merthurmicrofic

[merthurmicrofic]

‘What is this?’ Arthur asks, swallowing another spoonful, ‘It tastes familiar but I can’t—‘

His head snaps up.

Merlin freezes.

‘You—‘

‘Arthur I can expl—‘

He ducks the bowl that flies towards his head. Rat stew splatters the floor.

•

« Feast - 39 words - @merthurmicrofic »

[merthurmicrofic]

Unbalanced (for @merthurmicrofic)

it was not fair for this was not justice

after all this time, all this sacrifice

was all for naught when night became dawnless

a penance for the weary acolyte

a blade has two ends, one guides and one bleeds

two sides of a coin, one half of a whole

a sword unbalanced will death quickly meet

what end for the king who's not filled his role

the scales of fate are deaf to his pleading

for the life of his love, he’s paid no heed

tears fall to the shore as he lays bleeding

a forlorn warlock and the king he needs

oh was this always the destined ending?

was hope ever there or just pretending?

[merthurmicrofic]

Unbalanced

for @merthurmicrofic

“You complete idiot!” Arthur bellowed at him.

Merlin had somehow managed to trip over his own bootlaces and spilled the dinner on the floor, gravy soaking into the stones and chicken fat dripping from the curtains.

Arthur looked at him from above, turning his head sideways in confused humour.

Merlin gave him a loopy smile from where he lay covered in carrots and stew. His prince could barely resist a laugh at his stupidity.

“Sorry, my tray was unbalanced.”

[merthurmicrofic]

Merlin, legs shaking, slides down against the tree at his back. Arthur, breathing hard beside him, slowly sheathes his unused sword. The woman on the ground, a sorcerer, remains still, body crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut. Dead.

Silence.

Painful, vibrating silence.

Merlin's fingers flex, brittle with tension. He feels unmoored, unbalanced. Mouth dry, throat catching as he swallows, he stares up at the taut line of Arthur's shoulders, stiff and still as an animal sensing danger, threat.

He feels torn—between begging, desperate, for Arthur's understanding; or shouting at him. He's angry. He's frightened—aching, already, at the thought of Arthur turning to him with a cold gaze, or worse, a fearful one.

Arthur lifts a hand to his face, and rubs at it.

"Well?" Merlin can't help but break the silence. Can't help the provocation that follows: "Are you going to execute me?"

"For God's sake, Merlin," Arthur says, quietly, and finally turns.

A stone plummets heavily through him at the look in Arthur's eyes. Not fear. Not hatred. Not distrust.

Shock.

Hurt.

He scrambles to his feet. "Arthur—"

"How long?" The words seem wrenched out of Arthur now, heaved up, like he's choking on them, body desperate with agitation. "How long have you—lied to me? I thought—"

"Arthur," he says, louder this time, stumbling towards him, head still light from the magic he'd cast only minutes ago. "I couldn't fucking tell you."

"Yes, you could have!" Arthur shouts, wrenching his gloves off and throwing them hard at the ground, fingers trembling at the fastenings of a vambrace. "What, did you think—Did you think I would—?"

Merlin reaches him, gets a hand on the back of Arthur's neck, bare skin to skin. "I couldn't afford to trust anyone, alright?" He presses their foreheads together, damp with sweat. Arthur's eyes are shut now, mouth twisted, grief-stricken. "Not with this. No matter how badly I—wanted to. I wanted to, every fucking day. Arthur, you prat."

And helpless, burning up with it now, he does the other thing he's wanted to do, every one of those days:

He kisses him.

unbalanced @merthurmicrofic {354 words}

[merthurmicrofic]

for the @merthurmicrofic prompt unbalanced. i hadn't aniticipated participating, but the inspiration for this one hit me like a truck.

The crown glinted in the candlelight, resting upon a head of strands that were nearly the same shade, making his breath hitch in his throat. Distantly, Merlin felt that he should be used to the sight, but somehow, it continued to catch him off gaurd. They were alone now, in the solitude of Arthur's chambers, having returned from an arduous council meetng. The silence they basked in was meant to be a comfort, but it merely made the loud beating of his heart against his chest more avoidment. Merlin stayed on the other side of the room, with a silly hope that it would keep Arthur from hearing it. He busied himself with his duties, but it did nothing to distract him from his mind's spiral. Arthur was a king, and Merlin, even as a dragonlord, would remain his manservant so long this life of their remained the same. Their roles, no matter what destiny had in store, would be unbalanced.

[merthurmicrofic]

prompt: unbalanced

write a fic in 50 words (or more if the mood strikes you) and tag @merthurmicrofic so we can all enjoy your work! art, gifsets, essays, mood boards and so on are also welcome.

shout out to @partlyironic for submitting this prompt!

[merthurmicrofic]

Merlin grew up with a lot of affection. His mother was very affectionate with him, using her touch and her words to reassure, console, comfort him. Touch was a routine in their home.

Will was also very affectionate. They grew up together, so they were used to each other’s touches. It was with a hug that Merlin was there for Will when his father died and words didn’t seem enough. It was with a hug that Will reassured him that his magic wasn’t a problem. It was with a hug that they said their goodbyes, when Merlin left for Camelot.

He regretted not giving Will a last hug before he passed away.

Even Gaius, who was more modest, hugged him from time to time. He was careful with his touches when he was taking care of Merlin’s injuries, or when he was cleaning him when he was too dejected to do it himself.

Touches were normal to Merlin, and it came naturally to him to be affectionate with people he held dear.

So he didn’t think much to assume that Arthur was going for a hug.

“Nooo” Arthur said, awkwardly, watching Merlin like he would watch a threat, backing away slowly like Merlin would jump on him and force him into a hug.

Which was weird, because Arthur was always touching him, so Merlin assumed Arthur liked it.

But, well, royals had always been weird.

And maybe, one day, Merlin would get Arthur to hug him.

246 words

Prompt: touch @merthurmicrofic

[merthurmicrofic]

week three: touch for @merthurmicrofic 💖

through the cold, i’ll find my way back to you

Ice cracked underneath his foot, the sound reverberating around the empty forest as though it was a lightning bolt cracking through the darkening sky. The air felt heavier watching Arthur and his knights getting chased away in the distance, the warlock grimacing at the sorcerers at his back curious as to why Merlin was left behind.

”Why don’t you follow, servant?”

Merlin frowned, turning around to look at the flock of them. “Picked a bad spot to run, evidently. But, - ” he gently took the foot off the ice and turned around to face them, “ - I should take the opportunity anyway.”

The leader tilted his head in confusion, and the warlock didn’t waste the moment, flicking his hand and watching a bit amused as most of them flew into the forest behind them.

”I wouldn’t attempt an assassination again, if I were you,” Merlin slowly walked to the man, his chin high and back straight as he looked him dead in the eyes. “I’m not sure if you’ve heard of me before, but I would be happy if you left this whole martyr thing behind you before you end up somewhere you shouldn’t be.”

Merlin had to give the leader some respect, the young man was obviously terrified but refused to back down from him.

”You- You’re…You’re wrong. I’m powerful. I’m…I’m not scared of you.”

”Oh?” Merlin bucked forward, and the man stumbled back a step, making the servant laugh. “Yeah, go get stronger if you insist on trying something like this again. The tricks you played chasing my people away will only get you so far.”

The leader’s voice shook, ”How did you know they weren’t real?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and began stretching out his arms, the ache from the cold not doing him any good. “Don’t worry about it. Just know we’re not some people you can trick so easily. If that were the case, don’t you think we would be dead by now? King Arthur will not be so lazily defeated if I have any say in it.”

The leader took another step back, “And who exactly are you?”

”I’m Merlin,” he said with a smile. “And you have magic, but not enough to sense it in others, am I right?”

”I never tried before,” he admitted, looking smaller now than he did only moments ago.

Merlin almost felt bad for him, eyeing the man with something akin to regret. If it were a different time, a different life, he would consider taking the kid under his wing and showing him a better, a more beautiful, way with the gift he was given to him. But, alas, it was no other life, no other time, where that was even remotely possible. Looking at the leader closer now, he was young, and Merlin had to wonder if this could’ve been him if things were different.

“You don’t seem to be a bad guy,” Merlin sighed. “Maybe a bit lost.”

The man, or rather the kid, pouted, looking down. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Merlin hummed, “That’s true. And what do you know about me? King Arthur?”

”I know enough.”

“Do you?” Merlin came closer then, continuing to make the kid step down. The bravado left once his comrades were scattered, and now the warlock was left with the truth in the form of anxious twiddling and frantic eye movements.

“Do you know how hard it was for Arthur to survive under the weight of a father who refused to listen to advice? Of a father who slaughtered thousands of innocents to satisfy his own shame of what he did to his own wife? Of a father that chose to kill and oppress instead of raising his son in kindness and empathy? Of a father who held no compassion for weakness, for mercy, for love? Of a father who had the power for greatness and instead used it for greed and self-interest? To live under someone who believes power is gained by violence…and to see it come true. His world was tainted in blood from the moment he opened his eyes—and you’re telling me you know ‘enough’?”

“I…I know the harm Uther Pendragon caused.”

Scoffing, Merlin turned away, watching the sun fight for a spot underneath the weight of the clouds. “The harm…is undeniable. Unforgettable. Unforgivable. But what does that have to do with his son? Is a father the only part of him that you can see?”

The kid didn’t answer, so Merlin turned back around to face him, “Hm?”

“Arthur is no better,” was the weak response.

Merlin laughed, “And why is that?”

“Because…because magic is still outlawed. There has been so much…damage. Doesn’t…someone, anyone need to stop him before we’re all killed out?”

“And solving problems with violent magic is the solution? You’re telling me he still hasn’t accepted magic—that I can’t defend. But have you thought that using magic against him only furthers the negative associations with it? If you only saw the darkness, how would you ever see the light? Tell me this; Has he gone out of his way to persecute people? Has there been any pyres burning in the streets since he gained his throne?”

Again, the kid was left unable to speak after that, making Merlin poke the kid in the forehead to get him to look back up.

“Think more about every side of the world, will you? With magic, it is neither good nor bad. It just is.The person who holds the power can make all the difference—something that is true to both magic and crowns. Fighting prejudice with more violence will never solve anything.”

Blushing now, the kid looked away, frustrated and confused.

With one more poke to the young man’s head for fun, Merlin went to walk towards the direction of the others when the kid grabbed his arm, making him stop. The warlock raised an eyebrow at the contact, but the leader held tight.

“Bring me with you?”

Merlin balked. “What?”

“You asked if I could sense magic…does that mean you…you have it, too?”

The warlock was a bit impressed, and let out a small laugh, “It’s good that you’re bright. You’ll be fine in no time.”

And when he tried to leave again, the kid fell to his knees, still holding on.

Merlin held in his groan of annoyance. He really didn’t have time for this, but when he went to express this, a noise from behind surprised them both. And no sooner did they turn their heads when Arthur kicked the hand holding his servant, the kid falling backwards into the cold grass.

“Merlin, are you alright? When I realized you weren’t with us, I ran back as fast as I could. Are you hurt?”

Arthur lifted Merlin’s arm, searching him for any wounds, and then turned the servant around to check all parts of him. Merlin, knowing better than to fight the man off, let him inspect before patting Arthur’s hand on his own shoulder.

“I’m good, Arthur. No injuries or anything!”

Arthur frowned, disbelieving, but turned to look at the young man on the ground in front of them, his sword raised, one hand still holding Merlin.

“Leave my servant alone—if you have a problem with me, take it out on me. He has nothing to do with it.”

The sorcerer looked up at them, his eyes flicking between the contact and the sword, before turning to look at Merlin, his eyes wide.

“You really meant everything you said?”

Arthur’s sword faltered at that, confused, before looking at Merlin as he answered, stepping up next to his king.

“Yes. If you promise not to hurt anyone ever again, we will let you go.”

“But he held you against your will,” Arthur grumbed to his servant, displeased.

Merlin rolled his eyes, lifting his arms: “It wasn’t anything. He was just trying to convince me to take him with us, nothing malicious.”

Disbelief still flooded his king’s face, but he nodded sharply, “Fine.”

Again, the young man watched them with what Merlin could only describe as amazement. It almost made the warlock laugh.

“We’re leaving now,” Merlin said, trying very hard to act normal with Arthur’s hand burning into his shoulder with its steady presence. “Take care.”

And with that, Arthur followed his servant as they found a thicker layer of ice to cross the pond toward the scattered knights in the distance.

“Are you really okay?” Arthur asked, watching Merlin in his peripheral vision. “Why do you seem so sad?”

“Do I?”

“I thought you would be pleased I let him go.”

Merlin laughed a bit, looking at his king in the dying light. “As if you were going to do anything to the kid in the first place.”

Indignantly, Arthur huffed. “Well, he was close to losing that hand, that’s for sure.”

Smiling, Merlin bumped playfully into his king, “Is that jealousy I hear?”

“No!” Arthur’s face burned as the word escaped, “No, of course not.”

Giggling, Merlin nodded, fake understanding in each movement.

And if Merlin heard the young man following behind as they went further into the forest, laughing and chasing one another, he didn’t say anything about it. Maybe it would be nice to have an apprentice…maybe, he thought fondly, looking over to the golden king grabbing the warlock’s shirt as they marched on, anything could be possible with this man at his side.

[merthurmicrofic]

It’s always nice to see Arthur in his element at feasts, bright and sharp as his sword. It’s a joy to see him happy, laughing and joking with his knights, and the warmth of the evening lingers as they make their way back to his rooms so that Merlin can attend to the last of his duties. Merlin’s tired, content, and ready for bed himself.

“Will that be all sire?” he asks, a hand on the door.

“One more thing Merlin, before you go,” Arthur says, his distracted attention focusing suddenly. “Dance with me?”

“What?” Merlin sputters, thrown.

Arthur puts out his hand in invitation. He looks serious.

“Dance with me.”

“You sire, are drunk,” Merlin retorts, mind scrambling to cope with the situation.

Arthur huffs, smiling.

“I’m not. You know I’m not.”

He’s not. Merlin was the one pouring his wine after all, and he knows when Arthur’s past his limit. He didn’t even hit it tonight.

Arthur reaches out a little further, expression soft, not quite beseeching.

“One dance.”

“Why?” Merlin asks, utterly baffled, but he takes a step away from the door.

Arthur takes his hand, presses a tender kiss to the inside of his palm. Merlin wills himself to keep breathing.

“Because I’ve been thinking about it all evening—about having you in my arms.”

“What am I, some damsel in distress?” Merlin mutters, but allows himself to be led. Because it’s not like he hasn’t wanted this himself. He just didn’t know Arthur knew—that he felt the same.

Arthur laughs, putting one of Merlin’s hands on his shoulder and taking the other one up as he lays his own on Merlin’s hip. He starts to step them across the stone floor of his chambers to silent music. Merlin worries about tripping and ruining this, but Arthur’s too sure-footed, and guides them with ease.

“You would be the grumpiest, most insolent damsel in distress there has ever been. You would complain, and snark, and decide halfway through being rescued that you could do it better yourself and run off into more trouble.”

Merlin scrunches up his nose and Arthur laughs again, pulling him closer.

“And I would run after you,” he says into Merlin’s temple. Merlin unwillingly shivers at his soft tone. “Because I couldn’t be without you, and your witty retorts, and your eye rolls, and your questioning of everything I do.”

They’ve stop moving, so Arthur’s just holding him now. Arthur tips his chin up with a knuckle, looks at him eye to eye.

“I can’t, Merlin. I can’t be without you. So please don’t go.”

Merlin frowns at him, at the worried expression Arthur’s giving him, so genuinely concerned that Merlin’s going to run from this, from him.

“Was I going somewhere?” he asks, smile teasing. He threads his fingers through Arthur’s own, weaving their hands together, enjoying the surprise and relief on Arthur face. “Because I was planning on staying right here.”

“Damn right you are,” Arthur says, and kisses him.

feast - @merthurmicrofic [500 words]

[merthurmicrofic]

Arthur stood at his window, silently reciting the speech he already knew by heart. His thumb worried at the ring on his index finger, the compulsive touch his only tell.

Merlin came up and stole his hand, interlocking their fingers with a gentle, unspoken entreaty to relax.

‘You’ve got this.’

•

« Touch - 50 words - @merthurmicrofic »

[merthurmicrofic]

In the midst of the forest, a rabbit chewed on a leaf.

Said leaf was green and sparkling, the skin of the rabbit white and soft, and the sun shone on it like a price to be owned.

The perfect prey for the imperious predator: an arrow, that would have struck the animal right through his heart to deal the fatal blow of death, and to—the rabbit flew away, tapping, right at the sound of a crunched leaf, but for crunched it wasn’t, rather imposed upon by two big feet.

Merlin’s two big feet.

“You—idiot, you scared it away!”

Arthur screeched in the silence of the forest, the scenery bright enough by the Summer to light on Arthur’s red, sweaty face as he turned on his side to admonish the man beside him that he had for a servant, flick him on the forehead, and grit at him through his teeth.

Sometimes friend, sometimes more, if the days smiled upon Arthur, and Merlin didn’t get on his nerves, the two men shared amicably sessions of relationship development, such as throwing insults at one another, stare with concern for the other's sanity and smiling privately when one of the two said something similar to a compliment to the other.

Merlin, who was not smiling now, rolled his eyes at Arthur’s crouched position.

Unlike the royal, ready to perform what seemed obvious (an act of masculinity that he hoped would make Merlin stop looking at Lancelot for too long, especially when he brought flowers to Guinevere) looked instead about to lounge around, have a picnic, and forget all about Arthur, his crossbow and his show of true and pure prowess.

“The poor thing scared itself when it saw your face. Do not blame me for something you did on your own," Merlin admitted quite easily, like Arthur wasn't a king on a quest, but a child with crooked teeth and a wooden sword.

Arthur let go of the weapon to let it hit on his thighs, turning around in time to witness Merlin's shrug as if the problem for his ineptitude at following orders came from an unfathomable, God-like-source, rather than his own little, silly head.

“We’re supposed to be hunting.”

“Which is a synonym for killing."

“You would expect your head to work better, if you can come up with big words like that.”

"You would expect for your head to work, and that's it. I guess I'm asking for too much."

Merlin pursed his lips in a nod, quite proud with himself, pleased, even, as Arthur fumed on the inside, while his outside looked more and more like the peel of a plum: bothered to the point his skin took on every sort of wrinkling shape.

“Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, it means that we have enough food at home and that we shan’t be hunting poor little animals anymore?”

Arthur shook his head, more focused on the familiarity of the scene of the absolute moron judging his actions in front of him and acting like the better man, than on the sentence per se.

It was known that even your closest of friends had to be judged from one time to another, less they grew a big, thick skull like Arthur's.

“I will hardly do any damage by killing a small rabbit," Arthur pointed out, like he held a grudge against the species, affronted that he could be wrong, and turned around, fixated on the task like he was on anything else.

A perfectionist with a stick up his arse, a prat with too much time on his hands, a clotpole who liked to show off.

Those were Merlin’s words behind his back, not his.

Arthur was busy working, and Merlin was busy pointing out everything he could do wrong.

It comes naturally to our higher understanding that rare were the moments Merlin shut up, so when he did, Arthur was left quite baffled, with a crossbow in hand and no entertainment.

On one side, Arthur was grateful for the blissful and peaceful atmosphere gifted to him by the laws of nature capable of shutting Merlin's mouth for good, and the other part of Arthur was scared out of his wits.

On a list of the reasons to Merlin being quiet, these points fell in it:

he had been kidnapped without Arthur noticing, something he liked to do quite a lot, since he just couldn’t let things be. No, not every woman with an eerie aura around her must be followed into the dark, deep woods during the night, because she, "lost her way back home." Arthur yelled at Merlin that it was very stupid and reckless of him, but Morgana said that, after seeing the enchantress, every specimen like Merlin would have followed a woman in the woods, if she wore such a, "voluptuous front", that to Morgana sounded funny and a fault of the male category, and that to Arthur sounded like an accusation, even if he hadn't noticed the state of half undressed the woman had with her, just the knife she had pointed to Merlin's throat.

And even then, the chance of Merlin silencing himself when kidnapped were slim too.

He had to be knocked out first.

So we come to the other option, which could be that Merlin was eating. But Arthur doubted that he could be silent, although the first place of the lack of manners at the dinner table was presided over by none other than Gwaine.

The third option was the more plausible.

Merlin had found a bear rustling the leaves of the woods and became pale as the moonlight, because Merlin was many things, and one of those was an absolute girl’s petticoat.

All of this circled through Arthur’s mind in a whirlwind, enough to worry him. Likely to avoid the subject, Arthur never ventured far enough to understand why Merlin made him… Well, worry. And it was a sort of worry that… Worried.

It took too much out of Arthur to grasp the reason behind his extreme worry over a friend like Merlin. It meant he needed to deal with something called ‘feelings’, and that was just a big ‘no’.

The king turned around, and quirked an eyebrow. Merlin was in the same position as when he had left him, and completely fine.

Now, that was a kind of worrying Arthur didn't want to face.

“Merlin”, he said, like everything was supposed to be all right.

“Mh?”

“You're up to something.”

Merlin frowned, and jumped from a feet to another, like when you lose balance since your limbs are long but your brain, if it was measured by height, was too short.

"Igotnoideawhatyouretalkingabout," Merlin rushed out, bottom lip trapped in a guilty grimace of his mouth.

Arthur found the expression quite… Unique, not to say Merlin could be endearing as a grown man who fell on his ass too many times a day.

That’s when Arthur saw it, while he was scrutinising Merlin up and down and wondering if his hair had always been that dark under the sun or if his skin so smooth in one plane surface.

Movement stirred Merlin’s jacket, and the servant suppressed a squeak.

Arthur almost crawled on him for answers.

Poor choice of words, yet Arthur found himself strangely attracted to the idea of tackling down Merlin.

Quite often too.

If not to find out what he was hiding, then for horseplay; brotherly tussle; friendly fight.

Anything that could make Arthur be as close to the long and stupid body in front of him as possible and in the shortest of time, the better.

Another squeak, and something white poked from Merlin’s jacket.

As the slow realisation descended upon the king, Merlin began smiling.

Like an idiot.

Did Arthur say Merlin was an idiot?

An idiot with a good heart and even better intentions, who looked up at Arthur like he called out old cunts and arseholes at council every day for a living.

Which he did, and Merlin showed him he very much appreciated it.

He said it was, "strangely attractive that you stand your ground." But it wasn't the time to reminisce the day Merlin went down on him, since that smile was what Arthur called, “that wicked thingy that promised no good”, usually followed by Merlin confessing to Arthur he dyed a noble's hair blue and that Gwen needed to be spared the lecture because she was too kind to be reprimanded and because he had basically made her do something that bordered on illegal.

“Merlin, is that—“

Arthur’s mind still a turmoil on how it became this, Merlin being himself and Arthur enjoying it, a rabbit with soft fur and blue eyes poked his small nose out of Merlin’s jacket with a big sniff.

No wonder.

Stuck in there, Arthur asked himself if the woods smelled better than a sweaty, Summer Merlin. Not that Arthur wanted to smell Merlin’s sweat.

That was weird.

Like fixating on the hot blush on Merlin's high cheekbones the heat procured him, and that Arthur often found himself admiring long enough to feel the need to caress them.

“Look at the eyes, Arthur.”

There it went, the first attack of Merlin’s master plan: using the animals like a bargain, while trying to spare those same animals.

Arthur sagged on himself with a long sigh.

Yes, fine, his eyes were blue and round and… Utterly pretty, with endearing dark lashes surrounding the eyelids, and so were the rabbit’s, but Arthur couldn’t possibly understand what Merlin wanted from him now.

Mercy, more than probably.

It was mercy to admit you were wrong as much as it was to halt your habits, which Arthur was more inclined to do to the rabbit with each sniff he gave to the earthly and humid air, hugged to the chest of a man which the same scent he brought with him every day after gathering herbs, and that followed Arthur until he went to bed.

“Tell me you want to kill him.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, and sat on his skinny arse. Arthur blowed rasperries, and sat on his fat one.

He laid his back on the tree trunk before him, and away with the crossbow, Arthur, king of Camelot, sat on the ground of the woods to stare at his impossible companion, telling the rabbit he was safe now, from, "that big, grumpy man who's frowning at you," petting its fur as the animal sat on his lap.

Quite a big lap.

Arthur knew for personal reasons.

And he looked. And looked. Strained his eyes to do so.

Merlin’s fingers were skilled, something Arthur also knew for personal reasons, and they scratched the rabbit’s fur so gently, it was hard to believe the hand belonged to such a tall and strong man, that with a snap of his fingers could break someone’s neck.

Arthur still believed Merlin was merely a buffoon with too much power on his hands, very much like himself.

And so, as the responsibilities called to him, in a far away kingdom, on a throne that spoke of horrors, Arthur tried to hide his smile behind a tired grimace as he blinked away the fight inside him, watching Merlin watching him under the dark of his soft eyelashes as he stroked the rabbit’s fur with such love and care, Arthur longed to be able to ask for it as easily as the bunny was doing.

And then, almost fondly, not to disrupt a moment Merlin knew was precarious, in a tone he should have used to not scare the same animal a few moments prior, Merlin asked Arthur,

“Want to hold him?”

Arthur found himself nodding.

And that sunny afternoon, that was supposed to be spent hunting, Arthur spent it by Merlin’s side, sitting next to him, their thighs brushing in comfort, with a lap and armful full of rabbits.

They were quite soft and small and vulnerable, and if Arthur stopped hunting them from that day onward, Merlin said nothing of it.

His secretive smile told Arthur all he needed to know.

Prompt: “Hunt” @merthurmicrofic

[merthurmicrofic]

Hello, I stumbled upon the fics of your blog and wanted to participate, but I can’t understand which prompt should I use, if it’s a specific one for one week, and then it changes, or if I can use one, even if it’s not the one that should be used during this week. I keep seeing either “hunt” and “touch” as a prompt and wanted to understand. Thank you in advance :)!

Hi, and thanks for your question!

You can use any prompt at any time – there is no deadline or cutoff. 💚

So please feel free to create for older prompts! I will still share what you create, regardless of whether it’s for the most recent prompt or not, as long as @merthurmicrofic is tagged. 🌿

You are also welcome to:

skip any prompts that you don’t feel like doing

submit multiple stories/creations for the same prompt

[merthurmicrofic]

“I do take the charms – though they're for your protection, might I remind you – off for tournaments.”

“So is that the warm feeling -”

Merlin’s stubborn eyes meet his and that sensation he’s felt for so long brushes his skin. It feels kind, affectionate, even loving, and -

Arthur's moving, wanting more.

@merthurmicrofic

[merthurmicrofic]

Merlin traces his fingers, follows the exposed lines of Arthur’s jaw, neck, collarbone, but does not touch. He does this sometimes, when Arthur’s asleep. It feels like trespassing even though Arthur’s door is never locked to him and Merlin dares not breech it further. He dares not to put his fingertips to Arthur’s skin and feel his pulse flickering under the pressure of Merlin’s touch. He longs to. Merlin longs to see if that pulse would jump in recognition at the contact. He longs to see what magic might spark if he was allowed to touch Arthur with the love he feels. He doubts Arthur returns his feelings, so he never does, and lets the magic die on the tips of his fingers, cold, unlit.

-

Arthur’s eyes follow the boundaries of Merlin where he dares not cross with his hands, his mouth. Arthur longs to touch, but keeps it to himself. Instead he lets his gaze drift over the angle of his cheekbones, the turn of his chin, the neck that disappears beneath his worn neckerchiefs. An article of clothing Arthur would happily dispose of, if only to see more skin, more Merlin—

More of what he denies himself. Arthur shakes off the thought, only to see Merlin’s hands skitter in and out of his vision as he uselessly tidies the desk around him. Merlin’s long, pale fingers that Arthur would spread between his own, tangling together, and pull—

No. Arthur will keep the distance between them, that endless chasm.

-

Arthur slips. He pulls Merlin out of the shot of an arrow, fingers wrapped around Merlin’s skinny wrist, skin to skin. This alone is not the problem. The problem is Arthur lingers, despite the danger apparent. He allows himself to feel. Merlin’s skin is hot, sparking with fire, and even when Arthur lets go, he can feel the heat of him. He can not shake him, can not shake this simple interaction, and when they return to the castle, whole and unharmed, he does it again. He wraps his fingers around Merlin’s wrist and drags him back to his rooms, desperate.

“Arthur,” Merlin says laughing as Arthur presses the door closed behind them. “If you want out of your armor that bad—“

Arthur kisses him.

-

Merlin, for a brief eternity, does not move, does not believe this is happening. Arthur’s mouth is hot on his, one hand curled protectively at his neck. Then Merlin slides his hands into Arthur’s hair and holds him there, unwilling to let him run from this.

Arthur doesn’t run. He presses closer, presses a noise into Merlin’s mouth that punches the air out of Merlin’s lungs.

“Merlin, I—“ Arthur says, wrecked.

“Arthur, yes,” Merlin says and drags him back in.

Later, Merlin traces his fingers down the exposed lines of Arthur’s body, skin to skin, feels Arthur’s pulse flicker under his finger tips. Merlin knows now that he has permission to touch. That Arthur is all his.

And that alone is a kind of magic.

touch - @merthurmicrofic [500 words]

[merthurmicrofic]

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[merthurmicrofic]

touch @merthurmicrofic

[merthurmicrofic]

Oh, but sometimes. Sometimes, their thighs pressed together, and Arthur found himself acutely aware of Merlin's body against his own. Could other people sense it? Did the space between them appear different somehow? Did it shimmer, perhaps, or vibrate, judder as if around an open flame? Could Merlin bear it, all the meagre places they were touching, and all the vital places they were not?

Prompt 'touch' @merthurmicrofic