Fic | Merlin/Arthur | in time and space
Merlin | Merlin/Arthur | NC17
Prequel: the smile, the frown on your face
Arthur had thought it would be easy to stay awake, to guard Merlin's sleep. He isn't used to sharing his bed with anyone; as the heir to the throne, the vulnerable state of sleep is too great a risk in the presence of anyone who might be a traitor, an assassin, even just an accomplice. He had thought he would feel restrained, restless, having the space his sleep usually takes up halved.
Not quite so.
Merlin inches near him, into him, still with a look in his eyes like he's expecting Arthur to change his mind and cast him out at any moment. Arthur finds it easy to give Merlin a small, warm smile, even though the action feels new and stiff in its intimacy. Merlin stays a hand-span away, curled on his side to face Arthur, but when Arthur lifts his arm to invite him in, Merlin is there in a flash, his skin a burning freeze against Arthur's.
Merlin is a golden vine, conquering all the naked hollows and contours of Arthur's body. His face hides against Arthur's neck, lips sleepily half-open for tastes of salty skin; his right arm tight around Arthur, fingers splayed over a shoulder blade; his leg slim and strong between Arthur's thighs. Arthur tightens his arm to fold Merlin as close as possible, his own fingers lifting to tangle in the hair in the nape of Merlin's neck.
Arthur smiles ironically at himself. How is he supposed to be attacked by feelings of restriction or suffocation, when he never wants to move again?
Merlin's body calms eventually; the temperatures of their skin meld and meet. Arthur is still telling himself to stay up and make sure Merlin gets the rest he needs, when Merlin's heartbeat lulls him to sleep.
+
He wakes up once during the night, and knows Merlin is awake before opening his eyes. He blinks into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
"You know, you could probably conjure us some light if you insist on staying awake despite my express orders."
In the gloom, he detects the amused twist of Merlin's lips. Merlin's fingers trace symbols on his back. They're still intertwined, sleeping face to face.
"I probably could. What would you prefer? A candle flame? A ball of coloured light? The sunrise?"
Arthur shivers. "You could do that?"
There is suddenly enough illumination - not from any particular source that Arthur can make out; just a sort of glow over and around them - for Arthur to see Merlin's smile lighting his eyes even while his face settles into the sober calm of a vow.
"I woke up and felt you hard against me. You've been hard since before we went to sleep, haven't you?"
Arthur swallows, unable to word an answer. Fortunately, Merlin doesn't seem to be waiting for one.
"I feel your hot skin, and your strength, and your desire. I think, right now, a sunrise would be the least of what I could do."
Before Arthur can spontaneously combust, Merlin luckily sheds the eerie graveness of the moment by grinning wide again. "But Gaius would probably tell you it's just me talking big."
Arthur can't help but laugh, however shakily. His body is vibrating with need, and Merlin sees it, and quirks an eyebrow; questioning. Arthur knows he could demand anything, right then - for Merlin to roll over and let him inside, let him take his pleasure - and be given it all. The thought scares him.
His thumb brushes the still faintly purpled skin under Merlin's eye. Not trusting his voice, he only kisses Merlin - a light, sweet kiss - and tucks him underneath his chin. Merlin sighs. "So stubborn, my lord."
Every accidental (or not-so-accidental, knowing Merlin) touch to his hyper-sensitive skin makes Arthur shudder, and eventually he forces himself to concentrate on matching Merlin's breathing. This works well, until Arthur realizes Merlin's hand is dipping further and further down on his back, and is now painting sweeping arcs over the tops of his buttocks, and both their breaths are starting to come in pants. Arthur's eyes fly open. "Jesus, Merlin!"
"Um. Sorry, sire."
Arthur has never heard a less repentant apology in his life.
It takes longer to fall back under. Arthur mutters about randy, under-handed warlocks, and Merlin mutters about pig-headed, blue-balled princes. Arthur is fairly sure such descriptions about a member of the royal family are against the law.
When he finally sleeps, Arthur dreams of mysterious radiance and naked skin and Merlin, always Merlin.
+
"I swear, Arthur, if you try and come up with one more reason to put this off-" and Merlin's hand wraps around his aching erection, and Arthur's first thought upon awakening to a pale dawn and Merlin's blazing determination is the fear that he will come right this second.
"I- wait-"
"No, Arthur. No more waiting. You're not the only one with blue balls, here." Merlin's voice is a desperate rumble, his mouth descending to bite almost savagely at Arthur's shoulder, and the rough jerking of his cock is the best thing Arthur has ever felt.
Summoning all the discipline learned in his training, Arthur rolls them over and traps Merlin's wrists against the bed. Unfortunately, Merlin isn't deterred in the slightest by losing his grip on Arthur; spreading and raising his legs, he wraps them around Arthur waist and thighs in a truly athletic move, and uses his calf muscles to pull Arthur's groin flush against his own.
The contact is electric. Merlin's whole body jerks at the shock, and Arthur only barely manages to keep the groan in his throat from becoming a whimper.
Lifting his eyes to Merlin's, Arthur can see glazed yearning warring with self-satisfaction. With a growl, Arthur twists Merlin's wrists together until he can hold them down with one hand; with the other, he reaches down, straight past the heavy, silky sacks, to ghost over the skin around the entrance to Merlin's body.
Merlin's upper body arcs in a tense bow, his mouth opening in a silent cry.
"Gods," Arthur breathes, his resolve momentarily broken by the utter beauty of Merlin's abandon, "look at you. Are you always this sensitive?"
To Arthur's surprise, Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, his slack mouth tightening to a nervous slash. "What do you mean, always?"
For a moment, Arthur's mind is empty of explanation; then, the need smacks into his abdomen like the flat of a sword.
"I thought- I was sure, you and Will-"
Merlin opens his eyes, reproof written all over his face. "If you really want to talk about Will when we are like this-"
"No, no, I don't, I just- Christ, Merlin…" And Arthur simply must bend down and take Merlin's lips again. Their mouths move in perfect sync together; their tongues twist and wrap and seek, frantic, always welcomed. After an eternity, against his lips, Merlin murmurs, "Before I came to Camelot, I didn't want," and that's it, it's too much.
Arthur takes hold of Merlin's thighs squeezing his sides and pushes them away. Before Merlin manages to ask or to complain, Arthur has flipped him on his stomach. "On your knees. Keep your elbows on the bed," Arthur commands in a low snarl, almost unable to recognize his own voice.
"I- Arthur, I-" Merlin's voice breaks but he does as he's told, and Arthur can't take the wait, overcome by the need to cement his claim on Merlin. Before the boy is fully steady in his position, Arthur places his palms on Merlin's arse, thumbs pressed close to the hidden ring of muscle, stretching Merlin open to his gaze.
Merlin's babbling intensifies when Arthur brings his face nearer the pale skin; his lips relax to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses up and down the smooth cheeks, criss-crossing, caressing.
Already, Merlin's breat is hitching; when Arthur's tongue sweeps a long, wet stripe against his opening, it stops entirely.
The taste is like all of Merlin's secrets - golden, honeyed. Arthur stabs his tongue in, laves the skin with saliva, and Merlin gives a high, tortured keen. Arthur wants to see and feel him break apart under his hands and mouth.
"Please… please," Merlin's cries have coalesced to a single plea. Arthur leans to the side to fumble in tha drawer next to the bed, and comes up with a jar. Coating his fingers, his mouth returns to kiss wetly at the edges of the quivering hole; when he pushes in a finger, Merlin's thighs start shaking.
Arthur withdraws his finger, and Merlin gives a dry sob. "Shh, wait. Turn around."
After Merlin's eyes are locked into his again, the blue and the shards of gold taking up all of Arthur vision, he pushes the oiled finger back in, and Merlin tenses and moans.
"Too fast?"
"No! No… More, Arthur, please," Merlin begs, and, well, how is Arthur supposed to deny him? Giving Merlin the second finger, Arthur bends down to lay kisses everywhere from Merlin's neck to his hipbones; and Merlin's hands tangle in his hair and the chant changes into, "Now, now, please, now-"
Arthur is about to grab the jar again when Merlin's eyes flash completely gold again, and Arthur gasps as he feels the gel being rubbed in all over his cock; and Merlin is needy and hoarse and beautiful as he insists, "Now."
Merlin's legs are spread to bracket Arthur as he braces himself above Merlin. Pressing himself against Merlin, their greased skin slips together, every touch a brand of heat. With an impatient shift of his hips, and maybe a whispered word, Merlin impales himself on Arthur, and-
"Nnngh," Arthur gasps; his cock is home, the satiny walls clenching around him, and the warmth; the pleasure coiling low in his stomach is making him blind, deaf to anything but his lover. Merlin bares his throat and screams as he takes Arthur to the hilt in one swift slide, and the head of Arthur's cock grazes a spot inside him that makes Merlin's cock jump and twitch.
Every thrust feels to Arthur like it must be the last one, the pleasure too intense to take; but it goes on and grows; gets better and worse because, after this, he will never, never, never be able to be apart from Merlin. This is his peace of mind, now; his sustenance, his lullaby.
Merlin's hands reach out to lock on Arthur's forearms; the sweat glistens on his chest and over his lips, and in one single movement Arthur hauls him upright to sink deeper into his lap.
Merlin's body is hanging frozen in time, his eyes wide open and staring at Arthur, his lips just opening. Arthur drags him down and even closer, and swallows Merlin's scream as the new angle makes him breach Merlin the furthest yet; as Arthur lets go and floods Merlin's passage with his release, Merlin's cock rubs against his stomach and he comes in pearly-white strings all over both their skin.
Merlin's lashes are moist and heavy-looking when Arthur's lips play over his eyelids. He eases them down, separating from Merlin's body despite the noise of protest. Merlin looks on the verge of falling right back asleep, but his hand resumes contact with Arthur's body; on the skin of his chest, Merlin's long fingers fashion letters that form words, need you, and thank you, and love you.
Prequel: the smile, the frown on your face
Arthur had thought it would be easy to stay awake, to guard Merlin's sleep. He isn't used to sharing his bed with anyone; as the heir to the throne, the vulnerable state of sleep is too great a risk in the presence of anyone who might be a traitor, an assassin, even just an accomplice. He had thought he would feel restrained, restless, having the space his sleep usually takes up halved.
Not quite so.
Merlin inches near him, into him, still with a look in his eyes like he's expecting Arthur to change his mind and cast him out at any moment. Arthur finds it easy to give Merlin a small, warm smile, even though the action feels new and stiff in its intimacy. Merlin stays a hand-span away, curled on his side to face Arthur, but when Arthur lifts his arm to invite him in, Merlin is there in a flash, his skin a burning freeze against Arthur's.
Merlin is a golden vine, conquering all the naked hollows and contours of Arthur's body. His face hides against Arthur's neck, lips sleepily half-open for tastes of salty skin; his right arm tight around Arthur, fingers splayed over a shoulder blade; his leg slim and strong between Arthur's thighs. Arthur tightens his arm to fold Merlin as close as possible, his own fingers lifting to tangle in the hair in the nape of Merlin's neck.
Arthur smiles ironically at himself. How is he supposed to be attacked by feelings of restriction or suffocation, when he never wants to move again?
Merlin's body calms eventually; the temperatures of their skin meld and meet. Arthur is still telling himself to stay up and make sure Merlin gets the rest he needs, when Merlin's heartbeat lulls him to sleep.
+
He wakes up once during the night, and knows Merlin is awake before opening his eyes. He blinks into the darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
"You know, you could probably conjure us some light if you insist on staying awake despite my express orders."
In the gloom, he detects the amused twist of Merlin's lips. Merlin's fingers trace symbols on his back. They're still intertwined, sleeping face to face.
"I probably could. What would you prefer? A candle flame? A ball of coloured light? The sunrise?"
Arthur shivers. "You could do that?"
There is suddenly enough illumination - not from any particular source that Arthur can make out; just a sort of glow over and around them - for Arthur to see Merlin's smile lighting his eyes even while his face settles into the sober calm of a vow.
"I woke up and felt you hard against me. You've been hard since before we went to sleep, haven't you?"
Arthur swallows, unable to word an answer. Fortunately, Merlin doesn't seem to be waiting for one.
"I feel your hot skin, and your strength, and your desire. I think, right now, a sunrise would be the least of what I could do."
Before Arthur can spontaneously combust, Merlin luckily sheds the eerie graveness of the moment by grinning wide again. "But Gaius would probably tell you it's just me talking big."
Arthur can't help but laugh, however shakily. His body is vibrating with need, and Merlin sees it, and quirks an eyebrow; questioning. Arthur knows he could demand anything, right then - for Merlin to roll over and let him inside, let him take his pleasure - and be given it all. The thought scares him.
His thumb brushes the still faintly purpled skin under Merlin's eye. Not trusting his voice, he only kisses Merlin - a light, sweet kiss - and tucks him underneath his chin. Merlin sighs. "So stubborn, my lord."
Every accidental (or not-so-accidental, knowing Merlin) touch to his hyper-sensitive skin makes Arthur shudder, and eventually he forces himself to concentrate on matching Merlin's breathing. This works well, until Arthur realizes Merlin's hand is dipping further and further down on his back, and is now painting sweeping arcs over the tops of his buttocks, and both their breaths are starting to come in pants. Arthur's eyes fly open. "Jesus, Merlin!"
"Um. Sorry, sire."
Arthur has never heard a less repentant apology in his life.
It takes longer to fall back under. Arthur mutters about randy, under-handed warlocks, and Merlin mutters about pig-headed, blue-balled princes. Arthur is fairly sure such descriptions about a member of the royal family are against the law.
When he finally sleeps, Arthur dreams of mysterious radiance and naked skin and Merlin, always Merlin.
+
"I swear, Arthur, if you try and come up with one more reason to put this off-" and Merlin's hand wraps around his aching erection, and Arthur's first thought upon awakening to a pale dawn and Merlin's blazing determination is the fear that he will come right this second.
"I- wait-"
"No, Arthur. No more waiting. You're not the only one with blue balls, here." Merlin's voice is a desperate rumble, his mouth descending to bite almost savagely at Arthur's shoulder, and the rough jerking of his cock is the best thing Arthur has ever felt.
Summoning all the discipline learned in his training, Arthur rolls them over and traps Merlin's wrists against the bed. Unfortunately, Merlin isn't deterred in the slightest by losing his grip on Arthur; spreading and raising his legs, he wraps them around Arthur waist and thighs in a truly athletic move, and uses his calf muscles to pull Arthur's groin flush against his own.
The contact is electric. Merlin's whole body jerks at the shock, and Arthur only barely manages to keep the groan in his throat from becoming a whimper.
Lifting his eyes to Merlin's, Arthur can see glazed yearning warring with self-satisfaction. With a growl, Arthur twists Merlin's wrists together until he can hold them down with one hand; with the other, he reaches down, straight past the heavy, silky sacks, to ghost over the skin around the entrance to Merlin's body.
Merlin's upper body arcs in a tense bow, his mouth opening in a silent cry.
"Gods," Arthur breathes, his resolve momentarily broken by the utter beauty of Merlin's abandon, "look at you. Are you always this sensitive?"
To Arthur's surprise, Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, his slack mouth tightening to a nervous slash. "What do you mean, always?"
For a moment, Arthur's mind is empty of explanation; then, the need smacks into his abdomen like the flat of a sword.
"I thought- I was sure, you and Will-"
Merlin opens his eyes, reproof written all over his face. "If you really want to talk about Will when we are like this-"
"No, no, I don't, I just- Christ, Merlin…" And Arthur simply must bend down and take Merlin's lips again. Their mouths move in perfect sync together; their tongues twist and wrap and seek, frantic, always welcomed. After an eternity, against his lips, Merlin murmurs, "Before I came to Camelot, I didn't want," and that's it, it's too much.
Arthur takes hold of Merlin's thighs squeezing his sides and pushes them away. Before Merlin manages to ask or to complain, Arthur has flipped him on his stomach. "On your knees. Keep your elbows on the bed," Arthur commands in a low snarl, almost unable to recognize his own voice.
"I- Arthur, I-" Merlin's voice breaks but he does as he's told, and Arthur can't take the wait, overcome by the need to cement his claim on Merlin. Before the boy is fully steady in his position, Arthur places his palms on Merlin's arse, thumbs pressed close to the hidden ring of muscle, stretching Merlin open to his gaze.
Merlin's babbling intensifies when Arthur brings his face nearer the pale skin; his lips relax to trail a line of open-mouthed kisses up and down the smooth cheeks, criss-crossing, caressing.
Already, Merlin's breat is hitching; when Arthur's tongue sweeps a long, wet stripe against his opening, it stops entirely.
The taste is like all of Merlin's secrets - golden, honeyed. Arthur stabs his tongue in, laves the skin with saliva, and Merlin gives a high, tortured keen. Arthur wants to see and feel him break apart under his hands and mouth.
"Please… please," Merlin's cries have coalesced to a single plea. Arthur leans to the side to fumble in tha drawer next to the bed, and comes up with a jar. Coating his fingers, his mouth returns to kiss wetly at the edges of the quivering hole; when he pushes in a finger, Merlin's thighs start shaking.
Arthur withdraws his finger, and Merlin gives a dry sob. "Shh, wait. Turn around."
After Merlin's eyes are locked into his again, the blue and the shards of gold taking up all of Arthur vision, he pushes the oiled finger back in, and Merlin tenses and moans.
"Too fast?"
"No! No… More, Arthur, please," Merlin begs, and, well, how is Arthur supposed to deny him? Giving Merlin the second finger, Arthur bends down to lay kisses everywhere from Merlin's neck to his hipbones; and Merlin's hands tangle in his hair and the chant changes into, "Now, now, please, now-"
Arthur is about to grab the jar again when Merlin's eyes flash completely gold again, and Arthur gasps as he feels the gel being rubbed in all over his cock; and Merlin is needy and hoarse and beautiful as he insists, "Now."
Merlin's legs are spread to bracket Arthur as he braces himself above Merlin. Pressing himself against Merlin, their greased skin slips together, every touch a brand of heat. With an impatient shift of his hips, and maybe a whispered word, Merlin impales himself on Arthur, and-
"Nnngh," Arthur gasps; his cock is home, the satiny walls clenching around him, and the warmth; the pleasure coiling low in his stomach is making him blind, deaf to anything but his lover. Merlin bares his throat and screams as he takes Arthur to the hilt in one swift slide, and the head of Arthur's cock grazes a spot inside him that makes Merlin's cock jump and twitch.
Every thrust feels to Arthur like it must be the last one, the pleasure too intense to take; but it goes on and grows; gets better and worse because, after this, he will never, never, never be able to be apart from Merlin. This is his peace of mind, now; his sustenance, his lullaby.
Merlin's hands reach out to lock on Arthur's forearms; the sweat glistens on his chest and over his lips, and in one single movement Arthur hauls him upright to sink deeper into his lap.
Merlin's body is hanging frozen in time, his eyes wide open and staring at Arthur, his lips just opening. Arthur drags him down and even closer, and swallows Merlin's scream as the new angle makes him breach Merlin the furthest yet; as Arthur lets go and floods Merlin's passage with his release, Merlin's cock rubs against his stomach and he comes in pearly-white strings all over both their skin.
Merlin's lashes are moist and heavy-looking when Arthur's lips play over his eyelids. He eases them down, separating from Merlin's body despite the noise of protest. Merlin looks on the verge of falling right back asleep, but his hand resumes contact with Arthur's body; on the skin of his chest, Merlin's long fingers fashion letters that form words, need you, and thank you, and love you.