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When Merlin crouched on the lakeshore, dusk was already stretching deep purple and blue shadows over the water and the trees. As he curled his naked toes around the slippery pebbles on the bank, he shivered, wobbly, hard coolness pushing against the soles of his feet. Fast-fading oranges and pinks still tinged the horizon, and Merlin stared a long time, soaking it in with a deep breath of watery air, algae and pine scented.
Merlin squinted at the opposite bank—only a dark green and black mass of trees—the camping grounds nowhere in sight. He thought maybe he could see the flickering of a campfire, but it could just as well be his imagination. By this time some campers would be hard at work getting drunk on cheap beer. Some asshole or another would be strumming his guitar. Probably Gwaine.
It made Merlin smile, but he wasn’t sad to be missing it this time around. There had been plenty of nights just like it this summer, and there would be a few more before it was over. He rather liked being here for now.
It wasn’t quiet, not really, but it still felt like it, like the world was letting out a slow breath. And the exhalation of it was in the fading light, the chirping of the crickets—loud and insistent in their prediction of another warm and sunny August day tomorrow—the cry of a loon in the distance, the soft splashing of a frog or fish in the dark to his right, and—
“God fucking dammit!”
And Arthur.
The water against his fingers was cool on his sun-warm skin, and Merlin plunged his hand deeper, to his wrist, his forearm, and he thought of falling forward to sink into it. The light was almost gone, the exhalation almost done, the water almost still—
“Merlin, I burned the fucking beans.”
Arthur’s voice scattered through the trees, as did probably all animals within earshot. Merlin hung his head with a laugh.
“Arthur,” he said as he stood up, and wiped his wet arm on his shorts as he walked back to their own small campfire, “you’re ruining the moment.”
Arthur glared at him over his shoulder from where he stood beside the little hotplate he brought with their camping equipment—blond hair bleached by the sun falling into his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You were obviously very busy communing with nature, and here I was, just trying to make us dinner. How very selfish of me. How horrible, really. How—”
“It’s only beans, Arthur, it’s not, like, the most awesome feast ever.”
Arthur’s glare intensified into a scowl and his mouth dropped opened before he closed it with an audible clack of teeth.
“I’ll make sure to bring fucking caviar, next time,” he said, slow and measured, and Merlin couldn’t hold his laughter in any longer. Arthur was the most ridiculous man in the world and all Merlin wanted to do was kiss his scowly, scrunchy, stupid face.
It took a moment or two of more glaring and righteous affront to Merlin’s mocking, but Arthur eventually rolled his eyes at him, all exasperated. And fond. There was definite fondness there.
“I’m not fond, Merlin. Shut up.”
“You fucking are, don’t even front.”
“Ugh. I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“You’re annoying as fuck.”
“Yes, I am.
“Well, at least we agree on something.”
Arthur looked down at the blackened mass at the bottom of the pot forlornly, and kicked the whole thing with the tip of his toe.
“Maybe with a bit of salt?” he said.
“No.”
Arthur snorted. “Some boyfriend you are. You could at least pretend to like it to make me happy.”
“Dude, no. I did not sign up for food poisoning.”
The hurt puppy-look on Arthur’s face made Merlin wrap his arms around Arthur’s waist to hug him to his chest in an apology (because Arthur was a big baby)—the thin cotton of Arthur’s T-shirt soft against his cheek and smelling like sweat and the lemony detergent they used at the camp.
He nuzzled behind Arthur’s ear and in the crook of his neck as his hands slid under Arthur’s shirt to rest across his warm stomach.
“What did you sign up for, then?” Arthur said, then tipped his head back and to the side with a sigh so Merlin could mouth along the muscles there.
“Um. Unlimited access to the lifeguards’ cabin. And hot, athletic sex, of course.”
Arthur groaned and elbowed Merlin in the side.
They ended up eating the sandwiches Alice had made them and had been planning to eat tomorrow for lunch before driving back to Camelot Camping. Side by side on a fallen log, Merlin pressed up against Arthur’s body—shoulders to hips, and thighs and knees. By now, the night had truly fallen, and Merlin stared into the flames of their fire, occasionally leaning in to poke at the embers with a stick. His shoulder always felt cold when he did until he slotted it back against Arthur’s and let the heat of his skin run across his once more. He kept doing it—in and out, cold and warm and cold again—not sure why other than he loved the way his insides twisted slightly every time his body re-aligned itself along Arthur’s.
Arthur curled his hand into the fabric of Merlin’s shorts, hooked one of his feet around Merlin’s ankle, and smiled at him, all gross, mouth full and bread sticking to his teeth. Merlin could only smile back, like the truly fucked and stupidly gone loser that he was. But not before opening his mouth around a mouthful and sticking his tongue out.
(Maybe Merlin was a big baby too.)
Merlin brushed the crumbs from his thighs and wiped his hands on the front of his shirt, ignoring the side-eye Arthur was giving him, because fuck him, this was camping—not a five-stars goddamn restaurant.
A breeze picked up. The leaves of the trees rustled in the silence, and the flames of the fire crackled, bright sparks lifting into the air and pushing smoke into Merlin’s face. He coughed, eyes watering a bit, and Arthur lifted a hand to rub at his back. In an effort to get away from the smoke (really, not other reasons), Merlin slid off the log and into Arthur’s lap instead, turning his back to the fire.
Arthur made a surprised sound, but wrapped his arms around Merlin’s hips, hitching him closer even as he widened his legs to keep them balanced. With Arthur warm and solid all over his front and the fire’s heat behind him, Merlin buried his face into Arthur’s neck, muscles heavy.
This close, Arthur smelled like fire smoke, salt, and the faint trace of Coppertone still lingering on his skin from his morning shift at the lake. Merlin pulled at his collar to leave small kisses along his tanline there, mouth tingling with the softness of the skin, the warmth of it. Arthur shivered a little against him, humming low in his throat—vibrations that Merlin felt through his lips—and slid his hands under Merlin’s shirt to span wide across his back.
Merlin loved Arthur’s skin. From way back in his little ice cream stand where he had a perfect line of sight to the lifeguard chair where Arthur sat every day, the golden-tanned skin of Arthur’s arms and neck was all Merlin could look at. Well, that and the width of his shoulders and the perfect shape of his ass when he stood to whistle at a swimmer. No one that had seen that ass could blame him for that one.
And after Merlin got to see the whole of Arthur, from his ridiculous blond hair hidden under an old baseball cap, to his large blue eyes and slightly crooked teeth, or the perfectness of his jaw, Merlin wanted to get his hands, and mouth, on that skin even more. It always seemed warm, tanned and taut over his muscles, and he imagined it would taste like sunshine and salt and sunscreen.
Merlin trailed his nose along Arthur’s throat, fingers loosely curled in Arthur’s shirt at his waist, and nuzzled behind his ear again. Arthur’s hair was too long and curled lightly with sweat there. Merlin groaned, licked the salt along his hairline.
Arthur startled, jerking, and Merlin pulled back quickly.
“Sorry,” he said. “That was weird.”
Arthur shook his head and smiled. “Just surprised.”
The end of his word was swallowed by a yawn, and Arthur pushed his mouth against Merlin’s shoulder to cover it.
“Only a week in and you’re already bored of me,” Merlin said. “Is the spark already gone?” He pouted, looked at Arthur through his lashes.
Arthur just rubbed his nose along Merlin’s collar and kissed his collarbone lightly. “Shut up, it’s been a long day. And you’re very warm.”
“Um, always my fault, obviously.”
“You’re learning. I’m very proud of you.”
Merlin poked him in the stomach only to have Arthur look up at him with a wide, goofy grin, eyes wide and open and unguarded. It made Merlin’s breath catch, made his skin prickle like it was overheated, and he took Arthur’s face between his hands, just to keep him there, to feel the stretched of his smile under his palms.
He couldn’t see them in the dark, but Merlin knew there were pale freckles all over Arthur’s nose and under his eyes. He put his fingertips over Arthur’s cheekbones and tapped lightly as if he could count them. Skin was peeling off the tip of Arthur’s nose, permanently sunburned, it seemed, since the beginning of the summer.
How long would it take, Merlin wondered, how long to learn everything there was to know about somebody’s face? How long until it was as familiar as his own? How many smiles did Arthur have? In how many ways could he contort his face in annoyance, in joy, in anger? And how long would it take Merlin to learn it all? How long did he have?
He swallowed loudly, throat dry. Arthur was looking at him more seriously now, a small line between his eyes and Merlin smoothed it out with his thumb.
“No hot, athletic sex for me tonight, I guess,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s very disappointing, but I think I can forgive you this one time.”
“How very kind and selfless of you,” Arthur said with a roll of his eyes.
“I know. I’m a generous guy like that. Aren’t you lucky to have me?”
“I’m starting to reconsider.”
“Lies.” Merlin pushed his fingers against Arthur’s mouth, holding his lips together to keep him from speaking. “You don’t know what you’re saying. Heat and exhaustion have addled your brain. Clearly, I need to take care of you.”
Arthur only raised a sceptical eyebrow, but when Merlin let go of his mouth, Arthur kissed his fingertips lightly, darting his tongue out and nibbling with his teeth.
“And what do you propose?” he said against Merlin’s palm, brushing his cheek over the skin until Merlin slid it along his jaw and into his hair.
“Sleep—”
“How original.”
“—some cuddles.”
Arthur pulled back. “We are not cuddling.”
“Dude, we so are. I’m going to cuddle the fuck out of you, and you’re going to like it.”
“Is that so?”
“Yeah. And if you’re good, I’ll blow you when you wake up… or to wake you up, whatever you want.”
“That’s very generous.”
“You said so yourself, I’m a very selfless type of person.”
Arthur pushed him off of him and laughed when Merlin landed on his butt.
They undressed to their boxers outside the tent, and threw their clothes in a pile. Merlin let his hand slide across Arthur’s naked shoulder and stayed put while Arthur poured a bucketful of water over the fire. He stretched out a hand in the dark, eyes blinking, and waited for Arthur’s fingers to wrap around his before he crouched into the tent and slid between their laid open sleeping bags.
Merlin shimmied a little to warm up the covers, goosebumps erupting all over his skin. Arthur was still beside him and after a while Merlin settled on his back.
He wondered if this should be weird, if Arthur really didn’t want to cuddle. It’s not like Merlin was really used to sharing a bed or anything, but—
“I thought you were going to cuddle the fuck out of me?” Arthur said in the silence. “I was under the impression that cuddling involved a bit more of skin contact than this.”
Merlin smiled in the dark. “Just building up anticipation.”
Arthur snorted, and suddenly he was right there, solid all over Merlin’s side, hot breath fanning across his shoulder.
The small space of the tent was already starting to smell like their shared body heat and breaths. Merlin could hear the wind in the tall pines looming over them, the cry of an owl, water gently lapping at the shores of the lake.
“Turn around,” he whispered.
Arthur kissed his shoulder quickly before doing do, immediately pushing back into Merlin’s hold. Merlin wrapped one arm around his waist, hooking his fingers into the waistband of Arthur’s boxers, and slid his other arm under Arthur’s neck, so he could feel Arthur’s light stubble across the skin of his inner arm.
“This is nice,” Arthur said.
“Told you so.”
Arthur kicked him, but Merlin just hooked a leg over his and tangled them, rubbed Arthur’s calf with his foot, coarse hairs tickling his toes.
“In the morning, I’ll rock your world,” Arthur mumbled, then turned his face into his pillow and pressed his lips against Merlin’s forearm. “How does that sound?”
“Sounds like a bad pick-up line.” Merlin tried to hide the wide smile he knew was on his face against the back of Arthur’s neck. He felt like even in the dark Arthur would know, like all the things he’d been feeling for weeks now, bright and burning, would burst out and fill the darkness of the night. It was sickening really.
He smiled some more.
“You’re into it,” Arthur said.
“Am not.”
“Are too. I can hear you giggle.”
“You’re such an asshole.”
“You’re also into that.”
“I must be insane.”
“Another thing we can agree on.”
Merlin scooted even closer to Arthur and rubbed his cheek over the soft skin of his back, right between his shoulderblades. He could admit to himself that he was pathetically in love with the feel of Arthur’s skin over his. It was really fucking unfair.
“Looking forward to it,” he said, picking back up the thread of conversation, but Arthur’s breaths had already evened out, mouth still on Merlin’s skin. Merlin wondered if Arthur would drool on him during the night. He hoped so, he’d tease him about it mercilessly. The loser.
He thought about what Arthur would look like in the early morning light, diffused-blue through the canvas of the tent, all disheveled and sleep-warm.
Tomorrow, after he was done waking up Arthur with the best blow job ever, and after Arthur was done rocking his world—which Merlin was really looking forward to—once they were ready to go back to camp for Merlin’s afternoon shift, Merlin would make Arthur take the long way around the lake.
They’d pack up the car, roll down the windows and fight over the music. Merlin would stretch his legs over the dashboard and Arthur would scowl at him from behind his douchey sunglasses. Summer sun would flicker through the trees and dapple the road, the lake would shimmer under the sky, and Arthur’s fingers would hold his between the seats.
There were several weeks left of summer, several days of making out behind the toilets during breaks and five minutes dates leaning against the hot dog stand, of short camping trips and morning blow jobs. Of Merlin getting his hands all over Arthur and starting to learn and catalogue all the ways his face could change and look.
“I’m keeping you,” Merlin whispered into Arthur’s hair. “Even if you have terrible taste in music.”
He startled when Arthur turned into his arm with a grumble, swinging a leg over Merlin and burying his face into his neck, snuffling, and mumbling until he was all settled, and Merlin was sure Arthur hadn’t heard him, but then—
“Okay.” And—
“But only if I get to keep you too.” And—
“Your taste in music is horrible, asshole.” And—
“But okay. Yes.”