All In the Timing

[srin]

Title: All In the Timing
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur. (Plus background Gwen/Morgana and a brief mention of Gwen/Merlin.)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Adult having sex with a teenager. (For the record, said teenager is past the age of consent in the UK, where this is set.)
Length: ~5600 words.
Summary: Merlin and company have been reborn over and over, but things aren't quite the same this time around. (Modern reincarnation.)
Note: Written for this prompt at the kink meme, and undeniably influenced by the brilliant anonymous kink meme fic (edit: By
instantramen, now reposted here,) that sparked the prompt. Concrit is always appreciated, and especially so now since this is my first attempt at writing outside of the canon 'verse. In the same vein, please do tell me if there's any blatant fail at Britishness that I've overlooked.


They’ve all been reborn countless times, sometimes to save the world, sometimes not. There are always slight variations - sometimes Merlin’s a little older, sometimes Arthur and his father have a great relationship, sometimes Morgana likes men - but the basic facts fall out more or less the same way each time. Merlin and Morgana always remember first, and Gwen and Arthur do eventually, and it depends for the others. They always remember their first lives together, while intervening incarnations can be a bit hazy. But it’s always more or less the same.

Until now. This particular reincarnation is, to put it bluntly, all cocked up. To start with, Morgana is Merlin’s sister. They get along wonderfully, but she’s six years older and so she’s already off being a lesbian and playing rugby at some women’s college in America by the time Merlin’s memories kick in. He rings her up right away, ignoring the fact that it’s midnight where she is, but once she works out what he’s on about she laughs, warm and happy, and says,

“It’s about time you remembered.”

They’re on the phone for nearly two hours, Morgana neglecting a term paper to keep talking, and then their mother wanders downstairs demanding to know what Merlin’s doing awake at such an ungodly hour. After she’s been sufficiently mollified, Merlin frowns and says,

“Wait, you know mum? Is she your mum originally? Because she’s not-”

“Not yours, I know. Remember that teacher you had your first year at school, the one you absolutely adored?”

“Miss Elkins?”

“Hunith Elkins,” Morgana corrects, and waits patiently while Merlin freaks out - quietly, so as not to wake their mother again.

“And no, I think mum’s just mum,” Morgana says. “I did find mine, she’s one of my professors here, and I think her boyfriend’s my father, because our da certainly isn’t.”

“This is seriously weird.”

“Tell me about it. There’s been no sign of Arthur, either, or Gwen, or anyone else. This horrible little man tried to ask me out in a coffee shop the other day, and he seemed sort of familiar, but I overheard someone calling him Edwin so… Merlin, I’m so glad you’ve remembered, I was starting to think I was actually just mad.”

“How long have you known?”

“Years. I was twelve, I think, and I couldn’t believe it, not until I met your teacher. Oh drat, Merlin I’m sorry but I must go, my roommate’s coming in and she already thinks I’m a bit barmy-”

“No, it’s alright, I understand. Thank you, Morgana.”

Things get even weirder once Merlin goes off to university himself. His assigned roommate is a quiet reserved kid named Roger, who’s very sweet and unreasonably good at physics and chemistry and biology. Merlin really likes him, and they get on wonderfully, and Merlin thinks he feels familiar, something buried deep that he’s met before, but he can’t place it. Roger isn’t Will (eventually Will and Merlin will pass one another in a bar, but they’ll both be too sloshed to notice the zing of recognition, and that relationship simply won’t happen in this life) and he isn’t Lancelot (one day when Merlin’s in his late thirties, a couple of his friends will name their beautiful dark-haired baby Lance, but Merlin will be beyond surprise by that point), and he definitely isn’t Arthur.

And then, one night at a party when they’re all playing some stupid drinking game that involves telling your secrets to a room full of semi-strangers, Roger admits that actually, Roger’s his middle name, he goes by it because who in their right mind would want to be called Gaius? And Merlin promptly chokes on his cheap beer.

At least Gwen’s normal enough. She’s two years ahead of Merlin, but that’s no big deal. She seems interested in Roger at first, (Merlin’s mostly got over the shock of Gaius being young and horny and all that, though this is a bit much to handle,) but then she and Merlin hook up after finals and date and are ridiculously happy together right up until she finally meets Morgana at Merlin’s graduation. Gwen’s remembered too, though, and Merlin can’t even bring himself to be bitter about it because she’s still his best friend like always.

The years go by and none of them can find Arthur. Occasionally Merlin gets restless; a year after he’s finished university, he spends three days digging through facebook, looking at every picture of every person named Arthur that he can find, but they’re all wrong. When Gwen meets a toddler named Tom who is undeniably her old dad, Merlin almost gives up hope - what if Arthur’s fifty years older than him and already dead? What if he hasn’t even been born yet? What if he’s a circus freak in Istanbul or a stockbroker in Japan or living any number of lives that will never intersect with Merlin’s at all?

It’s not that Merlin isn’t happy, but as content as he is, there’s always the niggling sensation that something’s missing. He dates blond guys who remind him of Arthur sometimes, but it never seems to work out, and he soon finds that in this incarnation he has a remarkable ability to make women realize that they actually like other women, so that never works out either.

All told, by the time he’s thirty Merlin’s living alone in a lovely townhouse that’s too big for one person, and he has a lot of brilliant friends but no romantic attachments to speak of, and he’s pretty much resigned to the fact that, for possibly the first time ever, he’s going to be spending an entire life without Arthur.

One day, he’s sitting in his windowseat, chatting to Morgana over the phone about her anniversary plans, trying very hard not to be bitter over the fact that she and Gwen have been married - well, civily partnered - for five years already when his stupid sodding king hasn’t even bothered to turn up. There’s a moving van parked across the road but he hasn’t been paying it much heed, not until this man pauses right in Merlin’s line of sight to shift his grip on the box he’s carrying.

“Um, Morgana, I’m sorry to cut you off, but either Uther’s a professional mover this time ‘round or else he’s taken the house across the road from me.”

“What? Uther, seriously? Do you think-”

“I don’t know, he looks a bit young to have a son my age, but…”

“Oh, Merlin, I hope it is. You’ve been waiting far too long.”

As it turns out, the guy doesn’t have a son Merlin’s age. He has a son who’s maybe sixteen, maybe, blond and gangly and not quite filled out yet but strong, strong enough to move all the biggest boxes while his dad and his mum - who Merlin doesn’t recognize, though that’s not unusual - take care of the more reasonably sized things.

Merlin has his faced pressed against his window glass, staring, heart beating wildly and trying to get a good look at the boy, trying to figure out if he’s hoping that this kid is Arthur or if he’s hoping that he isn’t. Because, god, he’s so young. Merlin’s been looking since he was thirteen but he isn’t thirteen any more, not by a long shot, and ok, it’s better than Arthur being ancient or a baby but still…

The kid is Arthur. Merlin knows it as soon as he can get a sufficient grip on himself to go outside and meet the family, even though the kid disappears into the house while Merlin’s crossing the road.

Uther is calling himself Maurice Riley, which clearly isn’t his real name but then again going by Uther isn’t any better than going by Gaius these days, and his wife is Barbara, and they’re polite and gracious and somehow Uther’s a lot less scary when he’s only ten or twelve years Merlin’s senior and wearing a ratty old football shirt. Merlin almost thinks Uther knows, there’s something about his overly friendly manner and his slightly shifty eyes, and that’s weird too because Uther never remembers, not unless Gaius is around to tell him. (And Gaius - Roger - doesn’t remember, and anyway he’s in Switzerland doing research Merlin doesn’t understand for his doctorate, so that can’t be it.) (It turns out that actually, Maurice is sort of shifty because his day job isn’t what he claims it is, but that’s neither here nor there.)

Arthur doesn’t remember. He doesn’t even acknowledge Merlin’s presence until Barbara drags him over for introductions, and then he mumbles a quick hello before going back to the van. Merlin feels like crying. He remembers the joy in Gwen and Morgana’s reunion, remembers - vaguely - what it was like when he and Arthur found one another in their last life, and it’s all he can do to keep acting normal while Barbara asks about the neighborhood and chatters about the very weird agent who found them the house.

Barbara invites Merlin for dinner next weekend, and he knows he should say no but instead he says yes, and it’s all sort of inevitable after that. Barbara is delightful, and Merlin likes Maurice much better than he’s ever liked Uther before, and it turns out that Arthur is seventeen (information which Merlin receives with a great deal of relief and an even greater amount of shame) and he wants to do literature at university (Merlin’s degree is in it, and he’s working for a publisher nowadays) and his favourite is medieval romances. Once Arthur decides he doesn’t have to prove that he’s a cool aloof teenager, he hangs on Merlin’s every word and it’s wonderful and devastating and it takes all Merlin’s willpower to shake his hand at the end of the night instead of kissing him senseless.

Barbara invites Merlin back the next week, and after that Merlin makes Gwen come help him cook so he can have them over, and then one day Arthur turns up at Merlin’s doorstep after school, asking if Merlin will help him with an essay for an English class. Arthur sucks on his pen in a way that’s frankly obscene, and stands too close when Merlin goes to the computer to look something up for him, and claps Merlin heartily on the back when he voices his thanks, and Merlin has never had to exercise so much self-restraint before in his life.

After Arthur goes home, Merlin rings Gwen and Morgana to bewail the unfairness of his existence for approximately the three hundredth time in the last month, then drinks all the alcohol in his house, wanks furiously, throws up for the first time in about ten years, passes out beside the toilet, and calls in sick when the sound of his alarm clock in the bedroom wakes him up the next morning.

Three days later he has dinner at the Rileys’ again. Maurice isn’t there, gone on business apparently, which only makes things worse. Even in this kindler, gentler incarnation, Uther Pendragon remains the surest known means of suppressing Merlin’s libido; without him there, Merlin has to try very hard to keep his attention on his food and Barbara’s conversation. Arthur keeps smiling at Merlin sort of shyly, and he’s wearing a thin t-shirt that’s a little too tight on his too-young body, and Merlin decides it’s probably just as well he hasn’t had a chance to replenish his liquor supply because no one gets a mysterious twenty-four-hour stomach flu twice inside a week.

“I’m so glad you and Arthur have hit it off so well,” Barbara tells Merlin over dessert.

“Mum,” Arthur complains. This situation is mostly torture, but Merlin will admit that it’s quite nice to see Arthur grow up with a proper mother, because he very rarely gets to have one, and Barbara really is fantastic.

“No, I mean it! Your father’s gone so often, and I know you’re still finding your way at school, so it just makes me happy that you’ve a friend in Merlin here.”

“Arthur’s a great lad,” Merlin manages to say, and tries very hard not to notice the blush that stains Arthur’s cheeks.

It’s a completely impossible situation - Arthur’s still, fundamentally, Arthur, and Merlin’s still rather hopelessly in love with him, and Merlin’s wanking more these days than he has since - well, since he was Arthur’s age. But he gets used to it, somehow. Merlin has dinner with Barbara and Arthur, and, if he’s at home, Maurice, nearly every week. Arthur routinely knocks at Merlin’s door, at first just for homework help but gradually his excuses get flimsier and flimsier until finally he admits that he just wants to hang out. Six months after Arthur’s family moved in, Merlin’s seeing Arthur a minimum of three times a week, more if Arthur has a rugby match or a big essay to write. Or a bad day. Or a good day. Or a boring day…

“Don’t you have much more interesting friends your own age?” Merlin asks once, when Arthur’s turned up for the third day in a row, with take-out curry and a stack of math homework.

“My age, yeah, more interesting, no,” Arthur says. “You don’t really meet anyone in classes, they just talk to the people they already know, and the guys on the team are great at rugby and getting pissed and rubbish at everything else.”

“My sister played rugby at uni,” Merlin tells him, and then mentally kicks himself when he realizes that he only brought it up as an excuse to find out how Arthur feels about homosexuality.

“No shit, really?”

“Yeah. She went to a women’s school in the States, dated the captain of the team, and then became the captain herself the next year.”

“That’s awesome,” Arthur enthuses. “Is she hot?”

Oh, teenagers. “Most of the world seems to think so, yeah.”

“Can I meet her?”

“Maybe someday. You won’t have much of a chance, though - she’s even older than I am, and she’s been with Gwen since before you were shaving.”

“No man, I just want to talk about the rugby,” Arthur insists, not reacting to the second part of Merlin’s comment. “Girls who play are badass. And anyway, you’re not that old.”

…Which is not a conversation Merlin is going to let them have.

“Badass rugby girls, huh? Anyone in particular on your mind?” he asks instead.

“Nah,” Arthur says, without even hesitating. “My friend Jess back at my old school, she was awesome, taught me how to play when we were kids, but there’s no one here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, it’s cool. I don’t think I’m really into girls, anyway,” Arthur says, a little too casually, staring down at his homework for the first time since he arrived.

Merlin makes a non-committal noise while trying to remind his heart that beating is not actually optional.

“I mean, I’ve never… y’know, with anyone,” Arthur continues, “But there’s this guy I know, yeah, and when I think about him it’s like … I’ve never thought about a girl like that,” he finishes awkwardly, not looking up.

“Lucky guy,” Merlin says before he can stop himself, and then Arthur does look up, grinning big and broad and relieved, and then -

Then the phone rings, and Merlin flees into the other room to answer. His conscience blesses whoever is on the other end of the line, while his heart curses them with equal fervor.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin tells Arthur when he comes back. “That was my boss, there’s some kind of problem with a press thing tonight, I have to go and sort it.”

“Now?”

“Afraid so.” The way Arthur’s face falls is absolutely heartbreaking, so Merlin has to add, “But I’ll see you at your match tomorrow, yeah?”

“So you are coming?” Arthur asks, grin sliding back into place.

“Of course,” Merlin assures him.

The press thing is a complete disaster that keeps Merlin busy for hours. Which is just fine because at least it stops him thinking about stupid oblivious too-young Arthur, who is apparently having all the same feelings he always does even though he’s a damn baby and he doesn’t even know who Merlin is and there’s no way Merlin can actually have him, not now, maybe in another ten years when their age difference isn’t most of Arthur’s stupid too-short lifetime…

Arthur wins his rugby match, and goes to hug Merlin right after he hugs his mother. He’s sweaty and flushed and so indecently beautiful that Merlin’s half-hard in his trousers when Arthur lets him go. Barbara, who still seems to adore Merlin and think her son’s relationship with him is perfectly innocent and healthy, insists that Merlin join them for ice cream. Merlin can’t say no, not with Arthur beaming at him, so he agrees and then excuses himself so he can jerk off in the toilets before they leave.

Summer comes, school ends, and Arthur just keeps spending more and more time with Merlin. He’s as handsy as he ever was in their original lives, using any pretense to brush against Merlin, touch his arm, bump sides, and Merlin finds himself returning the touches - partly because he wants to, partly to avoid the wounded look that darkens Arthur’s face whenever he feels like Merlin’s rejecting him. He never says anything flat out, never actually propositions Merlin, and manages to behave more or less appropriately in front of his parents and out in public, but as soon as they’re alone his intent is crystal clear.

Merlin’s willpower is starting to wear thin, and it only gets worse as the weather warms up and Arthur starts parading around with his shirt off. (Calling Morgana and Gwen for moral support is out of the question; Morgana’s been telling him for months that it doesn’t matter, he should just have Arthur anyway, and lately even Gwen has been saying things like, “Well he is past the age of consent, and he clearly wants it…”)

One Friday, Merlin comes home from work to find Arthur lounging on his front steps wearing nothing but his rugby shorts and a pair of sunglasses, and Merlin can barely remember how to breathe. Barbara’s gone with Maurice on one of his trips, leaving Arthur home alone for two weeks, and Merlin is half-considering taking a vacation of his own to escape from temptation for a while. But then Arthur drags him off to the pool, and then out for dinner, and then to the cinema, and before Merlin knows it, it’s half-midnight and Arthur’s trying to convince Merlin to come inside for a drink.

“Arthur, I’m not going to drink your father’s beer, and you shouldn’t be either.”

“Whatever, I’ll replace it before he gets home. Come on, Merlin, it’s Friday, it’s not like you have work tomorrow…”

“Arthur…”

“Alright, fine, but if you won’t come in with me, can I crash at yours tonight?”

“What? Why?”

“I hate this house when it’s empty,” Arthur says. He doesn’t quite sound like he’s telling the truth, but he’s doing the earnest face Merlin can’t resist, so it’s not like it really matters what he says. “It’s fine during the day, but I hate it at night, it’s too quiet and I can’t fall asleep. Please?”

And Merlin can’t think of any acceptable reason to say no, which is how he winds up with Arthur in his house in the middle of the night, flipping through channels on his telly, finally settling on some black and white romance flick.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” Arthur asks. He’s sprawled over two-thirds of the couch, leaving Merlin just enough room to sit, but not enough room to sit without touching Arthur.

“Are you going to take up the entire couch?” Merlin retorts, trying to sound amused instead of as tense as he feels. Arthur grumbles and pulls himself upright, but as soon as Merlin’s seated he slumps down again, dropping his head onto Merlin’s shoulder.

And Merlin knows he should stop this, should get up and send Arthur home and probably move across the country until Arthur’s older, but he can’t. His whole body is wound tight with the desire to touch, to drag Arthur closer and kiss him, claim him, to give in and take what Arthur’s offering; it’s all he can do just to keep still while Arthur not-so-subtly shuffles closer every time either of them moves.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, quietly, while the couple on-screen are locked in a passionate embrace.

“Hmm?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No.”

“Is there anyone you’re interested in?”

“Arthur…”

“Remember when you asked me about girls?”

“Yes…”

“And I said there was this guy I liked?”

“Arthur…”

Arthur sits up, then, leans forward and twists so he can look Merlin in the face.

“It’s you, ok? I don’t really know how you’re supposed to do this stuff, I’ve never really dated anyone or anything, but I like you and I thought maybe you liked me and maybe you wouldn’t mind that I don’t really know what I’m doing-”

“Oh god, Arthur, no-” and Arthur’s face crumples, that horrible sad expression that Merlin can’t handle, that makes him reach out and pull Arthur into a hug and say into his ear, “I like you, I do, you have no idea how much I do, and I don’t care what you’ve done or how much you know but god, Arthur, you- you’re seventeen, you understand?”

“No,” says Arthur, pulling back even as he settles himself fully in Merlin’s lap. “I don’t. I want you, like I’ve never wanted anyone in my life, and if you want me too…”

“God, Arthur, you’re barely legal.”

“Barely legal’s still legal,” Arthur says with a little smirk.

“Your parents-”

“Dad likes you as much as he likes anyone, and Mum loves you.”

“Your mum thinks I’m a surrogate father figure for you!”

“Whatever,” Arthur says, rolling his hips against Merlin’s in a way that is really not fair at all.

“Arthur-”

“Please,” Arthur says, soft and pleading, and then he leans down and kisses Merlin firmly. He cups Merlin’s face and licks at his lips until they part and then his tongue’s inside Merlin’s mouth, hot and sweet and clumsy, and Merlin’s completely lost because even though it’s wrong it’s Arthur, and he’s been waiting for this all his stupid, confusing, cocked-up life.

Merlin’s pretty sure he could do this forever, just keep kissing Arthur until there’s an apocalypse or they die of old age or Maurice shows up to murder Merlin for violating his son, but Arthur clearly has other ideas because once he’s convinced that Merlin’s on board, he drops his hands and starts fumbling with Merlin’s jeans. He undoes the button and the zip, slides his hand into Merlin’s boxers, frees his cock - already hard, god, he’s probably going to have about as much stamina as the teenager in his lap - and then pulls off Merlin’s lower lip with a wet pop and slides down to kneel on the floor between Merlin’s legs.

“What are you-”

“You’ll have to tell me if I suck at this, yeah?” Arthur says, and then snickers and says, “Hah, suck,” and then wraps one hand around Merlin’s cock, plants the other on his thigh, and takes the head into his mouth.

Merlin’s head slams back against the couch, fingers curling over his knees and clutching as hard as he can, probably leaving nail marks even through the denim. Arthur licks and slurps and suckles, a little awkward, not quite adept enough at keeping his teeth clear, but he’s so enthusiastic that it doesn’t even matter, and some of the tricks he tries… He’s not completely clueless at reading the signals, either - when Merlin’s hips start jerking of their own accord, Arthur gives him a last lick and lets go, looking satisfied with himself.

“Ok?” he asks, when Merlin just blinks at him dumbly.

“You’ve really never done that before?” Merlin manages finally, his voice coming out kind of choked. Arthur, to his surprise, actually blushes.

“I read up on how you’re supposed to do it,” he admits, “I didn’t want to be totally useless for you. I can finish it, if you want, but I’d kind of like-”

“What?”

“Would you fuck me?” Like he could possibly say no when Arthur’s crouched between his legs, mouth all red and swollen from kisses and being stretched around Merlin’s cock, when he’s doing that shy little grin that makes Merlin’s spine turn to jelly.

“Oh god. Come here.” He hauls Arthur back up onto the couch, back into his lap, the bulge in Arthur’s shorts pressing against his hip. Arthur’s hip meets Merlin’s erection, still wet from Arthur’s mouth, and Merlin kisses him, deep and sloppy and filled with decades’ worth of desperation.

When they part for air, Merlin groans, and then swears under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” Arthur asks uncertainly.

“Condoms. I don’t have any.”

“It’s ok, I do,” Arthur tells him.

“So you were planning this?” Merlin asks, amused and also sort of touched, in a twisted way.

“Maybe a little. I got lube too, I don’t know what kind you like but hopefully it’s ok…”

Merlin has to kiss him again then, divest him of his shirt and palm all that tanned flesh Arthur’s been showing off lately. And then Merlin skims his hands lower, down Arthur’s back, over his arse, and then, at the way that makes Arthur squirm, up to catch the waistband of Arthur’s shorts and yank them out of his path. He can’t take them off, not with Arthur straddling him, but it’s enough to get his fingers on bare skin, to let him trace over the cleft of Arthur’s arse and feel how Arthur shudders when he does it.

“You’re sure you want this, Arthur?” Merlin forces himself to ask. “You don’t have to prove anything to me, there are other things we can-”

“God, please, I’ve been fingering myself in the shower and pretending it’s you for weeks, please.”

“…Ok. Then get up, we’re going to the bedroom to do this properly. I won’t just have you on the couch like it doesn’t matter.”

Arthur scrambles up eagerly, almost tripping over his shorts so he just steps out of them, grinning, and Merlin has to grin back because it’s ridiculous, how easy they are with each other, even when it’s only been six months and they’re the wrong ages and this shouldn’t even be happening. Arthur darts over to the backpack he dumped by the door, unconcerned by his lack of clothing. He stuffs the shorts into the bag and then goes digging for the condoms and lube, while Merlin switches the telly off and feels like an idiot just standing there with his jeans open and his cock sticking out and seventeen-year-old Arthur running around his living room with a hard-on.

Then Arthur finds the stuff and grabs Merlin’s hand, tugging him towards the stairs, still smiling, giddy as a - as a young person that Merlin is not going to think about, not with what they’re doing now. Arthur’s never been in Merlin’s bedroom before, but he has used the upstairs toilet a few times, and he frequents the spare room Merlin uses as a library, and the linen closet is fairly obviously a linen closet. So it’s easy enough for him to pick the right door and drag Merlin through it.

Arthur doesn’t even spare a moment to look around, just flops onto the bed and says,

“Right, how do you want me?”

Merlin can’t help but laugh. “Slow down, eh, let me get my clothes off?” And then Arthur goes silent, staring at Merlin with something like awe as he strips off. Arthur’s always liked Merlin’s body, that’s been a constant through each reincarnation, but Merlin’s still surprised by the intensity of his interest every time.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Arthur murmurs, sitting up with his legs dangling over the edge of the bed.

“So are you,” Merlin tells him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me, prancing around with your top off all the time?”

Arthur smirks again, reaching for Merlin, though he doesn’t speak until he has his arms around Merlin’s hips and his cheek against Merlin’s belly. (Merlin’s cock caught just below Arthur’s arm.) “I was kinda hoping you’d notice.”

“I’ve been noticing you since the day you moved in,” Merlin says, sort of reverently, stroking his fingers through Arthur’s hair.

“Seriously? I thought maybe you liked my mum, at first.”

“She’s a wonderful woman, but no. You. Always been you.” And maybe he shouldn’t be saying things like that, not when Arthur still doesn’t remember, but he can feel Arthur’s smile against his skin.

“I’m glad. So fuck me already, will you?”

“Pushy little bugger.”

“Maybe later, if you want, but right now I want you buggering me,” Arthur insists, and Merlin chuckles, heart swelling, and gets down to business.

He takes his time with the preparations, even though Arthur’s pushing back at the first finger, sighing happily and watching Merlin with wild, wondering eyes and asking for more, always more. Merlin himself is rock-hard and aching, but he’s not going to rush this, there’s no way. He stretches Arthur open carefully, with lots of lube and gentle motions, until Arthur’s insisting that he’s ready, come on, Merlin, please, but then Merlin finds his prostate almost by accident and the way Arthur jerks, his hips rocking all the way off the bed - Merlin has to play with him, stroke over that spot light and teasing until Arthur’s writhing and begging and leaking pre-come, little drops beading up on his cock and dribbling down when it twitches.

“Merlin, Merlin, please, god, I’ll do anything, please, just-”

He’s got to be close, he’s been on edge for so long already and it’s not like he’s practiced at holding off… Merlin hesitates a moment, contemplating, and then remembers what his recovery time was like at this age and dips his head, licks the fluid from Arthur’s cock and then swallows the shaft down, taking it in to the root, his fingers still in Arthur’s arse. Merlin hasn’t done this in a while but it’s like riding a bike, he thinks a little hysterically, mind cloudy with his own urgent arousal, you never really forget - relax the muscles, suppress the gag reflex - and then Arthur’s shouting and spasming and coming, hot spurts straight down Merlin’s throat.

Merlin sucks him through it, gently, and then finally pulls off once Arthur’s sagged boneless against the bed.

“Oh my god,” Arthur slurs, “oh my god. You - you’re - god, evil sex genius.”

Merlin grins at him, pleased, and then crawls up his body to kiss him. Arthur wraps his arms and legs around Merlin instantly, responding to the kiss with undiminished enthusiasm. After a few minutes of that, when Merlin can’t possibly wait any longer, he palms Arthur’s cock and is unsurprised to find it starting to fill again.

“Still want me in you?” he asks, voice rough.

“Please.”

“Thank god,” Merlin says, earning himself a weak chuckle. “Let me - condom-”

Arthur releases him just enough so that he can roll the condom on and slick himself up, and then Arthur’s pulling Merlin back, spreading his legs and staring with wide, lust-dark eyes as Merlin eases carefully into his body. It’s not difficult, not with Arthur so stretched and relaxed, and Merlin’s infinitely grateful for that because his patience shatters at the first feel of Arthur hot and tight around him.

“Ok?”

“Fuck, yes, harder.”

Arthur gasps, moans, winds his legs around Merlin’s waist, clutches at Merlin’s shoulders, licks his ear, whimpers when Merlin nudges his prostate. On Merlin’s third thrust, Arthur surges up under him and he can feel Arthur’s cock, fully hard against his stomach, and when Arthur says something that sounds like harder again, Merlin finally stops trying to hold back.

It’s hopeless, after that. Arthur sleeps in Merlin’s bed, sated and happy curled up in Merlin’s arms, and Merlin spends a long time staring at him and marveling at the fact that he finally has him again. When they wake, Arthur deals with their morning erections by rolling on top of Merlin and wrapping his hand around both of them and jerking them to completion. Then he follows Merlin into the shower and can’t keep his hands off him, his face-splitting smile never slipping.

When they finally manage to get clean and get out, Arthur winds a towel around his waist and fidgets while Merlin gets dressed.

“I, um, actually didn’t bring any other clothes,” he admits, because he is completely shameless. And somewhere between dressing Arthur in an old t-shirt and some running shorts, and playing footsy with him under the breakfast table, Merlin realizes that finally, for the first time in thirty stupid years, he’s completely happy.

Arthur doesn’t go home, and Merlin doesn’t try to make him. They eat and cuddle and watch the telly, and after lunch Arthur sits in Merlin’s lap in the library and reads to him from the Canterbury Tales, wriggling his arse whenever he gets to a suggestive passage. For the rest of the weekend, every time Merlin starts feeling something like guilt, Arthur distracts him with words and kisses and amazing blowjobs - it’s really incredible, how much he seems to love having Merlin’s cock in his mouth - and soon enough Merlin just stops worrying about it.

And then, Sunday evening, the very best thing happens. Merlin’s sucking Arthur off, and Arthur’s taking little shallow breaths and playing with his hair, and then suddenly Arthur bursts out laughing and says,

“You idiot, why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe I’ve only just remembered - oh god do that again-”

(the end.)

Sequel: Sure Thing