Dynamics

He can hear people talking on the other side of the room. Someone is rambling about the latest tournament. How a certain trainer has left and all the knights of Camelot will surely be eaten now by savage beasts. He can't pinpoint who is speaking. It doesn't matter. There's the rumble of talk, male's voice deeper in the company of other males, and then muffled through the drapes hanging thick all around him. Flagons and tankards of mead or ale clink as they're put down or picked up.

It could be any ordinary day with friends gathered to talk about their interest. Except for his presence. He's tied to the bed. Face down. He's blindfolded as well. His wrists are connected to the corner bed posts of the headboard, but his feet are free. For manoeuvrability. He's not gagged. Not for times like this. It would lead to dehydration, especially face down, unable to swallow, his saliva a constant stream of fluid from his lips to the mattress, wetting the space where he had to rest his head. He doesn't have a pillow. He could ask for one, maybe. But if his master wanted him to have one, he'd have one. He doesn't need one, or maybe doesn't deserve one. It doesn't matter what the thinking behind it is; he's here without one and he's happy enough to stay that way.

The sheets beneath are him cool. It's not his bed. He's isn't this big. If his arms were tied to the posts of his bed, there wouldn't be the slight strain in his shoulders as he lies splayed. A strain that will get more noticeable as hours wane by, to be relieved at the end of the day by a massage from the one who put him here.

The drapes keep out all light. They're thick and made from rich material, the red of Camelot with gold embroidery and patterns and fringing. It's like being in a bubble where the rest of the world doesn't exist here. Where it's quiet and not warm but not cool, and all light is beyond reach. Sometimes he slips into a space where time ceases to exist. He just *is* in every second and yet timeless and stretching on forever.

The drapes reaching all the way around the bed are for modesty. Not his, of course. But the others'. Even now as he thinks of it, there's a scrape of wooden legs against stone floor as someone scoots back in their chair away from the table. The talking quietens slightly before starting up again, as if nothing has happened. As if one hasn't just left their ranks and is approaching the bed, footsteps heavy and nearing.

He tenses, muscles cringing slightly. He isn't afraid. It's anticipation. He's done this before. It'll doubtless happen again. He's been lying here for maybe half an hour to an hour. Naked. Hole slicked. He doesn't know which of the men it will be.

There's a slight draft as someone lifts the edge of a drape and slides beneath, mattress compressing beneath their weight as they crawl over his body. Hot breath hits the back of his neck. A finger touches his hole. He flinches, the touch unexpected if not unwelcomed. The finger slides in, one smooth stroke into his centre, rubbing against his insides before withdrawing. Legs dig into his hips as the person sits back, kneeling over his body as the stranger unbuckles their belt. It lands with a thud beside their bodies and then a shirt and pants are being discarded. The soft whuff of air as cloth sails through the air to a further part of the mattress. Hands now, either side of his neck, and the person is lowering their body to rest atop his.

The stranger's erection is heavy. Thick, solid, pumping with blood. It lies like an over-heated pulsing snake between his ass cheeks before the person nudges their massive cock at his opening.

Percival.

No-one else is quite as big as him. Or intimidating. He feels Percival's tip press against his asshole, insistent. Demanding. He can't help but whimper as there's that moment of indecision at the entrance of his body: his outermost ring of muscles clenching as if not sure whether to let such a huge intrusion into his body. Teeth nip at the nape of his neck and the cock pushes forward. Percival takes it slow. So. Slow. As if Percival wants every millimetre of dilation of his body to be felt as the large knight penetrates him, pushing him open.

Percival pauses with the head of his penis sunk inside of him. Percival will show no restraint later. But now he waits, their heartbeats beating against each other, and then withdraws. Just as agonisingly slowly, and he feels his body clench around empty air, hole closing. Breathing intensifies against his back and then the top of that cock is back, spearing him open until his ring of muscles sit spasming around the length just under the head. There's a pause, conversation shallow outside, the sound of their breathing heavy inside the drapes. Percival pants with such ferocity as he once against withdraws that it is as if there was a wind inside with them. Percival plays with the hole as it winks shut, fingers twirling around, testing its dedication.

It seems then that his patience has ended. When he slides back inside he does not stop, pushing deeper. Soft inner walls expand to accommodate his girth, muscles of the bound boy's entrance stretching wider over the thickest part of Percival's cock. Percival pushes forward until he meets resistance and short, shallow fucking in and out of the body beneath him will not allow him any further. Percival doesn't fit all the way inside of him. He never has. Maybe he will, one day. But it won't be this day.

Percival seems to take this as some sort of personal failure and whenever it is his turn with the boy beneath him, it seems as if it is his personal quest to fuck all of his length into the body beneath him.

The boy is of the opinion Percival might have more luck once other knights have had their turn; once the fuck toy has been properly stretched open and there is no more strength in his muscles to refuse Percival's thrusts. But Percival likes to go first. When the boy is tight and unstretched, not even his own fingers allowed to prepare himself beforehand. He likes to open him up on his cock. The boy is better at accepting it now. The first time Percival tried it, it took long minutes of deep breathing and one of the other knights stroking his face for the boy to accept so much cock inside of himself.

Maybe that is why the boy had to wait; the other knights waiting for Percival to go first, Percival taking his time.

Percival starts thrusting, and it is a fast rhythm. The boy isn't sure how many other people the knight has fucked but he starts fucking and he ruts like an animal in heat. Like this is what he has been waiting for, storing energy and enthusiasm to do, for days. Sometimes weeks. The boy has to accept him, and accept him fast. If Percival were to ever fuck him dry, something his master would never allow, but if he were to, the boy thinks maybe Percival would tear him apart. The thought is a strange mix of fascination and horror and titillation, causing him to clench as much as possible around the dick sheathed within him. His muscles might try, but they could never expel Percival, his own muscle so superior and keeping his insides open around him, muscles beneath delicate flesh spasming uselessly.

Percival groans and there's a slight lull in the conversation outside. The other men pretending this isn't happening so they can look each other in the eyes without awkwardness tomorrow but also curious and waiting their own turn.

Percival finishes quickly as he always does. The boy doesn't mind. Percival has no care for the boy's body or pleasure and fucks him at his own relentless pace, spilling himself with loud groans. The other knights might tease him, the closest they will ever come to acknowledging what happens behind the curtain, but the boy likes it. It reminds him of his place; just a warm hole. A living fuck toy. He feels used and he likes it. With Percival, he is merely the external equivalent of Percival's own right hand. He feels dirty, come tickling as it drips from his hole down his perineum and then to his balls. Percival's sweat is hot droplets on his skin cooling fast.

Percival withdraws, kneeling back and panting heavily. The boy waits for Percival to put his own clothes back on and depart, and to wait for the next knight, distracted by the passage of time only by the feeling of globs of come leaking from his ass and tickling his balls. Instead two large fingers intrude into his ass. They hook in, moving about. Testing how open the boy is now. Much more, doubtlessly. Percival gives a satisfied grunt, slapping the boy on the right buttock. The boy jerks, liking it. Percival dresses quickly, pausing to wipe cum and lube off his hands on the back of the boy's closest thigh, before ducking back out from beneath the drape.

The boy sighs, wriggling a little to adjust to the familiar feeling of being fucked.

"Oh, Percival?" coos Gwaine in mock surprise. "Where did you get off to? I swear you were only gone a second!" Percival growled something. "Are you sure you even left?" Gwaine yelps in pain and the teasing stops, conversation continuing.

Merlin doesn't have to wait long, although he is surprised when the drape lifts not a minute later and someone crawls in. Usually there is a longer wait between knights. Clothes are flung to the side and the person behind him is already breathing heavily. Obviously they're impatient for their turn. It doesn't give the boy the chance to identify which knight it is before the individual is raising his hips, having him kneel on the mattress, back curved to where his head lays resting. The person takes a breath, coming to kneel directly behind the boy, own legs spreading the boy's wide on either side. He thrusts in immediately, hunches over the boy's back and starts hammering like a rabbit.

It's even more sudden and vicious a pace than Percival. The boy's never experienced a fucking like this. He gasps against silk sheets as he is rocked back and forward almost faster than he thought humanly possible. The slap of hips against the roundness of his ass is as fast as the pounding of his heart. The man behind him is groaning, long and low, sound vibrating from his chest as it emerges. One hand is clutching the boy's hip, the other goes to the boy's hair. It leaves the knight's weight resting heavily upon his back and the boy likes it as it forces his spine to curve tighter, nipples coming close to scraping the sheets as his stomach is pressed against his thighs.

"You fucking filthy slut," grunts the knight into his ear. Oh. It's Leon. The boy had wondered for a moment if it was Elyan. But of course, Elyan was spending the day with Gwen. A rare favour from Arthur that let him off duty for the day.

"You like this," Leon pants, breath hot and wet in the boy's ear. "You're disgusting. Dirty. After I'm done fucking you I should have you lick my cock clean. Clean your taint away with your tongue. Thank me for the privilege." The boy isn't sure how Leon is speaking at the same time he's pounding his ass so thoroughly. He knows Leon doesn't mean it. Tomorrow and for the next few days Leon will be extra nice to him, smiling and bringing him things to show he didn't mean it.

It means something. The boy doubts Leon would say these things, things that roll off his tongue like twisted honey, to anybody else in several kingdoms. It's only him who Leon can use in such a way. Say these things. "You like my dick in you?" Leon hisses. "Answer me!" The boy whimpers as Leon slap the side of his butt, and moans in what he hopes will be a pleasing way. "You do like this. You're such a bad little boy. You need to be punished. Lucky you're not mine, you little cum-slut. I'd let you eat naught but the seed from my cock. And you'd love it, grow fat off of it for your hunger to devour the essence of other men. I'd keep you trapped to my cock, your arse and mouth always over-flowing. And you'd," Leon huffed, hips stuttering as he lost rhythm, "you'd beg for more!" He comes loudly. He's never come so loudly before. He's never talked so richly or long about his desires. The boy thinks he is abandoning his scruples and slowly more and more using the boy for his intended purpose; nothing but something to slake his lusts on. The boy wishes for the day Leon will lose all self-imposed strictures and fuck him as he deserves to be fucked. Like he's not even a human at all.

Leon collapses on top of him, the boy still bent over. They breathe deeply together for a few minutes. Hands, callused but deliberately soft, play gently over his skin. The boy hasn't come. He isn't allowed to. He has nothing on his cock to stop him. Being used in this way is highly arousing. Luckily neither men so far have used him in such a way to push him over the brink as for his master to be disappointed in him. His cock is heavy and full between his spread thighs, the rest of his body shivering with his want to find completion.

Leon strokes over his back soothingly, presses a string of kisses to the top of his spine. With a final caress over his legs, Leon pulls away and redresses. There's a light touch to the arch of his foot, the press of a warm hand, and then Leon is gone.

The boy continues to pant into the mattress. There's more come inside of him, and despite his angle come slips out of his hole and runs over his sack. Some drops to the mattress between his legs, other more resilient drops slide over the curve of his sack, between his balls, to tickle his shaft. He clenches his eyes shut behind his blindfold and rides out the tremors rocking him until it doesn't feel like his nether regions contain a living being squirming to get out, exploding hot from his cock.

He slowly lets his body slide back down to rest on the mattress, arms pulled taught.

He has a longer wait before the next knight comes in. It's been half an hour, maybe 20 minutes. Of waiting and hoping. Eager to be good enough. Wanting to be used.

The boy recognized Gwaine instantaneously. He ducks under the drapes and immediately a hand is lifting his foot and pressing kisses to it. His ankle, a soft sucking kiss over the knobbly bone at the side. His calf. Fingers and tongue tickling the back of his knee. Fingernails scratching lines of weight up his thighs, soothed by a warm tongue. Hands land heavy on his ass cheeks and massage them in big motions, heels of palms pressing up at the juncture of buttock and thigh.

"How are we feeling today?" Gwaine's voice washes over the dip of his back, kisses pressed to the dimples symmetrical at the base of his spine. The boy whimpers. Oil is spread over his back. Hands spread it out of his back and massage it in, fingers gliding under ribs and underneath to the boy's stomach. "Think this oil is to make sure we don't rub your pretty little hole raw with our noble cocks," Gwaine teases. Fingers spear into him, playing with his rim. "As if you aren't wet enough to be mistaken for a girl." The fingers withdraw and Gwaine undresses before crawling forwards to the headboard.

The handsome knight feels him sit there, back to the wood, and then pulls the boy forward. Helps him slides his knees underneath him so that they're both upright. The boy sways slightly, experiencing a head rush at the change in altitude but Gwaine keeps him steady. He pulls the boy forward until long limbs bracket his own legs, the boy's chest inches from his own.

"You're looking particularly delicious today, pet," Gwaine murmurs, presses a kiss to the underside of his chin, stubble tickling his throat. "Mmm. Edible." The boy shifts, adjusts his balance. A cock brushes against his own. "What's this?" purrs Gwaine, a hand encircling him. He strokes the boy who writhes and whimpers at the stimulation, hips rolling and neck falling backwards. "You do enjoy this, don't you?" Gwaine whispers, it seems to himself. "Oh, look at those."

Fingers pluck at his nipples. And again. They pinch, pulling the perfectly circular pink nubs away from the pale skin of the boy's chest. Gwaine flicks at them cruelly as the boy mewls. Gwaine hums, gathering the boy up in his arms and pulling him straighter onto his knees, head brushing forward to suck at the boy's nipples. Thick hair brushes over his skin as Gwaine pushes his head forward, digging in teeth to the perimeter of the areola. This close to the headboard, the boy's chins have some give. He uses it to grip the knight's hair and hold him close.

"Do you want more?" is whispered thick across his breastbone. A stinging bite to his clavicle before Gwaine gives in to desire and nibbles the length of it like a row of corn. Then he moves down again and strikes with swiftness of a snake: teeth dig in cruelly to the tender pink flesh and Gwaine tugs. The boy cries out and tries to get away while his erection pulses maddeningly. Fingernails dig into the opposite nub, twisting. The boy yells out again, forgetting himself. Living fuck dolls don't make noise. Fingers grasp his butt, spread his cheeks.

Gwaine aims his erection to the best of his ability and on the third try he sinks into the boy. The younger male cries out in one long wail as gravity slides him down the pillar of flesh. Hands clamp on his hips. Hold him down, keep him there with Gwaine buried to the hilt.

Fingers come out to explore. They slide slyly around his hole, then slide up against Gwaine's straining erection. Gwaine hisses in breath as both fingers are quickly swallowed up greedily. The boy's head is flung back, neck an arch as two fingers begin playing against his inside wall. He doesn't realise what Gwaine is trying to do until he feels fingers slide over his prostate, and when he flinches in pleasure, Gwaine does it again. Come leaks at an alarming rate from his penis. Gwaine fucks him, hips rolling on the mattress, moving slowly and leisurely.

The boy whimpers endlessly, feeling overly hot. He's going to break his promise to his master. He's going to come. There's no way not to. Kisses press over his shoulders and neck.

"Say my name. Beg me not to make you come," whispers Gwaine. "Come on." Fingers pressing with more force, sliding over his walls and around in maddening circles that make him grit and bare his teeth.

"Gwaine," he pants. "I'm not supposed to-"

A mouth slides over his, lips dragging his own open as a tongue slides into his mouth. "You're supposed to be whatever I want you to be, yes?" The boy pauses, fearing giving the wrong answer and nods slowly.

"I want you to beg me. By name."

His master won't like that. Gwaine and his master don't get along that well. This is deliberate. Gwaine has backed him into the position, drawn to mischief as he is, and is deliberately breaking the rules. It's a choice for the boy; how does he want to displease his master? By orgasming or speaking when he shouldn't?

"Say my name, beautiful," Gwaine cooed. "Come on. I'll say your name."

"No, don't," the boy breathed. Toys didn't have names. Names would make this real.

"Beg me," demanded Gwaine, fingers fucking themselves in and out of the boy's hole while his cock remains stationary. Gwaine withdrew his fingers and held his breath. The boy wondered what was coming when he felt three fingers sliding around the rim of his anus, stretched wide on male flesh, fingers sliding in cum and lube slickness over the flesh of his hole. Merlin sucked in his breath as three fingers came to rest against the exposed portion of Gwaine's dick, fingertips resting against the stretched skin, pointed upwards, wanting in. "Beg me," Gwaine whispered against his lips as he started fucking his dick in and out, his fingertips an added pressure. "You can take Percy, you can take a few little fingers, huh, gorgeous?"

After a few strokes on a slide inwards his fingers also penetrated, skin stretching that bit more to accommodate larger width. The boy swallowed thickly before gasping, shoulders shaking. Gwaine's cock once against stilled and his fingers started moving like small, living creatures. Running over his insides, around his walls, seeking that sensitive spot and stroking all three fingers over it in back-and-forth gestures, then tight circles, before tapping, flesh expanding to let Gwaine's fingers move back and forward, fingers tapping his prostrate in a rhythm that quickly gathered speed before going back to the slow back-and-forward in-and-out slide. The boy quivered. His hips worked himself on his knight's dick, trying to coerce the fingers to hit him just right. Right spot, right pressure.

"You're going to come," cooed Gwaine.

"No!"

"Beg me not to spill that lovely white seed all over yourself."

"Mm-nnh."

"I want to watch you fall apart all over me." He pressed his open mouth to the juncture of the boy's neck and shoulder. "Merlin," he whispered like a caress before biting down.

"Ahh! Merlin cried out, body writhing. *He was going to come, going to come, going to come.* "Gwaine, please!" Merlin cried out desperately, fucking himself down onto cock and fingers. A strong, steady hand wrapped itself around the base of his dick and encircled it firmly. Merlin felt his orgasm cut off, release moved to behind a transparent curtain. Right there, but untouchable. He gasped loudly as he forced his thighs to stop moving. Gwaine kissed his neck and made soft sounds. Merlin let himself fall forward to rest against Gwaine's chest as his breathing and heart slowed to something more manageable. His orgasm hovered with potential just under his skin like he was consumed by magic.

He listened, past his and Gwaine's breathing. Outside... it was quiet. He tensed and then the curtain was being pushed aside, Arthur crawling onto the mattress and glaring at them.

"What in the hell is going on in here?" he demanded.

Merlin was shaking too badly to answer. His heart felt like the wings of a frightened bird, fluttering madly. Suddenly he resented the blindfold. Gwaine's fingers still touched him intimately; one on his cock and one in his inner place.

"What's the problem, my king?" asked Gwaine charmingly as if nothing were wrong. His breathing was faster than normal, cheeks flushed. The space inside of the drapes smelt like cum and sweat. But he asked as if they were about to be served tea and sandwiches at a garden party.

"You know the rules," Arthur growled. "Let go of him."

"Mmm. Can't do that."

"Why not."

"I remove my hand from your young servant's delightful dick and he'll come all over himself."

Merlin twisted his head into the crook of Gwaine's neck on instinct, embarrassed to be seen. Ashamed and loving it when Gwaine's words made his cock pulse with interest at being so humiliated.

"And my other hand… well. Would you like to see?"

Merlin's breath hitched.

"Where is it?" Arthur asked, tone wary. Unable to see it with Merlin's body in the way. Arthur moved closer and Gwaine gently nudged him backwards. Arthur took his shoulders when kneeling right behind him, and leant Merlin back against his own chest.

"You see?" Gwaine said, voice heavy. "I so much as twitch one finger, and I don't think it'll matter what I'm holding onto, our Merlin'll still paint himself pretty."

"*My* Merlin," Arthur growled.

"You're not even interested?" Gwaine teased. "I bet I could fit another finger inside of him. All four. Maybe not my thumb. Not at this angle."

"Your… four?" Arthur asked.

"Maybe, I mean, I wouldn't know, and he is of course *your* servant. But maybe if I were to remove my fingers you could even fit another man's staff up his ass."

"What?"

"Two men. One beneath him, one above from behind. Two swords sharing the same sheath, my lord. Stretch our Merlin until he's filled with nothing but other man's flesh and seed."

Arthur swallowed heavily. Merlin could hear him, hair brushing Arthur's throat. "No man could take so much," he said.

"I disagree, my king. I think our Merlin could most certainly take both our cocks at once."

…

…

Part 2 is on its way. Procrastination FTW. Reviews are welcome, nay, actively encouraged. xx