Unspoken
Title: Unspoken
Wordcount: Just under 1000
Summary: Arthur's never been quite as good at grand declarations as Merlin.
A/N: I wrote comment fic for the Make Them Do It fest, for the "Arthur being awful at emotional stuff but good at physical stuff makes them do it" prompt. Mostly sticking it here since I don't lose it, I have a distressing tendency to do that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
“And I--I would do anything for you, Arthur, you know that.”
Merlin’s breathing fast and hard, and his mouth is sliding into the anxious smile Arthur knows doesn’t bode well. And Arthur should reassure him that of course he knows that Merlin believes in him and that of course he wouldn’t repay that with execution, but what comes out instead is “You’re too incompetent to be evil anyway.”
“I’d say the evil ones are the ones who are incompetent, considering I always beat them,” snaps Merlin, moving from worried to cross in a matter of seconds.
Arthur knows that Merlin wants some sort of grand declaration of the sort that Merlin just gave him, but his grand declarations never go quite the way he wants them to. Besides, it all feels like repetition at this point. They’ve saved each other’s lives, and saved Camelot together more times than he cares to count (and he knew it wasn’t just him alone long before Merlin burst into his room and admitted to being a sorcerer. And then after he’d convinced him he wasn’t just trying to save someone’s life again by trying to say it). What sort of words could possibly matter after that? But Merlin wants something from him, so Arthur tries to dredge up a fine speech. “Merlin,” he starts, “I--”
And then words desert him because he doesn’t want to sound like a complete girl and Merlin is smiling at him again. “What?” prompts Merlin, and there is nothing that Arthur can possibly say that will live up to the amount of hope in his expression. He even steps forward until Arthur could reach out and touch him if he wanted.
He does want to, in the same helpless way he always wants to touch Merlin, but he grits his teeth against the urge. Merlin granted him honesty, he can do the same. “I’m--that is, I’m honored that--”
Merlin has the gall to look like he’s trying not to laugh, and he shifts forward again until Arthur can almost feel the heat of him. “You don’t have to tell me if you can’t, Arthur.” Merlin looks at the floor and then glances up through his lashes. “You could--you could show me, if you like.”
Arthur is about to remind him that he has fought for Merlin’s village, defied his father to bring him a flower, taken his place fighting for Jarl’s pleasure, and that there isn’t much more he could show how much Merlin means to him at this point. Then he sees Merlin bite his lip, and the slight tremble in his fingers, and realizes that this is, once again, Merlin taking a chance. Merlin offering something else to Arthur out of that endless well of himself that never quite seems exhausted where Arthur is concerned.
So Arthur takes a chance in return, steps forward until there’s barely a breath between them, and grabs Merlin’s upper arms just for something to hold on to. Merlin smiles at him, nervousness leaking out of him. “Arthur,” he whispers, waggling his eyebrows. “Arthur, are we hugging?”
“We are not,” says Arthur firmly, and kisses him to prove it.
Within an instant, Merlin is plastered against him, hands at his jaw like he’s afraid Arthur will pull back, not just taking the kiss but giving it back as well, licking at Arthur’s mouth until Arthur opens to him, and this is like nothing else. If this is how Merlin wants Arthur to prove his trust and devotion, then this is how he’ll do it. Arthur moves his grip to Merlin’s hips and starts backing him up towards the bed. “Yes,” says Merlin into his mouth, or maybe it’s just Arthur’s imagination, but he tumbles them onto the bed nonetheless.
Merlin already looks wrecked when they stop, lips kiss-bruised and eyes dark, sprawled sideways against the sheets and hard where he’s pressed against Arthur’s hip. There’s an endless moment. “Merlin--”
“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, and it seems to open some flood of words. “Arthur, yes, please, can I--can I--will you let me show you--”
“Anything,” Arthur whispers back, because that word is easy enough to say, and Merlin arches like he knows everything that it means and the ring around his blown pupils goes copper-gold instead of blue for a moment and then there’s a breeze rushing over his bare skin. He thrusts, almost without meaning to, into the space between them, and he and Merlin both freeze with the new sensation.
“Please, please,” Merlin murmurs, and Arthur seals his lips over Merlin’s because words don’t matter right now and settles himself between Merlin’s legs when he lets them fall apart.
And it feels good, it feels amazing, but where Arthur would normally take them in hand and make it brutally fast, he slows down to enjoy every second of Merlin’s heartbeat pressed against his chest and Merlin’s cock sliding sticky and hot against his, every hitch of Merlin’s breath into their kiss, and lets this be his declaration, his way of saying that Merlin will always be at his side if he has any say in the matter.
Much as he tries to hold off, Arthur comes when Merlin pulls away from his mouth with a gasp and clutches so hard at his hair that it hurts, hiding his endless and mortifying groan in the sweat-damp curve of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s lazy thrusts go shaky and quick, and he comes when Arthur’s arms start to tremble, unable to hold his weight off Merlin for much longer. Arthur rolls away while Merlin is still coming, falling to his back with his chest heaving, sideways on his bed. “Merlin, I--” he chokes, because after that he has to say something.
“Hush,” Merlin says. “Just … hush. I know.”
Wordcount: Just under 1000
Summary: Arthur's never been quite as good at grand declarations as Merlin.
A/N: I wrote comment fic for the Make Them Do It fest, for the "Arthur being awful at emotional stuff but good at physical stuff makes them do it" prompt. Mostly sticking it here since I don't lose it, I have a distressing tendency to do that.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin.
“And I--I would do anything for you, Arthur, you know that.”
Merlin’s breathing fast and hard, and his mouth is sliding into the anxious smile Arthur knows doesn’t bode well. And Arthur should reassure him that of course he knows that Merlin believes in him and that of course he wouldn’t repay that with execution, but what comes out instead is “You’re too incompetent to be evil anyway.”
“I’d say the evil ones are the ones who are incompetent, considering I always beat them,” snaps Merlin, moving from worried to cross in a matter of seconds.
Arthur knows that Merlin wants some sort of grand declaration of the sort that Merlin just gave him, but his grand declarations never go quite the way he wants them to. Besides, it all feels like repetition at this point. They’ve saved each other’s lives, and saved Camelot together more times than he cares to count (and he knew it wasn’t just him alone long before Merlin burst into his room and admitted to being a sorcerer. And then after he’d convinced him he wasn’t just trying to save someone’s life again by trying to say it). What sort of words could possibly matter after that? But Merlin wants something from him, so Arthur tries to dredge up a fine speech. “Merlin,” he starts, “I--”
And then words desert him because he doesn’t want to sound like a complete girl and Merlin is smiling at him again. “What?” prompts Merlin, and there is nothing that Arthur can possibly say that will live up to the amount of hope in his expression. He even steps forward until Arthur could reach out and touch him if he wanted.
He does want to, in the same helpless way he always wants to touch Merlin, but he grits his teeth against the urge. Merlin granted him honesty, he can do the same. “I’m--that is, I’m honored that--”
Merlin has the gall to look like he’s trying not to laugh, and he shifts forward again until Arthur can almost feel the heat of him. “You don’t have to tell me if you can’t, Arthur.” Merlin looks at the floor and then glances up through his lashes. “You could--you could show me, if you like.”
Arthur is about to remind him that he has fought for Merlin’s village, defied his father to bring him a flower, taken his place fighting for Jarl’s pleasure, and that there isn’t much more he could show how much Merlin means to him at this point. Then he sees Merlin bite his lip, and the slight tremble in his fingers, and realizes that this is, once again, Merlin taking a chance. Merlin offering something else to Arthur out of that endless well of himself that never quite seems exhausted where Arthur is concerned.
So Arthur takes a chance in return, steps forward until there’s barely a breath between them, and grabs Merlin’s upper arms just for something to hold on to. Merlin smiles at him, nervousness leaking out of him. “Arthur,” he whispers, waggling his eyebrows. “Arthur, are we hugging?”
“We are not,” says Arthur firmly, and kisses him to prove it.
Within an instant, Merlin is plastered against him, hands at his jaw like he’s afraid Arthur will pull back, not just taking the kiss but giving it back as well, licking at Arthur’s mouth until Arthur opens to him, and this is like nothing else. If this is how Merlin wants Arthur to prove his trust and devotion, then this is how he’ll do it. Arthur moves his grip to Merlin’s hips and starts backing him up towards the bed. “Yes,” says Merlin into his mouth, or maybe it’s just Arthur’s imagination, but he tumbles them onto the bed nonetheless.
Merlin already looks wrecked when they stop, lips kiss-bruised and eyes dark, sprawled sideways against the sheets and hard where he’s pressed against Arthur’s hip. There’s an endless moment. “Merlin--”
“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, and it seems to open some flood of words. “Arthur, yes, please, can I--can I--will you let me show you--”
“Anything,” Arthur whispers back, because that word is easy enough to say, and Merlin arches like he knows everything that it means and the ring around his blown pupils goes copper-gold instead of blue for a moment and then there’s a breeze rushing over his bare skin. He thrusts, almost without meaning to, into the space between them, and he and Merlin both freeze with the new sensation.
“Please, please,” Merlin murmurs, and Arthur seals his lips over Merlin’s because words don’t matter right now and settles himself between Merlin’s legs when he lets them fall apart.
And it feels good, it feels amazing, but where Arthur would normally take them in hand and make it brutally fast, he slows down to enjoy every second of Merlin’s heartbeat pressed against his chest and Merlin’s cock sliding sticky and hot against his, every hitch of Merlin’s breath into their kiss, and lets this be his declaration, his way of saying that Merlin will always be at his side if he has any say in the matter.
Much as he tries to hold off, Arthur comes when Merlin pulls away from his mouth with a gasp and clutches so hard at his hair that it hurts, hiding his endless and mortifying groan in the sweat-damp curve of Merlin’s neck. Merlin’s lazy thrusts go shaky and quick, and he comes when Arthur’s arms start to tremble, unable to hold his weight off Merlin for much longer. Arthur rolls away while Merlin is still coming, falling to his back with his chest heaving, sideways on his bed. “Merlin, I--” he chokes, because after that he has to say something.
“Hush,” Merlin says. “Just … hush. I know.”