Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me.
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on your knees merlin whispers, eyes hunger-bright, and arthur wordlessly drops. here all lines are blurred, there are no rules, and arthur feels the ground cold on his knees and merlin's gaze hot on his body. arthur feels it in his bones, that anything can happen here, that here merlin is servant and ruler, warlock and fool and power and light. arthur is a prince, a prince held on his knees by the weight of his servant's eyes.
undress me merlin says roughly, fingers strong on arthur's jaw, his neck, curling on his shoulders. arthur cannot close his eyes, only lowers them, and he pulls clothes away until warm skin is revealed, and he waits with a trembling need he himself does not understand. your mouth is all merlin says, but his meaning is unmistakable, as is his hand tracing over arthur's lips.
arthur is not pliant, nor obedient—no, those words imply passivity. he leans in with hungry intent, lips parting, hands reaching up. he tastes salt; his body reverberates with merlin's low groan. arthur wants, he wants—as prince he gets what he wants, but here he is not a prince. here all power is in merlin's hands, in the flashing gold of his eyes and his grasp on arthur's body.
arthur, arthur merlin chants, fingers clenching rhythmically. arthur is strong in battle, proud in front of his father and his court. proud in every aspect of his life. finish, arthur merlin orders tightly, and arthur tilts his head back and complies.
bitter warmth spreads across his tongue. need tenses every muscle of his body.
arthur has never found surrender so satisfying.
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