Title: That Conversation About Knocking
Author: Raven Calling
Rating: 15
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur, implied Arthur/Morgana
Genre: Humor
Word Count: 808
Spoilers: 1:09 Exalibur
Summary: "Merlin," Arthur drawls, "you know that conversation we had about knocking?" M/A
Authors Notes: This story would never have come about if not for Mharie, who not only generously thought of the whole idea and helped me through it, but also, through much squeeling prompted me to trying to write some more fanfiction.
Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin. The BBC does. However, if they were willing to sell the boys to me for a very low rate I would be interested. Any historical inaccuracies are entirely my fault, but to be honest, the entire show is one big mash up of stuff.
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Merlin opens the double doors leading to Arthur's chambers with some force, revealing the Prince lazily spinning his sword.
"Merlin," Arthur drawls, looking up and carefully lowering the sword to the table, "you know that conversation we had about knocking?"
Merlin did remember the conversation about knocking, although as this was hardly the most appropriate moment to bring it up again, he let it slide, choosing instead to interrupt Arthur with a warning about his Uncle, Gawain, the knight from beyond the grave, brought back by Nimue's powers to do evil.
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A few weeks previously Merlin had been given a large pile of clothes Arthur deemed unclean, and therefore in need of a good wash. In Merlin's opinion, Arthur just liked making him do chores. The laundry rooms were always too hot, steam filling the air as much as the gossip from the other servants. Why women suddenly had the urge start gossiping as soon as their breasts started sagging, he had no idea, but what he did know was that it meant it was a lot harder to talk to Gwen.
"So do you really think that Arthur and Morgana have feelings for each other?" Merlin asked her as he pummelled the mud coated breeches. Why Arthur's were muddier than any other knight's, even though they had been through the same forest, he didn't know.
"Well, think about it. They're both very attractive." Gwen looked down to hide the warmth in her cheeks. She was over her adolescent crush on Arthur, but that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate him. "They get along well, and I'm sure most of their arguments are more like, well, play fighting. They are quite similar. And they are always together, even if some of the time it's forced."
Merlin snorted. "So just because they spend time together and get along reasonably well you think they are about to declare their undying love for each other?" Busy wringing the clothes out, Merlin missed the warmth on Gwen's cheeks blossom into a deeper colour.
"Well, no, because that would just be silly, but I mean they like each other." She turned to Merlin quickly, eyes wide. "Though I'm not saying that everyone who spends a lot of time with someone else that they like is, you know, in love. I mean, they can be, but sometimes they are just friends and ..." Gwen blinked, trailing off. Merlin looked positively confused.
"Yes..." He nodded, before quickly rolling wet sleeves back down over his arms and picking up the laundry. "I have to get this out to dry before all the good spots are taken. I'll see you later then?" It was almost more of a statement than a question. Doubtless they would see each other at tonight's feast, each serving on their respective masters.
Backing out of the room with an armful of sopping wet laundry, Merlin took a quick detour to the castle gardens, in order to drape the wet clothes over lines hung from various windows, before heading back to Arthur's chambers to see if he needed anything at that precise moment.
Nodding at a passing guard, Merlin pushed open the doors to the prince's rooms and froze.
Afterwards he couldn't have said exactly what it was that first made him aware something was wrong, but it could have been any one of the factors. The clothes that Arthur had been wearing that morning strewn over the floor; the unusual musky scent; the rhythmic grunting; or event the sight of the crown prince lying naked on his bed, muscled legs flopping open, hand languidly pumping between them.
Mouth opening and closing, rather like that of a beached fish, he stood there incoherently. What was the appropriate reaction to... this?
He spun round, to face the door, tripping over his own feet in the process. "Ow!" Merlin wrapped one hand around his now painful nose, using the other to push himself up. The absence of sound was suddenly rather audible. He gulped, and slowly looked over to the bed.
As suspected Arthur had stopped his previous activity, and was staring at him. Well, Merlin had just tripped over himself in a perfectly clear stretch of floor, that would probably make anyone stare.
After a long awkward pause in which both boys sent each other mildly (or not so mildly in Merlin's case) disturbed glares, Merlin scrambled to his feet. Legs scrabbling underneath him, he heaved himself upright and hurried to the door, not looking back. Wrenching the door open, he let out a whimper of relief.
"Merlin?" Arthur's voice drifted out through the open door. Merlin felt his eyes shut in despair. What on earth could Arthur want now? Oh God, that was a bad, bad question.
"Next time you decide to actually come and do your duties, remember to knock will you?"
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So? Bad? Good? Not quite sure whether I've got my head screwed on properly?