just another fork-tongued dragon lady (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
glass_icarus) wrote2009-04-13 07:33 pm
glass_icarus) wrote2009-04-13 07:33 pm
Entry tags:
Ficlet: the air that inhabits
Title: the air that inhabits
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
cherrybina, who requested sleepy boys, preferably post-shag. &hearts! Title borrowed from Margaret Atwood's Variations on the Word Sleep.
Merlin wakes sticky with the sun in his eyes, a warm weight across his belly. They'd neglected to close Arthur's bed curtains the night before; even half-mashed into his pillow, Merlin can see the trail of clothing that weaves haphazardly from the bed to the door. He turns away from the window, twitching a little as the ache in his backside makes itself known.
Arthur shifts restlessly, frowning in his sleep. Merlin settles into the curve of his arm, tracing the line between his brows with a curious finger even as it disappears at his touch.
Arthur asleep looks nothing like Arthur awake, the facades of prat and prince both submerged with his consciousness. (Well, okay, maybe prat isn't exactly a facade, but Merlin's in a generous mood.) It's a sight Merlin finds both precious and deeply dismaying, not least because exasperation is no defense: Arthur can snuffle into his pillow or drool on his neck, hair like a rumpled haystack, and Merlin will still be struggling against the inevitable wave of helpless affection. Merlin contemplates this, vaguely horrified.
Callused fingers tighten at his hip, tugging him closer. "Stop thinking," Arthur mumbles, one eye slitted open.
"S'your fault," Merlin starts indignantly, but the red-bitten curve of Arthur's mouth is incredibly distracting. He stares at it with fascination.
Arthur grins, too sleepy to summon a proper smirk, and manhandles Merlin until he's trapped underneath him, legs inextricably tangled and foreheads pressed together. "Sleep," he says, yawning and triumphant.
"Things t'do," Merlin protests weakly, biting at Arthur's lip again on principle. "Gaius-"
Arthur growls, letting his full weight drop.
"... Or not," Merlin gasps, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs.
"Stay. Sleep." Arthur kisses him, firm and smug, shifting just enough so that Merlin can actually breathe. One hand drifts lazily through Merlin's hair.
Merlin closes his eyes, content. The rest of the world can wait a little while longer.
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: For
cherrybina, who requested sleepy boys, preferably post-shag. &hearts! Title borrowed from Margaret Atwood's Variations on the Word Sleep.Merlin wakes sticky with the sun in his eyes, a warm weight across his belly. They'd neglected to close Arthur's bed curtains the night before; even half-mashed into his pillow, Merlin can see the trail of clothing that weaves haphazardly from the bed to the door. He turns away from the window, twitching a little as the ache in his backside makes itself known.
Arthur shifts restlessly, frowning in his sleep. Merlin settles into the curve of his arm, tracing the line between his brows with a curious finger even as it disappears at his touch.
Arthur asleep looks nothing like Arthur awake, the facades of prat and prince both submerged with his consciousness. (Well, okay, maybe prat isn't exactly a facade, but Merlin's in a generous mood.) It's a sight Merlin finds both precious and deeply dismaying, not least because exasperation is no defense: Arthur can snuffle into his pillow or drool on his neck, hair like a rumpled haystack, and Merlin will still be struggling against the inevitable wave of helpless affection. Merlin contemplates this, vaguely horrified.
Callused fingers tighten at his hip, tugging him closer. "Stop thinking," Arthur mumbles, one eye slitted open.
"S'your fault," Merlin starts indignantly, but the red-bitten curve of Arthur's mouth is incredibly distracting. He stares at it with fascination.
Arthur grins, too sleepy to summon a proper smirk, and manhandles Merlin until he's trapped underneath him, legs inextricably tangled and foreheads pressed together. "Sleep," he says, yawning and triumphant.
"Things t'do," Merlin protests weakly, biting at Arthur's lip again on principle. "Gaius-"
Arthur growls, letting his full weight drop.
"... Or not," Merlin gasps, feeling the air whoosh out of his lungs.
"Stay. Sleep." Arthur kisses him, firm and smug, shifting just enough so that Merlin can actually breathe. One hand drifts lazily through Merlin's hair.
Merlin closes his eyes, content. The rest of the world can wait a little while longer.
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