Merlin gets like this sometimes. Needy. Insatiable.
Arthur has already had him four times this evening, spending inside of him each time, filling him past capacity, but Merlin still writhes, presenting himself, begging for more. Sometimes Merlin's neediness makes Arthur feel inadequate, like he is never enough to satisfy Merlin. But then Merlin lets out a sob, crying out Arthur's name, and Arthur remembers that it is exactly his need for Arthur that pushes him so far over the edge.
“Arthur, please,” Merlin begs, reaching back for Arthur's resolutely flaccid, exhausted cock.
“I can't, Merlin. I'm spent.”
Were they in Arthur's chambers, there would be no shortage of objects with which he could penetrate Merlin (and did, regularly; candlesticks were particularly adept at the task).
As it is, they are days from Camelot, camped under the stars; the only things near are those they brought with them.
Merlin wriggles against him, tiny moans escaping his mouth as he tries to pull Arthur's cock back to hardness. Failing that, tries to push Arthur's soft cock back inside him.
Arthur hisses at the sensation, far too sensitive to be handled in such a manner.
He reaches a hand around Merlin's face, Merlin sucking three fingers into his mouth almost on instinct. This is one way Arthur prepares to penetrate Merlin, but it is unnecessary now. With his other hand, he frees his penis from Merlin's clutches and thrusts three fingers of his free hand into Merlin's arse. They both moan – Arthur at the squelching sound that accompanies his intrusion, Merlin at the feeling of being filled again.
Merlin begs for more around the fingers in his mouth. He bucks back onto Arthur's hand, trying always to get more deeply penetrated. But Arthur's fingers can only go so deep.
Arthur pulls his spit slick fingers from Merlin's mouth and reaches down to pull at a sensitive nipple. Merlin's whole body reacts to the sensation, bucking his arse back on Arthur's other hand.
“Deeper, please, Arthur. More,” he cries. “Use something.”
He hurts to see Merlin like this, without the ability to satisfy him. Arthur wracks his brain to think of an object in their packs he can use on Merlin to abate his need.
The thwack of something flying into Merlin's outstretched hand catches Arthur's attention.
“Please, Arthur. It's perfect,” he pleads as he wiggles his arse against Arthur and clamps down on his fingers.
Merlin, the pommel is too big, it--”
“It won't slip out,” Merlin interrupts.
And there it is. Now the idea of the hilt of Arthur's sword buried in Merlin's body, held in place by his arse, is burned into Arthur's mind.
In the next moment, Arthur finds himself sitting up, his fingers free of Merlin's arse, gripping the sword instead.
“Get up,” Arthur commands. “On your hands and knees.”
Merlin scrambles to obey. His body is practically thrumming with need.
Arthur's hand is covered in his seed from Merlin's arse and he uses that to lubricate Excalibur's hilt.
“You want this, Merlin?” Arthur teases.
“Yes!” he cries in response.
“Get it wet.”
Without hesitation, Merlin opens his mouth wide and sucks the sword's pommel inside. It's too wide, nearly the width of the blade, to take deeper. He moans around the metal. His tongue snakes out onto the leather of the hilt, licking up some of Arthur's seed, and he can't help the drool seeping from the corners of his mouth.
The pommel pops out of Merlin's mouth and he's left there breathless, spit dripping down his chin.
Arthur pulls on his leather gloves and grips Excalibur's blade just above the guard. His other hand he plants on the flesh of Merlin's arse. His hole is red and raw from abuse, still showing evidence of Arthur's spend, and Merlin is nearly crying with the anticipation.
Arthur rubs the pommel of the sword against Merlin's hole. It clenches for a second then relaxes, gaping open obscenely.
Increasing the pressure, Arthur presses the pommel against Merlin's hole. Open though he is, it still requires some amount of force to get the round knob past the ring of muscle. Merlin begins to tremble as the widest part of the pommel stretches him, but then his body relaxes against the intrusion. Once the widest part is in, Merlin's body sucks the rest of the knob inside.
The noises Merlin makes at the intrusion give Arthur confidence. This is what Merlin craves. It's not too much. He isn't hurting his manservant-cum-lover.
“Arthur,” Merlin wails, falling from his hands to his elbows. “Go.”
And Arthur does. He presses the hilt into Merlin's arse. One gloved hand gripping the blade tight, the other still pulling Merlin's arse open. The view before him is wicked. Merlin's abused hole taking in the wide hilt of his sword. Leather holding Merlin open and penetrating him at the same time.
Merlin is incoherent, grunting and groaning, making noises Arthur recognizes but can never distinguish as actual words.
After a few moments, the hilt is fully buried inside Merlin and a slow, lazy smile covers Merlin's face at the feeling of being filled so fully, so deeply. But Arthur knows this isn't enough, so he begins to withdraw the sword from Merlin's depths.
He fucks Merlin in long, sure strokes. He pulls out far enough that the pommel stretches Merlin's rim. He pushes in as far as possible, letting the guard of the sword press into Merlin's flesh. He twists the blade so that the guard is vertical, aligned with Merlin's crack and able to sink just a little deeper.
Arthur hadn't thought it possible, but his own cock is hard once again. The sight of Merlin so thoroughly penetrated by the sword meant to unite Albion absolutely wrecks him.
Merlin's hand is on his cock, pulling and twisting without rhythm. Arthur's thrusts with the sword lose rhythm and depth as well, merely making short, aborted thrusts into Merlin.
Arthur leans in closer, removing his gloved hand from Merlin's arse and gripping his cock. It's awkward, but it doesn't take long – not with his cock so over-sensitive and Merlin a writhing mess underneath him – maybe half a dozen strokes, until Arthur is coming. He paints white stripes of seed on Melin's hole, on Excalibur's hilt. He watches his spend as it gets pushed into Merlin's hole by the sword and could come again just at the sight of it.
With one final plunge and twist into him, Merlin cries out, body shaking, and comes onto the blanket beneath him.
Ever so slowly, Arthur pulls Excalibur from Merlin's arse. After the hilt and then pommel exit with a faint pop, Merlin collapses, finally sated.
Arthur draws a now-sleeping Merlin close, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck and whispering his affections deep into Merlin's skin.