This is in honor of International Glory Hole Week, a made-up holiday created by the lovely tuesdaymidnight, in which we "celebrate trust in anonymity." LOL.
It is 100% pure, unadulterated PWP boy smut. Do not read if you're under 18, or if boysecks scares you. It is also unbetaed, so don't read if that scares you.
Merlin hastily unfastened his breeches, freeing his already hard cock from its constraints. It had been like this for hours, painfully engorged, ever since he first decided to return. He hissed and gave it one firm stroke, eyeing the hole in the wall that separated his loo from the next.
For weeks, his first time here had haunted him, replaying in his mind at the most inopportune moments. The memory of hot wet lips and rough, flexible tongue had served as wank fodder since then, but his hand was a poor substitute for a mouth. And not just any mouth—the most talented mouth he'd ever had the pleasure to fuck.
His prick bucked in his grip, and he didn't bother biting back the moan. Not wanting to waste another second, he fed his cock through the hole.
Just as it had last time, the tongue began hesitantly, lapping at the slick drop of precome at the slit. Merlin shuddered and braced his hands against the wall, fighting the urge to thrust deep into the mouth. That would come later. For now, he wanted to savor the moment. The tongue swept out, teasing the foreskin, dipping underneath to lave the sensitive glans. Merlin bit his lip and shuddered as the lips that followed drew him in for a deep, sucking kiss.
He'd sworn never to return.
For months there had been whispers between the knights of Camelot that an anonymous stranger had taken to inhabiting the loos by the stables. He never refused a cock, and he never spoke. Merlin hadn't bothered to ask how the first knight, Gawain by report, had discovered this rather unusual arrangement. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
But nearly every one of the knights had experienced the pleasure of the stranger's talented mouth. Merlin, though not a prude by any means, had been the last to go. Perhaps it was out of a foolish sense of loyalty. Yes, he'd been in love with Arthur for years, but the man only thought of him as a friend, at best. At worst, Merlin was nothing more than a servant. Loving a heterosexual man—and the future king, at that—was about the stupidest thing the wizard had ever done, and he'd done many foolish things. There was no way he'd ever have what he really wanted, so why should he deny himself pleasure?
He couldn't help himself from being curious. Who could the stranger be?
Curiosity had been replaced by desire at the first warm nuzzle against his bollocks. The stranger had seemed to revel in Merlin's scent before giving his sack a tentative lick.
Which was just what the stranger was doing now.
Merlin groaned as his sack grew wet with saliva. A hand wrapped around his shaft and tugged while the mouth continued to lick and suck below, drawing one globe inside, then the other.
After the first visit, Merlin had felt strange . . . as if he'd taken advantage of that glorious mouth, though it'd hungrily swallowed every last drop of his come.
But his vow not to visit the stables again didn't affect the behavior of the other knights. He didn't like it. Their bragging enraged him.
Merlin didn't know how it happened, but he'd grown overwhelmingly protective of the stranger. At first he told himself he simply felt pity because there was a man back there. A human being who was in some ways being used—even if he didn't recognize it. Gradually, however, he'd begun to understand his discomfort as something more selfish.
He didn't want that mouth on anyone else's cock. Ever. That mouth was his, and his alone.
And it was currently swallowing his prick, gagging as the head struck deeper with each thrust. Merlin couldn't stop himself from fucking into the hole, fucking the mouth, wishing that he could see the stranger's face as he filled him. Wishing he could see the face attached to the strangely familiar, pink, swollen lips he occasionally glimpsed.
"Gods," he sighed, "gods." The words came shakily. He'd been ready to come the moment he stepped in the stall, and with the skilled way the mouth and tongue were working his cock, he knew he wouldn't last another moment. "It's . . . I'm coming," he whispered, feeling dirty.
The orgasm began deep in his toes, pouring forth with a blinding force. His erection pulsed in the mouth, the tongue rubbing the sensitive head as it shot streams of come.
How in the world had he stayed away for so long?
Only once his high began to fade did he realize that the stranger was moaning, the telltale sound of wet skin on skin barely audible through the wall.
Merlin panted with renewed desire as the stranger grunted his own release. He wanted to see, not just hear. But he doubted that would ever be possible. The stranger seemed to take pleasure in anonymity.
There were several moments of silence, punctuated only by the heavy breathing of both men. Before Merlin could withdraw, a hand gently guided hiss softening cock back through the hole. It was a tender gesture . . . caring. Merlin looked at his prick and tucked it back inside his trousers, feeling strangely bereft.
"I wish I could see your face," he told the air. "I wish . . . Never mind." He placed his hand on the wall and imagined the stranger doing the same, then shook his head to rid it of the foolish thought. "Thank you."
He reached for the door handle, but swiped at air as the stall opened.
Merlin's face flushed with disbelief as he encountered the glorious lips, still sticky with his come . . . he couldn't believe it. It couldn't . . . it . . .
The lips curled into a smile.
Oh, I bet you guise knew who it was all along, didn't ya? You're so good. ;-)