Fic: A Color For Every Desire, Arthur/Merlin, NC-17
“Just when I think you can’t become any more of a girl, Merlin, you start wearing jewelry,” Arthur says, leaning both elbows on the mahogany bar top and smirking.
“What, now?” Merlin says, an adorable, perplexed expression on his face as he glances around the empty pub. As though Arthur might be speaking to someone else. “Jewelry?”
“That,” Arthur says, pointing at the white plastic band around Merlin’s thin right wrist.
“Oh! Gwen gave it to me. It’s a bit sparkly, see?”
Merlin holds up his wrist and turns it a little so that Arthur can see the minute flecks of silver glitter suspended in the plastic. As though that makes it less girly.
“Do you even know what that is?” Arthur asks. It’s a slow night at the pub, and he’s making shit for tips. Gwen left hours ago, announcing that there was no reason for both bartenders to stand around waiting for customers that don’t seem to be coming in, and Merlin hasn’t had a table to wait on in over an hour. Arthur’s only customer at the bar is Drunk Melvin, one of the Dragon Pub’s permanent fixtures, who has spent the last half hour blinking at his half-full vodka and tonic.
“It’s, uh… a bracelet?” Merlin says uncertainly, smiling in that way that turns his eyes into happy little half-moons.
“It’s a shag band, Merlin,” Arthur says, using a tone he generally reserves for five year olds and those touched in the head.
“Shag band?”
“Good God, Merlin, are you really as naïve as you seem? I mean, do you try at it?”
“No, not really.”
Merlin shrugs, still smiling. “Just comes naturally, I ‘spose. So - shag band?”
“It’s this stupid little game the Uni kids have going - different color bands mean different things. If someone snaps one, like this-“
“Hey!” Merlin yelps as Arthur hooks a finger through the band and yanks, popping the band at its poorly-joined seam.
“-Then you get to do whatever corresponds to that color, to whomever was wearing the band.”
Merlin scoops the now-straight cord of white plastic off the pub floor and rubs at the faint red line around his bony wrist.
“You couldn’t just tell me? You had to demonstrate?” he pouts. “I rather liked this. And Gwen gave it to me!”
He sticks the two ends of the band back together, as though he might be able to magic the bracelet into being whole again. The very tip of his tongue pokes out of the corner of his mouth in a rather adorable expression of concentration, making him look simultaneously intent and daft.
“What can I say,” Arthur says dryly, pulling his gaze away from Merlin’s mouth. “I’m a very hands-on teacher.”
Merlin snorts a little and pockets the ruined bracelet. “So,” he says, hoisting himself up onto one of the bar stools, “What does white mean?”
“What?”
“You said each color meant something. What does white mean?”
“Oh, uh - I’m pretty sure white is kissing.”
“Oh. And people really do that? I mean, they really take it seriously?”
“I suppose,” Arthur says, lifting one shoulder speculatively. “I see a lot of Uni kids wearing them in here on the weekends. Personally, I think they’re just a way to ask for it without having to ask for it, you know?”
Merlin makes an amused little hmming sound, looking thoughtful.
“So, you gonna kiss me?” he asks suddenly, grinning.
Arthur almost drops the bottle of expensive bourbon he’d picked up to dust, managing to sputter a surprised “What?!”
“Well,” Merlin says with mock seriousness, “You did snap my band.”
“Only in the interest of education!” Arthur protests, trying very hard to ignore the sudden flutter of interest in his belly. Merlin is only kidding - just trying to get a rise out of him. He’s not serious about wanting Arthur to kiss him. He’d probably slap Arthur if Arthur tried.
“Well, you did say you were a hands-on teacher,” Merlin says, using one long finger to draw little pictures in the left-over moisture on the bar top.
“Yeah, well - the lesson’s over. Don’t you have something you should be doing? Morgana will dock your pay if she catches you sitting on your arse while there’s inventory to be done.”
“I’m on break,” Merlin says, undeterred. “And I’m not going away until I get what’s coming to me.”
“Oh, you’ll get what’s coming to you,” Arthur says, laughing to cover his unexpectedly strong sense ofwant. “But it won’t be a kiss.”
Merlin pushes his lips out in a ridiculous imitation of a pout. Or it could be his attempt to pucker up for a kiss. It’s honestly a little hard to tell. Merlin possesses an alarming lack of control over his own face, sometimes.
“You’re just a bully, then,” Merlin sulks. “You broke my pretty bracelet-“
“-such a girl, Merlin-“
“and now you won’t even kiss it better? Shame on you! Melvin, isn’t Arthur a mean, bracelet-breaking prat?”
Drunk Melvin’s head wobbles up far enough for him to squint in confusion at Merlin and Arthur’s no-doubt blurry figures. “Yes,” he blurts after a moment of apparent concentration. “Fish and chips would be lovely. Thank you, young lady.”
“There!” Merlin declares in triumph. “Mel agrees with me!”
Arthur laughs incredulously.
“Merlin, Melvin is so pissed he’d agree with that bowl of peanuts. And he thinks you’re a girl.”
“Well, so do you, apparently. So by your own argument, that makes you wrong as well, and you should admit defeat and kiss me!”
“Stunning bit of logic, there, Merlin. You’ve completely swayed me with your blinding use of intellect and persuasion.”
Merlin gives Arthur a rather unsettling and considering look.
“You’re scared!” he crows delightedly after a beat. “The big, tough Arthur Pendragon is scared of a little peck on the lips!”
“What?” Arthur protests. “I am most certainly not!”
“You are! You’re scared! Frightened! Pissing your trousers like a great big woos-“
Without actually having meant to move, Arthur finds himself grabbing a handful of Merlin’s Arcade Firetee shirt and hauling him halfway over the bar. Merlin makes a surprised little eep, which Arthur promptly silences by sealing his mouth roughly over Merlin’s.
He comes at it too fast, their lips hitting in a way that’s slightly painful. Merlin’s nose bumps Arthur’s awkwardly, and the edge of the bar digs unpleasantly into Arthur’s hips.
For a moment, neither of them moves. Merlin’s lips soften some under his, parting just a little as Merlin sucks in a soft breath. Arthur, hit with the sudden realization that he’s just kissed Merlin, that he’s stillkissing Merlin, thinks Shit! and lets go of Merlin’s shirt so abruptly that Merlin falls off his stool.
“Shit!” Arthur repeats, out loud this time. “Are you alright?”
Merlin’s dark head pops up over the edge of the bar, just his wide, surprised eyes visible above the wood. He pulls himself up, one hand braced on the stool and the other clutching the brass rail of the bar.
“Yeah,” he says, breathless. ‘’’m fine.” He grins cheekily, apparently feeling victorious. Arthur stands frozen as he watches an apparently unperturbed Merlin brush himself off.
“Okay, then,” Merlin says finally. “You’re forgiven.”
Arthur gapes at him for a moment. “What for? For failing to take into account your epic clumsiness and allowing you to topple off a stool?”
“Well, yeah, that too,” Merlin smiles, snatching up the abandoned bar rag. “But also for breaking my nice sparkly band.”
With one more smug grin, Merlin saunters off to wipe down the empty pub tables, leaving Arthur completely flummoxed and, much to his dismay, completely hard.
~~
The following night is a Friday, which means the pub is busy and Arthur barely even has time to noticeMerlin.
Not that he’d be noticing Merlin. Or watching Merlin. Or imagining kissing Merlin again (and doing itright, this time). No, not at all.
With the busy pace and steady flow of bar patrons, it’s last call before Arthur notices that Merlin is wearing another shag band. This one is blue, loose enough on Merlin’s skinny wrist that it hangs down over the base of his thumb as he gathers empty bottles from the tables. Arthur pauses when he sees it, surprised at the little burst of happiness that floods him at the sight.
“Oi! Can I get that drink before closing, then?” the bottle blonde at the bar says, waving a pink-nailed hand in Arthur’s face. She’s utterly pissed, leaning haphazardly on the bar as she scowls drunkenly at Arthur. Arthur gives her a forced smile and makes her another cosmo, losing sight of Merlin in the bustling crowd.
Once the tipsy blonde has wobbled her way back to her gaggle of girlfriends, Arthur slips to the other end of the long bar and pulls Gwen aside, ignoring the glare Morgana gives him for abandoning his post.
“Listen,” he says, not unkindly, “You’ve got to stop giving Merlin shag bracelets. The idiot has no idea what they mean. It’s like giving matches to a toddler. It can only end in disaster.”
Or in me making an utter fool out of myself…
Gwen smiles sweetly at him, looking a little confused.
“I only gave him the one,” she says. “Just white, for a close-mouthed kiss. I thought maybe one of the Uni girls would give ‘im a peck and brighten his night, you know? It was just for fun.”
“You didn’t give him another one? A blue one?” Arthur asks, feeling abruptly warm.
“What? No. Blue… that’s open-mouth kissing, I think? Why, is he wearing one?” She sounds far too excited, craning to try to catch a glimpse of Merlin. “Do you think the last one worked? Maybe some girl has caught his eye and he’s trying to lure her in!”
“Maybe,” Arthur says, though he’s pretty certain now that it’s not a girl Merlin is trying to lure in. He gives Gwen a friendly pat on the shoulder, then moves back to his end of the bar. Merlin is at a table nearby, wiping it down with long, sweeping motions. He’s wearing another faded band tee shirt and his black skinny jeans, along with orange high-tops, and Arthur watches the way the slim muscles in his arms shifts as he drags the cloth over the pitted surface of the table. When he’s done with his current tabletop, Merlin looks up and catches Arthur’s eye. Arthur has the sneaking suspicion that Merlinknows Arthur has been watching him. Merlin grins cheekily, then lifts his right hand and waves, fingers wiggling above the bright blue band.
I think they’re just a way to ask for something with actually having to ask for it, you know?
Arthur gulps a little and goes back to serving patrons their final drinks, counting down the minutes until closing time even as he wonders just what the hell he’s going to do once he gets Merlin alone.
~~
By the time the last staggering customer has left and the doors have been closed, Arthur has thought himself into twisted little knots of doubt and arousal.
Clearly, Merlin wants Arthur to snap his band and kiss him again. He’s being so obvious about it (not that subtlety is Merlin’s strong suit in any occasion, but still…), and why else would he wear it? Unless - what if he’s just screwing with Arthur? They tease each other constantly, pulling pranks and playing tricks on one another. Is Merlin just trying to start a game of one-upmanship? To see how far he can get Arthur to go? This could just be retribution for that little stunt with the plastic wrap and the toilet last week. Let’s lure Arthur into revealing himself as the big queer he is and then have a good laugh, shall we? What if Merlin’s just fucking around, and Arthur kisses him, and Merlin freaks out?
But Merlin hadn’t freaked out last night. In fact, he’d looked rather pleased with himself, smiling and blushed, satisfied. Not repulsed, or devious - just… happy.
Arthur imagines how Merlin would look when kissed properly, not in a way that bruises his lips or tumbles him from his stool, and has to bite back a groan. As though he knows what Arthur is thinking, Merlin looks up from where he’s sweeping up bits of peanut shell across the room and smiles, eyes hooded and dark.
Arthur pulls in a sharp breath and shifts - jeans suddenly a little too tight - and the hour or so he knows it will take them to finish closing up seems like an eternity.
“Morgana,” he says, proud of how steady his voice sounds. “I’ve a favor to ask.”
Morgana looks up from the cash register, one well-shaped eyebrow lifted in question.
“I’ll finish up here tonight, if I can have next Monday off,” Arthur says.
Morgana looks as him, considering. Mondays are notoriously slow, and she usually lets him leave after lunch anyway.
“Why?” She asks, pushing the register drawer shut slowly.
“I’ve got plans for Monday,” Arthur lies. “But if you and Gwen would rather stay and finish sweeping and mopping and wiping down the bar and-“
“Fine,” Morgana says. “What do I care what you do with your Mondays. Just be sure you get under the tables. Last week there were still shells and napkins under half of them.”
Arthur doesn’t bother trying to argue that that would be Merlin’s fault. The boy is utter rubbish at his job, and Arthur suspects that Morgana keeps him on simply because he’s so damn nice it would be humanly impossible to fire him.
Not that Arthur is complaining. Work would be far less entertaining without Merlin stumbling about and making a fool of himself. His ass is rather nice to look at, as well.
Morgana fetches a happy-looking Gwen, and the two of them head back to their flat to do lord knows what to each other, leaving Arthur alone with Merlin. He’s disposed of their audience, the doors are shut and locked, and it’s just the two of them. The rest of the world is sleeping, and the entirety of London could have disappeared around them for all Arthur knows (or cares). He’d been so focused on getting Merlin all to himself, though, that he has no clue what to do about it now that he’s got what he wanted. What if Merlin assumes that he was included in the whole ‘you go off and enjoy the rest of your night, I’ll clean up here’ deal, and decides to take off? Then Arthur will be stuck cleaning up the entire bar by himself, with blue balls, no less, all in return for a useless day to fulfill fictitious plans. He’ll probably spend Monday alone in his flat, masturbating and bemoaning his attraction to skinny band nerds in tight jeans.
And, yes, Merlin is setting aside his broom and untying his serving apron - Just wonderful. Perfect, really. God, his plans are such bollocks.
But then-
Merlin grins at him like and makes his way to the bar, not towards the door or the coat rack.
“Make me a drink?” Merlin says, hopping up on the same stool Arthur toppled him off last night. “Cran and vodka, yeah?”
“Yeah, I suppose,” Arthur says with forced casualness, trying not to look stupidly pleased. “On the house, seeing as you’re so entertaining when you’re pissed.”
“Oi! I’m a perfectly dignified drunk! And it’s only one drink. Plus, employees drink for free. It’s alreadyon the house.”
“One drink is all it takes with you, Merlin,” Arthur laughs. “And the drink may already be on the house, but the cherries aren’t, and as you always say-“
“It’s not a proper drink without the cherries!”
Arthur makes the drink, garnishing it with four maraschino cherries because Merlin truly does have a childlike affection for the things. Merlin smiles happily as Arthur plops the cherries one by one into the glass, reaching over the bar and snagging an extra out of the jar. He pops the cherry into his mouth, pulling the stem through his lips in a decidedly erotic way, and Arthur has a very hard looking away from the sight. Swallowing heavily, and very glad for the bar between them to hide his unmistakable erection, Arthur slides the drink across the bar on a coaster. Merlin reaches for it casually with his right hand, eyes still on Arthur’s face, mouth quirking a little in knowing amusement.
Not giving himself time to think about what he’s doing (all the blood in his body is migrating away from his brain, anyway), Arthur slips his forefinger between Merlin’s wrist and the bracelet, hooking the plastic but not pulling. Merlin’s hand stills, fingers resting lightly on the glass, and Arthur can feel Merlin’s pulse fast and hard against his knuckle.
“Got a new one, did you?” Arthur says. When he looks up, Merlin is staring at him with an expression of open hunger.
“Yeah,” Merlin says, voice rough. “This one’s blue.”
Arthur rolls his eyes affectionately.
“I can see that, Merlin. So. What’s blue mean, then?”
“Kissing. With tongue,” Merlin pauses meaningfully. “You know, like you mean it.”
There’s a challenge in Merlin’s voice, an open dare, and Arthur has never backed down from a challenge. So he does the only sensible thing he can do. He pulls, and the band snaps.
“Whoops,” Arthur says, in a tone that is clearly not remorseful. “Terribly sorry.”
“Oh, my,” Merlin says theatrically. “Just look at what you’ve done. Again. Well, you know the rules…”
Merlin leans an elbow on the bar and rests his chin on his hand, blinking at Arthur in a comically coy fashion.
Arthur smirks, then moves out from behind the bar. Merlin follows his progress with hooded eyes, spinning slowly on the stool so that they are face to face by the time Arthur makes it around the bar. He leans back, resting his elbows on the bar and his feet on the stool’s footrest, legs spread boldly apart. Arthur steps into the space between Merlin’s knees, heart thundering in anticipation and lust and maybe a little fear.
Merlin licks his lips, and all the remaining blood in Arthur’s body selfishly abandons his other organs to rush to his groin.
Taking a steadying breath, Arthur rests one hand on a slim, jean-clad hip, reaching up to cup the other behind Merlin’s neck, watching the blue of his pupils dilate. He runs his thumb against the silky patch of skin just behind Merlin’s absurdly large ear, and Merlin sighs and closes his eyes in contentment. He looks utterly happy, totally at ease and open to Arthur’s touch.
“Well, I suppose I should give you what’s coming to you, yeah?” Arthur mutters huskily. Merlin cracks his eyes open and Arthur sees his chest hitch a little.
“Get on with it, then,” Merlin breathes, tilting his head and pressing it further into Arthur’s palm.
Arthur takes another deep breath, then leans in until their mouths are no more than an inch apart, their noses brushing softly. Merlin’s breath smells like maraschino cherries, hot sugary sweetness gusting over Arthur’s cheek in an excited tempo. Merlin tries to lean forward and close the distance, but Arthur holds him still easily with one hand over his heart. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of Merlin, pressing his fingers into the delicate framework of Merlin’s ribs under his hand. He stores away every scent and flutter to be savored later, then erases the agonizing inch between them and brushes his lips gently over Merlin’s.
Merlin presses up and into the kiss, humming happily and parting his lips in invitation. Arthur sweeps his tongue over Merlin’s front teeth, sucks on his lower lip, nips at his mouth, using the hand at the back of Merlin’s head to press them together, harder, faster, closer.
Kissing him properly. Like he means it.
Merlin’s hands find their way under Arthur’s shirt, skimming lightly up his back and over his ribs before coming to rest on the curve of Arthur’s ass. Merlin gives each cheek a light, playful squeeze, managing to say nice and finally and mine with just his fingers, before using his grip to pull himself forward on the stool. He slides easily over the rounded vinyl seat, fitting their bodies together until he can hook his feet behind Arthur’s knees and crushing them groin to groin. He’s as hard as Arthur, and the friction of two layers of denim rubbing together pulls another moan from Arthur. Merlin rocks his hips up, panting into Arthur’s mouth, and Arthur has to brace himself against the bar to keep his footing.
Dizzy and more turned on than he can ever remember being, Arthur presses a hand to the small of Merlin’s back and thrusts in time to Merlin’s rocking, making hot little noises that would be embarrassing if he had any functioning brain cells left, other than the ones screaming Yes! This!
Then Merlin’s hands are on the button fly of Arthur’s jeans, popping them open before he wiggles slim fingers down past the band of Arthur’s boxer-briefs. Arthur gasps as Merlin wraps his hand around his cock, dropping his head onto Merlin’s shoulder and mouthing gently at the skin there as Merlin beings to pump slowly.
“Christ,” Arthur moans, knees trembling. Merlin presses a soft kiss to Arthur’s temple (such a girl, but god, who cares?), moving his hand more earnestly. Arthur rocks his hips in counterpoint to Merlin’s talented movements, thinking this is Merlin. Merlin’s got his hands in my trousers. Oh God.
Merlin’s doing some utterly magical little thing with his thumb and forefinger, and shit, he’s not going to last very long at all-
“Arthur,” Merlin breathes against the shell of his ear, wanting and gentle and perfect. And Arthur just shatters, right there - comes apart at the sound of his name on Merlin’s lips, spilling hot come over Merlin’s hand as his hips stutter and his spine practically melts.
He takes moment to come back to himself, both hands braced on either side of Merlin’s body, trembling. Merlin’s fingers brush lightly over his softening cock, gentling him, and he feels Merlin smile against his neck. When he’s able, he lifts his head from where it was resting on Merlin’s shoulder and gives Merlin a sloppy, grateful kiss, hoping it manages to say thanks and wow and I love you.
Judging by the way Merlin sighs and leans against him, the message got across.
Merlin chuckles contentedly when they finally pull apart, then grabs a nearby bar rag and cleans up his come-covered hand. Arthur watches him, drinking in the hot flush on Merlin’s cheeks, the pink wetness of his freshly-kissed lips. He runs a hand down Merlin’s chest, over his belly, to rest over the still-hard bulge in his jeans.
Merlin lets out a charming little grunt of pleasure, tilting his hips to grind a little harder against Arthur’s palm and biting his lip in a way that makes Arthur’s cock twitch with renewed interest.
“What do you propose we do about this, then?” Arthur says lowly, squeezing, relishing the way Merlin’s breath rushes out of him.
Merlin grins like the cat that ate the canary, then reaches into his pocket to pull out a rainbow’s worth of shag bands.
“Oh,” he says, “I’ve got a few ideas.”
~fin~