Taken
Title: Taken
Type: Slash, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 255
Spoilers: None
Summary: Arthur waits, lets Merlin take what he needs.
Disclaimer: I do not own them. I am making no profit.
Merlin closes his eyes, doesn’t want to see the trust reflected in the blue gazing back at him. Instead he waits as Arthur turns around and spreads himself open and simply waits.
Merlin presses in without bothering to question whether or not Arthur is prepared. He is, he always is.
Tight heat surrounds him, until he pulls back and exposes himself to the cold air of the room. He slams back home, again and again and again, setting a grueling pace, fingers digging deep into Arthur’s hips, sure to leave bruises come morning.
Arthur never complains.
Arthur waits, lets Merlin take what he needs. He takes the anger and the grief and the rage. He absorbs it all, waits until Merlin screams his release, and waits longer until he feels the moisture of tears replace the sweat on his back, hears a sob instead of a curse.
Then and only then, he takes Merlin into his arms and offers the comfort Arthur himself needs. He lets Merlin shake and shiver and clutch at him, and wraps his arms around him in return. Eventually, the sobs will turn into sniffles, which will turn into even, deep breaths that signal sleep.
Arthur will wait just a little longer before he feels his own tears moisten his face. Then he will bury his face in a mess of dark hair and whisper, “I will never let that happen to you.”
In the morning, they will bury the remains of yet another sorcerer to fall to his father’s axe.
Type: Slash, Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Words: 255
Spoilers: None
Summary: Arthur waits, lets Merlin take what he needs.
Disclaimer: I do not own them. I am making no profit.
Merlin closes his eyes, doesn’t want to see the trust reflected in the blue gazing back at him. Instead he waits as Arthur turns around and spreads himself open and simply waits.
Merlin presses in without bothering to question whether or not Arthur is prepared. He is, he always is.
Tight heat surrounds him, until he pulls back and exposes himself to the cold air of the room. He slams back home, again and again and again, setting a grueling pace, fingers digging deep into Arthur’s hips, sure to leave bruises come morning.
Arthur never complains.
Arthur waits, lets Merlin take what he needs. He takes the anger and the grief and the rage. He absorbs it all, waits until Merlin screams his release, and waits longer until he feels the moisture of tears replace the sweat on his back, hears a sob instead of a curse.
Then and only then, he takes Merlin into his arms and offers the comfort Arthur himself needs. He lets Merlin shake and shiver and clutch at him, and wraps his arms around him in return. Eventually, the sobs will turn into sniffles, which will turn into even, deep breaths that signal sleep.
Arthur will wait just a little longer before he feels his own tears moisten his face. Then he will bury his face in a mess of dark hair and whisper, “I will never let that happen to you.”
In the morning, they will bury the remains of yet another sorcerer to fall to his father’s axe.