Flashfic: Or Not Untrue (Merlin/Arthur)
Summary: Five ways of watching the same dawn.
AN: another experiment in flashfic length.
Or Not Untrue
/10/
The gap widens between what Merlin should be and is.
/25/
Merlin sits on the edge of the bed, dressed except for the shirt in his clenched hands.
But, whatever it is, he leaves without speaking.
/50/
Merlin is nearly dressed, his head bent, unaware that Arthur is watching. Sunlight picks out the dark hairs on his arms. There is a faint bite-mark between his shoulder blades.
Even in such light he should look pale and ordinary, all ears and awkward limbs.
It's confusing that he doesn't.
/75/
Arthur wakes to sunlight. Merlin is sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed except for the shirt in his hands: he shakes his head sharply, as though arguing with himself.
The light carries a flattering glow, adding a soft flush to Merlin's skin. There's something--not weak quite, but vulnerable--in the hunch of his shoulders. But what worries could Merlin possibly have?
Merlin's fingers tense. He makes another small motion of unconscious denial.
/100/
He wakes just past dawn. Merlin is mostly dressed, lost in thought. Arthur watches--the line of his back, his wildly mussed hair--only because seeing Merlin so still and quiet is nearly as unprecedented as seeing him sensible or obedient.
Merlin shakes his head like he's holding a debate with himself, and losing.
His skin marks so easily, too fine almost for a servant. The light carries a delicate flush. But it's still just Merlin, pale and skinny--by all rights he should be insignificant.
The gap between what Merlin should be and what he is stretches uncomfortably wide.
AN: another experiment in flashfic length.
Or Not Untrue
/10/
The gap widens between what Merlin should be and is.
/25/
Merlin sits on the edge of the bed, dressed except for the shirt in his clenched hands.
But, whatever it is, he leaves without speaking.
/50/
Merlin is nearly dressed, his head bent, unaware that Arthur is watching. Sunlight picks out the dark hairs on his arms. There is a faint bite-mark between his shoulder blades.
Even in such light he should look pale and ordinary, all ears and awkward limbs.
It's confusing that he doesn't.
/75/
Arthur wakes to sunlight. Merlin is sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed except for the shirt in his hands: he shakes his head sharply, as though arguing with himself.
The light carries a flattering glow, adding a soft flush to Merlin's skin. There's something--not weak quite, but vulnerable--in the hunch of his shoulders. But what worries could Merlin possibly have?
Merlin's fingers tense. He makes another small motion of unconscious denial.
/100/
He wakes just past dawn. Merlin is mostly dressed, lost in thought. Arthur watches--the line of his back, his wildly mussed hair--only because seeing Merlin so still and quiet is nearly as unprecedented as seeing him sensible or obedient.
Merlin shakes his head like he's holding a debate with himself, and losing.
His skin marks so easily, too fine almost for a servant. The light carries a delicate flush. But it's still just Merlin, pale and skinny--by all rights he should be insignificant.
The gap between what Merlin should be and what he is stretches uncomfortably wide.