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“And I asked myself about the present: how wide it was, how deep it was, how much was mine to keep.”
~ Kurt Vonnegut ~
TUESDAY—001
Arthur stares at the ceiling and smiles. Smiles until he’s laughing, until he has a sleepy, confused Merlin glare at him from the pillow next to him. Laughs until he cries, then kisses Merlin between his sobs.
And holds him—holds him tight.
MONDAY—306
“Stay,” Arthur says. “Please, Merlin. Please stay.”
He’s so tired, so fucking tired and—in love.
Arthur just—he wants Merlin to remember his favourite colour. And the way Arthur made him laugh on the way to the motel. He wants Merlin to raise his head from his book—a different book, like the one Arthur slides across the table every morning—and smile at him with recognition in his eyes. He wants habit in the way Merlin touches him. He’s tired of exploratory touches, of the way Merlin looks up at him to see his reactions, to gauge whether or not what he’s doing pleases Arthur, makes him hot under his skin. He wants Merlin to know exactly what he’s doing when he sucks on Arthur’s cockhead while pushing fingers inside of him; imagines what he’d look like, smug and satisfied, when Arthur comes down his throat with a shout, because he knew, he knew.
Merlin sits on the edge of the bed, looks down at Arthur, and frowns. The same weak winter light comes through the window behind him, washing him up, pale like an echo, like a—
“Winter doesn’t suit you,” Arthur says. “Please stay.”
Merlin sighs, say, “you’re strange,” but slides back under the covers anyway.
MONDAY—281
“Are you sure?” Gwaine asks Arthur with a worried look. “I mean maybe there’s someone else or—”
“No. It’s him. There’s—There can’t be—No.”
The waitress drops a plate.
MONDAY—254
Arthur twists the book in his hand before going in the diner, ignoring Gwaine sitting at the back.
Merlin smiles wide when Arthur slides Slaughterhouse-five across the table. “I liked this one better,” he says and sits to introduce himself.
Arthur doesn’t even think about fucking him.
MONDAY—206
Arthur slides his hands over Merlin’s back and arse, spreads his cheek open with fingers digging in his skin—loose and pliant, and so, so open for him. He bends down and kisses Merlin’s red, well-fucked hole, licks it slowly with the flat of his tongue until Merlin whines high and muffled, face buried in the pillows.
Merlin likes it messy. Likes saliva and come and lube all over his body and between his thighs. Likes to come on Arthur’s face and lick it clean after, shameless with it. And Arthur—Arthur likes giving it all to him, lets himself be roughed up and taken apart, too.
“Stay,” he says, after.
Merlin stands by the opened door, all dressed again in his coat and one hand on the handle, half-way out, already gone. “Another day, maybe.”
Arthur wants to cry.
MONDAY—168
Arthur goes to Ealdor’s library and sits with The Time Machine, then makes his way through all of Wells’ novels.
He’s got time.
MONDAY—167
“Let’s pretend what you say is true,” Merlin says as he puts his trousers on then crawls over Arthur. He drags his fingers over the still-warm wet mess on Arthur’s stomach, and Arthur squirms when Merlin sucks on his fingers, closing his eyes like it’s a delicious thing.
His cock makes a valiant effort to get back in the game, and Merlin grins at him before squeezing it lightly with a raised eyebrow.
Fuck. Fuck. Arthur might just be a bit in love.
Merlin blows over Arthur’s ear before whispering, “Make me stay, then.”
MONDAY—149
“Okay,” Gwaine says. “Say I believe you.” Arthur groans and hits his head on the table. “Hey, I’m indulging you here, mate.”
“You always do.”
“You should tell him.”
“He’ll think I’m bloody insane.”
He might be, actually. Arthur hasn’t discounted the possibility yet, but what else is he supposed to do?
Gwaine waves a hand dismissively. “You know how the guy likes to be sucked. What makes him come and beg and moan like a pornstar. But for him, you’re a stranger. You should tell him.”
MONDAY—079
“Shit.”
MONDAY—078
Arthur’s never had his mouth fucked before.
Now that it’s full of cock—Merlin’s fingers tight in his hair, holding his head still while tears cling to Arthur’s eyelashes every time he pushes far enough to choke him a little—he can’t remember why not.
When tomorrow finally comes, he’s going to find out what else he’s been missing on.
MONDAY—062
“Okay,” Gwaine says. “Say I believe you.”
“The waitress will drop a plate in 5 seconds,” Arthur says, then waits for the crash. Of fucking course it happens.
“Say I believe you,” Gwaine repeats. “Why him?” He points toward the window booth and Arthur doesn’t have to look to know who’s there: Merlin, reading The Time Machine, drinking shitty coffee with too much sugar.
“He’s the only one that—” Arthur says. “Every morning I say the same thing to him, the same, and sometimes… sometimes his answer just… changes.”
Gwaine’s silent for a moment. “Well,” he says, eventually. “There are worse things than having to shag that bloke.”
MONDAY—033
It takes him a very long time to stop panicking.
MONDAY—001
They walk by the diner on their way to the motel. It’s early morning and Ealdor smells fresh from the night’s rain, but the air’s cold and creeps under their coats. There’s a good looking bloke sitting in a booth by the window reading a book: dark hair, sharp cheekbones and full lips, with long white fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee.
Arthur stops and stares. A little.
“Wanna go say hi?” Gwaine says putting his chin over Arthur’s shoulder. “We don’t have to leave now.”
Arthur looks at the bloke, then pushes at Gwaine’s face with his hand.
“Nah,” he says, and starts walking again, “let’s just get out of this shithole.” He turns around one more time to check the bloke out before crossing the street. “There’ll be other ones.”