"Merlin, is this revenge for when I beat you with that T?" Arthur asked, batting aside another letter flying by his head.
Merlin folded his arms, the movement crunching the straight lines shading his cloak -- and really, what was the illustrator thinking? Merlin only ever wore a cloak in one of their lives, and it almost got him killed within minutes – and dispersed the speech italics with an annoyed wave of his hand.
"Maybe," he muttered. Arthur laughed at the pouty words, holding on his gilded crown as he avoided a swooping V. They battled from a distance for a while, until Arthur managed to snatch the capitalized title of his page by stepping on the text columns on either side of the page and built himself a little fortress, behind which he hide.
When the attacks gradually relented, most efforts rendered useless, Arthur sat more comfortably behind his wall and looked around. Gathering a few left-over commas, he peeked over his fort wall and threw some at Merlin's head. They hit his pointy hat and bounced off. Arthur snorted.
He sobered soon when he noticed Merlin staring in his direction, a thoughtful line slowly appearing between his brows.
Merlin thinking hard could never lead to any good, reflected Arthur, sliding back behind his castle of words. From between inky bars, he saw Merlin smile. It was not a friendly smile.
Really not good.
So entranced was he with how Merlin had taken the looks of the barbarians from chapter IV, Arthur didn't notice the chain of small characters that had crept under the pagination until they wrapped themselves tightly around his left ankle. He yelled, the letters spiky, surprised, and attempted to remove the chain. However, the cursive font, once a fake quotation, didn't offer much purchase to his squared fingertips, so he quickly stopped trying when he realized more chains were slithering close.
Alarmed, he stumble upright, backing up to the gutter of the book, where he could go no further. From his side, Merlin, who had been looking on avidly up to now, stepped as close as he could to his side of the gutter. They had found that while words could cross pages, neither of them could; something to do with the decidedly girly ivy borders drawn on Merlin's page' edges.
Still, this close to the dip, Arthur could feel the press of Merlin's onomatopoeiaded panting breath on the back of his neck. With Arthur distracted, the creeping strings of words were able to catch his second ankle, then his wrists, and held fast, bolding.
"Merlin, yes, plea–" Arthur started, but Merlin whispered "Please sush" and the words looped around Arthur's neck, the P hooking with the h, blocking any further speech bubbles from escaping him. Arthur gulped.
A 5 hooked on his pants and lowered them gently, curved end sliding along his naked lines, before cutting their middle seam. Arthur both cursed and thanked the artist for not giving him underwear.
His genitals were exposed, he shivered with want, feeling bare in his corner of mostly blank space, trembling lines rippling towards Merlin.
This triggered the soft but thick words around Arthur's ankles to kern, creeping outwards, tugging his legs apart. If this tome had had colours, he would have blushed at being displayed such to anyone opening the book.
Instead, he whined, the sound a sharp contrast on the old white under them. Then again, in italics, when a series of Os strung together started fondling his balls. A C curled around his cock, fitting perfectly, leaving just the right space for the big pulsing vein running underneath his shaft. Distantly, Arthur pondered about the amount of details the illustrator had given his cock, but got completely distracted when one l nudged his opening. It was gilded and one of the thickest letters of their pages, probably from Merlin's own golden name on his side (which was still smaller than Arthur's own name, he will always insist), and it easily pressed a little further into Arthur's arse, having left a trail of slick gold specks along his inner thighs. Picking up a rhythm, relentless it rocked farther in than out each time, trusting deeper and deeper, until it was inside to its bottom tilt. Arthur moaned, letters thin and whiny.
Merlin groaned like he could feel it, ink thick and running. It dripped over Arthur's shoulders like sweat.
When the l began to move again, Arthur got out of his head. He trashed against his bonds, panted and even tried cursing but was quickly censored by a thick black square wrapping itself around his mouth. Left with nothing but surrender, he gave a final shudder and came so hard his contour sharpened almost out of the page. Behind him, Merlin made a sound at the back of his throat, something so low that even the back cover heard it, and cummed in one of his own hands.
Both pages went blank.
"Next time," Arthur reflected, "I want video."