"I want you to imagine something for me."

It's the lightest touch of bare fingertips against the back of Arthur's wrist.

He remains politely skeptical; after all, the coffee-timer hasn't gone off, and Arthur can't very well function with at least a few sips of bitter, black liquid. This new era and its damned creature comforts have, lamentably, impaired him and his razor-sharp, warrior instincts in the morning.

"Is this one of your meditation habits the Druids taught you?" he asks, eyeing Merlin's smiling expression. "I'm afraid I'm not of the mind to entertain them at the moment." Coffee, then dealing with Merlin's nonsense… that was the general rule of keeping himself sane.

Though, it is quite nice to feel Merlin's thumb run soothingly over his hand, closing over it and bumping to the faded ridges of the royal seal.

Maybe he'll pretend to listen. Only for a moment.

"I don't think I'd want the Druids associated with this."

Something in Merlin's voice tells him that Arthur's going to very interested in what he has to say, or it's how the other man shifts purposely on the other stool, turning to face Arthur. Or the flash of wicked intent in Merlin's widening, toothy smile. Whatever it is, wholehearted interest has already stirred Arthur's cock against his thigh.

He keeps the stoic expression, however.

"We're together in the flat," Merlin says. "My breath smells like wine, and you're starting to feel a bit unsteady while sitting, but you're happy."

"Only you and me?"

The nod clarifies it for Arthur. Merlin's voice drops. "Everything is quiet except for the bed creaking, when you shift us down, Arthur."


Arthur's gut does a little somersault, but without repulsion.

"There's skin where your hands go. Warm and soft, naked. Maybe you lost track of time but you can feel me beneath you, hard and wanting."

It's not difficult to imagine. Five months had passed since Arthur reappeared from the lake, dazed and sodden to the bone, and they were nearly inseparable now—the king and his hidden warlock. Uncertainty and shame and reluctance had been left behind, shed like a worn cloak.

A shudder-inhale from Merlin's lips pulls his attention straight back.

"Gods, I want you," he murmurs, tongue creeping to his bottom lip, and Arthur's blue eyes longingly follow it. "I want you to kiss me again; I want your fingers inside me, and sometimes I whisper this in your ear. Sometimes I can't make words come out and all you hear gasps and pleas for more."

He doesn't know when he started, but Arthur feels his own lip puffing from biting down lightly on it. There aren't words for what Merlin's doing to him so early in the morning when Arthur's eyes are still hazed from a restful sleep and groggy from the lack of caffeine in his system.

But the rest of him is on full-alert, and that includes his thickening, very interested cock. Arthur could try to not make it obvious that he needs to adjust himself in the sweatpants, but Merlin can probably already see it.

He somehow always manages to know, the git.

"All you feel is my body against yours, heaving, sweating, trembling because of you." Stars and heavens, does Merlin have no pity for his king? It's not even six am yet. Arthur pulls his hand away, as if he were being scalded burning by the sensation of Merlin's skin.

That's when Merlin leans forward, hooking his foot under one of the rungs to Arthur's stool and physically scooting him closer.

Flat-out defiance, Arthur both loved and hated that about Merlin.

Merlin grins sinfully, as if he read the very thought. "You want to go slower, maybe thinking it would be easier, but it's not satisfying. And you can see I don't want slower, not with how the muscles tighten around you. Can you feel them, Arthur? How easily they open for you?"

A hand skims Arthur's thigh, and yes, Arthur can picture it. So well. He knew how it was buried deep inside Merlin, hearing him keen back into rocking pushes, littering that pale, soft neck with dark, tiny red marks.

"They're hot, as well, greedy when they take your fingers. They take your prick too, opening again while you're fucking into me."

At the vulgar word, he thinks he hears Merlin's deep voice hitch.

His own voice lacks strength. "Merlin, I—"

Merlin shushes him gently, lifting a hand to cover over Arthur's opened mouth. His skin smells like sage and lavender. Arthur feels he should be at least indignant about being told to shut up, in a manner of putting it, and he shoves Merlin's hand away, but does not interrupt further.

"It's you I'm feeling everywhere on me, your mouth and your teeth on my neck, your hands. They slide over me, those strong hands, pinning my arm behind me." A low, breathless laugh escapes Merlin, lighting up his flushed expression, just as Arthur swallows down a building groan.

"I'm not afraid of being held down, gods, if anything it feels amazing. Like I can't find my breath each time your hips catch mine."

Merlin's hands flatten down to his knees, a solid, warm presence.

"My thighs fall open over the bed," he says. "Your fingers go to my throat, hold my head back. It's rough enough, edging on bruising, and I can feel your damp breath. I can hear you telling me to touch myself, you want to hear me grunting and whimpering for control."

"It would be so easy, to switch roles, to have you instead. Just a little…" Merlin's tongue flicks out again, as he visibly struggles, and one of Merlin's hands leaves Arthur's knees, fisting towards his crotch. "Hh, ah, push of magic. But it's so good, the drag of flesh inside me."

Someone will break, and that's what Arthur waits for.

Exactly like a tournament of wits versus patience.

One of them might grab the other and make fantasies reality, or to give into the temptation to exhaust their pleasure alone. The mound in Merlin's trousers guarantees the struggle won't be one-sided.

It just wouldn't be fair if Arthur had to suffer a wet spot at 5:46 am, and without a single drop of coffee in his bloodstream. Honestly.

"You want me to release while you're still inside me; you want to know that you're the cause of it. And you are, Arthur." The admiration unmistakable from Merlin's words. Arthur considers tugging the warlock into his lap, kissing Merlin deep and slow, taking his time. Savoring the weight of the thinner man pressed to Arthur's chest, pressed groin-to-groin, fondling Merlin inside his clothes until Arthur heard the noises he desired, until Merlin cried out and tucked his face against Arthur's collar.

The next thing out of Merlin's mouth is more of a whine, cracked with need, his dark bangs obscuring Arthur's view of Merlin's eyes as Merlin tilted his head down. "I want to come." He watches Merlin's fist knuckle hard and makes his decision, forgoing holding out, and reaches for him.

"You're insatiable," Arthur grits out, clutching unforgiving to the back of Merlin's v-neck shirt, until it strains the fabric as the other man settles comfortably on Arthur's stool and Arthur himself. He licks Merlin's lips apart, intending to claim every hollow space available. "Bloody clotpole."

"Oi, that's my word," Merlin retorts, weakly.

"You're not going to have any words left when I'm through with you." Arthur feels a mischievous smile curling, and answers Merlin rolling his hips down with his teeth sinking to Merlin's upper lip, earning a moan.

It's the perfect time for the coffee-timer to beep a third warning.




BBC Merlin is not mine. So, this happened because Merlin wanted to talk dirty in my head and/or talk out a sexual fantasy. And it spawned from there, out of my control with PWP and curtain fic. There you go! My original title on Tumblr for this was: "Good Morning". But that was because I wasn't feeling especially original. Hrrmph. Partial dedication to Marlena for being a major help/inspiration (actually, you know what, let's just Merthur all the time) and encouraging me to post this. Any comments and thoughts are greatly appreciated!~~ DID YOU GUYS SEE SERIES 5 IS BEING PLAYED ON SYFY? *NOW CAN SEE SOME OF THE FINAL EPISODES EHEHEH*