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There are no words between them. Anything that can be said is lost in the crash of thunder, the drum of rain, the beat of Arthur’s heart.
Merlin has been gone too long. Arthur aches to touch and taste him again. He pushes them down onto his royal red cloak with the golden Pendragon crest and pulls at their clothing until there’s nothing left between them except skin.
The rain beats down mercilessly. The leaves in the forest shake with the heavy weight of water, but Arthur feels no chill with Merlin against him. Merlin smiles up at him, the longing in his eyes clear. His hair is wet and dark, plastered to his face with the rain. Arthur brushes it away from his eyes with gentle fingers.
A flash of lightning splits the sky and Merlin flinches the slightest bit, something troubled in his eyes. In the time it takes between the lightning to strike and the thunder to rumble, Arthur is kissing him. Merlin shifts underneath him and hooks his arms around Arthur’s shoulders to bring him closer. Arthur complies. When they part for breath, the worry lines etched in Merlin’s face have faded. He gazes at Arthur, eyes half-lidded, and smiles some more.
Arthur bends his head to kiss the raindrops from Merlin’s eyelashes. He presses his cold nose against Merlin’s cheek and then moves lower to his neck. As he grazes his teeth against Merlin’s pulse point, Merlin gasps and tilts his chin up. Arthur takes advantage, mouthing over his collarbone and sliding his tongue over his throat. He moves lower still and licks the beads of water off his chest and the planes of his stomach. He closes his mouth over the rivulets of rainwater running down Merlin’s body, and drinks the water from his skin.
Merlin groans softly and rolls them over. As he rolls, the wet soil sends up a thick, earthy cloud of scent that Arthur will remember for years to come. The cloak, damp with dew and rain, sticks to Merlin’s back. With nimble hands, Merlin tugs at what he can reach of the rest of cloak to cover them, cocooning them in red and gold. Arthur reaches out to trail his fingers over Merlin’s body, noting the bruises and scrapes that weren’t there last. Arthur feels Merlin do the same, his eyes searching for any new scars or marks that Arthur acquired in his absence.
The rain continues to fall, covering the forest in a white mist. Merlin shivers from the cold and settles down comfortably on Arthur’s chest. The cloak, now wet through and heavy with water, presses down on them. Arthur leans back and savours the weight and feeling of Merlin on him, skin against skin. He lifts a hand to stroke Merlin’s back, neck to tailbone, his fingertips feeling for every bump along Merlin’s spine. He remembers this, misses this, wants this: the feel of Merlin with him.
Pulling him into another kiss and tasting nothing but rain, Arthur closes his eyes and drowns himself in Merlin.