Comes immediately after this (http://community.livejournal.com/comment_fic/22536.html?thread=3727112#t3727112).
Lancelot stumbles, but catches himself on one of the posts, and then crawls up and over Merlin, until they’re face to face – Merlin’s eyes still sparking dangerously.
“Keep the gag on him,” Arthur orders, and Lancelot grins when Merlin’s eyes narrow with annoyance. He knows, by now, how much Merlin needs to be able to use his mouth during sex – and not like that. He needs to be able to moan and beg and whimper, to curse and promise anything, please, Arthur, more, Lancelot, now.
But Merlin’s arms are stretched above his head, wrists tied with the softest rope Arthur could find, and he’s naked and already spread out, legs wide and Lancelot reaches down and slips two fingers in so easily because Arthur made Merlin prepare himself while they worked before they tied him down. Below him, Merlin whimpers, sound muffled through the gag, and he bucks up as much as he can, given that Lancelot is crouched over him.
And Lancelot knows that Merlin can get out of this any time – the slightest thought would have the ropes untying and unravelling themselves into useless strands – but that’s what makes this so very amazing; Merlin, tied up and desperate and wanting, willing to promise everything, anything (if he could), if only someone will touch him, use him and fill him up.
The bed dips and shakes as Arthur climbs on and reaches for Lancelot, drawing him into a kiss that makes Merlin strain at his bonds. His fingers are still in Merlin, slipping in and out so slowly and so very much not enough for Merlin if his glare is anything to go by when Lancelot looks back down at him.
“Go slowly,” Arthur tells him, his fingers running through Lancelot’s hair, and Lancelot leans into the touch even as he slides his fingers out of Merlin and repositions the two of them, wrapping Merlin’s legs around his waist and pushing in so easily. In front of him, Arthur holds Merlin down with a hand pressed flat on his chest, and Merlin struggles under it, hands tied and useless and eyes wide and promising things that would be impossible for anyone else – should be, really, but normal rules don’t seem to apply to Merlin.
Arthur leans over Merlin, mouth close to the younger man’s ear and hands roaming over Merlin’s too-pale skin, short nails bringing up red welts and Lancelot can hear him whispering constant, dirty things to Merlin as Lancelot buries himself deep, deeper, deepest inside that hot, tight heat.
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timeasmymeasure
That boy's all tied up, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur/Lancelot
Date: 2009-04-13 06:18 pm (UTC)Lancelot stumbles, but catches himself on one of the posts, and then crawls up and over Merlin, until they’re face to face – Merlin’s eyes still sparking dangerously.
“Keep the gag on him,” Arthur orders, and Lancelot grins when Merlin’s eyes narrow with annoyance. He knows, by now, how much Merlin needs to be able to use his mouth during sex – and not like that. He needs to be able to moan and beg and whimper, to curse and promise anything, please, Arthur, more, Lancelot, now.
But Merlin’s arms are stretched above his head, wrists tied with the softest rope Arthur could find, and he’s naked and already spread out, legs wide and Lancelot reaches down and slips two fingers in so easily because Arthur made Merlin prepare himself while they worked before they tied him down. Below him, Merlin whimpers, sound muffled through the gag, and he bucks up as much as he can, given that Lancelot is crouched over him.
And Lancelot knows that Merlin can get out of this any time – the slightest thought would have the ropes untying and unravelling themselves into useless strands – but that’s what makes this so very amazing; Merlin, tied up and desperate and wanting, willing to promise everything, anything (if he could), if only someone will touch him, use him and fill him up.
The bed dips and shakes as Arthur climbs on and reaches for Lancelot, drawing him into a kiss that makes Merlin strain at his bonds. His fingers are still in Merlin, slipping in and out so slowly and so very much not enough for Merlin if his glare is anything to go by when Lancelot looks back down at him.
“Go slowly,” Arthur tells him, his fingers running through Lancelot’s hair, and Lancelot leans into the touch even as he slides his fingers out of Merlin and repositions the two of them, wrapping Merlin’s legs around his waist and pushing in so easily. In front of him, Arthur holds Merlin down with a hand pressed flat on his chest, and Merlin struggles under it, hands tied and useless and eyes wide and promising things that would be impossible for anyone else – should be, really, but normal rules don’t seem to apply to Merlin.
Arthur leans over Merlin, mouth close to the younger man’s ear and hands roaming over Merlin’s too-pale skin, short nails bringing up red welts and Lancelot can hear him whispering constant, dirty things to Merlin as Lancelot buries himself deep, deeper, deepest inside that hot, tight heat.