Blur
Name: Blur
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Fandom: Merlin (BBC Series)
Rating: T+
Word Count: 203
Maybe magic wouldn’t be so bad if it felt like this. Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart beating, fingertips pressed gently into the naked skin of his scrawny little chest; his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against his perfect cheekbones, and though Arthur has seen many pretty things - art, women, castles, diamonds - he doesn’t think anything can surpass this. It’s the sunset of Merlin’s orgasm, and his breathing is heavy like the sun. Arthur kisses his brow in a manner more tender than he’d usually claim to be - revived by the contact, Merlin’s eyes flicker open, lips still parted and cheeks still flushed, and he smiles. Obediently, Arthur's own lips turn up in an appreciative smile - a reflection of the tired satisfaction in his partner’s. A cheap copy. Arthur has never been cheap before, but somehow it doesn’t trouble him. He wants to be led - wants to be second best to this golden glowing angel that’s sprawled beneath him, spent and lovely in his blanket of sweat.
It’s times like this that Arthur doesn’t know whether he’s meant to be the prince or the servant. What he does know is that he doesn’t care - and that princes don’t blush for their manservants like this.
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Fandom: Merlin (BBC Series)
Rating: T+
Word Count: 203
Maybe magic wouldn’t be so bad if it felt like this. Arthur can feel Merlin’s heart beating, fingertips pressed gently into the naked skin of his scrawny little chest; his eyes are closed, lashes fluttering against his perfect cheekbones, and though Arthur has seen many pretty things - art, women, castles, diamonds - he doesn’t think anything can surpass this. It’s the sunset of Merlin’s orgasm, and his breathing is heavy like the sun. Arthur kisses his brow in a manner more tender than he’d usually claim to be - revived by the contact, Merlin’s eyes flicker open, lips still parted and cheeks still flushed, and he smiles. Obediently, Arthur's own lips turn up in an appreciative smile - a reflection of the tired satisfaction in his partner’s. A cheap copy. Arthur has never been cheap before, but somehow it doesn’t trouble him. He wants to be led - wants to be second best to this golden glowing angel that’s sprawled beneath him, spent and lovely in his blanket of sweat.
It’s times like this that Arthur doesn’t know whether he’s meant to be the prince or the servant. What he does know is that he doesn’t care - and that princes don’t blush for their manservants like this.