fic: how it should have happened
My first attempt at both Merlin and humor.
Title: This Isn't How It Was Supposed to Happen (Or, Conversely, How It Should Have Happened)
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack, future!fic
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin...well, let's just say that it wouldn't be subtext anymore.
Author's Note: The result of one too many discussions with my sister about how much Arthurian legend sucks. It's...umm...only slightly crack...
Summary: There was really no way, Merlin thought as Arthur burst into his chambers and slammed the doors behind him, that he could have seen this coming.
There was really no way, Merlin thought as Arthur burst into his chambers and slammed the doors behind him, that he could have seen this coming.
“Merlin! Thank god! Save me!” And with that, the king of all of Albion promptly dove under his considerably-sized (one could even say king-sized) bed. In a somewhat rare display of common sense, Merlin decided not to comment, instead choosing to inquire after what rare and undoubtedly terrifying menace had his lord in such a state.
“The Queen, you idiot! She’s coming!”
“Sire, whatever it is you said, I’m sure if you just apologize-”
“You don’t understaaaaaaand!” Arthur wailed, attempting to fortify his position with a number of large feather pillows. “She told me she was in love with Lancelot-”
“She WHAT?!”
“-and that she couldn’t in good faith remain my Queen knowing that she had betrayed me thus. And so obviously I told her that it was perfectly alright, because you and I have been boinking on every possible surface for the better part of the last two decades-”
“Arthur…”
“and I was fine with the whole thing, and I wished them luck, and not to worry about the whole heir thing since it clearly wasn’t happening anyways.” At this point, Arthur had to pause as he was engaged in a tug-of-war with Merlin, who was attempting to get his king out from under the bed so that he could better kill him.
“And what” tug “did Gwen” tug “say?” Merlin asked, then recalling that he was in fact the most powerful sorcerer in the world and taking the opportunity of Arthur pausing to reply to levitate the bed away.
“I don’t even know! She got quiet, and then went really red and screamed ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen!’ Then she started yelling about Morgana, Mordred, a chick in a lake, and some guy named Mallory!”
Morgana, much to Morgause’s chagrin, had spent the majority of the past twenty years in a state that some had quite aptly described as “completely batshit,” turning bed knobs into bicycles and toadstools into top hats. (She never had really grasped the meaning of the word “anachronism,” and at this point most people were loath to point it out.)
Just then, a loud shriek reminiscent of a certain slash dragon sounded from the other side of the door.
“Quick, Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, tossing a squawking Merlin on his bed (and almost missing, as it was, in fact, a bit further away than he realized). “We must make passionate love” translate: mad monkey sex “so that you will subconsciously interpret any distraction as a threat and keep the room magically sealed against any intruders such as Lancelot or *gulp* Guinevere.” He made exceedingly, almost embarrassingly quick work of Merlin’s trousers before moving onto his pants.
“But Arthur, I’ve been able to do that sort of thing consciously for yea-”
It was at this point that Arthur’s tongue started doing some very interesting things Down There and Merlin thought better of his protests. After all, he was pretty sure Arthur was already quite aware of that fact.
“I suppose…mmmm…for safety’s…nonodon’tstop…sake…”
...In retrospect, perhaps Merlin should have seen this coming after all.
Title: This Isn't How It Was Supposed to Happen (Or, Conversely, How It Should Have Happened)
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, Lancelot/Gwen
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Crack, future!fic
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin...well, let's just say that it wouldn't be subtext anymore.
Author's Note: The result of one too many discussions with my sister about how much Arthurian legend sucks. It's...umm...only slightly crack...
Summary: There was really no way, Merlin thought as Arthur burst into his chambers and slammed the doors behind him, that he could have seen this coming.
There was really no way, Merlin thought as Arthur burst into his chambers and slammed the doors behind him, that he could have seen this coming.
“Merlin! Thank god! Save me!” And with that, the king of all of Albion promptly dove under his considerably-sized (one could even say king-sized) bed. In a somewhat rare display of common sense, Merlin decided not to comment, instead choosing to inquire after what rare and undoubtedly terrifying menace had his lord in such a state.
“The Queen, you idiot! She’s coming!”
“Sire, whatever it is you said, I’m sure if you just apologize-”
“You don’t understaaaaaaand!” Arthur wailed, attempting to fortify his position with a number of large feather pillows. “She told me she was in love with Lancelot-”
“She WHAT?!”
“-and that she couldn’t in good faith remain my Queen knowing that she had betrayed me thus. And so obviously I told her that it was perfectly alright, because you and I have been boinking on every possible surface for the better part of the last two decades-”
“Arthur…”
“and I was fine with the whole thing, and I wished them luck, and not to worry about the whole heir thing since it clearly wasn’t happening anyways.” At this point, Arthur had to pause as he was engaged in a tug-of-war with Merlin, who was attempting to get his king out from under the bed so that he could better kill him.
“And what” tug “did Gwen” tug “say?” Merlin asked, then recalling that he was in fact the most powerful sorcerer in the world and taking the opportunity of Arthur pausing to reply to levitate the bed away.
“I don’t even know! She got quiet, and then went really red and screamed ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen!’ Then she started yelling about Morgana, Mordred, a chick in a lake, and some guy named Mallory!”
Morgana, much to Morgause’s chagrin, had spent the majority of the past twenty years in a state that some had quite aptly described as “completely batshit,” turning bed knobs into bicycles and toadstools into top hats. (She never had really grasped the meaning of the word “anachronism,” and at this point most people were loath to point it out.)
Just then, a loud shriek reminiscent of a certain slash dragon sounded from the other side of the door.
“Quick, Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, tossing a squawking Merlin on his bed (and almost missing, as it was, in fact, a bit further away than he realized). “We must make passionate love” translate: mad monkey sex “so that you will subconsciously interpret any distraction as a threat and keep the room magically sealed against any intruders such as Lancelot or *gulp* Guinevere.” He made exceedingly, almost embarrassingly quick work of Merlin’s trousers before moving onto his pants.
“But Arthur, I’ve been able to do that sort of thing consciously for yea-”
It was at this point that Arthur’s tongue started doing some very interesting things Down There and Merlin thought better of his protests. After all, he was pretty sure Arthur was already quite aware of that fact.
“I suppose…mmmm…for safety’s…nonodon’tstop…sake…”
...In retrospect, perhaps Merlin should have seen this coming after all.