sophinisba: Hunith and Merlin at a campfire (hunith merlin by slightlytookish)
Sophinisba Solis ([personal profile] sophinisba) wrote2012-07-17 02:30 pm

Merlin ficlet: Politics

Title: Politics
Fandom: Merlin
Ship: Elyan/Will
Rating: R
Contains: n/a
Wordcount: 750
Notes: Written for the "Minor Characters" challenge at [livejournal.com profile] summerpornathon; those of us who are used to writing minor characters were encouraged to write characters we haven't written before, and I think this was my first time with both of these guys! This is also my first fill for the new round of [community profile] kink_bingo, crossing off the "authority figures" square.
Summary: In which Will is randomly alive and Elyan helps with Ealdor's harvest.
Links: alone at the AO3 | with 69 others at the AO3



"It's so kind of you to come and lend a hand, Sir Elyan," Hunith says, and Will wants to spit, because kindness has nothing to do with it. The knight's here on Arthur's orders and they all know it.

"Come to remind us all where we stand, isn't that it?"

"Give it a rest," says Merlin. "We've only just arrived. Let's have something to eat before we start talking about politics."

"Everything's politics," Will mutters, checking out Elyan's shapely arse as he follows them into Hunith's house.

Because, as annoying as it is to have a physical reminder of Camelot's new status as "protector" of Ealdor, it's not like the bloke is especially hard to look at. And after a few hours in the fields the next day Will has to recognise that he's grateful for the help. Elyan's got a fighter's strength but, unlike Arthur, he handles a scythe as gracefully as a sword.

"Slower," says Will. "Even in a good year like this, we can't afford to scatter grain in the dirt like you're doing."

Without a word, Elyan incorporates the suggestion, still cutting efficiently but with a shorter, more careful arc, so the ear falls close to the stalk.

"You like that, don’t you, taking orders? I bet Prince What's-His-Name loves you."

If Merlin were with them he'd just roll his eyes. Yes, obviously, Will knows Arthur's name. Obviously Will's spent a good part of the past four years thinking about the man so special Merlin would give his life for him, would expect Will to give his life for him, and is willing to give up the best years of his life serving him, whatever that means. Obviously (particularly while lying alone at night), Will's pondered in some detail what "serving Arthur" might mean.

Merlin’s on the other side of the field, though. "King Arthur," Elyan says coldly.

Right. Obviously Will knows that too. He shrugs and turns back to his work. "I’d never want to work for royalty, myself. 'Bring me my armour, Elyan! Polish my boots!' Gods, I don’t know how you stand for it.”

"I'm his knight, not his servant."

"Yeah? What's that like then?"

Elyan swings the scythe. "He knows fighting like you know farming. So he wants us to do it better, just like you. 'Elyan, you're not guarding your left side, take it again," he'll say. Or he'll tell us which positions to take when we're fighting in a group. It's not demeaning, it's just…it feels good, knowing where I'm supposed to be."

"Yeah, I can see why you'd pick that over running your own forge and supplying a village of workers with the tools they need."

"Don't be an ass. There are plenty of blacksmiths in Albion, and you know Arthur's a better man than you'll ever be."

Elyan had slept in the barn the first night, which was bollocks. The second night, after dinner with Merlin and Hunith, they stop to pick up his things so he can move to Will's, and in the dark of the hayloft Elyan says, "You wanted it too."

"Wanted what, you arrogant sod?"

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and Elyan says, "Wanted to be a knight once, just like your dad, Merlin told me. Only natural, that. I wanted to be a blacksmith until I found out how powerless blacksmiths really are."

"I never wanted—" Will licks his lips, finding his mouth dry and his stomach tight. He tries to shrug Elyan's hand away but the weight just gets heavier.

"Get on your knees, Sir William."

The fall is abrupt, but the hay softens the impact. "Does Arthur talk to you like that?"

He thinks Elyan's shaking his head. It doesn't matter; it's them here now, Elyan's warmth and the scent of hard work crowding close behind him. "See how good it feels?" Elyan reaches around to cup the bulge in Will's trousers. "Doesn't matter what he's telling you to do, not when it's already what you want. And you want this."

"You're not my king, you're nothing to me," says Will, but the truth is Elyan's commands do mean something to him. So do his armour and his bright red cape, and so does the pressure of his erection against Will's backside. Will shoves his trousers down and rocks, forward into Elyan's hand, back against Elyan's cock.

"Nice," Elyan says, "steady," his strokes firm and confident as his voice. "That's it. We'll make a knight of you yet."


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