Ruined

by Anonymous

Summary:

Merlin asks for something. Gwen's all too pleased to comply.

Notes:

this was supposed to be a short merlin pov ruined orgasm fic and now it's like *slaps fic* this bad boy can fit so many kinks inside of it. it's also gwen pov.
please heed the tags.
uhh terminology is properly historically inaccurate in some places but idc that much.
enjoy!

“Get me the wine, will you?” Arthur asks from the carved wooden chair they keep by the bedside, all splendor and red velvet, intricate patterns traced along the back, the legs. Gwen knows it well; it’s where she often sits to sew or embroider, now she’s queen.

There’s a matching footstool to go with it, but it’s not in use tonight. 

Gwen smiles as she looks up from where she lies in her undergarments, stomach set against the bed as she lounges and pauses reading aloud the latest treaty with Lot’s kingdom. She begins to reach for the pitcher being kept on the side table, but Arthur shakes his head, smiling at her fondly.

“Not you, Guinevere, my love, apologies.” Arthur then casts his head down to address the man below him. “I’ll admit, Merlin, that you make an adequate footrest. But you are still meant to be serving us.”

In the light of day, of course, that’s no longer true. Merlin is beholden to the laws of the land as much as any man, has worn fealty to both his King and his Queen, but his position in court now grants him far more authority and status than he once held. 

Even so, Gwen thinks people would be shocked to learn that the man they’ve begun to know in the year or so since magic was returned to the lands—authoritative, powerful, a bridge between the divides they’re still working through—often craves nothing more than to sink to his knees and let his mind go blank. 

Gwen thought it would be strange, when they first started this—even before then, if she’s honest. The two of them had once shared a station, and though she would never set out to make unkind orders, it was odd to know that Merlin was obligated to serve her, to do as she said. And when this thing between the three of them began, she’d worried it would be much the same, but she needn’t have. The truth is that it sends a thrill through her, watching her friend, her lover, so willingly give over control. It makes desire spool in her gut, makes her dizzy with need.

That’s why, when he came to them this afternoon and bent to one knee, with his hands propped on the other, head low with his hair falling into his eyes and his voice near-ashamed as he asked in a murmur to be taken down to his base, she’d been all too eager to fulfill the request.

Merlin is a very loyal subject indeed.

She watches as his hands strain, growing ever-whiter where they rest against the floor, and sweat glistens against the lines of his back. Gwen wants to lick it off him. Instead, her eyes follow where his eyes dart, watching with fascination as he uses his magic—with a flash of gold so quick she’d think she imagined it if she didn’t know better—first to levitate the pitcher into the air and pour it carefully, then to direct it toward Arthur’s waiting hands. It’s the first time he’s been granted permission to use it tonight, and she sees the way his core trembles with the effort of staying upright, Arthur’s weight on his back.

Gwen never tires of watching Merlin’s magic—it had taken a while for Arthur to come around, finding it so strange long after he’d gotten past the deception. But Gwen knows that he’s come to feel as she does; that it’s an honor to witness, a privilege to command, a beauty to behold. 

Gwen smiles as Arthur takes a long drag of wine, and she elects, then, to stand and circle around to where Merlin kneels. She joins him there, parallel to him, and cups a hand to his chin, searching his eyes, which are pleading and watery, but Gwen knows him, knows what he longs for. She knows he’s not where he needs to be. Not yet.

“You’re ours, aren’t you, Merlin? Our boy to do with as we please. Our kept sorcerer.’’

He emits a low, thready whine. That’s getting there, now. 

With her hand cupped as it is under his chin, she uses her grip to force him into a nodding motion. Against her fingers, she can feel the workings of a gulp underneath his soft, inviting skin. Something within her settles into place, knowing the effect she has on him, knowing that in this moment, something in him belongs to something in her. Heart, body, and soul.

“If only the people knew how their respected court sorcerer begs to be abused, to have all his choices stripped away from him. They’re not yours to make, after all, are they?”

Merlin shakes his head, just once, and leans into her touch, nearly purring. Oh, how she loves him. How beautiful he is. How sweet.

Gwen leans even further still forward to capture his mouth in a kiss, running her hands up his trembling biceps as she does. When she pulls back, he’s blinking owlishly. His bright blue eyes are hazy with lust, the pupils ever-darker. Gwen runs a hand through his hair and looks to the side and up at Arthur, who’s smiling down at her. 

“Do you think you’re quite done, dear? Only, I think I want his mouth now,” she addresses Arthur conversationally, as though Merlin isn’t even there, isn’t even part of the discussion.

Arthur nods his assent and carefully removes his feet from Merlin’s back one at a time. When he does, Merlin bonelessly near-collapses forward, joints no doubt aching something terrible, but Gwen is there just in time to keep him from crashing to the floor and instead guides him into a mere slump against her thighs. She pets his hair as he whines.

“I’ve got you,” she murmurs. “I might do with a little help, though.”

Merlin is no bulky, muscled knight even now, but neither is he the lanky and so obviously underfed boy she met all those years ago when he first came to Camelot. Gwen doesn’t recall Arthur standing, but almost as soon as she says this, she watches as he shuffles behind Merlin, towering over him, and bends down to lift him from his sides, which are bare and glistening with exertion and sweat.

“Up you go,” Arthur says. “Up, now, come on.” 

They work together to deposit Merlin onto his stomach on the bed. He’s so pretty, lying there with need, boneless and hard and aching. When Gwen climbs into bed and sets her back against the headboard, she watches with delight as he ruts against the sheets. With how little attention he’s seen this evening, the friction must be agonizing. 

“Enough of that, now,” she orders. It’s lovely to watch, of course, his desperation—but it only serves to make her own desire grow.  “You’re meant to be putting your mouth to good use, remember?”

“Yes, my lady,” he breathes out, eyes dark with want. What a darling boy he is. 

He makes to move up the bed, but Gwen shakes her head, and he halts with haste. “Begin at the ankles. Kiss your way up,” she orders, because she loves to watch the way he’ll worship her when it’s asked of him, the way he’ll do anything just to please her. 

Merlin obediently kisses her ankle with reverence, eyes screwed tightly shut as he does. Gwen’s breath hitches as he works his way up, peppering long, open-mouthed kisses on one leg, to the other, and back until he reaches her inner thighs. 

“Good boy,” she sighs dreamily, and Merlin keens. “You like that, don’t you? Being my good, perfect boy?”

Merlin nods, and Gwen sees that he’s only half-there as he nips at the fleshy party of her inner thigh, just the way he knows she likes. 

“Fuck, you’re made for this. I swear, Merlin, this should be your job.” He whines pathetically, nosing against her soft skin, and gods, but that’s adorable. “You want that? You want to just be kept for this, for fucking and licking and doing what you’re told?” He gasps against her, and that little gust of air against her nearly does her in. “Then do as you’re told,” she orders breathlessly, grabbing a fistful of his hair and pressing him where she wants him, the other hand scrambling for purchase in the bedsheets below her as she does. “That’s it, come on.”

Merlin moans against her, first laying his tongue flat against that sweet spot above her entrance, and oh, it’s so soft, so lovely, and that’s before he starts with those sweeping circular motions that drive her mad.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Fuck, Merlin.”

He hums against her and swirls his tongue again before making a long stripe. Gwen cants her up without her conscious will, causing Merlin to splutter briefly and pull back.

“Sorry, sorry,” Gwen says, but Merlin smiles hazily up at her.

“S’okay,” he answers, slightly out of breath, lips shiny with her wetness. “I liked it.” 

Gwen groans. “You have no idea how perfect you are, hm?” she asks him as she uses her hand in his hair to push him back down against her entrance, lower this time, deeper…

With a dreamy sigh, Gwen’s head lulls to the side, and she notices Arthur has moved the chair, angling it to face the bed so he can watch, his hand down his trousers.

“I almost feel bad,” Gwen laughs lightly as Arthur touches himself lazily, with half-lidded eyes. “You’ve not received much pleasure tonight, dear.”

“Believe me,” Arthur says, his pupils dark and wide with lust, “The show is plenty pleasurable on its own.”

Gwen laughs, but it forms into a high, needy moan as Merlin’s tongue angles just so and—

“Merlin—fuck, fuck, I want to keep you like this forever, I want you, I want to keep you, oh, please—” she bites the rest back, overcome by emotion as her orgasm crests and it feels like—gods, a burning star, a thunderstorm inside her, how does he do that, it must be magic that sets her skin ablaze like this, that makes her melt into pleasure and slump back into the pillows.

As she tries to catch her breath, eyes closed, she hears a soft rustling as Merlin moves up the length of the bed to meet her, his knees on either side of her hips. She blinks up at him.

“Gwen.” He says softly, searching her eyes. “You have me; I promise. I’m yours.” He lunges forward to kiss her deeply then, his kiss hungry and searching. She can taste herself ripe on his tongue.

“And mine!” Arthur says from behind them, sounding lightly affronted and deeply petulant. Gwen can tell it catches Merlin off-guard for the way he startles against her mouth and breaks away from their kiss to hide his laughter in the hollow of her neck for a moment. “Don’t you forget that.”

“Mm, not sure I said anything about that,” Merlin replies with cheek as he cranes his neck toward Arthur before turning back to wink at Gwen. She giggles, feeling light and unburdened, splaying her hands over her stomach as she watches the scene before her with interest. 

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur stands from his place in the chair, circling to the other side of the bed and grabbing each of Merlin’s wrist, pulling them tight behind his back in a way that has him gasping, mouth open with arousal and surprise. “I think you are mine,” he whispers, something not quite near cruelty but in the hedonistic shadows of it in his eyes as he speaks just a breath away from Merlin’s lips. “Otherwise I couldn’t do this,” he says, pulling until Merlin is on his back on the bed, his hands balled behind his back. His length is weeping (by the gods, he gets wetter than any man she’s ever known) and obscenely red, dripping onto the sheets. Arthur produces Merlin’s blue neckerchief, long since abandoned from his body; he must have kept it wrapped around his hand. Now, he unravels it, balls it into a makeshift gag, and stuffs it through Merlin’s open, puffy lips. “That’s much better. Much less cheek, now. I think there’s something else that you want, though, hm?” 

Merlin’s eyes flutter close as though to say, finally. Ah. It’s going to be one of those nights, then. 

Gwen smirks quietly to herself.

“It’s polite to beg for what you want, you know. Only, you’d better ask Guinevere—she seems in a right mood today.”

“Pleathe,” Merlin tries to speak, the word muted through the cloth. “Need… need... ” Merlin chokes out, sounding near tears now. The words are barely decipherable, but Gwen understands him. She always does.

“Shhhh. I know, sweetheart,” Gwen says, moving so she can kiss his forehead. “We know exactly what you need. Let us give it to you.”

Arthur rummages through one of the cupboards and produces the shiny silver cuffs. Forged specially from cold iron—this set was made by Gwen herself—they have properties which contain the wearer’s magic. Before the repeal of the magic ban, they were used to nullify the magic of those arrested. 

But there are much better uses for them these days.

Arthur pulls at Merlin’s arms they stretch behind him, placing the cuffs around his wrists and then forcing his hands behind his back once more.

The picture he makes is quite something. Gwen shifts to her knees and guides his legs back so they’re set underneath him. It’s so beautiful to watch him strain.

“Can you use your magic?” Arthur says, a smug grin playing on his features. Gwen does think it’s a bit mean; they do already know the answer, after all. Merlin gives a little shake of his head, his dark hair splaying against the bedsheets as he does. Arthur’s grin only grows wider, and Gwen can’t help smirking to herself, then, just a little, because she knows what he’ll say next. “Try. Go on, then, big man.”

Merlin blinks rapidly. His eyes flash a brilliant, ethereal shade of gold, pulsing wildly as he struggles against his restraints, but it’s a useless fight against those cold iron cuffs, and oh…

He’s so beautiful when he’s helpless.

His eyes wide and still so molten gold as he strains again to use his magic, but he’s well and truly bound. Gwen traces one finger in a long, fluttery line against his length, delighting in the way he shivers.

“Shame, isn’t it?” Arthur asks, a wolfish grin shining as he leans forward. “All that power—nowhere to go.”

Arthur leans down slowly, like he might kiss him—and then slaps his face instead, just once, but Gwen can tell it’s hard enough to sting, to really feel it. When Gwen leans forward to check him, to make sure it wasn’t too far, his eyes are hazy and fuck-stupid.

“Oh, you’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Anything at all,” she breathes out in wonderment.

“Anyfing, pleathe, any… ohhh, ” he manages,  trying to buck further up into her hand. Gwen makes quick work of stripping his length ever-more quickly until Merlin is making guttural noises that would put the animals of the wild Arthur meets on his hunts to shame.

“And what we want is for you to take it. To let us torture you. Because we can. Because you love it. Because you asked us to do it.”

Merlin sobs. She can tell he’s getting close, just about to come.

In a quick motion, she takes her hand away. Betrayed, Merlin an abashed scream tears from Merlin’s throat with the loss of it, overcome, abdomen twitching, his dick throbbing. 

“There you go, sweetheart,” Gwen murmurs in a soothing voice. “You’re good and ruined now, hm? Just like you needed. Just what you asked for.” Merlin is sobbing in earnest, messy tears with his eyes glazed over and a reverent, subservient look in them as Gwen tilts his chin up between her fingers. “I think you can take another, though, don’t you?”

She wraps her fingers around his length again. His dick is pulsing, almost like the beating of a heart.

“Hnghhhh.” 

Gwen giggles and leans up to remove the cloth neckerchief gently from his mouth so she can kiss the corner of his lips and murmur against his skin:

“Good servant.”

Notes:

after all why not? why shouldn't i write porny mergwenthur fic with a merlin/gwen focus?
merlin is a Certified Good Boy for gwen and a brat for arthur. this checks out to me.
assume that they talked through this stuff beforehand and also there was aftercare but i didn't want to write it. note that irl it is probably not best practice to use a gag and restraints, as then the person may have trouble signalling with a safeword that they need to stop. merlin could somewhat communicate through his neckerchief gag so it wasn't in this instance as big of a deal, but like, don't follow their lead, probably. this is fiction, etc, etc.