FIC: It's All About the Hair.
Title: It's All About the Hair
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Disclaimer: Alas, Merlin and Arthur belong to the BBC, and not to me. I am thinking about looking into some clones, though.
Notes: I was bored at work one day and got to wondering how Merlin would look with long hair. And then I got to wondering what Arthur would think of Merlin with long hair. Next thing I knew, I had fic. My first attempt at Merlin fic. Be honest, but nice =) Thanks to marzilla for the beta and the arm-twisting...er, encouragement!
The crown prince was distracted.
Not by some pressing matter of state, or by some imminent threat to the people of Camelot.
By hair.
And not the hair of a beautiful maiden, or a visiting princess from another kingdom--if that were the case, it would at least be understandable.
No, Arthur was distracted by Merlin's hair. His servant.
He remembers the night it started. Merlin had decided, for whatever reason, that he wanted to grow his hair long. Arthur hadn't paid the decision much mind, having concluded long ago that most of the things that went on in Merlin's head were best left there, lest they escape and cause trouble or general irritation for Arthur.
That particular night, there had been a banquet. Some neighboring lord or other had come with riches and gifts to impress Uther and young, nubile daughters to impress Arthur. Which, granted, was usually more than enough to capture Arthur's attention. But not that night.
Arthur had been listening to his father drone, the lord simper and the daughters giggle. His cup nearly empty and requiring much more wine to make the remainder of the evening bearable, he ignored everyone momentarily and looked around for Merlin. He spotted him in the corner talking to Gwen. His hair was at that in-between length where it was just long enough to pull back into a tail but short enough that most of it eventually came loose, leaving Merlin to repeatedly shove it behind his rather sizeable ears.
As he waited for Merlin to look up, he watched him lean down closer to Gwen to better hear what she was saying. As he did so, a lock of hair escaped the tie at the back of his head and slipped forward, partially obscuring his face. He reached up and tucked it delicately behind his ear, laughing as he did so, his eyes dancing merrily. Arthur remembered feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of his chest and the general din of the room falling away as his blood pounded in his ears. And when Merlin finally looked up to find Arthur staring at him, his smile only broadened and he excused himself from Gwen to tend to his prince.
Merlin nattered while he filled Arthur's cup, and he found himself smiling up at his servant, suddenly immensely glad Merlin was there and could provide a momentary distraction. Merlin smiled back and then excused himself, returning to Gwen in the corner.
His attention soon diverted by the wandering hand of one of the lord's daughters, the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. In the morning he awoke to find Merlin already in his room, collecting those items of clothing from the night before that needed washing and putting away those that did not. His heart thudding in his chest, he peered cautiously out from under the covers, but Merlin was just Merlin today. He was not the adorable--and enticing--creature from the night before, and Arthur relaxed.
***
Adorable Merlin didn't make another appearance for a week, at which point Arthur had some free hours and decided that he wanted to go riding. He invited Merlin along, ostensibly because someone needed to tend to the animals when they broke to rest, but really because he knew that Merlin loved horseback riding and it secretly pleased him when Merlin was happy. They set off together, Arthur in the lead until they got to the borders of the city where the open fields started, and then Merlin took off. The race was on.
Merlin's horse hadn't been much more than a nag when he'd started with him, but he'd somehow transformed him into a respectable steed, and nowadays Arthur actually had to work for his victories. He always won, of course, because he was the prince and he couldn't have his servant beating him. He always gave Merlin a head start, though. It was more interesting that way. He didn't mind it that Merlin took it upon himself to challenge him so--out here they were just boys having fun, more or less away from the restraints of their everyday lives.
He gained fast on Merlin that day, faster than usual. Merlin seemed more interested in enjoying himself than actually staying ahead of Arthur, and he turned back to laugh as the prince started to overtake him.
Arthur nearly fell off his horse.
The wind had blown Merlin's hair free of its tie, and it was whipping wildly around his face and neck as he called something to Arthur. Arthur didn't hear him, only partly because of the thundering hooves and the wind whistling past them. It was happening again, that tightness in his chest that made him feel as though he couldn't breathe. All he could see was Merlin's face, pale skin plastered with dark strands of hair and a bright smile that made the sun blazing behind him seem dull by comparison.
He had to pull back on the reins, the tightness combined with the beating of the wind making it so that he actually couldn't breathe. He started gasping as soon as the horse slowed, resting one hand on the saddle and the other in the horse's mane as it pranced beneath him. Merlin, realizing something was wrong, had turned his horse around and was riding back to where Arthur had stopped. Now his hair billowed out behind him, and he looked so beautiful that Arthur had to look away, sliding off his horse and taking a few steps before bending at the waist and putting his hands on his knees. He tried to get his breath and his now-racing heart under control.
He heard the thud of Merlin's feet as he jumped off his horse and ran over, and then a hand was on his shoulder before Merlin dropped to his knees next to him. He looked up at Arthur, concerned.
"Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Arthur just shook his head, meaning to indicate that he was fine, but Merlin understood it to mean the opposite. He straightened up, pulling Arthur with him.
"You're short of breath," he said, fingers moving to the front of Arthur's riding coat and undoing the buttons. "Perhaps if we loosened this up, got you some air...."
His voice trailed off as he made quick work of it, and yes, yes that felt a bit better. He took a deep breath. But then Merlin's fingers started brushing the bare skin of his neck as he pulled at the ties of Arthur's tunic, and it sent chills down Arthur's spine. Before he could start pondering where else on his body Merlin's fingers might feel good, he pulled away, perhaps a bit abruptly.
"I'm fine," he said sharply. "Stop fussing." He turned back toward his horse and plopped down onto the ground, resting his arms on his knees. After a few moments of silence, he looked up at Merlin. He was still standing in the same spot, hands behind his back, looking uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Arthur had seen Merlin look like this plenty of times--every time he was curt, or snapped at him. But where he previously would've called Merlin a girl and told him to get over it, now it was just unbearable. Something inside him melted.
"Come here," he called gruffly, indicating the ground next to him. Merlin actually listened--would wonders never cease--and sat down, tucking his hair behind his ears and looking straight ahead, squinting against the sunlight. Arthur sighed.
"I'm sorry," he said reluctantly. "I know that you were just...concerned. I shouldn't have snapped at you," he added, when Merlin gave him an odd look. And why not? Arthur never apologized for being a prat. After a moment, Merlin smiled.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Better," Arthur said, clearing his throat, trying to regain his princely demeanor. There'd be no more of this weakness in front of Merlin. "I think I just needed to stop for a moment."
Merlin nodded and made himself more comfortable, leaning back on his hands and turning his face up to the sun, eyes closed. Arthur steeled himself not to look, and succeeded--mostly--until finally Merlin said, "You know what I think?"
"I don't really care what you think," Arthur answered, throwing a glance back at his servant. Merlin grinned, opening one eye and peeking at him, sending his heart into palpitations again.
He was definitely in trouble.
"I think I was winning, and you knew you couldn't beat me this time." Arthur stared at him, flabbergasted, until Merlin finally cracked and started laughing.
"You are the most insubordinate, delusional manservant ever," Arthur grumbled, giving Merlin a shove before getting up and going back to his horse. Merlin was still laughing when Arthur took off again, leaving him in the dust. By the time they reached Camelot, Merlin had almost caught up.
***
It only got worse after that- it seemed adorable Merlin was there to stay, only now he was sometimes interspersed with coy Merlin and even, God help him, sexy Merlin. The three changed places so frequently that they eventually became indistinguishable, and Arthur found himself hopelessly infatuated with his own manservant.
And that damn hair had somehow become the center of his universe. How was that even possible? He longed to touch it, to run his fingers through it, but knew that it wasn't possible. So he allowed himself to watch Merlin do both of those things, and more: Merlin, absently running a hand through it while talking; Merlin, twirling dark strands around his fingers when he was concentrating on something; Merlin, brushing the ends of a strand across his lips when he was listening to Arthur. That last one was new, and Arthur was as of yet unable to finish a sentence once he noticed Merlin doing it.
How could hair make such a difference? Attached to the beautiful, silky looking mass was still Merlin--his clumsy, mostly incompetent and very male servant.
Was it that it brought attention to his face? Merlin was always fiddling with it, so one couldn't help but notice the way his fingers brushed across his cheekbones on their way to push it behind his ear. From there, it was easy to see how startlingly blue his eyes were, or how full and soft his lips looked. Or maybe it was the way the ends brushed his neck when he wore it down, which usually only happened at the end of the day, in Arthur's chambers. Then it was a simple thing to notice how long Merlin's neck was, and to see how pale and smooth the skin was when he finally pulled it back.
Arthur was beside himself.
The final straw came at the end of a long day, which found Arthur stumbling toward his rooms, soaked to the bone after chasing a thief through one of the lower villages in the rain. He'd succeeded in catching him, of course, but he was wet, cold and covered in mud. Merlin was there when he arrived and immediately steered him to his chair, which he'd moved in front of the roaring fire. Before he sat, Merlin had removed his coat and wet tunic, replacing it with a dry one. His trousers had been mostly spared the rain and mud by his coat, but his boots were a soggy mess.
He collapsed into the chair, resting his head against the back, and watching through half-lidded eyes as Merlin sank to his knees and set about removing his boots. It wasn't an easy task, the mud and wet laces working together to create a tangled, uncooperative mess.
Arthur watched him quietly, taken by the way the light from the fire reflected off--what else?--Merlin's hair. It'd gotten longer, the ends brushing the tops of his shoulders now, and Arthur absently wondered how long he planned on growing it. His gaze moved from the ends of Merlin's hair to his tunic, which was undone and hanging open nearly halfway down his chest. He shifted to attack Arthur's boot from a new angle, and it fell open even more, exposing a collarbone that looked annoyingly edible.
He shifted in his chair, aware of the stirring of flesh between his legs, pulling his tunic down to cover the ridge that was starting to form. Merlin mistook the movement, and looked up at him. Arthur knew he meant the look to be apologetic, but he just looked utterly and completely seductive, and he gripped the arms of his chair.
"Sorry," Merlin said. "I'm trying, but you've made quite a mess of yourself."
Arthur gave him a curt nod, trying to steer his thoughts away from what else lay beneath Merlin's tunic, or how his nimble fingers could be put to better use. His tunic wasn't going to be very good cover much longer at this rate.
Then Merlin bent forward, concentrating, and his hair fell across Arthur's knee, brushing over it, a tantalizing caress that hardened him instantly. He jumped, yanking his foot away from Merlin, startling him.
"For heaven's sake, Merlin!" he yelled. "Can't you do something about your...your...hair?"
Merlin blinked up at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed, "My...hair?"
He was fingered it again, as though to make sure they were talking about the same thing. "Yes," Arthur snapped, annoyed and a little embarrassed that he'd lost control. Oh, and also that he had a raging hard on. For Merlin.
"What exactly is it about my hair that you object to?" Merlin asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Well...it's long. And it's always in the way. You're always touching it, and playing with it," Arthur rambled, face growing redder by the second. Merlin's lips were starting to curl into something that looked dangerously like a smile. "You look like a girl?" he tried weakly, as Merlin's eyes finally dropped to his lap, his smile widening. "I want you to cut it," Arthur blurted, trying to cover himself up. Merlin just laughed, getting up on his knees and placing his hands on Arthur's thighs, pushing them open.
"I don't want to cut it," he said, grinning up at the prince, eyes twinkling, "so I'm not sure what you want me to do with it. But," he said, before Arthur could protest, "I believe I know something that you can do with it. Sire."
Shortly thereafter, when Arthur was coming in Merlin's mouth, fists full of long, dark, luxurious hair, he thought he might just let Merlin keep it long after all.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None whatsoever.
Disclaimer: Alas, Merlin and Arthur belong to the BBC, and not to me. I am thinking about looking into some clones, though.
Notes: I was bored at work one day and got to wondering how Merlin would look with long hair. And then I got to wondering what Arthur would think of Merlin with long hair. Next thing I knew, I had fic. My first attempt at Merlin fic. Be honest, but nice =) Thanks to marzilla for the beta and the arm-twisting...er, encouragement!
The crown prince was distracted.
Not by some pressing matter of state, or by some imminent threat to the people of Camelot.
By hair.
And not the hair of a beautiful maiden, or a visiting princess from another kingdom--if that were the case, it would at least be understandable.
No, Arthur was distracted by Merlin's hair. His servant.
He remembers the night it started. Merlin had decided, for whatever reason, that he wanted to grow his hair long. Arthur hadn't paid the decision much mind, having concluded long ago that most of the things that went on in Merlin's head were best left there, lest they escape and cause trouble or general irritation for Arthur.
That particular night, there had been a banquet. Some neighboring lord or other had come with riches and gifts to impress Uther and young, nubile daughters to impress Arthur. Which, granted, was usually more than enough to capture Arthur's attention. But not that night.
Arthur had been listening to his father drone, the lord simper and the daughters giggle. His cup nearly empty and requiring much more wine to make the remainder of the evening bearable, he ignored everyone momentarily and looked around for Merlin. He spotted him in the corner talking to Gwen. His hair was at that in-between length where it was just long enough to pull back into a tail but short enough that most of it eventually came loose, leaving Merlin to repeatedly shove it behind his rather sizeable ears.
As he waited for Merlin to look up, he watched him lean down closer to Gwen to better hear what she was saying. As he did so, a lock of hair escaped the tie at the back of his head and slipped forward, partially obscuring his face. He reached up and tucked it delicately behind his ear, laughing as he did so, his eyes dancing merrily. Arthur remembered feeling as though all the air had been sucked out of his chest and the general din of the room falling away as his blood pounded in his ears. And when Merlin finally looked up to find Arthur staring at him, his smile only broadened and he excused himself from Gwen to tend to his prince.
Merlin nattered while he filled Arthur's cup, and he found himself smiling up at his servant, suddenly immensely glad Merlin was there and could provide a momentary distraction. Merlin smiled back and then excused himself, returning to Gwen in the corner.
His attention soon diverted by the wandering hand of one of the lord's daughters, the rest of the evening passed uneventfully. In the morning he awoke to find Merlin already in his room, collecting those items of clothing from the night before that needed washing and putting away those that did not. His heart thudding in his chest, he peered cautiously out from under the covers, but Merlin was just Merlin today. He was not the adorable--and enticing--creature from the night before, and Arthur relaxed.
***
Adorable Merlin didn't make another appearance for a week, at which point Arthur had some free hours and decided that he wanted to go riding. He invited Merlin along, ostensibly because someone needed to tend to the animals when they broke to rest, but really because he knew that Merlin loved horseback riding and it secretly pleased him when Merlin was happy. They set off together, Arthur in the lead until they got to the borders of the city where the open fields started, and then Merlin took off. The race was on.
Merlin's horse hadn't been much more than a nag when he'd started with him, but he'd somehow transformed him into a respectable steed, and nowadays Arthur actually had to work for his victories. He always won, of course, because he was the prince and he couldn't have his servant beating him. He always gave Merlin a head start, though. It was more interesting that way. He didn't mind it that Merlin took it upon himself to challenge him so--out here they were just boys having fun, more or less away from the restraints of their everyday lives.
He gained fast on Merlin that day, faster than usual. Merlin seemed more interested in enjoying himself than actually staying ahead of Arthur, and he turned back to laugh as the prince started to overtake him.
Arthur nearly fell off his horse.
The wind had blown Merlin's hair free of its tie, and it was whipping wildly around his face and neck as he called something to Arthur. Arthur didn't hear him, only partly because of the thundering hooves and the wind whistling past them. It was happening again, that tightness in his chest that made him feel as though he couldn't breathe. All he could see was Merlin's face, pale skin plastered with dark strands of hair and a bright smile that made the sun blazing behind him seem dull by comparison.
He had to pull back on the reins, the tightness combined with the beating of the wind making it so that he actually couldn't breathe. He started gasping as soon as the horse slowed, resting one hand on the saddle and the other in the horse's mane as it pranced beneath him. Merlin, realizing something was wrong, had turned his horse around and was riding back to where Arthur had stopped. Now his hair billowed out behind him, and he looked so beautiful that Arthur had to look away, sliding off his horse and taking a few steps before bending at the waist and putting his hands on his knees. He tried to get his breath and his now-racing heart under control.
He heard the thud of Merlin's feet as he jumped off his horse and ran over, and then a hand was on his shoulder before Merlin dropped to his knees next to him. He looked up at Arthur, concerned.
"Are you all right? What's wrong?"
Arthur just shook his head, meaning to indicate that he was fine, but Merlin understood it to mean the opposite. He straightened up, pulling Arthur with him.
"You're short of breath," he said, fingers moving to the front of Arthur's riding coat and undoing the buttons. "Perhaps if we loosened this up, got you some air...."
His voice trailed off as he made quick work of it, and yes, yes that felt a bit better. He took a deep breath. But then Merlin's fingers started brushing the bare skin of his neck as he pulled at the ties of Arthur's tunic, and it sent chills down Arthur's spine. Before he could start pondering where else on his body Merlin's fingers might feel good, he pulled away, perhaps a bit abruptly.
"I'm fine," he said sharply. "Stop fussing." He turned back toward his horse and plopped down onto the ground, resting his arms on his knees. After a few moments of silence, he looked up at Merlin. He was still standing in the same spot, hands behind his back, looking uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Arthur had seen Merlin look like this plenty of times--every time he was curt, or snapped at him. But where he previously would've called Merlin a girl and told him to get over it, now it was just unbearable. Something inside him melted.
"Come here," he called gruffly, indicating the ground next to him. Merlin actually listened--would wonders never cease--and sat down, tucking his hair behind his ears and looking straight ahead, squinting against the sunlight. Arthur sighed.
"I'm sorry," he said reluctantly. "I know that you were just...concerned. I shouldn't have snapped at you," he added, when Merlin gave him an odd look. And why not? Arthur never apologized for being a prat. After a moment, Merlin smiled.
"How are you feeling now?"
"Better," Arthur said, clearing his throat, trying to regain his princely demeanor. There'd be no more of this weakness in front of Merlin. "I think I just needed to stop for a moment."
Merlin nodded and made himself more comfortable, leaning back on his hands and turning his face up to the sun, eyes closed. Arthur steeled himself not to look, and succeeded--mostly--until finally Merlin said, "You know what I think?"
"I don't really care what you think," Arthur answered, throwing a glance back at his servant. Merlin grinned, opening one eye and peeking at him, sending his heart into palpitations again.
He was definitely in trouble.
"I think I was winning, and you knew you couldn't beat me this time." Arthur stared at him, flabbergasted, until Merlin finally cracked and started laughing.
"You are the most insubordinate, delusional manservant ever," Arthur grumbled, giving Merlin a shove before getting up and going back to his horse. Merlin was still laughing when Arthur took off again, leaving him in the dust. By the time they reached Camelot, Merlin had almost caught up.
***
It only got worse after that- it seemed adorable Merlin was there to stay, only now he was sometimes interspersed with coy Merlin and even, God help him, sexy Merlin. The three changed places so frequently that they eventually became indistinguishable, and Arthur found himself hopelessly infatuated with his own manservant.
And that damn hair had somehow become the center of his universe. How was that even possible? He longed to touch it, to run his fingers through it, but knew that it wasn't possible. So he allowed himself to watch Merlin do both of those things, and more: Merlin, absently running a hand through it while talking; Merlin, twirling dark strands around his fingers when he was concentrating on something; Merlin, brushing the ends of a strand across his lips when he was listening to Arthur. That last one was new, and Arthur was as of yet unable to finish a sentence once he noticed Merlin doing it.
How could hair make such a difference? Attached to the beautiful, silky looking mass was still Merlin--his clumsy, mostly incompetent and very male servant.
Was it that it brought attention to his face? Merlin was always fiddling with it, so one couldn't help but notice the way his fingers brushed across his cheekbones on their way to push it behind his ear. From there, it was easy to see how startlingly blue his eyes were, or how full and soft his lips looked. Or maybe it was the way the ends brushed his neck when he wore it down, which usually only happened at the end of the day, in Arthur's chambers. Then it was a simple thing to notice how long Merlin's neck was, and to see how pale and smooth the skin was when he finally pulled it back.
Arthur was beside himself.
The final straw came at the end of a long day, which found Arthur stumbling toward his rooms, soaked to the bone after chasing a thief through one of the lower villages in the rain. He'd succeeded in catching him, of course, but he was wet, cold and covered in mud. Merlin was there when he arrived and immediately steered him to his chair, which he'd moved in front of the roaring fire. Before he sat, Merlin had removed his coat and wet tunic, replacing it with a dry one. His trousers had been mostly spared the rain and mud by his coat, but his boots were a soggy mess.
He collapsed into the chair, resting his head against the back, and watching through half-lidded eyes as Merlin sank to his knees and set about removing his boots. It wasn't an easy task, the mud and wet laces working together to create a tangled, uncooperative mess.
Arthur watched him quietly, taken by the way the light from the fire reflected off--what else?--Merlin's hair. It'd gotten longer, the ends brushing the tops of his shoulders now, and Arthur absently wondered how long he planned on growing it. His gaze moved from the ends of Merlin's hair to his tunic, which was undone and hanging open nearly halfway down his chest. He shifted to attack Arthur's boot from a new angle, and it fell open even more, exposing a collarbone that looked annoyingly edible.
He shifted in his chair, aware of the stirring of flesh between his legs, pulling his tunic down to cover the ridge that was starting to form. Merlin mistook the movement, and looked up at him. Arthur knew he meant the look to be apologetic, but he just looked utterly and completely seductive, and he gripped the arms of his chair.
"Sorry," Merlin said. "I'm trying, but you've made quite a mess of yourself."
Arthur gave him a curt nod, trying to steer his thoughts away from what else lay beneath Merlin's tunic, or how his nimble fingers could be put to better use. His tunic wasn't going to be very good cover much longer at this rate.
Then Merlin bent forward, concentrating, and his hair fell across Arthur's knee, brushing over it, a tantalizing caress that hardened him instantly. He jumped, yanking his foot away from Merlin, startling him.
"For heaven's sake, Merlin!" he yelled. "Can't you do something about your...your...hair?"
Merlin blinked up at him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally managed, "My...hair?"
He was fingered it again, as though to make sure they were talking about the same thing. "Yes," Arthur snapped, annoyed and a little embarrassed that he'd lost control. Oh, and also that he had a raging hard on. For Merlin.
"What exactly is it about my hair that you object to?" Merlin asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Well...it's long. And it's always in the way. You're always touching it, and playing with it," Arthur rambled, face growing redder by the second. Merlin's lips were starting to curl into something that looked dangerously like a smile. "You look like a girl?" he tried weakly, as Merlin's eyes finally dropped to his lap, his smile widening. "I want you to cut it," Arthur blurted, trying to cover himself up. Merlin just laughed, getting up on his knees and placing his hands on Arthur's thighs, pushing them open.
"I don't want to cut it," he said, grinning up at the prince, eyes twinkling, "so I'm not sure what you want me to do with it. But," he said, before Arthur could protest, "I believe I know something that you can do with it. Sire."
Shortly thereafter, when Arthur was coming in Merlin's mouth, fists full of long, dark, luxurious hair, he thought he might just let Merlin keep it long after all.