Title: Instead of stressed, I lie here charmed.
Rating: M
Description: Arthur has been away, and you've missed him, missed him so much it's like physical pain. He's felt the same.
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of its creator. I own none of the characters or anything to do with Merlin, because if I did, Arthur would never become king, because he would be tied to my bed and Merlin... Well, I'm sure I could think of something to do with him ^_^
There's a tense feeling that runs from the back of your neck right down to your toes, though your head is surprisingly clear, with just one need circulating your brain. You know it's not his fault you feel like this, and it's no small comfort that you know he must feel the same. It's been too long since you were alone together, and you've not even had a chance to kiss him since he got back from the battle with some army dispatched from the Scottish borders. You need to soothe the terror you've felt every second he's been gone out of your sight and you've been unable to protect him. Your muscles tighten further when you see him fidget in his seat, rolling his left shoulder surreptitiously, because you know he must be sore, that shoulder has been weaker since the incidents with the questing beast and The Great Dragon, and having it thrown out of joint didn't help it. You clench the tray you hold tighter to avoid reaching out and gently massage his aching muscles, trying to remember that one wrong touch in front of Uther and the rest of the nobles could have you thrown in the stocks, and leaving Arthur to answer some awkward questions. So you wait for him, for that moment when he will pull you out of here and you can reacquaint yourselves with each others bodies.
Out the corner of your eye you see him lean towards Morgana and whisper something in her ear that makes her smile and turn to look at you. Her wicked eyes flash with mischief as she winks at you and move toward the king and asks for a dance, effectively distracting him. For a while you watch the king and his ward dance until you hear Arthur's voice bidding those around him a goodnight, deflecting their requests that he stay a while longer, insisting it was a long campaign and all he wants to do is sleep. You follow as he beckons you, making a formal bow to those congregated and following at a distance expected of a servant. As soon as the doors shut you jog to catch up and he pulls you up against him, effectively cutting off any words, or any sarcastic remark you were intending to say. As he pulls back, his eyes smiling into yours, you know no words are needed now as you make your way with him up to his chambers, turning away from him only when you bolt the door behind you, your body thrumming with energy.
You relax as his hands trap your shoulders and tip you backwards till you're pressed into his broad chest and you can hear the heavy thumping of his heart against your back, the tempo increasing noticeably when you let out a tiny whimper and lean your head back so it rests against his shoulder. In truth, you've always been a little bit taller then him, but your body is suddenly so relaxed that you're slumped against him, and for once he has the height advantage. Your skin feels hyper sensitive, so when he pulls gently on the red scarf around your neck you feel every stroke of the silken fabric as it caresses your throat. You were wearing the scarf he got your for the banquet, a red silken affair, but not just red; Camelot red; his colour. You wore it with pride, a silent assertion to the room that you belonged to him. Now you watch as it flutters to the floor, a crimson salute that has your attention until his hands slip down your arms to catch your wrists for a second, applying gentle pressure before they move lower and his fingers curl into your own. You can't help but squeeze the digits and tug them across your stomach so his arms follow and wrap around you, holding you close to him, and keeping you pressed against him. He skims his nose along the skin of your neck, making you arch up as he allows his breath to escape in little drafts, sending your nerve endings flaring in the best possible way.
He smiles into your skin and instinctively you know what he's thinking. The king is still drinking with the other nobles; his duties are done for the night, as are both of yours. You have this moonlit night for yourselves, a few rare hours when you will not be needed for anything else besides each other. And you want every second to count, just like he does. His lips finally press against your flesh and it's sends a rush of blood to your cheeks that he settles it sweetly on one of your ears, before giving the same attention to the other, hugging you that little bit tighter. There is no rush, no frantic scrabbling at each other to relieve the pressure that each others company invariably brings; there is time to savour, to lavish attention and the thought makes you want to sing. Sing with happiness that no-one else sees this side of him, that in this time, he is yours and no-one else's, and that makes you love him more then any tourney, then any act of war could ever do.
"Arthur," You whisper. You're loathe to break the silence of the room, but his name needs to be said, and he needs to acknowledge it, so that you're sure you're not just imagining this; that your brain hasn't gone into overdrive and really you're alone, because sometimes being around him makes you think you must be dreaming, and after a separation as long as the one just past... You feel his smile against the back of your head as he buries his face into your hair, pulling in a deep breath before moving so his head rests against your shoulder, your cheeks pressed against each others.
"I'm here," He breathes, kissing your collarbone softly, his lips whispering the words, "I'm here Merlin." You turn in his arms, releasing his fingers so that you can shift and look into his eyes, those big blue eyes, so full of promise, of truth and of love. You raise your hands, hands that look so much paler in comparison to his skin and press the tips of your fingers to his rose petal lips, your smile matching his as he pulls your hand away to press against his chest, over the red dress shirt he wore to match your scarf, the material and the colour exactly the same. His hands curl around the back of your neck, fingers searching up into your hair, massaging the scalp with deft strokes before he comes closer to you and you lean into him, pressing your bodies together. You capture his lips before he has a chance to move and his mouth reciprocates the kiss immediately, fingers tightening delicately in your hair as your own bunching in the soft crimson of his shirt. Your lips move against each others before his part and invite your tongue in, his dancing fluidly against your own, a sound escaping, leaving you to wonder who it was who moaned? Him, you or both? You decide it doesn't matter as his hands slip from your hair and down your body, across your back and down your hips, cradling them as though he's scared you'll break if he holds you too tight.
You pull back first, your lungs burning with a lack of oxygen that has your head spinning in the most perfect way. Your eyes open, and you hadn't even been aware they had slipped shut. With a rush of pleasure, you see he is panting too, his lips wet with your saliva and you can't resist pressing a chaste kiss to them, just too feel them once more. He rests his forehead against yours and you finally loosen the death grip you have on his shirt when he opens his eyes and looks into yours the blue burning with love, hunger and desire. There is a shadow on his face and you wonder where it has come from until you register the quirk of his lips and the slight arch of his eyebrows. You blush as you realise the shadow is from your glowing golden eyes and you blink, watching his face soften as your eyes return to blue.
"This is what you do to me," You murmur against his lips, feeling a surge of pride and excitement when his cheeks redden and he ducks behind his golden fringe. When he looks back up you have to swallow a groan of lust. His eyes are almost all pupil, the blue edged out by arousal, completely blown with lust. His eyes beg you and you know what he wants. You love this, when he wants you in control. As a prince he can never lose control, can never let another take over, but here, alone with you, he allows you to be the one in charge, and the knowledge that he trusts you so implicitly is a heady thing. You claim his lips again, moving him slowly towards the bed, walking backwards until your knees hit the edge of the mattress and you're forced to sit. You pull away from his mouth and force him to stay standing, looking up at him as you hold him at arms length, your eyes roving over him hungrily. The moonlight is suddenly not enough, "Incendia ignis," You growl and he doesn't even jump as the torches and candles in the room burst to light, setting the whole room in a delicate golden glow.
He just shakes his head and mutters, "Lazy," under his breath with a small smirk. He moves to bend down, to join you on the bed, but you shake your head; no. His head tilts as he straightens up again and looks down at you, confusion written on every inch of his face. You don't reply, but simply lean forward to hitch his shirt up a fraction, showing a small strip of tanned flesh adorned with fine blonde hair that stretches below the tantalising band of his trousers. You can't help but lean forward to taste his skin and he responds by curling a hand around the back of your neck, a small strangled groan escaping his lips. You grin against him and pull away, looking up into his eyes, your own burning with passion.
"Strip for me," You say, your voice louder then before, but barely. He looks at you with wide eyes for a second before stepping away from you and tugging the red shirt up and pulling it over his head, mussing up his perfect blonde hair in the process. When his eyes meet yours again, you're left breathless by the trust, the love and the... submission. Your breeches tighten around you as a coil of arousal springs in your stomach making you shiver with want, with a desperate need, you force your face to stay calm and not betray the current fire curling in your body. You can feel your magic, always closer to the surface when you're like this with Arthur, burning at your fingertips and you can't resist simply reaching up to drag your hands across his smooth skin, watching with interest as golden static, harmless and warm, dances off your palms. You look up to see Arthur watching you and you fight down a smile as you tug at the string holding up his own garments, watching with interest as they fall, needing a little persuasion to move down over his swelling erection. He gasps as the fabric tugs at his flesh, and you feel yourself losing control when you pull back and he stands still, shivering ever so slightly, in all his glory, bare before you.
You tug him towards you, forcing him onto his back on the bed while he watches you with amusement in his eyes, obviously wondering what you are doing. You kiss him again as you push your breeches over your hips before pulling away and lifting your shirt over your head, not caring where it lands as long as it's away from you as you throw it. You can see the lust darkening his gaze once again, but you force yourself to look away and focus on the task you need to complete before you do anything to him. He catches your eye and his face softens as he props himself up on his elbows and smiles at you, pulling your hand so it rests again on his chest over his beating heart.
"I promised you I would come back Merlin," He whispers, and you nod, "And in one piece," You can't help but smile as you press your body down on top of his and kiss him hard, tangling one hand in his hair while the other keeps you balanced precariously. The taste of him on your tongue sends you wild and you want more of him, so you lick down his body, tasting every inch of his skin until you reach his proud dick and taste the head, licking pearly pre-come from the tip with a sweep of your tongue, making him groan and bite down on his bottom lip, bucking his hips up. You can't help but giggle at the sight of him so desperate from just once touch, even if it has been 2 months since you laid even a finger on any part of him. You pull away kneeling between his legs.
"Turn over," you instruct, watching his strong, tan body under you turn, the smooth skin catching in the candlelight. You wait until Arthur is on his front, his erection trapped under his body, before you run your hands over his back, stopping only when you reach his firm arse, feeling it clench under your exploring hands and listening to the soft moans from above. Leaning down again, you press kisses from the top of his spine down to the twitching opening that calls for attention. Spreading the cheeks of Arthur's arse, you sweep your tongue along the hole, listening and stilling for a second as the blonde lets a choked tortured gasp, before applying harder pressure to the opening, your tongue breaching him and beginning to lap hungrily as you open him up with your tongue.
"God! Yeah, Merlin, please... Just like that... More, I need-UGH! Oh God, there, again, again," Arthur demanded, balling the rich sheets of his bed in his hands. You wonder briefly what Camelot would say about their Prince now, if they could see him being literally feasted on by his servant like he was an exotic buffet, "Merlin, please... I want you to inside of me properly, please! UGH!" He rubs himself hard against the bed as your tongue is removed and replaced with a finger. You move up his body, pressing yourself flush against his quivering back, digging your member into his thigh to abate some of the pressure. You move another finger to join the one that is pumping into his arse as Arthur breathes hard against the pillows, one of his hands moving from where he crumples the bed sheets to grip your hair, murmuring desperately, begging you.
"Nothing feels like you do, Arthur," You hiss, rolling your R's and scissoring your fingers to emphasise it, "I love feeling you like this, open and almost ready for me," The blonde was close to losing control, but you know he's not quite ready and you definitely will not hurt him, and so you move off him, down again, to spit against the damp hole accommodating your fingers before pushing in a third, watching to make sure there is no resistance as the waiting body swallows your digits. A movement catches your eye and you look up to see Arthur has turned his head to look over his shoulder at you; his breath escaping in desperate pants from his swollen parted lips, with his tongue reaching out to moisten them every few seconds, the view keeping you frozen for a second, while all you can do is watch, "God you're beautiful," You whisper eventually, your lips quirking into a warm smile when Arthur blushes, and drops his face again. You pull your fingers out and turn your shivering lover onto his back, reaching down only to tangle your lips and tongues once more, before slicking yourself with the oil you had grabbed earlier as Arthur wraps his legs around you, aligning himself with your engorged member. You gasp as he pushes agianst you, feeling the tightness of his initial resistance before you slip through that first ring of muscle and the rest follows in a smooth, swift motion, making Arthur groan and tip his head back, his back arching off the bed to try to accommodate your length.
It's a few seconds before you're assured you're ok to move, but when you do, it sets your whole body burning, and it's all you can do not to thrust wildly, to chase your release to the end of the world and crash into it. You want him to love this, need to see him when he lets go, so you move slowly, watching his body coil, his teased, untouched flesh rubbing between your flushed bodies, sliding against sweaty skin. You lift him up slightly by his hips and thrust into him roughly, watching in fascination as his legs release you and his knees draw up to his torso, spreading himself wider for you as your thighs tremble with the effort not to take, to dominate and make him yours in the most primal way. You thrust harder and faster, listening to his words of encouragement as he tightens the muscles of his arse around you, making you stutter in your rhythm. The room feels so tight, almost as tight as him and it's an effort to stay upright and not just give in as you start to lose control.
You notice his sudden grin and wonder what it means in the seconds before he somehow has you on your back and all coherent thought goes out the window, because he's riding down on your cock, muttering your name, his hands on either side of your head as his body bows, his leaking member pleading for attention. You grip his hips tight and start to dominate how your thrusts meet up to his, batting his hand away when he reaches for his cock and taking it into your own hand, feeling every ridge as you strip it in time with your thrusts. Your own release is imminent; you can feel it spreading from the tips of your toes, to the tight coiling in your lower stomach, but you want him to come first, to paint your body with his release, so you increase the pressure on his cock, fisting him tight and rough, listening to him as he half sobs with ecstasy. You feel his orgasm before it happens as his muscles tighten around you and his lips part, as his neck strains and hips still and he shuts his eyes, calling out your name as he spurts his release over you hand and both of your bodies, riding you until the visual and physical feast finally pulls your orgasm from you and hold onto him as you thrust into his body, muffling your scream of his name against his sweaty skin as you fill him up. Eventually he slumps, his muscles loosen and he pulls off you; almost reluctantly, you note through your post orgasmic haze.
Though you can see that all he wants is to fall and just let sleep take his exhausted body where it needs to go, he keeps his head and reaches over to the small bowl of water you had placed by his bed before the feast, and cleans both his your body, while you make no attempt to help, only sighing in a contentment that comes from being thoroughly sated. You only move when he does, going to drop next to you on the mattress, and stopping him by curling your hands around his muscled arms.
"No," You mutter, pulling him down on top of your body and resting the blond head on your chest, keeping your arms tight around him, one in his hair, the other resting on the small of his back "Stay here, right here," Arthur nods and burrows down, wrapping his arms around and under the your body as your legs curl around him, keeping him in place, and an unseen force, the magic forgotten and un-needed during your love-making, pulls the blankets up, making sure you do not have to move and disturb him.
"I missed you," Arthur whispers into the pale skin above your heart, his voice vulnerable and almost childlike and he clings to you and closes his eyes, while you look down at his face, so much older since the last time you lay like this, so much more worry is etched in the planes of his perfect features and it makes you wonder what he saw while he was away. But that's a question for another night, right now, you know what he needs, and it's not to know what he's done, but to assure the lost little boy inside the strong, dashing prince of one thing;
"I missed you too, more then you'll ever know..."