because fic is good for you. i think i’m going to leave out stuff like crown of the summer court, student prince &c &c because i’ve read them too many times. also pretty much all of these are nc17 so you know don’t read them at work.
pretty much this is just my bookmarks list in some kind of order with vague excuses attributed to each one hope u lyk ~*~*
Arthur didn’t learn to use a toaster until he was in college, and even then there was a period of time during which toaster-experimentation was a fairly frequent occurrence. Fortunately for Arthur, that time-span coincided with the period of time during which he woke up most mornings in either Merlin’s room or his own with a numb arm and the other man on top of him, snuffling in his sleep.
One morning Arthur shifted Merlin off of him, smirking as the other man rolled over, mumbling something incoherent and probably rude into the pillow. He padded into the communal kitchen, too early on a Saturday for any of the others in the house to even consider rising. He’d mastered the coffee machine out of necessity before his first exam, and he set it to boiling before looking around the filthy kitchen, scratching his head as he tried to sort out what exactly he could do.
He sighed, wiping crumbs from the counter onto the floor in what was quickly blossoming from mild irritation into impotent rage. “Breakfast.” He groaned. “Breakfast.”
The toaster. Oh, he was saved. He took two pieces of bread from the loaf and setting them on the counter. So far so good. Next step… did he butter the bread before or after putting it in the toaster? Arthur wiped at his face with his hands. “I… okay, just—” Cramming the pieces of bread into the toaster, he pushed the handle down. “That went… better than expected. Alright.” He ran his fingers through his hair.
Grabbing two plates from the sink and running water, scrubbing with a sponge until they were something resembling clean. Tossing them on the dining room table, he turned to the toaster. “Couldn’t this go any faster?”
He heard Merlin’s yawn from the bedroom, imagined him stretching, long and lean on the bed. “Great. That’s— that’s great. Super. Fantastic.” He pawed at his face again before an idea struck him. He grabbed a fork from the sink, rinsing it before examining the toaster. He could hear Merlin coming towards the kitchen. “Fuck.” He held the fork to the edge of the toaster.
“Arthur? What are you—” Merlin blinked, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. His eyes widened, taking in the scene in front of him. “Arthur, don’t!” He rushed forward, smacking the fork from Arthur’s hand. “You idiot!” He said, somewhere between fond and furious. They stared at each other for a moment. Neither was sure who laughed first, but suddenly they were clutching their bellies and laughing.
“Hush, we’ll wake the others.” Merlin murmured after they settled a bit. He put his hand on top of others, grimacing at the state of the counter. “No one ever cleans here. And clearly I’m the only one who knows how to cook!” He raised his voice again. “Really, you idiot. What were you doing?”
“Making you breakfast.” Arthur replied, interested in a stain on the sink. “Hm, I thought that sink was stainless steel—”
“Clearly, the culinary endeavors of this household have stretched the boundaries of its kitchen.” Merlin smiled, suddenly very close. “I just saved your life, you know.”
Arthur cleared his throat. “And I suppose some thanks are in order for that.”
“You tried to cook me breakfast.”
“And failed miserably, apparently—” But Merlin hushed him, pressing his nose against Arthur’s.
“Good morning.” He grinned, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist. They stayed like that for a moment, sun streaming through the window, fork discarded on the counter.
In the early sixties, Merlin is an architect fresh out of college, heavily influenced by the prairie school movement and still riding this wave of new professional inspiration. When he and Arthur meet for the first time in this life, Merlin is in charge of designing the new Wales offices of Pendragon & Pendragon. It’s his biggest project to date and he can barely believe he managed to swing it but he’s so full of infectious enthusiasm and new ideas that when Arthur stops by on a rainy Thursday to oversee the goings-on and what Merlin has planned, he ends up getting a bit sucked into it and against his better judgement invites Merlin to dinner with him to discuss ideas, unable to put his finger on exactly what it is that makes this spotty, clumsy architect so fascinating.
It’s that infectious enthusiasm that Arthur both envies and adores. It’s been almost six years since that day and now they live together in Wales where Merlin works at a firm with Lancelot and Gwaine. Business has never been better for P&P, and even when Arthur is working late, he loves the feeling of having accomplished something worthwhile too much to really mind. They’re in a flat now, one that Merlin loved for its view of the city and Arthur loved for the way Merlin would press his face to the glass of the window in the mornings, cup of coffee in his hand and a faraway look in his eye, dreaming up new buildings in the skyline. They’re sitting at the table together one morning, discussing their day, when Merlin stops Arthur mid-sentence with a finger to his lip, going to retrieve his briefcase from where he left it in the hallway. Shuffling through the papers with a small frown on his face, he finally pulls out some prints and sets them on the table, over Arthur’s paper.
“I don’t know if this is too early, or too late, but I was bored. And I thought— well, it’s a big investment, bigger than a flat, but I thought, maybe, you’d—”
Arthur catches his drift then and kisses him over the kitchen table. It’s not a marriage proposal, couldn’t be, but to Arthur it’s good as gold. The house they’d build together, every room a different paragraph in a loveletter— Merlin’s never been good with words, but this is all he needs to say.
Three years later, they are laughing together on the lawn of their new home. Before Merlin can object, Arthur scoops him up bridal style and carries him over the threshold.
“‘All I was doing was telling you a story. A great story. Possibly the best story ever told. The timeless tale of a long suffering, patient, and virtuous warlock and the clotpole of a king he had to put up with— a slobbery king, at that.’ He wiped his hand on Arthur’s sleeve again before dropping it against the other boy’s knee, lacing their fingers together.”
(i… i think this is pg13? but if it isn’t it’s pg. my brain basically rates things as sex vs. no sex, and this has no sex. sadly. SO UNDER THE CUT.)
