weepingwillow9 (weepingwillow9) wrote in camelot_drabble,
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Roses are Red (Part Two)

Author: weepingwillow9
Title: Roses are Red
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Valentine's Day comes, and Merlin gets more than he bargained for
Warnings: Age difference
Word Count: 1039, whoops
Prompt: Love
Author's Notes: Well, you did ask for more teacher!Merlin, student!Arthur


They drive to Merlin’s flat in near silence, Arthur in the passenger seat with the roses on his lap. Merlin hums along a little nervously to the radio, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Five minutes in, Arthur drops his hand to sit over Merlin’s, stilling his fingers.

“Stop,” he says, and he lets his hand slip down to sit, heavy and comforting, on Merlin’s knee.

They get to the flat, and Merlin unlocks the door for Arthur, letting him walk in first. The place is a bit of a tip; piles of exercise books stacked in corners, cracked plaster, stained paint. The place was built in the Victorian times, and there are still a few period pieces, hidden behind marking and I Love London mugs.

“Nice place,” Arthur says, sounding unconvinced. Merlin laughs.

“My boyfriend Will and I were going to do it up but after he died I just didn’t have the heart.”

Arthur looks at him, speechless but only a little sympathetic. Merlin’s glad for that; he’s had more sympathy than he can stand, and he’s better now, he can live again and he doesn’t need it.

Instead of speaking, Arthur opens up his bag and pushes a heart-shaped box of chocolates at Merlin. There’s a card tacked to the top, and Merlin opens it to read the message.

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Hurry up and fuck me Merlin
I think I love you

Merlin laughs, bright and abrupt. He looks up to see Arthur frowning.

“What’s so funny?” Arthur asks.

“It’s just- whenever I think I have you figured out, like this with the stereotypical flowers and chocolates, and then the poem… It doesn’t exactly fit with the tone, does it?”

Arthur smiles, but it’s a little strained.

“I like to keep you guessing.”

Merlin studies him for a moment. And he goes through the poem again in his mind, waiting to realise what Arthur’s frowning about.

He’d skimmed the last line, too amused by the nymphomania to really pay attention. But now it sinks in properly. And, in a way, it makes sense. Arthur had mentioned he cares, but Merlin didn’t realise until now that Arthur loves him. Needs him, for him and not just for the fun of this, the forbidden thrill of it.

“Arthur-” he starts, and Arthur turns away. Merlin snatches his wrist, pulls him round harshly to look at him.

“You’re mine,” he tells Arthur, “No one else can have you. No one else can touch you. I think you’re beautiful, I think you’re far too clever for your own good, and I’m ridiculously proud of you. You can make my day just by peering into my year seven lessons when you think I don’t notice. So yes, I’m about as convinced as it gets that I’m in love with you.”

Merlin’s not entirely sure what happens next, but one moment Arthur’s staring at him, eyes all blue and clear and wondering, and the next his mouth is hot on Merlin’s, pushing him into the wall via the nearest stack of exercise books, tumbling them down so they spread across the floor. Merlin gasps, lets Arthur’s tongue trace the limits of his mouth until he remembers that he is actually in possession of a bedroom and gets his hands on Arthur’s waist, shoves him backwards and further into the flat. Arthur stops to pick up his bag and then they’re there, in the bedroom, Arthur pulling Merlin onto the bed, falling onto his back with his legs wide.

Merlin pulls his clothes off, fast and frantic, and it’s wrong because Arthur’s in a plain shirt and tie but it’s still school uniform, in its own way. He’s so young. And he’s clinging to Merlin’s shirt, pulling it off, reaching up to kiss Merlin, hungry.

So he forgets that he shouldn’t be doing this. Arthur rolls over, pulls open his bag and passes Merlin his lube, a condom. Merlin works quickly, opening the lube and pressing in, slowing when Arthur’s mouth drops open, eyes locked onto Merlin’s. It makes his heart clench a little, to see him wordlessly open, drop his façade of cool and popular and everything everyone seems to want to be and let his legs fall open. Hungry, Arthur hooks a calf around the back of Merlin’s legs to try to pull him in.

“Quickly, please, I’m going to come.”

Merlin wriggles his finger and adds another, careful.

“You’re not ready yet.”

“But sir, I’m going to-”

“Then just come for me, Arthur.”

He does, untouched, and it’s pretty much wonderful, pretty much all Merlin wants to watch for the rest of his life.

“Merlin,” Arthur moans, because they’ve been on first name basis for weeks but Arthur likes to stick with the titles, the Mr Emrys, the sir. It turns him on, but this, here, Merlin holding Arthur and working into him, pulling out his fingers and pushing in his cock, is about them, and about how much more this is, so Arthur doesn’t mention Merlin’s position again.

He keeps Merlin close, holds him over him, kissing his nose and his mouth and his jaw and his ear and his neck, brushing kisses in one long line. And then, because he’s Arthur and he’s impatient and he’s brilliant, he bites down on Merlin’s neck. Merlin arches as he comes, pulled away from Arthur’s mouth. Arthur tries to follow, but then Merlin’s hand reaches between them and he’s coming too, head dropped back against the pillow.

When Merlin slips out, Arthur holds his arms out and tucks Merlin up into his chest. He still smells of mud and grass, almost overpowered by the smell of sex, and Merlin breathes it in. They haven’t done this before, haven’t just held each other for the sake of being close, but it’s nice. Merlin tucks his head in under Arthur’s chin, Arthur strokes down his side until his forearm rests in the slight curve of Merlin’s waist.

“I love you,” he mutters, so quietly Merlin doesn’t even know if Arthur meant for him to hear it. He turns his head just a little, drops a kiss onto Arthur’s chest, and mouths it into his skin. I love you.
Tags: *c:weepingwillow9, c:arthur, c:merlin, p:arthur/merlin, pt 045:love, rating:nc-17, type:drabble
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  • Not What You Think

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