Title: The Innocence In Your Eyes
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: On a trip to the lower town, Arthur finds himself unintentionally drawn to the pickpocket that steals from him.
Word Count: 999
Prompt: #70 - Amused
Author's Notes: I can't even express in words how displeased I am with this piece. I'm actually really terrible at writing kissing scenes, so this probably sounds awkward and very out of place, so sorry about that! This all sounded much better in my head, I promise. Please try and enjoy anyway?
His fingers are so nimble that Arthur almost didn't feel it.
Visiting the lower towns in disguise is something Arthur tries to do often. Not that the lower town doesn't know what their prince looks like, but it's easier to blend in if he's in disguise.
He tries to just observe while he's down there.
The boy catches his eye when he first enters. There's something about him, an air, and their eyes meet for a brief second. He pays the boy little mind, and when said boy breaks eye contact, and whisks himself away, Arthur lets him be.
It's not until now he realizes he was being scouted.
A lesser man would not have noticed slender fingers reaching towards his belt, swiping the pouch of coins from it. But Arthur isn't a lesser man. When the boy bumps into him, fingers easing in, he mumbles a soft, sorry, as he keeps walking on.
But, Arthur doesn't let him get away.
Instead, he swirls, and in one fluid movement, he grabs the boy by the wrist, and hauls him into the nearest alleyway, ignoring the loud sputters of let go of me!
Despite his flailing, Arthur grabs his other wrist, and pins both with one of his hands above his head, watching as the coin pouch falls to the ground. He looks down at it, then meets the boy's impossibly blue eyes, tilting his head.
“That didn't work to well, did it?” he says, letting a smirk curl onto his lips as the boy thrashed against him.
He doesn't deny it, though. Instead, he spits out, “Have to make my living somehow, not good for much else.”
At the words, Arthur looks him over. He's a tiny thing, all wiry limbs and his body looks a little awkward, as if he hasn't fully grown into himself, yet. He's unbelievably pale, milky skin contrasting a scruffy mess of ebony hair. There's an air of innocence about him, the air he detected before, despite his thieving ways, plump, pink lips pulled up into a slight pout.
Arthur finds himself with an unbelievable urge to kiss the pout right off of him, thinking of how easy it would be to meld their mouths together, to make the boy writhe underneath him with the gentlest of touches. He can't be much younger than Arthur, and desire pools warmly in his gut.
The boy has taken to just glaring, now. He reaches his free hand up and runs gentle fingers along his cheek, and he watches in mild amusement as he stills, completely, as if shocked by his sudden tenderness.
“What are you doing?” he murmurs, voice no longer holding the initial venom. He sounds wary, obviously unsure of Arthur's intentions.
“Ask me my name,” Arthur says, leaning in closer, watching the fear flicker through the boy's eyes. It's only for a split second, and it vanishes quick as it came, but he'd seen it.
The boy doesn't respond. Arthur tightens his grip around his wrists, and the boy winces, before choking out, “What's your name?”
“Arthur,” he replies, smirk widening on his lips. “Prince Arthur.”
He leans in and presses their lips together, then, taking advantage of the sharp intake of breath the boy draws in, slips his tongue inside. He licks around the cavern of his mouth, filthy, hot, and wet, sucking on his tongue as he does so. He can feel the boy's pulse hammering under his hand, and where at first, the boy kept trying to pull away, body tense and rigid, he slowly melted into it. The boy angles his head, pressing deeper into the kiss.
Arthur makes a hum of approval, and lets go of the boy's wrists in favor of cradling his face with one hand and resting the other on his hip. The boy lets out a quiet moan, but with his hands now free, Arthur expects to be shoved away. Instead, surprising him, the boy cards his fingers through his hair.
He breaks the kiss only to breathe, and the boy looks flushed, panting with dilated pupils, and Arthur chuckles quietly to himself in triumph. While the boy recovers his breath, he tugs at the collar of his shirt, exposing skin, and presses small kisses up his neck, nipping and sucking, marking and claiming. “Gorgeous,” he finds himself murmuring, against his better judgment.
“D-do you do this to all the thieves who steal from you?” the boy stutters, but there's challenge in his voice. Arthur meets his gaze.
Despite still being heavily flushed, the boy has the gall to smirk at him. “Only the pretty ones,” Arthur grins, then pulls back, releasing him entirely.
He kneels down and picks up his coin pouch, looks at it, then tosses it, and the boy catches it with fumbling fingers. He raises a brow, and Arthur raises one in turn.
“So you're not arresting me?” the boy asks, gripping the pouch. “Executing me? Cutting off my hand?”
“I see no reason to,” he replies, biting back a laugh. “Why, did you want me to?”
“No,” he says, quickly, then slips the coin pouch into his jacket. “That's alright. But...why?”
Arthur snorts, but ponders the question for a moment. Any other thief he probably would have, but there was something about this one. Something he couldn't put his finger on. “You amuse me,” he admits, finally.
The boy looks affronted tearing his gaze away, but Arthur grabs him by the chin and forces him to look back, and he asks, quietly, “What's your name?”
There's a second of hesitation, then boy's tongue darts out and licks his lips. It's quiet, but he breathes out, “Merlin.”
Merlin. Arthur grins, and lets him go. Merlin looks confused, and the tilt in his head says as much, but Arthur steps back, and begins to walk away.
“Well then, Merlin,” Arthur drawls, feeling exhilarated. “I suppose I'll be seeing you again very soon.”
He leaves, Merlin's indignant squawking filling his ears from behind.