Watch It Burn: An Arthur/Merlin Mini-fanmix (fic)
Watch It Burn
An Arthur/Merlin Mini-fanmix
Modern!AU, R, 2462 words
Summary: It doesn't matter where or what they are, only that they are. (8 songs)
A/N: I don't claim to know anything about British nobility or... anything about ranks/titles at all, so much of the details are spared on that front, and in case of any "error", I reserve the right to say it's because it's all fictional and that's just how it works in this world, hokay? OTL American spelling/No britpicker ;_; But thank you to coley_merrin for enabling me patting my head and telling me I don't suck, and kitschful and rodiy for reading this through and nitpicking ;;; lol Irreplaceable lovelies, them \o/
.zip download (mediafire)
Close.
Arthur’s dangerously close, and he’s clutching like if he held tightly enough, long enough, their souls would meld and Merlin would be tied to him forever. He’s demanding and he knows this is far as they should ever get. He ignores it though - the nagging of society and propriety, strangely mimicking his father’s deep tone of judgement - in favor of another thrust.
The reward of a groan and the burrowing of an open mouth into the curves of his neck and collar come instantly. Merlin breathes and rasps his name like an insult, and a quiet request.
“Arthur...”
The tears, the way Merlin writhes on his cock and against his stomach tells him it’s not enough yet, not deep enough, not good enough, and Arthur aches. He aches to make Merlin feel happy, to make him feel loved, but this is all he can give him.
He has nothing else of his own left. And even this. It isn’t his.
there may not / be another way to your heart
so i guess i'd better find a new way in
i shiver when i hear your name
think about you but it's not the same
i won't be satisfied 'til i'm under your skin
[ Shiver - Maroon 5]
“You’re not letting me do my job.”
“I believe part of the job description is to do research on me. I think this counts, don’t you, Merlin?”
Merlin smiles, removing Arthur’s arms from his waist. And Arthur frowns, because the smile is terse and not at all like Merlin’s usual careless grins. It worries him.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, careful and guarded.
“Nope,” Merlin says, flippant and almost like he’s purposefully trying to be annoying. “Nothing’s wrong at all.”
Arthur is inclined to believe this means that everything is wrong and he bloody well wants to know what’s got Merlin so bothered. He watches him quietly, sitting himself down on the floor and skimming through his notes-all pertaining to Arthur, Arthur’s life, and Arthur-related topics as he would convey them to the public.
It strikes him after a very prolonged pause.
“I need you,” Arthur says, his voice hushed and flat.
The transparency of Merlin’s grinning face would be laughable if it wasn’t so unbearable to look at. “Of course you need me,” he jokes. “Your memoirs would be a collection of unrecognizable stick figure drawings if you were writing them.”
Arthur forces his own smile. “You never learn. Do you know who I am? Sometimes I wonder if you even remember who you’re speaking to.”
“I know perfectly well who you are,” he replies, a hint of a dimple coloring a genuine smirk, “A complete arse, and a royal one at that. And just so happens, I’m writing your autobiography! I think I can say without question that I am a noted expert in this field.”
“Oh, shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says and Merlin laughs, because he’s stronger than he seems. Because they both understand the truth behind each others’ masks. And if Arthur sees any more truth tonight, he’ll break.
who has to know
when we live such fragile lives / it's the best way we survive
i go around a time or two / just to waste my time with you
tell me all that you've thrown away
find out games you don't wanna play
you are the only one that needs to know
i'll keep you my dirty little secret (dirty little secret)
don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret
just another regret / hope that you can keep it / my dirty little secret
[ Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects]
Merlin can’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of loneliness here, when Arthur holds him like this. Skin to skin and a possessive arm round his waist. He can’t explain why it hurts the most, here, Arthur snoring lightly against his neck, mumbling his name whenever Merlin shifts.
It’ll become clear, like it always does, when Arthur wakes without a word and lingers. Merlin will imagine loving eyes and a doting caress, a true fondness in the absence they’ll have from the other.
But Merlin knows the facts, once the filter of Arthur’s presence is gone, will be these:
Arthur wakes without a word and lingers, indulging himself in the still moments where he’s woken earlier than necessary. He thinks about his diary and the appointments he needs to keep, the presentations, the reports that must get done, the father he needs to impress, make proud, make happy. Merlin won’t come across his mind but once, to wonder if he’d fancy a stress-relieving shag after adding another few pages to his (rather incomplete) life’s story.
Merlin doesn’t care about the story he’s being paid to write, nobility and politics be damned. It isn’t even ironic, because in his mind, what he really wants to write isn’t intricately weaved half-truths of the son of a Duke, or propagandistic glorifications of a man who is essentially just a man. It isn’t ironic to want to write about... Arthur - a man, the man - because Merlin could write ages and lifetimes on the man he could be.
When Arthur leaves him that morning without even a goodbye, Merlin thinks the man that could be, won’t.
we light the fire to watch it burn / but when it comes your turn
all that's left is embers
you ran this race with no real heart / you’re right back at the start
you'd already lost it
[...]
everything feels tempting / when you don't know who to be
i often wonder how you feel / when you're lying next to me
[ To Hell We Ride - Lostprophets]
“You’ve done well on this project, Arthur,” Olaf says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Your father will be proud.”
Arthur remains stiff, tacks on a smile and nods to be cordial. “Thank you for your high praise, sir.”
Thank you, he means, for thinking that his father would be proud.
He doesn’t mention the twist in his gut as he thinks about the people he had to cheat for this deal to go through. Doesn’t mention that there’s a part of him - the whole of him, really - that his father wouldn’t approve of, ever. But his father might be proud, at least, of this, and that might make it all worth it.
devil gonna find me e’er i go
won't do me no good washing in the river
can't no preacher man save my soul
[ Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars]
This is the last farewell.
Merlin received the news earlier that morning. Final edits have gone through and everything that needed doing has been done.
He and Arthur have dinner to celebrate, at Arthur’s request, but he knows the courtesy for what it is.
Arthur invites him inside his home after, bereft of excuse and propriety. This is the moment of reality and decision. What Arthur expects from him, what he wants, and - Merlin thinks - what he needs (what they both need), they’re all unreal. The lies Merlin has told, for Arthur, to Arthur, to himself, it’s stretched him close to breaking. Or perhaps he’s already made of nothing but the fractures pieces of a whole he used to be.
Merlin laughs to himself.
He was never whole, had never been whole. Except with Arthur - and this is an ironic thing and probably the irony of his lifetime - Arthur, the fire that made him catch ablaze and molded him and made him change his shape to suit. Arthur, who pulls and twists until instead of being more malleable, Merlin is stretched too thin and feels about to blow apart like an over-pumped tire.
What had happened to him, the young boy with a universe of wealth in his mind? The boy with every courage to tell others that he didn't want to keep himself controlled and hidden, shouldn’t have to. "If I can't be myself, I'm nothing. I'm just a nobody," he'd shouted, in a dramatic burst of anger and loathing.
Inside, he is weary and it’s the weariness in him that takes Arthur’s invitation. A parting gift for himself, taking and giving everything he can as if it’ll be the last of anything like happiness he’ll ever feel.
The morning rain taps at the window and Merlin takes a good look at Arthur’s bed-mussed hair, his broad shoulders, everything. He doesn’t miss the slow telltale breaths, and warm brush of legs, savoring the scents of them that’ll linger for vague minutes in his nose, but forever in his memory.
Arthur, whom he loves, whom he hates, who can bring him the greatest joy, and the most scathing hurt. Merlin sees the man he could be, will be, but at the moment, can’t be, and he leaves.
pushing forward and arching back / bring me closer to heart attack
say goodbye and just fly away
when you come back / i have something to say
how does it feel to know you never have to be alone / when you get home
there must be someplace here that only you and i could go
so i can show you how i / dream away everyday
try so hard to disregard / the rhythm of the rain that drops
and coincides with the beating of my heart
[ Sweetest Goodbye - Maroon 5]
“I’ll miss you, my dear lovely boy...”
“Mum, I’m moving two hour’s drive away,” Merlin grins, but he’s doing everything he can to blink back his tears, too. “Hour and a half, if I speed!”
“Give your mother her moment, ninny,” says Will from off the side. His smile seems about as genuine as everyone else’s. Better than other days this past week. Merlin couldn’t really ask for more from him.
His mother holds him tighter.
They’d all miss each other, but it wouldn’t be the end. Out in the great, wide, and welcome arms of the world, he would find an opportunity, a way to live. Here, his dreams would only gather the finest of dust, and he would suffocate under the pointed fingers labeling him as the outcast he knew he was, knew he had been since the moment of his birth.
Only in the city would he find legs to walk on and words to weave. He believes that with the whole of his being.
every time that you feel like givin’ up
don't you ever try to change who you are
just keep your head up high / look above
‘cause it's written, it's written in the / oh written in the stars
[ Written in the Stars (original: Tinie Tempah ft. Eric Turner) - Jason Chen ft. Joseph Vincent]
The grass is lush and alive, but contrasted against the bright silver coloring the horizon, it is darkly and sullenly so. Whenever Merlin described his hometown... Arthur stops to think. Merlin never really spoke of it often. Once, maybe. So, it’s all in his mind when he believes that Ealdor is everything Merlin has made it out to be.
A yearning tugs at his limbs and his chest. The very same longing that brought him out to the middle of nowhere draws his breath with anticipation and a deep seated urge to take in the scenery, and for once, really, truly look at where he is.
The house is small, in a cozy, rustic sort of way that Arthur, with his father’s summer houses and country mansions, had never come across before. The front gardens are overrun with vegetables and vines crawling along the fences, kept up well enough, but weeds still run amok in some corners.
“It’s cold.”
Arthur turns around.
“Mum says you’ll catch your death out here. You should come back in,” Merlin says.
“Wasn’t sure if you wanted me around in there,” he replies, hands in his pockets. The air is brisk and just nippy enough to make his nostrils sting.
Merlin smiles. “You came all this way, I’m not going to put you out.”
Merlin, Arthur thinks, over and over again. Unremitting and steady Merlin who he can’t give up and can’t bring closer is standing in front of him, framed by a pastel yellow doorway with the paint peeling at every edge.
“I miss you,” he states.
“You said that earlier,” Merlin replies, smile just that much wider.
“I still miss you,” Arthur says, “Even now.”
The smile vanishes and it leaves a small nettle in his chest to see it go, but Merlin walks to where he is until only a few inches keep them apart.
“Arthur, we’re here. Together,” he says, gaze and stance strong in a way Arthur rarely sees. “You came here, to me, for a reason and I haven’t asked you directly because you’re you, and you’d probably shout at me for not knowing,” Arthur can’t help the smirk that tugs on his face, “But here I am, asking. What are you here for?”
His face softens, like he knows what he wants to hear, expects to hear, but is afraid of being wrong. Arthur can’t bear this and he knows what he must look like, travel-worn and unlike himself. He’d hoped... He didn’t know what he’d hoped. This has been more than he would have hoped for, being welcomed into Merlin’s home, as if Merlin hadn’t been the one to push him away.
As if Arthur hadn’t been the one that forced him to hide away like they’d been somehow wrong together. Arthur can’t bear to see any more disappointment anywhere on Merlin’s person. He can feel Merlin growing uneasy and Arthur can’t bear making him unhappy any longer.
“You. I’m here for you.”
ache / can’t watch you break / and shatter
save / new lives / to make us better
i’m letting you know
cleansing my soul
been letting you know / for days
turn over everything / time can heal us again
i'm tender in your arms
reaching inside of me / bringing the love I need
the loneliness has gone
[ Tender - Feeder]
The colors in the sky made a symphony unheard, he writes. The boy lived hearing what others couldn’t.
Merlin rereads the lines again, and then out loud. “What do you think? Trite? Odd?”
“What on earth are you nattering on about?” Arthur answers, flipping through some articles at his desk.
“Odd then,” Merlin hums.
Arthur looks up from his work, confused. “What are you doing?”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m writing. That thing I do in my spare time, and for work, and every moment I’m not clustered up in the sheets with you. You know, to have an income and other such nonsense,” he says, and adds a phrase. He erases it madly after.
“You have me,” Arthur waves at the air, “You don’t need the income.”
“Funny, I don’t remember being bought as a bedwarmer,” Merlin mutters, looking back down at his notes.
“As I recall, I had no need to buy you off. You’re mine either way.”
Merlin turns to make a rebuttal only to find Arthur hovering over his shoulder. “Arthur!” he gasps. “Don’t! do that-”
“Merlin,” Arthur mouths against his cheek, kneeling awkwardly beside him while pulling him down to his lips.
They stay still for a beat before Merlin pulls away.
“You’re not going to propose, are you? I feel like I should be in better attire if you were,” he says, motioning their entwined hands towards his pajamas.
Arthur laughs, the sound of it broad and full, making Merlin’s cheeks push his eyes into a joyous crinkle.
Next thing, Merlin is being carried to and dumped unceremoniously on the bed with one swift swoop. Arthur looms over him, mouth set in a hard line but eyes gentle in that way that keeps Merlin calm.
“That would be skipping a step,” he murmurs, and kisses Merlin full on the lips.
“Oh? And what step is that?” Merlin says in low tones.
“Move in with me.”
There is a moment of delay as Merlin’s brain halts all processing, but he recovers quickly.
“You mean having all my stuff here didn’t count?”
Arthur rolls them over so that Merlin is the one above him. He looks mirthful and something about it makes Merlin realize how far he’s come, and how far they’ve come. Arthur is letting him in, more than just making room for an overnight bag, more than just giving him a space to sprawl while Arthur works. And even those things, small to the point of infinitesimal, were touchstones of them.
They’d started formlessly and without meaning, to get to this point.
Just the thought is enough for Merlin to crush their mouths together, their hands, their bodies. They speak in circles to the other, but this is the language they both understand. So painfully simple, and so beautifully intricate, Merlin thinks. The pair of them.
They kiss, they undress, they make love. They slip under the covers, they kiss, they cling to each other like there aren’t enough moments left to be placid. Merlin answers yes sometime in between.
The order, the sequence of things don’t matter. They never have. Only that this isn’t the end, and isn’t the beginning, and quite possibly, this isn’t forever. But they’re trying, and forever doesn’t seem so far away.
we may only have tonight / but ‘til the mornin’ sun you’re mine / all mine
play the music low / and sway to the rhythm of love
[ Rhythm of Love - Plain White T’s]
---
fin.
comments/crit greatly appreciated!
An Arthur/Merlin Mini-fanmix
Modern!AU, R, 2462 words
Summary: It doesn't matter where or what they are, only that they are. (8 songs)
A/N: I don't claim to know anything about British nobility or... anything about ranks/titles at all, so much of the details are spared on that front, and in case of any "error", I reserve the right to say it's because it's all fictional and that's just how it works in this world, hokay? OTL American spelling/No britpicker ;_; But thank you to coley_merrin for enabling me patting my head and telling me I don't suck, and kitschful and rodiy for reading this through and nitpicking ;;; lol Irreplaceable lovelies, them \o/
.zip download (mediafire)
Close.
Arthur’s dangerously close, and he’s clutching like if he held tightly enough, long enough, their souls would meld and Merlin would be tied to him forever. He’s demanding and he knows this is far as they should ever get. He ignores it though - the nagging of society and propriety, strangely mimicking his father’s deep tone of judgement - in favor of another thrust.
The reward of a groan and the burrowing of an open mouth into the curves of his neck and collar come instantly. Merlin breathes and rasps his name like an insult, and a quiet request.
“Arthur...”
The tears, the way Merlin writhes on his cock and against his stomach tells him it’s not enough yet, not deep enough, not good enough, and Arthur aches. He aches to make Merlin feel happy, to make him feel loved, but this is all he can give him.
He has nothing else of his own left. And even this. It isn’t his.
there may not / be another way to your heart
so i guess i'd better find a new way in
i shiver when i hear your name
think about you but it's not the same
i won't be satisfied 'til i'm under your skin
[ Shiver - Maroon 5]
“You’re not letting me do my job.”
“I believe part of the job description is to do research on me. I think this counts, don’t you, Merlin?”
Merlin smiles, removing Arthur’s arms from his waist. And Arthur frowns, because the smile is terse and not at all like Merlin’s usual careless grins. It worries him.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, careful and guarded.
“Nope,” Merlin says, flippant and almost like he’s purposefully trying to be annoying. “Nothing’s wrong at all.”
Arthur is inclined to believe this means that everything is wrong and he bloody well wants to know what’s got Merlin so bothered. He watches him quietly, sitting himself down on the floor and skimming through his notes-all pertaining to Arthur, Arthur’s life, and Arthur-related topics as he would convey them to the public.
It strikes him after a very prolonged pause.
“I need you,” Arthur says, his voice hushed and flat.
The transparency of Merlin’s grinning face would be laughable if it wasn’t so unbearable to look at. “Of course you need me,” he jokes. “Your memoirs would be a collection of unrecognizable stick figure drawings if you were writing them.”
Arthur forces his own smile. “You never learn. Do you know who I am? Sometimes I wonder if you even remember who you’re speaking to.”
“I know perfectly well who you are,” he replies, a hint of a dimple coloring a genuine smirk, “A complete arse, and a royal one at that. And just so happens, I’m writing your autobiography! I think I can say without question that I am a noted expert in this field.”
“Oh, shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says and Merlin laughs, because he’s stronger than he seems. Because they both understand the truth behind each others’ masks. And if Arthur sees any more truth tonight, he’ll break.
who has to know
when we live such fragile lives / it's the best way we survive
i go around a time or two / just to waste my time with you
tell me all that you've thrown away
find out games you don't wanna play
you are the only one that needs to know
i'll keep you my dirty little secret (dirty little secret)
don't tell anyone or you'll be just another regret
just another regret / hope that you can keep it / my dirty little secret
[ Dirty Little Secret - The All-American Rejects]
Merlin can’t help feeling an overwhelming sense of loneliness here, when Arthur holds him like this. Skin to skin and a possessive arm round his waist. He can’t explain why it hurts the most, here, Arthur snoring lightly against his neck, mumbling his name whenever Merlin shifts.
It’ll become clear, like it always does, when Arthur wakes without a word and lingers. Merlin will imagine loving eyes and a doting caress, a true fondness in the absence they’ll have from the other.
But Merlin knows the facts, once the filter of Arthur’s presence is gone, will be these:
Arthur wakes without a word and lingers, indulging himself in the still moments where he’s woken earlier than necessary. He thinks about his diary and the appointments he needs to keep, the presentations, the reports that must get done, the father he needs to impress, make proud, make happy. Merlin won’t come across his mind but once, to wonder if he’d fancy a stress-relieving shag after adding another few pages to his (rather incomplete) life’s story.
Merlin doesn’t care about the story he’s being paid to write, nobility and politics be damned. It isn’t even ironic, because in his mind, what he really wants to write isn’t intricately weaved half-truths of the son of a Duke, or propagandistic glorifications of a man who is essentially just a man. It isn’t ironic to want to write about... Arthur - a man, the man - because Merlin could write ages and lifetimes on the man he could be.
When Arthur leaves him that morning without even a goodbye, Merlin thinks the man that could be, won’t.
we light the fire to watch it burn / but when it comes your turn
all that's left is embers
you ran this race with no real heart / you’re right back at the start
you'd already lost it
[...]
everything feels tempting / when you don't know who to be
i often wonder how you feel / when you're lying next to me
[ To Hell We Ride - Lostprophets]
“You’ve done well on this project, Arthur,” Olaf says, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Your father will be proud.”
Arthur remains stiff, tacks on a smile and nods to be cordial. “Thank you for your high praise, sir.”
Thank you, he means, for thinking that his father would be proud.
He doesn’t mention the twist in his gut as he thinks about the people he had to cheat for this deal to go through. Doesn’t mention that there’s a part of him - the whole of him, really - that his father wouldn’t approve of, ever. But his father might be proud, at least, of this, and that might make it all worth it.
devil gonna find me e’er i go
won't do me no good washing in the river
can't no preacher man save my soul
[ Barton Hollow - The Civil Wars]
This is the last farewell.
Merlin received the news earlier that morning. Final edits have gone through and everything that needed doing has been done.
He and Arthur have dinner to celebrate, at Arthur’s request, but he knows the courtesy for what it is.
Arthur invites him inside his home after, bereft of excuse and propriety. This is the moment of reality and decision. What Arthur expects from him, what he wants, and - Merlin thinks - what he needs (what they both need), they’re all unreal. The lies Merlin has told, for Arthur, to Arthur, to himself, it’s stretched him close to breaking. Or perhaps he’s already made of nothing but the fractures pieces of a whole he used to be.
Merlin laughs to himself.
He was never whole, had never been whole. Except with Arthur - and this is an ironic thing and probably the irony of his lifetime - Arthur, the fire that made him catch ablaze and molded him and made him change his shape to suit. Arthur, who pulls and twists until instead of being more malleable, Merlin is stretched too thin and feels about to blow apart like an over-pumped tire.
What had happened to him, the young boy with a universe of wealth in his mind? The boy with every courage to tell others that he didn't want to keep himself controlled and hidden, shouldn’t have to. "If I can't be myself, I'm nothing. I'm just a nobody," he'd shouted, in a dramatic burst of anger and loathing.
Inside, he is weary and it’s the weariness in him that takes Arthur’s invitation. A parting gift for himself, taking and giving everything he can as if it’ll be the last of anything like happiness he’ll ever feel.
The morning rain taps at the window and Merlin takes a good look at Arthur’s bed-mussed hair, his broad shoulders, everything. He doesn’t miss the slow telltale breaths, and warm brush of legs, savoring the scents of them that’ll linger for vague minutes in his nose, but forever in his memory.
Arthur, whom he loves, whom he hates, who can bring him the greatest joy, and the most scathing hurt. Merlin sees the man he could be, will be, but at the moment, can’t be, and he leaves.
pushing forward and arching back / bring me closer to heart attack
say goodbye and just fly away
when you come back / i have something to say
how does it feel to know you never have to be alone / when you get home
there must be someplace here that only you and i could go
so i can show you how i / dream away everyday
try so hard to disregard / the rhythm of the rain that drops
and coincides with the beating of my heart
[ Sweetest Goodbye - Maroon 5]
“I’ll miss you, my dear lovely boy...”
“Mum, I’m moving two hour’s drive away,” Merlin grins, but he’s doing everything he can to blink back his tears, too. “Hour and a half, if I speed!”
“Give your mother her moment, ninny,” says Will from off the side. His smile seems about as genuine as everyone else’s. Better than other days this past week. Merlin couldn’t really ask for more from him.
His mother holds him tighter.
They’d all miss each other, but it wouldn’t be the end. Out in the great, wide, and welcome arms of the world, he would find an opportunity, a way to live. Here, his dreams would only gather the finest of dust, and he would suffocate under the pointed fingers labeling him as the outcast he knew he was, knew he had been since the moment of his birth.
Only in the city would he find legs to walk on and words to weave. He believes that with the whole of his being.
every time that you feel like givin’ up
don't you ever try to change who you are
just keep your head up high / look above
‘cause it's written, it's written in the / oh written in the stars
[ Written in the Stars (original: Tinie Tempah ft. Eric Turner) - Jason Chen ft. Joseph Vincent]
The grass is lush and alive, but contrasted against the bright silver coloring the horizon, it is darkly and sullenly so. Whenever Merlin described his hometown... Arthur stops to think. Merlin never really spoke of it often. Once, maybe. So, it’s all in his mind when he believes that Ealdor is everything Merlin has made it out to be.
A yearning tugs at his limbs and his chest. The very same longing that brought him out to the middle of nowhere draws his breath with anticipation and a deep seated urge to take in the scenery, and for once, really, truly look at where he is.
The house is small, in a cozy, rustic sort of way that Arthur, with his father’s summer houses and country mansions, had never come across before. The front gardens are overrun with vegetables and vines crawling along the fences, kept up well enough, but weeds still run amok in some corners.
“It’s cold.”
Arthur turns around.
“Mum says you’ll catch your death out here. You should come back in,” Merlin says.
“Wasn’t sure if you wanted me around in there,” he replies, hands in his pockets. The air is brisk and just nippy enough to make his nostrils sting.
Merlin smiles. “You came all this way, I’m not going to put you out.”
Merlin, Arthur thinks, over and over again. Unremitting and steady Merlin who he can’t give up and can’t bring closer is standing in front of him, framed by a pastel yellow doorway with the paint peeling at every edge.
“I miss you,” he states.
“You said that earlier,” Merlin replies, smile just that much wider.
“I still miss you,” Arthur says, “Even now.”
The smile vanishes and it leaves a small nettle in his chest to see it go, but Merlin walks to where he is until only a few inches keep them apart.
“Arthur, we’re here. Together,” he says, gaze and stance strong in a way Arthur rarely sees. “You came here, to me, for a reason and I haven’t asked you directly because you’re you, and you’d probably shout at me for not knowing,” Arthur can’t help the smirk that tugs on his face, “But here I am, asking. What are you here for?”
His face softens, like he knows what he wants to hear, expects to hear, but is afraid of being wrong. Arthur can’t bear this and he knows what he must look like, travel-worn and unlike himself. He’d hoped... He didn’t know what he’d hoped. This has been more than he would have hoped for, being welcomed into Merlin’s home, as if Merlin hadn’t been the one to push him away.
As if Arthur hadn’t been the one that forced him to hide away like they’d been somehow wrong together. Arthur can’t bear to see any more disappointment anywhere on Merlin’s person. He can feel Merlin growing uneasy and Arthur can’t bear making him unhappy any longer.
“You. I’m here for you.”
ache / can’t watch you break / and shatter
save / new lives / to make us better
i’m letting you know
cleansing my soul
been letting you know / for days
turn over everything / time can heal us again
i'm tender in your arms
reaching inside of me / bringing the love I need
the loneliness has gone
[ Tender - Feeder]
The colors in the sky made a symphony unheard, he writes. The boy lived hearing what others couldn’t.
Merlin rereads the lines again, and then out loud. “What do you think? Trite? Odd?”
“What on earth are you nattering on about?” Arthur answers, flipping through some articles at his desk.
“Odd then,” Merlin hums.
Arthur looks up from his work, confused. “What are you doing?”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m writing. That thing I do in my spare time, and for work, and every moment I’m not clustered up in the sheets with you. You know, to have an income and other such nonsense,” he says, and adds a phrase. He erases it madly after.
“You have me,” Arthur waves at the air, “You don’t need the income.”
“Funny, I don’t remember being bought as a bedwarmer,” Merlin mutters, looking back down at his notes.
“As I recall, I had no need to buy you off. You’re mine either way.”
Merlin turns to make a rebuttal only to find Arthur hovering over his shoulder. “Arthur!” he gasps. “Don’t! do that-”
“Merlin,” Arthur mouths against his cheek, kneeling awkwardly beside him while pulling him down to his lips.
They stay still for a beat before Merlin pulls away.
“You’re not going to propose, are you? I feel like I should be in better attire if you were,” he says, motioning their entwined hands towards his pajamas.
Arthur laughs, the sound of it broad and full, making Merlin’s cheeks push his eyes into a joyous crinkle.
Next thing, Merlin is being carried to and dumped unceremoniously on the bed with one swift swoop. Arthur looms over him, mouth set in a hard line but eyes gentle in that way that keeps Merlin calm.
“That would be skipping a step,” he murmurs, and kisses Merlin full on the lips.
“Oh? And what step is that?” Merlin says in low tones.
“Move in with me.”
There is a moment of delay as Merlin’s brain halts all processing, but he recovers quickly.
“You mean having all my stuff here didn’t count?”
Arthur rolls them over so that Merlin is the one above him. He looks mirthful and something about it makes Merlin realize how far he’s come, and how far they’ve come. Arthur is letting him in, more than just making room for an overnight bag, more than just giving him a space to sprawl while Arthur works. And even those things, small to the point of infinitesimal, were touchstones of them.
They’d started formlessly and without meaning, to get to this point.
Just the thought is enough for Merlin to crush their mouths together, their hands, their bodies. They speak in circles to the other, but this is the language they both understand. So painfully simple, and so beautifully intricate, Merlin thinks. The pair of them.
They kiss, they undress, they make love. They slip under the covers, they kiss, they cling to each other like there aren’t enough moments left to be placid. Merlin answers yes sometime in between.
The order, the sequence of things don’t matter. They never have. Only that this isn’t the end, and isn’t the beginning, and quite possibly, this isn’t forever. But they’re trying, and forever doesn’t seem so far away.
we may only have tonight / but ‘til the mornin’ sun you’re mine / all mine
play the music low / and sway to the rhythm of love
[ Rhythm of Love - Plain White T’s]
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fin.
comments/crit greatly appreciated!