tourdefierce: (~CrownSkull)
[personal profile] tourdefierce
Here are all my [livejournal.com profile] summerpornathon entries from 2011 exactly as they were posted to the community during the challenges. ♥



"Don't," Merlin whines, pressing until their cocks are wedged between their bodies and Merlin can find purchase if he stretches his legs and points his toes to touch the ground. "Please don't tease tonight."

The smug bastard is still smiling though, even as his hips buck into Merlin's hand. Arthur's smile is still wicked but his kiss is open, offering a place to get lost as his tongue licks into Merlin's mouth. Merlin's panting, squirming in Arthur's lap, by the end of the kiss. Before he can catch his breath, Arthur's sliding barely oiled fingers inside his hole.

"Fuck," Merlin hisses, head falling forward to Arthur's muscled shoulder. "Arthur, oh gods—"

"Such a little slag," Arthur murmurs, amusement present. "Gobbling up my fingers with your needy hole, like you haven't been taken in days—when we both know that's a lie."

Merlin moans. He can't help but push into Arthur's fingers because, fuck, he'd be lying if he said he didn't need it—didn't crave the feeling of Arthur filling him up.

"I had my cock inside you just this morning," Arthur reminds him, voice wet and hot against the nape of Merlin's neck. "You begged me to take you."

He doesn't wait for pleading now, arrogant git, simply lifts Merlin up with both hands spanning his arse cheeks and spreading him too wide. Arthur's cock feels enormous, too blunt at his entrance. Merlin moves to say, no or more of your fingers first but Arthur's forcing his way in with a soft sigh that has Merlin quaking.

"Fuck, ah, Arthur," he hears himself whimper. His body betrays him, opening right up for Arthur's leaking cock head. Merlin chokes a little, gasping too deeply at the fullness, overwhelming goodness, of Arthur buried all too deep inside of him.

"Gods," Arthur whispers, finally sounding unraveled. "You really do love it."

Merlin doesn't have a chance to respond because he's being bodily lifted and reseated harshly on the length of Arthur's cock. Merlin's eyes roll in pleasure as Arthur bounces him on his lap, taking his pleasure without pause. Merlin clings to his shoulders and whines, so close already. The pace is brutally fast, Arthur bucking up into Merlin's clenching hole without mercy until the pleasure and the pain are undistinguishable.

"Close," Merlin gasps out, mouthing into the flesh of Arthur's neck. "I'm going to—"

"No."

Then, it's the clamp of Arthur's fingers around his cock that has Merlin screaming, twisting his face and gnawing on whatever purchase he can find as he orgasm is stuffed back inside of him with the force of Arthur's cock and his fingers, like he's going to push all the come back inside Merlin's slit.

"Why, why, Arthur," Merlin sobs. He looks to find Arthur lost in pleasure, his hips lifting off the chair to meet the weight of Merlin's body—fucking up into him as he pushes and pulls Merlin's strung-out body on his lap.

When Arthur comes, it's silent, but Merlin can hear the roar of the come inside of him, splashing—too hot—as Arthur rides out his climax and keeps Merlin seated on his softening cock.

"Arthur," Merlin whines. "Arthur, please."

"Hush. I have a gift for you," Arthur says, after a few moments. Merlin's eyes can barely focus on the long, stopper that Arthur gathers in his hand.

"What—"

Seamlessly, Merlin's is lifted and the stopper replaces Arthur's cock. It's cold and hard, uncomfortably so, but it slicks in because of how wet, how sopping, he is with Arthur's release.

"There, there," Arthur murmurs, the wicked teasing tone returning. "This is how I want you to come, with my seed locked up inside of you."

Merlin crumples to Arthur's chest and there, Arthur's arms come around to hold him as he continues to talk.

"Want you to think about walking around like this, doing your chores and attending the knights, all with my come slick and present inside of you," he says, hoarse and coaxing. "I want you to come, right here on my lap without a single touch to your cock. I'm going to split you open with my prick tomorrow, when you least expect it, just bend you over in the alcove by the kitchens and take you there, nothing but my cock and my left-over seed to slick the way."

Merlin's hears the 'pop' as the stopper is swallowed by his hole and Arthur's fingers rub at the swollen skin—where trails of Arthur's come leak out.

He comes, just as he's told.

<3<3<3




Merlin wakes with his cock curled hard against his belly, sore from the way Arthur had fucked into him just hours before and a little bit besotted with sleeping Arthur.

Arthur is sprawled on his back with both hands and feet reaching for the corners of the bed. He's snoring softly, letting out little wuffles of air as he breathes.

He makes quite the sight.

The best part of a sleeping Arthur, beside the cuteness, is that he sleeps like the dead. Absolutely nothing will make Arthur wake. He will wake when he's ready and not a moment before then—selfish, arrogant but beautiful, bitch that he is.

It used to annoy Merlin. It doesn't any longer.

Not when Merlin shivers in arousal, being as silent as possible when he repositions himself. He holds his breath, moving from his place face-planted in Arthur's armpit so that he can straddle Arthur's hips.

Arthur doesn't stir.

Merlin shutters out a breath, already trembling, as he works a finger inside of him. He's still mostly loose but he takes his time, enjoying the way his fingers feel in the come, still sticky, as he stretches himself and fights the moan that rattles in his chest.

He withdraws and tentatively takes Arthur's cock in his hands. It's soft, lying so innocently against his thigh and Merlin loves this. He fucking loves this—feeling Arthur, so vulnerable in his hand. Merlin closes his eyes, enjoying the texture of Arthur's dick, the silky skin rolling gently between his fingertips as he, ever so gently, works Arthur's limp cock inside of him.

This time, Arthur stirs making a little snuffling noise and moaning softly. Merlin stills, breath caught in his chest, as Arthur shifts a bit into the pillow but doesn't wake.

It feels remarkable. Arthur's slight cock twitching inside him—just a whisper of his true length. Merlin can only whimpers at the sensation, biting his lip to keep all the other sounds inside—all the other words he wants to whisper to Arthur—about how precious Arthur is, how he feels, kept secret inside of Merlin.

He's amazed at how much he adores this.

When he's had his fill, he starts to rock. It's just a little grinding motion with his hips, slow and miniscule because Arthur's too small inside of him not to fall out if Merlin actually lifts his arse but he's moving and this... oh this...

"Arthur," he whispers, so in awe as he can feel Arthur, tucked up and safe inside of Merlin's slick hole—he can feel Arthur start to grow.

Arthur moans in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering and Merlin gasps, in complete rapture, as Arthur tosses his head back and forth with the subtle but heavenly tilt of his hips.

Merlin whimpers, over-sensitive and, honest-to-God, so close to coming because Arthur is growing fat, expanding inside of Merlin's sore arse and lengthening with every single tiny thrust. "Arthur, oh, oh," Merlin gasps, high-pitched as Arthur snaps his hips a little, mouth going open and his brow furrowing. "Arthur," Merlin says again, fingernails scraping at Arthur's abs.

Merlin's squirming now, his bottom writhing as gently as he can, so he feels every centimeter of Arthur's cock swell. The more Arthur hardens, leaking sticky-hot inside of Merlin, he also slinks away from sleep and closer to consciousness.

"Arthur, please," he begs, so close as his cock spills pre-come out and when Arthur's eyes finally blink open, Merlin cries out. Arthur's eyes are drowsy blue, looking fucked out and unbelievably trusting. Merlin knows what he looks like, riding Arthur's cock until he's a thick length—fucking Arthur into wakefulness with his greedy hole until he's full up with only Arthur.

"Merlin, s'okay," Arthur moans out. "S'okay, come for me."

He does with a sob, his cock jerking in Arthur's sleep-warm hand and trembling as he shoves himself back onto Arthur's fully erect dick, blissed out with pleasure, as he chases his orgasm without shame. His hips buck desperately as Arthur leans up to kiss him, cock still thrusting inside him. He tastes stale, morning breath and come and adoration on his tongue when he kisses Merlin through his orgasm, rocking up until he comes as well.

Merlin nuzzles into Arthur's neck.

"Hi."

Arthur flicks half-heartedly at his ear and laughs. "I see you've been taking advantage of me in my sleep again."

"You like it," Merlin says, sleepy with his pleasure. "You like me."

"Yes," Arthur says, voice laced with something Merlin can't name, "I suppose I do."

<3<3<3




"Has everyone seen my tits?" Gwaine calls out.

Arthur eyes the sloppy placement of Gwaine's avocados in his dress as they lurch with his movement. The sequins of the dress shine, obscene and awful, in the light of the dance floor. They seem to be hitting the lights and bouncing off to shine into Arthur's eyes. If Gwaine were less trashed, Arthur would say it was all on purpose.

"I need a fucking drink," Arthur says, just as Gwaine makes a joke about fisting.

"Lucky I'm here, isn't it?"

Arthur looks down at the drink—nay, tankard—placed in front of him. He leans down to sniff at the liquid and then glares back up at Merlin's flushed face.

"You brought me a gin in a beer stein."

Merlin smiles, eyes twinkling. "It's the special."

"Of course it is," Arthur parrots back, taking a few gulps of the shockingly cheap gin and focusing back on the stage. He's officially not speaking to Merlin. He would rather watch Gwaine make jokes about anal beads, flashing one hairy leg after the other, whilst stumbling around the stage like a drunken queen—all of that, which is Merlin's fault in the first place, is better than looking at Merlin.

"Are we in a fight now?"

Arthur sips at his drink in, what he hopes is, a scathing gesture.

Merlin slides in the seat next to him, plasters himself to Arthur's side and purrs into his ear like Arthur's just a grumpy kitten that needs soothed—like Arthur's the unreasonable one.

"Stop touching me," Arthur grumbles, when Merlin pets his belly.

Merlin laughs.

"Don't be upset that Gwain's prettier in that dress that you."

Arthur scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I know, he's not prettier than you, babe," Merlin whispers, licking at Arthur's ear and when Arthur peers beneath the table he can see Merlin's hand making its way toward Arthur's crotch. Devious little fuck. "You're the prettiest princess in the whole bar."

"I hate you."

"Okay," Merlin says cheerily. "We're having sex now."

With that, Arthur chokes on his gin, slopping it all down his chin because Merlin's gone and shoved his hand down Arthur's pants.

He doesn't waste anytime and Arthur tries not to moan as Merlin's perfectly evil fingers wrap around his cock and squeeze him ruthlessly. He can barely hold onto the table-top fast enough. Merlin jerks him into hardness like their lives depended on Arthur's erection.

"Merlin, for fuck's sake," Arthur hisses, eyes darting around the room to all the other queerly-inclined faglets, watching Gwaine grind on a bear trussed up in two cows' worth of leather. They were in in public.

"I told you," Merlin says smugly.

Arthur's going to say something, he really is, but then Merlin rubs his thumb over the head of Arthur's cock, nail tracing the slit, and all thoughts about anything other than fucking Merlin's fist are eliminated.

"Fuck, fuck," Arthur mutters because Merlin isn't letting up the brutal pace. He's twisting his fist and squeezing around Arthur's cock in a vice-grip, keeping his hips stuttering up into the constant pressure and overwhelming Arthur's body until he finds himself hurdling toward an orgasm.

"You're going to come soon," Merlin taunts as he sucks a spot on Arthur's neck that will be impossible to cover for the meetings on Monday. "You're going to spill all over my fist, get your pants all wet with come—right here, right now, with all these people around you, wanting to fuck you because you're so fucking pretty, but you're all mine. You fucking annoying bastard," he continues but Arthur's hardly listening. It's too good, too sharp—sonofabitch—

"Merlin," Arthur pleads. Merlin just laughs in his ear and strokes faster. The jerk of his arm is unmistakable under the table, people are starting to notice, but Arthur can't help himself. His hips buck up, his own hand wrapping around Merlin's wrist as his head rolls back.

He shouts when he comes. He can't help it, pleasure rolls through him too quick for Arthur to keep quiet. Merlin is whispering truly filthy things in his ear, scraping his teeth against Arthur's neck and milking the orgasm out of him, smearing come everywhere.

When Arthur opens his eyes, the entire crowd is staring at him.

Gwaine leers, pointing and making a crude gesture at his sequin-clad crotch. "Yep, ladies, his face totally seats five."

The only thing louder than his embarrassment, is Merlin's laughter in his ear and his hand patting Arthur's cockhead in consolation.

<3<3<3




Nothing magical has ever happened to Merlin Emrys in the thirty one years he's been alive.

He has a stable job and pays a mortgage, at least, he would if his husband wasn't richer than God. They've been commitment-ceremonied for three years and have not killed Mordred, their Siamese cat, or William, their Great Dane—although, not for lack of trying on Arthur's part.

See, nothing supernatural has ever happened to either of them... until it does.

***


Merlin's at the point that if Arthur comes any closer to him, he will punch him straight in the dick. However, that means that they're both splayed out on the bed, Merlin drifting in and out of sleep while Arthur watches television and lazily fingers him.

It feels good, distantly pleasurable to have Arthur stroking inside of him and playing with his own come.

"That's amazing," Arthur says, his tone a little bit crazy.

"What is?"

"These butterflies," Arthur says. "They mate for three days straight."

Arthur likes to watch nature documentaries between fucks. Merlin's given up trying to understand.

"Can you imagine?"

Merlin grunts, spreading his legs and trying to focus on the tone of Arthur's voice and not, you know, what he's talking about.

"God, I'd love that," Arthur's whispering into Merlin's neck. "I'd love just being inside you, fucking you, for three days—none stop."

"We'd die."

Arthur shakes his head, bitting at Merlin's shoulder and twisting three fingers inside of him.

"God, Merlin," Arthur says, voice wrecked. "Being inside you for that long, keeping you on my cock for three days--fuck, fuck."

"I can't believe this is turning you on," Merlin says, thrusting back on Arthur's fingers and reaching to clutch at Arthur when he climbs on top of him and starts to hump Merlin's thigh.

"Fucking Christ," Arthur continues. "It'd be so good. I could fuck you full of come, until you were swollen with it—swollen with my kid."

Merlin gets harder, faster, than he's been in his life.

"Fuck, fuck," he swears. "Arthur, oh—"

"You like that?"

Merlin can only moan and push back.

"Fucking Christ, that makes you hard, thinking about me fucking you so hard that you wake up pregnant," Arthur growls but Merlin doesn't have time to be embarrassed. Arthur's fingers slip out of him, replaced by his cock and suddenly Merlin is hauled up onto his hands and knees.

"Arthur—"

"I would, you know, "Arthur gasps, pulling his cock out, only to slide back in fast and too hard. "I'd fuck you until you were fit to burst—all full up with my come and then with my baby. Fuck, Merlin, I'd fuck you so hard, so long—until you were big and round with my kid in your belly—I'd do whatever it takes."

Arthur pounds into him, sending Merlin screaming toward his orgasm because Arthur wastes no time pulling Merlin's body back onto his bare cock and fucking into him like he means every word.

"Wanna see you," Arthur pants, slamming into him so hard that Merlin's arms and legs give out. Arthur's literally screwing him into the mattress. "Wanna see you walk around, my ring on your finger, my baby in your belly—telling the world you're mine, that I fucked you so hard and so long that we created a baby together."

Merlin comes bawling into the duvet, orgasms rumbling through him like an electric shock.

Arthur just fucks him harder.

"Fill me up," Merlin whispers, arching back with his face wet with tears and his whole body shaking, cock still jerking with come. "Fuck me hard enough to knock me up. Now, Arthur, I want it, want your babe in my belly so that you can bend me over and pound into me then, my belly swollen and sore—wanting more of your come, more of you always."

Arthur shouts when he comes, collapsing onto Merlin's body and that's when Merlin realizes that they're both shaking and crying, clutching at each other.

They make love two more times that night, Arthur emptying come inside of him until Merlin really is dripping with it—until Arthur rubs at Merlin's stomach and tells him that they'd make a beautiful baby together, if they could.

***


Six weeks later, Merlin only fits in sweat pants, has cravings for sardines and doctors are staring at his test results with wide eyes.

The first and last time anything magical ever happens to Merlin (and Arthur), is born on August 10th and comes with a tiny pink hat.

<3<3<3




"This is crap."

Bradley scrunches up his face. "You don't like my soup? Colin, this soup was made with love."

"Bradley," he whinges, rolling away from Bradley. "I'm sure your soup is fine."

"My soup is much more than fine."

Colin blows his nose, feeling achy and disgusting and just fucking dreadful.

"Come on," Bradley says, suddenly much closer. "Eat my soup. It's made with love."

"You wanked into the soup? Pervert."

He can feel Bradley's smile against his shoulder. "It would serve you right, coming back sick from ComicCon and leaving me here with my throbbing and very large erection, guilty of lusting after you—you sick leprechaun."

Colin smiles, despite himself. "Is it weird that I'm slightly turned on by the image of you spoon feeding me come?"

"You must have missed me if you've forgotten how bitter my come is. I'm a meat-eater, Cols—unlike you and your unnatural love of things that go in salads," he pauses, biting at Colin's neck. "There is nothing fruity about my dickjuice," Bradley adds. His hands brush Colin's belly and Colin scoots back into the touch, even though Bradley is ridiculous and it's best not to encourage such behavior.

"You've a temperature."

"Please," Colin says, turning his flushed and fever-bright face into the cool linens. "It's been a week."

Bradley laughs. "I'm very aware of how long it's been, Cols."

Colin makes a sound of protest until Bradley burrows underneath the covers and helping Colin shimmy out of his pajama bottoms. Bradley's hands, wide and cool, wrap around his cock immediately and Colin arches up and back into him.

"You should fuck me," Colin murmurs, bucking half-heartedly into Bradley's fist and rubbing himself as convincingly as he can against Bradley's hard cock.

"You're sick."

"Still want you," he pouts, hands flailing wildly to try and latch onto Bradley. "I always want you."

Bradley does that thing with his fingers, playing with the foreskin and twisting his wrist so that when he says, "course you do, I'm fuckin' ace", Colin can't reply because he's too busy moaning and wishing his headache would go away so that he can enjoy his 'welcome home shag'.

"Hurry up, I'm going to come soon," he mumbles but Bradley just starts sucking a bruise way too high up on Colin's neck to be appropriate instead of paying attention.

Colin's too dizzy, from the cold-medicine or from Bradley's handjob skills—it's unclear which is more potent.

"Shush, just be a good little Colin and come in my fist," he says, sucking too hard and Colin whinges again, feeling pleasure and pain mix with the hazy blanket of sickness in his mind.

"At least a finger," Colin counters.

"You want it that badly?"

Colin tries to elbow him but he misses, Bradley catches it with one hand and leans down to kiss Colin's elbow, like a complete dolt, but fuck if it isn't endearing.

It is actually absurd how much Colin loves him.

"You know I do," Colin whispers. "I've missed you and mine weren't the same—stupid, lonely hotel rooms."

"Playing dirty, I see," Bradley mumbles, voice rough. Colin shivers, from the cold-sweat mostly. But if he notices Colin's dreadful illness interfering with Colin's mind-altering handjob, it doesn't stop him from reaching for the slick.

When he slides his finger in, Colin's half-delirious with pleasure... or the fever-altering effects of his sickness—he's too far gone to care. Bradley's finger feels stupidly perfect, callous and exactly what Colin needs.

Colin's hardly caught his breath from the sudden stretch when Bradley's twisting digit finds his prostate and he jerks so hard, he thinks he might throw up from motion sickness.

"Hush, Cols," Bradley coos, which should be silly but it's not because Bradley's breathing raggedly into his ear, working his finger relentlessly into Colin's arse and jerking him with the quick, hard and ruthless strokes that guarantee Colin's orgasm in seconds.

"Be a good lad and come for me."

Colin wants to say something about the awful way Bradley is speaking—cooing at him like his mum, while simultaneously debauching him but he's too busy coming, screwing himself down on Bradley's finger and spilling over his fist with a high-pitched whinge wrenched out his throat.

He's about to pass out, probably into a coma-like state, when Bradley says gleefully:

"Cols, your dickjuice tastes like a rainbow!"

Colin doesn't even get to tell him to fuck right off before he's being wrapped up in the duvet and Bradley's arms, succumbing to delirious, fever-dream-laden, sleep.

<3<3<3




When Merlin arrived home he noticed three things:

1) Arthur was home early, napping in the bedroom.
2) He was clad only in his briefs, spooning with a very small grey kitten.
3) Arthur was the small spoon.

The thing was, Arthur hated pets and even though Merlin was convinced it all stemmed from the fact that Uther had never permitted Arthur to have any—but that Arthur actually wanted and loved animals desperately—he never thought Arthur would admit it.

The other thing? Arthur hated being the small spoon.

"I'm trying not to be jealous," Merlin said, hand covering the arch of Arthur's foot. "But you never let me be the big spoon unless I've gotten you drunk."

Arthur went still when he woke, eyes squinting open and a high blush working on his cheeks. Merlin tried not to be charmed but there was a kitten in his bed with his boyfriend and there was spooning and—

"You're home early."

Merlin arched an eyebrow and shifted his eyes from the still sleeping kitten and then back.

"You've a kitten," he said slowly. "You're spooning with a kitten, I'm feeling envious and I'm also wondering if you're a pod-person."

Arthur frowned, turning over to scoop up the tiny little thing. It flailed in his hands and Arthur looked put-out, maybe a bit grumpy and said, "it's our engagement present."

Merlin blinked.

"Pardon?"

He lifted the kitten until it made a tiny squealing noise and Merlin jutted forward to catch it before it squirmed out of Arthur's hands.

"I bought him," Arthur said, flopping back to the bed to cover his eyes with his hands, "as an engagement present, but he came too early."

"Right. I'm still stuck on the engagement part, since you know, we aren't engaged," Merlin said, completely rattled and too distracted by the fact that the kitten was nuzzling its' furry face against the palm of Merlin's hand and looking up at him like Merlin was the greatest thing in the whole world.

Also, engagement present.

"I was going to ask you," Arthur mumbled, still speaking into his hands. "Posh dinner and one knee—all that rot."

Merlin looked down at the cuddling kitten and then tried to memorize every single detail of this moment: Arthur's tousled hair shining in the late afternoon sun, the deep flush of his chest, the peak of his pink nipples, the pout of his mouth and the exploding feeling in Merlin's chest that said, bloody buggering hell, I love this man.

"I need you to take off your pants."

Arthur pushed up to his elbows and scowled. It was his dear-fuck-what-are-you-even look.

"What?"

"I said," Merlin continued patiently, "I need you to take off your pants now."

Arthur's mouth opened and then abruptly closed.

"Why?"

"Because, as soon as I figure out what to do with this kitten, I'm going to give you the most amazing happy engagement blowjob of you life," he said smugly.

That was how Arthur Pendragon proposed, in his knickers, with a grey kitten kicking up as much fuss as possible. That was also how, in a fit of desperation, said kitten was shoved into the bedside table with all their dildos because Merlin couldn't wait; he couldn't wait to dig out the tiny kitten kennel and instead shoved the kitten up in Arthur's face and swallowed around his cock. He sucked too hard on the head because he needed to taste and Arthur was shouting, shoving the kitten into the drawer with hissing words, "just for a moment, fucking Christ Merlin," while Merlin was lapping up precome like he was the cat whom just gotten the cream.

Merlin ended up coming in his pants, hand twisting around his swollen cock just as Arthur jerked back, a particularly loud mewl coming from the side table. Paired with the way Merlin was moaning like a whore into his orgasm and the tiny, taut spasms of his throat around Arthurs cock—well, Merlin ended up with a face full of come.

He could feel the way it streaked across his face, sticking to his skin and slicking down his cheeks like tears.

And that was how Merlin ended up pacifying their new kitten, stroking behind his adorable ears and apologizing profusely for being a terrible owner in the face of Arthur's lovely cock—all while Arthur licked his own come off Merlin's face.

Being engaged was fucking brilliant.

However, they were going to have to make up a different story to tell Merlin's mum.

<3<3<3


Merlin stares at the sun.

The sky is the only thing that changes now.

He closes his eyes and tries to quell the panic, so familiar, but still paralyzing. Yes, the sky is the only thing that changes, while everything else stays exactly the same. There isn't even the sound of his boots on the ground because the stone has given up as well.

The only person or thing awake in Camelot is Merlin.

He walks the familiar path to Arthur's chambers. There are guards along the way; the very same facial expressions stare back at him, blank and vacant.

Leon, loyal to a fault, is still outside Arthur's antechamber.

"Hello again," Merlin says, because if he doesn't speak he'll surely go mad. The days are scorched onto his wall by magic and his voice is rough from misuse or maybe from his sobs, but it's been forty-two days and nights without a single attack.

What other purpose could this serve, stopping time so utterly, than to drive Merlin mad?

"Gods, Arthur," he says, abandoning Leon for what lies beyond.

Arthur's golden skin gleams in the sunlight, bare as the morning. As always, Merlin feels the pull inside him to touch Arthur—to always be by his side—and this is no different. He can't help but trace Arthur's ankle and feel the firm muscle of his calf. His chest is pressed against the mattress, one knee pulled up and almost under him, while the other lies relaxed and slightly curved as if to accommodate Merlin's body.

"You always were attention starved," Merlin says, dragging his fingernail up and along Arthur's spine. He traces his shoulders and then thanks whatever demon has done this awful bit of magic, because he can still see Arthur's face. He's turned so Merlin can trace the lines of his smiling face.

They were waking up together.

Merlin remembers.

The craving to touch, to be touched, to be loved is too much and Merlin shakes with shame as he undresses. The mattress doesn't yield beneath him, although Merlin thinks that it did before, like it was welcoming him home. He presses in behind Arthur's body.

They slot perfectly together.

Merlin laughs a little, hysterical and sorrow filled, as he nuzzles his face into Arthur's nape and inhales. He pretends he can smell the hay and grass, armour oil too, with just a hint of the sandalwood soap Arthur loves so much.

"Loved," Merlin forces out, gripping Arthur's shoulders. "You loved me so much."

He doesn't know why, but his cock fills.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He can't stop himself.

His skin is so sensitive. For so long, it's been only him, not even the wind to flutter across his skin and now, with Arthur splayed just as he was before—where Merlin had fallen asleep pressed up against his sweaty back, the evidence of their coupling dribbling out of Arthur and leaving them both to fall blissfully into sleep tangled together.

"I'll just," Merlin starts, pressing his face into Arthur's tense shoulder blades. "I'll just rub, I promise."

But the more he rubs his too-sensitive, too-hot cock along the swell of Arthur's arse, the more he longs to be inside. He can almost hear Arthur's voice, full of amusement at Merlin's desperation but also his own need when he pushed back and begged, low and hot with arousal, for Merlin to take him.

Merlin eases inside because Arthur was sloppy that night with Merlin's seed and he's still silky smooth now. He clings to the broad expanse of Arthur's shoulders and jerks into him. It's only when Merlin's pounding into him, leaning up on his knees to get proper leverage for his thrusts, that he notices he's sobbing. It's loud in his hears as he pounds into Arthur's exposed and vulnerable arse. He fucks into him without thought, his body spasming with the sensation as he howls.

"I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry," he thinks he's saying as he thrusts, begging the bed to shake, begging Arthur to wake up and tell him it hurts, it's too much—anything but the silence of this magical sleep.

Afterward, Merlin reaches down to slip his fingers into Arthur's open hole. He plays with his come, dragging it out to smear across Arthur's side. Merlin paints him with come and cries, wishing that he knew how to fix this.

"I miss you," he whispers, voice as wet as his face. "I'm so lonely here without you."
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