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Life, Written and Illustrated By...

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Merlin woke to Arthur’s kisses, the light press and retreat of lips with the occasional rasp of stubble tickling the sensitive skin of his neck as Arthur’s tongue snaked out to trace the bold lines of tattoo that graced the skin. Arthur’s right leg shifted beneath the blankets, his knee pressing into the back of Merlin’s own and nudging until Arthur’s leg lay between Merlin’s splayed thighs. The sure, unrelenting drive of two fingers into his hole was not unexpected, nor the harsh bite delivered to the base of his neck, the hot suction that followed causing Merlin’s eyes to roll back. His cry was more than enough to alert Arthur to Merlin’s consciousness.

“Why here?” Arthur queried, mouth gone soft, as he slowly twisted his fingers inside Merlin, chest squeezing tight with possession at the feel of his own come keeping Merlin slick and ready. Despite being hoarse with sleep Arthur’s words rang loud in the early-morning quiet; he’d never learnt volume control, too used to his every word being an order, a command.

Merlin pulled his right hand from where it had spent the night tucked under his pillow and reached down to hold himself open whilst his left fisted in the pillowcase.

“I tried walking away once.” The absent nuzzling on his neck ceased as Arthur tightened his grip, buried fingers stilling, as if worried he might try again, that Arthur might get left behind to suffer the loneliness that Merlin had endured. He moved to withdraw from Merlin before finding his wrist encased by Merlin’s fingers, gently pressing Arthur’s fingers back inside.

“I tried. I left Camelot,” he’d never returned from the lake, “left England, Europe even.” Merlin focused on the digital clock upon his bedside table and watched the display change, a faulty LED causing time to reverse as the seven became a six again and then a nine. He could have fixed it, but he enjoyed how irritated it made Arthur, keen to hear him rant about something inconsequential once again. Too many years without it had hollowed him.

“But you can see how well that went.”

Arthur could never understand what Merlin had lived through; the isolation and self-loathing, the centuries of despair. And cruel, vicious hope that came hand-in-hand with watching the world blaze in fire and blood and death while furtively hoping that this was enough destruction to bring Arthur back.

“But I couldn’t. I couldn’t walk away, not from you. So I stopped trying.”

“And got this,” Arthur nudged the illustrated skin with his nose, revelling in the shudder it elicited.

“Not for some centuries, but yeah.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Merlin scoffed, “Because it’s your crest?”

“Because it’s ours.” Arthur rewarded Merlin with a third finger, even though the disrespectful bugger didn’t deserve one, pushing his lover further onto his belly so he could rut against him, teasing them both with the feel of his cock dragging slick trails across Merlin’s lower back. “The Chief of Dragons and the Dragon Lord.”

“Does that mean I can command you?” came the cheeky retort.

‘Yes, yes’. “You can try.” Arthur bit down again, sending another delicious wave of heat and electricity down Merlin’s spine, pooling at his hips and making his body quake.

“You really like that don’t you?” Arthur breathed into Merlin’s ear before suckling the fleshy lobe into his mouth.

Merlin hadn’t known just how sensitive the base of his neck was until the tattoo artist had begun his work; the touch of the needle had been like hooking himself into an electrical outlet. Which he’d accidently done once and did not recommend. He hadn’t even needed to ask Arthur to bite him there when his king had returned; Arthur had mounted him like a dog, fervent hands hauling him to all fours and spreading his ass and that long-missed cock splitting him wide had had him unable to hold his head up. Arthur had blanketed his back, and sunk his teeth into the swell of vertebrae and skin and ink. Merlin had grunted, come and collapsed onto the bed all at roughly the same time. Later Arthur would smugly claim he’d blacked out from the pleasure but only to cover how terrified he’d been until he’d realised that Merlin’s reaction was one of extreme pleasure.

“But why there?”

Merlin waited as Arthur removed his fingers, cock nudging impatient at Merlin’s hole and as Arthur shifted to slide home, he answered,

“It was the last place you ever touched me.”