Bed Hog - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: Bed Hog
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 257
Rating: PG
A/N: Totally mindless fluff written for comment_fic.
Summary: Arthur always steals the covers when they share a bed.
Arthur is a terrible bed-hog. The second his eyes close he spreads out, legs splaying over the entire mattress until Merlin has to curl into a little ball if he doesn't want to be crushed under Arthur's weight. Worse than that - so much worse - is that Arthur always snores after a tournament, and no amount of prodding at him or cursing his name will get him to shut up.
Merlin wakes when the early morning sun is streaming through the window onto the floor. The room is cast with a certain stillness that tells him that he should still be asleep. He's freezing cold, he realises. A glance over his shoulder reveals the cause for this: Arthur the blanket-hogging bed-monster. He's not even using most of the blankets he's stolen; half of them are wedged underneath his head as an extra pillow.
"I hate you," Merlin mumbles as he rolls closer to him. Wrestling anything from Arthur's grasp is an impossible task, so Merlin has adapted his own techniques of dealing with it. He sneaks in tight against Arthur's body, sapping warmth from Arthur's skin as he nuzzles against him, and it isn't long before Arthur's arms curl tightly around him. It's like an instinct, and Arthur grumbles and mutters under his breath (and Merlin swears that he will hex Arthur if his snoring ever graduates to sleep-talking). Merlin sighs peacefully and rests his head against Arthur's shoulder, knowing that they still have another hour or so before they have to try and truly escape sleep's clutches.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 257
Rating: PG
A/N: Totally mindless fluff written for comment_fic.
Summary: Arthur always steals the covers when they share a bed.
Arthur is a terrible bed-hog. The second his eyes close he spreads out, legs splaying over the entire mattress until Merlin has to curl into a little ball if he doesn't want to be crushed under Arthur's weight. Worse than that - so much worse - is that Arthur always snores after a tournament, and no amount of prodding at him or cursing his name will get him to shut up.
Merlin wakes when the early morning sun is streaming through the window onto the floor. The room is cast with a certain stillness that tells him that he should still be asleep. He's freezing cold, he realises. A glance over his shoulder reveals the cause for this: Arthur the blanket-hogging bed-monster. He's not even using most of the blankets he's stolen; half of them are wedged underneath his head as an extra pillow.
"I hate you," Merlin mumbles as he rolls closer to him. Wrestling anything from Arthur's grasp is an impossible task, so Merlin has adapted his own techniques of dealing with it. He sneaks in tight against Arthur's body, sapping warmth from Arthur's skin as he nuzzles against him, and it isn't long before Arthur's arms curl tightly around him. It's like an instinct, and Arthur grumbles and mutters under his breath (and Merlin swears that he will hex Arthur if his snoring ever graduates to sleep-talking). Merlin sighs peacefully and rests his head against Arthur's shoulder, knowing that they still have another hour or so before they have to try and truly escape sleep's clutches.