The Barn, Thursday Morning

[bigdamndestiny]

With the puppy still in the process of learning not to piddle indoors, Merlin found himself down in the barn all night to keep her company rather than clean up in the morning. It was actually rather warm even in the cool of the night. All the horses, after all.

And a puppy that decided to sleep curled up on his back.

"Brynne, you're going to make me unable to walk if you do that again," Merlin grumbled, giving her an annoyed look.

[[For one]]

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[bigdamndestiny.livejournal.com]

Merlin very carefully removed his hand from Arthur's trousers to rest oh his shoulder instead. "It's not--" What exactly.

"We can't. Can you feel what's wrong?" Like that damn spell. And it was already slipping away from him. That feeling.

[bitchprince]

"It's just a bit warm in here," he said, pointlessly, and stared at Merlin as if he had all the answers.

[bigdamndestiny.livejournal.com]

Because he knew, clearly.

"We will talk about this--" When he stopped having the urge to kiss him. "Later."

[bitchprince]

Merlin didn't get to determine what they did. Except he did, because again, Merlin was the one with the rights in this and it wasn't as if Arthur had a better idea. And Merlin wanted to talk. Later.

(You can't tell me what to do. Except he didn't know what he did)

"Right," he said. "Is there something--"

...

His trousers felt very sticky. He pushed away from the wall. Slowly.

[bigdamndestiny.livejournal.com]

Yes. There was that.

"We should go. Now." Oh, words were difficult again.

[bitchprince]

"You go first," he muttered, brushing his fingers over his eyes. "I need to-- undo whatever damage you've done to Brynmor."

It was quite possibly his worst attempt at insulting Merlin ever.

[bigdamndestiny.livejournal.com]

"Right." That would be when you move, Merlin.

He took a step back after grasping Arthur's arm one last time. "Later."

[bitchprince]

"Go on, then."

That was easy, at least.

His hand went up to touch his neck at the-- miserable bastard, some part of him thought, fondly --marks.

Good thing he wore a lot of high collars.