Their Eyes Cannot See Me
Arthur hates himself when he comes home. His hands are shaking so badly he can barely pay the taxi driver, hardly open the door, and scarcely hold himself upright as he shakes through the hall.
He hates himself, his weakness, his pathetic, tragic obsession. He hates himself so much he has to slump on the stairs and remember to breathe. His breaths are raspy and slice him open like knives, his head swims and he can still smell the sweat from the club.
He wants to go for a shower. He wants to burn away the feeling of sin along his skin, the smell of cheap perfume that clings to him like a shadow, the sweat that belonged to more bodies than his own.
But there is something dragging him to the door of his bedroom. Their bedroom. Arthur tiptoed along, or stumbled blindly- it hardly mattered at that point, all that mattered was seeing Merlin-
Arthur couldn’t breathe, right, choking on oxygen. What is Merlin had left? What if he couldn’t deal with this, what if he hated what Arthur was doing because he didn’t understand it? The litany of what if’s swirled until they were all Arthur could see and feel…
He opened the door to see Merlin rolled up in their duvet. His head is poking out, skin as flawless as silk and an alabaster only possible in dreams. Before, his eyes had been focused on the blaring TV, but once Arthur came through the door they fell to him like he was something good and precious. Like he was worth it.
“Hey babe.” Merlin sighed, mouth full of a yawn and caught in a smile. Charcoal streaks from lack of sleep were caught under the ice blue of his eyes, and still he was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. “Good night?”
No, Arthur wants to yell, not it wasn’t. Every moment he’d spent away had itched like a rash. Every other hand on his skin had burnt like molten metal. That kiss, that goddamn kiss that started so much more, set Arthur on a fire he’d thought was passion but was nothing but a condemnation. But a kiss was not enough, because Arthur was so weak and so ugly on the inside where everything mattered.
And that became so unholy and clear when he was near Merlin, who was as pure as sunshine and wonderful as snow.
Arthur, all sight of decency and pride lost in the whirlpool of Merlin’s eyes, threw himself on to the bed and curled up as close as he could get to his boyfriend. His loving, caring, understanding boyfriend who felt of nothing but warmth and softness. Whose kiss was a redemption meeting Arthur’s lips. A redemption Arthur so dearly craved but did not deserve.
Arthur’s sobs were choked, horrid and ugly as they lift his insides and forced his ribs to tremble.
“Arthur, hey sweet heart.” Merlin soothed. He ran his hands, his perfect soft hands, over Arthur’s back and hushed him. “Arthur, Arthur sweetheart, it’s fine.” Merlin whispered. He pulled himself out from the covers and curled around Arthur.
Arthur felt Merlin mouth gentle kisses along his skin, as far as they ever got, and it was too much but not enough. Arthur wanted more, needed it, but he did not deserve the touches and embraces Merlin could ever live.
“I told you it was ok, Arthur.” Merlin whispered. “Don’t, please don’t cry.” Arthur knew this must scare Merlin, the onslaught of emotion, and that he did not understand. No matter how hard he tried, he would not understand it. “I’m not mad, Arthur. I’m not mad, it’s ok.”
Merlin wasn’t mad, but he should be. He should yell and hate Arthur and want him gone. The only reason he didn’t was that he didn’t know. He didn’t know what it felt like to crave someone’s hands on your skin, to want to touch and kiss and fuck so bad it buzzed. Arthur wondered if he ever would, if the state of autism was stronger than anything Arthur could do.
Because he wanted to touch Merlin. To hold him and touch him and kiss him. To see the miles of limbs and alabaster skin, to press his mouth along the soft places kept secret from the world. To feel himself pressed so close to Merlin that the line of their bodies was invisible.
Instead Arthur fucked random bodies in random locations. Merlin didn’t mind, told him to, said he wanted Arthur and he tried but he couldn’t do that, be that. Arthur hated himself, that he needed it. Needed the contact and the release.
Arthur was snivelling, tears dampening Merlin’s tshirt and shaking hands.
“I love you.” Arthur whispered.
“I love you too.” Merlin murmured back. Despite what Arthur knew, he hoped, he thought, Merlin meant it.
He hates himself, his weakness, his pathetic, tragic obsession. He hates himself so much he has to slump on the stairs and remember to breathe. His breaths are raspy and slice him open like knives, his head swims and he can still smell the sweat from the club.
He wants to go for a shower. He wants to burn away the feeling of sin along his skin, the smell of cheap perfume that clings to him like a shadow, the sweat that belonged to more bodies than his own.
But there is something dragging him to the door of his bedroom. Their bedroom. Arthur tiptoed along, or stumbled blindly- it hardly mattered at that point, all that mattered was seeing Merlin-
Arthur couldn’t breathe, right, choking on oxygen. What is Merlin had left? What if he couldn’t deal with this, what if he hated what Arthur was doing because he didn’t understand it? The litany of what if’s swirled until they were all Arthur could see and feel…
He opened the door to see Merlin rolled up in their duvet. His head is poking out, skin as flawless as silk and an alabaster only possible in dreams. Before, his eyes had been focused on the blaring TV, but once Arthur came through the door they fell to him like he was something good and precious. Like he was worth it.
“Hey babe.” Merlin sighed, mouth full of a yawn and caught in a smile. Charcoal streaks from lack of sleep were caught under the ice blue of his eyes, and still he was the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. “Good night?”
No, Arthur wants to yell, not it wasn’t. Every moment he’d spent away had itched like a rash. Every other hand on his skin had burnt like molten metal. That kiss, that goddamn kiss that started so much more, set Arthur on a fire he’d thought was passion but was nothing but a condemnation. But a kiss was not enough, because Arthur was so weak and so ugly on the inside where everything mattered.
And that became so unholy and clear when he was near Merlin, who was as pure as sunshine and wonderful as snow.
Arthur, all sight of decency and pride lost in the whirlpool of Merlin’s eyes, threw himself on to the bed and curled up as close as he could get to his boyfriend. His loving, caring, understanding boyfriend who felt of nothing but warmth and softness. Whose kiss was a redemption meeting Arthur’s lips. A redemption Arthur so dearly craved but did not deserve.
Arthur’s sobs were choked, horrid and ugly as they lift his insides and forced his ribs to tremble.
“Arthur, hey sweet heart.” Merlin soothed. He ran his hands, his perfect soft hands, over Arthur’s back and hushed him. “Arthur, Arthur sweetheart, it’s fine.” Merlin whispered. He pulled himself out from the covers and curled around Arthur.
Arthur felt Merlin mouth gentle kisses along his skin, as far as they ever got, and it was too much but not enough. Arthur wanted more, needed it, but he did not deserve the touches and embraces Merlin could ever live.
“I told you it was ok, Arthur.” Merlin whispered. “Don’t, please don’t cry.” Arthur knew this must scare Merlin, the onslaught of emotion, and that he did not understand. No matter how hard he tried, he would not understand it. “I’m not mad, Arthur. I’m not mad, it’s ok.”
Merlin wasn’t mad, but he should be. He should yell and hate Arthur and want him gone. The only reason he didn’t was that he didn’t know. He didn’t know what it felt like to crave someone’s hands on your skin, to want to touch and kiss and fuck so bad it buzzed. Arthur wondered if he ever would, if the state of autism was stronger than anything Arthur could do.
Because he wanted to touch Merlin. To hold him and touch him and kiss him. To see the miles of limbs and alabaster skin, to press his mouth along the soft places kept secret from the world. To feel himself pressed so close to Merlin that the line of their bodies was invisible.
Instead Arthur fucked random bodies in random locations. Merlin didn’t mind, told him to, said he wanted Arthur and he tried but he couldn’t do that, be that. Arthur hated himself, that he needed it. Needed the contact and the release.
Arthur was snivelling, tears dampening Merlin’s tshirt and shaking hands.
“I love you.” Arthur whispered.
“I love you too.” Merlin murmured back. Despite what Arthur knew, he hoped, he thought, Merlin meant it.