an empire to overthrow
Title: An Empire to Overthrow
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: For the kinkme-merlin prompt: Arthur returns home from a dangerous war or yet another near-death experience. Merlin is so relieved to see him home safe that he can't help but reveal his true feelings.
Arthur pulls the doors shut gently, somehow feeling both relieved and more exhausted now that he’s back in Camelot than he ever did on the battlefield or on the road. He sighs, shrugging off his formal jacket, and turns around to face his manservant for the first time in months.
“Merlin!” he exclaims - then, trying hard not to sound too excited, too genuine, coats the rest of his greeting with exaggerated cheeriness, sarcastic. “Didn’t see you at the homecoming feast tonight, my lord; assumed you’d been missing me so much that you’d withered off in a hole somewhere.” But Arthur’s teasing grin loses its edge and ease when he takes in Merlin’s expression, indescribable, etched into a face paler and thinner than Arthur remembers. “Merlin?”
Merlin doesn’t reply - of course he doesn’t, Arthur thinks, partly wonderingly, exasperated, partly proud that some things never change - and just looks at him in that way that Arthur still can’t quite place - hasn’t...hasn’t really seen before. He thinks nobody else has ever looked at him this way; maybe nobody else has ever dared to. It looks...Arthur wants to say Merlin looks open, raw, but he is the one who feels naked under that gaze.
Then Merlin takes a step toward him, and Arthur can’t help it, he takes a step back, which makes Merlin hesitate, retracting his forward move, which in turn makes Arthur regretful, inches closer - and they continue this stupid, electric dance for a few more heartbeats until Merlin lets out a soft, frustrated noise and then launches himself at Arthur, throwing his arms around the blond’s neck.
Arthur stands still for a moment, silent. He wants to say something, maybe say Merlin’s name again, secretly, a whisper, or say, “You giant girl, I’m all right, I’m home now, aren’t I?” Or maybe even confess: “I thought about you every time I closed my eyes, saw you in everybody, everything when they were open. Half the time I wished you were with me (sometimes I wished so hard I could almost feel your presence, ethereal), the other half I was glad you were home instead - so far from me it was unfair, but safe and warm. You idiot, you have no idea how much you have changed my life, changed me, have you?” But Merlin is trembling against him, face buried in his right shoulder, palms hooked desperately around his neck, so Arthur doesn’t say any of it, doesn’t say anything - just slides his arms around Merlin’s waist and allows himself to hold Merlin close, like salvation.
They stay like this forever, peaceful, until Merlin breaks the spell and casts another one of his own: moves one hand to the filthy hair at Arthur’s neck, tips the other down to cover Arthur’s heart. He lets it rests there while he lifts his head and studies Arthur’s face, lips, nose, cheeks, then eyes, looking for signs of injuries deeper than the physical scars the prince now wears with his father’s pride. Finding none, or perhaps finding all of them, every single one, and deciding that he can heal them, Merlin finally smiles - small, wet, and wobbly, but faithful and devoted as always. Arthur tries to smile back, but Merlin is already leaning in, pressing sweet kisses to Arthur’s eyes, cheeks, nose, then lips. Enchanting.
“You won’t leave me behind again,” Merlin pleads, taking over all of Arthur’s senses and giving back all of himself in return. “Ever.”
No, Arthur realizes. No, I couldn’t.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Arthur Pendragon/Merlin
Disclaimer: Fiction.
Summary: For the kinkme-merlin prompt: Arthur returns home from a dangerous war or yet another near-death experience. Merlin is so relieved to see him home safe that he can't help but reveal his true feelings.
Arthur pulls the doors shut gently, somehow feeling both relieved and more exhausted now that he’s back in Camelot than he ever did on the battlefield or on the road. He sighs, shrugging off his formal jacket, and turns around to face his manservant for the first time in months.
“Merlin!” he exclaims - then, trying hard not to sound too excited, too genuine, coats the rest of his greeting with exaggerated cheeriness, sarcastic. “Didn’t see you at the homecoming feast tonight, my lord; assumed you’d been missing me so much that you’d withered off in a hole somewhere.” But Arthur’s teasing grin loses its edge and ease when he takes in Merlin’s expression, indescribable, etched into a face paler and thinner than Arthur remembers. “Merlin?”
Merlin doesn’t reply - of course he doesn’t, Arthur thinks, partly wonderingly, exasperated, partly proud that some things never change - and just looks at him in that way that Arthur still can’t quite place - hasn’t...hasn’t really seen before. He thinks nobody else has ever looked at him this way; maybe nobody else has ever dared to. It looks...Arthur wants to say Merlin looks open, raw, but he is the one who feels naked under that gaze.
Then Merlin takes a step toward him, and Arthur can’t help it, he takes a step back, which makes Merlin hesitate, retracting his forward move, which in turn makes Arthur regretful, inches closer - and they continue this stupid, electric dance for a few more heartbeats until Merlin lets out a soft, frustrated noise and then launches himself at Arthur, throwing his arms around the blond’s neck.
Arthur stands still for a moment, silent. He wants to say something, maybe say Merlin’s name again, secretly, a whisper, or say, “You giant girl, I’m all right, I’m home now, aren’t I?” Or maybe even confess: “I thought about you every time I closed my eyes, saw you in everybody, everything when they were open. Half the time I wished you were with me (sometimes I wished so hard I could almost feel your presence, ethereal), the other half I was glad you were home instead - so far from me it was unfair, but safe and warm. You idiot, you have no idea how much you have changed my life, changed me, have you?” But Merlin is trembling against him, face buried in his right shoulder, palms hooked desperately around his neck, so Arthur doesn’t say any of it, doesn’t say anything - just slides his arms around Merlin’s waist and allows himself to hold Merlin close, like salvation.
They stay like this forever, peaceful, until Merlin breaks the spell and casts another one of his own: moves one hand to the filthy hair at Arthur’s neck, tips the other down to cover Arthur’s heart. He lets it rests there while he lifts his head and studies Arthur’s face, lips, nose, cheeks, then eyes, looking for signs of injuries deeper than the physical scars the prince now wears with his father’s pride. Finding none, or perhaps finding all of them, every single one, and deciding that he can heal them, Merlin finally smiles - small, wet, and wobbly, but faithful and devoted as always. Arthur tries to smile back, but Merlin is already leaning in, pressing sweet kisses to Arthur’s eyes, cheeks, nose, then lips. Enchanting.
“You won’t leave me behind again,” Merlin pleads, taking over all of Arthur’s senses and giving back all of himself in return. “Ever.”
No, Arthur realizes. No, I couldn’t.