Title: Maybe A Little Fantastic, But That Was It
Author: bakarini
Genre: Gen, Slash
Word Count: 2,966
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Knight, Arthur watching
Summary: Arthur's left distracted and a little dazed with memories of catching Merlin having sex with one of the Camelot knights; and attempts, in vain, to convince himself he doesn't care who Merlin does in his spare time.
In Which: Arthur is a prat distracted, and Merlin continues to engage in amazing sex.
Prequel: Not All That Fantastic

Maybe A Little Fantastic, But That Was It

The images of Merlin, pressed up against the wall, hair tousled, flushed and slick with sweat, his voice grinding out demandingly – burned behind Arthur’s eyelids. Whenever he blinked, he saw Merlin crowning back and twitching in pleasure, coming over his stomach and clutching the anonymous knight tightly to his body.

In bed, he’d toss and turn for ages, convinced that tonight – tonight was going to be the night he went to sleep without jerking himself off to the memory of Merlin’s voice. He’d cave, eventually, fingers sliding down and curling around his cock, already hard and hot just with the thoughts, and it only took a few jerking strokes to bring himself over the edge.

So maybe Merlin was a little impressive. But honestly, it could have been anyone fucking against the armory wall and Arthur would have been haunted by it.

Or, at least, that’s what he tried to tell himself.

Because then there was Merlin himself. Merlin who went about doing chores like nothing was different. Like Arthur hadn’t seen him wrapped around a man in the height of pleasure. Like he could crane his head up to look at Arthur from where he was on the floor, fetching dirty laundry that had slipped under the bed - and that long, pale, extended neck wasn’t the same one that had glistened with sweat and sex and been flushed pink with lust as he demanded to be fucked harder.

The whole thing was rather disconcerting and uncomfortable.

Days passed, awkward and long, in which Arthur wasn’t sure if he wanted to avoid Merlin all together, or just grab his manservant by the hair, fold him over his bed, and fuck him through the floor.

But princes did not fuck their menservants through floors. Well, that was a lie, he was allowed to screw whoever he wanted – he was the prince after all – and he took advantage of that on a regular basis. But this… This was something different. This was Merlin. Who, strangely enough, Arthur might have – in some small way, very small way – thought of as a little bit of a friend, not just manservant.

Merlin who was insufferable and irritating and moronic, and stood up to him like none of his previous servants had ever dared. Merlin who covered for him when he really could say no, and who drank poisoned goblets for him, and followed him into danger with such blind whatever, that it nearly drove Arthur crazy at times.

Merlin, who apparently had a healthy sex life that involved exhibitionist screwing in semi-public places with strangers.

His fingers, loosely curled around the stem of his goblet of wine, suddenly tightened. And what if it hadn’t been a stranger? Was it completely ridiculous to think, if Merlin was fucking someone, that it might be the same person – and might be on a regular basis?

Where else had they done it?

Really, Arthur shifted in his seat at the head of the hall, this wasn’t the place or the time to be thinking about any of this. Mostly because he was supposed to be paying attention to the speech Uther was giving, commending one of his older knights – not more than five years Arthur’s senior, he was sure – on a recent and most successful assignment to drive back the looters that had been sneaking across the southern border.

But who cared about some knight who did something or other and was getting one reward or another. He wasn’t one of Arthur’s knights, and he wasn’t Merlin’s knight.

Merlin’s knight.

The thing that was hot in his chest, that had been prowling around and growling ever since he saw… that, rumbled heatedly. He thought he might know what it was now, though it was a ridiculous notion, so instead he was attempting to ignore it all together. But at that thought, the thought that Merlin had a knight – a knight who was not him, Arthur, the only knight Merlin should be worried about at all – It was difficult to ignore the anger that gnashed inside him, snarling and pacing.

“More wine?”

Arthur’s head snapped up at the soft voice echoing in his ear, and he refused to acknowledge the fact that Merlin’s breath was all but washing over his neck. “No.” His voice was clipped and hard, and he turned back around to stare out over the banquet before he could see Merlin’s brows pull together in confusion.

Merlin didn’t move.

With an aggravated mutter, Arthur turned to glare at him. “What is it? And why are you so bloody close to me?”

Something flickered in Merlin’s eyes, and Arthur had the suspicious feeling it was irritation. Merlin – annoyed with him? Ha, that was just laughable. But he was still there, shifting weight from one foot to the other. “I’m close because you told me this is what I’m supposed to do, so I don’t bother anyone’s conversation…”

Arthur snorted. “What conversation?” He waved a hand over the room with a flick of his wrist. Plenty of talking and roused knights and jovial calls, already starting to feel the liquor in their bones. Nothing that would be interrupted, that was for sure.

Warm breath lanced over his neck, making him tense, fighting against the warmth pooling down into his groin and the thoughts of Merlin making those shallow, gasping noises as – “Good God, why are you still here?”

“Are you alright?”

Arthur let out another rough snort and slid down in his seat, torn between splaying his legs out a little further to give himself some relief, and just getting up and walking out all together. The latter, unfortunately, wasn’t really an option at this point. “Of course I’m alright. Just,” he waved his hand at Merlin, “go already.”

There was a half second pause, in which Arthur thought he might have to get up and bodily throw Merlin back to the wall where he came from, and then his manservant was stepping back, away from him, and returning to the safe distance that was not ‘breathing hotly on Arthur’s neck’ close.

Thank God.

Unfortunately, he was only thanking God for a limited amount of time. Well, the time it took for the heat to slowly seep out of his crotch and dissipate, which was relatively related to the amount of time it took him to finish his wine. Not quite prepared to assaulted by Merlin’s presence – good God, he couldn’t even have his manservant around him anymore, and that was just pathetic – but not willing to let his goblet go empty and suffer through this mind numbing celebration sober, he lifted his hand to signal a refill.

And there was no way he could ignore the flaming heat of beast that roared wildly in his chest, when it was Gwen, not Merlin, who came to top him off.

He had to stop himself from grabbing her and demanding where his manservant was, which was a powerful work of will on his part, and in no small part helped along by the fact that he was the prince for God’s sake, and did not act like a fumbling idiot when his servant went missing.

Knuckles white from the death grip on his goblet, Arthur looked ahead. Men and women, smiling and laughing and falling over each other with liquor and food, full and happy. The speeches were long since done, and really, if he wanted to slip away now on his own, he could do it without anyone noticing or being offended – even if he was really supposed to stay through the whole thing.

Like the guest of honor and his men were supposed to stay.

Oh sure, Baiwen’s men were still there, gathered together at a table, clashing steins and laughing as the frothing top of mead sloshed heavily over their knuckles. Baiwen himself, however, wasn’t among them.

The thing in his chest snarled and snapped and demanded he go find Sir Baiwen, and find out exactly what the knight thought was so important that he could just walk out of his own celebratory feast for. And, he told himself roughly, it had nothing to do with the fact that his manservant had suspiciously gone missing around the same time.

Abandoning his goblet and his seat, Arthur stalked from the hall. He didn’t know where he was going, didn’t know what he thought he was doing – all he knew, was that something, deep inside of him, needed him to find Merlin.

Needed him to find Merlin alone, doing some mundane task, like sweeping floors.

He didn’t find Merlin sweeping floors. In fact, he didn’t find him in the castle at all, which was probably for the better. His blood was still hot in his veins, temples thudding with the pressure of it, and the beast in his chest beat at him to be released.

The cool night air was welcome, blasting against his face as he stepped out of the castle and into the courtyard. Brisk and chilled and fresh, washing away his irritation, cooling his blood, and making him feel human again – making him feel like himself again.

The hall was shining brightly behind him, noise of talk and cheering dulled from behind thick doors. Nobody would miss him, and he made his way across the courtyard. Brisk and cool, but not by any means cold. The moon was out, a large ball of white hanging in the clear night sky, and he made his way around to the stables, hesitating as his fingers landed on the cool surface of the side door that was already cracked open.

By God, how incompetent were these people? Merlin found it completely appropriate to disappear in the middle of feasts. Stable doors left awry. Next he’d find himself in the kitchens rolling his own bread because the cooks refused to do it.

Slipping into the dark of the stables, Arthur didn’t bother with a light. He knew the stables as well as he knew his own chambers, and he sure as shit knew it well enough to be able to get his horse and get out without waving around a lamp that someone would, no doubt with his luck, see.

He just needed a few hours away from the castle, the people, thoughts of Merlin and Baiwen. Just him, his horse, and the night.

There was a soft shuffle followed by a horse’s wary whinny, exasperation at having been woken, no doubt. And even while part of him clearly told him ‘do not go forward,’ he did it anyway. Feet soft, soundless, on the hard stable floor as he approached the sounds that were far too familiar. Sounds that were the same as the ones he thought about every night before coming hard in his hand and rolling over for a restless sleep.

His horse was awake, a giant of a war horse that eyed Arthur carefully, ears twitching, flickering between him and the not so empty stall across from it. Door closed, but not quite completely, faded light of a dim lamp softly leaking into the dark – and Arthur wondered how he had not noticed it as soon as he walked in.

He told himself to walk away.

And the lumbering thing in his chest demanded he charge in, rip Merlin away, and choke the anonymous knight to death.

He was left standing, just close enough to clearly see Merlin, standing against the back of the stable, fingers wrapped in the dark, shaggy hair – that Arthur could swear was familiar – of the man whose head was buried in between his legs. The head moved at a steady pace, bobbing along with the sharp, unyielding command of the fingers pulling his hair.

Merlin’s shirt was askew, the neck ripped, torn to reveal his pale chest and just the top of that flat, smooth stomach. His head was bent forward, dark hair curling with sweat and clinging to his forehead as though it didn’t want to be parted from him any more than absolutely necessary. His eyes were closed, again, while his plump, freshly kissed lips were almost red and parted, his jaw slack as he took in heavy breaths.

Arthur couldn’t see his pants, just round, pale bottom, pink under the gripping pressure of strong fingers that held Merlin in place, just under his bony hips – hips that were splashed green and yellow and purple from bruises healing. His hot and hard cock out was of sight, engulfed in the warm heat of the mouth of the knight who was kneeling in front of Arthur’s manservant.

Merlin grunted lowly, his shoulders curling down around himself, fingers tightening into a white-knuckled grip on the head between his legs, pulling Baiwen in – because Arthur had seen it, the familiar crest sewn on the shoulder of the man who had his face in Merlin’s crotch, his nose pressed against those dark curls.

“Stop.” Merlin’s voice was steady, if not husky and breathy. Steady and strong, clipped with demand as he forcibly pulled Baiwen away from him.

His hand was on the hilt of his sword, flashing there in the split second between the word ‘stop’ and the time it took for him to realize Merlin was in complete control of the situation – that Baiwen was docilely doing as he was told, turning his face to look up at Merlin with eyes shrouded in lust and lips swollen from work. Waiting orders.

Moments passed in silence, strained, deafening with the sound of Arthur’s heart thudding in his ears, his pants tight over his crotch.

Merlin’s cock, hard and thick, slickened with saliva and red with need, all but quaked with inattention. The knight remained on his knees, hands digging into Merlin’s ass, his own breaths becoming sharp with need. But he didn’t move. He waited, patiently, quaking, as though he knew what was coming. And the thought made Arthur’s chest burn.

“Fuck me.” Solid and demanding, with no room for question, and the words, the tone, made Arthur shudder, becoming painfully hard as he wondered just where in the hell Merlin had learned to talk like that. With so much force.

There was a single nod as Baiwen stood, grabbing Merlin sharply by the shoulders and spinning him around, pinning him into the cool wood of the stable wall with such speed and force Merlin barely managed to turn his head in time to prevent a broken nose. His pale chest thudded heavily on impact, and a strangled sound came out of Merlin’s throat.

He knew what was coming. Knew it, and yet wasn’t quite prepared for it. To see Baiwen keep Merlin pressed against the wall with one hand, as he freed himself with the other. The knight loomed over Merlin, five years Merlin’s senior, a man of battle and death and chaos, a man who commanded and only took orders from the king. And yet he hesitated, leaning over Merlin’s pale form, bringing his lips to brush over Merlin’s ear.

“Merlin?”

Baiwen’s voice was a grainy whisper of a word, clawing out of a throat that was too used to shouting orders and battle cries, past lips that did not grin and were not supposed to kiss like that, teeth that weren’t suppose to nibble lightly on the edge of a pale ear and make it flush a soft pink.

Merlin looked over his shoulder, eyes glazed and yet unnaturally hard, as he looked back at Baiwen and repeated, roughly, “Fuck me.” And half a second later, with Baiwen still hovering over him, voice more crisp and clipped, “Now.” A demanding command of a word, and Arthur only got a flickering glimpse of a smirk that pulled at Baiwen’s lips before he pulled back and thrust roughly into Merlin, still holding him, hard, against the wall.

A sharp gasping groan stuttered from Merlin’s slack jaw, his eyes shimmering, hands splayed against the wall, fingers digging into it, trying to get leverage and steady himself. And Arthur came, the hot beast in his chest screaming something terrible, as he clenched his jaw tight enough to make his brain hurt, and swallowed down his own rumbling groan, as he stained his pants and was left shivering and holding on to the front of his Horse’s stall to steady himself.

He was still staring, eyes transfixed on Merlin, pressed up against the wall, harsh breaths hitching with each rough thrust, and Baiwen’s large hands covering the almost healed bruises tightly, marking down fresh ones.

Simmering heat curled in his belly; he was still hard, still wanting and hot.

“Harder.” Merlin’s demanding word, panted out between breaths, and Arthur’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

He had to leave. Had to leave before the beast in his chest made him do something he shouldn’t – something unforgivable and horrible.

Baiwen made a sound, his hands tightening on Merlin’s slim, bony hips, pulling them back and making Merlin slide down the wall – positioning Arthur’s manservant so he could slam into him with the force he’d commanded.

Arthur’s manservant. Baiwen had a servant of his own, a servant he could do anything he pleased with. And instead he was in there, fucking the brains out of Merlin.

Merlin who very clearly was Arthur’s.

The heat in his chest growled viciously, and Arthur shook his head, the bones in his hand creaking with the intensity he grasped the hilt of his weapon with. He took a breath, harsh and slow, and ripped his eyes away from the stall in front of him.

The beast roared angrily, refusing to be pushed aside so easily – demanding Arthur listen to it.

Instead, he turned, jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding together, muscles tense with need and anger and the something that he refused to name – and walked away.

:: NEXT :: Scratch That, Not At All Fantastic