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Merlin has never shown much interest in sword fighting. He’s a magic user himself—and a strong one, at that—though he knows the basics of the sword well enough to defend himself in a pinch. But ever since Sir Arthur of Camelot arrived in Ealdor, he’s been making excuses to hang around the field where the knights practise.
The knight is older than him by a few good years, with golden hair, broad shoulders, and a strong jaw that is softened by plushness of his lips. His eyes are a startling blue, like the lake of Avalon on a clear day. Merlin has spent many a night wondering what it might be like, to be pinned by that gaze. (He has spent many a day thinking about it, too, as his frustrated tutors will know, attention drifting away from his lessons). His laughter is loud and his praise is generous, and he always has a kind word to spare Merlin no matter how busy he is with patrols and training. On the days Arthur is feeling particularly playful and less concerned about propriety, he’ll even tease Merlin a little, tugging at his ears. Merlin will huff and cover his ears with his hands, but he secretly loves it. He has always been a tiny bit resentful towards his parents for giving him such large ears, but he thinks he might be able to tolerate them for Arthur’s sake.
Arthur has not yet noticed him. From his safe spot, half-hidden behind the weapons rack, Merlin watches as Arthur leads drills in the midday heat, hair plastered to his forehead with sweat and looking all the more beautiful for it. It’s one of the best parts of the newly signed peace treaty between the kingdoms of Camelot and Ealdor. As a token of goodwill and trust, Queen Morgana had sent her very own brother, Sir Arthur, and a handful of other knights to Ealdor. In exchange, Ealdor had sent their battle mages in Camelot. To learn from one another, Balinor had said, and so that their forces may stand united in the evitable war that approaches from Odin’s lands.
The knights pair off to spar, and soon the clang of swords fill the air. Merlin is not the only one here to watch Arthur wield his sword as though it is an extension of his arm. A few omega servants linger at the edge of the field, giggling and tittering at one another. An irrational jealousy flares in his gut at the sight of them. He wants to march up to them and tell them to return to their chores, but he knows he has no claim on the alpha.
With a flick of his wrist, Arthur disarms his sparring partner. He kicks out Gwaine’s legs from beneath him and the other knight sprawls onto his back with a heavy thud. Before Gwaine can rise, Arthur holds the tip of his blade at Gwaine's throat. Arthur’s eyes flicker to Merlin then, as though seeking approval; asking, ‘Did you see that? I bested another alpha in battle.’
Merlin snorts softly at himself. It’s most likely wishful thinking, that.
Arthur offers his hand to Gwaine, pulling the other alpha to his feet and clapping him upon his back. He makes his way towards Merlin, a smile curling his lips. Merlin perks up and straightens his tunic in a last minute attempt to make himself presentable.
“Your highness,” Arthur greets. “Are you here for your daily instruction?” He smells of sweat, and of pine and spice, and Merlin has to press his thighs together to keep himself from leaking in his smalls. Arthur is the only alpha he has ever met to elicit such a reaction from him. It unfortunately means he can spend only a few minutes at a time in Arthur’s presence before he has to excuse himself, lest the alpha catch scent of his arousal.
"Yes,” Merlin says. Already he can feel his cheeks growing warm from their proximity.
Arthur looks over his shoulder. “I believe Mordred is still occupied. If you’d like, I could take you through some drills or spar with you.”
He has seen how close Arthur gets to the knight he trains with. How he adjusts their form with a stern but guiding hand. How, sometimes, his sword lays forgotten as he wrestles them to the ground, pushing their faces into the dirt until they yield. The offer is a kind one, but Merlin knows he will only make an arse out of himself. Either he’ll be so distracted by Arthur’s scent that he fumbles his sword, or he’ll come in his trousers the moment Arthur pins him to the ground.
Merlin shakes his head. “You’re busy enough as it is. I don’t wish to trouble you. I’ll wait for Mordred.”
“It would be no trouble at all,” Arthur says. “I’ve been told I’m quite a good teacher, if quality of instruction is what you’re worried about.”
“I have no doubt of that,” Merlin assures him. His eyes flicker to Mordred and he silently urges the man to hurry. “But I, ah, am used to Mordred’s instruction and would feel more comfortable with him.”
Arthur’s smile dims. “Of course. I understand.”
Someone calls for Arthur’s attention then. “Excuse me, my lord,” Arthur says, leaving Merlin standing there with the distinct impression he has said something wrong.
*
Merlin wakes on the day of his eighteenth birthday feeling tired and cranky. Last night had been a hot and muggy one, and there had been little reprieve from the heat even when he threw the windows open. To make matters worse, he had entered pre-heat last night. It had started as a tickling warmth at the base of his spine and spread through his limbs as the night progressed.
He had been anxious, too, for this is the first year he will spend his heat with the company of an alpha. No more miserable, lonely heats with only the comfort of his fingers and knotting phallus. In Ealdor, it is a coming of age tradition for omega royalty to spend their heat with the champion of the spring tournament. No less than the strongest alpha will be allowed to bed him.
The sounds of the tournament filter through his open window: a muffled cacophony of shouts and clashing steel. With a huff, Merlin rolls onto his belly, hiding his face in his pillow. The thought is an embarrassing one: a bunch of strong and noble alphas, all clamouring for his attention. Were he not the prince, he has no doubt they would not be nearly as interested in him.
He knows who he hopes will win—Sir Arthur of Camelot. With a bit of guilt, he wonders if it’s treason to hope a knight from another kingdom will defeat Ealdor’s best. It’s certainly not proper for a prince to show one of his knights more favour than another. Though if Mordred is to be believed, Merlin has done a terrible job of hiding his feelings for the alpha thus far. Careless of their stations, Mordred had teased him endlessly for this, only stopping when Merlin had threatened to throw him in the stocks. Arthur had watched all this, looking confused but with an indulgent smile on his lips.
It makes Merlin wonder if Arthur hopes he will win, too.
*
Pavilions have popped up overnight, bearing the colours and arms of knights that will be fighting for the honour of easing him through his heat. Squires rush back and forth, carrying armour and weapons. Some knights have begun their warm up, twirling and thrusting their blade forward into invisible opponents.
Merlin slips by unnoticed, a simple concealment charm causing eyes to slide off his cloak. The tournament may be held in his honour, but he is forbidden to attend. For the next week, he will be confined to the castle walls while the rest of Ealdor enjoys the events. Part of it is for his own safety; he can’t walk around smelling of aroused, unmated omega. And once he enters full-blown heat, the last thing on his mind will be wandering the castle grounds.
He can’t help but be a little upset about it, regardless.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he spots a bright red and yellow tent and makes a beeline for it. He pauses outside, his courage deserting him at the last moment. He fumbles with the red neckerchief in his hands. He had come to offer his favour to Arthur, but now he fears it will only end in embarrassment for him.
Because he knows what he looks like. With his too-big ears and pointed face, he is not so delusional to think he is attractive by conventional means. He is sharp and skinny where most omegas are soft, with slender shoulders and meat in all the right places. He is as tall as any alpha. And he is a man. Male omegas are rare. Good for a roll in the hay, but at the end of the day, most alphas settle down to start families with female omegas. Not that he’d have take the champion of the tournament as a mate, but it would still be nice to feel wanted beyond the influence of his heat.
The point is, he doesn’t want Arthur to accept his favour out of obligation.
Arthur has no choice but to participate in the tournament. But an alpha like Arthur could have his pick of omegas. He sees Arthur only a handful of hours out of the day. Perhaps there is already someone in his heart, someone he returns to at night. Merlin has never smelled another omega’s scent mixed in with Arthur’s, and he knows Arthur is unbonded because he has snuck glances at the alpha’s neck while he was washing in the stream, but there could already be someone he has set his eyes on. Arthur has allowed Merlin to follow him around like a pup, neither encouraging or dissuading Merlin’s subtle, barely-there advances. But maybe Merlin has been stupid to think that Arthur’s easy smiles mean something other than amusement. Maybe Arthur and his knight friends laugh over drinks about the besotted prince.
Dispirited, Merlin clutches his neckerchief to his chest. He should leave now before he can make even a bigger fool of himself. He shouldn’t be here, anyway.
At that moment, Arthur ducks out of the tent and nearly bumps into him. “Your highness!” he says, surprised. Already there’s a smile spreading across his face. “I wasn’t aware you were allowed to be here.”
Merlin curses himself for dawdling. “I’m not supposed to be,” he admits.
“Did you come to wish me luck?” Arthur asks.
Merlin ducks his head. He wishes his hair hadn’t been cut so short. His ears feel terribly exposed and red. “You’ll need it, if you are to have any hope of making it to the second round,” he says, hiding his nerves and his own hurt behind the teasing words. He wants to take them back as soon as they’re out of his mouth, because what if Arthur doesn’t want to make it to the second round?
Arthur barks out a laugh. “Have you so little faith in me?”
“Of course not!” Merlin says. “I have seen you fight. I have no doubt in your abilities. But certain spells will be permitted and, well. You don’t have magic, I don’t think.”
“I don’t. But I have been practising with Mordred and he has been teaching me to defend myself against some types of magic.”
“That’s good,” Merlin says. “I… I would hate to see you get hurt.”
“It comes with the job, I’m afraid.” Arthur is looking at him consideringly, head cocked to the side. Merlin can feel his shoulders curling forward under the gaze. He wonders how Arthur sees him. Being in the alpha’s presence always make him forget himself, the hours of lessons in etiquette and speech falling by the wayside. How clumsy and gormless he must appear.
“Do you wish for me to win, my lord?” Arthur asks.
Merlin nods once, meekly.
“Me, not Mordred?”
“Yes, you,” Merlin whispers.
“Then I will win,” Arthur says decisively.
“You make it sound as though it is as simple as saying so,” Merlin says.
“Isn’t it?” Arthur asks, lips curled into a cocky little smirk, and really, Merlin shouldn’t be encouraging such arrogant behaviour in a knight, but damn him if he doesn’t want to kiss Arthur right now. “I have to obey the prince’s orders, do I not?”
Merlin huffs and drops his eyes to his feet. “Not always. Certainly not in this case. You are free to act as you will.”
“And if the prince’s desires are my own?” Arthur asks.
Merlin glances up sharply to find Arthur watching him, gaze heavy and intent. He clears his throat and holds his neckerchief in his open palm. “I was wondering, then, if you’d like to… I mean, you don’t have to, of course. But if what you say is true—that my desires are yours, you could perhaps,” he stammers.
“My lord,” Arthur interrupts. “I’d love to.” He lifts his arm slightly and Merlin flounders for a split second before tying the cloth around his bicep. His fingers tremble.
Merlin knots the neckerchief twice. Sets his hand on Arthur’s bicep. “There,” he declares.
Arthur’s grinning at him, wide and boyish, displaying the snaggletooth Merlin can’t help but find endearing. The alpha looks flushed himself. Merlin can smell the anticipation on him, and unexpectedly, a shy delight. “Thank you.”
Reluctantly, Merlin lets his hand drop and takes a step back. “I should go. Good luck in the tournament,” he says. Then, in an uncharacteristic act of boldness, he blurts out, “I—I hope to see you.”
*
His manservant enters his room the next morning, bearing a platter of breads, an assortment of jams, and fresh berries with clotted cream. Merlin is already awake; had awoken before dawn to come on his belly and a wetness between his thighs. He hadn’t much sleep last night, too anxious and keyed up.
He’s never lain with anyone, though he’s read plenty on what to expect and how to pleasure his partner. The only experience he has is his own hand, and the one time he snuck out at night to go riding, only to stumble upon a knight plunging into a stablehand’s body with animalistic grunts. He remembers the smell of the air and the way his own body had reacted in the presence of an aroused alpha. He remembers thinking how the omega’s cries were more pain than pleasure, and how it had frightened him.
He picks at his breakfast, unable to muster up an appetite even for the berries he loves so much.
Two omega servants enter. A tub floats behind them, filled with steaming water. “When you are ready, sire, we will prepare you for your heat,” one says.
Merlin pushes aside his plate. “I am ready now.”
With deft, practised hands, they undo the ties of his sleeping tunic and trousers. A servant steps forward with a clyster syringe, its tip lubricated for ease of passage. Merlin instinctively clenches around the cold metal as it enters him, foreign and unyielding. A warm rush of water enters him and causes his stomach to cramp. With a grimace, Merlin squats over the chamberpot and expels the contents of his insides. He wishes a simple spell could take care of this distasteful business, but there are times when human hands are more thorough than magic.
Next, he sinks into the bath. Oils have been added to the water to make his skin soft and supple. The peppermint lifts the sluggish haze of pre-heat from his head. Usually, Merlin prefers to bathe alone, uncomfortable with the thought of anyone seeing him in the nude and touching him in his most intimate places. But today, he’s meticulously scrubbed until every inch of his skin is pink and raw. To his mortification, every impersonal touch sparks over his nerve endings. He shudders, cock jumping with arousal. One of the servants holds his cock aside to wash his taint and arse, and he can’t help the strangled noise that escapes him as he blurts out a fresh glob of precome. Neither servant mentions it, and he isn’t sure whether or not to be relieved by that.
They pat him dry with a soft towel and massage oils into his skin. A servant brings forward a wooden phallus that is as wide as his two fingers. Its base is flared in mimicry of a knot.
“Lie down, sire,” he says.
Merlin makes himself comfortable on his belly on his bed, hiding his face in the blessedly cool sheets. He knows some alphas are unable to resist an omega in heat and will shove inside without first preparing him. It can hurt despite his slick, so it is necessary stretch him beforehand.
Gentle fingers press on his hips. Merlin tilts his pelvis up, allowing a servant to slip a pillow under him. The natural wetness pooling in his arse allows the phallus to breach him with minimal resistance. His body relaxes around it. It feels good, easing the pressure that has been building at the base of his tailbone. He exhales, fighting the urge to clamp his arse down around it. He wonders what it’ll be like to have a real alpha’s cock inside him. How hot and hard it’ll feel sliding in and out of him.
He’s unable to make eye contact with his attendants as they dress him in a thin, white shift that does nothing to hide his arousal. His prick tents obscenely against the front. Already, there’s a wet spot darkening and spreading over the fabric where the head of his cock rubs against it.
*
Merlin had forgotten how uncomfortable heats could be. The only thing he has been able to think about since his servants had left him is his cock. It throbs between his legs, begging for attention. He’s already brought himself off once by rocking his hips into the mattress beneath him. It hadn’t been enough; he aches to be filled.
It won’t be long now before his heat mate arrives. He assures himself that even if it isn’t Arthur, he will be in good hands. His mother and father wouldn’t allow an alpha of questionable honour on the list.
The sound of footfalls come to rest outside his chamber doors. He pushes himself up to seated so quickly his head reels. Pillows always make a mess of his hair, and he runs his fingers through it to straighten it out. Smooths out the wrinkles in his shirt, readjusting it over his erection and bare legs. His shift has been soiled with his release, but he doesn’t dare use magic to clean it. His magic has never been reliable during his heats, and he doesn’t want the bed canopy to collapse on him.
The door opens. Merlin smells the alpha before he sees him. His nostrils flare at the familiar and comforting scent and his body reacts immediately to it, cock twitching desperately.
“Your highness,” Arthur greets with a bow, and then bolts the door shut behind him. He is freshly showered, golden hair wet and curling at his temples and the nape of his neck. The red tunic he is wearing is a favourite of Merlin’s, the deep vee of the neck displaying his muscled and lightly furred chest. There’s a cut on his cheek, the healing tissue already starting to pinken.
“Sir Arthur. Hello,” Merlin greets shyly.
Neither closes the distance between them or saying a word. Just studying each other. He sniffs at the air, aware that Arthur is doing the same from the other side of the room. He has no doubt the alpha can smell the wetness between his legs and the fact that he has already spent once. He can smell Arthur’s growing arousal and it’s instinct for him to let out a plaintive, wanting keen.
Arthur crosses the room to stand before him. The darks of his eyes are blown and the colour is high in his cheeks. “Did you get started without me?” he asks.
Merlin rubs his thighs together, noting the way Arthur’s eyes fall to the movement. “You can hardly expect me to wait when I’m in heat,” he says.
“Of course not, my lord.”
“Merlin,” he corrects. “Will you please call me Merlin?”
“Well then, Merlin,” Arthur says carefully, as though tasting Merlin’s name on his tongue. “I suspect I’ve made you wait long enough.”
“Indeed you have.”
Arthur clears his throat. Merlin can see the muscles in his neck working, the tightness of his jaw. He’s fighting to keep himself from pouncing, Merlin realises. He flushes.
“Your permission, then, to…” Arthur trails off, letting the question hang between them.
Merlin nods.
Arthur sets a knee on the mattress and puts his hands on Merlin’s thighs, rubbing there. His fingers slide beneath the shift, rucking it up over Merlin’s legs.
Merlin squeezes his eyes shut as his erection is uncovered, all too aware of Arthur’s sharp intake of breath. The air is cool on his heated length. Arthur pushes his shirt further up his torso, those sword-calloused palms smoothing up his flanks and causing him to shiver.
“Will you look at me?” Arthur asks, quiet.
Merlin opens his eyes a sliver.
Arthur gives him a reassuring smile. “That’s better.”
Merlin raises his arms to let Arthur pull his shift off, and then returns the favour of divesting Arthur of his clothing. He lets his palms roam wherever they please, over soft golden skin and firm muscle. The contrast between their builds is striking, and under Arthur’s heated gaze, Merlin feels scrawnier than usual. He crosses his arms over his chest, shy. Wondering if Arthur would want him if it weren’t for his heat making him desirable.
“No,” Arthur says. Curls his fingers around Merlin’s wrists and pulls his arms away. “Don’t. Let me…”
Arthur fails to finish his sentence. Instead, he pushes Merlin down on the mattress, crawling over him. Merlin moans and arches up into the solid body above him. He can feel Arthur’s heavy cock on his hip and it makes him squirm.
“Arthur, I—I want…” he huffs.
Arthur hums, questioning. “Yes?” He noses at the curve of Merlin’s neck, mouthing and scenting and generally making it very difficult for Merlin to string together a coherent sentence. His teeth barely graze over the skin there in the promise of a mating bite.
Merlin whimpers, throwing his arms around Arthur’s shoulders and clinging. The alpha turns his attention away from his neck, kissing his collarbones before making his way to his chest. Merlin’s hips jolt up when Arthur takes a nipple into his mouth, circling his tongue around it and then gently tugging it between his teeth.
“Oh, oh,” Merlin moans. Without his knowledge, his fingers have tangled in Arthur’s hair. He tightens his grip, pushing his chest up to meet the sensation. Arthur chuckles around his nipple; he can feel the vibrations of it running through him.
Arthur gives the other bud equal attention, laving the flat of his tongue over the peak and then suckling at it. It’s too much: feeling Arthur’s weight upon him and that talented mouth working its magic. He feels his gut clench with his impending orgasm. Before his pleasure crests, Arthur pulls off with a wet sucking noise.
Merlin doesn’t have the chance to be disappointed before Arthur is kissing down his belly. He heaves for breath, wriggling under those hot, open-mouthed kisses. He has one foot planted on the mattress and he bucks his pelvis up, a demand for Arthur to touch him there. Evidently, Arthur wants to take his time. He grips Merlin’s hips with his large hands and stilling the motion.
“Oh, please,” Merlin whines softly, as Arthur nears his erection. He’s so hard it hurts, precome dripping in a line onto his belly. He tugs again at Arthur’s hair, directing the alpha to where he needs it most.
Arthur sniffs at his crotch, nosing at the hard ridge of his cock. Arousal wars with embarrassment. Merlin’s never been given so much attention there in his life. Arthur inhales deep and then exhales with a shudder as though Merlin’s scent is the most intoxicating thing he has ever experienced. The alpha drags his lips of the seam of Merlin’s balls, nose nudging against his cock. He goes lower still, mouthing at the vulnerable skin of his taint and Merlin can’t breathe—can’t think of what Arthur might do.
Because alphas don't do this for their omegas. Omegas exist to give their alphas pleasure, not the other way around. Alphas don't explore omega cocks with their mouths, not when their proclivity is to knot. Alphas don't kiss omega holes. It's beneath them—a debasing act.
And yet Arthur is doing just that. He grips the back of Merlin’s thighs and pushes until his knees meet his chest. It causes Merlin’s hips to tilt up and reveal more of his hole. He feels exposed and breathless like this. The position makes it hard for him to draw air into his lungs. His heart is pounding somewhere up in his head.
"Gods, Merlin," Arthur groans. "You smell so good here. I just... Gods, I must taste you."
It's all the warning Merlin gets before tentative explorations turn into Arthur fitting his face between Merlin's arsecheeks and sealing his lips over his hole.
Merlin cries out, shocked, and jolts bodily. Arthur's hands tighten on the back of his knees, keeping him spread open and in place. It feels so good and he's helpless to the tiny, hitched moans that escape him.
Arthur kisses him deeply there, teeth scraping over Merlin’s sensitive rim and stubble burning his arsecheeks. He moans as loudly as Merlin does, and the sound of it is made all the more filthy by the accompanying slurps. It’s not just the sensation that has Merlin’s toes curling; it’s seeing Arthur between his legs, his blond head tilting this way and that as he searches for the perfect angle.
He never imagined it could be like this with an alpha, never thought an alpha would give so much care to his pleasure. He thought Arthur would knot him to ease the hurt of his heat and whatever pleasure he felt would be a side effect—secondary to Arthur's pleasure. But this… Oh, how Merlin selfishly enjoys every single second of it. His hole grows loose, and then he feels the warm wetness of Arthur’s tongue slipping inside him.
“No—” Merlin chokes out. He tries to hold back but he can't. His hole gushes out another wave of slick, and Arthur's face is right there. He hides his face in his hands as his body reacts helplessly to the alpha’s ministrations.
He makes a noise of mortification, pushing at Arthur's head. "Oh gods, Arthur, I didn't mean—I'm so sorry. I couldn’t help it," he moans and tries to close his legs, but Arthur's big stupid head is still in the way.
Arthur resurfaces from between his legs, mouth and chin glistening with Merlin's slick. A hot flash of arousal blazes through Merlin's body at the same time his cheeks grow hot with shame. It's embarrassing, seeing his wetness all over Arthur, even though it's really the alpha's fault Merlin is as leaky as a broken water pump.
"What are you apologising for?" Arthur rasps.
"I, um—" Merlin stammers, wide-eyed. Does Arthur not see how repulsive that was? "You don't have to, you know, do that."
"Do you not like it?" Arthur asks.
"I do, but—ah, Arthur," Merlin whines. Arthur's got a thumb rubbing circles into Merlin's hole as he speaks, little teases of pleasure that has Merlin canting his hips up and mixing up his words.
"But...?" Arthur prompts.
"I mean, you're not getting much out of it, are you?" Merlin manages. "So if you'd like to knot me instead, well. I wouldn't be opposed."
Arthur smiles at him. It's not the soft, lush-lipped smile he usually gives Merlin, the one that leaves him feeling like he's walking on clouds for the rest of the day. No, this smile is more of a leer, sinful and predatory. Merlin's insides go liquid. "That's where you're wrong, my prince. Believe me when I say I would be happy to eat out this little arse of yours for the rest of my days."
Then he licks his lips, that wicked, wicked tongue passing over his mouth and Merlin can't help it. With a whimper, he shoots all over himself, cock jerking as it spurts ribbons of come across his chest.
Through the haze of his orgasm, Merlin is distantly aware of Arthur chuffing out a surprised but delighted laugh.
Merlin regains his breath. Mortification sinks in afresh. He flings a forearm over his eyes, unable to meet Arthur's gaze. It's the heat, he tells himself. He's not so easy and wanton that a few words from Arthur is enough to tip him over the edge. It's the heat, and the fact that Arthur is the only alpha Merlin has ever wanted, and oh gods, that makes him feel even more pathetic. He whines.
Gentle fingers curl around his wrist and pull his arm aside. "You're embarrassed," Arthur says, low and quiet. "You have no reason to be, my prince. I only wish to make you feel good." He blankets himself over Merlin, lets his body weigh down heavy and comforting.
Merlin becomes aware of the heft of Arthur's arousal on his hip, blood-hot and insistent. His own cock is starting to fill again. He shifts, trying to get their cocks to press against each other.
Arthur brushes his nose along the curve of Merlin's jaw and then draws him into a deep, open-mouthed kiss that Merlin returns with increasing eagerness. "Though I am flattered that I can make you come so easily," he murmurs against the corner of Merlin's lips.
"Humph," Merlin says. He wraps his arms around Arthur's broad shoulders. "I'll have to make sure that big head of yours doesn't get even bigger once we're done here. Next thing we know, you won't even be able to fit through doors."
Arthur laughs. "I fear it’s too late for that. I've made the most exquisite omega in all the five kingdoms come from my words alone."
Merlin burns brightly. Most exquisite omega. Does Arthur really think that, or is it because of Merlin's heat? An omega in heat is at their most desirable, so it might not even mean anything, and with him being the prince and all, maybe Arthur feels obliged to say that...
"Merlin," Arthur says, tugging him out of his thoughts. "You'll hurt yourself thinking too hard with that heat-addled brain of yours."
Merlin huffs and gently bats at Arthur's head. He never considered himself to be one of those omegas, the ones that lightly hit alphas they were flirting with to show their affection. But here he is. Arthur seems to like it a lot, smiling and then pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Merlin sighs, wiggling beneath Arthur's body and finding himself trapped. Now that the aftershocks of his orgasm has worn off, the ache at the base of his spine has started up again, a throbbing need to be knotted. "Arthur, please, can I have your knot now?" he asks.
Arthur groans. It must not have been easy on him, to bring Merlin to orgasm instead of seeking his own pleasure. Merlin can feel Arthur’s desire, hot and heavy and drooling precome onto his hip. He can smell it, too, earthy and intertwining with Arthur’s natural musk. It makes him light-headed.
With one fluid movement, Arthur slides off him. "On your belly. Present for me."
Merlin rolls over and gets his knees spread under him, arching his arse up. The air is cool on his slicked hole and taint. His swollen cock dangles between his legs, leaking a line of wet onto the fine sheets beneath him. He buries his face into his pillow, panting and reeling from how exposed he feels, how much he wants this. He's trembling so much he fears he'll shake right out of his skin.
Arthur sets a hand on his arsecheek and Merlin whimpers, pushing his hips back into the touch. His hole flutters and flutters, impatient for Arthur's knot.
"Oh, that's sweet," Arthur murmurs. He kneads Merlin's arse with strong hands, spreads his cheeks apart with his thumbs, inspecting.
Merlin turns his head so that his cheek is smushed into the pillow and he can glare at Arthur over his shoulder. "Are you really going to make your prince beg for it?"
"Never. I will always give you what you need. You will want for nothing," Arthur tells him, and then lines himself up.
"Oh," Merlin breathes at the first press of Arthur's cock to his entrance. It’s bigger than he had expected.
Merlin moans throatily, spreading his knees further apart. Arthur's cock stretches him unbearably wide. He feels like one of those fowl roasts on feast day, crammed full with stuffing and about to split. The pressure is overwhelming and by the time Arthur is fully seated in his arse, Merlin can hardly breathe, glutted with Arthur's cock. Already he is dangerously close to the edge, balls drawn in tight and prick hard as a rock. And then Arthur shifts slightly, brushing against that special spot inside him. With a shocked cry, Merlin shoots off.
“Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin moans, voice wobbling. It’s so good. Arthur feels so good inside him.
Arthur makes soothing noises behind him, rubbing his palms up and down Merlin's flanks. “Yeah, there you go. There’s a good little omega. You needed this, didn’t you?” Through it all, he doesn't move an inch, but Merlin can feel how tense he is.
His hole is so sensitive from his orgasm that it borders of pleasure-pain, but his heat is rising again, urgent and hungry. “Arthur, please, I need it,” he whimpers, clenching down on the cock inside him. He’s barely gotten the request out when Arthur starts to move, rocking his hips in a shallow motion that has both of them moaning. Arthur's cock is so fat that just clenching down on him has Merlin seeing stars. He pushes his arse back to meet the thrusts, a silent and eager plea for more. Arthur is a true knight of Camelot. He has been nothing but noble and chivalrous and gentle to Merlin, but now he fucks into Merlin like he means to dominate and lay upon him an indisputable claim.
Arthur ruts into him, punching the air out of his lungs with every thrust. Merlin can't catch his breath, gasping out wrecked uh uh uh's in rhythm to the cock sliding in and out of him. He braces himself on his forearms, fingers curling into the sheets and pulling them off the mattress when Arthur snaps his hips. His skin feels too tight and his entire world has narrowed down to the point where their bodies are connected—where Arthur is breeding him. His prick swells where it dangles between his legs and his balls throb. He's taken a potion to prevent his quickening, but he thinks about it, what it might be like to be full of Arthur's pups. Most days he feels like a pup himself, and he doesn't know if this desire stems from his heat, but oh gods, he wants it—wants to be heavy with their litter.
Arthur curses. His nails sink into the meagre meat of Merlin's hips and Merlin knows the marks will remain come morning. "So good. You feel so good, puppy," he says. Usually, Merlin hates it when people call him that. It’s patronising and makes him feel helpless, but when Arthur says it... It's pure affection. It makes him feel small and safe, like Arthur will take care of him.
He cries out when Arthur's knot starts popping in and out of his arse. The edge of pain as it plunders his insides only make the pleasure sharper. He’s helpless to do anything but take it, prick swinging and weeping as Arthur fucks him. His eyes are wet, he realises, tears of exertion pooling at the corners. A fresh wave of slick floods through him to ease the way for the intrusion. He can feel it dripping down his inner thighs.
"Uh, yeah. Oh, Arthur, knot me, please. I want it, I want it..." he cries, until his pleas turn into one long whine.
Pleasure radiates from his arse, spreading throughout his body in all directions. He clenches his eyes shut. With one last shove, Arthur forces his knot inside, where it swells impossibly bigger. Arthur comes with a grunt, flooding him with his seed. There's so much of it, making him feel sloppy and wet and used.
Merlin's orgasm takes him by surprise, punched out of him. His cock jerks as he shoots and he's distantly aware of Arthur groaning behind him as his arse spasms around the knot inside him. Arthur's pelvis is pressed flush against his behind. He's grinding his hips in slow, deep circles that massage the bundle of nerves inside Merlin. Merlin sobs; his orgasm seems to last forever, time stretching thin as his cock manages another weak spurt.
He sags boneless onto the bed. It feels like his nerve-endings have been lit afire, so sensitive that the brush of silk sheets on his nipples and cock is overwhelming. His arse throbs where it's been stretched wide around Arthur.
Arthur manoeuvres them so they can lay on their sides. Merlin sighs as he's gathered up in strong arms. Arthur is warm and solid against his back and Merlin shuffles deeper into his chest, breath hitching when the movement jostles the knot lodged inside him.
"Good?" Arthur murmurs, nuzzling into the nape of his neck. He mouths sweetly at Merlin's neck, right where he would have bitten if they were to be mates.
Merlin makes a sleepy, incoherent noise as his eyelids droop shut. He tilts his head slightly, allowing Arthur more access to his throat. Now that he's been knotted, the edge of his heat has been taken off. For the time being, he feels satisfied and full. Arthur presses a line of kisses up the length of his neck. He grips Merlin's chin and turns his head so their lips can meet in misaligned kiss. The angle is all wrong, but Arthur is licking into his mouth and kissing him so deep and perfect.
Arthur pulls away, slow so that the press of his lips linger. He chuckles warmly into Merlin's ear. "Sleep, puppy."
*
The next three days of his heat passes by in a haze of pleasure. Arthur takes him apart so thoroughly with his sure hands until Merlin can scarcely remember his name, his entire vocabulary reduced down to Arthur's name and the word 'please'.
In between the waves of heat, Arthur bathes him, lathering him with soap and massaging oil into his sore body. They curl up in bed afterward, Arthur propped up against the headboard and Merlin in the vee of his legs, sharing a platter of fruits, cheese, and meat. Merlin is content to doze there with his cheek resting against Arthur's chest and gentle fingers carding through his hair. To his delight, Arthur can't seem to get enough of this gangly body of his, hands running up and down his arms, over his thighs. It isn't long before the fire in his belly is stoked again and his cock perks up from Arthur's attentions. Arthur rolls them over until Merlin is on his belly, and then he plunges into him, the motion eased by his natural slick and the seed already inside him. He sets a hand low on Merlin's hip and fucks into him with deep, steady thrusts until Merlin's orgasm shakes through him.
Part of him thinks this should be more awkward, but it isn’t. Lying with Arthur is the easiest, most natural thing he has ever done in his life.
*
Merlin wakes on the fourth morning, a pleasant ache throbbing through his body. His brain is slow with sleep instead of his heat. The midday sun shines brightly through the window and Merlin turns away from it with a groan. He realises then that his movements aren’t restricted as they usually are; Arthur isn’t plastered to his back and isn’t keeping him locked in place with a heavy thigh around his waist. Reluctantly, he blinks his eyes open.
Arthur stands with his back to him. His breeches have already been laced up, but his torso is still bare. Merlin watches for a few lazy moments, taking in the spread of Arthur’s shoulders, the lines of pink trailing down his back from where Merlin had clung to him. The muscles in his back shift as Arthur pulls his tunic over head and Merlin pouts at the loss of the sight.
“G’morning, Arthur,” he mumbles, smiling, hand creeping along the bed to reach for the alpha. Why is Arthur getting dressed, anyways? He should be in bed, doing something about Merlin’s morning wood. His heat may have passed, but he hopes to keep Arthur’s companionship.
Arthur turns to face him, a rueful smile on his lips. “Good morning, my lord.”
“What happened to calling me Merlin?” he grumbles.
Arthur huffs out a soft laugh. “Good morning, Merlin,” he emphasizes, giving him a look that says ‘There, are you happy, now?’
Satisfied, Merlin reaches for Arthur with grabby hands. “Come back to bed,” he demands. He shifts, letting the sheets slip down his hip to reveal his cock. As expected, Arthur’s eyes zero in on his crotch immediately. What he doesn’t expect, however, is Arthur’s gentle refusal.
“I can’t,” Arthur says with a shake of his head. “I have to go.”
Merlin feels himself go cold.
He is reminded once again that Arthur was forced to take part in this tournament, that it would have been dishonourable for him to fight with anything less than all his skill. Arthur was not a mate who came willingly to him. Arthur was an alpha bound by duty to help his prince through his heat. Merlin swallows thickly. He thinks he might be sick.
Arthur groans and closes his eyes as though pained. “Please don’t look at me like that. Don’t make it any harder for me to leave than it already is.”
Merlin blinks. “You… You don’t want to leave?” he asks, voice small.
“What? Of course not.” Arthur gives him a long look and then sighs. “Silly prince. You thought this meant nothing to me, didn’t you?”
Merlin huffs.
Arthur plants his knee on the bed and closes the distance between them, slotting his lips against Merlin’s in a chaste but firm kiss. Merlin gasps. Before he can deepen the kiss, Arthur pulls away.
“I have spent the last three days learning and loving every dip and rise of your body,” Arthur says lowly. “You cannot possibly think I want to leave you.”
“Then why must you go?” Merlin asks, petulant.
“Outlying villages have reported sights of Odin and Cenred’s men milling about,” Arthur says. He slides his belt through the loops of his trousers. “Your father wants to send out a patrol to investigate.”
It’s not his father’s fault, but does it really have to be Arthur who goes? Aren’t there other knights available? Merlin’s glowering, he knows.
Arthur takes his chin between his forefinger and thumb. Kisses him until the frown melts from his face and Merlin is mewling by the time they part.
“Merlin, I promise you, we will talk about this when I get back.”
“Alright,” Merlin allows. “Be safe.”
Arthur offers him one last smile before making his exit. Merlin wants to follow, but his body is sticky with sweat and crusted with the fluids of their copulation, and it wouldn’t be very seemly, for the prince to be seen running through the castle grounds naked.
With a sigh, he rolls out of bed. There is no point remaining in his chambers if Arthur is not around. As soon as he stands, Arthur’s seed begins to leak out of his hole. It takes him longer than he expects to clean out the mess. He presses his fingers inside him to scoop out Arthur’s come. Arthur would have liked doing this, Merlin thinks, cheeks flushed. The alpha seemed to possess an inordinate appreciation for the sight of his come sliding out Merlin’s hole. He liked gathering his seed on his thumb and then pushing it back into Merlin’s body, as though it belonged there.
Merlin blissfully follows the string of memories, and he really can’t help himself, when he fingers himself to completion, whimpering and sore.
*
Merlin occupies his days with his studies and helping the sick in the lower town. In his free time, he peers out at Ealdor from the battlements, hoping for the glint of sunlight off golden hair that would signal Arthur’s return.
One week passes, and then another, and then another. He tries not to worry. Ealdor is a small kingdom, but border patrols can still take weeks.
Merlin is lying in bed, a book of spells and enchantments propped up on his chest when two knocks sound at his door.
“Enter,” Merlin says, licking his fingertip and flipping the page.
The door swings open and Arthur steps inside.
“Arthur!” Merlin sits up, book tumbling from his chest. He scrambles out of bed, stumbling to stand before Arthur, eager and out of breath.
Arthur reaches out to steady him, laughing softly. “Hello, Merlin.”
Merlin looks over Arthur, checking for injury and finding none. The alpha smells of stale sweat and pine from days and nights spent in the many forests bordering Ealdor; he must have come straight here after reporting to the king. Merlin aches to pitch forward and bury his face in Arthur’s throat and possibly never resurface from there again. But one month is a long time to be apart, and he doesn’t know if things have changed for Arthur.
It certainly hasn’t for him.
“Is all well in Ealdor?” he asks instead.
Arthur sighs. “For now. I don’t expect the peace to last for long. We managed—” He shakes his head. “Nevermind. That’s not why I’m here.”
Merlin’s heart leaps. “Oh?”
“I missed you,” Arthur says quietly.
“I missed you as well.”
A slow smile spreads across Arthur’s face, and Merlin can feel his own lips mirroring the expression.
“I spoke with your father before I left,” Arthur says. “I asked for his permission to court you.”
“You did?”
“Foolish, I know,” Arthur says, “to hope that a knight could court a prince. I have nothing to offer you which you do not already have. Camelot’s land is not mine to give—”
Merlin cuts him off. “You are more than a knight. But Arthur, I am the Prince of Ealdor. What would I do with more land?” He takes a step towards Arthur and raises his hand to cup his jaw. He smooths his thumb over the angle of Arthur’s cheekbone. “You are offering yourself. That is more than enough for me.”
“So you accept my court?” Arthur asks.
Instead of responding, Merlin tilts his head and slants their lips together. He presses his mouth to Arthur’s over and over again until it melds into one long kiss. It’s a kiss welcome home and a kiss hello, for this day and the future ones Merlin hopes to share. Merlin is slow to part, letting the press of his lips linger on Arthur’s. They stand close enough that he can hear the low tremor of Arthur’s pleased purr rumbling in his chest. Beneath that is the smell of Arthur’s contentment, light and airy.
“Does that answer your question?” Merlin asks.