zinnith | Merlin fic: The Nights (Merlin/Arthur, NC-17)

Title: The Nights
Author: Zinnith
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~1500
Disclaimer: I own two computers and a coffee machine. And I'm still making payments for one of the computers. The coffee machine is all mine though!

Summary: Merlin, Arthur, and the nights they spend together.

Notes: Just trying my hand at a little bit of Merlin. As always, thank you

the_cephalopod for turning this into coherent English. Please be gentle, it's my first time...

There are the nights when Arthur is a prat. To be fair, he's a prat most of the time, but he can be a right bastard in bed. Everything always has to be a struggle with Arthur, nothing can ever be simple.

Like when he has Merlin on his back, both hands firmly pinned above his head, and a couple of oily fingers up his arse, driving him insane. Merlin turns his head on the pillow, clenching down and wanting more and deeper and faster, but Arthur just looks down at him with that cursed grin.

It took longer than expected for the both of them to end up in bed. That is, longer than other people expected. It wasn't until the fourth unsubtle hint from Gwen that Merlin realised that most of Camelot believed that the prince had been fucking his manservant since day one. Of course, Merlin had to tell Arthur, because he just can't seem to stop to think before he opens his mouth around the prince. He doesn't know what he expected, maybe for Arthur to laugh about it and for everything to go on like usual. Instead, Arthur's eyes turned strange and dark and before Merlin knew it, his back was pressed against the wall and Arthur was kissing him, deep and hungry, and Merlin just couldn't bring himself to say 'No' or 'Wait', or 'Could we at least talk about this?'

He hasn't regretted it, not really. Not after that first time, when Arthur backed him up against the bed, still kissing him, and made him come first in his trousers and then again in Arthur's hand and...well... Merlin stopped counting after that.

It's not that he's not enjoying himself, he just wishes Arthur would be a little less smug about it. Fine, he knows tricks that can make Merlin completely lose his mind and babble incoherent things, but that's really no reason for that damned grin. The worst of it all is that Merlin's completely helpless against it. Even though what he wants is to get out of Arthur's bed and walk away, to come back when Arthur is being less of a prat, he just can't seem to to do it.

So he stays. He lets Arthur continue with the teasing and the games until Merlin is certain he'll burst with frustration. He lets Arthur keep fingering him until he's begging, and then, when Arthur finally spreads his legs wider and slides into him, Merlin just takes it. His hands grip Arthur's broad shoulders, while Arthur moves in him. He's so close by then that it doesn't take long for him to come, warm and wet between their bodies, and then he lies back and waits for Arthur's own release.

It's always beautiful. For a short moment, Arthur's face goes soft, almost tender, and his fingers caress Merlin's cheek like he's someone special, like he matters.

The next moment, he's pulling out and rolling off. “You're changing the sheets tomorrow,” he says, lying back with that smug expressions still all over his face. “And my boots needs mending, and you'll have to muck out the stables.”

Merlin would like to reach out a hand to slap him, but he can't seem to find the energy. Instead, he presses his spent body up against Arthur's side and goes to sleep like that. Arthur always complains, but doesn't push him away.

* * *

Then there are the nights when Arthur is angry. It usually happens after he's had an argument with the king, and Merlin can tell the moment he walks through the door to his room what kind of night it's going to be.

Arthur sits down in his chair and orders Merlin around and nothing can possibly be good enough. His food tastes funny, his wine is the wrong kind, there's dust in the corners, and why hasn't Merlin washed the blue shirt that he wants to wear tomorrow?

”You said you wanted the red shirt,” Merlin says in a futile attempt to defend himself.

”I meant the blue shirt, you idiot! You really are the worst servant I've ever had.” It's not playful and teasing like it usually is, but meant to hurt. Merlin clenches his teeth and finishes his duties with his head bowed, carefully not meeting Arthur's eyes.

Arthur keeps watching him as he moves around the room, tidying up, putting out clothes for tomorrow, taking away the plates and goblets. When he's finished, Merlin straightens up and asks, ”Is there anything else you require, Sire?”

Arthur sits silent for a moment, as if carefully considering the question. Then he slides down a little in the chair and unlaces his trousers as he motions Merlin over. ”Come here. On your knees.”

He's not hard yet, but it doesn't take long for his cock to lengthen and start to fill with blood as Merlin leans over Arthur's lap and breathes hot air over the soft skin.

Arthur's hand curls around Merlin's neck, pulling him closer, and Merlin obediently opens his mouth to take Arthur's growing cock inside. He goes slowly at first, just licking around the head, light and teasing, knowing that Arthur expects him to make it good. Part of him wants to use a little teeth, wants Arthur to know what a precarious position he's really in, but so far he's never dared. Instead, Merlin takes his prince deeper, swallows around his shaft and feels Arthur's other hand come to rest on his temple, slowly pulling him off, only to press him down again, making him fuck Arthur's cock with his mouth.

Merlin wishes Arthur could ask for this instead of demand it. Tomorrow, he'll be quietly apologetic. He won't actually say he's sorry, but he'll invite Merlin to share his breakfast, and he'll steal touches and soft, tender kisses whenever he gets the chance.

When Arthur comes, he doesn't make a sound. The only thing preparing Merlin for his climax is the way his breath hitches, the way his body tenses up a little, and then Arthur pulses, hot and bitter down Merlin's throat.

Merlin swallows and then carefully licks Arthur clean and gently tucks him back into his trousers before he gets back to his feet. Arthur never lets Merlin touch him when he's in this mood, like just the whisper of Merlin's fingers against his skin would make him break apart.

Sometimes, Arthur will order Merlin to undress and stand naked in the middle of the floor, bringing himself off while Arthur watches with a blank, empty expression. But most of these nights end with Merlin returning to his room with his cock achingly stiff and leaking in his trousers.

Later, he jerks himself furiously with a fist stuffed into his mouth so Gaius won't hear him. As he comes, he curses Arthur Pendragon and whatever spell he's used to bind Merlin to him so tightly.

* * *

The nights Merlin likes best are the nights when Arthur is happy. When the day has been good and they've maybe shared a bottle of wine nicked from the king's private stock. When the tips of Arthur's ears are a little red, when he's relaxed and unguarded.

Those are the nights when he'll let Merlin take him to bed instead of the other way round. When he lies back, stretches out that tanned beautiful body in all its glory and lets Merlin touch him. Merlin always takes his time those nights. They are few and far between and he likes to get the most out of them.

Usually, Arthur is a talker, but now he's silent save for the breathless gasps and moans he makes as Merlin kisses the line of his collarbone, runs a finger along the elegant curve of his thigh just where it meets his buttocks. Arthur spreads his legs without prompting, offers himself up like the most precious gift ever given, and Merlin can never resist.

The nights when Arthur is happy makes it all worthwhile. Merlin can take anything as long as he can have this, have Arthur pliant and willing underneath him, watching him with half-closed eyelids and a little smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Every kiss is freely given and every touch accepted like this is completely right, like they're equals.

Merlin cherishes those nights; he reads Arthur's body with his fingers and commits every scar to memory while he moves slow and deep within him. It's like time stretches out until a single moment seems to last forever, like nothing exists except for their bodies sliding together, seeking pleasure in each other.

Those nights, Merlin goes to sleep with his lips pressed against Arthur's neck, smiling into his skin, looking forward to a long lazy morning together before Arthur has to slip his mask back on and become the crown prince of Camelot once again.

-fin-