Work Text:
The only thing Merlin knew for certain was that this whole mess was entirely his own fault. It began, if it could be said to have a beginning, last week in one of the outer villages. Some farmers staged a small rebellion and although the fighting was over quickly enough, tensions remained high. Arthur, Merlin, and a small faction of knights stayed behind for several days to ensure peace.
Everything would have been fine if Merlin hadn’t tripped over a log and wrenched his ankle on the way back to Camelot. Arthur sent the knights on ahead while he waited atop his horse for Merlin to bandage his ankle. Of course, it took Merlin awhile to wrap it properly, and even then he could only hobble at a snail’s pace behind Arthur. By the time he thought to find a walking stick, the sun had begun to set.
Arthur, not bothering to contain the frustration in his voice, suggested they make camp for the night and head for Camelot at dawn. Arthur laid out a bedroll for himself while Merlin built a fire. The two slept side by side, but in rather different degrees of comfort. Arthur’s relatively luxurious bedroll included not one, but two pillows. Merlin slept on a makeshift bed of pine needles in the dirt.
Merlin should have kept watch, or at least he should not have allowed himself to fall into such a deep sleep, so he could maintain awareness of the surrounding woods. But he was exhausted and slept soundly. Arthur was also exhausted, more so than he was willing to let on. He, too, slept soundly, oblivious to the stealthy bandits as they approached their camp.
Merlin awoke with a start to see a knife pressed to the throat of the still-sleeping prince. With no time to think, he responded with pure instinct. He muttered a spell, his eyes glowed orange, and Arthur woke up fighting. Too late, Merlin realized that in his startled, groggy state he uttered the wrong spell. He’d meant to simply awaken Arthur and provide him with a burst of energy. Instead, he had performed an aggression spell on the crowned prince of Camelot.
And the prince was wonderly wroth, indeed.
Merlin scrambled out of the way as Arthur handedly took down the would-be attackers. He struggled to remember the specifics of this particular incantation. If he recalled correctly, it was supposed to heat a man’s blood greatly and fade after about an hour.
The fight lasted less than ten minutes. Arthur spun around in search of more foes. Upon finding none, he roared, “Merlin!”
Merlin desperately wanted to maintain his hidden location in the underbrush- Arthur was enough of a prat without magic in him and his tone suggested nothing pleasant- but he knew the prince would locate him before long and continuing to hide would only make his punishment worse. He forced a nonchalant grin onto his face and stepped out of the bushes.
“Well done! I bet they never even knew what hit them,” Merlin replied glibly.
Arthur said nothing but the tight line of his jaw clearly showed that he wasn’t interested in casual conversation. He took two deliberate steps toward Merlin.
Merlin gulped and chuckled nervously. “Shall we go back to sleep or do you think there might be more about?” He swiveled his head around as if to check the moonlit forest for evil-doers, but kept his eyes fixed on Arthur.
Arthur took another step toward him and Merlin resisted the urge to retreat. Arthur continued his slow advancement until the two were toe to toe. Merlin felt Arthur’s hot breath on his face. He maintained his foolish grin, all too aware of the fire in Arthur’s eyes and the sword still clenched in his fist.
Arthur raised the weapon. Merlin flinched, closed his eyes, certain that he was about to be slain. He heard the metallic thud of the heavy sword dropped onto the ground. He cautiously opened one eye.
Arthur lurched forward and kissed him. It was not a gentle kiss, but rather a forceful mashing of lips. Arthur’s unshaven face scraped Merlin’s soft skin. He cried out and tried to pull away, but Arthur gripped him firm by the shoulders.
His struggles only excited Arthur, who bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Merlin yelped again as Arthur wrestled him to the ground, bending his bad ankle in the process. They struggled with each other, but Arthur was much stronger. He picked Merlin up and threw him bodily on the bedroll. He crouched over him and ripped open Merlin’s trousers, exposing his flaccid cock and scrawny thighs.
“Arthur! What are you doing? This isn’t funny!”
Arthur backhanded him across the jaw. He fumbled with the lacing on his own trousers, then, frustrated, ripped them open.
Merlin’s eyes widened at the sight of Arthur’s large, fully erect member. Before he could protest further, before he could prepare himself, Arthur pinned his legs up and pressed that unbelievably huge cock against his arsehole. He thrusted twice- hard- but Merlin’s opening was too tight to let him inside. Arthur loosed his grip on Merlin’s left thigh, licked his first two fingers, and shoved them in.
Merlin lacked the ability to struggle with Arthur so heavy atop him. He fought to keep breathing, unaware of the tears streaming down his cheeks. He tried to look in Arthur’s eyes, to connect to the human, compassionate part of him, but Arthur’s face was pressed to Merlin’s chest and his eyes were squeezed closed.
After loosening Merlin up for what felt like an eternity, Arthur removed his fingers and thrust again, this time entering him entirely. Arthur grunted as he rutted into him, rough and without rhythm. Merlin squeaked in pain at every thrust. He tried to focus on the stars, the trees, anything but his present situation, but was unsuccessful. Arthur sped up and brought his still-slick fingers to Merlin’s throat. Just as Merlin’s world started to go black, Arthur bellowed and relaxed his grip.
Arthur collapsed on top of Merlin and, after a moment, snored softly. Merlin wanted him off of himself, but he was scared of accidentally waking him. He shifted his weight, trying to roll him off, but to no avail. Arthur was too heavy and Merlin had no leverage. He supposed he could do magic, but he decided the risk of saying a spell, even whispering one, was too great with his mouth this close to Arthur’s ear.
He sighed, resigned to his apparent fate of being crushed to death by the crowned prince of Camelot. It seemed a fitting end after the night’s indignities. A breeze blew through the trees and ruffled Arthur’s hair. He murmured something unintelligible and shifted slightly. Merlin squeezed out from under him. When he was nearly free, he glanced at Arthur to make sure he was still asleep.
Arthur’s eyes were open, starring at Merlin with a mix of confusion and residual anger. Merlin froze.
“Merlin,” Arthur said slowly, “what are you doing in my bed?”
Merlin smiled disarmingly, relieved that the spell had faded and that Arthur appeared oblivious to its effects. “Nothing,” he responded.
“Get out, then.”
“Right.” Merlin slid to the ground and waited the minute or so until he heard Arthur’s breathing grow steady. He tied his trousers as best he could, then tried to find a position that didn’t hurt. There wasn’t such a position, but suddenly he was too tired to care. The adrenaline was gone and his injured body craved sleep.
He drifted off as he wondered what would happen tomorrow. Arthur would have many questions that Merlin simply could not answer.