Character/s: Merlin, Arthur
Summary: Merlin didn't want to be in love with that irritating, condescending, patronizing, pompous, arrogant clotpoll.
Word Count: 300
Prompt: #207: Crushes
Author's Notes: none
Merlin fought it, of course. After all, Arthur was an absolute arse, used to demanding his own way, and shouting, wild-boar fierce, when he didn't get it. His supercilious condescension, his eternal preening entitlement, his fawning drivel when it came to his father, all that and more, drove Merlin half-mad at times. His fury at the cabbage head, all too often expressed in insults and scowls, blazed bright, and then, later, left him exhausted. The appalling thought of being misused by the arrogant prick for even one more day was often almost too much to bear.
Yet, when Arthur stood in the sun, all that golden hair and golden skin, with a smile that could turn sweet when no one was looking, Merlin was a goner. He knew Arthur was as much honourable as stubborn, as courageous in battle even while he cowered before Uther, as complex as anyone Merlin had ever known. Arthur was intriguing and infuriating and wonderful.
To have his heart beating frantic against his chest whenever Arthur pulled him close – mostly to ruffle his hair and dig knuckles into tender skin – wasn't helping Merlin at all. To lean into his touch, to grow gormless when Arthur droned on and on about something ridiculous because Merlin wanted to listen to the music of his voice or look into the endless blue of Arthur's eyes instead of mocking him as he should have done.
No matter how much Merlin tried, his heart refused to listen to reason, refused to see the Prat Prince as the clotpoll that Merlin's head knew him to be.
It was absurd. It was exasperating. It was marvellous.
Love finally turned Merlin into the idiot that Arthur always said he was.
But the worst thing of all was that Merlin didn't mind a bit.