The Opposite of Baiting.

[blightwriter]

"You know, you're really becoming quite the silver fox, aren't you?"

Arthur smirked as Merlin adjusted the pastel Windsor knot of his tie. Six months ago he'd made the mistake of pointing out a flash of grey at his husband's temple: Merlin had flown out of bed, hilariously naked, to inspect his hair in their bathroom mirror—and perhaps he should have waited until after he'd fucked him raw before offering the slight against his vanity. In an attempt to prove the course of nature his inferior he'd turned the tables on Arthur quite dramatically; three times that night, three times, leaving him with the embarrassment of having to lie about his perching during the board meeting the following morning.

Six hundred bloody pounds he'd invested into that office chair. Merlin ought to have felt ashamed of himself—rendering it all for naught over a few grey hairs. Still, now that another streak had appeared, Arthur wasn't going to go without his fun.

Or his fuck.

"Yeah? You're bringing that up while I've got a length of silk around your neck?" As if to demonstrate, Merlin slid the knot up closer to Arthur's Adam's apple until he felt a slight tug of resistance, before indulging the blonde in a grin of his own and catching his lips in a faux-sweet kiss.

"Honestly. Absolute dollop-head," he chuckled, pushing the intricate fold higher still. This time his fingers only paused when Arthur's breath whined in his throat—a sound that never failed to melt a drop of desire into his usually carefree tone.

"Behave."