Kink Me! #28
Kink Me! #28
closed to new promptsWelcome to Kink Me! Merlin #28!
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Tug of War
[PART I]
-m.
It’s the stupid song on the radio’s fault. Between the teen in the speakers singing about giving some bloke she’s never met before her number ridiculously hoping that he'll ring her (maybe) and the high of just breaking up with Gwaine (because Merlin is a realist and people like him with over-large ears and untameable hair don’t break up with Gwaine, Gwaine breaks up with them), Merlin feels more than a little invincible when ( ... )
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“Yes,” replies the original spillee slowly, bitingly. "My day was flowingly seamlessly before you showed up. Do you pay any attention at all to where you’re walking?”
Merlin presses the napkin in his hand against the bloke's dark trousers, hoping to soak up a bit of the spill and maybe salvage the moment his eyes catch the way the sunlight from overhead gleams over the stranger's golden hair, strong shoulders flexing under the starched white shirt he's wearing as he moves to push Merlin away. His Adam’s apple bobs over the knot of his blood red tie, blue eyes daring Merlin to respond as he presses his lips together in annoyance (Merlin recognises that look well enough, after all).
How well will his luck will hold up if he says, ‘Usually I do but I was too busy staring at you to watch my own feet' Long fingers rip the napkin free from Merlin’s hand. The stranger throws it down onto the ( ... )
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Gwen tells him she got a strange ring; that a man named Arthur says he has his mobile and, when she speaks, she pauses occasionally as though she's unsure of how to relay the message. "He said he'd like to return it to the idiot who left it at his table," she tells Merlin, looking confused, "and because he called from your mobile, I thought that might be you. When I asked, he laughed at your name - said it was a bloody awful thing to be called and wondered how he missed it when you propositioned him."
"Propositioned? He makes it sound like I'm a..." His lips move, speaking though no words come out. He probably looks like a fish which, if anything, makes him even angrier.
"Prostitute?" Gwen tries. The word sounds strange in her voice, twice as dirty as it usually does.
Merlin winces, and exclaims "Yes! That fucking wanker!" as he tears Gwen's mobile from her shocked fingers. The most recent text, dated yesterday, from his mobile reads: Inform the idiot I will have it tomorrow. 11 at Caffe Nero. Thank you. -ArthurHe seethes ( ... )
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I can't wait for more.
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-a.
It’s the fire in Merlin’s eyes, the eagerness in the air around him that attracts Arthur’s attention. Hot coffee over his lap once was enough, even if it was an accident. The second time, when Merlin had taken the time to tear off the lid and skipped adding milk and sugar before he’d unceremoniously tossed it over Arthur’s chest, was on purpose and unforgivable He’s not sure what kind of fool Merlin takes him for. He’d snatched the number from his mobile before he’d headed to the café and programmed it into his own mobile under the name ‘World’s Biggest Idiot’ because he didn't think there was a person in the world (save Merlin's mum, probably) who didn't think he was an idiot, but he was fit enough and there was some part of Arthur that refused to forget him - to let him get away ( ... )
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Arthur remembers weekend trips from London to Devon, surprising Merlin in A&E at Torbay with coffee (that Arthur manages to keep in the cup) and the silent, needy press of Merlin’s lips against his after a long week away. He remembers Merlin’s body bowed, hips raised and fingers wrapped tight around Arthur's hair. The way his lungs faltered when he looked down at Merlin’s face and couldn’t pull himself away from the depth of adoration in Merlin’s eyes. More clearly than that, he remembers Merlin’s head pillowed against his shoulder, dark hair stark over his skin and thin lids fluttering as Arthur’s hand traced the knobs in Merlin’s spine from top to bottom, fingers dipping slowly over and under. He’d hoped to stop right there, still himself and succumb to sleep before he said something silly like - “Come back to London with me.”
Right. Yes. Something silly just like that ( ... )
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F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5F5
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And I'm so glad you have it all written out already so that it won't be unfinished, but I'm really scared for the inevitable divorce scene D:
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Strangely enough, years later it will end very similarly. They've just moved in together and all I can see is their break up.
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-m. It’s not easy to fall into the pattern of Arthur’s life. He is busy learning the ins and outs of politics on the front lines. His father insists he be around often to make sure the older, more mature members of Parliament see his face and understand his devotion to the career. One day he will be like them, a name to be recognised and respected just like his father (and his father before him, etc). Merlin works eight hour shifts at the hospital; Arthur is gone before he wakes and is home long after dinner is served. Every flat surface in the flat becomes the home of piles upon piles of paperwork and legislature that Merlin only understands half of (and that's giving him credit he's not sure he deserves). When he finally breaks down during one of Arthur's tirades about bigoted conservative ideals making marriage an impossibility without travel and says, “If you’re not Conservative, why do you try to act like you are? There’s nothing wrong ( ... )
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But, for all of Morgana’s whispered warnings, the swift clutches to Merlin’s wrist to assure she has his attention when she reminds him about keeping Arthur focused (“What he wants, Merlin. Make Arthur think of Arthur.”), Uther is always distantly pleasant when he and Merlin happen to meet each other. It’s never on purpose but Merlin supposes bringing Arthur lunch once a week in Parliament where he and Uther work in offices next to each other makes their meetings not quite unexpected.
Openly, he doesn’t speak a word against Merlin and when he mentions it - Uther’s passiveness, his ease of conversation - to Morgana one afternoon, she passes him a glare that could freeze the Thames in July. “Have you not been listening, Merlin? Uther is in politics; polite conversation is his profession. You know first-hand what an arse Arthur is but very few others are very knowledgeable about that, yes? They’re both closed books and reading their pages is difficult - Uther, especially. Don’t assume that he’s on your side, Merlin. Never let ( ... )
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