Bad Case Of (Merlin/Arthur, R)
Title: Bad Case Of
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash, kinda)
Rating: R (strange for pre-slash, I know)
Word Count: ~650
Summary: It really was a terrible, terrible affliction that Merlin was suffering from. Very sad.
Notes: Spoilers for 1x07 "The Gates of Avalon". icarusancalion told encouraged me to write fic about Merlin dressing and undressing Arthur every day. This wanted to be that fic, but didn't make it. Also, thanks to ionaonie for the lookover. :)
~~~
Bad Case Of
The sad thing was, Merlin really did have an affliction. Possibly it was even mental, but he didn't think there was anything Gaius could do about it, even if he knew. Which he didn't, and that was a good thing because he'd have gotten that stern expression and perhaps the king would have noticed and Uther disliked him already, and while Merlin could live with there being an extra corner in the castle kitchens these days where food was put aside for the sole purpose of throwing it at him later, he really, really didn't want to be beheaded, thank you very much, especially not for something that didn't even remotely have anything to do with magic, not that he would have wanted to be beheaded for using magic but at least that would have made sense in some narrow-minded, stupid way while that… that other reason wouldn't. At all.
Okay. Head between the knees. Deep breaths. All right.
It was all Arthur's fault anyway, with his overblown ego and thoughtless demands and his talk about eternal friendship. "He's in love," he'd told his father, and Merlin's heart had nearly stopped because he'd just declared himself a sorcerer in front of king and court, but somehow that wasn't nearly as terrifying as Arthur knowing… that. Except Arthur had been talking about Gwen, and Merlin had laughed a little hysterically and yes, Gwen, of course, like there was anyone else. Pffft.
He wondered if, down in his cave, the dragon had sniggered. The dragon seemed like someone who'd snigger a lot, mostly at Merlin. Which really wasn't fair, because it was not his fault.
It was Arthur's. Or perhaps Uther's, for making him Arthur's manservant in the first place. He'd dare anyone not to fall in love when they'd… that… it was…
Merlin groaned and put his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks heat up at the memories. He'd never wanted to be a manservant, but he could have hardly said no to the king, and really, he'd told himself, how hard could it be?
Hah. How hard. If he'd known, he'd have run from Camelot as fast as he could and never looked back, destiny be damned.
Except… maybe not. Because then Arthur would have someone else to fasten his armour and change his sheets, someone else to fluff his pillows and slip the hem of the nightgown up his legs, his hips, his chest, and over his head. Someone else to dress him in the mornings, whom he'd tell that, "You'll never get the laces closed while it's like that," with that strange smirk on his face. Someone else who'd swallow hard even though their throat was dry, who'd close their hand around Arthur's thick, hard length and rub and stroke and listen to Arthur's soft little gasps, who'd lick their fingers clean while Arthur watched with dark eyes, and who'd sometimes be manhandled against a wall or onto the bed and end up having to scrub the stone or change the sheets, again.
Merlin wasn't sure he could bear that. Even if it was just something Arthur expected from all his manservants, nothing remarkable, nothing special, Merlin didn't think he could bear not being the one. But perhaps it was something remarkable, because sometimes…
Sometimes, Arthur would look at him, his gaze proprietary and almost fond. Sometimes Arthur would smile, really smile, and Merlin would find himself helpless to do anything but smile back, and then…
And then Arthur would usually tell him to muck out the stables or walk his twenty staghounds or lie to the king, and Merlin would end up knee-deep in horse droppings or being pelted with tomatoes, and Gaius would shake his head and look at Merlin like he was a beloved, but learning-impaired child, and the dragon would snigger, far in the back of Merlin's mind.
It really was a terrible, terrible affliction that Merlin was suffering from. Very sad.
And the saddest thing of all? He wouldn't take the cure, even if there was one.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash, kinda)
Rating: R (strange for pre-slash, I know)
Word Count: ~650
Summary: It really was a terrible, terrible affliction that Merlin was suffering from. Very sad.
Notes: Spoilers for 1x07 "The Gates of Avalon". icarusancalion told encouraged me to write fic about Merlin dressing and undressing Arthur every day. This wanted to be that fic, but didn't make it. Also, thanks to ionaonie for the lookover. :)
~~~
Bad Case Of
The sad thing was, Merlin really did have an affliction. Possibly it was even mental, but he didn't think there was anything Gaius could do about it, even if he knew. Which he didn't, and that was a good thing because he'd have gotten that stern expression and perhaps the king would have noticed and Uther disliked him already, and while Merlin could live with there being an extra corner in the castle kitchens these days where food was put aside for the sole purpose of throwing it at him later, he really, really didn't want to be beheaded, thank you very much, especially not for something that didn't even remotely have anything to do with magic, not that he would have wanted to be beheaded for using magic but at least that would have made sense in some narrow-minded, stupid way while that… that other reason wouldn't. At all.
Okay. Head between the knees. Deep breaths. All right.
It was all Arthur's fault anyway, with his overblown ego and thoughtless demands and his talk about eternal friendship. "He's in love," he'd told his father, and Merlin's heart had nearly stopped because he'd just declared himself a sorcerer in front of king and court, but somehow that wasn't nearly as terrifying as Arthur knowing… that. Except Arthur had been talking about Gwen, and Merlin had laughed a little hysterically and yes, Gwen, of course, like there was anyone else. Pffft.
He wondered if, down in his cave, the dragon had sniggered. The dragon seemed like someone who'd snigger a lot, mostly at Merlin. Which really wasn't fair, because it was not his fault.
It was Arthur's. Or perhaps Uther's, for making him Arthur's manservant in the first place. He'd dare anyone not to fall in love when they'd… that… it was…
Merlin groaned and put his face in his hands, feeling his cheeks heat up at the memories. He'd never wanted to be a manservant, but he could have hardly said no to the king, and really, he'd told himself, how hard could it be?
Hah. How hard. If he'd known, he'd have run from Camelot as fast as he could and never looked back, destiny be damned.
Except… maybe not. Because then Arthur would have someone else to fasten his armour and change his sheets, someone else to fluff his pillows and slip the hem of the nightgown up his legs, his hips, his chest, and over his head. Someone else to dress him in the mornings, whom he'd tell that, "You'll never get the laces closed while it's like that," with that strange smirk on his face. Someone else who'd swallow hard even though their throat was dry, who'd close their hand around Arthur's thick, hard length and rub and stroke and listen to Arthur's soft little gasps, who'd lick their fingers clean while Arthur watched with dark eyes, and who'd sometimes be manhandled against a wall or onto the bed and end up having to scrub the stone or change the sheets, again.
Merlin wasn't sure he could bear that. Even if it was just something Arthur expected from all his manservants, nothing remarkable, nothing special, Merlin didn't think he could bear not being the one. But perhaps it was something remarkable, because sometimes…
Sometimes, Arthur would look at him, his gaze proprietary and almost fond. Sometimes Arthur would smile, really smile, and Merlin would find himself helpless to do anything but smile back, and then…
And then Arthur would usually tell him to muck out the stables or walk his twenty staghounds or lie to the king, and Merlin would end up knee-deep in horse droppings or being pelted with tomatoes, and Gaius would shake his head and look at Merlin like he was a beloved, but learning-impaired child, and the dragon would snigger, far in the back of Merlin's mind.
It really was a terrible, terrible affliction that Merlin was suffering from. Very sad.
And the saddest thing of all? He wouldn't take the cure, even if there was one.