In Deep

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Category: Awkwardness, first time
Rating: PG13
Summary: Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.
Notes: 30 minutes of writing might not produce high lit, but it sure is fun *g* *points at sweaty muses*
Thanks to Nicci, for audiencing via AIM

Awkward doesn't even begin to cover it.

It's supposed to be sweet, exhilarating, awe-inspiring, even.

All Merlin can think about as their teeth clash, is that the damp mud of the river bank is seeping through his shirt and that he's getting awfully cold and wet.

"It's not... working, is it?" Arthur gasps against him as Merlin manages to nearly knee him in the crotch... again.

Arthur rolls off him and falls back on the wet ground. "I didn't think it'd be this way," he grumps.

"Neither did I," Merlin admits. With a sigh, he stands. Pulling at the back of his shirt, he wonders why they'd thought it would work at all? Just because they had been sharing heated glances and a brush of hands occasionally it didn't mean taking it any further would be a good idea.

And here Merlin had believed the whispered confessions of servants in castle corners, of how much of a rush it was to give oneself to someone else. And it wasn't that Arthur had been averse to having him, but somehow what had seemed perfect in Merlin's head had been... less so in reality.

Merlin pulls the shirt up and off, making a face as the back of it sticks to his skin. It's a nice, sunny day, just warm enough and far enough into the summer for the water of the river to not be completely freezing. If anything, he wants to wash the feeling of sticky mud off his backside.

He kicks off his boots and drops his breeches as well and steps out into the cool water. He walks into the middle of the river where the water reaches as high as his lowest rib before he turns to look at Arthur.

Arthur, who is watching him with an intense focus, which makes Merlin realize that he's just stripped off in front of him and not given the nudity a second thought. It hits, and it hits his whole body, heat rolling through it and pooling low in his belly. Arthur doesn't seem to have lost interest in him even with the clumsy groping on the river bank, Merlin can tell from the way Arthur's pressing the heel of his hand hard against his crotch.

Merlin bites his lip, almost hard enough to draw blood when Arthur stands to slowly take off his own clothes. Merlin stares as sunlight catches his skin, still paler where clothes cover it, but a more tanned shade than Merlin's will ever reach. If he's not careful, he'll burn. He always does - it's either pasty pale or red, hot and burning - Merlin can't seem to get that middle of the road thing.

He watches as Arthur drops his shirt on the ground, all the while not taking his eyes of Merlin either. Boots are kicked off and the breeches are undone. Slowly, so slowly that Merlin knows it's for his benefit; Arthur pushes them down and off.

Merlin digs his toes into the sandy river bed. He can't keep watching, because his body's singing already, but he can't look away either, because he might just miss something.

Clothes discarded, Arthur walks into the water, slowly. He heads toward Merlin, but stops right in front of him, close enough to touch if Merlin reaches out.

To Merlin's surprise, he can see, that for all his swagger, Arthur's as jittery and nervous as he is. It's what does Merlin in. The blue eyes and long lashes, the worried set of the lips and the fisted hands at Arthur's side.

Arthur can't ask for it, he can't offer it. He can demand, but Merlin knows he won't.

Merlin can ask, or he can offer. Those are the easy ways out. Only, they've never played by the rules before, especially not Merlin, who steps forward, wincing as he steps on a stone that digs into the instep of his foot.

Putting one hand on Arthur's shoulder and the other on his hip, just below the waterline, Merlin leans in. Arthur almost seems to be trembling and Merlin realizes that he's holding himself back, letting Merlin take the reins.

It sparks a flame in Merlin and suddenly it all fits. Not perfectly, no it won't do that until they're more familiar with each other's bodies, but they fit well enough.

As Merlin puts his arms around Arthur and pulls him close, Arthur's arms come up and around his waist, hands sliding down until they cup Merlin's bottom and hold him close.

They push against each other and the water churns around them. Merlin can't focus on anything but Arthur's skin, Arthur's mouth, his hands, his cock against his own. His whole world is swallowed up by Arthur.

Arthur gasps and breaks their kiss as they move faster against each other. Merlin buries his face against Arthur's shoulder, mouths the wet skin and tastes the sweat and river water.

Around them the water is frothing now but Merlin can't stop it. He can feel the magic boiling inside of him. It washes over them as Arthur's fingers slip between Merlin's arse cheeks and he's almost lifted off his feet.

The water hangs in midair for a moment as Merlin feels his body shake with its release, feels as if he's breaking apart and being put back together again.

Arthur's fingers dig into the muscles of Merlin's arse and Merlin knows he'll have bruises tomorrow. The whimpered whisper of his own name in his ear makes Merlin cling a little harder to Arthur.

The water falls around them, like a quick and heavy shower and Merlin closes his eyes. If he just stays there, Arthur won't ask any questions. Right?

"I think..." Arthur mumbles, rubbing his lips against Merlin's neck, causing shivers to run down Merlin's spine and his body to try to revive its interest. "I think we have to work on your self control, Merlin."

Arthur pulls his head back a little, but he doesn't let go of Merlin's body. They're nose to nose in the middle of the river, which has thankfully returned to its calm surface.

"I guess I should be thankful that it's water and not fire," Arthur chuckles before kissing the tip of Merlin's nose.

Merlin tries to give him a hurt stare. Kissing someone's nose seems too sweet compared to what they're doing together. It's just not easy as Arthur's finger strokes between his arse cheeks, making Merlin draw in his breath, fast and hard.

"Prat," he mutters, but it lacks the usual fire.

Arthur just grins at him. Wide and seemingly without a care in the world.

He doubts the more advanced stuff will be less awkward but he's beginning to understand what all those whispered conversations are about. All the giggles from the girls and the quickened breathing of the boys were hiding a multitude of compelling sins.

When Merlin searches for Arthur's mouth again, Arthur meets him halfway and there's no clashing of teeth. It's not perfect. Merlin thinks they'll have to work on that as well as his self-control.

Merlin doesn't have to be a Seer to know that there's a lot of practice in their future. He can feel Arthur's tongue sliding against his own and he forgets what he's thinking about.

The End