“I’d like you to know,” Arthur starts, for the fifth time in as many minutes, “that I’m not enjoying America, and your ideas are stupid.”
“You liked Disney World alright,” Merlin says, and continues tromping ahead.
“Well the rides are bloody air-conditioned, aren’t they,” Arthur mutters.
The Everglades are not air-conditioned. They are hot and humid and utterly miserable.
“And besides, that’s the only part I have enjoyed. New York was too loud and crowded, Boston the same, Philadelphia was unremarkable, DC had too many museums, Colonial Williamsburg was boring, Charleston was hot, Savannah was hot, and Florida is fucking hot.”
A branch snaps in the distance. Arthur shines his flashlight towards it frantically.
“Probably an alligator come to bite your annoying head off,” Merlin says cheerily. “It would serve you right.”
“And that’s another thing!” Arthur shouts. “The wildlife! The bugs! There are so. Many. Bugs! Why are there so many?!”
Merlin dutifully ignores him from underneath his beekeeper hat. Or whatever it’s called.
“And now you’ve brought me to Bug Mecca!” Arthur whinges from under his own beekeeper hat. “But not just bugs, oh no. All manner of creepy-crawlies. Pythons, boa constrictors, spiders, carnivorous birds—“
“There definitely aren’t carnivorous birds.”
“Alligators, snapping turtles, dinosaurs! All dinosaurs! When I agreed to this stupid trip, I didn’t know America was Jurassic Park!”
“Wait until we get out West,” Merlin says mildly, “Can’t wait to see the coyotes.”
“They’re like scrawnier, rabid-er wolves. With mange.”
“Merlin!” Arthur, in an attempt to run ahead and whack his idiot friend round the back of the head, stumbles and face plants. His beekeeper hat tumbles into the pond ahead and bobs off.
Arthur freezes. He hears laughter.
“MERLIN!” He shouts, irate, into the mud, and drags himself up, spitting and cursing, to sitting—
A creature, bulbous and demonic, evil eyes luminescent in the light of Arthur’s headlamp.
He stares at it. It stares at him.
Arthur shrieks and flies to his feet, swatting madly at the sticky feet crawling up his face.
“Get it off—get it off me! Merlin! It’s slimy!”
“Arthur, relax! Breathe, just—Arthur! Stop.”
Arthur feels two strong hands grip his shoulders. He stills.
The little demon comes to a halt right between his eyebrows, and Arthur cringes, fighting the urge to smack it away.
He peeks one eye open right as Merlin reaches out, brows knit in concentration.
“It’s alright, darling,” he murmurs.
Arthur’s heart thumps hard in his chest.
“Shh,” Merlin urges, and gently pulls it off of Arthur’s forehead. “Oh, you’re lovely. Just a little confused, aren’t you?”
Arthur’s face burns. Confused is right. He doesn’t understand, why is Merlin doing this now? All these years, he’d thought there might be something, but here? In the Everglades—hell, in America of all places? Maybe that’s why Merlin invited him on this trip. To confess. And maybe now, seeing Arthur’s life put in danger by this horrid little beast, he’s finally realised the depth of his feelings. “Merlin, I—“
Merlin’s gaze softens. Fuck. Arthur’s gonna end up owing the bloody Everglades.
“Hush, you,” Merlin says, and Arthur closes his eyes, prepared for a kiss that’ll light his world on fire.
“Yes, you are lovely, aren’t you?” Merlin coos. “What a handsome boy.”
Arthur frowns and opens his eyes, a bit put off by the sugary-sweet tone of his voice. “Merlin?”
Merlin’s beaming, pink-cheeked and eyes bright, at. At.
“The frog?!” Arthur cries.
Merlin blinks up at him. “What about the frog?”
for @merthurmicrofic ‘s prompt frog | 600 words
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