So Close (But Not Enough) - Merlin - Arthur/Merlin
Title: So Close (But Not Enough)
Pairing: pre-Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 547
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Arthur nearly kisses Merlin before a tournament (and subsequently vows to seek vengeance on all trumpeters in the kingdom).
Merlin is close. So close. Close enough that Arthur can feel his breath on his lips, and could count every eyelash if he had the inclination to do so. Close enough that merely twitching his fingers would lead to them brushing against Merlin's thigh. All he'd have to do is reach out and his hand would be on Merlin's hip.
"Sire?" Merlin asks. His voice is soft and quiet - whispering as if he's afraid of breaking whatever moment this is. Arthur's gaze falls to Merlin's lips. He's never noticed before how pink Merlin's mouth is. Pink and pale, probably soft like a woman's. All Arthur can think about now is how such lips would feel against his mouth. He thinks that Merlin would be an inelegant kisser, clumsy and greedy in this; he hopes so, in fact. The thought of Merlin being experienced in this unsettles him far more than he'd like to admit. No, he'd like Merlin to take his first learning steps with him and only him.
He realises that his hand has risen to crook a finger under Merlin's chin. He hadn't even noticed himself doing so. Through the thick leather of his glove he can't feel Merlin's skin, but now he wishes that he could. Standing so close he can see the sprinkle of closely-shaven stubble on Merlin's jaw; the idea of Merlin shaving - or needing to shave - is utterly ridiculous and he knows that he'll mock him for it later. Later, because his mouth can't form the words now. Any words.
Merlin - naturally - doesn't have that kind of problem. Arthur doubts if even having his tongue out would silence him. "Arthur? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"
He sounds worried, concerned for his well-being. It's ridiculous, really: what could Merlin do if something was wrong? Yet the dismissiveness Arthur feels on the surface cannot run so deep. Merlin would give his life for him: that uncomfortable knowledge weighs on Arthur's shoulders. For someone so stubborn to show such loyalty… He appreciates Merlin more than he would ever let him know.
"Arthur?" Merlin is still whispering, but it's more urgent now as if he's worried that Arthur has been struck mute. With a joust to get to, now would be a highly inconvenient time for such an affliction. The concern, however, is touching - and so Arthur screws up what little courage he can lay claim to, and dips his head towards Merlin's until their lips brush like butterfly wings and his eyes flicker closed.
Before he can make anything of it, before he can do this properly, a trumpet blasts outside - loud and obnoxiously. Merlin jumps back, and Arthur decides that the first thing he's going to do when he becomes king is ban all trumpet-playing.
Merlin clears his throat. "You'd, uh, you'd better get going, right? Horses to… joust and… uh…"
"My God, Merlin, you could at least pretend that you know what you're talking about. You don't joust horses." His voice sounds normal and unshaken, something that he's sure is a miracle. Stalking forward, he grabs his helmet from the bench and leaves the tent without another word - and if his jousting is a little more brutal than usual during this tournament, nobody in the court can think of a reason why.
Pairing: pre-Arthur/Merlin
Word Count: 547
Rating: PG
A/N: Written for comment_fic.
Summary: Arthur nearly kisses Merlin before a tournament (and subsequently vows to seek vengeance on all trumpeters in the kingdom).
Merlin is close. So close. Close enough that Arthur can feel his breath on his lips, and could count every eyelash if he had the inclination to do so. Close enough that merely twitching his fingers would lead to them brushing against Merlin's thigh. All he'd have to do is reach out and his hand would be on Merlin's hip.
"Sire?" Merlin asks. His voice is soft and quiet - whispering as if he's afraid of breaking whatever moment this is. Arthur's gaze falls to Merlin's lips. He's never noticed before how pink Merlin's mouth is. Pink and pale, probably soft like a woman's. All Arthur can think about now is how such lips would feel against his mouth. He thinks that Merlin would be an inelegant kisser, clumsy and greedy in this; he hopes so, in fact. The thought of Merlin being experienced in this unsettles him far more than he'd like to admit. No, he'd like Merlin to take his first learning steps with him and only him.
He realises that his hand has risen to crook a finger under Merlin's chin. He hadn't even noticed himself doing so. Through the thick leather of his glove he can't feel Merlin's skin, but now he wishes that he could. Standing so close he can see the sprinkle of closely-shaven stubble on Merlin's jaw; the idea of Merlin shaving - or needing to shave - is utterly ridiculous and he knows that he'll mock him for it later. Later, because his mouth can't form the words now. Any words.
Merlin - naturally - doesn't have that kind of problem. Arthur doubts if even having his tongue out would silence him. "Arthur? Are you alright? Is something wrong?"
He sounds worried, concerned for his well-being. It's ridiculous, really: what could Merlin do if something was wrong? Yet the dismissiveness Arthur feels on the surface cannot run so deep. Merlin would give his life for him: that uncomfortable knowledge weighs on Arthur's shoulders. For someone so stubborn to show such loyalty… He appreciates Merlin more than he would ever let him know.
"Arthur?" Merlin is still whispering, but it's more urgent now as if he's worried that Arthur has been struck mute. With a joust to get to, now would be a highly inconvenient time for such an affliction. The concern, however, is touching - and so Arthur screws up what little courage he can lay claim to, and dips his head towards Merlin's until their lips brush like butterfly wings and his eyes flicker closed.
Before he can make anything of it, before he can do this properly, a trumpet blasts outside - loud and obnoxiously. Merlin jumps back, and Arthur decides that the first thing he's going to do when he becomes king is ban all trumpet-playing.
Merlin clears his throat. "You'd, uh, you'd better get going, right? Horses to… joust and… uh…"
"My God, Merlin, you could at least pretend that you know what you're talking about. You don't joust horses." His voice sounds normal and unshaken, something that he's sure is a miracle. Stalking forward, he grabs his helmet from the bench and leaves the tent without another word - and if his jousting is a little more brutal than usual during this tournament, nobody in the court can think of a reason why.