ficlet: burning in their hands
Title: burning in their hands
Rating: PG-13
Genre(s): angst, romance
Word Count: ~550
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin
Summary: They’re master and servant, then friends, and finally lovers. Written for nahara’s birthday! Her prompt was ‘Love is friendship set on fire’.
“Merlin.”
Merlin looks up. Arthur is draped across his throne, both old and new; he’s dressed in his father’s robes and his father’s Crown, and he is no longer the arrogant prat Merlin had met years ago in Camelot’s street.
He is King.
“Yes, sire?”
Arthur’s eyes frown, as though Merlin’s politeness is an insult to him. The irony doesn’t escape Merlin.
“Do you believe in me?”
Merlin doesn’t hesitate, even for a moment. “I have always believed in you, sire, and I always will.”
Arthur’s shoulders sag for a moment, as though relieved; his eyes fall to the floor. Then, he’s surging up, proud and strong, and Merlin sees Camelot’s leader once more, burning through his steady gaze.
“Thank you, Merlin.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
Merlin adores Arthur. Arthur may be a prat more often than not - cocky, insensitive, childish - but he is also honourable, resolute and stalwart. Merlin has never doubted his belief in Arthur once, and he never will.
When Arthur calls for him, Merlin comes running. When Arthur desires it so, Merlin makes it happen. When Arthur can no longer cope, Merlin takes matters into his own hands.
Merlin is Arthur’s right-hand man; his best friend, if it were not for the hierarchy of relationships, the status of Arthur as King and Merlin as servant. Merlin doesn’t care, though - as long as he serves Arthur, he cares naught for anything else.
One day, Arthur falls ill. Merlin is wrought with anxiety - spends every hour by his bedside, washing his brow and feeding him Gaius’ medicines; he listens to each croaked word of his liege and passes it onto Sir Leon, who scurries away to do the King’s bidding.
When Arthur is fit to walk again, he turns to Merlin and takes his hand. It’s the first time he’s touched Merlin so familiarly, and Merlin stills beneath his touch.
“Thank you,” Arthur says again. His eyes are soft with affection, and Merlin’s heart rages against his chest.
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
Merlin doesn’t know how it happens. They go from master and servant, to the very best of friends. Merlin is constantly by Arthur’s side, aiding in his decisions, laughing about the latest gossip, eating at his table.
Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant, but he’s more than that now.
Then, just like that, they go from the very best of friends, to lovers who could never bear to be parted.
Arthur kisses Merlin, gentle and tender, and Merlin kisses back, until they’re throwing away clothes like they’re burning in their hands, and wrestle each other into the royal bed.
“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, his eyes flashing gold in the darkness, and Arthur presses their foreheads together.
Merlin thinks he hears three words as Arthur moves against him, but he can’t be sure. Instead, he bites moans into Arthur’s flesh, and closes his eyes.
Merlin is still Arthur’s right-hand man; he’s still Arthur’s best friend. But there’s an affectionate caress in every touch when they banter - a loving spark in each other’s eye in every exchange. Merlin watches Arthur battle his way through pain, heal a path towards unity, and bury Merlin’s fears with mere kisses, and he knows.
This is the man he’ll follow for the rest of his life. Even towards Death itself, Merlin wants to be with Arthur forever.
Rating: PG-13
Genre(s): angst, romance
Word Count: ~550
Pairing(s) / Character(s): Arthur/Merlin
Warnings / Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin
Summary: They’re master and servant, then friends, and finally lovers. Written for nahara’s birthday! Her prompt was ‘Love is friendship set on fire’.
“Merlin.”
Merlin looks up. Arthur is draped across his throne, both old and new; he’s dressed in his father’s robes and his father’s Crown, and he is no longer the arrogant prat Merlin had met years ago in Camelot’s street.
He is King.
“Yes, sire?”
Arthur’s eyes frown, as though Merlin’s politeness is an insult to him. The irony doesn’t escape Merlin.
“Do you believe in me?”
Merlin doesn’t hesitate, even for a moment. “I have always believed in you, sire, and I always will.”
Arthur’s shoulders sag for a moment, as though relieved; his eyes fall to the floor. Then, he’s surging up, proud and strong, and Merlin sees Camelot’s leader once more, burning through his steady gaze.
“Thank you, Merlin.”
“For what?”
“For everything.”
Merlin adores Arthur. Arthur may be a prat more often than not - cocky, insensitive, childish - but he is also honourable, resolute and stalwart. Merlin has never doubted his belief in Arthur once, and he never will.
When Arthur calls for him, Merlin comes running. When Arthur desires it so, Merlin makes it happen. When Arthur can no longer cope, Merlin takes matters into his own hands.
Merlin is Arthur’s right-hand man; his best friend, if it were not for the hierarchy of relationships, the status of Arthur as King and Merlin as servant. Merlin doesn’t care, though - as long as he serves Arthur, he cares naught for anything else.
One day, Arthur falls ill. Merlin is wrought with anxiety - spends every hour by his bedside, washing his brow and feeding him Gaius’ medicines; he listens to each croaked word of his liege and passes it onto Sir Leon, who scurries away to do the King’s bidding.
When Arthur is fit to walk again, he turns to Merlin and takes his hand. It’s the first time he’s touched Merlin so familiarly, and Merlin stills beneath his touch.
“Thank you,” Arthur says again. His eyes are soft with affection, and Merlin’s heart rages against his chest.
“For what?”
“For being my friend.”
Merlin doesn’t know how it happens. They go from master and servant, to the very best of friends. Merlin is constantly by Arthur’s side, aiding in his decisions, laughing about the latest gossip, eating at his table.
Merlin is still Arthur’s manservant, but he’s more than that now.
Then, just like that, they go from the very best of friends, to lovers who could never bear to be parted.
Arthur kisses Merlin, gentle and tender, and Merlin kisses back, until they’re throwing away clothes like they’re burning in their hands, and wrestle each other into the royal bed.
“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, his eyes flashing gold in the darkness, and Arthur presses their foreheads together.
Merlin thinks he hears three words as Arthur moves against him, but he can’t be sure. Instead, he bites moans into Arthur’s flesh, and closes his eyes.
Merlin is still Arthur’s right-hand man; he’s still Arthur’s best friend. But there’s an affectionate caress in every touch when they banter - a loving spark in each other’s eye in every exchange. Merlin watches Arthur battle his way through pain, heal a path towards unity, and bury Merlin’s fears with mere kisses, and he knows.
This is the man he’ll follow for the rest of his life. Even towards Death itself, Merlin wants to be with Arthur forever.