#merthur microfic

[limbel]

manhandle for @merthurmicrofic

[thebookluvrr1816]

merlin = arthur's heart for @merthurmicrofic | prompt : dragon

[clairebonnefoy]

It was common for a knight to wear their loved one’s favour. Uther had seen many of his knights wearing it through his days - even Uther himself wore one, after he started courting Ygraine.

But Arthur… Arthur had never worn a favour. Uther didn’t doubt he was offered them; he was the heir of Camelot, after all, and young and handsome, despite his lack of ability in courting. But he always entered the tournaments with his armour clear of them.

Until that day.

Uther almost missed it, more red among all of it he already wore. But it was there, wrapped around his left arm, discreet but firm; a silent statement.

Uther wondered who it was from. He had never seen Arthur with any girl. But he taught Arthur discretion, and he could have slipped this girl right under Uther’s nose.

The crowd cheered for Arthur, always for him, their favourite, as it should be. But one cheer was louder, more passionate, and Uther spotted his manservant by the tents, without his signature neckerchief on.

Then everything clicked. Of course. Arthur had shown a strange interest in the boy since the day they met, and the boy gave him a fierce loyalty in return. He should have seen it sooner.

He would never let Arthur marry the boy, obviously, but… the boy was good for Arthur. For now, it wouldn’t be a problem to let them be.

238 words

@merthurmicrofic prompt: favour

[aemelia]

transformation for @merthurmicrofic

[frogmerthur]

frog and toad merthur parallels for @merthurmicrofic prompt: frog 𓆏

[bakerharrystyles]

Fulfilling an old @merthurmicrofic prompt: favour Word count: 1227

“I need a favour.”

Merlin glanced out at Arthur from inside his cupboard, where he was hanging—or rather, shoving—Arthur’s tunics. “Really? Another one? Do I not do enough for you already?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur took a breath. “I need you to kiss me.”

Merlin stared. He’d misheard. “You—what?”

“Don’t make it weird, Merlin.”

“You need me to—what—why?!”

Arthur huffed and turned away. “My father has arranged for me to marry Princess Vivian. I’ve tried to tell him I’m—you know—”

“A git?”

“—Gay, and that I won’t marry someone I don’t even like let alone have any sort of romantic attachment to. But, well—you know how he is. He doesn’t listen. So, I thought… perhaps he could use… further convincing. Of a more… visual sort.”

Merlin stared at him some more.

“If he saw me kissing a man, he’d hardly be able to deny my—” Arthur waved vaguely at himself. “Well, in any case, it might put Vivian off.”

“Are you trying to get me killed?! He’ll chop my head off!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so dramatic, Merlin. I’d never let him. I need your head far too much.” Merlin’s wide-eyed horror twisted instantly into a filthy grin and Arthur quickly carried on, “If you were headless, you wouldn’t be able to polish my armour, mend my clothes, sharpen my sword—”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Merlin sighed. “But why me?! Get Gwaine or Lancelot to do it! I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”

Arthur ticked reasons off on his fingers. “One: you’re a servant, so all the better for provoking my father. Two: you’re my servant, so you have to do as I say. And three: I don’t trust either of them not to fall in love with me.”

Merlin scoffed. “I’m glad you at least know I wouldn’t be so easily charmed. Although I fail to see either of them falling for a man with such an obnoxiously large head.”

Arthur scowled. Merlin considered him, then added. “Well, what if you accidentally fall in love with me?”

Arthur shot him a look that suggested Merlin should be offended. “Not likely.”

Merlin shut the cupboard. To even entertain the idea was ludicrous, and yet Merlin found himself, with a mouth evidently controlled by the lunatic side of his brain, saying, “Do you really think it would make Uther call off the engagement?”

“Of course it will,” Arthur said, as if the answer were obvious. “My father might be able to ignore reason, but he can’t ignore his only son snogging his manservant for all to see.”

Arthur eyed Merlin, catching the look of resignation that shone like a beacon on a moonless night. “You’ll help me?”

Merlin sighed again. If there were ever a time he needed to learn to say no to this man, it was now.

He nodded.

Merlin licked his lips. “So… how are we going to do this?”

He and Arthur stood in an alcove outside the council chambers. Arthur had suggested doing the deed—so to speak—in the middle of the hallway for maximum visibility, to ensure, beyond any doubt, that they would be caught. Merlin, however, being the brains of the operation, argued that in no realm would Arthur ever realistically want to be caught mid lip-lock by his father, and thus, believability trumped visibility.

So now they stood facing one another in the little alcove, closer than they had ever allowed themselves to stand outside necessity. Merlin felt distinctly hyperaware of Arthur’s every movement: the part of his lips as he breathed, the tiny shuffle that brought their bodies closer again, the bob in his throat as he swallowed.

“The council meeting will be over shortly, so when we hear footsteps coming this way, then we’ll—we’ll—” Arthur’s throat bobbed again. “That’s when we’ll begin.”

“Maybe we should practice first.” The words were out of Merlin’s mouth before he could rethink them or bite them back.

Arthur looked at him.

“Well, it’s got to look natural, doesn’t it?” Merlin said quickly. “I can’t have you fumbling around like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Me?! I’ll have you know, I am an excellent kisser.”

“Mm. Based on whose feedback? Your pillow’s?”

Arthur scoffed, shaking his head. “If you need to practice, Merlin, we can practice. But let’s not pretend it’s me who needs the work.”

“Yeah, okay. Just don’t bite me.”

And then Arthur’s mouth was on his, warm and insistent. Merlin had to admit to himself, chagrined, that Arthur did not need the practice, not that he’d ever be forthcoming with this information. Heat spread from every brush of Arthur’s lips: down, down to flutter in his belly, down to facilitate the growing ache in his breeches, then further still, making his knees weak.

When they parted, Merlin fought to even his breathing. Arthur’s lips were kiss-pink and he looked very deliberately past Merlin’s head.

“That—er—that will work just fine.”

Merlin nodded.

Silence befell them. Arthur’s gaze finally met his, then dropped to his mouth. Seemingly without realising, Arthur’s tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“You think that will—will be believable, then?” Merlin asked.

Arthur’s eyes lingered a moment longer before he answered. “We could always— practice again. Just to be sure.”

Merlin nodded again. “That’s probably smart.”

“Well, not probably. I’d say it’s definitely smart.”

“How does it feel, this moment of intelligence? I know it’s a rarity for you.”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin was grinning when Arthur leaned in again.

The footsteps came when Merlin was pressed against the wall, one leg hooked around Arthur’s hip, Arthur’s hands under his tunic.

Arthur tore himself away with a gasp. “They’re coming—we should—”

“We already are!” Merlin hissed, and pulled him in again.

Merlin bit back a moan when Arthur licked into his mouth, the footsteps falling closer… closer… closer. It was probably considered unbecoming to moan in front of the king, never mind the fact that he already had his hands in Arthur’s hair and was unreservedly rubbing up against him.

Merlin cracked one eye open, just in time to watch the king walk resolutely past them with blissful ignorance.

“Um,” Merlin said against Arthur’s lips.

Arthur pulled back. “He walked past, didn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur leaned in to peck Merlin’s lips again. “We should—probably stop, then.”

“Yeah, probably.”

Some time later, they were interrupted by the pointed clearing of a throat.

Their mouths separated, though Merlin remained pinned against the wall, Arthur’s hands still braced under his thighs, legs wrapped securely around Arthur’s waist. They turned as one to look upon the intruder.

“It might be wise, Merlin,” Gaius said, one eyebrow arching in slow, devastating judgement, “to conduct your trysts in a more private setting in future.”

“Oh—no, we weren’t—I’m just helping Arthur with something,” Merlin said hastily.

The eyebrow rose, if possible, even higher.

“I see. Well, I daresay if you would like to keep your head on your shoulders, the next time you decide to engage in such spectacular foolishness, you will do so somewhere the king is less likely to stroll past.”

With that, he turned away, muttering something about “utter stupidity” and “inappropriate acrobatics”.

Merlin turned to look at Arthur, who wet his lips.

“My chambers?” Arthur suggested.

“Yeah. Alright.”

[secondstar-acorn]

He’s tugging Merlin’s ear in a fit of what some might call “desperation to touch”— but which Arthur would call Boyish and Manly Taunting— when he feels a small divot between his forefinger and thumb.

“Ow!” Merlin protests as Arthur draws him in for a closer look. “Ow ow ow!”

“Don’t be such a girl,” Arthur says automatically, but he’s too preoccupied by the hole in Merlin’s earlobe to really mean it. Though he ought not to mean it, or Morgana will trounce him in front of all his knights and leave him humiliated for the rest of his days. In her words.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur asks, going for teasing and winding up somewhere around affronted-there’s-a-part-of-Merlin-he-doesn’t-know. There are actually many parts of Merlin that Arthur doesn’t know, but he does his best not to think about that, in a last ditch effort to preserve his dignity and sanity both.

“Are your ears pierced?” He continues, because Merlin is still making very dramatic ow noises and not answering his question.

Merlin finally swats his hand away and escapes his grip. “Will did them when we were kids.”

Merlin reaches up and smooths his own finger over the hole. “I sort of forgot they were there.”

“How?” Arthur asks, ignoring the guilty twist in his stomach at the mention of Will. “Don’t they hurt?”

“What?” Merlin stares at him, a grin beginning to bloom on his face that tells Arthur he’s just said something prattish. “No! Do you think Morgana walks around in pain all the time?”

“It would certainly explain her personality,” Arthur mutters darkly.

Merlin rolls his eyes at that. “They hurt for the first few months after they were done, but not constantly. They’re healed now.”

“How did they heal like that?” Arthur asks, giving up on princely pompousness. After all, princes aren’t meant to know about things like this, so he supposes he’ll give himself a pass.

“As holes?” Merlin asks, and doesn’t wait for Arthur’s nod. “Well, I kept earrings in them, you see. To keep from closing up.”

Arthur scowls at the teasing lilt of Merlin’s voice. “Shut up, Merlin. It’s not as though I was there when Morgan’s got her ears pierced.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were. You never pay attention to anyone but yourself, after all.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open in offense. “I am a warrior! On the battlefield! I’ll have you know I notice everything!”

Merlin pats him on the back. “Of course you do, sire. Red or blue for today’s tunic?”

“Blue,” Arthur says absentmindedly. A new thought has just entered his head—which, being rare for him, thus demands attention. “Wait. Does that mean you wore earrings? For months?”

Merlin raises an eyebrow at him and helps him pull the tunic over his head. “That is generally what happens when a person pierces their ears, yes.”

Arthur pokes his head out of the neck to find Merlin smiling at him indulgently, as though he’s a child.

“But—“ he wrestles his arms through the sleeves. “What kind?”

“An old pair of my mother’s,” Merlin says slowly, eyeing Arthur as though he’s lost his head. “Is that alright with you?”

“Why don’t you wear them now?” Arthur blurts, and promptly flushes crimson.

Merlin stares at him. Arthur busies himself with the laces of his tunic.

“Not many men wear earrings. It would draw a lot of attention.”

“I thought you liked attention,” Arthur says bitterly, thinking of the flowers Merlin gives out willy-nilly and the bright beam Arthur stupidly thought was reserved for him, once upon a time.

Merlin snorts. “Like you, you mean?”

Arthur steps into the trousers Merlin holds out for him. He keeps his gaze on the ground. Something about what he’s asked feels oddly vulnerable, and he’s not sure what to do with it. He sort of wishes he could erase this whole conversation.

“I got plenty of attention for it as a kid,” Merlin says as he bends to lace up Arthur’s trousers. “Every kid in Ealdor treated me like a chivalric maiden for months.”

Arthur’s nose wrinkles. He’d hate that. In a rare attempt at empathy, he says:

“I understand why you don’t wear them anymore, then.”

“Are you kidding? It was great. Boys did my chores for me for weeks! I didn’t have to lift a finger.” Merlin grins slyly and looks up at Arthur through his lashes. “Hey, you think if I wore earrings now you’d give me a day off?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur chokes out, and quickly hauls Merlin to his feet in a bid to get him away from…sensitive areas. “Beauty hasn’t earned you a day off before, and it certainly won’t now.”

Merlin pauses his attempt to wriggle out of Arthur’s grip. Arthur clamps his mouth shut and wishes for death.

“You think I’m—“

“You’re passable,” Arthur interrupts, heart pounding, “when you’re not speaking, anyway. A pair of sparkly dangles won’t change that. Is what I mean. Meant.”

Merlin studies him for a moment, gaze steady and dark. Arthur fights the urge to fidget.

Then a slow, evil little smile quirks Merlin’s lips. Arthur looks away. Lips are dangerous.

“How would you know?”

Arthur blinks. “What?”

“I haven’t worn any. You wouldn’t know if they increase my passable beauty or not,” Merlin says.

Arthur doesn’t like where this is going. “That’s—“

“I’ll wear some tomorrow,” Merlin cuts in. “And you can decide if they help my looks or not. And whether it’s enough for a day off.”

Arthur wishes he had never found that hole in Merlin’s earlobe. He wished he hadn’t been so determined to engage in Boyish and Manly Taunting. He especially wishes he’d been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

“I’ll ask Morgana if I can borrow a pair,” Merlin continues. “Explain the situation.”

Which is preposterous, because servants should not be borrowing jewellery from the King’s Ward. It’s also bone chilling, because if Morgana puts two and two together—which she no doubt will, because she’s Morgana—then Arthur will be obliged to shuffle off this mortal coil.

“I don’t—“ Arthur tries.

“It’ll be fun! Now hurry up with the belt, sire. You’ve a long day ahead.”

Somehow, Arthur thinks tomorrow will be longer.

for @merthurmicrofic ‘s prompt hole | 1,040 words

[theobjectlesson]

for @merthurmicrofic | prompt: BITE | words: 200

Arthur looks just in time to see Merlin bite down on the leather strap between his teeth.

“Merlin!”

“Mhmph?” is all Arthur gets back, cowhide still squarely in Merlin's mouth. He holds the spaulder firmly against Arthur's shoulder, towards the breastplate.

“What in God's name are you doing?”

Merlin rolls his eyes before tugging on the strap with a sharp jerk, pulling it through the D-ring laid across the meat of Arthur's trapezius muscle. It cinches tight. Only then does Merlin slacken his jaw to release the strip of leather.

“Did you just bite my armor?” Arthur sputters.

“Yes, well you said it wasn't tight enough last time!” Merlin huffs indignantly, “and you try holding on the shoulder bit and the chest bit and pulling that strap any tighter without having a third hand!”

Once Arthur has sufficiently recovered from the sight of the thick, tanned hide between Merlin's stark white incisors, he does notice the better fit of his gear. This is the only reason he allows Merlin to continue with his highly unorthodox method of attachment.

The clench in his chest at the sight of lingering teeth marks in the material has absolutely nothing to do with it.