Fic - Love in a Cold Climate
Oops, I did it again.
Title: Love in a Cold Climate
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No, and you have no idea how much I wish this was.
Clangers: Yes, I know they don’t sleep in the buff. Shame, really.
Disclaimer: All owned by the Beeb and Shine, the lucky buggers. ARR, no infringement intended, and the devil made me do it.
There is a reliable law regarding sharing a bed with someone, and it goes something like this: the probability of waking up the next morning squished together in an unseemly octopus of limbs is sadly inversely proportional to the amount one actually wants this to happen, unless said person is of the same gender, in which case the probability is one hundred percent regardless of intentions. Arthur became aware of this law, and its many implications, as the first rays of sunlight began to slide in through the window of his bedchamber.
He was sprawled on his back in more-or-less the centre of the bed, and Merlin was lying along his side, one arm and one leg thrown casually over him, his head nestling companionably on Arthur’s chest. Even more unsettling was the fact that one of Arthur’s own arms appeared to have made its way around the manservant’s skinny frame in a comfortable embrace, although thankfully the other was still maintaining some decorum tucked up under the pillows. Being the one pinned to the mattress and unable to move without unseating the world, Arthur was naturally the first to wake and discover their predicament, and knew in an instant there would be no simple way to explain this, to Merlin or to anybody else. To stave off the horrors he fully expected to arise when they were both awake, he opted to stay as still as possible for as long as he could, grumpily mulling over the events that had left him stuck underneath his own manservant.
The snow hadn’t been at all sudden, he reflected, and Arthur had seen the arrival of the first gentle drifts of winter often enough to know that they were very quickly compounded by several nights of blizzards harsh enough to bury livestock in the fields. Sensible farmers brought their animals in, mothers warned their children to be home before dark in case the weather turned, and princes with their brains switched on sent their unruly servants home before they were snowed in at the castle and there was nothing for it but to invite them to stay.
Arthur, however, hadn’t had his brain switched on the previous night, possibly due to overindulgence in wine, but equally possibly due to Merlin having been wearing old borrowed breeches that were several sizes too small and clinging in all the wrong places. The effect had been enough to make a dragon weep, and Arthur was half convinced he’d heard one.
Whatever his excuse, Arthur had ended up with a snowbound Merlin staring morosely out of the window into the whiteout; the sight of his mournful face lit by the glow of moonlight reflected from the snowdrifts had made Arthur forget he was heir to a castle with hundreds of other rooms, and he had somewhat uncomfortably told Merlin he ought to stay.
Merlin had eyed the chamber’s one bed for some while, and Arthur had felt a pang of horror at what the other man might be thinking. He couldn’t imagine Merlin harbouring feelings similar to his own - after all, his servant was such a twit there was no way he could possibly be keeping a secret of any kind from someone as quick-witted and observant as himself. Even though the object of his fledgling desires apparently hadn’t tried to escape through the window at the suggestion of not going home, he had known precisely what would happen if Merlin shared his bed; it would largely involve getting no sleep and spending all night hard, wretched and fuming. In the end, though it tore at him inside, Arthur had thrown Merlin a blanket which he would rather have had on his own bed as well and ordered him to sleep on the sheepskin by the fire.
The floor was cold and hard and Merlin had lain down on it dejected, with his jacket under his head and the blanket over as much of him as it could be persuaded to cover. He had stayed fully clothed - there was no way he was going to remove a stitch, even with a fire burning in the grate. He was far too young to freeze to death in the service of anybody. For a moment, when he had caught Arthur staring at him by the window and then been invited - no, ordered - to stay, he had stupidly allowed himself to hope that he might end up beside the man he adored, not hunched on the floor with his boots. Part of him had wanted to cry.
Arthur had lain in bed inwardly cursing. The shivers in Merlin’s breath were clearly audible, and no matter how hard he had tried to make himself annoyed in the hope it would blot out everything else, the evil demon of concern had kept working its way back into his head.
In the end he had called to Merlin and tersely bade him come to the bed.
“I can’t stand you shivering any more. The bed’s big enough for two.”
Strictly speaking it was big enough for about six, and possibly a well-behaved pony, but common sense had told Merlin to hold his tongue unless he wanted to find himself back on the floor, this time for the rest of the night.
With that simple invitation, Merlin had picked up his blanket and wobbled self-consciously over to the bed, disrobing as swiftly as he could while Arthur pointedly looked the other way. Inwardly Merlin had been glad of it, as the cold had affected everything, and the last thing he had needed right then was Arthur pointing and laughing at parts of him that were far too small and blue. Lying like two wooden soldiers in a box, each trying not to look at or nudge the other, they had waited for sleep to come and ease the embarrassment of their situation.
Perhaps they should not have had so much faith in slumber.
The morning light had revealed a tableau far different from the sterile scene that the eye of the moon had gazed on the previous night. Chill had led both prince and peasant to seek the warmth of another body even in their sleep, and without their waking fears to curb them, the embrace they had settled into was natural and unrestrained.
Lying against the solidity of Arthur’s chest, his head rising and falling gently with his master’s breathing, Merlin felt the greatest peace he had ever known. The strong body beside him was warm and comfortable, and the arm laid lightly but firmly across his back made him feel safe. Still adrift in the early-morning dreamworld, Merlin’s blissful mind made no distinction between the loving Arthur of his dreams and the man whose bed he now shared.
Arthur, on the other hand, was more awake than he had ever been in his life. Against his bare torso, Merlin’s skin was smooth and soft, and nothing like expectation. It was still cool to touch, despite them clearly having clung to each other for at least some of the night, and as he gazed down at the soft lips and smoky lashes gracing that impudent face, the part of his mind that had tried to fight this growing attraction to another man found itself conceding defeat.
Was there ever any hope, he wondered, of resisting Merlin? He could claim the greater call of dutiful marriage like any prince who ever lived, but those big doe-eyes and idiot smile could invade the most masculine heart and cause it to beat in a way it never had before. Not with a heart of stone could he have denied the way Merlin had changed the genteel monotony of his life, challenged him, fought him even, but always stirred his soul. Blind all his life to the simple realities of love between men, the prince had failed to recognise his growing need for the sharp-tongued servant’s presence, until suddenly an hour without him felt like the ache of an old wound, and he wandered aimlessly as though lost even in his own home. He resolved to be honest with himself from now on.
Arthur did his best to lay still, so as not to disturb his tousled companion, but as moments became minutes and Merlin still didn’t leap up in horror, he decided not to pass up the chance fate had given him. Snaking his other arm around the skinny body lying against his own, he hugged the little warlock close, tipping his head until his cheek rested on Merlin’s unkempt hair. It might still all go horribly wrong when Merlin realised what was happening, but for now, the prince was content to savour what Lady Luck had handed him, believing he might never get a chance to hold Merlin like this again.
Wrapped up in Arthur’s embrace, Merlin became more aware that he wasn’t dreaming, and that somehow, in spite of all his dejection the previous evening, he truly was lying in the arms of the man he had loved so wretchedly for so long. Mumbling an incoherent greeting as he slowly regained consciousness, Merlin tilted his face up to meet Arthur’s, begging kisses like a baby bird - and Arthur, finally throwing caution to the winds, complied.
It wasn’t at all how he’d expected it to be, although on reflection he’d only ever kissed princesses and the daughters of lords, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. Merlin was solid, unyielding, without the winsome compliance of a maid that would have drawn him in. For a moment, it seemed hardly different to kissing the mattress, and then... something happened.
Merlin’s hand slipped up into Arthur’s hair and pulled him firmly down, the kiss becoming something alive as the worldly peasant lad took control of it. Carefully encouraging the nervous prince to open his mouth, Merlin slipped his tongue inside, tasting, exploring, feeling his awakening lover mirror every sweep and flick in response. As strong arms locked around him even tighter, crushing him in bewildered passion, Merlin realised that for all his need to claim Arthur as his own, he would have to do something soon to preserve his ribcage. Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he levered his body up on top of Arthur’s, settling down over the strong chest, and only then breaking the desperate kiss.
Lying on top of Arthur, Merlin could finally look him in the eyes, seeing wide-blown pupils and barely contained shock as he allowed his legs to slip open and settle on either side of Arthur’s own. He began to wonder just how limited Arthur’s experiences were, and whether they had included any boys at all. Should have had a rural upbringing like mine, the warlock mused to himself. He was rewarded, however, when Arthur tentatively began to rock his hips, experimenting with the feeling of undulating his body against another man.
Merlin smiled and leaned down to kiss him again, a delicate and light counterpoint to the strength of Arthur’s movements beneath him. The last uncertainties bled away as they moved together, Arthur carefully stroking Merlin’s back, until the friction between their hips became unbearable and both understood that they must go further or explode. Arthur still had to be sure, however, and his inexperience in reading the signs meant that somehow, he had to break the silence and ask.
“Do you want...”
Merlin nodded, already breathless.
“Yes, yes, we.... um.... need something...”
The prince’s quizzical expression confirmed Merlin’s suspicions about the nature of all of Arthur’s previous conquests, but he managed not to roll his eyes.
“We need something slippery... oil? Ointment?” Arthur finally understood and gestured toward his side table.
“Gaius gave me some salve - for scratches and stuff, not sure if...” Merlin was already reaching into the drawer, his hand encountering all manner of worrisome discarded items before settling on a small jar of familiar shape.
Cracking open the lid, Merlin dipped his fingers into the smooth ointment, then reached behind himself and drew his slippery fingers up and down Arthur’s length. For a moment Arthur wondered how Merlin had become so proficient at such things, but the nascent pang of jealousy was chased from his mind as Merlin’s hand tightened and twisted, rendering him unable to think of anything at all.
Merlin stroked him for a few moments, then leaned forwards taking his weight on his other hand, and carefully positioned his lover’s moistened tip at his entrance. Looking into Arthur’s eyes for the final consent, he was relieved when he saw the almost imperceptible nod as much as the wide eyes and panting mouth, months of longing still telling Arthur that even now this gift could be snatched away.
Slowly, unbearably slowly, Merlin sat back on Arthur’s length, his ribs heaving in giant breaths as he willed himself to relax. Gazing up through half-lidded eyes, Arthur watched as Merlin settled down astride him, his face a mask of pleasure and wonderment. As their hips finally came together, they paused there, savouring the connectedness they had both silently craved for so long.
And then, carefully, Merlin began to move.
Arthur felt his ordered world imploding. Pleasure tore through him like talons, robbing him of all his strength. Clasping heat and strong, toned muscle wrapped him in a prison of torment from which there was no escape, and he willingly gave himself up to a world forever changed.
Merlin rode him easily, his head thrown back, the ivory column of his neck begging kisses and bites Arthur was too far away to bestow. The strength in his lean frame was animal, uncontained; the relief Arthur felt at finally being able to surrender control to someone else was a thing he would only later understand.
It was close now, the insidious serpent coiling in Arthur’s belly, and he reached up for Merlin, pulling the boy down onto his chest, trapping Merlin’s neglected sex between their bodies. Raising his knees between his servant’s legs, Arthur planted his feet on the mattress, wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin’s body, and began to thrust.
Merlin sounded as though he was crying, his soft sounds mixing with Arthur’s deeper groans as the two of them writhed against each other, movements becoming short and swift as they both strained for the release that had eluded them for so long. When it came, it blinded them, but only to the world they had both turned away from to find each other.
Slowly, quietly, the passion subsided, leaving them shipwrecked atop Arthur’s vast bed, the air thick with unspoken things. Arthur sighed deeply once more, letting out the months of tension with his warm breath, and pulled Merlin close, tousling his fingers into the unkempt dark hair. Merlin allowed the prince to feather soft little kisses over his face and jaw, letting the older man slide back into command of their shared existence.
“Were you planning to actually be anywhere today, sire?” Merlin’s wry smile managed to turn the royal title into something far more diminutive and affectionate, and Arthur warmed to it.
“I suppose at some point I shall be called upon to do something colder and less comfortable,” Arthur replied, squeezing the warlock’s birdcage body against him with possessive strength. “Until then, I shall be forced to fall back on doing what I clearly do best.”
“Really?” Merlin couldn’t help smiling at the prince’s smug expression. “What’s that, then?”
“Wearing you out.”
Title: Love in a Cold Climate
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No, and you have no idea how much I wish this was.
Clangers: Yes, I know they don’t sleep in the buff. Shame, really.
Disclaimer: All owned by the Beeb and Shine, the lucky buggers. ARR, no infringement intended, and the devil made me do it.
There is a reliable law regarding sharing a bed with someone, and it goes something like this: the probability of waking up the next morning squished together in an unseemly octopus of limbs is sadly inversely proportional to the amount one actually wants this to happen, unless said person is of the same gender, in which case the probability is one hundred percent regardless of intentions. Arthur became aware of this law, and its many implications, as the first rays of sunlight began to slide in through the window of his bedchamber.
He was sprawled on his back in more-or-less the centre of the bed, and Merlin was lying along his side, one arm and one leg thrown casually over him, his head nestling companionably on Arthur’s chest. Even more unsettling was the fact that one of Arthur’s own arms appeared to have made its way around the manservant’s skinny frame in a comfortable embrace, although thankfully the other was still maintaining some decorum tucked up under the pillows. Being the one pinned to the mattress and unable to move without unseating the world, Arthur was naturally the first to wake and discover their predicament, and knew in an instant there would be no simple way to explain this, to Merlin or to anybody else. To stave off the horrors he fully expected to arise when they were both awake, he opted to stay as still as possible for as long as he could, grumpily mulling over the events that had left him stuck underneath his own manservant.
The snow hadn’t been at all sudden, he reflected, and Arthur had seen the arrival of the first gentle drifts of winter often enough to know that they were very quickly compounded by several nights of blizzards harsh enough to bury livestock in the fields. Sensible farmers brought their animals in, mothers warned their children to be home before dark in case the weather turned, and princes with their brains switched on sent their unruly servants home before they were snowed in at the castle and there was nothing for it but to invite them to stay.
Arthur, however, hadn’t had his brain switched on the previous night, possibly due to overindulgence in wine, but equally possibly due to Merlin having been wearing old borrowed breeches that were several sizes too small and clinging in all the wrong places. The effect had been enough to make a dragon weep, and Arthur was half convinced he’d heard one.
Whatever his excuse, Arthur had ended up with a snowbound Merlin staring morosely out of the window into the whiteout; the sight of his mournful face lit by the glow of moonlight reflected from the snowdrifts had made Arthur forget he was heir to a castle with hundreds of other rooms, and he had somewhat uncomfortably told Merlin he ought to stay.
Merlin had eyed the chamber’s one bed for some while, and Arthur had felt a pang of horror at what the other man might be thinking. He couldn’t imagine Merlin harbouring feelings similar to his own - after all, his servant was such a twit there was no way he could possibly be keeping a secret of any kind from someone as quick-witted and observant as himself. Even though the object of his fledgling desires apparently hadn’t tried to escape through the window at the suggestion of not going home, he had known precisely what would happen if Merlin shared his bed; it would largely involve getting no sleep and spending all night hard, wretched and fuming. In the end, though it tore at him inside, Arthur had thrown Merlin a blanket which he would rather have had on his own bed as well and ordered him to sleep on the sheepskin by the fire.
The floor was cold and hard and Merlin had lain down on it dejected, with his jacket under his head and the blanket over as much of him as it could be persuaded to cover. He had stayed fully clothed - there was no way he was going to remove a stitch, even with a fire burning in the grate. He was far too young to freeze to death in the service of anybody. For a moment, when he had caught Arthur staring at him by the window and then been invited - no, ordered - to stay, he had stupidly allowed himself to hope that he might end up beside the man he adored, not hunched on the floor with his boots. Part of him had wanted to cry.
Arthur had lain in bed inwardly cursing. The shivers in Merlin’s breath were clearly audible, and no matter how hard he had tried to make himself annoyed in the hope it would blot out everything else, the evil demon of concern had kept working its way back into his head.
In the end he had called to Merlin and tersely bade him come to the bed.
“I can’t stand you shivering any more. The bed’s big enough for two.”
Strictly speaking it was big enough for about six, and possibly a well-behaved pony, but common sense had told Merlin to hold his tongue unless he wanted to find himself back on the floor, this time for the rest of the night.
With that simple invitation, Merlin had picked up his blanket and wobbled self-consciously over to the bed, disrobing as swiftly as he could while Arthur pointedly looked the other way. Inwardly Merlin had been glad of it, as the cold had affected everything, and the last thing he had needed right then was Arthur pointing and laughing at parts of him that were far too small and blue. Lying like two wooden soldiers in a box, each trying not to look at or nudge the other, they had waited for sleep to come and ease the embarrassment of their situation.
Perhaps they should not have had so much faith in slumber.
The morning light had revealed a tableau far different from the sterile scene that the eye of the moon had gazed on the previous night. Chill had led both prince and peasant to seek the warmth of another body even in their sleep, and without their waking fears to curb them, the embrace they had settled into was natural and unrestrained.
Lying against the solidity of Arthur’s chest, his head rising and falling gently with his master’s breathing, Merlin felt the greatest peace he had ever known. The strong body beside him was warm and comfortable, and the arm laid lightly but firmly across his back made him feel safe. Still adrift in the early-morning dreamworld, Merlin’s blissful mind made no distinction between the loving Arthur of his dreams and the man whose bed he now shared.
Arthur, on the other hand, was more awake than he had ever been in his life. Against his bare torso, Merlin’s skin was smooth and soft, and nothing like expectation. It was still cool to touch, despite them clearly having clung to each other for at least some of the night, and as he gazed down at the soft lips and smoky lashes gracing that impudent face, the part of his mind that had tried to fight this growing attraction to another man found itself conceding defeat.
Was there ever any hope, he wondered, of resisting Merlin? He could claim the greater call of dutiful marriage like any prince who ever lived, but those big doe-eyes and idiot smile could invade the most masculine heart and cause it to beat in a way it never had before. Not with a heart of stone could he have denied the way Merlin had changed the genteel monotony of his life, challenged him, fought him even, but always stirred his soul. Blind all his life to the simple realities of love between men, the prince had failed to recognise his growing need for the sharp-tongued servant’s presence, until suddenly an hour without him felt like the ache of an old wound, and he wandered aimlessly as though lost even in his own home. He resolved to be honest with himself from now on.
Arthur did his best to lay still, so as not to disturb his tousled companion, but as moments became minutes and Merlin still didn’t leap up in horror, he decided not to pass up the chance fate had given him. Snaking his other arm around the skinny body lying against his own, he hugged the little warlock close, tipping his head until his cheek rested on Merlin’s unkempt hair. It might still all go horribly wrong when Merlin realised what was happening, but for now, the prince was content to savour what Lady Luck had handed him, believing he might never get a chance to hold Merlin like this again.
Wrapped up in Arthur’s embrace, Merlin became more aware that he wasn’t dreaming, and that somehow, in spite of all his dejection the previous evening, he truly was lying in the arms of the man he had loved so wretchedly for so long. Mumbling an incoherent greeting as he slowly regained consciousness, Merlin tilted his face up to meet Arthur’s, begging kisses like a baby bird - and Arthur, finally throwing caution to the winds, complied.
It wasn’t at all how he’d expected it to be, although on reflection he’d only ever kissed princesses and the daughters of lords, so he didn’t have much basis for comparison. Merlin was solid, unyielding, without the winsome compliance of a maid that would have drawn him in. For a moment, it seemed hardly different to kissing the mattress, and then... something happened.
Merlin’s hand slipped up into Arthur’s hair and pulled him firmly down, the kiss becoming something alive as the worldly peasant lad took control of it. Carefully encouraging the nervous prince to open his mouth, Merlin slipped his tongue inside, tasting, exploring, feeling his awakening lover mirror every sweep and flick in response. As strong arms locked around him even tighter, crushing him in bewildered passion, Merlin realised that for all his need to claim Arthur as his own, he would have to do something soon to preserve his ribcage. Pushing himself up onto his elbow, he levered his body up on top of Arthur’s, settling down over the strong chest, and only then breaking the desperate kiss.
Lying on top of Arthur, Merlin could finally look him in the eyes, seeing wide-blown pupils and barely contained shock as he allowed his legs to slip open and settle on either side of Arthur’s own. He began to wonder just how limited Arthur’s experiences were, and whether they had included any boys at all. Should have had a rural upbringing like mine, the warlock mused to himself. He was rewarded, however, when Arthur tentatively began to rock his hips, experimenting with the feeling of undulating his body against another man.
Merlin smiled and leaned down to kiss him again, a delicate and light counterpoint to the strength of Arthur’s movements beneath him. The last uncertainties bled away as they moved together, Arthur carefully stroking Merlin’s back, until the friction between their hips became unbearable and both understood that they must go further or explode. Arthur still had to be sure, however, and his inexperience in reading the signs meant that somehow, he had to break the silence and ask.
“Do you want...”
Merlin nodded, already breathless.
“Yes, yes, we.... um.... need something...”
The prince’s quizzical expression confirmed Merlin’s suspicions about the nature of all of Arthur’s previous conquests, but he managed not to roll his eyes.
“We need something slippery... oil? Ointment?” Arthur finally understood and gestured toward his side table.
“Gaius gave me some salve - for scratches and stuff, not sure if...” Merlin was already reaching into the drawer, his hand encountering all manner of worrisome discarded items before settling on a small jar of familiar shape.
Cracking open the lid, Merlin dipped his fingers into the smooth ointment, then reached behind himself and drew his slippery fingers up and down Arthur’s length. For a moment Arthur wondered how Merlin had become so proficient at such things, but the nascent pang of jealousy was chased from his mind as Merlin’s hand tightened and twisted, rendering him unable to think of anything at all.
Merlin stroked him for a few moments, then leaned forwards taking his weight on his other hand, and carefully positioned his lover’s moistened tip at his entrance. Looking into Arthur’s eyes for the final consent, he was relieved when he saw the almost imperceptible nod as much as the wide eyes and panting mouth, months of longing still telling Arthur that even now this gift could be snatched away.
Slowly, unbearably slowly, Merlin sat back on Arthur’s length, his ribs heaving in giant breaths as he willed himself to relax. Gazing up through half-lidded eyes, Arthur watched as Merlin settled down astride him, his face a mask of pleasure and wonderment. As their hips finally came together, they paused there, savouring the connectedness they had both silently craved for so long.
And then, carefully, Merlin began to move.
Arthur felt his ordered world imploding. Pleasure tore through him like talons, robbing him of all his strength. Clasping heat and strong, toned muscle wrapped him in a prison of torment from which there was no escape, and he willingly gave himself up to a world forever changed.
Merlin rode him easily, his head thrown back, the ivory column of his neck begging kisses and bites Arthur was too far away to bestow. The strength in his lean frame was animal, uncontained; the relief Arthur felt at finally being able to surrender control to someone else was a thing he would only later understand.
It was close now, the insidious serpent coiling in Arthur’s belly, and he reached up for Merlin, pulling the boy down onto his chest, trapping Merlin’s neglected sex between their bodies. Raising his knees between his servant’s legs, Arthur planted his feet on the mattress, wrapped his arms tightly around Merlin’s body, and began to thrust.
Merlin sounded as though he was crying, his soft sounds mixing with Arthur’s deeper groans as the two of them writhed against each other, movements becoming short and swift as they both strained for the release that had eluded them for so long. When it came, it blinded them, but only to the world they had both turned away from to find each other.
Slowly, quietly, the passion subsided, leaving them shipwrecked atop Arthur’s vast bed, the air thick with unspoken things. Arthur sighed deeply once more, letting out the months of tension with his warm breath, and pulled Merlin close, tousling his fingers into the unkempt dark hair. Merlin allowed the prince to feather soft little kisses over his face and jaw, letting the older man slide back into command of their shared existence.
“Were you planning to actually be anywhere today, sire?” Merlin’s wry smile managed to turn the royal title into something far more diminutive and affectionate, and Arthur warmed to it.
“I suppose at some point I shall be called upon to do something colder and less comfortable,” Arthur replied, squeezing the warlock’s birdcage body against him with possessive strength. “Until then, I shall be forced to fall back on doing what I clearly do best.”
“Really?” Merlin couldn’t help smiling at the prince’s smug expression. “What’s that, then?”
“Wearing you out.”