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Arthur dismisses everyone from the council chamber, even the guards. Everyone except Merlin, of course. Arthur leans his palms on the table, glowering at the map full of problems. It's always been full of problems, ever since long before he was born, and it always will be, no matter what he does, and that is just one of the many reasons he sometimes hates being king.
Merlin waits between pillars, hands folded behind him. He sends a frown at the doors as the last guard closes them. As if Arthur might be attacked here, this very night. Merlin is so ridiculously, endearingly overprotective.
"Lock them, if it makes you feel better," Arthur tells him.
Merlin tips his chin in the direction of the door. Gold gleams in his irises. The latch slides across with a snick.
Arthur straightens up, annoyed. "Lazy. And careless. They can hear the lock, you know. They're likely to notice the lack of your footsteps there and back."
Merlin subtly flickers his eyebrows upward, a look Arthur considers seductive. "Oh, will they? Same way you noticed the magic all those years?"
Arthur narrows his eyes, and goes back to staring at the map. But he's thinking now of how he did find out--not quite a year ago, shortly after his father died. Merlin came to him alone in his chambers, in tears, literally dropped to his knees, and confessed everything, every last magical act. He said he had done it all out of love for Arthur, but he couldn't live with the guilt and the secrets anymore, and Arthur was welcome to throw him on a fire in the center of the courtyard if he wished, and in short it was all quite melodramatic.
Arthur opted not to kill him. He did kick him in the knee fairly hard, and yelled at him several times a day for the next week. But they kept it all in private, those discussions over what to do about Merlin's being a sorcerer. And keeping it in private is where it has stayed. They've decided Merlin is better off doing as he has been: existing as a secret weapon, in Arthur's service alone. For now, at least.
Technically this was Arthur's choice, as king. But then, technically, Merlin could reach out a hand and stop Arthur's heart from twenty paces away any time he chooses. There he stands like a skinny country nobody, in the same ragged clothes day in and day out, when in truth all this time he has wielded the power of a thunderstorm.
It turns Arthur on. Has done since that day of Merlin's confession, once Arthur fully understood all the things Merlin has done in secret, all to protect Arthur. Not to mention all the wicked things he could have done to Arthur, easily, a thousand times, and never has, would never dream of doing.
Unless Arthur wants him to.
To be honest, Arthur was attracted to Merlin before that day, but he never understood why. Because of Merlin's combination of sassiness and loyalty, maybe? That was Arthur's best guess, and it was an annoyingly inadequate one. After Merlin's confession, however, Arthur fell completely, unreservedly in love with him. And Merlin, fully reciprocating, wasted no time in letting go of his martyr-melodrama and recovering his alluring sass. That in combination with his hidden powers is pretty much everything Arthur could ever desire.
They are also keeping their togetherness a secret from the rest of the kingdom, of course. People assume Merlin's just his lowly manservant, and that Arthur's still recovering after breaking up with Gwen however many months ago, and he's letting them think so.
Gazing at the map tires Arthur's eyes. He feels drained. He could use some of that power of Merlin's. As soon as the thought occurs to him, the arousal starts prickling through his veins.
"Everyone was more tedious than usual today, I swear," Arthur says. "All bowing and scraping and 'Yes, Sire, of course, Sire,' then going out and probably scheming to undermine me, and remarking to each other how pathetic I am compared to my father."
Merlin snorts. He's made it abundantly clear how much he prefers Arthur to Uther, so that part is beneath his notice and he won't even respond to it. Instead he saunters over and says, "I'm still willing to call you a dollophead to your face, if it helps."
Arthur meets his gaze. "Dollophead? Is that the worst you can do?"
He sees it, the exact moment Merlin catches the drift of what he's after, sees the arousal kindle and brighten in Merlin's face. They've never had sex here, in the council chamber; they've been more discreet than all that; but he's willing to bet Merlin's up for it.
Indeed, Merlin's whole body lifts a little with his next breath in, and his voice is pitched low and naughty when he answers. "Oh, no, Sire. I can do much worse."
Arthur keeps gazing coolly at him, still leaning on the table, though all of him is heating up deliciously. "And what would a peasant from Ealdor dare to do to me?"
He honestly doesn't know, each time, what Merlin might do, and the suspense with its dual edge of fear and eroticism makes his heart pound.
Merlin drops a casual glance from Arthur's face to his boots. He tilts his head, then flicks his fingers low as the gold flares in his eyes again. Arthur's feet get yanked out from under him, almost hard enough to knock him on his arse, but not quite. He stumbles to his knees instead. Merlin's hand tangles into his hair and hauls him forward. Merlin lounges with his back against the table, and his trouser laces magically unravel themselves. "Stay down," he commands Arthur. "Enough pompous proclamations out of that mouth today. Let's put it to a better use."
And Arthur's day is already much, much improved, even though he's on his knees on a stone floor with his hair being pulled, because Merlin's cock is hard and ready for him, and the taste and scent of it, and the way it fills his mouth, and most importantly the way his dutiful sucking makes Merlin's breath hitch on little grunts that he can't quite stifle, are all among Arthur's favorite things in the world lately.
Merlin doesn't let him enjoy it for long, however. He hauls Arthur back up to his feet after a scant minute, and grips him between the legs. His luscious lips curve into a mocking smile as he kneads Arthur's erection. "See? It makes you so hard. You love being at my mercy."
Arthur pins him against the table edge, crunching Merlin's hand between their hips, catching his other arm in his strongest grip. "You're still at my mercy as well."
"Am I?" Merlin fairly drawls the words, then he does that trick where somehow he moves unbelievably fast; he's there one second, then ripping away and reappearing behind Arthur the next. Arthur tries to grab at him, but Merlin has immobilized Arthur's arms with an ethereal rope of magic, binding them to his body. "What would your people think of you if they knew?" Merlin says into his ear, while slowly reaching around to unfasten Arthur's belt. "If they knew how much you love getting on your knees and sucking off your manservant?"
"Shut your insolent mouth." But Arthur's lifting his hips in anticipation of Merlin's hands getting into his trousers, and the last thing he wants is for Merlin to shut up.
Merlin understands that. "You were so rude to me for so long." Still holding Arthur from behind, he frees Arthur's cock and swipes a finger through the wetness at the tip. "You're going to be paying for that for quite some time." With his hand down inside Arthur's trousers, he moves his wet fingertip around to the cleft of Arthur's arse, and presses between the cheeks, finding his entry with a preciseness that sends a shudder through Arthur.
"Let me go if you want to fuck me properly, you coward." Arthur thrashes against the bonds confining his arms, because sometimes when Merlin's otherwise distracted, his spells can be fought off. This time Arthur doesn't succeed at freeing his arms, but does manage, purely accidentally, to smack his head back against Merlin's face.
Merlin hisses in a breath and steps back, and Arthur spins around--which he can do, though his arms are still wrapped against his sides. Merlin dabs a drop of blood off his lower lip, looks at it on his thumb, and glares at Arthur.
Arthur's eyes widen. "Oops." He and Merlin aren't meant to go so far as drawing blood in these little adventures. But he does feel a forbidden, erotic thrill at having scored a hit, and he reckons it shows in his face.
Merlin licks his lip, and smiles a bit, in what might be genuine vengeance this time. "Oh, now you need to be punished, you little prat." He stalks forward, magic lighting up his eyes like fire.
Arthur swallows, suddenly consumed with the most intense lust. "You think you can do that to me, do you?"
"I know I can." Merlin spins him and bends him over the table. Arthur's cheek knocks aside one of the small wooden blocks marking spots where bandit raids have taken place. Merlin yanks down Arthur's trousers to his ankles. He snarls something in an ancient tongue, and the bonds confining Arthur's arms pull tighter, drawing his wrists almost behind his back. Arthur shuts his eyes, his cock throbbing in need, trapped against the smooth wood of the tabletop.
"I should do the cruelest things to you for that." Merlin rubs Arthur's bare arse, hands circling round and round, a gentle caress. For the moment.
"Then why don't you?" Arthur tries to make it scornful, the fighting-back he likes to play at, but he's already reached the point of wallowing in lust, and he mostly sounds breathless.
"Because you're just a spoiled--" Merlin slaps his arse, hard. Arthur gasps, savoring the pleasure that washes in after the sting. "--insufferable--" Another spank. Arthur clenches his rear, his balls tightening. "--conceited oaf--" One, two, three more spanks, rapid and enhanced with the crackle of magic, which makes Arthur moan through his fast breaths. "--who needs to be taught some manners." Merlin finishes with one last sharp slap, then grips Arthur's arse cheeks in both hands and spreads them wide.
Arthur presses his forehead to the map, panting. He wiggles his fingers behind his back, stretching them, aching for any touch of Merlin he can reach. He gets a light bite on one hand for his trouble; not enough to break skin, just Merlin teasing him. Even that makes Arthur harder, needier. "What are you, a cat?" he protests. "Be a man, Merlin."
Merlin's cock prods at Arthur's arse. "That's just what I'm about to do, my lord." God, Arthur loves how belittling Merlin can make those words.
Then comes Arthur's favorite part--or almost his favorite. Merlin hisses a spell (Arthur recognizes the word by now, though he can't pronounce it himself), and Arthur's arse relaxes and softens in obedience, becomes magically moist and slick, and Merlin slides into him in one push. Arthur adores it, the outrage of his body being not under his own control, of being overpowered and breached so easily. No one else in the world has the mastery to do this; Arthur's a mighty warrior; he works hard every day to remain so. But Merlin, Merlin of all people, can best him in any fight, and it's magnificent.
He's got power over Merlin too, though. He hears it in the shudder of Merlin's breath as he starts moving within Arthur. Merlin takes hold of Arthur's bare hips, long fingers wrapping around to the edges of the hair at Arthur's crotch, not quite touching his aching cock.
"I'm being very kind to you, you know." Merlin's voice is low-pitched, breathless.
"Are you now?" Arthur says, still panting, eyes shut, his cheek mashed against the map. "When you won't even stroke me off like a decent lover?"
Merlin thrusts in and out slowly, fingers tensing and loosening in corresponding rhythm on Arthur's hipbones. "I could tighten you up instead of relaxing you. I could make it hurt. Instead I've made it so you fit me nice and comfortably, and you know why?"
"No. Why don't you tell me." Arthur's trying to sound defiant, but he's thrusting his hips right along with Merlin, seeking even the inadequate friction of his cock against the tabletop because it's all he can get at the moment.
"Because I enjoy turning you so wanton. I love when you're so wrapped up in pleasure that you don't even care that I've tied you up and bent you over a table. In fact, you love it." Merlin's panting through his words now, and from the rigidity of his cock, and the slam of each thrust, Arthur can tell he's close to climax. "Say you love it."
Arthur's fully willing to let go of the defiance now. "I do. I love it. Please touch me, please."
"That's better." Merlin wraps his hand around Arthur's cock, and Arthur almost sobs in relief. "Your manners--are much--improved--Sire--" Merlin gasps each word, pushing deep into Arthur, his hand stroking. "Now--come for me--"
He's hardly said it before Arthur obeys, convulsing, breaking apart in bliss, wet warmth streaking up his belly and pooling on the tabletop. He's still shivering in delightful aftershocks when Merlin comes too, stifling his cry with what sounds like clenched teeth, filling Arthur with heat, and this is Arthur's absolute favorite part. Every time.
Merlin's upper body wilts onto Arthur's back while they catch their breath. Merlin mumbles a barely intelligible, "Good Lord, I love you."
"You too," Arthur mumbles back, feeling quite congenial now. "So let me go already."
Merlin chuckles, steps back, and evidently waves his hand or flashes his eyes or something, because the invisible ropes binding Arthur's arms evaporate away. Arthur shakes the soreness out of his wrists, straightens up, and presses the stiff muscles of his lower back. "Oof. Now you'll have some healing to do."
Merlin laces himself back up, wearing his everyday modest smile again. "Luckily I'm trained in that." He shakes his head in regret at the mess they've made of the table and their clothes, and whisks all the stains away into thin air with another melodious-sounding spell.
Arthur does up his trousers, and steps close to lay a gentle thumb against Merlin's bruised lip. "Sorry. Didn't mean to."
Merlin shrugs. "Nothing a kiss won't fix."
Arthur's happy to oblige. They linger in a leisurely kiss. Arthur suckles away the salty tang of blood until all he tastes is Merlin's dear mouth. Merlin slips a hand into Arthur's hair and threads his fingers through it gently, stroking his scalp until Arthur no longer feels the tender spots where it was pulled a few minutes ago.
They finally step apart, and exchange a conspiratorial grin. "We better get out before anyone starts suspecting," Arthur says.
"Yes, Sire, of course, Sire."
Arthur rolls his eyes, swats Merlin lightly on the back of the head, and turns toward the door. "Oh, and bring my coat," he commands. "I left it on the chair."
He glances back. Merlin extends a hand, and the coat flies through the air to him like a diving falcon. Merlin catches it and holds it aloft a moment, with a cocky smile. He reminds Arthur of a knight flexing his muscles after a victorious move.
Which, Arthur reflects, is exactly what he is.