King Arthur Pendragon prides himself on knowing the woods round Camelot like the back of his hand; therefore it’s beyond the realm of possibility that he’s lost. Completely unthinkable. Out of the question.
He might concede that he doesn’t know where he is though. And after passing what looks suspiciously like the same tree stump three times, he decides to take a minute to regroup.
After gathering his bearings, he makes his choice and determinedly sets off towards the path to the left.
“You’ll never get to Camelot that way,” a voice says.
He swings round immediately, hand on his sword, but there’s no-one in sight.
“Show yourself,” he says commandingly.
“I’m right here,” the voice says again, strangely small and tinny. Arthur whips to face the other way but there’s still no sign of anyone.
“Where are you?” he says, more frustrated than wary.
Arthur barely suppresses a gasp, because gasps are for court ladies and he has a reputation to uphold. But if there ever was an occasion for a King to gasp, it would be when he's confronted with an eight inch winged creature hovering right in front of his nose.
“What are you, some kind of pixie?” he says, squinting to focus.
“A pixie!” the creature squeaks, sounding completely outraged. “Those flibbertigibbets! I’m clearly a faery.”
The creatu- faery – flies back a little so Arthur can finally get a good look at it. Him. He thinks it’s a boy. But to be honest the outfit makes it hard to tell. The faery is dressed in a light green, extremely skimpy little tunic, and just visible underneath are some of the tiniest undergarments that Arthur’s ever had the misfortune to lay eyes on. He quickly directs his gaze back up to the faery’s face, and takes in the sharp blue eyes, the sticky out ears. And of course the surprisingly delicate gossamer wings protruding from the faery’s back, looking almost too thin to keep him aloft.
The faery certainly is aloft though, and currently flying irritating circles around Arthur’s head.
“Hey! Stop that! Just-”
Arthur grabs him out of the air and the faery lets out a shriek.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Arthur says, poorly concealing his anxiety. He uncurls his hand and the faery blinks up at him.
“You touched me. You… you invoked the bond.”
“When a human touches a faery, specifically a human of noble blood, a bond is sealed between them. They can never be parted,” the faery says earnestly.
Arthur stares down at him for a second and then bursts into riotous laughter.
“What a load of hogwash.”
“It’s true!” the faery cries.
“Look, Merlin, I don’t know how credulous the nobles usually are around these parts but I’m afraid I’m not falling for it. Now be on your way.”
He pushes the faery off his hand and surveys his options. After a moment’s contemplation, he decides against the left path and heads for the right.
He’s barely gone three paces when he hears a soft thump behind him.
He turns around and Merlin’s curled up on the ground, wings fluttering pathetically.
“Did you just fall out of the air?” he asks confusedly. Maybe Merlin’s a bit of a rubbish faery after all.
“No, it’s just beginning,” Merlin says in a weak voice.
“I’m dying,” Merlin proclaims dramatically.
“I told you, you sealed a bond when you touched me. Now you’re leaving and I won’t be able to survive without you.”
“It’s old faery magic,” Merlin says, coughing pitifully. “It’s alright. You can go on. You don’t have to feel… obligated…”
He punctuates this by lifting one tiny hand to his forehead and sighing.
“I just hope it doesn’t hurt too much.”
“It’s all getting dark now.”
“Hold me in my final moments…”
With an exasperated exhale, Arthur bends down and picks the little faery up off the ground.
“You can come with me,” he says. “I’m sure my court physician will know how to break this ludicrous spell.”
Since he’d lifted the magic ban in his second year of rule, Gaius had surprisingly revealed himself to be quite the scholar on sorcery and magical creatures. He’d surely know what to do.
Merlin seems to perk up incredibly quickly when he’s in Arthur’s hands.
“Until then… you’ll look after me?” he asks slyly.
“Yes,” Arthur says grudgingly.
“In every sense of the word?”
“What does that mean?”
Merlin shuffles on his feet.
“For the bond to work… you have to make me come at least once a day.”
“What?” Arthur roars and Merlin nearly falls off his hands.
“I’m sorry! That’s the rule. If you don’t give me regular orgasms, I’ll wither away. It’s a very powerful curse, Master.”
Arthur’s about to argue further but he’s slightly distracted by Merlin calling him Master. And the way he’s looking up at him with those bright blue eyes.
“I can’t… I don’t even know how I would…”
“I’ll show you!” Merlin says eagerly, and before Arthur can say a word, he’s shedding his skimpy little underthings.
“Don’t do that!”
Arthur looks determinedly away.
“Please Master, pleaseee. I’m already feeling ill. Just this once, just help me out and then we’ll go to your court physician and he’ll break the spell.”
Arthur looks back down at his hand. Merlin’s stripped off his flimsy little tunic too, and is lying spread-eagled on his back. Arthur’s really trying not to look too closely but everything seems… proportionate.
“I… what do you expect me to do here? You’re too… small!”
“Not that small,” Merlin says suggestively and gestures towards Arthur’s pinky finger.
“No, absolutely not. I’ll split you in two.”
“I’ll prepare myself first,” Merlin says, and draws his knees up to his chest without delay. Then he reaches down to slip his own finger inside himself.
“I don’t have any… oil… or anything…” Arthur says, resolve fatally weakened by the sight of Merlin pumping a finger in and out of himself, moaning in pleasure.
“I can take care of that,” Merlin says with a wink, stretching himself wide so that Arthur can see the slick gathering inside his little hole.
“You’re… you can… oh God.”
Arthur had not been prepared for this when he left the castle today. A self-lubricating faery boy with a face like an angel and a body like a brothel wench. He suddenly wondered if he was hallucinating.
“Oh please, Master,” Merlin pants, three fingers planted inside himself now. “Please fuck me. Please fill me up and make me yours.”
Arthur decides that this definitely is a hallucination, and therefore there are no repercussions for anything he might or might not do. That in mind, he uses his free hand to turn Merlin over on his front, and nudges at his little hole with his pinky finger.
“Are you sure it’ll fit?” he asks doubtfully and Merlin bucks up frantically.
“Yes! Fuck me Master, fuck me!”
Arthur takes a second to be very glad he cut his fingernails just yesterday, and then he starts to push his way inside. Merlin’s hole is warm and wet and the way it clenches around Arthur sends an unexpected spasm of arousal to his cock. He brings Merlin up close to his face, making sure he can see if the faery’s in any discomfort, but Merlin’s practically shoving himself onto Arthur’s finger. So he pushes in a little deeper and is rewarded with a cry of pleasure.
Arthur thrusts in and out a few times, and wonders whether he should be trying to touch Merlin’s cock too. But the logistics seem iffy, and he’s just debating if he should try and take it very gently between his thumb and forefinger when Merlin suddenly squeals and spasms. Arthur feels a slight wetness on his palm.
“Did you just… just from me…?”
“I can always come like that,” Merlin says dreamily, turning over as Arthur very carefully pulls out. “Like it best when it’s just something inside me…”
Arthur’s suddenly awkward, gazing down at this thoroughly debauched little creature. Although it seems more like Merlin’s the one who debauched him, somehow.
“Right. Er, well, yes. We better get a move on for Camelot.”
Merlin smiles happily.
“Can I ride in your pocket?”
“Can’t you fly?”
“I need to feel close to you… or the bond might suffer.”
He coughs again and Arthur rolls his eyes.
“In you get then. Clothes on first.”
Merlin dresses and then happily slips down inside Arthur’s tunic pocket, head poking out of the top.
“Onwards!” he squeaks.
“I give the orders round here,” Arthur reminds him.
“Of course,” Merlin says.
Then a second later:
Arthur gives up.
Arthur ends up being far too embarrassed to ask Gaius about breaking the spell when they get back to Camelot. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.
The truth is, having Merlin around is… not terrible. He’d never confess it but he finds himself looking forward to walking into his chambers and finding an eager faery boy laid out on his bed, naked and primed for action. There’s something about the way only his touch stands between Merlin and death that makes Arthur feel rather important. Statesmanlike. He has a responsibility to all of the citizens he governs in Camelot, and he’s just doing his duty for the faery population's needs. Who said he wasn’t a magnanimous ruler?
But a few days in, Merlin decides he wants to return the favour. Arthur protests, at great and terrible length, nightmare visions of Merlin getting stuck somewhere he shouldn’t plaguing his head.
Merlin gets his way, as usual. He waits until Arthur has had his bath, and slipped into bed naked, then he pounces.
Before Arthur can say a word, Merlin’s climbing bodily onto his cock. He sits astride it for a moment, as though he’s going hunting on the world’s most bizarre horse, and bounces up and down experimentally. Then he works his way to the tip, taking his time. Arthur starts to object and then swallows it. The friction isn’t strong enough for Arthur to get off on but the feel of something wrapped around him like that is strangely pleasing. He’ll allow it for a minute more.
Merlin then climbs off to bend down in front of the head, and thoughtfully laves it with his tongue, as though he’s checking the taste. It feels to Arthur like a very small kitten is licking him. Not that he’d want a kitten to lick him down there. It’s odd enough having a faery do it. And really this situation is actually far too odd and ridiculous and he’s going to tell Merlin to stop right now and-
Merlin sticks his hand inside the slit of Arthur’s cock, and Arthur spasms.
“What the hell-” he gasps out and Merlin hums.
“Do you like that?”
“Yes,” Arthur manages to pant.
Merlin giggles, pushing his arm further in. Arthur can’t really describe the feeling, only that it’s like nothing he’s experienced before, and it’s arousing in a way he can’t even understand. He hardens rapidly and Merlin simply clings on, wrapping his body around Arthur’s cock and continuing to fist into him. He licks the head all over as he thrusts, rutting his own cock against the side of Arthur’s and making intoxicating little moaning noises until Arthur can’t stand it anymore. His orgasm comes as quite a shock; his last conscious thought before he shoots being surely I’m not actually coming from this.
It helps that his orgasm is a shock to Merlin too, who ends up with a face full of come, quite literally. He’s covered in it. Arthur almost apologises but the words die in his throat when he sees how enthusiastically Merlin is licking his own face clean, tongue poking out in concentration.
“You taste like lemons,” Merlin says happily.
It’s quite possible that a faery boy has completely ruined him for all other men.
Resigned to the fact that Merlin’s going to be here a while longer, Arthur tries to figure out a routine. When Arthur can’t be around, or has important Kingly business to attend to, he sends Merlin to help Gaius out in the infirmary. It works out surprisingly well, Gaius uses Merlin to do close inspections of the patient’s wounds when he can’t see very well, and Merlin knows all the places in the forest where the rare healing herbs grow.
He hopes Gaius doesn’t know what he and Merlin get up to away from the infirmary, but discretion is not exactly Merlin’s middle name, no matter who happens to be present. He’ll do things like fly onto Arthur’s lap at banquets and wriggle around there, or cling onto Arthur’s body when he’s training the knights, shamelessly rubbing himself against him whenever the mood takes him.
Arthur’s given up trying to teach him a sense of proprietary. Merlin always just bats his eyelids and goes on about how the bond spell works ‘in mysterious ways’. Although it’s not particularly mysterious to Arthur how Merlin manages to cajole him into several dalliances a day, despite originally claiming only one orgasm a day was needed.
And he has a way of talking Arthur round to things too. Arthur had grandly told Merlin that Kings did not give oral pleasure to others, but Merlin had whined and wheedled until Arthur had agreed just to shut him up. It was a very odd experience, using only the very tip of his tongue to lick at Merlin’s miniscule cock until Merlin moaned and spurted the smallest drop of come into his mouth. It was surprisingly sweet tasting, which Merlin smugly told him was faery standard.
Merlin can’t really return the favour, though Arthur finds that the little kitten licks to the head of his cock are a surprisingly stimulating extra to Merlin’s usual repertoire.
Arthur still maintains that the whole thing is simply a mutually beneficial arrangement. There’s nothing more to it than that, and there are certainly no feelings involved.
Then one day they’re out on a hunt (or Arthur is trying to hunt and Merlin is fluttering around and scaring away every creature in sight, blatantly on purpose) and he’s so busy telling Merlin to get out the way that he doesn’t see the bandits sneaking up on them.
He kills three without breaking a sweat, but they keep on coming. There’s only one left in front of him when something hits him on the head from behind.
He goes down in a daze and his sword slips from his grasp. Instantly his hands are being twisted behind his back and held in place. He struggles but the grip is solid. The bandit in front of him comes forward, picking Arthur’s sword off the ground.
“Say goodbye, your highness,” he sneers, as the man holding him pushes his head forward to expose Arthur’s neck to the blade.
Merlin is nowhere to be seen, the treacherous little sod. Arthur supposes he shouldn’t have expected any more loyalty than that.
The bandit raises his sword and Arthur panics, trying to break free. But the hands holding him are too strong, he can’t get away. This can’t be it…
He shuts his eyes, not wanting to see his death coming. But then there’s a startled cry.
He opens them again to see the bandit reeling in agony, sword dropped to the ground. There’s something flying at his face, crashing repeatedly into his eyes and blocking his vision.
The bandit holding Arthur seems to be as confused as his friend, momentarily loosening his grip on Arthur’s arms.
It’s all Arthur needs. He twists out of his grasp and then slams his head backwards, head-butting the man right in the face and knocking him unconscious. He jumps to his feet and grabs his sword, turning back to where Merlin’s still flying determinedly into the bandit’s eyes.
But the man’s finally recovered himself and Arthur watches in horror as he swats through the air, catching Merlin in flight and knocking him to the ground. Hard.
“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, fear and rage bubbling up inside of him. He uses the rage to dispatch the bandit with a single stroke of his sword, then the fear carries him over to where Merlin’s lying in the grass.
His eyes are closed and he looks even tinier than usual. Arthur picks him up, very gently.
“Merlin, are you alright? Speak to me.”
There’s no colour in his face and Arthur can’t tell if he’s breathing or not.
“Merlin, wake up. Come on, use your magic. Heal yourself.”
Nothing happens. Merlin just lies there, pale and still.
Arthur brings him close to his face, trying to see if there’s any damage he can help with. He knows faeries have healing magic, but Merlin can’t use it if he’s unconscious. Or if he’s already…
“Wake up,” he whispers, desperately. Before he can check it, a single tear runs down his face and drips onto the little body in his hands.
Almost instantaneously, Merlin starts to glow. Dim at first, but then brightening until he’s engulfed in a warm yellow light.
Then his eyes open.
“Arthur?” he says.
“Oh thank the gods,” Arthur breathes, stroking Merlin’s hair with his finger as the light fades. “Thought I’d lost you.”
“I couldn’t reach my magic,” Merlin says hazily. “You cried on me and it… it reminded me to come back to you.”
Arthur gets choked up all over again.
“Thank you for saving me,” he says gruffly.
“No one hurts my King and gets away with it,” Merlin says fiercely, and Arthur feels warm inside.
They stay there like that for a while and then Merlin yawns widely and Arthur lifts him into his pocket.
“Try to sleep. I’m taking us home.”
Merlin snuggles down into the fabric, a pleasant little weight on Arthur’s chest.
The next day Arthur goes to see Gaius and tells him what happened.
“I have heard of tears triggering magic before, though never in faeries I think. Then again, Merlin has always seemed rather unusual,” Gaius says meditatively.
He takes a book down from the shelf and hands it to Arthur.
“This is my only specialist text on faery folk; there might be something in there.”
There isn’t, as it happens, although it’s interesting enough that Arthur carries on reading it anyway. He learns about rituals and habitats and history, and it’s all quite fascinating. He’s halfway through a chapter on mating habits when a passage catches his eye:
Faeries are known to be deceptive creatures in matters of the heart; and often play upon the kindness of humans to achieve their ends. Oberlin of Carleon was reportedly tricked by a libidinous faery into servicing its lust, on the claim that it might expire without regular access to a noble’s touch.
Arthur reads that last sentence several times. Then he grabs the book and storms into his chambers, heading over to where Merlin’s peacefully snoozing on a pillow, little wings fluttering as he exhales.
“What is this?” he shouts and Merlin jerks awake.
“Wha-” he says sleepily and Arthur slams the open book down on the bed, then picks Merlin up and places him on top of it.
“Read that,” he says icily, finger pointed to the offending lines.
There’s a pause, and then Merlin rolls onto his back, looking up at Arthur.
“Oops,” he giggles.
“Oops? OOPS? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t throw you into the grate and set you on fire, you perfidious little…”
Merlin doesn’t look in the slightest bit afraid of Arthur’s threats, probably because he knows him too well by now. And damn it all if the idea of hurting Merlin doesn’t fill Arthur with horror, despite the obvious outrage he’s committed. But Merlin’s not supposed to know that!
“Better yet, I should just drop you out the window,” he growls.
“I can fly,” Merlin points out reasonably and Arthur feels like tearing his hair out.
Merlin’s face takes on a familiar wheedling expression, like when he wants Arthur to order another honey cake from the kitchen for him to nibble on.
“You were going to leave me and I couldn’t think of any other way to make you listen. I just couldn’t help myself. You’re so handsome… and so strong… and so kind and forgiving...”
During this course of this staggeringly disingenuous little speech, Merlin’s managed to crawl over to straddle Arthur’s index finger. He’s slowly rocking himself against it, eyes closed in bliss.
“Please don’t be angry, Master,” he implores. “I just wanted to be close to you. I’m soooo sorry.”
“You’re trying to get off in the middle of an apology!” Arthur says indignantly. “This is unbelievable.”
Merlin momentarily stops his rutting and looks up at Arthur with wide eyes.
“I have been very naughty. Perhaps you need to punish me.”
“Perhaps I do,” Arthur agrees, pleased to hear a sensible suggestion at last. “I should give you a good spanking.”
“Oh no, not a spanking!” Merlin says happily. “Please, Master, have mercy! Please don’t spank me with that conveniently sized wooden spoon on your desk!”
Arthur’s halfway to the desk when he catches on.
“Is there anything you don’t get off on?” he asks resignedly.
“Let’s find out,” Merlin says, waggling his eyebrows.
The answer appears to be no, as Merlin squirms, writhes and squeals his way through his spanking, bent over Arthur’s wrist in paroxysms of glee.
“I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” Arthur says weakly at the end, trying to draw on what little authority he has left.
“Oh yes,” Merlin says merrily, wiggling his little pink behind. “I’ll be such a good boy from now on.”
He crawls his way over to Arthur’s pinky finger, and nuzzles at it hopefully.
“Do good boys get a reward?”
“I cannot emphasise how much you haven’t earned one,” Arthur says, but he’s already turning Merlin on his back.
Once Merlin’s come three times, he finally seems sated enough to remember that there’s another person in the room with him. Arthur inclined to be a little more forgiving when Merlin climbs up onto his cock and does things that have him coming so hard he forgets his own name.
They curl up in bed after and Merlin insists on sleeping tucked inside the collar of Arthur’s night shirt, naked body pressed up against Arthur’s chest.
Arthur can’t say he minds. Ridiculous as the situation might be, it seems that Merlin’s here to stay. He can’t really imagine sharing his bed – or his life – with another.
But the council aren’t exactly going to be happy when he announces that his Royal Consort is an eight inch faery boy with a penchant for exhibitionism. It might be a good idea to send an envoy to Oberlin of Carleon sometime soon. Perhaps he could offer some advice…