“Four,” Arthur answers, his voice a broken whisper. “If Hengroen wasn’t already exhausted and so damned skittish in storms, we’d be in Camelot already,” he says, knowing Merlin will understand his meaning. In Camelot, in Arthur’s rooms, in his bed.
Merlin covers the hand on his hip and guides it down between his legs, head thrown back on Arthur’s should, lips parting as he draws in a shuddering breath. “Touch me,” he breathes, one hand reaching back, squeezing Arthur’s buttock, pulling him closer.
“Now?” he whispers, hips shifting against Merlin’s involuntarily.
“Please?” Long, thin fingers curl around his own, drawing his hand up and down over Merlin’s arousal, then up under the worn blue tunic and across his chest, Arthur’s nipples tightening in sympathy as he rubs his thumb hard over Merlin’s.
Merlin’s lips are warm and wet against his neck, working along his jaw, his earlobe, craning to meet his as Arthur growls low in his throat and takes Merlin’s mouth, unable to stop or care if they’re seen.
The wind is like another set of hands, working in under their cuffs and collars, combing through their hair and sucking their panting breaths away.
He rakes his fingernails down Merlin’s chest and stomach, jerking the laces of his trousers open and dipping inside to pull Merlin free. Arthur fists him tightly, swallowing Merlin’s gasp and tightening his thighs around Hengroen’s body, the horse taking the squeeze as a cue to move faster.
The faster rhythm of hoof-beats rocks them together, Merlin groaning and pushing his hips back against Arthur’s aching arousal, the relief of the hard pressure short-lived as Merlin slides forward, up into the tight sheath of his fist and then back again.
Merlin pulls away from their kiss, head thrown back on Arthur’s shoulder, moaning and gasping as he lifts his hand, threads his fingers into Arthur’s hair and shifts back, this time holding still and hard against Arthur’s straining cock.
He wants to bend Merlin forward, watch as Merlin’s fingers twist into the horse’s main and jerk his trousers down, slip his thick, aching arousal into Merlin’s arse and fuck him right there in the saddle, the leather hard and smooth beneath their spread legs.
It’s what he sees when he closes his eyes and strokes Merlin hard, fast, moaning as he sucks his fingers and shoves his hand down between their tightly-pressed bodies and into Merlin’s trousers, fingers slipping, pressing, curling up and inside Merlin’s hot, tight entrance.
“Oh, God,” Merlin breathes, rocking his hips. “I can’t believe… God. More.”
Arthur gives it to him, tighter, harder, deeper, turning his head to whisper into Merlin’s ear. “Fuck yourself,” he breathes and Merlin obeys, gently rocking back onto his fingers and up through his fist. “Harder,” he order desperately, biting Merlin’s jaw, moaning as Merlin’s mouth turns to meet his.
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branchandroot
Re: Riding double on Hengroen makes them do it! (nc17) Part 1/3
Date: 2011-03-04 07:20 pm (UTC)“Four,” Arthur answers, his voice a broken whisper. “If Hengroen wasn’t already exhausted and so damned skittish in storms, we’d be in Camelot already,” he says, knowing Merlin will understand his meaning. In Camelot, in Arthur’s rooms, in his bed.
Merlin covers the hand on his hip and guides it down between his legs, head thrown back on Arthur’s should, lips parting as he draws in a shuddering breath. “Touch me,” he breathes, one hand reaching back, squeezing Arthur’s buttock, pulling him closer.
“Now?” he whispers, hips shifting against Merlin’s involuntarily.
“Please?” Long, thin fingers curl around his own, drawing his hand up and down over Merlin’s arousal, then up under the worn blue tunic and across his chest, Arthur’s nipples tightening in sympathy as he rubs his thumb hard over Merlin’s.
Merlin’s lips are warm and wet against his neck, working along his jaw, his earlobe, craning to meet his as Arthur growls low in his throat and takes Merlin’s mouth, unable to stop or care if they’re seen.
The wind is like another set of hands, working in under their cuffs and collars, combing through their hair and sucking their panting breaths away.
He rakes his fingernails down Merlin’s chest and stomach, jerking the laces of his trousers open and dipping inside to pull Merlin free. Arthur fists him tightly, swallowing Merlin’s gasp and tightening his thighs around Hengroen’s body, the horse taking the squeeze as a cue to move faster.
The faster rhythm of hoof-beats rocks them together, Merlin groaning and pushing his hips back against Arthur’s aching arousal, the relief of the hard pressure short-lived as Merlin slides forward, up into the tight sheath of his fist and then back again.
Merlin pulls away from their kiss, head thrown back on Arthur’s shoulder, moaning and gasping as he lifts his hand, threads his fingers into Arthur’s hair and shifts back, this time holding still and hard against Arthur’s straining cock.
He wants to bend Merlin forward, watch as Merlin’s fingers twist into the horse’s main and jerk his trousers down, slip his thick, aching arousal into Merlin’s arse and fuck him right there in the saddle, the leather hard and smooth beneath their spread legs.
It’s what he sees when he closes his eyes and strokes Merlin hard, fast, moaning as he sucks his fingers and shoves his hand down between their tightly-pressed bodies and into Merlin’s trousers, fingers slipping, pressing, curling up and inside Merlin’s hot, tight entrance.
“Oh, God,” Merlin breathes, rocking his hips. “I can’t believe… God. More.”
Arthur gives it to him, tighter, harder, deeper, turning his head to whisper into Merlin’s ear. “Fuck yourself,” he breathes and Merlin obeys, gently rocking back onto his fingers and up through his fist. “Harder,” he order desperately, biting Merlin’s jaw, moaning as Merlin’s mouth turns to meet his.