Fic: See (Merlin, NC17, slash ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rageprufrock AU thingy)
Jan. 22nd, 2009 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fadagaskiTitle: See
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC17
Setting:rageprufrock's Drastically Redefining Protocol 'verse, chapter 6.
Spoilers: see 'Setting'
Summary: Arthur was gone less than five minutes, and in that time Merlin had gone from post-coital to brooding. Arthur nearly despaired of him.
Wordcount: 2113
A/N: Merry belated Christmas to myworse other half shei, and a squillion hugs and kisses to rageprufrock for allowing me to play in her world.
Arthur was gone less than five minutes – he actually timed it, sadly enough – to fetch the groceries left in unmarked white plastic bags at the front door by a mysterious benefactor (dressed all in black with shades and an earpiece, no doubt). Less than five minutes ferrying them to the kitchen, another five stuffing them away into cupboards and drawers, and yet somehow in that time Merlin had gone from cheerfully post-coital to sombre and brooding. Arthur nearly despaired of him.
Only not, apparently, because as soon as he ascertained the nature of Merlin's mood – being as he was perched on a chair by the window watching the rainclouds tear into ragged stripes in the wind, the Excalibur lighter clacking in his restless hands – Arthur hurried himself to Merlin's side. His fingers were still chilly from stocking the freezer, and Merlin flinched when Arthur stroked them across the back of his neck.
"Are you hungry?" Arthur asked. "We have food besides eggs now, thanks to the magical palace elves."
"This isn't a Harry Potter novel, you know," Merlin commented dryly, though there was something stiff about his tone. Arthur pursed his lips in mock-thought.
"I'm not so sure. You resemble the title character rather uncannily. Black hair, blue eyes, magical abilities, et cetera."
"He had green eyes in the book." Arthur's eyebrows raised infinitesimally towards his hairline.
"So you're a closet Harry Potter fan. That's a bit ironic, don't you think?" There was no reply. Merlin's eyes were distant, his face dark. "What are you thinking about?" murmured Arthur, voice almost drowned out by the roar of a rubbish truck trundling down the wet road. Beneath his hand, Merlin's shoulder twitched in a half-hearted shrug.
"Nothing. Everything."
"That's helpful."
"Mmm." Quiet once more, and Arthur took the opportunity to observe Merlin unnoticed: his pale lips, the shadows under his eyes, the pasty shade of his skin washed out even more in the reflected gleam of passing cars. He wasn't well, not even close to it, too thin and pale and heartsick, exhausted beyond reasonable endurance, but Arthur still felt something breathtaking swell in his chest; that alone necessitated distraction.
"Come to bed," Arthur sighed, tugging at the back of Merlin's collar before walking away. He heard Merlin lever himself out of the chair, wincing at the pop and crack of his knees; a doctor should really take better care of himself.
"Not everything can be solved with sex, Arthur," said Merlin, though he followed the prince with a small smile on his face.
"True," Arthur agreed, crawling onto the bed and shoving all the newspapers off without a care, "but it helps to forget, sometimes." Merlin blinked at him, halfway onto the bed, opening and closing his mouth as if fishing for a riposte. Arthur grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him up, ending the conversation by planting his hands in Merlin's hair and his lips on Merlin's.
At first Arthur set to with abandon, thrusting his tongue into Merlin's mouth as if he could root out the source of that haunted look behind Merlin's eyes through sheer force of will. Merlin, being Merlin, battled back with a slick tongue and sly fingers, nipping at Arthur's lip whilst sliding his leg between Arthur's own. Arthur found himself gasping for breath, panting into Merlin's mouth but unwilling to pull back. He used his hands in Merlin's hair to keep Merlin anchored half over him, sharing heat and oxygen and lust. Merlin made a hitching little noise when Arthur crushed their lips together again, tongues rubbing sinuous and arousing, until Arthur's chest was tight with the need to breathe and his heartbeat throbbed in his temples.
And all the time they were watching, watching each other, eyes locked and seeing everything. Every surge of pleasure from a thigh placed in just the right place, every glint of mischief that precipitated a pull of hair or scratch of nails, every wave of desire that had them tugging at shirt buttons and trouser zips. Arthur stroked his fingers over the arch of Merlin's really quite ridiculous cheekbones, skirting the tender skin beneath his eyes, and saw the exact moment when the fight left Merlin. His body relaxed, coming to rest across Arthur's chest, hands slowing as they skimmed Arthur's flank under his rucked up shirt.
Arthur rolled until they were face to face on the pillow, close enough to feel the kiss of eyelashes, arms and legs tangled without hope of extrication. Merlin's hand pressed warm and flat over Arthur's belly. His eyelids fluttered shut when Arthur peppered tiny kisses to his chin, the deep hollow of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his forehead where lines were already carving their mark. He lingered over the corner of Merlin's eyes where the skin was thin and creased, pain and something darker saturating the flesh there beneath Arthur's gentle caress. Warm air gusted over his face when Merlin sighed.
This was what he wanted, Arthur decided. Merlin, pliant beneath him, warm and willing. Arthur loved Merlin in all his variations, grinning or grieving, but this. Merlin without worry. Merlin without thought. That was ... That was ...
Arthur kissed Merlin again, sucking on his tongue with sordid enthusiasm even as his hand fumbled at the button on Merlin's jeans. It slid free after a little tugging, allowing Arthur to wriggle his hand inside Merlin's pants. He wrapped a firm grip around Merlin's cock, familiar to its heft and texture after so much hard practice. Merlin released a delicious whimpery gasp in response, writhing against him, limbs restricted by the taught pull of his clothing. He skidded on the sheets as he tried to thrust his hips into Arthur's hand, still trapped inside Merlin's underwear and with no space to do much more than hold on.
"Ar – Ah! Arthur!" Merlin cried, his fingers curled tight around Arthur's belt, knuckles digging like pebbles into his hipbones. Arthur managed to withdraw his hand from Merlin's trousers, dragging it in one slow stroke up Merlin's cock that had him keening through clenched teeth. It was an awkward fight to shove Merlin's jeans down past his hips, trapping his legs almost entirely but freeing his dick to leave damp smears on Arthur's sweater.
Merlin cursed when Arthur wrapped his hand around his length, and again when Arthur's fly refused to open. "It's stuck," he grunted, voice thick and unsteady. Arthur nearly cried at the teasing brush of fingers over his cock, frustratingly close and not nearly enough. Merlin pressed an open-mouthed, breathy kiss to Arthur's lips, brow furrowed in worried grooves. Before Arthur could ask - are you alright? can I help? will you please? - the stuck zipper suddenly wrenched open and his cock slid through the gap and into Merlin's waiting palm.
Arthur nearly choked on his tongue at the first dangerous scrape of the fly against his dick. The plastic was cold, and nearly sharp, every thrust into Merlin's hand a contradiction of fleshy fingers and teethed ridge. Arthur's grip on Merlin's cock slackened, fingers made nerveless by the shot of pleasure that raced up his spine.
"Arthur," Merlin whined, thrusting his hips into Arthur's loose grip. Arthur blinked hugely, sucked in a deep breath almost directly from Merlin's panting mouth, and tightened his fingers. The whimpers Merlin made were a helpful distraction from the amazing sensations on his own cock. Arthur concentrated on keeping his strokes firm, running his thumb ring along the vein on the underside, enjoying every squeak and shudder Merlin gave when the ring caught on the head of his dick.
"I'm – Arthur, I'm –" Between one breath and the next, Merlin's face tensed and he came, choking on air and his eyes squeezed shut. His hands fluttered over Arthur's belly before coming to rest on his hips, gripping at his trouser beltloops. Arthur stroked Merlin through it, come smearing across his palm and over his sweater in white strings. He held on until, with a grunt, Merlin collapsed against the bed. He shuddered from head to toe when Arthur dragged his hand away, shaky breaths gusting from his lips.
And in the heartbeat before Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur had an epiphany. It felt like one of those landmines they once demonstrated for him in Rwanda whilst he visited people missing limbs, with the dummy child whose arms and legs and chest and head had flung out in a circle of destruction. Arthur was the mannequin, and outside the bubble of this place was the minefield, hundreds of men in sinister black suits who awaited only the order of the king, or the press, or both. Merlin, here so fragile, a man built of angles and shards, could be so easily blown apart. Arthur would give anything, do anything, to keep that from happening.
"Look at me," Arthur rasped, because this was for Merlin and he needed to see. That Merlin's mind was at ease again, or that he was still with Arthur, though there was no reason for distrust but Arthur's own paranoia. That he was still whole and complete and not scattered into a million pieces.
He certainly looked blown away when he opened his eyes, pupils deep as black holes, but his smile spread like a net across his face. It dimmed when Arthur didn't smile back. "What's wrong?" Merlin asked, breathless and sweet with confusion. "Arthur?" A hand came up to brush the sweaty hair from Arthur's forehead. They traded breaths for a long moment, until Merlin smiled again and Arthur had to taste it. Taste it, catalogue it too, keep it locked up inside himself because when they went back outside, treading amongst the landmines, Arthur didn't want to think ...
He just didn't want to think anymore.
"Merlin, please. Please," he whispered against Merlin's lips, and finally - finally - Merlin wrapped his calloused fingers around Arthur's cock and started to move. Arthur grunted into every rough pull, shoulders tense and thighs quaking. It felt like Merlin was dragging everything out of him: every thought, every fear, every half-formed regret. It felt like the thrill of cross-country riding, running his mare as fast as possible from all the niggling details of the life behind him. When Arthur came, with a cry torn from his throat that startled him and Merlin both, the aftermath felt like a church silence, and just as purifying.
"Come back, Arthur," Merlin murmured in his ear, his hands making soothing circles over Arthur's back. Arthur sighed deeply. "Earth to Arthur. Come in, Arthur." Well, if that didn't ruin the moment ...
Arthur glared at Merlin, who seemed entirely unrepentant, and also a bit dumb as his eyes were crossed from being so close. Arthur told him so, causing Merlin to frown. "See if I offer to get you a wet cloth then. Prat." But his hands didn't stop their circling, so Arthur thought himself safe.
They were quiet a long time, just the passing cars to fill the gap between them. Arthur floated in the soft space he always felt after sex, where everything was bright and full of hope. This applied doubly so for sex with Merlin, which perhaps explained a lot. Merlin himself seemed reflective, but not brooding as he had been.
"You know, in the old days," Arthur started, surprising even himself as he hadn't intended to speak. Sex loosened his tongue. "In the old days, kings had the power to kill anyone they chose. It didn't matter if that person was young or old, rich or poor, even innocent or guilty. If a king wanted someone dead, they just did it." He chanced a glance up at Merlin's face, found a stone wall with the faintest cracks showing through. The motion of his hands had stopped. Arthur pressed on.
"I can't imagine what that kind of power feels like. But the power to give life, to save life, is even greater. People do it every day. Doctors and nurses and pregnant women, firefighters, even soldiers. They can't save everyone. It's not possible. But they try. They try and they try and they try, and sometimes they lose, but sometimes they win. And that ... That's ..." Arthur trailed off, sighing, and tucked his head under Merlin's. He felt foolish, and sorry for things he couldn't even describe.
After a moment of waiting, just waiting, forcing his muscles to remain lax despite Merlin being taught as a bowstring, the gentle massage across his shoulder blades resumed. Arthur breathed another deep sigh and curled more into Merlin, and didn't make a comment when he felt water trickling along his scalp.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC17
Setting:
rageprufrock's Drastically Redefining Protocol 'verse, chapter 6.Spoilers: see 'Setting'
Summary: Arthur was gone less than five minutes, and in that time Merlin had gone from post-coital to brooding. Arthur nearly despaired of him.
Wordcount: 2113
A/N: Merry belated Christmas to my
shei, and a squillion hugs and kisses to rageprufrock for allowing me to play in her world.Arthur was gone less than five minutes – he actually timed it, sadly enough – to fetch the groceries left in unmarked white plastic bags at the front door by a mysterious benefactor (dressed all in black with shades and an earpiece, no doubt). Less than five minutes ferrying them to the kitchen, another five stuffing them away into cupboards and drawers, and yet somehow in that time Merlin had gone from cheerfully post-coital to sombre and brooding. Arthur nearly despaired of him.
Only not, apparently, because as soon as he ascertained the nature of Merlin's mood – being as he was perched on a chair by the window watching the rainclouds tear into ragged stripes in the wind, the Excalibur lighter clacking in his restless hands – Arthur hurried himself to Merlin's side. His fingers were still chilly from stocking the freezer, and Merlin flinched when Arthur stroked them across the back of his neck.
"Are you hungry?" Arthur asked. "We have food besides eggs now, thanks to the magical palace elves."
"This isn't a Harry Potter novel, you know," Merlin commented dryly, though there was something stiff about his tone. Arthur pursed his lips in mock-thought.
"I'm not so sure. You resemble the title character rather uncannily. Black hair, blue eyes, magical abilities, et cetera."
"He had green eyes in the book." Arthur's eyebrows raised infinitesimally towards his hairline.
"So you're a closet Harry Potter fan. That's a bit ironic, don't you think?" There was no reply. Merlin's eyes were distant, his face dark. "What are you thinking about?" murmured Arthur, voice almost drowned out by the roar of a rubbish truck trundling down the wet road. Beneath his hand, Merlin's shoulder twitched in a half-hearted shrug.
"Nothing. Everything."
"That's helpful."
"Mmm." Quiet once more, and Arthur took the opportunity to observe Merlin unnoticed: his pale lips, the shadows under his eyes, the pasty shade of his skin washed out even more in the reflected gleam of passing cars. He wasn't well, not even close to it, too thin and pale and heartsick, exhausted beyond reasonable endurance, but Arthur still felt something breathtaking swell in his chest; that alone necessitated distraction.
"Come to bed," Arthur sighed, tugging at the back of Merlin's collar before walking away. He heard Merlin lever himself out of the chair, wincing at the pop and crack of his knees; a doctor should really take better care of himself.
"Not everything can be solved with sex, Arthur," said Merlin, though he followed the prince with a small smile on his face.
"True," Arthur agreed, crawling onto the bed and shoving all the newspapers off without a care, "but it helps to forget, sometimes." Merlin blinked at him, halfway onto the bed, opening and closing his mouth as if fishing for a riposte. Arthur grabbed a handful of his shirt and hauled him up, ending the conversation by planting his hands in Merlin's hair and his lips on Merlin's.
At first Arthur set to with abandon, thrusting his tongue into Merlin's mouth as if he could root out the source of that haunted look behind Merlin's eyes through sheer force of will. Merlin, being Merlin, battled back with a slick tongue and sly fingers, nipping at Arthur's lip whilst sliding his leg between Arthur's own. Arthur found himself gasping for breath, panting into Merlin's mouth but unwilling to pull back. He used his hands in Merlin's hair to keep Merlin anchored half over him, sharing heat and oxygen and lust. Merlin made a hitching little noise when Arthur crushed their lips together again, tongues rubbing sinuous and arousing, until Arthur's chest was tight with the need to breathe and his heartbeat throbbed in his temples.
And all the time they were watching, watching each other, eyes locked and seeing everything. Every surge of pleasure from a thigh placed in just the right place, every glint of mischief that precipitated a pull of hair or scratch of nails, every wave of desire that had them tugging at shirt buttons and trouser zips. Arthur stroked his fingers over the arch of Merlin's really quite ridiculous cheekbones, skirting the tender skin beneath his eyes, and saw the exact moment when the fight left Merlin. His body relaxed, coming to rest across Arthur's chest, hands slowing as they skimmed Arthur's flank under his rucked up shirt.
Arthur rolled until they were face to face on the pillow, close enough to feel the kiss of eyelashes, arms and legs tangled without hope of extrication. Merlin's hand pressed warm and flat over Arthur's belly. His eyelids fluttered shut when Arthur peppered tiny kisses to his chin, the deep hollow of his cheek, the bridge of his nose, his forehead where lines were already carving their mark. He lingered over the corner of Merlin's eyes where the skin was thin and creased, pain and something darker saturating the flesh there beneath Arthur's gentle caress. Warm air gusted over his face when Merlin sighed.
This was what he wanted, Arthur decided. Merlin, pliant beneath him, warm and willing. Arthur loved Merlin in all his variations, grinning or grieving, but this. Merlin without worry. Merlin without thought. That was ... That was ...
Arthur kissed Merlin again, sucking on his tongue with sordid enthusiasm even as his hand fumbled at the button on Merlin's jeans. It slid free after a little tugging, allowing Arthur to wriggle his hand inside Merlin's pants. He wrapped a firm grip around Merlin's cock, familiar to its heft and texture after so much hard practice. Merlin released a delicious whimpery gasp in response, writhing against him, limbs restricted by the taught pull of his clothing. He skidded on the sheets as he tried to thrust his hips into Arthur's hand, still trapped inside Merlin's underwear and with no space to do much more than hold on.
"Ar – Ah! Arthur!" Merlin cried, his fingers curled tight around Arthur's belt, knuckles digging like pebbles into his hipbones. Arthur managed to withdraw his hand from Merlin's trousers, dragging it in one slow stroke up Merlin's cock that had him keening through clenched teeth. It was an awkward fight to shove Merlin's jeans down past his hips, trapping his legs almost entirely but freeing his dick to leave damp smears on Arthur's sweater.
Merlin cursed when Arthur wrapped his hand around his length, and again when Arthur's fly refused to open. "It's stuck," he grunted, voice thick and unsteady. Arthur nearly cried at the teasing brush of fingers over his cock, frustratingly close and not nearly enough. Merlin pressed an open-mouthed, breathy kiss to Arthur's lips, brow furrowed in worried grooves. Before Arthur could ask - are you alright? can I help? will you please? - the stuck zipper suddenly wrenched open and his cock slid through the gap and into Merlin's waiting palm.
Arthur nearly choked on his tongue at the first dangerous scrape of the fly against his dick. The plastic was cold, and nearly sharp, every thrust into Merlin's hand a contradiction of fleshy fingers and teethed ridge. Arthur's grip on Merlin's cock slackened, fingers made nerveless by the shot of pleasure that raced up his spine.
"Arthur," Merlin whined, thrusting his hips into Arthur's loose grip. Arthur blinked hugely, sucked in a deep breath almost directly from Merlin's panting mouth, and tightened his fingers. The whimpers Merlin made were a helpful distraction from the amazing sensations on his own cock. Arthur concentrated on keeping his strokes firm, running his thumb ring along the vein on the underside, enjoying every squeak and shudder Merlin gave when the ring caught on the head of his dick.
"I'm – Arthur, I'm –" Between one breath and the next, Merlin's face tensed and he came, choking on air and his eyes squeezed shut. His hands fluttered over Arthur's belly before coming to rest on his hips, gripping at his trouser beltloops. Arthur stroked Merlin through it, come smearing across his palm and over his sweater in white strings. He held on until, with a grunt, Merlin collapsed against the bed. He shuddered from head to toe when Arthur dragged his hand away, shaky breaths gusting from his lips.
And in the heartbeat before Merlin opened his eyes, Arthur had an epiphany. It felt like one of those landmines they once demonstrated for him in Rwanda whilst he visited people missing limbs, with the dummy child whose arms and legs and chest and head had flung out in a circle of destruction. Arthur was the mannequin, and outside the bubble of this place was the minefield, hundreds of men in sinister black suits who awaited only the order of the king, or the press, or both. Merlin, here so fragile, a man built of angles and shards, could be so easily blown apart. Arthur would give anything, do anything, to keep that from happening.
"Look at me," Arthur rasped, because this was for Merlin and he needed to see. That Merlin's mind was at ease again, or that he was still with Arthur, though there was no reason for distrust but Arthur's own paranoia. That he was still whole and complete and not scattered into a million pieces.
He certainly looked blown away when he opened his eyes, pupils deep as black holes, but his smile spread like a net across his face. It dimmed when Arthur didn't smile back. "What's wrong?" Merlin asked, breathless and sweet with confusion. "Arthur?" A hand came up to brush the sweaty hair from Arthur's forehead. They traded breaths for a long moment, until Merlin smiled again and Arthur had to taste it. Taste it, catalogue it too, keep it locked up inside himself because when they went back outside, treading amongst the landmines, Arthur didn't want to think ...
He just didn't want to think anymore.
"Merlin, please. Please," he whispered against Merlin's lips, and finally - finally - Merlin wrapped his calloused fingers around Arthur's cock and started to move. Arthur grunted into every rough pull, shoulders tense and thighs quaking. It felt like Merlin was dragging everything out of him: every thought, every fear, every half-formed regret. It felt like the thrill of cross-country riding, running his mare as fast as possible from all the niggling details of the life behind him. When Arthur came, with a cry torn from his throat that startled him and Merlin both, the aftermath felt like a church silence, and just as purifying.
"Come back, Arthur," Merlin murmured in his ear, his hands making soothing circles over Arthur's back. Arthur sighed deeply. "Earth to Arthur. Come in, Arthur." Well, if that didn't ruin the moment ...
Arthur glared at Merlin, who seemed entirely unrepentant, and also a bit dumb as his eyes were crossed from being so close. Arthur told him so, causing Merlin to frown. "See if I offer to get you a wet cloth then. Prat." But his hands didn't stop their circling, so Arthur thought himself safe.
They were quiet a long time, just the passing cars to fill the gap between them. Arthur floated in the soft space he always felt after sex, where everything was bright and full of hope. This applied doubly so for sex with Merlin, which perhaps explained a lot. Merlin himself seemed reflective, but not brooding as he had been.
"You know, in the old days," Arthur started, surprising even himself as he hadn't intended to speak. Sex loosened his tongue. "In the old days, kings had the power to kill anyone they chose. It didn't matter if that person was young or old, rich or poor, even innocent or guilty. If a king wanted someone dead, they just did it." He chanced a glance up at Merlin's face, found a stone wall with the faintest cracks showing through. The motion of his hands had stopped. Arthur pressed on.
"I can't imagine what that kind of power feels like. But the power to give life, to save life, is even greater. People do it every day. Doctors and nurses and pregnant women, firefighters, even soldiers. They can't save everyone. It's not possible. But they try. They try and they try and they try, and sometimes they lose, but sometimes they win. And that ... That's ..." Arthur trailed off, sighing, and tucked his head under Merlin's. He felt foolish, and sorry for things he couldn't even describe.
After a moment of waiting, just waiting, forcing his muscles to remain lax despite Merlin being taught as a bowstring, the gentle massage across his shoulder blades resumed. Arthur breathed another deep sigh and curled more into Merlin, and didn't make a comment when he felt water trickling along his scalp.
