Archive of Our Own

The sun had risen some time ago, casting golden streaks across the white curtains of the bedroom. They glowed like soft lanterns, diffusing the light into a warm haze that filled the room. Outside, the gentle hum of the countryside had begun to stir: birdsong, the distant lowing of cattle, and the occasional rustle of wind through the hedgerows. But inside, all was still and peaceful.

Arthur woke slowly, not with a start or a groan, but with the quiet awareness of warmth and weight. He opened his eyes, blinked into the sunlit room, and then smiled fondly. 

Merlin was tucked against him, a warm presence under the covers. His husband's head rested close by, a mop of messy dark curls tickling his face, Merlin's steady breath warm and wet against Arthur's neck. One of Merlin's hands was curled loosely against Arthur's chest, fingers lightly fisted as though even in sleep he was reluctant to let go. Their legs were a tangled mess under the blanket, not that Arthur minded. One of his arms was slung securely around Merlin's waist, palm resting flat on the curve of his lower back, and the other arm was pinned under the pillow, Merlin's head nestled into the crook of his bicep.

Arthur breathed in the faint scent of Merlin's hair, lavender shampoo, and something softer, something distinctly Merlin, and let the quiet of the morning settle into his bones. There was no rush. Just this. Just them. A slow Sunday on the farm.

He tilted his head slightly, resting his lips against the crown of Merlin's head, and let his hand begin to move. Slow, lazy strokes along the ridge of Merlin's spine. His fingertips ghosted along the curve of his back, memorizing every subtle dip and line, every warm stretch of skin beneath the thin cotton of Merlin's shirt.

Merlin stirred after a few minutes, shifting faintly and burrowing closer. He muttered something unintelligible into Arthur's neck, something about mornings and prats, and Arthur chuckled softly.

"Too early," Merlin mumbled against his skin, voice thick with sleep.

"It's nearly nine," Arthur murmured, voice husky. "The animals have probably already written us off as lazy."

Merlin made a noise that could have meant anything—annoyance, agreement, affection—and Arthur felt his lips curve into a smile against his hair. He moved his hand lower, brushing over the curve of Merlin's rear to reach his leg. He let his palm find the soft skin of the back of Merlin's thigh, gripping gently and pulling it over his own, leaving his hand there as his thumb traced lazy arcs back and forth. He pulled his other hand out from under the pillow, and Merlin made a noise of protest at the disturbance before he realized Arthur simply wanted to wrap that arm around Merlin. 

Merlin, now half on top of his husband, hummed in content and pressed a kiss to Arthur's jaw, barely a brush, still riddled with sleep.

Arthur tilted his head slightly, enough to nudge his nose against Merlin's. "That wasn't much of a kiss."

Merlin raised his chin, blinking up at Arthur through sleep-heavy lashes, and smirked. "Greedy."

He leaned in and caught Arthur's mouth in a kiss, lingering and slow, soft, but not lacking passion. It was unhurried, full of quiet longing and the kind of intimacy that only years together could bring. Arthur turned his head to meet him properly, savoring the slide of lips, the warmth, the way Merlin's hand curled tighter against his chest as if to tether him there.

When they broke apart, their faces still close, breaths mingling, Arthur smiled.

"That wake you up?" he teased, lips brushing against Merlin's.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open just enough to glare at him. "Shut up."

Arthur grinned, couldn't help himself, and leaned in again—this time deeper, more insistent. Merlin welcomed him with a soft sound in the back of his throat, one that made Arthur's chest ache with something tender and consuming.

He moved slowly, deliberately, rolling Merlin gently onto his back and following the motion until he hovered above him, the weight of his body pressing them together in all the right places. The arm that had been under the pillow now braced him, forearm firm beside Merlin's head, while the other hand wandered—caressing and groping the familiar planes of his husband's body.

Merlin let out a breathy laugh against his lips. "You planning on getting out of bed anytime soon?"

Arthur nuzzled at the corner of his mouth, planting a kiss there. "No. And neither are you."

Merlin pretended to consider it, then smiled. "Good."

Arthur kissed him again, slower this time. He let it deepen naturally, let it wind out like a river, curling into all the spaces they had carved out over the years. He kissed Merlin like he had all the time in the world, because here, now, in this quiet farmhouse where the world was reduced to creaking floorboards and the soft sound of their breathing, he did.

They stayed like that for a while, just kissing and touching and breathing each other in. Arthur let his hand drift up under Merlin's shirt again, finding the curve of his waist, the sharp line of his ribs. Merlin's skin was soft, just a bit too warm under the thick duvet, but neither of them made a move to shift it.

Eventually, Arthur pulled back just enough to look at him. Really look. Merlin's hair was an absolute disaster, curls pointing in every direction, one particularly rebellious tuft sticking straight up. His eyes were half-lidded, still heavy with sleep but brighter now, golden in the sunlight. His lips were pink and slightly kiss-swollen, parted with shallow breaths.

"You're staring," Merlin murmured, voice soft.

Arthur brushed his thumb across his cheek. "I'm allowed. You're my husband."

Merlin flushed faintly, a warmth that spread across his nose and cheeks. "Still weird, hearing that."

Arthur arched a brow. "What, the 'my husband' part?"

"No," Merlin said, lips twitching. "The part where you're sappy."

Arthur leaned down and bit his shoulder lightly in retaliation, making Merlin squirm and laugh.

"You love it," Arthur said against his skin.

Merlin threaded his fingers into Arthur's hair, holding him close. "Yeah," he whispered. "I do."

Arthur leaned in and caught Merlin's mouth again.

Their lips met with the ease of long familiarity, but every kiss still felt new in some essential way, still sacred. Arthur let his mouth move gently over Merlin's, savoring the way it fit so perfectly against his own. Merlin tasted like warmth, like sleep and sunlight, and something richer underneath—something that was simply Merlin.

The kiss deepened naturally, without urgency. Arthur's tongue brushed against Merlin's, a delicate flick that made Merlin exhale softly into his mouth. Arthur swallowed the sound greedily, angling his head to better slot their mouths together. Their tongues touched again, slower this time, languid, a quiet press and retreat that sent shivers rolling down Arthur's spine. Merlin hummed into the kiss, a soft, breathy sound that made Arthur feel drunk on the intimacy of it.

Arthur's hand slipped up from Merlin's waist, fingers splaying against his ribs as his thumb stroked slow, grounding circles into his skin. He pulled Merlin impossibly closer, until there was no space left between them, until every line of their bodies touched.

Then, almost reluctantly, Arthur left Merlin's mouth behind.

He kissed the corner of his lips, the curve of his cheek, then down to the tender skin just beneath his jaw. Open-mouthed and warm, his lips pressed along the fine line of Merlin's throat, tasting the salt of his skin and the faint lingering scent of body wash. Each kiss was slower than the last, an offering of adoration as much as desire.

Merlin let out a soft noise—a little breath of pleasure, helpless and real—and tilted his head to give Arthur more space. His fingers tightened in Arthur's hair, and his other hand rose to clutch at Arthur's shoulder, holding on as if the gentleness was almost too much.

Arthur grazed his teeth lightly across Merlin's pulse point, then soothed the spot with his tongue, delighting in the hitch of breath it pulled from Merlin's chest.

"I love that sound," Arthur murmured against his skin. "I want to hear it again."

Merlin only whined quietly, a soft, blushing sound, and Arthur smiled as he trailed kisses down further.

He pushed Merlin's sleep shirt up slowly, inch by inch, until it bunched under his arms and exposed the soft, pale skin of his chest. Arthur pulled back just enough to look his fill, like he always did. Always paused, always took a second just to admire. Merlin, bathed in golden morning light, was all angles and softness at once.

Merlin never quite believed him when he said it—but Arthur would never tire of admiring him like this. The gentle planes of his chest, the dip of his waist, the faint line of hair that trailed from his navel and disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers. All of it was familiar. All of it was precious.

He leaned down and kissed just above Merlin's heart. Then a little lower.

He let his tongue follow the path, slow and deliberate, tasting the warm skin as he went. His hand smoothed over Merlin's side, thumb brushing over his ribs while his mouth moved unhurriedly across his chest. He paused to press a kiss over a freckle, then a lingering one beneath it. Merlin shivered and gasped softly, his chest rising with a shallow breath.

"Arthur," he whispered.

Arthur looked up, catching the flushed, dazed expression on Merlin's face. His hair was an even worse mess now, sticking up in places where Arthur's fingers had been. His eyes were half-lidded, dark with affection, lips parted as he breathed through the warmth curling through his body.

Arthur smiled, gentle and awed, and leaned in to kiss just below Merlin's sternum. Then again, lower.

Merlin's hand on his shoulder gripped tighter.

"You're beautiful," Arthur said, voice low, like it wasn't quite meant to be spoken aloud.

Merlin let out a small breath of laughter, almost shaky. "You're sappy again."

"Shut up," Arthur smiled back, voice full of affection.  

He kissed down to Merlin's navel, tongue swirling lightly before pulling away again. Every inch of skin he touched was memorized—catalogued in the back of Arthur's mind where he kept all the best things. Merlin's stomach trembled beneath his mouth, his muscles flexing with each kiss. Arthur wasn't trying to drive him mad. He was just worshipping. Showing him, wordlessly, that he was loved.

He flattened his palms against Merlin's hips, then shifted up just enough to press their foreheads together again. Merlin looked dazed, lips kiss-bitten and swollen, pupils wide with anticipation.

"You okay?" Arthur asked softly.

Merlin let out a shaky breath, nodding. "Yeah. Just... you're being too good to me."

Arthur's brows furrowed, but his voice stayed gentle. "No such thing."

Merlin's hand came up to cradle Arthur's face, his thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. "I don't think I'll ever deserve you."

Arthur closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the touch. "You're wrong," he said quietly. "It's me who doesn't deserve you."

And then he kissed him again—not hurried, not trying to reignite heat—but slow, like he was trying to convince Merlin of something he should've known already.

Merlin melted into it, lips parting willingly. Arthur cupped Merlin's cheek as he kissed him, fingertips just brushing the curve of his ear. His other hand moved to rest over Merlin's heart, feeling it beat steadily beneath his palm.

The way his mouth moved against Merlin's was purposeful, with just enough drag to leave Merlin breathless. He nipped at his bottom lip, then soothed it with his tongue, all while his hand slid lower, down the smooth plane of Merlin's stomach.

Merlin squirmed slightly beneath him, his thighs shifting, parting just a little. Arthur's hand moved with intent, splaying wide against his side, then drifting down to the soft skin above his waistband. He paused there, fingers ghosting along the line where skin met fabric, and kissed Merlin harder. A quiet growl built in Arthur's throat at the feeling of Merlin gasping into his mouth.

He rocked his hips—just slightly, nothing frantic—against the inside of Merlin's thigh. It was a subtle movement, deliberate and restrained, but it made Merlin arch beneath him, a choked sound escaping as the friction found him.

Arthur grinned into the kiss and murmured, lips brushing Merlin's, "You're responsive this morning."

Merlin gave a breathless laugh, but it quickly dissolved into a moan as Arthur repeated the motion—slow grind of hips against thigh, just enough to tease, to promise.

"You're a menace," Merlin said weakly.

"You love it," Arthur breathed, and kissed him again, slow and dirty, with just enough tongue to make Merlin whimper.

His hand dipped a little further, fingertips slipping just beneath the waistband. Not enough to touch, not yet. His knuckles brushed soft hair, and Merlin trembled, hand tightening in Arthur's hair again.

"You're taking your time," Merlin said, voice rough with heat, "which I'd complain about—"

"But you won't," Arthur interrupted, dragging his lips down Merlin's jaw, toward his throat again. "Because you like it like this."

Merlin made a sound of agreement, tilting his head to the side, exposing his neck fully as Arthur kissed just beneath his ear, open-mouthed and hot. Arthur let his teeth scrape lightly against the skin there, then soothed the mark with a slow sweep of his tongue.

Merlin shuddered. "God, Arthur."

"I've got you," Arthur whispered, hand now properly beneath the waistband, palm curved low on Merlin's abdomen, just above where he wanted more. He didn't move further still. Just rested there, heavy and warm, a promise. His hips rolled again, slower this time, matching the pace of his kisses as he moved down Merlin's throat, teeth and tongue tracing every inch. 

And Merlin let him—arched under him, clung to him, every breath shaky with wanting.

Arthur kissed his way back up to his mouth and caught him in another slow, filthy kiss, hips pressing close again. It was intoxicating, the feel of Merlin shifting to meet him, the way his fingers gripped at Arthur's back, his breath coming in short, hot bursts between kisses.

They weren't in a rush. They never were. But the heat simmered now, building slowly, deliciously.

Merlin's hand slid up Arthur's back, slipping beneath the thin cotton of his shirt to touch bare skin. His touch was light, but his grip wasn't—fingers flexing like he couldn't stand the space between them, even if it was only fabric. Arthur ground down again, not harshly, but with more intent this time, and Merlin gasped into his mouth, the sound nearly a whimper.

"Arthur—" he breathed, voice frayed with need and affection. "Please."

Arthur exhaled shakily, lips brushing Merlin's as he murmured, "Hush, Merlin, I'll take care of you."

He moved his hand with purpose, cradling Merlin gently where he was warm and aching, fingers curling around him with reverence more than hunger. Merlin moaned, arching slightly, his hand tightening in Arthur's shirt as he rocked into the touch, slow and seeking.

Arthur kissed him through it—kissed him like it was the only thing that mattered. Their mouths moved in perfect sync, lips parting and pressing, their tongues gliding in slow, slick passes. 

He kept his touch gentle, letting Merlin set the pace. His hand moved with care, with knowledge born from years of loving this man, years of memorizing every gasp, every shiver, every place to press or stroke. Merlin's head tilted back slightly, mouth falling open on a soft moan as Arthur kissed along his throat. Arthur's thumb grazed the tip of him, and Merlin gasped sharply, hips jerking. 

Arthur's hand never faltered—kept its steady rhythm, slow and loving, every stroke firm but careful, made to coax rather than demand. Merlin's hips rose to meet it, seeking more, chasing the friction with quiet desperation. He was flushed from his throat to his chest, the muscles in his stomach fluttering with every breath.

Arthur watched him unravel, breath caught in his own throat. Every gasp, every tremor Merlin gave him felt like a sacred thing.

"You're gorgeous like this," Arthur murmured, kissing along Merlin's jaw, lips brushing the corner of his mouth as his hand sped up slightly, his grip adjusting to match the rhythm of Merlin's hips.

He pressed his body fully to Merlin's now, his own arousal caught against Merlin's hip, thick and hot beneath the soft cotton of his boxers. The friction was maddening, but Arthur didn't care—not yet. This was about Merlin. 

Merlin whimpered, hips stuttering into Arthur's palm. Arthur kept stroking, kept murmuring against his skin.

"So fucking perfect," he breathed. "Every time."

Arthur felt the tremble building in Merlin's body—the way his breath caught, the way his thighs tensed beneath his hands. Merlin was close, on the cusp of release, but Arthur slowed his hand, easing the rhythm until it was more teasing than coaxing.

Merlin groaned in protest, the sound broken and needy. "Arthur—"

"Shh," Arthur murmured, brushing his lips along Merlin's cheek, his jaw. "Just breathe for me."

Merlin's chest heaved as he tried to obey even though his body trembled with thwarted need. Arthur's hand slipped away, replaced by a palm spread warmly against Merlin's thigh, anchoring him.

"I've got you," Arthur whispered, and then mouthed across Merlin's chest.

He gave the moment back to him—no rush, no frenzy—only love poured from his mouth into every place it touched. He brushed his lips across Merlin's collarbone, nudged his nose lower, and then closed his mouth around one nipple, slow and deliberate. Merlin cried out softly, fingers threading into Arthur's hair, hips twitching helplessly beneath him.

Arthur suckled gently, tongue flicking in slow, steady passes. He dragged his teeth lightly, then soothed the scrape with his mouth, and Merlin gasped—one arm thrown above his head like he didn't know what to do with himself, the other fisting into Arthur's hair like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

Arthur moved to the other nipple, repeating the motion, letting the sounds Merlin made soak into his skin. He loved how sensitive Merlin was here, how every kiss made his breath hitch, how every flick of his tongue seemed to ripple through his whole body.

Then he sat up slowly and tugged his shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Merlin blinked up at him, dazed and flushed, the muscles of his chest still rising and falling rapidly. Arthur reached for him with both hands, warm and firm, and gently helped Merlin out of his shirt, revealing more golden skin, more of the body he already knew by heart.

"You're beautiful," Arthur murmured, voice rough, like it scraped the edges of something deep in his chest. He leaned in and kissed Merlin again—mouths meeting with lingering affection before Arthur began kissing his way down once more.

He paused at Merlin's hip, nuzzling the bone there as his hands moved to the waistband of Merlin's boxers. He looked up, eyes meeting Merlin's.

"Okay?"

Merlin nodded, silent, pupils wide. 

Arthur tugged the fabric down slowly, watching the way Merlin's breath hitched again, the way he tried not to squirm beneath the attention. Arthur pressed another kiss to Merlin's hip, then lower, just beside the base of him, and Merlin's hand flew to his mouth, trying to stifle the gasp.

Then Arthur took him into his mouth.

He started slowly, letting his lips slide over sensitive skin, tongue moving in steady, purposeful sweeps. He hollowed his cheeks just enough, letting warmth and pressure bloom, and Merlin arched with a sharp cry, hands scrambling against the sheets before settling in Arthur's hair again.

Arthur moaned around him, a low hum that sent vibrations up through every nerve. His hands slid beneath Merlin's thighs, holding him still, holding him open, and he worked him carefully, reverently—tongue teasing, lips tight, pace gradually building but never losing its gentleness.

Merlin couldn't stay quiet. He was gasping, whimpering, trembling like every flick of Arthur's tongue undid something vital inside him.

"Arthur—" he choked, "I—God, I—"

His body trembled beneath Arthur's mouth, thighs twitching with each teasing flick of tongue. He was on the edge again, strung out with pleasure and tension, and Arthur knew it—could feel it in the way Merlin's fingers gripped his hair, in the sharp arch of his back, in the frantic, half-swallowed moans escaping his lips.

Arthur slipped a hand up Merlin's thigh, trailing along the sensitive skin, then further, further, until his fingers dipped between Merlin's legs. He didn't press—not yet—but simply stroked slow, deliberate circles around the tight ring of muscle with the pad of his thumb, teasing rather than pushing, letting it linger.

Merlin's whole body jolted at the contact. "Fuck," he hissed, hips twitching, head thrown back against the pillows. He reached out blindly, arm fumbling across the nightstand until his fingers closed around the familiar bottle. He passed it to Arthur with a shaky breath.

Arthur pulled off Merlin just long enough to meet his eyes, taking the lube with a chuckle at Merlin's eagerness. 

Arthur flipped the cap open and squeezed some of the cool slick onto his fingers. He warmed it briefly with his palm, then reached between Merlin's thighs again, smearing the lube with deliberate slowness—his touch filthy. He circled Merlin's entrance with one finger, spreading the slickness gently, tracing the muscle in wide, slow spirals before sliding down again and smearing more across the seam.

Merlin's breath hitched. "Arthur..."

"I know," Arthur whispered, voice low and thick. "I've got you."

He bent down and took Merlin back into his mouth, humming softly as he resumed the slow, steady rhythm of his lips and tongue, as if he'd never stopped.

At the same time, his fingers moved with exquisite care, still teasing, still circling. He let the pad of his middle finger press lightly against the center, just enough to apply pressure without breaking through. Merlin moaned at the dual sensation, thighs falling further apart as his hips rolled helplessly, caught between Arthur's mouth and his hand.

Arthur pushed just the tip of his finger in, no more than that, giving Merlin a moment to adjust. His other hand soothed along Merlin's thigh, grounding him while his tongue kept working him higher. He pulled back slightly to breathe against Merlin's flushed skin, lips brushing the base of him as his finger slid in deeper—slow, slow, until the first knuckle was inside.

Merlin made a sound that wasn't quite a gasp, wasn't quite a moan—something rawer, breathier. Arthur kissed his hip, then sucked a mark into the sensitive skin just above it, even as he began to move the finger in shallow thrusts, coaxing him open with slick, deliberate care.

"You feel so good like this," Arthur murmured against his skin, voice wrecked with want. "Fucking beautiful."

He slid the finger in deeper now, curling it just slightly, watching the way Merlin's body responded—how he pushed back against the touch without even meaning to, his whole body aching toward it.

Arthur's mouth returned to its work, lips sliding over the length of him, tongue flicking in soft, decadent passes as he added a second finger. He went slow again, always slow, letting Merlin's body take it, adjust, relax.

Merlin writhed, one hand fisting in the sheets, the other trembling where it gripped Arthur's shoulder. "Please," he breathed. "Please don't stop..."

Arthur groaned around him, fingers scissoring just enough to stretch him further. He dipped his mouth lower, redoubling his attention even as his fingers twisted gently, pressing against that spot inside that made Merlin cry out, loud and helpless.

Arthur felt it—how Merlin trembled under him, how every part of his body strained toward more, and still, Arthur didn't rush. He kept his fingers moving inside him, slow and precise, curling just enough to make Merlin writhe, to make him pant through his teeth, voice caught somewhere between a whimper and a plea.

But Arthur didn't give him relief. Not yet.

He eased his mouth off Merlin again, only to trail kisses along the line of his hip, then lower, brushing his lips against the crease of his thigh. His breath was hot where it landed, and he hummed softly as he pressed his tongue there, tasting salt and skin and the faint trace of lube clinging to the inside of Merlin's legs.

"You're already so open for me," Arthur murmured, his voice the sound of gravel over silk. "So eager."

He fucked his fingers into him with a little more rhythm now, firmer and more insistent. Merlin gasped, high and breathless, hips jerking up off the bed before Arthur's free hand settled across his lower stomach, pressing him back down with steady weight.

"Easy," Arthur said, mouth brushing against warm skin. "You're doing so good, love."

A third finger joined the first two, slow and deliberate, sliding in on a wave of slick that Arthur smeared generously. Merlin's breath hitched again, a moan catching in his throat as his body fluttered around the stretch, but he didn't pull away. He pushed back—needy, desperate, open—and Arthur nearly groaned at how perfectly he took it.

Arthur fully laid on his stomach, his eyes hypnotized by the sight of his fingers pushing in and out of Merlin's hole. Absently, his free hand gravitated toward Merlin's erection, taking hold of him again and stroking in a slow, steady motion. 

Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to Merlin's entrance, licking where his fingers met skin.

Merlin cried out, voice breaking like a struck chord. "Arthur—oh God—"

Arthur didn't speak. He just exhaled hotly and pressed in again, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers—licking over them, around them, teasing the rim as he pumped slow and steady. The noises Merlin made only spurred him on.

He let his tongue flick lower, then kissed around the stretched edge before pulling back, lips slick, chin damp.

"You always make the sweetest sounds when I touch you like this," Arthur said, mouth hovering just above where Merlin was flushed and spread wide for him. He crooked his fingers again, pressing deep, searching until—

"Ah—!" Merlin's whole body jerked, hips bucking against Arthur's hand. 

Arthur grinned, low and hungry. "There you are.”

He kept pressing against that spot now, relentless but still careful, watching Merlin fall apart with every drag of his fingers. Merlin's arms were flung wide, one hand in his hair, the other gripping the edge of the pillow like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world.

Arthur leaned forward again, taking the head of him into his mouth just as his fingers twisted inside, and Merlin sobbed. His thighs trembled around Arthur's shoulders, his back arched, and his cock twitched on Arthur's tongue.

"I can't—Arthur—" Merlin gasped, his voice raw, trembling. "If you keep doing that, I—"

Arthur pulled back just enough to speak, lips still brushing against Merlin's flushed skin. "You'll come?" he said, smiling wickedly. "So soon? Without me even fucking you yet?"

Merlin whimpered, nodding helplessly.

Arthur moved lower again, pressing kisses to the inside of his thigh as his fingers continued working him open, slick and steady. 

He slipped his fingers out slowly, achingly slow, and Merlin moaned at the loss—at the stretch fading. But then Arthur was smoothing his palms over the insides of his thighs, kissing each one again, pressing his face in close.

He licked a long, slow stripe up the center of Merlin's heat, tongue flattening and curling as he worked his way back inside, this time with no fingers at all. Just his mouth.

Merlin cried out, loud and unrestrained, hands flying to Arthur's hair as he tried not to fall apart on the spot.

Arthur devoured him like it was worship. 

He didn't stop.

He couldn't.

He licked and mouthed at Merlin's entrance like it was the only thing tethering him to the world, like Merlin's body was something holy and this—this act—was prayer. His tongue moved with purpose, relentless and hungry, lapping and swirling and fucking into him with single-minded devotion.

Merlin was wrecked.

Every sound that left his lips was soaked in disbelief, in desperation. His thighs trembled where they rested over Arthur's shoulders, held wide by strong hands curled tight around them, fingers digging into the backs of his legs with bruising intensity.

Arthur growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Merlin's skin as he buried his face deeper, pulling him closer, keeping him open. He tongued him with an eagerness that bordered on savage, each motion deliberate and obscene. He licked into Merlin again and again, tongue fucking him slow and deep one moment, then fluttering maddeningly at the rim the next, only to plunge in again like he couldn't get enough.

Like he never would.

Merlin sobbed, high and broken, his back arching off the bed, hands scrabbling across the sheets before one found his cock and wrapped around it, pumping with frantic urgency. He was close—too close—and Arthur knew it. He could feel the way Merlin's body tensed, the way he clenched around every pass of his tongue.

Arthur tightened his grip around Merlin's thighs, holding him firm, anchoring him in place as he devoured him.

"Arthur—Arthur, I—I can't—" Merlin gasped, tears slipping from the corners of his eyes. "I'm gonna—fuck—I—"

Arthur didn't stop. He didn't even slow.

And Merlin shattered.

He came with a ragged cry, back bowed, thighs clenching around Arthur's head as he pumped himself through it, release hot and messy across his stomach. His voice cracked, hips jerking uncontrollably as the orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, tearing through him with ferocious force.

But Arthur—possessed, insatiable—only moaned low and deep and kept going.

He didn't give Merlin a second to breathe, didn't let up for even a heartbeat. Instead, he redoubled his efforts, licking through the aftershocks with ruthless hunger. His tongue pressed deeper, more insistent, dragging back and forth, curling and flicking in slow, deliberate strokes meant to undo every nerve Merlin had left.

Merlin sobbed, body thrashing as he tried to twist away and failed, utterly pinned by Arthur's iron grip. His thighs shook over Arthur's shoulders, overstimulation sparking like lightning up his spine, his voice nothing but a broken stream of gasps and pleas and incoherent cries.

"Arthur—please—I—ah, I can't—" he babbled, though he wasn't really trying to escape.

Arthur just hummed against him, the vibration shooting through Merlin's core, and licked deeper.

Merlin's tears streamed freely now, trailing down his temples into the pillow as his body writhed. His cock gave another twitch despite the intense sensitivity, and he gasped, sobbing from the sheer helpless ecstasy of it.

Arthur finally pulled back, just far enough to kiss Merlin's inner thigh, wet and swollen and red from his mouth.

"Shh," he murmured, voice wrecked and low, lips still slick. "You can take it. I've got you."

And with that, he dove in again, tongue slow now—but no less consuming. Not gentler. Just a different kind of devastation. Worshipful. Endless.

Merlin keened.

He was trembling, every limb loose and boneless, breath still shuddering in and out of him as Arthur finally, finally relented. He pulled back with one last kiss to the inside of Merlin's thigh, then crawled slowly up the length of his husband's body, mouth brushing along skin slick with sweat and come, trailing kisses as he went—stomach, ribs, chest, throat—until he reached his face.

Arthur leaned in and kissed the tears from Merlin's cheeks, soft and slow. "You were perfect," he murmured, voice rough with want and full of pride. "You're always perfect."

Merlin let out a quiet, broken laugh, arms wrapping weakly around Arthur's neck. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and full of love.

Arthur kissed his forehead, then his cheekbone, then caught his mouth again, pouring praise into the kiss, licking deep and slow, tasting every sound Merlin made. When he finally pulled back, Merlin gave a soft, ruined whine, chasing his mouth.

Arthur chuckled against his skin, nuzzling his jaw. "Give me a second, greedy thing."

He rose to his knees and finally stripped himself of his boxers, tossing them aside without ceremony. The sight of Arthur fully nude, flushed and leaking and thick with arousal, made Merlin writhe beneath him, a breathless sound escaping his throat.

"God, Arthur," he groaned, eyes raking over every inch of him like he didn't know where to look. "Please—please, I need you—"

Arthur smiled. "You have me."

He leaned down again, covering Merlin's body with his own, bracing himself on one arm while his free hand curled around his cock. He gave it a few slow strokes, groaning low in his throat as he slicked himself with Merlin's release, his breath catching as he lined himself up.

The blunt head pressed to Merlin's entrance, slow and insistent.

Merlin gasped, legs wrapping loosely around Arthur's waist, pulling him in. "Please," he whispered, already wrecked. "I want to feel you."

Arthur kissed him, deep and tender, and then pushed in.

It was slow—agonizingly slow. The head of him caught on Merlin's rim, but he pushed forward, feeling himself slide in, and gods, it felt so fucking good. He breached him carefully, inch by inch, every muscle in his body trembling with restraint as he fed himself into his husband's heat. Merlin moaned beneath him, arms wrapping tight around Arthur's back, hands digging into his shoulders like he didn't know how else to stay grounded.

"Fuck, Merlin," Arthur panted, voice raw. "You're so tight—so warm—"

He bottomed out with a quiet groan, his hips flush against Merlin's, and held there. Let them both breathe. Let Merlin feel it, every inch, every pulse inside him.

Merlin whimpered, forehead pressed against Arthur's. "Move—please, move—"

Arthur pulled back just enough to thrust in again, slow but deep, a deliberate drag that made Merlin shudder beneath him. The next thrust was the same, steady, and aching.

It was filthy the way he moved. Tender and obscene. His hips rolled with purpose, grinding into Merlin, each thrust hard and slow, like he wanted Merlin to feel every ridge, every twitch, every ounce of him. The sound of skin meeting skin was soft and wet, punctuated by Merlin's choked moans and Arthur's quiet groans, breath hot against Merlin's mouth.

Merlin arched into him, his nails raking down Arthur's back. "Harder," he gasped. "Arthur, harder—please—I can take it—"

Arthur growled, his control snapping like a frayed wire.

"You want it?" he rasped, voice wrecked. "You want me to fuck you properly?"

Merlin nodded frantically, eyes wild, mouth falling open in a soundless moan.

Arthur grabbed his hips, pulled back, and slammed in—hard and fast and perfect.

Merlin cried out, body jolting up the bed, and Arthur did it again, and again, falling into a rhythm that was brutal in its beauty, deep and raw and utterly consuming. He drove into him without mercy, without pause, hips slapping hard, the bed creaking beneath them as Merlin took everything given.

"You feel so good—so fucking good—" Arthur panted, bending to kiss Merlin's open mouth. "Mine—God, you're mine—"

Merlin sobbed beneath him, legs locked around Arthur's waist, hands fisted in his hair as he met every thrust with desperate need. He was still slick, still sensitive, and every hard drag of Arthur inside him had him spiraling again, cock hard and twitching, eyes rolling back.

Arthur didn't let up. He fucked Merlin like he needed him to live, like there was nothing else but this—this moment, this body, this man who was his everything.

Arthur was relentless.

The rhythm of his hips was a force, deep and fast, each thrust slamming into Merlin with unyielding precision. He'd lost whatever restraint he'd started with, now fucking Merlin like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. Their bodies moved in tandem—slick, hot, frantic.

Then Arthur shifted.

He reached down, took hold of one of Merlin's legs, and lifted it higher, pressing Merlin's knee up toward his chest, folding him in half. The new angle had Merlin gasping, his whole body jolting as Arthur slid impossibly deeper, hitting something inside him that made his vision spark white.

"Arthur—" he cried, breath catching, voice breaking. "Fuck—fuck—right there—!"

Arthur groaned, forehead dropping to Merlin's temple, his breath hot and ragged. "Yeah?" he rasped, thrusting harder now, spearing into that spot again and again, watching Merlin fall apart under him.

The sound of skin slapping, the wet drag of Arthur's cock inside him, the way Merlin's back arched and his hands scrabbled at Arthur's arms—it was everything. He was inside Merlin so deep, so full, it was like he was remaking him.

Arthur's hand tightened around Merlin's thigh, holding him wide open, keeping him exactly where he wanted him. "You take me so well," he growled into Merlin's ear. "So fucking tight—so good for me."

Merlin sobbed, fingers dragging on Arthur's body, completely undone. "Don't stop—please, I'm—I can't—"

Arthur slowed.

He didn't stop—just shifted again. The bruising pace gentled, just barely. But it changed everything. The slow drag of his cock now felt devastating. Deep and deliberate. With every long, grinding thrust, the head of him caught perfectly on the rim of Merlin's entrance—dragging over it on the way out, pushing back through on the way in—and Merlin cried out, broken and desperate.

"Arthur—Arthur—God—"

Arthur kissed him, sloppy, breathless, tongue licking into his mouth as he kept up that slow, filthy rhythm. Each stroke was a ruinous thing, filling Merlin so completely he felt it in every nerve, every breath.

"You feel that?" Arthur whispered hoarsely, hips rolling deep. "Feel how I'm right there—how your body catches on me every time?"

Merlin could barely breathe, eyes wet, head nodding helplessly against the pillows. "Y-yes—yes, I—fuck, I feel everything—"

Arthur rocked into him again, hard and slow, the head of him dragging over that sensitive rim as he bottomed out, and Merlin nearly sobbed from how good it was—how full, how unbearably deep.

"Look at you," Arthur murmured, voice thick with awe and filth. "Folding so sweet for me. Letting me fuck you open like this."

Merlin whimpered, his whole body strung tight again, the sensitivity building into something unbearable. And still Arthur didn't let up—just kept that brutal tenderness going, every drag of his cock a claim, every thrust a vow.

Merlin was gone—eyes wet and wide, mouth open around gasps he couldn't even form into words. Arthur held him tight, one hand braced beside his head, the other gripping his thigh, keeping him wide and helpless beneath him. Merlin couldn't move, couldn't breathe without feeling Arthur inside him, claiming him again and again.

"Arthur—" he choked, voice trembling. "I can't—I'm gonna—"

Arthur pressed their foreheads together, breath ragged. His body trembled with restraint he couldn't keep much longer.

"I know," he whispered. "Me too."

Then he kissed him, messy and hot, and the rhythm shifted—thrusts turning harder, faster, more ragged. Arthur groaned into Merlin's mouth, the grip on his thigh tightening as he started driving into him in earnest, no longer holding back.

Every snap of his hips slammed into Merlin with dizzying force, the slick sound of their bodies echoing through the room. Merlin's cock was pinned between them, untouched but still aching, leaking against his stomach with every jolt.

Arthur's voice was a growl in his ear now. "You're gonna come with me—want to feel you—want to feel you clench around me when I fill you up."

Merlin whimpered, lost, eyes glassy. "Yes—yes, please, I'm—I'm so close—"

Arthur reached between them, wrapping his hand around Merlin's cock at last, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Merlin's whole body jolted.

He shattered with a cry, his orgasm tearing through him like lightning, his back arching up off the bed as he came in hot, thick streaks across their stomachs, clenching tight around Arthur's cock as wave after wave rolled through him.

Arthur groaned loudly, broken. "Fuck—Merlin—"

He buried himself to the hilt and came with a shudder, his hips jerking in tiny, stuttering thrusts as he spilled inside him. The heat of it made Merlin moan again, body trembling. 

Arthur stayed pressed to him, panting, forehead resting against Merlin's, his arms shaking from the force of it all.

Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

Just the sound of their breath, the thump of their hearts pressed together, and the faint aftershocks still twitching through their bodies.

Then Arthur kissed him, soft now, and whispered against his lips:

"I love you."

Merlin's fingers curled into his hair, eyes wet, lips parted in something that could've been a smile or a prayer.

"Always," he whispered back.