Fic: Goodbyes Are Never Easier
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1171
Warnings: episode spoiler
Summary: The second time Arthur loses Uther, Merlin is there to help hold him together. PWP
Read on AO3
Merlin really wasn’t sure how long they had stood there, staring at each other. He imagined he could see Arthur shaking from where he was and wanted to pull him into his arms, but the spears in his sleeves kept him in place. After what felt like an eternity, with Arthur showing no signs of moving, he carefully opened his mouth.
“Arthur?”
The king jerked as if he’d been startled. He looked so lost, Merlin was forcibly reminded of the night he’d found Arthur with his father’s body in his arms, and the urge to comfort him swelled even further.
“Arthur, I-“
“You’re stuck,” Arthur cut him off, looking at the spears as if for the first time. He took a shaky step forward, arm outstretched. “How-“
He cut himself off this time as a shadow passed over his face. Merlin didn’t know what to say as Arthur closed the distance between them, mouth pressed in a firm line as he wrenched the spears from the wall. He let his arms fall, but didn’t move away. Arthur didn’t, either. He was staring down where Merlin’s arms had just been pinned, and Merlin could see tears still glistening in his eyes, stubbornly refusing to fall. It broke his heart.
“Arthur,” he said, for a third time, and this time he reached out. Arthur met him halfway, fisting his hands in Merlin’s shirt as Merlin pulled him close. He felt Arthur shudder with a suppressed sob, wet eyelashes dragging against Merlin’s neck as he willed himself not to cry. Merlin simply held him, his own tears making his vision misty until he closed his eyes, pressing his face into Arthur’s hair.
The first press of lips against his skin was so soft, Merlin thought he’d imagined it. But then it came again, and again, and Merlin repressed a shudder of his own as Arthur’s thigh slid between his legs. Arthur’s hands were still gripping his shirt, but his lips were open now, busy pressing kisses against the skin above Merlin’s neckerchief. A groan wrestled its way out of Merlin’s throat, sounding almost obscenely loud in the silent weapons room. Arthur swallowed it with another kiss, too hard to be truly good but perfect nonetheless. Merlin allowed himself to be pushed further against the wall while Arthur furiously plundered his mouth, hands moving from Arthur’s back to his hair.
He jerked in surprise when a hand came down to fondle his hardening cock, pulling back just enough to look at Arthur’s face.
“Are you sure?” he asked softly. Arthur stared back at him, eyes still wet, but determined.
“Yes,” he said harshly, leaning in to reclaim Merlin’s mouth. “Yes, Merlin I just-I need this.”
If it had been anyone else, Merlin might have resisted. But it was Arthur, and he sounded so broken, Merlin found himself agreeing before he was even aware he’d decided, murmuring, “yes, yes, yes” into Arthur’s mouth, his jaw, his neck. His head thumped against the wall while Arthur jerked his trousers open, opening his mouth to take in the fingers Arthur pressed against it. He moaned around them as Arthur rolled his balls in his hand. Arthur was hard against his hip and dark-eyed as he watched Merlin lick his fingers. They weren’t nearly wet enough when he pressed them against Merlin’s entrance, one hand hooked under Merlin’s knee, but Merlin had no room for protests in him. Instead he just closed his eyes, releasing just enough magic to take off the burn as Arthur worked him open.
He wasn’t used to Arthur taking him so roughly. Arthur was athletic, and demanding, but he always made sure Merlin was comfortable before he took what he wanted. Tonight, though, it was all Merlin could do to hold on as his trousers were shoved off so he could wrap his legs around Arthur’s waist, one of Arthur’s arms gripping his hips tightly, the other reaching down to guide his cock into Merlin’s barely-stretched hole. It burned, more than it usually did, and Merlin might have done more than just cry out if not for his magic easing the way.
Arthur threw his head back and groaned. He pushed in until he was fully seated, barely pausing at all before he thrust again, and again. Merlin could hardly breathe, held firmly in place as he was between the wall and Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s hands were digging into his hips, hard enough to leave bruises that Merlin would feel for days. His lower back slammed against the wood with each pump of Arthur’s hips, which seemed to drive the king further into a frenzy. He buried his face in Merlin’s neck as he fucked into him, hard, pressing distracting bites and kisses against the curve of his shoulder. Merlin gave his hair a careful tug, and Arthur growled in response.
The armory rang with the slap of Arthur’s skin against Merlin’s. Merlin spared a moment to worry that someone would stumble up on them, but then Arthur’s fist closed over his erection and he promptly forgot everything else. He panted against Arthur’s ear as his orgasm was fucked out of him, the two of the far too desperate to last. Arthur’s thrusts grew uneven, his fist slower, and Merlin brought down his own to finish the job. Arthur came first, gasping hotly against the underside of Merlin’s jaw. Merlin screwed his eyes shut and followed a few thrusts of his fist later. Neither of them cared when Merlin’s come spurted against Arthur’s tunic. They just stood there, holding each other, Arthur’s cock still pressed into Merlin’s hole, until finally Arthur’s arms loosened, and Merlin allowed his legs to fall to the floor.
Neither of them seemed too inclined to move more than that. Merlin thought his legs might fail him if he didn’t sit soon, but he ignored the sore muscles to just hold Arthur. He could feel the king trembling in his arms, huddled so close to Merlin’s chest it felt as if he was trying to meld with him. For a second, Merlin wanted to tell him exactly what he’d told Uther: that Arthur was a far better man than Uther ever could have been, that Camelot flourished more now than it ever had. He wanted to say other things, too, like how proud he was of everything Arthur had become. How much he wished he could take all of his pain away. How much he loved him, like everything he was made of screamed for his king and lover, and how he’d tear the world apart if he asked it.
But he didn’t.
Instead he held him, with one hand splayed across Arthur’s back, the other gripping his hair. He stood that way until Arthur’s shaking had died down and his grip on Merlin’s waist was no longer quite as choking. He pressed a lingering kiss against Arthur’s forehead then, and took his hand, and brushed the lone tear that had managed to fall from Arthur’s cheek.