Title: It wasn’t my fault
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin’s clumsiness was legendary, but did he really have to keep kissing Arthur?
Word Count: 1128
Camelot_drabble Prompt: 353 – impulse
Author's Notes: none.
Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
“It wasn’t my fault,” said Merlin as he scrambled backwards and away from Arthur’s mouth. He looked aghast and not a little intrigued by it all, touching his lips as if still unsure of what had just happened. But when Arthur scowled at him, he waved his skinny arms around, and mumbled apologies. “I didn’t mean to… um… kiss you. You’re a prat and I… sorry?”
Merlin was legendary for many things, but skidding into his prince and planting a hard, breathless kiss on Arthur wasn’t one of them.
“So I assume you just tripped over your own feet again and my mouth was… located at the right time and place for your mouth to mash into it?” Arthur tried to be stern. After all, it wouldn’t do for servants, even ones as ridiculous as Merlin, to be going around kissing their masters – although Arthur could think of a few nobles who might enjoy it. However, he was above all that.
Cycling through scowls and smiles and confusion, Merlin seemed to let what Arthur said filter through that daft brain of his before his face lit up. “Exactly. It wasn’t like I wanted to kiss you. It just happened.”
Arthur wanted to roll his eyes, really he did, and underneath was a tiny bit of disappointment, but instead he said, “Don’t let it happen again.”
“Absolutely, Arthur, of course, never again.”
And if Arthur’s voice in his head was telling him to shut up and that kisses from Merlin might just be the best thing ever, well, Arthur was good at ignoring irksome voices, too.
By the fourth time it happened, it was no longer coincidence.
Arthur could have forgiven Merlin slipping on that grape and planting his mouth on Arthur’s as he flailed around trying to get his balance on day two.
Or day four when the chicken Merlin was bringing him just slid off the tray, and as Merlin tried to catch it before it hit Arthur’s lap, his shoulder caught on Arthur’s and Merlin ended up in Arthur’s lap instead. Which would have been awkward enough, but as Merlin tried to rise, one hand holding the remains of the chicken leg, his other hand slipped, and Merlin’s face was mashed against Arthur’s, and Merlin’s free hand had found its way into a place a bit more intimate than Arthur was expecting.
By day ten, Arthur was convinced that either Merlin was trying to kiss him every chance he could and using his clumsiness as an excuse or else the idiot was cursed. And since sometimes Merlin didn’t have the sense of a gnat, Arthur figured it had to be a curse.
But while Gaius agreed that maybe Merlin was a bit more clumsy than normal, he wasn’t sure it was a curse. If it was, he didn’t have a cure, at least one that made sense. So he asked for Arthur’s understanding and hopefully everything would return to normal at some point.
Gaius was less than useless.
By day twenty, Arthur had had enough. Merlin’s kisses or touches or whatever the hell they were calling it was leaving Arthur in a state of constant preparedness. He found himself waiting for the moment when Merlin’s soft lips were brushing against his own. Waiting for fumbles and excuses and that shade of delicious red that tinged Merlin’s ears. Waiting for flailing limbs and long fingers and apologies.
So when Merlin woke him and started to pull him upright, even shoving a biscuit into Arthur’s mouth, the idiot grunting something about breakfast and meetings and getting dressed, Arthur was ready. Spitting out the remnants of the crust, Arthur caught Merlin’s sleeve and yanked him back.
Merlin toppled like a tree, his arms spread wide as he tried to stop from squashing Arthur on his way down. Arthur ducked. He wasn’t a warrior for nothing.
Merlin was already babbling apologies as his back hit the mattress, but Arthur pounced, twisting out of the bedcovering, and climbing on top of Merlin before he could get away.
The idiot didn’t seem to know what to do. His eyes were wide and he’d stopped mumbling as he stared at Arthur. Elbows pushing into the mattress as he tried to get up, Merlin said, “Ermmm….”
“Articulate as ever, I see.” Arthur wasn’t about to let him go, not when Merlin was flushing red again as he tried to shove Arthur off. Wiggling his arse a bit as he pushed Merlin back down, grinning at him, he said, “Did you trip again, Merlin?”
“I didn’t, you dollop-head. Let me up.” Merlin gave a great heave, but Arthur was heavier than him – not that he’d ever admit it – and Merlin was caught fast. “It wasn’t my fault.”
Arthur wanted to crow. He’d heard it enough times and sometimes it really wasn’t Merlin’s fault, like now. But Arthur had had enough of tantalizing half-baked kisses.
Grabbing onto Merlin’s hands, shoving them over his head, Arthur leaned down and said, “And how many does that make this week, Merlin? Five, ten?”
Scowling up at him, glaring as if he wanted Arthur covered in painfully oozing pustules, Merlin said, “It’s not my fault, you great lump. Get off!”
Arthur just raised one eyebrow Gaius-skeptical, then hovering over Merlin’s lips, breathing against them, Arthur said, “Make me.” And he claimed Merlin’s mouth with his own.
It was everything he thought it would be, a fight for dominance, a sweetness in surrender as Merlin let him in, tongues and liquid and heat flushing Arthur’s skin. There was hardness there, too, and Merlin moaning under him.
Arthur didn’t know when it had stopped being a game, but it was brilliant and sticky and so very satisfying.
When they were both breathing again, he looked down to see Merlin’s mouth wet and swollen, and that dopey look he got whenever he’d been drinking too much, and his face flushed with sated pleasure. It was a good look and one Arthur wanted more of.
“Good thing you are so clumsy.” Arthur smiled at him, daring him to complain.
Giving a little huff and a half-hearted wiggle as he lay there, Merlin said, “Not this time, you arse.”
“No, not this time.” Arthur gave him another grin. “But now that I’ve shown you how it’s done, perhaps next time you can skip the tripping- on-air and go straight for the kisses.”
Merlin smiled up at him. “Took you long enough to figure out.”
The little sneak. He wasn’t cursed after all.
But it didn’t matter because as Arthur started to get up, sputtering with indignation, Merlin reached up and pulled him back down again. Merlin said, a brilliant grin lighting his face, “And now how about round two?”
Arthur was fine with that.