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phantomjam: (Arthur - crimson)
Title: The Comedown
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Word count: 880
Warnings: PWP
Spoilers: None
Summary: Quick and dirty post-battle adrenaline sex with no other redeeming features whatsoever.
A/N: Quick comment fic for [livejournal.com profile] credulesque that ended up a little too long for a comment.


Merlin shoves Arthur back against the wall the moment they're inside, magic and adrenaline firing in his blood and coursing like molten want down his spine. His mind is still dizzy with the grind of splitting earth and breaking bones, the shrilling clash of swords and the bone-deep detonation of thunder; he can still feel the heady thrill of the air itself coming apart under the bursting floodgate of his power, swelling and snapping and burning up the breath in his lungs, and now there’s Arthur under his hands, cold metal and fresh sweat and a frenzied pulse that he can feel jumping in Arthur’s throat as he sets his teeth to it.

Arthur swears as his back hits the stone and he twists a hand in Merlin’s hair to pull his head up; Merlin catches a flare of dark eyes, brutal and blown, flushed cheeks and drying blood before Arthur yanks him forward into a messy clash of tongues and teeth. Their foreheads knock together and their noses bump and it’s rough and clumsy and violent and not nearly enough for what Merlin craves; he surges against Arthur, insatiable and insistent as the pull of the tide, sucking and licking frantically at his mouth and tearing at the straps of his armour, out of his mind with the need to have him naked right fucking now and so desperate he'd be ripping at the buckles with his teeth if he didn't think it would just slow him down.

All Merlin can focus on is the heat of their bodies and the thrumming race of blood, visceral and alive; his thoughts are flitting by at a thousand miles an hour in time with the hysterical pounding of his heart and he can’t catch hold of a single one. He wants Arthur, earthy and solid against him, wants to dig his fingers into Arthur’s skin, into the flex and coil of his muscle and feel him physical and primal and close.

'Come on, come on,' he hisses, scrabbling at Arthur's hauberk even though it's obvious he'll never get it off; it doesn't help that Arthur keeps distracting him, his mouth wet and sinful against Merlin's neck and under his jaw, biting at him impatiently and heedless of the marks he leaves behind. His hands shove forcefully under Merlin’s tunic and flatten against his skin, palming his ribs as though to press right through them, as though even that much contact isn’t enough. He pulls Merlin flush against him, fingers curling sharply round the angle of his hips and Merlin makes a noise low in his throat and gives up his fumbling attempts to strip Arthur, settling instead for hauling up the bottom of Arthur’s hauberk, worming his hand up under the padded undershirt and then down inside Arthur’s breeches to fist his cock.

Fuck,’ Arthur gasps with feeling and thrusts into Merlin’s grip, dragging Merlin in even closer until he’s riding the press of Arthur’s thigh between his legs, groaning at the friction and the frustration of so much cloth in between them.

‘I want,’ Merlin grits out, ‘I need-’

‘I know,’ Arthur says hoarsely in his ear, and then his broad hand wraps impossibly hot and tight around Merlin’s cock. The world narrows to Arthur’s calloused palm sliding against him and Arthur’s cock thick and rigid in his hand; everything else is just white noise beneath the taut pleasure stoking low in his stomach. He buries his face in Arthur’s neck, eyes closed against the lightning and fire flashing in memory at the back of his mind – the unsettled euphoria of victory and near-death and his magic unleashed for the first time in plain view; the wild freedom of acceptance.

Arthur’s arm hooks around his shoulders, a comforting weight holding him in and grounding him as they stroke and rut against each other with abandon, Arthur panting harsh and heavy in his ear. The reckless excitement and the nervous tension prickling in Merlin’s limbs and at his restless fingertips is swallowed by the furious upwelling of arousal, searing him through from the inside out until it feels as though his very bones should be cracking open with the force of his want. He mouths blindly at Arthur’s jaw and bites down, grinding up and in. Arthur bucks and comes with a muffled groan, spilling over Merlin’s wrist and stomach, staining his tunic where they rub together; Merlin comes a moment later with his face pressed into Arthur’s hair and Arthur’s blunt nails scraping at the back of his neck.

He sags into Arthur, shaky and unbalanced, plummeting down from his shattering high. His heartbeat slows to something more human as Arthur’s fingers card through the short hair at the nape of his neck and move to frame his face. Arthur presses soft kisses to the corner of Merlin’s mouth, sliding a tease of tongue across his lips and Merlin sighs into him and kisses back as his strength begins to return.

Arthur pulls back to look at him, eyes still dark and fraught though they’ve lost their edge. He trails his fingers through the sticky mess of their come on Merlin’s clothes and bares his teeth in feral approximation of a smile.

‘Not bad for you first real battle.’
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