Kink Me! #31Closed to new prompts!Welcome to Kink Me! Merlin #31! :D
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Above the neckline of the shirt, Merlin could see hints of fresh skin where Arthur had burned in the sun. The surface had long since blistered and peeled in patches along the back of his neck, and was now glossed over with a sensitive, shiny pink.
He stared at it, fascinated, while Arthur looked out over the garden. It’d whiten in a little round spot if Merlin pressed into it with his fingertip. Under the shirt Arthur probably looked like an irregularly spotted giraffe, patched in pink against the gold of his tan.
Several long moments passed while Merlin studied Arthur’s profile, then the relaxed sprawl of his body as he leaned back on his arms with feet dangling over the ladder. He tried to work out what had changed. Not much, really. Only that everything had lengthened and broadened and become more.
It was Arthur- he’d never not recognise him- but it was also someone whom he didn’t really know. A new Arthur with years of life and experiences Merlin hadn’t been a part of. Merlin suddenly felt as thought he might have trespassed by coming to hide out in the tree house without asking.
He licked his lips, the skin tasting dry. “How’d you know I was here?”
“Checked all the holes you could’ve fallen in first,” Arthur said.
“Bloody ha ha.” Merlin closed his eyes and turned his face into the flesh of his arm, grinning. “So what’d mum want, anyway?”
“Dunno, but if the food on the plate she was holding was piled any higher we would’ve had to get a permit to have it on the premises.”
Merlin snorted, appallingly glad to have gotten away before he was forcefed posh wedding food by his ever worrying mother, cheek-pinched by little old ladies (he hadn’t actually seen any, but there were bound to be gaggles of them somewhere comparing brands of purple rinse and lying in wait for people deemed in need of being fussed over, which always seemed to be Merlin) and had his eardrums assaulted by whatever people the age of Arthur’s father and his new bride listened to these days.
“Was pretty upset when she couldn’t find you. In tears, almost. Merliiiiiiiin, she was crying out,” Arthur said, then wailed in a pretty convincing falsetto, “Where’s my little Merliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin.... it was pitiful, really. You’re a horrible son.”
Merlin laughed, lashing out and catching Arthur’s thigh with a light kick. “Fuck off, idiot.”
“Fuck off, idiot,” Arthur aped, catching Merlin’s ankle, pushing on it till Merlin’s knee gave way and folded, then pulling a WFF face and mock-punching him on the leg.
And there. There it was: a hint of the Arthur who’d propelled himself so high in the riverside tyre and rope swing that he’d broken the branch it was tied to and gone into the drink with the tyre, rope, branch and all, then had come up sputtering and laughing like a lunatic.
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I love what you're doing with this.
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Which is all a very roundabout way of saying, I am LOVING THIS COMPLETELY.
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