okay here is the sonnet i wrote for the people who wanted to see it have fun

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okay so i have my first creative writing assignment due tomorrow and i was supposed to create an image of myself as a writer so here is a poem um

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The way Arthur surveyed him now over the table where they sipped their coffee, Merlin wondered if he could even find the words that had been stirring inside him for months.  They stayed lodged in his throat each time he opened his mouth, and Arthur was shifting back and forth between looking down at his coffee cup and gazing at Merlin, utterly wary and guarded, as if he was only slightly convinced that agreeing to see Merlin again at all was a colossal mistake.

I’m sorry, he wanted to blurt out, I’m so fucking sorry and I’m an idiot for ever letting you go and you shouldn’t even consider taking me back, but if you did I swear to you I wouldn’t fuck it all up this time round.

“How are things with your dad?” Merlin asked instead before taking a large swallow of his coffee.  It burned his throat on the way down, and he rather felt it was deserved.

Arthur leveled him with a gaze for a few moments before sitting back and sighing.  ”Same as always.  Still wants me to take over the business.  I still don’t want to.  We still don’t talk.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked back up to Merlin again, almost as if making a point, but he averted his gaze before Merlin could quite catch what was there.

“Sorry to hear that,” Merlin said quietly.

Arthur didn’t respond, simply tilted his cup of coffee back and forth in his hand for a few long moments.  Merlin’s throat hurt with the words trying to escape, but he kept his gaze on the table.

Finally Arthur drew back again, grip tightening on his cup as he met Merlin’s gaze again, this time looking far more painfully exposed than he had been at any point up until now.  ”Merlin, I’m—I’m going to go,” he said as he made to stand up.

“Don’t,” Merlin said quietly at once.  He blinked, hardly even having realized the way his hand shot out to cover Arthur’s on the table.  Arthur went still at the touch, making no move to settle back into his seat—yet also making no further move to leave or even pull his hand away.

Merlin looked up into Arthur’s eyes at last, taking a deep breath and forcing out the words before they could crawl back down into his chest.  ”I miss you.  And I’m sorry, and I—I screwed up, Arthur, I made the worst mistake of my life in December and I’ve hardly slept for beating myself up over it ever since, and I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep again if I have to keep going like this without you.”

At that, Arthur did pull his hand away, though he tentatively eased back into his seat, eyes fixed on Merlin’s face.

“If…” Merlin dropped his gaze to the table again, swallowing hard before continuing quietly.  ”If you still want to go, I—I understand.” He closed his eyes, wondering if Arthur could hear the way Merlin’s heart was thudding hard against his ribcage.  ”But, God, I—I made a mistake, and I can’t even begin to tell you how much I regret it, and I hate the way I hurt you and I would give anything to change it all and I—”  He stopped himself, taking a deep breath before finishing simply, voice barely above a whisper, “I miss you.  I just… needed you to know that.”

Arthur said nothing for such a long time that Merlin wondered if he’d changed his mind and left without another word.  Then, “You’re terrified of commitment.”

“I was,” Merlin corrected as he lifted his gaze again.  He blushed at that, realizing he’d never admitted it despite knowing it was true.  ”I… I was,” he repeated softly.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly, the hurt clear in his voice now.  ”Merlin, I told you I wanted to spend my life with you.  Do you remember what you did?”

Merlin slumped a little lower in his seat.  He couldn’t forget what he’d done if he tried.

“You lost your shit and told me you needed space, and you slammed the door on me.”

“I know what I did,” Merlin cut in immediately, voice still quiet.  ”And I’m not saying I…”  He swallowed again, voice dropping even lower.  ”I’m not saying I deserve another chance.  I’m only saying that leaving you made me see everything differently.  Made me see us differently.”  He sighed, reaching up a hand to scrub through his hair.  ”Made me want you back.”

Arthur pressed his lips together silently at that, leaned forward onto the table and pressed his forehead into his palms.  ”You missed my birthday,” he finally murmured.

Merlin blinked in surprise at him, though his stomach twisted guiltily.  He was fully aware.  ”I know,” he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking.

Arthur swallowed.  ”You’ve never missed my birthday.  Not once.”

“I know,” Merlin whispered again.  He could feel his fingers trembling very slightly against his cup now, and he tightened them around it, willing them to go still.

At long last, Arthur lifted his head slowly, gazing at Merlin with tired, slightly red eyes.  ”Fuck, Merlin,” he breathed as he ran a hand through his hair again.  ”Fuck, I’ve missed you.  You hurt me.”

Merlin had to blink away the tears suddenly stinging at the corners of his eyes.  ”I won’t.  Not again, I won’t—I won’t do that again, I…”

Arthur gazed at him long and hard.  ”You have to stop running,” he finally said quietly.  ”I know you’re scared, but you have got to stop running away from me the second it looks like we might just… turn into something more.”

“I don’t want to run anymore,” Merlin choked out.  His grip was so tight around his coffee cup now that his knuckles were bloodless.

Arthur bit his lip, watching Merlin in a way that seemed to drag out into eternity.  He finally spoke again, his words the quietest yet.  ”And you’re never allowed to miss my birthday again.”

Merlin let out something almost like a laugh, but far too watery and gasping.  ”Wouldn’t dream of it,” he promised sincerely.

Then Arthur’s hand was pulling Merlin’s out of the vice-like grip he had on his cup, and a small jolt went through Merlin at the contact as Arthur threaded their fingers together and squeezed his hand gently.

“I missed you, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, and Merlin thought the small, soft smile on Arthur’s lips was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t help but smile slightly back, something warm and relieved flooding through him as he replied, “I missed you, too, Arthur.”

Wintertime stayed with Merlin like a fire.

He loved it.  Not because he liked the cold, though he greatly preferred it to the sweltering heat, and not purely because of the beautiful decorations that hung about the castle as people throughout Camelot exchanged well wishes and small tokens of friendship—though he did admittedly have quite a fondness for the midwinter feast that warmed the castle through on the coldest night of every year.

In truth, it was Arthur.

Arthur, who seemed to pour through his very veins and pound through his innermost center, who’d stolen Merlin’s heart and kept it ever since the night he’d murmured, Tell me no, and we’ll never speak of it again, and Merlin had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

Arthur, who had asked a month later, a little uncomfortably, if it bothered Merlin to be his manservant given their… relationship, to which Merlin insisted, soft and sincere, that he had meant it when he said he was happy to be Arthur’s servant—right up until the day he died.

Arthur, who had long since taken to sharing kisses with Merlin that were less short and secret and far less chaste than the first they shared on that autumn evening.  Arthur, who now ran his hands over Merlin’s body on the coldest nights as he pulled away Merlin’s clothing piece by piece, who took Merlin to his bed and wrapped Merlin in his heat, covered him in love with kisses and touches and warm whispers to Merlin’s skin that bled through every inch of him.

It was always the nights when Camelot all but froze over that Arthur was so gentle and slow.  Merlin didn’t know why, but he rarely questioned it—not when Arthur would press a smile into Merlin’s neck as he felt Merlin shudder with pleasure beneath him, and not when Arthur would moan softly against him in response as they rocked together slowly, wrapped in the warm furs covering Arthur’s bed; and least of all when Arthur had to cover Merlin’s mouth with his own, swallow the loud moan that escaped Merlin as he came, arching and trembling as he clung to Arthur’s damp neck.

It wasn’t always that way.  There were times when the door to Arthur’s chambers had barely closed behind Merlin before Arthur was dragging Merlin’s body against his own, kissing him until Merlin could hardly think past getting the both of them out of their clothes as soon as possible—though Arthur was always a step ahead even with this, helping to make quick work of undressing them before pushing Merlin down into the bed and taking him—thoroughly.

What always seemed to remain the same was the space afterwards.  Arthur would sigh, deep and happy and more often wordless than not, stretching out beneath the warm, heavy covers of his bed and pulling Merlin close against his chest, at which Merlin would grin a bit and murmur, “Still got to get up early for chores tomorrow, you prat.”

Arthur would grunt noncommittally at that, hugging Merlin closer as if to ensure Merlin couldn’t get away if he tried as he mumbled, “Have it on good authority that the king will excuse his idiot for bringing his breakfast late.”

Merlin would simply smile in response, saying nothing until Arthur finally spoke up again, the impatient note to his voice a familiar disguise for what he was really thinking.  ”Besides, you’ll damn well freeze if you leave at this time of night, and I do want my breakfast eventually.”

And at that, Merlin would smile, relaxing into Arthur’s warmth as he let out a slow, quiet sigh before murmuring, “Love you, too.”

“There you are,” Merlin called out as he heard the door to the flat open and close.  ”I was about to call, I made dinner for the both of us because I wasn’t sure if…”  Merlin trailed off, forgetting his words as Arthur came into view, lip bloodied and jaw looking oddly red and just a bit swollen.

“What the hell happened to you?” Merlin asked, alarmed.  He’d been flatmates with Arthur for three years—best friends for even longer—and never in his life had he known Arthur to get into a fight.

Arthur shook his head silently, licking his lips and then wincing a bit at his cut. “S’nothing,” he said.

Merlin frowned, walking closer and reaching up to set his fingers lightly beneath Arthur’s chin, tilting his head back for a better look at the rapidly-darkening skin.  ”That is not ‘nothing’,” he observed unhappily.  He stepped back, crossing his arms and glaring.  ”Arthur, what did you do?”

Arthur glared right back, stepping around Merlin and stalking towards the bathroom.  ”I didn’t do anything that Cenred didn’t deserve.”

“Cenred?”  Merlin’s brow furrowed as he trailed behind Arthur, voice echoing slightly in the new room.  ”Isn’t he that bloke I met at your last footie match?”

“Yeah, just joined the team,” Arthur mumbled as he ran a cloth under the running faucet.  ”He’s an arse.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, huffing in exasperation and taking the damp cloth out of Arthur’s hands to reach up and wipe at his lip, the fluorescent light of the bathroom making it clearer exactly how nasty that bruise was going to be in the morning.  ”What did he do?”  Merlin pressed his lips together, voice softening slightly as Arthur winced again at the cloth on his lip.  ”It’s not like you to get into something like this.”

Arthur pushed Merlin’s hand away a moment later, looking away.  ”He just—said something.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, dropping the cloth in the sink and crossing his arms again.  ”Arthur, spit it all out, for fuck’s sake.  Why won’t you just tell me?”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Arthur insisted gruffly, attempting to step past Merlin again.  ”He got what was coming to him.”

Merlin moved to stand in his way, leveling Arthur with a serious gaze.  ”Arthur,” he said, his voice soft and concerned, “You’ve never kept anything from me.  Don’t start now.”

Arthur held Merlin’s gaze at that, his breath a little heavy, and he finally sighed, shoulders slumping a bit.  ”He insulted you.”

Merlin blinked.  Whatever he’d been expecting, that wasn’t it.  ”I—what?”

Arthur pulled a hand through his hair, avoiding Merlin’s gaze.  ”He called you gay.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped at that, and he shifted a little uncomfortably, a whole new set of anxieties suddenly rising in his chest at the thought of Arthur reacting so violently to such a statement.  ”Arthur,” he said, quiet and uncertain.  ”Arthur, I… am gay.  You, um—I mean, I never thought that was… a problem.”

Arthur’s eyes widened and he looked back up to Merlin instantly.  ”No!  No, fuck, God, no, it’s—”  He sighed again, clearly frustrated with himself, and Merlin chewed his bottom lip, waiting.  ”I know you’re gay, and of course it’s not a bloody problem, you idiot.  That wasn’t—he didn’t say it like that, he…”  Arthur huffed angrily, shaking his head.  ”He made it out like it was some big problem, like it was a horrible thing, like you were…”  Merlin didn’t miss the way Arthur paused to swallow before continuing.  ”He acted like you were less for it, like—like you weren’t easily worth a million of his sorry arse.  So I hit him.”

Merlin stared, dumbfounded and more than a little speechless, though he wasn’t quite sure what shocked him more—the idea of Arthur getting into a fight over such a comment, or the idea of Arthur getting into a fight over him.  Sure, the part of him that had admittedly been a little desperately in love with Arthur for years was all but swooning, but the rest of him was simply having difficulty processing the notion.

Merlin looked down, belatedly noticing the bruised knuckles on Arthur’s hand and blinking.  ”You…”  He looked back up to Arthur again, his thoughts finally settling into little more than confusion.  ”Arthur—I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m touched and all that, but—I’ve gotten loads of crap from loads of people for years over being gay.  Why would you suddenly pick a fight over it?”

Arthur glanced back up to him at that, suddenly looking far too vulnerable for someone who just punched a bloke for a rude comment.  ”It just—”  Arthur shifted uncomfortably as he looked away again.  ”Because he deserved it,” he said shortly.  ”Look, Merlin, just drop it, all right?”

Merlin felt a large twinge of annoyance at that.  Of course he wasn’t about to bloody well drop it, because Arthur’s refusal to talk about the matter made it about a hundred times more confusing.  Arthur sidestepped him properly this time, walking out of the bathroom, but Merlin followed close behind.  ”You just punched a teammate of yours for insulting me, you prat!  How thick can you get?  I don’t understand why it was such a big deal, and what if they kick you off the team?  Then what?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur growled warningly.

“No, no, I’m not going to shut up, Merlin, because at the very least, you owe me an explanation for why it was so important to sort him out!”

Arthur stopped short at that and spun around, but Merlin was so close on his heels that he all but walked straight into Arthur’s broad form.  His breath should have caught in his chest, then, at the way Arthur’s hand instantly fisted in the back of Merlin’s shirt to keep him from stepping out of Arthur’s space—and Merlin was sure he would have said something to Arthur, something really snarky and just provocative enough to get Arthur to finally talk, but any chance for that was cut off along with Merlin’s thoughts as Arthur’s lips suddenly descended on his, hot and surprisingly soft and just a little desperate.

“Mmf,” Merlin said in surprise against Arthur’s mouth.  His heart was pounding in his ears as Arthur’s lips moved insistently against Merlin’s own; Arthur’s grip on him was as good as a starving man finally within reach of food, and after a brief moment during which Merlin needed to assure himself that this was, in fact, reality (albeit a confusing one), Merlin found the sanity to kiss him back eagerly, hands sliding up behind Arthur’s neck.

Merlin could feel the way Arthur’s heartbeat sped up at that, shivered as Arthur’s hands released his shirt and slid down to his hips to pull him closer, and he found himself letting out a helpless moan as Arthur’s tongue pushed into his mouth soon after, hesitant and then very much not at all.  He slid his fingers into Arthur’s hair as they kissed fiercely, and Merlin only had the coherency to wonder exactly how long this would continue and hope that it was a very, very long time.

Arthur finally broke away, breathing heavily against Merlin’s lips as he tentatively rested their foreheads together and swallowed.  Merlin’s eyes opened slowly, and only then did everything seem to properly fall into place in his head, from Arthur’s reaction to the insult right down to the way Arthur’s fingers were digging into Merlin’s sides through his shirt.

“I’m in love with you, you absolute idiot,” Arthur breathed.

Merlin swallowed, licking his lips and faintly tasting the blood from Arthur’s cut as he stared, finding his own breath equally short as he stammered, “O-Oh.”

Arthur’s eyes opened as well, and he pulled back a few inches to look at Merlin properly, his gaze nervous.  ”If that’s… erm… going to be a problem, I can—move out, or—”

Merlin pulled him close for another long kiss before that train of thought could go any further.  He pulled back with a small smile a minute later to match the one growing on Arthur’s lips as he whispered simply, “I’ll get ice for your hand.”

Merlin loved animals, even to the point where he volunteered his time at the local animal shelter most weekends.  He was the first to encourage the adoption of the many strays that roamed the streets of London, but the small, rather obscenely fluffy dog chewing on the corner of the sofa reminded him a little too much of Will’s vicious old dog, Sally, who’d once tackled him to the ground before stealing his ice cream.

“Arthur,” Merlin began warily, “I’m not sure if—”

“Oh, come on, Merlin,” Arthur scoffed, hands shoved into his trouser pockets.  ”You’re a bloody activist for this sort of thing, aren’t you? How could you possibly be opposed to keeping her—him—her?”

Merlin frowned as the little white puppy moved on to the next piece of furniture she could find, eagerly clamping her mouth onto the edge of the antique coffee table in their living room, stubby tail shaking eagerly back and forth as if she’d manage a particularly difficult catch.  ”I’m more of a cat person,” Merlin mumbled as he cringed.  He could see the teeth marks already. 

“Merlin,” Arthur repeated, voice dragging out high and pleading.  Merlin tore his gaze away from the dog as Arthur’s arms wrapped around his waist, his chin settling on Merlin’s shoulder.  ”I’ll feed her myself, and I’ll clean up after her, and I’ll love you forever, and—”

“You’ll already love me forever,” Merlin countered lightly, but he couldn’t help the small flare of warmth in his chest at Arthur’s persistence.  He watched as the puppy grew tired of its expensive plaything, instead taking to sniffing about the floor and eventually over to Merlin’s feet, where she gave a happy little huff and licked his pinky toe.

A small giggle erupted from Merlin, unbidden, and Arthur’s grip tightened on his waist.  ”C’mon,” he murmured in Merlin’s ear.  ”She’s adorable.  And she’ll learn to be good.”

Merlin sighed as the fluffy thing nosed at his ankle, finally leaning down and scratching her lightly behind her ear.  ”She is rather sweet,” he admitted with a tiny smile.

Arthur gave a whoop of excitement behind him, instantly dropping to his knees and reaching out to rub the dog’s back vigorously.  ”Hear that, girl?  You’re gonna be the newest Pendragon!”

“Though not the softest,” Merlin snorted.  He glanced up at Arthur again.  ”I’m not getting up early every morning to walk her.  You know that, right?”

Arthur grinned wordlessly in response, throwing his arms around Merlin to drag him in for a kiss.

Once wasn’t enough.  It was never enough, never could have been enough no matter what Arthur told himself—not when it was like this.  Not when Merlin was like this, and not when loving Merlin was like fire in Arthur’s veins, as if the heavens themselves could shred to pieces for the sheer force of it.

And Arthur had thought that was all Merlin wanted: just once. One night of gasped breaths and desperate kisses until they both found themselves lost in each other—and Arthur had told himself it could be enough.

Oh, and Arthur should have seen this coming, absolutely should have seen it coming, because now Merlin was here at Arthur’s door in the middle of the night, and one glimpse of those eyes was enough to crumble Arthur’s resolve to pieces.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmured. His chest hurt, and something dangerously close to hope was beginning to climb its way into his throat. “What are you—”

“You’re an idiot if you thought I was ever letting you go,” Merlin breathed. Then all at once it was Merlin’s lips on his, Arthur’s hands finding Merlin’s hair, and Merlin’s arms around him impossibly tight, as if he was worried a thing so precious might dissolve into thin air if he didn’t cling to it, close and warm.

So Arthur held on.

tags: #CRYING A LITTLE BIT BECAUSE THIS IS MY FIC OMG THIS IS MY FIC #CAITLIN DID A PODFIC OF MY FIC #SCREAMING A LOT #iamsleeping #my writing #I LOVE CAITLIN A LOT #CAITLIN IS LOVELY #AND WONDERFUL #AND PERFECT #AND JUST #C A I T L I N

Podfic: “BOUNDARIES” (NC17) 

Author: brolininthetardis/suchgreatheights (AO3)

Reader: iamsleeping/caitcupcake (LJ)

Characters/Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Length: 00:56:40

Summary: It had been four months with Arthur now. Four months of Merlin slowly easing into things again, figuring out how to let someone back into his heart, but carefully avoiding eye contact as he tiptoed around the physical with quick, flighty steps. Four months of kissing, cuddling, and occasionally wandering hands—but nothing more.

Warnings: Reference to past sexual abuse

Link: MP3 DOWNLOAD

Notes: MADE AS A GIFT FOR STEPHANIE! I beta’d this fic so I know it well but this was my first ever attempt at a podfic and it only took about 90 minutes so it isn’t professional-quality. Apologies if you can hear my laptop but apparently Macs are awkward bastards when it comes to using an input-mic (at least, mine is).

Fic: Boundaries 

(Trigger warning: Reference to past sexual abuse.)

Sometimes, Merlin could still feel it.  He could still feel the fingers digging unwelcome bruises into his hips, the hand yanking painfully at his hair, and the deep, resounding ache within him, splitting him open from the inside out, in both mind and body.  He could hear the drunken snarling in his ear, the grunts and gasps that brought stinging tears to his eyes.  He could still taste the blood on his lip, and the smell of alcohol still made him sick to his stomach with memories.

It was for those reasons that Merlin came with a certain set of… boundaries.  Hesitations.  Tendencies to put off anything physically serious, because he was only just learning to overcome the instinct to shrink back from any offered touch.  That was when he met Arthur.

By now, Arthur knew about Cedric.  That is, he knew Merlin had been in a relationship with a man who drank too much and cared too little, who fucked Merlin even when Merlin didn’t want him to, and who passed out and sometimes didn’t even remember why Merlin flinched away from his touch and winced in pain the next morning.  

(But Merlin knew that sometimes he did.  Sometimes Cedric did remember, and he said nothing, and in the end, that was what finally drove Merlin to leave with the realisation that things were never going to get better.)

Arthur had been aware of all of that, back when they had only known each other for a couple of months; back when they were just friends who liked getting coffee and who made each other laugh, and whose glances and touches perhaps lingered longer than was strictly necessary.  Arthur had known it when he made some pathetic attempts at courting Merlin with awkward stammers and casually-bestowed gifts (Gwen called them tokens of affection, but that was rather over-the-top), and he had known it the evening he burst into Merlin’s flat, inelegantly declaring that he wanted to take Merlin out to dinner like on a proper date, not some bloody two-hour coffee break.

Arthur had always known what kind of baggage he was signing up for—and yet, he seemed to want Merlin regardless of it.

It had been four months with Arthur now.  Four months of Merlin slowly easing into things again, figuring out how to let someone back into his heart, but carefully avoiding eye contact as he tiptoed around the physical with quick, flighty steps.  Four months of kissing, cuddling, and occasionally wandering hands—but nothing more.

(Read at AO3)

(TW: Vivid reference to self-harm; shame)

Arthur had never mentioned Merlin’s scars.

They were faded, but Merlin knew they were still perfectly visible. They were still very much there, and if he was honest, maybe they still screamed a little too loudly; visual reminders that enjoyed mocking him, even after the number of years that had passed since he had painted his skin with them.

If he was honest, maybe he still thought twice before stripping down around anyone else, even after all this time. If he was honest, maybe the marks on his legs had prevented things from moving forward with Arthur for longer than Merlin cared to admit; too afraid of watching Arthur’s eyes trail down his body and zero in on past failures, laid right out on his skin like an essay of reasons Arthur shouldn’t want him.

That hadn’t happened. In fact, the first time Arthur’s hands had dragged at his clothes until there was nothing but heat left between their bodies, nothing had happened at all except Arthur pressing him down into the sheets and mumbling filthy promises mixed with loving endearments until Merlin had lost himself completely in a rush of ecstasy.

But even now, Merlin couldn’t help waiting for it. Every time they fell into bed together, every time Arthur licked and bit his way down Merlin’s body, every time Arthur’s hands skated along Merlin’s thighs—Merlin would hold his breath, just for a few seconds, and wait. Wait for Arthur to pull away in disgust and shock, wait for him to yank his hands away from Merlin’s skin as if it had burned him.

But today, just like every other day, Arthur only held him close like he always did as Merlin came, shuddering against him, wrapped in the fine sheets of Arthur’s bed as soft morning light danced across the surfaces of the room. (It was a Saturday. Arthur was a fan of morning sex on Saturdays, and Merlin was a fan of spending Friday nights at Arthur’s.)

(Read at AO3)

Day In, Day Out 

A week in the life of Merlin and Arthur; in which Arthur’s job is stressful, Merlin’s hobbies are demanding, both of them make time for each other regardless, and—most importantly—Merlin is Arthur’s favorite person in the world.

On Sunday, it rains.

Arthur likes the rain.  Or rather, he likes the result of rainy days, when he stays inside in the dry warmth of the flat with Merlin.  Merlin, he thinks, loves the rain itself.  Right now he’s sitting in the window seat, long legs stretched down the length of the bench; he tends to do that when the drops fall heavy and the rumble of thunder rolls gently through the flat, because rain puts Merlin in one of those moods where he talks a lot less and thinks a lot more.  Arthur doesn’t mind, although he admittedly grows a little restless when the flat is this still and quiet while they’re both home, because it always leaves him with the uneasy feeling that something is wrong.

He walks over to the seat and lowers himself down opposite Merlin, gently lifting Merlin’s legs so he can seat himself underneath them and place Merlin’s feet in his lap.  Merlin looks up as Arthur sits, a smile already blooming across his features.  It’s not one of Merlin’s big, goofy smiles; it’s a more reserved smile, a quiet smile, an intimate smile saved just for Arthur.

“Hi,” Merlin says softly.  “I was just thinking about you.”

Arthur rubs Merlin’s ankle in his lap absentmindedly. His own lips curve into a small grin.  “Oh?”

Merlin nods, looking back out at the rain.  “Yeah.  Our first kiss.”

(Read at AO3)

A Lesson In ‘Shut Up, Merlin’ 

Merlin wouldn’t say he was hopelessly in love, by any means—only that he had spent the better part of the last year and a half a little bit infatuated with Arthur, and perhaps jumped with a bit too much enthusiasm when Arthur had asked, a couple of months earlier, if Merlin wanted to come along with him and his friends to the cinema after school.

Despite Merlin’s embarrassing initial instincts (which followed somewhere along the lines of Oh God Arthur is talking to me and Don’t throw up and At least breathe enough to say yes, you idiot), he had apparently made a decent enough impression to be invited along again after that—and again, and again, until eventually their time spent together had narrowed to just the two of them.

They were sitting on the floor of Arthur’s bedroom now, listening to music at a low volume while Arthur chatted away mindlessly.  Merlin listened—or, at least, he was aware of Arthur’s voice, but he was much more focused on trying not to let his gaze remain fixed on Arthur’s mouth for long periods of time.

“D’you wanna kiss me?”

Merlin’s eyes snapped back up to Arthur’s at the words.  He had no idea what Arthur had been talking about a second earlier, but he was sure he had imagined that last sentence.  Arthur, however, was watching Merlin with innocently raised eyebrows, as if waiting for a response.

“I—What?” Merlin asked, flustered.

“I said, do you want to kiss me?” and no, Merlin had not imagined it, because there it was again, voiced so casually that Arthur could have been asking him if he was hungry.  Suddenly Merlin’s face was feeling much hotter, and any words that he could have possibly mustered at that moment were caught in his throat anyway, leaving him staring in open-mouthed shock before finally stammering,

“Why would—O-Of course not, what makes you think—”

“It’s okay,” Arthur said reassuringly, and in a much gentler voice than Merlin would have thought him capable of.  What was left of his heart dissolved quickly into a useless, quivering puddle as Arthur reached out to tug gently on his arm, urging him closer and speaking softly.  “I wanna kiss you too.  C’mere.”

Merlin went, because the little butterflies dancing in his stomach made him powerless to resist Arthur even if he wanted to—though as it happened, he really, really, really didn’t want to.

Arthur’s grip loosened as Merlin settled beside him on the floor.  His lips—his lips, his perfect, pretty lips which he had just voluntarily offered to press against Merlin’s—quirked into a smile, easy and genuine as he slid a hand behind Merlin’s neck and pulled him forward.  Merlin managed a shaky exhale and felt the heat of his own breath come back to him as it hit Arthur’s lips, and before he could form another coherent thought, Arthur’s eyes fell shut and he closed the remaining distance between them.

There was too much nose in the way and not enough air in between their mouths and never in Merlin’s life had teeth seemed so inconvenient, but even those embarrassments paled in comparison to the way Merlin found himself utterly frozen as Arthur’s lips met his own.  He only barely remembered to close his eyes, and as Arthur’s lips moved over his, Merlin’s mind seemed to short-circuit completely.  Long moments passed, and still he found himself quite unable to process what was happening quickly enough to do anything but sit there, shocked into useless stillness as Arthur’s mouth tried in vain to nudge some life back into Merlin’s lips.

It was awkward.

(Read at AO3)

“Bradley—Bradley, get off.”

Bradley huffed a laugh against the skin of Colin’s neck and pulled back slightly to nose at his jaw.  ”Nah,” he mumbled.  ”I’m rather enjoying you this way.”

Colin sighed, exasperated, but tilted his head back as he sank his fingers into Bradley’s hair.  ”They’re going to catch us.  Again.”  He gasped as Bradley bit gently at his pulse point before licking over the skin soothingly.

“Let them,” Bradley muttered, shifting his weight to pin Colin against the wall as he threaded his fingers into Colin’s hair.  He grasped and tugged gently, urging Colin’s head back a little farther as his lips latched onto the long, pale length of Colin’s neck again.

Colin let out something embarrassingly close to a whine as Bradley bit and sucked his way along the skin, wondering why these moods seemed to come out of nowhere at the very worst of times.  A better question may have been why Colin was so quick to give in when Bradley acted like this, but he was having a hard time focusing on anything right now outside of the lips trailing down his neck, the teeth nipping at his skin, and the tongue swiping out to taste, over and over again, hot and wet enough to make Colin forget everything else.

Bradley finally darted up to steal a kiss—two, three—from Colin’s lips before pulling away altogether and stepping back, apparently satisfied at the wrecked state in which he was leaving Colin.  Colin reached up immediately to comb desperate fingers through his own hair, willing it to lie flat enough to pass for not having had Bradley’s hands running through it and tugging at it for the past fifteen minutes.

Bradley snorted as he watched.  ”Relax, Col.  It’ll be fine.”  Colin simply shot him a halfhearted glare, but couldn’t keep his lips entirely free of a smile as he noticed the mussed state of Bradley’s hair, as well.

“You really are a prat sometimes, you know that?” Colin said, his voice devoid of any real bite.

Bradley grinned.  ”Thought that was why you loved me,” he said as Colin began to walk past him.  He reached out and wrapped his hand around Colin’s elbow just before Colin could get away, tugging him close again to whisper in his ear.

“And I’m sure your scarf will cover up that mark on your neck, anyway.”

Colin’s eyes widened, his hand flying up to his neck as Bradley turned and walked away.  His fingers skated along until they found a particularly tender spot, and Colin winced slightly as he dug gently into what was sure to be a rapidly darkening bruise.

The make-up girls were going to hate him.

—

(gif by onceplusfuture)

Arthur was standing in the snow, a red scarf wrapped snug around his neck and his hands buried deep in his pockets.  His breath came in soft white puffs as he beamed up at Merlin from where he stood on the front step, all rosy cheeks and bouncing on his heels to fight the chill of the night.

Merlin hadn’t seen him look so beautiful since that midwinter night in Camelot—the one that, now, in the dim London glow, felt like little more than a dream.

“I knew I’d find you again,” Arthur breathed before stepping forward and capturing Merlin’s lips with his own.

Like Home 

Take me by the tongue, and I’ll know you.
Kiss me ‘til you’re drunk, and I’ll show you…

Merlin set down his drink at the bar as he scanned the club around him.  He knew it was silly, even ridiculous, to expect to find what he was looking for here, but he’d felt drawn to this place—drawn in that familiar, hopeful way he could never begin to explain.

If the hum of the song blaring through the room was drawing him out into the crowd of people, Merlin wasn’t fighting it.  He closed his eyes and let the light buzz of alcohol wash over him, let the pulsing bass settle in his chest and flow through his body, let that intangible tug guide him wherever it pleased.

Hands of strangers slid along his sides briefly as he moved aimlessly, but he ignored them.  He went easily as the crowd around him jostled him this way and that, and finally he opened his eyes, feeling a warmth settle over him that had nothing to do with the thick, stifling air of the room.  

Merlin frowned slightly, waiting for his head to stop spinning at the flashing lights above him and ignoring the men and women slithering against each other all around him.  Then there was someone in front of him, blond hair and broad shoulders, facing away from Merlin, and without quite meaning to, he reached out until his hand found the man’s shoulder.

The man turned to face him, blue eyes darkened with something Merlin couldn’t identify, and Merlin’s hand slid down until it reached the center of his back, pressing him in close.  He came easily to Merlin and their gazes locked, suddenly and with no intention of shifting anytime soon, causing Merlin to suck in a deep breath to fight the dizzy, heady feeling threatening to swallow him whole.

I don’t need to try to control you;
Look into my eyes and I’ll own you…

Merlin looped his arms loosely around the man’s neck as a pair of hands settled, firm and warm, on Merlin’s waist.  Merlin let him take control and guide Merlin so their bodies moved together, and a light shiver ran through him as those hands slid to his hips and dragged him closer.  At that, Merlin looked away, feeling all at once overwhelmed at the intensity of the blue eyes opposite him, and instead dropped his forehead onto the man’s shoulder.  The man’s grip on Merlin’s hips only tightened, coaxing them into the same rhythm as his own as they moved to the music.

The warmth of the alcohol coursing through him was nothing compared to the heat of the man’s breath mingling with his own or the burn of the man’s eyes, still focused on him even after Merlin had to look away.  Merlin’s controlled demeanor was already slipping, his breath hitching as the other man’s hips began pushing against his own again and again.

Then fingers were curling around his wrist and the man was pulling away from him, and Merlin barely had time to open his eyes before he was being tugged roughly through the crowd.  He followed wordlessly, slightly dazed, and soon he was slipping through a door in the back of a club into a dim, empty alleyway behind the building; he soon found himself pinned against the bricks as a hot mouth descended on his own, and he curled his fingers into the man’s shirt and kissed back without hesitation.

Merlin once again let him take over, parting his lips to slide his tongue against the one demanding entrance.  He sighed as the man licked into his mouth insistently, winding his fingers into Merlin’s hair and tilting Merlin’s head back for better access as he stole every breath and swallowed every moan escaping Merlin’s throat. 

Then his free hand was roaming lower down Merlin’s body until it was pressing against the swell in Merlin’s jeans, and Merlin groaned as his head fell against the wall behind him, the bricks still vibrating dully with the thrum of life inside the club.  The man began stroking lightly, too much and nowhere near enough all at once, and Merlin arched desperately into the touch, only to receive a soft laugh in response.

“Should’ve known,” the man murmured into his ear, and Merlin very nearly lost it as the man slid down Merlin’s body to kneel on the ground, pushing a hand underneath Merlin’s shirt and kissing the skin of his stomach as he thumbed open Merlin’s jeans.

Nothing, Merlin decided, could have quite prepared him for the feeling of the man’s mouth closing around him only moments later, hot and sure, or the way he peered up at Merlin through blond lashes as he began working his mouth steadily on Merlin’s cock without hesitation.  Broken moans tore from Merlin’s throat as the man licked and sucked noisily, and Merlin wasn’t going to last long like this, with bright blue eyes focused on him as if waiting to see him come apart, a flush high on the man’s cheeks as he palmed himself through his own jeans while he sucked.

Merlin sank his fingers into soft blond hair and it only encouraged the man further, prompting him to swallow around Merlin’s cock, and that was it, Merlin knew couldn’t hold on any longer; he fisted his hand in the man’s hair, trying to warn him to pull away, but instead of sliding off, the man remained firmly where he was, swallowing around Merlin yet again.

Merlin came with a gasp and a shudder seconds later, his hand going limp in the man’s hair, and it wasn’t until he’d swallowed down all Merlin gave him that the man finally slid off.  Merlin dragged him up, bringing their faces level again and capturing his lips in a sloppy kiss, chasing the taste of himself around the man’s mouth.

He felt limp and practically boneless, but it didn’t stop him from shifting his thigh to press between the other man’s legs.  The man let out something like a whine, his face dropping to the curve of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin curled his fingers around the man’s hips, slotting their bodies together more firmly and encouraging him to move.

“Come on,” Merlin murmured as their hips grinded together, and the man responded by rutting steadily against Merlin, small groans escaping him with every movement.  “Come on, that’s it, come on…”

Desperate hands fisted into Merlin’s shirt as Merlin continued coaxing, his mouth pressed against the shell of the man’s ear, until the man finally came with a groan, waves of shudders wracking his body until he collapsed against Merlin.  Merlin stroked a hand down his back, feeling the dampness of the sweat beneath his shirt, and they worked to catch their breaths, eventually sinking together to the ground.

“Of all the places to finally find you again,” Merlin panted after a few minutes, closing his eyes, “I really didn’t expect it to be a place like this.”

He heard a light huff of laughter and a mumble of Took you long enough before warm arms wrapped around him and pulled him close, and Merlin dropped his head to rest on the man’s chest, sighing.  He felt something age-old slot into place within him, followed by the overwhelming sense of coming home.

“Missed you, Arthur,” Merlin murmured.  He breathed in Arthur’s scent, reveling in the familiarity of it; time and time again, unfailingly, Arthur always smelled the same.

Arthur’s grip on him tightened and Merlin thought he felt him let out a tiny, contented sigh.  ”I’ve missed you too, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, dropping a kiss to Merlin’s hair.