fic: Don't Let It Show
Title: Don't Let It Show
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13 (one curse)
Word Count: 560 or something like that
Summary: First kiss, last kiss, any kind of kiss. Read into it what you will!
Note: Veeeery loosely inspired by that fuck-off catchy hook from 'Shape of my Heart', by Noah & the Whale.
If There's Any Love In Me, Don't Let It Show
If there's any love in me, Arthur thinks, don't let it show.
If there's any love in him, Merlin thinks, I'd never know.
Arthur is eating; Merlin is dozing. It is late evening (too late, in fact, to really be called evening any more), and there's a moon somewhere outside - a tippex blot in the inky expanse of the sky, and it makes Merlin pale where he sits by the window. He has his head tilted back against the stone wall; his leg cocked; his arm dangling.
Arthur, though - Arthur glows in the fiery torchlight. He is bent, curved slightly towards his plate, and although he seems alert, the occasional fumble of fingers or droop of eyelids betray him.
They have hunted today. Or, well, Arthur has hunted and Merlin has seemingly done his utmost to sabotage the pursuit. That's how it had seemed to Arthur, anyway. Still - it was something he was becoming used to. Accustomed too, even... There was something in the way Merlin tripped over his own feet that was a little bit much for Arthur to deal with.
"I'm never bringing you with me again," Arthur announces, and Merlin smiles with closed eyes.
"You say that every time."
"Yes, well. I mean it this time. It was purely out of kindness that I brought you along today, you know."
"Ah, yes," Merlin says, and opens his eyes know. He looks across at Arthur with a smile that is too obvious, too fond, and even though they are alone Arthur wants to hiss at him to stop it, what the hell do you think you're doing?.
"It was terribly kind of you, sire, thank you. Really."
Merlin closes his eyes again, leans back against the wall.
Arthur's eyes linger for a bit longer than they should on the shark-fin cheekbones and bump-curve-line of his manservant's throne. His eyes linger for longer than they should on the dip of his collarbone, peeking out now that the scarf has been abandoned.
Merlin himself lingers.
Meal finished, Arthur rises, and Merlin's eyes are open again to watch him. He can't help but notice, like he notices every time, that every move of Arthur's is so fucking noble. From the curve of his knuckles around the back of the seat to the straightening of his shoulders when he stands tall, the bone-deep royalty of him glares Merlin in the face. The power of this man, this boy, this prince - this King that he already is - is more, so much more, than anything Merlin could ever posess.
He is quiet as Arthur crosses towards him -- warm, lit by torchlight, calm.
Merlin becomes vaugely aware of calloused fingertips against his jaw, and subconciously tilts to the touch. Their lips touch for a moment that extends longer than moments should, and Merlin finds his eyes closed all over again.
"Goodnight Merlin," Arthur murmurs eventually. He lets his hand fall, and moves towards the bed.
There is a pause, before Merlin's reply comes - a little throatier, a little hoarser, than he intended. "Good night."
If there's any love in him, Merlin thinks, I would know.
If there's any love in me, Arthur thinks, then, well. He'd know.
IT'S A WEEK! AND IT'S MERLIN! AND IT'S IN CAPS!
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13 (one curse)
Word Count: 560 or something like that
Summary: First kiss, last kiss, any kind of kiss. Read into it what you will!
Note: Veeeery loosely inspired by that fuck-off catchy hook from 'Shape of my Heart', by Noah & the Whale.
If There's Any Love In Me, Don't Let It Show
If there's any love in me, Arthur thinks, don't let it show.
If there's any love in him, Merlin thinks, I'd never know.
Arthur is eating; Merlin is dozing. It is late evening (too late, in fact, to really be called evening any more), and there's a moon somewhere outside - a tippex blot in the inky expanse of the sky, and it makes Merlin pale where he sits by the window. He has his head tilted back against the stone wall; his leg cocked; his arm dangling.
Arthur, though - Arthur glows in the fiery torchlight. He is bent, curved slightly towards his plate, and although he seems alert, the occasional fumble of fingers or droop of eyelids betray him.
They have hunted today. Or, well, Arthur has hunted and Merlin has seemingly done his utmost to sabotage the pursuit. That's how it had seemed to Arthur, anyway. Still - it was something he was becoming used to. Accustomed too, even... There was something in the way Merlin tripped over his own feet that was a little bit much for Arthur to deal with.
"I'm never bringing you with me again," Arthur announces, and Merlin smiles with closed eyes.
"You say that every time."
"Yes, well. I mean it this time. It was purely out of kindness that I brought you along today, you know."
"Ah, yes," Merlin says, and opens his eyes know. He looks across at Arthur with a smile that is too obvious, too fond, and even though they are alone Arthur wants to hiss at him to stop it, what the hell do you think you're doing?.
"It was terribly kind of you, sire, thank you. Really."
Merlin closes his eyes again, leans back against the wall.
Arthur's eyes linger for a bit longer than they should on the shark-fin cheekbones and bump-curve-line of his manservant's throne. His eyes linger for longer than they should on the dip of his collarbone, peeking out now that the scarf has been abandoned.
Merlin himself lingers.
Meal finished, Arthur rises, and Merlin's eyes are open again to watch him. He can't help but notice, like he notices every time, that every move of Arthur's is so fucking noble. From the curve of his knuckles around the back of the seat to the straightening of his shoulders when he stands tall, the bone-deep royalty of him glares Merlin in the face. The power of this man, this boy, this prince - this King that he already is - is more, so much more, than anything Merlin could ever posess.
He is quiet as Arthur crosses towards him -- warm, lit by torchlight, calm.
Merlin becomes vaugely aware of calloused fingertips against his jaw, and subconciously tilts to the touch. Their lips touch for a moment that extends longer than moments should, and Merlin finds his eyes closed all over again.
"Goodnight Merlin," Arthur murmurs eventually. He lets his hand fall, and moves towards the bed.
There is a pause, before Merlin's reply comes - a little throatier, a little hoarser, than he intended. "Good night."
If there's any love in him, Merlin thinks, I would know.
If there's any love in me, Arthur thinks, then, well. He'd know.
IT'S A WEEK! AND IT'S MERLIN! AND IT'S IN CAPS!