archaeologist_d (archaeologist_d) wrote in camelot_drabble,
archaeologist_d
archaeologist_d
camelot_drabble

Peaches

Author: archaeologist_d
Title: Peaches
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Merlin/Arthur
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Food fight
Warnings: none
Word Count: 700
Prompt:#246 Bruises
Author's Notes: Silliness
Disclaimer: I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.
--------------------------------------------


It was the damn peaches that started it all.

Merlin tried, he really did, but it was the middle of winter. The arse kept going on and on about how peaches were wonderful, full of flavour, and why couldn't Merlin do his damn job and find him some.

As if he could just magic peaches out of thin air.

Well, he could, but he wasn't about to lose his head over it.

But after the incessant whinging, Merlin wasn't so sure that losing his life was that bad. At least then, he wouldn't have to hear Arthur drone on and on about it.

Finally, exhausted by all the complaining – Merlin had to admit that Arthur was a master at it, he went deep into the stores, and with no one around, conjured up a bunch of peaches, placed them in a basket, and proceeded to climb back up and show the git that he'd found his bloody fruit.

Wouldn't you know that Arthur wasn't all that happy! He scowled at Merlin, kept asking him why Merlin's neckerchief was stained, telling Merlin that he had better not have eaten all the good ones, and then proceeded to look at each and every one of them, humming and hawing about having to dig through the pile to find peaches worthy of a prince.

Arthur didn't know what he was talking about. They were all perfect, juicy and sweet and fuzzy-pink. Merlin had even tried one, okay a few of them, to make sure they were acceptable.

When Merlin told him to stop being such a cabbage-head and just eat them already, Arthur lobbed one at Merlin's head.
Merlin had to say one thing about the git. He had impeccable aim. So there was juice and pulp all over Merlin's face, sticky-sweet, stuff slithering down into his tunic. It was uncomfortable as hell.

He couldn't let Arthur get away with it, of course. He threw one back, adding a bit of magic to make sure he didn't miss.
It was glorious. A moment later, peach pulp was slowly sliding down Arthur's forehead, his hair spattered with juice.

Merlin couldn't help it. He tried, he really did, but it was just too ridiculous. He let out a little snicker.  Arthur, however, didn't appreciate Merlin laughing about it. At him.

Before he knew it, there were peaches flying at Merlin, splattering all over his chest, in his hair, one catching on his neckerchief, and there was pulp in his boot.

Merlin couldn't win, not in a throwing contest, not without magic. But he wasn't going to allow Arthur to get away with it. So he did the next best thing. He tackled Arthur, peaches bouncing around, and he reached out, finding the perfect one, nice and juicy, and smashing it into Arthur's face.

Merlin didn't know that Arthur could yell that loudly with a face full of fruit. But Arthur was a warrior after all and Merlin found himself rolled over, Arthur sitting on top of him, leaning over and shoving peach into Merlin's mouth.

Damn dollophead was crowing about it, too. Merlin was sputtering outrage, there was peach pulp everywhere, and Arthur smirking his obnoxious victory.

But somewhere in all the mess, Arthur stopped laughing, shifting a bit on Merlin's hip, feeling Merlin's bits, traitorous bits that had enjoyed all the peach wrestling and was perking up at the closeness.

But Arthur didn't recoil in horror or even get up, just shifted again, pushing down a bit and moving deliberately, the arse. Worse, he reached over, biting into a perfect peach, and then turned it around, offering it to Merlin.

There was a moment of stillness, of waiting. Then as Merlin's bits turned traitor again, growing harder by the moment, he opened his mouth and bit down on the peach that Arthur had just munched on.
 
After that, there was kissing and pulp, and oh bloody hell, glorious touching.

In the end, Merlin was sticky with more than just fruit. And so was Arthur. And there was more kissing and Arthur telling Merlin that he also loved strawberries and grapes and long, thick bananas and food fights every night.

Merlin could live with that.
Tags: *c:archaeologist_d, p:arthur/merlin, pt 246:bruises, rating:pg-13, type:drabble
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