FIC: With Love, Snow and Mistletoe
Dec. 12th, 2018 01:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fifty_fiftyTitle: With Love, Snow and Mistletoe
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Word Count/Art Medium: 600w + divider art
Rating: Teen
Notes: Huge thank you to Plu for the speedy beta read, I am so grateful. Also a sequel to Love, Patience, Valour and Aster.
Summary: Five times Merlin and Arthur didn't kiss (and the first time that they did)
Merlin sits huddled in a blanket, pressed against Arthur's side as they share a log, trying not to shiver. It is the dead of winter, snow and ice laying freshly on the ground. The copse they are in is more sheltered, but the cold is still biting.
He shudders, and Arthur tuts.
"Honestly, Merlin," he says, wrapping his cloak around him. Merlin totally doesn’t snuggle into the warmth of Arthur. And if he glances up and stares at him as the fire crackles merrily and they hold each other until sleep claims them, neither of them mentions it come morning.
Arthur stumbles, almost toppling them both as they make their way towards his chambers.
"M'rlin, M'rlin..." mumbles Arthur. "Did I ever tell you, you are my best— best fr'nd?"
Oh, Arthur is this kind of drunk tonight. Merlin looks at him with resignation. "Never, Sire. You always say we can't be friends."
"Well," hiccups Arthur. "You are." He lowers his voice. "Do you want to know ano'er secret?"
He pulls Merlin closer, and his breath is hot against Merlin's lips. "Always loved you, Meeerrrrlin."
"Let's get you to bed, Sire," says Merlin, knowing all will be forgotten the next day.
A peaceful silence pervades the large tent, a sacred, calm space against the hum of activity outside as the knights and soldiers ready themselves for the night.
Arthur stands quietly, solemn as Merlin flits about him, removing his sword belt and carefully rolling it. He reaches up to unfasten his cape, when Arthur catches one of his hands.
They stare at one another, they’re so close that Merlin can see all the specks of blue in Arthur's concerned eyes. He licks his lips nervously, and swallows as Arthur's eyes follow the movement.
"It will be all right tomorrow, I promise."
The next time they have a "moment" is in the stables. Merlin brushes down Hengroen and Aster after their hard day.
"Merlin, what's taking so long?" calls Arthur.
"Taking care of the horses, Sire."
"Be quick about it." Arthur strips off his gloves. "I want a bath."
Merlin's hand stills, pausing mid-stroke. He's been having a lot of inappropriate thoughts at bath time lately. "Can't George do it?"
"No." Arthur grabs Merlin's hand and helps him brush. "Guess I'll have to help you with this," he murmurs into his ear.
Merlin slips, startled, and lands face down into some dung.
Merlin supposes that it has all been building up to this. All those looks that lasted too long to be comfortable. Touches that were more than necessary. All those drunken confessions that Arthur forgot about completely.
It is all inevitable that it was going to end up like this, face-to-face with Arthur, so close their breaths mingle and lips brush. A pause in time. Neither of them knows quite how to proceed, nor how to withdraw before more damage is done. Arthur's first to move, incrementally slow...
A sharp knock taps at the door. "Sire, the king requests your presence."
The feast is in full-swing, food eaten. Music begun, wine everywhere. Arthur has shaken off the nobility who wanted a word with their king.
They are snug in a corner of the room. It's darker here and everything seems muted. Arthur backs Merlin up against the wall, and something brushes his hair.
Merlin looks up. "Mistletoe," he notes.
Arthur looks at him, eyes dark. And then he presses his lips to Merlin's, warm and sweet with wine. Merlin fists his hand in golden hair, opens up, let's Arthur in. I'm yours, he says. Always yours, until the day I die.
Pairing(s): Merlin/Arthur
Word Count/Art Medium: 600w + divider art
Rating: Teen
Notes: Huge thank you to Plu for the speedy beta read, I am so grateful. Also a sequel to Love, Patience, Valour and Aster.
Summary: Five times Merlin and Arthur didn't kiss (and the first time that they did)
He shudders, and Arthur tuts.
"Honestly, Merlin," he says, wrapping his cloak around him. Merlin totally doesn’t snuggle into the warmth of Arthur. And if he glances up and stares at him as the fire crackles merrily and they hold each other until sleep claims them, neither of them mentions it come morning.
Arthur stumbles, almost toppling them both as they make their way towards his chambers.
"M'rlin, M'rlin..." mumbles Arthur. "Did I ever tell you, you are my best— best fr'nd?"
Oh, Arthur is this kind of drunk tonight. Merlin looks at him with resignation. "Never, Sire. You always say we can't be friends."
"Well," hiccups Arthur. "You are." He lowers his voice. "Do you want to know ano'er secret?"
He pulls Merlin closer, and his breath is hot against Merlin's lips. "Always loved you, Meeerrrrlin."
"Let's get you to bed, Sire," says Merlin, knowing all will be forgotten the next day.
A peaceful silence pervades the large tent, a sacred, calm space against the hum of activity outside as the knights and soldiers ready themselves for the night.
Arthur stands quietly, solemn as Merlin flits about him, removing his sword belt and carefully rolling it. He reaches up to unfasten his cape, when Arthur catches one of his hands.
They stare at one another, they’re so close that Merlin can see all the specks of blue in Arthur's concerned eyes. He licks his lips nervously, and swallows as Arthur's eyes follow the movement.
"It will be all right tomorrow, I promise."
The next time they have a "moment" is in the stables. Merlin brushes down Hengroen and Aster after their hard day.
"Merlin, what's taking so long?" calls Arthur.
"Taking care of the horses, Sire."
"Be quick about it." Arthur strips off his gloves. "I want a bath."
Merlin's hand stills, pausing mid-stroke. He's been having a lot of inappropriate thoughts at bath time lately. "Can't George do it?"
"No." Arthur grabs Merlin's hand and helps him brush. "Guess I'll have to help you with this," he murmurs into his ear.
Merlin slips, startled, and lands face down into some dung.
Merlin supposes that it has all been building up to this. All those looks that lasted too long to be comfortable. Touches that were more than necessary. All those drunken confessions that Arthur forgot about completely.
It is all inevitable that it was going to end up like this, face-to-face with Arthur, so close their breaths mingle and lips brush. A pause in time. Neither of them knows quite how to proceed, nor how to withdraw before more damage is done. Arthur's first to move, incrementally slow...
A sharp knock taps at the door. "Sire, the king requests your presence."
The feast is in full-swing, food eaten. Music begun, wine everywhere. Arthur has shaken off the nobility who wanted a word with their king.
They are snug in a corner of the room. It's darker here and everything seems muted. Arthur backs Merlin up against the wall, and something brushes his hair.
Merlin looks up. "Mistletoe," he notes.
Arthur looks at him, eyes dark. And then he presses his lips to Merlin's, warm and sweet with wine. Merlin fists his hand in golden hair, opens up, let's Arthur in. I'm yours, he says. Always yours, until the day I die.
