Title: Witching Hour
Rating: R (I guess)
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Arthur promised Merlin a real date. Ghosts don't have dates very often.
Word Count: 1200
Prompt: #281: w|m 1200 words
Author's Notes: I don't even know what happened here, lol.
Arthur frowns at the flowers sprouting outside his window, small white petals that turn this way and that way to follow the shift of Arthur’s body, bending like devotees. He scratches a sore spot below his jaw, with the tip of his fingers touches them, they shake, tangle around his pinky. Arthur is one hundred percent sure they weren't there last night.
“A real mystery,” he mutters to himself. Around him the sheer white curtains dance with the breeze.
“Today it’s Tuesday.”
He startles at the voice jumping almost imperceptibly in the spot, a shiver runs through him. When he turns away from the window is to meet Merlin’s crossed arms and teasing smile. Arthur thinks Merlin takes too much pleasure in sneaking up on him, knowing full well he is unable to hear Merlin’s footfalls. Unless he steps on the creaky wood near his bed.
“You’re going to give me a heart attack one of these days,” he says pointing an accusatory finger Merlin’s way.
“I hope not,” Merlin says trying for the same light approach Arthur has. The deep frown, the unblinking eyes, his listlessness, don't fool Arthur. He hates when Merlin hides, when he goes somewhere Arthur can't follow.
He clears his throat, changes the subject with the subtlety of a freight train. “So, Tuesday?”
“Yeah.” Merlin recovers, smiles, small and a touch shy. Arthur can breathe easier at the sight. “Today’s the day. It said so in your tablet,” Merlin answers facetiously, his eyes wide.
Arthur chuckles. “Right. You just accidentally guessed the password and noticed. Why don't I believe you?”
The sunlight hits him making him appear almost translucent, eyes shimmering gold. It's been almost five month since--in a series of odd occurrences-- they started living together and Arthur hasn't gotten used to Merlin's unearthliness. “I don't know, Arthur. I did nothing, it simply gave me information. You know me, I’m not a technology wizard.“
“That you aren't.”
Arthur goes about getting ready for work, always aware of Merlin’s eyes on him, following every move he makes. It fills him with warmth.
Before he steps outside the flat, Merlin’s voice stop him with a simple request: bring ice cream.
He is not fretting. Arthur has to repeat the same statement in various degrees of annoyance to every single person who crosses his path during the day. Gwaine ribs him about Arthur hiding his new conquest with his friends, and Arthur fights against his discomfort and incoming headache to threat Gwaine to a myriad of insults so creative Gwaine could only gape at him. It's only after he snaps at Elena and she looked at him as if Arthur had just told her he loathes her kittens that he is he willing to admit--only to himself--he is indeed fretting. He's anxious in way he’s never been.
Arthur promised Merlin a date. A real date.
Funny how it took days and days and an apparent random comment from Merlin for him to realize they never had one. He might be slow on the uptake sometimes.
He laughs, scrubs a hand down his face. He better make it a good one. Merlin deserves it. After all, it's not something they can do when they please.
Arthur ends up buying more ice cream than necessary.
The flat is pitch-black, silent, empty. Arthur fumbles his way in, not wanting to disturb the quiet. He leaves the food in the kitchen and goes to shower and get everything ready, he's still got hours to spare and he has to stay busy to stop himself from agonizing over time—he knows later he'll be wanting to stretch every minute beyond infinity.
"Merlin?" He calls out in the darkness, not a second later Merlin is in front of him, his eyes have adjusted to the darkness. "Shall I get the light?"
"No, you promised me candlelight dinner and every cliché you could think of. Make good on your promise, Pendragon."
"I—" The shrill tone of his phone's alarm interrups him, they both turn their heads to the mobile in Arthur's hand. It's 12 am. Finally.
Merlin gasps. "Arthur," he murmurs.
Arthur reaches out, finds Merlin in the dark, he mouths at his jaw, kisses the corner of his mouth, rubs his palms over Merlin's back. And Merlin holds onto him, buoyed to his body.
"I can feel you, Arthur."
"I bought ice cream," he answers stupidly, hears Merlin laugh right by his ear, his breath tickling him. Their foreheads pressed together, Arthur wants everything, drown and breathe.
"I'm not hungry."
They walk backwards finding Arthur's, no, their room without letting go. Merlin works fast on his clothes, Arthur takes longer, pauses to feel every tremble and nuance of Merlin’s body. The change in his breathing, how he gasps when Arthur licks his way down and then up his chest, lingering on his nipples, the way his hand moves to tangle in Arthur's hair to pull him into a kiss, his tongue searching and hot.
Merlin pushes Arthur down on the matress, tortures him with little kisses and bites, that go from filthy to tender to loving, and Arthur feels he's about to lose it. It's been too long.
"I want to be inside you," he says in the space between them. Merlin nods, gets them both ready before he lowers himself on Arthur's cock, inch by inch. His hands over Arthur's shoulders squeezing. They move together, fall into a rhythm.
Merlin's vocabulary is a litany of, "I feel you, I feel you," and, "More."
And Arthur's thinks metoometoometoo and I need you.
Merlin looks beautiful, tangible and debauched moving up and down on his lap, slow, languid. It doesn't take long for him to come or for Arthur to follow. Merlin almost falls on him, the end up pressed together, chest to chest, cheek to cheek.
They touch, forego words. Merlin’s living on borrowed time.
Arthur wakes up before sunrise, the stillness in the room is almost palpable, outside the sky is a blend of orange and lilac, of dazzling blue. He turns on his side, ghosts his fingers down Merlin's arm, slow and reverential, drinking in the warmth he still radiates. In a perfect world it's always like this, easy mornings tangling and untangling together, of kisses and touches, each deeper than the last. Merlin always there, next to him, with him.
He kisses Merlin’s shoulder, hides his face in the crook in his neck, inhales, exhales. Merlin burrows closer into his embrace. Arthur drapes his arm over Merlin's chest keeping there, him palm splayed on top of his heart. A boom-boom still discernable.
He kisses and lingers already touch starved, Merlin wakes up in time to repay him in kind.
Arthur stares at the flowers outside, growing, tangling, reaching. Sneaking silent and brilliant into his room just as Merlin has done. He looks back at Merlin's sleeping form, less tangible more distant, the flowers grow, blossom. He looks between the man still in his arms fading with dawn and the thriving flowers filling empty spaces with life.