Kink Me! #4
Kink Me! #4 Closed to new prompts Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #4!
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Arthur's mind starts to spin. They've danced around this before, but putting it into words is different. Now that it feels like there might be an alternative, he doesn't know if he does want to stop pretending, even just to one person. All he wants to do now, really, is leave; it's taking all his willpower not to stand up and end this conversation.
'Arthur,' Merlin says. He sounds like he's miles away. 'Arthur, you're shaking.'
'Am bloody not,' he says. But he is, and even though it feels as if Merlin might call him on his bullshit again, what he actually feels is an arm slip around him. When the silence is broken by a raw, choked back sob, it takes a second to realise that the sound has come from him.
Merlin pulls him closer, and Arthur leans against him, relaxing bit by bit until, finally, he lets his arm fall against Merlin's waist. He feels Merlin take a deep, shuddering breath and suddenly he's very aware of how close his lips are to Merlin's neck, and how his hand, buried in the soft material of Merlin's t-shirt is only a handful of fibres away from warm, soft skin.
He knows that they shouldn't even be this close, but he lifts his head a fraction anyway, so his lips press against Merlin's neck. Merlin tenses at first, the play of muscles underneath his skin looks almost as if he's fighting something, but he doesn't push him away, not even when, emboldened by Merlin's unspoken encouragement, Arthur starts to move up the long column of his throat, tasting and inhaling the scent of the pale skin that he's only ever allowed himself to look at before.
'Arthur ... ' Merlin says. He's still breathing unsteadily. 'Are you sure this is a good idea?'
Arthur stops dead still; he can feel the heat creeping over his face already. 'You said you were jealous. I thought ...'
'Arthur?'
'Sorry,' says Arthur, standing up. 'Obviously, I've made a huge mistake. I should go.'
But before he can get away, Merlin grabs hold of his hands and pulls him back onto the bench. Now that they're facing each other again, he can see that although Merlin is nervous and maybe a little surprised, he doesn't seem horrified or disturbed or any of the other reactions Arthur was so ready to attribute to him seconds earlier.
'You haven't got anything wrong,' he says, rubbing his fingers over Arthur's rigid hands. 'Not if this is about me wanting you. But I can see how much you hate yourself sometimes, and I don't want to make it worse. I don't want you to do something you'll look back on and regret.'
'Oh, so you're a mind reader now?' Arthur says, forcing out a faintly bitter smile. 'Is there anything else I need to know about myself, or is that is for now?'
Merlin pauses, like he's trying to collect his thoughts. 'I've been through this,' he says. 'I was ready for how I was going to feel, but you're not. You still want to be what Uther wants you to be.'
'Hang on,' says Arthur, eyebrow raised. 'What do you mean you've been through this? Do you mean people know you're ...?'
'Gay?' says Merlin. 'You are allowed to say it, you know. And yes, my mum knows, and a few of my friends back home. What I'm saying is, it was a huge thing for me and I knew I had people to support me, people I could talk to. But it's not the same for you.'
'No, it's not,' Arthur says. 'But you're here aren't you?'
And then he remembers.
'Not forever,' says Merlin, and the little hitch in his voice makes Arthur ache.
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Merlin seems to understand that the last thing Arthur wants right now is comfort or sympathy or anything that will make him feel more raw than he already does. Instead, he gets up and goes to the kitchen, and returns with what appears to be a bottle of champagne.
'Gaius left it out earlier,' Merlin says, laughing at Arthur's bemused expression, and sets the bottle on the table as if the last five minutes haven't happened. 'For some reason I think he thought I might have somewhere to go, after all. Maybe we can, you know, toast your and Elena's fake relationship or something.'
'Idiot,' says Arthur, but he can't keep the fondness from his voice. 'Alright,' he says, 'but only because I want to see if you can open one of those things.'
Merlin laughs again and Arthur can't help being drawn to his neck again. He closes his eyes and focuses on convincing himself of the wisdom of Merlin's earlier words.
'You look a bit uncomfortable,' Merlin says, laying his fingers briefly over Arthur's hands, 'let's move,' and he heads back into the kitchen in search of some glasses.
Arthur wants to protest that he doesn't need looking after but he settles on rolling his eyes at Merlin's retreating figure before moving to the nearby couch. To his surprise, he hears a faint popping sound and then Merlin reappears, holding two mugs, looking triumphant. Even though there's more space now, he still sits down side by side with Arthur.
'It must be hard for you, living here,' Arthur says, setting his mug down on the table next to Merlin's. He doesn't really feel like drinking. 'What with the Reverend and everything.'
'It's not as if I could go anywhere else,' Merlin says. 'My Dad's been gone for years, and he didn't really have any family. Gaius is all mum has. Anyway,' he says, giving Arthur a quick, sidelong glance, 'it's not all bad.'
'Oh yeah?' Arthur says.
'Yeah,' says Merlin. 'There's this boy ...'
'Really, Merlin?' Arthur says, 'And does Gwaine know how you feel about him?'
He isn't expecting the cushion that connects, suddenly, with the side of his head, and the exasperated 'Shut up, Arthur,' that follows, but he reacts without thinking, and seconds later he has Merlin pressed into the couch, their faces only inches apart. They've been just as near to one another before but, Arthur realises, never this close.
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When Merlin looks up at him and licks his lips, Arthur nearly loses it. He bites down a moan, but it comes out anyway, a rough, strangled gasp. He knows he should shut his eyes or move away, anything to stop him wanting this so much, but he doesn't and finds himself staring into Merlin's questioning eyes.
'I want you,' Arthur says, and something in his stomach twists and aches at the blunt admission. He knows, theoretically, it should make sense, to hold back, but then Merlin shifts underneath him and he discovers, as his thigh presses against Merlin's groin, that he's not the only one having second thoughts.
'If you're waiting for me to make the first move, you'll be here a long time,' says Merlin.
'As if I'd make a move on you,' Arthur says, though he almost has to gasp the words out.
Merlin just smiles. His eyes are dark and pensive as he moves a hand to stroke through Arthur's hair, his fingers stopping just above the nape of his neck. There's no pressure to his hand, really, and it's not like Merlin's pushing him one way or another, but Arthur can't ignore his instinct a moment longer
He cups Merlin's cheek, he lets his thumb graze against the contours of his face, taking in the contrasting sensations of soft skin and light stubble, and then goes back to trace a haphazard line from his temple, swiping across a sharp cheekbone, and then back down along the line of his jaw.
Eventually, he reaches Merlin's mouth. His breath catches; he can't quite bring himself to believe that he's allowed to do this. Slowly, he traces over Merlin's lips, softly pressing his thumb against the fleshy plumpness. When Merlin runs his tongue over Arthur's thumb and sucks it briefly into his mouth, the sensation is almost too much to bear. He closes his eyes and lets himself feel how much he wants this and then finally, finally, he leans down and kisses him.
During the second or two it takes for Merlin to respond, the feeling of wanting to run comes back again, but it's gone as soon as Arthur feels Merlin's lips pushing back against his. His mouth opens to Arthur tantalisingly slowly, like he's drawing him into him piece by piece. It's another eternity before Arthur feels the tentative slide of Merlin's tongue, and then, his own, shy, answering stroke.
Only then does Arthur give himself permission to let go. After that it's as if time speeds up, and everything's frantic and intense and on the edge of too much. Merlin hitches his leg up around Arthur's waist, pulling him even closer but, possessed by a sudden need to see Merlin, Arthur leans back to look at him. He's very still, but a slow flush is creeping up his neck and his breath is coming faster, his lips parting slightly into a smile as he pulls Arthur back to him.
'Okay?' he whispers, his lips touching Arthur's as he speaks. Arthur kisses him again, briefly this time, and lays his head against Merlin's shoulder.
'Perfect,' he says, and kisses his again, briefly this time. He lays his head against Merlin's chest, wanting to listen for his heartbeat, and just as he's trying to remember the last time he felt this good, he's interrupted by the unmistakeable sound of a key in the front door.
'Shit,' Arthur says, on his feet in an instant.
'Gaius,' Merlin says, sitting up and stretching lazily. 'Don't worry, he won't say anything.'
Arthur wants to tell him that isn't the point, but at that moment the phone in his trouser pocket starts to vibrate; he knows who it is without having to look.
He moves back with as much regret as he's felt about anything, and straightens his shirt.
'Arthur?' Merlin says. 'It's okay, honestly.'
'It's not that,' Arthur says. 'It's Uther. I'm sorry, I have to go.'
Merlin presses a quick kiss to his lips, and Arthur slips out through the kitchen door, his mouth still tingling. As he drives back he realises that he still can't remember a time when he's felt better than this.
When he pulls into his own driveway and sees that Uther is still up, waiting for him, fear hits him like a punch to the guts, he can't remember feeling any worse.
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##
Uther's waiting for him when he gets in. He doesn't say anything at first, just looks him up and down slowly, before issuing a curt goodnight. Arthur watches from the hallway as his father disappears up the stairs, at a loss for what to think, let alone say.
It feels worse, in a way, than if Uther had demanded to know where he'd been. He's edgier now, knowing that although his transgression hasn't been addressed, it's been noted, and it won't be forgotten.
Arthur knows he might as well forget sleep for a while. He goes into the kitchen, and as he sits alone at the table, something ugly takes hold of him and he feels his hands start to shake. He tries to fight it. He doesn't want to be angry with Uther, who's spent his life taking care of him, but still, he can't help resenting how easily his father can do this; how he can turn something that was starting to feel a little bit brilliant into something that he feels ashamed of, with just a look and a word.
#
The next morning, Arthur feels like shit. He can't remember when he finally dropped off to sleep, but he can remember waking up, over and over, sleep-dazed and terror-struck that Uther somehow knows about him and Merlin.
Him and Merlin.
That, at least, produces a smile, and Arthur savours it, heartened to discover that something good from last night has been left intact. He manages to hold onto that feeling all the way downstairs to the breakfast room, where he sees Uther waiting for him.
'I don't suppose,' Uther says, as their housekeeper serves them coffee, 'you'd like to tell me how you got those marks on your neck?'
Arthur nearly drops his toast. 'What marks?' he says.
'Those marks. On your neck.' His tone is casual, friendly almost, but Arthur's been there before, too many times, and he knows this is anything but what it seems.
'Oh. Those,' he says, going cold. He has no idea what, exactly, Uther can see; Merlin could have scrawled his name on there in marker pen for all he knows. Mostly, he hopes that he hasn't. 'Uh, me and Elena ...' he says, wilting under the force of Uther's gaze.
'Elena?' Uther response is far too conversational for Arthur's liking. 'That doesn't seem like her. You had better not have you got yourself mixed up with the village scum.'
'It's the truth, I swear,' Arthur says. The palms of his hands are clammy; he's sure Uther's on the verge of noticing that something's amiss.
'I sincerely hope so,' Uther says. He still looks displeased. 'You know how I disapprove of lying. I can see how you might be tempted by those who are less upstanding than the Pendragons and the Godwyns, but you are my son, and we have standards to uphold.'
'I was with Elena,' Arthur says, and attempts as cocky and knowing a grin as he can muster. 'Mr. Godwyn was in bed; I came in for a while and ... well ... you know.'
'Actually, no I don't,' says Uther, smiling coldly. 'Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me?'
Arthur can feel the blood run from his face; he starts to protest again, but Uther cuts him off.
'William Godwyn is an important man and a friend of mine. We both have expectations, and it will not do to disappoint either one of us. I will not have the potential joining of our families ruined by a scandal. You will modify your behaviour, Arthur, or I will be forced to take action.'
'Yes, father,' he says. Uther has only been forced to take action a couple of times; Arthur doesn't want there to be another.
Apparently satisfied, Uther gets up and goes to work. It might be New Year's Day, but nothing ever stops for the business. More so recently, Arthur's noticed. Uther rarely discusses the details with him, but veiled comments and half-heard phone conversations are enough for Arthur to know that whatever is going on, it's big.
It's a relief when the front door slams, and he hurries over to a mirror to inspect his neck. There's hardly anything there, just a tiny, reddish mark just below his jaw. He wonders if it will hurt to touch, and he runs his finger along it. It doesn't. He might just be imagining it, but the skin feels warmer there than anywhere else.
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Even though Uther doesn't mention it again, his behaviour towards Arthur changes almost immediately.
Each minute outside the house needs to be justified, and any activity Uther disapproves of is vetoed. One night, Uther calls him into his study and spends an hour going through every number on Arthur's phone bill until they're all accounted for. Uther's been opening his mail for years, so that's nothing new. Arthur's not quite sure how long he's been checking his browsing history, but he's never been stupid enough to have left anything incriminating.
It's not as if Uther didn't keep a close eye on him before, but now it feels like the walls are closing in on him. It wouldn't have been so bad if Merlin hadn't been part of the equation, not that it would matter either way, as he can't change things. Short of turning Uther into a completely different person, he thinks, but he doesn't want that, not really. It's unfair to think that when knows how impossible it would be to change who he is.
But even this small patch of common ground is marked with differences: for Uther to lead the life he wants to, Arthur knows, with gut wrenching finality, that this means he should let this thing with Merlin go. With this level of scrutiny, anything else would be impossible.
He tries hard not to dwell on it; he does what he normally does when he can't see a way out of a problem, and carries on regardless. It's hard to put Merlin out of his mind. It feels wrong, almost, that he's trying so hard to do something, when all he really wants is to get into his car and drive back to Gaius' cottage.
#
It's harder and easier once he's back at school. Harder because Merlin's constant presence is so tangible he can almost taste it, and there are so many ways Arthur could see him, if he wanted to. But knowing that makes it all the easier to steer clear; it's just a matter of remembering all the places they'd usually run into one another, and avoiding them.
Unfortunately, that doesn't mean he doesn't miss Merlin. He feels like a part of him has been removed, something else he doesn't let himself think too deeply about. It would be easy if he could just draw a line under everything and just get on with being the son Uther wanted, but Merlin, it seems, is already too ingrained in the fabric of his life for that to happen.
But despite that, it works well. For the first few days he only catches fleeting glimpses. It works so well, in fact, that he realises the extent of their unspoken complicity: walking down corridors at exactly the right time; waiting a little too long between classes; walking that little bit too slowly after school so their paths can cross. It occurs to him that Merlin will be wondering why, suddenly, he's not playing anymore, and he feels even more agitated, but he simply doesn't know what else to do.
He hates how cowardly this makes him, the one thing he thought he wasn't. Every time they pass in the corridor, Arthur walks past without stopping, head down, even though it causes him physical pain to do so. There's just one time he allows himself to look back, and he sees Merlin standing completely still, staring back at him. He looks confused, but he looks hurt and a little angry too.
Arthur can't find words for how this makes him feel; he isn't sure he wants to. It's not my fault, he wants to shout, at no one in particular. Instead, he hardly says a word to anyone. He knows that it's just himself that he's angry with, and the fact that, no matter what, he can't quite make himself defy Uther.
If anyone notices, they don't say so, though Elena gives him a funny look whenever he disappears without saying anything. Before Christmas, he and Merlin would usually find a good enough reason to study together during their free periods. Now, Arthur finds himself in the farthest corner of the library, hunched over a book; he can't let Uther down with his grades on top of everything else. Still, more often than not, his fingers stray unconsciously to a particular spot on his neck and trace the shape, long since faded, that Merlin left there.
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At home, Arthur has too much time to think and without the distraction of school his mind slips back, easily, to Merlin, and what things could be like if things were different. There are a few times where he's almost got himself convinced that maybe, somehow, it could work, but Uther always brings him firmly back to earth.
By Friday evening, when he and Uther have their regular weekly meal together, Arthur has made it through one almost Merlin-free week. He chews his food, disinterested, forcing each bite down.
'I need to speak to you about your future,' Uther says, looking up from his laptop. 'The business is taking a new direction, and I need you to be there to lead it, when the time comes.'
Arthur nods away while Uther drones on about business and politics. He's long known Uther's feelings on what he terms as society's moral decay but now, it seems, he might have enough money to do something about it, and Arthur is apparently very much part of the plan.
'Getting our view across will be so much easier with someone like you at the helm,' Uther says. 'You're young, bright, the embodiment of what people want to be. And once they know what you stand for, then they'll be hard pressed not to see things our way.'
'But what about what I think?' Arthur asks. Uther hasn't said much about what his ideas exactly, and his lack of explicitness is making Arthur feel uneasy. 'If I disagree with you and the board, I can hardly represent you can I?'
'Nonsense,' says Uther. He's smiling, but his jaw's set tightly. 'You think the same way as I do. We're Pendragons. Anyone who doesn't stand for what we do, stands in our way, eh, Arthur?'
Arthur nods; he knows all about what they stand for. Uther's second cousin, Morgana's mother, found out the hard way when she divorced her husband. Uther tolerates Morgana, just about, for appearances sake, but her mother might as well be dead to him.
Uther sweeps off to take a call, and Arthur's future is settled, just like that. Arthur sits at the table, digesting what's just been said and trying to understand where he fits into it. He looks down at his barely eaten dinner and can't remember when he's felt so alone. He gets his phone out of his pocket and lets his finger hover over the keys for a few seconds. He knows the number off by heart, but he's never saved it. He's not stupid. He puts the phone away.
#
Merlin isn't at church on Sunday, and Arthur tries to tell himself that he's relieved, not disappointed, or sorry, or just plain concerned about where he is. After the service ends, he waits till Uther drives away, and tells the others he'll catch them up. He does, half an hour later, but not before he's raced over to Gaius' and lurked around outside until he's caught sight of him.
#
Inevitably, though, they come face to face with one other. It's a few days after the weekend, and they're both walking to their next class; but this time they're crowded by people on both sides and Arthur can't walk past without at least an acknowledgment. He nods quickly, not meaning to meet Merlin's eyes, but he does, and it's as if the tumult of the past couple of weeks melts away. At last, he's calm.
'Er, hi,' Merlin says. He ruffles his hair and it falls over his eyes; he looks through it cautiously, shifting from one foot to another. For a few moments, Arthur can't do anything but stare at him. 'How've you been?'
'Okay,' Arthur manages. 'Um.'
'Right,' says Merlin, his eyes narrowing. 'Well then, if that's everything, I've got a class to ... ' Merlin trails off, his hands gesturing in the general direction of the science block. As he turns to go, Arthur feels his stomach flip over.
'Merlin, stop,' he says. 'It isn't everything.'
Merlin raises an eyebrow and stands there, waiting.
'Not here,' says Arthur, and drags him in to a deserted classroom.
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'I lied,' Arthur says, when the door finally clicks shut. 'I'm not okay. Nothing's okay, really.'
Merlin is leaning against a desk, one ankle over the other, watching him pace around nervously through distant, uncertain eyes.
Merlin shakes his head. 'Arthur,' he says, 'If you made a mistake, I'd rather you just came out and said it. You don't need to ignore me. Anything's better than this. The last few days ...'
'It's Uther,' Arthur says, coming to a stop in front of Merlin. 'I thought he knew. About us. Merlin, you don't know what he'd do if he found out.'
Merlin glared darkly at a spot on the wall. 'I think I've got a pretty good idea,' he says. 'But Arthur,' and his voice is softer this time, 'you can't let him rule your life like this.'
'It's better this way,' Arthur says. 'It's easier for everyone.'
'So the stalking around outside my house on Sunday?' Merlin says, one eyebrow raised. 'That was things being easy for you, was it?'
'You weren't at church,' Arthur says, thinking Fuck. 'I wanted to know where you were. I was worried.'
'I couldn't face you,' Merlin says, his voice quiet. 'All that week at school, not a word. Not even hello, for fucks sake. I tried to talk to you; I tried to catch your eye so many times, but you blanked me.'
'I'm sorry.'
Merlin frowns at him and breathes out heavily. 'It was fairly obvious what was wrong, Arthur. I told you that you might regret it, but you didn't have to treat me like that. You could have said something.'
Arthur bites his lip and looks away. 'That's easy for you to say. I don't have a choice. He's all I've got.'
'Ah,' Merlin says, a frown creasing his forehead, 'so it's not better this way at all. It's better for Uther this way.'
Arthur hangs his head. 'From my position, it amounts to approximately the same thing.'
'Don't you have anyone else? What about Morgana? She's family, isn't she?'
'Barely. Uther cut her family off years ago; I don't want that to happen to me.'
'He'd do that?' Merlin says, 'Seriously?' Then, more subdued, when Arthur doesn't give him a reply: 'Fuck. I'm sorry.'
'Yeah,' Arthur says. 'I'm sorry too.'
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Merlin pulls Arthur down to sit next to him on the desk, and sidles closer, so their hands almost touch. 'And I had such high hopes for this little diversion,' he says, with a wry chuckle.
'Yeah?' Arthur tries to sound casual, but really, he's breathing in Merlin's proximity after too long an absence. Just having him there, next to him, is making him start to rethink pretty much every assertion he's just made.
'I thought that we'd at least be making out by now.'
'What?' Arthur says. He appreciates Merlin trying to lighten the mood, but dangling this in front of him is just cruel.
'Well?' Merlin says. 'It might put a smile on your face, at least.'
Apparently he's serious, as he grabs Arthur's hands and pulls him in so they're facing one another. They're so close now that Arthur can smell the scent of Merlin's hair, and the faintly spicy shower gel he must use.
He wonders if this is the point at which he should probably protest. He thinks about moving back, but really, there is only one possible direction he's going in. 'I should probably point out,' he says with a nervous laugh, a last ditch attempt to avoid something he wants so much he feels like he's going to die if he doesn't get it, 'that I've only ever kissed one other person, and that was Elena, so if you weren't disappointed last week, then you might well be now.'
'You could have fooled me,' says Merlin. He stands up and pulls Arthur up with him, so the full length of their bodies are touching. 'Still, we should probably try and remedy that lack of experience,' he says, wrapping his arms about Arthur's waist.
Arthur whispers another apology, his lips skimming just under Merlin's cheekbone. Their faces are touching now, and all he can see is pale skin at very close range. He hears a shhhing sound, forgiveness, he hopes, for the idiot he's been for the past week, and then he feels Merlin's lips finally meet his.
#
By the time the bell goes to signal the next period, Merlin's hair is a mess, and his shirt and tie aren't looking much better. Arthur looks up at him from where he's sprawled across a desk, and raises himself up onto his elbows, a dazed, ridiculous smile on his face.
'Fuck,' Merlin says, wiping at his mouth. 'I don't know how I'm going to get through the rest of today.'
Arthur stands up to tuck his shirt back into his trousers. 'There's always tomorrow,' he says, grinning at him.
This is something brilliant, he decides, his hand pressed to the small of Merlin's back as they peek out of the door. At the back of his mind he knows it will only last as long as they're inside this Merlin and Arthur shaped bubble, but right now he feels more like himself that he has done in years.
'Stop,' says Arthur, just as they leave the classroom, and he stops to straighten Merlin's tie. Seconds later, the double door at the end of the corridor bursts open and pupils start to spill through. Arthur and Merlin laugh as they walk past them, side by side, the backs of their hands brushing together, almost never losing contact, completely unnoticed by anyone but themselves.
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