Chapter 1: Poetry with the Knights of Camelot

The first time Leon had heard of poetry being used as an excuse for some late-night intimate excursion, it had been in a vacant corridor with his King and Merlin. They stood there, looking the same as ever but they were shifty, and sweaty, they could barely meet his eyes.

"Merlin, tell Leon what we're doing," Arthur looked like a deer caught in the line of a crossbow.

Merlin glanced between the two of them, then in a low rough voice said, "We're…I'm teaching him some poetry."

"Poetry?" he couldn't believe the excuse they came up with. He'd heard better lies from a drunken Gwaine.

"I…love poetry."

And then Merlin flashed one of those goofy smiles of his, "I'm as surprised as you are! He can't get enough of it!"

Obviously lying. But they didn't have much option, a married King and his servant? But really, they could've come up with a better excuse. "I'll…leave you to your poetry then," he told them and moved as quickly past them as he could.

And he tried to forget that awkward encounter, he tried really hard. But the more he tried to forget, the more the thought of the two of them together plagued him.

There was nothing wrong with Arthur doing…poetry with Merlin, even if he was married to Gwen, he was surprisingly perfectly okay with them together. They certainly were quite loyal to one another, even if they'd never really admit it.

No, the problem with them was that now he'd seen them in the corridor, sweaty and shifty, he couldn't stop thinking about them in that way. And he wondered, if he had come a bit later, what would he have walked in on?

Would Arthur have Merlin against the wall, clothing askew, all tongue and teeth against that alabaster flesh? Would Merlin be squirming against his King, begging for him to take him? Would they be there, the younger man's long legs wrapped around the King's hips, nails biting the skin of his broad back, and said King pounding hard into the heat of his servant?

Or would it be the other way around? Merlin may be thin and lanky, but he had a hold over Arthur that no other, not even the Queen, had. Would he have Arthur pressed against the wall, knees weak, nimble fingers roaming over his sun-kissed skin, touching him in places that only the most privy could touch? Would he take him gentle, rocking his body against his elder's, speaking sweet nothings in his ear?

The thoughts, the images, make Leon's body shiver and a tingly heat coil in his gut, one that he's only ever felt when he longs for a woman's touch. But he can't help it, his body simply reacts, and he finds that he doesn't quite mind.

He wants to ask them about their…poetry, but he doesn't want to pry in the private affairs of his King. So he'll just simply imagine their excursions.

The second time he hears the term poetry used in the sense of the first, it's again from Merlin's mouth, but he's with someone other than Arthur.

It's again, late at night, and he's patrolling the halls when he hears something coming from the kitchens. He has to investigate, it's his job, jis duty to protect Camelot, so he goes to the door and listens a moment.

"You taste so delicious," a low voice, one he knows too well, breathes. "So sweet."

Leon's never thought himself a peeper, but his body moves before he even knows what's going on, and he's looking through the cracked doorway. He sees Merlin there, holding someone to a table, but it's not Arthur.

No, it's another knight, a roguish man with luxurious dark locks who likes to drink too much and loves to eat apples. He's leaning back against a table, his chest on display and the younger man pressed up against him, their hips rubbing together.

"You're such a tease," Gwaine groans, a hand moving to the other's waist.

"But you love it, don't you?" Merlin's voice is low, husky with need, and breathy.

It sends a shiver down Leon's spine and he feels that heat pool in his gut again. He must've made a noise at that because he notices eyes on the door and a voice calling out.

"Merlin, Gwaine," Leon greets, opening the door a bit more. He doesn't know why he's doing this, why he's revealing himself. "Everything all right?"

Gwaine flashes one of those grins of his. And Merlin, he smiles too, his ears turning pink. "Leon," they both say, their voices low in their throats.

"We're uh…" it's that lie again, catching on the younger man's plump lips. "I'm teaching Gwaine poetry."

"I…I see," his throat is dry and he feels like he's burning. "Carry on then," he closes the door quickly, and he can hear gentle laughter as he moves down the hall.

That night, new fantasies sprout. Instead of his King and Merlin, it's the servant and the rogue, and he wonders about how they would be together. Would Gwaine take Merlin from behind, the younger man pressed up against the table, crying out in ecstasy? Or would Merlin be taking Gwaine, the rogue's legs around his thin hips, his face buried in that silky hair?

Either one sends shudders down the knight's body, the heat pooling in his gut, and his member twitches in his breeches. He doesn't do anything about it, not until he's hidden away in his chambers where no one can walk in, and only then, when the door is locked and his clothes tossed onto the floor and he's laying in bed, does he let the fantasies flood his mind and allow his body the release it so desperately craves.

Later on, when he's sobered up and spent, he wonders about his King and Gwaine and Merlin. Does Arthur know about Merlin and Gwaine? Does Gwaine know about the servant and the King? Are they all okay with everything?

The third time it happens, it's in the stables, night has fallen and he sees the light of a torch. He thinks it's Merlin there working, mucking out the stables, and decides to check on him. They're friends afterall and he doesn't like to see his friend taking on more than he should.

But when he walks in, he finds that Merlin isn't alone. He can't see him, he seems to be in the far back of the stable where the hay is kept, but he can hear him. The younger man is with someone, moaning lowly, begging them…

"Please," he moans. "Oh Gods, nnn please, just…just fuck me."

The sounds of his pleasure, his husky voice begging, pleading, it goes straight to Leon's groin and a quiet moan rolls in the back of his throat.

"Hello?" another voice calls out, the sounds of sex stopping much to the servant's annoyance.

He knows that voice. "Elyan?" he asks when really, he should be running away.

"Uh…y-yeah," the knight hears the shifting of hay and a whimper. "Did…did you need something? Is there a problem?"

"No problem." Keep it cool, Leon, he thinks to himself as the whimpers of need continue. "I saw the light, thought it was Merlin up too late again."

"I'm okay, Leon," the younger man's husky reply comes from near where Elyan is. "Just p-poetry."

Oh god, that voice of his, it makes Leon shudder. "E-enjoy your…poetry," he stutters the words, his body is on fire, "G'night."

He hears his friends' bids of good night as he escapes the stables. He doesn't get far, though, before his body makes him stop. He tucks himself into an alcove, hidden from anyone who may pass by, and he reaches into his breeches.

Images of his friends, of Elyan and Merlin rolling around in the hay, they fill his mind. He doesn't have to wonder who's on the receiving end, Merlin's begging told him everything he needed to know, and it fuels his own need.

A dark toned body rutting against a slim beautiful one, long legs wrapped tight around Elyan's hips, hands gripping taut muscle. The knight is rough, face buried in a slender neck, teeth nipping and biting, as he fucks the servant into the hay. They moan, Merlin needy and begging for release. Or maybe Merlin's on his hands and knees, face pressed down in the hay, and Elyan kneels behind him, mounting him like an animal and having his way with the younger man.

Leon moans too, pumping his hand on his member, as he imagines the young man with the raven hair writhing in ecstasy beneath his comrade - no, beneath him. A coil tightens in his gut as the young man in his mind hits his limit, spilling his seed over his smooth chest, and the coil snaps. He comes hard, a groan in the back of his throat, and his chest heaves, breath coming in gasps.

Oh God, what is happening to him?

It's his day off and he's visiting the libraries when he hears the poetry excuse for a fourth time, again with Merlin - why's he always walking in on the servant when he's with someone else? He's walking down an isle, eyes scanning the shelves, when he hears the moaning and while he doesn't know what's being said, he can hear soft-spoken words.

Peeking around a corner, he finds them.

Percival, for once, isn't wearing his chainmail, in fact, he's not even wearing a tunic and his breeches are down to his knees. Merlin sits in his lap, straddling him, one hand on his thick neck and the other between their bodies. His breeches are on the floor and his hips are sliding against the knight's, slowly, methodically, and his mouth is on skin, leaving wet kisses.

"Oh Gods, Percy, you're so big," the servant says, his voice breathy. "I want you inside of me."

Leon's breath hitches as he watches one of his comrade's large hands slide down from a thin hip, across a plump cheek, down along the crack, and stops underneath where Merlin's most private area is. A large finger swirls around, causing the young man to whine with want and then gasp as the finger pushes its way inside of him.

"Oh Gods, yes."

Without permission, his hand slides down to his groin to palm at his hardening member while he watches that slender young man rock his hips against the intruding finger.

Another is inserted and slides alongside the other, making the raven-haired man moan and his hips twitch. "I want you now, Percy. Please. No more teasing."

A low chuckle from the gentle giant. "Patience. I don't wanna hurt you." His quiet voice is rough, husky, "Just a moment longer." His fingers work more, thrusting into Merlin, until he removes them, and when he does, a whine is pulled from the younger's mouth.

The two kiss, briefly, and Merlin shifts his body. He raises himself up, leaning against the large knight, and Percival presses the head of his impressive cock against the other's ass. They move together, one sliding down and the other pushing up, his cock disappearing into a plump ass, and both groaning with the things they're feeling.

"Fuck," Leon groans deep in his throat, he's so hard, and he leans back against the book shelf.

There's a gasp and a soft stuttering "H-hello?" from the servant.

The eldest knight silently curses to himself. "Um…h-hi," he calls out from behind the shelf. "Sorry for…for interrupting…" his face is so hot and he's sure he's as red as a tomato.

"L-Leon?" Percival asks, fear touching his voice.

"Y-yeah. Poetry, right?"

He hears a hum of confirmation, from Merlin is sounds like. "Yeah, p-poetry."

"I'll…um…I'll leave you to it."

He starts walking away, embarrassed for and of himself, and the low moans of comrade and friend follow him after a long moment of silence. When he hears them, he's several shelves away, and he has to stop, his body refuses to continue. And his hand, that wandering twitching hand, slides down into his breeches to stroke his aching member.

He bites his lip, keeping the groan inside, and listens to the sounds of sex. He can imagine them, Merlin arching his lithe body against hard muscle, hips rocking against a thick cock, slender fingers gripping broad shoulders, and those pink lips parted. Percival sits there, large hands on narrow hips, his own thrusting up into a tight velvet heat, mouth against a smooth chest, kissing softly, maybe even sucking on a pert nipple.

Leon's orgasm hits him hard, without warning, coating the inside of his breeches white, making stars burst behind closed eyes. His breath comes in heavy gasps, forced quiet so as not to alert the couple, and he has to lean against a shelf for balance, his knees weak.

Dear Lord, he thinks, what is that man doing to him? Because obviously, Merlin is doing something to him, just the image of him in the throes of passion cause his groin to stir. He shudders, feeling his body warming again so soon after play, and the moans aren't helping, he can still hear them.

So, he leaves, going to his chambers for more privacy, allowing his mind to fantasize from the comfort of his bed.

He's walking along a corridor, it's late at night again, the moon is high in the night sky and the stars are shimmering, when he hears an all-too familiar sound. He's pulled towards the man of his fantasies, to the end of the hall and up a staircase, and he finds him there, just on the other side of a door, on the tower roof.

He knows it's Merlin, those sounds he makes, his rough voice, they're ingrained into his brain, seared into his mind. It's impossible to forget that voice.

But this isn't the Merlin he's been shown. He's not begging, not pleading, for another to fill him, to fuck him. He's not sliding sensually against another body or lightly grinding his hips with another's to cause sweet friction of the groin. And he's not soft-spoken, not stuttering or blushing, not crying out to God above.

No, that's fallen on his partner, on the youngest knight of Camelot. Mordred.

He wouldn't have believed it if he wasn't seeing the two of them with his own eyes. But there they are, on the roof, Mordred on his knees, toned pale back arched against the stone, fingers twitching, dark curls wild, and hips held in a tight grip, snapping together with another's, with Merlin's.

And Merlin, he's behind the young knight, hips slamming into his partner's hard and fast, long fingers bruising skin, a dark smirk playing on pink lips, eyes glimmering brightly in the night. He's growling low in his chest, much like a rabid dog, lewd words coming from his mouth.

"So tight, so hot," he says, his voice deeper than he's ever heard, "You like it when I take you like this, don't you? You're like a bitch in heat."

Mordred whines low at that, shuddering. "For you," he breathes, "Only for you."

"That's right, for me. You're mine."

Leon shudders at the statement, he's never heard such possession from someone who's usually so giving, so free, and it makes his body burn. He's so hot, from watching them, from hearing Merlin's dark tone, it brings about a whole new set of fantasies. He palms himself through the material of his breeches.

"I-I'm your's," the young knight repeats. "Only your's." His hand moves, reaching for his neglected cock which is dripping onto the stone beneath him.

"Don't you dare," another growl, a command, and the boy whines.

"Pl-please," he begs.

The servant doesn't say anything, only reaches a hand down the boy's spine, nails scraping skin, fingers wrapping around a pale neck, and he pulls him up, pulls him close so the toned back arches against a smooth chest. The boy's hands move, one gripping the wrist near his throat and the other on the forearm at his side. Hips are moving slower now, still hard, but slower and it makes him whine.

Merlin's lips touch a shoulder, kissing briefly, and then his teeth are in flesh, biting hard, and the younger male cries out in ecstasy, his seed bursting from his member, and his body spasms against his elder's. The servant groans, climaxing as well, fingers twitching in their places.

"Mine," he growls low, "You understand?"

Mordred nods, eyes fluttering distantly. "Your's," he repeats.

Leon leans against a wall, heart racing, chest heaving with every gasping breath, his member aching for release. It's his comrade's cry, that keening sound when teeth met flesh that's doing him in.

God, he's so weak. Images are flashing in his mind, of Merlin taking him instead of his comrade, rutting him from behind, gripping him so tight that he leaves bruises, claiming him as his own.

He climaxes hard at that last thought, of Merlin burying his teeth in his shoulder, and his body shudders against stone. His eyes are barely open, seeing stars bursting in the darkness of the stairway.

"Leon?" a voice asks.

He looks towards it and finds the man of his fantasies standing there, Mordred at his side, both dressed in their nightclothes. The servant is calm, his eyes twinkling in the dark, a small smirk playing on his lips, one hand on the back of his partner's neck. The young knight is red in the face, shifting where he stands, hands wringing the hem of his tunic.

He gulps. "H-hi."

"Hi, Leon," Merlin replies in that husky voice, causing a shiver to run down his elder's spin. "Out for a stroll?"

He gives a short nod. "You?"

Long fingers flex gently, briefly gripping the youngest male's neck, and the boy leans into the touch. "Poetry. Young Mordred here loves it. Don't you?" the question is asked with a hint of a growl.

A shudder takes ahold of the boy and he nods, there's a lustful gleam in his light blue eyes. "Y-yes, so much. Merlin's an amazing poetry teacher." That earns a gentle caress.

"It's late, run on to bed."

Mordred obeys silently with a nod, moving down the staircase with a limp, and the two men watch until he disappears from sight.

"I'm off to bed too," Merlin comments, taking a step closer to the elder knight. "You have a good night, Leon," he almost purrs the words. His hand brushes the other's, just the fingertips, and it sends electricity dancing through his system.

He nods, words suddenly stuck in his throat. Merlin touched him, it was only a small touch, only a few seconds at most, and he gives him a smile, one of those blinding ones that makes his heart stutter in his chest.

He watches him disappear into the darkness of the staircase, a tuneless melody on his lips.

Leon's losing himself, isn't he?

* I do not, nor will I ever, own BBC's Merlin

There's one more chapter left for sure. Maybe more if enough people want the extra scenes between Merlin and the other knights, but that's only if I get enough requests, otherwise it's only going to be two chapters about Merlin and Leon.

I hope ya'll enjoyed this first chapter.