Late at night
Title: Late at night
Author: janescott
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1663
Warnings/spoilers: None that I can think of :-)
Summary: For this kinkme_merlin prompt: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/28101.html?thread=27073989#t27073989. Beta'd by i_bleed_magenta
Disclaimer: Fan-fiction for fun only. Nothing herein belongs to me :-)
Arthur makes his plans late at night. He murmurs them to the room, to the swallowing, echoing dark around him. As a child, when it all got too much and it felt like the whole castle was pressing down on him, he’d tell the guttering candle by his bed, how it was going to be when he was King of Camelot; what he was going to do that was different from his father and he didn’t care if Uther didn’t come to say goodnight -
It’s a habit that’s stayed with him, only now he’s not talking to the stone walls of his room, or a flickering candle.
Now, Arthur’s plans have substance and a purpose and he’s determined that they will come to fruition one day.
After …. after. He doesn’t articulate that thought, at all, even as his index finger starts stroking a small line over and over, following the curve of the small of Merlin’s back; rough-spun shirt sharp against his knuckles.
Merlin’s tucked comfortably against Arthur’s side, his thumb tracing invisible pictures over the curve of Arthur’s hip.
Merlin doesn’t say much as Arthur makes his late-night plans, but he doesn’t move, either. Just his thumb, stroking over the same patch of skin under Arthur’s shirt.
Occasionally he hums in quiet agreement, or presses a kiss against the pulse beating fast in Arthur’s neck.
Arthur’s plans are both large and small - plans for Camelot; plans for his - and Merlin’s -future; a change in training regiment for his knights; when he’s going to go hunting next …
Merlin tucks a leg between Arthur’s and presses closer to his side. He’s warm and kind of heavy like this; loose-limbed and beautiful.
Arthur bites back a smile when he feels something else pressing against his hip.
“Sorry,” Merlin says quietly and Arthur knows without looking that his eyes are closed and his mouth is turned down, like he should be able to batter this down until they can have everything.
Arthur took the vow when he was young enough to not entirely understand it, but he still takes it seriously. (Cursing himself on the longest nights of the year, near yelling his aching frustration at the stone walls of his room, but he never considers breaking it. If he breaks it - if he gives in before he and Merlin are properly promised to each other - then he’ll always have the lingering doubt that he’s not the man he could be, or the king he knows he’s going to be.)
“It’s all right, you don’t - don’t say sorry every time, Merlin. It’s. Fine.”
Merlin pushes back and away, and Arthur shivers at the loss of contact because for all he looks like a strong wind would knock him off the nearest battlement, Merlin always burns like a bonfire on a cold autumn day.
Arthur studies Merlin’s expression, and sighs. Merlin’s eyes are shuttered against him and downcast, his mouth is curving down and Arthur hates that he’s the one who puts that expression on his face.
“Merlin. Merlin look at me.”
Merlin doesn’t move, but he raises his eyes to Arthur’s face, dark blue in the dim candlelight.
For a long, weighted moment, neither of them say anything. “I won’t. Merlin, I won’t - I can’t break - “
“I know. No, I know that I’m not asking you to and if I had any kind of, of control -”
Arthur leans forward and kisses him then, the only way he can think of to circumvent Merlin’s incipient rant. Merlin’s tense for a few seconds, before he relaxes under Arthur’s hands, trapping Arthur between his legs and pushing silently at his shirt.
Arthur looks down and Merlin’s staring back, his eyes wide and open. “Give … give me what you can, Arthur, it’ll be enough I swear I just need -” Arthur kisses Merlin again, slow, deep kisses that have Merlin making whimpering, breathless sounds in the back of his throat.
Merlin pushes up against him, his fingernails scratching at Arthur’s back and he’s going to have marks there tomorrow - red lines that say I love you, you’re mine. Arthur draws back long enough to pull his shirt off, dropping it careless on the floor. He presses a palm against the front of his breeches, the laces straining against his cock. Merlin’s eyes are drawn to the movement and he involuntarily flicks his tongue over his bottom lip.
Arthur laughs suddenly joyful and breathless because somehow he knows that everything is going to be all right - that Camelot will give him what he wants because of who he is. Merlin grins back, bright and guileless and Arthur thinks, I can give him something. I can.
“Take your shirt off,” he says, his voice tight and husky. “And. Trousers. I’m not going to - I just. I want to look at you.”
Merlin moves so fast he nearly kicks Arthur off the bed, his long legs and arms flailing as he fights with his clothes until he’s … oh, god. Arthur’s mouth goes completely dry. Merlin’s … pale, he thinks first, dazed, as Merlin lies back on the bed, his skin glowing softly in the guttering candlelight. Arthur flicks his gaze at it and frowns. When the candle burns right down, Merlin will have to sneak back to his own room, and the necessary pretence will begin all over again. But for now … Arthur bends down and presses a dry kiss against Merlin’s neck, feeling his heart racing against his own; Merlin’s cock pressing against his trousers, his hips lifting over and over, unconsciously looking for friction.
“Can you keep still? Until the candle burns out?”
“I - don’t know. I’ll try.”
Arthur smiles against Merlin’s neck, before pressing another kiss to the hollow between Merlin’s sharp, tempting collarbones. He gives in to the temptation to taste them, running his tongue over the fragile-seeming skin covering the bone. Merlin’s hands are low on his back, his fingertips tucked into the top of the worn, favourite linen trousers Arthur wears to sleep in. Trying to do what Arthur asks of him, the only move Merlin makes is to dig his fingertips in to the small of his back; hard enough to leave more marks where no one will see them in the daylight.
Arthur maps Merlin’s body carefully; patiently. Like he’s really a cartographer making a map of a new, uncharted country. He traces his fingers over Merlin’s shoulders, following the lines of his bones; clear to Arthur under the thin wrap of Merlin’s skin. He notes when Merlin suppresses a shudder (when Arthur traces over the top of one ear with his tongue; when he sucks on a nipple until it’s a dark-pink peak; when he bites hard enough over Merlin’s hip to leave a mark of his own) and when he goes completely still: (when Arthur flattens his tongue against Merlin’s inner thigh; when he worries at the skin behind Merlin’s other ear with his teeth).
The candle is nearly out when he drops back long enough to unlace the front of his breeches, his eyes fixed on Merlin’s face. He’s flushed and breathing hard, his arms and legs an appealing sprawl that looks right to Arthur; like Merlin’s been made just for him, to be wherever Arthur is.
Silently, Arthur lines them both up, wrapping his fingers around and taking them both over the edge, his head buried in Merlin’s neck. He can’t tell who comes first; doesn’t really care because Merlin is warm under him, and lax, all the tension bleached out.
They lie together in the dark, the only sound on the night air their breathing which slows and steadies. They shift after a while, aware of time passing and morning encroaching. Merlin mutters a few words that Arthur knows he’ll never understand, and they’re both cleaned up; the sheets tidied.
It almost looks like no one’s been in here at all.
“I have to get back before Gaius wakes up and wonders where I am,” Merlin says softly, his mouth so close to Arthur’s that Arthur can feel his breath against his skin like a brand.
Merlin kisses him then; brief but hard, his hands tangling in Arthur’s hair, and it’s all Arthur can do to not pin him to the bed, keep him there and damn the consequences.
He takes a deep breath as Merlin shifts, moving off the bed. There’s a moon tonight; painting the floor of Arthur’s room silver and grey. Merlin’s caught in the moonlight for a moment as he shifts and turns, pulling his shirt back on, adjusting his trousers.
All Arthur can do is stare, his hands caught in his own shirt that he’s retrieved from the floor but not put back on yet.
“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin says then, his voice soft and his smile in the shadowy night for Arthur alone. Arthur can’t say anything, any words he might have caught in his throat but unnecessary anyway.
Merlin knows Arthur’s plans - knows Arthur as well as the castle itself does.
Arthur makes his plans late at night; whispering them into the swallowing, echoing dark. The difference now, is that he has someone to make those plans for.
He pulls the sheets and blankets back up over himself and smiles as he watches the moonlight track its own path over his room. His eyes start to close, his limbs heavy and his spirit - his soul - sated and safe; curled up with Merlin at the top of the tower.
The moon makes its way across the sky; in the castle at Camelot two boys with entwined destinies dream their dreams, and plans are made in the deepest watches of the night.
As far as it ever is in troubled times, the land is at peace.
Author: janescott
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1663
Warnings/spoilers: None that I can think of :-)
Summary: For this kinkme_merlin prompt: http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/28101.html?thread=27073989#t27073989. Beta'd by i_bleed_magenta
Disclaimer: Fan-fiction for fun only. Nothing herein belongs to me :-)
Arthur makes his plans late at night. He murmurs them to the room, to the swallowing, echoing dark around him. As a child, when it all got too much and it felt like the whole castle was pressing down on him, he’d tell the guttering candle by his bed, how it was going to be when he was King of Camelot; what he was going to do that was different from his father and he didn’t care if Uther didn’t come to say goodnight -
It’s a habit that’s stayed with him, only now he’s not talking to the stone walls of his room, or a flickering candle.
Now, Arthur’s plans have substance and a purpose and he’s determined that they will come to fruition one day.
After …. after. He doesn’t articulate that thought, at all, even as his index finger starts stroking a small line over and over, following the curve of the small of Merlin’s back; rough-spun shirt sharp against his knuckles.
Merlin’s tucked comfortably against Arthur’s side, his thumb tracing invisible pictures over the curve of Arthur’s hip.
Merlin doesn’t say much as Arthur makes his late-night plans, but he doesn’t move, either. Just his thumb, stroking over the same patch of skin under Arthur’s shirt.
Occasionally he hums in quiet agreement, or presses a kiss against the pulse beating fast in Arthur’s neck.
Arthur’s plans are both large and small - plans for Camelot; plans for his - and Merlin’s -future; a change in training regiment for his knights; when he’s going to go hunting next …
Merlin tucks a leg between Arthur’s and presses closer to his side. He’s warm and kind of heavy like this; loose-limbed and beautiful.
Arthur bites back a smile when he feels something else pressing against his hip.
“Sorry,” Merlin says quietly and Arthur knows without looking that his eyes are closed and his mouth is turned down, like he should be able to batter this down until they can have everything.
Arthur took the vow when he was young enough to not entirely understand it, but he still takes it seriously. (Cursing himself on the longest nights of the year, near yelling his aching frustration at the stone walls of his room, but he never considers breaking it. If he breaks it - if he gives in before he and Merlin are properly promised to each other - then he’ll always have the lingering doubt that he’s not the man he could be, or the king he knows he’s going to be.)
“It’s all right, you don’t - don’t say sorry every time, Merlin. It’s. Fine.”
Merlin pushes back and away, and Arthur shivers at the loss of contact because for all he looks like a strong wind would knock him off the nearest battlement, Merlin always burns like a bonfire on a cold autumn day.
Arthur studies Merlin’s expression, and sighs. Merlin’s eyes are shuttered against him and downcast, his mouth is curving down and Arthur hates that he’s the one who puts that expression on his face.
“Merlin. Merlin look at me.”
Merlin doesn’t move, but he raises his eyes to Arthur’s face, dark blue in the dim candlelight.
For a long, weighted moment, neither of them say anything. “I won’t. Merlin, I won’t - I can’t break - “
“I know. No, I know that I’m not asking you to and if I had any kind of, of control -”
Arthur leans forward and kisses him then, the only way he can think of to circumvent Merlin’s incipient rant. Merlin’s tense for a few seconds, before he relaxes under Arthur’s hands, trapping Arthur between his legs and pushing silently at his shirt.
Arthur looks down and Merlin’s staring back, his eyes wide and open. “Give … give me what you can, Arthur, it’ll be enough I swear I just need -” Arthur kisses Merlin again, slow, deep kisses that have Merlin making whimpering, breathless sounds in the back of his throat.
Merlin pushes up against him, his fingernails scratching at Arthur’s back and he’s going to have marks there tomorrow - red lines that say I love you, you’re mine. Arthur draws back long enough to pull his shirt off, dropping it careless on the floor. He presses a palm against the front of his breeches, the laces straining against his cock. Merlin’s eyes are drawn to the movement and he involuntarily flicks his tongue over his bottom lip.
Arthur laughs suddenly joyful and breathless because somehow he knows that everything is going to be all right - that Camelot will give him what he wants because of who he is. Merlin grins back, bright and guileless and Arthur thinks, I can give him something. I can.
“Take your shirt off,” he says, his voice tight and husky. “And. Trousers. I’m not going to - I just. I want to look at you.”
Merlin moves so fast he nearly kicks Arthur off the bed, his long legs and arms flailing as he fights with his clothes until he’s … oh, god. Arthur’s mouth goes completely dry. Merlin’s … pale, he thinks first, dazed, as Merlin lies back on the bed, his skin glowing softly in the guttering candlelight. Arthur flicks his gaze at it and frowns. When the candle burns right down, Merlin will have to sneak back to his own room, and the necessary pretence will begin all over again. But for now … Arthur bends down and presses a dry kiss against Merlin’s neck, feeling his heart racing against his own; Merlin’s cock pressing against his trousers, his hips lifting over and over, unconsciously looking for friction.
“Can you keep still? Until the candle burns out?”
“I - don’t know. I’ll try.”
Arthur smiles against Merlin’s neck, before pressing another kiss to the hollow between Merlin’s sharp, tempting collarbones. He gives in to the temptation to taste them, running his tongue over the fragile-seeming skin covering the bone. Merlin’s hands are low on his back, his fingertips tucked into the top of the worn, favourite linen trousers Arthur wears to sleep in. Trying to do what Arthur asks of him, the only move Merlin makes is to dig his fingertips in to the small of his back; hard enough to leave more marks where no one will see them in the daylight.
Arthur maps Merlin’s body carefully; patiently. Like he’s really a cartographer making a map of a new, uncharted country. He traces his fingers over Merlin’s shoulders, following the lines of his bones; clear to Arthur under the thin wrap of Merlin’s skin. He notes when Merlin suppresses a shudder (when Arthur traces over the top of one ear with his tongue; when he sucks on a nipple until it’s a dark-pink peak; when he bites hard enough over Merlin’s hip to leave a mark of his own) and when he goes completely still: (when Arthur flattens his tongue against Merlin’s inner thigh; when he worries at the skin behind Merlin’s other ear with his teeth).
The candle is nearly out when he drops back long enough to unlace the front of his breeches, his eyes fixed on Merlin’s face. He’s flushed and breathing hard, his arms and legs an appealing sprawl that looks right to Arthur; like Merlin’s been made just for him, to be wherever Arthur is.
Silently, Arthur lines them both up, wrapping his fingers around and taking them both over the edge, his head buried in Merlin’s neck. He can’t tell who comes first; doesn’t really care because Merlin is warm under him, and lax, all the tension bleached out.
They lie together in the dark, the only sound on the night air their breathing which slows and steadies. They shift after a while, aware of time passing and morning encroaching. Merlin mutters a few words that Arthur knows he’ll never understand, and they’re both cleaned up; the sheets tidied.
It almost looks like no one’s been in here at all.
“I have to get back before Gaius wakes up and wonders where I am,” Merlin says softly, his mouth so close to Arthur’s that Arthur can feel his breath against his skin like a brand.
Merlin kisses him then; brief but hard, his hands tangling in Arthur’s hair, and it’s all Arthur can do to not pin him to the bed, keep him there and damn the consequences.
He takes a deep breath as Merlin shifts, moving off the bed. There’s a moon tonight; painting the floor of Arthur’s room silver and grey. Merlin’s caught in the moonlight for a moment as he shifts and turns, pulling his shirt back on, adjusting his trousers.
All Arthur can do is stare, his hands caught in his own shirt that he’s retrieved from the floor but not put back on yet.
“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin says then, his voice soft and his smile in the shadowy night for Arthur alone. Arthur can’t say anything, any words he might have caught in his throat but unnecessary anyway.
Merlin knows Arthur’s plans - knows Arthur as well as the castle itself does.
Arthur makes his plans late at night; whispering them into the swallowing, echoing dark. The difference now, is that he has someone to make those plans for.
He pulls the sheets and blankets back up over himself and smiles as he watches the moonlight track its own path over his room. His eyes start to close, his limbs heavy and his spirit - his soul - sated and safe; curled up with Merlin at the top of the tower.
The moon makes its way across the sky; in the castle at Camelot two boys with entwined destinies dream their dreams, and plans are made in the deepest watches of the night.
As far as it ever is in troubled times, the land is at peace.