merlin_holidays | Happy Merlin Holidays, slantedknitting! [2/2]

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That night Merlin spends a few hours at his computer seeing if google will tell him anything about ‘Arthur Pendragon’ and ‘Excalibur’. The first few hits make his eyes pop. The Pendragons are not a low profile family, not in the competitive yachting world at least.

The first link takes Merlin to a picture of Arthur at the Aegean Rally with a trophy raised above his head and a beaming smile. An older man stands proudly at his side, a sleek white sailboat docked behind them. The caption reads, Pendragon Dynasty Continues.

There are other pictures on google images: other regattas won; awards being presented. Merlin sees Morgana along the way, walking into a Marina opening somewhere in Greece, with Arthur on one side and their father on the other.

The most recent article he finds simply says Excalibur had been pulled from the Antigua Classic Yacht Regatta by Uther Pendragon. It cites a legal battle over ownership of the boat as the reason. The article is paired with a picture of Uther and a stern-faced woman, standing with her hand possessively clutching Excalibur’s rail.

Merlin keeps searching, finding as many pictures as he can of Arthur’s boat.

It’s beautiful, and easy to see why Arthur is in love with her. Merlin grabs his sketchbook and lets himself be inspired.

ooOOoo

Merlin takes a week to finally work up the nerve to make an appointment for his tattoo. The markings on his body have faded and he feels bereft without them. But the thought of seeing Arthur again forms a ball of nerves and lust in Merlin’s belly and dialling the number is suddenly a trial of courage.

Arthur’s polite on the phone. His tone is professional and impossible to read.

Merlin slips his sketchbook into his rucksack the next Saturday afternoon. Hope and doubt make him jittery as he tells his mother he'll be at the library until late studying for midterms, and he doesn’t quite meet her eye.

The walk from the bus stop to Arthur's shop door is just enough time for Merlin to get himself into a tizzy of indecision. It isn't about the tattoo – of that, Merlin is resolute – but the contents of his rucksack would've provided plenty of distraction for his thoughts, even if his mind hadn't been made up.

With a fortifying inhale, Merlin pushes at the heavy door until it gives. The shop is warm, the temperature change hits Merlin like a wall as he steps in. He unwinds his scarf and pulls at the buttons of his jacket to ease the sudden oppressive heat. He stuffs his gloves into his pocket only to find it already full. Frowning, he pulls out his school uniform tie and curses having forgotten it was still shoved in there.

Arthur's standing in the archway between the front and back rooms. He's in a dark blue tee that pulls tight across his broad shoulders. The heat in his eyes sends a shiver down Merlin's spine and hope springs in his chest. He's suddenly grateful for the last minute items he stuffed into his jeans’ pocket before heading out the door.

"I've got the afternoon blocked for this, so flip the lock," Arthur says, and then takes in Merlin's face which must be flushed and a bit unsure because he adds, "unless you're having second thoughts."

Merlin's quick to reply, knowing Arthur's watching him closely. He keeps his eyes focused and certain. "No second thoughts. I know exactly what I want."

Arthur's eyes light. "Good. We can head back, then." He turns to disappear into the backroom but he's still talking. "This spot – you said your inner arm, right? – the skin’s tender there, so this is going to hurt. Did you..."

"I took two paracetamols already and I've got a couple in my pack for after." Merlin’s done his research.

Arthur turns, looks into his eyes. "You’re not on anything else?"

"I don't…" Merlin waves his hand at the implication. "…whatever."

Arthur nods. "All right." He motions Merlin over to the padded table he had lain on when Arthur used him for a doodle pad. He feels a tingle already – just from the memory. He isn't going to get through this without being turned on as hell. His only hope is that the pain will be enough so that he won't come all over himself just from Arthur's hand on his arm.

"Did you bring the picture of the falcon?" Arthur says while Merlin hangs his coat. "I'll copy it with pen again and you can check it. Then I’ll go over that with needle and pigment. It'll be yours forever."

"Okay." Merlin's throat's dry as he reaches into his rucksack and pulls out his sketch book. With a deep breath he opens the book to the drawing he finished only the night before. When he hands it over his eyes are on the floor. No matter how curious he is to see Arthur's expression, he can't seem to lift them until a sharp intake of breath forces his gaze up.

Arthur's standing, mouth open, book held open. His expression is unreadable outside of surprised.

Merlin clears his throat, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I thought you might like it – um – if you want. You could … have it."

"Jesus." Arthur lets out the word like an exhale.

A smile tugs at Merlin's lips. He spent hours, hours, getting the details right. Google images had exactly seven pictures of Arthur's boat and Merlin had each of them ingrained into his head as he etched each mast, each sail, the curve of the hull.

"I can't –" Arthur chokes a laugh. "God, Merlin. I'm actually speechless."

"Speechless in a good way or in a wow, this is so offensive that I'm at a loss how to be polite right now speechless?"

Arthur carefully sets the book down, then in a single stride he’s toe to toe with Merlin, his hand buried in Merlin's hair and his mouth on Merlin's, pressing a slow, sweet kiss that makes Merlin wish he'd gone and had the art framed and wrapped, done it all properly. Pushing Merlin back to the table so his arse hits the edge, Arthur manoeuvres to stand between his legs, deepening the kiss.

"So you liked it, then?" Merlin pulls back, giddy with pride, relief and nervous energy.

Arthur shoots a looks over his shoulder to where the book’s still open. "It's her."

"Yeah. Good."

Arthur pulls off Merlin's shirt, pressing against him shoulder to groin as their mouths crash together again. It’s a long time before Merlin’s able to think, to get the words out:

"I still want a tattoo." He needs to say it because he really does and that's part of the high, knowing he's walking out of here today with a permanent mark on his body – by Arthur's hand.

"Fuck." Arthur takes a deep breath, eyes closed. He steps away and goes to a small bar fridge in the corner of the room and pulls out a bottle of water and takes a long sip. He adjusts himself inside his jeans. "Right. The tattoo."

ooOOoo

Arthur shaves Merlin’s (nearly hairless, anyway) inner arm right to the top of Merlin's armpit. Then reluctantly he flips the sketch book away from Excalibur and finds the page with the falcon. He stares at the drawing, like he's committing it to memory, before picking a pen.

Merlin's on his back in jeans and socks, arm above his head. The pen's excruciating on his sensitive skin; the careful strokes both tickling and making Merlin's blood run south.

When he writhes, Arthur curses. "You need to be still."

"I'm trying."

"Try harder."

"I can't. I just… it's hard."

Arthur stands, flips up a metal bar at the head of the table, just above Merlin's hand. "Grip it."

The metal's cold under his fingers as he wraps his hand around it. It's better. Gives him focus.

"Do you need more?" Arthur's looking at his eyes, calculating. "It's going to hurt. Especially there. If you don't think you can hold still, you need to let me know."

"I don't know."

"All right." Arthur sighs, looking past Merlin to the wall behind where his coat is hung. "I have an idea." He stands and snatches the tie half hanging from Merlin's coat pocket. "If you trust me."

"Oh." Merlin flushes hot.

"Just the one hand, tied to the bar. It'll help. But you'll still need to focus on keeping still."

"Yeah, alright."

The silk is glorious on his skin – nothing like the choking conformity he feels when it's around his neck – this is freeing. Tight and bound and Merlin has to close his eyes at the feel of it.

"Fuck." Arthur shifts in his seat, cheeks pink. "You don't make this easy."

Merlin just smiles, relaxing a bit, knowing he’s not the only one affected.

Arthur takes another drink of water and gets back to penning the bird. He takes his time – Merlin can feel the difference in the amount of detail, the precision in the strokes, compared to the rough sketch from last week. When Arthur finally holds up a mirror to show him the completed bird, Merlin's breath hitches. It's identical to his original, but has an experienced flourish that Merlin's own strokes always lack. The combination of their styles is stunning.

"You approve?"

Merlin nods and swallows past the tightness in his throat. He can't imagine wanting anything more than this tattoo. He grips the bar, the tie tight around his wrist, holding him steady as Arthur begins. His eyes shut against the initial pain. It's a shock, a pinpoint of hot pain. In a flare of panic he wonders if this was a mistake, if maybe he can't do this and he's going to pass out before it's through.

He grits his teeth against the need to cry out.

"You're doing well," Arthur says. "Relax your jaw if you can. You'll end up with a nasty headache and I won't be able to fuck you blind after this is done."

Merlin gasps, the words filtering through the pain. His flagging erection takes interest again with the look in Arthur's eyes paired with the burning ache in Merlin's arm. He gives a grateful smile for the distraction. He tightens his grip on the bar and focuses on the smooth metal beneath his hand. Arthur continues.

He grows numb to it, drifting in and out of a daze, floating through it all. Arthur's silent, working with single-minded focus. Merlin concentrates on his breathing, on the hum of the needle and the squeak of Arthur's chair as he moves to change the angle he's working at, the soft swipe of the cloth every few seconds. He pictures the falcon on his arm taking shape and becoming part of him.

He also pictures Arthur fucking him, Merlin facing a mirror, the falcon beautiful in the reflection.

He's hard and aching when Arthur finally says, "It's done," steps back and wipes his brow.

Arthur takes a minute to look, appreciate his own work, before grabbing the mirror and showing Merlin. The details are incredible, the fine lines of the feathers, the piercing stare of the tiny black eyes. Merlin’s pulse thunders in his ears. His father would be proud, he thinks.

"I need to clean it up and bandage it now." He waits for Merlin to nod before wiping it with something that makes Merlin’s eyes water, then covering it with gauze and taping it secure.

Merlin cranes his neck as far as the position and the bindings will allow, trying to get a look at it.

Arthur kisses him. "I think I like you like this." His eyes flicker over Merlin's body, resting on the bulge in Merlin's jeans before travelling back up to meet Merlin's eyes. "Helpless."

"Yeah?" Merlin tugs at the tie and it holds tight. "A bit of a control freak, aren't you?"

Arthur hums, a sly grin on his face as he grazes Merlin's neck with a kiss, then down his chest, barely touching his skin. "All it’s missing is a gag."

"Christ." Merlin’s head thuds back on the table.

"So much unmarked skin, Merlin." Arthur's mouth closes just above his left nipple and Merlin gasps as he feels the sting of a bruise being sucked into his skin. Arthur does another, lower, beneath his ribs and one above his hip bone.

Merlin squirms, breathing through the torture. "You know your pen's a bit more artistic for marking."

Arthur looks over at his desk like he might consider scribbling all over Merlin again, but shakes his head. "I think my mouth will do just fine for today."

He climbs onto the table, kneeling between Merlin’s spread legs and licks a strip across Merlin's navel.

"Fuck." Merlin's hips buck up, his body lit and oversensitive already. "Please." He rolls his hips again, hoping to get the point across.

"What do want, Merlin?" Arthur wraps his hands around Merlin's waist. "Tell me."

"I – I want you to suck me off," Merlin stutters; Arthur smiles. "Then I want you to fuck me."

Arthur's face goes slack for a moment and suddenly he’s laughing. "I like a man who knows what he wants."

He strips Merlin's jeans, huffing impatiently as they catch on Merlin’s heels. Arthur’s hand hovers at the waistband of his highlighter-green briefs.

"Really, Merlin? Purple, orange and now green -- do you have a different colour for every day of the week?"

Merlin feels his cheeks heat but he laughs. "Yeah, I do." He almost leaves it at that but adds, "I wear a uniform everyday to school. It’s stupid, I know, but I just need something of me, you know? Even if it’s just lame coloured y-fronts."

Arthur nods, like Merlin’s underwear choices make some crazy kind of sense. He peels his own shirt off and sees Merlin's focus on the tattoo on his chest.

"That sketch, Merlin..." he says as he slips on to the table and kneels between Merlin's spread legs, kissing up his thigh. He licks a stripe up Merlin’s cock, and Merlin bucks, wanting inside. But Arthur teases, mouthing at the shaft then his balls. Then there’s a touch at his hole, a finger grazing the furled muscle, Merlin’s mind flashing to the pen and the wank fantasy that got him off so easily, and he starts to lose control. Arthur's mouth closes over the head of his cock and Merlin’s trembling, thrashing as his balls tighten. At the first lick, there’s no stopping the orgasm as it crashes over him. Arthur chokes in surprise, sputtering around the sudden mouthful, but he swallows, suckles as Merlin shudders through it.

The minute he pulls off, Arthur looks at him, eyes crinkled in barely restrained laughter.

"Not a word."

Arthur chuckles.

"My front pocket," Merlin says to shut him up and because he’ll be damned if this is going to end here.

Arthur finds a packet of lube and a condom. He looks at Merlin with a eyebrow raised, and Merlin says, "I was hopeful."

"Cheeky bugger."

Arthur strips off his pants and curses as he tries to climb back onto the table and get an appropriate position, only to find it too narrow.

"Fuck, there’s a reason why I've never done this here."

"First time for everything," Merlin says and he immediately regrets it because the words hit too close to home and his tone's all off. Arthur blinks, looking down at Merlin, eyes wide. Merlin shivers, the air around him suddenly cold as he lays naked and spent, still tied and more vulnerable than he’s ever been.

"Merlin?" Arthur’s tone is quiet. "Have you ever?"

Merlin bites his lip. "I know what I want, okay?" He holds Arthur’s gaze, even though he’s desperate to turn away, hide his face. "Please."

"Shit," Arthur says. "This is a work table in a tattoo parlour, Merlin. You're high from getting your first tatt. This isn’t right."

"So make my second time a bed of roses, you berk." Merlin's free hand grabs Arthur's wrist, afraid he's about to walk away. "But this is what I want for my first."

"Are you sure?"

Merlin nods. And Arthur presses his forehead to Merlin's chest and mutters, "I'm going to a special hell for this."

Merlin grins, and releases Arthur's wrist to tangle it into Arthur's hair. They kiss for a while, Merlin coaxing Arthur out of his doubt, and Arthur coaxing Merlin into relaxing. Arthur finds his hole again and Merlin's legs fall open. Their kiss turns sloppy-wet as Arthur's finger sinks deep, sliding into Merlin. They pant into each other's mouth as Merlin’s body slowly accepts the intrusion. He pushes in further and out again, in a tentative rhythm that makes Merlin’s legs tremble.

"Be right back," Arthur says, kissing the words into Merlin’s neck, and moves away. He strips the rest of his clothes, tossing the packets by Merlin’s hip. When he comes back, Merlin stretches his free hand above his head and holds onto the bar. His knees are bent and legs spread, waiting.

Arthur eyes him, half-lidded with need, and fumbles with the packet of lubrication Merlin stole after the school nurse's safe sex presentation.

Arthur’s fingers are slick, cool at Merlin’s entrance. Arthur bows his head, watching the two fingers sink in. Merlin's eyes flutter shut at the first stretch. Arthur’s taking it slow and Merlin's a mix of grateful and infuriated. The burn is less and yet so much more intense than that of his tattoo and his legs fall open, and he tilts his hips, needing Arthur to know that this is good. So fucking good that he needs more.

Before Merlin asks for it, Arthur's at three fingers. They're both panting and breathless. Merlin's so full he doesn't think he can manage anymore. His erection’s flagged again with the stretch. Eyes on the ceiling, he tries to catch his breath, breathe through it because – Fuck – there's no way he’s telling Arthur to stop because the bastard would.

"All right there?" Arthur says. "I can—"

Merlin grits his teeth and snaps, "Shut the fuck up and get inside me, you fucking tease."

Arthur pauses, looking a bit taken back by the way his jaw hangs open, but then his mouth twists into a smirk. His fingers twist deep and hook in just the right spot.

"Ah!" Merlin gasps, hips jumping with the white-hot pleasure shocking through him. He stares, wide eyed and Arthur does it again. "Fuck."

He grips the bar above his head and arches to meet each thrust of Arthur's fingers until it's a mindless blur, and pain is the furthest thing from what Merlin's feeling.

"Now you're ready." The fingers are gone and after a crinkle of wrapper, the table shakes as Arthur shifts up, the width of his thighs spreading Merlin wider.

At the pressure of Arthur's cock pushing in, Merlin's mind blanks on everything but, "Holy shit." Cold sweat prickles at his nape, a tight knot forming in his belly.

"Relax," Arthur breathes, peppering his chest with kisses until Merlin does. Then he pushes in another inch or three – Fuck – it's impossible to tell.

But it's good and tingly brilliant, and his body is ready and more impatient than panicked. So he shifts his hips and Arthur groans as he slides deeper.

So Merlin does it again.

"Fuck." Arthur's trembling above him, Merlin can tell his control's held by a thread; one good pull and it'll snap.

Merlin uses the bar for leverage, wrapping his legs around Arthur's waist and drags him inside.

"Bastard," Arthur says, his face contorting as he fights for control, his hands fly to Merlin's hips and he slams in with abandon, all restraint vanished.

Merlin grunts with each thrust, his fierce grip on the bar the only thing stopping his head from slamming into it. Arthur's pace is brutal, and Merlin feels himself come apart, shatter with the force as Arthur takes him.

Arthur lifts Merlin's hips, the muscles of his biceps straining as he takes Merlin's weight off the table and onto his lap, changing the angle.

On the next thrust forward, Merlin sees stars. He cries out, throat raw, but Arthur doesn't hesitate, doesn’t slow, rams in again, full force. Merlin's forgotten how to breathe – he's sucking in air only to let it out again in a stream of "ah – ah" sounds until finally his balls tighten, toes curl and his second orgasm tears through him. He chokes out a cry and spurts hot come on his stomach.

Arthur just stares, amazed, his rhythm faltering. Then with a pleased smile he shifts the angle again. Maybe to something more selfish – Merlin doesn't give a fuck, just lies there, limp, and lets Arthur use his body while the haze of pleasure sings through his veins.

Arthur’s fingers tighten, a bruising grip on Merlin's hips and, mouth open, sweat-damp hair, he slams in and holds. His hips stutter involuntarily and Merlin's free hand moves to hold him as he trembles through the aftershocks. He collapses, his arms giving out. Merlin's pinned and not caring because Arthur's mouthing wet, slopping kisses to everything he can reach.

They stay like that until Merlin's arm starts to cramp where it's still bound and his lungs protest the lack of oxygen.

"So are you going to untie me, or leave me here as your sex slave?"

Arthur looks up, sleepy-eyed and dozy. "Tempting."

"Somehow, I think it might impact your business."

"Yeah. I'd likely get more." Arthur waggles his eyebrows and lifts up with a groan. He slips out and Merlin winces, not wanting to think of the long bumpy bus ride home.

Once he’s untied, Merlin stretches, and finds he aches everywhere. He sits up and glares at the table, betrayed. "Seemed like such a good idea."

Arthur comes back from dealing with the condom and stands between Merlin’s knees. "I think you said something about a bed of roses next time?"

Merlin snorts, traces a finger over Arthur's sole tattoo like it's precious.

Arthur stares at him while he touches it, face unreadable. "She'll be mine again someday. Morgana and I … we have a plan." Arthur looks over at the desk, where there’s a picture of a dainty wrist with Japanese symbols tattooed.

Merlin just nods. Believes him. He looks over at the sketchbook, remembering every curve, every line. "She's yar," Merlin says because he heard it once in an old Cary Grant film and thought it every minute while he drew her.

Arthur barks a laugh and cuffs Merlin on the back of the head. "You have no idea what that even means."

Merlin just smiles up at him, until Arthur rolls his eyes and concedes, "She is yar."

Merlin leans forward and kisses the stylised E.

Arthur's hand curls at Merlin's nape. "I'll take you on her some day."

"Can we fuck in the Captain's cabin?"

Arthur hums, eyes far off. "I won't let you wear any clothes, and you'll lay on the deck and I'll use your body like a canvas."

Merlin presses his lips to Arthur’s again, a soft, chaste kiss full of promise. "I'd like that."