Merlin: Room 20 (Arthur/Merlin)
With many thanks to julad and dsudis for beta down to the wire!
Room 20
Arthur/Merlin, explicit
The parking lot behind Camelot looked safe and ordinary again in the midday sun, just cracked asphalt and a couple of beat-up old cars.
Room 20
by astolat
The parking lot behind Camelot looked safe and ordinary again in the midday sun, just cracked asphalt and a couple of beat-up old cars. Inside, the tired, sweaty-faced manager snapped, "Merle? How the fuck should I know? He fucked off last night without even swiping the floor. If you do find him, tell him he's fired."
Arthur got one of the bartenders to take a fifty and give him the janitor's address: walking distance down the road, the crap pay-by-the-week or pay-by-the-hour motel that mostly survived on freshmen stuck with double rooms and the people who forgot to make reservations in time for graduation. The hallways were dingy and too-wide, green industrial paint peeling off the walls and the doors slapped with orange paint.
The door to the room was ajar; Arthur pushed it open. There were a couple of small boxes on the floor, full of books, and a stripped-bare mattress; drawers were standing open and cleaned-out.
He turned and the janitor-Merle-was standing in the doorway. The guys had always given him a hard time while he shuffled around the bar mopping and collecting empties. He was an easy target, hair shaggy and curling, scruffy unkempt beard, blue eyes weird and unfocused. He never really talked, just smiled uncertainly, even if someone had just asked him whether he was permanently stoned.
His eyes had looked golden, last night, while he'd held up his hand and driven the things-the monsters-squealing into the dark.
"What are you doing?" Arthur said.
"Leaving?" Merle said, after a moment looking around the mostly-empty room. It sounded like an actual question, as though he wasn't sure exactly.
"Not until you tell me what's going on," Arthur said. "What were those things, last night-" He broke off, because Merle was looking at him-past him, really-with that same vague, puzzled look. "You're the one who stopped them. Don't even try to tell me you don't remember," Arthur said savagely.
"I remember too much," Merle said, almost apologetically. "It's hard to keep straight. Sorry," he added, and bent to pick up the box of books.
Arthur didn't hit people smaller than him; he'd always felt it was a jerk move, except right now he didn't give a fuck: he hauled Merle up by the collar of his thin t-shirt with the holes along the shoulder-seam, and slammed him against the wall.
"Why don't the other guys remember those things?" he yelled. "Why-what the fuck happened?"
Merle blinked at him with no fear at all, although he was skinny and felt like something put together out of matchsticks and paper; like Arthur could've taken him apart in thirty seconds. Instead Merle only looked mildly surprised, and then suddenly his brows drew closer, like he was focusing on Arthur for the first time ever, and he said, uncertainly, "Do I-do I know you?"
"I drink at Camelot four nights a week," Arthur snapped. Merle kept looking confused. "You know, the bar where you work? What, are you a complete moron?"
Then he stopped, because Merle was suddenly looking at him with a completely different expression, something shining and bright and-terrifying dawning in his face, and Merle said softly, "Arthur."
"Fine, so you did get my name," Arthur snapped, and then his eyes widened, because come on, Merle wasn't actually about to-
Except he was. Merle wasn't tentative about it, either; he was kissing Arthur full-out, hands sliding into Arthur's hair and holding him still for it: the kind of kiss you gave someone when you were sure of them, when you knew that not only were they okay with being kissed, but everything else you might want was okay too, and then Merle was pushing him across the room and down onto the narrow twin bed.
"Oh, like hell," Arthur said, except he wasn't getting off the bed, and he was lifting his arms for Merle to strip off his shirt, and apparently he was okay with everything else Merle might want, even though what Merle wanted was to get laid right here and now in this pit of a motel room, the door standing half-open and the bed stripped down to the bare mattress beneath them.
Arthur didn't do things like this, he was careful, except Merle was shoving two fingers, slick, into him, and sucking on Arthur's throat, and oh holy god Arthur really was going to let this nutjob janitor fuck him. "Jesus Christ," Arthur said, his back arching up off the bed as his jeans got tugged the rest of the way down. Then he wrapped his legs around Merle's chest and grabbed onto the metal rails of the headboard to hang on, and he didn't even tell Merle to put on a condom.
Merle slid into him too fast, sweet hot burn stretching him open; his eyes weren't unfocused anymore, they were locked on Arthur like he was the only thing in the world. Maybe that was it; Arthur wanted that look on Merle's face, wanted every tremble of his mouth, the way his neck bowed helplessly, the way he whispered, desperately, "Arthur, it's been so long-"
"I'm sorry," he heard himself saying, and he was, though he didn't know why, and he slid his hand into Merle's hair and drew him down to kiss as Merle worked him harder and just right. The beard was somehow unexpected, but Arthur kind of liked it. He wanted to feel it on his thighs next time.
They lay collapsed together in the bed afterwards. Arthur wasn't shaking, though he should've been. Instead he had Merle cuddled in his arms protectively, his hand stroking the tangled dark hair, like his body knew more about this than he did.
"We'd better go," Merle murmured shortly.
Arthur opened his mouth to ask where, why, what the hell was going on-and stopped. He had the strange, dizzying feeling that it didn't matter. "Yes," he said. "We'll take my car."
= End =
Room 20
Arthur/Merlin, explicit
The parking lot behind Camelot looked safe and ordinary again in the midday sun, just cracked asphalt and a couple of beat-up old cars.
Room 20
by astolat
The parking lot behind Camelot looked safe and ordinary again in the midday sun, just cracked asphalt and a couple of beat-up old cars. Inside, the tired, sweaty-faced manager snapped, "Merle? How the fuck should I know? He fucked off last night without even swiping the floor. If you do find him, tell him he's fired."
Arthur got one of the bartenders to take a fifty and give him the janitor's address: walking distance down the road, the crap pay-by-the-week or pay-by-the-hour motel that mostly survived on freshmen stuck with double rooms and the people who forgot to make reservations in time for graduation. The hallways were dingy and too-wide, green industrial paint peeling off the walls and the doors slapped with orange paint.
The door to the room was ajar; Arthur pushed it open. There were a couple of small boxes on the floor, full of books, and a stripped-bare mattress; drawers were standing open and cleaned-out.
He turned and the janitor-Merle-was standing in the doorway. The guys had always given him a hard time while he shuffled around the bar mopping and collecting empties. He was an easy target, hair shaggy and curling, scruffy unkempt beard, blue eyes weird and unfocused. He never really talked, just smiled uncertainly, even if someone had just asked him whether he was permanently stoned.
His eyes had looked golden, last night, while he'd held up his hand and driven the things-the monsters-squealing into the dark.
"What are you doing?" Arthur said.
"Leaving?" Merle said, after a moment looking around the mostly-empty room. It sounded like an actual question, as though he wasn't sure exactly.
"Not until you tell me what's going on," Arthur said. "What were those things, last night-" He broke off, because Merle was looking at him-past him, really-with that same vague, puzzled look. "You're the one who stopped them. Don't even try to tell me you don't remember," Arthur said savagely.
"I remember too much," Merle said, almost apologetically. "It's hard to keep straight. Sorry," he added, and bent to pick up the box of books.
Arthur didn't hit people smaller than him; he'd always felt it was a jerk move, except right now he didn't give a fuck: he hauled Merle up by the collar of his thin t-shirt with the holes along the shoulder-seam, and slammed him against the wall.
"Why don't the other guys remember those things?" he yelled. "Why-what the fuck happened?"
Merle blinked at him with no fear at all, although he was skinny and felt like something put together out of matchsticks and paper; like Arthur could've taken him apart in thirty seconds. Instead Merle only looked mildly surprised, and then suddenly his brows drew closer, like he was focusing on Arthur for the first time ever, and he said, uncertainly, "Do I-do I know you?"
"I drink at Camelot four nights a week," Arthur snapped. Merle kept looking confused. "You know, the bar where you work? What, are you a complete moron?"
Then he stopped, because Merle was suddenly looking at him with a completely different expression, something shining and bright and-terrifying dawning in his face, and Merle said softly, "Arthur."
"Fine, so you did get my name," Arthur snapped, and then his eyes widened, because come on, Merle wasn't actually about to-
Except he was. Merle wasn't tentative about it, either; he was kissing Arthur full-out, hands sliding into Arthur's hair and holding him still for it: the kind of kiss you gave someone when you were sure of them, when you knew that not only were they okay with being kissed, but everything else you might want was okay too, and then Merle was pushing him across the room and down onto the narrow twin bed.
"Oh, like hell," Arthur said, except he wasn't getting off the bed, and he was lifting his arms for Merle to strip off his shirt, and apparently he was okay with everything else Merle might want, even though what Merle wanted was to get laid right here and now in this pit of a motel room, the door standing half-open and the bed stripped down to the bare mattress beneath them.
Arthur didn't do things like this, he was careful, except Merle was shoving two fingers, slick, into him, and sucking on Arthur's throat, and oh holy god Arthur really was going to let this nutjob janitor fuck him. "Jesus Christ," Arthur said, his back arching up off the bed as his jeans got tugged the rest of the way down. Then he wrapped his legs around Merle's chest and grabbed onto the metal rails of the headboard to hang on, and he didn't even tell Merle to put on a condom.
Merle slid into him too fast, sweet hot burn stretching him open; his eyes weren't unfocused anymore, they were locked on Arthur like he was the only thing in the world. Maybe that was it; Arthur wanted that look on Merle's face, wanted every tremble of his mouth, the way his neck bowed helplessly, the way he whispered, desperately, "Arthur, it's been so long-"
"I'm sorry," he heard himself saying, and he was, though he didn't know why, and he slid his hand into Merle's hair and drew him down to kiss as Merle worked him harder and just right. The beard was somehow unexpected, but Arthur kind of liked it. He wanted to feel it on his thighs next time.
They lay collapsed together in the bed afterwards. Arthur wasn't shaking, though he should've been. Instead he had Merle cuddled in his arms protectively, his hand stroking the tangled dark hair, like his body knew more about this than he did.
"We'd better go," Merle murmured shortly.
Arthur opened his mouth to ask where, why, what the hell was going on-and stopped. He had the strange, dizzying feeling that it didn't matter. "Yes," he said. "We'll take my car."
= End =