Self Gratification
Title: Self Gratification.
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1100
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Arthur takes care of... business.
Notes/Warnings: Smut!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything at all and I certainly don't make any money from writing this.
Beta: PrelocAndKanar! A grammar goddess and my dear friend. :o)
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Arthur stretched languidly as he woke up, the sunlight slowly filling the room. It was the middle of summer and for the past week the heat had been pressing down upon all of Albion, making every living thing sluggish and lazy. Finally admitting defeat, Uther had the previous day decreed that until the heatwave broke, Camelot was to be in a state of minimum exertion for all, before he retired to his rooms and lay panting on his bed like the most of the castle's inhabitants.
Arthur had retired early the night before, when there was a little gust of wind that chilled his rooms and his sheets wonderfully, so he woke up for the first time in a week without being covered in sweat. Having been so relieved and content with finally not melting with every move, he had told Merlin to have the next day off. As a consequence, the room was empty when he woke up much later than he usually did. No point in getting up early after all. All practise was cancelled until further notice anyway and nobody seemed to care much about anything but rest and drinking plenty of cold liquids.
Since there was nothing on the agenda, Arthur decided to simply stay in bed for the time being. The room was eerily quiet and the temperature was rapidly rising to its sweltering state again. Arthur now wished that he hadn't given Merlin the day off. At least then he would have had someone to talk to, idiot or not. Besides, he always got some small (Or not so small...) pleasure out of lounging around, while Merlin was tottering about the room, cleaning or mending things.
Especially last night, when the breeze had arrived and Merlin had stripped off his tunic in favour of his light undershirt, while clearing away Arthur's meal and readying his bed. Arthur smiled unconsciously as his mind's eye recalled just how much tighter that shirt was, compared to the baggy tunic. How the sweat had made it cling to the willowy body, concealing practically nothing.
Not properly awake yet, Arthur closed his eyes and let his hand fall limply onto his chest. His hand drifted as of its own accord downwards under the thin sheet covering him, until he stroked himself slowly through his thin nightclothes, his palm flattening his still semi-flaccid cock against his leg. As it hardened and raised, he tickled the underside instead and sighed as he recalled just how Merlin's back had flexed as he bent over the bed, removing the heavy coverlet, leaving only the sheet for covers.
Gripping himself firmly he let his eyes wander aimlessly over the memory image of his manservant, so vivid in his mind. Like he had the night before, when he was sure Merlin wasn't looking. His feet had been bare, he remembered. Most of Camelot went around barefooted these days, enjoying the slight coolness of the stone floors in the castle. The feet had peeked out under the hems of Merlin's trousers, unless he stretched to reach something, in which case the trousers would lift and reveal a tantalizing hint of ankle.
Slowly stroking up and down his now fully hard cock, Arthur let his head fall to the side on his already sweat-soaked pillow and tried to remember how Merlin had smelled. Because Arthur had sniffed him covertly as he leant over his shoulder with the plate of food. It had been a surprisingly musky scent, heavy with day-old sweat and something herbal, that was probably a result of living and working with Gaius. Arthur had silently breathed in as deeply as he could and committed every detail to memory.
As if reliving the moment, Arthur breathed in deeply and amidst the smells of the melting city drifting in through the window and his own sweaty pillow, suddenly there was a whiff of Merlin. Arthur's eyes flew open, half expecting to see Merlin in the room. His fist clenched around his cock and he stiffened while his eyes darted around the room, finding nothing. After a few seconds of panic, he relaxed when his eyes finally fell on the source of the smell. There, on the outermost corner of his bed, was Merlin's neckerchief.
Thinking back, Arthur remembered that the neckerchief had been removed some time before the shirt, but frankly, he had been too mesmerized by Merlin's impossibly long neck to really notice where he placed the neckerchief. Apparently, he had left in on the corner of the bed and forgotten all about it.
As if in a daze, Arthur reached out for the small piece of clothing and pressed it to his face with a trembling hand. His cock jumped in his grasp as the scent filled his nostrils and he breathed in again and again, while his hand started a steady rhythm of stroking and squeezing. He couldn't get enough. The scent was intoxicating, but not enough. Not enough. Without thinking, Arthur quickly wrapped the neckerchief around his cock and after only a few suddenly frantic strokes, he was coming gloriously into the red rag.
Gasping and sweating, he slowly descended from the peak. It had been really, really good. When his brain started working properly again, he regarded the soiled cloth in his hand. He was tempted to keep it for future pleasure. Very tempted. But suddenly the thought hit him; this neckerchief was already good and ready for a wash. It was stiff with sweat and quite a few stains from food and something he guessed was droplets of whatever Gaius had made him stir recently. Arthur could just leave it where he found it, and with a little luck, Merlin wouldn't think further of a few stains more or less, once they dried and blended in with the rest.
The thought had Arthur shivering. The thought that Merlin after washing the rag (Maybe even 'before'!) would wear it around that delicious neck. That Merlin would wear something so close to his body, that Arthur had used so intimately. Just thinking about it had him half hard again and it was with extreme effort that he resisted the temptation to put the neckerchief to use again immediately. Instead he decided it was too hot for further exertion and simply laid back, letting his mind fuzz over with heat and decidedly un-platonic thoughts about his friend.
When the heatwave finally broke, nobody wondered why the prince was in such a good mood, even though it seemed he smiled even broader, when his manservant was wearing his red neckerchief.
End.