Archive of Our Own ^beta

Merlin hooks his fingers against the collar of Arthur’s dress shirt, his back hitting the plush quilt under him as he pulls Arthur down with him.

Unfortunately, causing them to bump heads.

A hiss and a loud, “Ow!” comes out.

Arthur tilts his head to the side and starts kissing down from Merlin’s chin to his throat. He mumbles against his skin, “I swear, you’re clumsiness is going to get me killed one day.”

Merlin’s chuckle quickly turns into a gasp as Arthur starts nibbling on that spot on his neck that always drives him mad. Shakily he says, “And… you say, I talk too much.” He moves one hand into Arthur’s hair. Gently scratching at his scalp until the blond groans and thrusts his hips against Merlin’s leg.

Arthur growls out, “clothes,” and then they are both frantically pulling off their shirts and trousers. Both desperate to feel the other’s skin on their own.

Sitting up in only his pants, Merlin looks up, and his breath nearly catches in his throat. Even after two months, he still can’t get over how good Arthur looks shirtless. His firm pecs and ridiculous abs. His natural tan from the summer starting to fade to an almost peachy complexion. Not to forget his muscular arms and thighs.

Fuck those thighs! Merlin licks his lips as he stares at them. It’s still crazy to him that he can touch Arthur like this, even if it's only temporary.

Merlin is so busy drinking him in that it takes him a moment to realise he’s been caught staring again. Shit.

“Hmm, like what you see?” The cocky prat says, crawling on the bed over to him.

Merlin shrugs. “I’ve seen better.”

Arthur laughs, “Liar.” He then pushes Merlin back into the pillows and, well, after that, his mouth is a little too busy sucking Arthur’s tongue while he grinds their clothed cocks together to remember to respond back.

He watches Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head, listens to him gasp out his name and-

It had been Arthur’s idea. The whole friends with benefits arrangement.

Both recently singled, in a friend group almost entirely of couples, they had gotten stupidly drunk one night at Arthur’s flat, bemoaning their singleness when it happened.

“Ugh, the worse-worst?” Merlin says, scrunching up his face as he waves his beer around. “Worse part is, Daegal and I hadn’t, hadn’t had sex in months at the end! So, so-it’s been… fuck. Almost six months since I’ve had a good shag.”

He touches his jaw, rubbing to try to work out the numbness. It took a bit more effort than he would have liked to say that normally. Christ, maybe he should slow down a bit…

Arthur grunts, “Four for me.”

Merlin squints at him. He knows for a fact that isn’t true.

“Liar. Or are you forgetting about Mordred?” A month after Arthur and Vivian broke up, a group of them had gone to the hole in the wall that Gwaine loves. Arthur had left with Mordred, a bartender there who had always had a thing for the prat.

Arthur snorts. “We were snogging on his sofa when his flatmate came home and asked if he could watch.”

“No!”

“And Mordred said yes! I got the hell out of there,” Arthur drawls, his words mushing together in the end. At least he’s not the only one feeling all the alcohol they’ve drunk tonight.

“No way!”

“Why would I lie?”

“To one-up me?” Merlin says, the words sounding slurred even to his own ears.

Arthur laughs, and he shoves Merlin with his shoulder. “No one wants to win, that kind of compet-comp-that Merlin!”

Sighing, he leans his weight against Arthur’s shoulder. His nose is close enough to smell the blond's hair. It’s woodsy but not overpowering like most products. “You smell nice.”

He could hear Arthur thinking as he says,“...Yeah?”

Merlin closes his eyes and moves his head onto Arthur’s shoulder. “Yeah. Like trees- but not like, like too woodsy, you know?”

Arthur snorts. “Thanks, I guess.”

Eyes still closed, he can feel Arthur staring at him.

“What?”

Arthur stays silent, though. He’s silent so long that Merlin almost forgets he said something.

“Hang on, I-I, got an idea.” His voice quiet, almost a whisper, as his shoulder shifts under Merlin’s head.

He opens his mouth to ask about the idea when Arthur’s lips press against his own in the barest brush of lips.

Suddenly, he feels a whole lot more sober than he did a minute ago. His body feels electric as his eyes open and he stares back at Arthur’s questioning look.

Lips still tingling, Merlin whispers, “Arthur?” Asking a thousand questions with that one word question.

“What if we, you know, shagged for a while?”

“Are you talking about being friends with benefits?”

“Only if you’re interested.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, at his pale, stormy blue eyes. His strong nose, the rosiness of his cheeks and his full lips.

He licks his lips, heart racing as he says, “Kiss me again.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth ticks up as he closes the distance between them.

That had been two months ago.

They haven’t told their friends about their arrangement yet, but judging by some of their eyebrow waggling, Merlin is pretty sure most of them know. Or at least, know something is going on between them. Especially after last week when Gwen, of all people, commented on Merlin’s wearing a sweater that looked awfully similar to one she gave Arthur last year for Secret Santa. Which-

“Arthur!” Merlin squawks as once again, Arthur uses his band-shirt to wipe the cooling come off his tan stomach. “Oi! Use you’re own bloody shirt!”

The prat that he is just gives him the most fake innocent look Merlin’s ever seen. “Was that your shirt? I thought it was a rag.”

“Fuck off.”

Arthur just laughs as he tosses the shirt on the floor.

“Just for that, I’m making you do all the work next round!” Merlin grumbles.

Arthur could top next, and then Merlin would use one of his shirts to clean himself up. Maybe grab one of his fancy dress shirts from the closet. That would show the prat!

“Knew you were a secret pillow princess,” Arthur says as he gets off the bed.

Merlin snorts, “Oh, please, if anyone’s a pillow princess, it’s you.”

He watches Arthur slip back into his briefs. The blond tilts his head towards Merlin as he says, “Hungry?”

Merlin shrugs, “I could eat.”

“Perfect! You cook then,” Arthur says, flopping back down on the bed and grabbing his phone.

Merlin throws a pillow at him.

“Merlin, come over, Merlin, please fuck me, now it’s Merlin make me lunch! Remind me again what my benefits in this arrangement is?”

Arthur, the bastard, doesn’t even look up from his phone as he says, “I’ll blow your brains out after.”

Merlin sighs dramatically. “Fine, but you are making dinner plus doing all the work next round.”

“Deal.”

He knows Arthur is just going to order takeout rather than cook, which, is probably for the best. Arthur’s a horrible cook.

Merlin wiggles off the bed, grabs his joggers and Arthur’s t-shirt and then lazily pulls them on before walking out of the room.

While he always complains, Merlin actually loves cooking in Arthur’s kitchen, with all its counter space and an island. Not to mention the beautiful copper pans and cooking gadgets that he’s lusted after for years.

Something that, after being friends for four years, Arthur is more than aware of, cheeky bastard.

Going through his cabinets and refrigerator, Merlin sees the pasta dough he made the other night. The night of Gwen’s games night, when he had planned to make raviolis, but instead the two of them skipped dinner and got each other off on the sofa before heading out.

Merlin pulls out the dough, along with some raw chicken, flour and the pasta maker.

He’s got the chicken cooking on the stove and is nearly done making the noodles when he hears shuffling feet behind him. “Grab the tomato sauce out of the fridge, yeah?”

The fridge opens, and a second later, the jar is next to him on the counter. Arthur circles his arms around Merlin’s stomach, pulling him into his bare chest as he settles his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. He can feel Arthur breathing as he mumbles against his neck. “Smells good.”

And it’s so stupid, because after two months, this isn’t new. They’ve done this before. Merlin cooking with Arthur’s hands all over him. It’s old hat by now, has been for a while and yet, it’s only now that Merlin realises how domestic it is. How much he enjoys it. How this is everything he’s ever wanted in a relationship, and somehow the idea of having it with Arthur of all people makes his skin feel electric.

Oh.

“What?” Arthur asks in his ear.

Merlin blinks for a second, trying to wrap his head around the realisation he just made and Arthur’s words before saying, “Hmm?”

Amusement pours out of Arthur’s mouth as he clings closer to Merlin. “You stopped moving right as you were about to put the last of the dough in.”

Sure enough, he’s right. Merlin’s hands are frozen over the pasta maker. “Oh.”

He feeds the last of the dough in.

“What were you thinking about?”

Merlin licks his lips. The temptation to lie is strong, to hide his newfound realisation, but oddly, having Arthur all around him makes it easier to say the truth.

“I was thinking how domestic this all is. You, me.” He pauses, “That I wouldn’t mind if this became something… more.”

He feels Arthur’s chin move off his shoulder. The arms around him loosen. Can see from the corner of his eye the blond looking at him. “Merlin, are you asking me out?”

The words sound almost pleased coming out of Arthur’s mouth.

He turns his head towards him and searches Arthur’s face for any signs of awkwardness or discomfort, and finds none. Only surprise and what looks like excitement in his eyes.

“Yeah, go out with me.”

Hands reach for his face as Arthur surges forward. His own returns the favour as he feels Arthur’s broad smile against his own.

Neither can stop smiling, but they keep pressing their lips together in quick pecks anyway. It’s only the smell of the chicken beginning to burn that pulls them apart.

“Shit,” Merlin hisses as he flips the chicken breast. He turns back to Arthur, who’s just standing there with the biggest, stupidest smile on his face as he asks if burnt chicken is Merlin’s idea of a good first date, and suddenly Merlin knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s going to marry this bastard one day.