srin
in
mad_poetics
Care and Feeding of (Fragile) Princes
Title: Care and Feeding of (Fragile) Princes
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: None really, though you might assume recent vaguely 3x12/3x13-like events if you were so inclined.
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3400 words
Summary: Arthur's shell cracks, and Merlin looks after what's inside.
It’s a vicious row with Uther that finally makes Arthur snap. They’ve been fighting a lot lately - berating Arthur seems to be about the only thing Uther is up for these days, and Arthur tries to bear it silently but sometimes he can’t help but hit back. Merlin doesn’t know all of what was said this time, because he was ordered out of the council chamber along with everyone else before this particular round really got going, but he waited by the door and heard the occasional ugly word uttered at excessive volume, disgrace and unfit and pathetic, and cringed at every one.
Arthur’s vibrating with anger when he finally storms out, Uther still shouting after him. Merlin trails him back to his chambers in silence, keeps silent and out of the way while Arthur strips off his coat and boots and flings them viciously across the room, keeps silent as he discreetly removes the inkwell from Arthur’s desk and the ceramic bowl from the table and the other things that he’d rather Arthur not throw around. Merlin knows the last thing Arthur needs right now is for him to snark or complain or provoke; he could have simply left Arthur to sort himself out, gone back to his room and cleaned up the mess in the morning, but there’s enough of a wounded look in Arthur’s eyes that Merlin’s unwilling to abandon him to his unhappiness.
Merlin keeps silent when Arthur starts ranting about his father, and when he lays into Merlin, and when he just sputters in barely coherent fury. Merlin keeps silent until Arthur suddenly deflates like a slashed bag of air, and flops to sit on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, and says, wretched, “…And I’m being exactly like him.”
“You’re not,” Merlin says, quiet, coming to stand in front of Arthur.
Arthur looks up, his expression unreadable.
“You really aren’t,” Merlin says.
Arthur’s eyes go soft, his lower lip wobbles just a tad - and then, quite unexpectedly, he hauls Merlin in by his shirt and crashes their mouths together. It can hardly even be called a kiss, more a confused battle of lips and teeth, like drunks taking swings at each other in the dark, and Merlin’s too stunned to do anything but let it happen.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks, tentative, when Arthur releases him.
“Get out, if you want,” Arthur says dully, staring at the ground. “I’ll never mention it again.”
“Or?” Merlin prompts gently.
“Or don’t go.”
Merlin would be lying if he claimed never to have thought about this, or if he denied the excited clutch in his belly when Arthur grabbed him, but in this moment it’s the miserable slump of Arthur’s shoulders that makes him act without hesitation. He brushes his fingers lightly over Arthur’s hair, and lets them trail down the side of his face, along his jaw, to his chin, which he nudges upwards.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin says, when Arthur meets his gaze.
“You never do,” Arthur says, something like wonder in his tone.
“And I never will.”
Merlin pauses for a moment, unsure, but then he gathers his courage and runs his thumb back and forth across Arthur’s lip a few times. Arthur lets him, and just as Merlin’s starting to relax, considering his next move, Arthur shifts and closes his lips around Merlin’s thumb. The sudden slick warmth is a shock, enough to still Merlin’s movements. Arthur closes his eyes, sucks Merlin’s thumb a little deeper, and explores the tip of it with his tongue.
Merlin wants to ask any number of questions - does Arthur want Merlin or only a convenient body, will he take this back in the morning, will this make things strange between them, has Arthur thought about this before the way Merlin has - but he doesn’t ask anything. The tension has faded from Arthur’s body, his face looks momentarily young and content, and Merlin’s unwilling to do anything that might disturb this fragile peace in his prince. Eyes still closed, Arthur releases Merlin’s thumb, but takes his hand and turns it so he can kiss the knuckles. Then he hooks an arm around Merlin’s waist, tugs him in closer, and hides his face against Merlin’s belly. Merlin lays a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the other on the back of his head, and waits.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” Arthur mumbles.
“It’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t need to be.”
“Well, I’m certainly not about to complain if you decide you want to be nicer to me…”
Arthur makes a dissatisfied noise and tightens his hold, pulling Merlin in to stand between his parted legs.
Arthur manhandles Merlin about all the time, and Merlin’s done his fair share of hauling Arthur here and there too, but they’ve never been so close in such a still, quiet way before. Merlin’s acutely aware of the puffs of Arthur’s breath and the warmth of his hands through Merlin’s shirt, the little twitches of Arthur’s muscles, the texture of Arthur’s hair under his fingers, the press of Arthur’s thighs against the outsides of Merlin’s legs. This all feels slightly unreal, like a castle built of soap bubbles, shimmering and strange and so easily broken.
“Those things he said about you - he’s wrong,” Merlin whispers. “I don’t know if you really know that, but he is. You’re a good knight, a good man, you’ll be a good king, a great king-”
Arthur makes a noise that sounds almost like a whimper, and mutters something Merlin can’t make out.
“What did you say?”
“Not a good son,” Arthur says, in a small fragile voice that makes Merlin’s heart hurt.
“Oh, Arthur…”
Merlin steps back just enough to give himself room to drop to his knees, and then he takes Arthur’s face between his hands and kisses his forehead, cheeks, the tip of his nose, tiny delicate kisses all over. Arthur doesn’t move at first, but when he does stir, it’s to tilt his face so Merlin’s lips fall on his instead of on his jaw. For a moment they stay that way, just pressed carefully together.
Then Merlin parts his lips to nip at one of Arthur’s, and then it’s as though something has popped inside Arthur, whatever has been keeping him quiet and restrained since he first kissed Merlin: his mouth goes wild and desperate and he grabs at Merlin, pulling and shoving at his limbs until they’re both fully on the bed and then he clings, strong arms tight around Merlin’s body as if he’s afraid that Merlin will slip away if he lets go.
“Arthur, Arthur, it’s okay,” Merlin chants when Arthur leaves his mouth for a moment, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur sighs, slowing down a little. “You’re so…” he trails off and leans back, just enough to look at Merlin properly. There’s an unguarded fondness in his eyes that makes Merlin go warm all over - or rather, even warmer, since the proximity of Arthur’s body has been doing a rather good job of that already.
“Clever?” Merlin suggests, trying on a stupid grin, “Witty? Charming? Handsome. You were going to say handsome, weren’t you?”
The joke has the desired effect - Arthur cracks a smile, small but unmistakeable.
“Ridiculous,” Arthur says. “You’re ridiculous.” Then he tips his head down, hiding his face against Merlin’s shoulder, and adds, “And I want you, if you’ll have me.”
Merlin considers another joke, but there’s something brittle in Arthur’s tone, so instead Merlin says, “Of course, of course I will, I want you too,” and kisses Arthur’s hair.
Arthur’s abrupt shifts from placid to frenzied will be a regular feature this evening, it seems - immediately Arthur’s pushing Merlin onto his back, crawling down his body, shoving his clothes out of the way, and, before Merlin can entirely process that this is really happening, Arthur has his mouth on Merlin’s cock.
Merlin’s only had this done to him a handful of times, mostly when everyone concerned was drunk and stupid. He might as well be drunk and stupid now, his brain stuttering over how his night could possibly have gone from Arthur yelling to Arthur kissing him to Arthur strangely vulnerable to Arthur sucking him off, and the rest of his body is thoroughly unconcerned with anything but how amazing it feels. Whether Arthur’s especially skilled at this Merlin has no idea, but between his enthusiasm and the simple fact that this is Arthur, it doesn’t matter.
Something gravely and too-revealing like “Ohfuck that’s good,” slips out of Merlin’s mouth, and he would be embarrassed by it, if not for the tiny little moan of Arthur’s that Merlin feels as much as hears.
And Merlin wonders, in a small still-clear corner of his mind. Normally Arthur accepts compliments with arrogant bravado or with stilted modesty, depending on the context and the source, but maybe, maybe now when he’s raw and honest and still smarting from Uther’s criticism, maybe now he needs…
“Yeah, like that, that’s perfect,” Merlin tries, feeling faintly foolish.
Arthur shivers, and stops for a moment, and then kisses the head of Merlin’s cock and whispers, “Tell me. Tell me what you want.”
“Don’t stop,” Merlin says, at a loss as to what else to ask for, and lets his hips roll ever so slightly, just enough to nudge his dick against Arthur’s lips again. That image is going to stick in Merlin’s mind forever, he’s sure of it: his cock stiff and fat against Arthur’s swollen red mouth, Arthur staring at Merlin up the length of his still-clothed body, hair a mess and face flushed and eyes dark, hungry, pleading.
Arthur swallows him down, taking him deep and Merlin can feel Arthur gagging a little but he doesn’t stop or pull off. Merlin pries his fingers from the bedding he’s been clutching without realising it, and threads them into Arthur’s hair instead - not pushing, just desperate to touch him back. Merlin’s not that talkative in bed by nature, and the wet heat and pressure on his dick are so overwhelming that it’s a struggle for him to remember to gasp out encouragement, but the tiny, pleased noises the words coax from Arthur are more than sufficient incentive to do it anyway. It’s nothing terribly eloquent, a repetitive litany of so good and yes and amazing, you’re amazing, but it seems to serve well enough.
And then -
“Arthur, Arthur, I’m close, I’m-”
Merlin tries to tug Arthur away, but Arthur reaches up to hold one of Merlin’s wrists, and uses it to press his own head down, and that’s it, that’s Merlin done. He comes hard, straight down Arthur’s throat, and it feels as though it goes on forever, Arthur grunting and struggling to swallow around him and refusing to pull off until finally Merlin sags, spent. Even then, he keeps mouthing gently at Merlin’s softening cock.
And, Merlin notices when he’s regained sufficient brain function, Arthur’s also rubbing his own hips against the bed. Merlin pushes himself up just enough to reach Arthur’s shoulders and pull at him; Arthur makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine.
“Come here,” Merlin murmurs, “come on, you were so good to me, let me take care of you…”
That does it. Arthur shuffles up the bed and Merlin moves to meet him, holds him close and kisses him thoroughly. The words were an effort but this is easier, somehow - looking after Arthur with his hands and his touch is familiar, even if the exact form of it is new.
“Clothes off,” Merlin whispers against Arthur’s lips, and he’s both surprised and oddly not surprised at all when Arthur moves to obey. Arthur strips off his tunic, trousers, and underthings, while Merlin sheds his own now sweat-sticky clothes, and the boots that he was still absurdly wearing. In a reassuring show of normalcy, Arthur makes an annoyed face at the boots.
“Shush, you, I’m the one who’ll be changing the sheets anyway,” Merlin says. Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest further.
Merlin has seen Arthur naked before but never like this, when he’s hard and bright-eyed and staring at Merlin as though Merlin’s some sort of wonderful. The fog of orgasm has cleared enough for all of this to start seeming rather surreal once more - fantastic and stunning too, but still surreal - but that doesn’t stop Merlin taking Arthur into his arms again, Arthur sort of sitting across his lap. Even if this is some bizarre dream, he isn’t about to stop before Arthur’s as wrung out and satisfied as Merlin is. Arthur instantly latches onto his waist, and nuzzles against Merlin’s throat, the rough scrape of his stubble at odds with the tender gesture. Merlin strokes his neck and back, little unhurried passes of his fingers, and slides his other hand between their bodies to wrap around Arthur’s erection.
Arthur’s hips buck and he sighs, his breath hot on Merlin’s skin. Merlin pumps him slowly but firmly, occasionally letting his hand drift down to palm Arthur’s bollocks before returning to his cock. When his hand slips just a little too far, behind Arthur’s bollocks, he tries to pull it away but Arthur suddenly clamps his thighs shut, trapping Merlin’s hand.
“You like that?” Merlin asks, curious. Arthur won’t show his face, but Merlin can see the red flush staining his cheek, and Arthur doesn’t say no, or release Merlin’s hand. They are going to need to work on this communication thing in the future, Merlin decides, but right now that’s answer enough.
“You like that,” Merlin repeats, not a question this time. “It’s okay, you can let me, just want to make you feel good, Arthur, it’s okay…”
Arthur makes a noise that Merlin can’t decipher, but just as Merlin starts to worry that he’s misinterpreted something or gone too far, Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck, then parts his thighs and shifts his hips a little to give Merlin better access.
“There, that’s right,” Merlin says, sliding his fingers back and back, to rub carefully over Arthur’s hole, which twitches at the contact, “that’s it, just relax, I’ve got you…”
The angle is awkward for them both, though, and after a moment Merlin stops to rearrange them, Arthur going willingly though he still avoids Merlin’s eyes. (Another thing they’ll need to work on; Merlin hates the thought of Arthur being so embarrassed by his desires.) Merlin leans against the pillows at the head of the bed, and guides Arthur to straddle his lap, so he can reach around to touch Arthur’s arse with one hand and use the other on Arthur’s cock. Arthur winds his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and presses his cheek to Merlin’s.
“Better, yeah?” Merlin mutters in Arthur’s ear.
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees, his voice ragged.
“I’m glad,” Merlin tells him. “You just enjoy yourself, yeah, I’ll look after you, it’s all right…”
Merlin keeps whispering random soothing nonsense, the words spilling out of him easily now as he’s preoccupied with the hot length of Arthur’s cock in his hand, and Arthur’s hole clenching and pulsing under his fingers, and the way Arthur’s clinging to him again. He feels … privileged, for lack of a better word, to be allowed to see Arthur so unguarded. And for so long - Merlin has seen flashes of such vulnerability before, certainly, but they were always swiftly buried. He resents Uther for driving Arthur to this, but at the same time he’s grateful to be able to provide what Arthur seems to need right now, and if he’s entirely honest, a little bit thrilled to have Arthur at all. This is not at all how he’d imagined sex-with-Arthur would go, when he did imagine it in bits and flashes alone in his room at night, but he’s definitely not complaining.
Arthur’s hips are rocking unsteadily between Merlin’s hands, trying to push into Merlin’s fist and against his fingers at the same time, and he’s breathing heavily, gasping something that Merlin can’t quite make out but might be please.
“Want more?” Merlin asks, and then stills his hand on Arthur’s cock and repeats himself, when Arthur seems not to have noticed the question.
“Yes,” Arthur says, “I want - Merlin please -”
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Merlin promises. He sucks the first two fingers of the hand he’d had around Arthur’s dick into his mouth, getting them as slick as he can - and fuck, that’s Arthur, that’s what Arthur tastes like - and then switches hands, bringing his wet fingers to Arthur’s arse and his other hand back to Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s hands tense on Merlin’s shoulders when he feels the touch on his hole, and he goes still all over, but then Merlin takes a deep breath and carefully presses one finger inside. Arthur makes the most amazing, needy little noise at that, and pushes back against the intrusion an instant later.
It doesn’t take much more after that - some gentle thrusting of Merlin’s fingers inside Arthur’s body, a few pulls on Arthur’s cock, and then Arthur’s shuddering and groaning and coming all over Merlin’s hand and both their bellies.
And then he promptly falls asleep where he is, leaving Merlin with a sticky, heavy lapful of prince.
“Arthur?” Merlin tries, prodding at him. Arthur snuffles and tries to burrow against Merlin’s neck, but otherwise fails to stir. Merlin pulls his finger out of Arthur’s arse, which gets him a slightly different sort of snuffle and not much else.
“Arthur.”
No response. Merlin pushes at Arthur’s knees, and manages to get him to straighten out a bit, at least, though his arms stay firmly around Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin tries one more prod, a bit more forceful this time, and then sighs, admits defeat, and whispers a spell to clean them up. And another to get the blanket out from underneath them. He tucks it around their bodies as best he can, uses another spell to snuff the candles and bank the fire, and finally, feeling entitled to it after everything else, hugs Arthur tightly to himself and goes to sleep as well.
It’s still dark when Merlin wakes because Arthur is climbing out of the bed.
“Arthur? Arthur, are you-”
“I need a piss,” Arthur says.
“Oh.”
Merlin waits. There’s just enough light in the room for him to see that Arthur does in fact go for the screen hiding the chamberpot, rather than the door. He can hear Arthur relieve himself, which given recent events shouldn’t seem all that intimate, but somehow does. Arthur comes back to the bed when he’s finished, but sits on the edge rather than getting back under the blanket. He’s still naked, and seems very far away even though there’s only a foot or two separating them.
“I’m sorry about before,” Arthur says.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, you-”
“I meant - falling asleep on you. That was rather rude of me.”
“Oh. It’s okay. You were - I think you needed that.”
Arthur doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“I did,” he says eventually, and it’s clear he isn’t talking only about the falling-asleep bit. “Thank you. I appreciate your, ah, your consideration, and, um…”
“You’re -” Merlin begins, and then cuts himself off. He can see this conversation unfolding in front of him: Arthur stiff and detached in his embarrassment, Merlin letting it happen, finding himself out the door with only his trousers and the knowledge that Arthur will be well-stocked with repression and denial by morning. No. He isn’t having with that. Merlin sits up, and tries a different strategy.
“You know what, no, bugger that. Don’t go all formal on me. It was good, yeah? It was good like that and it can be good other ways too, so just - just don’t be a stupid prat, okay, and come back here before you freeze your bollocks off. I like your bollocks, right, I have a great many more plans for your bollocks, so-”
A laugh. There. Good.
“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur says, sounding like himself again.
“You like it.”
“I suppose I do,” Arthur admits, and gets into the bed. He settles himself beside Merlin, close but not touching. Merlin leans over him and glares.
“Don’t tell me you don’t cuddle now. We both know that’s a lie.”
Arthur sighs, but it’s one of his deliberately dramatic, put-upon sighs. “Oh, very well, come here,” he says.
Merlin sprawls over his chest, and Arthur brings his arms up around Merlin of his own accord.
“I’ve got you, Arthur, always,” Merlin whispers, just in case there’s any doubt.
“I know,” Arthur says, giving him a squeeze. “I know.”
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: None really, though you might assume recent vaguely 3x12/3x13-like events if you were so inclined.
Rating: NC-17
Length: ~3400 words
Summary: Arthur's shell cracks, and Merlin looks after what's inside.
It’s a vicious row with Uther that finally makes Arthur snap. They’ve been fighting a lot lately - berating Arthur seems to be about the only thing Uther is up for these days, and Arthur tries to bear it silently but sometimes he can’t help but hit back. Merlin doesn’t know all of what was said this time, because he was ordered out of the council chamber along with everyone else before this particular round really got going, but he waited by the door and heard the occasional ugly word uttered at excessive volume, disgrace and unfit and pathetic, and cringed at every one.
Arthur’s vibrating with anger when he finally storms out, Uther still shouting after him. Merlin trails him back to his chambers in silence, keeps silent and out of the way while Arthur strips off his coat and boots and flings them viciously across the room, keeps silent as he discreetly removes the inkwell from Arthur’s desk and the ceramic bowl from the table and the other things that he’d rather Arthur not throw around. Merlin knows the last thing Arthur needs right now is for him to snark or complain or provoke; he could have simply left Arthur to sort himself out, gone back to his room and cleaned up the mess in the morning, but there’s enough of a wounded look in Arthur’s eyes that Merlin’s unwilling to abandon him to his unhappiness.
Merlin keeps silent when Arthur starts ranting about his father, and when he lays into Merlin, and when he just sputters in barely coherent fury. Merlin keeps silent until Arthur suddenly deflates like a slashed bag of air, and flops to sit on the edge of his bed, head in his hands, and says, wretched, “…And I’m being exactly like him.”
“You’re not,” Merlin says, quiet, coming to stand in front of Arthur.
Arthur looks up, his expression unreadable.
“You really aren’t,” Merlin says.
Arthur’s eyes go soft, his lower lip wobbles just a tad - and then, quite unexpectedly, he hauls Merlin in by his shirt and crashes their mouths together. It can hardly even be called a kiss, more a confused battle of lips and teeth, like drunks taking swings at each other in the dark, and Merlin’s too stunned to do anything but let it happen.
“Arthur?” Merlin asks, tentative, when Arthur releases him.
“Get out, if you want,” Arthur says dully, staring at the ground. “I’ll never mention it again.”
“Or?” Merlin prompts gently.
“Or don’t go.”
Merlin would be lying if he claimed never to have thought about this, or if he denied the excited clutch in his belly when Arthur grabbed him, but in this moment it’s the miserable slump of Arthur’s shoulders that makes him act without hesitation. He brushes his fingers lightly over Arthur’s hair, and lets them trail down the side of his face, along his jaw, to his chin, which he nudges upwards.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Merlin says, when Arthur meets his gaze.
“You never do,” Arthur says, something like wonder in his tone.
“And I never will.”
Merlin pauses for a moment, unsure, but then he gathers his courage and runs his thumb back and forth across Arthur’s lip a few times. Arthur lets him, and just as Merlin’s starting to relax, considering his next move, Arthur shifts and closes his lips around Merlin’s thumb. The sudden slick warmth is a shock, enough to still Merlin’s movements. Arthur closes his eyes, sucks Merlin’s thumb a little deeper, and explores the tip of it with his tongue.
Merlin wants to ask any number of questions - does Arthur want Merlin or only a convenient body, will he take this back in the morning, will this make things strange between them, has Arthur thought about this before the way Merlin has - but he doesn’t ask anything. The tension has faded from Arthur’s body, his face looks momentarily young and content, and Merlin’s unwilling to do anything that might disturb this fragile peace in his prince. Eyes still closed, Arthur releases Merlin’s thumb, but takes his hand and turns it so he can kiss the knuckles. Then he hooks an arm around Merlin’s waist, tugs him in closer, and hides his face against Merlin’s belly. Merlin lays a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, the other on the back of his head, and waits.
“I shouldn’t have shouted at you,” Arthur mumbles.
“It’s all right. I’m used to it.”
“You shouldn’t need to be.”
“Well, I’m certainly not about to complain if you decide you want to be nicer to me…”
Arthur makes a dissatisfied noise and tightens his hold, pulling Merlin in to stand between his parted legs.
Arthur manhandles Merlin about all the time, and Merlin’s done his fair share of hauling Arthur here and there too, but they’ve never been so close in such a still, quiet way before. Merlin’s acutely aware of the puffs of Arthur’s breath and the warmth of his hands through Merlin’s shirt, the little twitches of Arthur’s muscles, the texture of Arthur’s hair under his fingers, the press of Arthur’s thighs against the outsides of Merlin’s legs. This all feels slightly unreal, like a castle built of soap bubbles, shimmering and strange and so easily broken.
“Those things he said about you - he’s wrong,” Merlin whispers. “I don’t know if you really know that, but he is. You’re a good knight, a good man, you’ll be a good king, a great king-”
Arthur makes a noise that sounds almost like a whimper, and mutters something Merlin can’t make out.
“What did you say?”
“Not a good son,” Arthur says, in a small fragile voice that makes Merlin’s heart hurt.
“Oh, Arthur…”
Merlin steps back just enough to give himself room to drop to his knees, and then he takes Arthur’s face between his hands and kisses his forehead, cheeks, the tip of his nose, tiny delicate kisses all over. Arthur doesn’t move at first, but when he does stir, it’s to tilt his face so Merlin’s lips fall on his instead of on his jaw. For a moment they stay that way, just pressed carefully together.
Then Merlin parts his lips to nip at one of Arthur’s, and then it’s as though something has popped inside Arthur, whatever has been keeping him quiet and restrained since he first kissed Merlin: his mouth goes wild and desperate and he grabs at Merlin, pulling and shoving at his limbs until they’re both fully on the bed and then he clings, strong arms tight around Merlin’s body as if he’s afraid that Merlin will slip away if he lets go.
“Arthur, Arthur, it’s okay,” Merlin chants when Arthur leaves his mouth for a moment, “I’m here, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur sighs, slowing down a little. “You’re so…” he trails off and leans back, just enough to look at Merlin properly. There’s an unguarded fondness in his eyes that makes Merlin go warm all over - or rather, even warmer, since the proximity of Arthur’s body has been doing a rather good job of that already.
“Clever?” Merlin suggests, trying on a stupid grin, “Witty? Charming? Handsome. You were going to say handsome, weren’t you?”
The joke has the desired effect - Arthur cracks a smile, small but unmistakeable.
“Ridiculous,” Arthur says. “You’re ridiculous.” Then he tips his head down, hiding his face against Merlin’s shoulder, and adds, “And I want you, if you’ll have me.”
Merlin considers another joke, but there’s something brittle in Arthur’s tone, so instead Merlin says, “Of course, of course I will, I want you too,” and kisses Arthur’s hair.
Arthur’s abrupt shifts from placid to frenzied will be a regular feature this evening, it seems - immediately Arthur’s pushing Merlin onto his back, crawling down his body, shoving his clothes out of the way, and, before Merlin can entirely process that this is really happening, Arthur has his mouth on Merlin’s cock.
Merlin’s only had this done to him a handful of times, mostly when everyone concerned was drunk and stupid. He might as well be drunk and stupid now, his brain stuttering over how his night could possibly have gone from Arthur yelling to Arthur kissing him to Arthur strangely vulnerable to Arthur sucking him off, and the rest of his body is thoroughly unconcerned with anything but how amazing it feels. Whether Arthur’s especially skilled at this Merlin has no idea, but between his enthusiasm and the simple fact that this is Arthur, it doesn’t matter.
Something gravely and too-revealing like “Ohfuck that’s good,” slips out of Merlin’s mouth, and he would be embarrassed by it, if not for the tiny little moan of Arthur’s that Merlin feels as much as hears.
And Merlin wonders, in a small still-clear corner of his mind. Normally Arthur accepts compliments with arrogant bravado or with stilted modesty, depending on the context and the source, but maybe, maybe now when he’s raw and honest and still smarting from Uther’s criticism, maybe now he needs…
“Yeah, like that, that’s perfect,” Merlin tries, feeling faintly foolish.
Arthur shivers, and stops for a moment, and then kisses the head of Merlin’s cock and whispers, “Tell me. Tell me what you want.”
“Don’t stop,” Merlin says, at a loss as to what else to ask for, and lets his hips roll ever so slightly, just enough to nudge his dick against Arthur’s lips again. That image is going to stick in Merlin’s mind forever, he’s sure of it: his cock stiff and fat against Arthur’s swollen red mouth, Arthur staring at Merlin up the length of his still-clothed body, hair a mess and face flushed and eyes dark, hungry, pleading.
Arthur swallows him down, taking him deep and Merlin can feel Arthur gagging a little but he doesn’t stop or pull off. Merlin pries his fingers from the bedding he’s been clutching without realising it, and threads them into Arthur’s hair instead - not pushing, just desperate to touch him back. Merlin’s not that talkative in bed by nature, and the wet heat and pressure on his dick are so overwhelming that it’s a struggle for him to remember to gasp out encouragement, but the tiny, pleased noises the words coax from Arthur are more than sufficient incentive to do it anyway. It’s nothing terribly eloquent, a repetitive litany of so good and yes and amazing, you’re amazing, but it seems to serve well enough.
And then -
“Arthur, Arthur, I’m close, I’m-”
Merlin tries to tug Arthur away, but Arthur reaches up to hold one of Merlin’s wrists, and uses it to press his own head down, and that’s it, that’s Merlin done. He comes hard, straight down Arthur’s throat, and it feels as though it goes on forever, Arthur grunting and struggling to swallow around him and refusing to pull off until finally Merlin sags, spent. Even then, he keeps mouthing gently at Merlin’s softening cock.
And, Merlin notices when he’s regained sufficient brain function, Arthur’s also rubbing his own hips against the bed. Merlin pushes himself up just enough to reach Arthur’s shoulders and pull at him; Arthur makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whine.
“Come here,” Merlin murmurs, “come on, you were so good to me, let me take care of you…”
That does it. Arthur shuffles up the bed and Merlin moves to meet him, holds him close and kisses him thoroughly. The words were an effort but this is easier, somehow - looking after Arthur with his hands and his touch is familiar, even if the exact form of it is new.
“Clothes off,” Merlin whispers against Arthur’s lips, and he’s both surprised and oddly not surprised at all when Arthur moves to obey. Arthur strips off his tunic, trousers, and underthings, while Merlin sheds his own now sweat-sticky clothes, and the boots that he was still absurdly wearing. In a reassuring show of normalcy, Arthur makes an annoyed face at the boots.
“Shush, you, I’m the one who’ll be changing the sheets anyway,” Merlin says. Arthur rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest further.
Merlin has seen Arthur naked before but never like this, when he’s hard and bright-eyed and staring at Merlin as though Merlin’s some sort of wonderful. The fog of orgasm has cleared enough for all of this to start seeming rather surreal once more - fantastic and stunning too, but still surreal - but that doesn’t stop Merlin taking Arthur into his arms again, Arthur sort of sitting across his lap. Even if this is some bizarre dream, he isn’t about to stop before Arthur’s as wrung out and satisfied as Merlin is. Arthur instantly latches onto his waist, and nuzzles against Merlin’s throat, the rough scrape of his stubble at odds with the tender gesture. Merlin strokes his neck and back, little unhurried passes of his fingers, and slides his other hand between their bodies to wrap around Arthur’s erection.
Arthur’s hips buck and he sighs, his breath hot on Merlin’s skin. Merlin pumps him slowly but firmly, occasionally letting his hand drift down to palm Arthur’s bollocks before returning to his cock. When his hand slips just a little too far, behind Arthur’s bollocks, he tries to pull it away but Arthur suddenly clamps his thighs shut, trapping Merlin’s hand.
“You like that?” Merlin asks, curious. Arthur won’t show his face, but Merlin can see the red flush staining his cheek, and Arthur doesn’t say no, or release Merlin’s hand. They are going to need to work on this communication thing in the future, Merlin decides, but right now that’s answer enough.
“You like that,” Merlin repeats, not a question this time. “It’s okay, you can let me, just want to make you feel good, Arthur, it’s okay…”
Arthur makes a noise that Merlin can’t decipher, but just as Merlin starts to worry that he’s misinterpreted something or gone too far, Arthur kisses Merlin’s neck, then parts his thighs and shifts his hips a little to give Merlin better access.
“There, that’s right,” Merlin says, sliding his fingers back and back, to rub carefully over Arthur’s hole, which twitches at the contact, “that’s it, just relax, I’ve got you…”
The angle is awkward for them both, though, and after a moment Merlin stops to rearrange them, Arthur going willingly though he still avoids Merlin’s eyes. (Another thing they’ll need to work on; Merlin hates the thought of Arthur being so embarrassed by his desires.) Merlin leans against the pillows at the head of the bed, and guides Arthur to straddle his lap, so he can reach around to touch Arthur’s arse with one hand and use the other on Arthur’s cock. Arthur winds his arms around Merlin’s shoulders and presses his cheek to Merlin’s.
“Better, yeah?” Merlin mutters in Arthur’s ear.
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees, his voice ragged.
“I’m glad,” Merlin tells him. “You just enjoy yourself, yeah, I’ll look after you, it’s all right…”
Merlin keeps whispering random soothing nonsense, the words spilling out of him easily now as he’s preoccupied with the hot length of Arthur’s cock in his hand, and Arthur’s hole clenching and pulsing under his fingers, and the way Arthur’s clinging to him again. He feels … privileged, for lack of a better word, to be allowed to see Arthur so unguarded. And for so long - Merlin has seen flashes of such vulnerability before, certainly, but they were always swiftly buried. He resents Uther for driving Arthur to this, but at the same time he’s grateful to be able to provide what Arthur seems to need right now, and if he’s entirely honest, a little bit thrilled to have Arthur at all. This is not at all how he’d imagined sex-with-Arthur would go, when he did imagine it in bits and flashes alone in his room at night, but he’s definitely not complaining.
Arthur’s hips are rocking unsteadily between Merlin’s hands, trying to push into Merlin’s fist and against his fingers at the same time, and he’s breathing heavily, gasping something that Merlin can’t quite make out but might be please.
“Want more?” Merlin asks, and then stills his hand on Arthur’s cock and repeats himself, when Arthur seems not to have noticed the question.
“Yes,” Arthur says, “I want - Merlin please -”
“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Merlin promises. He sucks the first two fingers of the hand he’d had around Arthur’s dick into his mouth, getting them as slick as he can - and fuck, that’s Arthur, that’s what Arthur tastes like - and then switches hands, bringing his wet fingers to Arthur’s arse and his other hand back to Arthur’s cock. Arthur’s hands tense on Merlin’s shoulders when he feels the touch on his hole, and he goes still all over, but then Merlin takes a deep breath and carefully presses one finger inside. Arthur makes the most amazing, needy little noise at that, and pushes back against the intrusion an instant later.
It doesn’t take much more after that - some gentle thrusting of Merlin’s fingers inside Arthur’s body, a few pulls on Arthur’s cock, and then Arthur’s shuddering and groaning and coming all over Merlin’s hand and both their bellies.
And then he promptly falls asleep where he is, leaving Merlin with a sticky, heavy lapful of prince.
“Arthur?” Merlin tries, prodding at him. Arthur snuffles and tries to burrow against Merlin’s neck, but otherwise fails to stir. Merlin pulls his finger out of Arthur’s arse, which gets him a slightly different sort of snuffle and not much else.
“Arthur.”
No response. Merlin pushes at Arthur’s knees, and manages to get him to straighten out a bit, at least, though his arms stay firmly around Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin tries one more prod, a bit more forceful this time, and then sighs, admits defeat, and whispers a spell to clean them up. And another to get the blanket out from underneath them. He tucks it around their bodies as best he can, uses another spell to snuff the candles and bank the fire, and finally, feeling entitled to it after everything else, hugs Arthur tightly to himself and goes to sleep as well.
It’s still dark when Merlin wakes because Arthur is climbing out of the bed.
“Arthur? Arthur, are you-”
“I need a piss,” Arthur says.
“Oh.”
Merlin waits. There’s just enough light in the room for him to see that Arthur does in fact go for the screen hiding the chamberpot, rather than the door. He can hear Arthur relieve himself, which given recent events shouldn’t seem all that intimate, but somehow does. Arthur comes back to the bed when he’s finished, but sits on the edge rather than getting back under the blanket. He’s still naked, and seems very far away even though there’s only a foot or two separating them.
“I’m sorry about before,” Arthur says.
“You’ve nothing to apologize for, you-”
“I meant - falling asleep on you. That was rather rude of me.”
“Oh. It’s okay. You were - I think you needed that.”
Arthur doesn’t respond for a long moment.
“I did,” he says eventually, and it’s clear he isn’t talking only about the falling-asleep bit. “Thank you. I appreciate your, ah, your consideration, and, um…”
“You’re -” Merlin begins, and then cuts himself off. He can see this conversation unfolding in front of him: Arthur stiff and detached in his embarrassment, Merlin letting it happen, finding himself out the door with only his trousers and the knowledge that Arthur will be well-stocked with repression and denial by morning. No. He isn’t having with that. Merlin sits up, and tries a different strategy.
“You know what, no, bugger that. Don’t go all formal on me. It was good, yeah? It was good like that and it can be good other ways too, so just - just don’t be a stupid prat, okay, and come back here before you freeze your bollocks off. I like your bollocks, right, I have a great many more plans for your bollocks, so-”
A laugh. There. Good.
“You’re ridiculous,” Arthur says, sounding like himself again.
“You like it.”
“I suppose I do,” Arthur admits, and gets into the bed. He settles himself beside Merlin, close but not touching. Merlin leans over him and glares.
“Don’t tell me you don’t cuddle now. We both know that’s a lie.”
Arthur sighs, but it’s one of his deliberately dramatic, put-upon sighs. “Oh, very well, come here,” he says.
Merlin sprawls over his chest, and Arthur brings his arms up around Merlin of his own accord.
“I’ve got you, Arthur, always,” Merlin whispers, just in case there’s any doubt.
“I know,” Arthur says, giving him a squeeze. “I know.”