Weep You No More Sad Fountains - Chapter 11
Weep You No More Sad Fountains
Chapter 11
Stay
“Love; it will not betray you
Dismay or enslave you, it will set you free
Be more like the man you were made to be
And there is a design, an alignment to cry
Of my heart to see,
The beauty of love as it was made to be”
Sigh No More, Mumford & Sons
Merlin would always look back on the past months with mixed emotions: most happy, such happiness in fact, that if Merlin didn’t contain it all, he would surely have burst into laughter wherein people would most definitely believe him mad.
The main cause for such strength of feeling was when King Arthur lifted the ban of magic.
It had been a slow process, for scars that were laid deep into the earth itself could not be healed immediately. Encouraged by what he saw in Merlin, had looked at closely for many a whiles, and from what he thought and had experienced of it himself, believed that his people should, and would, stand equal.
It began with a public announcement in Camelot, spread to the outer regions, by royal decree, that such practises were no longer to be punishable by death, however abuse of the art would result with capital punishment.
Merlin, in those days of the knowledge sinking into the people, and seeping through the land; going to villages that still feared it with Arthur to persuade them otherwise, and waiting still for the response, found not only did the people rejoice on the whole (those with magical connection welcomed back out of hiding, and those hurt by it helped with reconciliation), that their destiny, he and Arthur’s, was shaping into something quite real, quite longed for, and yet quite surprising, that in those strange few weeks of the transaction being made; his heart rose to be with Arthur more with every exhale, an increasing gravitation which he could not escape, even if he thought it possible.
He wondered, some days, if the Great Dragon had foreseen this and if he had, that he was very right in letting Merlin experience it with the full force that comes from belonging.
And when things finally settled down, when Merlin and Arthur had many tête-à-têtes, when their each heart had been fully given to the other, in exchange for another; when Merlin breathed so peacefully at night, held in Arthur’s arms, and believed they were almost there, a time of peace and prosperity within their reach, did it fall away, taken from them, swept beneath their feet and torn from the light.
Mordred.
Merlin came to truly hate the name.
He had thought, that maybe, he had avoided their fated doom when he had saved that druid boy, who came to the castle lost and afraid, who seemed so weak and harmless: but how deceived Merlin had been.
Mordred, over the years, had learnt that his mother, who he was too young to remember, in a raid carried out by Arthur, enforced by Uther, had died while the army slaughtered his village and butchered the bodies. With the execution of his father, did these feelings find a comfortable nest, and festered.
Such an everlasting pain did he feel, an irresistible anger did arise that could not be quenched until the Pendragon Legacy had been destroyed and uprooted, the poison no longer able to wilt the world.
He had found Morgana, and she too, seeing his hatred, with such a kin in spirit to hers, fuelled his dark desires, while the stars, looking on in horror, hid their fires.
But in the blackness, Morgana did not see what she had created: a powerful sorcerer in his own right, with the will to carry out impossible acts, and then bested his enemies with inhuman cunning and cruelty, did she see a monster before her eyes.
The months passed, and then news of freedom reached her ears.
All past hatred fled her being, remembering indeed Arthur was better than Uther, learned from his mistakes and grieved those he had wronged; she knew her presence would cause concern, but she hoped for faith to still be present in him.
However, Mordred did not share her contentment. He boiled in rage, could not see the good, only acts of a snake waiting to strike at the heart of his people.
She feared for her life, if she were to become disagreeable to him, and fled his company, retreated to caves where she then saw what was to come, and truly, with cries of guilt, knew the death of her brother was not what she wished any longer. And if she were to look on back in her past, and find Mordred now vainer, more loathed, more furious, more corrupt: only she was to blame.
Mordred then, returned to the city, and disguised himself as a loyal knight.
Arthur welcomed him, but Merlin was cautious.
Merlin now wished he had executed a move that would wipe Mordred clean, but he could not do it, from a weak mind or forgiving nature he now honestly, did not know.
Mordred betrayed Arthur’s trust, and only used his position to gain resources and now, in the night, threatened Camelot with battle and war.
Arthur, again misled by his kind spirit, looked to Merlin, the one who had helped him build their golden age of hope, and who every day he had smiled at, knew what he did was for his people’s sake, but also was a debt or duty to Merlin, and held his hand tighter than he had ever before. In those sorrowful eyes of dreams so close, did Merlin blame himself for their current situation, and loathed the part of himself that could not raise a blade to Mordred’s neck.
They rode for Camlann tomorrow.
XxXxX
The chambers were dark; only one candle was lit, situated on Arthur’s nightstand; it flickered and shivered in the air of the summer night. The opulent colours were sleeping with the night, consumed by darkness in their slumber. The only light was that of the moon, which flowed in through the closed window, the light cool in warmth, the pale blue streaming unto the royal bed, and the near area surrounding it.
‘Is there anything that you wish, sire?’ Merlin said, as he poured a glass of water, should Arthur be thirsty during the night, and wish to drink something cold.
Arthur looked at him with eyes mourning where he sat on the bed, and replied softly to Merlin’s side, ‘No.’
Arthur had realised that in Merlin’s presence, he was always happy, that he always felt complete, and with Merlin’s support, had created something special.
Merlin turned to Arthur then, placing the empty jug down when he saw Arthur’s eyes, the loose hold his nightclothes had on his frame, and with a shaking breath, then turned again to leave.
He was stopped by Arthur’s hand in his.
‘Stay,’ Arthur croaked gently, ‘please?’
Merlin was forced to look at his master, felt the warmth of his palm, how the fingers curled with his so perfectly, and tried to swallow the heart in his throat.
Still, Arthur, even in his bed things, had the power to triumph over Merlin entirely.
They had been content to look at each other during the day, and all other days since the day of that particular storm, with the knowledge that in the moonlit hours, they could be as fate intended. Of course, when their desire would not be appeased, a few stolen moments of fierce passion was taken in alcoves, beneath stairs, behind doors, to control the constant need to be together, now that they knew they could be.
And occasionally, when Arthur was feeling reckless, he would invite Merlin to his bed.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Merlin allowed himself to be taken in by Arthur’s strength, until he had stepped into his breathing, his other hand resting and clenching in the soft fabric of the nightshirt by Arthur broad shoulders, and while looking into skies so very bountiful, allowed himself to be captured by lips bewitching.
Merlin was amazed that even after many times, Arthur’s lips could still hold their benevolent enchantment. And what made him glow inside with warmth so very bright: was that no enchantments did entrap either of them. The lips sliding against his own were very much real, and wanting his company. Tongues soon licked seams of lips, were welcomed and engulfed with wetness, heat and lust.
Arthur guided Merlin to his bed, never breaking their contact, both smiling and letting laughter escape as they fell, moving to be more aligned against one another.
Merlin believed he fit perfectly against Arthur, that their shapes were complementary. Where Arthur had masses of masculine muscle, Merlin was lean and slim. He always cherished these moments, while Arthur held him with grips so tight he couldn’t breathe, his hands under Merlin’s shirt, exciting goose bumps and shivers, rough hands against smooth flesh, while Merlin deepened their kiss with his hands bringing Arthur’s head closer, the sounds of fabric whispering only audible against the occasional wet smack of their lips.
Arthur moved his hands to Merlin’s neckerchief, untangled the knot and threw it to the side. Merlin felt the fabric leave him and was exhilarated by what was only naturally promised next.
Merlin, at times, thought that if Arthur wanted to, he could snap Merlin if he applied enough force, and Merlin thought that now, as Arthur’s large hands lid up his sides, collecting his shirt until it was brunched up enough for removal. Arthur looked to Merlin’s chest, sighed, and started to lick Merlin’s jaw, the wetness cooling in the evening air, nibbling at the taunt skin, while Merlin mirrored his action.
Soon their shirts were forgotten when the marvel of bare skin was introduced.
And Merlin found Arthur’s skin irresistible. He looked at his torso in awe, the muscles built; the skin tense. He treated each part with divine care of his mouth, while Arthur gasped, restraining his moans, while Merlin twirled his tongue around pecking nipples.
When the heat between their legs, continually colliding with promise, had become too tempting, Arthur quickly pushed Merlin over and lay on top of him. The contact of heated flesh was unspeakable, and with hunger in his hazed expression, tousled hair, did Arthur smirk and pull Merlin’s breeches down slowly and seductively.
Merlin was allured by the bulge in Arthur’s own, but upon being exposed for his sight; spread his legs in natural need.
Merlin’s legs were raised to his chest, and in his most intimate area, did Merlin feel the air cold. Arthur smiled at him, and spoke with such tender awe, ‘So beautiful, Merlin,’ it was the first time either had spoken, and Merlin felt the weight pleasantly. He felt his hole wink at the chills of the night, Arthur staring at the punctured gap between his arse, the cheeks spread by his position. Arthur aided in that, by, with thumb and hands, cupped Merlin’s globes and parted them to reveal what, as Arthur looked at, to be rightfully his.
Merlin felt a wanton suck to it, and knew no more sane thoughts.
Arthur’s lips teased the entrance, taming it for something bigger by treating it to sweet sensation. Merlin gasped every time Arthur used his tongue around the rim, sometimes gently, others wantonly, groaning at the taste and the way it clenched open for more. Merlin whined, when Arthur pushed forward, his hole sensitive, wanting to be welcoming, and the wet stabs of tongue were ecstasy. Merlin could feel Arthur bury his face there, his nose at Merlin’s perineum, the obscene sounds strangely intoxicating as Arthur feasted; spit running down his chin, as Merlin whimpered at the stimulation.
When Merlin was stretched enough that Arthur hit something that made Merlin howl, he then stopped, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, much to the disappointment of Merlin.
But not all was lost, for when Merlin raised his head, he saw Arthur lathering his fingers with his spit. Merlin, after disengaging from coherent thought, let his head fall back on the pillows in desperate waiting.
He remembered Arthur’s gaze, his pupils dilated.
And then lips were on his again, a looming body, as Arthur’s middle finger caressed the clamping skin beneath his anus, teased the opening rim, the muscles eager and confused. Arthur smiled in their entanglement, felt Merlin’s tongue gather his own flavour, and then pushed the digit in.
Merlin gasped loudly, his anus clenching fast on the intrusion, but the way in which Arthur stroked him inside, the way he moved, coaxed Merlin’s muscles into relaxation and permitting deeper exploration. Merlin was tight, his walls damp, and Arthur marvelled in the texture, Merlin’s moans directing him where to please and focus most.
Now, knowing there was no danger, and melting in the raptures Arthur gave him, Merlin’s muscles were eager for more. The rough, calloused finger was not enough, and Merlin moved himself further onto it, nipped Arthur’s bottom lip and tongue when he was ready.
Arthur conceded, and carefully, slid in his index finger.
Merlin cried out when they reached, had protruded enough, to a bundle of nerves were Merlin lost his sight momentarily.
Arthur smiled; victory was his.
He continued to tease Merlin, feeling the mouth of it suck them in, greedy for more, deeper, anything to repeat that previous movement.
Instead, only for an instant distracted by Merlin’s tongue, stretched his fingers outward occasionally, widening Merlin to accommodate something better.
When the sweet torture had reached its optimum, Arthur withdrew his fingers, the damp walls collapsing as they left, the area utterly moist, as Merlin panted with sweat beading on inch after inch of his skin.
Merlin then raised himself to his elbows, completely aware of what was to follow, but cautious of something first.
Merlin didn’t wish for oil tonight.
With his heart pounding against his chest, so hot it almost hurt, and mind lost in animal instinct, yet still conscious of the man in front of him, he looked to Arthur’s pain and empathised with a whimper.
Arthur was preparing his cock with the weeping pre-cum.
It looked so painful, the huge head a firm spongy mass of deep blood purple, followed by a thick shaft of such impressive length of darkened red, bound by veins, covered in slime.
Merlin saw Arthur stop, looked to him, and knew he understood Merlin’s tongue was eager for a taste.
No words were spoken as he pulled Merlin into a position so he was eye level with Arthur’s cock, Arthur himself kneeing and flushed with heat and restraint, head held back.
Merlin wanted to pleasure his master, his King, and grabbed the bulky base lovingly, followed by his mouth bursting with the smell and taste of Arthur’s rising arousal.
Merlin engulfed the head, his mouth full, and pleasured the underside with his tongue the best he could. Arthur immediately bellowed with a noise, deep in his chest, and Merlin willed his throat to widen as he took the rest. Arthur panted so very heavily and hardily while Merlin lost his senses in a rhythm of back and forth, using his tongue as best as was possible with its being trapped by Arthur’s girth. As Merlin adjusted, gagging only occasionally, and trying at swallowing when he must, Arthur placed his hands in his hair, gripped the strands it hurt on Merlin’s scalp, while he moaned, the humming vibrations travelling along the member. Merlin marvelled at the groans he was able to stimulate in Arthur, and increased his efforts, fuelled by a loving enthusiasm. The taste was explosive, the heavy musk thick in the air like smoke, and Merlin would have loved to continue, had it not been for Arthur’s seeing him so eager in his ministrations, his peak almost reached and pulled Merlin away.
Merlin was then manoeuvred into his previous position, time meaning everything, while they panted into each other’s mouths, eyes closed; sweat tight on their skin, their skin sliding slippery and so hot together, Merlin wrapping his legs around Arthur, the heavier man holding them tightly while the muscles melded to his shape.
Merlin then felt something very prominent, very large, nudge to him; he opened with keen interest. The first slide was momentarily painful, Merlin wincing, so Arthur slowly entered.
The drag of muscle was divine, how Arthur stretched and filled him so completely and so gradually, the heated, moist muscles of both conceding to the pleasure; while Arthur powered through any resistance, plunging deeply and Merlin melting away around him.
They were still for a few moments, just holding each other, kissing at times, others just breathing. Merlin felt his eyes tear, and closed them tighter, but by the way he was held so closely and so preciously, Merlin knew Arthur felt it too.
Then Arthur moved.
It was considerately slow at first, allowing Merlin to adjust, a combination of whimpers and moans portraying the progress.
Then, when the delicious slide was too much, overpowered all their senses and were only left with each other, the smell of skin powerfully potent, did Arthur thrust, and his restrain was lost.
Merlin grit his teeth sometimes, others he groaned loudly, Arthur grunting on each glide: pleasured and overwhelmed.
Arthur’s large hands were everywhere, not one inch of Merlin’s skin went unexplored and unloved. Merlin’s own hands, he placed them among the golden meadow of Arthur’s rippling back, settling for Arthur’s firm arse, massaging it, kneading it, loving the way the muscles held and moved.
Merlin felt completely consumed by the man above him: he was tremendously trapped, body and soul; his mind and heart belonged to only Arthur, and, on a particular powerful thrust, Arthur pierced deeper into him and hit that sweet spot of sensations, the feelings vibrating his insides, shuddering spasms within exciting such light-headed, shooting sharp euphoria up his spine, did he admit that he never wanted to be without Arthur.
He must have said it aloud, because Arthur kissed again, and never aimed to miss.
So now assaulted with the utter bliss, both were quite incoherent. Arthur’s breath was thick against Merlin as he felt his muscles slither around him, sucking him in on each thrust then tugging on him to come back, teasing and treating his cock to paradise, the pleasure cascading through him from that focal point. Merlin’s rim, stretched wide, felt as if it would split every time Arthur pulled back, pining.
After many moments, realising he was close, Arthur sped up, thrusts more frequent, harder, his pre-cum making the slides irresistible, Merlin being moved up the bed, legs tight around Arthur and unyielding then, when Merlin was utterly saturated of stimulation, so much so he could feel Arthur in his throat, did he shot to the stars, his entire form convulsing in joy, body arching as he growled.
He felt Arthur’s cry, his wet hot semen covering, painting his channel, as he continued to move, riding it out, Merlin milking him of all his seed, settling deep within him like a kiln’s fire.
Merlin wanted to drown in the essence of this man; felt like he could.
Their movements came to a natural stop, and then they were still.
Arthur kissed Merlin’s neck, Merlin stroked Arthur’s hair, let his fingers card through the strands.
Their sweat started to cool.
Both were still shaking silently, pleasure pulsing strongly.
After, what felt like an eternity, Arthur started to withdraw completely. Merlin winced sweetly again as the head caught the rim, leaking, seeping Arthur’s release, the furl of muscles raw red and winking closed, seed escaping.
He felt so full, so sore, and it was brilliant.
Arthur then fell to the side, after a few seconds, pulling Merlin on top of him.
He laid there, his head resting on Arthur’s breast, hearing and feeling his heartbeat steadily, strongly.
He lay there, hoping it would beat a little while longer.
It was a content silence, Merlin wrapped in Arthur.
Then he spoke,
‘Merlin,’ and the servant was chilled instantly by his tone. He paused, ‘if I die,’ Many speeches could have followed, but Merlin knew the one he was going to execute, and it was the one that distressed Merlin most, so he silenced Arthur with a kiss.
They exchanged a look, one between tried friends, and Arthur smiled, ‘I never was able to suss you out.’
Merlin laughed on an exhale, ‘Wouldn’t be as fun would it?’ and he stroked the hair away that was on Arthur’s forehead, just so he could touch him more, and because this man never stopped surprising him.
It was a tender touch, and one Merlin was grateful Arthur allowed.
But seeing that Arthur did indeed wish to speak, Merlin decided to bare his soul, because Arthur deserved it, ‘There’s nothing that can be said, and there’s nothing that can be done,’ Merlin held Arthur’s face, intensely lost himself in the pupils, ‘I will always love you, in all ways, until the sun rises in the west, and sets in the east,’ Merlin smiled, because he wanted to laugh at how his heart did swell for this man, ‘until the day I die.’
They exchanged silent smiles, tender touches and caring caresses, and when it seemed naturally right, Merlin kissed Arthur one last time, pulled the covers around them, then laid his head against his breast once more, Arthur holding Merlin close, and they fell asleep.
He lay there, hoping it would beat a little while longer.
Chapter 12