Actually this isn't any of the things I said I would write, but I found it lying around half-finished on my hard drive gathering dust and I thought 'why not - I can actually finish this tonight and feel all productive and crap', so here we are.

Title: Wounded In The Line Of Duty
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: Arthur returns from months away at war and Merlin is very pleased to see him, if you know what I mean - shameless PWP is utterly shameless.
A/N: Originally this was going to be for the kink meme for the bruises prompt, but then it kind of grew and mutated on me, so it ended up here instead.

Wounded In The Line Of Duty

 

Merlin is in Arthur’s chambers, fussing uselessly with sheets already clean and straightened, freshly changed for the week even though Arthur hasn’t been around to use them, when a clattering sound in the doorway makes him start. Arthur is leaning there, still in full armour, looking pale and haggard and drawn. His lips pull into a tired smile.

‘Miss me?’ he drawls, insufferable as always, and Merlin is torn between wanting to punch him and wanting to kiss him senseless.

‘Of course not – I was enjoying the peace and quiet,’ he says instead, but he can see from the way the skin crinkles around Arthur’s eyes that he understands; of course Merlin has missed him, though he’ll be damned if he’ll ever let Arthur hear him say it aloud – the smug bastard would be unbearable for weeks – but Arthur’s been away at war for a long time now, and it’s been hard.

The war against Carlan and his followers has been one barely worthy of the name – more a skirmish than anything else, a jumped-up lord and his motley band of rangy opportunists and cheap mercenaries trying to carve out an impromptu kingdom for themselves on Camelot’s borders. No one knows for certain what stupidity possessed them, though whispers of ‘magic’ and ‘enchantment’ are rife in the halls; Uther’s demeanour has been growing blacker with each passing day. Everyone agreed that the uprising didn’t stand a chance against the knights of Camelot, especially not with the golden Prince Arthur at their head in all his martial glory, but if anything it just made Merlin even more worried – Arthur is a target and he’s not exactly good at staying out of danger at the best of times.

It’s been over four months since Merlin stood high on the white walls of Camelot and watched Arthur ride out, the crisp morning light blinding on the armour that Merlin had spent the whole night pretending to polish while whispering hushed words thick with power into the cool metal, layering it with all the protective spells he could find, and a few he fashioned himself. Four months and it feels like he hasn’t slept for a moment, not without Arthur’s body close and warm against his own; by now he’s running on nervous energy and not much else. Merlin’s lost track of the number of times Gaius has scolded him for his absent-minded clumsiness and sent him away with a weary sigh and a reassuring pat to ‘get some rest, and let the rest of us actually manage some work’ – each time he went straight to the walls without fail, eyes always on the horizon, searching for the telltale flare of sunlight on armour.

Merlin thinks it rather unfair that the day Arthur finally makes his triumphant return is the one day Merlin isn’t watching for him, but now that Arthur’s here all he can focus on is the way Arthur fills the space, broad-shouldered and solid and alive, and the way he looks at Merlin, eyes bright despite his exhaustion. 

‘Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, helping me with this?’ Arthur asks, gesturing towards himself, armour creaking slightly with the movement.

‘Typical,’ Merlin replies, straining to keep his voice light, ‘you haven’t been back for five minutes and you’re already making demands.’

‘Looks likes your attitude hasn’t miraculously improved in my absence,’ Arthur says wryly, though his jibe lacks the usual teasing barb, his tone too soft around the edges. He moves awkwardly into the room, limping slightly, face tight with pain.

‘Just sore,’ he explains, watching Merlin’s brows draw down in consternation. ‘Four months of non-stop fighting and riding in the mud – not exactly a life of princely luxury.’

‘I’m sure,’ Merlin huffs as he begins stripping Arthur down, unbuckling each piece of his armour and removing it with care. When Arthur raises his arms to let Merlin lift off his mail hauberk his jaw clenches visibly and he grits his teeth; Merlin frowns and moves to take off Arthur’s shirt as well.

‘I’m fine,’ Arthur protests, swatting at Merlin’s hands.

‘Don’t be an idiot.’

‘I’m not, I’m fine! Fetch me some water, I’m thirsty,’ Arthur snaps, trying pathetically to change the subject. Merlin’s eyes narrow.

‘Not a chance. That shirt is coming off.’ Over time Merlin’s gotten very good at undressing Arthur, and now he puts those skills to good use, whipping the offending item up and over Arthur’s head before he can do much about it, tangling briefly with his arms before Arthur gives in and shrugs out of it.

Merlin sucks in a breath at the map of black and blue flowering across Arthur’s skin, painted over his sides and scattered across his chest, highlighting the pink and red of a few fresh scars. Unthinking Merlin reaches out to trace the alien markings marring the familiar contours of Arthur’s body; he presses just a little too hard, wanting to feel Arthur’s solidity beneath his hands, and Arthur hisses. Merlin stops, but doesn’t move his hands.

‘You should see Gaius about this,’ he says. ‘He can give you something for the pain.’

 ‘Don’t be such a baby; I’ve had worse in training.’

Merlin raises an eyebrow, holds Arthur’s gaze and digs his fingers in again, harder this time. Arthur closes his eyes and bites his lip but doesn’t make a sound.

‘See?’ he says. ‘I can barely even feel it.’

It’s a rather appalling lie – Arthur’s whole body has tensed in an automatic wince and his breathing is speeding up; Merlin can feel the beat of his heart underneath his palms, strong and fast and hard, and he’s in no mood for Arthur’s stubbornness right now.

’Really?’ he asks, voice rich with scepticism. ‘I suppose you can’t feel this either?’ He trails one hand down over Arthur’s ribs, thumb pressing down roughly, nails scratching slightly over the bruised skin.

‘How about this?’ Merlin’s hand skims lower, slipping down over Arthur’s hips and under the material of his breeches, applying steady pressure, scraping across his abdomen.

Arthur lets out an unsteady breath. ‘You’re not playing fair,’ he says. Merlin just smirks in response, moves his hand lower still.

‘If you’d just admit it I’d put you out of your misery, but if you insist on being so pig-headed...’ he trails off, letting the silence swell for a moment before stepping abruptly back, pulling his hand out of Arthur’s breeches. Arthur makes a frustrated noise and follows, moving lightning-quick to grab Merlin’s hand in a bruising grip; he jerks him close against his body.

‘Tease,’ he murmurs. He twists Merlin’s arm, forcing it up behind his back, and spins him round, grasping his shoulder with his free hand to keep him close, back tight against Arthur’s chest. Arthur lowers his head, lips brushing Merlin’s neck, nose tickling against the line of his jaw. ‘Let’s see how you like it when the tables are turned,’ he says, voice, pitched low in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin tips his head back, eyes closed, grinning at the familiar position, remembering the day they first met. ‘Going to teach me a lesson?’ he goads.

Arthur snorts against his skin and runs his tongue over the curve of Merlin’s ear. ‘Well, I hear you’re a fast learner; haven’t seen it myself.

Merlin opens his mouth to retort but is cut off as Arthur shoves him forward without warning, hooking one foot around his ankle, tripping him up and tumbling him onto the bed. Merlin glances back up over his shoulder just as Arthur joins him, hands sliding up under Merlin’s shirt and along the curve of his spine, lingering, before practically ripping the shirt up over his head. Arthur tosses it thoughtlessly aside and Merlin turns over, lifting his hips obligingly as Arthur strips him.

Merlin lies back, skin pale against the crimson bedspread, and drinks in the sight of Arthur, finally returned, muscles smooth and strong as ever beneath the mottled bruising. He sits up a little as Arthur straddles him, cupping Arthur’s jaw as he leans in for a deep, fierce kiss, relishing the feeling of Arthur’s touch against his naked body.

‘So what about this lesson of yours, then? I’m waiting,’ he whispers playfully against Arthur’s lips.

‘Since you asked so nicely,’ Arthur says, and bites Merlin’s shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark. Merlin gasps and tangles a hand in the soft strands of Arthur’s hair, licking his lips as Arthur looks up, eyes glinting darkly, exhaustion and all his aches and pains long forgotten. He settles his weight back against Merlin’s thighs and Merlin bucks impatiently, arching and rubbing his cock against Arthur, moaning at the roughness of Arthur’s breeches against his sensitive skin.

‘Now now, none of that,’ Arthur murmurs, pinning Merlin’s hips to the bed one-handed and with casual strength. ‘This is meant to be a punishment, remember?’

‘I don’t see much punishing going on; not very good at this disciplining lark are you?’ Merlin taunts.

 ‘Obviously not, or I’d never have let you end up nearly so insolent.’

Merlin hums in agreement, looking coyly up at Arthur through his lashes even as he flexes his lithe body provocatively against Arthur’s grip, hands running up and down Arthur’s arms in teasing caresses. Arthur leans down, bracing his free hand on the mattress next to Merlin’s head, holding himself barely an inch above Merlin’s body. He stops there, staring Merlin down, breathing the same air, chests almost touching with each breath. Anticipation fires in Merlin’s blood as the moment stretches and he struggles to keep from squirming, fights to regulate his breathing. Arthur cocks his head, a self-satisfied grin curling across his face.

‘I guess I’ll just have to make sure I discipline you properly now’ he purrs, and before Merlin’s brain has entirely recovered from the effect of Arthur’s low, heated voice he moved down to flick his tongue across Merlin’s nipple, pausing for Merlin’s shudder before biting down hard. Merlin cries out, clutching convulsively at Arthur’s shoulders as the sharp spike of pain is soothed away by the gentle pressure of Arthur’s tongue. Merlin tips his head back, eyes closed in surrender as Arthur mouths across his chest and down his sternum, over his ribs and stomach; his breath hitches with each nip of teeth and dig of fingers as Arthur maps out his body, mouth and hands marking bruises into his skin to mirror his own.

Merlin opens his eyes when Arthur stops, propped up on one elbow just above the leaking head of Merlin’s cock, stroking apparently idle circles on his hip and making no move to continue. Merlin can feel Arthur’s breath whispering over him and he twitches helplessly, shifts his hips until Arthur presses them down again.

‘Come on,’ Merlin demands, strung tight with arousal. Arthur smirks back at him, enjoying this far too much.

‘Master, servant,’ he reminds him, pointing first to himself and then to Merlin.

‘Arthur,’ Merlin groans in frustration, throwing his head back against the sheets. Arthur chuckles and pushes himself up to straddle Merlin again, dragging the nail of his thumb down the centre of Merlin’s chest to wring needy sighs from his mouth.

Biting his lip Merlin changes tack; watching from under lidded eyes he lifts a thigh to press it roughly between Arthur’s legs. ‘Are you sure you can hold back for much longer?’ he asks huskily, rubbing his thigh against the hardness of Arthur’s erection through his clothes, warmed by a feeling of intense satisfaction at the way Arthur sucks in a breath at the movement. Merlin tilts his head, presses harder. ‘That must be uncomfortable,’ he murmurs, ‘don’t you want some relief? Don’t you want to touch me, spread me, make me scream for you? Don’t you want to just hold me down and take me?’

‘Do you ever shut up?’ Arthur gasps, hips bucking unintentionally; Merlin tastes victory.

‘Make me.’ He grins, wide and wicked, and twists his fingers savagely into a yellowing bruise high on Arthur’s abdomen. Arthur groans, finally fisting Merlin’s cock in retaliation and squeezing, leaning down to swallow Merlin’s moans in a brutal kiss.

He pulls back to mouth at Merlin’s throat, sucking his mark into the soft skin. Merlin pants, threads his fingers through Arthur’s hair and yanks his head up. There’s another large bruise spread across Arthur’s collarbone; Merlin pulls him close and sinks his teeth into the tender flesh, and Arthur bites off a yelp, takes him by the neck and shoves him down fiercely. Merlin’s breath comes fast and shallow as he lies there looking up at Arthur, eyes wide and dark and expectant. Arthur pauses for a moment, aroused beyond belief by Merlin’s obvious excitement. He tightens his grip on Merlin’s throat, pressing just enough to make breathing uncomfortable, show Merlin who’s in control.

 ‘Want to play rough, do you?’ he growls, grinding his erection down against Merlin’s rigid cock.

Merlin makes a strangled noise and arches up helplessly against him, pretends to fight. He claws at Arthur’s back until Arthur releases his neck, grabs his wrists and forces them above his head. Arthur keeps Merlin’s wrists pinned tight with one hand, thumb hovering over his racing pulse-point, and fumbles at his breeches with the other, unlacing them clumsily and shoving them down his hips to free his cock before he grasps Merlin’s hips, fingers digging into pale flesh; he thrusts against him, moaning at the slide of hot naked flesh on flesh. Merlin pushes up into each thrust, hissing fervent profanities until Arthur catches mouth with his own, biting and sucking at his lower lip. He moves his hand from Merlin’s hip to wrap around their cocks, stroking as they move together. Merlin can feel all the pent-up loneliness and frustration of months slipping away, swallowed up in the fast-building pleasure and heat of Arthur’s touch – calloused palm and smooth hardness – of his weight pinning him down, of his mouth moving on Merlin’s lip, his jaw, his throat, panting into the curve of his shoulder.

‘I thought about you,’ Arthur groans hoarsely into his ear, ‘all the time; in the morning before we rode out; at night, alone in my tent. Gods, I wanted you,’ he growls, and Merlin loses all grip on his sanity as the words go straight to his cock and his whole body tightens, tenses and he comes, moaning Arthur’s name and spilling across his stomach and Arthur’s hand.

When he comes back to himself a few seconds later, loose and wrung out, Arthur has stilled above him, though the tense line of his clenched jaw and his gritted teeth show what an effort it is for him not to keep thrusting into climax. Instead he adjusts his hold on Merlin’s wrists, keeping it firm, and coats the fingers of his other hand with Merlin’s semen. He reaches back and down to press one finger against Merlin’s entrance. Merlin licks his lips, meets his eyes and spreads for him, relaxing the instinctual tightening of his muscles, fighting down a whimper as Arthur slips first one then two fingers inside him, stretching and stroking; he adds a third and crooks his fingers until he hits the right spot and Merlin bites down on a yell, pushing back against him, already half-hard again.

Arthur removes his fingers, smiling at Merlin’s disappointed huff, and smears his hand across the come on Merlin’s stomach, slicks it over his cock. Merlin watches him, undisguised hunger in his eyes. He drags in a breath as Arthur’s cock nudges against him and hooks a leg over Arthur’s hip. They both know that it’s been a long time and that this will hurt, but Merlin isn’t deterred in the least; he cants his hips and urges Arthur on, voice low and filthy in his ear. Arthur pushes in slowly and Merlin groans long and loud at the burn and the feel of Arthur inside him, filling him, stretching him. Arthur gives him a moment to breathe and adjust, and the two of them pause there, bodies locked together as they haven’t been in too long, panting almost in sync. They look at each other, flushed and desperate.

‘Okay,’ Merlin whispers, ‘okay, move.’

Arthur does, pulling out and thrusting in, one smooth movement, pushing deep. Merlin moans, fully hard now, and uses his leg over Arthur’s hips as leverage, pulling himself up and rolling his hips back to meet each thrust as Arthur drives into him again and again. This is what he needs, Arthur pressing down heavy on top of him and inside him, searing heat and spiking pleasure, real and solid. He lets himself go, takes everything Arthur will give him and rides it out with reckless abandon.

‘Yes,’ he moans, ‘yes, Arthur, please, harder!’

Arthur swears and kisses him, biting at his lip until it bleeds, licking away the iron tang. The fingers of his free hand dig into Merlin’s ass, lifting him up, holding him close as he pistons into him, makes him feel it. Merlin can’t stop the noises spilling from his mouth, moans and pleas and filthy prayers; the burn and frantic ecstasy of Arthur inside him works his thoughts loose and sends them spiralling away until all he can do is feel and beg, beg as the tight heat in him is stoked higher and higher. He arches his back and Arthur finds that perfect angle, and his next thrust drives the breath from Merlin’s lungs, makes him toss his head back as a groan breaks raggedly from his throat and his climax rips through him, whole body shuddering and clenching.

Arthur gasps and buries his face against Merlin’s neck. He loses his rhythm, slamming into Merlin as hard and fast as he can, coming apart as he chases him over the edge. When Arthur comes he screws his eyes shut and squeezes Merlin’s wrists so hard the bones grate; he leaves a perfect ring of fingerprints pressed dark into his soft skin.

Afterwards, as they lie panting on the bed, sticky and sated, he takes Merlin’s hands and strokes them, tracing the bruises already forming.

‘Those will be hard to explain,’ Arthur murmurs, sounding rather pleased with himself.

Merlin snorts and stretches lazily, arching the whole length of his body against the sheets where he sprawls next to Arthur. ‘No problem – I’ll just say you’re a horrible person and you beat me.’

Arthur smirks to himself. ‘Well, you asked for it; begged if I recall.’

 ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Merlin says nonchalantly. ‘You must have been caught up in the moment – hallucinating, maybe.’

Arthur grins, turns on his side to face him. ‘Is that so?’ He leans in, eyes dancing, running a teasing finger up Merlin’s chest. ‘Tell me the truth – did you miss me? It’s alright if you did – I am irresistible.’

Merlin’s response is a pillow in the face; he rolls his eyes and turns his back on Arthur to hide his smile. Arthur’s laugh is rich and warm as he wraps an arm around Merlin and shifts up against his back.

‘You’re such an idiot,’ Merlin tells him.

‘I know, it’s why you love me,’ Arthur says, and Merlin doesn’t have a response to that. The bruises that Arthur has put on his body are a pleasant ache and he knows that by tomorrow they will be stark against his skin. They will be a match to Arthur’s – one set won in war and one set won in love. He will wear them with pride beneath his clothes, a badge and a promise, and he will know that this is where he belongs.