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Entry tags:
Merlin; Arthur/Merlin
Title: The Green Man: Jack of the Green (3/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: Takes place immediately following The Hunter. Arthur and Merlin are in their late teens.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3:
Last Time:
When Arthur woke again, he was warm and naked, curled in a soft nest of furs and lightly tickling feathers. He stirred sleepily, half sitting and looking about. The forest was green and gold all around him, and it took a few moments for him to realize that he was up in a tree. His perch was a well constructed nest woven of living branches, and he looked about in amazement. Skin bags and raffia baskets hung from the branches all around him, bunches of herbs drying overhead. There was a slight rustling, and the wild boy appeared, a brace of coneys over his shoulder.
"Do you have a name?" Arthur asked, and the wild boy smiled at him, an expression that transformed his face into something almost, but not quite, friendly.
"I am Merlin," the wild boy said, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back.
"I am Arthur Pendragon," he said. "Thank you. You saved my life." Merlin smiled more softly, cheeks spotting with high color.
"You're welcome," Merlin said, then looked up through his dark lashes. Slowly Merlin reached out, and Arthur held perfectly still. Merlin's hand swept down the side of his face, then cupped his chin, pulling him forward. They kissed roughly, no finesse at all, and Arthur groaned, because he had never even contemplated the idea of kissing another man on the mouth, but it was wonderful, perfect, and Merlin's tongue was sweeping along the seam of his lips, urging him to open.
Arthur groaned, acquiescing, and Merlin's tongue was mapping every corner of his mouth, tasting him, memorizing him. Merlin's physicality, his presence, were overwhelming, and Arthur didn't even try to fight. He let Merlin press him back into the nest of furs, until Merlin was kneeling between his thighs. The brush of Merlin's hide kilt against his cock made Arthur gasp, and then he was hitching his hips up eagerly, Merlin's slender, capable hands cupping his ass. Arthur whimpered as the slick head of Merlin's cock pressed against his entrance. Sudden knowledge of what would come next nearly froze Arthur in place, and then he was pushing Merlin away, pulling free of the wild boy.
"No," Arthur breathed, and Merlin cocked his head, that same inhuman motion.
"Why?" Merlin asked, and Arthur could see the honest confusion on his face.
"I don't know you," Arthur said rather stiffly, cupping his hands over his groin. "I've only just met you". Merlin's dark eyebrows furrowed deeply.
"So?" Merlin asked, and Arthur sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "You can stick yours in me," Merlin proposed a moment later, a teasing little smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Arthur just stared, a bit dazed, as Merlin skinned off his kilt and spread his slender thighs, exposing himself shamelessly. The wild boy was all elbows and knees, strawberry and cream skin rubbed brown with dirt and glistening with sweat. Arthur could see every bit of Merlin, from the silvery scars that traced weblike over his whole body to the glistening purple cock between his legs.
Arthur felt arousal tighten in his gut as he looked over Merlin. The dappled summer sunlight cast Merlin in gold, picked little specks of amber out in his stormy blue-grey eyes. Almost without thinking on it Arthur reached down to rub himself. The motion earned him a toothy, slightly vicious smile from Merlin, and Arthur's brain snapped off. He grabbed Merlin and fit their hips together before he even realized he was moving. Merlin's grin widened, and he ground back against Arthur eagerly, shameless in his hedonistic enjoyment. Arthur groaned tightly, hands slipping over Merlin's hips, cupping his ass, searching for his tight entrance. Not knowing any better, Arthur forced the head of his cock into Merlin without any preparation, making the dark haired boy hiss and writhe in pain. Arthur growled softly in response, catching Merlin's flailing arms by the wrist and pinning them to the branches of the tree.
Curling over Merlin to hold his wrists pinned next to his head, Arthur rutted into the other boy roughly. Merlin thrashed under him, growling and snapping like the wild thing he was, dark hair flying around his flushed face. Slowly, as Arthur pounded into him, Merlin's motions changed from struggling for escape to meeting every thrust; his vocalizations changed from angry cries and growls to whimpers and mewls of pleasure. Merlin's screwed closed eyes opened, and Arthur gasped softly in surprise. The sliver of iris visible around Merlin's blown pupils sparked the gold of new minted coins.
Merlin lunged up, kissing and biting at Arthur's mouth, drawing blood, and Arthur began to move again, pounding deep and hard into the other boy. It was a rough, violent fucking, and it was over very quickly, Arthur gasping wordlessly as he poured himself into Merlin, hips stuttering forward. Merlin mewled as he was filled, arching up and baring his neck in submission, then reaching down to roughly jerk himself to hissing, spitting completion.
They collapsed together into a sweaty, stinking tangle of limbs, sated. Arthur dozed lightly, curled against Merlin in the treetop nest. He woke a while later at the death scream of a rabbit, jerking hurriedly awake at the strangled call. He was once more alone in the nest, but when he peered over the side, he saw Merlin at the foot of the tree, using that long bone knife to skin the rabbit. Blood stained Merlin's face and hands, and Arthur felt arousal tighten in his gut.
Carefully he picked his way out of the nest and down the tree to where Merlin crouched. The other rabbits were already skinned, their hides stretched over lashed together frames and scraped clean. Merlin had left the meat on the bones of the rabbits, just cut the corpses into joints and laid them on fresh grape leaves. For a few moments, Arthur just watched the deft motions of Merlin's slender fingers, then reached for the meat, meaning to take it and start a cooking fire. Merlin's hand moved without the dark haired boy even sparing Arthur a glance, and Arthur screamed in shock and pain as the bloody bone blade slammed through his hand, pinning it to the roots of the tree.
"Mine," Merlin said simply, and Arthur nodded, dazed, staring at his hand where the blade split his flesh. Merlin used a steel knife to finish his task, then left Arthur there, wandering a few feet away to a dusty pit. Arthur watched, holding as still as possible to avoid jarring his hand, as Merlin carefully built a little mound of tinder, then held his hand over it. Arthur didn't see his lips move, and he had always been under the impression that you needed some sort of incantation to do magic. What Merlin did was definitely magic though, because he had set light to the sparse fuel without a fire bow or flint. The wild boy carefully built up the fire, then let it settle into a healthy pile of coals before setting the leaf wrapped coney into it.
Satisfied that their supper was cooking properly, Merlin came back to Arthur and jerked the blade free. Arthur just barely managed to hold in another scream of pain. He lifted his hand automatically, cradling it to his chest like a wounded bird. Merlin gave a soft snort of exasperation, then grabbed the injured appendage and dragged Arthur, wincing, closer to the fire.
"Stay," Merlin said simply, and Arthur nodded, again cradling the hand to his chest. He had received far worse wounds on the practice fields, but it was one thing to get hurt while training, when he half expected it, and quite another to have some bloke you had just fucked stab you through the hand with a deer's antler.
Merlin returned fairly shortly with a pair of smooth stones and a handful of leaves. One of the stones was worn down into something slightly bowl shaped, the other shaped rather like an egg. The scent of fresh herbs cut through the smoke and blood, and Arthur watched as Merlin mashed the leaves between the two stones. The mixture smelled pungent, astringent and sharp, and when Merlin imperiously held out his hand, Arthur only hesitated a moment before offering his. The green paste stung slightly as Merlin smeared it over the open wound, and then the poultice was covered by fresh leaves and bound with sinews and strips of soft rabbit hide. Arthur wiggled his fingers experimentally, and found that his hand was already numb. Whatever Merlin had put in that paste, it worked quite nicely.
For the next few days, Arthur lived like Merlin, like a wild man of the woods. They ran naked beneath the trees, hunting and fishing and rooting for their meals. Arthur was often hungry, but he had more than enough fun to make up for it. And every night, and often times in between, he and Merlin rutted against one another, twining together like minks, bringing one another to panting, shaking completion. When his hand healed though, Arthur knew he would have to go soon. One morning he woke alone in their sunny tree top nest, his clothes spread on the furs next to him. It was time to go. He dressed slowly, hand only a little stiff, and when he climbed down, his horse was tied to the lower branches of a nearby tree, packets of dried berries and smoked coney wrapped in fresh leaves and packed into his saddle bags. He rode away slowly, looking back every few paces. He didn't see Merlin, but he could feel those storm grey eyes on his back.
Part Four: The Horned God
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur x Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Merlin is the property of the BBC. The author in no way profits from this fiction.
Summary: AU - In the legends, Merlin is always a boy without a father. He's also the wild man of the woods. What if his mother died when he was just a boy and he raised himself, half feral in the forest?
Notes: Takes place immediately following The Hunter. Arthur and Merlin are in their late teens.
Part 1: The Wild Boy
Part 2: The Hunter
Part 3:
Last Time:
"Rest," the wild boy ordered, and Arthur could not resist the command. For a moment he was surprised at how very tired he was, but then he was slumping back to the forest floor, limbs limp with drugged sleep. The wild boy stood gracefully, eyes luminous in the fire-lit clearing. A soft call, and a massive buck slipped into the clearing. The boy rubbed at the stag's nose, then bent, shouldering the weight of his golden haired guest. He eased the Prince across the withers of the stag, then mounted and let the buck carry them out of the clearing.
When Arthur woke again, he was warm and naked, curled in a soft nest of furs and lightly tickling feathers. He stirred sleepily, half sitting and looking about. The forest was green and gold all around him, and it took a few moments for him to realize that he was up in a tree. His perch was a well constructed nest woven of living branches, and he looked about in amazement. Skin bags and raffia baskets hung from the branches all around him, bunches of herbs drying overhead. There was a slight rustling, and the wild boy appeared, a brace of coneys over his shoulder.
"Do you have a name?" Arthur asked, and the wild boy smiled at him, an expression that transformed his face into something almost, but not quite, friendly.
"I am Merlin," the wild boy said, and Arthur couldn't help but smile back.
"I am Arthur Pendragon," he said. "Thank you. You saved my life." Merlin smiled more softly, cheeks spotting with high color.
"You're welcome," Merlin said, then looked up through his dark lashes. Slowly Merlin reached out, and Arthur held perfectly still. Merlin's hand swept down the side of his face, then cupped his chin, pulling him forward. They kissed roughly, no finesse at all, and Arthur groaned, because he had never even contemplated the idea of kissing another man on the mouth, but it was wonderful, perfect, and Merlin's tongue was sweeping along the seam of his lips, urging him to open.
Arthur groaned, acquiescing, and Merlin's tongue was mapping every corner of his mouth, tasting him, memorizing him. Merlin's physicality, his presence, were overwhelming, and Arthur didn't even try to fight. He let Merlin press him back into the nest of furs, until Merlin was kneeling between his thighs. The brush of Merlin's hide kilt against his cock made Arthur gasp, and then he was hitching his hips up eagerly, Merlin's slender, capable hands cupping his ass. Arthur whimpered as the slick head of Merlin's cock pressed against his entrance. Sudden knowledge of what would come next nearly froze Arthur in place, and then he was pushing Merlin away, pulling free of the wild boy.
"No," Arthur breathed, and Merlin cocked his head, that same inhuman motion.
"Why?" Merlin asked, and Arthur could see the honest confusion on his face.
"I don't know you," Arthur said rather stiffly, cupping his hands over his groin. "I've only just met you". Merlin's dark eyebrows furrowed deeply.
"So?" Merlin asked, and Arthur sighed and scrubbed his hand through his hair. "You can stick yours in me," Merlin proposed a moment later, a teasing little smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Arthur just stared, a bit dazed, as Merlin skinned off his kilt and spread his slender thighs, exposing himself shamelessly. The wild boy was all elbows and knees, strawberry and cream skin rubbed brown with dirt and glistening with sweat. Arthur could see every bit of Merlin, from the silvery scars that traced weblike over his whole body to the glistening purple cock between his legs.
Arthur felt arousal tighten in his gut as he looked over Merlin. The dappled summer sunlight cast Merlin in gold, picked little specks of amber out in his stormy blue-grey eyes. Almost without thinking on it Arthur reached down to rub himself. The motion earned him a toothy, slightly vicious smile from Merlin, and Arthur's brain snapped off. He grabbed Merlin and fit their hips together before he even realized he was moving. Merlin's grin widened, and he ground back against Arthur eagerly, shameless in his hedonistic enjoyment. Arthur groaned tightly, hands slipping over Merlin's hips, cupping his ass, searching for his tight entrance. Not knowing any better, Arthur forced the head of his cock into Merlin without any preparation, making the dark haired boy hiss and writhe in pain. Arthur growled softly in response, catching Merlin's flailing arms by the wrist and pinning them to the branches of the tree.
Curling over Merlin to hold his wrists pinned next to his head, Arthur rutted into the other boy roughly. Merlin thrashed under him, growling and snapping like the wild thing he was, dark hair flying around his flushed face. Slowly, as Arthur pounded into him, Merlin's motions changed from struggling for escape to meeting every thrust; his vocalizations changed from angry cries and growls to whimpers and mewls of pleasure. Merlin's screwed closed eyes opened, and Arthur gasped softly in surprise. The sliver of iris visible around Merlin's blown pupils sparked the gold of new minted coins.
Merlin lunged up, kissing and biting at Arthur's mouth, drawing blood, and Arthur began to move again, pounding deep and hard into the other boy. It was a rough, violent fucking, and it was over very quickly, Arthur gasping wordlessly as he poured himself into Merlin, hips stuttering forward. Merlin mewled as he was filled, arching up and baring his neck in submission, then reaching down to roughly jerk himself to hissing, spitting completion.
They collapsed together into a sweaty, stinking tangle of limbs, sated. Arthur dozed lightly, curled against Merlin in the treetop nest. He woke a while later at the death scream of a rabbit, jerking hurriedly awake at the strangled call. He was once more alone in the nest, but when he peered over the side, he saw Merlin at the foot of the tree, using that long bone knife to skin the rabbit. Blood stained Merlin's face and hands, and Arthur felt arousal tighten in his gut.
Carefully he picked his way out of the nest and down the tree to where Merlin crouched. The other rabbits were already skinned, their hides stretched over lashed together frames and scraped clean. Merlin had left the meat on the bones of the rabbits, just cut the corpses into joints and laid them on fresh grape leaves. For a few moments, Arthur just watched the deft motions of Merlin's slender fingers, then reached for the meat, meaning to take it and start a cooking fire. Merlin's hand moved without the dark haired boy even sparing Arthur a glance, and Arthur screamed in shock and pain as the bloody bone blade slammed through his hand, pinning it to the roots of the tree.
"Mine," Merlin said simply, and Arthur nodded, dazed, staring at his hand where the blade split his flesh. Merlin used a steel knife to finish his task, then left Arthur there, wandering a few feet away to a dusty pit. Arthur watched, holding as still as possible to avoid jarring his hand, as Merlin carefully built a little mound of tinder, then held his hand over it. Arthur didn't see his lips move, and he had always been under the impression that you needed some sort of incantation to do magic. What Merlin did was definitely magic though, because he had set light to the sparse fuel without a fire bow or flint. The wild boy carefully built up the fire, then let it settle into a healthy pile of coals before setting the leaf wrapped coney into it.
Satisfied that their supper was cooking properly, Merlin came back to Arthur and jerked the blade free. Arthur just barely managed to hold in another scream of pain. He lifted his hand automatically, cradling it to his chest like a wounded bird. Merlin gave a soft snort of exasperation, then grabbed the injured appendage and dragged Arthur, wincing, closer to the fire.
"Stay," Merlin said simply, and Arthur nodded, again cradling the hand to his chest. He had received far worse wounds on the practice fields, but it was one thing to get hurt while training, when he half expected it, and quite another to have some bloke you had just fucked stab you through the hand with a deer's antler.
Merlin returned fairly shortly with a pair of smooth stones and a handful of leaves. One of the stones was worn down into something slightly bowl shaped, the other shaped rather like an egg. The scent of fresh herbs cut through the smoke and blood, and Arthur watched as Merlin mashed the leaves between the two stones. The mixture smelled pungent, astringent and sharp, and when Merlin imperiously held out his hand, Arthur only hesitated a moment before offering his. The green paste stung slightly as Merlin smeared it over the open wound, and then the poultice was covered by fresh leaves and bound with sinews and strips of soft rabbit hide. Arthur wiggled his fingers experimentally, and found that his hand was already numb. Whatever Merlin had put in that paste, it worked quite nicely.
For the next few days, Arthur lived like Merlin, like a wild man of the woods. They ran naked beneath the trees, hunting and fishing and rooting for their meals. Arthur was often hungry, but he had more than enough fun to make up for it. And every night, and often times in between, he and Merlin rutted against one another, twining together like minks, bringing one another to panting, shaking completion. When his hand healed though, Arthur knew he would have to go soon. One morning he woke alone in their sunny tree top nest, his clothes spread on the furs next to him. It was time to go. He dressed slowly, hand only a little stiff, and when he climbed down, his horse was tied to the lower branches of a nearby tree, packets of dried berries and smoked coney wrapped in fresh leaves and packed into his saddle bags. He rode away slowly, looking back every few paces. He didn't see Merlin, but he could feel those storm grey eyes on his back.
Part Four: The Horned God