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Doing It Wrong. Merlin/Arthur. PG13.
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This drabble is brought to you by a bottle of Yellow Tail and a conversation about the most efficient way to kill the mood.
Doing It Wrong
Merlin. Merlin/Arthur. PG13.
The one where Merlin is bad at dirty talk.
“No, no, no! You’re doing it wrong!”
“What? I thought you wanted to be degraded!”
“Yes, but there’s a difference between dirty talk and telling me I smell bad.”
“Well, how do you want to be degraded?”
“I don’t know, treat me like a slave. Like an object.”
“An object?”
“A sex object!”
“I thought that was implied when we were, you know, having sex.”
“Do I have to tell you everything? You’re supposed to order me around, make me do what you tell me to!”
“Muck out the stables, Arthur.”
“Now you’re being insufferable on purpose.”
“I just don’t understand it. Why do you want to be degraded? Why can’t we just fuck?”
“It makes things interesting. You don’t find it sexy?”
“Arthur. I’m a servant. If I got off on being degraded, I would walk around horny all day.”
“Hmm. I suppose that wouldn’t do much for job efficiency.”
“It would be a little distracting.”
“And you’re a horrible enough servant already.”
“There! You see? All day! When you insult someone, you don’t have to worry about being put in the stocks. You royals. This is all some novel game to you, isn’t it? ‘Sir Herbert, what is that quaint thing that the peasants do to communicate and pass the time? Ah yes, calling each other slags and shitbags! How delightful, let’s try it!’ If you were constantly insulted, I bet you wouldn’t be so keen to bring the practice to bed.”
“I suppose. I suppose I should be thankful I don’t have to worry about such things.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe I should baselessly degrade you more often.”
“Well, do it properly.”
“Clean my boots, prat.”
“Merlin.”
“Wash my socks!”
“Enough of this!”
“You have an atrocious singing voice.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake.”
“You’re-”
“Fine, fine, we can leave off the dirty talk! Satisfied?”
“Good. Yes.”
“I suppose there are other matters to attend to.”
“Exactly.”
“Right. So. Now where were we…?”
“Your singing voice really is quite awful, though.”
“Oh, shut up.”
This drabble is brought to you by a bottle of Yellow Tail and a conversation about the most efficient way to kill the mood.
Doing It Wrong
Merlin. Merlin/Arthur. PG13.
The one where Merlin is bad at dirty talk.
“No, no, no! You’re doing it wrong!”
“What? I thought you wanted to be degraded!”
“Yes, but there’s a difference between dirty talk and telling me I smell bad.”
“Well, how do you want to be degraded?”
“I don’t know, treat me like a slave. Like an object.”
“An object?”
“A sex object!”
“I thought that was implied when we were, you know, having sex.”
“Do I have to tell you everything? You’re supposed to order me around, make me do what you tell me to!”
“Muck out the stables, Arthur.”
“Now you’re being insufferable on purpose.”
“I just don’t understand it. Why do you want to be degraded? Why can’t we just fuck?”
“It makes things interesting. You don’t find it sexy?”
“Arthur. I’m a servant. If I got off on being degraded, I would walk around horny all day.”
“Hmm. I suppose that wouldn’t do much for job efficiency.”
“It would be a little distracting.”
“And you’re a horrible enough servant already.”
“There! You see? All day! When you insult someone, you don’t have to worry about being put in the stocks. You royals. This is all some novel game to you, isn’t it? ‘Sir Herbert, what is that quaint thing that the peasants do to communicate and pass the time? Ah yes, calling each other slags and shitbags! How delightful, let’s try it!’ If you were constantly insulted, I bet you wouldn’t be so keen to bring the practice to bed.”
“I suppose. I suppose I should be thankful I don’t have to worry about such things.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe I should baselessly degrade you more often.”
“Well, do it properly.”
“Clean my boots, prat.”
“Merlin.”
“Wash my socks!”
“Enough of this!”
“You have an atrocious singing voice.”
“Oh for heaven’s sake.”
“You’re-”
“Fine, fine, we can leave off the dirty talk! Satisfied?”
“Good. Yes.”
“I suppose there are other matters to attend to.”
“Exactly.”
“Right. So. Now where were we…?”
“Your singing voice really is quite awful, though.”
“Oh, shut up.”
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