A/N- Just a collection of Merthur drabbles, inspired by 406 (ahem, embrace dkjfgdkfsg)
Enjoy!
And Merlin was covered in mud.
Arthur felt the breath scramble out of his lungs, as he stumbled forwards.
And Merlin was covered in mud.
Arthur sped up, laughing, unable to believe it, because this was real; here was his idiotic, loveable manservant, alive and-
Merlin was covered in mud.
Arthur didn't even care; he threw an arm around Merlin's shoulders, pulling him in closer, cheek to cheek and chest to chest. He laughed and gasped into Merlin's neck.
Merlin was covered in mud.
It went all over Arthur's face, smearing across his chin, and then his lips when he pressed a quick kiss to the skin behind Merlin's ear.
Merlin and Arthur were covered in mud.
Arthur couldn't stop smiling.
"Yes, well, you would take her side, wouldn't you?" Merlin glared at Arthur, who blinked.
"Excuse me?" he asked, disbelief ringing in every syllable. Was Merlin really going to do this now? Here? In front of Gwen?
Of course, he had always wondered when Merlin might snap. It had to be difficult, he reasoned, for his manservant to see him every day, hand on another woman's arm, sometimes with his lips by her ear, on her mouth. But honestly! They had said from the first day, that discretion was important. Very important, in fact. It was tricky enough to marry a maid, but marrying a manservant was another matter entirely.
Arthur watched as Merlin stalked from the room, eyebrows rising seemingly without the intention of ever stopping. Then, whilst Gwen continued to serve him lunch, he began hatching some plans which might serve to cheer his grumpy Merlin up.
By the time lunch was finished, Arthur was embarrassingly hard, and tripping from the room, leaving behind a Guinevere, who was unsure whether or not to feel smug.
MERLIN.
Arthur's hand flew up, rising in front of a face contorted with nothing but horror, as the rocks fell, down and down, piling up and up.
MERLIN.
He yelled again, stumbling forwards, over the debris, tripping, his hands cutting against the jutting edges and unforgiving stone.
MERLIN.
He couldn't stop calling it; would never stop. He got back to his feet, bloody fingers swiping at injured legs, walking to the wall which separated him from his... from his what?
MERLIN.
Yeah. Separating him from his Merlin. He scrabbled at the sharp grey, nails scraping, bleeding. He kept on shouting, or maybe he didn't. Maybe he was only whispering now.
Merlin.
Always, Merlin.
Gwaine laughed a little nervously to himself, because... well, because he knew about Arthur and Merlin (Gods, who didn't know about Arthur and Merlin?) but this obvious display of affection made the knight feel a bit like he was intruding.
He knew he ought to look away, but he didn't really want to, as the King and manservant locked lips and jaws, hands at each other's faces, mud and tongues filling mouths.
Gwaine bit his lip, and wondered how the two of them managed to still look beautiful, even when covered in dirt, and after being separated for so long.
Arthur is strangely fond of the boy.
Morgana smirks as she recalls the time she had accidently stumbled into Arthur's chambers, to find the king pressing his manservant up against one of the bed posts, creating friction between them with every part of their bodies, tongues down each other's throats.