Cups and Saucerers - Chapter 21 of 22
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Chapter Summary: Merlin waits. Has he averted Albion's crisis? And will Arthur still want him after ten years?
He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick - worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.
Later that day - and also ten years later.
Flat above Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. 1st August 2014. 11.45 am.
Merlin really didn’t have any idea whether he had succeeded in averting Albion’s crisis or not.
He was afraid to find out, to look at the newspapers, to go out into the street and see whether his beloved Clerkenwell environment was better or worse than before. In case he had failed again.
He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick - worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.
Most of all he was worried that Arthur would not come for him, would have forgotten about him, or would not want him any more.
He had grown accustomed to waiting for Arthur, before. But somehow the hours since he popped back into existence, naked and cold, in his London flat, seemed more agonising than in the centuries past. Now he was sitting, listening to the clock chime out a quarter-hour, his jaw set on edge by the sound.
His skin bore the marks of the morning’s frantic lovemaking. He never wanted them to fade, never wanted Arthur’s seed to stop seeping out of him, like a memory and a caress. Aching with the marks of Arthur’s love, he felt used and sore, and wished with all his heart to be repeating the experience right here and now.
He had no choice but to wait.
Free at last, Linda left hours ago, and was no doubt testing her new-found wings with an ecstatic Drake. Guy was at the hospice, hooked up to machines. Knowing that Guy would not be writing any more time-travel dockets, Merlin sighed and fingered the last one.
He was alone again. He hated being alone. All he had left was hope; he’d played out all his cards.
He sat and listened out for the doorbell. Time passed, marked by the chimes of the clock.
He must have dozed off, because he nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Opening the door, his heart thudded when he saw Mordred standing there, flanked by two large, menacing-looking flunkies, as before. Merlin was struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu. But Mordred’s expression was far from stern, and his eyes were twinkling with delight.
“Merlin!” he said, with a joyful smile, “Or should I say Emrys?” His laugh was unforced as he stepped forward and enfolded Merlin in an enthusiastic hug. Puzzled, Merlin patted him tentatively on the shoulders.
“Mordred,” he said. “Erm. This is. Well. Unexpected. Good, though.”
Mordred stepped out of the hug, laughing at his confusion. “The Prime Minister is waiting for you,” he said, grasping Merlin’s upper arms.
Merlin’s breath stuttered. So Mordred was not Prime Minister in this timeline. Interesting. He tried to quell the sudden hope blooming in his chest. His heart jumped and thudded. Mordred signalled, beckoning, indicating that he should step outside. When Merlin stepped out into the grey dawn, he saw three limousines with blackened windows parked on his tiny Clerkenwell street. Mordred filled the air with chatter.
“Here we go. The PM’s in the second car, and looking forward to seeing you, obviously. It’s been quite a wait, ten years since any of us has seen you. We all kept away as you asked. Don’t want to upset the timeline, haha.”
Merlin was completely unsettled by this curiously convivial incarnation of Morded. He didn’t dare give voice to his hopes about the identity of the person in the second limo. As he stepped forward, his legs wobbled a bit. He pressed his hand to his heart, as if to stop it from racing.
“Hopefully we got the date right,” Mordred said. “We’ve been busy anyway, as you no doubt know. I’m delighted about the progress of my wind turbines!” Merlin suddenly realised that the London skyline looked different; looking up, it took him a moment to work out that a forest of helical wind turbines arose from virtually every roof, in the same way that TV aerials had years ago.
His face split in a wondrous grin. “That was you?” he said.
Mordred nodded, proudly. “It’s my finest achievement as Minister for Energy and the Environment. But you knew that?”
Merlin shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit behind the times.” He winced at the unintended pun.
“I worked out the science behind them while I was studying for my Ph.D,” said Mordred. “We funded it with the profits from selling the tea shop. But we all worked at it together, really. It was a real team effort, and ready at just the right time. I reckon that’s why the Green party got elected last year.”
Merlin swallowed as the door of the second limo began to open.
“So,” he said, trying to make sense of this. “By a team effort, you mean who, precisely?”
So loud was the thudding pulse in his ears, he could hardly hear a thing. He was poised between hope and dread. Who was the Prime Minister? Could it be Arthur? How would he feel about Merlin? Ten years was a long time. He thrust his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking, and took a couple of deep breaths.
“Well, me and Kara of course. As for the others… well, you’ll see,” said Mordred, smiling and opening the limo door. An elegantly clad leg descended. “Ah!” he added, with a delighted smile. “Prime Minister!”
The Prime Minister stepped out and Merlin could hardly believe his eyes. He barked out a triumphant laugh.
“Prime Minister Pentagon,” he echoed, stepping forward, eyes blurring a little “I’m so honoured, and so proud.”
When he wrapped his arms round an immaculately clad Morgan Pentagon, her face was wreathed in smiles.
“Merrill, or should I say Merlin?” she said. “We all have so much to thank you for! I hope you like what we have achieved since we last spoke.”
Pulling away from the embrace, because his tears were threatening to spill onto her impeccable jacket, he swallowed away the lump at his throat, but couldn’t utter another word. She smiled reassuringly at him and ducked her head back inside the car.
“Leon, my darling.” Merlin allowed himself a small, triumphant smile when he saw the wedding band displayed on her left hand. “Can you please see if the Chancellor is ready yet?”
Merlin peered round her and waved at Leon, who was talking into what looked like a tiny, solar-powered mobile phone. Leon smiled and waved back. Morgan sat back inside the car.
“We’ll be off now,” she said. “The Chancellor of the Exchequer would like to talk to you. In private. He’s been waiting for a long time.” As if to emphasize her words, the third and final limo crowding the narrow street beeped imperiously.
Morgan laughed. “I think he’s losing patience,” she said. “It never was his strongest asset.”
Mordred waved and got back into the first car. The front part of the cavalcade drove off, and Merlin was astonished at how quiet it was. He wondered for a moment if the Green party had invented a pedal-powered limo, and giggled to himself at the mental image that afforded him, of the PM and her aides industrially propelling the vehicle with their legs. But when he looked closely he could see what looked like a solar panel on each roof.
The third limo rolled to a stop, and so did his heart when Arthur stepped out. Merlin clutched onto the railing outside the tea shop for support. Sometimes, at times like this, when Arthur stood before him wreathed in power and majesty, sometimes Merlin found it hard to believe that it was he, and not Arthur, who had the magic. It must be something magical, this ability to fuse Merlin’s feet to the ground, to melt his spine and set fires blooming on his skin.
He looked a little older. More mature, Merlin corrected himself. His eyes were serious, shoulders set back, mouth set in a slightly off-centre pout. He wore a suit and tie, but otherwise looked as he had when he had ruled Camelot. His King. Merlin’s throat was tight and his eyes blurred. He felt scruffy and underdressed.
They locked eyes. When Arthur gave him a pure, uncomplicated, joyful smile, it was a thing of indescribable beauty.
“Merlin!” he said. His voice was deeper, richer; it rolled round Merlin like a caress and warmed his bones.
“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “You came.”
Arthur stepped into his space, reached for his arms and grasped them. Merlin leaned forwards so that their foreheads were firmly pressed together. Arthur let out a breath that was half sob, half gasp, and put an arm round his waist to pull him in for a hug.
Merlin turned his head so that the tears would not show. He swallowed and tried to still his breathing, basking in the warmth that drenched him.
“Merlin,” Arthur murmured into his hair, arms warm and tight round Merlin’s shaking shoulders. “Merlin, it’s all right, I’m here now. I’ve got you.” His voice sounded thick, as if he was having problems with throat lumps as well.
Maybe there’s a virus, thought Merlin inconsequentially. A mystical throat-lump virus, which only impacts lovers who have been separated for too long. He fought down a hysterical sob.
At the edge of consciousness, he was vaguely aware of the limo, quietly rolling away, until the two of them were alone in that sun-drenched Clerkenwell street. Merlin drank in Arthur’s scent, his solidity, his presence, and choked out Arthur’s name repeatedly for what seemed like hours.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” said Arthur eventually, smiling.
Merlin let out a watery laugh. “Welcome to my humble abode, sire,” he said, pointing a shaky hand at the anonymous-looking door to the flat above the tea-shop. “Pray enter.”
“I’ve been here before, remember?” said Arthur. “It seems smaller, now, somehow.” He smiled at the memory, and then his face fell serious. He sent a penetrating glance at Merlin that made him shiver.
Merlin tugged Arthur’s hands, pulled him into the doorway and dipped his head to devour Arthur’s mouth with his own. Arthur moaned. The noise clawed at Merlin’s gut, drawing a breathless groan from him in reply.
He had no idea how they got upstairs and into his tiny bedroom, only that the urgency that grasped him appeared to be nothing compared to Arthur’s. As soon as they were inside, Arthur crowded against him, gripping his hip so hard that Merlin thought, hoped, he would leave more bruises. Arthur pressed his bulk in close, and exhaled against Merlin’s neck with a sort of breathy moan that made Merlin ache with want.
“Merlin, God, I wanted this so much, it nearly killed me,” Arthur said. “All that waiting. Missing your touch. I could have died, Merlin, and it would have been your fault.”
Insistent hands burrowed under Merlin’s shirt as Arthur gasped, “God, your skin. So hot, it makes my fingers tingle. Drove me crazy, thinking about this, knowing I couldn’t have it.”
“Arthur…”
“Shh, Merlin, God, got to have you, say you will do it, I can’t... please Merlin.”
“Arthur, yes, please, God, yes, whatever you want. I’m yours, Arthur, please.” Arthur was shaking under his hands, juddering and tense, muscles bunched as if ready for battle.
“Want to fuck you, Merlin, because, Jesus, it’s been ten years, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for one moment, what you felt like, what it felt like to touch you inside, and I can’t… I’ve got to… Merlin, please.” Arthur stopped talking to claim his mouth again, nipping and licking frantically at Merlin’s lips. He slid his hot tongue into Merlin’s mouth and they moaned and ground against one another. The feeling of Arthur’s hard cock grinding against his own was better than magic.
Merlin fumbled at Arthur’s belt, releasing him from his trousers, tugging them down so that they were bunched up round his ankles. He backed up against the bed in an undignified shuffle, fumbling at his own trousers and pants, kicking them off until he was naked apart from his shirt and socks, prick jutting out.
“Just fuck me,” he panted, so hard, so desperate. “Just fucking fill me up, Arthur.”
Turning Merlin round, Arthur bent him over the bed so that the flesh of his arse was exposed, and gently prised his buttocks apart. Merlin could hear Arthur’s hard, guttural breaths as his fingers pressed inside him, first one and then another.
“Shit, Merlin,” said Arthur, and voice shaking. “You’re still full of my seed. Oh, my God.” He sounded wrecked. Merlin whined, bereft, when he felt Arthur’s fingers withdraw.
“Sshh,” said Arthur, breathing harshly, fingers gentling Merlin’s hair. The other hand was steady on his hip. He stilled as he felt something blunt and hot nuzzle at him.
Merlin was breathing hard, now, mouth open, arms and face buried in fragrant, new-washed bedclothes, bent at the waist. He whimpered at the tight sensation of Arthur’s thick cock slipping inside him, strong and purposeful, filling him up with his love.
“OK?” said Arthur, hearing him and slowing.
“Yes, God, just keep moving, Arthur, I’m fine.” He bent his knees slightly to accommodate the girth. “I was made for this, made for you, you won’t break me, I swear, just fuck me Arthur, God, I need it, need you,” he gabbled, voice muffled by the duvet.
Arthur drew a juddery breath and inched back, then slowly slid inside.
"God, so hot, Merlin, aaah, missed you, needed you so much. Needed to feel you. Needed this." His words wrapped themselves round Merlin's heart and caressed it.
Merlin grasped the bedclothes, bunching them in his fists, legs trembling. He pushed back with his hips, forcing Arthur in deeper. He could feel Arthur’s cock dragging at his insides, stroking his sweet inner spot so that he was mad with the sensation, rutting vainly into the air. When Arthur reached round him to grab his prick, he couldn’t help crying out. It felt so good to have Arthur’s hand on him, Arthur’s strong arms holding him, his hips thrusting into him, until he didn’t know where he ended and Arthur began.
He wanted to tell Arthur how good he was for Merlin, how amazing he felt, how he wanted to feel Arthur deep inside him, around him, along him, forever.
“Good, so good, ah, ah,” he started, between pants, but then he wailed, all speech forgotten, as his orgasm coursed sweetly through him. He came in thick spurts through Arthur’s grip onto the bed, the smell of sex mingling with the scent of clean laundry, buttocks tensing around Arthur. Arthur fucked him through it, groaning and murmuring his name, his hand hot and wet on Merlin’s hip. Arthur shuddered then, and stilled, slumping on top of Merlin in a dead weight for a moment or two.
Just when Merlin thought his trembling legs would collapse under their combined weights, Arthur slid out, and Merlin grimaced a little at the suddenly-cold suddenly-empty sensation. He slumped onto the floor, on hands and knees, and then turned, sitting.
Arthur was the first to giggle at the sight of Merlin, fucked out, hair in disarray, dressed only in socks and a come-stained t-shirt. Merlin punched him drowsily on the lower leg, and then started to chuckle. Still only naked from waist to ankle, Arthur fell onto the bed, and Merlin staggered up to join him. They snuggled together, entangled, giggling and nuzzling while their heart rates slowed.
Merlin supposed there would be a lot to think about, later, what with all the changes to the timeline, and the small matter of governance of the country. But for now he was content that, at long last, he had his King, his friend, his love, alive and breathing, in his arms where he belonged.
Next Chapter
Chapter Summary: Merlin waits. Has he averted Albion's crisis? And will Arthur still want him after ten years?
He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick - worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.
Later that day - and also ten years later.
Flat above Cups and Saucerers tea shop, London. 1st August 2014. 11.45 am.
Merlin really didn’t have any idea whether he had succeeded in averting Albion’s crisis or not.
He was afraid to find out, to look at the newspapers, to go out into the street and see whether his beloved Clerkenwell environment was better or worse than before. In case he had failed again.
He couldn’t bear it if he had failed again. After the years of agonised waiting, he wouldn’t have a clue what to do if he’d managed to screw it all up. He was worried sick - worried about all his friends. They had been so vividly like their ancient counterparts; he had grown to love them all, even poor, brittle Mordred. He sat biting his nails, grinding his teeth, making cup after cup of weak Earl Grey to calm his shredded nerves. But a hard, brutal, golf-ball-sized lump had wedged itself into his throat, and no amount of Earl Grey would dislodge it.
Most of all he was worried that Arthur would not come for him, would have forgotten about him, or would not want him any more.
He had grown accustomed to waiting for Arthur, before. But somehow the hours since he popped back into existence, naked and cold, in his London flat, seemed more agonising than in the centuries past. Now he was sitting, listening to the clock chime out a quarter-hour, his jaw set on edge by the sound.
His skin bore the marks of the morning’s frantic lovemaking. He never wanted them to fade, never wanted Arthur’s seed to stop seeping out of him, like a memory and a caress. Aching with the marks of Arthur’s love, he felt used and sore, and wished with all his heart to be repeating the experience right here and now.
He had no choice but to wait.
Free at last, Linda left hours ago, and was no doubt testing her new-found wings with an ecstatic Drake. Guy was at the hospice, hooked up to machines. Knowing that Guy would not be writing any more time-travel dockets, Merlin sighed and fingered the last one.
He was alone again. He hated being alone. All he had left was hope; he’d played out all his cards.
He sat and listened out for the doorbell. Time passed, marked by the chimes of the clock.
He must have dozed off, because he nearly jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang. Opening the door, his heart thudded when he saw Mordred standing there, flanked by two large, menacing-looking flunkies, as before. Merlin was struck by a sudden sense of déjà vu. But Mordred’s expression was far from stern, and his eyes were twinkling with delight.
“Merlin!” he said, with a joyful smile, “Or should I say Emrys?” His laugh was unforced as he stepped forward and enfolded Merlin in an enthusiastic hug. Puzzled, Merlin patted him tentatively on the shoulders.
“Mordred,” he said. “Erm. This is. Well. Unexpected. Good, though.”
Mordred stepped out of the hug, laughing at his confusion. “The Prime Minister is waiting for you,” he said, grasping Merlin’s upper arms.
Merlin’s breath stuttered. So Mordred was not Prime Minister in this timeline. Interesting. He tried to quell the sudden hope blooming in his chest. His heart jumped and thudded. Mordred signalled, beckoning, indicating that he should step outside. When Merlin stepped out into the grey dawn, he saw three limousines with blackened windows parked on his tiny Clerkenwell street. Mordred filled the air with chatter.
“Here we go. The PM’s in the second car, and looking forward to seeing you, obviously. It’s been quite a wait, ten years since any of us has seen you. We all kept away as you asked. Don’t want to upset the timeline, haha.”
Merlin was completely unsettled by this curiously convivial incarnation of Morded. He didn’t dare give voice to his hopes about the identity of the person in the second limo. As he stepped forward, his legs wobbled a bit. He pressed his hand to his heart, as if to stop it from racing.
“Hopefully we got the date right,” Mordred said. “We’ve been busy anyway, as you no doubt know. I’m delighted about the progress of my wind turbines!” Merlin suddenly realised that the London skyline looked different; looking up, it took him a moment to work out that a forest of helical wind turbines arose from virtually every roof, in the same way that TV aerials had years ago.
His face split in a wondrous grin. “That was you?” he said.
Mordred nodded, proudly. “It’s my finest achievement as Minister for Energy and the Environment. But you knew that?”
Merlin shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a bit behind the times.” He winced at the unintended pun.
“I worked out the science behind them while I was studying for my Ph.D,” said Mordred. “We funded it with the profits from selling the tea shop. But we all worked at it together, really. It was a real team effort, and ready at just the right time. I reckon that’s why the Green party got elected last year.”
Merlin swallowed as the door of the second limo began to open.
“So,” he said, trying to make sense of this. “By a team effort, you mean who, precisely?”
So loud was the thudding pulse in his ears, he could hardly hear a thing. He was poised between hope and dread. Who was the Prime Minister? Could it be Arthur? How would he feel about Merlin? Ten years was a long time. He thrust his hands into his pockets to stop them from shaking, and took a couple of deep breaths.
“Well, me and Kara of course. As for the others… well, you’ll see,” said Mordred, smiling and opening the limo door. An elegantly clad leg descended. “Ah!” he added, with a delighted smile. “Prime Minister!”
The Prime Minister stepped out and Merlin could hardly believe his eyes. He barked out a triumphant laugh.
“Prime Minister Pentagon,” he echoed, stepping forward, eyes blurring a little “I’m so honoured, and so proud.”
When he wrapped his arms round an immaculately clad Morgan Pentagon, her face was wreathed in smiles.
“Merrill, or should I say Merlin?” she said. “We all have so much to thank you for! I hope you like what we have achieved since we last spoke.”
Pulling away from the embrace, because his tears were threatening to spill onto her impeccable jacket, he swallowed away the lump at his throat, but couldn’t utter another word. She smiled reassuringly at him and ducked her head back inside the car.
“Leon, my darling.” Merlin allowed himself a small, triumphant smile when he saw the wedding band displayed on her left hand. “Can you please see if the Chancellor is ready yet?”
Merlin peered round her and waved at Leon, who was talking into what looked like a tiny, solar-powered mobile phone. Leon smiled and waved back. Morgan sat back inside the car.
“We’ll be off now,” she said. “The Chancellor of the Exchequer would like to talk to you. In private. He’s been waiting for a long time.” As if to emphasize her words, the third and final limo crowding the narrow street beeped imperiously.
Morgan laughed. “I think he’s losing patience,” she said. “It never was his strongest asset.”
Mordred waved and got back into the first car. The front part of the cavalcade drove off, and Merlin was astonished at how quiet it was. He wondered for a moment if the Green party had invented a pedal-powered limo, and giggled to himself at the mental image that afforded him, of the PM and her aides industrially propelling the vehicle with their legs. But when he looked closely he could see what looked like a solar panel on each roof.
The third limo rolled to a stop, and so did his heart when Arthur stepped out. Merlin clutched onto the railing outside the tea shop for support. Sometimes, at times like this, when Arthur stood before him wreathed in power and majesty, sometimes Merlin found it hard to believe that it was he, and not Arthur, who had the magic. It must be something magical, this ability to fuse Merlin’s feet to the ground, to melt his spine and set fires blooming on his skin.
He looked a little older. More mature, Merlin corrected himself. His eyes were serious, shoulders set back, mouth set in a slightly off-centre pout. He wore a suit and tie, but otherwise looked as he had when he had ruled Camelot. His King. Merlin’s throat was tight and his eyes blurred. He felt scruffy and underdressed.
They locked eyes. When Arthur gave him a pure, uncomplicated, joyful smile, it was a thing of indescribable beauty.
“Merlin!” he said. His voice was deeper, richer; it rolled round Merlin like a caress and warmed his bones.
“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. “You came.”
Arthur stepped into his space, reached for his arms and grasped them. Merlin leaned forwards so that their foreheads were firmly pressed together. Arthur let out a breath that was half sob, half gasp, and put an arm round his waist to pull him in for a hug.
Merlin turned his head so that the tears would not show. He swallowed and tried to still his breathing, basking in the warmth that drenched him.
“Merlin,” Arthur murmured into his hair, arms warm and tight round Merlin’s shaking shoulders. “Merlin, it’s all right, I’m here now. I’ve got you.” His voice sounded thick, as if he was having problems with throat lumps as well.
Maybe there’s a virus, thought Merlin inconsequentially. A mystical throat-lump virus, which only impacts lovers who have been separated for too long. He fought down a hysterical sob.
At the edge of consciousness, he was vaguely aware of the limo, quietly rolling away, until the two of them were alone in that sun-drenched Clerkenwell street. Merlin drank in Arthur’s scent, his solidity, his presence, and choked out Arthur’s name repeatedly for what seemed like hours.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” said Arthur eventually, smiling.
Merlin let out a watery laugh. “Welcome to my humble abode, sire,” he said, pointing a shaky hand at the anonymous-looking door to the flat above the tea-shop. “Pray enter.”
“I’ve been here before, remember?” said Arthur. “It seems smaller, now, somehow.” He smiled at the memory, and then his face fell serious. He sent a penetrating glance at Merlin that made him shiver.
Merlin tugged Arthur’s hands, pulled him into the doorway and dipped his head to devour Arthur’s mouth with his own. Arthur moaned. The noise clawed at Merlin’s gut, drawing a breathless groan from him in reply.
He had no idea how they got upstairs and into his tiny bedroom, only that the urgency that grasped him appeared to be nothing compared to Arthur’s. As soon as they were inside, Arthur crowded against him, gripping his hip so hard that Merlin thought, hoped, he would leave more bruises. Arthur pressed his bulk in close, and exhaled against Merlin’s neck with a sort of breathy moan that made Merlin ache with want.
“Merlin, God, I wanted this so much, it nearly killed me,” Arthur said. “All that waiting. Missing your touch. I could have died, Merlin, and it would have been your fault.”
Insistent hands burrowed under Merlin’s shirt as Arthur gasped, “God, your skin. So hot, it makes my fingers tingle. Drove me crazy, thinking about this, knowing I couldn’t have it.”
“Arthur…”
“Shh, Merlin, God, got to have you, say you will do it, I can’t... please Merlin.”
“Arthur, yes, please, God, yes, whatever you want. I’m yours, Arthur, please.” Arthur was shaking under his hands, juddering and tense, muscles bunched as if ready for battle.
“Want to fuck you, Merlin, because, Jesus, it’s been ten years, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it for one moment, what you felt like, what it felt like to touch you inside, and I can’t… I’ve got to… Merlin, please.” Arthur stopped talking to claim his mouth again, nipping and licking frantically at Merlin’s lips. He slid his hot tongue into Merlin’s mouth and they moaned and ground against one another. The feeling of Arthur’s hard cock grinding against his own was better than magic.
Merlin fumbled at Arthur’s belt, releasing him from his trousers, tugging them down so that they were bunched up round his ankles. He backed up against the bed in an undignified shuffle, fumbling at his own trousers and pants, kicking them off until he was naked apart from his shirt and socks, prick jutting out.
“Just fuck me,” he panted, so hard, so desperate. “Just fucking fill me up, Arthur.”
Turning Merlin round, Arthur bent him over the bed so that the flesh of his arse was exposed, and gently prised his buttocks apart. Merlin could hear Arthur’s hard, guttural breaths as his fingers pressed inside him, first one and then another.
“Shit, Merlin,” said Arthur, and voice shaking. “You’re still full of my seed. Oh, my God.” He sounded wrecked. Merlin whined, bereft, when he felt Arthur’s fingers withdraw.
“Sshh,” said Arthur, breathing harshly, fingers gentling Merlin’s hair. The other hand was steady on his hip. He stilled as he felt something blunt and hot nuzzle at him.
Merlin was breathing hard, now, mouth open, arms and face buried in fragrant, new-washed bedclothes, bent at the waist. He whimpered at the tight sensation of Arthur’s thick cock slipping inside him, strong and purposeful, filling him up with his love.
“OK?” said Arthur, hearing him and slowing.
“Yes, God, just keep moving, Arthur, I’m fine.” He bent his knees slightly to accommodate the girth. “I was made for this, made for you, you won’t break me, I swear, just fuck me Arthur, God, I need it, need you,” he gabbled, voice muffled by the duvet.
Arthur drew a juddery breath and inched back, then slowly slid inside.
"God, so hot, Merlin, aaah, missed you, needed you so much. Needed to feel you. Needed this." His words wrapped themselves round Merlin's heart and caressed it.
Merlin grasped the bedclothes, bunching them in his fists, legs trembling. He pushed back with his hips, forcing Arthur in deeper. He could feel Arthur’s cock dragging at his insides, stroking his sweet inner spot so that he was mad with the sensation, rutting vainly into the air. When Arthur reached round him to grab his prick, he couldn’t help crying out. It felt so good to have Arthur’s hand on him, Arthur’s strong arms holding him, his hips thrusting into him, until he didn’t know where he ended and Arthur began.
He wanted to tell Arthur how good he was for Merlin, how amazing he felt, how he wanted to feel Arthur deep inside him, around him, along him, forever.
“Good, so good, ah, ah,” he started, between pants, but then he wailed, all speech forgotten, as his orgasm coursed sweetly through him. He came in thick spurts through Arthur’s grip onto the bed, the smell of sex mingling with the scent of clean laundry, buttocks tensing around Arthur. Arthur fucked him through it, groaning and murmuring his name, his hand hot and wet on Merlin’s hip. Arthur shuddered then, and stilled, slumping on top of Merlin in a dead weight for a moment or two.
Just when Merlin thought his trembling legs would collapse under their combined weights, Arthur slid out, and Merlin grimaced a little at the suddenly-cold suddenly-empty sensation. He slumped onto the floor, on hands and knees, and then turned, sitting.
Arthur was the first to giggle at the sight of Merlin, fucked out, hair in disarray, dressed only in socks and a come-stained t-shirt. Merlin punched him drowsily on the lower leg, and then started to chuckle. Still only naked from waist to ankle, Arthur fell onto the bed, and Merlin staggered up to join him. They snuggled together, entangled, giggling and nuzzling while their heart rates slowed.
Merlin supposed there would be a lot to think about, later, what with all the changes to the timeline, and the small matter of governance of the country. But for now he was content that, at long last, he had his King, his friend, his love, alive and breathing, in his arms where he belonged.
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