Fic: The Things You Don't Have to Say
Title: “The Things You Don’t Have To Say”
Author: castmeaway
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: Hard R, soft NC-17
Spoilers/warnings: absolutely none. Zero. This could be a PWP set in space for all anyone would know (or care).
Beta: None. Anyone want to volunteer? (I still don’t really know too many people yet)
Word Count: 1300+
Notes: So basically this was me attempting to practice writing a sex scene. It’s been a long time since I’ve been inspired enough by a fandom to write fic, much less fic with sex… and practice makes perfect right? Although calling this porn might not be exactly right. More like…stylized sex of the “Plot? What Plot”? (over the “Porn Without Plot”) variety of thinking.
Summary: There are some things that don’t actually need to be said between them.
Merlin groans and shivers as cold hands slide down his spine, settle around the narrow arch of his hip and tweak his consciousness into a state only slightly more awake than the half dream state in which he’s been floating.
“Arthur?” he whispers, the question of it muffled into the warm puff of his pillow.
“Considering this is my bed? I should hope so.” The gently teasing tones of Arthur’s laughter slide warmly familiar around them, follow the lay lines of cold hands down Merlin’s spine and veer at the last moment away from his hip to settle low on his belly. Warm, more than, and with a throb that echoes the beat of his heart. The heart of the man settled close to his back.
“Thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow?” Merlin finally slides into something considered consciousness and shifts around to face his lover, the brilliant blue of his eyes reduced to a thin sliver in the wake of the wide blow of his pupils.
“Mmm,” Arthur whispers, leans forward, strokes his tongue softly into Merlin’s mouth. “Wanted to see you.” And it is Merlin’s turn to laugh, the titter of it a soft breath of warm air against Arthur’s mouth, still so temptingly close.
“You wanted to see me? Did you explain this to your knights?” The slightly abashed look that washes over Arthur’s face answers the questions. Is quickly ignored and excused when Arthur brings their mouths back into a union that means ‘I don’t care’, and ‘I need you’.
They don’t need words. He’s not sure they ever really have.
Arthur tastes of salt and earth and a spice that is always temptingly inexplicable, and Merlin can’t resist the desire to track it across the sharp angle of Arthur’s jaw, down the lines of his throat and into the delicate dip of an old scar.
He delights in the hitch he coaxes from lips still glistening with him.
He can’t bring himself to feel guilty about the knights, likely driven to exhaustion by the merciless pace he knows Arthur must have set. Not when he has his heart returned to him, clean and strong and achingly lovely in the low midnight glow of the room. He has never denied that he is a selfish person, but then, that’s only when it comes to Arthur.
“Gods Merlin” Arthur groans as he shifts onto his back, the strength of his hands guiding the slender line of Merlin’s hips until he settles firmly into the hard cradle of strong thighs, bent over the surrendered lines of Arthur’s body. “I need you. I always need you.” He knows that there is a promise in the words, that Arthur means ‘don’t leave me’ and, ‘don’t let me leave you’.
The kiss he settles, warm and slow, into the deep wetness of a wind chapped mouth promises ‘I won’t’ and ‘never again’.
His fingers shiver over Arthur’s shoulders, press soothing circles into the tender tightness there, follow the lines of muscle to tweak the hardened clench of nipples, and finally down to catch the hem of his own tunic. The slow draw of the fabric across his overly sensitive skin is achingly delicious in the wake of the wonderfully terrifying expectation in Arthur’s eyes.
Merlin thinks his skin looks near translucent in the dark, and he blushes faintly at the hooded gaze that traces over him. Over the narrowness of his shoulders, the slenderness of his waist, the flair of his hips, the beginning of arousal heavy between his thighs. And he wonders how he has gotten to this place where he wants this attention. Needs it like breathing.
“You’re so…” Arthur trails off, stares up at him with such unguarded awe that Merlin feels his heart stutter in response. He can respond with nothing less than a kiss tinged with lightning and magic and his own brand of awe at the power he holds over the man beneath him, a living breathing god for all that Merlin worships at the altar of his body. “Please,” Arthur finally begs, picking up the trail of his own thoughts.
And Merlin can do nothing than meet the demand. Trail his lips down the hard line of the golden body at his fingertips, over the crashing wave of hips. Settle at the root of his lover’s arousal, salty like the ocean, rich like the earth. He savors the gasps of pleasure that slide through the room like a benediction and revels in the tremble of flesh brought low only by his touch.
“Enough,” Arthur finally gasps after several long moments, the broad length of his hands a guide at the sensitive shiver of Merlin’s back, and he follows, wordlessly, as he is pulled up for a brief kiss.
He doesn’t struggle when he is shifted to his side and then pressed to his back, his prince a living shield above him, though only from the rest of the world. When Arthur attacks he is merciless, the bed only another type of battle field as far as he is concerned, and Merlin has long since accepted the fact. Learned to revel in the force of will that presses him down, opens him up at the touch of long fingers to the furl of his body.
This time the whispered “Please” is pulled from his own lips and rewarded with the addition of a final finger deep within him, a painful pleasure in the aftermath of the enforced separation. The movement within him follows the ebb and flow of his magic, maybe the other way around, he’s honestly not sure, and the sharp curl of invading fingers send the long since extinguished candles of the room bursting into golden flames of magic.
The sudden brightness of the room draws a laughing breath from Arthur, a gently admonishing bite to his shoulder, a bruising kiss to his lips.
His eyes say ‘I want you’.
When Arthur finally slides deep within him, the sharp hardness of him is a sear of pleasure that leaves Merlin gasping for breath that won’t come. He’s not worried though. The seal of warm lips to his own is enough.
Arthur can breathe for them both.
They move together, one body, in a rhythm that is theirs and ancient and new and wonderful all at once. Arthur’s hips roll into him as his own shift up, yearning for the slide and fill of the pleasure that drives them toward some end that Merlin always fears might just be the end of the world. He’s not sure he’d mind if it was.
Pleasure crashes over them both like a tempest, a frenzy of crash and rush that is nearly violent in intensity. It’s always like this. Always has been. And sometimes when it’s over he will wonder that he was able to live without it. Without this scalding passion that burns him and consumes him and leaves him reborn, clean and whole on the other side.
His back arches sharply and he finally, finally, falls. Feels Arthur tumble from the world with him in a rush of pleasure that is agony and ecstasy all rolled together until it’s impossible to tell where one of them ends and the other begins. In that suspended moment it doesn’t matter. He’s not sure if it ever did.
When it’s over and they have remembered how to breathe, how to live in a world where their skin is their own, Merlin settles warmly into the cocoon of living flesh that he has long learned to call ‘home’. He is pleased by the sensation of Arthur still within him, soft and sated, and he throws his thigh over a warm hip to prolong the sensation into sleep,
One last stroke of a tongue into his mouth translates the beating of his heart into something like ‘I love you’.