[Fic] two peas in a pod (Merlin)
- Fandom: Merlin (BBC)
- Pairing: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
- Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics
- Word-Count: 707
- Status: Complete
- First Published: 2023-09-28
- Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin (BBC) and make no profit from this—it is solely a hobby for fun, with no financial compensation.
Summary:
"You're an omega?" Arthur's voice is shrill, piercing the cocoon of heat and uneasy slumber and abject misery that Merlin's room has turned into.
Notes:
- For iamisaac.
Fandom Gift Basket 2023
Prompt: Arthur/Merlin + a/b/o
(sorry, i don't know what you meant by "alpha style" so i went cracky instead sweat)
Work Text:
"You're an omega?" Arthur's voice is shrill, piercing the cocoon of heat and uneasy slumber and abject misery that Merlin's room has turned into.
Merlin, face down on his bed, sheets and clothes rumpled alike, smelling strongly of sweat and tears and the unique stinging scent of frustration leaking off him, turns his head just enough to glare at Arthur with one bloodshot eye, baring his teeth and hissing out a supremely annoyed, "So what?"
Arthur blinks, seemingly realizing that might, just might, not have been the right thing to say in this situation. Then he ruins it instantly with, "Why are you an omega?"
"I don't know, sire, why are you a buggering alpha who barges in on people without knocking?" Merlin spits in return, one wrong reply from also spitting literal fire. It'd only be fair, he thinks, for Arthur to feel even an inch of the pain he's in, and he does have magic...
"I am your prince," Arthur retorts, drawing himself up and taking a step closer to the nest that used to be Merlin's bed. It's a sweaty mess at this point---stinking up his nose with his own cloying scent, something he's not even normally able to smell and has recently discovered he doesn't much like. It's suffocating, nauseating, and it doesn't go away no matter how much water he spells onto the mess.
"You are annoying, is what you are," Merlin finds the words and says them, even though it's probably been minutes. He dozes off sometimes; it's been days of his heat and it's approaching the end but that's worse somehow, because now he's not even horny and humping anything anymore. Now he's just sad, and in pain, and lonely.
He misses his mother. He misses his village. He misses---
Arthur stands right at the head of Merlin's bed, arms crossed and funny, Merlin didn't notice him approach. "You could be hanged for speaking to me like that," Arthur explains to him like he's stupid and to be fair, it kind of feels like he is right now. Every thought is coming just a beat too late, every blink of his eyes just a second off, every breath a bit too staggered, like he's not quite sure what he should be doing with his lungs.
"You could be hanged," Merlin retaliates, realizing he shouldn't be saying it while he's saying it. He winces, and it sends tight tingles of pain through his head and down his spine, and it reminds him of the aching in the pit of his stomach and he hisses, hiding his face in his dirty, stinking pillows again.
The light hurts, anyway. Might as well hide like a coward.
Arthur clicks his tongue, pulls on Merlin's blanket, and Merlin drags, painfully slowly, one hand out of the mess he's entangled himself in (but hey, at least he's covered, he figures out at last) to wave it at Arthur in the universal sign for "go the fuck away before I punch you". Arthur, instead of going the fuck away, grabs Merlin's hand.
Merlin freezes.
The touch is---breathtaking. Shudders travel though his body, goosebumps rising on his sweaty, gross skin, his breath raspy and hitching in his throat, and he forces himself to swallow a whole lungful of air before he passes out. "You don't look good," Arthur mercilessly states, "and I know alphas are important for omegas during heats. So I will, as your lord, do you this one favor." Then he tags on, after what feels like a whole minute, "Be grateful, peasant."
Merlin flexes his hand, and Arthur entwines their fingers together. It's---soothing. Calming. A mild annoyance, because his heat is nearly over and he's not horny anymore, and the mere idea of sex makes him grimace but. It distracts from the pain, and the sweat, and the frustration he's been drowning in for days.
He's heat-addled, maybe. But it almost, very nearly, feels like Arthur is clasping his hand in his, like he's smoothing his fingers over Merlin's scorching skin, and then, even, like he brushes the damp hair off Merlin's forehead. Like he sweeps a finger over his cheek as Merlin falls asleep.
Even, possibly, like he whispers something---soft.