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Arthur is over him, all around him, touching him everywhere, tugging at his breeches until they drop past his knees, and Merlin shudders when Arthur strokes the skin stretched too-tight over Merlin’s hip, his ring a cool shock where it scrapes against the bone.
Merlin pushes his hands against the wall, fingers slipping along the cracks in the stone, as if he can claw his way through it to somewhere more private, but Arthur catches at his wrists, pulling them up to pin them next to Merlin’s shoulders.
“Arthur,” Merlin protests. His voice is breathier than he means it to be, and he stumbles over the last syllable when Arthur presses closer against him, slipping a thigh between his legs. He shuts his eyes and bites his lip, whimpering. Arthur had pinned him to the bed this morning, pressed him deep into the pillows and kissed him until Merlin couldn’t tell which way was up anymore, until Merlin was right on the edge, and then he’d left with a grin, leaving Merlin gasping in the cold air. Merlin’s been hard all day, shifting uncomfortably and trying to hide behind tables when Gwen looks at him.
Arthur’s really an arse sometimes.
“Shh,” Arthur tells Merlin now, rocking his hips forward against Merlin, and Merlin has to choke back a moan as their erections slide together. Arthur leans in, catches Merlin’s earlobe between his teeth, and fuck, Arthur is a bastard, knows exactly how to touch, where to bite to make Merlin come apart. Merlin wants to scream, wants to tell Arthur exactly how insane he’s driving Merlin, but they’re practically in the throne room itself, hidden in a tiny antechamber while the king holds court outside, and everyone thinks Arthur’s just gone for a few minutes to check on something in the armoury.
Arthur lets go of Merlin’s left wrist and runs a hand down to brush his fingers against Merlin’s balls, bypassing his cock entirely.
“I hate you,” Merlin informs Arthur, barely managing to keep his voice level. “I really, really hate you.”
“Quiet, Merlin,” Arthur says, stretching a finger back to stroke at the sensitive spot behind Merlin’s bollocks. “Or do you want my father to discover us like this?”
Merlin grits his teeth, determined, but when Arthur sinks to his knees and takes Merlin into his mouth with one smooth movement, Merlin throws his head back against the wall so hard the world goes dark for a moment and he sees stars.
Arthur pulls off and licks at Merlin’s cock, drags his tongue from root to tip before sucking the head back into his mouth and curling his tongue around it. When Merlin feels Arthur’s fingers working further back, brushing his entrance, he makes a wild grab for Arthur’s hair, winds it around his fingers and pulls, desperate to let Arthur know somehow how completely he’s destroying Merlin’s defences. Merlin’s mouth tastes like copper; distantly he registers that he must have bitten his lip so hard he’s drawn blood.
Arthur’s working steadily at his cock and his hole now, fingers pressing something inside that sends hot shivers up Merlin’s back and making soft, obscene slurping noises where he’s swallowing Merlin deep. Merlin holds onto Arthur for dear life, fingers still buried in Arthur’s hair, because if he lets go he doesn’t know if he’ll stay upright. His breath is ragged in his chest and his legs are shaking; when Arthur looks up at him from beneath lowered lashes, oddly coy, it should be strange, off-putting, but all Merlin can see is Arthur’s pink lips wrapped tight around his cock, and when Arthur pushes another finger into him Merlin comes down Arthur’s throat, unable to stop the strangled groan that forces its way up from deep in his belly.
Before he can recover Arthur’s standing again, grasping his shoulders and turning him roughly around to press his cheek against the cold stone of the wall. “I thought,” Arthur whispers, dragging his lips against the curving shell of Merlin’s ear, “I told you to be quiet, Merlin.” He’s manhandling Merlin into position, planting Merlin’s hands against the wall and nudging his legs until Merlin spreads them wider, as wide as they’ll go with his trousers still around his ankles.
“S-sorry,” Merlin manages. “Not my fault you’re a – oh – you’re a prat even like this.”
Arthur winds an arm around him, sticking his hand in front of Merlin’s face. “Lick,” he orders, his voice a low growl. “Get it wet; it’s all you’re getting.”
Merlin shivers again at that, his nerves still twitching from his orgasm, and obeys, tries to get Arthur’s hand as wet as possible, sucks on Arthur’s fingers in an attempt to get back at him, make him just as needy as Merlin feels.
“That’s good,” Arthur says at last, a little breathless, and Merlin has a second of smug pride before Arthur’s cock is pressing at his hole. He puts his forehead against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut, panting, fighting the urge to cry out as Arthur pushes into him.
Arthur fucks him slow and hard, every thrust calculated, and Merlin’s getting hard again, thick waves of pleasure rolling through him, making him sweat. “Arthur,” he pleads. “Arthur, please, please—” He can feel himself unraveling, and he wants Arthur to come apart with him, wants Arthur to break when Merlin does.
“Maybe next time I’ll gag you,” Arthur murmurs in his ear, but there’s a catch in his voice, a desperation that sends Merlin even closer to the edge. His fingers are digging into Merlin’s hips, deep enough to bruise, and he’s starting to speed up his thrusts, losing a little of his composure. “Tie your neckerchief around that pretty mouth and take you during the next feast; fuck you in one of those little alcoves in the corridor to the kitchens until you try and scream, but no one will hear you. No one gets to hear you scream except me, no one else gets to see you like this.”
Merlin moans, imagining what it would feel like: cloth in his mouth, unable to do more than whimper while Arthur pounds into him. Arthur pulls Merlin closer, changes the angle, and Merlin can’t do it anymore, can’t hold it in.
“Arthur,” he gasps, all the warning he can manage, and Arthur brings a hand up to press against Merlin’s mouth, driving into Merlin harder, faster than ever, fucking him in earnest now.
“Don’t scream,” Arthur growls, and Merlin falls apart. He can’t help screaming his orgasm into the palm of Arthur’s hand, his come splashing over the stones in the wall.
Arthur pulls in a hitching breath and sinks into Merlin once, twice, before he gasps and Merlin can feel him coming, spilling himself deep inside Merlin.
Merlin rests his cheek against the wall, feeling gloriously wrecked and content. He winces a little when Arthur pulls out of him, a tremor running through him as he feels Arthur’s come dripping down the inside of his thighs.
“You’re terrible at taking orders,” Arthur comments, fumbling as he laces his breeches back up, and Merlin laughs, turning around to look at Arthur. His hair is sticking up, hopelessly ruined from where Merlin had his hands in it, and his lips are red and swollen. He looks debauched, utterly unfit for court.
“They’re going to know exactly what you’ve been doing,” he says as Arthur pats at his hair, trying to get it to lie flat again.
Arthur grins. “Probably,” he admits. “But they won’t know who I’ve been doing it with, and they won’t dare to ask. They’ll just stew in their own uncomfortable curiosity. And my father won’t say anything; I’m the prince, it’s practically one of my duties to be manly and virile as long as I don’t have any illegitimate heirs.”
“You are a bad man,” Merlin feels compelled to point out, and Arthur laughs.
“I am,” he agrees, his voice going low and rumbling again, leaning in to nip at the corner of Merlin’s mouth. “Wait for me in my chambers and I’ll show you just how bad I can be.”
Merlin barely waits until Arthur leaves to move, and nearly falls down three flights of stairs in his rush to get to Arthur’s rooms.