And so Arthur reaches the door.
It’s a door. Made of sturdy oak but rough workmanship because the carpenter clearly wasn’t going to bother putting too much refinement in a storage room door at the very top of a tower where no one of importance would ever see it. The craftsman didn’t know at the time that the place would one day also serve as a bedroom.
Merlin’s room.
Ergo, Merlin’s door.
Well, no, it is also a little bit Arthur’s door, because it is situated within Arthur’s castle, and so in fact, it is very much Arthur’s door too. The same way that Merlin is Arthur’s. Manservant. Arthur’s manservant.
A suspicious sound filters through the door, bringing Arthur’s attention back to the delicate matter at hand.
Then, more distinct, another moan. Hoarse and indecent in its abandon. Belonging to a man’s manly chest that Arthur already loathes.
It is followed by a chuckle, spilling free and amused from the aforementioned manservant. A sound Arthur has always cherished most secretly – most intimately. A sound that should, in all fairness, belong to Arthur too.
Then there are indiscernible murmurs, coming through the wood, full of cheek and light teasing.
Then another more theatrical moan, positively obscene now, but punctuated by a startled gasp and a curse.
The leather of Arthur’s gloves squeaks as his fists tighten involuntarily.
“MERLIN?” Arthur calls disingenuously as the door that belongs to him flies open under the blunt force of his unsubtle jealousy.
Both Merlin and Gwaine look towards the doorway from the crude little bed – the former surprised, the latter smug as shit.
Merlin straightens, hands sleek with the rubbing oil he was mercilessly applying to Gwaine’s rumpled shoulder.
“You bellowed, Sire?” he asks dryly.
Yessss, finally a @merthurmicrofic prompt I can use! 😅 prompt: door word count: 289
