Is That Pink Mist (Or Just Dry Lit Ice)
Title: Is That Pink Mist (Or Just Dry Lit Ice)
Author: didzease
Rating: PG-13/soft R
A/N: For the kinkme_merlin prompt “Arthur/Merlin, the Twist by Frightened Rabbit”. Original fill can be found here. The song's linked here and this is the song at the end.
Is That Pink Mist (Or Just Dry Lit Ice)
Between them, it starts out as a bit of a dance. Merlin grows close to Arthur, closer, forces a path into the Prince's life, and glues them side by side.
It happens before Arthur has time to realise what exactly is happening, and although it can be said it's a shock when Merlin comes towards him, flushed, drunk, looking up from beneath long eyelashes - all coy - it really isn't.
Arthur lets Merlin kiss him. It's soft, gentle and-
Arthur closes his eyes, pretending it's a girl. Not Gwen, per se, he is wary of thinking about her in such a setting, but any girl. Faceless, nameless, but certainly not Merlin the manservant. Never, Arthur thinks.
When he shouts out a name, his eyes still averted from the body against his, head thrown backwards, it is not a male name, and he is vaguely aware of how Merlin cringes against him but doesn't comment.
They don't speak about it, but the next time Merlin makes a move towards Arthur, Arthur lets him again. Merlin whispers 'let me be who you like' and so he changes into who Arthur likes. A mouth soft as a girl's, hands tentative and unsure, and Arthur thinks yes. Says Gwen this time. Imagines the black curls and tan skin, and the honey sweet voice and soft curves.
After a while, a repetition of events, Merlin doesn't shudder anymore when Arthur moans a name. Arthur gradually realises it's not for him Merlin does this, either. It is shamelessly egoistical, what Merlin is doing. He wants to be with Arthur - it's visible in his eyes afterwards, the shame, the guilt - and Arthur kind of wants to stop with the entire ordeal, but-
Merlin keeps coming towards him, and Arthur keeps letting him.
As long as his servant kneels between his knees, it's fine. As long as there are only kisses and brief touches, Arthur has no problem imagining this is (Gwen) a woman. As long as Merlin doesn't speak, doesn't mutter, doesn't rut himself against the bed to get off. Merlin never does.
Until he does. He pushes himself up against Arthur one night, and it's where things go fully awry. The arms wrapped around Arthur's body are wrong, too skinny, bony, too strong. His hips are digging into Arthur's flesh and Merlin is curled around him before he can process anything. Again. Arthur wants to push Merlin off but Merlin doesn't stop.
“I'll leave before dawn,” he whispers, “I promise. Just pretend, yeah? I just, I need some human heat.”
And it's true, Arthur thinks - Merlin's hands and feet are cold, and his entire body seems to be pale as ever. And it's the least he can do back, to let Merlin sleep in his bed. Arthur does have some feelings. He just hopes-
Never mind.
Merlin has left his room by the time Arthur wakes up, enters late as usual, and everything continues as it always does. In the evening he stays late in Arthur's room, pretends he doesn't care about the names Arthur whispers, and Arthur starts feeling the stab of guilt for making Merlin do this with each flip of a tongue, each brush of a finger.
He never reciprocates, and Merlin never asks him to; all Arthur needs to do is offer him a place to sleep for an hour or two (he is never quite sure when Merlin leaves, he is always asleep).
Arthur sees it like this: they keep each other company.
Merlin keeps telling him he can become whoever Arthur likes, and in the evening shimmer, in the dark of night, Arthur believes this. Arthur feels who he would like to feel, he screams the name of the one in his heart.
Then, one disastrous evening, Arthur accidentally mutters 'Merlin' and everything they built up collapses. Every unspoken rule between them seems to have been made under a false premise. The world falls silent around them, Merlin's movements stop and he looks up at Arthur - from under the dark eyelashes again. They cast a shadow upon his face, dark underneath his eyes, and for a moment Arthur thinks he sees something so unlike Merlin flicker right there, hidden in the blue.
Merlin pulls away from Arthur, and leaves him bereft behind.
Bereft, and Arthur wonders how it is possible.
Merlin doesn't return to Arthur's chambers the next evening. Nor the next, or the night after that. Unsurprisingly, now, it hurts Arthur. He waits, until Merlin might return, until his thoughts are finally taking a different shape. A brand new idea occurs to him.
That evening, he is the one to nervously knock on Gaius's door. Without a word, he steps inside and walks straight to Merlin's room. Gaius doesn't ask a question, and the door of Merlin's chamber falls shut behind Arthur's back.
Merlin lets Arthur kiss him. It's soft, gentle and-
Merlin closes his eyes, and Arthur thinks Merlin might be pretending it is someone else. Not Gwen, per se, he is wary of thinking about her in such a setting, but any girl. Faceless, nameless, but not Arthur the Prince. Some time, Arthur thinks. Maybe.
Arthur keeps returning, and Merlin keeps letting him.
As long as Arthur kneels between skinny knees, it's fine. As long as there are only kisses and brief touches, Merlin lets him. As long as Arthur doesn't speak, doesn't mutter, doesn't rut himself against the bed to get off. He never does.
Until he does. He pushes himself up against Merlin one night, and it's where things finally settle. The arms wrapping themselves around Arthur's body are right, too skinny, too bony, too strong but exactly what he needs. Hips are sharply digging into Arthur's flesh and Merlin is curled around him before he realises what is happening. Arthur takes a deep breath, revels in the scent.
“You don't have to leave before dawn,” Merlin whispers, “I promise. Just let me pretend, yeah? I just, I need some human heat.”
And it's true, Arthur thinks, still - Merlin's hands and feet are cold, and his entire body seems to be pale as ever. And it's the least Merlin can do back, to let Arthur sleep next to him in his lumpy and uncomfortable bed. Or anywhere else, for that matter. As long as it is near Merlin. He just hopes-
Never mind.
- Can you see in the dark?
Can you see the look on your face?
The flashing white light's been turned off
You don't know know who's in your bed.
It takes more than fucking someone you don't know to keep warm.
Do you really think that for a house-beat you'll find your love in a hole?