Happy Merlin Holidays, shippouzrus! (2/3)

[merlin-hols.livejournal.com]

<3<3<3

It's impossibly late when Arthur realizes he hasn't seen Merlin for a few hours. Gwen is passed out, Lance curled up to spoon behind her in another display of affection that doesn't match any picture of this party that Arthur has seen. However, it does match Gwen and Lance. Gwen, who Arthur has learned, is a surrogate mother for their friend Gaius and his partner. The baby, born two months ago, is happy and healthy living in a suburb and Gwen and Lance have returned to their life-style. There is something so pleasant about Gwen when she speaks, giggling when she tells Arthur about meeting Lance and falling in love or blushing furiously when Gwaine tells the story of finding Lance and Gwen in compromising positions during every party after they learned she was pregnant. But Arthur thinks he likes the way Gwen's eyes light up in awe when she recounts Merlin taking that picture of her in the gallery. It's the same look she gets in her eyes when Lance crawls up to whisper something in her ear and then she's lost to Arthur, shifting around to make room for Lance before Arthur just nods and gets up.

He relocates to a chair that has appeared beside the bed. His watch says 3:34am and his mind is fuzzy from the bottle of vodka that he'd drunk from in lieu of Merlin returning. He wants to get up and go find him or just leave but he finds himself melting back into the chair and waiting instead. The crowd has thinned, although Arthur can still hear the bustle of people in other parts of the flat. There's no doubt that the coke will keep most of the people up well into the morning.

Arthur watches as Gwaine moves around the room, being petted by various people but not staying long before he settles against the dresser and stares at Arthur. It's closer to four by the time Arthur has really had enough. Of course, that's when Merlin bursts in.

Without his trousers on.

"I'm sorry," Merlin babbles in a voice much too loud for the room and Arthur automatically shushes him, pointing to where Gwen and Lance were sleeping on the bed.

"Oh," Merlin says in a whisper, climbing over people with knobbly knees attached to endless legs that lead to the ugliest pair of whitie-tighties that Arthur has ever seen. "I'm so sorry!"

Arthur shakes his head as Merlin finally makes his way over to him and seems to collapse on top of Arthur in a whoosh of air, bottle of wine held in one hand as his other comes to rest on Arthur's shoulder.

"You're in my lap," Arthur says because he's drunk and Merlin's not wearing trousers anymore.

"Sorry," Merlin whispers but he presses up against Arthur in a way that doesn't say sorry at all. "I got distracted."

"Where are your pants?" He tries not to sound jealous but he doesn't want to look a fool, waiting here all this time while Merlin was out joining the orgy in the living room.

"Freya spilled gasoline on them and then Edwin accidentally set one of the pant-legs on fire."

"That doesn't make any sense and is quite frightening," Arthur says with a blink as Merlin rearranges himself to his will, straddling Arthur's lap and curling his hands around Arthur's neck and shoulders.

"I took them off."

"I see that."

And Arthur does. He sees the pale, too-skinny definition of Merlin's legs and the sharp jut of his hipbones underneath the band of his white underwear. Arthur ignores the bulge of Merlin's crotch because he's not sure his mind won't actually explode if he doesn't.

"Why are you making that face? That is not a sexy face."

Arthur glares. "I make it a rule not to fraternize with people who wear underwear like that."

"It was laundry day," Merlin whinges, his lips pouting and his brow creasing. "I didn't know you were going to be here." Then he smirks. "You owe me an orgasm anyway."

Arthur blinks. "Pardon?"

"Goodness you're posh!"

Arthur squirms. He's never really been ashamed of his wealth before. Not that he's particularly ashamed now but it's certainly uncomfortable how everyone here is decidedly poor and fine with it., more than enjoying this vagrant-bohemian life-style. Not that Will or Merlin are anywhere near poor because Arthur knows exactly how much Morgana pays her artists but Arthur's fairly sure that the money doesn't go to rent or groceries considering how thin Merlin is.

"You're not going to punish me for wearing ugly panties are you?"

Arthur is trying to keep up, he honestly, is but Merlin is shifting and moving over his lap like he's doing a very awkward dance—nevertheless, it's very distracting. It isn't Arthur's fault that he's very drunk after being left alone for so long. Plus, Merlin's pretty, which is obviously Merlin's fault.

"If I would have known," Merlin says with a pull from the wine bottle popping off his lips. "If you would have said, 'no shagging in ugly pants' then I wouldn't have worn any."

Arthur clears his throat. "That so?"

Merlin's eyes are glassy but bright and unblinking. "That is very much so," Merlin imitates.

"Well," Arthur says, sliding his palms up Merlin's thighs. "I guess I can forgive you."

"I'm glad." Merlin smiles, all teeth and hungry, before tipping the wine into Arthur's mouth. It's white and disgustingly cheap causing Arthur to grimace and physically force himself to swallow.

"That was terrible."

"Fuck me," is Merlin's response.

This time, Arthur chokes on his tongue, vividly aware of Merlin now grinding tiny circles onto his half hard cock. He looks ridiculous and not at all sexy because the little motions look funny in the position above Arthur and yet, Arthur finds himself getting harder by the moment.

"You owe me an orgasm," Merlin says with a palm pressed to cock. "And I want it with your cock up my arse."

Arthur looks frantically around as Merlin starts to suck on his lower lip and work both their cocks with the solid circle his hips keep making over Arthur's groin.

"Merlin," Arthur finds himself panting. "You're drunk."

"So are you."

"I'm not fucking you in front of him," Arthur hisses and glares at Gwaine who is grinning like a maniac porn addict on drugs.

"Gwaine doesn't mind."

"Gwen is right there and she's-"

"Asleep."

"-someone's mother," Arthur finishes with a frown.

Merlin giggles, his laughter morphing into small hiccups of laughter that has his body bowing backward enough for Arthur to wrap one arm around his waist and pull him closer so that he doesn't fall off Arthur's lap. The action propels Merlin forward, his collarbone at eye level and Arthur doesn't hesitate to latch his mouth onto the protruding bone there.

He smiles, smugly, when Merlin's laughter abruptly dies. Arthur nudges Merlin's shirt out of the way so he can place sucking kisses all along his collarbone as Merlin squirms on his lap.

"Just because you're all exhibitionist heathens," Arthur says with zeal against the hollow of Merlin's throat, "doesn't mean I want anyone here to see you."

"They already have," Merlin pants above him as he threads his fingers through Arthur's hair and applies pressure to direct Arthur's head, to keep him there. "What's the difference now?"

"I'm the difference," Arthur bites into Merlin's skin. Merlin whimpers a little, tugging on Arthur's hair with both hands until Arthur has no choice but to detach himself with a scrape of teeth and a flick of his tongue.

Merlin's eyes are still sparkling in a creepy and addictive way that Arthur is sure that next, next time he won't find attractive.

"I can't believe you're here," Merlin whispers instead of kissing him and Arthur cocks his head. "How'd you even find me?"

Arthur doesn't blush. "Morgana."

Merlin's eyes widen comically. "You asked Morgana?"

"Fuck no, I was in her apartment being forced to watch security footage of you with my come dripping down your face," Arthur says scathingly. "And Gwen left a message."

Merlin giggles, flushing prettily and nuzzling his nose against Arthur's. It's amazing to Arthur that they haven't kissed yet. He's never gone this long without kissing someone who's obviously fancied him. Then again, he's never been with anyone like Merlin before. Men like Merlin usually stuck to their own kind and stay away from Arthur who looks rich, fit like a footballer and homophobic. According to Morgana, he is still all of those things but she's a bitch and Arthur stopped listening to her when he learned how to spell manipulative.

"You stalked me."

"I did no such thing."

"Imagine my surprise," Merlin continues with a coyness that belies the fact that he's rubbing himself all over Arthur's lap like a common whore, "when you showed up tonight, looking like a very posh wet dream and all because I propositioned you in a loo."

Arthur scoffs, moving his hands up the prominent bumps of Merlin's spine and watching him press into the touch like a cat. He's staring at Arthur's mouth, smirking like a cheeky bugger and suddenly looking less drunk than he was before.

"Why'd you say yes, anyway?"

"Hmm?"

Arthur gets distracted by Merlin's wrist, which swings around in Arthur's vision with Merlin's fingers that are tracing Arthur's face as if he's carefully reading Braille. For a moment, Arthur wants to know what he reads but then he realizes how stupid that sounds and he mentally retracts the statement to engross himself in the thinness of Merlin's left wrist and the word written there is type-writer font: MOLOCH.

Arthur always thought tattoos were foolish endeavors but he's obsessed with the contrast of the thick black lettering and Merlin's ghostly pale skin. He has no idea what the word means. Arthur is fairly sure it's made up but he wants to taste it all the same. He's reaching for Merlin's hand when he's startled from his goal by Merlin's voice.

"Arthur?"

"Sorry," Arthur says, "what were you saying?"

"Why'd you say yes in the loo?"

Arthur considers—letting himself get lost in the steep lines of Merlin's cheek and jaw lines, the haystack mess of black hair, the swollen quality of his mouth and his eyes, still bright and practically twinkling in some sort of constant mirth. There is something about Merlin's body that speaks volumes, as if each part of him is a different entity so happy and mirthful to be a part of Merlin's whole. It's downright strange.

"Why'd you say yes in the loo and then come find me?"

"I don't know," Arthur answers truthfully. "But there is something about you, Merlin."

The smile Merlin gives him is surprisingly shy but when Arthur wraps his fingers around his wrist, his eyes turn dark and hungry. Arthur traces the tattooed lettering with the pad of his finger before leaning up to suck on the skin there, laving over it with his tongue as he keeps his eyes locked onto Merlin's.

"Are these clothes special? Buy them for me?"

Arthur arches an eyebrow in a manner that hopefully conveys his feelings on the question. Merlin rocks his hips a bit and Arthur nips at the bone of his wrist.

"I just didn't imagine you to be..." Merlin pauses. "Well, this casual. I was surprised you weren't wearing a three piece suit."

Arthur huffs out a laugh against his skin. "Is that so?"

"You posh and successful types hardly own anything more than business casual."

Arthur licks the tattooed skin and pulls away. "And you have lots of experience with men like me?"

Merlin shakes his head. "I can make educated guesses, though. I imagine you in your track bottoms warming up on the pitch with your mates," Merlin whispers as he guides Arthur's lips back to his wrist. "I can imagine you all suited up like the gallery, eating crisps on your couch and watching crap telly. I can imagine you naked..."

His voice trails off for a bit and Arthur takes the opportunity to suck his long, skinny, tempting fingers right into his mouth. Arthur catalogs the moan that comes out of Merlin's parted lips, low and insistent. He sucks the digits, flicking his tongue over the pads and slips them out of his mouth with a soft pop, releasing Merlin's wrist at the same time.

"But I certainly never imagined you in the current outfit," Merlin says huskily and Arthur notes the tone of absolute mischief. "In fact, I don't think I like you in it. Looks like you stole it."

"I am not-"

Merlin rolls his eyes, insolent and mouthy and teasing. Arthur is surprised at how much of a turn on it is, but then again, he's sure that everything this awkward and gawky kid does is a turn on and that just can’t be possible.

"You owe me," is all he says before winking and unbuttoning the flap in his pants. Arthur can feel the panic well up inside his belly but it's very nearly negated by the fact that he is half-hard, drunk and Merlin looks delicious.

"Here?" Arthur hisses and looks around. Everyone seems to be passed out or in some sort of drug-induced trance. Except for Gwaine... "I'm not getting off with you with him in the room."

Merlin smirks, leaning forward to press his lips to Arthur's ear as he whispers, "Who said anything about you getting off?"

"What-"

But then Arthur gets distracted by those hands, slender and delicate looking as they dip into the open flap of Merlin's underwear, twisting until the bone of his wrist is clearly visible as he pulls out his cock. The swivel of his hips has his pants cutting half-way down his arse and slipping until Arthur's got a lap full of exposed Merlin in a room full of chaos.

It's certainly not how he imagined it.

"Merlin," Arthur hisses out. He leans forward, brings his left arm up to wrap around Merlin's waist and his right to hook around his thin shoulders and make him hunch down. It's impossible to hide from the room exactly what's going on but Arthur tries to at least hide Merlin's cock—his fucking amazing cock. Arthur can't take his eyes from it, it's long (sizably larger than Arthur's own, he notes) and curved to the left but it's not very thick. He watches with painstaking slowness as Merlin cups the tip, his thumb and ring finger coming to squeeze and rub at the foreskin there.

"God," Merlin gasps out above him, making Arthur look up from where he was probably drooling over Merlin's cock. "You're so fucking gorgeous."

Arthur blushes, curling his hands into Merlin's shirt and tugging him a bit closer. Merlin's face gets out of reach then and Arthur entire world narrows to the slide of Merlin's hand over the length of his cock, cupping the tip and then returning to the base, disappearing for a few moments to play with his balls that are just out of sight. Arthur barely registers Merlin's other hand which is clenched in the hairs at the nape of his neck but he becomes aware of it as Merlin uses it to direct Arthur's mouth to his nipple, pebbled and prominent beneath the thin material of his shirt.

Arthur doesn't hesitate to open his mouth.

"Oh fuck yes," Merlin murmurs and Arthur sucks hard, tasting cloth and soap against his tongue. He inhales hard, smelling smoke and sweat before Merlin jerks his head back.

Arthur eyes flick up to Merlin's, which are unfocused and frantic. "Give me your hand," Arthur says and it's the first words he's spoken since Merlin's taken his dick out.

Merlin tilts his head, nods and moves his hand that is damp with pre-come up to Arthur's mouth. He licks his lips, moving his head forward to press the flat of his tongue to Merlin's wrist and then running it very slowly up his palm and to the tip of his fingers. For a few moments, all Arthur can think about is how ridiculous this is—from meeting Merlin, to coming here, to this; Merlin in his lap and Arthur licking his palm in a room full of people. But then the taste of Merlin, sweet and bitter blooms on his tongue and Arthur forgets about everything else that might have mattered before meeting this man.

Arthur continues to lick at Merlin's hand until he pulls it away. This time, when Merlin's fingers curl around his leaking dick, he arches with a sharp, painful moan that could be Arthur's name but it's unclear because it seems endless. Merlin's voice shutters and stops with every desperate hitch of his hips and clenching of those utterly addicting hands.

"Merlin," Arthur breathes, his hands clenching into the fabric of Merlin's shirt in an attempt to keep them there because there is something about this moment that Arthur knows will be broken if he touches Merlin anymore than he is right now. But God, he wants to. He wants to run his hands all over Merlin's body and put his mouth wherever he pleases.

"Fuck," Merlin chokes and Arthur flicks his gaze rapidly from his face, flushed and scrunched in pleasure, to Merlin's steadily leaking cock, engorged and red from the friction of his slender hand rapidly, painfully stripping from base to tip. "Oh fuck, Arthur, fuck, fuck, fuck."

Arthur watches.

Merlin's slams his other hand into Arthur's shoulder, pushing him against the back of the chair and putting some distance between them just as he's coming. He back bows, mouth open in a moan with rapid breaths and his whole body is trembling as he comes in jerks of his cock, the streaks of come coating the front of Arthur's trousers with startling precision.

"Jesus Christ," Arthur murmurs, his eyes fluttering at the pure sensation of Merlin's come, hot and sticky, painting the crotch of his trousers where his erection was straining for release.

There is stillness. Arthur is painfully aware of his own arousal and the way their panting is very loud in the quiet of the room. It's only when Merlin moves his hand from his softening cock to wipe it on his bare leg that Arthur looks up from his come streaked crotch to Merlin. His eyes widen, almost comically and Arthur moves his hands from their death clench on the fabric of Merlin's shirt.

There's a brief flickering of panic in Merlin's eyes and then, "Don't you dare move. Don't you move, dammit."

"What-"

"Fucking move and I'll fucking kill you," Merlin says, scrambling off Arthur's lap and turning to dive underneath the bed. Arthur crawls through the fog of arousal clouding his brain and tries to wrap his mind around the image of Merlin, all skinny legs and elbows and glorious hands, with his flaccid cock hanging out of his pants with what just happened.

He doesn't really understand.

Merlin finally swirls around with an older looking camera. Arthur frowns, his hands moving to Merlin, but he shakes his head and Arthur stills. It isn't hard to imagine Merlin in a studio now, not with how natural he looks with a camera in his hands even though his soft cock is poking out of his underwear and spots of semen drying everywhere. He still looks as if he was born to do this, his tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration.

Arthur doesn't think about stopping him from taking a picture. He doesn't think about what it will mean for his father's business or his reputation. He doesn't think about ruining the Pendragon name or the curl of shame that comes with disappointing the only family he has. He doesn't think about any of those things.

He just watches and thinks about Merlin.

Afterwards, Merlin smiles shyly and puts the camera in his bedside drawer. Arthur's throat is dry and he moves to get up out of this uncomfortable chair but then Merlin is crawling back into his lap, curling up and moving around until he's wrapped around Arthur like a baby octopus.

"Merlin," Arthur whispers with nothing more to say but Merlin shakes his head and tilts his head up to press his lips to Arthur's. The kiss is chaste, especially compared to the other interactions they've had and Arthur wants more, so much more of this strange man, but then Merlin is pulling back and looking at him.

"Hi there," Merlin says with a quirk of his lips and Arthur kisses the smile, the frames of his glasses digging into his face. He keeps it chaste and light, relishing in the fact that he now knows that Merlin's lips are a little chapped and there's one spot that's almost chewed raw.

Arthur finds himself liking that he knows these small facts. He likes them so much that he mainly forgets about his half-hard cock still trapped in his trousers. He likes them enough to ignore the fact that Gwaine is still watching them. He likes these facts so much that he doesn't protest when Merlin breaks the kisses, smile still there, eyes still glittering, and tucks his head underneath Arthur's chin. Instead, he wraps his arms around Merlin's thin frame and lets the tired, woozy, drunk feeling of the night lull him to sleep to the sound of Merlin's breathing.

<3<3<3

Arthur wakes when Merlin climbs off of him but he doesn't move. Half of him thinks he's paralyzed and the other half knows he just a coward. When Merlin stumbles, stepping on someone's foot, he apologizes and says he's going to the loo.

It takes Arthur three minutes to make sure he's got everything he came with stuffed back into his pockets. His body creaks when he gets up out of the chair, his trousers stained, his back aching and his mind very, very confused.

He flees, Gwaine's eyes boring into the back of his head as he slips out of the bedroom and out of Merlin's flat without a sound.

<3<3<3

"Leon!"

Arthur rubs the bridge of his nose and desperately wishes he would have brought his glasses to work. His eyes are killing him.

"Yes, sir?"

Arthur looks up at Leon, who is probably the highest paid PA on the continent. But it's 10:45 on a Wednesday night and he's still here, helping Arthur put together a presentation for his father that has no hope of getting more than a nod of approval for.

"Is my car ready?"

Leon nods and smiles tightly. "Yes, sir. I've put the rest of the files you might need for tomorrow in your briefcase. There's mail in the passenger seat that came through your personal slot and the dry cleaning you've forgotten to take home for three weeks is hanging up in the backseat."

Arthur closes his eyes. He didn't really forget the dry-cleaning. He's been avoiding it.

"Thank you," Arthur says with a sigh. "You can head home. I won't be in before the presentation so you can take the morning off. Be here by one."

"Are you sure you don't want a driver, sir?"

Arthur waves him off, grateful for the small smile Leon gives him before he backs out of the office. Arthur waits until Leon's gone before packing up his laptop and the rest of his things. He shuts off the lights, tugs on his coat and walks to the parking lot.

Predictably, the dry cleaning is hanging in the backseat—mocking him.

He fastens his seat belt but doesn't have the energy to turn the key just yet. Instead, he has a very dramatic staring contest with a pair of laundered trousers. He can hear Morgana's voice, harpy-screeching and indignant, too. Every time he thinks about the trousers, he thinks about all the voice messages Morgana has left, detailing how she is furious with him and disowning him. She's also not talking to him but that hasn't stopped her from leaving voicemails.

She's also been texting him.

Arthur looks down at where his phone is, full of nasty messages from Morgana and then back into the mirror to see the trousers in their shiny packaging, practically singing about all the things Arthur is trying to forget.

Stay forgotten.

"Shit," Arthur says and leans back in the chair. He's got half a mind to text Morgana and tell her to mind her own bloody-damn business but instead, he shuffles through the mail Leon put on the seat. There's a few billing statements, nothing terribly exciting and nothing urgent. It all seems ordinary except for a large cardboard envelope. There isn't an address on the front, just his name scrawled in cramped cursive and no return address.

Arthur pulls the tab at the top of the envelope and pulls out two photographs. He can't see the glossy photos without a light and scrambles to turn the overhead light on, fear and excitement and something else clawing its way to his throat.

"Oh," he whispers.

The first photograph is of him and Gwen. They're both laughing, Gwen staring at him as she covers her wide, smiling mouth. Arthur has his head thrown slightly back, a flush working down his throat but the texture of the photo is vibrant and happy and Arthur can hear the laughter. He can feel the memory on his skin.

The second photo takes his breath away.



A note, stuck to the back of the photo, falls into Arthur's lap. When he picks it up, it has only one word, scribbled in the same handwriting as his name: Please.

He wants to think that it's blackmail. He wants to. He wants to be angry and vicious. He wants to pick up his phone and call his solicitor. He wants to be angry. Instead, he remembers the gentle press of Merlin's lips against his and the feeling of Merlin curled up in his lap. Arthur feels the flood of memories assault him. Merlin's long, pale legs and his thin wrists, his 'moloch' tattoo. Arthur can see the quirk of his lips and the curve of his cock. He can vividly picture Merlin's slender fingers and the stain of his come on Arthur's trousers.

He should call his father's assistant, tell him that there might be trouble but he doesn't. He picks up the phone and presses number two on his speed-dial.

"Geoffrey? Yeah, I'm sorry about the hour. Can you do me a favor? Wonderful. Can I have the number for a Merlin Emrys? Yes, M-e-r-l-i-n. I'm not sure on the spelling of the last name but he did a gallery showing for Morgana a month ago."

Arthur stares at the photos, his fingerprints making faint impressions over the glossy paper. Geoffrey makes several humming noises that indicate that he's working and Arthur traces his name penned over the front of the envelope.

"Sorry, can you repeat that number?... Thank you, Geoffrey. You've been a tremendous help."

When Arthur starts his car, he's smiling.

previous | next