Work Text:
Silky sheets, glowing halo white from the moonlight shining through a window, grazes over a dusty broad chest. Then it slides across soft nipples, caresses firm abs and biceps, and before long, two tiny mountains peak underneath the sheets.
Then the smooth fabric slides down towards a hip, slips below the waistband there, and tugs it down, down, down. Over a flaccid lump, strong thighs, knees, shins, ankles, and delicate pale toes. It joins a nightshirt in a rumpled heap on the floor as the sheets ripple and slide all over the bare skin exposed in sensual undulating waves.
A light snore joins the sounds of rustling fabric in the dim room. The sheet doesn’t stop its movements, knowing full well that the man it caresses, a prince called Arthur, will not awake. He hasn’t before, always too exhausted after a day of hard training, patrol, and yelling orders at his man-servant; the sheets takes advantage of his deep slumbering state.
It kneads into muscles where it knows the prince is sore, and avoids purplish bruises where it knows where Arthur would hurt. Then the sheets part his legs, fondles his bollocks and strokes his cock. At the same time, the bed sheets below Arthur’s arse start to stretch away from the mattress, wriggling in between warm cheeks and rubbing against his dry hole.
Still, Arthur does not stir.
Then the sheets rubs him harder until the furled spot becomes hot, soft—weak, while his large cock points up in the cool air. Fabric wraps tight around the erection, wanting him to last, as a corner of the sheet reaches for a vial from the drawer of a cabinet on the side.
Supposedly, it’s massage oil, but Arthur’s bed intimately knows that it isn’t. They have felt him writhing on them, felt his sweat soak their pillows and blankets, and know that his fingers have gone in more places than just around his cock. They have felt his arse, his dick, rubbing desperately against them, humping them, and felt his hot release splashing onto their surfaces, before it would dry into thin hard patches to be later washed by his man-servant.
Uncapping the vial, the clever, mobile sheets work together and raise Arthur’s legs, bending them back until he’s nearly folded in half, a peaceful sleeping expression on his face. Slick liquid drips down onto his exposed blushing hole; the bottom sheets spreads it around, dipping its fabric into Arthur’s arse before slipping out. More oil pours out and more fabric pushes in until a short, twisted, slippery wad of silk (extending from the bed sheets) protrudes from the man’s arse.
Still, Arthur does not stir.
The thick wad thrusts shallowly into him while the rest of the sheets caress his chest, his thighs, his bottom, and his waist. Then, ever so lightly, a breath hitches and one word stills the night.
“Merlin…”
The sheets stop.
Yet, Arthur hasn’t woken. He sighs heavily and the twisted fabric in him sinks even deeper as his body relaxes further.
Two minutes pass but Arthur doesn’t speak again.
He has never called a name before.
Slowly, the sheets withdraw from Arthur’s body and drag him towards one corner at the end of the four poster bed, stopping in front of the wooden beam there. Pillows roll over towards him, his body turned over and lifted to let them cushion and raise his hip above bed level. Then his legs are adjusted to a kneeling position, his head turned so his cheeks rested against the bed while his arms hugged a pillow beneath his chest.
With a round arse high in the air, glowing lewdly in the moonlight, and facing the wooden beam, creaks fill the room as said beam bends towards Arthur. Something round starts to poke out of it, elongating and filling until it holds the appearance of a lustrous wooden cock.
Oil slathers it, shiny liquid dripping from the end of what would be the head of a penis. Then it presses against Arthur’s clueless hole. As the wooden beam bows forward, its structure shifts and produces a deep eerie moan, inserting its length into the pert arse presented.
It has never done this and being wider than the fabric that penetrated Arthur earlier, it moves slowly, letting the rim surrounding its head to squeeze and loosen several times before sinking in more. Then it withdraws, waits a few seconds, and pushes back in, Arthur’s hole less and less resistant as it accepts more of the wooden cock.
Soon, creaks and moans fill the room, along with the wet slapping sounds of soaked wood against sweaty skin. The beam thrusts hard enough that sometimes Arthur’s body lifts or scoots forward, but the sheets are always there to pull him back in to position.
Still, Arthur does not stir.
Only when he’s raised in the air by all four limbs from the curtains of the bed, facing the beam, with his cock and chest sliding over its smooth hard surface, a curved wooden dick impaling him, does his breath hitch once more. This only serves the curtains to lift him up and down against the bedpost faster, dropping him onto the wood in him even harder, and when Arthur slurs out the same name as earlier, eyes closed and mouth open in bliss, he finally cums against the post. White spreads all over, dripping down the beam as the curtains slow and the wooden cock retracts.
The curtains lay his body gently back onto the bed. Blankets and bed sheets wipe his skin clean of sweat and seed (only to briefly shove it back into his hole several times in between), before they tenderly stroke Arthur’s matted hair and pat drool from his lips away. Then they magically refresh themselves, stains and oils gone, and slip Arthur’s clothes back onto him.
Next, the wooden beam straightens, the curtains tie themselves up, the bed sheets flatten out, the pillows roll back against the headboard, and the blankets tuck around Arthur’s body as well as underneath his chin.
Light snores disturb the tranquil quiet and a placid but sated look adorns Arthur’s features, as if he hadn’t just been fucked by his own bed.
As he exhales, chest falling, faint specks of shimmering gold light emerges from the bed and floats out the window, speeding through the air and into the open window of a small messy room on the other side of the castle. It absorbs into the skin of a man whose eyes glow honey, and whose body lies on a narrow bed, a hand still wrapped around his spent cock.
“Ah, Arthur,” he sighs, head falling back on his pillow with a pleased smile. He raises his hand, dirtied by his release, and no longer has to wonder if he’ll ever have a chance to cum inside his master.
The day may come sooner than he thinks.