As Long as There Will Be Rain (There Will Be Clear Skies After)
Fandom: Merlin (TV)
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: ~1.8k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Characters: Merlin, Arthur Pendragon
Genre: Fluff, Established relationship, Kissing fic, Modern AU, Mild angst
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: They know exactly how to break each other and exactly how to put each other back together. Arthur wouldn't have it any other way. (a.k.a. kissing in the rain xD)
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title from There Will be Rain by Young Guns.
Last of the fics for the international kissing day, which is technically over, but I do what I bloody well want xD
For chaosmaka, my wonderful cheerleader for whom I will write ALL TEH WORDS.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
As Long as There Will Be Rain
(There Will Be Clear Skies After)
By the time the door shuts behind Merlin, Arthur can't remember what they were arguing about. It was something stupid, inane for sure, that's how it always is; or at least that's how it starts, but then it escalates and becomes a big deal and Arthur is always left unclear on what it started out as, because in the end it doesn't matter - all their arguments boil down to the same old problems, it's just different things that trigger them.
They were friends before they started dating. In many ways, that helps them, because they know they can trust each other, and because they've already seen each other at their worst, and because they've already learned the dos and don'ts of one another. In other ways, though, it makes their relationship harder, because there's not much left to discover about the other, and because they've known exactly how to hurt each other from the start, and because they expected it to function perfectly. But it doesn't (it was never going to, Arthur realizes now) because there are things they will never see eye to eye on, because they're too different for it to be perfect. So they argue sometimes; Morgana always tells Arthur it's only natural, it would be kind of creepy and also unhealthy if they never argued (damn her psychology major of a boyfriend), but Arthur often finds himself sitting in an empty apartment wondering if two people who can hurt each other so much can actually have a happily ever after.
And then, somehow, magically, they do (at least until the next fight). One of them caves and calls, and Merlin comes back to Arthur's apartment (which has been their apartment for years), and they kiss and make up and ignore the fact that nothing's actually been solved, only pushed away for the time being; and it works. Until it doesn't. And then it's the same old story again.
The thing is, even knowing all that, even expecting explosive arguments and punches under the belt, even being aware of the strong possibility that it will never change, Arthur wouldn't trade his relationship with Merlin for anything. He can't imagine coming home and not seeing Merlin's coat draped over a random piece of furniture instead of being on the hanger, doesn't want to ever think of crawling under the covers alone or with someone who doesn't smell like cherries and chocolate and mine, would never be happy if he didn't have the security of knowing that he can call someone any time of day or night and have them pick up. Imagining life without Merlin is like imagining breathing without air - Arthur just can't do it. And despite all his questions and doubts, fears and insecurities, he knows, deeps down, that Merlin feels the same way. And that's why they will always work.
And that's why Arthur puts on his jackets and runs out onto the street not three minutes after Merlin.
It's raining outside, large, heavy drops falling all around him, landing on him with a surprising amount of force. He raises the collar of his jacket against the wind, sticks his hands into his pockets. It's cold and dark and wet in the empty street, but strangely liberating and refreshing; it feels like the rain is washing away all the negativity that's accumulated over the last few dry days, like the rain is bringing everything back to life after a Sleeping Beauty kind of slumber. The air smells strongly of ozone and when he takes a deep breath it fills him with just enough chill to give him that revitalizing push without stinging his lungs.
Merlin can't have gone far, not this quickly and not in this weather, Arthur should go after him as soon as possible, before Merlin gains more advantage, but he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of liquid cold on his face, to watch the droplets splash into a puddle nearby. One would think that almost thirty years of living in England is more than enough to get used to such weather, but Arthur always finds the rhythm of rain inexplicably captivating, like he's never heard it before (he probably hasn't, every rain is new and each has its own song to drum). People don't understand his fascination with rain, they wonder why he doesn't carry an umbrella and give him odd looks when he walks out and stands, sometimes for hours, bathing in the rain until his hair is plastered to his skull and his clothes are heavy on his body and he is soaked through; they think it's weird, but he thinks it's like being born again, like having all your wrongs (and Arthur has had many of those) washed away and being given a clean slate.
Merlin understands. He never laughs when Arthur walks in looking like he was swimming in the Thames with his clothes on, he stops the car when the rain starts while they're driving somewhere and smiles when Arthur gets out, he wraps himself in a blanket and stands in the entrance of their building in the middle of the night, watching Arthur laugh like a maniac in the street and waiting for him to come to his senses. And Merlin doesn't love rain, not as much as Arthur, but sometimes he stands in it and holds Arthur's hand and laughs with him, not because he loves rain, but because he loves Arthur. And that's what Arthur is fighting to keep every time when he runs after Merlin or waits for Merlin to catch up with him.
“Looking for the meaning of life in the rain again?” he hears Merlin's voice carrying over the steady drumming and splashing of the rain. He looks up and sees Merlin standing across the street.
“Maybe,” he answers.
Merlin is smiling tentatively, arms crossed over his chest and jacket zipped up all the way. His hair is completely wet and Arthur is sure that if he approaches, he will see droplets of rain sticking to his unusually long eyelashes. He stares at Merlin, waiting, wondering if he should go over there or if Merlin will come to him. A car passes between them, splashing water every which way, and then another, before the street dies down again. They keep standing there, like two fools, Merlin clearly shivering from the cold and Arthur overpowering the urge to run to him and warm him up.
“You didn't even bother to try to get away,” Arthur yells over the rain which is getting heavier, louder even though the drops are smaller now.
“You would've caught me in the end. I would've let you,” Merlin replies, and Arthur knows they're thinking the same thing - that it doesn't matter how much they scream and shout, they will always end up here, together, because for them, there is no other way.
Arthur checks both ends of the street, finds them dark and abandoned, so he runs across to Merlin. Merlin is still smiling, more certain now, and there are indeed droplets of rain clinging to his lashes; his bottom lip is trembling from cold and his eyes look unnaturally blue in this lighting.
“I don't look for the meaning of life in the rain,” Arthur says, putting his hands on Merlin's sides and bringing him closer.
Merlin tilts his head, raises one cold, shaking hand and moulds it to the side of Arthur's face. “No, you don't,” he simply agrees.
Arthur looks into his eyes, and sees there that Merlin understands, that they both know Arthur's already found his meaning, and it's not the rain, or the cold, or even the penance for his sins; it's Merlin, with his red lips that Arthur can't resist, and blue eyes that Arthur can't look away from, and long fingers that Arthur loves to feel everywhere. Arthur won't say it, they both know, but he doesn't need to. He also won't ask, because he doesn't have to; he trusts Merlin, would trust Merlin with his life, and he knows Merlin loves him too, he knows they both believe they're for good. And that's why they work, why they will always work and always end up forgiving each other anything.
Merlin's thumb strokes over the corner of Arthur's lips, cold and wet like the rain, but more solid, more permanent. Arthur kisses it and he can't stop himself from saying, “Next time, I promise, I will-“
But Merlin cuts him off, “No, you won't, and we both know it.” He's still smiling serenely, it's not quite happy, but it's not really sad; it's knowing and calm and resigned, a little exasperated and a lot fond.
Arthur leans up, bridging what little height difference there is between them, and kisses Merlin like they've never kissed before (they haven't, not like this, in the rain, when they're both soaking wet, and still a little angry, but already missing each other, even though it's been a ridiculously short time - this is why they work). Merlin's lips are cold and wet, he tastes like fresh air and freedom and acceptance; Arthur can't get enough. He wants to drink in every breath that Merlin takes, wants to feel it against his lips and kiss it away, so he does; he holds Merlin close, the wet fabric of Merlin's thin jacket clinging to his fingers, and kisses him until he doesn't remember that there's a world around them. But that's okay, because the world doesn't matter; what matters is the way Merlin's lips fit familiarly with his, the way Merlin's tongue dances with practiced is against his, the way Merlin's teeth sink into the soft, sensitive flesh of his bottom lip with just the right strength, the way rain keeps falling on them, slowing everything down, cooling it off, reviving them. What matters is that it's raining, it's Arthur's favourite kind of weather, they're wet and cold, it's late and so dark they can't see further than just across the street, they're both imperfect and they fit imperfectly but they work, and Arthur knows they always will. And kissing Merlin in the rain like this, feeling Merlin in his arms, Merlin's fingers tugging on his hair, Merlin's breathy little sounds filling his ears; his imperfect Merlin letting the imperfect him have his imperfect little moment in this imperfect weather, it's the most perfect thing Arthur has ever felt, it's something he will remember forever as the moment he realized his life was good.
“And I will still love you,” Merlin finishes against Arthur's lips, drinking the rain from them; Arthur hugs him and holds him and promises to himself that he will never let Merlin go. At least not very far. (Maybe a little bit, just across the street. Especially if it's raining.)
Rating: PG-13/T
Word Count: ~1.8k
Category: Slash; Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur Pendragon
Characters: Merlin, Arthur Pendragon
Genre: Fluff, Established relationship, Kissing fic, Modern AU, Mild angst
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: They know exactly how to break each other and exactly how to put each other back together. Arthur wouldn't have it any other way. (a.k.a. kissing in the rain xD)
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title from There Will be Rain by Young Guns.
Last of the fics for the international kissing day, which is technically over, but I do what I bloody well want xD
For chaosmaka, my wonderful cheerleader for whom I will write ALL TEH WORDS.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
As Long as There Will Be Rain
(There Will Be Clear Skies After)
By the time the door shuts behind Merlin, Arthur can't remember what they were arguing about. It was something stupid, inane for sure, that's how it always is; or at least that's how it starts, but then it escalates and becomes a big deal and Arthur is always left unclear on what it started out as, because in the end it doesn't matter - all their arguments boil down to the same old problems, it's just different things that trigger them.
They were friends before they started dating. In many ways, that helps them, because they know they can trust each other, and because they've already seen each other at their worst, and because they've already learned the dos and don'ts of one another. In other ways, though, it makes their relationship harder, because there's not much left to discover about the other, and because they've known exactly how to hurt each other from the start, and because they expected it to function perfectly. But it doesn't (it was never going to, Arthur realizes now) because there are things they will never see eye to eye on, because they're too different for it to be perfect. So they argue sometimes; Morgana always tells Arthur it's only natural, it would be kind of creepy and also unhealthy if they never argued (damn her psychology major of a boyfriend), but Arthur often finds himself sitting in an empty apartment wondering if two people who can hurt each other so much can actually have a happily ever after.
And then, somehow, magically, they do (at least until the next fight). One of them caves and calls, and Merlin comes back to Arthur's apartment (which has been their apartment for years), and they kiss and make up and ignore the fact that nothing's actually been solved, only pushed away for the time being; and it works. Until it doesn't. And then it's the same old story again.
The thing is, even knowing all that, even expecting explosive arguments and punches under the belt, even being aware of the strong possibility that it will never change, Arthur wouldn't trade his relationship with Merlin for anything. He can't imagine coming home and not seeing Merlin's coat draped over a random piece of furniture instead of being on the hanger, doesn't want to ever think of crawling under the covers alone or with someone who doesn't smell like cherries and chocolate and mine, would never be happy if he didn't have the security of knowing that he can call someone any time of day or night and have them pick up. Imagining life without Merlin is like imagining breathing without air - Arthur just can't do it. And despite all his questions and doubts, fears and insecurities, he knows, deeps down, that Merlin feels the same way. And that's why they will always work.
And that's why Arthur puts on his jackets and runs out onto the street not three minutes after Merlin.
It's raining outside, large, heavy drops falling all around him, landing on him with a surprising amount of force. He raises the collar of his jacket against the wind, sticks his hands into his pockets. It's cold and dark and wet in the empty street, but strangely liberating and refreshing; it feels like the rain is washing away all the negativity that's accumulated over the last few dry days, like the rain is bringing everything back to life after a Sleeping Beauty kind of slumber. The air smells strongly of ozone and when he takes a deep breath it fills him with just enough chill to give him that revitalizing push without stinging his lungs.
Merlin can't have gone far, not this quickly and not in this weather, Arthur should go after him as soon as possible, before Merlin gains more advantage, but he takes a moment to enjoy the feeling of liquid cold on his face, to watch the droplets splash into a puddle nearby. One would think that almost thirty years of living in England is more than enough to get used to such weather, but Arthur always finds the rhythm of rain inexplicably captivating, like he's never heard it before (he probably hasn't, every rain is new and each has its own song to drum). People don't understand his fascination with rain, they wonder why he doesn't carry an umbrella and give him odd looks when he walks out and stands, sometimes for hours, bathing in the rain until his hair is plastered to his skull and his clothes are heavy on his body and he is soaked through; they think it's weird, but he thinks it's like being born again, like having all your wrongs (and Arthur has had many of those) washed away and being given a clean slate.
Merlin understands. He never laughs when Arthur walks in looking like he was swimming in the Thames with his clothes on, he stops the car when the rain starts while they're driving somewhere and smiles when Arthur gets out, he wraps himself in a blanket and stands in the entrance of their building in the middle of the night, watching Arthur laugh like a maniac in the street and waiting for him to come to his senses. And Merlin doesn't love rain, not as much as Arthur, but sometimes he stands in it and holds Arthur's hand and laughs with him, not because he loves rain, but because he loves Arthur. And that's what Arthur is fighting to keep every time when he runs after Merlin or waits for Merlin to catch up with him.
“Looking for the meaning of life in the rain again?” he hears Merlin's voice carrying over the steady drumming and splashing of the rain. He looks up and sees Merlin standing across the street.
“Maybe,” he answers.
Merlin is smiling tentatively, arms crossed over his chest and jacket zipped up all the way. His hair is completely wet and Arthur is sure that if he approaches, he will see droplets of rain sticking to his unusually long eyelashes. He stares at Merlin, waiting, wondering if he should go over there or if Merlin will come to him. A car passes between them, splashing water every which way, and then another, before the street dies down again. They keep standing there, like two fools, Merlin clearly shivering from the cold and Arthur overpowering the urge to run to him and warm him up.
“You didn't even bother to try to get away,” Arthur yells over the rain which is getting heavier, louder even though the drops are smaller now.
“You would've caught me in the end. I would've let you,” Merlin replies, and Arthur knows they're thinking the same thing - that it doesn't matter how much they scream and shout, they will always end up here, together, because for them, there is no other way.
Arthur checks both ends of the street, finds them dark and abandoned, so he runs across to Merlin. Merlin is still smiling, more certain now, and there are indeed droplets of rain clinging to his lashes; his bottom lip is trembling from cold and his eyes look unnaturally blue in this lighting.
“I don't look for the meaning of life in the rain,” Arthur says, putting his hands on Merlin's sides and bringing him closer.
Merlin tilts his head, raises one cold, shaking hand and moulds it to the side of Arthur's face. “No, you don't,” he simply agrees.
Arthur looks into his eyes, and sees there that Merlin understands, that they both know Arthur's already found his meaning, and it's not the rain, or the cold, or even the penance for his sins; it's Merlin, with his red lips that Arthur can't resist, and blue eyes that Arthur can't look away from, and long fingers that Arthur loves to feel everywhere. Arthur won't say it, they both know, but he doesn't need to. He also won't ask, because he doesn't have to; he trusts Merlin, would trust Merlin with his life, and he knows Merlin loves him too, he knows they both believe they're for good. And that's why they work, why they will always work and always end up forgiving each other anything.
Merlin's thumb strokes over the corner of Arthur's lips, cold and wet like the rain, but more solid, more permanent. Arthur kisses it and he can't stop himself from saying, “Next time, I promise, I will-“
But Merlin cuts him off, “No, you won't, and we both know it.” He's still smiling serenely, it's not quite happy, but it's not really sad; it's knowing and calm and resigned, a little exasperated and a lot fond.
Arthur leans up, bridging what little height difference there is between them, and kisses Merlin like they've never kissed before (they haven't, not like this, in the rain, when they're both soaking wet, and still a little angry, but already missing each other, even though it's been a ridiculously short time - this is why they work). Merlin's lips are cold and wet, he tastes like fresh air and freedom and acceptance; Arthur can't get enough. He wants to drink in every breath that Merlin takes, wants to feel it against his lips and kiss it away, so he does; he holds Merlin close, the wet fabric of Merlin's thin jacket clinging to his fingers, and kisses him until he doesn't remember that there's a world around them. But that's okay, because the world doesn't matter; what matters is the way Merlin's lips fit familiarly with his, the way Merlin's tongue dances with practiced is against his, the way Merlin's teeth sink into the soft, sensitive flesh of his bottom lip with just the right strength, the way rain keeps falling on them, slowing everything down, cooling it off, reviving them. What matters is that it's raining, it's Arthur's favourite kind of weather, they're wet and cold, it's late and so dark they can't see further than just across the street, they're both imperfect and they fit imperfectly but they work, and Arthur knows they always will. And kissing Merlin in the rain like this, feeling Merlin in his arms, Merlin's fingers tugging on his hair, Merlin's breathy little sounds filling his ears; his imperfect Merlin letting the imperfect him have his imperfect little moment in this imperfect weather, it's the most perfect thing Arthur has ever felt, it's something he will remember forever as the moment he realized his life was good.
“And I will still love you,” Merlin finishes against Arthur's lips, drinking the rain from them; Arthur hugs him and holds him and promises to himself that he will never let Merlin go. At least not very far. (Maybe a little bit, just across the street. Especially if it's raining.)