Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Arthur wants to show Merlin that he's his
Word Count: 569
Author's Notes: This is a bit of a follow up to this, because I was thinking about the verse and how much I love it and wanted to do more in it!
Arthur sits in the tent and unwinds the leather strap from around his sword hilt. He lays it on the ground and lines it up with a piece of parchment already sitting there, held in place by two stones. He takes out his dagger and, with the tip of it, delicately carves the letters on the parchment onto the leather. When he’s done, he ties the strap around his wrist, tight, close to the skin.
There’s a sound at the entrance of the tent and he hides the sword and the parchment and the dagger quickly, under blankets.
“Emrys,” he says, turning, staying on his knees, keeping his head respectfully lowered.
“Merlin,” he says, with a roll of the eyes. He rakes his fingers through his hair and Arthur chooses that moment to glance up, following the movement, unable to look away. Emrys, Merlin, smiles down at him, and he’s beautiful. The light illuminates him from behind so he’s almost silhouetted, what little reflects around his face highlighting his nose, his cheekbones, his lips. His eyes glitter a little. He’s every bit the mysterious, shadowy figure of the legends. Arthur wants to be possessed by him.
“I have something for you,” Arthur tells him, lowering his eyes again, missing Merlin’s grin.
“You can stand up, Arthur,” he says, rocking on the balls of his feet, “It would make me so much more comfortable.”
“I must serve you,” Arthur says, but he gets up anyway to show Merlin the leather band.
“It tells of your ownership of me. All I need is your magic to fuse the leather so it cannot be removed.”
“Arthur!” Merlin snatches at his wrist and tugs the strap off, “For the last time, Arthur, I’m not some sort of higher power, you don’t have to bow down to me.”
“But I want to! You’re incredible, Merlin, and now I know you I think so more than ever.”
Merlin stills, quiet. Then slowly his mouth opens.
“You called me Merlin,” he says.
No one could tell who moved first, but one moment they’re standing there, looking at each other in shock, and the next they have their lips pressed together, palms cupping each other’s faces.
And then the bed is right there, so they fall into it, tongues pushing against each other’s for who will surrender more. Arthur makes sure he stays underneath, alternately plundering Merlin’s mouth and opening up for him, jaw loose. Their clothes seem to disappear, and Arthur doesn’t know if that’s Merlin’s eyes flashing and using his magic to whirl them away, or their roaming hands. But it doesn’t matter, because then it’s just him, and Merlin, and Merlin opening himself. It’s then that Arthur forgets to defer to him, forgets to hold him so high above him, and he rolls them over, fucks Merlin down into the thin mattress of the camp bed.
Merlin’s eyes glow when he comes. Not the flashing bright-gold of when he does magic, shyly, trying to hide his power from Arthur. It’s a glowing amber, flecks of the usual, beautiful stormy-sea blue within it. It’s a satisfied glow, Arthur thinks, but it’s more than that. It’s love in its fledgling form, it’s fondness and admiration and the aftermath of lust all in one. It’s affection; but more intense. It’s home in Arthur’s arms, snuggling down, equal and normal when it’s just them, no responsibility, no expectation.