Reading Material
Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Reading Material
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: As usual, Merlin was late for work. As usual, Arthur hunted him down, finding him fast asleep in that manky room of his, a book across his chest. And what a book.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 941
Camelot_drabble # 566: Disaster
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/
The day Merlin became Arthur’s servant -if you could call him that considering the absolute ineptness with which he approached everything, was a disaster.
Never mind the witch attempting to kill him or the chandelier that had to be replaced and that brought up moneys and taxes and workmen grumbling and his father blaming Arthur for it all.
No, Merlin, snarky, annoying Merlin, was a disaster all by himself. Causing chaos everywhere he went, whether they were out on patrol or feasting in the now-repaired Great Hall. While Arthur was fending off sorcerers and bandits and fantastical creatures determined to kill Arthur, Merlin hid behind a bush or under a leaf, and only after Arthur had vanquished said foes, did Merlin scamper out and claim that it was he that had saved Arthur’s life.
Ridiculous really.
But the worst part was that he didn’t do his job. Cleaning would be nice and taking care of Arthur’s armour or the nicks in his sword or better yet, bringing his supper on time, still warm from the kitchens.
Finally, Arthur had had enough.
Storming into Gaius’s chambers, yelling himself hoarse for his wayward servant, he shoved himself into Merlin’s room to find absolute turmoil. No wonder Merlin wasn’t keeping Arthur’s chambers clean if this was how he lived. Clothes everywhere, broken bits of swords and birds’ nests strewn about, a collection of shells and rock crystal pieces on the table, mixed with half-eaten biscuits. There were rags hanging from the cupboard-which was empty, and boots, caked with mud, laying half-under the bed.
The man himself was snoring away, a thick book opened on his chest. It looked like he’d fallen asleep in the midst of reading.
Knowing that he should throw something at Merlin’s head, wake him up and remind him to do his damn job, but curiosity got the better of him. What was in that book that was more important than attending to Arthur’s needs? That should have been Merlin’s first priority, not reading some improbable tale of derring-do and falling asleep.
Stumbling past the boots, Arthur reached over to pick up the book, but Merlin just clutched it tighter to his chest, mumbling, “Arthur, Arthur, please.”
“Something you’d like to show me, Merlin?” Arthur answered back. “What are you hiding?”
As he tried to pull it from Merlin’s grasp and see what was inside, Merlin’s eyes opened, blinking up at him. A second later, he must have realised he wasn’t dreaming. Scrambling away, caught in the blanket, Merlin tumbled to the floor, and tried rather frantically to hide the book.
Arthur just smirked, satisfied that he’d startled Merlin into next week because he deserved it. Leaning over, he held out his hand. “Book, Merlin. Give me the book. I can’t be having my wayward servant lollygagging about when there’s work to be done.”
Gaping like a fish out of water, Merlin kept mumbling about who knows what. The idiot certainly had a way with unintelligence. “It’s not your business. What I do in my spare time.”
“Well, that would be true if this was your spare time. But you’re already late with breakfast. So hand it over and I’ll keep it for you until you learn to tell time. Which considering you might take decades.” When Merlin just glared at him, Arthur wiggled his fingers. “Book, Merlin, now.”
There was more glaring but when Arthur didn’t back down, Merlin gave a huge sigh, then turned away a second, mumbled something that was probably highly insulting to Arthur’s person, and shoved the book into Arthur’s hands.
He wasn’t going to look. After all, Merlin was right in that not everything was Arthur’s business, no matter what he’d said. But when the book fell open, apparently to a favoured page, and Arthur glanced down at it, all he could say was “Oh.”
A book of magic might have been less surprising.
There, in brilliant colour, were drawing of men in various stages of undress and apparently going at it with a great deal of energy. Blonde men, black-haired men, always paired together. In the corner of the page was a faint lettering of Arthur’s own name and the delicate lines of a bird, a hawk maybe or something else.
Shit.
It was pornography of the worst sort or maybe the best. It was Arthur and Merlin in vivid detail.
Shit.
Arthur dropped it onto the bed, staring down at the way the men were painted, as the way they were looking at each other as they used mouths and hands and other parts.
Glancing up, he could see Merlin turning scarlet, his hands waving down at the pages. His voice squeaked, “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.” Clearing his throat, he had a thousand questions of how and why and did Merlin really think about Arthur that way, instead Arthur said, “I need breakfast, then clean my armour, properly, I have a speech that needs a bit of a polish, my dogs must be walked, and I’ll want a bath this evening.” As he stomped down the stairs, his mind in a whirl, he shouted, “Don’t be late.”
He’d never really thought it possible. Merlin insulted him non-stop and admittedly, Arthur returned the favour. He hadn’t been sure if Merlin even liked him all that much. But he’d hoped there was something more than just banter.
And now he knew.
Merlin was a disaster, in every way possible, but now, maybe, just maybe, they could be a disaster together.
And Arthur had to admit. That third drawing down had been intriguing.
That book could change everything.
He bloody hoped so.
Title: Reading Material
Rating: R
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: As usual, Merlin was late for work. As usual, Arthur hunted him down, finding him fast asleep in that manky room of his, a book across his chest. And what a book.
Warnings: none
Word Count: 941
Camelot_drabble # 566: Disaster
Author’s notes: none
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; They and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/o/
The day Merlin became Arthur’s servant -if you could call him that considering the absolute ineptness with which he approached everything, was a disaster.
Never mind the witch attempting to kill him or the chandelier that had to be replaced and that brought up moneys and taxes and workmen grumbling and his father blaming Arthur for it all.
No, Merlin, snarky, annoying Merlin, was a disaster all by himself. Causing chaos everywhere he went, whether they were out on patrol or feasting in the now-repaired Great Hall. While Arthur was fending off sorcerers and bandits and fantastical creatures determined to kill Arthur, Merlin hid behind a bush or under a leaf, and only after Arthur had vanquished said foes, did Merlin scamper out and claim that it was he that had saved Arthur’s life.
Ridiculous really.
But the worst part was that he didn’t do his job. Cleaning would be nice and taking care of Arthur’s armour or the nicks in his sword or better yet, bringing his supper on time, still warm from the kitchens.
Finally, Arthur had had enough.
Storming into Gaius’s chambers, yelling himself hoarse for his wayward servant, he shoved himself into Merlin’s room to find absolute turmoil. No wonder Merlin wasn’t keeping Arthur’s chambers clean if this was how he lived. Clothes everywhere, broken bits of swords and birds’ nests strewn about, a collection of shells and rock crystal pieces on the table, mixed with half-eaten biscuits. There were rags hanging from the cupboard-which was empty, and boots, caked with mud, laying half-under the bed.
The man himself was snoring away, a thick book opened on his chest. It looked like he’d fallen asleep in the midst of reading.
Knowing that he should throw something at Merlin’s head, wake him up and remind him to do his damn job, but curiosity got the better of him. What was in that book that was more important than attending to Arthur’s needs? That should have been Merlin’s first priority, not reading some improbable tale of derring-do and falling asleep.
Stumbling past the boots, Arthur reached over to pick up the book, but Merlin just clutched it tighter to his chest, mumbling, “Arthur, Arthur, please.”
“Something you’d like to show me, Merlin?” Arthur answered back. “What are you hiding?”
As he tried to pull it from Merlin’s grasp and see what was inside, Merlin’s eyes opened, blinking up at him. A second later, he must have realised he wasn’t dreaming. Scrambling away, caught in the blanket, Merlin tumbled to the floor, and tried rather frantically to hide the book.
Arthur just smirked, satisfied that he’d startled Merlin into next week because he deserved it. Leaning over, he held out his hand. “Book, Merlin. Give me the book. I can’t be having my wayward servant lollygagging about when there’s work to be done.”
Gaping like a fish out of water, Merlin kept mumbling about who knows what. The idiot certainly had a way with unintelligence. “It’s not your business. What I do in my spare time.”
“Well, that would be true if this was your spare time. But you’re already late with breakfast. So hand it over and I’ll keep it for you until you learn to tell time. Which considering you might take decades.” When Merlin just glared at him, Arthur wiggled his fingers. “Book, Merlin, now.”
There was more glaring but when Arthur didn’t back down, Merlin gave a huge sigh, then turned away a second, mumbled something that was probably highly insulting to Arthur’s person, and shoved the book into Arthur’s hands.
He wasn’t going to look. After all, Merlin was right in that not everything was Arthur’s business, no matter what he’d said. But when the book fell open, apparently to a favoured page, and Arthur glanced down at it, all he could say was “Oh.”
A book of magic might have been less surprising.
There, in brilliant colour, were drawing of men in various stages of undress and apparently going at it with a great deal of energy. Blonde men, black-haired men, always paired together. In the corner of the page was a faint lettering of Arthur’s own name and the delicate lines of a bird, a hawk maybe or something else.
Shit.
It was pornography of the worst sort or maybe the best. It was Arthur and Merlin in vivid detail.
Shit.
Arthur dropped it onto the bed, staring down at the way the men were painted, as the way they were looking at each other as they used mouths and hands and other parts.
Glancing up, he could see Merlin turning scarlet, his hands waving down at the pages. His voice squeaked, “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can.” Clearing his throat, he had a thousand questions of how and why and did Merlin really think about Arthur that way, instead Arthur said, “I need breakfast, then clean my armour, properly, I have a speech that needs a bit of a polish, my dogs must be walked, and I’ll want a bath this evening.” As he stomped down the stairs, his mind in a whirl, he shouted, “Don’t be late.”
He’d never really thought it possible. Merlin insulted him non-stop and admittedly, Arthur returned the favour. He hadn’t been sure if Merlin even liked him all that much. But he’d hoped there was something more than just banter.
And now he knew.
Merlin was a disaster, in every way possible, but now, maybe, just maybe, they could be a disaster together.
And Arthur had to admit. That third drawing down had been intriguing.
That book could change everything.
He bloody hoped so.