So, the premise so far is looking good, and the show is definitely fun to watch, despite the bad script and bad acting, and terribly awfully funny special effects. And the opportunities for slash are unbelievable! The subtext is immense! It's almost at Torchwood levels!
So, on to the fic, which I've named in honour of my condition right now, and Merlin's of course! Hope you like...
Oh, and can someone tell me how to copy and paste from Word into a cut using Firefox and Vista? Every time I tried, another window would pop up saying something about how my browser wasn't allowing it or something, and it told me use Ctrl+V to paste whatever I wanted to say into that window, which I did. The only problem was, it didn't paste into the cut! Thanks!
EDIT: Typos corrected! Thank you drjenny88 !
Fandom: BBC's Merlin
Summary: Just a drabble(ish) in Merlin's POV about his feelings for Arthur.
Warnings: Very very very very minor spoilers for pretty much the whole series so far.
Disclaimer: I do not in any way, shape or form own anything from BBC's Merlin. I am merely borrowing the characters and setting. The emotions imposed on the characters and the plot of this work of fiction are of my own creation.
Merlin shivered. It was a cold night, and though he should have been exhausted from the countless pointless errands Arthur had had him run, he couldn't sleep. He stubbornly persisted in blaming the cold for his insomnia, but the truth was that he simply couldn't stop thinking about the sight of Arthur shirtless earlier that day.
He'd been practising with the guards, and wooden swords, hence the lack of armour. The day, unlike the night, had been very warm and had resulted in several of the men removing their tunics and undershirts. Merlin had been transfixed by the sight of his prince, flushed from the exertion and heat, sweat darkening his golden hair, clinging to his eyelashes, and glistening on his skin. He'd been close enough to the fighting for his eyes to observe a single droplet of sweat trickle down Arthur's upper chest to hang temptingly off of his left nipple.
Merlin had felt his mouth water; he'd been dying to pull his prince to his knees, to cup his broad ribcage with his hands and engulf that beautiful pink nipple in his mouth and suck the sweat off, tonguing it until it had grown hard... Then perhaps he'd push Arthur onto his back and kiss down his stomach, right thumb still teasing that tempting nipple, dip his tongue into his master's bellybutton, and follow the groove in his muscles down to the waist of his breeches...
But Merlin's fantasizing was interrupted by shouts from Arthur, who once again commanded his attention, the demanding prince wanting some water from the pail at Arthur's feet.
Tossing and turning in his bed, Merlin cursed his overactive imagination; he was a servant! Despite the constantly cryptic comments from the dragon about destiny and two sides of one coin, Merlin was not foolish enough to ever assume that the prince felt even a smidgeon of an inkling of an iota of the same kind of feelings that Merlin felt for him.
And there were feelings. On Merlin's part. Arthur really was brave and noble and kind; okay sometimes he could come off kind of obnoxious and arrogant and, as Merlin had called him the day he first met him, a prat. But he genuinely cared about people; he was never outright rude to any servant, he listened to Morgana, he respected Gaius, he was kind to Gwen and sometimes, in the right light, it even looked as if he cared for Merlin. Hell, he saved Merlin's life, and went to great lengths to do so as well, risking his own life in the process.
But, unfortunately, Arthur's seeming to care just made it harder; it made Merlin hope. Each time Arthur smiled at him, or spoke to him as he were an equal, or touched him, it fanned the flames even higher. Merlin clutched the pillow and blanket in a white-knuckled grip as tears pooled in his eyes.
"Please," he whispered, "let him love me back."