Fic: Your Love is Better Than Ice-Cream
Title: Your Love is Better Than Ice-Cream
Author: alby_mangroves and marguerite_26, together with sorrylatenew, alba17, and mabonwitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 4600
Content Notes: Modern AU, a bit of food!porn
Summary: Merlin’s first day working at an ice-cream stand on a private beach takes a complicated turn when he meets the owner’s son.
Author's Notes: This was written as a multi-author comment fic in the ”Let’s write something together meme.
Merlin reaches over the counter and takes the coins from a sunburnt kid, handing him a dripping double-fudge-ripple waffle cone. All the while he keeps half an eye on the ocean.
“Who’s that?” he asks Gwen, nodding towards the shore to the group of brawny surfers, laughing and goofing off, forming a loose circle around one boy.
"Who?” Gwen squints, wrinkling her nose a bit.
It’s late in the day and the sun’s gleaming off the waves. Merlin squints, too. The sound of the boys’ laughter carries across the beach. The one in the center has his head thrown back, with a carefree and striking smile. He’s the epitome of what Merlin imagined an all-American boy would be: blond, tanned and built.
“Do you mean Arthur? The one with all the minions?"
“No, the guy with the wooden leg.” He gives Gwen what he hopes is a casual-looking shrug.
"You could have a wooden leg kink! Who knows with you brits.”
Merlin snorts. Gwen’s odd humour still shocks him sometimes. In the month Merlin’s been in California, Gwen’s taken him under her wing, introducing him to anyone and everyone, and he couldn’t be more grateful. She’s even managed to get him a job at the most popular beach in town.
“Seriously, Merlin. How can you not know who Arthur Pendragon is?" Gwen shakes her head, and Merlin wonders if she’s mentioned him before. She had certainly never introduced them because Merlin would not have forgotten shaking that bloke’s hand.
Pendragon, Merlin thinks, and the image of the name on a sign as they drove into the private beach that morning comes to mind
"Please tell me you're pulling my leg," he finally replies, stunned.
"What, your wooden leg?" Gwen roars with laughter.
"What? That's not even funny, Gwen." Merlin bites his lip to stop his grin and wonders if they've both been out in the sun too long.
"He owns this beach? But I thought Pendragon was old! Well, older," Merlin muses, unable to tear his eyes away from wet skin and broad shoulders.
"No, that's Uther Pendragon, Arthur's dad." Gwen watches, too, as Arthur emerges from the throng, surfboard under his arm, eyes vibrantly blue even at this distance.
"Oh my God. I am so fucked," Merlin whines, fingering the leather cuff over his wrist. "So fucking fucked, Gwen."
"Yeah, he’s something, all right," Gwen says. They both stare as Arthur approaches.
"Hello, ladies," he says and winks at Gwen, and Merlin bristles at Arthur’s pratty arrogance, thinking Arthur was much prettier without the smirk.
"Anything I can get for you?" Merlin asks, and, yes, he's aware his voice is suddenly tight and annoyed, hands already reaching for the ice cream scooper.
“Belgian chocolate, single scoop.” Arthur looks at Merlin, his head tilting. "You're new, right?"
There's something teasing in Arthur's tone that sets Merlin's teeth on edge and makes heat start to creep up his neck. He nods, only barely.
Arthur watches as Merlin scoops. "Well, you look like a fast learner. I think it's all in the wrist."
Merlin fights the blush that’s threatening. "I have very flexible wrists," he says, hardly believing he actually said that out loud. He looks up, noticing how intently Arthur’s looking at his wrists.
"Nice cuff," Arthur murmurs, watching Merlin deftly scoop and fill.
"Nice ring," Merlin replies absently, then realizes what he's just said. "The one on your finger!"
Arthur laughs, a rich, loud sound. His whole expression softens.
He must have been staring for a while, because suddenly Merlin feels icy stickiness travel down his wrist and looks to see the mess he's made.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters, lifting his wrist to his mouth. He licks off the ice-cream, finally looking up when he registers the dead silence. Arthur’s eyes are huge, his mouth slightly ajar, and color blooms high on his face, making his tan glow.
Cheeks hot, he hands the cone to Arthur, mortified at his gaffe--he has probably broken all the health regulations, not to mention the socially acceptable ones--and avoiding Gwen’s shocked look.
Arthur's still staring. "You have something, right..."
Merlin holds very, very still, as Arthur's hand advances toward his face, deliberately and slowly. He feels it low in his gut when Arthur's thumb rubs roughly across his bottom lip.
For a second, Merlin can't breathe as Arthur raises his thumb to his own mouth and licks the smear of chocolate. Blood thunders in his ears. He can't take his eyes from Arthur's mouth.
Beside him, Gwen sighs, resigned. "It's always the pretty ones."
That snaps Merlin's eyes from the pink dart of Arthur's tongue.
Arthur flushes. "I don't know what you’re talking about," he says, his smile disappearing like it had never been there.
Merlin and Gwen look at their boss's son, then at each other, then back again. Gwen rolls her eyes, but Merlin just frowns, not sure how to interpret this man in front of him.
Arthur's lips curls, and his face morphs into something unpleasant. He looks down at the cone in his hand. "What the hell is this?" Due to Merlin's distraction, it's sloppily put together, the scoop’s dripping and nearly slipping off. “How incompetent are you? It’s scooping ice-cream, not exactly rocket science.”
Fuming and embarrassed, Merlin tries to take the cone back, but Arthur's just out of reach. Accidentally, he leans on the dirty prep area, covering his t-shirt with melted ice-cream.
"Bollocks," Merlin mutters, looking down at his shirt. He can only imagine how badly that shit stains and he only has the one uniform. Adrenaline still high from the flirting and Arthur’s stinging about-face, he heads to the back already tugging off his shirt. "Gwen, deal with the pretty prat, would you?"
Behind him, he hears Arthur’s, “What did you call me?” and feels blue eyes burn holes in his retreating back. There’s the thunk of the cone hitting the trash can, and Arthur barks out, "Forget it."
Merlin fills the tiny sink in the back with water and starts soaking his shirt. He really can't afford to buy a second uniform and this job (lame as it is) is too important to get fired. He begins to scrub just as Gwen appears.
"He's probably going to get us fired!" she whisper-shouts desperately, echoing his own concerns.
Merlin's shoulders slump. "Fuck! Not us, me! I’m the one who called him a prat." He can’t believe he’s buggered up his first job in America on his first day.
“I don’t know what got into him.” Gwen gnaws her lip. ”Arthur’s not usually like that.”
“Great. So it’s me,” Merlin says, scrubbing furiously at his shirt. “I transform pretty rich boys into arseholes.”
“Oh, Merlin. I’m sure he was just having a bad day. He’s not going to run off and tell his father some employee called him a prat and did a poor job scooping his ice-cream.”
Merlin gives her a doubtful look, when a loud knock rattles the little ice-cream stand’s door. In a moment's hysteria he wonders if it's Uther Pendragon, coming to fire him already.
When the door swings open, he’s inexplicably more surprised to see Arthur standing there. There's no counter now to obscure the view, and Merlin's eyes are full of tanned, golden skin. He blanches.
As Arthur's eyes travel Merlin from head to toe, he's acutely aware of how pale and thin he is in comparison and thinks even a stained, sodden shirt would be so much better than this. He has to stop himself from reaching back into the sink for it, though Arthur’s intense stare makes him feel uncomfortably vulnerable and exposed. He fingers his wrist cuff reflexively.
Gwen steps forward to shield him, glaring at Arthur. "Yes?"
Merlin admires Gwen’s moxie in issuing the challenge, and Arthur bows his head, having the decency to look sheepish.
"Can I talk to the new guy for a minute?" Arthur asks, running a hand through his half-dried hair so it falls perfectly into his eyes. "Alone?"
Gwen stands her ground. Merlin smiles at Gwen’s protective streak, and rubs her arm reassuringly, then steps around her, manning up. "Let's go."
"No," Arthur says, looking over his shoulder at the crowded beach beyond the open door. "Here's better."
Exasperated, Gwen tuts, then throws her apron on the bench. "Oh, fine. I'm taking my lunch break. I want hands shaken and adult behavior, or else!"
Merlin watches her breeze past Arthur and grins nervously.
"So..." Merlin crosses his arms over his naked chest, but stops when he feels he's just drawing more attention to all its pasty glory. Arthur takes a step forward and Merlin can see the tint of red on his tanned shoulders where his sunblock failed.
Blue eyes flit over Merlin's chest, with its little nest of dark hair over his sternum, and Merlin has never felt more exposed.
"Is Gwen your girlfriend? She seems quite... protective," Arthur murmurs, suddenly on the verge of breaching Merlin's personal space.
"Gwen?" Merlin shakes his head, laughing at the absurdity. "No, I mean, she’s a girl.”
When Arthur doesn’t respond, he sobers. “She’s my friend, helped me get this job. She's training me. I suppose she feels responsible to protect me from..."
"...pretty prats?" Arthur finishes helpfully.
"Um. Yeah. About that..." Merlin grimaces.
Arthur grins and closes the door behind him. "Yeah, about that. What’s a prat?"
Merlin hesitates for a second. “Kind of like an arsehole.”
Arthur grins, appearing oddly unfazed. Merlin wonders if he really needs to apologize to keep his job. He's not even sure he can get the words out, let alone make them sound sincere. This bloke is a prat.
Before Merlin can speak, Arthur takes the decision out of his hands. He touches Merlin's chocolate-streaked stomach with one long finger, watching the muscle contract under skin in response. "You missed a spot."
Inside Merlin's chest, his heart beats double-time.
"Christ," he breathes, hissing his way through the s. Arthur radiates heat, his skin still sun-warmed. Merlin steps back, remembering Arthur's about-face before he's completely lost.
Arthur watches him, his eyes predatory, then raises his finger to his lips.
"I'll help you clean up," he offers, then sucks his finger into his mouth, and Merlin's stomach drops like a roller coaster.
"There are laws against sexual harassment in the workplace, you know," he chokes out weakly.
Arthur doesn't laugh. "About before..." His bravado is gone now, washed away with a slump of his shoulders. "I'm not out. I don't ever flirt with guys like that. In public. God, if my father...”
Merlin's lips twist. On one hand, he really doesn't do closet cases. On the other, well...he spent half his morning listening to Gwen's stories about the apparently terrifying guy who owns this beach. If that’s Arthur’s dad, it would explain a lot.
It seems Arthur doesn't do introspective long because he's already shaking it off like a nasty wipeout. Merlin watches Arthur stalk toward him like a cat, and he might have forgotten how to breathe.
"But you and your pretty mouth, licking your god damn wrist," he says, crowding Merlin again in the tiny room behind the ice-cream counter and fingering his leather cuff.
Backed up against the wall, Merlin has nowhere to run. Arthur stops inches away, close enough for his hot, summer scent to render Merlin completely useless.
"I don't even know your name," Arthur murmurs.
"Um," Merlin says.
Arthur gives him a slow smirk. "Pretty sure 'um' is not your name," he says, lips brushing Merlin's ear.
"It's--Christ... it's," Merlin pants, eyes rolling back in his head.
Arthur just laughs, low and hoarse against the pulse of Merlin's throat.
"Wow, you really are a prat," Merlin says, squirming with both annoyance and lust -- a state in which Arthur seems to constantly land him. "My name's Merlin."
"Well, Merlin, I'm a prat and you're an idiot, so where does that leave us? Hurry up and decide, this mess is getting sticky." Arthur breathes the challenge against his cheek, lightly rubbing the back of his knuckle over Merlin's belly.
Merlin feels his stomach clench under the tickle of Arthur's hand just above his navel. He’s already getting hard and in a moment there would be no hiding it. Behind the thin wall that separates them from the front of the ice-cream stand, he hears the crash of the waves and the chatter of the beach goers. Grasping Arthur's wrist and stilling it, Merlin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks up again, his gaze is steady, burning into Arthur's eyes with intent.
"Don't start what you can't finish, Pendragon," he rasps, leaning in. When Arthur chuckles darkly, Merlin feels the vibrations of it against his neck.
"What makes you think I'm not prepared to finish this?"
Merlin only has time to think oh God, he's really gonna... before Arthur's red mouth finally touches down on his skin, lightly kissing just below his ear. After that, there's no more thinking. Arthur’s tongue licks a strip, right there, the spot which took Will a year to discover, and which makes Merlin's eyes roll back and his hips jut forward.
When he rolls into Arthur, he feels the hard outline of his cock trapped in his Bermuda swimshorts.
Arthur gasps into Merlin's throat, raising a flurry of goosebumps in the wake of his breath, and Merlin throws back his head, exposing his throat. He moans at the sensation of Arthur's lovely mouth trailing wetly over his Adam's apple even as Arthur's hand rubs ever firmer circles into his tightened stomach.
"Merlin, really?" Arthur pulls away to say.
Merlin's cheeks heat and he flips them so he's got Arthur pinned.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Merlin growls, pushing his thigh between Arthur's, parting them with insistence. "You're really starting to piss me off."
"Show me." Arthur smirks, leaning back.
Merlin laughs, the challenge in Arthur's voice spiking him higher. "Know what I hate most about closet cases?" he says, then bites a kiss into Arthur's full lips until they're swollen and pretty. "They walk away."
Arthur glares, but doesn't push him off. So Merlin grips his hips tight enough to bruise, and wonders what kind of excuses Arthur will be giving his surfing mates.
Arthur suddenly looks vulnerable. "I'm not going anywhere."
Merlin breathes, "No, you're not," and dips his fingers into the closest tub. Bringing them to Arthur's face, he smears chocolate-covered fingers across Arthur's mouth.
"But I know that look you got on your face when Gwen called you out." He stares at Arthur, but there's no denial in his eyes. "You'll be walking out of here in fifteen and not looking back."
The next kiss tastes like chocolate, and Arthur, and bitter truths. The least Merlin can do is be honest with himself about what's about to happen.
And maybe, just maybe, he's willing to go along with this, because it's undeniable that this arrogant, aggressive wanker has him harder than he's been in a very long time. He can't resist touching Arthur's lips with his fingers as he kisses him, wanting to crawl into that pretty mouth.
He hisses when Arthur licks his way between his fingers, sucking them like he means it.
"Fuck," Merlin groans. "That's so fucking hot."
Arthur smirks and Merlin figures neither of them have anything to lose now that it's all laid bare and this is happening despite it being a spectacularly bad idea.
They crash into each other, teeth and spit and ice-cream, the hard heat of Arthur’s sun kissed body against the cool of Merlin’s.
Merlin maneuvers them further to the back to make sure they're out of sight, and slams Arthur into the door. He wastes no time cupping him in his hand, moaning into Arthur's open mouth when he touches the thickening cock straining through Arthur's shorts.
He fits his hand around it, then sneaks his fingers beneath the waistband.
It's a bit awkward and he's only able to graze the tip until Arthur pushes him away enough so the drawstring can be unknotted. Then the access is easy and Arthur's mouth drops open as Merlin's manages his first testing pull of Arthur's cock.
It fits in his hand just right, hot and thick, the way he likes. He swallows Arthur's gasps and licks the ice-cream from his lips, tongue fucking Arthur's mouth in time with his hand below, all while rutting his pelvis against Arthur's hip. It's a messy, awkward first-time rhythm, but neither care, lost in each other's scent and taste.
There's someone on the other side of the wall bitching loudly about the ice-cream stand being unattended. Merlin almost laughs, wondering if he'll be fired for this, yet. He speeds up.
"Yeah, fuck." Arthur moans against his lips, thrusting up into Merlin's grip, his hands white-knuckled on the bench beside him. "Close."
He fucks Merlin's hand, panting. Merlin pulls back to look between them at Arthur's cock slipping in and out of his fist.
"God," Merlin whispers, then looks up to see if Arthur likes it, if it's good for him. Merlin doesn't think he's ever seen anything hotter than Arthur's heavy-lidded eyes, fluttering lashes, hot spots high on his cheeks and filthy mouth muttering obscenities. He wants to fuck that mouth.
He wonders if Arthur will let him, not today -- they're both already too close -- but someday. Fuck, Arthur's mouth was made for it. Then he curses himself for thinking ahead. He twists his wrist around Arthur's dick, merciless. He's pissed at Arthur for ruining his first day, and likely his summer, because one time will never be enough.
Within moments, Arthur's fingers dig into his shoulders, and he drops his head, fitting it into the crook of Merlin's neck.
"God, yes, just like that," Arthur pants, and then Merlin can't hold back, finds himself murmuring filth into Arthur's ear, wanna fuck your mouth and push my cock in and watch you swallow me and Arthur's done.
Merlin feels him go taut, like every inch of him is dangling on the precipice, and then Merlin’s hand is sticky and his grip on Arthur's cock is slippery wet. Chasing his own high, he humps Arthur's leg but it's dry and rough in his jeans.
“God, you and your filthy mouth and that goddamn accent,” Arthur drawls wetly into Merlin’s neck as he comes back to himself. Slowed movements become more focused and he roughly yanks on Merlin’s zipper, then spits into his hand and promptly fits it around Merlin’s painfully hard cock.
"This?" Arthur grinds out through gritted teeth, "You want to fuck my mouth with this?"
Merlin's head falls forward, jaw slack, eyes full of Arthur's tight hand, fisting his cock.
"Yes, God, yes." He chokes as the image flashes in his mind. Arthur's sun-bleached hair clutched in Merlin fingers, his mouth open wide as he gives up that white-knuckled grip he so obviously has on himself.
As he gives it all to Merlin. Everything.
Arthur wrenches it out of him with his hand, and Merlin comes all over his own stomach, hard and fast with a ground jaw to keep from shouting.
They slump into each other, hot and sticky with sugar and salt. Merlin grins when Arthur's fingers let go of his dick and creep up to smear the come and ice-cream on his stomach, drawing mindless patterns.
The mess on his torso is insanely filthy and erotic. He stills Arthur's hand, raising it to his lips to suck in Arthur's index finger until his tongue swirls around the thick gold band of Arthur’s ring. The taste is all wrong too sweet and too bitter, but he swallows it down.
"This isn't enough," he says before he can stop himself.
Arthur watches Merlin lick his fingers clean with a look of awe. "No," he agrees quietly, "It's not."
He inclines his head and Merlin can’t help it- he shouldn’t prolong this, but he does. He kisses Arthur’s swollen pink mouth, licking into the seam, sharing the taste of chocolate and come, and a promise he doesn’t dare believe. His grip on Arthur’s wrist loosens, and their fingers slip together like they’re dancing.
Gwen will be back soon, and the noise of the crowd outside is a reminder that any one of these pissed off people could complain to Uther and Merlin would be fucked.
"Tonight," he whispers into Arthur's mouth. "There's a bonfire tonight. Go with me."
"I'll be there. I'll find you," Arthur whispers back, suddenly alive with excitement. With one last lick, he steps away from the heat of Merlin's body. Digging the tip of his finger into Merlin's sternum, he repeats it, making sure Merlin knows he means it. "I'll find you."
Merlin wants to believe him, so he nods as if he does. Arthur's face says he knows Merlin's not convinced but there's no words that will change that.
Arthur straightens his swimshorts and wipes his hands and face clean the best he can in the shop's tiny sink, where Merlin’s shirt is still soaking.
Looking cleaner than he has any right to, he makes for the door, while Merlin leans on the bench, tucking himself back into his jeans, sticky mess and all. He feels a bit sick at the thought of having defiled his new workplace.
Arthur has his hand on the door, but turns and begins to speak. "I want to--"
"If you say thank you, I'm going to punch you in the mouth, just so we're clear." Merlin's voice is steady, but he knows his eyes are pleading.
"Yeah, all right." Arthur looks at his grip on the doorknob as he says, "I panicked before, with Gwen. That I was so obvious. I'm not out. I'm not ready." He looks up. "Not yet, anyway."
Merlin knows this, but it still makes his shoulders drop, makes him shake his head.
He wants to say whatever, and enjoy your life, and I might really like you, and fuck off, but what comes out is, "I get it. Maybe I'll see you at the bonfire, then," which sounds a lot like I know I probably won't.
Arthur just nods, and then he's gone in a momentary flash of daylight and a snib of the door.
*
That night at the bonfire he's trying not to search the crowd.
Remembering the name of every friend Gwen drags him off to meet should be taking all his concentration. Still, when he looks across the flames and spots a flash of blond and a familiar smile, his pulse thunders in his ears.
He doesn't remember how, but suddenly they're on the outskirts of the crowd, and Arthur's within arm's reach. Merlin stills, waiting and watching, letting Arthur come to him, if he wants.
When he does, it's his skin's scent Merlin registers first, feeling it deep like a pull on his diaphragm. He opens his mouth for a greeting.
"I found you," Arthur says, cutting off whatever lame thing Merlin was going to say. He makes it sound like an epic quest he's just managed, and shouldn't Merlin feel the fool for doubting him.
"So you have." What Merlin means is what now?
When Arthur steps in close, so close, it's unexpected and wonderful and Merlin's a little stunned, still teetering on the edge of disbelief. He hadn't realized he had so much riding on Arthur turning up, but a flurry of nerves is making him lightheaded like he's fourteen again.
"So I have." Arthur hums, so near that Merlin feels the vibration on his lips. There are flames dancing in Arthur's eyes, like magic.
Their lips meet and it's like the beach is blanketed in a hush. Merlin knows it isn't, really. Likely no one is watching and their kiss is as intimate and private as if they were alone.
But they aren't. And someone could see.
So when Arthur presses in harder, like the last of his courage is surging forward, Merlin wraps his arms around him like he'll protect him from the world.
The kiss isn't like earlier; it’s almost chaste. But when they part, Merlin doesn't let go. They rest their foreheads together, and Arthur fists his hands into the back of Merlin's t-shirt, holding tight.
"You all right?" Merlin asks, because he knows what it's like, and now that Arthur's really here, he can afford to feel this, to sympathize, to let it be real.
"I'm scared shitless," Arthur whispers, pressing his cheek against Merlin's.
Merlin's heart swells, hearing this kind of honesty from the mouth which he already knows can be hard and filthy and kiss him just right.
"It's going to be an interesting summer, at least." Arthur lets out a shaky breath.
Merlin steps back, squeezing Arthur's hand. "It certainly is."
When they bump into their friends randomly through the night, Merlin can't wipe the smile from his face; his cheeks ache with it. The world hasn't ended with their display of affection, and he can see Arthur feels invincible for having taken that small step, here among people who don't judge.
The bonfire glows warm and orange, reflected on all their faces like the epitome of summer. Arthur is solid and real beside him, bumping his shoulder or touching his arm when they chat to Gwen, and Merlin lets himself feel it.
He lets himself believe it.
Everything will be all right.
Author: alby_mangroves and marguerite_26, together with sorrylatenew, alba17, and mabonwitch
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 4600
Content Notes: Modern AU, a bit of food!porn
Summary: Merlin’s first day working at an ice-cream stand on a private beach takes a complicated turn when he meets the owner’s son.
Author's Notes: This was written as a multi-author comment fic in the ”Let’s write something together meme.
Merlin reaches over the counter and takes the coins from a sunburnt kid, handing him a dripping double-fudge-ripple waffle cone. All the while he keeps half an eye on the ocean.
“Who’s that?” he asks Gwen, nodding towards the shore to the group of brawny surfers, laughing and goofing off, forming a loose circle around one boy.
"Who?” Gwen squints, wrinkling her nose a bit.
It’s late in the day and the sun’s gleaming off the waves. Merlin squints, too. The sound of the boys’ laughter carries across the beach. The one in the center has his head thrown back, with a carefree and striking smile. He’s the epitome of what Merlin imagined an all-American boy would be: blond, tanned and built.
“Do you mean Arthur? The one with all the minions?"
“No, the guy with the wooden leg.” He gives Gwen what he hopes is a casual-looking shrug.
"You could have a wooden leg kink! Who knows with you brits.”
Merlin snorts. Gwen’s odd humour still shocks him sometimes. In the month Merlin’s been in California, Gwen’s taken him under her wing, introducing him to anyone and everyone, and he couldn’t be more grateful. She’s even managed to get him a job at the most popular beach in town.
“Seriously, Merlin. How can you not know who Arthur Pendragon is?" Gwen shakes her head, and Merlin wonders if she’s mentioned him before. She had certainly never introduced them because Merlin would not have forgotten shaking that bloke’s hand.
Pendragon, Merlin thinks, and the image of the name on a sign as they drove into the private beach that morning comes to mind
"Please tell me you're pulling my leg," he finally replies, stunned.
"What, your wooden leg?" Gwen roars with laughter.
"What? That's not even funny, Gwen." Merlin bites his lip to stop his grin and wonders if they've both been out in the sun too long.
"He owns this beach? But I thought Pendragon was old! Well, older," Merlin muses, unable to tear his eyes away from wet skin and broad shoulders.
"No, that's Uther Pendragon, Arthur's dad." Gwen watches, too, as Arthur emerges from the throng, surfboard under his arm, eyes vibrantly blue even at this distance.
"Oh my God. I am so fucked," Merlin whines, fingering the leather cuff over his wrist. "So fucking fucked, Gwen."
"Yeah, he’s something, all right," Gwen says. They both stare as Arthur approaches.
"Hello, ladies," he says and winks at Gwen, and Merlin bristles at Arthur’s pratty arrogance, thinking Arthur was much prettier without the smirk.
"Anything I can get for you?" Merlin asks, and, yes, he's aware his voice is suddenly tight and annoyed, hands already reaching for the ice cream scooper.
“Belgian chocolate, single scoop.” Arthur looks at Merlin, his head tilting. "You're new, right?"
There's something teasing in Arthur's tone that sets Merlin's teeth on edge and makes heat start to creep up his neck. He nods, only barely.
Arthur watches as Merlin scoops. "Well, you look like a fast learner. I think it's all in the wrist."
Merlin fights the blush that’s threatening. "I have very flexible wrists," he says, hardly believing he actually said that out loud. He looks up, noticing how intently Arthur’s looking at his wrists.
"Nice cuff," Arthur murmurs, watching Merlin deftly scoop and fill.
"Nice ring," Merlin replies absently, then realizes what he's just said. "The one on your finger!"
Arthur laughs, a rich, loud sound. His whole expression softens.
He must have been staring for a while, because suddenly Merlin feels icy stickiness travel down his wrist and looks to see the mess he's made.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," he mutters, lifting his wrist to his mouth. He licks off the ice-cream, finally looking up when he registers the dead silence. Arthur’s eyes are huge, his mouth slightly ajar, and color blooms high on his face, making his tan glow.
Cheeks hot, he hands the cone to Arthur, mortified at his gaffe--he has probably broken all the health regulations, not to mention the socially acceptable ones--and avoiding Gwen’s shocked look.
Arthur's still staring. "You have something, right..."
Merlin holds very, very still, as Arthur's hand advances toward his face, deliberately and slowly. He feels it low in his gut when Arthur's thumb rubs roughly across his bottom lip.
For a second, Merlin can't breathe as Arthur raises his thumb to his own mouth and licks the smear of chocolate. Blood thunders in his ears. He can't take his eyes from Arthur's mouth.
Beside him, Gwen sighs, resigned. "It's always the pretty ones."
That snaps Merlin's eyes from the pink dart of Arthur's tongue.
Arthur flushes. "I don't know what you’re talking about," he says, his smile disappearing like it had never been there.
Merlin and Gwen look at their boss's son, then at each other, then back again. Gwen rolls her eyes, but Merlin just frowns, not sure how to interpret this man in front of him.
Arthur's lips curls, and his face morphs into something unpleasant. He looks down at the cone in his hand. "What the hell is this?" Due to Merlin's distraction, it's sloppily put together, the scoop’s dripping and nearly slipping off. “How incompetent are you? It’s scooping ice-cream, not exactly rocket science.”
Fuming and embarrassed, Merlin tries to take the cone back, but Arthur's just out of reach. Accidentally, he leans on the dirty prep area, covering his t-shirt with melted ice-cream.
"Bollocks," Merlin mutters, looking down at his shirt. He can only imagine how badly that shit stains and he only has the one uniform. Adrenaline still high from the flirting and Arthur’s stinging about-face, he heads to the back already tugging off his shirt. "Gwen, deal with the pretty prat, would you?"
Behind him, he hears Arthur’s, “What did you call me?” and feels blue eyes burn holes in his retreating back. There’s the thunk of the cone hitting the trash can, and Arthur barks out, "Forget it."
Merlin fills the tiny sink in the back with water and starts soaking his shirt. He really can't afford to buy a second uniform and this job (lame as it is) is too important to get fired. He begins to scrub just as Gwen appears.
"He's probably going to get us fired!" she whisper-shouts desperately, echoing his own concerns.
Merlin's shoulders slump. "Fuck! Not us, me! I’m the one who called him a prat." He can’t believe he’s buggered up his first job in America on his first day.
“I don’t know what got into him.” Gwen gnaws her lip. ”Arthur’s not usually like that.”
“Great. So it’s me,” Merlin says, scrubbing furiously at his shirt. “I transform pretty rich boys into arseholes.”
“Oh, Merlin. I’m sure he was just having a bad day. He’s not going to run off and tell his father some employee called him a prat and did a poor job scooping his ice-cream.”
Merlin gives her a doubtful look, when a loud knock rattles the little ice-cream stand’s door. In a moment's hysteria he wonders if it's Uther Pendragon, coming to fire him already.
When the door swings open, he’s inexplicably more surprised to see Arthur standing there. There's no counter now to obscure the view, and Merlin's eyes are full of tanned, golden skin. He blanches.
As Arthur's eyes travel Merlin from head to toe, he's acutely aware of how pale and thin he is in comparison and thinks even a stained, sodden shirt would be so much better than this. He has to stop himself from reaching back into the sink for it, though Arthur’s intense stare makes him feel uncomfortably vulnerable and exposed. He fingers his wrist cuff reflexively.
Gwen steps forward to shield him, glaring at Arthur. "Yes?"
Merlin admires Gwen’s moxie in issuing the challenge, and Arthur bows his head, having the decency to look sheepish.
"Can I talk to the new guy for a minute?" Arthur asks, running a hand through his half-dried hair so it falls perfectly into his eyes. "Alone?"
Gwen stands her ground. Merlin smiles at Gwen’s protective streak, and rubs her arm reassuringly, then steps around her, manning up. "Let's go."
"No," Arthur says, looking over his shoulder at the crowded beach beyond the open door. "Here's better."
Exasperated, Gwen tuts, then throws her apron on the bench. "Oh, fine. I'm taking my lunch break. I want hands shaken and adult behavior, or else!"
Merlin watches her breeze past Arthur and grins nervously.
"So..." Merlin crosses his arms over his naked chest, but stops when he feels he's just drawing more attention to all its pasty glory. Arthur takes a step forward and Merlin can see the tint of red on his tanned shoulders where his sunblock failed.
Blue eyes flit over Merlin's chest, with its little nest of dark hair over his sternum, and Merlin has never felt more exposed.
"Is Gwen your girlfriend? She seems quite... protective," Arthur murmurs, suddenly on the verge of breaching Merlin's personal space.
"Gwen?" Merlin shakes his head, laughing at the absurdity. "No, I mean, she’s a girl.”
When Arthur doesn’t respond, he sobers. “She’s my friend, helped me get this job. She's training me. I suppose she feels responsible to protect me from..."
"...pretty prats?" Arthur finishes helpfully.
"Um. Yeah. About that..." Merlin grimaces.
Arthur grins and closes the door behind him. "Yeah, about that. What’s a prat?"
Merlin hesitates for a second. “Kind of like an arsehole.”
Arthur grins, appearing oddly unfazed. Merlin wonders if he really needs to apologize to keep his job. He's not even sure he can get the words out, let alone make them sound sincere. This bloke is a prat.
Before Merlin can speak, Arthur takes the decision out of his hands. He touches Merlin's chocolate-streaked stomach with one long finger, watching the muscle contract under skin in response. "You missed a spot."
Inside Merlin's chest, his heart beats double-time.
"Christ," he breathes, hissing his way through the s. Arthur radiates heat, his skin still sun-warmed. Merlin steps back, remembering Arthur's about-face before he's completely lost.
Arthur watches him, his eyes predatory, then raises his finger to his lips.
"I'll help you clean up," he offers, then sucks his finger into his mouth, and Merlin's stomach drops like a roller coaster.
"There are laws against sexual harassment in the workplace, you know," he chokes out weakly.
Arthur doesn't laugh. "About before..." His bravado is gone now, washed away with a slump of his shoulders. "I'm not out. I don't ever flirt with guys like that. In public. God, if my father...”
Merlin's lips twist. On one hand, he really doesn't do closet cases. On the other, well...he spent half his morning listening to Gwen's stories about the apparently terrifying guy who owns this beach. If that’s Arthur’s dad, it would explain a lot.
It seems Arthur doesn't do introspective long because he's already shaking it off like a nasty wipeout. Merlin watches Arthur stalk toward him like a cat, and he might have forgotten how to breathe.
"But you and your pretty mouth, licking your god damn wrist," he says, crowding Merlin again in the tiny room behind the ice-cream counter and fingering his leather cuff.
Backed up against the wall, Merlin has nowhere to run. Arthur stops inches away, close enough for his hot, summer scent to render Merlin completely useless.
"I don't even know your name," Arthur murmurs.
"Um," Merlin says.
Arthur gives him a slow smirk. "Pretty sure 'um' is not your name," he says, lips brushing Merlin's ear.
"It's--Christ... it's," Merlin pants, eyes rolling back in his head.
Arthur just laughs, low and hoarse against the pulse of Merlin's throat.
"Wow, you really are a prat," Merlin says, squirming with both annoyance and lust -- a state in which Arthur seems to constantly land him. "My name's Merlin."
"Well, Merlin, I'm a prat and you're an idiot, so where does that leave us? Hurry up and decide, this mess is getting sticky." Arthur breathes the challenge against his cheek, lightly rubbing the back of his knuckle over Merlin's belly.
Merlin feels his stomach clench under the tickle of Arthur's hand just above his navel. He’s already getting hard and in a moment there would be no hiding it. Behind the thin wall that separates them from the front of the ice-cream stand, he hears the crash of the waves and the chatter of the beach goers. Grasping Arthur's wrist and stilling it, Merlin closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. When he looks up again, his gaze is steady, burning into Arthur's eyes with intent.
"Don't start what you can't finish, Pendragon," he rasps, leaning in. When Arthur chuckles darkly, Merlin feels the vibrations of it against his neck.
"What makes you think I'm not prepared to finish this?"
Merlin only has time to think oh God, he's really gonna... before Arthur's red mouth finally touches down on his skin, lightly kissing just below his ear. After that, there's no more thinking. Arthur’s tongue licks a strip, right there, the spot which took Will a year to discover, and which makes Merlin's eyes roll back and his hips jut forward.
When he rolls into Arthur, he feels the hard outline of his cock trapped in his Bermuda swimshorts.
Arthur gasps into Merlin's throat, raising a flurry of goosebumps in the wake of his breath, and Merlin throws back his head, exposing his throat. He moans at the sensation of Arthur's lovely mouth trailing wetly over his Adam's apple even as Arthur's hand rubs ever firmer circles into his tightened stomach.
"Merlin, really?" Arthur pulls away to say.
Merlin's cheeks heat and he flips them so he's got Arthur pinned.
"Do you ever stop talking?" Merlin growls, pushing his thigh between Arthur's, parting them with insistence. "You're really starting to piss me off."
"Show me." Arthur smirks, leaning back.
Merlin laughs, the challenge in Arthur's voice spiking him higher. "Know what I hate most about closet cases?" he says, then bites a kiss into Arthur's full lips until they're swollen and pretty. "They walk away."
Arthur glares, but doesn't push him off. So Merlin grips his hips tight enough to bruise, and wonders what kind of excuses Arthur will be giving his surfing mates.
Arthur suddenly looks vulnerable. "I'm not going anywhere."
Merlin breathes, "No, you're not," and dips his fingers into the closest tub. Bringing them to Arthur's face, he smears chocolate-covered fingers across Arthur's mouth.
"But I know that look you got on your face when Gwen called you out." He stares at Arthur, but there's no denial in his eyes. "You'll be walking out of here in fifteen and not looking back."
The next kiss tastes like chocolate, and Arthur, and bitter truths. The least Merlin can do is be honest with himself about what's about to happen.
And maybe, just maybe, he's willing to go along with this, because it's undeniable that this arrogant, aggressive wanker has him harder than he's been in a very long time. He can't resist touching Arthur's lips with his fingers as he kisses him, wanting to crawl into that pretty mouth.
He hisses when Arthur licks his way between his fingers, sucking them like he means it.
"Fuck," Merlin groans. "That's so fucking hot."
Arthur smirks and Merlin figures neither of them have anything to lose now that it's all laid bare and this is happening despite it being a spectacularly bad idea.
They crash into each other, teeth and spit and ice-cream, the hard heat of Arthur’s sun kissed body against the cool of Merlin’s.
Merlin maneuvers them further to the back to make sure they're out of sight, and slams Arthur into the door. He wastes no time cupping him in his hand, moaning into Arthur's open mouth when he touches the thickening cock straining through Arthur's shorts.
He fits his hand around it, then sneaks his fingers beneath the waistband.
It's a bit awkward and he's only able to graze the tip until Arthur pushes him away enough so the drawstring can be unknotted. Then the access is easy and Arthur's mouth drops open as Merlin's manages his first testing pull of Arthur's cock.
It fits in his hand just right, hot and thick, the way he likes. He swallows Arthur's gasps and licks the ice-cream from his lips, tongue fucking Arthur's mouth in time with his hand below, all while rutting his pelvis against Arthur's hip. It's a messy, awkward first-time rhythm, but neither care, lost in each other's scent and taste.
There's someone on the other side of the wall bitching loudly about the ice-cream stand being unattended. Merlin almost laughs, wondering if he'll be fired for this, yet. He speeds up.
"Yeah, fuck." Arthur moans against his lips, thrusting up into Merlin's grip, his hands white-knuckled on the bench beside him. "Close."
He fucks Merlin's hand, panting. Merlin pulls back to look between them at Arthur's cock slipping in and out of his fist.
"God," Merlin whispers, then looks up to see if Arthur likes it, if it's good for him. Merlin doesn't think he's ever seen anything hotter than Arthur's heavy-lidded eyes, fluttering lashes, hot spots high on his cheeks and filthy mouth muttering obscenities. He wants to fuck that mouth.
He wonders if Arthur will let him, not today -- they're both already too close -- but someday. Fuck, Arthur's mouth was made for it. Then he curses himself for thinking ahead. He twists his wrist around Arthur's dick, merciless. He's pissed at Arthur for ruining his first day, and likely his summer, because one time will never be enough.
Within moments, Arthur's fingers dig into his shoulders, and he drops his head, fitting it into the crook of Merlin's neck.
"God, yes, just like that," Arthur pants, and then Merlin can't hold back, finds himself murmuring filth into Arthur's ear, wanna fuck your mouth and push my cock in and watch you swallow me and Arthur's done.
Merlin feels him go taut, like every inch of him is dangling on the precipice, and then Merlin’s hand is sticky and his grip on Arthur's cock is slippery wet. Chasing his own high, he humps Arthur's leg but it's dry and rough in his jeans.
“God, you and your filthy mouth and that goddamn accent,” Arthur drawls wetly into Merlin’s neck as he comes back to himself. Slowed movements become more focused and he roughly yanks on Merlin’s zipper, then spits into his hand and promptly fits it around Merlin’s painfully hard cock.
"This?" Arthur grinds out through gritted teeth, "You want to fuck my mouth with this?"
Merlin's head falls forward, jaw slack, eyes full of Arthur's tight hand, fisting his cock.
"Yes, God, yes." He chokes as the image flashes in his mind. Arthur's sun-bleached hair clutched in Merlin fingers, his mouth open wide as he gives up that white-knuckled grip he so obviously has on himself.
As he gives it all to Merlin. Everything.
Arthur wrenches it out of him with his hand, and Merlin comes all over his own stomach, hard and fast with a ground jaw to keep from shouting.
They slump into each other, hot and sticky with sugar and salt. Merlin grins when Arthur's fingers let go of his dick and creep up to smear the come and ice-cream on his stomach, drawing mindless patterns.
The mess on his torso is insanely filthy and erotic. He stills Arthur's hand, raising it to his lips to suck in Arthur's index finger until his tongue swirls around the thick gold band of Arthur’s ring. The taste is all wrong too sweet and too bitter, but he swallows it down.
"This isn't enough," he says before he can stop himself.
Arthur watches Merlin lick his fingers clean with a look of awe. "No," he agrees quietly, "It's not."
He inclines his head and Merlin can’t help it- he shouldn’t prolong this, but he does. He kisses Arthur’s swollen pink mouth, licking into the seam, sharing the taste of chocolate and come, and a promise he doesn’t dare believe. His grip on Arthur’s wrist loosens, and their fingers slip together like they’re dancing.
Gwen will be back soon, and the noise of the crowd outside is a reminder that any one of these pissed off people could complain to Uther and Merlin would be fucked.
"Tonight," he whispers into Arthur's mouth. "There's a bonfire tonight. Go with me."
"I'll be there. I'll find you," Arthur whispers back, suddenly alive with excitement. With one last lick, he steps away from the heat of Merlin's body. Digging the tip of his finger into Merlin's sternum, he repeats it, making sure Merlin knows he means it. "I'll find you."
Merlin wants to believe him, so he nods as if he does. Arthur's face says he knows Merlin's not convinced but there's no words that will change that.
Arthur straightens his swimshorts and wipes his hands and face clean the best he can in the shop's tiny sink, where Merlin’s shirt is still soaking.
Looking cleaner than he has any right to, he makes for the door, while Merlin leans on the bench, tucking himself back into his jeans, sticky mess and all. He feels a bit sick at the thought of having defiled his new workplace.
Arthur has his hand on the door, but turns and begins to speak. "I want to--"
"If you say thank you, I'm going to punch you in the mouth, just so we're clear." Merlin's voice is steady, but he knows his eyes are pleading.
"Yeah, all right." Arthur looks at his grip on the doorknob as he says, "I panicked before, with Gwen. That I was so obvious. I'm not out. I'm not ready." He looks up. "Not yet, anyway."
Merlin knows this, but it still makes his shoulders drop, makes him shake his head.
He wants to say whatever, and enjoy your life, and I might really like you, and fuck off, but what comes out is, "I get it. Maybe I'll see you at the bonfire, then," which sounds a lot like I know I probably won't.
Arthur just nods, and then he's gone in a momentary flash of daylight and a snib of the door.
*
That night at the bonfire he's trying not to search the crowd.
Remembering the name of every friend Gwen drags him off to meet should be taking all his concentration. Still, when he looks across the flames and spots a flash of blond and a familiar smile, his pulse thunders in his ears.
He doesn't remember how, but suddenly they're on the outskirts of the crowd, and Arthur's within arm's reach. Merlin stills, waiting and watching, letting Arthur come to him, if he wants.
When he does, it's his skin's scent Merlin registers first, feeling it deep like a pull on his diaphragm. He opens his mouth for a greeting.
"I found you," Arthur says, cutting off whatever lame thing Merlin was going to say. He makes it sound like an epic quest he's just managed, and shouldn't Merlin feel the fool for doubting him.
"So you have." What Merlin means is what now?
When Arthur steps in close, so close, it's unexpected and wonderful and Merlin's a little stunned, still teetering on the edge of disbelief. He hadn't realized he had so much riding on Arthur turning up, but a flurry of nerves is making him lightheaded like he's fourteen again.
"So I have." Arthur hums, so near that Merlin feels the vibration on his lips. There are flames dancing in Arthur's eyes, like magic.
Their lips meet and it's like the beach is blanketed in a hush. Merlin knows it isn't, really. Likely no one is watching and their kiss is as intimate and private as if they were alone.
But they aren't. And someone could see.
So when Arthur presses in harder, like the last of his courage is surging forward, Merlin wraps his arms around him like he'll protect him from the world.
The kiss isn't like earlier; it’s almost chaste. But when they part, Merlin doesn't let go. They rest their foreheads together, and Arthur fists his hands into the back of Merlin's t-shirt, holding tight.
"You all right?" Merlin asks, because he knows what it's like, and now that Arthur's really here, he can afford to feel this, to sympathize, to let it be real.
"I'm scared shitless," Arthur whispers, pressing his cheek against Merlin's.
Merlin's heart swells, hearing this kind of honesty from the mouth which he already knows can be hard and filthy and kiss him just right.
"It's going to be an interesting summer, at least." Arthur lets out a shaky breath.
Merlin steps back, squeezing Arthur's hand. "It certainly is."
When they bump into their friends randomly through the night, Merlin can't wipe the smile from his face; his cheeks ache with it. The world hasn't ended with their display of affection, and he can see Arthur feels invincible for having taken that small step, here among people who don't judge.
The bonfire glows warm and orange, reflected on all their faces like the epitome of summer. Arthur is solid and real beside him, bumping his shoulder or touching his arm when they chat to Gwen, and Merlin lets himself feel it.
He lets himself believe it.
Everything will be all right.