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Once upon a time, in a castle far, far away, there lived a king and his six knights. (Well, technically, the castle was just a hop, skip and jump away from current England, but those armours made hopping, skipping and jumping rather tricky, so it would have seemed far, far away, anyway. Also, the six knights were really more like four knights and a ghost, and some guy nobody knew who loomed impressively and always dressed in black, but hey, he’d yet to lose a single fight, so loom on, Arthur liked to say. )
But anyway, these seven guys lived together more or less harmoniously, until one day, there was a knock on the castle door. (The previous king had some sort of mental breakdown that caused him to flame random persons he didn’t like. After that, people just weren’t that into visiting the castle.)
Arthur, being a wise king, heeded his father’s warnings about strangers knocking on doors, and didn’t open it.
“Who’s there?” he called out. “Are you a big bad sorcerer?”
“Er,” said the voice on the other side, “No?”
“He seems to be on the scrawny side, sire,” said Lancelot, who never needed to knock on doors because he could just walk through them.
Arthur opened the door just a little. The stranger gave him an innocent-looking smile.
“Hmph,” said Arthur.
“Hi!” said the stranger, adding an innocent-looking grin to his repertoire. “Apple?”
“What do you want?”
“Uh, I’m offering you apples?” he said, deflating a little. “Or, well, selling them. I sell apples. It’s what I do. It’s a thing, you see. Some of us have to work for a living.”
“…”
“… Er, My Lord.”
As destiny would have it, just as Arthur was about to come up with a brilliant retort (of mythical proportions, one might say; mythical being the operative word), Gwaine walked into the room. Apples were Gwaine’s favourite.
In less than a fraction of a candle, the stranger was sitting at the table, and becoming much less of a stranger as they all munched on apples – albeit reluctantly, in Arthur’s case. He was starting to regret the whole round table thing – he’d been outvoted.
“… and that’s why this whole no magic thing is just a load of bollocks,” Merlin said.
“How dare you,” Arthur said and got up. Well, part of him got up. As these things go, it was rather inconvenient. He’d probably been focusing on Merlin’s lush, traitorous lips a little too much. He snapped himself out of it and focused on the rest of Merlin’s traitorous body.
“Huh,” said Percival, and pointed at his own lap.
Then they all got up (all of them, this time. Well, all of all of them) and looked at each other’s laps.
“Huh,” said Merlin, frowning and examining one of the apples. “It was just supposed to make you more amenable to suggestion.”
“… What?” said Arthur, desperately trying to ignore his rebelling crotch. “Sorcerer!”
“Oh, well!” said Merlin and threw the apple over his shoulder before grabbing Gwaine’s shirt and dragging him over the table for a snog.
Arthur would like to say Gwaine put up a manly fight. He supposed it could be called a fight if you squinted and looked at it sideways in the reflection of a rusty blade. Well, Gwaine undeniably jumped Merlin and also kept him from chanting any spells; that was the salient point.
After all, it seemed Merlin had a very enchanting mouth; a very greedy, enchanting mouth. Gwaine’s cock couldn’t be working right – the sounds Merlin was making wove their way into Arthur’s blood like a spell; the flush on Merlin’s cheeks was mesmerising.
“Oh, God,” said Arthur. Percival moaned. Leon stared. Lancelot hovered in an aroused sort of way. Tristan loomed. Elyan lazily spread his legs and cupped the back of Merlin’s head.
Merlin swallowed them down one by one (even Lancelot. Arthur didn’t ask how), until it was Arthur’s turn.
“No,” said Arthur. “You’re a sorcerer.”
“Uh, so?” said Merlin. Arthur tried to come up with a coherent argument, but being the king, it wasn’t his strong suit; swords were more his thing. His laces somehow came undone. He wasn’t entirely sure it was due to magic. Merlin’s tongue was definitely magic, and the pleasure that burst through him had to be, too.
His father was wrong: magic was brilliant, he thought, and moaned encouragingly.
“You’re making a compelling point,” he said after, wiping Merlin’s come from his chest and feeling magnanimous. “I think we should discuss this further with your mouth. I mean, our mouths. To discuss. Obviously.”
“Oh, I have a lot of arguments up my sleeve, sire,” Merlin said, innocent face back in place. “I feel certain I could convince you. At length. And your knights, of course.”
“Well,” said Arthur, “for the good of the kingdom, do proceed.”
And so it was they argued happily ever after. (Well, they had a lot of fun for a reasonably long time, anyway.)