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Watching, Waiting, Wet

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Arthur would have gone to the ends of the earth for his father, but according to Merlin, they only need to find an old sorcerer who, conveniently, lives a short ride from Camelot. After they have dismounted and Merlin has tied up the horses, he starts hopping from one foot to the other, doing a little dance.

Unable to discern the motivation behind this behavior, Arthur squints and asks, “Merlin, what is the matter with you?”

“I have to pee.”

Arthur raises his eyebrow, looking intrigued.

“So unless you want to come and watch me, you should wait for him inside.”

“Why would I want to watch you?” Arthur says, ignoring the curious little spark deep in his belly.

When Merlin turns to walk away, Arthur loses his patience. "We don't have time for this, just do it right here already!”

Merlin looks down, trying to hide his look of discomfort. He turns and starts walking back to the hut.

Arthur looks at him expectantly.


“Well, what?”

“Aren’t you going to pee?”

“Oh, yeah, um, right.”

Merlin turns his back on the prince, shuffling over to a scrawny tree a few metres distant from the hut, as though it will provide some cover. Arthur feels he should turn away, knows he should not watch, but the gnawing in his belly compels him to crane his neck to get a glimpse of Merlin’s prick, of a stream of piss coming out, or even the steam rising off his urine, but he’s at just the wrong angle.

Merlin, on the other hand, is rolling his shoulders and sort of jumping up and down.

“What’s wrong, Merlin? Got performance anxiety?”

Merlin tucks himself back inside his pants and whips around, the fakest smile Arthur’s ever seen plastered on his face.

“False alarm? Let’s go. The sorcerer is probably waiting for us. You go ahead, I’ll just collect some precious herbs. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Right,” Arthur agrees. “Definitely. We can’t keep the old man waiting,” and he strides off with extra purpose not wanting to take a chance that being late will mean the difference between life and death for his father. In fact, he’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice until after the business with the old sorcerer that Merlin had not actually accompanied him.

He leaves the hut and looks around for Merlin, turning at the sound of a twig snapping.

“Merlin...?” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “What were you doing?”


“You mean to say you were peeing all the time I was in there?”

Merlin nods. “I really had to go.”

“There is definitely something very wrong with you,” Arthur mutters, but wonders if there is something wrong with him that he finds the idea of Merlin peeing all that time quite so intriguing.

Then Arthur realises that as long as he’s been privy to seeing Merlin naked and writhing, sweaty and vulgar and perfect in abandon, Arthur has never seen Merlin take a piss. For a man so passionate in his affections, Merlin’s remarkably circumspect when it comes to personal hygiene and habits.

The ride back to Camelot is anything but relaxing and Arthur is all worked up when they clatter into the courtyard, but the incident is all but forgotten when one of his father’s councillors, Lord Effinbree, intercepts him on the stairs to discuss funerary procedure as though Uther is already dead.


Weeks later on a hunting expedition, Arthur is reminded of the tense moment near the ramshackle hut. The morning is crisp and just beyond the line of trees encircling their camp, Merlin’s piss splatters on the fallen autumn leaves at his feet. Arthur can barely see the relaxed slope of Merlin’s shoulders over the brush, but he can hear it. He can imagine it. Knows that Merlin held onto it until there was food to break Arthur’s fast, their bedrolls packed away, ready to ride. He held on. For Arthur.

In the intervening hours it takes to return to the keep, Arthur’s thoughts circle around one thing: his newfound fascination with Merlin pissing. Although it’s usually Merlin who scares all the game away, today it is Arthur. After another botched attempt, Arthur throws up his hands.

“Well, I guess the luck just isn’t with me today. Let’s call it a day and get back to Camelot.” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I know the council will be chomping at the bit to chew my ear off about something important,” he extemporizes.

Arthur stashes his bow and turns towards home. The ride home should relax him, he thinks, but he can’t get away from thoughts of Merlin waiting, holding on to his water for him. His cock grows hard and he wants to rub it against the pommel in time with the horse’s motion, but he restrains himself. If Merlin can wait, so can he.

Upon arrival, he leaves Merlin to direct the servants in looking after their horses and rushes wordlessly up the stone steps. Hurrying and keeping his eyes down, he manages to make his way to his chambers unimpeded. Inside, he bolts the door and slumps against it, relieved to be safely alone.

The pressure on his cock urges him to press his hand to his groin and thrust into it. He can’t stop the moan from escaping his mouth. It feels too good. With shaky hands, he works his breeches loose, freeing his rigid cock.

Oh gods, Arthur thinks, as he wraps his hand around his prick, thumbing at the drop of seed already leaking out. He’s not going to last long. Feet braced, knees locked, he pumps his fist and thinks about Merlin needing to pee, that urge building and building, and his pleasure crests. He spills, hot and slick, into his hand. Spent, he sinks down, relief and shame mingling. How can this be wrong, if it feels so good, he wonders. Loud knocking finally rouses him from his post-orgasmic stupor.

“What?” Arthur yells.

A muffled voice replies, “Are you all right, Arthur? What’s wrong? I rushed to get the horses taken care of so I could get back to you as soon as possible.”

Shit. Arthur has never known Merlin to be so efficient. He staggers up and fumbles the laces, trying to make himself presentable before unlocking the door.

“Ah, Merlin. Right. Yes. We must make preparations for the banquet. Right.”

Merlin gives him an odd look and then glances down, drawing Arthur’s attention to the hem of his shirt which he’d apparently sprayed, but not noticed until now. He stuffs his shirt back into his trousers as though he can hide the evidence of his activities even though that cat is clearly out of the bag. Merlin quirks an eyebrow at him before turning to get his bath water ready.


Merlin squirms in Arthur’s tight grasp. He pushes down on the hairy arm, wriggling to get free. Arthur squeezes him in closer.

"Where do you think you're going," Arthur mumbles sleepily.

“I have to pee.”

Arthur’s breath hitches — Merlin has to pee. He is fully awake as blood rushes to his tingling cock and he can’t resist thrusting his hips into Merlin’s backside.

He puts his lips on Merlin’s neck, nibbling at the warm skin, tonguing it, knowing the effect it has.

“Do you now,” he whispers, voice husky with arousal.

Merlin turns, moaning with his own desire. Arthur bends his head, working his way down Merlin’s body to suck the front of his neck and thumb a nipple. Hand on Merlin’s bare arse, Arthur can feel Merlin’s cock rubbing against his stomach. He moves up, licking the bottom of Merlin’s chin to work his way to his lips.

Merlin gasps when Arthur flicks his tongue into his mouth. Arthur wiggles his hips, rubbing their hard pricks together, losing himself in the pleasure of sexing Merlin.

And then Merlin says, "Fuck, Arthur, I really need to piss, let me go for a moment?"

It should make Arthur’s arousal flag, but it just makes his cock harder. He groans, excited, and lets go of Merlin.

Merlin stands at the foot of the bed, shoulders raised, and Arthur can hear him huffing, trying to relax enough to pee. Finally, when he’s soft enough, Merlin lets go, directing a steady stream of hot liquid into the pot. Arthur is rapt at the sight of Merlin illuminated by a full moon shining directly through the window and watches Merlin piss. He can’t keep his hand off his own cock, envious of Merlin’s hand directing the stream of liquid into the pot.

“Stop!” Arthur commands, wanting the moment to last forever, but impatient to be part of it at the same time.

Merlin jerks, so startled that he stops peeing and looks right at him.

“What the hell?”

“Just. Wait.”

Arthur's so entangled in the sheets that he practically falls out of bed, but many years of fighting practice keep him on his feet. He's behind Merlin in a trice, resting his chin on a bony shoulder and encircling the slim waist to supplant Merlin's own hands and take a gentle hold of his prick. Looking down the length of Merlin's reedy torso, he whispers into the back of his ear, "Now. Now you can pee."

Arthur feels Merlin let out a breath; his shoulder drops beneath Arthur’s chin and he is rewarded with the sound of tinkling as Merlin’s piss hits the pot. Merlin shivers with relief as the flow of urine tapers off to a few drops. Arthur pulls at Merlin’s prick, working the foreskin up and down, easing the last drops from the tip, then reaches under, fondling Merlin’s balls. Arthur trembles with desire, pressing his own hard cock into Merlin’s backside.

Merlin turns, reaching for Arthur, mouth wide. He covers Arthur’s mouth and then thrusts his tongue in. Arthur groans at the pleasure of touching Merlin’s warm tongue, his mouth wet and both their cocks are rigid and touching and, oh gods, Arthur chases Merlin’s tongue like he can never have enough.

Merlin inches them back to the bed, not breaking contact, apparently unwilling to stop kissing him back. Arthur’s legs bump into the side and he falls back, bringing Merlin with him. Arthur’s hands are all over Merlin, rubbing his nipples and down to his lean arse and up then up to his arms, squeezing his lean biceps. Merlin kisses Arthur, writhes against him, increasing Arthur’s desire.

When Merlin’s hand encloses his dick, he cries out in relief. Thrusting into it, he thinks of Merlin holding his own cock as he peed.

Arthur reaches out for Merlin’s cock, finding it smooth, warm, and just as hard as his own. He bumps noses with Merlin, seeking the lush, insolent mouth. Arthur works Merlin’s cock and thrusts into Merlin’s hand. His face feels numb with arousal, he is panting so hard.

His balls tighten and he spills into Merlin’s hand, completely undone by the understanding of Merlin’s acceptance of his new desire. He thrusts again and again, unburdened, unbound. Still breathless from the intensity of his climax, he inches down to take Merlin's cock into his mouth, chasing the faint tang of Merlin's piss only moments before hot come floods his mouth.

Arthur pulls himself fully onto the bed, dragging Merlin with him, away from the sticky wet mess they’ve no doubt left on the bed. Settled once more, he nestles his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, heart spilling over. Merlin reaches up, laces his fingers through Arthur’s and, as though he can read minds, says, “I will be by your side always, Arthur. You don’t have to worry about that.”