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Merlin tapped out a steady rhythm with the tip of a pen against the counter, swaying a little back and forth. The same song had been stuck in his head since yesterday and it managed to sneak into everything he was doing.
He didn’t even like it, but Sefa had put it down as every third song on their playlist because she had a problem and needed help. It didn’t even make a difference when Merlin told her they’d be known as the bookshop that always played that one song over and over.
“I’m sleeping with the boss,” she’d said cheerfully. “I can do what I like.”
It was true that she was sleeping with the boss, but they both knew Freya wouldn’t let her get away with anything anyway. So Merlin had just said, “Maybe I should start doing that too,” only to run away from Sefa’s indignant slaps.
Freya’s gaze was drawn to the steady tap of his pen and he dropped it with a groan.
“You can make the playlist when you’re employee of the month.”
“And what will that take, exactly?” At this point he was ready to do just about anything.
She flipped another cardboard box open and started unloading some of the books up on the counter. Merlin reached over, snatched one out of her grip and slipped it onto the shelf under the till.
“You could stop stealing books, for one,” she said. “Also, flattery will get you everywhere.”
“So. Never, then.”
No, really. Sefa had been employee of the month about five months in a row. And before that it had been Elena.
They had an hour until the shop opened, and worked quickly to set up the new display. Freya even let him pick another playlist for the morning, benevolent as she was. She sped around the shop at her usual pace, seemingly being everywhere at once. Merlin had never understood how she managed. Granted, she was small-framed and light on her feet, but there was no other reason why she’d be like a very nimble cat. Creepily so.
It was only when she climbed the ladder to the top of the bookshelf by the display window, and asked him to pass her the copies stacked on the floor, that he saw the tattoo swirling up the back of her neck.
Her tattoo had only been visible if she wore sleeveless tops before, as it was a small and unassuming swirl of branches at the top of her left shoulder. Now it continued to her neck, the branches spreading out from below the collar of her flannel shirt. Her dark brown hair was pulled up into a messy ponytail, so he could see the entirety of it where it moved in intricate lines across her skin.
“I can’t believe I turn my back for five minutes and you go and expand your tattoo,” he said.
She hummed. “It was carefully planned.”
“Did you go to someone else?”
The tattoo was nice enough before, but now it looked almost like it belonged on her skin, like it was there all along, and someone just found it and brought it out.
“Yeah, I wasn’t really happy with the work on the earlier one. Pass me a couple more, will you?”
He bent down to pick up a few more books.
“So I went to this other bloke instead because I’ve heard a lot of good things about him,” she said. “And it’s pretty much exactly what I wanted.”
“It looks alive.” He didn’t hear quite how ridiculous it sounded before he said it out loud.
“I’m sure he’d be chuffed to hear that. You interested in one?”
She descended the ladder and jumped from the third step, landing easily on her feet.
“God, no,” he said. When she raised an eyebrow at him he gave a sheepish smile. “I don’t think it’s my thing,” he amended. “Not particularly into needles. I wanted to go into medical school for a while until I realised needles are the devil’s spawn.”
She patted him on the shoulder. “I’d be there to hold your hand.”
“You’re a true friend, Freya.”
“The best.”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door and when they glanced up at the large wooden clock above the counter, they noticed the shop should’ve opened five minutes ago. Merlin was effectively saved from any tattoo discussions until there was a lull in customers right before his shift ended.
They were both leaning back against the counter and arguing about the opening to the latest Morgause book when Sefa showed up to take over for him. She came hurtling through the door, her hair wild around her head. She ran her hand through it and tried to get it out of her face.
“It’s well windy out there,” she said, stripping herself of her coat. “I’m not ready for summer to be over, at all.”
“We’re just talking about Morgause opening her new book in the middle of a murder scene.” Freya leaned on her elbows on the counter. “Thoughts?”
“Typical,” Sefa said, bending down to give her a quick kiss before hanging up her coat. “She’s so dramatic.”
“That’s exactly what I said.” Merlin flailed his hand a little for emphasis. “It was just not needed. The last book ended with so much drama, she could’ve toned it down a little.”
“Why are you guys even reading those still? I stopped three books ago.”
“You know I can’t just stop,” Freya said. “I need to see it through now that I started.”
Sefa shook her head. “Such a waste of time.”
“We’ve had a million people in here buying it, though,” Merlin said. “Seems like it’s even more popular than the last.”
“Not even surprised.” Sefa turned from the new display and gave him a look he couldn’t quite interpret. He felt inexplicably nervous. “Hey, Freya, did you ask him?”
“Ask me what?” he said, rightfully dubious.
Freya made a face. “No, I didn’t. Thanks for making him immediately suspicious, Sef, it’ll be so much easier now.”
“Well, he’s about to leave. So you better start asking.”
“Ask me what?” he said again, and oh boy, the panic was building now because this could not bode well.
Freya and Sefa communicated through a series of unexplainable expressions, and then Freya turned towards him, leaning one elbow on the counter. “So, Merlin.”
“Please just get it over with.”
“You know how you asked me about my tattoo artist earlier?”
“Really?” Sefa said, drily. “He even brought it up, and you still didn’t ask?”
“Not the time,” Freya said through gritted teeth.
“Oh god.” Merlin fumbled for his jacket. “You guys can’t keep me here against my will. That’s a felony.”
When he made a move to leave, they both stopped him immediately. Sefa burst out, “He’s single!” and Freya rested her palm against her forehead with a quiet, “Oh my god.”
Merlin just stood there, looking at them. “What?”
“He’s single. The tattoo artist.”
“Okay? Good for him. I’m sure single life is great for Mr. Tattoo artist.”
“So are you,” Freya added, smiling in a way that gave Merlin the creeps.
“Yes, thanks. I did know that, actually.”
All three of them just looked at each other, like they were in some odd standoff.
It was Sefa who spoke first. “He’s single. You’re single.” She waved her hand.
And. Oh. Oh.
“No. No.” Merlin backed away, his eyes widening. “Not happening. Every kind of not happening. You guys don’t even understand how much that’s not happening.”
“Merlin, come on. Would we steer you wrong?” Sefa looked at her girlfriend for support.
“He’s really fit,” Freya said, and then wrinkled her nose. “Well, you know. Objectively. I can appreciate a fit body even if I don’t want the dick.”
“Oh my god.”
“Merlin, would we send you off on a blind date with someone horrible? Really? Us? Look at us. Just look at your main girls right here.” Sefa put an arm around Freya’s shoulder and they both smiled. Or rather, they beamed at him. Turned on the charm with an easy flick of the switch.
“You’re the worst.”
“Yeah, well, talk to us after you get that dick.”
“Jesus, Freya, stop talking about dicks,” Merlin said, zipping up his jacket in such a hurry that he almost got his pinkie finger stuck.
“I’m going to have to agree with Merlin on that one.”
“Trust me, Merlin,” Freya said, ignoring them both. “You want to go on this date.”
“Yeah, but does he?”
“He said he’d think about it.”
“Comforting. Very. I’m utterly relaxed by this piece of news. And he’s fit? What if he runs out screaming when he sees me?”
“Sefa’s been doing Krav Maga.”
Merlin would rather be on the receiving end of Sefa’s Krav Maga than go on a blind date. “Not happening.”
***
And Merlin wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
He hadn’t been able to decide if he wanted to be at the restaurant first or not. Part of him figured it’d be best to come just a little bit late, but then he had that overwhelming urge to be in control. He needed to be there first and pick the best side of the table (leaving him with a view of the exit, if necessary). And he needed to get comfortable there before the other bloke showed up.
Freya hadn’t even given him a name. Because she was a sadistic witch who claimed it was “part of the blind date experience.” That somehow just made it even worse. He hadn’t been this nervous since that time he’d held a speech at Gwen’s wedding.
So he’d come here half an hour early. Which was terribly smart, really, given the fact that he’d ended up ordering a glass of wine to keep his nerves down. And then another. He was already feeling it, moving around in his veins and making his head fuzzy.
He was already tipsy, for fuck’s sake, and his date hadn’t even shown up. By now he was rather hoping the bloke was horrible, so he could have an excuse to leave and not make a fool of himself.
He wiped his sweaty palms on the edge of the tablecloth. The restaurant wasn’t too busy, so the tables around him were free, but there were people sitting further away and the low conversations left the room in a slight buzz of activity. There were certainly enough people for it to be awkward if he was stood up.
If only he’d had the presence of mind to bring a book. He felt a compulsion to finish the Morgause book even if it was getting increasingly ridiculous. He and Freya were probably a bit too alike in that sense.
He was working himself into a fit of nerves when he thought he heard someone give Freya’s name to the host and he looked up, his heart giving up life for fraction of a second.
Okay, the host was absolutely pointing towards him. And, yes, that bloke was now looking directly at him.
Freya wasn’t wrong. He was almost absurdly fit. Merlin couldn’t quite help but study him with his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as the bloke made his way through the restaurant. His shoulders were broad, his arms defined and his hair a ridiculous blond that Merlin would describe as honey if it didn’t make him feel like a complete tosser.
“Hey.” The bloke stopped by the available seat. “You Freya’s friend?”
“Erm,” Merlin said, trying to unstick his tongue. “Not anymore.”
Fit Bloke cracked a wide smile, and then laughed in a quick, loud burst. “Ouch. I thought I’d cleaned up rather well.”
“Oh, fuck. Jesus. I just meant, like, this whole thing. I’m going to kill her, I swear. Maim. Brutally.”
Merlin noticed he was flailing his hands and slid them under his thighs to keep them still.
“Could you at least wait until I get the time to photograph her for my portfolio?”
“No promises,” Merlin said.
His smile faint, but there, the bloke held out his hand. “Arthur.”
After a quick wipe of his palm on his jeans, Merlin took his hand and had just about enough time to worry about the firmness of his handshake before he let go. “Merlin.”
Merlin’s shoulders relaxed a little as Arthur sat down opposite him. He stared at Arthur’s hands as he fussed with the empty glass.
“Can’t help but notice you started without me.” He nodded to Merlin’s glass where there was only just the smallest bit of wine left.
Merlin regretted a lot of things at that moment.
“I’m really kind of drunk right now,” he said, and Arthur laughed. It was a full-bodied laugh, his head thrown back for a moment. “I came here far too early. I’m really sorry. I mean, I know I can’t handle alcohol at all and I still just throw myself at it. Someone make me shut up.”
“Well.” Arthur said, amused. “I guess I have a lot of ground to catch up on.”
Maybe Merlin should just kiss him right away. That might just be the best alternative.
His eyes followed Arthur’s hand as he raised it, waving down their waiter. The wrist was tattooed with an intricate pattern that circled it, and from there, the ink moved to wrap around his forearm in completely hypnotising figures. They disappeared under the sleeve of his T-shirt and Merlin would pay a lot of money right now to find out what the rest of it looked like.
“You know what,” Arthur suddenly said to the waiter, and turned to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. “Want to go somewhere else and drink? This place is kind of…”
“Yeah. Absolutely.”
***
This other pub was dark and noisy, the interior of it worn and well-used, but leagues better than the stuffy restaurant. Merlin had relaxed the moment he came inside, feeling far more at home even if it was hardly the cleanest pub he’d ever seen.
Arthur was already working quite admirably at catching up on Merlin’s intake of alcohol. Merlin, on the other hand, was trying to slow it down, but the nerves were still making him odd and jittery. Taking slow, measured sips was a very good distraction.
“I’m sorry Freya dragged you into this.”
Arthur rolled his eyes. “Are you going to apologise all night? I’m completely capable of using the word ‘no’.”
“Freya doesn’t know the word ‘no’. God knows I tried.”
Arthur leaned forwards onto his elbows. “You’re such a sweet-talker, Merlin. Making me blush.”
“Bugger fuck.”
Merlin hid his face in his pint and Arthur laughed.
“How about this,” Arthur said. “If either of us are still, at this point, in it only to appease Freya we should just call it off right now. This is your shot.”
“And yours.”
“And mine.”
None of them moved, and Merlin tried so very, very hard to not grin like a lunatic.
His eyes followed the slight curl of Arthur’s lips. The quiet hung heavy between them, and it made him itch. He gulped down another few sips of beer and resigned himself to a fate of drunkenness.
“Her tattoo looks amazing,” Merlin said, scrambling for something to say. “So much better than it did before.”
“Yeah, well, I knew I was getting a date out of it, so I went for it.”
“I bet you thought you’d get it from Freya, though.”
“Admittedly,” Arthur said, holding his finger up, “I did think that. I mean, the lesbian thing was a slight problem, though. And she did offer a suitable replacement.”
“Oh, so that’s what this is.”
“Absolutely.”
Merlin rolled his eyes. “You go on dates with replacements often?”
“All the time. But you know, if the zombie apocalypse comes I want to say that I’ve made the most of it. I’ve heard zombies feed on regret.”
“Your zombie lore is seriously flawed.”
The glare Arthur gave him was almost impressive. Throwing back the last of his pint, Arthur moved to get another one and said, “Zombie drinking game when I get back.”
That was how Merlin ended up with two more pints on the table, and a strangely focused Arthur seated in front of him. Arthur’s eyes narrowed, fingers curled around the glass.
“Alright. Rules. We take turns asking questions. For every right answer the other one has to drink. If your answer is wrong, you have to drink. Sound good?”
Arthur held out his hand, making the whole thing ridiculously formal, as Merlin downright giggled into his pint because really.
“Okay.” Arthur shuffled a little in his seat, as if preparing himself. “Where is the best place to find temporary shelter from zombies?”
“Uh. God. “
“God can’t help you now.”
“Shut up.”
He rested his arm on the table and bent forwards, looking at his pint as if it’d give him the answer. “A bouncy castle.”
Arthur’s laugh was Merlin’s new favourite thing. He laughed with his whole body, his head thrown back and his shoulders shaking. Merlin followed the expanse of Arthur’s throat with his eyes.
“That makes a frightening amount of sense, but it’s a rowboat, obviously, since zombies can’t swim.”
“Well, I doubt they’d be much use in a bouncy castle either.”
“So, you were gonna bounce around in a confined space with a whole lot of ravenous zombies?”
Merlin made a face at him. He might have overstated his expertise on zombies, truth be told. There was a rather large chance that he was going to lose this drinking game by a mile. He chose to ask his own question instead of going further down the road of bouncy castles.
“Uh,” he said, desperately trying to remember at least something. “What’s the safest country during a zombie apocalypse?”
“Australia, by some reports.”
“Fuck.”
Arthur looked way too pleased with himself. His smile was wide and goofy, and Merlin nearly spilled his beer everywhere because his pulse skyrocketed.
That wouldn’t do. Merlin couldn’t end up being the only drunk one in this equation or the whole night was definitely going to be embarrassing as fuck. And so he managed to stump Arthur on a question rooted in Norse Mythology (and Sefa said he’d never get to use that Mythology course from uni for anything. Hah).
Merlin got every question wrong, more or less. As was to be expected. He really did know fuck all about zombies. After a while he was just making up questions, and Arthur kept coming up with bullshit answers that Merlin called as mistakes, just so Arthur would laugh and drink.
“You ever thought of getting a tattoo?” Arthur said when Merlin’s zombie questions had long since dissolved into bad puns and jokes about Arthur’s lack of brains.
“It’s crossed my mind.”
Cryptic was good. He didn’t much fancy the fit tattoo artist knowing he had a debilitating fear of needles.
“Would look good on you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Arthur was slurring his words a little by now.
Arthur’s leg hooked around his under the table, and Merlin’s fingers tightened around the glass as he tried to seem unaffected.
“Where do you think I should put it?”
At that, Arthur looked at him in a way that raised goose pimples along Merlin’s arms.
“Haven’t decided yet,” Arthur said. His eyes dropped to study Merlin’s hands.
How did his arms work again?
Arthur’s gaze moved over him at an agonizing pace, so slow and deliberate that Merlin fought the urge to squirm. He felt overly self-conscious about every part that Arthur’s eyes lingered on, and he scratched at his elbow before running his hand absently over his collarbone.
Arthur’s lips pulled into a smile, undoubtedly having noticed Merlin’s inability to keep still.
“I’ll make a decision when there’s less clothing in the way.”
There was a slight possibility Merlin’s brain had collapsed.
He licked his lips. “Presumptuous,” he said, throat dry.
“Quite.”
The thing about blind dates was that Merlin hated them. He hated them a lot. They were awful 99% of the time. So the problem now was that he’d never actually reached this point in a blind date before.
He wasn’t quite sure how to phrase “Please take me home and rip my clothes off with your teeth while I bury my face in your golden hair” without sounding touched in the head.
It was a problem.
Especially since neither of them were talking now, and something clearly needed to be said. They just looked at each other, and Arthur’s expression was intense in a way Merlin didn’t know how to deal with.
He rubbed his finger over the grooves in the table, wondering if it was even acceptable to shag and/or violently make out with blind dates.
“So, less clothing,” he managed to get out, at the exact same time as Arthur said, “Let’s fuck.”
And okay, that… yes.
“Here?” he said, in what probably took the prize for dumbest retort to a come on in the history of always.
Arthur threw his head back and laughed, nearly knocking over what was left of his pint. His neck looked ridiculous like that and Merlin wanted to lick a path along it to feel Arthur’s pulse race under his tongue.
Even as Arthur said, “Sure, sounds fun,” he got up from his seat and wrapped his hand around Merlin’s wrist. Unsteady on his feet, Merlin was dragged close. He steadied himself with a hand on Arthur’s ribs, his other still held in Arthur’s grip, fingers hot on Merlin’s skin.
“Go,” Arthur said against his ear, and Merlin barely had time to grab his jacket before Arthur pushed him along.
As they walked out into the slight drizzle, Arthur was a solid presence behind him, one hand pressed to Merlin’s back. He wanted it under the layers of clothes, pressed into his skin until it bruised.
The world seemed to tilt, and his head spun as he was swung towards Arthur. Their surroundings turned blurry, the lights like little circles of yellow and orange in the dreary gray. Arthur had to hold him in place, laughing low in his throat as he wrapped both arms around him.
His hand slid up Merlin’s back, and ghosted over his neck before he touched his cheek. Gently, he angled Merlin’s face until their lips were almost brushing. Merlin felt the smile more than he saw it, and he closed his eyes moments before Arthur pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.
His fingers, wet from the steady drizzle, tightened into the fabric of Arthur’s jacket as he chased another kiss with more fervor than skill. The force of it made them sway on the spot, clinging to each other. Merlin parted his lips against Arthur’s, breaking out into goose pimples under the soft slide of them.
“Yours?” Arthur said, voice low, against his cheek.
Merlin hummed in response before he grabbed Arthur’s hand, entwined their fingers, and took off. They ran down the street, dodging a few people and someone hurtling towards them on a bike. Merlin laughed, and nearly stumbled into a puddle before Arthur caught him.
By the time they’d reached Merlin’s flat a few blocks away, Merlin was completely out of both breath and patience. He hauled Arthur against him before they’d even come to a complete stop, buried his fingers in Arthur’s hair, and pulled him in to slot their lips together in an open-mouthed and messy kiss.
“If I’d known you didn’t even have a lift, I would’ve taken you home to mine.”
“Oh, great. You’re a bloody snob.”
They only made it to the second landing before Merlin was overcome with impatience and held Arthur back by the hand before he pushed him against the wall and kissed him until his lips were sore.
He pressed close and licked at Arthur’s upper lip. As Arthur’s hands untangled from his hair and slid down his back, Merlin deepened the kiss with slow, measured brushes of his lips. Arms wrapped tight around him, pushing him so close he almost couldn’t breathe, and he laughed.
Stealing another kiss, Arthur pushed off of the wall and forced Merlin ahead of him up the stairs until they finally got to Merlin’s flat on the third floor.
Getting the keys out of his jeans pocket turned out to rather interesting considering he ended up brushing his knuckles against his very obvious hard-on. He bit back a surprised intake of breath, but if Arthur’s growing smirk was anything to go by, he’d definitely noticed.
Arthur barely let him throw the door shut before he’d pinned him to the wall, lips pressed to his neck. The weight of his body was perfect, and definitely more than Merlin had even dared hope for when he’d been drinking his nerves away earlier in the afternoon. He almost whimpered at the loss when Arthur pulled back to shed his jacket, throwing it carelessly to the floor before he pushed Merlin out of his.
He could have sworn Arthur grinned when Merlin couldn’t pull him close fast enough. His shirt was soft under Merlin’s palms as he ran his hands down the broad expanse of Arthur’s back. The muscles worked under his touch, skin warm even through the cotton.
They didn’t make it to the bedroom. They didn’t even make it to the sofa, which was kind of pathetic since they somehow managed to tumble down onto the floor a few steps away from it. Merlin didn’t really give a fuck, because he was draped over Arthur who was enthusiastically nipping at his jaw.
It was really unfortunate that Freya was right about anything at all, but he really wanted that dick. He could write a fucking poem about how much he wanted it. He’d write it in heroic couplets. Or maybe it’d be better as a villanelle. Or a limerick.
He yelped when Arthur’s teeth sank into his skin, too hard.
“Ow!”
“You weren’t paying attention,” Arthur said, bottom lip jutting out.
Merlin reached up and yanked at his hair in retaliation. It only seemed to make Arthur’s cock twitch in his jeans. He filed that information away for later inspection.
“Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” Merlin rolled his hips and watched as Arthur’s lips fell open. God, that mouth was unbelievable. “I was thinking about your dick.”
“Really?” Arthur said so gleefully that Merlin laughed, and buried his face into Arthur’s neck.
“Hey. Stop laughing.”
Merlin shook against him, not at all able to stop, still snickering into Arthur’s mouth when he tried to shut him up with a kiss. It only took a moment before he forgot what was so funny when Arthur licked into his mouth, holding Merlin’s head between his hands.
It couldn’t be entirely comfortable for Arthur to be sprawled on the floor, but he didn’t seem to mind much. He arched into Merlin’s touch when Merlin slipped his fingers under his shirt and splayed his hand over Arthur’s stomach. Muscles twitched under his palm and he smiled as he brushed his thumb over the skin.
His attention caught on the ink on Arthur’s arms, and it stole his breath all over again. He ran his fingers over the circle on his wrist before following one of the tendrils up along his arm. The tip of his fingers prickled and there was a shiver in his lower back. He stopped where he could no longer see the tattoo as it disappeared beneath Arthur’s shirt.
When he looked up, Arthur was staring at him, eyes dark and his cheeks flushed. Something hot and unmanageable swooped low in Merlin’s gut. He lunged forwards and pulled Arthur into a rough and desperate kiss, wanting to bury himself into it until they’d be unable to stop. Arthur pushed up from the floor until he was sitting and Merlin held onto his shoulders, fingers digging into them.
They clawed at each other’s shirts, attempting to get them off without pulling apart. It only led to a frustrated umph as Arthur poked him in the ribs. He had to force himself away, breath heavy, as he tore his shirt off and pulled Arthur’s off by the hem. With his hand on Arthur’s chest, he pushed him back down.
He paused.
The tattoo continued up Arthur’s arms and spread to his shoulders where it curled down onto his chest in thick, black lines. They stopped there, each tendril ending with a little curve of the tip. Merlin’s hand shook as he followed the shapes. He sucked in a breath, bent down, and pressed his mouth to the end of one black line.
With Arthur’s chest heaving under him, he mouthed along his skin, tasted it as he followed the ink up to the shoulder. The curve of Arthur’s collarbone was perfect under his tongue, and his lips searched out the spot where Arthur’s pulse ran fast and intoxicating. He inhaled deeply, the smell of him turning his mind even hazier.
“God, just get a move on, will you?”
“Shut up,” Merlin muttered into his neck. “Fucking impatient.”
Arthur tilted his hips up and Merlin bit down on him so hard that Arthur cursed, fingers digging into Merlin’s back.
Getting rid of their jeans seemed like the most important thing all of a sudden, but it was an exercise in frustration. Merlin kicked his off, impatient, hindered by the fact that he was fumbling with both his jeans and his boxers. Arthur’s thick thighs, visible now that he’d pushed his jeans off in a hurry, were distracting. He wanted to sink his teeth into them, or have them wrapped around his waist, or feel them pressed to the back of his own, or...
He pounced on Arthur the moment he was free of it all, straddling his hips as he steadied himself with his hands on Arthur’s stomach. When he leant forwards a little, his cock slid alongside Arthur’s and Merlin bowed his head as he inhaled sharply. Arthur’s hand came to grip his hips.
Merlin looked down between them, and yes, that dick was definitely worthy of a poem. An epic one. Or maybe one in Iambic Pentameter. He caught his lower lip between his teeth, pushing his hips against Arthur. It was so fucking good, pre-come slicking the movement perfectly.
“Shit,” he said and his heart hammered.
He angled his hips, meeting Arthur’s little thrusts over and over. His skin prickled at the feeling of them sliding together, the slow drag of Arthur’s cock giving him an amazing sort of friction. There was a bone-deep satisfaction thrumming through him. He loved handjobs, absolutely, but they couldn’t compare to the slide of a thick, gorgeous cock next to his own.
He was shivering slightly when Arthur’s hand ran along his side and came up to rest on his shoulder, the thumb pressed to the collarbone. He rubbed at it a little as he met Merlin’s eyes. Merlin held his gaze, lips parted as he moaned, voice breaking.
Arthur’s hand moved until his thumb brushed over the hollow at the base of Merlin’s throat.
“Here,” he said, and it took a moment for Merlin to make sense of the word.
“What?”
“I’d ink you here,” Arthur said, and pressed at the spot. “This is where I’d mark you.”
Merlin closed his eyes, and pushed his hips down so hard it was almost too much.
“Fuck.”
He didn’t think about the needle. He only thought about Arthur’s hands making something permanent on his skin, something that wouldn’t fade. Arthur’s thumb drew a pattern against the hollow of his throat, one that Merlin couldn’t make sense of, but that made something inexplicable spread from the spot and out into his veins. His entire body thrummed with it.
“Oh my god, Arthur.” He slipped forwards to bury his face into Arthur’s neck.
Arthur’s arms circled Merlin to hold him close as they rocked against each other. The length of his body was hot and solid, hard muscles and soft skin. His cock slid against Merlin’s, trapped between them, and made Merlin whine into his shoulder.
One hand ran down Merlin’s back and over the curve of his arse. Merlin breathed wetly into his skin, and slid his hand into Arthur’s hair which was still a little damp from the rain. A finger pressed against his hole, causing Merlin to cry out and he ground down against Arthur’s dick, the friction turning him almost boneless.
“Yeah, Merlin.” His voice was barely audible, but it sent a shiver across Merlin's skin.
He came in a mess between them, whined into Arthur’s shoulder, and twisted his fingers in his hair. Arthur bared his throat with a rumbling moan as Merlin pulled on it. Both of Arthur’s hands settled on his hips, grip hard and sure as he held Merlin still, pushing up into him.
Arthur slid his cock against the groove of Merlin’s hip, his head thrown back against the floor. There was nothing Merlin could do except mouth against his neck, pull on his hair again, and let Arthur fuck up against him.
If it had been even remotely possible for Merlin to come again, the broken moans from Arthur as he arched up would’ve done it.
***
Freya’s cheerful voice was almost jarring in the quiet morning of his kitchen. He leaned his hip against the counter.
“Not coming into work,” Merlin said, hushed. “You might wanna call Sefa.”
“Merlin.”
“Yes.”
“I’m scandalised.”
“I’m sick.” He made a weak attempt at coughing.
“Shocked and appalled.”
“Shut up, this is your damn fault to begin with.”
She laughed, delighted. “It is, isn’t it?”
“I quit.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I really do.”
He’d tried to keep his voice down, but he was pretty sure he might have woken Arthur up. Pushing away from the counter, he edged closer to the bedroom door and peered inside.
He nearly dropped his phone, and was completely unable to make sense of what Freya was saying.
Arthur smirked at him, his hand sliding lazily along his hard cock, legs spread on the bed. Merlin’s knees almost gave out.
“Uhm,” he said, interrupting Freya mid-sentence. “I gotta go.”
She snorted. “You go have fun, sweetie. Be back tomorrow. You owe me.”
He threw the phone to the side, not caring a single bit about where it landed. He was going to ride that cock until the zombie apocalypse came upon them or his thighs couldn’t hold him anymore.
Whichever came first.