.

.

"You've got to be joking…" Merlin stares, mouth dropping open. "Tell me you're not joking."

In the distance of grassy field, the inverted teardrop shape of the hot-air balloon slowly inflates.

Arthur grumbles, "If you think over twenty-eight training hours to fly the bloody thing is a—" Merlin's lips cut him off, pressing firmly and clumsily against him, teeth clinking almost painfully into Arthur's. It's not the smoothest kiss achieved in history, but Merlin doubts he cares as Arthur leans fully into him.

"I knew it was gonna be a good anniversary when I saw you in these." Merlin emphasizes his point, fingers dragging under the hem of Arthur's skin-tight cycling shorts. They're the professional-made ones with sporty red stripes over the black padded-material. Arthur's bum looks like heaven in them.

Arthur's no longer grumbling, expression sour. Merlin's happy to recognize that mad, little grin.

.

.

They're possibly six hundred feet in altitude, and Merlin feels breathless.

He can't blame it on the view entirely—as spectacular as it is, high above treetops and glimmering surfaces of ponds. But no, he's feeling pleasure from a conflicting source.

Arthur's nomex-gloved hands thumb his bare hips, keeping Merlin upright, steady. He won't question the gloves. Piloting requires fire-resistant safety gloves. Besides, Arthur's tongue draws a hot, spit-wet line over Merlin's cleft, and he can't think with the raw-feeling sensation quivering his thighs.

Merlin keeps his weight forward, not rocking them. He clutches at a rope, biting down a moan as Arthur licks his way inside, gathering saliva and pushing it back against his hole.

Should Arthur be distracted from navigating, kneeling behind Merlin and wanking him off simultaneously?

Probably not.

Was Merlin going to stop him?

Absolutely fucking not.

"Arthur, oh christ," Merlin whines out, cheeks flaming brightly. He bows his head, thrusting into Arthur's fingers stroking along the foreskin sensitive and damp.

They float over what appeared to be a picnic. The family waving up with pleasant faces can't see Merlin waist-down or even the top of Arthur's head, small blessings. Nor hear Merlin's wrecked voice.

"You're—nn—daft, mother of god, right there…"

The tongue fucking Merlin slips out, leaving him clenching empty and slick-slimy. Arthur doesn't let up stripping Merlin's cock.

"I need to check the burner unit," he says, kissing Merlin's sweating back.

"Arthur…"

"Stop whining," he chides, feeling Merlin wriggle impatiently against his mouth before going completely still.

"Arthur."

"Merlin, it's only—"

"Arthur, we're going to hit a fucking tree!" Merlin yells, turning his head.

At the flash of genuine panic in his eyes, Arthur scrambles onto his feet, heading for the propane valve and tugging on ropes.

"Shit!" he curses, Arthur's face paling. "We've gone too low. The wind direction is too strong."

Merlin hesitates from buttoning up his jeans.

"Ehm, what… ?" he asks in a soft, distressed breath. Arthur pulls him to the opposite end of the wicker basket, covering Merlin's back and holding him tightly in place.

"Brace yourself, Merlin!"

"WHAT—!"

It's startlingly fast, and more violent than Merlin expects. Feels like getting whiplash.

He finds himself thrown backwards and rolling, crash-landing on his boyfriend. One of Arthur's gloved hands snatches on the collar of Merlin's band t-shirt, just as Merlin wraps an arm securely around Arthur. With great, dizzying relief, he knows the basket isn't spilling them out. They're not so high up, but even falling at this height—it would be immensely problematic.

"You alright?" Arthur says under him, gazing concerned at Merlin deeply shaken.

"M'fine…" He then asks quietly, tightening his arm to Arthur, "Are you?"

"Think so."

He heaves up, crawling off Arthur.

"It's not going to explode, is it?" Merlin says nervously, as Arthur double-checks their equipment and calls an emergency number. The visibly punctured balloon increasingly less and less domed.

"Shut up, Merlin."

A prickle of anger seizes him. "You're the one supposed to be piloting the damn thing!" Merlin snaps.

Arthur whirls around at him, eyes narrowing to slits.

"I was busy trying to…!" He sputters indignant when Merlin yanks him close, noses brushing. Merlin's fingers greedily roam over the solid curve of Arthur's bum.

"So, how long until the rescue team gets here?" he murmurs into Arthur's jaw, smiling widely at the noticeable shudder.

"An hour…?"

"Plenty of time," Merlin answers, giddy and red-flushed and working Arthur's hardening cock from his cycling shorts. Plenty of it for a good, looong apology.

.

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ONE MORE PORNATHON FIC LEFT! Hope you are having fun reading! Any comments or the like are deeply appreciated and encouraged! Please don't follow a oneshot. It will not be updated.