Merlin Fic: Comfort
Oct. 29th, 2008 08:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
astri13Two in one day, stop me. :)
Title: Comfort
Author: astri
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~ 1.000
A/N: Now moving on from emo-porn to some mild slash. :) Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nachekana for a super-speedy beta and encouragement
Summary: The Aftermath of "Whipping Boy". The punishment is over, what happens now?
Comfort
Once the punishment is over, Merlin can feel Arthur take a deep breath before his arms disentangle themselves from Merlin’s waist. He steps back and reaches up to cut Merlin loose from the post he is still tied to while Merlin fidgets, anxiously twisting around to gauge Arthur’s face. It’s tight, guarded, and Merlin can see the movement causes Arthur some pain.
When he is free once more, Merlin, too, steps away from the post and turns to Arthur fully. Behind the young prince, he can see the guard, flogger still in hand and wearing a slightly shell-shocked expression at what he just did. Merlin glares at him.
But Arthur’s voice remains carefully indifferent when he speaks to the man. “Tell my father punishment has been met.” Arthur fixes the guard with a stern look. “For both our sakes, tell him only that.”
In answer he receives vigorous nodding before the guard takes off.
Merlin puts a tentative hand on Arthur’s arm. “Thank you.”
Arthur shrugs but almost immediately winces at the action, though he does his best to suppress it. Merlin tries to step around him, to see the extent of the damage, but Arthur evades him.
He frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Your wounds, I wanted to see. I…” Merlin trails off, unsure of what he really meant to do. Or say.
Arthur snorts, now every inch the prideful prince again. “It’s nothing.” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “You should have Gaius treat yours, though.”
There is no denying the fact that Merlin’s back still painfully throbs, but that has to pale in comparism to what Arthur must be feeling after taking the brunt of the lashes. And prideful or not, Merlin won’t let the fool suffer in silence as he obviously intends to do.
Determinedly, he takes a step forward. “So do you.” He grins. “Or I’ll be forced to tell your father how neglectful you are towards your own health, Sire.”
Now Arthur gapes. “Does the fever still wreak havoc with your brain? More than normal even? If you tell my father, I can assure you, you will get another beating.”
Merlin folds his arms in front of his chest. “I know.”
Arthur looks heavenwards in an exasperated manner. “You are being ridiculous, Merlin. I’m a trained warrior. I have had injuries much worse than this. So, you run along now and have Gaius take care of you before you ruin all my valiant efforts while I’m going to enjoy some peace and quiet in my chambers.”
The words are spoken as a clear order, one that any good servant would obey. Thus, it probably doesn’t come as a big surprise to either Merlin or Arthur that soon enough a grumbling Arthur finds himself be led into Gaius’ chambers, though void of the physician in question.
Then again, this might be just as well, Merlin thinks. He knows enough about dressing wounds to do this himself, and Arthur might be more comfortable with that arrangement anyway.
“Take off your tunic,” he says authoritatively.
Arthur rolls his eyes but complies, wincing again as the muscles in his back are stretched with the movement. He sits down on the bed and Merlin takes place behind him, one knee perched on the mattress. At the sight of the angry, red welts criss-crossing Arthur’s back; Merlin takes in a sharp breath. He had hoped that the prince’s clothing would have absorbed the worst of it, but apparently the flogger cut clear through the garments in various places. Too bad Arthur hasn’t been wearing his armour, Merlin figures with a slight tinge of hysteria. Or that his skin isn’t as thick as his head obviously is.
Immediately, Merlin feels bad at the thought. After all, Arthur’s stubbornness just saved him. He moistens the rag and gently begins to clean the wounds, only half aware that his left hand falls on Arthur’s shoulder in the same comforting manner Merlin had used when Arthur had first became ill.
Of course, back then, the young prince had been unaware of such improper behaviour. Now, he turns his head to look at Merlin. “What are you doing?”
Merlin blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I…” He tries to remove the offending limb but Arthur’s own hand strikes out lightning-fast and keeps Merlin’s fingers trapped against Arthur’s warm skin.
Cocking his head slightly, Arthur seems to be trying to work something out in his head. “Did you…were you with me when I was sick?”
Merlin can feel the heat in his cheeks rise up a few notches. Did Arthur know? Had he felt Merlin’s presence? He swallows heavily. Their faces are now only inches apart and something is building between them, something Merlin can’t yet identify. All he knows is that Arthur’s lips look soft and inviting, and that Merlin longs to touch them with his own. So he does.
The feeling is unlike anything Merlin ever experienced because as far as Merlin can tell, Arthur is not only a great swordsman but a talented kisser as well. And these full, pouty lips of his really are that soft. Sweet-tasting, too.
A shrill sound drifting in from the courtyard below causes them to hastily break apart, looking at each other in shock. Merlin doesn’t know what to expect, probably for Arthur to punch him clear across the face. A servant doesn’t go around kissing his master. It’s just not done. But Arthur only clears his throat and turns back around, facing the wall again. Merlin blinks in confusion, and then finally decides to follow Arthur’s lead and pretend that nothing happened. He clamps down on the sudden feeling of disappointment at the thought and goes back to his task of tending to the welts.
Yet he notices one thing, Arthur never asked Merlin to take off his hand from where it still rests on Arthur’s shoulder. So Merlin doesn’t. Sometimes, he is an obedient servant after all.
Title: Comfort
Author: astri
Fandom: Merlin
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: ~ 1.000
A/N: Now moving on from emo-porn to some mild slash. :) Many thanks to
nachekana for a super-speedy beta and encouragementSummary: The Aftermath of "Whipping Boy". The punishment is over, what happens now?
Comfort
Once the punishment is over, Merlin can feel Arthur take a deep breath before his arms disentangle themselves from Merlin’s waist. He steps back and reaches up to cut Merlin loose from the post he is still tied to while Merlin fidgets, anxiously twisting around to gauge Arthur’s face. It’s tight, guarded, and Merlin can see the movement causes Arthur some pain.
When he is free once more, Merlin, too, steps away from the post and turns to Arthur fully. Behind the young prince, he can see the guard, flogger still in hand and wearing a slightly shell-shocked expression at what he just did. Merlin glares at him.
But Arthur’s voice remains carefully indifferent when he speaks to the man. “Tell my father punishment has been met.” Arthur fixes the guard with a stern look. “For both our sakes, tell him only that.”
In answer he receives vigorous nodding before the guard takes off.
Merlin puts a tentative hand on Arthur’s arm. “Thank you.”
Arthur shrugs but almost immediately winces at the action, though he does his best to suppress it. Merlin tries to step around him, to see the extent of the damage, but Arthur evades him.
He frowns. “What are you doing?”
“Your wounds, I wanted to see. I…” Merlin trails off, unsure of what he really meant to do. Or say.
Arthur snorts, now every inch the prideful prince again. “It’s nothing.” He waves his hand in a dismissive manner. “You should have Gaius treat yours, though.”
There is no denying the fact that Merlin’s back still painfully throbs, but that has to pale in comparism to what Arthur must be feeling after taking the brunt of the lashes. And prideful or not, Merlin won’t let the fool suffer in silence as he obviously intends to do.
Determinedly, he takes a step forward. “So do you.” He grins. “Or I’ll be forced to tell your father how neglectful you are towards your own health, Sire.”
Now Arthur gapes. “Does the fever still wreak havoc with your brain? More than normal even? If you tell my father, I can assure you, you will get another beating.”
Merlin folds his arms in front of his chest. “I know.”
Arthur looks heavenwards in an exasperated manner. “You are being ridiculous, Merlin. I’m a trained warrior. I have had injuries much worse than this. So, you run along now and have Gaius take care of you before you ruin all my valiant efforts while I’m going to enjoy some peace and quiet in my chambers.”
The words are spoken as a clear order, one that any good servant would obey. Thus, it probably doesn’t come as a big surprise to either Merlin or Arthur that soon enough a grumbling Arthur finds himself be led into Gaius’ chambers, though void of the physician in question.
Then again, this might be just as well, Merlin thinks. He knows enough about dressing wounds to do this himself, and Arthur might be more comfortable with that arrangement anyway.
“Take off your tunic,” he says authoritatively.
Arthur rolls his eyes but complies, wincing again as the muscles in his back are stretched with the movement. He sits down on the bed and Merlin takes place behind him, one knee perched on the mattress. At the sight of the angry, red welts criss-crossing Arthur’s back; Merlin takes in a sharp breath. He had hoped that the prince’s clothing would have absorbed the worst of it, but apparently the flogger cut clear through the garments in various places. Too bad Arthur hasn’t been wearing his armour, Merlin figures with a slight tinge of hysteria. Or that his skin isn’t as thick as his head obviously is.
Immediately, Merlin feels bad at the thought. After all, Arthur’s stubbornness just saved him. He moistens the rag and gently begins to clean the wounds, only half aware that his left hand falls on Arthur’s shoulder in the same comforting manner Merlin had used when Arthur had first became ill.
Of course, back then, the young prince had been unaware of such improper behaviour. Now, he turns his head to look at Merlin. “What are you doing?”
Merlin blushes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I…” He tries to remove the offending limb but Arthur’s own hand strikes out lightning-fast and keeps Merlin’s fingers trapped against Arthur’s warm skin.
Cocking his head slightly, Arthur seems to be trying to work something out in his head. “Did you…were you with me when I was sick?”
Merlin can feel the heat in his cheeks rise up a few notches. Did Arthur know? Had he felt Merlin’s presence? He swallows heavily. Their faces are now only inches apart and something is building between them, something Merlin can’t yet identify. All he knows is that Arthur’s lips look soft and inviting, and that Merlin longs to touch them with his own. So he does.
The feeling is unlike anything Merlin ever experienced because as far as Merlin can tell, Arthur is not only a great swordsman but a talented kisser as well. And these full, pouty lips of his really are that soft. Sweet-tasting, too.
A shrill sound drifting in from the courtyard below causes them to hastily break apart, looking at each other in shock. Merlin doesn’t know what to expect, probably for Arthur to punch him clear across the face. A servant doesn’t go around kissing his master. It’s just not done. But Arthur only clears his throat and turns back around, facing the wall again. Merlin blinks in confusion, and then finally decides to follow Arthur’s lead and pretend that nothing happened. He clamps down on the sudden feeling of disappointment at the thought and goes back to his task of tending to the welts.
Yet he notices one thing, Arthur never asked Merlin to take off his hand from where it still rests on Arthur’s shoulder. So Merlin doesn’t. Sometimes, he is an obedient servant after all.
