Work Text:
Mera had been searching for Arthur everywhere. She had swum the entire palace three times, including all of the hiding places he thinks she is unaware of. (Really, Arthur? I was basically raised in this palace and you think you can find a place I don't know about it? Honestly!) Alas, no Arthur. She even went to see if he was visiting Orm but came up empty-handed. That could only mean he was one place - the Curry Lighthouse. When Arthur needs peace from his kingly duties, he returns to the place he grew up. It's his sanctuary, his true home. She knows Atlanna and Tom are off traveling somewhere in France, a favour Diana granted Arthur, so he is, theoretically, drinking his whiskey in peace.
Well, he won't be alone for long. There's a matter they need to discuss.
~
Surfacing at the dock, Mera scouts for any inquiring human eyes before jumping up and casually striding towards the lighthouse. She spies Arthur standing on the gallery, occasionally illuminated by the sweeping light, taking swigs from a familiar bottle. Of all the alcohol available to him in Atlantis and he repeatedly returns to the same brand of whiskey. She'll never understand - he let her try it once and she swears she had a headache for days.
With a faint smile, Mera calls out to him.
"I've been looking for you, my king."
"I knew you'd find me. You always do. And you don't have to call me that. It's just us. I would prefer you not call me that at all, but-"
"It's law," they say in unison.
They laugh. Finishing each other's sentences? That's new for them. Not wholly surprising, though. They've always had this inexplicable intuition regarding the other. Its served them greatly in battle. Fighting alongside a partner who can intuit your moves and alter their own actions to complement yours is a rush neither had experienced before. That is, until they met. Many things have changed since they met.
"Are you going to come up here and join me or are you going to creepily stand on the dock all night?"
"You're so witty, my king."
"Just get up here, Fight Club."
At the familiar nickname, Mera makes her way to the door fighting a smile. She tries the doorknob to find it unlocked. He really was expecting me, she thinks. She enters to find a change of clothing for her folded at her feet. Did he think of everything? She quickly changes out of her wet suit and into the dry clothing, leaves her suit in a neat pile by the front door, and jogs up the stairs. Arthur hadn't moved much since she last saw him; he is still looking out across the water, taking sips from his whiskey bottle from time to time. Mera steps out onto the gallery to join him. It really is a beautiful view.
"You know you're king, right? You can change said law. You did with the arranged marriages."
"Yeah, I could. But I've only been king for a few months. I can't go around changing all the customs at once. They are still getting used to a half-breed as their king. My priority was stopping the arranged marriages. After my mother and you with Orm... That's what mattered. I have to choose my battles."
"Spoken like a true leader. Atlanna would be proud."
Arthur stills. After all these months of knowing his mother is alive and well, his body still tightens at the mention of her name. It's going to take a while for those wounds to heal, if they ever will. With visible effort, Arthur releases the tension from his shoulders with three calming breaths. In, out. In, out. In, out. His fingers begin to tap on the glass of the alcohol bottle. He smiles.
"Yeah, she would be, huh? Want a sip?"
Arthur offers her the bottle, titled ever so slightly. The smell of the whiskey burns its way into Mera's nostrils and she swears she feels the remnants of that headache from the last time she "took a sip". Or two. Or was it three? She swiftly declines and reaches for the railing to steady herself, her eyes wandering down, down, down. Oh, no. Not now. Her fear of heights hasn't waned. In fact, she believes it's somehow gotten worse. Funny, she thinks, I jumped out of a plane without hesitation but can't even stand at the top of a lighthouse. Her fingernails scratch at the metal of the railing and she shuts her eyes tight, fighting the onset of nausea. The smell of the whiskey disappears as she feels one of Arthur's hands gently lay on her back.
"Oh, shit, are you okay? I didn't even think-"
"It's fine. Just... give me a second."
Arthur begins to rub soothing circles on Mera's back as she attempts to steady her shaky breaths. It feels nice. Calming. Like the sound of the waves crashing against the dock, lapping up it's sides in desperate attempts to carry it down into its depths. For every circle he makes, the nausea recedes, just like those waves. Before she realizes it, the nausea has fully dissipated and she's left with Arthur attentively massaging her back. She hums, a smile pulling at her lips. He's really good at this. She could almost forget what she came here for...
"Whoa, did you see that?"
"Hmm? See what?" Mera asks, her eyes closed, thoroughly enjoying Arthur kneading his fingers into her back.
"Lightning in the distance. A storm is brewing. Alright!"
Now that Arthur mentioned the storm, Mera could feel the turbulent moisture in the atmosphere. A taste of the severe thunderstorm floating in the air. Arthur's hands leave her back as he moves to the railing next to her to stare out across the sky at the growing cluster of clouds. She shivers. His hands were so warm and soothing that the absence of them is jarring. She wishes he would come back and warm her back up - to burn traces along her back and shoulders with his fingertips. Come back, she pleads.
Wait. Knock it off! Business to attend to.
"Arthur, did you make a decision on that contract with my father?"
Even as the question slipped past her lips, Mera knew she'd regret asking it. The moment they were in was fragile, like a bubble delicately hovering in the air. She just popped it.
"Is that why you're here? To talk about King Nereus?"
She can hear his voice deflate in quiet acceptance. Her heart twinges for him. No, her heart cries. She bites her lip and searches his face. He chooses not to meet her eyes but to continue gazing at the storm. It's full-fledged now but has yet to reach the lighthouse. There's still time.
Time for what? Well, she knew 'what.' How many times in the past few months had she sacrificed their alone time for business? They barely have time to themselves as it is with Arthur being officially welcomed to Atlantis as their newfound King, not to mention her own royal duties in Xebel. A peck here, a brush of the fingers there, a low-spoken conversation before they are pulled back into their own riptides. She knew Arthur was frustrated and, damn it, so was she. Her duties mean the world to her - they both know and accept that. She has been committed all her life leaving little time for her own happiness.
And that's what Arthur is: Happiness.
She could see it now. Even though he wasn't looking at her, and even past his disappointment in her question, his body was vibrating in anticipation. He was excited for the coming storm. He was bouncing on the heels of his feet, humming a melody to himself. He may be a burly man covered in tattoos, but he never lost that youthful gleam in his eyes, that explosive enthusiasm and fun. He finds a silver lining in everything. He's a breath of fresh air in her lungs and she would do anything to hear that laugh of his, to see the crinkles at his eyes when he smiles.
Upon realizing this, Mera becomes resolute. She straightens her back in defiance and determination. She decides to finally choose herself for once. This moment will be theirs to witness. Mera and Arthur, just as it should be. Not even the coming storm could separate them.
Mera turns her body to Arthur and looks up at him, one arm resting on the railing while the other hand rests gently on his bicep. Look at me, she thinks. He does, tearing his gaze from the rolling storm with a question in his expression. She moves her hand from his bicep to the side of his face in a soft caress, gently brushing her thumb against his cheekbone.
"No, that's not why I'm here."
She kisses him.
Soft, at first. Her lips are barely touching his, much different from their first kiss. Whereas that kiss was born from urgency, this kiss is meant to convey understanding and promise. Just as the kiss breaks and she is about to pull away, Arthur's hand moves to cradle the back of her head and catches her lips in a second kiss. This kiss is deeper and slow, as if he is taking his time to taste her. She could feel her stomach swooping and her toes curling as she loses herself in the kiss. She barely registers Arthur moving his body to fully face her, the arm not at the base of her neck curling around her waist to pull her closer, so much closer. The sound of the forgotten whiskey bottle falling from the gallery and breaking on the rocks below goes unheard by them both.
CRASH.
Startled, Arthur and Mera jump apart, breathing heavily. The storm finally reached them, a thunderous applause announcing its arrival. They meet each other's eyes and they laugh. Relieved laughter, joyous laughter. Arthur's eyes crinkle at the edges in mirth, just as Mera had envisioned. She reaches up to touch those wrinkles, their laughs tapering out to sporadic giggles.
That's when the rain begins.
"I guess we're going to have to move this elsewhere," Arthur says, a mischievous glint in his eye.
"Where did you have in mind, my king?"
Arthur's huffs in disapproval at the title, but the mischief never leaves his eyes. Before Mera has time to think, Arthur lifts her up, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist. She gasps in shock, eyes wide.
"Downstairs we go," Arthur laughs.
"You're going to carry me like this? I swear, Arthur, if you drop me I'll-"
"'Kill you?' Getting predictable there, hm?"
"Are you trying to provoke me?"
"Yes, but not into a fight."
He kisses her. Another of his slow kisses, leaving an imprint of himself on her tongue. That's so unfair, she thinks. She smiles into the kiss as Arthur begins to walk. His strides are unusually fast. The life he lived resulted in muscle memory - he could walk anywhere in this lighthouse with his eyes closed. Of course, he never really thought about the stairs...
He holds Mera against him with one arm, the other reaching for the stair wall to use as a guide. Mera pulls away from the kiss so Arthur can focus on walking down the stairs. Why he had to walk down the stairs like this, I'll never know, she thinks. Her arms cling around his neck and her thighs clench around his waist. His eyes meet hers, darkening slightly, as a noise like a growl rumbles in his chest. Her smile in return is devilish. Ah, that's why.
Arthur reaches the bottom stair before his shoe slips. He rights himself by flattening Mera's back against the wall, his body flush with hers. His hips pressing into hers creates such delicious pressure that she shivers.
"That was close."
"You're telling me," Mera says, unwrapping her legs from around Arthur's waist.
She misses the pleasure of having his body against her, but she needs to move this along. Her hands tangle in his hair before she crashes her lips against his. They kiss, only breaking apart to shed their clothing. Arthur nearly trips while unbuttoning his pants, making Mera laugh. He glares at her while he helps her shed her own clothes. They are almost completely unclothed save for Arthur's necklace (he almost never takes it off, anyways) and boxers, and Mera's bra and underwear, when they finally enter Arthur's bedroom.
"Lay on your back," Mera demands, pushing Arthur towards the bed.
"Bossy in the bedroom. Why am I not surprised?"
She sighs in impatience as he jumps onto the bed, laying his back against the headboard. Once Arthur is settled, Mera joins him, straddling his hips. Arthur bites the inside of his cheek, his eyes gleaming with playfulness. When his hands go to rest at her hips, she shakes her head and interlaces his fingers with hers.
"I want to do something first," Mera says, placing a kiss on the cut in his brow.
"Okay..."
He kisses the palm of her right hand before letting go and laying his hands on the bed, barely skimming her thighs.
Since the first time Mera has seen Arthur shirtless, she has wanted to take the time to canvass his tattoos. She knows they have cultural significance, a mapped history inked onto his skin. She finds it fascinating and poetically beautiful. She hadn't had the time to really look at them until now. She wants to make it count.
Mera delicately places her fingertips behind Arthur's ears where his tattoos begin and looks at him for permission. His expression dawns in realization as he shuts his eyes with a soft smile. Her fingertips slowly trace along the dark lines, leaving goosebumps in their wake. At the tattooed swoop of his neck, she moves her fingers to run along the tattoos at his shoulders and across his collarbone, trailing over his necklace. Her fingers echo along his tattoos to the beat of the rain hitting the window, the moonlight and lightning illuminating her every move. She strokes the pads of her fingers over his heart and down his chest, sweeping along his rib cage. Mera gently shuffles further down Arthur's body, arcing her fingers down his hips and along the waistband of his boxers. His eyebrows furrow as he stifles a groan. She smiles. Arthur had not moved a muscle since she had begun - it's the stillest she's ever seen him. I wonder...
Mera splays her hands over Arthur's solar plexus, stretching her fingers as far as they can go. She sees the tic at the corner of Arthur's smile, his resolve already beginning to crack. She exhales to cover a laugh. This should be fun. She lifts her hands to his shoulders and lightly runs her fingernails across his tattoos. His breath hitches before biting the inside of his cheek to keep his composure, his hands clenching next to her thighs. Her nails map his skin, following the tattoos past the lines of his rib cage and along the contours of his abs. When her nails graze the skin at the waistband of his boxers, Arthur's eyes fly open, attentively watching her every movement. Mera ignores him as she continues to run her nails up his sides. She leans down to place a soft kiss over his heart, feeling its rapid beating. She can feel him underneath her, his slight tremble of excitement and concentration to keep from touching her. With an expression of wide-eyed purity, she leans down to the side of his neck and leaves a soft kiss before gently nipping him.
That did it.
Quicker than she could have imagined, Arthur flips Mera onto her back. His knees are on either side of her waist, straddling her without crushing her with his full weight. He gently pins her wrists to the headboard while she laughs in triumph.
"Okay, my turn," he says, leaving a chaste kiss on her forehead. "Don't move."
Arthur lets go of her wrists while Mera curls her fingers around the headboard in compliance.
He starts at her wrists, his fingertips barely meeting skin as they move down her arms. He doesn't break eye contact with her and she refuses to relent. The intensity of his gaze is unnerving - it feels like he is looking into the recesses of her mind - consuming her soul, her being. She can feel her heart beating, it's quickening staccato so loud that she's sure Arthur must hear it. Yet, he still doesn't look away and neither does she.
His touch is soft, the steady caress driving her mad. He moves his fingertips across her collarbones and down to the swell of her breasts. He swiftly undoes the front clasp of her bra, letting it fall away. His touch continues between her breasts, barely missing a beat, and his eyes never straying from hers. Her breathing becomes more erratic, traitorous while she attempts to remain composed. Her grip on the headboard so forceful that she can hear the creaking of the wood. He smiles in satisfaction. She tries to listen to the rain pounding against the window but her heartbeat is too loud to hear it. All she sees and feels is Arthur.
His touch finally reaches the waistband of her underwear and she trembles. Finally. He gently plucks at the waistband before gradually pulling them down her legs. Too damn slow, her mind cries. When the underwear slips past her feet, Arthur throws it over his shoulder. He slowly steps out of his boxers, finally breaking eye contact to survey her naked body in front of him. She's not shy. She knows her body - every curve and line she's confident in. His eyes linger on every inch of her, drinking in the sight of her. She does the same to him. He's beautiful, backlit by the flashes of lightning. Every contour and groove perfectly made, adorned by the beauty of his tattoos. After what feels like eons, their eyes meet and he slowly eases himself back onto the bed.
Watching her reaction, he kisses her ankle, just as feather light as his touch earlier, his beard tickling her skin with every movement. She understands his game now. Whereas she broke him with her touch, he's trying to break her with his lack of touch. Her expression betrays her revelation. Arthur winks at her and softly chuckles. The anticipation for his touch, for his fingers to leave imprints on her skin, for him to kiss a little harsher, is starting to break her resolve. She feels it slipping away as Arthur lazily makes his way back up her body, leaving soft kisses in his wake. But, she can see his determination starting to fade, too. See the fervor simmering underneath his skin, waiting to boil over. Feels the way his fingers are starting to dig into her skin ever so slightly. He grazes the inside of her thigh with his teeth and she gasps, not even bothering to suppress her shudder. He's so close. Just a little more...
His delicate touch returns just above her naval, catching her off guard. You have got to be kidding me, Mera's mind moans in frustration. He makes small curlicues along her stomach, swooping up and over her breasts and back down to her waist. She can't take this anymore.
"Arthur, you're doing it wrong," she says, as calmly as she can.
"For goodness sake. It's not like I haven't done this before," he snorts, indulging in his act.
"I think I know how my body works."
"Okay, you're right," he concedes. "If you're so smart, you show me how to do it."
She can sense the relief. He didn't want to play his little game anymore, either. She finds contentment in that. He wants her as bad as she wants him. She can see the hunger in his eyes, mirroring her own.
"Yes, my king," she purrs.
"Not this again!"
"My liege?" she says, batting her eyelashes in feigned innocence.
"Mera!" he laughs before finally leaning down and kissing her, releasing all his pent up desire.
They come together like ocean waves. Their bodies in ebb and flow, pulling in and pulling out, in constant motion. They're engulfed in each other's riptide, going deeper and deeper. He licks at her lips, goosebumps echoing down her spine. Her hands tangle in his hair as a moan escapes his throat. They cling to one another, fingers bruising the skin in passionate embrace. Kissing, biting, caressing, gripping. Their fingers interlock as their bodies ride the rhythm of the waves. Talking becomes murmurs - whispering into his shoulder, pleading into her chest - incoherent yet completely understood. Gasps of breath as they go faster and faster, the intensity almost unbearable. One after the other, they crash upon each other's shore. Muscles clenching, toes curling, breaths heaving.
They take a moment to slow their heartbeats, Arthur leaning his head against Mera's. They breath together in the afterglow. Quiet giggles, whispered words of affection, lazy kisses. It's passion and it's tenderness and it's devotion and it's them. Mera and Arthur. Always.
She cuddles into his side and they slowly drift into sleep. They hold onto each other in the quiet, the storm outside finally dissipating.
~
They lay in bed, sun slowly rising, the fog the only remnant of the night's storm. Mera's head lays on Arthur's chest, listening to his steady breathing, feeling his heart beat underneath her. She's warm under the sheets, her leg straddled across his hips, holding him close. He kisses the top of her head every now and then, as if reminding himself that this is real. She's real. He plays with her hair, letting the strands fall through his fingers like red sand. The silence is peaceful and they're happy. She's happy. Possibly more than she's ever been. She can't remember the last time she felt this at ease, this content to just be. She doesn't want to leave this moment. She wishes she could live in it, frame herself in it, but she knows that isn't possible. She enjoys the moment, regardless. He does the same.
She feels his laughter beginning in his chest before she hears it.
"What?" she asks with a smile, wanting to be in on the joke.
"You booty-called me," he laughs.
"I- What?"
"You booty-called me. You came to me just for sex." His body shakes with laughter.
"Arthur!" she playfully slaps his chest, "I did not!" She can't help but laugh along with him. His amusement is infectious.
"I distinctly recall you kissing me first."
"Yes, but-"
"I can't believe you booty-called me!"
"I didn't! I came to talk about the contract with my father and you got all mope-y!"
"Oh, sure, likely story." He kisses the top of her head, still laughing, beginning to extricate himself from the warmth of the bed and the tangle of her limbs. "I'm going to take a shower. You think about what you've done."
"Arthur!" she laughs, watching his naked body head for the bathroom, clutching the bed sheet to her chest.
A shower does sound good.
It takes the sound of the shower turning on before she jumps out of bed, chasing him into the bathroom, laughing all the while.
Besides, she hadn't mapped out the tattoos along his back yet.