They're drunk, is the thing. And Merlin's mouth is red, and there's something ridiculously charming about the way it curves up into his ridiculous smile under Arthur's thumb, and, when they tumble laughing into bed, the two kisses they share are so gorgeously easy, rich and sweet as the wine on both their tongues. Then they fall asleep.
Bright day glares through the window - the curtains aren't drawn, Merlin was too off his face to draw the fucking curtains, worst servant in the world - and Arthur shields his eyes and groans. Merlin jumps.
"You forgot to draw the curtains," Arthur grumbles and Merlin stares up at him, eyes round and huge and panicked
( ... )
"So," he says and very obviously, and with heroic effort, stops himself saying um again. He has both hands pressed flat against the wall. "Should I - do you -"
Arthur gives into temptation, just a little, and lets his fingers slip from their chaste position at Merlin's waist to his hips. Merlin swallows hard, eyes dropping half-shut. Arthur nudges gently forward, gives him just a touch of friction, revelling in the half-voluntary gasp he gets for that, the way Merlin rides up against him.
"I think you should take your clothes off," he suggests, watching the pulse flutter in Merlin's throat. His skin feels tight all over, something hot and joyous running in his blood. "And then mine."
Merlin stares at him for a long moment, and then he smiles and, fuck yes, chooses this of all moments to take an order seriously
( ... )
Bright day glares through the window - the curtains aren't drawn, Merlin was too off his face to draw the fucking curtains, worst servant in the world - and Arthur shields his eyes and groans. Merlin jumps.
"You forgot to draw the curtains," Arthur grumbles and Merlin stares up at him, eyes round and huge and panicked ( ... )
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Arthur gives into temptation, just a little, and lets his fingers slip from their chaste position at Merlin's waist to his hips. Merlin swallows hard, eyes dropping half-shut. Arthur nudges gently forward, gives him just a touch of friction, revelling in the half-voluntary gasp he gets for that, the way Merlin rides up against him.
"I think you should take your clothes off," he suggests, watching the pulse flutter in Merlin's throat. His skin feels tight all over, something hot and joyous running in his blood. "And then mine."
Merlin stares at him for a long moment, and then he smiles and, fuck yes, chooses this of all moments to take an order seriously ( ... )
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and HOT. oh, so very hot.
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