merlin/arthur, a bit of a
(MERLIN) MERLIN/ARTHUR
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Fandom: Merlin
Warnings: slash, real person slash, angst
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I own nothing.
A/N: Hm. I've joined the bandwagon, as you see. This is my official delurking fic. Hopefully it's up to par. Or close to it. God, it's been nearly a year since I last wrote something not Archie/Cook related.
By: writingpickle
-
Merlin, Arthur admitted grudgingly, made for a very good bed partner, even if he was crap at everything else. His limbs, so long and awkward during the day, were tucked neatly against his chest as he curled like a comma. This made it easier for Arthur's own arms to wrap around him (though he'd rather eat rat stew again than admit to that), with Merlin's body fitting snugly against him. He didn't flail about throughout the night and Arthur found Merlin's quiet snoring rather - tolerable.
The best part, though, was this:
"Merlin," Arthur whispered, feeling much like a mischievous boy loosed from his father's stern eye. "What do you really think of Morgana?"
For a minute, Merlin was perfectly still. Then he muttered, "Scary breasts, keep distance," and snuggled deeper into Arthur's embrace.
Arthur choked on his laughter, trying to imagine Morgana's face if she'd ever hear Merlin utter those words, true as they were. Then he banished the image from his mind as it caused his shoulders to tremble with mirth, stirring Merlin from his sleep. Sleep that was rather deep, disconnecting the brain to mouth filter that was absolutely necessary for survival, one that Merlin severely lacked. Arthur watched him fondly; only his fumbling idiot of a manservant would be even more mentally afflicted in sleep than he was awake.
Of course, that didn't stop Arthur from taking advantage. He was Crowned Prince of Camelot after all, capitalization necessary.
He'd asked his questions and received his answers without fuss.
"Why are you an idiot?" to "Mmmnot, sometimes."
"Have you ever used Gauis' stock of herbs...recreationally?" to "Hmmmm, nggh, Eyebrows of Integrity won't let me."
"Merlin, your ears," to "Nhhmmm, gives me character."
"Do you like your chores?" to "...only when I undress you," to "You're supposed to dress me, Merlin, not the other way around." (A snort was his only reply to that).
"Have you any respect for royalty whatsoever?" to "No."
Once or twice, Arthur had toyed with the idea of asking Merlin about his magic. He would open his mouth, stare down at his foolish manservant's slack face, and the question would come out completely different. In the end, he decided to let Merlin tell him at his own choosing, thinking that any sorcerer shouldn't be provoked (even if this was Merlin). Arthur was gracious like that.
"Hmmmmnn, Arthur," Merlin mumbled sleepily, turning his face a little so his lips brushed against Arthur's neck.
The question came out before he could stop it: "What do you think of Arthur?"
Arthur held his breath, waiting for a reply. His thoughts leaped to a dozen possible answers, trying to find the one that sounded the most Merlin-esque (re: idiotic and insubordinate). Irritation began prickling at him when it seemed that there was no answer coming and Arthur huffed, quite wanting to hit Merlin on the head for being disobedient even when asleep.
"Prat," Merlin said suddenly. "Arse. Reckless. Spoiled. Brave. Just. Prat. My Prince."
It was the heavy summer night that had Arthur's cheeks heating and certainly not the utterly affectionate tone in Merlin's voice as he listed all the things he really thought about Arthur (and some of them warranted a visit to the stocks tomorrow). As it were, Arthur's annoyance melted away and his hold tightened possessively, causing Merlin to give a happy sigh.
"You," Arthur conceded with a crooked grin and a kiss to an unknowing Merlin's forehead, "are the worst manservant in history. I suppose, though, there are more terrible things to bear."
-
The End
Rating: PG
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Fandom: Merlin
Warnings: slash, real person slash, angst
Disclaimer: Yeah, no. I own nothing.
A/N: Hm. I've joined the bandwagon, as you see. This is my official delurking fic. Hopefully it's up to par. Or close to it. God, it's been nearly a year since I last wrote something not Archie/Cook related.
By: writingpickle
-
Merlin, Arthur admitted grudgingly, made for a very good bed partner, even if he was crap at everything else. His limbs, so long and awkward during the day, were tucked neatly against his chest as he curled like a comma. This made it easier for Arthur's own arms to wrap around him (though he'd rather eat rat stew again than admit to that), with Merlin's body fitting snugly against him. He didn't flail about throughout the night and Arthur found Merlin's quiet snoring rather - tolerable.
The best part, though, was this:
"Merlin," Arthur whispered, feeling much like a mischievous boy loosed from his father's stern eye. "What do you really think of Morgana?"
For a minute, Merlin was perfectly still. Then he muttered, "Scary breasts, keep distance," and snuggled deeper into Arthur's embrace.
Arthur choked on his laughter, trying to imagine Morgana's face if she'd ever hear Merlin utter those words, true as they were. Then he banished the image from his mind as it caused his shoulders to tremble with mirth, stirring Merlin from his sleep. Sleep that was rather deep, disconnecting the brain to mouth filter that was absolutely necessary for survival, one that Merlin severely lacked. Arthur watched him fondly; only his fumbling idiot of a manservant would be even more mentally afflicted in sleep than he was awake.
Of course, that didn't stop Arthur from taking advantage. He was Crowned Prince of Camelot after all, capitalization necessary.
He'd asked his questions and received his answers without fuss.
"Why are you an idiot?" to "Mmmnot, sometimes."
"Have you ever used Gauis' stock of herbs...recreationally?" to "Hmmmm, nggh, Eyebrows of Integrity won't let me."
"Merlin, your ears," to "Nhhmmm, gives me character."
"Do you like your chores?" to "...only when I undress you," to "You're supposed to dress me, Merlin, not the other way around." (A snort was his only reply to that).
"Have you any respect for royalty whatsoever?" to "No."
Once or twice, Arthur had toyed with the idea of asking Merlin about his magic. He would open his mouth, stare down at his foolish manservant's slack face, and the question would come out completely different. In the end, he decided to let Merlin tell him at his own choosing, thinking that any sorcerer shouldn't be provoked (even if this was Merlin). Arthur was gracious like that.
"Hmmmmnn, Arthur," Merlin mumbled sleepily, turning his face a little so his lips brushed against Arthur's neck.
The question came out before he could stop it: "What do you think of Arthur?"
Arthur held his breath, waiting for a reply. His thoughts leaped to a dozen possible answers, trying to find the one that sounded the most Merlin-esque (re: idiotic and insubordinate). Irritation began prickling at him when it seemed that there was no answer coming and Arthur huffed, quite wanting to hit Merlin on the head for being disobedient even when asleep.
"Prat," Merlin said suddenly. "Arse. Reckless. Spoiled. Brave. Just. Prat. My Prince."
It was the heavy summer night that had Arthur's cheeks heating and certainly not the utterly affectionate tone in Merlin's voice as he listed all the things he really thought about Arthur (and some of them warranted a visit to the stocks tomorrow). As it were, Arthur's annoyance melted away and his hold tightened possessively, causing Merlin to give a happy sigh.
"You," Arthur conceded with a crooked grin and a kiss to an unknowing Merlin's forehead, "are the worst manservant in history. I suppose, though, there are more terrible things to bear."
-
The End