Mischief Managed
Author: witty_teacup
Title: Mischief Managed
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: The warmth under his skin soon pools into desire, and it fills him completely. The longer he stares at the Angel, how he presses against him, the more he thinks of how well they would fit together, how the contrast of darkness and light would mingle. The attraction is definitely there, he can feel it in his magic, and it how thrums in bones, singing and demanding all at once, claim him, claim him, claim him--
Warnings: None
Word Count: 987
Prompt: #73 - Attraction
Author's Notes: Angel/Demon AU. Prequel to Into The Dark. Man, I've been wanting to do another fic in this verse for ages. I don't think it's as good as it's sequel, but hey, what can you do? Hope you guys enjoy it! Also, dedicated to osky291 for unknowingly giving me a kick-start on writing this AU again.
He feels the Angel before he sees him.
Angels rarely cross the threshold connecting their two worlds, simply because Angels hate having any contact with the Demons and their “impure” ways. The times they do meet are rare, with the occasional messenger dropping by to deliver a complaint, something about the Demons doing “bad deeds” or “disrupting the peace”, which, in Merlin's opinion, is a whole lot of rubbish.
But feel the Angel he does all the same-and it's not the messenger. The Angels and Demons have specifically selected messengers to carry messages back and forth to one another, and they always have a different feeling to them, one that everyone knows, so they know not to attack the unfortunate soul before they can deliver. But this one feels different, this Angel is definitely not the messenger, but still Merlin senses him-and a warm feeling burns within him, a small simmer, and it pushes him enough to investigate.
The other Demons have probably felt him by this point, but Merlin doesn't know if they'll feel like looking into it. He closes his eyes, willing the darkness to search for the source of light he knows is radiating from the Angel-and he pinpoints him easily.
A single step, and the winds are surrounding him, bending to his whim, towards the Angel.
When he opens his eyes, the Angel hasn't even seen him, back turned, white wings protruding from his back. Merlin watches him cautiously, wondering what he's doing, and the Angel looks around aimlessly, as if scouting the place out. It's almost endearing, and he chokes back a laugh.
“Hello, little angel,” he coos, taking a great amount of pleasure in how the Angel jumps, swirling on him. However, he wasn't counting on the sight that's revealed.
In one word, the Angel is beautiful. With soft golden hair, and sun-kissed skin, the Angel stares at him with guarded, bright blue eyes, clutching what appears to be a scroll in his hand. Below his fingers, he can barely make out the seal of Heaven.
For some reason, Merlin curls his fingers unconsciously, biting back the urge to just take, to pin the Angel to the ground and rut into him, leaving marks along the smooth expanse of his neck-to just bite and claim the Angel as his own.
The Angel speaks, snapping him from his thoughts. “I have a message from Heaven.”
It's a beautiful voice, he thinks, authoritative and strong. He grins, tilting his head to the side. “Oh? But you're not the messenger.”
“No,” the Angel says, and he looks annoyed. “He was unable to come. I offered to take his place.”
Merlin's grin only widens, knowing that he's lying. “Really? How...unfortunate,” he murmurs, playing along. “I'll take that, then.”
The Angel holds it out for him to take, and Merlin grasps his wrist, using his free hand to take the scroll. He whispers a few words under his breath, and lets the scroll disappear into a wisp of smoke.
“It's on it's way,” Merlin says, still holding onto the Angel's wrist. “It's very kind of you to take your messenger's place...especially when it's so...dark here.”
The Angel grimaces, and his eyes dart down to the grip on his wrist. But he nods, slowly, and begins to pull away. “Yes. But if you'll excuse me, I need to get back...”
“Why don't I take you?” Merlin smirks, running his thumb over the warm skin. “It's dangerous down here. Something...unfortunate could happen to you. We're not very trusting people, us Demons. I don't even know your name.”
“It's Arthur,” the Angel bites out, but instead of agreeing, he swivels back on his heel, yanks his wrist free, and with his fingers a fist, he swings at him. “And don't touch me!”
He easily steps out of the way, but not before his own hand shoots out, grasping Arthur by the neck and using the shift in weight to pin him to the ground.
Arthur chokes, and Merlin grins, straddling his hips. “Oh, little angel, you can't best a demon in his own realm.”
The Angel claws at his hand, trying to breathe, and Merlin loosens a little. “Get off of me--!” he spits, pulling fruitlessly at the grip.
The warmth under his skin soon pools into desire, and it fills him completely. The longer he stares at the Angel, how he presses against him, the more he thinks of how well they would fit together, how the contrast of darkness and light would mingle. The attraction is definitely there, he can feel it in his magic, and how it thrums in bones, singing and demanding all at once, claim him, claim him, claim him--
“Such kind features,” Merlin muses instead, running the back of his fingers along his cheek, offering a sly smile. “It's so sad that you look so lovely, but your eyes...so filled with hatred.”
“I said, get off of me!” Arthur fumes, his body bucking up against him in vain attempts to get him off.
Merlin has a feeling if he keeps doing it, he won't be able to stop himself.
Instead of giving in, he smiles, and complies with the demand. He pulls the Angel up with him, and then, just to spite him further, he takes his hand and kisses it gently, running his lips over his fingers.
“Have a safe trip out, Arthur,” he says, the name curling on his tongue. “I'm Merlin, by the way. Merlin Emrys, in case you wanted to see me again.”
The glare the Angel gives him is worth his words, until he notices the faint flush on Arthur's cheeks. Whether it's from embarrassment or lust, he can't tell, but the challenge has set itself, and it sends a thrill through him.
Arthur stalks away, and Merlin doesn't follow. He smirks, though, licking his lips.
He'll have that Angel if it's the last thing he does.
Title: Mischief Managed
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: The warmth under his skin soon pools into desire, and it fills him completely. The longer he stares at the Angel, how he presses against him, the more he thinks of how well they would fit together, how the contrast of darkness and light would mingle. The attraction is definitely there, he can feel it in his magic, and it how thrums in bones, singing and demanding all at once, claim him, claim him, claim him--
Warnings: None
Word Count: 987
Prompt: #73 - Attraction
Author's Notes: Angel/Demon AU. Prequel to Into The Dark. Man, I've been wanting to do another fic in this verse for ages. I don't think it's as good as it's sequel, but hey, what can you do? Hope you guys enjoy it! Also, dedicated to osky291 for unknowingly giving me a kick-start on writing this AU again.
He feels the Angel before he sees him.
Angels rarely cross the threshold connecting their two worlds, simply because Angels hate having any contact with the Demons and their “impure” ways. The times they do meet are rare, with the occasional messenger dropping by to deliver a complaint, something about the Demons doing “bad deeds” or “disrupting the peace”, which, in Merlin's opinion, is a whole lot of rubbish.
But feel the Angel he does all the same-and it's not the messenger. The Angels and Demons have specifically selected messengers to carry messages back and forth to one another, and they always have a different feeling to them, one that everyone knows, so they know not to attack the unfortunate soul before they can deliver. But this one feels different, this Angel is definitely not the messenger, but still Merlin senses him-and a warm feeling burns within him, a small simmer, and it pushes him enough to investigate.
The other Demons have probably felt him by this point, but Merlin doesn't know if they'll feel like looking into it. He closes his eyes, willing the darkness to search for the source of light he knows is radiating from the Angel-and he pinpoints him easily.
A single step, and the winds are surrounding him, bending to his whim, towards the Angel.
When he opens his eyes, the Angel hasn't even seen him, back turned, white wings protruding from his back. Merlin watches him cautiously, wondering what he's doing, and the Angel looks around aimlessly, as if scouting the place out. It's almost endearing, and he chokes back a laugh.
“Hello, little angel,” he coos, taking a great amount of pleasure in how the Angel jumps, swirling on him. However, he wasn't counting on the sight that's revealed.
In one word, the Angel is beautiful. With soft golden hair, and sun-kissed skin, the Angel stares at him with guarded, bright blue eyes, clutching what appears to be a scroll in his hand. Below his fingers, he can barely make out the seal of Heaven.
For some reason, Merlin curls his fingers unconsciously, biting back the urge to just take, to pin the Angel to the ground and rut into him, leaving marks along the smooth expanse of his neck-to just bite and claim the Angel as his own.
The Angel speaks, snapping him from his thoughts. “I have a message from Heaven.”
It's a beautiful voice, he thinks, authoritative and strong. He grins, tilting his head to the side. “Oh? But you're not the messenger.”
“No,” the Angel says, and he looks annoyed. “He was unable to come. I offered to take his place.”
Merlin's grin only widens, knowing that he's lying. “Really? How...unfortunate,” he murmurs, playing along. “I'll take that, then.”
The Angel holds it out for him to take, and Merlin grasps his wrist, using his free hand to take the scroll. He whispers a few words under his breath, and lets the scroll disappear into a wisp of smoke.
“It's on it's way,” Merlin says, still holding onto the Angel's wrist. “It's very kind of you to take your messenger's place...especially when it's so...dark here.”
The Angel grimaces, and his eyes dart down to the grip on his wrist. But he nods, slowly, and begins to pull away. “Yes. But if you'll excuse me, I need to get back...”
“Why don't I take you?” Merlin smirks, running his thumb over the warm skin. “It's dangerous down here. Something...unfortunate could happen to you. We're not very trusting people, us Demons. I don't even know your name.”
“It's Arthur,” the Angel bites out, but instead of agreeing, he swivels back on his heel, yanks his wrist free, and with his fingers a fist, he swings at him. “And don't touch me!”
He easily steps out of the way, but not before his own hand shoots out, grasping Arthur by the neck and using the shift in weight to pin him to the ground.
Arthur chokes, and Merlin grins, straddling his hips. “Oh, little angel, you can't best a demon in his own realm.”
The Angel claws at his hand, trying to breathe, and Merlin loosens a little. “Get off of me--!” he spits, pulling fruitlessly at the grip.
The warmth under his skin soon pools into desire, and it fills him completely. The longer he stares at the Angel, how he presses against him, the more he thinks of how well they would fit together, how the contrast of darkness and light would mingle. The attraction is definitely there, he can feel it in his magic, and how it thrums in bones, singing and demanding all at once, claim him, claim him, claim him--
“Such kind features,” Merlin muses instead, running the back of his fingers along his cheek, offering a sly smile. “It's so sad that you look so lovely, but your eyes...so filled with hatred.”
“I said, get off of me!” Arthur fumes, his body bucking up against him in vain attempts to get him off.
Merlin has a feeling if he keeps doing it, he won't be able to stop himself.
Instead of giving in, he smiles, and complies with the demand. He pulls the Angel up with him, and then, just to spite him further, he takes his hand and kisses it gently, running his lips over his fingers.
“Have a safe trip out, Arthur,” he says, the name curling on his tongue. “I'm Merlin, by the way. Merlin Emrys, in case you wanted to see me again.”
The glare the Angel gives him is worth his words, until he notices the faint flush on Arthur's cheeks. Whether it's from embarrassment or lust, he can't tell, but the challenge has set itself, and it sends a thrill through him.
Arthur stalks away, and Merlin doesn't follow. He smirks, though, licking his lips.
He'll have that Angel if it's the last thing he does.