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As court magician, Merlin has saved Camelot from innumerable dangers. He's undeniably powerful, bright and strong and confident, his magic running ever through him like a sharp current of electricity. Arthur is hard pressed to say when he loves Merlin the most, but it might be when he's like this, his eyes nearly liquid with gold, his long fingers graceful as they trace shimmering patterns into the air beside his throne. Merlin turns to him, alight with it all, and catches his eye with a smile that will never be for anyone else.
It hurts a little, the beauty of it. Merlin isn't fragile; he's had Arthur splayed out and open on his bed, pinned with only a thought. He's stood down armies, the forces of nature, and beasts the like of which have only been seen in storybooks. He's done all of it so easily that it makes Arthur's breath catch in his throat, and yet Merlin is thin as a leaf, slight and soft and after all, only a man. It twists Arthur's stomach to think of how a single, well-placed blow could fell Merlin, and he thinks of it often.
On the day when Merlin wades into a sea of poisoned arrows to drag Arthur free of an ambush, Arthur decides he's had enough. They're back home, having their usual audience with the court to prove that the King is unharmed and unfazed, though truly he's anything but. Merlin is his usual combination of light and thoughtful, his fingers catching on the corner of a map as he discusses boundary security and magical fortifications.
"Will it hold while you sleep?" Sir Leon asks curiously, and Merlin grins and nods. Arthur sighs and resists the urge to rub his temples, tired and frustrated and still not quite able to keep from reaching for Merlin to check him again for injuries.
Once the court finally disperses for the night, Merlin is quick to follow. Apparently already expecting the usual lecture, he's almost to he doorway when Arthur tells him to wait.
"Sire?" he says in his usual, slightly mocking way, and Arthur is so tired of pretending that everything's all right that he throws himself out of his throne so hard that it skids back against the cobblestones with a screech. He advances toward Merlin in a cold rage, close enough to intimidate, then closer still, until Merlin is squeaking, back pressed solidly against the stone wall.
"It's cold," he says reproachfully, and seeing Arthur's stormy face adds, "What? You're being a bully."
"You could've been killed," he says, and it comes out low and dark through his tightly gritted teeth.
Merlin glances down at where their chests are nearly brushing. "It's not like I've never seen a battle before. I've fought beside you loads of times."
"No," Arthur says harshly. "You're not taking me seriously. This isn't a trifle. You- look at me, he snarls, and before Merlin can say anything he's pushing him back, hard. Merlin yelps as Arthur's chest connects solidly with his, forcing him back against the wall. "You never listen," Arthur says, and his voice is suddenly soft, but his whole body is pressed menacingly against Merlin's. He's so close that he could almost catch Merlin's full lower lip between his teeth. He doesn't.
Merlin's eyes are flashing angrily, but they're still blue. "I saved you," he replies harshly. "Yeah, we've talked about this before, but I'm never not going to save you, you complete git." He pushes ineffectually at Arthur, but he's the lesser in both weight and leverage, and Arthur stops the grappling by easily gathering up Merlin's wrists in one hand and forcing them up above his head, the smooth jut of his wrist bones pressed tight against the stone.
"You were foolish," he says softly, and shoves roughly with his shoulders, feeling, more than hearing Merlin's gasp. "Why do you do it?" he asks, running his free hand through his hair in a sharp, frustrated motion.
Merlin shivers, and Arthur feels it run through his body where's he's pressed along the length of his torso. He'd meant this to be threatening, but he can't help but shift so Merlin's legs are caught between his thighs, feeling his hips as twin points of sharp contact just above Arthur's. It always surprises him to remember that Merlin's a little taller than him, but he more than makes up for it in bulk.
"Why do I- are you being serious?" Merlin struggles to free his wrists, his hair shifted over his eyes in that way that he hates, but Arthur stills them easily and reaches to brush back the dark mess of hair with his own hand. Merlin sighs into the touch, and Arthur feels his knees buckle a bit. He crowds closer, sharply aware of the drag of Merlin's torso against his own.
"Look," Merlin says, "I know we don't normally talk about this stuff, but it may not have escaped your notice that I'm rather fond of you."
Yes, the nights they've shared, so many that they now all run together into a glorious haze of fucking, and talking, and holding and sometimes laughing, more than prove Merlin's fondness.
Arthur exhales slowly, leaning forward to tuck his nose in alongside Merlin's. "It terrifies me to see you out there," he admits, quietly.
Merlin laughs sharply, his breath warm on Arthur's lips. "You can hardly order me to stay locked away, just because it's safer. I should know, I often wish I could ask the same of you." He shifts and gazes at Arthur through half lidded eyes, his slickly parted mouth begging shamelessly to be kissed, and after three years of this, two of them spent as the sort of king who nobody except Merlin ever orders around, he still can't resist. He leans into it, Merlin's lips warm against his own, easily opening against the pressure of his tongue. It's good, almost too good, the contrast of soft, just-licked lips and rough evening stubble. Merlin's kisses are always capable of doing this to him, of unwinding the tension that coils through him as he sits upon his throne and thinks of Camelot all through the day.
"My arms hurt," Merlin says, trying once more to pull at his imprisoned wrists. "If you let go, I'll do something filthy with them."
Arthur considers, but doesn't loosen his grip. "I think not," he says smoothly, "I think you like it like this."
Merlin flushes, and all right, after three years Arthur's still capable of that, so he's not completely hopeless. "Okay," Merlin says slowly, "Maybe I do." He twists his hips sinuously, and Arthur feels the warm weight of his erection pressing against his inner thigh.
"You know," Merlin says, "If you could just talk to me about things, we wouldn't have to have these fights. We could just lay in bed and have loads of sex, and you wouldn't have to look at me like you're all old and weary."
"Old?" Arthur says disbelievingly. "Weary?" He tightens his hold on Merlin's wrists, waiting for Merlin's pleased little squeak. "But if it's talking you want, okay." Abruptly, he looses his hold on Merlin. "Keep them there," he says, and Merlin nods and swallows, his arms still pressed against the stone above his head. Arthur licks his lips and draws slowly downward, his face skimming over Merlin's torso. He draws Merlin's shirt upward, pausing to lick a wet circle around his bellybutton that draws a sharp breath from him, his skin quivering slickly in the light.
Arthur forces Merlin's trousers down over his hips, blithely ignoring the popping seams and unraveling laces. He leaves them pooled around Merlin's ankles, trapping his legs.
"All right," he says silkily. "Lets talk." He gazes down at Merlin's erection, slick and aroused, and licks his lips. "I like you like this. I like being able to look at all of you, and touch you however I please." He reaches for Merlin's hips, digging his fingers into the soft flesh until his knuckles brush the wall. "I like seeing you hard and wanting like this. Wanting me." His mouth is very close to Merlin's cock, now, and he can almost feel the way his breaths tickle the soft, slick head. He licks along the slit, slow and curious, and Merlin's head hits the wall with a dull thump.
"I like the noises you make when I take you in my mouth," Arthur says, his voice already going low and hoarse, and Merlin whimpers unashamedly. His hands are still above his head, white with tension as he presses his nails into his palms, and though Arthur's usually the sort to muffle his groans and mutter incoherently, he's suddenly enjoying this talking thing quite a bit. He licks over and around the head of Merlin's cock again, the drag of his tongue slow and savoring.
"I- I want you," Merlin says, and he sounds wrecked already. Arthur knows then that this is going to be unbelievably good.
"You want me how?" he asks innocently, leaning to bite at Merlin's thighs.
Merlin shudders, the tremor running all through his body, and when he speaks his voice is almost uncertain. The words are still clear. "Your mouth. Suck me."
"Of course," Arthur says pleasantly, and wraps his mouth around Merlin's cock, his tongue dragging along the soft underside as he sucks down the length of it. It's something he was and still is shocked to realize that he likes, the feel of the soft skin over the solid hardness of Merlin's erection. It's not like Arthur's seen many pricks to compare it to, but he thinks the long, pale hardness of Merlin's cock is surprisingly beautiful, just like the rest of him.
Merlin moans from above him, a drawn out sound that echoes in the tight press of his hips as Arthur's nails score half moon bruises into his skin. "I'm sorry," Merlin presses out breathlessly, adding "Oh, yes, just there." His thighs tense against Arthur's shoulders and Arthur sucks a little harder.
"I'm sorry," Merlin says again, and god, he's going to talk right through this. "It makes me crazy, seeing you out there where you could get killed," he babbles, the words a little higher than his usual pitch. "I guess- oh god -I didn't think of how I make you feel the same way." His knees look dangerously close to giving way, and Arthur leans against him, holding him steady with his shoulders as he speeds up a little, feeling Merlin's cock throb against his tongue.
It's intoxicating, seeing Merlin splayed out against the wall like this. He could throw Arthur off him in a heartbeat if he chose, his magic would make it easy for him to change their positions entirely. He could have Arthur pinned on this wall, could make him beg and submit to Merlin's every desire. Yet Merlin's hands are still held obediently above his head, though his shoulders must be tense and heavy by now, and he isn't doing anything but mewing as Arthur pulls slowly back, sucking his lips tight around the head of his cock for one last drag of his tongue before pulling off. Arthur looks up at him, flushed red and breathing swiftly, his shirt moving rapidly with his quivering chest.
He takes a moment to palm his own erection where it's rubbing a wet spot into his trousers, sucking slowly, filthily on his fingers in a demonstration of that which Merlin isn't ashamed to beg for.
"Please," he says, looking down at Arthur with something like awe. "Please do it."
"Merlin, you're got to learn to be specific," he says matter-of-factly, and without any further warning his slick fingers are pressing into Merlin's body, two together at a steady, unrelenting pace. "Take them in," he says, suddenly warm and velvet-toned. "You can do it, take them in." He adds a third finger, too soon and too hard, but Merlin gasps the sort of open, filthy moan that means it's good and spreads his legs as far as the tangled trousers will allow. Arthur can feel him relaxing, making room for the fingers that curve and press inside him, and he's suddenly breathless with the realization that Merlin trusts him so. His reactions are unhesitating, firmly convinced that Arthur will care for him, and there's nothing that Arthur wants more.
"Have you any slick?" he asks, and presses at that small, precise spot that makes Merlin bear down into his touch and sob filthy praise.
"Pocket," he manages, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his cheek against the wall. "Hurry."
Arthur feels for it, taking the excuse to draw his hands slowly down the length of one long, lightly muscled leg. He keeps the motion of his fingers in Merlin constant, pressing up into him as he squirms and gasps.
There's a little vial in Merlin's pocket, and he looks up at him with a raised eyebrow.
"I thought you'd be tense," Merlin says, a bit sheepishly, and Arthur can hardly argue with that.
"I'm going to fuck you now," he says smoothly, pleased that he's able to hide the hitch in his own breathing at the thought as he yanks down his own trousers.
Merlin quivers into his touch. "Bed?"
Arthur tilts his head a little, fumbling to open the vial one-handed. "No. I'm going to have you right here. You're going to come around my cock right here, in my audience hall, and you're going to remember it every night when you're supposed to be answering questions before the court. You're going to come so hard you forget your name, and you'll be rendered speechless every time you see this wall." He has the vial open now, and he tips the oil over his cock, wrapping a hand around himself to rub it in, then smearing the excess over Merlin's already dripping cock.
"Yeah," Merlin says breathlessly, "Okay," and Arthur pulls his fingers free and stands, dragging his slick cock against Merlin's as he rises. He leans in close, one hand caught just below the curve of Merlin's arse. "Wrap your legs around me," he says, and Merlin does, kicking off his trousers and hooking his ankles together around Arthur's waist.
For a moment it doesn't seem like it could possibly work, but then Arthur leans in and finds the right angle, his hips pinning Merlin to the wall, and he reaches to guide himself between Merlin's cheeks to where he is already slick and open. He slides in in one swift motion, still fighting to hold Merlin aloft, and then he's inside, pressed deeply into Merlin and gasping at the tight heat of it, reaching up to press the heel of his hand over Merlin's wrists and hold him aloft, and wrapping his other arm around Merlin, taking his weight.
Merlin is slack and silent with pleasure, his eyes wide and his mouth open and helpless as Arthur shifts a little on the hip that always gives him trouble, then begins to thrust, pulling away and then back toward Merlin as he sobs and arches into it.
Arthur sets a swift, brutal pace, dragging in and almost entirely out, angling himself to hit the spot that has Merlin babbling praise into his ear and biting at him hard enough that he can feel the deep teeth-marks pressed into the side of his neck.
"More," Merlin manages, and it's not a question. He thrusts harder, the slick noise of his cock sliding in and out sounding obscenely loud in the echoing chamber. Merlin's hips are hitching into it uncontrollably, aiding him in the frenzied pace of his thrusts. He wants it to last forever, just the two of them pressed together and sweating and sobbing in time with the rhythm of Arthur's hips and Merlin's clenching muscles. If only loving Merlin could just be this, just holding him here and covering his too slender body, hiding it away from the world and everything else that would hurt him.
Arthur's legs are cramping with the effort of holding him aloft, and his arm is nearly numb, but he'd do anything to make this moment last, to drag out the sound of Merlin brokenly whispering his name as he slides in and out of this slick heat that is only his, only for him. His face is suddenly wet, and he realizes distantly that it's from tears, his own tears. Merlin's eyes are wet too, he notices, and then he's coming inside him, frantically reaching an awkward arm across Merlin's stomach to wrap his hand around his cock and pull his orgasm from him with a gasp that sounds as though it's ripped out of him. It's too much, too thick and heavy and perfect, and Arthur's vision goes black for a moment, everything hazy and indistinct.
He hears a thud, distantly, and realizes that he's sore and his bare arse is against something very cold. Blinking, he waits for his vision to clear, realizing belatedly that he's fallen to the floor, pulling Merlin with him. Merlin is still pressed along the length of him, sweaty and disheveled and absolutely perfect, his face streaked with tears and his mouth red and swollen.
"Come here," Merlin says gently, and reaches to cup his jaw, kissing him slowly and carefully. "I'm still here," he says softly, and somehow Arthur knows just what he means already, but he keeps talking anyway. "I'm here, and I'm safe, and I'm not going to go anywhere, all right? I'm going to stay safe, and so are you. We're going to be safe. It's our destiny, Arthur." His tone is warm, full of the love that Arthur sometimes glimpses and never quite knows how to illuminate.
"Okay," Arthur says thickly, and presses his sticky forehead against Merlin's, their slowing breathing matched, their hearts aligned as Merlin shifts over him and wraps his arms around his back, pulling him close even as he urges Arthur to relax against the floor. "I've got you," he says, soothingly. "I've always got you."
"I've got you, too," Arthur replies, filthy and exhausted and overflowing with love, and he knows that it's always true.