Fic: an arse is an arse, of course, of course (3/3)
Title: an arse is an arse, of course, of course (3/3)
Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/OMC, Merlin/Lancelot
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,066 (out of 13,383)
Notes: Oh man...I had SO MUCH HELP on this story. mini_moue was my lightning-fast proofer, dark_reaction gave this story the swift kick in the butt that it needed, and oxoniensis was amazingly sweet to look this over on such short notice and still have such extensive concrit. So, THANK YOU GUYS. This story was major suckage before they chipped in with their amazing brains. Other than that...gosh, this story took me about SIX MONTHS to write but it's finally here. I hope you guys enjoy.
Summary: Arthur's vivid, recurring dreams involve fucking his manservant, and it's throwing him off his game.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
High above Camelot, on the tippy-top of the castle’s western tower, Merlin is sandwiched between Arthur and a stone ledge that abruptly drops away to certain death.
“Arthur,” Merlin nervously pleads.
It falls on deaf ears; the prince makes no movement to let up, only lowers his gaze to the movement of Merlin’s Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down. Suddenly, Arthur’s blue eyes dart aside, honing in on something like a hound catching scent.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks again, but again the prince pays no heed, only moves his face towards the vicinity of Merlin’s neck and makes a discontented noise. “Let me up,” Merlin tries.
“There’s a bruise on your neck.”
What?
“It’s a lovebite,” Arthur continues, his voice darkening.
Oh. Must’ve been a parting gift from Lancelot…Merlin swallows convulsively when Arthur narrows his eyes, ducks his head down and…oh shit-Arthur puts his mouth on Merlin’s skin. Presumably where the lovebite is.
Merlin gasps.
Arthur’s mouth is wet and warm, and it doesn’t feel like much until he sucks in a mouthful of bruised flesh and drags his teeth down over it, none-too-gently.
“Fuck, ” Merlin warbles. “Arthur. What are you-ah-“
At length, Arthur lets go with a loud, slick noise and the patch of skin immediately turns cold from the draft. Merlin reaches up, aiming to wipe off the chilled moisture with the hem of his sleeve, but Arthur’s palm closes over the spot first, guarding it.
“It was Lancelot, wasn’t it?” Arthur asks, and his other hand comes down to rest on the other side of Merlin’s neck. Though Arthur’s voice remains steady-conversational, almost-it’s belied by the hint of a sneer that’s snuck up on his face.
“How did you …” Merlin trails off as Arthur tracks his thumbs down the uneven terrain of Merlin’s throat, pressing in with more force than Merlin is strictly comfortable with.
Arthur chuckles, but it doesn’t sound particularly friendly. “As if you two were being subtle, Merlin.”
-----
It was sickening-Lancelot and Merlin, that is. At the celebration, Merlin had spent the entire evening mooning at Lancelot with the distinct air of a besotted chambermaid, and Lancelot was no better. Despite Arthur’s best efforts to keep him distracted, Lancelot would float back to Merlin like a sodding magnet every chance he got.
“As if you two were being subtle, Merlin,” Arthur says.
On top of the shared bedroom eyes and intimate laughter, the two of them had left together. Plain as day, with no discretion whatsoever. For God’s sake, Lancelot had just been knighted a few hours prior, and the first thing he went and did was dishonour the royal name by taking a lowly, male servant (who happens to belong to Arthur) to bed with him.
Arthur growls at the thought. “Only me,” he says in a low voice, touching the hateful bruise on Merlin’s neck. It helps only marginally that the skin is darker now, freshly purpled and pink at the edges from Arthur’s own claim superimposed on it. “You only ever pulled those kind of stunts for me. But it doesn’t even count, I’m your prince-you’re required to help me. To cover for me. Drink poison, risk your neck, flout the rules for me-“
“I don’t do those things because I’m required- “
“But Lancelot. You lied for him. You lied to me. Did it at the drop of a hat, and he isn’t even noble. ”
Merlin frowns, gets that look on his face before he’s about to open his trap and voice something rude. “As if bloodlines matter,” Merlin argues, right on cue. “All I care is that Lance is noble at heart.”
“Oh, so he’s ‘Lance’, now?” With renewed vigour, Arthur shoulders forward and lays Merlin flat on his back against the ledge-stretches himself out until he’s snug between Merlin’s legs and pressing down with all his weight.
“Arthur…” Merlin says. “This isn’t like you. You’re a prat, but you aren’t a prick. So will you just tell me what this is really about?”
He sounds breathless, and furthermore Arthur can feel it-Merlin’s chest hitches against his own, quick tattoo like a rabbit’s heart, and while this may be because Arthur’s smushing his lungs…Arthur secretly hopes it’s something else.
It’s those damned dreams-the start to this whole fucking mess. Arthur can’t even look at his idiot servant anymore without thinking about ink-black nights, about sweetly-pressed kisses against less innocent places.
“Arthur?”
Hearing his name, Arthur refocuses. Their faces are nearly touching, and Merlin looks tousled and wild-eyed.
It does something to him. His stomach slowly flips over and with it, Arthur feels the anger-the jealousy, if he’s being entirely honest with himself-recede. He briefly lowers his head to steel himself, then brings it back up. “It’s you, Merlin,” he admits. “It’s about you.”
Merlin blinks owlishly.
“It’s about how you’re rubbish at getting out grass stains.” Arthur shifts his weight and his hips knock against the inside of Merlin’s thighs, which fall open like a sigh. Arthur does his best to ignore it and gamely rambles on, “You’re a crap servant, always late and never sorry.”
“And this has to do with…?”
“Everything, you dimwit. You just-you do whatever the fuck you want and it, it isn’t done. But you do it anyway, and I can’t help but pay attention. Notice.” Arthur clears his throat. “Notice you.”
Merlin scrunches his face in confusion, but he might have a point. Arthur has ears-he can hear how daft he sounds.
So he tries again. Bites his lip, then says, significantly, “I…notice you.”
Merlin’s brow stays furrowed, mouth opening quickly and Arthur can practically hear the ‘what does that even mean?’, when-in what would be a comical turn of events if Arthur didn’t feel so wretched-Merlin keeps gaping. His forehead raises, his blue eyes widen to the size of plates, and eventually he emits a faint ‘oh’.
“Yeah,” Arthur mimics tightly. “Oh. ”
“So that’s why-the whole Lancelot thing-“ Merlin frowns in concentration, chewing on his lower lip as he works everything out in his head and Arthur simply watches, feeling control of the situation slip clean from his grasp like a sword out of sweaty palms. “And the lovebite…you kissed me,” Merlin concludes.
“That wasn’t a kiss,” Arthur grumps.
“Okay, so you sucked on me-“ Arthur pales, and Merlin rolls his eyes. “Well, you did. ”
“We are not talking about this!”
“Right. Because that was working out so well for you,” Merlin shoots back, and his disobedience is even more appalling than usual because anyone with even a modicum of self-preservation would be more worried about being pushed into the castle moat than arguing a point.
“What I still don’t get…” Merlin says thoughtfully, “is that you’ve been such a terror these last few weeks.”
“I haven’t been a terror. ”
Merlin gives him a Look. “Well, if what you’re implying is true, you’re supposed to be nice to me. Bringing me flowers, or-or serenading me under my window, I don’t know. Not yelling at me over piddling things, at any rate.”
Oh, what Arthur would give to have the ground swallow him up right now. He drops his head onto Merlin’s shoulder. “You idiot, ” he says wearily. “I’m not going to court you; you aren’t a girl. I can’t just take you as a mistress and be done with it.”
“You’re the prince,” Merlin states. “You can do whatever you want.”
Arthur jerks up, searching Merlin’s face for the exact meaning behind those level words, but Merlin’s face is tightly shuttered. “If you’re insinuating that I could force you into my bed…” Arthur says slowly. “God, Merlin. I would never do that.”
“Right.” Merlin’s eyes slide sideways.
“Unless…”
Merlin’s attention snaps back to Arthur’s face. Eyes huge and vulnerable, that look normally makes Merlin resemble a village idiot but when they’re fixed so completely on Arthur, he can’t help but feel his chest flood with want.
He wants to wipe that nervous look from Merlin’s face, wants Merlin’s eyelids to flutter shut so they can quit staring at each other and just be honest-their bodies as words, with no jumbled speech or veiled expressions to get in the way.
Arthur wants…lord, it’s revolting to admit as such, but he wants to be honest to Merlin-wants to take Merlin home and keep him all to himself. His manservant would undoubtedly make for a feisty lover, but he’d be his, wholly and completely.
Merlin swallows hard, the sound loud in Arthur’s ear. He tips his eyes up; Merlin looks petrified.
“…never mind,” Arthur says resignedly. “Stop looking at me like that. I already said I wouldn’t force you into…anything like that. ”
“But-“
“It won’t happen again,” Arthur states, his voice clipped and business-like. “I’ll stop taking my…personal matters out on you, and by tomorrow we can forget we ever had this conversation.”
So, that’s that. Arthur had let this preoccupation spin way out of control, and it’s about time he contained it. They can get back to their proper roles now-Arthur as the objective party, and Merlin his obedient (well, functional) servant. No more sacrifice and martyrdom for this prince, thank you very much.
And as for Arthur himself? If the disappointment is heavy in his gut, it’s only the weight of burden that he, as future king, will simply have to carry.
Suddenly, a soft, insistent nudging comes at his temple. Arthur lifts his eyes-hadn’t realized he’d lowered them-as Merlin noses down, prompting Arthur’s attention.
“What?” he says irritably. Merlin doesn’t know when to let things go. “What is it?”
“You prat.”
Arthur gapes at Merlin, who looks positively disdainful. “What? ” he asks. “I just-I just bared my soul to you, you ungrateful lout. Do you think I’d admit that to just anyone?”
“Thick as always-“
Arthur laughs in disbelief. He’s the thick one?
“-and self-centred. Like a spoilt prince.”
“Merlin, if you’re trying to get yourself killed, just say so. Make a jump for it, no one’s stopping you-“
“Don’t I get a say?” Merlin asks, his tone presumptuous and demanding.
“A say in what? ”
“You said-‘it won’t happen again’.” Merlin’s impersonation of him is truly ridiculous-Arthur doesn’t sound that snotty. “I’m involved in this, so I should get a say.”
“Well, your Highness, “ Arthur grouses. “What would you have to say-“
Merlin cranes his neck up and plants his lips over Arthur’s half-open mouth.
He’s got terrible aim-fumbles the kiss entirely, if that’s what he’s trying to do. Merlin butts into Arthur’s mouth, mashing lips against teeth in a way that’s hardly romantic, but entirely laughable. Then Merlin-with the audacity to make a small noise of irritation, as if this painfully awkward situation is Arthur’s doing-grabs him round the back of the neck and pulls him down.
Arthur follows in without grace, feet slipping as his weight falls squarely on Merlin’s lean, bird-thin body. ‘Come on,’ Merlin murmurs against his slack mouth, heated and urgent.
Arthur’s wandering attention quickly reins in-that’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one. Arthur pulls back, studies Merlin’s panicked face for one brief moment before dipping back down to push their mouths together, fierce and sure, with all the authority he can pour into it.
This is how it’s done, he wants to convey. He’ll kiss Merlin within an inch of his life because Merlin had said ‘come on’ and Arthur, he’ll come on all right. He’s the best at everything he puts his mind to, and if snogging his manservant is going on that list, well…heaven or hell be damned, Arthur is going to be the best Merlin’s ever had.
Arthur takes a breath through his nose and deepens the kiss; it’s not aggressive, exactly, but insistent-and only when Merlin’s struggling for breath does Arthur retreat, occupying himself instead with the heady taste of Merlin’s working throat. He brushes his lips over Merlin’s cheek, his jaw, returns to the upturned mouth below him.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice lost between a hiss and a sigh. Arthur hears him though. With a final lingering kiss that ends on a hint of teeth, Arthur removes himself and opens his eyes.
Merlin’s cheeks are flushed, and he looks even more disoriented than usual. Mouth parted, Merlin’s pale lips have gone plump and pink under Arthur’s attentions.
Perfect. Arthur grins triumphantly. “So. What was it you wanted to say?” he asks, with no small amount of smugness.
“That was all, um. All that I needed to say,“ Merlin stammers, and Arthur decides that he rather likes it when Merlin’s been kissed into a stupor. But then Merlin shakes himself, and a gleam returns to his eye. “If you’d said something earlier, we could’ve done this ages ago.”
Ah, yes. As if Merlin’s impudence could ever be erased for good-truth be told, though, Arthur wouldn’t want it any other way.
Still, he rolls his eyes theatrically and replies, "What was I supposed to say? Merlin, I’ve fallen in love with you-“ Arthur stumbles at bit as the words slide past his guard, but inwardly shrugs and continues- “and your particular brand of shoddy service. Now, polish my sword. And you know the one I mean. ”
Merlin’s cheeks turn a pleasant, burnished shade of red, but his voice is steady when he replies, “Yeah. You could’ve said that. I’d have been receptive.” He nibbles on the inside of his lip for a moment, then adds cheekily, “But you weren’t going to tell me on your own. Wanted to make both our lives miserable, instead. Aren’t you glad you asked me what I thought?”
Arthur doesn’t know whether to laugh outright or box his servant round the ears. But-predictably, as Arthur always seems to let Merlin get away with murder-he opts for the former. Chuckles a bit, saying fondly, “As if you could possibly contain yourself.”
“Lucky for you.”
Arthur smiles at this, his grin lopsided and real. While it’s probably making him look every ounce the idiot that Merlin looks on a daily basis, Arthur couldn’t honestly care less because that idiot-Merlin, who wants him too-is smiling back at him.
-----
Somewhere between snogging like drunken teenagers and stumbling towards Merlin’s bedroom downstairs-Merlin chooses now to be eager to tend to him-Merlin somehow convinces Arthur that his noble plan to stay bitter and single for the sake of his country is, as he puts it, a crock of shite.
“But you’re-“ Arthur gasps. “You make me weak.”
“Do I, now?” Merlin does something wicked with his hand, which has snuck its way under Arthur’s shirt as he’s busy trying not to fall down four flights of stairs, damn it.
“I mean it-fuck. Think of all the times I nearly killed myself saving your girly arse.”
“Girly, am I?” Merlin repeats, and Arthur would be incensed that he wasn’t paying attention to Arthur’s valid points except for the fact that he pretty much stopped paying attention himself the moment Merlin took his hand away-pity, it’d felt rather nice-and shoved Arthur against the curved wall.
“You have no idea the number of times I’ve saved your arse,” Merlin claims, and he emphasizes this statement with a well-targeted, two-handed grab for said arse that-Jesus-Arthur would find rather brutish, if Merlin hadn’t been distracting him with a pushy kiss that shuts Arthur right the hell up.
“I’m good for you,” Merlin says, after they break.
“Oh, really. I’d beg to differ,“ Arthur replies. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come out the way he wants, for his voice turns wobbly as Merlin presses a kiss to Arthur’s cheekbone and smiles against his skin, there.
Merlin never listens to him anyway-just slides long-fingered hands up Arthur’s rucked shirt as Arthur clears his throat noisily.
Merlin pauses, then drags his palms south.
“Merlin,” Arthur protests feebly. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” Merlin stops and pulls his hands away in a huff, using them instead to frame Arthur’s face in a manner not unlike his mother’s, who commands attention the same way…and Jesus, Arthur really doesn’t need to be thinking about Merlin’s mother right now because he’s got a hard-on the size of the tower they’re in, and this is all getting rather fucked-up in his mind-
“Why is this a bad idea?” Merlin interrupts, holding his gaze. “So we risk our lives for each other. So what? We’re saving each other, too. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“I guess…” Arthur says uneasily. Damn it, he hates it when Merlin makes sense.
“We’re not hurting anyone, endangering anyone.”
Arthur avoids Merlin’s piercing eyes, looking instead at his kiss-swollen mouth. He kind of wants to be done with the talking part, and it appears Merlin can sense it for he quirks his lips into a smile.
“We both want this. Why can’t we have it?”
Well, when he puts it like that.
Arthur says something grumpily-doesn’t really know what, but Merlin looks relieved and leans in to kiss him so hard his mouth feels raw when they finally break for breath.
They don’t make it to Merlin’s bedroom. Not for the first round, at least, but Arthur’s quite content nonetheless-it gives them something to look forward to.
He’s already thinking about seconds when Merlin lifts his drowsy gaze and smiles at him, and it only spurs him to think about thirds, fourths-a limitless number of helpings that stretch into the future, as far the eye can see.
“You sap,” Merlin says, interrupting Arthur’s pleasant reverie. “I can see it. I don’t know how I missed it before-you, Arthur Pendragon. Are a sap.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Arthur groans.
“No, fuck me.”
Arthur stares. Feels his mouth lift into an involuntary smile before it turns into an outright laugh, and it only gets better when Merlin has the decency to look abashed.
“Prat,” Merlin mutters under his breath, his cheeks rosy under translucent skin, and it’s exactly what Arthur wants to hear.
End.
Back
Characters: Arthur/Merlin, Arthur/OMC, Merlin/Lancelot
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,066 (out of 13,383)
Notes: Oh man...I had SO MUCH HELP on this story. mini_moue was my lightning-fast proofer, dark_reaction gave this story the swift kick in the butt that it needed, and oxoniensis was amazingly sweet to look this over on such short notice and still have such extensive concrit. So, THANK YOU GUYS. This story was major suckage before they chipped in with their amazing brains. Other than that...gosh, this story took me about SIX MONTHS to write but it's finally here. I hope you guys enjoy.
Summary: Arthur's vivid, recurring dreams involve fucking his manservant, and it's throwing him off his game.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
High above Camelot, on the tippy-top of the castle’s western tower, Merlin is sandwiched between Arthur and a stone ledge that abruptly drops away to certain death.
“Arthur,” Merlin nervously pleads.
It falls on deaf ears; the prince makes no movement to let up, only lowers his gaze to the movement of Merlin’s Adam’s apple as it bobs up and down. Suddenly, Arthur’s blue eyes dart aside, honing in on something like a hound catching scent.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks again, but again the prince pays no heed, only moves his face towards the vicinity of Merlin’s neck and makes a discontented noise. “Let me up,” Merlin tries.
“There’s a bruise on your neck.”
What?
“It’s a lovebite,” Arthur continues, his voice darkening.
Oh. Must’ve been a parting gift from Lancelot…Merlin swallows convulsively when Arthur narrows his eyes, ducks his head down and…oh shit-Arthur puts his mouth on Merlin’s skin. Presumably where the lovebite is.
Merlin gasps.
Arthur’s mouth is wet and warm, and it doesn’t feel like much until he sucks in a mouthful of bruised flesh and drags his teeth down over it, none-too-gently.
“Fuck, ” Merlin warbles. “Arthur. What are you-ah-“
At length, Arthur lets go with a loud, slick noise and the patch of skin immediately turns cold from the draft. Merlin reaches up, aiming to wipe off the chilled moisture with the hem of his sleeve, but Arthur’s palm closes over the spot first, guarding it.
“It was Lancelot, wasn’t it?” Arthur asks, and his other hand comes down to rest on the other side of Merlin’s neck. Though Arthur’s voice remains steady-conversational, almost-it’s belied by the hint of a sneer that’s snuck up on his face.
“How did you …” Merlin trails off as Arthur tracks his thumbs down the uneven terrain of Merlin’s throat, pressing in with more force than Merlin is strictly comfortable with.
Arthur chuckles, but it doesn’t sound particularly friendly. “As if you two were being subtle, Merlin.”
-----
It was sickening-Lancelot and Merlin, that is. At the celebration, Merlin had spent the entire evening mooning at Lancelot with the distinct air of a besotted chambermaid, and Lancelot was no better. Despite Arthur’s best efforts to keep him distracted, Lancelot would float back to Merlin like a sodding magnet every chance he got.
“As if you two were being subtle, Merlin,” Arthur says.
On top of the shared bedroom eyes and intimate laughter, the two of them had left together. Plain as day, with no discretion whatsoever. For God’s sake, Lancelot had just been knighted a few hours prior, and the first thing he went and did was dishonour the royal name by taking a lowly, male servant (who happens to belong to Arthur) to bed with him.
Arthur growls at the thought. “Only me,” he says in a low voice, touching the hateful bruise on Merlin’s neck. It helps only marginally that the skin is darker now, freshly purpled and pink at the edges from Arthur’s own claim superimposed on it. “You only ever pulled those kind of stunts for me. But it doesn’t even count, I’m your prince-you’re required to help me. To cover for me. Drink poison, risk your neck, flout the rules for me-“
“I don’t do those things because I’m required- “
“But Lancelot. You lied for him. You lied to me. Did it at the drop of a hat, and he isn’t even noble. ”
Merlin frowns, gets that look on his face before he’s about to open his trap and voice something rude. “As if bloodlines matter,” Merlin argues, right on cue. “All I care is that Lance is noble at heart.”
“Oh, so he’s ‘Lance’, now?” With renewed vigour, Arthur shoulders forward and lays Merlin flat on his back against the ledge-stretches himself out until he’s snug between Merlin’s legs and pressing down with all his weight.
“Arthur…” Merlin says. “This isn’t like you. You’re a prat, but you aren’t a prick. So will you just tell me what this is really about?”
He sounds breathless, and furthermore Arthur can feel it-Merlin’s chest hitches against his own, quick tattoo like a rabbit’s heart, and while this may be because Arthur’s smushing his lungs…Arthur secretly hopes it’s something else.
It’s those damned dreams-the start to this whole fucking mess. Arthur can’t even look at his idiot servant anymore without thinking about ink-black nights, about sweetly-pressed kisses against less innocent places.
“Arthur?”
Hearing his name, Arthur refocuses. Their faces are nearly touching, and Merlin looks tousled and wild-eyed.
It does something to him. His stomach slowly flips over and with it, Arthur feels the anger-the jealousy, if he’s being entirely honest with himself-recede. He briefly lowers his head to steel himself, then brings it back up. “It’s you, Merlin,” he admits. “It’s about you.”
Merlin blinks owlishly.
“It’s about how you’re rubbish at getting out grass stains.” Arthur shifts his weight and his hips knock against the inside of Merlin’s thighs, which fall open like a sigh. Arthur does his best to ignore it and gamely rambles on, “You’re a crap servant, always late and never sorry.”
“And this has to do with…?”
“Everything, you dimwit. You just-you do whatever the fuck you want and it, it isn’t done. But you do it anyway, and I can’t help but pay attention. Notice.” Arthur clears his throat. “Notice you.”
Merlin scrunches his face in confusion, but he might have a point. Arthur has ears-he can hear how daft he sounds.
So he tries again. Bites his lip, then says, significantly, “I…notice you.”
Merlin’s brow stays furrowed, mouth opening quickly and Arthur can practically hear the ‘what does that even mean?’, when-in what would be a comical turn of events if Arthur didn’t feel so wretched-Merlin keeps gaping. His forehead raises, his blue eyes widen to the size of plates, and eventually he emits a faint ‘oh’.
“Yeah,” Arthur mimics tightly. “Oh. ”
“So that’s why-the whole Lancelot thing-“ Merlin frowns in concentration, chewing on his lower lip as he works everything out in his head and Arthur simply watches, feeling control of the situation slip clean from his grasp like a sword out of sweaty palms. “And the lovebite…you kissed me,” Merlin concludes.
“That wasn’t a kiss,” Arthur grumps.
“Okay, so you sucked on me-“ Arthur pales, and Merlin rolls his eyes. “Well, you did. ”
“We are not talking about this!”
“Right. Because that was working out so well for you,” Merlin shoots back, and his disobedience is even more appalling than usual because anyone with even a modicum of self-preservation would be more worried about being pushed into the castle moat than arguing a point.
“What I still don’t get…” Merlin says thoughtfully, “is that you’ve been such a terror these last few weeks.”
“I haven’t been a terror. ”
Merlin gives him a Look. “Well, if what you’re implying is true, you’re supposed to be nice to me. Bringing me flowers, or-or serenading me under my window, I don’t know. Not yelling at me over piddling things, at any rate.”
Oh, what Arthur would give to have the ground swallow him up right now. He drops his head onto Merlin’s shoulder. “You idiot, ” he says wearily. “I’m not going to court you; you aren’t a girl. I can’t just take you as a mistress and be done with it.”
“You’re the prince,” Merlin states. “You can do whatever you want.”
Arthur jerks up, searching Merlin’s face for the exact meaning behind those level words, but Merlin’s face is tightly shuttered. “If you’re insinuating that I could force you into my bed…” Arthur says slowly. “God, Merlin. I would never do that.”
“Right.” Merlin’s eyes slide sideways.
“Unless…”
Merlin’s attention snaps back to Arthur’s face. Eyes huge and vulnerable, that look normally makes Merlin resemble a village idiot but when they’re fixed so completely on Arthur, he can’t help but feel his chest flood with want.
He wants to wipe that nervous look from Merlin’s face, wants Merlin’s eyelids to flutter shut so they can quit staring at each other and just be honest-their bodies as words, with no jumbled speech or veiled expressions to get in the way.
Arthur wants…lord, it’s revolting to admit as such, but he wants to be honest to Merlin-wants to take Merlin home and keep him all to himself. His manservant would undoubtedly make for a feisty lover, but he’d be his, wholly and completely.
Merlin swallows hard, the sound loud in Arthur’s ear. He tips his eyes up; Merlin looks petrified.
“…never mind,” Arthur says resignedly. “Stop looking at me like that. I already said I wouldn’t force you into…anything like that. ”
“But-“
“It won’t happen again,” Arthur states, his voice clipped and business-like. “I’ll stop taking my…personal matters out on you, and by tomorrow we can forget we ever had this conversation.”
So, that’s that. Arthur had let this preoccupation spin way out of control, and it’s about time he contained it. They can get back to their proper roles now-Arthur as the objective party, and Merlin his obedient (well, functional) servant. No more sacrifice and martyrdom for this prince, thank you very much.
And as for Arthur himself? If the disappointment is heavy in his gut, it’s only the weight of burden that he, as future king, will simply have to carry.
Suddenly, a soft, insistent nudging comes at his temple. Arthur lifts his eyes-hadn’t realized he’d lowered them-as Merlin noses down, prompting Arthur’s attention.
“What?” he says irritably. Merlin doesn’t know when to let things go. “What is it?”
“You prat.”
Arthur gapes at Merlin, who looks positively disdainful. “What? ” he asks. “I just-I just bared my soul to you, you ungrateful lout. Do you think I’d admit that to just anyone?”
“Thick as always-“
Arthur laughs in disbelief. He’s the thick one?
“-and self-centred. Like a spoilt prince.”
“Merlin, if you’re trying to get yourself killed, just say so. Make a jump for it, no one’s stopping you-“
“Don’t I get a say?” Merlin asks, his tone presumptuous and demanding.
“A say in what? ”
“You said-‘it won’t happen again’.” Merlin’s impersonation of him is truly ridiculous-Arthur doesn’t sound that snotty. “I’m involved in this, so I should get a say.”
“Well, your Highness, “ Arthur grouses. “What would you have to say-“
Merlin cranes his neck up and plants his lips over Arthur’s half-open mouth.
He’s got terrible aim-fumbles the kiss entirely, if that’s what he’s trying to do. Merlin butts into Arthur’s mouth, mashing lips against teeth in a way that’s hardly romantic, but entirely laughable. Then Merlin-with the audacity to make a small noise of irritation, as if this painfully awkward situation is Arthur’s doing-grabs him round the back of the neck and pulls him down.
Arthur follows in without grace, feet slipping as his weight falls squarely on Merlin’s lean, bird-thin body. ‘Come on,’ Merlin murmurs against his slack mouth, heated and urgent.
Arthur’s wandering attention quickly reins in-that’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one. Arthur pulls back, studies Merlin’s panicked face for one brief moment before dipping back down to push their mouths together, fierce and sure, with all the authority he can pour into it.
This is how it’s done, he wants to convey. He’ll kiss Merlin within an inch of his life because Merlin had said ‘come on’ and Arthur, he’ll come on all right. He’s the best at everything he puts his mind to, and if snogging his manservant is going on that list, well…heaven or hell be damned, Arthur is going to be the best Merlin’s ever had.
Arthur takes a breath through his nose and deepens the kiss; it’s not aggressive, exactly, but insistent-and only when Merlin’s struggling for breath does Arthur retreat, occupying himself instead with the heady taste of Merlin’s working throat. He brushes his lips over Merlin’s cheek, his jaw, returns to the upturned mouth below him.
“Arthur,” Merlin says, his voice lost between a hiss and a sigh. Arthur hears him though. With a final lingering kiss that ends on a hint of teeth, Arthur removes himself and opens his eyes.
Merlin’s cheeks are flushed, and he looks even more disoriented than usual. Mouth parted, Merlin’s pale lips have gone plump and pink under Arthur’s attentions.
Perfect. Arthur grins triumphantly. “So. What was it you wanted to say?” he asks, with no small amount of smugness.
“That was all, um. All that I needed to say,“ Merlin stammers, and Arthur decides that he rather likes it when Merlin’s been kissed into a stupor. But then Merlin shakes himself, and a gleam returns to his eye. “If you’d said something earlier, we could’ve done this ages ago.”
Ah, yes. As if Merlin’s impudence could ever be erased for good-truth be told, though, Arthur wouldn’t want it any other way.
Still, he rolls his eyes theatrically and replies, "What was I supposed to say? Merlin, I’ve fallen in love with you-“ Arthur stumbles at bit as the words slide past his guard, but inwardly shrugs and continues- “and your particular brand of shoddy service. Now, polish my sword. And you know the one I mean. ”
Merlin’s cheeks turn a pleasant, burnished shade of red, but his voice is steady when he replies, “Yeah. You could’ve said that. I’d have been receptive.” He nibbles on the inside of his lip for a moment, then adds cheekily, “But you weren’t going to tell me on your own. Wanted to make both our lives miserable, instead. Aren’t you glad you asked me what I thought?”
Arthur doesn’t know whether to laugh outright or box his servant round the ears. But-predictably, as Arthur always seems to let Merlin get away with murder-he opts for the former. Chuckles a bit, saying fondly, “As if you could possibly contain yourself.”
“Lucky for you.”
Arthur smiles at this, his grin lopsided and real. While it’s probably making him look every ounce the idiot that Merlin looks on a daily basis, Arthur couldn’t honestly care less because that idiot-Merlin, who wants him too-is smiling back at him.
-----
Somewhere between snogging like drunken teenagers and stumbling towards Merlin’s bedroom downstairs-Merlin chooses now to be eager to tend to him-Merlin somehow convinces Arthur that his noble plan to stay bitter and single for the sake of his country is, as he puts it, a crock of shite.
“But you’re-“ Arthur gasps. “You make me weak.”
“Do I, now?” Merlin does something wicked with his hand, which has snuck its way under Arthur’s shirt as he’s busy trying not to fall down four flights of stairs, damn it.
“I mean it-fuck. Think of all the times I nearly killed myself saving your girly arse.”
“Girly, am I?” Merlin repeats, and Arthur would be incensed that he wasn’t paying attention to Arthur’s valid points except for the fact that he pretty much stopped paying attention himself the moment Merlin took his hand away-pity, it’d felt rather nice-and shoved Arthur against the curved wall.
“You have no idea the number of times I’ve saved your arse,” Merlin claims, and he emphasizes this statement with a well-targeted, two-handed grab for said arse that-Jesus-Arthur would find rather brutish, if Merlin hadn’t been distracting him with a pushy kiss that shuts Arthur right the hell up.
“I’m good for you,” Merlin says, after they break.
“Oh, really. I’d beg to differ,“ Arthur replies. Unfortunately, it doesn’t come out the way he wants, for his voice turns wobbly as Merlin presses a kiss to Arthur’s cheekbone and smiles against his skin, there.
Merlin never listens to him anyway-just slides long-fingered hands up Arthur’s rucked shirt as Arthur clears his throat noisily.
Merlin pauses, then drags his palms south.
“Merlin,” Arthur protests feebly. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why?” Merlin stops and pulls his hands away in a huff, using them instead to frame Arthur’s face in a manner not unlike his mother’s, who commands attention the same way…and Jesus, Arthur really doesn’t need to be thinking about Merlin’s mother right now because he’s got a hard-on the size of the tower they’re in, and this is all getting rather fucked-up in his mind-
“Why is this a bad idea?” Merlin interrupts, holding his gaze. “So we risk our lives for each other. So what? We’re saving each other, too. Doesn’t that count for anything?”
“I guess…” Arthur says uneasily. Damn it, he hates it when Merlin makes sense.
“We’re not hurting anyone, endangering anyone.”
Arthur avoids Merlin’s piercing eyes, looking instead at his kiss-swollen mouth. He kind of wants to be done with the talking part, and it appears Merlin can sense it for he quirks his lips into a smile.
“We both want this. Why can’t we have it?”
Well, when he puts it like that.
Arthur says something grumpily-doesn’t really know what, but Merlin looks relieved and leans in to kiss him so hard his mouth feels raw when they finally break for breath.
They don’t make it to Merlin’s bedroom. Not for the first round, at least, but Arthur’s quite content nonetheless-it gives them something to look forward to.
He’s already thinking about seconds when Merlin lifts his drowsy gaze and smiles at him, and it only spurs him to think about thirds, fourths-a limitless number of helpings that stretch into the future, as far the eye can see.
“You sap,” Merlin says, interrupting Arthur’s pleasant reverie. “I can see it. I don’t know how I missed it before-you, Arthur Pendragon. Are a sap.”
“Oh, fuck off,” Arthur groans.
“No, fuck me.”
Arthur stares. Feels his mouth lift into an involuntary smile before it turns into an outright laugh, and it only gets better when Merlin has the decency to look abashed.
“Prat,” Merlin mutters under his breath, his cheeks rosy under translucent skin, and it’s exactly what Arthur wants to hear.
End.
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