Merlin - Give Me Miles and Mountains, and I'll Ask for the Sea (Arthur/Merlin, PG-13)
I have two projects that I would very much like to be working on at the moment, one for Merlin and one for Generation Kill, neither one is being forthcoming all of a sudden. So, instead I decided to finish something I'd started a while back. This is another story I'd started for lazlet's birthday (HA!) and um, yes. Plz to enjoy.
Merlin
Arthur/Merlin
Rated PG-13
Give Me Miles and Mountains, and I'll Ask for the Sea
Merlin is yawning.
It's not just impertinent in the face of the speech from the visiting dignitary -- it is admittedly a very long speech, and Arthur himself has to bite the inside of his jaw to keep from doing likewise.
The problem is that Merlin's yawn is distracting. And the last thing Arthur needs is to be distracted by a) Merlin completely failing in his duties as a manservant, yet again, and b) Merlin licking his lips after he yawns, as though it's not just enough to distract Arthur with that long, pale column of skin that Arthur could just -- speeches!
Right, speeches.
The next time Arthur looks over, Merlin's moved from yawning to shifting the pitcher of wine to the crook of his elbow and wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Merlin's hand leaves this wet smear, and -- and this is completely unacceptable.
It's all well and good for Merlin to sneak a few nips of the King's wine. Arthur knows the tedium of these feasts better than anyone, but first, the yawning, and now, the smear of red across the corner of Merlin's mouth?
It's intolerable.
Especially, considering Merlin can't even be bothered to keep Arthur's goblet filled.
If the dignitary would stop blathering on, Arthur could berate Merlin as much as he wants to. But, no -- the rambling fool is still talking, Merlin is just as oblivious as ever, and Arthur, well Arthur must endure, because that is what the Crown Prince does.
Bollocks to that.
Except Arthur keeps pretending to listen, keeps nodding when there are pauses and eyes fix upon him, which is generally when people expect him to nod.
And yet, the whole while he is nodding, Arthur is thinking of Merlin and all the ways Merlin is the most incompetent, lazy, useless manservant Arthur has ever had.
Can Merlin stop yawning and turning his head as though displaying his neck just for Arthur? Of course not.
Can he stop licking his lips as though they taste of wine and Arthur would be better off licking Merlin to quench his thirst? Far be it from Merlin to do so.
Is Merlin the worst manservant in all of Albion? Absolutely.
Is it growing hot in here, or is Arthur just that parched? Oh, dear god.
This is obviously why Merlin suddenly picks now to be attentive. Out the corner of his eye, Arthur can see the crown of Merlin's head winding around the tables towards him.
That only took forever.
Arthur scowls at Merlin as he leans in entirely too close to fill Arthur's goblet. "So nice of you to pay attention to your prince," Arthur says with a false grin.
Merlin opens his mouth, glances towards the head of the table where the king is sitting and then pulls his face into a mockery of good behaviour. "I'm sorry, Sire. It won't happen again."
Arthur doesn't have to look to know his father must be watching their interaction. "If I catch you drinking before me again, apologising will be the least of your concerns."
Merlin, at least, has the decency to look abashed at being caught out. "I was just -- it's very warm in here."
"Yes, and you'll be plenty warm in the dungeon when I collapse of thirst and you're clapped in irons."
Merlin narrows his eyes. "You sanctimonious --" he begins before remembering where they are.
Arthur's grin is all teeth. "Smile and nod your head, Merlin," he coaxes. "Remember where we are."
Merlin smiles, speaking through his teeth. "Prat."
Merlin's fingers are long and knobby and clumsy. They fumble Arthur's clothing in the morning, and nearly drop his armour at midday. By nightfall, Merlin's hands are barely able to undress Arthur for bed. It would be so much easier for Arthur to just do these things himself, but why ever would he do that when he can have Merlin's uncallused fingertips brushing along his calves and shoulders?
Why would Arthur put himself out when he can feel Merlin's knuckles sliding along the inside of his bicep when Merlin pulls off his tunic?
Merlin can barely heft a sword without breaking a sweat, and his hands are those of a labourer, not a knight, but the pads of his fingers are soft and his touch is gentle.
Arthur knows he can be trying, because he does it on purpose, and yet, when Merlin dresses him in the morning any clumsiness seems to be more a matter of the hour than of real inattentiveness on Merlin's part.
When it's late at night and Arthur is exhausted and irritable from practise or interminable feasts with his father, Merlin's fingers ghosting over his skin manage to reassure Arthur that he is not alone. That if all else fails, Merlin is there.
Merlin's fingers do not tarry in their tasks, at least not when they are touching Arthur, but sometimes Arthur wishes they would.
Arthur's knights have a great fondness for the term 'cocksucker.'
They would never use the word in mixed company or in reference to a noble lady. The first knight to refer to Morgana -- or even Guinevere -- in such a manner would find himself lacking essential body parts, like his head. The under classes, however, are free for the branding and tarnishing.
The term can be used for one who sucks cock extensively or one who has a mouth that just looks like it should suck cock extensively. There are three scullery maids who fit the former, but only one that really fits the latter. There's a stable boy that fits both the former and the latter.
And then there is Merlin, who Arthur has resolutely never thought of in these terms, except for at this very moment, because Palamedes was just talking about tumbling one of the laundresses, and now, Merlin's talking to Arthur about something. Unfortunately, Arthur has no idea what the 'something' is because Merlin's mouth is moving, and all Arthur can think is 'cocksucker.'
Merlin's lips aren't very full, but they're incredibly pink, and when Merlin wets his lips, Arthur can feel his breeches growing a bit tight.
He thinks they're talking about some task he's assigned Merlin. He assumes they are, because they certainly aren't talking about Merlin sucking Arthur's cock.
No, definitely not that.
Arthur just decides to feel his way through the conversation. "Again," he answers, even though he's not sure Merlin has even asked him a question.
A look of confusion flits across Merlin's face. "You want me to do it again?"
"Yes." Arthur hasn't the foggiest what 'it' is, but he'll go with it. A prince must listen to his instincts, and Arthur's instincts are telling him that Merlin could be the most magnificent cocksucker in all of Camelot, so it's best if Arthur keeps him busy doing other things.
"But I just did it this morning," Merlin protests.
Ah, this is more like it. Arthur can handle Merlin being insolent and cheeky.
"And now, I'm telling you to do it again," Arthur says.
"You can't do that!" Merlin protests.
"Sire," Arthur corrects. "You can't do that, Sire."
"You can't do that, Sire!" Merlin retorts snappishly.
Arthur can feel his grin widening his face. "Ah, but I can."
"You -- you -- you," Merlin sputters.
"You forget who you are talking to, Merlin." Arthur's tone is very light; he's enjoying this immensely. Winding up Merlin isn't as good as having his cock sucked, but under the circumstances…
Merlin huffs a breath, his lips pursing as though he could kiss Arthur if he wanted to, but considering Arthur realises he just told Merlin to muck out the stalls again, snogging's probably not something that Merlin is very inclined to do.
Merlin's hair is a riotous brown mess on his head, which Arthur only notices when Merlin is on his knees before him or when Arthur is watching Merlin from across the room.
There could be hundreds of pale, scrawny manservants with piercing blue eyes in all of Camelot, and Arthur would be able to pick out Merlin by his unruly hair alone.
Arthur has never touched Merlin's hair, never done something that personal, but he imagines that Merlin's hair must be rough and dirty with the way Merlin doesn't bathe as much as Arthur does. He refuses to think of how soft Merlin's hair really looks, of how Merlin's hair is a shimmering mass in the sun when Arthur is drilling his knights.
If Arthur thought about Merlin's hair at all, he would decide that he prefers it a little longer than Merlin typically wears it, that he prefers the slight curl that comes with length and the way Arthur thinks his fingers would tangle in those curls when Arthur kissed Merlin.
Merlin's skin is pale. So very pale that if Arthur looks long enough he can see the blue veins just under the surface of Merlin's skin. Merlin's paleness highlights the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth turns slick and red when Merlin bites at his own lips. That hint of pink tongue that peeks out of Merlin's mouth when he's concentrating makes Arthur's head feel light, and his palms go damp as though he's been exerting himself extensively when he hasn't.
No, Arthur hasn't been exerting himself at all unless you count sitting in his chair and watching Merlin clean his bed chambers as some form of exertion.
Merlin's on his hands and knees cleaning under Arthur's bed, and when he wriggles his hips, Arthur sighs.
Merlin's arse isn't the most amazing one he's ever seen, but it's certainly not bad.
"Is there some reason you keep staring at me as though I've turned green?"
Merlin's looking at Arthur over his shoulder as though he's been watching Arthur watch him for some time. Bugger.
"Green?" Arthur asks belatedly.
Merlin goes very still. "I haven't, have I? Turned green I mean."
Arthur sits up in his chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Are you expecting to turn green? Is this something I should be looking forward too? Another sign of you being the most inept apprentice Gaius has ever had?"
Merlin's still on his knees, and when he turns toward Arthur and swallows, Arthur's eyes are inevitably drawn towards Merlin's neck. There's a flush there that seems to be spreading to Merlin's face and down his chest. Well, Arthur assumes it's going down Merlin's chest, but Merlin's wearing that omnipresent, infuriating neckerchief that keeps Merlin's chest hidden. If Arthur had his druthers he would rip it off and use it to tie Merlin -- uh. Moving onward.
Arthur clears his throat in an effort to hide his distraction. "I'm just checking to see what a ramshackle job you're doing this time, so that when I tell you to do it again, I can be specific."
Merlin's mouth drops open a bit. "How can I have done it wrong when I'm not even finished yet?"
"It's you, Merlin," Arthur says with a smile. "It's always going to be wrong."
Merlin crosses his arms. "You," he says after a moment, "are an arse."
Arthur has to lean back in his chair and laugh, because Merlin's impudence is quickly becoming another one of those pesky traits that Arthur is coming to enjoy, and if he doesn't move away, he's probably going to pin Merlin to the floor and do unspeakable things to him in the name of -- well, of himself.
Merlin's ears are absolutely ridiculous. They're entirely too big and stick out too far. And yet, all Arthur can do is think about biting Merlin's earlobes, about stroking the soft skin behind Merlin's ears. Arthur spends indeterminate amounts of time contemplating tracing the shell of Merlin's ear with his index finger and mouthing Merlin's neck. He ponders what Merlin's skin would taste like, what it would be like to mark Merlin with his mouth, his teeth, his fingers -- when did the sun rise? Great buggering -- he's going to be late for practise, again. It's all Merlin's fault.
Perhaps Merlin is an infectious disease, and Arthur has no hope of cure.
Every near-death experience is different.
Some experiences are exhilarating and life-affirming, and the ones where none of Arthur's men die in the battle and he goes to bed full of exhaustion and gratitude for seeing a new day are always to be cherished.
If the near-death experience comes from defeating a great evil, then it leaves Arthur with a sense of accomplishment and he sleeps soundly that night.
If the experience is because of some idiocy on Merlin's part, however, then Arthur does not sleep well. The mere idea of Merlin being in danger leaves Arthur anxious and irritable and afraid -- not for himself, a prince cannot fear death -- but for Merlin.
In a little under a year, Merlin has become irreplaceable, and if Merlin dies for want of Arthur at his side, Arthur would never be able to live with himself. Which is obviously why he shoves Merlin out of the way when that enormous, magical, talking animal with wings and tail and claws attacks them in the forest.
And attack it does.
For a brief, glittering moment, Arthur holds his own, sword drawn and flashing in an arc before him, but then he's being batted aside by a paw the size of Merlin's head and he goes down hard. Hard enough that it takes him some time to get back up.
When Arthur rolls over to get to his feet, there's a pain in his side. At first it's just an ache, as though some of the links in his chain mail are digging into his skin. Then Arthur touches the ache and his hand comes away red, and he thinks perhaps he's missed something here.
He closes his eyes for a moment, just to get his bearings, and when he opens them again, Merlin is bent over him, whispering quietly and biting his lip.
"Arthur? Arthur, if you die on me, I'm going to kill you," Merlin says.
Arthur attempts to laugh, but it comes out as a wheezing cough.
Merlin's head snaps up, and his face goes from taunt with worry to something much softer. "You are the most idiotic prince ever," Merlin scolds. "I told you not to antagonize the Phoenix, but did you listen?"
"Listen to you? If I did, we'd all be dead." Another laugh becomes a cough and a wince.
"Yes, clearly it's better to just be maimed," Merlin snaps, yanking off his neckerchief and pressing it to Arthur's side.
If Arthur flinches, he'll never admit it. He's far too busy looking at Merlin's exposed neck.
"I'm fine," he says eventually, trying to bat Merlin away, but his side hurts and when he reaches out to push Merlin away, his fingers tangle in Merlin's hair instead.
It's just as he thought. "Your hair is very soft," Arthur says, his fingers caught in the strands.
Merlin's hand wraps around Arthur's wrist. "Yes, let's pull Merlin's hair because he's obviously a prized -- my hair is what?"
It's very hard for Arthur to smile the way he wants to. He feels incredibly tired right now. "Your hair," he says thoughtfully. "You don't wash it enough."
There's a light touch on Arthur's hand near where Merlin's holding his wrist, a glance shows it's Merlin's fingers stroking his palm. "You're bleeding from your side," Merlin says lightly. "Are you telling me you've hit your head as well?"
"I'm fine," Arthur insists.
Merlin purses his lips. "You are not fine." At some point Arthur should kiss him just to see if Merlin's mouth is really as soft as it looks.
"Yes, I am" Arthur insists, disentangling himself from Merlin and pushing himself upright. Sitting up is a horrible idea since the ground is apparently moving underneath him, but what's one more terrible idea all things considered?
Arthur stumbles to his feet and then has to retreat back to his knees. Merlin is right there beside him, an arm around Arthur's waist, trying to support his weight.
"You were saying?" Merlin snaps. His tenor is angry, but his eyes are worried.
Great. It's not enough for Arthur to worry about Merlin, now he's got Merlin worrying about him.
Arthur winces, even as he allows Merlin to take some of his weight.
Merlin's warm next to him, and Arthur allows him to wrap Arthur's arm across his shoulders so Merlin can support him better as Arthur tries to stand again.
Arthur takes a moment to redistribute his weight, to get his bearings, to feel Merlin pressed against his side.
"Merlin?" he says eventually.
"Yes, Arthur?"
"I'm not dying for you again."
Merlin chuckles softly, and Arthur can feel the vibrations all the way down in his own toes. "Actually, you haven't died for me a first time yet."
Arthur sputters. "Shut up."
Arthur can feel Merlin's breath on the side of his face when Merlin turns towards him. "Yes, Sire."
Arthur will not even address the matter of Merlin's absurd cheekbones. Perhaps if Merlin actually ate something they would be less pronounced. Perhaps Arthur should tie Merlin down and -- this line of reasoning doesn't seem to be going where it should.
Arthur is lying in his bed dying of boredom, because the only thing worse than nearly dying is being treated as though he's nearly dying. He's been attended to and bandaged by Gaius, he's been looked in on briefly by his father, and Morgana has already come by to tell him he's not indestructible and he should be nicer to Merlin for saving his life. That, of course, is nonsense, because Merlin couldn't even save himself if you presented him with detailed instructions on how to do so.
The knock on the door is just what Arthur needs: someone to terrorise.
"Enter already!" he snaps.
The door slowly opens and then Merlin's head peeks around the side. "It's just me," he says. "I just, you know." Merlin waves his hands around vaguely and Arthur rolls his eyes.
"Yes, I can see it's you," Arthur says dryly. "Was there something you wanted? Some other ignominy you wanted to subject me to?"
Merlin's face falls, and then his lower lip juts out. "It's not my fault you didn't listen to me and almost died," Merlin retorts. "You are the most bloody-minded prince I've ever met."
Arthur snorts. "I reckon I'm also the only prince you've ever met. Another prince, a less forgiving one, would certainly have locked you away in the dungeon for the safety of his kingdom."
Merlin's mouth pulls into an unhappy line. "Obviously, whatever injuries you've suffered, your opinion of yourself has remained intact. I'll just be going."
Arthur should feel annoyed that he's been subjected to so much fuss and worry. He should be irritated and throw things at Merlin, but at this very moment, with Merlin walking out, Arthur just can't be bothered.
"Merlin," he calls.
Arthur can see Merlin's chest rise and fall when he sighs. "Yes, Sire?"
Arthur pats the bed beside him. "Sit with me."
Merlin's hand is on the door, and he gives Arthur a puzzled look, but pushes the door closed instead of leaving. "You want me to sit?"
Arthur snorts softly. "Yes, just sit."
Merlin nods once, hesitantly, and then crosses the room and perches on the side of the bed. He's quiet for all of three heartbeats. "Did you hear that the cook's sister just had her second set of twins? The cook said she's completely beside herself and --
Arthur shakes his head. He did start this. "I didn't say run on at the mouth, I said sit."
Merlin looks over his shoulder at Arthur, his fringe falling in his eyes. His hair is getting long again, and Arthur digs his fingers into the bed covering to keep from doing something inappropriate.
It would be so easy to reach out and touch Merlin.
Arthur sighs instead and leans back into the pillows. His side doesn't ache as much as it did earlier, then again, Gaius did give him several draughts to alleviate any suffering.
Arthur shifts, trying to find the right position where everything fits. It's possible he's been looking for it his entire life.
Merlin glances over his shoulder again and opens his mouth.
Arthur has to lunge across the bed to get his hand over Merlin's mouth, which is actually an incredibly bad idea, because Merlin's lips are even softer against Arthur's hand than he thought they would be. Never mind about Arthur's injuries.
"No talking, Merlin," he repeats. Merlin mumbles something, and Arthur has to take his hand away because the feeling of Merlin's mouth against him is going to cause him to ruin his breeches among other things. "What?"
Merlin blinks at him. "If I can't talk, then what am I supposed to do?"
Arthur chuckles softly. "You're hopeless with instructions, aren't you?"
Merlin forehead furrows. "I didn't know this was an order."
"It's not. I just thought that…" Arthur doesn't know what he thought. Actually, that's an enormous lie. He knows exactly what he's been thinking.
There's a moment of confusion that Arthur can see on Merlin's face, but then it's gone, replaced by something else that makes Arthur's palms itch. "You don't have to stay," he says hurriedly. "In fact --"
Merlin cuts him off by leaning back, finally bringing his legs onto the bed. His boots rest on the coverlet. "Like this?" he asks, turning his head to look at Arthur.
Merlin's eyes are soft. If you had asked Arthur a moment ago what colour Merlin's eyes are, he wouldn't have been able to say that they're blue like the sky in midsummer. Now, he can. Now, he knows for sure.
Arthur swallows and nods. "Yes."
Merlin moves a little closer, his elbow brushing against Arthur's bicep and the heat from his body slowly bleeding into Arthur's clothes.
They lie there together quietly for several heartbeats. Arthur's fingers are cramping from his grip on the coverlet, and he bites the inside of his lip.
"I can do this," Merlin says eventually.
Arthur sighs again, and closes his eyes.
His hand twitches when Merlin covers it with his own, but he says nothing. Instead he opens his eyes and turns to see the small smile at the corners of Merlin's mouth.
He would say something if he had the words, but Merlin just squeezes his hand. "I'm glad you're all right," he says.
Arthur swallows against the tightness in his throat. "Thank you," he says softly.
Merlin licks his lips, his body pressed against Arthur's side. "Anything for you."
"So, I see."
"I thought you knew that by now."
Arthur's heart flutters in his chest. "I did." He corrects himself. "I do."
"Just checking then?" Merlin teases.
Merlin's mouth is so close, Arthur can feel it when he exhales. He leans forward just that little bit, pressing his forehead against Merlin's.
"Something like that," he admits. "Yes."
-end-
For lazlet. Beta from the other side of the world by sparky77. Title from 'Volcano' by Damien Rice.
Merlin
Arthur/Merlin
Rated PG-13
Give Me Miles and Mountains, and I'll Ask for the Sea
Merlin is yawning.
It's not just impertinent in the face of the speech from the visiting dignitary -- it is admittedly a very long speech, and Arthur himself has to bite the inside of his jaw to keep from doing likewise.
The problem is that Merlin's yawn is distracting. And the last thing Arthur needs is to be distracted by a) Merlin completely failing in his duties as a manservant, yet again, and b) Merlin licking his lips after he yawns, as though it's not just enough to distract Arthur with that long, pale column of skin that Arthur could just -- speeches!
Right, speeches.
The next time Arthur looks over, Merlin's moved from yawning to shifting the pitcher of wine to the crook of his elbow and wiping the back of his mouth with his hand. Merlin's hand leaves this wet smear, and -- and this is completely unacceptable.
It's all well and good for Merlin to sneak a few nips of the King's wine. Arthur knows the tedium of these feasts better than anyone, but first, the yawning, and now, the smear of red across the corner of Merlin's mouth?
It's intolerable.
Especially, considering Merlin can't even be bothered to keep Arthur's goblet filled.
If the dignitary would stop blathering on, Arthur could berate Merlin as much as he wants to. But, no -- the rambling fool is still talking, Merlin is just as oblivious as ever, and Arthur, well Arthur must endure, because that is what the Crown Prince does.
Bollocks to that.
Except Arthur keeps pretending to listen, keeps nodding when there are pauses and eyes fix upon him, which is generally when people expect him to nod.
And yet, the whole while he is nodding, Arthur is thinking of Merlin and all the ways Merlin is the most incompetent, lazy, useless manservant Arthur has ever had.
Can Merlin stop yawning and turning his head as though displaying his neck just for Arthur? Of course not.
Can he stop licking his lips as though they taste of wine and Arthur would be better off licking Merlin to quench his thirst? Far be it from Merlin to do so.
Is Merlin the worst manservant in all of Albion? Absolutely.
Is it growing hot in here, or is Arthur just that parched? Oh, dear god.
This is obviously why Merlin suddenly picks now to be attentive. Out the corner of his eye, Arthur can see the crown of Merlin's head winding around the tables towards him.
That only took forever.
Arthur scowls at Merlin as he leans in entirely too close to fill Arthur's goblet. "So nice of you to pay attention to your prince," Arthur says with a false grin.
Merlin opens his mouth, glances towards the head of the table where the king is sitting and then pulls his face into a mockery of good behaviour. "I'm sorry, Sire. It won't happen again."
Arthur doesn't have to look to know his father must be watching their interaction. "If I catch you drinking before me again, apologising will be the least of your concerns."
Merlin, at least, has the decency to look abashed at being caught out. "I was just -- it's very warm in here."
"Yes, and you'll be plenty warm in the dungeon when I collapse of thirst and you're clapped in irons."
Merlin narrows his eyes. "You sanctimonious --" he begins before remembering where they are.
Arthur's grin is all teeth. "Smile and nod your head, Merlin," he coaxes. "Remember where we are."
Merlin smiles, speaking through his teeth. "Prat."
Merlin's fingers are long and knobby and clumsy. They fumble Arthur's clothing in the morning, and nearly drop his armour at midday. By nightfall, Merlin's hands are barely able to undress Arthur for bed. It would be so much easier for Arthur to just do these things himself, but why ever would he do that when he can have Merlin's uncallused fingertips brushing along his calves and shoulders?
Why would Arthur put himself out when he can feel Merlin's knuckles sliding along the inside of his bicep when Merlin pulls off his tunic?
Merlin can barely heft a sword without breaking a sweat, and his hands are those of a labourer, not a knight, but the pads of his fingers are soft and his touch is gentle.
Arthur knows he can be trying, because he does it on purpose, and yet, when Merlin dresses him in the morning any clumsiness seems to be more a matter of the hour than of real inattentiveness on Merlin's part.
When it's late at night and Arthur is exhausted and irritable from practise or interminable feasts with his father, Merlin's fingers ghosting over his skin manage to reassure Arthur that he is not alone. That if all else fails, Merlin is there.
Merlin's fingers do not tarry in their tasks, at least not when they are touching Arthur, but sometimes Arthur wishes they would.
Arthur's knights have a great fondness for the term 'cocksucker.'
They would never use the word in mixed company or in reference to a noble lady. The first knight to refer to Morgana -- or even Guinevere -- in such a manner would find himself lacking essential body parts, like his head. The under classes, however, are free for the branding and tarnishing.
The term can be used for one who sucks cock extensively or one who has a mouth that just looks like it should suck cock extensively. There are three scullery maids who fit the former, but only one that really fits the latter. There's a stable boy that fits both the former and the latter.
And then there is Merlin, who Arthur has resolutely never thought of in these terms, except for at this very moment, because Palamedes was just talking about tumbling one of the laundresses, and now, Merlin's talking to Arthur about something. Unfortunately, Arthur has no idea what the 'something' is because Merlin's mouth is moving, and all Arthur can think is 'cocksucker.'
Merlin's lips aren't very full, but they're incredibly pink, and when Merlin wets his lips, Arthur can feel his breeches growing a bit tight.
He thinks they're talking about some task he's assigned Merlin. He assumes they are, because they certainly aren't talking about Merlin sucking Arthur's cock.
No, definitely not that.
Arthur just decides to feel his way through the conversation. "Again," he answers, even though he's not sure Merlin has even asked him a question.
A look of confusion flits across Merlin's face. "You want me to do it again?"
"Yes." Arthur hasn't the foggiest what 'it' is, but he'll go with it. A prince must listen to his instincts, and Arthur's instincts are telling him that Merlin could be the most magnificent cocksucker in all of Camelot, so it's best if Arthur keeps him busy doing other things.
"But I just did it this morning," Merlin protests.
Ah, this is more like it. Arthur can handle Merlin being insolent and cheeky.
"And now, I'm telling you to do it again," Arthur says.
"You can't do that!" Merlin protests.
"Sire," Arthur corrects. "You can't do that, Sire."
"You can't do that, Sire!" Merlin retorts snappishly.
Arthur can feel his grin widening his face. "Ah, but I can."
"You -- you -- you," Merlin sputters.
"You forget who you are talking to, Merlin." Arthur's tone is very light; he's enjoying this immensely. Winding up Merlin isn't as good as having his cock sucked, but under the circumstances…
Merlin huffs a breath, his lips pursing as though he could kiss Arthur if he wanted to, but considering Arthur realises he just told Merlin to muck out the stalls again, snogging's probably not something that Merlin is very inclined to do.
Merlin's hair is a riotous brown mess on his head, which Arthur only notices when Merlin is on his knees before him or when Arthur is watching Merlin from across the room.
There could be hundreds of pale, scrawny manservants with piercing blue eyes in all of Camelot, and Arthur would be able to pick out Merlin by his unruly hair alone.
Arthur has never touched Merlin's hair, never done something that personal, but he imagines that Merlin's hair must be rough and dirty with the way Merlin doesn't bathe as much as Arthur does. He refuses to think of how soft Merlin's hair really looks, of how Merlin's hair is a shimmering mass in the sun when Arthur is drilling his knights.
If Arthur thought about Merlin's hair at all, he would decide that he prefers it a little longer than Merlin typically wears it, that he prefers the slight curl that comes with length and the way Arthur thinks his fingers would tangle in those curls when Arthur kissed Merlin.
Merlin's skin is pale. So very pale that if Arthur looks long enough he can see the blue veins just under the surface of Merlin's skin. Merlin's paleness highlights the dark circles under his eyes, the way his mouth turns slick and red when Merlin bites at his own lips. That hint of pink tongue that peeks out of Merlin's mouth when he's concentrating makes Arthur's head feel light, and his palms go damp as though he's been exerting himself extensively when he hasn't.
No, Arthur hasn't been exerting himself at all unless you count sitting in his chair and watching Merlin clean his bed chambers as some form of exertion.
Merlin's on his hands and knees cleaning under Arthur's bed, and when he wriggles his hips, Arthur sighs.
Merlin's arse isn't the most amazing one he's ever seen, but it's certainly not bad.
"Is there some reason you keep staring at me as though I've turned green?"
Merlin's looking at Arthur over his shoulder as though he's been watching Arthur watch him for some time. Bugger.
"Green?" Arthur asks belatedly.
Merlin goes very still. "I haven't, have I? Turned green I mean."
Arthur sits up in his chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "Are you expecting to turn green? Is this something I should be looking forward too? Another sign of you being the most inept apprentice Gaius has ever had?"
Merlin's still on his knees, and when he turns toward Arthur and swallows, Arthur's eyes are inevitably drawn towards Merlin's neck. There's a flush there that seems to be spreading to Merlin's face and down his chest. Well, Arthur assumes it's going down Merlin's chest, but Merlin's wearing that omnipresent, infuriating neckerchief that keeps Merlin's chest hidden. If Arthur had his druthers he would rip it off and use it to tie Merlin -- uh. Moving onward.
Arthur clears his throat in an effort to hide his distraction. "I'm just checking to see what a ramshackle job you're doing this time, so that when I tell you to do it again, I can be specific."
Merlin's mouth drops open a bit. "How can I have done it wrong when I'm not even finished yet?"
"It's you, Merlin," Arthur says with a smile. "It's always going to be wrong."
Merlin crosses his arms. "You," he says after a moment, "are an arse."
Arthur has to lean back in his chair and laugh, because Merlin's impudence is quickly becoming another one of those pesky traits that Arthur is coming to enjoy, and if he doesn't move away, he's probably going to pin Merlin to the floor and do unspeakable things to him in the name of -- well, of himself.
Merlin's ears are absolutely ridiculous. They're entirely too big and stick out too far. And yet, all Arthur can do is think about biting Merlin's earlobes, about stroking the soft skin behind Merlin's ears. Arthur spends indeterminate amounts of time contemplating tracing the shell of Merlin's ear with his index finger and mouthing Merlin's neck. He ponders what Merlin's skin would taste like, what it would be like to mark Merlin with his mouth, his teeth, his fingers -- when did the sun rise? Great buggering -- he's going to be late for practise, again. It's all Merlin's fault.
Perhaps Merlin is an infectious disease, and Arthur has no hope of cure.
Every near-death experience is different.
Some experiences are exhilarating and life-affirming, and the ones where none of Arthur's men die in the battle and he goes to bed full of exhaustion and gratitude for seeing a new day are always to be cherished.
If the near-death experience comes from defeating a great evil, then it leaves Arthur with a sense of accomplishment and he sleeps soundly that night.
If the experience is because of some idiocy on Merlin's part, however, then Arthur does not sleep well. The mere idea of Merlin being in danger leaves Arthur anxious and irritable and afraid -- not for himself, a prince cannot fear death -- but for Merlin.
In a little under a year, Merlin has become irreplaceable, and if Merlin dies for want of Arthur at his side, Arthur would never be able to live with himself. Which is obviously why he shoves Merlin out of the way when that enormous, magical, talking animal with wings and tail and claws attacks them in the forest.
And attack it does.
For a brief, glittering moment, Arthur holds his own, sword drawn and flashing in an arc before him, but then he's being batted aside by a paw the size of Merlin's head and he goes down hard. Hard enough that it takes him some time to get back up.
When Arthur rolls over to get to his feet, there's a pain in his side. At first it's just an ache, as though some of the links in his chain mail are digging into his skin. Then Arthur touches the ache and his hand comes away red, and he thinks perhaps he's missed something here.
He closes his eyes for a moment, just to get his bearings, and when he opens them again, Merlin is bent over him, whispering quietly and biting his lip.
"Arthur? Arthur, if you die on me, I'm going to kill you," Merlin says.
Arthur attempts to laugh, but it comes out as a wheezing cough.
Merlin's head snaps up, and his face goes from taunt with worry to something much softer. "You are the most idiotic prince ever," Merlin scolds. "I told you not to antagonize the Phoenix, but did you listen?"
"Listen to you? If I did, we'd all be dead." Another laugh becomes a cough and a wince.
"Yes, clearly it's better to just be maimed," Merlin snaps, yanking off his neckerchief and pressing it to Arthur's side.
If Arthur flinches, he'll never admit it. He's far too busy looking at Merlin's exposed neck.
"I'm fine," he says eventually, trying to bat Merlin away, but his side hurts and when he reaches out to push Merlin away, his fingers tangle in Merlin's hair instead.
It's just as he thought. "Your hair is very soft," Arthur says, his fingers caught in the strands.
Merlin's hand wraps around Arthur's wrist. "Yes, let's pull Merlin's hair because he's obviously a prized -- my hair is what?"
It's very hard for Arthur to smile the way he wants to. He feels incredibly tired right now. "Your hair," he says thoughtfully. "You don't wash it enough."
There's a light touch on Arthur's hand near where Merlin's holding his wrist, a glance shows it's Merlin's fingers stroking his palm. "You're bleeding from your side," Merlin says lightly. "Are you telling me you've hit your head as well?"
"I'm fine," Arthur insists.
Merlin purses his lips. "You are not fine." At some point Arthur should kiss him just to see if Merlin's mouth is really as soft as it looks.
"Yes, I am" Arthur insists, disentangling himself from Merlin and pushing himself upright. Sitting up is a horrible idea since the ground is apparently moving underneath him, but what's one more terrible idea all things considered?
Arthur stumbles to his feet and then has to retreat back to his knees. Merlin is right there beside him, an arm around Arthur's waist, trying to support his weight.
"You were saying?" Merlin snaps. His tenor is angry, but his eyes are worried.
Great. It's not enough for Arthur to worry about Merlin, now he's got Merlin worrying about him.
Arthur winces, even as he allows Merlin to take some of his weight.
Merlin's warm next to him, and Arthur allows him to wrap Arthur's arm across his shoulders so Merlin can support him better as Arthur tries to stand again.
Arthur takes a moment to redistribute his weight, to get his bearings, to feel Merlin pressed against his side.
"Merlin?" he says eventually.
"Yes, Arthur?"
"I'm not dying for you again."
Merlin chuckles softly, and Arthur can feel the vibrations all the way down in his own toes. "Actually, you haven't died for me a first time yet."
Arthur sputters. "Shut up."
Arthur can feel Merlin's breath on the side of his face when Merlin turns towards him. "Yes, Sire."
Arthur will not even address the matter of Merlin's absurd cheekbones. Perhaps if Merlin actually ate something they would be less pronounced. Perhaps Arthur should tie Merlin down and -- this line of reasoning doesn't seem to be going where it should.
Arthur is lying in his bed dying of boredom, because the only thing worse than nearly dying is being treated as though he's nearly dying. He's been attended to and bandaged by Gaius, he's been looked in on briefly by his father, and Morgana has already come by to tell him he's not indestructible and he should be nicer to Merlin for saving his life. That, of course, is nonsense, because Merlin couldn't even save himself if you presented him with detailed instructions on how to do so.
The knock on the door is just what Arthur needs: someone to terrorise.
"Enter already!" he snaps.
The door slowly opens and then Merlin's head peeks around the side. "It's just me," he says. "I just, you know." Merlin waves his hands around vaguely and Arthur rolls his eyes.
"Yes, I can see it's you," Arthur says dryly. "Was there something you wanted? Some other ignominy you wanted to subject me to?"
Merlin's face falls, and then his lower lip juts out. "It's not my fault you didn't listen to me and almost died," Merlin retorts. "You are the most bloody-minded prince I've ever met."
Arthur snorts. "I reckon I'm also the only prince you've ever met. Another prince, a less forgiving one, would certainly have locked you away in the dungeon for the safety of his kingdom."
Merlin's mouth pulls into an unhappy line. "Obviously, whatever injuries you've suffered, your opinion of yourself has remained intact. I'll just be going."
Arthur should feel annoyed that he's been subjected to so much fuss and worry. He should be irritated and throw things at Merlin, but at this very moment, with Merlin walking out, Arthur just can't be bothered.
"Merlin," he calls.
Arthur can see Merlin's chest rise and fall when he sighs. "Yes, Sire?"
Arthur pats the bed beside him. "Sit with me."
Merlin's hand is on the door, and he gives Arthur a puzzled look, but pushes the door closed instead of leaving. "You want me to sit?"
Arthur snorts softly. "Yes, just sit."
Merlin nods once, hesitantly, and then crosses the room and perches on the side of the bed. He's quiet for all of three heartbeats. "Did you hear that the cook's sister just had her second set of twins? The cook said she's completely beside herself and --
Arthur shakes his head. He did start this. "I didn't say run on at the mouth, I said sit."
Merlin looks over his shoulder at Arthur, his fringe falling in his eyes. His hair is getting long again, and Arthur digs his fingers into the bed covering to keep from doing something inappropriate.
It would be so easy to reach out and touch Merlin.
Arthur sighs instead and leans back into the pillows. His side doesn't ache as much as it did earlier, then again, Gaius did give him several draughts to alleviate any suffering.
Arthur shifts, trying to find the right position where everything fits. It's possible he's been looking for it his entire life.
Merlin glances over his shoulder again and opens his mouth.
Arthur has to lunge across the bed to get his hand over Merlin's mouth, which is actually an incredibly bad idea, because Merlin's lips are even softer against Arthur's hand than he thought they would be. Never mind about Arthur's injuries.
"No talking, Merlin," he repeats. Merlin mumbles something, and Arthur has to take his hand away because the feeling of Merlin's mouth against him is going to cause him to ruin his breeches among other things. "What?"
Merlin blinks at him. "If I can't talk, then what am I supposed to do?"
Arthur chuckles softly. "You're hopeless with instructions, aren't you?"
Merlin forehead furrows. "I didn't know this was an order."
"It's not. I just thought that…" Arthur doesn't know what he thought. Actually, that's an enormous lie. He knows exactly what he's been thinking.
There's a moment of confusion that Arthur can see on Merlin's face, but then it's gone, replaced by something else that makes Arthur's palms itch. "You don't have to stay," he says hurriedly. "In fact --"
Merlin cuts him off by leaning back, finally bringing his legs onto the bed. His boots rest on the coverlet. "Like this?" he asks, turning his head to look at Arthur.
Merlin's eyes are soft. If you had asked Arthur a moment ago what colour Merlin's eyes are, he wouldn't have been able to say that they're blue like the sky in midsummer. Now, he can. Now, he knows for sure.
Arthur swallows and nods. "Yes."
Merlin moves a little closer, his elbow brushing against Arthur's bicep and the heat from his body slowly bleeding into Arthur's clothes.
They lie there together quietly for several heartbeats. Arthur's fingers are cramping from his grip on the coverlet, and he bites the inside of his lip.
"I can do this," Merlin says eventually.
Arthur sighs again, and closes his eyes.
His hand twitches when Merlin covers it with his own, but he says nothing. Instead he opens his eyes and turns to see the small smile at the corners of Merlin's mouth.
He would say something if he had the words, but Merlin just squeezes his hand. "I'm glad you're all right," he says.
Arthur swallows against the tightness in his throat. "Thank you," he says softly.
Merlin licks his lips, his body pressed against Arthur's side. "Anything for you."
"So, I see."
"I thought you knew that by now."
Arthur's heart flutters in his chest. "I did." He corrects himself. "I do."
"Just checking then?" Merlin teases.
Merlin's mouth is so close, Arthur can feel it when he exhales. He leans forward just that little bit, pressing his forehead against Merlin's.
"Something like that," he admits. "Yes."
-end-
For lazlet. Beta from the other side of the world by sparky77. Title from 'Volcano' by Damien Rice.