Waited a Lifetime - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: Waited a Lifetime
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 2492
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for kinkme_merlin. Prompt: "Arthur loves how slim Merlin is compared to him or Merlin loves how easily Arthur can overpower and manhandle him". Very much a PWP.
Summary: After knowing each other for years Arthur and Merlin have fallen into a comfortable routine - until one night it all finally changes.
His hand fits around Merlin's wrist easily. He can feel the bones shifting under Merlin's skin as Merlin laughs and tries to pull away - but Arthur isn't laughing. He holds tighter.
"Could you break away?" he asks Merlin, staring into his eyes. They are blue now, not a rich gold, and until they change colour Arthur knows he has the upper hand. "Without magic - could you get away from me?"
Merlin's face twitches uncertainly, caught between a smile and a frown. "It's a good thing we'll never have to find out," he says. "Let go of me."
"I used to think I could crush you," Arthur muses, looking over his friend's slim body. He eats healthily enough - Arthur sees to that, these days - but he'll never gain the bodily bulk of a knight. "You're so small."
"I'm taller than you," Merlin protests.
Arthur crowds in close and, while it's true that Merlin has an inch or two on him, Arthur is larger. He keeps his grip on Merlin's wrist and smiles. "And you're still smaller. You're built like an oversized bean pole."
"I am not." Merlin frowns, eyebrows tightening, and Arthur's sure that the people of Camelot would be amused to see their king and court magician bickering like this.
"Yes, you are," Arthur says, "and I'm the king so I'm right."
"Doesn't work like that."
"It should. It does with everyone else." Everyone else respects the authority of the king without question - but not Merlin. Never Merlin. Arthur would never admit as much aloud, but he knows that he needs that thorn of criticism. He needs Merlin to be there to tell him when to shut up.
That does not, however, mean that he enjoys having to hear it.
"I could pick you up," he says as if he only just thought of it, "easily."
Merlin's eyes flicker with interest and his smile becomes teasing. "No, you couldn't," he says - a challenge.
And Merlin has known Arthur for long enough to be able to confirm that he has never in his entire life back down from a challenge like that, especially not one issued by Merlin himself. He releases Merlin's wrist, albeit reluctantly, and steps forward even further into his space. There's a stretching, winding pause in which he gives Merlin the chance to back out if he wants to, but Merlin does nothing more than smirk at him.
He's glad for that, so glad, because when Merlin doesn't back out it means that he doesn't have to either: he leans down to make sure to get a good grip, and when he picks Merlin up Merlin lets him, laughing as he's lifted.
He's not quite as light as he looks, but he isn't heavy either, and holding him is made easier when Merlin's legs hook around his waist. His hands move to link beneath Merlin, holding him up, and when he meets Merlin's eyes he's able to smirk smugly and tell himself that he isn't thinking of how close Merlin's mouth is to his own.
"Told you I could do it," he crows, though now they are standing in his bedroom, uncomfortably close, and while holding Merlin like this certain parts of his anatomy can't help but respond. There's something about this that makes him react: something about knowing how easily he could physically overpower Merlin makes him shiver.
"So what are you planning on doing now, your highness?" Merlin asks, speaking so low that he's a breath away from whispering to him - and only Merlin can do that, can address him with the right words in the wrong way. On Merlin's tongue, your highness or your majesty can sound like an endearment or an insult. With him, it's usually a little of both.
"I am not going to put you down, if that's what you're after," Arthur says, though this would probably end better for them both if he placed Merlin back on the ground and told the court magician that he can leave for the night.
He doesn't. He holds on, even if his arms are possibly starting to hurt just a little: Merlin's smile, soft by the firelight, stops him from doing anything to end it.
"No, that's not what I'm after," Merlin says, and by now his mouth is so close that Arthur can feel the brush of his breath and his lips with each word. He swallows and does his best to look regal and kingly: the connection between them has gone unspoken and unadvanced for all the twisted and painful years they've known one another. It isn't going to change now. Both of them are far too set in their ways and their friendship for that. "I was thinking of something very different indeed."
He finishes his sentence with the soft press of his mouth against Arthur's, and Arthur decides that he's going to have to change his opinion of Merlin yet again: he's clearly a lot braver than Arthur could ever (ever, ever, ever) verbally give him credit for.
Merlin's mouth is warm and yielding when Arthur coaxes his lips open and he can't stop the rather un-king-like moan that rumbles throughout his chest. Merlin's hands push through his hair and he wriggles where Arthur holds him, pressing closer until it feels as if he's trying to sink straight into Arthur's body through his skin. Arthur wishes he could touch him but he can't move his hands from where he's holding Merlin's weight; they're pressed against his ass, something Arthur can appreciate now rather than ignore.
When Merlin's lips part from his - too soon, all too soon - they both find themselves smiling. "I've been waiting to do that for a very long time," Merlin confesses, his arms still looped around Arthur's shoulders.
"So what took you so long?"
Merlin's finger pings his ear, a sharp but momentary pain. "You didn't kiss me either, you prat," he complains affectionately, "and you're the king: surely it's supposed to be your royal duty to start-"
Arthur shuts him up with the crush of his mouth, a method that he thinks he'll be using a lot more often. It's very effective.
Merlin's palm rests flat against the nape of his neck and Arthur wonders if his skin is always hot like this, if it's something to do with his magic. Merlin burns brightly even on his dullest days.
Arthur's hold on Merlin shifts, muscles straining, and Merlin's mouth breaks away from his own to say, "The bed's right over there," while gesturing towards it.
"I know that," Arthur says, but it isn't until Merlin's pointed it out that he takes a step towards it: with that suggestion, Merlin has given unspoken permission.
He finds that he can't possibly move fast enough as he carries Merlin towards the bed, throwing him down upon once they reach it. Merlin's weight makes him bounce a little as he lands, and Merlin's unimpressed expression makes Arthur wish that he'd thrown him a little harder. He follows Merlin down onto the bed, resting between his thighs while his hands grab Merlin's wrists to pin them down. Merlin's ineffectual struggles are enough to make him laugh: there's no strength there behind it, or at the very least not enough to fight against a man trained to kill from childhood. He wouldn't lord it over Merlin if he didn't know that the warlock could probably blast him straight through the wall behind him if he had reason to.
He coats Merlin with his body and allows himself to think that this is what their destiny was all along: to join together, just the two of them. They could block out everything else. Merlin's legs wrap around his waist again, holding him close and pincer-tight, and as thrilling as it is it makes it hard to shed their clothes.
Doesn't matter.
Arthur should have known it wouldn't matter. No sooner has his hand began to struggle between them than Merlin's eyes flash gold and the material that separates them fades away. Bare skin brushes bare skin all too suddenly: not expecting the rush of contact, Arthur sucks in his breath through his teeth. He swears under his breath but it vanishes when Merlin's mouth touches his lips and he feels the scrape of teeth on his bottom lip.
Merlin's hands travel over his sides, but with rash impulsiveness Arthur grabs for them instead. He drags them over Merlin's head once more and with one large hand he finds himself able to pin Merlin's wrists to the bed above him - and Merlin lets him. He looks down at his pale face and dark hair, at the teasing smile that never seems far from Merlin's lips, and it's hard to think of anything at all: it's hard to even work out what he wants to happen next, because he wants everything, absolutely everything that Merlin could give him.
But with the heat of Merlin beneath him and the hardness of their cocks so close together, the words spill easily from his lips: "God, I want to fuck you."
The grin on Merlin's face is absolutely dirty and when he raises his hips his dick rubs along Arthur's stomach. "Then what are you waiting for?" he asks.
Arthur has to let go of Merlin's wrists and Merlin's legs around him have to relax so that he can pull back, inching back because he knows that despite Merlin's challenge to start immediately Merlin needs to be readied first. His lips brush clumsily against Merlin's shoulder. "I need…" he mutters, but he trails off when he realises he doesn't know. Can't think that clearly.
"It's okay," Merlin murmurs. "It's okay - I've got it. I've done it."
And his eyes glitter with gold, as they do so often these days. It's difficult to remember - now - when his gifts were a secret, when magic was something to be feared. Now all the power of the Old Religion is in Arthur's hands, because he has Merlin. He has him.
His hand reaches beneath Merlin and his fingers explore uncharted territory. Arthur is peerless on the battlefield, but here it takes him a few moments to gather the bravery that he needs to allow his fingers to dip beneath Merlin's cheeks. He finds the ring of his asshole already slick with something better than oil and he laughs. "Is there anything you can't do?"
"Very few things," Merlin says with an air of well-earned confidence. "I'll have you know I'm something of a genius." Arthur snorts disbelievingly. He'd always been told that he was the one with an ego. Merlin seems determined to prove otherwise. As Arthur's fingers skim over his hole, he lets out a sound that would make anyone forgive any arrogance from him: it's a quiet moan that goes straight to Arthur's cock, already hard. "Please, Arthur. Please, I'm ready."
Arthur's hand is absolutely not trembling when he reaches for his dick to guide himself to Merlin's entrance. Merlin's legs arrange themselves around him, spread wide and wanting with one hooked over his shoulder. Arthur's cock is just as hard as Merlin's but larger by far: it's something that would make him smirk proudly at any other time but now all he can think about is how he's going to fill Merlin with himself and how Merlin's tight body will stretch to accommodate him. He could rip him apart or crush him with his weight.
He aligns himself and presses inside, just the head at first. Merlin's breath hitches and Arthur looks down upon him, at the red colour staining his cheeks. It's a new kind of rush to know that he's responsible for that: it's like winning on the battlefield, but better. Merlin is so hot around the top of his cock that he has to restrain himself from pushing home immediately, but that restraint fades fast as words dribble from Merlin's mouth, strained pleas for Arthur to hurry, please hurry, don't wait don't stop don't.
His hips jut forward and he jerks inside, sliding deeper with each short movement until he's as deep as he can go, fully buried in the tight clasp of Merlin's body. Everything about Merlin feels like burning: Arthur feels like he's drowning in fire (and, yes, he knows that is utterly ridiculous) and it's Merlin's fault.
He thrusts so hard that he manages to shake the huge bed they're resting upon. Merlin's head is thrown back, his lovely pale neck exposed, and Arthur is dimly aware of saying something to him. Words are spilling, unstoppable, from his mouth but few of them make sense. All that seems logical now is the grip of his hands upon Merlin's hips and the way he's able to make Merlin cry out for more, for him.
Merlin's hand snakes between them to grasp his own cock and Arthur watches as he wanks himself as Arthur fucks him. And it's good - it's amazing - and he can feel himself tightening, feel himself getting closer as his breath comes in short puffs, but he needs more than this. Face to face he can't go as hard or as deep as he wants to.
He pulls out, and Merlin gives a mewling whine and asks, "What the hell are you doing?" but before Arthur bothers to reply he uses his grip on Merlin's hips to turn him over onto his front. He pulls him up onto his knees and Merlin complies with a groaning complaint, his head staying lowered.
Arthur slams back inside and that's right, that's just how he needs it to be. Merlin pushes back against him, taking more as his hand moves frantically on his own cock. Bent over like this, Arthur can see the bumps along Merlin's spine. His hips move in short, staccato bursts and he leans down, coating himself along Merlin's back until his lips can brush against the nape of Merlin's neck. He whispers sweet words against his skin in the hope that they will rest there forever like a tattoo; when he hears Merlin gasping his name in reply, breathless and broken, he loses control completely and spills himself inside Merlin's body, holding him still with a tight grasp upon his hips.
They both remain in utter stillness for a few quiet moments, breathing deep, before Arthur kneels back and pulls Merlin with him. He is softening inside Merlin, but Merlin's cock remains hard and desperate. He reaches around Merlin's body and watches over his shoulder as he grasps him, pulling slow at first and then fast. Merlin's breath comes in shallow pants and Arthur can feel it around his overused dick when Merlin clenches around him: they both moan loudly when Merlin spills.
Arthur rests his forehead against Merlin's back as he struggles to catch his breath, his arms curling around Merlin's waist to hold him in his lap as they sit peacefully through an afterglow that's been years in the making.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 2492
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for kinkme_merlin. Prompt: "Arthur loves how slim Merlin is compared to him or Merlin loves how easily Arthur can overpower and manhandle him". Very much a PWP.
Summary: After knowing each other for years Arthur and Merlin have fallen into a comfortable routine - until one night it all finally changes.
His hand fits around Merlin's wrist easily. He can feel the bones shifting under Merlin's skin as Merlin laughs and tries to pull away - but Arthur isn't laughing. He holds tighter.
"Could you break away?" he asks Merlin, staring into his eyes. They are blue now, not a rich gold, and until they change colour Arthur knows he has the upper hand. "Without magic - could you get away from me?"
Merlin's face twitches uncertainly, caught between a smile and a frown. "It's a good thing we'll never have to find out," he says. "Let go of me."
"I used to think I could crush you," Arthur muses, looking over his friend's slim body. He eats healthily enough - Arthur sees to that, these days - but he'll never gain the bodily bulk of a knight. "You're so small."
"I'm taller than you," Merlin protests.
Arthur crowds in close and, while it's true that Merlin has an inch or two on him, Arthur is larger. He keeps his grip on Merlin's wrist and smiles. "And you're still smaller. You're built like an oversized bean pole."
"I am not." Merlin frowns, eyebrows tightening, and Arthur's sure that the people of Camelot would be amused to see their king and court magician bickering like this.
"Yes, you are," Arthur says, "and I'm the king so I'm right."
"Doesn't work like that."
"It should. It does with everyone else." Everyone else respects the authority of the king without question - but not Merlin. Never Merlin. Arthur would never admit as much aloud, but he knows that he needs that thorn of criticism. He needs Merlin to be there to tell him when to shut up.
That does not, however, mean that he enjoys having to hear it.
"I could pick you up," he says as if he only just thought of it, "easily."
Merlin's eyes flicker with interest and his smile becomes teasing. "No, you couldn't," he says - a challenge.
And Merlin has known Arthur for long enough to be able to confirm that he has never in his entire life back down from a challenge like that, especially not one issued by Merlin himself. He releases Merlin's wrist, albeit reluctantly, and steps forward even further into his space. There's a stretching, winding pause in which he gives Merlin the chance to back out if he wants to, but Merlin does nothing more than smirk at him.
He's glad for that, so glad, because when Merlin doesn't back out it means that he doesn't have to either: he leans down to make sure to get a good grip, and when he picks Merlin up Merlin lets him, laughing as he's lifted.
He's not quite as light as he looks, but he isn't heavy either, and holding him is made easier when Merlin's legs hook around his waist. His hands move to link beneath Merlin, holding him up, and when he meets Merlin's eyes he's able to smirk smugly and tell himself that he isn't thinking of how close Merlin's mouth is to his own.
"Told you I could do it," he crows, though now they are standing in his bedroom, uncomfortably close, and while holding Merlin like this certain parts of his anatomy can't help but respond. There's something about this that makes him react: something about knowing how easily he could physically overpower Merlin makes him shiver.
"So what are you planning on doing now, your highness?" Merlin asks, speaking so low that he's a breath away from whispering to him - and only Merlin can do that, can address him with the right words in the wrong way. On Merlin's tongue, your highness or your majesty can sound like an endearment or an insult. With him, it's usually a little of both.
"I am not going to put you down, if that's what you're after," Arthur says, though this would probably end better for them both if he placed Merlin back on the ground and told the court magician that he can leave for the night.
He doesn't. He holds on, even if his arms are possibly starting to hurt just a little: Merlin's smile, soft by the firelight, stops him from doing anything to end it.
"No, that's not what I'm after," Merlin says, and by now his mouth is so close that Arthur can feel the brush of his breath and his lips with each word. He swallows and does his best to look regal and kingly: the connection between them has gone unspoken and unadvanced for all the twisted and painful years they've known one another. It isn't going to change now. Both of them are far too set in their ways and their friendship for that. "I was thinking of something very different indeed."
He finishes his sentence with the soft press of his mouth against Arthur's, and Arthur decides that he's going to have to change his opinion of Merlin yet again: he's clearly a lot braver than Arthur could ever (ever, ever, ever) verbally give him credit for.
Merlin's mouth is warm and yielding when Arthur coaxes his lips open and he can't stop the rather un-king-like moan that rumbles throughout his chest. Merlin's hands push through his hair and he wriggles where Arthur holds him, pressing closer until it feels as if he's trying to sink straight into Arthur's body through his skin. Arthur wishes he could touch him but he can't move his hands from where he's holding Merlin's weight; they're pressed against his ass, something Arthur can appreciate now rather than ignore.
When Merlin's lips part from his - too soon, all too soon - they both find themselves smiling. "I've been waiting to do that for a very long time," Merlin confesses, his arms still looped around Arthur's shoulders.
"So what took you so long?"
Merlin's finger pings his ear, a sharp but momentary pain. "You didn't kiss me either, you prat," he complains affectionately, "and you're the king: surely it's supposed to be your royal duty to start-"
Arthur shuts him up with the crush of his mouth, a method that he thinks he'll be using a lot more often. It's very effective.
Merlin's palm rests flat against the nape of his neck and Arthur wonders if his skin is always hot like this, if it's something to do with his magic. Merlin burns brightly even on his dullest days.
Arthur's hold on Merlin shifts, muscles straining, and Merlin's mouth breaks away from his own to say, "The bed's right over there," while gesturing towards it.
"I know that," Arthur says, but it isn't until Merlin's pointed it out that he takes a step towards it: with that suggestion, Merlin has given unspoken permission.
He finds that he can't possibly move fast enough as he carries Merlin towards the bed, throwing him down upon once they reach it. Merlin's weight makes him bounce a little as he lands, and Merlin's unimpressed expression makes Arthur wish that he'd thrown him a little harder. He follows Merlin down onto the bed, resting between his thighs while his hands grab Merlin's wrists to pin them down. Merlin's ineffectual struggles are enough to make him laugh: there's no strength there behind it, or at the very least not enough to fight against a man trained to kill from childhood. He wouldn't lord it over Merlin if he didn't know that the warlock could probably blast him straight through the wall behind him if he had reason to.
He coats Merlin with his body and allows himself to think that this is what their destiny was all along: to join together, just the two of them. They could block out everything else. Merlin's legs wrap around his waist again, holding him close and pincer-tight, and as thrilling as it is it makes it hard to shed their clothes.
Doesn't matter.
Arthur should have known it wouldn't matter. No sooner has his hand began to struggle between them than Merlin's eyes flash gold and the material that separates them fades away. Bare skin brushes bare skin all too suddenly: not expecting the rush of contact, Arthur sucks in his breath through his teeth. He swears under his breath but it vanishes when Merlin's mouth touches his lips and he feels the scrape of teeth on his bottom lip.
Merlin's hands travel over his sides, but with rash impulsiveness Arthur grabs for them instead. He drags them over Merlin's head once more and with one large hand he finds himself able to pin Merlin's wrists to the bed above him - and Merlin lets him. He looks down at his pale face and dark hair, at the teasing smile that never seems far from Merlin's lips, and it's hard to think of anything at all: it's hard to even work out what he wants to happen next, because he wants everything, absolutely everything that Merlin could give him.
But with the heat of Merlin beneath him and the hardness of their cocks so close together, the words spill easily from his lips: "God, I want to fuck you."
The grin on Merlin's face is absolutely dirty and when he raises his hips his dick rubs along Arthur's stomach. "Then what are you waiting for?" he asks.
Arthur has to let go of Merlin's wrists and Merlin's legs around him have to relax so that he can pull back, inching back because he knows that despite Merlin's challenge to start immediately Merlin needs to be readied first. His lips brush clumsily against Merlin's shoulder. "I need…" he mutters, but he trails off when he realises he doesn't know. Can't think that clearly.
"It's okay," Merlin murmurs. "It's okay - I've got it. I've done it."
And his eyes glitter with gold, as they do so often these days. It's difficult to remember - now - when his gifts were a secret, when magic was something to be feared. Now all the power of the Old Religion is in Arthur's hands, because he has Merlin. He has him.
His hand reaches beneath Merlin and his fingers explore uncharted territory. Arthur is peerless on the battlefield, but here it takes him a few moments to gather the bravery that he needs to allow his fingers to dip beneath Merlin's cheeks. He finds the ring of his asshole already slick with something better than oil and he laughs. "Is there anything you can't do?"
"Very few things," Merlin says with an air of well-earned confidence. "I'll have you know I'm something of a genius." Arthur snorts disbelievingly. He'd always been told that he was the one with an ego. Merlin seems determined to prove otherwise. As Arthur's fingers skim over his hole, he lets out a sound that would make anyone forgive any arrogance from him: it's a quiet moan that goes straight to Arthur's cock, already hard. "Please, Arthur. Please, I'm ready."
Arthur's hand is absolutely not trembling when he reaches for his dick to guide himself to Merlin's entrance. Merlin's legs arrange themselves around him, spread wide and wanting with one hooked over his shoulder. Arthur's cock is just as hard as Merlin's but larger by far: it's something that would make him smirk proudly at any other time but now all he can think about is how he's going to fill Merlin with himself and how Merlin's tight body will stretch to accommodate him. He could rip him apart or crush him with his weight.
He aligns himself and presses inside, just the head at first. Merlin's breath hitches and Arthur looks down upon him, at the red colour staining his cheeks. It's a new kind of rush to know that he's responsible for that: it's like winning on the battlefield, but better. Merlin is so hot around the top of his cock that he has to restrain himself from pushing home immediately, but that restraint fades fast as words dribble from Merlin's mouth, strained pleas for Arthur to hurry, please hurry, don't wait don't stop don't.
His hips jut forward and he jerks inside, sliding deeper with each short movement until he's as deep as he can go, fully buried in the tight clasp of Merlin's body. Everything about Merlin feels like burning: Arthur feels like he's drowning in fire (and, yes, he knows that is utterly ridiculous) and it's Merlin's fault.
He thrusts so hard that he manages to shake the huge bed they're resting upon. Merlin's head is thrown back, his lovely pale neck exposed, and Arthur is dimly aware of saying something to him. Words are spilling, unstoppable, from his mouth but few of them make sense. All that seems logical now is the grip of his hands upon Merlin's hips and the way he's able to make Merlin cry out for more, for him.
Merlin's hand snakes between them to grasp his own cock and Arthur watches as he wanks himself as Arthur fucks him. And it's good - it's amazing - and he can feel himself tightening, feel himself getting closer as his breath comes in short puffs, but he needs more than this. Face to face he can't go as hard or as deep as he wants to.
He pulls out, and Merlin gives a mewling whine and asks, "What the hell are you doing?" but before Arthur bothers to reply he uses his grip on Merlin's hips to turn him over onto his front. He pulls him up onto his knees and Merlin complies with a groaning complaint, his head staying lowered.
Arthur slams back inside and that's right, that's just how he needs it to be. Merlin pushes back against him, taking more as his hand moves frantically on his own cock. Bent over like this, Arthur can see the bumps along Merlin's spine. His hips move in short, staccato bursts and he leans down, coating himself along Merlin's back until his lips can brush against the nape of Merlin's neck. He whispers sweet words against his skin in the hope that they will rest there forever like a tattoo; when he hears Merlin gasping his name in reply, breathless and broken, he loses control completely and spills himself inside Merlin's body, holding him still with a tight grasp upon his hips.
They both remain in utter stillness for a few quiet moments, breathing deep, before Arthur kneels back and pulls Merlin with him. He is softening inside Merlin, but Merlin's cock remains hard and desperate. He reaches around Merlin's body and watches over his shoulder as he grasps him, pulling slow at first and then fast. Merlin's breath comes in shallow pants and Arthur can feel it around his overused dick when Merlin clenches around him: they both moan loudly when Merlin spills.
Arthur rests his forehead against Merlin's back as he struggles to catch his breath, his arms curling around Merlin's waist to hold him in his lap as they sit peacefully through an afterglow that's been years in the making.