|bewarethesmirk (bewarethesmirk) wrote,|
@ 2011-06-06 23:42:00
fic: the night is ours [merlin/arthur, pg-13]
Title: The Night is Ours
Summary: Merlin is sleeping soundly in the deep of a summer night when he is startled awake by a strong hand on his shoulder.
Author's Notes: Unbeated and cursorily glanced over, so please forgive any errors. I felt like returning to something cheesy and larger-than-life, larger-than-destiny, so here we are. Please let me know what you think, positive, concrit or some combination thereof.
Merlin is sleeping soundly in the deep of a summer night when he is startled awake by a strong hand on his shoulder. His body recognises the hand before he does, even though there's no way that's possible.
Only in dreams have those hands touched him more than casually.
"Merlin," Arthur says. "Wake your lazy arse up."
All Merlin can do is grunt through the haze of sleep. The sheets are sticking to his back and his hair is curling round his temples.
"What?" Merlin manages. Then he thinks of danger because this is Camelot and why else would Arthur be waking him at a ridiculous hour of night? He sits up straight in bed, more alert. "Is everything all right?"
The hand on Merlin's shoulder tightens and now he is truly startled because he didn't realise the warm weight of Arthur's hand was still there. It's comfortable and uneasy. His skin feels warm beneath Arthur's touch, even through the fabric of his shirt. He shivers.
"Yes, Merlin." Why Arthur should sound so exasperated is beyond Merlin. There's some kind of new danger at every turn, so why wouldn't Merlin expect it? "I want you to see something."
"What?" Merlin rubs sleep from his eyes. "Can't it wait till morning?"
"Shut up and get up." It sounds enough like an order–-and Merlin hates how he responds, like a fucking moth to light— that Merlin slumps out of bed and pulls on his trousers,, not even contemplating the fact that Arthur might be watching—is watching, if the burn on the back of Merlin's back means anything.
Arthur creeps out of the room and Merlin follows, perhaps a little too loudly. Gaius snuffles in his sleep but otherwise just rolls over in an anticlimactic lump. Though Merlin didn't do anything strictly wrong, Arthur, the bastard, doesn't pass up the chance to elbow him in the ribs.
They walk soundlessly through the close corridors of the castle, remnants of the day's heat lingering in the night, stale and heavy. Merlin's skin prickles in anticipation as he follows Arthur out of the castle. They pass knights but they do nothing. For all Merlin can tell, he and Arthur are either invisible or invincible.
Outside a cool breeze flutters through Merlin's hair and the moon shines gold, illuminating Arthur's hair white-gold and gorgeous. His skin is unworldly and Merlin can barely breathe, looking at him sideways, careful to stay a few strides behind. The sky is peppered with infinite stars, huge and small, and Merlin can feel in the night something shivering and powerful, something saying finally, now. He has no idea what it means, no idea what Arthur wants to show him, but the night curls around him, into him.
When Arthur, out of nowhere, diverges off the main path, Merlin follows without a word. They walk through a field of dandelions and low brush, the scent of sweet-smelling flowers in the air and then Arthur is turning round a huge tree and Merlin follows and—oh—then he is pushed against a tree so tall and wide it dwarfs all in its path.
The look in Arthur's eyes—it's something Merlin doesn't know—something frightening and wholly huge. Merlin wonders if Arthur has finally figured it out. His magic. Fuck, what's going to happen now? Arthur is so close; Merlin can feel the heat from his body enveloping his body, and sweat gathers at Merlin's neck. Arthur's breath on his cheek, a hand on his hip; oh fuck, what if Arthur leaves him here or hands him over to Uther—?
Arthur presses his mouth hard to Merlin's, and the noise that escapes his mouth is shocked, a gasp formed of a myriad of emotions--like he's been punched in the stomach, like he's swallowed Arthur down whole and has Arthur gasping, Merlin. Everything around Merlin melds, synthesises, perfects. He moans against Arthur's mouth, grabbing Arthur's neck, his hair, reaching all he can of Arthur.
Arthur pulls away, short of breath, looking sucker-punched at Merlin with eyes gone dark and dilated. "Merlin—" he says, staring not at Merlin's eyes but at Merlin's mouth and Merlin isn't the least bit bothered. "I tried not to—I tried—"
"Then stop trying." Merlin's voice is deep, unlike himself. He knows his skin is burning unnaturally hot, his pulse skipping too loud and quick but he doesn't care. Held back so long, now that Arthur has offered, he needs to take--seize. The sky brightens, and Merlin's hand is buried against the back of Arthur's pale, strong neck. Merlin's short, rough fingernails dig into the soft skin at the nape of his neck.
Merlin licks at Arthur's mouth, and Arthur opens to gulp in air, and Merlin pushes inside, into Arthur's mouth, leans so their bodies are mashed together, a union of heat..
The tree scratches at Merlin's back , and Merlin scratches at Arthur's neck, his scalp, down his spine. Arthur shivers, opens fully to Merlin's mouth. He's so hot like this—open and unfurling for Merlin and Merlin scarcely can breathe, think. This is everything he has ever wanted. He scrapes his teeth over
Arthur's lip, needing to ask, can't have this plucked from his fingers—no, not now, not ever.
Arthur looks truly wrecked, hair sticking up, cheeks flushed and tunic in disarray. "I couldn't not anymore. I don't know—there's something. Something about us." Arthur huffs a breath, looking deeply annoyed, as if this is Merlin's fault. "It was too much." Arthur looks at Merlin and stiffens. "I can go back to the castle, if you like, if it's—"
"Arthur," Merlin says. "Shut up." He pulls Arthur in by the collar of his tunic and forces their mouths together again, breathes Arthur into their kiss and Arthur shivers so violently Merlin fears he may fall. Quickly, he has the same worry about himself when Arthur's chants, knew it, knew it against his mouth.
The moon shines down.