Witching Hour for Camelot's Closet
Title: Witching Hour
Author: ravenflight21
Rating: nc-17
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 4,850
Notes: For camelots_closet I think I should mention bottom!merlin is fairly unusual for me - but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it!
Summary: Samhain has always been a boring time of year for Arthur. Merlin initiates him into some of its more enjoyable traditions - and they discover some new ones together.
"Happy Samhain!" Merlin said cheerfully as he shouldered open the door.
Arthur groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.
"What's the matter?" Merlin asked, bringing the breakfast tray to the bedside.
"I hate this time of year. It's so boring: bland food, dull people - and not even any presents to make up for it."
Merlin pulled a face. "I've always loved Samhain. You posh people don't know how to have a good time."
"What's to enjoy?" Arthur complained. "Tonight I'll 'celebrate' harvest time by dining with the most tedious landowners and farmers in the kingdom. And I'll have to eat up every last morsel on my plate, because the soggy cabbage may have been grown by the man sitting on my left and the gristly meat may have once have been a cow that grazed the fields owned by the woman on my right."
"There's no way anyone would dare to serve you gristle," Merlin retorted. "I bet you get all the tenderest cuts."
"One year," Arthur continued, shuddering, "they seated me next to Lady Yvainne."
"I remember her. Isn't she the one who admires the cut of your jackets by stroking your broad, manly shoulders?" He made a creepy fondling motion in the air and grinned.
"That's her. Anyway, just as I was about to tuck into my food, she leaned over and said she'd asked the kitchens to prepare my meat specially. It was a baby lamb she'd hand-reared herself and that she'd called 'Arthur'. I almost choked."
"Oh no! There's no way I could eat a lamb called Arthur. I'd just want to cuddle it."
Arthur gave him a suspicious look. "I've heard what you country folk do with sheep."
Merlin rolled his eyes, and settled the tray on Arthur's knees. "Back in Ealdor, Samhain was my favourite night of the year," he said wistfully. "We drank loads of cider, wore fancy dress, played games - and the elders told spine-chilling ghost stories to make the children scream. I remember nervously making my way home at midnight, convinced there were witches and ghouls around every bend."
"Well, there you are," Arthur said. "That's why my father disapproves of festivals like this - too many associations with magical creatures."
Merlin absent-mindedly brushed a couple of crumbs off Arthur's bedspread. "I hear the servants in the castle celebrate Samhain in the traditional way."
"I've certainly noticed a lot of people with sore heads the morning after," Arthur agreed.
"We're gathering in the kitchens after the feast's over tonight. You should come."
"Oh yes. The servants would love it if I gatecrashed their party," Arthur said sarcastically.
"They won't know it's you; we all wear masks. And anyway, even if they do recognise you, I don't think they'd mind. For some reason, you're surprisingly popular."
"Of course I'm popular," Arthur responded. "I just don't think it would be appreciated."
"Fine. You celebrate Samhain by eating watery cabbage and submitting to Lady Yvainne's groping. I'll go and have fun."
Arthur sniffed disapprovingly. "Do you really think the servants wouldn't mind?"
"Not if you're there to have a good time; and you don't interfere with them having a good time."
Arthur pondered Merlin's proposition for a few moments. "All right then. I'll come," he decided. "But you've got to stay with me - I don't want to get into any awkward situations."
"It'll be a pleasure," Merlin replied, beaming.
***
Luckily, Lady Yvainne only managed a quick squeeze of Arthur's velvet-clad upper arm before being seated far away on the other side of the table.
Throughout the banquet, the conversation ranged from Black Root Rot in carrots to Fowl Pox. Arthur smiled politely and nodded in the right places, but Merlin could tell he was bored almost to tears.
To compensate, Merlin served him with only a tiny spoonful of cabbage and kept his wine glass filled to the brim. Arthur smiled in gratitude.
Arthur's spirits seemed to perk up during dessert - not so much because of the gloopy potage, but because the feast was nearing its end. As the guests departed, Merlin whispered in his ear: "See you in the kitchens."
Back in his chambers, Arthur found a plain shirt and britches laid out on his bed, together with a roughly hewn wooden mask on a stick. He examined the mask: there were scales carved into its cheeks and it had reptilian eyes and a long snout. Trust Merlin - a dragon mask for a Pendragon.
After getting dressed, he sneaked down to the kitchens, his stomach fluttering. He felt like a schoolboy playing truant.
As he approached, he heard the merry strains of fiddle music, raised voices and laughter.
When he entered the kitchens, everyone fell silent as they examined the stranger. A tall, slim man sporting a falcon mask exclaimed: "Oh look! It's my cousin Donald from back home in Ealdor." Arthur was relieved to recognise Merlin's voice.
A plump woman wearing a sheep mask said: "Welcome to Camelot, love! And happy Samhain!" She looked him up and down. "You know, you look a bit like our prince."
"Yes, extraordinary isn't it?" Merlin said, rushing over and slinging an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Lots of people say that."
"Nothing wrong with that," the woman's skinny friend observed, her speech already slurred with drink. "If I had someone who looked like the prince in my bed, I can't say I'd chuck him out!"
Merlin gave a theatrical cough and dragged Arthur away. "Come on, Donald, let's get you a drink."
Arthur noticed people looking in his direction and muttering to each other behind their hands. He suspected his disguise hadn't really fooled them, but no one was complaining.
Merlin opened the tap on a gigantic barrel and poured a cup of cider. Arthur took a sip and grimaced. "Ye gods, that's rough," he said.
"Don't worry. It gets better by the third pint."
"You'd better not have three pints or you'll be under the table. Remember, you're supposed to be looking after me."
Arthur took another gulp of cider, swallowing it quickly before it could reach his tastebuds. As he did so, he noticed a group of people absorbed in throwing apple peel in the air. "What are they doing?"
"They're telling their fortunes," Merlin replied. "They pare an apple, chuck the peel over their shoulder - and it makes the initial letter of their true love's name. Come on, let's have a go."
He handed an apple and a knife to Arthur, and took one for himself. Merlin, being more practised at preparing fruit and vegetables, finished first. He tossed the long string of peel over his shoulder and it landed on the floor in a definite "A" shape.
People started calling out names: "Aha! It's Angwen from the laundry!" "No, it's Alma, the butcher's daughter." Merlin laughed, shaking his head at each suggestion.
"Your turn," he said to Arthur. Arthur turned around and flicked the peel over his shoulder.
"W!" the crowd cried. "It must be Winifred the seamstress!" someone shouted. "No, it's Wilma, John's sweetheart. You'd better look out, John - blondie here has his eye on your girl!"
Amid the laughter and hubbub, Arthur stared at the peel on the floor. From where he was standing, it clearly made the shape of an "M".
Merlin grabbed his arm. "Look! Apple bobbing!"
A group of men and women was gathered around a large bowl of water, in which floated half a dozen apples. They took it in turns to plunge their faces into the water, trying to take a bite out of the fruit. It looked to Arthur as if it was a sociable way of trying to drown oneself.
"Loser gets the next drink!" Merlin said, guiding Arthur to the opposite side of the bowl. "One, two, three…" Merlin counted and dipped his head into the water, teeth bared.
Arthur hastily discarded his mask on the table - nobody seemed the slightest bit surprised to see he really was the prince, or perhaps they were all too drunk to care - and submerged his face. The water was deep enough to make trapping an apple on the bottom of the bowl hard; each time he tried to take a bite it skittered out of reach. Water filled his nose and his mouth, and he had to surface to take a breath.
Merlin was coughing and laughing, water cascading from his fringe down his face and soaking the front of his tunic, making it cling to his chest. Arthur shivered as a cold stream of water poured down the open V of his own shirt. He shook his head like a dog drying its fur, spraying the protesting crowd with drips of water.
He studied the apples, considering the problem. "What we need to do," he instructed Merlin, "is trap the same apple. Go for that red one there."
They plunged their heads into the bowl at the same time and, as planned, Arthur held the apple steady by trapping it against Merlin's chin. In a feat of great co-ordination, they lifted the single apple out of the water, taking simultaneous bites on opposite sides.
Arthur felt almost as jubilant as he did when he won a tournament. They let the rest of the apple tumble to the floor as everyone cheered their success. They chewed their mouthfuls of succulent fruit, gazing triumphantly at each other.
Across the room, another group of partygoers was engaged in some kind of contest. Couples positioned themselves about 10 feet apart; one person took a blackberry from a punnet and tried to throw it into his or her partner's mouth. Each time they succeeded, an umpire placed a chalk mark on the wall.
Arthur's competitive spirit was roused. "Do you want to throw or catch?" he asked Merlin.
"You're the better shot," Merlin replied.
"Who's winning?" Arthur asked the grey-haired umpire, as he accepted a punnet of berries while Merlin took up his position by the wall.
"Harold and Edwina, the newlyweds," the man replied.
"That's because they're just back from honeymoon. Harold knows his wife's mouth intimately," a bystander said, laughing suggestively. Arthur couldn't help smirking at the vulgar comment.
Merlin was leaning a little unsteadily - Arthur made a mental note not to let him have any more to drink - against the wall. "Are you ready?" Arthur called.
"Yeah," Merlin shouted, letting his mouth hang open. Watching, Arthur felt strangely dizzy - maybe he'd had more cider than he should have, too. He took aim, but the berry missed its mark, striking Merlin on the cheek and leaving a faint purple stain.
He tried again. This one landed in Merlin's hair.
Merlin was laughing at him. Arthur concentrated hard, and this time the berry landed in Merlin's mouth. The umpire chalked the initials "M & D" on the wall and made a single mark below.
Merlin swallowed the blackberry and cried out: "Delicious!"
Yes, Arthur thought; utterly delicious. He shook his head, clearing it of distracting thoughts, and tossed the final two blackberries. They were both wildly off target.
"Never mind," Merlin said, rejoining Arthur. "Perhaps we'll do better at that." He pointed to where a dozen or so apples were suspended on strings from a roof beam. The object of the game was to eat an apple without touching it.
They chose their apple - a large green one speckled with pink and scarlet. Arthur tested the string - it seemed sturdy enough.
Arthur bent down and tried to snatch a bite, but the apple wobbled off to the left. As it swung back, it clouted him on the ear. "Damn it!" he exclaimed.
Merlin had a go. Arthur saw his teeth graze the smooth skin and his tongue dart out, trying to get a purchase, but the apple escaped again.
"We need to synchronise our actions," Arthur declared, "like we did with the bobbing."
This time they pounced on the apple at the same time, trapping it between them. It was slippery, and Merlin wasn't quite at the right angle to keep it still. Arthur gripped his shoulders to hold him steady, and felt Merlin grab his waist.
Arthur opened his mouth a bit wider and managed to sink his teeth into the fruit. At the same time, he heard a crunch as Merlin took a bite on the other side.
They couldn't let the apple get away now, so they chewed their mouthfuls quickly and swallowed, keeping the apple in place with their noses and chins.
The next bite was a bit easier, because they'd already broken the polished skin. The core was now exposed, but there were still a few fleshy sections. Arthur glanced at Merlin as he chewed: they were only an inch or two apart, clutching each other in an awkward embrace. Merlin's eyes were sparkling and he was somehow managing to grin as he ate, juice and flecks of apple flesh smeared on his lips.
Arthur refocused on the task. There was so little left of the apple that if they both pounced on it again they would be... well, they'd be mouth to mouth. Arthur's concentration lapsed and the core swung away.
As it veered back towards him, Arthur saw his chance. Bending his head, he trapped it against Merlin's neck. With one swift move, he swallowed down the rest of the fruit, core and all. Quickly he chewed it up, his nose and lips still pressed against Merlin's long neck, his chin resting on his collar bone.
He pulled away with a cry of triumph, and the empty string dangled between them. The onlookers applauded and fetched the victors another jug of cider. Arthur raised his cup in a toast to his apple-eating partner, but found Merlin was just staring at him, his expression oddly serious.
Arthur felt something in his stomach flip over. He noticed the damp mess on Merlin's neck - sticky juice and bits of browning fruit everywhere - and one dark apple pip resting in the hollow at his throat. Arthur couldn't take his eyes off it.
He turned away abruptly and found a dish cloth. "Here," he said gruffly, handing the cloth to Merlin and gesturing at his neck.
Merlin took it and gave his neck a quick wipe, but the pip was still there. "You've got a pip," Arthur muttered, reaching out, and delicately brushing it with his thumb. It fell down inside Merlin's shirt. "Sorry," Arthur breathed, his hand still resting lightly on Merlin's damp throat.
In a hoarse voice, Merlin asked: "Where did it go?"
"Down, um," Arthur murmured, his hand moving down over the V of exposed chest until his forefinger rested on Merlin's breastbone, "down there."
"Oh," Merlin breathed.
Arthur had an insane desire to rip open Merlin's shirt, to find the pip wherever it was - stuck against Merlin's stomach, or trapped in the waistband of his britches, or... With an immense effort, he pulled his hand away, grabbed something - anything - from the table as an excuse, and dashed out of the kitchen door into the yard.
Outside the breeze whipped at his wet shirt, chilling his skin. The full moon illuminated the yard almost like daylight, although everything looked washed out, drained of colour. He leant back against the cold stone wall, his hands trembling where they gripped the bowl he'd snatched from the table.
Warm, flickering light briefly filled the yard as the door opened again, and someone joined him. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
"What have you got there?" Merlin asked, leaning one shoulder against the wall next to him.
"What?" Arthur asked, confused.
"There," Merlin replied, pointing at the bowl.
"Oh. I don't know," Arthur replied, lifting the bowl up and peering into it.
"Blackberries," he said.
They stood quietly, side by side, for a few moments. Arthur was surprised to hear how loud his breathing sounded.
"We could practise our blackberry tossing," Merlin suggested, breaking the silence. "We need a bit of training."
Arthur agreed readily; he desperately needed something to occupy his hands and his brain. Standing there, alone in the moonlight with Merlin, was making him unbearably tense.
He took a few steps away from the wall and faced Merlin, who looked pale and unearthly in the blueish light. Arthur picked up a blackberry and said "Get set" in what he hoped was his best army commander's voice.
"OK," Merlin agreed quietly, opening his mouth.
Arthur took aim, and flicked the berry at Merlin's head. It splattered on the wall next to him, leaving a black, mushy smear. "Oops," Merlin remarked.
Arthur picked up another berry and threw it. Merlin ducked his head and managed to catch it at the corner of his mouth. He laughed as he lifted a finger and pushed it inside. "That's better," he said, his voice thick as he crushed the fruit with his tongue.
"You moved," Arthur complained, trying to control the shake in his voice. "One more."
Merlin opened his mouth again. This time Arthur's throw was accurate. Merlin closed his mouth just as the berry reached him, squishing it between his lips. A dribble of juice ran down his chin. Arthur was on it in a flash, licking the drip off the curve of Merlin's chin, and following the trail upwards.
Merlin still held the berry between his lips; Arthur sucked it in, straight out of his mouth. The small segments burst with flavour as he popped them. Before he knew what was happening, they were kissing - Arthur tasted the mingled flavours of blackberry and apple, the sweetness of cider, and a taste that was pure Merlin.
Arthur pushed Merlin back against the wall as his tongue explored that tempting, enticing mouth. One of Merlin's hands tangled in Arthur's hair, as the other scrabbled at his back, trying to reach beneath his shirt.
Arthur pressed harder, attempting to eliminate the space between them. Their mouths fitted together perfectly, in an unbreakable seal. Against the top of his thigh, Arthur could feel the hard length of Merlin's erection.
A gale of laughter assaulted their ears and the kitchen firelight spilled out over the yard as a group of revellers stumbled into the fresh air. Startled, Arthur pulled away from Merlin, accidentally kicking a pebble across the yard.
"Who's out there?" one of the men called out.
"Watch out! It's the witching hour!" a woman yelled drunkenly.
"Maybe it's a couple of hobgoblins! Or sprites!" shouted another.
"Let's chase them away!" called another, banging a pair of saucepans together.
Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm and tugged. "Quick. In here," he said, dragging Arthur towards a storage room. They had to duck their heads to avoid the carcases of game birds and rabbits hanging from the ceiling.
There were barrels lined around the walls and piles of hessian sacks on the floor. Arthur propped himself against a barrel as Merlin quietly closed the door. The only illumination now was a narrow crack of moonlight highlighting the edge of the door.
Merlin groped his way along the wall until he could hear Arthur breathing nearby. He found the curved wooden edge of a barrel and rested his hip against it, his heart pounding as he heard the goblin-hunters outside whooping and crashing pots and pans together.
Eventually, the noise faded. Arthur tried to make out Merlin's features but all he could see was a long, lean streak of denser black in the darkness.
"Perhaps we'd better stay in here for a while," Merlin whispered. "It's probably safer."
"Yes. And kinder. Imagine how embarrassed the staff would be in to discover their hobgoblins are actually the prince and his manservant," Arthur agreed.
For several minutes, they stood in silence. Arthur's eyes were adjusting to the gloom. He could distinguish the pale glow of Merlin's hands in front of him, long fingers intertwined.
All was quiet outside. The only sounds Arthur could hear were Merlin's gentle breathing, his own shakier breaths and his heartbeat thumping painfully in his chest.
Eventually Merlin risked a cautious whisper. "So, what do you think of Samhain now?"
"I have to admit," Arthur whispered back, "I've enjoyed it far more than ever before."
"Really?" Merlin breathed. Arthur could see Merlin's gaze flick down towards his mouth.
"Hell, yes," Arthur muttered back, grabbing Merlin's waist and fiercely clamping their mouths together.
This time there was no interruption. The kiss was long and deep and messy. When they paused for breath, Arthur staggered back a couple of paces. He searched for something to say, some excuse to make. "I never found that pip," he panted.
"Perhaps you'd better look for it."
Arthur found the hem of Merlin's shirt and dragged it over his head. He placed his hand on Merlin's bare throat, as he'd done during the apple game, and let his fingers trail down over Merlin's chest and ribs and stomach.
"Find it?" Merlin murmured.
"Not yet," Arthur said, kissing the base of Merlin's neck, tracing the length of his collarbone with his tongue. "Still looking," he mumbled.
"Perhaps it fell inside your shirt?" Merlin suggested breathlessly.
"You never know. Tricky things, pips." Arthur tore off his shirt in one urgent movement.
Merlin pulled him close for another kiss, and Arthur gasped at the feel of Merlin's naked chest against his. His fingers splayed against the knobs of Merlin's spine; he followed the curved path down until he felt the swell of buttocks where they were pressed against the barrel.
With a growl, he tugged Merlin's britches down to his thighs. Merlin gasped as the cold edge of the barrel lid touched his skin. He gasped again as Arthur wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking and squeezing him.
"I want to taste," Arthur groaned into Merlin's ear.
In answer, Merlin pressed lightly on Arthur's shoulders and, in an instant, Arthur dropped to his knees.
Arthur felt the straw on the floor scratch at his kneecaps through his britches. If he looked up, he could still see Merlin's eyes faintly shining, but the rest of his body was hidden in the gloom.
Arthur reached out and found Merlin's hip. He dipped his head forwards, and Merlin's cock brushed warmly against his cheek. He darted out his tongue and licked. Merlin gasped again.
Opening his mouth, Arthur tried to suck at the side of Merlin's cock, but he pushed it sideways, ending up with his nose buried in Merlin's pubic hair. Merlin blindly felt for Arthur's head, holding it steady with both hands. He wriggled his hips slowly until the tip of his cock brushed against Arthur's lips.
Arthur opened his mouth and Merlin found his target, guiding the head of his cock inside. Arthur moaned and started to lick and suck, gradually taking Merlin deeper.
Merlin's upper body seemed to go loose as he leaned backwards, giving himself up to Arthur's tongue and mouth and wet heat. Arthur wrapped his fingers around the base of Merlin's cock, holding him still, as he bobbed his head back and forth along the shaft. He could feel the blunt head nudging at the muscles of his throat, gradually forcing them wider.
In an instant, Merlin tensed, his fingers pulling Arthur's hair painfully. "Arthur," he warned, trying to pull his cock away, but Arthur refused to budge.
Arthur felt Merlin's body shudder as he reached his orgasm, coming straight down his throat. Arthur was convinced he could feel the hot semen trickling down his gullet. For several moments, he remained where he was, face pressed into Merlin's groin, before reluctantly releasing Merlin's softening prick.
Merlin slipped down to the ground, squirming as his bare arse landed on the cold, straw-strewn floor. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Mmm. You taste great. Not as good as blackberries, but really great."
Merlin rolled his eyes, even though Arthur couldn't see him. He pulled Arthur awkwardly towards him for a kiss.
He caressed Arthur's chest and let his hand drift down until he was cupping his groin. Arthur was hard. He traced his thumb along the stiff ridge and Arthur gasped out: "I want you."
"Let's find those sacks," Merlin suggested. "They'll be more comfortable." He crawled away from the door and found what he was looking for.
The sacks were rough but at least they didn't scratch and were a degree or two warmer than the floor. "Over here," he called, toeing off his boots and kicking off his britches.
Arthur groped his way over to the location of Merlin's voice. His hand landed on Merlin's shin; he gasped at the touch of warm, bare skin. Blindly, Merlin felt his way down Arthur's legs and started to prise off his boots. As soon as his feet were free, Arthur shoved down his own britches.
Down there on the floor, it was pitch black. Arthur could feel skin and the roll of muscle and the soft brush of hair - but he couldn't work out exactly how Merlin was positioned. He overbalanced in the darkness, tipping forwards into Merlin's arms. They located each other's mouths, sinking into a deep kiss as Arthur settled himself between Merlin's thighs.
He rocked against Merlin, his cock pressing into the crease at the top of Merlin's leg.
"I want you inside me," Merlin murmured.
Arthur wet a couple of fingers in his mouth and probed between Merlin's legs. He found his hole and circled it gently before easing a fingertip inside. Merlin was too eager - he wriggled and forced Arthur's finger deeper. Arthur pulled it out and slipped in another.
Merlin felt too hot and tight - Arthur was worried he'd hurt him. But Merlin was writhing and twisting. "Now, Arthur," he urged. "Now."
Arthur eased out his fingers, spat in his hand to slick up his cock, and guided it to Merlin's hole. Merlin gasped as its tip grazed the over-sensitive skin. He slid down somehow, and Arthur found himself breaching him, pushing inside. Arthur was sure Merlin was still too tight, still too dry - but Merlin shifted again and Arthur's cock slipped in further.
Merlin's hands were gripping Arthur's hips, tugging at him, encouraging him to go even deeper. With a moan, Arthur pushed all the way in.
Merlin was so hot, it was like sticking his cock in a furnace. Arthur withdrew and thrust in again, feeling as though flames were licking all around him. He thrust again. And again. And finally the fire claimed him, blazing fiercely, burning bright, as he came deep inside Merlin.
For incalculable minutes, Arthur lay motionless on top of Merlin, feeling the heat dissipate as the cool night air took its place. Eventually, he withdrew, groaning as the physical connection between them was lost.
They clung to each other. Arthur feared if he let Merlin go, he'd never find him again.
Eventually Merlin said: "It's probably safe to go back to your chambers now. The goblin-hunters will have gone home."
***
In the morning, Arthur woke to find someone else in his bed. Merlin was lying there, a faint purple berry stain still visible on his cheek.
Arthur kissed him gently, and then with a little more force, until he woke up. "When I'm king," he declared, "I'm going to make every day Samhain."
"You can't. Fresh apples and blackberries are only available in the autumn," Merlin replied, giving his shoulder an affectionate bump.
Arthur bumped Merlin back. "I can't wait a whole year to have sex with you again."
"Rumour has it," Merlin said, "that you don't have to perform sex in a cold, dark storage room. It can happen anywhere - even in a prince's bed."
"You are a mine of useful information, Merlin," Arthur said, nuzzling at his neck. "Perhaps we should test out that theory."
"Well, we might as well. No one will be up for hours, the morning after Samhain."
Arthur rolled on top of Merlin and spotted their falcon and dragon masks lying discarded on the floor beside the bed. "When I'm king," he announced playfully, ignoring Merlin's frustrated thrust of the hips, "I'll make people wear masks all the time."
"If you do, how will I know who you are? I might end up having sex with some other man, thinking it's you."
"You'd better not. Or I'll put you in the stocks, night and day. I'll have my own personal stocks set up in my chambers, just for you."
"Ooh, promises, promises," Merlin said, bucking his hips again.
"Anyway, I'll be the one in the dragon mask."
"What if someone steals it? Anyone could pretend to be you."
"Then we'll have to have a secret password."
"Good plan. What?"
"How about 'blackberries'."
"So if some man says 'blackberries' to me, it's safe to have sex with him?"
Arthur frowned. "As long as you're not discussing actual fruit, yes."
"OK then. 'Blackberries'," Merlin said, drawing out the syllables in a ridiculously sexy manner.
"Hey, I'm the one with the secret password," Arthur protested.
Merlin groaned in exasperation. "Arthur! Just shut up and fuck me."
Arthur started to say "Blackberr..." but Merlin kissed him hard and Arthur soon remembered there were far, far better things to do with his mouth than talk.
Author: ravenflight21
Rating: nc-17
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 4,850
Notes: For camelots_closet I think I should mention bottom!merlin is fairly unusual for me - but I thoroughly enjoyed writing it!
Summary: Samhain has always been a boring time of year for Arthur. Merlin initiates him into some of its more enjoyable traditions - and they discover some new ones together.
"Happy Samhain!" Merlin said cheerfully as he shouldered open the door.
Arthur groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.
"What's the matter?" Merlin asked, bringing the breakfast tray to the bedside.
"I hate this time of year. It's so boring: bland food, dull people - and not even any presents to make up for it."
Merlin pulled a face. "I've always loved Samhain. You posh people don't know how to have a good time."
"What's to enjoy?" Arthur complained. "Tonight I'll 'celebrate' harvest time by dining with the most tedious landowners and farmers in the kingdom. And I'll have to eat up every last morsel on my plate, because the soggy cabbage may have been grown by the man sitting on my left and the gristly meat may have once have been a cow that grazed the fields owned by the woman on my right."
"There's no way anyone would dare to serve you gristle," Merlin retorted. "I bet you get all the tenderest cuts."
"One year," Arthur continued, shuddering, "they seated me next to Lady Yvainne."
"I remember her. Isn't she the one who admires the cut of your jackets by stroking your broad, manly shoulders?" He made a creepy fondling motion in the air and grinned.
"That's her. Anyway, just as I was about to tuck into my food, she leaned over and said she'd asked the kitchens to prepare my meat specially. It was a baby lamb she'd hand-reared herself and that she'd called 'Arthur'. I almost choked."
"Oh no! There's no way I could eat a lamb called Arthur. I'd just want to cuddle it."
Arthur gave him a suspicious look. "I've heard what you country folk do with sheep."
Merlin rolled his eyes, and settled the tray on Arthur's knees. "Back in Ealdor, Samhain was my favourite night of the year," he said wistfully. "We drank loads of cider, wore fancy dress, played games - and the elders told spine-chilling ghost stories to make the children scream. I remember nervously making my way home at midnight, convinced there were witches and ghouls around every bend."
"Well, there you are," Arthur said. "That's why my father disapproves of festivals like this - too many associations with magical creatures."
Merlin absent-mindedly brushed a couple of crumbs off Arthur's bedspread. "I hear the servants in the castle celebrate Samhain in the traditional way."
"I've certainly noticed a lot of people with sore heads the morning after," Arthur agreed.
"We're gathering in the kitchens after the feast's over tonight. You should come."
"Oh yes. The servants would love it if I gatecrashed their party," Arthur said sarcastically.
"They won't know it's you; we all wear masks. And anyway, even if they do recognise you, I don't think they'd mind. For some reason, you're surprisingly popular."
"Of course I'm popular," Arthur responded. "I just don't think it would be appreciated."
"Fine. You celebrate Samhain by eating watery cabbage and submitting to Lady Yvainne's groping. I'll go and have fun."
Arthur sniffed disapprovingly. "Do you really think the servants wouldn't mind?"
"Not if you're there to have a good time; and you don't interfere with them having a good time."
Arthur pondered Merlin's proposition for a few moments. "All right then. I'll come," he decided. "But you've got to stay with me - I don't want to get into any awkward situations."
"It'll be a pleasure," Merlin replied, beaming.
***
Luckily, Lady Yvainne only managed a quick squeeze of Arthur's velvet-clad upper arm before being seated far away on the other side of the table.
Throughout the banquet, the conversation ranged from Black Root Rot in carrots to Fowl Pox. Arthur smiled politely and nodded in the right places, but Merlin could tell he was bored almost to tears.
To compensate, Merlin served him with only a tiny spoonful of cabbage and kept his wine glass filled to the brim. Arthur smiled in gratitude.
Arthur's spirits seemed to perk up during dessert - not so much because of the gloopy potage, but because the feast was nearing its end. As the guests departed, Merlin whispered in his ear: "See you in the kitchens."
Back in his chambers, Arthur found a plain shirt and britches laid out on his bed, together with a roughly hewn wooden mask on a stick. He examined the mask: there were scales carved into its cheeks and it had reptilian eyes and a long snout. Trust Merlin - a dragon mask for a Pendragon.
After getting dressed, he sneaked down to the kitchens, his stomach fluttering. He felt like a schoolboy playing truant.
As he approached, he heard the merry strains of fiddle music, raised voices and laughter.
When he entered the kitchens, everyone fell silent as they examined the stranger. A tall, slim man sporting a falcon mask exclaimed: "Oh look! It's my cousin Donald from back home in Ealdor." Arthur was relieved to recognise Merlin's voice.
A plump woman wearing a sheep mask said: "Welcome to Camelot, love! And happy Samhain!" She looked him up and down. "You know, you look a bit like our prince."
"Yes, extraordinary isn't it?" Merlin said, rushing over and slinging an arm around Arthur's shoulders. "Lots of people say that."
"Nothing wrong with that," the woman's skinny friend observed, her speech already slurred with drink. "If I had someone who looked like the prince in my bed, I can't say I'd chuck him out!"
Merlin gave a theatrical cough and dragged Arthur away. "Come on, Donald, let's get you a drink."
Arthur noticed people looking in his direction and muttering to each other behind their hands. He suspected his disguise hadn't really fooled them, but no one was complaining.
Merlin opened the tap on a gigantic barrel and poured a cup of cider. Arthur took a sip and grimaced. "Ye gods, that's rough," he said.
"Don't worry. It gets better by the third pint."
"You'd better not have three pints or you'll be under the table. Remember, you're supposed to be looking after me."
Arthur took another gulp of cider, swallowing it quickly before it could reach his tastebuds. As he did so, he noticed a group of people absorbed in throwing apple peel in the air. "What are they doing?"
"They're telling their fortunes," Merlin replied. "They pare an apple, chuck the peel over their shoulder - and it makes the initial letter of their true love's name. Come on, let's have a go."
He handed an apple and a knife to Arthur, and took one for himself. Merlin, being more practised at preparing fruit and vegetables, finished first. He tossed the long string of peel over his shoulder and it landed on the floor in a definite "A" shape.
People started calling out names: "Aha! It's Angwen from the laundry!" "No, it's Alma, the butcher's daughter." Merlin laughed, shaking his head at each suggestion.
"Your turn," he said to Arthur. Arthur turned around and flicked the peel over his shoulder.
"W!" the crowd cried. "It must be Winifred the seamstress!" someone shouted. "No, it's Wilma, John's sweetheart. You'd better look out, John - blondie here has his eye on your girl!"
Amid the laughter and hubbub, Arthur stared at the peel on the floor. From where he was standing, it clearly made the shape of an "M".
Merlin grabbed his arm. "Look! Apple bobbing!"
A group of men and women was gathered around a large bowl of water, in which floated half a dozen apples. They took it in turns to plunge their faces into the water, trying to take a bite out of the fruit. It looked to Arthur as if it was a sociable way of trying to drown oneself.
"Loser gets the next drink!" Merlin said, guiding Arthur to the opposite side of the bowl. "One, two, three…" Merlin counted and dipped his head into the water, teeth bared.
Arthur hastily discarded his mask on the table - nobody seemed the slightest bit surprised to see he really was the prince, or perhaps they were all too drunk to care - and submerged his face. The water was deep enough to make trapping an apple on the bottom of the bowl hard; each time he tried to take a bite it skittered out of reach. Water filled his nose and his mouth, and he had to surface to take a breath.
Merlin was coughing and laughing, water cascading from his fringe down his face and soaking the front of his tunic, making it cling to his chest. Arthur shivered as a cold stream of water poured down the open V of his own shirt. He shook his head like a dog drying its fur, spraying the protesting crowd with drips of water.
He studied the apples, considering the problem. "What we need to do," he instructed Merlin, "is trap the same apple. Go for that red one there."
They plunged their heads into the bowl at the same time and, as planned, Arthur held the apple steady by trapping it against Merlin's chin. In a feat of great co-ordination, they lifted the single apple out of the water, taking simultaneous bites on opposite sides.
Arthur felt almost as jubilant as he did when he won a tournament. They let the rest of the apple tumble to the floor as everyone cheered their success. They chewed their mouthfuls of succulent fruit, gazing triumphantly at each other.
Across the room, another group of partygoers was engaged in some kind of contest. Couples positioned themselves about 10 feet apart; one person took a blackberry from a punnet and tried to throw it into his or her partner's mouth. Each time they succeeded, an umpire placed a chalk mark on the wall.
Arthur's competitive spirit was roused. "Do you want to throw or catch?" he asked Merlin.
"You're the better shot," Merlin replied.
"Who's winning?" Arthur asked the grey-haired umpire, as he accepted a punnet of berries while Merlin took up his position by the wall.
"Harold and Edwina, the newlyweds," the man replied.
"That's because they're just back from honeymoon. Harold knows his wife's mouth intimately," a bystander said, laughing suggestively. Arthur couldn't help smirking at the vulgar comment.
Merlin was leaning a little unsteadily - Arthur made a mental note not to let him have any more to drink - against the wall. "Are you ready?" Arthur called.
"Yeah," Merlin shouted, letting his mouth hang open. Watching, Arthur felt strangely dizzy - maybe he'd had more cider than he should have, too. He took aim, but the berry missed its mark, striking Merlin on the cheek and leaving a faint purple stain.
He tried again. This one landed in Merlin's hair.
Merlin was laughing at him. Arthur concentrated hard, and this time the berry landed in Merlin's mouth. The umpire chalked the initials "M & D" on the wall and made a single mark below.
Merlin swallowed the blackberry and cried out: "Delicious!"
Yes, Arthur thought; utterly delicious. He shook his head, clearing it of distracting thoughts, and tossed the final two blackberries. They were both wildly off target.
"Never mind," Merlin said, rejoining Arthur. "Perhaps we'll do better at that." He pointed to where a dozen or so apples were suspended on strings from a roof beam. The object of the game was to eat an apple without touching it.
They chose their apple - a large green one speckled with pink and scarlet. Arthur tested the string - it seemed sturdy enough.
Arthur bent down and tried to snatch a bite, but the apple wobbled off to the left. As it swung back, it clouted him on the ear. "Damn it!" he exclaimed.
Merlin had a go. Arthur saw his teeth graze the smooth skin and his tongue dart out, trying to get a purchase, but the apple escaped again.
"We need to synchronise our actions," Arthur declared, "like we did with the bobbing."
This time they pounced on the apple at the same time, trapping it between them. It was slippery, and Merlin wasn't quite at the right angle to keep it still. Arthur gripped his shoulders to hold him steady, and felt Merlin grab his waist.
Arthur opened his mouth a bit wider and managed to sink his teeth into the fruit. At the same time, he heard a crunch as Merlin took a bite on the other side.
They couldn't let the apple get away now, so they chewed their mouthfuls quickly and swallowed, keeping the apple in place with their noses and chins.
The next bite was a bit easier, because they'd already broken the polished skin. The core was now exposed, but there were still a few fleshy sections. Arthur glanced at Merlin as he chewed: they were only an inch or two apart, clutching each other in an awkward embrace. Merlin's eyes were sparkling and he was somehow managing to grin as he ate, juice and flecks of apple flesh smeared on his lips.
Arthur refocused on the task. There was so little left of the apple that if they both pounced on it again they would be... well, they'd be mouth to mouth. Arthur's concentration lapsed and the core swung away.
As it veered back towards him, Arthur saw his chance. Bending his head, he trapped it against Merlin's neck. With one swift move, he swallowed down the rest of the fruit, core and all. Quickly he chewed it up, his nose and lips still pressed against Merlin's long neck, his chin resting on his collar bone.
He pulled away with a cry of triumph, and the empty string dangled between them. The onlookers applauded and fetched the victors another jug of cider. Arthur raised his cup in a toast to his apple-eating partner, but found Merlin was just staring at him, his expression oddly serious.
Arthur felt something in his stomach flip over. He noticed the damp mess on Merlin's neck - sticky juice and bits of browning fruit everywhere - and one dark apple pip resting in the hollow at his throat. Arthur couldn't take his eyes off it.
He turned away abruptly and found a dish cloth. "Here," he said gruffly, handing the cloth to Merlin and gesturing at his neck.
Merlin took it and gave his neck a quick wipe, but the pip was still there. "You've got a pip," Arthur muttered, reaching out, and delicately brushing it with his thumb. It fell down inside Merlin's shirt. "Sorry," Arthur breathed, his hand still resting lightly on Merlin's damp throat.
In a hoarse voice, Merlin asked: "Where did it go?"
"Down, um," Arthur murmured, his hand moving down over the V of exposed chest until his forefinger rested on Merlin's breastbone, "down there."
"Oh," Merlin breathed.
Arthur had an insane desire to rip open Merlin's shirt, to find the pip wherever it was - stuck against Merlin's stomach, or trapped in the waistband of his britches, or... With an immense effort, he pulled his hand away, grabbed something - anything - from the table as an excuse, and dashed out of the kitchen door into the yard.
Outside the breeze whipped at his wet shirt, chilling his skin. The full moon illuminated the yard almost like daylight, although everything looked washed out, drained of colour. He leant back against the cold stone wall, his hands trembling where they gripped the bowl he'd snatched from the table.
Warm, flickering light briefly filled the yard as the door opened again, and someone joined him. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
"What have you got there?" Merlin asked, leaning one shoulder against the wall next to him.
"What?" Arthur asked, confused.
"There," Merlin replied, pointing at the bowl.
"Oh. I don't know," Arthur replied, lifting the bowl up and peering into it.
"Blackberries," he said.
They stood quietly, side by side, for a few moments. Arthur was surprised to hear how loud his breathing sounded.
"We could practise our blackberry tossing," Merlin suggested, breaking the silence. "We need a bit of training."
Arthur agreed readily; he desperately needed something to occupy his hands and his brain. Standing there, alone in the moonlight with Merlin, was making him unbearably tense.
He took a few steps away from the wall and faced Merlin, who looked pale and unearthly in the blueish light. Arthur picked up a blackberry and said "Get set" in what he hoped was his best army commander's voice.
"OK," Merlin agreed quietly, opening his mouth.
Arthur took aim, and flicked the berry at Merlin's head. It splattered on the wall next to him, leaving a black, mushy smear. "Oops," Merlin remarked.
Arthur picked up another berry and threw it. Merlin ducked his head and managed to catch it at the corner of his mouth. He laughed as he lifted a finger and pushed it inside. "That's better," he said, his voice thick as he crushed the fruit with his tongue.
"You moved," Arthur complained, trying to control the shake in his voice. "One more."
Merlin opened his mouth again. This time Arthur's throw was accurate. Merlin closed his mouth just as the berry reached him, squishing it between his lips. A dribble of juice ran down his chin. Arthur was on it in a flash, licking the drip off the curve of Merlin's chin, and following the trail upwards.
Merlin still held the berry between his lips; Arthur sucked it in, straight out of his mouth. The small segments burst with flavour as he popped them. Before he knew what was happening, they were kissing - Arthur tasted the mingled flavours of blackberry and apple, the sweetness of cider, and a taste that was pure Merlin.
Arthur pushed Merlin back against the wall as his tongue explored that tempting, enticing mouth. One of Merlin's hands tangled in Arthur's hair, as the other scrabbled at his back, trying to reach beneath his shirt.
Arthur pressed harder, attempting to eliminate the space between them. Their mouths fitted together perfectly, in an unbreakable seal. Against the top of his thigh, Arthur could feel the hard length of Merlin's erection.
A gale of laughter assaulted their ears and the kitchen firelight spilled out over the yard as a group of revellers stumbled into the fresh air. Startled, Arthur pulled away from Merlin, accidentally kicking a pebble across the yard.
"Who's out there?" one of the men called out.
"Watch out! It's the witching hour!" a woman yelled drunkenly.
"Maybe it's a couple of hobgoblins! Or sprites!" shouted another.
"Let's chase them away!" called another, banging a pair of saucepans together.
Merlin grabbed Arthur's arm and tugged. "Quick. In here," he said, dragging Arthur towards a storage room. They had to duck their heads to avoid the carcases of game birds and rabbits hanging from the ceiling.
There were barrels lined around the walls and piles of hessian sacks on the floor. Arthur propped himself against a barrel as Merlin quietly closed the door. The only illumination now was a narrow crack of moonlight highlighting the edge of the door.
Merlin groped his way along the wall until he could hear Arthur breathing nearby. He found the curved wooden edge of a barrel and rested his hip against it, his heart pounding as he heard the goblin-hunters outside whooping and crashing pots and pans together.
Eventually, the noise faded. Arthur tried to make out Merlin's features but all he could see was a long, lean streak of denser black in the darkness.
"Perhaps we'd better stay in here for a while," Merlin whispered. "It's probably safer."
"Yes. And kinder. Imagine how embarrassed the staff would be in to discover their hobgoblins are actually the prince and his manservant," Arthur agreed.
For several minutes, they stood in silence. Arthur's eyes were adjusting to the gloom. He could distinguish the pale glow of Merlin's hands in front of him, long fingers intertwined.
All was quiet outside. The only sounds Arthur could hear were Merlin's gentle breathing, his own shakier breaths and his heartbeat thumping painfully in his chest.
Eventually Merlin risked a cautious whisper. "So, what do you think of Samhain now?"
"I have to admit," Arthur whispered back, "I've enjoyed it far more than ever before."
"Really?" Merlin breathed. Arthur could see Merlin's gaze flick down towards his mouth.
"Hell, yes," Arthur muttered back, grabbing Merlin's waist and fiercely clamping their mouths together.
This time there was no interruption. The kiss was long and deep and messy. When they paused for breath, Arthur staggered back a couple of paces. He searched for something to say, some excuse to make. "I never found that pip," he panted.
"Perhaps you'd better look for it."
Arthur found the hem of Merlin's shirt and dragged it over his head. He placed his hand on Merlin's bare throat, as he'd done during the apple game, and let his fingers trail down over Merlin's chest and ribs and stomach.
"Find it?" Merlin murmured.
"Not yet," Arthur said, kissing the base of Merlin's neck, tracing the length of his collarbone with his tongue. "Still looking," he mumbled.
"Perhaps it fell inside your shirt?" Merlin suggested breathlessly.
"You never know. Tricky things, pips." Arthur tore off his shirt in one urgent movement.
Merlin pulled him close for another kiss, and Arthur gasped at the feel of Merlin's naked chest against his. His fingers splayed against the knobs of Merlin's spine; he followed the curved path down until he felt the swell of buttocks where they were pressed against the barrel.
With a growl, he tugged Merlin's britches down to his thighs. Merlin gasped as the cold edge of the barrel lid touched his skin. He gasped again as Arthur wrapped his fingers around his cock, stroking and squeezing him.
"I want to taste," Arthur groaned into Merlin's ear.
In answer, Merlin pressed lightly on Arthur's shoulders and, in an instant, Arthur dropped to his knees.
Arthur felt the straw on the floor scratch at his kneecaps through his britches. If he looked up, he could still see Merlin's eyes faintly shining, but the rest of his body was hidden in the gloom.
Arthur reached out and found Merlin's hip. He dipped his head forwards, and Merlin's cock brushed warmly against his cheek. He darted out his tongue and licked. Merlin gasped again.
Opening his mouth, Arthur tried to suck at the side of Merlin's cock, but he pushed it sideways, ending up with his nose buried in Merlin's pubic hair. Merlin blindly felt for Arthur's head, holding it steady with both hands. He wriggled his hips slowly until the tip of his cock brushed against Arthur's lips.
Arthur opened his mouth and Merlin found his target, guiding the head of his cock inside. Arthur moaned and started to lick and suck, gradually taking Merlin deeper.
Merlin's upper body seemed to go loose as he leaned backwards, giving himself up to Arthur's tongue and mouth and wet heat. Arthur wrapped his fingers around the base of Merlin's cock, holding him still, as he bobbed his head back and forth along the shaft. He could feel the blunt head nudging at the muscles of his throat, gradually forcing them wider.
In an instant, Merlin tensed, his fingers pulling Arthur's hair painfully. "Arthur," he warned, trying to pull his cock away, but Arthur refused to budge.
Arthur felt Merlin's body shudder as he reached his orgasm, coming straight down his throat. Arthur was convinced he could feel the hot semen trickling down his gullet. For several moments, he remained where he was, face pressed into Merlin's groin, before reluctantly releasing Merlin's softening prick.
Merlin slipped down to the ground, squirming as his bare arse landed on the cold, straw-strewn floor. "Are you all right?" he asked.
"Mmm. You taste great. Not as good as blackberries, but really great."
Merlin rolled his eyes, even though Arthur couldn't see him. He pulled Arthur awkwardly towards him for a kiss.
He caressed Arthur's chest and let his hand drift down until he was cupping his groin. Arthur was hard. He traced his thumb along the stiff ridge and Arthur gasped out: "I want you."
"Let's find those sacks," Merlin suggested. "They'll be more comfortable." He crawled away from the door and found what he was looking for.
The sacks were rough but at least they didn't scratch and were a degree or two warmer than the floor. "Over here," he called, toeing off his boots and kicking off his britches.
Arthur groped his way over to the location of Merlin's voice. His hand landed on Merlin's shin; he gasped at the touch of warm, bare skin. Blindly, Merlin felt his way down Arthur's legs and started to prise off his boots. As soon as his feet were free, Arthur shoved down his own britches.
Down there on the floor, it was pitch black. Arthur could feel skin and the roll of muscle and the soft brush of hair - but he couldn't work out exactly how Merlin was positioned. He overbalanced in the darkness, tipping forwards into Merlin's arms. They located each other's mouths, sinking into a deep kiss as Arthur settled himself between Merlin's thighs.
He rocked against Merlin, his cock pressing into the crease at the top of Merlin's leg.
"I want you inside me," Merlin murmured.
Arthur wet a couple of fingers in his mouth and probed between Merlin's legs. He found his hole and circled it gently before easing a fingertip inside. Merlin was too eager - he wriggled and forced Arthur's finger deeper. Arthur pulled it out and slipped in another.
Merlin felt too hot and tight - Arthur was worried he'd hurt him. But Merlin was writhing and twisting. "Now, Arthur," he urged. "Now."
Arthur eased out his fingers, spat in his hand to slick up his cock, and guided it to Merlin's hole. Merlin gasped as its tip grazed the over-sensitive skin. He slid down somehow, and Arthur found himself breaching him, pushing inside. Arthur was sure Merlin was still too tight, still too dry - but Merlin shifted again and Arthur's cock slipped in further.
Merlin's hands were gripping Arthur's hips, tugging at him, encouraging him to go even deeper. With a moan, Arthur pushed all the way in.
Merlin was so hot, it was like sticking his cock in a furnace. Arthur withdrew and thrust in again, feeling as though flames were licking all around him. He thrust again. And again. And finally the fire claimed him, blazing fiercely, burning bright, as he came deep inside Merlin.
For incalculable minutes, Arthur lay motionless on top of Merlin, feeling the heat dissipate as the cool night air took its place. Eventually, he withdrew, groaning as the physical connection between them was lost.
They clung to each other. Arthur feared if he let Merlin go, he'd never find him again.
Eventually Merlin said: "It's probably safe to go back to your chambers now. The goblin-hunters will have gone home."
***
In the morning, Arthur woke to find someone else in his bed. Merlin was lying there, a faint purple berry stain still visible on his cheek.
Arthur kissed him gently, and then with a little more force, until he woke up. "When I'm king," he declared, "I'm going to make every day Samhain."
"You can't. Fresh apples and blackberries are only available in the autumn," Merlin replied, giving his shoulder an affectionate bump.
Arthur bumped Merlin back. "I can't wait a whole year to have sex with you again."
"Rumour has it," Merlin said, "that you don't have to perform sex in a cold, dark storage room. It can happen anywhere - even in a prince's bed."
"You are a mine of useful information, Merlin," Arthur said, nuzzling at his neck. "Perhaps we should test out that theory."
"Well, we might as well. No one will be up for hours, the morning after Samhain."
Arthur rolled on top of Merlin and spotted their falcon and dragon masks lying discarded on the floor beside the bed. "When I'm king," he announced playfully, ignoring Merlin's frustrated thrust of the hips, "I'll make people wear masks all the time."
"If you do, how will I know who you are? I might end up having sex with some other man, thinking it's you."
"You'd better not. Or I'll put you in the stocks, night and day. I'll have my own personal stocks set up in my chambers, just for you."
"Ooh, promises, promises," Merlin said, bucking his hips again.
"Anyway, I'll be the one in the dragon mask."
"What if someone steals it? Anyone could pretend to be you."
"Then we'll have to have a secret password."
"Good plan. What?"
"How about 'blackberries'."
"So if some man says 'blackberries' to me, it's safe to have sex with him?"
Arthur frowned. "As long as you're not discussing actual fruit, yes."
"OK then. 'Blackberries'," Merlin said, drawing out the syllables in a ridiculously sexy manner.
"Hey, I'm the one with the secret password," Arthur protested.
Merlin groaned in exasperation. "Arthur! Just shut up and fuck me."
Arthur started to say "Blackberr..." but Merlin kissed him hard and Arthur soon remembered there were far, far better things to do with his mouth than talk.