Now I Will Unsettle the Ground Beneath You (6/6)
Part Five
***
The week leading up to the wedding, he doesn't see Arthur at all. He spends all his time working on the finishing touches of the painting which is Gwen and Lance's present.
It's the first non repressed-memory induced painting he's done in months, but when he looks at it, it could just as easily have been the Lancelot and Guinevere he had known centuries ago. The photograph he's based the painting on is one he had taken of the two of them soon after they'd met. They were deep in conversation when Merlin snapped it, and Lance was reaching out to Gwen to brush away a stray eyelash from her cheek. The look in his eyes is one of utter devotion and love, and anyone who wasn't blind would be able to see it. It's a look that Merlin has seen in Lance's eyes so many times in the past, and it's almost frightening in its intensity.
Merlin recognises it in Lance, because it's the way Arthur looks at Merlin when they're alone.
He doesn't want to have to hide it any more. It's exhausting having to try and maintain the facade when all he wants to do is shout from the rooftops that he loves Arthur Pendragon.
He doesn't know how Gwaine is going to react. Merlin would be very surprised if there isn't a lot of damage done to Gwaine and Arthur's friendship, given the way Oswald betrayed him, but they're just going to have to deal with whatever arises when it does. Keeping their relationship a secret makes it sordid, makes it wrong, and Merlin hates that. Regardless of how sexy the whole fucking in secret thing can be, it also makes him feel hollow inside every time, like there's a part of Arthur he isn't allowed to have, that's shut off from him.
Merlin is tired of he and Arthur being each other's dirty little secret, and it has to change.
After the wedding.
***
The chapel is a very uneven mixture of Gwen's family and twelve or so friends, and Lancelot's huge extended family and large group of mates made up from his Doctors Without Borders colleagues, his Eton 'brothers' and possibly every person he has ever met in his life, judging by the numbers.
Gwen, having no family aside from her brother, and a devoted but small circle of friends, has inherited some of Lance's lot on her side. It isn't like Gwen or Lance give a toss about tradition anyway, and Merlin's glad of that, it makes him giving Gwen away look a little less stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb.
He'd seen Arthur at the wedding rehearsal, but aside from surreptitious glances, he hasn't had any contact with him at all. Arthur hasn't come anywhere near Merlin, and even when Merlin has a conversation with Leon right next to him, Arthur doesn't so much as say hello.
It's not like it was before, but he can feel his blood calling out to Arthur. That need way down deep in his bones, and it's not made any easier when he sees Arthur in his wedding suit. He looks beautiful, elegant and so, so flawless.
Merlin's heart sinks when he sees the woman on Arthur's arm. He's seen her with him in various tabloids, all long legs and fake hair and tits and about as drop-dead gorgeous as Arthur is. To see them together it's like they were made for each other: rich and tanned and pretty and perfect.
He knows she's there for appearances only, because Uther is there and Arthur wouldn't dare not bring along his Beard Du Jour when Daddy is on the scene. Yes, Merlin is bitter. Very, very fucking bitter and it's completely irrational, but he's thousands of years old, and if Arthur thinks Merlin is going to be forced back into the closet on account of Arthur's daddy issues, he's got another thing coming.
Not that their relationship is still anything but secret, but Merlin's been trying to tell himself that's temporary. Hard to do that when the source of Arthur's emotional unavailability and every single one of his insecurities is sitting in the fourth pew back, engaged in polite but very animated conversation with Arthur's "girlfriend".
He sneaks two glasses of champagne with Gwen and her bridesmaids before the ceremony, and feels better for a little while.
It's a beautiful ceremony, and Gwen looks radiant. Lance looks- well he's Lance and perfect, but Merlin's eyes keep drifting back to Arthur, he can't help himself. Morgana catches him at one point and she looks really, really pissed off.
She grabs him after the ceremony, her gorgeous emerald-green sheath dress such a contrast with the porcelain white of her skin.
"What the hell are you doing?" she hisses at him in a whisper. "Merlin, if you ruin Gwen and Lance's wedding I swear I will cut vital parts of your anatomy off. I mean it."
"Are you high?" Merlin whispers back, "Morgana, you know what Gwen means to me, and Lance too, what possible reason would I have for ruining their wedding? Besides, you might be wanting to speak to Arthur about ruining the wedding, he's the one who brought the posh totty pap fodder."
Morgana takes a deep breath. She looks like she's counting to ten, or possibly twenty.
"Merlin darling, I know you wouldn't intentionally ruin the wedding, but if you continue to stare at Arthur like a wounded labrador, you are going to. Do you want Gwaine to see you? Because the jealous girlfriend act is a little bit obvious, don't you think?"
"I know."
"I can't help but notice you haven't told him about you and Arthur yet, by the way. After you said you would, too."
She raises one immaculately shaped eyebrow and Merlin sighs.
"I couldn't, Morgana." He looks down at his feet, more than slightly ashamed. "But I am going to. After the wedding. He deserves-"
"Yes," Morgana says, her tense face morphing into something a little more friendly and a little less I will chop you into tiny pieces with my mind, "he deserves a lot more."
She walks away from him, towards Lance's family. Merlin massages his temples with his thumbs, he has a really horrific headache coming on, and they have the photographs and the bloody reception at Leon's house to get through yet.
***
The photograph session is horrible. Keeping with the non-traditional theme, Gwen has Merlin in the dual roles of Father of the Bride and the male equivalent of Head Bridesmaid, which means he is in a great many of the wedding party pictures, along with Leon, Gwaine and Arthur. Merlin despises photographs anyway, and having to maintain this false happiness and ease while he can feel the tension coming off Arthur in waves, well it's excruciating, to say the least.
He finds Gwaine in the banquet room, leaning against a wall, looking like the most gorgeous gatecrasher ever, with the hipflask he's been hiding in his inside jacket pocket. When Merlin had asked him during the photography session why he was sneaking drinks when surely Leon had enough alcohol at the house to drown a large country, he'd pulled Merlin in and whispered in his ear:
"Have you missed the fact that Uther Pendragon is here? The only remedy to having to endure His Royal Arseholeness is alcohol, and lots of it. You've never had the pleasure of meeting him, have you?"
You think this one is bad, Merlin wants to say, try dealing with the one who wants to burn you at the stake.
Instead he just shakes his head.
"Lucky you. And those photos. I thought it was never going to end." Gwaine hands Merlin the hipflask, adds, "If I had heard say cheese in that fucking smarmy voice one more time I was going to go Sean Penn on that bloody photographer."
"I think I would have paid to see that." Merlin takes a long belt from the flask. It tastes like lighter fluid and he struggles not to choke at first. Merlin likes the feeling it gives him, though; the alcohol warming his body. It's pleasantly relaxing, so he takes another drink even though it might possibly be the worst idea to be drunk here and now.
Gwaine has always been a terrible influence on him, and when he hands the hipflask back to him, Merlin grins, wide and inviting.
When Gwaine grins back at him, that flirtatious grin that even now makes his belly fill with heat, Merlin drops his gaze. It's easy to forget when Gwaine is smiling that there is anything wrong, but Merlin needs to remember just how much still needs to be said and what a mess everything is. It doesn't need to be made worse by drunken flirting because he's angry and jealous.
When Gwaine turns away to talk to Elyan, Merlin feels a hand on his lower back, and warm breath in his ear. Arthur.
"You look lovely in that suit," he says, and Merlin wants to punch him, because this is the first time Arthur has spoken to him all day.
"Don't you dare." Merlin can feel his blood pressure rising as he hisses through gritted teeth at Arthur, turning around to face him. "For one thing, I am trying to do the honourable thing at this bloody wedding and not moon after you, like, what did Morgana say? A wounded labrador."
"Tell her to mind her own fucking business. I would." Arthur's voice curls around him, smoky and sexy and Merlin can't help wishing that Arthur didn't affect him quite so much. He wants to be mad at him, but Arthur doesn't make it easy.
"No. She has a point." Merlin glares at Arthur, when he sees Arthur take a step closer. "Can we speak about the blonde thing that's been draped all over you and the fact you've been ignoring me?"
"You can't. Be serious." Arthur sounds like he's mocking him, and it makes Merlin's jaw clench tight. "You're jealous of Serena? That's absolutely ludicrous, Merlin. Are you ten years old?"
Merlin's chest burns with anger. Apparently Arthur does make it easy to be angry with him, after all. He bites out: "Thanks, Arthur. Yet again, you prove yourself to be the most insensitive prick that ever walked the face of the earth. Well done."
He doesn't even bother looking to see whether the expression on Arthur's face shifts as he walks away.
***
Merlin gets steadily drunker and drunker throughout the reception. The swigs from the hipflask combined with the copious glasses of champagne that get drunk and refilled through the speeches leave Merlin feeling decidedly out of control. He tries not to look at Arthur when he gives his speech, but he can't help it. He looks so gorgeous, his tie undone and his hair ruffled and all Merlin wants to do is push him down and kiss him and forget about how hurt he is at the way Arthur has ignored him and pushed him aside because of his father's demands on him.
His legs start to give out when he polishes off the glass of Glenfiddich 30 that Leon's given him, slamming it back as if it's a shot of tequila and not a glass of really expensive scotch.
"I think I need to lie down," he says, addressing no-one in particular, and stumbles away from the multitudes of guests dancing embarrassingly to Friday, in the direction of a bathroom, or bedroom, or in fact anywhere that isn't there.
On his way out he sees Arthur, deep in conversation with Serena, and he knows he shouldn't, should just take his drunken arse away, but Merlin's about ten thousand miles south of sensible and logical now, so he finds himself walking right up to them, and barging into Arthur's personal space.
"I don't think we've been introduced," he slurs, eyes terribly unfocused as he shakes Serena's hand. "I'm Merlin."
She smiles, shakes his hand and she's polite, but Merlin is pretty sure she's wishing she were anywhere except with the embarrassingly-drunk-in-public idiot who's not letting go of her hand.
"Merlin-" Arthur warns, in that hideously patronising tone that makes Merlin feel like he's still a servant.
"I'm just saying hello, Arthur. Anyone would think you were ashamed to be seen with me, or something."
Arthur shakes his head, mouths "excuse me" to Serena and drags Merlin by the arm to one of the upstairs bedrooms. Merlin lets himself be led, Arthur's much stronger than him, and he's so drunk he feels like a wet noodle, so resisting is definitely not on the cards at this moment in time.
"Sit down," Arthur says, pushing him down onto the bed. "Seriously, Merlin, couldn't you have picked a more appropriate time to have a drunken meltdown? Perhaps when there are less people around?"
"Oh of course," Merlin drawls sarcastically, "it's not proper, is it? Not when Daddy and all your very important friends are here. And you're always proper, aren't you? Weren't proper when you were being a drunken, coked-up manwhore, but that's okay with Uther, as long as you're not a poof, isn't it?"
Merlin looks away and he nearly jumps when he feels Arthur's fingers, cool and soothing on the back of his neck.
"I'm sorry," Arthur says, so softly that Merlin almost doesn't hear it. "I shouldn't have ignored you, Merlin. I'm an idiot. I just thought it would be easier than-"
Merlin turns back to face him, and puts his fingers on Arthur's mouth, silencing him.
"I'm the idiot," he groans. "I shouldn't be acting like such a bloody teenager. I just- I've been through this before, watching you with someone else, watching him control you, Arthur, and it just- it scares me to see it all happening again."
Arthur nods. "I understand." He pulls Merlin in, a hand on the back of his neck. "I would tell them all to go to hell if I thought I'd lose you, you know."
"I know," Merlin whispers, "but you don't have to. Just- don't push me away, Arthur. I couldn't bear it. Not again."
Arthur kisses him, murmurs "I'm sorry" against Merlin's lips and when Merlin deepens the kiss, Arthur pushes him back onto the pillows, and straddles his hips.
Arthur's been drinking too, and neither of them have the sharpest of reflexes, so when the door opens, they don't catch it, too wrapped up in each other, too drunk, and Merlin doesn't even notice Gwaine until he is grabbing Arthur and pulling him off Merlin.
"What the fuck?" Arthur gets to his feet and pushes Gwaine, hard. "Would you care to explain the reason for throwing me across the room?"
Merlin sobers up almost instantly, the adrenaline kicking in as he watches the two of them.
"You know I would defend you to the death, Arthur." Gwaine is red-faced, angrier than Merlin's ever seen him. "But taking advantage of someone who's too drunk to even stand up? That's a new low, even for you."
"Even for me?" Arthur laughs, but it's cold, bitter laughter and he points to Merlin, asks, "Does it really look like I'm taking advantage of him?"
"Yeah," Merlin says, breathlessly, "he's really not, Gwaine. Appreciate you defending my honour and all, but- not really necessary."
Gwaine looks confused, like he's trying to process what they're both saying and Merlin can see the moment it registers. His jaw tightens, and Merlin can see him grasping his hands at his sides, balled into fists.
"How. Long?" he asks, words clipped and abrupt.
"It's been-" Merlin stops when he sees Gwaine's glare.
"I'm asking you, Princess." Gwaine steps forward into Arthur's space, spits out, "How. Long?"
"The week after Leon's," Arthur starts, "but we didn't-"
Gwaine hits him, and Arthur barely flinches. He just stands there and takes it like he feels he deserves it and worse. Merlin wishes that Gwaine had hit him instead, because he deserves it more.
He stands up on shaky legs and walks over to him. "Gwaine. Please. Let me-."
"Don't talk to me, Merlin," he warns, his voice quaking like he's barely holding it together, "just- don't."
He slams the door behind him as he leaves.
"Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck." Arthur slams his fist into the wall over and over, until Merlin grabs his arm and stops him. Arthur's hand looks red and raw, and Merlin thinks it's highly possible he might have really hurt himself. If Merlin hadn't stopped him, Arthur would probably have broken something.
"That could have gone better," Arthur says bitterly, sliding down to the floor.
Merlin joins him, sitting crosslegged next to him. They don't touch, just sit there for what feels like hours; Merlin with his head in his hands, biting his lip to stop himself from crying.
***
He finds Gwaine in his favourite bar, a tiny Irish hole-in-the-wall around the corner from his apartment. When he walks in, Sean looks relieved, like Merlin walking in is the answer to all his problems.
"He won't leave," Sean hisses at Merlin, "I had to cut him off about two hours ago, but he just sits there mumbling about 'destiny'. Has he finally gone mad, Merlin? Has the drink driven him mad?"
Destiny. Merlin feels his stomach tie itself in knots. He knows. Gwaine knows. Merlin shouldn't have been surprised that if he and Arthur and Morgana had, why shouldn't some of the others have started to remember, too?
"I'll just go see if I can-" he trails off, walking over to Gwaine's barstool.
Gwaine, to his credit, doesn't punch Merlin when he sees him. In fact, he gestures to the empty stool next to him and beckons Sean over.
"No," Sean says, flatly, before Gwaine can open his mouth. "You, Taffy, are cut off."
"It's not for me. It's for him." Gwaine points to Merlin. "Besides, I'm bloody well sober now, you Irish tosser."
"Mind if I breathtest you, then?"
Gwaine gives him the two-fingered salute, and Sean just rolls his eyes and pours Merlin a Guinness. Merlin sincerely doubts that he should be consuming any alcohol at all for the next year, but hair of the dog and all that.
"Thanks, Sean." He tries to take out his wallet, but Gwaine pays for it instead.
"What are you-?"
"Just sit down, Merlin." Gwaine grabs him by the arm and pulls him back down to his barstool. "We need to talk."
Merlin sighs, noisily, rubs his eyes and turns to face Gwaine's stare. "Yeah. We do."
"I get it, you know," Gwaine starts. "I know the two of you are all-" he waves his hand around, and Merlin bites his lower lip. "All destined and all that bollocks," he says, stealing Merlin's beer while Sean isn't looking. "But you should've told me, Merlin. Months ago."
Merlin nods. "I know. I tried to stay away from him, Gwaine. When you found out about your mum. I thought I could just control it, but-"
Gwaine roars with laughter. "You thought you could control it? Merlin. Sometimes I swear the term 'Villiage Idiot' was coined with you in mind."
"Oi!" Merlin hits him on the shoulder. "I happen to be highly intelligent, you know. I have depths."
Gwaine pats him on the head. "Of course you do. As deep as a rain puddle, you are."
Gwaine is smiling, and Merlin can't help but be intensely relieved that Gwaine is just as uncomplicated and unable to hold a grudge as he always was. He always loved that about him, his ability to react in the heat of emotion and get over it just as quickly. Gwaine is a whirlwind with candy floss at the centre.
"I'm still a mite pissed off," he says, as if he can read Merlin's thoughts, "but the two of you are just- bloody ridiculous. Fucking Princess, it's always the same with him, isn't it? You're both so single-mindedly, insanely obsessed that nobody else stands a chance."
Gwaine sounds almost wistful, and Merlin finds himself wishing that he could have been enough. It's always been like this with Gwaine: he was always perfect in every way except the fact that he wasn't Arthur
"I'm sorry." Merlin squeezes Gwaine's shoulder. "You're amazing, Gwaine. If I'd met you first back then we would have been perfect. But he's- well, he's Arthur."
"Story of my life." Gwaine sighs. "Always the knight and never the prince. Hell, at least we had some fun, right?"
Merlin puts a hand on Gwaine's shoulder. "I'm really sorry for lying to you. I didn't mean for any of it to happen, any of it."
But he's grinning, and it takes Merlin a minute to realise that Gwaine is staring at some bloke down the other end of the bar. He's dark-haired, with tanned skin and green eyes and he's blushing, but not backing down by the way he's staring back.
"So," Merlin says, smugly, "how's that broken heart coming along, then?"
Gwaine laughs and hugs him. Gwaine always did give the best hugs. Merlin is so grateful that Gwaine doesn't hate him that he can hardly breathe.
"You can tell Pendragon that he can meet me for tennis on Wednesday. And he'd better be ready to get his arse handed to him, too. I have a score to settle."
Gwaine is smiling; wide and open, and Merlin loves him fiercely.
He leaves him there after he finishes his pint; flirting shamelessly with at least three people at the same time who he will probably take home with him, and Sean pouring them all pints grudgingly. Merlin's incredibly lucky, he knows that. He could have very easily lost the best friend that anyone could ask for, and he's confident leaving Gwaine there, knowing he hasn't.
***
When he arrives at Arthur's house the next morning, it takes Merlin a good fifteen minutes to convince David, Arthur's head of security, that although Arthur has decreed he doesn't want to see anyone, that doesn't extend to Merlin.
"He's in a right sulk, Sir," David tells Merlin, while playing with his iPhone. "Said he didn't want to see anyone, but I suppose you're not just anyone, are you?"
Merlin smiles. He thinks about reminding David for the umpteenth time, as he waves him through, that he hates being called 'Sir', that it makes him twitchy and uncomfortable, but Merlin thinks it's probably futile. He'll just call him that next time anyway.
Arthur looks miserable when he comes to the door. He hasn't shaved, and his hair's sticking up at odd angles, and he's wearing pyjama bottoms and an old t-shirt that looks about three sizes too big for him.
"You smell," Merlin says, wincing. "When was the last time you bathed?"
Arthur cocks an eyebrow at him, his arms folded. "Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be with Gwaine?"
"I'm sorry," Merlin says, slowly, like if he draws the words out long enough, he might just understand what is going on in Arthur's head. "What the hell are you going on about now?"
"You ran to him," Arthur says, stepping back so Merlin can actually come in. "Left without even saying goodbye and took off after him to god knows where. I assumed-"
"Are you completely off your rocker?" Merlin is practically shrieking, and he hopes that the sheer volume shocks Arthur into realising how ridiculous he's being. "I couldn't find you afterwards. And yes, I went after Gwaine. To apologise. Do you not think we owed him an apology?"
"He hit me." Arthur pouts, and he sounds about five years old.
"Yes, and I'm sure he meant to do that. Look, you nunger, Gwaine is my friend. Our friend. I wanted to explain things and make sure he didn't hate the both of us. He doesn't, for the record."
"What on God's green earth is a 'nunger'?" Arthur has that ridiculous sneer on, the one that makes him look like his face is made of rubber and someone's pulled it the wrong way.
"You are," Merlin snaps back. "And yes, I made it up. It suits you."
"So you're not getting back together?" Arthur asks, and he looks so pathetic that Merlin can't help but kiss him, hands on his cheeks.
"You are demented, you know that?" Merlin breathes against his lips. "As if I would ever walk away from you, even if I could, you complete and utter tosser. Not even you dying could make me choose anyone over you. Do we need to discuss your abandonment issues? Or should we just get straight to the shagging?"
Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin's. "I'm an idiot, I know. I just- it's you, Merlin. You drive me around the bloody twist, you know."
Merlin just grins. "Come on, your Royal Neuroticness. Let's take this to the bedroom."
He walks Arthur backwards down the corridor until they get to his room, the two of them stripping their clothes off as they go. Merlin wonders if by the time they're done and he goes searching for his errant socks and shoes and t-shirt, whether they will still be there. It's doubtful though: Arthur's housekeeper, who is so efficient that she's never even seen will have magically washed and dried and folded said pieces of clothing and left them in a neat pile.
By the time they reach Arthur's bed the two of them are naked, and Merlin drops to his knees and kisses up the inside of Arthur's thigh until he reaches his cock, which is already hard and wet and twitches when Merlin brushes his lips over the head.
"Love the way you taste," he whispers, his voice ragged already, and he flicks his tongue over the precome beading on the slit.
"Merlin," Arthur sighs, and Merlin pushes forward, taking Arthur's cock all the way in, his hands on Arthur's thighs, feeling the shift of muscles as Arthur starts to thrust gently in and out of his mouth. Arthur's hands rest on the back of his head, stroking his hair, not pulling or twisting and this is different. Sex between them has always been weighted with other things, with the knowledge of their betrayal, their guilt. Merlin had never felt like they could just relax and give into each other, really take their time. It's different now, more free and with so much less baggage and it's just them.
"I'm going to," Arthur groans out, and Merlin pulls off just in time to let Arthur come on his mouth and chin and throat.
"Oh," Arthur says, full of wonder. He drags his thumb through the strands of come on Merlin's mouth, smearing it over his lips and smirking when Merlin opens his mouth and licks at it. Arthur pulls his thumb free and runs his hand down over Merlin's chin and throat, then pushes his fingers into Merlin's mouth. Merlin lets Arthur fuck his mouth like that: slow and deep. He should feel perverse for doing it, taking Arthur's fingers like that, tasting his own come, but he doesn't. Arthur makes him want to do things he would never even have contemplated with anyone else.
Merlin nips at his fingers as Arthur pulls them out, a little too hard judging by the way Arthur gasps and glares at him. He just shrugs and gets to his feet.
"I want-" Arthur starts, standing up too. He presses himself against Merlin, and it's so good, the two of them together like this, slick skin against skin and Merlin mouths Arthur's jaw, humming encouragement for him to continue. "Want you to fuck me, Merlin."
He steps back a little. Arthur's face is flushed, red staining his cheeks and his eyes are so dark, so intense, that it takes a minute for Merlin to be able to even think. Arthur wants him to- God.
"Are you sure?" he asks, searching Arthur's face for any hint of ambivalence. "You've never wanted that before now."
"I'm sure. Feels like- feels right."
Merlin can feel his heart hammering in his chest and his throat's completely dry.
Arthur grins then, that fucking annoying self-satisfied smirk. "You'd better be good. Have you ever-?"
"Oh fuck off," Merlin replies, "yes I have. Not as many times as I've been fucked of course, but-"
Arthur's smile drops a little, and he puts his hand on Merlin's mouth to silence him. "Not. Another. Word. I don't want to know, Merlin." He kisses him, possessive and deep, Arthur's tongue in his mouth and his hands on Merlin's hips, grinding their cocks together. Merlin can feel that Arthur's getting hard again, already, and he pulls back, his lips just resting on Arthur's as he whispers, "Okay. Yes."
Arthur is so responsive that it takes all of Merlin's resolve not to come instantly, when the two of them are finally there; in bed, pressed against each other while Merlin works two fingers inside Arthur. It's overwhelming, heady, and he'd never dreamed that Arthur would ever ask for this. Trust doesn't come easily to Arthur, given the amount of times he's been betrayed by the people he loves the most: Merlin included.
So this. Giving himself over to Merlin like this is almost unbelievable.
"Merlin," Arthur barks at him, "do you think you could perhaps save the wistful longing for another time, perhaps when you don't have your fingers in my arse? I'd very much like to get fucked before I die of old age, if that's all right with you."
"Yes, Sire," Merlin says, quite without thinking, and he doesn't miss the fact that Arthur's breathing quickens at the honorific, or the way he moves his hips forward, forcing Merlin's fingers deeper inside him.
"Do it," Arthur groans. He doesn't say please, Arthur Pendragon would never beg for anything, but Merlin can hear it in every breath, feel it in every shift of Arthur's muscles.
He just nods, and pulls his fingers free, lines up and pushes inside. Inside Arthur. Christ. It's incredible, really, and it takes Merlin a minute to process it. He looks down at him, teeth worrying his lower lip and pauses.
"Why did you stop?" Arthur's teeth are gritted, and Merlin doesn't know whether it's from pain, or anger, or both.
"I'm hurting you, aren't I?" he frets. "We can stop if you want. I can pull out if it's too much."
Arthur glares up at him. "Merlin, if you pull out, I promise you I will kill you with my bare hands. Get all the way in me, right now."
"You're not-?"
"Merlin-" Arthur sounds like he's about to make good on his promise, so Merlin nods and pushes all the way inside. Arthur is so hot and tight and Merlin feels his chest constricting with the intensity of it as he pulls back again, pulling almost all the way out. Arthur's head's thrown back, neck bared and sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, and when he rocks forward, fucking deep into Arthur, he runs his tongue up Arthur's neck, tasting his salty-sweet skin.
"You feel-" Merlin breathes out, "unbelievable, Arthur."
He speeds up his thrusts, lips on Arthur's throat and face, laying soft almost chaste kisses there, until Arthur laces his fingers in Merlin's hair and pulls his mouth to his. Arthur always kisses like he's trying to claim land for fucking Camelot, and Merlin lets himself drown in it, lets Arthur fuck his mouth like Merlin is fucking his arse: fast and hard and relentless.
His orgasm hits him like a carcrash: fast and hard and Merlin's gasping for breath, fucking Arthur through it, rough and hard now, and Arthur's hands are grabbing at Merlin like he doesn't know where to touch him, like he's frantic with how good it feels and Merlin gets his hand between them, fisting Arthur's cock with fast, savage strokes. Arthur comes and Merlin presses his forehead to Arthur's, whispering promises into his skin. They lie there like that for ages, Merlin still inside Arthur,and the two of them pressed against each other. Long, long minutes of silence where the only sound Merlin can hear is their shared breathing and the ambient noise from outside.
"Okay." Arthur breaks the silence, and Merlin pulls out, slow and as careful as he can. "I can see why you enjoy that so much."
Merlin smiles, shakily says, "Yeah," and collapses next to Arthur.
Arthur puts his hands behind his head and turns to face Merlin. "Of course, you could do with some improvements. But that's only natural. Not everyone can be me, after all."
Merlin groans and hits Arthur with his pillow. "You're absolutely bloody insufferable, you know. I don't know why I put up with you."
"I do," Arthur says quickly, "it is because I am devastatingly handsome, exceedingly rich and my cock is not only large, but highly skilled."
"Oh for the-" Merlin slaps a hand to his forehead. "I give up."
"Don't," Arthur says, sounding suddenly very serious, "ever give up."
Merlin kisses him then; this amazing, insufferable, perfect, flawed, hero of a man, and he can't imagine ever being without him. Doesn't want to think about the years that he mourned him, or the years where he didn't even know that he existed.
Wasted time. So much wasted time.
Merlin doesn't have flashbacks to the life they shared before, now. He doesn't dream of Camelot either asleep or awake, and neither does Arthur.
They don’t need old memories now to know who they are to each other. They are making new ones.
THE END
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