Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6622354.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Merlin_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Merlin/Arthur_Pendragon_(Merlin)
  Character:
      Merlin_(Merlin), Arthur_Pendragon_(Merlin)
  Additional Tags:
      Coming_of_Age, Sexual_Experimentation, Playing_Doctor, First_Kiss, First
      Time, Horny_Teenagers, Kink_Meme, Underage_Drinking, Body_Worship, Dirty
      Talk, Frottage, Kink_Exploration, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Art,
      Fanart, Illustrated, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting, Medical_Kink,
      Foreskin_Play, Nipple_Play, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism,
      Camping, Comeplay, Multiple_Orgasms, Come_Eating, Come_Sharing, Object
      Insertion, Prostate_Massage, Rimming, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Fingering, Anal
      Sex, Barebacking, Unsafe_Sex
  Series:
      Part 20 of Words,_not_art
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-23 Completed: 2016-05-04 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 38957
****** Something Unpredictable ******
by alby_mangroves
Summary
     Arthur’s treehouse was the same as Merlin remembered it, all of it
     was. Maybe a little smaller, but then everything was, now.
     And then there was Arthur himself; and it wasn't so much that a lot
     had changed about him, not really, it was only that everything had
     lengthened and broadened and become more.
Notes
     Hey Violette-Royale, do you remember that time when we we both
     writing a Kink Me, Merlin fill at the same time? And I said to you,
     oh hey, I think we're in the mxa newsletter together, and then you
     said, NO WAY, are you writing Something Unpredictable, because that's
     my prompt, YOU'RE FILLING MY PROMPT! And then we had a laugh about it
     and I promised I'd finish it and you promised not to read it till I
     did? WELL GUESS WHAT. It's only taken about 3 years, BUT I FINISHED
     IT \o/ Because it's your birthday soon and you're the cat's whiskers
     and ILU. Happy (slightly early) Birthday, darlingface ♥ ♥ ♥
     Massive thanks to emjayelle for her intrepid beta on these horny
     teenage shenanigans, and to the wonderful and extremely talented Lyns
     for the gorgeous, GORGEOUS artwork, which I still can't believe she
     agreed to make, I'm so honoured. Kind thanks also to the lovely Hana
     for the art beta on Lyns' behalf.
     Written for this_KMM_prompt: When they were children, their favourite
     game was hiding away in Arthur's room or their treehouse and playing
     doctors. As teenagers, they take it up again, for some reason, and
     can't stop. They never kiss or cuddle otherwise, because they've not
     really realised that they're in love, but they both get off on their
     game. The game mainly consist of reasons to touch each other all over
     and creative forms of object insertion. Plus they both enjoy being
     naked while the other is dressed. Bonus points: Discovering the
     prostate. Super bonus points: Both boys trying to find totally legit
     reasons to convince each other to up their game to include stuff like
     oral sex or even full on anal sex.
     The Underage tag: both Merlin and Arthur are seventeen, but there are
     mentions of them playing doctor in the past when they were several
     years younger.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** The Wedding *****
                                        
                                        
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
Arthur’s treehouse was the same as Merlin remembered it, all of it was. Maybe a
little smaller, but then everything was, now.
He watched the movement of clouds through the same familiar crack in the roof
that had always been there, Arthur having run out of wood on a Sunday afternoon
even though he’d spent weeks planning, working up to building the treehouse and
getting his building materials in order.
He’d finally settled for just spacing out the last two planks instead of
bothering his dad about making another trip to Wicke’s and he was dark about it
for ages afterwards, that stupid gap. But in the end, they’d both just accepted
that it was there, and would watch the sky through it, days and nights both.
Merlin could almost feel it as he lay there now: Arthur’s warmth all along his
side while constellations sailed by above.
Even the smell of it was the same, woody and musty and a little damp. An odd
pang twisted up Merlin’s insides.
The noise of the party filtered into the treehouse on the summer breeze,
comforting enough so he wasn’t lonely, and occasionally annoying enough that he
wished he could take off and bum around at the river instead; it wasn’t far and
Merlin knew the way.
He pillowed his head on his arms, legs crossed at the ankles. The heat made his
eyelids droop and his mind sluggish. Merlin didn’t fight it. Beyond the gardens
of the mansion lay the orchard, and Merlin let the drone of bees and the
faraway party sounds take him to that hazy place between sleeping and waking
where everything was surreal and wonderfully abstract, and where nothing seemed
to touch him as he dozed.
On the periphery of his mind, he was aware of sounds nearing, footsteps soft
and even in the grass below. Then, the creak of the third rung of the ladder,
and finally, the scuffing of bare feet and the wooden floor creaking as someone
settled beside him.
Merlin wasn’t surprised, of course he wasn’t. They hadn’t spoken yet, Arthur
having been busy along with the other ushers, and Merlin staying as far away
from the actual wedding as possible without being obnoxious about it, but
Arthur had found him as Merlin hoped he would.
“Your mum was looking for you earlier,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin noted
the change in his voice, so much deeper than it had any right to be when his
own still sounded so boyish. Merlin breathed in deep, coming back up from his
doze and stretching, flexing his whole body.
Dappled light filtered through the oak’s leaves to flit over a face that was
sharper, more angular now. Arthur was brown as a berry, skin so tanned he was
glowing with it. He’d changed out of his grey suit, and the white t-shirt he
was now wearing made his shoulders look rounded with muscle in a way Merlin’s
weren’t.
Above the neckline of the t-shirt, there were hints of fresh skin where Arthur
had burned in the sun. The surface had long since blistered and peeled in
patches along the back of his neck, and was now glossed over with a sensitive,
shiny pink. He stared at it, fascinated, while Arthur looked out over the
garden. It’d whiten in a little round spot if Merlin pressed into it with his
fingertip. Under the shirt, Arthur probably looked like a giraffe, patched in
pink against the gold of his tan.
Several long moments passed while Merlin studied Arthur’s profile and the
relaxed sprawl of his body as he leaned back on his arms with feet dangling out
over the ladder. Not much had changed about Arthur, not really, only everything
about him had lengthened and broadened and become more.
It was still Arthur—Merlin would never not recognise him—but it was also
someone whom he didn’t really know. A new Arthur with years of life and
experiences Merlin hadn’t been a part of.
He licked his lips, the skin tasting dry. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Checked all the holes you could’ve fallen in first,” Arthur said.
“Bloody ha ha.” Merlin closed his eyes and turned his face into the flesh of
his arm, grinning. “So what’d mum want, anyway?”
“Dunno, but if the food on the plate she was holding was piled any higher I’d
wonder if she was secretly raising a pack of wyverns.”
Merlin snorted, appallingly glad to have gotten away before he was force fed
weird posh wedding food and had his eardrums assailed by whatever passed for
music in the peer circles of Arthur’s dad and his new bride.
“Was pretty upset when she couldn’t find you. In tears, almost. Merliiiiiiiin,
she was crying out,” Arthur said, then wailed in a pretty convincing falsetto,
“Where’s my little Merliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin.... it was pitiful, really. You’re
a horrible son.”
“Fuck off, idiot.” Merlin laughed, lashing out and catching Arthur’s thigh with
a light kick.
“Fuck off, idiot,” Arthur aped, catching Merlin’s ankle, pushing on it till
Merlin’s knee gave and folded, then pulling a classic WWF scowl and mock-
punching Merlin on the leg.
And there. There it was: a hint of the Arthur who’d propelled himself so high
in the riverside tyre and rope swing that he’d broken the branch it was tied to
and gone into the drink together with the tyre, rope, branch and all, then had
come up sputtering and laughing like a lunatic.
Going with it seemed as easy as anything—within moments they were rolling
around the treehouse, pouncing on each other with the faux slow motion
precision of televised wrestling, Arthur making noises like a crowd roaring and
Merlin laughing so hard he thought he’d choke.
                                        
                                        
“There can be only one,” Arthur yelled in a horrible imitation of an American
accent, and Merlin’s laughter escalated into near-silent convulsions while he
gasped for breath. They ricocheted off all the walls and crammed each other
into all the dusty corners, elbows and knees everywhere until the treehouse
creaked and groaned in protest under the assault, until they were both shiny
with sweat. The little wooden hideaway was too small to contain them now,
everything shimmering in the heavy summer heat.
Arthur gave Merlin a final shove across the floor, then dropped on it alongside
him with the knobs of their shoulders rubbing against each other, both heaving
for breath. Merlin’s face hurt from smiling.
As they quieted, Merlin opened his eyes and looked up. Motes of dust they’d
stirred up swirled violently in the air above, glimmering gold in the sunlight
slicing through the crack in the roof. Something had loosened inside him. There
was air in him now. Room to breathe. He lay still and simply inhaled, in and in
and in until he was lightheaded and everything was brighter and more alive, and
the motes of dust looked like stars.
Arthur was looking up through the crack, too. Slowly, Arthur closed his eyes, a
bright pink flush high on the apples of his cheeks, lips parted, breath
calming. Merlin looked until he knew Arthur’s face again: the smile always
lurking in the corner of his mouth, the sheen of sweaty hair plastered to his
temple, the long sweep of blond lashes casting shadows over his cheek. Then he
swallowed down the dryness in his mouth, closed his eyes and turned away.
Shadows lengthened as they lay on the rough wooden floor, and Merlin would have
happily stayed there and been lulled into sleep as the drone of bees turned
into the chirping of crickets, until night fell around them, but eventually
Arthur stirred and sat up beside him then shuffled to the doorway, letting his
legs dangle out over the ladder.
“Looks like your face finally caught up with your nose,” Merlin said, squinting
as Arthur turned to look at him, the flare of the afternoon sun making a halo
all around him, shining straight into Merlin’s face.
He couldn’t see Arthur’s features anymore, just his silhouette knocked out
against the sun’s glare, but Arthur’s voice had the hint of a grin in it.
“Looks like your face lost the race with your ears,” Arthur said, shuffling to
the very edge of the doorway.
Merlin watched him from between slitted eyelids. Arthur was the one thing about
this place which had gotten bigger. The hair on his forearms was gold fuzz in
the waning sunlight, arms strong, locked at the elbows as he leaned back on
them. Arthur had manned up while Merlin stayed the same bony reed. Heat licked
at Merlin’s insides.
“Let’s go back. I bet they’re all smashed and we can pilfer some beer,” Arthur
said.
Merlin smiled and watched summer colours wash like a slideshow over Arthur’s
face.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
 
The noise of the party carried all through the grounds, whispering through the
leaves of the ancient oaks and weaving around the neat hedgerows, growing
louder and louder until Merlin could make out individual voices over the music,
rising and falling on the late afternoon breeze.
In the near distance, Pendragon Manor stood like a sentinel, in its windows the
shadow of two small boys who’d grown up chasing each other through its halls.
Merlin quickly looked away.
They walked shoulder to shoulder and it was strange how in all this open space,
acres of it, he and Arthur seemed to pull together like the world was folding
in half and they were at the centre, at the crease.
Arthur seemed oblivious to their hands occasionally brushing against each
other. To Merlin, surrounded by the gardens he’d spent his childhood exploring
it seemed suddenly like he’d been away for weeks and not years.
He’d dreaded coming back, thinking the other life his true one. Now he could
barely spare a thought for it, the colour and life of this place sinking into
his very bones, defying him to feel something other than home.
On the open lawn behind the manor house, enormous white marquees had been
erected, a steady stream of guests milling around. An entrance flap had been
set loose and now snapped like a flag, the silk ribbon that had tied it back
long since appropriated by a little girl whom Merlin didn’t recognise, and who
was currently running up and down the manicured lawns with it—and half of her
dress—tucked into the back of her knickers, hooting like a deranged owl.
“What the,” he said, eyebrows climbing into his hairline as he threw Arthur a
lopsided grin.
“Sugar,” Arthur said simply, looking up only as far as Merlin’s mouth,
seemingly stuck there just long enough for Merlin’s smile to falter, before
Arthur's glance slid away to give the girl barely a passing glance over his
shoulder. “Probably inhaled her weight in cake.”
Merlin turned away and wiped his tongue over his teeth, looking for whatever
was stuck in there.
He made to walk into the marquee, only to be pulled up short, Arthur’s iron
grip on his bicep making him wish he’d thought to flex it.
“Christ, don’t actually go in there!” Arthur whisper-shouted at him, eyes open
wide and looking at Merlin as if he’d grown a second head. “You’ll get eaten
alive! Or, you know. Made to dance to Abba. Either way you’re not coming out
with your dignity intact.”
Merlin grimaced. Arthur was right. “Must avoid the old people,” he said,
nodding.
“And my sister,” Arthur agreed. “Like the plague.”
“And my—”
“Merlin, is that you?” His mother’s voice was unmistakable, cutting right
through Dancing Queen and the flap of marquee wall which separated them.
Merlin mouthed oh shit! and took off, Arthur following at a run around to the
back of the tents until they collapsed in the grass, giggling and jostling each
other like boys, shirts sticking wetly to the their backs. They sat hidden from
everyone except the passing waiting staff, who came with food and left with
empty dishes, and paid them no mind at all.
“Now what?” Merlin whispered, knees hugged to his chest, watching the rise and
fall of Arthur’s shoulders as he caught his breath.
Gophering up from their hiding spot, Arthur quickly scanned the area,
whispered, ”Keep watch,” and dove under the flap of the marquee.
“What are you—” Merlin said, looking at where Arthur’s feet had followed the
rest of him into the tent. He eyed the perimeter of their hideout and kept
lookout for a moment, then thought he heard Arthur muttering and swearing on
the other side. He stretched out on the grass alongside the tent and carefully
lifted the flap, poking his face in only to have a bottle nearly smashed in it
as Arthur thrust it at him, neck first.
“Take it!” Came the urgent whisper from the other side, and so Merlin did,
grabbing the cold, slippery bottle, then the one that followed after and then
the two after that, shoving them into his armpit so he could hold up the flap
for Arthur to slide back underneath.
“Let’s go,” Arthur said, slapping dirt off his palms. “My room or the
treehouse?”
Arthur pushed the hair out of his eyes, leaving a smudge of dirt along his
temple. Merlin watched a little bead of sweat cut through it. “They’re gonna
look for us,” he said, wanting to go with Arthur so bad that he could almost
taste it. Was it really okay for them to just disappear? Nobody except his mum
would miss Merlin, but Arthur was a different story.
“It’s not like we’re leaving town, idiot.” Arthur screwed up his nose and
Merlin’s throat clicked as he swallowed down the urge to shout yes, yes of
course, let’s go now, anywhere.
“It’s just. You know, it’s your dad’s wedding, and he might be—”
“They’ve already left, I’m pretty sure he’s not too concerned with my
whereabouts right now. They’re probably already on the plane.”
“Oh,” Merlin said, realising he hadn’t seen Arthur’s dad since the garden
ceremony. Arthur didn’t look upset about it. “Right.”
“‘S OK, I’ll text Morg, tell her we’re together. She can tell your mum," he
said, then, after a beat, added, "if you like," as though he'd only just
considered Merlin might not want to come.
Merlin thought about the phone in his pocket, switched to silent and most
probably already flashing with several messages from his mum, growing more and
more exasperated the longer they went unanswered. Under his arm, the cold
bottles radiated glorious, wonderful chill while Arthur waited, watching him.
“Yeah, alright.”
Arthur smiled happily, and whatever reservations Merlin might have had were
quickly overshadowed by the thrill of spending time together again and basking
in Arthur’s undivided attention.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
 
“So what’d you call her? Your new—you know.”
Arthur was silent for so long, Merlin thought he’d fallen asleep. Crickets
chirped all around them, the noise of the dying party far enough away to be a
distant hum. Above them, the little treehouse in the oak creaked among the
branches and higher still, the moon sat fat and bright in the sky. Merlin dug
his fingers into the grass and willed it to never end.
“Katrina,” Arthur said quietly, sounding like his thoughts were far away.
“What’s she like?”
“She’s okay. Didn’t like her at the beginning. Thought she was a bit of a
troll,” Arthur said, taking a swig from the nearly empty bottle, Arthur’s
second.
“She’s not, though?”
Arthur snorted. “Maybe. She can’t be all bad if dad married her. Took me
skydiving for my birthday and didn’t try to push me out of the plane without a
chute or anything.”
“Oh yeah,” Merlin said, smiling with the realisation. “Happy Birthday. Bit
late, but still.”
Arthur grinned, tipping his chin up. “You too. Couple of weeks ago, right?”
He nodded, wondering if Arthur felt seventeen differently than he did. It had
been a nothing sort of birthday. They’d been busy packing and making
arrangements to move back here, his mum frantic on the phone to the hospital
where Uncle Gaius still languished, recovering from a stroke. It was funny how
sometimes a life, or lives even, could change at the drop of a hat. Merlin had
visited every day now that they were back. Uncle Gaius made slow progress, but
the lines of worry around his mum’s face didn’t go away. Merlin tipped the
bottle into his mouth to drown the pang of guilt at running off from the
wedding. The tepid beer had long ago lost its allure and he winced at the foul
taste.
Merlin turned to look at Arthur, lying on his back in the grass. “Does anything
change? When they get with someone?”
Arthur shrugged, looked back at him, eyes glittering in the moonlight. “Not
really. He wasn’t around much anyway, so.” When he turned away, he brought both
arms up and pillowed his head on them. His belly had a tidy line of hair
growing, disappearing beneath Arthur's waistband. It looked soft. Fine.
Merlin’s mouth felt stuffed with wads of cotton as he made himself look away.
He took a long drink of beer gone flat and sat up, pulling his shirt away from
his body, pretending to fan himself with it.
The air was still sticky, but the edgy, shimmering heat was long gone. Merlin
sweated anyway.
“Has your mum got a bloke?” Arthur said.
“I don’t think so. I think maybe she did in Cardiff, but I never met him,”
Merlin said, picking at the grass at his feet. Beside him, Arthur stretched,
joints cracking with how long they’d laid in the grass just sipping their
warming beer and talking. He toed off his shoes, then did the same to his
socks, stretching his bare feet, digging long toes into the grass. He's always
been like that, Merlin thought. Graceful where there didn't seem any need for
grace.
Merlin startled when Arthur's phone went off, vibrating up a muffled storm in
his pocket. Arthur brought it out, sighing, then swiped to answer as he sat up
beside Merlin, elbows almost touching.
“Hey.”
Merlin looked at clouds rolling across the moon and tried not to listen in.
Closing his eyes, he breathed in, out. In, out.
“Yeah, we’re just catching up. No, can you—Oh. No, can you ask her if—” Arthur
was looking at him. Merlin’s neck prickled but he didn’t turn around.
“Ask her if Merlin can stay here tonight then, so she doesn’t have to—”
Merlin’s heart thumped like crazy, like it’d come unstuck. Arthur was still
looking at him.
“Yeah. Maybe. We’re gonna play Xbox.”
Merlin’s eyes snapped open. Arthur was watching, silently waiting to see if
Merlin had remembered.
Of course he had. Arthur never had an Xbox. The familiar phrase stirred
Merlin’s gut into a churn, just as Arthur had meant it to.
                                        
                                        
Sweat like cold fire broke out on his temples, chilled on the breeze. He
shivered in the moonlight and waited, feeling the proximity of Arthur’s body
like a hot lick all along his side and bitterly regretting the warm, disgusting
beer for how heavily it sat in his belly.
They sat in silence long after Arthur had hung up, Merlin carefully avoiding
looking anywhere that wasn’t his toes digging furrows into the grass. His heart
pounded like it had come loose and lodged itself up in his throat, and the warm
air stuck to his skin like a blanket.
Beside him, Arthur sat with legs crossed at the ankle, thumbs rubbing over his
knees. “D’you—”
“Yeah,” Merlin interrupted, not exactly sure what he’d been about to be asked,
just wanting so bad for Arthur not to take it back, or confess that saying it
had been a mistake.
He waited, trapped between one breath and another until Arthur got up, then got
to his feet too, brushing off and stretching, completely, utterly on edge.
They walked to the house in tense silence, beer bottles in various degrees of
empty clinking like chimes dangling from their hands, Merlin’s shoes tied
together by the laces and slung over his shoulder. There was nothing left of
the beer buzz now.
“You don’t have to go back and help?” Merlin asked, immediately kicking himself
the moment the words left his mouth.
Arthur looked passingly at where the marquees were lit up by multicoloured
lights, glowing like palaces on the lawn of the manor. “Morg’s in charge. I'd
just get in the way.”
The party had continued without them and went on still, though it seemed to
have reached the slow-dancing and taxi stage with people starting to leave.
From a distance, the headlights of exiting cars looked disembodied, flickering
in and out of view as they floated past trees lining the avenue, leading back
to the main road, and from there, the city.
Maybe one of them had his mum in it. Merlin's breath quickened. He was really
here and staying the night. Sleeping over with Arthur.
They gave the remains of the party a wide berth, dodging the noise and lights
and finally arriving at the house, Arthur making for a side entrance. Merlin
found himself in a hall which smelled of the same familiar cedar wood polish it
always had, and it somehow became right that they should sneak through it,
tiptoe through the house all the way to the staircase which would take them up
a level, and to Arthur’s room.
A door burst open somewhere close by, a sudden flurry of noise and activity
echoing up the hall and Merlin didn’t think, he just broke into a sprint,
shouldering Arthur out of the way as he bounded up the stairs three steps at a
time. Arthur swore and followed hot on his heels, the slap of their feet
bouncing echoes off the walls.
At the landing, Merlin propelled himself around the bannister and shot off like
a rock in a sling. He’d nearly made it to the bedroom door when Arthur’s hand
closed on the back of his shirt, yanking him almost off his feet and throwing
them both off balance. They crashed through the door and onto Arthur’s floor in
a tangle of limbs, shoes and bottles, moonlight falling through the open
curtains and creeping over them in thick stripes.
Winded, Merlin stayed where he was on the floor, Arthur thumping down beside
him. The room was quiet and still but for the distant music from the marquee,
bass and muted, off-key karaoke wafting in in through the slightly opened
window.
“Shit, you’re spilling it,” Arthur hissed in his ear, and as though prompted
into awareness by the words, Merlin suddenly realised that he was dousing
himself in tepid beer.
“Fuck, sorry,” he whispered, sitting up, righting the near empty bottle and
sliding it away to a safe spot under Arthur’s desk. His shirt was soaked. He
held it away from his skin, careful not to drip everywhere and trying not to
make a bigger dick of himself. “Sorry, you got a towel, or—I mean, I didn’t—“
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice cut through the babbling and Merlin closed his mouth
with a click. He looked up, watching Arthur’s gleaming eyes move over him in
the darkness, and waited for the words, dreading them and wanting them so much
it made his palms sweat and his chest feel like he couldn't ever take a full
breath again.
Arthur shuffled over on his knees until he was so close that Merlin could feel
the hot sweep of his breath between them, tang of beer and all. He sat
perfectly still with his shaking hands full of cotton blend and dripping beer
as Arthur reached up, fingers barely touching the skin of Merlin’s throat while
he slowly and carefully undid the top button of his shirt.
 
 
Arthur spread the collar open with his fingers and just looked at Merlin’s
throat, watching him swallow.
He was so close that Merlin could see the fuzz on his lip, silver in the
moonlight. When Arthur looked up and met his eyes, the heat Merlin had been
feeling all night deep and low in his belly, pulled at him so sharply he
thought he’d pass out. He shivered in the night air, hands clenching into
fists.
Arthur’s lips parted dryly, and he licked them. Merlin closed his eyes so hard,
he saw spots.
“Lie down,” Arthur whispered, barely audible, breath scuffing across Merlin’s
cheek. Merlin didn’t need to hear him. He knew the words off by heart even
though it had been years. “Gonna examine you.”
Merlin’s couldn't speak. Arthur watched him with gimlet eyes, paused between
touching and not, just waiting.
Forcing his voice up a windpipe which appeared to have tightened to the
circumference of a noodle, Merlin finally choked out a whispered, “Yeah,” then
looked down so the please didn’t slip out. His eyes snagged on the edge of
Arthur’s jaw, where a vein pounded like mad under the skin. He watched it
pulse, mesmerised, until Arthur took a deep, uneven breath and stepped away.
They moved quietly then, Merlin to the bed and Arthur to the door they’d
crashed through, closing it and making it all real, making them co-
conspirators. The lock snicked into place with a quiet click.
He looked down at Arthur’s covers. Merlin would look like a pasty white twig
against the navy. He’d probably glow in the moonlight and Arthur would laugh
and—
“Hey,” Arthur said, standing right behind him. The heat of his body licked over
Merlin’s back, crawled up between his shoulders and made his hair stand on end.
Arthur hadn’t even touched him yet, but his breath fanned over Merlin’s sweaty
neck and he felt like a pin had been pulled out of him, like he was a live
grenade about to go off. He shuddered, almost recoiling from the sensation,
clambering up on the bed to get away from the intensity, as anxious and eager
for this as he’d ever been for anything in his whole life. Dreading it but
wanting it more.
“On your back,” Arthur whispered behind him, and Merlin couldn’t lie down fast
enough, settling with his head on Arthur’s pillows, shirt sticking wetly to his
belly and hands fisted at his sides. In the dark room, Arthur was a silhouette
against the window, curtains billowing softly behind him. Merlin let himself
follow the new shape of him, the slope of shoulders and the geometry that the
sparse light made of his body.
He had expected Arthur to sit beside him; it had been their way. So when Arthur
slowly climbed onto the bed and stalked towards him on hands and knees, Merlin
had to fight to breathe, talking his body back from the ledge beyond which was
a tide of fully blown panic. He couldn’t hide what was happening in his pants,
and could not yet embrace it. The steady thrum between his legs had become a
thick, pulsing tug at his insides, and the cling of his wet shirt made it
impossible to deny.
Arthur came at him slow and steady, but the feeling that he was about to be run
over by a steam train was so strong, Merlin clawed his fingers into the bedding
and simply waited to be wrecked.
He pressed his teeth sharply against the flesh of his bottom lip, then gasped
when Arthur straddled him and gently settled his weight so that he was sitting
on Merlin’s thighs, framing his hips between his knees.
Music from the party still came in through the window, but Merlin no longer
heard it over the rush of blood past his ears, aware only of Arthur, who had
raised his hands and began to open Merlin’s shirt, button by button.
Arthur undressed him in complete silence, a beautiful slackness about his
mouth, like he was lost in the moment, too. When all the buttons had been
uncoupled from their holes, Arthur gently peeled the wings of Merlin’s shirt
away from his body, exposing his torso to the evening air. He sat on Merlin’s
legs and looked and looked at him for so long that Merlin's body lit up, skin
prickling with embarrassed arousal. He well remembered the sensation of being
unwrapped. Had often thought of it in the dark warmth of his own bed, the
shameful thrill of it.
 
 
“Oh,” Arthur said roughly, and let go of the beer-sodden shirt to brush the
knuckles of his hands lightly over Merlin’s chest, back and forth until his
skin felt too tight and too hot and too everything.
Breathe, breathe, Merlin chanted in his head, even as Arthur began to pass the
fleshy pads of his thumbs over his nipples, pressing down, flicking, rubbing
over them in circles until they were sensitive and aching. Merlin pushed his
chest up into Arthur’s hands and turned his face away.
He lay very, very still as Arthur touched and pulled and rolled his nipples,
over and over, playing with them until they were hard as tiny rocks. He gasped
with pleasure at each pass, but he did not move.
Arthur shuffled a little, sliding up higher until he was almost sitting on
Merlin’s groin, and the pleasant heaviness growing between Merlin’s legs became
hot and hard so fast, it made him dizzy. Bracing himself on one hand, Arthur
loomed over him, close enough for Merlin to see the glint in his eyes and the
tip of his tongue as he moistened his lips.
“Open your mouth,” Arthur murmured and with their eyes locked together, Merlin
did, letting it fall slackly open.
Arthur gave his nipple another few tugs, circling it with his thumb, pressing
it this way and that. He continued to play with it as he looked at Merlin’s
lips, inside his mouth, inspecting. When he finally stopped playing with
Merlin’s chest and used his thumb like a tongue depressor, Merlin’s eyes rolled
back in his head.
“I touch myself thinking about what we used to do,” Arthur whispered into the
thick air between them, Merlin too far gone to answer but hanging on every
word. “After we played and you went home, before we were old enough to really
get it, I’d be so excited, you have no idea.”
Merlin whimpered with plenty of an idea, mouth open wide, Arthur's salty thumb
pressing down on his tongue, body trembling to keep still beneath Arthur’s
weight.
“And then when I was old enough to know what it was all for, I’d race through
dinner and go to bed and I’d play with my dick thinking about you, thinking
about all the things we started and never got to finish. I got so hard,” Arthur
whispered, mouth close to kissing Merlin’s earlobe with his words.
Merlin was past rational thought. Arthur had begun to rut against him, rolling
his hips in hard stabs. He pressed down against Merlin’s erection on every
pass, the pressure so perfect, so sweetly agonizing, Merlin was dying from it.
“When I heard you came back, I went out to the treehouse,” Arthur whispered,
breathing into Merlin’s neck, raising goosebumps in the wake of his words. “I
wanked in there, thinking about you.”
                                        
 
Merlin tried, oh how he tried, but he could not be still a moment longer. He
bucked up into that fantastic pressure, enveloped Arthur’s thumb in the suck of
his mouth, and came hard in his pants with an animal grunt, the spread of heat
low in his belly exploding through him like a punch, so good he wanted to cry. 
Spurred on by Arthur’s urgent, “Yeah, yeah,” he sucked and licked the thumb in
his mouth until Arthur pressed his face into the curve of his neck and came in
his jeans, shuddering violently against Merlin’s belly.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
 
Merlin didn’t know how much time had passed, only that when he stirred again
and blinked his way out of the murk, the moon had moved on, no longer streaking
the room with ghostly white. The house was silent, the party finally over. He'd
fallen asleep.
Outside, the breeze had died right down and the curtains fell unmoving, the
darkness in the room almost complete. The night was still warm, but it didn't
stick to his skin anymore.
Merlin rubbed his hand over his face and grimaced at the sour smell of beer
dried between his fingers.
Body heat seeped in along his side, sweaty and hot through his clothes and
Merlin’s eyes snapped wide open at the suddenly scalding awareness of what
they’d done. Of what he and Arthur had done. Arthur, who was now asleep right
there beside him.
Merlin stared at the ceiling with unseeing eyes, burning up inside, recalling
it all, moment by excruciating moment. Low in his gut, everything spasmed and
clenched. He’d had Arthur’s— oh god, in his mouth, and he'd—he’d sucked
Arthur’s—
He pulled air in on a gasp and lay strung like a bow, so very aware of every
single place Arthur’s body now connected to his own.
Carefully, he turned to look at where Arthur slept beside him, stretched out on
his stomach, one arm sandwiched between them and the other flung over the edge
of the bed. He watched the rise and fall of Arthur’s shoulders as he took
breath after even breath. The ache in his own chest rose and fell with it.
Arthur’s t-shirt had ridden up high and even in the dark of night, the contrast
between his tanned skin and the white cotton was startling. Merlin held his
breath and reached out to touch the rise of Arthur’s back with soft, tentative
strokes. When Arthur didn’t stir, Merlin turned and carefully arranged himself
alongside the long stretch of Arthur’s body.
Levered up on his elbow, he stroked Arthur’s skin. He dipped fingertips into
the groove of his spine and followed all the knurls of it to where the spread
of his back disappeared under the cotton of his t-shirt. Merlin nudged it up as
high as he could without waking him. There were no patches of rough skin
here; only Arthur's shoulders were sunburned, then. The skin of Arthur’s back
was soft and perfect, and hot. So hot to the touch. Merlin couldn’t stop
touching him.
He slowly swept the whole of his palm over Arthur’s flank, barely curling his
fingers around it and marveling at the soft heat of Arthur’s sleeping body,
then gently dragged his knuckles along the denim waistband of his jeans. He
rode the same slow, deliberate path over and over again, up and down Arthur’s
back with his fingers, sweeping over the muscles with his thumb.
Arthur slept on.
Arriving once more at the small of Arthur’s back, Merlin splayed his fingers,
fascinated with the paleness of his skin against Arthur’s golden tan. He moved
his hand back and forth so lightly he barely felt it himself, again and again,
completely absorbed in the difference between their colouring, visible even in
the near darkness.
Finally, on a down pass he slowed his movements to a lazy barely there caress
and with his heartbeat hammering in his temples and his throat completely
parched, he allowed his fingertips to slide down under the waistband of
Arthur’s jeans and glance feather light over the cleft of his arse.
Arthur’s breath hitched, sudden and harsh and Merlin flinched in shock,
stilling his hand.
Arthur was awake.
Merlin touched his forehead to the shallow curve at Arthur’s waist. Arthur’s
skin was clammy, his breath urgent and quick, panting into his pillow. A narrow
bead of sweat rolled from beneath the hem of his shirt and down the valley of
his spine, glinting in the scarce light.
Merlin blew a gentle stream of breath over it, relishing the startled shudder
and flex of Arthur’s slim hips against the bed.
Merlin smiled, breathing hotly into the shadows over Arthur’s back, and
whispered, “My turn.”
One by one, Merlin counted out the knobs of Arthur’s spine, walking his fingers
between them over the spread of his back. Up and up he went until he reached
the hem of cotton, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He wormed his fingers under
Arthur’s shirt and pushed, bunching it up over his shoulder blades.
“Lift your arms” he said quietly, and Arthur did, stretching them up above his
head. Merlin pushed at the sleeves of Arthur’s shirt until he’d freed his arms
of it and eased it over his head, then tossed the bundle over the side of the
bed. He scanned Arthur’s contours against the dark bedding, the lithe, clean
shape he made. How passive he was, waiting for Merlin to do whatever he wanted.
Merlin felt invincible.
 
 
All the times he’d thought about Arthur… and yet he had never imagined it like
this. He’d remembered the skinny boy—not quite the skin and bones he’d been
himself and frustratingly still was, but a boy all the same.
Boy Arthur's hair had been sunbleached almost white, and he was Merlin’s mum’s
favourite because he ate everything. He’d had a hawky nose too big for his
finely boned face and altogether too many teeth for one person. That puppy of
an Arthur had a braying laugh, dirt under his fingernails and sun glinting off
his hair as he ran and kicked anything that had a passing resemblance to a
projectile, into anything else that could be construed as a receptacle, only
occasionally with success but with no less enthusiasm for the misses.
That boy had been a force of nature, and Merlin had loved him.
But this was no boy.
This Arthur, a stretch of warm muscle and softly sleek, brown skin, this grown
and solid almost man was a completely different beast.
He still reflected the sun like a shield, and he still ran the same, swallowing
distance in steady strides. He was daring and fun, and somehow, incredibly,
still into this game with Merlin when he could obviously be doing it for real
with anyone he wanted. When Arthur smiled, Merlin felt it like a punch to the
chest with a padded mallet, and he probably wasn’t the only one.
But, he was the only one here and now.
Arthur sprawled easy and lax like a sleeping tiger on the bed, and Merlin drew
an uneasy breath, his trousers suddenly very tight, and pants horribly,
uncomfortably crackly, lined with a layer of damp, crusting come.
For his part, Arthur seemed loath to move. He stretched as though still waking
up, and Merlin’s mind blanked for a good long moment, knowing nothing but the
flexing movement of muscle roiling; thunder waking under Arthur's skin.
Fascinated, Merlin spread his hands wide over Arthur’s body and drew patterns
over his lower back with his thumbs, rubbed back and forth and pressed into the
muscle. Arthur was thick here where it seemed that solid slabs of muscle had
been laid above the swell of his rump.
Merlin’s thumbs dug into the meat of it, pressing into the dimples at each
side, barely visible in the darkness. Arthur sighed like he loved it, loved
being touched like that, and Merlin’s stomach flipped, emotions cramming up
into his throat like hot rocks.
Sliding his hand slowly over Arthur’s hip, he reached around to feel for the
closure of his jeans. He slipped the button out of its hole, fumbled for the
zip and pulled it down, then spread Arthur's flies open with shaking hands.
Beneath him, Arthur was barely breathing, hands fisted in his pillow, holding
so, so still.
“Up,” Merlin whispered, and Arthur lifted his hips. Merlin pulled only the
jeans down, rolled them over Arthur’s arse, leaving his pants on. He pulled the
jeans off completely, and then sat at the edge of the bed, just looking.
He felt Arthur watching him, face half hidden in his pillows and his folded
arms. Merlin didn't look up. The full swell of Arthur's arse was wrapped in
fitted underwear and the bulge of his balls was so confronting and real and
male that Merlin didn’t know whether to run away or bury his face there and eat
Arthur all up.
“Come on,” Arthur whispered from under cover of his arm.
Merlin swallowed dryly and put a hand on Arthur’s ankle.
When they were kids, their game was fun, it was exciting and very naughty, and
left them wanting something they couldn’t even define.
They’d work each other up, touching and pulling and poking about into anything
that looked halfway interesting and Merlin didn’t remember ever feeling
inhibited or embarrassed about any of it, only very suddenly aware of his
changing body. Of being on the cusp of something amazing.
Everything they did was new and exhilarating. When he thought about it now,
there was a warm haze around those years, an innocence, like sepia photographs,
little treasures.
This was all those things still, but it was so much more. Touching Arthur now
felt alive with intent in light of what they’d done tonight already, the
evidence still sticky in Merlin's pants. They’d never gone this far when they
were kids.
Now, they knew what they were doing. It couldn’t ever be innocent again.
Merlin didn’t want it to be.
They’d progressed beyond the game, and going back to playing it like nothing
had happened was stupid. More than anything right now, Merlin wanted Arthur to
feel that weightless, dizzying heat that he did himself when Arthur was in
control. He wanted to see Arthur breathless and wanting.
His voice was scratchy when he spoke, letting words he hadn’t planned slip out
on a murmur in the quiet room. “You like it when it’s my turn?”
Arthur only flexed his leg in response, Merlin feeling the muscle roll against
his palm.
He grinned, and maybe it was being half invisible in the darkness or that the
whole night had turned a shade of unreal hours ago but Merlin found he could
say things which would freeze him up solid in daylight. Things that would never
make it out of his mouth.
“I like it,” Merlin said. “I like looking at you.  I like watching you.”
Arthur heaved a breath into his pillow and rolled his hips in a little stutter,
like it’d been surprised out of him. Merlin didn’t want to so much as blink. He
circled his fingers around Arthur's bony ankle, finding the tendon which joined
heel to calf, running his thumb over it with a firm press.
Merlin looked up. Arthur’s shoulders were set, his hands gripping the pillow
tight. His back was so tense, Merlin thought he might jump out of his skin.
He rubbed his hand loosely up Arthur’s calf, not really surprised to find that
the hair there was softer than his own, and even where it grew thickest over
Arthur's shins it was still barely there at all.
He was suddenly very curious about all of Arthur’s body hair—did he have any on
his chest? Merlin had seen the light blond fuzz at his belly- was there more of
that up higher? He wanted to look at it again. Examine it. Rub his face in it.
He kneaded his way up Arthur’s leg, skimmed fingers over the back of his knee
and ground the heel of his hand into Arthur’s thigh, the downy soft hair
tickling his hand. Arthur wasn’t bulky, but his thighs, much like his waist,
had thickened with muscle since they’d last seen each other this close up and
with so few clothes. Merlin stretched out on the foot of the bed close to
Arthur’s legs, studying them in the dark.
Merlin wanted to lean right in, get closer. He breathed in harshly, gut
clenching with the realisation that he probably could. Arthur would let him.
Arthur might even want it.
“Spread your legs,” he said, and watched in a stun as Arthur did just exactly
what Merlin wanted, pulling one knee up, splaying himself out. Merlin’s mind
turned to mush.
 
 
The cotton of Arthur’s pants stretched snugly over the the full swell of arse
and balls, and there was the unmistakable pull of cotton over what was an
already plump cock beyond. Arthur’s breath quickened as Merlin looked and
looked his fill and tried not to swallow his tongue.
And then his mind turned to Arthur’s probably blond pubes, maybe springy like
his own or maybe soft like the hair on Arthur’s thighs, and god, Merlin's balls
drew up on a shiver, thinking of putting his face there. Maybe his mouth. Maybe
kissing Arthur right there between his legs. Merlin dropped his head to the
sheets and ground down onto the bed with a groan, absolutely aching.
"Remember the kit I got for my birthday?" he choked out, resting his head by
Arthur’s thigh, feeling the heat of Arthur’s body on his face.
It had been a neat little parcel with a curled ribbon on it, and inside it, a
plastic box with a red cross on top. He no longer remembered from whom. He’d
been seven years old and his mother had just served him a piece of cake, which
he'd completely forgotten once the parcel had been liberated from its
wrappings.
“Uh-huh,” Arthur muttered, groaning, voice muffled by his pillow. Merlin’s hand
moved up and up Arthur’s leg to where the hair became as soft as down on his
thighs, dusting lighter the higher he went, until the skin became almost
hairless near the groin.
He inched his fingers up to the edge of Arthur’s pants, then carefully fitted
his palm over his bollocks, cupping them in his hand. His mouth fell open at
the firm heat, and he gasped, feeling Arthur’s cock pulse against the tips of
his fingers. Arthur hugged his pillow to his chest and buried his face in it.
Fondling Arthur’s balls in one hand, Merlin reached the other down between his
own thighs where the pressure had become intense; pressing his hand down
hard hurt so good.
He scooted up a little so he could see better where Arthur had rolled to his
side a little, and god, oh god, the head of Arthur’s cock now peeked through
from under the waistband. He could see a glistening of fluid there, no sooner
appearing at the tip of Arthur's purpled cockhead than soaking into the fabric
of Arthur’s pants. Merlin lay on his side, level with Arthur's stomach so he
could see everything.
“It had a little thermometer in it," Merlin continued, playing with Arthur’s
balls, tugging them gently through his pants, rubbing and kneading and
fingering at them until they were tight and hot in his hand. He lipped at
Arthur’s thigh, pulling on the hair a little, on the verge of coming in his
pants again at Arthur’s pained, broken sigh.
“Yeah,” Arthur panted, hips working helplessly as Merlin toyed with him,
letting go of his balls and spreading his fingers over the bulge of Arthur’s
cock instead. He stared in disbelief at his own hand as it gripped and rubbed
Arthur into a frenzy.
"I wanna do that," he whispered under his breath, pressing his face to Arthur’s
thigh, mouth moving lazily over the fine hair, breath making it stir. He
removed his hand from his own groin in an effort to stop himself from coming
too soon, but it didn't help. Watching Arthur, feeling him fucking into
Merlin’s hand drew him out taut as a spring.
With one hand cupping Arthur’s cock, he brought up the other to caress the
curve of Arthur’s arse, then lightly drew a finger down into the crease
between. Arthur gasped, and Merlin pressed in until he found the spot that made
Arthur shudder and his own heart feel like it was climbing out of his throat,
face screwing up in wonder when Arthur rolled his hips and pressed himself
against the pressure of Merlin's finger.
"Want to check your temperature," he gasped out, the tight resistance at his
fingertip so delicious that he couldn't stop himself from toppling over,
painting the inside of his pants again with his mouth mashed into Arthur's
thigh in a soundless shout.
“Mer—oh God,” Arthur ground out, fucking into Merlin’s grip, come pulsing in
ribbons over the edge of his pants and his own stomach, with the tip of
Merlin’s finger pushing the fabric of his underwear into his hole.
Merlin dropped to the bed in a boneless slide, shirt bunching up awkwardly,
half off his shoulders. He didn’t have it in him to straighten it. Arthur’s leg
quivered and thumped down beside him, and everything was still while their
breaths slowed and evened, the two of them lying side by side on Arthur's bed.
Above, the ceiling was alive with leaf shadows, and Merlin watched them for a
while with a sort of detachment, like he was out of his own body. If they’d
been in the treehouse he could look up through the crack and watch the night
sky turn. He’d have stayed awake, then, and the night wouldn’t end. But here,
exhausted, in the calm of Arthur’s bedroom, he couldn’t stave off sleep.
He’d already begun to doze off, almost hypnotised by the dancing shadows, when
Arthur shifted beside him. The bed stirred with small movements, Arthur tiredly
rubbing his face like he used to when they’d marathon Silent Hill in this very
room, Arthur’s Playstation controllers sticky with salt and crisp crumbs
littering their pyjamas. The pang in his chest was so sudden, he felt winded.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispered. Merlin slowly closed his eyes.
When Arthur cleared his throat, Merlin’s heart lurched, half prepared and half
in a panic, desperate for a way to shut Arthur up somehow, but his mind was too
sluggish to think of anything.
“Merlin,” Arthur repeated hoarsely, and Merlin lay quietly. Maybe Arthur would
just slide back into a doze, leaving the moment intact. Maybe if he pretended
he’d fallen back asl—
Arthur’s knee caught him right in the softness between ribs and hip, and before
he realised what was happening, Arthur flipped and had him pinned to the
mattress, fingers digging mercilessly into all the places that made him turn
into a stiffly jerking puppet, trying to keep his laughter quiet.
It lasted only for a few moments, both of them soon panting and slumping back
down like empty sacks. Arthur was still half sprawled on top of him, and
Merlin’s head spun. He straightened his legs to a more comfortable position and
winced at the crusty pull on his belly. His pants were so disgusting, he could
barely think about it.
“I stink,” Arthur said, mumbling into the sheets.
Merlin grinned and made a little show of sniffing at the air around him.
“You’re gross,” he said, then he turned his face and nosed lightly into
Arthur’s sweaty, birdnest hair, breathing lightly so Arthur wouldn’t notice.
 
 
Sneaky fingers wormed their way right into his armpit and Merlin almost choked
on his helpless giggles, their sweaty bodies slapping wetly against each other
as he tried to buck Arthur off.
Arthur stilled abruptly, then slowly raised himself up on an elbow to look down
between them, at where his come had smeared off onto Merlin’s stomach. He
raised his hand and touched it, lightly dragging the pads of his fingers
through it. Merlin watched the top of Arthur’s head where his hair had become a
wild, spiky mess. Then, Arthur lifted his hand to his mouth, and Merlin
couldn’t see, but he imagined the rest in stunning 3D clarity, Arthur tasting
himself, tasting both of them together.
Merlin’s head fell backwards, his insides clenching hotly though his body
wasn’t up for it again so soon. He’d probably be jizzing in his pants at the
drop of a hat for the next six months just thinking about this night and
everything they'd done.
“Now who’s gross,” Arthur said and looked up, his smile made Merlin’s own mouth
turn up too, like they were drawn on the same string.
“I need a shower, bad,” Arthur said, and before Merlin could gather his wits,
Arthur was off the bed and heading to the adjoining bathroom.
“Morgana’s asleep,” Merlin said.
“She won’t hear. Got a sleeping disorder. She’s on medication for it. Plus
she’s moved rooms, she’s not next door anymore,” Arthur said, rifling through a
drawer on his way to the bathroom, bringing out clean clothes. “Said she wanted
more privacy and moved to the other side.”
Merlin watched Arthur through eyes slitted against the sudden light from the
ensuite. For all their exploring in the grand old house, Merlin had never been
inside the rooms that lay on the other end, beyond the staircase. They’d been
Arthur’s mother’s once. “Your dad didn’t mind?”
Arthur looked up, eyes glittering in the darkness. “‘Course he did.”
Merlin grinned ruefully.
“Supposed to let your guest go first, uncultured swine,” he called out to
Arthur’s back. Arthur snorted and didn’t even pause, closing the door. Merlin
couldn’t stop smiling.
He listened to the water running for a while, then got up and peeled off his
shirt, dropping it in a little pile against the wall on top of his shoes. He
was so thirsty he considered drinking the leftover beer in the bottle he’d
shoved under Arthur’s desk, but one whiff of it made his guts lurch.
He looked around Arthur’s room, not touching anything, just studying. Trying to
find his Arthur in the new Arthur’s things.
From a picture on the desk, both their mothers looked at him, smiling their
youthful smiles, squinting in the sunlight, groves of fruit trees all in rows
behind them. It was too dark to see it properly, but Merlin’s knew that
picture’s every nuance. The same print stood in its place on their hearth at
home, no matter where they lived. If he tried, he could probably go outside
into the orchard and find the very trees they’d picnicked under.
He turned away from the picture, red-faced, rubbing at his arms and absurdly
glad he still had his trousers on.
Arthur emerged a few minutes later, still wet and limned in the bright light of
the bathroom, dressed only in a towel and a puff of steam, and Merlin’s body
thought it might want another go after all, but Arthur walked right past as
though he hadn’t noticed Merlin standing there, half naked.
Merlin swallowed down the hurt.
“Towels are already in there and I’ve got you some clean things to wear,”
Arthur said over his shoulder, and Merlin wasn’t ready for it to end, but he
turned and went into Arthur’s bathroom anyway.
He showered quickly, wondering if the Pendragons had a monopoly on water
pressure. Merlin's shower at home sucked in comparison. He used Arthur’s
shampoo and soap and knew he could never, ever buy those brands himself now.
The whole night had become a time capsule, nothing to be disturbed.
He dried off and found the clothes Arthur had left for him, quietly slipping
into the t-shirt and soft jogging bottoms, everything feeling alien and pre-
molded to someone else’s body.
When he came out of the bathroom, it was to a dark room and Arthur curled up in
bed, under a duvet, his back to Merlin. Uncertain, Merlin stood in the doorway
long enough for Arthur to grumble at him, something bloody light something
something off, Merlin.
He switched off the bathroom light and stood a moment longer, waiting for his
eyes to adjust to the dark bedroom again.
He climbed up on the bed alongside Arthur, whose breathing had turned slow and
deep. He’s already asleep, Merlin thought, and stretched out silently behind
him. He reached to touch Arthur’s freshly washed hair and would never remember
later if he’d done it, or if he’d fallen asleep mid-gesture.
 
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
Merlin had never, ever been so cozy in his life. He wasn’t awake, not really.
Just barely lucid enough to register the all enveloping warmth holding him in,
keeping him safe. And the birds. So many birds singing at once. It reminded him
of something. Very far away in a sheet-covered corner of his mind, there was a
softly lined box, and inside there was happiness and a damp, woody smell and
eyes like clear skies. And trees. A lot of trees for a lot of birds at dawn.
He thought about putting his hand in the box and taking whatever was in there,
eating it whole, or letting it eat him, but it would mean waking up and he was
so, so warm. So incredibly comfortable. In the end, it was the easiest thing in
the world to stay exactly as he was, knowing the box, and its contents, were
safely locked away. He dozed.
When he awoke some time later, there remained only a vague wisp of the strange
dream he’d had, and he wasn’t cozy anymore. Now, he was absolutely melting.
Merlin tried to stretch, and couldn’t really move for the clammy wall of heat
which seemed to have collapsed on him while he slept, molding to his body like
a concrete-filled second skin.
He flexed a little, and the wall flexed too, wrapping itself snugly under his
arm and around his chest and nudging his legs apart like a hot wedge. Not a
wall, then. An octopus. A warm octopus had beached itself on him and was now
breathing softly into the back of his neck even while it crushed him.
Merlin blinked awake, the fog dissipating instantly. It was late, the daylight
already settled and warm, the crispness of early morning well gone, evaporated
into clouds while they slept. He was sprawled on his stomach with a generous
faceful of Arthur’s pillow. Arthur lay draped over him like a wrestler who’d
fallen asleep on the job.
Merlin shifted a little here and there, stretching fingers and wiggling his
toes away to dispel the numbness, trying to work out where everything was.
Arthur’s hot breath made his skin overly sensitive and his spine tried to curl
itself around a spark deep inside, shivering and clenching like he’d had a
stick dragged up the middle of his back.
“Merlin, wake up,” Arthur said, voice raspy and rough, and Merlin’s body
responded so fast, he had to jack up his hips to make room, pushing back into
the cradle of Arthur's hips, just like fucking. They both stopped moving,
shocked.
“‘M awake,” he whispered, holding so, so still now, not wanting to spook the
moment. Arthur was sprawled over him so completely there was no mistaking the
hardening ridge growing against Merlin’s arse.
“Are you- is this okay?” Arthur’s voice stretched thin and uncertain around the
question, and Merlin couldn’t find his voice for a moment, throat clicking a
dry S.O.S for his brain to activate.
“Yeah,” he breathed, meaning please. Please don’t stop, if you do I might die.
Then, there was movement under him, made awkward for being trapped in the
sliver of space between his chest and the mattress, a soft rub of a thumb over
his tee shirt, scuffing up and down over his ribs, up over the bumps and down
into the grooves between them.
Arthur burrowed his face into the crook of his neck and nosed up behind his ear
like a curious puppy, and Merlin’s eyes drifted closed, face breaking into a
grin.
“Wasn’t just last night, then?” Arthur said into his neck, like he didn’t
really want to air it at all, like he wanted to hide it in a crease of Merlin’s
skin. Merlin thought his heart would thump right out of his chest.
“Fuck, Arthur, you call me an idiot,” he said, light and floaty around the
middle, like he’d drift away if Arthur wasn’t weighing him down on the bed.
Arthur snorted and squeezed around him like a hot vise, pressing his face right
into the muscle between shoulder and neck to force a helpless burble of
laughter out of him. His hand found Merlin’s chest again, resuming its slow
climb up and down over Merlin’s ribs. Merlin focused on it so completely, he’d
forgotten to breathe, until the gentle movement stopped being random, Arthur
slowly and deliberately grazing his nipple.
Merlin gasped, the air rushing out of him in a gush across the pillow. The
sweep of thumb made Merlin’s insides falollop inside like overcooked spaghetti.
He reached behind to where Arthur was plastered to his back. The angle wasn’t
great, but he could just barely slide his fingertips over the small of Arthur’s
back, rubbing down over the bumps of spine, pressing the pad of his finger into
the little hollow at the base, wishing he could reach further, and said, “I
still want to.”
“Yeah?” Arthur drew himself in tighter and hotter all along Merlin’s back, and
they both groaned, Arthur’s movement freeing the tenting stub of his cock to
spring up between Merlin’s legs, restricted only by the pull of his shorts.
Everything stopped. Nothing existed except for the slow, hot rub of Arthur’s
cock right behind his balls. Merlin couldn’t think, couldn’t see straight. All
he felt was that hot, small spot, flaring up his spine like sparklers. He felt
Arthur’s cock there, right there, as though there weren’t two layers of fabric
between them.
 
 
“Yeah, I want to, so bad,” Merlin said, breath coming so fast, he was
lightheaded. “I bet you’re hot. I bet you’re really hot in there.”
Arthur huffed behind his ear like he was on the verge of a word only he’d
forgotten how to say it, and there was a deliberate little swivel of hips that
sent Merlin into a garbled moan, the pressure of a warm drag behind his balls
startling and real. Arthur tightened his arm, and thumbed his nipple and did it
again. Merlin wanted to cry with the sweetness of it.
Arthur murmured something like next time into the back of his neck and all
Merlin could think was mouth, he’s touching me with his— and then Arthur’s hips
pulled back for another pass. Merlin’s stomach clenched, preparing for it, then
dropped like a bag of rocks at the footfall outside Arthur’s door, everything
stopping at the sound of a knock.
“Arthur?”
Arthur groaned at his sister’s voice, slumping over Merlin’s back. Merlin shook
with a sudden outburst of nervous laughter and they rolled away from each
other, Arthur onto his back and Merlin onto his stomach, willing his erection
down.
“Arthur, wake up!”
Merlin buried his face into his arm, his smile feeling three sizes too big.
“I’m awake,” Arthur said, rubbing his face with his hands.
“Finally. Unlock the door this instant and let Merlin go.”
“He’s not a hostage,” Arthur said, then rolled back lightning fast, trapping
Merlin under his weight, leaning over him. Softly, only for Merlin’s ears, he
said, “Are you?”
Merlin grinned, pushed up on an elbow and Arthur shifted up slightly to let him
roll over, settling down over Merlin’s hips.
“Hunith’s starting to wonder, honestly. She’s only called him several times
this morning, and his phone’s switched off,” Morgana said from beyond the door.
Arthur might have been sitting on top of him, but it was his eyes that trapped
him. Arthur looked at him with unwavering intensity, and he meant to say geroff
me, dork, but what came out in a whisper barely heard over the boom of his
heart was, “I used to play with myself too, thinking about it. About you.” And
then, because the stunned look on Arthur’s face was so fucking worth it, he
added, “Still do. All the time.”
He held Arthur’s eyes and bucked up into the firm bulk of him, letting Arthur
feel the truth of it.
“Arthur, come on, Hunith’s on her way to pick him up! Merlin, are you in there?
Make Arthur scream in pain twice for yes.”
Merlin laughed and Arthur closed his eyes with a frustrated groan, letting his
head hang, then rolled away with a smile that made Merlin’s ribs tighten. Even
his exasperated, “God, Morgana, go away, we’re getting up,” didn’t have much
bite in it.
They finally scrambled out of bed and made for the door, Merlin gathering his
things in a bundle, wincing at the old-man smell of sweat and stale beer. He’d
almost reached the door when Arthur pounced, manhandling him against the wall,
pushing into him with his whole body, pinning him in place.
“I want you to show me,” Arthur said, nosing around his ear and the curve of
his jaw, making his stomach freefall like lead weights had been fastened to it.
“Next time. I want to see how you do it.” He wormed his hand in between them,
giving Merlin’s still half fat cock a nice slow squeeze over his sweatpants.
 
 
Merlin’s head banged against the wall, and his knees buckled like they’d been
punched from behind. When Arthur stepped away with a grin straight from hell,
all Merlin could think was next time.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
  
They finally made it downstairs. Merlin’s mother’s car had just pulled up into
the poplar lined driveway, the mid-morning sun beating down on the bonnet and
throwing a glare so severe, Merlin winced, shielding his eyes and feeling every
single drop of the beer he’d consumed, and every single moment of sleep he
hadn't had.
Arthur stood at his side looking completely unaffected, straight shouldered and
so shiny in the sun, Merlin could only look at him in small increments: the
hint of sunburnt shoulder here, the finely turned wrist there. His hair leeched
sunshine straight out of the air, skin as brown as if he’d been raised free-
range and buck naked on some tropical outpost instead of being born into old
money aristocracy.
“Hello, Arthur!” Merlin’s mother said, climbing from the car, ignoring Merlin
completely, her arms around Arthur before he could even answer.
“Hello Mrs E,” Arthur said, grinning at Merlin over her shoulder with the same
old I can’t help it if she loves me more than you smirk, and Merlin just shook
his head, making a show of rolling his eyes far enough to see the inside of his
own skull.
“When are you coming for dinner,” his mother continued, prattling on until even
Morgana looked on incredulously at this display of blatant favouritism.
“Just say the word and I’ll be there with bells on,” Arthur replied genially,
giving Hunith’s shoulders a final squeeze and stepping away.
“Aw, such a good boy,” Hunith cooed, and Merlin had to choke down delighted
laughter at the look on Arthur's face when she gently patted Arthur’s cheek.
Reverting some ten years to when she was trying to instil good manners in him,
she turned to Merlin and said, “What do you say, Merlin?”
“Thanks for having me,” Merlin answered dutifully, grinning big, looking
sideways straight into Arthur’s eyes.
Arthur’s eyebrows climbed up, a smile barely held in check. Merlin didn’t see
it coming- Arthur’s arm shot out to gather him up in a headlock, and he razed
Merlin’s head with an unforgiving noogie. “Any time, mate,” Arthur said,
bundling him into the back of Hunith’s car and bounding away before Merlin
could retaliate.
They drove away with Merlin staring into the rearview mirror as the manor house
got smaller and smaller, playing next time, next time in a loop while his belly
rose and flapped like a treeful of birds startled by a thunderclap.
                                        
                                     ~ ✧ ~
***** The Camp *****
It’s easy, Uncle Gaius had said. So simple a monkey could do it.
And then—and Merlin should have realised that it boded ill for this to be
tacked on at the end—he’d added, Won’t take long.
Merlin looked around the cluttered greenhouse and thought of all the different
ways you could call someone a filthy liar. He raised the nozzle of the hose and
sprayed water in the general direction of some plants, which is to say in every
direction, trying to not wash the soil away from the roots as Gaius had warned.
Which would have mattered if he could even so much as see the roots under the
dense foliage.
It was so stiflingly hot in the enclosure that Merlin was sure he was slowly
dissolving, his sweat-soaked shorts glued to him like they’d been slapped on
wet. The air was completely still, not so much as a whiff of a breeze.
Everything about Merlin that loved open spaces baulked at it. He didn’t know
how Uncle Gaius could stand it, the walls so close and every surface stacked
with plants and more plants and wherever there was a hint of space, books about
plants.
It was sort of what he imagined walking into a thick rainforest might be like,
if rainforests had been lined with shelves and bookended with rows of specimen
jars, and instead of lianas, hanks of rope hanging around. And how many hanks
of rope did one old man need, anyway?
His back pocket rumbled, the mobile vibrating against his backside. Merlin took
his finger off the trigger and quickly flung the hose over his shoulder.
Rubbing his hands on his shorts felt like swapping dirt for sweat, but he
didn’t want to waste time washing up, stomach flipping barrel rolls in
anticipation. It had been two days since the wedding, and he and Arthur had
been texting back and forth all morning so Merlin was already edgy, hands
clumsy on Gaius’ things.
Arthur: Sure you can’t come?
Merlin sighed. Arthur was intent on making it harder.
Merlin: Sorry. Promised my uncle
He bravely resisted the urge to add a sad face. His phone beeped back
immediately. Merlin smiled and put the hose away properly.
Arthur: He’ll never know!
Merlin: HE IS IN HOSPITAL ARTHUR
Arthur: EXACTLY MERLIN
Arthur’s whale bubble appeared on screen for a brief moment before the mobile
began to wail in his hand, and Merlin hung his head in defeat. Arthur was
stubborn as a mule. Merlin’s mind drafted apology notes to Uncle Gaius in
advance: I’m so terribly sorry for letting your herb garden perish from
abandonment, but Arthur called and I immediately dropped everything, but it’s
cool, I didn’t even trip over it on the way out or anything.
He lifted the mobile to his ear, Arthur already talking at him. His voice was
thicker and darker on the phone than in person. He listened, fascinated with
it, imagining Arthur’s mouth forming the words somewhere on the other side of
town.
"Merlin, listen, it's very simple. Movies. Popcorn. The lads. Fun. Chores. One
of these things is not like the others."
"Who's going?" Merlin asked, wondering who Arthur’s friends were, now.
Wondering how he’d fit.
"Gwaine, Leon and me. Maybe Percy. They're all asking about you."
Merlin laughed. "They wouldn't remember me if they tripped on me in the
street."
"They remember you," Arthur said quietly, and Merlin felt a hot blush rise all
the way up to his ears, not quite knowing why, or how he could possibly feel
hotter and more bothered when it was already so bloody sweltering he’d only
narrowly avoided slipping in his own sweat that he’d dripped all over the
greenhouse.
"Arthur, I promised him. He's really sick and he's counting on me to look after
all his. Um. Weird. Stuff."
Merlin looked at Uncle Gaius’ shelves where a creepy collection of jars held
things he’d spent the morning naming Pickled E.T and Possibly One-Eyed Carrot,
and the plants Uncle Gaius swore were mostly medicinal, some of which looked
less medicinal and more like they’d claim your body if you took an ill-advised
nap nearby. He shuddered.
“Weird is your middle name, Merlin. You probably love it in there. You’re
probably right at home. Is it like Cardiff? I bet it’s a weird Welsh herb
garden full of weird Welshy herby things.”
“Actually,” he said, looking around, “it’s more like the set of Tarzan. And
Uncle Gaius isn’t even Welsh, you nutter. And yeah, alright, he calls it a herb
garden, but there are strange things in here, Arthur. Very strange things that
aren’t herbs.” Merlin poked at one of the fleshy, spiky pods, and it slowly
fluttered shut, with a distinct air of disappointment at his finger not being
inside. Merlin blinked and slowly moved away.
“Does Wormelot still stand?” Arthur said, and Merlin thought back to before the
greenhouse, when old bits of crate his uncle had hammered together in a square
to make a worm farm were the most fascinating construction in all the world. He
and Arthur would wallow up to their elbows in soil and worm shit, building
castles and fortifications for the worms to crawl around in until Uncle Gaius
chased them off with his broom.
“Yeah. I think he’s remodeled though,” Merlin said, looking out of a cloudy
plastic window at the worm farm, the wood darkened with age and rot, quietly
falling apart with the weight of the years. “There are turrets. He’s really
modernised the place. The moat’s got piped water now and there’s a stable. I’ve
always wanted to see worms on horseback.”
Arthur laughed until he started coughing, and Merlin could tell that the face
at the other end of the phone call had more than a little of the tyre swinging
loon about it.
He leaned back against a bench, hand rubbing absently over his ribs, up and
down, faraway eyes clouding over to see the small, in-between moments of his
life that only Arthur understood.
“I get it, that you can’t come,” Arthur said then, and Merlin wasn’t sure
whether he was more relieved or horribly disappointed. “But listen, I was
thinking- this weather’s sort of perfect and it’s going to be a pretty warm
night. D’you think you might be able to come out tonight after you’ve done what
you need to do for your uncle?”
“Yeah, probably,” Merlin said, the black hole of his chores suddenly not quite
as bottomless as he’d imagined. Noise dimmed at Arthur’s end, and it sounded as
though he might have walked away from the crowd. In the distance, made tinny
and abrupt by the phone, he heard laughter and tried to recognise it. He
thought it might be Percy and wondered what his guts were made of to suddenly
feel so out of sorts at the thought of them all laughing together far away. Of
Arthur having a great time with his friends.
“Okay,” Arthur continued. “So, how about this. Morg’s having a few friends over
tonight and—”
Merlin laughed ruefully. “I don’t think she’d like me crashing her party.”
“Shut up and let me finish. I didn’t say anything about us going to Morgana’s
party, Christ. Actually, I want to get out of the house,” Arthur said, then
paused, as if considering his words. “I thought we could camp out tonight.”
“Okay,” Merlin said, heart taking a leap. “Gwaine, Percy—”
“Just you and me,” Arthur said.
“Yeah?” Merlin clutched his phone and ran fingers through his hair, fighting a
sudden urge to bounce up and down.
Arthur hummed and Merlin grinned stupidly into the distance.
“I want to go see if that spot by the ford is still there, where Father used to
take us. Do you know where I—”
“Of course I know,” Merlin said, breathless, already there and lying under the
stars with Arthur. He could smell the little fire they’d make in the dugout
hollow. He could see the firelight animating Arthur’s skin, the night making
his eyes dark and deep as ponds.
“Yeah, well, I can’t stop thinking about what you said to me, and I want to go
somewhere we can be alone tonight and find out,” Arthur said. Merlin’s insides
caught in tingly flames. The air was so thick, he could hardly breathe.
“Find out what?” He was nearly whispering, hunched over the phone at his ear to
hold his galloping heart in.
“What you look like when you wank,” Arthur said. Merlin’s mouth fell open even
as his eyes drifted shut, fingers tight in his hair.
“God,” he choked out, unable to compute Arthur’s calm voice coupled with the
words.
“And if you like,” Arthur started, then paused, clearing his throat. Merlin’s
ear hurt from having a phone jammed up against it so hard. “If you like, you
can do what you wanted. To me.”
Merlin shut his eyes tight, leaning heavily against a bench. He could see that,
too. He could see everything. He took a deep breath to steady his voice.
"Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be there," he said, and Arthur breathed a laugh, sounding at
last a little unsteady. Merlin's grin felt ridiculous, like it didn't fit his
face as they said an awkward goodbye. His heart pounded like it wanted out of
his chest, dick so hard in his wet pants that he felt lightheaded. He picked up
the hose and sprayed himself in the face, laughing and shaking his hair like a
dog, then started again on his uncle's plants. The sooner he finished here, the
sooner he could go.
  
                                    ~ ✧ ~ 
                                        
Dusk had begun to creep on by the time Merlin made it to the tree-lined alley
which marked the boundary of Pendragon land.
He cleared the drystone fence with a graceful vault his body remembered
performing time and time again even now, adjusted his rucksack and made for the
well-trodden forest paths that would take him to the river, the ford, and
beyond that, to Arthur.
The heat of the day had lost its bite and the temperate shade of the forest
filed its teeth even further until it was a perfect evening, burnt orange skies
tempered into dirty denim where night lurked, following in Merlin’s wake.
He came upon the river and followed it upstream until he found the ford, dry in
summer, the bed just a random sweep of pebbles and gravelly wash.
He’d managed to stave off anxiety on the way, but now, so close to the private
little glade where he’d be meeting Arthur, there was a pull at his belly, a low
thrum churning his guts into nervous froth.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what Arthur had said, the way he’d said it, and
it was just like years ago when one of them had casually mentioned Xbox and
they'd both known immediately what they were about to do. He’d loved the
dangerous thrill of it, the possibility of being caught, and most of all, the
anticipation.
It seemed impossible that Arthur would want to revisit their game. Arthur, for
god’s sake. It was hard to comprehend. When they were kids their default
setting had been ‘glued together’, but now Arthur had choices, he’d already had
a life without Merlin. He had other close friends. And he was so—
Merlin shook his head to dislodge the glittering, sunbathed lens flare which
had been backlighting thoughts of Arthur since the wedding. Walking in silence
was leaving him way too much time to think.
He walked on, crunching twigs and scuffing grass under his feet as he followed
along the curve of the riverbank, cutting through thin beams of what remained
of daylight. He came upon the place where a tree had fallen long ago, now just
a thick, half-rotted log, almost clearing the width of the river. He’d left
skin on that log more than once. He gave it a respectful nod as he passed.
Almost there.
Then, the trees cleared a little, and here was Arthur with his back to him,
crouched beyond the shallow grass sea, his hair alight with the waning orange
sun. Merlin stopped at the edge of the clearing to look at him, taking in the
quiet surety of Arthur’s movements.
To the side of the clearing, Arthur had already put up a tent, and Merlin
couldn’t even look at it, his insides swooping.
He had to think around the idea that they’d be sleeping in it tonight. He and
Arthur. In the tent. What you look like when you wank. Merlin’s spine tingled.
Serpentine smoke rose up on the breeze and as Merlin came closer, he could see
Arthur had already dug the pit and prepared the campfire. It looked like it’d
been going for a while, coals already glowing inside though the fire had been
skilfully kept small. There were blackened foil parcels in it. Merlin watched
the slope of Arthur’s wide shoulders rising and falling as he poked at the
campfire he’d built, covering the foiled potatoes with hot ash and coals.
He’d not been particularly quiet and Arthur must have heard him coming because
he looked over his shoulder, the up-and-down path of his eyes like a hot scrape
from Merlin’s dirty Converse all the way up his reddening face.
“Hey,” Arthur said, straightening up.
“Hey,” Merlin replied, dropping his rucksack to the ground to rub at his
shoulder where the strap had cut in, trying to keep his smile human and not
completely demented.
Arthur looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “You all right? You look
completely demented.”
Merlin’s snort echoed through Pendragon woods like a fart in a canyon and they
both lost it, all the awkwardness falling away as Arthur lunged and Merlin
dodged. They were laughing like mad things and weaving and chasing each other
through the trees, jumping over the campfire and hooting nonsense, scattering
birds out of their perches and sending confused flocks in every direction.
 
 
Nearby, the thin ribbon of the river flowed on, adding a quiet undertone to the
soundtrack of their shouts and it all felt so perfect: Arthur’s competently
built camp and his quick, tanned legs in cargo shorts, knees dirty from
kneeling. The skyline was heavy with oncoming darkness and anticipation. It was
all so perfect Merlin could hardly stand it.
When they’d finally had enough and flopped down to the ground near the fire
both of them were panting and Merlin’s hair was sticking to his neck.
They lay in the grass and waited for the madness to pass. Merlin became slowly
aware that they were touching, Arthur hadn’t been careful when he dropped down,
his elbow digging into Merlin’s arm and their knees brushing, feet tangled
together.
“Regular scout, you are,” he said, rising up on his elbows, eyes panning around
the glade for something else to focus on.
Arthur sat up and looked too, as if noticing his own efficiency for the first
time. “Yeah, well. Ben Affleck's the new Batman and Gwaine didn’t realise and
he was so upset that he had to go home and watch, and I quote, something
special to recover from the brink of crushing despair.”
Merlin let his arms slide out and fell on his back laughing till all he could
see were stars, the night coming on clear and bright above like they were at
the centre of the universe.
“What does that even mean,” he said. Sometimes, conversations with Arthur were
like tripping on cracks in pavements with his arms constantly flailing out for
balance.
He dug his body into the grass, wiggling around to make himself comfortable,
the little campfire crackling away beside them and giving off lots of lovely
heat.
Arthur shrugged, then lay back on one elbow, fingers pulling apart a blade of
grass. "It's Gwaine, so."
"Porn," they both said at the same time, laughing.
Arthur sat and watched the fire and Merlin stretched out on the grass and
watched him, wanting to crawl into his head and poke around all the secret
places. The skin on the back of Arthur's neck was peeling a little around the
edges, vulnerable and soft. Merlin curled his fingers into his palms and looked
away.
“Really hungry now,” he said after a while, staring mesmerised into the sky,
watching tiny swirls of fire sparks turn cold and die in the air above them. He
blinked to clear his eyes and turned again to look at Arthur, found him staring
fixedly back, like he’d been doing it a while. Merlin’s fingers tangled in his
own tee shirt and he said nothing, just looked right back.
“Me too,” Arthur said, and didn’t look away.
“How long’ve those been in?” Merlin nodded his chin at the foiled-up potatoes
buried in the ash, stomach tightening at the way Arthur tracked the movement.
“Tossed them in just before you came.”
Merlin swallowed and mustered up a faint, “Oh. Ages away yet.”
Too anxious to eat anything, he’d walked out on dinner with his mum, still
talking as he scarpered out the door with his warmest hoodie being thrust at
him, Arthur will have someth— no, he said we’d have food there. No mum, it’s
fine, see you later, see— yes, I’ve got my mobile, see you tomor— mum we’re
camping, not trekking in the Himalayas. MUM. All right, ok, got it, I’ve got
it!”
It was entirely possible that he could forget about eating for days with Arthur
staring at him like that.
Arthur’s hair was wild, firelight licking it to sharp relief against the deep
shadows it made of his face. He looked at Merlin over his shoulder, then sat up
until he was a black silhouette in front of the little campfire, nothing of his
eyes visible at all, and yet Merlin had never felt so acutely watched.
“Want to?” Arthur said quietly.
Merlin’s heart began to pound. “Yeah,” he whispered, his throat thick and hot
around it, more breath than word. He let his legs drift slowly apart, Converse
scuffing in the grass. Arthur’s face was invisible with the campfire crackling
away behind him. Merlin felt his eyes as good as hands on him, hot through the
cotton of his shorts, up high on his thighs.
He imagined the glade as a dome, its perimeter marked out as far as the light
from the campfire could reach, a vault they were safe in, somewhere just for
them where they’d never be discovered. Where he could lie like this all night
for Arthur to do as he pleased with him. Despite the warmth, Merlin shivered
and tipped his chin up. Arthur was watching.
“Take off your shirt,” he said, and Merlin—knowing the game so well—did it
slow, catching the hem with arms crossed and pulling up over his chest,
wiggling a little to free it. He’d just eased it over his face when Arthur’s
warm hand cradled his calf, a whispered, “Stop,” catching him with the fabric
bunched and stretched from pit to pit, mostly off but not quite, eyes wide and
arms caught up in the shirt pulled over his head. He stilled. Arthur’s hand
tightened on his calf and Merlin thought about how he must look, body stretched
taut, laid out and waiting. Exposed. He breathed in deep and closed his eyes,
becoming a pliant, willing body for Arthur’s examination.
Arthur’s warm hand slid up past his knee, fingers dipping into the leg of
his shorts. Merlin’s breath stuttered in hot little bursts, but Arthur’s
fingers brushed well shy of where Merlin wanted them before
disappearing. Merlin didn’t want to open his eyes, didn’t want to ruin the
thrill of not knowing, happy to skirt the edge as long as Arthur wanted him to,
despite the thickening pressure between his legs. Because of it. He wanted the
edge to never, ever dull.
Arthur's hands were on his stomach, sliding up and over the ladder of his ribs,
splaying out over his chest. Arthur rubbed at him, warm and soft, first over
the diamond of sparse hair in the centre, Merlin’s mouth falling open at the
teasing, the light tugging. He thought of Arthur’s smooth, muscled chest
glimpsed fresh and wet from the shower and wondered what Arthur thought
of Merlin's his bony chest, its sprinkling of hair. He didn’t seem to be put
off by it. There wasn’t so much of it; fine and dark it dusted out from the
centre of Merlin’s sternum towards his nipples. Arthur’s fingers followed the
trail, hands fanning out. Merlin fought to hold still, to not rise up into
Arthur’s palms.
Merlin’s thoughts tumbled like barrels over each other, he likes that, the way
he goes for them, he likes my— Merlin scrunched his eyes shut and gasped into
his armpit as Arthur roughly thumbed his nipples.
His hands disappeared again but were back within moments to shock Merlin with
wet, slippery fingers. Arthur dampened his nipples in gentle swipes, this way
and that, circling round and round the sensitive skin until Merlin was panting
and struggling not to writhe.
“Merlin, I want to, I mean, can I—”
“Yes,” Merlin said. Whatever you want, do it, do whatever you—
Merlin held his breath, sensing Arthur nudging in even closer and fitting
himself between Merlin's legs. He couldn’t bite back the groan when Arthur
braced himself with hands either side of his waist and bowed over him, blowing
a puff of warm breath over Merlin's wet nipple.
“Oh,” Melin said, the earth falling away from under him, taking his stomach
with it. Goosebumps rose in waves over his whole body, fingers latching onto
the bunched tee shirt, feeling how stretched out beneath Arthur he was, and how
perfectly, deliciously tangled.
He had to see, had to know—
Opening his eyes, Merlin found Arthur concentrating completely on his chest,
riveted to where he’d made Merlin’s nipple harden to a stiff little peak. He
watched unblinking, as Arthur sucked on the tip of a finger, then brought it,
glistening, to rub around and around, squeezing the tip lightly between his
fingertip and thumb, completely captivated by it.
“‘S not wet enough,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin had no warning before Arthur
opened his mouth and let his tongue cover the nipple, licking in slow, open
swipes. Merlin held the groan on his tongue, letting it slip out on a cramped
ah, ahh, his insides rearranging themselves into tingling pretzels. Arthur’s
soft fringe brushed over his throat, feathery and light in time with the
movements of his mouth, and Merlin stretched, hands wrenching around the shirt
for something to hold on to.
                                        
                                        
He’d focused on it so completely that Arthur’s hand between his legs and the
sudden firm press of palm to cock was an utter surprise, his body chasing it,
pushing up with a buck of his hips. Arthur hissed like it was his dick being
palmed, then slowly sucked Merlin’s nipple into his mouth. Merlin watched it
disappear between Arthur’s red lips, the gentle suck making his toes curl
inside his shoes and his head thump to the ground.
“Oh god, Arthur,” Merlin stuttered, and tried to breathe steady, eyes closed so
he could just feel. Arthur hummed and suckled at him with relish, first one
nipple then the other until they were hot and swollen, then back again in soft
and lazy drags of his mouth, fingers circling and testing and squeezing where
his mouth had been. He licked over the trail of hair between them, smoothing
it, licking it down. Merlin closed his eyes tight enough he thought he could
see the stars right through his eyelids.
Arthur gave each nipple a final curling lick, then sat back on his heels,
looking him over with eyes like dark glass reflecting the night, one hand
splayed casually over Merlin’s dick like it wasn’t attempting to jerk its way
out of his pants to meet Arthur skin to skin, the other on Merlin’s chest,
fingers splayed to his sternum.
Merlin's heart pounding against his ribs, thrilled and a tiny bit mortified at
Arthur's close scrutiny. It hadn’t seemed to matter when they were younger,
what they looked like. In fact, the differences were fascinating. It all
mattered now.
                                        
 
Arthur hooked his fingers into the waistband of Merlin’s shorts and slowly
pulled them down, knuckles kissing the skin as he eased them over his hips and
thighs. Lifting to help get them off, Merlin looked down at the tenting bulge
of his cock. Arthur was staring at it, hands trying to wrangle Merlin’s feet
out of his shorts stilling by degrees and falling away as though he’d forgotten
what he was supposed to be doing.
Merlin lay very still, arms above his head. It was like being tethered, arms
tangled in his shirt and his feet in his shorts, with Arthur’s hot stare
weighting him down at the pelvis. He could barely breathe with Arthur between
his legs staring at him like that, heat unfurling from the spot where Arthur’s
eyes bored in, everything inside him alive and thrumming. His chest, wet with
spit, picked up the tiniest stir in the air and he shivered, thinking he’d die
if Arthur didn’t touch him.
Gently, like the angle was weird and he didn’t quite know how, Arthur wormed
his fingers in under the waistband of his pants and lifted it away. Merlin’s
dick slapped on his belly. Arthur grinned, and Merlin couldn't help but giggle.
It was so dirty, and he couldn’t watch, it was too much. He let his head fall
back and looked instead at the clouds skirt over the top of their warm and
sacred dome while Arthur pulled his pants and shorts completely off.
Merlin bent his knees and dug his heels into the grass, feeling the night
breathing on him in little huffs of breeze. Bar his shoes, he was completely
naked, and Arthur completely not, and it was perfect, perfect. Merlin let his
eyes close, Arthur’s strangled, ”Oh my god,” washing over him and taking him
away.
Arthur’s hands encircled his ankles and drew up over his calves, and Merlin got
a real clue of how Arthur felt about his body hair in the repeated sweeps over
his shins, rubbing it up and down, and up again against the grain, catching it
between spread fingers on his way up, up over knee and inside the thighs. He
lingered there with gentle pressure while Merlin let his legs fall open as far
as he could.
By the time Arthur reached his groin, Merlin was panting, cock so hard he
thought he’d come all over himself if Arthur so much as brushed it. He looked
down through slitted eyes, watching Arthur with the tip of his tongue out like
he was concentrating really hard on a problem, like solving the puzzle of
Merlin’s body was keeping him up at night.
Merlin wasn’t sure how much more he could take, though he wanted to take it
all, take everything, be everything Arthur wanted. When Arthur spread his
fingers and combed through his thick pubic hair and weighed Merlin's balls in
his hand with a whispered, wow, Merlin tightened his fists so hard, he heard a
tee shirt seam give over his own harsh grunt.
Arthur came back to himself and grinned a little, the tip of his tongue still
between his teeth.
“You’re basically dick and ribs,” Arthur said, like Merlin was a wonder. Merlin
huffed a laugh, his chest feeling huge and warm inside, and then Arthur’s hand
was on his cock and he forgot to smile, forgot to think, neck craned so he
could see Arthur’s tanned hand on him, lightly squeezing around the base,
fingers still scratching at the hair there like he couldn’t help himself.
Grip loose and testing, Arthur pushed up till he was at the head of Merlin’s
cock, trapping it between his thumb and forefinger, pushing up the sock of
Merlin’s foreskin completely closed over the head.
“Fuck,” he said, holding it there a moment, then pulling back, letting the
cockhead slide out. His eyes were huge. “Fucking hell.”
Merlin's dick was glistening now, smeared with fluid Arthur had coaxed out and
Merlin couldn’t fucking think, it was all he could do to just watch, eyes
feeling like he’d been standing too close to the fire. Before he knew what he
was doing, he finally pulled his arms free of his tee shirt and leaned up on
his elbows, shoulders tingling at the sudden rush of blood, but he had to see,
he just had to.
Echoing Arthur’s words from earlier, he breathed, “Not wet enough,” and watched
with his spine curling in on itself as Arthur held his eyes, licked and loosely
sucked his own finger, trailing a thread of spit down to Merlin’s cock, worming
his fingertip in under Merlin's foreskin and wetting the cockhead.
Merlin groaned, anchoring himself to the ground with fistfuls of grass as
Arthur teased at his dick and played with the foreskin, testing the stretch of
it. When Arthur put those same fingers back into his mouth, Merlin closed his
eyes tight and prayed not to come until Arthur wanted him to.
“Fuck, Arthur,” he said, voice as rough as if he hadn’t used it for days, eyes
squeezed shut and thinking of—
Ah, shit. He couldn’t even think of anything to think of.
“I want to watch you,” Arthur said quietly, and Merlin gave in just like that.
Colour sat high and bright on Arthur’s cheeks.
Merlin swallowed dryly, feeling thin and fragile as eggshell and wrapped
his hand around his dick. Arthur leaned right in and huffed hot air over
Merlin's sweaty skin, making him shiver. "Do it. Pull it. Show me how you get
yourself off."
"Shit," Merlin ground out through clenched teeth as Arthur nudged in even
closer, completely focused on Merlin's cock sliding through the tight ring of
his fingers. Merlin's heart sank a little at how fast this would be. Probably
even faster than the time he started to learn guitar and googled fingering,
subsequently following up with three days which were a complete blur with his
wrist sore from bending it in new and interesting ways to get at his own arse.
Digging his heels in felt more like business and he fucked sweetly up into his
hand, Arthur's slack, lush mouth close enough for Merlin's mind to connect-the-
dots and nearly blank out. Arthur licked his lips and the pull was already
there, already yanking at Merlin's insides as he tightened his hand, working it
in purposeful little twists up near the head just how he liked.
“Arthur,” he groaned, and Arthur's brows drew together like he was the one on
the brink. He cupped Merlin's balls, the pressure warm and firm, and Merlin
sucked air when Arthur tugged a little, just enough to make him feel it,
watching Merlin start to buck and writhe.
Merlin's elbow slid out and the world fell away, heat searing him from the
inside out. He shouted Arthur's name as come shot up his chest and stomach,
shiny ribbons of it while Arthur watched him with his mouth open.
All around them, the dim light crackled, spanning their vault and kissing the
sky just enough to give the night a dirty glow. Merlin collapsed on the ground
with his ears ringing, mind bright like a burst of starlight, searching out
Arthur's wrist to put in his hand so he didn't sink right through the ground,
thinking nothing could ever, ever be like this.
   
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
Frogs.
There were a million frogs croaking along to something, a vague earworm, and if
Merlin could just concentrate, if he could just gather up all the pieces of his
mind that were cooling on his belly…
“Are the frogs doing Yellow Submarine?”
Arthur huffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. Frogs don’t croak along to The
Beatles.” There was a faint scuff of feet and the shift of air nearby as Arthur
moved, but Merlin wasn’t ready to acknowledge it. He let Arthur’s voice wash
over him, a slight rasp to it. A lovely dark edge. Merlin loved Arthur’s man-
voice. “It’s clearly Song 2.”
Merlin just grinned, soaking up the warm summer night with every inch of his
skin.
He became aware of something touching him, light pressure moving across his
stomach. He never wanted to move, bones as absent as if they’d been mulched
deep into the earth, but after a few moments the sensation bordered on ticklish
and he had to come out of the fog to put a stop to it.
At some point, he must have let go of Arthur’s wrist, though he still felt him
nearby, heard him breathing. Merlin didn’t want to open his eyes and let the
world in yet, content just to feel that presence. He was as big as the
clearing, as tall as the sky. He floated and glowed and Arthur was with him,
Arthur whose eyes didn’t skim over him on the way to something else, who
remembered the dumb things, and who’d chosen him above his other friends
tonight whatever bullshit he’d said about Gwaine, Merlin wasn’t an idiot.
Arthur who’d just had his hands on him. Arthur who’d watched him—
Merlin shivered violently. Arthur who’d watched him.
He blinked awake, torn between reliving it in his imagination, and coming back
to reality where the promise of my turn was rolling like an undertow, latent
want lapping in waves at his insides again, knowing he and Arthur weren’t done.
The deliberate scrape and turn along his belly told him they were nowhere near
done.
Arthur was no longer between his legs but was now lying beside him in the
grass. Propped up on his elbow, he’d stretched himself out alongside Merlin
with all his attention focused down on where a little twig he held was sliding
through the splatters of come on Merlin’s stomach.
"Gross," Merlin muttered. Arthur grinned at him through a fan of dark lashes
with his lip caught in his teeth. For a moment, Merlin couldn’t breathe, eyes
drifting shut, shocked at the sudden zap of heat spreading like a layer under
his skin to lick deep and low at his balls, impossibly soon.
Arthur’s fringe brushed his face, firelight thick on his eyelashes and skating
down his nose, flickering over his mouth and turning it peachy gold. You’re
beautiful, he thought, and it was like he’d always known it, but was startled
by it all the same.
And again, Arthur watched him while he watched Arthur, tasting words on the
base of his tongue, feeling them getting heavier the longer they went without
being said, until the dangerous moment had passed and he could swallow the lump
of hot rock they’d become.
A piece of wood cracked wildly in the fire and broke the moment off clean,
blowing up sparks in a little gold tornado. Merlin blinked, tested his body out
with a long, muscle-quivering stretch, wincing at the chafe of dirt on his
backside.
“Thing is, have you got someone?” Arthur said, kind of dazed, like the words
had come tripping out of his brain halfway through a thought.
Distracted by Arthur drawing curlicues on his stomach, Merlin couldn’t manage
much more than a quiet, “What?” He looked up to see Arthur’s brow furrowed like
he was parsing something prickly.
He sensed the burn of Arthur’s eyes over his chest where his nipples were still
red from sucking, down to his belly with its sticky trail of hair. Arthur
dragged the little twig down through Merlin's shiny, matted pubes, over the
crease where his groin met his thigh, lighting Merlin up inch by excruciating
inch with the cruelty of a casual tease.
Arthur’s hand dawdled there, drawing mindless patterns with the little stick
just firm enough not to tickle while Merlin’s lungs tried to recall their
function and his cock gave an optimistic little twitch, then slowly drew it up
again, tracing over the seam of Merlin’s sac, gone suddenly tight and hot and
hot.
“Oh my god,” he said, sucking air through his teeth, watching through the
backlit curtain of Arthur’s fringe as the little twig rooted around his
stirring cock, pushing at it, inquisitive.
“In Cardiff. Have you got. Someone you like.”
“Like… like like?” Merlin said, and burst out laughing at Arthur rolling his
eyes, then folded into an awkward roll with a startled yelp as Arthur’s sticky
fingers pinched hard at the trail of hair beneath his belly button.
“Yes, idiot. Have you got someone you like like.”
Merlin sobered instantly. His face felt hot. “No,” he said, barely heard over
his heart’s deafening clang. “I don’t have anyone.”
Arthur’s eyes pinned him like an insect to a card. “Did you?”
Merlin swallowed heavily and sat up, reaching for his shirt, wiping himself
down with it, wiping away Arthur’s twig patterns. In the back of his mind, he
could already see himself at the laundry sink, rinsing it off before stuffing
it into the back of the washing machine. “Not really.” He held his breath,
willing Arthur to leave it at that.
Arthur sat up too, arms loosely slung around his knees. “So you’re not, like,
pining.”
What. Merlin looked up, confused. “What? For the fiords?”
Arthur grinned, but didn’t take the bait for a game of Monty Python quote-off.
A cold prickle worked its way up Merlin’s spine. Arthur never ever backed off
the trail of things he wanted and Merlin had never ever been able to resist
being steamrolled by that single-minded determination wrapped in the gold foil
of blond and clever and stupidly brave.
“I thought you might have someone, might be missing them, and that’s why,”
Arthur finally murmured like he’d been made to say it at gunpoint, and Merlin
couldn’t help it, he barked a laugh that was much too loud in the quiet woods,
trying to roll away from the resulting headbutt to his chest and yowling at a
sharp stab of twig to his hip. Pining, he thought. Maybe he was pining but not
like Arthur thought.
“Shit,” he said, massaging the dent in his hip, really feeling his nakedness in
Arthur’s suddenly heavy stare. He sat up again, reaching for his pants and
shorts. Arthur watched him dress in silence. Absurdly, Merlin was suddenly more
naked than he had been earlier.
He sat cross legged with a sweaty, ripped bundle of shirt in his hands,
wringing the words out of it, out of himself.
“Only ever had one someone,” he said, breaking through the dam in his chest.
“She was really nice. To me. Really sweet and kind, and wanted to do stuff
together and it was really nice. Was a few weeks before I realised I wasn’t.
Uh. Before I.”
Arthur just sat beside him and said nothing at all, but it was Arthur, who
hadn’t laughed at his tears of frustration when he’d accidentally clicked
SAVE in Chronicles just as Lara fell off a cliff, doomed to return to the same
spot at every load only to die again and again for infinity. This was Arthur,
who didn’t talk about his mum the same way Merlin didn’t talk about his dad,
and it was Arthur, and if he couldn’t tell him then whom could he tell, and
Merlin felt the rush of words before his brain had even processed them.
“I think I might be gay,” he said, a dirty edge to his laugh tasting a little
like hysteria, wanting to slap himself for the tears that stung up the back of
his throat. Cramming the heels of his hands against his eyes, he willed himself
not to—
Unprepared for the rush, he went down sideways, stomach curling around a lapful
of blond head, tan arms tackling him easily to the ground and fucking hell, but
the thrill of being physically overwhelmed by Arthur had always felt this good,
and always would.
                                        
 
There were merciless fingers poking their way under his clamped arms and into
his pits to force helpless peals of pained laughter out of him until he forgot
to be upset and remembered he was half naked and sticks and dirt could hurt
like bastards when one rolled around in them.
“God, you’re a wanker,” he said, laughing, worried his heart would squeeze
through his ribs, the way it clamoured against them.
Arthur grinned like a maniac. “Oh, I’m a wanker,” he said, then pinned Merlin
to the ground with his whole weight until he stopped struggling. A hot nudge at
his hip drew Merlin’s eyes down. His hands made fists, blood flushing him pink
and hot all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked and looked, and Arthur
tagged him down, held very still and let him.
Arthur was hard in his shorts. Merlin couldn’t get his eyes off it. The last
time, after the wedding, Arthur had been wearing snug grey pants that hugged
him from belly to thigh and held everything close and tight and neat. Even when
he’d had his face pushed into Arthur’s leg and literally within licking (oh
god) distance from his bollocks, he’d only seen a hint of what was in there. A
snugly bound, tight package of a hint, perfectly contained. It was clear that
wasn’t the case now- it wasn’t snug and it wasn’t restrained, and it was right.
There.
“Fuck,” he whispered, blood rushing his ears in a thrum, slowly reaching his
hand out to stroke the underside of the bulge, drawing his fingers over the
bunch of pocket and zip that hooded it. Tilting his chin, he gestured to the
tent. “Arthur, come on. ‘S getting colder out.”
Arthur looked up and came in close, so close he painted the words into the skin
at the base of Merlin’s throat with hot, sharp huffs.
“I know what you want,” he breathed, taking Merlin’s wrist and guiding it to
the hot crease high up his thigh where it turned into arse, flexing firm muscle
into Merlin’s palm. “Yeah?”
Merlin’s throat clicked uselessly. Stroking a finger over the crease and just a
little beyond, just a tiny way in between, he watched Arthur’s eyelashes
flutter, a hot pull at his gut reminding him of the things he’d brought with
him in his rucksack.
Merlin licked his lips, wanting and hoping and wanting, so happy Arthur’s need
for efficiency meant the tent was already up. “Let’s go.”
He couldn’t even really remember getting up off the ground, but there they
were, standing almost too close to still be two separate people.
There was a dark scuff on the apple of Arthur’s cheek. Merlin focused on it
completely until he didn’t see it anymore and it was only a smear of dark on a
tan palette. At least this way- looking at Arthur a little piece at a time- he
could breathe. The ridge of cheekbone stretched over living, breathing skin.
The camp, he thought again and again, heart thudding. He made camp and invited
only me, and here they were, just the two of them, just Arthur and Merlin like
they’d always been, like the years in between hadn’t happened. Like they’d been
an intermission. They stood so close Arthur’s breath fanned over his ear,
skimming the shell and finally tipping inside as he spoke.
“Can’t stop thinking about that little kit since you brought it up,” Arthur
said with a self-deprecating little huff, an accidental brush of hair over
Merlin’s ear making him shiver like he’d been licked and then breathed on.
Merlin felt his nipples tighten on that shivery memory, Arthur’s voice roughing
him up inside. “What we used to do with it.”
“God, me neither,” Merlin said truthfully. He’d thought about it constantly.
Hell, he’d been dreaming about it, memories from years ago overlaid with the
entirely new sensation of Arthur’s pants sheathed tight around his finger when
he’d pressed in, and god, just remembering a hint of that hot squeeze of
Arthur’s hole over his fingertip made Merlin’s eyes roll back in his head every
time he’d played with himself at night ever since the wedding. Which was a lot.
His body couldn’t get enough of it, cock filling at the mere idea of Arthur
laid out, waiting to be touched like that. Touched there.
“Is it stupid that I still want to say things the way we used to? Like, I know
it’s not really taking temperature…” Arthur trailed off and Merlin could have
fainted; whether from complete lack of blood north of his belly button or from
sheer fondness at the uncertain edge to Arthur’s voice, or maybe a combination
of both, he wasn’t sure.
Merlin’s neck throbbed at the pulse point, his excited heart beating the blood
to addled froth. He let his eyes wander over the nightscape past Arthur’s
shoulder, shrubs and tall grass whispering in the night, thinking about why
Arthur had asked him that. Merlin supposed that like himself, Arthur couldn’t
imagine anyone else making sense of this. Of them.
“No,” he said quietly, turning his face in, the tip of his nose within a nudge
of Arthur’s cheek and hovering just off, his stomach treacly and tense. “No, I
don’t think it’s stupid at all.”
Safe in the vault of the clearing, Merlin thought about what they might look
like from above, the two of them standing so very close without touching at
all, just sort of breathing around each other’s edges. Merlin’s heart curled
its toes over the edge of something that felt like it might be a really long
drop.
“I like it,” he said quietly, flushing red but not from the fire. He wondered
if Arthur could feel the heat radiating from his face. “The things we say—I
like that they’re just ours. I would never think it was stupid.”
Arthur’s face rearranged into a smile like sunshine even as he stepped away,
the bulge in his shorts unapologetically obscene.
“Good,” he said quietly, catching Merlin's eyes and very deliberately taking
himself with an overhand grip, thumb and fingers squeezing the underside,
fisting himself for show like a pornstar.
Merlin’s brain stuttered and choked around the thought of Arthur wanking like
that without the shorts in the way, of working himself over, fist sliding from
cockhead to balls to plump head again, slow, real slow to make it last. He was
desperate to see, to know what Arthur looked like under there. It had been
years. He wanted to be on his knees in front of Arthur. In front of his cock.
Arthur’s balls would be hairy now, covered with downy fur like his thighs.
Merlin’s jaw slackened, breath coming thickly. He’d see it all if he was
really, really close, he’d see the veins in Arthur’s cock. Maybe he could, oh
god, maybe he could open his mouth and—
Merlin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Arthur’s thumb a ghost in
his mouth. He was as hard as if he hadn’t come in days.
“Get in the tent,” he said roughly, blinking the thought away so he could
function.
Arthur grinned and walked backwards to the tent with his head tilted like a
puppy and his cock tenting his shorts, all hotly golden with firelight up one
side and dark shadow up the other. Merlin couldn’t decide where to look.
Lunging on impulse, he shot out a hand and made as if to grab Arthur’s bulge,
only to have him dance away, laughing. Merlin sprang after him, happiness and
want like wings fluttering at his feet.
Arthur led him for a lap around the campfire, not really running away but using
his uncanny physical awareness to stay always out of reach of Merlin’s hands.
Incredulous, Merlin watched him jog lightly backwards like he was skating,
staying beyond his reach and somehow out of the fire, too. He couldn’t stop
smiling, absurdly pleased Arthur had only become more graceful with age. He
should have been ridiculous, running around with a big tent in his shorts.
Instead, he was gorgeous and sexy. Merlin’s heart jammed up good and proper
into his throat.
Eyes always on Arthur, he narrowly avoided tripping on his rucksack, managing
to snatch it from the ground and following Arthur to the tent at a leaping jog
around the little campfire where their dinner roasted slowly in the ashes,
laughter gradually dying in his throat as the silliness became something else.
It was abrupt, a crackling change in the air as though the weather had turned.
Suddenly Merlin wasn’t following, he was stalking. Arthur leading became Merlin
herding, until Arthur turned and then they were sprinting, Merlin chasing and
crowding Arthur into the tent, almost crashing in through the unzipped wings.
Not laughing at all now, but panting almost into Arthur’s sunburned neck.
They jostled each other inside, hunched over and awkwardly surprised at not
being able to stand upright, until Arthur stilled, then slowly dropped to his
knees, sneaking his hand around Merlin’s wrist to pull him down, too. They
crashed together to Arthur’s soft, red sleeping bag, already rolled out over
the flimsy tent floor, and that was okay too, Merlin thought. That was just
fine, to kneel there with his chest rubbing against Arthur’s back on each
breath. Fuck, that was all right.
Arthur turned and looked at him over his shoulder. “Come on, then,” he said,
his back to Merlin’s front, shoulders against Merlin’s bare chest. He leaned
back into Merlin’s body like a solid, hot wall, but his voice cracked with the
same wrecked tension as Merlin's had earlier. “Better check me over.”
Merlin breathed a giddy laugh. “You know, I never really thought about it
before, but nobody ever said anything about the Xbox. About how you didn’t
actually own one.” He fingered Arthur’s wrists, touching lightly over the
protrusion of bone. Arthur dropped his chin, ear tuned to Merlin’s voice,
already becoming the pliant body for Merlin to have his turn, and the tent was
suddenly, very small and close, the summer too hot in there, concentrated
around their sweaty bodies.
Merlin bit his lip, watching keenly. “Can’t believe I never thought about it
‘till now. We used that all the time, thinking we were so clever and nobody
ever said, what Xbox would that be, then.”
Arthur huffed a quiet snort. “They just assumed I did. Dad always gave us money
as gifts. It’s not like he ever asked what I did with it.” Merlin had been at
each of Arthur’s birthday parties, Mr Pendragon dutifully present, and utterly
absent at every single one.
He tightened his grip a little with gentle intent, sticking on Arthur’s hot
skin, working down from wrists to knuckles, rubbing slow with clumsy fingers.
Slipping still further, he crowded right into Arthur’s back to nose at his
nape, breathing in Arthur’s sweat, his heart full of the way Arthur shivered
and gasped at the contact.
 
                                        
When his fingers drifted and tangled in the cotton hem of his shirt, Arthur’s
breath turned urgent. Merlin pulled the hem up and up, knuckles ghosting over
hot skin until the t-shirt was off. Arthur kneeled in front of him, shirtless
with his hair sticking up, the nape of his neck glistening with a film of
sweat, all dirty pink and gold in the dark of the tent.
He imagined kissing it, kissing Arthur's neck. Opening his mouth over the
topmost knob of Arthur’s spine. Imagined licking over it with the flat of his
tongue, worrying the skin the way Arthur had worried his nipples. Sucking on
it. Merlin closed his eyes for a moment and smiled. No, he couldn’t imagine
anyone making sense of them because he could hardly do so himself. He just knew
what he knew to be true deep inside: that he was Arthur’s to do with as he
pleased. It hadn’t slapped him in the face like a sudden revelation, it just
was. It always was and always would be.
And maybe, Arthur was his, too.
When he opened his eyes again, Arthur was facing him.
“You could have saved it all up and bought an island by now.” Merlin grinned.
“I think that's what Morg did,” Arthur said, grinning.
Not for the first time, Merlin had an overwhelming feeling of rightness about
all of it, that it was exactly as he could have wanted it to be: his and
Arthur’s private world, their secret little life, out of bounds to anyone else.
Like the treehouse, all the more dear for its gappy roof. Completely theirs and
nobody else’s. He was still reeling that it was happening at all. That Arthur
still wanted— that he’d allow Merlin to—
God, it made his skin too small and clammy on the inside to think about it. He
wasn’t brave enough to ask Arthur why, and even less so to ask why me, but no
way was he backing off. No way was he giving this back.
He edged closed still, almost nuzzling Arthur’s cheek where the scruff of hair
over his ear was sweaty and real. “Anyway, whatever. I don’t care. I don't
think it's stupid to say all our things. I like it.” Arthur huffed a surprised
laugh, small and intimate, like a shiver. Merlin let the tip of his nose touch
his skin. “I like when you talk like that. When you tell me what you want. Like
what you said this morning. About watching me.” Merlin swallowed hard and
finally, finally eased the waistband of Arthur’s shorts down far enough for his
cock to slap up against his belly. He'd not been wearing any pants.
Merlin looked down Arthur's body at his swollen dick pulsing to the tune of his
heartbeat, a string of fluid between the engorged cockhead and the superfine
trail of hair running down his belly.
Arthur stayed still, letting Merlin look and look, then hooked his fingers over
his waistband, tipping his chin. “Yeah?”
Merlin hummed. “Yeah. Want to know what else I like?”
"Tell me." Arthur's voice was like sandpaper. Merlin smiled.
“I like it when you’re so still, letting me look at you all I want. I want to—”
he paused, breathing, thinking about how to express the shouting cloud of words
in his mind. He opened his eyes, finding Arthur leaning back on his elbows,
eyes heavy lidded, lips pink and wet from licking. “I want to hold your legs
wide open so I can see. So I can see everything.”
The moment hung suspended in the air between them, fat with tension. The
rhythmic rise and fall of Arthur’s chest snapped into a stutter when Merlin
leaned a little further in, listed just a little deeper into Arthur’s space,
pulled in like a slow magnet. He ghosted trembling fingers over Arthur's knee.
“I want to spread you and touch you there, want to touch your hole, and I want
to feel how hot you are inside,” he whispered, barely able to get the words
out, breath licking at Arthur’s ear with how close he loomed over him to
deliver those words and heart pounding at the thought of it, the tight and
dirty scald of it. “Will you let me, Arthur?”
Arthur sucked in a breath, shallow and sudden like he hadn’t taken one for a
while. He eased back, laying himself out over his red sleeping bag. When they
locked eyes, he looked like a predator. He looked up at Merlin like something
dangerous that wanted to appear tamed. He was glorious, and Merlin had never,
ever wanted anything so badly in all of his life. Gently, he fitted his whole
palm to Arthur’s knee. When he pressed, Arthur gave, knees lazing open,
displaying himself, waiting and watching.
"Yeah," he said, opening a little more, laying right back, easy and lax. "Yeah,
come on."
Merlin gripped Arthur's knee and grinned, slow and dirty, loving how Arthur
tracked his mouth. "Fuck. Yeah."
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
***** The Tent *****
Merlin took a shuddering breath.
Dim light cast by their little fire danced all over Arthur’s naked body. There
was so much to look at, all that skin laid out over the deep red of Arthur’s
sleeping bag; Merlin didn’t know where to start. Arthur’s body was so different
to his own. He wanted to study and memorise it, bit by new and wonderful bit.
Most of Arthur was darkened with all the summer sun he’d chased, but his groin
was a smooth, cream band like he’d been painted pale from hip to hip with a
broad brush. Merlin’s mouth parted dryly, eyes locked on Arthur’s private skin
in utter fascination, his eyes drawn helplessly to the fat cock curving over
Arthur’s hard belly.
Shuffling forward on his knees, he settled between Arthur’s spread legs,
getting as close as he could without touching. Arthur arms were loose by his
sides, his legs open for Merlin to fit between. He was beautiful, and Merlin
wanted him so much he was choking with it. His heart was racing.
There was dirt smudged up the inside of Arthur’s thigh. Merlin glanced up
quickly to see Arthur watching him, a flush riding high on his cheeks.
He pressed his finger to the smudge where it began half way up Arthur’s leg,
collected it with a press of his finger and drew it up to where the brown of
Arthur’s tan abruptly ended and his natural colour began. In the heady darkness
of the tent, the hidden pale skin looked soft and vulnerable. Merlin slowly
pressed his finger into the dip between Arthur’s thigh and groin.
He held Arthur’s legs open with both hands, his own dirty handprints spanning
high up Arthur’s thighs. They’d still be there later when they were done,
Merlin’s handprints showing where Arthur had spread his legs for him, as good
as Merlin saying mine.
Merlin took an unsteady breath and counted down from ten, anchoring his fingers
into the meat of Arthur’s thighs until he’d calmed and could finally, finally
really look at Arthur’s body.
Arthur’s sac was bigger than Merlin’s own, even drawn up tight as a fist and
sitting high in a neat bundle. It was so incredibly smooth. His pubic hair
seemed mostly confined to a tawny, fine little nest sprouting around the root
of his dick, his balls dusted with hair so fine it was barely visible, the skin
drawn taut. Merlin stared, entranced, and sucked his bottom lip in between his
teeth.
Just like the night of the wedding, he reached out and carefully cupped his
hand over Arthur’s balls, imagining burying his face in there and never coming
up for air at all, gorging on Arthur. The ache low in his belly intensified,
cock lying heavy between his legs. He loved every single moment of before, this
deep and throbbing ache most of all, loved feeling the anticipation swell.
Arthur sighed, and Merlin splayed and flexed his fingers over his warm handful,
caging it more firmly. Arthur huffed sharply, his cock jumping against his
belly. He held so, so still that he was hardly breathing, and Merlin,
mesmerised by the sheen of sweaty, glowing skin, leaned in until the warmth
radiating off Arthur’s body bathed his face. Arthur was blushing hot
everywhere, blotches of heat blooming all over his body. Merlin wanted to
devour him. Overwhelmed, he rested his forehead on Arthur’s thigh and gently
squeezed his hand around Arthur’s balls, watching his body’s reactions with a
hunger he couldn’t get the hang of. He shook with the vastness of it.
Leaning in, he closed his eyes, letting the sweaty, tangy scent of Arthur’s
skin, screw inside him on a shaky breath. Beneath him, Arthur tensed, muscles
rippling with a shudder and Merlin felt the power of the moment settle over his
shoulders.
Holding Arthur’s balls in one hand, he inched the other to where Arthur’s taint
turned into crack. It was so smooth here, so soft. Merlin thought he could get
drunk on it, on being so close to the parts of Arthur nobody else would see.
Close enough to lick and kiss him there. His chest tightened with a proprietary
tug.
“I brought some stuff,” he said, looking at where Arthur’s little hole hid in
the shadows. He drew his finger over it, feeling its startled clench like a
kiss on his fingertip. His heart yammered, and he mashed his face into the
muscle of Arthur’s thigh, trying to keep it together, beads of nervous sweat
rolling down his spine.
“Thought about trying to get a replacement doctor’s kit, but it’s not like I.
God, I mean, I didn’t know that you— that we—”
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur rasped and flexed his hips in a shallow thrust,
opening his long legs even wider, settling into the bed of red polyester with a
filthy little grind that made Merlin’s jaw drop.
“Christ,” he whispered.
Arthur folded an arm under his head and watched him, a dirty little grin
dancing at the corner of his mouth.
Merlin huffed a silent laugh and reached for his rucksack, a thrilling
brightness burning under his breastbone.
Arthur rose up on an elbow to look. Merlin's face burned as Arthur’s hawk eyes
catalogued what he’d brought. Apparently satisfied, he tipped his chin and laid
back on the sleeping bag, reminding Merlin once again of something wild
allowing itself to be petted.
“Bring lube?”
Merlin laughed nervously at how easily Arthur had said it, like it wasn’t
something completely new and fucking scary. He shook his head, showing Arthur
the jar of vaseline, trying not to look as though he’d spent a frantic hour
combing the house for things that wouldn’t be missed and could be safely put
inside another person. “Only this.”
Arthur’s mouth quirked up into a one-sided grin. “It’ll do.”
“All right,” Merlin said under his breath, hands shaking as he reached for the
first item he’d lined up on the sleeping bag, then opened the jar of vaseline.
He scooped out a glob and used his fingers to grease the rounded end of his old
wooden drum stick till it shone, thankful as fuck that he hadn’t thrown them
out back when he’d decided to learn to play the guitar instead.
He rubbed the slick over the wooden drum stick until it darkened and gave off a
greasy sheen. Merlin licked his lips and tried to keep his breathing steady. He
crowded in between Arthur’s legs and crouched down, a perfect eyeful of
everything he wanted right in front of his face, Arthur all pinked up and lush
and spread wide.
Merlin cosied up in the V of Arthur’s thighs.
In the darkness of his bedroom Arthur had seemed quite hairless, but this close
up and with the haze of the campfire throwing a dull glow on them, Merlin could
see the soft down on Arthur’s body catching light. His skin glowed with it just
like it had in the afternoon sun filtering through gaps in the treehouse. He
was fuzzy like a golden peach.
God, the two of them were so different, like night and day. Merlin felt clumsy
and awkward next to Arthur’s lithe grace, but it only made him want Arthur
more.
It was almost allowed now that Arthur knew about him. The relief of voicing it
had been amazing, though Merlin’s stomach was still tense from the adrenalin
rush. He had no idea what this was anymore only that he needed it to never end.
Merlin blew a light breath, aimed to stir the delicate fur on Arthur’s balls.
He edged a little closer still, watching the skin tighten, Arthur’s balls
rolling and settling under the skin, stirred by his breath. Feeling bold, he
pressed the back of his sticky hands to Arthur’s thighs and nudged them further
apart, getting a really good look at all his secret places.
Arthur’s skin was darkening, flushing with blood. He looked so good. Merlin
wanted to kiss him there, have him in his mouth. Just to hold him there, to
taste him. Merlin wanted him so much that it hurt to breathe.
“God,” he groaned, hand clenching around the drum stick, face as close to
Arthur’s skin as he dared. When he touched Arthur with the tip of the stick,
smearing a glistening trail over the pinked skin of his taint, Arthur’s belly
tensed and he sucked in a startled breath.
Their eyes locked for a moment over the swell of Arthur’s rigid cock. Somehow,
the words were right there.
“Are you ready for your check-up?”
Arthur’s brows drew together and he gave a small nod.
Merlin sank his teeth into his lip and went to work, absolutely captivated by
the reactions of Arthur’s body to his curious prodding and rubbing with the
oiled-up drum stick. He circled the curved bulb of the stick all around
Arthur’s entrance, swiped it up the thick seam of flesh above it and up further
to where the tight knot of Arthur’s balls contracted at its touch.
Arthur gasped shallow breaths, Merlin teasing him with light caresses. His
belly quivered and tensed. He was gorgeous, laying himself out for Merlin to
examine and play with.
He found where Arthur liked it best, the place that made him hold his breath,
then came back to it time and again with light, sweeping touches of the stick.
He left Arthur’s thickly swollen cock entirely alone, concentrating on the
dusky clench between his cheeks. With his free hand, he kneaded Arthur’s cheek,
spreading him open a little more, eyes glued to the way Arthur’s hole seemed to
kiss the air in response. God, that thick muscle felt so amazing to grab and
squeeze, he wanted to use both hands to pull apart the rounds of Arthur’s arse
and had to close his eyes against the thought, suddenly overwhelmed. All the
while, Arthur lay still, letting himself be viewed, examined any way Merlin
liked.
He loved being on the receiving end of Arthur’s examinations too but the rush
he got from making Arthur take it like this was something else. It made his gut
clench, left him heavy and full between his legs. He wanted Arthur to always
feel like this, to have his body attended to in all the ways it loved best, to
test it and find all the places that made it heat up and respond. He looked up
to see the flush that blotched Arthur’s chest and throat, his face turned into
his own arm as though it was too much, even now, before Merlin had really
started.
Merlin ran the rounded tip of the drum stick over the swell of flesh between
Arthur’s sac and his hole, pressing a little harder each time, making Arthur
feel it. Arthur’s breath came faster and Merlin slowly let the tip of the drum
stick slide in the glistening trail of vaseline until it rested against
Arthur’s arsehole.
He licked his lips and watched Arthur’s tiny, puckered hole, react to the
gentle touch. He drew the tip of the stick to the center and pushed in, just a
little, just enough to press the bulb of it into its tight pink heart. Merlin’s
pulse raced. He paused there, loving the precipice and not yet ready to let go
of the heady, tense before.
He licked his lips. “I’m gonna—”
“Yeah,” Arthur whispered. Panning from Arthur’s face to between his thighs,
Merlin slowly pushed the drumstick in, letting it slide inside.
They both held their breaths, shocked by the actuality of the penetration.
The drum stick went in so easily, slipping without effort into Arthur’s hole.
Merlin held it still for a long moment, just staring at where it disappeared
inside his body. He rolled the stem between his fingers, watching it turn in
the tight grip of Arthur’s hole, greasing it with a thick coat of vaseline.
He rolled it this way and that, gently probing inside. Arthur held very still,
covered with a sheen of summer sweat with his head resting on his arm, laid
back and easy as though he was sunning himself at the beach. Only the hot flush
radiating from his skin indicated he was affected. That, and his cock, dark
with blood, hard and curved against the white of his sun-shy belly. He lay back
like a cat, languid but completely, keenly alert of everything Merlin was
doing.
“Open wider,” Merlin said, needing to see better, to see more even though
Arthur’s knees were already spread wide. He let go of the stick and palmed
Arthur’s thighs, pushing, encouraging Arthur to open himself up as far as he
could.
Arthur’s eyes glinted darkly. “Not a fucking contortionist,” he groused, but
still he tried, bracing his feet and splaying his legs further to best present
himself for Merlin’s inspection, rustling the sleeping bag as he rolled his
behind a little—the drum stick protruding from his hole—until finally settling
with his legs spread as wide as they could possibly go.
Merlin watched it all, desperate to miss nothing, his heart in his throat.
Arthur’s lips parted dryly. “Tell me what it’s like.”
“Hot,” Merlin said without thinking, and it was. It really was the hottest
thing he had even seen. “You’re all shiny with the vaseline. You’re all wet
down there. All over your—your hole.” The words felt obscene and right in his
mouth, heating him up inside as they were uttered.
Arthur’s stomach clenched in a shudder and he sighed, pleased as though he’d
been waiting to hear exactly this. “Tell me more.”
Merlin just grinned and pushed the stick in further, slowly but firmly teasing
inside Arthur’s arse with its rounded head, feeling his way around and
experimenting with the angle. All the while, the muscle clenching around the
stick became more relaxed, allowing him a little more freedom of movement.
“I want to check you all out, Arthur. Wanna know how good your control is.”
Everything he said in the close darkness of the tent seemed whispered like a
golden, perfect secret meant only for Arthur’s ears.
“Tell me what you want me to do,” Arthur replied, sounding increasingly
breathless.
“Squeeze it,” Merlin said, then watched spellbound as Arthur clenched his
cheeks at the quiet command, arsehole clamping down on the drum stick hard
enough to almost wrest it from Merlin’s hand.
“Fuck,” he groaned, “That’s it, Arthur. Hold it. Hold it just like that.
Jesus.”
He gave the drum stick a little tug, testing how firmly Arthur clenched around
it and how little give he now had to move it around. He tapped his finger
against it, greedy for how it resisted, twanging while grasped tight in
Arthur’s hole. This was fucking amazing and he told Arthur so, wanting him to
know. Arthur’s lips twitched, letting a lazy, proud grin play at the corner of
his mouth.
“Okay, now relax,” Merlin said, the skin on his arms pebbling with the thrill
of Arthur’s powerful glutes easing down and his hole fluttering. He toyed with
the stem of the drum stick, watching its easy glide through the vaseline.
“It’s going in so easy Arthur, can you feel it? I wish you could see how good
this looks, how it just goes right in, I can see everything, it looks so good,
fuck, looks amazing,” he babbled, not even sure what he was saying anymore,
just wanting to involve Arthur in what he was doing. In what they were doing
together.
He looked up to see the colour high and bright on Arthur’s cheeks and wondered
if being so shamelessly inspected was part of the thrill for Arthur as much as
it was for himself. He loved feeling like Arthur’s plaything.
Arthur had that glossy, wanting look about him now and Merlin felt it all the
way down to his toes, knowing that pull. Arthur looked like Merlin’s favourite,
most treasured toy, waiting to be played with, to be handled in any way Merlin
liked. His heart felt full enough to squeeze between his ribs even while the
rest of him tingled with dirty, hot want.
He pumped the drum stick shallowly just a few more times, then left it poking
jauntily from Arthur’s arse. He sat up a little, sensing Arthur’s eyes tracking
his every movement.
Merlin reached over to his little stash, still spread out in a modest display
over the red polyester of Arthur’s sleeping bag. He took his time selecting
what he wanted, the tension in the tent thickening up until he could almost
taste it.
He dallied, the heat of Arthur’s eyes on him making the fine hair on his nape
stand up. It was near silent now; the only sound carried through the night
forest was that of the frog song by the water and the rush of blood past
Merlin’s own ears.
He finally made his selection and casually lifted the large soup spoon, letting
Arthur see the metallic glint of it before kneeling between his legs. He looked
up to find recognition flicker across Arthur’s face.
Just one look at that everyday object—here, in this context—had transported
them both back to the treehouse, the smell the damp wood, the creak of the oak
which sheltered it, and both of them covered with an array of variously
acquired scrapes and bruises, hair wild but eyes trained in quiet study of each
other’s changing bodies. It had encompassed their whole world and they had both
been sure the long days of summer were going to last forever; before Merlin had
broken the spell by moving away.
They’d done this often, using an antique silver spoon. It had lost its matching
mates decades ago in the service of the Pendragon family, and had at some point
been relegated to the odds and ends drawer. There it had languished until found
by two inquisitive boys with no limits on their imagination. That particular
spoon had been lost years ago, but then, it had never been about the spoon
itself.
Just as he did back then, Merlin now lowered the spoon and gently cupped it
around Arthur's balls.
Arthur jumped at its cold touch but soon relaxed again, sinking back down onto
the sleeping bag with a sigh.
“Yeah, god,” he whispered, breathing hard as Merlin weighed his balls in the
spoon, massaging them within the cold silver cradle. Resuming his hold on the
drum stick, Merlin lifted and held Arthur’s balls out of the way with the spoon
so he could once more play with his hole. It was glorious, and Arthur stretched
himself right out again after the initial shock of the cold spoon had made him
tense.
Merlin rubbed the spoon all over him, burnishing Arthur’s cock and balls with
it. He toyed with it, dipping it under Arthur's cock to scoop it in the dip of
the spoon, hefting the tip like he had done with Arthur’s balls, weighing and
testing.
Arthur bit his lip and ground down into the sleeping bag, all of him on
display, the drum stick still inside him and a spoon scooping up his purpled
tip. He looked at Merlin with eyes wrecked by pleasure.
“Tell me,” he demanded, and Merlin did, so Arthur could see himself through his
eyes.
“You know how you wanted to watch me wank?”
Arthur jerked his chin in a tight nod.
Merlin swallowed dryly, the rush of talking about it burning its way up into
his chest. “I want to watch you too.”
Arthur’s voice was hoarse. “Watch me do what? Say it.” Even on his back with
his legs spread wide, he commanded an air of authority that would not be argued
with.
“Wanna see how you fuck your hand. Want you to rub off real slow so I can
watch.”
Arthur remained silent and the heat inside the tent became so stifling, Merlin
thought he’d combust.
After a long moment, Arthur slid an arm out from beneath his head and rested
his hand on his chest. His fingers scruffed through the dusting of near-
invisible hair on his pecs as though they’d found themselves there
accidentally. He brushed his knuckles back and forth and Merlin realised that
he wasn’t just taking a detour on the way to his cock; Arthur was showing him
what he liked. He was letting Merlin see exactly how he touched himself.
When he rolled a nipple between finger and thumb and gave it an unhurried pull,
Merlin’s stomach dipped. He was painfully hard, and all the while Arthur played
with his own nipple, rubbing it into a hard nub with his bottom lip wedged
tight between his teeth.
“Fuck,” Merlin groaned, and sudden inspiration made him set aside the spoon and
slide a finger into his mouth, then circle it—wet with spit—over the nipple
Arthur had worried into a stiff red peak.
Arthur groaned, the drum stick in his arse jumping as his body tensed.
“Squeeze again,” Merlin breathed, purely for the pleasure of having Arthur do
as Merlin told him, and watched the wooden stem of the stick rise and fall
under pressure from Arthur’s clench.
“God that’s hot,” he moaned, and Arthur sent him an evil little grin even as
his hand finally travelled down and down and down to rest in an easy grip
around the root of his cock.
“I’m gonna try putting something else in,” Merlin said, attempting to keep his
voice steady, watching Arthur’s lazy fingers begin to set a rhythmic stroke.
Arthur lost the grin but ground his arse over the sleeping bag to open himself
right up, thighs splayed in invitation.
Merlin found what he wanted straight away and didn’t bother delaying it, the
anticipation already so high that he literally couldn’t wait to get the candle
he’d brought up inside Arthur’s body. He almost knocked the jar of vaseline
over in his hurry to grease it up. When it shone with a good coat of slick, he
held it up for Arthur to see.
“Can I—”
“Do it,” Arthur said at the same time, and after a beat, they grinned at each
other and Merlin gently pulled the drum stick free, setting it aside.
Spreading Arthur open with one hand, he slowly pushed the elegant blue candle
into Arthur's softened, glistening hole.
Arthur’s eyes fluttered shut and he groaned as the candle—tapered to a narrow
tip but much thicker at the base than the drum stick had been—loosened him up
with a wet-sounding pull through the thick coat of vaseline.
“Oh yeah, fuck,” Merlin said, breath coming hot and fast as he watched the
candle disappear inside Arthur’s body, only to pull it out again, captivated by
the way Arthur’s hole clung to it on the pull, as though it didn’t want to let
it go.
Starting shallow, Merlin began to set a steady rhythm of driving the taper in
and out again, fixated on the easy feel of it, the way it slid in and out so
beautifully.
Merlin pumped it a few times, so turned on by the sight of Arthur’s pink hole
opening up around the posh dinner-table candle that his balls were throbbing,
until it suddenly dawned on him that he was literally fucking Arthur with it.
He was fucking Arthur.
A bit startled by the clarity of this thought, he slowed his movements, then
glanced up at Arthur to make sure he was still okay with all this, but Arthur
wasn’t looking anymore. He’d draped his arm over his face and was panting open-
mouthed into his bicep.
“Holy shit, Arthur are you okay?”
“Don’t you fucking stop,” Arthur ground out through his tightly clenched jaw,
eyes slitting open with a dangerous glint.
“Oh,” Merlin whispered, then firmly gave the candle a nice slow push, sinking
it in as far as he could without losing his slippery grip on its base.
Arthur gasped and took it. He was flushed and sweaty, streaked with dirt from
dicking around the clearing while preparing the fire and the tent, and
absolutely the single most arresting thing Merlin had ever seen.
“Christ, Arthur, how are you so fucking hot,” The words fell out on a breath.
Merlin hadn’t meant to say them, but now that they were out, he felt scraped
raw, beyond caring if Arthur found out how he felt about him.
He was fucking Arthur with a candle.
And Arthur liked it.
Merlin bit down on a groan and palmed a handful of Arthur’s gorgeous, meaty
arse even as he fucked it.
This was it. This was everything Merlin had not even dared to imagine. He’d
probably be dreaming about this for years to come and he wanted Arthur to know
how profoundly he’d been affected. He wanted to fuck him just right, wanted
Arthur to feel so good, wanted nothing more than to please him and bask in the
look of pleasure he’d helped put on Arthur’s face.
He was so engrossed in watching Arthur’s hole swallow and suck at the candle
again and again, that he was completely thrown off guard by Arthur's hand
shooting out and catching his wrist in a desperate halt.
He looked up to catch Arthur’s chest hitching startled breaths, his whole body
trembling and stiff as a board. The grasp on his wrist was hot iron.
"Fuck, did I do something, are you—Arthur?"
Arthur's breath stuttered through heaving lungs. He seemed to be poised on an
edge and Merlin stilled completely, trying to work out what had happened.
Arthur's cock was so dark with blood that the head was almost purple, veins
prominent, the shaft thick and completely ramrod stiff. It gleamed with a fat
bead of moisture at the tip. Merlin licked his lips, his own body lighting up
in response.
Arthur's whole body was flushed a deep, warm hue. Even his nipples had
darkened, rising in stiff peaks. His eyes were open wide in surprise.
"Merlin, that's—oh my god.”
Arthur’s grip on his wrist didn’t falter, but he pushed down on it,
manipulating Merlin’s hand until the candle in his grip stroked inside him at a
slightly different angle. He pulled at his arm once, twice, and just as Merlin
was getting the hang of where Arthur wanted him, the grip on his wrist suddenly
tightened again as Arthur’s gave a strangled yelp.
For a moment, Merlin thought he'd done something horribly wrong, but then
Arthur's eyelashes fluttered and his chest reverberated with a deep groan.
Experimentally, Merlin moved the candle, circling the tip over and over the
area that seemed to be doing something amazing inside Arthur's body. Whatever
he'd found, it made Arthur breathe fast and his cock hard as fuck. Merlin
watched in shocked amazement.
“There?” He asked, tilting the tapered candle tip to press where Arthur seemed
to want it, observing his body's reactions.
“Oh god, ohgodohgod,” Arthur said, voice thick and husky, a plump driblet
sliding off the head of his cock and onto his belly. Their panicked eyes found
each other in the dark of the tent. “What the fuck, Merlin.”
Merlin had no bloody idea, but whatever was making Arthur sweat and pant like
this couldn’t be all bad, and he was definitely into finding out more.
Gently, he stroked Arthur inside with the candle, watching the pink tip of
Arthur’s tongue dart between his lips and his face contort with pleasure so
intense it looked a little like pain.
“Arthur?”
“Yeah,” Arthur croaked, his throat working and his chin tipped up.
“I want to see how hot you are inside,” he whispered, overcome by all the
barriers they’d bulldozed already. “Can I?”
Arthur’s throat clicked dryly as he swallowed. “Yeah, come on.” He took the
candle from Merlin’s hand and twisted it around inside himself, pumping it in a
few times until his body shuddered to a halt. Merlin froze, knuckle deep in the
jar of vaseline. Arthur’s dick dribbled another fat bead of fluid.
“You okay?”
Arthur groaned and his cock jumped, slapping against his stomach. He fucked
down on the candle and Merlin just about bit his own tongue off. He trembled
with a surge of excitement so overwhelming it felt like he might pass out.
“God,” Arthur groaned, “Stop yapping and get your fucking finger in me
already.”
Merlin barked a nervous laugh and greased up his hand. What Arthur wanted,
Arthur got.
He slid the candle out and put it aside, unable to take his eyes off the little
bunch of pink muscle between Arthur’s cheeks. He pressed his finger against it
and tested the resistance, then pushed past it into the hot clasp of Arthur’s
body. Arthur cursed and threw his arm over his face again. Merlin wanted to
wreck him.
“So soft in there,” Merlin murmured, pushing slowly in and out, Arthur’s hole
clenching erratically down on his finger like Arthur wasn’t completely in
control, his body simply responding to the stimulation.
“Tell me,” Arthur demanded.
“Holy shit, Arthur, it’s soft, and so tight, Christ, so warm inside,” he said,
then took a moment to shiver through gut-clenching want, suddenly feeling the
phantom grip of Arthur’s hole around his cock. He squeezed his eyes shut and
groaned, pushing his finger as far as it would go, feeling it disappear into
Arthur’s body.
Arthur’s breath stuttered and he made throttled sounds, biting down on his lip
like he was trying to hold it together. Merlin fingered him with slow,
deliberate pumps, eyes darting between Arthur’s arse and his face, soaking up
all of Arthur’s pleasure.
“Find it, Merlin,” Arthur moaned, and Merlin shuffled as close as he could get,
then went to work, pushing up and crooking his finger a little to try and find
the spot that had made Arthur yelp earlier, wondering how he’d know.
He couldn’t seem to get his finger in deep enough and after a few more pushes,
Arthur’s hole clenched around him, softening a little more. Feeling like he was
exploring a new world, Merlin carefully watched Arthur’s face as he pulled his
finger out until only the tip rested inside Arthur’s rim, then slowly pushed
back in with two. Arthur huffed a startled breath, clenching down on him.
“Easy, easy,” Merlin crooned, “I think I can get in deeper now, do you want me
to—”
“Yes,” Arthur choked out, and Merlin watched in amazement as Arthur visibly
made himself relax, shivering all over like a startled animal. “Find it, come
on,” he moaned, plaintive and desperate, and Merlin’s mouth fell open as Arthur
ground down on his fingers, hips rolling in an effort to fuck himself just
right until they found the right spot inside him again.
“Shh, let me just,” Merlin muttered, flattening his fingers and stretching them
out, feeling around and marvelling at how hot Arthur’s hole was inside, how it
hugged his fingers. It was all so soft and giving in there, like sliding his
fingers into a hot, sucking mouth. He groaned at the thought and leaned in
close to see his fingers disappear, swallowed by Arthur’s hole again and again.
He had no idea if they’d find that spot again but Arthur seemed to love it
anyway.
“Tell me how it feels,” Merlin said, his arm steady and thrusting, hungry eyes
watching Arthur’s every breath, ears soaking up every gasp.
“Fuckin’ weird,” Arthur said, breathy and panting, “so fucking weird, but like
the top of my head’s gonna come off. Like I’m gonna fucking die.”
Merlin grinned and switched it up a little, crooking his fingers, searching. He
couldn’t really sense anything different inside, all of Arthur hot and slick
with vasoline, but Arthur panted and writhed, knees spread wide over the
shadowy red of his sleeping bag. Merlin had started to think it had all been
some sort of fluke, when Arthur cried out and suddenly tensed, more fluid
dribbling free from the slit of his cock.
 
 
Merlin’s thoughts lit up with a wild sense of victory, and he probed intently
at the same spot, over and over while dark heat rose over Arthur’s chest and
throat in the gloom of the tent, his cock pulsing against his flat belly and
his chest bursting with hurt little sounds that had Merlin on the brink
himself.
“Oh god, oh my god, theretherethere Merlin, Mer— oh,” Arthur cried out, shocked
wide eyes locking with Merlin’s as his body started to lock down around the
fingers pumping in and out of his arsehole. Tingling with a rush of adrenaline,
Merlin pressed and pressed, looking for that spot, searching for some way to
recognise it, to find it again. Arthur’s hand drifted to his cock but he didn’t
even get a chance to grip it before a rope of thick come started to pump
steadily over his chest and stomach, slapping wetly over Arthur’s flushed skin.
Arthur shouted, clamping hard around Merlin’s fingers, crushing them together
until Merlin hissed with pain. The abandoned spoon gleamed at him and Merlin
quickly placed it under the tip of Arthur’s dick, catching the last of his come
in it, filling it up. Arthur head dropped back with a rough groan, legs falling
limply. Slowly, Merlin slid his fingers out, watching as Arthur’s hole closed
up pink and puffy. Merlin leaned down to watch it contract, his mind awakening
with the realisation that what he was seeing was beautiful, and private, and
just for him. Arthur had let Merlin fuck him there. Had let Merlin touch and
poke and examine him there with his fingers. His chest felt warm and full.
Merlin licked his lips absently, the strong scent of Arthur’s sex thick in the
air of the tent. God, he wanted to lick it, to lick Arthur’s hole. Merlin
squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip, letting his head rest on Arthur’s
thigh, horrified and darkly excited at the thought, wondering if Arthur would
punch him if he tried.
“What are you gonna do with that?” Arthur said hoarsely. Merlin blinked,
looking up at the spoon still held in his hand. Arthur's come glimmered in it,
a shallow pool of white.
Anticipation sat heavy and thrilling in Merlin’s gut. “What do you want me to
do with it?”
“Take your medicine,” Arthur said quietly. “And then give me mine.”
“Fuck,” Merlin moaned, easing up to his knees and beginning to stroke himself
off even as he lifted the spoon to his mouth. Arthur watched him pant over it
and it was that, Arthur’s watchful, heavy gaze that tipped him over again,
swallowing a spoonful of Arthur’s bitter come, then quickly using the spoon to
catch some of his own in it as it dribbled to the sleeping bag between their
tangled legs.
Arthur sat up, his presence warm and big in the close air of the tent. He
opened his mouth, and Merlin lifted the spoon, eyes locked on each other as
Arthur slipped his mouth around it, swallowing Merlin’s come in turn. Merlin
groaned, spine still zapping with the echo of his orgasm.
Arthur grinned at him, and Merlin huffed a laugh.
 
 
“We are so fucking rank,” he said, then found himself face down on the sleeping
bag with Arthur’s knee in his back, and his fingers digging into all the tickly
soft spots Arthur could still somehow unerringly find even after all these
years, shouting, ”Uncle! For fuck’s sake, UNCLE!”, laughing so hard he thought
he’d puke, until Arthur was satisfied and they sprawled into a sweaty, boneless
pile.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
They dug the little foil parcels out of the ash of the campfire, flipping
several onto the ground between them and carefully unwrapping their potatoes.
Merlin hissed at his scalded fingertips. Arthur slapped him lightly upside the
head, fondly called him an idiot and passed him a stick to fold the foil back
with.
The potatoes were wonderful. Peeling the blackened skins off sent Merlin
directly back to his childhood again. He felt warmed inside out by the comfort
of their simple taste and of sharing them with Arthur who sat next to him with
miles of skin glowing warm orange in the dying firelight.
“Still a bit hard. Next time might microwave them first,” Arthur said, hissing
around a hot mouthful, sounding a bit pleased with himself regardless of the
less-than-perfect cooking.
“Don’t worry about it,” Merlin said, laughing, a bit pleased with Arthur too,
stomach rumbling to remind him he’d only had an apple earlier and his body had
worked hard since then. “We figured out something to do while we waited.”
Arthur’s answering grin was positively wolfish.
The woods had grown quiet, the trees guarding them, keeping them safe in a
shaded, natural henge. Merlin thought he could live in this moment, live in it
over and over and never get tired of Arthur’s face profiled by the campfire,
the fuzz on his legs aglow and the warm length of him all along Merlin’s side,
but exhaustion caught him unawares.
Too tired even to chat, they kicked dirt over the fire and and made a pile of
the discarded foil.
Inside, the tent reeked. Arthur groaned and flapped the wings of the opening a
few times, but it was useless. The scent of sex clung to the fabric walls.
“Smells like your socks,” Arthur said, holding his nose in an exaggerated
pinch.
“More like your balls,” Merlin said, grinning, and tried to duck but Arthur was
fast, and somehow found the energy to manhandle Merlin into a headlock for a
noogie. A few short punches to the kidney made him let go, though he was
laughing like a lunatic, still tugging on a fistful of Merlin’s hair.
They spread out their sleeping bags side by side, the red and the blue. There
was a weight to the moment. A gravity Merlin remembered from when they did this
years ago after calling one another on the phone and saying the secret words.
He knew now that Arthur and he had both had butterflies scuffing their insides.
Back then, he’d thought it was only him and he’d never even given any thought
as to why.
Arthur undressed without an ounce of modesty, powerful muscles moving beneath
the skin, his stomach folding as he hunched to pull the t-shirt over his head.
His hair foofed out with the cling of static, sweat staining it dark on the
nape of his neck and around his ears. He crawled onto his sleeping bag and
bonelessly flopped down on his belly.
Arthur’s back was broad, his shoulder blades wider than Merlin’s handspans.
He’d flung his arms carelessly over their makeshift bedding. Merlin remembered
that back and how long and boyish it had been once, the knobs of Arthur’s spine
pebble-round in torchlight.
His old sleeping bag had had aeroplanes on it. Merlin thought that they looked
like they were really moving when the moon slid over them through the gap in
the treehouse roof. He could picture the toys too, the Doctor kit open beside
them, the dear, plastic things from the little kit spread around their knees
and between their legs, innocent and also absolutely, completely not.
Merlin would never, ever forget.
 
 
He lay down on his own sleeping bag, flat on his belly beside Arthur and for a
little while he just looked at him. Perhaps sensing he was being watched,
Arthur turned his head and pillowed it on his arms. For a while they just
looked at each other in the silence of the dark tent. Slowly, Arthur’s eyes
drifted shut, his face relaxing in sleep.
Merlin closed his eyes too, squeezed them shut until he found brightness there,
holding on to the memory of Arthur’s pointy-elbowed boy arms flung out over the
duvet, up with the planes, flying into the blue.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
 
“Can’t just leave him there, he might get hurt or—” Merlin said, trying to
catch his breath, shock and delight at going through with it mixing into a
nauseating cocktail in his belly. Arthur didn’t even slow down, red Converse
slapping wetly through the puddles, sending sheets of mud flying onto neat
tufts of cottage garden either side of the driveway. The mansion lay straight
ahead, a smear of black against greying sky.
“D’you wanna get rid of him or not,” Arthur said, looking back over his
shoulder with a scowl, hair plastered to his face with drizzle and sweat.
Merlin’s brows drew together, as much from the effort of hard sprinting as from
the dilemma of worrying about the prank they’d just pulled on Arthur’s younger
cousin, come to stay for the weekend and intent on,”. . .getting under my feet
and into my stuff and bloody sucking up to all my friends,”was how Arthur had
put it, though there hadn’t been anyone else around, only Merlin. “Yeah, but—”
“Then shut up and run!” Arthur shouted, whooping and bouncing into a massive
puddle with both feet, Merlin barely putting his arm up in time for it to take
the brunt of the dirty spray of water.
He skidded to an ungainly halt to wipe his face, watching Arthur power up the
driveway, long legs taking him further and further away with every second and
Merlin looked back down the path but there was no sign of Mordred, and the sky
had finally decided it wasn’t just gonna spit random globs of water on him but
would rain properly after all. His shirt stuck cold to his shoulders and it had
occurred to him already that what they did to Mordred was cruel and stupid but
now even more so because of the rain. Mordred was only short and he’d not get
out of that hole by himself; they had to go back, but when Merlin turned back
to catch Arthur up he could barely make him out through the downpour and—
“Oh for fuck’s sake - Arthur! Arthur wait! Arthur waaaaaaaaaaaaait!”
Merlin startled into waking, the rich smell of autumn rain still vivid in his
nostrils, the echo of his scared shouts ringing loud in his ears. He blinked
until the haze above became the cross section of tentpoles, the dream
dissipating into whispers.
They’d nearly killed Mordred that day, or maybe it was just what the adults had
told them to shame them into contrition, Merlin wasn’t sure. The details might
have been lost but he recalled with perfect clarity the way Arthur had taken
all the blame after, standing straight as a poplar unbending under his father’s
glare and how red and filthy Mordred’s face was when he’d been dragged up from
the ditch where they’d left him for a lark, knowing the nosy little shit
couldn’t follow them out on his own. Merlin had never seen Mordred again after
that. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and wondered whatever
became of him and if he ever came to stay again or if the Pendragon mansion had
been blacklisted as a school holidays destination. Maybe he’d ask Arthur.
Merlin turned his head to Arthur’s sleeping bag.
Arthur, who wasn’t in the tent.
Merlin rubbed life into his face, found a crumpled ball of tee shirt, stained
and heaped into a corner along with a sock and the remains of some kind of
winged insect—gross but still better than faffing around naked—pulled it over
his head and prepared to brave the morning after.
 
                                     ~ ✧ ~
***** The River *****
The clearing was empty and Merlin zeroed in on a nearby tree to piss against
while he looked around for Arthur. The sun was already quite high; it looked to
be as late as mid-morning but he couldn’t be arsed going back to the tent to
look for his phone to check the time.
The fire had long burned down to ashes, the discarded potato foils lying around
it in a necklace of crumpled silver balls. Merlin's nose tingled with green
freshness that sat at odds with his clammy body. His hands were sticky and he
scratched at the flush creeping up his neck, remembering what he’d done with
those hands, where he’d put them, sinking them in all the way, knuckle deep.
Remembering Arthur’s gorgeous sounds.
“Christ,” he muttered, gritting his teeth on a wave of arousal and followed the
summer frogsong to the water. Arthur couldn’t be far away and Merlin needed
him, needed to see him, suddenly desperate to make sure everything was okay
between them, that Arthur hadn’t snuck off upset with what they’d done. Upset
with Merlin.
Carefully picking his barefoot way down to the river’s edge, Merlin stood with
his toes digging into the sparse leaf-littered grass lining its bank. It was
such a beautiful spot. He could appreciate it a little more now; yesterday he
had been completely blind to anything but the sweet thrill of spending time
alone with Arthur.
First things first: he might as well wash. Merlin shucked his tee shirt, then
carefully eased his dirty feet through the legs of his shorts. He picked a way
in between thick tufts of cattails and held their flat blades aside with his
hands as he stepped into the morning-cold water, wincing at its unforgiving
creep up his shins. Wading in, Merlin curled his feet around the slippery rocks
lining the riverbed, arms out for balance. Muttering, "Shit, shit shiiiiiit,"
under his breath, he slowly got used to the frigid river, sucking air through
his teeth as it speckled high up his legs, shocking his skin into goosebumps. A
tiny fish flashed silver under the surface and brushed by his ankle, and he
teetered in surprise, flailing out to keep upright.
"Try and stay on your feet, idiot," Arthur said and Merlin shielded his eyes
with his hand to look up into the sunshine bursting through the trees above.
Arthur had climbed a tree growing on the bank and now sat astride a branch
which extended over the water. He’d spread a towel over it and his naked thighs
lay relaxed on either side of it, feet dangling down. Merlin grinned big, his
heart clamoring inside his chest.
The light sneaking in through breaks in the foliage gave Arthur a flickering
glow, turning his hair into yellow fluff. Merlin’s stomach felt as though
someone had taken a whisk to it, scrambling his nerve endings into a frenzy.
Merlin blinked away tears gathering in the wake of staring into the sun and
looked down so Arthur wouldn’t see.
“You been in yet?”
“Mmhm,” Arthur said, and Merlin nodded, wading a little further in until the
water skimmed the white of his thighs. His balls drew up in anticipation. It
really was bloody cold, but in for a penny, in for a pound; he stopped moving
and let the soft silt squeeze up between his toes, braced himself with a deep
inhale and folded up for a sudden dunk. He came up laughing, blood singing and
every inch of skin wide awake.
"Christ, it's fuckin' freezing!"
Arthur laughed. “I’ve been waiting for the sun to come over a bit more before I
go back in for a proper swim.”
“Soft,” Merlin muttered, then shot a look up from under his lashes.
Between the water and sun in his eyes, he thought he saw Arthur grin, then
plant a foot on the branch and launch off his perch, hitting the river in a
bomb not far from where Merlin stood shivering in waist-deep water. Merlin
shrieked, hands out to shield his face from the spray.
“Oh my god, you utter knob,” he shouted, then laughed as Arthur sputtered to
the surface, wet hair stuck flat to his face. “Are you all right? It’s not deep
enough for diving in, you’ll break your bloody neck!”
Arthur shook himself off like a wet dog and briskly rubbed his arms and chest,
bringing blood to the surface in pink blotches. His nipples looked rock hard,
the shadow between his legs indistinct under the water. Merlin sucked on his
lip and made himself look away.
"Don't worry, big girls’ blouse, I know where it's safe. Been jumping off that
tree for years," Arthur said, panting from the cold shock. But for all his
words, he waded to the bank and found a soft spot of muddy flat where he
stretched out on his stomach with the apple rounds of his arse barely sticking
out of the water, dappled sunlight dancing on his back, feet floating pale on
the light current.
Merlin stayed safely submerged up to his waist and washed himself. He dipped
into the water again and again until he’d acclimatised to the temperature and
his teeth stopped chattering. When he looked up, Arthur was eyeing him over the
curve of his shoulder, face pillowed on his arms. And just like that, Merlin
wasn’t cold anymore, not at all.
He waded to sit beside Arthur on the river’s edge, close enough to see the fine
down on Arthur’s bum, moisture gathered in the dimples low on his back.
He propped himself up on an elbow and stretched out alongside Arthur’s long
body, belly tingling deep inside. He touched Arthur’s back with his fingertips,
drawing up, then down Arthur’s spine, pulling a wave of goosebumps in his wake
and watching Arthur’s skin pebble. His groin gave a hot throb that left him
breathless.
He drew his hand down, down, fingers skimming between Arthur’s cheeks, pinked
from the water and sun, then watched Arthur open his legs for Merlin’s hand to
fit between. He slid from the bank back into the river, then rode the water
back up to rest between Arthur’s spread legs. He looked up to find Arthur still
watching him over his shoulder. Merlin’s pulse thundered in his throat.
Arthur’s crack was a tantalising shadow, his balls lying beneath. Merlin leaned
in and spread open Arthur’s cheeks between the fingers of one hand. Arthur’s
hole clenched a little, exposed to fresh air.
“I like looking at you,” Merlin whispered. “I like inspecting you.”
Arthur’s breath stuttered. “Yeah?”
Merlin nodded, unable to look away from Arthur’s pink little hole. “I like
examining you.”
Arthur groaned and squirmed down into the dirt.
“Lie still,” Merlin whispered, then blew warm breath on Arthur’s hole, watching
it clench and kiss empty air. Arthur mashed his face into his arm.
Merlin swallowed dryly, knowing what he had to do, what he desperately needed
to do. "Let me," he breathed, greedy for it, wanting so badly. “Let me,
Arthur.” He leaned in, tucking his face between his spread fingers.
He had touched Arthur there only last night but he was still awestruck by it.
Merlin nosed gently at Arthur’s rosy bottom, holding him open with his hand and
marvelling at how smooth his skin was, how lightly haired compared to himself;
he’d never get tired of noticing the differences. There was a small, yellowing
bruise on Arthur’s lower back and tiny bits of river flotsam stuck to the round
of his arse. Merlin nuzzled at him, getting closer and closer to the spot he
desperately wanted to explore and Arthur held so still, as Merlin knew he
would.
His first taste was a light press of lips to the soft flesh. Arthur’s glute
muscles jumped, but he continued to hold still.
“That’s it, Arthur,” Merlin murmured into the dark, damp cleft, almost gutted
with desire at acting out something he’d seen in a porn video, something that
he’d thought weird and horrible about at first but had ended up watching over
and over and never been able to stop thinking about. “Let me check you over.
I’m just gonna check you over.”
Wedging himself in between Arthur’s legs, Merlin laid a series of closed-mouth
kisses all around Arthur’s entrance, feeling the tension in Arthur’s body
thrumming beneath him. His insides pretzelled up in conflict between terror at
what Arthur would think and the blind need to devour Arthur’s arse.
His own quick breath felt heated in the hollow between his hand and face and
the sparse growth on his chin rasped a little against Arthur’s soft skin as
Merlin moved his jaw. Arthur shivered, and Merlin nuzzled at him, rubbing his
chin over the fleshy mound of Arthur’s taint, testing him, greedy for each and
every one of Arthur’s body’s responses.
Frogs croaked in the bushes, a breeze rustled through the cattails, and
Merlin’s back soaked up sunlight as he crowded in close enough to place small,
testing licks around Arthur’s hole. He closed his eyes and nestled his face
right between the fan of his fingers and Arthur’s firm cheeks, finally, finally
touching his little hole with the tip of his tongue.
They both sucked in a breath, Merlin’s insides clenching hotly. Arthur’s
haunches vibrated with tension and his breath stuttered out in surprise. Merlin
pulled back a little, waited a heartbeat watching Arthur’s shoulders rise and
fall with quick breaths, then did it again.
When Arthur didn’t rear up and clock him, Merlin went back in, again and again
with small, teasing licks and then longer, lavish ones, taking his sweet time
until he was kissing Arthur’s hole, making out with it, forgetting to worry. He
was so turned on he couldn’t think, wanting only to wedge his face between
Arthur’s cheeks and stay there all day.
The river lapped at Arthur’s balls and Merlin collected some of the water on
his tongue, licking it up over Arthur’s hole. Between Merlin’s hot tongue and
the cool water Arthur panted and writhed and began to push back on Merlin’s
face, snaking one hand under his body to touch himself - Merlin could see the
cage of his fingers around his sac. He watched Arthur tug and pull at it,
fascinated with finding out how Arthur did it to himself, what he liked, how he
played with himself. Dipping back in, he mouthed wet tongue kisses all over
Arthur's hole, rolling and pressing his tongue in a little, relishing Arthur's
startled moans. It felt so dirty and wrong, and so fucking perfect.
Merlin was brutally hard. He dug his knees into the silt of the river’s edge,
crouched over Arthur and spread him open with both hands so he could bury his
face in him, nose shoved up hard against Arthur’s tailbone and tongue pressed
against the fluttering muscle of his hole. Arthur grunted and opened his thighs
wider. Merlin nibbled and flicked at his hole, bolder and more needy all at
once. His chin bumped against Arthur’s knuckles and he sat up a little, letting
Arthur get his knees under him so he could spread his legs wider, his entrance
clenching at the open air.
“How- how do I look,” Arthur said, breathing so fast. “Tell me.”
“Looks so good, Arthur, you look so fucking good, I wanna eat you out so bad,”
he said, cock throbbing heavily between his legs.
He couldn’t get enough of looking at it, how it glistened wet with his spit,
pinked and puffy from the attention. Merlin’s tongue was tingling and his jaw
ached and he fucking loved it.
“Need to take your temperature again,” Merlin said, Arthur whimpering and
rolling his arse high, presenting himself.
Merlin groaned, hands clawed into the meat of Arthur’s arse, spreading him
wide. He collected some saliva on his tongue, then let it drip down from his
mouth to pool at Arthur’s hole.
“Fuck,” he whispered, rubbing it in with his finger. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
His fingertip went in easy, Arthur’s hole softened with kisses. He let another
fat bead of spit drip down over his finger and pressed in, in and in, both of
them groaning at the breach. Merlin pumped slowly in and out, his own rigid
cock forgotten while he focused completely on Arthur whose balls drew up tight
even as his entrance loosened to accept another finger, more and more spit
easing the way. Underneath, Arthur’s fingers creeped up to feel where Merlin’s
fingers disappeared into his body.
“Oh my god,” Arthur said, his hand starting to move over his cock, elbow
pumping in steady, measured pulls. Merlin matched his pace, spitting at
Arthur’s hole to ease the way, the sound carrying up the river.
“Press down, can you— oooooh yeah, that’s, yeah, god, oh god,” Arthur moaned as
Merlin hurried to follow instructions. He massaged down, patient and
unrelenting until Arthur shouted, his arm stilling while his whole body bucked
and curled in around his climax, his hole clamping down on Merlin’s fingers
just as it had last night. Merlin couldn’t look away.
Slowly, Arthur slumped down, breathing heavy and hot into his own bicep, curled
on his side and wincing a little as Merlin removed his fingers.
He sat back on his haunches, cock throbbing against his stomach but his
attention only on Arthur, the scent of him, pressing his face into him, was
unforgettable. Merlin smiled up into the sunshine, something settling good and
proper in his gut, feeling so right. Everything was all right, and Arthur’s
heaving breaths made him smile like mad. He had done that. Merlin couldn’t
believe he had done that, and Arthur had let him. Arthur had loved it.
Whooping, he launched himself backwards into the river, back slapping through
its calm surface, allowing it to claim him in its cool embrace, the squawking
and flapping of startled birds carrying on the breeze along with Arthur’s
laughter.
                                        
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
“Did you fall asleep?” The sound of Arthur’s voice brought Merlin out of his
light doze. Warmth licked at his body, the summer sun rendering his limbs heavy
and boneless, bright orange haze pudding-thick under his eyelids. He hummed in
response.
Arthur had jumped in after him earlier and they’d swum together, clambering up
the tree and bombing each other from the overhanging branch, diving in the
chest-deep water and pulling the legs out from under each other. Merlin’s
arousal at getting Arthur off so spectacularly had given way to happiness at
how free they could be with each other.
Merlin didn’t think he’d forget this as long as he lived. He wondered if he
would look back on this time as his and Arthur’s halcyon days. The problem was
that in order for that to happen, they had to end.
“This is, like, the best summer we’ve had,” Arthur mused. “Seriously best
weather ever.”
A bee buzzed somewhere close but Merlin couldn’t even muster enough care to
open his eyes. It really had been glorious, day after day of warm sunshine.
Something tickled the inside of his bicep and Merlin twitched, thinking to
dislodge a pesky insect. When the tickling became the pressure of Arthur’s
fingers skimming over his arm and up to his shoulder, Merlin smiled, brows
gathering in consternation. “‘Arthurrrrrrr,” he whined. Arthur flattened his
hand and the tickle became a caress, Arthur palming his bony chest, cupping it
as though Merlin had pecs to cup. He flicked at Merlin’s nipple, pressing with
his thumb, capturing it between his fingers and giving a light tug. Merlin’s
breath caught on a rough exhale. He didn’t open his eyes, focused instead on
what Arthur wanted him to feel.
“You spat on me before.”
Merlin nodded, sucking at his bottom lip, heat rising up his neck. “Sorry.”
“No. I liked it. It was kinda hot,” Arthur said quietly, rolling Merlin’s
nipple into a hard nub, playing with the little garland of hair which grew
around it. Merlin lay in a haze of sunshine and basked in Arthur’s attention,
weightless and aroused. He was floating, trusting Arthur to make him feel good.
“I like all this hair,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s face burned red, knowing he
liked the opposite in Arthur - how brightly coloured and softly furred he was,
more like down than body hair. Their bodies were still changing. What would
Arthur look like in five years? In ten? Would his shoulders gather slabs of
muscle, powerful and solid? Merlin's dry lips parted, skin sticking.
Arthur passed his hand from one side of his chest to the other, the pads of his
fingers pleasantly rough on Merlin’s nipples.
“Your turn for a check-up.”
Merlin licked his lips.
Arthur’s hand travelled down and down, tracing the grooves of his ribs and
playfully pinching at the tufts of dark hair on Merlin’s belly, following it
lower, all the way to the root of Merlin’s cock, thickening against the groove
of his hip.
He slid his fingers through the dark nest there with a pleased hum.
“Does it hurt here?” Arthur scratched his fingertips through Merlin’s pubes,
then tugged, and released. Tugged and released. Merlin’s lips twitched in the
ghost of a smile, loving the attention as much as the delicious agony of
waiting, and feeling very seen. Very noticed. Pleasure poured through his body
like hot honey.
“No,” he said, trying to breathe steadily and lie very still, and be a good
boy.
“How about here?” Arthur’s hand continued its journey south until he had a
handful of Merlin’s sac, giving it a gentle squeeze, lifting it in his hand.
Weighing it.
Merlin’s belly ached sweetly, spiking with heat. “No, Doctor.”
He hadn’t planned to say it, but there was no time to feel embarrassed when
Arthur groaned and gently headbutted his shoulder, rolling Merlin’s balls in
his wide hand. He fondled them for a long while, Merlin’s cock coming well
awake and stiffening by degrees to curve up towards his stomach. Arthur
breathed into his neck and played with his sac, eventually leaving it to lie
heavy and full between his thighs.
“Here?” Arthur closed his fingers around the base of Merlin’s cock, squeezing a
little. Merlin shook his head. Arthur’s hand was warm and firm around him.
“Cough.”
Heat burned high on Merlin’s face as he turned away and coughed, his cock
jumping in Arthur’s hand.
“Again.”
Merlin did as he was told, tendrils of want uncoiling inside him. Arthur fisted
his cock, rubbing his thumb along the prominent vein, breath hot on Merlin’s
shoulder. Merlin moaned and tried to hold on, squeezing his eyes shut.
Arthur shifted beside him and in a quick move, straddled and seated himself
across Merlin’s thighs, immobilising his legs. His hand on Merlin’s cock did
not ease up.
“Merlin. Hey. Watch me,” Arthur said, and Merlin slowly opened his eyes, blood
thundering in his ears, feeling too hot, too big for his own skin. He blinked
the sun from his eyes just as Arthur bent over his cock, pursing his mouth and
letting a clear thread of saliva string down to land on Merlin’s cockhead.
“Oh god,” Merlin moaned, balls tightening as Arthur began to stroke him, slow
and easy, spreading his spit all over Merlin’s cock, slicking it up, making it
glisten.
“Keep watching,” Arthur murmured, then nestled a little lower. He bent his head
and Merlin’s heart pounded furiously, his brows drawing together.
Looking up through the drying curtain of his yellow fringe, checking that
Merlin was looking at him, Arthur opened his mouth and swiped a light kitten
lick on the underside of Merlin’s cock.
“Jeeeeeesus,” Merlin whined, arching under Arthur’s outstretched hand, lifting
his head to watch Arthur’s parted lips hover over him, so, so close.
Arthur tugged his foreskin up and used it to spread moisture all over Merlin’s
cockhead until it was slick and shiny, dark with blood, then drew it up taut
and dipped the very tip of his tongue into the little purse of skin squeezed
between his fingers. Merlin watched, breathless, already on the edge. Arthur
glanced up as he let the skin retract, then slowly, softly, enfolded the purple
head of Merlin’s cock between his lips.
The heat of Arthur’s firm, wet suck was a shock. Merlin bucked helplessly,
anchored firmly under Arthur’s solid weight, reeling at Arthur’s tongue
flexing, massaging Merlin, cradling him inside his mouth.
“Holy fuck, Arthur, oh my holy fucking shit.” Merlin’s mouth ran without input
from his brain. Arthur tasted his cock, circling his tongue over it, slurping
at it like an ice lolly. He didn’t seem to worry about the crazy noises he was
making, popping Merlin’s dick out of the O of his lips, then tonguing the slit
with a moan, rubbing it over his cheek as he licked up and down the shaft
following the veins.
Merlin had never heard nor seen anything hotter in all his life than Arthur
enjoying giving him head. Because there was no doubt Arthur liked giving head.
Arthur liked sucking dick. Merlin thought his head might explode.
His fingers twitched and dug down into the grass, scrunching big clumps in his
hands as Arthur experimented with kissing his cock, sucking and applying
different kinds of pressure, licking him shallow and quick, then sheathing him
in his hot mouth until Merlin was seeing stars.
Arthur seemed fascinated with his cock, tightening his fist around the shaft,
squeezing it slowly through his fist and watching driblets of clear fluid seep
from the tip, then licking them off, one by one. He grasped it tight at the
thick root, pushing it around like a joystick. Merlin huffed a laugh and Arthur
grinned up at him, his red mouth stretched over Merlin’s shaft.
Merlin lost track of time, trying desperately to give Arthur everything he
wanted, and hold off his orgasm until Arthur was done with him, but the edge
was real close, coiled tightly deep in his belly. Merlin panted with exertion.
His head thudded backwards on the grass as Arthur finally decided to suck him
right in, lips tight under the head. He bobbed up and down holding it steady in
the grip of his hand.
He sucked and moaned and that was it, Merlin was gone. He barely managed to
reach out to grip Arthur’s forearm and gasp out a warning before he was pulsing
thick ropes of come all over himself, catching Arthur’s mouth and cheek with
it, leaving him dripping.
There was a moment of stunned silence as they stared at each other over the red
and swollen head of Merlin’s cock, still throbbing in the grip of Arthur’s
hand.
A glob of come slid off Arthur’s face and splattered on Merlin’s belly.
They burst into peals of laughter and sagged against each other, until Arthur -
incensed with Merlin’s giggled, “Your face, Arthur, you should see your—,”
scooped come into his palm and rubbed it on Merlin’s face wedding cake style.
Merlin was laughing too hard to care.
They chased each other around the clearing, then jumped back into the water,
hooting and splashing. They took turns hurling themselves off the branch like
maniacs, pretending not to notice the well-worn path of the sun over blue, blue
sky, mirroring the path back to the house.
                                        
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
Arthur packed the tent with stark efficiency. Merlin watched his hands fly over
poles and plackets, smoothing and folding the thing like he’d done it a million
times. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d come here to camp with other friends. Maybe
with a girlfriend. Merlin fought the urge to fidget and just stood back to let
Arthur get on with it.
He had it folded and snugly strapped down in its waterproof sheath in no time
at all, and soon, too soon, they were on their way with sleeping bags affixed
to their rucksacks, looking for all intents and purposes like a couple of
hikers.
Their hands brushed once, twice by accident. The third was deliberate. Arthur
reached for Merlin's fingers and twining them loosely together. Merlin lifted
his face to the sun and felt it warm his smile. Then he tripped.
"Watch your feet, dork." Arthur's rebuke held no heat as he tightened his grip
and yanked on Merlin's hand to help him right himself. He didn't let go.
Merlin had no words for the feeling, big and heavy in his chest, threatening to
choke him. All he could do to take the edge off it was to smile and smile.
He grasped Arthur's hand just as surely in return and they shared their sweaty,
weird grip as they left the river behind but it was so new and exciting that
neither pushed to let go. Merlin tried to match Arthur's steps so his hand
wouldn't pull their stride out of sync. They walked through all the familiar
fields and along the well-worn paths until Arthur's house loomed ahead, ever
the sentinel. Merlin’s grip was slippery and sort of gross but Arthur didn’t
let go, tugging Merlin up to the house with him and that was so okay too.
They walked down a poplar-lined alley to the gate still sweaty in each other’s
grip. As they got close enough to the mansion to wear its shadow, crunching
gravel under the soles of their shoes all the way to the grand entrance, Merlin
was so wrapped up in Arthur’s presence that he didn’t notice Morgana quietly
standing by a car outside until they were literally in front of her, still
holding hands.
“Hey, guys,” she said, tossing a messenger bag into the back. There was a
blonde in the driver’s seat, her lips curled lazily around a cigarette, knowing
eyes undoubtedly having watched their progress up the length of the driveway.
Startled, Merlin let go of Arthur’s hand, heat crawling up his neck.
The woman’s mouth twitched in amusement. Beside him, Arthur pretended he hadn’t
noticed, and he’d have been successful except for the stiffness of his stance,
his hurt little smile.
“Hey, Morg. Need any help?”
“No, it’s fine. Wasn’t sure when you’d be back so I had Geoffrey plate up some
leftovers, they’re in the fridge. I’m out for a bit so call me if you need
anything but I should be back tonight. Then we can clean up properly tomorrow
once the tents have been dismantled, yeah?”
“No worries,” Arthur said easily, already turning towards the door. “See you
later.”
Merlin didn’t know what to do with his suddenly empty, sweaty hand. It hung by
his side like it didn’t belong to him. He turned and followed Arthur into the
mansion with anxiety coiling in his stomach like a sickness, but when he went
inside Arthur was already gone, his footsteps echoing up the empty hallway.
When he got to Arthur’s room, the door was closed. He stood in front of it like
an idiot, not sure whether to knock or just turn right around and run away,
when the door swung open. Arthur brushed past him, a handful of towels in his
hands. Merlin had no choice but to follow him to what ended up being the guest
bedroom down the hall.
“Shout out if you need anything. I’m gonna shower and then head down to the
kitchen to fossick out those leftovers, so see you down there.”
“Arthur, please, I—”
“Don’t worry, I get it, it’s fine. See you downstairs.”
Merlin watched him until he disappeared into his own room, the door closing
sharply behind him.
Not knowing what else to do, Merlin went into the bathroom. His hands were
shaking, the phantom of Arthur’s grip clammy between his fingers.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind him and Merlin leaned against it, hot
shoulders to cool wood. The silence was a thunderclap, uncomfortably close
after everything he'd shared with Arthur. It was awful. He swallowed down the
hot lump of misery in his throat and reached for his phone, heart racing as he
dialled.
It took Hunith several rings to pick up. "How was your night, darling?"
Merlin could hear crockery clanging together, slopping around in dishwater.
Merlin closed his eyes and tried to breathe evenly. He could see her, her
lavender motif apron neatly tied, wisps of runaway hair falling into her eyes.
For a long moment, he couldn’t speak.
“Merlin? Merlin. What’s the matt—”
“I’m gay, Mum,” he blurted, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Something hot
had lodged in his throat and he couldn’t swallow around it, couldn’t push it
down.
“Okay,” Hunith said, the dishwashing sounds falling abruptly silent. There was
no taking it back now. It was done. Merlin began to tremble.
The words he wanted to say twisted into nonsensical curlicues in his mouth and
the silence was broken only by his own blood rushing past his ears. He huffed a
desperate sound trying to be a laugh. Okay. She’d said okay like he’d just
announced he had black hair. Like he’d said it was Tuesday.
“Are you all right? You sound upset. Do you need me to pick you up?” Her tone
was quietly cautious. In that moment, Merlin loved his mother so fiercely, his
heart hurt with it. Something broke free inside him because no matter what
happened now, Merlin had told her. The hardest part was done and he'd put a
delicate piece of himself into her hands. Surely there was no safer place for
it.
The phone was hurting his hand. It took a moment to realise it was because he
was clutching it in a deathgrip. What was meant to be a deep breath came out
like a sob.
“Has something happened? Merlin, do you want me to come and get you?” Hunith’s
voice had taken on a distinctly dangerous edge and Merlin felt an urge to
defend Arthur in case she got the wrong idea.
“I’m okay. I just really had to tell you. Right now.”
She huffed, and he could picture her smiling, wiping her hands on her apron,
wet hands turning the sprigs of lavender dark.
Merlin let his head fall back, thudding on the door. "How long have you known?"
Hunith's hum was noncommittal. “Do you remember, when you were about eleven,
you were invited to Elena’s party? You were so excited.”
Merlin closed his eyes. He still remembered the cocktail of fear and thrill
he’d felt at receiving the unexpected invitation.
All he had known of the Gawants was that they had a massive pool, the glare of
which threw enticing reflections that danced in blue and white shadows on the
side of their enormous house above the level of the security fence, a tennis
court - either that or a surplus of tennis balls which regularly ended up over
said security fence - and Elena, an only child usually away at boarding school,
whom Merlin had never met prior to receiving the invitation.
Hunith had driven him to the party, both of them in their nicest clothes.
Merlin had felt like an interloper for approximately two minutes, or as long as
it had taken a blond force of nature to find him and drag him into a game of
hide-and-go-seek well in progress out in the gardens. Arthur had introduced him
to Elena and all the posh kids as his best friend, and Merlin had felt so
special.
“I remember,” Merlin whispered. Arthur had been wearing a red polo shirt that
day. Merlin still remembered how the collar had stood up, making Arthur look so
cool and mature. “Arthur made Elena invite me.”
Hunith laughed. “There was a DJ and pony rides.”
“What? I don’t remember that!” Merlin frowned. “Pony rides? Really?”
“I’m not surprised you don’t. You and Arthur were too busy following each other
around all day to pay attention to anyone else. The way you look at him Merlin.
That hasn’t changed.”
Merlin’s face fell, and hot tears rolled down his cheeks. He wondered whom he’d
thought he’d been fooling all this time.
Merlin let the tears come, in relief and in longing for the safety of her arms.
His breath hitched and Hunith cooed down the line at him until he giggle-sobbed
at her dusting off her old horse whisperer technique, calming him like she used
to when he got upset as a child. There was a smile in her tone as he pulled
himself together.
She stayed with him until he calmed, and allowed him a few moments to compose
himself. She’d put him on speaker - he listened to the swish of teatowel over
plates and cups, the quiet sounds of her hands working. The sun would have
already gone over by now, and she’d be standing in shadow, looking out at their
little back yard and the veggie patch he’d helped her dig in when they moved.
“I was scared of telling you,” he said, voice raspy and thick. “I didn't want
to worry you. I didn't want you to be upset or—"
"Don't you dare, Merlin," she interrupted, blunt and hurt, and he bit off the
nervous flood of words. “Don't you dare say that you thought I wouldn’t support
you. That I’d love you any less.”
"No! It wasn’t like that. Um. Yes, but not exactly. I just.”
"You thought I'd be upset that you're gay?"
He took a deep breath to focus his thoughts. He’d never given these feelings
the time to formalise into words before. He wasn’t sure he understood them
himself. It took a while to get it straight in his head, and Merlin was
grateful that Hunith stayed silent, letting him sort through it.
“It’s not that I thought you’d be upset that I am. Gay, I mean.” Deep breaths.
It was okay. He could say it. He had already said it and everything was okay.
Merlin huffed a choked-off laugh and tried again.
“It’s just that everything was happening at the same time, you know? Freya,
school . . . and then Uncle Gaius got sick, and with the move and everything .
. . and you already had so much on your plate with work and the move and—"
"The only reason I'm upset now is that you thought you couldn't tell me, that
you thought you had something to worry about, something to hide. From me, of
all people, Merlin Emrys."
"I'm sorry, Mum," he said, voice breaking again, choking on it. He tried to
swallow the hot lump in his throat, the uncertainty leaking out of him, taking
all the weight on his shoulders with it.
Hunith sighed. "Oh, Merlin. Has something happened? Tell me. Tell me why you’re
so upset, really."
"I like Arthur," he said, hiccuping around the words, because even though it
was the truth, it wasn’t really. He’d almost said love. In love. Merlin was in
love. The heat in his chest spread out to the tips of his fingers and pooled
inside him like a deep well.
"And how does Arthur feel?" Hunith's tone was cautious, not wanting to upset
him further. Oh, how he loved her. Merlin couldn't for the life of him think
why he'd kept this from her. Of course she wouldn't care. Of course she'd think
of him first. She always had.
"I think he likes me back. But I just did something dumb and now he's upset. I
don't know how to make it better." Merlin let his head thunk back on the wall
again, wiping his face with the hem of his tee shirt.
"I think you know."
"But I don't."
Hunith hummed and Merlin rolled his eyes with a grin even though it made his
headache worse. He pressed the heel of his palm to his temple.
"You'll work it out."
Merlin sighed. "I guess I'll go talk to him."
"Look at you, thinking for yourself. How grown up."
Merlin huffed a soundless laugh, wiping at his face, nose stuffy and thick. He
was a horrible cryer, looking swollen and red like he’d been punched in the
nose. Great. Arthur would just bloody love that. "Thanks Mum."
“Call me if you want picking up, Merlin,” she said, and he could picture her
wagging her finger at the phone lying on the kitchen table, that serious look
on her face which meant no further nonsense would be tolerated.
He looked at the phone in his hand for a while after she'd hung up, then set it
down on the closed toilet lid, peeled his dirty clothes off and got in the
shower.
                                        
                                     ~ ✧ ~
                                        
Merlin had never noticed the beautiful hallway runner before, its deep scarlet
weave interspersed with fanciful plants and animals, like pictures in an
ancient bestiary. Maybe that was because he had never had the pleasure of
walking on it with bare feet.
A sliver of light seeped out from beneath Arthur’s door and lit up the runner’s
edge along with the tips of Merlin’s toes. Was it new or had it always been
there? Merlin couldn’t recall ever having really looked at it before.
Like everything else in Uther’s grand house, it was of a quality few could
afford. Merlin ought to feel guilty for standing on it, grinding his heels in
and scratching his toes over it, but all he felt was grim determination. Stop
stalling. He nodded to himself, took a deep breath and knocked.
There was no answer.
Perhaps Arthur hadn’t heard him. Maybe he was still in the shower. Merlin
knocked again, harder this time, the rap of his knuckles on wood casting a
stark echo into Arthur’s silent bedroom.
He probably wasn’t even there. Arthur was probably downstairs, putting as much
distance between himself and the awkwardness Merlin had created as he could.
Stuffing his face, most likely. Or maybe there was no awkwardness, Maybe Merlin
had imagined it.
Knowing he shouldn’t and quite sure he was doing it anyway, Merlin curled his
fingers around the metal handle and pushed Arthur’s door open.
The day had aged while Merlin had been busy melting down on the phone and then
showering; Arthur’s room lay bathed in the warm shadows of afternoon. In the
wake of receding sun, it felt as though the summer was sticking to everything:
the dust mites trapped in streaks of light, the curtain fluttering weakly in
the breathy breeze, its hem snagged on a splinter in the window frame.
The drone of bees carried in from the orchard and in the midst of it all,
Arthur sat on the edge of his bed, elbows braced on his knees with his
headphones on, hands hanging loose between his legs. His hair was wet, dark and
curling at the nape.
Angled away from Merlin, Arthur’s back was smooth and broad, the wings of his
shoulder blades underlined with shadow, and Merlin’s gut dipped with the memory
of that same back arched.
Now, Arthur looked just plain lost and Merlin’s heart gave an uncomfortable
squeeze around a hard kernel of regret. He stepped closer until his ears picked
up on tinny percussion from whatever Arthur was listening to. A bead of water
slipped down the back of Arthur’s neck, then another. Merlin watched them slide
over Arthur’s tanned skin, the distance between he and Arthur made even more
unbearable by Arthur sitting within arm’s reach, and yet completely
untouchable.
Merlin reached out, aiming to brush Arthur’s shoulder with the tip of his
fingers, but before he could, Arthur lurched up as though he had finally sensed
him in the room. Whatever his face had been doing when he was turned away, he
quickly schooled it, giving Merlin the shortest of glances. Pulling his
headphones out of his phone, Arthur silenced it and shoved it into the pocket
of his shorts.
“Oh good, you’re done. Well, let’s go eat, I’m starving,” he said, and made to
move around Merlin, both of them caught in the awkward dance of trying to get
out of each other’s way and managing the exact opposite. Arthur pulled up short
and huffed in annoyance. He wouldn’t look Merlin in the eye; something Merlin
hadn’t realised was deliberate until that moment. A pang of cold fear crawled
up his spine.
“Arthur, please,” he choked out, but Arthur looked away, side-shouldering his
way past Merlin towards the door, and Merlin couldn’t let him go, not without
telling him, explaining. Not without confessing. He shot forward and managed to
slip between Arthur and the door. Capitalising on this small win, he pushed off
the door and with his hands braced on Arthur’s chest, crowded him against the
wall.
“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice carried a tone of warning.
“I just want to say something.” Merlin searched Arthur’s face, but it was
locked down, mouth stern and eyes flinty in the darkened, stifling room. Merlin
could hardly draw a proper breath. He licked his lips, something fizzing to
strike a flame inside him as Arthur tracked the movement.
“I didn’t know it could be like that,” he said, searching for the right words,
the ones that would strike home and smooth the crease between Arthur’s brows
and unlock his frown into the soft smile he’d been wearing just an hour ago. “I
didn’t even understand about myself before last night. I’ve never told anyone
that stuff before, I didn’t know, Arthur. I mean, I knew, but . . .”
Arthur was looking at him now, wary and still angry, still silent, but
listening in any case. That had to count for something, so Merlin steeled his
resolve and ploughed on ahead. Now or never, it seemed.
“And maybe I wasn’t sure about me, about liking blokes and stuff. But you have
to know I’ve always been sure about you.” Merlin edged closer, softly, softly
against Arthur's forbidding stillness. "Even when you weren’t around, you were
all I could think about, even when I was trying not to think about you because
I missed you so much I wanted to cry into my pillow like a baby every night.”
Merlin came in close enough to catch the scent of Arthur's soap, all the places
where they weren’t touching suddenly awake and buzzing for contact.
“I didn’t even dream you might feel like that too. I kind of thought I had to
hide it, and then I come back, and you’re just. You’re you, but even better
than I remembered, taller and bigger, and more gor—”
Merlin swallowed and broke eye contact. He looked down at the hollow of
Arthur’s throat, at his pulse beating there, steady and strong. Merlin’s mouth
was suddenly so dry he could barely speak.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Arthur’s breath fanned over his cheek.
“I thought it was just playing, like we used to, except with the bonus of. You
know.”
“Making each other come,” Arthur finished helpfully, his voice like a velvet
train knocking Merlin’s knees out from under him.
“Yeah,” he said weakly, the bottom of his stomach freefalling. He pressed in
close until their chests were touching, Arthur’s breath moist in the crook of
his neck and all his words had fled like those startled birds at the river.
Merlin leaned in, lips parting, eyes locked on Arthur’s red mouth. Arthur’s
hands tight at his waist, his own bracketing Arthur against the wall.
Arthur’s skin radiated heat like the summer lived inside him and seeped out of
his pores, and that was nothing new at all but now … well. Merlin wallowed in
it, his eyes closed, rubbing the tip of his nose against Arthur’s, drawing out
that in-between moment the way they both loved and were so very good at
together.
Merlin finally pressed his mouth in a not-quite kiss to the apple of Arthur’s
cheek, inching his way down, skin catching on skin until his mouth hovered
above Arthur’s in a silent question. He had stopped breathing. Nothing existed
beyond the glistening pink inside of Arthur’s mouth, the delicate fuzz over his
lip.
“That’s not all, for me,” Arthur said.
“Me too,” Merlin whispered, and the distance between them dissolved as he
closed his eyes.
Slowly, he tilted his head until their lips were touching, dry and chaste in
small, barely-there testing kisses and for a little while that’s all it was,
just the thrill of touching lips for the first time, like they’d invented it
that very moment, like nobody had ever felt like this before them.
Arthur’s hands dug right in at Merlin’s waist. Merlin thought his hands might
be shaking. This was really happening, no games, only the two of them holding
each other close, and then Arthur dipped in to catch Merlin’s bottom lip and
touch it with the tip of his tongue, letting him feel the softness of it, and
Merlin was gone.
Kissing Arthur was a swarm of butterflies stirring up from his belly in a great
messy flourish. It was a brush of lips against each other then a slow roll of
tongues, then pressing their mouths together hard, moves that echoed down at
the hips, gentle one moment, steeped with intent the next. Merlin didn’t even
know it could be like that, that anything so simple as a kiss could feel this
good, could make his whole body burn. He groaned and Arthur nibbled the sound
right out of his mouth in greedy little nips of his mouth.
There were so many ways to kiss. Arthur’s lips were so soft; Merlin pressed in
to feel the hint of hardness beyond their gentle kissing, the ridge of Arthur’s
teeth. And he hadn’t meant to say it, wasn’t even thinking it until it was
there, bubbling right up out of his mouth and into Arthur’s.
“I’m in love with you,” he said, breathing the words more than saying them,
pulling back to look at Arthur in the still moment which followed. Arthur’s
eyes were shocked and wide, something like pain moving across his brow. Merlin
sobered, swallowed hard, vulnerable underbelly exposed. He couldn’t stop
himself from saying it again, making sure it was real, that it couldn’t be
taken back or written off. “I fucking love you.”
Arthur’s eyes roamed all over Merlin’s face, from his eyes to his mouth, and up
to the flick of hair stuck to his sweaty temple then back again. He looked
bewildered, and Merlin’s throat closed up thinking, oh no, but then Arthur
fisted his tee shirt.
“You’re so stupid,” he said, grinning in that pained, earnest way of his, and
Merlin wanted to cry with relief even as his face followed Arthur’s lead so
they could rub their smiles against each other, until Arthur pulled him in
tight and held him and kissed him, and kissed him.
Merlin couldn’t get close enough. He couldn’t think anymore, it was so much to
process, to understand, and they’d set a fire now, turning everything hungry
and hot and immediate. Arthur’s warm body smelled so good, soap and talc hot
and fragrant on flushed skin.
Merlin cupped Arthur's shoulders, then let his hands slide down to rub and
squeeze and feel the muscle twist and cord under his skin. Arthur groaned, and
yeah, fuck yes, this was good, this was all right, being allowed to touch like
this. Not a game anymore. Merlin cupped Arthur’s head and kissed him until his
lips were tingling and his chin was wet, and touched as much of him as he
could, touched Arthur everywhere his hands could reach.
They pushed and pulled at each other until the back of Merlin’s knees hit the
edge of the bed and they went over in a tangle. Arthur manhandled him higher
onto the pillows and pushed Merlin’s tee shirt up high and his shorts half off,
underwear sticking awkwardly on the tent of his growing erection.
“Take this off, take it- Merlin,” Arthur whined, and Merlin shucked his tee
shirt and then shorts and pants off so fast he heard something rip. He fell
back and watched Arthur strip too, eyes round and breath coming fast. Arthur
didn’t take his eyes off him, stripping efficiently down to his skin then
dropping down to cover Merlin’s body with his own. He was heavy and hot and
sticky with sweat. Merlin breathed him in, stuffing his nose into the damp hair
at Arthur’s temple, holding Arthur close.
It was all happening so fast and at the same time not fast enough, both of them
panting and grasping at each other, desperate for heat and friction and some
kind of release. Merlin worked his hips a little, rubbing himself against
Arthur’s firm belly, spreading his own slick on it, so incredibly turned on.
And then they were kissing again, slow and thick and deep, Arthur’s tongue
setting a rhythm that Merlin’s whole body wanted to follow.
Arthur kissed his face all over and Merlin writhed and flexed just to feel
Arthur’s big body press him down into the bed. Merlin sank his teeth into
Arthur’s neck a little, nuzzled him and licked his salty skin. Arthur shuddered
in his arms.
“You like that? Huh?” Merlin said, dragging his mouth on Arthur’s neck, not
recognising his own voice for the roughness in it.
Arthur gasped quietly, said, “Do you ever shut your fucking trap,” and rolled
his head to the side, exposing the glistening stretch of his throat in the low
light. Merlin groaned and mouthed, “No,” into Arthur’s neck, then latched on
and began to nibble and suck.
Arthur held him close, fingers twisted into Merlin's hair. He pulled Merlin in
and held him there right against his neck, the heat of his panted breath
raising goosebumps all over Merlin’s body.
When Merlin came away to look, the blood he’d sucked to the surface made a
tattered red bruise bloom at the base of Arthur’s throat. Arthur looked at him
with glassy eyes and pulled him into a kiss so needy and wet, Merlin’s toes
curled into the bedding. Arthur rolled them and they both gasped when Arthur
opened his legs, letting Merlin settle his weight between them, nestling down
in the cradle of Arthur’s hips, kissing again, always kissing. Merlin thought
he might never stop now, never look at Arthur’s face, at his mouth again
without thinking of this, wanting this.
It was nothing like before, nothing like the calculated, slow torture they'd
practiced on each other, taken turns with. This was scrabbling hands, huffs and
whispers, and Arthur on top once again, Merlin’s heart so full he thought he’d
drown. Their naked cocks were touching, the rub of skin on skin making Merlin
delirious, too hard sometimes, a little dry, but he didn’t care, couldn’t stop.
Arthur licked his mouth and rolled his tongue alongside Merlin’s, and god, they
were making a mess of each other, unpracticed and uncoordinated and it was
still better than anything Merlin had imagined, just the nearness, the
closeness of hot skin and the weight of a body, Arthur’s body, skin to skin,
nipples rubbing along Merlin’s ribcage.
They kissed and groped each other all over Arthur’s bed and somehow Merlin
ended up draped over Arthur's back, kissing his sunburned shoulders and
breathing hard into his neck, nose pressed into Arthur’s damp hair, following
the shadow cast by the curtain moving with the evening breeze. He rolled his
hips and his cock slid down from where he'd been rutting it into the meat of
Arthur's arse until suddenly it was nestled between Arthur's thighs, tucked in
tight behind his balls, and it was the best thing, the greatest thing.
They both froze, Merlin's breath stuttering. Arthur fisted the bedding and
looked over his shoulder, eyes heavy and wrecked. “Don’t stop,” he whispered,
and Merlin moaned, fucking up into the tight little space between Arthur’s
muscle-thick thighs, his cock skidding along hot, sweaty skin.
He heard a click, and when he looked up, Arthur was uncapping a white tube.
Merlin had no idea where Arthur had even gotten it from, had it been under his
pillow? Before he could ask, Arthur had squeezed some into his palm, too much
of it along with a curse muttered into the sheets, lifted his leg and rubbed it
up between his thighs and all the way up Merlin’s cock.
“Holy fucking shit.” Merlin breathed. Arthur wrapped his slippery hand around
Merlin’s dick and gave it a couple of long, slowly twisting pulls before
lowering his leg again and flexing, tightening the gap, and Merlin sobbed,
mouth jammed against Arthur’s shoulder blade. “Stopstopstop you have to-
Arthur, oh god,” Merlin babbled, trying so hard not to come.
“Come on,” Arthur whispered after a moment, rolling his hips back, and Merlin
couldn’t not, he had to, and so he did, wrapping his arm around Arthur’s middle
and driving his cock up to nudge Arthur’s balls, fucking him in between his
legs.
He tried to go slow, mouthing along the muscle of Arthur’s shoulder and holding
him tight around the ribs, letting the tang of sex in the dark room turn him
inside out. He pulled right back and slipped between Arthur’s thighs and it was
so good, so incredibly, searingly good that at first Arthur’s shocked little
gasp didn’t quite register, until it did, and Merlin stilled with the head of
his cock somehow almost all the way inside Arthur’s hole.
“Oh god, sorry, oh god,” he muttered into the back of Arthur’s neck,
mortification spreading hot to the tips of his ears. He started to pull away
but Arthur’s hand shot out, fingers sinking hard into Merlin’s thigh.
“Don’t,” Arthur said, holding him tight. “Don’t you fucking move.”
Merlin squeezed his eyes shut and counted to -something. He had no fucking
idea. His mind was blank, the hot, tight pressure around the head of his cock
making him lightheaded, making him break out in a cold, desperate sweat. For a
long moment, Arthur didn’t move at all, and then his whole body seemed to
shudder away a layer of tension, and he nudged back a little, just enough for
the muscle in his thigh to flex, and for Merlin to feel a little slippery
friction on his cock. He couldn’t help the needy little moan which escaped,
hiding his face in the dip between Arthur’s shoulder blades.
“Just the. Oh fuck, fuck, Merlin, just the tip, it’s okay,” Arthur whispered
and pushed back a little more. Merlin thought he might die.
Arthur rocked a little, testing. His hand still gripped Merlin’s leg. Merlin
kissed his shoulders, his neck, feeling the choking pressure on his dick give a
little. Beneath him, Arthur whined and pushed back a little more, and it was
unmistakable then, the moment that the head of Merlin’s dick slipped through a
barrier of muscle and lodged properly inside. Merlin groaned, dirty and low,
every muscle tensed against the need to thrust. His arms were shaking from the
effort of holding himself still.
“Merlin,” Arthur said, panting into his pillow, his jaw tense and his neck
flushed dark with blood.
“Uh-huh?” Merlin smeared his mouth along Arthur’s nape, just breathing, just
trying to breathe and nothing else, nothing that would hurt Arthur or make him
want to stop. Blood pulsed in his fingertips, in his balls.
“Here, more,” Arthur gasped, reduced to monosyllabic essentials, and Merlin
looked up to see Arthur pushing the white tube at him. Arthur’s hand was
shaking. Merlin swallowed hard and grabbed the tube.
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh, come on,” Arthur panted, squeezing Merlin’s leg, and fuck. Yeah. Okay.
He could do this, and they were doing this. Arthur wanted this.
Merlin couldn’t see worth shit in the dusk, night already crawling all over
Arthur’s walls. He took a deep, shuddering breath and tried to concentrate on
what Arthur wanted him to do. Uncapping the tube was okay but when he tried to
pour out some lube, it spurted all over his hand. He didn’t fucking care, just
trapped the lube in his fist and tossed the tube aside, too far gone to think.
He pulled away a little, just enough to touch himself and rub the slick all
over his shaft. He was so horribly aroused, his cock so rock hard that even
touching it this gently felt like too much, too close to losing it.
Arthur shuddered beneath him and Merlin nosed and licked at his neck. He let
his fingertips explore along Arthur’s rim and where it’d stretched around
Merlin’s cock, and fucking Christ, Arthur was stuffed full. Merlin’s dick was
hard as nails and he shouldn’t have been able to fit in there but somehow, God,
somehow he did, he was in, and he had to bite down hard on the inside of his
cheek to stop himself from fucking his whole length into that tight heat.
He nuzzled behind Arthur’s ear, rubbed along the taut stretch of skin as he
squeezed his fist, dribbing runny lube into the crease of Arthur’s arse,
pushing it around with his fingers and they both groaned. Arthur’s body was
tense and still adjusting to the intrusion, squeezing around him. Merlin took a
deep breath and waited, trembling.
“Okay, let me just,” Arthur said and carefully lowered himself back down to the
bed, tucking his hands up under his pillow to grab at the slat of headboard,
spreading his legs a little more, knees caught in the drag of snarled sheets.
Merlin settled, carefully cushioning his pelvis on the muscled rounds of
Arthur’s arse. He was inside Arthur. Fuck, he was in-
“Feels amazing,” he muttered into the flushed skin behind Arthur’s ear, and
maybe it was that - just the idea that what they were doing was no longer just
an awkward slip in the dark but that it could feel this good, was supposed to
feel good with someone you liked. Merlin rolled his hips and Arthur was moving
too, pushing himself back onto Merlin’s dick, groaning filthy and low as he
took more of Merlin inside. And then they weren’t just managing through an
embarrassing accident, they were fucking, really moving together with a
purpose, slow at first, warmed-up honey slow.
Arthur hung on to him, clutching at his thigh and pulling him in deeper. Merlin
groaned and slid his arms under Arthur, wound them tight around Arthur’s chest
and fucked up into him in one long stroke. Arthur gasped wetly into his arm,
and Christ, the sounds he made, the needy little sounds. Merlin shut his eyes
tight, tight, mouthing at Arthur's neck.
"Yeah? Arthur? Are you-"
"Yeah," Arthur said, voice breaking, wrecked, words dissolving into a moan when
Merlin pulled back and slid in again, slow and shivery, chest sticking to
Arthur's back. He couldn't think, and when Arthur pulled one leg up and gave
himself some traction to push back, it was all Merlin could do to fuck him
close and deep, grinding in tight until he was massaging his balls into
Arthur’s arse. The build-up of heat in his belly crawled down his spine,
licking at all his nerve endings.
It was too much, he couldn't hold on, and when Arthur groped up from his thigh
to dig his fingers into the meat of Merlin's arse, it was suddenly upon him,
rushing through his body and lighting him up inside, pleasure blanking out
everything except Arthur's grip and the scent of his hair stuck wet to his
nape, unbearable heat rising from his skin.
Merlin dropped his head down to rest on the back of Arthur's neck. He was
breathless, fizzy all the way down to his fingertips.
"Oh my god," he whispered, and then a more urgent, "Oh shit, I'm sorry," when
Arthur whimpered and ground down into the sheets.
"You fucking will be if you don't get off me and make me come," Arthur said,
then ruined it by laughing, hissing a little as Merlin pulled out but in the
end they were both giggling like idiots.
They worked themselves around so that Arthur was on his back, and yeah, fuck,
that was definitely a great view, Arthur's spread legs and his cock thick
against the crease of his thigh. He wasn't fully hard, and Merlin's brows drew
together.
"Did it hurt?"
Arthur thought about it, lightly scratching at his chest, thumbing his nipple.
"A bit, yeah."
Merlin swallowed hard, ready to apologise, but then Arthur's hand slipped lower
and lower, sinking into the shadowed bed of hair at the root of his cock. He
took himself in hand and stroked lazily. "It was good too, though."
"Yeah?" Merlin said, lowering his head, watching Arthur’s eyes glinting in the
dark.
"Mmm," Arthur said, feeding Merlin the tip of his hardening cock.
Arthur didn't seem to be in a rush so Merlin wasn't either, taking his time to
lick and nibble, exploring Arthur’s cock. Arthur sank his fingers into his own
hair and watched him, breathing hard.
Curious, Merlin let his hand wander down until he reached Arthur’s swollen
hole. He looked up in wordless question, and Arthur answered in kind with a
breathless, shaky moan. Merlin kept his eyes on him as his index finger went
in, the combination of lube and come easing the way as he sucked on the tip of
Arthur’s cock. Arthur groaned and bit his lip.
When he pushed back in with two fingers, Arthur’s head fell back, his throat
working. He didn’t really know if he’d manage to find that amazing spot again,
they were both tired and Merlin was big enough to admit his emotions were going
haywire, but regardless, it took only a few pumps of his fingers and some
earnest if messy mouthing at Arthur's cock before Arthur shuddered and clamped
down with a soft grunt. This time, Merlin was ready and didn't pull back,
letting Arthur contract around his fingers and fill his mouth.
"Oh, wow," Arthur said, one hand loose in his hair and the other flung out over
the bed. He looked boneless. Merlin knew exactly how he felt. His mouth
tingled, the aftertaste familiar - he'd tasted his own and Arthur's now, and it
was all right, definitely tolerable, even a big mouthful of it.
Looking down at the mess they'd made, Merlin watched a drip of come bead in the
crease of Arthur's thigh as he carefully removed his fingers. Cold fear creeped
up his spine. It wasn't until that very moment that he realised they hadn't
used a condom. When he looked up, he could see Arthur was just now stumbling
over the same thought.
"It should be okay, I mean, I haven't. Before. You know."
"Yeah. Me neither. It was still pretty dumb." Arthur said. "We need to be more
prepared next time,"
"Next time, huh?"
Arthur looked at him as though Merlin had announced he regularly spoke to
aliens. "Yes, next time, we're fucking again as soon as humanly possible. Did
you fall on your head this morning?"
"Must’ve, to be shagging you."
"Well, if it was so terrible, I can always shag you instead." Arthur murmured,
and sat up, pushing Merlin backwards on the bed and crawling over him. He
braced himself on his arms either side of Merlin's head, hot breath on his
neck.
"Yep, that'll work too," Merlin said, and gave up his mouth for kisses, letting
Arthur press him down into the rank heaven of his messy, tangled sheets.
"We could make it part of the game," Merlin said, heart suddenly pounding.
"Doctors wear latex gloves, don't they? We could do something with that."
Arthur stilled. "Yeah," he breathed, and Merlin could swear Arthur's cock
twitched against Merlin's leg. "If you're going to examine me you should
probably wear gloves."
Merlin nodded, grinning. "Uh-huh, and if I'm gonna take your temperature, you
know, we should keep the thermometer hygienic." His face was burning. He
imagined rolling a condom onto his cock. Arthur would watch him slather lube on
it before letting Merlin slide it slowly into his arse, inch by delicious inch,
so Merlin could take his temperature. Fuck.
Arthur's eyes were near black, his body a dark silhouette against the scant
moonlight coming in through the window. Merlin imagined Arthur’s hips nudging
in, in, the strength in his thighs… Yeah. That would work.
But Arthur didn’t pounce on him. He held still for a moment, and Merlin could
practically feel Arthur emoting, it was so strong.
“I don’t wanna hide it. That we’re together. That I love you.”
Merlin smiled, the butterflies in his stomach kicking up a fuss. “Me neither.”
“What are you gonna tell your mum?”
“Nothing,” Merlin shrugged, the clicked his tongue, realising he couldn’t even
tease Arthur properly anymore, not if it made him look like that. “‘Cause I’ve
already told her.”
“What did you say?”
Merlin’s heart swelled when he realised that only one thing had changed,
really. He gently cupped Arthur's face with both hands and kissed him. Because
he could.
“That you’re the ugliest dork this side of London,” he said, and endured it as
Arthur tickled him so much he thought he’d puke. Then, when Arthur dropped to
the bed beside him, both of them breathing hard, “Everything. I told her
everything.”
Arthur closed his eyes and reached for Merlin’s hand. “I fucking hope not,” he
muttered, making Merlin snicker.
He woke with the birds, their loud chatter still alien. He’d get used to it.
Arthur was snoring, face down in his pillow. The hair on the back of his head
fluffed up like feathers. Merlin just watched for a moment, wanting to preserve
this slice of their life forever in his mind. Eventually, he extricated himself
from Arthur’s crusty sheets and sneaked off to the bathroom for a piss. When he
came back, Arthur was awake. Merlin grinned and bullied his way into Arthur’s
arms, pressing his back to Arthur’s chest and pulling Arthur’s arm across his
own body.
“‘S too hot,” Arthur said, but didn’t push him away. Merlin slotted their
fingers together and smiled against Arthur’s knuckles, feeling Arthur’s cock
stiffen against the swell of his arse.
They held hands through it, and this was making love, Merlin thought, this was
what all the fuss was about, not the sex, which, okay, the sex was wonderful
too, amazing. But this, Arthur touching him all over, hungry and thirsty for
him, holding him close and pressing kisses into his sweaty neck - this was the
crux of it. He never wanted to let go.
“Need a shower?” Arthur said afterwards, his breath tickling the back of
Merlin’s neck.
Merlin smiled. “You’re going to let me go first this time?”
Arthur rolled him onto his back and gently kissed his mouth until Merlin’s
heart began to beat faster. Then he reared up and rubbed his sweaty balls all
over Merlin’s stunned face.
“Nope!” He said, and raced for the bathroom, Merlin’s peals of laughter
following at his heels.
 
                                        
                                    ~ Fin ~
 
End Notes
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