TITLE: A Winning Arrangement
LENGTH: 1342 words
SUMMARY: Written for the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin, Merlin admires Arthur's low-hangers whenever he undresses and wishes he could feel their weight in his hand.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Probably set sometime in S1, though no spoilers for any of it, really. And honestly, no redeeming value to this whatsoever except...I wanted to write some slashy smut.
Good servants watch without being noticed that they are doing so. They stand to the side and wait for a glass to be emptied so they can refill it, a horse to slow so they can race forward and lead the animal out of the way, an arm to be lifted so they can aid in undressing their masters. Of all the lessons Merlin had learned serving Arthur, watching was the one he excelled at. He had to. Both for Arthur's sake and for Camelot's.
But watching had its drawbacks. Sometimes, he saw more than he wished he had. Sometimes, he wished he could scrub certain images from his memory, because inevitably, those images would come back to taunt him when there were no distractions or escapes.
Baths were the worst. Merlin was hardly a prude - growing up in a small village where privacy was a luxury not an expectation, he'd seen his fair share of naked men - but spying Arthur's golden skin before it sank beneath the surface of his bath water nearly undid him every time it happened. It wasn't the powerful shoulders, or the muscles that flexed in Arthur's forearms as he braced against the side of the tub to climb in. It wasn't the dusting of hair across his chest that seemed to draw attention to each taut nipple, always hard in those moments before he submerged himself. It wasn't even the perfect curve of his delicious backside, not when it tensed as his legs did, not when it relaxed as he sat down.
It was his balls.
All on its own, Arthur's cock was a sight to behold, thick even when soft, but the first time Merlin spotted his heavy sac, swinging low and lazy, brushing against his inner thigh when he lifted a leg to climb over the edge of the tub, Merlin's jaw literally dropped. He was glad he stood off to the side, out of Arthur's immediate view, because it gave him precious seconds to clamp it shut again before his ogling could be noticed. He and Will had done their fair sharing of learning each other's bodies, even going as far as sucking the other off, but Will's balls had been nothing like Arthur's. Where Will's had been small and tight, practically disappearing whenever he came, Arthur's were a glory, in and of themselves.
Merlin was hard for the entire bath. When Arthur asked for extra soap, Merlin dropped it twice before he got it into Arthur's waiting hand, just because he didn't dare turn his eyes toward the water for fear of searching it for another glimpse of those magnificent balls. He turned his head to the side when Arthur announced he was done and emerged from the tub, dripping and delicious. As soon as he could get away with it, he asked to be excused, practically running from the room when Arthur dismissed him.
He made it as far as the first alcove. Slipping behind the displayed statuary, he fell to his knees and fumbled with his pants until his cock was firmly in his grip. His other hand thrust farther down, curving around his balls and squeezing them just as hard as he did his shaft. He cried out at the pleasure, then froze when he heard distant bootsteps echoing against the stone floor. For interminable seconds, he didn’t move, for fear of being caught out. He couldn’t even breathe or look around the statue to see who might be coming or how far away they were.
What if it was Arthur?
His balls tingled at the prospect. He had to tighten his hold below his crown to keep from shooting on the spot.
When all was silent again, he finally exhaled, but the release was temporary and failed to satisfy him. He began to pull at his cock, eyes shut tight, fingers even tighter around his sac. Though he’d had only a fleeting glimpse of Arthur, it was all he needed for the possibilities to assault his senses.
What it would feel like to reach between those strong thighs and cup Arthur’s balls in his palm. They’d be heavy, and soft at first, rolling against the heel of his hand as he massaged the loose skin. The coarse hair would tickle, and the heat from both the bath and his sire’s rising desire would sear into Merlin’s flesh.
Soon enough, though, touching wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to fist Arthur’s cock and hold it up, out of the way, maybe flat against his stomach so the pre-come dripping from the tip smeared across his damp skin. Merlin could lick that away later, though lick it away he would. First, though, he had to dive between Arthur’s legs, bend his head to the side in order to get the best angle to first brush his lips across the swinging sac. It wouldn’t be to taste but to sample its texture, to learn with his lips in which direction the hair liked to grow, or which ball liked to hang lower. He would move back and forth, up and down, focusing on his breath to puff a steady stream of air across Arthur’s groin. He wouldn’t stop until Arthur grabbed the back of his head and yanked him closer, burying his nose in the musky hair, muffling his hungry mouth.
Arthur would only utter the one word. They both knew one word was all it would take.
Merlin would suck the balls past his lips, stretching wider to get both. His jaw would ache, and he wouldn’t be able to breathe very easily, but none of that would matter because Arthur’s grunts of pleasure would fuel Merlin any way necessary, spurring him to tighten the suction, to pull even more of the heavy sac into his mouth. The hair would nettle across his tongue, making his taste buds burst, and his groans would join Arthur’s until the two sounds were indistinguishable.
His world would become Arthur.
When Arthur covered Merlin’s hand on his cock with his own, they would both jerk him off, long, hard, even pulls from tip to root that left Merlin’s palm wet and his body shaking. He’d suck harder, whimpering when the balls hardened. Close. So close. Both of them. He wouldn’t even have to touch himself to find his release, because touching Arthur was more than enough.
He would feel Arthur’s orgasm first. In vibrations that shuddered through his legs, working their way upward into his sac. In muscles that went tense against Merlin’s cheek. In shivers that turned into slams when Arthur arched back, like he was burying himself deep into a willing hole one final time.
Hot come flowed over the side of Merlin’s hand. It took him several minutes for him to realize it was his own.
Slowly, he opened his eyes, returning to the moment. His spending splattered across the floor, and his balls ached from the death grip he’d had them in. Without thinking, he reached down and scooped the fluid onto his fingers, then dipped his hand back between his legs to smear it over his sac. The sudden fantasy of shooting onto Arthur like that, then having the prince grab his head, pull him between his legs, and force him to lick the balls clean sent another array of tremors through Merlin’s body.
He was going to have to find a way of escaping Arthur’s chambers during bath times, or he’d be on his knees, begging for the opportunity to do exactly that, before Arthur ever got into the water.
The perfection of those heavy balls swaying in front of him rose before his mind’s eye.
Or maybe he could learn a little bit of self-control. After all, he was Arthur’s manservant. There to do whatever Arthur might need.
And if Merlin got a little something in return, say…a few more fantasies found, pictures burned into his memories for many nights to come, well, then it was a winning arrangement for both of them, wasn’t it?