leashy_bebes | fic: Breathe the Pressure (1/1)

Title: Breathe the Pressure
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Percival (mentions of Merlin/Gwaine, Merlin/Will, Merlin/Other)
Summary: Merlin has certain needs, and thankfully Percival's needs are complementary.
Word Count: ~4900
Warnings/Notes: Repost from KMM. Rough oral sex, gagging, breathplay, reference to facial/come play, a little dirty talk.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit etc etc.

Merlin's in the armoury, putting the sharp edge back on Arthur's sword when Percival finds him. Merlin doesn't notice until Percival's right at his shoulder, and then the clearing of his throat makes Merlin jump, the sword clattering against the whetstone.

"Sorry," Percival says, squeezing Merlin's shoulder briefly. "Did I scare you?"

"No, it's fine," Merlin says, craning his neck to smile up at him.

Percival sits at the bench with Merlin, careful not to block his light, and Merlin takes up his task again.

"How's Arthur?" Percival asks after a moment.

Merlin pauses again and glances up at him. He likes Percival. Likes that he cares enough about Arthur to ask. Likes that total silence is possible when he's around, because Percival doesn't feel the need to talk when he has nothing to say. Likes the way that sometimes Percival's eyes linger on his mouth, the same way that they're focused on his hands right now.

"Very busy. Still a prat. But he's alright."

Percival nods. "He always seems – distant, during training. I don't know. Tired."

"That's just his way," Merlin says with a shrug. He trusts Percival instinctively, and only partly because Lancelot holds him in such regard. There's just something about the man which feels...reliable. Dependable. But still, Arthur's confidences aren't his to share so Merlin just says, "He's lucky to have you. All of you."

Percival shoots him an oddly shy smile and after a moment asks, "What about you?"

"Me? Oh, he's extremely lucky to have me."

"No – well, yes, but I meant how are you?"

Merlin's touched that he would ask, and he smiles at Percival again. "Well, you know. When Arthur's busy I'm busy. But I'm alright."

Percival nods, and Merlin returns to sharpening the blade. He can feel Percival watching him for a long, silent moment before he takes his leave. He squeezes Merlin's shoulder again as he goes, his hand large and hot through his shirt. He hopes Percival doesn't feel his little shiver.

***

Merlin's not an idiot, and he's learned to recognise the signs of interest, learned too how to draw the interest out. So he shoots Percival his best come-hither looks, and makes sure to wet his lips when they speak, storing up the little thrills at the way Percival tracks the movement.

He also blushes furiously when Gwaine corners him one day and says, "Percival, eh?"

Merlin splutters for words, not sure whether he should be apologising or not. Gwaine waves him off and says, "Good luck to you. I've bathed with him on patrols, you know. You're a brave man, my friend."

Merlin swallows hard and Gwaine laughs at the expression on his face and claps him on the shoulder before striding off. Merlin can't laughing, shaking his head. With Gwaine, those few times, there was too much fun to it, none of the flickering edge of danger that makes Merlin so senseless with lust. Gwaine was all dares – how long can you hold your breath, sweetheart? How quick can you get me off? – but he is too laid-back for Merlin, and Merlin's needs are too sharp-edged for him. They are better as friends, the best of friends.

And of course, the other thing he hadn't considered is that with Gwaine on your side, any battle is a little easier to win. That's probably why he keeps finding himself pushed towards Percival whenever the knights have had more than a couple of drinks. Not that he's complaining, of course. Except Percival seems to have the patience and self-control of a saint because it takes a long time for him to respond.

When he does, it's not what Merlin would have expected. With Percival's reticence he'd been anticipating having to coax him into it, guide him through it. He'd wondered if Percival was maybe a little shy.

And then outside a tavern after a patrol, Percival appears from the shadows and takes Merlin by the arm. Merlin's had a drink or two and he isn't expecting it – only stepped out to take a piss – so he doesn't even think to draw breath before Percival's pulled him down the little path and pressed a thick forearm across the top of Merlin's chest, bearing him back against the wall of the tavern.

Merlin finds himself pinned easily, a little shiver of anticipation passing through him, making Percival's eyes darken where he looks down at Merlin.

"You need to stop looking at me that way," he says, and lifts his free hand, touches his thumb to Merlin's mouth.

Merlin just barely conquers the urge to suck on it and he asks, "What way?"

Percival's lashes sweep down as he closes his eyes for a near-pained moment. "You know perfectly well what way."

"And if I don't stop?" Merlin asks boldly.

"Then," Percival says, "I'll take what you're offering and I don't know if you're really ready for that."

"I am," Merlin promises. "Ready and waiting."

"Do you think?" Percival asks. He touches two fingers to Merlin's mouth and Merlin doesn't have to resist this time, because the fingers push his lips apart and Merlin lets them into his mouth, takes them in to the knuckle, and sucks hard. Percival's breath shudders out. He fucks his fingers slowly in and out of Merlin's mouth, fighting against the hard suction he's applying.

"Fuck," Percival breathes, and he pulls his fingers free, replacing them with his lips, kissing Merlin hard. Percival's tongue sweeps into his mouth, possessing and demanding, fucking between his lips in a wet, teasing approximation of what they both want. Merlin clutches at his shoulders and takes it eagerly, answering Percival's tongue with his own.

The tavern door opens, spilling light and voices out onto the street and Merlin feels Percival stiffen a little and start to draw back. Merlin makes a softly protesting noise and reaches up to press his mouth to Percival's again. Now he's had one kiss, now he's licked the tang of sweat from Percival's thick, strong fingers, he wants more.

"No," Percival says, pushing him back. "Later. When the others have retired, meet me here."

Merlin nods and Percival steps back. "Go on," he says with a gentle push to Merlin's shoulder.

He stumbles off the path, a little dazed, and finds a place to relieve himself – even then, he has to take a few deep breaths and think unarousing thoughts before he can manage it. By the time he goes back into the tavern, Percival is already there, in earnest conversation with Lancelot.

Merlin takes his seat as unobtrusively as he can, hoping the anticipation isn't as clear on his face as he fears it probably is. He reaches for his ale and just at that moment Percival glances his way. Merlin feels it like a physical touch and promptly knocks over his ale, sending it slopping towards the map Leon and Arthur have unfurled on the table.

"Sorry, sorry!" he says, as Leon snatches up the map.

"Merlin!" Arthur snaps.

"Idiot, yes, I know," Merlin says.

Arthur looks him up and down and asks, "What is wrong with you?"

It's apparently a rhetorical question though, because Arthur turns back to his conversation with Leon. Merlin's relieved until he spots Gwaine looking at him quizzically. He drops his gaze and fiddles with a loose thread on his shirt. When he looks back up Gwaine is smiling knowingly into his mug of ale. He is far too perceptive for Merlin's peace of mind, damn him.

The night passes slowly, and Merlin squirms every time Percival's eyes meet his, every time Percival directs a secret smile into the depths of his mug. Merlin stares at the side of Arthur's head and wills him to feel tired.

***

Finally, finally, Arthur tells Merlin to go and prepare his room. It's the one private room in the place, complete with a little annex where Merlin intends to pass some of the night. When Percival is done with him, he thinks, and shivers. He hurries to make the bed ready, drags up enough hot water for Arthur to wash with, cold water in case he wakes up thirsty, bread and fruit in case he wakes up hungry – in short, everything he can think of that will mean Arthur has no cause to come looking for him.

When Arthur comes into the room he looks perturbed by Merlin's attention to detail, but he can't find anything to complain about. Merlin fidgets awkwardly through the process of readying Arthur for bed, and almost trips over his feet when Arthur pins him with a look and asks,

"Do you think I'm stupid, Merlin?"

"Uh - ? No?" Merlin suggests slowly.

"Do you think I don't know why you're so keen to leave?"

Oh, fuck, I hope not, Merlin thinks, sure that he's blushing furiously.

"I'm not blind, and I'm not deaf, whatever Gwaine thinks."

Wait, what, Gwaine?

Arthur laughs and shakes his head. "Go on," he says. "Off to your dice game, you degenerate. I won't be giving you a pay increase if you lose everything you have."

"Right," Merlin says. "Right, of course."

He stumbles out of the room, down the stairs and outside. The moon has risen, and the alley where they arranged to meet is bathed in silvery light. Merlin hangs back a little – they're strangers in this village, and he doesn't want to present an easy target. Well, not to the wrong person, anyway.

He's still loitering in the shadows when he hears footsteps behind him and turns to see Percival.

"Hi," he says, and he feels a bit breathless at Percival's small, private smile.

"This way," Percival whispers.

Merlin follows him into the little copse of trees near the road. They take a path and then step off it, Percival holding branches aside for him as they pick their way into a clearing. The trees loom tall around them, and moonlight falls in uneven patches on the ground.

"I found this place earlier," Percival says, sounding proud of himself.

Merlin remembers him disappearing earlier in the night, and he must have done it then, gone looking for a place where the two of them could enjoy some semblance of privacy. He steps closer to Percival and sets a hand on the man's broad chest, feeling the thump of his heart for a moment before he slides his hand up to Percival's shoulder and squeezes the hard muscle he finds there. Percival glances down at Merlin's fingers against the worn leather of his coat and Merlin sees him swallow, looking caught somewhere between anxious and aroused.

"What do you want?" Merlin asks, touching Percival's throat, his jaw. "It's okay, tell me."

"Your mouth. I want your mouth," Percival tells him, and his fingers brush Merlin's lips again. "So pretty."

Merlin swallows, moves his lips in a soft kiss against Percival's fingertips.

"You want that?" Percival asks, and it sounds tentative rather than teasing.

"Yes. Yes."

"Here," Percival says, and he strips off his leather surcoat, laying it on the ground in front of Merlin's feet.

"What – "

"Grass stains," Percival explains. "Don't want everyone knowing. ...Or do we?" he adds as Merlin blushes.

"Don't care," Merlin says, and he reaches a hand to rub at the hardening lump in Percival's breeches. Percival's hand lands on top of Merlin's, pressing it harder against his dick.

Merlin goes abruptly to his knees, cushioned by the thick leather, and presses kisses to the shape of Percival's dick through the rough cloth between them. Percival huffs out a breath and half-staggers backwards to lean against a tree. He pulls Merlin with him, the leather coat sliding along under his knees. Merlin reaches up further, tonguing the soft leather laces. He presses his hands to Percival's thighs – strong, hard – and tries as delicately as he can to untangle the knot with just his mouth. Percival lets him fumble for a moment, fingers running through Merlin's hair before he makes an impatient noise and tugs at his laces.

They both groan when Percival's still-mainly-soft dick is exposed to the night air. It's already thick, long, heavy sacs hanging down below. After he shoves them halfway down this thighs, Percival cups himself once and Merlin's mouth is almost watering for it, his breath speeding up.

"Come on," Percival says. "Get me hard."

Merlin groans and leans forward, nodding against Percival's hip.

"Come on," he insists, tipping Merlin's chin up.

Merlin laps at the base of Percival's cock, crisp dark curls rasping over his tongue while the taste of it fills his mouth, a burst of strong, perfect, male flavour. Percival's dick fills quickly under his lips, his tongue, and when it's standing fully erect, curving just slightly, Merlin sits back on his heels to look.

Gwaine was not wrong. Percival's dick is a mighty specimen, thick and long, dark with blood, the head plump and tempting, already slick. Merlin makes a soft noise of disbelief and Percival asks, his voice only slightly strained,

"Are you sure?"

He says it as though he's used to people backing out at this stage. It's the last thing on Merlin's mind. He nods and fits his lips around the head of Percival's dick, tonguing at his tight foreskin. Percival's hands clench into fists at his sides as Merlin takes him in deeper. It's a stretch already, and he can feel his head, his whole fucking body, buzzing with excitement. He wets the first few inches liberally, coating his lips with spit and bobbing his head in short, hard movements.

Percival curses and presses his fingers to Merlin's mouth, sliding one in alongside his cock. Merlin groans and tries to say yes, yes, fucking yes with just his eyes. He starts to take Percival deeper and oh, oh, this is going to be a challenge. He's never taken one this big, never even seen one this big, and he's already imagining gasping for air around the whole, perfect length of it. And Percival's huge hands are cradling his head easily now, one slipping down to stroke a thumb over his nape, oh yes, that is good.

Merlin has always loved this. It's his favourite thing to do in bed – or in the back room of a tavern, or on his knees in the shadows of the castle. It's a strange mix of powerlessness and omnipotence. Because he's never yet been with a man he couldn't reduce to a shuddering wreck with just his mouth. It's a thrill to rival magic when the hard length in his mouth hardens further, or when strong thighs tremble under his scrabbling fingers. And yet, strong hands in his hair, pulling him into it, making him take it... It makes his head spin every time, it's so good. Then there are wickedly, beautifully scary moments when it all goes a bit wrong and he has to pull back spluttering, only to gasp and dive right back in again, his mouth wet.

(The first time was an accident, with Will. They used to mess around together like they'd invented the idea, abandoning their chores to find a secret place to hide and touch. The first time Merlin got so much as the tip of his tongue on Will's dick, Will had shoved forwards from the hips. The hot, wet head had skated over Merlin's cheek, and the punch of lust he'd felt had been shocking it was so strong.

And then when he finally got his lips around it, and Will did another of those desperate thrusts right into his mouth, Merlin thought he would die it was so good. It made his eyes water, and he remembers Will's stuttered apology, how he hadn't understood when Merlin had insisted it was okay, really, honestly okay. But Merlin had barely understood it either, just that when Will lost his hesitation and gripped Merlin's hair and rode up into his mouth, that alone was enough to make Merlin come in his breeches, the heel of his hand rough and brilliant through the material.

Merlin never minded that Will didn't like doing it in return as much as he liked having it done to him. And he really didn't like it if Merlin was pushy, if he was the least bit forceful, if he tugged at Will's hair, basically if Merlin did any of the things that make his own toes curl. He didn't think about it too much.

Besides, then he was in Camelot, and so busy and overwhelmed by destiny and pratly princes and giant enigmatic dragons and risking his life on a worryingly regular basis that he didn't have time to think about any kind of sex, let alone what it might mean that he maybe liked that, liked getting on his knees and sucking dick, better than he liked anything else, and that maybe he liked it best of all when it was too much, too wet, too desperate.)

"Oh – ah! – yes," Percival groans, one hand tightening in his hair when Merlin abandons the shallow tease and starts taking him in in deep, slow motions. His jaw is aching already, the sting of it threatening to make his eyes water as he carefully, so carefully – for now – works himself up and down, up and down.

He's hard as a rock in his own breeches but he keeps his hands in loose fists on his own thighs, sometimes letting himself pull the material tighter across his cock, but that's it. He wants to focus on this. He needs to, purely practically, but he wants to as well, wants nothing but the feel and the taste and the thick, heady aroma of it, the rasp of Percival's breath and the dirty, wet sounds of his own mouth at work.

Merlin's good, and he knows it, but before long he's starting to have his doubts. He'd wanted it raw and rough, wanted Percival to hold him in position and fuck his mouth, wanted those huge hands to drag his lips up and down Percival's cock, tight, in control of everything. He still wants that, all of it, but he's honestly not sure it's going to be possible. When he pulls back he's gasping for breath and a long string of spit stretches from his lip to the head of Percival's cock until it snaps, wetting his chin even further.

"God," he breathes, working his jaw.

Percival looks down at him, his chest heaving, but he's still gentle as he asks, "Alright?"

"Yes," Merlin says, and he licks a broad stripe up the side of Percival's cock, then traces the very tip of his tongue down the vein along the underside. His lips feel clumsy as he presses lewd kisses to Percival's shaft.

Percival lets out a rumbling groan of pleasure, the first real noise he's made and Merlin wishes he'd take some of that control he's exercising over himself and use it on Merlin instead.

"Do you – " he starts, and Merlin hums against his cock, looking up at him. "Do you think you can take it all?"

"Yes," Merlin insists. "I want to, God, I want – "

"Come on, then," Percival says, but he still sounds gentle, his hands soft as he tips Merlin's face up towards him.

Merlin wraps a hand around the base of Percival's cock to steady himself and goes back to it, sucking wetly, messily, making it easier to slide that little deeper, until Percival's cock is nudging the back of his throat each time, sometimes hard enough to make Merlin almost-gag, almost-choke. Never enough to make him pull back. And he takes it and takes it, working down, twisting his head, straining for it, until his nose is nestled against Percival's flat stomach, and he can't quite believe that he has taken all of it, every hard inch.

Above him Percival is breathing like he can't believe it either, every exhale a moan. Merlin starts to pull back, a tease, only retreating a little way before he sinks back down again, the wet, choking noise resonating inside his head. Percival's thumbs sweep up the tears Merlin hadn't even noticed prickling their way out of his eyes.

(There were others, once in a while, in Camelot, or when he's on the road with Arthur and manages to sneak away. There was one night, when they'd stayed too late on a hunt and Arthur had sent Merlin ahead to book up a tavern. Though he'd never admit it, Arthur was too tired to notice, much less complain when Merlin slipped off to find the man who had caught his eye when he'd first stumbled in out of the rain.

He was tall, broad, radiating strength and maybe a little danger too. Merlin still feels a little bit of squirmy embarrassment that he never even knew the man's name. And he had let the stranger put him on his knees in the mud, strong body leaning back against the barn wall as the moon sparked off his eyes and he looked down at Merlin, touched a thumb to his lips, called his mouth pretty.

And that was basically all he said. He let Merlin set the pace at first – fast, switching between shallow and deep as he fancied it. But then the man gave a grunt that could have been irritation or just unfulfilled arousal, and took hold of Merlin's head, this time not letting him draw back. Merlin remembers counting the wild beats of his heart before the slow drag back up the length of the man's dick, just long enough to pass his tongue over the man's slit, to taste the hot salt of precome, and suck in a half-breath.

It went on like that for what seemed like a long time, the only sounds in the still night the man's ragged breathing, Merlin's occasional whimper, and the wet slapping sounds as he fucked Merlin's mouth. Before he came he pulled out and held his cock a scant inch from Merlin's face, one hand still tangled in his hair, keeping his head tipped back. He jerked his dick easily – wet, so wet, from Merlin's mouth – until he came, spraying his seed across Merlin's face, dragging the red tip of his cock through the mess on Merlin's skin, steering a blob of come right into his mouth, sending him over the edge.)

When Merlin very, very deliberately moans around the hard dick in his mouth – and the sound comes out reedy, weak – Percival's hips jolt forwards powerfully and he's quick to say, "Sorry, sorry."

Merlin draws back, moving to lap and suckle at Percival's balls, covering his teeth with his lips and nipping gently.

"Come on," he says goading. "I thought you were going to take what I was offering? Well I'm offering my mouth and so far you're not exactly taking anything."

Percival curses softly and brushes his thumb over Merlin's mouth. Something in his eyes tells Merlin that yes, Percival's letting go, and yes, yes, Merlin is going to get it.

"Open," Percival orders, and Merlin does as he's told, looking up at Percival through wide eyes and waiting, waiting...

Percival feeds the head of his prick back into Merlin's mouth, thumb on his chin keeping his jaws wide, stopping him from doing any more than caressing the underside with his tongue. His other hand spreads wide across the back of Merlin's head and pulls him in – out – in – out. He keeps it shallow, keeps Merlin's mouth open wide and oh God, yes, this –

It pools in Merlin's gut instantly, burning lust and mad want and he makes a desperate, hungry little noise. He presses his tongue hard against the head of Percival's cock, making Percival push hard to get inside. Percival laughs breathlessly and pulls him back to look down into Merlin's face.

"Merlin." He sounds awed. Then, serious, "All of it now. Pinch me if you need me to stop."

Merlin nods, in between shamelessly eager sounds and clumsy attempts to get his mouth back on Percival's dick now, now, now. He feels Percival's hands go to the back of his head and he lets Merlin take as much of his cock as he can on his own. Then he exerts a steady pressure, bringing Merlin in until the head of Percival's cock feels like it's halfway down his fucking throat.

And Percival holds him there, and holds him there. And holds him there. And when Merlin starts to struggle backwards Percival tightens his grip, keeps Merlin in close against him, and Merlin can feel his throat tightening convulsively around the thick cock filling it so thoroughly. Percival pulls him back by the hair, making Merlin's eyes water again. He only takes him back halfway, lets him gasp in a breath and then says,

"Again."

He sounds determined, implacable, and nowhere near out of control yet. Merlin screws his eyes tight shut and makes a slurping noise around Percival that sounds like hunger, desperation, submission. Percival makes him take the whole length of it again and again, controlling how long Merlin has to take it, and how much cool air he gets to suck in, and Merlin starts feeling giddy with more than just desire.

Once or twice he has to pinch Percival's thigh, sweaty fingers slipping on his skin. Those times, Percival backs off a little, goes back to those shallow thrusts from before, only now they sound obscenely wet, smacking sucking sounds filling the little clearing. No one that heard the noise could mistake it for anything else, Merlin thinks, and he feels his dick throb in approval.

"God, Merlin." Percival sounds amazed, a little scared maybe, a little bit wrecked. "You're amazing."

Merlin groans, only exaggerating it a little bit. Percival pulls him off and tips his head up and back, into the moonlight. His broad chest heaves as he looks down at Merlin, studying his face. His fingers slip and slide through the mingled spit and precome that now thoroughly coats Merlin's mouth and chin.

"Do it deeper," Merlin says, and oh, oh shit, his voice already sounds different, heading for raw.

"What?"

Merlin slides his hands up Percival's thighs to his hips and says, "Fuck my mouth again, like you were, but do it deeper."

"I'll choke you," Percival says, his voice oddly toneless. It could be a threat or a promise just as easily as it could be a warning.

"I don't mind," Merlin says sincerely.

Percival grunts a little and touches Merlin's puffy lips. "Slut," he says, but it still sounds awed rather than judgemental and Merlin decides to prove him right, fighting Percival's grip on his hair to tilt his head forward and extending his tongue as far as he can. All for the scantest taste of Percival's cock. Percival groans and teases him for a while, just barely popping the head between Merlin's lips, keeping him at a distance.

Merlin groans and says, "Please – come on, please."

"Oh – " Percival sounds like it's been punched out of him. "Oh, that's good. Ask me for it."

"Please – " Merlin says again, "Please, come on, just let me – oh – " (Percival paints hot precome over the shape of Merlin's mouth, watches him lick it off.)

"Say it."

"Let me have it, let me suck it," Merlin pleads and Percival groans.

He has both hands in Merlin's hair, holding him still, and he takes Merlin at his word, fucking into his mouth again and again, deep and rough this time, making Merlin choke, splutter. It's maybe even harder to breathe like this than when he was being held down by those strong hands, because that was slow, regular. This is at Percival's whim, and he takes Merlin's mouth, determined and intent, the way Merlin imagines he'd take a woman's cunt, varying the pace and depth so Merlin never knows how much breath he'll need.

When Percival comes, he does so in near silence, but his hands tighten to the point of pain in Merlin's hair. His seed is hot and strongly flavoured and plentiful. It seeps out the tight seal of Merlin's lips before he can swallow it all. Released, Merlin moves in again to nuzzle at Percival's cock, licking and lapping it clean. Percival swears under his breath.

"Here," he says, and he pulls Merlin up to his feet even though Merlin feels as shaky and wrung out as though he'd been the one getting sucked. Merlin hangs onto Percival's shoulders and cries out when Percival presses a broad thigh between his legs. That, what they just did, is a different kind of arousal, deeper, stranger, but all that hard muscle against his groin makes him realise that – oh God, he is so hard.

He ruts against Percival's thigh without shame, without rhythm, without anything except the all consuming need for rough, perfect friction. He reaches his climax with the taste of Percival's come still sharp in his mouth.

Percival bends down to retrieve his surcoat and on the way up he palms Merlin's damp groin.

"Looks like grass stains were the least of your worries."

Merlin, dizzy and satisfied and already planning how to get this again, laughs breathlessly against Percival's shoulder.

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Aaaaaaaand bookmarking forever so I don't lose track of it again. Hot hot hot.

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doing things you hate is just the price you pay to avoid loneliness

fic: Breathe the Pressure (1/1)

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