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Merlin is standing a few metres from the bed, fidgeting with his fingers somewhat nervously. Beyond him, Arthur sits on the bed with his head in his hands, simultaneously thinking very hard and trying not to think about what Merlin has just said to him. He can’t deny that the thought awakens… well, something in him at the very least, but isn’t that just the problem?
“Merlin, you can’t possibly be okay with that, it’s–”, there’s quite a long pause to that sentence as he tries to detangle that particular train of thought. “It’s not right,” he finishes weakly, not really convincing either of them.
Merlin, on the other hand, tilts his head and has that infuriating expression on his face that’s sure to drive whoever is on the receiving end of it mad. Arthur wants to nip it off him, wants to stalk over and fist a hand in his hair and wrench his head to the side and have him and– No, he thinks furiously, desperately trying to tamp down on those thoughts. No.
This is an objectively awful situation. He couldn’t inflict this on somebody, even willingly. Whatever Arthur is now, whatever twisted thing he has become, it is his to bear. But how he aches. He feels almost mad, like he’s going crazy with the force of his hunger and want. He can’t rule like this – he can barely live like this. He can feel his resolve breaking.
The worst part is, Merlin can definitely see it happening. It must show on his face, in his body language – his almost closed eyes, his hard unsteady breaths – because Merlin clicks his tongue softly and steps forward, gently sitting down next to him. A creature can only starve for so long before desperation takes over, and it’s as clear in Arthur’s eyes as the daylight he can no longer step into.
In an almost remarkable show of audacity, for this would be unthinkable if it were anyone else, Merlin firmly – but quite tenderly, all the same – grasps his face with both hands and turns it towards him, forcing Arthur to look him in the eyes.
“I said,” Merlin speaks slowly for emphasis, “do it. Use me. You certainly can’t go on like this forever, probably not even for much longer. Arthur, you have to–” he cuts himself off, voice nearly breaking. “Arthur, you have to eat.”
And he knows that. He does, he really does.
He wishes there were another way, but there isn’t, and he needs to come to terms with that before it kills him.
Merlin takes a deep breath before resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder – for whose comfort, he isn’t sure. Maybe both of them.
They stay close to each other for a while, sharing each other’s spaces, each other’s breath. A while after, but still too soon, Arthur thinks, they part gently. He looks everywhere but Merlin’s face, trying to take in everything he can. His boots are dull, Arthur thinks idly, eyes trailing up his body slowly. He deserves a better pair.
Merlin stands up and steps back, hesitant, his worry clear in his expression.
Arthur licks his lips, struggling for a while to phrase his thoughts.
“If I… hurt you, or I go too far. You have to stop me. Can you do that?”
A short sigh and slight grimace later, Merlin says, “Yes. And I’m sorry.”
With a swift turn of his head, Arthur is pinned onto the bed unable to move before he can unwrap the words that were just spoken to him. Huh. He might have to think about that later. As the magic spreads through the air and reaches its target – and Arthur can feel it – Merlin’s eyes glow gold. Not just gold; in his eyes, shifting, it seems like there is every single shade of warmth and light imaginable.
“Merlin,” Arthur rasped. “Come closer.”
It’s more than overwhelming for a moment, to the point that he has to shut his eyes lest he start having who knows what type of embarrassing reaction.. When he reopens them, Merlin is cautiously approaching, and when he’s within grabbing distance he lets out a little yelp as Arthur’s hand closes around his wrist to drag him closer. He’s a little too rough, and Merlin ends up toppling inelegantly over the bed – and over Arthur. They’re pressed so close together they can feel one another’s every move, breaths mingling and the rise and fall of their chests mirroring each other. It’s intoxicating.
“Wait,” he gasps, feeling like a parched man whose thirst has been suddenly quenched. “Wait a second. Your eyes.”
“My… Eyes?” Merlin asks, puzzled. “You know they do that.”
“Yes, but. Wait, Merlin. They’re so bright, have they always been that bright?” Arthur can tell he's starting to babble, but nothing else seems to matter as much as this. “Merlin, Merlin please. Please." He doesn't even know what he's asking for, but his brain is addled and he can't seem to get any words right. “Sorry,” he manages to force out as he releases his grip on Merlin’s wrist.
Nothing compares to this. Nothing has compared to this in a long, long time. He feels like he can breathe. He feels warm. This is a kind of warmth that no torch nor well tended hearth can give him anymore. Everything about this can only be described as magical, and never before has magic afforded him such pleasure.
Merlin’s hands are splayed out over Arthur’s chest, keeping him just slightly raised. Their faces are so close together now that Arthur can feel Merlin’s gentle exhales slowly fanning over him.
Where their skin makes contact, Arthur feels such searing heat that his breath leaves all at once. It's almost painful, but– not, somehow.
Oh.
Oh.
With Merlin’s beautiful, glowing, beautiful eyes, and his whole body full of warmth pressed against Arthur – this is like feeling the sun.
Looking into Merlin’s eyes, it’s like he can feel his strength returning. He’d previously been sapped of energy to the point of exhaustion, but now, he feels heat pooling in his body, energy with no release. As his chest begins to heave with the effort of keeping everything together, he fixes his gaze on Merlin and flips them over suddenly, Merlin now pinned beneath him.
This time, his eyes fly over the slender form beneath him, taking in his every twitch and shudder. Gone is the gentle roving from before, the careful gaze as he took in every inch of his body. His eyes gleam with the reflection of firelight, and looking closely, one could almost see them glow with their own reddish tinge. He is hungry.
Merlin, to his credit, seems mostly unfazed – though he does start a bit when he registers Arthur’s eyes. Arthur relinquishes his grip on Merlin’s waist when he hisses, squirming under his inadvertently tightened hand.
“Merlin,” Arthur whispers. He doesn’t know what’s coming over him, but he feels brazen enough to run a hand over Merlin’s throat.
“I could snap your neck. I could–”
“But you wouldn’t,” Merlin said with an almost fond expression. “Come on, Arthur. Come on.”
This time, he does not hesitate. He drops his head down gradually – lower and lower until he can feel the warmth emanating from beneath him. A slow breath. Inhale, exhale, the air making Merlin stretch his neck and shift just slightly. Arthur looks up, making eye contact. He wets his lips slowly, puts them back to Merlin’s neck – and he devours.