Title: Not In The Job Description
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: Sort of dub-con (but not really because they both do want it), slash, explicit sex, UMTDI (Uther made them do it)
Summary: “It takes even longer to realise that this is Uther’s round about way of ordering him to let Arthur fuck him, instead of impregnating a slew of young maidservants.”

Not In The Job Description

Merlin has been Arthur’s servant for two weeks when he recieves the summons. He walks to Uther’s chambers with heavy feet, fear clenching in his chest and the swing of the executioner’s axe keeping time with his steps. So when he walks in, and it is just him and an almost not unpleasant Uther, he relaxes and feels like he’s dodged the blade.

Then Uther starts talking. He spends so long telling Merlin about the unplanned, unwed mothers among the servants in his father’s day, tells him about ordering around a young servant, then finding out the boy was actually his half-brother. Tells him about his grandfather, adn his grandfather before him. Then, incongrously, he tells Merlin about his own manservant, a pleasant sort apparently, who didn’t cause Uther any trouble at all.

It takes Merlin probably longer than it should to realise that what Uther means is the manservant didn’t get pregnant. Being a man.

It takes even longer to realise that this is Uther’s round about way of ordering him to let Arthur fuck him, instead of impregnating a slew of young maidservants.

*~*~*~*~*

Merlin tries to put the conversation behind him, forget about it and move on. It works as well, for two whole days, before Arthur comes storming in, more furious than he’s ever seen him.

“My father – my father has just ordered me not to sleep with the maidservants!” He steams at Merlin, who feels his heart sinking. “As if I’m that crass! Tells me he doesn’t want the line of succession clouded by bastard half-children running around!”

“Well, Sir…” Merlin starts, then trails off in the face of Arthur’s indignation and his own embarrasement.

“I don’t even get to have much sex anyway, and I’ve certainly not gone all the way with them, but now if I’m even found so much as flirting with one my father will have my head!”

“Um… I suppose you could find someone who won’t get pregnant…” Merlin tries. “Like… a man, or something.”

Arthur snorts and says “What, like you?” With such derision that Merlin feels a heady moment of relief that obviously, Arthur isn’t going there. Followed by crushing terror, because Uther ordered him to… and if he doesn’t try… and if Arthur somehow gets one of the girls pregnant anyway…

Apparently, Arthur manages to mistake Merlin’s blind panic for some kind of veiled confession of lust, because he smirks and preens.

“Well, of course you would want to. Look at me, who wouldn’t? Hmm, I suppose it would be more convenient. Okay then. Come here, Merlin.”

And that’s how Merlin ends up sucking someone’s cock the first time. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not horrible, either. Neither is the second, or the third, and he starts to think maybe he can get used to this, or at least not hate it, like helping Arthur dress – it seemed monumental and horrible to start with, but now it’s just another chore. Sometimes it can even be a little fun.

That, of course, is when Arthur starts getting bored, and thinking of other things. Which inevitably leads him to remember overheard conversations about the things two men might do together, and to start looking at Merlin like his mouth isn’t where he want to put his cock any more, after all.

Chapter Two

Merlin rushes to Gaius’ rooms in a blind panic – not because he expects Gaius to help or even wants to mention this to him, but he has books. Anatomy books, potions books, and Merlin is torn between the two for an embarrassingly long time, wondering if he should be researching what Arthur wants to do to him or potions to make sure he can’t.

When Merlin finally settles on the anatomy books, and reads up on the subject, he turns reflexively to the potions books in visceral horror. It flips, comfortingly, to a thick potion’s base that, considering what he’s just read, sounds like it would work well for lubricant. It’s not what he wants at all, what he wants is to go back to the days when he didn’t have to think about sex, or about sucking his Prince off every evening, or about being beheaded because Arthur got a Maid pregnant. But this is what he has now, and if he’s supposed to fill this great destiny, if he’s supposed to help the Prince become the King he can see sometimes, deep inside, then he’s going to have to deal with this.

First, he thinks, practice will probably help. And lots of that potion.

It doesn’t work, the practicing, it just leaves him feeling even more confused and worried and vaguely nauseous, the smooth, thin candle he’d used (because whether fingers were suggested or not, he’s not putting them there when he has to eat with them) refusing to go in at all.

He shrugs it off, reminds himself that Arthur is a good man, really, isn’t going to force Merlin or hurt him, and delivers dinner. He sits, ties not to fidget, while Arthur eats his meal. Merlin wouldn’t be able to eat until after Arthur dismissed him, and while normally he let Merlin go to his own meal when he was eating alone in his room, today Arthur had told him to stay. So Merlin stayed, and tried to ignore the jealous hunger twisting his insides when he looked at Arthur’s plate.

Arthur finished his meal with a satisfied burp, and pushed the tray away, summoning Merlin to his side with an indolent “come here, Merlin”. Merlin came obediently, and knelt with an outward sigh and inward relief when directed. He opened Arthur’s trousers with the dexterity of long practice and opened them just far enough to free his erection, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking in the way he knew Arthur enjoyed the most. He stroked the base while he did so, warming the Prince up rather than rushing him to orgasm.

Arthur gave every appearance of enjoyment, moaning and twisting his hands in Merlin’s hair in a way that made him flinch. It was this, more than anything, that threw Merlin off so badly that Arthur had pulled away and pushed him onto the bed before he’d realised what was happening. His trousers were stripped off him quickly, and despite his flailing struggles Arthur had him flipped face-down on the bed in mere moments. He sighed in annoyance, gripping the pillow in tight fists (secretly hoping to tear it, serves Arthur right) and tried to steel himself for what was coming.

He saw Arthur reach for the dinner tray from the corner of his eye, imagined for a panicked second the silverwear still on the tray, and blew out a relieved breath when Arthur grabbed the last of the butter pat. It was a horrendous waste, but Arthur obviously hadn’t thought of the potions and Merlin didn’t think this was the best time to try to stop proceedings and fetch it. Instead he wiggled himself into a more comfortable position, and settled down as best he could.

When the first slimy, probing touch came, Merlin had another bout of panic. He wanted to say no, wanted to pull away, tell Arthur that he’d only been doing this because Uther ordered him to and he didn’t want to do this. But he couldn’t. Telling Arthur that Uther had ordered him to service him would be awful, Arthur didn’t deserve that, and while Merlin liked to complain internally about the things he did with Arthur, the truth was that he did them for his Prince, not his King, and he’d come to enjoy it. Especially when Arthur had realised that a little mutual frottage went a long way for his manservant’s mood.

He still couldn’t help but tense up, teeth clenching tightly on the word ‘no’ when he felt his body being breached for the first time. Surprisingly, Arthur was using his fingers, and Merlin wondered momentarily if he’d been reading the same nightmare-inducing texts that Merlin had, which went very lightly on details of why men did this, and focused more on what could go wrong. One finger slid into him with shocking ease, like nothing he’d ever felt before, a little uncomfortable but not really painful, a bit odd. Arthur, clearly in a bit of a rush, pushed another one in almost immediately, and this one did bring a sliver of pain with it. Merlin winced, clenched automatically. He and Arthur shared a shocked hiss, Arthur in pleasure and Merlin in surprise.

Another finger hastily joined the first two, stretching him too fast and too quickly and Merlin didn’t think he was ready, didn’t think he could do this, but they were already pulling back out. A slow surge inward, sliding with a little rough friction. This time the withdrawal was complete, and Merlin relaxed from the tension that had been mounting with the intrusion, listening absently to the sound behind him but not registering them until another hand grasped his backside, parting him to Arthur’s cock this time.

He bit his lip then, when he felt skin break, the pillow, as Arthur pushed in. Like the candle, it was hard to force his erection inside, but this time, unlike the candle, Arthur had leverage and determination, and first the bulbous head, then the rest of him, pushed inexorably inward.

The first thrust was agony, sharp as glass and breathtaking, Merlin’s body completely unprepared for what was happening to it. The second was less of a shock, but then Arthur pushed his hips up and the next thrust pushed into unexplored areas. Another thrust, another shift of position, and another. Merlin felt a shiver of pleasure this time, something sweeter in the dull pain and lingering surprise. The next shift moved away from the pleasure, and he pushed his own hips back, changing position and unaware of how eager it made him look. He groaned when the pleasure came back, harder this time, and pushed back when Arthur pulled away to get more of it. He moaned loudly and breathlessly when Arthur pushed back in, held position and rotated his hips in a slow, teasing grind. It felt so good, better than anything he’d done before, and more frustrating because Arthur was moving away again but then he came back, a little harder which was oddly better, and before he knew it he was asking for harder, faster, more pressure on that area inside him. More and more and more….

Afterwards, in a sticky and slightly embarrassed heap on a mound of feathers and torn cloth, Merlin turned to face Arthur. The other man looked happier than he’d ever seen him, the slight tension that lingered around his mouth and forehead gone for now. He smiled, goofy and a little stupid, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.

This service, at least, he was going to enjoy.

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