Not Yours to Give Me (R/NC-17)
Title: Not Yours to Give Me
Author: justthismorning
Rating: Hard R, NC-17 just to be sure
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Summary: Giving in one step at a time may be progress after all.
A/N: Part of the That Which We Cannot Hear series.
Arthur always insists that they do it this way. Merlin isn’t about to complain, not when it took him this long to coax Arthur even this far. Every time Arthur bares himself to Merlin, gives himself over, Merlin can see the doubt, the worry clouding that royal face and he has to utter little reassurances until the pinched nervous expression smoothes. He kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth and tells him that it’s ok, that he wants this. He doesn’t tell him he loves him. Arthur already knows. Instead, he places his hand over Arthur’s heart just to feel it pounding and he thinks this is how it should always be - just the two of them, silent, connected.
“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs. His hand catches high on Merlin’s thigh and he tugs until Merlin eases in a little further. It’s tight and hot and Merlin is surprised each time that he even fits. Arthur’s face flickers in an expression Merlin has grown so familiar with. It’s pain and need and pleasure, and it’s all Merlin’s. He eases in a little further, listens as Arthur grunts. He watches Arthur’s head tilt back against the pillows and he leans down to swipe his tongue from his collarbone to behind his ear.
The movement slides him in just a little bit more and if Arthur notices, he doesn’t show it. He turns his head, giving Merlin total and unrestricted access to the tender skin of his neck. His hand clutching Merlin’s thigh squeezes before trailing over his skin so lightly it tickles, making Merlin’s skin jump and twitch.
“Arthur,” he groans against the curve of his jaw. Arthur’s hand is cupping his arse. He’s not pulling anymore, just panting unevenly beneath Merlin’s body, but his fingers kneed the muscle and flesh under his palms, making Merlin keen and sink in even more.
This time Arthur does react. He sucks in his breath. The pain flickers across his face momentarily and Merlin waits for him to adjust. He knows it’s safe to move again when Arthur lets go of his arse and clings to his arms. His legs come up and hook around Merlin’s waist. This is the part Merlin likes best. If he didn’t think Arthur would kill him for making him wait, he’d just stay like this forever, wrapped up in Arthur, completely enveloped in him.
“Merlin, damn it,” he hears and he laughs against Arthur’s cheek. Arthur turns his face enough that their mouths meet messily and his groan is swallowed when Merlin finally pushes in the last little bit. Merlin waits once more for Arthur to adjust. He waits until the tense muscles relax, until Arthur stops clamping down on him so tightly he isn’t sure he even can move.
When he does move, just a fraction of a pull out and a shallow thrust in, they both gasp and cling. Merlin’s magic rattles the cupboard across the room until the doors unlatch and one of Arthur’s tunics falls out. Merlin vaguely thinks that he’ll get it later, when Arthur’s sleepy and pliant but before it’s had time to wrinkle. Now, though, his attention is all for Arthur who is keening and whimpering beneath him, Arthur who is scratching his blunt nails up and down Merlin’s sides, Arthur who is canting his hips upward a little bit each time, telling Merlin to get on with it.
“Ok,” Merlin says, although it comes out rough and broken. “Ok, ok,” he says and he pulls out almost all the way and then slides in properly. Arthur’s legs tighten around him and his eyes fly open. Merlin watches the pink tip of his tongue flick out to dampen his bottom lip. He thrusts again, angling himself so that this time Arthur arches his back and his eyes go glassy.
After that it’s desperate pants and deep groans, fingers digging into hips and teeth biting into lips. It’s scattered words that never form a sentence, it’s the meeting of mouths that isn’t really a proper kiss, but warm and messy and beautiful anyway. It’s a rhythm Merlin sets that Arthur matches, punctuated with two stuttering heartbeats that speak even when their voices finally fail and Merlin reaches between them to finally grasp Arthur in hand.
It only takes three strokes for Arthur to lose it. His scream is silent as he spills between them, pulsing and clenching, and Merlin takes the opportunity to lick into Arthur’s open mouth and press their tongues together. His own release follows soon after and with Arthur’s hands lazily tracing up and down his sides. It’s more than Merlin can ask for and yet…
He stays seated in Arthur for as long as he can, drinking in the closeness, the lax way Arthur’s legs still wrap around him but don’t cling anymore. He only pulls out when Arthur starts batting at him and complaining about having a dead weight on his chest. He doesn’t mean it. Merlin can see the glint in his sleepy eyes. He can hear the tease in his voice even as his words slur together.
“And just last week you said I was too thin,” Merlin chirps, even though his own energy is waning. He’s rewarded for his effort by a soft and easy smile. He kisses it, kisses Arthur’s teeth because Arthur is too tired to kiss back. “Come on, you lazy clout,” he mumbles against Arthur’s mouth, although he doesn’t know what he’s urging.
“Mm,” Arthur grumbles. “Prince,” he says. “Can’t ‘dress me like that,” he says, even as he rolls and curls his arm around Merlin’s waist. “Now hush. Sleep. Tired.”
Merlin laughs, lets Arthur sling his leg over Merlin’s hip, but he doesn’t go to sleep. He can’t. Even as the candles flicker and burn down to nothing, he watches Arthur’s face. He listens to Arthur’s measured breathing. He feels the steady thump of Arthur’s heart against his own chest. He kisses Arthur’s forehead and nestles close, but he doesn’t sleep.
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Author: justthismorning
Rating: Hard R, NC-17 just to be sure
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Summary: Giving in one step at a time may be progress after all.
A/N: Part of the That Which We Cannot Hear series.
Arthur always insists that they do it this way. Merlin isn’t about to complain, not when it took him this long to coax Arthur even this far. Every time Arthur bares himself to Merlin, gives himself over, Merlin can see the doubt, the worry clouding that royal face and he has to utter little reassurances until the pinched nervous expression smoothes. He kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth and tells him that it’s ok, that he wants this. He doesn’t tell him he loves him. Arthur already knows. Instead, he places his hand over Arthur’s heart just to feel it pounding and he thinks this is how it should always be - just the two of them, silent, connected.
“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs. His hand catches high on Merlin’s thigh and he tugs until Merlin eases in a little further. It’s tight and hot and Merlin is surprised each time that he even fits. Arthur’s face flickers in an expression Merlin has grown so familiar with. It’s pain and need and pleasure, and it’s all Merlin’s. He eases in a little further, listens as Arthur grunts. He watches Arthur’s head tilt back against the pillows and he leans down to swipe his tongue from his collarbone to behind his ear.
The movement slides him in just a little bit more and if Arthur notices, he doesn’t show it. He turns his head, giving Merlin total and unrestricted access to the tender skin of his neck. His hand clutching Merlin’s thigh squeezes before trailing over his skin so lightly it tickles, making Merlin’s skin jump and twitch.
“Arthur,” he groans against the curve of his jaw. Arthur’s hand is cupping his arse. He’s not pulling anymore, just panting unevenly beneath Merlin’s body, but his fingers kneed the muscle and flesh under his palms, making Merlin keen and sink in even more.
This time Arthur does react. He sucks in his breath. The pain flickers across his face momentarily and Merlin waits for him to adjust. He knows it’s safe to move again when Arthur lets go of his arse and clings to his arms. His legs come up and hook around Merlin’s waist. This is the part Merlin likes best. If he didn’t think Arthur would kill him for making him wait, he’d just stay like this forever, wrapped up in Arthur, completely enveloped in him.
“Merlin, damn it,” he hears and he laughs against Arthur’s cheek. Arthur turns his face enough that their mouths meet messily and his groan is swallowed when Merlin finally pushes in the last little bit. Merlin waits once more for Arthur to adjust. He waits until the tense muscles relax, until Arthur stops clamping down on him so tightly he isn’t sure he even can move.
When he does move, just a fraction of a pull out and a shallow thrust in, they both gasp and cling. Merlin’s magic rattles the cupboard across the room until the doors unlatch and one of Arthur’s tunics falls out. Merlin vaguely thinks that he’ll get it later, when Arthur’s sleepy and pliant but before it’s had time to wrinkle. Now, though, his attention is all for Arthur who is keening and whimpering beneath him, Arthur who is scratching his blunt nails up and down Merlin’s sides, Arthur who is canting his hips upward a little bit each time, telling Merlin to get on with it.
“Ok,” Merlin says, although it comes out rough and broken. “Ok, ok,” he says and he pulls out almost all the way and then slides in properly. Arthur’s legs tighten around him and his eyes fly open. Merlin watches the pink tip of his tongue flick out to dampen his bottom lip. He thrusts again, angling himself so that this time Arthur arches his back and his eyes go glassy.
After that it’s desperate pants and deep groans, fingers digging into hips and teeth biting into lips. It’s scattered words that never form a sentence, it’s the meeting of mouths that isn’t really a proper kiss, but warm and messy and beautiful anyway. It’s a rhythm Merlin sets that Arthur matches, punctuated with two stuttering heartbeats that speak even when their voices finally fail and Merlin reaches between them to finally grasp Arthur in hand.
It only takes three strokes for Arthur to lose it. His scream is silent as he spills between them, pulsing and clenching, and Merlin takes the opportunity to lick into Arthur’s open mouth and press their tongues together. His own release follows soon after and with Arthur’s hands lazily tracing up and down his sides. It’s more than Merlin can ask for and yet…
He stays seated in Arthur for as long as he can, drinking in the closeness, the lax way Arthur’s legs still wrap around him but don’t cling anymore. He only pulls out when Arthur starts batting at him and complaining about having a dead weight on his chest. He doesn’t mean it. Merlin can see the glint in his sleepy eyes. He can hear the tease in his voice even as his words slur together.
“And just last week you said I was too thin,” Merlin chirps, even though his own energy is waning. He’s rewarded for his effort by a soft and easy smile. He kisses it, kisses Arthur’s teeth because Arthur is too tired to kiss back. “Come on, you lazy clout,” he mumbles against Arthur’s mouth, although he doesn’t know what he’s urging.
“Mm,” Arthur grumbles. “Prince,” he says. “Can’t ‘dress me like that,” he says, even as he rolls and curls his arm around Merlin’s waist. “Now hush. Sleep. Tired.”
Merlin laughs, lets Arthur sling his leg over Merlin’s hip, but he doesn’t go to sleep. He can’t. Even as the candles flicker and burn down to nothing, he watches Arthur’s face. He listens to Arthur’s measured breathing. He feels the steady thump of Arthur’s heart against his own chest. He kisses Arthur’s forehead and nestles close, but he doesn’t sleep.
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