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The knock on the door comes just as he’s done unbuckling his belt and taking off his boots. He takes the time to open the window a bit. He smells the salty marine air that comes wafting through the room with the balmy evening breeze, and grabs his pistol from the bedside table.
He opens the door a crack and sees Merlin there, grinning, all flashing teeth and dimples. The sound of deep laughter and high pitched giggles drift from the stairwell behind him, coming toward them. Arthur grabs Merlin by the coat and drags him into the room, closing the door fast behind him before they can be seen by whoever is coming up the stairs. It’s most probably one of their shipmates with some of the tavern girls, and they can’t afford being seen by any of them.
He pushes Merlin against the closed door and pins him there with his body, hands on his shoulders, and listens to the people—definitely Sigan and a couple of women—walk past their door, down the corridor. He waits until he hears a door close and it’s silence again.
Merlin clears his throat and Arthur pulls back a little to look at him. Merlin eyes the pistol still in Arthur’s hand against his shoulder, barrel against Merlin’s jaw, and raises an eyebrow.
“Planning on shooting me, Penn?" he says, then smirks. “Again.”
Arthur narrows his eyes at him, but doesn’t move away, in fact he flattens himself against Merlin’s chest even more—all the buckles and buttons on his coat dig into his skin through his thin shirt. Merlin smells of rum, woodsmoke, and the salty-tangy freshness that only belongs to the sea.
“That was an accident, Emrys.”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh please, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never misfired your gun. Or missed a target.”
Arthur smiles at him. “Well aren’t you lucky you were the exception.”
Merlin only snorts. He lowers his eyes, peers at Arthur through his lashes, and smiles his crooked-dimpled smile—the one that simultaneously lands him in trouble and charms the pants and skirts off everybody who sees it, including Arthur. Unfortunately.
Slowly, very slowly, Merlin then licks the side of Arthur’s pistol, before closing his lips against it, almost like a kiss, and dragging them over the metal—shiny and wet and red and damn him—until he reaches Arthur’s hand and bites lightly on the inside of his wrist, kissing the skin softly afterwards.
“Yeah,” he whispers, pulling back, “lucky.”
Arthur doesn’t know if he wants to laugh at him, strangle him, or roughly throw him on the bed and fuck him senseless, because fuck that was both ridiculous and over the top, and unfairly pretty fucking hot.
Instead he just pushes the barrel of his gun under Merlin’s chin until the back of his head hits the door, and grins.
“Think I’d miss now?” he says.
Merlin just raises his eyebrow at him again, but Arthur can see the corner of his mouth twitching and his eyes creasing at the corners. Arthur bites the inside of his cheek.
“Would you beg?” he continues, voice low and as husky as he can make it, slipping his leg between Merlin’s. “Would the fearless Mr. Emrys beg for his life?”
Merlin rolls his hips and Arthur can feel how hard he is against his thigh. Merlin licks his lips and fixes his gaze on Arthur.
“Is that what you want? Me begging you?”
Merlin drags one of his hands under Arthur’s shirt along his side, until the rough edge of his calloused thumb catches his left nipple. Arthur tries to catch the small moan that escapes his chest, can’t quite manage it. Merlin smirks.
“Is that what you dream about when I’m not there?” His voice is both heavy and soft in the warm space between them. “When you’re in your bunk, or on the deck late at night, is that what you imagine when you wank? How I would squirm under you and beg you, beg you for more?”
Merlin’s words make Arthur’s skin prickle and he pushes harder with his leg against Merlin’s groin. He smiles in satisfaction when Merlin’s breath hitches and his gaze darkens.
Merlin grabs the barrel of the gun and pulls it aside in one smooth movement before crashing his lips on Arthur’s and biting harshly on his lower lip.
“Make me,” he says, low and daring.
Arthur growls and wrenches his gun away before putting it on the dresser by the door. He grabs the front of Merlin’s coat and brings their lips together once more.
It’s rough and fast and hungry. Merlin pushes his tongue in Arthur’s mouth without any of the teasing he usually likes to indulge in, and Arthur just bites on it slightly before sucking on it, relishing the whimper that escapes Merlin’s throat.
“Is that a challenge, Emrys?” he says against Merlin’s lips, then drags his tongue along his jaw, loving the rough scraping of his stubble, before licking the shell of his ear and blowing hotly against it. “‘Cause, I’ll make you beg alright.”
Merlin’s hands grab at his skin and shirt and his hips move harshly against Arthur's thigh. He bites at Arthur’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and Arthur groans.
Merlin pulls back and leans once more against the door, head thrown back, chest heaving. “Well,” he says opening his arms, “what are you waiting for? Or are you all talk and no action?”
Then Merlin smiles, his cheekbones sharp and cutting in the glow of the oil lamps, his eyes crinkling, and Arthur can’t help the swell in his chest, huge and almost choking, wanting and needing. It rolls through his body like a storm.
He grabs at Merlin, all but tearing his clothes off, throwing his coat behind him then attacking his belt buckles and letting his pistol and cutlass fall noisily on the floor. All the while Merlin just laughs—the bastard—and digs his fingers in Arthur’s hair, bites gently at his cheeks, at his collarbone and just not helping at all.
“Get these off,” Arthur says, kicking lightly at Merlin’s boots with his bare toes to make his point.
He pulls himself away, and takes a few steps back, taking his own shirt off, then his breeches, until he is all naked and hard, fingers shaking.
Merlin bends down slowly, very deliberately taking his sweet damn time because he’s a first rate arsehole of a tease, and takes off one boot, then the other, before glancing up at Arthur and smirking.
Arthur is going to kill him.
Instead he takes a deep breath, refusing to fall for Merlin’s bait. He just levels him with the most condescending look he can come up with at the moment before licking his own hand, never looking away from Merlin’s eyes, and grabbing his cock, pulling on it a few times, biting his lip.
Merlin's eyes widen, and Arthurs grins. That’s right, two can play that game.
“Fuck it,” Merlin says, and the rest of his clothes are off in a flash and he’s jumping on the bed, all long limbs, whipcord muscles and smooth white skin.
He stretches on his back, hands behind his head and looks at Arthur, spreading his legs wider. The glow of the light makes soft shadows dance across his skin. He looks younger and more fragile, even with the scars on his chest, the stubble on his jaw, and the very much not innocent way he is showing off his body.
“Come on, Arthur,” he says. “ Make me beg.” Clearly not innocent at all.
Arthur just beams at him and crawls up the bed until he has his body slotted along Merlin’s, lips hovering over his. He moves his hips and drags his cock in the hollow of Merlin’s hip. Merlin meets his thrusts, dragging his own cock over Arthur’s stomach, and the friction is dry and warm and perfect. Arthur could be happy just doing this until the chafing gets too much and they both come.
But Arthur doesn’t indulge. He never backs down from a challenge, especially not when it’s issued by a cocky bastard of a Welshman, whose eyes are too blue, lips too full, and whose smiles make Arthur stupid and reckless. It’s seriously probably going to get him killed one day. And that won’t do at all.
Merlin scratches Arthur’s skin over his ribs, digging his nails in, and Arthur licks under his jaw, breathing hot and heavy into the crook of Merlin’s neck.
“Still not—fuck—still not begging,” Merlin says between gasps, hips hitching, fingers fluttering rapidly on Arthur’s back.
Arthur laughs and bites Merlin’s earlobe. “Oh, we’re just getting started, Emrys.”
He lifts himself up on his knees and grabs Merlin’s hips, turning him over on his stomach. Merlin goes along with only a small groan of frustration. Arthur pulls on his hips some more until Merlin understands and gets on his hands and knees, smiling cheekily over his shoulder at Arthur.
“Oh I see how it is,” he says.
“Shut up, Merlin, you have no idea.” Arthur takes Merlin’s wrists, and puts Merlin’s hands on the top of the bed’s wooden headboard. “Leave them there.”
“Bossy.” Merlin wriggles his butt a bit. “What’s gonna happen if I don’t comply? Are you going to punish me?”
Arthur snorts. “No. That’s exactly what you want, you slag.”
“No fair,” Merlin pouts. He fucking pouts and damn him, it’s so sexy and adorable at the same time, Arthur has to grab the base of his cock for a few seconds, too close to coming all over Merlin’s back before the fun has even begun. He has a point to make before that happens, damnit.
He does slap Merlin’s butt once just to erase that pout. Merlin’s look of surprise is quickly replaced by a slack-jawed moan, and isn’t that interesting. Arthur laughs and kisses Merlin’s shoulder lightly, but Merlin only shoots him a glare.
Arthur drapes himself over Merlin’s back and slowly, carefully, starts licking and biting and kissing his way down his spine. He licks at Merlin’s scars—the short one over his right shoulder blade, the curved one that starts over his left hip to the middle of his arse cheek. He noses at the long ragged one over his right side and ribs, closing his eyes against the memories it brings—a stormy sea, grey and wild, the taste of salt and steel everywhere, rain slick on the decks, the deafening sound of canons, of men shouting, and Merlin, Merlin, on his back, bleeding, blood washed away by the water rushing overboard, the rain, the wetness of the world. Arthur bites harshly at the skin just to leave the trace of his teeth over the healed wound, just to see himself there, overriding it.
Merlin just moans, deep in his throat.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” he says between clenched teeth, body taut under Arthur’s hands.
“Takes one to know one,” Arthur sing-songs and kisses Merlin’s tailbone, before grabbing his—frankly absolutely perfectly round and pert—arse in his two hands. He parts the cheeks and slowly blows on the skin.
“Oh fuck,” Merlin says in a shaky exhale.
“Not tonight.” Arthur smiles against his skin and gives a quick, sure lick over Merlin’s hole.
Merlin’s body jerks. He arches his back in surprise, takes a shuddering breath, and pushes back against Arthur’s mouth. Arthur tightens his grip on him to keep him steady. He said he’d make Merlin beg and he intends to do so, because he’s just the kind of man who follows through thank you very much.
He starts licking softly at Merlin’s hole, barely pushing against the skin, tracing the ridges with only the tip of his tongue, then blowing warm over the wetness. He continues down along Merlin’s crack to nose at his balls and lick behind them.
Merlin spreads his thighs some more, and Arthur can see between them that Merlin’s head is hanging low, his eyes closed, sees the way he fiercely bites at his lips and breathes through his nose to stop himself from being too loud.
Arthur knows those little hitches and gasps and low moans like he knows the way the sea changes colour, and which stars to follow at night, and to never, ever jump in front of a lunging man with a dagger in an idiotic attempt to save your shipmate—partner. Because, really, that’s just the most fucking insane thing to do and only leads to you bleeding all over the deck of a rocking ship caught in a battle with another ship caught in a storm.
Arthur sucks on Merlin’s balls and drags his tongue over them, listening carefully to the small whimpers that escapes Merlin’s lips, glad he isn’t begging just yet.
He thinks, as he drags his tongue back up, about how he likes Merlin’s sounds. Not for the first time he wishes he could hear them properly. They always have to be so quiet—on the ship, in the taverns, the seedy inns where the walls are paper thin—but he knows, can tell with absolute certitude, that Merlin is a shameless, greedy, little screamer, and he wants it. He dreams about it, wanks to it, almost wishes they would get caught so the Captain would just leave them on a bloody desert island somewhere in the middle of nowhere and he’d be free to fuck Merlin and make him scream until he loses his voice. He’s sure it’d be worth the starvation that’d follow.
Arthur spreads Merlin’s cheeks wider and spits on Merlin’s hole before rubbing it with his thumb, pushing against the skin but not quite getting in. Merlin makes a high pitched noise and pushes back, but Arthur doesn’t give him an inch. He dives right back in and starts licking at the skin, quick sharp jabs with the tip of his tongue, then more soothing, dragging the flat of it against it all, getting his chin and nose wet in the process and not caring for one second.
He loves the way Merlin tastes. Always has. He loves the way he trembles and shakes under his palms. He loves the way Merlin’s mouth gets even dirtier than usual when he’s this aroused, the swears and expletives gritted out through his teeth, mumbled into his skin. He loves that he’s the one doing this, to Merlin, to his body, making him whimper and groan as he once more licks at his hole, this time pushing a bit, pushing, until the muscles open up around his tongue and he can start fucking Merlin’s arse with it in earnest.
Merlin is sweating and Arthur can feel the effort it takes him to stay on his knees, to not constantly push back and fuck himself on Arthur’s tongue, to not beg.
Arthur pulls back and bites hard on Merlin's arse, roughly pushing a finger inside Merlin at the same time. Merlin arches his back and groans, a bit loud, deep inside his chest and throat and Arthur has never heard anything like it.
Merlin looks over his shoulder, and meets Arthur’s eyes with a dark, heavy gaze. Arthur moves his finger inside of him, crooking it, just to see his eyelids flutter and his eyes roll back a bit. Merlin looks at him and in a rough, broken voice says:
“Arthur—fuck—Arthur, please.”
For a quick moment Arthur almost teases him, but he doesn’t care anymore, because Merlin is wrecked and beautiful, his hair plastered to his forehead, lips red and bitten and Arthur is so fucking hard, that he just dives back in, adding his tongue to his finger and opening Merlin up for him.
He alternates between forcing his tongue in beside his finger, pumping fast and steady into Merlin—occasionally pushing against that sweet spot inside of him that makes him arch his back and his hips hitch—and licking at the outside of it, adding more spit, until he can push another finger in.
Merlin hisses at the burn, but greedily pushes back to take them all in. Arthur scissors his fingers stretching Merlin slowly, occasionally licking at his hole, before once more dragging his tongue back to his balls, heavy and low.
Merlin is shaking so much at this point Arthur is scared he’s just going to collapse. He redoubles his efforts and listens to Merlin’s harshly whispered stream of profanities. Arthur really wants, needs, to touch his cock. He’s so hard it hurts. But he knows he would come almost right away and there’s no way that’s happening before he has truly taken Merlin apart and put him back together again.
Arthur continues to finger Merlin’s arse, and, because he’d like to see what would happen, slaps Merlin’s right arsecheek, a stinging-sharp sound of skin on skin, that has Merlin crying out and pushing back against Arthur's fingers, catching himself quickly and biting at his lip to quiet himself. He takes one of his hands off the headboard to take his cock, but Arthur is faster and pulls his fingers out of Merlin’s arse to grab at his hand.
“I said, don’t move them,” he says, trying to be stern, but his own voice is wrecked even to his own ears.
Merlin puts his hand back on the headboard, but shoots Arthur a glare—a bit wild and unfocused, and definitely breathtaking.
“Then fucking do something, you—fuck—you son of a fucking whore, or I swear...I fucking swear, I’ll—”
Arthur doesn’t let him finish and instead pushes back his fingers into him, breathes and licks over his hole until it’s all wet again. Then he takes his fingers out and grabs both of Merlin’s cheeks, massaging them in his palms, digging his fingertips in until he’s sure that Merlin can feel them all and spread him open more. He buries his face between them and pushes his tongue in as far as it will go.
“Jesus—yes!” Merlin says, trying to whisper. “Fuck Arthur, fuck, don’t stop...don’t—”
Arthur twists his tongue around inside Merlin, breathing through his nose. His jaw aches, but he doesn’t care, doesn’t want to stop for anything.
He takes one of his hands off Merlin’s arse and reaches around him to grab his cock. He can hear Merlin’s scream at that, probably muffled in the crook of his arm, and god even like that it’s the best thing he has ever heard.
He jerks on Merlin’s cock five or six times before he comes with a sharp jerk of his hips. Arthur buries his tongue as far as he can in his arse while Merlin rides out his orgasm, shaking over him. There’s spit all over his face and running down his chin, Merlin’s come is all over his hand, he’s sweaty and still so fucking painfully hard, and it’s glorious
Merlin lets go of the headboard and collapses onto the bed, breathing erratic and loud in the room. He turns his head toward Arthur and his eyes widen a bit.
“Fuck,” he says, almost awed. “Bloody hell, Arthur, look at you, you—fuck.”
Arthur grabs his cock—finally—and pulls on it harshly with a deep moan of his own, eyes fixed on Merlin.
Merlin turns on his back, movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
“That’s it,” he whispers, “that’s it Arthur, come on, come for me... you fucking beautiful thing, you just...”
And it’s not really the words that do it, or the way Merlin looks, all loose and perfect in his afterglow, but something in his eyes—something deep and beloved and devoted—that sends him over the edge.
He falls forward and catches himself with one hand beside Merlin’s body, coming all over it, his orgasm rolling through him in powerful, almost overwhelming waves.
He thinks he loses it for a moment because when he comes back to himself his head is on Merlin’s chest and Merlin’s fingers are stroking and scratching lightly in his hair, making soothing sounds though his bruised lips. Arthur can’t stop the small whimpering sounds coming from his throat, muffled into Merlin’s skin, and it would be embarrassing if he hadn’t just had the best fucking orgasm of his life. So really, he thinks he’s earned it.
Arthur doesn’t say anything, just buries his nose into Merlin’s chest and takes deep, slow breath until his heartbeat has slowed down and he doesn’t hear the rushing of his own blood in his ears, but only Merlin’s own heartbeat. He falls asleep.
When he wakes up, the sun is rising over the horizon, slowly bathing the room in golden light. Arthur hears the sounds of the harbour outside—the slapping of the waves on the moored ships, the bells, the flags snapping in the wind, the fishermen, the sailors and, yes, the pirates, as they go about their business. The cries of the seagulls pierce the air, and the wooden docks creak. The room smells like sea brine and fish.
Eventually, both Arthur and Merlin will have to get up and join their own crew, their Captain, and sail away toward that horizon.
Arthur would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it when they came on land, the swerving and thrashing of the sea. Firm ground is foreign and strange under his feet.
Arthur tightens his hold on the sleeping body in his arms. Merlin only shifts and mumbles against his chest before snoring lightly some more. Arthur smiles and kisses the top of his head lightly.
Soon, he thinks, soon it will be time to tell Merlin everything. To tell him about a man named Uther Pendragon, governor of Port Royal, and his son who died at sea coming from England. To tell him about all the money the governor has. To tell him about the map secreted away in their Captain’s cabin. To tell him about the broken ship in Arthur’s name that just needs repairs and a crew and a really good quartermaster that the Captain could trust. To tell him that soon, if Merlin wants it, they could be free.
But not now. Now he will slowly wake Merlin up, chasing away the night from his skin.
Arthur bends his head and kisses and sucks at one nipple until he feels fingers in his hair and looks up to see Merlin smiling down at him, still half asleep. Happiness tugs at the lines of his face and Arthur knows it’s mirrored on his own.
Arthur leaves a trail of soft kisses down Merlin’s chest before pressing his cheek against Merlin’s soft and warm stomach, letting the rise and fall of it comfort him. He mouths and licks at Merlin’s soft cock, then takes it into his mouth.
Merlin raises his hips a little and gasps, fingers tangling in Arthur’s hair, and Arthur can feel him harden against his tongue.
He looks up when Merlin comes, salty-sweet in his mouth, and Merlin’s eyes are blue and gold in the light of the rising sun.