To Let Lie What's Done
Jan. 14th, 2014 12:24 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ekishou
Title: To Let Lie What's Done
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Arthur is not Merlin’s to have, not after the way Merlin failed him so completely at Camlann.
Warnings: Reference to past major character death
Word Count: 1,452
Prompt: #91 - Atonement
Author's Notes: Not as angsty as the summary might imply. Thank you torocknvaughn for the fast and excellent beta. I fiddled around with it a bit after she finished, so any mistakes are all me. Thanks also go to k_nightfox for helping me with a couple of final tweaks this morning and to amphigoury for getting me un-stuck in my title search. My apologies for going over the word limit!
The first time it happens, Merlin thinks he must be imagining things. He can’t think of a single reason — or at least, none to which he’ll admit — for Arthur to brush his fingers over the nape of Merlin’s neck as he walks past on his way into the kitchen to make tea. Merlin’s cheeks burn, and he fervently hopes that Arthur doesn’t notice his blushing. Merlin can only believe it’s wishful thinking on his part, an idle fancy brought on by the joy of Arthur’s return and two hectic months spent helping Arthur become acclimated to modern life.
Arthur fiddles with the kettle and approaches the cooker with the same grim determination he’d once shown his foes on the battlefield, and Merlin can’t help but stifle a laugh. For a moment he considers going to Arthur’s side and taking over the task of tea-making, but he knows he’ll only be put off with an eye roll and a muttered, “You aren’t my servant anymore, Merlin.”
Of all that has happened since that night two months ago, perhaps Arthur’s refusal to treat him as a servant is the most unexpected. It throws Merlin off a bit, disconcerts him. Being Arthur’s servant, he knows. Being Arthur’s servant who got away with more than any other servant in Camelot could have possibly imagined, he understands. Being Arthur’s equal and friend, and truly being treated as such? It makes him want things he knows he cannot have, awakens old desires he’d long ago locked away. Sometimes he catches Arthur looking at him, and he wonders...but...no. He can be Arthur’s friend now, and he’s thankful for that.
The second time Arthur touches him, it’s all Merlin can do to suppress the shiver that runs through him at the contact. An array of newspapers from around the world covers the surface of his rustic farmhouse table, and Merlin is bent over them, as if by taking them in all at once some pattern will appear. Merlin is determined to know why Arthur has returned, to discern the true meaning of “when Albion’s need is greatest”, to prepare himself for the battle ahead, whatever it may be. He won’t fail Arthur…not this time.
Arthur’s broad hand comes to rest on Merlin’s back, his fingers splayed, and he leans in to look over Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur’s body is a solid presence at his back, and Merlin feels heat rising in his cheeks again as he strives to master himself. He cannot deny that Arthur is touching him this time; there is no other choice, but it doesn’t…it can’t mean anything. Arthur had been tactile with him when they were in Camelot, even if he’d been given more to headlocks and friendly shoulder punches than these barely-there brushes of fingers and now, the weight and warmth of his hand seeming to burn through the thin cloth of Merlin’s shirt.
The third time, Merlin cannot interpret Arthur’s actions as anything other than what they are — an expression of desire. His back is against the wall and he’s boxed in, held in place by Arthur’s body. Arthur’s lips brush against his, then press firmly, his tongue licking at the seam of Merlin’s lips as if seeking entrance. Merlin can do nothing but surrender with a strangled moan, opening his mouth and losing himself in the hot, wet slide of tongue against tongue. He feels Arthur’s muted hum of approval rumble through his chest almost before he hears it. The heat and closeness of Arthur’s body are all-consuming and his cock rapidly begins to harden against Arthur’s muscled thigh where it rests, perfectly angled between Merlin’s legs. Arthur’s hair and thick and silky between Merlin’s fingers, and for one blissful moment he is free of worry and stress as Arthur kisses him deeply, passionately, possessively.
Abruptly Merlin pulls back, turning his head and dropping his hands to Arthur’s sides. He cannot face Arthur, cannot indulge in this pleasure with him, cannot have him, not really. Arthur is not Merlin’s to have, not after the way Merlin failed him so completely at Camlann.
Arthur rests his forehead on Merlin’s shoulder, breathing heavily. He hasn’t pulled back, hasn’t released Merlin, but he doesn’t push, either. Merlin knows Arthur is too noble to take anything he doesn’t want to give, no matter how he’s responded. Breaking the kiss has taken all the willpower Merlin possesses, and he leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of ginger, citrus, and Arthur. The softness of Arthur’s wool jumper is soothing beneath his hands, and Merlin cannot bring himself to let go, no matter how much he thinks he should.
“Merlin…” Arthur says at length. “You were there with me; I know you were. Why did you stop?”
No more lies…
He’d promised that the night of Arthur’s return, when they’d stayed up as the sky shifted from black to pre-dawn grey to the vibrant orange-red of sunrise, talking of the past and all that had gone before.
Merlin sighs. “Because I don’t deserve it. You. This. Because I lied to you for years. I failed you, didn’t save you. And…” He trails off, twisting the scarlet cashmere between his fingers nervously.
“And what?” Arthur prompts impatiently.
“And I’m here. I’m the only one here from before so it’s natural that you’d…I just don’t want it to be because I’m the only one here.” He can’t bear to look at Arthur, can’t bear to see the disdain he must surely have written across his handsome face.
“Merlin,” Arthur says firmly. “Look at me.”
For all that he can deny Arthur nothing, it is with reluctance that Merlin opens his eyes and meets his gaze. To his surprise, Arthur doesn’t appear angry, or even disapproving…only earnest, and he hasn’t backed away from Merlin, not one bit.
“I see that fifteen hundred years haven’t made you any less of an idiot. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
“That might be a good idea, actually,” Merlin answers, and he feels the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips despite himself.
“You didn’t fail me. You did everything you could to save me, and you did save Camelot. You brought peace at last. I was able to die knowing that my people would be safe, and that was all I needed. There’s no need for atonement, no need for you to do penance for what happened in the past. And even if there were, I’d say waiting for me for so long probably makes us more than even, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Merlin says quietly.
“But I don’t think that’s really the problem, Merlin,” Arthur continues. “I think you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t have this, not because you really believe it, but because it’s easier than taking the risk. But don’t you see? It’s not a risk anymore. Not in this day and age. There’s no longer any reason for me to put duty before love.”
Arthur looks at him intently, his blue eyes so sincere Merlin can barely breathe at the sight of them.
“There’s no need for me to take a queen, no need for heirs to secure the succession. I don’t have to keep up appearances; I’ve nothing to hide anymore, Merlin.” Arthur leans in close, trailing his lips softly along Merlin’s jaw to his ear, his lips barely brushing Merlin’s earlobe as he murmurs, “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
Merlin hardly knows what to say. For two months he’s thought that nothing could eclipse the joy he’d felt that night, when he’d been awakened from a sound sleep with his magic thrumming in his veins and destiny calling him to Arthur’s side. The years had fallen away from him, sloughed away by the magic that burned wildly within and without, crackling around his body in a corona of golden light until at last he’d stood before Arthur with his heart near to bursting with elation, relief…and love.
The truth is that Merlin has loved Arthur for over fifteen hundred years, and never once in all that time did he think Arthur might love him, too. Something of this must show on his face, because Arthur leans in again, his lips warm and gentle against Merlin’s as he kisses him softly. It’s a confession and an apology all at once, and Merlin melts into it, accepting Arthur and all that he is.
Merlin doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but he knows a second chance when he sees one and he doesn’t intend to waste it.
ekishouTitle: To Let Lie What's Done
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Arthur/Merlin
Character/s: Arthur, Merlin
Summary: Arthur is not Merlin’s to have, not after the way Merlin failed him so completely at Camlann.
Warnings: Reference to past major character death
Word Count: 1,452
Prompt: #91 - Atonement
Author's Notes: Not as angsty as the summary might imply. Thank you to
rocknvaughn for the fast and excellent beta. I fiddled around with it a bit after she finished, so any mistakes are all me. Thanks also go to k_nightfox for helping me with a couple of final tweaks this morning and to amphigoury for getting me un-stuck in my title search. My apologies for going over the word limit!The first time it happens, Merlin thinks he must be imagining things. He can’t think of a single reason — or at least, none to which he’ll admit — for Arthur to brush his fingers over the nape of Merlin’s neck as he walks past on his way into the kitchen to make tea. Merlin’s cheeks burn, and he fervently hopes that Arthur doesn’t notice his blushing. Merlin can only believe it’s wishful thinking on his part, an idle fancy brought on by the joy of Arthur’s return and two hectic months spent helping Arthur become acclimated to modern life.
Arthur fiddles with the kettle and approaches the cooker with the same grim determination he’d once shown his foes on the battlefield, and Merlin can’t help but stifle a laugh. For a moment he considers going to Arthur’s side and taking over the task of tea-making, but he knows he’ll only be put off with an eye roll and a muttered, “You aren’t my servant anymore, Merlin.”
Of all that has happened since that night two months ago, perhaps Arthur’s refusal to treat him as a servant is the most unexpected. It throws Merlin off a bit, disconcerts him. Being Arthur’s servant, he knows. Being Arthur’s servant who got away with more than any other servant in Camelot could have possibly imagined, he understands. Being Arthur’s equal and friend, and truly being treated as such? It makes him want things he knows he cannot have, awakens old desires he’d long ago locked away. Sometimes he catches Arthur looking at him, and he wonders...but...no. He can be Arthur’s friend now, and he’s thankful for that.
The second time Arthur touches him, it’s all Merlin can do to suppress the shiver that runs through him at the contact. An array of newspapers from around the world covers the surface of his rustic farmhouse table, and Merlin is bent over them, as if by taking them in all at once some pattern will appear. Merlin is determined to know why Arthur has returned, to discern the true meaning of “when Albion’s need is greatest”, to prepare himself for the battle ahead, whatever it may be. He won’t fail Arthur…not this time.
Arthur’s broad hand comes to rest on Merlin’s back, his fingers splayed, and he leans in to look over Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur’s body is a solid presence at his back, and Merlin feels heat rising in his cheeks again as he strives to master himself. He cannot deny that Arthur is touching him this time; there is no other choice, but it doesn’t…it can’t mean anything. Arthur had been tactile with him when they were in Camelot, even if he’d been given more to headlocks and friendly shoulder punches than these barely-there brushes of fingers and now, the weight and warmth of his hand seeming to burn through the thin cloth of Merlin’s shirt.
The third time, Merlin cannot interpret Arthur’s actions as anything other than what they are — an expression of desire. His back is against the wall and he’s boxed in, held in place by Arthur’s body. Arthur’s lips brush against his, then press firmly, his tongue licking at the seam of Merlin’s lips as if seeking entrance. Merlin can do nothing but surrender with a strangled moan, opening his mouth and losing himself in the hot, wet slide of tongue against tongue. He feels Arthur’s muted hum of approval rumble through his chest almost before he hears it. The heat and closeness of Arthur’s body are all-consuming and his cock rapidly begins to harden against Arthur’s muscled thigh where it rests, perfectly angled between Merlin’s legs. Arthur’s hair and thick and silky between Merlin’s fingers, and for one blissful moment he is free of worry and stress as Arthur kisses him deeply, passionately, possessively.
Abruptly Merlin pulls back, turning his head and dropping his hands to Arthur’s sides. He cannot face Arthur, cannot indulge in this pleasure with him, cannot have him, not really. Arthur is not Merlin’s to have, not after the way Merlin failed him so completely at Camlann.
Arthur rests his forehead on Merlin’s shoulder, breathing heavily. He hasn’t pulled back, hasn’t released Merlin, but he doesn’t push, either. Merlin knows Arthur is too noble to take anything he doesn’t want to give, no matter how he’s responded. Breaking the kiss has taken all the willpower Merlin possesses, and he leans his head back against the wall, eyes closed, breathing in the scent of ginger, citrus, and Arthur. The softness of Arthur’s wool jumper is soothing beneath his hands, and Merlin cannot bring himself to let go, no matter how much he thinks he should.
“Merlin…” Arthur says at length. “You were there with me; I know you were. Why did you stop?”
No more lies…
He’d promised that the night of Arthur’s return, when they’d stayed up as the sky shifted from black to pre-dawn grey to the vibrant orange-red of sunrise, talking of the past and all that had gone before.
Merlin sighs. “Because I don’t deserve it. You. This. Because I lied to you for years. I failed you, didn’t save you. And…” He trails off, twisting the scarlet cashmere between his fingers nervously.
“And what?” Arthur prompts impatiently.
“And I’m here. I’m the only one here from before so it’s natural that you’d…I just don’t want it to be because I’m the only one here.” He can’t bear to look at Arthur, can’t bear to see the disdain he must surely have written across his handsome face.
“Merlin,” Arthur says firmly. “Look at me.”
For all that he can deny Arthur nothing, it is with reluctance that Merlin opens his eyes and meets his gaze. To his surprise, Arthur doesn’t appear angry, or even disapproving…only earnest, and he hasn’t backed away from Merlin, not one bit.
“I see that fifteen hundred years haven’t made you any less of an idiot. Do I really need to spell it out for you?”
“That might be a good idea, actually,” Merlin answers, and he feels the smallest of smiles tugging at his lips despite himself.
“You didn’t fail me. You did everything you could to save me, and you did save Camelot. You brought peace at last. I was able to die knowing that my people would be safe, and that was all I needed. There’s no need for atonement, no need for you to do penance for what happened in the past. And even if there were, I’d say waiting for me for so long probably makes us more than even, don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Merlin says quietly.
“But I don’t think that’s really the problem, Merlin,” Arthur continues. “I think you’ve convinced yourself that you can’t have this, not because you really believe it, but because it’s easier than taking the risk. But don’t you see? It’s not a risk anymore. Not in this day and age. There’s no longer any reason for me to put duty before love.”
Arthur looks at him intently, his blue eyes so sincere Merlin can barely breathe at the sight of them.
“There’s no need for me to take a queen, no need for heirs to secure the succession. I don’t have to keep up appearances; I’ve nothing to hide anymore, Merlin.” Arthur leans in close, trailing his lips softly along Merlin’s jaw to his ear, his lips barely brushing Merlin’s earlobe as he murmurs, “I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
Merlin hardly knows what to say. For two months he’s thought that nothing could eclipse the joy he’d felt that night, when he’d been awakened from a sound sleep with his magic thrumming in his veins and destiny calling him to Arthur’s side. The years had fallen away from him, sloughed away by the magic that burned wildly within and without, crackling around his body in a corona of golden light until at last he’d stood before Arthur with his heart near to bursting with elation, relief…and love.
The truth is that Merlin has loved Arthur for over fifteen hundred years, and never once in all that time did he think Arthur might love him, too. Something of this must show on his face, because Arthur leans in again, his lips warm and gentle against Merlin’s as he kisses him softly. It’s a confession and an apology all at once, and Merlin melts into it, accepting Arthur and all that he is.
Merlin doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring, but he knows a second chance when he sees one and he doesn’t intend to waste it.
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Date: 2014-01-15 07:30 pm (UTC)Thank goodness for Arthur being more sensitive this time around and allaying Merlin's fears.
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Date: 2014-01-19 08:14 pm (UTC)