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pilferingapples:

ONE WEEK TO BARRICADE DAY 

arthursknight:

the day the festival comes to a neighbouring town is the day that arthur directly disobeys his father for the first time.

he’s been practising his white lies for years under the affectionate tutelage of leon, who grew up in court alongside him and learned the usefulness of a well-placed fib a few years before arthur dared to. but this day is special– he and leon sneak away with a flimsily constructed alibi and the yearning for the honey pastries arthur’s gold will buy them fuelling them forth.

his father had expressly forbade him from going to the town over, said the festival was foolish, but here, on a grassy hill on the edge of the village, with honey stuck between the valleys of his fingers and the cool evening air brushing against where he’s shoved the legs of his breeches up to his knees, he feels alive, moreso than he has in all his 15 years.

leon is laughing at something, head thrown back, his raucous red curls spilling down the nape of his neck, and his cheeks are flushed with sun, and his eyes are twinkling bright, and arthur has to kiss him.

so he does.

he’s harboured this crush for a few summers, now. leon has been his protector since he was a child, and their friendship has nestled its way into something warmer in arthur’s heart. he kisses him, and the honey on their lips and the chap from the air and his swirling tornado of feelings from the thrill of disobeying his father all mix into a wonderful storm, and arthur thinks, this is what love must feel like.

when leon breaks back, it’s with a frown.

“oh, arthur,” he says, sounding much older than his 19 years, and arthur feels that wonderful storm come to a horrible stop.

his eyes prick with tears as he grabs onto a clump of grass. he feels foolish, even moreso when leon covers his hand and says, “you are wonderful, arthur, but we cannot. it is my job,” he says, looking at him with all the gravity that their fathers look at them, “to keep you safe.”

they never speak of it again. arthur comes back from the festival with an even flimsier lie and a nasty sunburn and a broken heart, none of which his father notices.

he grows, and forgets, and his boyhood crush becomes one of his dearest friends.

it is nice, for a while.

until.

suddenly, there is a boy with wild blue eyes and an insolent streak a kingdom wide being forced to walk alongside him. suddenly, his mornings are full of insistent and annoying hands tugging him awake to half-cold breakfasts and unpolished armour, and his nights are tortured by incessant chatter over dinner and baths that take too long to prepare.

merlin is… merlin is. and arthur finds himself wanting, in ways he shouldn’t, in ways that he knows that, should he look beyond the horizon, he would find the beginnings of a storm brewing.

arthur dares not hope. can’t, because there is nothing to be done with it– a foreign serving boy, all three words a separate dagger in his father’s metaphorical heart and pride. but it sneaks up on him, and there are times where merlin will laugh, and the sun will catch his cheekbones until they’re pink, and arthur will imagine honey between their lips as they kiss.

no matter. arthur knows what is and what isn’t meant to be.

but merlin doesn’t seem to get that same picture. he pushes, and pushes, and–

“ow,” arthur mutters feebly, as merlin gathers the gauze too tightly around his waist. “it’s one broken rib, merlin, do you think you could do without trying to break more?”

they’re on another grassy hill on the edge of another village. around them, unconscious or dead bandits who had previously been bent on ruining their hunting trip now indisposed. merlin huffs, muttering something that is no doubt bordering on treasonous, but arthur is busy staring up at the clouds and concentrating on not zoning in on every gentle touch to care.

“you were out for a while,” merlin says gently after a quiet few moments. his voice has a quality to it that arthur rarely hears, and it makes him turn to look at him. “and when the blow first struck, you collapsed so heavily. i thought i–”

arthur lets out a chuckle in a heavy exhale. “you can’t be rid of me that easily, merlin.”

merlin snorts. “obviously not. it is, after all, my job to keep you safe, and i am doing exceptionally well.”

the words shock his system, and he thinks of leon’s quiet sympathy, and bile rises in his throat. so this is it, he thinks. this is what heartbreak must feel like.

but merlin just shakes his head, fondness in his gaze, and something in arthur’s expression must change something in him. he glances shyly at where they’ve gotten closer, merlin leaning in to secure the bandage, and before arthur can preempt him–

merlin leans in.

two, three heartbeats, and then his lips are gone, and arthur’s are buzzing, and the air lays thick like honey between them.

merlin’s blush is high on his cheeks as he quickly gathers his supplies. “anyway. we should get back, your father is expecting you–”

arthur catches his wrist. the pulse he finds underneath his fingertips matches his own.

“merlin,” he smiles, shaky as he leans their foreheads together, “you really must learn the art of lying to my father.”

ohnoafterlaughs:

Have some mess in the lab!

bigger here

OMG 
THIS
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