Salt, Water, My Wounds (II)
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The first thing Arthur notices about him - well, after the ears which really are unnecessarily large - is the high cheekbones. Merlin Emrys has an oddly-made face, nothing but angles and big blue eyes and a lovely mouth that is currently scowling at him. Merlin wasn’t anything to look at the previous day but Arthur has to admit that he is as striking as his sister, only in a different way. Morgana is beautiful in the way that women in classical portraits are beautiful but Merlin has an interesting face, a face that would be challenging to draw.
They are strolling through the Promenade Deck with the other first-class passengers and Arthur admires the fancy gowns in every colour and shade. Merlin is as well-dressed as any of them, wearing a stiff, rounded shirt collar and pressed trousers, the buttons on his vest arranged in a v-shape. He is hatless, though, his dark hair gleaming in the morning light. He is tall, a few inches taller than Arthur, and is almost unflatteringly thin.
“Why are you staring at me?” Merlin asks in an exasperated tone.
“It’s the ears,” Arthur promptly answers and enjoys the way the blue eyes flash. “So, where is that gorgeous sister of yours?”
Merlin holds himself higher, trying to look down on him. “She’s busy with something.”
“Hm,” Arthur says.
They walk in silence and Arthur notices how Merlin keeps sneaking glances at him, trying to be inconspicuous about it but failing.
“Now you’re the one staring,” Arthur points out with a grin. “It’s rude, you know.”
Red splashes on Merlin’s cheekbones and Arthur finds it strangely charming. “I, I wasn’t staring at you. How dare you imply such a thing,” Merlin adds belatedly, the embarrassment clearer in his voice than anger.
Arthur chuckles. “Yes and you’re like a girl, too.”
“My god, why did Morgana have to be rescued by an arse like you?” Merlin mutters regretfully, eyes looking heavenward. “I would have preferred that Lancelot fellow. He seems like a much nicer person than you.”
“He is,” Arthur answers honestly. “The best kind of person there is.”
Merlin pauses for a moment, giving him a sidelong glance. “He and Gwen are a pair, then. She’s a saint.”
Arthur nonchalantly twirls his book in his hands and it catches Merlin’s attention. “What’s that?” the other man asks curiously.
“Nothing you’d want to see.”
Merlin gives him an annoyed look and snatches it from Arthur’s hands, flipping it open. “I already said you can’t talk to me that way, didn’t I? What is in here, anyway? I’m certain they’re full of pratly things…” His voice trails off as he takes in the sketches in every page, all done in charcoal and dark shadows, faces of all the people that Arthur as met. “This is…this is really good, Arthur,” Merlin finally says, using his first name out of the blue, and lingers on the drawing of a naked woman staring smokily from the page.
“It’s nothing,” Arthur says with a shrug, but inwardly he feels a strange glow of pride in his chest. The admiration is clear on Merlin’s face, lips curled in a smile instead of a frown, and Arthur can’t look away.
Merlin looks at him, earnest this time, and it reminds Arthur of Lancelot. “No, you have real talent. I can’t even draw a straight line.”
Arthur’s lips quirk. “You’re a great fan of the arts, then?”
“My sister is,” Merlin corrects him, flipping through the rest of the pages. “She would love to see this.”
Arthur thinks of Morgana during that brief moment where she’d looked at him as if he was the last thing she wanted to see. “I doubt it.”
Merlin gives him an odd look but returns to studying his sketches. “Who are these people?”
“The ones I’ve met,” Arthur replies with another shrug. “I don’t have a home anymore and I travelled across Europe before deciding to head to America for a fresh start. Lancelot calls it my unquenchable wanderlust.”
Merlin traces the intricate lines of the Eiffel Tower. “You get around for a p-p - ”
“A poor person,” Arthur finishes with an amused laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
-
-
He has a faint smile on his face as he enters the stateroom. The day hadn’t been as dreadful as he’d feared. Despite their initial meeting, Arthur proved to be unfairly charming and an utter prat at the same time. Merlin spent the entire morning alternating from annoyed to amused to catching himself staring too long at Arthur’s face.
“Where have you been?” Morgana asks, sitting on the couch with a book opened on her lap.
Merlin lowers himself on the chair across from her, smiling. “You’re talking to me again?”
Morgana closes her book and places a hand on top of the cover. “It dawned on me that talking only to Aunt Nimueh or Valiant will drive me mad.”
“Well, I’m glad you realised that,” Merlin says. “As for where I’ve been, I was with Mr. Pendragon.”
“Who?”
Merlin gives her a funny look. “The man who saved you last night.”
Morgana’s face freezes and something like terror passes over her. “You…met him?”
“Yes, he was a prat,” Merlin says with a smile. “But I think a good one, if that makes sense.”
Morgana drops her book beside her. “You can’t see him again,” she says suddenly, staring intently at her brother.
“What?” Merlin laughs incredulously.
“You heard me,” Morgana snaps with genuine anger and Merlin stares at her, perplexed. “He isn’t fit for company, Merlin.”
“Why are you saying this?” Merlin asks, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward. “Is it because he’s not like us? Morgana, this isn’t like you at all. What’s the matter?”
Morgana abruptly stands up. “Nothing but I don’t want you to see him ever again, all right, Merlin?”
She spins on her heel and heads for her room, leaving behind Merlin to stare after her in amazement.
-
Dinner is a tense affair. Merlin still can’t understand what has gotten into his sister. She has been acting bizarrely since last week, ever since Aunt Nimueh told them they’d be boarding the Titanic for America. She’s been more volatile than usual and prone to sudden outbursts of temper.
The delicate clink of metal on china and the soft murmur of conversation fill up the air in the diningroom. Merlin sits on his Aunt’s right side with Morgana on his other side. Nimueh is talking quietly with Lady Elizabeth Marshall about the new fashion rage in Paris and Morgana offers her opinion now and then, speaking more to their Aunt in one meal than for an entire week. She is obviously ignoring him and Merlin doesn’t mind because it gives him reason to contemplate his sister’s behaviour without interruption.
But as the night goes on, Merlin begins feeling stifled. Morgana is still giving her attention to everyone but Merlin and Nimueh has started to notice. She is watching them like a hawk while pretending to be as engaged in conversation as ever. She laughs softly at whatever Lady Marshall has said but to Merlin it sounds like ‘You and I will have a long talk later.’
Merlin wishes Gwen is here but she’d asked permission to dine with Lancelot tonight. Morgana had pretended not to care but Merlin clearly saw how affected she was. He’s troubled, as well, because Gwen has always stayed by Morgana’s side but he simply can’t order her to stay away. But this unexpected development has deepened Morgana’s resentment, another thing to add to Merlin’s list of worries.
He wants to go back to his room and unwind. He wants to leave the stuffy atmosphere and breathe in the fresh air outside. He wants to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt. He wants to be anywhere but here at the moment.
Morgana gives a high, chiming laugh that sets Merlin’s teeth on edge and he picks up his napkin, dabs his mouth, and drops it on the table. “Excuse me,” Merlin says respectfully, pushing back his chair to stand.
“Where are you going?” Nimueh asks, craning her neck to look up at him.
“For some air,” Merlin explains with a polite smile. Her eyes narrow. “I’ll be back soon.”
He quickly makes his way out of the diningroom and on top of the grand staircase. He stares up at the bright chandelier in the middle, lost in thought.
“Going somewhere?”
Merlin whirls around to see Arthur leaning casually on the clock, arms crossed loosely over his chest and wearing a smirk.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin blurts out before grimacing. “I’m sorry, I meant to say - ”
“What I’m doing here,” Arthur mimics good-naturedly and pushed away from the clock. “Fetching you, of course.”
Merlin is already inching forward, forgetting about Morgana’s words. “But why?”
“Because Gwen is having a brilliant time and mentioned how you must be feeling trapped in your fancy dinner,” Arthur says and crooks a finger at him. “Now come on, I’ll show you a good time.”
-
The dining room is a mess, chairs overturned and alcohol overflowing on the floor. The piano and violin come together to make a lively ditty that people are dancing to, in the middle of the room, laughing and lifting their arms up in the air, whooping at each other drunkenly.
Merlin is staring in amazement at the chaos, lips pulled in a wide grin. “Uh, this is unbelievable.”
Arthur beams at him and leads him to a table in the corner where it’s quieter, but not much, and Gwen is there, sitting next to Lancelot, talking to each other above the noise. Merlin’s steps falter for a moment when he sees the way the two are looking at each other, as if there is no one else in the room, and it’s different from the way Gwen looks at Morgana. More dangerous, more enthralled…
“Look who got lost and wandered in here,” Arthur says and pushes Merlin down on a chair. The blond snags a tankard from a roaming waitress and plops it in front of Merlin, ale sloshing on the table.
Gwen startles and straightens, pulling back from Lancelot a little. “Merlin,” she says in surprise, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. Her face is flushed, eyes unable to meet his. “I…you’re here, not that you can’t be here or that you wouldn’t want to be here. It’s just, you’re supposed to be with Morgana and, and you’re here instead.”
“A great talker, she is,” Arthur says in amusement, picking up Merlin’s cup and drinking from it.
“Yeah,” Merlin murmurs, distracted by the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks. “Fancy dinners are overrated.”
He takes the tankard from Arthur’s hand and closes his mouth exactly where Arthur’s lips had been, watching as Arthur pauses, looking back at him with raised eyebrows. The beer is bitter as it goes down his throat, settling hotly in his stomach and the alcohol going straight to his head. He’s never been able to tolerate wine very well and he is drinking strong beer.
“Bravo,” Arthur says, impressed, as Merlin slams the empty tankard on the table. “I didn’t know you had it in you, you fancy man.”
“Merlin, I think you shouldn’t drink so much,” Gwen tells him hesitantly, turning her back completely on Lancelot. Merlin gives her a cool smile, a first, feeling protective of his sister. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to handle myself,” he says and hails the waitress for another drink.
Arthur slaps him on the back, jerking Merlin forward a bit. “Good man. Genevieve, another drink for the gentleman here!”
Merlin is well into his fourth drink when a girl boldly asks him to dance and Merlin grins idiotically up at her, unsteadily getting to his feet and leaving his jacket on his chair. He pops open the first two buttons of his shirt, drenched with sweat, and follows after the girl. He feels nothing for her as she dances around him, smiling provocatively, and Merlin gets lost in the heat of the other bodies pressing close, twirling and jumping to the beat of the music. Merlin laughs at himself when he nearly stumbles to the floor, hands flailing in the air, and suddenly Arthur is there, holding him steady with Merlin’s cheek pressed to his broad chest.
The man smells of smoke and alcohol and sweat; the scent should be unpleasant but Merlin can’t help himself, he breathes it in.
“You’re fucking drunk,” Arthur tells him with a concerned grin. “I think you had one too many, Merlin.”
“Noooo,” he draws out giddily and tugs on Arthur’s hand until they’re almost flushed together, faces very close. Merlin can see how Arthur’s are really extraordinarily blue, the lashes long and pale, and pupils dilating at Merlin’s proximity. “No, not by far.”
-
Morgana is eating noisily, her utensils clanking loudly with the plate, and when she slams her teacup on the saucer, Merlin’s had enough.
“Would you please be quiet?” he asks through gritted teeth, squinting against the painfully bright morning. His face is pale, shadows under his eyes, and he rubs two fingers on his temple.
“Why should I?” she retorts scornfully, gaze pitiless. “It’s not as if I snuck out to party with the third class passengers and am now spectacularly hungover. You’re lucky Aunt Nimueh doesn’t know, believing your sorry excuse of feeling seasick. I still might tell her the truth,” Morgana taunts cruelly and the anger comes to him, real and blazing, because he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Morgana’s attacks.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Morgana,” Merlin grits out, fingers tightening around his fork. “But don’t you dare treat me this way when I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Morgana sneers at him and it goes directly to Merlin’s heart. “You were with Arthur Pendragon last night, weren’t you? That’s reason enough.”
Merlin throws his fork on the table and stands up, the action causing his head to spin. He waits until it passes to glare down at his sister. “Yes, I was, because you can’t tell me who I befriend or not. It’s none of your business, in fact.”
“But you want to be more than his friend, don’t you?” Morgana mocks, smiling nastily. “Let me clear it up for you, my dear brother: he will never want the same thing because you’re a man.”
“Shut up!” Merlin cries, hurt showing on his face. “You’ve…I can’t believe you, Morgana. You’re always angry, always trying to find something wrong that you don’t realise what you are losing. You treat Gwen badly because she cares enough for you to worry and you push me away when I want to help with whatever is troubling you. I’ve given up my life for you and before you can use that against me, I still don’t regret it because you are my sister and I love you. But right now, I can’t bear to be around you.”
-
Merlin isn’t sure what he’s doing. His fist tightens around the robe and underneath it, he is entirely naked. The thought has his face colouring, a bright crimson on his neck, up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Merlin can barely hear anything beyond the fierce pounding of his heart, a furious thump thump thump thump that threatens to break through his chest.
He’s still unsure why he volunteered to do this in the first place. What had he been thinking, offering his body as Arthur’s model? He’d been upset by his morning with Morgana and had bumped into Arthur on the bridge. They started talking, Arthur mocking the bad mood out of him, and Merlin had remembered the wonderful sketches in Arthur’s book.
And so here they are and it’s improper and outrageous and tortuous to have Arthur’s eyes on him for as long as it takes to draw Merlin’s sharp, awkward angles. He really must be an idiot.
“Are you ready?” Arthur calls from the other room and Merlin tries to calm himself, breathing deeply. It’s nothing, he tells himself firmly. You’re simply having your portrait done. Yes. In the nude. In front of Arthur and this will be nothing to him but who’s really -
It takes a few more seconds before Merlin finally finds the courage to step away from the mirror and with a last nod at his red-faced reflection, he moves towards the door, stops, scrunches his face, and then pushes it open.
The lights are low, casting dusky shadows against the scarlet walls, and the couch is set up in the middle with one armchair in front of it where Arthur is already seated, busily setting up his pencils and flipping through his book.
“Merlin,” Arthur calls again, louder, and Merlin clears his throat and says, “Erm, I’m ready,” and Arthur twists sideways to look at him.
Merlin clears his throat again; conscious of the way Arthur is staring at him. “Where do you want me?”
Arthur blinks and stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the armchair. Arthur catches his pencils as they roll off and places them back on top of his book. “Uh, yeah, over there on the couch. Just…make yourself comfortable.”
Merlin sits himself down on the couch, fiddling with his robe, and pulls it off before he can balk. The silk hits the floor and Arthur looks up and this time there is no mistaking the way his eyes widens, roving up and down Merlin’s bared body. Merlin fights the blush that threatens to colour everywhere and lifts his legs up the couch. He isn’t sure how to position himself at first, shifting restlessly around, before he finally decides on a simple pose, stretched out on the couch with his torso and face tilted slightly towards Arthur.
“Is this acceptable?” Merlin asks.
Arthur coughs and busies himself with flipping through his book. “That’s…good, thanks.”
Merlin resists the urge to cover himself and meets Arthur’s eyes. “What do I do now?”
“Now, you don’t move until I tell you to,” Arthur smirks. “Not even a twitch.”
Arthur picks up his pencil and stares intently at Merlin for a long moment, before lowering his hand on the clear sheet of paper. There is only silence between them after, Merlin trying to stay still as Arthur draws, looking up at him as often as he looks down on his sketch.
Merlin’s skin tingles wherever Arthur’s eyes look, as if his gaze is tangible, touching Merlin in ways that he doesn’t even dare imagine.
He closes his eyes to calm himself and Arthur says, “Don’t move,” and Merlin opens them again with a sheepish smile. Arthur glares at him.
After a while, Merlin’s muscles begin to scream in protest at the position and he longs to move, to stretch and pop his bones. Arthur drags his pencil smoothly on the page, glancing at Merlin’s legs, and finally stops.
“It’s done,” Arthur announced and Merlin gratefully sits up the couch, stretching upwards before remembering that he’s still unclothed. He hastily grabs the robe and slips it on, tightly securing the belt. Arthur pads over to him with his book and Merlin takes a look at…himself, captured perfectly, his long, lean lines draped lazily on the couch, eyes half-lidded and full of desire. Merlin stills, realising he’d been staring at Arthur in that way, that Arthur had seen it, must have understood what it meant as he drew it on paper.
“What do you think?” Arthur asks behind him, voice low. “You had an…interesting look on your face, yeah?”
“Weariness,” Merlin answers with a forced chuckle, stepping away from the other man. “You know, from staying in that position for so long.”
“Really,” the blond says and he’s directly behind Merlin this time, head bent so Merlin can see his bright hair in his periphery. “I thought it was more of a - ”
“Merlin, are you in here?” Morgana’s voice calls out, the door opening and closing, forcing Arthur to take a step back. Merlin panics a little, unprepared to meet Morgana after their fight earlier, and he’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe no less, with Arthur only a few feet away. “I want to talk to you about this morning. The things I said…I was out of line and - ”
She enters the sitting room, Gwen trailing after her, and then stops, staring in horror at Merlin and Arthur.
Merlin swallows, looking at her then at Gwen. “Erm, we were just…”
“Hello again,” Arthur greets calmly, “It’s good to see you when you’re not hysterical.”
Morgana’s expression tightens and she marches to where Merlin is, snatching the book away. “I can’t believe you brought him here! And why are you dressed like that?” Her eyes drop on the open page and her jaw drops, unladylike, at what she sees. “This is - you’re not wearing any - you’re - Merlin!”
Gwen peeks over Morgana’s shoulder and her face bursts into flames, quickly averting her gaze.
Merlin grabs the book back and closes it, handing it to Arthur. “It’s only a sketch, Morgana. Don’t you see how talented he is? I’m sure if you would sponsor him…”
“Merlin,” Arthur snaps in protest at the same time Morgana says, “I would never!”
Arthur glares at Morgana. “I think I should leave; I know when I’m unwelcomed.”
“Yes, you should,” Morgana tells him, eyes narrowed. “And never come back.”
“Morgana!”
“It’s all right,” Arthur tells Merlin as he picks up his pencils and coat. He passes by Gwen, who gives him an uncertain smile, and pulls open the door. Merlin hurries after him, giving his sister a dirty look, and says, “I’m sorry about my sister, she’s not herself lately.”
Arthur shrugs indifferently. “I said don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll…I’ll still see you tomorrow?”
Arthur looks at Merlin and then relaxes, grin returning to his face. “I’ll be invading your first class deck again, of that you can be sure.”
-
“Your gall amazes me.”
Arthur looks up to find Morgana standing in front of him, an umbrella propped on one shoulder to shield her from the sun. Her face is set in the shade but Arthur can still make out the twist of her lips.
“I’m not here for you,” Arthur says, feeling irritated by her presence. He doesn’t understand what she has against him. At first he’d thought she was a kind woman, the way she treated Gwen, but it seems as if he’s wrong. She and Gwen have been fighting for the past few days and now she’s clashing with her brother.
“Of course you aren’t,” Morgana says almost pleasantly. “I know you’re interested in my brother - ” his head whips up to glare at her - “and frankly, he is too. But there’s something you don’t know about him.”
Arthur fingers tighten around his sketchbook, the one where Merlin’s drawing is, the one he’s been staring at ever since last night. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Morgana - ”
Morgana laughs. “Oh, but I’m certain you’ll want to hear this.”
-
He can’t find Arthur anywhere. Merlin has circled the deck twice, looking for the man, and even went down to his cabin and the diningrooms searching for him. Lancelot hasn’t seen him, and so has Arthur’s other friend, Gawain.
Morgana has been suspiciously pleasant to him all night, asking his forgiveness over the way she’s acted recently, and Merlin can’t help but doubt her sincerity. There’s a gleam in her eye that never bodes well for Merlin.
He manages to escape halfway through dinner once more, playing the sympathies of the other ladies in their table into forcing his Aunt to excuse him. He doesn’t look back at Morgana as he makes his way deeper into the ship, thinking about Arthur and why the man hadn’t shown up as they’d planned.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to look very far this time as he spots Arthur leaving one of the dininrooms, the gaiety and fast music trailing after him.
“Arthur, Arthur!” Merlin calls with a wave, jogging up to the man. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere - ”
The man turns to him, eyes dark and livid, and Merlin takes an involuntarily step back in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks harshly, sneering at him. “Shouldn’t you be with your high class friends laughing at me?”
“What?” Merlin says. “No, of course not! Why would you think that?”
“Come off it, Merlin, you can’t fool me any longer. You’re a better actress than your sister, you bastard.”
Merlin recoils at the word, confusion and anger twisting in his chest, and lets the anger win out. “You’re not making sense, Arthur! Why the hell are you calling me a bastard, you arse!”
“Because I know all about Freya,” Arthur fires back and it is the last thing Merlin expects to hear. “And how you’re engaged to be married once you arrive in America. God, I was a fool to even entertain the thought of…”
Merlin reels at the man’s revelation and his mind instantly goes back to Morgana’s odd behaviour, how nice she’s been, like it used to be, and Merlin feels a strangling sense of betrayal that cuts him to the quick.
“Why am I even talking to you?” Arthur mutters and turns away.
Merlin makes a noise and makes a grab for his shoulder, only for Arthur to push him against the wall with a snarl.
“Please, let me explain,” Merlin pleads.
“It’s all clear to me,” Arthur tells him and pulls back. “Goodbye, Merlin.”
Merlin stubbornly refuses to let go, yanking on Arthur’s sleeve. “You have to listen to me,” he says, licking his lips anxiously, holding on tight as Arthur tries to free his arm. “Our mother died two years ago, leaving us with nothing, after she sold everything to try and pay off my father’s debts. He died when I was a boy and ever since, my mother has slaved to raise Morgana and me in some semblance of wealth. But when…when she died, we had nothing left, and her sister - my Aunt Nimueh - was forced to take us in.”
Arthur stops struggling and Merlin’s hand falls away, getting lost in his bitter memories.
“Aunt Nimueh resented my mother, feeling that she brought shame into the family by marrying beneath her and ending up as with her wealth gone and with two children to feed. But our mother was the best person and we loved her very much. We didn’t want to live with Aunt Nimueh but we hardly had any choice,” Merlin says self-deprecatingly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “She and Morgana clashed all of the time, being too similar and too proud to admit it, and one day Aunt Nimueh decided to marry her off to Valiant.”
Arthur turns to him slightly. “What a poncy name.”
Merlin gives a weak smile and goes on. “Valiant is a bastard, to put it simply, and he’s always wanted my sister. Gwen and I hate the man - as much as Gwen can hate, that is - and tried finding ways to stop the wedding. We failed miserably until…until Freya came.” He sneaks a glance of Arthur and finds him looking away, glaring at the wall. Despite that, warmth blooms in Merlin’s chest because it could only mean - “Freya and her family were visiting from America and she was the kind of respectable girl with an impressive dowry that Aunt Nimueh approved of. So we made a deal: I would marry Freya and she would turn down Valiant.”
Arthur stares at him now. “So, you only used this girl?”
“No,” Merlin protests, hands fisting. “I…I thought I liked her, even if I knew that my, my interests lay elsewhere. But then we came to this ship and I - I - ” His face turns red and he looks away.
Arthur doesn’t say anything for a while and Merlin is too afraid to look at him, see the rejection on Arthur’s face.
“You still lied to me,” Arthur finally speaks. Merlin’s shoulder droops and he fights the urge to cry. He can’t believe he thought that - “And to have Morgana tell me the truth…”
Merlin keeps his eyes on the floor, shaking his head. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid.”
“Why?” Arthur asks, stepping nearer.
He’s going to make me say it, Merlin thinks despairingly and rakes a hand through his hair, edgy and coiled tighter than a spring. “Because I…I like - ”
Arthur forces his head and Merlin gets a glimpse of blue eyes before Arthur kisses him.
-
Merlin laughs breathlessly as Arthur leads him through the maze of corridors, their hands knotted between them, tight as a promise. Merlin is parts frustrated and ready to fly out of his own skin, arousal like he’s never felt before roaring in his belly. This is his fantasy coming to life - no, never even dared to dream this could happen to him. Not now, considering who he is, who he wants, how it’s more than social class that Merlin could care less about coming between them.
But they’ve stopped toeing the line, stepping over it completely as Arthur pushes him against the wall by the stairs where everyone can see and it’s filthy and dangerous and the stupidest, most wonderful thing to happen in Merlin’s life. He laughs even more into Arthur’s wet, open mouth, drunk from the feel and taste of him, his broad chest and rough, worker hands dragging across Merlin’s collarbones.
“We’ll - ” Merlin gasps when Arthur thrusts their hips together, flustered and embarrassed and hot, never imagining - had been afraid to think of such a thing - it could feel like this and the fact that it is Arthur, bright, golden Arthur, makes it better beyond compare. “We’ll be found out here.”
“Don’t care,” is the answer, muffled by Merlin’s neck, and instead of fear it sends wild gratification curling in his groin. Arthur pulls back after an obscene suck on Merlin’s skin and pins him with his dark, dilated gaze. Arthur’s mouth is red, the colour of sin, making Merlin shudder. “Let them see, Merlin, see how much I want you. How we won’t be denied by the world.”
And Merlin helplessly falls into him, fastening their mouths together with the same urgency that is making his heart throb like the engines fueling life into this brilliant ship.
Arthur breaks the kiss, panting harshly, and says in a hoarse voice, “But you’re right; not here. I don’t want anyone to disturb us.”
His fingers find Merlin’s again, painfully easy, and pulls him down the stairs. They run until it’s all a blur, feet pounding on the carpeted floor, and the mental map he’s constructed of the ship for the past few days crumbles because he has no idea where he is, where Arthur is bringing him. But he goes without complaint, trusting this man more than anything, anyone even, and Arthur rewards him with stolen kisses that steal the last of his breath from his deprived lungs, as if he knows the depth of Merlin’s emotions for him isn’t enough to contain them anymore.
It’s disconcerting and frightening, how much he loves Arthur. He’s willing to throw everything away for this man he’s just met a few days ago (a virtual stranger to anyone) and yet it feels inevitable, as if he’s been waiting for this to happen the moment Merlin stepped foot into the Titanic. Destiny, maybe.
Unquestionably.
That line of thought reminds him so much of Morgana that he sobers for a brief moment, remembering his sister’s devastated face. He aches for her suddenly with an intensity that nearly rivals his desire to have Arthur. Merlin wants Morgana to feel the way he does, free and careless and happier than he can remember, with someone to look at her the same way Arthur looks at him, all fire and possessiveness.
(What Gwen could have been if she had not met Lancelot)
They burst through a door and into darkness. Merlin blinks until his eyes adjust to the gloom, moves his head this way and that to look at the wide ceiling, the enormous space, the automobiles all neatly lined up in the cargo hold.
“Here, right here,” Arthur mutters and backs Merlin against the side of a car with a gentle shove. He sucks in a bottom lip, biting into it softly, then harder.
“This better not become a habit,” Merlin tells him in an unsteady voice, unsteady because he’s talking of a possible future between them. “I, I bruise easily, you know. Oh, oh, Arthur.”
“God, Merlin,” the other man whispers into his mouth, sharing breath for breath. “Merlin, you’re so - ”
Merlin clasps Arthur’s shoulders, digs his fingers into the material of his shirt and the skin underneath. “Please,” he softly begs. “Arthur.”
“Yes,” Arthur replies desperately, hands moving all over him, tugging, unbuttoning. “Yes, Merlin.”
-
It is too fast and slow at the same time. Merlin cannot catch up to the onslaught of sensations that singe his nerves, pumps his blood hotly through his veins. He closes his eyes and loses himself to -
Hands, calluses and all, mapping the sharp planes of his naked chest, up his arms and ghosting over his clavicles, and then lower to his nipples and oh, they are surprisingly sensitive, especially to the -
Mouth that follows, dragging a hot, wet tongue over the small nubs and staying there, the most maddening touch that has Merlin moaning, “Arthur, god, Arthur, please,” and wanting to move away, then press closer, before the other man finally settles over him in that cramped space, the leather hot against his even hotter, sweaty back -
The passion between them burns, roars, is wild and frenzied and mirrored by the way Merlin suckles hungrily on Arthur’s own nipple, drawing it into his mouth and pushing the flat of his tongue over it. Arthur buries a hand in Merlin’s hair, groaning and shifting their hips together. The hot line of his cock brushes against Merlin’s and sends a delicious bolt up his spine. Arthur tugs at his hair and Merlin releases the tiny nub, tilting his head back to let the blond lick into his mouth. They are breathing roughly, loud pants that raise the temperature in the small space they are in - the back of someone’s Renault - and Merlin cannot help but smile into the kiss.
Arthur breaks off and stares down at him, fringe sweaty on his forehead. “What is so funny?” he asks in a rough voice, hands cupping Merlin’s face and peppering kisses over his eyes and cheeks.
“This, us,” Merlin answers breathlessly, hands moving over the broad, flat planes that make up Arthur’s gorgeous body. The feel of him, strong and firm and real against his palms, makes his breath catch. “Doing this in the back of a stranger’s car,” he adds at the tail end of a moan, biting his lip when Arthur nibbles on his earlobe, blowing warm air on it.
“Makes it exciting.” Arthur noses his way down Merlin’s neck, gently biting at the tendons stretched taut as Merlin angles his head even further. “Dangerous. Forbidden.”
“As if this isn’t forbidden enough,” Merlin whispers as he thrusts his hips up, headily rubbing against Arthur’s thigh. Their eyes meet, the blue swallowed by pupils, and Arthur’s swollen lips curve in a wicked grin. “That’s right, Merlin,” he purrs before his tongue slides down the ladder of Merlin’s ribs. “If anyone catches us - ”
Merlin makes a needy sound and sinks his fingernails into the blond’s sweaty skin. “Arthur.”
A hand drops to Merlin’s lap, brushing against his cock as the fingers fumble on the button. “You’re going to love this,” Arthur promises hotly into the middle of his chest, all teeth and wet kisses, his hand trembling as it tries to undo Merlin’s trousers, making Merlin’s heart twist fiercely. “It’s going to hurt, hurt so good that you won’t be able to think straight or, or feel anything else except for my cock, my, me inside of you, taking everything.”
“Yes,” Merlin hisses, arching his back and heels kicking at the side of the door, “I want, I want…” He swallows, licks his lips, and meets Arthur’s eyes. “Fuck, I want you, now, everything, anything.”
Arthur groans, body coiled as if ready for a fight, and finally Merlin’s button comes undone. His trousers are pulled roughly away and Merlin kicks his feet out of the fabric, acutely aware that he’s naked under Arthur, and that soon Arthur will be just as undressed.
The thought has him arching up only to be stopped by a palm on the middle of his chest, Arthur quietly staring down at him. His eyes sweep over the long, pale expanse of Merlin’s body, hunched in the limited space but completely bare for Arthur.
“Beautiful,” Arthur rasps in wonder as he swipes a thumb across Merlin’s bitten lower lip. “I never thought I’d find…” he trails off, distracted by the peek of tongue as Merlin licks his lips, touching the corner of the blond’s finger.
“Arthur,” Merlin says.
“Yes,” and Arthur lowers his head to kiss him again, deep and hungry, and Merlin impatiently yanks on the other man’s trousers. It comes off easily and he throws them away, instantly distracted by Arthur’s erection, thick and red, and Merlin licks his lips as he carefully ghosts his fingers on the head. Arthur groans, hips tilting up, and Merlin’s eyes flicker up and then back on the other man’s cock, his hand closing clumsily over the length. His pulse stutters at the feel of the hot, silky skin, heavy and full in his fist.
“Merlin,” Arthur says needily, one hand falling to close around Merlin’s wrist, forcing him to start moving. Arthur gasps and touches their foreheads together. “God, that’s so good.”
Merlin’s face burn at the words and he takes a deep breath, slowly bringing his hand up and down, thumb swiping on the head to gather moisture, making the downward sweep slick and easy. His own erection throbs against his belly and his hips twitch, longing for something he cannot name. Merlin pushes into Arthur’s body, cock skidding across Arthur’s hip, and they both moan at the contact. Arthur bats Merlin’s hand away and clutches his hips, bringing them together again and again, rocking into each other with rising urgency. Merlin loses himself to the pleasure curling in his belly, almost painful but wonderful all the same, eyes heavy as he watches the strain on Arthur’s face, the muscles bunching in his arms as he thrusts against Merlin.
Merlin wants more.
“Please,” he says hoarsely, “I want…I want you to…”
Arthur pulls back to search his face, pupils so dilated that they’ve swallowed the blue, and he gives a jerky nod. “All right, I…all right.”
For a moment, Arthur looks lost and Merlin’s heart twists with too much emotion. “Here,” he says and drags Arthur’s fingers to his lips, tongue swirling around the calloused digits. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, going along with what he wants and what he wants to happen. Arthur stares intently as Merlin laves at his fingers until they’re wet, dripping, and Arthur hooks them briefly on Merlin’s teeth, the blond lowering his head to kiss the corner of Merlin’s mouth.
He pulls his wet fingers away and props one of Merlin’s legs over his shoulder, hand dragging over Merlin’s cock and then lower. Merlin’s other leg falls away, digging into the back of the passenger seat, and throws his head back when Arthur carefully prods at his opening, circling the hole with a nail before slowly slipping inside.
It burns, god how it burns, but Merlin relishes the pain and wants more of it, rough, fast, letting Arthur overwhelm his senses until he’s sore and full and complete. Arthur wriggles the finger inside, loosening him, and Merlin chokes back a cry.
“Are you…am I hurting you?”
Merlin shakes his head, breathless and dizzy. “N-No, please, Arthur, more, more.”
Arthur swallows, unable to tear his gaze from Merlin’s face, and adds another finger in, curling them around and thrusting deeper with each movement. Merlin groans, raising his hips, and a moment later another finger pushes into him. Merlin pants at the pain, hands coming to cover his face, and Arthur’s movements falter. But at that moment his fingers brush against something that sends a bolt of fire through Merlin, making him yelp at the unexpected rush.
“Did that feel good?”
“Yes,” Merlin groans and pushes down on Arthur’s fingers, biting his lip at the pain but seeking more. “God, yes.”
Arthur is breathing fast as he thrusts his fingers in and out, earnestly this time, hitting that spot that has fireworks bursting behind Merlin’s closed eyes. He tries to keep in his cries, hips tilting to suck Arthur deeper, moving mindlessly until it’s not enough, fingers aren’t enough, and Merlin opens his eyes to meet Arthur’s frenzied gaze. Arthur grins unsteadily at him and lets go of Merlin’s hip, bringing the hand up to lick at it a few times, before curling it around himself and stroking. “This is going to hurt like hell,” Arthur warns tightly, hand falling away to lift Merlin’s hips higher, positioning himself where his fingers still are. “You’re not, you’re still too dry and - ”
“I don’t care,” Merlin says. “I want you.”
Arthur laughs, pulling his fingers out, holding Merlin more securely as he digs his knees into the seat for balance. “God, you’re an idiot,” he tells him and slowly pushes inside.
The stretch is excruciating and Merlin bites on his tongue to keep from shouting. Arthur touches his face, thumb stroking one rosy cheek as he sinks into Merlin inch by agonising inch, and Merlin doesn’t breathe until Arthur is fully cradled in him, their hips pressed flush. Arthur is panting harshly as he kisses Merlin, quieting his soft whimpers, and they stay that way for long moments. Merlin’s eyes are closed as the pain gradually ebbs away, leaving behind the sense of fullness he’s been craving, and he relishes the feel of Arthur in him, all around him. Arthur starts moving, tiny thrusts to test the waters, and the desire roars anew, stealing Merlin’s breath away as he rakes his fingers down Arthur’s sweaty back. They’re quieter now, nothing but shuddering breaths and the ‘uh, uh, uh, uh’ in tempo with every thrust, going deeper, becoming harder until Merlin’s eyes rolls back in his head at the pleasure.
“Merlin,” Arthur says in a drawn-out moan, “my god, Merlin.”
Something is building up deep in Merlin’s belly, tight and hot and unbearably good, and Merlin starts to panic because he’s never felt this before, never so strong and intense, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear, can only feel as it coils even more before finally bursting, dragging out the air until there is none left in his lungs, toes curling, hand slapping against the window, being swept away by the glorious rush. Arthur gasps as Merlin tightens around him and his thrusts stutter, becomes rough, and his fingers dig bruises into the other man’s hips as he comes, eyes clenched shut and expression broken. They gulp in desperate lungful of air, Arthur pinning Merlin under him, hearts beating madly in their chests.
After a while, Arthur shakily tilts Merlin’s head up and kisses him, whisper-soft and easy, trembling, and Merlin winds his fingers into his lover’s wet hair, holding on.
-
>>
<<
The first thing Arthur notices about him - well, after the ears which really are unnecessarily large - is the high cheekbones. Merlin Emrys has an oddly-made face, nothing but angles and big blue eyes and a lovely mouth that is currently scowling at him. Merlin wasn’t anything to look at the previous day but Arthur has to admit that he is as striking as his sister, only in a different way. Morgana is beautiful in the way that women in classical portraits are beautiful but Merlin has an interesting face, a face that would be challenging to draw.
They are strolling through the Promenade Deck with the other first-class passengers and Arthur admires the fancy gowns in every colour and shade. Merlin is as well-dressed as any of them, wearing a stiff, rounded shirt collar and pressed trousers, the buttons on his vest arranged in a v-shape. He is hatless, though, his dark hair gleaming in the morning light. He is tall, a few inches taller than Arthur, and is almost unflatteringly thin.
“Why are you staring at me?” Merlin asks in an exasperated tone.
“It’s the ears,” Arthur promptly answers and enjoys the way the blue eyes flash. “So, where is that gorgeous sister of yours?”
Merlin holds himself higher, trying to look down on him. “She’s busy with something.”
“Hm,” Arthur says.
They walk in silence and Arthur notices how Merlin keeps sneaking glances at him, trying to be inconspicuous about it but failing.
“Now you’re the one staring,” Arthur points out with a grin. “It’s rude, you know.”
Red splashes on Merlin’s cheekbones and Arthur finds it strangely charming. “I, I wasn’t staring at you. How dare you imply such a thing,” Merlin adds belatedly, the embarrassment clearer in his voice than anger.
Arthur chuckles. “Yes and you’re like a girl, too.”
“My god, why did Morgana have to be rescued by an arse like you?” Merlin mutters regretfully, eyes looking heavenward. “I would have preferred that Lancelot fellow. He seems like a much nicer person than you.”
“He is,” Arthur answers honestly. “The best kind of person there is.”
Merlin pauses for a moment, giving him a sidelong glance. “He and Gwen are a pair, then. She’s a saint.”
Arthur nonchalantly twirls his book in his hands and it catches Merlin’s attention. “What’s that?” the other man asks curiously.
“Nothing you’d want to see.”
Merlin gives him an annoyed look and snatches it from Arthur’s hands, flipping it open. “I already said you can’t talk to me that way, didn’t I? What is in here, anyway? I’m certain they’re full of pratly things…” His voice trails off as he takes in the sketches in every page, all done in charcoal and dark shadows, faces of all the people that Arthur as met. “This is…this is really good, Arthur,” Merlin finally says, using his first name out of the blue, and lingers on the drawing of a naked woman staring smokily from the page.
“It’s nothing,” Arthur says with a shrug, but inwardly he feels a strange glow of pride in his chest. The admiration is clear on Merlin’s face, lips curled in a smile instead of a frown, and Arthur can’t look away.
Merlin looks at him, earnest this time, and it reminds Arthur of Lancelot. “No, you have real talent. I can’t even draw a straight line.”
Arthur’s lips quirk. “You’re a great fan of the arts, then?”
“My sister is,” Merlin corrects him, flipping through the rest of the pages. “She would love to see this.”
Arthur thinks of Morgana during that brief moment where she’d looked at him as if he was the last thing she wanted to see. “I doubt it.”
Merlin gives him an odd look but returns to studying his sketches. “Who are these people?”
“The ones I’ve met,” Arthur replies with another shrug. “I don’t have a home anymore and I travelled across Europe before deciding to head to America for a fresh start. Lancelot calls it my unquenchable wanderlust.”
Merlin traces the intricate lines of the Eiffel Tower. “You get around for a p-p - ”
“A poor person,” Arthur finishes with an amused laugh. “Yeah, I guess I do.”
-
-
He has a faint smile on his face as he enters the stateroom. The day hadn’t been as dreadful as he’d feared. Despite their initial meeting, Arthur proved to be unfairly charming and an utter prat at the same time. Merlin spent the entire morning alternating from annoyed to amused to catching himself staring too long at Arthur’s face.
“Where have you been?” Morgana asks, sitting on the couch with a book opened on her lap.
Merlin lowers himself on the chair across from her, smiling. “You’re talking to me again?”
Morgana closes her book and places a hand on top of the cover. “It dawned on me that talking only to Aunt Nimueh or Valiant will drive me mad.”
“Well, I’m glad you realised that,” Merlin says. “As for where I’ve been, I was with Mr. Pendragon.”
“Who?”
Merlin gives her a funny look. “The man who saved you last night.”
Morgana’s face freezes and something like terror passes over her. “You…met him?”
“Yes, he was a prat,” Merlin says with a smile. “But I think a good one, if that makes sense.”
Morgana drops her book beside her. “You can’t see him again,” she says suddenly, staring intently at her brother.
“What?” Merlin laughs incredulously.
“You heard me,” Morgana snaps with genuine anger and Merlin stares at her, perplexed. “He isn’t fit for company, Merlin.”
“Why are you saying this?” Merlin asks, placing his hands on his knees and leaning forward. “Is it because he’s not like us? Morgana, this isn’t like you at all. What’s the matter?”
Morgana abruptly stands up. “Nothing but I don’t want you to see him ever again, all right, Merlin?”
She spins on her heel and heads for her room, leaving behind Merlin to stare after her in amazement.
-
Dinner is a tense affair. Merlin still can’t understand what has gotten into his sister. She has been acting bizarrely since last week, ever since Aunt Nimueh told them they’d be boarding the Titanic for America. She’s been more volatile than usual and prone to sudden outbursts of temper.
The delicate clink of metal on china and the soft murmur of conversation fill up the air in the diningroom. Merlin sits on his Aunt’s right side with Morgana on his other side. Nimueh is talking quietly with Lady Elizabeth Marshall about the new fashion rage in Paris and Morgana offers her opinion now and then, speaking more to their Aunt in one meal than for an entire week. She is obviously ignoring him and Merlin doesn’t mind because it gives him reason to contemplate his sister’s behaviour without interruption.
But as the night goes on, Merlin begins feeling stifled. Morgana is still giving her attention to everyone but Merlin and Nimueh has started to notice. She is watching them like a hawk while pretending to be as engaged in conversation as ever. She laughs softly at whatever Lady Marshall has said but to Merlin it sounds like ‘You and I will have a long talk later.’
Merlin wishes Gwen is here but she’d asked permission to dine with Lancelot tonight. Morgana had pretended not to care but Merlin clearly saw how affected she was. He’s troubled, as well, because Gwen has always stayed by Morgana’s side but he simply can’t order her to stay away. But this unexpected development has deepened Morgana’s resentment, another thing to add to Merlin’s list of worries.
He wants to go back to his room and unwind. He wants to leave the stuffy atmosphere and breathe in the fresh air outside. He wants to remove his jacket and unbutton his shirt. He wants to be anywhere but here at the moment.
Morgana gives a high, chiming laugh that sets Merlin’s teeth on edge and he picks up his napkin, dabs his mouth, and drops it on the table. “Excuse me,” Merlin says respectfully, pushing back his chair to stand.
“Where are you going?” Nimueh asks, craning her neck to look up at him.
“For some air,” Merlin explains with a polite smile. Her eyes narrow. “I’ll be back soon.”
He quickly makes his way out of the diningroom and on top of the grand staircase. He stares up at the bright chandelier in the middle, lost in thought.
“Going somewhere?”
Merlin whirls around to see Arthur leaning casually on the clock, arms crossed loosely over his chest and wearing a smirk.
“What are you doing here?” Merlin blurts out before grimacing. “I’m sorry, I meant to say - ”
“What I’m doing here,” Arthur mimics good-naturedly and pushed away from the clock. “Fetching you, of course.”
Merlin is already inching forward, forgetting about Morgana’s words. “But why?”
“Because Gwen is having a brilliant time and mentioned how you must be feeling trapped in your fancy dinner,” Arthur says and crooks a finger at him. “Now come on, I’ll show you a good time.”
-
The dining room is a mess, chairs overturned and alcohol overflowing on the floor. The piano and violin come together to make a lively ditty that people are dancing to, in the middle of the room, laughing and lifting their arms up in the air, whooping at each other drunkenly.
Merlin is staring in amazement at the chaos, lips pulled in a wide grin. “Uh, this is unbelievable.”
Arthur beams at him and leads him to a table in the corner where it’s quieter, but not much, and Gwen is there, sitting next to Lancelot, talking to each other above the noise. Merlin’s steps falter for a moment when he sees the way the two are looking at each other, as if there is no one else in the room, and it’s different from the way Gwen looks at Morgana. More dangerous, more enthralled…
“Look who got lost and wandered in here,” Arthur says and pushes Merlin down on a chair. The blond snags a tankard from a roaming waitress and plops it in front of Merlin, ale sloshing on the table.
Gwen startles and straightens, pulling back from Lancelot a little. “Merlin,” she says in surprise, nervously tucking a strand of hair behind one ear. Her face is flushed, eyes unable to meet his. “I…you’re here, not that you can’t be here or that you wouldn’t want to be here. It’s just, you’re supposed to be with Morgana and, and you’re here instead.”
“A great talker, she is,” Arthur says in amusement, picking up Merlin’s cup and drinking from it.
“Yeah,” Merlin murmurs, distracted by the other man’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks. “Fancy dinners are overrated.”
He takes the tankard from Arthur’s hand and closes his mouth exactly where Arthur’s lips had been, watching as Arthur pauses, looking back at him with raised eyebrows. The beer is bitter as it goes down his throat, settling hotly in his stomach and the alcohol going straight to his head. He’s never been able to tolerate wine very well and he is drinking strong beer.
“Bravo,” Arthur says, impressed, as Merlin slams the empty tankard on the table. “I didn’t know you had it in you, you fancy man.”
“Merlin, I think you shouldn’t drink so much,” Gwen tells him hesitantly, turning her back completely on Lancelot. Merlin gives her a cool smile, a first, feeling protective of his sister. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to handle myself,” he says and hails the waitress for another drink.
Arthur slaps him on the back, jerking Merlin forward a bit. “Good man. Genevieve, another drink for the gentleman here!”
Merlin is well into his fourth drink when a girl boldly asks him to dance and Merlin grins idiotically up at her, unsteadily getting to his feet and leaving his jacket on his chair. He pops open the first two buttons of his shirt, drenched with sweat, and follows after the girl. He feels nothing for her as she dances around him, smiling provocatively, and Merlin gets lost in the heat of the other bodies pressing close, twirling and jumping to the beat of the music. Merlin laughs at himself when he nearly stumbles to the floor, hands flailing in the air, and suddenly Arthur is there, holding him steady with Merlin’s cheek pressed to his broad chest.
The man smells of smoke and alcohol and sweat; the scent should be unpleasant but Merlin can’t help himself, he breathes it in.
“You’re fucking drunk,” Arthur tells him with a concerned grin. “I think you had one too many, Merlin.”
“Noooo,” he draws out giddily and tugs on Arthur’s hand until they’re almost flushed together, faces very close. Merlin can see how Arthur’s are really extraordinarily blue, the lashes long and pale, and pupils dilating at Merlin’s proximity. “No, not by far.”
-
Morgana is eating noisily, her utensils clanking loudly with the plate, and when she slams her teacup on the saucer, Merlin’s had enough.
“Would you please be quiet?” he asks through gritted teeth, squinting against the painfully bright morning. His face is pale, shadows under his eyes, and he rubs two fingers on his temple.
“Why should I?” she retorts scornfully, gaze pitiless. “It’s not as if I snuck out to party with the third class passengers and am now spectacularly hungover. You’re lucky Aunt Nimueh doesn’t know, believing your sorry excuse of feeling seasick. I still might tell her the truth,” Morgana taunts cruelly and the anger comes to him, real and blazing, because he doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve Morgana’s attacks.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Morgana,” Merlin grits out, fingers tightening around his fork. “But don’t you dare treat me this way when I’ve done nothing wrong!”
Morgana sneers at him and it goes directly to Merlin’s heart. “You were with Arthur Pendragon last night, weren’t you? That’s reason enough.”
Merlin throws his fork on the table and stands up, the action causing his head to spin. He waits until it passes to glare down at his sister. “Yes, I was, because you can’t tell me who I befriend or not. It’s none of your business, in fact.”
“But you want to be more than his friend, don’t you?” Morgana mocks, smiling nastily. “Let me clear it up for you, my dear brother: he will never want the same thing because you’re a man.”
“Shut up!” Merlin cries, hurt showing on his face. “You’ve…I can’t believe you, Morgana. You’re always angry, always trying to find something wrong that you don’t realise what you are losing. You treat Gwen badly because she cares enough for you to worry and you push me away when I want to help with whatever is troubling you. I’ve given up my life for you and before you can use that against me, I still don’t regret it because you are my sister and I love you. But right now, I can’t bear to be around you.”
-
Merlin isn’t sure what he’s doing. His fist tightens around the robe and underneath it, he is entirely naked. The thought has his face colouring, a bright crimson on his neck, up to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Merlin can barely hear anything beyond the fierce pounding of his heart, a furious thump thump thump thump that threatens to break through his chest.
He’s still unsure why he volunteered to do this in the first place. What had he been thinking, offering his body as Arthur’s model? He’d been upset by his morning with Morgana and had bumped into Arthur on the bridge. They started talking, Arthur mocking the bad mood out of him, and Merlin had remembered the wonderful sketches in Arthur’s book.
And so here they are and it’s improper and outrageous and tortuous to have Arthur’s eyes on him for as long as it takes to draw Merlin’s sharp, awkward angles. He really must be an idiot.
“Are you ready?” Arthur calls from the other room and Merlin tries to calm himself, breathing deeply. It’s nothing, he tells himself firmly. You’re simply having your portrait done. Yes. In the nude. In front of Arthur and this will be nothing to him but who’s really -
It takes a few more seconds before Merlin finally finds the courage to step away from the mirror and with a last nod at his red-faced reflection, he moves towards the door, stops, scrunches his face, and then pushes it open.
The lights are low, casting dusky shadows against the scarlet walls, and the couch is set up in the middle with one armchair in front of it where Arthur is already seated, busily setting up his pencils and flipping through his book.
“Merlin,” Arthur calls again, louder, and Merlin clears his throat and says, “Erm, I’m ready,” and Arthur twists sideways to look at him.
Merlin clears his throat again; conscious of the way Arthur is staring at him. “Where do you want me?”
Arthur blinks and stands up abruptly, nearly toppling over the armchair. Arthur catches his pencils as they roll off and places them back on top of his book. “Uh, yeah, over there on the couch. Just…make yourself comfortable.”
Merlin sits himself down on the couch, fiddling with his robe, and pulls it off before he can balk. The silk hits the floor and Arthur looks up and this time there is no mistaking the way his eyes widens, roving up and down Merlin’s bared body. Merlin fights the blush that threatens to colour everywhere and lifts his legs up the couch. He isn’t sure how to position himself at first, shifting restlessly around, before he finally decides on a simple pose, stretched out on the couch with his torso and face tilted slightly towards Arthur.
“Is this acceptable?” Merlin asks.
Arthur coughs and busies himself with flipping through his book. “That’s…good, thanks.”
Merlin resists the urge to cover himself and meets Arthur’s eyes. “What do I do now?”
“Now, you don’t move until I tell you to,” Arthur smirks. “Not even a twitch.”
Arthur picks up his pencil and stares intently at Merlin for a long moment, before lowering his hand on the clear sheet of paper. There is only silence between them after, Merlin trying to stay still as Arthur draws, looking up at him as often as he looks down on his sketch.
Merlin’s skin tingles wherever Arthur’s eyes look, as if his gaze is tangible, touching Merlin in ways that he doesn’t even dare imagine.
He closes his eyes to calm himself and Arthur says, “Don’t move,” and Merlin opens them again with a sheepish smile. Arthur glares at him.
After a while, Merlin’s muscles begin to scream in protest at the position and he longs to move, to stretch and pop his bones. Arthur drags his pencil smoothly on the page, glancing at Merlin’s legs, and finally stops.
“It’s done,” Arthur announced and Merlin gratefully sits up the couch, stretching upwards before remembering that he’s still unclothed. He hastily grabs the robe and slips it on, tightly securing the belt. Arthur pads over to him with his book and Merlin takes a look at…himself, captured perfectly, his long, lean lines draped lazily on the couch, eyes half-lidded and full of desire. Merlin stills, realising he’d been staring at Arthur in that way, that Arthur had seen it, must have understood what it meant as he drew it on paper.
“What do you think?” Arthur asks behind him, voice low. “You had an…interesting look on your face, yeah?”
“Weariness,” Merlin answers with a forced chuckle, stepping away from the other man. “You know, from staying in that position for so long.”
“Really,” the blond says and he’s directly behind Merlin this time, head bent so Merlin can see his bright hair in his periphery. “I thought it was more of a - ”
“Merlin, are you in here?” Morgana’s voice calls out, the door opening and closing, forcing Arthur to take a step back. Merlin panics a little, unprepared to meet Morgana after their fight earlier, and he’s wearing nothing but a bathrobe no less, with Arthur only a few feet away. “I want to talk to you about this morning. The things I said…I was out of line and - ”
She enters the sitting room, Gwen trailing after her, and then stops, staring in horror at Merlin and Arthur.
Merlin swallows, looking at her then at Gwen. “Erm, we were just…”
“Hello again,” Arthur greets calmly, “It’s good to see you when you’re not hysterical.”
Morgana’s expression tightens and she marches to where Merlin is, snatching the book away. “I can’t believe you brought him here! And why are you dressed like that?” Her eyes drop on the open page and her jaw drops, unladylike, at what she sees. “This is - you’re not wearing any - you’re - Merlin!”
Gwen peeks over Morgana’s shoulder and her face bursts into flames, quickly averting her gaze.
Merlin grabs the book back and closes it, handing it to Arthur. “It’s only a sketch, Morgana. Don’t you see how talented he is? I’m sure if you would sponsor him…”
“Merlin,” Arthur snaps in protest at the same time Morgana says, “I would never!”
Arthur glares at Morgana. “I think I should leave; I know when I’m unwelcomed.”
“Yes, you should,” Morgana tells him, eyes narrowed. “And never come back.”
“Morgana!”
“It’s all right,” Arthur tells Merlin as he picks up his pencils and coat. He passes by Gwen, who gives him an uncertain smile, and pulls open the door. Merlin hurries after him, giving his sister a dirty look, and says, “I’m sorry about my sister, she’s not herself lately.”
Arthur shrugs indifferently. “I said don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll…I’ll still see you tomorrow?”
Arthur looks at Merlin and then relaxes, grin returning to his face. “I’ll be invading your first class deck again, of that you can be sure.”
-
“Your gall amazes me.”
Arthur looks up to find Morgana standing in front of him, an umbrella propped on one shoulder to shield her from the sun. Her face is set in the shade but Arthur can still make out the twist of her lips.
“I’m not here for you,” Arthur says, feeling irritated by her presence. He doesn’t understand what she has against him. At first he’d thought she was a kind woman, the way she treated Gwen, but it seems as if he’s wrong. She and Gwen have been fighting for the past few days and now she’s clashing with her brother.
“Of course you aren’t,” Morgana says almost pleasantly. “I know you’re interested in my brother - ” his head whips up to glare at her - “and frankly, he is too. But there’s something you don’t know about him.”
Arthur fingers tighten around his sketchbook, the one where Merlin’s drawing is, the one he’s been staring at ever since last night. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Morgana - ”
Morgana laughs. “Oh, but I’m certain you’ll want to hear this.”
-
He can’t find Arthur anywhere. Merlin has circled the deck twice, looking for the man, and even went down to his cabin and the diningrooms searching for him. Lancelot hasn’t seen him, and so has Arthur’s other friend, Gawain.
Morgana has been suspiciously pleasant to him all night, asking his forgiveness over the way she’s acted recently, and Merlin can’t help but doubt her sincerity. There’s a gleam in her eye that never bodes well for Merlin.
He manages to escape halfway through dinner once more, playing the sympathies of the other ladies in their table into forcing his Aunt to excuse him. He doesn’t look back at Morgana as he makes his way deeper into the ship, thinking about Arthur and why the man hadn’t shown up as they’d planned.
Fortunately, he doesn’t have to look very far this time as he spots Arthur leaving one of the dininrooms, the gaiety and fast music trailing after him.
“Arthur, Arthur!” Merlin calls with a wave, jogging up to the man. “Where have you been? I’ve been looking everywhere - ”
The man turns to him, eyes dark and livid, and Merlin takes an involuntarily step back in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur asks harshly, sneering at him. “Shouldn’t you be with your high class friends laughing at me?”
“What?” Merlin says. “No, of course not! Why would you think that?”
“Come off it, Merlin, you can’t fool me any longer. You’re a better actress than your sister, you bastard.”
Merlin recoils at the word, confusion and anger twisting in his chest, and lets the anger win out. “You’re not making sense, Arthur! Why the hell are you calling me a bastard, you arse!”
“Because I know all about Freya,” Arthur fires back and it is the last thing Merlin expects to hear. “And how you’re engaged to be married once you arrive in America. God, I was a fool to even entertain the thought of…”
Merlin reels at the man’s revelation and his mind instantly goes back to Morgana’s odd behaviour, how nice she’s been, like it used to be, and Merlin feels a strangling sense of betrayal that cuts him to the quick.
“Why am I even talking to you?” Arthur mutters and turns away.
Merlin makes a noise and makes a grab for his shoulder, only for Arthur to push him against the wall with a snarl.
“Please, let me explain,” Merlin pleads.
“It’s all clear to me,” Arthur tells him and pulls back. “Goodbye, Merlin.”
Merlin stubbornly refuses to let go, yanking on Arthur’s sleeve. “You have to listen to me,” he says, licking his lips anxiously, holding on tight as Arthur tries to free his arm. “Our mother died two years ago, leaving us with nothing, after she sold everything to try and pay off my father’s debts. He died when I was a boy and ever since, my mother has slaved to raise Morgana and me in some semblance of wealth. But when…when she died, we had nothing left, and her sister - my Aunt Nimueh - was forced to take us in.”
Arthur stops struggling and Merlin’s hand falls away, getting lost in his bitter memories.
“Aunt Nimueh resented my mother, feeling that she brought shame into the family by marrying beneath her and ending up as with her wealth gone and with two children to feed. But our mother was the best person and we loved her very much. We didn’t want to live with Aunt Nimueh but we hardly had any choice,” Merlin says self-deprecatingly, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. “She and Morgana clashed all of the time, being too similar and too proud to admit it, and one day Aunt Nimueh decided to marry her off to Valiant.”
Arthur turns to him slightly. “What a poncy name.”
Merlin gives a weak smile and goes on. “Valiant is a bastard, to put it simply, and he’s always wanted my sister. Gwen and I hate the man - as much as Gwen can hate, that is - and tried finding ways to stop the wedding. We failed miserably until…until Freya came.” He sneaks a glance of Arthur and finds him looking away, glaring at the wall. Despite that, warmth blooms in Merlin’s chest because it could only mean - “Freya and her family were visiting from America and she was the kind of respectable girl with an impressive dowry that Aunt Nimueh approved of. So we made a deal: I would marry Freya and she would turn down Valiant.”
Arthur stares at him now. “So, you only used this girl?”
“No,” Merlin protests, hands fisting. “I…I thought I liked her, even if I knew that my, my interests lay elsewhere. But then we came to this ship and I - I - ” His face turns red and he looks away.
Arthur doesn’t say anything for a while and Merlin is too afraid to look at him, see the rejection on Arthur’s face.
“You still lied to me,” Arthur finally speaks. Merlin’s shoulder droops and he fights the urge to cry. He can’t believe he thought that - “And to have Morgana tell me the truth…”
Merlin keeps his eyes on the floor, shaking his head. “I…I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I was afraid.”
“Why?” Arthur asks, stepping nearer.
He’s going to make me say it, Merlin thinks despairingly and rakes a hand through his hair, edgy and coiled tighter than a spring. “Because I…I like - ”
Arthur forces his head and Merlin gets a glimpse of blue eyes before Arthur kisses him.
-
Merlin laughs breathlessly as Arthur leads him through the maze of corridors, their hands knotted between them, tight as a promise. Merlin is parts frustrated and ready to fly out of his own skin, arousal like he’s never felt before roaring in his belly. This is his fantasy coming to life - no, never even dared to dream this could happen to him. Not now, considering who he is, who he wants, how it’s more than social class that Merlin could care less about coming between them.
But they’ve stopped toeing the line, stepping over it completely as Arthur pushes him against the wall by the stairs where everyone can see and it’s filthy and dangerous and the stupidest, most wonderful thing to happen in Merlin’s life. He laughs even more into Arthur’s wet, open mouth, drunk from the feel and taste of him, his broad chest and rough, worker hands dragging across Merlin’s collarbones.
“We’ll - ” Merlin gasps when Arthur thrusts their hips together, flustered and embarrassed and hot, never imagining - had been afraid to think of such a thing - it could feel like this and the fact that it is Arthur, bright, golden Arthur, makes it better beyond compare. “We’ll be found out here.”
“Don’t care,” is the answer, muffled by Merlin’s neck, and instead of fear it sends wild gratification curling in his groin. Arthur pulls back after an obscene suck on Merlin’s skin and pins him with his dark, dilated gaze. Arthur’s mouth is red, the colour of sin, making Merlin shudder. “Let them see, Merlin, see how much I want you. How we won’t be denied by the world.”
And Merlin helplessly falls into him, fastening their mouths together with the same urgency that is making his heart throb like the engines fueling life into this brilliant ship.
Arthur breaks the kiss, panting harshly, and says in a hoarse voice, “But you’re right; not here. I don’t want anyone to disturb us.”
His fingers find Merlin’s again, painfully easy, and pulls him down the stairs. They run until it’s all a blur, feet pounding on the carpeted floor, and the mental map he’s constructed of the ship for the past few days crumbles because he has no idea where he is, where Arthur is bringing him. But he goes without complaint, trusting this man more than anything, anyone even, and Arthur rewards him with stolen kisses that steal the last of his breath from his deprived lungs, as if he knows the depth of Merlin’s emotions for him isn’t enough to contain them anymore.
It’s disconcerting and frightening, how much he loves Arthur. He’s willing to throw everything away for this man he’s just met a few days ago (a virtual stranger to anyone) and yet it feels inevitable, as if he’s been waiting for this to happen the moment Merlin stepped foot into the Titanic. Destiny, maybe.
Unquestionably.
That line of thought reminds him so much of Morgana that he sobers for a brief moment, remembering his sister’s devastated face. He aches for her suddenly with an intensity that nearly rivals his desire to have Arthur. Merlin wants Morgana to feel the way he does, free and careless and happier than he can remember, with someone to look at her the same way Arthur looks at him, all fire and possessiveness.
(What Gwen could have been if she had not met Lancelot)
They burst through a door and into darkness. Merlin blinks until his eyes adjust to the gloom, moves his head this way and that to look at the wide ceiling, the enormous space, the automobiles all neatly lined up in the cargo hold.
“Here, right here,” Arthur mutters and backs Merlin against the side of a car with a gentle shove. He sucks in a bottom lip, biting into it softly, then harder.
“This better not become a habit,” Merlin tells him in an unsteady voice, unsteady because he’s talking of a possible future between them. “I, I bruise easily, you know. Oh, oh, Arthur.”
“God, Merlin,” the other man whispers into his mouth, sharing breath for breath. “Merlin, you’re so - ”
Merlin clasps Arthur’s shoulders, digs his fingers into the material of his shirt and the skin underneath. “Please,” he softly begs. “Arthur.”
“Yes,” Arthur replies desperately, hands moving all over him, tugging, unbuttoning. “Yes, Merlin.”
-
It is too fast and slow at the same time. Merlin cannot catch up to the onslaught of sensations that singe his nerves, pumps his blood hotly through his veins. He closes his eyes and loses himself to -
Hands, calluses and all, mapping the sharp planes of his naked chest, up his arms and ghosting over his clavicles, and then lower to his nipples and oh, they are surprisingly sensitive, especially to the -
Mouth that follows, dragging a hot, wet tongue over the small nubs and staying there, the most maddening touch that has Merlin moaning, “Arthur, god, Arthur, please,” and wanting to move away, then press closer, before the other man finally settles over him in that cramped space, the leather hot against his even hotter, sweaty back -
The passion between them burns, roars, is wild and frenzied and mirrored by the way Merlin suckles hungrily on Arthur’s own nipple, drawing it into his mouth and pushing the flat of his tongue over it. Arthur buries a hand in Merlin’s hair, groaning and shifting their hips together. The hot line of his cock brushes against Merlin’s and sends a delicious bolt up his spine. Arthur tugs at his hair and Merlin releases the tiny nub, tilting his head back to let the blond lick into his mouth. They are breathing roughly, loud pants that raise the temperature in the small space they are in - the back of someone’s Renault - and Merlin cannot help but smile into the kiss.
Arthur breaks off and stares down at him, fringe sweaty on his forehead. “What is so funny?” he asks in a rough voice, hands cupping Merlin’s face and peppering kisses over his eyes and cheeks.
“This, us,” Merlin answers breathlessly, hands moving over the broad, flat planes that make up Arthur’s gorgeous body. The feel of him, strong and firm and real against his palms, makes his breath catch. “Doing this in the back of a stranger’s car,” he adds at the tail end of a moan, biting his lip when Arthur nibbles on his earlobe, blowing warm air on it.
“Makes it exciting.” Arthur noses his way down Merlin’s neck, gently biting at the tendons stretched taut as Merlin angles his head even further. “Dangerous. Forbidden.”
“As if this isn’t forbidden enough,” Merlin whispers as he thrusts his hips up, headily rubbing against Arthur’s thigh. Their eyes meet, the blue swallowed by pupils, and Arthur’s swollen lips curve in a wicked grin. “That’s right, Merlin,” he purrs before his tongue slides down the ladder of Merlin’s ribs. “If anyone catches us - ”
Merlin makes a needy sound and sinks his fingernails into the blond’s sweaty skin. “Arthur.”
A hand drops to Merlin’s lap, brushing against his cock as the fingers fumble on the button. “You’re going to love this,” Arthur promises hotly into the middle of his chest, all teeth and wet kisses, his hand trembling as it tries to undo Merlin’s trousers, making Merlin’s heart twist fiercely. “It’s going to hurt, hurt so good that you won’t be able to think straight or, or feel anything else except for my cock, my, me inside of you, taking everything.”
“Yes,” Merlin hisses, arching his back and heels kicking at the side of the door, “I want, I want…” He swallows, licks his lips, and meets Arthur’s eyes. “Fuck, I want you, now, everything, anything.”
Arthur groans, body coiled as if ready for a fight, and finally Merlin’s button comes undone. His trousers are pulled roughly away and Merlin kicks his feet out of the fabric, acutely aware that he’s naked under Arthur, and that soon Arthur will be just as undressed.
The thought has him arching up only to be stopped by a palm on the middle of his chest, Arthur quietly staring down at him. His eyes sweep over the long, pale expanse of Merlin’s body, hunched in the limited space but completely bare for Arthur.
“Beautiful,” Arthur rasps in wonder as he swipes a thumb across Merlin’s bitten lower lip. “I never thought I’d find…” he trails off, distracted by the peek of tongue as Merlin licks his lips, touching the corner of the blond’s finger.
“Arthur,” Merlin says.
“Yes,” and Arthur lowers his head to kiss him again, deep and hungry, and Merlin impatiently yanks on the other man’s trousers. It comes off easily and he throws them away, instantly distracted by Arthur’s erection, thick and red, and Merlin licks his lips as he carefully ghosts his fingers on the head. Arthur groans, hips tilting up, and Merlin’s eyes flicker up and then back on the other man’s cock, his hand closing clumsily over the length. His pulse stutters at the feel of the hot, silky skin, heavy and full in his fist.
“Merlin,” Arthur says needily, one hand falling to close around Merlin’s wrist, forcing him to start moving. Arthur gasps and touches their foreheads together. “God, that’s so good.”
Merlin’s face burn at the words and he takes a deep breath, slowly bringing his hand up and down, thumb swiping on the head to gather moisture, making the downward sweep slick and easy. His own erection throbs against his belly and his hips twitch, longing for something he cannot name. Merlin pushes into Arthur’s body, cock skidding across Arthur’s hip, and they both moan at the contact. Arthur bats Merlin’s hand away and clutches his hips, bringing them together again and again, rocking into each other with rising urgency. Merlin loses himself to the pleasure curling in his belly, almost painful but wonderful all the same, eyes heavy as he watches the strain on Arthur’s face, the muscles bunching in his arms as he thrusts against Merlin.
Merlin wants more.
“Please,” he says hoarsely, “I want…I want you to…”
Arthur pulls back to search his face, pupils so dilated that they’ve swallowed the blue, and he gives a jerky nod. “All right, I…all right.”
For a moment, Arthur looks lost and Merlin’s heart twists with too much emotion. “Here,” he says and drags Arthur’s fingers to his lips, tongue swirling around the calloused digits. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, going along with what he wants and what he wants to happen. Arthur stares intently as Merlin laves at his fingers until they’re wet, dripping, and Arthur hooks them briefly on Merlin’s teeth, the blond lowering his head to kiss the corner of Merlin’s mouth.
He pulls his wet fingers away and props one of Merlin’s legs over his shoulder, hand dragging over Merlin’s cock and then lower. Merlin’s other leg falls away, digging into the back of the passenger seat, and throws his head back when Arthur carefully prods at his opening, circling the hole with a nail before slowly slipping inside.
It burns, god how it burns, but Merlin relishes the pain and wants more of it, rough, fast, letting Arthur overwhelm his senses until he’s sore and full and complete. Arthur wriggles the finger inside, loosening him, and Merlin chokes back a cry.
“Are you…am I hurting you?”
Merlin shakes his head, breathless and dizzy. “N-No, please, Arthur, more, more.”
Arthur swallows, unable to tear his gaze from Merlin’s face, and adds another finger in, curling them around and thrusting deeper with each movement. Merlin groans, raising his hips, and a moment later another finger pushes into him. Merlin pants at the pain, hands coming to cover his face, and Arthur’s movements falter. But at that moment his fingers brush against something that sends a bolt of fire through Merlin, making him yelp at the unexpected rush.
“Did that feel good?”
“Yes,” Merlin groans and pushes down on Arthur’s fingers, biting his lip at the pain but seeking more. “God, yes.”
Arthur is breathing fast as he thrusts his fingers in and out, earnestly this time, hitting that spot that has fireworks bursting behind Merlin’s closed eyes. He tries to keep in his cries, hips tilting to suck Arthur deeper, moving mindlessly until it’s not enough, fingers aren’t enough, and Merlin opens his eyes to meet Arthur’s frenzied gaze. Arthur grins unsteadily at him and lets go of Merlin’s hip, bringing the hand up to lick at it a few times, before curling it around himself and stroking. “This is going to hurt like hell,” Arthur warns tightly, hand falling away to lift Merlin’s hips higher, positioning himself where his fingers still are. “You’re not, you’re still too dry and - ”
“I don’t care,” Merlin says. “I want you.”
Arthur laughs, pulling his fingers out, holding Merlin more securely as he digs his knees into the seat for balance. “God, you’re an idiot,” he tells him and slowly pushes inside.
The stretch is excruciating and Merlin bites on his tongue to keep from shouting. Arthur touches his face, thumb stroking one rosy cheek as he sinks into Merlin inch by agonising inch, and Merlin doesn’t breathe until Arthur is fully cradled in him, their hips pressed flush. Arthur is panting harshly as he kisses Merlin, quieting his soft whimpers, and they stay that way for long moments. Merlin’s eyes are closed as the pain gradually ebbs away, leaving behind the sense of fullness he’s been craving, and he relishes the feel of Arthur in him, all around him. Arthur starts moving, tiny thrusts to test the waters, and the desire roars anew, stealing Merlin’s breath away as he rakes his fingers down Arthur’s sweaty back. They’re quieter now, nothing but shuddering breaths and the ‘uh, uh, uh, uh’ in tempo with every thrust, going deeper, becoming harder until Merlin’s eyes rolls back in his head at the pleasure.
“Merlin,” Arthur says in a drawn-out moan, “my god, Merlin.”
Something is building up deep in Merlin’s belly, tight and hot and unbearably good, and Merlin starts to panic because he’s never felt this before, never so strong and intense, and he can’t breathe, can’t see, can’t hear, can only feel as it coils even more before finally bursting, dragging out the air until there is none left in his lungs, toes curling, hand slapping against the window, being swept away by the glorious rush. Arthur gasps as Merlin tightens around him and his thrusts stutter, becomes rough, and his fingers dig bruises into the other man’s hips as he comes, eyes clenched shut and expression broken. They gulp in desperate lungful of air, Arthur pinning Merlin under him, hearts beating madly in their chests.
After a while, Arthur shakily tilts Merlin’s head up and kisses him, whisper-soft and easy, trembling, and Merlin winds his fingers into his lover’s wet hair, holding on.
-
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