Author: semiprecious17
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Modern day AU
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: none
Warnings: Book kink? Porn?
Word count: 1600+
Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin...they would be sharing that big royal bed if I did...
Summary: "...carefully, oh so carefully, he runs his fingers along the cover of the book, traces over the indents of the title, strokes the smooth, worn leather until he's shivering with the feel of it."
Merlin's got a bit of a secret book kink, luckily Arthur's there to help him take care of the resulting 'problem'.

A/N: So this is my first Merlin fic and I just thought I'd dip my toes in the water with a short piece before jumping in with a long drawn out fic. I had a lot of fun writing this since I too am a bit of a closet freak for books...though not on the same level as Merlin here of course...*shifty eyes* Any way, I hope you all enjoy what is really a thinly veiled excuse for porn.

Merlin sits contentedly in his softly lit study and inhales the scent of the book in front of him, taking in the smell with relish. He breathes in the musky scent until his lungs are full of it, his head lightly spinning from the excess of air. He imagines he can detect the age of the heavy tome just from the tang of the pages, forty years old at least. And if he closes his eyes and concentrates, he's fairly certain he can smell the ink, dark and swirling across the page, can scent the metal of the printing press, the paper pulp, the tree it came from, the very soil it was rooted in. This tree died a noble death, he thinks with a soft smile curving his lips.

Merlin lets out his breath slowly, loathe to lose the heady feeling the smell instills in him; it's a high he'll never tire of.

He lets his eyes roam across the pages, yellowed and slightly brittle with age. The paper is thin as eggshells, delicate, and vulnerable, the edges noticeably frayed in some places. Merlin has the urge to touch them to see if they're really as fragile as they look. But no. He doesn't dare, he won't be the one to smear the beautiful flow of words with the destructive oil of his fingertips. Instead, carefully, oh so carefully, he runs his fingers along the cover of the book, traces over the indents of the title, strokes the smooth, worn leather until he's shivering with the feel of it.

He closes his eyes again and isn't at all surprised at the low throb in the pit of his stomach or the sharper burn of arousal heavy between his legs; it's been there since his first dizzyingly sharp-sweet whiff of the aged book, grew when he first lifted his hand to touch.

He knows it's a bit strange that booksof all things set his heart to racing, but it's an intense feeling, this lust, and Merlin presses his free palm against the rough fabric of his jeans, bites down on the fullness of his lip as the arousal spikes and the confines of his jeans become tighter. But he only allows himself a handful of unsatisfying strokes before he's pushing away from the large desk, taking one last deep breath of frail, jaundiced paper and walking out of the room.

He follows the dim hallway to the living room, toes sinking into the plush cream carpet, jeans teasing him with every forward step he takes. It's only a few moments before he's walked to where Arthur is sitting on the deep burgundy couch, lamp light tuning his into a richer gold, a second more until he's pulled away the laptop and set it behind him on the oak coffee table, barely a heartbeat before he's straddled him and pressed his lips firmly to Arthur's.

Arthur doesn't ask questions. He just rests his hands against the slender line of Merlin's hips and kisses back, let's his tongue tease the seam of his lips to dip into dark heat of Merlin's mouth, answers the hungry sound it produces with one of his own.

And Merlin loves this; loves the feel of Arthur beneath him, his body strong and pliant, so different from the stiff breakable spine of the book. When he moves his now swollen mouth down the sharp angle of Arthur's jaw to the quick beat of his pulse, buries his fingers in the silky golden hair, he can't help but revel in his right to touch, to grip and tug, to bite.

Neither of them is careful when they start to strip one another. Their quick, jerky motions leave barely there fabric burns behind, their nails skate over newly exposed skin without care, inflame with the press of fingers into flesh. Merlin would never be this careless with the musty tome back in his study, but here, with Arthur, he can be as rough as he wants, as rough as he needs to be.

When they're naked they push back together, hips rolling until the drag of their bare cocks is more teasing torture than it is pleasure and Merlin can't help the broken moan of, "Fuck me Arthur. Please, God, fuck
me." He can't bring himself to pull away long enough to get lube, instead he just pulls Arthur's fingers into his eager mouth, licks between the digits and tastes the salt there, stares into the blown blue eyes as he gets them slick with spit before he presses them down and back to where he needs them most.

Arthur teases him at first, rubbing around his opening, nail barely catching on the quivering muscle; and just as Merlin is sure he's about to combust from the agony of waiting, two long fingers begin to move into him, the slide just as smooth as his fingers had been on the leather of the book. The thought sends a long shudder through him and before he can stop himself his hips are pressing back in rough desperation against the thick intrusion, and when Arthur brushes against his prostate over and over it burns in a way that flushes his whole body, singes his every nerve and ignites the pit of his stomach until he can barely think through the haze of pleasure.

He's going to come like this, he realizes, with only Arthur's fingers bundled up inside of him and his other hand buried in his dark hair, holding him still enough for Arthur to take him apart with lips and teeth and tongue. But Arthur seems to realize this at the same moment and pull his fingers away so suddenly that Merlin keens with the loss, a soft genuine sound low in his throat.

Merlin pulls back from the kiss to watch as Arthur moves his hand between them to slick his cock with their combined pre-cum, both of them hissing as his rough palm strokes them. He takes in the flushed skin and the blond hair tousled from Merlin's own damp hands, the swollen pink lips parted over white slightly crooked teeth, the soft play of muscle under golden skin as he lifts Merlin up to accommodate the length of him, the taunt line of his neck when he pushes in until he's firm and deep and Merlin's world has narrowed down to the drag of the thick cock splitting him open.

He moves in tightly controlled rolls of his hips, reveling in the ragged moan from the man beneath him, only moving faster when Arthur begs him in the fucked out tone of voice he can't even thinkabout denying. They smash their mouths back together, and it's rough and wet and filthy in a way that causes his steady rhythm to quicken and stutter and makes Arthur snap his hips up desperately to meet him, clutching the flared wings of his pelvic bones so hard he knows there will bruises there tomorrow, groans with the knowledge of it.

It's too much and Merlin knows he won't last much longer. He grips the couch one either side of Arthur's head tighter, trying to ground himself, knows he's probably staining the red suede of the couch dark with his sweaty palms and can't bring himself to care. Arthur tilts back from the kiss panting harshly and Merlin has to dip his head down to lick at the long line of his throat, lapping at the thundering pulse, biting down there to draw a sharp cry of pleasure.

He inhales the smell of Arthur and God, it's so much better than the musky tang of the book that started this, so much more. It's a delicious mix of sweat and arousal and cologne and something so fundamentally Arthurthat it makes his head spin and his stomach clench in need. Merlin imagines he can draw the scent deep inside of himself, let it take root there, keep it nestled under his ribs and along his spine forever.

Their fucking is a fast and fierce thing now and there are no words, only the panting breath of air ripped from heaving lungs, desperate whimpers and guttural moans, sharp cut off cries that leave their throats raw with the force of them. There's the obscene sound of flesh on flesh, sweat slick chests rubbing peaked nipples together, Merlin arching as it brings his aching, neglected cock into contact with their stomachs.

But it's not until Arthur reaches back and rubs a single finger around his stretched out rim that Merlin comes, biting deep into Arthur's shoulder to muffle his ragged scream as his orgasm is ripped from him, body going tight as he spends himself between them. He's sure he blacks out for a moment and when he comes to Arthur is gripping him with lust clumsy fingers, thrusting into the loose, pliant heat that is Merlin. All it takes is him clenching once, twice, three times and Arthur is coming, sobbing out something that is most likely Merlin's name, nearly dislodging him from his lap as his back bows into the pleasure.

Afterwards they don't move. They ignore their cooling sweat and the cum drying between them, disregard the sting from nails digging in a bit too deeply or the throb where fingers gripped too tightly, don't even bother to pull Arthur's spent, oversensitive cock from the sheath of Merlin's body. They just rest against one another with Merlin's face buried in Arthur's neck and Arthur's hands tracing nonsense patterns over his skin.

As he drifts off to sleep in the cradle of Arthur's arms, content if not a bit sticky, he can't help thinking that Arthur is a whole lot better than some old book.

Hope you enjoyed 3

Reviews get me through the long, cold (or I guess hot since it's summer...but, you know, metaphorically cold...) days.