merlinadvent

A Discussion on the Breeding and Training of Horses

Arthur pulls his chair in closer to the long feast table and adjusts his posture, slouching low. He props his chin in one hand, covering his mouth and pretends to concentrate on whatever the hell Lord Palsey is saying about his prize stallions, while in reality trying extremely hard to stop his eyes rolling into the back of head due to the way Merlin is sucking him off under the table.

‘What a fascinating breeding technique, we should try it here in our stables,’ Uther says, nodding at Lord Palsey; Arthur makes a strangled noise half way between a groan and a laugh, mind firmly in the gutter at this point. He feels Merlin pull back and chuckle softly against his skin, fingers stroking Arthur’s thighs.

‘What did you say, Arthur?’ Uther asks, raising one enquiring brow.

‘Er,’ Arthur glances between his father and Lord Palsey, both of them staring at him in polite interest, though his father’s gaze is perhaps tinged a little with warning. ‘I said,’ Arthur begins valiantly, but before he can formulate a suitable answer to the question Merlin sucks the head of his cock into his warm, wet mouth, tongue flicking across the slit, and Arthur begins desperately clearing his throat to keep from making some sort of utterly embarrassing noise.

‘I was just saying,’ he attempts once more, reaching for his goblet and taking a sip to cover his discomfort. Naturally Merlin, with an impeccable sense of timing, begins sucking harder, taking the whole of Arthur’s length into his mouth, swallowing him down. It feels incredible, pleasure spiking through Arthur’s body, muscles tensing; he starts choking on his wine.

This catches Morgana’s attention as well, and she turns from her conversation with a very austere-looking noblewoman, whose name Arthur has not the slightest chance of remembering at this moment in time, to regard him across the table with an amused smirk. ‘Having trouble?’ she asks, the picture of innocent curiosity.

‘I, that is, well...’ Arthur scrambles frantically for a response, but he can’t think of anything past the blood pounding in his ears and the pleasure coiling low in his belly, building and building as Merlin moves up and down his cock, tongue stroking against the underside, sucking steadily, bringing Arthur closer and closer to the edge.

Uther sighs at the head of the table. ‘Spit it out,’ he says, and Arthur launches into a fresh round of coughing. He can feel Merlin, the bastard, shaking with barely audible laughter between his legs, and the vibrations humming in the back of his throat are wreaking havoc with what few mental capacities Arthur has left. Uther’s brow climbs higher still.

Arthur takes a moment to steady himself and force his breathing under control; his eyes are rather wide and he can feel himself sweating. He opens his mouth, just waiting for Merlin to make some sort of unexpected move and is relieved when he doesn’t so much as break his rhythm, not that that is really any less distracting.   

By now Arthur and his strange coughing fits have become the centre of attention for a fair number of guests. He glances round at the expectant faces. ‘I said, ‘I agree’,’ he finishes lamely, although privately he thinks he deserves some kind of award for managing even that; Merlin is very, very good at this.

‘What an astute observation,’ Morgana remarks.

‘Thank you,’ Arthur bites off with a glare.

Morgana frowns. ‘Are you alright?’ she asks. ‘You’re looking a little flushed.’

Arthur nods tightly; Merlin pulls back once more, lets his teeth scrape lightly against Arthur’s cock, and Arthur closes his eyes, clenches his jaw until it hurts.

‘I’m fine,’ he squeaks, transferring his white-knuckled grip from the elaborately carved arm of his chair to Merlin’s head, burying his fingers encouragingly in the mop of dark hair, forcing Merlin to take him in again, wanting to end it quickly before he snaps.

Merlin digs his fingers into Arthur’s thighs and complies, working him in earnest now, head bobbing back and forth as he sucks and licks; it takes more self-control than Arthur’s even aware he has not to thrust into that delicious warmth.  The fact that he’s surrounded by all these oblivious people, completely unaware of what his manservant is doing to him, lends a forbidden thrill to his pleasure, and he twists his hands in Merlin’s hair, urging him on, faster, harder, until he’s right on the edge and it’s all he can do to keep himself from moaning Merlin’s name into the crowded hall. Merlin wraps a hand around the base of Arthur’s cock and squeezes as he pulls back to swipe his tongue across the head and then swallow it immediately back down again; it’s more than Arthur needs, and his entire body stiffens as he comes, biting down hard on his tongue.

He lets out a long breath and slumps bonelessly against the hard back of his seat, sated and spent. His hand slips down from Merlin’s hair to stroke his cheek, thumb trailing over his swollen lips to trace the self-satisfied grin Arthur knows is there. Merlin nips and licks at his fingers and Arthur can’t help keep a fond smile from his face, however much he plans to get revenge on Merlin later. He’ll need to devise a suitable punishment, preferably involving sex; lots of sex. And maybe some rope. He’ll have Merlin on his knees again, he decides, but this time he’ll make him beg.

When Arthur looks up, grinning madly, Morgana is staring at him bemusedly.

‘What?’ he asks.

Morgana shakes her head mutely, conveying in a single look the depth of her disdain for his idiocy. Arthur fights the urge to stick out his tongue at her, schooling his face to impassive dismissal. He turns back to Lord Palsey and his father; thankfully the conversation has moved on without him to the arena of horse-training.

‘I find,’ Palsey is saying, ‘that a true thoroughbred always performs better in front of an audience.’

Under the table Merlin sniggers.