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magog_83I feel like I've given a false impression as to the amount of fic spammage I was intending!
In recompense I trawled the Fic Folder...
EXHIBIT A: FIC FOLDER
...and bring you a tiny ficlet I posted ages ago at a late night camelotfleet party. Modern AU. I am also reposting a flocked comment fic in a sec, and THAT IS ALL. Because all that's left after that is WIPs or the Slash Dragon manning the Childen in Need phone lines and no-one needs that on a Sunday morning ;)
BEWARE LAME SCI-FI REFERENCES AHEAD.
“Resistance is futile,” said Arthur Pendragon, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, his face flushed with drink and his Thunderbirds hat lopsided.
Merlin gave him a withering look and made to push past him, away from the bar and Arthur and his stupid football mates, “That’s Star Trek, you prat.”
Arthur the Thunderbird didn’t look at all fazed, an impressive achievement for someone with F.A.B written across their face in marker pen. Instead he just grinned, wide and uninhibited and reached out for Merlin’s arm, dragging him forward until Merlin could feel the whole too-hot length of him against his front. “Pretend I’m Captain Kirk then.”
“It’s the Borg who say Resistance is Futile, not Captain—”
Arthur kissed him, swallowing his words and pushing him back until Merlin could feel the smooth line of the bar top digging into his back, his fingers curling into Merlin’s scruffy t-shirt and trapping him there. And Merlin... Merlin blamed the vodka he’d just downed, or possibly the lights and the dry ice and the loud pumping music that had obviously overcome his reason for the long moments it took him to press back, breathing in the scent of Arthur and for once not wanting to kill him or at the very least, bash him over his stupid, prattish head.
Then he heard the catcalls and whistles and the loud comment of “About bloody time!” (that sounded suspiciously like Leon) and yanked himself away. But Arthur held on, mouth open (like a particularly stupid goldfish, Merlin thought) and staring at Merlin like he’d just discovered the secret of fire (highly unlikely, in Merlin’s considered opinion). Arthur’s hat had slid even further sideways and was in danger of disappearing altogether, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Told you,” he said, sounding breathless and annoying and happy.
Merlin rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand, before he said ‘Thunderbirds Are Go’ or something equally awful and Merlin was forced to hit him with a bar stool. “Come on, prat. I have the complete Next Generation at home.”
The End :D
In recompense I trawled the Fic Folder...
...and bring you a tiny ficlet I posted ages ago at a late night camelotfleet party. Modern AU. I am also reposting a flocked comment fic in a sec, and THAT IS ALL. Because all that's left after that is WIPs or the Slash Dragon manning the Childen in Need phone lines and no-one needs that on a Sunday morning ;)
BEWARE LAME SCI-FI REFERENCES AHEAD.
“Resistance is futile,” said Arthur Pendragon, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously, his face flushed with drink and his Thunderbirds hat lopsided.
Merlin gave him a withering look and made to push past him, away from the bar and Arthur and his stupid football mates, “That’s Star Trek, you prat.”
Arthur the Thunderbird didn’t look at all fazed, an impressive achievement for someone with F.A.B written across their face in marker pen. Instead he just grinned, wide and uninhibited and reached out for Merlin’s arm, dragging him forward until Merlin could feel the whole too-hot length of him against his front. “Pretend I’m Captain Kirk then.”
“It’s the Borg who say Resistance is Futile, not Captain—”
Arthur kissed him, swallowing his words and pushing him back until Merlin could feel the smooth line of the bar top digging into his back, his fingers curling into Merlin’s scruffy t-shirt and trapping him there. And Merlin... Merlin blamed the vodka he’d just downed, or possibly the lights and the dry ice and the loud pumping music that had obviously overcome his reason for the long moments it took him to press back, breathing in the scent of Arthur and for once not wanting to kill him or at the very least, bash him over his stupid, prattish head.
Then he heard the catcalls and whistles and the loud comment of “About bloody time!” (that sounded suspiciously like Leon) and yanked himself away. But Arthur held on, mouth open (like a particularly stupid goldfish, Merlin thought) and staring at Merlin like he’d just discovered the secret of fire (highly unlikely, in Merlin’s considered opinion). Arthur’s hat had slid even further sideways and was in danger of disappearing altogether, but he didn’t seem to have noticed.
“Told you,” he said, sounding breathless and annoying and happy.
Merlin rolled his eyes and grabbed his hand, before he said ‘Thunderbirds Are Go’ or something equally awful and Merlin was forced to hit him with a bar stool. “Come on, prat. I have the complete Next Generation at home.”
The End :D
