It's been a...long time since I've written Merlin, hope it's not too bad!
*
The first time Arthur sees Merlin naked is not the first time they have sex.
The first time they have sex is frantic, up against the door to Arthur's chambers, harsh breath and fumbling hands, Arthur begging, imploring Merlin not to "ever do something that stupid again, please, Merlin, I can't lose you too." They don't get much past unlaced breeches, and Arthur bites Merlin's neck when he comes.
It happens again, and again; Merlin does something unbelievably stupid (and brave, Arthur's mind whispers) to keep Arthur unharmed, and Arthur can't stop the shuddering fear that overtakes him every time, can't resist the need to put his hands on Merlin, to draw him close and feel him shake apart, to remind Arthur that he's still alive. They always end up half-dressed, leaning against each other as they regain their breath. Hands fluttering under clothing, but never quite removing it.
It becomes a thing; somehow it's okay that they do this - it doesn't count - as long as it's hurried and desperate, a reassurance. As long as afterwards, Merlin can just straighten his stupid scarf and walk away. Arthur never presses, never asks for more, however much he wants so spread Merlin out on deep red blankets and taste every inch of him without the lingering terror thrumming in his blood.
*
The thought occurs to Arthur in the middle of breakfast one day, with Merlin humming a tune as he goes about his morning duties, that Merlin's seen him naked many, many times. He's helped Arthur bathe, he frequently dresses him, he's tended to more wounds than Arthur can count. It seems unfair, unjust even.
He watches as Merlin putters around his chambers, eyes following the line of his neck and the curve of his jaw. Merlin's always so covered up; boots, breeches, shirt, coat, scarf. The skin he can see is gorgeous, pale and smooth, and Arthur wants to lick and suck at it, mark it. He wonders if the rest of Merlin's skin is as perfect, if he would flush down to his chest while Arthur covered it with kisses.
Arthur sighs and returns to his breakfast.
center*
In the end it's easy. Merlin is drinking a glass of wine, at Arthur's offer, and his cheeks are flushed with it, his eyes bright. He's still completely lucid, arguing with and teasing Arthur, but he's also loose and easy with his smile. And Arthur is done with prevaricating, he wants this without the smell of blood and fear hanging over them.
Merlin comes to him easily, climbing into his lap and kissing him back hard. He rolls his hips down against Arthur's, just once, then shifts back, his hands going for Arthur's breeches.
"Wait."
Arthur tips him gently off his lap and follows him up, before Merlin has a chance to protest.
"I want to see you." It comes out a little too raw and desperate for his liking, but it's worth it when Merlin's eyes widen.
"Yes, yes, Arthur," he breathes and pulls Arthur back to him, kissing him frantically and tugging Arthur's shirt out of his belt.
Arthur laughs and stills his hands again. "No, this is my turn," he says simply.
He takes his time with it, loosening the knot of Merlin's scarf slowly and pulling if off. There's nothing for it but to lean in and kiss Merlin's neck, starting from his collar bones and working his way up to his jaw, pausing occasionally to suck and bite gently.
Merlin's torso, when Arthur finally gets rid of his shirt, is surprisingly muscled. Merlin looks almost painfully skinny clothed; unclothed, Arthur can see his wiry muscle tone, the taugh flatness of his stomach. A tiny smattering of dark hair covers his chest, and Arthur can't help running his fingers over it, smiling with Merlin shivers.
He pushes Merlin down on the bed then, eager to lay Merlin out, and starts to divest him of the rest of his clothes. Merlin's hipbones are just as sharp as they feel, and Arthur bites gently at each one, earning himself a light smack on the head.
Laughing, he pulls away to properly pull off Merlin's breeches, pausing to unlace his boots and throw them off the bed.
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branchandroot
Skin - M/A - light NC-17? - 1/2
Date: 2012-05-31 03:36 pm (UTC)The first time Arthur sees Merlin naked is not the first time they have sex.
The first time they have sex is frantic, up against the door to Arthur's chambers, harsh breath and fumbling hands, Arthur begging, imploring Merlin not to "ever do something that stupid again, please, Merlin, I can't lose you too." They don't get much past unlaced breeches, and Arthur bites Merlin's neck when he comes.
It happens again, and again; Merlin does something unbelievably stupid (and brave, Arthur's mind whispers) to keep Arthur unharmed, and Arthur can't stop the shuddering fear that overtakes him every time, can't resist the need to put his hands on Merlin, to draw him close and feel him shake apart, to remind Arthur that he's still alive. They always end up half-dressed, leaning against each other as they regain their breath. Hands fluttering under clothing, but never quite removing it.
It becomes a thing; somehow it's okay that they do this - it doesn't count - as long as it's hurried and desperate, a reassurance. As long as afterwards, Merlin can just straighten his stupid scarf and walk away. Arthur never presses, never asks for more, however much he wants so spread Merlin out on deep red blankets and taste every inch of him without the lingering terror thrumming in his blood.
The thought occurs to Arthur in the middle of breakfast one day, with Merlin humming a tune as he goes about his morning duties, that Merlin's seen him naked many, many times. He's helped Arthur bathe, he frequently dresses him, he's tended to more wounds than Arthur can count. It seems unfair, unjust even.
He watches as Merlin putters around his chambers, eyes following the line of his neck and the curve of his jaw. Merlin's always so covered up; boots, breeches, shirt, coat, scarf. The skin he can see is gorgeous, pale and smooth, and Arthur wants to lick and suck at it, mark it. He wonders if the rest of Merlin's skin is as perfect, if he would flush down to his chest while Arthur covered it with kisses.
Arthur sighs and returns to his breakfast.
center*
In the end it's easy. Merlin is drinking a glass of wine, at Arthur's offer, and his cheeks are flushed with it, his eyes bright. He's still completely lucid, arguing with and teasing Arthur, but he's also loose and easy with his smile. And Arthur is done with prevaricating, he wants this without the smell of blood and fear hanging over them.
Merlin comes to him easily, climbing into his lap and kissing him back hard. He rolls his hips down against Arthur's, just once, then shifts back, his hands going for Arthur's breeches.
"Wait."
Arthur tips him gently off his lap and follows him up, before Merlin has a chance to protest.
"I want to see you." It comes out a little too raw and desperate for his liking, but it's worth it when Merlin's eyes widen.
"Yes, yes, Arthur," he breathes and pulls Arthur back to him, kissing him frantically and tugging Arthur's shirt out of his belt.
Arthur laughs and stills his hands again. "No, this is my turn," he says simply.
He takes his time with it, loosening the knot of Merlin's scarf slowly and pulling if off. There's nothing for it but to lean in and kiss Merlin's neck, starting from his collar bones and working his way up to his jaw, pausing occasionally to suck and bite gently.
Merlin's torso, when Arthur finally gets rid of his shirt, is surprisingly muscled. Merlin looks almost painfully skinny clothed; unclothed, Arthur can see his wiry muscle tone, the taugh flatness of his stomach. A tiny smattering of dark hair covers his chest, and Arthur can't help running his fingers over it, smiling with Merlin shivers.
He pushes Merlin down on the bed then, eager to lay Merlin out, and starts to divest him of the rest of his clothes. Merlin's hipbones are just as sharp as they feel, and Arthur bites gently at each one, earning himself a light smack on the head.
Laughing, he pulls away to properly pull off Merlin's breeches, pausing to unlace his boots and throw them off the bed.