kageygirl: (arthur--watching)
[personal profile] kageygirl
[livejournal.com profile] shetiger gave me the prompt "spilled wine" (I mean, I asked her for a prompt, she didn't just randomly command me to write. on this occasion), and I got two ideas from it, one of which was not especially explicit.

This is the other one.

1022 words, NC-17, no spoilers. Huge thanks to [livejournal.com profile] airinshaw for Britpicking and betaing and (unintentionally) giving me the title (always steal from smart people!), and to [livejournal.com profile] shetiger and [livejournal.com profile] celli for cheerleading.

Summary: On the persistence of vision.


Overlay


Arthur's cup tips over and a measure of wine spatters across the flagstones. Tomorrow morning Merlin will be scrubbing at the stain while Arthur watches from his chair, fingers curled over his lips.

Tonight, Arthur's fingers are curled around Merlin's head, and his lips are covering Merlin's.

For all that they've never done this before, it's strange and sure and wonderful, and Merlin's pushing Arthur back against the table just as much as Arthur is pulling him in. Arthur slips his thigh between Merlin's and drops one hand to the small of his back to urge him closer.

Tomorrow, Merlin will glance up to see Arthur sitting there and remember rutting against his thigh, hard and desperate. He'll drop his eyes and take a slow, deep breath.

Tonight, he breaks the kiss to pant hard against Arthur's neck as Arthur helps him along with a strong hand pressed into the ridge of his cock. Arthur murmurs, "That's it, like that, yes," dragging his teeth over the skin below Merlin's ear. And Merlin will groan, shattered and harsh, as his hips stutter and his vision goes bright. As his release staggers through him like a thunderclap.

He's held upright by Arthur's hand on his hip. The other is still threaded through his hair, fingers teasing through the sweat-damp curls at the back of Merlin's head. He turns to give Arthur a messy kiss, hooking one arm behind Arthur's neck. His other arm is trembling where it's braced against the table's edge, but Arthur is strong and solid for the both of them.

Very solid, he thinks, as Arthur's cock digs into his thigh. Arthur seems in no hurry, content to ravage Merlin's mouth and, with it, what's left of his senses. But Merlin has a very strong sense of fairness and a long-standing desire to commit some very base, ignoble acts upon the body of his royal highness. He finally forces himself to pull away and places both hands against Arthur's chest, exerting gentle pressure until Arthur drops back onto his elbows. Arthur's cup clatters to the floor, but Merlin scarcely notices.

Earlier that day, he'd been the one restive and out of sorts for once, for no reason save perhaps the turn of the weather, the wind rattling through skeletal trees and gathering dead leaves into tiny vortices in the corners of the courtyards.

Arthur had spent the day quietly amused, with an odd look in his eye as he watched Merlin scramble and curse, his fingers unaccountably clumsy. He'd dropped a spoon at dinner, and that was apparently the last straw.

"All right," Arthur said, rising from his chair to lean against the table, gesturing for Merlin to stand before him and then folding his arms over his chest. "I know of two cures for this mood. And I know you don't like fighting."

Merlin stared back at him, an unfamiliar belligerence he couldn't control colouring his voice. "What's the other?"

"You might not like that either," Arthur said, with an odd quirk to his lips, before setting his hands above Merlin's elbows. He gave a quick squeeze and then ran his hands up Merlin's arms, over shoulder and neck, paused for an instant, and then pulled Merlin into a kiss, steady and certain without being insistent. Merlin pushed right into it, pressing Arthur into the table and sending his cup over with the hand he set down to balance himself.

Tomorrow, Merlin will find the cup lying under the table and he'll remember how this all came to pass.

Tonight, he's got Arthur laid out atop the table, watching Merlin with eyes burning hot and lips parted and swollen, and Merlin's only thinking about how to make him moan.

He runs his hands down Arthur's chest, the way Arthur had stroked his arms, feeling the muscles twitch under his palms, through the fabric. He teases Arthur with his thumbs and Arthur's breath hitches, before Merlin slides his hands away to hold Arthur's hips down. He leans in close to nuzzle Arthur through his trousers, breathing out warm and damp until Arthur's bucking against his hands. "Damn you," Arthur says, staring at Merlin, until Merlin grins and lets go with one hand to unlace his trousers. He frees Arthur's cock with gentle fingers and a firm grip and enjoys the way Arthur's eyelashes flutter.

Then he licks a path from base to head and Arthur's whole body jerks. "Better things happen to you when you're not rude to people," Merlin says, and just as Arthur's starting to glare at him, Merlin swallows him down. He gets the moan he's been looking for. Arthur's eyes go hazy and his chest starts to heave.

Tomorrow, Merlin will find himself flushing under Arthur's regard as he kneels on the floor in front of him, the back of his neck growing hot.

Tonight, Merlin watches a flush work its way up Arthur's chest, visible through the gaping neck of Arthur's tunic. His breath is ragged and Merlin strokes hard, hollowing his cheeks until Arthur comes with a sharp cry, dropping his head back. It's the only time he's stopped staring at Merlin all this time.

Merlin's only just wiping his mouth with the back of his hand when Arthur pushes himself up and waves Merlin forward with an imperious flick of his fingers. Merlin rolls his eyes, but he meets Arthur halfway, because Arthur's hands are warm and his kiss is warmer, and he may be a prat but he does have the occasional brilliant idea.

And because he's palming Merlin's cock through his trousers, already half-hard again, and backing Merlin toward the bed. And because his mouth may be curving in an insufferable smirk, but the only thing warmer than his hands and his kiss is the look in his eyes tonight.

Tomorrow morning, Arthur will shove himself out of his chair, haul Merlin to his feet, and disarm him with a twist of his wrist that drops the scrub brush right into the bucket. "Leave it," he'll say brusquely, but his eyes will be bright and he'll pull Merlin into his arms again.
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