Touch: or, The Absence of It

His hand was larger than hers, his warm palm slightly rough against hers, his long fingers settled in the spaces between her own. A pinprick of fire marked the place where each of his fingertips brushed the back of her hand as his thumb stroked the skin of her inner wrist. She had never known her flesh to be so sensitive and each point of contact made her crave another.
The fingers of his free hand traced the shape of her nose, the curve of her cheekbone and the point of her chin. They danced along the slope of her neck and the curve of her shoulder. She did not know that the shoulder could feel or appreciate a touch so delicate. The craving increased, a crushing desire, devouring all thought, all the world beyond the sensation of skin against skin. They breathed simultaneously bringing their chests together. Her eyes dropped shut and he brought his hand to her face once more, his thumb brushing her closed eyelid. The blue tracery over white bearing more beauty than a butterfly's wing.
Her mouth formed a soft pink pout and finally he bent to press his own lips against hers, that most pure and lovely of touches.
But when she woke, his presence previously so warm and sure and solid, faded to smoke and memory. Gone all the quicker for her desperate attempts to grasp it. Her chest heaved in a sob and she ached for absence of his touch.

On the Riverbank

I wrote a short Athelstan/Gyda story, here's quick snippet.

The plague came quickly and unexpectedly. And it was almost certain to be fatal. A fever on the first day led to a painful sickness so severe one was bedridden. At that point it was only a matter of time before death took them.

Lagertha Lothbrok was worried but thanked the gods that Ragnar, Bjorn and even Gyda were gone on a raid and so were safe. Her only company was Athelstan. Thyri had just passed and Siggy fell ill not long after. Lagertha and Athelstan spent most of their time taking care of the sick and the dying. So when Athelstan fell ill as well, it was a tragedy but not exactly a surprising one. She prayed over him as often as she could. The man had become like a son to her. She sent word to her family about Athelstan’s condition and his probable fate. Ragnar and Bjorn decided to stay. But Gyda, little Gyda, rushed home. She only hoped she would not be too late.

Gyda stayed at Athelstan’s bedside constantly, only conceding to leave when her mother gently forced her to eat something or sleep in her own bed. She fetched him water and food on the rare occasions he was awake and hungry. In the nights when she couldn’t fall asleep she would talk, sometimes to him, sometimes the gods (hers and his), sometimes simply the universe.

“Oh, please don’t make Athelstan die,” she asked no one in particular in an inarticulate prayer. “He can’t die. Please make him better. He can’t die. I love him.” At those three little words that she’d had no plan of saying, her mouth dropped open, then she snapped it shut again. She’d been speaking quietly but in the silence it felt like a shout and she glanced around to see if there was anyone around that could have heard. But no one was there. She looked back down at Athelstan and brushed his dark hair off of his pale, sweaty brow, when she noticed his eyelids flutter open. He said her name weakly.

“Hi Athelstan,” she said timidly, hoping he hadn’t heard what she’d said. I love him. She hadn’t meant to say it, had never even thought it to herself. She thought he was good-looking, she admitted to herself. And he was sweet and listened to her as other people did not. She loved their talks late at night, the moonlight turning the world to shades of black and white and grays, when she’d teach him about their gods and their stories and songs. And he’d do the same, telling of all the places he’d traveled to and the people he’d met. But she hadn’t known she loved him—as anything other than a friend or a brother—until she’d said it aloud and now she knew it to be true.

“Um, I have some water. Here.” She handed him a cup and he drank.

“I’m going to die,” he said, his voice betraying no fear, but a certain sadness.

“No you’re not!” she said desperately, with a ferocity that made him think that already she had something of the shieldmaiden in her. “You’re not,” she said again, quietly, but he’d fallen asleep. And she hadn’t noticed immediately but he had managed to slip his hand around hers. She yawned and fell asleep resting on his chest.

A few nights passed this way, though Gyda did more silent praying from then on, when it seemed as though Athelstan was getting better. He ate a proper meal for the first time in over a week, and then he had only a bit of a headache. Soon he was back to normal. He never brought up what she said so she assumed he hadn’t heard her. Her embarrassment dissipated, things went back to normal and time passed. Ragnar returned with a very pregnant Aslaug who gave birth to two boys. Bjorn got married at 16 to a bastard daughter of King Horrik. When he was 17, the girl gave birth to a daughter. Gyda turned 15—the age of womanhood.

You can read the rest here.

OTP Challenge Day 6 - Wearing Each Other's Clothes

Technically not clothes but whatever. I don't really like this one all that much but then I always feel that way after I write something and I never feel like it's "good" or "done" so I suppose it's pointless to say, isn't?

Kissing in this one and suggestiveness of other things...

"Is that my neckerchief?"

Arthur smiled.

"You can't wear my neckerchief."

"And why not?"

"Because it's mine. Won't people ask questions?"

"I don't care."

"Fine," Merlin said, hopping off the bed like a sprite, "then I'll just wear your crown." And he put the gold circlet on his head. Arthur's mouth gaped open, though he'd deny it later - kings didn't gape.

The gold of the crown shone brightly against Merlin's ink pot hair. And though it slipped down a bit further than it should have and was held up by his ears, Arthur couldn't help but think that it suited him perfectly. And he wondered, for the first time, what it would be like to rule beside Merlin.

"You're staring, Arthur,"Merlin said as a blush stained his cheekbones.

"That's because you look ridiculous," Arthur said, regaining his composure. "You can't wear my crown."

"I dunno," he said. "I think it looks better on me."

"You do, do you?" Arthur said, rising from the edge of the bed and going to stand behind Merlin who was looking at his reflection in the mirror. "Well maybe you'll have a crown of your  own someday." It was the first time he'd said anything that really hinted at a long term future. Arthur was the sort of person that cared deeply but didn't always show it. He realized what he'd said and, even though he had meant it, felt a knee jerk reaction to make a joke.

"Idiot," he said, smiling, the word a term of endearment but a feeble joke. He leaned down and started kissing and biting Merlin's neck, who gasped, then chuckled, then sighed.

"Arthur?"

"Hmm?"

"If you keep doing that I'll have to wear my neckerchief today. And you won't make it to your training session and your other kingly duties."

"I don't care," he said, his voice low so that it seemed to physically pluck a string in Merlin.

"Arthur." He tried to sound stern but it was impossible.

"Are you complaining?"

"Certainly not. But you are king."

"Fine," he pouted. "And take my crown off, idiot."

"Fine," Merlin said, taking it off and setting it back on the blood red cushion where it had been laying. "I want my own."

The King simply smiled and shook his head as he left the room.

OTP Challenge Day 5 - Kissing

This one takes place after S4 E3 The Wicked Day so spoilers for that. Kissing in this one, obviously.
I don't think this one is all that great and I'd like to keep working on it but I'm tired so I shall post it. I picture this taking place before all the previous things happen. Or in an alternate universe where they haven't happened. Whatever. I'm also probably playing up Arthur's sadness quite a bit. Oh well! It's my story!

Drunk Arthur was Merlin's least favorite Arthur. As stubborn and obnoxious as he was naturally, alcohol only tended to make him more so. And with the fact that Merlin would have to practically carry him back to his chambers, well, it was just a good thing that Arthur didn't drink often.
But one night, not long after Uther had died and things were uncharacteristically quiet in the kingdom, he insisted they all go to the tavern. Merlin had noticed he'd been painfully quiet for a few days and he was worried about him. So he was hoping that a night out with friends might help.
And it did. At first. He'd seemed to forget. A genuine smile adorned his face and his laughs were boisterous with life. Gwaine told his drunken stories while everyone listened. And when he broke out in song, Arthur even sang along, something he'd no doubt be mortified about and vehemently deny in the morning. But Merlin was just glad to see him so happy.
With more ale, though, he soon grew morose and retreated into himself. No longer smiling and laughing. It was clear to Merlin that getting him up to his chambers and to bed was probably best.
"Come on, Arthur. I think you should probably get some rest." He pulled Arthur up and started to half-drag him along, struggling with the stairs especially.
"Goodnight Arthur," Merlin said, several minutes later, and turned away from the large bed. As he reached for the latch on the door he heard Arthur whisper or whimper and turned back.
"Merlin?" he whispered.
"Arthur?"
"I want a goodnight kiss."
"You're drunk," Merlin said, gently, not daring to hope.
"No I'm not."
And for a little while he wasn't. His voice was clear and his eyes were sober. Merlin looked down at him, his blue eyes intense in that way that was currently turning his knees to noodles. And those lips that he couldn't stop thinking about. They would ruin him. Perfect pink destruction.
He sat down on the bed and leaned towards Arthur, slowly, wondering what exactly would happen at the end.
But before he could think more about it, Arthur moved to bring them together and suddenly, finally, Arthur was kissing him. And he was kissing Arthur. It was soft and lazy and warm and lovely. And when Arthur pulled away and looked at Merlin he felt his heart clench. The King lay back in his bed, eyes closed and smiling dreamily, a peacefulness in his expression that Merlin hadn't seen in a long time.
He smiled and said, "Goodnight Arthur."
"Goodnight Merlin."

OTP Challenge Day 4 - On a Date

Sorry that this is late again. I'm bad at this.

Merlin was mucking out the stables when he heard someone coming up behind him. But still, he jumped when he felt someone slip their hands over his eyes.

"Guess who?" Arthur whispered, his lips brushing Merlin's ear and making him shiver deliciously.

"Gwen?"

"Merlin!"

"Oh Arthur it's you," Merlin twisted in Arthur's arms. "You better get out of here before my boyfriends finds you." He grinned.

"Still not funny," Arthur said but the smirk brightening his face contradicted him. "Come on," he said, grabbing Merlin's hand and pulling him along.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"You'll see when we get there."

They were headed down through the lower town and towards the woods at the edge of Camelot. When they left the boundaries of the town the sounds quieted quickly and they were very alone. It was quite a warm day but it was perfect in the shade of the trees. Sunlight fell through leaves, dappling their faces in strange patterns and, Merlin thought, making Arthur look positively ethereal. Merlin's breath caught in his throat and Arthur looked over.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They walked on another minute or two when they came across a picnic. A red blanket was laid out on the grass, a wicker basket sat on top.

"You hungry?" Arthur asked.

"Starving! I've been mucking out stables all morning."

The two sat down on the spread blanket and ate a lunch of chicken sandwiches with a bit of wine. The two fell into an easy conversation of teasing and laughing and flicking food at each other, spurred on by the feeling of freedom afforded by their being away from Camelot.

"Did you make this?" Merlin asked. Arthur gave him a guilty look, causing Merlin to laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll teach you to how to cook some day."

"You can cook?" Arthur said, looking at him skeptically.

"'Course I can cook. It's not hard, really."

"Well I look forward to learning then if you'll teach me."

"We'll just have to make sure you don't blow up the kitchen," Merlin said, grinning, "and we'll be fine."

Arthur threw a piece of chicken at him that got stuck in his hair. Merlin threw a piece back and the resulting food fight quickly dissolved into a wrestling match, the two rolling around for several minutes before flopping on the ground laughing and out of breath. Arthur looked over at Merlin and moved closer, bringing their lips within inches of each other's. He moved torturously slow, knowing exactly what he was doing. Merlin's heart raced in his chest but he stayed still. Arthur reached up and pulled a leaf from Merlin's dark hair, held it in front of him and said simply, with a wicked smile, "You had a leaf in your hair." Then he jumped up and dashed away.

"Arthur Pendragon!" Merlin shouted. "You awful tease."

OTP Challenge Day 3 - Watching a Movie

Modern AU for obvious reasons. Mild kissing in this one. In case that bothers you. For whatever reason.

"I'm bored," Merlin whined. He was sitting on a small, ratty couch with his long legs thrown in his boyfriend's lap in the cozy apartment they shared.
Arthur chuckled. "Well, what do you want to do?" he asked with a suggestive smile, causing Merlin to blush, the color so brilliant, splashed across his pale cheekbones.
"I was thinking we might actually get out of the house for once. We could go see a movie or something."
Arthur grinned, that had given him a wonderful idea. "Alright," he said, "but I get to pick."
"You picked last time! And it was a horrible, terrifying thing." Arthur jumped up, pulling Merlin up by the hands after him and planting a kiss on his forehead.
"I've never met someone who is so scared so often."
"I'm not scared," Merlin said, affronted. "I just don't like scary films."

As the commercials and previews started in the theatre Arthur had his arm around Merlin, whose heart was pounding. You'd think a warlock who had faced all manner of medieval evils would be a bit braver but horror films never ceased to startle and frighten him.
And when the lights went down he snuggled into Arthur's chest who smiled down at him. He had wanted to see the movie just for this reason. He wanted to protect Merlin from all the monsters. But he was starting to feel kinda bad about it.
"Do you wanna go? We don't have to watch this."
"No it's okay," Merlin said, trying to be brave.
"Alright idiot," Arthur said, the term one of endearment. "I shall protect you from all manner of horrors," he said.
"I know," Merlin said and leaned up to kiss him.
Neither of them ended up watching much of the movie. Rather than watch the movie, Merlin spent his time watching Arthur instead. His fingers on this thigh, his lips on his neck, well Arthur was very easily distracted.

Yes, there are Americanisms in this one (which I usually make at least some sort of attempt to keep out) but I didn't feel like thinking about which words are different and changing apartment to flat and z's to s's and such. So I know that Britishisms are different but there you go. And it's very short. I'm tired. Sorry.

OTP Challenge Day 2 - Cuddling Somewhere

I'm sorry this is a few hours late. I had it written in time but I didn't get a chance to post it. This one is much shorter than the last, as I said they'd be. I'm also not very happy with it. But I hope you don't find it too terrible.

It wasn't often that Arthur Pendragon got sick. But when he did, it certainly wasn't pretty. Merlin hated to see him feeling so horrible but it was difficult to feel too bad for too long. Arthur tended to get whiny when he was uncomfortable or bored. And being sick meant both. It also meant he had plenty of time to send Merlin to all parts of the castle for ridiculous and outlandish things. He'd spent a good portion of the day making the journey between the kitchens and Arthur's chambers, trying to keep him in a warm blanket. Bring the blanket from the bed down to the kitchen. Bring the one hanging in the kitchen back up. Wait about an hour. Repeat. Merlin would do anything for Arthur but that didn't mean he had to like it.
"Merlin," Arthur said, his teeth chattering horribly. "I'm so c-cold."
"I know, sire. I'm sorry. I wish there was more that I could do."
He looked forlornly at Arthur. This man he loved, usually so regal and strong, huddled in a ball shivering slightly, teeth chattering. His eyes were squeezed shut that the bruising of his eyelids looked like lilies floating on a pond of moonlight. A violent, rattling cough took hold of him and shook him.
Merlin had contemplated using magic to help him but Gaius had promptly warned him against it. While it was a miserable illness, he'd said, Arthur was sure to recover in a few days. So, as much as he wished he could, he knew magic simply didn't make sense. It was too dangerous. But, perhaps, there was something else he could do.
He dropped the armor he'd been polishing, more to have something to do than because it actually needed it, and strode purposefully to Arthur's bedside. Acting for all he was worth as if his heart weren't pounding and his knees gone soft.
"Alright, dollop-head. Move over." Arthur looked up at his manservant, confusion crinkling his brow and coloring his eyes. Darkening them.
"What are you doing?" he rasped.
"You said you're cold, right?" Merlin crawled under the covers and wrapped his skinny arms around Arthur, feeling even more awkward than he'd thought he would. Arthur was tense but he must have begun to warm up because, after a little while, he loosened up. And even snuggled closer into Merlin's chest, making a noise like a small animal. A noise which did strange things to Merlin.
All the awkwardness was gone and the two realized that they were cuddling. The prince and his servant. Arthur and his best friend. And neither had any intention of going anywhere for quite a while.

I Wrote A Flash Fiction Story

I woke up to the sensation of my phone vibrating under my head. Pulling the phone out from under my pillow I saw that the time was 1:30 AM. I quickly and quietly crawl out of bed, slip into the jeans and tshirt that I laid out the night before, slide my bare feet into my leather moccasins, and slip through my window. With a fwump I landed on the soft green grass a few feet below my window.
I crept along the house a few feet, hardly daring to breathe as I passed under my parents' window, and then I was homefree. We live on a dead end street so it's very quiet. I started walking. To the end of the street through the small bit of trees that we call woods and emerged in my favorite place in the world. A small roughly circular field, surrounded on all sides by more trees. It was dark there and I could see more stars than I'd ever seen before. Sometimes I'd come here and lie down in the middle and stare at the stars, dreaming, until I'd fall asleep. Then I'd realize my mistake and dash home, my parents would be frantic. I never did tell them where I'd been though. I'm sure other people knew about the clearing but it felt like it was mine and mine alone. I didn't want anyone else to know. Until one night when I silently emerged through the brambles and saw a dark shape lying in the grass. As my eyes adjusted to the light of the full moon I saw it was a boy, probably about my age. There was something boyish and innocent in his expression as he looked at the obsidian and diamond sky above him. And, without a second thought, I walked toward him, making sure to make enough noise that I wouldn't startle him. I came within a few feet of him but he still didn't look up at me. So I laid down next to him, maybe about six inches between us and, without quite understanding why, brushed my fingers against his. It was a feather touch. It could have been the grass if not for the warmth of it. And yet, he still didn't look at me. But he smiled, as if he'd been expecting me. And there, on that night, under the watchful eyes of the heavens, it made sense. Of course he'd been waiting for me. Why had I been so late?
But, of course, it didn't matter. I was there now. He grasped my hand and looked over at me, a serene smile playing about his lips. The full moon's light hit the side of his face, making it more angular and yet, somehow softer, as if he were glowing from the inside. I ached to kiss this boy, this boy I didn't know and that felt vaguely like a dream. Longed to feel his lips pressed against my own. And just then, he moved toward me and I closed the distance, softly pressing our mouths together. I'd only kissed one other boy and it hadn't been good. I was 14 and, for the most part, it felt like children playing at being grown. But this was different. Warm, slow and lovely. Right.
We only kissed and then we went back to lying side by side, staring at the stars.
I become drowsy soon as he hummed a lullaby and I drifted off to sleep with my head on his chest and our hands still clasped. The sun woke me gently the next day, the birds my alarm clock, but I woke alone.

I never did see the boy again. For weeks, I went to the clearing every night but I never saw anyone else. And it's been months now. It's starting to get cold, my breath leaving my body as visible puffs of air. But still I wait for him whenever I can. I feel it is what I must do, wait for him as he waited for me.