Title: Scratch That, Not At All Fantastic
Author: bakarini
Genre: Gen, Slash
Word Count: 1,392
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Knight, Arthur watching
Summary: Arthur wonders how long Merlin's been having semi-secluded sex in the castle, because either Merlin was better at being sneaky, or destiny likes to fuck with his mind. Because he just keeps on walking in on his manservant doing not so apropriate things.
In Which: Arthur is a 'before bed milk drinker,' and Merlin takes advantage of the kitchen's thick doors.
Prequel:
(1) Not All That Fantastic
(2) Maybe A Little Fantastic, But That Was It

Scratch That, Not At All Fantastic

It was the middle of the night and he couldn’t quite get back to sleep. There had been a cute little kitchen girl, Margaret – who really wasn’t a girl at all; she was the daughter of Arthur’s wet nurse. Not the child she’d had at the same time as Arthur – that had been a baby boy of her own, and he had not survived. Margaret, was four years Arthur’s senior, a barren widow who enjoyed a roll in the hay every once in awhile, and since – well, barren and widow were two pretty good words for a prince to having a tryst with, they met each other more often than not.

Not that she was the only one; but Arthur was comfortable with her, as she with him. She didn’t question his moods and didn’t talk incessantly. She kept to herself and didn’t grow attached to him, and honestly it was the best sexual relationship a guy could ask for.

Outside of being able to go around having semi-public sex around Camelot’s castle.

It had been nearly a week since finding Merlin and Baiwen in the stables, and the memories haunted him as though he only just walked in on them the previous evening. And he’d had quite enough of his own hand, because pleasuring yourself could only do you so much; and for the last few nights, Margaret had been helping him with his late night restlessness.

She would stay for awhile. Stay until he would drift off to sleep, and then would slide from the bed and slip away back to her own quarters.

He’d never told her to. Never would tell her to. In fact, more than once he’d attempted to convince her to stay the night, and every time she just smiled at him, a sparkle of laughter dancing in her bright eyes, and would shake her head. She didn’t give an answer, but he wasn’t stupid. She was a widow, had been married and been expecting a child. She enjoyed the company, liked being physical, and enjoyed the companioned silence as the lay together afterwards. She liked to watch him drift off into sleep, combing her fingers through his hair, feeling another body next to hers – even if it wasn’t the man she wanted it to be.

He’d fallen asleep like every other night she visited, but it had been light and restless, and he woke up hot and with his legs itching to move. The patch of bed to his side still lingered warmth from where Margaret had laid, and the thing in his chest rumbled lowly. He shoved it aside along with the blankets, as he stood, pulled on a pair of pants and slid into one of his casual training shirts, and padded out barefoot.

He could call a servant to get him something from the kitchens, a glass of cold milk, still thick with the thick froth foam on it – but his legs twitched and itched and his muscles burned to be active, and really, there was nobody awake at this hour and it would be more of ahassle to get a servant than to just go down there an get it himself.

Besides, he wanted to walk. Needed to stretch his legs if he had any hope of getting back to bed.

The kitchen doors were thick, heavy wood that locked in the sounds of banging pots and bustling servants, of chef’s shouting and things being knocked over. Great for not being able to have to hear metal clattering throughout the castle halls, not so great when you were going to get a midnight drink and were supposed to be watching out for sexual trysts happening between your manservant and one of your father’s knights.

Arthur pushed through the door and was well into the kitchen, a step and a half to be exact, door just about to fall away from his hand, when he jerked to a halt in his tracks. Half naked Baiwen was sitting on the edge of one of the long kitchen tables, Merlin kneeled on the table over him, naked – fully and completely, no half-torn shirt, no pants around his ankles – riding the knight hard, his pale, sweat slicked legs glistening in the light of the slumbering coals in the large kitchen fireplace behind them.

He’d always thought Merlin was rather skinny. Flesh and bone and that was about it.

But Merlin was more than that. He was pale skin and taunt muscle, wiry and bony, only emphasized when he was like this – fingers gripping roughly into Baiwen’s bare shoulders, nails almost breaking skin, thighs flexing with every transfer of motion from almost sitting in Baiwen’s lap, to bringing himself up – up until Baiwen’s thick, glistening cock was almost completely free – and back down, slamming down and impaling himself on the man.

This Merlin had taut muscle, developed from a life of labor in fields, of carrying and picking and throwing and playing and sowing.

This Merlin was long and lean, was strong and experienced and demanding. He threw his head back and let out loud groans of pleasure, protected by the thick doors of the kitchen, and urged on by low, wordless murmurs of Baiwen, who clutched a bony hip in one large, massive paw of a hand, as the other slid up Merlin’s back, pulling Merlin into him as he leaned forward to press his lips to sweat slicked, white skin.

This Merlin made little choking noises in the back of his throat as Baiwen sucked his nipples and bruised his hips. He rode Baiwen harder as the knight abandoned the second perked, spit slicked bud and went back to the first, mouthing something against Merlin’s skin before baring his teeth and biting down, making Merlin let out another loud noise, something between a moan and a keening cry.

“Baiwen.”

The thing in Arthur’s chest, the prowling heat that seemed to constantly be angry, the thing he’d been consistently ignoring – roared, furious. And although Arthur knew what the thing was, knew and refused to pay it any mind, it was still shocking to feel the anger thrumming through his veins at the sound of another name passing Merin’s lips.

Baiwen smiled against Merlin’s chest, features caving into lust and pleasure and ecstasy for a moment before he clambered for control of himself. “I do not think,” he panted into Merlin’s chest, still licking and sucking and nipping his way across the pale flesh, leaving buds of pink in his wake, “the prince would approve of your nightly activities.”

Merlin’s parted lips curved into a smile, a soft noise that might have been a mewl sliding from his throat as Baiwen rolled his hips up into him, and brought his head down to look at Baiwen. But it took a moment for his eyes to focus, and instead of looking into the eyes of the man who now had both hands on his hips, the man who was starting to take control and adjust their rhythm, the man whose cock was thrusting into his ass, hips rolling and gyrating, he was looking across the room at Arthur.

Arthur’s cock, hard and hot in his pants, twitched, leaking pre-come, and the thing that rumbled unhappily in his chest, had a passing feeling of satisfaction at the way something bright and quick and suspiciously close to surprise darted through Merlin’s eyes.

But Merlin did not slow, did not stop. His fingers clenched harder into Baiwen’s shoulders, hips easily giving way to the hard grip of the knight under him, letting Baiwen change the pace, and said in a low, gravely voice that was all lust and pleasure and nothing else, “I don’t think he’d care,” before Baiwen growled low in his throat and ground tightly up into him, making Arthur’s manservant close his eyes, mouth going slack with surprise and pleasure, another soft noise leaking out of him.

“Tighten up for me,” Baiwen moaned, voice heavy, breath hard.

And Merlin, eyes shut, head dropped forward, refusing to look back up at Arthur, demanded, “Harder.”

The beast in Arthur’s chest snarled and snapped and threatened to burst from his very body, as Arthur stepped back into the hall, thick kitchen door slipping shut silently in front of him, leaving him alone in darkness, silence echoing heavily in his ears.

:: NEXT :: Possibly Slightly Fantastic