fic: A Stubborn Wall (The Invide Paries Cycle) (Merlin/Arthur)
Summary: Finding a chink in the wall.
AN: A five photos, five drabbles challenge. If you'd like to see the images that go with each, click on the subtitles.
A Stubborn Wall (The Invide Paries Cycle)
Hortus Conclusus
He finds Merlin in the physician's garden, where clover grows up between the flagstones and ivy climbs across the walls. Merlin's gathering lavender, twisting small purple flowers into a glass vial. The lacing of his shirt is open, neck faintly marked.
Merlin glances up. Arthur is never quite sure what to make of that look, at once warm and a little guarded, concealing more than Arthur would've thought him capable of hiding.
His gaze is frank enough pressed against closed doors, against pale sheets.
Merlin's fingers, when they touch his face--vial forgotten--carry the deep sharp smell of lavender.
Aestuata
Merlin can still feel the press of fingers around his wrists. It's different now that Arthur knows he can pull free whenever he chooses--rougher, more fraught, although even angry Arthur isn't quite cruel.
The room's fire has faded to a faint glow. Arthur pulls back, carefully placing a space between them, the conflict live and tense in his body.
"Show me. Something."
Merlin could ask what? He's tired and more scared than he'll ever admit and feels he has a right to be wary.
But he's brave enough for this. His magic unfolds as golden threads in the dark.
Paraclausithyron
Merlin's room is small, sunlit--messy and cluttered and so clearly Merlin's that Arthur almost leaves. At least there are no books of spells under the bed, no glowing pouches of strange herbs.
The worst treasons are generally quiet.
Dust motes appear in the spill of golden light, swirling in lazy circles. He hears Merlin in the other room, quick impatient steps. Merlin's halfway out of his jacket before he notices anyone else is there and stops mid-motion. The jacket hangs stupidly from one arm.
Arthur pulls it free, lets it drop.
Merlin's lips part under even the softest pressure.
Nympheas
Water lilies cover the lake, delicate flowers resting on a calm blue surface. There is an old magic here, gentle touches that slide against his skin without slipping deeper. They feel like a fond kiss, softly drowsy, dry lips brushing against his cheek.
Arthur shakes him, firm but not rough, hand warm and steady on his shoulder.
"Where were you just then?" He looks pensive, as though he feels enough to be wary, but not to understand.
It's like trying to explain color to a blind man. He reaches out and touches Arthur with his magic, a brief hesitant caress.
Rhœas
The field is orange-red like fire, poppies brilliant with sunlight. The sky is a matte blue, clouds breaking across the sun like foam-capped waves. Merlin's hand brushes along the tips of delicately crinkled petals.
This cannot possibly be real.
Merlin looks up and smiles, a soft private expression.
The ground is rich and warm against Arthur's back, lit poppies rising like strange palisades, blocking the world from view. Merlin's mouth is clever, intricate, his fingers slipping under clothing, grazing lightly against skin.
Merlin pulls back slowly, a warm steady weight, skin flushed and mouth red from these deep patient kisses.
AN: A five photos, five drabbles challenge. If you'd like to see the images that go with each, click on the subtitles.
A Stubborn Wall (The Invide Paries Cycle)
Hortus Conclusus
He finds Merlin in the physician's garden, where clover grows up between the flagstones and ivy climbs across the walls. Merlin's gathering lavender, twisting small purple flowers into a glass vial. The lacing of his shirt is open, neck faintly marked.
Merlin glances up. Arthur is never quite sure what to make of that look, at once warm and a little guarded, concealing more than Arthur would've thought him capable of hiding.
His gaze is frank enough pressed against closed doors, against pale sheets.
Merlin's fingers, when they touch his face--vial forgotten--carry the deep sharp smell of lavender.
Aestuata
Merlin can still feel the press of fingers around his wrists. It's different now that Arthur knows he can pull free whenever he chooses--rougher, more fraught, although even angry Arthur isn't quite cruel.
The room's fire has faded to a faint glow. Arthur pulls back, carefully placing a space between them, the conflict live and tense in his body.
"Show me. Something."
Merlin could ask what? He's tired and more scared than he'll ever admit and feels he has a right to be wary.
But he's brave enough for this. His magic unfolds as golden threads in the dark.
Paraclausithyron
Merlin's room is small, sunlit--messy and cluttered and so clearly Merlin's that Arthur almost leaves. At least there are no books of spells under the bed, no glowing pouches of strange herbs.
The worst treasons are generally quiet.
Dust motes appear in the spill of golden light, swirling in lazy circles. He hears Merlin in the other room, quick impatient steps. Merlin's halfway out of his jacket before he notices anyone else is there and stops mid-motion. The jacket hangs stupidly from one arm.
Arthur pulls it free, lets it drop.
Merlin's lips part under even the softest pressure.
Nympheas
Water lilies cover the lake, delicate flowers resting on a calm blue surface. There is an old magic here, gentle touches that slide against his skin without slipping deeper. They feel like a fond kiss, softly drowsy, dry lips brushing against his cheek.
Arthur shakes him, firm but not rough, hand warm and steady on his shoulder.
"Where were you just then?" He looks pensive, as though he feels enough to be wary, but not to understand.
It's like trying to explain color to a blind man. He reaches out and touches Arthur with his magic, a brief hesitant caress.
Rhœas
The field is orange-red like fire, poppies brilliant with sunlight. The sky is a matte blue, clouds breaking across the sun like foam-capped waves. Merlin's hand brushes along the tips of delicately crinkled petals.
This cannot possibly be real.
Merlin looks up and smiles, a soft private expression.
The ground is rich and warm against Arthur's back, lit poppies rising like strange palisades, blocking the world from view. Merlin's mouth is clever, intricate, his fingers slipping under clothing, grazing lightly against skin.
Merlin pulls back slowly, a warm steady weight, skin flushed and mouth red from these deep patient kisses.