[Fic] Contemplating Art by Jade_Dragoness
Title: Contemplating Art
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: None
Summary: Merlin thoughts on Arthur. Established relationship.
Word Count: 555
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: I fully expect to be beaten up in a dark alley one of these days for my puns. =D
Feedback is hugely welcomed.
*-*-*-*
One of Merlin’s favorite things to do, after Arthur and he have energetically shared their affection and lust for each other, while their sweat dried on their skin and the smell of sex was musty thick in the air, was to run his hands over as much of Arthur’s skin as he could before sleep could drag him away, protesting mutely and clinging to Arthur’s own slumbering body.
Some nights, Merlin could lose himself in his contemplation of Arthur for hours on end, until dawn peeked cautiously in through the windows of Arthur’s room and Merlin was reminded that he had duties that extended beyond Arthur’s bed making him regretfully leave the warmth of Arthur’s arms.
But before such horrid things could distract him, Merlin would cast his fingers upon Arthur’s sun-kissed skin. They would trace old scars that had faded away to pale shadows and new scars still pink and raised. He would considered the ones he doesn’t know the origins of, and wonder anew, every time without fail, how Arthur ever managed to get from childhood to adulthood still in one intact piece. Peaceful farmers had enough of a challenge achieving that, and they didn’t throw themselves into danger every other day, chasing down monsters bigger and heavier than a fully laden oxen driven cart, fighting battles against certain death because duty and honor demanded it be met unflinchingly.
Merlin would always press his mouth, still swollen from harsh kisses, from tender light kisses, from kisses that would shake him down and lift him up, to the lingering mark of the one monster who got to closest to depriving him of Arthur. But Merlin would not linger, pausing only to breathe a silent sigh of gratitude over Arthur’s shoulder. Then he would follow the shallow dips of dense muscle sheathed over bone with his fingertips and marvel at the will that drove a man to carve himself into a weapon, not to ride roughshod over those who were defenseless and frightened, but to stand as the shield and sword against those that would, an unyielding guardian. A princely paladin driven by unwavering loyalty to his people.
Merlin would ponder the secret message in the scatter of freckles, hidden from even Arthur’s view, as they aligned to Arthur’s spine, rising up, and widening to span wide shoulders as a faint outline of wings highlighted in candlelight.
He’d tickle his own palm on golden hairs covering Arthur’s legs, until his hand would lay flat against Arthur’s chest. Letting the thump and thunder of Arthur’s heart make his own surge. The wonder that this man was in his life, that destiny was kind enough to entwine his thread with this shining one, made his breath catch in his throat, made him gasp for air as if drowning and made his mind twirl as if upon the whirlwind. Dizzy with delight, with desire, with love so intense he’d gladly die to safeguard it. To be his defense and guard his back against every possible danger. To keep Arthur safe, to keep this unexpected joy, a man worthy of the lives knelt at his feet, to keep him alive and give him every chance at happiness.
These are the things that Merlin promises his loyalty to, to Arthur’s scars, to Arthur’s strength, and to Arthur’s stout but also frightening vulnerable heart.
End
Author: J.D. aka jade_dragoness
Rating: R
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Spoilers: None
Summary: Merlin thoughts on Arthur. Established relationship.
Word Count: 555
Disclaimer: Never ever will be mine. *sadness*
A/N: I fully expect to be beaten up in a dark alley one of these days for my puns. =D
Feedback is hugely welcomed.
*-*-*-*
One of Merlin’s favorite things to do, after Arthur and he have energetically shared their affection and lust for each other, while their sweat dried on their skin and the smell of sex was musty thick in the air, was to run his hands over as much of Arthur’s skin as he could before sleep could drag him away, protesting mutely and clinging to Arthur’s own slumbering body.
Some nights, Merlin could lose himself in his contemplation of Arthur for hours on end, until dawn peeked cautiously in through the windows of Arthur’s room and Merlin was reminded that he had duties that extended beyond Arthur’s bed making him regretfully leave the warmth of Arthur’s arms.
But before such horrid things could distract him, Merlin would cast his fingers upon Arthur’s sun-kissed skin. They would trace old scars that had faded away to pale shadows and new scars still pink and raised. He would considered the ones he doesn’t know the origins of, and wonder anew, every time without fail, how Arthur ever managed to get from childhood to adulthood still in one intact piece. Peaceful farmers had enough of a challenge achieving that, and they didn’t throw themselves into danger every other day, chasing down monsters bigger and heavier than a fully laden oxen driven cart, fighting battles against certain death because duty and honor demanded it be met unflinchingly.
Merlin would always press his mouth, still swollen from harsh kisses, from tender light kisses, from kisses that would shake him down and lift him up, to the lingering mark of the one monster who got to closest to depriving him of Arthur. But Merlin would not linger, pausing only to breathe a silent sigh of gratitude over Arthur’s shoulder. Then he would follow the shallow dips of dense muscle sheathed over bone with his fingertips and marvel at the will that drove a man to carve himself into a weapon, not to ride roughshod over those who were defenseless and frightened, but to stand as the shield and sword against those that would, an unyielding guardian. A princely paladin driven by unwavering loyalty to his people.
Merlin would ponder the secret message in the scatter of freckles, hidden from even Arthur’s view, as they aligned to Arthur’s spine, rising up, and widening to span wide shoulders as a faint outline of wings highlighted in candlelight.
He’d tickle his own palm on golden hairs covering Arthur’s legs, until his hand would lay flat against Arthur’s chest. Letting the thump and thunder of Arthur’s heart make his own surge. The wonder that this man was in his life, that destiny was kind enough to entwine his thread with this shining one, made his breath catch in his throat, made him gasp for air as if drowning and made his mind twirl as if upon the whirlwind. Dizzy with delight, with desire, with love so intense he’d gladly die to safeguard it. To be his defense and guard his back against every possible danger. To keep Arthur safe, to keep this unexpected joy, a man worthy of the lives knelt at his feet, to keep him alive and give him every chance at happiness.
These are the things that Merlin promises his loyalty to, to Arthur’s scars, to Arthur’s strength, and to Arthur’s stout but also frightening vulnerable heart.
End