Fic: Curing Prattism
Title: Curing Prattism
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Very much crack. Assumes basic knowledge of the series.
Disclaimer: They belong to the BBC. ;____;
Word count: 3,100~
Summary: Prattism is a serious infliction that sometimes descends upon royalty. Merlin goes to ask the Dragon for some advice on how to cure it, involving more Prattish behaviour, buckets of cold water and licking. Written spontaneously in IM, therefore explaining the slight disjointedness between the sentences. Written for bedofpearls and tarasinecera.
Once upon a time, Arthur was a Prat. So, Merlin went to the great Dragon for some advice. He was worried that Arthur was not progressing quickly enough from his journey between Prat and Not-A-Prat. Uther was getting a bit old by now, you see, and could kick the bucket at any time. And yet Arthur still persisted in being a Prat. Which was even worse, because it was more extreme than when he used to be a prat-with-no-capital-letter.
"I need ways to cure Arthur of Prattism!" cried Merlin into the great echoic cave of the Dragon, even though the Dragon was perched on the rock right in front of him and could hear perfectly well. The Dragon laughed at him. Merlin thought that was really quite unfair, since he didn't find it very funny when Arthur was a Prat to him. After Merlin had waited for the Dragon to finish laughing - which took a really long time by the way - he scowled. Deeply.
The Dragon seemed to sense the import of his deep scowl and stared bemusedly down at him. "Don't you know," he boomed in a tone that implied that he thought Merlin very much did not know, "that there is only one cure for Prattism?"
Merlin sniffed. "Gaius' books never mentioned it."
The Dragon chuckled. "It is a rare and not very well documented condition that only afflicts royalty. I doubt that there has been much opportunity to study it." He waggled his eyebrows, or the area of his face that would have had eyebrows if Dragons had eyebrows. "Uther, too, succumbed to Prattism for a brief while when he was younger."
Merlin waved his torch helplessly, nearly setting his hair on fire and looked confused. He highly doubted that Uther had ever been cured of it, actually. "So, what is this single cure, and can I give it to Arthur really soon? Say... tonight?"
The Dragon laughed again. Merlin had never felt more like a court jester, and wondered why Arthur never laughed at his jokes. "Oh, young warlock. The cure for Prattism is for a Prat to be met with equal Prattish bevahiour for the total of a moon cycle and a day and then to have a bucket of cold water thrown on his head to wash it out of him."
Merlin gave the Dragon a Look. That one that said 'What the fuck, I don't believe you.'
The Dragon gave him a Look back. The other one, which said 'Well you have no choice so you might as well try it.'
As usual, they stared at each other for a good ten seconds before Merlin gave in. Merlin sighed, dramatically, as if no one could understand his woe. Unfortunately, he wasn't merely the usual angsty protagonist, seeing as he really was the only person who could understand his woe. As he turned to leave, the Dragon beamed horrifically at him, and added quickly, "Oh, young warlock! After the cold water has washed the Prattism away, the water much be licked off the Prince to ensure that it does not soak back in." Merlin stopped, and gave another ten seconds to level another Look at the Dragon.
"I suppose a towel wouldn't work instead."
The Dragon stretched his wings and started to dramatically fly away. "No, young warlock. A towel would not work."
Merlin sighed, trundled all the way back to his bedroom and fell on his bed, musing the problem of Arthur and his Prattism as he went to sleep. Or perhaps he just mused on Arthur as he drifted off to sleep.
--
Awaking the next morning, Merlin realised with a heavy feeling that he was probably the only person who could behave with equal Prattish behaviour towards Arthur for a moon and a day. He also realised that he would probably never make it through the time and would probably be sacked, swatted and put in the stocks before two days was gone. Oh woe. See?
In any case, Uther was getting really quite old by now - he had started drooling a little bit in kingly audiences, which made him look really quite unkingly. Therefore, in the best interests of making Arthur Not-A-Prat by the time Uther kicked it, Merlin decided that he could try this cure for Prattism. When Arthur next told him to polish his armour of rust, Merlin told him that the real reason it rusted was that Arthur sweated too much, and by the way, he absolutely stank after sweating too much, and he should really try this new tincture thing that Gaius had invented which involved spraying it into his armpits.
Arthur had stared at him, and then told him in a very manly way to Bugger Off. He had also added sulkily that he did not smell, and that he was not spraying perfume under his arms.
Merlin had sprayed him in the face.
And then run away.
--
Merlin survived the next two weeks without being sacked, swatted or put in the stocks simply by doing more running away after every time he had to Behave Prattishly towards Arthur. Arthur was getting increasingly peeved (although Merlin did secretly spy him dabbing a bit of that tincture under his arms) but couldn't really complain, since he had defended Merlin towards Uther so many times that Uther thought Merlin quite the perfect servant by now. Besides, he still hadn't figured out how to dress himself in these new breeches things that had come into fashion and was so forced to wait for Merlin to arrive in the morning to tie these laces.
After a whole moon of finally managing to Be Prattish towards Arthur, and having most of it denying that it was quite nice to be mean to Arthur, Merlin was running out of ways to Be Prattish. He was, after all, a fundamentally Not Prattish person. He was nice, and fluffy, and liked cute rabbits.
(Not in that way.)
In turn, Arthur had not survived the moon very well, having spent the last two weeks of it increasingly moody, having burst into tears at the dinner table when Merlin served him water instead of wine and had Morgana, Gwen and Gaius all ask him on separate occasions whether it was his time of month. Arthur wasn't even aware that he had a That Time of Month, and went hunting instead. Hunting solved everything.
Returning to the castle after several hours of anger management in the forest (again! Not in that way), Arthur returned to the castle feeling significantly less stressed, and really quite pleased that he had bagged some very plump rabbits.
Upon arrival at the castle, Merlin saw the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits, and gave him a Look. Arthur wibbled. Merlin Looked at him. Arthur fled to his chambers, still wibbling, throwing the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits in the air as he ran. Not that he ran, of course - he strode very quickly. Merlin rubbed his forehead. These Looks were really starting to take a toll on his facial muscles. Thankfully, he only had a while to go until he could get on with the rest of the cure.
Picking up the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits, Merlin made a note to give them a funeral later on, and instead went up to Arthur's chambers, knocking soundly on the door. "Arthur... Let me in."
"NO." Arthur paused, realising that he had sounded perhaps a bit desperate. Princes did not sound desperate. "I'm changing," he added lamely.
"You don't know how to undress yourself Arthur, you can't be changing," Merlin said incredulously. He heard what may have been a little sniff coming from inside and rolled his eyes. "Arthur?"
There was a bit of a kerfuffle as Arthur pulled himself together - Merlin reckoned that he didn't know that it was just a metaphor and that one didn't really need to physically pull themselves together. "I am the crown prince!" He yelled through the door. "You're supposed to be my servant and do what I tell you to and respect me. You're not allowed to be rude to me!"
Merlin made sympathetic noises and hoped that they were loud enough for Arthur to hear. He didn't think that it would be possible to make sympathetic noises much louder. Arthur eventually opened the door, managing to look angry instead of very confused. Merlin reckoned if it was close enough to a moon and a day to just get on with the rest of the bloody cure already.
After Merlin came in, Arthur did that thing where he stared broodingly out of the window trying to hide his feelings that Merlin already knew anyway. Merlin took the time to calculate how long he had left. Given the time of day that he had visited the dragon, and the moon cycle for this month, and with a bit of squinting and tilting his head sideways as if that would change the time on the sundial (not that the sundial was working - it was dark), he finally beamed. He only had about another ten minutes to go!
"Arthur!" Merlin nearly shouted, making Arthur jump and nearly smash a hand through his window, "Would you like a bath?"
Arthur looked at him as if he was absolutely completely deranged, and cowered in his corner next to the window. Clearing his throat, Merlin tried again. "Sire, would you like a bath? It might relax you." There, that sounded a lot better. Considering it for a moment, Arthur nodded. He did feel that a bath would be very comforting right now.
Watching Merlin drag out the tub and start to heat up the water, Arthur completely missed when Merlin turned his back and his eyes flashed gold, the water heating immediately. After all, he was the crown prince. It wasn't as if he was expected to know roughly how long water took to heat. In approximately eight minutes, Arthur stood with his arms above his head expectantly, waiting for Merlin to come and undress him.
Stretching in all his naked glory, Arthur made to step into the bath when Merlin yelled, "WAIT. THE WATER'S TOO HOT!" And flung a bucket of water at him. Cold water. Arthur shrieked like a girl.
When he had regained enough control of both his dignity and his vocal chords, Arthur boomed in a decidedly manly and very not-girly voice, "MERLIN. What was that for?!"
Merlin, finally freed of his burden of having to be Prattish to the Prince, squealed happily in the face of Arthur's frozen bollocks. "I mean - er, I'm sorry Arthur! It was just something I had to do!" Merlin hurried over, having dropped the bucket, and ducked as Arthur aimed a smack for his head. His task, after all, was still not complete.
"Something you had to do. Real-" Arthur never got to finish his drawl, because then there was a tongue in his mouth, and it wasn't his. It was quite hard speaking with a tongue-that-wasn't-his in his mouth. It felt quite nice though.
As Merlin pulled back, Arthur made to say something, but Merlin put a finger over his lips, pulling him forward so that he was stood in the bath (which was at just the right temperature...) which felt a lot better than drying off in the cool air. "Just something... I have to do," Merlin murmured, hastily turning Arthur so that he wouldn't see the slight pink tinge that the bucket water on the floor had turned. And then he pressed his tongue over Arthur's nipple, drawing his tongue smoothly upwards in a long stroke.
Arthur decided that he really had no desire to speak at all, and plopped down quite happily into his bath, willing Merlin on with an imperious wave of his hand. As he had no desire to drown himself, Merlin started at Arthur's stomach, just where a ruffle of light hair was above the water level, and worked his way upwards, feeling the light contours of Arthur's ribs under his sensitive tongue.
'Mmm'ing his approval, Arthur curled his hand into Merlin's hair, although he didn't try to restrain his head. After all, why on earth would he want to stop such a wonderful feeling?! Merlin, having remembered that Dragon hadn't specified how much and for how long he had to lick Arthur and whether it had to be all over, decided to make that part up himself. He might have circled Arthur's left nipple six times, but he was sure that the Prattism was mostly gone anyway. With his head leaned back and a wide smile sliding across his half opened mouth, Arthur didn't really look like a Prat.
Having slid his tongue over most of Arthur's chest by now, Merlin moved upwards, gently following the line of Arthur's neck, taught and stretched beneath him, his hair tickling the other man as he started up the chin line. Tucking his tongue back into Arthur's mouth, where it seemed to quite naturally fit, Merlin shivered, pressing a hand against Arthur's cheek. He wasn't very sure that he was doing this just for the sake of Arthur being Not-A-Prat. Not very sure at all.
Arthur, on the other hand, thought this a most excellent bath. He'd have to have more of these.
Feeling Arthur's heavy hand lightly cup his face too, Merlin backed up, but not away. Drawing them both upwards, he rubbed Arthur down with a towel (that couldn't hurt, right?). But oh, he wasn't done yet. He still had to get that Prattism stuff off all of Arthur's lower body, after all.
There was a bit of a distraction between the bath and the bed, which comprised of a whole two steps and yet at least fourteen sloppy kisses, but Merlin finally got Arthur snuggled in, looking really rather happy, and pulled himself up onto it too. Arthur, being the big (<- very) manly man that he was, looked like he was going to try and take control, but Merlin dipped his head down, and rather messily licked his way up Arthur's inner thigh. There might have been a little gurgle of joy from Arthur there.
Merlin was suddenly face-to-face with the large (<- very) import of the situation, and might have had a slight heart attack and leapt out of the window questioning his sanity and wailing until he saw the look on Arthur's face. It was soft, and tender, and awkward, and completely Arthur. Merlin's stomach flipped little butterflies until surely all the butterflies were dead with the amount of flipping, and he felt his face mirroring Arthur's expression and knew that it was too late: his sanity had already gone.
He did not forget his mission however, and very diligently licked Arthur all over, feeling soft hairs fluff up under his tongue. Arthur's brain had died at some point and was only providing him with the word 'Mmrgh!' which Merlin assumed, under context, to mean 'more'. He was all right with that.
Thankfully, the Prattism condition seemed to be all gone thanks to Merlin, who had saved Arthur's unknowing (but apparently firm, Merlin decided) backside yet again. Surely he needed a reward for that. Flumping down next to Arthur, quite tired and yet surely not done for the night yet, Merlin wormed his way under one of Arthur's arms.
Evidently very much satisfied with the situation, Arthur rolled over, and pressed his lips to Merlin's, this time sliding his tongue into Merlin's mouth instead. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Arthur asked, somewhat bemused and yet not angry. His hand stroked down the length of Merlin's arm, and Merlin decided that he quite liked that.
Squirming a bit so that he was tucked in more closely to Arthur, he blinked, "Tell you what?"
"That you..." Arthur coughed a manly cough. "...desired me." He continued with an air of a particularly wise man, "That was why you were so ghastly, isn't it? You were just confused." He stroked his thumb over Merlin's cheek.
It was, of course, nothing like the truth, as Merlin had never once been confused about what he felt for Arthur, not even when Arthur had hit him over the head with a gauntlet and he had seen stars. "Yes, I suppose," he whispered demurely.
"Then it's only right that I unconfuse you," Arthur grinned, tugging at Merlin's clothing. Oh, oops. Merlin half sat up, nearly flinging off his own clothing. He hadn't really thought of that when Arthur had been lying around naked underneath him. Feeling Arthur's rough hands palm him over every part of his body, Merlin smirked, knowing that it must have felt something like this when he had licked Arthur.
Sliding his own hand up Arthur's solid torso to latch his hand around Arthur's neck, Merlin wiggled on the bed to make room for Arthur's knee, which had somehow appeared, quite snugly fitted, between his own.
Flitting one hand daringly to where he fastened Arthur's breeches every day, except there were now no breeches, Merlin took Arthur in his hand, experimenting with how it felt under his hand. It was like when he touched himself, but... not. So exquisitely foreign.
Arthur rumbled a deep sound in his chest, leaning forwards for more of those sloppy, unpractised kisses where their teeth clacked against each other, and very much returned the favour, curling his sword-callused fingers around Merlin. Tugging at each other in deep concentration, because neither wanted to mess this up sometime, Merlin could hear the loud, fast thumping of Arthur's heart, and Arthur could hear the hitched, breathless breaths from Merlin.
A buck from Merlin's hips, which had taken on a life of their own for that small movement, brought a grin to Arthur's face; he renewed his efforts, and Merlin very nearly gripped Arthur too hard as his eyes rolled backwards and he pushed himself into Arthur's hand, desperate and off-rhythm.
A wordless cry sounded from Merlin, whose head was nuzzled somewhere in Arthur's neck, and Arthur could feel his entire body slowly relax under his touch. Well. Almost his entire body.
Merlin's hand still grasped at Arthur, and now with nothing to distract him at all, stroked him both tenderly and frantically. Arthur gazed downwards, fascinated, as the bony hand with long fingers brought him to the point of pleasure. A somewhat gruff grunt escaped his lips, in stark contrast to Merlin's keening, as warm liquid covered that bony hand as he watched. He stared at it long after he was spent.
Sticky and awkward, they lay on the bed, breathing hard. Merlin twisted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Arthur's shoulder, murmuring to himself. "Nope, definitely not a Prat anymore."
Fin.
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Rating: R
Warnings/Spoilers: Very much crack. Assumes basic knowledge of the series.
Disclaimer: They belong to the BBC. ;____;
Word count: 3,100~
Summary: Prattism is a serious infliction that sometimes descends upon royalty. Merlin goes to ask the Dragon for some advice on how to cure it, involving more Prattish behaviour, buckets of cold water and licking. Written spontaneously in IM, therefore explaining the slight disjointedness between the sentences. Written for bedofpearls and tarasinecera.
Once upon a time, Arthur was a Prat. So, Merlin went to the great Dragon for some advice. He was worried that Arthur was not progressing quickly enough from his journey between Prat and Not-A-Prat. Uther was getting a bit old by now, you see, and could kick the bucket at any time. And yet Arthur still persisted in being a Prat. Which was even worse, because it was more extreme than when he used to be a prat-with-no-capital-letter.
"I need ways to cure Arthur of Prattism!" cried Merlin into the great echoic cave of the Dragon, even though the Dragon was perched on the rock right in front of him and could hear perfectly well. The Dragon laughed at him. Merlin thought that was really quite unfair, since he didn't find it very funny when Arthur was a Prat to him. After Merlin had waited for the Dragon to finish laughing - which took a really long time by the way - he scowled. Deeply.
The Dragon seemed to sense the import of his deep scowl and stared bemusedly down at him. "Don't you know," he boomed in a tone that implied that he thought Merlin very much did not know, "that there is only one cure for Prattism?"
Merlin sniffed. "Gaius' books never mentioned it."
The Dragon chuckled. "It is a rare and not very well documented condition that only afflicts royalty. I doubt that there has been much opportunity to study it." He waggled his eyebrows, or the area of his face that would have had eyebrows if Dragons had eyebrows. "Uther, too, succumbed to Prattism for a brief while when he was younger."
Merlin waved his torch helplessly, nearly setting his hair on fire and looked confused. He highly doubted that Uther had ever been cured of it, actually. "So, what is this single cure, and can I give it to Arthur really soon? Say... tonight?"
The Dragon laughed again. Merlin had never felt more like a court jester, and wondered why Arthur never laughed at his jokes. "Oh, young warlock. The cure for Prattism is for a Prat to be met with equal Prattish bevahiour for the total of a moon cycle and a day and then to have a bucket of cold water thrown on his head to wash it out of him."
Merlin gave the Dragon a Look. That one that said 'What the fuck, I don't believe you.'
The Dragon gave him a Look back. The other one, which said 'Well you have no choice so you might as well try it.'
As usual, they stared at each other for a good ten seconds before Merlin gave in. Merlin sighed, dramatically, as if no one could understand his woe. Unfortunately, he wasn't merely the usual angsty protagonist, seeing as he really was the only person who could understand his woe. As he turned to leave, the Dragon beamed horrifically at him, and added quickly, "Oh, young warlock! After the cold water has washed the Prattism away, the water much be licked off the Prince to ensure that it does not soak back in." Merlin stopped, and gave another ten seconds to level another Look at the Dragon.
"I suppose a towel wouldn't work instead."
The Dragon stretched his wings and started to dramatically fly away. "No, young warlock. A towel would not work."
Merlin sighed, trundled all the way back to his bedroom and fell on his bed, musing the problem of Arthur and his Prattism as he went to sleep. Or perhaps he just mused on Arthur as he drifted off to sleep.
--
Awaking the next morning, Merlin realised with a heavy feeling that he was probably the only person who could behave with equal Prattish behaviour towards Arthur for a moon and a day. He also realised that he would probably never make it through the time and would probably be sacked, swatted and put in the stocks before two days was gone. Oh woe. See?
In any case, Uther was getting really quite old by now - he had started drooling a little bit in kingly audiences, which made him look really quite unkingly. Therefore, in the best interests of making Arthur Not-A-Prat by the time Uther kicked it, Merlin decided that he could try this cure for Prattism. When Arthur next told him to polish his armour of rust, Merlin told him that the real reason it rusted was that Arthur sweated too much, and by the way, he absolutely stank after sweating too much, and he should really try this new tincture thing that Gaius had invented which involved spraying it into his armpits.
Arthur had stared at him, and then told him in a very manly way to Bugger Off. He had also added sulkily that he did not smell, and that he was not spraying perfume under his arms.
Merlin had sprayed him in the face.
And then run away.
--
Merlin survived the next two weeks without being sacked, swatted or put in the stocks simply by doing more running away after every time he had to Behave Prattishly towards Arthur. Arthur was getting increasingly peeved (although Merlin did secretly spy him dabbing a bit of that tincture under his arms) but couldn't really complain, since he had defended Merlin towards Uther so many times that Uther thought Merlin quite the perfect servant by now. Besides, he still hadn't figured out how to dress himself in these new breeches things that had come into fashion and was so forced to wait for Merlin to arrive in the morning to tie these laces.
After a whole moon of finally managing to Be Prattish towards Arthur, and having most of it denying that it was quite nice to be mean to Arthur, Merlin was running out of ways to Be Prattish. He was, after all, a fundamentally Not Prattish person. He was nice, and fluffy, and liked cute rabbits.
(Not in that way.)
In turn, Arthur had not survived the moon very well, having spent the last two weeks of it increasingly moody, having burst into tears at the dinner table when Merlin served him water instead of wine and had Morgana, Gwen and Gaius all ask him on separate occasions whether it was his time of month. Arthur wasn't even aware that he had a That Time of Month, and went hunting instead. Hunting solved everything.
Returning to the castle after several hours of anger management in the forest (again! Not in that way), Arthur returned to the castle feeling significantly less stressed, and really quite pleased that he had bagged some very plump rabbits.
Upon arrival at the castle, Merlin saw the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits, and gave him a Look. Arthur wibbled. Merlin Looked at him. Arthur fled to his chambers, still wibbling, throwing the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits in the air as he ran. Not that he ran, of course - he strode very quickly. Merlin rubbed his forehead. These Looks were really starting to take a toll on his facial muscles. Thankfully, he only had a while to go until he could get on with the rest of the cure.
Picking up the poor dead cute fluffy rabbits, Merlin made a note to give them a funeral later on, and instead went up to Arthur's chambers, knocking soundly on the door. "Arthur... Let me in."
"NO." Arthur paused, realising that he had sounded perhaps a bit desperate. Princes did not sound desperate. "I'm changing," he added lamely.
"You don't know how to undress yourself Arthur, you can't be changing," Merlin said incredulously. He heard what may have been a little sniff coming from inside and rolled his eyes. "Arthur?"
There was a bit of a kerfuffle as Arthur pulled himself together - Merlin reckoned that he didn't know that it was just a metaphor and that one didn't really need to physically pull themselves together. "I am the crown prince!" He yelled through the door. "You're supposed to be my servant and do what I tell you to and respect me. You're not allowed to be rude to me!"
Merlin made sympathetic noises and hoped that they were loud enough for Arthur to hear. He didn't think that it would be possible to make sympathetic noises much louder. Arthur eventually opened the door, managing to look angry instead of very confused. Merlin reckoned if it was close enough to a moon and a day to just get on with the rest of the bloody cure already.
After Merlin came in, Arthur did that thing where he stared broodingly out of the window trying to hide his feelings that Merlin already knew anyway. Merlin took the time to calculate how long he had left. Given the time of day that he had visited the dragon, and the moon cycle for this month, and with a bit of squinting and tilting his head sideways as if that would change the time on the sundial (not that the sundial was working - it was dark), he finally beamed. He only had about another ten minutes to go!
"Arthur!" Merlin nearly shouted, making Arthur jump and nearly smash a hand through his window, "Would you like a bath?"
Arthur looked at him as if he was absolutely completely deranged, and cowered in his corner next to the window. Clearing his throat, Merlin tried again. "Sire, would you like a bath? It might relax you." There, that sounded a lot better. Considering it for a moment, Arthur nodded. He did feel that a bath would be very comforting right now.
Watching Merlin drag out the tub and start to heat up the water, Arthur completely missed when Merlin turned his back and his eyes flashed gold, the water heating immediately. After all, he was the crown prince. It wasn't as if he was expected to know roughly how long water took to heat. In approximately eight minutes, Arthur stood with his arms above his head expectantly, waiting for Merlin to come and undress him.
Stretching in all his naked glory, Arthur made to step into the bath when Merlin yelled, "WAIT. THE WATER'S TOO HOT!" And flung a bucket of water at him. Cold water. Arthur shrieked like a girl.
When he had regained enough control of both his dignity and his vocal chords, Arthur boomed in a decidedly manly and very not-girly voice, "MERLIN. What was that for?!"
Merlin, finally freed of his burden of having to be Prattish to the Prince, squealed happily in the face of Arthur's frozen bollocks. "I mean - er, I'm sorry Arthur! It was just something I had to do!" Merlin hurried over, having dropped the bucket, and ducked as Arthur aimed a smack for his head. His task, after all, was still not complete.
"Something you had to do. Real-" Arthur never got to finish his drawl, because then there was a tongue in his mouth, and it wasn't his. It was quite hard speaking with a tongue-that-wasn't-his in his mouth. It felt quite nice though.
As Merlin pulled back, Arthur made to say something, but Merlin put a finger over his lips, pulling him forward so that he was stood in the bath (which was at just the right temperature...) which felt a lot better than drying off in the cool air. "Just something... I have to do," Merlin murmured, hastily turning Arthur so that he wouldn't see the slight pink tinge that the bucket water on the floor had turned. And then he pressed his tongue over Arthur's nipple, drawing his tongue smoothly upwards in a long stroke.
Arthur decided that he really had no desire to speak at all, and plopped down quite happily into his bath, willing Merlin on with an imperious wave of his hand. As he had no desire to drown himself, Merlin started at Arthur's stomach, just where a ruffle of light hair was above the water level, and worked his way upwards, feeling the light contours of Arthur's ribs under his sensitive tongue.
'Mmm'ing his approval, Arthur curled his hand into Merlin's hair, although he didn't try to restrain his head. After all, why on earth would he want to stop such a wonderful feeling?! Merlin, having remembered that Dragon hadn't specified how much and for how long he had to lick Arthur and whether it had to be all over, decided to make that part up himself. He might have circled Arthur's left nipple six times, but he was sure that the Prattism was mostly gone anyway. With his head leaned back and a wide smile sliding across his half opened mouth, Arthur didn't really look like a Prat.
Having slid his tongue over most of Arthur's chest by now, Merlin moved upwards, gently following the line of Arthur's neck, taught and stretched beneath him, his hair tickling the other man as he started up the chin line. Tucking his tongue back into Arthur's mouth, where it seemed to quite naturally fit, Merlin shivered, pressing a hand against Arthur's cheek. He wasn't very sure that he was doing this just for the sake of Arthur being Not-A-Prat. Not very sure at all.
Arthur, on the other hand, thought this a most excellent bath. He'd have to have more of these.
Feeling Arthur's heavy hand lightly cup his face too, Merlin backed up, but not away. Drawing them both upwards, he rubbed Arthur down with a towel (that couldn't hurt, right?). But oh, he wasn't done yet. He still had to get that Prattism stuff off all of Arthur's lower body, after all.
There was a bit of a distraction between the bath and the bed, which comprised of a whole two steps and yet at least fourteen sloppy kisses, but Merlin finally got Arthur snuggled in, looking really rather happy, and pulled himself up onto it too. Arthur, being the big (<- very) manly man that he was, looked like he was going to try and take control, but Merlin dipped his head down, and rather messily licked his way up Arthur's inner thigh. There might have been a little gurgle of joy from Arthur there.
Merlin was suddenly face-to-face with the large (<- very) import of the situation, and might have had a slight heart attack and leapt out of the window questioning his sanity and wailing until he saw the look on Arthur's face. It was soft, and tender, and awkward, and completely Arthur. Merlin's stomach flipped little butterflies until surely all the butterflies were dead with the amount of flipping, and he felt his face mirroring Arthur's expression and knew that it was too late: his sanity had already gone.
He did not forget his mission however, and very diligently licked Arthur all over, feeling soft hairs fluff up under his tongue. Arthur's brain had died at some point and was only providing him with the word 'Mmrgh!' which Merlin assumed, under context, to mean 'more'. He was all right with that.
Thankfully, the Prattism condition seemed to be all gone thanks to Merlin, who had saved Arthur's unknowing (but apparently firm, Merlin decided) backside yet again. Surely he needed a reward for that. Flumping down next to Arthur, quite tired and yet surely not done for the night yet, Merlin wormed his way under one of Arthur's arms.
Evidently very much satisfied with the situation, Arthur rolled over, and pressed his lips to Merlin's, this time sliding his tongue into Merlin's mouth instead. "Why didn't you just tell me?" Arthur asked, somewhat bemused and yet not angry. His hand stroked down the length of Merlin's arm, and Merlin decided that he quite liked that.
Squirming a bit so that he was tucked in more closely to Arthur, he blinked, "Tell you what?"
"That you..." Arthur coughed a manly cough. "...desired me." He continued with an air of a particularly wise man, "That was why you were so ghastly, isn't it? You were just confused." He stroked his thumb over Merlin's cheek.
It was, of course, nothing like the truth, as Merlin had never once been confused about what he felt for Arthur, not even when Arthur had hit him over the head with a gauntlet and he had seen stars. "Yes, I suppose," he whispered demurely.
"Then it's only right that I unconfuse you," Arthur grinned, tugging at Merlin's clothing. Oh, oops. Merlin half sat up, nearly flinging off his own clothing. He hadn't really thought of that when Arthur had been lying around naked underneath him. Feeling Arthur's rough hands palm him over every part of his body, Merlin smirked, knowing that it must have felt something like this when he had licked Arthur.
Sliding his own hand up Arthur's solid torso to latch his hand around Arthur's neck, Merlin wiggled on the bed to make room for Arthur's knee, which had somehow appeared, quite snugly fitted, between his own.
Flitting one hand daringly to where he fastened Arthur's breeches every day, except there were now no breeches, Merlin took Arthur in his hand, experimenting with how it felt under his hand. It was like when he touched himself, but... not. So exquisitely foreign.
Arthur rumbled a deep sound in his chest, leaning forwards for more of those sloppy, unpractised kisses where their teeth clacked against each other, and very much returned the favour, curling his sword-callused fingers around Merlin. Tugging at each other in deep concentration, because neither wanted to mess this up sometime, Merlin could hear the loud, fast thumping of Arthur's heart, and Arthur could hear the hitched, breathless breaths from Merlin.
A buck from Merlin's hips, which had taken on a life of their own for that small movement, brought a grin to Arthur's face; he renewed his efforts, and Merlin very nearly gripped Arthur too hard as his eyes rolled backwards and he pushed himself into Arthur's hand, desperate and off-rhythm.
A wordless cry sounded from Merlin, whose head was nuzzled somewhere in Arthur's neck, and Arthur could feel his entire body slowly relax under his touch. Well. Almost his entire body.
Merlin's hand still grasped at Arthur, and now with nothing to distract him at all, stroked him both tenderly and frantically. Arthur gazed downwards, fascinated, as the bony hand with long fingers brought him to the point of pleasure. A somewhat gruff grunt escaped his lips, in stark contrast to Merlin's keening, as warm liquid covered that bony hand as he watched. He stared at it long after he was spent.
Sticky and awkward, they lay on the bed, breathing hard. Merlin twisted his head, pressing a soft kiss to Arthur's shoulder, murmuring to himself. "Nope, definitely not a Prat anymore."
Fin.