❝ I’ve noticed that you’ve been
traipsing around after that servant
girl of Morgana’s.
I need not remind you
that you must be careful. ❞
"I have not been traipsing around after anyone.
And what do you mean by ‘be careful’?
What am I to be careful of?”
There’s already a hint of challenge in the prince’s tone.
I want to rp with you, but I don’t think you want to rp with me: a book by me
I can’t do this anymore.
“I— Yes, you’re probably right, sire.”
"Of course I’m right, Merlin.
Now, I shall deal with this sorcerer,
and you can go and get on with
the job you’re paid to do. But
before you go, tell me; did you
manage to find out anything
useful about their identity?”
”It wouldn’t harm you to stay hidden until.. the sea of raging hormones dissipates a little, surely?” She let out a small sigh, patting the bed next to her, an invitation for him to sit. As King Uther’s ward, she had to be welcoming to all guests, but, keeping it to herself, she wasn’t overly ond of Camelot’s current visitors. “I’m not saying I would be better company, but I imagine I just might be?”
At the mention of keeping the event from Uther, she nodded. “Naturally, you can consider my lips sealed.”
It was more than a little bit tempting, the offer of remaining in Morgana’s chambers. Arthur watched as she patted the bed, and he felt an almost over-whelming pull to sit down beside her. Of late, the pair of them had not spent very much time together, and though he’d never admit it, Arthur did actually miss Morgana’s company. But, he really couldn’t hide in her room. He was a prince. Princes did not hide from things that made them nervous. No, no. Princes didn’t get nervous.
“I can’t stay and entertain you all afternoon, Morgana. You’ll have to find something else to occupy you.” He smiled to show that he was grateful for her kindness, then turned towards the door.
Nonsexual acts of Intimacy - Select from the following for my muse to respond to…
“Do it harder, Merlin.”
The day had been a complete and utter disaster. What had started as a quick mission to patrol the southern border had ended in chaos, as Arthur and his knights had been set upon by a gang of outlaws. In the ensuing carnage, several bandits had been slain, and Arthur, Merlin and three of the knights had been forced into Odin’s lands to escape. After being caught in a storm, then wading through a swamp, they had ended up sheltering in a musty old hovel, and with his own clothing soaked through, Arthur had no choice but to borrow one of Merlin’s spare shirts. It didn’t fit very well and it was the itchiest garment he’d ever had against his skin. After an hour of squirming and fidgeting, he had yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor before demanding that Merlin give his back a good scratch.
“Left. No. Right. And for gods’ sake, do it harder.”
”Can you stop moving about ? You make my head spin.”
His words are quiet but clear.
Being nearly hospitalized by
Arthur wasn’t really nice to
live but George knew that he
didn’t have a choice. Even
after a week, he still hurt all
over. Thankfully, his state
had other advantages. “Can
you come lay down ?”
“Sorry,” he whispered, though he didn’t know
why he was whispering. There was only him
and George in the flat and the pair of them
were clearly awake.
He was restless; he wanted to nuzzle against
George but he was fearful of accidentally
hurting him, but he’d been told to lay down,
so he did just that, (his guilt made him compliant)
carefully positioning himself several inches away
from his injured friend.
“Are you alright?”
"I try to but sometimes, you say
so many repetitive and annoying
things that I block it out.”
“You block it out? Is that so, Merlin?”
Arthur throws back his bedsheets,
grabs a pillow and crosses the room
in three strides.
“Try blocking this out,” he says
as he wallops the pillow very
hard against Merlin’s head.