comment_fic | Wednesday - Love in the Afternoon

johnboy91719.livejournal.com posting in

Hello everyone!! I'm

johnboy91719 bringing you a brand new theme today.

In honor of Wednesday being sometimes referred to as Hump Day, let's have some love in the afternoon. That's right, folks. Let's see some fics about sex. Events leading up to it, the act itself, or whatever happens afterwards. It can be sweet and innocent or naughty and raunchy. Let your mind take you wherever it wants to go, even if it's found a nice home in the gutter like mine has.

Please remember the following:

* Post no more than three prompts per fandom and no more than five prompts in a row. If someone fills a prompt, you're more than welcome to post some more prompts later in the day.

* No spoilers in prompts for at least seven days after the original airdate or publication date. If you have spoilers in your fic, please warn in bold and leave at least three spaces.

* Show some love to the code monkeys and format your prompts correctly. Examples below (last one is for crossovers):

Star Trek XI, Kirk/Bones, quickie in the sickbay
One Life to Live, Oliver/Kyle, afterglow
Dollhouse/author's choice, Victor/author's choice, Victor is the dominant one in an engagement

If none of the prompts left today trip your trigger, feel free to take a peek at the Lonely Prompts. Now have fun and prompt away!!

"[tag=LoveInTheAfternoon]"

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From:

mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com

This... grew, a little... and there isn't much magic in it and... there are reasons why I should not be allowed to write anything over a PG-13 rating so... you have been warned.

-

He’s been in the stocks for three hours and it’s so cold he thinks his fingers might fall off. He wants to cast a spell, just to make sure that, by the end of this, he still has all his appendages, but he’s in the middle of the fucking square and, if two years in Camelot has taught him anything, it’s that magic is not something that you do in the middle of the town square, even if daylight is just fading away into dusk and there’s no one about.

Okay, who’s he kidding, he’s too cold to remember the fucking spell and that’s the truth.

He’s too cold to shiver, he didn’t even know that was possible, and he has the horrible feeling that it’s about to snow.

It takes a lot of effort in the stocks to crane your neck enough to look at the sky. It’s a complicated manoeuvre involving shoving your neck as far through the hole as possible, until your collar bones are almost fusing to the wood, and then tilting your head as far as it will go, carefully, not to knock yourself unconscious.

There are thick grey clouds over head, just visible in the strange purplish light that lingers. Merlin wonders how long it will take someone to remember to dig out his frozen corpse in the morning. It probably won’t be until at least lunchtime when Arthur finally decides to see what’s keeping his food.

He sags against the wood, but even that isn’t comfortable. Every muscle in his body is cramping, protesting and reminding him that he has been in this position for three hours.

There is a sharp sound and something whacks him on the arse.

“Enjoying yourself there, Merlin?” Arthur asks, too smug and amused to be in any way attractive.

The smack on his arse is even more painful in the cold. He hisses angrily and glares at Arthur’s boots when they come into sight. He’d glare at Arthur’s face, but he’s not sure he could manage to look up again, his neck muscles really hate him at the minute.

“It’s bloody freezing out here,” Merlin tells him. Arthur laughs.

“I know... that’s why I’ve got my cloak on,” the Prince tells him. Merlin can see the bottom of it, swishing around his boots... his thick, fur lined boots. Merlin, at this precise moment, can think of nothing he hates more than smug, arrogant courtiers in fur-lined boots who are able to stand up right.

“Your lips are going blue,” Arthur comments, and a large, gloved, hand comes into view. His index finger touches Merlin’s bottom lip softly, as though trying to rub off the colour.

“All of me’s going blue... look, just let me out, I’ve learnt my lesson. I’ll never do it again.”

“Never do what again?” Arthur asks. He crouches down so that Merlin can see his face... still smiling, always smiling. Damn prat. Merlin hopes his testicles freeze and drop off like little snow balls.

Except for how Merlin doesn’t, because he’s actually quite fond of Arthur’s testicles... and most of Arthur really, but not when it’s sitting in front of him smiling and his own balls are in danger of turning to blocks of ice.

The problem is, he really can’t remember what he was put in here for now. He might have said something, or done something, or tripped over his own feet. It’s all such a long time ago and he’s tired and Arthur’s sitting there smugly. So all he can really do is pause and try to shrug.

Shrugging doesn’t really work in the stocks, your shoulders don’t have anywhere to go.

“Clearly, you have not learnt your lesson,” Arthur tells him, standing up. “Such a pity.”

“I’m going to freeze to death if you leave me here over night!” Merlin calls out as Arthur begins to walk away. He can just see his heels now... and Merlin’s going to have to polish those boots because there’s a tremendous scuff on one of them – if he doesn’t die of cold first, of course.

From:

mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com

“Then we’d better warm you up a bit, hadn’t we?” Arthur says, and he still sounds smug, but Merlin knows that voice, he knows that tone. That’s the same tone in which Arthur says ‘why don’t you join me?’ when he’s lounging on the bed naked, or ‘I’m sure we’ll find something to do’ with a gleam in his eye. That voice usually leads to Merlin, spread out on the bed, or bent over a table even, once, up against a tree in the forest.

There’s a warm fizz in his stomach, low down and deep inside, where, somehow, the cold hasn’t penetrated yet. He’s not sure why. This situation doesn’t exactly go with that voice. In fact, this situation is probably as far from that voice and all that follows it as possible, but somehow, Merlin’s body is reacting.

It’s probably automatic, he tells himself, probably just that Arthur’s trained him so well to respond to that voice, that now whenever he hears it he gets hard... which he is.

But he’s in pain, and he can’t move and he’s cold and Arthur’s being a prat and none of that is attractive at all. He tells his body that firmly. This is in no way attractive.

Arthur’s standing in front of him now and one hand is warm in Merlin’s hair.

There is a moment of complete disbelief because this cannot be happening. Not even Arthur could be so ridiculous as to think that this could happen.

It’s bloody freezing for a start... how is Arthur even managing to...

Arthur’s cloak is surrounding Merlin’s head now, and the air is so much warmer in there. Not warm but warmer, and Merlin thinks he can feel his nose starting to thaw. Arthur’s other hand reaches down to unlace his breeches and yes this is going to happen.

“You’re right,” Arthur says, after a moment, “it is cold out here... you’re going to have to help me keep warm.”

Merlin strains at the wood, but he’s not moving anywhere any time soon. He’s stuck there and Arthur’s pulling himself out of his breeches and stepping forward again so that there’s no doubt at all what he wants, and all Merlin can really do is open his mouth and think again that maybe he should have never come to Camelot.

He’s fully hard now, though, and he supposes, at this point, when his lips are eagerly wrapping round Arthur’s cock, that there’s no point in protesting that he’s not enjoying this... really enjoying this. He’s sucking and licking at Arthur desperately and his tongue is tasting him. Suddenly there’s warm flowing through him and he’s not cold any more, every part of him is tingling with magic.

“God...” Arthur says, “I thought you said you were cold.”

No one from the outside could see exactly what’s happening, with Arthur’s cloak a heavy screen around them, but if someone were to walk past, there would be no doubt what was going on.

Merlin’s never been that into being caught, or almost getting caught, but he thinks that maybe Arthur is, and that makes him want to smile a little.

He’ll have to get some pay back for this, though, is the next thought he manages, as Arthur whispers, low and hoarse, to him, that his mouth’s so hot, so fucking hot.

He can’t move enough to take Arthur in further, can’t reach as far as he would like, but he tries anyway, strains, ignoring the pain in his neck muscles. Arthur notices and holds him still.

“Stop that,” he commands, though he doesn’t sound very commanding, more desperate and hungry. “You’re still being punished, you know.”

Merlin hums, partly agreement, partly a plea for more, and Arthur bucks his hips forward with a groan, muttering more, filthy promises, dirty comments, descriptions of what he wants to do, what Merlin looks like. The Prince’s hand is still wrapped in Merlin’s hair and, when Merlin swipes his tongue round and down over the head of his cock, he loses all control and just gives in to fucking his mouth. And Merlin takes it... he has to take it.

He’s so hard right now, so hard... His own hips are trying to move, but he’s not in the right position to do anything, there is no friction available.

He groans, desperate for something because this is just cruel.

From:

mariana-oconnor.livejournal.com

Arthur gasps a word that sounds like his name, maybe, if his name ended in a sob, and he’s coming, hard, with a shove, right down Merlin’s throat.

Merlin doesn’t want to let him go. He keeps sucking, even as he can see Arthur’s legs quaking with the effort of keeping him upright.

But Arthur, slowly, almost reluctantly, pulls away, one hand going up again to rest lightly against Merlin’s mouth where it still hangs open, lips wet and no longer blue. He laces himself back up, righting his clothes.

“Arthur,” Merlin says. He’s still tingling with magical warmth, but he doesn’t want to be left here... like this. “Come on...”

“Come on what, Merlin?” Arthur asks. His voice is almost its usual haughty self, but there is still that ragged undercurrent of what they were just doing. “Come on what?”

“Please?” Merlin’s begging... he’s already in the stocks, he just sucked the man’s brain out through his cock, and still he has to beg.

“No, Merlin... I don’t think you need any more warming up.”

“Arthur!” Merlin protests, but the Prince is already walking away, his cloak sweeping out of sight.

There is another firm smack against his buttocks, which just makes him jerk, electricity firing through him. He bites his lips so as not to whimper. He can still taste Arthur, bitter, in his mouth and he’s not sure he’s ever been this hard when fully clothed before.

“I’ll send someone to let you out in an hour or two,” Arthur tells him cheerily, his voice muffled, as though he’s talking over his shoulder. “That should give you long enough to cool down a bit.”

Merlin doesn’t want to cool down a bit, he wants to grab Arthur and shove him up against the nearest wall. He wants to throw him down onto the Prince’s big, warm bed, and make him beg, and scream, and make his legs buckle properly.

The next hour gives him more than enough time to plan his revenge and, when he’s released, rubbing his wrists, his first stop is Arthur’s chambers. The Prince is sitting at his table, smug smirk fixed to his face.

It doesn’t take Merlin long to wipe it off.

From:

rocketgirl2.livejournal.com

Okay so I don't know why you're trying to make excuses. That was pretty much brilliant. And amazing.
Thanks so much!

From:

alcetis.livejournal.com

Ohmygod I think Rocketgirl2 is going to build you a shrine for this. XD

I never thought that stocks!sex could be hot. But apparently it definitely can be.