For the @merlinmicrofic august prompt, 499 words
"Inside" | Freya/Merlin <- Arthur | Explicit, accidental voyeurism, possessiveness
For the first time in years, since he began training truly, Arthur freezes.
His lungs still around the bellow that never leaves his throat, his lips hang open in stupid uselessness and his wide and wild eyes are caught in the sight and refuse to look anywhere else.
He's done this many times before; collecting Merlin from his chambers because he's late once again, that is. It is beyond him and gets him odd looks from his councilmen still, but it's almost routine now.
That is to say, Merlin should have known to lock his door if he meant to- to-
In a stunning display of abysmal self-awareness, the man has not noticed anything yet. Arthur wonders how for a second, then Merlin adjusts a knee and chases a more vigorous rhythm and Arthur realises the castle could be crumbling about him and he'd still only know the body underneath him.
He's pounding into her with almost desperation, and the abandonment of a peasant who needs not fearing the bloody consequences of bastards. He's inside her, with not a worry in the world.
Arthur hates him a bit for it; but he hates her more.
That's roughly when he realises, Merlin's paramour is way more sharp-witted than him. Not like it's hard, but she's staring straight at Arthur and must have been for a while because, for all her panting and moaning never stopped, her gaze is clear and focused and unsurprised.
Her hand in his hair, holding his face in her neck, suddenly takes another meaning.
She is of the druid delegation that came in the morning. A lithe, pretty thing with pale skin and calloused hands; long hair and big eyes, all dark. Someone of magic who has always loved magic. With tits. And a cunt, for Merlin to bury himself into. No hard muscles, no cock, on her. No bloodied ghosts over her shoulder.
Freya, as she had been introduced by Iseldir, had bowed to Arthur not three hours ago, all demure and meek, but now he sees it for the trick it was.
The way she's staring at him now, it's not unlike a dagger to the chest.
She brings her other hand to Merlin's asscheek and squeezes it. When he curls further over her, blissed and unaware, she brings her mouth to his ear and growls, at him, at Arthur, at both, "Mine."
Arthur runs, before he can hear Merlin's answer.
