Fic: Comfort Blanket
Title: Comfort Blanket
Author: silverwings2020
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,300
Warnings: none; bottom!Arthur
Summary: Arthur's in a temper, and Merlin soothes him the best way he can: with blanket forts and sex.
AN: Thanks, as always, to Marina for the beta. x
Read on AO3.
The first sign Merlin received of Arthur’s bad mood was the sound of clanking metal and groaning coming from the armory. He turned the corner somewhat warily and was surprised to find not only Gwaine (who found himself in trouble with the king more often than not), but also Elyan and Percival hunched over a pile of dirty and dented weaponry, dust from the training field still on their faces. They were so engrossed in their complaining (mostly Gwaine), and their cleaning (mostly Elyan and Percival), that they didn’t even notice Merlin’s arrival.
“-taking it out on the innocent, it’s just not knightly. Isn’t that what he’s always going on about?” Gwaine was ranting, wielding a polishing rag for emphasis. Merlin snorted.
“Please tell me you didn’t say that to Arthur’s face,” he said as the three knights looked up at him.
“Of course he did,” Elyan replied with a roll of his eyes, “it’s Gwaine. He’s not exactly known for his censorship.”
“‘course I’m not. Just because you ladies won’t speak the truth doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, it’s very noble of you,” Merlin observed dryly, before turning to the others. “What about you two? What got you set on polishing duty?”
“We grabbed Arthur when he tried to wrestle Gwaine,” Elyan answered. Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Arthur was…well, he wasn’t very happy today.”
“Two of the squires cried,” Percy put in over Gwaine’s raving about “jumped-up nobility with sticks up their arses”. “Maybe you could…talk him down, Merlin?”
Merlin winced. Arthur must have been bad, if Percival of all people was complaining.
“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, and turned to leave, ignoring Gwaine’s shouted, “You’ll have to do more than talk to relax him, Merlin!” The second sign of Arthur’s temper came a few moments later, when Merlin stepped into the corridor to the royal chambers and spied a young maid dithering at the door, a scroll clutched tightly in her hand.
“Oh, my lord!” she cried when she saw Merlin. “Thank all the g-I mean.” She paused, biting her lip and darting nervous eyes towards the door, which Merlin had no doubt Arthur had declared closed to all visitors. “I-I have a message for the king, from Geoffrey, but the king-“
“I’ll see that he gets it,” Merlin assured her, smiling at the look of pure relief on her face as she handed over the scroll. He was well aware of the unease that some of the servants (and nobility) felt around him, and it was amusing to see that even the great Court Sorcerer of Camelot paled as a threat compared to the beloved king in a temper. He looked down at the scroll as the maid scampered away, wondering if it held any clues about Arthur’s foul mood, before heading into their chambers.
The third and final sign Merlin had of Arthur’s tantrum was Arthur himself. The king was hunched at his desk, changed out of his training gear but disheveled, as if he’d dressed himself, and scowling at a pile of papers. He straightened when Merlin came in, his smooth public face barely managing to cover his obvious annoyance before he registered his guest, and it fell away completely.
“What, Merlin?” Arthur practically spat. “I’m very busy, you better have something-“
“Geoffrey sent you a message,” Merlin interrupted smoothly, not even acknowledging Arthur’s scowl.
“Another one?” Arthur groaned. “What news could he possibly have since the last four, and the council meeting before that?”
Ah, the council meeting. That would explain the mood, Merlin thought as he handed over the scroll. He watched Arthur’s face go from irritated to pinched to tired as he read it, finally letting it fall to the desk with a sigh. Wordlessly, Merlin moved to sit on the arm of Arthur’s seat, and the king leaned against him automatically.
“Geoffrey thinks I should drop the negotiations with Mercia for the time being,” Arthur said with an irritated glare at the scroll. Merlin blinked.
“What for? They’re nearly completed, and it’s been going smoothly.”
“That’s just it. The council--“ again, irritably, “thinks the negotiations favor Mercia too much and Camelot too little. They don’t seem to understand the long-term benefits this treaty would bring, not to mention the rights for magic users. Gaius thinks they’re still uncomfortable after the repeal on magic. He says I should concede to them for now, and get them to agree later, when they feel more in control.”
Merlin said nothing. He understood the intent behind Gaius’ advice, but couldn’t help but feel like foregoing these negotiations for the sake of a few men’s pride was foolish. He knew Arthur felt the same way, and just let him vent.
“They spent our entire meeting this morning dragging their feet. None of them want to openly contradict me, but neither do they want to agree. Even Leon couldn’t sway them.”
“It sounds like you’ve already decided to defy them,” Merlin pointed out delicately. He’d long thought that the current knights would serve as better councilors than Uther’s hand-me-downs, but it was dangerous to say so with Arthur in such a black mood. As it was, Arthur merely scowled.
“Perhaps I have. It wouldn’t be the first time,” he grumbled. Merlin reached out to pat his hair soothingly, and Arthur glanced up at him.
“What are you doing up here, anyway? Did Gwaine ask you to?” Arthur asked, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice along with the irritation. Merlin smiled.
“I came here all on my own,” he said. Arthur fixed him with a look. “Well, alright, they encouraged it, but I would’ve come anyway. You gave polishing duty to Percival.”
Arthur winced. For a man his size, Percival was remarkably gentle, and quiet. He rarely spoke up in training, and never said anything to warrant punishing.
“I know, I’ll apologize to them tomorrow. It wasn’t their fault the council is useless.” He sighed and passed a hand over his face. “I suppose Gwaine made a number of inappropriate remarks about making me relax. What am I in for, then? A lecture? A massage?”
Merlin cocked his head, considering. His eyes traveled from Arthur’s face to their bed, and an idea popped into his head.
“No, none of that. Help me strip the mattress.”
“What?” Arthur asked dubiously, as Merlin hopped off of the chair. “How is that supposed to help me relax?”
Merlin smiled innocently. “You’ll see. Just shut up and trust me.”
Still frowning, Arthur obeyed. Together they stripped the bed of its covers, and Merlin even fetched a few extra linens from the closet. When they had a sizable pile of fabric at their feet, he seized the corner of one and moved to drape it over the canopy of the bed.
“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked as he watched Merlin work, hands on his hips.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making a blanket fort!” Merlin replied. When this was met with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, he paused, and then gaped at the king. “Don’t tell me you never once made a blanket fort when you were a kid! With all these linens, you could’ve had a blanket palace.”
“I was a prince, Merlin. I never touched a blanket unless I was sleeping in it.” He paused (Merlin continued to stare), then asked, “It is…some sort of peasant thing?”
Merlin burst out laughing. “No, you prat. It’s just fun.”
“Fun,” Arthur repeated dryly, “right. I take it you made a lot of these forts, then?” Merlin nodded enthusiastically.
“All the time! I mean, obviously we never had this many sheets, but…sometimes mum would let me use her skirts, and me and Will would stay in our fort for hours.” He saw Arthur smile at the wistful expression on his face, but didn’t try to hide it. “Just trust me on this, it’ll be worth it.”
Arthur somewhat reluctantly agreed, and they set about constructing their fortress. Arthur, as it turned out, was terrible at it, but it was okay, because Merlin was, too. They got tangled in sheets and tripped over props and laughed the entire time. Merlin’s magic was put liberally to work, moving the furniture to act as stands, holding the sheets in place while they searched for weights, and whacking Arthur across the head with pillows when he poked fun at Merlin. Finally, they managed to put together a lopsided but function version of a tent. Merlin stood back to admire it. The monstrosity took up the entire middle of the bedchamber, and stretched over nearly all of the cabinets and dressers. One side (the one balancing precariously on the bureau) was tall enough for them both to stand straight, but the other (firmly tied to the chest from the foot of the bed) was hardly high enough for a crawl. The middle stuck out in awkward lumps from the candelabra Merlin had declared to be a makeshift pillar.
It was a mess.
“It’s perfect,” Merlin decided, anyway, moving forward to crawl inside. He was already settled against the pile of pillows they’d stashed inside by the time Arthur followed, moving gingerly, as if he expected a collapse at any moment. Merlin snorted. “You can come in, you know. A cascade of blankets won’t kill you.”
He laughed when Arthur made a face at him, inching over to allow Arthur room in their pillow nest.
“So what do we do now?” Arthur ventured once they were settled, Arthur reclining against the pillows and Merlin reclining against Arthur. The sorcerer shrugged.
“Whatever you want. Will and I used to play pretend when we were kids, or tell each other stories. Sometimes I’d show him a new trick I learned.” He traced the line of Arthur’s arm with a warm finger. “I can give you that massage, if you’d like.”
They shifted so that Arthur was stretched out on his belly, where Merlin could run his hands over the tense muscles in his back. He let his magic flow down to his fingers, and Arthur groaned.
“You’re almost getting good at this,” he remarked, making Merlin laugh.
“That’s high praise coming from you, sire. Maybe I should start giving massages to the council. Might make them more receptive to magic.”
“Not likely,” Arthur grunted, “because I’d have to kill them if you did.”
Merlin chuckled. He was still smiling when their lips met; except that kiss turned into another, then another, and then Merlin’s mouth was wrapped around Arthur’s cock as he eased oil-slick fingers into Arthur’s hole. It was rare for them to switch roles in bed, but tonight was about relaxing Arthur, in every sense. The king gripped Merlin’s hair as he was worked open. As usual when he was on the receiving end, he was quiet, letting only small gasps and moans escape his lips. But Merlin knew that soon he would be groaning with need, and it was that thought that spurred him to replace his fingers with his cock.
Arthur grunted at the burn of entry, but Merlin soothed him with kisses and the brush of fingers. They both groaned when Merlin was fully seated. An eager tilt of Arthur’s hips was all the encouragement Merlin needed to pump his hips into Arthur. He won his first drawn-out, “Oh,” with a deep thrust and quickly set about earning more. He knew he’d found Arthur’s prostate when he stiffened and growled, “Yeah” against Merlin’s mouth. He pushed in again, and again, getting muffled moans in response, before giving in and wrapping a hand around Arthur’s cock.
At once, Arthur’s eyes fell closed and his panting took on a desperate sound, letting out small moans with every other stroke of Merlin’s fist. Merlin could feel his own control slipping as Arthur stiffened and came all over his hand with a long, sighed, “Fuck.” He opened his eyes to watch Merlin fall apart, looking so blissed out and gorgeous that Merlin only managed a few more thrusts before he spilled over, too.
For a moment, they just lay there, panting into each other’s mouths in the warmth of their blanket fort. Then Merlin summoned a rag to clean them with, and Arthur stretched out across the pillows.
“Never done that in a blanket fort before,” Merlin observed, kissing a line up Arthur’s belly before settling against his chest. The king chuckled and wrapped his arms around him.
“I should think not. It was, however, extremely effective.”
“Good,” Merlin hummed, and kissed his king.
Eventually, their slow kisses turned into their second round; afterward, a deliciously sore Merlin convinced Arthur to stay with him in the fort (brushing aside Arthur’s protests against sleeping on the floor by pointing out the blankets currently over their heads, very much not on the bed). Merlin did wind up running out for food, but when he returned they ate cross-legged on the floor, shoving bits of bread and cheese into each other’s laughing mouths. Later, when their eyelids began to droop, they simply curled up against their pillows, warm enough in each other’s arms.
In the morning, the fort still stood. Merlin followed Arthur to training, and he pretended not to see the shameless wink Gwaine sent his way when Arthur pulled them aside for an apology.
Author: silverwings2020
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,300
Warnings: none; bottom!Arthur
Summary: Arthur's in a temper, and Merlin soothes him the best way he can: with blanket forts and sex.
AN: Thanks, as always, to Marina for the beta. x
Read on AO3.
The first sign Merlin received of Arthur’s bad mood was the sound of clanking metal and groaning coming from the armory. He turned the corner somewhat warily and was surprised to find not only Gwaine (who found himself in trouble with the king more often than not), but also Elyan and Percival hunched over a pile of dirty and dented weaponry, dust from the training field still on their faces. They were so engrossed in their complaining (mostly Gwaine), and their cleaning (mostly Elyan and Percival), that they didn’t even notice Merlin’s arrival.
“-taking it out on the innocent, it’s just not knightly. Isn’t that what he’s always going on about?” Gwaine was ranting, wielding a polishing rag for emphasis. Merlin snorted.
“Please tell me you didn’t say that to Arthur’s face,” he said as the three knights looked up at him.
“Of course he did,” Elyan replied with a roll of his eyes, “it’s Gwaine. He’s not exactly known for his censorship.”
“‘course I’m not. Just because you ladies won’t speak the truth doesn’t mean I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, it’s very noble of you,” Merlin observed dryly, before turning to the others. “What about you two? What got you set on polishing duty?”
“We grabbed Arthur when he tried to wrestle Gwaine,” Elyan answered. Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Arthur was…well, he wasn’t very happy today.”
“Two of the squires cried,” Percy put in over Gwaine’s raving about “jumped-up nobility with sticks up their arses”. “Maybe you could…talk him down, Merlin?”
Merlin winced. Arthur must have been bad, if Percival of all people was complaining.
“I’ll talk to him,” he promised, and turned to leave, ignoring Gwaine’s shouted, “You’ll have to do more than talk to relax him, Merlin!” The second sign of Arthur’s temper came a few moments later, when Merlin stepped into the corridor to the royal chambers and spied a young maid dithering at the door, a scroll clutched tightly in her hand.
“Oh, my lord!” she cried when she saw Merlin. “Thank all the g-I mean.” She paused, biting her lip and darting nervous eyes towards the door, which Merlin had no doubt Arthur had declared closed to all visitors. “I-I have a message for the king, from Geoffrey, but the king-“
“I’ll see that he gets it,” Merlin assured her, smiling at the look of pure relief on her face as she handed over the scroll. He was well aware of the unease that some of the servants (and nobility) felt around him, and it was amusing to see that even the great Court Sorcerer of Camelot paled as a threat compared to the beloved king in a temper. He looked down at the scroll as the maid scampered away, wondering if it held any clues about Arthur’s foul mood, before heading into their chambers.
The third and final sign Merlin had of Arthur’s tantrum was Arthur himself. The king was hunched at his desk, changed out of his training gear but disheveled, as if he’d dressed himself, and scowling at a pile of papers. He straightened when Merlin came in, his smooth public face barely managing to cover his obvious annoyance before he registered his guest, and it fell away completely.
“What, Merlin?” Arthur practically spat. “I’m very busy, you better have something-“
“Geoffrey sent you a message,” Merlin interrupted smoothly, not even acknowledging Arthur’s scowl.
“Another one?” Arthur groaned. “What news could he possibly have since the last four, and the council meeting before that?”
Ah, the council meeting. That would explain the mood, Merlin thought as he handed over the scroll. He watched Arthur’s face go from irritated to pinched to tired as he read it, finally letting it fall to the desk with a sigh. Wordlessly, Merlin moved to sit on the arm of Arthur’s seat, and the king leaned against him automatically.
“Geoffrey thinks I should drop the negotiations with Mercia for the time being,” Arthur said with an irritated glare at the scroll. Merlin blinked.
“What for? They’re nearly completed, and it’s been going smoothly.”
“That’s just it. The council--“ again, irritably, “thinks the negotiations favor Mercia too much and Camelot too little. They don’t seem to understand the long-term benefits this treaty would bring, not to mention the rights for magic users. Gaius thinks they’re still uncomfortable after the repeal on magic. He says I should concede to them for now, and get them to agree later, when they feel more in control.”
Merlin said nothing. He understood the intent behind Gaius’ advice, but couldn’t help but feel like foregoing these negotiations for the sake of a few men’s pride was foolish. He knew Arthur felt the same way, and just let him vent.
“They spent our entire meeting this morning dragging their feet. None of them want to openly contradict me, but neither do they want to agree. Even Leon couldn’t sway them.”
“It sounds like you’ve already decided to defy them,” Merlin pointed out delicately. He’d long thought that the current knights would serve as better councilors than Uther’s hand-me-downs, but it was dangerous to say so with Arthur in such a black mood. As it was, Arthur merely scowled.
“Perhaps I have. It wouldn’t be the first time,” he grumbled. Merlin reached out to pat his hair soothingly, and Arthur glanced up at him.
“What are you doing up here, anyway? Did Gwaine ask you to?” Arthur asked, a hint of guilt creeping into his voice along with the irritation. Merlin smiled.
“I came here all on my own,” he said. Arthur fixed him with a look. “Well, alright, they encouraged it, but I would’ve come anyway. You gave polishing duty to Percival.”
Arthur winced. For a man his size, Percival was remarkably gentle, and quiet. He rarely spoke up in training, and never said anything to warrant punishing.
“I know, I’ll apologize to them tomorrow. It wasn’t their fault the council is useless.” He sighed and passed a hand over his face. “I suppose Gwaine made a number of inappropriate remarks about making me relax. What am I in for, then? A lecture? A massage?”
Merlin cocked his head, considering. His eyes traveled from Arthur’s face to their bed, and an idea popped into his head.
“No, none of that. Help me strip the mattress.”
“What?” Arthur asked dubiously, as Merlin hopped off of the chair. “How is that supposed to help me relax?”
Merlin smiled innocently. “You’ll see. Just shut up and trust me.”
Still frowning, Arthur obeyed. Together they stripped the bed of its covers, and Merlin even fetched a few extra linens from the closet. When they had a sizable pile of fabric at their feet, he seized the corner of one and moved to drape it over the canopy of the bed.
“What on earth are you doing?” Arthur asked as he watched Merlin work, hands on his hips.
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m making a blanket fort!” Merlin replied. When this was met with nothing more than a raised eyebrow, he paused, and then gaped at the king. “Don’t tell me you never once made a blanket fort when you were a kid! With all these linens, you could’ve had a blanket palace.”
“I was a prince, Merlin. I never touched a blanket unless I was sleeping in it.” He paused (Merlin continued to stare), then asked, “It is…some sort of peasant thing?”
Merlin burst out laughing. “No, you prat. It’s just fun.”
“Fun,” Arthur repeated dryly, “right. I take it you made a lot of these forts, then?” Merlin nodded enthusiastically.
“All the time! I mean, obviously we never had this many sheets, but…sometimes mum would let me use her skirts, and me and Will would stay in our fort for hours.” He saw Arthur smile at the wistful expression on his face, but didn’t try to hide it. “Just trust me on this, it’ll be worth it.”
Arthur somewhat reluctantly agreed, and they set about constructing their fortress. Arthur, as it turned out, was terrible at it, but it was okay, because Merlin was, too. They got tangled in sheets and tripped over props and laughed the entire time. Merlin’s magic was put liberally to work, moving the furniture to act as stands, holding the sheets in place while they searched for weights, and whacking Arthur across the head with pillows when he poked fun at Merlin. Finally, they managed to put together a lopsided but function version of a tent. Merlin stood back to admire it. The monstrosity took up the entire middle of the bedchamber, and stretched over nearly all of the cabinets and dressers. One side (the one balancing precariously on the bureau) was tall enough for them both to stand straight, but the other (firmly tied to the chest from the foot of the bed) was hardly high enough for a crawl. The middle stuck out in awkward lumps from the candelabra Merlin had declared to be a makeshift pillar.
It was a mess.
“It’s perfect,” Merlin decided, anyway, moving forward to crawl inside. He was already settled against the pile of pillows they’d stashed inside by the time Arthur followed, moving gingerly, as if he expected a collapse at any moment. Merlin snorted. “You can come in, you know. A cascade of blankets won’t kill you.”
He laughed when Arthur made a face at him, inching over to allow Arthur room in their pillow nest.
“So what do we do now?” Arthur ventured once they were settled, Arthur reclining against the pillows and Merlin reclining against Arthur. The sorcerer shrugged.
“Whatever you want. Will and I used to play pretend when we were kids, or tell each other stories. Sometimes I’d show him a new trick I learned.” He traced the line of Arthur’s arm with a warm finger. “I can give you that massage, if you’d like.”
They shifted so that Arthur was stretched out on his belly, where Merlin could run his hands over the tense muscles in his back. He let his magic flow down to his fingers, and Arthur groaned.
“You’re almost getting good at this,” he remarked, making Merlin laugh.
“That’s high praise coming from you, sire. Maybe I should start giving massages to the council. Might make them more receptive to magic.”
“Not likely,” Arthur grunted, “because I’d have to kill them if you did.”
Merlin chuckled. He was still smiling when their lips met; except that kiss turned into another, then another, and then Merlin’s mouth was wrapped around Arthur’s cock as he eased oil-slick fingers into Arthur’s hole. It was rare for them to switch roles in bed, but tonight was about relaxing Arthur, in every sense. The king gripped Merlin’s hair as he was worked open. As usual when he was on the receiving end, he was quiet, letting only small gasps and moans escape his lips. But Merlin knew that soon he would be groaning with need, and it was that thought that spurred him to replace his fingers with his cock.
Arthur grunted at the burn of entry, but Merlin soothed him with kisses and the brush of fingers. They both groaned when Merlin was fully seated. An eager tilt of Arthur’s hips was all the encouragement Merlin needed to pump his hips into Arthur. He won his first drawn-out, “Oh,” with a deep thrust and quickly set about earning more. He knew he’d found Arthur’s prostate when he stiffened and growled, “Yeah” against Merlin’s mouth. He pushed in again, and again, getting muffled moans in response, before giving in and wrapping a hand around Arthur’s cock.
At once, Arthur’s eyes fell closed and his panting took on a desperate sound, letting out small moans with every other stroke of Merlin’s fist. Merlin could feel his own control slipping as Arthur stiffened and came all over his hand with a long, sighed, “Fuck.” He opened his eyes to watch Merlin fall apart, looking so blissed out and gorgeous that Merlin only managed a few more thrusts before he spilled over, too.
For a moment, they just lay there, panting into each other’s mouths in the warmth of their blanket fort. Then Merlin summoned a rag to clean them with, and Arthur stretched out across the pillows.
“Never done that in a blanket fort before,” Merlin observed, kissing a line up Arthur’s belly before settling against his chest. The king chuckled and wrapped his arms around him.
“I should think not. It was, however, extremely effective.”
“Good,” Merlin hummed, and kissed his king.
Eventually, their slow kisses turned into their second round; afterward, a deliciously sore Merlin convinced Arthur to stay with him in the fort (brushing aside Arthur’s protests against sleeping on the floor by pointing out the blankets currently over their heads, very much not on the bed). Merlin did wind up running out for food, but when he returned they ate cross-legged on the floor, shoving bits of bread and cheese into each other’s laughing mouths. Later, when their eyelids began to droop, they simply curled up against their pillows, warm enough in each other’s arms.
In the morning, the fort still stood. Merlin followed Arthur to training, and he pretended not to see the shameless wink Gwaine sent his way when Arthur pulled them aside for an apology.