peaked cap in his hands, collar and tie loosened, stab vest unzipped. Lord knows how many codes he was violating simply by looking that good.

“I really hate you sometimes,” Merlin decided, storming back up to him and curling his fingers around the curve of the car’s roof, either side of Arthur’s shoulders, hard enough for his knuckles to go white.

“But you loved that, right?” Arthur positively beamed as he pushed their bodies together and got the answer without Merlin even opening his mouth.

“Yes, alright, you’ve proved your point,” Merlin snapped, his fuse growing short. Arthur was infuriating when he was right and the fact he couldn’t will down his co*ck even if his career depended on it proved him pretty damn right. He should pull away, red faced and apologising profusely but the circling lights had robbed him of his reason, the constant screaming of the siren rendered him unable to think straight and somewhere between the flashes of blue, he found himself tugging sharply on Arthur’s hair, tilting his head back, only just pulling up short of truly kissing him.

“Knew you liked it,” Arthur said before kissing him roughly, finishing what Merlin started. He blindly opened the door to the back seats, grateful that Merlin followed his thoughts closely enough to scramble in and pull him down too.

It was idiotic, bordering on dangerous. They were on the job, in public or as public as the countryside back roads were at 3:27am, and a small part of him knew if that door swung shut, they were f*cked but Merlin couldn’t stop himself from shoving Arthur’s stab vest off his shoulders, the shirt following close behind, all the while kissing him like they were teenagers again.

Arthur, to his credit, had managed to pull the tails of Merlin’s shirt from his trousers, get his belt undone and his zip open with a scary efficiency that meant Merlin had barely realised what he’d done until Arthur left his mouth in favour of paying the same fervent attention to his co*ck. He was dimly aware of the back of his head hitting the window but he didn’t care, not when Arthur was blowing him like he was going for a special commendation in co*ck sucking.

Merlin was pretty sure it was the blood rushing in his ears and the light dancing behind his eyes but suddenly the siren and lights weren’t so bad. The flickering was almost soothing when paired with the more melodic sound of Arthur moaning around his co*ck and when he came, the bloody thing could have been playing Greensleeves for all he noticed. After a moment though, it pulled him back to reality with a wail.

“Arthur, I think the emergency’s over,” he said, nodding to the roof.

“Ha, I don’t think so.” Arthur threw him the keys. “It’s your turn to drive.”

51.

Pairing(s): Elena/Mithian
Warning(s): None

Elena was waiting for Elyan to re-shoe her horse when the carriage rolled into town. It belonged to Vivian, daughter of the mayor of Olaftown, down the road from Camelot City. The door sprang open to allow not Vivian but a smartly dressed, properly pinned brunette to step out.

Elena stared.

Behind her, Elyan raised his head and snorted. "New schoolmarm, from one of those ladies' colleges back East. Hope she stays longer than the last."

Just like that, Elena's burgeoning hope turned sour.

Later, as she rode back to the ranch, she considered how ironic it was that the first woman to catch her eye in years was also the only person in town who would care that Elena had failed 7th grade three times before giving up.

At home, there was a sleek new chestnut mare outside the barn, freshly rubbed down. She whickered softly as Elena and her gelding passed by.

In hindsight, she should have guessed.

The barn was dark and cool as she stepped inside. Someone was there already, a silhouette in a riding skirt, oiling an eastern saddle. It took a moment for Elena to connect the shape to the woman who had stunned her climbing from a carriage, and by the time she did, it was too late.

The woman looked up, her eyes reflecting a sliver of light from the door.

"Are you Elena, then?" she asked. "I'm Mithian Nemeth. Mr. Gawent said I could probably find you here."

Mithian's voice was smooth and cultured, exactly what Elena had feared. Her belly fluttered, and she turned her face away, fumbling to pull the saddle off with suddenly-clumsy hands.

"I'm sorry," the voice came again, too close this time. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A pair of slim but not quite delicate hands reached up and loosened the first stubborn buckle, then dropped away as Elena pulled the rest of the tack off in one go, blanket and all.

"Since your father's giving me room here at the ranch, I hope we can get along," Mithian said.

That, Elena thought, was not going to be the problem.

Of course one of the ranch hands told Mithian about Elena's disastrous brush with education. And of course Mithian cornered Elena about it. In the barn. While she was in a stall checking one of the foals, so there was no escape.

"I can help," Mithian promised.

Elena finally snapped.

"Miss Nemeth," she said (because distance would help, right?) "I hardly need to read novels. To run this ranch, I need to know horses, money, people, and the weather. I don't need to know books."

Far from being put off, Mithian smiled. "Consider it my payment for living under your roof. Your father isn't taking in donations for my board, you know."

Elena bit her lip. Pa wouldn't approve of rudeness. "Fine, then. But only for a month."

Two months later, crammed into the tack room on a bench, Elena reflected that this was some kind of torture. Worse than the time the two of them had ridden into town and been caught in a storm on the way back, Mithian's dress drenched and her shape clearly visible beneath the sodden layers.

Elena stumbled over another simple word, and slender-but-not-delicate fingers touched the back of her wrist.

"Is something bothering you?" Mithian asked.

"No." Elena felt sullen, frustrated out of her normal good cheer.

The fingers paused, then wrapped around Elena's wrist, a thumb stroking the soft skin inside, just under her palm. Elena sucked in a sharp breath and held it.

Mithian's fingers began to loosen, so Elena reached out and grabbed her wrist in turn. Mithian looked up, eyes sharp on Elena's face. Then her expression softened.

She leaned in slowly, giving Elena time to retreat. Elena's heart beat triple-time, her palms sweating and her throat dry, but she leaned forward anyway, meeting Mithian's soft lips with her own.

The moments that followed were full of the shock of kisses, soft fingertips on her face, her neck, trailing over her bound breasts. Elena felt a moan slip from her mouth and pressed her legs together over the delicious ache there. Those knowing, unexpectedly strong hands slipped down her belly and right into the v of her trousers, pressing tightly. With a half-sob, Elena pushed her face against Mithian's neck and held on as Mithian taught Elena to ride her hand, just as she'd taught Elena everything else.

52.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s) None

Merlin watched the blond head bobbing between his legs. He couldn’t help but twine a hand in the blonde locks and throw his head back when a tongue swirled around the head of his co*ck. This caused his head to connect with the wall directly behind him.

The pleasure was interrupted by a sharp pain because of the smack. It was distracting from the pleasure he had been feeling a second ago.

“I think your father should invest in headrests for his starships.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin with an incredulous look. “Really, Merlin? You want to talk about my father now?”

“Arthur, I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt for Camelot Industries to make sure their vehicles are comfortable.” He had more to say but became distracted when Arthur started going down on him again.

The only sounds filling the small co*ckpit were Merlin’s moans and they grew louder when Arthur started playing with his testicl*s. He was practically gripping the arm rests for dear life at that point.

Merlin threw his head back again and cursed as it connected with the wall a second time.

“Prat,” he muttered when Arthur started chuckling (despite his erection in the other man’s mouth). “This is why your dad needs to invest in headrests, Arthur. It makes for a more comfortable blow j*b.”

Arthur didn’t pull away and answered Merlin by roughly pinching his thigh.

He yelped but Merlin wasn’t one to let things go. “Don’t be angry at me because your father doesn’t have his priorities straight.”

The response didn’t receive another pinch. Instead Arthur released his leaking co*ck and then stuck two fingers inside his mouth. Merlin was confused at first but quickly caught on when the fingers left Arthur’s mouth and ventured further between his legs.

“Merlin, will you please do me a favor and shut up about my father?” Arthur asked calmly while pushing two fingers inside him. “You are more than aware that my father and I haven’t gotten on since I joined the space patrol rather than his company. so I’d rather not speak about him at all. Besides, now isn’t the best time to be talking about him.”

Arthur emphasized his words by pulling his fingers out and then pushing them back inside with a particular hard thrust. It caused Merlin to groan but he was still unwilling to drop the conversation.

“You really shouldn’t talk about bad timing when we’re doing this while navigating a ship through deep space.”

He smirked and playfully ran his tongue over Merlin’s erection that was, in his opinion, being neglected. “We’re flying through a safe zone and it’s on autopilot. It isn’t the same thing at all.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say something but at that exactly moment Arthur started sucking at his co*ck again. He moaned and tried not to lean his head back too far.

“God, Arthur!” Merlin came with shout and completely forgot about not leaning his head back. He then hit his head for a third and final time.

“Seriously, Merlin?” Arthur asked with a laugh.

He frowned. “These things need headrests!”

53.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): mild violence, none of my set-up in any way resembles what I suspect the realities of professional MMA fighting are. I apologise for this but I did it for the lulz p*rn.

Merlin has long arms that keep him mostly out of Arthur's reach. He has blue eyes that twinkle through the slits in his headgear. He has a kick that even Percival has learned to respect. He is supposed to be the enemy, but Arthur, who's kind of good at the psychological side of fighting, can't find a way to make himself hate Merlin.

Which isn't to say that he can't find a way to make himself beat Merlin, because he does … about half of the time. They've been dancing around title belts for years. Sometimes the fight, goes Arthur's way, sometimes Merlin's. The promoters like it, because their fights always sell out.

Arthur likes it because of the showers afterwards.

Merlin's red and white all over and some of that mottle's gonna fade but some of it'll darken to bruises. Arthur kind of wishes he could see it, but they only ever seem to do this like this, sweaty, hot, sore, hard for each other in their satin shorts. Merlin practically shoves Arthur into the steamy cubicle.

But that's as violent as it goes. They've been hitting each other for the past freaking hour - truth be told, they've been hitting each other for years. Here, now, Merlin plants his palms on the tiles of the wall behind Arthur's head, and leans in for a kiss. Soft, wet, and warm, Arthur pulls him in close. They both hiss when newly-forming bruises contact.

The water is getting hot, and it's so good. Arthur turns them so he can press Merlin against the wall and rub their dicks together, get his hand around them both and start to stroke them off.

'Mmm,' says Merlin, curling his arms around Arthur's neck. 'Hey,'

'Okay?' Arthur asks, nosing behind Merlin's ear. He should grab the shampoo, he thinks. 'Feel good?'

'Good,' Merlin agrees. He stretches and there's a plastic click, and then lathered-up fingers in Arthur's hair.

'You're stealing my moves,' Arthur says, resisting the urge to purr at the scalp massage and the slow, steady jerking of his own hand. Merlin's co*ck feels so good, so right next to his.

Merlin smiles lazily at him. 'Rinse,' he orders him, turns him around by the shoulders. Arthur has to let go, but it's worth it to have Merlin duck him under the spray of hot water and card the shampoo from his hair. Merlin's hands slide down his body, Merlin kisses him under the jaw, on the collarbone, Arthur's eyes close, and then there's a kiss at his hip, and Merlin says, 'My turn.'

Arthur's eyes startle open again in time to see Merlin lick a just-now-darkening mark at the lowest edge of Arthur's ribs, and then take the head of his co*ck into his mouth. Arthur's head thunks back on the wall under the showerhead - ow - and then he has to look down, dying to watch, to see Merlin like this. He's beautiful, wet and slick, black and blue. He makes Arthur feel f*cking victorious every time they touch.

'I think you're forgetting something,' Merlin slides off to say. He headbutts Arthur's hand, dangling and clenching nearby. 'C'mon, Arthur.'

'I was getting to it,' Arthur retorts, grabbing the shampoo. Merlin kisses the head of his dick softly and then sinks down again. Arthur's eyes cross, and he almost drops the bottle. Somehow he manages to slop a palmful of shampoo on and start to rub it in, but Merlin is doing something with his tongue that's sapping Arthur's coordination, ability to stand, and will to do anything except moan and shudder.

Gasping, Merlin pulls off, licks and kisses, sucks gentle clinging marks anywhere he can reach. Arthur cracks an eyelid and looks down to see Merlin's jerking off frantically, face pressed into Arthur's belly, still making out with Arthur's dick as Arthur makes a mess of his hair.

'f*ck, Arthur,' Merlin moans. 'C'mon, do it. Want you to do it.' Arthur doesn't take direction well, his coach would be the first to tell you, but he's helpless to resist this one. He comes, comes all over Merlin's face, his pouty mouth, til his eyelashes are dripping, he's filthy and choking, letting go onto the metal floor of the shower in shakes and gasps.

Arthur likes to beat people. But it's only with Merlin that he ever really feels like he's won.

54.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): none

It was usually quiet in the pharmacy after lunch, the morning rush over, the evening rush yet to begin. Most of the nurses were catching up on paperwork, most of the physicians returned to their private practices. The technician always took her break the same time every day and Merlin took advantage of the lull in activity by putting his feet up and indulging in a cup of tea.

“I have an order that has to be filled, stat.”

Merlin looked up from his tea at the curt demand and raised a single eyebrow in response.

“Matter of life and death, is it Dr. Pendragon?”

The physician raised both his own eyebrows.

“Do you think I’d have come all the way down here myself if it wasn't?”

Merlin slowly approached the window where the doctor stood waiting impatiently.

“You could have called ahead so I’d have it ready for you…”

“Oh, I’m sure you already have it ready for me, don’t you Merlin?” Arthur’s lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“Oh but how could I know exactly what you’d need, Doctor?”

Arthur leaned into the window and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s mouth, nipping playfully the lower lip. When he drew back, his pupils were blown and his voice husky.

“Why don’t you let me in and I’ll show you exactly what I need, Merlin.”

The moment the door was open, Arthur bulled inside, crowding Merlin back against the far wall of the tiny room. Taking Merlin’s lips in a searing kiss, he anchored one hand in Merlin’s hair and pressed the palm of the other to the growing bulge in Merlin’s trousers.

“Arthur!” he gasped, “The window!”

“f*ck it. Nobody comes down here this time of day.”

“You do.”

“Yeah, but I’m after more than a packet of pills,” Arthur said, attacking Merlin’s neck with teeth and tongue. Squirming helplessly under the onslaught, Merlin’s concern over being caught dwindled in direct proportion to the rapid swelling of his co*ck.

In seconds, Arthur had Merlin’s trousers pooling around his ankles and his back pressed against the wall, silently urging him to wrap his long legs around Arthur’s waist. When Merlin complied, Arthur hoisted him up and swung around to the counter behind them, settling Merlin’s bare bum on the cold surface. His own trousers soon joined Merlin’s on the floor.

“Please tell me you’re ready,” he panted against Merlin’s lips, fingers questing beneath Merlin’s balls to check for himself.

“You know me, ever prepared,” Merlin groaned as a finger breached his slick, open passage.

“What a good scout you must have made,” Arthur replied jostling closer while pulling Merlin forward to the very edge of the counter.

“Mmm, I thought you said you had something for me? Stat, wasn't it?”

“Oh I definitely have something you need to take care of, right away.”

“Well then shut up and give it to me, you prat.”

Arthur obliged before the words finished leaving Merlin’s mouth, pressing his hips forward to drive the blunt head of his thick co*ck into the welcoming depths of Merlin’s straining body.

“How’s that for filling a prescription,” Arthur ground through clenched teeth as he paused to allow Merlin to adjust to his penetration.

“Oh for god’s sake just shut up and f*ck me!” Merlin exclaimed with an impatient jerk of his hips.

Bracing his hands to either side of Merlin, Arthur obliged again, driving his hips forward as he captured Merlin’s mouth with his own. Wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and tightening his legs around his waist, Merlin met Arthur thrust for thrust and soon the slapping of flesh meeting flesh joined the harsh panting of their breaths to form a lewd symphony that filled the close air of the small room.

The risk of being caught was high so with no thought of prolonging the interlude, both of them ruthlessly chased their pleasure. Mouths hanging close together, frantic breath mingling in the scant space between, Merlin bore down around Arthur’s co*ck even as Arthur thrust deep and hard and held his hips still as he groaned in release. Wrapping a hand around his hitherto neglected co*ck, a few twisting pulls was all it took to have Merlin splashing his release all over Arthur’s shirt and labcoat.

They clung for a moment, Merlin’s face pressed into the damp fabric of Arthur’s ruined shirt, Arthur mindlessly mouthing the side of Merlin’s neck.

“Hope you have a spare shirt in your locker.”

“Of course I do, you’re not the only one who comes prepared.”

55.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): None

Wind Beneath Their Wings

Arthur had grown up amongst caravans and big tops, watching his father put on his top hat and red coat of a Ringmaster and hearing stories of his mother’s famous solo trapeze act. While Ygraine had been stolen from both husband and son by a mechanical failure during practice, her love for flying lived on in Avalon Circus; first through Arthur, and now through Merlin and his troupe.

It had been Arthur who insisted his father bring back the act, saying his mother would have wanted it. It was he who had wanted to carry on her legacy, but Uther wouldn’t hear of losing his wife and son the same way. So Arthur was introduced to trick riding and flew closer to the ground.

And now here they were – twenty-two, constantly on the road, and happier than ever.

Arthur had just finished practice with Leon, giving Hengroen and Cavall a fond stroke as his partner led them back to the stables. He would have usually followed, taking care to make sure their steeds were as healthy and gorgeous as usual, but he knew whose practice was going on in the big top. His guilt at leaving was lessened as Leon just rolled his eyes and told him to go.

It didn’t take long to reach the red and gold monstrosity that was the big top, and Arthur pushed the tent flap out of the way easily as he rushed inside.

He could already hear the gentle creaks of the trapeze, the calls of “hup!”, the swish of bodies flying through the air. Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he entered the ring just in time to see Merlin complete a triple somersault before landing gracefully in the net. He clapped, giving Elena and Freya a wave as well, before making his way to the edge of the net to help Merlin out. The artist hardly needed it, but Arthur loved the way he grinned as Arthur placed his hands at his hips, Merlin’s own resting on his shoulders as he was lowered to the ground.

“I thought you had practice!”

“Leon and I started early. Like I would miss any chance to see my favourite boy flying.” Arthur smiled, nuzzling fondly at Merlin’s neck.

“You hurt my feelings, Princess!” Gwaine called from above, wearing a cheeky grin as he swung upside down from the catch trap. Arthur just rolled his eyes, flipping the catcher off before doing some catching of his own – Merlin’s lips with his.

He could feel the grips Merlin wore as the other man wrapped his arms around his neck and knew the back of his shirt and likely his hair would now be patted with chalk.

“Go. I want to see you and Freya do that thing – where you swap.” Arthur murmured, pulling back.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, amused as they made their way over to the ladder. “The passing leap? You know, for someone who watches us so often, you really are rubbish at remembering our tricks.”

Merlin laughed as Arthur made a playful swipe at him, giving his lover a wink before scurrying up the ladder with effortless grace. Arthur moved back to the audience seating, eyes locked on the performers as they readied themselves.

First came Freya, lining up as Elena handed her the fly bar. Two calls from Gwaine – “Ready!.....Hup!” – and she was off. Her first move was simple, her hands dropping the fly bar as Gwaine caught her legs. Then came Merlin in quick succession. He took the fly bar as it swung back, leaving the platform in the same second, before getting to the highest point of his swing and dropping. At the same moment Freya arched, Gwaine helping to swing her as he dropped her legs and grabbed Merlin’s arms as he fell – Freya finding her grip once more on the fly bar. Arthur whistled as Freya completed her return, Merlin twisting out of Gwaine’s arms to grab the fly bar as it passed again, making his own way back to the platform.

They really did have the best job in the world – performing under the big top. And later, when the crowds had gone home and the lights were off, Arthur would appreciate Merlin’s acrobatic skills even more behind closed doors than he did in the open air.

56.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): bondage, barebacking

“I can rope you easy as a steer.”

Arthur looks almost bored as he says it, checking over his handiwork, but the flush in his cheeks betrays him.

“Steers aren’t easy,” Merlin points out, but his breath is coming faster and when he tests the knots, his heart kicks up. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Arthur probably rolls his eyes, but Merlin doesn’t see, too busy arching into the teasing line Arthur draws around the jut of his hipbone with the tip of a finger. “Shows what you know,” Arthur says, splaying his hand out now like he’s admiring Merlin’s erection, so close and not nearly enough. He bends forward, and Merlin tugs fruitlessly against the ropes, because Arthur’s chin--Arthur’s mouth--is inches from his dick, and Arthur isn’t playing fair. “They’re the easiest thing in the world. You just have to know how to handle ‘em.”

“Sure,” Merlin says, distracted, and sucks in a long breath when Arthur drops a kiss just to the side of his balls, his lips tickling the hair there. “Jesus, Arthur. Don’t be a f*cking tease.”

“I’ll be whatever I f*cking like,” Arthur says. God, he’s smug.

Merlin tries to make an annoyed sound, but it comes out an octave too high when Arthur casually brushes his wrist along the underside of Merlin’s co*ck. “Surprised you don’t have today’s trophy in bed with--f*ck.” Merlin can’t widen his legs much further, but Arthur doesn’t need him to, not with Merlin already spread wide, the unmistakable base of the plug on clear display. Arthur goes right for it, twisting it a little deeper until Merlin’s groaning, strung out with the tension thrumming through him out through the ropes. “Oh, f*ck.”

Arthur f*cks him slowly, laying long, plush kisses on his stomach while Merlin shakes and gasps, the plug sliding easy against the hot ache inside him. He wants to wrap his legs around Arthur to pull him close, dig his fingers in until Arthur pulls the plug out and f*cks him properly, but he’s trussed up good--he’s let Arthur have this. He’s let Arthur lasso him and lash him down like he’s just another animal in the ring, another challenge for Arthur to beat with his fresh-shined boots and his trademark hat, and Christ--Christ. He’s not going to last, not if Arthur’s going to keep f*cking him slow and deliberate like this.

“Arthur,” he whines, curling his fingers against the rope binding him to the bed like that will do anything to stop him from coming all over Arthur’s face. f*ck. “Arthur, please--”

“Yeah?” Arthur says, pausing, his fingers slick where they press between the plug and Merlin’s skin. “You want more?”

Merlin wants to snarl curses, but Arthur’s just been crowned king for the fifth year running; he’s running this rodeo, literally and metaphorically. He must see something in Merlin’s face though, because he grins again and kneewalks up the bed until he can kiss Merlin properly. Merlin watches the muscles flex in his thighs and thinks about getting his hands on them, thinks about how they’d look in leather chaps and nothing else. “Come on,” he says when Arthur breaks away. “f*ck me already, Arthur, I can’t--” Arthur kisses him again, interrupting. Merlin lets him, because Arthur’s kisses are deep and easy, sloppy enough that it’s easy to miss what he’s really trying to say.

“I was thinking about something else,” Arthur says at last, and Merlin’s sigh is dangerously close to a whimper as Arthur lowers himself until he’s rubbing his ass slow and steady over Merlin’s co*ck. “I was thinking I deserved one more ride today.”

It’s terrible, a horrible pun that Merlin is going to give him sh*t for, but--later. Arthur’s reaching back, and Merlin can’t think about revenge because Arthur’s ass is already slick and ready for him, like Arthur’s been planning this. Merlin moans as Arthur slides down onto his co*ck, already wild between the clench of Arthur around him and the plug pushing right and deep inside him. He’s caught, pinned on every side, all his nerves shorting out in fizzing sparks of overwhelming pleasure, and there’s nothing to do but watch Arthur ride him, head thrown back and hips circling expertly in this victory lap.

It’s just the roaring blood in Merlin’s ears, but he thinks he can hear the crowd cheering.

57.

Pairing(s): Percival/Lancelot, Percival/Other
Warning(s): Hints of dub-con

“You never told me how you met Lancelot,” Merlin said to Percival.

It had already been a fortnight since he arrived in Camelot, and Merlin had barely heard the man say three words. Lancelot had only told them that Percival had lost his family.

Percival tensed at Merlin's statement.

“You don't have to tell me,” Merlin quickly added. “I lost my father. I know it's not easy to talk about.”

It wasn't that, though, not really.

* * *

Their estate wasn't worth much, even if Cenred hadn't burned it to the ground. The money Percival got for the land was far less than he should have taken, but it would have lasted him much longer than it did had he not been a grief-stricken fool and gambled it away.

He found himself aimless and destitute, wandering around neighbouring villages when a merchant had been unable to keep his eyes off Percival's threadbare trousers.

“Are you a virgin?” the merchant had asked. Percival had shaken his head. There had been a girl once, but she, too, was gone. “Good,” the merchant said. “That'll make this easier.”

The merchant had paid him in a new pair of trousers and two clean tunics, which Percival couldn't refuse.

The next night the merchant brought a friend with him. Together that earned Percival enough coins to sleep at the inn instead of out in the stables.

Word traveled somehow. Percival's reputation seemed to follow him. It was mostly men, but some women—widow's often, who would tell Percival that their dear, departed husbands hadn't measured up to him, hadn't pleased them the way he did. They paid the best of all.

Then one day Percival noticed a handsome man watching him in a tavern. Percival recognized him as the knight who had come to the village that morning.

When Percival asked him if he was interested, the knight had smiled and said, “Yes, of course, but not like that.”

It was Lancelot who told him he didn't have to sell himself or let others use his body, that there were other ways to survive.

“But isn't that exactly what you do? Let your kingdom use you for your physical prowess?” Percival insisted.

“Do you enjoy it?” Lancelot asked. “If you enjoy it then there is no place for me to judge you. There's something rewarding to me in protecting my kingdom and pushing my body to the edge during training. After each fight I'm a little bit better than I was before it, as if I was a different man.”

Percival didn't feel that way at all.

“Sometimes I feel empty,” he confessed.

After a long silence between them, Lancelot turned to Percival and cradled his face between his hands. He leaned in slowly and planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on a very startled Percival's lips.

They went no further that night or the next, and when Lancelot left for the next village, Percival followed.

Days passed before Lancelot went for Percival's breeches as they kissed.

Under the stars where they camped, Lancelot traced his fingers along Percival's naked body. He followed with his tongue, finding bits of skin that Percival knew were sensitive on others, but never had a chance to find out about himself. Using some oil, Lancelot pushed a finger inside Percival's hole, making Percival cry out into the night.

“If you don't want--”

“I want,” Percival interrupted. “I'm usually--I never--”

“I know,” Lancelot said quietly.

With his fingers working Percival open, tracing around his rim, pushing in slowly but firmly, first with one finger and then two, bringing him to the edge and then back, he took Percival apart. Tears prickled Percival's eyes when he finally came with a rumbling moan.

Lancelot didn't ask for anything in return. He brought himself off with his hand, and then afterward laid beside Percival as a warm, solid presence.

Lancelot loved him that night more thoroughly than Percival thought it possible to love another.

* * *

Percival opened his mouth to answer Merlin, trying to work out some vague approximation of the truth.

At that moment, Lancelot trotted over and clamped a hand on Percival's shoulder. The look that passed between the two men told Merlin everything he needed to know.

It didn't matter how they met, he was just glad they had each other.

58.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): could be read as mildly dubious consent due to the authority of law enforcement, but consent is given.

Merlin watched the policeman approach in his rear-view mirror. He had no idea why he had been flagged down, and on the lonely road to his mother's farm of all places, but he still took a moment to admire the way the uniform stretched over the officer's broad shoulders and wide chest and how the waning sunlight made his hair glow golden and reflected off the mirrored sunglasses. There was something vaguely familiar about--

''You've got to be kidding me,'' Merlin muttered when the officer pulled off his shades, sliding them into the front pocket of his shirt.

''I've only been back for what... two hours?'' he hissed at Arthur Pendragon – bane of Merlin's existence all through their adolescence – who bent down lazily and regarded Merlin with those cool blue eyes of his. ''Have you been waiting here for me, just so you can bully me some more?''

''You got a missing tail light and were going ten miles over the speed limit.''

''Of course,'' Merlin sneered. ''Nothing personal, right?''

''Indeed. Show me the car papers and your licence, please.''

''Really, Arthur? You know this is my mother's car. Did you train to be even more of an arse in police school?''

''You can't talk to an officer like that,'' Arthur said, looking grim. ''I'd like you to step out of your car now. And keep your hands where I can see them.''

Merlin scoffed. ''Are you honestly implying that I might attack you? That's pretty hilarious coming from the guy who used to shove me into lockers.''

''Get out of the car, Merlin.''

Gritting his teeth, Merlin complied. He wouldn't put it past Arthur to arrest him if he put up resistance. ''There. What now?''

''Hands on the bonnet and spread your legs.''

Merlin shot him an incredulous look, but Arthur only raised his eyebrows in that haughty fashion of his, and so Merlin stomped to the front of the car and got in position.

''Why do you have to be such an arse?'' he choked out, when Arthur stepped up behind him and started to run his hands up Merlin's legs, making his traitorous co*ck harden in his trousers.

Suddenly, Arthur was pressed flush against him, hot breath ghosting over Merlin's neck as he whispered into his ear, ''I don't know, Merlin. Why do you have to be such a bloody tease?''

''W-What?''

''Why do you think I shoved you around, you idiot?'' Arthur growled and Merlin's eyes went wide when he felt Arthur's own erection pushing against him.

''I've been wanting to do this since high school,'' Arthur panted, roughly palming Merlin's arse before he sneaked one hand around his hip, running his fingers over Merlin's stiff length. ''Tell me 'no' if you don't want this.''

Merlin knew he should, but all he could do was moan and buck against Arthur's hand. Apparently that was all the agreement Officer Pendragon needed because he pulled Merlin's zipper down, and then his warm fingers wrapped around Merlin's straining co*ck.

''If I'd known you'd be so easy, I'd have done this a long time ago,'' Arthur murmured, mouthing along Merlin's neck. ''Who'd have thought proper Merlin Emrys would be this wanton, begging me to f*ck him over his car in the middle of the road?''

With one sharp tug, he pulled Merlin's pants down, exposing his buttocks to the cool evening air.

''I've got lube and stuff,'' Arthur whispered, running his thumbs down Merlin's cleft while his forehead pressed against the damp spot between Merlin's shoulder blades. ''I want to f*ck you, Merlin. So badly--''

Merlin was dizzy with arousal and probably completely out of his mind.

''Yes.''

Arthur groaned and shortly after his fingers were back, slick now, circling and rubbing Merlin's hole before slowly pushing in. Merlin let out a strangled sob and Arthur grabbed his neck and shoved him forward until Merlin's cheek was pressed against the sleek metal of the bonnet.

Helplessly, Merlin rocked back as Arthur's fingers f*cked him open.

When Arthur's thick co*ck finally filled him to the brink of painful pleasure, Merlin forgot about being out in the open, where anyone could come by. All he could think of was Arthur's mouth, hot against his neck, and the hands on his hips, guiding him backwards as Arthur thrust into him with long, hard strokes.

Arthur brought Merlin off with just the right twist of his hand, and they slumped forward together, with Arthur still buried inside of him.

''Next time, we could use your handcuffs,'' Merlin mumbled contentedly. Maybe being arrested would be worth it after all.

59.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Dub-con, bordering non-con

Aredian was the one to bring in the boy. He was always the very best when it came to finding the troublemakers.

He looked barely legal. Possibly he had faked his ID. He also looked terrified and ready to burst into tears. Perfect. Aredian's intimidation tactics were as foolproof as ever.

"What is your name, warlock?" Arthur asked.

"Merlin," the boy replied, fidgeting as he was restrained and forced onto his knees, "and I'm not... I didn't..."

"We caught you on film using magic to win poker games,” Arthur said firmly, “Tonight. But that wasn't the first time you came here, was it?"

Merlin didn’t respond, his eyes nervously scanning the room for any escape routes.

"There’s no point, Merlin, if that is even your real name."

"Of course it's my name," Merlin protested, but he quieted down when his eyes fell on the figures of Percival, Elyan and Gwaine in the different corners of the rooms.

With a sigh of resignation Merlin said, "What do you want from me? If you want me to pay you back..."

"That would be a good place to start," Arthur interjected.

"Well I can't! The money's gone. I needed it to pay rent. To...

Arthur held up his hands, "I don't want your sob-story, Merlin. I run a casino. I deal with frauds. Otherwise, this casino wouldn't as prosperous as it is now," he explained slowly.

"So... You want me to do some dishes?" Merlin tried, flashing Arthur a wry smile.

Arthur laughed. "Gentleman," he said, addressing his guards, "will you stay to watch or..." Arthur left the question hanging in the air.

"Watch what?" Merlin asked alarmed.

"Watch you pay me back." Arthur stated.

All of his guards declined. "Maybe next time," Gwaine grinned. Arthur was satisfied; he wanted Merlin to himself. For now. They took position outside Arthur's private quarters inside The Camelot.

When the doors fell shut, Arthur fixed his gaze on Merlin. “Don’t even think of using magic to escape,” he said, before moving to untie Merlin’s bonds. “I have the men to hunt to you to the moon and back.”

With Merlin’s bonds falling away, Arthur made quick work of Merlin’s cheap suit, careless about the buttons and rumpled tie.

"Wait,” Merlin said, voice shaking as he held up his hands, “let me pay you back some different way."

"You don't get to choose,” Arthur said firmly.

Merlin didn’t resist when Arthur pulled down his boxers, stepping out of them as if in a trance. But when Arthur kissed him, hands travelling down his lithe, naked body to rest on his pert buttocks; the young man was coming back to life. When Arthur pulled their groins together, he was pleased to already find proof of Merlin’s arousal.

“I should really spank you like the little boy you are,” Arthur said, giving Merlin’s buttocks a slap and being rewarded with a soft moan. “Something tells me you would like it. But tonight is about what I like.”

He manhandled Merlin towards the table in the middle of the room. A table scattered with cards and dice – the tools of Merlin’s deception. Pushing Merlin on top of it, he took out a condom and some lube.

Merlin whimpered slightly when Arthur pushed inside a finger. By the time Arthur had inserted three, f*cking them and in and out of Merlin’s perfect little arse, the man was writhing with pleasure and sporting a full-blown erection.

"Please..." Merlin moaned when Arthur removed his fingers.

"Please what?"

"Please f*ck me!"

Arthur happily obliged. He didn’t know what it was about Merlin that made him want to pound into the boy with fast, deep thrusts. Perhaps it was that mixture of vulnerability and deviousness. Merlin took it all, making obscene noises of pleasure as Arthur pulled him off with the matching sharp tugs.

Arthur continued f*cking Merlin after the man came, fondling his sensitive dick until he was a sobbing mess. When Arthur pulled out of Merlin, he felt a bone-deep contentment and a fondness for the stupid but brave man shivering against the table.

They ended up sprawled out on top of his chaise longue, Arthur pouring them both a glass of wine.

"So. It's time to discuss business."

"Business?" Merlin looked up sleepily.

"Yes. You need money and this Casino can use someone with your abilities."

Merlin stared at him in disbelief.

“Why don’t you show me your tricks,” Arthur said, tossing Merlin a pack of cards. He smiled when Merlin quickly complied, blue eyes turning golden.

60.

Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: None

Merlin had been delivering packages for less than a month, and there was already a stop that he hated more than all rest.

Sort of.

Merlin hated Arthur Pendragon's tendency to order packages that were heavy enough to kill a man, but he loved Arthur's large, well-defined muscles that stretched all his t-shirts thin.

Merlin hated that Arthur took five years to sign for a package (one time using an honest-to-god quill and ink because it's dignified, Merlin), but Merlin loved the feeling of Arthur's warm, calloused fingers brushing over his as the package was finally taken away.

Merlin hated that he couldn't figure out what Arthur even did for a living, but every time he had the chance to ask, he was either dying under the weight from the package of the day or momentarily distracted by Arthur's strong jaw line.

Merlin's feelings were complicated at best, but that didn't stop him from having dirty daydreams every time he brought a package to Arthur's door and waited an inordinate amount of time for the man to sign the damn clipboard.

--- – --- – --- – ---

The day Merlin finally saw the inside of Arthur's house, it did not go as he originally planned (and yes, there had been a plan). He was not pulled in for a hot, searing kiss on the porch. He was not given a cheesy line from a p*rno and then whisked inside. He was bitten. By a dog.

“sh*t. What happened?” Arthur asked, staring wide-eyed at the gash on Merlin's calf while, for the first and possibly only time, immediately taking the heavy package off Merlin's hands.

Merlin chuckled and swayed deliriously. He did not do well with blood. “It turns out that dalmatians are not adorable like in the movie. They are terrifying. And rude.”

“Alright. Hold on.” Arthur set the box down in the entryway and then stepped forward to grasp Merlin's arms. His hands were dry and warm and strong. “I've got first aid inside. Can you walk?”

Merlin could have, technically, limped his way inside. But Arthur had arm muscles that strained every shirt Merlin had ever seen him in and this could be Merlin's only chance.

Merlin threw his dignity to the wind and collapsed into Arthur's waiting arms with an overdramatic groan.

“I'll take that as a no,” Arthur said wryly. He hefted Merlin up bridal style with only a soft grunt, and Merlin barely held in a delighted squeal as he was carried inside.

He didn't know what he was expecting the inside of Arthur's house to look like. A bachelor pad, maybe. Or a place filled with odd collectibles. Or maybe even posh, overly extravagant rooms.

Instead there was metal. Metal everywhere. Filigree iron chandeliers and lamps and tables and chairs. Even the doorknob to the kitchen was iron, curled into an intricate scroll design.

Merlin was stupefied until Arthur guided him to sit on the (iron) kitchen table, when something in his head finally clicked.

“No. No way.”

“What?” Arthur grabbed the first aid kit from above the sink and popped it open.

“Black smiths don't still exist,” Merlin said accusingly.

Arthur tilted his head back and laughed. He laughed so hard that he didn't answer until after he'd cleaned and bandaged Merlin's wound. By that point he was only giggling.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Merlin,” Arthur said, grin wide and pleasant on his face. One of his hands was resting on Merlin's knee for reasons unknown, but Merlin was certainly not complaining. “But blacksmiths are still very much alive, and in fact, I get paid fairly well. Much more than you.”

Merlin snorted softly, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur's hand had started moving up his thigh in smooth rubbing motions. “Anybody could make more than me, now. I quit.”

Arthur hummed and stepped forward, spreading Merlin's knees around his thick, muscled hips. “That's probably for the best. You know what you should do?”

Merlin, to be honest, didn't know anything at that point.

Arthur's warm hand had crept up under Merlin's cargo shorts, his thumb softly rubbing over the edge of cotton briefs, just barely caressing the swell of Merlin's co*ck.

“Hmm?”

Arthur smirked and leaned forward, hovering his lips so close that Merlin could feel that tingling sensation when he knew he was about to be touched.

“You should come work for me.”

61.

Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: religious themes, many liberties taken with the Church of England, implication of sexual-wrongdoing by clergy

“I’m sure you understand,” the Archdeacon said, blinking at Arthur over his spectacles. “Given the circ*mstances of the last rector’s actions, we are looking for a rector who is already married.”

Arthur was boiling by this point, for he had worked too long and too hard to secure this placement, in the parish on his mother’s family’s land, close to Morgana and far away from Uther’s disdain for the clergy. Arthur’s fingers dug into his seminary robes. He looked into the Archdeacon’s dull face, shadowy in the candlelight, and some dark impulse stole over him.

He opened his mouth and said, “Yes sir, and I am engaged to be married.”

*

Arthur tore through the bank, nearly knocking over a gaggle of ladies in the process, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. The Archdeacon was a notorious gossip, and had made Arthur tell him his ‘fiance’s’ name. Arthur would be receiving congratulations from the entire seminary by dinnertime.

He skidded to a stop in front of a cluttered desk, and Merlin looked up at him open-mouth, with a smudge of ink on his nose. Arthur reflected that perhaps his greatest deception was to tell the Archdeacon that his fiance was the most refined and genteel of men, I assure you.

“I must speak to you,” Arthur said. “Now.”

Merlin arched an insolent eyebrow and darted a look towards his superior’s office. “Arthur, I’m not at liberty to—”

“It’s of the utmost importance.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, and Arthur knew from experience there’d be no arguing with him. Throwing the last of his propriety to the wind, Arthur leant over and pressed his hands on top of Merlin’s, slid his fingertips against the delicate points of Merlin’s knuckles. Merlin’s breath halted, half-way out his throat.

“Come speak to me outside. I need to propose to you.”

*

Arthur might have damned his soul to do it, but he did it. He’d never so much as courted Merlin, but Merlin, for reasons unknown, agreed to marry him. And with their marriage, came the coveted placement in the Rectory at DuBois. Arthur had the means now to care for his sister, and a flock of parishioners who remembered his mother.

The rectory was large, with enough rooms for each to have his own. They saw each other every morning at breakfast, played cards after dinner, retired to their separate rooms, and if not for two small things, it would have been possible for Arthur to bury his guilt.

The first: that Merlin was the perfect rector’s husband. He met parishioners easily, learning their habits and greeting them by name on Sunday mornings. Annoyingly, they took to Merlin like sheep to a shepherd. Merlin was always introducing Arthur to improbably beautiful townsfolk with names like Lancelot, all of whom looked on Merlin with idolatrous affection. Merlin was everything a husband should be.

The second: that Merlin had a bottom lip like a hothouse rose petal.

*

It was inevitable that Arthur would give in to temptation. Some early Sunday morning, Merlin arrived in the parlor in a new jacket, smiling like a loon, and Arthur reached out his thumb to ride down the ridge of Merlin’s cheekbone. When it arrived at the apple of his cheek, Arthur pressed, rapt, as Merlin’s mouth dropped slowly open. Arthur could see his teeth, his tongue.

Something broken loose in his head, Arthur pressed Merlin back against the wallpaper and tugged away his beautiful neckcloth, all while chanting, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” and moaned when the tender hollow of Merlin’s throat was exposed. He bent his head to suck it, like a well in the desert.

This was his husband.

A hundred ideas occurred to Arthur: he could kiss him, he could touch him, he could bear him to the ground and take him.

“Why did you marry me?” Arthur whispered, his fingers unable to stop searching out Merlin’s ribs, Merlin’s waist.

“You’re a good man,” Merlin said breathlessly, but certain. His hands cupped Arthur’s shoulder blades through his vicar’s robes. “No-one inspires faith the way you do.”

Arthur shook his head, even as he pressed his mouth to Merlin’s jaw. “I lust after you like a dog. I seduced you into marrying me. You call that ‘good’?”

Merlin’s breath was hot on Arthur’s ear: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.”

Which was blasphemous, probably, but Arthur made a wretched sound and kissed him, sucked his tongue, and palmed his co*ck.

62.

Pairing(s): Elyan/Percival, Elyan/OC
Warning(s): none

"I'm supposed to tell you to move," Percival says, stopping in front of the guy who's been sat on the club's steps for half an hour, holding a cup that has FEED ELYAN FUND scrawled on the front.

Percival hates this part of the job, but the guy - Elyan, presumably - just smiles. "People are stingy this side of town anyway."

Percival doesn't know what to say to that, but as Elyan trudges past, he drops some change into his cup.

*

Elyan's sitting on the steps when Percival gets in for his shift the next day. He gets up when he sees Percival approaching, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"You don't have to do that," Percival says, too quickly. "If you sit just there, the cameras can't see you."

Elyan smiles. "Not gonna make me move again?"

Percival was on the streets for a while before he got this job, but he doesn't know how to say that without sounding like a wanker.

"My job's to make sure nobody hassles the dancers or the bar staff," he says finally. "You're not hassling anyone."

*

The Morrisons around the corner is doing a two-for-one deal on sandwiches, and Percival doesn't even think before grabbing a slightly nicer version of the one he's seen Elyan scarf down a few times.

"It was free," Percival says as he hands it over, before the hostility can build in Elyan's face.

"That doesn't-"

"My lunch break's nearly over," Percival adds, backing away. "I need to go."

"Hey, f*ck you," Elyan yells after him, but he's laughing.

*

Percival honestly likes his job, likes the club and the people who work there, but he could do with fewer creeps to deal with.

He drags the latest one out, debating the merits of kicking the guy in the ribs a few times. Elyan's still sitting on the steps, though, so Percival just shoves the creep so hard he stumbles, right into Elyan.

"Sorry, love," the creep says, darting a look back at Percival as he rights himself. "Some people just don't have any manners."

"That's all right," Elyan says, in this voice Percival's never heard him use before. The creep's still holding onto him, one arm settled comfortably around Elyan's shoulders. Elyan doesn't even look like he wants him to let go.

And that's- fine, whatever. Percival absolutely has no right to an opinion on what's happening here. He's just going to not have an opinion somewhere else, like inside, where he still has a f*cking job to do.

Except he has to escort another guy off the premises fifteen minutes later, and as he's heading back in, there's a muffled cry from the alley next to the club. Percival moves on instinct, towards the sound, ready to unleash hell and-

"sh*t," he says, too loud.

Elyan has the creep from earlier up against a wall, one hand on his mouth and the other between their bodies, moving in the same rhythm as the rocking of his arse. Percival expects them to stop, or yell at him, or something, but Elyan's grunting like maybe he's about to come and, sh*t. sh*t.

Percival stares hard at Elyan's ratty jeans, puddled around his ankles, and gets out, "Sorry, I'm just gonna-" before he flees.

*

Elyan isn't there when Percival gets in the next day, or the next, or the next, until Percival's pretty sure he's well past not having an opinion on things Elyan does.

*

"Your homeless guy's back to sitting on our steps again," Isolde tells him, when they're finishing up the handover for her shift.

"He's not my- wait, what?"

Percival's moving before Isolde can say anything else, her laughter following him out the door.

"You're okay," Percival blurts when he sees Elyan, and immediately feels ridiculous.

"I got enough out of that guy you threw at me to stay in a B&B for a few nights." Elyan's smile turns uncertain. "Didn't realise I'd be missed."

"Got used to you keeping our steps warm," Percival says lightly, and Elyan laughs like Percival startled it out of him.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Percival's hand to pull himself up. "You're not working and I have enough to buy us coffee, or something. Let's celebrate."

Grinning, Percival squeezes Elyan's hand and lets himself be led away.

63.

Pairing(s): Gwaine/Cenred
Warning(s): None

When Gwaine, a freelance bodyguard (as he referred to himself), accepted the job offer from some Cenred Nolastname he did not expect it to be anything out of the ordinary shady business. He was surprised to hear how open Cenred was about being part of the local mob. Gwaine did not care how legal his employer was as long as they paid well.

He had also expected to do more, well, body-guarding, instead of body-f*cking. He was, in fact, predominantly bodyf*cking. Not that he was complaining, mind you.

Cenred kicked away his underwear and sat on the edge of the desk. Grinning, he lifted his foot and caressed Gwaine’s knee with his toe. The latter abandoned unbuttoning his shirt and knelt immediately. Cenred had f*cking amazing legs and Gwaine worshipped them even without being prompted to. He stuck out his tongue and gave the inside of the ankle an experimental lick. The shudder that ran up his boss’ leg was more than satisfactory. Cenred exhaled and pressed his ankle against Gwaine’s mouth. “Go on,” he urged. Gwaine obliged him immediately – he ran his tongue up to Cenred’s knee, then went up until he reached the hipbone. Cenred readily rolled up his shirt, revealing the side of his delicious torso and really, how was Gwaine supposed to resist that?

He ripped the shirt off Cenred’s body and pinned his boss on the desk. Cenred laughed – he always sounded so amused – and rolled his hips, rubbing his co*ck against Gwaine. The latter growled. Even sprawled, naked, and willing, legs wide spread for Gwaine, Cenred still had this… power, or whatever it was, over him. He could only groan and grind back, possessed with the need to bury himself in Cenred. He bent down and took one nipple between his lips, sucked it, nipped at the flesh, licked it apologetically when his boss shuddered from the pain.

Gwaine hurried to take off his trousers. A hot wave of anticipation washed over him when his co*ck was free from the restrains of his underwear. He opened and put a condom on while Cenred was lubing himself; then his boss leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs in invitation. Gwaine teased Cenred with the tip of his co*ck, then pushed in, and slowly continued pushing, oblivious to everything but the hot tight place taking him in. Cenred nudged him with his knee. Gwaine bit back on the bossy-boss pun and grabbed his employer’s thighs to steady himself. When his co*ck finally went all the way in Cenred threw his head back and moaned. His hair spilled over and behind his shoulders and Gwaine regretted not being able to grab and pull it the way both of them liked.

Frustrated, he set a quicker pace than their usual. He was acting as if possessed, thirsting to hear the moans and whimpers spilling from his boss’ mouth, thirsting to just plain f*ck, rut like an animal. Cenred writhed, encouraged him with breathy yeses and f*cks, until he suddenly fell onto the desk and arched his back. “There… yeah, there, just-, oh f*ck, f*ck, Gwaine, aahhh-”

Cenred’s whole body tensed, and he let out a whine. His co*ck spurted long, white stripes all over his spasming stomach. Gwaine slammed harder into him, his own org*sm close. His hips snapped, then again, again and again until the pleasure coiling inside tightened, then spilled, and he was coming as well. Cenred whined and squirmed beneath him, probably growing oversensitive, but Gwaine couldn’t bring himself to slow down, not now, not when Cenred had been the one to initiate it like that.

It took them both a good while to catch their breath. Cenred was the first to recover.
“You interested in a raise and perhaps a permanent position?”

64.

Pairing(s): Gwen/Lancelot Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Underage

Their rapid footsteps beat impossibly loud on the wooden floorboards, echoing off the panelled walls. The Academy's eastern library is always quiet, especially during dinner, when most of the other students are in the dining hall, or out in the grounds. It's the perfect place to hide.

Panting with the thrill of escape, they both pull themselves up the ladder to the sloping upper balcony that runs around the small room. Merlin tugs off Arthur's bow-tie, playfully dropping it over the handrail for Arthur to retrieve, and heads for a shelf of small leather-bound books.

Arthur joins him behind the heavy shelves, looking over Merlin's shoulder, breathing hard, but otherwise quiet. Merlin likes moments like this, they make his blood sing.

They jump apart when the heavy wooden door swings open, and duck behind a bookshelf, not wanting to be discovered by Gaius, the only teacher they had ever seen in there.

Instead of the slow shuffle of long robes however, they hear the clack of an unfamiliar heeled boot. Merlin holds his breath as Arthur peeks around the edge of the bookshelves, and carefully leans over him to see for himself.

There as a man standing in the library. His face is handsome and young, his curly black hair pulled into a short ponytail. He's wearing military garb; a burgundy velvet jacket with tails and two lines of small brass buttons, black jodhpurs, and tall leather boots.

Airship captain, Arthur mouths at Merlin, because he has classes in military dress, and when has Arthur missed an opportunity to show off? Merlin rolls his eyes, but he watches the man with a new found fascination.

The door opens again, and through the door slips a woman. Her white ruffled blouse comes up around her neck, her full emerald skirt reaches the floor, her black curls neatly pinned up; Gwen LeoDegrace, their tactics & strategy teacher, and Merlin's dormitory warden.

Gwen shuts the door carefully, then sweeps across the room into the man's arms.

“Lance, Lance,”

“Gwen, it's okay,”

“I missed you. God, I thought you might be dead.”

Lance catches Gwen's lips, and Arthur makes a face at Merlin, who rolls his eyes again because they're not five, but then he turns back to the couple below and feels a jolt of panic. The man has undone the buttons down Gwen's front, and has slipped a hand inside her shirt, and Merlin can see the hand kneading and squeezing soft flesh.

Merlin slips a glance at Arthur, who is staring at the pair, gaze keen on the exposed breast. Merlin quickly looks away again.

Lance has walked Gwen backwards until she hit one of the high wooden worktables. He hitches up her skirt, and his hand strokes her thigh a few times before disappearing underneath. Gwen breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“I want to leave a piece of me with you, for you to look after.”

Gwen moans in response. Merlin dies a little inside.

Gwen pulls the jacket off the man's shoulders, pulls his shirt off, and unzips his pants. She pulls the stretchy fabric down his hips, and grabs his co*ck, stroking it challengingly.

It's an impossible colour, it's impossibly large, and it makes Merlin's stomach churn.

Merlin glances back at Arthur and sees him watching intently, one hand down his trousers cupping himself. The sight makes his own erection jump, and he allows himself to do the same.

Lance lays Gwen on the table, and pushes up her skirt, revealing the pink seam between her thighs.

He kisses her again, then lines up. He's slow and careful, and Merlin watches, throat dry, as he sinks in, then withdraws, shining and slick.

“Please, Lance, fill me up until I'm round with your child.”

This seems to be Lance's thing, because he speeds up, pumping in and out hard, grunts and moans filling the room, and Merlin is unable to take his eyes away, his hand stroking in rhythm.
All too soon, Gwen comes with a yell, her thighs tightening around Lance, and the rhythm stutters, the man following a few beats later.

Merlin takes a second to mourn his student-teacher relationship as they dress and leave, and then shuffles over to Arthur, taking him in hand, and guiding his hand to Merlin's own throbbing co*ck.

Their library evenings are even better after that.

65.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s):> None

First time Arthur sees him, he's leaving the rink after a brutal game against Oshawa Generals. They had won with him scoring the game winning goal with 3-2 as the final score, but it had been a fairly close game and Gwaine's three penalties hadn't help.

The player is warming up, shooting the puck against the goalie with remarkable ease. Arthur can't help but wonder whether the player would hold up well against pressure even if he's a little awed by the stick handling.

Too bad, he can't tell see the bloke's face from across the rink. But he sees the number 9 and Emrys etched across the back of the red jersey of the Belleville Bulls.

Later when he looks up Emrys online, he finds himself even more intrigued by the Welsh voice and the graceful hands.

And if later, when he wanks to imaging those same hands wrapped his co*ck, well only he knows.

~*~

They're up one goal. And there's only two minutes from the London Knights winning the Memorial Cup. But then it's Emrys scoring from a slick pass from one of his teammates, Will Davies or something, Arthur grudgingly thinks as the team gather for a quick break before the shootout.

They lose. Arthur's devastated, he only half-registers the two shootout goals Emrys makes. (Later when he watches the replay, he finds himself turned on at the way Emry moves across the ice before chipping the puck. A cold shower doesn't help.)

It takes him a few days before he's willing to let the loss go, but Arthur's looking forward to the U-18 Tournament and playing for Great Britain. And if the rumors are true, playing with Merlin Emrys as well.

~*~

Of course, we're roommates, Arthur thinks when he opens his assigned room and sees Emrys sprawled across on one of the twin beds.

“Hi,” Emrys says, a bit hesitantly as he sits up and without his visor and the distraction of hockey miles away, Arthur is taken aback by how blue his eyes are.

“I guess they figured having their two across the pond playing players room together,” Arthur says as he drops his duffle on the empty twin bed.

“Yeah.”

“I'm Arthur,” Arthur says after a bit.

“Yeah, I know,” Emry says, “I'm Merlin.”

“You were great in the OHL Championship game,” Arthur says suddenly, then feels embarrassed.

“You were too,” Merlin says in return, flushing, “When you scored that third goal, that was amazing---that backhanded shot.”

Arthur fights back a blush at the enthusiasm in Merlin's voice.

~*~

They click on the ice. Merlin's his right-winger to Arthur's center. And together they fly. It's as if they can read each other's minds. And they burn it up on the ice, past the first round, the second, and third.

When they make it to the semi-final after Merlin's game winning goal after Arthur's assist, Arthur can't help but pull Merlin in close, hand wrapping around Merlin's neck and leaning in to yell, “You're amazing!” into his ear. Arthur wants to pull him closer, wants to lead him away, back to their room and maybe worship Merlin in a completely different way. It takes him a moment to pull away so the rest of the team can hug Merlin too.

~*~

They lose in the semi-final against Team Canada, against both Arthur and Merlin's teammates. Even with all the scoring they both do, Team Britain's defense crumbles against the Canadian forwards.

Arthur catches Merlin's eye across the ice and sees his disappointment mirroring back at him.

~*~

They stay for another two days to see Canada beat out the US for the final. On their last night at dinner with the team, Arthur sees Merlin looking at him.

When they get back to their room, Arthur feels antsy. He tries not to think about not playing with Merlin again.

Suddenly Merlin's in his space, face close and earnest, “Stop me, if this isn't something you want.”

There's a press of a kiss, clumsy but insistent and it takes Arthur a moment to get with the program.

And then it's a flurry of awkward elbows and shuffling as they scramble out of their clothes. Hands half-fumbling on jean zips and pulling off shirts.

Merlin's hands are sure though, when he wraps his hand around both their co*cks, pulling steadily until they're close before shifting to more quicker jerks that twist at the wrist. Better than Arthur imagined.

Later when he has his arm slung around Merlin's waist, the bed covers rucked down on Merlin's bed, Merlin asks“You're up for the draft this year?”

“Yeah, but you're not for another year right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait for me,” Merlin adds a moment later, pulling Arthur's arm tighter around them.

66.

Pairing(s): Merthur
Warning(s): Not Brit-picked. Attempted assassination. Fusion!fic with Carrie Vaughn's Kitty Norville series.

“I’m Merlin Emrys and you’re listening to The Midnight Hour, the show that isn’t afraid of the dark or the creatures that live there. Our first call tonight comes from Glastonbury. Pendragon, Hello.”

“I know what you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know what you are, and I’m coming to kill you.”

*********************

Merlin never expected to be outed as a Warlock on his radio show, a fact that would mean his certain death in some circles. He certainly never expected to be f*cking the assassin that did it every other night after in a fit of continuous hormone driven madness. It’d been four weeks of vague texts, random hookups, and far too interested viewers.

“Next caller. Morgana, you’re on the air. What’s your question?”

“Hi, Merlin. I just wanted to know, when are you finally going to admit to being in a relationship with Pendragon? I have a bet to settle that I know I’ve already won.”

Merlin flushed a furious red and sputtered a bit hysterically. There was a good five second of almost complete radio silence before he could even bring himself to answer. “What?!”

“Are you two finally going steady?”

“We are talking about the same Pendragon here right? The one who tried to kill me on air, yes? The professional Witchfinder from a long line of Warriors that hunt people like me?” The Arthur with the pert, luscious bum that he’d been eating out over his desk just last night until that perfectly pink co*ck utterly ruined his paperwork with the giant berks’ satisfaction.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you want to know if I’m dating him?!”

Does what they’re doing even constitute as dating? They did bareback for the first time last weekend but it didn’t mean anything right? Steady hookups did that after all and it’s not like they were exclusive or anything. The only reason Merlin hasn’t f*cked anyone else for the past month is because he goes to bed most nights completely satisfied. No need to go out in the cold for what he could get in the comfort of his own home and office.

It didn’t actually mean anything though.

Right?

“I sort of sensed something between the two of you when he was on the show.”

‘Besides my utter terror?’ He thought to himself. A fear quickly eased the next night when Arthur broke into his house to thoroughly negotiate the terms of his complete and utter surrender. Something much simpler when there weren’t thousands of avid listeners witnessing his capture. Terms they were still in the process of negotiating.

Sort of.

“The tension you felt was probably me coming to grips with my imminent death. So what are you supposed to be then? Some sort of Clairvoyant?”

Please say no.

He’d have to stop deluding himself into thinking he didn’t care about the prat if she said yes. Imagine, him dating a Witchfinder. Mother would have a fit and he might find himself in the uncomfortable position of challenging a status quo as old as the tales of Avalon and just as archaic.

“I wouldn’t say that precisely.”

Thank all the gods!

“I’m bit more than that actually. I’m a Sorceress with the Sight.”

“f*ck.”

“That you boys do and isn’t that awkward for a little sister to see so often. Isn’t it Arthur?” Morgana’s carefree laugh ended on a slightly malicious lilt as she abruptly ended the call.

Gwen flailed madly on the other side of the booth window. “Merlin,”she hissed frantically, “you have to take line two!”

“Why?” He protested weakly before some frisson of self preservation had him punching the line and stop attempting to delay the inevitable. “Yes? What?”

“Emrys. It’s Pendragon. If you don’t change the subject immediately and stop feeding the loons I’m going to have to head over there and have a word with you.”

“I’m trying, he snarled. Voice husky with his instinctive response and a small kernel of madness wondered what would happen if he called his bluff on air. “But thanks for calling. So, is Morgana really your little sister? Have you ever dated a Warlock before?”

“That is none of your business.”

Oh really now? f*ck it.

“What if someone you were hooking up with turned out to be say, a Warlock? Born that way through no fault of their own Arthur? What then?” Merlin’s voice went dark with power and the way Pendragon’s breath caught made his dick flex in anticipation of his response.

“You’ll see.”

67.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): --

“And how do you propose we work around the substantial deficit this type of endeavor would create, Mr. Pendragon?” A stern man in a crisp, very expensive suit, was making the type of face at Arthur that he knew meant his credibility was being severely questioned. As he was only 26 and already one of the most prominent lawyers in New York, Arthur was quite used to that particular facial expression.

He received it almost every time he met a business partner or high-ranking coworker for the first time. Arthur normally took great pains to wipe that look right off their faces, and leave no questions as to why he was in the position he’d reached.

However, Arthur was well-aware that he had much bigger concerns at the moment.
Just as he began to formulate a semi-rational response to Mr. DeLaney Merlin flattened his tongue on Arthur’s co*ckhead just the way Merlin knew he liked, and all Arthur could do was stutter and turn slightly red.

Merlin was sucking and laving Arthur’s co*ck like it was his job, and had done for almost twenty minutes now. Arthur was nearing his limit, he had been beating away org*sm for he didn’t know how long, and he was getting desperate.

“We definitely have to consider pulling back. We don’t know how much more the market can take. There’s no telling when it’ll be too much and things could get out of hand.” Arthur knew he couldn’t be any more unsubtle than that. If Merlin decided to continue to torture him, then Arthur was f*cked.

So to say.

With an ungodly and cruel hum, Arthur could feel his face turning bright red. One of his hands dropped to tug at Merlin’s hair in a last ditch attempt to salvage his dignity.

However, his business partner and co-owner of their firm was known for his relentless ways. And this was no different.

Now he was being asked a question about whether some action or other would be legal or not, but Arthur couldn’t even pretend to know what he was supposed to be talking about.

Not when a glance downward would reveal Merlin’s smoldering eyes staring up at him unrepentantly, and he could feel Merlin’s hot breath against his co*ck. There eyes had only met for a moment, and Arthur had to quickly look away, or it would all be over.

Then Merlin returned his focus to what was right in front of him.

With a moan he couldn’t repress Mr.DeLaney witnessed Arthur Pendragon cum right in front of him. And there was no hiding it.

With no explanation, Arthur ended the feed and scooted his chair back. He was panting heavily, and hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh come off it, you know that was amazing.” Merlin said from his place kneeling under the table and grinning at Arthur.

“Oh I came off something alright,” Arthur said, chuckling.

“I can never speak to that man again, Merlin.” Arthur said deadly seriously.

“Well of course not. After your meeting in person tomorrow afternoon.”

Chapter 4: Group D (warnings)

Chapter Text

68.

Pairing(s): Merlin/ Arthur
Warning(s): None

69.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): None except for a huge apology to Joss Whedon.

In every generation there is a Chosen One. He alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness ... all while being a massive prat. He is a clotpole the Slayer.

70.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): none

71.

Pairing(s): Gwaine/Merlin
Warning(s): Dubious consent from alcohol consumption

Turns out the the barkeep's special drink isn't so much about the content, but how it's served

72.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warning(s): Could be interpreted as having consent issues

73.

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Warning: None
The Mile High Adventures of Captain Pendragon and the Trolley Dolly Merlin Emrys

74.

Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Warning(s): None

librarian!Arthur professor!Merlin

75.

Pairing(s): Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/Merlin/Lancelot
Warning(s): None

Lancelot is a painter in renaissance Florence, Merlin is his assistant and model, when they come across poet Arthur in a tavern he knows he has the perfect Apollo for his Death of Hyacinth.

Chapter 5: Group A (clean)

Chapter Text

1.

Merlin was sixteen the year he became a counselor at Camp Mesofin, after eight summers of being a participant. He knew the woods, the waterways, the secret island that only peeked out during the driest stretch of summer better than anyone else—even better than Kilgharrah, who’d started the camp forty years prior and still hung around to tell spooky stories by the campfire. His tall tales had led to more than one night-terror-induced bedwetting incident.

Merlin was an explorer, an adventurer—curious and smart and pretty damn sneaky. So how did he never know what the counselors got up to?

Gwaine and El, and sometimes Percy, went door-blasting most nights, bursting sh*tfaced into all the cabins to try to catch people f*cking. Elena and Vivan (Elena’s Hitachi Magic Wand) would not be dissuaded, and eventually she just started inviting them over every time she wanted to f*ck herself. At that point, the door-blasting almost ceased entirely.

Merlin went out night-swimming with Gwen and came back to find Lance scrubbing what smelled like bleach into Merlin’s formerly green sleeping bag. Mithian was leaning halfway out the window laughing hysterically, her white dress stained a reddish-brown color that had Merlin feeling woozy.

“You’re a bleeder!” Gwen said much too loudly, which only made Mithian laugh harder, sliding down the cabin wall and landing in a crumpled little ball on the floor. Lance’s face went so white he looked like he might vomit.

“She didn’t tell me she was a virgin, too,” he said apologetically, his hand stilling over Merlin’s ruined sleeping bag.

The long-accepted story was that Gilli and Freya had been dating since they were ten years old and hadn’t done more than hold hands. But then one day Merlin walked in on them stripped down to the pubes and jacking off in front of each other, and he decided their tale was a bit misleading.

The last week of summer, Merlin became aware of a bet between the Pendragon twins, who weren’t actually twins (they didn’t even have the same mother).

“They’ve got money on which of them will f*ck you before we go home,” Will said around a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Did you throw in on that?” Merlin asked, flicking his fingers through his wet hair and splattering water droplets onto Will’s face.

“Not yet. Got an inside tip?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He pulled a black T-shirt over his head and glanced in the mirror. “Double down on both.”

It happened on the island—a fleeting locale for a fleeting encounter.

Morgana showed up first, hopped out of her canoe and secured it onshore before Merlin thought to help her. She looked delicious in her dreamsicle bikini, orange and white stripes stretching tight across her tit*. Her legs were wet, and Merlin reached out and smoothed his hands over the bumpy flesh in an attempt to warm her.

Morgana’s giant sunglasses bumped against Merlin’s nose as she leaned in to kiss him. It was surprisingly soft for a girl of Morgana’s purported appetite—sweet, even. It made Merlin feel fluttery and lightheaded, and Morgana pushed him gently to the ground.

Merlin was just about to give up on Arthur, had gone to rummage a condom out of his pocket, when the loud rumbling of a jet ski made him look up. Arthur was just a streak of yellow for a moment, and then he was right up against Merlin, his bare chest warm and wet against Merlin’s, his kiss intense.

Arthur didn’t waste time with caressing. In the middle of their first kiss, he stripped out of his swim shorts and lined up his rigid prick with Merlin’s. Morgana’s breasts pressed against Merlin’s back and her hand sneaked down his front, fingers deftly slipping on a condom.

“Shall we?” she said, and Merlin broke his kiss with Arthur to respond. Arthur was faster, maneuvering Merlin into the sand and straddling his shoulders. Merlin could only see the wide spread of Arthur’s legs as he felt Morgana sink down on his prick. His lips parted on a gasp, and Arthur took the opportunity to dip his lovely co*ck inside.

“Are you coming back next summer?” Gwen said, her arms tight around Merlin’s shoulders.

The Pendragon twins shot him what could only be described as a lascivious look before they hopped inside their father’s truck.

“Are you kidding?” he said, petting his hand over Gwen’s hair. “Kilgharrah is going to have to hand over the keys. I’m a lifer.”

2.

The low tingle of Gwen's org*sm, buzzing underneath her skin, drifted away.

She laid back on the futon with ochre, shapely legs crooked to part, her fingers thoughtfully petting soaked, dark curls of her pubic hair. From her sprawling position, Gwen caught Lamia eyeing her across the bedroom, gnawing on her lip but otherwise saying nothing.

Nothing seemed easy when her girlfriend was more interested in her pets than Gwen.

Even if they were rather impressive pets: a five foot red-tail boa snug round Lamia's neck and bare shoulders, with the rest of its body curled around her right arm; a three foot green tree python circled to Lamia's forearm and left hand, and drawn close to her body.

“Do you love your Mummy, Gorgon?” The naked woman hummed to the vibrantly colored python. Her kiss-puffy lips smirking as Lamia cooed, “Ooh? Do you and Ladon love Mummy?”

“Mummy should come back to bed,” Gwen spoke up, voice edging raspy, hazy desire.

The other woman frowned, pensively eyeing her once more.

“I'd have to shower… ”

For sanitary reasons Gwen understood, but still a noisy, amused laugh flew from her lips.

“Surely I can occupy myself until then,” she replied, sending a flushing Lamia a coquettish smile before pushing two of her fingers inside herself and moaning breathy. The stretch hardly registered, not after Lamia's earlier preparation and hot slide of her tongue.

Guinevere Regina had been only fifteen when her beliefs of security crumbled.

During their travels in Central America, her father and Elyan discovered a nest of pit adders. Tom died from the venom reaching his heart. She had been sure Elyan would die too.

But the local encampment, where Gwen found herself quivering in shock and grief, discovered the fastest route to the hospital.

Lucky for Elyan, the doctors kept a stock of the anti-venom.

One of the volunteers who often came by the hospital room had been a young woman. A long, thin face, shock of clear-water blue eyes, and perhaps eighteen years old. Judging by how translucently pale she was, Gwen supposed her job had been an interior one.

She wasn't wrong.

Lamia had been in-training as a snake-milker, or “venom-extractor” as the professionals deemed it. One of the most dangerous occupations on the planet and it saved Elyan's life.

It took nothing at all for her to offer Lamia a cup of overly sugared hospital coffee and sit with her in private, growing fond of her soft-spoken nature and mystery.

As much as the serpentarium unnerved her, Gwen fought the London traffic and braved security.

Leon winked as she approached quickly passing him off a hearty roast beef sandwich.

Gwen's watch read two after noon, around the time Lamia washed up for a lunch break. She located her girlfriend turning down the fluorescent lit corridor, shedding her lab coat.

Lamia's eyes went round.

“What on earth are you doi—?”

Gwen yanked her into a dark, unused room. At their presence, the sensitive lights dimmed on, halogen-white and glowing dusky.

“Sorry, I brought you leftovers,” Gwen murmured, beaming.

As she presented the crinkled brown-bag, Lamia pursed her lips, feigning annoyance but Gwen knew that pout. She knew how much coaxing it took to open Lamia's mouth against hers, tasting heat and saliva and cinnamon toothpaste, as her tiny frame crowded Gwen's.

Hands dragged over Lamia's plain cotton blouse, tugging it from her trouser hem.

A stifled groan—or was it a laugh—reverberated as cool fingertips etched Lamia's ticklish sides.

“Think you like getting me into trouble,” came a whisper so low Gwen had to strain to hear.

She grinned, unable to deny it considering the situation, leaning in to kiss Lamia's jaw. Taking a deep breath of the faintest scent of ammonia and lemon-cleaner.

The reminder of how forbidden this was with cameras everywhere, or maybe Leon on-duty peeking on Gwen fondling Lamia's clothed breasts, was sort of brilliant.

“It's entirely possible.”

A flash of arousal stole up Gwen's body, already pulsing damp to her silk underwear, as she felt Lamia's teeth and mouth sucking on her neck. She bit down on Gwen's reddening flesh, enough for it to hurt. Gwen's knees could have given under her weight.

If not for the empty, stainless steel table they bumped into, and Gwen scooting herself atop.

Lamia's tongue could truly be an addictive, wicked creature.

3.

“Come on, use your huge baton properly! Hit me harder!”

Arthur groans and stills. His forehead is damp and Merlin reaches up and wipes it off with his fingers. Arthur’s arms on either side of Merlin’s head are shaking with the effort of holding himself up, and Merlin grins.

“Merlin...”

“Yes?”

“Please do not use bad euphemisms while we f*ck.”

“What are you going to do about it? Arrest me? Cuff me around the head?”

Arthur’s face grows redder with every joke. It makes Merlin giggle. He runs a hand through the blond hair as some sort of an apology.

“Really, Arthur,” he says and wriggles a little, because he really, really needs Arthur to start moving again, “You did vow to serve the people, which is me, you know. So chop chop! Get to it!”

“I’ll f*cking show you ‘serve’,” Arthur mumbles and withdraws only to roughly thrust back in.

It hits just the right spot and Merlin can’t help to let out a low moan.

“Enough for you, Merls?”

“No, please, officer... I won’t hold it against you if you do worse.”

“God, Merlin, I will get you back for this.”

“It’s fine. Just let me steal a kiss before you do.”

Arthur lets out a dry chuckle and goes back to f*cking Merlin in earnest. It gets increasingly more difficult to think of euphemisms and jokes that fit when it feels like your brains are being f*cked out of your ears.

“Just shoot me!” Merlin gasps as he feels Arthur’s thrusts getting shorter and hears his breath hitching like it always does before he comes. Okay, so that one was a bit contrived, but...

“Merl–” Arthur begins, but ends with a loud groan as he does shoot his load in Merlin’s arse.

Breathing heavily, he pulls out and slumps down onto Merlin’s chest.

“Ouff! Er, Ar– Arthur, geroff! You’re f*cking crushing me!”

It takes him a few moments, but eventually, Arthur does roll off and huffs.

“You’ve got only yourself to blame.”

Merlin reaches down and starts stroking his own co*ck. “Mm, how come?”

Arthur turns his head towards Merlin, but makes no effort to help get him off. “You’ve turned me into a pile of dough with all your stupid cakes.”

“Is this the revenge?” Merlin says and bites his lips as he can feel his org*sm building.

“I just want so squeeze those nice buns of yours, Merlin.”

“That is so bad. Put some f*cking effort into it, Arthur.”

“Shut up. This is me trying to be funny after org*sm. That’s no cakewalk.”

Merlin groans and strips his co*ck faster. “Mine were much better!”

Arthur turns towards him with his entire body. He leans in and whispers into Merlin’s ear, “Come on, baker boy. I’m in the mood for some of your frosting.”

The sound that escapes Merlin’s mouth as he comes is a mix between a snort, a giggle and a moan. Merlin’s stomach gets all warm and sticky as he empties on it, but instead of getting up and cleaning himself off, he just closes his eyes and breathes for a few minutes to calm himself.

When he opens his eyes again, Arthur is slowly dragging a finger through the mess on his stomach and then licks it clean. He does it again and again, making obscene slurping sounds just be a tease. It somewhat successful, since Merlin really can’t tear his eyes off him before swallowing thickly and dragging him down for a rough kiss.

“So you don’t like the police jokes?” he says when they break apart.

Arthur smirks against his mouth. “Well, I guess it is better than solo ‘masterbaking’.”

4.

Arthur was tired. He was burnout from school and internships and all he wanted to do was sleep for five years. Voicing this to Gwaine, of course, elicited the usual response of, "Go see Merlin."

Merlin was Gwaine's "super sexy" drug dealer. Arthur wasn't really into drugs but, deciding that he deserved something special, he got Merlin's location from Gwaine with the intention of buying weed and nothing else. Even with Gwaine telling him Merlin's E was "magical."

~*~

Arthur looked down at the address Gwaine had written for him. He was in the right spot but he was pretty sure he was alone . Well this is seedy and suspicious. Arthur thought to himself and snorted. I mean I guess I am meeting a drug dealer.

"Need something?" Arthur jumped at the voice behind him and turned around.

"Woah. Where did you come from?" The man seemed to have appeared out of nowhere and damn he was indeed attractive. He was lithe and tall with black hair. Arthur noticed sleeves of dragon tattoos up both of his arms and rune tattoos peaking out from under the (fairly tiny) vest he was wearing as a shirt. Gwaine was right.This is bad.

The man just laughed and crossed his arms, assessing Arthur. He exuded self-confidence. This is really bad.

"So what do you want? Adderall? Speed? You look pretty tired." Merlin, Arthur assumed, walked towards the back of the alley where a large briefcase with a prominent lock rested on a table. Arthur followed and watched Merlin put in what seemed like twenty numbers to open the lock.

"You're not a cop are you?" Merlin winked and smirked like he knew it wasn't true. Arthur got a little flustered and huffed. He could be a cop, he was fit enough.

"I just want some weed. The good stuff." Arthur had tried to sound stern but his eyes had rested a little too long on Merlin's pink plush lips so he knew it didn't come out that way.

"Ahhh I see. A little done with the real world?" Merlin opened the briefcase and reached for a tiny baggy.
"Trust me, sweetheart, you want this. It's the finest E in the world. I make it myself." Merlin pushed it into Arthur's hand and closed his briefcase with a snap.

"I don't normally hand it out for free but," Merlin shrugged, "why not?"

"I bet you do this to all your clients, huh? Try to reel them in with your tight clothes and free drugs in hopes if getting them addicted." Arthur huffed. "You drug dealers are all the same."

Merlin lit a cigarette, not seeming at all fazed by Arthur. "If you don't want it, give it back." He took a drag and held out his hand for the baggy.

Arthur glared a little but sighed. He really was done with the real world. He needed an escape and Merlin was offering it to him.

"Fine. I'll try it but don't expect me to like it. I probably won't be back." Arthur crossed his arms and pointed his nose in the air. Merlin laughed.

"Whatever you say, Mr. Posh." Merlin stamped out his cigarette with his black spiky boot.

"You know....making E isn't the only thing I'm good at." Merlin looked up at Arthur through his eyelashes.
"I'm sure it isn't, not with a mouth like that." Arthur said before he realized. He was never this forward, it wasn't polite. Merlin's confidence must have rubbed off on him.

Merlin sauntered forward and fell to his knees with a smirk. Arthur's eyes widened.

"Here?!" Anyone could see them in the alleyway but, for some reason, that didn't really bother Arthur as much as he felt it should. Especially when Merlin began to undo his pants.

Merlin slid a condom on his co*ck and Arthur let out a deep groan. When Merlin took him all in his mouth like a champ, Arthur knew it would be over much too quickly. The sight of Merlin's lips stretched around him and Merlin's tongue swirling around the head of his co*ck was too much.

"f*ck..." Arthur groaned. Merlin's mouth was magical. He ran a hand through Merlin's hair and grasped. Merlin moaned in response, vibrating Arthur's co*ck, and it was over. Merlin clutched Arthur's ass as he came in the condom and Arthur let out a stream of obscenities.

"Wow." Arthur cleared his throat, a little embarrassed that he had just be blown in an alley. Merlin removed the condom, zipped Arthur's pants, and stood up, his face red and his mouth swollen. Arthur thought he was even more attractive like this. Merlin reached into his pocket and produced a business card.

"Call me." Merlin winked and grabbed his briefcase.

"I, um, sure will. See you later then." Arthur awkwardly went to leave the alley.

"I hope life gets better for you, Arthur Pendragon." Arthur turned back around to find the alley empty and was left with a funny feeling. It suddenly felt like he had actually met Merlin before.

It was on the way home that he realized he had never actually told Merlin his name.

5.

Gwen builds Merlin first. Her subconscious guides her, pulling pieces from the ship and connecting them, transforming them, until they take on the shape of a man, tall and gangly.

His hair grows overnight and the eyes change from brown to blue as she watches.

He grins at her when he's finished, excited and happy, like one of the friendly dogs she remembers from long ago. She can't decide if they're a dream or a memory.

"You even got the ears right," he tells her, wiggling the ears. Gwen can't remember making them, but she must have, because no one else could have.

-

The planet is green and wild, rich with growth, and the air is heavy, fresh and untainted. Gwen travels the planet in a day, discovers forests and lakes, mountains and caves, all from the safety of her ship.

She reaches the castle and finds home.

-

Her fingers are lean and strong, the fingers of an inventor or an engineer, not the fingers of an artist.

But somewhere deep in her soul, she must be an artist, because Lance is perfect. His eyes are deep and soulful, his skin soft and supple, and when he curls around her, Gwen can forget that he's an android.

His skin burns with inner heat, but Gwen doesn't remember designing Lance to emit or transfer heat. She doesn't have the necessary materials, so she'd settled for a mix of thin-film and nanobites. It puzzles her, when warms her up, but she forgets to worry when he slides inside her, lips pressing warm kisses to her breast.

He grows unsettled, eventually; stares into the night sky with a longing so intense she rebuilds one of the small ships for him.

"I am sorry, my lady," he says, kneeling before her, one hand clasping hers. He calls her that when he doesn't call her Guinevere. "I shall return, one day."

-

The castle is white and majestic, echoing with laughter Gwen hears only in the distance. She never finds the source, sees no ghosts and feels no wind to cause the laughter.

-

Merlin pines, lonely with only her, and begs for a companion. Gwen fashions together a dragon for him. It breathes fire and it takes Merlin saying something, in a language she can't identify, for it to stop.

-

She wakes sweating and breathless, a name on her lips, fingers between her thighs

-

Gwen builds multiple figures next, letting Merlin name them - Percival and Gwaine and Leon. She creates one in the shape of her brother, squirms at the unified approval of his name.

She deliberately used different material for their skin and knows they cannot feel anything, but she forgets it when she finds Merlin and Gwaine pressed together.

They laugh together, love together, cause mischief and mayhem, but something is missing.

-

"My hair is too long," Arthur says, scowling at his reflection. He flicks a golden strand away from his eyes. "I will require Merlin to cut it right away."

When Gwen doesn't move, he shoots her a glare that softens within seconds. "You did your best, I understand. Please don't feel like I hold you accountable for the mistake that is my hair."

He stalks off then, calling for Merlin, his voice echoing through the halls.

-

Laughter no longer haunts the castle, but one voice keeps beckoning her. Night after night, Gwen wakes up with her fingers deep inside her body, searching for a spot that she can't quite reach. "Gwen," that voice whispers, a breeze against her body, making her nipples tighten and her puss* clench, and she comes with a name on her lips. It makes her tremble and ache, and she f*cks herself again and again, desperate to remember.

-

Gwen tears apart the ship for the remaining pieces, enough to build one last creation. She can't leave now, but she was never going to. She works night and day, precise and organized, ignoring the food Merlin brings and the way he and Arthur kiss right outside her door.

Gwen is an inventor, an engineer, thriving on flaws and imperfections, but she can't risk it this time. She refuses to think beyond the next step to steady the tremor in her hands.

-

"You really do need to get a grip on those boys," are the first words her final creation says. "Really, I can hear them f*cking in here."

Gwen stares helplessly, before a laugh escapes her, the first true laugh in years. "Morgana!"

6.

Gwen hates shopping. She doesn’t hate clothes, she likes to look good, but god, shopping. The noise, and the people and the endless racks of ugliness she has to dig through to find something she likes.

“I’m looking for something for my graduation,” she explains to the sales assistant, who is tall and gorgeous enough to make Gwen feel a little frumpy. “Something semi-formal, long enough not to horrify my father but still cute.”

The girls laughs.

“I have a few ideas,” she says in a lilting voice that Gwen instantly adores. She plucks a few dresses off the rack while Gwen trails after her, and then leads her to the change rooms.

The first one is nice - floral, just above the knee, and unobtrusive. Gwen would rather just buy it and be done, but the girl urges her to try the next one, with a little smile of encouragement that Gwen can’t resist.

The next one is totally inappropriate - red, low-cut and fitted. Gwen steps out of the stall feeling self-conscious, smoothing the dress over her body, unable to quite look the girl in the eye.

“Gorgeous,” the girl says, and Gwen looks up, her stomach fluttering.

“It’s a bit …” she says, turning to look at herself in the mirror. The girl comes up behind her.

“Perfect?” she suggests, and rests her hands lightly on Gwen’s waist. Gwen flushes and bites her lip. The girl smirks over her shoulder.

“It accentuates your waist beautifully,” the girl goes on, “and makes your hips look incredibly sexy.” She skims her hands down Gwen’s sides until they come to rest on her hips. She’s close enough that Gwen can feel her breath on the back of her neck. She looks at the two of them in the mirror, the girl’s pale hands in stark contrast to the red of the dress.

Gwen turns. Up close, the girl’s eyes are a clear, beautiful green.

“You think so?” she asks. The girl smiles, and pushes Gwen back into the stall, following her in this time and locking the door.

She spins Gwen around so she’s facing the mirror again, and this time she presses right up behind her. Gwen can feel herself starting to get wet, her cl*t tingling, as the girl’s hands come up to cup her breasts.

“You look f*cking amazing,” she says, this time the words murmured in Gwen’s ear. Gwen shivers and presses back against her. The girl skims her hands over the fabric, rubbing back and forth across Gwen’s nipples.

Gwen whimpers.

The girl kisses her neck lightly, leaving red lipstick marks on Gwen’s skin. At the next pass, she dips her hand inside the dress, taking Gwen’s nipple between her fingers and rubbing gently.

They look so good together in the mirror, and Gwen can’t help but turn her head, fumbling a kiss onto the girl’s lips. The girl’s hand on her breast tightens as she kisses back, immediately opening her mouth to Gwen’s and stroking across her lips with her tongue.

Before Gwen knows what’s happening, she hikes Gwen’s dress up to her waist and slides her hand into Gwen’s underwear. She dips her middle finger between Gwen’s lips; Gwen’s embarrassingly wet already, and the girl drags her wet finger up to Gwen’s cl*t.

She’s panting into the girl’s mouth before long, as the girl’s fingers work a steady, perfect rhythm and she’s going to -

“I’m gonna come,” she mumbles into the girl’s cheek, “just a little harder, just like - ”

The girl speeds up her fingers, reaching up with her other hand to play with Gwen’s nipples again and Gwen comes, breathing wetly into the girl’s neck.

“Oh my god,” she says. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Neither can I,” the girl says. She slides her hand out of Gwen’s underwear and, catching Gwen’s eye in the mirror, slowly brings them up to her mouth. Gwen groans and turns to kiss her again, tasting traces of herself on the girl’s tongue.

“I probably have to buy this now,” she says when they separate, looking down at the dress, and the girl laughs.

“Yeah,” she says, “but don’t wear it to graduation. It’s way too sexy, not really what you’re looking for.”

Gwen gives her a look.

“I just wanted to see you in it,” the girl admits, not looking the slightest bit abashed, and Gwen blushes.

“Buy the first one for graduation,” the girl continues, “and wear the second one on a date with me.”

Gwen goes home with two dresses, a phone number, and a date with a girl who turns out to be called Morgana, so she figures it counts as her most successful shopping trip ever.

7.

Merlin squints into the afternoon sun and rubs the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. He watches Arthur work for a few more minutes then, when the wind picks up, he turns away.

"I'm going back inside."

"Already?" Arthur doesn't look up from where he's crouched on the ground. "It's just after noon."

"I'll come back out later. Besides," he says, sweeping his arm to take in the whole dig site, "you have your minions."

"Grad students," Arthur says, and laughs. "I'll be in soon for water and maybe something to eat."

Despite the grit in his hair and the sun on the back of his neck, Merlin stays to watch Arthur examine a tiny bone from a very large animal that he's spent all morning excavating from the surrounding landscape. The sun's bleached his hair an almost goldish-white, though it darkens with sweat where it curls behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. It's been at least ten years since Merlin's come out on a dig with Arthur, and while he doesn't miss the relentless sun and grit and cramped, close quarters, he does miss seeing this: Arthur in his element.

*

"Is that what you miss the most? The air conditioning?"

Merlin makes a wistful noise from behind his book. Arthur's trailer is slightly bigger and cooler than the rest on the dig site, but it's not at all comparable to the cool quiet of the museum.

"I don't know; I was getting rather fond of the 3-D printer in the office…"

Arthur shakes his head and leans down to kiss Merlin, then eases himself onto the narrow bed to keep on kissing him. His mouth is warm and dry as it presses firm kisses along Merlin's neck to his shoulder, where he pauses. "I'm sorry to take you out of your natural habitat."

That makes Merlin laugh, low and deep in his chest, and he casts his book aside to tug Arthur down onto the bed next to him. "You can make it up to me by coming to the opening of the new children's exhibits."

Arthur groans but Merlin knows that not only will he come, but also that he'll be pleased to do so. He'll talk to as many of the children there as he can, listen to each of them rattle off the names of their favorite dinosaurs and consult them on their theories of dinosaur appearance and behavior.

"I can make it up to you in other ways, too," Arthur murmurs as he unbuttons Merlin's shirt.

"Now?"

"Sure. I need a few hours out of the sun."

Grateful he's already flicked the blinds shut and stripped down to his shirt and boxers, Merlin reaches up to slide his hands through Arthur's still-damp hair and draw him in for a kiss. He only stops kissing Arthur to pull off his tee shirt and continue mouthing down his chest. He nuzzles at each nipple to make Arthur gasp and hushes him with a kiss to the center of his chest.

"We need to be careful," he says, even as he undoes Arthur's belt and trousers to slide his hand inside.

Merlin likes this about Arthur, too, how careful he can be, how he can touch Merlin as gently as he does the most fragile of fossils and how he can pant against Merlin's shoulder with the same hushed tones he uses in the museum.

They've done this before--brought each other off with hands and mouths fast and silent--but never at the museum. The thought sends a shudder through Merlin and suddenly he's desperately hard, rocking against Arthur's palm and begging him with mumbled kisses to go faster, rougher. He thinks of Arthur in his office, and of himself, here; of exhibitions and excavations, of how he and Arthur have grown to know each other in the spaces between the two.

He comes before Arthur, caught somewhere between reality and fantasy, and doesn't let his fantasy fade until he gets Arthur off.

8.

It's a hot summer night and Arthur has the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, suspenders hanging loosely around his hips. Merlin lies on his side, propped up on his bent arm so he can watch Arthur. By tomorrow he'll be out of this little town, having no more shows to perform in such a small community, and he'll miss Arthur’s handsome face.

"Do you have to go?" Arthur asks for what must be the thousandth time.

"Yes. I need to keep moving to earn my keep." Merlin's stayed here far too long already. It’s time to depart. There were last week's rains, and the oil leak in his truck, but he knows that the real reason for the delay is the boy lying right now next to him on the roof of Merlin’s caravan. They are hidden here from the world, high up behind the lit sign of Merlin’s Phantasmagoria.

"Then take me with you," Arthur says.

Merlin shakes his head. They’ve been through this already. "No. You have your whole life here. Career ahead of you. Your father."

"I don't want to follow in my father's footsteps. I want adventure. I want to be a wizard, like you."

Merlin snorts. "It's just a profession, and a lousy one at that. It's tricks, not magic."

Arthur looks at Merlin in his ‘I-see-through-this’ way that makes Merlin squirm. "I know it's real. I saw you." And Merlin doesn't have it in him to deny it. "I want to learn how you create worlds inside of this caravan. I want to know how it's possible for me to enter and suddenly get lost in a forest, deep and vast. I want…to be with you. Please, Merlin."

Merlin sighs and leans over Arthur, sliding his fingers over warm skin from cheek to neck. He unbuttons Arthur's shirt so he can feel the hair on Arthur's chest and lowers his hand until it rests on Arthur’s navel, caressing the soft spot there.

Arthur's cheeks blush the way they usually do for fair boys, the pink going up to his temples and down his neck. Merlin thinks it’s adorable; he traces the colour with his fingertips and leans down to kiss Arthur where his neck meets his collarbone. Arthur smells like soap and fresh sweat, and maybe Merlin should be responsible here because Arthur's only seventeen, but f*ck, Merlin's not much older and he's been very lonely. So he licks Arthur's skin and allows Arthur to grab his hips and pull him over Arthur's body. They grind against each other, and Merlin can feel how achingly hard Arthur is through their clothes.

"You can’t come with me," Merlin says. "But if you want"—He kisses Arthur hard, slipping his tongue inside Arthur's mouth and then biting Arthur's bottom lip—"you can have me tonight."

He rolls on his back, fishes out a little tube of Vaseline from his pocket, and hitches his hips up to slide down his trousers. He slicks Arthur’s fingertips with the grease and draws his hand down, showing Arthur how to open a man up. Arthur’s fingers shake when he pushes them into Merlin’s tight hole.

“Is this all right?” he asks, positioning himself above Merlin. His slacks are pulled down to his knees and his co*ck is hard and leaking, straining beautifully against Merlin’s flesh. When Merlin nods Arthur pushes in hard, past the resistance, making Merlin gasp and grit his teeth because it hurts, but it’s good, too. Arthur comes after four or five thrusts, and Merlin finishes himself off with rough, fast strokes.

Afterwards, Arthur finds Merlin's hand and they lie flat on their backs, staring at the sky.

"Make a wish." Arthur points to where a shooting star streaks across the inky night.

And Merlin shouldn't, he really shouldn't, but right in that moment he wishes Arthur could come with him on the road. He's been alone for so long now he doesn't even remember what it’s like to have someone.

***

When Merlin heads out of town the next day, he feels odd, as if he can still sense Arthur’s presence next to him, but it does no good to think like that. As the miles tick by, he allows himself a moment of weakness, wiping away the tears that spill.

He stops to fill his tank in the next town, and when he climbs back into his truck, Arthur is sitting in the passenger seat.

"How did you...?" Merlin asks, stunned, his heart thumping hard.

"Magic." Arthur grins.

And Merlin thinks, Yes.

9.

It wasn’t creepy if it was his job, right?

He was supposed to be monitoring what people did on their computers; it was literally part of his job description as a cybersecurity analyst. At any time an employee’s computer could be subject to random observation to ensure that company computers were not being used for anything devious. Presumably, people knew what they were getting into when they pirated Game of Thrones during work hours, or played on gambling websites all through their breaks, or….

…Or used their company computer to watch filthy gay p*rn at 3:00 in the afternoon.

Whoever it was, they good taste, he conceded, now that he’d gotten over the initial shock of seeing naked men having sex on his monitor. The p*rn stars were both muscular, but not steroid-muscular, and the handsome blond one on top had a really great jawline. He was f*cking the other man over a desk, his partner’s legs curved around his shoulders, face sweaty—

sh*t, he was supposed to be reporting this, not getting off on it. As far as he knew, he was the only openly gay man in the buidling, and he really couldn’t think of many potential female culprits. He checked who the computer was registered to. Maybe it was Morgana—

No. No it was not Morgana. He gaped at the name on the screen, shocked into silence.

Arthur Pendragon, Executive Financial Director.

—

It was generally agreed that Arthur was the most attractive man in the office, though Merlin himself had never harbored any delusions of reciprocated attraction. Until now, Arthur Pendragon had seemed like the epitome of a Straight Man. If Merlin sent out a misconduct report, he’d basically be outing Arthur to the whole office.

Instead, Merlin opted to write a building-wide reminder email about proper computer usage. Unfortunately, his plan failed. By the same time the next day, the p*rn stars were back on Arthur’s screen, and all Merlin could do was watch.

—

He did try to confront Arthur at one point. He got as far as walking down the hallway towards Financing before Arthur suddenly appeared and struck up a conversation next to the coffee machine, which Merlin felt forced to use as an excuse for being down in this part of the building.

“So you’re Merlin from Cybersecurity, right?” Arthur said, leaning against the counter with his coffee mug. “You get a lot of wizard jokes?”

“Hah, you have no idea,” Merlin replied. I know that you want gay p*rn at work.

“Any pick-up lines?”

You watch gay p*rn. “Yeah, I’ve basically heard it all.”

“Well, sorry mate.” Gay p*rn, gay p*rn, gay p*rn— “Have a nice day.”

“Yeah, you too….”

And all Merlin could do was stare at Arthur’s arse and wonder what Arthur’s hands would look like at 3:00 when they were wrapped around something other than his coffee mug.

—

He seemed to see Arthur everywhere now— in the parking lot before work, at the vending machines, on his way to the loo. The more he saw him, the harder it became to stop imagining Arthur unzipping his trousers and palm himself through his pants, groaning….

One time, about two weeks after the initial discovery, Arthur was watching another office sex p*rno starring the blond actor with the great jawline. The other man was slim and dark-haired, and Merlin really couldn’t help but notice that the p*rn stars looked an awful lot like Arthur and himself.

That was the first time the videos gave him a very different kind of problem.

—

Do you mind meeting me in my office in 10 min? I have a cybersecurity question.

Thanks,

Arthur Pendragon
Executive Financial Director
Office: (01632) 960352
Fax: (01632) 960722

“Holy…”

Merlin stared at the email.

My office. 10 min.

No way. He checked the clock and—sure enough—it was 2:50. f*ck.

Arthur knew. Arthur bloody knew that he knew and… and now what? Was he going to confront him? Swear him to secrecy? f*ck him over his desk?

Merlin shivered. Ten minutes passed slowly.

—

“So, you can monitor what everyone does on their computers, right?”

“…Yeah.”

“So you’ve been watching.”

“Hm?”

“The p*rn, I mean,” Arthur said, taking a step closer to Merlin. “Did you like it?”

“I’m pretty sure that I could report this as sexual harassment.”

“Possibly.”

“But….” Merlin paused, considering. Then he promptly stopped considering and damned it all to hell. “I guess I’m not very good at reporting things, am I?”

—

A few minutes later, he really was being f*cked over the desk.

10.

Merlin Emrys shifted awkwardly on the plush leather chair in Arthur Pendragon’s luxurious office. This meeting wasn’t going well at all.

He was the manager of Shared Harvest Food Pantry, and they really needed a grant from Pendragon Technologies. The bank account had dipped below a thousand dollars, it was the second half of the month and more clients were coming in, the food bank had raised the price of peanut butter by five dollars a case, and they were nearly out of toilet paper and diapers, two of their most requested items.

Pendragon was a millionaire many times over, widely considered a software genius. Merlin knew that his firm had a large fund available for local non-profits.

But he didn’t seem impressed with Merlin’s funding request, and his handsome face wore a bored expression.

Merlin knew that part of his discomfort came from the fact that he was wearing a suit that he’d bought for his college graduation five years ago, and he had grown since then. He didn’t care much about clothes, but even he could see the difference between the suit he’d bought at JC Penney’s and Pendragon’s beautifully cut designer suit.

And he knew that sometimes his passion for the food pantry and the people it served made him go on and on, tripping over his words as he tried to describe the scope of the need.

Pendragon looked at his watch said, “This is all very interesting, Mr. Emrys, and I will consult with my charitable giving team, but I’m afraid I have another meeting…”

Merlin cut him off mid-sentence. “If you could just see how many people are in need of help…”

But then he stopped himself, realizing he sounded desperate. He knew Pendragon Technologies would give him something, but he didn’t want a check for $500.00. He wanted a corporate partner, a donor who could help them start up the nutrition classes again and maybe get them a new refrigerator. Hell, Pendragon could afford to renovate the whole kitchen.

So he took a deep breath and said, “Mr. Pendragon, if you could please come by tomorrow and see what we do. It’s Saturday, our busiest day. You could see our work for yourself.”

He saw a glint of interest in the other man’s eyes, and finished in a rush. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll make you lunch. Out of the food we give out to the clients. With my own hands. I love to cook, I’ll make you something good, I promise.”

This time there was no mistaking the smile in Pendragon’s eyes. “Well, if you are going to make it with your own hands…”

Merlin knew he was being teased, but he didn’t care. “So you’ll come?”

“On one condition.”

“Name it.”

“You have to call me Arthur.”

“Okay, Arthur, I’ll see you at 10 am.”

The visit couldn’t have been better. Arthur showed up in casual clothes and shadowed Merlin as he worked.

Saturdays were always crazy. They ran out of shampoo and Merlin had to send one of the volunteers to the dollar store to buy twenty bottles to tide them over until Merlin had time to purchase more. A guy came in drunk and Merlin had to escort him out, telling him to come back next week, sober. They had several screaming babies.

Arthur had pitched in without complaint, and had seemed touched when he saw a woman with tears in her eyes because Merlin gave her a pound of coffee. “I haven’t had a cup of coffee in two days,” she said, half to herself.

Merlin always stayed for a couple of hours after the volunteers left, to take inventory and tidy up. To his surprise, Arthur stayed too, and helped cut open and unpack cases of food for Monday.

When they were finally done, leaning against a counter drinking bottles of Snapple Merlin had gotten for free because they were nearing the expiration date, Arthur had said, “I plan to give you a grant, a big one, and what I’m about to ask you has nothing to do with that.”

“Okay…” Merlin said, uncertain what Arthur was going to ask.

Arthur leaned in and whispered in Merlin’s ear.

And that’s how Merlin ended up in the storeroom bent over a counter with his pants around his ankles and three of Arthur’s fingers up his ass, while Arthur sucked a nice bite mark into his left buttock. Apparently he liked to mark his territory.

The toppy bastard had even remembered to bring lube.

11.

The funny thing was, Arthur didn’t even like libraries. He wasn’t one of those people who read for fun. He could see the appeal of it in theory, ingesting the words and creating a visual in one’s mind, but in practice it just did nothing for him. It was boring.

He didn’t like libraries. But he did like the librarian.

This one wore jeans that hugged his arse. This one pursed his plump lips in a thoughtful expression while looking for the right location to place a book. This one held his nose to mute his sneezes so he wouldn’t disrupt the quiet of the library. This one had a sleeve of tattoos down both arms and more piercings than Arthur could count. What didn’t the man have pierced?

Naturally, Arthur’s mind drifted to lower regions. Regions currently covered by black denim and—oh God, a book was going on a high shelf, and a high shelf meant a ladder, and a ladder meant prime arse-viewing opportunities, and as Arthur ducked behind a bookcase, he wondered if he’d remembered to turn the shutter sound off on his mobile.

&&

“I’m afraid I can’t let you check this book out.”

Arthur gaped at his—the librarian. The tattoos and piercings made the man seem a bit intimidating at first, but he actually had a friendly face and a pleasant smile.

“Why not?”

“You have things overdue.”

“No, I don’t.”

The man put his elbows on the counter, propping his chin on his hands, and raised an eyebrow. “You’re telling me you didn’t check out my lips three weeks ago?”

All the breath left Arthur’s body. “Wh-What?”

“Or last week, when you returned two books but checked out my eyes?”

“Um.”

The man’s voice lowered and he leaned closer, making Arthur’s heart pound in his chest.

“And I’m fairly certain you checked out my arse only a few minutes ago.”

“I—”

He waved it away. “It’s alright. Really. My arse and eyes you still have a few days left, but my lips...Definitely overdue,” he finished with a grin.

Oh thank God, a grin meant the man was flirting. For a moment Arthur had thought he’d offended him and was about to be told off. But if this was the response…

“Oh,” Arthur said, smiling sheepishly. “Well if that’s the case, I might as well check something else out.”

The man’s grin turned wicked. “That’s not exactly how it works.”

“No?”

“No. You see, now it’s my turn to check something of yours out.”

&&

“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh—”

“You’re rather loud for a librarian, aren’t you?”

The gasps of breath turned to high pitched whines as a hand reached back and clutched the skin at Arthur’s hip. Arthur couldn’t see from this angle, but he liked to think that the man—Merlin, he’d hastily said his name was—was biting his lip to keep from making any more noise.

“Shh,” Arthur hushed him. He said it right into Merlin’s ear, soft and intimate, contrasting the sudden forceful thrust of his co*ck. It succeeded in making Merlin’s jaw slacken enough for him to cry out, overcome with pleasure at Arthur f*cking into him right there.

“Oh, oh God, oh f*ck…”

The private handicapped toilet was in the back of the library, but Arthur still worried about someone hearing. He could just imagine the sound of their heavy breathing and grunting piercing through the silence of the building, offending the ears of innocent readers. As he picked up the pace, he raised his hand to cover Merlin’s mouth, muffling the sounds.

“Nnh, nnh, nnh, nnh—”

Arthur buried his face in Merlin’s neck, right next to the tattoo of blue crystal, and focused on holding back just a while longer. He wrapped a hand around Merlin’s co*ck—not pierced, Arthur had noticed earlier—and started to stroke, pulling at it to bring Merlin as close to org*sm as he was.

That’s when Merlin went silent. He curled his fingers tighter where they dug into Arthur’s skin and came.

Arthur let himself go. Five, six more hard thrusts and he was there, pulsing inside while his teeth bit into the pink pixie on top of Merlin’s shoulder.

“Enjoy it?” Arthur asked breathlessly.

Merlin was shaking, hunched over the sink. “I...I want...to renew it.”

“You can only check it out so many times in one day,” Arthur chuckled.

When Merlin turned around, he was smiling, and his eyes were still blown with excitement.

“Dinner first, then?”

12.

Merlin knew Cosmopolitan magazine wasn’t exactly one of prestige, and that most people simply thought of it as “that one magazine that gives whacky sex tips.” But a paycheck is a paycheck, and if it was the only place he could find that would hire him, then so be it. He’d made his peace with it.

Or at least he had, until his boss requested he try said sex tips so he could promote them from experience. But Merlin didn’t want to let Gwen down, and so with a little persuasion (and the promise of a sexy reward of some kind) he managed to convince Arthur to be his guinea pig.

The first challenge stated: Slip a doughnut around his penis, then slowly eat it off. And as unappetizing as it sounded, it also seemed to be the easiest option there.

So of course it took them multiple tries to get it right.

Their first attempt ended when all of their doughnuts were eaten by Will and Elena. Unsurprisingly, only Elena had the decency to act apologetic about it.

The second time they failed because of Arthur. More specifically, because the doughnut was too small to fit on his penis. Instead, the chocolate glazed sprinkle doughnut sat perched on the head of Arthur’s co*ck, tilted at a slight angle.

“It looks a bit like a little party hat,” Merlin said.

“It does, doesn’t it?” Arthur said, his nose wrinkled as he peered down in what could only be called fascinated disgust.

I will not laugh, Merlin told himself sternly. I will not laugh. He slowly raised his gaze, his eyes meeting with Arthur’s.

Both of them doubled over in laughter, the helpless, breathless kind that comes from only the most ridiculous of situations and leaves you with an aching stomach and tears streaming down your face.

“I hope you get a raise for this,” Arthur said eventually, wiping away his tears with the heels of his hands.

“No, right. Yeah. ‘You did so well in the bedroom with your boyfriend that we’ve decided to give you more money, Merlin!’ That’s definitely what Gwen will say,” Merlin snorted. “Never mind that we still haven’t completed the challenge!”

“One day, you shall eat a doughnut off of my co*ck while blowing me, Merlin. But since today is not that day, how about I just f*ck you instead?”

Merlin couldn’t find fault with that.

On their third try, Arthur had eaten all except one with the argument “I can’t very well eat them after, Merlin, I’ll never be able to look at them the same way again.”

While Arthur waited on their bed, Merlin fetched last doughnut from its box. He stopped just outside the bedroom door, took a deep breath, and entered the room while swaying his hips in what he hoped was a sensual way. He’d decided to try and put on a show for Arthur as one of his sexy time rewards.

He wished he hadn’t when Arthur laughed, and ended up smashing the doughnut against Arthur’s chest in chagrin.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur gasped between chuckles. He grabbed Merlin before he could run away and pulled him close, smashing the doughnut between them. “I love that you tried, I do. It’s just- I’m sorry, I can’t take stripper moves seriously from anyone, not even you, Merlin.”

“Could’ve said so before I ruined our last doughnut,” Merlin mumbled, staring forlornly at the mess of glaze and crumbs on both their chests.

“Let me make it up to you.”

Arthur rolled them over so that he was on top, his knees on either side of Merlin’s hips. Merlin threw his head back and gasped as Arthur lowered himself down, his co*ck brushing against Merlin’s, and started to grind against him gently, his pace almost too slow to bear.

“Faster,” Merlin pleaded, hitching his hips up to meet Arthur’s.

“Shh, I’ve got you,” Arthur murmured.

He dipped his head down, licked a wet stripe across Merlin’s stomach, cleaning the sticky doughnut glaze off of him. Merlin groaned, hands fisted in the sheets as Arthur continued to clean him with his tongue until all traces of the doughnut were gone and Merlin was painfully hard, nearly sobbing with the need to come.

Arthur reached down and took himself and Merlin in his hands, bringing them off together with a few skillful strokes, come painting his stomach. He collapsed next to Merlin, completely spent.

“If this is what happens after our third failure, I can’t wait until we actually complete this challenge,” Merlin laughed breathlessly.

“Mmm,” Arthur agreed.

13.

It takes five days before The Wanker returns.

The first time Percy saw the bloke jerk himself off on the monitor overlooking the storage room on level three, he’d laughed, thinking there was apparently a lot of things he’d see on this job.

This time he brushes his knuckles briefly over the hard outline of his co*ck when the bloke takes himself in hand, before gripping the armrests on his chair. He allows himself to watch every second.

The Wanker isn’t alone this time. His back is pressed to the shelves with another guy on his knees, head bobbing up and down unmistakably.

For some reason, the fact that The Wanker is into blokes makes everything different. The situation spirals out of control in that one moment of realisation, and Percy jams his hand into his trousers, gripping his dick so roughly it borders on painful.

His thoughts race, flying way past the line he’s drawn for himself, and he pictures himself in the room, wonders what The Wanker’s co*ck feels like, what he sounds like when he comes.

When The Wanker comes on the other bloke’s face, Percy resigns himself to completing a shift with a mess in his uniform.

The worst is, Percy didn’t even plan this. He never seriously entertained surprising anonymous Wanker bloke in the middle of the act. As a fantasy, sure, but in reality, no. But even in his fantasies, The Wanker had been shameful and apologetic, even a little frightened. It makes Percy all the more shaken when the bloke just grins, impish and teasing, as if this is normal, as if Percy couldn’t hand him over to the authorities – or worse; Uther Pendragon.

“Hey, big guy,” the bloke says and then looks down at the hard co*ck in his own hands. “Sorry about this, I suppose. Probably not what they pay you for.”

Percy swallows, gestures vaguely at the hallway and says, “There’s a club a block down.”

“I’m flattered, but I’m not really in the mood for dancing.”

The bloke clearly holds back a laugh when Percy glares at him. “You’re very co*cky for someone I should push right into the claws of Pendragon.”

“Ah,” the bloke says, “but since you’re so kindly emphasising the should in this sentence, you’re not going to, are you?”

Percy really should tell him to f*ck right off and have Pendragon take care of him, but then he’d have to explain his own role as well, and f*ck if The Wanker isn’t dropping to his knees in front of him, intent and promise clear as day.

The bloke’s eyes crinkle as he grins, and Percy is gut-punched by how fit he is, stubbled jaw sharp and his hair effortlessly handsome in the way that clearly isn’t effortless at all. His lips are plump, pink, and painfully inviting.

Percy shuts the door behind him and resigns himself to the shame-tinged arousal in his gut, his co*ck hardening under the scrutiny of the bloke on his knees. He lets out a shaky breath when fingers smoothly pull down his fly, knuckles brushing over the outline of his dick.

The bloke slides the head of Percy’s co*ck over his lips, his breath hot on the sensitive skin, prompting slow curls of arousal. His muscles tensing in anticipation, Percy watches unblinkingly as the bloke closes his plump lips around the shaft, sinking down as far as he can go. His mouth is stuffed full of co*ck, lips stretched red. He looks beautiful like this, jaw working as he hollows his cheeks, Percy’s co*ck gliding along his tongue. The hot wetness wraps tight around his dick, pleasure zinging along his skin.

Percy’s body slumps back against the door when he tangles his fingers in the bloke’s hair and hitches his hips, not able to hold back a needy groan when the bloke gags. Percy rubs soothing circles into his scalp in apology, his co*ck jerking when he notices the bloke’s eyes watering.

The perfect glide of his mouth is maddening, and Percy’s heart beats too hard against his ribs, the pleasure making him writhe. The bloke’s hands come up to pin his hips against the door.

“Next time, I’m f*cking you stupid against the wall,” Percy says, voice strained.

The bloke pulls back and says, “Promise?” before sinking back down, so slowly that Percy slams his hips up just to see his eyes water again.

14.

In the 51st century, Merlin became a Time Agent.

As his Captain fastened the vortex manipulator around Merlin’s wrist, she addressed him gravely. “Remember, Agent Emrys. We police time. We don’t rewrite it.”

Merlin saluted in response.

*

Four months into his first mission, Merlin took leave. He traveled through the vortex until he found himself and Arthur, fresh from their first encounter with Morgause. The sight of his king after so many years nearly doubled Merlin over, but he persisted. After knocking out his younger self in the woods, Merlin took his place by the fire, took a deep breath, and confessed, I’m a sorcerer, Arthur. I have magic.

And while Arthur’s older self would one day claim he didn’t know what he would have done, this Arthur did. After sputtering and shouting for a time, Arthur stopped abruptly and roughly pulled Merlin’s forehead to his own. Worst servant ever, Arthur said with a sigh, and Merlin wept to feel Arthur’s arms around him again. He couldn’t stop himself from fitting their mouths together, as he could have done then, as he clearly should have done. Before long, they were rutting against each other, half-dressed, Merlin punctuating each thrust with a gasped vow of fealty. I use it for you.

*

The next day, Arthur hated magic again, for Merlin never rewrote time. He always had the Agency-issue retcon pills ready while he tumbled through the time vortex, restoring timestreams and saving worlds. They worked even better than magic.

*

Six months later, Merlin returned to Camelot as Arthur brought Morgana back from the Druids. After his younger self was tucked away in bed, Merlin brought more flowers to her room. I have to show you something, my lady, he said, and made the chamber’s candles float around them. You’ll never be alone, not whilst I’m in Camelot, he swore. Her knees buckled as she sobbed her relief, and her eyes were so different from the last time Merlin saw her that he couldn’t help himself. He bore her back onto her embroidered linens and f*cked her as if he could f*ck her nightmares and her shame right out of her, stretching out tendrils of magic to tease her lips, her breasts, between her legs until she jerked in his arms and every vase in the room shattered at once.

He taught her to conjure fire, and when she managed to do it too, she laughed and rolled him onto his back. She rode his co*ck until she came twice more, her fingertips worrying her own nipples in the moonlight. With two of us, he’ll have to listen, she murmured later, as he stroked her shoulder. We can make Arthur understand.

Merlin cried when he gave Morgana the retcon.

*

Merlin visited Gwaine in the tavern shortly after the Lamia, to test a theory. After Percival joined them, they diced until Merlin ended up losing his shirt, his boots, and any pretence to innocence he might have had as he sprawled over the gaming table with Gwaine’s co*ck in his arse and Percival’s in his mouth. His theory was proved, and Gwaine and Percival had terrible hangovers.

*

He once made Mithian dream of coming on Arthur’s tongue while Merlin kissed her eyelids. She had been kind to him; she deserved something sweet.

*

The Time Agency threatened him with reprimands, but Agent Emrys was too important, had saved too many lives when he actually did his job for reprimands to stick. After all, what Time Agent didn’t go a little bit mad?

*

In his fifth year of duty, Merlin earned a commendation by closing a rift in time and space. He celebrated by visiting simpleton Arthur on the way to Ealdor. Such a lovely, trusting lad that Arthur had been, and Merlin wanted so much to deserve that trust. He didn’t though, but it didn’t matter because Arthur was so sweetly obedient as Merlin opened him up, pushed into him until Arthur came with a startled whimper and wide, wondering eyes. In Arthur’s addled mind, it had been his first time.

Merlin didn’t even need the retcon for that one.

*

They revoked his vortex manipulator the next year; even the Time Agency couldn’t turn a blind eye forever. At the verdict, Merlin broke down, begging the tribunal to just make him forget it all – to take his memories of Camelot and everything since.

They sent him to a house of healing instead.

*

In the early 52nd century, Arthur finally found him there.

15.

In all his days as dragonologist, Merlin’s never thought he’d ever steal a dragon. Then again, his employers usually don’t torture dragons, and dragons usually aren’t shape-shifters.

This one, though, this red—blood red—Hebridean Black is... different. Merlin’s known it the first time he’s seen him; an instant, fatal connection hooked itself in Merlin’s gut when the dragon’s mismatched gaze first found his. Merlin thought, gold-blue, like me, and by then it was already too late.

Out of the reservoir now, he Apparates them to a secluded spot in the woods. The trees groan as they bend with the dragon’s sudden weight on them, breaking apart. Merlin steels himself, turning around. “I won’t hurt you,” he rasps in sibilant Dragonspeak, vowels growled, consonants thick. The woods shake with a last roar from the dragon’s throat; then his frame begins vibrating before it shrinks, scales smoothing, red skin bleeding out, until on the ground amidst the forest's ruins is a naked man on all fours.

“Are you okay—”

"My name," the man interrupts him in gasps. "What is—my name—"

“Don’t—don’t move—”

The man rises, staggers forward, head hung low, hiding hides his face in Merlin’s neck. "Dragonlord," he grits out, "give me my name."

Dragonlord. The word sinks into Merlin's bloodstream, setting a fire ablaze, fierce and terrible. Something in his gut reacts to the title, curling in dark delight. Both eyes glowing golden now, Merlin stares down the man’s back: his calves are strong, his thighs trunk-thick, and the muscles in his shoulders bulge as he holds onto Merlin’s hips. The taut skin of his broad back is marked by intricate tribal tattoos in the red that the dragon’s scales were. Strong, sturdy, wild. A warrior’s built, a bear’s.

Bear-man. Arthur. As majestic as his dragonself, the chief of dragons.

“Pendragon,” Merlin utters. “Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur’s head snaps up at being called, being known. He pulls away enough to look at Merlin, his mismatched gold-blue gaze almost liquid underneath his blond fringe. “Yes,” he breathes, acquiescing, inclining his head slightly. He remains motionless for a moment, two, then his body begins shaking, shaking apart. He makes a noise like he’s hurt, his fingers tightening on Merlin’s hips.

“On your knees,” Merlin orders harshly, instinct driving him.

There’s a thunk: Arthur’s knees hit the ground. He stares up at Merlin, jaw slack. Waiting. Wanting.

Merlin gets his prick out of his trousers, fisting it, stroking slow and hard. He tightens his hand on the upstroke and forces out precome, smoothing it down his co*ck to get it wet. “Tell me,” Merlin growls. “Tell me whom you belong to—”

Arthur stares at his co*ck, pupils dilating the longer Merlin keeps stroking, the longer Merlin keeps it from him. He makes another noise that’s all need and hunger, leaning forward to close his teeth around Merlin’s hipbone, scraping them down in a dragging bite. He draws blood—Merlin grimaces—and laps at it, frenzied, crazed. His hands press bruises into Merlin’s skin.

“Tame me,” he hisses. “If I’m yours, tame me—”

Merlin grabs Arthur by his hair, yanks his head back, bares his throat in an offer of vulnerability Arthur willingly gives. “You are mine.” Merlin shakes Arthur’s head. “Say it.”

“No, you have to—” Arthur strains against Merlin’s hold, like it’s hurting him not to have Merlin’s co*ck in his mouth. “Tame me, you have to—”

So Merlin does: he forces Arthur’s jaw apart with two fingers, then holds his length, traces Arthur’s mouth with the head of his co*ck. He gets Arthur’s face messy with his precome, chin, cheeks, and jaw, then dips between Arthur’s full lips, and out, and in again. When he draws back, there’s an obscene string of saliva and precome connecting the head of his dick and Arthur’s glistening, red lower lip. At the sight, possessiveness swells in his chest, hot and satisfied.

“You’re mine,” Merlin says lowly. “Mine.”

He face-f*cks Arthur into happy oblivion, fast and brutal. His balls draw tight to his body when he sees Arthur is fisting his own dick with both hands, jerking it clumsily, hips stuttering forward. Arthur comes onto the ground between Merlin’s legs with a hurt noise, and Merlin pulls out. He keeps Arthur’s head close with his fist in his hair, and Arthur looks up at him with a small, sated smile, a purred, “Yours,” making Merlin come all over Arthur’s swollen lips and fluttering lashes.

16.

Arthur hadn’t a clue what he was doing. He thought he’d come to the bar so he could get away from Morgana. They’d spent too many days on the road together, either locked in the car or the tiny motel room.

That still didn’t explain why he drove two hours away just to have a drink.

Arthur sat on the bar stool heavily. The ache in his back and the dried blood under his nails were a constant reminder . . . and he just wanted to forget.

That ache, the burn of worked muscles mixed with the numbing tiredness that came with a fading adrenaline rush used to be something Arthur revealed in; it reminded him of saving lives and family.

These days though, the aftermath of a finished job left him feeling broken and alone more than anything.

That still didn’t explain why Arthur was at this bar, again.

He’d made a mistake the last time he was there. A mistake that probably led to people dying.
Suddenly a glass filled with amber liquid was in front of him and Arthur looked up to find amused blue eyes paired with a small smirk hovering over him.
Merlin.

Arthur sneered at him and snatched up the glass, downing it in one go. He tried to push away the memories of a pale writhing body. His traitorous co*ck twitched in anticipation.

“So, Arthur . . .” Merlin drawled, and Arthur winced. “Pendragon,” Merlin added, and Arthur nearly dropped the glass he held.

Merlin merely smirked harder.

“I knew from all you’re fun toys you were a hunter,” Merlin started, leaning in further so that his breath ghosted over Arthur’s lips. “But I never would have guessed you were a Pendragon.”

“How’d you know that?” Arthur spat.

Merlin raised a brow. “Does it matter?”

Arthur glared at him.

“It doesn’t to me,” Merlin admitted and when Arthur still didn’t speak he added, “What I want to know is why I’m not dead yet?”

Arthur looked at him, and it was hard not to remember everything in great detail. Arthur remembered how good it felt as he f*cked up into Merlin’s tight heat, slamming Merlin’s lean body into the cold wall in front of them. The sounds Merlin made as Arthur f*cked him as hard as he could. Merlin clenching around him, watching as Merlin’s face pinched and he hissed out. Arthur cuming as soon as he caught sight of the sharp teeth trying hard to break through Merlin’s gums.

The vamp held it together nicely, Arthur had to give him credit. No one else would’ve noticed them.

Now, Arthur simply eyed him. Arthur had been asking himself the same question: why wasn’t he killing Merlin?

Or better yet, why didn’t he kill Merlin the first time?

Oh yeah, because Merlin got hard again even when Arthur had him tied up with silver and was trying to shove him into his trunk. That had been unexpected.

Let’s just say things escalated quickly from there.

“Maybe,” Arthur said finally, “for the same reason you haven’t ran yet.”

Merlin raised both his eyebrows. “Modesty,” he drawled. “Such a great quality.”

Arthur snorted. Merlin’s eyebrows rose higher.

“You’re the one who brought my name into this,” Arthur pointed out.

“Touché.”

Merlin and Arthur stared at each other for a long time, until Arthur realized and took a large gulp of his whiskey. Merlin blinked, then coughed a bit, his cheeks turning pink.

“Look . . . I get off, uh, work in ten . . . I gotta show you something,” Merlin said.

Arthur waited for Merlin and was soon brought up to a room above the bar. Apparently Merlin lived there. Merlin opened his fridge and gestured for Arthur to take a look. Arthur warily did, and he nearly laughed at what he saw.

“Big on O negative, huh?” Arthur asked, trying to keep the grin off his face.

“You prat!” Merlin yelled. “I’m a thief! People need this blood! I thought you were a big bad hunter? Aren’t you going to punish me?”

Arthur thought about telling Merlin that he had four stolen credit cards in his wallet, but decided to push him against the counter and kiss him instead.

As Merlin got lost in the kiss, Arthur got the silver handcuffs out. “Oh there will definitely be a punishment,” Arthur whispered. Then he snapped one cuff around Merlin’s wrist and dragged him to the bedroom.

17.

Merlin grabbed the flyer he had jammed between the pages of his calculus textbook. He bit his lower lip and scanned the street, hoping he wouldn’t be seen. With trembling fingers, he unfolded the tattered sheet of paper to check the address.

DANCERS WANTED
Top pay
No experience necessary
135 Camelot Court

He studied the number on the door. Above the 1-3-5, neon lights spelled out: Aredian’s Exotic Adventures.

“Fortune favors the brave,” Merlin whispered to himself. He shoved the textbook into his bag and stepped inside the building.

*
The man at the front desk didn’t bother to look up when Merlin entered. He wore a black polo, bearing the Aredian’s Exotic Adventures logo, along with Arthur, embroidered in gold silk. Merlin admired the way the tight fabric hugged his muscular chest.

Merlin cleared his throat. “I’d like to apply for the job,” he said, forcing himself to dismiss his nerves and focus on the positive. After all, the job promised to satisfy his desire for adventure, as well as his need to pad his wallet. He couldn’t expect Hunith to pay for all his expenses now that he was in college—besides, dancing sounded like a lot of fun.

“Do you have an appointment?” Arthur asked with a scowl.

Merlin felt deflated. “I didn’t know I needed an appointment,” he stammered. “I could come back later.”

Arthur stepped from behind the desk. “Turn around,” he said, blinking at Merlin with calm blue eyes.

Emboldened by Arthur’s attention, Merlin obeyed. A cool sweat broke out on Merlin’s brow as Arthur scrutinized his backside. He hoped Arthur wouldn’t notice his trembling knees.

“Name?” Arthur asked while he texted into his cellphone.

“Merlin,” Merlin said eagerly, turning back to Arthur. “Merlin Emrys.”

“Tell me, Merlin,” Arthur said, pocketing his phone. “Do you even know how to dance?”

*

Minutes later, Arthur handed Merlin a red jockstrap that was apparently the official uniform of Aredian’s dancers. Although he had doubts about his talent, Merlin tried to remain cheerful. Arthur waited outside the dressing room while Merlin slipped out of his jeans.

"So, have you worked here for long?" Merlin asked, the cool air hitting his chest when he removed his shirt.

"I'm here for an internship," Arthur said.

"A dance internship?" Merlin asked. He pulled the tiny jockstrap over his knees and up his hairy thighs.

"A business internship. My father is an old friend of Aredian's," Arthur said.

Merlin noted that Arthur sounded apologetic.

"It could be worse," Merlin said, stepping out of the dressing room. "You could wear something like this to work."

Merlin spread his arms and looked down at his uniform. Dark pubes had escaped the red elastic waistband. His co*ck had swelled against the flimsy fabric so every aspect of his genitals showed, from his heavy balls to the ridge that circled his co*ckhead.

“Looks good,” Arthur said with a nod.

*

In no time, Merlin found himself alone on stage. The spotlight made it difficult to see. He wished Arthur could have stayed with him while he met Aredian.

“Go on,” Aredian said from somewhere in the darkness. “Show me what you’re made of.”

“I’m not sure what to do,” Merlin said with a shrug. “The ad said experience wasn’t necessary.”

“That’s right,” Aredian said, coming into view as he climbed onto the stage with Merlin.

Merlin felt his cheeks flush when Aredian’s hungry eyes roamed over his scantily-clad body.

“You don’t have to dance, if you don’t want to,” Aredian said, cupping Merlin’s tender balls through the sheer fabric of the jockstrap.

Merlin squawked when he felt Aredian’s breath on his neck. “Mr. Aredian,” Merlin said, “I didn’t think this was part of the job.”

Aredian sucked at Merlin’s earlobe and moved his hand to Merlin’s bare ass. “The inexperienced applicants are my favorites,” Aredian said, forcing Merlin’s cheeks apart with deft fingers.

Merlin whimpered as Aredian probed at his sensitive hole with a dry thumb. Tears welled in his eyes.

*

Merlin rested his forehead against the frame of the dressing room door.

“You didn’t get the job,” Arthur said.

“No,” Merlin said. “I couldn’t…”

Arthur pressed his palm to the small of Merlin’s back. His hand felt warm through Merlin’s shirt, comforting.

“I admire that,” Arthur said. “You’re a brave man, Merlin. Most people wouldn’t have applied for the job in the first place.”

*

Later that night, when Arthur dragged his lips over Merlin’s co*ck, Merlin knew that he found all the adventure he desired.

18.

Percy's always watching. He watches the crowds at premieres and award shows, looking for suspicious characters, but mostly just keeping the overly enthusiastic in order.

He watches traffic as he drives, constantly scanning for potential threats or telephoto lenses.

The worst is watching Arthur's house, making sure no one hides in the bushes (again) to sneak photos of Arthur sunbathing and gorgeous, even though Arthur goes to public beaches regularly (with Percy in tow).

Percy watches everything but what's going on behind him.

While driving the limo, Percy ignores the soft moans coming from the back. Arthur doesn't close the partition. He never has.

Percy is well acquainted with the sounds Merlin makes as Arthur kisses up his neck, the gasping whines interspersed with the small, wet noises.

He can recognize how close Arthur is just by how his breathing shortens through gritted teeth.

He tries not to look in the rearview mirror. One night, while Merlin was giving an apparently fantastic blowj*b, Percy almost drove into traffic after he glanced back and caught the sight of Arthur, flushed and rumpled, head thrown back against the seat. Arthur's mouth had fallen open, eyes shut, and only the honking of horns in front of him made Percy yank his eyes back forward.

Percy's thought about finding a different job. One where his employer is less... open. Less intimate.

But Arthur's a good boss, even if Percy has to adjust his hard-on at least three times a night. Arthur invites him over for drinks once in a while and always gives him a sizeable Christmas bonus. Percy just has last through the torture until after work hours, when he can sprawl out, throw an arm over his eyes, and finally, finally, touch himself.

One particularly warm spring night found them in a crowded club. Arthur was handsy, as always, but there was a lot more grinding on the dance floor than usual. Percy had already deleted five photos from cellphones by the time Arthur beckoned him over to a corner, Merlin tucked close to his side, kissing his neck.

"Guard the bathroom?" Arthur's eyes are playful, pleading, and Percy can't help but say yes.

He folds his hands in front of him as he takes his post, grinning dangerously at anyone who comes too close. He knows his tight black t-shirt and jeans show off his muscles in a subtly dangerous sort of way that says.

The bathroom door shakes as he leans against it. Percy can imagine Merlin pressed up the other side, groaning helplessly as Arthur drives into him again and again. He can almost hear them, their reassuring words and fervent encouragements.

Percy takes a deep breath, closes his eyes against the ache between his legs. His co*ck is bulging out the front of his jeans obscenely. The hallway is empty, for now, so he takes a moment to adjust himself, run his fingers down the length through his jeans. He presses up into it, just for a moment, before pulling his hand away and taking a step away from the bathroom door.

Arthur and Merlin are sweaty, though mostly composed when they come out, sex flush still staining their cheeks.

Percy nods at them, maintaining his stoic composure. His co*ck twitches as Arthur grins at him.

They don't stay for much longer, and soon Percy is making sure they both have their shoes off and aspirin and water on their bedside table before Merlin and Arthur collapse into bed. They curl up together as Percy shuts the door softly.

His own bed isn't very far. He can't kick his jeans off fast enough, thumbs digging into his hips as he yanks off his briefs. His t-shirt is an afterthought, chucked into the darkness as he sinks into the pillows, finally palming his co*ck.

Percy just rubs at first, pressing his hips up into his hand as his fingers graze over the silicone ring snug against the base of his co*ck and balls.

The half-hard erection all night had been worth it- worth this. Percy sighs as he strokes himself, going back to the thought of Arthur f*cking Merlin up against the bathroom door.

-But no. Merlin underneath Percy, Percy pressing in, Merlin's breathless moans. Arthur along Percy's back, whispering directions as he screws his fingers into Percy's arse, keeping counterpoint with Percy's thrusts. Merlin would look up at him under his lashes, smile-

Percy goes over the edge, shuddering, with only a bitten-off gasp passing his lips.

19.

“What's happened to your key? And why are you still in your work clothes, we're meant to be there in thirty minutes,” Percy chides.

“Did someone call about a…leaky pipe?” Gwaine gives the most over the top hair flip of life and Percy's brain shuts down for a split second.

“Are you? No.”

“Want me to take a look at your plumbing?” Gwaine winks at him.

“No. Absolutely not, we are not doing this right now,” Percy crosses his arms.

“I don't normally plunge into a relationship but for you,” he gives Percy a head to toe, “I'll make an exception.”

“It's Arthur and Merlin's engagement dinner, there is no way in hell we can miss this.”

“Want to see my tool?”

“I'm looking at one.”

There's a furious stand-off with Gwaine leaning on the door frame, swinging a wrench of all things, and Percy holding his ground on the threshold. Gwaine gives him a look he evidently thinks is irresistible and Percy sighs.

“If I do this, you're doing the cleaning for a week.”

“Deal,” Gwaine gives him a wicked grin before snapping back into his sexy plumber façade. “Now, why don't you show me to the kitchen.” He swaggers past Percy, pinching his arse on the way by.

“This is a family neighbourhood,” Percy hisses as he closes the door. “Now come on let's- why are you in the kitchen?”

“Isn't that where the leak is?”

“Oh for the love of. Alright yeah, sure. The leak is in there.”

“Boy, it sure is hot in here,” Gwaine takes off his shirt and flexes in ridiculous poses.

“How ever can you stand it?” asks Percy in monotone.

“Why don't you come over here and show me the problem?”

With a sigh, Percy gets down on all fours and opens the cupboard under the sink. “It's here.”

“Mmmm, it sure is.” Gwaine is right behind him now, practically straddling him from behind. Despite his convictions, this stupid role play is actually…a little bit hot.

Gwaine is taking his time with it now, lining up behind him and circling his hips slowly. Percy gives in and rocks backwards, his co*ck beginning to show interest in the activities. Gwaine leans forward, his breath hot in his ear.

“I know how to fix this sort of leak. First thing to do is strip the old casing.” He starts to pull at the hem of Percy's shirt. Percy lets himself be manhandled out of his clothes until he's lying naked and spread eagle on the floor. He spares half a second to think how glad he is the floors were just washed two days ago before Gwaine speaks again.

“Next, I need to get out my equipment.”

Percy is about to object loudly to the stupid plumber euphemisms when Gwaine drops trou. Despite the act not being a new thing, Gwaine has managed to surprise him on two accounts; the first being that he's not wearing any pants and the second being the stout purple plug he's currently pulling out of his ass. Suddenly Percy doesn't mind the stupid plumbing game so much.

“And now, to work.” Without any preamble, kissing, or even a how do you do, Gwaine grabs hold of Percy's co*ck and sinks down on it. The feeling is almost euphoria, it's so strong.

“Jesus Gwaine!” Percy wants to tell him off but his hips seem to be much more interested in f*cking into Gwaine with rapid speed.

“Hush love,” Gwaine presses a finger to his lips, “this is man's work.”

“I am going to kill you,” Percy ends with a moan as Gwaine starts rolling his hips. He sucks Gwaine's finger into his mouth, desperate to do something with his mouth. f*cking Gwaine and his f*cking…f*cking. Percy loses all cohesion as his org*sm builds at record speed and he comes with Gwaine's finger still in his mouth.

Gwaine, the bastard, just laughs and brings himself off with a few quick strokes, spilling onto Percy's stomach. He eases himself off and reaches up to grab a dish towel.

“The last part of any job is through clean up,” he says seriously, wiping them both down. “I'll leave you my card, feel free to call if you have any other plumbing emergencies.”

Percy takes the card mutely and blinks at him.

“That was the dumbest thing we've ever done. Is it over yet?”

“Baby, you're flooding my heart with emotions.”

20.

Elyan worked the bellows until his muscles strained and the fire roared fierce and high. His face and chest prickled with sweat from the heat coming off the forge. He leaned closer to test the temperature, and then nodded, pleased.

"Hello? Oh, there you are. Hello."

Elyan jumped a little; he didn't get many visitors and none this early in the morning. He turned to find a boy standing behind him, grinning in a friendly, almost sheepish way.

"Sorry to interrupt you," the boy said. He had black hair and blue eyes and a long white throat. "But I'm in a bit of an awkward situation, and I don't dare go to the royal blacksmith and—"

"Royal blacksmith?" Elyan's skin prickled again, this time with suspicion. "You work in the keep?"

"Yeah. I'm—" The boy co*cked his head with a confused scrunch of his face. "I'm Prince Arthur's manservant. Merlin."

Elyan turned his back. "Then you'll want to go back to his smith. I do no work for the Pendragons."

"Well, it's not really for the Pendragons so much as it is for me." Merlin came around into his view again, dangerously close to the fire. "See, normally I can get the dents out of his armor with—uh, with no trouble, really. But there's this bit that came off, and I don't even know where it was supposed to go in the first place, and Arthur is highly likely to just shove it up my bum if he finds out."

Elyan stared. He'd never heard anyone speak that way about the royals, not even Guinevere on the rare occasion she got cross. Slowly, he reached out and took the spaulder from Merlin's hands. "All right," he said and tried a smile. He had gotten out of practice since Father was killed in Uther’s pointless war with Mercia. "I'll sort it. Wouldn't want to imperil your bum."

The spaulder only needed a new rivet. Merlin's face lit with delight when Elyan handed him back the mended piece. "Thank you so much. I owe you—er, about payment...."

"I wouldn't take Pendragon money." Elyan's jaw clenched—until he felt the brush of soft lips on his cheek.

"That's all I have that's not Arthur's," Merlin said with a little smile. He started to turn away, then came back and brushed another kiss at the corner of Elyan's mouth.

Then he was gone, leaving behind a tiny flare of heat that didn't come from the forge.

***

When Elyan next saw Merlin, he was wild-eyed and disheveled. "I need a key that can open any door in the dungeons."

"Are you mad?" Elyan gaped at him. Though he hardly knew Merlin, he sensed that madness was not out of the question. “They’ll hang me if anyone catches you.”

"Please, Elyan,” Merlin begged. “I already tried to use—I tried everything else, but I can't get the keys. It’s a matter of life and death."

Desperation wasn’t a good look on him, but somehow that tingly spot where Merlin’s lips had touched him had migrated downwards to become a tender place in his chest. Elyan found himself nodding. “Fine. Foiling Uther’s plans is reason enough, I suppose.”

Merlin closed his eyes. “Thank you,” he breathed.

When the skeleton key was done, Merlin took it with a tiny quirk of a smile. “I still can’t pay you,” he said. “But I owe you everything.”

And then he pressed forward against Elyan’s mouth, body so close that Merlin radiated hotter than the forge behind him. Elyan pressed back, taking a miser’s treasure from the lushness of the kiss, the wet slide of their tongues. They kissed until Elyan’s head swam from the sex his body wanted, until Merlin gasped into his mouth and clutched at his biceps—until Jasmina the baker hallo’d him from the entryway.

Late that night, his body still sang with longing. He drew out the feeling as long as he could before he had to bring it to fulfillment, hand working between his legs and his thoughts buried in Merlin’s strong body.

***

“I need a sword,” Merlin said. “The greatest sword you’ve ever made. The greatest sword anyone will ever make.”

The simple faith in his eyes drove Elyan’s hammer. Neither of them made mention of price, but when the sword was cooling, Merlin locked up the shop and took Elyan’s hand to lead him over to his bed.

Hanging might be worth it.

21.

Merlin wrapped his legs around his partner’s hulking frame and his eyes rolled into the back of his head as the other man took Merlin’s thick co*ck down to the root. It didn’t take long before Merlin moaned wantonly.

Arthur paused the screen on Merlin’s perfect “O” face. He turned to look at Merlin. “You’re telling me that wasn’t real?”

Merlin simply shrugged. “No.”

“I don’t believe it. I blacked out when I shagged Percy.”

Arthur knew he was getting on Merlin’s nerves, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Merlin telling him that he had never had a real org*sm on-screen.

Merlin and Arthur were both adult film stars. Arthur and Merlin had never shagged each other, but had been in scenes together. Arthur could never take his eyes off of Merlin. Even though with his lithe frame and innocent face, Merlin easily fell into the twink category, there was something about Merlin that didn’t seem like he was in the right line of work.

“Would you please drop it, Arthur?”

“I just don’t understand. I know it’s just a job, but you are allowed to have fun.

Merlin just grinned.

“So, in real life, what does it take to get you off?”

“Arthur?!”

Arthur grinned at a red-faced Merlin. It was far too easy to fluster Merlin. “I know it’s a personal question, but I’ve seen a guy come on your face, so we have no secrets here. When you’re having sex in real life, what gets you off?

“I wouldn’t know.” Merlin muttered.

“What?”

“I’ve never...really...had sex.”

Arthur spit out his beer. “What? Uh, Merlin, I hate to break it to you, but you have sex all the time.”

Merlin laughed. “I know that, pillock. What I mean is I’ve never had sex outside of work.”

Arthur blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yes. I know it’s going to sound weird considering our jobs, but I consider sex to be a really sacred thing. When I’m with someone for real, I want to be with only them. I don’t want to know that I have to go off the next day and offer my body to someone that’s not the person I love.”

Arthur smiled. Only Merlin could work in p*rn and have such a romantic notion.

Merlin looked away.

“What happens when you do fall in love?”

Merlin smiled sadly as he looked at Arthur briefly. “I already am in love. He just doesn’t see me the same way.”

Arthur gaped at Merlin. “Who? Who is this unfathomable idiot?”

Merlin snorted before his face crumpled and he stood up quickly, turning off the TV. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” He got up.

Arthur caught his wrist. Merlin wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Merlin, what’s wrong? I know I can be a prat, but I’m your friend. You can talk to me.”

“I’m not going to talk about this with you, of all people.”

“‘Of all people?’ Why…” Arthur trailed off.

Merlin was panting now and looked close to hyperventilating, but Arthur still didn’t let go of his wrist, instead he tightened his hold on Merlin as the pieces fell into place.

“Merlin...am I the idiot?”

Merlin just closed his eyes. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Merlin nodded slightly, a small grin on his face. “Biggest one I know.”

Arthur cut off his last sentence with a kiss. It was just a gentle caress before he pulled back and looked into Merlin’s unblinking eyes. “We’re both idiots here.”

It was Merlin’s turn to cut him off. He kissed Arthur and wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck. The kiss intensified quickly as Arthur licked into Merlin’s mouth and relished the moan Merlin gave.

Their clothes were discarded quickly and they sank to the floor. Arthur pulled back. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been waiting for you, Arthur. If you want me, I’m yours.” Merlin smiled brightly.

Arthur was overcome with emotion. He wasn’t a “virgin” like Merlin was, but he’d never felt like this with anyone before.

Arthur gasped as he felt Merlin sink down on him. Arthur had to will himself to not come right then and there when Merlin was seated all the way on his co*ck.

Merlin began to move immediately. He undulated on top of Arthur in a perfect rhythm. He pulled back and gripped Arthur’s face. When Merlin clenched around Arthur, and his body began to spasm, the way that Merlin stared into Arthur’s eyes - Arthur knew one thing for sure. As Arthur’s own org*sm was ripped from him, and he spilled inside Merlin, he didn’t have any questions about what was real and what wasn’t.

22.

She could kill them, of course, avenge her kin. But Uther’s gained too much power, and there are too few sorcerers left; Camelot would not welcome another magical age. Not yet.

Instead she beats all the knights in combat, impresses the king; bows her head to him, and doesn’t take his off, after.

*

Uther’s brat is sixteen and proud. He laughs, says, ‘My father wouldn’t let me be trained by a woman.’

Morgause digs the tip of her sword into his throat longer than necessary, his pulse a visible thud thud thud of humiliation while he stares up at her.

He doesn’t question her again. It’s a shame, really.

*

She’s nobody. She’s a high priestess, but here, her position doesn’t even have a name. She hits the prince with her sword again – then teaches him how to block that move. She’s supposed to gain his trust, after all.

*

Arthur is seventeen and his sword skills are much improved, but his eyes rove a little too easily during practice. She overhears him, one day, telling young Sir Leon that his father warned him of the importance of chastity and the risk of bastards.

She doesn’t tell him his father is a hypocrite.

*

Arthur stops the guard from arresting the hungry boy who stole apples; pays for them himself. It’s a stupid gesture and Uther calls him unfit to be a king, too soft. If she happens to go easy on Arthur the next day, well, she’s just trying to get further into his confidence.

*

Another sorcerer is caught. Morgause watches him die at the stake.

‘Magic is the greatest evil,’ Arthur says later, to her or to himself. He looks a little pale.

The next time Arthur gets distracted staring at her breasts, she takes him to the armoury. He’s embarrassed at being caught out; goes easily when she tells him to kneel. He bows his head, but not for long.

He’s shocked and wide-eyed, but he licks her like an eager mutt, Uther’s son does, apologises with his mouth and his tongue, a little sloppily, while she guides him with her words and her grip on his hair.

She leaves him on his knees staring after her, his eyes the soft blue of his mother’s (they lie, they lie, they lie).

*

She wishes Uther could see how readily his son kneels for her, a sorceress and high priestess, after that. How starved he is for praise that all she needs to say is ‘Good boy,’ and he tries harder to please her still, other duties forgotten or dismissed.

It becomes a little easier, then: whenever she hears him speak of magic, she sits on his face, makes him cleanse his mouth with her juices. She imagines them full of her magic, smeared all over his skin after she’s done.

She makes him work for it, feels the pleasure course through her four, five times, before she lets him go; makes him recite all the nobles’ family trees after she walks away before he’s allowed to touch himself. He does, more obedient than he ever is on the training ground, the tent in his breeches not diminishing one bit.

He’s almost sweet like this, vulnerable in their moments alone, and she yanks his hair in unnamed frustration, but it only makes him moan.

She lets herself feel powerful, pretends she’s in control.

*

Morgause isn’t stupid: she recognises magic when she sees it. She recognises the look in Arthur’s eyes, too, when he says, ‘There’s something about you, Merlin…’ looking the boy up and down. She feels a flash of something like irritation, perhaps, wonders if the boy would let Arthur bury his co*ck in a tight hole, at last.

Then she wonders what Arthur would look like with his head buried between her thighs while this boy would f*ck him from behind instead.

*

It happens on the day of Arthur’s coronation as crown prince.

She makes him keep on his crown as they f*ck in his bed. Merlin’s hands are as gentle and reverent as hers are commanding; he has been suspicious of her so far, but she suspects he’ll be more amenable after this. Arthur is flushed all over, his co*ck slapping wetly against his stomach every time Merlin pushes in; pushes Arthur’s face closer to her. Perhaps she’ll make him suck Merlin’s co*ck before letting him come; he’d flush and protest and love it.

And after, he’ll dress proudly and rejoin the feast, walk out with their juices and their magic rubbed into his skin.

Morgause loves a good celebration.

Chapter 6: Group B (clean)

Chapter Text

23.

“Castle to Bird On A Wire.”

Merlin sighed as he grabbed the radio.

“Really, Arthur?” He asked, staring out at the motorway.

“Mithian know you’re in her chair?” Arthur might run Pendragon Institute but Mith wouldn’t care.

“She doesn’t scare me.

“Liar.”

”Thought you might be lonely.”

True; loneliness was why he’d worked tirelessly to get his PhD and quit driving long-haul for his father every summer. Merlin loved the sanctuary of Restorations; Gaius grumbling, the intoxicating scents of aged paper, ink, and knowledge. He'd not missed the road.

His duties as manuscript restorer at P.I. didn’t include transport but with Tom ill and nobody else knowing how to drive the climate-controlled truck, Merlin found himself volunteered. He’d never forgive them; it’s his anniversary.

“Three years I’ve put up with you.”

“You mean that I’ve endured you.”

”Always so disrespectful, especially then!”

“You were yelling at me for ‘playing with an exhibit.”

“How was I to know you were an employee, you scruff?”

“You love it.”

”Hmmm I do, especially rasping my thighs.” Arthur purred.

Merlin swore he heard Arthur’s tongue slide over his lips, and he desperately wanted to taste that mouth. He’d taste of Thai takeout and something quintessentially Arthur, his fingers slick with oil from being incapable of handling chopsticks, painting fragrant trails across Merlin’s skin he’d follow with that tongue.

”But tonight I’m dating Mr Right Hand.”

Merlin’s vision blurred as heat flared in his belly-

“So, anniversary. Present in mind?”

Yesterday, Merlin would’ve said something simple; a morning of lazy kisses and Arthur making him breakfast, of quiet words and lips on his.

But now, hearing Arthur’s heavy breaths, his co*ck twitching in his jeans and sweaty palms slipping on the wheel, Merlin wanted those lips wrapped around his dick, slippery and tight, that breath gusting over his balls.

Arthur was a gentle lover but Merlin could tease him into being rough, , sucking bruises on pale skin, nails scoring up the back of Merlin’s thighs sending him over the edge hard, and biting into his mouth until it felt swollen.

“Unnggh.”

The rustle of clothes and purr of a zipper was distorted but recognisable and Merlin’s imagination filled in the blanks; Arthur couldn’t...

Not after the tapestry debacle.

“You’re at work!”

“Stop thinking so much, Merlin. Shouldn’t be hard for you.” Merlin huffed at Arthur’s snigg*r.

”It’s all wrong, can’t smell you. My mouth feels empty without your fingers.”

“Art-” Despite himself, Merlin shuddered, fingers itching to press past soft lips and hard teeth.

"Feeling shy? That’s okay, you listen. I'm sitting here, shirt buttoned and tucked, tie pressed, my pants open, co*ck in hand. God, I wish it was your hand or ass around me."

The complicated double-clutch screeched and Merlin was surprised the transmission wasn’t left on the motorway.

"Arthur!"

Memories of last night grabbed Merlin by the balls; Arthur’s co*ck stretching him as rough fingers jacked his co*ck and imperfect teeth nipped his collarbone. Merlin swerved off the empty motorway, cut the engine and ripped at his jeans, licking a palm, tugging his hardening co*ck free, grunting in relief.

“Wish I could see those bites from yesterday,” Arthur whined

Succumbing, Merlin flicked his shirt open, buttons pinging against the window, fingertips teasing chest and throat, pressing livid bruises.

“Wish you were here,” the radio creaked a protest of Merlin’s grip.

“-iss your neck, those ears… Before you shower, you reek of chemicals, but when I’m between your thighs...it’s just you.”

Merlin's hand flew along his co*ck, twisting and palming the head, the slick sound a melody to his breath and Arthur’s muffled grunts.

“-sounds you make when I tongue your belly-button, get so hard for you…” Arthur broke off with a moan, Merlin straining to hear every grunt and sigh as visions of Arthur wanking played in his minds-eye.

“Wanna touch you,” he whimpered.

"Mmmmmm, like when you slide your fingers out of my mouth, tease my hole… Hear how hot I’m getting imagining it?"

Merlin’s suddenly close, embarrassingly close after such little build-up, thighs burning as his hips pumped up into his fist. Juggling the radio, Merlin harshly twisted a nipple and he’s there.

“f*ck Art-” Merlin growled, hips jerking as he spilled, head pressed into the seatback, back bowed, come streaking his stomach and steering wheel.

”See you for breakfast?” Arthur was breathlessly smug.

Over the radio, Merlin heard the unmistakable creak of the Transport door, and Mithian’s fury at finding Arthur, slicked in come from co*ck to collar, in her chair.

24.

Merlin is Aquarium (staff) and Arthur is Science in Action (summer volunteer). Arthur is also newly escaped from Pendragon Financial. This summer is all about being his own man – his own man's man, too.

Merlin looks lethal in a wetsuit. Arthur dreams of f*cking him in the tunnel under the flooded forest, blue light bathing his pale skin, his beloved fish on all sides, old Kilgharrah cruising overhead.

He makes the first move via suggestion box slip, tucked into Merlin's locker.

How might we improve your experience? Let me blow you in Rainforests of the World.

Up and up the spiral ramp after the last of the days' tours exit the airlock. Up to the canopy, Arthur going down on his knees between the gecko and reed frog displays, butterflies trembling in the humid air above their heads.

One lands on his hair, and Merlin insists that they freeze like that, Arthur's throat stuffed full, until he can coax it off.

"Can't blame her," he murmurs as he cards his fingers through Arthur's hair, thumbs one hollowed-out cheek. "You look like a good place to rest."

Arthur swallows, half-choking, and tells himself that’s the sole reason for the sting in his eyes.

His first day, Arthur had committed the grievous sin of Buying Bottled Water, earning himself an impassioned lecture and subsequent weeks of hot-eyed glares. After the rainforest, they simmer into something new.

Arthur finds the slip rolled and threaded through the cap of his new eco-bottle.

How might we improve your experience? Want to see how the pros do Discovery Night? Aqua. stairs Thurs. at 8.

Arthur follows him down, past the shy octopus and the weedy, ethereal sea dragons. One floor up, the city's young elite are being herded into the planetarium.

"In here." Merlin jerks his head towards their newest exhibit: Animal Attraction. He moves the barrier, switches on the recessed spots. The walls are painted in hot colors, shades of red and orange.

Arthur crowds him, inhaling his shampoo, the pervasive underlying tang of brine. Merlin smells like round two waiting to happen. He's babbling about snails.

"…love darts. Literally shoot them into one another. See, there's this mucous on them that inhibits sperm digestion, so more of it is – "

"Snails are into comeplay?" Arthur murmurs. "Kinky."

They play this like it's a game – Merlin reels off facts, Arthur tries to distract him – but the truth is, Arthur gets off on hearing Merlin enthuse over the creatures in his care.

"And these beauties – " Merlin slides along the wall, flips round so his back's to the tank. He's flushed. " – are amazing. Clownfish can change their sex, you know, when the – "

"Please don't." Arthur runs a thumb over Merlin's Adam's apple before reaching down and cupping him between the legs. "I quite like you as you are."

Merlin's smile turns sly. He presses his bulge into Arthur's palm. "You're just glad I'm not a female tarantula…or a mantis. You'd be liable to lose your head after."

"Some would say I've already lost it, carrying on with a man who gets hard talking about cannibalism."

Chuckling, Merlin pushes Arthur away, drags him to the next set of displays.

Bower birds, betta fish and hermaphroditic worms: flash, fight and flexibility. Scent-marking. Claim-staking. Arthur gets it, feels the same urges at a visceral level. He hooks his fingers into Merlin's belt loops, hauls him back against his own erection.

When Merlin tells him about the splash tetras, Arthur flicks a tongue against his ear. At the anglerfish panel, he noses Merlin's collar aside, bites down gently on the soft skin.

"Would you like that then? If I never let go – just burrowed up inside you and stayed."

"Yes," Merlin says, newly breathless, hands suddenly scrabbling at his belt. "Yes, yes. f*ck, Arthur, c'mon."

Arthur gets his co*ck out, fumbles the condom on and kisses the fresh sweat breaking out along the back of Merlin's neck. He spits on two fingers, but when he forces them between the taut cheeks he finds he's been beaten to the task; Merlin's all slick and squelchy with lube. Arthur wants to tease him for his assumption, but mostly he wants…

"I'm here," he whispers, gripping his co*ck, rubbing it through the wet before pushing in hard.

Merlin gasps, hums, braces his hands on either side of the text panel. "Yes you are."

How might we improve your experience? Come home with me.

How might we improve your experience? Stay.

25.

“Merlin, lift your leg a bit higher. Yep, that’s it. Arthur, tilt your head a bit to the right. Perfect! Now hold still.”

For a moment, the whir of a ventilator is the only sound in the room. Arthur’s back itches, but he doesn’t dare move.

“Great, guys. Perfect! But I’d like to try a bit different angle, okay? You can relax for a moment while I set things up.”

“Ugh,” Arthur mumbles into Merlin’s shoulder, laying his whole weight on top of him.

“Oi, I’m not a mattress!” Merlin complains, pinching Arthur’s side.

“Scratch my back,” Arthur murmurs into his ear.

“Seriously?” Merlin asks.

“Please.”

Arthur knows Merlin can’t deny him a thing and smiles when he feels Merlin’s hand snaking under his shirt.

“At least tell me where, you prat.”

“A little higher. And to the left. Just a bit more. Yeah, right there.”

“Sometimes I wonder if you were a dog in your previous life. Golden retriever, maybe.”

“How many times do I have to tell you. I must have been a lion.”

“Grumpy cat, more likely,” Merlin says with a chuckle.

“Remind me again why we need to do this?”

“Stop whining. This whole thing was your idea.”

“We could just pick some snapshot from all the footage. It would be easier.”

“This isn’t some random gay p*rn with a lot of grunting and fake moans. There are thousands of men and women around the world waiting for us to show them a glimpse into our bedroom. They want to see real romance, real feelings. And they want a proper nice cover on that DVD.”

Arthur shifts a bit so that he can look Merlin in the eyes and links their fingers together.

“I just can’t wait to f*ck you,” Arthur says, making it sound like the most romantic proclamation ever.

“Oh, I noticed,” Merlin smirks, rubbing his thigh against Arthur’s fully-hard co*ck teasingly. “I bet you’re really looking forward to having me spread out under you, urging you to go harder as you take your sweet time f*cking me with that handy little vibrator we got as product placement.”

“It’s too small. You’ll beg me to give you more,” Arthur says and rolls his hips against Merlin’s thigh. “And I won’t listen to your pleas, driving you crazy circling that little toy right over your sweet spot.”

“I’ll be a mess,” Merlin breathes out, pulling Arthur’s hand down under the blanket.

“I’ll drag you right to the edge, but won’t let you fall.” Merlin gasps and squirms a bit when Arthur wraps his hand around his shaft and starts stroking at a leisurely pace.

“Guys, we’re done here,” Gwaine says from where he’s kneeling on the floor with a camera.

“But we haven’t…” Merlin starts.

“Oh yes, you did. That staring into each other’s eyes while cuddling? Or that filthy grin you gave Merlin? Total gold. I’ll get Percy and if you’re ready to go, and I believe you’re very ready to go, we can start the shoot in another few minutes.”

“Still not regretting making us the most famous gay couple in the world?” Merlin asks after Gwaine leaves the room.

“Not in the slightest,” Arthur answers and plants a sweet kiss on Merlin’s lips. “Now I can really say I love my job.”

26.

Gwen adjusted the grip on the stake, back against the cold brink wall.

She held her breath, straining her ears. There was a rustling, and Gwen's heart started pounding. She turned the corner, stake raised.

The vampire's face contorted when it saw her.

"Slayer," it hissed. Gwen drove the stake into its chest, the hiss dissolving into a gurgle and the vampire collapsed into a pile of dust.

Gwen looked around, in case there was another vamp about. The coast looked clear though. Gwen took a deep breath and then let her arm fall to her side.

~~~

Morgana was awake when Gwen got back, sitting with Gauis and Arthur.

"What's wrong?" she asked, tiredness gone, replaced by heart-thumping fear.

"It's Merlin," Arthur said, stiffly. "He's - there's something wrong with him."

"What do you mean?"

Gaius got up, holding a book in his hands.

"We think he's been possessed."

"Possessed?"

"Yes," Gaius pointed to the book he was holding. "We think he's possessed by a demon."

"Where is he now?"

Morgana looked up from the table, and Gwen could see her eyes flaring gold. She nodded to their spare room. "I'm keeping him unconscious.

"He said he felt some magic - remember? I felt it too, but neither of us knew what it meant."

Gaius nodded. "It's possible it was some form of summoning spell, but it went wrong, so the demon doesn't have a body - it's possessing whoever it can find."

Gwen walked over to Morgana and took her hand, kissing her knuckles.

"So how do we get rid of it?" Gwen asked.

"We need to make it corporeal, and then we need to kill it. We - you're the only one strong enough to do this, Gwen."

Gwen had one fleeting thought of her big comfortable bed, and curling up next to Morgana before she blinked and nodded. Merlin needed them.

"No time like the present," She said. "What do we need to do?"

"I've got the spells I need to do. I'm still not sure if I'm strong enough." Morgana shook her head. "I've never dealt with something this strong. It's trying to push against me."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Gwen asked.

~~~

Gaius and Arthur left the flat.

"That was awkward," Gwen commented.

"How do you think I feel?" Morgana asked, blushing furiously. "I've known Gaius since I was five. He should never even mention sex, never mind suggest I have it to increase my strength."

"Morgana," Gwen said, while Arthur and Gaius were laying out the things needed for the spell. "Are you ok? We can try to find another way-"

Morgana shook her head and kissed Gwen, hard. Gwen made a surprised noise, as Morgana's tongue snaked between her lips.

"I'll take that as a yes then," Gwen murmured as she slipped her hand up Morgana's top, lifting it up and over her head.

Morgana slipped her bra off, dropping it to the floor. She reached out for Gwen, almost desperate.

Gwen sucked on Morgana's nipple, feeling it harden under her tongue. Morgana gasped, and thrust her body forward against Gwen. Gwen grinned and slipped a hand down Morgana's stomach, slipping inside her pants.

She teased a little, fingers teasing at Morgana's pubic hair. Morgana ground against her hand and Gwen moved, thumbing Morgana's cl*t.

"Yes," Morgana gasped, fingers gripping at Gwen's shoulders. Gwen slipped two fingers inside Morgana, thumb circling her cl*t. "f*ck, f*ck."

Gwen could feel Morgana start to get tight around her fingers, and Gwen lifted her head to bite at Morgana's neck. Morgana whined as she came, clenching around Gwen's fingers.

Morgana slumped back against the wall as Gwen pulled her hand away. Her eyes were bright gold, like flames. Gwen shivered a little, almost feeling the raw power coming off Morgana.

"You ready to go save the day?" Gwen asked.

"Are you?" Morgana asked.

Let's go do it," Gwen said, holding out her hand.

27.

He makes sure he’s the only one she can dance for, the endless offering of bills piling around her feet. His eyes never leave her, following every turn and swing, leaving a trail of fire as they roam. She likes to watch him back; trace the gentle curve of his cheekbones, the curls across his forehead, the wan smirk as she grinds on the pole.

She has no choice but to dance for him. Those aren’t ones slipping into the band of her underwear.

The men around stare and drink, their gazes flitting from her to others. They look but they can never touch. No one would dare to even slip her a single with him at the edge of her table, guarding it like Cerberus did the underworld. He’s on his third drink now and she knows it’s nearing the time. He suddenly rises, tossing another bill in his wake, and leaves.

She knows that’s her cue.

Some of the bottle boys collect her money; crisp, fresh bills he withdraws just for her, sparing her the hassle of smoothing and drying her cash in a dryer. She strips the garish bra and underwear off in the locker space, throwing them in to be washed another day. Her jeans hug nicely and her sweater is comforting against her skin. She pushes up her sleeves over the sink and washes her face, removing her eye makeup carefully. She looks at herself in the mirror as she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. She’s as plain as any other girl on the street. But that’s what he likes.

His car is purring idly out back, the air filling with a click as the doors are unlocked. He meets her eye, giving her a once-over before shifting gears and driving to his flat. When they arrive, she sits at the dining table as he fixes her something to eat, glancing around at the photos she knows so well. A family party, standard prom picture, him and his father fishing, a little girl on the sidewalk waving at someone behind the camera.

After she eats, he picks her up like a bride and carries her down the hall, closing the door of a room on the way. They make love and it’s achingly slow and sweet, the air punctuated by laughs ending in gasps. Kara, Kara, Kara he whispers into her skin as he kisses downward, leaving a dark bruise inside a thigh. She plays with his curly mop as his eyes pierce hers, his own cum dripping from his tongue.

“M-Mordred,” she stammers as she breaks the water from her plummet, the ride finally dropping from the halted height.

He cuddles into her side when it’s over, holding her close so she can’t run away.

“Won’t you stay?” he whispers quietly as he strokes her cheek, his fingertips lighter than the weight behind his question.

She won’t.

That’d mean trading in her get-ups for a dress and afterschool meetings, singles in her panties for a ring on her finger. She won’t quit. And she’ll die before she lets him take her out anywhere, stifling any chance of disproving that she strips her clothes for anyone and everyone, not just him, without a single degree to her name.

She shakes her head and lifts his hand from her face; too much gentleness and she’ll break. He is blinking fast and she knows that he’s crying but he’s not meek or mild when he pushes her into the mattress, encircling her neck with one hand and pushing her leg up with the other. It is not sweet or gentle and she seethes a cry between gritted teeth as his thrusts scrape paint from behind the headboard. It is nothing like when she arrived but that was then and now she is leaving. She can’t look away, his grip on her neck holding her in place, so she closes her eyes.

“Look at me,” he murmurs, his voice deep and rough.

She meets his eye and their breath stutters. Her heart clenches painfully in her chest. He lowers himself and a wet stickiness smears between her thighs as he shifts around, covering them with the sheet. He holds her hand and kisses her brow, skimming his lips along her face. She turns her face to the bedside table, his lips following down her neck. Another frame sits by the lamp, two smiling teens and one laughing little girl.

“Just stay ‘til morning. It’ll make her happy.”

28.

“Why are you on my balcony?” Arthur asked the dark figure. What the f*ck, there was a gondola on the balcony of his 32nd floor Pendragon Penthouse complete with a bloody window cleaner? He had to interrupt his wank for this?

“Slight malfunction,” the guy said.”Can I borrow your toilet?”

“No, you may not!”

Then the guy stepped into the light and grinned, and Arthur stared at bright blue eyes, raven hair, and a blinding smile. His name tag said “Merlin”.

“Like what you see?” Merlin said cheekily. sh*t, he’d noticed Arthur perving.

Arthur stood riveted as Merlin unzipped his jumpsuit, torn between being surprised and aroused. The cheek of this guy! Hmmm… the cheeks on this guy. Merlin was lanky and muscular, pale skin showing through a clingy t-shirt and tight shorts. His pert butt looked delectable.

“Er…” Arthur swallowed hard. His dick twitched to life again.

“Hmm, if you won’t let me come in, then i suppose I’ll have to do it here,” Merlin said.

“Do what? I don’t even know you!” Arthur said.

“I feel like I know you. I always see you inside your flat, “ Merlin said, voice sultry and gaze direct.

Arthur flushed. At this time of the night, he’d usually be beating off in bed.

“Ok, don’t look so constipated, I was only taking the piss …. oops, I did it again, didn’t I?” Merlin laughed. “I need to wait for the company guys to get me, so if you keep me stuck out here, I’ll have to entertain myself.”

Merlin looked at Arthur, and said, “Or I could keep you entertained?”

Merlin took Arthur’s shocked silence as permission. He sat, knees up against the glass walls of the balcony and waggled his eyebrows. In his mortified excitement, Arthur couldn’t help but scoot closer.

The balcony lights were off, but the moonlight and the glow from the living room gave enough light to show Merlin’s silhouette.

Merlin took his co*ck out, eyes on Arthur all the while. Arthur swallowed and arched involuntarily at the stirring of his loins.

The cover of darkness was keeping Arthur on edge, making him sense Merlin’s every movement even more keenly.

Even if he couldn’t see Merlin’s dick, Merlin’s face was expressive and his actions were uninhibited, full of glee - how could Merlin throw himself into this so wholeheartedly when he was wanking on a stranger’s balcony? And on company time! It made Arthur hot and excited and decidedly pervy all over.

Arthur could tell that Merlin was kneading himself now.

Merlin was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling with every pull and tug. “Wanna touch?” he panted. Yes, Arthur did want to touch, yes indeed.

Arthur scrambled even nearer and put out a tentative hand. Merlin grabbed hold of it and guided Arthur to rest his hands on his bulge. Merlin’s co*ck was slimmer than Arthur’s own, but longer. It was already wet with pre-cum, and rose to full hardness once Arthur’s hands were on him.

Merlin’s hands were working steadily and he made little noises and gasps of pleasure. Arthur couldn’t stand it, he palmed himself and was mortified to hear a small moan escape at the blessed contact.

They were leaning in closer now, Arthur’s own ragged breathing echoing right into Merlin’s ear as he struggled with the angle and the grip. Then Merlin slid so he was almost lying down, and pulled Arthur on top of him.

This time, Arthur gasped aloud as their co*cks made contact; even through the fabric of his boxers, it felt heavenly. He scrabbled for purchase, balancing on top of Merlin, their chests pushing together and their faces only a breath away from each other.

“Oh my god,” Arthur rapsed. “oh my god, oh my god”. Merlin’s dick was rubbing and pressing as Merlin frotted against him, and Arthur pushed his own groin down for more contact. “Oh, my, god.”

Below him, Merlin writhed and muttered, “So hot, I just knew you’d be so hot in flesh.” Wait, what? Arthur stuttered in his hand job as he processed that, and that’s when Merlin grabbed Arthur’s arse with a vengeance, sputtering and coming with a shout.

Arthur came thereafter, leaving a sticky mess in his boxers.

They lay on the chilly balcony, catching their breath, then Arthur climbed off. He pointed at the glass next to them, streaked with cum from Merlin and from his own hands, and said, “Now you’ll have to clean that off.”

Merlin winked. “I’ll have to come again, I think. Make it worth my while to clean.”

29.

Gwen sipped her beer. The bottle was empty. She thunked it down on the table with a sigh, and contemplated braving the queue to get another one. She didn’t want to lose her table.

There was a lull in the music, and a voice said, “drinking alone?”

It was a woman with long dark hair and sharp features – a completely flipping gorgeous woman with dark hair and sharp features. “Um, no. I’m with my friends, but they’re on the dance floor.”

“You not dancing?”

“No, I don’t dance,” said Gwen. “I can’t dance. I, um –” The woman was offering her a hand, like they were at a fancy ball and she was a lord asking a lady to dance. Gwen led herself be led out onto the dance floor, feeling slightly dazed.

“It’s not difficult.” The woman raised her voice to be heard over the music. “It’s all in the hips.” She demonstrated, waving her hips from side to side, finding the rhythm so easily; and then her hands were on Gwen’s hips, guiding her. “See?” she said when Gwen had it, raising her arms above her head. “You can dance.”

When the song ended, she took Gwen by the arm and led her to the bar, cutting her way easily through the crowd. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Thanks,” said Gwen when the woman pressed a bottle into her hand. “So, um. I’m Gwen.”

“Morgana.” She leaned over the bar, still with that coy look in her eye.

“So what do you do?” It was a stupid attempt at conversation, but it was all Gwen could come up with.

“Oh,” Morgana sipped her drink, “I’m a dancer.”

“What, professionally?” Morgana nodded. Before Gwen could stop herself, she said, “an exotic dancer?” She cringed, all set to apologise profusely, but Morgana was laughing.

“Ballet,” she said, lilting out the vowels.

“Ballet? Seriously? Wow,” said Gwen. “What’s that like?”

Morgana leaned towards her. “Well, for one thing, I’m very flexible.”

Gwen swallowed.

“I don’t normally do this,” Gwen assured her.

“That’s okay,” said Morgana breezily. While Morgana was helping her off with her top, Gwen realised she hadn’t bothered to tell her friends she was leaving. They’d probably be looking for her – but then Morgana unhooked her bra and pressed her mouth between Gwen’s breasts, and she stopped caring.

Her abs were tense and smooth beneath Gwen’s trailing fingers. She lay spread on Gwen’s bed, her hair spilling across the pillows like ink on paper. “Want to see?” Before Gwen could answer, she lifted a leg and pulled it back, back, until her toes were almost level with her ear.

“Oh my god,” Gwen squeaked.

Morgana’s puss* was as neat and smooth as the rest of her, shaved and pale, but when Gwen pushed her tongue between the lips it was abruptly hot and wet. She licked, and she licked, because the noises Morgana made were just beautiful, gasps and moans that were like music; she wanted to do this forever.

Morgana came, her thighs trembling, and her fingers were in Gwen’s hair, tugging her up, up. “God, you’re such a mess,” she said, brushing Gwen’s hair off her forehead, a hand on her cheek.

“Yeah,” said Gwen. “Yeah.” Morgana took her hands and held them, squeezing gently.

Morgana left before breakfast, but she left her phone number on a business card. Gwen she sat drinking coffee and apologising over and over to Merlin for abandoning him in the club.

“Gwen, it’s okay. It’s not like you left me alone.” He shoved his toast into his mouth and tapped a few keys on his laptop. “Holy sh*t,” he said through a mouthful of toast. He swivelled his laptop around. “Is this her?”

All Gwen saw at first was Morgana’s face, taking up half the screen, a black and white photo of her, elegantly tousled hair, come-hither look on her face. “Yeah. Why?” Merlin motioned at the text. Morgana Le Fay, she read, one of Britain’s foremost ballerinas, is set to appear in – Merlin flicked back to the Google search page. He’d probably been expecting her Facebook, not a page full of news articles.

“Looks like you f*cked a celebrity.” He sounded kind of awed. Gwen buried her face in her hands and groaned, monumentally embarrassed, as if she should have known, somehow – and then, on the kitchen table, her phone thrummed. From: Morgana. “Already?” Merlin sipped his coffee. “Wow, someone’s keen.”

Gwen ignored him and opened the text.

30.

Arthur followed Uther out of the hall, still stripping cobwebs from his shoulders.

“Father,” he said. “Please, this is embarrassing.”

“Protecting your life is of far greater concern to me than protecting your pride,” Uther said.

“But he looks as though a thimble of wine could knock him over!” Arthur gestured back toward the hall. Had his father even seen the boy? “What use could he possibly serve as my taster if his constitution is no match for mine?”

Uther waved a hand, cutting him off. “That is exactly the point. A man more susceptible to slow-acting poisons only has more motivation to safeguard your food. He’s already saved your life despite great risk to himself.” He turned, gripping Arthur’s shoulder. “Men like that, no matter how frail, are worth keeping close.”

Arthur bit back his complaints with a resentful sigh.

☩

“You will be responsible for preparing my meals and sampling them before I eat. Anything I don’t finish you may have.”

Merlin looked skeptical. “So, my job is to eat your leftovers?”

“Your job is to keep me from being poisoned.”

“Can’t imagine why anyone would want to do that,” Merlin said.

His trousers looked in danger of falling off his skinny hips, so Arthur gave his tone all the attention someone so ridiculous deserved.

☩

“Not that I’m complaining—” Merlin began. Arthur rolled his eyes. “—but isn’t tasting something Morris could do?” He hefted the remains of Arthur’s dinner appraisingly.

Arthur liked to order extra food during peak training season, but sometimes didn’t feel like eating it all.

“Easier to replace the occasional taster than train a new manservant every time an attempt is made on my life,” Arthur said, grinning. Merlin narrowed his eyes, but he still took everything left on the tray.

☩

Arthur regretted his flippancy after the Bayard incident. Merlin looked to be recovering well when Arthur checked in, if damnably fragile.

It occurred to Arthur that he didn’t want to replace Merlin. But he couldn’t say as much, so he simply continued ordering extra food long after training season passed into winter.

☩

It took what felt like an age, but when Merlin’s royally supplemented diet finally began to stick to his ribs, Arthur’s concern eased. Merlin would never be the most robust man, but rich food suited him. His hair looked fuller, his skin finer, and his collarbones less disturbingly prominent.

“You’re looking well, Merlin,” Arthur said, oddly proud of Merlin’s bared forearms as he laid the table that night. Merlin shot him an incredulous look.

“Thank you?” he said.

“As you should.” Arthur took a pull off his goblet. “You came to us a scarecrow. What were they feeding you back home, hay?” He grinned at the sardonic twist to Merlin’s mouth.

“Hay is a delicacy only reserved for the wealthiest peasants, sire,” he said.

Arthur sobered, swirling his wine.

“Dine with me,” he said. Merlin looked up, brow quirked. Arthur strove for a patient tone. “You’ll be taking half of this with you anyway. You may as well eat it while it’s warm.”

Merlin shrugged like the ungracious wretch he was and sat at Arthur’s right side. But in spite of his insouciance, he only picked at the platters, eating as daintily as a bird. Arthur set down his cutlery, sighing.

“What?” Merlin said, defensive.

“You know what! You’re starting to make me think you have poisoned us with the way you’re nibbling crumbs like a woman.”

“Of course I haven’t!” Merlin said.

“Then here,” Arthur said, taking up a fig drizzled in warm honey and holding it out. “Eat.”

When Merlin didn’t move to take the fig, Arthur caught him by the nape and pressed the fruit to his mouth.

Merlin’s eyes shocked wide, lips parting to admit Arthur’s fingers between them. Arthur didn’t realise his mistake until Merlin moaned, but it was too late to reconsider the intimacy of his actions when he was already chasing the taste of honey across Merlin’s tongue.

He hefted Merlin onto the table with single-minded intent, tugging neckerchief and tunic out of the way to get a proper look at Merlin’s lean chest, his sweet-looking nipples. He drew Merlin’s co*ck out of his trousers and pumped it until the head slipped its sheath, fitting hot in the back of Arthur’s throat like a plump, bitter cherry.

He tasted until Merlin jerked, crying out — until he was sated, his fingers leaving sticky trails across Merlin’s soft, pale belly.

31.

The trumpets sounded as Camelots army returned successful. It had been three long months since the knights had gone off to war. Three long months where the servant Percival had waited every day in the stables; absentmindedly brushing down the horses wondering if today was going to be the day he received a letter telling him his beloved Sir Gwaine had died in battle.

When he first heard the sound of the trumpets Percival raced out of the stables, hoping to at least catch a glimpse of his knight in shining armor. The castle’s courtyard was a ruckus, everyone trying to reunite with their loved ones.

Percival could not see Gwaine. Maybe he was one of the many knights wrapped in blankets and awaiting burial.

“He’ll be here.” a voice from behind assured him.

Percival turned to see Merlin, the king’s personal servant, standing there with a small smile. The boy was the only one who knew of Gwaine and Percival’s love affair, having walked in on them in the stables many times.

“Of course he will. He promised.” Percival tried to smile.

He waited an hour, the courtyard still teeming with people reuniting, before going back to the stables heartbroken. He’d look for Gwaine again in the morning, when people had settled back in.

Night rolled around, lanterns were lit to keep the stables bright as Percival worked. He wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight, not while Gwaine was missing.

His muscles ached, strained from hours labouring over the horses tack. He never heard the stable door open.

“I didn’t see you this afternoon.”

Percival turned sharply, his tools clattering to the floor in his haste to stand.

“Gwaine!” He laughed, wrapping the smaller man is a hug. Gwaine pulled out of the hug, reaching up to give Percival a hot wet kiss.

“I spent three months-” Gwaine started tugging at Percivals tunic. “Surrounded by the sound of lonely men f*cking every night.” He pulled at the strings on Percivals breeches. “Every night, wishing you were there, touching myself to the thought of you.” Gwaine began shedding his own clothes,stopping every so often to kiss Percival. “Oh God Perc, I missed you. Why couldn’t you have been the stable boy the army brought along.”

Percival laughed. “I would have got nothing done if I had come along, I’d have spent all day f*cking the kings best knight.”

Gwaine led Percival down onto the hay, taking Percival’s member in his hand, thumb teasing the slit as he stole another kiss from the servant.
He knelt over Percival, straddling the larger mans thighs. He pulled a vial of oil out of his trouser pocket, reaching back to slick himself up.

“Let me.” Percival said, taking the oil and pouring a generous amount on his fingers. He reached behind Gwaine, his finger brushing the small pucker. His finger slowly slid inside, the hole clenched, tight from disuse. Slowly pulling the finger out, he inserted a second, scissoring them to stretch the knight.

When he reached four fingers, he pulled out, ignoring Gwaine’s whimper of protest. He poured the remaining oil on his co*ck, guiding Gwaine over top of his and crying out as Gwaine slowly sank down on him.

“I missed this.” Gwaine kissed him, his hips starting to move. Percival cried out. He had nearly forgotten what this felt like, to have his lover ride him into oblivion. He bucked his hips sharply, Gwaine moaning his name at the feel. The knights hands scratched at his chest, nails raking across Percivals nipples.

Percival came with a cry, breathing heavy for a moment before wrapping his arm around Gwaine flipping the knight onto his back. He pushed into the knight, Gwaine’s eyes closing tightly as Percival pounded into him, not lasting long before he too was coming.

Percival pulled out, flopping onto the hay beside Gwaine and kissing him lightly on the cheek before pulling him into his arms. “You came back.”

Gwaine chuckled. “I promised you, didn’t I?” He sighed before his eyes drooped and he fell asleep in Percivals arms.

“Yes, you did” Percival whispered before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep.

32.

The last dregs of sunset were spilling across the city skyline when Morgana blinked awake. She could hear voices downstairs in the shop, one loud and abrasive and the other sweet but quickly rising in volume. She steals one of Gwen’s sweaters hanging on the bedpost and heads toward the noise, poking her head around the back just in time to see the front door slam with a force that rattles the whole house.

“What’s going on?” she asks around a jaw-cracking yawn. Gwen is laying over the countertop, hair wild, apron askew.

“Brides.” She lifts her head so Morgana can drop a quick kiss on her cheek.

“July is wedding season and apparently Albion Arrangements has graduated from ‘eccentric’ to ‘exclusive.’ We’re getting so many orders I’m going to need another familiar before the season is out, Athusia is just swamped.”

Morgana pulls her in close to rub soothing circles on her back.

“Exclusive is good. Can the two of you handle it until the next full moon? I’m out of stardust.”

“Yeah. Mortals just make me so tired. Always is such a hurry.” She sighs and leans back against the counter, reaching up to cup Morgana’s cheek.

“Good morning, by the way.”

Morgana presses a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist, and when she lifts her lips there are a handful of pink Camellia’s spilling from Gwen’s palm.
Morgana smiles. The stars outside shine a little brighter.

*

Morgana divides her nights between mixing potions to sell to petty, lesser gods, and gazing into the void of timespace in hopes of divining meaning from entropy. Sometimes this means a well-browned roux for dinner and a neat row of stoppered bottles glowing faintly in the moonlight. Other nights it means Morgana listening to the stars rearrange themselves while Gwen sleepily braids Calla lilies into her hair.

But the best nights by far are the ones where the sheets are covered in Nasturtiums and Gwen pulls her back into bed, laughter turning into a sigh when Morgana kisses her hair, her shoulder, her stomach. The sigh becomes a moan when Morgana moves her mouth lower and the moan becomes a name.

The gods have many names, but Gwen gasps with the resonance of a church bell and each syllable is breathed into life against the damp of Morgana skin and she is known, wholly and completely.

*

The raven in the kitchen window the next morning is only to be expected.

“Ack, Morgana, could you at least put on a shirt?”

“It’s my house Merlin. And you’ve definitely seen a lot worse.”

“Yeah but we’re family, it’s kinda weird.”

“Fine.” She’s in too much of a good mood to let his whining affect her. When she returns with a sweater he’s climbing down off the sink, shaking off the holly Morgana knows threatens to consume the house.

“I got your starstuff,” he says, tossing her a small velvet pouch. “You have something right there,” he says, motioning to her neck. “And right there, and there-”

“Out, out, you’re molting on my floor.”

He laughs and turns to go. “Also, Arthur says well done on the rolling blackouts. Ten out of ten. And maybe shut the drapes next time?”

He takes off before she can smack him, and Morgana sticks her head out the window to shout up at the sky, “This is why dad wanted only daughters. No suns.”

The sun twinkles merrily on the horizon, a singsong ‘f*ck you,’ carried on the winds.

*

Sunday is a day of rest.

The shop is closed and the apartment quiet save for Gwen humming and prodding at the coffee pot. Morgana lays out the paper she still insists on buying, and lines up six pomegranate seeds around the rim of her saucer.

“How’s it looking?”

“f*cked. NASDAQ dived before closing again, our money’s pretty much untouchable but it’s still wreaking havoc everywhere else. Thanks-” she says and takes the coffee Gwen hands her. Two lumps of ambrosia, no cream. Perfect.
“How’s the Atreus wedding coming along?”

“It’s a disaster. They’re insisting on Begonias, can you believe it? I keep trying to balance the arrangement out with Peonies and they just won’t have it. It’s like they’re determined to have the worst of all possible luck.”

Morgana laughs.
“Do they not know who you are?”

Gwen rolls her eyes and steals one of Morgana’s seeds.

“Hey!”

She pops it between her teeth, a wicked grin playing at her lips. Morgana pulls her into her lap, bites, tastes the sharp sweetness of the pomegranate on her lips staining them both red.

Alive.

33.

Arthur pulls up to the curb where a lanky teenager is standing under the light of the only streetlamp within the whole block. He rolls down his window.

“How much?”

“Twenty.”

He motions to his passenger side, and the boy climbs in.

***

A cheap motel with a sign that claims, “Welcom Visitors! O en 2 /7,” the other neon pink characters flickering on spontaneously. A yellow-tinted room with peeling floral wallpaper and a mismatched but equally ugly bedspread.

The grittiness of the whole affair falls away with the rough tug of his hair and the running of fingers and hands up his back that cause a chill to run down his spine and goose bumps to rise on his arms. An expert tongue and the wet heat of the boy’s mouth, letting him thrust even though he might lose control.

He puts the money on the nightstand when he leaves.

***

Three months and seven encounters later, and the blonde man still comes up to the same curb, at the same time, and takes him to the same motel. Merlin is surprised every time he comes, expecting the man to move on already.

This time is different. Instead of shuffling back into his jeans and leaving immediately, the man stays in bed. He cards his fingers through Merlin’s hair surprisingly gently, an unsettling contrast to the man’s taciturn demeanor.

Merlin is curious about the man, realizing that he doesn't know how to refer to him as anything else. “What’s your name?”

“Arthur.”

Nothing more is said, and within the hour, the money is on the nightstand and Arthur is gone.

***

Five weeks pass before Arthur comes to the curb again, and Merlin has almost been worried.
There’s no holding back this time. Scratching, love bites more accurately described as bruises, panting, and sweat. Leaving them both trying to catch their breath afterwards, and again Arthur stays.

“So you clearly know what I do all day long, but I don’t know anything about you. Come on, tell me something,” Merlin nudges Arthur in the ribs. Arthur stays silent, only raising an eyebrow and looking at him from the side. “Ok let me guess. You work in an office, probably in a law firm or a bank, and you make buckets of money, and could afford a real escort but have a fetish for the skinny ones. Oh, and you’re married and secretly in the closet. Are you married? With kids?”

Arthur gives him the same look but finally replies, “I work in forensics. Using science to analyze bloodstains and bullet holes. And I’m not married.”

Merlin snorts in disbelief, “You’re a cop? And you hang around street kids? Man, you’re actually messed up.”

Arthur gives a small smile to that and closes his eyes.

***

“I think it’d be nice to own a bookstore,” Merlin says, staring at the now-familiar ceiling.

“Oh?”

“Well when I was a kid and still in school, I remember reading everything I could get my hands on. Bookstores were like small pieces of heaven, even though we couldn’t really afford to buy much,” Merlin redirects his gaze to the sheets pooled between their legs. “Even after, I still went to the library all the time during the day until they banned me.”

“They shouldn’t have done that. Everyone should be able to read,” Arthur says, distaste laced in his features.

“I suppose they just wanted to keep trouble out. I definitely look all sorts of sketchy,” Merlin speculates, not particularly bothered.

***

They become like clockwork, Arthur picking Merlin up every other week, the routine etched into their bones. Two years of their souls ticking, sometimes subtle like wristwatches and sometimes banging like old grandfather clocks.

***

“I’m getting married,” Arthur says quietly. “To a woman. Maybe you were right about scared and closeted. Perhaps I’ll even have kids. Three of them.”

Merlin lifts his head from Arthur’s chest to look at his face, where sadness and resignation mingle together.

They have each other twice more that night, taking it slowly the first time and frenzied the second. As if desperation has finally clawed its way to the surface, taking them both down with it.

***

Merlin stares at the check in his hand, a check made out to him that is not $20 but $20,000 instead. He stares until his eyes burn, and only then does he look back down at the nightstand where a small slip of paper reads, “Best of luck. Hope you get your bookstore someday.”

34.

As soon as the door opens, it hits her like a heatwave, and she has to steady herself on the doorframe. Magic’s thick and syrupy in the air, golden haze rolling out from the body on the bed to wrap itself around her.

“sh*t,” Freya says, shaky, spikes of heat flaring in her belly.

“You okay?” the guy—Arthur—says, right behind her.

“Yeah.” Freya straightens herself and walks toward the bed, knees already weak. “That’s one hell of a spell, is all.”

The man on the bed’s massive and naked, skin glistening with sweat, co*ck stiff and leaking onto his stomach. He’s bound to the four corners, limbs straining, fingers twitching to, Freya knows, touch something—some skin, his co*ck, other people’s, anything that would bring release from his fever. Except that nothing can, and it’s consuming him.

“Can you help him?” Arthur asks.

Freya takes a deep breath. This… this is going to take some work. She puts her hand on the man’s thick thigh and it wracks her body with a deep shiver, makes her wet instantly, and wrenches a moan out of her. It echos the man’s own as his body jerks wildly, glassy eyes rolling back in his head.

Yeah. She’s gonna have to go straight to the big guns. She wipes her hand on her skirt and toes off her shoes, then shimmies out of her sodden underwear.

“Um, I’m just gonna...” Arthur points to the door.

“Stay,” Freya says, and climbs on the bed to straddle the man’s wide waist, careful not to touch his skin. She’s open, puss* slick and wide, hovering over his co*ck—red and so so so hard.

She wants to f*ck him until he screams.

Arthur hesitates, uncomfortable.

“It’ll help,” she says, then inhales deeply to get better control of her body, fights back at the spell that wants to overtake her as well. “Some familiarity will help him. What’s his name?”

“Percy.”

“Okay,” Freya says, spreads her legs more and reaches to guide Percy’s co*ck inside her.

“Don’t you need—”

“He needs to come inside me. I need—f*ck.” Percy slides inside her easily—both of them so wet, so willing—down to the hilt. She shakes around him, hands wide and slipping on his chest. Percy bucks off the bed, moans and grunts and thrashes. The need for touch, for skin against his, to bite and mouth at everything and everyone is unbearable. He burns with it.

“Soon,” Freya says, then shudders. “It’s okay.”

She raises herself up, then f*cks herself down with long, slow rolls of her hips, takes him as deep as she can, panting, sweating through her blouse.

“Talk to him,” she tells Arthur, breathy and rough. “Anything. Just let him hear you.”

Arthur moves to the head of the bed, lowers himself so he can talk into Percy’s ear while Freya rides his co*ck. She digs with her magic under Percy’s skin to find the threads of the spell, holds them tight in her hands like reins. Percy’s so thick, stretches her so nicely, so good.

Arthur talks, voice steady and soft—school boys stories—eyes fixed on Freya, lips wet and red. And Freya looks back, finds anchor in his steady gaze as she takes the spell into her own body.

Percy groans, head tilted back—it makes Freya want to lick his throat—his hips thrusting as much as he can to f*ck into her.

“Untie his hand,” Freya says. Her body’s burning and she needs to—she curls over Percy’s chest, gathers the heat inside of her, the all-consuming need rattling her bones, and starts breaking it down. f*ck, but she needs to come. Hard. She’s dripping with it.

She grabs Percy’s wrist as soon as Arthur has it freed, and guides his hand under her shirt, lets him grab at her bare breasts, thick fingers pinching her nipples, sending fire down her spine.

“Yeah, come on,” she says, f*cks down harder, faster, clenches and grinds, loud sucking slick sounds filling the air. “Christ, come already. Give it to me.”

Sweat falls into her eyes, her hair sticks to her cheeks. She cries out when Arthur touches her—skin oversensitive and body needy. He wipes at her brow, pushes his thumb on her lower lip for her to suck on, flattens it on her tongue, and keeps looking at her, keeps talking.

Percy comes with a shout, fills her with come and heat and magic, and she takes it all, stuffed full with it, grinds herself down—deep, deep, deeper—and breaks apart.

35.

“I promise you it’s really not as exciting as it sounds,” Merlin said leading Arthur up the rickety stairs behind the large EMPLOYEES ONLY sign. “It’s one of those oddly lame jobs that sounds really cool.”

“I don’t care,” Arthur insisted. “I’m curious.”

“Ta-da!” he said ushering Arthur into the control room. “This is where the magic happens.”

Arthur looked around appreciatively, then moved towards the projectors. Merlin cutt him off.

“Yeah, no. You don’t get to touch the projector. There are like only two theaters in the city that still have these old ones, so if anything happens, it would be not just my job, but likely my balls, too.”

Arthur held his hands up in a gesture of surrender and backed up. “Ok, got it. No touching.”

Merlin smiled and directed Arthur to a chair.

“Tonight is our late night movie. We normally show old films, and the art-house movies, but once a month we show a cult-film or a fan favorite like This is Spinal Tap, or The Breakfast Club, something like that.”

“What’s tonight’s?”

“Grease.”

“Oh god,” Arthur groaned. “Does that mean we have to sit through it, too? Morgana was obsessed with that movie. If I never see the Hand-Jive again it will be too soon.”

Merlin laughed. “I’m sure we can think of something to do.”

Soon the sounds of people began to filter up into the control room.

Merlin checked his watch. “I just have to check a few things, to make sure the second reel is ready to go.”

“I’ve seen Fight Club,” Arthur said. “I know how this works.”

“Yes, but I’ve never spliced a penis into a film.”

“Right,” Arthur said. “I bet you haven’t.”

“Shut up and let me work,” Merlin laughed.

Arthur grinned wickedly at him, “What about doing other things with a penis during a film?”

Merlin didn’t turn around, but Arthur could see his ears turning red as he flipped the switches, starting the first projector. The opening song filled the theater.

“Merlin? You didn’t answer my question.”

“You are the worst, Arthur Pendragon. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to bring you here.”

“Because you wanted to something to keep you occupied,” Arthur suggested as he grabbed Merlin’s ass, pulling him forward and into a kiss.

Merlin resisted for just a second before melting into Arthur’s arms. Even though they had been dating for ages, there was something about making out with Merlin that turned Arthur into a horny teenager again.

Arthur spun them around and pushed Merlin down into the chair, straddling Merlin’s lap and capturing his lips again. Merlin tightened his grip on Arthur’s hair as Arthur began to kiss and bite down his neck, pushing aside his collar to gain more access to his neck.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed as Arthur slid to his knees before Merlin, sliding down the zipper on his pants and pulling out Merlin’s hard co*ck.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this in the theater before?” Arthur asked, swiping his tongue over the head of Merlin’s co*ck. Merlin gasped and nodded.

Arthur slid his tongue down the shaft, sucking and lightly nipping at Merlin, loving the sounds that he was causing Merlin to make. He slid his mouth down, taking in Merlin as far as he could, then pulling back to do it again. He could feel Merlin’s legs shaking and Arthur knew that he must be getting close.

“f*ck!” Merlin yelled and it took Arthur a moment to realize that curse wasn’t wrenched out of him with his org*sm.

It was suddenly apparent that the theater was lacking the sounds of John Travolta was filled instead with angry voices. And there was a thwap-thwap-thwap of the end of the film hitting the reel.

Merlin stumbled to his feet, flush spread across his face as he turned on the second projector and the crowd applauded. The phone in the control room rang and Arthur watched, somewhat ashamed, as Merlin explained to someone, presumably a manager, that there were technical difficulties.

Merlin dropped the phone and dropped his head in his hands.

“This is so embarrassing!” He exclaimed. “And I didn’t even come!”

Arthur tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

“Tell you what,” he suggested. “Next week I have a huge conference call. Why don’t you come to my office on Thursday, and we’ll see what happens.”

Merlin grinned. “Deal.”

36.

As soon as Merlin greets them at the door of the studio Arthur thinks he gets it, that quiet sweetness that comes over Gwen whenever she says his name.

Arthur shakes his hand. "I really am sorry about that last-minute cancellation last month. Work's been… hectic."

"But we're not going to talk about work tonight," says Gwen, cutting in to give Merlin a quick, crushing hug.

Merlin's face is fond and sad and embarrassed and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his large hands until she lets him go. "Glad you could make it," he says, and touches Arthur's shoulder as he leads them inside.

When they moved in together Gwen took all her old homemade dishes to her father's home, all except the blue and gold mug that Merlin made in that ceramics class where the two of them met. She'll go for months without mentioning him – without even thinking of him, she says – but she still drinks from that cup every morning, whether she's rushing out the door on her way to work or lingering in bed on a lazy Sunday. Arthur can picture the sunlight on her brown skin and the cream-colored sheets when he pulls her close and she sets aside the mug and the crossword. He can taste coffee and cream on her tongue.

"Try not to let all that information overwhelm you," Merlin says at the end of his opening demonstration, of which Arthur has understood only that Merlin is a wizard. "These are things you'll come to know with your body the more you practise."

Arthur and Gwen sit facing each other, their legs open with the two wheels and a single bowl of water set between them.

"It's amazing how it all comes back," she says after a few minutes. "Even the smell! I could be right back in school. Or… It's like I can almost remember what my hands are supposed to do, but I can't quite get them to do it."

"It'll come," Merlin says, and helps her reposition one arm, move her elbow further back along her thigh. Aware of Arthur watching, he says, "You see how this lets her use the strength from her whole body? That's what you want, to bring that steadiness up from the ground, and through your arms to the clay."

Arthur nods, and tries, and feels more off balance than before. His lump of clay is lopsided mess, and when Merlin finally comes over, stops it spinning, and shows him how to start over, Arthur could cry with relief. He lets Merlin manipulate his limbs and the pose is still strange, but shaping the clay is easier than before.

Gwen's head is bent in concentration. Her face is shining.

A go-getter (they say at work, approvingly). A natural salesman, a born leader.

Business trips were great for one-night stands. Arthur and his colleagues were efficient communicators, skilled at knowing what they wanted, telling a partner how to give it to them.

It was months from the day he met Gwen, the day he fell, the day they first kissed, until the first time he made her come. It's taken him years to learn her wordless noises, her silences. The tilt of her hips that invites him to cup her arse with his palms, spread her lips with his thumbs, bury his face in her folds. The angle of her brow when there's too much friction or when it's just enough. The press of her mouth when she wants him to drive into her with his co*ck.

Maybe Merlin would've had an easier time of it. Maybe these things come naturally to some people.

Arthur's glad it wasn't quick.

He doesn't know why the lump needs to become a cone before it can be a bowl, but he's pleased that it's starting to move in that direction. He thinks of the slow opening of Gwen's body, reaches for the bowl of water to bring more moisture back to the clay, and misses the brush of her fingers there.

Once he realises her wheel's stopped spinning, it's no kind of shock at all to look up and see her kissing Merlin's mouth. There's clay on their faces, and in the hair that's slipped out of her kerchief.

Merlin startles at the scrape of Arthur's chair, but in a moment the three of them are together, and smiling, secure. If they're not yet sure just what to do with their hands, they'll learn.

37.

“The next one,” Uther orders with a lazy wave of his hand.

A boy near Arthur’s age strolls in, confident, unconcerned in his gait. He’s practically got a bounce in his step and Arthur sits up, sensing this one will provide a good show at least.

His father’s lip curls. “Ealdor’s town drunkard.”

The boy’s unashamed, grins like he’s sharing a secret with them. “Or tavern scullion, charming either way.”

A girl Arthur hasn’t noticed surges forward and he’s surprised she escaped his attention. She’s attractive, round and rosy-faced, bosom heaving. “Please, he only used magic to save me from a brute with a knife at my neck.”

Arthur’s gaze swings back to the boy because, honestly, he can’t seem to keep his eyes off him.

“Have you anything to say for yourself?”

The boy mock bows. “I’m certain you’ll do what you think is right.” He mutters loud enough for the king to hear, “Uther the Unjust.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide; Uther’s face apoplectic. He practically spits, “He’ll be executed in two days’ time.”

—

Arthur can’t stop thinking about it, the brash boy who’s going to die for speaking his mind as much as for practicing magic. He sneaks down to the cells, stares in at the figure slumped against the stone. “No one talks to my father like that.”

The boy sits up, smile making a deep curve in his bow lips. “No one left alive to.” He winks. “Clever that, eh?”

“You shouldn’t have mouthed off. I might’ve been able to help you otherwise.”

The boy’s eyes narrow. “What do you care, sire?” The word is mocking, mean. “The talk in Ealdor is you don’t have much of a brain, plan to borrow your father’s when he’s finished with it.”

Arthur clenches his hand into a fist, ignoring the jab. “It was noble, what you did, saving the barmaid.”

“Noble enough to get me killed. You pride yourself on being an example to look to and yet your views on magic are entirely backward.”

“My father will never change his mind,” Arthur admits.

“I suppose your Camelot’s only hope then.” His smile is bitter. “I’ll not hold my breath.”

Arthur scowls at him, has to ask, “If you’re a powerful sorcerer, why don’t you escape?”

The boy shrugs. “Because I’ll always end up back here. Magic isn’t something I do, it’s something I am. It would seem the world isn’t yet prepared for it.”

—

“What’s your name?”

He doesn’t even look up, unsurprised at Arthur’s reappearance the next night. “You only get more attached once you put a name to things,” he cautions.

“Tell me.”

“Merlin.”

“Do you have a death wish?” If he sounds angry, it’s because he is.

Merlin smirks, walks up to the bars. “Not that I know of. The rules don’t change for me simply because you find yourself drawn back here time and again.” His eyes flare up gold; it’s breathtaking.

Arthur fumbles around in his pocket, the jingle distinctive.

Merlin takes a step back. “Why do you have keys?”

“You’ve only tonight left.” Arthur licks his lip. “I’m going to ensure it’s enjoyable.”

Merlin’s smirk is back. “With a game of jacks?”

Arthur can’t meet his eyes, even as he draws back the door. “What do you want?”

Merlin pulls him in and Arthur is helpless but to go, to meet the press of his mouth. He gasps into it and he’s not done this, whatever his reputation. He’s going to lose his virginity to a sorcerer.

It feels like magic.

“You’ve enscorcelled me, haven’t you?” It’s the only thing that can explain the seemingly endless well of his attraction.

“You’re free to leave whenever you like, prince.”

“Arthur,” he corrects, meeting the anger in Merlin’s eyes head-on. “You lie. I can’t leave you to die because you’re—you’re infuriating is what you are and my favorite thing to think about, through jousts or my father’s council or last night’s feast, my mind is only for you.” He snorts, unamused. “It has to be sorcery.”

Merlin looks away from him, swallowing hard. “Either way, you’ll be free of it by morning.”

—

He can’t not come back.

Merlin blinks at him, utterly lost, eyes fixed on the keys in his hand. “This is treason,” he breathes.

Arthur opens the door, holds his hand out for Merlin’s. “Think of it as a promise. That Camelot will be different, one day.”

Merlin’s fingers notch between his own. “I’ll be looking forward to it, Arthur.”

38.

“I had to tell her Gaius,” Merlin couldn’t help but feel defensive about his decision to reveal his magic to Morgana. “You’ve seen what she’s been going through; I couldn’t let her think she was alone.”

Gaius sat down looking weary and there was worry in his voice “By doing so you’ve put yourself at risk. If she…”

“She won’t tell Uther.” Merlin declared firmly “She’s in just as much danger from him and now she knows why.”

Gaius sighed looking pained “I hope you’re right Merlin.” He dug through the pile of books on the table, pulling one out and passing it to Merlin. It was the very first book on magic Gaius had had him read. “If Morgana knows now about her magic she must be taught how to control it.”

“What?” Merlin held the book loosely against his chest. “You’ve taught me well enough.”

“I suppose, not as well as I’d thought.” He grimaced “But I haven’t the time, you must be the one to teach her.” Gaius gave him a stern look “It is your responsibility Merlin.”

“I’ve never taught anyone anything before.” Merlin was feeling panicked. He barely managed being a servant, he wasn’t equipped to teach Morgana about her magic, not when there was still so much about his own he didn’t know.

Merlin took Morgana out to a lake near the castle, far enough that they had some sense of privacy but still close enough that they still had the protection of Camelot. Morgana had begged up bringing any of the guards, telling them she was borrowing Arthur’s manservant for a ride.

“You really don’t know what you’re doing?” Morgana asked amused, a smile playing across her lips. It hadn’t taken her long to read the book, and the next one, and the next one. Gaius had suggested he move on to more practical methods.

“Not a clue.” He smiled back tossing a stick in her direction. Her eyes flashed and it froze in mid air. Merlin’s breath caught for a moment and his cheeks flushed at the display of power.

He coughed clearing his throat “Good, that’s good. Now send it back to me.”

“It’s okay, you’re okay?” There was a note of panic in Morgana’s voice as she lowered him to her bed. Merlin collapsed into the sheets, his limbs weak and shaky.

“I’ll be fine.” he promised feeling drained. He opened his eyes from where they had closed to see Morgana hovering above him, sitting beside him on the bed her fingers carding through his hair. “Arthur?”

He knew he was fine but needed to hear it. She obliged nodding, her hands steadying “Uther plans to burn the sorcerer that tried kill Arthur in the morning.” There was a trace of scorn in her voice and all Merlin could do was take her other hand in his.

“You helped save Arthur’s life.” Merlin would have never been able to trap the sorcerer’s magic on his own, Morgana had added a boost that he hadn’t know she was capable of.

She laughed shaking her head “I only did what you’ve been doing for years, what you’ve taught me to do.” Her fingers stilled and her eyes searched his. She clearly saw what she was looking for though because she leaned down her lips soft and warm against his.

Merlin pulled back surprised “Morgana?” It wasn’t that he’d never considered it. She was beautiful and the first time he had felt her magic surge around his he had wanted. She was still Uther’s ward and he was still a servant.

“Merlin,” there was an edge of desperation in her voice “just kiss me.”

So he did.

“It’s getting late, I should go.” He whispered against her bare skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as he moved to leave the bed.

Morgana’s eyes flashed and his body grew heavy against hers as she pulled him closer “It’s still early,” she protested as their flesh slid together “you should stay.” He didn’t resist the pull she had over him, delighting in the way her magic wrapped around his body.

“Yes my lady,” he murmured reverently and she laughed as he pulled the covers down her body, lips trailing over her skin to where she was still wet between her legs. His tongue flicked against her lips and she gasped her fingers gripping his hair tightly.

“What will you teach me now?” she rasped.

“Anything you ask of me.” Merlin swore to her with a crooked smile.

39.

Ever since he was a child, Merlin feared three things:

- someone asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up;
- someone making him fall in love with them;
- someone kissing his lips.

The first one was easy to face. Whenever grown-ups ruffled his hair and asked him if he wanted to be a doctor (or an astronaut, or a scientist, or an athlete) he just nodded and ducked his head. He didn’t want to tell them that he was already all he needed to be, but he didn’t want to outright lie, either. He just let them paint their dreams on him and laugh, let them walk away.

x

The others he faced for the first time when he was twelve. He wasn’t sure if it was love, but Gwen was nice and pretty and wanted to hold his hand. When he dared to peck her lips one day after school, he almost saw the shift that happened inside of her. The wrinkle on her brow was tiny and Gwen, lovely, sweet Gwen managed to cover it up with a shake of her head and a bright smile. She hugged him tightly and Merlin sighed, knowing he’d already lost her.

When she came up to him the next day, he said he knew. He understood. She nodded and hugged him again, then went to sit next to Lance. Later he caught her sending him a guilty look, but all he did was smile in reply.

It wasn’t her fault that she didn’t like him. It wasn’t her fault that Merlin’s blessed (cursed?) lips made her realise it.

x

Then he was seventeen. Merlin didn’t think Gwaine would be much of a kisser. He was wrong.

He pushed Gwaine’s head down as they fumbled in the hallway and Gwaine groaned, mouthed at his neck. When he tried for his lips again Merlin grabbed him and put Gwaine’s back to the wall, sunk on his knees and blew him to the rhythm of the party music still thumping in his ears, albeit muted. When Gwaine came Merlin drank every last drop and rubbed himself through his jeans until his underwear was sodden.

When he rose to his feet again Gwaine grinned and pulled him closer, then frowned when Merlin swayed away and didn’t let their lips meet.

He said nothing. He wouldn’t tell Gwaine it was his destiny to make people realise who they were supposed to be with by giving them a kiss.

He didn’t need another reminder that none of them belonged with him.

x

Mordred came around when he was twenty-one.

He was odd and private, but he let Merlin in, let him uncover all the emotion he hummed with underneath. Merlin watched him, fascinated first, then fearful; he waited for Mordred to shut him out again and leave. He never did.

He never asked why Merlin wouldn’t kiss him. He just placed small, quiet kisses all over Merlin’s face, his body, his hands; he worshipped all of him with an intensity that made Merlin feel like he was drowning.

He tried to give back at least half of what he had taken, but anything he did felt empty. It all felt a lie.

He decided to do it with Mordred still flushed beneath him, sated, happy.

“Alright?” Mordred asked, voice soft, as he noticed Merlin’s strained expression.

Merlin nodded. He leaned down and felt Mordred gasping in the second before their lips met. The kiss was slow, cautious on Mordred’s side and grievous on Merlin’s. When he withdrew Merlin kept his eyes closed for a few seconds. He felt his heart skip a beat when he was met with Mordred’s smile upon opening them.

Mordred let out a laugh and reached up, pulled Merlin closer to kiss him again. Merlin barely kept from bolting out of the bed, away from Mordred, away from everything. Actually kissing someone, knowing they didn’t want to let go - it felt surreal. Wrong.

As Mordred fell asleep on his shoulder, Merlin stared up at the ceiling, unseeing.

Mordred loved him. Merlin had been so preoccupied with worrying that he didn’t that he hadn’t… he never realised he didn’t love Mordred.

He kissed Mordred’s head and swore his heart would be the only one Merlin would ever break.

That was, besides his own.

40.

From the first time they stepped onto the same track, Merlin Emrys from the McLaren team found Arthur Pendragon insufferably annoying. Sure, everyone knew the hotshot who’d sped his way through the lower leagues to a contract with Ferarri, but Merlin failed to see how any reckless playboy like him could possibly finish races at the Formula One level.

Arthur Pendragon thought much the same, except his summation of the other driver included that no one else could possibly have as big of a stick up their ass as Merlin Emrys, nor as much of an irritating regard for the boring by-the-book rules of racing. Arthur drove every mile as if it were his last, utterly alive every second of the way. There was no greater thrill or reason to race, and he couldn’t understand how drivers like Merlin Emrys missed that all-important joy that defined Arthur’s life.

Arthur led the first race of the season after a reckless full-speed start. It only took a few laps for Merlin to catch up. When Merlin tried to pass on the inside of a curve, Arthur steered towards him to block him, making Merlin swerve clear off the track to avoid a collision. Merlin fumed for the rest of the race, but every attempt to take the lead met crazier maneuvers to stop him. Arthur spent most of the race laughing to himself and making jokes at Merlin’s expense over the radio to his crew.

“How do they keep the suspension in his car balanced with those massive ears of his?”

Arthur took gold, and their first press conference ended with Merlin calling Arthur “a f*cking disgrace to the sport,” and giving him the finger before storming out. Arthur just shrugged to the cameras and threw out one of his shining signature smiles.

Wired with retribution, Merlin won the next three races in a row. Arthur couldn’t finish due to an engine blowout.

“Guess all that hot air that’s supposed to be your skill finally built up too much,” Merlin quipped

Arthur won the next race, and afterwards made sure to uncork his champagne and spray it in Merlin’s direction during the awards ceremony.

Both grew increasingly desperate to beat the other, until a strange moment when Arthur was watching Merlin hold up his gold medal for today’s first-place finish - the way he smiled so wide and how his eyes crinkled with the pure, limitless joy he still experienced from each and every victory. Arthur found himself thinking he’d never seen anything more moving.

The standings for the championship the day of the final race showed Merlin leading, a driver from Mercedes second, and Arthur third.

“Good luck, clotpole,”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “You too, asshole.”

Arthur blasted into the lead from the starting line. After chasing Arthur for most of the race, both of them were stunned as the number two driver from Mercedes managed to sneak past them. As the final lap neared, Arthur started thinking hard. If Merlin finished third behind him, Merlin wouldn’t get enough points to win the championship. If Merlin finished second, however, he would. With the finish line in sight, Arthur cursed loudly as he suddenly but deliberately swerved to the edge of the track and Merlin overtook him.

Merlin cried tears of joy on the podium. Arthur watched from the Ferarri garage, smiling despite himself.

Once the last of his crewmembers left, a tall figure duck in.

“You threw the race,” Merlin stated, his scrutinizing expression almost cute. “Why?”

Arthur just sighed, continuing to smile helplessly. “I don’t know, Merlin.”

“Do you regret it now?”

“Not for a second.”

They didn’t know how long it had been building, but suddenly they knew it had. They each lurched forward and met in the middle of the garage, their mouths colliding with enough force to make up for all the near-collisions their cars had experienced. His legs bracketing Arthur’s hips, Merlin was pressed back across the front of Arthur’s Ferrari. Neither had showered yet, so they could still taste the salty sweat on skin and smell the adrenaline when Arthur started driving into Merlin the same all-out way he drove his car. Merlin’s fingers scratched into the deep red paint on the car, when Arthur wrenched his legs open wider and started bottoming out hard enough that Merlin knew he would still be sore and golden long after news of his victory left the front pages.

“I still think you’re an annoying prat,” Merlin said afterwards, while he tried to straighten his clothes and catch his breath.

“And I still think you’re a boring stick-up-the-ass.”

They grabbed each other at the same moment to kiss.

41.

The chariot thundered up the valley towards the tomb.

Arthor nearly let out an exuberant whoop, but remembered his dignity and held back. He was a prince of Egypt, after all.

His master painter's perfunctory bow fell short of showing appropriate respect.

“Welcome, my lord. What brings you back... so soon?”

Arthor frowned. It was not for subordinates to question his actions. But then again, young master Merlin - named for the falcon god - was in a class of his own, so highly skilled and immensely talented that Pharaoh's kin vied for his services.

Arthor raised his chin. “I want to inspect the new murals.”

His eyes needed time to adjust. All he could see in the dim torch-light inside were Merlin's white linen skirt and his unusually pale skin.

Vision soon regained, Arthor paused to admire the cavernous entry-hall's grand paintings of himself and Gwen-Ifer making offerings to the gods and hosting a sumptuous banquet. Although the two of them had long been estranged, it was required that husband and wife appear together in the traditional murals, and these had a freshness of colour and expression that testified to Merlin's nearly magical hand in their making.

Suddenly he realized that Merlin stood to the side, studying him. Flustered, Arthor adjusted his bejewelled collar. “We're wasting time!”

Merlin's lovely kohl-rimmed eyes seemed to be laughing. “Indeed.”

While other tomb murals were dictated by strict tradition, the innermost chamber's paintings were always chosen freely; - joyful events, heroic deeds, happy times to be relived forever.

Merlin entered first and hoisted the oil lamp aloft. “No painter but me is allowed in here,” he said.

Depictions of sensual pleasure covered the walls. Nude dancers were clapping their hands and shaking rattles as they merrily surrounded a broad-shouldered man on his knees, sucking the co*ck of the pale-skinned man next to him. In a lotus-filled garden a man on all fours was about to be penetrated from behind. Scene after scene had been painted in unashamed celebration of carnal delights, and every one focused on the same two men.

Arthor recoiled.“What in Anubis' name is the meaning of this?”

“My lord is not familiar with the subject matter?”

“You forget both your own place and my station!

Merlin's eyes glittered. “I apologize for the inadequacy of my artworks, my lord. I did not intend to create any doubt about our positions.”

He stepped forward. Their bare chests nearly touched. Arthor found it impossible to move.

With a fluid movement Merlin loosened the belt of his skirt. The garment dropped to the ground.

Arthor's eyes flashed to the painting of the man on his knees, sucking another's co*ck. He groaned. Right in front of him Merlin's exposed member was growing temptingly hard, its head already glistening in the lamplight.

Arthor never knew how he wound up on his knees, but there he was, his eager hands pulling Merlin close, his mouth opening wide.

He wanted too much, too soon, and nearly choked.

Merlin laughed breathlessly above him, placing his slender hands on Arthor's temples and directing his efforts. “Gently, gently. Suck it slowly, now use your tongue... going deeper, oh yes, like that... just like that!”

As he hungrily accepted as much as he could possibly take, Arthor was nearly undone by Merlin's unashamed noises of pleasure, his whimpers and moans.

“Look to yourself,” Merlin gasped, still guiding the prince and pumping into his mouth.

Arthor took his own erection in hand. Intense climax tore through him almost at once. His blood roared in his ears. Brilliant colours swirled dizzyingly around him.

Merlin withdrew. “Your hand!” His breath hitched, and his co*ck pulsed into Arthor's slick grip.

The painted jubilation surrounding them was entirely justified.

Their seed had mingled into a pungent, sticky mess. Arthor sheepishly held his hand out. “Uh, what should I do with... “

“Mix it into the paint?” Merlin suggested.

He laughed at Arthor's expression. “Cloth and oils for removing stains are necessities here. You should know, given the many times you've visited to oversee me… my work.”

Arthor grinned.

“I'm having a new palace constructed on my private estate. I need a master painter to take charge of its decorations. Would you be interested?

Merlin tilted his head. “That depends. Will I be given full artistic freedom?”

“Indeed you will,” Arthor confirmed. “As long as you personally model every pose.”

42.

Emrys was not what Arthur pictured when he first lay eyes on him. For a powerful sorcerer, one who Gaius recommended, Arthur was expecting someone...older. And as less…youthful. With his large ears and his beaming smile. He looked about Arthur’s age when he lead his first patrol out, when Uther was still alive.

“Tattoo?” Emrys asked, reaching for an empty bowl on his work table, “What do you need it for?”

Arthur watched as Emrys opened a leather pouch, pouring black ash into the bowl. “Are you old enough to be doing this? Maybe it’s your father, whom I seek.”

“Let me guess you want to acquire a magical tattoo, and search out Emrys?" Arthur nodded, watching Emrys’ hands dance over the glass bottles, before choosing one that looked oily. “Trust me, I apprenticed under the best. But I’ll never escape that name. You can call me Merlin. It was the name my mother gave me after all.”

Merlin. It sounded ridiculous, just like Merlin himself. He liked it, made the sorcerer sound approachable. Friendly. “You didn’t answer my question, what do you want your tattoo to accomplish?”

“Protection. My father died and left...enemies. I need help to ward against magical attacks. Someplace hidden.”

Merlin stopped looking through his viles, looking at Arthur closely for the first time, “I can do that. Take off your trousers and hop up on the table.”

“My what?”

“Your trousers,” Merlin spoke slowly guestering to Arthur’s legs.

Merlin shook his head, “Just get in the table, and lean back on your elbows. Don’t tighten your abs, it will make the tattoo lopsided. Unless you walk around with your abs contracted all the time.”

Arthur followed Merlin’s instructions, hopping on the table, wishing there was something to cover his manly bits. He waited there watching Merlin mix his black concoction until it was a substance that was runnier then paste, but thicker than water.

Placing the bowl on the table next to him, Merlin held up what looked like a stick with a needle at the end of it, “I am going to place the rune here,” Merlin ran his hand across his lower abs, above one of Arthur’s hips. “After I prick your skin with the needle, the ink is rubbed into the skin, and I add a bit of magic to finish the spell. The after a while you will be numb from the needle, but you will feel a sting from the magic. Remember no flinching or flexing”

After that, Arthur tried to relax like he was told, but watching Merlin work was like beautiful. He took his craft with a mastery that Arthur wouldn’t have expected from the younger man. But what really took Arthur’s breath away, was when Merlin’s eyes changed from a playful blue, to a powerful gold. Unlike other sorcerers whose eyes flashed quickly, Merlins half lidded eyes stayed a bright molten gold.

A bewitching blue light, flew from the needle, a twisting with the black ink, being embedded into his skin, leaving a light tingling that spread as the pattern of dots became a design. The feeling road long his nerves and Arthur found himself trying not to squirm when parts of his body started to throb and in one case - grow.

"Merlin,” Arthur swallowed dryly, trying to moisten his tongue, “I need a sheet or sometime to cover up a bit.”

Merlin pause looking up at Arthur, eyes still golden, pupils destroyed, like he was on a magical high. Slowly running his gaze down Arthur’s body, Merlin eyebrows raised when he saw Arthur’s growing problem. “Oh that’s fine, it would even work toward our advantage.”

“I don’t see how me getting a stiffy will help out.”

Merlin turning back to his work, curving the pattern outwards, his magic following, “Magic is more powerful with an offering, and one of the most powerful is sexual offerings.”

“You don’t think I am going to diddle with you right there!”

Merlin shook his head, “just watch,” as he started a new line, closer to Arthur’s crotch, his blue magic warping itself around Arthurs co*ck.

“What the ...oh God.” Even Arthur couldn't get his fingers to repeat this centsation of he tried. And to make it worse, Arthur tried to be a still as he could when the magical tendrils milked his co*ck, until he came, spunk landing on Merlin’s shoulder and the floor.”

“This is going to be a powerful tattoo, Sire. Now relax incase the magic wants more.”

43.

Arthur's fifteen and he's never seen anything like them.

Balinor, the horse master, shakes his head.

"Not right off. Talk to my son, he'll learn you your balance."

~~~

"Blindfolded?" Arthur crosses his arms. "No way."

"You have to see the rope with your feet, not your eyes."

"What does that even mean?"

"It's how I was taught." Merlin scowls at him. "If you don't want to learn--"

"Fine. Hand me your neckerchief."

He hesitates, then pulls it off. Merlin's fingers are gentle. "Too tight?" Arthur shakes his head. Doesn't trust himself to speak. Smells of soap and sawdust. The light filters in a dull red.

Merlin catches his hand, his peasant fingertips rubbing rough over Arthur's palm.

"If you trip me, I'll have you - I'll get you back." He's vulnerable, unsure of direction, Merlin's hand and the gradations of light his only guides.

"Step up now." Merlin taps his leg.

The heavy waxed rope abrades his bare soles. He curls his toes, gripping so hard it hurts, searching out the next foothold.

"Keep going, you're doing well."

His foot slides and the rope swings wildly. And then he's on top of Merlin, smacking hard into the mats. Arthur curses, pushing himself up, but their legs tangle and Merlin laughs harder.

"Not bad for your first try!"

~~~

Once he's got the hang of the low rope, Merlin takes him up to what he calls the skyline. After three days, shaking and sweating, he staggers into Merlin's waiting arms. He feels like he's just run a mile or fought in a tournament.

"That was fantastic!"

"Want to do it again?"

He laughs, his legs have turned to jelly.

Merlin slides his arms through the bars of the platform and arches out over the space. He looks like a dancer, all spare muscle. Arthur quirks an eyebrow.

"Why doesn't your father go to Camelot? He could lead the cavalry."

Merlin shrugs. "He was in the guard."

"But why--"

Merlin shushes him with a finger.

Arthur looks at him, his shining eyes so close, his mouth-- he wants to do bad things to that mouth. He leans closer and Merlin's thumb presses into his jaw.

A noise below. The ringmaster parts the curtain for one of the acrobats; in the dark, Isolde wraps her arms around Tristan's neck and pulls him down. He lifts her, her skirts bunching between them as they rut together, stumbling into a haybale.

Arthur's face heats. He glances up -- Merlin's creeping across the wire on quiet feet. When he's directly above them, Arthur realises he's holding a flask.

Isolde shrieks as the lovers are soaked.

"You're dead!" Tristan roars. Merlin dives into the net as Tristan goes for the ladder. Arthur follows Merlin's wild laughter down.

~~~

He finds him hiding in the prop wagon. Above them, ancient puppets lean, a circle of grotesques, rods protruding at sinister angles. Arthur crowds in against Merlin.

"Did you see their faces?" Merlin whispers.

Merlin turns and Arthur's nose rubs his cheek. His breath hitches. All it takes is one inch more to brush their lips together. Arthur feels like he's suspended mid-air, waiting to see if he'll fall.

Then Merlin pushes into him with a groan, tongue hot and wet, one hand rucking up his shirt, the other dragging him closer. Each touch sends him closer to the edge until Arthur has to push away, gasping. Merlin almost knees him as he squirms in the tight space.

Arthur's fingers dip into his breeches, tugging until Merlin's co*ck slaps wetly against his chin. He closes his eyes and licks around the head by feel, intoxicated by the musk. Then Merlin's hand is on him, squeezing, all callous and strength, and he's done.

~~~

Arthur's feet blister and grow hard and Merlin kisses him on the highwire, shamelessly rolls him in the net, takes him apart with his fingers, f*cks him raw under the stars.

The day his father's soldiers come, Merlin's tied his wrists and Arthur's f*cking himself open, filthy and loud.

"God, yes, Merlin, right there--"

Arthur's already come once, Merlin bending nearly in half to swallow his seed and it hurts, he's so raw and sensitised.

He doesn't try to hide. They can think what they like. The rope marks and the bruises are from Merlin one way or another.

~~~

A prince can't just run away and join the circus.

But if he sometimes creeps out over the rooftops under a new moon -- who's to stop him?

44.

"Merlin, can I speak with you privately?" Percival asked while he watched Merlin put away Arthur's gear in the armory. Percival had been trying to get up the nerves to talk to Merlin throughout the practice time but he was embarrassed.

Merlin raised his eyebrow at Percival in surprise but shrugged and lead him out of the armory.

"It's medical," Percival blurted when they were alone, he refused to look up.

"I'm going to need more than that, Percival," Merlin replied gently.

Percival finally looked up from his boots, blush spreading across his cheeks.

"I'm having trouble going," Percival muttered.

"You can't poop?" Merlin asked and Percival frowned as Merlin's eyebrow raised.

"No. It's... hard to pee," Percival explained. He went back to staring intently at the floor.

"Hard? Do you have any other symptoms, Percival? Swelling? Sores? Pain?" Merlin asked.

"No. Just... The stream..." Percival's answer trailed off in embarrassment.

"Have you been injured lately?" Merlin asked. "On your groin area, I mean."

"Someone accidentally kneed me a while ago, but that couldn't be causing it, surely?" Percival asked, surprised. He finally looked up at Merlin again.

"You haven't been spending your money on tavern girls like Gwaine, right?" Merlin joked.

Percival immediately looked away as he felt his face heat up even more.

"I've never laid with anyone," Percival admitted quietly.

"It sounds like an obstruction, Percy," Merlin said. "The treatment is kind of invasive. We'll need to go to Gaius's office."

"No. I don't want Gaius to..." Percival replied.

"Gaius is making house calls right now, Percival," Merlin said.

"Now?" Percival asked, eager to have the experience over with.

"The sooner the better I think," Merlin replied. The trip was silent. Merlin locked the door behind them and pointed at the small exam area. "You need to remove your trousers and pants so I can have a look," Merlin said.

Percival began to undress despite his own embarrassment. There was a similar flush on Merlin's face as Merlin busied himself with a table of vials.

"Now what?" Percival asked softly after he'd sat down on the cot and what felt like a few uncomfortable minutes had gone by with Merlin still occupied with the vials. Merlin startled and turned back around. The vials shook for a few seconds before settling and Merlin cleared his throat.

"If it is an obstruction, you've just built up some scar tissue from an injury. It's perfectly treatable, your urethra just needs to be slowly stretched out to get the flow back up. It takes a few visits," Merlin quickly explained.

"How do we stretch it?" Percival asked. He watched as Merlin pulled out a box.

"We start out small and work our way up," Merlin replied as he opened the box and tilted it towards Percival to show him the contents. Percival stared the the metal rods and swallowed hard.

"And those go?" he questioned uneasily. Merlin simply nodded. "This is going to hurt, isn't it?" Percival questioned.

"It shouldn't. Not if we start small and go slow. Which is why you need several treatments," Merlin explained softly. "Mostly it'll just feel weird."

"Let's just get this over with," Percival muttered.

Merlin didn't reply and instead placed the box, which also contained a few vials next to Percival and kneeled down between Percival's legs. Percival felt his co*ck jerk in interest at the sight and closed his eyes when he felt Merlin gently cup him. Percival fought not to groan as his co*ck hardened.

"You're going to feel some pressure," Merlin said and Percival had to hold back a scoff at that. His eyes flew open as the first bit of the rod was slowly inserted. Merlin was staring intently at his co*ck and Percival let out a groan then as the rod slid down further, with an ease he'd never have expected. A shock of arousal flowed through his body and firmly settled in his co*ck.

"Does that hurt?" Merlin asked softly.

"No. It's the opposite of painful," Percival replied.

"Good, I wouldn't want to hurt you," Merlin replied as he slid the rod the rest of the way down and then he twisted the rod to slightly withdraw it. He pushed it back in and repeated the process to pull it back out completely. Merlin squeezed his co*ck once and Percival saw white as he came all over Merlin's hand. Merlin smiled at him when he came back to himself and Percival couldn't help but smile back.

Chapter 7: Group C (clean)

Chapter Text

45.

"They are abominations. We need to kill them all," Uther said as she woke.

Nimueh rolled over to see him sighting down his crossbow across the room where he perched like a terrible bird of prey at the window and frowned as he made some inconsequential adjustment. She yawned and stretched as she sat up in the bed.

Uther's eyes followed the blanket as it slid down to where it stopped just above her legs. She stretched again, luxuriating in the pull of sleep-tight muscles, watching him swallow as his gaze moved up to her bare breasts and settled on the healing red mark blooming over the right one.

"You'd have to kill me too, you realise?" It was almost too easy, poking holes in his convictions. "Some might even say I'm a worse abomination. Werewolves are victims of enchantment and have no choice in what they do. Vampires, on the other hand..."

"You're almost completly healed," he said instead of replying, ignoring what he didn't like to think about like always. He turned away and glared out the window again. "And as long as you are willing to help me hunt the creatures, you are still of use to me."

Oh, that was a surprise. Nimueh licked her lips, noting that she still had the taste of his skin and blood on them. He must have been really worried by the stake that had almost penetrated her breastbone last night. Nimueh swung her legs off the bed and noted that her jeans were still on.

"And Ygraine would not have been pleased if I let you die, however deservedly." He turned away a little more, apparently concentrating on keeping watch, but she could see his eyes reflected in the window, still fixed on her torso, only this time on her breasts.

"You make such a terrible monster hunter," she said, walking up to him. A quick tug, and she was stepping easily out of the jeans and panties. He swallowed again, and tore his eyes from her body, knuckles going white on his crossbow.

"How can I thank you for saving me, I wonder?" Smiling, Nimueh straddled his legs and put her hands on his crossbow, grinding her bottom on his erection as his breath came faster and his gaze snapped back helplessly to her breasts. He let her draw it away from his suddenly slack hands and set it aside on the table.

"What are you doing," Uther growled, clutching at the arms of his chair instead.

"Thanking you," she suggested sweetly. "And being a good partner, you swot. You have been so tense and distracted these past two hunts that you are making mistakes and endangering us both. Come on, let's do this while I'm still warm from your blood." She grinned and pried his fingers from the abused chair, pulling his hands up to cup her breasts. "We haven't got all day."

Uther groaned as she ground down again, squeezing her soft flesh involuntarily before his hands slid down to her buttocks. He glanced down between them and shuddered at the slick patch she was leaving over the bulge in his trousers. "Please," he said, and broke off, as she rose to open his trousers. He ducked forward, mouth latching onto her right breast and sucking hard.

Caught, Nimueh simply ripped the front of his trousers off, laughing at him as his eyes went wide, then his pants, and sat down on his erection as it sprang free with a sigh of aching relief. Too long since she last had more than fingers or a tongue inside her.

Uther bit down around her nipple in surprise as she clenched around him, then licked it in apology and moved his attentions to her other breast in between gasps and groans that sounded almost agonised.

She rode him mercilessly, delighting in the mingled sensations of pleasure and pain - hot mouth on one side, the cool tingle of wet teethmarks and the still-healing wound on the other, and the satisfying burn and stretch below as he loved one hand between them to find her cl*t, as considerate a partner as Ygraine said. Too considerate.

"Good boy, good monster hunter," she taunted as she milked him rhythmically with her c*nt, clutching his head to her breast. "f*ck me, fill me up like I'm Graine, come on," she hissed, squeezing him as hard as she could, and he groaned, coming hot and fast inside her as he sobbed around her flesh.

46.

"Hi, my name is Gwen."

She smiles sweetly, sweet like her pretty dress, yellow and vibrant even in the darkened shadows of the dim-lit house. Sweet like the soft skin of her hands as she gently clasps Morgana's in her own, eyelashes fluttering down.

~

Someone upstairs is smoking opium, the sickly sweet vapors tacky on their skin, and through the wall she can hear the gruff moans where someone else has copped off with one of the younger boys with kohl-rimmed eyes and wicked smiles.

~

Morgana smirks a little. "I'm a welder at the navy yard and let me tell you, there's nothing like feeling that much power at your fingertips, wielding fire with such precision, building the greatest ships to ever sail. I've been told I'm very good with my hands," she whispers in Gwen's ear, calluses catching on the smooth curve of Gwen's shoulder as she brushes down her arm, stopping bare inches away from the swell of her breasts.

~

The laughter and carousing can be heard for blocks, nearly all the way to Sands Street, where even now with the last of the daylight the call-boys are falling outside onto the pavement, flirting with the sailors on their last night of freedom before they're shipped off across the ocean. To war.

~

Gwen's a new seamstress at the yard, sewing signal flags with quick, nimble fingers day in and day out. And while her smile might be sweet, the deft way she caresses Morgana's c*nt when she presses Morgana back against the wall, hand down the front of Morgana's suit trousers, speaks of something else entirely.

~

Sliding Gwen's fingers ever so slowly into her mouth, Morgana traces from each knuckle to the sensitive, padded tips, licking up the slickness coating her hand until Gwen whimpers, chest heaving with pebbled nipples pulled tight and visible through the soft cotton of her dress.

Without letting go of her hand, Morgana tugs her wrist and Gwen doesn't hesitate to follow her out of their darkened corner of the living room, past Gwaine banging on the piano bare-arsed as always and Vivian who has taken the opportunity to wail about the heat, blouse and bra discarded completely.

No one pays them any mind.

~

Morgana has had many women. She's pushed Vivian down on that piano and Mithian into the storage closet on one of the aircraft carriers they were rigging.

Elena had simply laughed, spreading her legs on the bar stool in the middle of the saloon, head tossed back and dripping for her.

Gwen, she decides for the first time, will be different.

~

Gwen wraps her thighs tight around Morgana's head, bucking against her and unafraid to shove her down with a strong grip in her hair. Parting Gwen's slick folds, she softly traces every inch of her, until she shivers and writhes, and then she quickly shoves three fingers in in in, curling with just the right force, and attacks Gwen's swollen cl*t with her mouth, sucking and grasping lightly with her teeth so she can flick her tongue against it over and over again. When Gwen finally screams and comes shaking apart on her fingers, thick, wet drops slide all down Morgana's hand and smear across her face.

Someone trips by them, giggling, although Morgana can't see them from where she's buried underneath Gwen's dress.

~

They will live together in Morgana's apartment on Middagh Street, where they will walk home side by side every day, hands clasped firmly between them.

Gwen will help mend her suits, the ones Morgana stole from her brother and the last remnants of the family she left long behind for the cobblestone streets of Brooklyn.

Gwen will coo at their upstairs neighbor, Mordred, with his pretty red lips and corsets and take the time to chase away any of his rougher clients before asking him to help her with her hair.

~

They say this is the war to end all wars, but Morgana reckons they said that about the last one too.

She doesn't know what will happen when the war is over, if there'll even be any jobs left for them once the boys come home. But as she strokes slowly across the soft skin of Gwen's body splayed across their bed, she knows they will be okay, whatever happens.

This is their home.

47.

The fit blond bloke was back.

Merlin snuck a second look over the top of his tablet. He was supposed to be reading his e-text for his philosophy class, but checking out Fit Bloke was far more interesting.

Fit Bloke put his token in the washer and pushed in the slider, starting the laundry. Merlin shrank just a bit farther down in his chair behind the counter, the better to check him out. He’d been in every Friday night for a month or so, and he’d never spoken so much as a word to Merlin, who worked the 4 to midnight shift Friday through Monday. Running the laundry was a pretty great job for a Uni student. He sometimes had to run a few loads and fold some of the laundry that people dropped off to be done, but mostly he dealt with the pick-ups, refilling the token exchanger, and doing some machine service. The owners, Lance and Gwen, were convinced he was a magic washing machine technician.

They were right about the magic, at any rate. Merlin didn’t actually know anything about machine repair.

Merlin looked over his tablet again, hoping to catch another glimpse of those pretty arms, or the pretty profile, but instead he met startling blue eyes and looked away quickly. He felt the blush on his cheeks and started resolutely at the text on his tablet screen.

“Merlin? Really?” someone asked.

Fit Bloke was standing in front of the cash desk.

“What? How’d did you know my name?”

Fit Bloke raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips, glancing down at the nametag on Merlin’s black tee.

“Oh, well. Yeah, Merlin. Mum is a bit of a fan of old legends. I’m lucky she didn’t name me Gilgamesh or something worse. Er. Anyway. Can I help?”

“Ah, the token machine is out of order. It won’t take this fiver, anyway. Can I change it for tokens?”

Merlin obliged.

“Cheers, mate.” Fit Bloke stood there a moment, and suddenly, seeming to come to a decision, thrust out a hand. “Arthur.”

“Really? Don’t take the piss.”

“Arthur Pendragon, actually.”

“You’re kidding. What would you be doing your washing here?” Pendragon and Son was an enormous firm.

Arthur colored. “I moved into a flat two streets over a month ago and it didn’t a have a washer. I couldn’t have one delivered right away.”

“Surely by now, though,” Merlin said.

“Well, yeah,” Arthur shrugged. “Wanted to talk to you, so I kept coming. My mate Leon told me to put up or shut up, so I’d like to ask you out. If, you know, I might be your type?”

Merlin grinned, and looked Arthur up and down. “I’d say you’ll do.”

“Tomorrow night?”

Merlin looked regretful. “Sorry, gorgeous. I work here the next three evenings.”

“Lunch, then?”

“Sounds lovely.”

*****

Arthur stuck around all evening, making conversation and eyes. The only other customer was finished by 10:30, and by 11:00, Merlin had the bloke bent over the machine in the corner that the CCTV didn’t quite catch and was f*cking him hard, bottoming out on every stroke and blessing the day he took the job.

*****

Another month went by, and Arthur still did his laundry every Friday night. And if he got there at 10pm, and had Merlin pressed up against the washers while his wash spun dry, no one minded. If Merlin locked up most work nights and headed over to Arthur’s, no one minded. And if Merlin eventually moved in and took over washing duties from his boyfriend, the only people who minded were the laundry’s owners!

48.

Of all the people Merlin expected to appear at his office door, Arthur Pendragon was the absolute last.

The two of them didn’t get along at all, thanks to Merlin’s thesis focusing on the positive effects sexual encounters had on the sporting performances of athletes. Arthur disagreed, seeing as how he came from a family of old wealth and was full to the brim of traditional values and outdated chivalry.

As such, when Merlin had been hired on as the team’s new trainer, he had happily spouted on about the changes he planned on making what with all the new knowledge the field of sports medicine had taught him. Pendragon’s open countenance was quick to shut down cold.

“Pendragon!” Merlin pushed himself away from his laptop. “What can I do for you?”

Arthur scowled at him, eyes darting suspiciously to the computer screen, as if expecting to find p*rn. Like Merlin was some kind of deviant.

“I need a massage,” he admitted, stepping into the room and carefully removing his shirt. I think I twisted something wrong when I was doing drills earlier.”

Frown on his face, Merlin glanced at the calendar as he stood. “Drills? I thought there weren’t any practices scheduled for today.”

Arthur shrugged and unbuckled his pants. “I’ve heard about the massages you give the boys. I don’t want any of that. Just get the knots out of my system – no funny business.”

Merlin nearly groaned. “Pendragon, you can’t go pushing yourself physically when the source of your stress is already a physical stimulus,” he scolded as he moved around to set up the massage bench. “You’re just going to crash and—”

“If I wanted a lecture, I would have gone to Coach,” Arthur interrupted as he climbed facedown on the table, forgoing the modesty towel. “Just do your job without opening your mouth.”

Used to the team captain’s rudeness, Merlin obeyed, but was still petty enough to squirt a generous amount of oil onto the man’s back without bothering to warm it first. Satisfied at the startled flinch, Merlin set to work, spreading the oil before digging his fingers in.

Immediately, he could tell that Arthur was in dire need of help. He had knots on top of knots all over his shoulder blades, and his lower back was as tense as cement. Pendragon was on the fast track to serious injury if something didn’t change in the near future.

So with a slight adjustment in pressure and a simple rotation of the wrist, Merlin changed it into one of those massages.

He knew exactly which areas to hit, which nerves to bring to life that would start a fire in the blood that was already residing down south.

Squirting more oil into his palm, Merlin began to work at Arthur’s gluts, noting the way they methodically tensed under his ministrations as Arthur tried to subtly push his hips into the hard surface of the bed.

Moving further down, Merlin dug his fingers deeply into the upper thighs, brow furrowing at Arthur’s pained breath as he tried to pull his leg up and away. Merlin simply followed the movement, refusing to let up and was rewarded with a reluctant groan.

Reaching under Arthur, Merlin pushed his fingers up towards Arthur’s groin, but immediately backed off when his hips lifted away from the touch. Instead, he switched to the other leg, occasionally dipping his fingers towards the inner thigh but mostly staying clear.

This teasing was apparently what it took to do it for Arthur, because his hands were fisting the sides of the bed up by his shoulders, and he practically shoved his ass into Merlin’s hands when the massage began to work its way back up to his hips.

Merlin froze for a moment before snapping to the decision to make the most of this and slid his fingers down between Arthur’s cheeks.

Rather than clench like Merlin expected him to, Arthur moaned freely and spread one of his thighs, causing his hips to lift and open himself further. Merlin immediately took advantage, pushing his hand down and used the length of his fingers to rub back and forth in a sawing motion to counter Arthur’s now shameless rutting.

Merlin’s free hand reached up and grabbed Arthur just below the neck, forcing the team captain to remain submissive even as Arthur tensed and seemed ready to fight back.

Instead, tortured cries of pleasure began to fill the room as Arthur’s morals battled it out with the physical ecstasy he was being gifted. Well aware of who the victor in the battle was going to be, Merlin helped him along by pressing his fingers firmly behind Arthur’s scrotum.

The kneading into his perineum sent Arthur flying over the edge, and Merlin’s digits remained relentless as he massaged him through it for what seemed like an eternity. He continued to watch Arthur with a clinical eye and ignored the hot throbbing in his pants as Arthur’s body finished releasing its sperm and allowed the continued org*sm to milk its way through all of his muscles. Arthur’s limbs and back contorted and a low whine escaped his throat before he suddenly collapsed, boneless and near unconsciousness.

Slowly pulling away, Merlin quietly fetched a blanket and covered Arthur, knowing it would be best if he remained scarce until after their next game.

A game which Merlin was sure would be their absolute best yet.

49.

"I was in my country engineer. Is good job, I am good engineer. For make tall buildings," the student said, making gestures with his hands to indicate size, and if she wasn't mistaken, a distinct phallic reference. His wink suggested that she was right.

"Great," Gwen said, "but remember, in English we say the place, 'in my country,' at the beginning or the end of the sentence, not the middle." She wrote both on the board, and Gwaine nodded.

"Of course teacher," he said. "I was engineer in my country."

Gwen nodded. Close enough for Level 2, and the other students giggled when Gwaine talked too much.

"Teacher Gwen," he said after class. "You tomorrow have coffee with me?"

She sighed. This wasn't the first or even the fourth time he'd asked, and her answer was always the same.

"If you have a question you can ask me now, or on the class blog. Teachers cannot meet students outside school."

"Oh, Gwen," he said. "Someday I going to have coffee with you. You will see."

"Am going to have coffee," she corrected. "You need 'be' with verb plus -ing," and barely stopped herself from writing it on the board.

He grinned, and nodded. "Thank you teacher," he said. "Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Gwaine," she said, and couldn't help but smile. There was just something about him that she couldn't quite resist.

On the last day of class they had a party. Morena brought K-pop, Arturo brought drinks, and the rest of the class brought a home-made feast. When Irene had helped her wipe down the tables- always so helpful- only Gwaine was left.

"I'm going to CCCE next term," he said.

"Oh," Gwen said. "Well, I'm glad you feel ready, but I'll miss you."

"Will you go to coffee with me now?" He asked, and she laughed.

"No," she said. "I hate coffee. Dinner tonight?" He beamed.

A week later they were at her house. Her roommate was asleep and they were snuggled close, watching a movie and sipping at vodka, because Gwaine refused to drink anything else, and mango juice, because Gwen refused to drink vodka.

Gwaine leaned in, leaned close, and Gwen felt the whiskers on his cheek before his lips met hers. It was soft and welcome and teasing, like every aspect of his personality. He pulled her out until she had her hands in his hair, and his hands were on her waist, and finally she pushed into the pillows.

He murmured something into her ear- it sounded like Russian, but when he spoke six languages, who knew?

“English, Portuguese, or French,” she said.

“We're not in classroom,” he said back. “I can speak any language.” He nipped at her ear before pulling her hips down to grind into her, and she could feel the shape of his co*ck against her puss*.

“Dear Mary,” she whispered as arousal flooded her system, headier than alcohol and more powerful.

“Beautiful Gwen,” Gwaine murmured. “Beautiful hair, beautiful face, beautiful breasts, beautiful waist.”

“Hush, you,” Gwen said, and shut him up with another kiss. His hands snaked under her shirt to unhook her bra, and she sat back to tug off her shirt. Gwaine sat up too, and she wrapped her legs around his back to fit herself into his lap. He pulled off his shirt and she reveled the feeling of his arms holding her close, his soft chest hair against her breasts, the firm muscles of his abs.

He lowered his head to her nipples, but Gwen redirected him to her neck so he could nip at her pulse point and at the corner of her jaw. She spared a thought for hickeys, but just couldn't care. It had been so long...

His erection was nudging against the seam of his jeans, and Jesus, Mary and Joseph did Gwen want to feel it inside her.

“I- Gwaine, let me get a condom,” she gasped into his ear.

His face lit up. “Prezervativ. Yes, good.”

Gwen found one- still not expired, thank God- and returned to find Gwaine naked on the couch, jeans a pile on the floor. Gwen left her skirt and underwear next to them, and handed him the condom with a kiss. He took it with interest, lingering with his hands along her face to turn the peck into something long and delicious.

This, Gwen decided, was going to be good.

50.

“ARTHUR!” Merlin screamed as they took another corner at a speed which made the trees and hedges a green blur in the darkness that was altogether too close for comfort. Glancing at Merlin, Arthur twisted the wheel the other way, sending the car spinning to a dizzy stop. Finally.

“What?” Arthur asked, grinning at him from the driver’s seat, the sirens still blaring and throwing everything around them into alternating hues of blue.

“You’re a prat!” Merlin shouted, checking he was still in one piece.

“It was a high speed car chase, Merlin. We’re the police, it sort of comes with the job,” Arthur said in such an assured tone that Merlin wanted to lamp him.

“I haven’t seen another car for FIVE miles!” Merlin yelled instead, pulling off his seat belt and wrenching open the door.

“Come on, it’s good practice...” Arthur guessed he’d hit a nerve as the door slammed shut.

“Come on Merlin, you can ride with me, I’ll look after you, the night shift’s well quiet. Like Hell...” Arthur just about heard Merlin muttering as he scrambled out of his own door.

“I got the impression you liked driving fast when Vivian loaned me her Lamborghini last week,” Arthur called out to Merlin’s back.

Merlin bit his lip at the memory and stopped walking. He’d hoped Arthur hadn’t noticed that. He turned around, ready to give Arthur the best excuse he could think of but he was leaning against the damned car now, all black and white against the yellow and blue in a way that was altogether too hot. f*ck, he was doing it on purpose, peaked cap in his hands, collar and tie loosened, stab vest unzipped. Lord knows how many codes he was violating simply by looking that good.

“I really hate you sometimes,” Merlin decided, storming back up to him and curling his fingers around the curve of the car’s roof, either side of Arthur’s shoulders, hard enough for his knuckles to go white.

“But you loved that, right?” Arthur positively beamed as he pushed their bodies together and got the answer without Merlin even opening his mouth.

“Yes, alright, you’ve proved your point,” Merlin snapped, his fuse growing short. Arthur was infuriating when he was right and the fact he couldn’t will down his co*ck even if his career depended on it proved him pretty damn right. He should pull away, red faced and apologising profusely but the circling lights had robbed him of his reason, the constant screaming of the siren rendered him unable to think straight and somewhere between the flashes of blue, he found himself tugging sharply on Arthur’s hair, tilting his head back, only just pulling up short of truly kissing him.

“Knew you liked it,” Arthur said before kissing him roughly, finishing what Merlin started. He blindly opened the door to the back seats, grateful that Merlin followed his thoughts closely enough to scramble in and pull him down too.

It was idiotic, bordering on dangerous. They were on the job, in public or as public as the countryside back roads were at 3:27am, and a small part of him knew if that door swung shut, they were f*cked but Merlin couldn’t stop himself from shoving Arthur’s stab vest off his shoulders, the shirt following close behind, all the while kissing him like they were teenagers again.

Arthur, to his credit, had managed to pull the tails of Merlin’s shirt from his trousers, get his belt undone and his zip open with a scary efficiency that meant Merlin had barely realised what he’d done until Arthur left his mouth in favour of paying the same fervent attention to his co*ck. He was dimly aware of the back of his head hitting the window but he didn’t care, not when Arthur was blowing him like he was going for a special commendation in co*ck sucking.

Merlin was pretty sure it was the blood rushing in his ears and the light dancing behind his eyes but suddenly the siren and lights weren’t so bad. The flickering was almost soothing when paired with the more melodic sound of Arthur moaning around his co*ck and when he came, the bloody thing could have been playing Greensleeves for all he noticed. After a moment though, it pulled him back to reality with a wail.

“Arthur, I think the emergency’s over,” he said, nodding to the roof.

“Ha, I don’t think so.” Arthur threw him the keys. “It’s your turn to drive.”

51.

Elena was waiting for Elyan to re-shoe her horse when the carriage rolled into town. It belonged to Vivian, daughter of the mayor of Olaftown, down the road from Camelot City. The door sprang open to allow not Vivian but a smartly dressed, properly pinned brunette to step out.

Elena stared.

Behind her, Elyan raised his head and snorted. "New schoolmarm, from one of those ladies' colleges back East. Hope she stays longer than the last."

Just like that, Elena's burgeoning hope turned sour.

Later, as she rode back to the ranch, she considered how ironic it was that the first woman to catch her eye in years was also the only person in town who would care that Elena had failed 7th grade three times before giving up.

At home, there was a sleek new chestnut mare outside the barn, freshly rubbed down. She whickered softly as Elena and her gelding passed by.

In hindsight, she should have guessed.

The barn was dark and cool as she stepped inside. Someone was there already, a silhouette in a riding skirt, oiling an eastern saddle. It took a moment for Elena to connect the shape to the woman who had stunned her climbing from a carriage, and by the time she did, it was too late.

The woman looked up, her eyes reflecting a sliver of light from the door.

"Are you Elena, then?" she asked. "I'm Mithian Nemeth. Mr. Gawent said I could probably find you here."

Mithian's voice was smooth and cultured, exactly what Elena had feared. Her belly fluttered, and she turned her face away, fumbling to pull the saddle off with suddenly-clumsy hands.

"I'm sorry," the voice came again, too close this time. "I didn't mean to startle you."

A pair of slim but not quite delicate hands reached up and loosened the first stubborn buckle, then dropped away as Elena pulled the rest of the tack off in one go, blanket and all.

"Since your father's giving me room here at the ranch, I hope we can get along," Mithian said.

That, Elena thought, was not going to be the problem.

Of course one of the ranch hands told Mithian about Elena's disastrous brush with education. And of course Mithian cornered Elena about it. In the barn. While she was in a stall checking one of the foals, so there was no escape.

"I can help," Mithian promised.

Elena finally snapped.

"Miss Nemeth," she said (because distance would help, right?) "I hardly need to read novels. To run this ranch, I need to know horses, money, people, and the weather. I don't need to know books."

Far from being put off, Mithian smiled. "Consider it my payment for living under your roof. Your father isn't taking in donations for my board, you know."

Elena bit her lip. Pa wouldn't approve of rudeness. "Fine, then. But only for a month."

Two months later, crammed into the tack room on a bench, Elena reflected that this was some kind of torture. Worse than the time the two of them had ridden into town and been caught in a storm on the way back, Mithian's dress drenched and her shape clearly visible beneath the sodden layers.

Elena stumbled over another simple word, and slender-but-not-delicate fingers touched the back of her wrist.

"Is something bothering you?" Mithian asked.

"No." Elena felt sullen, frustrated out of her normal good cheer.

The fingers paused, then wrapped around Elena's wrist, a thumb stroking the soft skin inside, just under her palm. Elena sucked in a sharp breath and held it.

Mithian's fingers began to loosen, so Elena reached out and grabbed her wrist in turn. Mithian looked up, eyes sharp on Elena's face. Then her expression softened.

She leaned in slowly, giving Elena time to retreat. Elena's heart beat triple-time, her palms sweating and her throat dry, but she leaned forward anyway, meeting Mithian's soft lips with her own.

The moments that followed were full of the shock of kisses, soft fingertips on her face, her neck, trailing over her bound breasts. Elena felt a moan slip from her mouth and pressed her legs together over the delicious ache there. Those knowing, unexpectedly strong hands slipped down her belly and right into the v of her trousers, pressing tightly. With a half-sob, Elena pushed her face against Mithian's neck and held on as Mithian taught Elena to ride her hand, just as she'd taught Elena everything else.

52.

Merlin watched the blond head bobbing between his legs. He couldn’t help but twine a hand in the blonde locks and throw his head back when a tongue swirled around the head of his co*ck. This caused his head to connect with the wall directly behind him.

The pleasure was interrupted by a sharp pain because of the smack. It was distracting from the pleasure he had been feeling a second ago.

“I think your father should invest in headrests for his starships.”

Arthur looked up at Merlin with an incredulous look. “Really, Merlin? You want to talk about my father now?”

“Arthur, I’m just saying it wouldn’t hurt for Camelot Industries to make sure their vehicles are comfortable.” He had more to say but became distracted when Arthur started going down on him again.

The only sounds filling the small co*ckpit were Merlin’s moans and they grew louder when Arthur started playing with his testicl*s. He was practically gripping the arm rests for dear life at that point.

Merlin threw his head back again and cursed as it connected with the wall a second time.

“Prat,” he muttered when Arthur started chuckling (despite his erection in the other man’s mouth). “This is why your dad needs to invest in headrests, Arthur. It makes for a more comfortable blow j*b.”

Arthur didn’t pull away and answered Merlin by roughly pinching his thigh.

He yelped but Merlin wasn’t one to let things go. “Don’t be angry at me because your father doesn’t have his priorities straight.”

The response didn’t receive another pinch. Instead Arthur released his leaking co*ck and then stuck two fingers inside his mouth. Merlin was confused at first but quickly caught on when the fingers left Arthur’s mouth and ventured further between his legs.

“Merlin, will you please do me a favor and shut up about my father?” Arthur asked calmly while pushing two fingers inside him. “You are more than aware that my father and I haven’t gotten on since I joined the space patrol rather than his company. so I’d rather not speak about him at all. Besides, now isn’t the best time to be talking about him.”

Arthur emphasized his words by pulling his fingers out and then pushing them back inside with a particular hard thrust. It caused Merlin to groan but he was still unwilling to drop the conversation.

“You really shouldn’t talk about bad timing when we’re doing this while navigating a ship through deep space.”

He smirked and playfully ran his tongue over Merlin’s erection that was, in his opinion, being neglected. “We’re flying through a safe zone and it’s on autopilot. It isn’t the same thing at all.”

Merlin opened his mouth to say something but at that exactly moment Arthur started sucking at his co*ck again. He moaned and tried not to lean his head back too far.

“God, Arthur!” Merlin came with shout and completely forgot about not leaning his head back. He then hit his head for a third and final time.

“Seriously, Merlin?” Arthur asked with a laugh.

He frowned. “These things need headrests!”

53.

Merlin has long arms that keep him mostly out of Arthur's reach. He has blue eyes that twinkle through the slits in his headgear. He has a kick that even Percival has learned to respect. He is supposed to be the enemy, but Arthur, who's kind of good at the psychological side of fighting, can't find a way to make himself hate Merlin.

Which isn't to say that he can't find a way to make himself beat Merlin, because he does … about half of the time. They've been dancing around title belts for years. Sometimes the fight, goes Arthur's way, sometimes Merlin's. The promoters like it, because their fights always sell out.

Arthur likes it because of the showers afterwards.

Merlin's red and white all over and some of that mottle's gonna fade but some of it'll darken to bruises. Arthur kind of wishes he could see it, but they only ever seem to do this like this, sweaty, hot, sore, hard for each other in their satin shorts. Merlin practically shoves Arthur into the steamy cubicle.

But that's as violent as it goes. They've been hitting each other for the past freaking hour - truth be told, they've been hitting each other for years. Here, now, Merlin plants his palms on the tiles of the wall behind Arthur's head, and leans in for a kiss. Soft, wet, and warm, Arthur pulls him in close. They both hiss when newly-forming bruises contact.

The water is getting hot, and it's so good. Arthur turns them so he can press Merlin against the wall and rub their dicks together, get his hand around them both and start to stroke them off.

'Mmm,' says Merlin, curling his arms around Arthur's neck. 'Hey,'

'Okay?' Arthur asks, nosing behind Merlin's ear. He should grab the shampoo, he thinks. 'Feel good?'

'Good,' Merlin agrees. He stretches and there's a plastic click, and then lathered-up fingers in Arthur's hair.

'You're stealing my moves,' Arthur says, resisting the urge to purr at the scalp massage and the slow, steady jerking of his own hand. Merlin's co*ck feels so good, so right next to his.

Merlin smiles lazily at him. 'Rinse,' he orders him, turns him around by the shoulders. Arthur has to let go, but it's worth it to have Merlin duck him under the spray of hot water and card the shampoo from his hair. Merlin's hands slide down his body, Merlin kisses him under the jaw, on the collarbone, Arthur's eyes close, and then there's a kiss at his hip, and Merlin says, 'My turn.'

Arthur's eyes startle open again in time to see Merlin lick a just-now-darkening mark at the lowest edge of Arthur's ribs, and then take the head of his co*ck into his mouth. Arthur's head thunks back on the wall under the showerhead - ow - and then he has to look down, dying to watch, to see Merlin like this. He's beautiful, wet and slick, black and blue. He makes Arthur feel f*cking victorious every time they touch.

'I think you're forgetting something,' Merlin slides off to say. He headbutts Arthur's hand, dangling and clenching nearby. 'C'mon, Arthur.'

'I was getting to it,' Arthur retorts, grabbing the shampoo. Merlin kisses the head of his dick softly and then sinks down again. Arthur's eyes cross, and he almost drops the bottle. Somehow he manages to slop a palmful of shampoo on and start to rub it in, but Merlin is doing something with his tongue that's sapping Arthur's coordination, ability to stand, and will to do anything except moan and shudder.

Gasping, Merlin pulls off, licks and kisses, sucks gentle clinging marks anywhere he can reach. Arthur cracks an eyelid and looks down to see Merlin's jerking off frantically, face pressed into Arthur's belly, still making out with Arthur's dick as Arthur makes a mess of his hair.

'f*ck, Arthur,' Merlin moans. 'C'mon, do it. Want you to do it.' Arthur doesn't take direction well, his coach would be the first to tell you, but he's helpless to resist this one. He comes, comes all over Merlin's face, his pouty mouth, til his eyelashes are dripping, he's filthy and choking, letting go onto the metal floor of the shower in shakes and gasps.

Arthur likes to beat people. But it's only with Merlin that he ever really feels like he's won.

54.

It was usually quiet in the pharmacy after lunch, the morning rush over, the evening rush yet to begin. Most of the nurses were catching up on paperwork, most of the physicians returned to their private practices. The technician always took her break the same time every day and Merlin took advantage of the lull in activity by putting his feet up and indulging in a cup of tea.

“I have an order that has to be filled, stat.”

Merlin looked up from his tea at the curt demand and raised a single eyebrow in response.

“Matter of life and death, is it Dr. Pendragon?”

The physician raised both his own eyebrows.

“Do you think I’d have come all the way down here myself if it wasn't?”

Merlin slowly approached the window where the doctor stood waiting impatiently.

“You could have called ahead so I’d have it ready for you…”

“Oh, I’m sure you already have it ready for me, don’t you Merlin?” Arthur’s lips curved in a knowing smirk.

“Oh but how could I know exactly what you’d need, Doctor?”

Arthur leaned into the window and pressed a kiss to Merlin’s mouth, nipping playfully the lower lip. When he drew back, his pupils were blown and his voice husky.

“Why don’t you let me in and I’ll show you exactly what I need, Merlin.”

The moment the door was open, Arthur bulled inside, crowding Merlin back against the far wall of the tiny room. Taking Merlin’s lips in a searing kiss, he anchored one hand in Merlin’s hair and pressed the palm of the other to the growing bulge in Merlin’s trousers.

“Arthur!” he gasped, “The window!”

“f*ck it. Nobody comes down here this time of day.”

“You do.”

“Yeah, but I’m after more than a packet of pills,” Arthur said, attacking Merlin’s neck with teeth and tongue. Squirming helplessly under the onslaught, Merlin’s concern over being caught dwindled in direct proportion to the rapid swelling of his co*ck.

In seconds, Arthur had Merlin’s trousers pooling around his ankles and his back pressed against the wall, silently urging him to wrap his long legs around Arthur’s waist. When Merlin complied, Arthur hoisted him up and swung around to the counter behind them, settling Merlin’s bare bum on the cold surface. His own trousers soon joined Merlin’s on the floor.

“Please tell me you’re ready,” he panted against Merlin’s lips, fingers questing beneath Merlin’s balls to check for himself.

“You know me, ever prepared,” Merlin groaned as a finger breached his slick, open passage.

“What a good scout you must have made,” Arthur replied jostling closer while pulling Merlin forward to the very edge of the counter.

“Mmm, I thought you said you had something for me? Stat, wasn't it?”

“Oh I definitely have something you need to take care of, right away.”

“Well then shut up and give it to me, you prat.”

Arthur obliged before the words finished leaving Merlin’s mouth, pressing his hips forward to drive the blunt head of his thick co*ck into the welcoming depths of Merlin’s straining body.

“How’s that for filling a prescription,” Arthur ground through clenched teeth as he paused to allow Merlin to adjust to his penetration.

“Oh for god’s sake just shut up and f*ck me!” Merlin exclaimed with an impatient jerk of his hips.

Bracing his hands to either side of Merlin, Arthur obliged again, driving his hips forward as he captured Merlin’s mouth with his own. Wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck and tightening his legs around his waist, Merlin met Arthur thrust for thrust and soon the slapping of flesh meeting flesh joined the harsh panting of their breaths to form a lewd symphony that filled the close air of the small room.

The risk of being caught was high so with no thought of prolonging the interlude, both of them ruthlessly chased their pleasure. Mouths hanging close together, frantic breath mingling in the scant space between, Merlin bore down around Arthur’s co*ck even as Arthur thrust deep and hard and held his hips still as he groaned in release. Wrapping a hand around his hitherto neglected co*ck, a few twisting pulls was all it took to have Merlin splashing his release all over Arthur’s shirt and labcoat.

They clung for a moment, Merlin’s face pressed into the damp fabric of Arthur’s ruined shirt, Arthur mindlessly mouthing the side of Merlin’s neck.

“Hope you have a spare shirt in your locker.”

“Of course I do, you’re not the only one who comes prepared.”

55.

Wind Beneath Their Wings

Arthur had grown up amongst caravans and big tops, watching his father put on his top hat and red coat of a Ringmaster and hearing stories of his mother’s famous solo trapeze act. While Ygraine had been stolen from both husband and son by a mechanical failure during practice, her love for flying lived on in Avalon Circus; first through Arthur, and now through Merlin and his troupe.

It had been Arthur who insisted his father bring back the act, saying his mother would have wanted it. It was he who had wanted to carry on her legacy, but Uther wouldn’t hear of losing his wife and son the same way. So Arthur was introduced to trick riding and flew closer to the ground.

And now here they were – twenty-two, constantly on the road, and happier than ever.

Arthur had just finished practice with Leon, giving Hengroen and Cavall a fond stroke as his partner led them back to the stables. He would have usually followed, taking care to make sure their steeds were as healthy and gorgeous as usual, but he knew whose practice was going on in the big top. His guilt at leaving was lessened as Leon just rolled his eyes and told him to go.

It didn’t take long to reach the red and gold monstrosity that was the big top, and Arthur pushed the tent flap out of the way easily as he rushed inside.

He could already hear the gentle creaks of the trapeze, the calls of “hup!”, the swish of bodies flying through the air. Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he entered the ring just in time to see Merlin complete a triple somersault before landing gracefully in the net. He clapped, giving Elena and Freya a wave as well, before making his way to the edge of the net to help Merlin out. The artist hardly needed it, but Arthur loved the way he grinned as Arthur placed his hands at his hips, Merlin’s own resting on his shoulders as he was lowered to the ground.

“I thought you had practice!”

“Leon and I started early. Like I would miss any chance to see my favourite boy flying.” Arthur smiled, nuzzling fondly at Merlin’s neck.

“You hurt my feelings, Princess!” Gwaine called from above, wearing a cheeky grin as he swung upside down from the catch trap. Arthur just rolled his eyes, flipping the catcher off before doing some catching of his own – Merlin’s lips with his.

He could feel the grips Merlin wore as the other man wrapped his arms around his neck and knew the back of his shirt and likely his hair would now be patted with chalk.

“Go. I want to see you and Freya do that thing – where you swap.” Arthur murmured, pulling back.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, amused as they made their way over to the ladder. “The passing leap? You know, for someone who watches us so often, you really are rubbish at remembering our tricks.”

Merlin laughed as Arthur made a playful swipe at him, giving his lover a wink before scurrying up the ladder with effortless grace. Arthur moved back to the audience seating, eyes locked on the performers as they readied themselves.

First came Freya, lining up as Elena handed her the fly bar. Two calls from Gwaine – “Ready!.....Hup!” – and she was off. Her first move was simple, her hands dropping the fly bar as Gwaine caught her legs. Then came Merlin in quick succession. He took the fly bar as it swung back, leaving the platform in the same second, before getting to the highest point of his swing and dropping. At the same moment Freya arched, Gwaine helping to swing her as he dropped her legs and grabbed Merlin’s arms as he fell – Freya finding her grip once more on the fly bar. Arthur whistled as Freya completed her return, Merlin twisting out of Gwaine’s arms to grab the fly bar as it passed again, making his own way back to the platform.

They really did have the best job in the world – performing under the big top. And later, when the crowds had gone home and the lights were off, Arthur would appreciate Merlin’s acrobatic skills even more behind closed doors than he did in the open air.

56.

“I can rope you easy as a steer.”

Arthur looks almost bored as he says it, checking over his handiwork, but the flush in his cheeks betrays him.

“Steers aren’t easy,” Merlin points out, but his breath is coming faster and when he tests the knots, his heart kicks up. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

Arthur probably rolls his eyes, but Merlin doesn’t see, too busy arching into the teasing line Arthur draws around the jut of his hipbone with the tip of a finger. “Shows what you know,” Arthur says, splaying his hand out now like he’s admiring Merlin’s erection, so close and not nearly enough. He bends forward, and Merlin tugs fruitlessly against the ropes, because Arthur’s chin--Arthur’s mouth--is inches from his dick, and Arthur isn’t playing fair. “They’re the easiest thing in the world. You just have to know how to handle ‘em.”

“Sure,” Merlin says, distracted, and sucks in a long breath when Arthur drops a kiss just to the side of his balls, his lips tickling the hair there. “Jesus, Arthur. Don’t be a f*cking tease.”

“I’ll be whatever I f*cking like,” Arthur says. God, he’s smug.

Merlin tries to make an annoyed sound, but it comes out an octave too high when Arthur casually brushes his wrist along the underside of Merlin’s co*ck. “Surprised you don’t have today’s trophy in bed with--f*ck.” Merlin can’t widen his legs much further, but Arthur doesn’t need him to, not with Merlin already spread wide, the unmistakable base of the plug on clear display. Arthur goes right for it, twisting it a little deeper until Merlin’s groaning, strung out with the tension thrumming through him out through the ropes. “Oh, f*ck.”

Arthur f*cks him slowly, laying long, plush kisses on his stomach while Merlin shakes and gasps, the plug sliding easy against the hot ache inside him. He wants to wrap his legs around Arthur to pull him close, dig his fingers in until Arthur pulls the plug out and f*cks him properly, but he’s trussed up good--he’s let Arthur have this. He’s let Arthur lasso him and lash him down like he’s just another animal in the ring, another challenge for Arthur to beat with his fresh-shined boots and his trademark hat, and Christ--Christ. He’s not going to last, not if Arthur’s going to keep f*cking him slow and deliberate like this.

“Arthur,” he whines, curling his fingers against the rope binding him to the bed like that will do anything to stop him from coming all over Arthur’s face. f*ck. “Arthur, please--”

“Yeah?” Arthur says, pausing, his fingers slick where they press between the plug and Merlin’s skin. “You want more?”

Merlin wants to snarl curses, but Arthur’s just been crowned king for the fifth year running; he’s running this rodeo, literally and metaphorically. He must see something in Merlin’s face though, because he grins again and kneewalks up the bed until he can kiss Merlin properly. Merlin watches the muscles flex in his thighs and thinks about getting his hands on them, thinks about how they’d look in leather chaps and nothing else. “Come on,” he says when Arthur breaks away. “f*ck me already, Arthur, I can’t--” Arthur kisses him again, interrupting. Merlin lets him, because Arthur’s kisses are deep and easy, sloppy enough that it’s easy to miss what he’s really trying to say.

“I was thinking about something else,” Arthur says at last, and Merlin’s sigh is dangerously close to a whimper as Arthur lowers himself until he’s rubbing his ass slow and steady over Merlin’s co*ck. “I was thinking I deserved one more ride today.”

It’s terrible, a horrible pun that Merlin is going to give him sh*t for, but--later. Arthur’s reaching back, and Merlin can’t think about revenge because Arthur’s ass is already slick and ready for him, like Arthur’s been planning this. Merlin moans as Arthur slides down onto his co*ck, already wild between the clench of Arthur around him and the plug pushing right and deep inside him. He’s caught, pinned on every side, all his nerves shorting out in fizzing sparks of overwhelming pleasure, and there’s nothing to do but watch Arthur ride him, head thrown back and hips circling expertly in this victory lap.

It’s just the roaring blood in Merlin’s ears, but he thinks he can hear the crowd cheering.

57.

“You never told me how you met Lancelot,” Merlin said to Percival.

It had already been a fortnight since he arrived in Camelot, and Merlin had barely heard the man say three words. Lancelot had only told them that Percival had lost his family.

Percival tensed at Merlin's statement.

“You don't have to tell me,” Merlin quickly added. “I lost my father. I know it's not easy to talk about.”

It wasn't that, though, not really.

* * *

Their estate wasn't worth much, even if Cenred hadn't burned it to the ground. The money Percival got for the land was far less than he should have taken, but it would have lasted him much longer than it did had he not been a grief-stricken fool and gambled it away.

He found himself aimless and destitute, wandering around neighbouring villages when a merchant had been unable to keep his eyes off Percival's threadbare trousers.

“Are you a virgin?” the merchant had asked. Percival had shaken his head. There had been a girl once, but she, too, was gone. “Good,” the merchant said. “That'll make this easier.”

The merchant had paid him in a new pair of trousers and two clean tunics, which Percival couldn't refuse.

The next night the merchant brought a friend with him. Together that earned Percival enough coins to sleep at the inn instead of out in the stables.

Word traveled somehow. Percival's reputation seemed to follow him. It was mostly men, but some women—widow's often, who would tell Percival that their dear, departed husbands hadn't measured up to him, hadn't pleased them the way he did. They paid the best of all.

Then one day Percival noticed a handsome man watching him in a tavern. Percival recognized him as the knight who had come to the village that morning.

When Percival asked him if he was interested, the knight had smiled and said, “Yes, of course, but not like that.”

It was Lancelot who told him he didn't have to sell himself or let others use his body, that there were other ways to survive.

“But isn't that exactly what you do? Let your kingdom use you for your physical prowess?” Percival insisted.

“Do you enjoy it?” Lancelot asked. “If you enjoy it then there is no place for me to judge you. There's something rewarding to me in protecting my kingdom and pushing my body to the edge during training. After each fight I'm a little bit better than I was before it, as if I was a different man.”

Percival didn't feel that way at all.

“Sometimes I feel empty,” he confessed.

After a long silence between them, Lancelot turned to Percival and cradled his face between his hands. He leaned in slowly and planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on a very startled Percival's lips.

They went no further that night or the next, and when Lancelot left for the next village, Percival followed.

Days passed before Lancelot went for Percival's breeches as they kissed.

Under the stars where they camped, Lancelot traced his fingers along Percival's naked body. He followed with his tongue, finding bits of skin that Percival knew were sensitive on others, but never had a chance to find out about himself. Using some oil, Lancelot pushed a finger inside Percival's hole, making Percival cry out into the night.

“If you don't want--”

“I want,” Percival interrupted. “I'm usually--I never--”

“I know,” Lancelot said quietly.

With his fingers working Percival open, tracing around his rim, pushing in slowly but firmly, first with one finger and then two, bringing him to the edge and then back, he took Percival apart. Tears prickled Percival's eyes when he finally came with a rumbling moan.

Lancelot didn't ask for anything in return. He brought himself off with his hand, and then afterward laid beside Percival as a warm, solid presence.

Lancelot loved him that night more thoroughly than Percival thought it possible to love another.

* * *

Percival opened his mouth to answer Merlin, trying to work out some vague approximation of the truth.

At that moment, Lancelot trotted over and clamped a hand on Percival's shoulder. The look that passed between the two men told Merlin everything he needed to know.

It didn't matter how they met, he was just glad they had each other.

58.

Merlin watched the policeman approach in his rear-view mirror. He had no idea why he had been flagged down, and on the lonely road to his mother's farm of all places, but he still took a moment to admire the way the uniform stretched over the officer's broad shoulders and wide chest and how the waning sunlight made his hair glow golden and reflected off the mirrored sunglasses. There was something vaguely familiar about--

''You've got to be kidding me,'' Merlin muttered when the officer pulled off his shades, sliding them into the front pocket of his shirt.

''I've only been back for what... two hours?'' he hissed at Arthur Pendragon – bane of Merlin's existence all through their adolescence – who bent down lazily and regarded Merlin with those cool blue eyes of his. ''Have you been waiting here for me, just so you can bully me some more?''

''You got a missing tail light and were going ten miles over the speed limit.''

''Of course,'' Merlin sneered. ''Nothing personal, right?''

''Indeed. Show me the car papers and your licence, please.''

''Really, Arthur? You know this is my mother's car. Did you train to be even more of an arse in police school?''

''You can't talk to an officer like that,'' Arthur said, looking grim. ''I'd like you to step out of your car now. And keep your hands where I can see them.''

Merlin scoffed. ''Are you honestly implying that I might attack you? That's pretty hilarious coming from the guy who used to shove me into lockers.''

''Get out of the car, Merlin.''

Gritting his teeth, Merlin complied. He wouldn't put it past Arthur to arrest him if he put up resistance. ''There. What now?''

''Hands on the bonnet and spread your legs.''

Merlin shot him an incredulous look, but Arthur only raised his eyebrows in that haughty fashion of his, and so Merlin stomped to the front of the car and got in position.

''Why do you have to be such an arse?'' he choked out, when Arthur stepped up behind him and started to run his hands up Merlin's legs, making his traitorous co*ck harden in his trousers.

Suddenly, Arthur was pressed flush against him, hot breath ghosting over Merlin's neck as he whispered into his ear, ''I don't know, Merlin. Why do you have to be such a bloody tease?''

''W-What?''

''Why do you think I shoved you around, you idiot?'' Arthur growled and Merlin's eyes went wide when he felt Arthur's own erection pushing against him.

''I've been wanting to do this since high school,'' Arthur panted, roughly palming Merlin's arse before he sneaked one hand around his hip, running his fingers over Merlin's stiff length. ''Tell me 'no' if you don't want this.''

Merlin knew he should, but all he could do was moan and buck against Arthur's hand. Apparently that was all the agreement Officer Pendragon needed because he pulled Merlin's zipper down, and then his warm fingers wrapped around Merlin's straining co*ck.

''If I'd known you'd be so easy, I'd have done this a long time ago,'' Arthur murmured, mouthing along Merlin's neck. ''Who'd have thought proper Merlin Emrys would be this wanton, begging me to f*ck him over his car in the middle of the road?''

With one sharp tug, he pulled Merlin's pants down, exposing his buttocks to the cool evening air.

''I've got lube and stuff,'' Arthur whispered, running his thumbs down Merlin's cleft while his forehead pressed against the damp spot between Merlin's shoulder blades. ''I want to f*ck you, Merlin. So badly--''

Merlin was dizzy with arousal and probably completely out of his mind.

''Yes.''

Arthur groaned and shortly after his fingers were back, slick now, circling and rubbing Merlin's hole before slowly pushing in. Merlin let out a strangled sob and Arthur grabbed his neck and shoved him forward until Merlin's cheek was pressed against the sleek metal of the bonnet.

Helplessly, Merlin rocked back as Arthur's fingers f*cked him open.

When Arthur's thick co*ck finally filled him to the brink of painful pleasure, Merlin forgot about being out in the open, where anyone could come by. All he could think of was Arthur's mouth, hot against his neck, and the hands on his hips, guiding him backwards as Arthur thrust into him with long, hard strokes.

Arthur brought Merlin off with just the right twist of his hand, and they slumped forward together, with Arthur still buried inside of him.

''Next time, we could use your handcuffs,'' Merlin mumbled contentedly. Maybe being arrested would be worth it after all.

59.

Aredian was the one to bring in the boy. He was always the very best when it came to finding the troublemakers.

He looked barely legal. Possibly he had faked his ID. He also looked terrified and ready to burst into tears. Perfect. Aredian's intimidation tactics were as foolproof as ever.

"What is your name, warlock?" Arthur asked.

"Merlin," the boy replied, fidgeting as he was restrained and forced onto his knees, "and I'm not... I didn't..."

"We caught you on film using magic to win poker games,” Arthur said firmly, “Tonight. But that wasn't the first time you came here, was it?"

Merlin didn’t respond, his eyes nervously scanning the room for any escape routes.

"There’s no point, Merlin, if that is even your real name."

"Of course it's my name," Merlin protested, but he quieted down when his eyes fell on the figures of Percival, Elyan and Gwaine in the different corners of the rooms.

With a sigh of resignation Merlin said, "What do you want from me? If you want me to pay you back..."

"That would be a good place to start," Arthur interjected.

"Well I can't! The money's gone. I needed it to pay rent. To...

Arthur held up his hands, "I don't want your sob-story, Merlin. I run a casino. I deal with frauds. Otherwise, this casino wouldn't as prosperous as it is now," he explained slowly.

"So... You want me to do some dishes?" Merlin tried, flashing Arthur a wry smile.

Arthur laughed. "Gentleman," he said, addressing his guards, "will you stay to watch or..." Arthur left the question hanging in the air.

"Watch what?" Merlin asked alarmed.

"Watch you pay me back." Arthur stated.

All of his guards declined. "Maybe next time," Gwaine grinned. Arthur was satisfied; he wanted Merlin to himself. For now. They took position outside Arthur's private quarters inside The Camelot.

When the doors fell shut, Arthur fixed his gaze on Merlin. “Don’t even think of using magic to escape,” he said, before moving to untie Merlin’s bonds. “I have the men to hunt to you to the moon and back.”

With Merlin’s bonds falling away, Arthur made quick work of Merlin’s cheap suit, careless about the buttons and rumpled tie.

"Wait,” Merlin said, voice shaking as he held up his hands, “let me pay you back some different way."

"You don't get to choose,” Arthur said firmly.

Merlin didn’t resist when Arthur pulled down his boxers, stepping out of them as if in a trance. But when Arthur kissed him, hands travelling down his lithe, naked body to rest on his pert buttocks; the young man was coming back to life. When Arthur pulled their groins together, he was pleased to already find proof of Merlin’s arousal.

“I should really spank you like the little boy you are,” Arthur said, giving Merlin’s buttocks a slap and being rewarded with a soft moan. “Something tells me you would like it. But tonight is about what I like.”

He manhandled Merlin towards the table in the middle of the room. A table scattered with cards and dice – the tools of Merlin’s deception. Pushing Merlin on top of it, he took out a condom and some lube.

Merlin whimpered slightly when Arthur pushed inside a finger. By the time Arthur had inserted three, f*cking them and in and out of Merlin’s perfect little arse, the man was writhing with pleasure and sporting a full-blown erection.

"Please..." Merlin moaned when Arthur removed his fingers.

"Please what?"

"Please f*ck me!"

Arthur happily obliged. He didn’t know what it was about Merlin that made him want to pound into the boy with fast, deep thrusts. Perhaps it was that mixture of vulnerability and deviousness. Merlin took it all, making obscene noises of pleasure as Arthur pulled him off with the matching sharp tugs.

Arthur continued f*cking Merlin after the man came, fondling his sensitive dick until he was a sobbing mess. When Arthur pulled out of Merlin, he felt a bone-deep contentment and a fondness for the stupid but brave man shivering against the table.

They ended up sprawled out on top of his chaise longue, Arthur pouring them both a glass of wine.

"So. It's time to discuss business."

"Business?" Merlin looked up sleepily.

"Yes. You need money and this Casino can use someone with your abilities."

Merlin stared at him in disbelief.

“Why don’t you show me your tricks,” Arthur said, tossing Merlin a pack of cards. He smiled when Merlin quickly complied, blue eyes turning golden.

60.

Merlin had been delivering packages for less than a month, and there was already a stop that he hated more than all rest.

Sort of.

Merlin hated Arthur Pendragon's tendency to order packages that were heavy enough to kill a man, but he loved Arthur's large, well-defined muscles that stretched all his t-shirts thin.

Merlin hated that Arthur took five years to sign for a package (one time using an honest-to-god quill and ink because it's dignified, Merlin), but Merlin loved the feeling of Arthur's warm, calloused fingers brushing over his as the package was finally taken away.

Merlin hated that he couldn't figure out what Arthur even did for a living, but every time he had the chance to ask, he was either dying under the weight from the package of the day or momentarily distracted by Arthur's strong jaw line.

Merlin's feelings were complicated at best, but that didn't stop him from having dirty daydreams every time he brought a package to Arthur's door and waited an inordinate amount of time for the man to sign the damn clipboard.

--- – --- – --- – ---

The day Merlin finally saw the inside of Arthur's house, it did not go as he originally planned (and yes, there had been a plan). He was not pulled in for a hot, searing kiss on the porch. He was not given a cheesy line from a p*rno and then whisked inside. He was bitten. By a dog.

“sh*t. What happened?” Arthur asked, staring wide-eyed at the gash on Merlin's calf while, for the first and possibly only time, immediately taking the heavy package off Merlin's hands.

Merlin chuckled and swayed deliriously. He did not do well with blood. “It turns out that dalmatians are not adorable like in the movie. They are terrifying. And rude.”

“Alright. Hold on.” Arthur set the box down in the entryway and then stepped forward to grasp Merlin's arms. His hands were dry and warm and strong. “I've got first aid inside. Can you walk?”

Merlin could have, technically, limped his way inside. But Arthur had arm muscles that strained every shirt Merlin had ever seen him in and this could be Merlin's only chance.

Merlin threw his dignity to the wind and collapsed into Arthur's waiting arms with an overdramatic groan.

“I'll take that as a no,” Arthur said wryly. He hefted Merlin up bridal style with only a soft grunt, and Merlin barely held in a delighted squeal as he was carried inside.

He didn't know what he was expecting the inside of Arthur's house to look like. A bachelor pad, maybe. Or a place filled with odd collectibles. Or maybe even posh, overly extravagant rooms.

Instead there was metal. Metal everywhere. Filigree iron chandeliers and lamps and tables and chairs. Even the doorknob to the kitchen was iron, curled into an intricate scroll design.

Merlin was stupefied until Arthur guided him to sit on the (iron) kitchen table, when something in his head finally clicked.

“No. No way.”

“What?” Arthur grabbed the first aid kit from above the sink and popped it open.

“Black smiths don't still exist,” Merlin said accusingly.

Arthur tilted his head back and laughed. He laughed so hard that he didn't answer until after he'd cleaned and bandaged Merlin's wound. By that point he was only giggling.

“Sorry to disappoint you, Merlin,” Arthur said, grin wide and pleasant on his face. One of his hands was resting on Merlin's knee for reasons unknown, but Merlin was certainly not complaining. “But blacksmiths are still very much alive, and in fact, I get paid fairly well. Much more than you.”

Merlin snorted softly, trying to ignore the fact that Arthur's hand had started moving up his thigh in smooth rubbing motions. “Anybody could make more than me, now. I quit.”

Arthur hummed and stepped forward, spreading Merlin's knees around his thick, muscled hips. “That's probably for the best. You know what you should do?”

Merlin, to be honest, didn't know anything at that point.

Arthur's warm hand had crept up under Merlin's cargo shorts, his thumb softly rubbing over the edge of cotton briefs, just barely caressing the swell of Merlin's co*ck.

“Hmm?”

Arthur smirked and leaned forward, hovering his lips so close that Merlin could feel that tingling sensation when he knew he was about to be touched.

“You should come work for me.”

61.

“I’m sure you understand,” the Archdeacon said, blinking at Arthur over his spectacles. “Given the circ*mstances of the last rector’s actions, we are looking for a rector who is already married.”

Arthur was boiling by this point, for he had worked too long and too hard to secure this placement, in the parish on his mother’s family’s land, close to Morgana and far away from Uther’s disdain for the clergy. Arthur’s fingers dug into his seminary robes. He looked into the Archdeacon’s dull face, shadowy in the candlelight, and some dark impulse stole over him.

He opened his mouth and said, “Yes sir, and I am engaged to be married.”

*

Arthur tore through the bank, nearly knocking over a gaggle of ladies in the process, but there wasn’t a moment to lose. The Archdeacon was a notorious gossip, and had made Arthur tell him his ‘fiance’s’ name. Arthur would be receiving congratulations from the entire seminary by dinnertime.

He skidded to a stop in front of a cluttered desk, and Merlin looked up at him open-mouth, with a smudge of ink on his nose. Arthur reflected that perhaps his greatest deception was to tell the Archdeacon that his fiance was the most refined and genteel of men, I assure you.

“I must speak to you,” Arthur said. “Now.”

Merlin arched an insolent eyebrow and darted a look towards his superior’s office. “Arthur, I’m not at liberty to—”

“It’s of the utmost importance.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, and Arthur knew from experience there’d be no arguing with him. Throwing the last of his propriety to the wind, Arthur leant over and pressed his hands on top of Merlin’s, slid his fingertips against the delicate points of Merlin’s knuckles. Merlin’s breath halted, half-way out his throat.

“Come speak to me outside. I need to propose to you.”

*

Arthur might have damned his soul to do it, but he did it. He’d never so much as courted Merlin, but Merlin, for reasons unknown, agreed to marry him. And with their marriage, came the coveted placement in the Rectory at DuBois. Arthur had the means now to care for his sister, and a flock of parishioners who remembered his mother.

The rectory was large, with enough rooms for each to have his own. They saw each other every morning at breakfast, played cards after dinner, retired to their separate rooms, and if not for two small things, it would have been possible for Arthur to bury his guilt.

The first: that Merlin was the perfect rector’s husband. He met parishioners easily, learning their habits and greeting them by name on Sunday mornings. Annoyingly, they took to Merlin like sheep to a shepherd. Merlin was always introducing Arthur to improbably beautiful townsfolk with names like Lancelot, all of whom looked on Merlin with idolatrous affection. Merlin was everything a husband should be.

The second: that Merlin had a bottom lip like a hothouse rose petal.

*

It was inevitable that Arthur would give in to temptation. Some early Sunday morning, Merlin arrived in the parlor in a new jacket, smiling like a loon, and Arthur reached out his thumb to ride down the ridge of Merlin’s cheekbone. When it arrived at the apple of his cheek, Arthur pressed, rapt, as Merlin’s mouth dropped slowly open. Arthur could see his teeth, his tongue.

Something broken loose in his head, Arthur pressed Merlin back against the wallpaper and tugged away his beautiful neckcloth, all while chanting, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” and moaned when the tender hollow of Merlin’s throat was exposed. He bent his head to suck it, like a well in the desert.

This was his husband.

A hundred ideas occurred to Arthur: he could kiss him, he could touch him, he could bear him to the ground and take him.

“Why did you marry me?” Arthur whispered, his fingers unable to stop searching out Merlin’s ribs, Merlin’s waist.

“You’re a good man,” Merlin said breathlessly, but certain. His hands cupped Arthur’s shoulder blades through his vicar’s robes. “No-one inspires faith the way you do.”

Arthur shook his head, even as he pressed his mouth to Merlin’s jaw. “I lust after you like a dog. I seduced you into marrying me. You call that ‘good’?”

Merlin’s breath was hot on Arthur’s ear: “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth.”

Which was blasphemous, probably, but Arthur made a wretched sound and kissed him, sucked his tongue, and palmed his co*ck.

62.

"I'm supposed to tell you to move," Percival says, stopping in front of the guy who's been sat on the club's steps for half an hour, holding a cup that has FEED ELYAN FUND scrawled on the front.

Percival hates this part of the job, but the guy - Elyan, presumably - just smiles. "People are stingy this side of town anyway."

Percival doesn't know what to say to that, but as Elyan trudges past, he drops some change into his cup.

*

Elyan's sitting on the steps when Percival gets in for his shift the next day. He gets up when he sees Percival approaching, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"You don't have to do that," Percival says, too quickly. "If you sit just there, the cameras can't see you."

Elyan smiles. "Not gonna make me move again?"

Percival was on the streets for a while before he got this job, but he doesn't know how to say that without sounding like a wanker.

"My job's to make sure nobody hassles the dancers or the bar staff," he says finally. "You're not hassling anyone."

*

The Morrisons around the corner is doing a two-for-one deal on sandwiches, and Percival doesn't even think before grabbing a slightly nicer version of the one he's seen Elyan scarf down a few times.

"It was free," Percival says as he hands it over, before the hostility can build in Elyan's face.

"That doesn't-"

"My lunch break's nearly over," Percival adds, backing away. "I need to go."

"Hey, f*ck you," Elyan yells after him, but he's laughing.

*

Percival honestly likes his job, likes the club and the people who work there, but he could do with fewer creeps to deal with.

He drags the latest one out, debating the merits of kicking the guy in the ribs a few times. Elyan's still sitting on the steps, though, so Percival just shoves the creep so hard he stumbles, right into Elyan.

"Sorry, love," the creep says, darting a look back at Percival as he rights himself. "Some people just don't have any manners."

"That's all right," Elyan says, in this voice Percival's never heard him use before. The creep's still holding onto him, one arm settled comfortably around Elyan's shoulders. Elyan doesn't even look like he wants him to let go.

And that's- fine, whatever. Percival absolutely has no right to an opinion on what's happening here. He's just going to not have an opinion somewhere else, like inside, where he still has a f*cking job to do.

Except he has to escort another guy off the premises fifteen minutes later, and as he's heading back in, there's a muffled cry from the alley next to the club. Percival moves on instinct, towards the sound, ready to unleash hell and-

"sh*t," he says, too loud.

Elyan has the creep from earlier up against a wall, one hand on his mouth and the other between their bodies, moving in the same rhythm as the rocking of his arse. Percival expects them to stop, or yell at him, or something, but Elyan's grunting like maybe he's about to come and, sh*t. sh*t.

Percival stares hard at Elyan's ratty jeans, puddled around his ankles, and gets out, "Sorry, I'm just gonna-" before he flees.

*

Elyan isn't there when Percival gets in the next day, or the next, or the next, until Percival's pretty sure he's well past not having an opinion on things Elyan does.

*

"Your homeless guy's back to sitting on our steps again," Isolde tells him, when they're finishing up the handover for her shift.

"He's not my- wait, what?"

Percival's moving before Isolde can say anything else, her laughter following him out the door.

"You're okay," Percival blurts when he sees Elyan, and immediately feels ridiculous.

"I got enough out of that guy you threw at me to stay in a B&B for a few nights." Elyan's smile turns uncertain. "Didn't realise I'd be missed."

"Got used to you keeping our steps warm," Percival says lightly, and Elyan laughs like Percival startled it out of him.

"Come on," he says, grabbing Percival's hand to pull himself up. "You're not working and I have enough to buy us coffee, or something. Let's celebrate."

Grinning, Percival squeezes Elyan's hand and lets himself be led away.

63.

When Gwaine, a freelance bodyguard (as he referred to himself), accepted the job offer from some Cenred Nolastname he did not expect it to be anything out of the ordinary shady business. He was surprised to hear how open Cenred was about being part of the local mob. Gwaine did not care how legal his employer was as long as they paid well.

He had also expected to do more, well, body-guarding, instead of body-f*cking. He was, in fact, predominantly bodyf*cking. Not that he was complaining, mind you.

Cenred kicked away his underwear and sat on the edge of the desk. Grinning, he lifted his foot and caressed Gwaine’s knee with his toe. The latter abandoned unbuttoning his shirt and knelt immediately. Cenred had f*cking amazing legs and Gwaine worshipped them even without being prompted to. He stuck out his tongue and gave the inside of the ankle an experimental lick. The shudder that ran up his boss’ leg was more than satisfactory. Cenred exhaled and pressed his ankle against Gwaine’s mouth. “Go on,” he urged. Gwaine obliged him immediately – he ran his tongue up to Cenred’s knee, then went up until he reached the hipbone. Cenred readily rolled up his shirt, revealing the side of his delicious torso and really, how was Gwaine supposed to resist that?

He ripped the shirt off Cenred’s body and pinned his boss on the desk. Cenred laughed – he always sounded so amused – and rolled his hips, rubbing his co*ck against Gwaine. The latter growled. Even sprawled, naked, and willing, legs wide spread for Gwaine, Cenred still had this… power, or whatever it was, over him. He could only groan and grind back, possessed with the need to bury himself in Cenred. He bent down and took one nipple between his lips, sucked it, nipped at the flesh, licked it apologetically when his boss shuddered from the pain.

Gwaine hurried to take off his trousers. A hot wave of anticipation washed over him when his co*ck was free from the restrains of his underwear. He opened and put a condom on while Cenred was lubing himself; then his boss leaned back on his elbows and spread his legs in invitation. Gwaine teased Cenred with the tip of his co*ck, then pushed in, and slowly continued pushing, oblivious to everything but the hot tight place taking him in. Cenred nudged him with his knee. Gwaine bit back on the bossy-boss pun and grabbed his employer’s thighs to steady himself. When his co*ck finally went all the way in Cenred threw his head back and moaned. His hair spilled over and behind his shoulders and Gwaine regretted not being able to grab and pull it the way both of them liked.

Frustrated, he set a quicker pace than their usual. He was acting as if possessed, thirsting to hear the moans and whimpers spilling from his boss’ mouth, thirsting to just plain f*ck, rut like an animal. Cenred writhed, encouraged him with breathy yeses and f*cks, until he suddenly fell onto the desk and arched his back. “There… yeah, there, just-, oh f*ck, f*ck, Gwaine, aahhh-”

Cenred’s whole body tensed, and he let out a whine. His co*ck spurted long, white stripes all over his spasming stomach. Gwaine slammed harder into him, his own org*sm close. His hips snapped, then again, again and again until the pleasure coiling inside tightened, then spilled, and he was coming as well. Cenred whined and squirmed beneath him, probably growing oversensitive, but Gwaine couldn’t bring himself to slow down, not now, not when Cenred had been the one to initiate it like that.

It took them both a good while to catch their breath. Cenred was the first to recover.
“You interested in a raise and perhaps a permanent position?”

64.

Their rapid footsteps beat impossibly loud on the wooden floorboards, echoing off the panelled walls. The Academy's eastern library is always quiet, especially during dinner, when most of the other students are in the dining hall, or out in the grounds. It's the perfect place to hide.

Panting with the thrill of escape, they both pull themselves up the ladder to the sloping upper balcony that runs around the small room. Merlin tugs off Arthur's bow-tie, playfully dropping it over the handrail for Arthur to retrieve, and heads for a shelf of small leather-bound books.

Arthur joins him behind the heavy shelves, looking over Merlin's shoulder, breathing hard, but otherwise quiet. Merlin likes moments like this, they make his blood sing.

They jump apart when the heavy wooden door swings open, and duck behind a bookshelf, not wanting to be discovered by Gaius, the only teacher they had ever seen in there.

Instead of the slow shuffle of long robes however, they hear the clack of an unfamiliar heeled boot. Merlin holds his breath as Arthur peeks around the edge of the bookshelves, and carefully leans over him to see for himself.

There as a man standing in the library. His face is handsome and young, his curly black hair pulled into a short ponytail. He's wearing military garb; a burgundy velvet jacket with tails and two lines of small brass buttons, black jodhpurs, and tall leather boots.

Airship captain, Arthur mouths at Merlin, because he has classes in military dress, and when has Arthur missed an opportunity to show off? Merlin rolls his eyes, but he watches the man with a new found fascination.

The door opens again, and through the door slips a woman. Her white ruffled blouse comes up around her neck, her full emerald skirt reaches the floor, her black curls neatly pinned up; Gwen LeoDegrace, their tactics & strategy teacher, and Merlin's dormitory warden.

Gwen shuts the door carefully, then sweeps across the room into the man's arms.

“Lance, Lance,”

“Gwen, it's okay,”

“I missed you. God, I thought you might be dead.”

Lance catches Gwen's lips, and Arthur makes a face at Merlin, who rolls his eyes again because they're not five, but then he turns back to the couple below and feels a jolt of panic. The man has undone the buttons down Gwen's front, and has slipped a hand inside her shirt, and Merlin can see the hand kneading and squeezing soft flesh.

Merlin slips a glance at Arthur, who is staring at the pair, gaze keen on the exposed breast. Merlin quickly looks away again.

Lance has walked Gwen backwards until she hit one of the high wooden worktables. He hitches up her skirt, and his hand strokes her thigh a few times before disappearing underneath. Gwen breaks the kiss with a gasp.

“I want to leave a piece of me with you, for you to look after.”

Gwen moans in response. Merlin dies a little inside.

Gwen pulls the jacket off the man's shoulders, pulls his shirt off, and unzips his pants. She pulls the stretchy fabric down his hips, and grabs his co*ck, stroking it challengingly.

It's an impossible colour, it's impossibly large, and it makes Merlin's stomach churn.

Merlin glances back at Arthur and sees him watching intently, one hand down his trousers cupping himself. The sight makes his own erection jump, and he allows himself to do the same.

Lance lays Gwen on the table, and pushes up her skirt, revealing the pink seam between her thighs.

He kisses her again, then lines up. He's slow and careful, and Merlin watches, throat dry, as he sinks in, then withdraws, shining and slick.

“Please, Lance, fill me up until I'm round with your child.”

This seems to be Lance's thing, because he speeds up, pumping in and out hard, grunts and moans filling the room, and Merlin is unable to take his eyes away, his hand stroking in rhythm.
All too soon, Gwen comes with a yell, her thighs tightening around Lance, and the rhythm stutters, the man following a few beats later.

Merlin takes a second to mourn his student-teacher relationship as they dress and leave, and then shuffles over to Arthur, taking him in hand, and guiding his hand to Merlin's own throbbing co*ck.

Their library evenings are even better after that.

65.

First time Arthur sees him, he's leaving the rink after a brutal game against Oshawa Generals. They had won with him scoring the game winning goal with 3-2 as the final score, but it had been a fairly close game and Gwaine's three penalties hadn't help.

The player is warming up, shooting the puck against the goalie with remarkable ease. Arthur can't help but wonder whether the player would hold up well against pressure even if he's a little awed by the stick handling.

Too bad, he can't tell see the bloke's face from across the rink. But he sees the number 9 and Emrys etched across the back of the red jersey of the Belleville Bulls.

Later when he looks up Emrys online, he finds himself even more intrigued by the Welsh voice and the graceful hands.

And if later, when he wanks to imaging those same hands wrapped his co*ck, well only he knows.

~*~

They're up one goal. And there's only two minutes from the London Knights winning the Memorial Cup. But then it's Emrys scoring from a slick pass from one of his teammates, Will Davies or something, Arthur grudgingly thinks as the team gather for a quick break before the shootout.

They lose. Arthur's devastated, he only half-registers the two shootout goals Emrys makes. (Later when he watches the replay, he finds himself turned on at the way Emry moves across the ice before chipping the puck. A cold shower doesn't help.)

It takes him a few days before he's willing to let the loss go, but Arthur's looking forward to the U-18 Tournament and playing for Great Britain. And if the rumors are true, playing with Merlin Emrys as well.

~*~

Of course, we're roommates, Arthur thinks when he opens his assigned room and sees Emrys sprawled across on one of the twin beds.

“Hi,” Emrys says, a bit hesitantly as he sits up and without his visor and the distraction of hockey miles away, Arthur is taken aback by how blue his eyes are.

“I guess they figured having their two across the pond playing players room together,” Arthur says as he drops his duffle on the empty twin bed.

“Yeah.”

“I'm Arthur,” Arthur says after a bit.

“Yeah, I know,” Emry says, “I'm Merlin.”

“You were great in the OHL Championship game,” Arthur says suddenly, then feels embarrassed.

“You were too,” Merlin says in return, flushing, “When you scored that third goal, that was amazing---that backhanded shot.”

Arthur fights back a blush at the enthusiasm in Merlin's voice.

~*~

They click on the ice. Merlin's his right-winger to Arthur's center. And together they fly. It's as if they can read each other's minds. And they burn it up on the ice, past the first round, the second, and third.

When they make it to the semi-final after Merlin's game winning goal after Arthur's assist, Arthur can't help but pull Merlin in close, hand wrapping around Merlin's neck and leaning in to yell, “You're amazing!” into his ear. Arthur wants to pull him closer, wants to lead him away, back to their room and maybe worship Merlin in a completely different way. It takes him a moment to pull away so the rest of the team can hug Merlin too.

~*~

They lose in the semi-final against Team Canada, against both Arthur and Merlin's teammates. Even with all the scoring they both do, Team Britain's defense crumbles against the Canadian forwards.

Arthur catches Merlin's eye across the ice and sees his disappointment mirroring back at him.

~*~

They stay for another two days to see Canada beat out the US for the final. On their last night at dinner with the team, Arthur sees Merlin looking at him.

When they get back to their room, Arthur feels antsy. He tries not to think about not playing with Merlin again.

Suddenly Merlin's in his space, face close and earnest, “Stop me, if this isn't something you want.”

There's a press of a kiss, clumsy but insistent and it takes Arthur a moment to get with the program.

And then it's a flurry of awkward elbows and shuffling as they scramble out of their clothes. Hands half-fumbling on jean zips and pulling off shirts.

Merlin's hands are sure though, when he wraps his hand around both their co*cks, pulling steadily until they're close before shifting to more quicker jerks that twist at the wrist. Better than Arthur imagined.

Later when he has his arm slung around Merlin's waist, the bed covers rucked down on Merlin's bed, Merlin asks“You're up for the draft this year?”

“Yeah, but you're not for another year right?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait for me,” Merlin adds a moment later, pulling Arthur's arm tighter around them.

66.

“I’m Merlin Emrys and you’re listening to The Midnight Hour, the show that isn’t afraid of the dark or the creatures that live there. Our first call tonight comes from Glastonbury. Pendragon, Hello.”

“I know what you are.”

“Excuse me?”

“I know what you are, and I’m coming to kill you.”

*********************

Merlin never expected to be outed as a Warlock on his radio show, a fact that would mean his certain death in some circles. He certainly never expected to be f*cking the assassin that did it every other night after in a fit of continuous hormone driven madness. It’d been four weeks of vague texts, random hookups, and far too interested viewers.

“Next caller. Morgana, you’re on the air. What’s your question?”

“Hi, Merlin. I just wanted to know, when are you finally going to admit to being in a relationship with Pendragon? I have a bet to settle that I know I’ve already won.”

Merlin flushed a furious red and sputtered a bit hysterically. There was a good five second of almost complete radio silence before he could even bring himself to answer. “What?!”

“Are you two finally going steady?”

“We are talking about the same Pendragon here right? The one who tried to kill me on air, yes? The professional Witchfinder from a long line of Warriors that hunt people like me?” The Arthur with the pert, luscious bum that he’d been eating out over his desk just last night until that perfectly pink co*ck utterly ruined his paperwork with the giant berks’ satisfaction.

“Uh-huh.”

“And you want to know if I’m dating him?!”

Does what they’re doing even constitute as dating? They did bareback for the first time last weekend but it didn’t mean anything right? Steady hookups did that after all and it’s not like they were exclusive or anything. The only reason Merlin hasn’t f*cked anyone else for the past month is because he goes to bed most nights completely satisfied. No need to go out in the cold for what he could get in the comfort of his own home and office.

It didn’t actually mean anything though.

Right?

“I sort of sensed something between the two of you when he was on the show.”

‘Besides my utter terror?’ He thought to himself. A fear quickly eased the next night when Arthur broke into his house to thoroughly negotiate the terms of his complete and utter surrender. Something much simpler when there weren’t thousands of avid listeners witnessing his capture. Terms they were still in the process of negotiating.

Sort of.

“The tension you felt was probably me coming to grips with my imminent death. So what are you supposed to be then? Some sort of Clairvoyant?”

Please say no.

He’d have to stop deluding himself into thinking he didn’t care about the prat if she said yes. Imagine, him dating a Witchfinder. Mother would have a fit and he might find himself in the uncomfortable position of challenging a status quo as old as the tales of Avalon and just as archaic.

“I wouldn’t say that precisely.”

Thank all the gods!

“I’m bit more than that actually. I’m a Sorceress with the Sight.”

“f*ck.”

“That you boys do and isn’t that awkward for a little sister to see so often. Isn’t it Arthur?” Morgana’s carefree laugh ended on a slightly malicious lilt as she abruptly ended the call.

Gwen flailed madly on the other side of the booth window. “Merlin,”she hissed frantically, “you have to take line two!”

“Why?” He protested weakly before some frisson of self preservation had him punching the line and stop attempting to delay the inevitable. “Yes? What?”

“Emrys. It’s Pendragon. If you don’t change the subject immediately and stop feeding the loons I’m going to have to head over there and have a word with you.”

“I’m trying, he snarled. Voice husky with his instinctive response and a small kernel of madness wondered what would happen if he called his bluff on air. “But thanks for calling. So, is Morgana really your little sister? Have you ever dated a Warlock before?”

“That is none of your business.”

Oh really now? f*ck it.

“What if someone you were hooking up with turned out to be say, a Warlock? Born that way through no fault of their own Arthur? What then?” Merlin’s voice went dark with power and the way Pendragon’s breath caught made his dick flex in anticipation of his response.

“You’ll see.”

67.

“And how do you propose we work around the substantial deficit this type of endeavor would create, Mr. Pendragon?” A stern man in a crisp, very expensive suit, was making the type of face at Arthur that he knew meant his credibility was being severely questioned. As he was only 26 and already one of the most prominent lawyers in New York, Arthur was quite used to that particular facial expression.

He received it almost every time he met a business partner or high-ranking coworker for the first time. Arthur normally took great pains to wipe that look right off their faces, and leave no questions as to why he was in the position he’d reached.

However, Arthur was well-aware that he had much bigger concerns at the moment.
Just as he began to formulate a semi-rational response to Mr. DeLaney Merlin flattened his tongue on Arthur’s co*ckhead just the way Merlin knew he liked, and all Arthur could do was stutter and turn slightly red.

Merlin was sucking and laving Arthur’s co*ck like it was his job, and had done for almost twenty minutes now. Arthur was nearing his limit, he had been beating away org*sm for he didn’t know how long, and he was getting desperate.

“We definitely have to consider pulling back. We don’t know how much more the market can take. There’s no telling when it’ll be too much and things could get out of hand.” Arthur knew he couldn’t be any more unsubtle than that. If Merlin decided to continue to torture him, then Arthur was f*cked.

So to say.

With an ungodly and cruel hum, Arthur could feel his face turning bright red. One of his hands dropped to tug at Merlin’s hair in a last ditch attempt to salvage his dignity.

However, his business partner and co-owner of their firm was known for his relentless ways. And this was no different.

Now he was being asked a question about whether some action or other would be legal or not, but Arthur couldn’t even pretend to know what he was supposed to be talking about.

Not when a glance downward would reveal Merlin’s smoldering eyes staring up at him unrepentantly, and he could feel Merlin’s hot breath against his co*ck. There eyes had only met for a moment, and Arthur had to quickly look away, or it would all be over.

Then Merlin returned his focus to what was right in front of him.

With a moan he couldn’t repress Mr.DeLaney witnessed Arthur Pendragon cum right in front of him. And there was no hiding it.

With no explanation, Arthur ended the feed and scooted his chair back. He was panting heavily, and hiding his face in his hands.

“Oh come off it, you know that was amazing.” Merlin said from his place kneeling under the table and grinning at Arthur.

“Oh I came off something alright,” Arthur said, chuckling.

“I can never speak to that man again, Merlin.” Arthur said deadly seriously.

“Well of course not. After your meeting in person tomorrow afternoon.”

Chapter 8: Group D (clean)

Chapter Text

68.

69.

In every generation there is a Chosen One. He alone will stand against the vampires, the demons and the forces of darkness ... all while being a massive prat. He is a clotpole the Slayer.

70.

71.

Turns out the the barkeep's special drink isn't so much about the content, but how it's served

72.

73.

The Mile High Adventures of Captain Pendragon and the Trolley Dolly Merlin Emrys

74.

librarian!Arthur professor!Merlin

75.

Lancelot is a painter in renaissance Florence, Merlin is his assistant and model, when they come across poet Arthur in a tavern he knows he has the perfect Apollo for his Death of Hyacinth.