tourdefierce: (MERLIN: Rainbows)
[personal profile] tourdefierce
Title: Sadder Than You
Author: [ profile] tourdefierce
Rating: PG-13 (shush you.)
Warnings: Angst? Language? So much fluff that your heart might actually explode out of your body? Unbeta'd? Yes. All of those.
Summary: A future ficlet in which Merlin has a no good, very bad day and Arthur is there, because where else would he be?
Word count: 1200
Notes: [ profile] leashy_bebes was having feelings and so was [ profile] hermette. So I wrote fic because I was having feelings too and I always write fic when I can project my emotions onto the characters. Also, I wasn't wearing pants.

It's a fucking shit day. Top to bottom.

Gaius is still sick and for the first time in a long time, Merlin thinks that this is one thing that may not get better. The Druids are pissed at something sone noble did and are threatening to break loose all of Old Religion's viciousness on Camelot if someone (Merlin) doesn't fix it... like yesterday. The new knights are green, they remind him of Will with a sharp stab in the gut and they monopolize all of Arthur's time and energy. Morgana has been sending him threatening letters, written in the sky because she's still an over-dramatic bitch, and honestly, to top it all off, his tower is pissed off at him and so it's added a hundred stairs, just to be spiteful.

"Buggering fuck," Merlin says into the smoke filled room of his tower, a spell going magnificently bad, before fleeing down the wretched stairs and almost tripping on his robes in his haste.

It's hardly time for supper but Merlin just can't stand the sight of this day anymore. He can't. He feels awful and ragged and if he has to look at one more person, put on his wise and courtly wizard face, he's going to break.

He sobbing a little, no real tears, just wracking sobs that seem to shake his body like there's a thunderstorm inside of him—like everything is being eaten from the inside and it all hurts very, very much.

It's been a while since he's run to hide in Arthur's rooms.

He bolts the door by hand, his magic too fickle when he's likes this. He kicks off his boots, throwing off his robe and tunic—shucking his clothing as fast as possible because even those stupid garments seem to sting his skin. He's naked and crawling into the mattress that smells like Arthur (wet grass, that moment before lightening breaks the sky, a hint of steel and sweat). He chokes back tears, thinking about the day—the awful, awful day and buries his face into Arthur's pillow. He kicks his own pillow, black hairs clearly visible, off the bed because he can. Because his day was shit and he wants nothing to do with himself. If he could ink himself out of existence, for only a little while, just to forget for one single second the path of destiny or whatever the hell meant that bad days happen so often to him—whatever makes it okay to beat up on him because everyone else's destiny is more important than just a sliver of happiness for himself—whatever makes that okay, he just wants to make it disappear... just for one fucking moment.

Merlin doesn't realize how exhausted he is until he drops off into sleep instantly, the sun streaming through the windows and warming him through the nest of blankets he's built.


"Oh, you vile thing," says a voice that pulls him out of his dreamless sleep. It's not a harsh tone, though. It's warm like honey and fond, so damn fond, that Merlin just presses his face deeper into the pillow and curls in on himself.

"What happened to you, you look wretched—hiding in my bedclothes like a spoilt child. Everyone is talking about your flying through the castle in a tantrum. You're just encouraging the rumor that you're very scary and powerful and that you probably sacrifice small noble children before dawn," Arthur continues, his voice soft and loving and yes, nuzzling into the back of his neck as he climbs into bed. "My little wizard, what have you done to yourself?"

Merlin hiccups into the pillow because he honestly feels like he's going to cry.

Arthur's response is to wiggle underneath the covers, letting all the damn cold air in and making Merlin whine. "Oh hush," Arthur scolds. He wraps his body, clad only in soft breeches, around Merlin's nakedness. He shifts until he's comfortable, practically smother Merlin in the process, pulling the heavy blankets around them until they're all the way over their heads. Merlin wants to turn and bury his head in the silky warm haven of Arthur's neck but he's too embarrassed.

Arthur would blot out the sky for Merlin, if he could—if it meant that Merlin would feel better—and it burns like hot shame in his chest when he thinks about what this King would do for him.

"You fey thing," Arthur continues, nuzzling into Merlin's neck until he almost chokes from how much he loves this stupid man. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," Merlin gasps but then Arthur's fingers are there, unwrapping his clenching ones from the linen and entangling them with his own. Something centers in Merlin, rocks down into his belly and takes root as his magic unfurls into the palm of Arthur's calloused hand.

And isn't that unfair.

He sighs, finally turning to properly nose into Arthur's skin. He smells amazing, like how he's supposed to and this, everything about this is right—even when everything else in the world has gone to shit—Arthur is still right, just as Merlin left him. Perfectly.

"I had a shit day."

Arthur's chest rumbles with, "So it seems." His hands going to card awkwardly through Merlin's tangled bedhead as he hums.

"That tower still hates me," Merlin moans, pathetically. "It grew another 100 steps today because you weren't there. I hate it. It's supposed to be my tower. You built it for me and then--"

"--and then your magic took it over. Hush," Arthur finishes for him. He soothes his hands up and down Merlin's skin and Merlin can't help but arch into each touch. "Your magic has always had an affinity for royalty."

"Stupid," Merlin mutters.

The stay there, wrapped up in each other as Arthur slowly caresses the heavy burden of the day away. They shift and slide together until they're so entangled, so wrapped up in each other, that Merlin feels better about being himself because that means, well, that means he's apart of Arthur. The sun fades completely from the room and Merlin clutches Arthur, keeps him there in the bed, where it's warm and safe and makes the rest of the world wait.

"Let's nap," Arthur says softly, kissing his face with lingering caresses. "We'll sleep for a while and when we wake, you can pretend to hate me when I take advantage of all this nakedness and put my mouth on your pretty cock. You can praise my amazing skills at loving you desperately, swoon and beg me to take you and after all that, we'll go over the council meeting you missed."

Arthur kisses his eyelids, making his cheeky and teasing tone seem irrelevant by the sheer amount of affection Merlin feels for this man. When Merlin opens his eyes, Arthur kisses his mouth without hesitation. It's just a soft slide, innocent and chaste, but their eyes are open and Merlin feels absolutely flooded with golden light. When Arthur pulls back, kissing the corners of Merlin's lips and whispering his name, over and over again, Merlin can think of nothing else but the love he has for this man. It's overwhelmingly and dizzingly happy—that's the only thing he can feel.

"It's perfect."

God. That was so fluffy that the only thing it's missing is a kitten:
Not anymore.
Feel better, flist.
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December 2011

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