Fic: Eloquence
Title: Eloquence
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Arthur is drunk and honest.
AN: Written for partofthequeue2 for my icon writing meme.
Arthur's rooms were darker than they had any right to be, though possibly this was Merlin's fault because only one candle was still burning.
The tie to Arthur's undershirt seemed to have pulled itself into a variety of complex knots, each more vexing than the last. Arthur was making the task of undoing them even more difficult by refusing to stand still. Either that or he was simply unable to, because Merlin had seen how much wine he'd drunk. More than enough to put down a lesser man for the night- and maybe the next day.
"What have you been doing with this?" If Merlin had known knots would be involved he would have kept more nails. At the moment he appeared to be mostly fingers, which was no help at all. "Do you think you could keep still."
"It's your job to get better at this, not mine to pander to your physical incompetence," Arthur decided unsteadily.
"I don't have any nails," Merlin grumbled into the material.
He tugged a fraction too hard and Arthur swayed, ever so slightly, into the table.
"Sorry."
The shirt came over his head in one movement and Arthur briefly lost his balance, catching Merlin's arm and waist when he regained his feet.
It took him a long moment to let go again, breath trailing, warm and close, and sharp with wine, across Merlin's cheek.
"Did you do this for him?" It was a fall of quiet words, soft and unhappy. Merlin stopped trying to pick Arthur's belt open long enough to frown up at him.
"Who?" he asked, bewildered at the random question.
"Lancelot," Arthur said bitterly. "He stayed with you, and I'm not blind, a man like him, a man that looks like him."
Arthur frowned uncertainly then, but it just as quickly turned into an expression of accusation.
"Did you?"
Merlin wasn't entirely sure whether to be confused or insulted. He very much wanted to say that it wasn't any of Arthur's business, but Arthur's voice was gritty and slow, and awful.
"I don't blame you Merlin, I wanted him too. Though not as much as I want-" Arthur stopped. "Damn you," he said desperately, and the answer was there in his face. Brought to colourful life by too many jugs of wine.
Merlin knew that the expression on his own face was the sort of unflattering stupidity that he has been chastised for so many times but there was nothing in his head but a fine buzzing.
Arthur's hands fell, awkward and uncertain, to his waist, tight through three layers of fabric, still and guilty like they didn't belong there.
"Merlin." Arthur's voice trailed off into nothing, until there was just the shift and pluck of Arthur's fingers.
"You've had a lot to drink," Merlin said through a numb mouth.
"I love this kingdom but it takes as quickly as it gives," Arthur told him, like he hadn't even heard. "I want things I can't have."
"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, not entirely sure if he was replying or warning Arthur to stop talking, not sure at all.
"I want things I wouldn’t ask for," Arthur added, words pulled up his throat like they hurt.
He took a step backwards, found the edge of the bed and dropped into a sit, gracelessly.
Merlin took a deep breath. "I think you should-"
"I love you," Arthur said, and managed to make it sound like the most terrible thing in the world.
Then he promptly slid sideways, and ended up unconscious in the general vicinity of the pillows.
Merlin stared at him for a very long second.
There was the distinct possibility that Arthur was going to remember absolutely none of this come morning.
"Bugger," Merlin said eloquently.
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: In no way mine, or anything to do with me, I own nothing.
Summary: In which Arthur is drunk and honest.
AN: Written for partofthequeue2 for my icon writing meme.
Arthur's rooms were darker than they had any right to be, though possibly this was Merlin's fault because only one candle was still burning.
The tie to Arthur's undershirt seemed to have pulled itself into a variety of complex knots, each more vexing than the last. Arthur was making the task of undoing them even more difficult by refusing to stand still. Either that or he was simply unable to, because Merlin had seen how much wine he'd drunk. More than enough to put down a lesser man for the night- and maybe the next day.
"What have you been doing with this?" If Merlin had known knots would be involved he would have kept more nails. At the moment he appeared to be mostly fingers, which was no help at all. "Do you think you could keep still."
"It's your job to get better at this, not mine to pander to your physical incompetence," Arthur decided unsteadily.
"I don't have any nails," Merlin grumbled into the material.
He tugged a fraction too hard and Arthur swayed, ever so slightly, into the table.
"Sorry."
The shirt came over his head in one movement and Arthur briefly lost his balance, catching Merlin's arm and waist when he regained his feet.
It took him a long moment to let go again, breath trailing, warm and close, and sharp with wine, across Merlin's cheek.
"Did you do this for him?" It was a fall of quiet words, soft and unhappy. Merlin stopped trying to pick Arthur's belt open long enough to frown up at him.
"Who?" he asked, bewildered at the random question.
"Lancelot," Arthur said bitterly. "He stayed with you, and I'm not blind, a man like him, a man that looks like him."
Arthur frowned uncertainly then, but it just as quickly turned into an expression of accusation.
"Did you?"
Merlin wasn't entirely sure whether to be confused or insulted. He very much wanted to say that it wasn't any of Arthur's business, but Arthur's voice was gritty and slow, and awful.
"I don't blame you Merlin, I wanted him too. Though not as much as I want-" Arthur stopped. "Damn you," he said desperately, and the answer was there in his face. Brought to colourful life by too many jugs of wine.
Merlin knew that the expression on his own face was the sort of unflattering stupidity that he has been chastised for so many times but there was nothing in his head but a fine buzzing.
Arthur's hands fell, awkward and uncertain, to his waist, tight through three layers of fabric, still and guilty like they didn't belong there.
"Merlin." Arthur's voice trailed off into nothing, until there was just the shift and pluck of Arthur's fingers.
"You've had a lot to drink," Merlin said through a numb mouth.
"I love this kingdom but it takes as quickly as it gives," Arthur told him, like he hadn't even heard. "I want things I can't have."
"Arthur," Merlin said quietly, not entirely sure if he was replying or warning Arthur to stop talking, not sure at all.
"I want things I wouldn’t ask for," Arthur added, words pulled up his throat like they hurt.
He took a step backwards, found the edge of the bed and dropped into a sit, gracelessly.
Merlin took a deep breath. "I think you should-"
"I love you," Arthur said, and managed to make it sound like the most terrible thing in the world.
Then he promptly slid sideways, and ended up unconscious in the general vicinity of the pillows.
Merlin stared at him for a very long second.
There was the distinct possibility that Arthur was going to remember absolutely none of this come morning.
"Bugger," Merlin said eloquently.