Everyone: Merlin has MAGIC!!!
Arthur: *shakes his head*
Merlin: Arthur, I have MAGIC!
Arthur: Merlin, I think I would know if the person I love has magic!
Pairing: King Arthur x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2.1K
Warnings: smut. oral. rimming.
Summary: Arthur convinces his wife that he made the right choice. You show Arthur one thing he didn’t expect.
A/N: @hotdamnhunnam requested a lil rimming with king arthur. i finished this thing in a unisom haze so like...it might be weird. it also went way softer than i intended. yes i used this giant gif of him shirtless idc. also the slang in this is very historically inaccurate but this was also a Guy Ritchie film with giant snakes and wizards.
“What are you doing?” Arthur pants as he peers down at you between his legs.
“Pleasing, my king,” you purr - arching an eyebrow - regarding him with a razor-sharp coolness. You spread your palm across the flat of his stomach. Your other hand traces below him - your deliberate fingers nudging beneath his balls. He jerks.
Your lips quirk down. “Just relax, you squirming bastard.”
“Is that any way to speak to the King of England?” he chides - knocking his foot against your knee. He feels slightly at your mercy - stretched on his back with his ass practically hanging off the bed and you petting at all his more vulnerable parts.
“No,” you murmur as you fist his length and stroke him once - slow as honey - making him hiss. “But I think that I can speak to my husband any way I please.”
He levels you with an even gaze - biting his lip. “Yes,” he admits. “I suppose you can.”
Of course - you can. Of course.
Arthur feels something swell warm and sweet inside his chest as he watches you. Your eyes glitter beneath your lashes before you smile indulgently up at him. His darling wife - the people’s Queen.
You were also the wildest woman he’d ever fucked.
You trace your tongue along the vein of his cock and he bucks into your chin. “Art,” you snap - digging your fingers into his thigh. “You’re going to bruise me if you aren’t careful.”
“Sorry,” he lifts his palms up. “Sensitive.”
You grin. “I mean - you can bruise me if you’d like. Just not on my face.”
He chuckles before sitting up. He sweeps his thumb across your cheek - brushing your hair from your brow. “The court is already recovering from Lord Harrod spotting us in the garden. I don’t need my Queen also struggling to sit down.”
You groan. “Quite the scandal.”
“I’m sure he’ll hold that memory close when he’s alone in his cold bed.”
You glare - fingertips dragging through the curls at the base of his cock. Your lips are slick with spit - glossy and lush. He had never seen anyone more beautiful.
“Humiliating.”
“No,’ he assures you. “It’s not.”
You lean into his touch and he cherishes it. These are the only solid moments you have together - the only moments when you are bare-faced and unguarded. You hate the castle and you hate the people aside from the crew Arthur had brought in like George and Tristan and Bedivere. The Mage and Maggie. All who had fought beside you to get him on the throne.
He bends down to kiss you - his tongue insistent as he parts your mouth. You return it listlessly - your fingers boneless against him. Finally, he pulls away to look at you.
It is as if you’d been doused in a frigid bath. You change like a spark of lightning - he’d shared a careless thought about the court judging you and it had dulled you - honed you down to something flat.
Arthur inwardly curses himself for bringing it up.
He touches your cheek - murmuring your name. Weariness flashes across your face and you blink- eyes darting to his chest. Your lips pull into a frown - shadowed and dim - the light of you pulsing to threads and splinters and he knows that expression.
He tilts your chin up. “I know what you’re doing.”
You swallow thick - trying to turn away from him before he stops you. “Don’t,” he warns.
“Arthur,” You tug at a string in his trousers - the material bunched at his ankles. He’d almost forgotten that he was ass-naked with his wife holding his cock. Not like you had to suffer propriety in his own chambers - his bed. “The Court hates me.”
“Fuck the court,” he hisses as he cradles your face - he leans forward and presses his mouth to your nose - your lips - the taste of his own pre-spend salty and apparent. “I married you because you were the bravest woman I’d ever met. You weren’t like anyone else and you loved me before I became King.”
“Well, you were very talented with your tongue,” you remark half-heartedly. “What woman wouldn’t?”
He scoffs. “Don’t be cheeky about it.”
It always felt like he was waging a battle to get you to come to his side. You simply did not see yourself as he saw you. You did not like to dwell on it and he’d be damned if he didn’t finally get you to submit.
He could recall in vivid detail what it was like to fall for you and ultimately be loved by you. A girl who could fight better than most of his men. No magic or tricks - just talent and experience.
***
He slides his hand along your forearm. “You’re quite good with that.”
“You haven’t seen me use it.”
“I can guess.”
“You can fuck off.”
“You’re a mouthy girl...fuck...alright...alright I yield.”
***
He had come buried inside you with your hands around his throat. The forest floor scratching his bare thighs and in between his arse. He’d dug his fingers into your hips as you rode him to a slow gallop and he’d felt his heart slam up into his throat - the tight, wet fist of your cunt twisting around the length of him.
“Fucking hell,” he’d panted as he bucked into you - as he tried to plant his feet to thrust higher - punch the head of his cock against the softer tissue that made girls flood him.
He had picked up plenty of skills when he’d been raised in a whorehouse. He knew most acts and yet you had struck him dumb.
It took him fucking weeks to finally get you to roll over and let him be on top. When you’d allowed it, you went sweet as honey - cradling his face as you watched him lose himself in fucking you. His hands snagging your thighs over his waist - your heels digging into his lower back as he snapped his hips into you. His breath hitching - the pads of his fingers swirling around your pert clit.
He’d gotten caught up in it - combing your hair back as he pressed himself further into your drenched sex - your gazes meeting until it became too much and you both had to avert your eyes.
It was at that moment that it had bloomed between you two like a very obvious flame - oh - it’s more than we thought.
He loved you and it had bludgeoned him brutally over the head.
Fuck me - he had thought as he slid down your belly and your heaving tits. Fuck me - he thought as he parted your thighs and wedged himself between them - tracing his tongue up the seam of your cunt.
Fuck me - as you went rigid - your lower muscles bearing down upon his fingers and his tongue and your knees grinding into his ears.
Fuck me. He was in love.
***
You had ruined him - slipped between the edges of his body - his ribs and throat and veins. You peeled him open and stuck your hand inside his chest and fisted his heart. His lifeblood spitting between your tight knuckles. You had barreled into him with an unnatural force and he had become lost to it.
So when the court pressured him to marry - to choose a wife - there had been no other answer. There had been options - beautiful women - chaste women - women with lands and connections and promises of political alliances. He couldn’t stand any of them. They were not you. Didn’t come close. He’d have no other.
You had even refused at first - told him he should marry for the kingdom as opposed to what he wanted.
“I’d be a terrible queen.”
“You don’t even know how you’ll take to it.”
“No.”
“You’re being a stupid girl. I want you as my wife.”
You’d finally acquiesced after he’d practically begged you on his knees. You’d been too horrified to let him go on much longer.
“Alright, you daft bastard. Alright - I’ll do it.”
“Finally. Now - get on the bed so we can consummate this thing.”
“Doesn’t that come after?”
“Fuck if I know.”
He doesn’t think the court necessarily hates you. If anything - the court probably hates him. They’d assumed he could barely read or speak with any intelligence - that he was probably nothing more than someone born under the right stars. For now, the nobles were forced to bow to a boy raised in a brothel and his low-born wife who could wield a sword better than sew.
There was also the peculiar fact that he loved you and you loved him and he had the tendency to want to be inside you at inopportune times.
In other words - a happy marriage.
A good one.
He couldn’t get enough of you. Fucking you all over the castle - hand clasped firmly over your mouth as he rutted against you in some empty stairwell. You’d made him fuck your ass in the library and he’d gotten so lost in his own head that he’d accidentally knocked a whole collection of apparently priceless literature onto the floor before stepping on it with his muddy boots.
***
“Don’t be cheeky about it.”
You make a noncommittal sound - shifting on your knees before glancing up at him. “You’re a fool.”
“Why?” he asks with mock offense. “Because I defied all of those poncy bastards and married a beautiful woman who knows how to suck my cock?”
You gape at him before you snap your mouth shut, momentarily making Arthur feel a swell of arrogance that he had been able to shock you.
You fix your posture - setting your shoulder as your eyes narrow. You regard him with a new interest - almost excitement. “I can do a lot more than suck your cock, your Majesty.”
Fuck.
You pull his feet out of his trousers before you skate your palms across his thighs - fingers catching in the sparse blonde hair. You take his cock with both of your hands - lazily stroking him off - lowering the hood before you mouth at the head. He bites the inside of his cheek - gritting his jaw as you lave and taste and keep him firmly on the edge. You dart your tongue into the slit - beaded with pre-spend and he groans - the hot spark of nerves sweeping through the length of his cock.
“You’re - you’re fucking good at that.”
His voice comes out much higher than he expected and you smile around him - obviously proud that you’ve once again made him lose his sense. You swallow him whole - taking him to the hilt until your lips press at the base of him. He fists your hair - bringing you down just a bit further so that he nudges the back of your throat. You choke - a wet gurgling sound that makes him weak. When you release him with a pop - there are threads of spit. Your chin is shiny. Your mouth is swollen as you look up at him - disheveled and lusty.
“Do you trust me?” you ask softly. He pushes the tip of his thumb into your lower lip. You bite down hard enough for him to wince.
“With my life,” he replies and you move lower.
You spread him wide - practically shove his knees back. He feels quite vulnerable. You’re lifting his cock so you can drag your tongue along the vein - you slide downward - gently sucking one of his balls into your mouth with a harsh suction that makes his breath fall sharp - his words slurring into something strangled.
You go even lower and suddenly your tongue is slipping between the cheeks of his ass - the tip teasing at the puckered hole and oh fuck - you start actually eating at him as he does to you. You lick him open - tongue pressing deep as you massage his thighs and the sensitive area between his cock and his arse and it’s good. You’d stuck a finger or two inside him before and this is almost similar - the steady pressure - the wet slide - and he nearly hits his release at the thought of his wife doing something so debauched.
You spread him wider - lapping at him with purpose. Short spears burrowing deep. You kiss and press and push before you wrap your hand around his cock and start to stroke him in tandem. It’s almost too much combined. The strange sensations of both you working his cock and fucking him with your tongue. He’s clenching around you as he grunts - incapable of complete sentences other than fucking hells that feels good - you lovely thing - shit you’re tongue - your tongue -
His cock spits across his stomach - painting him in his own seed. You ease your fingers through the mess of it before you’re sucking them into your mouth. He is certain that he hadn’t heard about this at the Red Poppy or maybe he’d forgotten.
Unlikely.
“Get that pretty arse up here,” he demands - patting the side of the bed. You do as he says and he turns onto his side so he can grasp the hinge of your jaw. He kisses you all desperate, tasting himself - the musk and the salt and the flesh.
You return it in kind - with fever and hunger that flames more pleasure spiking through his gut. He’d be ready to go again soon no doubt. He slaps your thigh as he noses at your temple - his voice dropping to something gruff and hoarse. There is the ever-present slick of desire that fuels him when he’s around you. He cannot get enough.
