Happy Merlin Holidays, fuzzytomato02! [2/3]

[merlin-hols.livejournal.com]

Oh, I'll come? Oh, I'll come? Arthur hadn't been so unsubtle since fifth form probably.

Where had his tact and ability to flirt in a more suave way gone to? They'd probably gone for a hike the moment he'd found Merlin looks ten times cuter when he's all out of breath and flushed. Or when he'd found out that Merlin is a bit of a babbler and that he has an endearing way of going about it.

Then there's the fact that Merlin has a rather wicked sense of humour or just a funny way of describing what seems to be a killer set of friends. "Give me another pound," says Merlin. "And I'll finish the story."

Arthur leans his head back and closes his eyes. "You're too addicted to these things. And I want to know how Gwaine got out of that one."

"But my massage stopped."

"That's the tragedy of massage chairs."

"But your pockets are jingling with coins!"

"Story first!"

"Pound first!"

"Blackmailer!"

Merlin sets his lips into a cocky grin. "But you like me all the same."

Arthur wants to say that he really does, that Merlin, in the space of two hours, has brought the smile back to his lips, has lifted his mood, and has made him forget about the weight of worry, almost like a shroud he can't ever lift, from off his chest. Granted, he's had too little time to put that into perspective but it's a good sensation. He says, "I'll like you better if you deliver."

"Okay then," says Merlin, not taking his eyes off Arthur. "He shaved, borrowed the girl's clothes, faced her dad saying his name was Goneril, positive, swear, and stalked out of the flat like that. The doorman to that building still has a crush on Goneril." Merlin makes air quotes when he mentions the name.

Arthur rummages in his pockets and hands Merlin a pound coin. Merlin practically purrs as he slips it into the slot and his massage chair starts vibrating again. He's all wriggles, and with hips like that his wriggles are riveting,. Arthur would give much more than a pound to see more of that. "I want another story though."

Merlin tilts his head Arthur's way and bats his eyelashes. "God, I hope the flight's cancelled."

Arthur opens his mouth to speak but Merlin manages to put a word in edgewise first. "Because the chair's fantastic. It's more like a throne. A throne that massages you and loosens all your muscles and tickles your sides. Really, what's Zurich compared to this chair? It makes me want to stay."

"We should uproot them and take them home," says Arthur, blood rushing faster in his veins thanks to the undercurrent to Merlin's words. "I think we could if you distract the security guards."

"And where would you stash them?" asks Merlin. His hand edges closer to Arthur's. "I came by train."

"I can call my chauffeur and have him stash them in the boot." Arthur lets their fingers brush. It's not much of a move and if Merlin shakes him off he can pass it off as a coincidence, an accidental touch, but Merlin doesn't remove his hand.

He licks his lips instead and takes a huge breath. "I see," he says in a shaky voice. "You're using your privilege to commit theft. Typical of the upper classes." His eyes are dancing and the teasing lilt to his tone makes Arthur want to coax more of that out of him. It makes Arthur want to touch Merlin, see if he will sigh or exhale or make a noise indicating his interest in Arthur.

Arthur goes all mock wide-eyed. "But I'm doing it for my partner in crime."

Merlin's hand covers his. "Are you?"

"Yes, indeed," he answers as brashly as he can. He's not used to doing this, being so brazenly stupid and flirty, but Merlin's awakening his more daring side. "Ask me what else I'd do for my partner in crime?"

His fingers curl under Merlin's as he waits for the answer but the answer itself doesn't come. There's a loud pinging noise instead and a voice comes over the PA speaker. They both gasp and go rigid.

Merlin's expression gets a little pinched and the tendon in Arthur's neck that usually misbehaves starts hurting again.

"All flights have currently been cancelled or delayed. We apologise for the disruption to traffic and are working to restore the service. Please check with your airline for updates on the status of your flight."

They both do, using Arthur's iPhone. "Delayed," says Arthur, relaxing his shoulders.

"Delayed," says Merlin, smiling.

"It seems we'll have to find more ways to kill the time."

Merlin's grin is bright and refreshing.

****


"Do you do this often?"

"What?" asks Merlin, looking up. "Film people going about their business?" He's cradling the camera as if it's something fragile and Arthur can't help but stare at his spindly fingers, at the shape of them, at the way they work the camera. Merlin's hands look as though they could be gentle. If the way he's holding the camcorder in anything to go by, Merlin would probably know how to play a body.

"Yeah."

Merlin shakes his head and points the camera at Arthur. "Say something."

Arthur fiddles with the knot of his tie. "Hello."

"That was so serious. I'll go back to filming the cleaner if you don't do anything more exciting."

Arthur pouts. "Go ahead. Film the cleaner. I'm sure he'll prove soooo entertaining."

Merlin points the camera away from him at the cleaner; the cleaner notices. He pushes his cart with renewed vigour and gives Merlin the finger the moment he brushes past him. Merlin bursts out laughing. "That's very rude," he calls after him.

"Stop laughing," Arthur tells him, though he's bubbling up with mirth himself. He has to fight to keep his composure and then hiccoughs a laugh all the same. "You'll make the vid all wobbly."

"My birthday vids are all wobbly!"

"Is that because you're always drunk on your birthday?"

"I'm always, always sober," Merlin says, doubling over with laughter. He's shooting his shoes right now and Arthur tries to wrestle the camera off him. "You'd be a horrible director, Merlin," he says as he wraps an arm around Merlin's middle. Officially it's to get the camera from Merlin, who's holding it up and away from his body, but it's really just so he can touch Merlin, leech the warmth off his body, feel him flex his muscles and breathe faster against his neck. He knows his own eyes are larger and that his lips are nearly grazing Merlin's neck when he gets a hold of the camcorder.

Merlin is holding his sides. He says, "That's unfair; that move was non-standard."

"That was fighting dirty, Merlin," Arthur says, training the camcorder on Merlin. "Not karate."

"I didn't think you'd fight dirty." Merlin has realised the camera is on him and that Arthur is still recording. He goes a becoming shade of scarlet, a fact that makes Arthur want to goad him further to see if the blush will spread, to check whether Merlin will let him see.

"I do when I want to win."

"Bugger, I had to go challenge a competitive sod." Merlin's glancing away though, throat working, fingers twitching at his sides. Arthur doesn't want to make Merlin uncomfortable and he realises he is right now, that Merlin would grow even more so if he knew Arthur was closing in on him, on his lips and jaw and chasing each angle of his face with the zoom.

He pivots a little and points the camcorder away. "This is Heathrow airport at Christmas," he says, imitating reporters worldwide. "As you can see people are a little discouraged around here cause all flights are grounded." He films the window. "Cause there's snow, a great amount of snow, on the runways. But there's no sleigh in sight." Someone walks past him and ho, ho, hos.

He points the viewfinder at all the people sitting on the floor or leaning against the walls, bags, trolleys, and other personal items scattered around them. A girl is sleeping while leaning on her boyfriend, who looks long-suffering because she's drooling on his shoulder. Yet he's petting her head all the same. Close to the loos, there are kids playing with their Nintendos and an old couple holding hands.

"And these poor souls are the victims of the Christmas rush."

Merlin darts closer. "Come on, Scrooge. You can't ruin my holiday vid."

Arthur dances away, paying attention not to drop the camera. "Only if you give me something in exchange."

"Blackmailer."

Arthur clucks his tongue. "It takes one to know one."

"Okay, shoot," says Merlin, trying to tackle him into a corner. "What's the condition?"

"A kiss."

Merlin's arms fall by his sides and Arthur's sure he's overreached like the baddie in a bad action film, when Merlin manages to sneak close to him, avert the camera and fit his semi-parted, wet lips to Arthur's.

For a few long heartbeats Merlin's mouth opens against his, Arthur's upper lip caught between Merlin's.

As a result, Arthur's heart climbs into Arthur's throat. Arthur wants to thread his fingers through Merlin's hair, reel him in and dip his tongue into Merlin's mouth. He has no time for that though. Merlin's teeth sink gently into his lip for a moment and then he waltzes off, saying, "I paid the price."

Arthur is so, so wrecked, heart beating a war rhythm in his chest, cock twitching in his jeans, that all he can do is hand the camera back.


****

Leon opens the door and steps into his flat. He puts his briefcase down and gets an armful of wife and a lapful of tail wagging dog.

The dog, a happy black Labrador, has grown big enough to nearly knock him off his feet as he comes charging.

Villia kisses the corner of his mouth as he tries to right himself and then circles her arms round him. "How was your day at work? Mine was fantastic. We had the best office staff party ever!"

"A bit odd," Leon admits as he kisses her cheek. "I managed to get Arthur to go."

"Wow," his wife jokes, getting out of reach. Mina, the dog, dances around them both, whining a little. "Does this mean I get some time with my husband?"

"Yes, you do," he says, chasing her into the kitchen, lifting her and placing her on the counter. She tilts her head back, inviting him to kiss her. He does, deeply and fondly, but his stomach rumbles.

"You've sniffed the omelette, haven't you?" She jumps down and says, "If you'll lay the table I'll give you a taste of heaven."

"Then I think you're heading in the wrong direction." He cocks his head towards the bedroom and she just throws her head back and laughs, hair framing her face. "I swear, Leon."

Over dinner the conversation gets more serious. They discuss buying a new car, debating if they should splurge and get the 4x4 they both want and have been ogling on Top Gear. The conversation shifts to the subject of investing so they can make some more money geared towards getting their dream car.

"I was thinking of buying some Camelot shares."

"Camelot?" Villia says, pouring herself a glass of sparkling water, Mina sprawled at her feet, a paw on her ankle. "Our manager says it's not solid investing."

"Have you read the Time's Financial section?" asks Leon, swallowing his mouthful of omelette. "Our shares are going up."

Villia picks up the glass, the water swirling inside it. Bubbles form at the bottom and climb up to the top. "Our manager says he has confidential information. He says that he was being tipped against buying Camelot by an insider."

Leon pushes his dish aside. This is a source for worry. Rumours can be deadly in the finance market. "Did he say which insider?"

Villia drinks. "No, I suppose he thinks it's confidential."

"This is bad."

"If Camelot's solid then the shares' value won't be affected. I'm not worried about your job."

Leon eases back in his chair. "Neither am I, but it's not inspiring to think one of Camelot's own employees is dissatisfied to the point of blabbing about it to someone outside the company. I think Arthur should know."

Villia rounds the table and sits on his lap. She kisses his forehead and says, "You'll tell him after he's had his holiday. He'll be more relaxed then and he'll fix everything."

A kiss persuades Leon that that's the better option. Villia leads him to the bedroom leaving the dishes back on the table. She's right; Leon has been accusing Arthur of not knowing how to unwind but he hasn't been much better himself. He and his wife both have jobs that take away the best part of their days; they need to reconnect, and these small moments, their evenings together, are meant for that.

They make love. It's slow and satisfying, maybe not as fierce as it had been when they'd first met, but it's got new depths. They've found their groove, the way to satisfy both body and mind, so that it's both a home-coming and a release, a scrabbling of hands, a barrelling into steadily mounting pleasure: the wetness of tongues, the grip of thighs around Leon's waist, the warm wetness of her as she pulses around him, her sobbed out cues as she tilts her head back on the pillow, all sweat drenched and sated.

Leon falls easily asleep after and into a dream. The dream's weird because he knows from the get-go that what he's seeing is not real, that he's not in his office and that Mr du Bois hasn't just entered Arthur's office wearing a cloak that looks as if Bela Lugosi's Dracula wardrobe has made a come-back. Du Bois is also uncharacteristically followed by a horde of giant spiders, which tips Leon off as to the unreality of the experience.

Nevertheless Leon asks him, "What are you doing here? We're supposed to be home!"

"I'm feeding my spiders," says Mr du Bois and the spiders march on in one body, their little hairy legs drawing forward and twitching slightly.

The spiders advance and Leon jumps on top of the desk. "You can't do this!" he shouts. He realises that this is all absurd, that spiders that big don't exist, but he still hates himself for not moving, for standing there as if he's sprouted roots, feeling like he wants to quake.

"You can't use spiders!"

Mr du Bois cackles and all glass surfaces shatter. Leon covers his eyes with his arm to protect them because shards of glass are dangerous, and when he reopens them there's a pyre in the middle of Arthur's office and the kindling material is made of legal documents and folders. The flames go up and Leon can feel the heat on his skin.

And then he wakes with a gasp, heart thudding in his chest, skin still burning as if it had been exposed to the flames.

Villia sits up and puts an arm on his chest. In the dim light from the window he can barely see her profile, but her grip on him, her nails digging into his biceps tell him she's concerned. Since he's still shaking he can't say she has no reason to be.

"I have to make a call."

He puts his feet down but she tries to hold him back, kneeling on the mattress. "It's midnight," she says, tilting her head in the direction of the bedside alarm clock.

"I still have to make that call."


*****

"These need shovelfuls of mayo to become edible," says Merlin. "Pass the mayo."

"Heathen," Arthur says but pushes the container with the mayo packages towards Merlin. "It's perfect as it is."

Merlin eagerly rips the package open and floods both his salad and sandwich in mayo. "Now we're talking."

"There goes a healthy meal," Arthur says, watching as Merlin starts chomping on rocket and lettuce. "Pity."

"I didn't think you'd be so anal about your diet."

Arthur plays with his food since airport fare is not really to his taste. "My PA says I am about a whole load of other things."

Merlin swallows noisily. "If you're saying that to me, it means you agree with him."

"No, I don't." Merlin flashes him a narrowed eyed look that's more piercing than Arthur wants to admit. "All right, I do to a certain extent."

"What extent?" Merlin puts down his fork, props his arm on the table and leans his chin on his hands.

Arthur gazes down and drums his fingers on the table. "I was a little more relaxed before."

Merlin is paying attention, brows knitted in thought. Arthur continues, surprising even himself. "Before my father had a heart-attack."

Merlin pales, the expression in his eyes reflecting his concern and perhaps mortification at having led Arthur to speak of this when their conversation had been light.

Arthur finds that he doesn't mind at all, that there's no weight of expectation where Merlin's concerned.

More, he feels Merlin's sympathy oozing off of him and strangely it's okay. Normally, he would have rejected any form of pity.

"He'd always been a very strong and demanding man, my father," says Arthur to explain Uther Pendragon to someone who doesn't know him. "He'd worked hard all his life, came from nothing, and built... quite something. He was merciless, true, but never a fool. Then he had the heart attack. We hadn't been expecting it, of course, but in retrospect we should have."

Merlin's eyes are wide and full of something Arthur doesn't dare analyse. He makes an aborted motion as if he wants to offer some comfort but stills instead, a shadow of a nod, and the set of his lips tells Arthur he's listening. "Now he's not so badly off," Arthur hurries to say. "He's recovered, and by looking at him you would hardly guess."

"But you haven't forgotten."

"No," Arthur admits. "And I haven't forgotten that it's all on my shoulders either."

"Isn't it ever too much?" Merlin's voice comes, quiet and serious.

Arthur doesn't answer but Merlin's foot nudges his and he feels like smiling, like he's made a step towards something tonight. "And what about you, Merlin?"

"Nothing of that sort." He lifts his fork again and spears some salad leaves. He takes a large bite out his sandwich and washes it down with his beer. "My mum has always been a liberal. A do-what-inspires-you kind of person, so I did."

"And your father?"

Arthur realises he's asked the wrong question when Merlin freezes for a few seconds, muscles unbunching only after a few beats. "No dad in the picture. Great, right?"

Arthur doesn't comment. They eat in silence for a while. Arthur's glad he's spoken, that he's chosen now to do it. He's afraid Merlin isn't too happy about his own confession but after a while their silent pause becomes more complicit than not. It gets more relaxed in nature and Arthur dares believe they can go somewhere glorious from here. It's just a hunch but he's never felt so at ease with anyone before.

He dares think it when their hands drift closer and when his foot gets trapped between the both of Merlin's. He dares think it each time their limbs casually graze each other or each time Merlin's smile makes his heart stop for a fraction of a second.

He dares believe in the notion until the airport authority announces that, "Thanks to the improved weather conditions, most flights are now operating. Check with your airline for details concerning your flights."

And that's it, isn't it? This is how they part ways, never to meet again. In a city with eight million people there's no chance in hell of his seeing Merlin again, unless it's concerted. And that's even supposing Merlin actually lives around London. Sure, they could exchange details and phone numbers but Arthur's not sure a chance airport meeting would be enough to cement this thing they've got; he's not sure Merlin will remember once the holiday is over or that he won't meet the love of his life while on holiday.

It's blind panic and the welling churning of his gut that pushes him to blurt out, "Before we board...," which still sounds commonplace enough, "have sex with me." And as he says it he juts his chin out, ready to be slayed by a no.

*****

Elyan picks up on the fourth ring; Leon is relieved to hear the background sound of party noises. At least he's not woken Elyan up. "Leon, is that you?"

"Yeah," says Leon sheepishly, playing with the phone's cord and swivelling in his chair to look at the city lights.

"Leon, mate, I'm having my pre-Christmas Eve party;" says Elyan over some thundering piece of techno music. "Why don't you come over? You and your wife are very welcome to join us."

Leon clears his throat. "I wish I could, Elyan, but that's not exactly the reason I rang."

"Then why did you, Leon?" There are more noises as if Elyan's walking while holding his phone, then opening a door. The music grows less deafening. "It's starting to sound like bad news."

Leon attempts to sound calm and convincing when he says, "It's not bad news per se, but I do need your help."

"If your computer froze because you downloaded porn..." Elyan begins but Leon cuts him off. "No, it's one of Camelot's computers I'm talking about."

The music gets even lower so Leon can better hear what Elyan's saying. "It's the same thing. If your office computer froze because you downloaded some porn--"

Leon slaps a hand on his desk. He's not sure Elyan's heard that but he's pretty positive he will be able to pick up on Leon's raised tone. "No porn whatsoever is involved." This is when Leon's wife walks in and raises an eyebrow. "I think our jobs are in danger."

"That's way more serious than porn."

Leon passes a hand through his bed hair. "I'd say so, yeah."

"So what do you want me to do?" asks Elyan. "And how can I possibly change the situation?"

"I need you to do some hacking, Elyan."

"Oh, shit."

Leon grimaces, saying, "Exactly."

****

Merlin closes the stall's door behind them, hands faltering as he does. He's done this before, once or twice, but it's not as though he's all that familiar with the ins and outs of semi-public sex. And when he had given a go at familiarising himself with this semi-public sex business, Merlin had usually been a little tipsier than this. Neck hot under his collar and pulse thundering on, Merlin turns and faces Arthur.

The artificial light in the stall plays across Arthur's features, highlighting the slight patrician curve of his nose and glinting off his blond head of hair.

Merlin surrenders a smile even though shivers chase up his spine and his knees threaten to give under him.

"Hey," says Arthur. "Hey," running a knuckle down the side of Merlin's face. "I just... I just want you but we don't--"

Because the full measure of his wanting is too embarrassing to put into words, Merlin noses the side of Arthur's jaw, laying wet, sloppy kisses up and down it. If this doesn't convey Merlin's message, he doesn't know what will. He can still feel the awkwardness implicit in being intimate with someone he doesn't really know and couldn't possibly have known to want before. But he lets his body tell him what it is he wants – and there's no doubt as to his wanting Arthur like mad – and goes with the flow.

After this Arthur's going to be gone. Merlin sobs a kiss into his neck.

He works his hand between their bodies, undoing Arthur's belt quickly – no regrets – sliding it out of the loops of his fine woollen trousers, easing down the tiny zip, pulling Arthur's brand new shirt up and out.

Merlin places a hand on Arthur's belly and his mouth to his throat. Arthur tries to move, craning his neck to meet Merlin's mouth, hitching a breath as Merlin splays his fingers wider.

Arthur's saying, "You-- What you're doing to me. It's--" right into his skin, a puff of breath warming the side of Merlin's face.

Merlin unhooks the waistband of Arthur's dark boxers from the tip of his stiffening cock. It bobs free, already red and swollen.

Arthur makes a noise high in his throat and searches for Merlin's mouth again, though Merlin isn't ready for that yet. Instead he pushes Arthur's trousers down, not so far that that it will be difficult for him to get them back up should they be interrupted, but enough so that he can yank Arthur's boxers down and get enough room to palm Arthur's heavy length.

Hissing, Arthur grabs him by the hair, guiding his mouth to his, scraping his teeth along Merlin's jawline along the way, lips melting softly on Merlin's when he touches them. He dips his tongue inside Merlin's mouth and Merlin kisses back, tongue rolling over Arthur's while Arthur's in his hands, hot and rigid.

When Merlin moves his hands in rough movements, Arthur's head snaps up, nostrils flaring, chest caving in under the pressure of a deep in-take of breath. Merlin tugs and twist his wrist, dragging the pad of his thumb across the slit.

Arthur keens, meeting Merlin's gaze with eyes full of warmth and lust and wonder. Withstanding that kind of heat is difficult especially since Merlin isn't ready for it, the emotional aspect of this making him want and want and want so much he's kind of trembling in place. Merlin's lids flutter.

He kneels and presses tiny kisses against Arthur's stomach, kneading Arthur's thighs as he goes, without quite touching Arthur's erection yet. Arthur throws his head back against the stall wall and says, "My god. My god, look at you," but he sounds like someone's just punched him in the gut and driven all the air out of his lungs.

"Yeah," Merlin says though he can't hear his own words because of the blood pulsing a fast rhythm in his ears. "Yeah, look at me."

Arthur ducks his head, looks out of widened eyes, thumbs Merlin's face, his lips and makes Merlin's heart beat so fast Merlin thinks it's going to burst. Merlin's cock aches dully and he's never known himself to want and crave so much as right now.

A moment's hesitation, as if asking for permission, and then Arthur drives his cock past Merlin's nose, slides its tip across Merlin's lips and inside Merlin's mouth.

The taste comes as a bit of a surprise, a little shock of closeness, the smell of Arthur deep in his nostrils. He gently sucks, sliding tongue and lips over him, bathing Arthur in spit and warmth.

Arthur hits the wall behind him with the flat palm of his hand and starts alternately mouthing off and breathing heavily. As he cradles him in one hand, Merlin looks up, and takes in Arthur's red face and sweaty forehead, the hair plastered across it, and the way Arthur's hips snap forward in convulsive little jerks he seems unable to check.

Merlin doesn't stop to catch his breath because he wants Arthur buried deep down his throat; he wants Arthur incoherent, to the point his body takes over and he forgets about self-control.

In a bid to do just that, Merlin moves his lips up and down, laves the head, darting the tip of his tongue into the slit. Arthur's thighs tense, his belly muscles flutter and contract and Merlin knows Arthur's nearly as close as Merlin himself is. He draws back before it's all over, a hand stuffed in his own trousers, chest rising to the tempo of his broken breathing.

"No," Arthur says and then he grunts, hips thrusting a little, Arthur's cock slapping Merlin's face. Merlin suppresses a tiny snort and, throat worked raw, rasps out, "Give me a moment, yeah?"

And Arthur does, threading his fingers through Merlin's hair with no intent to pull him forward, as if he's combing it. It's oddly gentle. Merlin lets his eyes fall shut for a few moments, reeling himself in while enjoying Arthur's touch.

When he takes Arthur in his mouth again, Arthur slipping out at first because Merlin's angled his head wrong, Arthur gives out a deep sob. Merlin's lips push back Arthur foreskin. He licks and nibbles, placing his lips beneath the ridge of the head, and begins to suck again.

Arthur's pulsing in Merlin's mouth now, blurting out a series of strangled, "Please, come on, Merlin, please, come on," that chase all the blood from Merlin's brain and lungs to drive it to his cock. They both moan and Merlin tastes the warm and musky taste of Arthur as his come hits his tongue.

He swallows a little, spits some out and sits back on his haunches, shell-shocked and so turned on he's quivering like a bowstring.

For a few seconds Arthur slumps in place while Merlin unbuttons his jeans and tries to beat off. His hands are shaking and he's making no good job of it; he's so close and so far from orgasm that it hurts and he feels a little bereft, the slapping sound of his hand reverberating in the confined space.

He tries to call back to mind the way Arthur had felt under his hands, hot and trembling but memories fade, and it's not quite enough to push him where he wants to go. He whines low in his throat because this hurts and he feels exposed and he needs the release and he needs a connection.

He's pulling fast, gritty noises exhaled from his throat until Arthur grabs him by the shirt, pulls him upright, backs him against the wall, and bats Merlin's hand off.

"Ah, I--" is all Merlin can articulate at the moment. Another low, pained "ah," is wrenched out of him when Arthur works his grip on Merlin.

It burns and Merlin raves a few incoherent words, head thrashing this way and that. Arthur crowds him, his own trousers down, his limp cock hanging between his legs, his hand working Merlin into a pure frenzy.

"Merlin," Arthur says, cupping Merlin's neck with his free hand, lips ghosting over Merlin's lips, nose, cheeks, jaw, "Let me do this for you. Let me."

Merlin's chest tightens at Arthur's voice; his stomach goes liquid as Arthur deepens his stroke, goes faster and faster, so quick and raw it chafes, and shudders, cock throbbing and spurting come over Arthur's hands.

Wheezing, Merlin manages to focus on Arthur, the pungent smell of sex enveloping them and is a little shocked when, after having put his trousers to rights, Arthur pulls Merlin right into his arms, a whiff of cologne hitting Merlin, Arthur's breath warm as it puffs out and breezes across Merlin's ear.

They stay like that for a while, bodies both lulled into a sense of stupor. Arthur tips Merlin's head to the side, works the ins and out of their relative positions to fit his nose in and kisses Merlin deep and hard and then soft and languid.

There's a last press from Arthur's lips to his and then Arthur draws back.

Merlin says, "My flight," though the last thing he wants now is to board that flight and go on his holiday as if nothing had happened. Yet he's sensible enough to know that he can't postpone it and that even if he did Arthur wouldn't do the same for the sake of a guy he's just met under the auspices of a storm breaking over Heathrow.

Life just doesn't work like that and Merlin would be crazy to think otherwise.

Just as Merlin's about to say something they hear noises indicating that someone is using the next stall but one. Arthur puts his mouth on Merlin's to stifle his words and they end up kissing shallowly, making no noise, trying to breathe as quietly as they can until the man's gone.

"They're boarding," says Arthur, straightening Merlin up himself, doing up the buttons of his jeans and rearranging his shirt so Merlin doesn't look as though he did what he's just done.

"Yeah," says Merlin. "I'd better wash my hands... and my face... need to cool down a little."

Arthur gives him another peck.

"I'm not cooling down," Merlin says.

Arthur pouts.

"We could..." Merlin says, thinking that perhaps he could ask Arthur to give him his number so they could meet again once the holidays are over and Arthur's back.

"Do it again?" asks Arthur, boxing Merlin in once more.

Merlin stifles a laugh; he's so wrecked he doesn't think he could even if he wanted to.

"Not then." Arthur's shoulders slump a little dramatically.

"No," says Merlin, thinking it better if they do this the same way you go about removing a sticky plaster. Quickly and without fuss. "No, I want to look averagely civilised when I get on that plane."

Arthur backs off, leaning against the opposite wall. They need to get out of here before someone surprises them. Before that he would like to swap numbers. Unless that wasn't what Arthur intended when he dragged Merlin in here.

He casts Arthur a look to make sure he's decent, levers off the bolt and pushes the door open. He places his rucksack on the floor, bent on looking for his mobile when there's another announcement. "Last call for BMI flight number 45106. "

"That's you, isn't it?" says Arthur, kneeling by Merlin's side to help him tighten his rucksack's strap. "You'd better go if you don't want to miss your Christmas markets."

Merlin faces the tiles, jerks up, and says, "Yes, of course. Better hurry." Somehow he doesn't think Arthur wanted more than a blow job from a willing idiot when he embarked upon their loos expedition.

"See you around," he says and pushes the door leading back to the terminal open.

***

Merlin's quick, god-damn him. Arthur watches him sprint down the terminal and flash a boarding pass at the boarding crew officer. Soon he disappears from view, a trickle of other people following behind.

Arthur flashes a look at his watch, at the terminal, and at the lounge where the people waiting for the Cyprus flight are waiting.

And decides.

***


"How can Elyan help you?" Villia passes him a cup of hot chocolate, perfect for this kind of weather.

Leon tries not to focus on what he's requested of his friend or what's about to come. "It's left off snowing."

"Yeah," Villia says, perching on the desk next to the phone. "It'd be cosy..."

Leon wipes at his forehead even though he's in boxers and the room's cold. "If I hadn't gone and put my job in danger, you mean."

She puts down her own mug and clamps a hand round his forearm, pressing down. "No, if you weren't so nervous. I want you to fight for your job."

"Even if it's very illegal and slightly underhanded?"

She smiles and leans forward to kiss her forehead. "Yeah. We go down fighting."

****


The plane is less full than Merlin had expected considering that Gwaine had grabbed the last two tickets at the low price range.

Some of the passengers must have thrown in the towel after the long wait and returned home. Merlin barely bumps into anyone as he makes his way to his seat.

He smiles when he has to stop and wait for the person ahead of him, figuring that if he behaves cheerfully he'll feel more cheerful.

Someone elbows him and doesn't say sorry and Merlin keeps smiling on. He has reason to, doesn't he? He just got laid, and the man he shared the experience with was gorgeous and made him feel as if he was about to burst through his skin. Made his heart beat really really fast and forget everything for a moment. It was so good he's still a little shaky.

He stows his bulging rucksack into the overhead locker and plonks down on the window seat. He looks out at the runway and at the night around him, snow ploughs still working in the background.

He sighs. Gwaine would have slapped his back and said something like, "Way to go, Merlin. You're learning how to live a little." Which is good, Merlin thinks, recognising that he'll never have much fun if he refuses to jump in every time the circumstances aren't exactly right. And this time the circumstances had been of the shittiest but he'd just....

"Is this seat taken?" A round, balding man asks Merlin, startling him out of his reverie.

Merlin blinks, thinking he can still taste Arthur on his lips, and goes, "Yeah, sure."

"That's great," the man says, sticking his cabin bag under the seat in front of him. "I was getting a bit swivel-eyed, you know. Slept three hours in forty. Crappy, crappy weather."

Merlin summons a smile. "Yeah."

"My toes are frozen."

Merlin wiggles his in his boots to make sure he isn't suffering from the same. "Mine are okay."

"Ah," says the old man. "You were wise then and stayed inside the terminal all the time."

Merlin blushes to the roots of his hair. "Yeah, I did."

The man turns awkwardly in his seat so he can face Merlin fully. "Ah, but see, I'm a smoker. I froze my balls off for a fag, that I did."

"Sounds painful."

"That's because it was," the man says, rubbing at his scalp. "But then I wised up and holed up inside."

Merlin tries not to yawn by locking his jaw. "Good, good."

"Thankfully I had my Ludlum with me. Have you read the books?" The man bends down and opens his bag. He slides out two old and battered copies of Ludlum's novels. He makes as if to pass them to Merlin for inspection but stops mid action when there's an interruption.

"Don't close the doors," comes a hoarse voice. "I've got a boarding pass."

The flight attendant exchanges glances with one of her colleagues and nods. "You nearly missed this flight, sir." Merlin can't see much from where he is. He can only make out the flight attendant's quick movements as she checks the boarding pass strip she's been handed.

"Someone must have fallen asleep and nearly missed the boarding call," Merlin's seat neighbour says.

Merlin sinks back down and turns to look at him. "Yeah. After so many hours it's normal, isn't it? We're all past knackered."

"Absolutely," the man agrees. "I had a kip myself between midnight and one. That was my third hour of sleep today."

Merlin's thinking of something to say when he hears a, "Hello, Merlin. I hope you don't mind if I join you?"

"Arthur!" Merlin isn't quite convinced he isn't seeing things because Arthur was meant to be waiting for his own boarding call back at his own gate; he was meant to have put Merlin behind. "You're going to Cyprus."

"Nah," says Arthur. "It seems I'm flying to Zurich."

The flight attendant who's checking on the lockers glowers at Arthur. Arthur swiftly sits down next to Balding Guy. "Nah, I went to the Bim desk and bought a ticket. They still had some and since the flight was parked on the runway they let me."

"Arthur."

Arthur goes red all over, or at least everywhere visible. "This wasn't meant to scare you and if there's a reason you didn't say anything in the –

Balding Guy looks from Arthur to Merlin, rubbing his hands and putting the Ludlum away.

"Before in the... I can fly back home and won't bother you again if you don't want me here."

Merlin gapes.

Balding Guy mimes a few words at him. The last ones are, "Come on; say something."

And Merlin does. "I'd love to share my holiday with you."

Arthur flashes him the brightest of smiles and reaches over to touch Merlin's hand.

Balding Guy sighs from the middle.

**

They kiss and walk backwards into the room, laughing and gasping into each other's mouths. Merlin nips the tip of Arthur's nose. "Let's get rid of these clothes."

"May I remind you these are the only clothes I've got left. My baggage is on its way to be destroyed."

Merlin licks at Arthur's jaw, hands on his belt. "That's because you pulled the craziest, most surprising stunt ever."

Arthur's hands steal under Merlin's shirt and skitter up his spine. "I was hoping that would be read as a romantic gesture."

Merlin kisses Arthur deeply, tongues dragging slow and filthy. "I'll give you romantic," he says, steering Arthur towards the king sized bed.

"Hey, I can be very romantic." He gives Merlin a look that wouldn't look out of place on a whiny puppy, steps out of Merlin's embrace and starts stripping, brisk and efficient.

Merlin rids himself of his shirt. The room's still cold and it's snowing outside though the arousal working its way from his stomach is warming him up.

Merlin's mobile whines its death rattle, signalling that the batteries are going, but he ignores it.

He meets Arthur at the foot of the bed. "I bet you always do grandiose stuff like chasing someone across Europe."

Arthur stops fussing with his leather belt. "No, actually, it's the first time I've done something like this." He bows his head but his eyes are still on Merlin. "You're the first I've done something like this for."

That makes Merlin dip and shake his head to hide a silly smile. They've both been mad, done mad things today, but it feels good. "Am I?" asks Merlin.

"Yes. Just you."

Merlin pushes Arthur's unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, revealing a toned torso Merlin had guessed at before but not quite seen. Merlin drags the zip of his trousers down, opening them while Arthur does the same to his jeans.

Trousers worked open, they pant open mouthed and stare at each other til the pause shatters and they start touching each other with scorching mouths and trembling hands.

Arthur sucks in kisses on Merlin's throat, pressing his lips to Merlin's neck and giving Merlin little wet licks that send a wave of heat spearing through Merlin.

Arthur's slow, wet kisses work one spot raw; Merlin scuttles closer, hands exploring Arthur's back and chest.

Arthur's fingers stroke through his hair as he peppers kisses all over Merlin's shoulders and face.

They're hot and wet and Merlin pushes into their quasi embrace, fingers chasing the shape of Arthur, committing it to memory, feasting on the warmth and beauty of touch.

Heat stinging at his skin, he goes for Arthur's cock, lets it fill in the cradle of his palm, strokes it, draws his fingers along the length.

Arthur grits his teeth, buries his head in Merlin's neck. "Stop or I'll go and come like a kid having his first fumble."

Merlin stops though he stays put where he is, sliding a hand down Arthur's spine, soothing and greedy both. "Self control's a good thing."

Arthur palms Merlin's hip and kneads it. "Yeah," he exhales. "Very. Especially because..." He hesitates and then rushes the rest out. "I want more than a hand job. Want to have more."

Merlin's nerves are singing. "What kind of more?"

Arthur kisses the spot below Merlin's ear. "I don't want to hurry this. I want to have you nice and slow."

"So you want..."

"A perfect, slow, mind-numbing shagging session."

Merlin chews on his lip to keep from laughing.

Arthur lets go of Merlin and draws the duvet off the bed, chucking trousers, shoes and socks before lying down.

Merlin's startled laugh sets off Arthur too. "Want me to serve you, my lord?"

Arthur folds his arms so he's resting his head on them and hums. "I want you to let me see you for starters."

Merlin ducks his head and pushes down underwear and trousers in one go. He's quick with his socks as well and when he straightens it's to be met by Arthur's frank and lusty appraisal.

"Come here," Arthur says huskily and Merlin walks to his side of the bed.

When he gets close enough, Arthur leans towards him, gives his cock a squeeze-tug that makes Merlin's hips slot forward of their own volition and puts his lips to the tip, giving it a swirl and suck.

Merlin has to pinch his nails into his palms to be able to stave off the orgasm about to wash over him. It'd be easy to let go, to be washed clean of it, but he wants Arthur more than he wants immediate satisfaction. He had that earlier and it wasn't enough.

Arthur seems to notice that Merlin's coiled taut, so he stops mouthing at Merlin's prick, saliva strings still connecting Arthur's mouth and the head of Merlin's cock. "Got any condoms or lube?"

Merlin steps back though his legs are doing their damnedest to make him crumple down. He rummages inside his rucksack, butt naked and hands shaking badly. He tries not to meet Arthur's eyes, not to show how affected he is. He unzips a side pocket and gets at what he wants, except that a shower of foil packets scatters across his feet.

Arthur coughs and gets his attention, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Expecting to get laid a lot on holiday, Merlin?"

Merlin stammers. Then he manages to say more clearly, "It wasn't me, I swear."
Arthur's eyebrow stays in place. "You can tell me if you'd planned that. I didn't know you when you did."

"No!" Merlin says, standing up suddenly, cock springing up like the idiot part of Merlin's anatomy it sometimes is. "That was Gwaine. He does this kind of stuff. Not that I let him paw my things. And not that I'm a hopeless case of non-shaggability..."

Arthur laughs. "I was yanking your chain, Merlin."

Merlin's cheeks puff out, going red.

"Come here." Arthur provocatively slides a hand down his torso.

"Only if you say, 'I'm sorry for pulling your leg, Merlin.'"

"I'm not sorry because you're all flushed and that's hot in my books."

Armed with condoms and lube, Merlin goes to him, but bites Arthur's upper lip as a form of retaliation.

The retaliation doesn't last long, since Arthur opens to him like a thirsting man drinking water for the first time in quite some time.

Merlin gets busy tasting Arthur, dipping his tongue under his, kissing him as thoroughly as he can.

Arthur splays his hand on Merlin's arse, drags him downwards in a way that has Merlin straddling him so as not to lose his balance.

Merlin drops the condoms and lube on the pillow next to Arthur, bracing his arm next to Arthur's head.

In the position they're in their cocks are brushing and both move into it, trying to recreate the spark that makes their pleasure mount.

It's like everything springs from there, as if the ache, the pleasure-pain between his legs is the be all and end all of everything. Except Arthur's still kissing him as though he could do that forever, lips on lips, tongue on lips, tongue on tongue, deep and then not, passionate and deep one moment, shallow and sweet the next.

It tugs at Merlin's heartstrings as does the way Arthur's holding his face in place and the way his legs bracket Merlin and squeeze from time to time as though Arthur can't quite bear to let go.

Merlin wishes it were so because he doesn't know if he can. Not after this. He kisses Arthur because he can't stop; he trails his fingers over every part of Arthur's body he can reach and explore.

They're moving, touching, thrusting. The slow drag of flesh on flesh; the tight hold of arms, the liquid warmth that pools in Merlin's belly all make him feel as though this isn't comparable to anything else.

Arthur parts his legs for Merlin, resettles him with a big hand on Merlin's hip, lips kiss swollen, arms tight around Merlin, so tight it's a bit like a vise and a bit like comfort.

Arthur guides Merlin's hand between them. The skin there is vulnerable-soft and puckered.

Arthur's shiny with sweat, red like a squalling infant. When Merlin skims his fingers across his hole, Arthur goes slack-mouthed.

"That was what you wanted?" Merlin asks. "Please, Arthur, tell me."

Arthur bears down on his finger and that's answer enough, but Merlin wants to hear him say it. "Arthur?"

"Yes." Arthur cants his hips up.

Merlin goes for the lube, tearing the packet open with fingers that won't obey his will. He makes a bit of a mess of it, squeezing too much out. He lowers his eyes and laughs at himself. "There, now you know I'm a clumsy oaf."

Smile tugging at his lips, Arthur sits up and snatches a flying peck from Merlin before sinking down again. "Do your worst," he says in a deep booming voice and Merlin laughs again only this time it's a light-hearted peal.

Sweat breaks out on Merlin's skin as he works Arthur open; blood rushing at his temples as he tries to go about it in a way that will not hurt or be uncomfortable. Arthur, though, seems to be of a different mind, for he forces it, arches up and into the touch, apparently relishing the burn of Merlin's fingers inside him.

"Yes!" It's a grunt and Merlin pushes his fingers in a little more forcefully. He works Arthur to within an inch of orgasm, jabbing, prodding, massaging, swiping his thumb down his perineum when he's withdrawing.

He helps Arthur turn so he can lie face down; plasters himself behind his back. Skin catches instead of gliding no matter how bathed in sweat they both are.

"Is this okay?" Merlin murmurs into Arthur's ear. He sees Arthur's Adam's apple plunge and he makes out the silent movement of his lips.

Merlin puts a hand on the headboard, bracing himself, and Arthur reaches for it, pulls it down, slots their fingers together.

Breathless, in an agony of pleasure, Merlin uses his free hand to work himself inside Arthur, past the initial resistance, past the mind-blowing moment where there's only warmth and the tight pressure of Arthur around him.

He finds his seat slowly, hips inching infinitesimally forward, little by little, action punctuated by their little sobs.

They're both shaking with it, and for a few long moments Merlin stills, fighting the rush of feeling, staving off orgasm.

He can't reason much past it the way his body feels, but blinks through the rivulets of sweat, and pays attention to Arthur, to Arthur goading him by placing a hand on his thigh, to Arthur's bitten off noises and rocking body.

They set up a rhythm like that, Merlin responding to Arthur, Arthur pressing back. It's slow and luxurious, Merlin's breath on the nape of Arthur's neck, Arthur's fingers clamping down on Merlin's, Arthur’s profile a thing of beauty, until it's not slow anymore, and Merlin gets to his knees and starts slamming in.

They don't speak, but they make noise. It's not very loud, grunts mostly and the sounds of flesh on flesh, but each and every one of Arthur's deep, throaty moans turns Merlin on more and more till his hips start doing their own thing, stammering on.

Merlin's close and he's loving it, loving Arthur, so he just kisses wherever he can reach, no art and no grace to anything he's doing but a mad, mad desire to stay close, cherish, have.

And Arthur moves into him with a relish and abandon that are really Merlin's undoing.

He comes hard and it seems to last long, spreading from pelvis to spine, til he slumps over Arthur's back, preserving enough presence of mind to take Arthur in hand and pull and pull and stroke till Arthur pumps into his hand with abandon.

As he comes, cock twitching, Arthur throws his head back and lets all his muscles go slack. Merlin kisses his temple, noses the back of his neck, and wraps his arms around Arthur, who's now sitting on his haunches, lips parted, body covered in a fine sheen of sweat, the flush covering his neck and torso only slowly receding.

Merlin rubs his lips over a tiny section of skin on Arthur's shoulder, going over it until he feels his lips tingling. "God, I love you," he blurts out. He's so blissed out it takes him a few moments to parse what he's said. "I love you like this," he adds quickly. "Like this – I."

"I liked it better without qualifiers," Arthur says, twisting and uncoiling so he can sit facing the foot of the bed. "No pressure."

He takes Merlin's face in his hands and gives him another kiss, this one lazy and satisfied, as if he's staking a claim and Merlin would feel like jumping out of his skin, elated, if not for the cosy torpor blanketing him.

This doesn't mean to say he doesn't kiss Arthur with all he has, even if his eyelids droop and he's getting no points for finesse.

"You need to sleep." Arthur has Merlin's head in a lock but he doesn't use it to tease; he manhandles Merlin so he's lying back down, a comma around Arthur, Arthur's heavy arm slung across his waist.

"Sleep," Arthur says.

Before Merlin succumbs to the drowsiness, he flicks a look at the window. When he looks at the dawning day, he makes his smile as big as he can and then says, "It's snowing and it's Christmas Eve."


Part III