A/N: A request. #blamecarfly
The moment replayed itself in Arthur's mind, over and over, like a broken record. Lancelot, lying on the ground, beaten. Himself, marching up to to the failed man, ready to tell him that he was unworthy of Camelot. And then, in a flash, the tables turned.
On your knees, he'd demanded in a rage, ready to take his head off at once. But he stayed his hand. It took a smart man—and a brave one—to win a fight like that. And that was exactly the sort of man he needed in Camelot. So, instead of killing him, he'd recommended him for a knighthood.
The ire still rested within him, though, and he was glad to find that Merlin had prepared a bath for him in his chambers, as he'd asked. He took a long look at him, wearing the same clothes he always did, his eyes looking carefully at the floor.
Merlin knew that Arthur's pride had been wounded, and he knew what that meant for him. It had first happened two weeks ago, after the incident with the poisoned chalice. The first morning Merlin returned to work after recovering from the poison, Arthur had the nerve to bring Merlin before the king and tell Uther to apologize for what he'd made Merlin go through. Enraged, Uther berated him in front of several knights and members of the court, and the prince and servant were sent from the room.
Arthur locked the doors of his chambers and told Merlin to help him undress—which would have been a fairly standard task, had it not been the middle of the day. Then, staring levelly at his servant, he ordered him to take off his own clothes. Feeling strange, he had done so. And then Arthur pushed him over onto the bed, and Merlin felt every ounce of Arthur's strength and rage, given life by his hands, his thighs, his cock. He hadn't been sure how to feel, initially—it had happened twice since then, and he still hadn't given a name to how he felt. Powerless. Special. Exhilarated. Violated. It was all of these things—all of these and more. And then they never spoke of it, not ever, just went on with life as if it had never happened. But there was no way around it; it had happened, more than once, and now it was happening again.
"Take my clothes off," demanded Arthur, in his lazy, imperious tone.
Merlin bowed his head and obliged.
"You're going to join me in the bath," he told him.
After Arthur had climbed in, Merlin undressed and followed suit. Nervously, he sat across from the prince, whose eyes were fixed on him intently. He expected Arthur to grab him, to order him into his lap—instead, he formed the most unexpected of sentences.
"Merlin, I need your advice."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I need to show Lancelot that I accept his strength and cunning, but I must do so in a way that allows me to show him that I hold the authority here. Have you got any ideas?"
He shrugged, arms still hugging his knees in a protective posture. "I don't know. I suppose you could let him fight one of the other knights… and order him to stop fighting just as he's winning… which would put him on the losing end. I suppose that would prove to him that you're in control."
In his consternation, Merlin hadn't noticed the door open and close.
"I like your idea of using a third person," Arthur said, leaning forward.
This is it, Merlin thought, knowing any minute the prince's hands would be on him—
—then he felt a rough tug at his hair from behind, pulling him to his feet, and he was spun forcefully around to face Camelot's newest knight, who appraised him as if he were a new sword or suit of armor. "You were right, sire," Lancelot said. "He'll do nicely."
Arthur rose from the bathwater and slapped Lancelot across the face. "Do not abuse what is mine," he warned. "Also, you've arrived early. Too early. Take your clothes off and get on your knees. Merlin, fetch the towels."
Merlin did as he was told, watching out of the corner of his eye as Lancelot disrobed and fell to his knees in front of the prince. Arthur was hard already, and he grazed Lancelot's face with his cock. "You like pulling people by the hair?" And then his fingers grasped a fistful of the knight's hair and forced his mouth to swallow him whole.
Wide-eyed, Lancelot clawed at Arthur's wet hips, but the prince was in no mood to grant mercy. He pulled and pushed, moving Lancelot's head for him, until he was sure the lesson had been learned. Merlin, smug, watched him with a smirk; that's what you get, he seemed to say without words.
The look on his face erased any regard, any pity Lancelot might have given him. He wanted nothing more than to get his hands on Merlin and wipe that fucking smirk off his face, but Arthur wouldn't let up; Lancelot's nose crashed against his skin, and he choked on his cock. He was helpless against the prince, which only annoyed him further.
As he pushed him away, Lancelot bowed his head, acting sorry, while stealing a glance at Merlin. You're mine, he thought. You just wait.
Arthur ripped a towel from Merlin's hands and quickly dried off, not bothering to respond to Lancelot's apology. Droplets of water still clung to Merlin's skin; transfixed by what was going on, he hadn't even thought to towel off. He wouldn't get the chance, either, as Arthur pushed him back toward the bed.
A thrill of terror rushed through Merlin's heart. Under Arthur's command, he felt safe; at the hands of Lancelot, he wasn't quite sure what to expect, although he couldn't imagine the man would do him any serious harm. They both approached with predatory looks, but Arthur stopped at the foot of the bed.
Lancelot paused, glancing at Arthur, waiting for permission.
"Get him ready for me," Arthur demanded.
Merlin's heart beat faster as Lancelot climbed onto the bed. Roughly, he flipped Merlin onto his stomach. A wet finger traced his skin and slowly dipped inside— for the briefest second— before Merlin heard a sword scrape against the stone floor.
"Not like that," Arthur told him, eyes narrowing, the blade pointed at Lancelot's side. "Use your mouth."
Lancelot hesitated, but Arthur's hand, raised and ready to swing, made him decide that acquiescing would be the best choice. Merlin's eyes flew open as he felt Lancelot's breath on his skin, quickly joined by the tip of his tongue, warm and wet against his ass. Lancelot's temerity was soon replaced by tenacity and, with his hands, he pushed the two hills of flesh apart, flattening his tongue against Merlin's opening.
Arthur had never done this. Merlin was split between humiliation and pleasure; he moaned into the pillow, finding that he loved the new sensation. But Lancelot was too eager, pulling him even further apart, and Merlin cried out in pain. Lancelot didn't seem to care—in fact, he seemed to like the fact that it hurt him— and Arthur didn't seem to distinguish the sounds of his servant's pain from the sounds of his pleasure. Merlin, for his part, knew better than to protest, so he closed his eyes against the sting and concentrated on the way Lancelot's tongue lit up every single nerve ending.
"Now your fingers," Arthur instructed, and Merlin silently thanked the stars for the relief. Lancelot knew enough to wet his fingers; but he slid them inside without restraint, eliciting a strangled yell from Merlin.
"Shut up," Arthur demanded. "The entire castle doesn't need to hear what goes on in this room."
As Lancelot's fingers pumped in and out, Merlin shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, willing himself to remain silent.
Merlin couldn't see his prince, standing to the side, one hand lazily stroking his own cock, watching this spectacle. Arthur found himself irrationally turned on, knowing that he controlled the two men before him, knowing he could order them to do anything to each other and they'd comply. For a moment, he considered instructing Lancelot to fuck Merlin, just so he could watch; but he wouldn't do that. He wanted to put his cock in something other than his hand, and no one but him would be allowed to fuck Merlin.
He traded his sword for a knife, briskly walked over to the bed, and pulled Lancelot off of Merlin by the hair. Lancelot stumbled back, and Arthur pulled him down to his knees; instantly, Lancelot opened his mouth, thinking he'd once again be expected to satisfy the prince with his mouth, deciding it would be better to be willing than forced.
Arthur smirked. "Good. You're learning. But that's not what I want."
Lancelot stared; the tip of Arthur's knife slipped under his loose tunic and, with a flick of his wrist, he tore the fabric in two. He pushed him over onto the floor and sliced the cord from his pants, leaving Lancelot naked on the cold stone floor. Without any instructions for him, Arthur simply turned his back and climbed into his bed, hungry eyes roaming his servant. Merlin's eyes were wide and confused, and Arthur bent to kiss him roughly, claiming his mouth, wordlessly telling him that he was still the property of a prince, and was only being lent to a knight.
Arthur's touch was harsh yet familiar, strong fingers running the length of Merlin's body and grasping his angular hips. Merlin's eyes closed, savoring what had become a familiar feeling—the uncertainty of Arthur's temper giving life to the most delicious fear he'd ever tasted. If he had an addiction, this was it, though he'd never let anyone know. Arthur moved down and grabbed his servant by the ankles, pulling him down, leaving room at the head of the bed.
"Lancelot," Arthur commanded. "Give his mouth something to do."
Lancelot wasted no time in climbing over Merlin's chest, grabbing his jaw, and forcing it open. He slid his cock inside and shuddered in delight as his warm, wet mouth closed over it. It was as if Lancelot was punishing Merlin for how Arthur had forced his own mouth; Merlin let out a strangled cry of protest, but Lancelot paid no heed, fucking his mouth harder, getting off on the sounds of Merlin's discomfort.
Arthur took his servant's feet; Merlin knew what was coming, and braced for it. He couldn't see, thanks to Lancelot, but he could feel his ankles balance on Arthur's broad shoulders. Relax, Merlin—relax—but he couldn't relax, not with Lancelot thrusting into his mouth, and when Arthur forced his way inside of his ass, he screamed around Lancelot's cock.
"I love that sound," Lancelot snarled, glaring down at Merlin. "Do that again. Whatever you did to him. Make him scream again."
Merlin stared up at him, seeing the malice in his eyes, and the fear officially eclipsed the thrill.
A riding crop sliced through the air, leaving a red mark on Lancelot's back. "Did you just give me a command?" Arthur demanded.
"A suggestion," Lancelot snarled.
The crop stung his skin again. "Don't give me suggestions," Arthur snapped.
Lancelot bristled and glared at the prince over his shoulder. "You just don't like that I've got a good idea."
Arthur launched forward toward Lancelot, propelling Merlin's legs higher in the air. Merlin groaned as Arthur's cock drove into him, as deep as it could go; Arthur seemed not to notice him as he gripped Lancelot's throat, squeezing just enough to make the knight gasp for air. "You would be wise to not forget whose court you are in," he warned, his voice thick against Lancelot's ear.
Even under the threat of asphyxiation, Lancelot was defiant. "I am at the court of Uther Pendragon," he gasped out.
Arthur's grip tightened. "And you serve me. That oath you took doesn't only apply on the battlefield. You serve me. Do you understand?"
Lancelot made no answer; Arthur, understanding a man's pride, took it as a yes, released his throat, and gave him one more slap with the riding crop—in the face—just for emphasis.
Reflexively, he put a hand to his stinging cheek. Lancelot looked down and saw Merlin, eyes wide, mouth full of cock, and felt that the best revenge on Arthur would be to wear out his servant so much that Merlin's throat would never be useful again.
It was with this thought in mind that Lancelot began fucking Merlin's mouth with reckless abandon; Merlin let out a cry of protest, but Arthur didn't come to his rescue. Instead, he pulled Merlin's legs higher into the air and pounded into him. Merlin's own body betrayed him; though he would have liked Lancelot to be a bit less rough, he sort of liked being used by two men, though he'd never admit it. He was hard, the tip of his cock pushing against Arthur's stomach, begging for more contact. He couldn't voice what he wanted, not with Lancelot occupying his mouth, so he arched up toward Arthur, silently begging him to wrap his fingers around his cock and get him off.
Arthur, if he discerned what his servant wanted, didn't grant his wish; his eyes closed, savoring the feeling of being inside Merlin. He was so tight, so perfect, and it always seemed like Merlin tried to get him further inside, clenching and unclenching, never making a sound of protest.
And it was true, Merlin always wanted Arthur as deep inside as he could get. But with Lancelot in his mouth, Merlin couldn't fully concentrate on the feeling of Arthur inside of him, as he usually did; for that reason, he found himself resenting the man who'd once been his friend. Merlin had brought Lancelot into Camelot and risked his own neck to help him win a knighthood, and now this same man was using him in the most animalistic of ways.
Tears sprang to Merlin's eyes as Lancelot grasped him by the hair and pulled his head up. Their eyes met; Lancelot's were veiled with anger, and they flashed as he forced Merlin to gag on his cock, fucking his mouth so hard that Merlin could barely breathe.
Arthur couldn't see Merlin's face, and he assumed the moans were ones of pleasure, until Merlin violently tried shoving Lancelot away and Lancelot responded with a sharp slap to Merlin's face. Something in Arthur clicked, and the helpless sounds sputtering from Merlin's throat made him wild with lust. His hands tightened around Merlin's ankles and he sped up his pace, thrusting into him. He wanted to see Merlin's face, wanted to see if he was causing pleasure or pain—or both.
Lancelot could no longer tell who Merlin was screaming for, and he didn't care; the vibrations were enough to drive him crazy. He was close, panting with exertion, one hand gripping a bedpost, the other still holding Merlin's hair. Merlin's eyes were wide and helpless, and nothing had ever turned him on quite so much; he didn't know, until this moment, how much he liked having power over someone. It was a new feeling, and an intoxicating one.
"I'm going to come," he told Merlin, his breathing ragged, "and you're going to swallow every drop."
Merlin made a sound of protest but was ignored again; Arthur grew impatient, wanting Lancelot to reach climax and get off the bed so he could see Merlin's face.
Lancelot was close, so close—and then he turned around suddenly, facing Arthur, thrusting his cock even deeper into Merlin's mouth, down his throat—and that put him over the edge. He came violently, fingers nested in Merlin's hair, and Merlin shut his eyes tight as he listened to him moan and swallowed it all, just as Lancelot had instructed. He'd never tasted anyone before—Arthur only ever came inside of him—and he felt incredibly dirty for having done it.
"Get off the bed," Arthur demanded, and Lancelot did so, removing himself to a chair. Arthur reached out to the man beneath him; under his fingertips, Merlin's cheek burned red where Lancelot had hit him, and his lips were swollen. Merlin stared up at him, pleading with his eyes, touch me…
Not now, Arthur thought silently, aware of Lancelot's eyes, and it was a testament to how well they knew each other that neither of them had to speak. Merlin understood his role, at least for the moment: Arthur was making an example.
Merlin settled back into the down pillow, obedient and submissive, and allowed Arthur full reign over his body; what choice did he have? His throat was raw and he was in terrible pain from Arthur's sharp thrusts, but this wasn't over—the objective hadn't been achieved—Arthur was still hard, still waiting to come, and, most importantly, dominance over all parties involved had to be achieved and maintained. Arthur had stopped Lancelot from hurting Merlin any further. It was time for Arthur to prove that, while Lancelot didn't have the right, he certainly had the right to do what he liked with his servant.
One part of Arthur didn't want to hurt Merlin anymore. The other part wanted to hear his pained moans, if only because those strangled sounds that came from the depths of his throat were so delicious. He thought about flipping him onto his stomach, but that would take away the pleasure he got from watching his servant's face. Finally, he just lifted his legs into the air again; but instead of resting Merlin's ankles on his shoulders, he smirked. "Hold your ankles," he commanded. "Let them go, and you'll be sorry."
With shaking hands, Merlin grasped his own ankles, holding them on either side of his head, leaving his ass exposed and completely open to Arthur. The prince brushed his fingers over Merlin's opening, making sure he was still wet and ready for him, and slipped back inside.
The pain was excruciating but, at the same time, it felt so good, and Merlin relished the feeling of Arthur inside of him. This time, he was at such a good angle, and his eyes watered as Arthur hit the spot inside of him over and over and over… it felt so good he swore he could come from this alone. Merlin arched against him, aching for some friction, the warm touch of Arthur's stomach against his cock, and he thought God, if he won't touch me I'm going to have to touch myself—but his hands were occupied, and he knew Arthur would exert his wrath if he disobeyed the order to hold his ankles in the air.
Merlin knew Lancelot was watching, and this, for some reason, heightened every sense. The pain was more acute; the pleasure was more consuming. Before, no one had even known about the secret liaisons between prince and servant; now, someone was here to bear witness. Merlin's eyes closed and he allowed himself to whisper Arthur's name, very quietly, so only he could hear.
Arthur saw the name pass between his servant's lips, and his knee-jerk reaction was to hit him; but he figured Lancelot wouldn't have heard, so he let it go. The last thing he wanted to do was punish Merlin, and he hoped the clumsy fool would have the ability to hang onto his own legs so he wouldn't have to do anything.
Quite soon, both of them forgot about Lancelot; Merlin's eyes were fixed on Arthur's face. He'd seen a lot of expressions cross that face in the short time he'd spent in the prince's employ, but none matched the look on his face while in the throes of pleasure. Arthur, for his part, kept coming back to fuck Merlin for several reasons; one, which he thought an odd fetish but succumbed to anyway, was to watch the way Merlin's lips parted and the way his eyes closed when Arthur did something he liked.
Merlin was doing that now, eyelids fluttering, silently willing Arthur to lose control and fuck him until he came. He wanted to be filled, to clench around Arthur and watch his face as he reached climax.
But out of the corner of his eye, Arthur spied Lancelot pulling on his torn tunic. Furiously, he pulled harshly out of Merlin and seized Lancelot by the hair. With brute force, he had him bent over a couch before Lancelot knew what was happening. "Are you bored?" he demanded. "Who told you that you were allowed to leave?"
Lancelot had no answer.
Actions speak louder than words, thought Arthur, and slid inside Lancelot as Merlin looked on, writhing in the prince's bed.
With every moan that escaped Lancelot's lips, Merlin felt a stab of jealousy. He didn't know he was this possessive of his master; he hated the thought of someone other than himself being fucked by Arthur.
And then Arthur, who didn't want to waste his energy on Lancelot, had an idea.
He pulled out of Lancelot and dragged him back to the bed, throwing him onto his back next to Merlin, who was still holding himself open for Arthur. "In this kingdom," Arthur said to Lancelot, "loyalty is rewarded. Those who follow my orders are treated with leniency and respect. Merlin—" he ran a hand over his body— "is loyal. He obeys me. Do you see how well he's taken all of this without a word? How he doesn't move until I order him to? You could stand to learn a thing or two from him."
Lancelot stared back at him in disbelief.
"Put your legs down."
He did so.
"Lancelot, turn onto your stomach."
Eyes wide in fear, he followed the order.
Arthur looked at Merlin. "What are you waiting for?"
Merlin, hungry for release, climbed over Lancelot and slid inside of him. Arthur would never allow Merlin to fuck him—this was another first for Merlin, and the sensations were overwhelming. He had already been on the brink, just from feeling Arthur inside—
—and then Arthur was inside of him again, and he felt both of them at once, and he knew he wouldn't last long. Gripping the headboard, he fucked Lancelot as hard as he could, propelled even harder by the force of Arthur against him from behind. Remembering Arthur's direction to keep the noise down, Merlin did his best to stifle his moans, but his body was alive with sensation and he couldn't keep completely quiet. "I'm close," he whispered, more to himself than to warn Lancelot, "oh, yes…" He bit his lip and dug into the headboard with his nails—"oh, God, yes—yes!" and he came, shuddering and sweating and trying to stay upright as Arthur continued to pound into him from behind.
Once Arthur felt Merlin relax, he pulled out and pushed Merlin onto his back, and made him hold his ankles again so he could see Merlin's face. Arthur was close, so close, pushed to the edge by how tight Merlin had clenched as he came; Merlin was still panting, warm breath coming through those lips, and Arthur could no longer control himself. He bent to give him a kiss, rough and warm, and Merlin stared up at him with eyes full of questions and satisfaction and fatigue, and Arthur met his gaze and didn't look away even as he came, filling Merlin, satisfying them both in very different—yet very similar—ways.
Immediately after slipping out of Merlin, Arthur turned to Lancelot. "Put on your clothes and leave my chambers."
Lancelot, with wounded pride, got dressed. "I'm leaving, but he isn't?" He gestured to Merlin, who lay in bed with his eyes closed, trying to suppress a satisfied smile.
Arthur gave him a withering look. "He's my servant. It's his job to take the linens for washing. Do you think I'm going to sleep on this bed?"
With no further argument, Lancelot left the room.
Merlin's eyes fluttered. "I guess I'll… I'll just… I'll take the linens, then," he said tiredly.
Arthur rested on one arm and looked at Merlin. "Sleep," Arthur said, after a moment. "You're tired. The linens can go later."