Merlin could’ve melted right there and then, the moment Mordred spoke his name. But, instead, he hardened. Literally. In fact, a small moan escaped his lips, against his own will. Damn it. He forced his lips into a tight line, and nodded uneasily — he wanted more than water. He wanted to pounce on the Knight, to smatter him with kisses, to bite at his soft, supple flesh… But he couldn’t. At least, not here in the corridors; rest-assured, he’d be on top of Mordred the moment they were through that doorway.
The Druid copped hold of the other man’s arm, trotting into the chambers so quickly that he almost dragged Mordred behind him. Self-restraint, self-restraint… Nope, not gonna happen; he tugged the younger man towards him, their lips mere centimeters away from each other. The temptation to just kiss him was overwhelming… So overwhelming, in fact, that he did it. One minute, he was gazing into those beautiful eyes, and the next, he was indulging in a deep kiss, his hand cupped on Mordred’s hip, the other tangled in his brown curls. Resistance was futile.
The Druid almost stumbled over his own feet as the Warlock tugged him back into his chambers; from one extreme to the other, Emrys seemed to differ from being all over the Knight to detesting him completely, to the point where Mordred had began to try and avoid all contact with him except for the such times where he had to talk to him. The Knight allowed his hand to slip from the edge of the door, the click of it shutting echoing around the bare stone room. “What’s the matter with you?” He all but hissed, raising his eyebrows at the other Warlock as he went to pull away from his hold.
Only he couldn’t; Merlin’s hold had tightened and he was pulling him forward.
Mordred let out a huff, a slow warmth beginning to spread through his lower stomach, moving up through his chest and appearing as a heavy, bright flush on his cheeks. His lips parted - and as confused as he was it was starting to make a little more sense now; there was nothing wrong with Emrys, oh no - but before he could think any more on it, Merlin’s mouth was against his own. Even if he wanted to pull away, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to - Emrys’ hand was tight in his hair, keeping him close, mouth firm but soft against his. His fingers twitched at his sides, moving to grip Merlin’s waist, mouth beginning to move against his in return.
Merlin’s lips twitched up into a smirk, as he shoved Mordred against the hard stone walls, the hand that had been on the man’s hip, now creeping down to his inner thigh, caressing the sensitive flesh, through those thin breeches. They’d had difficult times, times of parting, during which even the exchanging of eye-contact caused blood to boil and curses to be uttered. But, for whatever reason, Merlin just couldn’t get enough.
The hand, tangled in the Knight’s hair, drifted slightly, his thumb taking a moment to caress his victim’s cheek, his teeth biting softy at those perfect, supple lips… It was bliss. Well, to a certain extent — it was the kind of bliss that racked him with a feverish desperation for Mordred. He just wanted him. With that in mind, the older of the two crept his hand to the waistband of those damned, disrupting trousers, his fingers delving beneath the fabric, as if testing the water. He allowed a hum to escape him, moaning at the mere feeling of the skin there. His tongue danced over Mordred’s lips. He was filled with a burning passion — almost painful at how much he yearned for the other man. “I just want to hear you scream, boy…” he snarled, taking only as long as necessary to pull away from the kiss.
