Ficlet: State of Being, Merlin/Arthur
Title: State of Being
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Secrets are stupid.
Notes: This is for the Porn Battle. I fail at short. Thanks to Ry for looking it over!
“Merlin, no!”
Merlin freezes-literally freezes-mid-air, one foot suspended over a thousand feet of nothing, the other already halfway to following. His arms are flung out wide, head pitched forward as if he’d been intending to duck and roll down into the endless dark. Small rocks and bits of gravel make too much noise as they clatter down the sheer cliff face. His breath is coming in panicked bursts.
Oh, he thinks. Oh, wow.
Arthur’s arm snakes around his waist and yanks him back from the edge before he has time to right himself. They go tumbling together, sprawling back across the rocky ground in a tangle of limbs and unprincely curses. Merlin’s bony elbow digs into Arthur’s stomach and Arthur’s breath fans hot across his neck. They’re both shaking, trembling with a spike of adrenaline that leaves Merlin hollowed-out and bewildered.
It had happened so fast. Too fast. He’d barely had time to process the fact that hey, he was probably going to die now when he’d been caught by a desperate snare of magic, the invisible threads winding about him like a dozen strong arms.
“There’s a reasonable explanation here,” Merlin offers weakly, turning in Arthur’s arms. It isn’t as if Arthur hasn’t turned a blind eye to obvious magic before. Maybe he’ll be willing to look the other way, or claim a ridiculous amount of credit for saving Merlin’s hide. Merlin can picture it so easily-Arthur cuffing his ear in something between exasperation and worry. Insisting Merlin take extra care shining his armor or mending his tunics or any number of the menial tasks Arthur seems to take such delight in assigning him, all as repayment for saving him yet again. He’d have to grumble and pretend to look annoyed as Arthur spread tales about his idiot manservant who couldn’t keep his feet under him, and after a week things would go from tense to familiar and safe again.
He’s almost certain that’s what will happen-so when he meets Arthur’s eyes and sees the brilliant gold of magic fading away, it’s like he’s tumbling into the dark all over again.
“Oh,” Merlin says, stunned. Arthur struggles to sit up, gaze dropping fast, but all the pieces are clicking into place so quickly that no amount of bluster can hide it. “Oh. Oh, you-You prat!”
He tangles his fingers in the collar of Arthur’s tunic, dragging him back down when Arthur tries to pull away. It wasn’t his magic that saved him after all-it was Arthur’s magic, and the fact that he’d been living in terror for over a year while Arthur had been harboring the very same secret just under his nose is infuriating.
Arthur grabs at Merlin’s wrists, trying to twist away from his body, but Merlin’s got a strong grip on him and he’s not planning on letting go. He allows a tendril of magic to snake out, using it to strengthen his arm as he drags the crown prince down to the hard ground and flings a thigh around his hips, pinning him. Arthur has to see the flare of gold-he can’t possibly miss it-but he seems more focused on wrenching Merlin away than answering in kind.
“You, bloody, git,” Merlin spits, grabbing a handful of shining blond hair. “You could have said something!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arthur struggles, hips bucking as he tries to break free, but Merlin’s casting invisible bands about his body, tethering him to the ground. He wants to pop him one on his stupidly pretty mouth. He wants to kiss him to spite him, as if daring Arthur to deny he shares this secret too.
He wants to twine around him like a limpet and never let go, because Arthur is his sodding destiny and two sides of the same coin and fine, all right, maybe the dragon was on to something there.
Instead he straddles Arthur’s hips with a determined glower, thighs squeezing tight. “You could have told me,” Merlin says. “It’s not as if I’d turn you in for using magic.”
“You could have told me,” Arthur shoots back at him. There’s a faint flare of gold about his pupils, as if the urge to use magic is getting to be too much. “Or don’t you trust me?”
Merlin crosses his arms with what he truly hopes is a dangerous scowl, brows drawn tight together. “Oh, excuse me, how many witches and warlocks have been put to death by your father in the last few years? I seem to have lost count.”
Arthur goes still beneath him, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and his expression is so blindingly earnest, so torn, that Merlin wants to cup Arthur’s face between his palms and erase the hasty words. He forgets, sometimes, how seriously Arthur takes his duty. He’s such an ass in day-to-day life that it’s easy to overlook that Arthur is going to be a great man someday. That’s he’s already on his way there.
“Too many,” Arthur murmurs, eyes flashing a burnished gold. Merlin gasps as Arthur’ magic twines about his, trying to loosen the invisible bonds holding him down. It’s incredible-a touch so intimate his entire body is trembling with it. He’s fought other mages before, clashed and came out victorious somehow, but it was never like this.
Merlin closes his eyes, head dropping down. His hips push forward in a thoughtless, needy thrust. He’s hard, he realizes with a shaky sigh. He’s hard and pressing between Arthur’s thighs, nestled against… Against…
“You’re still a bloody prat,” he gasps, eyes shooting open. Arthur laughs and unwinds the last of the invisible threads, arms going around Merlin’s waist. Merlin lets himself be drawn down and laid out, rolling his eyes a little at Arthur’s need to be on top-big surprise there, he mentally scoffs-even as he tentatively strokes his palms up the other boy’s spine and meets his eyes.
This feels forbidden. It feels right. It’s just like magic, and Merlin has a moment to realize this thing he has for Arthur has gone and turned him into a giant blithering girl before they’re kissing and, oh, okay, it’s all worth it.
Arthur cups Merlin’s jaw to tilt his head, taking control of the kiss. It’s slow and deep and hot, Arthur’s tongue urging his lips to part before slicking inside. Merlin shivers and presses up against his big body, jaw aching as he opens his mouth wide for him. He knows he seems greedy and a little desperate, but he is, he’s gagging for it, tongue stroking along Arthur’s in quick, encouraging licks, hips rocking up as heat pulses through his too-long limbs.
Please please please please oh, yes, more, he wants to say, and he’s so pathetically grateful he can’t speak now-can’t do anything more than suck on Arthur’s tongue and dig his nails into his muscled shoulders-because he’s pretty sure Arthur would never let him live it down. He feels the flare of magic just under his skin, and the answering heat pouring out of Arthur, so it’s no surprise when their clothing begins to unravel itself, peeling back from their straining bodies as they lose themselves in the messy back-and-forth of teeth and tongues.
Arthur bites Merlin’s lip and tugs sharply. Merlin rakes his nails down Arthur’s suddenly bare back. Arthur pushes Merlin’s thighs apart and settles between them, digging a bony hipbone against the throbbing heat of his cock. Merlin bucks and curses, legs wrapping around Arthur’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
“Arthur,” he hisses, head tilting back. Arthur’s tongue trails across the pale skin of his neck, down to his collarbone. His calloused fingers rake across Merlin’s chest and circle his nipples, then scrape across the tips. Merlin wants to scream for Arthur to just do something already, muscles clenched tight and trembling. He’s pictured this a thousand times, and always in his imagination he’s cool and self-confident and giving as good as he gets. Better than he gets, if he’s honest with himself. This is nothing like his fantasies, and Merlin’s embarrassed by the frantic noises he makes even as he rubs up against Arthur in desperate heaves, nails leaving red marks across golden skin.
“Arthur, Arthur, damn you, just, what are, oh!” His eyes go wide and the world dissolves into a cascade of gold as a sword-calloused hand slides around his cock, grip tight. He barely has time to draw in a breath before he’s coming with a yowl, shuddering in helpless waves, coming undone layer after layer and utterly unable to care. He manages to force his eyes open as he shakes and jolts, and the look of intense…something on Arthur’s face is almost too much, his eyes glowing bright, his mouth open on unsteady breaths.
I didn’t know, he wants to say. Why didn’t you tell me? But he doesn’t, he doesn’t say a word, because he didn’t tell Arthur either. He didn’t tell him and they lost so much time because of it.
Secrets, Merlin decides, going limp and breathless in Arthur’s arms, are bloody stupid.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Secrets are stupid.
Notes: This is for the Porn Battle. I fail at short. Thanks to Ry for looking it over!
“Merlin, no!”
Merlin freezes-literally freezes-mid-air, one foot suspended over a thousand feet of nothing, the other already halfway to following. His arms are flung out wide, head pitched forward as if he’d been intending to duck and roll down into the endless dark. Small rocks and bits of gravel make too much noise as they clatter down the sheer cliff face. His breath is coming in panicked bursts.
Oh, he thinks. Oh, wow.
Arthur’s arm snakes around his waist and yanks him back from the edge before he has time to right himself. They go tumbling together, sprawling back across the rocky ground in a tangle of limbs and unprincely curses. Merlin’s bony elbow digs into Arthur’s stomach and Arthur’s breath fans hot across his neck. They’re both shaking, trembling with a spike of adrenaline that leaves Merlin hollowed-out and bewildered.
It had happened so fast. Too fast. He’d barely had time to process the fact that hey, he was probably going to die now when he’d been caught by a desperate snare of magic, the invisible threads winding about him like a dozen strong arms.
“There’s a reasonable explanation here,” Merlin offers weakly, turning in Arthur’s arms. It isn’t as if Arthur hasn’t turned a blind eye to obvious magic before. Maybe he’ll be willing to look the other way, or claim a ridiculous amount of credit for saving Merlin’s hide. Merlin can picture it so easily-Arthur cuffing his ear in something between exasperation and worry. Insisting Merlin take extra care shining his armor or mending his tunics or any number of the menial tasks Arthur seems to take such delight in assigning him, all as repayment for saving him yet again. He’d have to grumble and pretend to look annoyed as Arthur spread tales about his idiot manservant who couldn’t keep his feet under him, and after a week things would go from tense to familiar and safe again.
He’s almost certain that’s what will happen-so when he meets Arthur’s eyes and sees the brilliant gold of magic fading away, it’s like he’s tumbling into the dark all over again.
“Oh,” Merlin says, stunned. Arthur struggles to sit up, gaze dropping fast, but all the pieces are clicking into place so quickly that no amount of bluster can hide it. “Oh. Oh, you-You prat!”
He tangles his fingers in the collar of Arthur’s tunic, dragging him back down when Arthur tries to pull away. It wasn’t his magic that saved him after all-it was Arthur’s magic, and the fact that he’d been living in terror for over a year while Arthur had been harboring the very same secret just under his nose is infuriating.
Arthur grabs at Merlin’s wrists, trying to twist away from his body, but Merlin’s got a strong grip on him and he’s not planning on letting go. He allows a tendril of magic to snake out, using it to strengthen his arm as he drags the crown prince down to the hard ground and flings a thigh around his hips, pinning him. Arthur has to see the flare of gold-he can’t possibly miss it-but he seems more focused on wrenching Merlin away than answering in kind.
“You, bloody, git,” Merlin spits, grabbing a handful of shining blond hair. “You could have said something!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Arthur struggles, hips bucking as he tries to break free, but Merlin’s casting invisible bands about his body, tethering him to the ground. He wants to pop him one on his stupidly pretty mouth. He wants to kiss him to spite him, as if daring Arthur to deny he shares this secret too.
He wants to twine around him like a limpet and never let go, because Arthur is his sodding destiny and two sides of the same coin and fine, all right, maybe the dragon was on to something there.
Instead he straddles Arthur’s hips with a determined glower, thighs squeezing tight. “You could have told me,” Merlin says. “It’s not as if I’d turn you in for using magic.”
“You could have told me,” Arthur shoots back at him. There’s a faint flare of gold about his pupils, as if the urge to use magic is getting to be too much. “Or don’t you trust me?”
Merlin crosses his arms with what he truly hopes is a dangerous scowl, brows drawn tight together. “Oh, excuse me, how many witches and warlocks have been put to death by your father in the last few years? I seem to have lost count.”
Arthur goes still beneath him, tongue darting out to wet his lips, and his expression is so blindingly earnest, so torn, that Merlin wants to cup Arthur’s face between his palms and erase the hasty words. He forgets, sometimes, how seriously Arthur takes his duty. He’s such an ass in day-to-day life that it’s easy to overlook that Arthur is going to be a great man someday. That’s he’s already on his way there.
“Too many,” Arthur murmurs, eyes flashing a burnished gold. Merlin gasps as Arthur’ magic twines about his, trying to loosen the invisible bonds holding him down. It’s incredible-a touch so intimate his entire body is trembling with it. He’s fought other mages before, clashed and came out victorious somehow, but it was never like this.
Merlin closes his eyes, head dropping down. His hips push forward in a thoughtless, needy thrust. He’s hard, he realizes with a shaky sigh. He’s hard and pressing between Arthur’s thighs, nestled against… Against…
“You’re still a bloody prat,” he gasps, eyes shooting open. Arthur laughs and unwinds the last of the invisible threads, arms going around Merlin’s waist. Merlin lets himself be drawn down and laid out, rolling his eyes a little at Arthur’s need to be on top-big surprise there, he mentally scoffs-even as he tentatively strokes his palms up the other boy’s spine and meets his eyes.
This feels forbidden. It feels right. It’s just like magic, and Merlin has a moment to realize this thing he has for Arthur has gone and turned him into a giant blithering girl before they’re kissing and, oh, okay, it’s all worth it.
Arthur cups Merlin’s jaw to tilt his head, taking control of the kiss. It’s slow and deep and hot, Arthur’s tongue urging his lips to part before slicking inside. Merlin shivers and presses up against his big body, jaw aching as he opens his mouth wide for him. He knows he seems greedy and a little desperate, but he is, he’s gagging for it, tongue stroking along Arthur’s in quick, encouraging licks, hips rocking up as heat pulses through his too-long limbs.
Please please please please oh, yes, more, he wants to say, and he’s so pathetically grateful he can’t speak now-can’t do anything more than suck on Arthur’s tongue and dig his nails into his muscled shoulders-because he’s pretty sure Arthur would never let him live it down. He feels the flare of magic just under his skin, and the answering heat pouring out of Arthur, so it’s no surprise when their clothing begins to unravel itself, peeling back from their straining bodies as they lose themselves in the messy back-and-forth of teeth and tongues.
Arthur bites Merlin’s lip and tugs sharply. Merlin rakes his nails down Arthur’s suddenly bare back. Arthur pushes Merlin’s thighs apart and settles between them, digging a bony hipbone against the throbbing heat of his cock. Merlin bucks and curses, legs wrapping around Arthur’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back.
“Arthur,” he hisses, head tilting back. Arthur’s tongue trails across the pale skin of his neck, down to his collarbone. His calloused fingers rake across Merlin’s chest and circle his nipples, then scrape across the tips. Merlin wants to scream for Arthur to just do something already, muscles clenched tight and trembling. He’s pictured this a thousand times, and always in his imagination he’s cool and self-confident and giving as good as he gets. Better than he gets, if he’s honest with himself. This is nothing like his fantasies, and Merlin’s embarrassed by the frantic noises he makes even as he rubs up against Arthur in desperate heaves, nails leaving red marks across golden skin.
“Arthur, Arthur, damn you, just, what are, oh!” His eyes go wide and the world dissolves into a cascade of gold as a sword-calloused hand slides around his cock, grip tight. He barely has time to draw in a breath before he’s coming with a yowl, shuddering in helpless waves, coming undone layer after layer and utterly unable to care. He manages to force his eyes open as he shakes and jolts, and the look of intense…something on Arthur’s face is almost too much, his eyes glowing bright, his mouth open on unsteady breaths.
I didn’t know, he wants to say. Why didn’t you tell me? But he doesn’t, he doesn’t say a word, because he didn’t tell Arthur either. He didn’t tell him and they lost so much time because of it.
Secrets, Merlin decides, going limp and breathless in Arthur’s arms, are bloody stupid.