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Wanna be yours

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If Merlin’s good at one thing, that’s got to be magic.

It’s useful for many things. It’s good for cheating on exams, for messing with people's heads, for having better sex, but especially for making weed. That’s probably Merlin’s greatest accomplishment.

Folks at university that know of it refer to Merlin's homemade weed as Merlin’s magical weed, though they don’t know there’s actual magic in it. They just think it’s bloody awesome, which it is. It’s the best weed out there.

That’s probably the reason why Arthur came. And, quite likely, the reason why he stayed.

He’s one of those blokes Merlin absolutely cannot stand. One of those attention hog type of guys; loaded, arrogant about it and smug. In short, Arthur’s the type of bloke Merlin would never hook up with. Not while being sober, at least. Because in spite of his awful attitude, Arthur’s got the looks, what with his golden-blond hair and pretty smirk. He’s one of those people who are easy to notice and difficult to forget.

Merlin knows what he likes in a bloke, and, unfortunately, he happens to like Arthur’s physique— difficult personality aside. His weed, and thank fuck for that, helps make Merlin overlook the fact that attractive-as-fuck-Arthur and self-centered-Arthur are the same person. And it’s also very helpful at disguising the fact that Merlin quite likes sex with him. Weed and disinhibitions are wonderful things.

“I want more,” Arthur whispers, coming closer until his forehead bumps against Merlin’s and he closes his eyes, smoke dancing around them.

At some point since the first time they met behind the campus library and now, Merlin made the mistake of inviting Arthur to his place, and now it seems to have become Arthur’s favourite place, because he’s always there. That first time, and possibly the second and the third, Merlin was likely stoned and horny as fuck, so he wasn’t thinking straight, but lately, right now, although he’s also both things, he’s sober enough to kick Arthur out of his place. Thing is, he doesn’t want to. The weed’s starting to make him a softie because lately Arthur’s starting to get a lot more affectionate and Merlin’s responding to it a lot less rudely.

Merlin blinks through half-lidded eyes, deciding to stop thinking altogether. “You still haven’t finished it,” he notes, eyeing the fag between Arthur’s fingers.

Arthur snorts through a smile. “Don’t mean the fag, I mean more of your kisses.” And there it is, that’s exactly what Merlin means.

Merlin pulls his head back from the wall slowly, just a tad, so he can look into Arthur’s reddened eyes. “I thought you liked my weed.”

“I do. But truth is, you taste far better,” Arthur confesses, his posh accent thicker. And, yes, trading the weed for kisses was a stupid idea Merlin should never have proposed while being wasted out of his mind.

The indie song playing on the radio is Arthur’s favourite, Merlin knows well.

Arthur drops the fag on the ashtray by the bedside table and brings his hand up to the side of Merlin’s neck, his fingers warm against Merlin’s skin. Merlin doesn’t move an inch as Arthur’s hand slides slowly down his chest to caress his nipple through his thin tee.

His pulse races, his magic bubbles inside him, and his dick swells in his jeans. But he doesn’t want to make it so easy for Arthur.

“Maybe we should do another trade,” Arthur whispers, stealing a quick kiss, trapping Merlin’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulling at the skin gently.

Or maybe Merlin’s too far gone to care about easy.

He shoves Arthur against the headboard and, in a swift move, straddles him, taking his mouth in a filthy snog.

Arthur’s so eager he grabs two handfuls of Merlin’s arse and presses Merlin closer against him before grunting and pulling apart halfway into the kiss. Merlin’s zip up hoodie goes off in an instant, his tee following. Arthur’s hands are desperate as he pulls at the fabric, as though he’s dying to see and savour Merlin’s skin. Merlin loves it, loves seeing Arthur this wild and needy.

He undresses Arthur with as much hurry until they’re both gloriously naked.

Merlin lies down, lets Arthur suck open-mouthed kisses across his throat and whisper all the sexy dirty things he plans to do to him next. Merlin drives his hips forwards, hiding his smile in Arthur’s hair when Arthur pushes back to meet his thrusts.

Some days they just do this, tease each other to the point that they end up coming in their pants like two fifteen years old. Others, Merlin shoves Arthur facedown onto the bed and fucks him slowly, so slowly it drives Arthur crazy. And others, Arthur sucks Merlin dry, blows him once, twice, as many times as Merlin’s body will allow. But no matter what they do, things always escalate quickly after they begin smoking and Arthur never leaves his flat if they haven’t fucked.

Today, however, as Arthur’s about to go down on him, a knock on the door breaks the moment.

They draw apart, startled, but stay still until a shouted ‘police, open the door’ makes Merlin jump.

“Shit,” he mumbles, pushing Arthur off him in panic. He quickly pulls his boxers and jeans up hapardazly, but as he’s about to put on his shirt, Arthur places a hand on his chest.

“Don’t,” he tells him with a glint in his eye. “If they see what they have interrupted, they’ll feel more uncomfortable and leave sooner.”

Merlin stares at him in pure incredulity. “They’re the fucking police, Arthur. As soon as I open the door they’re gonna smell all the weed and I’m gonna fucking go to jail.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, shoving him back to the bed. “Let me handle this,” he tells him calmly.

“Fuck,” Merlin swears under his breath again, passing a hand across his face. “Fucking Mordred, I knew I shouldn’t’ve sold to him. Stupid kid.” As he rants and hides the ashtray, he magics the music to a bearable level and dissipates the smoke dancing about the room with a quick muttered spell. Arthur makes a hushing motion at him before crossing over to the door and opening just as he pushes his boxers all the way up to cover himself.

The policemen reel minimally at the sight of Arthur’s nakedness, and Merlin sees in Arthur’s profile the beginnings of a smug smile. “Evening, officers,” he says, lifting his chin.

The two men look over Arthur’s shoulder, meeting Merlin’s eyes across the space. Merlin pretends to lie uselessly on the bed with a hand on his stomach, not bothering to hide the quite obvious bulge beneath his unfastened jeans. The cops exchange a meaningful look before one of them flashes his badge quickly. “We’ve received a tip informing us that the owner of this property is dealing with illegal substances. We’re going to have to come in and inspect the place.”

The other cop, the smaller one, rests his hand over his gun holster in what Merlin assumes is aiming to be an intimidating gesture. “Are you Merlin Emrys?”

Arthur turns his head around to glance at him, and Merlin freaks out again. He isn’t sure if this is even legal.

“He is,” Arthur tells them, and Merlin sits up hastily, goggling at Arthur over the cops’ backs when they push past Arthur without waiting to be invited, surveying the room.

‘What the fuck?’ Merlin mouths at him, but Arthur only rolls his eyes.

“Sirs,” Arthur says, catching their attention when Merlin remains utterly speechless. “This is a misunderstanding. Whatever you’re looking for you’re not going to find it here. You’re just wasting your time.”

The cops turn their attention toward Arthur, seeming unimpressed and annoyed.

“I don’t believe this concerns you. So, if you know what’s good for you, stay out of this,” the tall one advises as the other goes back to searching amongst Merlin’s belongings shamelessly.

Merlin uses the distraction in his favour, recurring to his magic to save their arses. He knows what Arthur’s trying and he appreciates it more than he cares to admit, but really, his rich boy charm isn’t going to work, not with two grown up men, let alone with two cops.

But Arthur doesn’t mention his surname. “Look, whoever gave you the tip was mistaken. Merlin’s got nothing to hide, he’s an honest bloke,” he argues, surprisingly coming to Merlin’s defense instead of bragging about who he is and what his father can do.

It takes Merlin a beat to act, but once he’s gathered his wits, he doesn’t bother making the weed invisible, he simply compels the cops to leave and forget about him, about them, erasing any knowledge they may have about them. When the magic fades inside him and his eyes stop tingling, Merlin knows the spell’s been cast.

The cops freeze, share a nonplussed look before they frown and stop searching underneath pillows and inside boxes and closets. They shuffle in reluctance to the door. “Seems we were wrong,” the short cop says as he tugs the door open. With a last look of disdain and uncertainty they stalk off, mumbling to one another and frowning hard as if they know something’s off but can’t pinpoint what.

Merlin breathes a silent sigh of relief, letting his head hit the mattress.

Arthur comes tumbling down on the bed again, hovering over Merlin with a proud, satisfied smirk. Merlin shoves his face away. “You arse,” he says, air rushing out of his chest in a gush of breath, heart still pounding madly. “You scared the shit out of me. I thought you were gonna tell on me.”

“You should have more faith in me, Merlin,” Arthur replies, pushing Merlin’s jeans and boxers down again with deft fingers before he lets his body drop atop Merlin’s so they’re skin on skin. “I know how to persuade people into doing what I want,” he murmurs, leaning closer and giving a wet lick to Merlin’s lips. They tingle as Merlin scoffs but conceals a reluctant smile.

“Do you?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. If there’s one single moment when Arthur’s cocksure attitude doesn’t bother him, it’s when they’re high and lazing about together like this. In times like these, it’s more of a turn on.

“Yeah, just look at yourself, all sprawled here waiting for me to do you,” Arthur replies and Merlin bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as Arthur grabs his wrists and holds them down against the mattress beside his head.

“You’re so full of yourself,” Merlin tells him, shaking his head and restraining from saying how he’s been the one that’s dealt with the cops.

Arthur smiles before lowering himself down Merlin’s body with a sparkle in his eyes, so Merlin lets it go, lets him be.

Arthur’s mouth glides down over the length of Merlin’s dick and Merlin’s laughter fades into a content smile as his magic flows over to Arthur, encircling him and embracing him just a little bit. Arthur’s a condescending arse, but he’s also brave and noble sometimes, Merlin has to give him that.

Conscious of how much Arthur likes it, Merlin leaves his arms in the position Arthur has put them, tangling his fingers in his hair when he needs something to hold onto and sighing his pleasure quietly, contently.

He turns the volume of the music up, switching back to the track Arthur likes.

When Merlin looks down, he finds Arthur’s gaze already set on him.

Something inside him tells Merlin that Arthur knows what he gets up to, what he does and what he is, but the rational part of him insists that there’s no possible way Arthur’s figured him out. Magic is as unique in this world as Merlin’s weed.

But Arthur’s eyes promise him secrecy nonetheless, and Merlin’s smile conveys all the things he won’t say so as not to spoil the moment. Now’s not the time for talking.

Maybe Arthur isn’t so bad after all, and maybe Merlin doesn’t dislike him as much as he likes to tell himself.

And Maybe Merlin can be good at more things that only just magic. If Arthur’s eyes look at him like that, if his lips kiss him like that and his hands caress him like that, maybe, Merlin thinks he can also learn to be good at being with Arthur.