Snakebite

The beast was in Arthur's sight. He held the bow straight, staring down the quiver to the head, watching the twitch of the stag's tail, the way that its ears perked, as if it could hear the creak of the string as he pulled it tight. Though he'd been a bit wary about taking Merlin with him on his hunting trips since the unicorn debacle, today he'd brought him along. They were going deeper into the forest, beyond what his father thought was safe, so he'd left his men behind before the dawn and found a remote, unchartered parcel of land in which to track prey.

It had been quite worthwhile, in Arthur's estimation, as it had resulted in several hare that were out in the in-between times, thinking themselves safe from the watchful eyes of owls. The animals here had a boldness that the ones closer to the castle didn't. This was their domain more than man's. They didn't know the smell of danger yet. It made for spectacular hunting.

Holding his breath, he prepared to loose the arrow when he felt an ungodly pain in his foot that caused him to lose control of both bow and arrow. He groaned as he doubled over, almost more alarmed at the sound of the bolting stag than he was at the pain in his foot, or the snake hastily slithering away.

"ARTHUR!" Merlin shouted. Arthur would've clobbered him for shouting if he hadn't already been certain that the stag was a lost cause. He winced as he landed on his arse, but more critical was the pain shooting up his leg.

He looked with wonder at his punctured boot, marveling at how big that snake must've been to have torn such a mighty hole. Then all he could hear was his breathing as he realized just how dire this situation could be. He was nowhere near the castle, and even if he was, snake bites could be deadly.

Though being in tourneys often caused him moments of appreciating his mortality, at least there was valor in dying engaged in battle. Even if it was for sport. This was sport of another kind, but the fact that he hadn't noticed the snake was just embarrassing.

Arthur winced as Merlin dropped to the ground and yanked his boot off. It hurt to move his foot at all and the fear of what might have happened had his pulse racing. He feared that wouldn't do him much good if there was a venom coursing through his veins, so he took a few long breaths, trying to control his pulse, watching as Merlin peeled back his socks, revealing bloody puncture wounds and a purpling swollen foot.

He was just about to start telling Merlin about how he'd been a good and faithful servant and that he'd appreciated his service, when Merlin brought his foot to his mouth and started sucking.

The sensation when coupled with the pain of the wound was strange, but pleasant. Merlin sucked, then turned his head and spat, then latched his mouth tightly in the arch of his foot again. All Arthur could do was simply blink and watch him sucking, licking his foot, then spitting it out. He would've thought to ask him what exactly he was doing, but it had started to feel very good. Arthur closed his eyes and sat back on his elbows as Merlin massaged and sucked his foot.

It seemed like a bad time to mention to Merlin that most of the snakes in the kingdom were non-venomous.

After all, it wasn't like he'd gotten a particularly good look at the snake.

When he curled his toes at the feeling of Merlin's warm, suckling mouth on his foot, it hurt. It hurt so much that he groaned in pain, which only served to make Merlin more frantic in sliding his tongue over the open wounds. Arthur could picture it, his tongue sliding over open flesh, sliding inside of him in a way that no one had ever been, or thought to be. Somehow, it felt right. He licked his lips and reached down to the skin of wine at his hip and took a few long mouthfuls before holding it out for Merlin.

Merlin looked up. His expression confused, face smeared in blood, but something passing strange was in his eye. Something akin to passion, perhaps lust. Arthur pressed the skin to his arm until he took it and had a few long sips of it before handing it back. "How do you feel?" Merlin asked.

At that question, Arthur blushed, not sure what to say. He didn't want him to stop, but he was pretty sure he wasn't dying. "It hurts," he said finally, before taking a long drink from the skin.

"I'm sorry, my lord. I'd take it all into me to spare you the pain if I could," said Merlin. His heart was on his sleeve. He gazed down so adoringly at Arthur, that he thought he might melt away.

Not that he could have that. Not from a servant. Not from anyone. He was to be king.

"As well you should," Arthur said, trying to look brave, trying to seem royal. "But some things are for me to bear."

"It doesn't look like it's that unbearable," said Merlin, his eyes crinkling as he grinned and looked pointedly at the bulge in Arthur's trousers.

"A result of the venom, no doubt!" Arthur wasn't sure what to say about that. With the pain and pleasure feeling in his foot, he hadn't noticed his cock hardening. Now it was terribly obvious and not wilting at all under Merlin's inspection.

"Are you sure?" Merlin asked. His mouth twitched into that insufferable smirk he'd display when he thought he knew better than Arthur. "Because I think maybe..." Merlin bent down to drag his tongue up the center of Arthur's foot. It felt heavenly. Moist. Soft. Warm. So close to his wound that hurt, but almost itched with sensation. Arthur had never experienced anything quite like it.

He swallowed hard and said, "Yes. Surely it's a result of the venom. I could die."

"Die, you say?" Merlin sucked a toe into his mouth and looked smug.

Arthur would've grabbed his sword and cut his insolent head off if it hadn't felt so good. He had no idea that feet could feel like this, had no idea that it would cause such a strange explosion in his body.

Merlin moved his mouth out of range and Arthur tried to follow, each movement of his foot causing twinges of pain that made him groan, but for reasons he couldn't fathom, didn't wilt his erection.

"Surely this is some curse," Arthur muttered, which amused Merlin enough to drag his warm, tingly tongue along the underside of Arthur's toes. He groaned again, dropping helplessly to the forest floor, smelling the earth and oak as his head twisted to the side. Merlin's tongue flicked over his foot, over the top of it, sliding over the wound and then back down into the contours of the arch and he sucked his heel.

Arthur had never felt so helpless.

Merlin seemed to enjoy the power.

Every time Arthur looked down at him, he was smiling, that aggravating tongue sliding out to touch another part of his foot--along the sole, between the toes, plush pink lips wrapped around the pinky.

Arthur felt young, stupid, inexperienced. It was as if Merlin just knew things, and all Arthur could do was to try to catch his breath. Then Merlin's hand was hot on the outside of his trousers, rubbing him in slow circles as maddening as his tongue was. He reached for Merlin then, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him up for a kiss. He could taste the grit of the earth, the copper of his blood on Merlin's tongue, but mostly all he felt was relief at being able to touch him this way.

They rubbed together, Arthur sliding his hand between them to seek out Merlin's length that was as aroused as his. He palmed it, rubbed it with his fingers, massaging and exploring it through his woolen trousers until he could stand the fabric no longer and his hand drove down the front of Merlin's pants, seeking him out, the warmth, the silken feel. He cupped it, opening his eyes to see the blurry impression of Merlin's face so close to his. Merlin moaned into his mouth and he moaned back in appreciative echo, desperately wanting him to know that he felt this just as Merlin did.

They were not servant and master here. Like this, on the forest floor, their hands in each others pants, they were equals. They were just boys, men, needy creatures in search of comfort and climax. It was then that Arthur realized just how fragile the veil of caste was. He was born into something he didn't understand. Merlin was as powerful as he was, felt as he did.

Perhaps it should've repulsed him. Maybe he should've been upset to see them as equals, but to Arthur, it was a relief. He didn't have to be better, smarter, faster. Granted, he thought Merlin was above other men, but he could feel the fragments of equality in all others. He craved it. There was no pleasure in being superior, not to him.

He kissed Merlin again, desperately wanting to tell him all of this, but the words were choked by the force of Merlin's hand around his cock. He arched into it, feeling it solid around him. Real. His other hand grasped the back of Merlin's neck, keeping him there so he could kiss him, so he could have him. He hoped that Merlin understood this, understood what it meant. If anyone ever could, it would be Merlin.

Above him, Merlin shuddered and he followed suit as his hand was wet with Merlin's release. They came together. As equals. Hands on each other, interlocked. Perfect. Right.

Their kiss stopped as they caught their breath. Arthur clutched Merlin to him, never feeling so alive as he did right now. On the edge of death, he had found meaning.

They stayed that way until the air cooled and the sun set. It was probably dangerous to stay there as they were for that long, but it was as if a special spell had enfolded them, keeping them warm and safe until the air warmed and the sun rose again.

Only then, sweat and blood stained, like soldiers gone to war and returned, that they finally let go of one another. Without a word spoken, or needed, they headed back to the castle.