Merlin fic - Illusionary
Title: Illusionary
Rating: a very non-explicit R
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Word Count: 327
Summary: Based off the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin. Arthur has been fantasising about being with Merlin for months. But for him, his dreams are better than the reality. (I'm trying to imply here that Merlin prefers reality Arthur to fictional but that it doesn't work the other way around.) As angsty as possible please.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me and I am not making profit off of this in any way. Merlin belongs to the BBC.
Author's Note: Comments = ♥. Originally posted here.
They've been together for over two years now, came together in a furious clash after one too many near-death experiences and didn't pause or slow down until months later.
Of course, Arthur knows by now. Knows everything. Sees the way Lancelot and Guinevere look at each other while Lancelot is bound to his duty above all and Gwen bites her tongue, biding her time. Morgana left them many months ago, bad dreams spilling out through her fingertips, visions of chaos and death manifesting themselves as dark purple lightning, destroying Camelot's fields and monarch along with. Arthur's first act as king was sending the orders to kill his adopted sister.
And Merlin's a sorcerer. That one took a long time to accept, though some part of him, deeper than blood, something more elemental, accepted it on first word, recognized unconsciously how all the pieces fell in place. It was simply undeniable.
Merlin gets incoherent sometimes, when he's close to climax, twisting uncontrollably against sheets, against stone walls, against the forest floor. "Arthur," he gasps, "You... you're just so... you're even better than I ever imagined. Arthur."
He's not as incoherent as Arthur would like.
In his dreams, Merlin completes him. Soothes the way he misses his father, the way he misses the sister of his childhood, soothes the less tangible ache for a mother. Quenches his ever present need to prove himself, show them all, win just one more battle. Dream Merlin fills him in every way possible; lets Arthur bury himself in Merlin so deep he can lose his own mind in it, stretches him open and plunges back in, taking away the very option of thought, forcing him to escape from the fractured life he leads, if only for a short while.
He'll conquer all of Albion one day, he's sure of that.
He just wishes it would be enough.
The difference is painfully clear to Arthur: Morgana dreams the truth; Arthur dreams nothing but fantasies.
---
Rating: a very non-explicit R
Warnings/Spoilers: none
Word Count: 327
Summary: Based off the kinkme_merlin prompt: Arthur/Merlin. Arthur has been fantasising about being with Merlin for months. But for him, his dreams are better than the reality. (I'm trying to imply here that Merlin prefers reality Arthur to fictional but that it doesn't work the other way around.) As angsty as possible please.
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me and I am not making profit off of this in any way. Merlin belongs to the BBC.
Author's Note: Comments = ♥. Originally posted here.
They've been together for over two years now, came together in a furious clash after one too many near-death experiences and didn't pause or slow down until months later.
Of course, Arthur knows by now. Knows everything. Sees the way Lancelot and Guinevere look at each other while Lancelot is bound to his duty above all and Gwen bites her tongue, biding her time. Morgana left them many months ago, bad dreams spilling out through her fingertips, visions of chaos and death manifesting themselves as dark purple lightning, destroying Camelot's fields and monarch along with. Arthur's first act as king was sending the orders to kill his adopted sister.
And Merlin's a sorcerer. That one took a long time to accept, though some part of him, deeper than blood, something more elemental, accepted it on first word, recognized unconsciously how all the pieces fell in place. It was simply undeniable.
Merlin gets incoherent sometimes, when he's close to climax, twisting uncontrollably against sheets, against stone walls, against the forest floor. "Arthur," he gasps, "You... you're just so... you're even better than I ever imagined. Arthur."
He's not as incoherent as Arthur would like.
In his dreams, Merlin completes him. Soothes the way he misses his father, the way he misses the sister of his childhood, soothes the less tangible ache for a mother. Quenches his ever present need to prove himself, show them all, win just one more battle. Dream Merlin fills him in every way possible; lets Arthur bury himself in Merlin so deep he can lose his own mind in it, stretches him open and plunges back in, taking away the very option of thought, forcing him to escape from the fractured life he leads, if only for a short while.
He'll conquer all of Albion one day, he's sure of that.
He just wishes it would be enough.
The difference is painfully clear to Arthur: Morgana dreams the truth; Arthur dreams nothing but fantasies.
---