Turning Page - Part 3 (Merlin Reverse BB 2012)
“So he doesn’t leave the flat at all?” Gwen asks, pushing the trolley further down the aisle. Arthur’s close at her side, looking extremely put out at being dragged grocery shopping. He contents himself by munching on a bag of grapes as Gwen guides them around the supermarket.
“Rarely,” Arthur replies, popping another grape in his mouth. “If he does, it’s only to go to Morgana’s or to therapy or a meeting, otherwise, nothing. Getting him to go to Gwaine and Elena’s that one time was tough enough, and well, you know how that ended.”
Gwen hums noncommittally, turning the list over in her hand before scanning the shelves and pulling a couple of jars of pasta sauce down. “Why don’t you start with something small,” she suggests. “Like, coffee?”
Arthur scoffs. “That’s not small, he won’t go for that.”
“Okay, how about a walk somewhere quiet? He lives in Hampstead right? Maybe you can take him up on the heath?”
“You’re not suggesting we go dogging, are you?” Arthur mock-gasps and has his grapes taken off him in return.
“You don’t want my help, Arthur Pendragon, fine.”
“No, no, come on now,” Arthur quickens his pace to keep up with Gwen, who’s pushing the trolley with more determination as she turns the corner and ventures up the next aisle. “But seriously, taking him out for a walk in broad daylight is just never going to happen. I don’t think he’s ready for it…us, all that to come out in the press.”
“Are you?”
“It doesn’t bother me.”
“You say this now, wait until it gets crazy. I’ve seen how it works.”
“You and your damn gossip blogs,” Arthur snorts, toying with a bag of Doritos and slinging them in the trolley.
“They’re informative,” she pouts.
“More like trashy.”
“Well, be that as it may, your lovely face may soon be plastered across them.” Gwen grins cheekily up at him and he offers her an overly false smarmy smile of his own. “How about the cinema?” she continues on resting her forearms on the handle of the trolley, “it’s dark.”
Arthur stops to consider it for a moment. “Possibly.”
“You can’t keep spending all your time at his house. You need to help him get out, build his confidence up again.”
“I don’t know, they’re pretty good dates,” Arthur chuckles to himself and Gwen rolls her eyes and pushes forward.
“Ugh, men.”
Arthur picks up a bag of Maltesers off the shelf and dangles them suggestively in front of Gwen’s nose. She looks up at him in annoyance and almost immediately surrenders, because Arthur’s doing a fantastic impression of some pitiful puppy. But before she can even take them from his fingers, he’s dropping them in the trolley and skipping ahead like some gap-toothed four year old.
“How about you just ask him round ours? That’s ‘technically’,” she air-quotes, “behind closed doors.”
“Tried that, he still wasn’t going for it.”
“What if we were throwing a Christmas party?”
“Are you kidding?” Arthur asks. “I’m struggling to get Merlin out on his own; do you really think he’s going to willingly go somewhere there’s a whole heap of people?”
Gwen shrugs and ushers them towards a till point. “Who knows? But if you tell him it’ll mean a lot to you, which it would,” she adds, bending to unpack the groceries. “Then I’m sure that’ll give him more conviction to go. You need to keep pushing him, Arthur; he’ll thank you for it in the end.”
Arthur nods wordlessly, resting at the foot of the trolley and allowing Gwen’s words to sink in.
“You know, you can bloody help here,” she curses and Arthur laughs and joins her.
**
The street is dark when Percival pulls up. The lamps by the roadside flicker fitfully and the only light creeps out from house windows. Merlin gives Percy a nod as he slides out of the car and heads towards the house, where the unmistakable sounds of Shakin’ Stevens seeps through the walls. Merlin bounces on the balls of his feet, casting one more glance back towards the car that is still parked in its place, offering him a way out. But he shakes his head, turning forward once more and brings up an unsteady hand to knock on the door. It takes a few moments for it to swing open and when it does, the blare of ‘Merry Christmas Everyone’ hits his ears.
Arthur’s standing in front of him, hair mussed and cheeks rosy. Confusion flickers over his face for a beat and Merlin tracks the changes in the lightness of his eyes, the quirk of his lips as Arthur realises it actually is Merlin standing on his doorstep and he swoops in with a laugh, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s waist and holding him close.
Merlin breathes a happy sigh against his ear, hands squeezing Arthur’s shoulders, until he looks around edgily and pushes Arthur inside.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks, closing the door behind them.
“Is it okay? I didn’t call-“
“Are you kidding me? Of course it is. I hoped you’d come, but I didn’t want to push you.”
Merlin’s toying with the fringe of his scarf, curling the tassels around his fingers. It hasn’t been easy coming round to Arthur’s. It may seem perfectly simple; he was his…boyfriend now, and even that still felt a foreign word in Merlin’s mouth.
But nothing had been simple in Merlin’s life, for as long as he could remember. Sure he can go wherever he wants, do whatever he cares to, as long as he doesn’t mind sharing it with the four or five photographers that hang on his tail. And Arthur was something Merlin doesn’t want to share. Not just yet.
“I spoke to Gaius,” Merlin tells him, resting back on the wall. They’re still in the narrow hallway, and he can hear sounds of laughter and music coming from further within. “He told me that just because my parents are gone that I shouldn’t stop doing the things that remind me of them. But that maybe I should begin to make some new traditions, too.”
Arthur’s leaning on the wall opposite, foot sliding between his own. He’s looking at Merlin with that smile again: the one that’s gentle and unassuming.
“This was my mum’s,” Merlin reaches inside his jacket pocket and pulls out a small figurine. It’s an angel, strings of gold woven through her wings, matching the harp in her hands. Merlin slides a finger through the loop at the top and holds out the ornament. “I don’t know, I just thought.”
Arthur takes a step towards him, and in the shrunken hall that’s all he needs to be right in front of Merlin. He runs a finger down the decoration; there are a few chips over the base but otherwise… “It’s beautiful.”
Warmth floods through Merlin as the heat from Arthur’s body presses against his chest and before he can think of any reasons not to, he lifts a hand to cup the back of Arthur’s neck and pulls him down for a kiss. The touch starts gentle (as nearly all their kisses do) before Arthur slides into the curves of Merlin’s body, placing a palm against the base of Merlin’s spine. They nip and tease each other’s lips until Merlin slides a tongue over the roof of Arthur’s mouth and the groan that it inspires sends a shiver through his bones. Merlin’s fingers weave into sand-coloured hair, tugging to bring closer, then pulling away to suck kisses against Arthur’s jaw.
They continue to lean there, rutting against each other like school boys until a squeak sounds from afar and they both stop and turn their heads to find Gwen bashfully staring at the ground. Arthur groans and runs the tip of his nose along the line of Merlin’s ear, places a soft lingering kiss on the skin behind before drawing himself up to full height and dragging Merlin with him.
“Guinevere,” Arthur addresses. “Merlin brought us a decoration for the tree.”
Gwen’s eyes light up as she skips towards Merlin and discovers the porcelain angel in his hands. Merlin can’t help but grin at her enthusiasm as she asks, “May I?” Taking the ornament from his upturned palm and holding it up to the light where it glistens.
“It’s gorgeous. We’ll put it right at the top!” She spins, dress flapping out around her as she heads back into the living room. Arthur catches Merlin’s wrist and follows. Merlin takes a deep shaky breath. Arthur must be able to feel the quickening of his pulse under his fingers as he guides Merlin forward as they step into…an empty room?
“Where is everybody?” Merlin asks confused, waiting for the penny to drop. He panics for a second that this is all some kind of weird surprise thing and people will be jumping out behind cupboards and settees.
“There is no party. Never was.”
Merlin looks around, mouth hanging slightly open as the stereo skips for a beat and then Slade begins to thrum through the speakers. The TV is also on and the roar of laughter on the screen shows some comedy stand up show. And oh, it’s all starting to click.
“I just wanted you to know that you could do it…if you wanted. Be around other people.”
Merlin stares at him, shocked, for a moment, before he gives Arthur a sound slap on the top of his arm. “You insufferable bastard,” he says and then hits him twice more.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Arthur’s laughing now, dancing out the way of Merlin’s hands. “But it worked didn’t it? You’re here.” Merlin stops hitting him and pauses for breath, his cheeks are flushed and well, he has to admit, begrudgingly, that Arthur, if nothing else, continues to push him out of his comfort zone.
“I demand chocolate,” he says, “plenty of chocolate.”
“I think we can manage that.”
Arthur threads his fingers through the loop of Merlin’s jeans and yanks him close, until their hips align, and the breathy sigh that leaves his mouth is not entirely innocent. Which is when, of course, Guinevere walks back into the room, a pitcher in one hand and a box in the other.
“Who’s up for Scrabble? I have non-alcoholic eggnog!”
Merlin looks back towards Arthur and can’t help the snort that puffs from his nose. Gwen looks between them, confused.
“What’s so funny?”
**
“Are you crying?”
“It’s an emotional movie.”
“Pfft,” Arthur snorts, throwing a pillow across the room to smack Gwen in the face. She catches it before it hits her though and flips him the finger.
Merlin watches them with a smile on his lips, sprawled as he is along the couch, tucked against Arthur’s side. His eyes are feeling heavy as the hot mugginess of the room wraps around his bones and leaves him sleepy.
“I agree with Gwen,” he mumbles, stretching his arms above his head. “That little kid racing through the airport gets me every time.”
“Oh, don’t you start,” Arthur sighs, fingers moving to tickle Merlin under his jumper, travelling up from where they’ve been tracing patterns along the jut of his hip. There’s a blanket wrapped around them, their hands entwined underneath for most of the movie. It’s nice, these soft little touches, having someone map the curves of his body as though he’s the most refined work of art. Merlin squirms as Arthur’s fingers dance higher up his side and they laugh against each other’s necks as Gwen blows her nose loudly.
“It’s just, he gives his heart to Keira Knightly and she just stands there, and he has the carollers playing and the sign boards and…and...”
“I think someone’s had too much brandy in her eggnog,” Arthur stage whispers not so quietly against Merlin’s temple and yelps when Gwen throws the tissue box towards his head. This time, unlike Arthur, she doesn’t miss.
“Just because you two are sober bores,” she grumbles standing, picking up the mess of tissues she’s been surrounded in and stuffing them in the pockets of her dressing gown. “I’m heading to bed,” she says behind a yawn, bending down to place a kiss against Merlin’s cheek. “Night, boys.”
Merlin smiles up at her lazily, having to duck out the way as she goes to run a hand through Arthur’s hair and give a sharp slap to the side of his face instead. Arthur untangles a foot from the rumple of blankets to deliver a soft kick to the backs of her knees and she curses in what Merlin thinks sounds like French and shuffles out the room.
“She’s a happy drunk,” Merlin says sarcastically, shifting to sit up properly, resting the point of his elbows on his knees and rubbing the heel of his palms into tired eyes.
“I don’t think you’re one to talk, Mr Lambrini.”
“One time, one sodding time.”
Arthur smirks and runs a hand down the arch of Merlin’s back, thumb pressing along the knobs of his spine. Merlin wants nothing more than to lean back, shed his jumper and feel the pad of Arthur’s fingers over his skin. But there are certain barriers that take a little longer to break down. He’s immersed himself in Arthur’s kisses, taken all the not so innocent brush of hands over his thigh and the dip of his stomach. Though when those fingers travel further, push that little bit harder, Merlin can’t help but grow quiet and turn away. He’s no blushing virgin, but it’s been so long since he’s felt like this under someone’s hands, like the slightest touch could make him break. He just wants to wait…a little bit longer.
“I better get going,”
“It's 2 AM,” Arthur says, leaning forward and curling himself against Merlin’s back. “Stay.”
“I can’t. I have Morgana coming round in the morning. Plus do you really think me staying here is the best idea?”
“Because waking Percival up at two in the morning to come and pick you up from the other side of town is?”
“I could get a cab.”
“You could,” he murmurs, pressing barely-there kisses to the back of Merlin’s neck. “I’m not going to molest you in your sleep, you know, as hard as that is to resist.” Arthur’s mouth is a hot burn against his skin, lips soft as he sucks his way across Merlin’s throat. Merlin can barely keep his eyes open as he tilts his head and allows Arthur to nose along the ridge of his ear.
“Come to bed with me,” Arthur whispers, not entirely innocent, but gentle in its sincerity, so Merlin does.
**
The grin has yet to leave Merlin’s face as he steps out of the car and waves a goodbye to Percy, who’s looking far too full of it through the rear-view mirror.
Merlin woke this morning to early rays of sunshine slicing through the gap in the curtains, Arthur’s foot hooked in the curve of his ankle and the weight of an arm slung low across his hip. He’d feigned sleep for an extra few minutes, allowed himself to indulge for a bit longer, until Arthur mouthed good morning against his shoulder and then his neck, and then his lips. Arthur had kept true to his word. There had been no ‘molesting’ the night before, just plenty of this. Lazy kisses with eager tongues - it was the best morning Merlin could remember.
He slides the key in the lock and shuffles through the door. The lights are already turned on and Merlin has a moment to wonder whether he’d forgotten to switch them off last night when Morgana steps into the hallway, heels clattering on the hardwood floor. One hand is curled high on her hip, the charcoal blazer she wears riding up. In the other she holds her blackberry and things are rarely good when Morgana has that look on her face.
“What is it?” he asks, because it must be something bad if she hasn’t even spoken yet.
Morgana simply turns her hand over and offers him her phone. He rushes forward and takes it from her fingers, thumbing the keys and - oh. There’s his face staring back at him. Same shirt, same jeans, same mussed up hair he’d been unable to control because damn Arthur and his insistent fingers.
There were three shots of him walking down the garden path, Arthur stood shirtless in the doorway watching him. And it’s obvious, so fucking candid that the gossip blog doesn’t even try to be suggestive with their title, just states it as it is.
Merlin Emrys’ All Night Tryst with Blonde.’
Merlin has to bite on his tongue to stop the tears that prick behind his eyes from falling.
“How many sites?”
“Most of them,” Morgana tells him, striding forward and plucking her phone from his limp hand. “You’re trending on Twitter, darling.”
It’s all too much and he’s tried so hard, so god damn hard, to keep a low profile. He’s lived his life sheltered away to prevent this kind of thing happening. Now they’ll take this too and the thought of that, the thought of them taking Arthur…Merlin can’t stand it. Morgana’s quiet by his side and he must be dreaming or ill because she’s running a hand down his arm and sliding her fingers between his, grip fierce.
“What do you want me to do?”
**
It’s an hour later, and whilst the dust has somewhat settled, Morgana is still busy talking to…someone on her mobile. To be honest, Merlin’s lost track.
It had taken him half an hour to convince Morgana that this is what he wanted, how he wanted to play it. She was hesitant at first, fixing him with an assessing glare that he’d seen her use on many a frightened soul. Then somewhere around the twenty-sixth minute in, she softened her expression and a hint of a smile took over. Then she took off and whirled into motion, doing whatever it is she does so brilliantly. After her fifth call and her repeated use of the word fornication, Merlin flees to the sanctum of his bedroom and clicks the door shut.
He sits on the edge of the bed, hands pressed hard against his knees. He can hear Morgana hovering somewhere in the hallway, heels clopping and voice rising to a pique every now and then. The clock on his bedside table counts the seconds as they slip by. Merlin tries to clear his head of any thoughts or worries and focuses on the toneless beeps. The pips begin to drone in Merlin’s ears, numbs his senses, to the point where he almost misses his own mobile buzzing in his pocket. He takes it out and sees Arthur’s name flash across the screen. After a few uncertain moments, Merlin catches it before it eventually rings out.
“Arthur.”
“Hi,” Arthur’s voice breathes down the line and Merlin shivers at the memory of that mouth whispering good morning against his skin just a few short hours ago.
“Hi.”
“I need to-“
“I thought you were at work?” Merlin cuts in. He doesn’t know why that’s the first thing to leave his lips, not sure why he’s trying to stall this conversation when he has a feeling he knows exactly where it’s going. He can hear clattering pots and distant yells in the background, and it’s not hard to deduce Arthur’s hiding out in the kitchens of Agravaine’s.
“What? I am. Merlin, I need to warn you about something.”
“Arthur.”
“No, you-you got to listen. I don’t know how but,”
“They know,” Merlin finishes for him. Arthur exhales a ragged sigh right into the speaker and Merlin has to pull back from the distorted crackling down the line. When he places the phone back to his ear, there’s a faint murmuring of conversation and Merlin can just make out Gwen’s voice hushed with Arthur’s.
He sounds panicked and Merlin feels guilty for getting Arthur stuck in this mess. This was why he didn’t date, why he didn’t stray out of the security of his house unless absolutely necessary. “Are you OK?” he asks kindly and is not at all prepared for the snort of what seems to be derision returned.
“Me? Of course I’m okay, it’s you Merlin, are you okay?”
“I’m not some delicate wallflower, you know,” he snaps back unthinkingly and Arthur huffs a frustrated breath.
“That’s not,” Arthur’s voice bites off and Merlin curses how his guards shoot right back up whenever the media’s involved. “I don’t get any of this,” he continues, tone measured, and Merlin’s sure Gwen has something to do with soothing his temper right now. “There was, Merlin, there was this guy earlier. He looked just like any customer but then-he wanted me to do a kiss and tell on you. I said no, obviously. Told him where he could go with his cheap Mickey Mouse story. I would never. You know I would never do that, don’t you?”
Merlin doesn’t miss a beat as he whispers quietly, “I know.” Because he does.
“Good, because there’s more.”
“More?” Merlin repeats. He should probably call Morgana in, let her listen so she’ll know exactly what they’re dealing with. But he won’t, and it’s selfish, but he’s about to share Arthur with the rest of the nation, and well, he wants Arthur to himself for just a bit longer.
“He knew stuff…everything. He knew everything, about me. “
Merlin rubs the heel of his palm into his eye. “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.”
“The guy said if I did his story, then he’d stop the rest getting out, says he’ll make it disappear.”
It won't, Merlin wants to say. Once one of them knows the truth, it’s only a matter of time before they all discover it. That’s what vultures do. Scavenge. But Merlin doesn’t say any of this, doesn’t tell him it’s a bit too late for all that, because he wants to give Arthur a choice, offer him an out, if he wants to take it.
“Well, I,” Merlin clears his throat and tries again. “I understand if you want to make that happen.”
“No, I don’t - I don’t care about all that. I’m not worried for me, it’s you. I’m just some waiter in Soho with a fucked up past, but you. You’ve got something to lose. If you’re seen with someone like me, it can ruin your whole image, your whole career.”
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Being all noble and self-deprecating. You’re not just a waiter, Arthur. Fucked up, maybe,” he says flippantly. Arthur snorts down the line and a smile returns to Merlin’s face. “But never just a waiter.”
A heavy silence lulls between them and Merlin tips himself to fall back on the bed, head cushioned by the layers of blankets and feet dangling off the end. They listen to each other breathing for several moments until a sharp ‘Pendragon’ slices into the quiet. So Merlin rolls onto his side and tucks the phone tighter against his ear as his voice comes out soft and vulnerable. “Look, I don’t care what they think, or what they say. I just, I just want you to come round tonight, if you want to?”
There’s a brief moment of silence, just long enough to make Merlin doubt.
“I get off at seven.”
“I’ll have Percy drive round and pick you up.”
“You really are Batman, aren’t you?” Arthur quips and Merlin buries the tickle of laughter against his shoulder, curling himself even tighter atop of his bed. “It’ll all be okay,” Arthur tells him with such conviction that Merlin simply hums in reply.
Because he believes him.
**
A cold chill runs through the house and Merlin clutches the blankets tighter around him. A wisp of wind slips under the windowpane, but Merlin stays in his spot on the ledge, watching the headlights gleam and disappear on the streets below. It’s nearing eight o'clock and really Arthur should be here by now. The stress of today replays in Merlin's mind and he brings up his knees to rest his cheek upon them. He's so tired, exhausted. He’d sent Morgana off a few hours ago and laid in bed wishing for sleep, but it never came. Just at the moment he allows his eyes to slip close, the buzzer sounds and he lifts his head at the noise. Merlin stumbles across the living room, feet tripping on the tails of the blanket still hanging around his shoulders. He can see Arthur's grainy reflection in the monitor and his heart gives a little kick as he buzzes him in. Merlin shuffles back to the couch, door open and blanket now thrown over the back of the settee. Barely thirty seconds later Arthur pokes his head around the doorway, face flushed and hair plastered to his forehead.
Merlin looks at him puzzled. "Did you run up here?"
"Lift was being slow."
"You're odd."
"Mmm," Arthur hums and he's still standing in the doorway, as though he can’t quite bring himself to cross the threshold.
Merlin studies him quietly, legs folded underneath him as Arthur leans against the doorjamb. "I know what happened today makes things awkward, and I should have known this would all come out eventually.”
“You think I'm nervous about that?” Arthur asks, “I don't care what the papers have to say.”
“But all that stuff resurfacing, won't it trigger anything? What about your dad?"
"Screw him. “ Arthur replies curtly, one hand lifting to push the sweat damp hair off his brow, leaving it stuck up in skewed tufts. “And I'm stronger then I was four years ago, I'll handle it. Especially if you’re there to help me?”
"Of course," Merlin says without hesitation and Arthur's eyes soften to that liquid shade of aqua that appears depthless. "It would be better if we were saying all this without 20 feet of space between us, though."
Arthur shuffles from foot to foot, one hand still hidden behind the wall of the hallway. A blush of pink spreads across Arthur’s face, highlighting the concaves of his cheekbones. "I got you something," he eventually mumbles and Merlin raises an eyebrow in return.
“A Christmas gift,” Arthur continues and there’s a nervousness in his tone that makes Merlin shift to a stand. He takes a few tentative steps forward, watches the briefest flash of hesitance flicker across Arthur’s face before he eventually draws his arm back from behind its hiding place and Merlin comes to a stop abruptly.
It’s undisguisable, the shape. A gasp catches in Merlin’s chest and it’s as if, for a moment, he can’t quite breathe. Arthur’s watching him unsurely, fingers drumming on the top of the case. Merlin’s yet to utter a word so Arthur finally strolls into the room and closes the distance between them. His fingers run gently down the bared flesh of Merlin’s arm, from elbow to fingertip. He catches Merlin’s hand in his and brings it to rest atop of the hard plastic covering between them.
“I wanted to remind you why you make music,” Arthur speaks softly, bringing his and Merlin’s hands down to unclasp the first bracket of the guitar case. “Your parents knew you had a gift.” He bends his knees to reach down lower, flipping the second clasp just above the handle. Merlin numbly allows Arthur to guide him, still stunned at this new instrument in his home. Arthur turns and swings the case to lie upright on the piano beside them. “Maybe this will make you realise it yourself.”
Merlin’s brow knits over in confused silence as Arthur unclips the last buckle and lifts the lid. The sight of what’s inside makes Merlin’s knees waver beneath him and it’s only Arthur’s grip on his elbow that keeps him from tumbling to his feet.
“Arthur, I can’t-this must have cost you a fortune.”
Arthur simply shrugs, and Merlin thinks he can hear a mumble of Christmas tips or bonuses, he’s not quite sure. His fingers are still laced with Arthur’s loosely, and Merlin runs the tip of his hand up under the cuff of Arthur’s jacket. They hold each other's gaze as Merlin’s fingers stroke over the soft pale skin of Arthur’s wrist, thumb coming to brush over the rise of his scars.
“I didn’t buy anything for anyone, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. Just credit me on the sleeve notes of your next album and we’ll call it even.” Arthur winks and Merlin shakes his head with a rueful grin until his eyes cast towards the guitar set in its case and the smile slips.
He drops his hand from Arthur’s arm and moves to run a cautionary finger along the edges of the wood panelling. Sitting in the case is a beautifully restored Gibson LG1 guitar, the same as the one he and his father are holding in the photograph on the mantle, the one Merlin had caught Arthur looking at when he first welcomed him into his home all those months ago. He can feel Arthur studying him, no doubt waiting for him to freak out. Instead Merlin’s palm passes over the strings above the sound hole, carefully plucking them one by one. Each noise it makes has something inside Merlin loosening. Without hesitating, he reaches in and wraps shaking fingers around the neck of the guitar. He adjusts his feet slightly, broadens his shoulders and cradles the rump of the guitar against his hip, fingers instinctively sliding to settle over the strings. For the first time in almost a year, an instrument doesn’t feel wrong in his hands. The sensation alone causes tears to well up behind his eyes as he runs the flat of his palm along the front.
“It feels just like my old one,” Merlin says almost breathlessly, eyes lifting to hold Arthur’s. There’s an almost shy smile taking over Arthur’s lips. So careful and barely even there, but the tug of his mouth is impossible to deny and Merlin wonders at how this man has come into his life and not just saved him once, but continues to do so over and over again. Quietly, Merlin turns to place the guitar back in its case, is so gentle with it, like it’s a priceless artefact. And it is, to him.
Arthur’s leaning against the edge of the piano, staring up at Merlin from underneath the longest lashes. Merlin doesn’t hesitate or question himself as he leans in and covers Arthur’s lips with his own. The kiss is not soft, it’s passionate and raw and Merlin’s running his fingers along the nape of Arthur’s neck, drawing him closer and licking into his mouth. Arthur’s hands move to spread across Merlin’s spine, slipping underneath the light cotton t-shirt and stretching his palm wide over the solid heat of Merlin’s back. A hitched moan lingers in the air as Merlin sucks Arthur’s bottom lip between his, teeth biting down fleetingly before lapping the stinging flesh with his tongue. Arthur pulls back panting, breath hot against Merlin’s cheek. Their jeans sit awkwardly, constraints too tight as they press their hips together. Merlin’s planting soft kisses against the line of Arthur’s jaw, playfully nipping at the coarse stubble that prickles against his upper lip. He reaches the lobe of Arthur’s ear and suckles it into his mouth greedily.
“Come to bed with me,” Merlin whispers low. Repeating the words Arthur said to him just last night, but there’s no hiding the difference in their tone, the meaning behind those few short words and Arthur just leans in and kisses him again.
**
They stumble down the hallway, mouths insistent, only breaking apart when the need for air or the need to nibble at the soft skin behind Arthur’s ear becomes a necessity. It’s the fifth time they’ve stopped to press against the landing wall since they started their journey from living room to bedroom a few minutes ago. Merlin’s pinned between the wall at his back and the solid heat of Arthur’s chest and he’s not complaining, not complaining at all. There are fingers gripping at his hips, holding him steady as Arthur latches himself to Merlin’s neck and doesn’t stop until he pulls that sound from Merlin’s lips again.
Merlin slides an ankle around Arthur’s calf and spins him until they’re tripping over each other to stand upright.
“You're not going to take me into the pantry again, are you?”
“Not this time.” Arthur bites at the bow of Merlin’s mouth and they finally, finally burst through the bedroom.
The room is a cold pleasure on their hot skin and Merlin guides Arthur backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed and he falls onto it. Arthur sits up quickly and widens his legs, fingers already finding their home in the creases of Merlin’s hips and pulling him to stand between his thighs. Arthur leans forward to nudge at the bottom of Merlin’s t-shirt with his nose, moving it out of the way so he can nestle in the fine black hair that tapers under Merlin’s navel. His hands travel upwards, rake along Merlin’s sides, lifting the shirt on his back higher until Merlin gets the message and pulls it the rest of the way off. Merlin’s hands rest on Arthur’s shoulders and he’s not even sure he’s forming coherent words as Arthur’s tongue swirls along the line of his pelvis and flicks under the seam of his jeans.
Then Arthur looks up at him, hair mussed across his brow, mouth shiny and wet and fuck he’s the picture perfect image of the best kind of wet dream. A sound that’s almost like a plea tumbles from his lips and Arthur takes it for the sign that it is and slowly unbuttons Merlin’s jeans. He slides the zip down over the bulge tenting the front of Merlin’s trousers and licks a wet path along the edge of his underwear. A hiss slips between Merlin’s teeth whilst his hands move up to run through Arthur’s hair.
Merlin’s jeans come to pool at his ankles, soon followed by his boxer briefs and then Arthur’s flashing him a quick toothy grin before he burrows his face close against Merlin’s groin. The fingers in Arthur’s hair tighten and Merlin’s back arches like a bow as Arthur runs his tongue along the head of Merlin’s cock.
“Oh God, yes,” Merlin croaks. Throat dry and lips chapped, but Arthur, Arthur’s mouth is so damn warm and wet as he eventually licks down and wraps his mouth around Merlin’s cock. Arthur’s lips are stretched wide, as he continues to bob his head faster along Merlin’s shaft. Nosing closer and closer with each slide to the mess of curls at the base. One hand cups Merlin’s balls, massages them in his palm as the other claws against Merlin’s arse cheek, dragging him closer. Merlin continues to mewl above, broken sounds that start low in the pit of his stomach and reverberate through his chest. Arthur looks like a fucking wreck. Hair sweat soaked and clinging to his forehead, face flushed and mouth blood red smeared with spit and pre-come. His tongue is doing amazing things, lapping along the vein on the underside of his cock until Merlin’s keening. Arthur’s making noises that sound like he’s gagging, but he doesn’t falter in his pace as he swallows around Merlin’s cock and mouths right to the base.
“Fuck, stop Arthur. Shit, I'm gonna come and you're not even undressed.” Arthur pulls off him with a filthy pop and grins, before leaning back down and biting along the jut of Merlin’s hipbone.
“No, no I want to see you,” Merlin whines, fingers bunching up the cotton of Arthur’s shirt until it’s under his armpits. “Let me,” he says softly, and Arthur obliges by lifting his arms and Merlin pulls it off the rest of the way.
Merlin bends for a sloppy kiss, can faintly taste the musk of his own scent on Arthur’s lips and groans. He straddles Arthur’s lap for a moment, denim rough against his skin before crawling off and scooting to the head of the bed. Arthur stands and moves to the side, shirtless and heaving but looking so unsure. Merlin eyes him curiously and is almost about to voice his concerns when Arthur closes his eyes on a weighted sigh and pulls down his jeans and underwear.
His actions are swift as he steps out of his trousers and kicks them to the side. Whilst Merlin’s eyes initially fall on Arthur’s cock, which is fucking glorious where it’s curled against his stomach, they soon drift. Arthur’s legs are thick and strong, toned muscle flexing under pale skin. There’s a dusting of fine golden hair along his thighs but there are other marks too. The scars are less noticeable than those on his wrists, paler in colour, but longer strokes. Merlin can’t count them all, but there’s many and when Merlin lifts his head to meet Arthur’s eyes, he can see the bravado behind them.
“Gorgeous,” Merlin says in whispered awe. “Come here.” And Arthur does. His smile is more certain, touch more confident as they lay side by side, facing each other. Their mouths meet again, lazy tongues sliding against the other, unhurried. Merlin’s hand slides under Arthur’s arm to grasp the meat of his biceps, and the moment their hips come together, flesh on flesh, sends a spike of hot want down Merlin’s spine. The air hangs muggy between them, as Arthur’s fingers reach down and begin to strip Merlin’s cock. Hand dry, but he’s still wet from the warmth of Arthur’s mouth and as Arthur runs a blunt nail over the head of his cock Merlin’s unable to quiet the groan that shakes through his body.
“I want you to fuck me.”
Arthur’s fingers slow their pace, “Are you sure?”
“It's been a while but…I want you. Just go slow yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur kisses along Merlin’s jaw, light nips that stop when Arthur suddenly shifts up on his elbow. “Shit, I don't have anything,” he curses, “I didn't exactly plan for this.”
“Mm, I'm sure,” Merlin purrs, before leaning up and over Arthur and pulling out a handful of foil sachets from the beside cabinet. He tosses them on the bed and flops back down, chest pressed against Arthur’s as he lies half on top of him. Arthur’s looking down at him, slightly dumbstruck.
“You did not go out and buy these?”
“No.”
“Oh God, tell me you didn't send Percy to get them for you.”
“What?” Merlin laughs. “God no, no. It's amazing what you can find in Morgana's handbag.”
“Why am I not even surprised.”
“She's prepared for every occasion.”
Arthur hums in response but Merlin's sure he's not listening to him at all as he feels the cool spill of lube along the backs of his thighs and Arthur's warm palm spread over the swell of his arse. His large hand continues to pass up and down in broad swipes, massaging the soft skin of Merlin’s perineum. On the third upstroke Arthur slips two wet fingers along the crease, catching on the rim of Merlin's hole and making him howl against Arthur's neck.
Arthur hushes and mumbles soothing endearments as he presses the barest tip of a finger in. Merlin gasps at the breach, body arching as he pushes back on Arthur's finger sliding him in to the second knuckle.
“More.” Merlin breathes and Arthur answers with another finger. And Christ he feels like it’s so tight down there, like he's swallowing Arthur whole. But then the fingers inside him twist and scissor and fuck, fuck he’s being split wide open. Merlin swings a leg over Arthur’s hip and ruts against his thigh. When Arthur brushes against that spot inside of him, the one he tries to find by himself late at night, the moan that bites off his tongue is unrestricted and he leans up to pant into Arthur's mouth.
“Now, I'm ready.”
Arthur pulls his fingers free and Merlin gasps at the loss.
“Turn around,” Arthur murmurs against his cheek and Merlin moves to lie on his side. He can hear the rip of a wrapper behind him, the slick slide of skin on skin. Then Arthur's hand is on Merlin's thigh sliding his top leg up until his knee rests against his chest. Arthur's nuzzling against the top of his spine, licking kisses across to the juncture of his neck.
“I'll try to take it slow.”
“Arthur, come on,” Merlin sounds desperate now, but then Arthur's breaching him, slowly. Stretch by aching stretch. Merlin whimpers into the pillow, twisting his body to curve closer against Arthur's chest. Arthur grunts against the side of his face, hips pushing up and then, fuck. He's sheathed in Merlin fully, one hand holding under Merlin's knee keeping him open. The other slips under his body, nails dragging down his chest and over a peaked nipple.
“God,” Merlin cries, as Arthur settles in and just stays still for a moment.
“You're so beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” Arthur’s pressing the words into Merlin’s shoulder, and if it’s possible he slides even closer. Merlin’s slowly getting used to the sensation of being filled again, and damnit, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this stretched. But all too soon it’s not enough and he reaches back to grip Arthur’s thigh, fingers stroking over the bumps of scars as he moans.
“Move, move.”
And Arthur does. Slow at first, then with pounding ferocity, knee digging into the mattress as he shifts his angle and begins sliding in deep, sure thrusts. Merlin’s hand is still wrapped around Arthur’s leg, the other clenching the sheets tight under his fingers, broken sounds trapped in his throat. His body is on fire and he can feel the beads of sweat trickle from Arthur’s fringe down his neck.
He wants to say more, something else other than, "Yes, yes, that, there. Harder, yes."
But he can’t. Arthur’s hips rock up and Merlin meets him with every stroke, bearing down harder each time. Their breathing hangs heavy in the room as Arthur continues to fuck into him, hand moving lower to stroke Merlin’s cock. Arthur strips him ruthlessly, wet mouth against his ear, whispering dirty things, beautiful things.
And then it’s all white noise. Arthur stills inside of him, moan filthy in his ear as he comes. Merlin follows, spilling over with a hitched gasp and Arthur’s name on his lips.
**
The sheets pool at his waist as Arthur turns and rolls onto his back. He can feel the beam of sunlight hit his closed lids through the split in the curtains and he grumbles in protest as he shuffles back on his front. Arthur stretches an arm out to sling over Merlin’s chest, but the space beside him is empty. He frowns in his still-sleep-like state, cracking open one eye curiously to find the blankets a crumpled mess. It takes just a few blinks for him to sit up on the crook of his elbow and run a hand over his tired face. The side where Merlin slept is still warm and Arthur scoots across to get up and plant his feet on the carpet. Arthur takes a moment to look around the room, doubt sinking in, but then he hears a distant noise carry through the air and he rises to a stand.
Slipping on his boxers, Arthur takes slow measured steps out of the bedroom, hand coming to scratch low at his belly. The sound grows louder, as Arthur reaches the living room and turns to stand in the doorway. Merlin’s sat at the piano, legs bare with only Arthur’s thin cotton shirt to cover him. His feet flex over the pedals, toes arching against the brass. Merlin’s back is hunched, fingers dancing across the keys whilst he hums a soft lullaby under his breath. He stops every now and then, thumbs through a leaf of papers atop of the piano and furiously scribbles or crosses out lines, lyrics and key changes with the lead of a pencil. It’s a mad rush of limbs, slightly chaotic and maddening in its process. But there’s also a raw honesty behind it which has Arthur enthralled as he leans against the door jamb.
“You’re playing,” Arthur says softly, not wanting to ruin the moment for fear of breaking it. Merlin startles at his voice but when he looks up and catches Arthur watching from across the room, a smile stretches across his lips and his eyes widen in pure joy like Arthur’s never seen before.
“What can I say, I was feeling inspired.”
Merlin gestures for him to come over and shifts across the bench to make room. Arthur takes a seat and presses himself against Merlin, from shoulder to thigh. It should be cold, with all this naked skin between them, but Merlin’s body is warm and Arthur leans into the heat.
“Nice shirt.” He fingers the hem of Merlin’s sleeve and tries to count Merlin’s eyelashes as they settle against the tops of his cheeks. When he flutters them open, it’s almost startling and Arthur has to catch his breath. All he wants to do is keep kissing Merlin. It’s easy then, to slide the hand on Merlin’s arm up to his neck, for Arthur to press his thumb in the hollow behind Merlin’s ear and close the last few inches between them. Merlin sighs against his mouth as Arthur sucks on the bow of Merlin’s top lip, before repeating the action on the lower one. Merlin drops a hand to trace over the top of Arthur’s thigh, following the criss-cross patterns whilst Arthur pulls back to plant kisses to the tip of Merlin’s chin, the underside of his jaw.
“I spoke to Morgana earlier, played her something down the phone,” his breath hitches on the last word as Arthur’s teeth nip against his Adams apple. “She said she’d clear my schedule for today if, and I quote, ‘that blonde hottie spends the rest of the day shagging your brains out if it produces this kind of work.’” He smiles, making air quotes with his fingers and Arthur laughs against his neck.
“So I have a duty to the nation, huh?”
“Hmm, not quite the nation, but I’m sure Morgana could get you a knighthood somehow if you spurred an album out of me in the next few weeks.”
“Few weeks?” Arthur sucks air between his teeth and shakes his head. “That’s not long, I better get to work.”
“You better,” Merlin smiles and wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck and drags him back down.
**
It’s not happily ever after - these things rarely are.
They yell, they fight, they push each other in all the worst ways possible, and all the best ways, too. They help each other when those dark thoughts re-emerge. When it’s the first anniversary of Hunith and Ballinor’s death and Arthur comes over to find the photo frames turned back around. Or when Arthur hears whispers that Uther has re-married, bore another child and named him Arthur - like he was simply replaced. Those times aren’t easy.
But slowly it shifts so there are more good days than bad. And when Merlin’s returning album goes double platinum the following summer, there’s a small block of letters printed finely on the last page of the sleeve-notes.
For Arthur Pendragon - who saves me every day.
-
The end.
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