FIC: "In the Skin On My Face," Merlin/Arthur, R
I can feel it in the rotten air tonight
In the tips of my fingers
In the skin on my face
In the weak last gasp of the evening's dying light
In the way those eyes I've always loved illuminate this place
Like a trashcan fire in a prison cell
Like the searchlights in the parking lots of hell
I will walk down to the end with you
If you will come all the way down with me
- "Old College Try," The Mountain Goats
It took Arthur a week to find him.
The cuts from the fight had scabbed over, and Arthur’s ankle had long ceased throbbing by the time he tracked him down, exhausted from long, sleepless nights of staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing but golden irises every time he closed his eyes, hearing that name echo in the empty room, like a snippet of a once-loved song or the beginning of a story: Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.
It should have been impossible to find him. For anyone else, it would’ve been. Fortunately, Arthur Pendragon was not anyone else, and when he wanted someone found, it was just a matter of time and money. And so, three sharp phone calls and a sternly worded email later, Arthur stood outside one of London’s more depressing buildings, clutching a slip of paper that read, simply, Merlin Emrys, followed by the address Arthur had punched into his complicated GPS system half an hour earlier. It was hot and muggy, and it felt like rain, but Arthur still had on the suit he’d been wearing at the office when his pretty, efficient secretary had handed him said slip of paper, and he’d left in the middle of a conference call.
Arthur took a slow breath, steeling himself, for what, he didn’t know. Before he could finish knocking, the door swung open, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.
“Uhh, right,” the man-Merlin, Merlin, Merlin-said. He was clutching an unwieldy backpack and looked more alarmed than surprised to find a disgruntled looking businessman on his doorstep, still bearing the marks of their last encounter.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Arthur said, because all the questions that had been leaving scorch marks on the inside of his skull seemed to have dissipated at the sight of Merlin’s face. Something dark and furious twisted in his chest.
“Well, seems you’ve found me,” Merlin said, frozen, hand shaking, presumably with the effort of holding up the bag.
“Were you going somewhere?” Arthur asked.
Merlin nodded, and Arthur realised he didn’t particularly care. It took two steps to force Merlin back inside the flat, two seconds to kick the door shut behind them, and one shove to have Merlin’s back against the wall.
He’d wanted answers, an explanation as to why Merlin was lurking in that alley, just waiting for some innocent citizen to be mugged, why he’d thrown himself into the fray when he so obviously could have walked away, why his eyes had shone and the fight had ended without anyone’s brains splattered on the pavement, and why, most importantly, Arthur had felt like a man possessed every second since.
Now, he just wanted, blind and aching, and Merlin was looking at him like he might cry, which made no fucking sense, and Arthur hated him for it, for starting all this, for throwing his life into disarray and, somehow, for not doing it sooner.
Merlin started to say something, so Arthur stopped him, covering his mouth with more of a bite than a kiss, bursting with frustration and desperation and frightening certainty. It didn’t surprise Arthur when Merlin kissed back, fought back with his teeth at the corner of Arthur’s lips and his fingers twisting into the expensive fabric of Arthur’s jacket. Maybe it should have.
It didn’t matter that this wasn’t something Arthur did, because it was brilliant.
“Ah, alright,” Merlin murmured, completely gone, breath hot against Arthur’s skin as he sucked a slow, dirty kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Arthur,” he whispered.
“I never told you my name,” Arthur said, shrugging off his jacket when Merlin pushed it from his shoulders. He’d known Merlin’s name the moment he saw him.
“I know you,” Merlin replied, pushing Arthur the six, seven, eight steps it took to get from the door to Merlin’s unmade bed. “I knew you,” Merlin whispered, tugging Arthur’s shirt-designer, worth more than a human life-over his head and throwing it on the floor.
Arthur scrambled to assist as Merlin yanked his own t-shirt off, tossing it onto the growing pile. He straddled Arthur’s thighs, grinding down against him. Arthur threaded his fingers through Merlin’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss, and then another and another, because he wanted to, because it felt good and woefully insufficient at the same time. He realised after a moment that he was holding Merlin there with arms wrapped tight around his ribcage, but when let his hands fall to Merlin’s hips, Merlin just pressed closer.
“Arthur,” he murmured over and over, pressing slick, messy kisses to Arthur’s open mouth.
Arthur could feel the hard press of his erection rubbing against his own through too many layers of fabric, and started working at Merlin’s belt with shaky, overeager fingers.
“Here, here, here,” Merlin said absently, and the rough, wrecked sound of his voice made Arthur’s cock throb. He pulled away, barely an inch, and suddenly Merlin’s eyes were like fire, terrifying and bright in the dim flat. Arthur felt a tremor of want run through him, or perhaps it was the cold air rushing against his suddenly naked body.
“Later,” Arthur said, biting at the jut of Merlin’s shoulder, the lobe of his ear, “we’re going to talk about that.”
And Merlin laughed at him, eyes crinkling with happiness, making Arthur’s heart trip over itself with unexplained desperation.
“But first I’m going to make you come,” he amended, “I’m going to-to. Ok?”
The slow but intentional roll of Merlin’s hips was all the consent he needed. They were both too frantic to do anything but rut like teenagers, overeager and infinitely curious about one another’s bodies. Merlin somehow knew that Arthur liked fingers in his hair and teeth on his neck, and before he could do much about it, Arthur felt his balls drawing up tight at the base of his cock, aching for release. Merlin just thrust against him relentlessly, eyes squeezed shut like it was all too much.
Afterward, they lay curled together on Merlin’s twin bed listening to the whir of the rickety ceiling fan and the murmur of traffic.
“Those men had guns,” Arthur said, shivering as the sweat dried on his bare skin.
Merlin shrugged and the blanket at the foot of the bed slid over them on its own.
“I don’t need a gun.”
“You were following me,” Arthur said.
Merlin turned his head to look at him, eyes wide and unguarded, so much so that Arthur felt compelled to pull the blanket up over their shoulders and tug him close with an arm around Merlin’s narrow waist.
“I always follow you,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Arthur pressed his face to Merlin’s dark tangle of hair and thought, perhaps, it was.
In the tips of my fingers
In the skin on my face
In the weak last gasp of the evening's dying light
In the way those eyes I've always loved illuminate this place
Like a trashcan fire in a prison cell
Like the searchlights in the parking lots of hell
I will walk down to the end with you
If you will come all the way down with me
- "Old College Try," The Mountain Goats
It took Arthur a week to find him.
The cuts from the fight had scabbed over, and Arthur’s ankle had long ceased throbbing by the time he tracked him down, exhausted from long, sleepless nights of staring at the ceiling, seeing nothing but golden irises every time he closed his eyes, hearing that name echo in the empty room, like a snippet of a once-loved song or the beginning of a story: Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.
It should have been impossible to find him. For anyone else, it would’ve been. Fortunately, Arthur Pendragon was not anyone else, and when he wanted someone found, it was just a matter of time and money. And so, three sharp phone calls and a sternly worded email later, Arthur stood outside one of London’s more depressing buildings, clutching a slip of paper that read, simply, Merlin Emrys, followed by the address Arthur had punched into his complicated GPS system half an hour earlier. It was hot and muggy, and it felt like rain, but Arthur still had on the suit he’d been wearing at the office when his pretty, efficient secretary had handed him said slip of paper, and he’d left in the middle of a conference call.
Arthur took a slow breath, steeling himself, for what, he didn’t know. Before he could finish knocking, the door swung open, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat.
“Uhh, right,” the man-Merlin, Merlin, Merlin-said. He was clutching an unwieldy backpack and looked more alarmed than surprised to find a disgruntled looking businessman on his doorstep, still bearing the marks of their last encounter.
“I’ve been looking for you,” Arthur said, because all the questions that had been leaving scorch marks on the inside of his skull seemed to have dissipated at the sight of Merlin’s face. Something dark and furious twisted in his chest.
“Well, seems you’ve found me,” Merlin said, frozen, hand shaking, presumably with the effort of holding up the bag.
“Were you going somewhere?” Arthur asked.
Merlin nodded, and Arthur realised he didn’t particularly care. It took two steps to force Merlin back inside the flat, two seconds to kick the door shut behind them, and one shove to have Merlin’s back against the wall.
He’d wanted answers, an explanation as to why Merlin was lurking in that alley, just waiting for some innocent citizen to be mugged, why he’d thrown himself into the fray when he so obviously could have walked away, why his eyes had shone and the fight had ended without anyone’s brains splattered on the pavement, and why, most importantly, Arthur had felt like a man possessed every second since.
Now, he just wanted, blind and aching, and Merlin was looking at him like he might cry, which made no fucking sense, and Arthur hated him for it, for starting all this, for throwing his life into disarray and, somehow, for not doing it sooner.
Merlin started to say something, so Arthur stopped him, covering his mouth with more of a bite than a kiss, bursting with frustration and desperation and frightening certainty. It didn’t surprise Arthur when Merlin kissed back, fought back with his teeth at the corner of Arthur’s lips and his fingers twisting into the expensive fabric of Arthur’s jacket. Maybe it should have.
It didn’t matter that this wasn’t something Arthur did, because it was brilliant.
“Ah, alright,” Merlin murmured, completely gone, breath hot against Arthur’s skin as he sucked a slow, dirty kiss to the corner of his jaw. “Arthur,” he whispered.
“I never told you my name,” Arthur said, shrugging off his jacket when Merlin pushed it from his shoulders. He’d known Merlin’s name the moment he saw him.
“I know you,” Merlin replied, pushing Arthur the six, seven, eight steps it took to get from the door to Merlin’s unmade bed. “I knew you,” Merlin whispered, tugging Arthur’s shirt-designer, worth more than a human life-over his head and throwing it on the floor.
Arthur scrambled to assist as Merlin yanked his own t-shirt off, tossing it onto the growing pile. He straddled Arthur’s thighs, grinding down against him. Arthur threaded his fingers through Merlin’s hair and pulled him down for a kiss, and then another and another, because he wanted to, because it felt good and woefully insufficient at the same time. He realised after a moment that he was holding Merlin there with arms wrapped tight around his ribcage, but when let his hands fall to Merlin’s hips, Merlin just pressed closer.
“Arthur,” he murmured over and over, pressing slick, messy kisses to Arthur’s open mouth.
Arthur could feel the hard press of his erection rubbing against his own through too many layers of fabric, and started working at Merlin’s belt with shaky, overeager fingers.
“Here, here, here,” Merlin said absently, and the rough, wrecked sound of his voice made Arthur’s cock throb. He pulled away, barely an inch, and suddenly Merlin’s eyes were like fire, terrifying and bright in the dim flat. Arthur felt a tremor of want run through him, or perhaps it was the cold air rushing against his suddenly naked body.
“Later,” Arthur said, biting at the jut of Merlin’s shoulder, the lobe of his ear, “we’re going to talk about that.”
And Merlin laughed at him, eyes crinkling with happiness, making Arthur’s heart trip over itself with unexplained desperation.
“But first I’m going to make you come,” he amended, “I’m going to-to. Ok?”
The slow but intentional roll of Merlin’s hips was all the consent he needed. They were both too frantic to do anything but rut like teenagers, overeager and infinitely curious about one another’s bodies. Merlin somehow knew that Arthur liked fingers in his hair and teeth on his neck, and before he could do much about it, Arthur felt his balls drawing up tight at the base of his cock, aching for release. Merlin just thrust against him relentlessly, eyes squeezed shut like it was all too much.
Afterward, they lay curled together on Merlin’s twin bed listening to the whir of the rickety ceiling fan and the murmur of traffic.
“Those men had guns,” Arthur said, shivering as the sweat dried on his bare skin.
Merlin shrugged and the blanket at the foot of the bed slid over them on its own.
“I don’t need a gun.”
“You were following me,” Arthur said.
Merlin turned his head to look at him, eyes wide and unguarded, so much so that Arthur felt compelled to pull the blanket up over their shoulders and tug him close with an arm around Merlin’s narrow waist.
“I always follow you,” he said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
Arthur pressed his face to Merlin’s dark tangle of hair and thought, perhaps, it was.