A/N: Let it be known that I have an unhealthy obsession with Colin Morgan's ears (and really, the rest of his face too). It's not often I write and finish a fic within a single day, much less a couple of hours. Enjoy, darlings. (:
"You know… I've always had a strange fondness for your ears, Merlin." Arthur's voice sounds faraway, distant, and his words come out of nowhere.
Merlin, who is dressing him, pauses and stares, his blue eyes widened in momentary confusion. He tilts his head to the side like a puppy might, a sly, familiar grin creeping up on his features, filling his face with a familiar light and turning his cheekbones ever more prominent. His narrowed eyes glimmer with good humour. "Really now?" he retorts, with an undisguised smirk. He lifts Arthur's arm to finish easing him into his royal-red jacket.
"Yes," Arthur snaps, whipping the jacket's leather folds up over the final curves of his shoulders and "accidentally" bashing Merlin's hands away in the process. At first his manservant huffs a little, as if offended, but Arthur can't bring himself to care. He's too annoyed that his comment about Merlin's ears, originally meant to embarrass him, has apparently done nothing of the sort. Instead, it's turned him cheeky, and there is nothing more irritating than a cheeky Merlin.
"Do tell me more, Arthur," Merlin coos sweetly, batting his thick, dark lashes in an overdone fashion that is obviously meant to imitate the way a girl would do it.
Arthur levels him a hateful glare, but feels his lips twitch betrayingly as Merlin's eyes flutter almost prettily. It's actually really funny, and he's finding it hard to keep a straight face and not let loose the laugh pressuring his chest.
Merlin pauses to take in his expression, and apparently finds something in it that amuses him, for he giggles in that dorky but terribly endearing way he has. That Merlin can read him this easily annoys Arthur a lot more than he cares to admit right now. Before he can stop it, the wicked impulse has taken hold of him.
Merlin sees it in the flicker of a tight muscle in his jaw, the twist in his lips. "What—?" he begins, but before he can even finish his sentence, Arthur has reached out and is gripping the plump, fleshy swell at the base of his earlobe.
"Arthur, what?" he sputters.
"Come to think of it—" Arthur speaks over him; his voice is lazy, languid, but his face is dry and sarcastic. "I'm not fond of your ears; they fascinate me is all."
Merlin tries to squirm out of the touch, but Arthur's fingers are relentless, just like his personality.
"Do you know why they fascinate me, Merlin?" He is smiling genuinely now, waiting for the inevitable.
It's clear Arthur's not going to let him go until he responds, so better to do it sooner rather than later. "No, sire," he whimpers in defeat, keeping just enough reluctance out of his voice to make it passably sincere.
The prince's face turns positively gleeful. "They fascinate me, Merlin, because these ears—I've never in my life seen the likes of them! I'm certain you must bear the biggest ears in Camelot!" he crows. "I'd bet my life on it!"
"Prat," Merlin mumbles, scowling.
In response to this, Arthur gives his lobe a hearty pinch. Merlin yelps and bats his hand away, but he ends up feeling stupid, because Arthur's already released him, so he's left flapping wildly at the air. Arthur laughs brightly, clearly entertained; he's had his fun and is finished playing his teasing games for now (or so Merlin hopes).
Arthur doesn't miss Merlin's sullen little "hmph" noise as he bends over to scoop up Arthur's dirty clothes that are strewn about all over the floor. He's smiling so hard it feels like his face could break, but Merlin has his back to him and can't see it.
"You really are too much fun, you know that?" Arthur murmurs, taking a step nearer so that he is nearly pressed up against Merlin's back. His servant stiffens with what's probably supposed to be hostility, but Arthur just laughs. He knows how long Merlin's wrath typically lasts: at most, ten seconds, and that's only if you do something downright detestable.
"What would be fun is if you'd let me alone so I could finish my duties," he says stiffly.
"I heard that!" Arthur bellows.
"No, really?" Merlin sneers, in that same condescending tone. Pleased with himself, he extracts the final sock from the floor and crosses the room to pick up the laundry sack lying on Arthur's bed, chucking all the clothes into it before cinching it shut.
When he looks up, he wonders who ever said anything about soft blue eyes… because Arthur's are blazing. His throat is suddenly dry. "Um, sire?" he asks, as humbly as he can.
Arthur's eyes soften slightly, but of course Merlin doesn't know it's because he practically squeaked out that "sire" he tried so humbly to say.
Goodness, his servant looks gorgeous—uneasy like this, his eyes huge, shifty, uncertain, darting everywhere… and Arthur is almost absolutely sure Merlin isn't aware he's sucking anxiously at his own lip and peering up at his prince with a patience learned from months of servitude. In this moment, as both Arthur's servant and as himself, Merlin is utter perfection.
The prince's fingers brush lightly the tendon that stands out like a rod beneath the skin of his servant's soft white neck. As he splays his fingers across Merlin's high-boned cheek and accommodates the huge ears, he leans in, stroking the back of Merlin's head and the thick, unruly dark tufts of hair there so as to coax Merlin's lips further open. Not a hard task, as they are already half-parted, as if Merlin had been about to say something but had thought better of it.
They meet softly, the gentlest press, and it's all Arthur; Merlin is merely the willing recipient-opening so perfectly, so obediently for him. He slides his lip into the space between his servant's, marveling at how full and plump they are and how it's almost lewd in itself, just looking at those lips, just watching them. Merlin has a woman's lips, he's always thought. But now, tasting them, feeling them… they're amazingly soft and accommodating… and it's nice, very nice...
He takes a few slow, leisurely pulls at Merlin's bottom lip, suckling gently, and it's crazy but he swears he can feel Merlin's eyes shifting feverishly beneath his lids as he does so. He slips out of Merlin's mouth and steps back, retracting his hand. When he looks up, heart throbbing an odd rhythm, Merlin flaunts a cheeky grin that shows off his perfect teeth and those high, elegant cheekbones. The pink flush beginning in the tips of his ears tells the prince he is also somewhat embarrassed; but mostly, he looks pleased.
"Arthur?" he says. The smile plastered helplessly across his face makes him feel stupid, but he can't control it and he's not sure he wants to anyway.
Arthur doesn't reply, only smirks at him. "In case you're wondering, this is why I like your ears," he says mildly, but his eyes twinkle with humor that tells Merlin there's something more to what he's saying.
"Wait, am I missing something?" He frowns. "Why do you like my ears again? Can't you just come out and say it, Arthur? What with you being so roundabout all the time, I doubt I'll ever understand unless you just tell me straight out," he teases. "You know how I am."
"Clueless, you mean?"
Merlin deliver's a weak faux-punch to Arthur's shoulder. "Very funny. Now tell me."
"Fine," Arthur groans, good-naturedly, his eyes not losing any of their twinkle. He steps closer and hears Merlin's breath hitch as if he anticipates something, and chuckles to himself before tilting his face up and nipping hungrily at the sensitive skin.
"A-Arthur!" Merlin yelps, pushing him away, huge, helpless giggles tumbling forth. When he gets giddy like this, it's impossible to take what he's saying seriously.
"Stop that!" his servant gushes, as Arthur nips his way around the curve of it several times.
"Oh, come on, Merlin! Stop squirming! I know it doesn't hurt. I'm just nibbling it, for heaven's sake!"
"Nibbling?" The word slips through the hand Merlin's clasped loosely over his mouth, and sends him into a fresh fit of giggles.
"C'mon," Arthur says, draping an arm over the shoulders of his hopelessly loopy servant and guiding him towards the doors of his chamber. "If we don't get moving, we're going to be late for this meeting."
"Bu-but Arthur!" Merlin's protest is weak and half-hearted. His belly aches, taut with too much laughter. "I forgot the laundry bag…"
"You can get it tonight or take care of it tomorrow," Arthur assures him. "Now sober up. We have a long, boring meeting ahead of us and it wouldn't do to have my manservant in hysterics during it."
You mean YOU have a long boring meeting ahead of you, Merlin wants to bite out, but instead he holds his tongue and says, "Yes, sire."
Some minutes later, Arthur still hears him sniggering quietly and knows, unfortunately, that this ordeal isn't over yet.
"…So that's why you like my ears, is it?" Merlin pipes up. "Because they're ticklish!"
At this, Arthur's face goes a little hot, but to counter it, he lifts his chin and says vaguely, "Among other things." He keeps walking, but his heart is thudding uncomfortably against his ribs. What a ridiculous thing to say! He wants to beat himself up for speaking it aloud in the first place, even if it is true…
"What 'other things'?" Merlin prods, curiously.
In a flash of annoyance, Arthur grips Merlin's shoulders and swivels around to face him. "If you must know, they are big, and soft and if you must hear me say it—" Dear god... "—then fine!" He takes a deep, steadying breath and lets it out. "They're—adorable!" he chokes.
Heart rushing in his ears, he turns and storms quickly down the hallway, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. Merlin knows exactly how much of it is an act. Arthur's blushing when he confessed just now has sent something warm to flood Merlin's stomach and now it is fluttering in there, restless. "You—" The feeling is building rapidly. "You think…" He can't bring himself to say it. "My ears… adorable!" And then it is too much; he bursts into laughter, roaring with it, his sides and lungs seizing up so that by the time he's regained control of himself, he's half doubled-over and swiping at the tears streaming from his watery eyes.
Arthur's stopped in his tracks. He's standing smack dab in the middle of the hallway, hasn't turned around or moved; he's just standing, as if he's been frozen in place—except he knows he's not frozen, because his face feels like it's on fire.
Merlin approaches him slowly, presses a light kiss to the hot skin at the junction between his neck and shoulder blade, and notes that Arthur is redder in the face than Merlin's ever seen him, and that includes the time Arthur got a bad sunburn on a hunting expedition he stupidly decided to go on despite that Gaius and everyone else cautioned him against it since the temperatures were supposed to break the Camelot heat records that day. Of course he hadn't listened. Typical Arthur, thinking he knew better than everyone else. And of course he had dragged Merlin along to suffer with him. To this day, Merlin scarcely remembered the trip, other than that he had spent most of it in a near-faint, bleary-headed.
"I'm glad you find my thing for your ears amusing," Arthur says, dully, but he is not looking at Merlin with any resentment.
"I don't just find it amusing, I find it endearing!" Merlin informs him, with the warmest of smiles.
The prince's expression is a mixture of disbelief and disgust, but his eyes betray him as always. Merlin catches a glimpse of something soft, affectionate, and almost hesitant—something so unlike the prince of Camelot's usual arrogant self that he can't help but sigh dreamily, "Oh, Arthur!"
For weeks after, Arthur claimed that he could still hear Merlin's roaring laughter ringing in his ears. Whenever he spoke of it, which was quite often, Merlin would grin and smother his every complaint with kisses. It proved very effective indeed.
A/N: Hee! I had fun writing this! Did you have fun reading it? Give me some feedback, please, darlings. Reviews would be much appreciated. (: