Title: One Good Scar
Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: There was only one scar that Merlin liked.
Word Count: 575
Author's Notes: none.
Merlin hated every scar on Arthur’s body except one. It, amongst the other which glared back at him and mocked him for not being fast enough or smart enough to save Arthur from their blows, that singular crescent shaped scar just below the knee made Merlin smile. It took away the pain caused by the others and at the end of even the hardest days reminded him that every hardship he suffered through was worth it. It was worth Arthur.
Unlike the scar that ran ragged on his side where a blade had pierced him, and infinitely different from Questing Beast’s scar on his chest – it was the only one which had nothing to do with fighting. When Merlin was on his knees in front of Arthur, slowly lowering his trousers to the ground, trailing his hands and the material down the well sculpted legs, he would press a kiss to them before trailing his mouth upwards.
Arthur hated that scar. He liked to have scars to prove his worth on the field. He wore them as badges of honour. He remembered being young and seeing the scarred knights of Camelot, they were the elite, and they were what he was to be. The small crescent shaped scar Merlin loved had none of the redeeming qualities that the other scars had. As they curled in the bed and Merlin would drift his fingers over its shape, Arthur would grumble (never before, he would never complain when Merlin was removing the last barriers separating them and a pleasurable evening lay before them).
“Why?” Arthur asked, too exhausted to do much more than glance at where Merlin stroked the scar.
“Because you shrieked like a girl,” Merlin quipped, nuzzling his head onto Arthur’s chest. It effectively blocked the view of long, pale fingers against his leg.
“I did not,” Arthur rolled Merlin over, pinning him to the bed. “I was perfectly dignified.”
“I told you I loved you and you fell off your horse into a thorn bush,” Merlin laughed.
“We were in the middle of a quest Merlin,” drawled Arthur, taking advantage of their position to roll their hips together. “Who blurts out something like that while on a quest?”
He smirked as Merlin raised his head to kiss him slowly. As they parted Merlin looked at him seriously.
“It’s the only scar you have that brings back a good memory,” Merlin said softly, frowning at the other scars.
“No it’s not.”
“Really?” Merlin was skeptical, and he raised an eyebrow in challenge.
Arthur held out his arm and pointed at a patch of perfectly unblemished skin.
“What am I supposed to be seeing?” Merlin asked.
“See the scar?” Arthur demanded, jabbing his finger once again at his arm. Peering closely Merlin was able to make out a very, very faint scar line. “My old manservant, he accidently cut me while clearing my breakfast food. I was ... punishing him when we met. You interrupted and got me so riled up that I fired the man out of spite.”
“How is this a happy story?” Merlin asked.
“Because, Merlin, if I never got this scar, we would not have met, and you would never have become my manservant because the position would have been filled,” Arthur explained slowly, but Merlin could see the facade slip.
As Merlin kissed the almost-gone scar, Arthur quietly admitted, “It’s my favourite one.”
“So I guess there are two scars then.”