(no subject)
Oh boy. I actually did it. I wrote Merlin fic. YIKES.
The Heat of the Night, popfly
Arthur/Merlin/Gwaine
Notes: Loosely based on the last two episodes of season three. LOOSELY. I definitely took some liberties here. Also this was beta read by the lovely mclachlan. ♥
The night air was cold, bringing up chill bumps on the skin of Merlin’s arms, numbing the tip of his nose. His back was warm from the fire but the warmth seemed unable to cross some invisible barrier that ran down his side and over his hip, and his shoulder ached where it was pressed to the hard ground. His jacket covered Arthur’s sleeping form, lying with his head at Merlin’s feet, shivering from the temperature and the fever that came with infection, the wound high on his thigh still bleeding under layers of the gauze Merlin was quickly running low on.
Merlin turned over for the fourth time that night, and the fire flickered merrily, the smoke rising from it obscuring the sight of Gwaine’s head. The rest of him was still save the steady rise and fall of his chest, and Merlin could hear a slight snoring over the crackling of the fire.
The feeling was coming back to his nose, but the nape of his neck was cold, lacking the covering of his neckerchief which was tied tightly above the level of Arthur’s wound. Merlin sighed his discomfort and anxiety, and pushed up from where he lay to pace the small clearing as quietly as he possibly could.
He was standing behind Arthur’s shoulder, watching him twitch and shake, when Gwaine’s voice came from below.
“Go to sleep, mate, you’ll need your rest.”
“Can’t,” Merlin whispered, his eyes on the back of Arthur’s head, his blond hair bright in a sliver of moonlight.
Gwaine was quiet, but Merlin could feel his understanding.
“You must try. Arthur will need both of us strong and ready in the morning.”
Merlin pressed his fingertips to his forehead and glanced towards Gwaine, just making out the glint of his eyes in the firelight. He chuckled softly, without humor, and lowered himself to the ground behind Arthur’s back. “Too cold to sleep anyway. His highness needs my jacket more than I do.”
Merlin expected a laugh in return, and when he didn’t hear one he looked to see if Gwaine had gone back to sleep already. He hadn’t, but was watching Merlin, just watching him, with an odd expression on his face. Merlin shifted his weight and looked away, feeling uncomfortable once again.
“Couldn’t you share?” Gwaine suggested, his voice pitched low, the oddness in his tone matching what Merlin had seen on his face. Merlin felt a blush creep up his neck, and fingered the collar of his jacket where it rested against Arthur’s neck. He looked down the length of the prince’s body, covered only to the waist with the jacket, and the blush moved over his jaw line and into his cheeks.
The jacket had always been too big for him. And if Arthur needed to be warmed, a body would help more than a thin layering of fabric.
He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.
Merlin saw Gwaine’s hand move out of the corner of his eye, and when the edge of the jacket was lifted Merlin pushed all thought from his head and moved to lie down underneath it. He made sure there was at least an inch of space - of warm, empty space - between the front of his body and the back of Arthur’s before Gwaine settled the jacket back over both of them.
“Much better,” Gwaine said, not a question, as if he knew something Merlin didn’t.
Merlin didn’t answer, and closed his eyes. He was slightly warmer now, and more comfortable, but he couldn’t get to sleep with Arthur so restless beside him. He lay still while Gwaine spread out on the other side of the fire, and waited until he heard the other man’s breath slow. He squinted and watched Gwaine for a moment, making sure, before placing his hand against the bandaging on Arthur’s leg. He whispered an incantation and felt the magic shimmer weakly in his palm. It took another two tries before Arthur stopped shivering, and only then was Merlin able to sleep.
*
“Merlin.”
The voice woke him from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time, and he groaned in response, burrowing into the warmth that ran along his front and squeezing his eyes shut defiantly. He was too comfortable, couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that comfortable, and would not let whatever evil trying to wrench him from sleep succeed.
“Merlin.” The voice was louder now, and accompanied by a nudge in the small of his back. Something that felt like the toe of a boot. He moved away from it, pressing against the solid presence in front of him, wrapping his arms more securely around …
… he cracked open one eye. All he could see was gold. Bright, glinting strands of gold. His mind struggled to place itself. Woods, running, the cup, Cenred’s men, Arthur.
Arthur.
Merlin scrambled backwards, the heels of his hands scraping on the dried leaves, his boots leaving furrows in the earth. When his back bumped something that could’ve been a tree stump he stopped, looking up into Gwaine’s laughing face.
Merlin couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t totally and utterly ridiculous, so he was merely quiet, and accepted the hand up that Gwaine offered him.
Gwaine’s mouth was twitching and Merlin could see what he wanted to say as clear as day, so he spun on his boot heel and began clearing the camp.
“Did you try to wake Arthur?” He didn’t turn to look at Gwaine, but he could hear the breath of a laugh that escaped him when he started to reply.
“Thought it might be best to wake you first, mate.”
Merlin nodded down at the smoldering remains of their fire as he kicked dirt onto it.
Arthur began to stir and Merlin stopped cold, barely turning his head to watch as Arthur’s chin, then his chest, lifted from the ground, his arms wobbling just slightly. He blinked around, brushing leaves from his tunic, Merlin’s jacket sliding to the ground behind him.
“How do you feel, sire?” Gwaine stooped down, a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, as Merlin stood stock-still near the fire pit.
“I’m fine,” Arthur said, his voice husky and weak from the fever and the night spent on the forest floor. Merlin felt the blush on his neck again. “Let’s get moving.”
Merlin waited until Arthur and Gwaine were busy sheathing their swords to collect his jacket, and moved as minutely as possible while pulling it back on. When the two men looked back he was standing ready, schooling his expression into something innocent, inconspicuous.
Gwaine grinned back, but Arthur merely nodded, turning to leave the clearing, limping only slightly.
*
They were a half day’s march from Camelot when Arthur decided they should stop, make camp, rest up for the final push. Merlin swallowed around a lump in his throat and offered to gather firewood, not meeting Gwaine’s eyes as he picked his way through the underbrush, heading towards a dense thicket of trees.
He heard the footsteps behind him, crunching over the ground, and hung his head resignedly. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to escape the discussion forever.
“We’re one night’s sleep and a few hours of walking away from near certain death, mate. Don’t you think it’s time to drop the virginal princess act?” Gwaine clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his grin wide in his darkly stubbled face. Merlin worked up his best indignant face but when he opened his mouth all he could come up with was, “What?”
“Come on, Merlin. I’ve seen the way you look at him, and it didn’t just start with you waking up in each others’ arms this morning.” Gwaine’s grin went lopsided, lewd, and Merlin felt his indignant face droop into something more appalled, something guiltier.
“Don’t worry. I’ve seen the way he looks at you too, and it’s about the same. Dirtier, though.”
“Gwaine,” Merlin choked out, his face flaming hot. “What on earth on you talking about?”
“Honestly, Merlin. I would have to be blind, deaf and daft not to know that you two are stupid for each other. He may have some silly girly feelings towards Gwen but he wants you. And not in a ‘Merlin-shine-my-boots’ sort of way. More in a ‘Merlin-put-your-mouth-on-my’ - “
“Gwaine,” Merlin hissed, his head whipping back to find Arthur’s form through the trees, calculating the distance, and the pitch of Gwaine’s voice, and the crunch of the leaves underfoot, and oh god if he heard …
“Relax. There’s nothing to worry about really. You two have your hot and sweaty evening together in this cold, cold forest and tomorrow we’ll all be run through by an army of immortal men. No one will be the wiser.” Gwaine was too nonchalant, too loud for god’s sake, and Merlin could barely hold on to the small logs Gwaine was placing in the crooks of his arms.
“I can’t,” he all but squeaked, and cleared his throat, looking back at Arthur once more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gwaine straightened up, his face suddenly serious. “Merlin. I’m serious. He feels the same as you. You have nothing to worry about. And please stop lying to me, I know you too well. We know each other too well.”
Merlin wished the ground beneath him would open up, cleave in two, and suck him down into it. He did not want to be having this conversation here in this forest with Gwaine of all people.
Or did he?
Gwaine was a trusted friend to him, and to Arthur. He was also a bit more experienced in these matters, and Merlin, well Merlin only had some pubescent fumbling with Will in the woods behind his mother’s house to his credit.
Merlin swallowed, hard, and then sighed, defeated. “Alright. You’ve got me. I’m in love with the prince. What would you like me to do about it?”
Gwaine smiled, a gentle smile which looked slightly out of place on his roguish face. “I don’t know about the love bit, mate, but I can help with some of the rest.”
Merlin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel his fingers or toes, but he could feel his head nodding, and resigned himself to whatever horrible fate Arthur would condemn him to.
*
The fire was lit and the moon was partially obscured by a low layer of scattered clouds. Merlin could barely hear the night sounds of the forest over the rushing in his head. His blood zinged in his veins, and he was having trouble getting breath. Gwaine and Arthur were checking the perimeter, settling their nerves before they could lie down to sleep. Only Merlin knew what Gwaine was about to do, and he wondered if any nerves would be settled at all.
When he heard the footsteps approaching, he almost wished they’d be bandits, or Cenred’s immortal army, that someone with something sharp and pointy would put him out of his misery. Then he heard Gwaine’s low, throaty voice and he knew that he wouldn’t be spared.
Merlin watched from under his lashes as Gwaine and Arthur approached the clearing. Arthur was saying something low, serious, when Gwaine grabbed his elbow, spun him around and pushed him up against a tree. Arthur struggled, but Gwaine was murmuring into his ear, working his knee between Arthur’s legs, and Merlin could see Arthur still, going almost rigid between the tree and Gwaine’s body. Gwaine’s dark head was bent, nuzzled under the line of Arthur’s jaw and Merlin felt his mouth go dry when Arthur’s eyes slid closed and his hands moved up to press against Gwaine’s back.
Merlin got to his feet, shaky, his clammy hands clenched into fists against his thighs. He took one step towards the two men, then one more, shuffling over the ground as quietly as he could. He could hear Gwaine’s voice as he got closer, deep and gravelly against Arthur’s neck, almost a whisper, and he could see Arthur’s nostrils flaring as Gwaine muttered filthy things into his skin.
“ … can see how you look at him, can feel how hard you get thinking about his mouth, those full lips, think about them on your cock … “
Arthur’s lips parted and a moan sounded into the night, making Merlin stumble and step right in the middle of a twig. The crack seemed to reverberate through his chest, through his skull, and Gwaine’s murmuring ceased, Arthur’s eyes flying open to land directly on Merlin.
Merlin stood still, his boot still placed on the now broken twig, his breath puffing white, his heart sounding like horse hooves in his head.
Gwaine chuckled in the bend of Arthur’s neck and moved away slightly, leaving Arthur propped against the tree, legs spread, arms falling to his sides. “Merlin. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gwaine’s voice was thick, his hand pressed palm-open to the front of his trousers, and Merlin felt all the blood rush to his prick. “Why don’t you come closer?”
Merlin looked from Gwaine to Arthur, whose eyes were back to being squeezed closed, and to Gwaine again, who looked positively cheerful as he stroked himself through his clothing. “Come on, Merlin. We’re waiting for you.”
When Merlin stepped forward, his feet clumsy, he was no longer quiet, and Arthur flinched at every step. But his lips were parted and his tongue darted out to wet them, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. Gwaine took hold of his waist as he came closer and turned him to face Arthur, pressing himself all along Merlin’s back as he walked them forward, nudging the back of Merlin’s knee with his own to move it between Arthur’s legs, lifting Merlin’s arms to Arthur’s shoulders.
“Did you hear what I was saying earlier, Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice was in his ear, his breath ghosting over the skin, the hum of it going straight through Merlin. Gwaine pressed them closer to Arthur, and Arthur panted a little when Merlin’s groin came in contact with his. “About your mouth and Arthur’s cock? Now, what do you think about that?”
Merlin’s arms were stiff on Arthur’s shoulders, his knuckles grazing the rough bark on either side of Arthur’s head, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Arthur’s mouth, open and wet, his tongue waiting just beyond the crooked line of teeth, the breath coming fast between his lips. Merlin couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of what he could possibly say that would be appropriate and so instead decided to fit his mouth to Arthur’s, to take in those rapid breaths and to touch Arthur’s tongue with his own.
Gwaine’s noise of approval was lost to Merlin in the heat and the feel of Arthur against him, in the taste of his mouth and the slide of tongues. Arthur’s only response was a rumble in his throat, but when Merlin opened his hands against Arthur’s neck, tilting his head and widening his mouth Arthur suddenly came alive under him.
Merlin’s mind was shrieking, his hands clenched in Arthur’s hair and his mouth wide and hungry against Arthur’s. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, couldn’t believe he was touching Arthur, was kissing Arthur, that Arthur was kissing him back, that Arthur was - oh. That Arthur was grinding against Merlin’s thigh, growling whenever their mouths were apart, holding Merlin to him with arms like steel against his back.
Merlin felt the warmth at his back disappear and started slightly, pulling his mouth away from Arthur’s to find where it went. Gwaine was leaning against another tree, just off to their side, and was watching them, eyes heavy lidded, undoing his laces before sliding a hand inside. He hitched his chin towards them, his lips curling. “Don’t stop. I want to watch.”
Merlin barely processed that request before Arthur was pulling his face around again, matching their mouths up and sliding his tongue inside Merlin’s mouth, his hands moving down to the hem of Merlin’s tunic and then under, his palms hot and damp as they skidded around Merlin’s waist and up his chest, fingertips brushing Merlin’s nipples as his ground his hips down, his hardness rubbing against Merlin’s hip.
Merlin needed more, couldn’t believe he was getting as much as he was, but still needed more. The night air was cold, but Arthur was hot beneath him and if he didn’t get his hands on skin soon he was going to explode. He skidded his mouth away from Arthur’s, over stubbled cheek and jaw, gorgeous jaw line, to the hollow behind Arthur’s ear, fastening his lips there as he focused on getting Arthur’s trousers undone. Arthur was panting against Merlin’s hair, something that sounded like Merlin’s name, and maybe “oh, god, yes” as Merlin worked his hand on Arthur’s prick, rubbing his thumb over the head and squeezing just slightly as he slid up and down.
“Stop.”
Merlin’s hand halted at Gwaine’s voice, but he didn’t move away from Arthur.
Arthur offered a dazed “What?” above Merlin’s head and Merlin wholeheartedly agreed. He watched Gwaine push away from his tree and come closer, almost stalking, his hands outstretched.
“I’m not ready to come yet. And besides, you know there are better things than hands, Merlin. Didn’t you hear what I was saying before?” Gwaine pressed Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin’s knees buckled and he sank to his knees. Gwaine followed him down, kneeling behind him and whispering in his ear, loud enough that Arthur could hear above them. “Don’t you want to suck your prince off?”
“Oh lord,” came the strangled voice of Arthur, and yes, that was exactly what Merlin wanted. He dragged Arthur’s trousers down until they pooled at his ankles and without hesitation took Arthur into his mouth. He tasted of salt and smelled heady, and Merlin felt drunk with it, sucking sloppily and pressing his palms to Arthur’s naked thighs.
Gwaine was grunting behind him, rutting against Merlin’s arse, and Merlin pushed back against him while his mouth stretched around Arthur’s cock. Arthur was fisting Merlin’s hair fretfully, his voice gone high and keening. Merlin was so focused on the sound, on swirling his tongue again to make Arthur groan, on hollowing his cheeks to make Arthur gasp that he didn’t notice Gwaine’s fingers on his trouser laces.
He gulped around Arthur’s cock when Gwaine’s fingers wrapped around him, and Arthur shuddered beneath his palms before coming, draining himself into Merlin’s mouth and shouting into the cold night.
Merlin followed mere seconds later, snapping his hips, thrusting into Gwaine’s fist, his face buried in Arthur’s thigh. Gwaine’s drawn out moan came immediately after, rubbing against Merlin’s arse.
Their panting was the only sound in the forest for a few moments, and then Gwaine chuckled behind Merlin, using Merlin’s shoulders to push himself to standing.
“You can thank me in the morning.” He gave Arthur’s cheek a light smack as he sauntered past, crouching down in the clearing to re-kindle the fire.
Merlin kept his head down, starting to panic, still tasting Arthur in his mouth, a little of his seed dripping down his chin. Arthur was quietly lacing his trousers, his fingers fumbling slightly.
Merlin sat back on his heels, feeling dizzy, feeling nauseous, feeling tears prickle in his eyes. Then he felt the hand in his hair, gentle, and tilted his head up to find Arthur smiling down at him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur said, his lips quirking. Merlin took a steadying breath. “You’re thinking that it was desperation, or that it was Gwaine that did it, or that I was thinking we could die tomorrow so what the hell.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. Arthur could read him like a book.
“The truth is,” Arthur said, quiet, his eyes soft. He closed his hand in Merlin’s hair and pulled slightly. Merlin went with the pressure and stood. “The truth is, Merlin, that I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Merlin felt the relief bubbling up inside him, the happiness, and schooled his expression as best he could before his smile flew off his face or his cheeks cracked. “You have?”
“Indeed. And if we make it through tomorrow unscathed, I should like to do it again.”
Merlin let a grin slip through, feeling light as feather and cheeky. “Is that an order?”
Arthur grinned back and pulled him forward for a kiss.
“Oy, save it you two. We have to march to our deaths tomorrow!”
They laughed, not caring if it were true or not, feeling sleepy and satisfied and ready to take on the world, and went to join Gwaine by the fire. The smoke rose up into the night and the moon peeked through, lighting their small camp briefly. When they lay down to sleep they all curled together, limbs intertwined. For the warmth, of course.
The End
OH LORD.
The Heat of the Night, popfly
Arthur/Merlin/Gwaine
Notes: Loosely based on the last two episodes of season three. LOOSELY. I definitely took some liberties here. Also this was beta read by the lovely mclachlan. ♥
The night air was cold, bringing up chill bumps on the skin of Merlin’s arms, numbing the tip of his nose. His back was warm from the fire but the warmth seemed unable to cross some invisible barrier that ran down his side and over his hip, and his shoulder ached where it was pressed to the hard ground. His jacket covered Arthur’s sleeping form, lying with his head at Merlin’s feet, shivering from the temperature and the fever that came with infection, the wound high on his thigh still bleeding under layers of the gauze Merlin was quickly running low on.
Merlin turned over for the fourth time that night, and the fire flickered merrily, the smoke rising from it obscuring the sight of Gwaine’s head. The rest of him was still save the steady rise and fall of his chest, and Merlin could hear a slight snoring over the crackling of the fire.
The feeling was coming back to his nose, but the nape of his neck was cold, lacking the covering of his neckerchief which was tied tightly above the level of Arthur’s wound. Merlin sighed his discomfort and anxiety, and pushed up from where he lay to pace the small clearing as quietly as he possibly could.
He was standing behind Arthur’s shoulder, watching him twitch and shake, when Gwaine’s voice came from below.
“Go to sleep, mate, you’ll need your rest.”
“Can’t,” Merlin whispered, his eyes on the back of Arthur’s head, his blond hair bright in a sliver of moonlight.
Gwaine was quiet, but Merlin could feel his understanding.
“You must try. Arthur will need both of us strong and ready in the morning.”
Merlin pressed his fingertips to his forehead and glanced towards Gwaine, just making out the glint of his eyes in the firelight. He chuckled softly, without humor, and lowered himself to the ground behind Arthur’s back. “Too cold to sleep anyway. His highness needs my jacket more than I do.”
Merlin expected a laugh in return, and when he didn’t hear one he looked to see if Gwaine had gone back to sleep already. He hadn’t, but was watching Merlin, just watching him, with an odd expression on his face. Merlin shifted his weight and looked away, feeling uncomfortable once again.
“Couldn’t you share?” Gwaine suggested, his voice pitched low, the oddness in his tone matching what Merlin had seen on his face. Merlin felt a blush creep up his neck, and fingered the collar of his jacket where it rested against Arthur’s neck. He looked down the length of the prince’s body, covered only to the waist with the jacket, and the blush moved over his jaw line and into his cheeks.
The jacket had always been too big for him. And if Arthur needed to be warmed, a body would help more than a thin layering of fabric.
He couldn’t believe he was actually considering it.
Merlin saw Gwaine’s hand move out of the corner of his eye, and when the edge of the jacket was lifted Merlin pushed all thought from his head and moved to lie down underneath it. He made sure there was at least an inch of space - of warm, empty space - between the front of his body and the back of Arthur’s before Gwaine settled the jacket back over both of them.
“Much better,” Gwaine said, not a question, as if he knew something Merlin didn’t.
Merlin didn’t answer, and closed his eyes. He was slightly warmer now, and more comfortable, but he couldn’t get to sleep with Arthur so restless beside him. He lay still while Gwaine spread out on the other side of the fire, and waited until he heard the other man’s breath slow. He squinted and watched Gwaine for a moment, making sure, before placing his hand against the bandaging on Arthur’s leg. He whispered an incantation and felt the magic shimmer weakly in his palm. It took another two tries before Arthur stopped shivering, and only then was Merlin able to sleep.
*
“Merlin.”
The voice woke him from the deepest sleep he’d had in a long time, and he groaned in response, burrowing into the warmth that ran along his front and squeezing his eyes shut defiantly. He was too comfortable, couldn’t remember the last time he’d been that comfortable, and would not let whatever evil trying to wrench him from sleep succeed.
“Merlin.” The voice was louder now, and accompanied by a nudge in the small of his back. Something that felt like the toe of a boot. He moved away from it, pressing against the solid presence in front of him, wrapping his arms more securely around …
… he cracked open one eye. All he could see was gold. Bright, glinting strands of gold. His mind struggled to place itself. Woods, running, the cup, Cenred’s men, Arthur.
Arthur.
Merlin scrambled backwards, the heels of his hands scraping on the dried leaves, his boots leaving furrows in the earth. When his back bumped something that could’ve been a tree stump he stopped, looking up into Gwaine’s laughing face.
Merlin couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t totally and utterly ridiculous, so he was merely quiet, and accepted the hand up that Gwaine offered him.
Gwaine’s mouth was twitching and Merlin could see what he wanted to say as clear as day, so he spun on his boot heel and began clearing the camp.
“Did you try to wake Arthur?” He didn’t turn to look at Gwaine, but he could hear the breath of a laugh that escaped him when he started to reply.
“Thought it might be best to wake you first, mate.”
Merlin nodded down at the smoldering remains of their fire as he kicked dirt onto it.
Arthur began to stir and Merlin stopped cold, barely turning his head to watch as Arthur’s chin, then his chest, lifted from the ground, his arms wobbling just slightly. He blinked around, brushing leaves from his tunic, Merlin’s jacket sliding to the ground behind him.
“How do you feel, sire?” Gwaine stooped down, a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, as Merlin stood stock-still near the fire pit.
“I’m fine,” Arthur said, his voice husky and weak from the fever and the night spent on the forest floor. Merlin felt the blush on his neck again. “Let’s get moving.”
Merlin waited until Arthur and Gwaine were busy sheathing their swords to collect his jacket, and moved as minutely as possible while pulling it back on. When the two men looked back he was standing ready, schooling his expression into something innocent, inconspicuous.
Gwaine grinned back, but Arthur merely nodded, turning to leave the clearing, limping only slightly.
*
They were a half day’s march from Camelot when Arthur decided they should stop, make camp, rest up for the final push. Merlin swallowed around a lump in his throat and offered to gather firewood, not meeting Gwaine’s eyes as he picked his way through the underbrush, heading towards a dense thicket of trees.
He heard the footsteps behind him, crunching over the ground, and hung his head resignedly. He should’ve known he wouldn’t be able to escape the discussion forever.
“We’re one night’s sleep and a few hours of walking away from near certain death, mate. Don’t you think it’s time to drop the virginal princess act?” Gwaine clapped a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his grin wide in his darkly stubbled face. Merlin worked up his best indignant face but when he opened his mouth all he could come up with was, “What?”
“Come on, Merlin. I’ve seen the way you look at him, and it didn’t just start with you waking up in each others’ arms this morning.” Gwaine’s grin went lopsided, lewd, and Merlin felt his indignant face droop into something more appalled, something guiltier.
“Don’t worry. I’ve seen the way he looks at you too, and it’s about the same. Dirtier, though.”
“Gwaine,” Merlin choked out, his face flaming hot. “What on earth on you talking about?”
“Honestly, Merlin. I would have to be blind, deaf and daft not to know that you two are stupid for each other. He may have some silly girly feelings towards Gwen but he wants you. And not in a ‘Merlin-shine-my-boots’ sort of way. More in a ‘Merlin-put-your-mouth-on-my’ - “
“Gwaine,” Merlin hissed, his head whipping back to find Arthur’s form through the trees, calculating the distance, and the pitch of Gwaine’s voice, and the crunch of the leaves underfoot, and oh god if he heard …
“Relax. There’s nothing to worry about really. You two have your hot and sweaty evening together in this cold, cold forest and tomorrow we’ll all be run through by an army of immortal men. No one will be the wiser.” Gwaine was too nonchalant, too loud for god’s sake, and Merlin could barely hold on to the small logs Gwaine was placing in the crooks of his arms.
“I can’t,” he all but squeaked, and cleared his throat, looking back at Arthur once more. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Gwaine straightened up, his face suddenly serious. “Merlin. I’m serious. He feels the same as you. You have nothing to worry about. And please stop lying to me, I know you too well. We know each other too well.”
Merlin wished the ground beneath him would open up, cleave in two, and suck him down into it. He did not want to be having this conversation here in this forest with Gwaine of all people.
Or did he?
Gwaine was a trusted friend to him, and to Arthur. He was also a bit more experienced in these matters, and Merlin, well Merlin only had some pubescent fumbling with Will in the woods behind his mother’s house to his credit.
Merlin swallowed, hard, and then sighed, defeated. “Alright. You’ve got me. I’m in love with the prince. What would you like me to do about it?”
Gwaine smiled, a gentle smile which looked slightly out of place on his roguish face. “I don’t know about the love bit, mate, but I can help with some of the rest.”
Merlin couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel his fingers or toes, but he could feel his head nodding, and resigned himself to whatever horrible fate Arthur would condemn him to.
*
The fire was lit and the moon was partially obscured by a low layer of scattered clouds. Merlin could barely hear the night sounds of the forest over the rushing in his head. His blood zinged in his veins, and he was having trouble getting breath. Gwaine and Arthur were checking the perimeter, settling their nerves before they could lie down to sleep. Only Merlin knew what Gwaine was about to do, and he wondered if any nerves would be settled at all.
When he heard the footsteps approaching, he almost wished they’d be bandits, or Cenred’s immortal army, that someone with something sharp and pointy would put him out of his misery. Then he heard Gwaine’s low, throaty voice and he knew that he wouldn’t be spared.
Merlin watched from under his lashes as Gwaine and Arthur approached the clearing. Arthur was saying something low, serious, when Gwaine grabbed his elbow, spun him around and pushed him up against a tree. Arthur struggled, but Gwaine was murmuring into his ear, working his knee between Arthur’s legs, and Merlin could see Arthur still, going almost rigid between the tree and Gwaine’s body. Gwaine’s dark head was bent, nuzzled under the line of Arthur’s jaw and Merlin felt his mouth go dry when Arthur’s eyes slid closed and his hands moved up to press against Gwaine’s back.
Merlin got to his feet, shaky, his clammy hands clenched into fists against his thighs. He took one step towards the two men, then one more, shuffling over the ground as quietly as he could. He could hear Gwaine’s voice as he got closer, deep and gravelly against Arthur’s neck, almost a whisper, and he could see Arthur’s nostrils flaring as Gwaine muttered filthy things into his skin.
“ … can see how you look at him, can feel how hard you get thinking about his mouth, those full lips, think about them on your cock … “
Arthur’s lips parted and a moan sounded into the night, making Merlin stumble and step right in the middle of a twig. The crack seemed to reverberate through his chest, through his skull, and Gwaine’s murmuring ceased, Arthur’s eyes flying open to land directly on Merlin.
Merlin stood still, his boot still placed on the now broken twig, his breath puffing white, his heart sounding like horse hooves in his head.
Gwaine chuckled in the bend of Arthur’s neck and moved away slightly, leaving Arthur propped against the tree, legs spread, arms falling to his sides. “Merlin. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Gwaine’s voice was thick, his hand pressed palm-open to the front of his trousers, and Merlin felt all the blood rush to his prick. “Why don’t you come closer?”
Merlin looked from Gwaine to Arthur, whose eyes were back to being squeezed closed, and to Gwaine again, who looked positively cheerful as he stroked himself through his clothing. “Come on, Merlin. We’re waiting for you.”
When Merlin stepped forward, his feet clumsy, he was no longer quiet, and Arthur flinched at every step. But his lips were parted and his tongue darted out to wet them, and Merlin couldn’t stop himself even if he tried. Gwaine took hold of his waist as he came closer and turned him to face Arthur, pressing himself all along Merlin’s back as he walked them forward, nudging the back of Merlin’s knee with his own to move it between Arthur’s legs, lifting Merlin’s arms to Arthur’s shoulders.
“Did you hear what I was saying earlier, Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice was in his ear, his breath ghosting over the skin, the hum of it going straight through Merlin. Gwaine pressed them closer to Arthur, and Arthur panted a little when Merlin’s groin came in contact with his. “About your mouth and Arthur’s cock? Now, what do you think about that?”
Merlin’s arms were stiff on Arthur’s shoulders, his knuckles grazing the rough bark on either side of Arthur’s head, and he couldn’t take his eyes off Arthur’s mouth, open and wet, his tongue waiting just beyond the crooked line of teeth, the breath coming fast between his lips. Merlin couldn’t speak, couldn’t think of what he could possibly say that would be appropriate and so instead decided to fit his mouth to Arthur’s, to take in those rapid breaths and to touch Arthur’s tongue with his own.
Gwaine’s noise of approval was lost to Merlin in the heat and the feel of Arthur against him, in the taste of his mouth and the slide of tongues. Arthur’s only response was a rumble in his throat, but when Merlin opened his hands against Arthur’s neck, tilting his head and widening his mouth Arthur suddenly came alive under him.
Merlin’s mind was shrieking, his hands clenched in Arthur’s hair and his mouth wide and hungry against Arthur’s. He couldn’t believe this was actually happening, couldn’t believe he was touching Arthur, was kissing Arthur, that Arthur was kissing him back, that Arthur was - oh. That Arthur was grinding against Merlin’s thigh, growling whenever their mouths were apart, holding Merlin to him with arms like steel against his back.
Merlin felt the warmth at his back disappear and started slightly, pulling his mouth away from Arthur’s to find where it went. Gwaine was leaning against another tree, just off to their side, and was watching them, eyes heavy lidded, undoing his laces before sliding a hand inside. He hitched his chin towards them, his lips curling. “Don’t stop. I want to watch.”
Merlin barely processed that request before Arthur was pulling his face around again, matching their mouths up and sliding his tongue inside Merlin’s mouth, his hands moving down to the hem of Merlin’s tunic and then under, his palms hot and damp as they skidded around Merlin’s waist and up his chest, fingertips brushing Merlin’s nipples as his ground his hips down, his hardness rubbing against Merlin’s hip.
Merlin needed more, couldn’t believe he was getting as much as he was, but still needed more. The night air was cold, but Arthur was hot beneath him and if he didn’t get his hands on skin soon he was going to explode. He skidded his mouth away from Arthur’s, over stubbled cheek and jaw, gorgeous jaw line, to the hollow behind Arthur’s ear, fastening his lips there as he focused on getting Arthur’s trousers undone. Arthur was panting against Merlin’s hair, something that sounded like Merlin’s name, and maybe “oh, god, yes” as Merlin worked his hand on Arthur’s prick, rubbing his thumb over the head and squeezing just slightly as he slid up and down.
“Stop.”
Merlin’s hand halted at Gwaine’s voice, but he didn’t move away from Arthur.
Arthur offered a dazed “What?” above Merlin’s head and Merlin wholeheartedly agreed. He watched Gwaine push away from his tree and come closer, almost stalking, his hands outstretched.
“I’m not ready to come yet. And besides, you know there are better things than hands, Merlin. Didn’t you hear what I was saying before?” Gwaine pressed Merlin’s shoulder until Merlin’s knees buckled and he sank to his knees. Gwaine followed him down, kneeling behind him and whispering in his ear, loud enough that Arthur could hear above them. “Don’t you want to suck your prince off?”
“Oh lord,” came the strangled voice of Arthur, and yes, that was exactly what Merlin wanted. He dragged Arthur’s trousers down until they pooled at his ankles and without hesitation took Arthur into his mouth. He tasted of salt and smelled heady, and Merlin felt drunk with it, sucking sloppily and pressing his palms to Arthur’s naked thighs.
Gwaine was grunting behind him, rutting against Merlin’s arse, and Merlin pushed back against him while his mouth stretched around Arthur’s cock. Arthur was fisting Merlin’s hair fretfully, his voice gone high and keening. Merlin was so focused on the sound, on swirling his tongue again to make Arthur groan, on hollowing his cheeks to make Arthur gasp that he didn’t notice Gwaine’s fingers on his trouser laces.
He gulped around Arthur’s cock when Gwaine’s fingers wrapped around him, and Arthur shuddered beneath his palms before coming, draining himself into Merlin’s mouth and shouting into the cold night.
Merlin followed mere seconds later, snapping his hips, thrusting into Gwaine’s fist, his face buried in Arthur’s thigh. Gwaine’s drawn out moan came immediately after, rubbing against Merlin’s arse.
Their panting was the only sound in the forest for a few moments, and then Gwaine chuckled behind Merlin, using Merlin’s shoulders to push himself to standing.
“You can thank me in the morning.” He gave Arthur’s cheek a light smack as he sauntered past, crouching down in the clearing to re-kindle the fire.
Merlin kept his head down, starting to panic, still tasting Arthur in his mouth, a little of his seed dripping down his chin. Arthur was quietly lacing his trousers, his fingers fumbling slightly.
Merlin sat back on his heels, feeling dizzy, feeling nauseous, feeling tears prickle in his eyes. Then he felt the hand in his hair, gentle, and tilted his head up to find Arthur smiling down at him.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Arthur said, his lips quirking. Merlin took a steadying breath. “You’re thinking that it was desperation, or that it was Gwaine that did it, or that I was thinking we could die tomorrow so what the hell.” Merlin raised his eyebrows. Arthur could read him like a book.
“The truth is,” Arthur said, quiet, his eyes soft. He closed his hand in Merlin’s hair and pulled slightly. Merlin went with the pressure and stood. “The truth is, Merlin, that I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”
Merlin felt the relief bubbling up inside him, the happiness, and schooled his expression as best he could before his smile flew off his face or his cheeks cracked. “You have?”
“Indeed. And if we make it through tomorrow unscathed, I should like to do it again.”
Merlin let a grin slip through, feeling light as feather and cheeky. “Is that an order?”
Arthur grinned back and pulled him forward for a kiss.
“Oy, save it you two. We have to march to our deaths tomorrow!”
They laughed, not caring if it were true or not, feeling sleepy and satisfied and ready to take on the world, and went to join Gwaine by the fire. The smoke rose up into the night and the moon peeked through, lighting their small camp briefly. When they lay down to sleep they all curled together, limbs intertwined. For the warmth, of course.
The End
OH LORD.