Your Surrender

Arthur traces Merlin's tear tracks that left stains on his pale cheeks, his fingers play with his friend's hair, and he feels Merlin lean into his touch. He blushes, dark and deep and he praises the heavens that no one is around to watch the Prince of Camelot's defenses fall.

He pulls away and Merlin lets out a soft whine at the absence of Arthur's touch. He is unable to tear his gaze away from Merlin's pale, pink lips; they looked so lonely. Arthur's breath hitches in his throat as he thinks about what it would feel like if he pushed their lips together.

Arthur doesn't dare to breathe as he closes the distance between those parted lips that looked so soft, so warm, so perfect; against his own, torn ragged with his teeth, and scarred from battles of sharp teeth and swords. The prince hesitates when he is close, so close to his servant's lips; he could feel the warmth of his friend's slow, even breath against his lips.

Arthur shivers; and with that involuntary movement, their lips brush. It is warm, so warm, he could feel Merlin's soft lips against his own; there is hardly any pressure, just an exchange of heat, really.

But just like that Arthur is addicted.

Arthur has to tear himself away from Merlin violently with a gasp. He is across the room in strides, his fingers tracing his own lips. Suddenly the heat from his own fingertips are nothing compared to those of Merlin's lips; he pushes his fingers hard against his own lips; hard enough to leave dark bruises.

His mouth fills with the hot, metallic taste of his blood as he bites through his lips. He wants nothing more than to feel Merlin's lips against his own. He must have let out a cry, a sob, something because not a second later he heard a soft voice call his name.

"Arthur?"

The future king of Camelot turns to his friend, his love. Arthur takes in Merlin's messy hair, his half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks; and he's in front of him in seconds. "Merlin." He whispers, and presses his lips to his.

Merlin doesn't kiss back, his arms dead by his side, his lips; cold and unyielding, so much so Arthur feels tears slide down his face. Or were they Merlin's? His love's eyes are red and bloodshot as he pulls back, his lips red and swollen; parted in a ragged sob. "Merlin? What's wrong? I-I'm sorry. I…"

Arthur is at a loss for words at his inability to control himself, and he stares down at his stomach wound that was wrapped and cleansed by Merlin's capable hands. Merlin says nothing, gingerly reaching out to run his fingers across Arthur's chest and bandaged wound.

"I thought you were dead, Arthur. I thought they killed you; that you finally surrendered to them." Merlin's fingers trace Arthur's cheek and scars that dotted his muscled neck as both their hearts beat loud and fast in their chests as one.

Arthur shakes his head, leaning to press a chaste kiss on Merlin's warm and yielding lips.

"Only to you, Merlin. Only you. Always."