#warlockandking

Chapter Thirty Nine (+ OFFICIAL FANMIX)

Author: Val_Creative Characters: Merlin/Arthur Word Count: 189639 Summary: From behind him, the toaster makes a suspicious grumbling. Arthur leans backwards as if unnerved, his eyes on the item. 

"What the hell was that?" he demands accusatory.

"What was what?"

"Did that… thing speak?"

Merlin rolls his eyes. "It's a toaster, Arthur—a kitchen appliance," he explains. "And no, toasters can't speak." Merlin shakes his head. "This one grumbles when it's irritated, is all." 

"When it's…?" Arthur stares at him like Merlin's taking the mick out of him. He doesn't appear to be at all. "Does that happen… often?"

"Listen, prat—do you want any brown bread or not?"

Chapter Thirty Eight (+ OFFICIAL FANMIX)

Author: Val_Creative Characters: Merlin/Arthur Word Count: 180646 Summary: There comes an impulse, riding fast, to push his fingers through the blond, tousled mess of Arthur's hair. Comb it away and run his palm against the side of Arthur's face. To memorise the moment as well.

But Merlin's hand remains with Arthur's, their fingers locking together. Blossoming heat spreading through the warlock, fond and unchanged. 

He drags the golden arm up him, having it settle limply before Merlin silently touches Arthur's hand under his chin, holding it there curled. And it does nothing to halt the barely-there kisses, or grazing sensations.

A shudder of a laugh ghosts murmurous from Merlin's lips.

He won't dare think of revealing that his ribs were a might ticklish. Merlin gotten through nearly two millennial without Arthur figuring it out—he's bloody well set on keeping it that way, if chance let him. 

Arthur would show him no mercy pinning him down in a tickle war. And Merlin would rather not wet himself from mad hysterics.

AO3 | FFN

~1k, Merthur, T-rating, warnings for injuries/language

Chapter Thirty Six (+ OFFICIAL FANMIX)

Author: Val_Creative Characters: Merlin/Arthur Word Count: 173802 Summary: When Merlin does happen to glance up, eyes flicking to Arthur, he finds the other man’s expression to be faintly smiling and relaxed. 

And in turn, Merlin’s own loses the sensation of reservation and tightness. Arthur can do that so easily to him… feel lighthearted, feel comfortable. And he really does look brilliant, to Merlin. Even in the dimness, with low-lights yellowing already pale hair, eyes softer blue.

Countless people in history tried to paint an exact image of Britain’s most famous warlord of ancient folklore—the great Welsh king—the epitome of chivalric romance—the leader of the Knights of Old—the Once and Future King to return when the world truly needed.

Dark eyes, bright eyes, reddish-gold hair, hair darker than night, a beard, long hair, short hair, aged with a milky, weathered face, or scarred along his features from mighty and terrible battles…

They all tried their best—but, as Merlin secretly witnessed in amusement and disdain over centuries, the artist renditions never did get it right. (As it were, they never did about Merlin, either. But he always thought it would bedevil Arthur far more than it did him.)

Chapter Thirty Five (+ OFFICIAL FANMIX) 

Author: Val_Creative Characters: Merlin/Arthur Word Count: 166429 Summary: He swallows, audible, as the smirk on Arthur's face brightens and widens. And that's when Merlin's diamond-patterned tie is handled by the other man, slipping from its neat arrangement tucked in his suit.

The pressure of Merlin's collar budges, shifting to tighten a little as large, sun-gold fingers grasp. The thrilling, pleasant swirl of his magic deep, deep in his veins flare within Merlin. Ancient and instinctive.

At the genuinely spoken compliment, Merlin lifts his expression, meeting Arthur's benevolent gaze. For mere seconds, or perhaps longer, the nature of Merlin's blue eyes fade out, his pupils enlarging, gulping down the colour before melting into a soft, shimmering yellow-orange. 

Arthur has seen it before, of course. Merlin's eyes flashing gold when using magic. But this is different—he's not doing magic. 

It's still there anyways; a summer-glimmer along with dilated pupils. Arthur can feel his inhale go sharp in his chest.