Day 03: The One Where Arthur's Hands Are Cold
Title: The One Where Arthur's Hands Are Cold
Author: anoyo
Prompt: Day Three: Too Cold to Do Anything
Character(s): Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Words: 2,305
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Established relationship assumed here. Not beta'd, because Thursday is my aaaaah-running-around-holy-crap day and I barely finished this by 22:00 CST. Uhm. Yes. So, if it's a bit rough, I apologize. I meant for it to be short and quaint, but then it kept going and going and, well, this happened. I don't think Merlin has any more of an idea what Arthur's doing than I do, which is somewhat reassuring, but also somewhat frightening, because he's the narrator, so why is Arthur calling the shots? (Because this is Merlin, obviously.) Implied inappropriateness, but because I fail at porn, no real porn. Sorry. Please ignore the music playing right now, ogod.
Merlin knows that there are a lot of aspects of manly knighthood that he'll probably never understand. For instance, hitting people when they've accomplished something. Maybe this is just a sign of the lack of real male influence in Merlin's childhood, but he'd not entirely sure why men feel the need to bruise one another to show approval. Injury is another. If the injury is any less than I'm-going-to-need-a-week's-bed-rest, it can be walked off (or at least the knight can pretend to walk it off while getting manly medical aid elsewhere).
One of the more infuriating incarnations of this is the fact that knights aren't allowed to whine about anything that isn't directly related to how much fighting they aren't doing. If there's no fighting, they are allowed to whine about a lack of action; if they simply missed a fight, they get to whine about having done so. Otherwise, whining is strictly off limits.
At least, whining is off limits if they're speaking to anyone who might report back to the knights, or anyone who might link in a chain that would get back to a knight, or the king. Merlin has a theory that the knights have to whine just as much as regular people, they just can't show it where they might get caught. This means that when they can whine, all they do is whine.
Merlin isn't precisely sure who Arthur had whined to before Merlin had come around -- or simply before Arthur had become comfortable whining at Merlin, and speaking of which, could Merlin undo that, sometimes? -- but he truly feels their pain. He feels their pain most sincerely when all of Arthur's unique hates are built up together in one sort of circumstance.
Outside of serious things, like threats to friends, or family, or Camelot, there are three things that Arthur really hates. First, Arthur hates inactivity. Like the rest of his knights -- or at least like they like to pretend, in Arthur's image -- Arthur really can't stand when he isn't needed to do anything, or simply isn't allowed. Situations like this come about when Arthur is injured or ill, or it's just not the right conditions to do anything outdoors.
The second of these is when the court is in session, all visiting and keeping Arthur from having more than ten consecutive minutes to slouch or be anything less than the perfect Crown Prince. When there are too many members of the court at the palace, the tension can be cut with a knife, and Arthur is usually the one tempted to be wielding it.
The last is any sort of extreme. Extreme rain, or snow, or heat, or cold, and Arthur is deeply physically uncomfortable. Physical discomfort leads to, of course, emotional discomfort.
Any one of these is enough for Arthur to whine Merlin's ear off; all three of them together and Merlin is tempted to resign. As are generally the circumstances when any particular person comes to dwell on something, all three of these hates have come together in the past three days to give Merlin the biggest headache of his life.
First, Uther decided to make use of the snowy weather to bring the court together for the solstice. Fair enough, Merlin thought. Arthur would be cranky, but he could deal with it. Then it snowed, and kept snowing, and then, for a change of pace, froze and snowed at the same time. Now it's too cold, frozen, and treacherous to go outside for more than absolute necessity and Arthur hasn't gotten to hunt or, really, do much of anything for more than a week. A week of court festivities meant to hide the disgusting weather.
Needless to say, Arthur was in a rare and splendid example of a Bad Mood.
Considering they were trapped indoors, Merlin would have thought Arthur's list of things for Merlin to do would shorten. Apparently, being in a terrible mood meant that Arthur wanted Merlin to be in a worse mood. Misery and company, after all.
Merlin might also have thought that other things would shorten that list, but Arthur was a master at keeping things that really didn't affect one another from, well, affecting one another. The list of reasons Merlin had to resign grew every day.
Unfortunately for Merlin's sanity -- and possibly also his masculinity -- the reasons to stay did, too. He felt horribly romantic whenever he thought about it, so he did as little as possible, but it was always a nasty echo following whatever rude thought he'd had about Arthur or Arthur's orders.
Thus it was that Merlin was just about as cranky as Arthur was -- with good reason, thought -- on the eighth night indoors. Merlin wasn't entirely sure how cold it was outside in relation to the lake freezing, but he knew that the shallower wells had frozen. According to the people of Camelot, that was incredibly rare. Apparently, it was cold.
That, Merlin did know. Especially since he was forced to sit in Arthur's room, doing close to nothing, waiting for Arthur to return so Merlin could help him with anything he needed before he retired, and they could snipe at each other instead of anything more romantic. For the sake of whatever Destiny Merlin and Arthur might have, the weather really, truly needed to change.
Arthur's return was signaled by boots echoing in the hall, louder than they needed to be, which was an indication of Arthur's level of annoyance. More likely than not, some noble had attempted to fling herself on Arthur's masculine wiles. Or something.
Swinging the doors open, Arthur yells, "Merlin! What are you doing, just sitting there? Don't you have anything better to do?"
Merlin sighs. "No, absolutely nothing. You've caught me." He stands to help Arthur with his formal wear. "How was the banquet?" Ordinarily, Merlin would be serving Arthur at the banquet, but Uther had decided to use the palace servants who've been stuck with nothing else to do, unable to really return to the lower town. Efficient, but sort of boring, for Merlin.
"Oh, lovely," Arthur says, "good food, great company. What a wonderful time." Arthur sounds snide, but tired. Not quite as much bite as usual, Merlin is able to note. Maybe Arthur does have an end to his sarcastic reservoir. "Not as much fun as whatever you've found yourself to do up here, I'm sure." Or not.
"Yes, of course," Merlin replies. He finishes tugging Arthur out of his jacket and bends to unlace his boots.
"My god, it's cold. You can't raise the fire at all, can you?" Arthur asks, rubbing his hands over his arms and looking down at where Merlin's moved on to Arthur's second boot. Arthur's expression is a mix of irritated and mirthful and Merlin lets himself smile a little.
Merlin learned fairly quickly into this relationship -- just the working-with-Arthur bit, but all of it, too -- that Arthur's moods were contagious, even the good ones, no matter how ornery Arthur has made Merlin. "I suppose I could raise it a bit, sire, but it would only raise into the chimney, which wouldn't really make the room a whole lot warmer." He smiles a little wider and taps Arthur's boots, sign that they're ready for Arthur to step out of.
Arthur does and Merlin walks the boots to the closet, lining them up next to Arthur's other boots and making a note to shine them later in the week. Whatever Arthur was doing at the banquet, dodging feisty nobles or the like, he'd scuffed them up pretty well. As he straightens, he feels Arthur behind him and that's all the warning he has before Arthur's hands slide under the front of his shirt -- cold! -- to settle against his stomach. "Been sitting next to the fire, have you, Merlin?" Arthur asks into the side of Merlin's neck, using his hips to turn them about and back toward the mentioned fire. "You're warm."
"Well, you're cold," Merlin says, grabbing Arthur's wrists in an attempt to tug his hands out from underneath his shirt. "I certainly wasn't going to sit away from the fire, that would have been daft." He tugs a little harder, then continues, "Really, Arthur, I have no idea how your hands are this cold; the hall couldn't have been less than stifling, filled with people as it was."
"Mm," Arthur replies helpfully, dropping himself into a chair near the fire and pulling Merlin with him and into his lap, though keeping his hands where they are, splayed over the skin just above the hem of Merlin's trousers. "I might have been hiding for a good part of the banquet. Lady what's-her-name, with the birds, kept asking me questions and then trying to touch me underneath the table. I'm positive father noticed, as there's no way he didn't purposefully let me hide for that last hour. Kept me away, but I couldn't feel my fingers during the closing bits."
"I see." Merlin does; Arthur's not fond of people touching him, which he thinks is strange for someone who grew up so surrounded by people whose sole occupation was the rearing of the prince. He knows this, even if he doesn't quite understand it. "You couldn't have hidden anywhere with a fireplace?"
Merlin can't see it, but he knows Arthur rolls his eyes from the tone in his voice when he replies, "I couldn't exactly plan that much, could I? I had to know when the banquet ended, or if someone was searching for me. I hid behind a tapestry, which was surprisingly warm, but not quite warm enough." Arthur's hands have started to warm up, with the joined heat of Merlin and the fire, and with their sensation returned, they've taken to tracing light patterns on Merlin's abdomen.
Somewhat ticklish -- and Arthur knows that, the prat -- Merlin attempts to catch Arthur's fingers with his own, which results in a small war for domination, which Arthur wins by cheating. Just as Merlin's gotten a hold of one hand, Arthur presses a light kiss into the side of Merlin's neck, below his ear, then lets his mouth slowly trail lower. He uses Merlin's momentary distraction to grab both of Merlin's hands in one of his and pins them against Merlin's side, huffing a laugh into Merlin's shoulder. "Cheater," Merlin breathes, squirming fruitlessly. Knights have awfully strong grips, Merlin has learned; this is a battle lost.
"I don't remember any rules being set," Arthur says in a somewhat haughty voice, beginning again to trace circles on Merlin's skin with his free hand. "Without any such rules, I've won fair and square." He smiles into Merlin's neck. "Not like there was any doubt that I would."
Merlin laughs. He can't explain Arthur's apparent change in mood from surly, distant, and rude to warm and teasing, but at least Arthur will always be Arthur and completely self-assured. "Oh, I don't know. We might have come to a draw. I think I've won at least a bit, anyway; you've only got one hand free, after all."
Arthur's hand stops its ticklish movement across Merlin's stomach and fans out, pressing lightly against the skin. Merlin can feel the warmth from Arthur's skin, now, warmed by the fire and contact to something assuredly comfortable. "So it seems," Arthur says wryly, having assessed their circumstances. "How cunning of you, Merlin." He presses a kiss into the side of Merlin's neck again, harder his time and draws his hand out of Merlin's shirt to rest on his thigh lightly, radiating warmth through the cloth. As he gently kneads his fingers into Merlin's thigh, Arthur kisses up the side of his neck and across his jaw.
It takes Merlin a moment to realize that he's arched into Arthur's touch like a cat into friendly scratches and he considers being embarrassed until Arthur hums contentedly against his skin. Instead, he turns his head to meet Arthur's mouth in a kiss. Drawing back, Merlin says lightly, "You're in a good mood. Not that I'm complaining, or anything. You've just been in such an awful mood since the snow started."
Before he replies, Arthur grins widely, as though feigning innocence. "I hate being cooped up, especially with Lady Bird-Groper, and you never stay mad at me." Merlin makes to reply, but Arthur kisses him instead, saying once he's finished, "It's just too cold to stay to do anything, even stay in a bad mood. With one exception, of course."
Because Arthur expects it, Merlin asks, "And that is?" He knows the answer, but the game is half the fun.
Arthur's grin widens and Merlin rolls his eyes even as Arthur says, "You, obviously." He leans in to kiss Merlin again, pressing their mouths together harder as he slides his hand to the inside of Merlin's thigh.
Merlin realizes Arthur's intent halfway through the action and moans into Arthur's mouth, breaking the kiss. Coherency has never been one of Merlin's strengths, but at times like these, he has to use a truly frightening amount of concentration to string a sentence together. "Arthur," he says breathily, "I know it's warm, but the chair is not very comfortable."
"We're young," Arthur replies, shrugging even as he smirks and kisses the corner of Merlin's mouth, moving one hand even as the other keeps Merlin's two pinned. He presses in another kiss, open-mouthed, as Merlin attempts to keep rational thought from fleeing entirely.
Really, he should have known better. "Yeah, all right," Merlin says, opening his mouth to Arthur's even as he slides his hips back against Arthur's. He'll feel it in the morning.
The morning, which is not now. Now, he is warm and loved. He'll deal with it then.
Author: anoyo
Prompt: Day Three: Too Cold to Do Anything
Character(s): Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Words: 2,305
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Spoilers: None.
Notes: Established relationship assumed here. Not beta'd, because Thursday is my aaaaah-running-around-holy-crap day and I barely finished this by 22:00 CST. Uhm. Yes. So, if it's a bit rough, I apologize. I meant for it to be short and quaint, but then it kept going and going and, well, this happened. I don't think Merlin has any more of an idea what Arthur's doing than I do, which is somewhat reassuring, but also somewhat frightening, because he's the narrator, so why is Arthur calling the shots? (Because this is Merlin, obviously.) Implied inappropriateness, but because I fail at porn, no real porn. Sorry. Please ignore the music playing right now, ogod.
Merlin knows that there are a lot of aspects of manly knighthood that he'll probably never understand. For instance, hitting people when they've accomplished something. Maybe this is just a sign of the lack of real male influence in Merlin's childhood, but he'd not entirely sure why men feel the need to bruise one another to show approval. Injury is another. If the injury is any less than I'm-going-to-need-a-week's-bed-rest, it can be walked off (or at least the knight can pretend to walk it off while getting manly medical aid elsewhere).
One of the more infuriating incarnations of this is the fact that knights aren't allowed to whine about anything that isn't directly related to how much fighting they aren't doing. If there's no fighting, they are allowed to whine about a lack of action; if they simply missed a fight, they get to whine about having done so. Otherwise, whining is strictly off limits.
At least, whining is off limits if they're speaking to anyone who might report back to the knights, or anyone who might link in a chain that would get back to a knight, or the king. Merlin has a theory that the knights have to whine just as much as regular people, they just can't show it where they might get caught. This means that when they can whine, all they do is whine.
Merlin isn't precisely sure who Arthur had whined to before Merlin had come around -- or simply before Arthur had become comfortable whining at Merlin, and speaking of which, could Merlin undo that, sometimes? -- but he truly feels their pain. He feels their pain most sincerely when all of Arthur's unique hates are built up together in one sort of circumstance.
Outside of serious things, like threats to friends, or family, or Camelot, there are three things that Arthur really hates. First, Arthur hates inactivity. Like the rest of his knights -- or at least like they like to pretend, in Arthur's image -- Arthur really can't stand when he isn't needed to do anything, or simply isn't allowed. Situations like this come about when Arthur is injured or ill, or it's just not the right conditions to do anything outdoors.
The second of these is when the court is in session, all visiting and keeping Arthur from having more than ten consecutive minutes to slouch or be anything less than the perfect Crown Prince. When there are too many members of the court at the palace, the tension can be cut with a knife, and Arthur is usually the one tempted to be wielding it.
The last is any sort of extreme. Extreme rain, or snow, or heat, or cold, and Arthur is deeply physically uncomfortable. Physical discomfort leads to, of course, emotional discomfort.
Any one of these is enough for Arthur to whine Merlin's ear off; all three of them together and Merlin is tempted to resign. As are generally the circumstances when any particular person comes to dwell on something, all three of these hates have come together in the past three days to give Merlin the biggest headache of his life.
First, Uther decided to make use of the snowy weather to bring the court together for the solstice. Fair enough, Merlin thought. Arthur would be cranky, but he could deal with it. Then it snowed, and kept snowing, and then, for a change of pace, froze and snowed at the same time. Now it's too cold, frozen, and treacherous to go outside for more than absolute necessity and Arthur hasn't gotten to hunt or, really, do much of anything for more than a week. A week of court festivities meant to hide the disgusting weather.
Needless to say, Arthur was in a rare and splendid example of a Bad Mood.
Considering they were trapped indoors, Merlin would have thought Arthur's list of things for Merlin to do would shorten. Apparently, being in a terrible mood meant that Arthur wanted Merlin to be in a worse mood. Misery and company, after all.
Merlin might also have thought that other things would shorten that list, but Arthur was a master at keeping things that really didn't affect one another from, well, affecting one another. The list of reasons Merlin had to resign grew every day.
Unfortunately for Merlin's sanity -- and possibly also his masculinity -- the reasons to stay did, too. He felt horribly romantic whenever he thought about it, so he did as little as possible, but it was always a nasty echo following whatever rude thought he'd had about Arthur or Arthur's orders.
Thus it was that Merlin was just about as cranky as Arthur was -- with good reason, thought -- on the eighth night indoors. Merlin wasn't entirely sure how cold it was outside in relation to the lake freezing, but he knew that the shallower wells had frozen. According to the people of Camelot, that was incredibly rare. Apparently, it was cold.
That, Merlin did know. Especially since he was forced to sit in Arthur's room, doing close to nothing, waiting for Arthur to return so Merlin could help him with anything he needed before he retired, and they could snipe at each other instead of anything more romantic. For the sake of whatever Destiny Merlin and Arthur might have, the weather really, truly needed to change.
Arthur's return was signaled by boots echoing in the hall, louder than they needed to be, which was an indication of Arthur's level of annoyance. More likely than not, some noble had attempted to fling herself on Arthur's masculine wiles. Or something.
Swinging the doors open, Arthur yells, "Merlin! What are you doing, just sitting there? Don't you have anything better to do?"
Merlin sighs. "No, absolutely nothing. You've caught me." He stands to help Arthur with his formal wear. "How was the banquet?" Ordinarily, Merlin would be serving Arthur at the banquet, but Uther had decided to use the palace servants who've been stuck with nothing else to do, unable to really return to the lower town. Efficient, but sort of boring, for Merlin.
"Oh, lovely," Arthur says, "good food, great company. What a wonderful time." Arthur sounds snide, but tired. Not quite as much bite as usual, Merlin is able to note. Maybe Arthur does have an end to his sarcastic reservoir. "Not as much fun as whatever you've found yourself to do up here, I'm sure." Or not.
"Yes, of course," Merlin replies. He finishes tugging Arthur out of his jacket and bends to unlace his boots.
"My god, it's cold. You can't raise the fire at all, can you?" Arthur asks, rubbing his hands over his arms and looking down at where Merlin's moved on to Arthur's second boot. Arthur's expression is a mix of irritated and mirthful and Merlin lets himself smile a little.
Merlin learned fairly quickly into this relationship -- just the working-with-Arthur bit, but all of it, too -- that Arthur's moods were contagious, even the good ones, no matter how ornery Arthur has made Merlin. "I suppose I could raise it a bit, sire, but it would only raise into the chimney, which wouldn't really make the room a whole lot warmer." He smiles a little wider and taps Arthur's boots, sign that they're ready for Arthur to step out of.
Arthur does and Merlin walks the boots to the closet, lining them up next to Arthur's other boots and making a note to shine them later in the week. Whatever Arthur was doing at the banquet, dodging feisty nobles or the like, he'd scuffed them up pretty well. As he straightens, he feels Arthur behind him and that's all the warning he has before Arthur's hands slide under the front of his shirt -- cold! -- to settle against his stomach. "Been sitting next to the fire, have you, Merlin?" Arthur asks into the side of Merlin's neck, using his hips to turn them about and back toward the mentioned fire. "You're warm."
"Well, you're cold," Merlin says, grabbing Arthur's wrists in an attempt to tug his hands out from underneath his shirt. "I certainly wasn't going to sit away from the fire, that would have been daft." He tugs a little harder, then continues, "Really, Arthur, I have no idea how your hands are this cold; the hall couldn't have been less than stifling, filled with people as it was."
"Mm," Arthur replies helpfully, dropping himself into a chair near the fire and pulling Merlin with him and into his lap, though keeping his hands where they are, splayed over the skin just above the hem of Merlin's trousers. "I might have been hiding for a good part of the banquet. Lady what's-her-name, with the birds, kept asking me questions and then trying to touch me underneath the table. I'm positive father noticed, as there's no way he didn't purposefully let me hide for that last hour. Kept me away, but I couldn't feel my fingers during the closing bits."
"I see." Merlin does; Arthur's not fond of people touching him, which he thinks is strange for someone who grew up so surrounded by people whose sole occupation was the rearing of the prince. He knows this, even if he doesn't quite understand it. "You couldn't have hidden anywhere with a fireplace?"
Merlin can't see it, but he knows Arthur rolls his eyes from the tone in his voice when he replies, "I couldn't exactly plan that much, could I? I had to know when the banquet ended, or if someone was searching for me. I hid behind a tapestry, which was surprisingly warm, but not quite warm enough." Arthur's hands have started to warm up, with the joined heat of Merlin and the fire, and with their sensation returned, they've taken to tracing light patterns on Merlin's abdomen.
Somewhat ticklish -- and Arthur knows that, the prat -- Merlin attempts to catch Arthur's fingers with his own, which results in a small war for domination, which Arthur wins by cheating. Just as Merlin's gotten a hold of one hand, Arthur presses a light kiss into the side of Merlin's neck, below his ear, then lets his mouth slowly trail lower. He uses Merlin's momentary distraction to grab both of Merlin's hands in one of his and pins them against Merlin's side, huffing a laugh into Merlin's shoulder. "Cheater," Merlin breathes, squirming fruitlessly. Knights have awfully strong grips, Merlin has learned; this is a battle lost.
"I don't remember any rules being set," Arthur says in a somewhat haughty voice, beginning again to trace circles on Merlin's skin with his free hand. "Without any such rules, I've won fair and square." He smiles into Merlin's neck. "Not like there was any doubt that I would."
Merlin laughs. He can't explain Arthur's apparent change in mood from surly, distant, and rude to warm and teasing, but at least Arthur will always be Arthur and completely self-assured. "Oh, I don't know. We might have come to a draw. I think I've won at least a bit, anyway; you've only got one hand free, after all."
Arthur's hand stops its ticklish movement across Merlin's stomach and fans out, pressing lightly against the skin. Merlin can feel the warmth from Arthur's skin, now, warmed by the fire and contact to something assuredly comfortable. "So it seems," Arthur says wryly, having assessed their circumstances. "How cunning of you, Merlin." He presses a kiss into the side of Merlin's neck again, harder his time and draws his hand out of Merlin's shirt to rest on his thigh lightly, radiating warmth through the cloth. As he gently kneads his fingers into Merlin's thigh, Arthur kisses up the side of his neck and across his jaw.
It takes Merlin a moment to realize that he's arched into Arthur's touch like a cat into friendly scratches and he considers being embarrassed until Arthur hums contentedly against his skin. Instead, he turns his head to meet Arthur's mouth in a kiss. Drawing back, Merlin says lightly, "You're in a good mood. Not that I'm complaining, or anything. You've just been in such an awful mood since the snow started."
Before he replies, Arthur grins widely, as though feigning innocence. "I hate being cooped up, especially with Lady Bird-Groper, and you never stay mad at me." Merlin makes to reply, but Arthur kisses him instead, saying once he's finished, "It's just too cold to stay to do anything, even stay in a bad mood. With one exception, of course."
Because Arthur expects it, Merlin asks, "And that is?" He knows the answer, but the game is half the fun.
Arthur's grin widens and Merlin rolls his eyes even as Arthur says, "You, obviously." He leans in to kiss Merlin again, pressing their mouths together harder as he slides his hand to the inside of Merlin's thigh.
Merlin realizes Arthur's intent halfway through the action and moans into Arthur's mouth, breaking the kiss. Coherency has never been one of Merlin's strengths, but at times like these, he has to use a truly frightening amount of concentration to string a sentence together. "Arthur," he says breathily, "I know it's warm, but the chair is not very comfortable."
"We're young," Arthur replies, shrugging even as he smirks and kisses the corner of Merlin's mouth, moving one hand even as the other keeps Merlin's two pinned. He presses in another kiss, open-mouthed, as Merlin attempts to keep rational thought from fleeing entirely.
Really, he should have known better. "Yeah, all right," Merlin says, opening his mouth to Arthur's even as he slides his hips back against Arthur's. He'll feel it in the morning.
The morning, which is not now. Now, he is warm and loved. He'll deal with it then.