The Merlin Drabble Anthology II

In the aftermath of their first time together, Arthur is still a bit of a prat, but Merlin loves him anyway.

Gwaine will proudly admit it was all his idea.

The snowstorm is sudden and harsh. There are snowdrifts ranging three feet to ten. The oncoming army is stopped dead and there's no way that Camelot's men can move more than a half a mile, let alone fight.

Arthur tries magic in jest–and it works. Takes place after Arthur is king.

He’s happy. He hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Like there’s absolutely nothing that can put him down. No battles to win, no monsters or sorcerers to fight, no telepathic children to hinder, no power-seeking trolls, nothing. He’s happy and he has cake. Life is good.

Merlin just wanted Arthur and Lancelot to get along….

When one has, in his backpack, two heavy textbooks, a wallet, a bottle of water, headache tablets, a novel, a jumper, a scarf, two pencils, a sharpener, a ruler, a calculator, assorted paperclips, chewing gum, and a single sock, trying to find any one item is a difficult task.

Merlin’s face bobs in and out of the firelight as he laughs...

Arthur just loves to fuck Merlin open, till he is dripping and too sore to even sit up.

The rumors of Arthur’s brutality were not unfounded.

Merlin likes being used.

Whenever they sleep beside each other, Merlin inevitably wakes up with Arthur draped all over him.

Merlin has learned a lot things he never expected during his two days as an accidental mind reader.

Since Arthur had become king, Merlin never really saw him anymore. So Arthur started leaving him little notes.

Arthur needs new clothes. And a date. But clothes first.

Arthur knew the stories, so he didn’t take any chances — he burned the sealskin as soon as he found it.

It’s different when it’s shared.

Merlin gets put into the stocks and Arthur appreciates the view.

Modern AU. Arthur interrupts Merlin studying in the library.

The castle is sweltering in the midsummer heat, stones breathing damply under the sun’s height when even the air lies still.

He wakes up in Merlin’s arms, nose tucked into the soft skin of his throat, swallows back a wave of desire so intense he’s surprised it doesn’t wake Merlin somehow and holds very still.

Camelot is burning.

There is something to be said about patience. Mostly, Arthur finds that he is not, in fact, a patient man.

“Then what do you want?”
“To lie here and be warm together for a while.”

Sometimes “a close thing” becomes a closer thing.

The second time Arthur and Merlin saved Ealdor, they buried no one.

Merlin has a confession to make. And he really, honestly tries to make it.